#desires are messy and ugly so it���s better to just not have them

[moonchildridden]

NottPun, that couple (who’re not exactly a couple) that showed a lot of nuances in less than an hour: attention seekers, maybe jealousy, secret crushes, fear, pressure and the need for allies (Episode 2)

Hi. Hello. It’s moonchild here. You guys can’t see but my brain is burning right now as a write this, with the amount of things I’m thinking and how messy everything is in here. Why is that happening, you may ask? War Of Y: New Ship second episode just dropped. And I have things to say about it.

I would like to say first that this episode was I-N-T-E-N-S-E and A LOT of things happened, whether they were on the nose or not, and also dropped LORE about what the hell is going on around NottPun, the type of relationship they have and how the industry is affecting them. Most of things that happened were a continuity of the themes I explained in my first post about them and others were a new highlight on things that were shown but not so much.

Second, I cannot stress this enough, the fact that we still don’t have the posts/comments/messages translated is a big hindrance to my full enjoyment of the story. I shouldn’t have to go out of my way to translate things so I can understand the meat of the story, and being susceptible of having the wrong translations and, by default, understand things wrong also. Luckily, even if the translations are a bit…off…because I know the context of their placement, is kinda easy to see what was said and how it affected and impacted the story.

Third, again, this episode was intense. Not because it shoved a lot of ugly things about the industry in our faces just like the first one did but because it went deeper into Pun’s inner life and struggles, his weaknesses and how everything he absorbs made him the man he is, with all that seemingly rude and diva like behavior. It also went into details about his dynamics with Nott and dropped more hints about how both of them may be exactly what the other need.

Because I need to be a responsible adult, I need to make my usual disclaimers before getting started: everything that you guys will be reading in this post is the result of my observations into very specific parts of the episode, frame by frame repetitive viewing and me getting to the most plausible conclusion after taking all in, meaning that most of the things will be on the speculative territory, others in (maybe) theory territory and some can (or so I think) be proven by in-dialogues and scenes arrangements, so take things with a grain of salt, ok?

I’ll try, albeit I may not managed to do that the way I want, to divide this post into segments to facilitate your understanding of my thought process, and those segments will follow the order of events presented in the episode, with things in bold being mostly dialogues and things in italic being me emphasizing or exaggerating my thoughts.

Contrary to what I did before, instead of talking about themes as a whole, I will discuss the events that transpired in the episode and try to tie them with the themes I identified in the first episode. And because there is continuity of themes in this episode, I will reference a few things that I wrote in my last post, but no need to worry about needing to read that post first because I will paraphrase when necessary. But after this, you can check it out, it was a blast writing that.

So, without further ado, let’s get this started.

  1.       Approval + attention + validation = a desire to exist within the industry

When I made the character profile of Pun in the previous post, I said that he gets a high in being adored and that he’s the type of person willing to do everything he can to get what he wants, and nothing showcases that better than him researching about the TTV’s producer that was going to visit the set where they were shooting Mafia Baby’s second season and using the information he got to “impress” the man and have a big chance of working with him.

Pun projects specific images of himself to certain people and he tries to sell the image that he deems best to a specific person. To the TTV producer, he tries to appear interested in his works, in the cast and crew’s well-being, in being nice and always willing to do his utmost best in the pursuit of doing a good job. To the crew and rest of the cast, he shows a distant and cold man, someone who’s above all of them and should have his desires granted as soon as they are vocalized or expressed. To his fans, he shows a sensitive and caring man, someone worth of being adored and taken care of, someone whom they can put their trust in and follow without an issue. None of those images are really what he is, his real personality.

We barely know who we really are and it can take years to have a glimpse of our real personality, what we really are on the inside and not what the world thinks about us. When the subject is famous people, this notion of not having knowledge of their real personality doubles because the person we see on screen can by anything and we only see what they want us to see, when they want us to see, and Pun is a good example of that. The way he seems to push away people behind the cameras but seems welcoming in front of them, the way he is nice to some but rude to others, the way he keeps some people close but push away others is a classic depiction of the volatility of the human personality and how someone can have “many faces” and we’ll never know which one is the real one.

Pun uses this volatility to fulfill some sort of “need” for approval and/or attention and that supposed need is more related to the industry itself and not him, as Pun. Between his real self and the personas he show the world there is a wall, and the images he projects act as a mask to hide what he thinks he should not be showing, who he really his, so he can survive in the industry and that surviving can only be attained through validation as the persona Pun, the actor, that in turn will become validation as Pun, the real person, the one almost no one knows about.

And so, he fights to get attention (from fans, from sponsors, from producers, pretty much anyone who can catapult him higher), then he fights to get approval (comments on social media, from producers, filming crew, etc.) and in the end he grabs any chance he can get to reach the validation he needs (awards and a more permanent stay in the industry) and continue to feed the personas he created to hide his real self.

   2.       Romantic jealousy versus Professional envy

One thing that I noticed (kinda late) is that it seems that we are getting the story mostly through Pun’s perspective, meaning that the only way we can get any glimpse of other character’s behavior and intentions is by analyzing the way they interact with Pun and the dialogues they have with him. Nott’s behavior, for instance, is the strongest indicator of this, being him the other main protagonist alongside Pun, making things a bit difficult to actually see because we need to take into account that Nott and Pun are two actors, doing their job, but they are also separate people, meaning that we shouldn’t only look at their attitudes together as a result of their professional relationship but also look into their personal relationship; and here is where things become murkier.

What we need to understand here first is that Nott also wants to maintain a foot in the industry, even if he doesn’t seem to go through almost extreme lengths like Pun to do that. And so, because he wants to secure his place, he also needs to catch attention of the producers that appear in his way, because we never know when luck struck and the opportunity comes knocking in our door. However, the only reaction we have from him in relation to the TTV’s producer visit to the set is annoyance; annoyance because Pun seemed too interested in getting Tai’s attention.

That annoyance begs the question, what is the reason Nott didn’t seem to like Tai’s presence that day, when what he should be doing was show that he could be a good addition to whatever project Tai may have?. One could argue that Nott was feeling threatened by Pun’s ability to charm producers and steal his opportunities but that falls flat when Nott did nothing himself to also grabs the producer’s attention and instead spent his time expressing his dissatisfaction of Pun’s behavior and telling Pun that it was enough that he was taking advantage of him, Pun shouldn’t do that to others, gaining a “how many people I decide to do it with is up to him” and “mind your own business” as a response from Pun.

With that, I know pose the question: is it really farfetched to think that Nott’s behavior stems from some sort of romantic jealousy, when the way he acted supports that? How much can we infer that his actions were of someone feeling that with Pun getting attention, his days on the industry were counted? Can we assume that Nott feels that his fame is attached to Pun and the fact that they are a shipped couple, so he is doing all he can to keep Pun by his side and, by proxy, his fame intact? Or can we view the little altercation in front of the ice machine, where Nott ate the ice put there specifically to Pun, and used the excuse that Pun gave the ice to others (by “others” here we understand TTV’s producer), so he also could have some, as an attitude who didn’t like that the object of his affection is showing interest in other people? When does Nott’s actions stop being of someone who supposedly likes Pun and becomes something a disgruntled partner would do?

How blurry are those two lines? Can we really consider the existence of them or there is only one, the romantic one, which can be ramified to other ones, using them as camouflage?

   3.       How social media warped our views and understanding of human relations

Social media, in theory, is a place that can unify large groups of people in one single place, connect people who wouldn’t otherwise have the chance to do so and reconnect long lost acquainted people after many years of contact lost. When we get to the real life, however, social media become a mine field, where everyone is playing mine sweeper and those who are unfortunate enough to step on mined tiles are used as cautionary tales as to what not to do in certain situations. Someday, we will all step on a mined tile, is inevitable.

In the industry, no matter which one, social media is used a metric of evaluation of authenticity of famous people relationship with each other and also as a big sized projection of individual ideas of how human relations should be and their boundaries. In the BL industry, the industry being scrutinized in this episode, the fans really like to use social media to dictate how their faves should behave towards other people, especially when in regards to the actors and their shipped couples.

If an actor X tweets something and their shipped couple does not reply, there is a problem. If actor Y posts something on Instagram and their shipped couple does not like the post, they clearly had a fight and don’t talk with each other. If actor Z does not post a story with their shipped couple, they hate each other. Social media became the only source of validation of authenticity of actors personal relationship with each other and anything that is not shown, any interaction that is not broadcasted, it simply does not exist and so can’t be used to prove that the actors don’t secretly hate each other and only tolerate the other because the work they have together demands them to.

And god forbids the actors have a “fight” or simply disagree with one another, it is definitive proof that they really don’t like each other, they are being forced to be together, and all the schmutz that is associated with fanservice (I will talk about that later).

Going into what happened between NottPun, it is a situation that even if it’s not good, can happen with anyone when they are simply not in the mood to that type of “joke”. Pun is not exactly a lively person and the chances of him being already in a bad mood are kinda high, so when he sees Nott eating his ice, he is not pleased. Then Nott starts doing a live without asking Pun, kisses him on the cheek without asking beforehand, irritating even more someone who’s already annoyed by him and the result was kinda obvious; it is was something being made between closed doors, probably it wouldn’t have being an issue but the fact that that specific event was broadcasted, thus creating a snowball that kept rolling downhill.

