#also i know light is like …… middle class? upper middle class? but i personally wish to put him in a somewhat more dogshit area so this

[quicktimeeventfull]

unironically though. i think every day of what a north american adaptation of death note could be like if they didn’t make the baffling choice to whitewash it, and i think light getting death threats every tenth time he goes outside but also receiving the model minority treatment at his school and workplace would lend a different and useful weight to his decision to use the death note. same with matsuda and light’s conversation about kira protecting the weak and afraid. idk!! i think it could be good and complicated and interesting. it could engage really usefully with both the existant themes of death note and the divergent context of the new setting.

[newsiesautismfrfr]

Okay I feel a little better so I will be posting my cherry opinions.

First of all, I am not going to say that Cherry valance is a bad person. I do not think that cherry is a bad person what I am gonna say is that like all characters in a book she is flawed that’s what I like about Hinton’s writing because she is able to actually write good flawed characters, but some of you guys can’t comprehend cherry being a flawed person. we have to step away from the fact that most of us probably have money just like cherry does maybe not to the extent of cherry obviously, but a good portion of the outsiders fandom probably is not the greaser type of poor however, I am. I am poor. I have experienced having our water and lights turned off. I know what it’s like to struggle financially and it’s really scary. I am not middle class. I’m not rich so I’m definitely more closer to a greaser than a middle or upper class person.

that being said I am able to understand and view cherrys character from someone who is poor, and due to this, it is easier for me to say that she is a flawed person because some of you guys are dick riding her so hard. It’s kind of weird.

For example, I understand what cherry was coming from when she said “things are rough all over” however she did not take into consideration that well yes things are rough all over Ponyboy has things extremely rough and saying that to someone as poor and underprivileged as ponyboy probably was not the best thing to say at the time. I do understand what she was trying to do because while yes, she can have a rough life. She still has the lights on. She still can put food on the table. Her water isn’t being turned off. She can survive in the winter because she has heating in her house. Ponyboy doesn’t have that or at least he may not have that often. we saw in the movie how barren that fridge was towards the end, either Darry did not go grocery shopping yet or Darry couldn’t afford food at that time.

I also think that she was very weird when it came to what happened between Johnny and Bob, yes I understand Cherry that your boyfriend is dead but I feel like there was this weird sort of tension between Johnny and Cherry as in Cherry hated Johnny for killing Bob when it was deserved. I also don’t think she really taken into consideration that ponyboy almost died because of him and Randy. Johnny essentially saved his life it’s OK to not want to see someone you barely know in a hospital however it is weird the way she words it that’s all I’m saying.

I love her character. I think she’s great but she’s flawed because she is a rich girl trying to understand and sympathize with a very poor person and she’ll never truly understand what it’s like, so the way she tries to go about things isn’t working, it doesn’t work and I wish some of these cherry lovers would understand that because it’s irritating to an extent.

This is very rough please ask if I need to explain better or if you wanna explain your side of things

[yes-ihavealwaysbeengreen]

Could I have 13 and 70 from the smut list with King Arthur?

A/N: Yes, yes, you can. :D Also took some inspiration from the live-action Cinderella movie. Thank you for reading, reblogging, commenting, and liking. 

Pairing: King Arthur x F! Reader 

Warnings: 18 + only for smut, p in v 

Masterlist 

Prompts: “Your parents would be royally disappointed if they saw what you have on right now. Even more disappointed at what I’m thinking about doing to you.”& “I know all of your weaknesses.”

You fidgeted in your pretty gown for the eighth time in the last ten minutes, and your mother was less than pleased. “Stop moving, ungrateful child, this is your chance to impress the King! A chance for us to rise among the nobles!” she hisses at you, pulling your shoulders back. A ball in King Arthur’s court, wearing a corset that did little to help in the way of breathing, and your overbearing mother is breathing down your neck. Your sister beside you covered her giggles with a cough as you rolled your eyes. 

“Oh, Lady Charlotte!” Mother smiles and thankfully leaves you for a moment alone. You take a deep breath and lower your shoulders, eyes scanning the room for exits. 

“She will catch you, you know,” your sister giggles again, “and drag you right back.” 

“I feel more like a prized bird on display than a woman,” you scoff, “does she honestly believe that the King is going to look at me in this ridiculous get-up and fall madly in love? We are peasants; how did we even get invited to this?  Besides, I haven’t even seen this King before; what if he’s some hideous brute? Maybe that’s why they haven’t commissioned any portraits of him.” 

“I’ve heard he’s quite handsome and young.” 

“The average life span of a person is only fifty or so years, so how young can he be, twelve?” you groan at seeing the large plume of your mother’s hat coming back your way. “I need to get out of here before mother sells me to the highest coin.” 

“Quickly then,” she shoos, “I know why you don’t want to meet the King; he’ll never compare with your handsome stranger.” She grins mischievously at you, and you hold your breath waiting for the fallout. 

“How did you know about that?” 

“Sister, darling, you are not very good at hiding your feelings.” You glare at her, and she giggles, “I also saw the two of you by the creek when I was out fetching berries last week. He’s quite handsome.” 

“There you are!” Mother returns and puts her hands on your shoulders, pretending to show affection. “The King is coming,” she whispers with a grin and moves to stand between the two of you. You look over at your sister and give her your best pleading face, mouthing the words, ‘please don’t tell’ she smiles and nods with a wordless ‘promise.’ 

The trumpets sound loud, and a man stands forward to announce the King. People sitting rise to their feet, girls around you giggle like children, several pushing up their chests, biting their lips, or pinching their cheeks for some extra color. You stand there with a lump in your throat, trying to swallow around it. 

When the King makes his entrance, the crown glistening off the top of his head, your mouth slowly falls open on a gasp. “Art?” you whisper, your mother shushing you; you can feel your sister’s eyes burn into the side of your face. Everyone around you bows and curtsies low in honor, but your body has frozen, your limbs no longer working. 

“Curtsy,” your mother grabs your hand and pulls you down with a hiss, and you gasp, nearly falling to the floor with force. The noise draws his attention, and when the crowd rises, his eyes are staring intensely into yours. Those eyes you love, Art the apprentice, is the King of England. “He’s staring at you,” you can hear the glee in your mother’s voice, but all you feel is dread. 

The music begins to play, and several Lord’s come up to him showing their offspring off like a cow at the market. And for a moment, his eyes leave yours, and you bolt. “Where are you going?” your mother moves to grab you, but your sister intervenes; God bless her. You walk as quickly as your skirts will allow towards the door to the gardens, and when you are on the threshold, an arm comes out to stop you. 

“Wait, milady,” you freeze, half wanting to rip your arm from his grasp and slap him across the face for his misdirection, the other half wanting to turn and get lost in the deep blue of his eyes. “My love,” he whispers only for you to hear, “let me explain.” The second half wins, and you turn slowly, noticing the entire ballroom is watching the scene with rapt interest. His eyes, as blue as the sky reflecting off the sea, have you unraveling before him. “Dance with me?” he straightens to his full height, letting go of your arm and holding out a hand, “please.” 

Your hand trembles as you bring it up and place it in his. The warmth that is usually so comforting seems to set your skin ablaze as you follow him to the middle of the ballroom. The music is slow, and you follow the steps with him in a carefully orchestrated dance. “Talk,” you whisper, “why did you lie to me?” 

“I didn’t lie,” he grins, “not exactly; I am still learning my trade, just like an apprentice.” 

You know all the eyes are on you, and you smile when he gives you a turn, stepping hard on his foot when you come around. He grunts but doesn’t stop the dance, continuing each step. “That wasn’t very nice,” he smiles and says under his breath. “Did you forget love? I know all your weaknesses.” His words light the fire in your belly, and you see the mischief in his eyes as the dance comes to a close. 

“Would you join me for a stroll in the gardens, Milady?” he asks loud enough for everyone to hear. 

“Your Majesty?” Sir Bedivere strides over quickly, “there are many ladies who wish to dance with you, my King; you wouldn’t want to insult them.” 

“I need to make sure to give each of the ladies my adequate attention. Isn’t that what you told me, Sir Bedivere?” he grins as the other man nods with a thin line of his lips. “I won’t be alone, don’t worry, Sir Tristan will be my guard.” He looks over at the Knight, who has several ladies of his own to tend to, who nods with great reluctance. “See?” he claps the older man on the shoulder and offers you his elbow. “Milady?” 

You don’t have much choice, taking his elbow and following him over the threshold and into the gardens. Sir Tristan follows several steps behind, and you walk into the sprawling greenery. When you are about halfway in, he turns with a whistle, “Oi, Wet Stick, bugger off for a bit; we need to have a chat.” 

“You know this bird, boss?” he asks with a raise of his brow. 

“Yeah, she’s the one I asked you to bring the invitation to,” you look up at him, alarmed. 

“You invited us? Well, aren’t you just full of surprises,” you huff and walk further into the orchard part of the gardens, far from the prying eyes of the partygoers. 

“Shit,” he follows quickly behind, and you hear Wet Stick snigger and walk off in the other direction. “Wait, darling, please.” 

You whirl around with a finger pushing into his chest, “What game are you trying to play? Find some pretty peasant girl, make her fall in love with you, and then embarrass her in front of all the Nobility in England. Was that your game?” You walk away from him and pace back and forth, “I can’t believe I was so naive to think you cared.” 

“I do!” he reaches for you and holds you by the shoulders to face him, “I do care, love. I didn’t want you to love me because I was a King, I wanted you to love me! Arthur, the man, not the crown. I never lied to you,” you glare at him with a hand gesturing to the crown on top of his head, “okay I neglected one small detail.” 

“One,” you huff out a laugh pushing away his hands, “one small detail?! Arthur, you’re the fucking King of England! I’m only a poor seamstress, with an insufferable widowed mother, who only dreams of becoming a part of the upper class!” You feel the tears swell in your eyes as the truth all comes crashing down on your shoulders; the man you’ve been in love with for months is unreachable; theres’ no way he can marry you. 

“Listen to me,” he reaches for you again and takes three enormous strides pushing your back up against one of the apple trees. “Look at me.” 

Your mind won’t slow down, “what was your goal with having us come tonight? So you could shame me? Show off to the nobility that you are one with the people? Do you fuck every peasant girl you meet?” 

“Listen to me!” he shakes your shoulders, and your eyes widen, looking up to see him. “Listen to me,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to your own, “there was no game. I saw you in the market ten months ago when I was in the city.” 

“Ten months ago? I’ve only known you for six….”

“I didn’t know how to approach you; I couldn’t just go up to you and say hello I’m the King of bloody England, fancy a pint?” You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips, his curving up at the edges. “So I dressed in my old clothes, snuck out of the palace, and started slowly talking to you. Then we went for a walk, and I couldn’t stay away. You’ve bewitched me, love. My love for you is more powerful than the magic of the Mage.” 

“Honest?” you ask quietly with trepidation, “do you mean that Art?” He smiles at the nickname he gave you, leaning down to kiss your lips softly. 

“Promise, love. It’s only ever and will only ever be you.” He runs his hand against your cheek, and you lean into his touch, letting yourself breathe for the first time all evening. 

“I love you too, Arthur; I’m in love with you.” His eyes soften as he gazes down at you. 

“We have to go back soon,” he whispers, kissing you softly, “but do you think we got time for?” He wiggles his eyebrows, and you smack his arm with a laugh. 

“Is that all you think about?” 

He grins and takes a step back, “turn around,” he whispers with a wink. You turn around slowly, gasping when your hands are pressed further into the tree trunk. “Quiet love, don’t want anyone to hear us do we?” 

He moves quickly, unlacing the top of your corset and peeling the back open, letting it fall to the ground, your breasts sagging with the relief of being free. He palms your breasts, placing rough, scratchy kisses over your exposed shoulders. His hands come around to his waist, and he pushes up several layers of your skirts, reaching for your pulsing heat. He turns you around, and you reach your hands quickly down to palm him through his leather breeches. 

Your hands falter on the fabric, and you look down with wide eyes, “I-I made these,” your voice shakes, “they were commissioned a few weeks ago.” You look up to meet his warm eyes as he nods. 

“I wanted to support you, and you are the best seamstress in the city. Only the best for the King,” he murmurs, almost shy.

“Well then, my King,” his eyes darken, “I will need to show my appreciation.” You tug open the breeches, and he slips them down his thighs, lifting your skirts the rest of the way. 

He fumbles with the layers, and you giggle at the annoyed look on his face. “I swear, when we marry, I demand you just walk around naked at all times. These skirts are ridiculous.” 

You don’t have time to respond, the words caught in your throat, as he lifts you and slides inside with ease. “Fuck, always so wet for me, love,” his hips snap inside you, and his mouth tangles with yours, swallowing your moans. 

“Arthur,” you moan, feeling him stretch you on his majestic royal cock. This is not the first time you’ve fucked, having given Art the apprentice your virginity in the woods several months ago, but this was the first time you’ve fucked Arthur, the king, and he didn’t disappoint. 

“That’s it, love, let me hear you, but only me, don’t want any of them damn nobles to know I already made my choice. That I already fell in love months ago with a beautiful seamstress in the market.” He grunts, and your cunt flutters around his cock with every word. The love between you flowing over with each thrust of his hips. 

“I- ah, I love you, Arthur,” you whimper against his neck, slick with sweat. The air is thick tonight, the incoming storm leaving the air thick and dripping. 

He pulls back to look at you, punctuating each word with a snap of his hips, “I love you, you’re my Queen, always have been.”

You buck your hips against him, cumming with a silent cry, head thrown back in ecstasy. He thrusts three more times, and then you feel him cumming deep inside you, thick and warm it dribbles down the inside of your thighs. He’d never done that before, always pulling out at the last moment. You open your eyes and look at him; his pupils are wide, almost black as he stares at you.

“Now they can’t say anything,” he mumbles, and you furrow your brow. “You may be carrying a little Prince or Princess now; I have to marry you.” 

You grin at what he’s done, his cock still buried inside you. “You’re naughty,” you giggle. 

“I’m naughty?” He asks with a smirk, “your parents would be royally disappointed if they saw what you have on right now. Even more so at what I’m thinking about doing to you.” 

“And what’s that?” You shift your hips, and his eyes widen as you tighten around his cock. 

His eyes soften, and he cups your cheek gently, bringing your lips softly to his own. The rub of his beard is rough on your cheek as he moves to your ear, “I’m going to end this party early and show you. I already made my choice a long time ago. But, are you ready?” He pulls back, looking deep into your eyes, “Can you stand by my side and love Arthur the King, as much as you love Art, the apprentice?” 

Your heart catches in your throat, blood roaring in your ears at his words; you lean into his hand warmly and on your cheek and close your eyes. Opening them slowly and looking into the sea of blue, “I love you, all sides of you, that doesn’t change because of a shiny crown and a title.” 

He slowly pulls out, and you whimper as he lowers you back to the ground, pulling down your skirts and fixing your corset. You both work in silence to be presentable again, his eyes bright as he smiles at you, “Then, let’s go,” he murmurs, reaching for your hand, “I think it’s time to announce our engagement.” He snickers as you walk along beside him back towards the party. 

“What are you laughing at?” you chuckle, watching his eyes filled with mirth. 

“Your mother is going to faint,” he laughs beside you. 

You groan and roll your eyes with a laugh, “Good, maybe she will be quiet for a few moments.” 

He booms out a laugh and pulls you close, kissing the top of your head, “oh my love, our life will never be boring.” 

Taglist: @lunarthoughts @jedi-mando @idreamofboobear @aerolanya @rebelliouscat @veracruz-djarin @marvelprincess1994 @thirstworldproblemss @spacelatinoss  @martellthemandalor @kesskirata @waatermelon-sugaar @jitterbugs927 @helga1031  @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @anetteaneta @aellynera @lucifer- @houseofthirst @phoenixhalliwell @chicken-ona-stick @agirllovespancakes @ghostwiththemostbitch @the-purity-pen @paintballkid711 @wasicskosgirl @fantasticcopeaglepasta @sarahjkl82-blog @boxdyeblonde @rosiefridayrogersunday @yeah-seems-legit  @mimimi-stuff  @ladyblogger-margie @memyselfandellasworld @peterhollandkait @itspdameronthings @emmy626 @luv-nd-serenity @randomness501  @littlebopper96 @alexmarie29 @hell-is-my-second-home666 @thisshipwillsail316 @madslorian @no-droids-on-sunday @glixxr @sfr99 @pedro-pastel @we-can-be-himbos  @sleep-tight1 @sarhabee @its--fandom--darling @im-an-adult-ish @princess76179 @demoncrypt1066 @the-dendrophile-bookworm @amneris21 @deliciouslydisturbed365 @princessxkenobi @Kirstg42 @flaireandsynch @rayslittlekitten 

[sharkdream3421]

Chapter 1 Recalling the Past - The Killer (Male Orca Reader)

This arc is more of a horror genre. This also takes place after the Foundation Arc, so I would recommend that you read that arc first before this one (You can find it on my masterlist). This takes place after season 5 and before season 6.

My Masterlist

You were the son of Gang Orca and Wavest. Society thought of you as Gang Orca 2.0, but you were trying to prove to everyone that you weren't a 2.0, you were your own hero. Gang Orca protects citizens using his sound waves, strength, and intimidation. You weren't like that, you did use sound waves but you started to train yourself in martial arts initially after your battle with your father. Izuku's shoot style inspired you, the way he did aerial combos was amazing. So you thought about mixing ground combos and aerial combos in your fighting style. Your Dad used intimidation or his appearance when on hero business to gain the upper hand in a fight, but you weren't like that either.

Once again, Izuku inspired you. You used reasoning and always tried to find the villain's point of view in what they do. You wanted to come off as a reasonable and gentle person to society. You didn't call yourself anything after Gang Orca. You called yourself "vibration." As you used sound waves with some of your combos.

Your friendship with your Dad had been slowly starting to get better. Ever since you confronted your father after what happened in the provisional license exam and told him that you want to become your own hero and that you won't let society look to you as another version of him. Your Dad regretted his decisions and apologized for all that he had done. Even though he was acting as a villain he felt bad about the provisional license exam as he didn't want you to feel like an obstacle in achieving your dreams. He wished he told you that it was all an act and would never try to stop you from being who you wanted to be. You forgave him and you both slowly started to mend your relationship with each other. Your Dad and Mother also finally agreed to be less overprotective since they know that you could handle yourself more professionally.

You were getting tired of all this conflict that has been going on lately. You just made amends with your father, but now with All Might retiring, and the new rankings that have been appearing lately for pro heroes you decided that you needed a break. You were still struggling with discrimination in your society and you heard about a field trip for people with mutant type quirks that was going to happen soon. Your mother was a little hesitant because you would be going out into the woods, but your father agreed that you should get to know more people that have mutant type quirks. The field trip should be safe since you have two pro heroes coming with you and you have a small group of students.

You stood in front of your house as you waited for the bus. You waved your parents goodbye as you boarded onto the bus. You noticed that the butterfly pro hero was driving the bus.

"Nice to meet you Y/N! If you don't know I'm the butterfly pro hero! I'll be your bus driver and one of your tour guides for this trip." The butterfly lady said.

You bowed respectfully, "Thank you ma'am. I'm glad to be here as well."

You looked to notice that another pro hero was here. He seemed to be the dolphin pro hero.

"Hi Y/N! I'm the dolphin pro hero. Me and your Dad are good friends. It's nice to have you on this trip." The dolphin hero complimented.

You bowed to him as well in thanks. "Same here, it's good to know a friend of our family."

"Go on sit in the back with the three other students, we'll be making our way to the lodge." The butterfly hero commented.

You looked to see that their was three rows of seats. Tokoyami from your class sat in the back by himself. He wore his casual black hoodie, black sweatpants, and black tennis shoes.

You saw that in the middle row was a student with great white shark head, he looked pretty friendly and wore a light blue buttoned jacket along with a grey shirt.

