#better you can’t expose me when I have receipts of me taking responsibility and doing what I could to show I was wrong | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tutuchlee · 4 years ago

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Star Gazers

Author note: Hey guys! Here is the sk8 infinity fic I have been working on for anon !

I apologize for the wait, I was planning to have it done last night but 3 hours in I accidentally refreshed the page and lost my ENTIRE fic!

I also apologize if the writing quality is not it’s best— after losing the fic yesterday I found it hard to rewrite many parts and struggled with find my groove again. I’ve rewritten this about 4 times now and this was the best I managed to do.

I hope you all enjoy regardless, and I promise to do better in the future!

Summary: After finally coming to his senses, Reki makes up with Langa, only for Langa to give him a piece of his mind!

Word count: 2767

Warnings: Some swearing, tickles, this fic takes place at the end of ep 10, so SPOILERS for those who have not gotten that far

Ships: Reki x Langa

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Misery.

It was the only word that came to mind to describe the hell of a week Reki had gone through.

It wasn’t easy to come to terms with the skill difference between him and his friends, especially his boyfriend who had surpassed all of them in the timespan of a couple of months. On top of that-- getting beat up, hit by a car, then waking up in a random hotel room really put the cherry on top for the young skater.

The world felt as though it was completely against the young firecracker.

However, none of his injuries could compare to the heart aching pain he had to go through from pushing his boyfriend away.

Langa deserved none of this, for how could he? He was naturally talented in skating, and Reki should have been proud. He was his teacher after all--and usually a teacher wants their pupal to succeed, but for Reki, he just wished he could compare.

Langa no longer needed him.

He’d already taught himself far more tricks than Reki could have dreamed of and perfected each and every one of them. Meanwhile, Reki was falling behind, and drowning in his own sorrow.

Perhaps what upset him more was the fact he still wished to skate against Adam. Watching them the last time had set Reki off for quite some time, for how could it not? Adam touched Langa as if he owned him, and on top of that he was already calling the two of them Adam and Eve! Who even was this guy!

But even so, Reki knew his actions were wrong. Ignoring his boyfriend, yelling at him and even purposely avoiding him was definitely the receipt for the worse boyfriend award.

And of all places he had to realize this, it had to be upon waking up in the love hotel with some random guy. He had rushed home as soon as he could after giving a heart filled reply to the strange man who had asked him to quit skating, and realized his love for skating didn’t happen from being better from everyone, but from skating with those you love.

Which was how the two lovers ended up here; Reki sprawled out on his back with Langa taking a faceplant into his stomach at the skate park once used to teach snow his first ollie.

A groan escaped from Reki’s mouth as he slowly propped himself on his elbows, using one of his hands to rub the back of his head. “Langa..!” he whined, looking down at the snowflake that had yet to move, “Why didn’t you dodge me!” he asked with a subtle pout on his face.

Silence passed over the two with no response from the other. Instead, Reki noticed a slight quivering of his shoulders, and his panic quickly spiked. Disregarding his injuries, his attention was now on his boyfriend which he feared was injured.

“Langa!” he called out once more, moving his hand away from his head to gently nudge the others back.

That’s when he was met with those beautiful sky blue eyes, with none other than a huge grin plastered across his face as laughter spilled out. His anxiety soon melted away at the sight as his eyes lit up, taking in the sight of his Canadian boyfriend.

And eventually Langa’s laughter died down to a comforting silence as the two lovers gazed into each others eyes.

It was moments like these that Reki both loved and hated. He loved looking at his gorgeous boyfriend, basking in the affection he always gave off—but hated that he could not last more than five seconds without becoming a flustered mess.

His cheeks had blossomed into a crimson red as he quickly brought his arm up, draping it over his face as an attempt to shield himself from the other. And as he peeled his eyes away he glanced off into the distance, trying to give himself a chance to calm down.

“Did you hit your head or something..?” He asked, trying to break the awkward silence he had created.

However, for Langa, he adored Reki’s reaction each time, sometimes purposely doing things just to see his firecracker sizzle. It was not easy to tame the other, especially with his hyper personality, but he found that with a little affection he could get the other to soften down. So adorable.

So, as he looked up at the other, he was unable to hold back anymore. From the bottom of his heart, Langa began his barrage of compliments to the other, telling him how much he cherished him as a skater and a lover. Reki had taught him everything he knew-- and seeing him hate skating just because of it pained Langa more than he thought it would.

It had been everything Reki needed to hear and more, filling the void he had created of self-doubt. His words comforted him like a blanket, making his previous view on himself disappear as he continued to spill sweet nothings. It was all too much for poor Reki.

Langa knew Reki couldn’t handle compliments, and Reki mentally cursed at him for it as the crimson tint slowly crawled to the tips of his ears. Unable to take much more, Reki quickly put his hand out, stealing a glance at the pale face as he cut him off, “That’s enough! That’s really enough..!” he muttered sheepishly.

Curse you Langa.

But truly, the redhead felt at ease from his anxiety. And as he let out an embarrassed cry, he slowly fell back onto the concrete as Langa’s words circulated throughout his head, playing like a broken record.

Feeling satisfied, Langa slowly lowered his chin down atop Reki’s stomach again, pressing his cheek against him as he too laid with the other.

And as the silence continued, Reki’s thoughts only wandered, thinking about what his next step would be in terms of skating and making it up to Miya for breaking his trust. But—those thoughts were cut short when an electrifying jolt pulled him out of thought, causing an unattractive shriek to escape his lips as he immediately sat up, looking down at the culprit.

There Langa laid, burrowing the tip of his nose against the lining of skin exposed by his shirt, abusing the access by lightly peppering kisses along the soft tummy it showed. It felt as if there were butterflies battering their wings against his belly, sending shivers down his spine with each kiss.

“H-hey!” he screeched, his voice cracking as he squirmed beneath him, “Quit it, you know I can’t stand it when you do this!”

Did Langa know this? Perhaps. But would he stop now? No.

Those gorgeous blue eyes Reki loved so much slowly rose to meet his, a clear mischief behind them that he didn’t want to acknowledge. His arms slowly wrapped around his lovers torso, encasing him in a trap Reki with he’d seen sooner.

“Reki, I haven’t been able to hear your laugh in over a week. Don’t you think thats a little cruel?” He asked, a look of disappointment yet playfulness on his face.

This was it for little Reki. His instincts to run were starting to kick in, but as he squirmed below the other he realized now there was no way of getting out of this. Perhaps, plan B?

“L-Langa, wai-AIT!”

His voice cracked mid plead as two fingers found their way to his sides, jabbing into that practically sensitive spot just between his ribs and hips. His back snapped straight at the unexpected sensation, causing yet another yelp from the teen.

In a desperate attempt to stop the other, he reached down and grabbed his shirt, hoping to shut him out of the unfair advantage he had of his bare skin. However, that attempt was deemed a fail after he pulled the shirt over Langa’s head, trapping him and his devious intentions inside.

Unable to help a smirk from growing on his lips, the now trapped Langa pressed his cheek against the others stomach, rubbing it gracefully against his skin as if to show he was getting comfy. He let the other have a moment, peacefully laying there as his plan was going better than intended.

Reki, on the other hand, was a squirming mess. His mind was becoming discombobulated as he tried to figure out what the next move from the other was. But that was proven difficult since all he could feel was Langa’s breath, lightly dusting against the hairs lining his belly, making each one stand on end.

All he could do now was plea, hoping that his snowflake would have mercy on him. But alas, his words only went through one ear out the other, having no affect whatsoever on the situation.

With a light chuckle, the assault began.

The fingers glued to his sides began wiggling, digging out the laughter he patiently waited for. It took everything Reki had not to scream as he jolted from side to side, his voice cracking while he erupted with his shrieky laughter.

It truly was music to Langa’s ears. His head bounced against his quivering stomach, getting to feel and hear his laughter as it echoed all around the skatepark.

But was it greedy for him to want more?

As his fingers wiggled deviously into the curves of his sides, he decided to change it up. Without warning, his wiggling fingers came to a stop, and instead changing to something much more unbearable.

They gently pinched the others skin, making sure to get right into the grooves of his side to hit the spots he knew he couldn’t handle. He’d move up and down much as his wrist allowed him to, occasionally vibrating a particular spot that got a good reaction from the redhead.

To add onto that, those butterfly kisses soon returned across his stomach, turning him into a pile of mush as he laughed his head off.

Reki was always known for his loud and cracky tone of voice, and it truly showed through his laughter that changed in pitch every few seconds, cracking and screeching every time his sides would get drilled.

There was little to no hope of getting out of this, and no amount of shoving or pleads seemed to be working, so all he could do now was take it.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he slowly fell back in a heap of laughter, squirming beneath his boyfriend holding him hostage.

Anyone walking around might question what crime scene was taking place in the skate park, but to their luck no one came to check.

Instead he was left there to laugh his throat hoarse by his boyfriend who seemed to be enjoying this much more than he was.

For minutes on end, Langa would pinch and drill into his sides, occasionally spidering his finger nails across the bare skin to cause his poor redhead to twitch and cry out with laughter.

“L-LAHAnga!” he’d repeatedly screech, shaking his head from side to side to indicate he was done with the torment. But to his demise, Langa was buried beneath his shirt, showing no signs of stopping.

In some ways, this was Langa’s way of taking out his stress on the other for the past week. Did Reki really believe he wouldn’t be upset?

Hearing him laugh now made up for all the times his heart shattered at the sight of his usual happy and cheerful boyfriend unable to even shed a smile. Seeing that there were no screams for him to stop, he only assumed his boyfriend was enjoying it too.

So as he happily continued his assault, the kisses he’d been leaving around the open canvas came to a halt.

Instead, he moved himself into position just below the others naval and took a deep breath, grinning as he slowly moved down to press his lips against the skin, blowing as much air as possible to create that loud ‘PFTT’ noise Reki once used on him.

That's where his firecracker exploded, screaming out with laughter as he kicked his legs out, arching his back as his skin rippled below his lips. The vibration carried from his stomach and traveled up his body, causing almost a tsunami of ticklish sensations to follow.

“LAHAHANGAAAHA!”

Holy shit-- it tickled to the point Reki thought he might die.

Tears of mirth collected in the corners of his eyes before spilling over as Langa decided to leave tiny raspberries around his naval, causing the poor redhead to completely lose himself.

It was unbearable.

At this point his laughter was beginning to grow silent since the onslaught of baby raspberries weren’t stopping, and Langa’s hands were still torturing his sides with pinches.

Geez, where the hell did he even learn how to tickle like this!

“L-LangHA! I-I...I cahahan’t take it!” he managed to wheeze out between his screechy laughter, smacking his leg against the ground to show he was k.o’d. He started to desperately claw at the back of Langa’s shirt, trying with all the energy he had left to pull him away.

His bladder wouldn’t be able to take much more of this, and at this rate he’d definitely lose his voice!

But to his relief, the attack began to slow. There was one final raspberry on the dead center of his naval that resulted in a snort from the redhead, adding yet another embarrassing noise to his index of screeches, but thankfully that marked the end to his attack.

The fingers that were torturing every inch of his sides slowed as well, but never retracted. Instead, Langa decided to give him a little treat, and instead gave him the light tickles he knew Reki loved.

With the tips of his finger nails, he barely brushed them against his skin, hardly making contact as he dusted them across his sides.

Reki, whom was now a sweaty pile of mush on the ground, panted heavily as the other let up on his tickle attack. After giggles were all that remained, and upon trying to calm down he could feel Langa giving him his specialty.

The tickles that made his skin crawl, but also calm him to the point of sleep.

He loved them, and so did Langa. They were usually used during their cuddle sessions to calm the firecracker who couldn’t seem to sit still, and upon the discovery Langa used them whenever he could.

So as he laid there catching his breath, he felt the spidery tickles calming his tickled mind. They skittered up his sides, dragging back down just to do it again. As if he wasn’t exhausted already, they brought the extra wave of comfort and sleep with them.

Langa knew what he was doing. He planned on taking the tired out skater back to his place so they could sleep together. His sheets were no longer stained with the sweet scent of the other, and usually it took a lot of convincing to get Reki to agree to sleep over due to his constant state of being flustered.

So as he as treated Reki to his favorite ghost tickles, he slowly popped his head out from the cave that was Reki’s shirt, flashing him a soft smile despite his hair being disheveled from the static.

Feeling the other finally arise from the cave he’d created beneath his shirt, he opened his eyes slightly to glance down at him, still a flustered mess with a hint of sweat lining his forehead.

“You...you’re cruel.” he wheezed, bringing his arms up in defeat.

Langa only grinned, looking down at the exposed torso Reki had left him, which he knew was 100% intentional even if Reki refused to admit to it.

“I love you, Reki.” Was his reply as he finally untangled his arms from around the others waist, instead moving them under his shirt to lightly spider all around his sweet belly, dusting the baby hairs all around the soft skin.

He even drew a faint heart as Reki visibly pouted, clearly trying to ignore the fluttering tickles despite Langa knowing how much he craved them.

With a huff, Reki eventually looked down at him, unable to hold back the smile that he was forcing out of him. And as he looked at his snowflake, he realized now how lucky he was to have a boyfriend like Langa.

And with that, he sat up, reaching down to cup his boyfriends cheeks as he drew him in, pressing a soft kiss to those lips he was proud to call his, pulling away moments after with a tired grin.

“I love you too, Langa.”

#langa x reki #sk8 renga #sk8 infinity #reki #langa #tickle fic #tickles #tickling

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mellometal · 3 years ago

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Surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.

(Please tell me at least one of you got that reference.)

Anyways, jokes aside, the slaughtering of Dhar Mann’s videos is back and running! I’M BACK. Sorry for the long wait. I’ve had a lot of personal stuff going on, which I’ve been very transparent about and I wasn’t in the right headspace to tear apart Dhar Mann’s videos due to that.

Y’all are in for a real treat today. Why? Because I’m tearing apart TWO of his videos in ONE post! They’re all the same premise, basically. Both of these videos are about people scamming others out of their money by faking injuries and disabilities! Ain’t that nifty? /s

Both of these videos have these things in common: insurance fraud, scamming people, and faking injuries and disabilities. Obviously, we all know those things are extremely fucked up.

For anyone who’s not aware, Dhar Mann has actually committed fraud in the past that he pleaded no contest to in 2014. Fucking shocker, I know. He’s such a kind soul, right? How could he do something so EVIIILLL? /s

He’s actually never served jail time, let alone was ever arrested, for the five felony counts related to a scheme to defraud the City (Oakland, California) by submitting false claims and receipts in order to receive redevelopment grant money. Those were all from the shit he did back in 2008 and 2009! He stole THOUSANDS of dollars from the city when he was an entrepreneur in the medical marijuana business! Dhar Mann served five years of probation. They let him off easy. Why? Oh, because his parents are super rich too and they paid to get him out of serving a jail sentence.

In 2018, he made a blog post on entrepreneur.com about his “big mistakes costing him everything”. IT’S SO FUCKING FUNNY TO ME. JUST THE WAY HE PUT IT IS HILARIOUSLY BAD AND I CAN’T STOP LAUGHING. Like, BRUH. The fuck did you think was gonna happen? He wrote it out like he was a kid who got in trouble with his parents for not eating his vegetables and had to write out a whole fucking essay as to why it’s important to eat your veggies. It’s THAT bad.

ETA: Here's the link to the article. It's so bad it's funny.

Will there be any response from me? Unfortunately, not this time. These videos are too poorly made for me to make comments about. It wouldn’t be worth it at this point because Dhar Mann has his head up his own ass and won’t listen to the real people he’s actually hurting with his videos. It's obvious they're bad.

It's obvious that insurance fraud is a serious crime. Faking being disabled is disgusting. By faking disabilities, it makes it THAT much harder for disabled people to be taken seriously. It’s sickening.

Onto the first video I want to talk about. This first one has a man who fakes being disabled and fakes injuries all for monetary compensation, a lawyer who encourages her client to do this serious crime, a judge who’s EXTREMELY unprofessional, a few owners of small stores who are the victims of the crime that is injury fraud, and an undercover FBI agent.

Committing insurance fraud can usually end up with a prison sentence of up to five years per false claim (like what this man and his lawyer did in the video), but it can reach up to twenty years. There’s also a penalty that can be up to $250,000 per incident. It’s no joke. (Kids, don't do this, please.)

The first video starts off in a court room. The “victim” (the plaintiff) gives the store owner (the defendant) a piece of his mind, then the guy’s lawyer does the same thing. Hey, as a lawyer, you should know better. That’s extremely unprofessional. The store owner is obviously distraught. He's remorseful. He feels horrible about someone getting hurt in HIS shop, but he’s determined to fight his case. He didn’t do anything wrong.

The judge tells everyone to rise, then says everyone can sit down in an unprofessional way. He tells the plaintiff to tell their side of the story. The lawyer tells the judge that her client tried to grab onto one of the hand bars in the disabled bathroom stall, found that it wasn’t installed properly, and he fell. The store owner interjects and tries to tell the judge that what they were saying wasn’t true...without saying that he objects. The judge gets angry with the store owner...which again, is unprofessional.

The lawyer shows the judge the photos she took as evidence. (I'll get to why these claims are absolute bullshit.) After that, the judge finally tells the store owner to tell his side of the story.

The store owner is adamant about installing the hand bars in the disabled bathroom stall properly, he genuinely had no idea how that even happened, and he's still remorseful. The judge ruled in favor of the "victim", asks for the store owner to pay out $25,000, and court was dismissed.

The lawyer and the "victim" are seen gloating about being successful in pulling off another scheme. The "victim" tells his lawyer that he needed to get out of the wheelchair. His lawyer denies this by saying that she doesn't want to get exposed.

They then go to another independent business to pull off the SAME scam. They do this at a small boutique. The store owner goes around to catch them in the action when he bumps into an undercover FBI agent. The FBI agent asks him what he was doing, and he tells the agent that he’s trying to gather evidence. The agent understands and goes on his merry way.

We see the lawyer going into the dressing room while the “victim” is browsing around for a dress shirt to try on. She goes in with the screwdriver, unscrews the hand bars in the dressing room, then comes back out. The “victim” asks one of the store clerks if he could try on a shirt he picked out, so he goes back there, and he “falls” in the dressing room. LIKE HOW HE “FELL” IN THE DISABLED BATHROOM STALL AT ANOTHER STORE.

What makes these claims absolute bullshit is the fact that the lawyer carried around a screwdriver to uninstall the hand bars to make her client "fall" (she had it sticking out of her suit jacket). Plus, if a disabled person were to actually fall from improperly installed hand bars in the disabled bathroom stall, the holes in the wall wouldn't look clean WHATSOEVER. The screws would not come out clean like if you were to unscrew them out of a wall. Part of the wall and the screws would most likely be ripped out and the disabled person would be SERIOUSLY hurt (depending on the person). Like, you'd have to go to the hospital, most likely. The way that the "victim" "fell" was like he practiced it, like how you would in theatre. (I've practiced how to "fall" safely when I was in theatre for scenes where you have to faint or pass out. There's a trick to doing that without hurting yourself. Theatre kids, you know what I'm talking about.) He was still in the fetal position in his chair on his left side. He had NO injuries whatsoever.

His lawyer JUST so happened to be there! Convenient timing! She introduces herself (even though they clearly know each other already) and tells the people working in the store that she’ll be seeing them in court for their “negligence”. The store clerks have no idea what she’s even talking about and they’re understandably afraid. I don’t think the owner of that boutique was there at the time. (Don’t they have security cameras all over the store? I would think they'd catch onto what the lawyer did in one of the dressing rooms if they did.)

They pull off this scam, they're seen LAUGHING about fucking scamming people and committing a SERIOUS CRIME, and the store owner from earlier catches them when the "victim" gives the wheelchair back to his lawyer. They take the store owner's camera, taunt him, and then the lawyer EATS the SD card! They go off into the sunset, laughing like your stereotypical mean girls in Beverly Hills.

They go back to court, where the store owner is still trying to defend himself. The judge isn't budging at first, the lawyer is acting like the store owner is lying (he isn’t), and the store owner is trying to tell the judge exactly what happened. He’s almost ordered to pay out $25,000, which would mean that he’d have to close down his store to even come up with that kind of money. That stops when the undercover FBI agent goes right into the courtroom to give the judge evidence to prove that the store owner is innocent. Apparently this guy has been investigating these two people for a while and was waiting to catch them. It ends with the lawyer AND the "victim" being arrested and the store owner is proven innocent. He never ends up having to pay the $25,000.

Hey, Dhar Mann. I have a few questions for you.:

Are you projecting? Because you did commit five counts of fraud. You pulling the same shit again? Just curious.

When you add in BIPOC and AAPI characters, why do you have to ALWAYS have to write them as either the victims, the heroes, or you write them to be absolutely awful people? This is ESPECIALLY the case with Black and Hispanic people in your videos. You ALWAYS write these two groups like this mainly, and I don't understand why. The racial aggression in your videos isn't cute. Knock it the fuck off. Why not just write them as normal people, WHICH IS WHAT THEY ARE?

Is your concern for small business owners genuine? Do you actually care about small businesses? Or did you just add them into this video for brownie points to feed the gross excuse for a savior complex you have?

The second video I want to talk about is pretty much the same thing, except this involves a couple and they don't fake disabilities! They do fake being/getting injured though. I’ll call the guy with the nice car “Nice Guy” and the scammers “Scammer 1″ and “Scammer 2″. They don’t have any names, unfortunately.

It starts off with Nice Guy backing out of a parking lot when Scammer 1 "falls" behind the car and yelps out in pain. Nice Guy gets out of the car to see what happened and he’s freaking out because he thinks he just hit someone by trying to back out of a parking lot. He wants to make sure that Scammer 1 is okay.

Scammer 2 runs over to her boyfriend to see that he “fell” behind the car, berates Nice Guy, Scammer 1 is crying out in “pain”, and Nice Guy is trying to come up with a solution. He gives the two scammers $600 and they go on their way. Scammer 2 tells her boyfriend that he put on a great performance. Little did they know that Nice Guy heard everything they said.

But wait, kids! There’s more! It’s fuckin’ wacky!

They go to a little convenience store, Scammer 1 pulls out a water bottle out of one of the fridges that he didn’t pay for, and pours some all over the floor. Scammer 2 happens to walk in, "slip" on the spilled water, and land directly onto her back. The store clerk there goes over to see what happened, Scammer 1 introduces himself as a personal injury lawyer to Scammer 2, and they try to get monetary compensation from the store clerk. Little do they know that Nice Guy was watching them the whole time!