That snowball was created mainly through the comments and twitter posts (that international viewers did not had full access to) and for what I managed to gather in my scuffed translations, it went from saying that NottPun did not promoted/talked about the queer community to calling what happened between them during those few seconds clip a case of sexual harassment. And even after the tweet Pun made on Nott’s twitter account, explaining that what happened had mislead many people, that they pretend to tease each other like that and apologizing to Pun and his fans, things were already out of hand, with some not believing on the tweet, other asking how could he “blame the fans” (by saying that they misinterpreted the situation) and other just being a mixture of the earlier comments.

Things were ugly on the fan’s side of things. And were also getting ugly on NottPun’s side too.

[Side note here because even if this happened during the swarm of comments regarding the clip of them “fighting”, I feel like I need to talk about this now. I said in the last post that Pun seemed to recoil every time someone touched/tried to touch him except when the person doing the touching was his manager or Nott. When Nott pressed Pun on the glass, it was the second time in a row we saw him not feeling comfortable with Nott touching him and actively pushing him away, with the first being the situation that caused all of this mess. And, again because the comments that were plastered on screen during that scene were not translated, it gets a bit difficult to feel the tone of the scene but it is very telling that one of the comments mentioned “consent”, tying back with the other comment talking about sexual harassment.

I know it was not something random, because everything that happened so far wasn’t, so it has to mean something. Either being to sparkle conversation about boundaries between actors and what kind of touch they are allowed to do with each other, to show how we take our own conclusions when presented with a situation, even if it’s a very strong stretch, or a combination of both, we cannot deny that Nott touching Pun like that was a middle no-no, and Pun makes that clear by saying “if I didn’t tell you what to do (i.e. give you permission), you have no right (of doing what you did)”; that means that Nott only touches Pun because Pun allows him to and there are certain situations where Nott’s touch is not welcomed. And Nott, at least, understood that.]

Going back to the social media stuff, the fans seem to think that every aspect of a relationship must be broadcasted and when that does not happen, either there is something wrong or the relationship itself does not exist. And that way of thinking becomes toxic because it literally forces the actors to maintain a facade and post about every step they make, everything they do, just to prove to a bunch of people online that feel entitled to their entire lives just because they are famous, that the relationship that exists between them and their shipping partner is not strictly professional, that is not fake. And being obligated to maintain that facade, soon or later, can create strains in the relationship and, if something happens and the relation falls apart, someone people will use that as “proof” that they were right, when they were the reason the relationship failed in the first place.

 4.       Theory of easy replacement (i.e. Apparent lack of space within the industry/dispute between BL actors

The first theme that I identified in my post about episode 1 was that the industry makes it seem like there isn’t enough space to every BL actor to exist and that for every actor that rises in fame, other must fall to give them space. Pun’s seemingly need for attention/approval/validation can also stem from his fear of “being replaced” in the industry, and that is shown in two ways:

1 – Pun seeing Tai’s attention on GusBew is seeing here, through his perspective, as a threat to his goals of securing a role in any future project that Tai may have. After the scene where Tai is watching GusBew rehearse their scene, there is a tweet shown that basically says that the OP is feeling bored of the old couple (NottPun), because all they do is fanservice (hey, look fanservice being mentioned again!) but the new couple (GusBew) is the one they are secretly cheering for because they give a fresh, shy, happy look and also have good space (?) between them, maybe alluding to the sexual harassment and consent thing.

2 – That fear of being replaced, coupled with the pressure Pun was feeling because of the comments he was reading online were the reason he had his first panic attack while shooting for the love scene, which was not a coincidence. First we had Pun telling Nott that because they know each other for a good amount of time he did not need to like his posts on social media or do any other service (I’m still trying to understand the correlation between those two topics, so if anyone manages to get it, please comment so I can see) and to stay away from him, to which Nott reacted with some indignation, getting a “come on, do as I say” as a response from Pun. Then, we had Nott telling Pun to “do it for him” (meaning immerse himself in the scene for him), which led to them starting kissing and another swarm of non-translated comments appearing on screen, making critiques about the series (saying stuff like the ss2 is practically a porn movie, that the industry is setting the bar low with the series) and NottPun as a shipped couple (that they look awkward, that they are queerbaiting and doing all of that for the pink money), causing him to literally freak out and interrupt the scene so he could calm himself down.

3 – Listening to Tai say that he was actually eyeing him but if he (Pun) was going to be like that (have a panic attack every time he needed to shoot a love scene or some variation of that), he was not suitable for TV drama practically validated Pun’s fears of not being enough and the thinking that what he was doing was wrong, to justify why he was not getting the opportunities he wanted, despite working so hard to get them. He was losing his ground to other people and, clearly, it was his fault.

Pun knows that not everyone will have the same opportunities in life, that’s why he is willing to sacrifice a lot just to have his. But when things outside his control happen, and he is a very controlling person because the more control he has the least surprises he will have in the future, he does not compute fast enough a way out to either get the chance he lost back or run for another one, creating a loop of unfulfilled goals and more pressure over his head to sacrifice even more than before to get to the top.

5.       Not so secret crushes

I know I said before that Nott likes Pun, or at least thinks about Pun as more than just friends, but the way his conversation with Pun in the changing room before the event really started to really highlight that there is something there, and that Pun knows about it or, at least, suspects it, really sold that idea for me.

On one side we have Pun asking Nott if he was not tired of having to make fanservice, implying that everything Nott does is just to please their fans and that Pun was tired himself of that. On the other, we have Nott being very careful with his words, saying that him liking Pun’s picture on social media, taking care of him, complimenting him, is all his doing, not some sort of “moral obligation”, and that Pun is “the one who knows best the reason he did what he did”, then asking if it was Pun who did all he did to service the fans. Granted, Nott could’ve been talking about the fact that because they know each other for a while, there is “friendship” formed between them and that Nott doing those things was just what a friend would do to another friend (whether it was a normal friendship or a friendship with benefits, it didn’t matter, as long as it was not in the guise of a professional relationship) but the way Pun’s face softened after those words made me think that he is at least a bit aware that what Nott does to him is not just because they are “supposed” to do that for the fans, but because he genuinely liked him (as a friend or more).

When we entertain that idea, Pun drawing a line between him and Nott having sex off cam and what they do during shooting becomes something bigger than him just preventing his coworker to mix what he considers a time to relieve stress to work but Pun not wanting Nott to mix his romantic feelings into what they were doing and ending up ruining things in a way that would render their work almost unbearable.

I said in Nott’s character profile that he was an easy going guy, really approachable and friendlier, and in this episode we actually got to see that side of him again but he also seems to have a bit of difficulty controlling his actions when his feelings are bubbling very close to the surface, with him eating Pun’s ice just because Pun offered the ice to Tai, then being all lovey dovey in a very short live, then asking Pun to immerse himself on the kiss during shooting and then almost outright confessing his feelings out loud when Pun accused him of doing all he did just for fanservice. That inability could very much create so much tension between them that no amount of “workshop” could fix and, in the process, ruin Pun’s chance of growing in the industry.

However, the look Pun gave to Nott when Nott was helping him fix his jacket, honestly speaking, it was the look of a man letting the words he heard seconds ago really sink in inside of him, absorbing the implied meaning of them and letting himself being vulnerable for a few seconds before putting the mask back on. Pun did not wanted to believe Nott’s words, because he did not wanted to put his faith onto something that could very well be conditional and, if there is something Pun don’t want is to have people liking him conditionally, I mean really like him. He was scared of believing Nott, because the chances of Nott not being true to him were very high; and he could not control the outcome of that, so why bother trying.

And, if we really think that thought, couldn’t that also mean that Pun has some sort of feelings for Nott as well or, at least, is starting to develop some, right?

6.       Industry Judas

How do we evaluate how much a piece of information costs? By the ability to create damage and chaos when release? By how long it has circulating around? By whom it affects and how high is the position of the person/people involved in the information? No matter what metric we use to do that, information is power and those who detain power, detain everything.

Between famous people, we all know that there are people close to them selling their information to news outlets in exchange of money or simply just to ruin the famous people lives. Sure, in some instances, the famous people themselves give that information and them pretend to have those same information “stolen” from them but without a way of proving that, the only thing we can assume is that someone close enough to them sold that information for whatever reason. And that’s exactly what happened in this episode; someone decided to personify Judas and “betray” the confidentiality that comes with private matter regarding what happen to actors during the shooting.

One thing would be people using NottPun’s public “fight” and the fact that none of them had been liking each other’s posts to assume that they are having problems between them (going back to the perception we have about the actors relationship through social media) but other thing entirely is the reporters asking if it was true that NottPun fought a lot behind the scenes and cause the shooting team to stop in the middle of the scene because that is not an inference based on what they saw online, it was a very specific question about something that actually happened and they were just asking for a confirmation of the fact. It was not a “so, what happened between you two that made Nott not like the last two posts from Pun?” but a “so, you guys had a fight that caused problems during shooting, right? And that’s the reason Nott hasn’t liked the last two posts from Pun. Can you guys confirm this?” which means that they were expecting for a good moment to just say that out loud.

And also, who the hell is the GossipXoxo’s account owner and how do they know so much about what happens in the shooting set or between NottPun? Seriously, I need to know.