Next to him was another shark guy, but he seemed to be have a full body mutation quirk and not just the head like Tokoyami and the other shark guy. He wore a dark blue hoodie along with blue sweatpants and he wasn't a great white shark necessarily.

This was going to be an interesting road trip indeed.

Masterlist

Chapter 2

[jessikahathaway]

Ambrosia - Prologue

Park Jimin (Aphrodite) X Reader

Genre: GreekGod!AU, Genderbent Aphrodite!AU, Romance, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn and Smut (Future)

Warnings: Mentions of terminal illness, Jimin in a SUIT, Namjoon being a lil nosy, profanity (if I forgot anything please let me know!)

Words: 3.1k (YA GIRL PROCRASTINATED TOO LONG AND DIDN'T GET THE FULL CHAPTER DONE SO WE'RE DOING A PROLOGUE. K? K.)

Summary: Cast out of Olympus with the task to find his one true love, Aphrodite is certain his match will come to him. But as the years drag on, what happens when the God of Love, gives up?

Days in a flower shop in the middle of a decent sized town can pass by fast or slow. There can be days with what feels like hundreds of orders coming through the tiny store, and then there are the days where the employees just wind up looking at their phones the whole time and not one soul passes through the door.

But on special days, all it takes is one person to walk through those doors and everything changes.

This is a story of one of those days.

--

Tuesdays could seriously go fuck off for all you cared. This particular Tuesday was proving to be a test on every ounce of your patience and every single time you heard that door bell ring as the gates of hell opened, your shoulders sagged a little more. Something about their flowers wasn’t right. The blue wasn’t like the sky but like the sea and that’s an issue. The flowers look wilted. Always something.

But, like you did every day you turned to the customer and gave them a huge smile, ready to help them with whatever they needed. Even if it meant losing your sanity little by little.

The day passed this way, going on and the clock didn’t seem to be moving at your desired pace. So, you sat on the chair behind the desk at the front and gazed out the window.

It was a warmer spring day.

The trees were budding and life was returning after a long winter. You loved this time of the year. Everything becoming new again, alive and welcoming. But, it also means more work for you. It’s never been a problem, but this past year has been particularly hard.

Your younger sister passed away.

She’d been fighting a long illness, one with a poor prognosis. At a young age you and Sana were placed in the foster system, living with a decent enough upbringing. The foster parents were never mean or cruel, but they weren’t your parents. Whom you barely remembered now. So when you turned eighteen you asked if you could become her legal guardian. Your foster parents had agreed, wishing you and her the best of luck...

But luck had never been on you or your sister’s side.

Her illness started to rapidly progress, causing more and more doctor’s visits and more money being pulled from your measly savings. It wasn’t enough. You were having to take out loans and everything just to keep the lights on in your apartment.

Sana, however, kept her spirits high no matter the situation. She was the positive one. The bright one that everyone gravitated towards in school. She was your light. And now your life is duller. Your sister loved to go through the streets in her wheelchair, looking at the budding leaves and flowers that were growing on the trees.

“Look Y/N!” she’d squeak. “They’re so beautiful. I want to open a flower shop, and I’m going to sell the most beautiful flowers to people.”

As her birthday present you decided to open the flower shop.

It was her last one.

Looking out at the spring blooming in front of you it was hard to be happy, knowing how much your sweet Sana would’ve loved it. Life often wasn’t fair, but you hadn’t expected it to be so. You weren’t a bad person, but bad things had happened. But you were alive, and had a life to keep living.

As much as the flower shop was Sana’s dream, you couldn’t sell it when she died. It had become your safe haven. A little place to call your own. Even if it was Sana’s dream, you had made it real. Real enough for the both of you, and now you gotta keep it going. Even if the loan to open it made your wallet want to cry, it was enough. Plenty.

Because it was yours.

A single tear fell down your cheek as you thought of your beloved sister, and her cute cheeks and beautiful eyes that never held an ounce of fear or regret. A few petals fell from the blossoming tree outside in the wind and fell to the ground in a swirl of pastel hues that made you smile.

More tears moved down your cheeks and you wiped them away in frustration. She wouldn’t want you to be upset, she’d want you to be happy and to continue with your life. Keep going and make something of yourself.

Sana used to say that you were always Y/N the big sister and never just... Y/N. And you knew it was true. You were supposed to take care of her, but now that she’s gone... T-There was no one to care for but yourself.

You’d have to be enough.

Suddenly, the bell above your door ran proudly, making your teary eyes refocus on the person entering the store. Those tears were quickly replaced with a look of wonder.

A man walked through the door, head held high and his eyes scanned the area like he was inspecting it. Wiping your already sweaty palms on your apron you approached him with a gentle smile.

“Welcome to Sana’s flowers, how can I assist you?” you asked, coming towards him. The man took in your appearance and a calm expression steeled over his face.

“Hi, are you Sana?” he asked, referring to the name.

“No, Sana was my sister,” you said, swallowing hard. The man seemed to understand.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to impose,” he said, bowing lightly.

“You’re fine, no worries. How can I help you?” you asked, looking at his apparel.

He was dressed in a fine suit, tailored to his every inch, must’ve been expensive as hell. You could probably open a whole new section of your shop with the money he was dripping in.

You weren’t known for having an upper class clientele, not that the occasional businessman came in and asked for a bouquet of your finest flowers. Sometimes two... Shaking your head you focused on the man in front of you as best as you could. But, his features were so striking it was hard to keep your eyes from wander...

“Park Jimin,” he introduced, holding his hand out politely.

“Y/N,” you said, extending your own hand and taking his in yours. Shaking gently he gave a smile that could rival the very stars in the sky. This man was more breathtaking the longer you looked, making your palms start to sweat even more.

“A pleasure, Y/N,” he said. “I’m having an event to celebrate my family's company. It’s the 125 year of it’s business and we are looking to source from the local populace instead of corporations to provide a more intimate setting for the investors and other members of the company,” Jimin said, rambling off a lot of information for your sleep deprived brain.

“I see, so you’re looking for floral arrangements?” You asked, heading towards your book of options. Jimin followed you over, leaning towards you so close you could smell his cologne. A spicy scent that wasn’t overpowering but more... alluring? Inviting?

Shaking your head you pulled up your options of centerpieces and the like, showing him what styles you had available and Jimin paid close attention to each set. Asking questions about what flowers would look good in what vases and if they did better in foam or water.

“For events I prefer the foam personally. Less likelihood of someone knocking a vase over and water getting everywhere. But the flowers are more mobile in the water, so it’s about what you’re looking for in regards to the feel,” you said.

Jimin seemed to weigh his options for a moment. “I like the traditional styles you showed me. The simple little flowers decorating around the larger arrangements, it looks classy and provides the color I’m looking for,” he said, nodding.

Making a note you grabbed a notepad to start writing all the information down.

“So when is your event? A month, two?” You said, throwing out a few different times.

“Two weeks,” he said. You froze, swallowing hard.

“Ah, I see,” you said, biting your lip.

“Is that a problem?” He asked, looking up at your pained expression.

“It’s just, the flowers might take a minute to get here. And I arrange everything by hand, so it takes me a little longer. How many tables were you going to have and the garlands for the stairways as well?” You asked.

“Well as for tables I have 150 dinner tables, 50 cocktail tables and 8 large banquet tables. There are two main stairwells that wrap around to the main area so there will be about 400ft worth of garland necessary,” he calculated slowly.

“Okay,” you said, rubbing your temples slowly.

“How many people do you have on your payroll?” He asked, looking around and noticing the empty space.

“Just me. My friend Namjoon likes to come and help sometimes but he’s a full time nurse so,” you shrugged.

“Would you be able to do this in two weeks with just by yourself?” He asked, raising a brow.

“I can always try,” you said, giving a gentle smile.

“How much would it cost?” He asked.

“Depends on the flowers you want, you already picked the style so one second,” you said, grabbing your calculator and running the numbers really quick. “I can do expedited shipping on the flowers to get them here faster but then you run the risk of stems getting broken and not having enough. But I can order more to compensate but then that’s more money,” you said.

Finally you had a total and you frowned.

“It would be around $2,156 if we did the expedited shipping and ordered more flowers to compensate for the potential broken ones,” you said, biting your lip. That was a lot of money to spend on flowers for a simple dinner event. You knew it, but with everything he wanted and the time frame it was the best you could do... You didn’t even charge him for the probability of Namjoon helping. Because then it would jump up to the 3,000 dollar mark and you weren’t going to push your luck.

After a few moments, Jimin pulled out his checkbook and started writing the check out. Your eyes bulged when he pushed the piece of paper towards you, his pen clicking with a sense of finality.

“What kind of flowers should we get?” He said, a smile on his face. You looked down and almost flung the check right back at him.

$5,500

This man had just dropped over five thousand dollars without blinking.

“Th-This is too much,” you said, trying to push it back towards him.

“You charged me for base flowers, and it’s super short notice. Take the extra as a tip,” he smiled.

“I-I can’t accept over two thousand dollars as a tip. If I get audited I’ll be screwed,” you said.

“No you won’t, it’ll be fine. Please, take it,” he encouraged, placing the check back in front of you.

You swallowed thickly, trying to keep yourself from panicking. You did have a large loan payment coming up, and this would lessen that blow significantly...

But wasn’t it wrong?

“Alright...” you trailed off, taking the check and stamping it before putting it in your deposit bag.

“What type of flowers do you recommend using?” He asked, looking at you with a gentle gleam in his bright eyes.

“Peonies and hydrangeas are a great combo with complementary color palettes. I always love doing grass pieces as a nice natural moment but, baby's breath is a classic and more traditional if that’s what you’re looking for,” you said.

“Can we do the soft blue hydrangeas and white peonies?” He asked, looking at the sample photos you had.

“Yes, the white peonies would bring a nice fullness and the hydrangeas can add the color,” you explained.

“Perfect, let’s do that then,” he said, nodding.

“Okay! I’ll get the order to go in and get the expedited shipping and we should get them by the end of the week. They’ll go into the fridge and that should help keep them fresh,” you said.

“Here.”

You turned around to see a small card placed on the table in front of you.

“What’s this?” You asked, lifting the small thing to your eyes.

“My number,” he said, grinning. “Message me when the flowers come in.”

“O-Okay, absolutely!”

Jimin smiled then, a bright dazzle expression that had your mouth drying in longing.

“I look forward to hearing from you, Y/N,” he said.

“I look forward to it as well, Mr. Park,” you said politely. Jimin tutted and shook his head.

“No, Jimin will do just fine. Have a great day Y/N,” he waved, turning on his heel and heading out the door.

You looked at the numbers and sighed.

God you were so fucked.

—

“So, let me get this straight,” Namjoon said over the phone. “Hot guy in a suit comes in and orders a fuck ton of flowers you know you can’t do yourself and you agree because he dropped an extra few grand in the check? Y/N! You can’t do that, I’ll only be able to help you arrange the bouquets the day of. So you’ll have to put them all together yourself! When will you sleep? Eat? Poop!?!” He yelped.

“Firstly, my bowel movements are none of your concern,” you stated. “And second of all, I can’t refuse that kind of money! The next loan payment is going to fuck me over if I don’t have this padding. Please Joonie, tell me you can help me at least the night before,” you pleaded.

“I really can't Y/N, I’m working night rotation. So, I could maybe stop by in the morning but then the flowers have to sit longer,” he reasoned.

“Yeah I know... Can you switch?” You said, a soft voice replacing your whining.

“I wish I could, but there’s hardly any staff that night as it is. And we’re all pulling hours we don’t like. I can’t ask them to do more. Poor Taehyung has already covered me this month and I would rather throw myself in front of a car than ask again,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re busy and I’m desperate, but... I’ll figure it out,” you said, rubbing your face in exhaustion.

“What kind of asshat doesn’t come in until last minute to order a huge ass amount of floral arrangements?” Namjoon asked.

“An asshat named Park Jimin apparently,” you said, twisting the stem of a flower in front of you.

“You-You mean the Park Jimin?” Namjoon stuttered.

“I don’t know how many of them there are, Namjoon. I just know what this one looked like,” you said.

“Doesn’t he have like, neon pink hair or something?” He asked.

“Um, no? It was blonde-ish when he was in here,” you said.

“Plump lips?”

“Yeah?”

“Eyes that command the panties of women to drop?” He asked.

“Sir, my panties stayed firmly in place so I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about,” you huffed.

“For now, Y/N, for now. Anyways,” he said dismissively. “If this is the Park Jimin we’re talking about you need to be very careful.”

“What? What are you talking about,” you whispered.

“He’s like a sex God or something. He’s got game better than Jordan, okay? But he never commits to anyone,” he said, seriously.

You rolled your eyes, even though the man couldn’t see you.

“My heart isn’t in danger here, Namjoon. We’ll be fine. I can handle an attractive businessman,” you said.

“Yeah, but can your cum thirsty twat handle it?”

“Sir, I’m gonna hang up,” you warned.

“As a nurse I demand to know the last time you got laid,” he said. “It’s for you health of course.”

“That should be a HIPPA violation,” you complained.

“Yeah, not a friendship violation though. Tell me when was the last time you were left boneless between the sheets my guy,” he said.

“I don’t see how this has to do with floral arrangements,” you sighed. “But since your bitch ass needs to know it was about a year ago.”

“Well, maybe it is time to get back in the ring,” he reasoned.

“Namjoon, there’s no need to get me a suitor. You’re not my dad trying to get another cow on the farm or something,” you joked.

“Do you think Park Jimin would give me a cow if I gave him you?” He asked, sounding too serious for your liking.

“I’m really gonna hang up now,” you said, pulling your phone away from your face.

“Just, be safe Y/N! Don’t work too hard, I love you!” You heard screamed from the receiver.

“Yeah love you too Joonbug,” you said, hanging up and looking at the clock. The numbers glared back at you like they were judging you for being up this late. But you simply shrugged and went and took a much needed shower.

That man had you sweating like a sinner in church.

As you bathed you tried to think of your next plan of attack, but the water was too warm and soon you found yourself relaxing into the stream happily. Once you were done you cracked open a can of beer and sat down in your living room ready to start the night right, when a message floated across your screen.

Joonbug: IS THIS THE CULPRIT?!? Jpg.1013

You stared at the screen with an unamused face, but picked up your device anyway. Namjoon had sent you the picture and you could tell the fucker picked the first one off of google images like the lame hoe he was, but you looked regardless.

And, surprisingly, it was him.

The cherubic cheeks and wide smile, bright eyes and an alluring body. You sighed and texted him back.

Y/N: Yea, that’s him.

Joonbug: OH REAAALLLLYYYY???

Y/N: I hate you so much.

Joonbug: You can’t resist. THIS.

Y/N: I’ve resisted your rat poison for years, I think I got it.

Joonbug: EXcUSE MEEEE??? I am at least some kind of like, sexy poison???

Y/N: I’m dying either way, why do I care if it’s sexy or not?

Joonbug: :((((((

You left the conversation at that, but your mind began to wander. How were you going to finish this order and not embarrass yourself in front of a multimillionaire?

Maybe you bit off more than you can chew...

[gisellelx]

Consider this ask a general prompt for any nerding you would like to do for us re: linguistic thoughts about various Cullens. Also: any particular headcanons of how they've influenced each other's speech in general? (I was going to say re: Edward emulating Carlisle but that might not be the most interesting example)

Okay commence much belated nerding out. Relevant post.

Under a cut because sorry, I went to town here. tl;dr--the Cullens sound different to each other, and their backgrounds and relationships have affected the way they sound over time. But they all can sound exactly how they need to any time they need to.

Here are two useful things we know about why people do or do not change the way they talk.

Communities of practice: this is a concept which comes from education but which has gotten adopted in several adjacent fields, including sociology and linguistics. Basically, the idea is, the way you talk will reflect the kinds of relationships you want to have with people around you, and how you want to draw lines separating your group from other groups. My easiest-to-understand example of this is that my friends from college athletic bands had some terms and inside practices which arose because of our shared experience of playing in those bands. We were in band twenty years ago, but if you're having drinks with a few other bandos and leave the bar, someone will go "ohhhhh see ya!" like the cheer we yell when someone gets put in the penalty box at a hockey game.

Convergence and accommodation: Speakers often try to sound like people they want to connect with in more than just practices and inside jokes. The more you want to connect with someone (combined with your personality), the more likely you are to adopt their style of speaking. This is in the short term, which is accommodation (you start to speak more slowly because the person you're speaking with speaks more slowly) or dialect convergence (over time your whole way of sounding starts to shift toward other people's.) Some evidence that extroverts do this faster, but it also depends on how desirable the connection is.

Convergence is probably more influential for the Cullens than CoP, although I imagine there are some CoP kinds of things that happen to vampires more broadly and the Cullens specifically. In particular, I suspect (and write) that the Cullens have lots of euphemisms for things: they talk about "mistakes" to avoid talking about murder, about "Royce" and "Charles" to avoid uttering the word rape, Edward's rebellion is called The Time or Edward's Sojourn (that's Carlisle).

The bigger question is, how would they sound and how would they naturally converge (or not!) based on their personalities and relationship.

So. You have the Cullens. Kind of a rough-and-tumble rundown of their varieties:

Carlisle: I headcanon Boston Brahmin . In the 1700s, the London accent was /r/-full, so Carlisle would've arrived to the US sounding more like a current-day American speaker than we associate now with British English (received pronunciation usually being the exported one). He would've hobknobbed with the educated elite on the eastern seaboard and picked up what they sounded like at the time. He loves being American--this is where he found his purpose and his family. So shifting toward that accent makes sense for him.

Esme: Lower middle class US midlands. The central Ohio accent is often perceived to be extremely neutral. It's not--there are some truly funky features--but people think it is, so there's not much reason to move away from it. She might have tried her hand at a transatlantic accent, but she slides back into her middle Ohioan often, because it's easy and it's not usually considered "bad" anywhere. She makes fun of the way Carlisle says rather. He teases her about how bag and egg are the same sound for her.

Edward: Northern Cities Shifted Chicago. If you've ever heard a Chicagoan pronounce the word Chicago, well, there you go. I realize this probably fucks with the gentle, sexy attempt-at-American accent delivered by Robert Pattinson. Edward was born too late to have transatlantic imposed on him, and so his accent was probably left to be.

Rosalie: Another reason they hate each other--they sound alike. Rosalie is on the other side of the Great Lakes, was born not that much later, and Rochester is another major source of Northern Cities Shift. So she and Edward sound...pretty much the same. They're both upper middle class/upper class and are picking up the prestige version of the NCVS.

Emmett: Appalachian. Pretty much enough said. The post I linked at the outset lays out a few things from Appalachian speech.

Jasper: East Texan. Texas is not general southern--there are a handful of features which make it notably different than say, Louisiana.

Alice: Upper class Mississippian. Now, this is somewhat indistinguishable to a northern American or non-American ear--maaaaybe you notice sort of "high class southern" but it's subtle. She's got a bunch of features of southern English, though, but the more prestigious versions of them. Not quite To Kill a Mockingbird--that's Alabama-- but that's not a bad place to start to hear it.

So that's where they're starting. Where do they end up?

Carlisle: sticks with Brahmin. The moment he arrived in the US means a lot to him, and so he defaults back to that first major change, when he adopted an American identity.

Edward: Probably goes without saying, but he sounds exactly like Carlisle. He shifted his default as soon as he was able, and his intense adoration of Carlisle means he converged on Carlisle's variety. He also picks up Carlisle's idiolect--particular phrases and verbal tics--again, because he wants to be like Carlisle in any way he can. "Oh my God will you quit; you're not Carlisle" is a phrase that gets uttered in annoyance often.

Esme: Keeps her central Ohio accent. She loves Carlisle more than anything, but there's nothing particularly stigmatized about her variety. So she keeps it. She's happy to be her own person.

