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c-is-for-circinate · 4 years ago

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For a long, large part of my life, being queer in a media landscape--finding queerness in a media landscape--has meant theft.

I'm a Fandom Old, somehow, these days, older than most and younger than some, in that way that's grown associated with grumpy crotchetyness and shotguns on porches and back in my day, we had to wade through our Yahoo Groups mailing lists uphill both ways, boring and irrelevant anecdotes from Back In Those Days when homophobia clearly worked differently than it does now, probably because we weren't trying hard enough. I've seen a lot of stories through the years. I've read a lot of fanfic. (More days than not, for the past twenty years. I've read a lot of fanfic.)

When people my age start groaning and sighing at conversations about representation and queerbaiting, when we roll our eyes and drag all the old war stories out again in the face of AO3 is terrible and Not Good Enough, so often what we say is: you Young Folks Today have no idea how hard, how scary, how limiting it was to be queer anywhere Back In Those Days. Including online, maybe especially online, including in a media landscape that hated us so much more than any one you've ever known. And that is true. Always and everywhere, again and again, it's true, we remember, it's true.

We don't talk so much about the joy of it.

Online fan spaces were my very first queer communities, ever. I was thirteen, I was fourteen, I was fifteen--I was a lonely, over-precocious "gifted kid" two years too young for my grade level in an all-girls' Catholic school in the suburbs--I lived in a world where gay people were a rumor and an insult and a news story about murder. I was straight, of course, obviously, because real people were straight and anyway I was weird enough already--I couldn't be two things strange, couldn't be gay too, but--well, I could read the stories. I could feel things about that. I would have those stories to help me, a few years later, when I knew I couldn't call myself straight any more.

And those stories were theft. There was never any doubt about that. We wrote disclaimers at the top of every fic, with the specter of Anne Rice's lawyers around every corner. We hid in back-corners of the internet, places you could only find through a link from a link from a link on somebody else's recs page, being grateful for the tiny single-fandom archives when you found them, grateful for the webrings where they existed. It was theft, all of it, the stories about characters we did not own, the videotaped episodes on your best friend's VHS player, one single episode pulled off of Limewire over the course of three days.

It was theft, we knew, to even try and find ourselves in these stories to begin with. How many fics did I read in those days about two men who'd always been straight, except for each other, in this one case, when love was stronger than sexual orientation? We stole our characters away from the heterosexual lives they were destined to have. We stole them away from writers and producers and TV networks who work overtime to shower them in Babes of the Week, to pretend that queerness was never even an option. This wasn't given to us. This wasn't meant for us. This wasn't ours to have, ever, ever in the first place. But we took it anyway.

And oh, my friends, it was glorious.

We took it. We stole. And again and again, for years and years and years, we turned that theft into an art. We looked for every opening, every crack in every sidewalk where a little sprout of queerness might grow, and we claimed it for our own and we grew whole gardens. We grew so sly and so skilled with it, learning to spot the hints of oh, this could be slashy in every new show and movie to come our way. Do you see how they left these character dynamics here, unattended on the table? How ripe they are for the pocketing. Here, I'll help you carry them. We'll make off with these so-called straight boys, and we only have to look back if somebody sets out another scene we want for our own.

We were thieves, all of us, and that was fine and that was fair, because to exist as queer in the world was theft to begin with. Stolen time, stolen moments--grand larceny of the institution of marriage, breaking and entering to rob my mother's hopes for grandchildren. Every shoplifted glance at the wrong person in the locker room (and it didn't matter if we never peeked, never dared, they called us out on it anyway). Every character in every fic whose queerness became a crime against this ex-wife, that new love interest. Every time we dared steal ourselves away from the good straight partners we didn't want to date.

And: we built ourselves a den, we thieves, wallpapered in stolen images and filled to the brim with all the words we'd written ourselves. We built ourselves a home, and we filled it with joy. Every vid and art and fic, every ship, every squee. Over and over, every straight boy protagonist who abandoned all womankind for just this one exception with his straight boy protagonist partner found gay orgasms and true love at the end.

Over and over, we said: this isn't ours, this isn't meant to be ours, you did not give this to us--but we are taking it anyway. We will burglarize you for building blocks and build ourselves a palace. These stories and this place in the world is not for us, but we exist, and you can't stop us. It's ours now, full of color and noise, a thousand peoples' ideas mosaic'ed together in celebration. We made this, and it will never be just yours again. You won't ever truly get it back, no matter how many lawyers you send, not completely. We keep what we steal.

Things shifted over time, of course. That's good. That's to be celebrated. Nobody should have to steal to survive. It should not be a crime, should not feel like a crime, to find yourself and your space in the world.

There were always content creators who could slip a little wink in when they laid out their wares, oh what's this over here, silly me leaving this unattended where anybody could grab it, of course there might be more over by the side door if you come around the alleyway (but if anybody asks, you didn't get this from ME). We all watched Xena marry Gabrielle, in body language and between the lines. We sat around and traded theories and rumors about whether the people writing Due South knew what they were doing when they sent their buddy cops off into the frozen north alone together at the end of the show, if they'd done it on purpose, if they knew. But over the years, slowly, thankfully, the winks became less sly.

A teenage boy put his hand on another teenage boy's hand and said, you move me, and they kissed on network TV, in a prime-time show, on FOX, and the world didn't burn down. Here and there, where they wanted to, where they could without getting caught by their bosses and managers, content creators stopped subtly nudging people around the back door and started saying, "Here. This is on offer here too, on purpose. You get to have this, too."

And of course, of course that came with a whole host of problems too. Slide around to the back door but you didn't get this from me turned into it's an item on our special menu, totally legit, you've just got to ask because the boss throws a fit if we put it out front. Shopkeepers and content creators started advertising on the sly, come buy your fix here!, hiding the fine print that says you still have to take what you've purchased home and rebuild it with your semi-legal IKEA hacks. Maybe they'll consider listing that Destiel or Sterek as a full-service menu item next year. Is that Crowley/Aziraphale the real thing or is it lite?

And those problems are real and the conversations are worth having, and it's absolutely fair to be frustrated that you can't find the ship you want on sale in anything like your color and size in a vast media landscape packed full of discount hetships and fast-fashion m/f. It's fair to be angry. It's fair to be frustrated. Queerbait is a word that exists for a reason.

There's a part of me that hurts, though, every time the topic comes up. It's a confusing, bad-mannered part of me, but it's still very real. And it's not because I'm fawning for crumbs, trying to be the Good, Non-Threatening Gay. It's not that I'm scared and traumatized by the thought of what might happen if we dare raise our voices and ask for attention. (Well. Not mostly. I'll always remember being quiet and scared and fifteen, but it's been a long two decades since then. I know how to ask for a hell of a lot more now.)

It's because I remember that cozy, plush-wallpapered den of joyful thieves. I remember you keep what you steal.

Every single time--every time--when a story I love sets a couple of characters out on a low, unguarded table, perfectly placed to be pilfered on the sly and taken home and smushed together like a couple of dolls, my very first thought is always, always joy. Always, that instinct says, yay! Says, this is ours now. As soon as I go home and crawl into that pillow-fort den, my instincts say, I will surely find people already at work combing through spoils and finding new ways to combine them, new ways to make them our own. I know there's fic for that. I've already seen fic for that, and I wasn't really interested last time, but the new store display's got my brain churning, and I can't wait to see what the crew back at the hideout does with this.

Every time, that's where my brain goes. And oh, when I realize the display's put out on purpose, that somebody snuck in a legitimate special menu item, when the proprietor gives me the nod and wink and says, you don't have to come around the side, I know it's not much but here--there is so much joy and relief and hope in me from that! Oh, what we can make with these beautiful building blocks. Oh what a story we can craft from the pieces. Oh, the things we can cobble together. Look at that, this one's a little skimpy on parts but we can supplement it, this one's got a whole outline we can fill in however we want. This one technically comes semi-preassembled, and that's boring as shit and a pain to take back apart, but that's fine, we'll manage. We're artists and thieves. I bet someone's pulling out the AU saw to cut it to pieces already.

And then I get back to our den, which has moved addresses a dozen times over the years and mostly hangs out on Tumblr now (and the roof leaks and the landlord's sketchy as fuck but at least they don't charge rent, and we've made worse places our own). And I show up, ready for joy--ready for a dozen other people who saw that low-hanging fruit on that unguarded table, who got the nod and wink about the special menu item, who're ready to get so excited about this newest haul. Did you see what we picked up? The theft was so easy, practically begging to be stolen. The last owner was an idiot with no idea what to do with it. The last owner knew exactly what it could become, bless their heart, under a craftsman with more time on their hands, so they looked away on purpose at just the right time to let me take it home. I show up every time ready for our space, the place that fed me on joy and self-confidence when I was fifteen and starving. The place that taught me, yes, we are thieves, because it is RIGHT to take what we need, and the beautiful things we create are their own justification. We are thieves, and that's wonderful, because nothing is handed to us and that means we get to build our own palaces. We get to keep everything we steal.

I go home, and even knowing the world is different, my instincts and heart are waiting for that. And I walk in the door, and I look at my dash, and I glance over at twitter, and--

And people are angry, again. Angry at the slim pickings from the hidden special menu. So, so tired and angry, at once again having to steal.

And they're right to be! Sometimes (often, maybe) I think they're angry at the wrong people--more angry with the shopkeeper who offers the bite-sized sampler platter of side characters or sneaks their queer content in on the special menu than the ones who don't include it at all. But it's not wrong to be mad that Disney's once again advertising their First Gay Character only to find out it's a tiny sprinkle of a one-line extra on an otherwise straight sundae. It's not wrong to be furious at the world because you've spent your whole life needing to be a thief to survive. It's far from wrong. I'm angry about it too.

But this was my den of thieves, my chop shop, my makerspace. Growing up in fandom, I learned to pick the locks on stories and crack the safes of subtext at the very same time I learned to create. They were the same thing, the same art. We are thieves, my heart says, we are thieves, and that's what makes us better than the people we steal from. We deconstruct every time we create. We build better things out of the pieces.

And people are angry that the pre-fab materials are too hard to find, the pickings too slim, the items on sale too limited? Yes, of course they are, of course they should be--but my heart. Oh, my heart. Every single time, just a little bit, it breaks.

Of course the stories are terrible (they have always been terrible). Of course they are, but we are thieves. We steal the best parts and cobble them back together and what we make is better than it was before. The craftsman's eye that cases a story for weak points, for blank spaces, for anywhere we can fit a crowbar and pry apart this casing--that's skill and art and joy. Of course we shouldn't have to, of course we shouldn't have to, but I still love it. I still want it, crave it. I still thrill every time I see it, a story with hairline cracks that we can work open with clever hands to let the queer in.

That used to be cause for celebration, around here. I ask him to go back to the ruins of Aeor with me, two men together alone on an expedition in the frozen north, it feels like a gift. And I understand why some people take it as an insult. I understand not good enough. I understand how something can feel like a few drops of water to someone dying of thirst, like a slap in the face. If it was so easy to sneak it hidden onto the special menu, to place it on the unguarded side table for someone else to run off to, why not let it sit out front and center in the first place? I know it's frustrating. It should be. We should fight. We should always fight. I know why.

But my heart, oh, my heart. My heart only knows what it's been taught. My heart sees, this thing right here, the proprietor left it there for you with a nod and a wink because they Get It. It's not put together yet, but it's better that way anyway. It's so full of pieces to pull apart and reassemble. I bet they've got a whole mosaic wall going up at home already. We can bring it home and make it OURS, more than it was ever theirs, forget half of what it came from and grow a new garden in what remains.

And I go home to find anger, and my heart breaks instead.

#I don't actually know how to tag this #representation #maybe?#C needs help feeding the dinosaurs #because this is very much about being a fandom old #probably also #driveby meta attack #because that's where I keep my impromptu rambles #CR spoilers #technically I guess?#there's one line that references the finale #fandom history

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relaxxattack · 4 years ago

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hi im asking u this bc u seem to be bee duo enthusiast so

ive been calling c! beeduos relationship platonic because i thought that was what their cc’s said, and i thought they had said that they were uncomfortable with ppl shipping the characters. But ive seen a lot of posts that say their relationship is canonically romantic? and i absolutely do not want to come across as homophobic by watering down a mlm relationship to just friends because that happens so much in media so.

what is the canon state of their relationship / ur opinions on the platonic thibg

dont worry abt answering if u dont want to!! i see a lot of differing opinions and i trust yours :)

aw it’s totally fine, im flattered you asked me about this!

let me put it simply: it’s a whole mess, lol.

first im going to talk about what’s happened fandom-wide that caused differing opinions, and then i’ll explain my own opinion/interpretation. :]

(this got really fucking long im so sorry)

ranboo and tubbo initially proclaimed the relationship was romantic, specifically in argument with the wiki editors who had set it as platonic by default. (you can see this in the vod where they decide they’re canonically married— it’s very funny. chat tells them the marriage is already on the wiki, they check, tubbo is jokingly offended that it says platonic and asks if he needs to up the romance).

tubbo also makes jokes about adultry, which sort of implies the relationship is not necessarily a platonic one.

(theres definetly more in that stream alone but it’s been a long time since i watched it so i don’t remember a lot of it.)

the wiki, because of this, suffers from going back and forth on platonic and romantic, seemingly unsure where the joke ends and the canon begins, or if its canonically a joke! a mess, as you can already tell.

this gets more complicated as the marriage bit goes on: outsiders, such as phil and scott, both at one point say “platonic marriage”, which then ranboo and tubbo agree with. however, when chat asks them if they’re platonic, they say the opposite. so there is a lot of confusion there.

there’s also the difficulty of being able to tell streamers and characters apart. ranboo and tubbo both don’t like being shipped irl, and that’s their boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed. (they’re also minors, but tbh when they’re 18 in a year i will still be following their boundaries regardless of their legal age).

due to people not wanting to be accused of minor shipping, they started adding the platonic tone indicator to most of their drawings— basically a way of saying “no homo��. meanwhile, tubbo frequently on stream flirts with ranboo and makes quite a bit of nsfw comments towards him that are frankly hilarious.

this goes on for a while with nobody really sure what’s canon, but a lot of people assuming it’s probably platonic, until: the drama of the mods night. a few mods dmed all the wiki editors telling them ranboo wanted his canon character relationship officially set to platonic.

unfortunately for those mods; the very same day, a few hours later, ranboo on stream makes fun of puffy delivering him and tubbo “friendship flowers”. because, and i quote, “bruh. we’re literally married. this must be how the ancient greeks felt.”

in case you don’t know, the internet often jokes about how historians will call ancient greeks ‘very good friends’ when they are quite obviously gay. so in this context, ranboo is joking that people will call him and c!tubbo, who are married, “close friends”, when he doesn’t think they are.

basically, ranboo canonized romantic bee duo, the very same day the mods told everyone he’d wanted a platonic one.

chaos and drama immediately erupted everywhere. on tumblr, we were talking about how weird it was of his mods to do something like that without asking him first. we ALSO talked about how weird it was of them to assume that ranboo can’t make his own decisions, or assume teenagers cannot be in relationships without it being sexual. twitter did the same thing but in the opposite direction: called ranboo mods homophobic, or said they were mad ranboo felt pressured into making a romantic relationship canon ‘just so people could have mlm rep.’

i dont want to go into detail about the drama that happened that night because apparently official people follow me and i dont want to stir it up or have them come “clarify” things. im just saying what we talked about.

ranboo in typical ranboo fashion apologized quickly and seriously. he was deeply sorry for possibly offending anyone with how he’d portrayed his rp relationship with tubbo, and he also assured everyone the mod thing was just a miscommunication.

he said he would talk to tubbo and they’d decide once and for all whether it was platonic or romantic, and then announce so everyone would know.

it’s now been a few months and we've had no word from them on that development. we still have no clue.

now, here’s my opinion:

i want to take ranboos word for it that it was a miscommunication with his mods, but... we had it on good authority from people on the wiki team and people in the discord with the mods that (while it was happening) they were really going after the wiki admins, and also made some weird comments about it. that combined with the way ranboo seemingly had no clue (considering he canonized their romance that very same day).... it’s very. sus of the mods.

then there’s the canon we’ve got since then. although occasionally adults in the room have called it a “platonic marriage” and tubbo once (back when it first started) called it a “plankton tectonic” marriage, in roleplay it’s been... kind of not that. tubbo and ranboo make nsfw jokes about each other in character, and their characters also share a master bedroom and bed in the mansion. there's also the way c!tommy really thinks it’s a romance between them as well, and they agree with and play off that— for instance confirming that they “fell in love” when he asked, or ranboo confirming that they “make out on occasion”.

people will still put platonic on their art and posts, imo, because they’re worried about breaking ranboo and tubbo’s irl boundaries by looking like they ship them. or even just being accused of shipping real life minors. and that’s a valid fear to have.

the thing is though: c!bee duo are not cc!bee duo. they’re roleplay characters. cc!bee duo are not okay with being shipped, but they made their characters get canonically married, and call each other “husbands”. so it’s okay to write the word “husband” in your comic without adding “platonic” to it, i promise.

telling the ccs that their characters have to be platonic is... weird. it comes off as not only babying them, but also as saying teens can’t date without it being gross. which isn’t true.

(this is why seeing people overuse “platonic husband” so much bothers me. like, they ARE husbands. you can just say it. what are you trying to hide...?)

do i think they’re canonically romantic? ehh, its likely. it’s still okay to interpret them as platonic, because again, it’s hard to tell where jokes end and roleplay begins. like, maybe it’s jokes in the rp too, and c!bee duo are just friends. friends can and should be allowed to make jokes like that with each other! aro & ace marriages exist!

or, maybe it’s actually part of the rp, and they’re very much romantic. we don’t know!

some people say they could be a qpr (queerplatonic romance), which i could see. (a qpr is a relationship that fluctuates between, or can’t quite be sorted into, “romantic” and “platonic”. people in a qpr can do romantic things while having platonic feelings for each other). in my opinion this is a very valid interpretation as well!

CONCLUSION (sorry this got so long omfg):

are c!bee duo romantic?

its likely, but you can still interpret them however you like!

should i put /p on bee duo content?

ehhh? i find it annoying when it’s overused (as do others), but if you’re worried you can. its up to preference. putting it too much is weird though

should i put /p on things cc! bee duo do?

no. you’re not the one saying it so you can’t decide the tone tags for that. imagine you said something to your friend and a random stranger came up and was like “haha but that was /p right...?”

can i ship c!bee duo?

mmm. i’m not sure on this one. they are canonically married and very flirtatious, but the ccs don’t like being shipped and they’re close enough to being the ccs that actively shipping might be against boundaries.

can i treat c!bee duo as romantic?

yes. literally just don’t be weird about it. it’s not that hard! you can understand that two characters are husbands without making it weird

here’s the most important thing: boundaries. cc bee duo still haven’t told us what their preferences and canon is about this whole thing.

right now, i am assuming based on what they already show us they’re comfortable with, but! the second they give us any more info! all these opinions will change!

i am only going off what they do. i would never want to cross boundaries at all. i just wish they would make theirs a little more clear.

..... i hope that helped anon, i went way off the rails... i need to go to sleep.

#it’s late im so sorry for how much i rambled and wrote #i hope this helps you #bee duo #og post #there’s probably so many spelling errors i need to go to bed #i tried to fix some spelling so reblog this one ig #and not the old one

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oriigirii · 4 years ago

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Streamer MC headcannons with the brothers 💞

"You were quite a known face on social media back in the human realm, playing games, doing unboxings, just vibin in general, fans around the globe looked forward to your streams a lot! However, considering the sudden (unannounced) invitation to the exchange program, you had to leave all of that behind out of the blue. It wasn't as bad at first, but you have to admit you do miss the feeling of being able to do goofy shit online. Luckily for you, with the advance technology of Devildom and some spicy magic, the internet had synced with the human realm, and thats when you decided to finally re-enter the streaming scene. How will the brothers react upon seeing your peculiar past time?"

Head empty, No thoughts aside from the brothers just bothering the MC while they stream so here you go haha

Warnings: None, just crackhead energy and a lotta mispellings

Gender: Neutral!

Hotel: Trivago

* [ ಠ╭╮ಠ ] Lucifer *

{How did he know about your career?}

I honestly don't see him as someone who goes on the internet a lot

(He screams boomer to me, change my mind)

He doesn't have the time either, he's too focused on work!

So him finding out is gonna take a while

But! He did find out the hard way when shrilled screaming was heard from your room when he was passing by with some paper stacks in his arms (courtesy of Diavolo)

This man felt his instincts kick in, he ran as fast as he could, papers forgotten, and he immediately slammed your door open. Splinters scattering around, your door definitely damaged, as his eyes held a glare and his demon form was out, wings spread in a threatening display.

He was ready to beat someone's ass as he had thought someone had hurt you in here.

But all hes met with is you, infront of your chair and PC, and a game over on the screen...

To say he was unamused was an understatement cause you just lost your internet priviliges for giving him a heart attack (He said it was because you were being rowdy and noisy but with what you saw you knew that wasn't the case)

Good luck tryna puppy-eye your way to his heart to let you continue streaming lol.

If by some miracle you managed to wriggle your rights back from his hands, he'd warn you not to be so loud next time.

You already learnt your lesson though~ (Hopefully)

{How does he feel about your streams?}

Not everyone's the same, so if you were the shy soft streamer who does more art streams or something akin to a podcast, you can bet that Lucifer will be putting you on while he works, he kinda knows your streaming schedule at this point and if you were running late, he'd force one of his brothers to take over your dish washing duties or any chores you were stuck with

If you were the loud obnoxious meme type, hed still try to watch out of curiosity, and as much as he appreciates that you were getting comfortable here in Devildom with how you laugh and joke around, he still can't approve of it. Its too loud, its much like his brothers energy and he has enough of that already, so he probably doesn't watch as much.

He has countlessly came to your room to shush you and at this point your fans had made a compilation of each time Lucifer had barged in to tell you off

Look he likes it when you scream, but not when hes in the middle of work okay--

At this point, chat has deemed Lucifer as dad and you as their mom/dad.

If he ever catches wind of this he'd definitely be teasing you in private for centuries to come.

Overall fine with it, as long as don't do something stupid on stream.

* ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ Mammon*

{How did he know about your career?}

I would say he found out by him crashing into your streams midway but that's too predictable, hence why you've Mammon-proofed your bedroom during streaming hours!