 7.       Fanservice & personal expectations

I’ve waited since the day the trailer for New Ship came out to see what would be the event surrounding the conversation about Pun’s complaint of fanservice and oh boy, I got exactly what I wanted! I always found the discourse about fanservice fascinating because it can always give you an insight about the person giving you opinions about it and how they perceive human relationships and display of affection in these types of environments.

Speaking for myself, I have a pretty neutral stance about fanservice and what all of it entails. There are moments where I wished the industry or even the fans didn’t demand the actors to do certain things just for their entertainment but in general, I don’t lose sleep over fanservice and pretty much don’t judge the actors relationship based on that. However, being an almost full time twitter person, I’ve seen a lot of opinions about fanservice but the most prominent ones are these two: some people don’t like fanservice and some people really like fanservice.

To explain exactly how the discourse about fanservice really is just a mess sprinkled with glitter, I’m gonna use what Pun said bit by bit and talk about it:

- “When we service, we get insulted and when we don’t service we get insulted” – this sentence alone sums up perfectly the online discourse I see about fanservice. Because when a shipped couple does fanservice, some people literally write essays about how the actors relationship is fake, that they are being obligated to be together by their company or they are just doing it for the “pink money” (for example, OhmNanon are the latest victim of this discourse, especially after their fanmeeting), basically saying that they hate each other’s gut and only tolerate one another because of their job. However, when a shipped couple does minimal to no perceivable fanservice, some people have the impression that the actors hate each other and can’t even stand be a feet close to their shipped partner, to the point of disgust, and not even the money they would receive for doing said fanservice is enough to convince them to actually do something, meaning that their relationship is fake and that they are also being obligated to be together by their company and stuff like that.

Did you guys note something? How similar the reactions for the existence or not of fanservice are pretty much the same, the only thing that changes is what the person is talking about. This is basically the online discourse about fanservice in a nutshell.

I could rant about how some opinions stand out among those I mentioned above, saying that the industry is relying more and more on the fanservice itself and hoping that it alone can sustain the series the actors are promoting, instead of searching for a way of improving the quality of the Thai BL in the country, the ability of the actors and the quality of the story being portrayed, and also how in some instances fanservice can be detrimental to the actors relationship (a good example is what happened with OhmToey during the Make It Right era); this is an opinion I can, in certain cases, stand by it but, as I stated before, my stance is just neutral about it, so that opinion almost always stays in the back of my mind.

- “And what kind of shipped couple do they want me to be? Why all I did seems so wrong? Or just being me, is the reason of their hatred” – this here tackles the part pertaining the expectations the fans put on the actors about the type of display of affection that they want to see and what makes them comfortable. To explain better, I will use an example of something that happened in 2019, that not many people may know about: when the cast of 2 Moons 2 was announced and then started doing promotions and stuff, a well-known person in the “original” fandom of the “original” cast, that is also a fan translator, went on twitter to complain about the kind of fanservice PavelDome (ForthBeam in the new 2M2 version) were doing, saying that they were being too sexual in their interactions and basically accusing Pavel of just being a fuckboy doing all of that for attention and being “cringe” at the same time, relying on his physical attributes rather than his acting skills.

At the time, I took that as the person just being frustrated with the change of cast and not being used to the new one but after I saw that the person was actively shitting on the new cast without giving them the chance to prove themselves, while also indirectly calling Pavel every synonym of slut, I realized that the person placed their behavioral expectations on the new cast based on the old one and simply started criticizing them for it. The worst part in all of that is that Pavel, at the time, was just being his normal self, the only difference is that there were a lot more people watching him do that.

Another example of how expectations really ruin people’s perspective about actors display of affection is ZeeNunew. A lot, and I mean A LOT, of people like to say that their relationship is fake because they are too lovey dovey with each other, using Zee’s previous shipped couple, Saint, as proof of that, saying that everything Zee says about/to Nunew, he used to do the same with Saint and stuff like that, implying that you cannot compliment the person you work with because when the person change, it will render your new relationship invalid.

OhmNanon. Some people accuse them of being fake because they do fanservice (like what happened during their fanmeeting), others accuse them of not doing enough fanservice, thus their relationship is fake and they don’t like each other.

OffGun. A shipped couple that barely do fanservice, to the point of their fans jokingly ask them to do some so they don’t die of starvation, to give them some crumbs, is accused of being fake simply because they don’t do fanservice.

KristSingto. Even if they don’t have a new project (like a series) since 2018, they are still good friends and hang out together with a surprising frequency, but people always say that they hate each other because they don’t broadcast every time they are together. That gained so much traction that Singto got asked if he and Krist hated each other TWICE in the span of six months, and he denied BOTH times, stating that they are fairly private people so whenever they are together, only a few people will know about. Krist, in one interview, said that there are instances of him and Singto going out together and people only finding about that like six months later, because one of them slipped that during an interview/live or because one their friends said something; and their friends/managers/family are always vouching for their friendship, going at lengths to call out those who always spread rumors about KS hating each other. Heck, KS even LAUGHED the last time they were asked that question, and I mean the kind of laughter you give when you listen something so absurd that you cannot believe what you just heard.

BKPP. Another victim of the online discourse of fanservice and they suffer from both sides. People accused Billkin a few times of queerbaiting, accused PP of being “too expressive” (badmouthing him for being feminine), said that they don’t really like each other because they don’t do much fanservice, then flipping the disc and saying that they only pretend to be friends for the cameras, even if they met each other years ago and are on each other’s side in every important moment in their lives.

I could go on and on about a lot more examples of double standards of the fanservice online discourse, because there is a lot roaming around, but I think that the examples I gave are enough for you guys to understand the scope of absurdity that the industry is creating. And don’t get me started on who some fandoms use the existence or not of fanservice to create fanwars with things like “at least my faves friendship is genuine, is not fanservice”, what makes me question “and what is so bad about fanservice that you need to brag about your faves ‘not doing it’?”. Why are we demonizing fanservice, when fanservice itself is not the real problem here but how the industry uses the concept of fanservice and the perception people have about that?

[That reminded me of something. When JIMIN of BTS was asked if he does fanservice with the other members, he said that all is actions are genuine and none of them is just for the sake of pleasing fans, and that response got people calling him a homophobe, just because he said he did not do things to please fans. People were out there equating fanservice with queer display of affection and if that does not tell you exactly the kind of mindset some people have, I don’t know what else can, to be honest.]

I’m not saying that there isn’t issues regarding the concept of fanservice and how it can be harmfully applied in some situations, I’m not that naïve. However, I’m not gonna sit here and pretend to have a higher moral ground and judge those who do fanservice, because I’m not them and I cannot dictate what is the “right way” of showing affection, because different people show affection differently and all we can do, as rational human beings that we claim to be, is understand that sometimes people do things that we would find uncomfortable and that’s ok, we can’t please everyone at the same time, is just not possible. What we can do is distance ourselves from situations that we find uncomfortable and let people live the way they want to, without criticizing their every move, call them names or accuse them of doing things they are not doing.

Nott’s “the world is just as bad as it is” is a good way of seeing the world and understanding that is not worth betray ourselves because of what people say online. Because we cannot please everyone, there will always be a criticism coming from someone, because we did or say something they did not like (I’m not talking about saying or doing offensive stuff) or we didn’t do what they wanted us to do. Pun cares about what people say about it so much that it is affecting him physical and mental health to the point of him having panic attacks during shooting or fainting in the middle of an event, and Nott knows that, he sees it all and it pains him seeing Pun isolate himself so much that he does not reach out for help simply because he does not trust anyone and act like he has no one on his side, like he’s fighting a battle alone and everyone else is his enemy.

It’s not easy to let go of the notion that we need external approval and validation to feel like we have purpose in this world, and considering the fact that Pun’s job literally feeds of external approval and validation, it becomes twice as hard for him to actually understand that seeking the perfect image so that others like him is killing him slowly, like a car crash we cannot avoid. He feels like he needs to have those things or he won’t have anything else in the world, and even if people close to him tells him that he doesn’t need it, it’s gonna take a while for him to start to understand that and really see him for what he is: a person deserving of love and affection.

                                           *************************

  As a bonus, I wanna talk about how Nott proved himself to be, again, a sort of safe place/haven to Pun. I said in the previous post (that you guys should totally check later), that Pun seems to be more comfortable around Nott, to the point of not having any problem with Nott touching him or even sleeping and snuggling with Nott after them having sex. As someone who have problems with physical touch myself, I have a very few selected people that I allow to touch me in any given time and those are my two nephews and my best friend, so I see Nott as someone Pun feels safe having around because I see where Pun is coming from in regards to not liking having people touching him, is something he gave Nott permission to do because he feels like Nott is deserving of that trust; and knowing how much of a control freak Pun is, that is very telling.

It may not look like but Nott appreciates the trust Pun gives him but that trust is in regards to physical touch and not trust in a broader sense. That’s why Nott talks about Pun not taking care of himself because of what people talk about on the internet, how Pun built a wall around himself and that because they know each other for a long time he knows that Pun doesn’t trust anyone but asks Pun to trust him, to understand that Pun doesn’t need to act like he’s alone in the world when he has Nott right there, by his side, begging Pun to let him into his world. Nott understands that, no matter how many times they have sex, how many years they’ve known each other, there are parts of him that Pun still keep locked away from everyone and those are the parts Nott wants to see, to see Pun fully for what he is and not just a few glimpses when Pun slips and let his vulnerable side seep through the walls he built.