Rosalie: Does not wish to be a part of this family and regrets her change. She certainly does not converge toward Carlisle's style, but the pressure of sounding anything like Edward, even if his dialect has shifted, is also grating. She brings her NCVS a little more toward Esme's Ohio variety over time.

Emmett: This man killed a bear* with his bare hands in the Smoky Mountains. He's real proud of being a mountain man and he sounds like one. He also has a healthy disdain for the upper-crustness of Carlisle and Rosalie and Edward and is determined to bring them back down to earth. Over time the most obvious parts of his dialect do fade--he doesn't use "a huntin'" very often, for instance. But he can shift into full on Appalachian on a dime and often does. It's fun for him.

Jasper: Stays East Texas. He's very proud of his cowboy identity, and is the least connected to the Cullen family as a community of practice. He can sound like whatever his paperwork says he does, but in default, he's still got the same Houston variety he's had for two centuries. I don't love darlin' darlin' Jasper in fic but I chalk that more up to writers learning how to have a light hand with dialect rather than it being something he fundamentally wouldn't say--he absolutely does say it. Also says bless your heart.

Alice: Biloxi is not that far from Houston, and she and Jasper, who are wound around each other, pick up each other's verbal mannerisms and reinforce subtle aspects of each other's gulf of Mexico accents. She both mellows Jasper's Texas English while also moving her own English toward his.

So in "default" mode, the Cullens sound a little different to each other. But there's no way a Twipire would somehow be unable to move perfectly and seamlessly between multiple English accents as they needed to. There's no reason to think that any of them showed up at Forks High School sounding like anything but exactly what their paperwork said their dialectal background ought to be.

*by the way this would've been a black bear, not a grizzly. I'm sure he loves grizzlies, but he wasn't fighting a grizzly in the Smokies. He probably got tangled up with a really mad mama bear. This is a pet peeve of mine, I admit.

[boomboxfic]

Still Waters Run Deep preview (an attempt to get my butt in gear to get this fic out when I’ve been trying for 1-2 months lol)

This fic is my version of a Ben Stone/Mike Logan slow burn - and tries its damndest to stay within the canon timeline. Specifically the initial pilot “Everyone’s Favorite Bagman” and concludes during “The Reaper’s Helper” episode. I’ve written bits of it, and a preview of chapter one will follow.  Hope to post the first chapter on Sunday. Wish me luck! =====

Yardarm Pub was a classy joint; mahogany wood countertops, warm lighting, jazz music setting the vibe, upper-class clientele - lawyers, businessmen. Definitely not your good ol’ smoke-filled sports bar, thought a bemused Mike Logan as he sat at the bar, waiting for his date, who was currently using the super fancy ladies’ room. Her words, not his. 

Mike had been seeing Maggie for a couple of weeks. She was a fellow cop. She was also gorgeous, a redhead with a blinding smile and a killer body. They had just seen each other as she gave him a connection to a furrier friend who helped him and Max identify a fur coat from a recent case concerning the Charles Halsey mugging.  

Logan’s thoughts naturally moved towards that particular case. He and Max had also stopped by the District Attorney’s office earlier that day to meet with ADA Paul Robinette. Logan didn’t particularly care for lawyers, but Paul seemed decent enough. 

Through Max, Mike had heard of Paul’s superior - Ben Stone. Mike hadn’t met him personally, but Stone’s reputation was renowned. A few years ago, he had put away Wall Street whiz kid Philip Swann for murder without a body, and got promoted to the top prosecutor position in the District Attorney’s office. He also had a reputation for being a hardass, according to Max. 

So, it was some surprise when he overheard the smooth dulcet tones of someone mentioning Councilman Halsey. The tone was so smooth, it felt like it could curl up in your ear, like a caress. Definitely a lawyer. Mike scanned the room taking in the mix of middle to upper-class men and women. His focused gaze settled on a pair of gentlemen sharing a booth, chatting amicably. Intuition told him that one of them was a reporter. Again, Mike’s ears honed in on the voice coming from the other man. He realized that did, in fact, recognize it and with another glance instantly recognized the man from the 6 ‘o clock news. He was usually seen standing next to District Attorney Adam Schiff after some important big-wig court case. Ah. So this was Ben Stone. He looked friendly, relaxed. Mike didn’t think he looked intimidating at all. He continued to eavesdrop, remaining inconspicuous. 

“I know they run fast.” Stone replied. Mike couldn’t help but agree.

Just as Mike made his mind up to approach the pair, he felt Maggie caress his arm. 

“Mike?” Maggie’s voice interrupted Mike from his eavesdropping. “Ready to head out, or what?”

====

The first time Ben Stone saw Mike Logan, he’s meeting with a reporter friend Ray Lasco discussing political corruption. 

A very gorgeous redhead was walking out of the pub followed by a dark-haired man wearing a brown leather coat. Ben happened to glance up as the pair passed his table, and the most striking pair of green eyes met his blue. 

It was a brief interaction,  not ground shaking but enough to pique the attorney’s curiosity. It occurred to Ben that this young man fit the description of a detective Paul said was investigating the Halsey mugging with Max Greevey. 

The other man seemed to recognize Ben as well and made the decision to approach the booth. 

“Hello sir,” Ben welcomed, holding a hand out in greeting,  “I feel like I know you from somewhere?”

Thankfully, the other man was on the same wavelength. “Yeah! Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear -“ He started, before pausing to introduce himself, shaking Ben’s hand. “Detective Mike Logan - my partner and I caught the Halsey mugging.”

“Ben Stone, I’m with the District Attorney’s office. I work with Paul Robinette. You work with Max Greevey, right?”

“Yeah, for better or for worse.” Mike laughed, before continuing. “You know - Max was saying how Paul lasting 8 months as your assistant is some sort of a record. That you eat ADA’s for breakfast.”

“I’m sure some of that is just conjecture.” Ben quipped. “Paul is very capable, whether or not that part of my reputation is true.”

Mike looked down at the prosecutor who was sporting an easy, relaxed grin that took him by surprise. Ben, in turn, continued to be struck by the green depths of the detective’s eyes. Both men smiled politely. 

Mike remembered his manners, turning his attention to Ben’s dinner companion. “Sorry to your colleague here, didn’t mean to disrupt your conversation.”

Ray held out his hand in greeting, which Mike shook briskly. “Not a problem. Detective, name’s Ray Lasco, I’m with the Ledger. Ben and I were  just, uh, trading notes, uh, off the clock.”

“Please, call me Mike, I’m also off the clock. Actually, here with my…date. She’s, um, outside.”

Ben nodded. “Then we won’t keep you, Mike. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other over the next few weeks. Please have a great rest of your evening. A pleasure to meet you; Nice to put a face to a name.”

Mike flashed a genuine smile at Ben, giving the attorney a cheeky wink. “I intend to. And likewise. Evening, gentlemen.”

In a flash, Logan had turned and was out the door to meet Maggie.

[neovisioned]

♡ꜜ lipstick stain﹫jaemin na

she looks so perfect - 5 seconds of summer

pairing : jaemin x reader (f)

genre : smut with little plot, roommate!jaemin, college!au. 

warnings : solo masturbation.

word count : +2,5k

synopsis : you leave lip stick stains on your roommate Jaemin’s skin before leaving for the night and he can’t help himself and his hidden feelings.  or : “your lipstick stain is a work of art, i got your name tattooed in an arrow heart.” 

“Y/N, what are you doing ?”, Jaemin wonders out loud, a small laugh coming out of his lips after taking your expression in. Resting the controller of his PlayStation 4 on his thigh, covered by his light grey sweatpants, your roommate lets his eyes wonder up to you as his game loads on the screen of your shared television. From his spot on the couch of your apartment, he was watching you carefully tap your index on your lower lip, before examining your fingertip with a bit too much curiosity.

“I need to see if my lipstick is going to stay through the night, Jaems.”, you explain like it’s obvious, eyes still on your reflection in the entrance’s mirror. Tapping once again your finger on your bottom lip, you slowly check the makeup you flawlessly applied to your features moments prior. You were going out tonight. Any other night, you would probably go out with your beloved roommate but, you were seeing old high school friends. A reunion organized by teachers you barely kept in contact with and, you unfortunately wouldn’t bring the pink haired man with you. You have to say, you wish you could have him with you. The dress you’re wearing hugs your body, your makeup is flawless if it is not for the said lipstick. You know your presence alone will be able to take some people’s breaths away just like it took your roommate’s. But, having Jaemin with you would’ve sealed the deal. Maybe it was a bit childish, wanting to make people jealous. Can you blame yourself ? You were the first to gush over your roommate’s looks and melt at his sweet and gentleman-like personality. Let’s say he isn’t helping you at all at this very moment, legs spread wide, he isn’t wearing a shirt, abdomen on full display.

“Is that the one you got last week ?”, asks the tallest, eyes quickly going back from his game to your figure. The theme song of The Last of Us Part Two plays in the background, the young man’s eyes get stuck on your exposed neck for a bit too long. Brushing your hair with one hand, you use the other to apply some perfume to the base of your neck. Jaemin has to say, you look good every day of the week, every hour of the day. You look ravishing when you two go out every now and then but, it’s clear you decided to make a lot more today. He couldn’t complain, having a roommate like this but God, he wishes he could come with you at this reunion, make sure everyone understands you’re bound to be his. You hum at his question, unaware of his racing thoughts, remembering the day you dragged him to some makeup store, right after getting your paycheck. Fortunately, he didn’t complain, or maybe you just didn’t listen to his desperate sighs. Regardless, he helped you pick a color, he thought would go well with you after some minutes of thinking in front of the large display.

“Why don’t you just do the thing you do with your hand.”, he asks gesturing to the top of his hand. You and Jaemin decided to live together at the beginning of university and, after some years, he caught on to some things. Like how you had the habit of placing your lips on the back of your hand to check if any product would transfer on your skin. He had a good point, you would. But, you were too lazy to wash your hand after, your nails were freshly painted and you were running late.

“Ugh, I’m too lazy to wash my hand after. We’re also out of tissues.”, you sigh, eyebrows raised. Jaemin was the one who finished the roll and didn’t even think about buying a new one. Looking at the watch adoring your wrist, you quietly smack your lips together, hoping the lipstick wouldn’t leave a mark on the cups and straws at the reunion. You had a…weird hatred for lipstick stains.   Jaemin laughs a bit at your antics, leaving his controller on the side. Getting up, he doesn’t hesitate to stand right next to you. Extremely underdressed, he pushes your shoulder with his, checking his own appearance in the mirror. The pink haired man loves annoying you a little bit every now and then.

For a split second, you look over at your friend in the mirror. “We’d look good together”, you think to yourself but, you have to brush the thought away in a flash. See, for the past months, you stopped seeing Jaemin as a friend. And you hated it. You hated how whenever the two of you would cuddle in front of a movie, you’d wish he wouldn’t let go of the embrace to walk to his own, separate room. You started hating the way he’d sing while doing the dishes and while taking a shower. You wanted more and yet, couldn’t see yourself bring the subject up.

“Do it here, we’ll see if it leaves a stain.”, your roommate proposes, taking you out of your thoughts. His finger points at his slightly rounded cheek. Worst thing is, it isn’t the first time that the pink haired allowed you to test your lipsticks on him, he probably knew you were dying to test this one on him too. It happened one time where you were on a rush for work, no tissues or anything else to place your lips on and take the excess product out. Jaemin didn’t mind having a stain as he didn’t have class this morning, he could wash off properly right after and, he gained the guinea pig title. You don’t think twice, grabbing your roommate’s chin between your fingers. Under your touch, Jaemin faces you, angelic face too close to your own. He doesn’t seem to mind either, innocently blinking. There’s a small sigh coming from your lips, one Jaemin doesn’t bring up, like you can’t believe you’re doing this to your crush. You’ve faced it, the growing feeling, blooming butterflies whenever the man would look down at you, whenever he’d smile at one of your jokes. Your lips quickly find his cheek in a loud kiss, a dramatic “mwah” to dedramatize. They trail down without you understanding or processing your actions, placing your lips on his jaw and right under the sharp bone as he willingly tilts his head.  

“Oh, that’s a lot...!”, you notice out loud, brushing your actions off, eyebrows furrowed. A mark of your lips was clearly visible of his cheek, another one on the sharp jawline, and the last one in the middle of his neck. Faded, sure, but still clearly visible. “I’m taking it with me, will probably have to do some touch ups, y’know.”, you mumble quickly, grabbing the lipstick before throwing it in your purse. Get out, quick. Jaemin’s eyes are glued on the mirror, not daring to look at you. Pupils blowing a little wider, they expend a bit more at each new stain discovered. His lips are dry, he noticed. Poking his pink tongue out to wet his bottom lip, he slowly parts them, a feeling he knows too well growing in his stomach.

Biting softly on his chest, he nods as he hears you saying something about time and some teacher you’re excited to see. The pink haired doesn’t pay attention, a finger coming to touch the stain on his neck, cheek growing the same color as his locks.  Why was he so…turned on by such a simple thing ? Was it the stains, or you ? Probably both ? The marks, proofs of your lips on his skin, he wonders what they’d look like lower, lower. His pants grow tighter, the poor thing has to move to the side and hopefully hide the print on the grey fabric. The heat travels down to his chest, coloring the smooth skin there. His breath gets caught in his throat for a second and he has to clear it to hide the fact, wrapping his wondering hand around his upper arm. It’s aching to wrap around his growing length, release the tension growing, but his line of thoughts gets cut by the loud sound of the front door closing behind him. He didn’t even hear you saying good bye, he doesn’t even know when you’re coming back but all of this, are second thoughts.

His breath grows uneven as he looks around the now empty apartment. When the thought finally registers in this foggy brain, he quickly walks towards his room, the theme song of his game still playing.   He doesn’t care to close his door, leaving it slightly open. He can not believe he’s already semi-hard, the young man will never understand the affect you have on him. His mind, his body, it all reacts too quickly to anything you do. From the way you make playlists for his showers and manage to always bend down for the washing machine just at the right moment for him to see by the opened door of the kitchen. Sitting on the edge of his bed, the mattress sinks down under his weight, Jaemin faces the mirror installed right in front of him. Giving him a full view of his body, Jaemin leans back on his hand, his free one wondering on the smooth skin of his chest. With the huge mirror, it was even better. He could clearly see the three marks along his cheek and neck, the last one almost looking like a fading hickey. Oh, how his imagination could wonder so far, so quickly. The young man’s mouth falls slightly agape at how good the color looks on his skin, contrasting with his epiderma. Veiny hand goes down to his bulge, feeling his semi length through the fabric of his pants. His digits wrap around the base, sighing as he teased himself like he knows you’d do too.  Lips reddened by his relentless biting, glittering with a coat of saliva, Jaemin’s hand grabs his sheet as the other sneaked beneath the fabric of his sweatpants. Finally giving himself some skin to skin contact he was craving for, though he wishes it was someone else’s.  A sigh of relief leaves the pink haired’s lips when he feel his rough hand wrapping around his base, tinted lock falling in front of his dark eyes. His dick feels heavy in his hand, a vein pumping at the side. Ever so slowly, his hand moves up, and down. Drawing the pleasure out, his thumb wipes the small pearl of precum threatening to fall. He uses it for smoother movements, lewd sounds echoing in his room. Mind blurred, focused on the ounce of pleasure he was giving himself, he tilts his head to the side. Jaemin was trying his hardest not to close his eyes, he wanted to see the marks and his skin. He was feeding off of them, letting the most perverted side of his brain make whatever he could up in his daze. A pleased sigh leaves his lips the moment he fully pumps his shaft up and down. They grow faster, pleasure taking over his body, sweat gathering at his hairline and soon enough, he was pushing the hem of his pants down. Entirely exposing himself, his imagination was out of control. He wasn’t picturing his hand, rather yours. Petite compared to his, wrapping around his thick shaft, Jaemin wondered what you’d look like, on your knees in front of him. He knows you’d let your tongue drag up his length just like when you catch a drop of melted ice cream. A grown leaves his lips when he vividly pictures your mouth around him and deep down he knows, he knows you’d beg him to fuck you in front of this very mirror. The sound of skin fills the room, rhythmically. Alongside, his sighs grow deeper and deeper, turning into groans and desperate moans. Jaemin doesn’t care to hide them, all alone in his bedroom. He tries his best to remember the feeling of your lips on his skin, picturing them kissing his neck, down his torso, and his hand pumps faster. Maybe your lipstick would leave a few rings around his shaft, a deep moan coming from his chest at the thought, his eyes screwing shut. “God.”, he whines, his hips bucking against his hand. A gasp leaves his lips as his lips his hips fuck his fist. He pictures you again, seeing you in that dress, how the silky fabric hugs deliciously hugs your body. Wishing he could take it off, he’d probably let the fragile fabric rip under his hands, Jaemin couldn’t help himself when it came to you. He wonders, what does you skin would feel like under his fingers, he knows you’d react in the most hypnotizing way to his teases, he knows he can make you cry his name out if you’d let him. His lip gets caught between his pearly teeth again, drawing blood. The iron taste lingers on his tongue, fighting with the newly made fantasy of your arousal coating his tongue. God, he wishes you didn’t leave, his hand moving faster and faster, chasing his high desperately.   “Y/N, fuck.”, it leaves his lips without thinking, he doesn’t care to understand the meaning behind the desperate moan. The blurry image of your body underneath his clouds his mind, made up moans of his name, picturing just how you’d babble because of his cock. God, he wants to hear you moaning, whining, begging. Even better, not being able to form coherent sentence just because of him, coming around his cock because of his, for him. The pink haired loses track as he wonders, getting closer and closer to your climax. His Adam’s apple bobs against the skin of his throat, regular gasp leaving his lips as he mumbles incoherent phrases himself, because of you and, you aren’t even there. He knows he���s about to come, bucking his hips. Letting out a loud moan, his voice cracks towards the end in what sounds like your name, yet again. Jaemin comes in a few short moments, hand never stopping as he milks, giving himself too much pleasure. Zoned out, he pants, a familiar ringing blocking his hearing, some cum on the smooth, slightly red skin of his torso.  Jaemin slowly opens his eyes, slightly regaining more coherent thoughts. Chest falling up and down at an irregular pace, he tries to catch his breath as best as he can, a small curse falling from his lip as his strong orgasm fades away. Damp colored hair in front of his eyes, Jaemin tries to comprehend everything, letting his body fall down on his bed. Closing his eyes, his veiny hands half of his face and he doesn’t even bother covering himself. Poor thing only now starts to calm down, hear clearly again. It’s weird, did he turn his game o-.

“Jaemin…? I forgot my wallet.”

His eyes shot open.

© NEOVISIONED l NO REPOSTING OR TRANSLATIONS ALLOWED.

[cosmic-goof]

U.A. Sports Festival: Round 2!

It’s time for Kiyoko versus Tsutsumi! Class 1-Y versus Class 1-X!

Word Count: 8.3k+ Content Warnings: Descriptions of violence and slightly abnormal body morphing (courtesy of kiyoko) Enjoy!

