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truearchangel · 17 days ago

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@arachn0philia: 🎻 meme tag (I'm cutting myself off. I could have written more but it was to long. BE WARNED: general cw tags for Angel's entire existance ahead. That inclues abuse, drug use, talk of dying, ect. Read at your own discression). Word Count: 3,496.

Michael picked Angel up from work.

Michael picked Angel up from work because he had been there three days straight.

It ended up going like this—

At an ungodly hour of the day, the Archangel dressed to the absolute letter of who he was, ended up knocking on Alastor's bedroom door before the sun had even rose. There was some shuffling around inside, the very loud very annoying sound of static, and then it was flung open. Met with the unamused expression of the ever smiling demonic entities expression he didn't beat around the bush. "Where does Angel work?"

There's a buffer, a pause, and then Alastor was leaning amused on his cane. He certain changes his tune rather quickly. "Ah, looking for our local porn star, are we? You know, your niece went there before, didn't turn out to well for her. Or the arachnid."

"Uh-huh." A steady blink, his hand motioning toward himself. "She's not a diplomatic entity, and far to polite. Now, where does he work?"

V Tower is an interesting place, and they have pictures of just about every single room in the building on their sinstagram. They should really consider some better security if they were going to do that. Michael can only teleport or make portals to places he has been to or seen before, otherwise his magic ends up fumbling it a bit. In his life, he's been just about everywhere, Hell was a different story. But after just a small use of the internet, and Angel's online profile where he also took pictures at work, it really took nothing for him to find where he needed to go.

He even found a picture of Angel in his dressing room and that was exactly what he needed. Tucking his phone down into his pocket he snapped his fingers and a swirling sparkling gold portal spun to life in front of him. Stepping through quickly he snapped it shut behind him and darted his gaze around the area. Messy, chaotic, and—almost what he is certain was blood was splattered across the mirror. That was rather distressing.

As was the fact he didn't see Angel.

Michael did take his time, peeking around the room and picking a few things up. Making sure the other wasn't hiding somewhere before turning to the door. Grasping the handle he yanked it open and stepped through, the smell of—many things practically overwhelming him at once. Alcohol, cigars, what was probably weed or some other substance. There was also incredibly loud, incredibly annoying music playing from the speakers on the ceiling.

His gaze darted up toward them briefly, taking in the sight of the very colorful and bright ceiling before lowering back down. Angel was not hard to find from there, sprawled across the only bed in the room and most certainly unconscious. He really didn't look very well, from the angle that Michael was standing even he could tell his face was swollen. Hidden by the makeup he plastered on, the Archangel was almost afraid of what was underneath it. Pressing his lips together tightly he turned away from the sight of it and grabbed the nearest Imp worker.

"Excuse me, which one is Valentino?"

And he gets pointed to the tallest moth demon he's just about ever seen in his life. Taking a deep breath he straightened his coat and made his way over toward the "director", hands falling to tuck behind his back as he waited, patiently, for the man to finish his conversation with someone before interjecting. It's not hard to get his attention, Michael definitely stood out here. Their head swirls toward him, rose tinted glasses sliding down their face a bit as they took him in.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Well, he can't say that isn't justified. He has to remember, this is where Angel works, and this was his boss. "Michael, I came to pick Angel up?" Almost he flinches at himself for the fact it sounded like a question.

Especially when the moth demon snorts and takes a drag from his pipe. "Oh yeah? And who gave you the right to do that? Angel?"

"No, but he's been here for three days, I think that qualifies as overworking." His fingers dig into his wrist, and effort to keep himself calm. "On top of that, if you haven't noticed, he's not even conscious at the moment."

The expression he gets could only be boiled down to an I don't care, though the longer that Valentino stared at him the more something seemed to connect in his head. "You look awfully familiar, have we met before?"

He should count his blessings the answer to that is no. In any other situation, where he wasn't attempting to preserve Angel's relationship with this man? He would have eviscerated him. Michael doesn't need the excuse of the exterminations to just smite some useless sinner off the face of the universe. And he would enjoy it too. "No, but you met my niece Charlie once."

The pipe slips.

Just a little bit.

"The Devil's Princess? Would that make you—"

"Lucifer's brother." A quick confirmation, his head turning to glace toward Angel on the bed again. "An Archangel." Turning his gaze back toward the man, he continued just as polite as he head been. Asking for Angel, not demanding. It was the only way he was going to keep from making this bad for the sinner. "If you're planning on keeping Angel, on a professional level, I'm going to charge you for healing him and I'm not certain you're going to be able to afford the cost of angelic healing. Since he got hurt on the job. I'll write you a bill here and we can discuss it."

Michael snapped his fingers and a paper appeared between them, bright golden and an insanely long number printed across it along with a detailed breakdown of the cost of healing Angel. He could see the aggravation growing in the other, but either Michael was being annoying enough or he didn't actually want to break Angel more. "Fine! Take him, but I'll be calling his slipper twink ass later." What—what was a twink? "You'll have to carry him though, and that seems like it'll be a little difficult for you."

Disregarding the blatant remark at his height, Michael turned away and searched the room for something to throw over his naked friend. He finds a fluffy pink one which he assumes is the other's since it had extra sleeves and collects it from the hanger. Moving over toward the bed and ignoring the feeling of being watched he carefully sits Angel up on the bed and slides his robe over his body. Knotting the front to keep it as closed as he could, he supported the sinner's body against his chest and turned enough to snapped his fingers once more.

A new portal opened in the middle of the studio to Angel's room and he turned back to the other, slipping one arm around the other's waist and the other underneath his knees. Pulling him close Michael allowed his wings to unfurl from his back, nearly smacking an imp hovering at the side of it and lifted the both of them off of the bed.

Carrying Angel through the portal after that was easy and he eased the other's beaten body down onto the bed, reaching around him to flip the nightstand light on and give him more of an idea of what he was looking at.

It was a very long day.

After removing all the makeup from Angel, which seemed to be everywhere on his body and running a magical scan of him, the amount of injuries and intoxication that came back was more than simply alarming. He had spent actual hours mending broken bones, from large to small ones, trying to carefully turn him over without causing more pain. He had shattered tiny bones and hairline fractures in places that Michael didn't even know one could break bones.

One of the worst problems though was that whatever was in his system? Michael couldn't get out, and it was clearly what was hurting him the most. It seemed like more than that first drug he had healed the other from, this was something else, perhaps chemicals that Heaven hadn't even seen and he was running at a loss on what to do.

If he didn't heal Angel, and there was so much left to do, if he did manage to wake he was going to be in an incredible amount of pain.

He finally broke down and slipped off of the bed, grabbing his phone from the nightstand and flipping through his contacts. Finding Raphael's name he tapped his brother's contact and pressed the phone to his ear. Holding it against his shoulder he waved his hand and pulled the report on Angel into his grip, the new scan still showing all the injuries he had. At least Michael had healed his face, Angel considered it his biggest asset. One of them, at least.

"Michael."

"Raphael, I need your help. I'm going to forward a scan to you, can you look it over for me?" A flick of the paper and it vanished from his own grip in a flash of blue light. On the phone there's the sound of shuffling, papers being moved around and then the quiet sound of his brother humming.

"This a sinner?"

"One of the guests at the hotel, his name is Angel Dust."

"Looks like he got quite the beating."

"I know, I'm having a really hard time healing him. I think whatever is in his system—"

"Magical in nature?" To a degree, which was what he thought was making it difficult to stitch all the pieces back together. If he could remove the poison in his system, he could probably heal the rest of him. There though inlaid the problem.

"I've been healing him piece by piece and something feels like it's blocking me. Fighting back, almost."

"Could be in part related to a contract and the drug."

Michael blinked and frowned a bit at that. "What?"

"Well, he got the shit kicked out of him, right? If someone has permission to do that, healing him of those injuries would conflict with the deal."

He hadn't considered that. Asking sinners if they're in a contract with someone isn't exactly a conversation you bring up while laying in bed with them. Or in Michael's case mostly, playing with their pet. Listening to them bitch about work. Being just in their company and babysitting their animal. Truthfully, it's not his business either if Angel has a contract or not. It does complicate things. Even with his status in Heaven, he can't break or interfere with deals. Those are Hell's business, their problem, Heaven has nothing to do with them. But if he was fighting the constraints of a deal here, it just made fixing Angel harder.

Sighing quietly he adjusted the phone and pressed it firmer to his ear. "You got any idea on how I can do this then?"

"You'll probably have to heal him all at once. Remove the poison from his system and fix him up."

"I'll burn myself out doing that. To much power at once and if it backfires on me from this, I'll just knock myself out and we'll both be unconscious."

"So heighten your own power."

Excuse him? "Care to elaborate?"

A soft sigh is heard and then the creaking of a chair, Raphael leaning back at his desk. "Some of us use weapons to heighten our power, in your case I'd try music."

"Music."

"It's not as far fetched as it sounds, humans have been doing it for ages. They call it music therapy, we'll call it music healing. Play an instrument, push your magic into it and focus on Angel. It should be enough to heal him, you might still just exhaust yourself. At least not to the point on being on magical burnout."

"What am I supposed to use, Raphael? The harp? Harp him to life? His room is like a walk in closet. He has more clothes than I have paperwork." A wave at his hand, toward the room his brother cannot see. "He's not exactly hiding a grand piano in here."

"So use the violin. It has to be something you have a connection to anyway."

He flinches so hard he nearly drops the phone.

"Your choice, Michael. An instrument you're avoiding, or the sinner's life. I have wondered if they can overdose a second time down there." The phone clicked dead.

The tension in his body was clear to see, frozen where he was standing and his chest in knots. For to long he stands there, almost as if he was fighting himself. It's the whimper from behind him that has Michael spinning around, immediately taking in the lump on the bed, shivering and in agonyclearly. Fat Nuggets was nudging at Angel's head, making little sounds that were heartbreaking to hear and almost trembling in his tiny sweater Michael made him.

Heaven above him, for once he wishes he actually liked that fucking harp. As much as he liked the piano, it was only that he enjoyed playing it, there was no connection there like Raphael was implying. The violin—there was a reason he sat it down. The same reason that was a few floors above them, in that apple shaped room, enjoying his day like nothing was wrong. Like the world just goes on. Because it does. Angel's life, people would be sad but they'd move on, that's how it works. That's how the world has always rotated. The same with lose. Michael lost Lucifer and they had to move on.

But he locked away the parts that hurt.

That brought the memory up.

He doesn't want to see it.

Angel's life should be worth more than that though and it was, it was. Even if he didn't mean much to anyone else, he had become someone important in the time Michael's gotten to spend with him. The teasing, the almost flirting, the long conversations where he just rambles about work. Picking him up, healing him when he goes to far, playing with Fat Nuggets, just laying in bed together. That makeup session, the stickers that lined his mirror, the simple moments where things just—they just felt alright beside one another.

Fat Nuggets let out another little sad squeaking sound and Michael hung his head, his jaw working tight enough that one might hear the crack and grinding of his teeth.

"Fuck."

The portal to his bedroom spins to life beside him and he rushes inside, yanking the door to his closet open and pulling things from inside it. They get thrown wherever, not a single care in the world as he digs and digs through it all until he gets to the very back. The bottom, the empty space, the buried section of the area. He shoves a box out of the way, slides a panel in the wall to the side and reaches in. A velvet sleeves is grabbed, pulled carefully out and Michael stumbles his way from the closet back through the portal.

Angel was shivering and sweating now, something he didn't know if it was actually okay or not and a bit more panic settles into him. Fat Nuggets had curled up at his head, his snout buried in Angel's hair and seemingly watching Michael worriedly from where he was. He tries his best to reassure the little guy.

"It's okay, it's okay. I will fix it." And he will, he has to. Turning to Angel's vanity he placed the bundle down on top of it and slowly unwrapped the instrument trapped inside of it.

Over tn thousand years, it had sat in his closet, trapped inside the velvet that protected it, memories hidden far from his sight. Yet, the white and blue flower patterned instrument looked like it hadn't aged a single bit. Like it was as frozen in time as the memories he tried so strongly to avoid. The lump in his throat was growing heavier, making it almost difficult to breathe and already Michael could feel the tears that threatened to burn against his eyes, that wanted to fall.

He can't break yet.

He promised Nuggs.

The people in this room? People and pig. They're who mattered at the moment. They're all that there was in this place. Angel was important to him and the pig, and if he let him die a second death just because he didn't want to play a few chords on the violin, then what sort of protect and soldier of God was he?

Grasping the neck of the violin he picked it up with his left hand and then gently grabbed the bow with the other. He took a few steps back from the vanity, till he was more even with the bed and then swung the instrument up onto his shoulder.

One breath in, two out.

Many songs flooded his head, all of them that he knew as intimately as he knew the instrument that he was holding. He could play any number of them blind, could feel the music in his body already without making a single move. Still, he flips through the mentally quckily, for once that wouldn't hurt as much, and when he finds one—he swings the bow up.

The hairs of it land on the strings, his fingers trembling against the grip and he takes another breath to steady himself. It's easier, he finds, if he shuts his eyes. If he just focuses on what he's holding and what he has to do. When his grip steadies he experimentally pulls the bow, plays each of the strings and then makes the adjustments to tune it as needed. It doesn't take much, the violin was made with magic. When it sounded right he didn't give himself any pause, no chance to reflect on this.

He pushed it right into the first note.

The piece he picked to perform was actually one he had written after Lucifer fell, just to try and clear his head. The only piece he had written after that for this instrument. It carried a melancholy and almost desperate tune, one that he genuinely felt in that moment as each drag of the bow across the string felt like it was being pulled from his very soul. That wishful desire and almost begging for this to work, for Raphael to be right.

When he got the first few sounds out, when it started to ease into something that sounded right, he did start to burn his magic through the violin itself. He tried to focus on the instrument and on Angel, on the healing magic inside of him to stitch the sinner back together. He couldn't open his eyes to see if it was working, afraid of ruining the strength he found to do this.

Though as each note wrapped around the room he could steadily feel the warmth that settled through it, the light from the magic and the energy from who he was. It had to be doing something and that was the strength he ran with to continue what he was doing, to play his violin with more passion and hope.

At one point, he had those emotions naturally with the instrument. When he had stood beside his brother and played with him. When Samael still smiled with the weight of the sun, with Heaven's light and laughed with all the freedom in the world. At one point, there was nothing he loved more than being able to pick the violin up and hear the sound of it mixing with the other's. They had learned them together, had played off of each other. Like an echo, a duet that just continued with the most pleasant of music until a string snapped—and Michael ran his twin through with a spear.

The final note eased off of the strings and Michael opened his eyes, meeting the startled and perhaps confused expression of the person he had been fighting the last several agonizing long hours of his life to save. Those mismatched eyes were an incredible sight to see and the mere life in them was enough to finally drain whatever courage and energy that Michael still had.

And he crumbled.

Right under the weight of his own emotions.

Slipping to his knees he dropped the instrument carefully and simply curled in on himself, his arms wrapping around his waist as he tried to breathe though the sob that broke from his lips. His chest hurt like it had been carved right open, bleeding in his own hands and aching for just a fraction of the way things used to be and the relief that Angel was alright.