He caught them on camera trying to pull off a scam, he called the cops, and we never see Scammer 1 and Scammer 2 ever again!

Why is it that there were no security cameras in your store the first time around, but they were CONVENIENTLY THERE this time, Nice Guy? You could've proven your case and won the first time!

My thoughts on these videos? Super boring. Ableist as hell. Super unrealistic. They're so poorly made that I didn't even want to make a comment on either of them!

It looks obvious that he's projecting, but I don't know. What do y'all think?

#tw dhar mann #these videos are a fucking dumpster fire but they're so BORING #we all know that committing insurance fraud is wrong #anti dhar mann #please stop supporting dhar mann #dhar mann will live to regret his decision uwu #dhar mann will live to regret his decision to make these fucked up cringe videos #dhar mann is a piece of human garbage #dhar mann is a cringe ass nae nae baby #dhar mann #don't commit fraud kids!

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mostlycompetentwriter · 5 years ago

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“Drive-In”: A Domesticated Drabble

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Bang Chan (Stray Kids)

Word Count: 2,542

Genre: Married AU; Prequel

Warnings: Smut and Language

Summary: Y/N isn’t the greatest when it comes to relationships which is why she intends to make her first year with Chan something to remember.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

I was startled by the sudden presence of the shop worker, glancing away from the cake display with full alertness. “I was just looking.”

“Are you celebrating?” she asked. “We can do customization work.”

“Really? It’s for an anniversary.”

“Oh, how sweet,” she cooed, clapping her hands together like she was the one who had hitched herself to a medical student.

“Yeah, I guess,” I shrugged. In reality, I wasn’t used to this kind of thing considering the fact that my relationships usually never lasted more than a few months. “We’ve been together for a year.”

“Well, that’s a long time,” the worker informed me. “No wonder you’re trying to make it special.”

“That’s the plan,” I joked, even if I was feeling completely out of my comfort zone. Special occasions were often reserved for Chan because he was the romantic one in our relationship. He was the one who was counting, making a big deal out of every little milestone: “Happy two months, Y/N!” or “It’s been six months now, Y/N.”

I did my best to reciprocate his enthusiasm, going along with whatever plans he happened to be making. For our two month anniversary, I gave him a blow job in the restroom of the movie theatre. And after we got home from dinner to celebrate six months, Chan and I had sex for the very first time in his apartment, throwing Jisung out because Chan’s roommate was incredibly nosy and I was half-way convinced that he got off to the sounds of our fucking.

“The cakes are baked fresh every day!” the shop worker continued, doing her best to convince me to spend 20 dollars on a fine mixture of sugar, flour, and icing.

“Give me your biggest one.”

“Sweetie, you didn’t have to,” Chan insisted after I offered him the expensive pastry.

“Happy anniversary or whatever,” I said in return, resisting the urge to show him the receipt from the cake shop because I was half-convinced that they had overcharged me.

Chan pulled me in closer by my hips, hands enveloping my waist as he kissed me softly. “I have something special for you tonight.”

“A fancy bottle of wine and my face in the mattress?”

“Y/N,” Chan scolded me gently. “We’re going out.”

I was still unconvinced, reaching down to palm his cock over the jeans he was wearing. “Are you sure, Channie? I’ll even ride you if you want.”

“We have plans,” Chan insisted while reaching for my wandering hand. “Go get dressed.”

“Is Jisung here with his latest plaything or something?” I snickered. “You’re awfully persistent.”

“Because I have a surprise,” Chan said, pointing in the direction of his bedroom. “You better hurry, sweetie, we’re leaving in thirty minutes.”

“Well, then you better appreciate a half-assed attempt to look nice,” I told him. “I’m talking Aerospostale instead of Armani.”

“You’ll probably look sexy regardless.”

“Channie, you always know how to stroke my ego.”

Chan must have gotten dating advice from his parents. That’s the only suitable explanation for the nearly vacant drive-in movie Chan was currently paying an entire week’s worth of tips for two tickets. “Chan,” I said, glancing around nervously. “Is this the part where you tell me that you’re a serial killer?”

Chan pulled up to the front of the lot, parking next to one of the rusty speakers twisted into the ground. “Isn’t it great?”

“I guess,” I said, craning my neck to take in the giant screen. “This is revenge for Minho’s frat party, right?”

“I think it’s amazing,” Chan said. “You want anything from the concession stand? My treat, of course, sweetie.”

“You go knock yourself out,” I said. “I’ll just stay here with my phone in case I need to urgently dial the emergency number. How fast do you think the police can get here?”

“Don’t be overdramatic,” Chan said, wrenching open the door to his faded Mustang. “I’ll be right back.”

I shivered, crossing my arms as I slowly counted the number of cars surrounding us: a grand total of four. There were only four other cars here in a run-down gravel lot in the middle of the woods. This was something out of a horror film, a new nightmare directed by Wes Craven. At any moment, I totally expected Jason Vorhees to run out of those trees waving around his machete and, no matter how big Chan had gotten over the summer, I doubted he could take down an immortal monster. “Keep it together, Y/N,” I murmured. “This isn’t the dumbest thing he’s ever done.”

I was pretty sure nothing could ever top our impromptu beach trip for spring break when Chan somehow booked us a room in the basement of someone’s beach house. Concrete floors and walls, exposed pipes and insulation, Chan and I shared a tiny twin bed with eyes wide open as we listened to the scariest noises emanating from the giant furnace. Needless to say, Chan found us another room at the Motel 6, ditching the creepy couple who told us that they couldn’t give a refund.

“Popcorn!”

I nearly screamed at the sound of Chan’s returning voice, rolling my eyes when he shoved the box at me from across the console. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“What are you so worried about, Y/N?” Chan asked as he shut the door. “The movie starts soon.”

“Great,” I said. “Would it be entirely rude to ask what the hell you paid for us to see?”

Chan shrugged while taking a giant bite of his pretzel. “It’s an older movie, but I hear it’s one of their most popular.”

“Well, if it gives me a couple of strokes, then your ass can drive us to the hospital.”

“It’s not scary,” Chan argued, leaning his seat back to accommodate his view. “I think you’ll like it if you give it a chance.”

“But the very first time I see a fucking ghost or something...”

“There aren’t any ghosts,” Chan said. “Unless we’re talking about the movie with Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze.”

“You cry like a little bitch every time.”

“They deserved to be together!”

“Shhh,” I silenced him quietly, moving up in my seat. “Your fifties flick is about to play! Maybe I’ll get lucky and see a nice ass or something.”

“How crude,” Chan remarked, grumpily wiping his greasy hands against his jeans.

“It’s starting!” I cheered, propping my elbow against the console. “Are you excited?”

Chan glared at me as the credits rolled across the screen. “See if I do anything nice for you again, Y/N.”

“I’m trying to appreciate this gesture of love,” I said, pointing at the two characters on screen. “Do you think they’ve ever been to a drive-in movie?”

“Are you gonna talk the entire time?”

“You don’t like my commentary?”

“Unless it’s the director's cut, then no.”

“Channie,” I feigned hurt. “You’ve broken my delicate sensibilities. Wherever will I regain my confidence?”

“You have plenty of that, Y/N,” Chan said.

I looked away from the movie screen, admiring the sharp profile of his jawline. “Have you ever noticed how remarkably gorgeous you are these days?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“That’s a shame because I was hoping to get inside your pants.”

“Watch the movie!”

I grew silent, moving back to my side of the car while sneaking my phone from my side pocket, scrolling through my messages with the screen brightness on low. There were several messages from Minho which I temporarily ignored in favor of the unexpected appearance of Han Jisung’s name. He only ever reached out to me when he was either in desperate need of help or because he heard an inappropriate joke and thought I should know about it as well.

From Jisung

Where does Chan keep his condoms?

I rolled my eyes, deleting the message before tapping on Minho’s contact name.

From Minho

Was Chan’s surprise everything you hoped and dreamed for?

To Minho

He took me to a drive-in theatre

From Minho

If I see your name in the obituary, I’ll let the police see this message.

To Minho

You’re becoming less supportive with each passing day

From Minho

That’s because you just interrupted my hook-up! She fled the moment she saw your name.

To Minho

Then she wasn’t good enough for you. I probably just saved you from months of clingy girlfriend syndrome.

I waited for Minho’s response before an exaggerated moan from on-screen abruptly captured my attention. I looked back at the screen, mouth dropping open as I realized the two main protagonists had progressed considerably in their relationship. “Channie, you didn’t tell me there was porn in this,” I gasped, smirking at the sight of my flustered boyfriend. “Aw, your ears are red.”

“Shut it,” Chan growled.

“Was this not what you expected?” I asked him, reaching out to trace the outer shell of his ear.

“They did say it had an R rating,” Chan admitted, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

I drew my hand away from his ear, running my fingers down his arm and waist until I found the front of his jeans. “We could have watched porn at home.”

“W-what are you doing?” Chan asked, eyes frantic as they surveyed our surroundings.

“Nobody’s watching,” I said as I tightened my hand around his cock, enjoying his accompanying moan. “Have you ever had sex in the car before?”

“In my Mustang?” Chan gasped, eyes now shut tightly together as he tossed his head back against the headrest. “These are leather seats.”

“And?”

“I don’t want semen on my leather seats,” Chan complained.

“Relax, Channie,” I reassured him, working my way across the console to sit directly on his lap. “I’ll let you cum inside so it stays in me instead.”

Chan’s mouth fell open at my promise. “I don’t have a condom.”

“Well, good thing I do,” I smirked, reaching into my pocket. “I’m on birth control anyway.”

“Since when?”

“I can’t tell you that,” I said, waving the silver packet in his face. “You’ll get all jealous.”

Chan frowned, eyes narrowed. “Changbin?”

I nodded once. “I thought it was better to play it safe.”

“How fortunate for him,” Chan glowered.

“I told you not to assume anything,” I said, reaching down to unbutton his jeans. “Now you’re all worked up.”

“Yeah? Talking about your ex-boyfriend does that to me,” Chan said, hissing between clenched teeth when I held his cock in my hand.

“You don’t see me drooling over his dick, do you?” I asked him, stroking once, twice before ripping open the condom. “Do me a favor, Chan, and be a good boy while I fuck you.”

“What about the movie?” Chan asked breathlessly, watching through half-lidded eyes as I worked the condom down his erection.

“You mean the porno?” I snickered. “I’ll give you a live sex show instead, how does that sound?”

Chan answer came in the form of a heavy groan as I took him deep inside, shoving my panties to the side to accommodate our coupling. I twisted my skirt up higher around my hips to make sure it was out of the way, allowing us both an intimate view of where his cock disappeared. “Shit, Y/N,” Chan panted. “Are you a voyeur now?”

“Like those couples aren’t doing the same thing,” I said, grabbing tightly to his shoulders for balance. “Now, just relax while your girlfriend makes you feel good, hmmm?”

“Okay,” Chan managed breathlessly while his hands shot out to grab my waist. “Make it fast though.”

“Like anyone will stop us,” I said, sighing happily as I pressed a gentle kiss to his pulse point, tongue tasting the skin of his throat. “But, if you’re interested in testing me, I could probably make you cum in five minutes. Remember the first time you let me touch your cock?”

Chan winced at my words, probably recalling to mind the unfortunate way he had been unable to hold himself together, cumming from just a simple handjob on his bed. “You’ll never let me forget that, will you?”

“Don’t worry, you last a lot longer now,” I said, grinning triumphantly when his moans started to grow louder, circling my hips to grind against his pulsing cock. “I think I’ve thoroughly corrupted you.”

“Yeah?” Chan sighed, leaning forward to kiss me with bated breath, hands now groping the front of my chest while his tongue smoothed against mine.

I pulled away to relieve my aching lungs, allowing Chan open access to my neck while my head was tilted back against the steering wheel. “You wanted it just as much as I did,” I commented, tangling my hands in his messy curls to hold him in place. My thighs were now straining from my movements, the burn aching pleasantly like the time Chan had tried to teach me how to swim in the campus pool, keeping one hand under my stomach while he encouraged me to kick out my legs.

“You were going to get fucked one way or another,” Chan said, letting out a deep rumble as he occasionally rutted up when my hips would fall against his, skin bruising with every seductive sound.

“But at least I got your cock instead of my fingers,” I said, rolling my hips faster as I started to chase my own orgasm. “You wouldn’t believe the difference.”

“I might,” he said. “It works both ways.”

I fought every urge to just stop my movements and let Chan fuck me however he wanted, reaching for one of his hands to guide his long fingers down between us. “Please, Channie,” I whined loudly, an unfortunate result of my increasing desperation with every deep fill of his cock against my tight walls.

His thumb pressed down on my throbbing organ, kisses growing messier as we both started to chase our highs, teetering precariously on the precipice between pleasure and rationality because fucking in the car was certainly not high on my list of most responsible moments. “Are you close?” he asked. “Because I might die if I don’t cum soon.”

“Don’t die,” I whispered, scratching my nails down his chest through the fabric of his shirt. “Just a little longer.”

Chan grunted, forehead slipping against mine now that we were both covered with sweat. I opened my eyes just enough to realize that we had successfully fogged up all the windows like that giant innuendo of a scene in Titanic. “Fuck, Y/N,” Chan groaned, kissing me again with too many teeth.

“Chan,” I swallowed around a moan, legs trembling with a cloying mixture of exertion and the anticipation of a satisfying orgasm. Chan wasn’t far behind, grabbing my thighs with clenched fingers as he jerked his hips up to fill the condom with a thunderous groan.

I held onto him, his face buried against my chest as we both struggled to regain our breath. “I’ll fuck you better when we get back,” Chan promised, and I had never heard anything sexier in my entire life.

“Happy anniversary.”

“I love you, Y/N,” Chan murmured against my skin.

“Yeah? Well, I love you more.”

“Impossible.”

“I guess we’ll see about that.”

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids smut #bang chan #bang chan fanfic #bang chan smut #chan #chan fanfic #chan smut

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bangtan-sonyeonddaeng · 5 years ago

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Yugyeom Scenario| Your relationship has been newly revealed

Yugyeom was a little scared when he saw your relationship with each other had been exposed. You had intended to keep it a secret, however one day when you were out with each other a paparazzi had snapped a photo of the two of you holding hands together. You couldn’t really claim it was someone else as his tattoo was sticking out of the top of his shirt by the back of his neck. When the photos were released the company immediately tried to think of a way for damage control, until you both decided to just be truthful. Yugyeom had his trust me tattoo for a reason, he never wanted to lie to his fans or keep secrets from them and you understood that. So you were honest. You both made a post on social media, explaining how you two had met, how long you had been together. Yugyeom had even apologized for keeping it a secret for as long as you two had, but you both quickly realized that there was no need for that. The fans were so happy for the two of you.

You two were laying in bed together, side by side but your shoulders touching as you scrolled through social media to see the response from the fans.

Y/n and Yugyeom are so cute omg I’m gonna die.

I can’t believe how much of a sweetie Yugyeom is trying to apologize to us. It’s okay to want to keep things private.

We must think of their couple name now I fully support this. Have you seen y/n’s social media pages? So beautiful and seems like such a kind person.

I want to meet both of them! And just fawn over how cute they probably are. Look at the way they look each other. So sweet.

You both chuckle and smile after reading every comment.

“Can you imagine the bomb se- OKAY NOT FINISHING THAT ONE MOVING ALONG!” You clutch your stomach and roll onto your side at Yugyeom’s flustered expression reading that last comment.

“Well at least it seems like the fans are supportive?”

“Oh goodness yes. I guess I really had nothing to worry about huh?”

“Nope. You know how much ahgase love you, Yugyeom. And you absolutely adore them as well that will never change. Some people might be upset about it, and that’s okay. You just can’t let the few bitter people outweigh all of the sweet ones.”

“You’re right, jagi. Thank you. I feel a lot better about the whole thing now. Oh my gosh look there’s already fan art of us?!” Yugyeom hands you his phone and you look at the beautiful photo that has been drawn of the two of you walking down the street holding hands, both of you with a fond look in your eyes.

“That is beautiful oh my gosh! Your fans are so talented!”

“They are, aren’t they?” You spend a few more moments scrolling through the posts before your stomach growls.

“Well now that we know there won’t be a mob waiting to attack us, can we go get some food now? I’m starving.” You sit up and Yugyeom follows you up and out of the bedroom. You quickly put your shoes on and stroll hand in hand down the sidewalk to the restaurant just down the road.

“It’s nice being able to go out with you and not have to hide myself. I can just be open and honest. I can tell the world how sweet and wonderful you are and how much I love you.” He shuffles his feet and has a skip in his step as he strolls down the sidewalk and you can’t help but giggle at this.

“Yeah that's true. It feels nice to be able to go out with you and actually see your smile instead of a black mask.” He smiles at you and you both enter the restaurant, the waitress sitting you both at your usual table. You are in the middle of eating when you hear a quiet gasp from someone who has just been sat at the table next to you. You both have a mouth full of food but it doesn’t stop you from waving and letting your lips tug up in a small smirk. The girls blush and quickly look away and you both laugh at that. You finish up your food and pay. You walk out of the restaurant when you hear someone calling your names.

“Excuse me! Y/n! Yugyeom?” You turn around and see the same girl from the restaurant and her friend.

“Oh? yes?”

“Can we get your autograph. Please? We’re such huge fans and have been for a while.”

“Of course!” Yugyeom takes their pens and signs the receipt they had from the restaurant. They both giggle to themselves and whisper something before they both look at you.

“Y/n? Can we have a photo with you? I know Yugyeom can’t because of company rules but, we really adore you and would love to be able to remember the day we got to meet both of you.” Your jaw drops in shock.

“Me? You want a photo with me?!”

“Please?”

“Of course! Oh my goodness this is so exciting. Is this how you feel all the time Yugyeom?” You’re positively giddy as you stand in the middle of the two girls and wrap your arms around them and smile brightly at the camera.

“Thank you! You two are really cute together by the way. We both fully support your relationship and hope you’re happy together.”

“Oh. You both are so kind. Thank you. We are very happy together we can promise you that.”

“Um.. y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“Take care of him please. He’s kind of the baby of the group and fans feel really protective over him. You seem really kind and I know you won’t break his heart but, I just wanted to tell you that.” You take her hands and give them a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t worry. I have no intention of doing anything to hurt Yugyeom. I plan to stay with him for as long as he wants me.” They both seem happy with your answer and bow, thanking you again before walking away happily talking to one another.

“That was an experience.”

“It was but I guess it’s one we’re going to have to get used to huh?”

“You’re right. That was so cool I can’t believe someone actually wanted a photo with me. I’m still in shock.”

“Well why wouldn’t they? You are the most beautiful person in the world after all they probably wanted a photo to appreciate your beauty later.” You chuckle and playfully slap his shoulder. He grabs your hand tightly and you continue down the road back to the apartment. You’re stopped by two more sets of fans on the way, wanting to talk to you and show their support for your relationship. If Yugyeom had any worries about the public’s reaction to your relationship they are gone now. He enters the apartment feeling so incredibly happy and thankful for the life he has been given, and that you are by his side along the way.

#got7 reaction #got7 reactions #got7 scenarios #got7 scenario #got7 imagine #got7 imagines #got7 #kim yugyeom #Yugyeom x reader #reader x yugyeom #Yugyeom scenario #Yugyeom imagine #Yugyeom reaction

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zweiginator · 6 years ago

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I’m Gonna Crawl-John Deacon x Reader

Summary: Working at a failing clothing store doesn’t have many perks until you make a promise with a rock band too poor to afford the stage costumes of their dreams--which is how Roger and Deaky find themselves both smitten by you and in a silent competition to win your affections.

Word Count: 9.5k+

Warnings: Slow burn, frustration, Roger is a fucking cockblock, filthy sex, dirty talking

You squinted as you thumbed a paper tag woven through a silk sleeve of a shirt you were convinced was too flamboyant and too expensive for anybody to ever purchase. The sleeves were pleated, and the buttons on the back were sheathed in the same silk, pulled taut over them. The sleeves flared out, and hung much lower than the narrow bodice of the shirt did; you wondered who could even fit comfortably in such an awkwardly shaped garment.

But apparently someone thought they had a chance of fitting into and liking the shirt, (which you had to admit was pleasingly soft to the touch), because your quite authoritarian boss commanded you to put it on hold.

“We got a call for an item to be put on hold, Y/N.” He gave you a tight-lipped smile, a pen bobbing from in between crooked teeth as he punched numbers into a desk calculator, the buttons worn away from use in excess. You had offered to bring your own in, but he insisted that this one was a better model--whatever that meant. He was the quintessential model for a type A personality: controlling, neurotic, overly-aggressive. So gently lifting the velvety grey hanger from a hook in an abandoned dressing room, you noted how his personality was antithetical to this free-flowing shirt that you still couldn’t fathom the idea of somebody wanting.

“He’s coming around at three,” He said, jotting a number down onto a yellow legal pad, sighing as he capped the pen. You cringed, noting how the shaft of it was coated in his spit. “He said his name is Freddie, so remember that. I’ll be gone by two-thirty; I have a meeting with corporate about our sales.”

You nodded, looking at your chipped nail polish; the white varnish was almost shaped like a heart, jagged on the edges. “Alright.” You slipped behind the front counter and carefully hung some crisp button-ups on a metal clothing rack next to a cash-register, the pads of your fingers cold against the silver rod on the top. But he was silent, and when you looked up to meet his beady eyes, his eyebrows were raised, as if he were awaiting your prying response. You really didn’t want to feed into his belligerence; if you even mentioned something that faintly annoyed him, he’d spit in your ear for twenty minutes, complaining about lunch hours and corporate and his wage--which was almost double of yours. But you sighed, tongue-in-cheek, as you straightened up the pens that scattered the tabletop; for being so anal, he was awful at organization. “What’s up with the sales? Negative, I take it?” You mindlessly opened a small drawer in-between two cash-registers, pulling out a faded green nail file to distract yourself enough so you wouldn’t be forced to look at his face.

“They’ve absolutely tanked.” He slammed the tiny drawer of the cash-register, where the money was kept. And judging by the minuscule amount of large bills inside, you could admit his worry was warranted.

“Hmm.” You sighed, not caring about the future of the establishment whatsoever; in fact you hoped it went out of business. You had spent years overworking yourself: taking shifts when your coworkers were too drunk to come in, making a wage that had no business being called one. You had made this job an axis that you revolved around, and you wanted to start anew--to have something exciting, that made your throat tighten and your ears fizzle with scarlet blood, seemingly soaked through with adrenaline.