Thanks to our wizard daddy, you have managed to cast a simple lock spell on your door and as well as a sound proofing

You love your broke idiot, but you did wanna keep the tone of your stream today a bit more chill, you wanted to have a proper Q&A with your fans to hopefully clear any bad vibes around your 3 month disappearance.

When Mammon has learnt your door was locked he definitely was a bit pissy, he knocked on your door loudly even and was calling out for you to let him in, but to no avail.

Bro he's scared.

He usually was allowed to enter, and you usually answered if you did need to be left alone for a bit, so just leaving him hanging got his mind racing and he had to press up his ear on the wooden door to try and hear if you were okay

When this continues on he finally resorts to getting help, but the only one in the house ws Levi, so he kicks down HIS door.

Levi boutta summon Lotan for interrupting him honestly

But as Mammon exclaim you weren't answering and he worried for your wellbeing, Levi rolls his eyes and scoffs,

"Idiot Mammon, they're streaming don't bother them…"

Streaming? why didn't you tell him???

Rude much.

He did huff and now was forcing his way to use Levi's PC for a moment

Can Levi stop him?

Nah.

He was busy on his console, and if he stood up now hed be breaking his world record so he was at a terrible state so he just resorts to threats of him drowning the Avatar of Greed if he does anything stupid on his PC.

He immediately logs in to your streaming platform and he watches for a bit,

You were more dolled up now just to look decent on stream, and he felt this jealousy rise as you interact with your chat, especially to those saying I love you's and stuff, and you even said it back? the audacity! You were his werent you? Were you replacing him with these nobodies?

He huffs as he realized that those who paid got their message highlighted, and thus, he starts donating. (Mind you this was Levi's account...)

"Mcccccc Open the dooorrr"

"Ill behave i promiseeeee"

"Cmon pleaseeee?"

Chat is c o n f u s i o n

NGL, they thought Mammon was a creepy stalker and red flags were being waved everywhere

but as chat was pondering who the hell he was, you can only sigh and look at the camera with that unamused expression, but ugh! you just KNOW hes doing that kicked puppy expression of his, and maybe it really wont be so bad

So you snap your fingers and say, "Okay MonMon, its open, Im giving you 3 seconds"

Mammon wasnt deemed to be the fastest out of his brothers for nothing

As soon as you got to '2', you were already tackled by the white haired male and chat went wild.

Now that you've shown your life in Devildom, maybe its time to introduce chat to your boyfriend no?

{How does he feel about your streams?}

You get paid to sit infront of a camera, do I have to say anything else?

But really though, as much as he enjoys the thought of getting so much cash from something so simple, he prefers the joy of being able to proudly exclaim that he was your first man!

ohhhh he thrives on the salt of your overly attached stans

but for those who fully support you, he always feels so mushy and shy when they say the ship you guys so hard

The fanarts has him WEAK (he may or may not have saved a few)

You usually do streams alone, but now you've allowed the door to be left open to let Mammon join whenever

Chat pogs when he enters with so much confidence, only for it to crumble when you kiss his cheek on stream.

Overall finds it fun to spend time with you, but just dont play scary games cause Lucifer might hang him upside down on stream.

* ▘▂▝ Leviathan*

{How did he know about your career?}

He is honestly the most attached to his D.D.D and he catches wind of almost anything going down in the internet, so your 'revival' being hyped up was something he definitely saw and he was just s wo o o ned

His Henry 2.0? a famous streamer?

Were you truly a blessing gifted upon him or was he dreaming?

He definitely didn't bring it up at first as he didn't wanna make it a big deal, but you notice hes been more in his head lately, and you have tried asking him what it was but to no avail.

You have to corner this little snake if you want answers and he eventually admits that he knew of your persona online and was incredibly shy to ask you to stream with him

He's a streamer himself afterall but maybe he doesnt stream as much as you do nor does he have as large of a following, so his intrusive thoughts attacked him and made him think that maybe since he wasnt as famous he didnt deserve to be in the same stream as you

Please tell him to join you and gib him kiss U3U

He'll absolutely m e l t

But now, as you make the announcement to your viewers and Levi to his, the internet explodes as a special collab stream was hapening between the expert gamer and avatar of envy of Devildom along with the beloved exchange student and streamer of the human realm

Your usual viewers reach between 10-15k, but as you start stream, that number boosts higher and beyond

Before streaming though, Levi was incredibly nervous, he'd picked the games for you to play that he knew you would enjoy with him, but his mind kept racing about whatthe fans thought, he didnt wanna disappoint them

But you had to remind him that whatever they say will not matter in the end as this was merely for fun, this was YOUR stream and you guys were gonna do what you want and nobody can have a say on it. (Maybe except Lucifer)

You usually talk for him with your bubbly personality, and to calm his nerves, he hs your pinky wraped around his where the camera can't see it.

Regardless, his thoughts subsided as you two delve into your stream that lasted a solid 7 hours, you definitely promised your chat that you and Levi will be doing more streams together from now on.

Once the cameras cut and yall are left alone, Both of you collapse on bed, and despite you being asleep already, Levi was just far too giddy as everything dwells on him.

Having a player 2 by his side now had never felt so intoxicating and he as just so lucky to have you.

{How does he feel about your streams?}

He obviously adores it, although some streams he wouldnt join just so he can play games on his own

He's still an introvert afterall, he needs his alone time

But he prefers that alone time with you, his Henry.

So when youre about to go stream, he kinda becomes a bit pouty, but with a simple promise of kisses (and maybe even more if youd like) he would let you go, but his attention would disappear from his game altogether.

He might just end up watching you instead

May or may not, at some point, just chat you and ask if its too late to join you

You do allow him to join you and play from the comforts of his room as both of you can simply play via internet, you give him the comfort to not turn on his mic or webcam either and you have no idea how he appreciates that.

Will definitely fight someone online when they start claiming you as theirs (-cough- stans) Please make sure it doesnt escalate to him summoning Lotan

Although the comments would often get to him, and as much as he can fight them online, he still does find himself pondering if they were true, so you need to give him a lotta lovin and reminder that he is your player 1 and no one else can ever fill that place.

------

Wow 3 brothers this time, what an improvement, anyways hope yall enjoy! I think its pretty clear who I simp for depending o nthe length of each lol, but do let me know if you guys want a part 2 for the rest of the brothers, or even the undateables!

#Obey me #obey me fanfics #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me Mammon x reader #obey me Lucifer x reader #Obey me Leviathan x reader #obey me headcannons #obey me shall we date

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ckret2 · 4 years ago

Text

Alright let’s talk GVK spoilers!!!

My reactions as best I can remember them!

- love how Kong is humanized from the very first scene, like every time he shows up he’s humanized so much more than other titans are. If that was at the expense of other titans being made likable I wouldn’t enjoy it so much, but like, Godzilla is made pretty lovable over the course of Monsterverse, Mothra is too, and all the titans featured for long are given recognizable emotions that let us see them as more intelligent and feeling than “just” animals; so all of them are made understandable/likable/sympathetic. But of them all, Kong is the only one really humanized. Which makes sense, because like, big monkey! Basically our distant cousin!

- And they kept playing, like, normal songs for him, which cracked me up.

- I really appreciated how you could SEE the titans in this movie. After all the weather effects to hide the titans in KOTM, there was such a clear difference in this one from the very start. Kong in the daylight! Godzilla makes his first attack at night, and even then you can see him much more clearly than you can for most of KOTM! Nice!

- after the Iwi were portrayed as silent stoic witnesses in Skull Island, I really appreciated that they took an Iwi character, made her a main character, and gave her dialogue and a real role to play in the story while also keeping her deaf/mute. I think that was a good way to improve on the way that the Iwi got got sidelined in the last movie while still maintaining the worldbuilding!

- I didn’t appreciate so much that, y’know, they murdered the rest of her people off-screen in order to do it. Couldn’t they have gone “her parents died so she got adopted by a Monarch agent that was close to her family, but like, the rest of her tribe is fine”? Or at the very least “their island got fucked up so they had to be evacuated but like they’re settling in somewhere else”? “They’re living under this island dome with Kong and they know what’s up and Monarch’s keeping them in the loop and they decided they’re chill with their new dome home, but this one girl likes to go on adventures with Monarch”? Something? Did we have to kill them all off? Y’all make up an entire fictional indigenous culture and then murder them off-screen when you don’t need them? Just let them live.

- a few minutes in I was like “hold on, we’ve got two characters that speak sign language, we’ve got a giant gorilla, gorillas learn sign language, is there any reason they can’t teach Kong?” and then later I was like “OOOOOH!!” Humans and titans learning how to communicate with each other has been one of my favorite themes to explore in Monsterverse fanfic so I was absolutely tickled to see it getting explored in canon, too.

- That said I think it’s hilarious that the girl managed to teach Kong to sign without, like... anybody seeing. Kong’s hands are above the tree line and there are cameras everywhere, how did NOBODY with Monarch see him signing.

- Bernie’s weaponized being an annoying coworker to such a degree it can only be called an art, and I really appreciated it.

- Godzilla’s extra chonky in this movie and I dig it. Roomie noted he was extra crocodilian and I dig that too.

- “There’s been no confirmed titan sightings in three years” I don’t buy that for a minute. They’re BIG. Rodan NESTS IN VOLCANOES. They found a MOTHRA EGG. Humans have A SCARILY WELL-FUNDED ORGANIZATION DEDICATED SOLELY TO FOLLOWING TITANS AROUND. Like, most of the lore in GVK that I don’t personally like, I can be like “eh... I can tweak it just a little bit with headcanons to make it work for me...” but NO confirmed titan sightings? You expect me to believe ALL of them moved underground when we’d previously seen them all prefer to live above ground? You expect me to believe that now that they’re all AWAKE, they learned how to HIDE?? Uh-uh. And at the end of KOTM there was stuff in the credits about using titan droppings as biofuel, obviously they’re still walking around up top! Can’t take that from me. Nope.

- Who the FUCK is Ren Serizawa and how is he related to Ishiro Serizawa? IS he related? Maybe they just dropped the surname as another “yeah this is a Godzilla movie for Godzilla fans” easter egg but I have a hard time believing that he can’t be somehow related to the other character with the Very Important Last Name who was so important in the last two Godzilla movies. If he is related I’m sure it’s been explained in a tie-in comic or the novelization or something, I’ll look it up later.

- I had to look up how much weight huge battleships can carry while writing a KOTM fic where Ghidorah hitches a ride on one, and y’all, I had to pull weird gravity-negating magic to get him to ride on that boat. Godzilla and Kong woulda sunk that boat like a rock. All I could think during that scene is “this wouldn’t work and I know that because I DID THE RESEARCH and I wasn’t even getting PAID.” I’ll choose to believe that Monarch gets special heavy duty ships designed to carry titans but nobody mentioned it because it wasn’t relevant to Kong’s journey.

- The bit where they could see where Godzilla was swimming because he’d got half a ship hooked to him that was bobbing around on the surface, didn’t Jaws do something like that with a buoy? It’s been ages since I’ve seen Jaws. Anyway good reference.

- Insert “they’re gonna need a bigger boat” joke

- I LOVED the part where they shut down all the ships to get Godzilla to leave. Both because, one, it’s a spectacular callback to KOTM’s “turn off all the guns so he knows we’re not a threat” that makes it seem like now that’s just what Monarch knows what to do to get G to chill out, and two... we know that Godzilla backs off either when he’s killed his enemy or when his enemy has yielded to him. At the end of KOTM—and the end of GVK—the act of yielding is presented as very ceremonial and uniform across species: everyone lowers anything they’ve got that could be dangerous (claws, fangs, beaks, axes) and bows to show Godzilla they’re not gonna fight. Battleships, obviously, can’t bow, but even without being inducted into whatever secret titan cultural intricacies might be going on, humans have figured out their own way to “bow” to Godzilla: cut all the power, so their ships can’t move and can’t use weapons. I know the movie presented it as “playing dead,” but c’mon, if Godzilla could hear MechaG power up from halfway around the planet then he could hear that Kong’s heart was still beating, and he’s been around enough boats to know humans can turn them off and on when they want. The humans bowed to Godzilla. He accepted that they yielded and left.

- Mark Russell looked like such a dad in this movie, like he’s retired 100% from being a rugged action hero and now he’s just Pure Dad. I like him better when he’s a dad, it’s a good development for him. He got like 3 lines and I’m like “I appreciate this character development.”

- Despite all my qualms about how conspiracy theories and extremist groups are handled in Monsterverse (and WHICH conspiracy theories they decide to reference), I really love Madison and Bernie’s dynamic. The adult man who’s the excitable wide-eyed believer in every BS conspiracy you can possibly imagine; and then the serious, severe Teenage Girl On A Mission who’s hypercompetent because she was raised for five years by a friggin doomsday cult militia; and despite having wildly different personalities they’re just, in total agreement about everything. Handled just a BIT differently (like, leaving out the more gross IRL conspiracies) they would be a wildly fun comedic duo—especially with Josh the Only Sane Man coming along as the hapless sidekick. And they all play off of each other so well! Both in a comedic sense, and in more serious moments—when Bernie talked about his wife, there was a real moment of empathy between him and Madison with very little said. I’d watch an entire movie just about the three of them. I’d watch a TV show.

- On the one hand I wasn’t too much of a fan of KOTM’s “all titans... are inherently In Tune With Nature... nature has a Balance, because that’s a Real Thing and not an anthropocentric concept to describe how we like nature to act, and they automatically restore it... because they’re like, some kinda borderline divinities or something... we should probably be worshipping them...” thing; but, now that it was totally absent in GVK, I sorta miss it. Like I feel like there needs to be a balance, a few humans who are like “i lowkey worship these dudes?” and a few others who are like “they’re cool but like, that’s a lil extreme” and that neither side be presented as Right in how they regard titans’ relationship with nature.

- “All titans come from THE HOLLOW EARTH” nah I don’t buy that it’s silly. Basically, what I object to is the idea that all titans have some sort of intrinsic similarity (they all come from the same hitherto-unknown location; they all are part of the same pack that has the same alpha; they all are fueled/fed by the same energy source; etc) rather than letting them be SEPARATE species whose only unifying traits are “they’re all big enough to fuck everything up everywhere they go” and “they’re big enough that the typically-insurmountable barriers between different biomes (mountain ranges, valleys, long distances with terrible weather) aren’t insurmountable for them, so even if they’re specialized in different environments they still all have to deal with each other pretty often.” I’ll make some exceptions for convergent evolution (i.e., claiming multiple titans developed similar traits that are relatively easy to spontaneously evolve and a prerequisite for a creature to survive at such a large size). But I can’t buy “this big gorilla has more biologically in common with this big crocodile-iguana than he does with, say, gorillas,” or most of the other “all these titans have THIS IN COMMON” claims that Monsterverse makes, including “everyone’s from hollow earth.” So I’m tossing that out the window and substituting my own headcanons. Some might’ve evolved there but some evolved on the surface. Maybe a majority of them like ducking in and out of the hollow earth like some kind of titan shortcut system. Kong’s species, I can buy, IS native to hollow earth, considering that they built a whole-ass society down there with tools and architecture.

- I’m SO curious about the little underground Kong home, the Godzilla motif in the floor, and the axe that appeared to be made with a Godzilla scute. What’s the story there??? We know Godzilla’s species and Kong’s species are ancient rivals. Is it because Kong’s species hunted Godzilla’s to steal their scutes to make weapons, seeing them as a valuable resource the way, like, early humans considered woolly mammoths a valuable resource—thus making that Godzilla on the floor equivalent to cave art of mammoths made by people who hunted them—until the Godzillas got pissed and started fighting back en masse? Or were Godzillas and Kongs already enemies when Kongs decided to start making weapons out of their corpses? Did they use to be allies, fighting together, with Godzillas voluntarily offering shed scutes and/or bones of their deceased members to Kongs, and that place used to be a shared home until they started fighting?

- What about that power source, is it something that was already there that both Kongs and Godzillas started to deliberately harvest for technology/atomic breath? Or did Godzillas automatically channel that stuff and Kongs exploited/borrowed/traded with Godzillas to utilize it too? Or is the power from Godzillas who collaboratively poured a bunch of power into the place thus that Kongs were able to use it too? I doubt Godzilla’s species CREATED all that weird energy but the question remains of whether, like, they channel it FROM underground, or naturally produce the same thing in their own bodies, or what.

- Godzilla using his atomic breath to dig a hole STRAIGHT TO KONG just to KICK HIS ASS is hilarious. How lucky that Hong Kong just HAPPENS to be straight over Kong’s house! Were all the tunnels to the hollow earth made by pissed off Godzillas who wanted to kick monkey ass??

- I loved the aesthetic of the battle scene in Hong Kong, with the brightly colored neon building outlines, VERY cool look. The choreography of the battle scene was great too, especially

- we literally broke into applause when Kong shoved the axe handle in Godzilla’s mouth. Love it, perfect callback, that was the ONE thing from the original King Kong Vs Godzilla I was hoping to see referenced and there it was.

- You could really see a difference in how Kong and Godzilla fought—Kong doing a better job at using tools and the environment, Godzilla fighting more like a reptile. They seemed to emphasize Godzilla’s more animalistic behaviors in this movie to accomplish that contrast—he was down on all fours and moving like a crocodile more often, he was clawing at Kong’s chest—but even though it seemed a bit different of a combat technique it also didn’t seem out of place compared to how he fought in prior movies. And we’ve already seen that if Godzilla’s involved in a fight and one of the combatants knows how to use the environment, it’s typically not gonna be Godzilla. (See: Ghidorah using the reflection in a building’s windows to see what’s behind him, and recognizing a nearby power source and biting it to juice himself up.)

- So many of Godzilla’s enemies seem to have specialized in negating his atomic breath in order to combat him! The MUTOs directly suppress his ability to use it—and it makes sense that that’s an inborn ability they have, since they evolved to use Godzilla’s species as prey. Kong has a weapon that both acts as a shield to absorb the breath and turn it back against Godzilla’s species—they didn’t evolve to counter Godzilla, but they developed tools once a rivalry happened. Ghidorah’s the exception—which makes sense, since he came from space—but even at that we see him using tactics specifically to take into account Godzilla’s most powerful weapon (such as keeping one head on lookout for when he starts glowing so that they know when they need to dodge).

- LOVED the reveal that MechaG was based off of Ghidorah’s brain, it has vibes of both the Kiryu Saga and the way that Heisei MechaG is based off of Mecha-King Ghidorah. Not the most surprising plot twist, since we’d theorized that they might use San to make MechaG, but I wasn’t 100% sure they were gonna go with it until they finally did. Even when I was going “huh, the mecha pilot’s chamber looks weirdly organic” I didn’t make the connection to WHY until the reveal, lol.

- “Ghidorah’s necks are so long that the heads have to communicate with each other telepathically” that’s COMPLETELY WILD but I love it, it follows very well from their prior portrayal as telepathic empaths in Heisei, it lines up with their emphasis on electricity (because BRAINWAVES AND ELECTRICITY, hey ho movie monster pseudo science!), and it very much compliments my own private headcanon that they’ve got some psychic/mind control abilities.

- The movie ended with both “Godzilla won, technically” but also “since they teamed up as equals, the ending doesn’t FEEL like ‘Godzilla wins, Kong loses’ but rather ‘they both won against a common foe’” and since I’m on both Team Godzilla and Team They Should Be Friends, I’m happy with this outcome. Plus since the last time they fought, the Japanese movie company graciously let the American monster win, so it’s only polite that the American movie company graciously let the Japanese monster win.

- There were just a few too many humans in this movie. I was intrigued by Ren but we didn’t get much out of him, but like I guess somebody had to be in the pilot’s seat other than the Apex CEO. Didn’t care for the author of the hollow earth book, I feel like his role was superfluous. Didn’t need the Apex CEO’s daughter there at all, coulda done without her. How about this, combine all three roles. Instead of having a whole-ass author who knows about the hollow earth, just casually reference that Rick from KOTM wrote a book about it since he was the expert, and (since he wasn’t in this movie) say that he tragically died going to explore the hollow earth himself, and that way we’ve got the book with the “titans are from there” theory AND an excuse to share the “humans die when they go underground” info. Now, have Ren be working for Apex as a pilot for Mechagodzilla, but have him be MechaG’s pilot because he’s also a good pilot in general, and can fly those HEAV things. Have Apex send him to Monarch to be like “hey, you guys trust me right, since I’m Ishiro Serizawa’s relative? We at Apex have heard all about your failed hollow earth expedition, and due to Ishiro I’ve got some past ties to Monarch so I’ve got high clearance with y’all, so I could bring over this useful Apex tech that’d let you go underground and use what I know about hollow earth from my past time at Monarch to help guide things.” Once they’ve got the little chunk of energy stuff and go topside, he hustles it straight to Apex and straps into his seat to run MechaG. Bam, you’ve combined “person who knows enough about hollow earth to help the expedition,” “person who represents Apex’s interests and gets the energy,” and “person who pilots MechaG” into one character, in a way that takes three flat/underdeveloped characters and turns them into a single interesting character with a lot going on and some intriguing ties to the rest of the cast.

I think that’s everything?? Hoo.

#gvk #godzilla vs kong #gvk spoilers #godzilla vs kong spoilers #godzilla #meta

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prismatales · 4 years ago

Text

Word Count: 2.8k

Pairings: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Category: Fluff, Comedy.

Warnings: Mentions of dicks in a comical manner.

Beta Readers: @strawberryakaashi @cassroler @dadchis-girl

Summary: There’s always a first time for everything. For you and Ushijima, this was the beginning of your unique holiday traditions.

Here’s my contribution to the Haikyuu Headquarters SFW Secret Santa! This is my gift for the lovely @kandyshoppe. Happy holidays, love! You’re such an amazing friend and a great artist. Every time I see your art on discord my tummy does a flip. Hope you enjoy my little gift for you, baby!

As far as Ushijima can remember, his family wasn’t used to celebrating holidays such as Christmas while most people tend to enjoy said festivities alongside their whole families or closest friends. Growing up, the closest thing Ushijima experienced was a small dinner with his parents, the dinner usually accompanied by a simple gift every now and then.