#arachn0philia #( I hope you'll forgive me for not formating it the way I format everything else )#( my computer lagged so hard just making the font small )#( I HOPE THIS IS OKAY )#( or that it was at least enjoyable to read )#○ — 「 asks 」 prayers answered.#long post cw;;#○ — 「 verse 」 the sword of god.

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charlie-grusin · 3 months ago

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"The Haunted Mask" (1995) : Movietalk # 02

“The Haunted Mask” is the story of a girl so tormented by her peers she neglects the true loves of her life and kills herself. She parades her severed head out on the streets as she allows herself to become a different beast – a being of malicious mischief with a greater urge for destruction from within and without – only to then renounce that creature persona from reality, embracing instead the one who could ever love back. It’s a suburban gothic survivor story with an ending you can expect from good ol’ Jovial Bob, that finest trick-meister of the horror trade (besides, it’s Halloween – what could go wrong with a hearty laugh?).

Kathryn Long is a force to be reckoned with. Where else could one find a performance so involved at such a young age that not only goes for long stretches of time waging havoc with throat-crushing gremlin voices and latex running deep in the eyelids but who also suggests (no, insists!) on eating live worm sandwiches not once, nor twice, but on eight-to-twelve takes? (Not even How to Eat Fried Worms could claim that!!) But what Long was able to achieve was not made solely on high theatrics: it’s like she really lived Carly Beth, pushing Stine’s original tale further towards its truth-inside-the-lie that as you want to reach through the screen and hold her and comfort her and reassure her that this too shall pass, you can’t help but get the feeling that you could also be her in those moments of vulnerability – that perhaps you were once Carly Beth… or that you are still very much the seemingly lonesome little girl lost in that hallway house of mirrors – that you can’t help but cringe and squirm whenever the monster takes full control because if experience has taught us anything it’s that it really is all too easy to make the inversion of the self and turn vile from the hurt and/or the fear of being hurt. It’s all too close, all too familiar… and it’s all the more reason she should be inducted to the Child Horror Star Hall of Fame pronto if such a thing is christened.

Every now and then it’s imperative that a Goosebumps story (or anything adjacent to that) must include in some form or another a creepy shopkeeper and/or salesman, and while the “Tall Thin Man” definitely matches the head on the bill it is not with the touch of the usual; the role as written by José Rivera and delivered by Colin Fox give this character a menace all the more heightened by the fact that it is ultimately a tragic one (he is a man doomed by admission to repetitively shred himself down to the marrows of his darkened soul), yet that isn’t to say director Timothy Bond didn’t manage to invoke any of that unbearable weight on his behalf; even with the occasionally shaky production levels the series offered as its norm, it’s quite impressive he still managed to bring his A game to TV movie cinematic heights as it is surprising he only did like, what, three two-parters(!?) – you gotta love that slow pan to the face in the mirror, that inspection of the abnormous skin devoid of music: “Very soon it will join the other failures on the shelf!” – and with much lighter affairs such as the “Monster Blood” special (which had compromised the series’ inability to adapt the other Bert I. Gordon-esque escapades of that green viscous substance with a mini-Airport movie on the fly), I can’t help but find it possible that Bond and crew may’ve also single-handedly spoiled the lot of us just by how (dare I say it) elevated their efforts seem in comparison. Episodes like “The Girl Who Cried Monster” or “The Haunted House Game” or even some of the other two-or-three-parters still hold up to this day on their own merits, of course… but damn. Damn.

Most Goosebumps stories are pure three-pages-a-thrill adventures where the monsters are either some big bad and hungry goop monster, a mummy, or “hey what if lawn gnomes were kinda bastards you know”, but when they getcha like this they getcha good. Viewer, listener, reader beware, you’re in for more than a scare.

#the haunted mask #goosebumps #timothy bond #r.l. stine #rl stine #carly beth #movie review #television #consider the following #movietalk #more to come

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chaosandcrimson · 4 months ago

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no way is that RHIANNON BOWEN.. they’re a 29-year-old HUMAN notoriously known for being MESSY & SELF-DESTRUCTIVE but there are some people who have seen them being LIVELY & PROVOCATIVE. if you ask me, they remind me a lot of little white lines on a glass coffee table, the moment when the beat drops, and always living life like you're running out of time, but that could just be because they’re considered the HARD-DRINKING PARTY GIRL around town. just keep an eye on them & see if their true colors shine through..

I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser Midnights become my afternoons When my depression works the graveyard shift All of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room

OVERVIEW

Name: Rhiannon Elaine Bowen

Nickname(s): Rhi, Rhia

DOB: February 20, 2095

Age: 29

FC: Suki Waterhouse

Height: 5'8"

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Pansexual

Occupation: DJ at Club Delirium

Relationship Status: Single (Closed)

[+] outgoing, lively, provocative [–] messy, imprudent, self-destructive

BIOGRAPHY

tw: drug use

Rhiannon's parents, Kyle and Darcy, were only 19 years old when she was born. They were still just dating at the time, and saying that her conception had been a little bit of an accident would be an understatement.

It was her father's decision to name her after a Fleetwood Mac song. Her middle name, Elaine, is a reference to The Graduate and was given to her by her Uncle Kip, who was one of her mother's closest friends at the time.

Her early childhood was fine, for the most part, if a little bit rocky at times. Her parents did the best that they could to raise her well, but they were barely adults themselves, and they didn't always make the most responsible decisions when it came to parenting. As a toddler, she spent a lot more time than she should have at house parties sitting on the laps of drunken strangers. They were all very nice, but they probably should not have been babysitting her.

When she was 9 years old, her parents had saved up enough money to have her little brother made. They named him Kipton, after Darcy's friend who had passed away a few years prior, which made Rhiannon feel some type of way that she was too young to articulate at the time. She was barely old enough to wrap her head around the concept of death and was now being forced to use her dead uncle's name every time she talked about her baby brother.

It did not help that, because their parents had grown up enough to now be more responsible as caregivers, Kip was given a wildly different experience during his early childhood than she was. Obviously, she didn't want them to be irresponsible with him, but that didn't stop her from feeling a little bit jealous—especially when he started showing an interest in hockey and they started pouring most of their time and resources into finding ways for him to play.

At that point, Rhiannon was a teenager and it didn't take long for her to start acting out. Her grades slipped, and she started dressing provocatively, drinking heavily, doing drugs, and sleeping around. She could tell that her parents hoped it was a phase, but when she barrelled into adulthood an intoxicated mess and showed no signs of stopping, that was when they tried to get involved.

They tried to intervene, after which she angrily asked them where they got off trying to parent her now, and what right they had to police her for behaviour they had exposed her to. Out of all the things that she has done, that is perhaps the one that she regrets the most, because deep down, she knows it wasn't fair.

After choosing to skip college, her twenties passed in a blur of loud music, strobe lights, and more illegal substances than any human should consume. She worked a series of dead end jobs to get by, but eventually managed to work her way into a steady gig as a DJ for hire, which as it turned out, she was actually quite good at. After a few years of working various parties and events, she was given a permanent spot as an in-house DJ at Club Delirium.

Rhiannon is rapidly approaching her thirties and is still as much of a mess as she was in her teens. Deep down, she knows that she can't live the way that she does forever, but the truth is that she doesn't know how to stop. She has been this person for so long that she has no idea who she is outside of it.

The only person in her life that she shows any semblance of responsibility toward is Kipton. In spite of everything, she loves her little brother and desperately wants to be the kind of person that he can look up to. No matter how hungover she is, or how little sleep she got the night before, she goes to all of his games.

MISC

Rhiannon is a talented singer and makes her own music. Her style doesn't really fit the vibe of a nightclub, so she rarely plays her own songs during her sets, but she occasionally overlays her own vocals over the songs that she does play.

#bio: rhiannon #cyberplexintro

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gatorinator · 2 years ago

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SO I just watched the miraculous movie and I would like to say two things:

1) I really enjoyed the movie

2) it’s a very bad movie

Spoilers

The movie, as a miraculous fan, was fun to watch. But it’s not because it was a good movie. In fact, I think fundamentally this movie failed both as a movie, and as a movie musical.

Bad movie

The animation was absolutely gorgeous. But the writing was bad, and even looking past that (I haaaate how the beginning of the movie was like the beginning of every single kids/tween movie ever) the pacing of the movie was abhorrent. Lots of the jokes didn’t land, the moments they tried to set up cut away scenes didn’t have enough set up or flow (the back and forth of adrien telling plagg how much ladybug prolly liked him vs Marinett saying how dumb chat was, the back and forth of Alaya and Nino talking to marinett and Adrian) and felt weird and disjointed, and any time it felt like a scene was finally starting to flow, the movie would cut away to something else.

I’m just trying to imagine being a new viewer of the movie who hasn’t seen the show, and it feels like a nightmare. Gabriel is set up but somehow both too much and not enough. The final battle doesn’t last long enough. There’s a lot to complain about (don’t get me started on the fart jokes I can’t. I was in HELL).

Bad musical

The most egregious of crimes was the fact that this was a movie musical. I am sad that my friend told me it was a musical right before we started watching it because that would have been hilarious, but still. When marinett started singing I got jumpscared because I completely forgot.

Sarah Z has talked about how in musicals, when characters emotions are too overwhelming to say, they sing. When their emotions are too overwhelming to sing, they dance. Fundamentally, if you are going to have characters burst into song, that song should be led my emotions. Most of these songs felt led by a “ah this is a musical we need to have them sing a song.” That’s why the music always surprised me. The emotional buildup wasn’t there.

Yes, marinetts voice (am I spelling her name right? Oh well) sounded wildly different, but I’d be able to forgive that if the songs felt driven and not just inserted.

The other problem is: most of the songs are bad musical songs.

The greatest showman has the same problem. The songs are so bland and generic, all these “I want” songs where the character never clearly defines what they want, or sad songs about loss that don’t have any substance to them. The movie tells marinett over and over again to chase her dreams—but what are her dreams?? The opening number shows her sketchbook come to life—but she doesn’t sing about wanting to be a designer, or help others, or be able to fit in with her classmates and not endanger her life every time she leaves the house bc of how clumsy she is.

The songs sound like generic songs that would play nicely over the radio, and that means they fundamentally fail as a musical song because musical songs should drive the plot forward or deepen our understanding of the character, and most of these songs do neither.

Don’t get me wrong

I had so much fun watching this movie. I squealed at adrien and marinetts (I am so spelling her name wrong this is embarrassing but I cannot be bothered to change it I’m so tired) interactions, i wheezed over whatever the heck Gabriel was doing, I awwed over the lovesquare moments. I also LOST MY MIND at some absolutely wild moments (looking at you, careless whisper. Also at long-haired Gabriel). But the movie was so . . . vague about having any sort of message aside from “be yourself, be true, don’t be afraid, follow your heart, be a hero, saving lives is good, also love is awesome.” All true things, but how does this apply specifically to marinett? Love is powerful, but it isn’t going to save me from getting crushed by a runaway Ferris wheel, ladybug. Also, why are you singing this has nothing to do with the moment.

TLDR

It was beautiful, fun, cheesy, and bad. 10/10.

#miraculous awakening #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #listen. is it a good movie? no. is it a good musical? also no. was it so fun to watch with a friend who also watches miraculous? absolutely!#there were moments that were SO GOOD so I absolutely think it’s worth it for that #there were also just a lot of moments that were so bad and I was like. who is in charge of this.#budget and time was all spent on animation so. we’re gonna get some GREAT giffsets

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wawawawawawawawawawawawawa · 2 years ago

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the anon who doesnt have aspd and taught myself empathy again here! i've never talked to a psych (self diagnosed autism) and as a teen i was p sure i had aspd (i Knew shit was strange w me and really wanted an explanation and once i figured out my mix of trauma and autism things made sense) coz lack of remorse and shit but i never actually really matched the rest of it -- i dont have substance abuse issues and never have, im p easily entertained, i've had the same three friends basically my entire life. i do though describe myself as the worlds most boring hedonist coz like yeah i sometimes have a hard time controlling my impulses and im motivated by fun but for me thats usually p simple -- easily entertained. read a book, video games, jump around to music. i AM frequently bored though?? like its my most frequent emotion and ive spent a Long time learning to cultivate my joy and really feel it properly. but im also the most easily excitable person i know. i dunno, i have v large emotions that appear then disappear quite quickly. a favourire hobby of mine since i was a kid has been to start arguments between the ppl i care abt and see how large i could make them in a single session then solve the argument w/o the ppl realising i'd manufactured and egged on the argument. which typing that out now seems uh. an interesting hobby. but late last year i told my younger brother and he laughed coz its a v me thing to do and was like "yo thats fucked. pls stop doing it to me" so since then ive mainly tried to just like playfully tease ppl in a normal way coz cognitively i understand its a fucked thing to do and im trynna be like, a decent person who doesnt go outta my way to play w ppl for funsies. which yeah that uh... maybe i Should look into aspd more again, i did a fairly shallow look into it as a teen and relating to azula as much as i did as a kid (and izaya as an older teen/young adult) was deff a sign of smth

i've followed you on this blog for a while (i think you'd only had it for a couple weeks when i first followed u?) so yeah i did know the story abt u and ur fiance! v cute

i feel like maybe we need a different identifier than "the anon who doesnt have aspd" because that might not be, uh. accurate! i have o clue why a lot of people with aspd seem to congregate around my account but i guess this is an aspd helpline now??????? whuh????

like im not complaining its just. how did i get here

also i think ive deadass used the "worlds most boring hedonist" descriptor for myself before and i deal w chronic boredom the same way you do- i have a LOT of hobbies and i plan elaborate projects and that entertains me but only temporarily

and thats the thing about aspd! it- like every other disorder- is a spectrum. you might not have substance abuse issues, and i do. you did.... your interesting hobby, and i find it morally fucked!* i have no idea your relationship with criminality, and i got fired for stealing

*i have done something similar but i have a moral policy of like, only fucking with people who Deserve It. who deserves what varies case by case and what exactly i do... i need to explain weird spiritual stuff to go in depth andyeah im not really itchin to be called crazy on tumblr dot cum

aspd in general is very misunderstood and no literature really focuses on what its like to have the disorder, only the perceived damage being around someone with the disorder will bring- which is why i initially self diagnosed thru tumblr posts from ppl talking about their symptoms in a serious educative way

sometimes i think like, maybe i don't have aspd, maybe i'm just autistic and i'm spreading misinformation- but i never really felt "at home" with other autistic people. its like- yeah i click better with other autistic people, but i'm still masking, i'm still faking, and even in this situation i can drop the mask partially but not fully. growing up with a personality disorder and trauma in communities largely filled with autistic people with trauma, very quickly teaches you that there's something different about you. it's an isolating, traumatizing feeling- my experience with this was mainly symptoms of npd, but like.... knowing you have a problem, wanting it fixed, and knowing nobody around you knows how deep the problem runs, and might even find its existence laughable or dangerous... it's isolating! and its shitty!!

generally i tend to Know if things i'm doing are bad or not, i just tend to not care in the moment, because it's better than being bored! entertainment wins out over everything. it's actually kind of terrible; i'll do stuff just to see a reaction out of people- it's like izaya, honestly, what happens when people are pushed to their breaking points?

thats kind of how i got so much into angst and psychological horror. not only did i want to break the characters, i wanted to break my audience. i'd tell my friends detailed stories about torture partly because i was interested in my story, mostly because i wanted to see their horrified reactions. i wanted to see how far was "too far," and i keep that stuff in my current narratives- i keep the pov extremely tight and do silly little tricks with narrative and formatting to make the audience feel like they're Really There

so yeah look into aspd. do it boy listen to me im the ps5 im speaking to you inside your brain. do it boy do it

#wasks #srry if ur not a guy it meme :(

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fruityuncleskeletor · 7 months ago

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It's really hard to feel bad for people with several million dollars in their accounts and thats just how the cookie crumbles. Like I know Katy Perry has had a rough going, but then I remember she recently sold part of her music rights for over TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS and I can't extend that much compassion anymore.