“LLLLLLLADIESSSS, GENTLEMEN, AND OTHERS! Are you ready for the second battle of round two?!” Present Mic’s voice pumped up the crowd through the stadium loudspeakers, the responding cheers assaulting the competitors with a wall of noise as they ascended their staircases up to the arena platform. Kiyoko felt like she was shaking from the adrenaline, but it wasn’t observable as she flexed her fists nervously by her sides and appeared at the top of the stairs, looking across the length of the field as her opponent came into view in tandem. “First up, from Combined Class 1-Y, you saw her in that fearsome fight of overwhelming strength meeting an immovable force! Kiyoko Hagane, Quirk: Metallurgy! Metallurgy gives the user a steel endoskeleton, and allows the user to morph all four of her limbs into several different metal constructs! Wow!” “And in the other corner, second but not destined to be, with a shockingly fast first round, Tsutsumi Natsumi! Quirk: Shaaaaaade Demon! What a spicy name for a cool quirk! ‘Shade Demon’ allows the user to become stronger, faster, and demonstrates an enhanced tolerance for pain! In addition, Natsumi-chan can also form constructs from shadow! So COOL-!!” Present Mic was cut off by the sound of an elbow making contact with something near his ribs as Eraserhead kept him on track. “Focus, idiot.” “I know I know,” Sporting his signature sheepish expression for his friend for a moment before Present Mic whipped back around to lean enthusiastically towards his microphone once more with a cheer. “Let’s hear it for our young soon-to-be-champions!” The roar from the crowd fell away from her ears as Kiyoko focused on her opponent, approaching the arena. Tsutsumi Natsumi. All horns, lava-red hair, and fiery grit. Outside of classes, Kiyoko hadn’t yet had an opportunity to interact with the other girl very much, but what was a good indicator of her personality was the discussion the two had had when they found out they’d be fighting against each other in the second round.

“My blades?” Kiyoko blinked at the question, before offering an almost sheepish, half-shrug. “We didn’t use them in the first round because we knew that while Evan could make bone constructs, not only is steel easily stronger than bone every time, but we thought it’d be pretty disturbing for people to watch pieces of him still moving around after I’d cut them aside on live television. We thought it was a better idea to just avoid that scenario altogether.” Kiyoko paused for a moment, tilting her head to the side slightly as she considered her soon-to-be opponent. “...Why do you ask?”

Tsumi nodded, “I see. Good to know that we have similar views regarding these kinds of things.” Tsumi paused, “That doesn’t answer your question, sorry. I ask because I wanted to know your thoughts on the matter of using weapons. My quirk allows me to create constructs as well, so I wanted to discuss some ground rules for our fight. Don’t want our careers ending before they start now do we?”

“Take up your positions you two, and the fight will soon commence! The energy is high for this one in the stadium tonight, listeners!”

The discussion had been a welcome surprise to Kiyoko, and had immediately colored their competitive relationship in a positive light, she thought, as her foot passed over the boundary line and she entered the arena proper, Tsutsumi already awaiting her on the other side.

Miss Me was the presiding referee for their match.

She took in a breath, before exhaling slowly and offering Tsumi a smile and a nod as she lowered into a ready stance across from her. “Good luck Tsutsumi-chan!” The expression she’d earned with her comment was a quizzical one, before Tsutsumi shrugged. “Weird to wish your opponent good luck, but same to you I guess.” “...Ah.” Was Kiyoko’s brilliant response as she now recognized the problem. It got a nervous laugh out of her. “But I can’t help it- I want us both to do well!”

“ARE YOU REEEEEEEADY?!” Present Mic crowed. “ROUND Two, Fight Two, Begins!!”

Like the beginning of her round one, Kiyoko’s metal immediately snapped into place on her limbs and she bolted forward, her bare steel thundering against the concrete of the arena with the dull clanging of semi-hollow metal. Gotta stay away from that border as much as possible. That was the main goal hovering in the back of her mind as she focused everything else on her opponent as they rushed towards each other. Tsutsumi had a very similar approach, aiming to quickly close the distance between the two of them. Her plan: hit hard, hit fast, and don’t get hit. Pretty simple as far as plans though. Tsutsumi wasn’t one for grand battle plans, much preferring to adjust to how her opponent fights on the spot. It made her unpredictable, a challenge that Kiyoko would have to overcome. 

After her first few steps towards Kiyoko, Tsutsumi activated her quirk. Black “smoke” formed around her hands and feet as her eyes began to glow like gold. Her speed also increased substantially as her quirk came to life. 

The dark masses surrounding her hands seemed to shift and in the blink of an eye formed into two daggers. She’d start with them, then change to another weapon if needed. For now though Tsumi just wanted to land the opening hit. Kiyoko brought her arms up with a screech of metal as the daggers deflected off of the metal blades she’d formed jutting out of her forearms. She quickly slashed back at her opponent, putting on the pressure in an attempt to make the other girl switch to the backfoot even if just for a moment, she would pursue her, before falling back again to a defensive form and looking for opportunities to capitalize on.

It didn’t take long for Tsumi to know that she was outmatched when it came to professional training. Kiyoko’s dedication to martial arts was omnipresent in her fighting. So she sought to be more unpredictable than normal, using moves that would catch Kiyoko off guard and would then give her time to recover from sticky situations. Her quirk did give her a speed boost but she’d still have to be careful to move out of risky positions her moves put her in.

Tsumi’s onslaught was powerful, and not without purpose, giving Kiyoko little to no openings to offer much of a reply herself - she had to be so careful not to take any of the attacks head-on, while keeping up her defenses before committing, finally, to offensive attacks. 

Once again Tsumi came in for an attack, utilizing both of her daggers in her attempt to get some damage off on her opponent. As long as at least one of her daggers hit she’d be in a good spot to go for another hit. If not, back up and try again. With that in mind she slashed at Kiyoko...and felt a jolt up her arm as the blade was stopped short suddenly. Kiyoko stared at her from where she stood, teeth clamped onto the blade and not budging. She hadn’t actually intended on blocking this way - it just sort of...happened once she’d realized she’d fallen for the feint with the right hand, and her left wouldn’t have been able to come up to block in time, so she’d lunged downward with her mouth open and bitten her opponent’s weapon. To her surprise, however, shadow was the sturdiest stuff she’d ever bitten - she couldn’t shatter it, even as she increased the pressure not unlike a hydraulic press. They were at an awkward impasse, as Kiyoko had yet to let go and could only stare awkwardly at Tsumi as she tried to figure out what to do. “...I didn’t think this through.” She admitted, a bit mumbled, around the blade.

“Uhh…” Tsumi trailed off. This was not the blocking technique that she had expected from Kiyoko, but it’s what happened and now she didn’t know what to do except stare at her equally confused opponent. “Umm maybe… you know let’s just take a couple steps back from each other, move on from this, and continue like it didn’t happen.” “A brilliant idea.” Kiyoko agreed, before unceremoniously spitting out the blade and back-pedaling as she wiped her mouth with the back of a hand. She can’t believe she just did that on national television. Gods. Tsumi nodded as she dissolved her daggers and backed up. Once they had both finished their back pedals, Tsumi looked at Kiyoko and spoke.”Ready? And Resume!” Kiyoko reformed her hand that she’d used to wipe her mouth into a sword in response, nodding shortly, before switching off the backfoot to meet her in the middle once more. 

The swords Kiyoko makes are never ordinary blades, however. Tsutsumi would quickly learn this, as Kiyoko warped her blades however she pleased to make a blocked blow into a very nearly successful one anyway as the blade, once stopped, would weave and shift its way around the blade that’d blocked it, and split off into spindly pointed ends, like sharpened steel chopsticks, that jabbed at her opponent’s arm. It was only thanks to Tsumi’s enhanced speed and quick thinking that she was able to evade having an arm imitate a pin cushion, but Kiyoko had only just begun to test Tsumi’s speed. She backpedaled, surprisingly, and clapped her hands together, where they fused into one long curved blade, that split into two as her biceps grew in and upwards to form an imitation of a samurai’s war mask and upper body armor over her face and the front of her torso. Kiyoko’s Soldier’s Veneer formed, she was now in a better position to commit to attacking more than defending. She planted her feet in a wide stance, and took in a breath. As she exhaled, her quirk exploded forth with speed as her eyes snapped open and the swords slithered through the air like snakes, going so far as to form snakeheads at the ends, towards her opponent. Though they may have looked intimidating to an onlooker, for those with a discerning gaze, it was clear Kiyoko was moving with the intent to latch on with the sword snakes and immobilize Tsumi. But first she had to catch her.

Tsumi watched Kiyoko change and form her constructs into a completely different form that she had seen before. Now Kiyoko was turning up the heat, and that seemed to mean that daggers weren’t going to cut it anymore. A different strategy was going to be needed to combat this. It was time to get creative with how she would attack, especially since there was now armor in her way. Her mind quickly ran through a wide variety of things she could try to break through Kiyoko’s new defense, until it hit her. The perfect way to break through. 

 Seeing a chance to follow through on her idea, Tsumi used her full speed to quickly set herself up. Charging at Kiyoko, Tsumi jumped off the ground then used the top of Kiyoko’s sword as a springboard to launch herself up higher, setting herself up for a hit as she forced the tip of the blade down with her jump. Forming her claymore mid-air the sudden added weight added momentum to Tsumi’s attack. It was a risky move, that was for sure. But it was the first time she’d done it, so Kiyoko had to be caught a little off guard. Add her enhanced speed onto that and a fair amount of risk had been mitigated. Though she knew that she wouldn’t be able to pull the same trick twice. The claymore came down faster than Kiyoko could move. Her arms were angled down, her guard broken from the weight of Tsumi’s jump, and it was a panicked scramble to try to intercept the claymore as she split her sword in two and it started to shrink as she brought her arms up to guard- Just as a loud CLIANGK!!! reverberated out from where the claymore had slipped in between her arms that she had been bringing up to stop it, too slow, and Kiyoko’s eyes widened as she watched the claymore halt, embedded in the exact center of the false forehead of the armor...and continued to watch as a crack split down the entire length of the construct until it fell off to either side of her, pinging off the concrete by her feet. She didn’t have time to give the shells of her former armor more than a stunned glance before she was gritting her teeth and bringing up her sword arms to smash the claymore to the side and lash out with an extended metal-leg kick to Tsumi’s left side, aiming for the kidney. It went on like this for what felt like forever for the two girls; one would come up with a creative rebuttal and the other would parry, dodge, or tear the attempt to gain an upperhand apart. And then the other side would swap tactics and come up with a creative attack, only for the other to somehow twist out of the way or parry or jump to dodge it. Slipping free, ducking, twisting, punching, shoving, jumping, any way for the two to escape the other and prevail was attempted and responded to in kind for minutes on end. Kiyoko lashed out with her right leg as her swords turned into hands to grasp the claymore and try to hold it in place even if just for a second or two as the leg extended, grew another leg near the base of the thigh to support her torso in its absence, and grow a hand in the place of the original foot as it snatched at Tsumi’s ankle, Kiyoko jerking her leg back to roughly yank Tsumi’s leg out from under her as she twisted the claymore down and to the side, deflecting it and lunging forward as her leg brought Tsumi’s towards her.

Tsumi’s eyes widened as Kiyoko pulled her in. This wasn’t a position she’d want to be in.  Especially as Kiyoko moved to make it a proper grapple. If she didn’t do something quick she could lose it here. She tried to brute force her way out of Kiyoko's grasp, however that appeared wildly ineffective. The grapple made it impossible for her to utilize her strength by not allowing her any leverage in the position. There didn’t seem like there was much she could do at this point. Unless…   

It was risky but it would cause a break if done right. So in a last attempt to break through Tsumi formed a sword to surprise Kiyoko and force a break. Making sure that it’s initial position wasn’t going to lead to a major accidental stab wound.  

Kiyoko couldn’t help the shocked yelp that escaped her as a sword appeared in Tsumi’s grasp - (was this how people felt when she did it?!?!?) - hovering with the tip pointed at her right shoulder, and Kiyoko immediately broke the grapple and shoved Tsumi off of her, rolling away as fast as she could before scrambling to her feet, forming her forearms into blades once more.

There was twisting at the metal knees at impossible angles in order to dodge a split-second sword summoning, a condensed pair of arms to withstand Tsumi’s blows better as they blocked and parried and punched at the gaps in her odd defense. Her legs would suddenly shrink her height by three feet, - ducking under two swipes of Tsumi’s knives, - and send her forward under Tsutsumi’s guard before having her grow and throw the top of her skull up at her chin, narrowly missing as Tsumi used her enhanced speed to barely jerk her head back and out of the way as she stumbled into a backpedal, gaining space between her and Kiyoko again and keeping her back as she re-summoned her claymore and swiped at her legs.

“Almost ten minutes and neither of them seem to be making any ground,” Miss me...couldn’t help but agree with the comms chatter she was hearing from the piece in her ear, her brow furrowing. She watched the two girls go back and forth. Typical matches were maybe a third of what their match was, and they weren’t even done yet. In fact she didn’t know when they would be, it was a stalemate. 

Her concern for the match only grew. The first signs of fatigue were starting to show in the two, and in a weapons fight that becomes dangerous quickly. But to end it now, is that really something she could do in good faith? The way ties are decided are the same every year: an arm wrestle. It’s a quick show of strength, perfect for moving things along. But this match, these two...calling it as a draw...Could she really do that to either of them? 

Their blades let out a rippling clang as metal screeched against congealed shadow and sparks flew, Kiyoko ducking under a slash as she batted it away with her arm only to have to form a shield out of her right arm to catch the incoming blow Tsumi retorted the parry with, in her opposite hand. She watched as Tsumi dented the metal once, twice, three times, as the groaning of metal punched through the air like a blow to Miss Me’s gut. Kiyoko reformed the shield into a fist that caught the next blow by snatching Tsumi’s hand and twisting her wrist in her grip by the thumb and forcing the knife from her grasp as she broke her grip - and had to quickly use her quirk in her legs to front flip over Tsutsumi who had lashed out after reversing the grip on her wrist and using Kiyoko’s arm as a brace to whip a roundhouse kick at her torso. She was rewarded with metal stretching from her hand to behind her, and for all of Kiyoko’s effort, the disarming move hadn’t given her any ground. The two recovered their weapons, and in a perfect parallel, lunged back into the fight.

Miss Me took a deep breath, there was only one thing to do. Even if it hurt her in the moment. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she allowed for two of her students to get injured because she didn’t call the match earlier. She grabbed the whistle around her neck, and her whistle screeched shrilly, reaching the walls of the arena and causing the two students to stumble awkwardly as they forced their moves to miss the other at the last second, before turning to look at her with two equally confused (and fatigued) faces.

“Girls, come over here.” Miss Me waved the students her way, and they shared a glance, Tsumi cocking an eyebrow and Kiyoko shrugging in response, before they joined her. “I’m calling your match a tie, girls. I’m sorry, but I’ve determined it’s too dangerous for you two to continue fighting like this for much longer, you’re both losing steam AND-” She said, sharply cutting off complaints before they could leave either of their faces. She wasn’t finished speaking. “And, that neither of you are making headway against the other. You’re getting nowhere, and I really am sorry.” She made sure to hold them both in a heavy gaze as she tried to impart as much sincerity in her words as possible.“But I have to call the match, we have to think of the other contestants and their matches too.” Kiyoko stared at her in a stunned silence as Miss Me turned away from the two of them to face the rest of the stadium, flipping down the microphone attached to her headpiece. “After much consideration, I am declaring this match has ended in a tie!” Her voice rang out through the stadium speakers, earning a variety of reactions from both the outcries of the crowd and the announcers at this unexpected turn of events. Miss Me spoke up again after a second or two of bearing the uproarious response, waiting for a break in the wall of sound to continue. “A tie-breaker will take place to determine the winner of this match, and we will proceed with the traditional tie-breaker shortly. The rules are to be presented by the match’s presenters.”

Aizawa couldn’t say he was surprised, though he did narrow his eyes a little bit in...consideration of how this turn of events would affect the two first years. But everyone had to remember life wasn’t fair sometimes. Even for heroes. It was still a shame, though. “W-Well, this is certainly an unusual turn of events, BUT!” Present Mic shot right back up to his usual energy levels as he smoothed things over. “Not so unusual that we’ve never planned for something like this before! That’s right folks, a tie-breaker is in order for this match, and the rules are simple! A good old-fashioned arm wrestle to determine the winner! Elbows on the surface at all times, no additional assistance from opposite hands, and quirk use is A-OKAY!”

Kiyoko felt like the world had just fallen from around her as her stomach sailed through her feet in quiet, stunned horror. They had to know. There was no way Miss Me didn’t know. The armwrestle was as good as a death sentence to any chance of Kiyoko winning the round. Her physical strength just couldn’t keep up with Tsumi’s, even with condensing her quirk - there was a reason she knew she’d have to deflect all of her attacks from the very beginning. It was her only chance at all to survive as a competitor in the fight. And they’d just announced they’d taken it away from her. In front of everyone. No...No…!!! She could feel her face heating up and a burning start to sting her eyes as she lowered her gaze to the tops of her silvered feet as she gripped her hands into fists at her sides in an attempt to get the emotions to stop.

Tsumi looked over at Kiyoko, they both had the same thoughts. This can’t be how it ends. It can’t. This match could have ended the normal way, so why? Why call it a tie? Tsumi wanted to fight it, to call it out and demand they fight as normal. And she almost did, opening her mouth to start her rebuttal, but she stopped. Even if she did say something it wouldn’t change what was happening, and that only served to piss her off more. Her mind spiralled with thoughts and emotions. The most prominent of them all were why and the reasons her brain could think of. Despite all the emotions she was feeling, her expression remained neutral. She couldn’t lose her control now, not with basically all of Japan watching.

Once again, she swallowed her feelings for the sake of other people.

“I’ll do it.” Kiyoko broke her silence, looking up from her feet to level a gaze somewhere between resignation and determination towards Miss Me. “I’ll do the armwrestle.” With those words, she’d sealed her fate. She wondered what her parents would do, if they were in her situation. She had no idea, at all.

That sudden declaration from Kiyoko snapped Tsumi out of her thoughts. Kiyoko wasn’t backing down from this so neither should she. “I’ll agree to it as well,” she paused and looked Kiyoko dead in the eye, “on one condition. Kiyoko, you give me everything you’ve got. No giving up just yet.” Tsumi forced a smile in an attempt to help Kiyoko feel a bit better about their situation, though the pain behind it was clear. 

Fight to the bitter end, huh? What a silly condition. Kiyoko had thought that went without saying.

She clapped her hands on her cheeks twice to psyche herself up, before letting out a breath and fixing a determined gaze on Tsumi as she nodded fiercely, shoving down the despair that had been trying to bubble up, burning it up with her determination. Tsumi deserved her best attempt, even if Kiyoko knew what the result would be. “Of course.” Seeing that the two girls had reached an agreement, Miss Me led them over to the table Cementoss raised from the floor of the arena for the two of them, letting them each take their positions on either side.

Tsumi walked to her side of the table. She didn’t even realize it but she was biting her tongue, perhaps to distract herself from how much she wanted to fight what was happening and to stop her emotions from triggering a quirk activation. Betraying the appearance of calmness she had on. She exhaled sharply before placing her elbow on the table, ready for Kiyoko to take her hand to start the arm wrestle. Kiyoko was...handling her emotions with slightly more subtlety, if only because she couldn’t actually afford to bite her lip. She lowered herself to brace an elbow on the table, the silver of her metal sliding into place as it slid down from her shoulder until it closed over her fingertips, cool to the touch as she clasped Tsumi’s hand in hers. She was trying to ignore her heart beating in her ears as Miss Me raised a hand, preparing to declare the start of the bout. Kiyoko thought, maybe, her arm would be shaking if it weren’t solid metal at the moment. She exhaled slowly, and locked eyes with Tsumi as Miss Me’s hand stilled its apex. “BEGIN!” Miss Me’s arm fell, and Kiyoko, having condensed all the metal she could into her one arm, put every ounce of her remaining strength into pushing Tsutsumi’s hand down. ...And to her confusion, there was some give, and then more, and slightly more ground was given - and Kiyoko risked switching her gaze from their hands to Tsutsumi’s eyes and- She felt like she’d just been slapped in the face as she didn’t see the tell-tale yellow glow of Tsutsumi’s quirk consistently in her eyes. She was using it in short spurts, putting on a show, as if Kiyoko actually stood a chance. For the first time, Kiyoko felt a well of anger burn bright enough and swiftly enough to burst forth from her in a bark. “Tsutsumi I am giving it my all, the least I deserve is your all in kind.” Don’t insult me. She mentally braced herself, and refused to close her eyes or look away as she held Tsutsumi’s eyes in her steely gaze. End it, Tsutsumi. 