But instead, you listened--or really feigned listening--to him grumble and fuss about something that didn’t even affect his income like it did yours.

“I just don’t understand what changed within the month; we should be selling more. It’s spring!” He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes from beneath his well-worn and quite outdated tortoise shell glasses.

“You’re right.” You couldn’t repeat what he had said back to him if he had asked, in all honesty, but it seemed like the appropriate response to his one-sided bickering, so you said it, fixing your hair in a small compact mirror you held at your waist.

Soon enough, the store opened, and you were relieved to be forced to saunter away from the awful man and mingle with customers and your more pleasant coworkers--although there weren’t many of either category. You lifted your wrist, dragging your pointer finger down the leather strap of your watch, squinting to try and make out the time; the harsh instrumental music emanating from the speakers was much too distracting and sharp in your ears to focus. But your watch proved useless, as your boss gave you a small wave, gesturing to his own watch, which was an ugly style of a very expensive rolex he most definitely could not afford--not comfortably at least.

You stood behind the counter for the next hour, bored out of your mind but relieved to be; the customers at the store--no matter how rare--were always overly dramatic, haggling prices with you as if you worked at a yard sale instead of an upscale clothing shop in west London. You were mindlessly drawing flowers and meaningless doodles on an unspooled roll of receipts when the bell hung angled at the top of the door rung. Glancing at your watch, you noted it was three o’clock on the dot, and you hoped this was Freddie strolling through the door. And judging by a black pirate-esque hat adorned with a curled white feather atop his jet black hair, you assumed it was. Three other men walked behind him, much less flamboyant, but more apprehensive to balance out the act. The man you assumed was Freddie walked gracefully to the clothing rack that was squeaking with every pound of pressure on the wooden floors beneath it.

“She’s a beauty!” Freddie’s black nail varnish contrasted heavily with the almost angelic shirt as he thumbed the fabric gently. “We just need to talk about the price.” Freddie’s face fell a bit, sighing, sounding dramatically dejected. You rolled your eyes internally, painting on a fake smile as the blond of the posse leant forward, resting his elbows on the counter. His shirt was fully unbuttoned and his eyes were large and doe-like, a deep blue that glinted beautifully, bouncing off of the warm light which shone from above him.

“She is,” The blond added, looking at you confidently. “But the shirt’s alright too,” He gave you a wink and introduced himself fondly as Roger, making sure his voice was as buttery and sultry as humanly possible. You could tell he’d had practice with these sort of things.

The other two unintroduced men rolled their eyes in disgust as they looked at each other. They stood next to Roger, leaning on the counter in a more timid way, their eyes obscured by long locks, pointed downwards, waiting for this all-too-common archetype of an exchange to be over.

“Don’t be pervy, Rog.” The shorter of the two wiped some dust from the countertop and flitted his eyes to his friend momentarily, who nodded, his unruly curls bobbing about as he did.

“Gross?” Roger bit his bottom lip and crossed his arms, standing up to face the other two men. “I’m complimenting her, John.”

The shorter man--John--wearing a deep grey hoodie and dark jeans, shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled at you shyly, a blush creeping up his smooth, almost porcelain cheeks. His hair was a deep, ashy, brown and was slightly waved, barely damp from the misty rain outside. He wore a white baseball-style cap and a new, toothy grin. “She just wants to do her job, Rog. Can’t imagine she wants a random bloke to chat her up.”

“Yeah,” The curly-haired man--the tallest of the quartet--straightened his posture, yawning into the crinkled sleeve of his denim button-up. “Let’s just fit me in this bloody thing and get on with it.” He smiled sheepishly at you, his canines protruding slightly.

You spoke up for the first time since they entered, looking towards John, who had his eyes focused intently on the wall behind you, the mid-afternoon sun reflecting upon the exposed brick behind piles of returned garments, wrinkled on a small fold-up table. “I’d never want to do this job, John.” You looked at him, your eyes hooded as you averted your focus to the young man instead of the calculations your boss insisted on you finishing so rudely.

A blush pooled his cheeks, like a drop of deep red blood sinking into cold water and feathering out. It seeped over the bridge of his nose as his eyebrows lifted in sync with a light chuckle. You noticed a gap between his teeth as well, and mirrored a similar, toothy smile at him.

“The shirt’s for you?” You nodded towards the tallest one, taking in his sharp cheekbones and aquiline nose that accentuated his soft, lazy smile.

“Unfortunately, yes.” He rolled his eyes playfully, and they landed on Freddie, who was fiddling with a stack of documents by the cash-register, not caring about their importance or confidentiality--not that they had either of those characteristics.

“Hey!” Freddie snapped his head up, turning his attention to the conversation now that he was interested. “We need to put you in something daring, Brian. You’re the guitarist; you can’t just saunter around in blue jeans all of the damn time.” Freddie slid his sunglasses down his nose, and his huge personality made it conspicuous as to why he was still wearing them indoors.

“Isn’t this store bloody expensive, though?” John adjusted the hood on his sweatshirt and tilted his head upwards, looking at the complex light fixtures, the exposed wiring that attempted to make the store look rustic and incomplete, but really somehow made it seem even more high-end than it was.

“That’s why I’m going to negotiate, Deaky.” Freddie retorted, calmly. Roger changed his position so he was facing away from you and the conversation as a whole, resting his elbows on the counter as he looked upwards, following some dust, airborne, floating throughout glints of sunlight that came and went; it was just on the cusp of raining.

“This isn’t a yard sale.” You said. “This is a normal store, you know that right?” You lifted the tag of the shirt that Freddie was admiring dreamily. It cost almost one-hundred pounds, threaded with real silk and embroidered by hand, supposedly.

“You see, I know that. But we need this incredibly bad.” Freddie’s eyes widened and he clasped a hand on your shoulder; his touch was more firm than you expected it to be.

“Why do you need this shirt? A casual night out?” You laughed, shaking your head slightly. John’s stomach fluttered when he saw a few strands of your hair fall from behind your ear, obscuring your face, just enough to make him miss seeing the slope of your nose, the fluttering of your eyelashes as you focused on your work they were interrupting uncaringly.

“We’re a band, sweetheart. And I don’t mean to be patronizing with that name. And I’m not being facetious either. We just really, truly need this shirt to make a statement.”

You looked up from the paper you were writing on, cocking your eyebrows, doubtingly. But the other three members were agreeing, pleading with you with their eyes. And you couldn’t say no to them; they were all so endearing and attractive in their own way that you groaned and led them to the dressing room, pulling three hangers with the same, free-flowing shirt on them, all in varying sizes.

“Okay, fine.” You glanced around at your other coworkers, but they weren’t there; you assumed they were on break, even though lunch had passed hours ago. “I can’t haggle the price with you, or I’ll get fired.”

The band--really just Freddie and Roger--began to dispute with you; Roger batting his eyelashes and sticking his chest out just a little bit further in an attempt to get what he wanted--which you weren’t sure what that was, exactly.

“Let me finish.” You shushed them, shoving the smallest size of the shirt in Brian’s hands, which were large and agile, embellished with flat-topped silver rings. “I’ll let you borrow it for a week, okay?”

“Darling, our musical career will last beyond this week.” Freddie ushered Brian into the dressing room behind them, pulling the curtain shut so he and Brian were in the closet-sized room alone.

“You’re forgetting that this is my job, and that I have a boss to please.” You said towards the paisley-patterned curtain, seeing the hem of the shirt shine underneath the spotlight in the cramped dressing room. “If you get the money, then pay me later; he won’t count the revenue until next week. If you don’t, then you give it back. Either way, you’re getting the shirt today so I wouldn’t complain.”

Deaky crossed his arms and watched you intently, how your hair shone underneath the harsh, almost blue-white lights that would have made anybody else look awful. But he thought they made you glow, bouncing off of the high parts of your face; your lip which was tugged underneath your teeth, the tip of your nose which was doused in the tiniest amount of sweat--something which would have remained unnoticed to the fleeting eye.

You heard Brian sigh and mutter a small “Ow”, before his white-painted fingernails grasped at the curtain rod, throwing the shirt over it. You caught it and hung it back on a different clothing rack against the wall a few feet away, your shoes harshly clicking against the wooden panels of the floor.

“Surprisingly the smallest size is too small.” Freddie explained, reaching a hand out. You checked the tag of the next shirt on the rack and hooked the hanger on Freddie’s wrist. “Although Brian’s arms are massively long, so that makes a bit of a sense.” He said, seemingly to himself as he helped Brian button up the back of the shirt. “Now the sleeves are a tad too long, but it will do.” Freddie ripped open the curtain and pushed Brian out of the confined room, his hands gripping down on Brian’s shoulders, covered by the delicate white silk, almost creamy-- it was impossibly smooth. “What do we think? Your opinion is needed too--” He faltered, realizing he had never learned your name.

“Y/N,” You smiled at him widely, a little taken aback at how charming and charismatic he was; it felt like you had known him--and his friends--for a lifetime in the short twenty minutes you’d been in the stuffy store with them.

“Pretty name,” Roger noted, stepping closer to you. His smile was glowing, tempting. He had a natural allure about him, and you could tell he knew this too by his stature, the way he seemed to stand taller than Brian, who was more than a few inches taller than him. His shoulders were straight, his body emanating conviction like the glow upon his skin, and as natural as the beauty of his features.

“Thanks.” You straightened the rejected shirt on the hanger, even though it was perfectly leveled across, the silk shoulders taut against velvety fabric covering it. You felt awkward as Roger’s eyes flitted across your body unabashedly, watching your legs as the stale air being pumped through the dusty vents blew your skirt over your thighs enough to make Roger’s breath become choked in his throat; he coughed a bit before continuing his flirty banter with you.

“How would you like to see us tonight?” Roger cocked an eyebrow, acting as if his offer were one sent directly down upon earth from God himself; a bonafide gift from heaven. Your lip twitched upwards as you watched Freddie unbutton Brian’s temporary shirt, which would apparently be bringing them great fame and fortune.

“I’m already seeing you guys right now.” You found your eyes lingering on the curve of John’s jaw, the way his lips were in a perpetual pout, wet from licking them over and over again. The veins in his hands were pulsing, fresh blood rushing downwards, a gift from gravity to you; you had to admit his hands were beautiful. He mindlessly browsed through the racks, thumbing the tags. You watched his eyebrows lift in surprise, his aforementioned hands smoothing the fabrics like he had seen you doing before.

Roger positioned himself to block your view of John, rolling his shoulders back and tilting his chin up to elongate his lithe body that your eyes were seemingly disregarding as you eyed John from across the building. “The concert. You’ll regret it if you don’t come.” Roger had a habit of adding a snide hook--sharp and menacing--to cap off his statements, almost as a defense mechanism of his.

“What if I’m busy?” You bent down to pick up some trousers piled mindlessly across the floor, paving a path of grey linens and velvets to the corner dressing room. You shook your head, scolding your coworkers wordlessly, your under-the-breath cursing cushioned by the mellow jazz that was wafting through the air so Roger couldn’t hear you; he thought your mumbles were directed at him.

“Speak up, sweetie.” He strolled closer to you, handing you a pair of grey speckled trousers which you noticed were ripped cleanly on the inseam. Roger followed you like a duckling following the first thing it laid its beady little eyes on, pushing through oscillating racks of clothes where you led him. You pulled the tag off of the ruined pants and threw them in the trash--a company policy you would never understand. John padded quietly up to the register, hugging a pair of silk trousers to his chest, his fingers pulling ashy dust particles that were adhered harshly to the creamy fabric; his eyebrows were knitted in concentration.

“You want to try those on, John?” You nodded your head towards the vacant dressing rooms, folding a denim shirt over your arm, smoothing over the breast pockets that curled up, covering the opal buttons.

“Oh, I’m fine. I’m sure they’ll fit just fine.” He handed them to you and you checked him out--admittedly in more ways than one. He was coquettish; his eyes flickered over your collarbones, watching how they lifted and dipped as you punched the eroded keys of the register to ring him up. His eyebrows were cocked up, and he rested his hands upon the counter, his fingers tapping against the raw wood, strong and rhythmic.

The price was a bit more than the shirt they attempted to haggle with you, which Brian now had tucked under his arm, buried in a thin plastic bag. “You have the money for these trousers but not the shirt?” You took the wad of cash from John’s fingers, feeling the deep callouses grooved into his fingertips momentarily.

“I get what I want.” He smiled at you toothily, and you admired the gap between his teeth which was quite endearing to you.

“So do you have everything you want then?” You challenged him, folding the pants neatly so the hems were aligned perfectly; you just wanted to elongate the time John would be there as long as possible. He was drawing you in with his coy lip bites and minuscule smiles. You somehow felt tethered to him by an invisible thread that once was as fragile as the silk of a spider’s web, but was becoming more resistant with every glance you shared.

“Not everything,” He gripped the edge of the counter and you watched his veins ripple and quiver under the soft skin of his hands. “There’s always room for more.” He tapped his thumbs against the waxy marble of the counter.

You grabbed a thick black marker from a wooden cup by the register, pulling the cap off with your teeth. You winced as you tasted the sour chemicals that leaked through onto the plastic tucked between your pearly whites. The tag was laid on top of the pants, by the zipper, and you wrote your phone number clearly on the cardboard square, tied tightly to the pants by a hemp string. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.” You handed him the bag, your fingertips lingering together, magnetized.

Your shift ended promptly at 5:37 in the afternoon, after you decided that listening to jazzy elevator music alone in the store wasn’t how you were going to spend your Friday night. You were supposed to close the shop at 6:30, but you turned the rusting key in the front door an hour early, jiggling the cold doorknob to double-check the faulty locks. You were exhausted and had been in a dizzy haze, teetering on the brink of sleep for the entire day, so you found yourself in a coffee shop a block or two away from the shop. Warm lights dangled from the wooden-paneled ceilings and the afternoon bustle of London jolted you awake as your shoulders bumped with a plethora of strangers as they gestured wildly with wind-chapped hands, yelling their orders over the threshold of intertwined bantering and music which was much too harsh for a cafe.

You pushed your way through the clusters of friends and meetings and students, breathing a sigh of relief as you felt the cool air nip at your cheeks. It was teetering towards spring and you shrugged your thin jacket off, feeling the juxtaposition of the brisk air blowing through your hair and the hot coffee on your tongue, sweetened and splashed with a touch of cream.

Looking across the street of the shop, now desolate-looking, you noticed the grandeur of the massive building was being obscured, overpowered by the clanking of drums and thick, familiar voices weaving together into incoherent arguing. The four men from earlier were hauling instruments into the pub diagonal from the store, one you could have sworn had been out of business for years.

Roger was puffing at a cigarette, cupping a hand over the end so he could relight it after the wind howled hard enough to extinguish the tiny, smoldering flame. He directed Deaky and the rest of the band with the burning stick tucked between two cold fingers. “Be careful with the drums! Jesus, Deaky.” His voice was muffled as he held the cigarette between his lips, curled inwards. He grabbed the cymbals from John and kneed him in the ass, towards the door.

Deaky flipped Roger off, turning his head enough so he could see you watching them from across the street, leaning against a flickering light post with a coffee cup clasped in your hands. He quickly unfurled his fist, sending you a wave. Roger whipped his head around, almost dropping his beloved cymbals as he fumbled to wave as well.

“Hey, Y/N!” Roger gestured for you to come over, but you were mesmerized by John’s arms, his muscles were rippling as he held on tightly to Roger’s deconstructed drum kit, his own bass guitar slung over his shoulder. His sweatshirt was tied tightly around his waist, the t-shirt he was wearing even tighter around his torso. His hair was frizzier than earlier, curled at the ends from the humidity.

You didn’t cross the street until Deaky crooked a finger at you, straightening his back which was hunched from all the weight he was carrying.

“Work’s over?” John grinned as you took a sip of your coffee, your hands hugging the cup to warm them.

“Isn’t supposed to be.” You pushed a strand of hair that blew in front of Deaky’s eyes; you could tell it was bothering him. “I just decided to close up early.” You opened the door to the pub; it looked heavy, but it was made of a thin, porous wood, so it opened with ease. Deaky muttered thanks to you, taking a deep breath as he set the drum kit down by the entrance.

“Fuck, that’s heavy.” He rolled his shoulders back and pulled a chair at the bar out for you. Brian and Freddie were already inside, arguing with the owner about the lights; Brian was insisting they be brighter and Freddie pursed his lips, nodding enthusiastically at the middle-aged owner, who sighed and obliged, probably due to Brian’s quite persuasive puppy-dog eyes.

“I thought this bar closed?” You scooted your chair in as John sat across from you, crossing his legs politely.

“I think it was for a little.” He reached over the bar and poured himself some vodka, pointing to a second glass, a silent question for you. “Want one?”

You couldn’t imagine liking the mixture of stale coffee and pure vodka in your mouth, but there was something about Deaky’s glowing smile, the way his eyebrows lifted and dropped with every inflection of his voice. “Sure. Why not.”

He poured you a drink, sliding it across the small expanse of the bar between the two of you as Roger watched you jealously, pushing the drums up to the stage. “The owner was sick for awhile. He had cancer, I think. But he’s in remission now, and tonight’s the grand re-opening, as he calls it. He called us to do a show; we always played here before he got sick.” John took a sip, sighing as the sour alcohol soaked through his tongue.

You leaned forward, tilting your head back to finish the last of the glass, your eyes falling to watch John’s fingers tap against his own glass. “I’m glad he’s better. How long as the band been together?”

He pondered, setting his empty tumbler down. “Just a couple of years, really. I was the last to join. They went through quite a few bassists before I came along.”

You lit up. “So I guess that means you’re the best?”

He blushed; you could even tell underneath the dim red lights of the bar that cast a bloody glow over the expanse of the building. But you felt calm sitting across from John, listening to his breaths and short giggles as you flirted back and forth, and back and forth again.

“And the most charming I guess.” He ran a ringed finger through his hair and beamed. You could tell he wasn’t used to compliments by the way his voice became contrived and choked whenever you said something nice about him.

“Oh, I can definitely see that.” Your chair had inched closer to his and you swirled the thin black straw in your glass.

“I have my moments,” He said. “But I’m no Roger.”

“I wouldn’t say that’s a bad thing.” You twirled the ring on his middle finger, lifting your head to watch his glance; it lingered on your lips, over your cupid’s bow.

“What about me?” Roger shoved himself in between you two, wrapping his arms tightly around Deaky’s shoulders, Roger opting to rest his chin upon one of them. “I heard my name.” He took a swig of Deaky’s drink, pouting when he realized it was only melted ice muddled with only a few droplets of vodka.

“Don’t worry about it, Rog. Don’t you have a drum kit to set up?” Deaky pried his glass from Roger’s grip, which was strengthened from years of playing those drums of his, which, as John noted, were completely deconstructed, strewn about the small stage at the front of the bar.

“This is your band too, Deacon. Maybe stop being a dick and led a hand?” He pointed a thumb to the stage, where Brian and Freddie were setting up stacked amps, plugging them in and adjusting the position of the wires so they wouldn’t trip--it had happened before to Brian, so he was utterly insistent on hiding them as much as possible.

“How am I being a dick?” Deaky’s fingertips brushed over your own and you flinched instincitvely, the lightning current of electricity pulsing down your spine unexpected yet so exhilarating.

“By not helping,” Roger ate some peanuts from a small china dish on the bar, brushing his hands together to rid them of the coat of salt they were veiled in. “By flirting with a girl you know I like.” He said it uncaringly, winking at you as his fingers trailed across your shoulder. “Speaking of,” He added, a spark of confidence igniting through his body visibly. “What do you say about coming to our concert?” His eye contact was unfaltering; his eyelashes fanned against his brow bone, his plump, perpetually kissed lips were parted as he leant into you more, standing in between you and John.

“What if I don’t want to come if you’re asking me?” You crossed your arms and moved away from his touch. Of course you thought he was attractive; his giant blue eyes framed by deep black, impossibly long eyelashes made it hard to look away. His hair was effortlessly wavy, a deep, rich, golden blond that looked so soft it was hard to resist running your fingers through his locks. But there was something about him that was turning you off; like the way he didn’t have a doubtful bone in his lean body--not even remotely. The way he was just a little patronizing at all times and completely entitled. It was obvious he had never really been rejected in his life--by girls, by anything, by anyone. But John’s mannerisms--the way he flicked his grey flecked eyes to focus on the napkin tucked between his dexterous fingers--had you smitten. The way his flirting was sweet and pure, while Roger’s was laden with innuendos and suggestive looks and unsubtle euphemisms that made your eyes roll almost involuntarily.

John sucked on his bottom lip, pushing his chair forward. His legs were touching yours just narrowly, but it felt lustful, forbidden almost. And you wanted more. You both did. John was going crazy at the way you aimed your attention--gilded and ever so valuable--at him. You leant forward into his every word, watching them tumble from between his lips as he did the same to you, your breaths meeting and mingling and exchanging with each other until they fleeted away. But you kept talking--about anything and everything--just to keep the conversation dynamic. “Would you like to come if I asked you?” He tilted his chair back to see you shrug your coat off, and then Roger taking it promptly, hanging it on the back of your chair.

“I’d love to come for you.” You wrapped your hand around the glass that was sitting in front of Deaky, still being loosely held by him. Then you lifted it to your lips and sucked the melting ice cubes into your mouth, letting them roll over your tongue as both men watched keenly, enraptured by a swirl of your tongue, a smack of your lips.

You sat on the bathroom floor, half on a shaggy rug and half on the tiled floor which was obscenely cold from the small window, half-cracked above the toilet. Why there would ever be a window in the bathroom you had no clue, but you were sweaty from the nerves pooling in your stomach, heating like white coals. You wanted to look good for the concert, so you swirled a brush in smokey shades of browns and blacks and painted your eyelids, coating your lashes with a veil of mascara that would surely run down your cheeks when it inevitably got hot at the bar. Thinking of the temperature inching up, the hundreds of bodies packed shoulder to shoulder like a massive unit, swaying side to side--made you slip on a thin tank and a short skirt. You found a fur coat of yours, the lapels lined with faux hair. It was too warm in your flat; your roommate was sick and insisted on blasting hot air through the old, dust-sheathed vents in your even older apartment to equilibrate her body temperature.