I could sit here and be annoyed at rich folks of all sorts 24/7. I am THAT salty.

But my takeaway from all this is that: - being financially responsible is very hard and NO fun, because my millennial brain tells me to always give in and treat myself, not caring about tomorrow, but sadly, in my case, I am Kitten and I am Daddy too. I know how empty my wallet is and will be and I refuse to go into debt to be even more miserable in the future than I am now. On one side I am crying because I want nice experiences and fun and on the other side I am crying because I would love to be able to offer myself fun and experiences and I can't. - there is a lot of shame woven into the culture of enjoying things. The whole "buy experiences not goods" can only be a thing if you have disposable income to begin with. I said earlier how I will feel left out because my friends will all get to see SKZ and I won't. But like, that's how it's always been. I haven't been on a holiday since 2009. I use my time off either to recover from work or to travel to my home country and listen to my parents be religious nuts and spew more hate than the previous time. I should be used to it by now (I'm not). I guess I am also like a rich person because I don't like paying for things. They're only nice if someone else pays for me and I don't have to worry about MY money leaving my wallet. - the way I allow myself to enjoy things, SKZ included, is rooted in some very unhealthy mechanisms which stuff like Bubble and fanfic and the fandom itself only encourage. The only reason why I am not suffering more actively is because not a single soul interacts with my writing and your asks are the first not-hate ones I received since joining the fandom one whole year ago. Until now, my writing and I used to be embraced and welcomed in every fandom. Maybe I've finally aged out of that hopeful life stage, and my pessimism is no longer palatable to younger people. Either way, that's been sad too and it's contributed to my overall despair. In the past, I always had friends to commiserate with about whatever hardships came my way, now I have no one who's as isolated and forced to be responsible as me. - the line "gave up my youth for my future" feels like a slap in the face for me because here I am - a straight A student who never partied, never did drugs, never got into trouble, only studied their ass off because the adults GUARANTEED ME that hard work pays off. Nowadays the people hiring are rich fucks who bought their diplomas online and who think everyone's diplomas are just as lacking in substance and therefore worthy of ridicule and dismissal. Earlier today I was telling a non-fandom friend that I feel I will leave my little SKZ group through the back door (heh) and quietly because I will feel too embarrassed being the only one who hasn't seen the boys live. But I am sure I will get used to that discomfort like I get used to a lot of uncomfortable things because I get more serotonin from having people to talk to than "enjoying fandom on my own" (which is some Gywneath Paltrow-level ignorant kind of advice). Honestly, I don't wanna dwell in the middle of anger, but outside of it is depression and that's even less appealing.

#ask #answered #rant

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the-darkness-does-not-bargain · 2 years ago

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For you ask meme!!: AIR, EARTH, ILLUSION, PAIN, STRENGTH, TRUTH

🥰🥰

Air: WIP's first line. I can do you one better. Here's the first paragraph of the next SCP chapter:

He sat across from her like it was nothing unusual, positioning his dinner tray in front of him with practiced ease. Beatrice noticed numbly that every item on said tray was meat: the same roast chicken that she had, along with marinated beef tips and a bowl of what appeared to be cooked rabbit livers. She couldn’t tell exactly what was in his drink cup, but by the smell she guessed that it was dairy-based and likely alcoholic.

Earth: What inspires me most? Music and other forms of media. Also my own life experiences, like when I brainstormed a fluffy fic idea about sending the OCS girls on a cruise while I myself was on a cruise. Stuff like that.

Illusion: Best line of description in my WIP. Ohoho, you’re asking to gush about my descriptive skills, which is the one writing skill of mine that I have unwavering confidence in. I can’t do just a single line, so take this section from Dragon Age au where Ava learns to phase under the cut:

You try to imagine yourself as a nebulous thing, a form without substance, an impression, like a rainbow after a storm. Rainbows are just impressions, your teachers told you once. They are a reflection and a refraction of light on moist air. They don’t really exist, but they do because you can see them. You can even make them, under the right circumstances.

If you become a rainbow, something that doesn't really exist, can you then go back to existing like nothing happened?

"Focus, Ava."

Right. Focus. Be the rainbow, Ava. Your Friend repeats the word in your mind with a kind of curiosity. Rainbow.

It’s not instantaneous. Your body stubbornly resists, but your mind is stronger. You insist upon it, pressing non-substance into your bones and forcing your skin to refract. You feel unbound, untethered, weightless. Free.

“It’s working, Ava,” Solas says, sounding awed. “Hold steady now. Pass your hand through the flower.”

You risk opening your eyes. When you do, you see Solas in front of you, and he holds the blood lotus up to your eye level. You start to raise your hand, only to stop and stare at it as the breath is stolen from your lungs. When you chose to visualize rainbows, you meant it in a figurative sense, but this is not figurative. Your hand, your arm, your entire body is light, twisting and undulating inside the vague outline you described earlier. Colors, innumerable, unimaginable colors shift and dance in the space where your skin, muscles, and bones should be. There are so many, including some you’ve never seen before, but chief among them is the familiar soft gold of your Friend.

Pain: Answered here, but I'll go into a bit more detail. This one-shot would be about Ava and Bea having a quick but rough encounter before Bea has to leave for work or something. At first, everything seems fine, but after Bea leaves, Ava starts spiraling. She doesn't want to call Bea and derail her day though, so she just kind of sits in a dark place for a few hours. Bea gets home and immediately realizes what's wrong, and does lots of really sweet aftercare until Ava feels better. The aftercare part keeps making me tear up 🥲. Me to myself: girl, get up.

Strength: Answered here

Truth: Do I like my writing? I do! I don't love everything I've written, and I once smashed one of my flash drives with a hammer because I hated everything on it, but generally I do really like my work.

#ask meme #thanks buddy 🥰

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newmusicradionetwork · 2 years ago

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AZRA Inspires Listeners To Go “ALL OUT” On New Unapologetic Self-Love Anthem

Los Angeles based artist AZRA is slated to release her new single “ALL OUT” on March 3rd, 2023. The substance pop singer progresses from her recent punk rock version of Alicia Keys’ “Girl on Fire” and plunges into an era of limitless, authentic self-love. Having garnered the attention of esteemed media like PopWrapped, LA Weekly, Hollywood Life, and The Hype Magazine, the powerhouse songstress seeks to continue invigorating and empowering each of her Azradeities with this single, along with anyone who has ever felt like an outcast or misfit while trying to find their place in the world. “ALL OUT” is a one way ticket to AZRA’s safe-haven – the 6th Dimension – where any and everyone has the freedom to fearlessly and proudly embrace their truth. In moments of insecurity and self-doubt, “ALL OUT” is the song to blast at full volume to gain self assurance and the courage to confront anything in life holding you down. AZRA gives listeners permission with this track to liberate themselves and break the silence they’ve had between themselves and the world. This electrifying single embodies influence from pop icons like Kelly Clarkson, Pink, and Lady Gaga, who are known for powerhouse vocals imbued with passion, meaning, and charisma. “ALL OUT” is the first single introducing AZRA’s upcoming summer EP, setting the tone for this new era to be strong and stormy. Written in Joshua Tree, “ALL OUT” resides within her self-proclaimed sound, Substance Pop, that embodies elements of pop, rock, soul, punk, dance, and shines with purpose above all else. This substance pop track at its core is cathartic, energetic, unhinged, and implores listeners to look inside themselves and embrace what they find. Listening to “ALL OUT” feels like the wind in your face, things flying in slow motion, lighting the world on fire (symbolizing LIFE), and painting the whole town in color. This song is for the misfits, the rebels, and anyone that feels cast aside without a sense of belonging. “ALL OUT” exists at the boiling point between self-doubt and finally embracing the parts of ourselves that we’ve been unfairly taught to be ashamed of. AZRA has gone through her whole life with an electric enthusiasm and intensity that hasn’t always been positively received or accepted; the single serves as a dialogue between AZRA and her younger self that reassures the value she has through all her recklessness. She’s processed these experiences and come to the conclusion that living with your heart on your sleeve will always be better than diluting yourself to meet society’s expectations of how we “should” be. More about AZRA: Pop-rock goddess AZRA is a South Korean-born, Bay area-raised, now multidisciplinary Los Angeles based independent artist making waves with more than just her music. As an accomplished author (The Cupcake Theory), motivational speaker, dancer, model, and musician, AZRA has effectively established herself as a formidable force in the entertainment industry with a promise that any artistic expression she shares with the world will have substance, depth, and purpose behind them to uplift others along their life’s journey. She shares her story through her signature Substance Pop sound – an entirely new genre of music that channels cathartic power pop, rock, dance, and metal influences with heavy 808 beats to electrify your entire body. Keeping in line with the status quo has never been something of priority to the powerhouse songstress. Invigorated by an unshakeable boldness, empowering angst, and life-long affinity for performance, AZRA has learned the importance of never backing down regardless of what society deems acceptable. Channeling this philosophy into creating the 6th Dimension, a whole new world where you can live life to the fullest and be whoever you’ve always wanted to be, AZRA approaches every live performance with the goal of transporting her audience into the 6th Dimension along with her. Breaking through barriers of complacency and uniformity has allowed this powerhouse to embrace her crown, unapologetically, and inspire her fans to do the same. She immigrated to San Jose, CA with her family at 9 years old, and did whatever it took to overcome the hardships that came with having to rediscover oneself after a life-altering change. AZRA now seeks to empower others to fearlessly follow their dreams in spite of their hardships. Connect with AZRA Read the full article

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alluremin · 4 years ago

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catch 22

pairing: jeon jungkook | reader

genre: fwb to lovers , college!au | fluff, smut, light angst

warnings: explicit sex; oral (f receiving), fingering, penetration w/o protection, dirty talk, light dom x sub themes, candid sex talk, jimin is a player, jungkook is a frat boy

premise: you and your best friend had agreed: college was for a good time only, no serious relationships were necessary. who knew that a frat boy would be the one to shake up that notion?

word count: 7.2k

At this time of night, you know you should expect to see his eyes following every movement your body makes. It was like you two were magnets of opposite charges, always attracted to one another regardless of how much your substance of choice was affecting your decisions. It’s bound to happen, almost as if by fate.

It was a beautifully toxic connection you shared with him; a vicious cycle comprised of sex, weed, booze, and good music, never in any particular order.

When you glance to the corner of the room surrounded by a hazy cloud of euphoria, the boy in question pulls himself at attention, elbows on his knees, wavy hair falling in front of his eyes. They bore holes into your own as if to say I’m waiting for you to join me, sweetheart.

Who were you to say no to that?

You know the power you have over him and consequently, every movement you make is intentional; your pivot from the makeshift dance floor, the sway of your hips with every step, the way you push your hair over your shoulder, and the smirk you give him when his eye contact fails to break with your own. The mix of alcohol and marijuana in your body makes you feel like you’re moving in slow motion, in the best way possible.

You had him wrapped around your pretty little finger.

No hesitation ran through your body as you sit in his lap and take the joint from his hands. “I was wondering when you’d come back from your stage, tiny dancer,” he teases.

“Oh please, Guk, don’t act like you weren’t enjoying the show,” you smirk at him, taking a drag from the stick in your hands. Next to the two of you, Yoongi scoffs at your banter and takes the joint from you.

Once your hands are free from the vice, it opens your fingers up to run your hands down the length of Jungkook’s torso.

“Oh, believe me, I was. That doesn’t mean I didn’t feel jealous when everybody else got to see the show too, though.” A fake pout takes over his features. One of his hands travels downward from its grip on your waist to settle on the hem of your emerald dress. “Is this new?” His stare is obvious at the space where your dress meets your thigh.

“Mhm, I picked it up a few days back. Like it?” The smirk is evident in your voice, not like you’re trying to hide it. The garment had accomplished its job: make your flavor of the month drool.

His gaze slowly leaves your smooth thigh and reaches your eyes, his hands still toying with the edge of the fabric. “I know what you’re doing tonight.”

You feign innocence, “Oh? What am I doing?”

“Seducing me... As if you need to.” He laughs at your fake pout, taking the hand that hadn’t snaked back around your waist to run softly along your lips. He leans in until your foreheads meet. “It’s working, by the way.”

You don’t answer, instead, you close the small gap between your lips.

“Jesus, you two, just go upstairs already,” Yoongi groans, pushing at your knees.

Jungkook giggles into the kiss, and for a second the little cloud of lust surrounding the two of you dissipates. A little pang hits your heart just then, as you break your kiss from the boy below you.

If you had met under different circumstances, maybe the feelings you had brewing in your chest for Jungkook would be less offensive. But you were just a hookup, a weekend bed partner. Nothing more, nothing less. You pushed them aside and stood before offering Jungkook your hands. He grabs them without hesitation, and suddenly the lust is restored.

You follow the familiar path you’ve found yourself traveling every weekend for months. The fraternity’s house was a maze, but you knew it like the back of your hand, and you couldn’t find it in you to feel shame about it. You drag the boy behind you without a single glance backward. You didn’t need to, knowing his eyes didn’t leave your ass the whole time giving you the boost of confidence you crave.

When you reach his bedroom at the end of the hallway, Jungkook wastes no time spinning your body and pressing you hard into the door. The impact of his lips against yours pulls a mewl from your throat, your body keening against his in desperation. He responds by slipping his tongue into your mouth.

By now, the two of you had a routine, and the way you moved was almost like a dance; his arms sliding under to lift you, his spin in route to his bed, your grip in the hair at the base of his skull.

His body follows yours downward when he drops you on his sheets, never breaking the connection of your lips. “You don’t waste time anymore, huh, Gukkie?”

He sucks his teeth at the nickname, and attacks your neck, drawing a moan from you.

“And you still act like you’re going to be in charge, but we both know that's not true, is it, princess?” You blush at his words.

Of course, he was in charge, but he has yet to realize that the brattier you act, the more you get exactly what you want. You wondered how many more drunken hookups it would take for him to catch onto your game.

His hands quickly reach down to pull his t-shirt over his head, and you never get tired of the view that meets you when he does. The small waist, bulky chest, defined abs, and tattoos covering the expanse of his left side - it should be illegal to look as sinful as he does hovering over you. Jungkook proved that God does have favorites.