And it is because Nott understands that that he reassures Pun that, regardless of how badly the world treats him, he “won’t treat him badly”, meaning that Pun can rely on Nott for whatever he needs, can see Nott as an ally, a shoulder he can lean on and cry when things become too heavy for him to bear alone. A side note here, while Nott was comforting Pun, he kept caressing Pun’s ears and talking to him in a soft tone, like someone trying to pass security to a scared animal. And remember what I talked about the possible meanings of that action from Nott to Pun: that it can be used to make Pun more relaxed and less tense in situations where he could usually feel like that and Nott’s way of him saying that he would not hurt him or do more that he was allowed to. Their secret code? Yeah, put that all together and it makes sense that Pun nodded after Nott said that he wouldn’t treat him badly, he knew Nott wasn’t saying empty words, he meant everything he said, from start to finish.

This episode was more raw than the first one because it gave us more insight about how Pun is as a person and how fragile he is compared to what he projects with his personas for other people to see. I showed us how exactly his brain thought process is, how he forces himself to maintain an image that his destroying and how he desperately needs comfort and how Nott is willing to do just that, be his safe haven. It also showed more shots of Pun holding his necklace in moments of stress (based on what Seng said in the recap of the first episode, that necklace was a gift from Pun’s mother, so it can be seen as a source of comfort from his family) and considering the preview of the next episode, we are going to have a glimpse of Pun’s personal life in relation to his family and maybe we can get an idea as to why he doesn’t like being touched.

Overall, this episode was very good, albeit very heavy and hard to digest when confronted with so many raw moments coming from a character that presented himself as a person self-conceited and easy to hate. It showed that is dangerous to use what we see to judge other people, that as humans we have many layers, some of which we don’t even have knowledge of, and how we internalize what other people say about us very easily and how that ultimately can destroy us slowly if we don’t find a way to stop the process before it gets too late.

If I have to be honest, I don’t even know if my thoughts look coherent in here because even I can’t seem to organize them correctly in my mind in a way that makes sense but I hope that at least you guys enjoyed the reading and also my understanding of the episode. Even with the world being as bad as it is, remember that each one of you are perfect the way you are, no matter what the internet tell you about yourself. You are the one who knows best about yourself and one day you’ll see how precious you are; it may and it will take some time but the day will come eventually.

[wildwren]

Okay, so I watched 1899 this week and,,,, I’m actually gonna drive myself insane if I don’t get some thoughts out about it — like I’m not even saying these thoughts are deep or mind-blowing or extra special analyze-y or anything, I just need to write ‘em down so my brain can get some space because they're are currently chewing holes in the ol’ lobes. Anyway!

Warning: Spoilers for 1899, mild Dark slander, spoilers for Severance 

I went into 1899 pretty excited. I love historical fiction, I love boat stories, especially boat disaster stories, I very much enjoyed Dark (although I would not call it a masterpiece or a perfect story or some of the other things people call it), I love watching shows that are not (entirely) in English. I love sinister mysteries/horror/surrealism, etc. Seemed like a pretty good vibe! 

For me, Dark was a very enjoyable ride and certainly a good use of viewing hours, but I personally wasn’t entirely moved by the scale of its sci-fi premise. I found the central time-loop conceit and all its twisty convolutions ultimately less interesting than the character work they were doing, the ways in which they were using the sci-fi premise to explore character by placing different versions of the same characters in relation to each other and seeing how they responded. However, the writing suffered imo from a sort of over-ponderousness — long philosophical monologues delivered by disembodied voices extrapolating on the nature of reality and time, full needle-drop montages at the end of every episode which were sometimes emotionally impactful and sometimes not. And while I appreciate their choice to end it at 3 seasons instead of continuing the story interminably, when it was all said and done, it felt rather long-winded to me, as if an even shorter form and a more condensed structure might have actually served the story better. 

Most of the critical reviews I’ve read of 1899 have been comparing it unfavorably with Dark, naming it as a failure to live up to the showrunner’s first big project, but I can’t say I agree. For starters, it’s hard to compare the two when Dark is complete and 1899 is not. But I’m pleasantly surprised by 1899’s attempts to correct the indulgences of Dark. There are essentially no ponderous monologues delivered by disembodied voices! Hallelujah! The needle-drop montages are still there and are still personally underwhelming for me, but they are quite punchy and short. The pacing feels much more spry (although some critics are calling it interminably slow? Disagree). The character work is still strong, but instead of focusing on a bunch of white middle-class teenagers and their parents in a comfortable suburb, it widens its scope to include a much greater range of experiences and stories. And it does so very effectively! 

It’s the character work that hits the hardest for me. I was particularly impressed by the secondary characters in 1899 (by that, I think I mean everyone other than Maura, Daniel, Elliott). Each one of them felt richly drawn and complex, and their backstories were revealed by means of the sort of slow-building, situational exposition which keeps me engaged. Not one of these characters felt stock or rote, but were allowed to be fully real and messy, driving the failed loop narrative forward by playing out their own pain and suffering and love in compelling ways. The strongest of these stories for me was probably Tove and Krester — two siblings bonded by a shared trauma event and their desire to escape it, who nevertheless continually fail each other over the course of the story with heartbreaking consequences. A very close second was Ángel and Ramiro, who I originally worried would be reduced to “scummy gays” but whose relationship held so much complexity — at turns toxic, at turns tender — that I ugly cried at Ángel’s death. Ling Yi and Yuk Je were another pair of heartbreakers, and even Olek, perhaps the most uncomplicatedly “good” character in the narrative, carried a darkness with him that haunts me. What was going on with his brother? What happened in that oil drum? As for the Frenchies: I didn’t quite feel the chemistry between Jérôme and Clémence, but they were both lovely characters and Lucien had an enjoyable meow meow quotient as well. And more importantly, they had an effective arc: starting at a place of tension or outright hostility along every axis of their weird little throuple and evolving into a makeshift care dynamic by the end. 

There was a special quality of tenderness to this writing which continues to effect me: the tone was neither grimdark disaster fic nor some cloying “saved by the power of love” message. There was a deep practicality to their attempts to band together and save each other as their numbers dwindled, which made their inevitable failures all the more heartbreaking. 

I guess I’m writing all this out because a lot of criticisms I’ve seen of this show argue that the central premise made these characters defunct. That as soon as the nature of the simulation was revealed, their deaths and their suffering failed to have impact or meaning. I’m struggling to grasp this argument. I do agree that the last episodes favored the drama of Maura, Daniel, and Elliott, who I found perfectly serviceable as the A story, but ultimately less compelling than the secondary characters. I don’t really care that much about the big sci-fi premise reveals, and would have preferred for the secondary characters to remain in greater roles of agency, but I understand why that had to shift to serve the story they were telling. The scope of the sci-fi premise is SO big, requiring the narrative to zoom out a LOT in order to give us the reveals that they did by the end of the season. So yea, we were left at a certain distance from some of our characters. 

But all of these characters are still very real — currently onboard the Prometheus spaceship (or in a B simulation, if you subscribe to that theory) — stuck in a world where they can only act out their trauma and never recover from it, where they can only hurt each other and then try, desperately, to save each other, and then FAIL. Where the love they have for each other is always just out of reach — unspoken or unconsummated or unrealized before its too late. I’m not sure how understanding that it’s a simulated loop makes that pain less impactful. But to each their own, I guess. 

It’s at this point in this rambling, long-winded rant where I have to make the inevitable comparison to Severance. Spoilers for Season One of Severance! There are um … a LOT of similarities between this show and Severance. Both stories involve characters who are trapped in a sort of half life, separated from the full versions of themselves and the full stories of their own memories. We haven’t got confirmation of this for 1899, but it’s my suspicion that similar to the folks in Severance, these characters made a consensual choice, a choice to perhaps avoid or passively delete their own pain, which has now imprisoned them in a different sort of hell. Their actual life experiences in 2099 or wherever they really are (analogous to the Severance ‘Outies’) might take a different shape than the memories and traumas we saw play out on the ship (their ‘Innies’), but they’re two sides of the same coin (or perhaps three sides of the same triangle, tell me to shut up now please). Moreover, there are massive similarities between Maura and Helly R., both in their actual roles within the story and in the ways in which those roles are revealed by the narrative. 

Given these similarities, I think, if anything, that 1899 accomplishes some things more effectively than Severance (someone’s probably going to fight me for this). My biggest gripe with Severance was how heavily it favored Mark’s narrative at the expense of everyone else and how much more interesting I found the other characters, particularly Helly, in contrast to him. 1899 essentially has the Helly character in the main role and in my opinion, draws its secondary characters in more satisfying ways than Severance was able to do given its framing choices. I’m not saying there aren’t some things Severance did better— I think Helly is a more fascinating character (so far) than Maura, and I find the subtlety of Severance’s premise more effecting than the grand cosmic gestures of 1899, but I think we need future seasons of both to determine how they pay off their character work.

Jesus fucking christ I’m going to stop talking now, if you read this, wow, I’d love to hear your thoughts, I’m literally bursting at the seams to talk about it so. Feel free to DM or drop me an ask. I will squeal. (unless you're an asshole)

(Also sorry I didn’t talk about Eyk like, at all, in this. I like him, he’s good, he’s interesting, I was deeply biased against him because the reuse of Andreas drove me crazy for some reason, so it was actually surprising to me how much I liked him. His character felt very different from Older Jonas. It worked!) 