Tsumi didn’t look at Kiyoko. She couldn’t. Her emotions were all over the place and a feeling of overstimulation was starting to come over her. The flickering of her quirk on and off wasn’t her putting on a show, it was her losing control and Kiyoko’s words didn’t help. She wanted to win this festival more than anything but this didn’t feel like the right way to do it. But this is how it has to be done now and Kiyoko was right, she needed to give it her all and push her emotions aside. Wouldn’t be the first time she had done so. After one last deep breath Tsumi looked up at Kiyoko and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Tsumi’s quirk activated, and there was a loud groaning of metal in that same instant.

Kiyoko offered her a tiny, relieved smile, shared only between the two of them.

Me too.

Creeeeeeakashk!

[Cont.]

[nacrelyses]

normal album analysis as a musical: the child

first a disclaimer: i know this interpretation was not will wood’s intention in making the album, this is just how the music resonates with me and i hope it helps other people as well.

now following up on my last post about the normal album potentially being interpreted as the life of a queer child in a conservative family (tw internalized and external queerphobia, gaslighting, mental illness). 

let’s call this ..hmm.

a normal musical: the child.

suburbia overture: the aforementioned overture, the establishment of the musical setting as your typical white picket fence upper middle class suburb nuclear family. traditional values, traditional lifestyle, traditional children, with the vampire culture segment foreshadowing the way that imposing conservative values and self-loathing on a closeted queer child “sucks” the life out of them.

2econd-2ight-2eer: when the child starts questioning, the very act of questioning defies the moral compass their family has set out for them. possibly reflecting the way that questioning and exploring one’s identity, in addition to being rife with internalized queerphobia, is also fraught with the self-gaslighting that comes as a result of the internalized queerphobia, which might make the child believe they’re simply “losing it” or that whatever they’re experiencing is a mental illness. also the first stanza: “my grip on my secrets slipping while i’m speaking in tongues, screaming at the top of my lungs in the confession booth” religious trauma much?

laplace’s angel: the child has begun to come to terms with the fact that they are most likely queer, and the complete deterioration of their family’s imposed conservative values. this is the phase where the internalized queerphobia still makes them feel as though they’ve become a bad or evil person, thus laplace’s angel being them internally pleading for the world and for society to see them as they really are rather than a villain deviating from the norm. that if others were in their shoes, they’d walk the “same damn miles”, the same damn crises, the same damn emotional turmoil, that the child is currently going through .

i/me/myself: gender cannonball...need i say more? maybe the child believes, as a product of internalized transphobia, that it would be easier if they were their assigned gender - or perhaps, depending on the individual, maybe the child is wishing to be able to exist as their true gender. in either scenario, this song encapsulates the desperation that comes with exploring identity. the freedom that arrives with a revelation and the immediate restriction that comes with realizing that that revelation can never be truly realized in a queerphobic family. or even the bitterness at knowing their family makes such a huge deal about queerness, that queerness is somehow a gigantic roadblock their family will never be able to cross. both realizing your identity and still grappling with the idea that if you were born into the “norm”, you wouldn’t need to go through all this pain to try and figure out who you really are. it’s the turmoil of being genuine in a society that would actively oppress you for doing so and putting up a facade that somewhat lessens the aforementioned pain, but at the cost of further internal suffering. 

also, to my fellow genderqueer and gender nonconforming will wood fans (and let’s face it, which one of us isn’t?): i see you. i see your spotify listening activity. i see the loop button. i would ask if you’re okay but i know we’re not

...well, better than the alternative: parenting angst here, maybe alluding to the parents themselves perpetuating toxic cycles that they never had the opportunities to realize or heal from. the child is born amid these toxic cycles, and although this toxicity (the queerphobia, for example) is the norm in this suburban family, deep down the parents don’t want their child to turn out the way they do. meanwhile, on the other end, the child is feeling as though “everybody’s up in my goddamn business” - maybe the parents are starting to suspect that their child is less than cishet (or maybe the child has come out to them), and within their denial of their child not turning out the way they want them to, maybe they unconsciously realize that it’s their own toxic parenting styles that have made their child so afraid and secretive about who they really are. if this is the scenario that the child has come out to their parents, they have decided that even if they are existing in a conservative family, they will be existing as themselves. or if it is a closet scenario, the child has decided that they will continue to hide themselves from their family for their own safety. in either situation, the child believes that the decision they made is “better than the alternative” 

(this song also makes me remember hospitals a lot so there’s that)

outliars and hyppocrates: we start off with some more religious (trauma) imagery. maybe the metaphor of the apple is trying to indicate to the parents, through the conservative lens of seeing queerness as something bad, that the child was not “brainwashed” or “taught” to be this way. that they simply are. the rest of the song grapples with that internalized queerphobia, maybe the child feeling that they are less than human because of their queerness but who’d want to be human, be the norm, anyway? if the child is made to feel Other, then they ought to embrace and wear and own that Otherness - out of defiance, out of desperation, but ultimately out of a need for survival. 

blackboxwarrior: i want to focus on the chorus here. the child’s mental struggles are exacerbated by the lack of acceptance they receive from their immediate environment, but the chorus acts as sort of a defiance against their internalized queerphobia. so what if their parents’ values portray queerness as an illness, something that will kill you? if it was going to kill the child, it would have by now; and it hasn’t, so surely the child is heading in a right direction to be exploring and reclaiming their identity. and then the bridge - “growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence?” ties back to i/me/myself’s grappling with the idea of self and existence in one’s body. growing up, how was the child’s relationship with the environment that dictated how they ought to exist and be perceived? and “what, you think ideas spread because they're good? / no, they spread because people like them” can be pointing to the conservative ideas that are perpetuated by the child’s family. these ideas do not spread because they’re good. they spread because the family wants an excuse from some higher power to discriminate against those they feel are outliers from the norm. “so here we are once again, holding, as it were, a mirror up to your mirror / i guess it's just something people do” can be pointing to how the way the child is trying to come to terms with their identity is by overcoming the toxic ways of thought that their parents taught them, and which their parents are still bound by. if the parents are to find out that their child is queer, their reaction will be to ask, “why? we don’t understand you?” but they are really only talking to the mirror, to the reflection they have constructed that they believe their child to be. their child is not that reflection, and they are going in circles, but that’s just what people do, i guess.

finally, the bridge being formatted sort of like one’s first session with a therapist or psychiatrist leads into marsha, thankk you for the dialectics.

marsha, thankk you for the dialectics: a heavily psychiatry-based song. marsha thankk is about the intertwining of the self with the illness and i value that meaning a lot. i can’t think of another way, nor do i particularly want to think of another way, to embed this song’s meaning into the child. it has grown obvious by this point that the child has their own mental illnesses to grapple with - whether they arose as a need to cope within their toxic home environment, or out of other factors, is not particularly important to be clarified. i would say that the meaning of this song in this musical is just what it was originally intended to be - the child, on their path to recovery, slowly separating those toxic coping mechanisms from themselves in order to really realize their identity. 

love, me normally: i wrote a long ass post about this at 12am this morning. 

memento mori: the musical’s closure. this song embodies a lot of nihilism about one’s existence and one’s meaning in existence, and i would like to think that this song being the musical’s closure is not closure in the sense that it gives you a “where are they now” glimpse, or that it gives you the final direction that the child has decided to head in. rather, memento mori exists in this musical as the child’s innermost thoughts about their own existence as somebody who seemingly defies the (supposed cishet) order of the universe. it is the child’s darkest, most shadowed and hidden ruminations about their life and what their death may bring, if anything at all. throughout the child’s life, throughout the musical, these thoughts have only been hidden, obscured and glimpsed in passing when the lyrical puzzles of the normal album’s previous songs unfurl (think, “if it was gonna kill you boy, it would have by now” and “am i pretty enough to fucking die” and “good news for the purists, they’ve discovered a cure for the symptoms of being alive / it’s a painless procedure with a low rate of failure, but very few patients survive”, etc). but as the musical’s finale, memento mori brings these thoughts into their very antithesis - into the light. it illuminates the rawness of the child’s pain in learning to accept and love themselves. it brings these thoughts into tangible and articulated reality for two reasons: 

for the audience, as both a warning of the results of such a toxic and intolerant family/environment and an articulation of the thoughts perhaps many of us, ourselves, have to contend with at some point in our lives.

and for the child themselves, so that they can fully realize these thoughts. so that they can parse them, articulate them, unlearn them, and begin to heal.

memento mori in this musical is, paradoxically, a song about death that encourages life to heal.

anyways that’s what i’ve got so far now i have homework i should...do....oh god-

[jq37]

The Case File – Mice and Murder Ep 1

The Case of the The Pernicious Party  

Hello, hello, hello! It’s been a hot second but your resident D20 recapper is back to tackle the newest season: Mice and Murder! Y’all had to know I wasn’t gonna sit out the murder mystery, are you kidding me???

I might be playing around with the format a bit in the coming weeks to make sure I have the best possible system for keeping track of possible clues, suspects, and theories as we untangle whatever web Brennan weaves for us this season so don’t be surprised if things change a little. 

Anyway, without further ado, onto our mystery!

Summary

In case you missed it, this season takes place in an alternate, Zootopia/Wind in the Willows-esque universe where all the characters are animals but history seems to have happened in more or less the same way--for example there was still a King Charles but he was a King Charles Spaniel (cute Brennan). Our story specifically takes place in the English village of Tufting Meadows.  

We start with Katie’s character--Gangie Green (Weasel/Thief Rogue) in the graveyard of the Anglican Chapel (Our Lady of Prayerful Paws). Gangie, we learn, is an orphan who was kicked out of the orphanage at some point for thievery. Obviously, he’s not reformed of the habit because he is here to do some graverobbing. On a nat 20 (that Katie hilariously doesn’t notice even though her total is like a 29) Gangie can see through the window of the rectory that there is a weeping window inside--Catherine McCabbage who is being (dubiously) tended to by Raph’s character, Vicar Ian Prescott (Owl/Bard, College of Eloquence). 

Ian comes from a line of men of the cloth but he’s not exactly the best speaker despite his subclass. He’s doing his best though! The widow’s husband (Conor McCabbage) died at the local mill in what has been declared an accident but she suspects foul play. She’s been hearing his voice on the wind and wants Ian’s professional opinion on whether this could be a sign from God or if her husband might be speaking to her from beyond the grave or something like that. Ian gives a very muddled and not very comforting answer but seems pretty sure that something sketchy did in fact happen. Then, he sees a crack of lightning outside which illuminates the graveyard where he gets a glimpse of Gangie. 

He goes to check it out (and Gangie fully has an elderly goat he’s dug up slung over his shoulder) but “gravedigger” is his legit job so Ian decides to assume whatever’s going on is legit and not ask too many questions. He goes back to the widow (who, before she leaves, says that maybe sometimes people need to work on God’s behalf) while Gangie takes the body Loam Hall (a massive manor, built into a hill).

We cut to the next day and our next two characters! 

At 22B Hamsted Street in a pretty well appointed home are Ally and Grant’s characters. First up, we have Lars Vandenchomp (Huge ass Doberman/Battlemaster Fighter) who is so tough looking but also so Swedish sounding--it’s A Lot (so, incredibly on brand for Ally). Lars is security for Grant’s character Sylvester Cross (Fox/Inquisitive Rogue) who is a kinda (to use Grant’s word) “foppish” Sherlock Holmes type. He was hired by Squire William Thornwall Brockhollow to figure out what happened with Conor McCabbage (and clear him of negligence in running the mill) but he couldn’t find any evidence of any funny business, making this the only case he’s never cracked. He’s not as young or popular as he once was so this is, understandably, bumming him out. He’s even more bummed out when he realizes that William has invited him to his 60th birthday party that’s happening that night (as kind of a prop to show that he did his part in trying to solve the mystery) and Lars has already RSVP’d yes. He grudgingly agrees to go as it’s one of those asks that’s really more of a veiled demand but decides to pull the money he was paid from the bank first so he can return it and really stick it to the guy.

Finally, we cut to our last set of PCs who are on their way to Tufting Meadows via a very luxurious train. Inside are Sam and Rekha’s characters! Sam is Buckster $ Boyd (Peccary which is like a small boar/Mastermind Rouge) a Texan Oil Tycoon who acts exactly how you’d expect a Texan Oil Pig to act. Yes, you pronounce the dollar sign as “dollar sign” (even though as we find out later his middle name is Cassius so it’s like Cash which I think is super cool). With him is Rekha’s character, Daisy D'umpstaire (Raccoon/Assassin (???) Rogue another American (from South Carolina) though it seems she’s My Fair Lady’d herself into an upper class socialite (her last name was previously Dumpster). They’re traveling with their accountant, an Armadillo named Armond who seems kinda skittish and concerned about their travel expenses but Buck tells him that to make money you gotta spend money and they’re gonna make a *ton* of money on this trip. They’re also so so mean to him for absolutely no reason. 

When the train stops, they’re greeted by Templeton Padhop (a frog, natch) who is the chauffeur of Loan Hall, sent to fetch them. A wheel on his car is broken so he joins in on the Armond abuse immediately and has Armond roll into an Armadillo ball and replace it. Poor guy. When they show up they're greeted by a footman--a pug in a bowler hat named Milo Snout.

Meanwhile, Lars and Sly (Oh, Sly fox, I see what you did there Grant) are similarly greeted by another footman--a lizard named Basil Baskins. On a 23 perception check, Lars sees that Jeremy “Jez” Brockhollow is inside (the son of William who is a badger btw) and also clocks Gangie (who they know as a career criminal who disappeared like a year ago). Gangie doesn’t notice Lars though. 

Ian, who is also invited, shows up at about the same time as Sly but very quickly, the conversation is taken over by Lucretia “Lucy” Brockhollow, William’s older, eccentric sister who immediately gets into it with Lars about astrology and the occult (she thinks bad stuff is happening because of a curse let loose when Sly’s old rival--a rabbit named Fletcher Cottonbottom who is the son of his former employer--opened an Egyptian tomb). They’re thick as thieves right away because Ally is a nonsense magnet. And not like a regular magnet, one of those big electromagnets. 

Daisy and Buck spot William’s kids--the aforementioned Jez and his older sister Constance--along with their husbands Dr. Corbin Magpie (Constance’s and obv a magpie and a doctor) and Osmond Sheffield (Jez’s who is a Ram and a lawyer). Daisy is too stuck in her conversation with a truly unhinged squirrel (Lady Eugenia Bristlebrush who clearly does not know she’s in a murder mystery because she just keeps talking about how much she hates and wants to kill everyone) to hear what’s going on but she indicates the conversation to Buck who is able to eavesdrop and hear that they’re lamenting that Catherine--the widow--RSVP’d no which is gonna look really bad, like they didn’t invite her (bad PR). 

Buck, introducing himself as a business partner of William, eases into a conversation with the husbands which their respective spouses also join into and we learn that Buck's dad was British and a friend of Willian’s. Buck bonds with Jez (who is a bit of a dilettante) really quickly since Buck is ready to go drinks-wise immediately (and there’s a stellar pun about the “American [Drinking] Constitution''). Through the window, Buck notices Gangie outside getting his attention. 

At the same time, Ian is going from party guest to party guest, giving out the penances he forgot to earlier at church (as one does). We see him talking to the Lord and Lady Bramble (a cow and hedgehog, respectively) and while she wants to pray her way out of situations without doing any legwork, he wants to buy his way out and gives Ian 250 pounds. A frustrating but financially lucrative conversation.  

Buck goes outside to talk to Gangie who has a list of names of the bodies he’s been collecting. We’re not told what Buck is doing but it seems that this list is extremely valuable to him in some way. Gangie (who Buck keeps calling Gangly, to his annoyance) pays him handsomely (like, with a 50% tip) for the list (and Gangie gives him the real list, despite Brennan saying he didn’t have to). We also learn that Gangie has allegedly been getting the orders from someone in Loa Hall and they flow from William himself.

Matilda Molesly (a mole and the head maid) invites Gangie to come in from the rain--she’s the only person who’s been consistently nice to him and he agrees to come in for tea and scones. 

Everyone is ushered together by the butler (because of course there’s a butler--he’s quite literally a fancy rat named Thomas Gilfoyle) and William gives a speech where he wishes Conor well and kinda highlights that he did hire Sly to solve the case in a “Hey, I did my bit don’t blame me” kind of way. He also makes a 150k pound donation to the church (and Ian thought 250 was good) and tells his daughter not to read the praise he got for it from the cardinal when she mentions it (I wonder if that was choreographed). Sly interrupts the speech to “magnanimously” give his money back, to William’s annoyance. Buck notices that Lawrence Longfoot (a nouveau rich, rabbit photographer) takes a pic of the scene but with Sly in the foreground and William in the background. 

Then, a few things happen at once (in a very cinematic way):

As the camera flashes, Mrs. Molesly drops her tray, eyes hurt by the light. Lady Calliope Fawnbrooke (Deer, Matron of the Arts) helps her up.

In the moment of dark, after the flash goes away, the butler disappears. 

Buck thinks he sees a shape through the window, out in the rain. 

A cheer goes up for Sly for returning the money but all Sly can focus on is one figure he recognizes in the back of the room. Daisy, who is downing her drink and not cheering for him. He downs his as well, and looks at her until she breaks the stare and leaves the room. 

And this episode doesn’t end with a dead body like I thought, but with a flashback to a younger Sylvester, 12 years ago when he first met Daisy.

PC INTERPERSONAL DRAMA Y’ALL!!! Get HYPED! 

Case Notes

Here is a compilation of all the characters (PCs and NPCs introduced in this episode). 

Sly mentions that Ignatius Cottonbottom faked his own death as a part of some scheme which seems like a backstory point that might come back later--we now know that there exists a way to convincingly fake your own death in this world. 

Sly walks with a walking stick because of some “mysterious accident” but we’re jumping into a flashback next week so it looks like we might find out about it pretty soon. 

Sly also mentions he used to be the personal physician to the elder Cottonbottom so those are skills he has. I wonder if that’ll be useful to this healer-less party. I wonder if cleric was even an option in this world which seems to be low to no magic. It would explain by Ian is a bad and not a cleric. 

Lars has a military background which I wanted to mention in case it becomes relevant later. 

And Dr. Magpie grew up poor and still acts it a bit even though he married a very rich woman. Brennan uses the very good line, “He forces his body into the shape of an apology”

This might be a really deep cut reference but did anyone else here was the old Britcom “Keeping Up Appearances”? Cause I was getting serious Bouquet/Bucket energy from Daisy. 

This is an all College Humor season and it shows. The energy of 6 (7 if you count Brennan) top notch comedians sparking off of each other, trying to one up each other is off the charts. Some of the best bits this episode:

“When God closes every door but one, you go through the door that is open.” followed by “I’m an owl by the way.”

“Time is money, here’s both” from Buck re his inscribed gold pocket watch--everyone at the table loved that so much and they’re right. 

Armond going from being a third to a fourth wheel. 

And the names--I already shouted out a ton on the main recap but also a rat butler (like Rhett Butler) and naming the mouse Cat(therine). Can’t forget Gangie Green/gangrene from Katie. Also points to Ally for the data stealing Eel Musk which broke Brennan a little. 

I know we just went through this with Crown of Candy but what are these animals eating? Like, in Zootopia there were only mammals so we can assume the carnivores are eating like birds and fish but there are sentient birds here. I know this isn’t important. I’m not trying to do a CinemaSins gotcha. I just wonder, you know?

Y’all were waiting for all the lights to go out during that speech and then come back on and there’d be a body too, right?

If Brennan makes the bad guy a chicken or a duck or something so he can make a “fowl play” joke, he is cordially invited to catch these hands. 

I have been waiting for Raph and Katie to do D20 forever. Their specific brand of nonsense on Rank Room was always amazing. 