You sit up on your knees quickly to pull your dress over your head and don’t miss the small gasp that leaves the man in front of you. Forgoing underwear this evening seemed like the right choice, and this moment proves that for you.

“Jesus, Y/N, you’re gonna be the death of me.” Jungkook’s hand traces down your subtle curves before pulling your kneeling form against his own. You don’t miss the way the cold metal of his belt feels on your lower stomach, the anticipation building in your body for what’s about to happen.

As his mouth moves toward yours, just before they meet, you whisper, “Is that a promise?”

That’s all it took for him to finally snap.

Before you know it, you’re on your back and his head is between your legs. With the drugs and alcohol flowing through your system, every movement his lips make against your inner thighs feels like fire. You’re just about to sit up and groan at his avoidance of your center when he wraps his lips around your clit like his life depends on it.

Your head flies back to hit the pillow beneath it and you swear the coil in your stomach already begins to twist. Jungkook had a lot of things he could brag about. The top three? His body, his voice, and his devilish tongue, in all of its glory.

His mouth continues its assault on your bud, one of his hands reaching underneath to insert two fingers into your aching center.

“Fuck, Guk,” you moan. He hums, sending a vibration through your core. You were embarrassingly close to cumming. It was like you were under his spell.

“I can feel you squeezing around my fingers,” his voice drips with honey. The low tone was enough to push you over the edge. You saw stars behind your eyes and euphoria washed over your entire body. “That’s my girl.”

You don’t miss the sweet comment in your bliss, choosing to not think about it too much so it doesn’t swallow you whole.

Jungkook crawls upward and crashes his lips onto yours as your hands expertly undo his belt and the buttons of his jeans. He leans back on his legs to assist you in ridding himself of the last pieces of clothing that separate the two of you, breaking the seal of your lips and looking at you with a gaze that made you stop breathing for a moment.

It’s not like this was the first time you’ve seen him naked, far from it, but he never failed to take away your breath. If a human could be perfect, you’re sure it would be him.

He wastes no time in coming back to you, lips on yours as he lines himself up with your entrance. He pushes in and his pretty eyes screw shut at the feeling. “Fuck, always so tight for me, baby girl.”

Your ego only has a second to absorb his compliment before your own senses are overtaken by the pleasure between your legs. “Give me a second, Guk, you’re so big,” you say as seductively as you can manage, but you know your words come out as more of a whine.

He only smirks before his lips work their magic against your neck. His tongue licks at the spot below your ears before he bites and tugs at your earlobes. Aside from his dominating personality in bed, Jungkook’s soft side for you always showed through, always waiting for permission, always putting your comfort first.

You nod your head in a gesture for him to continue.

There was no build-up to his bruising pace. As soon as you feel the grip of one hand on your waist and the other under your shoulder you know you’re not going to be able to walk straight the next day. His hips snap against yours, and with the angle of your legs, you can already feel your orgasm building again.

His mouth finds yours again, but the way he kisses you juxtaposes the way he’s fucking you in force and feeling. Jungkook’s lips are soft and sweet against yours, perfectly contrasting the hard thrusts from his hips. The combination alone draws a string of uncontrollable moans from your throat, one particularly hard thrust prompts you to scream his name.

“Shh, baby, I don’t want to get shit from the other guys anymore,” he pushes two of his fingers into your mouth. You moan again at their intrusion and happily accept them, not missing your opportunity to look at him with innocence in your eyes as you suck on the digits.

“Fuck.” He pulls his mouth from your fingers and before you can blink, he has you flipped onto your stomach. He lifts your hips a little to place a pillow underneath, and pushes himself back inside of you, all so quickly that you hadn’t even taken a breath before he was thrusting into you again.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the new angle. Jungkook drapes his body over you as he fucks into you from behind, using his tattooed hand to move your hair from your face. The same hand takes the liberty to wrap around your throat with the pressure he knows you like. When you smile at the feeling, he can’t help but kiss the corner of your mouth.

If only you knew the effect you had on him matched the one he had over you.

“Touch yourself for me, princess,” he whispers in your ear and you swear you’ve never moved faster; it was almost as if your movement were involuntary. His wish was your command.

“Guk, ‘m so close,” you manage to squeak out in broken breaths.

“Me too,” he groans. “Ladies first?” At that, he sits up and angles your hips higher to hit your g-spot with more force than before. In combination with your fingers working circles into your clit, the new angle is all it takes for you to come crashing down.

The man above you follows soon after, your involuntary clenching forcing him to meet his end. He quickly pulls himself out and aggressively strokes his release onto your back.

The collapse of your body causes the bed to seemingly swallow you whole. Jungkook falls directly next to you moments later. You both lay there, panting, blissed-out messes. His hand reaches up to push your hair off your face. When you make eye contact with him, you both turn into giggly messes. The current atmosphere of the room was lighthearted, contrasting the lecherous one that surrounded the two of you for most of the night.

Soon the post-sex haze fades, and you feel the sticky feeling of his release on your back and you feel dreadfully uncomfortable.

You kick your leg at the boy next to you. “Guk, towel please?”

He hums and rolls himself off the bed, somehow landing on his feet effortlessly. As he walks toward his bathroom, you admire the view. Who were you to deny yourself the simple pleasure of staring at his ass, if the opportunity presented itself?

He uses the towel to wipe the stickiness from your skin. His gentleness would surprise you, based on how different it was from how he approached sex, but you’ve been seeing Jungkook for a little over two months now. He had a surprisingly sweet demeanor. The towel is quickly discarded and you hum as you sit up.

“Thank you,” you giggle at him before standing up and heading toward the bathroom, not forgetting to retrieve your crumpled dress from the floor.

“Hey, are you going home?” Jungkook asks quickly when he notices the garment hanging from your hand.

“Um, I was thinking about it. Why?” You say hesitantly while you stand at the threshold of the bathroom, you suddenly feel shy under his gaze. An indiscernible look passes through his eyes at your words.

“I just… I can take you back if you want me to. Or... I mean, only if you want to… you could stay here. Maybe?”

This was new to you. You’ve never seen Jungkook look so unsure of himself. Normally, the picture of confidence personified, the frat boy in the bed before you looks small, almost timid. You could feel your heart doing backflips at his proposal.

It wasn’t the first time you and Jungkook had spent the night together, but that was normally only when you two were both too incapacitated to operate a car. This feels different, somehow; if it was because you started to realize how you feel about Jungkook, you aren’t sure.

But what you were sure of was that you could never say no to him. You wordlessly make your way back to the bed and curl up in his arms. If nothing else, you can feel his love for the night and move on with your day by morning. As the end of another cycle draws near, you silently hope it will begin again, as it always does. Jungkook, as he holds you against his chest, is the last thing on your mind when you drift asleep.

You suspect he’s going to take up a permanent residence in there, no matter how much you try to avoid it.

The next morning, you wake up before Jungkook. After dreaming of him all night, you’re absolutely terrified by the prospect of being there when he wakes up.

There was no fear that he would stir with your movements about his room as you collect all of your things. He slept like a rock and you’re pretty sure that not even a tornado, hurricane, or any other apocalypse-causing natural disaster could wake him up in the morning.

You sneak out of his bedroom wearing his massive t-shirt and a pair of boxers he had lent you before you fell asleep last night. The door clicks shut and of course, Yoongi’s bedroom door across the hall is wide open as you’re leaving.

The shit-eating grin on his face is enough to convey his amusement at the situation before him. He raised his hands to his forehead and salutes you, prompting your middle finger to raise and give him a salute of your own.

You don’t give him enough time to make a comment to you about the clothes before scurrying to the stairs. You sit on the top steps and hastily slide on your boots. Thankfully you chose the chunky Doc knockoffs in lieu of the heels you were originally planning. You were already obviously doing the walk of shame, at least you had decent shoes to do it in to keep a sliver of your dignity.

Once you reach the bottom of the stairs, you note the state of the party room on your way to the front door. It looks like a booze-filled bomb had gone off; there were red solo cups covering the floor and the smell of alcohol hit you squarely in the face. You quicken your pace because if you stay any longer, you could see yourself getting violently ill.

The sun nearly burns your eyes out of your head when you open the door. You have to take a second to adjust to the light before you can move down the front steps. The cul-de-sac where all the frat houses resided was in a similar state to what you saw inside. Finals week was over and everybody took the opportunity to celebrate it.

Your phone starts vibrating in the small clutch in your hand when you reach the sidewalk. The name on the screen pulls a groan from your throat, you were too hungover to be berated right now.

“You’re lucky I have your location, otherwise I would kill your stupid ass for leaving me to wonder where you went last night,” Jimin’s smirk was evident through the phone.

“Should I really have to tell you when we’re in Jungkook’s fraternity where I’m going to end up when the night ends?” You quip back at him and he giggles at you.

“When are you coming home? Last I checked you were still there.” You hear shuffling on his end of the line and you suspect that he’s just now getting out of bed himself.

You pull your phone away from your face quickly and realize it’s almost noon. “Shit, I didn’t realize it was that late. I’m walking back now, I’ll be home in a minute.” You don’t wait for his response before hanging up.

It was moments like this that you were glad your apartment was only a street over from the fraternity village. When you and Jimin had scouted out your place, it was solely for the price and quality that you chose it. Your proximity to your campus’s party central was an added bonus.

It’s comical the way Jimin stands on the balcony with his sunglasses on and his hip popped to the side. You can’t help but stop at the door to your building and laugh at him.

“I thought shackers were supposed to be out by 11?” He asks cheekily.

“Oh please, when you find some poor girl to share your time with, I go whole weekends without seeing you!”

His jaw drops in feigned offense, but he says nothing. He breaks the character with a chuckle and reenters your apartment, you do the same. When you reach the second story, your hand doesn’t even make it to the doorknob before your roommate pulls it open. He grabs you by the wrist and drags you through the door.

“You can shower when you tell me what happened last night. We weren’t even there for an hour before you disappeared.” He spins you by your shoulders to sit you on the couch.

To anybody on the outside, Jimin and your relationship was odd, but you made it work. Two years ago, you and he had met at a party, shamelessly flirted, kissed, and immediately recoiled. Kissing Jimin felt wrong, and he shared your sentiment in that regard. From then on though, you and he had been thick as thieves, attached at the hip, and any other expression that conveyed best-friendship. You two told each other everything, including anecdotes about your sex life, which is usually the point at which any outsider to your relationship got uncomfortable with your candidness.

“What can I say, Jimin, I went there for one purpose and I very quickly got exactly what I wanted.” You giggle, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You’re hoping he didn’t catch it.

Of course, though, the boy above you knew you like the back of his hand. Nothing you could do or say at this point would stop the quizzical look in his eyes. “Spill, Y/N.”

You dropped your head and rubbed the back of your neck before you dramatically threw yourself into the back of the couch. “I think I’m starting to like him,” you admit, with as little emotion as you can muster. You don’t know why, but the urge to cry right now is strong. You toss the feelings back into the deep abyss that is your subconscious before they can take over.

“Woah, hey!” He drops onto the couch beside you with concern in his eyes. “It’s time to run. We don’t do feelings for people in this house, were young, out-of-control college kids remember. We don’t have time for that.”

“I know, Jimin, but he’s so addicting. Like one minute he is drilling me into the mattress and the next he’s kissing my cheek and telling me how pretty I am. It makes my brain go to mush!”

“Damn, he’s good.”

“Jimin,” you warn. The look in your eyes tells him to watch his words carefully.

“Alright, in all seriousness, you know what kind of guy he is. I’m honestly surprised that you’ve slept with him for this long. I don’t remember the last time you’ve kept a guy around for longer than a couple of weeks.”

It was true. It sounded worse than it was, you would go through bursts of “uncontrollable horniness” as Jimin called it. You could go months without having sex, but then you would find a guy to sleep with for a couple of weeks until you got bored or he tried to cuff you, then you would cut it off and move into another dry spell. It was unconventional sure, but it worked for you. Jimin only had so much room to make fun of you for it, he was a certified man-whore.

“I don’t know, dude. I know I should stop because I can feel myself getting attached to him, but I just… I don’t want to.” You groan at your situation. Why did you have to pick the most perfect human on the planet as your booty call?

“Which is exactly why you need to stop. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, babe, but I doubt he shares yours.” You only nod at his statement and stare blankly at the ceiling.

A few moments of silence pass between the two of you before he pats your thigh and stands up. “C’mon smelly, go take a shower, you smell like dick,” Jimin grins at you and reaches out his hand to drag you off the couch.

You half-heartedly laugh at him and take his hand. He pushes you toward your bathroom before going back to the kitchen to make the two of you something to eat.

The person staring back at you in the mirror looks like she’s been hit by a train. There’s mascara smeared under your eyes and your hair closely resembles a bird’s nest. While you’re rubbing the makeup from your eyes with a wipe, your phone vibrates on the counter next to you.

*12:13 pm*

Gukkie: Hey, when did you leave? Sorry I slept through it haha

Speak of the devil and he doth appear.

You ignore the text and strip before hopping into the shower. Silently, you hope that the scalding water will burn last night from your memory.

“Damn, was your shower long enough? I thought I was going to have to send a rescue party in there,” Jimin teases as you step out of your bathroom.

“The only way to kill the diseases you pick up in a frat house is to burn them off your skin.”

You slide into the stool at your kitchen counter as Jimin sets a mug of your favorite tea and waffles in front of you. You thank him with a smile and he only smiles back before going back to his own nearly finished plate of food.

“Do you want to talk about it some more?” Jimin asks you, and for a second you consider playing dumb as to the subject he’s referring to, but you know it won’t work.

“I honestly don’t know. Ask me later?”

He nods and grabs your hand from across the counter, sending you a wink. “You got it.”

It’s when you’re bingeing a new show with Jimin later that evening that you remember you never bothered to answer Jungkook. Your phone on the coffee table was now pulling your attention completely away from the murder docu-series on the TV. Jimin is engrossed with the show and pays very little attention when you grab the device from the table.

When you unlock your screen, the little number icon hovering next to your messages alerts you to how much you’ve neglected your phone today. You open the app and scroll through, reading the various messages left for you by friends and family. Thankfully, all were unimportant, usually, just funny pictures or links that they thought you would find amusing.

You’re giggling at a message from your mom about your dog back home when you back out of the conversation and notice the only unread message was the one you had been avoiding since the early afternoon.

(12:13 pm) Gukkie: Hey, when did you leave? Sorry I slept through it haha

You debate just ignoring it altogether and just dealing with it the next time you saw him. That would be soon enough, considering that summer break was here and you knew that he wouldn’t be going home as most college students do. You decide against that. At the very least you want to keep him on your good side, you had never ignored him for this long. While your text conversations weren’t the most thrilling, the small bit of connection was enough to keep the two of you on the same page. At each other’s beck and call, that was.

(10:41 pm) You: i left around noon! i didn’t want to wake you up. i’ll bring your clothes back soon

You locked your screen after sending the message and returned your attention to the screen. That was indifferent enough, right?

Not even thirty seconds after you sent the message, the device vibrates on the couch next to you and you’re embarrassed at how quickly you scramble to pick it up. You look across the couch at your roommate, and he’s staring right back at you.