Ushijima’s family never got the experience of setting up a christmas tree, or decorating their home with things like those red stockings people used to hang over the fireplace. There was no need to prepare a feast for Christmas night since there is no need for letting children to make a mess in the living room as they ripped through layers of brightly colored gift paper to look for the presents Santa got them.

Speaking of the old man in a sleigh, that was a tale nobody could manage to convince a young Ushi to believe in, no matter how many times his teachers and classmates tried so hard to make him believe in. As a result, he made the other children cry more than once when he revealed that Santa didn’t exist…

For him, Christmas was just another day of the year, nothing he had to worry about...That is until you came into his life, and slowly began influencing his perspectives after getting together and eventually moving in together into this small, cozy place of your own.

That summer day when you moved into that small house was one of the happiest moments of your lives. Ushi’s stoic expression hid an excited spark in his eyes at the idea of having a place of his own, accompanied by one of the persons he cherished the most. And despite the many ups and downs that every couple goes through, he’s never come to regret your relationship in the slightest.

Every moment becomes another memory that’s swept away just like the seasons over the passage of time. Before he realized, all the trees had lost their lively appearance and the air became cold and crisp with the arrival of winter.

And when winter finally arrived, so did the same holiday he never bothered paying attention to, that is until you came along.

Ushijima noticed the way your eyes would always fixate their attention on the houses and stores covered in beautiful assortments of lights, spheres and wreaths, admiring their beauty with the same wonder as that of a small child. It was the same way you always paid attention to the surroundings during a trip to the mall, deeply enthralled by the soft tunes of the carols while cradling a warm drink with a smile, enjoying the soothing warmth against your hands with a serene expression.

And yet, despite the utter ADORATION for the holidays, you never suggested decorating the house, no matter how many times you both passed by the rows of lights or the trees they sold at the market.

“You see...my family never bothered celebrating Chritstmas before.” You shrugged casually, stirring the simmering pot of soup over the heat of the stove. “My parents were never that passionate about the holidays, and frankly we barely bothered celebrating birthdays as well.”

With a smaller spoon you took a spoonful of the savory meal, blowing gently on the food before pushing it towards Ushi, who carefully grabbed the spoon from your hands and gave it a taste.

“Is it good?”

“Mhm.”

Satisfied with his reply, you beamed softly at him and turned back towards the pot to turn off the heat so you both could finally enjoy some well-deserved lunch together. Said meals were always accompanied by some light chatter. He always had a new story to share about his teammates, and you always had something to say about work.

“Since this is our first year together...Would you like to celebrate Christmas together?” His question however, made the conversation differ from its typical subject.

“Well….it would be nice, I guess. Where did all this come from?”

“I see the way you look at all the decorations at the mall and how much you enjoy the songs.” He noticed you got awfully quiet, staring at the plate in front of you for a brief moment before turning back to look at him with eyes filled with hope.

“I’d love to do something with you for the holidays, but only if you’re okay with it!”

“Of course.”

Ushi's answer was short, but his tone of voice told you everything you needed to know. Needless to say, lunch was quickly taken care of before you were both out of the house and headed towards the car.

It was quite a sight for many people, watching you two go through the store almost like a pair of children with free reign over a credit card. Some people who recognized Ushi didn’t hesitate to take pictures when you placed an elf’s hat over his head (he had to crouch down so you could reach him.)

A couple hours later, you came out carrying a christmas tree, decorations and even some ingredients for cookies. Ushi had also brought something else but you didn’t get the chance to see it, since he put it along with the groceries.

Almost like a couple of kids, everything was quickly taken inside. And as soon as the groceries had been left back in the kitchen, the next thing on the list was decorating the living room.

Starting with the Christmas tree...

“ I...think we messed up.” You mutter, looking up at the mess before your eyes. Both you and Ushi are just standing there next to each other, witnessing the monstrosity also known as the “Christmas Tree”.

The tree itself has such a beautiful shade of green and looks so beautiful that it can easily be confused for a real one. The decorations however, were on a whole different level…and not in a good way.

“It looks good enough to me.” Ushi’s remark is filled with such confidence that you had the urge to ask if he was faking it. Because the thing in front of you two was anything but “cute”....

It’s covered from head to toe in such differently colored spheres, lights and strings that it hurt to look at it. The lights were also the wrong color, rather than that warm shade of yellow, Ushi accidently grabbed the ones that had multiple colors, which were also accompanied by an array of different colored strings….Needless to say, it was gaudy. The tree looked like it came out of a bad parody of the retro era...

That thing couldn’t be considered a christmas tree, but on the other hand, it’s not that bad for your first time decorating by yourselves...right?

“We’ll...worry about that later.” Your attention diverted from the shining atrocity, and instead it went towards the next thing to do on the Christmas list. Strolling once again into the kitchen with Ushi trailing after you like a lost puppy, you picked up the tablet at the countertop and began looking through some tabs, scanning the screen until you found exactly what you were looking for.

“Let’s try this one out!” The tablet is quickly shoved towards Ushi’s face, who blinked twice before grabbing the tablet away from your smaller hand and looked at the reason behind your excitement.

“Christmas Cookies?” There are different varieties of cookies displayed on the long tray. From Santa Clause's face, little snowmen, gingerbread men, candy canes to even little bells, all of them were decorated in beautiful shades of red and green glaze that looked absolutely delicious. The ingredients and instructions are relatively simple, easy enough for someone who’s never baked cookies in their lives.

The kitchen quickly resembled the white aesthetic landscape outside. There’s layers of flour everywhere you look at, the counter, the sink, your clothes and even your faces. It’s all accompanied with the comforting warmth from the heated oven and the lighthearted atmosphere as you both work in a comfortable silence, kneading the dough and rolling it into a fine layer, just perfect for the cookie cutters to do their one job. As you cut row after row of dough into different shapes, Ushi cut up some squares of parchment paper, laying them over a baking tray and shortly after, the raw pieces of dough were quickly placed down and shoved inside the oven.

With the timer set for thirty minutes, you turned to look at Ushi with excitement. He brushed the flour smeared on your cheek with a thumb, smiling softly before the two of you began cleaning the kitchen together along the rhythm of some christmas classics, waiting patiently for the oven to finish baking the sweet treats…

“....They don’t look like christmas cookies...at all.” The way you looked at these cookies was almost comical. As if life itself had been drained out every time you looked at them. If your cousins happened to look at these treats, they would think they were halloween cookies and your aunts would probably make fun of you for all eternity if they looked at the so called “bells” and “candy canes”...

“They actually taste pretty good.” You can hear Ushi munching on some of the baked goods. There’s a slight change in his tone as he enjoys biting into one of the treats without a care. When you turned to give him an unimpressed look, you had to fight back a snort. Was he really that oblivious about their not so innocent shape?

Watching him eat that baked failure had to be one of the funniest things you’ve ever seen since you began dating, you quickly pulled out your phone to take a couple of pictures as well as a video. Ushi swallowed the mouthful of sugary pastry and turned to look at you in utter confusion.

“What’s so funny?”

“You really don’t see it, babe?”

You tried so hard to fight back tears. And the phone kept shaking uncontrollably between your hands as it recorded a confused Ushi that kept looking directly at the camera. “Look at the candy canes.”

His eyes went back to the tray, raising an eyebrow in confusion at the deformed, yet tasty cookies. With the same expression full of confusion he turned to look at your giggling self “They don’t look like candy canes but that’s it.”

“Turn it upside down.” You’re trying so hard to contain your laughter at this point. It becomes downright painful to hold it in when he takes hold of one of the treats, all of his focus is on the treat’s shapes as he tries to find the reason you’re acting so strange. Until he finally turns the cookie the way you told him to. “....oh.”

You don’t know what’s funnier, the fact he’s holding a cookie shaped like a limp dick...or the fact he just kept staring at it before shrugging, taking a huge bite so nonchalantly, but by this point you’ve already forgotten how to breathe and nearly end up dropping your phone into the bowl of frosting. He may not get the joke concerning the treats, but watching you nearly slip off the counter in a fit of hysterics pulled a soft chuckle from Ushi. A barely audible one that you completely miss while you send Tendou a pic of your boyfriend eating those cursed Christmas treats.

“Alright, alright…” You wipe a small tear that slipped out before grabbing the outstretched hand before you. Taking a deep breath you look back at the baking tray on the counter. “I think we baked too many cookies. But we can still decorate and give some to our friends, it would be a waste to throw them away.”

“We can always make another batch if you feel like it.”

“Nah, doesn’t matter. Let’s just decorate these and take a break.”

After the little baking fiasco and everything was cleaned and put in its proper place, you decided to just lay down on the couch and take a break. You would be lying if you said it wasn’t disappointing that neither the decorations nor the baking turned out well.

At the same time you have to admit that spending time with Ushi like this was better than you could have ever imagined. So what if some of the cookies looked like penises and the christmas tree looked like someone had thrown everything representing the retro era, threw it into a blender and poured it all over a poor tree? You could still see a faint glint of excitement in Ushi’s eyes when the lights were turned on. The same glint that appeared again when he was biting on those delicious treats covered in powdery sugar.

You could say it was like an adrenaline rush that you were now coming down from, because slowly your eyelids began getting heavier with exhaustion. The soft fabric of the couch felt like a warm hug enveloping your body, welcoming it to the land of dreams with each passing second.

When Ushi walked into the living room, he was greeted with the adorable sight of your hands tucked underneath a cushion, holding it closer to your sleeping face while you laid face down on the sofa. The fluffy blanket that was always in the living room during winter covered your body up to the waist, except for the fuzzy socks you would always wear at home.

But the prettiest sight of them all was that smile adorning your face even in the middle of a deep slumber. A smile that he’s always cherished ever since that time he first realized he had a crush on you.

Perhaps you would enjoy waking up to a small surprise. With that in mind he went back into the kitchen and began looking for the stuff he bought along with the groceries, ready to prepare something Tendou had shown him during one of their meetings. Something he enjoyed so much and would love to share with you…

A delicious smell flowed into the living room, slowly stirring you awake from the nap. The mouth watering scent of spices coming from the kitchen was impossible to ignore, its alluring presence pulled you in like a moth enamoured by a flame. As you found the source of the smell, the one thing you didn’t expect was seeing Ushi in front of the stove.

“What are you doing, babe?” Even in a drowsy state, that didn’t stop you from embracing his waist from behind, nuzzling into the welcoming heat radiating from him. “And what are you cooking? It smells incredible.”

“It’s called mulled wine. Tendou showed me how to make it.” You took a peek at the simmering pot, which was filled with a bottle’s worth of red wine and spices such as cinnamon sticks, clove, orange slices and anise. He swiftly removed from the heat before it could start boiling and pulled a pair of cups from the cabinets.

And just like that, you found yourselves enjoying a delicious cup of mulled wine as you sat in front of the fireplace, cuddling together under the same blanket from before. The warm and toasty atmosphere, along with the soft music in the background, was one of the most comfortable moments you’d spent together.

“Did you like the wine?” He kissed the side of your head.

“Mhmm, It’s delicious.” You nuzzled closer to him with a smile, before taking another sip of the mug, sighing in happiness by the comforting flavor of the delicious drink. “I didn’t know you liked this kind of stuff.”

“Tendou taught me how to make it.”

“We should send him something as a thanks….as long as it’s not cookies.”

The room filled with a contagious laughter. You felt Ushi shaking as he chuckled at the reminder of the deformed treats before kissing the side of your face for a second time.

After his laughter died down, Ushi turned to face you. “I’m sorry our first Christmas together wasn’t perfect.”

“...Huh?”

The two mugs, now empty of their contents, were carefully placed to the side as you turned around in his lap to face his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“We were supposed to have the perfect Christmas together, but it feels like everything came out wrong.”

“Toshi, listen carefully…”

Your hands cradled his cheeks tenderly, thumbs skimming over his face and tracing circles across his cheekbones with a delicate sweetness he became addicted to.

“Things may not have turned out perfect but we still had fun, didn’t we? Besides, look at it this way, it could be our own way to spend the holidays! Decorating the ugliest tree ever, making cursed christmas cookies, having some mulled wine near the fireplace. I’m more than happy celebrating like this.”

It felt like a weight had lifted off his shoulders with your answer. His arms made their way around your waist, embracing you tightly as he captured your lips in a brief and delicate kiss.

“You’re all I want for Christmas.”

Taglist: @godtieruwu @hanniejji @savagetrickster @shoobirino @sugacookiies @unbreakableeiji @pixxiesdust @xmyshya @sugassetter @jayeray

#Haikyuu #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #ushijima x reader #haikyuu imagines #ushijima and reader #haikyuu fluff

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mc-i-r · 4 years ago

Text

The poem

Summary: Roman finds an unusual notebook on a certain sides desk. What he finds inside is... surprising.

Pairings: platonic Prinxiety

TW: mentions of self-harm, mentions of hospitalization, mentions of blood, angst of course, brief mention of eating disorder, poor self image, major fluff at the end don't worry ;)

Let me know if I missed any triggers!

Word count: 2,172

---

Roman was walking around the Mindpalace when he passed by a door. He stopped, finding the door particularly weird. It's dark colors and purple highlights were not what caused Roman his sudden stop. No, it was the fact that the door was open.

‘That’s weird. Panic! At the Everywhere always leaves his door closed. In fact, he makes sure of it. I better check and see if he’s okay.’ Roman thought to himself.

He looked around him, making sure no one was in sight just in case the lovable emo was having a private crisis. After confirming it was safe to enter, he creaked open the door, sticking his head in only a little bit just in case, not wanting to invade someone's privacy.

“Hello? Virge? Your door was open so I wanted to check if you were okay,” Roman said in a hushed voice, in case the side was sleeping. After receiving no response, Roman opened the door wider, walking fully into the room.

Now, despite common belief, Roman had only been in Virgil’s room once before during Accepting Anxiety and had not returned unless asked; which so far have been the grand total of zero times. Roman looked around the barely-lit room. A lot had changed since he was last in there. The room felt lighter, not by colors but by the overall feeling. He knew that the first time he was in this room the effects were dangerous, affecting them all quickly and severely. But now, there was no feeling. The feeling of doom and nervousness he felt was gone, replaced with a sense of focus and overall awareness. It somehow calmed the Prince, making him feel like he could focus on the tasks at hand and making his dreams reality through achievable means. It was a good feeling, and Roman always growing addicted to it.

He took in the scenery; dark purple walls, fluffy gray carpet, and a single bed in the center of the wall with a black comforter and purple pillows. A nightstand with a single lamp that looked almost never used sat beside the bed with a desk under the window adjacent to the bed, notebooks and art supplies all over it. Two doors stood on the right wall, one to the bathroom and the other to the closet. There were posters all over the walls, most from those emo bands and a few from The Nightmare Before Christmas, which Roman absolutely adored. Despite it not being Romans taste, he liked the room. It was comforting, like you could just snuggle up in a thick blanket and sleep through the winter.

Roman walked over to the desk, curious to what the emo nightmare’s art style is. He found mostly sketches, many of the other sides in relaxed poses. There were some of Patton cooking in the kitchen and others of Logan reading a book on the couch. Others were the Prince himself, writing down ideas in his trusty notebook or singing along to a movie on one of their many movie nights. Roman smiled at the papers.

‘So that's what he’s doing all the time. Aww, the emo really does care,’ Roman thought. He knew Virgil cared about them, he could tell. Virgil had come a long way, they all had. Roman admired Virgil for it, for being able to make that personal growth all on his own. It was something not many could do.

Roman looked over the rest of the desk, noticing an open notebook that he had never seen before. Virgil was always doodling or sketching in his sketchbook but this book was different. It was a black leather-bound book, about an inch in thickness, that had words upon words written on it. The whole page was covered in writing. And Roman was curious.

‘Must be some type of journal. I wonder what’s in it? No, Roman, that's being nosey. But it’s so enticing. Who knows what he has in there! Okay, fine. One page, okay? Only one page and then you put it down, okay?’ Roman argued with himself.

Upon his decision, he picked up the notebook, placing his thumb on the current page to make sure he could put the notebook back without being caught. He flipped back near the beginning of the book, scamming over the titles. Most pages were filled with rants on varying topics, ranging from other sides to whether or not squirrels are real. The other pages, however, caught Roman’s eye. They were writings; short stories, writing prompts, poems, and much more.

Roman saw a title that caught his eye.

“‘Isn’t it funny?’. Hmm, sounds interesting enough,” Roman said aloud to himself. It was a poem and Roman, being the fanciful romantic he was, was intrigued.

He adjusted his grip, holding the book so the page was illuminated by the hallway light that seeped in from the still-open door. Focusing on the page, he began reading.

‘Isn't it funny how nobody cares?

Until you're laying on the floor getting horrified stares

As blood pours out of the cuts that you've made.

Each arm marked by a single razor blade.

The pool of blood slowly grows around you

And the people staring wonder how this is what it's come to.

One leans down to check if you're breathing.

It's steady but slow, slowly leaving.

You wake up later in a hospital bed.

Your arms are sore and you rub your head,

Wondering what the hell happened and where you are now.

And you look at the people in the room and wonder, how?

How could they stand there and look at your face?

How could they stand to give you an embrace?

They act like they care in the hospital room.

But you know-oh you know- that it's really a tomb

Where all your secrets and shame slowly die.

But you harden your gaze and slowly sigh

As they ask why you did it or why you tried

To take your own life and they break down and cry

You look up slowly and shake your head

Saying "you should've just left me I'm better off dead"

They quickly say that they simply didn't know

That they would've helped if you only let it show

But you shake your head and look off to the side

Avoiding their gazes as you let out a shaky sigh

You slightly chuckle but not from amusement

You speak softly, your voice raspy from not using it

"Its funny how you care now that the damage is done.

Where were you when it all begun?

When I cried myself to sleep in the corner of my room?

When I cut my skin to rid me of this fleshy tomb?

When I stopped eating meals that made me too fat?

When I looked in the mirror and subconsciously spat?

I don't want your pity or your false sorrow.

Cause I'm just going to feel the same tomorrow.

I'm hanging on by a single hair

Cause isn't it funny how nobody cares?"’

By the time he was done reading, Roman was in tears.

‘How could he think of himself like that? We-I was so...horrible to him. Is-is this what he was going through while I was being so mean to him? Was he...was he thinking about doing those...those things? Did he do those things?! Does he still think that way? What if he still thinks we hate him? What if he’s always thought that and never stopped? What if he-what if he tries-’

“Princey?”

Roman’s thoughts were cut off by a hesitant hand on his shoulder, making the crying side snap his head around to see who was touching him. He found Virgil, looking at him with clear concern written all over his face, wondering why the Princely side was crying. His gaze flicked over to the notebook still held in the Prince’s hands and his face went deathly pale.

“Princey, listen to me. It's not what you think-” Virgil started.

“...is it true? Do you feel like this? Do you… do you do those...things?” Roman asked, voice small and fragile. He looked up at Virgil with sad eyes, praying to every god out there that it wasn’t true. Virgil only sighed, giving Roman a sad face that said everything.

‘Its true. All of it. The feelings, the emotions, all of it. Oh god-’

“...what have I done?” Roman said aloud, mostly to himself. At those four words, the Prince launched himself at the emo, dropping the notebook and wrapping the small side in a tight hug, crying into his shoulder. Virgil, who wasn't prepared for this, stumbled backwards a bit but caught himself, wrapping his arms around the crying side to try and calm him down.

Roman gripped Virgil’s baggy jacket, guilt taking over his mind. He wanted to hold Virgil forever, make sure he never feels that way again. He wished he could take it all back. Start over, make everything disappear and get a fresh start. God, that's all he wanted.

‘It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It’s all my fault.’

“...it’s all my fault,” Roman whispered out through cries. Virgil tightened his grip slightly and pulled back so Roman could see his face.

“Hey, hey, no it’s not. It's not your fault, okay? Look at me Roman,” Virgil said. The usually energetic side was drained, slowly lifting his head to meet Virgil’s gaze.

“None of it was your fault, okay? You only acted the way you did because you were told to act that way. I don’t blame you. No one does. We were all in the wrong okay? Don’t blame yourself for something you had no control over,” Virgil said, holding the other by the arms.

“But I could have done something. I should have done something. I knew you were just doing your job and I still treated you like shit. You deserved-deserve so much better than that. You-you make us better, Virgil. I mean that every time I say it. You make me better. To think that I drove you to those..those things it- it destroys me,” Roman said, tearing up again near the end.

“Roman, you did not make me do those things. In fact, what I did to myself was no one’s fault but my own. In fact, I never did it because I got too anxious about someone finding out or if I would bleed out and, well, the list goes on and on. That's why I have that notebook. I use it to write down my feelings so they don’t escalate. It was a complete accident, actually. I dropped a glass and cut my hand so when I started cleaning it up I began thinking about what it would be like to hurt myself and what would happen. So me, being the literal embodiment of anxiety, thought of almost every possible scenario and that was one of them. I wrote it down and decided to make it into a poem to occupy myself. I would never do any of that, not after all I’ve been through. Not after all you have helped me through. I could have never been the person I am today without you, Roman. You helped me learn from my mistakes and grow from them. You saved me, Roman,” Virgil said.

He was teary-eyed and grabbed Roman's hands. Speaking of Roman, he was crying his eyes out; half out of sadness still and half out of pure joy that the poem wasn’t all true. Roman threw his arms around Virgil yet again, hugging him so tight Virgil thought he would pass out. Virgil hugged back, smiling slightly and patting the others back in comfort. Roman pulled back, still hanging on to Virgil by his arms. Virgil wiped Roman’s tears away with his jacket sleeve, making the Prince blush out of pure contact.

“Hey, Princey, you got a little something on your face,” Virgil said, teasing.

“Oh shut it,” Roman said, smiling. Virgil smiled back, glad to see the other smiling again. God, that smile.

“There it is, there's that smile I was looking for,” Virgil said. Roman just smiled brighter and Virgil laughed. He actually laughed.

“Come on, Princey. I think Logan and Patton are helping Thomas with something so we have the Mindpalace to ourselves. Want to have a mini movie night?” Virgil asked. Roman smiled.

“After that emotional roller coaster? Hell yes,” Roman said. The two made their way downstairs, grabbing their blankets off their beds as they went, and snuggled into the couch. Virgil grabbed a few snacks while Roman picked a movie, which turned out to be Moana since it was his emotional support movie. They settled down to watch the movie, enjoying their time together.