You bent down carefully to tie your sneakers, opting to wear comfortable shoes--your outfit was risky enough and you didn’t need calloused, blistered feet to surmount your peaking anxiety. You didn’t know what it was about John that made you weak in the knees and insurmountably nervous, your stomach feeling raw, as if your preoccupations had scratched away at its lining. You felt a sheen of sweat slide down your forehead and you blotted it with a crumpled tissue shoved in the breast pocket of your coat as you locked your flat and took a deep breath, tilting your chin up as the chilly wind seemed to filter through every pore in your goose bumped skin. You pulled your jacket over your body and walked towards the shop, thanking God himself that wasn’t your destination.

You were walking against the wind, almost marching through, as one of your hands kept your skirt pulled over your thighs, tingly from the air piercing at the sensitive skin. Your hair was surely fucked, more akin to a bird’s nest than the carefully styled tresses you had spent almost an hour on. You knew you were approaching the pub not by your location, but by the liveliness of the area that was contagious, jolting you to stand up a little straighter, to smile a little wider. There was a line wrapped tightly around the corner of the brick building; teenagers and adults alike leant against the establishment, puffing on hand rolled cigarettes and bonding over mutual excitement for the hours to come. A cloud of deep grey, ashy smoke seemed to pervade the stagnant, cold air, so you were surprised you could make out John and Roger motioning for you to come with them through the blight.

“Y/N, come inside.” Roger held his hand out for you to take. John’s sat in his skin tight pockets, his pinkies fiddling with his belt loops. You linked your arm with his instead, leaning on him for a needed post of support against the wind. Roger looked offended as you gripped onto Deaky’s bicep which was a lot more toned than you ever would have thought. He wore a button up, black and barely buttoned, paired with the silk trousers he had bought from you earlier. He was right--they fit him perfectly, accentuating his thighs, tight around the toned muscles of them that rippled with every step he took.

“You look breathtaking, Y/N.” John’s lips quirked into a smile that was almost cocky--but it looked good on him. His hand touched the small of your back, leading you into the pub, Roger following shortly behind, feeling cold, rejected.

“I could say the same for you, Deaky. Looking handsome as ever.” Your arm wrapped around his shoulder, your thumb flicking the corner of his shirt collar as he led you backstage. His arm was now snug against your waist and your coat felt suffocating, like the zipper was digging into your skin, the lapels choking you. But it was just his touch that lingered, right where it should be.

“So now I’m Deaky?” He asked, sitting down on a small couch. Brian was already there, a sixpence held tightly between his lips as he played with the delay of his cherry red guitar. You sat between them, curling your body into John’s, your legs almost intertwined with each other’s like a mass of vines tethered together by nature. “My friends call me that. Do you consider me a friend of yours now?”

“What else would you be?” You squeezed his shoulder, twirling a soft lock of his hair in your fingers. John trailed his hand over your knee and squeezed, his rings catching against your stockings, tearing the thinly weaved fabric-- but you couldn’t care less as you held your hand over his, pushing his fingers higher so they traced along your inner thighs.

“I’m not sure.” His eyes were blown with lust and you could see droplets of sweat cascading down his neck, over the thin chain of the necklace wrapped around it. The tendons by his collarbones spasmed as he turned to look at you.

“Are you all tuned up?” Roger asked, clasping his hands down on Deaky’s shoulder from behind the tattered plaid couch.

“Why wouldn’t I be? We go on in less than thirty.” John was obviously annoyed with Roger and he had a right to be. Deaky always helped Roger with girls, following him around putrid bars to be his wingman, fishing his wallet out to pay for cocktails that his tongue would never dip into. But now that he had a girl hanging onto him, onto his every word, Roger couldn’t take it.

You were opting to ignore him, hoping he would get the hint eventually. You ran your fingers up John’s silk clad thigh, feeling Roger’s eyes follow the trail your digits did. “I’m going to the ladies room.” You said it only loud enough for Deaky to hear, and he nodded as you stood up. You pulled your coat off, suddenly finding the heat concocting with stale cigarette smoke and whisky unbearable. “Where should I put this, Deaky?”

You felt all of their eyes concentrated on your body, your legs teasingly enveloped in semi-torn stockings, the tear that Deaky’s rings had ripped acting as a focal point, leading their eyes to your skirt, then your impossibly thin tank that was falling off the slope of your shoulders. Your hair was windswept and messy in a way that was oozing sex. John shifted in his seat and the four of them wore a deep blush on their cheeks as your coat slipped off of the edge of your fingertips.

“I’ll show you the coat rack.” He stood up so quickly he felt dizzy; but he didn’t know if he should attribute his lack of balance with that, or how gorgeous he thought you looked in front of him, your eyes wide and awaiting. He led you to a small bathroom, the doorknob completely missing; there was just a hole, the edges covered in splintered wood.

“This is the coat rack?” You slung the coat over Deaky’s shoulder, running your nails over the nape of his neck, your back now flush against the bathroom door. John’s knee found its way between your legs, the silk of his lower thigh finding your soaked center. He leaned in, resting his hands against the door on either side of your head. You were in a daze, watching him suck on his lower lip as you moved your arms to pull his face into your own. The tips of your noses were grazing together and you felt his shaky, choked breath blow over your lips. You flitted your eyes up, meeting Deaky’s ardent gaze, his eyes just pupils barely laden with the oceanic grey of his irises. You sighed, parting your lips to close the gap that seemed to become more immense the smaller it got.

“Deaky! showtime!” Roger clapped his hands and twirled a beaten drumstick between his fingers. John’s fingers left your waist, his knee from your core. Your bottom lip tickled as his own caressed it just enough for you to want more-- so much more.

“This isn’t over.” He whispered against your neck, his teeth coming up as he lifted his head, grazing against your earlobe.

You shook your head, pulling his collar so his lips were back to being against yours, the very edges of your bottom lips stimulating your senses, heightening them impossibly so. “You’re right.” You didn’t care that Roger was still watching, intently and angrily waiting for John to get on with it. He was ineffably jealous that you wanted John, that you were so blatant with your attraction to him. That Deaky’s hands rested on your waist, that his touches made a blush creep up your chest, a veil of sweat cover the expanse of your collarbones.

John’s touch lingered on your fingertips as he walked on stage, slinging his bass over his body, his hand splayed across the body as he looked at you one last time. You were only able to leave from your spot against the bathroom door when a bartender told you he needed to go, his features and stature laden with desperation.

You walked through a narrow corridor, the sides lined with stacked wooden chairs. You could feel the bass in your feet, every riff of the warm tones complimenting the red and orange and yellow lights bouncing off the walls as you made your way to the main pit. You pushed your way to the front of the crowd, becoming engulfed in a sea of people, all swaying in unison in tune with the inflections in Freddie’s voice. They were all commanding, but Deaky was the raft keeping everything afloat, keeping the fluidity constant with every flick of the strings, every bob of his head. His profile was illuminated as the warm lights bounced off the high points of his nose, his protruding lips. His rings that shone a smoldering glow as his eyes watched his movements, lips parting enough for you to see his tongue darting out. His hand that wasn’t fingering the strings was stroking up and down the fretboard, teasing you as his digits--long and dexterous--rubbed over the ridged frets. He looked up momentarily, raising his eyebrows, shaking his head with just enough force so his shorter strands of hair would fall away from his eyes, blown wide with adrenaline, lust.

This pattern continued for the next hour; watching each other with dreamy eyes, lust-filled, a deadly concoction that had John covering the front of his trousers with his bass guitar. But his eyes couldn’t seem to leave yours no matter how hard he tried to focus on the music or Freddie, who would be pissed that Deaky had yet again “dozed off while playing!” like he always complained about. And as Freddie parted ways with the crowd through snarky goodbyes and kisses blown to the mass of sweaty bodies, Deaky couldn’t get off stage fast enough. You passed through the same corridor as earlier, that was blocked off by a velvet rope but you didn’t care; you climbed over it and found Deaky leaning against the wall, his chest heaving, exposed and soaked with hot sweat. His hair was a bit frizzy from the humidity and you were feeling feverish yourself, your ears burning with a shivering sense of anticipation that was so burning hot it almost made you cold. You traced your finger down the delicate chain hung around his neck, the metal conducting his body heat so it felt scorching against your fingertips. He snaked his arms around your waist, pulling you in enough so you could feel his cock straining through the thin layer of silk between your neediest areas. He poked his tongue out, swiping it over your bottom lip as his hands trailed to your ass, squeezing it as your hand felt his dick, tracing your nails over his shaft through the fabric. He closed the gap between your mouths, deprived of each other’s kisses. His tongue slipped into your mouth harshly, rubbing against your own as his lips left swollen, bruised kisses onto your mouth, your lipstick transferring onto his, his cheeks, his chin. You pulled at his hair, making him kiss you deeper, moaning into your mouth as you did in his. You fumbled with the button of his trousers as he kissed your jaw, licking over the marks he left in his insatiable path. You had your fingers pulling at the waistband of his underwear when Roger walked behind you both, clearing his throat.

“Come on, we gotta go.” He held his coat over his shoulder and a cigarette between his lips, the lid of a lighter being flipped up and down by his thumb.

“Why?” John zipped his pants back up, leaning his head back against the wall as you wiped your mouth with your arm. “Since when do we have a bloody bedtime?” He mirrored you, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb as he shifted in his pants.

“We already packed the van up. Brian feels sick and Freddie and I just drank so put two and two together.” He lit the cigarette and puffed, averting his eyes from you and John, almost protestingly.

“Jesus. I thought Brian felt better last week.” Deaky apologized to you with his eyes, touching your wrist firmly as Roger handed him the keys.

“I think he just ate something, I’m not sure how his body works John.” He opened the back door where the van was parked, the back open. Freddie and Brian were laid across a thin blanket, half asleep even though it was freezing and beginning to storm, the clouds yellow and purple and leaking acidic rain.

“Gimme a bloody smoke Rog.” He reached a hand out and Roger sighed handing him his last cigarette, the heavy door swinging shut behind them, leaving you alone in the pub, against the wall and unsatisfied for the second time that night.

John didn’t call the rest of the week and you were convinced it just wasn’t meant to happen between you two, no matter how much you were aching for it after he left you waiting on two separate occasions, your hair awry, your skirt wrinkled and lips bruised. You had been distracted by him pervading your thoughts for the entirety of the six days since you had known him; your boss had had to snap you out of it on multiple occasions.

You were folding a pair of white silk trousers, similar to the ones Deaky was wearing the Friday before, when your boss snapped his fingers at you, pointing the pen he was holding at the door. “Sell him something.” He commanded you, pushing his ugly glasses up his nose as he continued his paperwork, sprawled about the counter.

You turned around, the trousers still tucked underneath your chin. “Can I help you?” You pulled the leg of the pants so it wasn’t so wrinkled at the edges, looking up to meet his eyes, grey and greens speckled with hues of warm brown.

“If I’m not mistaken, we have business left unfinished.” He quirked an eyebrow, reaching into the pocket of his jeans, a faded light blue. He pulled out a wad of cash. “For the shirt.” He closed your fingers around the money. “But that’s not it, now is it?” He bit the inside of his cheek as you smoothed the pants that you had set on the table in front of you.

“No, it’s not.” You looked at your watch, stifling a smile that was creeping up your cheeks as you realized your lunch break was supposed to begin a few minutes ago. You left without saying a word; you just grabbed your coat from a small shelf and held it over your arm as John’s own arm found its way around your waist, squeezing your hip. He took your coat from you, holding it by the collar as he opened the door for you.

“I’m parked in that alley.” He stroked his fingers over your hip bone and turned the corner with you, the wind much less piercing than it was a week ago--possibly because it had just grown warmer, whether that was in general or just you, you had no idea. The alley was dim; two brick buildings sheathed in tangled vines sat parallel to each other, sheltering Deaky’s small sedan that was parked to the side. He unlocked the back door, allowing you to get in as he started the engine and cranked the heat up, the radio distilling rock songs through tinny speakers. John then opened the other door, climbing into the back from the other side. His face was obscured by shadows that danced long his profile, his lips parted as he leant forward, resting on his palms.

“Sorry for leaving you hanging last week.” He touched his thumb to your bottom lip, tracing along the soft skin, the pad of his finger painted red from your lipstick. He sucked the thumb into his mouth, cleaning it off with his tongue. “I’ll make it up to you.” He clasped his hands together upon your lower back, lifting you onto his lap as his lips pecked yours once, before he was delving his tongue in between your lips, stroking along your own tongue with his as he bit and sucked at your lips, rocking you against his cock, his jeans rough against your clothed clit.

“Will you now?” You questioned, holding the back of his head to deepen the kiss, your noses flush against each other’s cheeks as you rocked against him, relishing in his soft gasps as your pussy rubbed against the ridges of his tip, the veins that were pulsing with fresh blood.

“Fuck, Y/N. Rub your clit against me, yeah.” He nodded, thumbing the bundle of nerves through your soaked underwear. Your arms were still thrown around his neck, the tips of your noses touching as you grabbed his wrist, pushing his fingers so they touched the waistband of your underwear.

“Take them off.” You breathed into his ear and he did so immediately, shoving them down your legs until they pooled at your ankles.

“Pretty little pussy.” He nibbled your earlobe and rubbed your clit in lazy circles with his thumb as his middle two fingers pumped in and out of your hole. You whimpered as he curled his fingers, the callouses on the pads of them rough along your velvety walls, making you clench around his digits.

“Fuck, Johnny.” You scratched your nails down his wrist, feeling his pulse quiver as his muscles did the same, his cock rocking against your thigh. It was impossibly hot in the car; he had put the heat on the highest setting, and you felt your hair sticking to your forehead, your perspiration meddling with his as you touched foreheads, arms, legs, mouths.

“Call me that again, fuck.” He whimpered as he began to rub your clit in harder, more certain circles, drawing you closer to the edge you had seemed to be teetering on and off of for the past week. “Tell me how good it feels for me to be touching you like this.” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your throat and you gasped, rocking against his fingers more and more. “Dirty girl, riding my fingers in the car.”

You were unable to mutter anything but a choked moan intermingled with the occasional whimper; it felt too good, his fingers rubbing against a particularly sensitive spot deep inside of you. You captured his mouth with yours, suckling on his bottom lip enough to make his head tilt back, but he pulled away, stopping his fingers. His knuckles were sharp and bony against your entrance as he kept you on the cusp of your orgasm.

“What did I say, sweetie?” He grabbed your chin, tilting it down so you were looking straight at him. The windows were being beaten by a cold rain, rushing down the street, puddling into the sewers as your chests heaved against each other’s, exchanging breaths.

“Fuck it feels good Johnny. You’re so deep inside of me.” You lifted your hips just to sink back down on his digits, his thumb still circling around your pulsing clit. “I’m gonna cum don’t stop,” You gasped, egging him on as he curled his fingers one last time, using his free hand to pull your shirt off, swirling his tongue along one nipple before licking a trail to the other, watching you as you came around his fingers, arching into his touches, his licks and sucks. Your legs shook as your eyes rolled back, hooded by heavy eyelids as you gripped harshly onto John’s hair, running your nails along his scalp.

You had barely recovered from your orgasm before you had unbuttoned Deaky’s faded jeans, peeling them off his legs until the only thing that separated your over-sensitive sex from his cock was a pair of thin briefs, hugging his thighs tightly, his member even tighter. “You’re so hard for me,” You reciprocated the dirty talking, kissing the corner of his parted mouth as you stroked his cock, massaging the underside of the head with your thumb. “I can feel the precum pulsing out of you.” You pushed his underwear down so you could touch him fully. Dribbles of precum were spurting from his slit and falling down the veins that your fingers were tracing long, just lightly enough to make him thrust up into your touch.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you baby.” He threw his head back, his hair fanning against the headrest as he groaned into the fiery air around you. You were both sheathed in a blanket of red, blushing profusely.

“What have you been thinking about?” You whispered against his neck before sucking a dark mark by the junction of his jaw and neck.

“My fingers fucking you.” He listed. “My tongue fucking you.”

“Anything else?” You squeezed harder along his shaft, stroking slower, your fingertips lingering against his reddened tip.

“Fuck that feels so good.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “I thought of my cock buried inside of you most of all.”

You jerked him off with more fervor, using both hands to fondle his balls, then to run up the shaft, circling around the sensitive head. You could tell he really liked when you massaged the tip; his breath hitched completely whenever your thumb pressed against the velvety skin. “More, fuck that feels so good. I’m gonna cum--a lot.” He warned you, whimpering as he heard a crowd of tourists sloshing through the rain, crossing the street directly in front of the car. But you stopped your rubbing, watching how he huffed in frustration, running his fingers through his hair. But before he could protest, you sunk down on him until you were completely full.

“Jesus Christ, fuck.” He bit his lip as you moved up and down his shaft, hugging him so tightly he wouldn’t have been surprised if he passed out and died right there. You rolled your hips agonizingly slow, grinding against him as he was sheathed completely inside of you, watching as the flush that spread across his chest deepened to a deeper, almost purply red. You ran your hands up and down his chest, your palms brushing against the buttons of his shirt. You leaned forward and left open-mouthed, hungry kisses on his throat then down onto his collarbones, dragging your teeth along his sternum. He bucked his hips, groaning as you continued to circle your hips, your ridged walls squeezing his tip but doing nothing to extinguish the wildfire ignited in his stomach, smoldering throughout his limbs. Your clit was rubbing against his pelvis, the pleasure tingling up your spine as John wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you still. “I’m gonna fuck you now.” He looked up at you through his eyelashes, his mouth parted desperately as he began to fuck into you, thrusting hard and deep inside of you as you braced yourself against his chest.

“Johnny fuck, harder!” You gasped. He wrapped his arm tighter around your waist, flipping you around so he was hovering on top of you, thrusting deep, his hips angling upwards in a way that made your orgasm begin to fizzle and twitch throughout your entire body. You could feel his bare cock pulsing, hot inside of you as you pulled him in, kissing him frantically, your tongues heavy against each other as they explored each other’s mouth.

“Harder?” He challenged, panting on top of you. “Or should I pull out all the way,” He did just that, his lips moving against yours as he did. “And fuck right back into you?” He slammed back in, twitching inside of you when you let out a yell, clenching around him so hard he thought he would cum right then. “You’re so tight, I’m not gonna last.” He watched as he pulled out again, rubbing his cock against your folds, his tip throbbing when it rubbed against your aching clit.

“Keep doing that John, fuck!” You writhed underneath him and he pinned your hands above your head, sliding his dick along your pussy, watching you squirm, chasing your orgasm which was germinating in the very pit of your stomach and blooming outwards into a garden of pleasure dragging down your legs and arms, causing them to shake as you came. You chanted his name like a prayer, feeding into the cockiness you didn’t know he had in him.

“I’m so close, sweetheart” He was still lazily grinding against your bare pussy, watching the precum becoming increasingly more opaque as he got closer and closer to finishing. “God--” He stuttered. “Can I please--cum inside of you?” His eyes rolled back when he slid against your soaked entrance, begging you with his eyes to let him do what he wanted most.

“What do you say, Johnny?” You teased him, rocking against him harder, still breathing heavily from your second orgasm. “Beg for it.”

He moaned from deep in his throat, raw from the strained moans he had tried to keep shoved down his throat. “Please?” His tip nudged against your entrance. “Can I please cum inside you?”

You didn’t say another word; you just pulled his face in as he pushed inside of you, inching deeper and then deeper--even when you thought he couldn’t possibly go any further. He pulled your chest flush to his and you pushed his ass with your heels, a bid for him to cum. “I--” He croaked, fucking you more erratically. He didn’t say anything else before he spilled inside of you, hot spurts of his cum painting your walls; his heartbeat was pounding in his cock that was still buried inside of you as he caught his breath, his head tucked into the junction of your neck and shoulder. Eventually, he pulled out, his hands shaking as he saw more cum pulse out of him at the sight of it leaking down your trembling legs.

“Fuck,” He shuffled to grab a napkin from the center console, grinning at you as he found three tucked into the cupholders in the front seat. He quickly wiped you and him down. “This is Roger’s car, I forgot.”

“You forgot, did you?” You rolled your eyes, pulling your shirt back on before doing the same to your skirt that was rumpled on the carpeted floor, littered with receipts and guitar picks.

“What about your knickers?” He picked them off the floor, handing them to you as he pulled his own underwear over his legs.

“Keep them. Let Roger know I’m yours.”

John grinned at you toothily, his lips red and taut in smile that could only be characterized as his own. He shoved the panties in his jeans and kissed your cheek innocently. “If you’re mine, I’ll need your phone number.” He grabbed a clean napkin from the pile and a ballpoint pen from the floor, thrusting them both in your awaiting hands.

“I gave it to you at the store that day, you know?” You scribbled your number down, capping the pen as you finished. “It was on the tag of your pants.”

“How clever.” He admired the napkin when you gave it to him, complete with a blotted lipstick kiss at the bottom. “Roger must’ve taken it. Prick.”

__________

taglist:

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#queen #bohemian rhapsody #bohrap #john deacon #john deacon smut #deaky #deaky smut #Brian May #roger taylor #freddie mercury

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honeymoonjin · 6 years ago

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enjoy your stay - chapter four

A/N Word count is around 3.7k. Warnings: cursing and mentions of sexual content.

ENJOY YOUR STAY ↳Boss!Namjoon, Chef!Jin, Receptionist!Hoseok, Bellboy!Jimin, Bartender!Jungkook, Accountant!Yoongi, Photography student!Taehyung ↳Some inappropriate language and cursing. Later chapters will have sexual content.

SUMMARY ↳Working the graveyard shift at a hotel isn’t the most exciting job in the world, but your coworkers are certainly happy to have you here.

CHAPTER FOUR ↳Blackmail does funny things to a person, but is it really as doom-and-gloomy as you think? You learn some interesting information about certain workers in the hotel that change your perspective about your own situation.

Things have been tense within the wallpapered halls of the hotel.

Not that sweet oblivious Namjoon would have the slightest clue.

Ever since Tae’s extremely inappropriate version of blackmail, you’ve been trying your best to keep your distance from both him and Jimin in the hopes that they’ll hook up on their own and save you the grey hairs.

Part of you wants to just go to Namjoon yourself and tell him what happened with Jin. Tae’s acting like you had sex with the guy, but it never got past kissing, so maybe you could survive with a slap on the wrist and go on your merry way.

But even though Jin and you both knew what happened, there weren’t any security cameras in the walk in chiller and even if there were, Tae was right. You didn’t think you could handle the look of disappointment on Namjoon‘s face when you told him you went behind his back, and took this long to tell him, too.