“Did he text you?” He asks, almost nonchalantly, but you pick up on a little bit of something in his voice. Disapproval, maybe?

For any of his faults, Jimin more than makes up for it in the way he cares about you like a sister. It’s almost as if he can sense that you’re probably going to get hurt by a stupid frat boy.

“Uh, yeah. But I’m just asking him when he’s free so I can drop his clothes off. That’s all,” you quickly reply and you silently applaud yourself for the steadiness of your voice. He has a look in his eyes that says he wants to say more on the subject, but he doesn’t. Instead, he chooses to only nod and return his attention back to the screen. He grabs onto your calves the are slung across him in a silent gesture: I’m here for you, always.

(10:42 pm) Gukkie: Don’t worry about it! I’m sure I’ll see you soon ;)

(10:43 pm) You: something tells me you’re right about that

(10:43 pm) Gukkie: Maybe you could swing by tomorrow, sometime? I’ll be at the house all day so you can drop the clothes off

Right, as if you would only drop off his clothes and leave.

(10:44 pm) You: sure, i’ll talk to you tomorrow !

(10:44 pm) Gukkie: Sleep tight, princess :)

You don’t sleep.

You’re pacing back and forth with Jungkook’s clothes in your hand, debating whether or not to ding dong ditch and leave them on his porch. Last night, what very little sleep you did get was plagued by dreams of the curly-haired frat boy down the road. The feelings you felt for him are surprisingly strong, considering you just realized you really did like him. Maybe they had been building up for a while and when you allowed yourself to accept them, they hit you harder.

Regardless of why they were so pervasive was lost on you, but there was no denying their presence. You could feel anxious hies rising up your neck at the thought of facing Jungkook.

On one hand, you’re dealing with the excitement about seeing his cute bunny smile and inevitably, his sculpted body, if this visit turned into how you suspected it would. On the other hand, you’re terrified. Every time you spend your time with Jungkook, those feelings are probably only going to grow.

This would be the last time with him, you decide before you walk out of your apartment building. You already know that there is no way you could say no to him, so if he decided that he wanted to have sex with you today, that’s exactly what was going to happen. It’s not like you don’t want to. You’d be a fool to turn down sex with him, but you fear the way it made you feel. After Saturday night, it was obvious that you felt more than the normal, post-sex happiness when you were with him.

His fraternity’s house comes into view, the parking lot nearly empty signaling that most of his brother’s had gone home for the summer. His car and Yoongi’s remained, among a few others. You roll your eyes seeing the elder’s vehicle, knowing that he was going to tease you either on your way in or out.

You hesitate a little at the front door, unsure if you should knock or just walk in. Strangely enough, in the two months you had been sleeping with Jungkook, you had never been to the house during the day.

You don’t get to think about how odd it is seeing the brick building during the day when the door opens and the boy who’s been haunting your dreams beams at you with his infuriatingly adorable smile.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly. “Here are your clothes… I washed them.” You thrust the clothes forward into his hand.

He runs his free hand through his hair and snickers. “Thanks, you didn’t have to wash them.”

“It’s no problem!” You say a little too eagerly and you’re slapping yourself for it.

“Are you going to come in or just stand there and stare at me?” He asks you with an amused look on his face.

“Shut up,” you say as you brush past him and walk into the house. You don’t bother looking back at him as you follow the path up to his bedroom, knowing he’s following you, as he always does.

You’re not sure when the rain started, but the sounds were lulling you into a peaceful afternoon slumber. Jungkook’s bedsheets were always clean, unlike most of the guys you slept with. The soft fabric against your naked body, mixed with the soft light and sounds from the weather outside, gave you a sense of calm you hadn’t felt in the last 48 hours.

Your head is turned toward the window, eyes shut. It wasn’t that you were necessarily avoiding looking at Jungkook, lately, it seemed like it was the only thing you wanted to do, but you just happened to fall in that position after the activities of the last two hours.

Jungkook is sitting on his side, resting his head on one hand as he looks out the same window. He sighs, but you have a hard time in your half-conscious state determining the meaning behind the sigh. For now, you were just content with the soft fingers he was using to draw patterns across your exposed back. You couldn’t think about much past that.

“Y/N, are you asleep?” He asks while scooting closer to you. You hum in response and turn your head to face him. He uses his hand to brush your hair away from your face, so tenderly you barely feel his fingers when they run across your cheeks. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“No, I’m awake, just resting my eyes.” You slowly open your eyes and take note of him. He has a small smile on his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

A pang of something akin to hurt strikes you in the heart. You realize that he’s probably trying to kick you out. It was the middle of the day and you were overstaying your welcome.

“I’m sorry, I just realized I’m probably taking up your whole day,” you sat up quickly and bend toward the foot of the bed to grab your top.

“Wait,” he rushes out and pulls you back down to lay down and face him. “Stay with me for a little bit. At least until the rain stops?”

You look down at the bedsheets below you and pick at a ball of fuzz to distract yourself. A sad smile graces your features when you look back at him. “I don’t think I should.”

“Oh… Okay,” he looks upset at that but you don’t want to think about it too long before you sit up again and put your clothes back on. When you return to the bed to grab your phone, you notice that he’s gotten himself back into a pair of basketball shorts and is watching you as you move about his space. “At least let me drive you home?”

You nod your head in agreement and smile at him. “Thank you.”

The walk to the door and following dash to his car through the rain is silent between the two of you. Luckily, though you know he was lurking somewhere, you didn’t have to face Yoongi. It was the small victories that would take you through today.

The drive lasted less than two minutes but felt like fiver years with the awkward silence that hung around you. It was clear by your actions that this would be over after today, neither of you having to actually say the words out loud.

Jungkook pulled into the spot right in front of the door to your building. At least he wasn’t going to make you walk through the pouring rain. Hopefully, this meant that he wasn’t angry, or at the very least, his ego wasn’t bruised by your unspoken break-up, for lack of a better term.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say as chipper as possible given the circumstances. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

“Yeah, sure… No problem.” He reaches up to rub the back of his neck. You noticed he does it when he’s embarrassed or feels awkward without realizing it. You were going to miss that, among many other things.

You opened the door and were about to step out into the rain when he touches your shoulder. You look at him confused. He looks confused as well, shocked at his own hand for the involuntary action.

“I-I’ll see you around?” He asks, an indiscernible look in his eyes.

“I- yeah, I’ll see you around,” you smile at him gently. He pulls his hand back like the temperature of your skin is burning his own.

You quickly jump out of the car and run up to the front of the building - to avoid as much rain as you could and to get away from the boy behind you. You don’t look back.

When you push open the door to your apartment, Jimin is sitting in the recliner and scrolling through his phone. It only takes one look at your slightly damp clothes and the tears welling up in your eyes for him to hop out of his seat and make it to you at record speed.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Jimin soothes his hand down your unruly hair as you lightly cry against his shoulder. “Did you tell him anything?”

You shake your head. What would be the point? When you and Jungkook agreed to forgo sleeping with other people and engage in a friends-with-benefits-type relationship, you both made it clear that there were to be no feelings involved. You knew he wouldn’t have changed his mind about that. The only thing to gain from sharing your feelings with him would be outright rejection, and you’d rather not deal with that.

Jimin just goes back to patting your head and rocking you lightly, not caring that your hair and clothes were getting him damp too. You don’t know what you did in a past life to be so fortunate to have him as your best friend.

You’re standing like that for quite a while before you both hear a knock at your door. You move out of the way to sit on the couch and let Jimin answer the door. The last thing you wanted the person at the door to see were your bloodshot eyes and shaggy appearance.

“Can I talk to Y/N?” Jungkook’s voice startles you up off the couch. Your panicked movements draw the attention of both your roommate and the frat boy. Jimin just smiles slightly at you and moves out of the way before walking into his room. You had a feeling he would listen to the whole conversation though his door.

You walked up to the door with your head down. His breathing was ragged at as you scanned from his feet up to his eyes, you found that he was soaked. “Why are you soaked?”

“I ran here.”

“But you just drove me home?”

“Oh, I, uh, got home and forgot I was going to loan my car to one of my brother’s and then I… ran here.” He explains, but the confused look in your eye is enough to tell him that you’re not following his story whatsoever. You didn’t understand why he had to come back to your apartment, nor his urgency in doing so.

“What are you doing here?” You wish you sounded a little less sad when you said that, but you didn’t really care at this point.

“I came because I need to say something to you. I- wait have you been crying?” Jungkook steps closer to you and grabs your cheeks to look into your eyes. It takes everything in you not to melt into him and grab his hands from your cheeks.

“What did you have to tell me, Guk?” You ask him in the most even voice you can manage.

“No, Y/N answer me first, please?” Your outright rejection of his touch doesn’t stop him from running his hands up and down your arms.

“Yes,” you answer, your voice uneven as your eyes betray you and begin to well up again.

Jungkook pulls you against his body, holding you tightly against him. “Why?” He whispers the question so quietly in your ear, almost as if he raises his voice any higher you would shatter.

You take a shaky breath, deciding to just say it. “You.”

He pulls back abruptly to look you in the eyes, the confusion across his brow mixes with hurt in his eyes. “Me?”

“I like you,” you blurt out, tears slowing to a gradual drip. “But I know you don’t feel the same, so please don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” He asks, but the look is still painted across his features.

“With pity.”

“Pity? I’m just confused.” He readjusts his grip on you to bring a hand back to your cheek. You can feel your heart pounding out of your chest while he forces you to look into his eyes.

He doesn’t say anything, instead he just brings your face forward to crash his lips into your own. It’s different from the kisses you’ve shared in the past. The ones before filled with lust, this one was tender and intense.

“Y/N, I like you too. Why do you think I ran through the rain to get back here?” He puts his forehead against yours.

“You do?” You pull your forehead from his to meet his eyes.

“Obviously. I was going to tell you earlier but you seemed like you wanted to go home so badly, so I figured I screwed up.” He sighed, a small smile of relief on his face.

“You should’ve said it earlier then, dummy!” You playfully smacked his chest and sniffled.

“I wish I would’ve, then I wouldn’t have had to see you cry.” The hand on your cheek slips behind your head and pulls you forward so he could plant a kiss on your forehead. When he loosens his grip, you pull back to look at him.

“Would you like to come inside?” You motion behind you. Jungkook answers by kissing you back into your apartment.

He breaks apart from you once the door is shut and looks at you with a cocky grin on his face. “Wait until I rub it in Yoongi’s face that you’re my girlfriend. He said you would never say yes.”

“Girlfriend, huh?” You ask while grinning up at him. There was a lot that had to be addressed in that statement, but you decided to let it slide for a later conversation.

“Uh, yeah… Is that okay?” He looks a little insecure, realizing what that he said without asking you if you wanted that.

You just giggle at him and kiss him again. You nod into the kiss, that was growing much more heated by the second.

“And that's my cue! I’m leaving,” Jimin escapes from his room and runs out the door before either of you can blink. You both laugh at your best friend's antics.

“I’ll steal you some dry clothes from his room,” you say as you turn to walk into Jimin’s room.

Jungkook quickly grabs you from behind and kisses the spot below your ear. “Who says I need clothes?”

You turn your head to look at him and consider glaring for a second. The blinding bunny smile pointed in your direction squashes any of your ideas about reprimanding him. He kisses your cheek and runs into your bedroom, stripping off his clothes along the way. You giggle at his behavior.

“Baby! I’m naked and I’m in your bed - a little disappointed that you aren’t!”

Again, who were you to say no?

a/n: im not even sure if anybody is really active on this blog anymore, but i got bored and decided to write this! it is unedited, i dont really mind though :) this is for the people that sent me messages saying that they would want to see this once it was finished. i did write it under the influence initially (as stated previously, i am of legal age!!), so it required quite a bit of editing! sorry for the delay!

#jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts smut #bts #bts fluff #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #college!jungkook #college!bts

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toiletwipes · 3 years ago

Text

and i'd give up forever to touch you

chapter seven. opening up, inside and out.

Summary: Wilbur joins you on a late drive and knows you better, finding out just how fast he is becoming attached to you.

ao3 link. ~2.1k words. masterlist.

---

he’s sitting outside, on the curb when you pull up in a compact car, music pulsing through the speakers and when you roll down the window, the volume too, and smile at him with half-awake eyes, he’s up in an instant, heart racing when he thinks back to just moments before.

to the moments when he doubted the continuity of your friendship, where he was so resolute that you would abandon him once he would become comfortable, once he showed himself to you completely.

you don’t give him a chance to think that again as you leaned over and gestured for him to get in, “it’s cold wilbur, get in,” you chortled as he scrambled to his feet, as if he forgot to move for a second. giving the door a solid shut, he rolled the window up and moved the seat back a little, feeling more awkward than the cold you had warned him about outside.

“thanks for coming with me, will, i was going nuts with how quiet it is.” you offered little more than turning up the music as you pulled into the street.

“is there something... troubling you?” he asks, keeping on the dim light on the road, the sparse cars that pass them by.

you exhale deeply, eyes trained on staying in the painted lines on the road. “doing this cover and its responsibilities have dawned on me, and trying to figure out if this will be worth it- worth scheduling weeks, maybe months of time to even reach maybe the first two minutes, with our own two parts. maybe we should think about making it simpler, narrow it down to a piano and vocal duet, or a single guitar and-” you cut yourself off, pulling into the lot of a closed-down store, one of the few in this college-centric town.

“is that what you want to do?” you turn to him, your face sullen and eyes wandering over his figure, like he didn’t need to show himself at all, and that you saw him as he is already. and you had no qualms about what you saw.

“no, i don’t want just a simple cover, done in three sessions and- and have not a single drop of substance behind it. i want to feel the love sewn into frequencies every time i listen to it, i want to feel-”

you cut yourself off before smiling at him, “i want to feel alive when i hear it, because i know that’s how good it could be.” you trail off, looking out towards the windshield. “and i’ve only felt truly alive when making music, alive in a way that is beyond the pulse of my beating heart, you understand that, don’t you?” he stares into your face and finds it.

he sees you, bearing your true intentions behind this project. he wonders if you’re trying to share this intimate experience you feel with music with him.

he wonders how special you find him to want to share such a thing with him only.

“i don’t think i’ve ever felt it.” he admits.

“not even when you wrote your songs?” you question, head tilting to lie against the headrest.

he shakes his head, “i wrote those songs to help me cope with my life, something i didn’t understand at the time.” he wonders if you’re trying to do the same.

“i could show you, if you want, but fair warning, you’ll get addicted to the feeling.” you joke, and he smiles, but he knows you’re serious in the offer. with this cover, you’ll probably show him something he won’t forget for as long as he lives. it’s curious to see if he’ll survive it. “well- now that’s off my chest, how about some early morning mcdonald’s?” you say, as if trying to cut the thick layer of intimate honesty about oneself into diced cubes.

he blinks but you’re already driving to the closest mcdonald’s before he has a chance to respond. and you’re reaching into the cup holders, holding out your phone to him and telling him a pass-code. “play some music, it’s connected to the bluetooth already. or a podcast, though you don’t seem like the guy to listen to podcasts to me,” you speak and you’re giving him a quick grin before turning back to the road.

his heartbeat quickens when holding your phone, knowing your pass-code and knowing you have this solid trust in him to have given both to him. even if you didn’t know he has had thoughts that are dark in nature, it was.. exciting to say the least, he would almost say heartwarming.

but he does what you’ve asked of him, opening up the green music app and typing in the name of a song he thinks you might like.

though, when it plays out in the speakers, you spare him a glance. “you like sleeping at last?” speaking as though you were leaning towards dislike.