A couple hours later, Logan and Patton returned from their errand with Thomas, coming home to see the two sides cuddled together on the couch fast asleep, the end credits of Moana still rolling on the tv screen.

---

A/N: Well...there you have it! My first oneshot I've posted! I've got a ton more so if you'd like to read more, let me know. I'm open to suggestions so message me, send asks, or tag me anytime! Anywho, hope you enjoyed :)

Taglist:

@whattheremus (sorry if you didn't wanna be tagged, I just thought since you said yes you'd like to know :) )

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tigerdrop · 4 years ago

Note

u know u could put out the weirdest most fucked up shit and we would still love it. obviously don't share stuff if it makes u uncomfortable but for every single thing you find embarrassing there's something several times worse

i really hope ur ready to stand by these words b/c im about to tell you about.......showdog dogboy gordon. for five thousand fucking words

look. listen. hear me out. my dear kogo introduced me to an idea and it has not left my mind since: showdog......dogboy......gordon

like.........you know.......its about. dogboy. submitting while benrey dolls him up and makes him look nice. maybe hes been a lot......fuzzier since he got forcibly nintendogged. and maybe benrey cracks a joke about it, maybe the joke gets pulled out a little too far. b/c its the two of them, and thats what they do. its jokes. games. jokes being riffed upon and thinly-veiled dares being issued until gordon freeman finds himself standing awkwardly next to a grooming table in nothing but his underwear while benrey tells him to chill the fuck out. puts that collar on him. after all, he wants to look nice for his friend, right? they say a dog is mans best friend

this definitely would not be the first time a joke or a game went too far and they ended up fucking at the end of it, but this is......this is a whole level beyond. this is definitely, like. theres a Lot going on here. but neither of them are breaking character yet so

and. you know. if youre feeling really insane. like me. if youre feeling just fucking diseased. you can make benrey.......pretty big here. make gordon dogy-sized next to him. not like, tiny, but enough that gordon, ordinarily a Big Guy, feels......small. a little emasculated

and.....yknow. gordon could be collared and chained to the table. like a real dog. not a lot of slack on that thing. and maybe hed be.......muzzled, too. if hes the kind of dogboy that gets snippy at scissors

its really good also for.....benrey being fully clothed and gloved up while gordons almost entirely bare. i know dog groomers dont strictly have to wear gloves. but still. not that it was really going to stop me if he wouldnt actually have a reason to wear gloves. i would make him anyway b/c ive lost all dignity

ITS ABOUT. THE HORNY FUCKING GAME. like they could talk about it if, if they wanted, if they were normal about it, b/c in this scenario they have absolutely fucked it out before (b/c i cant imagine any other fucking way gordon freeman acquiesces to this unless hes Aware that theres gonna be dick touching involved), but they are not normal and they are not going to break kayfabe even if it kills them

and like......i think the muzzle thing is......good. its really really good. b/c benrey can get real fuckin mean and tell him that hes gonna have to be a good boy and keep his teeth to himself if he wants it off so that benrey can make him look less like shit

those new canines of his are awful pointy. is gordon sure he can handle it? can he get a grip on his dogy side for fucking long enough to let benrey take a straight razor to his face? of course he can, he thinks, b/c hes not a fucking dog, okay, hes still a guy, and hes here to prove it and just. behave. while benrey manhandles him and grooms him and brushes out his fur and files his fucking nails. hes not in thrall to his instincts whether they be animalistic or vulgar. and hes definitely not going to cave and ask benrey to touch his fucking dick while he does this

> i enjoy the thought of benrey posing gordon as he pleases but never directly touching him, lifting his leg to get under his upper thigh or stretching the skin of his belly taut as not to nick him. so concentrated on gordon but feigning ignorance to his building arousal, ignoring it

> that art jordan did where gordon is on the table and has the collar on. his chest is shaved into the shape of a heart and that made me so DFUCKING CRAZY I STARTED BARKING AND SNARLING AKLSJAKDJFS

YEAH.....ITS......its shaved into a heart on purpose. and i left that in the first version i posted but nobody said anything about it so i just whistled and walked away

> LIKE. the emasculation of it....the fucking. possesiveness. theres also an undercurrent of like tenderness to it that made me fucking go apeshit

its such a fucking power move too. like. thats not gonna grow out for awhile. every time gordon freeman looks in the mirror for the next few weeks hes gonna be reminded of how fuckin debased he was

just..............consider........the trust hed have to put in benrey for it........benrey holding gordons jaw very firmly in his hand and showing him the straight razor and being like "yo.......uhh......this things sharp. dont wanna make a mess......better, better sit real fuckin still. sit boy. dont move." and sitting rigidly after benrey says something like that while tilting his jaw up to look directly athim is one of the hardest things gordons done in his life. hes sweating and hes making himself dizzy by trying not to breathe too much

he can just......he can see exactly where gordons jugular is fluttering madly under the razor and where gordons adams apple bobs as benrey skims stubble off his throat and rest assured that benrey is getting off on this just as much as gordon is

big......big hands on his face.....turning him every which way.......running his thumb over the clean line of his jaw to feel the results..........i think its just, its a cool scenario. to think about. but instead of this being just a normal "gordon freeman gets shaved" scenario, hes half naked and chained to a table and also has dog ears for some fucking reason

but also this is just like......his face. its the "trimming him everywhere" thats the really fun part

> like...the moving down his body....touching almost clinically by moving part of him around to get everything...yknow....

casual.....clinical.......nervewracking to be on the receiving end of

> thinking about him having to restrain his horny is fun, but it’s especially fun when you think about how he’d spend hours like that, hard and dripping, since friend benrey wants to be so through

> YES CLINICAL, ALMOST INDIFFERENT

fucking. hours. of just laying there anxiously running his mouth and laughing and gasping when benrey moves him like its nothing or touches him somewhere that makes him jump......like.......benrey with something whirring as loudly as those clippers in his hand doesnt exactly inspire confidence......but hes weirdly good at what hes doing and hes got a broad palm flat on gordons stomach to hold him in place/get him to chill out......but it just makes gordon sweat and flush and hes trying so hard to stay still b/c benrey keeps demeaning him when he squirms too much......like, what, is he scared? thinks benreys gonna cut his other arm off with a pair of hair clippers? get real. calm down maybe.

but thats not really the reason why hes acting weirdly ticklish about the whole procedure. (its because of the Scenario, man. gordons trying so hard to be normal in the face of the awareness that this is one of the most insane things hes ever gotten hard for, but we all know how strung out this dude gets at even relatively normal shit. so much so that benrey will just stare at him blankly and ask "uhhh, stop moving please? thank you?" b/c gordons so handsy ordinarily and he keeps trying to move his hands when he talks)

> listen. what if he....absentmindedly like...pet. him. on the stomach. just doing the motion cause it soothes normal dogs so when he feels gordon squirming he strokes heavily down. repetitive...but hes not even focusing on that, hes like intent on getting the part hes trimming just right gordon freezes up and stops breathing for a second to flush all over. benrey’s hand is so hot on his stomach, and he can only focus on how good it feels,

> squirmy because he feels like he’s gonna die if his dick doesn’t get touched and all his instincts are screaming to disobey and hump benrey into the ground (not like he physically can with the restraints but)

eventually benreys gonna have to get down to brass tacks and shave and trim all of him

> and like the whole time. the whole goddamn time gordons just in his boxers absolutely throbbing with it and like. benrey's hand moves to his stomach and like the waistband of his boxers. yeah. all of him.

can you imagine. gordon freeman desperately trying not to be horny while his best friend kneels between his legs and hooks those fingers in his waistband and starts peeling them off and completely fucking failing at it but hes still gotta try, right. whether hes cis or trans this idiot is so horny that his underwear is just. ruined

> i still cant stopr thinking abt. in the pictures you drew jordan. the way benrey is. delicately touching gordons dick/pussy to get a better angle for shaving

Y. YEAH. ITS POTENT. IMO. gordon having to pretend like hes not fucking horny in the slightest while benrey just kind of clinically moves his dick around and laughs at him when it twitches......ITS A LOT.

> the amount of willpower gordon is exercising not to fuck up into benrey’s palm when he’s loosely holding his dick to shave all the hair around it is honestly impressive

hes trying so fucking hard. hes shaking. look at him. tail thumping weakly against the table

just......like......i was thinkin about benrey getting gordon stripped bare while he stammers and rambles because he is so very fucking turned on right now and hes so embarrassed by this that he just stares firmly at the ceiling and humiliates himself ranting about how its a totally normal response and plenty of guys get erections during prostate exams and benrey has no idea what the fuck hes talking about

> this was th. part. ...benrey ignoring his boner and his rambling like "yeah alright. stay still for this part though for real" and gets to work. gordon absolutely mortified but hes breathing real shallow cause he doest want to get nicked here of all places so. and benrey placing a hand on his thigh to push them open further so that he can get a better angle and gordon's leg shakes. its quiet until benrey says to himself "'youre bein still. 's good." and gordon's dick visibly twitches at that and he shuts his eyes quickly and turns his face away. also i was still thinkin,,,,bout how the little praise straight up goes to gordon's head and his tail might also thump a lil faster on the table.

> would benrey notice? probably. maybe not say anything at first but just let a real evil smirk spread on his face, laughing a little. and then say lowly when hes focused on his work, "really like that huh. lil dogboy. you like being good?" and gordon lets out a harsh breath, stomach jumping. doesnt respond but his tail moves even faster. benrey's wrist brushes the head of his dick and he lets out a small sound, which turns strangled then he actually takes his hand and presses his dick to the side so he can get right below his stomach. its detached, hes just holding it pressed to the crease of his hip, but gordon's dick throbs under his palm and dribbles precome against the gloved fingers

> Okay, so, part of the grooming process is, of course, bathing the dog. And luckily, Benrey has a wonderful tool to help him with this. A hand-held shower hose with a lovely little shower head with very nice settings to help our little showdog get... clean.

> Imagine, if you will: Gordon, on all fours and chained up to keep him upright as Benrey slowly, methodically, wets him down. Lathers him up. Works his hands all over his body, from tail tip to the top of his head. Massaging into his belly. Rubbing inside his thighs. Cleaning every part of him. Every part.

> And the shower head occasionally dips down, pulsing, right to a sweet spot between Gordon’s legs, the closest thing he’s got to attention the entire time they’ve been playing this game. He’s so close, so GODDAMN close to getting what he wants, but every time Benrey realizes he’s getting somewhere... ... He moves it. To spray his back. His head. His chest. Anywhere but where Gordon wants it.

> Gordon is shaking. His legs are trembling, the table is wet and slick. He’s having such a hard time staying up on all fours, he’s panting and begging and losing his footing and EVERY TIME he loses his footing, well, the collar and chain choke him and force him right back up. And Benrey is just watching. Grinning.

> Waits for him to get his composure.

> And does it again.

just......like.......jesus. gordon would be. shaking. his whole body. panting like a dog. trying so hard to stay still. but he keeps trying to spread his legs wider when benrey reaches his thighs and he keeps slipping and accidentally choking himself and hes nearly at the breaking point trying to keep himself together but benrey runs a big, warm hand along his side and makes a passing comment on what a good boy hes being and gordon almost fucking yells from how overwhelmed he gets

i want gordon freeman fucking obliterated. i want him to suffer first from benrey jerking him around and then being made to jerk himself around, trying and failing to keep his shit together.....and when benrey tells him sumn like, hey no, dont lay down........even if your arms and legs are shakin, you gotta stay up bro.......its so fuckin demeaning and gordon just spits out "im trying!" and benrey buries his free hand in gordons hair like hes gonna tug in retaliation, but instead he just scratches gordons scalp in a way that feels really fucking good and asks "you gonna bite? huh? gonna bite me? when im treatin you so nice......jeez, man" and that takes him back from the brink a little

hes just always keeping gordon on his toes. switching settings. dragging it out and making gordon shake from head to toe, sometimes putting on one of those real powerful pulsing jets to overstimulate him and make gordon yelp and just work him up into a trembling mess struggling to stay upright. snarling in ugly frustration when benrey yanks the showerhead away just as gordons starting to Get There. it feels like it must have been hours that hes been being bathed like this and teased from occasional glancing sprays with the waterhead to direct stimulation while benrey chuckles at him and just blandly comments "youre shaking." and gordon stammers out hotly "of course im fucking shaking, you keep fucking with me and i just wanna--" and benrey takes him by the chin and makes gordon look up at him and says, laughing at him under his breath, "dogs dont talk, bro"

ike.......at this point u might think "surely thats enough. throw the guy a bone." and that maybe, now, gordon freeman will get his dick touched like he deserves. you owuld be wrong. benreys not done here. gordons gotta come down from that table, get toweled off. and when benrey unclips that leash from the table, gordon just fucking collapses. his arms and legs cant really hold him up right now......hes being strung out like a violin, drawn to maximum tautness before being let go all at once just before he snaps.

and this is where benrey plays a little nice.......dries him off and blowdries him a little, brushing out his hair and his tail. hes committed to the bit, okay? he said he was gonna make his best bro look nice, so hes gonna make gordon look nice. this whole time hes letting gordon come back down.....and its......its kind of frustrating, if benreys just gonna decide to leave him like this and drag him outta here and call that the end of the game, but its not the worst thing in the world right now. for the first time in hours hes not being asked to do something. he doesnt even really have to move his own arms and legs.

but No. hes still not done. theres something theyre forgetting........gotta clip your nails, bro. its the last thing on benreys docket, and gordons embarrassed for a different (but taxonomically similar) reason. all the personal attention and the bizarre intimacy of it makes gordons mouth start running, just to get his mind off it. pretend to be normal! surely thats gonna work when the guy who nearly gave him a nervous breakdown from being edged and toyed with beyond belief is now at his feet, filing nails and running curious thumbs over the tendons and muscles. benreys almost more lost in it than gordon is at this specific point. (hes been doing nothing but jerking gordon around and its hard work. he deserves this.)

gordons been good. really fuckin good. didnt even nip his fingers. benreys best friend deserves a treat.

> look. hes been so fucking good the whole time. not moving and not touching himself, not breaking the tension they have with each other, staying so still. i think he deserves something nice. but like gordon doesnt expect it, he expects to just be jerked around and let go. benrey tells him to stay on the table and he complains about it like "im done now. you. you said we were done" but benrey comes back with a fresh pair of gloves and gordon tenses until benrey places a hand on his chest and tells him to calm down. he was good. rubs at his chest and stomach, slowly pushing him down onto the table while gordon squeaks when benrey parts his legs. hes mostly soft now but he hears benrey doing something and then rubbing a slick finger around his hole and he lets out a little "oh god. oh god. " that turns into a moan when he presses in.

> gordon's calmed down a bit but its goddamn embarrassing how quickly he gets wet again, dick throbbing a little. and i think. hm. i think it would be very fun to do overstimulation in this way now too since hes been edged so much that hes actually fucking desperate to come

> i think he should be be fingered until he howls and comes like 3-4 times. he's finally finally getting what he wants i dont know if he would know what to do. hes probably embrassed as all fuck from the way he acted that whole time, but when he starts getting fingered all that stuff just blanks from his mind and its so, so hard for him to not just chase that feeling and whore himself out. the opportunities for whoredon dialogue when hes that desperate are like saying shit hes cant even think about like "god - please f- fuck." and benrey's only got one finger in him but hes so wet already that benrey tries a second and it slips in easily. he crooks his fingers and gordon fucking keens, thighs shaking.

the fuckin. the agony in his voice when hes hoarsely begging benrey "do not stop do not fucking stop i cant take it" and just. slamming his fist into the table and being so fucking loud, oh my god, this guy is loud

> the thought of how loud he would be crazed me im just. just. him laying on the fucking table, eyes shut tight and moaning high and loud while he pulls tightly on his own hair, clenching hard around benrey's fingers

i think it would just be cool if. uhh. the thing that finally breaks gordon. gets him to just Let Go. is benrey catching him trying to choke back his words and his sounds and just laughs at him, like, "this is the easy part man. you wanna be a good dog? better, uhh.....better beg. cmon, boy. beg." and gordons hips jerk and the subsequent praise he gets when he actually does it makes him just.......snap.......Bye

> and what if.......benrey doesnt remove them as gordon comes down from that. he just waits a few seconds while gordons still panting and then scissors them and wrings a strangled sound out of gordon, whos hips move down again. and the heat starts building again in his gut and he cant even get out full sentences anymore, just bits and pieces while he fucks onto benrey's fingers. m. maybe benrey's growling out shit like "thats it, cmon. been good for me all fuckin day. you want more?" and gordon nods his head without even looking but he hears a thump and sees benrey kneeling between his thighs and he. licks up from where his fingers are to his clit and he just seals his mouth on it and sucks and that makes gordon come a second time, thighs clamping shut around benrey's ears.

i just......i lvoe......overstim.......and i think gordon freeman should have his pussy eaten until he cannot fucking take it anymore

maybe......even.......maybe after gordon comes a second time. benrey doesnt stop sucking and licking. at first it seems like benreys just working him thru the orgasm, but then he just keeps going. and gordons sensitive, hes too fucking sensitive, each time benreys tongue swipes over him he jerks and tries to close his legs. frantically gasping that he did it, okay, he got gordon off, voice getting high and broken, but benrey just pulls back and looks at him flatly and then very deliberately. spreads his legs wider in one swift movement. and pins them with his big fucking hands. and just looks him in the eye and says "i know, dude" and puts his mouth right back on gordon anyway. and gordons legs twitch like fucking mad but benreys so strong and he cant move and hes slamming his fist on the table again from how overwhelming it is, tears prickling in the corner of his eyes, howling into the open air how benreys killing him, hes fuckin killing him, why does he like jerking gordon around so much........and benrey glances up and breaks the seal of his mouth around gordons dick and mutters something about how he must not be doin his job if gordons still talking

i want him to howl wordlessly with frustration and grab benreys hair and yank him closer as gordon rounds the corner from "the agony of getting sucked off when hes hyper-sensitive" to "the agony of chasing yet another orgasm". i want this dude to be tonguefucked until he wails!!! I Want Him Ruined. meat: massacred. pussy: destroyed. i think it would be cool if gordon freeman was wailing at him for more, dont stop, benrey, until benreys got two big fingers back in him and is squeezing in a third alongside them and hes so fucking tight from having just come twice in a row, but the groan gordon lets out when its finally inside him is so guttural and low it makes benrey blink and shiver

and i think that for the grand finale benrey should smash that dogboy pussy. thanks for coming to my TED talk

hes been going thru this shit for hours. taking his time to really screw gordon freeman up good. and its been so fuckin worth it just to hear all the fun new sounds gordon made (cuz of him, he reminds himself). benreys been awkwardly adjusting his dick in his pants for way too fucking long, and gordons been watching him do it. staring at it. saliva collecting at the corner of his mouth. he was achingly hard the whole time he was giving gordon a glorified pedicure. and he didnt even ask to shift forward from where he was kneeling to let the arch of gordons foot press against his dick. its been just as hard for benrey to keep control and stick to the rules of the game as it has been gordon, and this dude oughta get to crush mad pussy okay

> the thought of this is kinda making me insane actually so. im just. h. im just thinking about how it would go down like. augh. i think that gordon would be shaking from his third consecutive orgasm but like. he can keep going. and he finally gets a moment to breathe and look at benrey whos just a mess. hair messed up where gordon gripped it, red faced, mouth dripping with his own drool and gordon's slick and hes remembers like. this guys so fucked up over this, god. and hed been thinking about his dick the whole time, even though he thought he wasnt gonna get anything out of it for a while. hes been wanting it. and so like like he doesnt want to play any more games. hes been good he deserves this.

> benrey's still got three fingers in him so he kind of just pushes him back and breaths out "fuck me". benrey's actually absolutely dazed from everythin and has to process it like "huh. wh" but gordons like "just fucking do it, cmon. im not gonna say it again" and benrey finally actually registers it like. "y-yeah. okay." and he barely has any time to think before gordon's hauling him up onto the table. starts fumbling to get his pants and shirt off and gordons practically tearing at his clothes which doesnt fucking help. letting out little growls maybe like "fucking. jerking me around this whole time fuck you. can see how much you wanted it" and they finally manage to get them off and gordon pulls him on top and ruts against him. its finally now clicking for benrey that fuck. this is actually happening and he pushes into him with a low sound and gordon's thighs and tail go still and taut until he bottoms out. gordon's fucking panting and clenches down on him and they both let out a little sound and benrey starts fucking into him slow. but cmon. this dudes been pent up the whole goddamn time. its barely any time before hes gripping gordon's hips and fucking up into him fast and hard, hips slapping against gordon's at a desperate pace. he probably tries to make it last but he cant, hes been edging himself too long. im going to fucking die see ya everybody

thinking about just how fuckin bad benreys legs would shake from the effort of pushin in reaaalll slow b/c gordons so fucking tight after having gotten off 3 times in a row.......trembling from the effort of trying to hold himself back......and gordons nails digging into the back of his neck and dragging down his back to leave long red furrows behind....... gordons eyes screwed tightly shut while the only thought on repeat in his head is "oh my god hes big hes so fucking big" and he can barely fuckin speak

> like yeah he had three fingers in him but this is so goddamn much. thinking about...gordon's hands clawing into back involuntarily from the stretch, letting out little cut off pants while his legs shake a little from it. i just. like the thought of his tail pointing out stiffly and trembling too. the absolutely wrecked sound he would let out when he bottomed out, all of that tension kind of leaving him in a drawn out deep moan. benrey shifts just a little to get a better grip on gordon's thighs and it causes him to yelp a little cause its so fucking much just from that movement.

> benrey's trying not to move but his hips are twitching from holding himself back and gordons letting out little. sounds that are making him insane. he pulls out just a little and that makes gordon let out a whine. and when he pushes back in gordon lets out breathless "fuck!" like its been punched out of him. even going this slowly is making him fucking shake like a leaf. hes squeezing his eyes shut tight heaving deep breaths, chest rising and falling fast. hes so full be can barely think. and benrey's just fucking stupid with cumbrain and hes saying all kinds of filthy shit like "h - fucking - so fucking good for me. so good. nnh. best. best friend -" and that makes gordon let out a whine. the praise has been getting to him the whole time and just. again with the loaded phrase of best friend. like the possesiveness of that. that combined with the near-overstimulation of getting filled makes him actually kind of lose it. his thighs clamp around benreys hips and his toes curl and pulls benrey's hips forward to make him thrust into him, so he stop going slow. bye. goodbye

#asky #writin stuff #Good bye

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yonymii · 4 years ago

Text

2 arabesques

a/n; this one was hard to write bc I did it while having writers block but I hope it's ok!! I love alisa a lot she is lovely and I would marry her if she was real 🥰🥰😍😁😁 also I got very absorbed like, halfway through so y/ns personality is basically me. yes

wc; 3.9k

warnings; cursing,

genre; fluff, strangers/friends to lovers, romance

pairing; alisa haiba x gn!reader

listen to 2 arabesques here!