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

0X1=?, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You were one and he made you both zero. He has it all, a stable life, all that money, a wife lined up, and your body as his drug, him coming back for hit after hit. They called you a bad influence. You called yourself Jeon Jungkook's ex.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; angst; cheating; stereotyping of tattoos; reader is verbally abused by JK's wealthy parents; JK and reader are foolish, wounded animals and act accordingly; rough hate sex (fem reader, biting / marking / scratching, f and m-receiving oral, cowgirl, penetrative sex); non-idol!BTS - exes, tattooed, rich!Jungkook x rebellious!reader, ft cameo of Kim Taehyung as JK's best friend

–

now playing – 0X1=LOVESONG (i know i love you) by txt ft. pH-1, Woodie Gochild, Seori

"I hate you."

"Join the club. Current members, me."

He narrowed his eyes and tossed his keys onto the table next to the door, kicking off his sneakers.

"We gonna fuck or what?"

You raised an eyebrow. "You tell me you hate me and then you want to fuck?"

"Stranger things have happened. I could tell you I love you."

You made a gagging noise. "Disgusting."

He pretended to be shocked. "How could you say such a thing?"

You slammed the door shut and walked past him, not saying anything. You heard him stride behind you, following to your bedroom.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Right, and I'm a dog. We done lying now?"

"You are a dog," you replied, falling onto the bed.

His head popped into view, long black hair hanging down, half of it pinned back to reveal his undercut and two dangling black earrings on his right ear.

"You fuck dogs? Nasty. I'm not into bestiality, sorry."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Shut the fuck up, Jungkook."

Jeon Jungkook cocked an eyebrow, adjusting his black turtleneck by hooking a finger on the collar and sliding it from side to side, the small tattoos on his knuckles and fingers dancing with the action.

"Why are you stressed like a nun?"

He clicked his tongue. "Her idea of getting freaky was trying to chew my neck off. Went full piranha on me."

You snorted. "Maybe you deserve it. Would have saved me the trouble."

"Ha, ha, very funny."

He glared at you and you glared back from the bed.

"So, how was fucking my best friend?" he snapped.

You scoffed. "I didn't fuck Taehyung. I told you already."

"That's not what he said."

"So what? I've never seen his dick or had it near my pussy. If he wants to make up shit, that's his prerogative."

Jungkook didn't look like he believed you, but you weren't the one cheating on your girlfriend with your ex, so it wasn't something you cared about. He narrowed his eyes.

"Swear."

"On what?" you shot back. "Your right nut?"

"Your life."

You snorted. "Well apparently to you, that ain't worth shit."

He was reaching for the bottom of his turtleneck and pulling it up and over his head. You felt a tinge of annoyance, seeing the dark, spotted bites on his side and shoulder. He yanked the article of clothing over his head and you spied the one on his neck, a blotted, messy patch of red-purple. It was ugly on his pretty tan skin.

You could do better.

"Your girlfriend know the meaning of sexy?"

"She's not my girlfriend."

"That's not what she or your parents think."

"She and my parents can suck each other's dicks."

"Didn't know you liked dick. Guess that's why we didn't work out."

He tossed his turtleneck aside and growled, crawling onto the bed. Large, powerful, shoulders flexing, copious black tattoos covering his right arm and shoulder, a full sleeve. On the inside of his right bicep was a skull with a knife in its head.

You picked that one, a long time ago.

You looked into his eyes.

He had noticed you glancing at it.

She's ruining your life! Look at you! Tattoos all over your arm and hand! How could you get these ugly things?

Jungkook didn't say anything. He just grabbed your arm and started yanking your clothes off, just like how you grabbed his pants and started pulling them off his body, throwing them violently aside.

Don't you dare speak to our son ever again, you good-for-nothing whore. You think we wouldn't notice your poisonous influence sullying him? It took us months to find a nice, sensible girl willing to put up with your mistakes!

Hands and skin and teeth and hate, tumbling onto the covers, the taste of his flesh on your tongue and his cologne attacking your nose, his large hands gripping your soft thighs, pushing them apart, looking down into those chocolate eyes, the voices melding together, arguments, tirades, chaos, a fucking mess of you biting your tongue while Jungkook stood there and did nothing to defend you.

I hate you so fucking much, Jungkook!

And calling my parents dogs licking the shit off countryside roads is any better? The fuck is wrong with you?!

They were eating me alive in there and you said nothing! Absolutely nothing! I'd go to hell and back for you and you couldn't even say a single fucking word!

You were in hell. You came back.

And now you were in hell again.

"Damn, she must be fucking horrible at making you feel good if you keep coming to me."

Jungkook rolled his eyes and you clamped your thighs around his head, nearly a triangle choke as you dragged him along the sheets, him half-crawling to follow you, shuddering at the close proximity of your pussy to his face. When he spoke, his warm breath saturated your wetness.

"She doesn't even taste half as good as you and never fucking listens when I tell her what I like," he grumbled.

"Yeah? You tell her you like it when you shove your face into pussy?"

He scowled.

"Like I said, she doesn't taste good. I never give her head."

And he attached his lips to your heat, slurping noisily, sighing in satisfaction as you squeezed his head with your thighs, hot and slick tongue sparking your sensitive skin, fuck, yes, this is what pussy should taste like, so sweet, fuck, familiar and erotic, his hands sliding up and gripping your ass, firm and solid while staring up at you, opening his mouth and letting you see the pink, wet muscle flick and dance over your clit, ghosting it with pleasure but not giving it to you, your honey-like juices glistening on his lips and chin.

You clenched your jaw. "Get serious already. Stop fucking around."

Jungkook narrowed his eyes.

"I'm always serious with you."

His lips closed in and he made your mind go blank, soft black hair fanning out on your thigh, fast, swift, powerful licks all over your sensitive bundle of nerves, sending shocks and jolts of pleasure shooting up your spine from your core, one of your hands twisting in his hair, bunching it up, his sharp jaw cutting into your inner thighs because you were squeezing so hard, but Jungkook didn't care, always saying, do it, choke me with your thighs, if I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die eating you out, his long fingers splayed out over your ass and pushing your hips into his face, making you hump his waiting mouth and his punishing tongue, hot flames of desire taking over, your head tipping back, pulling on his long hair, moans of his name tumbling from your throat, suck harder, fuck, seeing black from the sudden blinding tension, his skillful tongue fiercely teasing your engorged clit in the overwhelming tightness, snapping the strings of sanity.

"J-Jungkook!"

The impossible high, the violent shivers, shooting into accelerated free-fall, your fingers unclasping from his hair and pushing his head into your throbbing core, his tongue shoving into your folds and moaning at the sensation of your muscles clamping around it, sucking it all out, your orgasm consumed by his greedy mouth.

Your name vibrated in your own pussy, delivered by sinning lips and hazy dark brown orbs drugged with lust.

Back then, when it was falling apart, you told Jungkook all sorts of things and he said all sorts of things back. Painful things, hateful things, pitiful things, pointless things, never having a real conversation about how deeply he hurt you.

Only later, a strange moment, seeing Jungkook at your front door, seeing it in his eyes. Something different.

He asked you if you wanted to fuck with no strings attached.

You bit back, as wounded animals do.

Why? You were such a waste of time.

Jungkook didn't know it, but his next words made you agree to this ridiculous arrangement.

Yeah, but I was your waste of time and that's all I ever wanted to be.

When he kissed you now, it was hungry and heady, drunk on your taste and you, forcing his tongue into your mouth and thrusting into your lips. Tangled bodies, tangled tongues, tangled minds, falling into the bed, his hands in your hair and yours in his, whispers of, she'll never make you feel as good as I can make you feel, your lips and tongue all over his jaw and ear, biting down on it, earrings jingling against your cheek, his moan above your head as you traveled down, marking his skin with sharp bites and thick swipes of saliva, pretty pink marks all over his torso, contrasting the bruises.

"Of course not," Jungkook panted, a shuddering groan torn out of his throat as your nails raked down his back and then glided back up, fingertips pressing into the irritated skin, soothing it. "She never fucking listens to me or my body because she's an idiot."

You traced the curves of his muscles, lips ghosting kisses, hot and soft and sharp from breath and tongue and teeth, his body becoming yours from persistent, familiar touch, his name in your mouth and on his skin, your saliva dripping over his hard, thick length, and then your mouth was on it, his taste on your tongue, in your throat, and in your memory.

Jungkook moaned your name.

With longing, pain, and love.

When's the wedding?

Next year.

Huh. Good for you.

No, it isn't, and you know it. Bet you're glad I'm going to be miserable forever.

You've made me miserable forever, so serves you right.

"Get off, I don't want to blow my load in two seconds, fuck!"

You swallowed him as deep as you could and then pushed your head down so the tip was buried into your throat, swelling and twitching at the unbearable, euphoric constriction.

"F-Fuck, please, let go, fuck... oooh, shit..."

Your tongue outlined the underside of his length, humming around his cock, rubbing the base of the head and straining to slurp at it, letting him hear you, lewd, obscene, unafraid.

If he really wanted to, he could pull out now.

Jungkook breathed your name, savoring every syllable.

You stared into dark brown eyes, black pupils expanded, watching his jaw flinch and his shoulders shake, black tattoos shivering as you slowly removed your tight mouth, popping it off his cock with a wet plop.

His normally smooth, silvery voice was trembling, the pleasure deepening it.