“is it- is it bad?”

you clicked your tongue, “not bad, just-” you hum, giving a soft laugh, “-just curious, didn’t think you’d like them, is all. we’re still new to each other, and yet, it feels like we’re old friends reconnecting.”

“you’re a big part of that, to be fair.” he folds his arms and tucked his back adjacent to the window and seat, turning to look at you fully.

you shrug, pulling into the parking lot and into the drive-thru. turning the music down as you rolled the window down, you give him a short look and he is turning his eyes on the painstakingly bright menu.

telling you what he wanted, you nod, and talk to the exhausted employee over the speaker about y’all’s order, pulling up into the second window.

reaching towards the back you are surprised to see will holding out a card towards you, you meant to deny it but he nudges it in your hands, and you just hand it towards the employee. the next few minutes are quiet, waiting for the food and handling both it and the drinks towards the passenger, passing the receipt and card back to the owner, and you drive off.

finding another empty lot, with a little less buildings in the area, you two begin to eat in the quiet of the night, sleeping at last smoothing out the edges.

when you crumple the wrapper in a ball, and toss it in the bag, you turn to face will yourself.

he faces you too when he’s done, trying not to show how the intensity of your stare is affecting him. “can i help you?” he asks, turning his gaze to the time. 2:47.

“this is the longest time we’ve spent talking to each other, and i realize you have a nice voice speaking as well as singing.” his mouth opens a little bit and his skin heats up more than any properly working heater.

“thank you- i guess?” he’s confused, he knows that, it’s on what he’s flustered about is the confusing part. is it the fact no one told him he has a nice voice, generally? is it the fact that it’s late and you must be focusing hard on his voice to stay awake? or is it the fact that you’re looking past his defenses once more and seeing him as he is? your honor, he’ll say it’s probably all three.

“you’re welcome.” and that’s when he focuses on you. you’re wearing his beanie, his jacket, and some shorts that ride up your thighs. and as you turn your gaze to your phone, turning it on to change the song probably, he glances at your collarbone. bare, save for his jacket. were you only wearing his jacket on your torso?

picturing you without it was already a bad idea, but imagining what he’d do to you like that- he moves his head forcibly, staring out into the darkness.

“do you want to go home or do you want to come over? rosie won’t mind you being there as long as we’re quiet because i don’t know what it is about you but-” you yawn, covering your face, “-i’m getting too tired to drive but you’ve only just gotten here, so, whatever you decide is pretty good with me.”

he thinks about going home alone, and slipping under the cold and unkind covers, shivering till the blankets warmed. and then he thinks about going home with you, and possibly sleeping on the too small of a couch for him and you there with your comfortable, soft ambiance. thinks about rosie waking the two of you up in the morning in her pajamas, making or picking breakfast up.