She reminded you of the old paintings of angels you’d seen in art galleries as a child. It was weird, seeing something so ethereal reincarnate as a university student. She didn’t belong here; she belonged on a pedestal, deserved to be adored. But life was unfair, you supposed, and not everyone could experience the excitement of such an elaborate life. Perhaps that was why she was studying fashion modeling in the first place (whatever that was). You’d probably never know. She had absolutely no idea who you were.

By the time you’d stopped daydreaming, your final class of the day was over and everyone had left. Only you were left in the lecture hall, sitting at the very back with your head resting ontop of your arms, the shuffling of the professor packing up his things quickly making tiny little noises at the front of the room. He left, the door swinging shut behind him, but it wasn’t locked.

It didn’t take you long to pack up, seeing as your laptop hadn’t left your bag in the first place. You swung it over your shoulder after your coat, tucking your hands into the sleeves to protect them from the bite of the wind. It had been snowing when you arrived in the morning, and it took and hour to wake up your fingers to be able to type, let alone write anything.

The hallways were quiet (as usual; it wasn’t as if anyone wanted to stay in school when they didn’t need to). The little shop on the ground floor had a few students in it, but they were in a hurry to leave too. The large exit doors had obviously been open all day and it was absolutely freezing. You were glad you’d put on your big coat in the morning; it was a long walk back to your apartment and you planned on going to a coffee shop before going there.

It had stopped snowing, but the ground was covered in puddles and your boots and feet got soaked in numbingly cold water as you wandered towards the place you usually studied. It was slowly getting darker as you walked and the sun was lowering itself below the tall line of skyscrapers and apartment blocks when you entered the coffee shop and joined the small queue of teenagers and tired-looking adults ordering their drinks.

It was quiet inside but you were thankful for the warmth the heaters provided, and the low hum of voices under the music wasn’t unwelcome; you payed for your drink quickly and went to sit at your usual spot, the two-seater table in the corner. There was a small, dim light hanging above your head and it lit the space in a soft, golden glow, unlike the rest of the coffee shop that was lit by streetlamps outside. The moon was hid behind a building, only half of it visible, but you still found yourself staring at it for an unnecessary amount of time. It reminded you of her; your friend’s friend. The girl studying fashion modeling.

To be quite honest, you didn’t see her that often, so it was a mystery as to why she plagued your mind so often. Apparently, her brother played volleyball for a highschool called Nekoma (albeit not very well), and she was half Russian. Not that it mattered to you, though. You supposed that you’d like her anyway.

Suddenly, you found yourself snapped out of your little trance by the waiter bringing your mug to the table and setting it down a little too loudly. He walked away quickly, avoiding any sort of contact with you, but you weren’t bothered by it. You were focused on your book so the lack of conversation wasn’t disappointing in the slightest. The bell at the door rung again, and because of the small distraction of your drink arriving you raised your head to see who it was, somewhat begrudgingly, despite it being completely of your own accord.

Your eyes were met with a pair of stark green ones that seemed to go right through you; you shivered, not because they were unfriendly. Admittedly, you knew who she was, but your frank lack of energy made it hard to want to communicate with anyone, and so you pretended not to see her, looking back down at your book and swiftly burying yourself in the pages, as if you were trying to hide from her.

You knew your efforts were futile though. She was almost too nice, and it wasn’t like she knew you were already half-asleep and probably weren’t able to form a coherent sentence. At this point, you weren’t even reading. The words were going right over your head.

You heard her footsteps before her voice, and you didn’t even need to look up to know she was smiling. “Y/n!”. Too loud. You tried not to wince to noticeably.

“Hey, Alisa,” you managed to spit a greeting out. You weren’t sure what you thought about her at this point. You were tired, and it was late, and you had so many essays due that you doubted you’d get more than an hour of sleep over the next few days. Yeah, sure, you loved her but you were so overwhelmed you didn’t think you’d be able to handle talking to one more person. Emotions were confusing (especially when you considered yourself to be in love, whatever that felt like).

“How have you been?”, her voice was like silk, and you had to wait a moment to process what she was saying. Alisa continued, “I haven’t seen you since last month! How have you been?” she looked down at your book, then at your bag that barely held all the paper assigments from your classes. She laughed (the same laugh that gave you heart palpitations. This was the reason she wasn’t good for you) “You look busy.”

You laughed (it was sort of forced, but that isn’t the point), “Yeah. School tends to keep you busy,” you paused, adding shakily, “I’m used to it, though. Don’t worry about me!”

The blonde girl frowned as she watched you panic, your eyes darting everywhere but her. It was hard not to worry when you watch someone you consider a friend fall apart in the back corner of a coffee shop. She tried her best to ignore it though, and as soon as you managed to look back at her she continued the conversation.

“I don’t think we have each other’s numbers yet, y/n. Do you mind exchanging? Maybe we could go out together sometime, since i have to get home and look after Lev,” she sighed, and her eyes closed momentarily, “He’s a bit of a handful. For a fifteen-year-old.”

You didn’t have the energy to feel sorry for her but you let her enter her number into your phone, and she listened attentively when you told her yours to make sure she didn’t get it wrong and end up texting a random stranger to make plans. After you watched her leave, take-out cup of coffee in hand, you lay your head on the darkening pages of your book, ear pressed to the paper. You closed your eyes for a moment and then sat up, breathing deeply as you drank the rest of your tea. You closed your book, tucking it into the bottom of your bag and standing up, patting your coat pocket to check that your phone was still in there.

It was pitch-black when you stepped outside, and the streetlamps made you squint and cover your eyes with one hand; your apartment wasn’t too far away but it was cold and taxis were easy. You flagged one down and climbed into the back, sitting directly behind the driver (it made you feel safer anyway), and you put in your headphones.

The drive passed quickly, and as soon as you paid for the journey and exited the car you began to walk briskly up the stairs to your place. Your keys were in the same pocket as your phone, and you pulled them out wearily, pushing the silver one into the lock and turning it till you heard the familiar click.

The door felt extra heavy tonight, and your bag dropped to the floor just as quickly as you dropped onto your bed. The lights were too bright to turn on but the fairy lights lining the walls were fine; you opted for them as you dropped your thick coat next to your bag and shoes. Closing the window from the freezing cold and switching on the little heater, you crawled into bed and let the warmth envelop you. You fell asleep in mere seconds, ignoring the loud vibrations from your phone carry across the room.

Most of the time, when you don’t want to reply to someone’s message or call them back, you just pretend to have not read it or noticed in the first place. It was weird, leaving the notification there, just to remind yourself that she texted you first. When you’d exchanged numbers the previous week, you just assumed that you’d be the first one to reach out. That’s how it had been with every other friend you’d made. You weren’t disappointed; in fact, you were grateful. You hated having to initiate conversations, however you still felt bad for not replying.

It had been five days since Alisa first messaged you, three since the second time, and fifteen minutes since the last. The latest one read ‘I’m coming over. Be about 20 minutes!’.

You sighed, reading it once more and then turning your brightness down. Just because you hadn’t replied to any of her texts didn’t mean you weren’t ok. The music barely reached your ears since you were buried so deep under your covers, but that was fine. You weren’t really listening to it anyways.

There was a knock at the door. You didn’t think that the person on the other side realised how thin it was, but you definitely heard them sigh and let out a string of curses after you didn’t reply. It was Alisa, but you knew that. Nobody else would want to check in on you. The doorknob rattled and you winced; too loud. It opened, a little quieter this time, and slowly, the covers were peeled off of your figure. Alisa sighed (again. How sick of you could she possibly be? You only got back in touch less that six days ago) and looked down at you with disdain.

“You need to get up. Have you missed any classes?” you shook you head in response to her questions. You couldn’t miss classes. It’s not as if you found them particularly difficult. Just a little boring, that’s all.

You closed your eyes, tapping your fingers against the mattress. The blinds had been opened and now the evening light was pouring into your room unfiltered. Alisa grabbed your wrist gently, pulling you up painfully slowly. You groaned, rubbing your eyes and patting her hand to let her know you can sit up on your own.

You opened your eyes somewhat begrudgingly, squinting from the still too-bright light. Alisa was stood at your small fridge, rifling through whatever food was left in there. She pulled out a half-full bottle of milk and a packet of ham. “Do you not uhh,” she paused, “have any… other kinds of food? Or is your diet limited to milk and ham sandwiches?”

“I usually get takeout. Or ham sandwiches. Sort of depends how lazy i’m feeling on that day.” She turned and smiled at you, nodded her head back towards the door. “We can go to mine. I have ‘good’ food there. Lev needs feeding anyways.”. You grinned, “I thought Lev was fifteen?”

“Yeah, but he’s still incompetent. I’ll teach him to cook later, when i’m not taking care of you.”

You looked down at your lap, and then at the pair of shoes on the floor next to your bed. Sliding them on, you stood, looking at Alisa for approval. “You look fine. When was the last time you changed?”

You hesitated, thinking for a moment, “A few hours ago, when i got back from class.” You grabbed the brush on the bedside table and combed through your hair a few times, evening it out from the mess it was a minute ago. “C’mon,” Alisa opened the door, “Don’t forget your keys! I doubt you wanna get locked out, right?”

Alisa’s house was big. She was lucky not to have to live in student accommodation, in all honesty. When you sat down on her large sofa, you heard the voices of two adults nearing. You weren’t sure what to think at this point. You and Alisa barely knew each other, and she’d come to your apartment, dragged you out of bed, invited you into her home where her whole family was.

“Alisa, darling? Have you brought a friend over?”

You saw her nod out of the corner of your eye as she made your meal, humming quietly to the tune of the music. There were loud, fast footsteps in the corridor that her parents had exited and looking up, you saw a lanky grey-haired boy with the same stark green eyes as her. He was almost as tall as the ceiling, and when he entered the room he had to duck to get through the threshold. You assumed this was Lev, Alisa’s high school age brother. Volleyball boy. Whatever. He was unimportant, and you were hungry.

“Ah! Lyovochka! Are your teammates here? Do they want food?” she didn’t look up from the kitchen counter as she spoke but Lev nodded, running back to ask his friends if they wanted food. (He never came back to give any sort of answer, though)

“So!” the sudden appearance of Alisa’s mother was unexpected. She was just as pretty as her daughter, but very obviously older. “What’s your name?”

You stuttered, panicking slightly, avoiding any possible eye contact. You looked to Alisa for help, and caught her gaze as she hurried over, sitting next to you. “This is y/n, mom. We met a while ago but i invited her over for lunch today,” she looked at you and patted your thigh, trying to calm you down slightly, “We might go out to the city later, if that’s okay with them.”

Alisa’s mother raised her eyebrows at your unwillingness to speak; maybe she thought you were being rude, but you didn’t have the capacity to worry about that right now. “Nice to meet you, y/n.” You nodded, slightly dizzy from being so overwhelmed but trying to be as polite as possible nonetheless. Alisa’s dad was stood behind the sofa, a large cup of what you assumed to be tea inbetween his hands.

Alisa stood and ushered her parents away, towards the door. “Were you going out?” they nodded, grabbing bags and phones on the way out, “We’ll see you later, then!” Her father tried protesting, but Alisa reassured them that Lev was completely fine while you and her were here.

Once the door was closed, Alisa looked back at you apologetically. “Sorry about them! They can be a little overbearing sometimes.” she gave you a small smile and pulled out two plates. “I think that’s an understatement.” you replied quietly.

She laughed loudly, earning a smile from you. “I’m glad you’re okay now though.” she looked at you, smile instantly gone from her face. “You are okay, right?” You nodded, and she relaxed, serving your food onto the plates and bringing them round to the coffee table you were sat facing. “It might be a little hot. Wait a bit before you try it.”

You picked up your plate and put it onto your lap, the warmth of it heating your legs, as if the heat of the room wasn’t already enough. Your face felt warm and your hands shook slightly as you reached to pick up the food; you were either hungry or nervous. It was probably best to not think about it too much.

Alisa was staring at the TV that was sat on a polished wooden desk by the wall, her eyes mirroring the images from the screen. From the looks of it, she was watching a documentary on animals in the arctic, probably one you’d seen before. You weren’t looking at it, but the narrator’s voice sounded familiar and when you were little you’d watch stuff like that constantly, sometimes the same one over and over again until you got bored of it then moved on to the next one (which you’d also - metaphorically - beat half to death and then abandon)

After your meal, the two of you were still, to your displeasure, sat it silence. Alisa had turned the show off and was now sat reading a book and you were fiddling with your hands, waiting for her to notice you and let you go home (really, you could leave any moment, but you didn’t want to say anything first).

You stood up upon hearing Lev shouting from what you assumed was his room, and Alisa’s head immediately snapped up. She checked the time on the clock above the kitchen counter, and gasped, looking at you apologetically.

“Gosh! Y/n, you should have told me it was so late! I’ll walk you home.”

You shook your head, and the blonde girl in front of you sighed. “Are you sure? It’s getting dark. At least let me call you a taxi, ok?”. You hummed out a noise of approval and she picked up her phone that had been resting precariously on the arm of the sofa.

As she was speaking to the person on the other end of the line, (a series of yeses followed by her address and then your street. You smiled, tapping your chest and then sliding your arms into the sleeves of your jacket. She opened the door for you and the taxi pulled into her drive as you stepped out of the threshold; you waved at her, thanking her for your stay, and then wandered over to the taxi, sitting in your usual seat (behind the driver) and she only closed the door of her home when the car drove off. Your phone buzzed; ‘text me when you get home safe, ok! -Alisa <3’.

The next month was January.

The holiday season had passed without you seeing Alisa once, except for in a corner shop once, where you pretended not to see her but ended up being approached anyways. That time there was a pink coating her porcelain skin (you weren’t sure whether it was makeup, the cold or an actual blush, but you opted for the last one to satisfy yourself somewhat).

You sort of wished that you’d been able to spend the holidays with her, though. Sometimes, you found yourself thinking about her unconsciously. It was weird, but you ignored it. Stuff like that seemed like a lot of effort to you, and you were not notorious for being invested in relationships, platonic or romantic.

You only had one class today, and after that you saw her in the hallways. She’d obviously had a class in the same building of you, and as usual, you pretended not to have seen her. You just kept walking, coffee in hand, eyes on the floor. Again, like the first time you’d really talked, you heard her footsteps approaching and accepted your fate.

“Y/n! Hey!” she kept walking after you; you buried your face into your scarf and tried to get yourself to stop but it felt like your feet were moving on their own. Why were you ignoring her? You liked her, for god’s sake! You barely knew her, you should be using moments like these to get to know her better! What the hell were you doing?

Her hand landed on your shoulder and pulled you back. By now, the pair of you were outside, and your feet were crunching over newly layed snow. It was coming down thickly, you had to squint to see her properly. She looked tired, and her face was pale in comparison to the pink of the tip of her nose and her ears. It was cold, after all, and she didn’t have a scarf of hat or anything. You wanted to lend her yours; that was what people who were close did, wasn’t it? Why did she look so bedraggled anyway?

“Y/n, seriously, stop.”

You frowned, confused. You looked sad? And why would she care anyways? You weren’t close, and you could see her friends looking on from the steps of the building. The snow was catching in her hair and it felt like time had stopped; she really did look unreal. “I didn’t know you cared about me so much, Alisa. We’re not close, and we barely ever talk.”

It looked like she was about to cry. Maybe it was the cold?

“I don’t need a reason to care about you, y/n!” she reached a hand up to rub her eyes, “I can’t seem to stop thinking about you, and it’s driving me crazy!” she pointed to her friends on the steps, “They know it!” she was shouting now, and the wind seemed to whistle even louder in your ears, “Everyone else seems to know i’m in love with you except you! And i’m sorry if i didn’t make it obvious enough for you.”

At this point your brain was going overdrive to process what she’d just told you. You knew you probably looked stupid just standing there and staring at he but what else could you do? This wasn’t exactly how you’d pictured your evening going, and despite receiving confessions before this one felt different; you felt like your heart was on fire. It burned, and you were out of breath despite standing completely still. Alisa reached out and took your freezing cold hand into her own. She was surprisingly warm, and there were tears dripping off of her chin onto her coat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, you probably never felt the same way. Like you said, right? We barely even know each other.”

You stepped forward (again, it felt like you weren’t in control of your own feet) and with the hand Alisa wasn’t holding, cupped her cold cheek. She looked back at you and you could see her friends out of the corner of your eyes chewing the inside of their cheeks. It was embarrassing to say the least, but necessary. Alisa sniffed, and you looked back down at the ground, shaking your head. “No that’s not what i..” you tried to make your voice louder, “I just didn’t expect you to also feel like that.”

She laughed (it was probably the most beautiful noise you’d ever had the pleasure of hearing) and leaned in so that your foreheads were touching, her pretty smile still adorning her lips. “I’m glad,” she whispered, and the burning of your cheeks felt like a blazing fire across your face.

“Call me later, ok?” you nodded as she moved her face away, hand leaving yours reluctantly. “We can go out sometime. If it’s uhh.. okay with you, of course.” You giggled, and Alisa waved, her friends running after her (also giggling and patting Alisa’s head in what looked like celebration). It had stopped snowing, and the sun was shining through the clouds in a golden evening glow, lighting up the city marvellously. You decided to walk home today.

tags; @chqrryvelvet @wissbby

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fullsunalicia · 5 years ago

Note

May I request a werewolf au for jaemin please?🥺👉🏻👈🏻 I’m a sucker for supernatural aus and your writing ‘s are extraordinary!! I absolutely love them! So please?🥺🥺

destiny — NJM

you’re not close with na jaemin, but you know plenty of rumors to give you a vivid expectation. so when he starts courting you, you’re not sure if you can believe him. you learn, though, that it’s so hard to resist a womanizer when he’s as charming as jaemin, and is destined to be yours forever.

jesus christ na jaemin is too pretty to handle. look at that gif omg / hello love! thank you so much for your kind words. i’m glad i can please someone with my writing 🥺 i hope you enjoy wolf jaemin

werewolf!jaemin x witch!reader / college au

Temptation is a sin. So is Na Jaemin.

There’s just that hazy air around him that makes everyone look again. Too gorgeous to be real, and yet he’s standing here, gifting you with a smile that knocks the air right out of you. God’s favorite, falling from heaven. That’s how you’d describe the stunning boy who has been trying for the past few weeks to convince you to go on a date with him.

His face may seem innocent, but the glint in his eye says anything but. You have heard about the many girls, how the shards of their hearts form a trail behind him. Jaemin is easy to please, but hard to keep. Attention is a precious thing, time is money. In his case, time is pleasure. A pretty face may lure him in, but nothing ever makes him stay.

And yet he’s been chasing you for a month now. The first to pick you up from your locker, a freshly brewed coffee in hand just for you. For someone that walks the earth as a god in a human body, Na Jaemin shouldn’t bother to learn your coffee orders by heart. He shouldn’t be the one making you laugh out loud in your least favorite classes and he should not be making the effort to make your heart skip.

Love is discardable, recycable. Never long-term. That’s what Jaemin says. So why is he sitting here, pouting, because you’re denying him the affection he so desperately craves? There are thousands of girls who’d kill to take your place. It drives you insane to be kept in the dark - you want to crack the wolf boy’s head open and look inside, cast a spell on him and make him spill his guts.

Nobody can know you’re a witch. Especially not Na Jaemin, part of the wolf pack that despises your kind. Everybody knows the stories, of Mark Lee and the woman he gave his heart to, cursed by a witch’s envy. That’s why you stay quiet and endure Jaemin’s flirting, and the only reason you resort to investigate the human way.

“What are you doing here, Nana? Be honest.”

Jaemin furrows his brows. “Now, what’s that supposed to mean, baby?” The nickname falls so easily from his lips. It feels just right, because why wouldn’t you be his baby? Who would pass up the chance to taste the honey dripping from his lips, the lies he speaks that taste like bitter-sweet candy? You’ve met plenty of guys who play hearts like a particularly interesting game of cards, but never have you seen someone like Jaemin. Love is like a lottery to him, and you’re the billion dollar prize - the way he treats you makes you feel like the most precious thing in the world, of undescribable worth. You know Jaemin is affectionate with everyone, and yet it makes your heart burst when he cradles your waist like it’s fine china. Carefully. Respectfully. To him, you’re art. Sadly, he’s not a critic - only the collector.

You let him rub his cheek against your stomach as if he’s a needy cat. There’s no use stopping him, since Jaemin gets the attention he desires one way or another. It should make you feel sick. And yet you only pray that he continues playing this game of push and pull, hope that he keeps trying. You’re a masochist, an addict. Na Jaemin is your fix.

The sunlight frames Jaemin’s face like a halo when he leans back and smiles at you. This is the face of Michelangelo’s David, the perfect reincarnation of Adonis. His looks are surreal. Like cut-out diamonds, Jaemin’s jawline seems sharp, but is soft to the touch. Beauty in controversy. Lust and virtue in one. Any angel at the gates to heaven would rip their hair out of trying to sort Jaemin - too gorgeous for hell, too sinful to stay in paradise. “Go bother someone else,” you mumble, desperately trying to break the spell you’re under. Na Jaemin makes you dizzy, and he knows. “I bet Haechan’s going to cuddle you. So go, shoo!”

“I don’t want Haechan.” A loud yelp is tugged out of you when Jaemin tugs you down to sit next to him, and in the next second you’re being embraced. Strong arms curl around your body, holding you close, hiding you away from the world. The most wonderful feeling in the world. “I want you.”

Love has never treated you right. Several nights have been wasted on boys and their white lies, on let-down crushes and unrequited feelings. Maybe it’s because you’re a witch, and bad luck follows you everywhere.

Just for once in your life, you want to be treated like a princess. You want Jaemin to look at you and see everything he ever dreamt of coming true. But that’s impossible. You know it very well.