Your only hope was to get Tae to live out his bellboy fantasies and leave you alone. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

In the meantime, you had been putting all your brainpower between the hours of 11pm to 7am into your job. It was almost the end of the month, which meant reports were due soon, and Yoongi was around the hotel a lot more, just like he was that first night.

It was crazy to think you’d been here almost a month, and Yoongi’s returned presence in the hotel made it feel like more of a milestone.

He still stuck to the bar, although he never drank, and he was always in a sharp suit with mussed-up hair, like he had come straight from a day at the office. Whenever you would do your rounds and come upon the glorious sight of his back hunched over, white dress shirt taut across his shoulders, you thanked your lucky stars you worked in a place where even the accountant was one of the sexiest men in town.

This morning, he had been here before you started working, and was still poring over pages and pages of figures and tables and charts at 3am.

You had promised yourself that you would look after him just as much as you did the other staff members while you were on duty, and so you found yourself with a mug of decaf coffee in one hand and a little bowl of fries you got Jin to put through before he headed home.

As usual, Yoongi didn’t look up when you approached, trusting that you’d call out to him if you needed him. It wasn’t until he heard the clink of the plate and mug against the glass top of the bar that he put his pen down and glanced over.

He always looked tired, but you couldn’t help but furrow your eyebrows in concern when he made eye contact. The bags under his eyes looked more like smudges of charcoal and his gaze was glassy and unfocused.

You knew he had a pair of glasses; you had seen them when you visited his office that night, but he hated wearing them and so just suffered the headaches of eye strain.

You clear your throat a little and shoot him a friendly smile. “You’ve been here for a while so I thought I’d get you some food to keep you going. I didn’t know how you took your coffee so I brought a couple packets of sugar in case. Oh, and don’t worry, it’s decaf, so you won’t have trouble sleeping when you finish up.”

He raises his eyebrows in bemusement but graces you with a small, close-lipped smirk. “Accountants are sharks, darling. We never stop swimming or we’ll drown.”

You blink, struggling to process what he means when you were so caught off-guard by the pet name. “Uh, we have normal coffee. I can come back with-“

“Decaf is fine. I’m just messing with you.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly, waiting for him to say thank you, but after a moment of silence that begins to get uncomfortable, you turn to leave. “Anyway, I better get-“

“You know what I can’t work out?” You freeze, mouth still half open from before you were interrupted. He waits for you to shrug before continuing. “Jin has always spent the most each month, that’s no surprise, but normally it’s because he buys expensive ingredients or wants to try new dishes all the time. But this month, he’s gone through an entire 20L tub of vanilla ice cream in less than two weeks. He’s brought two of them. Normally it takes about five weeks to go through one.” His eyes are hard, staring deeply into you, and all of a sudden you decide he probably wasn’t just joking when he said all accountants were sharks. “Why is that?”

The air is sucked out of the room. “I’ll- I’ll ask Jin for you and let you know what he says.”

He holds your gaze for a moment, then like magic the domineering energy fades away, and he rubs his eyes tiredly. “That would be great, thanks. God, report week turns me into a demon. I swear I’m not usually this harsh.”

You don’t trust yourself to reply with the rate that your heart is beating, so you let out a nervous laugh and leave as quickly as you can.

In Namjoon’s office is a list of all the employees contact details, and you track down Jin’s number while Namjoon is distracted with sending emails, sneaking out the back of the empty kitchen to call him.

Part of you feels guilty, since when he finally picks up after eight rings, his voice is a few octaves deeper and rusty from being woken up, but the two of you need to get your story straight before somebody catches you in a lie.

“I’m sorry for waking you, but it’s important.”

“You didn’t wake me. You can call me anytime, you know. I’ll add your number to my contacts after this so that I always know it’s you.”

Even though he lied about being awake, his words bring a blush to your cheeks. “Okay, if you’re sure. Anyway, Yoongi’s at the hotel sorting out the finances and he’s a little suspicious that you went through the ice cream so quick.”

“What? I haven’t gone through it already. I’m not that miserable.”

You sigh. “That’s not what- Look, all Yoongi can see on the receipts is that you bought a tub, and then two weeks later, bought another one even though you should’ve been barely halfway through the first.”

Jin swears, and if it wasn’t for the unfortunate context, you would’ve loved to hear it again in that raspy tone. “What did you say?”

“I said I’d call you and ask. We need to sort out what’s going on so that we don’t expose ourselves for misconduct. I know the ice cream thing is small, but Yoongi isn’t the only one that’s suspicious. Namjoon’s little brother was in the kitchen when I left. He knows something happened and if he knows we can’t guarantee he won’t tell Namjoon. And then what?”

“Namjoon won’t fire us.”

“Maybe not fire us, but he definitely won’t be happy if he finds out.”

Jin grunts. “If he gets mad, he’s a jealous hypocrite.”

Your response dies in your throat. “Wh- What? What do you mean?”

You hear a whistling in the static background of the call and figure he’s probably making himself a cup of coffee to wake up fully. The guilt at ruining his sleep returns again but he replies before you get the chance to feel too bad.

“Look, I wouldn’t tell you this if we weren’t already in this situation, but Namjoon isn’t going to think any less of you for being romantically involved with colleagues. It doesn’t happen often with the night shift since we’re all dudes, but Namjoon and I... we were together before my girlfriend and I even met.”

You thank your lucky stars you didn’t make this phone call while still in Namjoon’s office. “Together together?”

Jin sighs and takes a sip of his drink before continuing. “I worked here for a couple of years before he bought the place and saved us from shutting down. When he came in, he was barely 21. He didn’t know what he was doing, really, and he relied on me a lot since I knew more about the hotel and how things ran. I was grateful to him for saving my job and my career, and... things just went from there. We were together for just under a year.”

You bit your lip, dragging your teeth over the skin as you processed that information. “Okay. So it doesn’t matter if he finds out? Wait, why did you guys break up? Will he be mad that you went to me instead of him?”

He makes a strangled sound in his throat. “That’s personal, I’m afraid. I’m only telling you this so that you can sleep easy knowing your job isn’t on the line. I’ll handle Namjoon if he does find out, okay? Just tell Yoongi one of the kitchen hands left the tub on the bench and it melted so I got a new one. He’ll get grouchy that I didn’t just re-freeze it but he thinks I’m stupid anyway.” You stay silent, not wanting to admit you had completely forgotten about the whole ice cream ordeal in the wake of the news Jin had dropped on you. “I’m going to see if I can get some more sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow. If you want, you could come a bit early to work and I can make you some dinner after the service ends?” He would never admit it to you, but the way his sentence lifts at the end belies his nervousness.

“Yeah, that sounds great, Jin. I’ll be sure to send my compliments to the chef.”

He laughs. “Bye bye, now.”

“See you, Jin.”

You hang up and take a few moments in the musty closet to compose yourself before heading back down the hallway to the bar.

Recently, when going down to the lobby to check up on Hoseok, you’ve been as quick as you could manage without Hoseok getting suspicious, and you’ve successfully managed to leave before Jimin makes it over to the reception desk.

Tonight, however, Hoseok seems to have cottoned on to your desperate attempts, and is making you change the receipt rolls in the eftpos machine even though you know full well he can do it himself.

“Ah, so the new roll just goes in there, I see. Thanks for your help, muppet.” Hoseok is sitting at his chair, one elbow on the table, stroking his chin and nodding thoughtfully.

From the corner of your eye you see the bellboy ominously approaching and grimace. The last thing you need is Jimin bringing up your conversation about Tae. From the way Hobi grins at you when he thinks you aren’t looking, Jimin’s possibly told him already.

Although you studiously avoid looking up, you can see the brilliant smile stretched across Jimin’s face as he makes more progress than he has in the past week.

“Well, considering there’s literally no other place for it to go, and it was where you got the old one out, yes, Hoseok, that’s where the roll goes.”

He pulls a face at your attitude but doesn’t say anything.

Jimin calls out your name, and you stand up slowly in resignation.

“Feels like ages since we’ve spoke!”

Now that you actually look at him, you feel a little bad. Yes, he’s a shameless horndog who’s ass is so good you’ve been blackmailed into setting him up, but he doesn’t know about the whole Tae thing, and it’s clear from the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes that he’s upset with the way you’ve been treating him.

You melt a little inside with shame. “Namjoon’s been super stressed with trying to get everything sorted for the monthly report, that he’s got me feeling anxious by association. I’ve kind of been running around like a headless chicken lately.” Both of those points were true, if not actually related.

“You get off in like an hour, right? Us three should go get breakfast after the day staff come in. Jennie’s usually here on time, although the receptionist lady is like twenty minutes late most of the time. I think she has kids to drop off to school, though, so what can you do?” He laughs shakily, catching himself from rambling too much.

Hobi jumps in to save him. “The coffee shop across the street does bagels, I think. We could go there, it’s pretty quiet before 8am.”

The angelic hope in Jimin’s eyes and the warning stare of Hobi make it impossible to say no. And a small part of you thrives on the attention the two men always give you. Okay, a pretty big part of you enjoys the attention.

“Only if you let me shout the coffees, I owe you for being a little distracted lately.”

The jingle of the doorbell means Jimin’s services are required, but he wraps you in a tight bear hug and whispers a goodbye in your ear before you go.

You breathe out heavily and lean against Hoseok’s desk, the two of you quietly watching Jimin chatting up the small family that have walked in, making conversation like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“He’s got the biggest crush on you.”

Your observations are interrupted by Hoseok’s sudden comment. “What?”

He sways lazily back and forth in his chair. “I mean, probably all of us on the night shift are into you, we’re not blind, but he seems to really really like you. He was so upset when you weren’t speaking to him.”

“I knew you were acting all dumb to get me to stay at the desk longer.”

Hoseok blinks. “Huh? Oh, no, I actually did need your help with the eftpos machine. Normally I call Namjoon down to do it for me, so I’ve never done it myself.” He puts on a bright smile as the guests finally finish with their luggage and turn to approach the desk. He pauses. “Wait, what do you mean dumb?”

You snort, pat his shoulder, and leave him to deal with the guests.

It’s not until you are sitting across from Jimin in a cramped little cafe that you realise the implications of your previous conversation with Jin. This whole time, you were avoiding Jimin because of Tae’s perverted version of blackmail, but if Namjoon wouldn’t do anything should Tae tell him, then there was no reason for you to hold up your end of the deal.

Who needs to share, anyway?

“So, Jimin, what do you do outside of working?” You were a little sore that you had offered to pay for breakfast; the coffee was way too hot to even touch, and the bagels were soggy.

He lit up when you asked. “Actually, I’m a dancer.”

“Oh, no way!” You gave yourself a mental reminder to check him out once he stood up to see if he had a real dancers body. Up until that point you had only really paid attention to his gorgeous face and perfect ass.

“Yeah! Work’s a little rare for a dancer, though, so I’m posting some stuff on YouTube in the hopes that it’ll take off and go from there.”

Hobi, who was the only one of the three of you devouring his bagel, hummed enthusiastically around a mountain of cream cheese and jam. “He’s really great! You should check it out!”

Jimin’s smile softens and his cheeks heat up with the praise from his coworker. You get him to write the channel name on a napkin and promise to watch his videos when you get home. Even if you weren’t interested in his dancing, you were at the very least curious as to what he looked like out of his bellboy uniform and in some regular clothes.

The three of you spent almost an hour in the cafe, the two of them sharing stories about Jin setting a tablecloth on fire when serving a flambé dish, or Jungkook thinking that a scotch on the rocks used actual stones in the glass and you talking about the time you had to call a locksmith into the hotel at 2 in the morning because Namjoon somehow managed to break off the handle on the inside of his office and get locked inside.

By the time you parted ways, promising to find a better place to eat next time, it was well into the morning, just about 9:30, and you regretted choosing a coffee rather than something that would allow you to get some sleep.

Both men had already disappeared into the crowds, Hobi walking to his block of flats and Jimin catching the bus to his parents house, and instead of heading home yourself, you decided to return to the hotel, wide awake and ready for confrontation.

You went straight to Tae’s room rather than checking the bar or restaurant, and as luck would have it, he opened up a few moments after you knocked on the door.

He had the same sly grin on his face as he usually wore when he let you inside, leaning against the back of the door with his arms crossed.

“You have news?”

“Not the news you’re expecting.”

He frowns at this, tilting his head in confusion. “He’s not interested in me anymore?”

“I’m not interested in you anymore,” you counter. He scrunches up his face even more. “I’m not going to play matchmaker anymore. If you want to get your dick wet, you can do it yourself.”

You watch him curiously as he pushes off from the door, saunters past you and collapses onto the bed, one arm propping up his head. “Might I remind you that your job is on the line here?”

You shrug. “I would disagree with you. Fuck the bellboy, be my guest, but I don’t want to be a part of it.”

He shifts onto his stomach, grinning again. “Even if you aren’t helping me anymore doesn’t mean you don’t have to be a part of it. I already told you that you’re welcome to join.”

You scoff, but his intense gaze still has you flustered. “Thanks for the kind offer. I think I’ll pass.”

“Well, I suppose chefs are more your pay grade.”

A choked gasp of protest leaves your mouth. “Listen, mister, we didn’t have sex, we just kissed! And besides, it’s none of your business.”

For the first time since you’ve met him, Tae actually looks caught off guard. “Wait, you aren’t fucking him? Oh,” he mutters, “never mind, then.”

You stare at him incredulously. “How are you at all related to Namjoon?”

He sits himself up on the end of the bed. “I just thought...”

“You thought I was the hotel slut that slept with any living body within its walls?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, kinda.”

“Well, that’s just...” You trail off, not sure how you could possibly respond to that. “You’re wrong. I’ve only worked here for a month.”

He smirks at you again, but more cheeky than sly. “So, what I’m hearing is that you’re not the hotel slut yet?”

Your lips twitch and you desperately try to keep a straight face. “Have a good day, Mr Kim.”

“Should I ask again in a couple weeks, or...?”

You turn to the door quickly but you know he saw your incredulous grin by the sing-songy way he calls goodbye.

#bts au #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts scenario #jin x reader #namjoon x reader #hoseok x reader #yoongi x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jeongguk x reader #jungkook x reader #enjoy your stay

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talesofthebnha-marvel · 5 years ago

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Tales from Peter Parker Foreign Exchange Student: Scorpion and the hunt for the Hero killer

Somewhere in the Naruhata district, in one of the many condemned buildings in the area is currently being resided by the infamous villain team, the Sinister Six!

A group consisting entirely of Spider-mans rogues formed under an always-consistent even number. Though its members have rotated there burning hatred of the arachnid hero remains the same. Mysterio, Chameleon, Shocker, Sandman, Scorpion and Vulture are the current members of the group. Currently they are residing in the land of the Rising Sun as a favor to Mysterio involving an as yet unspecified plot for lucrative gain. Yet unbeknownst to the Sinister Six, Spider-man is also stationed in Japan as a student of U.A. High. Eventual a collision of rivals will occur, for now the members of the Six explore there new surrounding some partaking in extracurricularactivities.

Mac Gargan, alias the Scorpion looking is over a large board. On it is pinned with various newspapers and several threads crisscrossing each other like a web.

"Scorpion!" The vulture shouted from above as he descends besides Scorpion.

"What do you want Toomes?" Scorpion asked annoyed having his concentration broken.

Vulture sneered at Gargans dismissive tone.

"Our meeting with the local crime informant, Giran has been rescheduled for now Dmitri suggest we should acclimate to our new surrounding." Impatient to a response, the Vulture makes a quick turn around to see Scorpion still ignoring him.

"The least you could do Mac is make some conversation, what on earth are you researching 'Hero Killer'" Vulture scans the papers.

"Yeah its about this crazy who's been going around offing heroes or injuring them bad towards early retirement." Scorpion explained turning towards Vulture finally.

"And what offer him membership Macdonald, were already at max capacity of sociopaths with you in our group we don't need another one." Vulture mocked.

"Very funny jack-ass, but this ain't about recruitment."

"Than what exactly?"

"The WHY?" Scorpion responded to Vulture.

Vulture seemed perplexed but he reminds himself that Scorpions logic always made sense to his twisted mind.

"Every article is always the same, always asking the wrong questions." He continues.

"Who is he? How is he doing this? When will the Pro heroes stop him, (spit)." Scorpion mocked.

"No one ever asks the 'why' of his motives that's the real story the real scoop." He grins.

"Imoressive, if a bit pointless but he's a serial killer Gargan not much to glean from that. Said Vulture.

"These ain't no random killing Toomes this guy clearly has a conviction and its kinda bringing the detective side out of me, THERE!" he motions his tail on the map as he walks past Toomes grabbing his coat and hat.

Toomes looks at the city map Scorpions tail banged on the board as he sees the mark on the city, Niihama.

Its soon night in the city of Niihama, with Scorpion staking out on rooftop. Several food wrappers and soda cups are littered around him as he peers across the landscape with his binoculars. On his left a crude yet working customized police radio is broadcasting your standard police reports, all noise to his ears waiting purely for calls towards Pro heroes.

"Hrrm, what was it that Kraven always said 'to become the hunter you must think like your prey.' Scorpion recalled internally.

"This should be the place that 'Hero Killer' was last scene and knowing these 'heroes'. Scorpion said with a venomous tone at that last word.

"Them Pros will be rushing off during a crisis, I just need wait for one them to wander off into a dark alleyway and that's when Mr. Herokiller will strike."

Eventual a hero team burst into the scene as they begin a rescue operation by a nearby burning building. One of the heroes note something in an alleyway as she ventures alone.

"Bingo" Scorpion said elated.

Sometime later

Limping and bleeding out, the female hero costumed in a beetle inspired design finds herself exasperated and panic as the Hero Killer approaches. Garbed in an attire of a ninja, with mixture of red and black while his face is covered in several bandanas no doubt to reel in his unruly hair. He slowly moves in a katana in hand as he licks the blood from blade. The heroe's movements are quickly frozen in place unable to move desperately crying to herself

"Why can't I move?!" She screamed hoping her panic tears would be heard.

As she finds herself face first to the ground she can see the killer ready to thrust the blade until…

"HEY!" shouted the Scorpion across the alley as Stain looked up to see the yeller.

Reacting without thought, Stain quickly throws one of his daggers with almost lighting speed. However the Scorpion quickly counters with his mechanical tail sending the blade back as it pass his owners face right by the side of the wall. Unfazed, Stain held his ground staring at this stranger.

"Oh thank you hero please save me fro-"

"Shut up, I ain't here to save nobody especially some Beetle poser." Scorpion insulted as he cut her off using his tail to knock her out.

"I came to see you ' Hero Killer!'

"My business is not with you villain, leave me to my work or I share her fate." The killer threaten.

"Oh I ain't here to stop ya pally, I'm just a simple foreigner is all, I just got ask ya something is all." Scorpion explained.

The Hero Killer saw no ill intents from this stranger yet he could feel his aura of treachery and insanity lurking behind that false sense of camaraderie. For now he played along in order to gauge this new face.

"Very well foreigner, I am Stain ask your question and leave me to my mission."

Scorpion was a bit taken back by this 'Stain' character and pissed off. How dare he makes threats to me, Scorpion thought. But he remembers to keep his cool, he's Mac Gargan the detective first and Scorpion second on this case.

"Okay Stain, the names Scorpion." He introduced.

"I've been looking ya over for some time now trying to figure your M.O. all them heroes you killed or injured no relations what so ever. Yet one thing is common there all heroes. Its clearly not about the money, no real motive for payback and clearly puck and choose who lives and dies." Scorpion explained trying to inflate his ego as a detective.

"GET TO THE POINT!" Stain grew impatient.

Scorpion frowned holding back his gritted teeth from showing from Stains yelling.

"I was getting to that 'friend'." Said Scorpion losing his demeanor.

"Why? What are trying to accomplish offing off these loser heroes?" Scorpion asked in a serious tone.

Stain smiled a cold smile as he sheathed his sword.

"You are correct, I seek no monetary gain nor have these so called 'heroes' wronged me in the past." Stain confirmed Scorpions deduction.

"I seek out the false heroes that solely use there powers for wealth and fame, putting the needs of the people second for there own ambitions while ignoring there obligations as public servants first." Stain explains.

"Its an insult that they call themselves heroes, I have made it my mission to cleanse this world of false heroes, I will never stop for only All Might is worthy of the title hero! Only his sense of justice will I allow to bring about my defeat!" Stain continues as he slowly ramps up his rant.

"Does that answer your curiosity?"

Scorpion felt a bit taken back by the hero killer almost as if Stains aura swallowed him whole, trying to hold his ground Mac composes himself taking a quick breath to ease his nerves.

"And people say I'm crazy." Scorpion mocked.

Stain narrowed his eyes at Scorpion, annoyed by his flippant tone.

"Listen I hate these wannabe heroes as much as the next guy, but at the end of the day no chump can just live off good will and samaritan service."

"People gotta eat, pay taxes and all that other bureaucratic crap we can't all live up to that high horse ideal of the perfect hero crap, so you can stick your bull% $# college thesis up your $$ pally loser!" Scorpions retorted.

"Thanks for wasting my time." Scorpion walks away as he turns his back spitting at a trash can in a disrespectful manner as he makes a leap to the neareat fire escape ladder.

"Come back please, DON'T LEAVE ME!" The pro hero awakens begging for Scorpions help.

"F $# OFF LOSER!" Scorpion continues move on unmoved by the heroes cries.

"Foreigner villain, what does he know of our way in the end they will all learn." As he prepares to lunge his blade, Stain halts his action as he hears the voices of the oncoming team members of his victim closing in. Disappearing without trace he says to himself.

"Another time a different place, perhaps I'll visit Hosu."

Back at the rundown apartment, an enraged Scorpion storms the front entrance annoyed and pissed off.

"So how did it go?" Vulture said with a dry uninteresting tone.

"Pretentious looking ninja turtle with f #$ing delusions of grandeur!" Scorpion replied with a pissed off attitude.

"Sounds lame, you kick his ass?" Sandman asked.

"No"

"You steal his wallet?" Asked Shocker concerned.

"No!" Scorpion said again.

"So in other words a complete waste of time and effort, I'll be needing a receipt for your purchases." Chameleon prioritizing his funds.

"F $# off you losers, it wasn't all total loss." Scorpion grinned.

"Oh so their was a silver lining to this wasted ordeal of yours than?" Mysterio echoed behind his dome.