and he offers to drive for you, leaving you to doze off in the passenger side with piano notes trailing off in your ear.

~~~

parking in front of the dorm building, he leans over to shake your shoulder only to falter in his movements, your hunched over figure leaning against the window and your breath fogs the glass.

then you’re stirring awake, and you’re blinking the sleep away from your eyes and you’re looking right at him, for the third time, and he doesn’t know if he should be endeared by it or frustrated on how you can see him so easily.

but he’s turning the car off and walking around your car to open the door, helping you out and letting you lean on him for a second, never mind his skin itching to burn. you two walk to your dorm, unlocking it in the silent hallway.

the door creaks slightly as you push it open and aside, “you can have the couch or the bed, i’m too tired to care,” you walk to the kitchen and you open the doors to find something to drink, will recognizes it as an apple juice container. “though, you should try my bed, it’s too good to be true,” seeing will’s face you wave at him to follow you, though your movements sluggish, you prove you’re still conscious.

pushing your bedroom door open, he finds the papers from earlier stacked and he finds you hopping up onto your bed, with the apple juice between your legs and you patting the space next to you. he doesn’t make nearly the amount of effort you put in to sit beside you, and he begins to regulate his breathing to calm down, being near anybody really would put someone like him in a tizzy, he rationalizes.

“after i finish this, i’m going to pass out, you can do the same wherever.” and in a much more alarming speed, you chug the half-full container and cover your mouth when you’re done, giving a slight burp. “and i won’t say i told you so,” your lips lift up as if you meant to smile briefly but you were too tired to commit to the action.

leaning over to put the jug on the desk, you are left with shuffling in your spot until you’re covered by your blanket with your feet underneath will’s legs.

“night, wilbur, see ya in the morning,” you mumble to yourself mostly, but he hears you and he mumbles something similar, leaning his head against your wall and arguing with himself internally.

he has a chance, now.

when he looks straight at the dresser, he can see the camera, almost tauntingly.

though what sends chills down his spine isn’t your cold, uncovered feet touching him, no it’s the fact that the things he moved to cover the device, they’re gone and it’s almost noticeable.

it wouldn’t be hard to miss and it’s the fact that if he does take his chance and move it, you’ll know it was him. know that he was the one to put it there and take it away.

and then you’ll hate him, cut him off, take him away from the project, keep rosie away from him, and so much more. and nights like these won’t happen ever again. he won’t get these quiet moments with you, won’t get to appreciate a person like you.

so as he leaves to grab a blanket from the linen closet, and pads his way to your room, he decides that he’ll leave the cameras there, and he’ll take his chances.

maybe in a few months he can take it and put this whole thing behind you two, maybe you never even noticed it.

whatever happens later, he thinks, at least he had this night with you, tucking himself under the blanket and curling just nearly against you, and he feels at home next to you.

is that what you are, though? home? he wonders as he listens to your breathing for a few minutes, thinking that’s what you’d had to be. so open, so warm, and so comfortable to be around.

even if you hadn’t meant for it to happen, wilbur was swiftly becoming dependent, some would say addicted, to you and everything you’ve offered him.

but that would be a problem for a future will.

for now, he would sleep. and he would do it next to you. his worries can set themselves aside for a few hours.

...

tag list: @fxnxtical @ghostburlovebot @ollie-overscore @marinaloveswomen @roygbivp @beehive-syst3m @boiled-onionrings @mayempress @bringm3th3n1rvana @yui-san0

the tag list is currently open!!

#c: simpbur #simpbur x you #simpbur x reader #simpbur x y/n #mcyt au #au: band #au: college #and i'd give up forever to touch you fic

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huebris808 · 3 years ago

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Dr. Hofnarr’s Horrible, No-Good, Very Weird 15 Years Of Being Dead.

a tribute to fanon interpretations/character study(?) that was going to be a bonus chapter in a post-canon/au comedy fic im working on! might come back to expand on this when i do start posting it (or if mpn gives him more background story lore that i’ll have to work with aoAHGHOAUGH)

happy madness day! :o)

“Where should I begin… Perhaps at the very beginning? OH! Christoff and I first met years before our Nexus days! Back in our freshman years of college, to be precise! You know, I was actually a theater major before switching to- ... A-Aah, too far back. Much too far... Let’s start from the point where the notes I supplied to you ended then, shall we? After our dissension...”

.. “Good luck, old friend...” ..

The first years on the run from Nexus was stressful to say the least. Hofnarr and Christoff had split up to better their chances of survival. He knew the process would be grueling, having talked to Christoff almost every night about it to calm his nerves. While he played calm for the cameras, Hofnarr truly wished he could have held him close one last time. No communications. No physical contact. Day after day, month after month, nothing. He would be separated from his husband for a very long time…

It wasn’t all bad after a while. He had a comfortable new apartment, went under a new alias, and his questionable new job paid him enough to buy food. His apartment even had cable! He could watch marathons of Slaughter Time whenever he got home! In hindsight, he wondered if that had an effect on his mental state at the time...

Hofnarr had taken the last of his S3LF regulator with him, having shipped them out to an undisclosed location prior to dissension. Dissonance exposure did a number on him and his research team, leaving them to track their “normality” through daily blood tests and injections. While they met their fates early on, Hofnarr had gotten lucky. That is, until the doses began to run out.

Stressful as it was, he knew what he had to do. Hofnarr rushed back to what remained of the labs, knowing it had been abandoned by now. It was ironic, he and Christoff’s work, the work that was turned against them, was the one thing keeping him alive. For days, he worked to make more doses from the materials he brought with him. But there was only so much he could do with limited supplies… Hofnarr made many attempts to prolong the inevitable, lowering his dosage amount, injecting it weekly rather than daily, but he eventually ran dry.

Refusing to turn to darker alternatives, he felt the only thing he could do at this point is record his final findings through video logs.

“It was… interesting revisiting the footage, to put it nicely. Christoff had actually kept the video files on a drive after he originally found all my things in the lab! I barely remembered what happened back then, so I rewatched them out of curiosity.”

On the first night, Hofnarr recorded a message for Christoff. One filled with sorrow, but also with gratitude. For the time that they spent together. How special he made him feel. All the memories they made together...

On the next, he recorded a log detailing his findings during Project Nexus. The effects of dissonance, the Other Place, what it did to him and his colleagues, everything and anything he could.

The next, he reported on the progression of his symptoms. Fever, brain fog, insomnia, joint pain. He felt like his organs were melting, his skin bursting at the seams.

The next night he saw something and remembered. Scars. The scars on his head. That week he was in the staff hospital. He thought it was a dream but the scars were there. Phobos. Director Phobos brought him somewhere that week. He knew he felt off when he woke up in the office that night. He knew something was off when Christoff asked him where he was. He thought he passed out from over-working. That bastard Phobos. Nausea was replaced with rage as he began to scream, his throat becoming raw. What did he put in him? What the hell did he put inside him!?

On the last recorded log, he was face-down on the ground. Groaning as his body occasionally convulsed. Until the video feed eventually cut off.

His body would lay there dormant, dead, for fifteen years.

But to Hofnarr, he felt like he was dreaming.

.. “LET’S GIVE IT UP FOR OUR NEXT CONTESTANT!” ..

“Huh?” The doctor sat up and looked around, the area around him pitch black. Wasn’t he sleeping just a moment ago? He got up and took a step forward in the seemingly endless void. “H-Hello? Who’s out there?”

“AWW, DON’T BE SHY NOW! ESTEEMED AUDIENCE, A BIG ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR OUR GUEST; THE UNFORTUNATE DOCTOR HOFNARR!”

A light shined down on him from above. A crowd seemingly began to cheer all around him. He was in the center of what looked like a talk show set. Hofnarr awkwardly scratched the corner of his face. “‘Unfortunate’? W-What do you mean? W-Who are you?”

“FIGHT FIRST, ASK QUESTIONS LATER!” The voice above him called out again. “AFTER ALL, IT’S…!” Hofnarr drowned out the noise while trying to think. It sounded familiar. Like it came from…

Hofnarr’s thoughts were cut short. He looked down at his torso. Terror set in as he recognized an entire stop sign had been lodged through his chest.

“DON’T GET COLD FEET NOW! THE SHOW’S ONLY JUST BEGUN!”

The words echoed in Hofnarr’s mind as he frantically tried to pull it out, his vision growing muddled, his hands slipping with blood until…

He blinked.

No stage. No sound. No pain.

Nothing around except for a single white door in front of him.

He stood up again, cautiously reaching for the doorknob.

When he entered he seemed to be in a vintage styled home. It was a kitchen with checkerboard flooring, a table with two chairs, and cheerful music playing through a small radio. It smelled of pastry and medical equipment. Suddenly, there was a knock coming from the door. A familiar voice called from behind it.

“I’m home, dear.” “J-Jeb?!”

Hofnarr rushed towards the front door. Christoff wasn’t trapped here too, was he? “Jeb! W-where are we!? What is this place? What happened to-”

As he opened the door, the clapping returned.

His husband was there, briefcase in hand, his face replaced with a black hole dripping with an unknown inky substance.

He slowly began to back away as “Jeb” moved closer.

The applause, the laughter, was deafening.

Before he could question or run away, Hofnarr was hit by something. His vision blurred, but refocused to be face-to-face with something. It seemed to be a shadow of himself. He tried to run again, but was pinned down by his doppelganger. The clone raised a clawed hand above him and then...

Like waking from a nightmare, Hofnarr quickly sat up once again. He gasped for air, dripping with cold sweat.

Was this really happening? Was it finally over? Was he free?

And then the spotlight focused on him again.

“It… got very surreal. Despite fight after fight, death after painful death... I would suddenly be somewhere else! There was a gameshow, our old apartment, a cat cafe, a... strip club of sorts, a tea room filled with these small armless doodles I used to draw on my research notes trying to offer me snacks… One time there was a sort of singing contest, but I won’t bore you with the details of that one. But when I wasn’t in those places, I felt like I was fighting for my life. It felt like an eternity! And the strangest part of it all? It… it became addicting.”

At first, he felt as if Hofnarr used all of his energy, physical and emotional, to fight back. It reminded him too much of his escape from Nexus. But as time went on, he focused less on escaping and more on surviving. The more he fought, the more he began to lose himself. He was anticipating what sudden whiplash of combat would be thrown at him next. He chuckled at the thought of what excitement would be heading his way. He wanted more. The fights became too slow. Too predictable. Too boring. He began toying with whatever was thrown at him. Turning his shadowy hunters into the hunted. Why let his audience watch the same old fights all the time?

Suddenly, the fighting stopped.

Why?

He was having fun, wasn’t he? He grew impatient.

“WHAT’S THE HOLD UP!” He yelled into the void, seething with anger. “AREN’T WE SUPPOSED TO BE FIGHTING? ISN’T THAT WHAT I’M HERE FOR?!”

He stomped his foot down, lodging something out of the ground.

The stop sign.

He looked over it curiously. How familiar…

Grabbing hold of it, quick flashes of memories appeared to him.

Nexus, the Science Tower, Phobos, the Other Place…

A man with long hair standing next to...

Hofnarr…

Who was that? Was that him?

No…

Only Tricky remained.

Footsteps echoed throughout the halls of the abandoned lab. Heels quickly clicking, cautiously stopping every so often. A lone Nexus Core agent entered through one of the doors.

Perfect timing.

“HAY! YOU THERE!!” A voice stuttered and glitched out, reverberating through the emptiness of the lab. The quickly soldier whipped their head around. “YEAH! YOU, STUPID. PLAY WITH ME!!”

“Who’s there?” The agent pointed their magnum towards the noise. “Show yourself!”

Gladly. The cackling figure emerged from the shadows, posing with a peace-sign, causing the agent to recoil. He grinned, slowly moving towards the cowering goon on the ground. They wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Who are you!?”

They couldn’t kill him.

“FIGHT FIRST. ASK QUESTIONS LATER! AFTER ALL…”

CAN’T KILL CLOWN.

“IT’S MURDER TIME!”

“My body had been there, regenerating and repeating the enmeshment process for years. And by the time I woke up, I was a completely different person. I became a creature of unfiltered impulse… A personification of chaos itself.”

The room grew silent before Hofnarr spoke up again.

“I-Is it horrible to say it was… kind of cool?” He said with a nervous chuckle, twiddling his fingers.

2BDamned was quiet for a moment. They recalled the many times they had to stitch their comrades back together due to Clown Moments. They placed their head in their palms and let out a sigh.

“... You have the right to your own opinion.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

BONUS: songs i was listening to on loop while working on this instead of doing my damned writing assignment. Enjoy

lady gaga ft. dorian electra - replay

vestik - tricky's vengeance ft. monocronic

#madness combat #Madness Project Nexus #Dr. Hofnarr #Tricky the Clown #MY WORKS #MY FIC #happy madness day these old dudes are gay. [Vine Boom] gay as hell. [Vine B

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lovelivingmydreams · 5 years ago

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My king au headcannon Part two

So this is the follow up to this post Which is a headcanon for this au created by @rondoel Enjoy!

Something to think about The king was meditating. He was trying to familiarize himself with the mindscape again, get a better feeling of it and see what his halves had done since the split. He was sorely disappointed. There were pages upon pages of ideas, but he found no evidence of them in the fantasy realm. No traces of the epic quests the ‘light’ half had envisioned, despite how well worked out they appeared. An ‘Ultimate Storytime’ should have left traces in the kingdom. Remus at least lived out his ideas even if they were only ever half formed and lacked substance beyond the initial impulse that brought them about. The results of these outbursts weren’t all that impressive either. He didn’t examine the ideas too closely. Obviously his perfectionistic half had abandoned them for a reason and so they weren’t worth his time. The one named Roman had spent some time in the fantasy realm, but he didn’t considered it his main duty. Instead he’d wasted time on crafting ‘ideas’ and ‘bonding’ with the others. Even the impulsive Remus had prioritized interacting with Deceit over expressing himself. Disgusting. Not that he could truly fault either of his halves. Other than his purpose every trace of him had been purged from their minds during the split. They hadn’t known to distrust the others the way he knew they should’ve. Obviously the others were to blame for all this.

As he thought of them he could feel his minister’s energy surging and subsiding in subtle burst and raging waves. One of Roman’s nickname for him ‘Stormy Knight’ seemed to suit the boy quite well at the moment. The minister was mostly alone, aside from morality. Someone had to babysit him he supposed. Suddenly he became aware of music… something strange yet familiar. “Disney. Medley.” A faint memory offered him. He remembered Disney. It was his aspiration to create worlds and adventures just as amazing for Thomas to escape to when the real world inevitably bored him. Clearly he hadn’t been gone long enough for that to change. Though he didn’t recognize the melody that was currently playing, even though he could tell that it wasn’t something obscure and nearly forgotten to Thomas. The entire imagination responded to the melody as if it was an old friend. Almost as if it was born here even. There were voices singing, a magnificent harmony. Powerful and foreboding. He followed the sound of the voices and soon saw a structure appear. As he approached he found it was a massive statue expertly carved from marble. Center stage stood a figure he recognized as Thomas holding his hands in front of him to form a heart. A brilliant smile on his face. It was heartwarming to see his boy like that. To Thomas’ left stood grown Morality with one arm thrown over his shoulder and another pulling the hooded side, Anxiety, his minister, into the group. The young side allowed it with a small smirk and gentle eyes directed at their protégé. On Thomas’ right stood Logic, a steady hand on the boy’s shoulder as he adjusted his glasses, which did not conceal the fond look on the man’s face. On Logic’s right stood Deceit, his back slightly turned to the rest and adjusting his hat, but also with a soft, caring expression gracing his features. Then right behind Thomas, standing slightly taller than they would have in reality, seemingly standing on a stage behind the group, but close enough to still be part of the ensemble, was him. Or the two sides that had been him for a while. Roman looked regal and was posing as though he had not a care in the world, his eyes proudly overseeing his subjects. Not minding the presence of Remus who was hanging of his ‘brother’s’ shoulders and making a face. It was an idyllic picture that never was and now never could be. There was beauty in it’s tragic impossibility. At the feet of the stone depictions were stone letters. Fam in cursive and then in big bold lines ILY. And leaning against the L was the minister, singing the song that had lured King away from his meditation. The shadows around him were aiding in his musical endeavor drifting around him and the statue. King took in the marvel once more, wondering how the nervous side had managed to create such a blessing with what should’ve been a cruel curse for at least a few more days before King would grant the young one his council and guidance. He hadn’t enjoyed being cruel to him. Not entirely. Sure, he had opposed creativity in the past and deserved to be disciplined. But king also knew how integral he was to the process. Roman’s discoveries regarding that weren’t lost to him. He couldn’t silence Anxiety completely. He would not get Thomas to go on adventures at all if he did so. But he had to teach him his place now, before he got any ideas of fighting him. The minister had been about to try just that and might have been successful too if he’d gone all out at once. But luckily he seemed unaware of his own abilities, or at least unwilling to use them on what he still thought to be the twins he’d known all his life. Alas he’d never get the opportunity again. “It all can be sold!” the shadows chorused around the teen-like side, captivating baby Morality with their movements as the little one clutched to the dark uniform and distracting King from his musings. “As a specimen yes I’m intimidating!” One voice continued, drifting around the side who was swaying to the music playing in his headphones with his eyes closed, holding onto Morality and then the dark clad side sang himself. “You can blame my friends on the ooootheeeer siiiiiiiiiide.” And just like that the shadows dispersed. Mostly anyway. They still swirled around the minister, but they were more of a dark aura than when they originally manifested. Anxiety seemed to be in better spirits than when he came to offer his ridiculous apology to Roman. King barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the memory. What a waste of time. Still it had been sincere, at least it seemed to be. And King wasn’t completely insensitive. He could understand that it would be hard for this young one to let go of his halves when he had never known them as one. Perhaps, King could cut him a little slack. Though he would have to remain vigilant… Hmmm, why did that word feel so odd when thinking about… Right, Virgil. Everyone had names now. Not that he cared much for those. Names were too… Names were for friends, allies. He didn’t need a name, nor did his subjects. Lest any of them forget who was in charge. King wouldn’t. Never again. The infant noticed that they were no longer alone in the room and tugged at Anxiety’s hair to get his attention. In response Thomas’ guardian pulled off his headphones and looked down at the heart. “What’s wrong popstar… or… Well, doesn’t really fit right now I guess,” Anxiety chuckled a little sadly. “Guess I’m more the dad now than you, huh?” he mused. “When this is all over, I promise I’ll never complain about you treating me like your kid again.” There was an uneasiness forming in King’s stomach. Anxiety was close with Morality, both Roman and Remus remembered that. But… how close was Morality with Anxiety? King knew that their ‘moral compass’ could be as two faced as Deceit. No, this could be part of an elaborate plan to gain his trust, he’d fallen for it once before. And of course they’d send Anxiety to do their dirty work now that all of them had already shown him their true colors. Little Morality pointed at King and Anxiety looked up, curious at first and then his eyes widened in fear. He put the child behind him and stood in a strange mixture of a respectful bow and a defensive stance. Arms slightly spread to shield his friend and head raised so he didn’t quite let his eyes leave King’s frame. “I…I’m sorry if I was too loud,” Anxiety offered with trembling voice, assuming he’d angered his king someway. Good. King approached, not sure if he was in the mood to scold or to praise just yet, but stopped about three steps in front of Anxiety as his foot hit something. He looked down and saw that the floor surrounding his minister was covered in sketches. He looked up at Anxiety with a raised brow, curious to hear what had brought on this little storm of creativity. And he found him staring at the sketches around them in horror. Then he seemingly felt the structure behind him, he turned and looked up in horror, trembling even harder. He looked back at King with wide eyes. “I…I didn’t mean to…” he started. “Then I look forward to see what you create for me when you intend to do so young one,” King mutters calmly, as he bids one of the drawings to come to his hand. As far as he can tell it’s two children playing in a forest. “Tell me about this one boy,” he instructs as he shows Anxiety the drawing. The side takes the sketch with a frown and looks at it for a moment before a small smile of recognition appears on his face. “I’d manifested for about two months. Remus felt it was about time I came on an adventure,” he starts explaining, and as he does the drawing rises up and gains colors and details that weren’t there before. Anxiety didn’t seem to notice, too captivated by his own memory as he described how freaked out he was by the forest and all its creepy creatures. Remus never let a single one touch him though. Still, it was stressful for him and he didn’t come along as often as Remus would like. The painting showed two preteens, Remus and Anxiety, the later clutching a comfort item, pillow or blanket, King wasn’t sure, maybe it was a stuffed animal. They were running around and laughing. But in their shadows Anxiety was curled up in a ball and Remus was making a gesture as if he’d just popped out and screamed ‘boo’. A lovely memory with a shadow side. But that was the nicest thing Anxiety could create with the power King