That’s why you untangle yourself, sad smile on your lips, sorrow weighing heavy on your heart. Love is for girls that aren’t afraid to fall. “Sorry, but no,” you tell Jaemin, and tears prick at your eyes when you stand up and walk away.

You will never fall again.

— ❦ —

Sadness tastes like cheap raspberry vodka and salty tears. Atleast that’s what your intoxicated brain thinks it is, as you lean your head against the bathtub and close your eyes in an attempt to drown out all the loud music outside. It’s not like you to get wasted beyond control, but it’s hard to look at Kwon Eunbin’s face and say no when she begs you to take a shot with her. And another one. And another one after that.

Did it matter to Eunbin that you don’t like alcohol that tastes like disinfectant? No, of course not. Your best friend’s only job is to get you drunk and make you forget about your stupid infatuation with a certain blueberry-haired boy. Rosé wine and cocktails are long forgotten the second Eunbin takes you into the kitchen and makes you play drinking games against the frat brothers living here. Now it’s landed you in the only free bathroom inside this house, while Eunbin is searching for some water for you.

Not like she’s too drunk to take care of even herself right now. You’d bet fifty dollars she‘s already forgotten about you because someone lured her to a beer pong table. It’s alright, you forgive her. But it’s not that nice to sit in the bathroom and ponder over the meaning of your existence alone. Your conclusion of what sorrow tastes like isn’t that deep, but it’s the perfect description of the miserable shape you’re in right now. Who the hell even drinks raspberry vodka? It tastes nothing like that. It’s just drinkable bleach that your stomach barely handles.

And yet it’s enough to numb out the butterflies Na Jaemin brings to life inside you. When you close your eyes, his laughter rings in your ears, as if he’s right here with you. The sound is pleasant, calming. Like good music to a trained ear. This is what happiness would sound like if it were a noise. No matter how Jaemin treats love interests, he’s a good person at heart. That’s what makes it so hard to get over that stupid infatuation. It’s impossible to forget about his advances when all you can think about is him volunteering at a shelter and secretly adopting rescue kittens, because his best friend loves them. You think of the adorable smile on his lips when he’s suprised with his favorite snack, and how he gushes love declarations to his friends just because they thought about him. His kindness to strangers. His loyalty to the pack.

Na Jaemin. End of sentence. That’s it.

Perfection is unattainable, a ridiculous concept. You know that, and you still think it’s the only word to properly grasp Jaemin’s personality.

The vodka is doing a bad job from getting your mind off him. You groan, moving to hide your face in your hands. Is the room spinning or is that just you giving out on reality?

“(y/n)?”

It’s not Eunbin. When you look up, you lock eyes with Lee Jeno. It’s heartwarming how concerned he looks, even if you don’t talk that often. You’re only acquiantances. Despite that, Jeno moves to sit down beside you, carefully putting a hand on your shoulder. “Everything alright?” he asks, voice quiet. You strain to even hear him properly, booming trap music making the house rumble.

It’s ridiculous, but your inebriated brain doesn’t even think about worrying about yourself. Grinning, you point at the boy’s blonde locks, tousled and curled. His girlfriend liked to play around with his hair often. It’s cute he lets her style it. “Since when’s your hair dyed?” You drawl out. Your tongue feels weirdly heavy, as if it’s not supposed to be there. Something makes you want to bite down, but the very small part of you that’s still sober screams not to do it. “Last time I saw you, it was still black. Did your girl do that?”

He laughs. It’s a nice sound, but it’s not like Jaemin. It doesn’t make your heart skip several beats and stutter like a broken record. “You’re about to pass out in our bathroom and yet you ask me about my hair?”

“Yeah. It looks really, really cool. I didn’t think any other hair color would suit you, but now that I see it, I dig it. Good job to the hair dresser.”

“Thanks.” Jeno chuckles, and then he helps you sit up. The many shots took their time to hit you, but now they all mess with you at once. Thankfully, you have a very good friend who keeps you up. “I’ll pass it along. But first, can I get you some water? Do you want to lay down? There’s a spare room downstairs because Renjun’s out of the house right now.”

Fear suddenly floods your senses. Eunbin hasn’t returned, and you don’t want to be left alone again. If Jeno goes now, you’ll probably start crying from the amount of overthinking you’ve been up to. “Don’t leave, please,” you plead Jeno. He pets your hair, like you’re some sort of cat. It’s strangely enjoyable.

“(y/n), you need some other drink besides alcohol. You’re going to have the biggest hangover otherwise.”

Oh, there is no way to avoid that. If Jeno knew how much you had downed this evening ... But you don’t tell him, instead shaking your head. “Don’t wanna be alone. ‘M sad.”

Jeno cocks his head. There’s something in his eyes that you can’t read, unfathomable. Like this, he somehow looks younger. You wonder if cocking his head is a habit he picked up from being a wolf, but asking that would be weird. The man seated infront of you takes the decision out of your hands. “You want me to get Jaemin?”

You don’t know what possesses you, but you nod instantly. Moving on instinct, of course. The second Jaemin is mentioned, your fears settle. Your heart calms down. What is it about that name that makes you feel so much at home?

“Okay,” Jeno breathes out. He squeezes your shoulder one last time, before standing up and leaving the bathroom. Time seems to pass so slowly. Being in a bathroom drunk always feels like staying in an alternate dimension. It’s just God and you now, no matter if you’re religious or not. It’s an unwritten rule.

Your audience with a deity doesn’t last long, though it feels like eternity. When the door opens again, Jaemin enters, the door clicking into the lock as he closes it. “Baby,” he laughs. How dare he mock your misery? “I didn’t even know you drink at parties.”

Your actions are out of your control the second Jaemin settles beside you. Without hesitation, you move to climb on his lap, arms moving around his waist and keeping him there. This is fine. This is okay. He wouldn’t mind, right?

For a moment, Jaemin tenses below you. In that split second, you think rationally again. Maybe you had crossed a boundary. You should’ve asked before initiating this. What the hell were you thinking? But Jaemin bows over you, and then your mind just blanks. You get lost in the way he embraces you, strong body hiding away yours as he buries his face in your hair and breathes in deeply. Jaemin is warm, like a furnace beneath your touch. Wolves tend to run a little warmer than normal people. The boy in your arms seems to burn you, and yet you wouldn’t move away for a single thing in the world. You’re perfectly content with where you are.

If this is what loving Jaemin feels like, you think that the pain to be endured is worth it. This feels like your own personal heaven. Soft lips meeting the shell of your ear. Whispered compliments. Someone chuckling alongside with you when you comment sarcastically. The universe comes to a halt whenever you’re with this wolf, whether that’s a good thing or not. You don’t want to know. You want to stay like this forever.

“Still with me, baby?”

“Mhm.” You hum, repositioning yourself on his lap. Sadly, he leans away when you lock your arms around his neck, laughing at the whine you let out at that. He’s really enjoying seeing you suffer today. Maybe this is why his friends beat him up all the time. You’ve seen their play fights, both in human and wolf form. “Tired.”

Where Jaemin’s hands meet the exposed skin of your waist, the butterflies come back to life. You weren’t able to drown them, no matter how much vodka you drank. “Did someone ever tell you how cute you are when you’re wasted?” he mumbles, tugging you closer. Your breath hitches when his chest meets yours. He smiles. “Now I need to follow you like a guard dog at every party so nobody else gets to see this. I’d get too jealous.”

“Don’t worry,” you mutter. A hiccup makes you jump on top of him, and you miss the way Jaemin silently groans at that. “Nobody wants me, anyway.”

It’s quiet for a long time. Surely, this would make him stop chasing after you, and now you’ll have to learn how to survive every day without the wolf boy making you feel better with his words. The reassurance he showers you with. The many thumbs-ups, his constant encouragement. Though, now that you think about it - this is the longest Jaemin has ever put up with a girl. Is he humoring you? Did he know about what he made bloom inside your chest, and is hoping you choke on the petals?

When you look up, the wolf’s eyes are in disbelief, almost enraged. It’s a reaction that you didn’t expect, sobering you up just a little. “Is that what you think?” he inquires, the underlying tone in his voice deadly. You gulp. “(y/n), you must know about the many guys standing in line behind me. Are you unaware of all the attention that you draw to yourself? How stunning you are?”

The words tug at your heartstrings. Still, you tell him, “It’s never made anyone stay.”

It’s the truth, a truth he’s going to confirm himself. Na Jaemin can’t be held down. He’s the fleeting warm wind kissing your skin, the sun breaking through the thunder clouds to save your day. He’s not meant to be there forever. Witches don’t run with wolves.

You’d give it all up for him. The spells, the magic, the spirits. Toss everything away to offer Jaemin the world. But Jaemin has galaxies inside his soul, and the universe inside his eyes.

What would he want with your world?

Jeno coughs awkwardly when he enters. It’s the only comment he lets slip about the position you’re both in, instead kneeling down to offer you the glass. The water’s freezingly cold, but you gulp it all down, heart soaring at Jaemin’s praise. Both wolves briefly talk about what’s going on downstairs, and you yawn. Jaemin’s head snaps to yours. Seconds later, you’re lifted off the ground.

“Jaemin!”

Jeno laughs at your shocked squeal. He turns off the lights in the bathroom while you’re carried out, and you lose sight of him as Jaemin brings you to bed. Sighing, you rest your head on his shoulder and close your eyes. You just want to sleep. Forget about this conversation, deal with the problem later. In the morning, you’d let your heart be crushed by the boy who was never yours. And then you’ll have to learn how to survive that.

Jaemin sets you down on a soft bed. His hands cup your cheeks, thumbs swiping over your cheekbones. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he says. His tone offers no room for discussion. So you nod obediently, and hug him. Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this, but something just keeps urging you to. To feed into the addiction that is Na Jaemin. The more you consume, the more hooked you get. He just laughs when you kiss his cheek, lets you tug him down so he hovers over you. “Stop acting cute. You’re still in trouble.”

“Okay.” You kiss his other cheek. His eyes slip closed when you dishevel his hair, tugging at the locks in an affectionate manner. The color suits him.

You don’t know why you’re feeling this way. The flutter of your heart is a foreign feeling, as weird as the sadness you feel when Jaemin moves away from you. You’re not ready yet, not able to face the flood. You grip his shirt, your legs wound tightly around your waist. The immense wish for him to lay down beside you makes you feel lightheaded.

“(y/n),” Jaemin groans, but he still hides his face in the crook of your neck. You’re aware he can hear your heart racing at his actions, but you can’t find yourself to care. All that matters is that he’s here. You sigh in content when the wolf kisses his way up your throat, dangerously close to your jaw. “Acting cute is not gonna save you.”

You shrug.

The room is dimmed, so you can’t see the look on his face. “Stop,” he deadpans. “I can’t kiss you when you’re drunk. Be a good girl.”

“Will you kiss me, then?”

“When you’re sober and still willing.”

You tighten your grip on his shirt. “Okay. That’s a promise, right? Because otherwise, I’ll get really, really, really upset...”

You wish he wouldn’t tease you by pressing a kiss to your cheeks. You can’t see him, but you know he’s grinning. You just know. He’s Na Jaemin. “Be a good girl,” he repeats. “And in the morning, you’ll get a reward.”

— ❦ —

Your head feels like it’s been split apart. Someone’s punching holes into your temples, and you wince when you move. This is the reason you never drink high-percentage alcohol. It messes you up so much more than your trusted wine.

The bed you slept in feels empty without a body to hold you warm. It smells like your favorite wolf, but you know for a fact he hasn’t been in this room once after you fell asleep. He wouldn’t do anything without your consent. Especially when you’re under the influence. You long for another hug, but once you realize what you’re feeling, you freeze. Everything from yesterday comes rushing back.

“Oh my stars,” you murmur.

Embarrassment feels very hot, and somehow chilling at the same time. It makes the blood rush to your cheeks, your face turning into a heating pack for the hands that move to cover them. You rarely allow yourself to get so intoxicated in public. So why’d it have to happen in near proximity of Jaemin, so you can mess up and spill your secrets?

There’s still a reward to claim, though. You were promised something, and you intend to get what you are owed as a last goodbye. Before Jaemin shifts his attention and forgets about you, as if you were a star in the sky dying and leaving nothing behind but dust. You can still feel his hands on you, the touch imprinted into skin and soul. Many boys had gripped you with the sole intent of using you to their own gain, but Jaemin had held you like you were the most valuable thing in his life. A treasure. A blessing. With just a few soothing words, this wolf had managed to fill the cracks in your heart with his appreciatiation. It’s not enough to make you believe in love, but it’s enough to finally return your bravery to you. So you can finally step over the edge and fall, to surrender to another person. Your heart is battered and bruised, but you’d give it to him without hesitation.

Life isn’t meant to be spent dreading everything. You’ll regret choosing pain over caution, but it’s better than rotting away alone. There is no way to look past all the beautiful things life has to offer. It gave you Jaemin, even if it was for a little while. In his smile, you see the honesty you’ve been craving all your life from other people. His touch makes you forget about the men who treated you like their servant and not the queen they were supposed to worship. When Jaemin listened, you remembered what it felt like to be taken seriously. It doesn’t matter if he’s going to reject you. Anyone who makes you realize your worth again is a person worth let in. So you slip out of bed and start searching for him.

You’re still owed a kiss.

The house is littered with plastic cups and empty bottles. A peek into the many rooms reveals sleeping pack members and girlfriends, and some friends scattered over the couches in the living room. You can’t find Jaemin anywhere, so you head to the kitchen. Maybe he’s already preparing breakfast?

Mark Lee is seated at the kitchen table.

He sits there, looking like he was waiting for you. Perhaps he was. He’s a supernatural creature, blessed with heightened senses and perfect hearing. Your little footsteps must have sounded like booming fireworks to him. The rumors made him out to be a scary person, and if he wasn’t looking at you with such a blank face, you’d be willing to overlook them and call him cute. But it’s not a boy staring you straight in the face; it’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Mark doesn’t speak for a long time. His eyes wander over your appearance, your body still clad in the outfit from yesterday. The house had been too hot several moments ago, but now you feel like shuddering. Nothing is more terrifying than looking someone in the face and being aware of much they loathe you.

There’s no other explanation for the glare etched into his face. No other reason for him to despise you, even though this is the first time he ever saw you. He knows. Knows about the powers you carry in your blood, the very same ones someone else used to curse his girlfriend. The story is widely known, almost a myth, if it weren’t for the many people that watched her collapse straight into Mark’s arms as her veins turned black. A forbidden spell, and yet it was used in broad daylight.

Mark hums. It would’ve sounded nice, if it weren’t so ominous. “Jaemin’s gone to the bakery,” he says, voice cold and void of politeness. This man can’t stand the sight of you. Honestly, if you were in his place, you wouldn’t be able to either. “He told me about having a girl sleeping over. Someone he likes. Someone who’s been toying with his feelings.”

Your throat closes up. You don’t like where this is going.

He pushes away the empty cup he clutched, revealing the claws extending from the tips of his fingers. You try to remind yourself that he can’t control it, that he’s just angry. It’s hard to do when everything inside you screams for you to run away.

The table creaks loudly when Mark leans on it. You can see the sharp nails more clearly now, deadly to the touch. “He didn’t tell me it was a witch,” the wolf continues, as if he wasn’t aware of how much he’s scaring you. “Though that clearly explains why you’re breaking his heart and enjoying it. All you witches can do is destroy and demolish. Is that why you sent us the vampires? Even though you were fully aware they’d turn on you? Did that not matter to you, if it meant being rid of us wolves?”

“I don’t enjoy it,” you whisper. You know hearts can’t physically break, but your chest is hurting, and you’re afraid Mark is going to shatter you instead of Jaemin. This is what you get for believing other people over the person themselves. If only you had realized that Jaemin was serious; the amount of time he had spent on you, so unusual for a boy of his kind, his respectful behaviour, everything. “I didn’t mean to...”

“I don’t care!”

Mark has finally cast aside the cool exterior. Visibly fuming, he watches as you tremble because he had raised his voice. The wolf shakes his head, then his hands, tries to shake off the anger. Stop the transformation. He wouldn’t turn in his own kitchen, would he?

Maybe you should just let him shred you to pieces. It’s what you deserve for treating Jaemin like some boy without feelings. You feel terrible.

There’s a gaping ache growing just beneath your lungs, swallowing up your heart like a black hole. The feeling is excruciating, almost unbearable. You force yourself to bear it. You deserve it, you tell yourself. You deserve it. The words ring in your ears and in your entire body, making way for the hollow feeling that imprints itself inside you.

Mark never looks away. He gauges in your reaction, the dooming realization of the consequences to your actions. “Stay away from him,” he finally tells you. It’s the last nail driven into your coffin. Everything seems to fade away. “Stay away from that boy. He doesn’t deserve to have his heart broken by someone who’s never learnt to appreciate it. You know that. Spare him. Leave, and spare him.”

As a child, you had once swallowed a potion on accident. Your mother tended to leave all her cups and cauldrons everywhere, often forgetting that curiousity manifests itself in her daughter. The liquid had been thick and had burned, all the way down to your stomach, spreading through your body as the agony swallowed you up. Like someone biting away at your organs, ripping a big chunk out of your heart and paralyzing your tongue. You had been lucky the potion wasn’t deadly, only intended to torture, to coax the truth out of someone.

This is a fresh serve of that very potion. The memory is suddenly clear as day, every detail repeating in your mind. The same fire. The same torment. And you’ve ingested it on your own accords again. You never learn.

“Okay,” you say. It’s not you speaking, but it’s your voice, an odd out-of-body experience.

No one stops you as you walk out the house. You never look back.

— ❦ —

Magic in a way, is like poison.

It’s uncontrollable sometimes. When your senses are flooded with intense emotions, it splinters of your fingertips like the sparks of a fire, just as dangerous. It burns down villages and gives life to dead forests. The earth splits to obey it, raising the ocean and capturing the stars to bend to your will. It eats away at your energy every time you use it, sends you straight to the ground after a particularly powerful spell. No one ever taught you how to turn it into a cure. It doesn’t mend the wounds of your soul, only the superficial ones grazing your skin. Humanity does not need magic to save lifes. Medicine reaches out way further than magic does, tackles the problems more effectively. Scars fade away with time. Wounds close up. But your soul never recovers. It remembers everything, for now and eternity. It is going to replay the moment you abandoned Jaemin forever.

The ground is strangely comforting. You’ve been resting on it for a while now, even though your bed is right beside you. The cold is numbing, keeps you awake. Haunted by the many months Jaemin spent chasing after you, you stare at the ceiling and pray for karma to have mercy on you. How blind you were. Now that you’re given the sight, you’re not sure you want to keep it.

You spent many days counting the what if’s. What would’ve happened if you weren’t so stubborn, so gullible. You count them, once, twice, infinitely, then you repeat. Only the stars listen. They hear the secrets you whisper to them, the stories of your burden, and they guard that secret forever. It’s the only thing they can do for you.

When witches mourn, nature mourns with them. Eunbin watches as the weather starts to follow your lead. Thunderstorms darken the skies for days on end, the blighting thunder lighting up your face. She watches as flowers start to wilt at your touch, how your tears make the rain knock at your window like an old friend. You only let her in at night, when the moon watches over you both, heightened magic coursing through your veins. You’re always stronger at night. It’s a trait you passed on to your first creation, the werewolves. The very first curse you ever casted.

“All you witches can do is destroy and demolish.”

Mark is very right.

Eunbin moves to hold you close, but she could very well hold a desk plant. Or a lamp. You never stir in her hold, as motionless as an inanimate object. Once, you had helped her through a very similar phase. The world had come crashing down on Kwon Eunbin the day she lost Yeeun. Nature had suffered under her sorrow, flooding streets and cities as you had desperately tried to anchor Eunbin in the waves trying to drown her. In a sense, witches are very selfish.

She believes you’re anything but.

“(y/n),” she mumbles. The ground groans below her when she shifts her weight, the old wood barely doing its’ job. “Please talk to him.”

You laugh, but it’s void of emotion. Eunbin can’t recognize her best friend in that sound, the woman she considers a sister. You’re like a poltergeist, born out of heartbreak. “And break up the pack because of my stupid feelings?” You scoff. “Sure. Because I couldn’t possibly be more egoistic than that.”

“You’re suffering.”

“I feel like I’m dead, Eunbin.” It’s quiet for a very long time. You finally move, the life returning to your limbs. You twist and turn, clinging to her body like a toddler in need of affection. She graps that chance, embracing you tightly, her arms forming a cage. If that bothers you, you don’t complain. “Just dead. I can barely feel anything. I don��t know what the hell is wrong with me - every second I spend thinking about us separated... It’s a vicious cycle. I can’t get any rest. I can’t stop thinking about what could’ve been.”

Eunbin knows about the tales of the children of the moon. How the moon had turned away from the witches and gave her attention to the ones who needed it most, and she gifted the wolves with all her blessings. The promise of a life-changing love, returned in full. Two souls connected by fate. Kindred spirits finding their way back to each other.

But it couldn’t be. No, absolutely impossible.

Eunbin thinks about Yeeun. She thinks of a big, grey wolf, giving her life for Eunbin, fulfilling a promise untold. And she reconsiders.

Some people aren’t meant to be seperated. Eunbin wonders if a long time ago, someone had written your story into the stars, moonlight-tipped fingers connecting your soul to another. Destined to be with the boy with the unruly, blue hair.

It’s been sometime since she last visited the Dream frat. Maybe it was time to return.

— ❦ —

Never in your life has someone thrown stones at your window. You must admit, the experience is more scary than romantic, and you curse all the movies in existence that made you think this was cute. It’s almost embarrassing that some minerals knocking against glass is the reason you snap out of your trance, but you try and pin-point the blame on the fact that nobody’s ever done this before.

A stone flies past your cheek when you open the window. You almost scream.

“Oh my god, (y/n)! I’m so sorry!”

The voice is oddly familiar - and the instant remedy to your vicious cycle. All the sleepless nights melt away as you peak down and look Na Jaemin in the face, a big smile on his lips. Something inside your soul finally clicks and rests, never moving again. Not until something makes the boy below your window walk away. “What the hell?” you exclaim. “What are you doing here?”

Jaemin spreads his arms. “Giving you your reward, of course.”