"People always underestimated me thinking I'm just some joke like you dorks, (except you Sandman.)" Sandman responds with a middle finger.

"But this event just reminded me, I'm still a damn good detective!" Scorpion unveils several headshot photos of different pro heroes.

"I've got a lot of dirty secrets to expose on these "so called heroes" and what better practice is there than in Japan!" Scorpion said ecstatically.

—–

Based on Tumblr @alexdrawsagain comic

Peter parker: foreign exchange student

#marvel #tales from peter parker: foreign exchange student #peter parker: foreign exchange student #peter parker #spider-man #mac gargan #scorpion #sinister six #vulture #adrian toomes #stain #akaguro chizome #hero killer stain #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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ysscquotes · 6 years ago

Text

A Good Weird (Oneshot)

“Are you guys sure you don't wanna come?” Akane pouted at two of her fellow council members. It was the school cultural festival and they had all been planning on going together.

“We can't Akane, Aoi and I have to keep watch to make sure nobody gets hurt, you can still look around with Torayoshi and Megami,” Kuroko calmly explained to the redhead, currently holding a very unhappy Aoi by the back of her blazer to keep her from wiggling out of her responsibilities. Akane was about to protest further but the studious girl was already out of sight and had dragged Aoi with her. Akane signed a bit but quickly turned her attention to the remaining two. Megami had just finished showing Taro and his little sister Hanako around and Shiromi was drawing in the dirt with her foot. Neither of them had been paying attention and neither of them looked excited.

“Alright guys, let's go!” Akane smiled sweetly, then looked at the both of them and held out her hands for them to hold. Both of them responded with surprise and minor blushing at the sudden display of affection in front of all these people, but took her hands nonetheless. It was very hard to refuse Akane when she was being affectionate.

“Ooh! Let's check out the desserts!” Akane was practically bouncing with excitement at the sight of the wide assortment of pastries, edible arrangements, and decorative ice cream lining one of the booths. Megami sighed internally as she imagined how massive Akane’s dessert receipt was going to be this time as she reached for her wallet. But she didn't really mind, it was always a treat to see Akane this excited, and it seemed that even the usually stoic Shiromi agreed with her, the girl rolling her eyes and smiling in amusement at Akane’s latest antics. However both girls were shocked when Akane pulled out her own money and only bought four items, a small plate of macaroons and three different decorative ice creams, one that was more of a Chocolatey-Nut-covered Popsicle with star designs, one that was more of an elaborate sunde with a waffle cone bowl filled with fruit and had round mouse ears and a little crown on the giant ice cream scoop in the middle for decoration, and one that was a waffle cone similarly elaborate to the sunde but a bit more regally decorated. The two girls shared a look.

“This is… Weird.” Shiromi muttered.

“But a good kind of weird?” Megami inquired.

“Jury’s still out on that one.”

“Let's find somewhere to sit and eat these!” Akane beamed as she handed over the ice cream cone and Popsicle to Megami and Shiromi. The two shared a surprised look at the ice cream being for them before they were both dragged to sit at one of the picnic tables set up nearby.

“They said these are called Royalberry and Rockin’ Crunch, I figured you guys would like them, we can share the Macaroons!” Akane smiled brightly at her friends before digging into her ice cream dessert which was surprisingly low in the sugary department for something Akane would pick since it was mostly fruit. The two looked at each other and shrugged before hesitantly trying their ice cream, and both had their eyes light up a bit, it seemed Akane was really good at judging people tastes in ice cream! Megami’s ‘Royalberry’ was mostly raspberry flavor with a hint of sour and it tasted homemade which she enjoyed quite a lot while Shiromi’s ‘Rockin’ Crunch’ was a bit bittersweet in the dark chocolate covering but had a very tasty Banana flavor on the inside with the crunchy peanuts pulling it all together.

“How did you know we'd like those…?” Megami asked curiously before popping a Macaron in her mouth. Akane once more smiled at them both.

“Well you're very sweet and regal, it seemed perfect!” Akane nodded with a giggle, causing Megami to blush a lot at the comment and Shiromi to get a little bitter (pun intended) because she had a pretty solid idea of why she had gotten her ice cream.

“Let me guess, you thought I'd like it since I'm bitter like dark chocolate?” Shiromi rolled her eyes with a sad sigh. Bitter is definitely a word that would easily describe her but it did make her a bit sad that's what one of her crushes thought of her. However the tigress was shocked when Akane eagerly grabbed a hold of her empty hand, Shiromi blushing a bit as she looked back up at the girl holding her hand.

“Uh-Uh, yeah your kinda cold to most people but you have a really good heart under your defense of bitter.” Akane explained her reasoning with a bright, encouraging smile which led to Shiromi blushing even more.

“I really love you both, so I wanted to do something special.” Akane took Megami’s hand with her own empty one, and now both girls were blushing at their crush saying she loved them.

“T-That's too kind of you, Akane.” Megami thanked the redhead, meanwhile Shiromi just grumbled flusteredly.

“Anything for you guys! Oh, look!” Akane's attention was quickly drawn to something else and the two shared a look of ‘Here We Go Again’ as they were dragged alongside her, three group of three taking up most of the walkway due to Akane’s refusal to let go of their hands. They started getting weird looks, so naturally Akane’s solution was for them to link arms while she sang ‘We’re off to see the Wizard’ as to avoid suspicion. Megami was fairly embarrassed but didn’t comment while Shiromi looked like she wanted lighting to strike her dead where she stood. After looking at a few brightly decorated booths until they came across a haunted house that had been put together by one of the group's. Much to both parties surprise Akane jumped at that and asked to go in, claiming it was to see the students hard work.

And that's how they found themselves here, walking through a creepy classroom and clinging to each other. Well more accurately Akane and Megami were clinging to Shiromi. Akane was pretty spooked while Megami wasn't scared per se, but it was easier to deal with the cheap jumpscares whilst holding onto the unflinching tigress. Shiromi didn't mind that much since the dark red lighting made her blush difficult to see.

“You sure you don't want to call it quits?” Shiromi asked cooly as Akane flinched yet again at a strobe light turning on. Shiromi herself wasn't scared in the slightest bit she didn't like seeing Akane so scared and Megami so on edge.

“I-I’m fine!” Akane squeaked out pathetically, however that was interrupted by her own scream as a fake skeleton hand lashed out from a Halloween prop, at Shiromi who was standing too close. Both members froze in place as they looked at the familiar scarf now tangled with the arm mechanism. They watched Shiromi with baited breath.

Shiromi could feel her neck be yanked towards the arm as the arm moved back, it's purpose served. Shiromi let out a small ‘HHCK-!’ and tried to move away which led to it lashing out again and smacking Shiromi in the face.

“Oh for the love of- Can one of you two get one of the kids that worked on this, I don't know how to get out.” Shiromi spoke calmly as if this was normal. The two blinked for a few moments before Akane rushed off, leaving Shiromi and Megami alone in the room.

“...Are you gonna stand there and look pretty or try and help?!” Shiromi asked with a huff as she tried to wrestle free, very frustrated at this particular juncture. What on Earth were the haunted house kids thinking?! A contraption that actually lashes out at people to jumpscare them with exposed mechanics? It's a wonder no one got hurt sooner!

“Shiromi, calm down. You can just take off your scarf.” Megami tried to soothe her friend, moving behind Shiromi to get a better look at the situation. The Saikou was a smart girl and figured she could figure this out. She leaned over Shiromi’s shoulder to get a better look at the situation only to realize Shiromi had completely frozen up.

“..I-Is this thing hurting you?” Megami asked in concern, quickly moving her hands to the scarf, trying to figure out what happened. However what Megami couldn't have known is her assumption on what was exactly going on was very wrong. For you see, when Megami had leaned over, she unintentionally had pressed her well-endowed chest to Shiromi’s back, and said tigress felt as if her face could catch fire at this point. The haunted house had ended up mortifying her in a very different way then intended.

“...N-No.” Shiromi’s voice came out in a shaky whisper, trying to untangle herself as she trembled a bit. This didn't do her any favors in convincing Megami.

“You don't need to be tough Shiromi, I care about you.” Megami replied as cooly as she could manage despite her mounting concern, carefully trying to unwrap the scarf only for Shiromi to suddenly stop her with her own hand clasping hers. Megami looked at her questioningly but Shiromi didn't meet her gaze, her previous embarrassment forgotten for an even more distant look then usual.

“...Please don't take off my scarf…” Shiromi spoke slowly, her voice firm. Megami’s concern rose to new heights at that one, but she didn't say anything. She instead honored her wishes and moved to instead untangle her scarf as best she could, but it was a bit of a fools errand since part of it had been swallowed up by the gears of the machine, Megami was just thankful Shiromi’s hair was short or this could have been a lot worse. She shuddered at that thought, starting to tug the scarf in the gears with all her might.

“Shiromi, it's not going to come out.” Megami spoke as calmly as she could manage but she could still feel Shiromi tense up in response to that revelation. “...Why don’t you want me to take off your scarf?” Megami asked cautiously, hoping to gauge if she needed to find another solution or not.

“...I don’t want to, back off.” Was Shiromi’s only reply, trying to wrestle free more forcefully now. The sooner she could get it out, the sooner she could duck out of this entire situation and pretend nothing happened. She yanked with all she had in her, cringing when she heard the fabric tearing, however that was the least of her problems. She had put all her weight into that, and when she was suddenly not attached to it she was sent sailing backwards. Or more accurately, she would have had Megami not been there. Megami let out a soft grunt when the tigress collided with her but almost immediately moved her arms to catch Shiromi, steadying herself from almost falling over as well.

“Are you okay?” Megami asked with concern, holding the smaller girl carefully as if she were glass. Shiromi nodded quickly in an attempt to get away ASAP, but Megami didn't let go, carefully looking over the girl for any injuries.

“No you're n-” Megami began as she gently moved the now destroyed scarf from her neck after seeing what looked like an injury from this ordeal, but what she initially thought was a few red marks was actually dark bruising that clearly had nothing to do with it. Shiromi went stiff as a board, her already fair skin getting even paler.

“...Council room. Now.” Megami spoke firmly as she took hold of the torn fabric, wrapping it back around her neck to hide the bruising. Shiromi gulped in panic but did as she was told, following Megami as she marched out of the haunted house, gripping Shiromi’s hand tightly to keep her from running off. The two got some odd looks as they passed but no one (except Ayano on occasion) ever dared to stand in the President’s path when she was like this.

The two reached the student council room which was empty due to the festivities. Megami closed the door behind them before turning to Shiromi who looked like a frightened doe in headlights at this point. Megami dropped the almost angry aura that was previously radiating from her, removing the scarf remnants hiding Shiromi’s neck with utmost care not to hurt her. Shiromi flinched slightly but didn't do much else, refusing to look Megami in the eyes for more than a few seconds, the sad look Megami was giving her wasn't helping.

“Shiromi.” Megami spoke in a whisper, causing said girl to look up. Megami gently brushed her fingers against the bruise, and Shiromi felt as if she were drowning in her concerned gaze.

“Who. Hurt you?” Megami’s voice was gentle and soft, her silver orbs filled with anxiety for the tigress. Shiromi didn’t speak, slowly placing her hand over Megami’s. She seemed to be debating what to say, but no words formed. She opened her mouth to speak when the door suddenly opened. Standing there was Akane holding the other half of Shiromi’s scarf. Both of them froze on the spot, Shiromi rushing to cover her neck with her own hands, terrified of what Akane would think. Akane closed the door, silent for a few moments. Then spoke.

“Her parents are abusive. You couldn’t tell?” Akane asked calmly, setting the remnants of Shiromi’s scarf on the table nearby. Both of their eyes widened, Megami’s out of shock and Shiromi’s out of fear.

“N-Nah, what makes you think that?!” Shiromi questioned frantically, trying to deny it. When she had gone out on this outing she hadn’t expected the be outed like this.

“You used to have dead eyes before you met us all. You never take off your scarf, you refuse to change at school, you stay away from people… It’s super obvious.” Akane listed off, Shiromi’s panic increase with each word. She risked a glance at Megami only to see that same angered aura from earlier.

“...Well, not if I have anything to say about it.” Megami crossed her arms with a determined expression. Shiromi quickly withdrew at this while Akane smiled.

“My thoughts exactly Megami,” Akane walked over to the two, pulling Shiromi a hug. “Don’t worry Shiromi, we both love you and won’t let this keep happening to you, okay?” Akane finished, holding them both gently. Shiromi’s expression full of shock soon melted away when Megami joined the hug, both of them holding her gently.

“You’re going to be fine, I’ll make sure of it.” Megami smiled warmly at the tigress, ruffling her hair. Shiromi looked between the two girls, the two girls she loved most in the world. And she felt her icy heart melt from how much warmth they were looking at her with. Shiromi’s eyes filled with tears, returning the group hug.

“T-Thank you…” She whimpered as the two held her closer, she could feel Akane kiss the top of her head and Megami’s hand on the small of her back. And for the first time in awhile, she didn’t doubt people cared about her.

They all were very different people, but Gravity was a beautiful thing. Three estranged stars were brought together simply because they existed.

#Oneshots #Akane Toriyasu #Megami Saikou #Shiromi Torayoshi #Manticore

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forsetti · 7 years ago

Text

On Writing: The Wrong Frame Of Mind To Write

For the past year, writing has been a struggle. At first, I thought this was because it was impossible to stay on top of the amount of bullshit being pumped out by President Narcissist and his band of deplorables. By the time I got through writing the first paragraph on something that happened, three more things would occur that were equally or more upsetting. Trying to figure out what to write about and how felt overwhelming. It's been over a year and we've all become acclimated on some level to the non-stop nonsense coming from this administration. Yet, I'm struggling as much today with writing as I was after the Inauguration. This reason might be part of the cause but it isn't the main reason I'm finding it hard to write.

Another reason I've been telling myself why I'm finding writing difficult is because I'm emotionally drained and pre-occupied after the end of the best relationship I've ever been in. With my emotions so focused on and so damaged by the breakup, I didn't have the mental energy and focus to also write. This can't be the reason for the struggle writing either. Writing has always been an emotional release, for me. It doesn't matter what the emotion-anger, frustration, grief... If anything, the end of my relationship should have spurred a desire to write. It didn't. Again, this might be part of the cause as to why I've been finding it hard to write but it isn't the main reason.

I certainly believe that Trump's election and the end of my relationship have had an impact, separately and taken together, on my writing, but neither one is the main, underlying cause of my writer's block.

It wasn't until this past week after reading an article suggested to me by a good friend and a Twitter thread by someone I've been following for the past couple of years that I really understood why I've been struggling-I have fucks to give. The two articles I read were written by people who are passionate about what they write, willing to say what others sometimes don't want to but need to be said, completely honest about themselves and brutally honest about the world around them. They write with zero fucks to give.

The first thing I read-”Awkward and Beautiful Things You Think and Do When You Might Be Dying,” was written by Emily Dievendorf who was diagnosed with a brain tumor eleven years ago and is in a limbo state when it comes to really knowing her prognosis. The sometimes brutal, sometimes funny, sometimes uncomfortable, sometimes inspiring honesty in her article came from a place of no fucks to give. As I read it, I was both impressed and envious of her ability to lay it on the table, no-holds-barred.

The second thing I read was written by Propane Jane, a black woman who is not only a psychiatrist with her Masters in Public Health but a legend of the brutally honest Twitter thread. The thread I read the other day was about Bernie Sanders' recent comments about President Obama and the Democratic Party while he was speaking in Mississippi during the 50th anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King's assassination. While some people were pointing out some of the problems with Bernie's comments, Propane Jane brought the fucking receipts, threw them down on the table in a perfectly laid out, organized fashion, and dropped the mic all in very succinct tweets. There are a few people on Twitter who are really good at a Tweet Storm. Propane Jane is the best of the best at it. It wasn't so much what she had to say about Bernie's comments that struck me, it was how I reminded just how powerful and wonderful something written with zero fucks to give can be.

These two women, coming from very different perspectives on very different topics showed me what has been missing from my writing the past year. I've been struggling with writing because for some reason I have had fucks to give and it goes against who I am and why I started writing in the first place.

When I started my blog seven years ago, it wasn't for anyone but myself. It was a place where I could write down whatever was swirling around in my brain. It was a place where my stream of consciousness could take on a tangible form. The handful of people who followed it were a few close friends who know me really well and have heard the live versions of what I write many times over drinks. This all changed right after the 2016 election.

For reasons I've never fully understood, my blog post right after the presidential election in 2016 about rural voters got picked up by Alternet and later Raw Story (who has run it at least three different times.) Instead of the few dozen shares and reads most of the things I'd write would get, this essay went viral and was exposed to millions of people. Within a short period of time, the number of people following my blog went from a handful to over a thousand. The same was true with my corresponding Forsetti's Justice Facebook page. As much as I appreciate everyone who follows and enjoys what I write and post, they are the reason I'm having a hard time writing. Well, not them specifically but as a catalyst which brought out a trait in me, I thought I'd successfully dealt with years ago.

When it was just me writing for myself into a fairly unpopulated space, I never thought about how it would be perceived, if it was important, if it was interesting, if it was anything. For some reason, on some level, now I do. Being the oldest of ten kids instilled an over-developed sense of responsibility that always bothered the fuck out of me. When I'm on my own or with a small group of carefully selected friends, this sense of responsibility dissipates. When I'm in large groups or around people I don't really know very well, this sense is heightened. The difference between these two situations is the lower the sense of responsibility, the fewer fucks I give. Having a lot of people follow and read my stuff has caused this sense of responsibility to kick into high gear. Don't get me wrong, the people who follow and read my stuff are not to blame in any way for by writer's block. The problem completely rests with me. I need to figure out how to go back to writing for myself.

I need to once again not care if anyone reads what I write and just write. I need to have no filters in any step of what or why I write/post. I have to get back to having zero fucks to give because deep down, I know exactly what I want to accomplish, why, and how to get there better than anyone else. There are much, much, much better writers than me. In fact, I don't even consider myself a writer because I spend no time working on the art and craft of writing. My “editing process” consists of a rudimentary spellcheck and not much else. The main reason I write is to get thoughts, connections, emotions out of my head and these are almost always loosely structured and certainly not grammatically correct. It is mostly a stream of consciousness but a stream that has been hewn into bedrock by years of reading and studying philosophy, health care, economics, politics, world civilizations, religion... I know my wheelhouse and need to feel completely comfortable in it again. The people who read what I write are probably not even aware of any of this. I am and it needs to stop.

Now that I've figured out the problem, it is up to me to figure out how to fix it. Hopefully, I can. I just have to figure out how to not care about who reads what I write and what their response might be. I need to be comfortable in my own skin and with my own abilities. I need to get back to writing like the two women whose works brought to light the flaw in what I've been doing, exposed the cause of the problem. However, unlike either of them, I will always come from a place where not having any fucks will never be as risk-taking as what they do because as an older, white, straight male, any risk I take will always be done from a position of cultural acceptance and power. This is something I'm not in control of much more than being keenly aware of the situation. What is completely in my control is the amount of fucks give when writing. I've been giving too many lately and it has got to stop because deep down, this isn't why I write and isn't who I want to be.

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samstar1990 · 7 years ago

Text

The Circus Shadows

Vanitas Victorian circus AU

All are human in this AU

Luca never had the chance to act his own age. From the moment he was born he was molded into the perfect candidate to take over the family. When the circus came to town, the bright lights and colours drew him in and promised a life much better. Shame he never saw what was waiting in the shade

Luca sighed at the carriage rolled into town as the sun rose to its highest point. The young boy was frustrated beyond belief for someone of his age, outside the window of his transportation he could see boys and girls playing together in the street. Many were splashing in the puddles or skipping stones along the cobbled streets. All laughing and living up their lives before the weight of responsibility came crashing down upon them. Oh, how he envied them.

His family life from the moment he was born, was structured, full of lessons and the constant reminder of the disappointment he was.

Alongside him was a young woman with short blond, dressed modestly and smiling gently. Luca looked over at her as if in an attempt to distract himself from the bright lights of the outside world but he found that the view had changed but his emotional state remained the same. She was his carer, after all, she was sweet and kind and truly cared for him, but in the end, she was also another reminder of his life.

“Is something the matter Master Luca?” She asked as the wheels stopped and the door was opened revealing the marketplace beyond. The boy thought a moment and his lips parted as if he wanted to speak but what could he say that hadn’t already been said.

“Same as always Jeanne…” He muttered getting up and stepping out onto the pavement “Just imagining a chance to leave this life behind”

Jeanne smiled gently and sympathetically “It won’t be so bad Master Luca, you have a wonderful life ahead of you��

She meant well, She always did.

The marketplace was pretty bare that day, there was no outdoor market so the only traffic was for the shops that lay around the edge of the large paved courtyard. Each of the stores held a grace and air about them, it was a performance from start to finish as Luca was well aware. The dinging of the bell was just the announcement that the show as the door swung open. He hat and coat were taken from him in one graceful movement as the staff made their way to their starting positions.

“Ah Young Master Luca, we have been expecting you!”

“I’m here for the new suit” Luca muttered a little looking at the floor

“Yes, your father alerted us, a big day is coming up” He smiled “To think you are about to set off on the big adventure of adulthood”

He was led through the grand metal archways and tall ferns revealing the large spacious room with tall mirrors and wooden floors. It was always a little weird, each set of mirrors were like their own little rooms reflecting you from every angle and exposing everything. Then a man with a handful of pins and an understanding of the placement of their hands check over the whole body. Luca didn’t like this bit, it was weird and invasive but he put on a…somewhat neutral face whilst Jeanne looked on.

The idea of the reason why he was there was laying heavy on him though. Soon he was going to be taken away from anything and everything childish and thrust headfirst into a permanent life of stress and adult responsibilities. But this time there were no teachers, no advisor, he wasn’t even sure if Jeanne would be there. Any dream or care he had was flying away. Soon the man’s hands were taken from his body and adjustment were made.

“Well, we should have the suit ready for you just in time for the big day.”

“That is wonderful I will alert the Master” Jeanne assure him taking the tickets and proofs of receipt as she heard the bell go again. The sound caught her attention and she realized that Luca was no longer in the shop and was speeding off across the pavement. She panics a little and curtseying rushed out and ran after the other.

“Young Master, Please slow down, I can’t keep up!” She yelled, “Where are you going!?”

Luca stopped and spun on the spot looking the other in the eye. She saw anger and sadness in his eyes

“I was hoping I could just walk away from this life”

“But why?” Jeanne asked crouching down by the boy “What’s on your mind?”