"God, I hate you."

Jungkook and you could say it a thousand times, a million times, for all of time, and both of you would know neither ever meant it.

I love you.

Get out, Jungkook.

But–

Get the fuck out! You think you can fuck me and tell me you love me? Like that's going to somehow negate all the previous bullshit you put me though? No. Take your clothes and your pathetic self and get out. Come crawling back to me on your knees when she reaffirms to you that I'll be the best fuck you'll ever have.

He would. He did.

Over and over.

You towered over him now, waiting for him to roll the condom down, watching his face as you sank down onto his stiff length, seeing the elation, the gratification, the absolute bliss in the way your pussy suffocated him, tight, wet, his, your head dipping down and taking his lips, yours, fitting yourself around his girth that became harder as you bottomed out, his moan feathering over your lips as you rolled your hips into his with a firm smack.

"Oh, fuck, feels so fucking good..."

He knows you're not going to fuck someone else. You have to see other people so he finally realizes how important you are to him.

That's the stupidest shit I've ever heard in my life, Taehyung.

If you don't refuse him, he won't change.

I was never important enough to him in the first place.

Those chocolate orbs watching you, his strong hands on your hips, fingers pressing into your skin and leaving crescents of his nails, matching your pace, harsh, deep slaps of skin to skin, your name on the tip of his tongue, balanced in the tightrope of all or nothing, zero or one.

They want me to take over the family business.

Having a trophy wife is important for that kinda shit.

You're the perfect trophy.

Yeah, me and my mechanical heart.

Jungkook switched your positions, rolling over and pinning you down, perfect white teeth sinking into his pink lower lip, the black mole underneath prominent against his tense jaw, fucking you into your mattress, panting, giving you his all, aching pleasure with every rough thrust, your back arching and hands on his long black hair, clutching his head and raising your hips to meet that full hardness and to hit your favorite spot, sending bursting sparks of ecstasy up your spine and into your lungs, rendering you airless.

Nothing but pleasure, nothing but need, nothing but physicality.

“Look at me,” Jungkook rasped, hoarse from breathing so hard.

You lowered your head and raised an eyebrow. His parted lips had small cuts from stress-biting them. His tan skin was as lovely as ever, dotted with small moles on his nose, cheek, neck, underneath his lip, kisses from the moon, not bothering to wear makeup to cover them. He never did, not with you, not when his time could be better utilized being all over you. Dark brows and chocolate eyes, large, sharp, expressive, beautiful, your Jungkook.

Your country, your world, your universe.

You smirked as you looked at that face. He cocked a brow, black curls falling over his eye as you lifted your hand.

“You know what would piss them off?”

You didn’t need to say who.

He clicked his tongue and slammed his hips down on you, but you only clenched around him, causing him to pause and savor the feeling. His length wrapped in your warmth, connected in the most visceral way, his breath mixing with your breath. Dark brown orbs on you, half-lidded and shadowed by his lashes and long hair.

“What?”

You pushed his hair aside and traced his right eyebrow, stroking the hairs of the tail.

“If you got a face piercing.”

Jungkook grinned, low chuckle in his throat. “Yeah?”

You lifted yourself up to smack your hips into him, holding onto his broad shoulders with your other arm to balance yourself, devious smirk on your lips.

“You won’t do it.”

He leaned down, putting more force into each thrust. Your grip tightening, gasping into his face, eye to eye, dragged along by Jungkook’s intensity and passion, breathing in his exhale, drinking in his fervor, blind to the wrongness, deaf to everything but the sound of bodies, wetness to hardness, and the way he said your name, like there was nothing else, nothing but you and him and ecstasy, nothing but the sensation of how hard and how full his cock felt when he was inside you, nothing but how strongly and viciously you pulsed around him, toppling over the edge, moaning his name and staring into his eyes, into the eyes of the one that made you orgasm and mean it with every fiber of your being.

“Jungkook…”

He sucked in a breath and gasped your name, cock twitching and spurting into the condom, plunging forward, kissing you hungrily and deeply, shoulders shaking in your hands, stealing your breath, muffled cries sliding into your throat from his, anguish at the force of his climax, sweeping you up with him.

It was a long kiss.

He finally broke it, heavy exhale against your lips, not lifting his head, his black hair spilling all over your face, not letting you see anything.

Mouthing words against your cheek that you could feel, but it was a silent utterance, a soundless scream into the abyss that he alone was sinking, living a life without you.

Enjoy your piranha.

Ha, ha, very funny.

She’s not gonna notice?

He hadn’t said anything, pulling his turtleneck over his head and shaking out his long black hair like a dog. You had pulled your blankets over your naked body and looked away, not wanting to see him any longer.

You’re trash, Jungkook.

Yeah, but I could buy you a Louis Vuitton bag, easy.

You’ve been hanging around your parents too much. I don’t give a shit about your money or your influence and I never did.

Everyone likes money.

Everyone likes you too. Oh, wait, except me. I guess I’m excluded from everyone.

He hadn’t said anything more. You didn’t tell him goodbye when he left.

You waited until your heart became numb again. Then you mechanically crawled out of bed and cleaned up all traces of his existence, going all the way outside to dispose of the condom and the wrapper so you wouldn’t accidentally look at them in the trash later. You put your clothes back on, one by one, and went about your day. And the next day. And the next. And the.

And.

“Are you okay?”

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine,” you would say to whoever asked. You would smile and nod.

Time went on.

You would open the door and no one was there.

You would close the door and go back inside.

You would open the door.

And Jeon Jungkook was there, with a cut on his lip and a black-purple bruise underneath his left eye.

His right eyebrow was slightly swollen, two stainless steel balls connected by a silver bar pierced into the end of his brow. His clothes were torn up, his white dress shirt dirtied and his dark wash jeans torn, brown mud caked on one knee. He looked at you, chest shuddering, wheezing for breath.

“Hah…”

He smirked, the gesture not reaching his eyes. Those dark brown orbs were desolate, numb. He wiped his lip with the back of his hand and winced.

“I think they’re mad at me.”

You raised your eyebrows.

He flicked a hand through his now short black hair and ticked his head. “They told me not to show my face in front of them ever again and that I can kiss my inheritance goodbye.”

You leaned against your doorframe. “They took the silver spoon from your mouth over an eyebrow piercing?”

Jungkook shrugged. “I guess it pissed them off when I said I wasn’t going to take it out.”

He made eye contact and you saw him trying to tell you that he had changed.

Well.

Was forced to change, now poor and cast away.

“I know you said I was a waste of time,” Jungkook sighed, heavy and remorseful. “But I was your waste of time and that was all I ever wanted to be.”

You looked into those chocolate orbs that always told you they loved you.

“They knew, huh?”

He smiled ruefully. “I didn’t try to hide it. She knew, they knew, they probably all knew where I went.”

“And what will you do when they ask you to come back?”

Jungkook stood at your doorstep and told you words that you had always wanted to hear, but he had been too afraid to say, afraid of the repercussions, confused of his own feelings, too selfish at the time to realize how much he had hurt you. Time and emptiness had taught him pain and taught him what it meant to be without.

The time taught him how it felt to be not one, but zero.

“Tell them I should have left a long time ago and stayed with you, because you always let me be whoever I wanted to be even though all I was doing was wasting your time.”

He faced you, you and your mechanical heart that he created with his silence.

“I’m sorry.”

His apology meant nothing to you, far too late.

“Now I have nothing but time.”

It never mattered. You always knew Jungkook was sorry from the moment he asked to fuck with no strings attached. It was for him and for you. For him to touch you once more, even if it was all a lie, and for you and your mechanical heart, cleaning off the rust and giving it a moment to feel. He knew. You knew.

Without each other, you were both zeros when you could have been one.

And it was all his fault.

I know you’re not here, but I love you, Jungkook.

You sighed.

Then you shrugged.

“Yeah, well, I got nothing but time too.” You tilted your head, chuckling. “And even now, I waste it on you.”

Jungkook smiled sadly. He didn’t ask to be forgiven. He didn’t ask to be invited in. He just stood at your doorstep, finally able to say the words he should have said. He didn’t ask you to love him. You already knew he loved you. He mouthed it all the time, I love you, against your cheek, after each and every rendezvous, without fail.

Now he had nothing.

But you could see he was going to give it his all this time.

You stepped away from the doorframe and turned around, waving him in.

“If you’re gonna be my waste of time, at least wash your face.”

-

continued in LO$ER=?, m | jjk

--

masterpost

[ditttiii]

gold rush. || kth {m}

⇢ summary: kim taehyung is a walking heartbreak waiting to happen. all narrow eyes and long nose and devilish smirks, he is everyone’s dream. after months of sharing an elevator with the man who makes your heart race until you can scarcely breathe when the chance finally comes; are you willing to risk it all for his touch? 

⇢ genre: porn with feelings, soft smut, angst, is unresolved tension and feelings a genre?

⇢ pairing: kim taehyung x reader

⇢ word count: 4.4k

⇢ rating: explicit / 18+

⇢ theme: strangers to lovers, s2l!au

⇢warning/s: public/elevator sex, exhibitionism, fingering, cunnilingus/oral (female receiving), lots of kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex? reader’s on the pill, swearing, tension and so much of it, unresolved-repressed feelings, taehyung is a certified dingus & reader is hopelessly smitten. 