I love love love that Grant and Rekha are the PCs that have ~a past~ because they are so funny together. If you haven’t seen their episode of Game Changers, you absolutely must (it’s also a murder mystery actually!). 

[minaslittleone]

Fission & Fusion (Part 2)

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Summary: How did the refined and proper Wilhemina Venable end up working for two coked-up tech bros out of the back of a van?

An origin story of sorts, dedicated to the amazing @lucyintheskywithxanax who has developed such a beautiful and nuanced depiction of Mina. This was inspired by her incredible story "And I failed to climb the mountain".

Word count: ~2700

The hours after that were fuzzy. After storming out of her parents house with little more than the bare essentials and no intention of returning Wilhemina didn't really have much of a plan. She had never fantasized about running away as a child, she hadn't even been brave enough to rebel vicariously and yet here she was, with no plan and no where to go. And terrified.

But Wilhemina was nothing if not practical so she sequestered all of those doubts and anxieties down into the deepest corners of her brain to be dealt with later, she told herself. Really to be dealt with never.

Practically speaking, money was her first concern. She knew that her mother's threat to cut her off had not been idle, but she also hoped that her mother would continue to underestimate her long enough that she would be able to clear the remaining funds out of her account before her mother froze it. Her pride raged against the idea of taking the idea of taking the money religiously placed into her "allowance" once a month by her father, hating how spoiled that made her sound and wanting to be free of any lingering ties to her parents. She would have gladly traded every last dime for any other monthly ritual with her father, for anything with him really. But she was a casualty of her parents' failing marriage, the only thing that they hated more than each other was the idea of acknowledging that their marriage had long since fallen apart. Her father avoided the house like the plague, and her by extension, throwing himself deeper and deeper into his professional life to mask the failure of his personal one. And so their relationship had become almost completely transactional, her father attempting to atone for his absence by providing her with everything she could ever dream of, save for the one thing she truly wanted - his affection. But as much as she hated the money and everything it represented, she really wasn't left with much of a choice.

That was how she found herself standing in front of a bank teller at 1:30pm on a Wednesday afternoon, lying through her teeth and praying that her voice wasn't shaking as much as her hands. Exactly how she had got there she wasn't sure - a bus? Surely she hadn't walked this far - she was completely focused on getting what money she could and getting out.

The process was certainly made easier by the fact that she had been coming to this branch since her father had opened the account on her sixteenth birthday. And maybe for once in her life her twisted frame would be an asset - it was difficult to forget a girl her age with flaming red hair and a cane.

So she lied. She told the teller that she was using the money to put towards a car but that her parents were unfortunately too busy to accompany her. That part wasn't even really a lie, her parents were always too busy. Either way the teller didn't seem to see anything unusual about depositing the entire $5000 balance into Wilhemina's hand, before politely wishing her a pleasant day.

She had thought she would feel safer with the money in hand, feel like she had more control over the situation. In fact all it did was make her realise how vulnerable she was. How she would never be able to defend herself if someone decided they wanted to take it from her. Maybe her mother had been right, maybe she really was too broken and useless to survive on her own.

She could feel her heart racing. She had to find somewhere to stay. Find somewhere that she could get off the street. Maybe then she would feel safer. Maybe.

Except she didn't know how long she would need to make that $5000 last. She had no job and had effectively forfeited her degree the minute she walked out her parents' front door. Any future prospects she had were tied to their connections anyway. Oh god, what was she going to do? She had no experience and no qualifications, and any jobs that would have been open to her without those were made impossible by her twisted spine. She wouldn't have been able to stand for long enough to finish a shift as a waitress, let alone carry much whilst also maneuvering her cane.

So she would have to make the money last. At least until she managed to come up with a better plan. Which is how she found herself unpacking her meagre possessions into a battered shell of a room in a run down hotel that offered rooms by the hour. As she eased herself down onto the bed, finally allowing her back some respite after hours on her feet, she reasoned that this was the best choice for now. And she would think of something, this was only temporary.

But it hurt. The adrenaline from her triumphant exit earlier that morning was long gone and now she was left with the painful reality of what life on her own would look like. At the moment it consisted of a sea of mismatched floral patterned fabrics, a green melamine kitchenette and far too many questionable stains.

She felt like she was suffocating, that the battered walls with their pealing wallpaper were steadily encroaching on her, squeezing the last ounces of calm and confidence out of her by force. She had to get out, had to keep moving, had to keep busy lest the reality of her situation catch up to her and drown her in its melancholy.

She burst from the room, shaking fingers struggling clumsily against the lock. She had to get away, to be anywhere but here. Away from the stale smelling room with the pealing wallpaper. Away from the lumpy bed swathed in garish floral covers of questionable cleanliness. Away from the suffocating reminder of how alone she was.

It shouldn't have surprised her that she would end up back in the college library, it's where she spent most of her time any way, finding any excuse she could not to go home. It was quiet and it was safe. Between the warm, dim lighting and the earthy smell of the old wooden shelves and the books themselves Wilhemina finally began to calm. She could feel the tension to funnel out of her trembling fingers, feel heart finally stop racing and draw her first real breath in hours.

She didn't know how long she sat there, not really seeing or hearing the world around her, just being, adjusting. Letting her body and mind begin to come to terms with her situation. Start to reset her parameters and realise that she wasn't going home tonight, that there wasn't a home to go anymore. Perhaps there never had been, not in the ways that mattered.

She was drawn from her haze by the gentle but insistent whispering of her name that indicated that this wasn't the first time the owner had tried to rouse her. As her vision cleared she was met with the kind, if not slightly concerned countenance of her adviser, Professor Thompson.

"Is everything alright, Wilhemina?" She could only nod dumbly in response. "I missed you in class this morning" the older woman added. "I know you said had a specialist appointment and might be late, but I got worried when you never showed up. Did everything go ok?" Wilhemina couldn't find the words to answer, couldn't find a way to explain how her life had been pulled out from under her in the preceding few hours. Her mouth guppied in response, producing several sounds that could have been the start of ideas but nothing intelligible.

Professor Thompson's brow furrowed. Over the years that she had known Wilhemina Venable she had always been impressed by her tenacity. For all this young woman had endured, she had refused to let it define her. She was always the first present in class, sitting front and centre, attention never wavering, even on the days Professor Thompson could see the tell tale signs of pain breaking through her indifferent facade. The tension in her brow and jaw, the twitch of her lips and narrowing of her eyes at each spasm, the shifting in her seat in a desperate effort to find some level of comfort. There was a hardness, a determination in the eyes of that girl which said she refused to give up which was notably absent now, replaced by a glazed, foggy expression that made Professor Thompson's heart hurt.

"Wilhemina," she tried again, "would it be easier if we discussed this in my office?" The redhead's eyes rolled up to meet hers almost drunkenly, obviously still not entirely processing the world around her. She managed a small nod, vacant eyes focusing somewhere in the middle distance. "Here, let me take your bag" she offered, hands floating just beyond Wilhemina's shoulders as the redhead hoisted herself to her feet, swaying slightly as she found some semblance of equilibrium.

Professor Thompson couldn't help but bring a hand to gently cup Wilhemina's upper arm, causing the younger woman to finally meet her gaze. Oh and didn't it just break her heart, the pleading terrified desperation she found in those deep brown eyes. "Come on, dear" she coaxed, "this way."

Wilhemina felt herself start to come back into her own body as she sat in Professor Thompson's office, old worn leather chair beneath her and warm cup of sweetened tea pressed into her trembling hands.

Professor Thompson noticed the change as well. "Easy, dear" she cautioned, as Wilhemina's shaking hands tried to raise the warm mug to her lips. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes" Wilhemina managed to rasp.

Professor Thompson reached out her hand to rest on Wilhemina's knee, rubbing slow comforting circles. "Do you think you can me what happened? Was it something at your appointment? Do you need another surgery?"

"No" Wilhemina whispered, teeth worrying her bottom lip before lifting her eyes to the older woman, who's warm gaze encouraged her to continue. "The surgeon doesn't want to do anything, doesn't think it's necessary to do anything. My mother on the other hand is not satisfied and won't be until I look *normal*"

"I'm sure she just wants the best for you" the older woman tried.

"She wants me to stop being an embarrassment. She flat out told the surgeon she doesn't care about my pain, she only wants him to fix how hideous I look." It was happening again, Wilhemina realised, the years of repressed pain and frustration spewing out of her unbidden. "The surgeon stopped recommending procedures when I was eighteen because they weren't likely to help but my mother kept insisting because I looked so hideous she couldn't stand it. She put me through years of pain because I was so ugly and she was so ashamed of me." Her voiced cracked as the tears she had tried so hard contain broke free down her cheeks.

"She was trying to do it again" Wilhemina choked. "She was trying to convince him to operate again and I finally told her no."

"And how did she take that?" Professor Thompson asked, almost fearing the answer. Wilhemina let out a self-depricating laugh through her tears, rolling her eyes. "Wilhemina," she added urgently, gently squeezing her knee to get her attention, "she didn't hurt you, did she?"

Wilhemina stopped at that. "Not physically, no." A beat of understanding passed between the two women before Wilhemina continued. "She threw me out, cut me off, told me I was completely on my own unless I agree to have the surgery. Told me I can kiss my degree goodbye." The older woman gasped. "I told her she could have it, I was done with her controlling my life."

Professor Thompson reached out to take Wilhemina's hands, squeezing them in her own. "That was so incredibly brave." Wilhemina let out a wry chuckle "You don't think I'm completely mad?" Another warm squeeze of her hands. "Absolutely not. I think you are so strong."

Wilhemina raised her eyes again to meet those of her professor, searching them for the signs of a lie. Finding none she felt her chin begin to tremble as she fought against the tears.

She lost. The tears came bubbling out of her against her will. Tears for the years of pain she had endured, both physical and emotional, at her mother's hands. Tears for the little girl who spent years in pain trying to convince her parents that it wasn't all in her head. For her childhood that had been stolen from her. For the little girl alone in a hospital, who's parents were far too busy to visit, who was left to rely on nurses for comfort and support. For the twenty four year old woman who had just lost everything.

She curled in on herself as much as her twisted spine would allow, rocking rhythmically backwards and forwards, trying in vain to offer herself some comfort. She felt the chair next to her dip and then she was being cradled in her advisors arms - how embarassing. But try as she might she couldn't quiet the hysterical sobs.

Eventually pulled herself out of the older womans arms, trying to regain some level of dignity. Professor Thompson gave her hands one last squeeze as she let her go.

"We will find a solution to all of this" she assured "but for now all of that can wait. You need to eat and you need to sleep. You must be exhausted" Wilhemina nodded, still frantically pawing at her tear-stained cheeks. There was no point hiding anymore, not after her earlier display.

"Do you have somewhere to stay?" Professor Thompson asked. "You're welcome to my spare room if not"

"No it's fine" Wilhemina replied, glad to avoid imposing on her professor further. "I have a hotel room."

"Ok I'll drive you" Wilhemina tried valiantly to rebuff Professor Thompson's kindness, but the older woman would not be dissuaded. And once Wilhemina realised how dark it had gotten she was secretly grateful.

As the car came to a stop in front what currently passed for Wilhemina's lodgings, Professor Thompson took her hand once more. "After work tomorrow" she pressed "I am picking you up and you are having dinner with me. It will give us a chance to come up with a plan for what happens next. I refuse to see someone as smart and driven as you are, Wilhemina, be sabotaged by negligent parenting. We will figure this out."

Wilhemina couldn't even bring herself to try and rebuff such kindness, for how her heart ached for it. Instead all she could manage was a watery "okay" and tremulous smile. As she walked back to her room she felt lighter than she had all day, tension finally beginning to drain from her body like water trickling down her arms and plummeting from her fingertips.

Exhaustion quickly rose to fill vacancy making her limbs heavy and fingers clumsy. Almost there, she told herself as she struggled with foreign keychain, not much longer. Just inside the door and then you can rest. But try as she might her exhausted mind could not make sense of the lock nor could it co-ordinate her trembling fingers well enough to keep hold of the keys which fell limply to the concrete just beyond her door.

It was as if the universe was laughing at her, she thought, as she gingerly squatted down, bending her legs to compensate for her immobilised spine. After all the humiliation she had endured today she could not be allowed to rest without at least one more reminder of her inadequacy. So fucking useless, the voice in ear chided, so fucking stupid. Hurry up and pick up the god damn keys and open the door like a normal, functional human being. Can you manage that much at least?

And maybe she could have managed it had the hand she extended to reach for her keys not been firmly crushed into the concrete and pulled away from her by a steal-capped boot, upsetting her precarious equilibrium and sending her sprawling face first into the concrete.

"Now, what's a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?"

A/N: Ok, so number one - I'm sorry (ducks). I promise I won't hurt her too much. This part wasn't even in my original plan but then the angsty little plot demons took over and here we are. Number two - for those of you who are interested I wrote Professor Thompson with Prof. Stromwell (Holland's character from legally blonde) in mind because I think she is exactly the type of tough but caring person that baby Mina would be drawn to. But also because I'm dying to see Sarah and Holland work on a project together, so this was my own vicarious little head cannon.

[wh6res]

Delusional, 1, 21, Chenle please. I’m not sure if I have to specify the reader’s gender but it’d be great if it was male or gender neutral, thanks! Also, if there was another delusional, 1, 21, Chenle that was me, I forgot to add in the details, sorry.

what friends are for | chenle

synopsis. chenle is done playing nice.

warning. yandere themes, swearing, character death, rip chensung

your family may not be in the same level of wealth from his—the zhongs are damn near considered royalty!—but money never hindered your friendship with the heir. never once paying heed to the nasty side glances thrown your way whenever you're invited to sit at their table during soireés or charity events.

“thank you, really, mr. zhong, but my family—”

“well, bring them over here too! the more the merrier!”

and if there was one thing chenle’s parents liked about you, it was how family-oriented you seem to be. wanting to stick by your older brothers and sisters side. it just so happens that the zhongs treasure that principle the most.

blood is thicker than water.

so it was within these reasons why chenle, for the fucking life of him, doesn’t understand why you let that other brat into your little duo—park jisung wasn’t even in the same social class as the two of you!

you met him during this dance class you attended in downtown seoul. you had begged your mother to attend, and after she obliged, begged chenle to come with you. but no, while you may possess a compassionate nature, not at all minding the status quo, your childhood best friend, however, does not.

“oh, come on, lele. it’ll be fun!”

“i mean—i just don’t see the point of having to drive downtown for dance classes when we can just attend here! the choreographers are more world-renowned than those no-names you’ll meet in downtown.”

oh, how badly he wished he had agreed to come instead. or else you wouldn’t’ve met that middle-class peasant, wouldn’t’ve forced chenle to play nice, to smile through his annoyance as he nodded and waved at the boy you introduced to him.

“hey, i’m park jisung! i’ve heard all about you and your family here in the upper east, by the way. never thought i’d be meeting you, but here we are! let’s be good friends!”

if it weren’t for your sparkling eyes, chenle would’ve spat at the hand the other kid was offering. but instead…

“thanks, i guess? i’m chenle! and sure, i’d love to be friends.”

the agreement was movies after class at chenle’s place—it was what you texted in your little group chat with him and jisung. but when you arrived at the zhong’s estate after finishing up your extracurriculars, their helpers had quickly stated that the young master has yet to come home.

you had turned around to observe the row of cars in the zhong’s front yard, quickly noticing his red tesla is nowhere to be seen.

after bidding a quick goodbye to the butler who had answered the door, you quickly spun in your heels. trekking your way back to your chauffeur pulled up on the circular driveway, annoyance radiating off you.

jisung isn’t even here yet! and it was already fifteen minutes past the scheduled time. he’s hardly ever late.

just as your driver opens his mouth to ask what happened, the obvious frown and distress on your features is enough explanation for him, so he remains quiet as he waits for your instructions.

you pull out your phone to check if you accidentally missed any messages from either of the two boys, quickly finding that no, there wasn’t. no text or calls about sudden changes of plans from either of them.

until your phone chimes. a new message.

jwi-sUng, 6:29PM — yo chenle said lets watch at my dorm instead — see yuh

stupid. it was so stupid of you not to realize the signs. jisung is never late in his entire life, that boy is as punctual as he can get. and he’ll never use words like “yo” or “yuh” because… because, those were chenle’s texting style. and when you came inside jisung’s house, it should’ve struck you why the house is so quiet, why the house didn’t smell like ms. park’s cooking, why it was chenle himself that answered the door.

“ji and i have been waiting for you!” he cheers, slinging an arm over your shoulder before practically dragging you into the house.

“i came to your place and you weren’t there! either of you could’ve sent me a text or some—”

you stop rambling when you see the state of their living room. the couch is torn, the tv’s screen is cracked, porcelain vases smashed into a million pieces, tables overturned. it looks like a storm surged through the whole place and you’re now witnessing the aftermath.

but a storm didn’t do this. not when your eyes have zeroed in on jisung and his mom tied up in the middle of the room, men in suits guarding every window and exit of the house. some of them you’ve seen trailing behind chenle and his parents. the zhong’s bodyguards. brutes with no heart whatsoever, doing whatever the powerful family asks them to do.

“chenle. what… what’s the meaning—”

“i’m done playing nice. all i want is you. all i’ve ever wanted was you.”

he spat like poison as you stand immobile before the scene in front of you. the heir never thought he’d get a kick from seeing your face contorted with fear and confusion. but it did. and he basked in it.

you waited patiently for the punchline. for one of them to say ‘gotcha!’ but when your eyes met jisung’s fearful ones, you knew this wasn’t any sick joke they came up with to prank you. nope. this is as real as the hand chenle uses to push your hair away from your face as he stands before you, breaking the eye contact you have with the dancer.

“oh, come on…” he pouts cutely, looking out of place in a trashed up apartment. “i’m the one that isn’t tied up and you still don’t pay attention to me?”

“chenle, what’s going on?”

he laughs boisterously and you can’t help but wonder how more witch-like it sounded rather than the usual, innocent dolphin’s.

“i have everything i want,” he boldly claims, pacing before you, the cheap fluorescent lights of jisung’s home accentuates the harsh angles of his face. “money’s a given. power, too. with just those two, i can have the whole world at the palm of my hand—”

“let them go.”

you flinch when two burly men in suits start closing in on you from both sides. hands darting forward to grab both of your arms, until chenle gave them a hard stare, to which both retreated immediately. you understood what that look meant. no, not yet.

“geez… at least humor me, why don’t you?”

you don’t answer him.

“right,” he starts again, freezing you in place when he makes a beeline towards the dancer. “i have everything i want. well, used to. until this peasant came and ruined what we already have.”

jisung squirms and when he feels a cold circular barrel nudging the top of his head and his mom looks like she is ready to pass out. cold sweat starts building up in your forehead. you don’t know how you can get the three of you out of the house alive but if playing dumb can prolong your thinking time, then so be it.

“i don’t get it—”

“of course, you don’t!” you flinch, eyes trained on your ex-best friend and the gun he’s holding. “you’ve always been so sheltered, so naive, always hiding behind your older brothers and sisters to even realize what’s happening.”

“lele, please. just drop the gun first, we can all just talk this out—”

“see what i mean? naive!”

your heart shatters at the tiny whimper jisung lets out when the gun digs a little too much against his head.

“ever since you met this brat, you keep dragging him to our hangouts, trying to make him a part of our little party,” the heir explains through gritted teeth as he glares at you. “and you know what makes it worse? park jisung can’t fucking offer you anything other than a mediocre life. is that what you want?”

“jisung’s my friend. he doesn’t have to fucking offer me anything.”

he giggles like a madman. “oh, baby, i don’t think jisung feels the same way you do, though. have you ever seen the way he looks at you?”

and when your eyes flicker down to meet the dancer’s, the truth has never been more obvious when he fails to meet your eyes.

chenle clicks his tongue patronizingly as he pats jisung’s shoulder to feign comfort, before tossing the gun to one of his bodyguards standing behind him. “well, getting friendzoned sucks.”