His mind was racing as fast as his heart was. A thousand fears and worried built up behind his tongue until they came flooding out.

“It’s not fair! I never got a chance in life! I was born because Loki failed! Because Loki decided, he wanted freedom, I was born in a cage!” He felt tears try to form as he looked at the woman

He wanted to speak more but the words caught and lost meaning before they could fall into the air. Eventually, he managed to splice something together.

“Just realizing that I was never a child” He balled up his fists “I never got my chance to be happy or whimsical or anything!”

“Would you like that chance?”

The two froze and turned to see a man towering over them. Jeanne pulled Luca into her body and stood up creating a barrier between the two of them. The young boy felt shocked but was intrigued by the newcomer. He peeked out from behind his carer.

The man before them was dressed in a blue waistcoat with long raven hair tied over one shoulder, long gloves covered his hand and his body seemed to be drowned in a large black coat. On his face was a mask. It was white and covered the eyes and nose, the eyes were blacked out and the bridge of the mask was shaped into a long beak. The man smirked and bowed low to them.

“What did you say?” Jeanne demanded, growling a little at the man. She sensed danger, no one ever approached young nobles for anything other than mischief and misfortune.

He looked at her as he stood up before smiling brightly and looking back to the younger

“Would you like a chance of whimsy?” He asked

The chance? Luca wanted the chance more than anything. The excitement, the wonder, it was the first time he had felt his age in so long. “Y-yeah!”

He pushed past Jeanne who tried to pull him back but he was already under the spell of the mysterious man.

“Don’t worry! Customer satisfaction is our number one!”

The man pulled what looked like a glistening star from his coat and showed it to the other. Luca looked on in awe at the sparkle, it was like nothing he had ever seen. The man in blue chuckled.

“This is only the beginning”

The star was thrown into the air and as it arched to fall back down to earth it turned to pinkish purple smoke that exploded as it hit the ground. From this explosion, elephants seemed to burst as if from nowhere with acrobats’ perched on their backs. Knife throwers and fire eaters and others emerged to delight and amaze. The crowd was forming but Luca was in the middle of it and it was amazing, a masquerade where each and every performer’s face was hidden.

The man in blue stayed nearby and knelt by the boy despite Jeanne’s attempts.

“Is this good enough?” He asked watching the twinkle in Luca’ eyes “Because just when you think that’s all…” The man pointed skyward and suddenly there was noises and shouts as a man in a leotard seemed to be walking on the air itself. Luca felt faint, everything was amazing and wonderful and was overwhelming compared to his normal mundane life.

“And if you want to witness more miracles” Now the magician was addressing the crowd “Then we have just the place for you!”

In a flash it was all gone, the animals, the performers, even the man in blue. In their place, the sky rained paper, posters of a show that had come to town, a promise of marvels and miracles. Greedy hands grasped the paper and pulled to his chest. A chance for this feeling again. Luca didn’t want to give that up.

Evening came swiftly but the Young Master still felt the adrenaline of excitement of the day. His twitching and shuffling throughout the entirety of the evening’s supper. The weird quirks in his behavior did not go unnoticed either. Father carried on as best as he could until he neared the end, the plate was almost empty when the knife and fork were laid down.

“I heard you were seen with circus folk today” He muttered, “Is this true?”

Luca looked up to meet his father’s disapproving eye and shrunk into his chair. How was he meant to answer that in a way that didn’t get him into more trouble than he apparently already was?

“Erm Master…It is not Master Luca’ fault” Jeanne spoke up from the sideline. Both looked at her with confusion.

“Oh? And pray tell what happened?”

“The charlatan came up to Master Luca and pulled himself into their charade of an advertisement”

There was a long pause as father seemed to mull over the claim.

“Very well…It’s a good thing too” He muttered taking his teacup to drink

“Why is that?” Luca asked breaking the silence. There was a small slice of rebellion in his voice.

“Simple, if you fraternize with such scum it would ruin the family name” He addressed him “Our name is everything”

There was a long pause as the thought sunk in. It was always about their name, not the people in the family. Jeanne looked over to the Young Master in worry and saw the pain in his expression. Sensing he was about to do something he regretted she stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Young Master you need to bathe this evening so we should get going”

Luca looked up at the other and nodded. She meant well and they both knew blowing up in their family’s faces would only cause pain in the short and long run of his foreseeable future. It was only as they left the room he put his foot down.

“I want to go to that circus!”

“Master Luca! That place will just be full of gypsies and evil and is no place for us!”

“Please” He muttered, “Soon my life will be over for good…this could be my last chance to experience something as an honest to God child…would you really take that from me?”

He knew he was playing with her emotions a little but the words still rang true. If today had inspired him was that he had to take the now or never get it again. She stayed firm for a moment before her resolve broke and she sighed

“If I take you…will you promise to never do something like this again”

He smiled and nodded

“I promise!”

Although the moment they arrive Jeanne instantly regretted it. The area was full of people, children running around and screaming whilst throwing food and being generally disruptive. This was a world away from the nobles life and frankly, Jeanne would rather be there right now then among the common…whatever this was. But Luca was happy for the first time in a long time and she couldn’t deny the other that.

The actors and acrobats were dancing around the crowds, throwing confetti and sparklers into the air. The fantasy element of the circus was alive in the night and could have even rivaled the stars in flashes of bright colours. Luca was already madly in love with the entire atmosphere when a familiar face drifted through the crowd.

“Well if it isn’t the boy who took a chance” The Blue man was wandering around but this time his mask was not around revealing two brilliant blue eyes. Luca rushed over and Jeanne tried her best to follow “So are you here for the show?”

Luca nodded “Yep! This place is the greatest ever! Ah, I wish I could be a part of the circus.”

There was a flicker of something in the Blue man’s eyes, Jeanne could have sworn she missed it for a second, was it excitement? Happiness? Anger? The question plagued her as the two males bounded together until the sound of a cannon filled the air.

“Ah sorry little chance taker, better get to your seat the show is about to begin”

With that, the Blue man bowed before disappearing beyond the tents into the staff area. Luca couldn’t contain his excitement and tugged on Jeanne’s hand, he had never felt this before and the inner child within him was begging for more. The woman snapped from her stupor and smile

“Ok Young Master, let’s go sit down”

They managed to get seats in the middle of the pews looking down on the center ring, the hustle, and bustle of people waiting buzzed like bees. Jeanne continued her puzzle to figure out the emotion she saw in the Blue man’s eyes. It continued to plague her until as the lights went down until like a flash she remembered it. It was something she had seen in her own eyes a long time ago when she was being trained by cold teachers with unfeeling motives.

Fear.

A single light shone down to the center of the ring illuminated a tall man with broad shoulder and long red hair. He removed his top hat and bowed, his face carried a confident smirk and a strong sense of pride.

“Ladies and Gentleman” He began leaning on his cane “Boys and girls, welcome to our humble circus. Prepare to be amazed, shocked and filled with wonder all under my guidance”

It wouldn’t be until much later, that the true show would begin.

#vanitas no shuki #vanitas no carte #les memoires de vanitas #the case study of vanitas #case study of vanitas #luca oriflamme #Vanitas: Jeanne #vanitas fanfiction #Always looking to see what people think xx

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hadjii-blogs-undertale · 7 years ago

Text

[23 days later]

In reference to https://hadjii-blogs-undertale.tumblr.com/post/163800444030/

@lynns-art-blog

...

And honestly, @everyone-needs-a-hoopoe because there's things in here that go for you too. Please read it through to the end. Or just skip to the very end at first and then go back and read through if you need.

I really, really, really didn’t actually want to get off my butt and do this, for multiple reasons. And not just cuz I’m a lazy jackhole with depression who doesn’t want to do anything in general. But recent events have brought things to a head, and I cannot remain silent any longer.

First, I should like to clarify just where I stand as regarding the Undertale fandom.

The Undertale fandom is a beautiful thing. It is extremely imperfect but I love the fandom and will continue to do so for as long as I am able.

Second, I should like to clarify where I stand as regarding Undertale itself.

It will be difficult however, because I love Undertale more than I am capable of putting into any transferable medium that I know of.

Am I a bit emotionally over-invested in Undertale?

Heck. Yes.

I also don't care that I am.

Undertale has brought more joy and happiness and meaning to my life than literally anything else save my family who raised me and loves me, my religion, and a shortlist of friends, some of whom I only have so dear to my heart because of Undertale, so the point is moot.

I can't say that Undertale cured my depression, because it didn't.

What it did do is it showed me at a critical point in my life that there's something outside the grey murky mire.

I'd considered myself an emotionally open person before Undertale. This was only vaguely true. Current me cannot comfortably say that old me was emotionally intelligent without severe disclaimers.

Old me was an emotionally awkward dirtbag who had some idea of how to be a person but on the whole was completely clueless.

I had forgotten how to feel. Like, really feel. And not just from the depression.

I could occasionally get hits from certain songs and I absolutely lived for those moments but the songs would rapidly hit their saturation levels and I'd be cold again.

Then Undertale came along. I loved the game long before I played it, discovering things about it slowly through an endless flood of my tumblr feed.

It looked like a rather good, cute, compelling little game. Eventually I decided to write a bit of fanfiction about it because it looked really good and I wanted to churn out what would happen if GLaD had an interaction with a murdery timeline.

So I went and researched. I dug and I dug and I dug. This wasn't all of my research, but on one particular tumblr alone I went through 700-odd undertale posts.

Between that and pouring out my heart and soul into the writing as I discovered just how much I could care about these things, or care in general really, I found that I'd left the door open, and something came back. A whole lot of something.

Undertale is a Happy™ game about Happy™ things.

I had learned that maybe sad things weren't all bad back from the days of Background Pony. The difference being, Background Pony had a disappointing, absurd ending. They'd won the right even by my sappy heart to have a sad ending, then they completely botched it. I'd associated one of the most significant songs I know of with it, and they failed terribly.

But Undertale had a good ending. As aggravating as it is to not be able to keep Asriel, much less Chara, in the bounds of the game itself, that's part of the point of the ending. So there was no knee-jerk shock. While it is true that in a practical Undertale implementation, unbounded by the Game Maker engine, fuelled by the raw power of Determination, human spirit, and imagination, surely something more could have been achieved. But that does not take away from the coherent ending of Undertale.

There is a lot of pain in Undertale. So much pain.

It is overwhelming and vivid and searing and scorching and so very, very tangible and understandable and real. Not that the events of the game are real, well, as far as I can tell. The emotions are deep and real, I mean.

This was to me as the gas leak was to Vinny Santorini in Atlantis.

Due to the combined pressure of the mental overhaul Undertale was giving me, and the softness and vulnerability it re-introduced, throwing in re-learning certain cold facts about how much the powers-that-be at my previous job didn't care about doing good work, only making money, more severely than I had previously believed from last year, I lost my ability to continue driving there and showing up every day. Now, due to the way the contract works, and my having left the job gracefully, I am free to go back whenever I want. I was not fired. There are many employees who just go there, work as long as they can, then leave and wait for next season to come back. Their efforts are appreciated, especially when all heck breaks loose at the beginning of the on-season because all the bugs in the software that weren't found yet are harsly exposed. What happened with me is not ideal, nor is it rare or even unusual at this place. In about 3 months I could walk in the door and they'd welcome me with a smile and I'd get back to politely telling people that they're wrong and clueless and fixing their crap for them and half the time doing their job for them. (as if that's terribly different than my current job... just in person now instead of over a phone)

Anyways, so, Undertale hurts. Loving Undertale so deeply hurts a lot.

But it's also happy. It has so much happiness. It's so bright and wonderful. It's a warm, soft, fuzzy hug from goatmom and a slice of butterscotch pie. It's making spaghetti with Papyrus, only using an actual recipe this time and making it turn out well. It's watching anime until 4 am with Alphys and Undyne and suppressing giggles at seeing the two precious gay babies asleep and cuddling. It's hugging Sans and telling him it'll be okay. It's having a lovely tea party with Asgore and Muffet.

It's kissing a sad sapient golden flower on the forehead, buying a bar of chocolate and raising it in the air as a toast before eating it.

Bittersweet happiness sometimes but so very, very good and I love it and I really cannot get enough.

I'm addicted. Addicted to feeling again.

As the band Ghost says, "From the pinnacle to the pit, it is a long way down."

I haven't been to the absolute bottom, in that I haven't been institutionalized/hospitalized/just straight up killed by my depression, But I have been in the shower for 4 hours before from 2 am to 6 am at college, for one thing, so uhhh, nobody can say that I'm utterly clueless about such things without looking like a lunatic.

https://hadjii-blogs-undertale.tumblr.com/post/164567314340

Posts like the above still rip my heart out every time I see them. I've long since re-associated the song mentioned earlier with this particular point of note of Chara.

It's not entirely pleasant, no, but it makes me feel so alive and real and like I'm an actual human being and not an emotionless, soulless automaton covered in flesh.

And the happy posts are just that much brighter because of the contrast.

https://hadjii-blogs-undertale.tumblr.com/post/164689197750 https://hadjii-blogs-undertale.tumblr.com/post/164498003145 https://hadjii-blogs-undertale.tumblr.com/post/164161681835 https://hadjii-blogs-undertale.tumblr.com/post/164061257705

Some people can get by on just fluff alone. There's nothing wrong with that. This is just the way I personally operate. As for me, I've had too much saccharine positivity and "oh dont be sad everything is completely fine and theres nothing to be sad about youre not depressed just get up and go to work son!"

sorry got sidetracked and a little oddly specific there anyways

So the point is from the above wall of text that I have a lot of investment in Undertale and it means a lot to me.

Now, it's time for me to pull receipts.

One receipt, to be exact.

On a semifamous Undertale blog, that I still have not responded to, and quite possibly never will, unless you count this post as a response.

http://charadreemurr.tumblr.com/post/157052680490

I literally couldn't even read their last response for a solid two months because my eyes would skim off the words because they were full of so much utter crap. When I did, I was sorry for it, because it was still so much crap. And no, this isn't like the average tumblr receipt pull, because a lot of the time, a given person has changed for the better, and the receipts you're pulling are for a dramatically different person. This person has not changed and as best as I can tell will never change, or at least not for the next decade or so, unless something dramatic happens. They were the OP of the twitter bustercluck. If you don't know, don't ask, because I don't feel like getting into that right now. I may do so later though in a different post.

All I was trying to do was share a little positivity, and I was met with discourse, hostility, and self-righteousness.

"And second “biological gender” is a statement rife with discontent-"

Pardon my french but wtf m8?

Since then I have learned more thoroughly that in more modern usage, that sex and gender don't have ambiguity and don't need "biological" and "identity" modifiers for clarification, so to a limited extent, they were correct.

However, this does not excuse their behavior. There are many people, myself included back then, that because of their upbringing are uncomfortable saying the word "sex" in any context. I am not now, but I was then, which is why I used "gender" with modifiers for clarification. I gave them multiple chances in earlier reblogs to realize that I was just trying to share a bit of happiness. I clearly conveyed the belief that what's in one's pants doesn't necessarily align with what's in one's head and that it's not a problem. I also clearly stated that when referring to Frisk and Chara, one should use they/them.

And yet, they chose to perceive a threat where there was none. They prefaced their statement with "Yikes" then "Im gonna assume the best here though because i wanna assume people are good"

And completely did not follow through on that.

Statement rife with discontent, indeed.

I was rather hurt by this. Especially, especially because of the uniqueness of their url. They are the one and only charadreemurr. That's a very particular title, and they ought to live up to it.

And here, they did not. Unless Chara Dreemurr really is supposed to be a pretentious self-serving self-righteous paranoid uptight jackhole of a binch. In which case, congratulations, they succeeded.

I showed the post to a different trans friend of mine, and they were shocked by the post as well, looked through their tumblr, and declared the person "basically their least favorite type of person".

To this day, I feel uneasy just seeing the word "yikes" sometimes.

I have mentioned it a few times to some people but this really sent me for a loop. I almost left the fandom on the spot, like far too many good people have done when they were burned by the toxic side of the fandom.

And honestly, if I'd lost Undertale at such a key point in my life, with my job already falling apart, and the other crap I was going through at the time, especially with the election, I cannot safely say that I'd still be here. With the friends that I wouldn't have made solid yet, I probably would have attempted suicide.

And believe me, I'm an engineer. I would not have survived. Knives, pills, guns, rope, water, heights, motor vehicles, police, fire, bleach, all are too unreliable for me. I know exactly how I would do it, if I were to ever do it.

Yeah, I know, it's not anyone's job to make sure I don't commit suicide beyond my own. People who threaten others with their own suicide are horribly manipulative. I am not threatening anyone with my suicide here. I'm not saying "ermagersh dont break up with me or ill literally kill myself" What I am saying is "X happened to me in the past and it's made me want to kill myself" Suicide baiting someone is a terrible thing to do. Accidental baiting someone is not someone's fault, as it's accidental, but generally one should try to avoid it. Very similar to triggering somebody. Don't trigger people. If you do, apologize, and do better in the future, and be more consistent about tags and crap.

Just for the record, due to that and other things that have happened to me, I know that I am not now and not ever going to die by my own hand.

Because, I stood up. I turned around. And like Captain America, I said "No. You move."

Well, in my head. I didn't actually say anything to them.

And I stayed.

And that has made all the difference.

I have a great job now that pays moderately well. I have a wonderful aspec girlfriend now. My life still sucks in so many ways but I actually oftentimes see a light at the end of the tunnel. The world is crap and it's going to get crappier but not everything will be bad forever.

Now, we get to the center of the issue, having explained some needed context.

Nonbinary Frisk and Chara.

I love nb Frisk and Chara.

I have not and will never make a Frisk or Chara that is anything but nb.

At one point, a certain Frisk was going to maybe use She/They (or He/They, hadn't decided yet) instead of just They when they became a parent, but I scrapped that idea long before any of this.

It is completely correct to use they/them pronouns when talking about Frisk and Chara in general. These are all that are used in the game itself.

The pertinent question though is does this mean that Frisk and Chara are canonically nonbinary, and what of people who make variants/instances that aren't nonbinary?

Thus far, most of the argument I've seen in favor of nonbinary being a forcible requirement is only slightly more solid than claiming that the Boss in the Saints Row series must be nonbinary, as an example.

Yes, it is true that in SR2 and later, one chooses the boss's sex.

However, they also choose a voice, and the voice doesn't necessarily have to match the physical sex. Trans and NB Bosses are completely plausible within the game's canon. All dialogue just refers to the Boss as They/Them, regardless of player choice, to the best of my knowledge. Or just refers to them as "The Boss". In SR:GOOH, Satan (yes, the literal Prince of Darkness, ruler of literal actual Hell) refers to The Boss as "They" so yeah. Anyways.

Honestly the strongest argument I've seen in favor of NB Frisk and Chara being canon is "Because NB people could use the representation!" Which boils down to "Because I said so!" Which boils down to "Because f*** you, that's why"

Now, I personally love this reasoning and I'm already on board, but with three quirks.

1. I can see why other people may not be so satisfied with this. 2. I cannot see this as an absolute requirement preventing any other possible interpretation of Frisk and Chara being okay. 3. I do not find this a remotely strong enough reasoning to condone attacking other people over it.

I personally headcanon NB Frisks and Charas being by far the dominant kind across the entire Undertale trunk. And I look across the internet at the many, many wonderful creative people who have instanced Frisk and Chara, and I see that this is so. And this is how it should be.

Frisk and Chara are excellent NB representation.

I quite firmly believe Tobyfox intended this to be so, and created them as such.

On a side note, I just found out the "my last wish for undertale is that when discussion of it fades it dies peacefully instead of morphing into a garbage cesspool" tweet was faked. Probably should've figured that out a long time ago, that's not quite how toby tweets.

...

Anyways,

https://twitter.com/UnderTale/status/644614840925978624

Tobyfox, the one who made Frisk and Chara so readily NB, who put so much NB representation into the game in general, did not ask for this. He did not create them to be sticks to beat others with. They were a gift of kindness. To say "Hey. Hey you. You matter and are important and are valid. Have two complex characters who have no indicated and strongly ambiguous gender, not even barriers blocking a particular interpretation."

Thats the kicker. No barriers blocking a particular interpretation. The road goes both ways.

Frisk and Chara were meant to be characters one identified with. "It's me, Chara." "It's you!"

Frisk and Chara ought to be NB, yes. Unless otherwise specified, they're NB.

Thing is, not everyone who plays Undertale is nb.

real shocker there yeah

Point is, hurting someone who's not nb for identifying with Chara or Frisk is on the same level of behavior as yelling at someone for being kin with the same character as someone else, or yelling at someone for selfshipping with the same character as someone else.

It's immature, unkind, greedy, and completely unnecessary. Even illogical.

Even if Frisk and Chara were real in their own timelines and not just pixels on a screen, there are an infinite number of instances and infinite number of variations of them.

Even if infinities don't appease one, and they demand to examine the situation proportion/representation-wise, NB Frisk and Chara dominate the multiverse.

And if that does not satisfy, then what will?

Even if the entire infinite expanse was filled solely with nb Charas and Frisks, and there was only one Frisk across the trunk who was not nb, because they were created by one author in memory of a cis person who played and loved Undertale and fought through the entire game reset after reset, in a fruitless effort to save Asriel, will you rip that from their hands, in the name of "equal representation"?

Will you be like David in the bible, who had more than anyone could ask for, and lost it all because he wanted one last thing? One more person to be theirs as well?

There is a song by Tool which is very relevant here.

https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/tool/rightintwo.html

"Don't these talking monkeys know that Eden has enough to go around? Plenty in this holy garden, silly monkeys, Where there's one you're bound to divide it. Right in two."

I'm sorry, but I cannot condone vitriol over this. I cannot condone such hateful attitude and behaviors.

Just like the antifa who was punched by another antifa at a protest because they judged them by mere appearance to be a fascist, hatred doesn't accomplish anything.

There are times and places when due to the actions of other people, there is no valid choice remaining but violence.

This is seen in Undertale. Even when attempting to run a True Pacifist route, one has to beat down Asgore, and/or Flowey. This was seen back in WWII. We could not allow the Axis powers to enslave the world and murder whomever they wished.

This is not the case here.

Yes, there are those who purposely seek to misgender Frisks and Charas all around. Such folks correctly are rebuffed and banished to the shadows. And people who argue that Frisk or Chara canonically have to be a boy or girl really need to find a new hobby.