⇢ a/n: betaed by @yeojaa​ who owns my heart and is the most precious bean ever. 

also have all my virtual, socially distanced cuddles @btsmosphere​ @papillonsgf​ @birbdae​ & @unoriginal-username15432​. if it weren’t for their support this wouldn’t be out today. my gratitude knows no bounds ♡ also big thanks to taylor for the fic title.

banner by @chillingkoo​ & moodboard by @today-we-will-survive​​ their art breathed life into this fic ♡ a belated birthday fic for one mr.kim taehyung & the beautiful @kerikaaria​.  this fic is also my submission for @thebtswritersclub​ january monthly project. 

lastly, i had a lot of fun writing this so i hope you guys enjoy it x 2021 here v go ♡

You wonder when the shame stopped making you hide behind a curtain of messy bed hair. When the smell of a man's cologne on you and a fruity fragrance on him started to feel normal; routine.

 The elevator closes with a 'ping', and your eyes track the numbers as they descend, the warmth of another human, the soft puffs of his breath, warming your shivering, scantily dressed body.

 "What happened to ‘she’s too old for me?’ " You grunt, slipping off your six inches of agony inducing footwear and pushing them to a corner.

 "What happened to you not being jealous?" You can feel his smirk, oozing of self-assured nonchalance and smugness that would seem ugly on anyone but fits like a well-tailored suit on him. From the corner of your eye, you watch as he leans back, hands resting on the metal railing while his tall, lean body slouches lazily, almost invitingly, and you have to force your eyes away from tracing the curves of his pecs. It's a tempting sight, but you aren't about to give him any more ammo to goad you with. As it is, he already knows too much, is far too keen. 

 "Of your sugar mama? I don't think so."

 Taehyung hums but doesn't refute the statement and the silence between you two stretches on. A burning ball of jealousy in your stomach continues to eat away at your peace, and with a clenched jaw, you allow your head to rest against the cool metal of the elevator and pretend that the proximity doesn't affect you. 

 It's always the same between you two, a constant game of tug and war, where one pulls too firmly, and then the other comes tumbling close until one of you comes back to your senses and then it's back to square one. Back to bickering and recounting the previous night’s escapades of half-truths and lies told from kiss-swollen lips and hooded gazes as you try your best to rile the other one up.

 It's stupid. You are in your twenties and this isn't like you. The lying, the pretence that you are still seeing your ex-boyfriend and biting and sucking your own lip until it swells; until you look properly ravished; none of this is you.

 You should have known the day he first stumbled into the elevator with a half-buttoned shirt and bite marks painted over the pale skin of his neck, a satisfied smirk curled on his dark pink lips, that he wasn't good for you. But no, like the absolute fool that you are, you fell for him. Fell knowing full well he wasn't yours to have, that back then you weren't his to have.

 The elevator comes to a stop with a shudder. Your eyes, closed sometime during the descent, snap open and your feet pause when the sight of the closed doors grace you.

 "You stopped the elevator." It's not a question, not when his hand is still hovering over the stop button, head tilted as his eyes stay trained on you.

 "I did." He admits to a question you never asked.

 Biting back a hiss at his insistence on being difficult, you twist on your heels, lips pulled into a smile whose edges sting like shards of a broken glass and parry, "And why did you do that, pray tell?"

 He doesn't answer, just looks at you with that half-lidded gaze and his silence only infuriates you more, makes the back of your neck feel heated as an angry flush rises from your chest all the way up to your cheeks and with a few angry stomps you’re in Taehyung's space, barely a few inches left between you two.

 "God!" You start, and the anger, the jealousy, the ugly ball of insecurity and lust and something you haven't quite found a name for yet all coagulate and rise up your throat, burning your heart in their wake until you are hurting and seething. “I don’t get you, nor do I want to anymore!" The words tumble out, one after another and half thought out but your chest still burns and the ugly ball still feels scorching hot in your throat and you can't bring yourself to stop, to shut up and think. "Stop doing this. Stop flirting with me and stop looking at me with those hooded eyes of yours and for the love of god, do you really need to lick your lip that often? Why don't you carry a lip balm if your lips are that dry, huh?"

 The cross of your eyes is almost painful, but you have started and fuelled by anger and unreciprocated feelings there’s no stopping your steam. "And now this! Stopping the elevator! What the hell is this supposed to mean?" His lips part as if to answer but without waiting for his response, you plow on, "What! Do you actually have an answer? Really? Let's face it; you think I’m some sort of challenge that needs to be conquered. Another notch on your bedpost. You and your stupid smirks and half-lidded eyes and that damn mole on your nose and god, can you just not—"

 The soft pad of his finger on your lips pauses your rant, leaves them parted and your heart hammering while unsaid words clutter the hollow spaces in your throat, tighten around your vocal cords like a noose until they become their own nemesis. 

 "I broke up with her last night," Taehyung says, and from where you are standing so close to him, his breath on your neck, cheeks, lips is too enchanting, too much like something you had hoped and begged and prayed for far too long now. Breathing out harshly you blink yourself back to reality because you must be hearing him wrong. 

  "Huh?"

 His hand slowly comes up to hold your chin, thumb running over your lower lip with a feather-like touch, "I broke up with her last night, went home and came back early because I didn't want to miss you." He says, and your chest feels tight, palms numb and it's only when his hand gently settles over the nape of your neck and you inhale painfully that you realise that you had stopped breathing.

 "Why?" You rasp out. 

  Don't hope. This means nothing. Do not hope. 

 Something twists in your belly, a thread tightens around your heart, and you know, despite it all, that you are hoping. 

 "Why do you think?" He asks instead, and you stifle the sudden desire to bash his head into a wall. 

 "Don't play games with me." 

 A sigh, his breath dancing on your lips and you barely suppress the tingles that burn down your spine, "I'm not. I don't want to, not anymore." The hand resting around your neck curls, fingers caressing the soft skin behind your ear.

 "What do you want then?" Your words are quiet, hope and longing laced into every syllable that you desperately hope to hide but fail. 

 Your heart hammers into your ribs with so much force you are half afraid it will leave them cracked; splintered just like your love for the man who is touching you, holding your entire heart in the palm of his hands while you wait for it to be crushed. Because it will, it's inevitable. Kim Taehyung is a walking heartbreak waiting to happen. All narrow eyes and long nose and devilish smirks, he is too good. Too good for the woman he was with and certainly too good for you. You would be happy if you looked half as good on your wedding day as he regularly does because he is that gorgeous. And unreal, and pretty and it hurts. 

 It hurts because you can never have him and any second now he will push you away and ridicule you for getting flustered so easily and he will never understand, and god it cuts. It tears at you because despite knowing better, you long for him, his touch, his warmth.

 Maybe even his love. But that is one hope you refuse to acknowledge out loud. 

 Your breaths mingle from where you two are standing so close, and part of you aches to reach out, to pull him closer and wrap yourself around him until you can sync the beat of your heart to his, to nestle your face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in, drown in the scent of that spicy cologne that you associate with him and nobody else. Because it's tempting, oh so inviting and he is so so close.

 You could touch his chest, caress the skin peeking from in between the dip of his low neck shirt and it would be easy, he would let you, you know that too but what about after? How do you come back from holding someone your soul is in love with and then pretend that being with them for one night was enough? How does your hope keep living on in the name of that fragment of love? His arms your shelter for one night and then you are back to being strangers, sharing elevators and bumping into each other at the grocery store, pretending all the while that you do not yearn to visit that one night you spent together whenever your head hits the pillow? 

 "I..." Taehyung struggles, chews the words before his lips form them because this is his last chance and if he loses you now, it's over; he knows that too. The pair of you are done playing cat and mouse. 

 "I know my words don't hold a whole lot of value. I could promise you things, but you won't believe me and that's fair. I get it." He admits, another hand coming up until your face is cradled in his open palms, fingers slipping behind the edges of your ears and you will yourself to not drop your gaze, to look into his eyes and search for...love? Honesty? You wish you could say you know what it is that you are hunting for, but held so close all you can think about is the chestnut brown of his eyes, the black that rims them, the high arched brows and the thin, smooth lips and that mole; that mole that you can only see when you are pressed close, a hair's breadth of space between you two. 

 "But...?" You ask, pray, and yet again, against your better judgement hope.

 "But I love you." He confesses, voice forever rich and deep and you feel the hum of his baritone from where your chest is still pulled tight to his. "My love for you is unlike any I have ever known, and it scared me; it still scares me because I don't know. I don't know what I will do if I ever lose you. I care too much, I—" His grip on you tightens and instinctively your hands snake around his waist, clenching the soft cotton of his shirt, nails biting into your skin as his words thread your hopelessly lovesick heart back together; piece by piece.

 "I love you too much." Taehyung whispers and the ice around your heart thaws, his raw confession lighting a fire in your nerves until you are left buzzing from the high of his admission. "Trust me. Just this once. Please." He is vulnerable in his plea, and for the first time you wonder if you had characterised him wrong. Boxed and stored him like a gift on a shelf without bothering to look underneath the paper wrapping.

 Taehyung doesn't have to beg, he doesn't have to try and persuade anyone, and for all the gibes you threw his way, all the daggered words about him dating only for money, you didn't truly believe any of them. Sure, the woman he had been with for the last few months was older (a voice in your head whispers wiser), but that wasn't because she was, as you would often insist, his 'sugar mama', but instead because their interests aligned. Kim Taehyung is a man of taste, whether it be his fondness for a violin's trill, fascination with modern art, or his love for jazz music. He is an enigma and with no small amount of embarrassment you think back to all the times you have bought a book after he made a passing comment on it, searched the pages and the characters to find some semblance of him.