Guilt pools in your stomach, almost as overwhelming as the happiness that floods you at the realization that he’s really here. Sweet Jaemin, with the honest eyes and heavenly smile. The one you hurt terribly... “Jaemin, you can’t be-“

“Move away from the window, baby,” he interrupts you. Irritated, you lean away; shouldn’t he be angry with you? Upset or disappointed? He’s not even listening to you, but it seems like there is no reason to. Something claws at your window, swinging in without fear.

Now, you really do scream. The rocks were one thing, but Jaemin climbing through your window? This apartment complex is huge, for god’s sake. Did he just scale the side of the building? “Jaemin!” you hiss. “What the hell...”

You never get to finish your sentence. The wolf boy tackles you, pushing you on your bed as he firmly embraces you and rests his head on your chest. Like he’s supposed to be there. Not like you’ve been avoiding him for weeks because Mark Lee was going to rip your head out if you even breathed in the direction of Jaemin. His arms are locked around your waist, holding you there. You’re effectively trapped.

You can’t complain.

Jaemin hums in content when you hug him back, and he eases his weight off of you so you can move and sling your legs around his waist. He nuzzles his face against your throat, breathing in deeply. “Missed this,” he mumbles. “Missed you.”

You let him tug your shirt up so he can rest his hands on your naked waist. It’s like giving him a gift - his eyes light up in giddiness when he finally touches you, feels the warmth of you below his fingertips again. A child seeing the presents on christmas morning. “Missed you, too.” You bite your lip. “But aren’t you mad?”

He ignores you for a very long time. Instead, the man between your legs bunches your shirt up and covers your stomach with his own hand, as if he can’t believe you’re actually there. Beneath his skin. Holding him close. You would’ve never realized that Na Jaemin would be in disbelief of a girl wanting him, but look at him now. Your heart soars at the admiration in his eyes, and they meet yours when your pulse speeds up. It makes a smirk adorn his lips; he’s satisfied with the effect he has on you. For a moment, he looks down again, to the place where your hands hold his against your body. “Did you know that your little witch friend can be really vocal?” he says, ignoring your question completely. Lips leave a trail of heat down your skin as Jaemin traces the outline of your jugular vein. “She looks fairly small, but you should’ve seen her when she scolded the hell out of Mark. Really funny, actually. Wish she would’ve done it sooner...”

“Eunbin?” you inquire, puzzled. “What would Eunbin want with Mark Lee?”

Jaemin stops leaving kisses on you, sadly. He raises his head to look at you, offering you a look right into his soul. You see where the moon had fallen in love with Jaemin, where the lines of human and wolf blurred. Memories that gather and bundle, a messy clutter of emotions. But beneath it all, you find the boy you’ve fallen in love with. In his eyes, you find salvation.

The blankets rustle when Jaemin moves on top of you. He shifts his weight, gripping your waist a little bit tighter to hold you closer. When your chests meet, your hearts start syncing up, shaping a melody of their own. A few moments pass as both Jaemin and you concentrate on it; concentrate on where love meets forgiveness.

It’s weird. When Jaemin had just been an unknown face, you never managed to read him. Now, he’s like an open book that he pulled out himself for you. Put it on your lap and asked you to read it to him, as if he doesn’t know what’s inside it. In your hands lies his heart. Does he know that he’s clutching yours? You hope so.

“Well, you see.” Jaemin presses a kiss to your cheek. “She came in really calmly, actually. Wanted to see me and confirm something. Renjun was about to call for me, but Mark interfered... she brought herself into a lot of danger, coming to our house when she’s a witch. She did it for you. Told Mark that I should talk to you, and he in turn told her it’s best if you stay several continents away from me... I broke his nose for that.”

“Jaemin!”

He shrugs. “Eunbin yelling at him was pretty nice, but not enough to settle my anger. You think I’m going to let him talk about my mate like that?”

This is it. The explanation you’ve been begging the stars for, the root of your vicious cycle. Your mouth falls open in shock. Jaemin watches, half amused, half expectant. Like he’s waiting for something. “You mean to tell me...”

“Yeah. Eunbin found that out. She came to ask me if it was true. It’s what Mark didn’t know, because I didn’t tell anybody except Jeno. You should’ve seen the look on Mark’s face...” Jaemin halts. Worry glazes over his eyes, and it takes you several seconds to understand that he’s worrying about you. “Baby, are you alright? You’re all pale. It’s alright if you reject me, don’t worry, as long as you’re hap...”

Jaemin is suprisingly easy to push down. Usually, you wouldn’t be able to pin down a wolf, but the shock gave you an advantage. Straddling him, you lean down and finally kiss Jaemin.

It’s the key to your cage. The funny tasting cure your mom brewed for the potion you accidentally drank. If sadness tastes like raspberry vodka and salty tears, happiness tastes like chapstick and chewing gum. It’s the only thing you register before Jaemin flips you over and kisses you breathless.

You had been shy, but Jaemin is ruthless. His canines tug at your lower lip, a silent order for you to obey and part your lips. If your fingers clawing at his shoulders hurts him, he certainly doesn’t mention it, too busy drowning in the overwhelming feeling of your tongue moving against his. When you finally push him away to catch your breath, the wolf feels like he got drunk off of you. “That’s one way to claim your prize,” he breathes out.

A long time ago, the moon had mercy on your poor soul. This is what had been waiting for you all your life, hidden in the looming shadows of the supernatural world. A soulmate, born to love and adore you. Destiny feels a little bit like contentment.

You can finally laugh as the wounds that had been inflicted on you heal over, making way for the only emperor of your heart. “This kiss isn’t the prize,” you reply. “You are.”

#this is a mess i’m sorry #lmao can y’all tell i was walking on the edge of involving some smut #physically had to restrain myself JSNSHSM #na jaemin #nct dream #nct #na jaemin x reader #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #na jaemin fluff #nct dream fluff #nct fluff #na jaemin one shot #nct dream one shot #nct one shot #na jaemin scenarios #nct dream scenarios #nct scenarios

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snowydaffodils · 4 years ago

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Hogwarts!AU: Kim Seokjin - Hufflepuff!

Kim Seokjin, a Hufflepuff

Kim Seokjin was born and raised by a Gryffindor family, one that screams justice and righteousness wherever they went.

His family was on the better side of money, and his older brother inherited each and every trait his parents had, including their enthusiasm to fight for justice and their moral values.

They were always on about fixing people's mindset about muggles, and fought against social discrimination.

Hardworking cheers and active campaigns are always visible in his family's daily lives.

Basically, hyperactiveness runs in the family. Seokjin wasn't excluded.

But he was hyper very differently.

Seokjin came to Hogwarts for the first time, following his older brother everywhere he went. He joined him in the train and met his friends, where they all looked up to his brother and respected him like a leader.

His brothers friends looked at him very differently, though. The girls kept pinching his cheeks telling him how cute he was and the guys didn't even bother with him.

Seokjin entered the Great Hall that night, determined to be placed in Gryffindor so he could be just like his brother.

But apparently the Sorting Hat saw something else in him and he was placed to Hufflepuff without hesitation from the old talking artefact.

At first, he was disappointed in himself, and cursed the hat for weeks to come.

But then he discovered the entrance to the kitchen is literally right outside his common room and he couldn't be happier.

He bragged about his cooking skills to the uncaring elves despite the lack of response.

They did responded when he tried to cook to prove himself, trying to pry him off the kitchen tools.

But with how convincing Seokjin was, he managed to cook them his dishes and if you force it out of them, they'd admit his dishes were good enough to be served in Yule Balls.

So they let him do as he please (or maybe they're just tired of arguing with him. This kid needs to go to the debate team or something).

Seokjin still tried to become a righteous leader like his brother was, though. He decided that being with his brother will not give him an opportunity to become a leader on his own, so he decided to find his own friends.

He found some people his age at first, but none of them really looked up to him like how his brother's friends did to his brother. He decided that if he had juniors then they would definitely look up to him like a leader, because he was older than them.

So Seokjin patiently waited to become a second year.

On his second year, he deliberately searched for an empty compartment, determined to be just like his brother, waited for new first years to enter and was ready to befriend them immediately. Eventually only one other person entered and joined him because he overslept and that was the last seat on the train.

That was how he met Min Yoongi, who nodded to everything he said just so he would let him sleep more.

Seokjin took that as a sign that he was agreeing with his values, though, and independently decided that Min Yoongi was his follower from that day onwards.

He pouted when the latter was placed in Slytherin.

But regardless of house! Kim Seokjin didn't fail in finding Min Yoongi outside of classes to preach about his values.

At first Yoongi was annoyed, but then he realized this Kim Seokjin is not so bad, and sometimes he makes valid sense.

Also he eventually warmed up to him because he constantly made him food.

Seokjin is not particularly bad at his studies, but he did get a 4 out of 100 in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

He wasn't bad at Potions, it felt just like cooking to him.

Flying was meh, and so was charms, but his ultimate favorite is Herbology.

He collected more people to join his leadership pursuing goals in third year, and in came Kim Namjoon and Jung Hoseok.

At first he claimed himself as leader, but as time progresses, he couldn't help himself to look up to the younger Kim Namjoon. He adored the younger guy. His pride and Joy.

He was also disappointed when Namjoon was sorted to Gryffindor, and Hoseok to Ravenclaw.

Then Jimin got into Slytherin, Taehyung to Ravenclaw, and Jungkook to Gryffindor and Seokjin just gave up.

Both he and Namjoon dragged Yoongi with them to cheer for Hoseok's first Quidditch game.

Seokjin brings laughter wherever he goes, and the entire Hogwarts love him. Especially the teachers (except if he was going nonstop in class, but outside of that). He's just this bright kid that fits in wherever he goes.

While he may not have the charismatic leadership Namjoon has, everyone agrees to follow him just because they look up to him differently. He's just this ball of fun that everyone wants to befriend with.

Within his time in Hogwarts he realized he didn't need to become like his brother. He was absolutely content with six other boys from different houses that he befriended with. They didn't need to follow him like how his brother's friends did to his brother, but being with them was definitely enough.

Seokjin understood the value of standing side-by-side instead of being higher than the rest.

He was the charmer of the school. Nobody dares to oppose him on the most handsome in Hogwarts.

He got asked to Yule Ball (or any balls Hogwarts presented for that matter) a lot. He answered them with a, "If you don't mind me stepping on your foot during dance, then okay." Which apparently pushed a lot of people away.

Is always the clown during choir practice, makes dad jokes all the time to disrupt said practice, but Flitwick can't kick him out because let's face it, a third of the choir's volume comes from him.

Likes to take part in the Cypher going on in the Room of Requirement, but everyone just laughed and told him he did good. He didn't understand. So did he win or not?

This guy was sad and sulky when he had to go to Hogsmeade on his own because all the rest of the group were younger than him. It was not that he didn't have other friends, but none understood him like his special circle does, and the enjoyment wouldn't be the same.

But once he stepped in to Honeydukes, he forgot all about his sadness, and he spent the entire day examining each item he could from the shop.

He became a Honeydukes' tour guide to Yoongi, then Namjoon, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook.

By the year he dragged Jimin and Taehyung in and gave them the infamous tour, Ambrosius Flame's wife offered him a job for summer breaks if he wanted to.

Least to say, he was delighted.

Honeydukes is usually the most crowded before Christmas, but since Seokjin had been part-timing in the shop, Honeydukes profits even more in summer.

He even made his own mini Honeydukes franchise within Hogwarts. Its an up and running business between the students.

Somehow the bright faces of these people who bought from him bring joy to him as well. He enjoyed doing it.

Seokjin came home one summer and told his parents nervously he wanted to open his own shop. He had expected his parents to shake their heads and push him as a justice advocate and take part in the ministry, like what his brother was thriving for, but to his relief and happiness, his parents hugged him and presented the warmest smile ever.

He went back to Hogwarts after that with the most excitement he had ever had. Also, by that time, he was appointed Prefect, and it was proof that his potential in leadership was no less than his brother's.

Seokjin was starting to understand Namjoon's preachings about loving yourself.

It was one of the reasons why he became so attached to the younger boy.

Seokjin passed by Hogwarts with the best smile he's ever gotten, and the best of friends to stick with for the rest of his life.

He may not have the best grades, or a career with the Ministry or some giant wizarding company like how Yoongi was, but he was happy and content, and he regretted nothing.

Kim Seokjin came to Hogwarts, disappointed that he was sorted to Hufflepuff.

He graduated thinking that Hufflepuff made him who he was. He took great pride in all the traits a Hufflepuff is glorified upon.

Kim Seokjin opened his first shop in Godric's Hollow, but a few years later was a regular sponsor of Hoseok and Jungkook's Quidditch team, the Puddlemere United.

He built a shop in London, and divided his shop to Muggle's division and Magical's.

His shop was famous in both worlds.

He was the best of both worlds, too. Major CEO in the muggle world (with the help of Hoseok and Namjoon, he was quick to adapt, especially with his looks), and a conglomerate in the magical world.

Seokjin was featured ever so frequently in the Daily Prophet for his good looks, successful career even with a few bad grades story, his inspirational magical words of puns, and his achievements in building a bridge between the muggle world and the magical world.

His parents couldn't have been prouder.

His brother was super proud, too. He used this as motivation to further advocate for the values of justice and equity.

He enjoyed the happy looks of his customers, and behind the magical division, there was a small garden, just for him and the other six, to argue and banter, and forget once in a while, that they were adults and working.

Kim Seokjin enjoyed those times.

He was content.

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smutty-ki113r · 4 years ago

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Hiya! I saw your blog and was interested in asking for a romantic matchup! You can involve nsfw if you would like.

My name is Ronan, my nickname is Ro, my most used pronouns are she/her/he/him. My sexuality is demi-sexual meaning I don’t get sexual attractions to people unless I have formed a strong emotional connection with said person. My zodiac is Scorpio (that’s pretty much all I know about that lmao) also my personality is ISTP-T

Starting with my mental trash I have a VERY low self esteem. I never liked the way I look and probably never will. I suffer from chronic depression that’s pretty much taken over my life. I have a very hard time with social cues and can come off as an asshole most of the time and I’m extremely blunt. People tend to think I’m cute since I’m fairly small; I’m a 5’3 Nordic female with thicker thighs. I am absolutely OBSESSED with The Legend of Zelda franchise, it’s been apart of my life for as long as I can remember. I’m pretty musical; I play bass, drums, and sing. I also voice act so that’s really fun. Not gonna lie I say I have a huge ego but really I just hate everyone. Having depression I mostly lock myself in my room and work on my art.

How I look: I have black/brown hair in a boy cut. I have big round hazel eyes, my face is round with slightly chubby cheeks and freckles. I want to get my lip pierced but sadly have not gotten to that yet.. My fashion sense is kinda everywhere but I typically go for the cottage core aesthetic. I love muted nature ish colors, I think they look so pretty. I love to go on long walks and sit alone at my local park. I find being alone outside very calming. When I’m not outside or in my room I’m mostly playing video games with my friends and kicking their ass. Believe it or not I used to do boxing but now I just lift weights and workout some. I have a long history of physical illnesses that really render my body kinda useless so I always try to strengthen myself up however I can. I spent most of my childhood in the hospital due to these illnesses. I have been homeschooled my whole school years but I taught myself German, Japanese, and computer science. I actually have a job around it. I’m terrible at explaining my feelings and asking for help so telling people I love them is a huge chore for me. A lot of the time you can find me alone singing to myself with my eyes closed daydreaming.

I love to read. My friends say I’m really boring but whatever. OH I’ve always wanted to be a DJ. I know its a really weird dream but it just looks so cool. Nobody ever expects the sick quiet girl to want to be a DJ. Speaking of shy I’m a huge introvert if you couldn’t figure that out already. I’m extremely shy, don’t talk to me I’ll run away or you’ll be enveloped in my Zelda talk. I have amazingly crazy music taste (according to my mom) I listen to mostly heavy metal and Corpse Husband.

NSFW: Huge HUGE brat. You want me to do something? Yeah fuck you. I’m a huge sub you can pretty much do anything to me. I have a big daddy kink like please let me call you daddy UGH. Also praise but degrade me at the same time? Please thanks. I’m also a pillow princess. Um um ddlg yes thanks.

I match you with…..💖BEN_DROWNED💖

NSFW bellow~

OK OK I KNOW I KNOW, DON’T @ me for picking Benny boy for you Ro. I just think it’s the right fit. Let me start off with the whole depression thing, BEN relates to locking himself in his room and hyperfixating on something. At least you’ll have a gaming buddy to get you through it. Plus, he’s a very competitive guy. Get him to not cheat and you will have fun for hours. Not to mention you sound a bit like Jeff in the way that you can come off as rude. BEN and Jeff are pretty good friends, so you’ll make a wonderful partner for BEN.

Voice acting? BEN will love that, he’ll try to get you to do different characters from his video games or even anime characters. He loves your chubby cheeks, likes to squish them and make them puckered and then give you kisses. It’s quite adorable. Zelda talk? Yeah you don’t need to worry about him running off about that.

BEN will be obsessed with the cottage core, probably likes those little white flowy dresses. Maybe one day wear those elf ears and surprise him, I think he’d think it’s cute. You should definetly do his makeup, put that holographic glitter on his cheeks and some hair clips in his hair- maybe a skirt if he feels up to it.

BEN is very understanding about your illnesses, in fact he would be super impressed that you even lift weights. And is so so supportive about you wanting to be a DJ. He gets excited and calls over Jeff to show him. He’s not very shy about saying I love you, maybe the first time but after it’s constant affection.

For the smut! He can get rough sometimes, loves the daddy kink. He’s the type to soak all that up like a sponge. Praises you for taking his cock so well but will call you pathetic for making those noises. Probably wants you to wrap your thighs around his head and suck your clit for hours, he likes to feel you cum.

Ok Ok I hope you enjoyed that! I love how you have a big ego and then- low self esteem, sounds like me. I literally hate myself so much and then… holy shit I’m the hottest person alive. I know what depression is like, those thoughts just wrap around your throat and choke the life out of you, and it’s not even fast. It’s every day just heavier and heavier, dragging you down and making you feel horrible. I mostly lock myself in my room too, but writing helps me through it. I love love love your hair, boy cuts are so cool. And get that lip piercing! IT WOULD LOOK AWESOME. I love that you’re talented in music, I wish I was musically inclined. Scorpios are so cool, like I said, my best friend is one and so I LOVE YOU GUYS.

I am so incredibly proud of you, homeschool and then the illness stuff must be so hard but you are so strong for going through it. You don’t deserve it but sometimes life works that way. It’s ok to be shy and introverted. For the record, I think you would make an awesome DJ. DO it, I believe in you, so should you. I mean we all have our passions, work hard enough and I promise you’ll get there. I used to write a lot about my feelings and nobody ever read it, but I continued and look where I am now! Im so proud of myself for having this account, and you for being ALIVE. Thats all you need to do, you don’t need to be cool, or popular or skinny to be an amazing person.

Ro, I swear you are an awesome person. I can clearly see it, and I promise one day you’ll look in the mirror and think the same. If your friends say you’re boring they aren’t your friends. They sort of suck because reading is so cool. Without readers I couldn’t be a writer now could I? I believe in you. I know you can do it. Lifting weights is so badass I couldn’t even- I can barely do 5 pound weights man. Ya know I believe that the people who go through the most pain and sadness are the ones who will be the happiest in the end. The universe has to give us back what we lost, there is balance in everything and pain is only temporary. Everything is temporary. So I promise it’ll be ok man, and hey, you’re valid. I see you ro, and I know that you’ll make great places someday.

#ben drowned #creepypasta #ben drowned x y/n #ben drowned creepypasta #Ben drowned x you #📯#♠️

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discotreque · 4 years ago

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LwD 1.08, “Veritas”

aka GIANT SPOCK IS CANON, or: “Today didn’t have to end in eels!”

Line-for-line, this might have been the funniest episode yet. It moved even faster than “Terminal Provocations” but felt like it had twice as many jokes packed in, and holy fuck were those jokes landing for me.

(Obligatory gorgeous planet shot. It’s a little anachronistic to me to see that font used for a location chyron—those weren’t really a mainstream thing on TV before The X-Files, and while I remember them on VOY and maybe even DS9, I think TNG was too early for them—so we’ve never actually seen it used like this before!)

Anyway, I loved the way this one switched up the usual LwD format of “sitcom A-plot + sitcom B-plot + entire A-plot of a TNG episode C-plot”—though I was slightly disappointed at first that it wasn’t the Rashomon-style story I thought it was shaping up to be, I didn’t really have time to dwell on that because then we were off to the RACES.

Seriously, the jokes in this one:

The execution of the bit with the Red Alert happening everywhere except their repair bay? With the almost-subconscious setup of the klaxon quietly fading in and back out of the background SFX as the doors whoosh open and closed? While you’re still supposed to be paying attention to Mariner and Boimler arguing in the foreground? And then Jack Quaid’s delivery of Boimler’s exasperated “Rutherford!”? That whole scene was just *chef’s kiss*

Mariner doesn’t want to get kicked out of Starfleet because then she’d have to live on Earth, “where there’s nothing to do except drink wine and hang out at vineyards and soul food restaurants.” If she doesn’t want to, I will definitely take her spot.

SAMANTHAN RUTHERFORD. Still not over it.

His “rebooting” into increasingly bizarre situations with absolutely no context (“Updating Klingon fonts!” “Why do I even need tha—” *thud*) reminded me a little of the Futurama episode “Time Keeps on Slipping,” and I always like being reminded of that episode.

GORN WEDDING! (Some really fetching dresses in that scene, tbh #notascalie)

Ransom mistaking Tendi for a special-ops “cleaner” (when she was just there to sticky-roll Dr. T’Ana’s fur off the chairs, another screaming-into-my-hands moment) was comedy gold-pressed latinum. Also, I’ve decided she has no martial arts training, she’s just that good under pressure and that afraid of failure (and, obviously, still in good shape from the Academy).

Okay so my personal tastes re: bleeping regular swear words in normal dialogue are that it’s sometimes funny, sometimes just distracting—I’m getting used to it on this show, though—but that’s different from using super accurate, ultra nostalgic LCARS beeps to “censor” classified information—hilariously poorly—which is a classic trope that gets me every time. Ransom’s final “There’s no indication that the Rom... (beat) ... (bleep!) ... (beat) ...ulan High Council detected us” had me scream-laughing into my hands.