“this isn’t a fucking joke—”

you yelp in surprise when the heir delivers a swift punch to jisung’s stomach. the boy bending in pain through the makeshift gag tied over his mouth.

“you’re right. it isn’t.”

you force yourself not to cower as chenle menacingly starts to approach you. a stoic expression on his face and you wonder for a moment, when did all of this even started?

“it is no joke that i love you—the one thing that i can’t have, the one thing so close, just an arm’s length away but still feels so far. but not anymore.”

you don’t where you manage to get the confidence nor the courage to blurt out what you were about to say next, but you regretted it all the same.

“this isn’t love. obsession, possessiveness, or infatuation is fucking far from love.”

the two consecutive sounds of a gunshot was deafening to the ears, but the heir supposes nothing can beat your screams as you fought against the arms of his guards, trying to get to the two people lying immobile in their own home.

“doing everything for this one person, is that not one of the criteria to say you love someone?”

chenle ignores the nasty spit you threw that’s dribbling down his expensive shoes. you’ll pay for that, one way or another. but that day is not today.

“jisung was our friend, you psychopath! this is insanity! you’re fucking crazy!”

when you try biting the hand that comes up to caress your face, one of his guards knees you in the gut. chenle wishes you didn’t have to force his hand, didn’t have to do this the hard way, but you leave him with no choice.

“you’re wrong. i’m not crazy—i’m just… in love. i did this out of love, i’m doing this out of love.”

[ethanharli]

Pairing(s): Oikawa Tooru x Top Male Reader

Warning(s): NSFW (SMUT), Cursing, Bottom Oikawa, etc etc all that good stuff.

DNI; if you use she/her pronouns.

_________

I pray that my ears have deceived me, but from the apologetic look on my teachers face I know I heard it correctly. "[Y/n] you'll be working with Oikawa on this project" The pencil in my hand almost snapped when he spoke, so I took a deep breath and tried to calm my nerves. It's not like I have anything personal against the male but he surely does for me, only because his annoying ass fan-girls decided to make me their new target, causing the dumbass to lose some of his popularity amongst the females. Standing from my seat I moved towards the male, plopping down in the seat beside him since the teacher gave us the rest of class to start working on this three fucking week project. "We're working on this at your house" I stated bluntly, causing the shorter male to wince at my harsh tone.

"Eh? Why mine?!" He huffed while glaring at me through narrowed eyes, I merely shrugged and pulled out our text book, starting to flip through the pages. Not bothering to speak to the male anymore then I have to, however he didn't seem to take kindly to that and kept pestering me the whole damn class period, until finally the last bell rang, signaling for us to head home. Well not really since I have to head off with Oikawa, which wouldn't be too bad if it weren't for his squealing fan-girls that literally popped out of no where. "Oikawa!" A chorus of feminine voices sang aloud, running up to the setter besides me until their eyes turned towards me, "And [Y/n] too!" They screeched, but before Oikawa could make any advance in talking to them, I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him back, glaring at the girls through narrowed eyes.

"Fuck off" I growled, dragging Oikawa off the school grounds while also trying to ignore the way the girls swooned after. "Y'know you're really mean" The setter pouted as he crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at me out the corner of his eye. With a quick roll of my eyes I stuffed my hands in my pockets, letting out a heavy sigh knowing it's going to be a very a long three weeks, and by the sudden glimmer in his eye I knew I was right. "Keep looking at me like that and I'll push you in the mud" I muttered out, getting a bit annoyed from the way he stared at me. "Do you have any other setting other than jerk?" Oikawa huffed, leading me up to his front door before letting me inside.

"For pretty boy's like you? No" I shot back, scratching at the back of my head before following him up to his room. A teasing smile was quickly brought to his lips as we stepped into his room, gazing into my eyes with a playful look, "You think I'm pretty?" His smile never faltered as he stepped closer to me, nearly brushing up against me. And I immediately saw the game he was trying to play, so with a quick glance I let my eyes wander over his face, taking in the way his eyes nearly shimmered a golden color under the light, then traveled them down his form, almost having to force my gaze away from the way he arched his back, "Maybe" I smirked, drawing my tongue over my upper lip before going back to my cold expression. Watching the way his face flushed slightly with widened eyes, before taking a seat on his floor.

Cause I don't plan to lose at a game that I know how to win.

***

It's only been a week into the project and Oikawa's been ruthless with his flirting, he even went as far as too see me during lunch and after the classes we didn't have together just to put a word or two in with a teasing smirk. However as the days went by something seemed a little off, I'd always notice that his gaze would linger on me a lot longer than it used too, his face would heat up whenever we talked and he'd actually show more of his calmer side, then there's the fact that even though he's been more ruthless with the flirting, it slowly stopped making me feel like I was some kind of goal he wished to accomplish, and the thought of that.. Kind of worried me.

Cause I know I'm starting to feel something for the male, even if he can be annoying as hell. Under all that he's really not a bad guy, he has his moments of serenity and the happy glimmer in his eyes when he's playing volleyball is something that makes me my heart flutter, but the real choice is should I actually follow this feeling or drop it here? I know Oikawa's continuous flirting was merely him trying to win me over, he was trying to play his cards right and if I'm being honest, he did well. He beat me at my own game and I damn well knew it, but would I admit it? Not in a million years.

"[Y/n]! Thanks for waiting" Oikawa panted as sweat slowly ran down his face and neck, quickly forcing my gaze away before any thoughts could come to mind. "Don't have much of a choice" I stated bluntly, starting to walk out the school gates I didn't brother waiting for Oikawa as I headed in the direction of his home leaving the screeching male to try and catch up with me. We walked in silence for a bit, but my attention was caught by the way a slow heat crept up Oikawa's neck, causing his cheeks and ears to burn a pretty pink while he chewed on his lower lip, nearly forcing my heart to stop from the sight. However the male suddenly stopped in his tracks, looking up at me with a small smile that I haven't seen before, "[Y/n] I need to tell you something" His tone was soft as he crossed his arms, taking a deep breath before looking me in the eye.

"I like you!" My eyes widened a bit at his words, but a tight feeling in my gut made me second guess his confession. I know his type, the playboy that can get anyone he wants, I only know because I was like that once back in junior high, I could've had anyone I wanted but, it got boring after a while and I realized I wanted something real not just that one week lover bullshit, I want someone to spend my life with, "No offense Oikawa but how am I supposed to believe that?" I knew my words would hurt him, and I immediately regretted it when his chocolate colored eyes shined from the thin layer of tears threatening to spill. "You flirt with every one of your fan girls, hell I saw you flirting with them at lunch yesterday and don't think I didn't know what you were trying to do when you started flirting with me."

Oikawa flinched at my words, slowly averting his gaze towards the ground and I had to resist the urge to pull him towards me, "Fine.. then I'll just have to make you believe me!" His lips curled into a small smile as his eyes filled with determination, shocking me a bit.

"We'll see."

***

It was a bit surprising to see that Oikawa had stopped flirting with his fangirls, taking any minute of the day he could just to spend time with me. He drags me to each of his volleyball practices, grinning at me with a hopeful gaze whenever he sets or serves, it was kind of cute how he always looking for me after doing so. That much I couldn't deny, but it finally hit the last week of our project with only the weekend to finish it, so sitting on his bed I finished gluing the pictures to the small board since we left the easy stuff for last, however Oikawa went to go change so it was just me in the room, until someones arms wrapped around my neck, resting their chest against my back. "[Y/n]" Oikawa muttered into my ear with a low whine that caused me to stop what I was doing, feeling his warmth slowly flood over me in a soothing way.

"What are you doing Oikawa?" I breathed out, moving my hands to his arms with a gentle but firm grip, looking back at him through the corner of my eye, only to see the beautiful chocolate brown I've come to adore. "C'mon! We've gotten to know each other well enough and I even confessed to you! So call me Tooru" He whined, shifting around so that he was sitting in front of me, giving me a full view of the baggy t-shirt he wore and simple dark blue boxers underneath. It was nearly impossible to tare my gaze away and that was obviously his intention when he moved the project to the floor, climbing into my lap with a teasing smirk that I've seen plenty of times before. Running his fingers through my hair he bit his bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth in a slow motion that kept my eyes on the movement.

It was a simple trick that had all my attention, pulling me in until I let out a soft groan from the sudden ghost-like touch on my cock that had forced a shudder through Oikawa's body. "Tooru-" I muttered subconsciously, moving my hands to thighs that I gripped tightly when he started to palm me through my pants, "Ngh.." The moan that slipped past his lips sounded like music to my ears, and I just had to hear more. The corner of my lips curved into a sly smirk as I moved my hands up his thighs, pressing my thumbs to the soft inner part of them before pressing my lips to the base of his neck, dragging my teeth up the soft skin, biting down when he let out a breathy moan along with a sudden shiver that ran down his spine. "[Y-Y/n].." He whimpered softly, moving his hands under my shirt to pull it off, which I gladly allowed, loving the way his hands explored my upper body as I pushed up his shirt, practically yanking it off of him when he smirked up at me, face flushed in the brightest red I've seen it.

After pressing his back into the bed he took my hand with his as he shamelessly brought it to his lips, curling his tongue around my middle finger in a slow motion that made my pants tighten uncomfortably, and I couldn't help but notice he was in the same pain I'm in. I happily pressed the pad of my finger against the back of his tongue, taking note of the fact he didn't gag from the action, useful information for later. With that thought out the way I tugged at the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down and off his smooth legs, taking in the sight of his messy form beneath me. I pulled my hand from his grasp, quickly capturing his lips with my own in a slow motion in order to savour the taste of his mouth when he shyly brushed his tongue with my own, desperately gripping onto my hair as I pressed my middle finger to his entrance, hoping that the kiss would help distract him from the sudden feeling when I slowly pushed it in.

"Hah! [Y-Y/n]!" He gasped out, moving his fingers from my hair to rake down my back in a painful motion that forced a groan from my throat. "Keep going-" His words caused my eyes to widen a bit until I realized something that I couldn't help but smirk at, "Did you already prep yourself?" I asked, nipping at his ear afterwards, loving the way his body trembled from my touch. All I got in response was a quick shameless nod, bucking his hips in an attempt to get more friction from my fingers, "Well if that's the case" I hummed, pulling away from the male in order to take off my pants, letting them fall to the ground. "On your hands and knee's, now" I demanded in my usual cold tone that forced a shiver down his spine, but I could tell it aroused him even more by the way his cock twitched and the whimper that escaped his throat as he spun around, lifting his ass in the air while pressing his face into his pillow, looking back at me with pleading eyes.

With a quick nod I took his hips in my hands, lining my cock up to his entrance before slowly pushing in, still giving him time to adjust even if he'd already prepped himself. The way his back arched when I pushed all the way in caught my attention along with the way he dug his nails into the sheets beneath him, letting out heavy pants into the pillow. "M-Move" He whimpered out, while my grip tightens on his hips, pulling out just to the tip before snapping my hips back, immediately feeling his walls clench around me as I rocked my hips in a fast pace, simply wanting to hear the way his voices hitches everytime I thrust back in, "[Y/N] THERE! P-lease! Please.." The pleading tone in voice caused my core to tighten, so pulling out I flipped Oikawa on his back, thrusting back in without warning, adoring the way his mouth hung open, panting heavily, pupils blown with a lustful desire I wouldn't want to see from anyone else.

Adjusting slightly I aimed at the spot from before, hitting it straight on while wrapping my hand around his cock, pumping it with quick motions that caused him to scream my name, "C-Cumming! I'm cumming!" Oikawa's body quaked under me as he released onto his chest, letting his eyes flutter shut with heavy breaths as I kissed his forehead, "Just a little longer Tooru" I whispered, brushing my fingers against his cheek as I tried to pull out, only for Oikawa to pull me back with his legs forcing me to cum inside him, which earned me a small hiss of pleasure. Panting heavily I moved to lay besides him on my back, not minding when he cuddled up under my arm, "Are you feeling okay?" I asked in a throaty tone, only getting a weak nod in reply.

"Does this mean.. You accept my confession?" Oikawa chuckled softly, pulling the blanket over us in a slow motion and I couldn't hold back the smile forming on my face, looking down at the brunette with a soft expression.

"Of course you idiot."

"Mm, well now I'm your idiot now!"

[thejudgingtrash]

Invisible Strings (2,5k)

(Ruby Red!Percabeth AU and I hope tumblr doesn’t mess up things again 🙄 Not beta’d, this was just a random sprint for a scene)

“Mister Jackson!” yelled Mrs. Dodds as she was trying to chase after the taller student who unfortunately had longer legs, better stamina and much more urgency to get out of this situation. An unwelcoming combination and another chain of chaotic events that had unfolded.

“Come back at once!” Percy didn’t think to march back to that wretched woman that called herself a math teacher. Why now? Why me?, he cursed in his thoughts. Alas there was no time. He had to flee if he didn’t want everyone to witness what was about to unfold.

“Percy!” Grover huffed as his best friend had just shoved his backpack into his stomach. He was more than aware of Percy’s… condition, but that didn’t mean that Percy could just do what he wanted, whenever he wanted. That and he was much slower due to the cast around his foot and the tight pants from the mustard yellow school uniform.

But things took a different turn as Percy’s stomach turned and the feeling of the quick drop from a rollercoaster reappeared. 

“Argh!” Percy yelped. Nausea spread through his body like a mutated infection and he felt sick. Waves of heat followed, however, there was no fever. But it was no ordinary sickness that plagued him, no. It was much worse.

The two boys fled as best as they could, Grover with his crutches and Percy’s backpack in his hands and Percy who tried to not trip and turn invisible in front of the entire few confused students in the hallway that were watching. Not to mention a certain crazy teacher that was chasing after them.

“Quick! Into Mr. Brunner’s classroom! The room should be empty, the sixth graders are on a field trip,” Grover remembered and took a sharp turn with his best friend following. Percy ran into the classroom; possible students be damned if they were in there. Luckily, his best friend had been right. The room was unlocked and entirely empty. Chalk dust and smelly remains of unwashed teenagers stood in the air.

Grover barely sneaked into room as it happened right in front of him. The student would have never thought that he would see it happening live in front of him.

“Take care of my-” Percy was unable to finish his sentence. His vision blurred and it literally felt like someone had pulled the rug under him. His feet didn’t feel like they were touching the hard floor anymore.

Grover’s jaw dropped as Percy seemed to have been pulled up by an invisible hand and pulled back into nothingness with force. Perseus Jackson had disappeared and Grover had no idea where he was. Or rather when he was.

For Percy it felt like a minor earthquake. His vision shook and his feet found the ground again. Instead of the bright daylight in the old castle that usually was his school, it was the middle of the night. The tall windows showed the moon in all of its beauty. But now there was no school. It was quite literally an old castle. Instead of neon tubes amounted on the ceiling there were dozens of candles trying to bring light to the room. Instead of two dozen wooden desks where students normally sat around to at least pretend to learn something and a blackboard in front of them, there was only one mighty secretary in the middle of the room. It overflowed with scrolls and books, coins and other instruments. An abacus? Swords stacked on the walls? Who knew.

Percy grimaced at the thought of the carelessly displayed candles that were a fire hazard as he was alone in this room. It was good for him for the moment to have a source of light but with his clumsiness it would be a matter of minutes until he would accidentally knock something over and set everything ablaze. 

Bookshelf after bookshelf was stacked against the wall, some with carefully crafted decorations, many books written in Latin and therefore nearly unintelligible for Percy. Taking Latin in class and understanding Latin on a whim were two very different things. The dim light did the rest as it was simply not bright enough to snoop around further. Percy walked around the desk and looked at the other items on the table. A fancy quill, dark ink, a couple of envelopes, a tricorn hat and an unfinished letter. 

Beloved mother, the person wrote and didn’t bother to finish the correspondence. July 17th, 1764 was marked as the date in the upper corner. What a lousy child, Percy shook his head. His eyes moved to the left where a finished letter remained. It had been written by someone else.

To my dearest son Apollo, the first line was the most Percy could read as the cursive was way too embellished and elongated for him to decipher in such a short period of time. Apollo! His heart swelled. The friendly school ghost was still alive, not a ghost yet and thriving in 1764. Technically that meant Percy could try to sneak out and look out for him…

A laughter erupted outside the door and the doorknob turned. Percy was lucky he didn’t scream. He was ready to jump underneath the table for all he cared. He wasn’t in the mood of getting chased through a house in a different time period yet again. The young student was lucky. He was able to hear the muffled voice of a woman say, “Oh no! Not in here Zeus! I do not wish to defile your son’s study yet again!”

“Alright, my dear. Let us make sure my wife shall not interfere this time,” sighed Zeus. The woman’s laughter slightly echoed as they moved further away.

Percy frowned. Yikes, Apollo was right when he said his father was a rake. Then he shook his head and carefully approached the door. The steps got quieter. The student inhaled and with all of his courage he turned the doorknob. A cloud of perfumes and spices hit him straight in the face. Then the sour and foul smell of sweat, urine and other unpleasant things followed.

Percy sharpened his senses. He could hear music. String music to be exact and a pianoforte in the background. More laughter, heels stomping on the floor. Or where people dancing? Dancing to the string music? Conversations tried to dominate and drown out the music but it was an everlasting fight of audience and musicians. Who could be the loudest?

The hallway that Percy was used to was no longer covered in its ugly orange coating, instead a lovely violet was illuminated by dozens of candles that hung around in the walls and standing still in candle sockets. Gone were the lockers, the corridor was filled with pompous vases and statues, expensive artwork which included a painting of Apollo smirking at the observer. Percy cracked a grin and shook his head. That was Apollo to you.

“Wait!” pleaded a young woman as someone else climbed up the stairs. It was a tall man and from his stance and body language he seemed to be more than just displeased. The young woman fought her way up the stairs with the hoop skirt and layers upon layers of fabric. 

“Please wait! Let me explain!”

The man she seemed to hunt down, didn’t bother listening to her and it was a matter of mere seconds until Percy got exposed. Panic spread through his synapses and the muscle memory forced his feet to go. He took a turn around a corner and approached the first door. The room was already occupied as the door stood ajar.

If Percy didn’t know any better it was that Zeus guy and his mistress as a middle-aged man in the finest robes was kneeling on the floor and taking the pair of tights that covered his lover’s milky legs. Oh my god no, Percy thought and approached the next door in a haste. He opened it and was greeted again by an empty room to his relief.

But the steps only got louder and louder. Percy looked out for a hideout. There was nothing but a couple of sofas, another row of bookshelves and a contrabass in the room. Oh no, Percy thought as the steps approached. He looked to the windows, only to realize they had been covered by heavy looking curtains. Better than nothing. He ran to the window and thanked the gods for the broad windowsills. Percy was scrawny enough to fit onto them.

“It’s not what you think it is!” The woman tried to explain as the man stormed into the room. 

“Oh yeah?” The man huffed. He sounded familiar. Way too familiar. Percy decided to pull a little bit of the curtain aside. He saw the broad shoulders of the man and the emerald green tail coat he was wearing. The man had long black locks that were tied into a pony tail. A proud stance that prevented the golden heels on his feet from looking utterly ridiculous.

“Also, it would be improper for me to run after you. It should be you defending me, in case something happens,” the soft voice of the lady demanded.

“Me defending you?! Anna, did you forget you carry daggers in your corset and had a goddamn sword hidden underneath there?” The 18th century man pointed to the wide skirt.

“I don’t think-” He had crossed his arms and spun around in an annoyed whiff only for his eyes to widen and his face to pale. Percy behind the curtain pressed his hand against his mouth as he was also shocked. The man standing in front of the other woman, was him. Him as in Percy.

It was weird looking at yourself for the first time without a mirror in front of you. Was your forehead really that wide? You really needed to visit the saloon soon again. Whoever that other Percy was, he made a waving motion with his hands, signalizing “Hide!” to student Percy.