had granted. Once the story was done and the painting finished, King snapped his fingers and conjured a dark wooden frame with a vine pattern around it and hung it on a non-existent wall. “I’m sorry, I know you said to get rid of the feelings, but I… I can’t… I always mess up like this please I…” Anxiety flinched when King reached out for him. Curling into himself, expecting another curse or some other punishment perhaps. Which is probably why his posture relaxed and his face was overcome with confused surprise when all he received was a brief pat on his hair. “You may not have gotten rid of those feelings but you did something even better,” King laid a hand on Anxiety’s shoulder and looked down on him. “You made something out of them. I am very pleased with you,” he informed his disciple. Anxiety looked up at him confused. “Really?” he asked, his voice breaking over the single word. Before King could answer, a displeased cooing pulled Anxiety’s attention away. He turned around and picked up the infant who immediately latched onto his neck and stared at King over his shoulder. Clearly the infant retained enough of Morality’s adult thoughts to be wary of him. Good it wouldn’t be a proper curse if the traitor wasn’t aware of the danger King posed to him and his precious family. King grinned menacingly at Morality, hoping it’d confirm the child’s worst fears about his intentions for who he apparently considered a son. What could be worse than agonizing over the fact that your sins would result in an innocent paying for them? For that innocent to be your child of course. “Please Pat, behave alright?” Anxiety muttered as he got up and turned back to the king. “Sorry… Your majesty. He’s a bit clingy,” the young man offered nervously. “Not your fault. I don’t quite understand why Logic and Deceit would leave the care for such a fussy child to their youngest.” Not quite true, King could perfectly see how they thought they had to concentrate on finding a weapon against him that they hadn’t tried already. But still. One would think that the two oldest should be in charge of protecting both their young ones, instead of letting them wander off into the territory of their enemy. If Anxiety had failed to entertain him with his tale, who knows what he would’ve done to amuse himself during this second visit? Maybe he’d put morality in a bit of a dilemma… He might still do so if he ever needed for Anxiety to see that his ‘dad’ didn’t love him as much as he always claimed. “Taking care of him keeps my mind occupied. I don’t want to give Thomas nightmares or anxiety attacks. He doesn’t deserve to suffer for our messes,” Anxiety explained. King might be mistaken, but that almost sounded accusatory. He elected to ignore it. Once his rule was properly reestablished, he could revisit the subject if at all necessary, which he doubted. “Well, creating art seems to do the trick just as well,” he mused as he called forth another picture. Anxiety guessed what he wanted, looked at the picture and started to talk about the movie night and a popcorn fight, then a duel with cardboard swords and laughing about memories of middle school. The colors once again revealed a pleasant day, with a shadow of self-doubt and fear of abandonment. The shadows showed Anxiety pleading on his knees while Roman threatened him with a sword. This time the frame King made was golden and held roses. “C…Can I ask something milord,” Anxiety asked timidly. “Questions are always welcomed in the realm of creativity,” King decreed. Questions created possibilities. “What happened? Before the split I mean? The other’s won’t ever tell me.” That surprised King. And from the way Morality stiffened, he had to assume it was the truth. They’d really not taken the chance to sway Anxiety’s opinion in their favor? For a moment he considers spinning a grand tale of betrayal and heartbreak, but he found the very thought of recalling the details of the events leading up to the split… unpleasant. “I trusted them and they turned against me because they disagreed with my vision for Thomas,” he informed Anxiety calmly, hoping it was enough for now. “I’m sorry. That… That is terrible,” he whispered hugging Morality closer. The young minister couldn’t see it but there were tears in Morality’s eyes. Which pleased King. Let the bespectacled traitor be afraid this may end up being the last hug he’ll ever receive from his precious Anxiety. Was this why they didn’t tell him? Because they knew that there was no spin they could give to their deeds that wouldn’t destroy the trust they’d built with the one among them who already feared being betrayed. “I… It was a long time ago. I think… Logan seemed very ashamed of what happened. Even Janus seems to feel bad. I’m sure… can’t we all…” Anxiety struggled to express his desires, but a new drawing showed what he wanted. King and Logic shaking hands amidst the others, all back to normal and smiling relieved. Faint shadows of Roman and Remus with an arm around one another’s shoulders right behind King. The fact that his minister’s powers had conjured it showed that the desire felt impossible. King dismissed this drawing in favor of another. Anxiety sighed, accepting that the subject was finished, and continued to regale him with stories of the twins. Sometimes it was a sad memory where the shadows revealed his care and worry for them both. Like a fight over a failed audition where shadow Anxiety was trying to patch up shadow Roman. Or a fight about a nightmare where the shadow of Anxiety was embracing Remus. Then memories of the other’s came. A debate about negative thoughts where shadow Logic laid a hand on shadow Anxiety’s shoulder as a gesture of pride. A staring match with Deceit but their shadows were reaching for each other. One memory had no shadows. The ‘lights’ were in Anxiety’s domain and reaching out for him as he sat huddled in on himself on the ground. The image was conflicted enough on it’s own. Then King picked up a drawing of Morality. “That’s the first time you came to talk to me remember Pat?” Virgil coed to the child who’d been rather quiet during the creation of this gallery. Anxiety recalled how he’d been upset about another fight with Roman and he’d come over and sat with him in silence. Then he’d offered him one of his cookies. It had surprised Anxiety, he knew how much Morality loved his cookies. Sharing one was his standard gesture of love and appreciation. But Anxiety felt like he didn’t deserve either at the time. He felt trapped in a role he didn’t want to play. And because of Morality talking to him that day, for the first time, he thought that maybe he didn’t have to be. Anxiety talked more about how the thought was quickly dismissed as unrealistic but King found that it was hard to focus. The colors revealed a painting of a side being offered a hand by Morality. He didn’t even notice the shadows this time. It was like he was trapped in his own memories. Then suddenly, he was back in the present and heard something beside him. A wailing child and someone gasping for air like they’d ran a marathon at full speed. He looked down and found Anxiety curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth with a crying Morality sitting next to him clutching onto his arm. Before he could wonder what had happened he could feel the others approaching at high speed. He stepped back, not wanting to be found too close to the distressed side. He could not allow them to think for even a moment, that he felt a second of worry for the minister. He didn’t, but he didn’t need the implications of such a show of weakness to bring his strength into question. “Patton! Virgil!” Deceit called out, causing Morality to calm down and just let out a few more sniffles. King set up a disinterested mask and turned to the approaching sides. “Oh good, deal with this. They bore me,” he drawled calmly as he stepped aside. He was barely acknowledged which he normally would take offense in, but he’d let it slide until he knew what had happened just now. And if it had anything to do with that terrible feeling that had struck him when he saw Anxiety’s drawing. Logic kneeled next to Anxiety and Deceit spoke with Logic’s voice. “Virgil, can you hear us?” The boy nodded. “May we touch you?” Another nod and Logic placed his hands on the side’s shoulders. “Breath Virgil, in for 4, hold for 7 out for 8, you can do it.” One more nod and the side started to follow the rhythm that was tapped on his shoulders, stuttering trough the 4th count of holding his breath. “That’s alright, try again.” King observed as the two patiently helped Anxiety to breathe normally again. Somewhere along the line the troubled side started to whisper ‘sorry,’ and ‘so stupid’. “You are not stupid, your feelings are valid and we are here to help you with them. We shouldn’t have left you on your own. Especially not with him around,” Deceit growled, now in his own voice, before turning to King. “I don’t care what you do to me, but leave Virgil out of this! He has nothing to do with this.” Before king could retort. Claim the responsibility and remind Deceit that he’ll play with his minister however he likes, the boy spoke up himself. “Not his fault. Just, random attack,” he muttered. Deceit and King looked down and found Anxiety holding onto Logic with Morality trying his best to stand on wobbly legs while holding onto the purple sash adorning the minster uniform. Logic and Morality were staring at him accusatory, but Anxiety was pleading with Deceit. “You don’t have to defend him Virgil. We know what he’s like… And we’ll do a better job at protecting you now. I swear. Let us look out for you for once, please,” Deceit pleaded. So interesting. For all Anxiety’s fears of being abandoned and betrayed, the others seemed to fear for his safety before their own. Had they changed? Or had Anxiety not yet given them sufficient reason to be muzzled? Or was it his drastic decision of muzzling himself that had made them cautious of messing with his part of their duties? “I’m not. Jan look at me. You’d know if I was lying. He was just listening to me. He didn’t do anything bad. I promise.” Deceit frowned confused. “He didn’t do this to harm you? To cause you to create…” Finally Deceit really looked at what King and Anxiety had been working on and the statue Anxiety had done all by himself. “Virgil what…” “I don’t know, I was listening to music and all this just sort of happened. His majesty was helping me finish some drawings,” he explained, confusing King. Was he… what’s the term? Covering for him? Then Anxiety got up, picking up Morality and looking at Logic who followed his movements, hands hovering around him. As if he were afraid that the younger side would fall apart at any moment. “Please, just go back alright, I’ll be fine. Thanks for helping but you should focus on making sure Thomas is alright,” Anxiety explained bravely, not quite looking at the others. Had recalling all his doubts and fears made him suspicious of the others? This could benefit King greatly. “Run along now. And take Morality. I have matters to discuss with my minister. In private,” King informed Logic and Deceit. Anxiety looked from King back to his tutor and confidant and offered him Morality. Logic shook his head with wide eyes. “Logan, it’s alright. You look after Pat for a minute. I’ll be back soon. Just… Please trust me?” Logic hesitated, sighed in defeat and took the child. He moved to leave, but paused. He turned and laid a hand on Anxiety’s shoulder, a moment passed while the two held each other’s gaze. Anxiety nodded and patted Logic’s hand. “I will be safe. When am I ever not?” Something that would have been a chuckle rippled through Logic’s chest as he stepped away and started walking back to the commons, glancing back every ten steps or so. “Virgil… I…” Deceit started, unable to finish the thought. “I know. I’ll be okay.” And with that final assurance and a distrustful look towards King the last of the traitors left. “Why?” King wondered. It seemed obvious to him that whatever Anxiety just went through was actually meant for him. And not only had he taken the hit, he had covered for him as well. “I’m anxiety, taking on the insecurities and fears of the others is part of my job. I don’t take it all, just the really bad bits when I can take it. And… it took me forever to open up to the others about my own attacks. It wasn’t my place to share about yours. It’s nothing personal. Just me being professional I guess,” he shrugged casually. King allowed himself a small smirk and once again reached out to pat Anxiety’s hair. Once more the boy’s first instinct was to flinch, but he still let him do as he pleased. “Well done my boy. You have potential,” he told him before returning his attention to another drawing, leaving the one of Morality frameless. Later he might tell the little one a bit more about the betrayal. But first. He needed to get to know him better. “Now how about this one.”Being petted like a dog was degrading, humiliating. Trying to not just be civil towards him but formal and respectful was torture. But it was better than what he feared would happen every time the King moved his hand towards him. Virgil didn’t like being changed against his will and this king would do as he pleased with him. Which is why he had to keep him happy and away from the others. He ignored the urge to smile every time he received the king’s praise. He is not going to develop Stockholm Syndrome just because off a few half-baked complements. This guy is still a threat to Thomas… Even if the others, maybe made a mistake in the past and have a hard time owning up to that right now. Fact remained that Virgil’s job was to keep everyone safe. That meant making them not want to decapitate the king over an anxiety attack he hadn’t triggered on purpose. Still… What had triggered the attack?

#Rondoel #king au #sanders sides #Virgil Sanders #king creativity #Patton Sanders #Logan Sanders #Janus Sanders

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cripplepunkrick · 2 years ago

Text

Ria “Teensy” Sanchez

Basics

Character’s full name: Ria Madicella Sanchez

Character’s nickname: Teensy

Reason for nickname: she's 4'9"

Birth date: January 19

Gender: Nonbinary

Pronouns: They/Them and She/Her, used interchangeably

Physical Appearance

Age: unknown: she literally doesn't remember. Best guess is early 100s

How old do they appear: 80ish

Weight: 85lbs

Height: 4'9"

Body build: all elbows and knees; very lanky and boney.

Shape of face: long and angular, with a narrow, hooked nose and thin lips

Eye color: hazel

Glasses or contacts: none

Skin tone: greyish olive

Distinguishing marks: long, deeps scars running down inside of their upper arms and thighs, top surgery scars on chest.

Predominant features: heavy mono-brow, hooked nose, freckles on face and arms

Hair color: steely grey, occasionally with other colours dyed in

Type of hair: coarse

Hairstyle: punk mullet; long in the back and spiked in the front

Voice: harsh, a little shaky, slightly nasal, and spoken in a thick south Texas accent

Overall attractiveness: subjective. They see nothing wrong with their appearance.

Physical disabilities: lupus, ankylosing spondylitis, partial deafness (HOH)

Usual fashion of dress: classic punk; lots of denim, leather, and flannel. Spikes and patches. She rarely throws anything out, so most of her clothes show hand-done repair.

Favourite outfit: Checked flannel shirt, open denim vest coated in various pins and patches, tight black jeans with years of distress to the knees and thighs, and heavy Doc Martens.

Jewelry or accessories: thick leather cuffs, usually with spikes or chains, worn around their wrists, chokers or chains around her neck. Often wears dog tags from time served as a medic.

Personality

Good personality traits: Happy, fun loving, genuine desire to make the world better, stays in her own lane, private

Bad personality traits: Isolates, paranoid, vicious when crossed

Mood character is most often in: Vaguely crabby but good natured

Sense of humor: Good, but often morbid/dark

Greatest joy in life: Teaching people things

Greatest fear: Being buried alive and forgotten.

Why?: Claustrophobia + fear of suffocation

What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil?: Death of any of her ‘girls’ (Beth, Morticia, and/or Summer)

Most at ease when: in the kitchen or laboratory at home, with family near at hand.

Most ill at ease when: Morticia goes adventuring without her

Enraged when: anyone messes with her people.

Depressed or sad when: in the middle of a bad pain flare.

Priorities: Family, personal comfort, everyone else

Life philosophy: Do the day, and let the day do you.

If granted one wish, it would be: to undo the damage to her ears

Why?: so she can hear her music better (and the kids, too, I guess)

Character’s soft spot: Morticia/ welfare of Mortys in general

Is this soft spot obvious to others?: probably, if anyone bothered to look

Greatest strength: Calm under pressure

Greatest vulnerability or weakness: Insecure around other Ricks

Biggest regret: Giving up on medicine as a career

Minor regret: Leaving Stan

Biggest accomplishment: Serum that stopped aging for decades at a time, if used daily, which allowed her to survive AS when it should have been fatal at her age/timeline, because she was essentially pausing her body’s age every day.

Minor accomplishment: Created a synthetic nicotine substance that can be smoked without causing cancer. Big tobacco hates her

Past failures they would be embarrassed to have people know about: Used to be obsessed with immortality and not aging; kept herself looking 25-30 for decades, long enough that they no longer are sure how old they actually are.

Why?: It’s embarrassing to them that they were that vain.

Character’s darkest secret: Tried to create a cure for AS, but though the trial worked well in animal tests, when they tested it on a volunteer humans, it killed them pretty nastily. They gave up creating a cure after that.

Does anyone else know?: Yes, but very few people. Morticia knows, but Beth and Summer do not.

Goals

Drives and motivations: Loves to learn and experience new things.

Immediate goals: Have a good time

Long term goals: don’t die

Past

Hometown: Originally born in Arecibo, Puerto Rico, Teensy did most of her growing up in Houston, Texas

Type of childhood: Decent, middle class, but chronically under stimulated and had an incredibly intense stress put on appearance, especially regarding aging.

Pets: Many, mostly cats in childhood

First memory: meeting her adoptive parents

Most important childhood memory: meeting her maternal, blood-relative grandmother

Why: Because it brought her closer to the people and traditions she lost when her birth parents died.

Childhood hero: Charles Lindbergh

Dream job: Doctor (or a pilot…)

Education: Formal education, a Bachelor's Degree in Science, and several higher honorary degrees in various science and medical related fields. Learned most of their chemistry and engineering skills through trial and error with personal research.

Religion: Raised Baptist, introduced to Catholicism by grandmother at 8 years old

Finances: Middle class

Present

Current location: Farm outside of Gun Barrel City, Texas

Currently living with: Morticia, her granddaughter, and occasionally with Beth and Summer, when either of them come to visit

Pets: Peekaboo, a little moppy-looking purse dog, and several pampered barn cats

Religion: Agnostic

Occupation: Retired

Finances: Money is not a concern (All that synthetic nicotine money, eyyyy)

Family

Mother: Mabelle Sanchez nee Holiday, deceased

Relationship with her: Generally good, but increasingly distant as Teensy grew older.

Father: Avery Sanchez, deceased

Relationship with him: Strained, and increasingly so as Teensy grew older.

Siblings: None

Spouse: Ex-husband, Stanley Pines

Relationship: estranged

Harold Leist, Deceased

Relationship: was generally very amiable, though Harold was often confused or shocked by Teensy’s scientific endeavors. Teensy married him because he was loyal, kind, and cared about Beth when Beth was still very young and recovering from Teensy and Stan’s sudden separation.

Children: Beth Sanchez

Relationship with them: Solid, but occasionally they argue, mostly about Stan. Beth often visits her father’s dimension and Teensy is not a fan.

Other important family members: Granddaughters Summer and Morticia, Grandmother Rosaria Solas Marquez(Deceased)

Favourites

Colour: bright colours, usually neon blues, pinks, and greens

Least favorite colour: beige

Music: she has eclectic taste, but she plays everything loud. One of her favourite songs currently is Our Last Night’s cover of abcdefu.

Food: Fish, especially white fish. Cooks for flavour, so uses a lot of herbs and spices in just about everything she makes.

Literature: Loves horror novels and poetry. Their favourite poem is ‘In the Desert’ by Steven Crane, and their favourite book is ‘Koko’ by Peter Straub.

Form of entertainment:

Expressions: “Well, dip me in shit and set me t’ spin!”

Mode of transportation: trains. Teensy loves the leisure of a long train ride.

Most prized possession: their portal gun

Habits

Hobbies: Mechanical tinkering, loves fixing old shit; bassist in a punk garage band comprised of a bunch of other elderly punks

Plays a musical instrument?: Electric bass

Plays a sport?: Played soccer up until their 40s, just recreationally. Still passionate about the international teams.

How they would spend a rainy day: Reading, working in the lab or workshop, or baking

Spending habits: tend to spend money on little trinkets and silly stuff that’ll be given away as gifts. Doesn’t bother paying attention to costs very often.

Smokes: often; weed, tobacco, and some alien hallucinogens

Drinks: nightly; loves absinthe and whiskey and various alien wines and spirits.

Other drugs: usually; she creates a lot of custom party drugs, going for things that make the user feel extremely good without doing (too much) damage to the body, as well as

What do they do too much of?: Partying

What do they do too little of?: Genuine self-care

Extremely skilled at: Deflection, chemistry, engineering

Extremely unskilled at: conversation

Nervous tics: chews fingernails

Usual body posture: hunched shoulders and relaxed limbs

Mannerisms: Friendly, solicitous, curious, stickler for details

Peculiarities: Talks to animals like they’re people, ignores people as soon as she’s done with a conversation, literally will just get up and leave if they’re bored or annoyed.

Traits

Optimist or pessimist?: optimist that pretends to be a pessimist

Introvert or extrovert?: Introvert

Daredevil or cautious?: Midline; more cautious than many Ricks seem to be

Logical or emotional?: Logical, but in extremely emotionally charged situations, trusts her gut

Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat?: Methodical and neat

Prefers working or relaxing?: Working

Confident or unsure of himself/herself?: Confident, until set around a bunch of other Ricks.

Animal lover?: Yes, keeps many cats and a dog.

Self-Perception

How they feel about themself: comfortable, solidly proud and affectionate toward themself.

One word the character would use to describe self: Steadfast

One paragraph description of how the character would describe self: Good-natured curmudgeon ready to take on the world. Old as shit and looking for someone to hit.

What does the character consider their best personality trait?: Being assertive

What does the character consider their worst personality trait?: being nosy

What does the character consider their best physical characteristic?: their eyes

What does the character consider their worst physical characteristic?: the cracking, popping, noisy set of joints they have.

How does the character think others perceive them: as a redneck punk with a big mouth.

What would the character most like to change about themself: be bolder and more actively adventurous, like Ricky.

Relationships with Others

Opinion of other people in general: Well intentioned bunch of morons.

Does the character hide their true opinions and emotions from others?: Rarely

Person character most hates: most citadel Ricks, and C-137

Best friend(s): Ricky

Love interest(s): None at the moment

Person they go to for advice: Mostly relies on their own research and intuition, but bounces ideas off Ricky and Morticia.

Person they feel responsible for or takes care of: Morticia, Summer

Person they feel shy or awkward around: Doesn’t show it much, but they’re shy about being around most Ricks.

Person they openly admire: Ricky, Morticia, Summer, Beth

Person they secretly admire: Stan Pines

Most important person in their life before story starts: Beth and Beth’s children

After story starts: Beth and Beth’s children.

#teensy #about me #OC profile #oc #rick and morty rp #rick and morty oc #female rick

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