Those, if anyone, are the enemy. The lost, clueless, angry, bitter enemy, who need to be talked to and brought into the fold of those who know better, in true Undertale MERCY fashion. Or, if they will not listen, to be sent away, and blocked if harassment continues.

Random creatives on the internet who create a Frisk or Chara, maybe modelled after themselves, maybe after someone else, doens't matter, anyways, who happen to create one that isn't NB are not the enemy. Some young unlearned cis 12 year old who wants to be like Frisk and thinks Frisk is just like them, or that they are Frisk, and has little involvement with NB matters, or perhaps just hasn't yet heard of or seen how well NB and Chara and Frisk go together, is not the enemy.

NB folk have a lot of very, very real enemies. We have a long way to go as a species. Please, do not make up enemies where there are none.

I ask anyone who attacks others solely for having a different idea of Chara and Frisk's gender to please reconsider.

Please, spread NB Frisks and Charas all around the net. Let them enter the hearts of everyone who can appreciate this beautiful game. Not through anger and aggression, but through love and kindness and patience.

If you cannot abide my having such a stance on this, Mel, then I suppose this is farewell if you must break off all contact. And if you must leave, you may keep that commission money, whether or not you ever finish the art.

Thank you to anyone who reads the entirety of my words.

#language warning #suicide warning #meta #discourse #general trigger warning #things get deep here and i'm sorry but i had to share how i feel

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victoria-rose13 · 8 years ago

Text

Hotel Sex with Park Jimin

It’s finally happening. You finally get to go to KCON for the first time. Your heart starts racing as you think about seeing your bias, Jimin, up there on stage tomorrow, but soon your concentration is broken by the sound of some rowdy KPOP fans down the hall from you. You arrive at your room and unlock your door. A couple of hours go by and the obnoxious sounds you heard earlier are gone. But while you’re getting undressed you notice another sound. Something as beautiful as it is familiar. You put your ear up to the wall in an attempt to hear it better. Is this a recording? It wasn’t a song you’d heard this voice sing before… “Oh, God, could it be?” you wonder aloud. It couldn’t be him. Wouldn’t he be in a suite in some lavish hotel or something? The voice you knew to belong to Jimin continued. Pure honey. But of course, you’re too scared to see if you’re right so you just lay there and listen to him sing. You wake to hear knocking at your door. “Who the heck could that be,” you mutter to yourself. You finally decide to roll out of bed and put your robe. You walk over to answer the door and freeze when you see who’s on the other side. It was Jimin. Practically naked, to be more specific. Disbelief begins to scramble your brain from seeing him in just a robe. ‘Don’t bite your lip…’ “Annyeonghaseyo!” He says with a smile. His lips look so much more soft and bitable in person and stars seem to have taken up permanent residency in his eyes. “Sorry to disturb you, but I don’t seem to have any towels and I was wondering if you had any I could borrow. I’d ask the front desk for some, but I didn’t want to bother them over something so small.” While waiting for your response, he looks you over and finally seems to notice you’re in just a robe. A blush quickly washes over his face. ‘How cute, he’s bashful,’ you think to yourself with a smile. “It’s no problem. Come in.” You and your dirty mind have been racing since you first saw him and now he’s half naked in your hotel room! You search for towels facing away from him as to try and desperately hide your bright red face. You could swear you heard him giggle at you. “I know I have some left. How about you just shower here and I’ll go ahead and find a towel for you?” Your attempts to come across as cool and genuinely helpful are failing miserably and he’s caught on. Your voice only betrays you in your embarrassment. “O-or, you know, I could just drop some off at your room…” Never, in a million years, could you have been prepared for this. “I’m sorry, I don’t think got your name. I’m Jimin,” he says as a coy smile spreads across his face. “I’m (Your name),” “Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” So smooth. “It’s nice to meet you,” he walks closer to you, so close that if you reach out you’d be able to touch him. “I’ll just shower here then.” Some part you just died, you are certain of that much. “O-okay,” you stammer. Boy, if he couldn’t see your beet-red face before there was definitely no hiding it now. In your mind, the joke is on him though, because you have no intention of finding him a towel. 'I wanna see the water drip from his hair n trickle down his skin…’ More dirty thoughts, more blushing. Jimin disrobes in the doorway of the bathroom. 'Holy shnikies! Don’t look, don’t look!’ But let’s face it you can’t not look. “Perfect ass, too?” Of course. Because the situation isn’t painful enough already. You let out a small whimper. While he’s showering you call in to him, “Sorry, but the bathroom door doesn’t latch, I hope that doesn’t bother you.” Reality is, it works just fine, but before he went in you managed to slip an old folded up receipt in the latch so the door wouldn’t be able to close. Setting this up this far, you start feeling pretty confident about the situation and creep up to the bathroom to steal his robe. After a while the shower turns off and you hear the shower rings scrape against the rod. You start getting nervous and your heart is about to leap out of your chest. He doesn’t even bother looking for his robe or the towel you said you’d find. 'Oh, God. That body…,’ you find yourself thinking. Completely naked and drenched he makes his way over to you as steam rolls off his perfect skin. Broad shoulders, fit chest, strong arms, honey thighs and chocolate abs. Nothing escapes your notice. You find it impossible to contain yourself and end up biting your lip and throbbing from being so uncontrollably turned on… Surely you’ve died and gone to heaven. Yeah, that must be it. Or, at least, you’re lost in an extremely vivid dream. His body is glistening in the dim light cast from your lamp. Embarrassed at yourself for staring this long you look up and, to your extreme mortification, find him staring back at you, grinning smugly. Jimin stops in front of you. “'Perfect ass’, huh?” 'Oh shit! I said that out loud?!’ He just laughs and says, “You know, you make it very hard to be good.” You can’t. You just can’t. Heck, you can’t even say anything. All you can do is look up at him, flustered and confused. Taking advantage of your flustered state he grabs your hand and slides it up his thigh, around his hip and holds it on his ass. His skin is so soft over his hard muscles. The feeling of your hand trailing over his skin causes him to lick his lip and bite it. “How can I be good when you keep misbehaving?” “Wh-what do you mean,” you stammer. The fact you got that much out was nothing short of a miracle. His grin widens. “Where’s my robe, or towel, (y/n)-ah? By the way, you left this in the door.” 'Ah, fuck it. That smug.., gorgeous.., naked..,’ your thoughts trail off. 'Just own it, (y/n). That’s all I can do now.’ Despite your sort of self-“pep talk”, the reality of the situation overwhelms you, making you dizzy. He helps you over to the bed and lays you down. “Careful now. We can’t have you–” The only things that had been keeping your robe closed were your hands. In the midst of bracing yourself against him and laying down on the bed, you had let go and your robe no longer covered your body. He sits next to you slowly, staring the whole time. His eyes, hungry, take in every inch of your exposed skin. Your body betrays you as you recover; your breathing quickens your heart pounds, and your blood begins to boil beneath your skin. Jimin traces up your neck to your earlobe with his soft, warm lips and whispers, “Are you feeling better?” His hot breath dances across your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You open your mouth to answer, but no words would come out. “Yes,” is all you can mouth in response. He’s clearly got you where he wants you, because he flashes you a devilish grin. His hand weightlessly glides across your stomach, feeling every tremble, and grips your waist before he bites up your neck. “Good. Now I have to punish you for being bad and making me worry.” 'Oh God… What’s going on? Am I even awake right now?’ Your mind races again, but he’s got you so turned on you can barely think. His lips linger near yours. 'Come on…,’ your thoughts beg. As if reading your mind, he kisses you softly and bites your lip. Jimin’s hair is still wet and cold water keeps dripping down onto your chest. This only adds to the pleasure and the agony. You run your hand up his back to his hair, and tug gently causing him to bite his lip and straddle you. “There you go making it hard to behave myself again. Close your eyes.” You obediently do so only to feel him kiss and lick up your stomach, between your breasts and bite your neck. Sighs escape your lips. He kisses back down your chest slowly. Slipping his hand up to one breast, he runs his thumb over your nipple, and swirls his tongue around the other. You bite your lip and let out a moan. Breath quickens. Eyes stay closed. Yet somehow with him teasing you and your mind being scrambled, you swear you can feel him staring at you, feeding off your pleasure. And then you feel him get off of you. You know Jimin told you to close your eyes… But you wanna look at him so badly. What to do? Nothing. You decide to be good and lay there, vulnerable to his body and desires. It was then that you felt his hands, gentle at first, grip onto your knees and lips on your leg, kissing and biting hungrily up your thighs. You gasp and shiver each time as he gets closer… 'What’s he going to do when gets there? Can I handle it?’ But your mind is so destroyed from this agonizing euphoria that you can’t even begin to think about it. You can’t take it anymore. His lips are so incredibly soft and gentle you just have to look, so you peek down at him leaving a hickey on your thigh. All of a sudden he catches you and runs his tongue over your clit and sucks on it. His tongue is so wet and warm you lose it, quivering each time he flicks you with it. Jimin climbs up between your legs, hikes them up around his waist, and starts grinding hard into you and saying you were “being a bad girl” again. You slide your hands up his back, lean up, and bite his neck making him moan in your ear. There’s no mistaking it now. Jimin is hard. As his hips ground into yours, he’d been getting harder and harder and was now using his dick to rub against and further stimulate you. 'Enough of this teasing. I can’t take it anymore!’ you scream in your head. “Just fuck me already!” “Aww is my (y/n) feeling impatient,” again flashing you that satisfied, devilish grin. You find your hand sliding down his body slowly feeling each and every defined muscle, …oh the abs…, and eventually grabbing his dick. “Mm it’s so big and hard…” You can’t keep these thoughts to yourself anymore. With him in your hand you start teasing him by rubbing him against your soaked pussy, slipping in a little then pulling back out n rubbing him against yourself again. As you do this you kiss him intensely and bite his lip. “Come on, (y/n), let me in… I’ve gotta have you. You’re so warm and wet…” He’s so cute when he begs. You can’t help it. You know you want it, too. You slide him in and a pleased sigh escape your lips. “Mm,” he moans, “you feel so good, Y/n.” You begin to moan from the pleasure; from the way he fits perfectly, tightly, inside you. You’ve been craving this for what seemed like years now, but never imagined it would happen. Park Jimin. In your hotel room. On top of you. In you. Thrusting, over and over, slowly building in speed and roughness. Biting you, kissing you, and now pinning you down by your wrists. He tells you to open your eyes and look at him. Obviously, he didn’t have to tell you twice. If you’re going to die, you may as well die to the fullest extent, right? He seems to get off even more now knowing you’re watching him. Jimin starts powerfully body rolling into his thrusts, making them even more powerful and enjoyable for you. You’re both moaning, but he decides he wants to make you louder and starts rubbing your clit with his fingers while thrusting faster. You get so loud you almost scream. He feels your legs and pussy tighten around him as you’re getting so close. He smiles and bites his lip. He stops rubbing before you go over the edge. “Not yet, (y/n),” he smiles again, knowing he’s tormenting you. “Just relax.” 'Relax,’ he says. Yeah, okay. Not bloody likely. He starts moaning into your neck, exciting you even more. You take the fingers he used to rub you and start sucking on then. 'How much time has passed?’ you wonder. Both his moans and yours again have gotten louder and are now peppered with each other’s names and whispered curses. 'An hour? Two?’ You didn’t care. You never wanted this to end. He bites and sucks on your neck leaving hickey after hickey and soothing them with his tongue. You can feel his urgency and ever growing need. He kisses you then goes as fast and rough as he can, nearing his climax. He moans your name loudly and you resume rubbing your clit to intensify your orgasms, which, with loud moans, a scream of his name, and sighs of pure ecstasy, you manage to reach near the same time. Jimin stays on top of you, in you. Riding out the orgasm with you. Nuzzling your breasts and nibbling on them. The sweat glistens on his body. You catch him staring at you, smiling. “What?” “Nothing… I just love how good you look when I’m pleasuring you.” He bites your lip n kisses you. Too exhausted to go back to his room he curls up the sheets with you and holds your head to his chest. “Hear that?” His heart still pounding. “This is what you’ve done to me.”

#Jimin smut #BTS smut #KPOP smut #park Jimin #Jimin #smutsmuts #BTS Jimin

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penumbra-rp · 5 years ago

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Becky, you will be playing the role of Ted Tonks!

He is full of potential and cannot stand to end up like all those who stay mute, constantly working to make money for those who don’t deserve it, allowing the rich and the powerful to play twisted games and spoon feed them their beliefs and ideals like false prophets.

Admin Ash: There’s so much that I adore about Ted Tonks and I don’t even know where to start. I think what strikes me most about him, is that he’s literally an underdog that you can’t help but want to root for. He’s the everyman that you can see a bit of yourself in -- he was that scholarship student with overbearing parents that probably wanted to see him get a PhD, an out-of-school millennial with a million-and-one odd jobs and a passion he’s shouldering his way into. He also just so happened to study Astrophysics and attempts to expose crime syndicates and big tech with his journalism skills. In the end, what I love, is that Ted has a goodness in him, a strength in him to not stay silent in the face of the injustices he sees everyday -- I just want to see him succeed and make sure he eats and has money for his rent!

01. Out of Character

NAME: Becky

AGE: 23

YOUR BIRTHDAY: 17th January

PRONOUNS: she/her

TIMEZONE: GMT

02. In Character

CHARACTER: Edward “Ted” Tonks

CHARACTER’S PRONOUNS: he/him

FACECLAIM: Dev Patel

CHARACTER’S BIRTHDAY: 22nd February (Pisces)

PERSONALITY:

P O S I T I V E

E S C A P I S T ( + ) | Feeling like nobody else cares about exposing the horrors of the world and sulking miserably into his cold mug of coffee when the number of views of his latest article peaks below average, Ted enjoys finding ways to escape and allow himself time to breathe. Distractions come in the form of disappearing to the coast for the weekend or drinking a bottle too many at his friends’ house parties.

E M P A T H E T I C | Ted will criticize your actions. He’ll weigh them against his own moral standing ( which, in all honesty, is far from spotless ) and decide whether you fit into his all-too black and white world of good and bad. But very rarely will he judge someone’s emotional response. He feels deeply and can struggle with keeping his own emotions in check, never one to bottle things up. He’ll speak his mind and speak it truthfully – and he’ll expect you to do the same in return.

I N T U I T I V E | He works on feelings over facts or proof, chasing after threads that he’s picked loose. Paired with his career as a journalist, Ted has learnt a lot about reading people. Subtle clues don’t go unnoticed. It helps that he is also adaptable, managing to mould himself to situations, capable of making them feel comfortable and at ease even if red flags and alarm bells are ringing through his head.

N E G A T I V E

E S C A P I S T ( - ) | For all the wanderlust emotion-fuelled drifting comes its less romantic side: the coping mechanism of disappearing when the going gets tough. He’s not a huge fan of confrontation and, trie as he might to stand his ground in the moment, he’ll do all he can to avoid having gotten to that point in the first place. Unresolved issues and a habit of blaming others hound his heels, leaving a trail of problems in his wake that he’d really rather not think about.

P E S S I M I S T I C | Motivation and enthusiasm are quick to dip when things don��t go Ted’s way. He tends to look on the negative side of things, expecting the worse from situations that are out of his control for the sake of ( he hopes ) being pleasantly surprised when he’s proved wrong.

I N D E C I S I V E | Ted hates making decisions and can be hesitantly doubtful. Because of this, he can also be somewhat weak-willed and will listen to other people’s suggestions to help form his own, acting on impulse rather than taking the time to sit and think things through. Admittedly this doesn’t extend to everyone, but if you are someone who Ted trusts he will struggle to resist your influence.

BRIEF BULLET POINT BIO:

[ one ] His childhood is one of warm memories. Of being pushed to succeed and encouraged to dream. Of fighting his brother for the TV remote and hammering on the bathroom door when his sisters take too long to do their makeup. Of the scent of burning oil lamps during Diwali and scrubbing bright pink powder from under his nails after Holi. Of his dad coming home late from work and pressing a kiss to his forehead before bed and his mum cutting his hair every time it grew long enough to get into his eyes. Life is good and he knows he’s lucky.

[ two ] A university scholarship. Sometimes someone lucky is chosen, they say. In this case lucky means from a non-white, working-class family who otherwise can’t afford the tuition fees. When the letter comes through the door to congratulate him on being the chosen student from his college, his father says one thing: “decision time”. The words send a chill down his spine, fingers curling into fists as if recoiling. He does not wish to make a choice; cannot deem any of his options better than the others. Some consider the seventeen-year-old to be indecisive. Up until now, he has led a life full of what-ifs and maybes. When asked to choose a favourite colour, multiple will be given. When questioned as to what he wants to do for a career, it will change daily. The problem is, Ted doesn’t like making decisions. It is not that he will be lead blindly, rather that he would prefer to do as someone else suggests. That way he has someone else to blame when it all goes wrong. It is safer this way, he knows. He lets the influence of his parents, friends and teachers help decide what to study and sits through his astrophysics degree without complaint ( he even enjoys it, for the most part, but it’s not what he wants to spend his life doing ).

[ three ] He has always been creative. Not artistically, nor musically– but writing? Writing he understands. Like a duck to water, he has always been able to put pen to paper and conjure up stories. Some are true. Some are less so. Fragments of sentences line his pockets, scrawled on the back of receipts and old tickets. There is an escape in the words. So too is there the truth, written for all to see. The bluish glow of his laptop screen illuminates his face in the darkness of his room, sleepless at 3am and desperate to make sense of the tangled vines that are his thoughts.

[ four ] His best friend dies. It’s a jarring moment. A reminder that nothing is permanent, that life itself is temporary. He runs away from London for a while after that. In search of some greater purpose, perhaps. Or maybe just in need of some time alone, free from the grinding mechanisms that keep the world churning, air thick with traffic fumes and streets full of people all with somewhere to be. Little has changed on his return but there’s an edge to his tone which suggests he is yet to make peace with all that has happened.

[ five ] Rules are made to be broken. It’s a cliché saying, but Ted finds a certain intrigue in pushing boundaries. Restriction and regulations keep people tame, and he most definitely does not wish to remain caged like a tiger pacing behind bars. He is full of potential and cannot stand to end up like all those who stay mute, constantly working to make money for those who don’t deserve it, allowing the rich and the powerful to play twisted games and spoon feed them their beliefs and ideals like false prophets. He doesn’t have steady employment, claims he finds it far too mundane to anyone who asks, and instead earns his meagre living to pursue his passion of journalism. Of uncovering truths and unmasking monsters. For the moment the majority of his income is made taking up odd jobs advertised on coffee shop cork boards along with the occasional payment from The Quibbler when Xenophilius can afford it.

INTERVIEW:

i. How do you feel about your current occupation?

He doesn’t like being on this side of an interview. Not knowing what he’s going to be asked makes him uncomfortable, sending an unwanted and somewhat unexpected creeping sensation down his spine. Ted tries to settle his nerves, taking a deep breath as he reclines against the back of his chair. “Depends on which one you mean. The journalism? Going great. I get to work to my own hours, get to approve most of my own pitches. It’s cool. As for the rest of it– well. Office cleaning. Babysitting. Dog walking. Gardening. You name the odd job, I’ve probably done it. It is what it is.”

ii. What song would you say describes yourself?

Ted’s nose wrinkles, half amused by the question and simultaneously thrown by it. “That’s– Right. Wow.” He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees and fingers steepling together in thought. He wouldn’t necessarily say he has a specific taste in music. Nor would he say he’s the sort of person who can pluck a song off the top of their head. With a shrug, he shakes his head. “Shit, I don’t know, let me get back to you on that.”

It takes his seven hours to choose.

He wonders if that says more about him to the interviewer than the song itself.

[ 21:36 ] From: Ted

Got one! https://open.spotify.com/track/28mBT1l5sJrfSWn8KM3JLT?si=c0JzznyfSWSYhPTAcXtSzw

iii. Does reputation matter to you?

“No, not any more.” It’s an easy one to answer, although he imagines others would disagree. “Like– who cares what people think of them? Why bother? You can’t please everyone, that would be stupid. As long as the ones you love are proud of you, that’s all that matters, you know?”

iv. What is your relationship with your parents like?

The smile that flashes across his mouth is bright, passing like an afternoon shadow only to return and make itself at home. As irritating as his mum’s near-daily calls are, and no matter how frequently his dad sends him links to vacancies at the Daily Prophet, he wouldn’t change any of it for the world. “We’re close,” he says fondly, knowing better than to spill all to an interviewer he a) doesn’t know and, by default, b) certainly doesn’t trust. There are people out there who hate him, hate his views of the world and the truth he spills ( he’s yet to get a death threat which, in all honesty, is a little insulting ). “It’s good. It’s a good relationship.”

v. What languages can you speak?

“A reasonable amount of Gujarati.” He takes English to be a given and dearly hopes the interviewer has the common sense to realise that. “Both my parents speak it fluently. My dad was born and raised in Ahmedabad and moved over here when he was my age and my mum is something like third-generation. Born in Harrow.”

vi. If your home was on fire and you could only save one item, what would you choose?

Ted whistles under his breath, leaning back in his chair to aim an unloving grimace at the ceiling. His tiny flat has never really felt much like a home and was more like a temporary space for him to exist in whilst he– well, he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. Saving up for somewhere bigger was laughable on his current paycheck. “I’d save my insurance policy details because claiming money back for the damages is going to be a fucking nightmare without them. Have you ever tried to talk to these insurance companies? They’ll literally make you sit on a phone in a queue for three hours listening to the same three ear-splittingly mind-numbing songs. As if losing my flat in a fire wasn’t bad enough, I’d then have to be put through musical torture? And it would all be on a payphone, I bet, given that I didn’t think to save my mobile. Shit, can I change my answer if I remember to take a photo of the right insurance documents before the fire starts?”

vii. Which Hogwarts University faculty did you study at? The Gryffindor School of Applied Science, the Ravenclaw School of Humanities, the Slytherin School of Social Science, or the Hufflepuff School of Art?

Amusement curls up at the edge of his lips like a cat in a patch of morning sunlight, settling in for a nice long stay. He doesn’t think about university often. Four years of lectures which he can only just remember the occasional fragment of information from. But there are life-defining memories there amongst the late night study sessions and the room-spinning hangovers. “I was a Gryffindor. Studied astrophysics, which– yeah, I didn’t really want to go into that field after I graduated. Space is amazing and everything but scientific research isn’t for me.”

vix. What is your social media username?

“My work accounts are all under quibblerted. Everything else is at tedtonks.”

#accepted

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