“What are you doing there? Could someone be spying on us?” this Anna lady asked. The candle light brightened up her face and Percy saw her light gray eyes for the very first time. Her heart shaped face made him speechless. His heart stopped beating for a second or two. The pointy nose and rosy cheeks, white teeth and the light eyebrows. The way she bit her lip as she was calculating the next move, the slight worry in her eyes. She didn’t look as ridiculous with that huge red wig as most other people would. The green dress hugged her curves despite the ridiculously large amounts of fabric surrounding her. She didn’t seem much older than he was, but the authority her voice carried made her seem that way.

“Nothing, nothing!” the other Percy clearly lied.

“Did you already forget?” Anna huffed as she tried to place her hands around her waist without ruining the beautiful dress. Her eyes were glued to his back. “I can tell when you’re telling a-”

She did not finish her sentence as she had been cut-off by the other Percy. Cut off by his lips, to be exact. The Percy behind the curtain looked shocked at the scene in front of him. 

The strange girl and his other self separated. “I’m…” The other Percy harrumphed and looked to the side. “I’m terribly sorry, I don’t know what overcame me and-”

“Oh, shut up!” the beautiful young woman barked, grabbed the other Percy by the ruffled collar and pulled him in for another kiss. The pair kissed as if there was no tomorrow left. The Percy on the other side of the room had never kissed a person in his life. The truth or dare kiss five years ago from Nancy Bobofit did not count. But as far as he could tell… he did a great job. At least Percy assumed he did as the woman grabbed his hair and didn’t seem to want him let go. Oh wow, the large hands found her tiny waist and Percy hoped that both of them remained steady on their feet. From the swaying it looked like they would fall flat to the ground.

Then the wicked feeling came back. The dizziness, the spots in his vision, the rumbling ground. Percy’s fingers clung to the windowsill as he felt being spewed into his right time line. If he had been sorting his thoughts right, he would have disturbed the wood shop class by Ms. Minerva. Percy closed his eyes and shoved the curtain aside. No screams or gasps, no puzzled students. He opened the sea green eyes again.

Oh yeah, the kids are on their field trip, he remembered. Ms. Minerva otherwise would have reprimanded him further to Mrs. Dodds pleasure. The flabbergasted student quickly left the room. Percy had to lie to janitor Argus about why he was still at school and fortunately managed to get away with his lame excuse of forgetting his smartphone in a classroom. Said smartphone he just pulled out of his pocket and pressed the first number in his call logs.

“Grover!” Percy exhaled. “I just spent my time in 1764, I saw an unfinished letter in Mr. Brunner’s classroom.”

“You are okay! Where are you? Mrs. Dodds wants to murder you!”

“Just got out of school, I’m on my way home.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” Grover sighed into the speaker which created a little bit of static. “You were gone for almost two hours! I shoved all of your stuff into Jason’s stomach who was not pleased with you ‘skipping school’ earlier.” 

“Shit,” Percy cursed. Two hours? How? It felt more like five minutes, did he truly spent that much time lingering around? He should have picked up Estelle from band practice an hour and a half ago. His mother would kill him.

“There’s something else I need to mention,” Percy began. “I didn’t just land there in 1764… I saw someone…”

“Who?” Grover asked.

“Myself,” Percy answered. “It was clearly me… Or a twin brother I didn’t know I had and I was…” Kissing a pretty girl. “Having an argument… with some weird girl that I didn’t know either. I shooed myself away for her not to notice me! Grover, what the hell is going on?!”

Percy imagined how Grover’s eyebrows rose and how he was fumbling with the zipper of his favorite jacket as he always used to do whenever he was trying to connect new information. Someone else yelled in the background. It sounded like Mrs. Underwood.

“We need to talk about this later and strategize, mom needs me downstairs,” proposed Grover. “Percy, you have to speak to your mother about the time traveling! She knows more about all of this, she has to! Who knows into what time period you’ll jump next! Pretty sure that London in the 1940s seems more than just dangerous with world war two going on. Or… I don’t know. Any other year when vaccines still weren’t a thing yet. Catching the plague or medieval herpes sounds horrific.”

Percy winced. Both at the thought of more uncontrolled time jumps and also at the thought of medieval herpes.

Grover was right. He needed to speak to his mother and confess. It wasn’t his annoying cousin Jason who had inherited this weird time traveler gene. 

It was him, Perseus Jackson, the poorest bastard one could imagine.

I tried and I blame you for everything @marisolsnose 🤷🏾‍♀️

[marshmallow-phd]

Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue

**

The theatre was loud, opposite of its normally hushed nature. People were yelling back and forth, saws and drills screeching as they tore through wood. In the background, sewing machines could be heard, along with the occasional curse as the needle got stuck in the fabric. One person, however, was quiet, focused. The paintbrush in his hand was small. The hairs tightly pressed together in order to create the perfect details on the backdrop. Erik was hunched over, sitting cross-legged on the stage floor as he squinted at the distant forest he was perfecting. Setting your bag down in the second row, you headed up the stage stairs.

“Hey,” you said softly in order not to scare him. 

Blinking, he turned around. His glasses were on the very tip of his nose, having slipped from the slight bit of sweat that had conjured on his face from the glaring stage lights. With a green speckled finger, he pushed the frame back up to its proper position. “Hey! I thought you had a project?”

You shrugged. “I did, but… I kind of hit a wall and needed to give my brain a rest. I’m sorry, I guess I should have gotten lunch with you anyway.”

“That’s alright. If you want, I still have half of my sandwich left.”

Smiling, you ruffled his hair. “Thanks, I’m not really hungry.” Minseok’s dismissive response had ruined the idea of food for you. Later you knew you would be starving, but right now food sounded like a great way to churn your stomach and see what it had been brewing all morning. “I’m just going to go hang out in the seats, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “No one will bother you or question it. Not that anyone would notice in the first place.”

“It’s pretty crazy around here, isn’t it?”

“You missed the big explosion when Dorothy couldn’t find the armchair for the second act. Turns out, someone just leaned a piece of wood for the set against it and hid it from view. Still took us half an hour to find it.”

You snorted. “Wow. I’m actually kind of sad I missed that.” You kissed his cheek, careful to avoid a smear that you were sure he had no clue about. That stupid guilt knocked once again.

The seat was only slightly comfortable, the cushion long ago worn down from a thousand performances. You stewed there in the second row. Though it wasn’t appropriate during shows, you didn’t think anyone would care if you set your feet on the seat in front of you. Folding nearly in half, you hid your face from those who might look your way as you cranked the handle to get the gears in your head to turn. 

Confusion seemed like too weak a word to describe what was going on in your head. You were angry, frustrated, sad, relieved. There had to be some language in the world that tied those emotions all together. You just didn’t know it. Perhaps that one word could be the pill you needed to no longer feel this way. If you could shove all of that into a single box, you would be fine. But is it ever that simple? When you closed your eyes and tried not to think of anything in particular, Minseok’s face faded into view. You’d shake your head to drive the image away. It came back anyway.

You felt powerless against this unseen pull, this innate desire to see him again, even after what had just happened in the courtyard. Your mind made excuses, told you that if you simply asked him to explain then he would. Looking up at Erik, you sighed. 

There was no comparison because they were two different people. Erik was the sensitive artist, the kind who went to coffee shops on Friday nights to hear a mediocre guitar player sing his “poetry” because he believed everyone deserved an audience. Minseok, on the other hand, was a strange combination of math lab nerd and soccer team captain. He was goofy and dorky, easily amused by corny jokes, but also had the physique of someone who ran five miles in the A.M. for the fun of it. What you couldn’t figure out was what drew you to him in the first place. In any normal, not-already-dating-someone situation, you wouldn’t have been interested in his type. Yet, it was almost… effortless, being around him. Even after all these years, you sometimes had to force yourself into conversation with Erik. Comfortable silences didn’t exactly exist in your relationship, but you always chalked that up to your own personality. Now you wondered if those moments would be better with Minseok. 

Was this a normal thing? You heard stories of college sweethearts all the time and for the last few years, you thought you and Erik would join that club. You hadn’t thought about marriage, per se, but you hadn’t seen an end either. The idea of coming to a fork in the road had never occurred to you. While logic and third party advice you’d casually picked up over your life told you to stick to the left, you were being drawn to the right. One road you could easily see where it led, signs, clear pastures, and everything. The other way wasn’t as clear, disappearing into thick woods that were both inviting and foreboding. You didn’t know if there was another side for the road to come out to. The only way you would ever find out would be to follow it. 

You were able to sit there in that second row seat for a few hours, surprisingly, with your phone and the internet as your companion. Only occasionally would you contemplate that fork again. Left, right, left, right. Easy, hard, easy, hard. In the end, you decided you needed to see Minseok again to really decide. 

The stage manager called it quits late in the afternoon. Erik washed up his brushes and came to meet you. “Hungry yet?” You nodded, more for something else to do before you were alone again. “Good. I’m starving.” Taking your bag like the gentleman that he was, he waited for you to stand up and then walked you out of the theatre.

Dinner ended up being a small burger joint that Erik had been craving all day. You gave no complaints as you started salivating at the thought of their fries. Surely they had to have some sort of secret, addictive ingredient to make fried potato sticks so incredibly delicious. The two of you ended up splitting a large basket of the side. It stayed equally in the middle of the table so no one could say that the other was hogging. Yes. Safe. Easy. Seeable. 

Erik offered a follow up to dinner, but you feigned exhaustion (though there might not have been any faking truthfully, as your mind was tired from constantly running throughout the day). He walked you all the way to the door of your room. As usual, he told you goodnight and leaned in for a kiss. But unlike your normal anticipation, you flinched back to avoid his lips. He stared at you in confusion. Clearing your throat, you made it up to him by kissing his cheek before running for cover in your dorm. From the light of the hallway, you could see that Erik stood on the other side for a few seconds, hesitating to understand what had just happened, before finally walking away. 

Teeth clenched down on your bottom lip, you pulled your phone out of your back pocket. Thankfully, Willa was still out so you were alone. The glare of your phone burned in the darkness. You squinted as you moved your thumb across the screen, unlocking it before opening the contacts. The number you wanted was easy enough to find. The pad of your thumb hovered over the little green phone. It accepted the slightest touch and switched over to calling mode. You placed the speaker to your ear. 

Rrriiinggg. Rrriiinnngggg. 

“Hello?”

You sucked in air. He’d answered. You didn’t have a plan for this. You didn’t have any sort of plan after pressing call. You’d hoped that he was one of those people who didn’t have a voicemail set up. 

“Hello? (y/n)?”

You hung up. 

**

Minseok watched you stalk off in the exact direction he wished you hadn’t. Anywhere else; he would have been fine with you going anywhere besides the theatre where your boyfriend was. His wolf growled and clawed with jealousy. Why was he so stupid? Since when was keeping his mate a secret more important than being with you? Of course he wanted to eat lunch with you, to see how you got along with his brothers. But the idea of Baekhyun figuring it out had caused him to panic. As obnoxious as Baekhyun could be, he wasn’t stupid. At some point during the meal, Minseok would have done something a little overprotective and Baekhyun would have started to connect the dots. Unfortunately, he’d already picked up on something. 

“Oooo, breaking the rules, are we?” The brat even had the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows at the eldest wolf. 

Not holding back, Minseok swung, hitting a good target on the upper arm. 

“Ow!”

“First, it's not a rule,” Minseok grumbled. “Junmyeon simply suggested that we don’t date. Besides, you’re one to talk. How’s Daisy?”

Baekhyun was hardly phased. He sported a cheeky grin. “She’s great.”

Bored, Sehun asked, “Can we just go eat now? Who cares who Minseok was flirting with?”

“I wasn’t flirting with her!” Minseok shouted. He explained in a lower voice, “She’s having trouble in her math class so I’m doing Sungkyu a favor and helping her out so she can pass. That’s it.”

“So why didn’t you want her to eat with us, then?” Jongin asked innocently. 

Minseok flinched. Jongin was more observant than anyone would give him credit for. Not that Minseok was subtle in any sense of the word. “I didn’t say that I didn’t want her to eat with us. Knowing you all, you would have let something slip about what we are.”

“Minseok, we all caught that she was willing to join us,” Chanyeol said. 

Huffing, Minseok grumbled, “Are we going to go eat or should I just go by myself?”

Shrugging off the odd behavior, Baekhyun turned and headed for the parking lot. Minseok was quick to follow, feeling smaller than normal surrounded by his pack members. In his head, he pictured himself running back towards the theatre, bursting through the doors, and - in true dramatic fashion - declaring you his. 

That would be a complete disaster. He should only do that if he wanted you to never talk to him ever again. 

Minseok hardly paid attention as Chanyeol drove them to his favorite pizza place. He was in a trance as the others took control of what to order. Physically, he sat in the booth next to Sehun with Baekhyun on the other side. His shoulder was pressed into the chipped wooden guard rail that ran along the wall but he hardly noticed the uncomfortable poke in his skin. His mind was still back at the campus. He was driving himself crazy trying to figure out how he was going to make this up to you, how he was going to explain his bizarre switch up to you. He hardly ate, which was fine since the others were more than happy to devour the three large pizzas with varying toppings. The others weren’t bothered by his quietness since it was nothing new. Minseok was always more of an observer than a participant. In a time like this, it worked to his advantage.

There was no consulting Minseok when the lunch was through. They all simply piled back into the car and headed out of town towards the woods. Vague mentions of going for a run were tossed around. Minseok didn’t voice any sort of agreement. He wasn’t in the mood. Ha. A wolf not in the mood to run wild among the trees? He really was turned upside down because of you. While the younger ones headed straight for the trees, Minseok headed up the porch and through the front living room until he came to the kitchen. Oh, thank god. There were still beers in the fridge. He grabbed one and immediately opened it, still chugging as he walked over to the breakfast booth. 

“Did you have fun?”

Junmyeon slid into the booth across from him. Minseok put the can down. “Yeah. At first. We had fun with the project. It was when the others showed up that things…  went bad.”

“What do you mean?” Junmyeon asked with a frown. 

“I… panicked. The others invited her to join us and I….” Minseok shrugged. 

“Worried that the others would figure it out?” Junmyeon guessed. The response was a nod. 

“Figure what out?” 

Shit.

Baekhyun stood in the entryway, looking back and forth between the eldest and the alpha. Minseok gulped. He thought that all four of them had gone out on a run and he hadn’t heard anyone else in the house. Stepping further into the kitchen, Baekhyun asked again, “Figure what out?”

Minseok looked to Junmyeon for help. None was to be found. 

“You should probably tell them.”

“I’m not going to tell just Baekhyun so he can go running and tell the others and exaggerate.”

“I can always call a family meeting.”

“I don’t want to make that big of a deal out of it.”

“Too late on that. Besides, that’s the best way to get everyone here. Get it out of the way.”

“Or to get none of them here.”

“I’m still standing here,” Baekhyun scoffed.

Minseok looked at him. “I know.”

Junmyeon sighed. “Baekhyun, will you go get the others? Tell them it's important?”

He nodded. “Sure. Be back in a flash.” He left, already shedding the hoodie over his head. 

Slumping down in the booth, Minseok felt defeated. Junmyeon sensed this immediately. “It really won’t be that bad. And they need to be prepared.”

“Prepared?” 

“Yes. Once a pack member finds the first mate, the others will slowly start to find their own. It won’t be immediate. It could take years, really. But it’s like a domino effect. They should be aware that it's their turn next.”

It made sense. The pack was always connected, both in mind and in instinct. But it had been just them for so long, the idea of bringing in mates to the fold was odd. Minseok wasn’t sure how the others would react. Fists clenched on the table, he leaned his head down. It took almost half an hour before the rest of the pack came back. Yixing had arrived first, coming back from a lab he was making up from earlier in the week. The rest came into the kitchen ten minutes later. They were knocking into each other as they yanked on shirts and pants. 

“Okay, Junmyeon, what’s the emergency?” Jongdae asked, very prepared to be his usual sarcastic, troll self. 

But Junmyeon didn’t reply, letting Minseok take the reins instead. Minseok didn't want to do this. He wanted to run, to keep his secret a little while longer while he figured this whole thing out. But Junmyeon was right. It was time.

“(y/n) - the girl that some of you met today… she’s my mate.”

It was pure silence in the kitchen. It was unnatural in this household. The only time it was ever this quiet was when the house was empty. 

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae said. “You said… mate? Right?” Minseok nodded. He growled.  “Fantastic.”

“You really found your mate, Minseok?” Yixing was more enthusiastic about the news. He looked elated, even. A small smile was creeping up. 

Despite the stunned silence, Minseok found Yixing’s energy infectious. “Yeah. I did.”

“Have you told her yet?” Chanyeol asked. 

“She has a boyfriend,” Jongin reminded him. 

“Oh. Right.”

“I’m working on it,” Minseok said. “I just-” His phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, his eyes widened at the name popping up on the screen. With sixteen eyes on him, he answered, frantic. “Hello?” A gasp on the other end. “Hello? (y/n)?” You didn’t answer. Two seconds ticked by and you ended the call. He stared at his now black screen in shock. Then his brain started again. “I got to go.”

“Was it her?” Junmyeon asked. 

“Wait, I have more questions!” Baekhyun whined. Minseok was out of the kitchen in a heartbeat, jumping into his car and flying down the road. He didn’t know if you were hurt or in trouble. Why had you called him? Why didn’t you say anything? He was determined to find out. There was only one problem. 

He didn’t know your dorm number. 

You’d briefly mentioned the shared campus housing with your best friend, but that was all the information he had. Looks like he would have to find it the old fashion way. 

Asking. 

As soon as he parked, he headed towards the dorms, thankful at least that the two large housing buildings were close in proximity. He headed for the smaller cafeteria located in the lobby of the first building. The kitchen was closed but there were still students taking advantage of the open seating. Okay. Here it goes. 

The first few groups that Minseok asked had never heard of you. He was starting to berate himself on what a stupid idea this was. He should have called you back and asked you to call him when you were ready because it most certainly would have gone to voicemail. But his luck soon turned around. He approached a group of three girls sitting in a corner. One of them had a camera. 

“Excuse me?” They looked up. Minseok cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but I’m trying to find (y/n) (l/n)’s room. Do you happen to know her?”

One girl narrowed her eyes. “Why do you want to know?”

Minseok swallowed. “I… I have her notebook. She’d left it behind earlier at study group. She really needs it for class on Monday but I can’t get a hold of her.” Please believe his stupid lie. 

The girl who’d spoken made eye contact with her two friends. “She’s in room twenty-three-nineteen. If she doesn’t answer, just slide the notebook under the door.”

He could almost jump from elated joy. “Thank you!” 

Taking off, he headed for the stairs. Your dorm room was only on the second floor so it didn’t take long to follow the signs until he was right outside your door. Only now did the possibility that your roommate would be the one to answer cross his mind. What lie would he have to come up with then? He had to take the chance. 

After knocking, he waited, shifting from foot to foot in an attempt to release the nervous energy surging through his body. The door swung open. 

It was you. Thank goodness. 

You were not the same level of relieved. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Crap. He probably should have thought of that. “You called me.”

You looked back over your shoulder before stepping out into the hallway, letting the door shut behind you. “So? That doesn’t mean you can just show up here!”

“I need to talk to you.” 

You licked your lips. No, please don’t do that. It’s too tempting already to grab your face and kiss you against the door. Without speaking, you went back into your room. Well, that was a bust. But before he could walk away with slumped shoulders, you came back, this time with shoes on and your bag. “Let’s go.”

He gave no protest as you led him out of the dorm and into the dark. He had no idea where the two of you were headed, but he planned on embracing whatever came his way. The two of you were going to talk. His heart was thumping hard against his sternum. He was getting more alone time with you. Who knew what would end up flying out of his mouth in these next few hours. Would this be the night of truths and revelations?