“You know who I hate? Remans.” “Oh, they’re the worrrst.”

I was expecting a whole episode about Q, but this was about the perfect amount of him w/r/t Lower Decks—and Mariner just blowing him off was easily on par with Sisko punching him out, omfg

Come on, a soccer game (with a singing ball) against anthropomorphic playing cards, on a chess board, which is actually a puzzle, that they have to solve to prove humanity’s worth, except really Q is just fucking with them—that’s straight out of a Peter David novel and I was living for it. What more do you need?

Boimler giving a rousing This! Is! Starfleet! speech—and then ending it by shouting “Drumhead!” and mic-dropping the Horn of Candor—was such a perfect microcosm of this stupid, stupendous show :D

“Creepy? This is one of our nicest Event Silos! I got married here!”

And now for some prop talk! The phaser rifles that Ransom and Tendi and [REDACTED] were carrying look like they’re of a design lineage with the ones we saw on VOY (and then late-period DS9), with the angles and proportions “modernized,” in a way the others feel distinctly of-the-90’s now, and that’s such a nice subtle touch—I love how much attention LwD pays to whatever “set dressing” is called in animation.

I was going to get into a whole Thing there, about how phasers were “de-militarized” in design for TNG, and how they’ve since regressed to resemble IRL firearms—RIP the tome of Star Trek essays in my head nobody will ever pay me to write—but honestly? I’m just delighted that this show is making me think so hard about Star Trek As A Concept. I literally feel like a kid again.

TNG and DS9 left me so hungry for post–Dominion War worldbuilding, and then VOY fucked off to the Delta Quadrant, and then ENT fucked off to prequels and the franchise got stuck there for 20 years… and sure, in my heart of hearts I sometimes wish this show had maybe 15% more chill—which is just because I’m getting old—but in so many other important ways, it feels like coming home <3

Oh, and this week’s “Am I actually, literally Beckett Mariner?” moment was when she didn’t care about classified information because “knowing things means more work.” If that’s not me filtering emails at my day job...

Next week: A holodeck hijinks episode, but it looks more VOY-style holo-hijinks than TNG-style—which is basically trashy cable movies vs. PBS, so fuckin’ sign me up.

#star trek #lower decks #lwd #star trek lower decks #amy's episode notes

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managedmischiefs · 4 years ago

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north//chapter fourteen

genre: angst

pairing: season twelve spencer reid x female oc

warnings: description of physical assault, prison, just all of the bad prison arc stuff

word count: 4.7k

summary: spencer and amelia feel the effects of being forcibly separated and it impacts them in similar ways.

honestly, spencer’s pov in this chapter is one of my favorite things i’ve ever written so i hope everyone enjoys it <3

AMELIA

"Come on! You don't even have to do anything! Just go and clean up. We'll go with you and help!" Yaz pokes my shoulder incessantly, trying to get a reaction out of me. But I just keep my eyes on the tv in front of me, bundled up under a blanket.

"Lia," Michael sighs and slings his arm over my shoulder. I want nothing more than to shove it off. “It's been like, three months since-"

I'm quick to speak up to correct him. "Two and a half."

Michael and Quinn exchange a tense look. "Okay," Quinn nods, "two and a half months. It's been two and a half months since you've drawn, or painted, or sketched, or done anything even related to art. We know you're upset about Spencer but you can't let yourself be so upset. You need to find something that's gonna bring you happiness, and art has always done that."

"I don't wanna," I answer like a stubborn child, an answer that any of my siblings would have given me about things like going to bed early or eating vegetables. I pull the blanket up to my chin and stroke my thumb across my newest tattoo, tucked away and out of the sights of my nosy, annoying friends.

Frankie turns and shushes Quinn. "Like I said, Lia, why don't we go and just clean up your studio? We can drive over and just clean up? That's it. You don't have to do a photoshoot or create anything new. Just clean. Sound good? An hour tops."

I look around the faces of my expecting friends and tighten my jaw. I try to steal Spencer's skills and profile what their ulterior motives could be. They all hated Spencer before meeting him, and even after they met him, they weren't completely fond of him. So why are they trying so hard to get me to feel better? Why does it feel like they’re trying to get me to forget about my boyfriend in prison? I should be worrying about him every second of my day instead of prancing around town, cleaning up my studio, and going about my life as if Spencer isn’t suffering. But I’m sure they mean well. And I’m absolutely positive that my legs are sore from sleeping on the couch and from being in that same position all day.

"Fine," I concede, and they all silently cheer. "But I'm driving myself."

The drive to my studio is nearly insufferable. It’s silent and overwhelmed with a tension that I created but can’t seem to let go. The sights around me are familiar but blurry, like I can’t even tell which stores are which without someone in my passenger seat spitting out fact after fact after fact as I drive. I can’t drive down the street and try to recall all the good times and all the dates and all the drunken stumbles back home with the love of my life on my arm. It’s far too painful to constantly remember that I can’t go home and see Spencer and I can’t spend hours on the phone with him like I do when he is away on a case. I can’t see him.

When I arrive at my studio, I realize why they were so insistent that I come out to clean up. I can't remember the last time I was actually in here to work but it's an absolute mess. There are canvases everywhere, bottles and tubes of paint on the floor, splashes and splatters of paint on the walls, brushes everywhere, crumbled up sketches in the trash, and way more. The studio needs much love and I guess now is the time to give it.

Michael immediately turns on music and everyone gets to work, but I don't. I pick up an empty tube of yellow paint and squeeze it in my palm. My head is starting to pound and I can't even stop it as tears start to fall down my cheeks. Who knew that one person could produce so many tears?

Spencer loved when I wore yellow. I have this one short, backless dress that he loved. He especially loved that he had easy access to my skin, always tracing shapes on my back and murmuring about how soft my skin is. He always said that he loved the way the yellow complimented my blonde hair and how it contrasted against my colorful tattoos. He even went as far as to buy me another yellow dress for my birthday last year.

And he loved when I used yellow in my paintings too. One time, I sent him a picture of a piece I was working on and he emailed back a book about how the use of yellow paint expressed the happiness of the piece or something like that. He raved about a painting I did of the sun and how my use of yellow wasn’t scientifically accurate, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

"Amelia?" Quinn speaks but I don't look at her. My cheeks are wet with tears that I barely noticed and my hands are clutching the tube of paint so tightly that it would burst if it were full. "I'm sorry. We didn't mean to upset you. If we-"

"I'm gonna go," I say hastily, clutching the empty tube in my hand as I breeze out of the studio, leaving my bewildered friends to either clean or leave. They know the way out and they know where the keys are. They don’t need me.

I'm wandering into the bullpen like it's second nature because, at this point, it basically is. Nobody on the team bothers to say anything to me. They never do. They're too worried I'll blow up at them or start crying. I don't blame them.

I rap my knuckles against Dave's door and wait for him to shout for me to come in, and when he does, I enter slowly. He gives me a small, pitiful smile as I move in front of his desk. I set the empty yellow paint tube in front of him and then sit down, bringing my knees to my chest.

Dave looks down at the tube, his eyebrows furrowing. "Paint? What's this?"

I blink and it forces tears out of my eyes. "I don't know how to live without Spencer."

Dave leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over my chest. He studies me, profiles me. I hate when Spencer did that. He always got this look on his face when he profiled me, but Dave has a better poker face. "And paint has something to do with that?"

"I just went to my studio with my friends and I finished off all this paint and there were brushes all over the floor and-" tears start pouring down my cheeks again, wetting my neck and the neckline of my sweater. "I came home the other day and I'd left the balcony door open. How stupid. I'm forgetting to lock my doors just because my boyfriend is in p-" I gulp, having to force out the disgusting word, "prison. How fucking stupid. How stupid am I that I can't function without him?"

"You're not stupid," Dave shakes his head. Nothing about his tone or his body language is helpful in the slightest. Nothing and nobody will help. "You two are reliant on each other and that's not a bad thing. I'm sure Boy Genius is always on you about locking your doors and I'm sure he's always giving you statistics on break ins and-"

"He doesn't," I cut him off sharply. "If Spencer's telling me statistics then it's about stars in the sky and how to properly care for my plants so they stay alive longer or just- it's never about things you guys talk about here. It always about things that I'd like. He does it to protect me. He doesn't tell me about serial killers unless I ask, and I only ask when I can see that he had a really hard day at work. It's just me, Dave," I put my forehead to my knees, shoulder shaking as sobs take over my whole body. "I just don't know how to live without him. I don't know how to function without him holding my hand and him calling me to promise he's okay and-- I just can't. I can't do it."

"You did it before you met him," Dave stands from his desk and moves in front of me. He puts his cold hand on my shoulder and it sends a chill down my spine. "You lived a long life before you met him, and you're living now while he's temporarily gone. It's hard, I know, but it's only for a short time."

"I just want him to be okay. That's all I really care about."

///

SPENCER

///

My whole job is about helping people and I've spent my whole life caring for others, mostly my mother. In my professional life, I'm always keeping an eye on my teammates to make sure they aren't in danger. I consider it to be part of my responsibility to look after every single one of my teammates. They're my family and I rely on them to help me too.

I never thought my helpful nature would come back to hurt me. I never thought that trying to help out a friend would come back to hurt me so badly. All I wanted to do was help Delgado. That's it. Calvin is protecting me and the other men in here wouldn't dare to cross him. They know how miserable he could make their experience here and they'd rather beat up someone else than get on Calvin's bad side.

All I did was speak to a correctional officer at chow. That's literally all I did. Yes, I did rat out the gang to the officer for beating up Delgado, but they don't know that. They aren't going to be disciplined for it. I ask the guard for water first as a cover, but clearly, it wasn't enough.

And I've been through a lot in the field. I've been tackled, and punched, and shot, but getting beaten up in a prison is completely different. The guards couldn't care less about the inmates. No matter how much I screamed and pleaded for help, no one came. And even still, there was another inmate outside my cell keeping watch so my attackers could run and not get caught.

I’ve gotten beaten up a lot in my line of work and I can confidently say that this one, in a dirty prison cell, is the worst I’ve received. They held me down against my bed and used a rag to muffle me, but it covered my mouth and nose and it almost suffocated me. They beat me to a pulp, drawing blood on my forehead and almost cracking a rib or two.

It was an unrelenting beating and I eventually succumbed to the pain because I convinced myself that they were going to kill me. I snitched and death would be the consequence. I stopped fighting and just let them take their turns at swiping my face and my chest and my stomach because what could I do? Nothing. As Calvin loves to remind me, the rules are different in here. I don't have a badge and a gun to make the torture stop. I have to endure it or find my own ways to make it stop, and this is a moment to endure it. I'm rendered useless.

The beating only ended when the inmate outside whistled, probably a preplanned signal, because the two others immediately jumped off of me and ran out of my cell. As soon as the towel was pulled away from my face, I gasped in a breath and clutched my aching chest, wincing in pain.

Wilkins came strolling over, peering into my cell. I knew he knew exactly what had just happened by the smirk on his face, but he chose to do nothing. He chose to stroll over instead of running and he didn't yell at the other inmates. He just stared at me and smirked, shaking his head.

"That'll teach you to keep your mouth shut, Snitch."

And those are the words that echoed in my nightmare that night.

I'd rolled over and coughed up a generous amount of blood, grimacing at the taste in my mouth. My body trembled and shook when Wilkins left, even more than when he was silently mocking and watching me. Wilkins doesn’t care to do his job but at least with him standing at my cell door, I had the tiniest bit of protection. But with him gone, the other inmates could come back and finish the job. I shook and stayed rolled over on my side for twenty minutes, staring at the floor and waiting for my cell to close.

When it finally did close, I didn't even let myself sigh of relief. I just fell onto my back again with a groan. I could barely move. It hurt too bad. Everything always hurts nowadays. Things didn't hurt on the outside. Living didn't hurt before I got arrested.

Getting visitors the next morning is not what the ideal situation is. Rising from bed is more of a challenge than it normally is. My body is sore and aching and all I want to do is curl up in my obnoxiously uncomfortable bed, if this slab of metal and a blanket could be considered a bed, and go back to sleep. But I know I'll get in trouble if I don't get up for role call, so I ignore the pain.

I don't dare to look around at anyone on my block as the officer shouts our names, checking to see that we're all here. I just keep my head held high and my hands at my sides and try to show that I couldn't care less about the beating that is causing me so much unrelenting pain.

But then they call our names for a visitor’s session and, of course, my name gets called. I'm usually grateful to get to see anyone from my team, but now? Today? After last night? I'd prefer if they didn't come back until after these bruises were gone. But there's nothing I can do so I allow the guards to put cuffs on me and lead me to the visitor’s room.

As soon as Penelope sees me, she gasps and drops her jaw. She starts to rise to her feet, but I sharpen my glare at her and when she sees my expression, she stays in her seat. When I sit down at the little table and put my cuffed hands in view, like I'm required to, I watch her eyes fill with tears.

"You-" she whispers, "you're hurt. What happened?"

"It's not a big deal," I answer nonchalantly. "It could've been worse." She's not convinced, her jaw dropped as a few tears drip down her cheeks. I keep my jaw tight and as much as I want to comfort her and hug her and promise that as badly as this hurts and as horrible as I'm sure I look, I'll be fine. But there are a million eyes on me right now, including my assailants, and if I show any kind of weakness, a beating like last nights will surely be in store for me again.

Penelope not-so-subtly glances around at the other prisoners around us. "Reid," she leans towards me and tries to lower her voice, "I am going to march right down to the warden’s office and I'm going to-"

"No, you're not," I snap, and my sharp tone of voice makes her jump back, her eyes widening. But for some reason, the look on her face doesn't even make me regret the way I've spoken to her. The look on her face just bothers me more. Why doesn't she get it? Clearly, I have to spell it out for her. "It'll just make worse things. I've got it handled, Garcia."

"Are you sure?" She practically whimpers. "I could-"

"How's everyone else? How's the team? How's my mom?" I deflect from the obvious issue at hand and instead turn the focus to my loved ones. All but the one I wanna hear about.

Penelope starts to nod slowly and she moves her glasses to wipe her cheeks free of tears. "We really miss you. And in our free time, we're working really hard on your-"

"Shh," I try to hold my hands out but the handcuffs rattle, and my eyes dart over to a guard who is alerted by my movement. He gives me a pointed look as if telling me not to do anything stupid. I put my hands back down and look over at a stunned Penelope, leaning in closer. "Don't talk about my case, Garcia. People don’t do that in here. It’s not right and it’s not safe. Just don't talk about it."

She gulps harshly, another single tear dripping down her cheek. "Okay," she nods again, and it's obvious that she's confused. But I don't have the time or the energy to explain why I'm acting like this and I don't even have it in me to care. I didn't even want to be at this visitor’s meeting. I'm only here because I have to be. "Um," she taps her fingers against the table, "we just really miss you, Spencer. Your mom is doing really well with Cassie."

"Good, I'm glad everyone is okay," I nod and I sit back, glancing around for a clock. When is this thing over? I'd rather be in my cell than here. I never thought I'd think that.

Penelope raises her eyebrows and her eyes soften. "A-Amelia? Do you wanna hear about her?"

As soon as I hear her name, my heart starts beating faster. My mind flashes with all the most beautiful images of Amelia that I can recall. I can practically see her in front of me. I can almost feel her under my fingertips. I swear I can taste her chapstick on my lips as she kisses me. I rub my fingers together as if I can feel the fabric of her denim skirt. As if I could unbuckle her belt and take her right on my bed right now. I shake the thought from my head. Don't go there, Spencer. Nothing good ever comes of when your mind goes there.

But I can't get her out of my head. I can stop seeing her lying on my lap, peering up at me as she mulls over which record to put on. Etta James or Taylor Swift? That's always the question of the day, isn't it? It always seems to take her hours to decide on an answer, and she usually doesn't. She'll usually work up an appetite with her thoughts, and when she's gone to get a snack or a glass of wine, I decide for her. Always the same. Always Taylor Swift.

But her smile is always so beautiful when she comes back into the room. When the music finally flows through her ears, the smile that comes to her face is one that could end wars, cure cancer, solve world hunger. I didn't think I could ever understand how bubblegum pop music could make a person so happy. I didn’t think I could ever understand how bubblegum pop music could make Amelia want to drag me off the couch or out of bed and force me to dance with her, whether it be in the middle of the night or just as the sun is peeking through the always-open blinds of her apartment.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to bring myself back to reality. I try to forget about the girl that's waiting for me in the free world. I try to ignore that she's probably shed tear after tear and I haven't been there to wipe them away. My brain produces images of her gasping for air with her head between her knees and I ball my hands into fists.

I'm angry. I'm fucking furious. I want to be there to hold her and whisper in her ear and tell her that her panic attacks are short-lived, that I'm right there. I need to be there to hold her and kiss her and love her. I need her because I can't do this without her. I don't know what to do if I'm not spending my time protecting her. Everything I do is to protect her. I don't know how to function if I'm not holding her hand, or if I'm not pushing myself through every day just so I can call her at midnight to promise that I'm okay. I've become so reliant on Amelia, and maybe that's wrong, but I don't care. I don't care about anything anymore. I just want my life back. I want my life, I want my job, and I want my girlfriend.

I want my girlfriend. I want to move in with her like we planned to and I want to propose to her and I want to marry her. I want to have a whole house full of kids who are loud and messy and loving and adorable and a crusty dog who slobbers all over the couch and chews my shoes. It's not fair. None of this is fair. Amelia doesn't deserve this. She deserves someone better than me.

But I can still see her. I can still see her fucking smile, and I can still hear her goddamn laugh, and I can still feel the fabric of her dumb hair scarves. She's engulfing me in her. She's not even here and yet I feel like I could reach out and she would be in my arms, kissing my neck and telling me that I'm safe and that we can just sit on the balcony and talk. We don't have to go to bed if you don't want to, we can just talk.

What I would give to hear her voice again. I'd give everything I have, and right now, it's not much. I'd give everything plus the clothes on my back to just hear her tell me I'm safe, or to tell me about a new painting she's thinking about starting, or to ask me to tell her a random fact about a food item she is about to buy at the store.

The last thing I want right now is to hear about Amelia. I want it all, or I want nothing. I don't want to hear that Amelia misses me, or that she's crying and having panic attacks in the middle of the BAU, or that she's sleeping in my clothes (or worse, not sleeping at all), or that she's lashing out at everyone. No, if I'm not having her in front of me, kissing me, hugging me, I don't want to hear about her.

"No."

For what seems like the millionth time, Penelope's eyes widen. "No? You don't wanna hear about-"

"No, I don't," there's a pit in my stomach that I try to hold down. I try to not let it take control of me. "I don't wanna hear about how horrible she's doing, okay? So just tell her that I lo-"

I can feel a million eyes burning into every bone in my body and so I stop myself. My lips freeze mid-sentence and I release the steel grip my hands hold around my cuffs. Penelope's are just another pair of eyes that bore into my frame, and I usually love her concerned and mothering nature, but now, it irks me to no end.

"Whatever," it pains me to cut off the sentence I crave so intensely to say, but I can't let my guard down. I can't be vulnerable and I can't show weakness.

"Whatever," Penelope repeats, almost mockingly, her voice cracking. "So you-"

"Could you not say anything to, um," I gulp, "her about this?" I gesture to my face where I can feel the pulsing and throbbing bruises tormenting me. I drop my shoulders and start to fiddle with the way-too-tight handcuffs around my wrists, but then I decide that that's a horrible idea, and probably a good way to get harassed by the correctional officers. "I just don't want her to worry about this. I'm sure she's worried enough. I don't want to give her another reason to, you know, panic."

"Times up! Inmates, get back to your cells."

Without so much as another glance at Penelope, I stand and turn my back to her. I lift my chin as I'm pushed and shoved into the lineup and then pushed and shoved back to my lonely, isolated cell. I'd rather have it this way, behind bars where the other inmates can't get me.

I drop down to the floor, pressing my forehead against the rusty bars, staring out at the drab, bland, boring beige walls. The paint is peeling and the bars, honestly, look like they could be broken with a hard enough kick. And, of course, the colors of the walls do nothing to brighten up the dead environment. The colors aren't anything like those that adorn Amelia's body on the regular.

A frustrated groan escapes my lips as I bang my hand against the bars. Why did I have to think about her again? Why did I have to let her infiltrate my thoughts?

But the colors of her. The colors swirl around in my head but as hard as I try, I can't get her colors to fill this horrible cell I'm confined to. I try to imagine her denim skirts, knit sweaters, and pea coats strewn out on the bed as she chooses what to wear in the morning. I try to remember the feeling of accidentally stepping on one of Amelia's millions of piercings when they fall on the floor after she takes them out before bed. I try to see her laying down on my bed, her sketchbook in her lap, and her colored pencils beside her as she rambles on and on and on, talking more than me, about what she's drawing and how she's planning on achieving her vision.

But no matter how hard I try, I can't get her into the cell with me. She doesn't belong here. Her art doesn't belong on these chipped walls, and her clothes don't belong on this poor excuse for a bed, and her absurdly positive attitude doesn't deserve to be squashed in here.

I rub my eyes and try to forget. I try to forget all about her and I try to erase her from my mind completely. I push myself away from the bars and stand, but standing does the opposite of what I want to do. Standing gives me a perfect view of the tiny window across from my cell, but more specifically, the sky.

I stare up at the clouds, my hands gripping the bars as tight as I possibly can. My eyes well up with tears and my knees start to buckle under my weight, and as my tears start to drip, they sting the cuts that I didn't even realize I had on my face. It’s not like I have a mirror to examine my injuries.

They are just blobs. There are no dragons, or hands, or tables, or staircases, or cars, or Christmas trees. They're just clouds. There's nothing fancy about them. I'll never be able to see it. I couldn't see shapes when I was with Amelia. What makes me think I would be able to see shapes without her?

I push myself away from the bars and throw myself onto the bed, covering my face with my hands. This is useless. I'm useless. There are echoes of chatter from men on my cell block and it makes my head hurt. If Amelia were here, she would cradle my head in her lap and brush her fingers through my hair, and she would trail her fingertips over my forehead and over the bridge of my nose, all while whispering sweet nothings to me. I groan with frustration, rolling onto my stomach and burying my face under my flat pillow.

"Hey, Reid," Calvin's voice joins the echoes from the cells around mine. "How's it going over there?"

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