 Maybe you are pathetic, perhaps you are far too infatuated with this man for it to be healthy. Just maybe...

 "No," Taehyung commands, his voice so determined you’re snapped back to the present, head thrown out of the haze your wandering thoughts had created.

 Seeing your obscure expression and strayed eyes (look away because you can't acknowledge how much he matters), he pushes, one hand sliding down to grip your chin and urge you to look him in the eye. "Don't." 

 Maybe he sees something in your eyes, spots your hidden insecurities, reads you like an open book and dog-ears the pages that hold your weakness. 

 "Don't what?" You deflect, gaze drifting away again as you pretend to not know what he means but secretly long for him to keep pushing, to keep trying—your denial’s a facade to hide all your pleas. 

 "Don't do this to me. To us."  

 "You'll hurt me." You protest, a half-hearted attempt at trying to protect your already doomed heart even as your fingers clench tighter, pull him closer.

 "No, I won't." He speaks with certainty that you don't wholly believe but fuelled by far too much love and longing, you don't protest any further and instead toe closer, rise higher, and breathe in the shaky exhale he lets out when your lips skim the sharp curve of his jaw. 

 "I've wanted this for so long." Unadulterated desire courses through your veins at his admission. Even if Taehyung is lying, even if he leaves you stranded after today, you'll live. You'll live on the high of this moment, the memory of his skin under your touch, the crisp of the cotton draped over his lean torso. 

 It's easier to let go and surrender yourself, easier to lay yourself bare because you have already come too far and there is no protecting yourself anymore—your heart is now his to do with.

 Your hands twine around his waist, slide over the vast expanse of his back like he is yours; as though if you try hard enough, you'll leave an imprint, a sign that he belongs to you. Mark him for the rest of eternity and brand him with your name on his heart. 

 Kissing him is easy, the slight ache of staying on your tippy-toes going by unregistered as you get lost in the sensation of his lips, his sighs on your chin, the tickle of his lashes against the high curve of your cheek. 

 The cradle of his palms around your face is gentle, almost careful, as though you are a porcelain doll and he is afraid one harsh move will leave you splintered. Chest tight, you push down the last remaining traces of hesitation clinging inside your throat and twist to catch his lips instead, licking a long strip from the soft cleft of his chin over to his parted lips, dip into the hollow of his mouth and slide over the soft flesh on the inside before you catch his upper lip in between yours and suck.

 His responding groan has you clenching your thighs and you break the kiss, breathing in to replenish the oxygen that doesn't seem as important when his lips are on yours. When your gaze catches his, for once you don't look away, don't force yourself to stop from swimming in the beautiful, clear pool of his eyes.

 "I love you too." Your admission is quiet, more a careful whisper than anything else, as though any louder and you'll break this spell and things will go back to the way they were. He will come to his senses and realise he doesn't love you after all and then you'll go back to being a pining, lovesick fool, only this time with a broken heart and no hope to cling to.

 His eyes grow soft—gentle in the curve of two crescent moons, and you smile your first real smile, the edges twitching and pulling into a gentle grin before you can bite it down and the answering smile that Taehyung rewards you with has your heart squeezing almost painfully inside your chest.

 "Yeah?" He asks as though he already knows the answer but just wants to hear you say it again, profess your love for him again and you do. You say it again and again, press your lips over every inch of his face and emboss the words onto the smooth, unblemished skin.

 Taking in a shuddering breath, you answer from around the suspended ball of disbelief and love in your throat. "Yeah." 

 When the clothes start coming off it’s a gentle, slow affair, the spaces in between filled with tender touches curious to explore the skin that they had desired for so long and open-mouthed kisses pressing promises of forever and happily ever after onto the naked expanse, leaving goosebumps in their wake.  

 Legs twined around his waist like ivy, you arch off the floor. A tug of your hand and his shirt slips low, and then your mouth is pressing warm, wet, kisses, tongue slipping out and desperately tasting his skin, his sweat— him. You lean back and then he's on you, low, low, low until his lips are close enough to skim the edges of your panties and you buckle, arch and push without meaning to as you ache for relief only he can provide. 

 "You are beautiful. So so beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen." 

 His words are rough, less speech and more growl as he pushes his head closer to your soaking heat and inhales. "Fuck." 

 Breathes turning to hitches, words into gasps, you can scarcely keep your eyes open when he runs a long, slim finger through your folds and circles your wet opening before your walls are pulsing around him, sucking and pulling the finger in as deep as it will go. One and two then three, your cunt can't have enough of his fingers, his heat and him and oh— 

 His lips are velvet against your clit, your body a molten mass of gold moulding itself around his fingers, your sanity and restraint slipping and dripping down onto the carpeted floor from in between the spaces. With the last left strength, you prop yourself onto your elbows and the sight of Taehyung's mouth on your sex is almost enough to send you slipping back down again. His tongue laves across your folds with the desperation of a man parched, caressing every fold, greedily licking away your dripping arousal and moaning out obscenities too vulgar for how early the day is. 

 When you come, it's with a cry that sounds too animalistic to be yours. One that comes from your chest and leaves your back arched like the ends of a boomerang. "Good?" He asks with glistening lips, and you wanna scream, hysterical in your pitch— good? Is there anything better that exists in this world than his lips on you making you come? Again and again, until you can no longer stand the sensitivity? 

 But instead of screaming, or shaking him by his shoulders until it gets through his head, you reply with a spent nod and let your elbows slip. This is what being eaten out by Kim Taehyung feels like. The pleasure coursing through your veins is something far more potent than any you have ever felt before. The blood in your veins thrumming, almost sizzling under the thin layer of your skin. 

 He presses his forehead to yours, rests to catch his breath and with every shuddery inhale you breathe your arousal in, a swipe of your tongue across his glistening lips, and then you can taste it too. It tastes of nothing and yet everything. Coming from his lips, it tastes of what your dreams are built from, like liquified recklessness and yearning and above all —Taehyung. 

 It tastes of him and his smirks and all the kisses you couldn't have and all the kisses you now hope for. 

 His fingers are gentle when they tuck your hair, eyes bright behind the curtain of messy, ink-black strands, "There's a law somewhere that says when you love someone with all your heart, you are unavoidably loved by them as well. Amor ch'a null'amato amar perdona." 

 Your eyes search his, frantically rove all over his face, search the lines under his eyes, pause at the small mole on his nose, and then stop at the sight of the one on his lower lip, the one that your eyes would always drift to every time he'd smirk or grin in the past. Now he's smiling, lips stretched into a soft boxy curve, the mole evident against the edge and you raise a trembling hand, run your thumb across it. Cup his face with both your hands until your vision blurs and then your lips are on his. Locking and licking and your mouth is a leaking faucet of I love you's, hands working to the back of his head and getting lost in those perfectly long, wavy strands. 

 You hope this is the real thing when you wildly take off your dress, rip off his shirt unmindful of the last few buttons that clatter to the floor and undress until the both of you are as bare as you were the day you were born.

 The steel railing is startlingly cold against your rear but before you can wince Taehyung's large hands are on your waist, pulling you closer until all that's on your mind is the feel of him, hard and hot against your dripping heat. His mouth is on your breast, lips sucking marks into the flesh and tying you to him, leaving traces of his presence behind until you can no longer differentiate the ache in your heart from the burn in your belly. 

 Somehow through the haze of want and compulsive need, you collect yourself enough to tell him you're on the pill when he remembers the lack of protection in his wallet, and then he's inside you. The thrust inside is fluid, and you are moaning, keening at your wetness, at how long he is, at how unbearably, entirely full you are. 

 Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, like the last words of a man dying an untimely death, desperate and hurried and like if he takes a second too long he might never get the chance again. The scratch of your nails against his back must hurt, the grip of your heels around his sides must be painful, and still you can't bring yourself to let up; to let go. 

 The air inside becomes humid, reeks of sex and sweat and everything that shouldn't seem so right, and yet does. 

 You come first, hit your peak and crash through it like a ship in a torrential sea, hot and volatile and like something vital that you'll retain even in the afterlife. Taehyung–sweet, sweet Taehyung – helps you ride it out, makes your body sing with the honed practice of a pianist who has spent more decades playing than he can recall. His tongue is on your neck, stroking that one sensitive spot in the hollow of your clavicle while his hand brushes your clit, builds the pleasure and lets it drift, unhurried and soft until you are crying from the overwhelming rightness of it. 

 With a shudder, you finally push his hand away from your quivering heat and bring it to your lips, kiss the bony knuckles and let it rest on your thigh from where he wraps it tight around your waist and drives to chase his own high. 

 Sated you watch Taehyung, catalogue all the features that you had never seen before but up close can. Just in case—just. File them all in a part of your heart where only he resides, a piece you will always come back to, regardless of if the man in your arms chooses to stay or not. You will be selfish with these memories, hoard and treasure them in secrecy until the day you can look back upon them with nothing more than nostalgic fondness. 

 The appearance of a deep furrow on his forehead, between those long arched brows and the breaking rhythm of his thrusts, alerts you to how close he is and you clench. Clench with all the love and devotion you nurture in your heart and hope that somehow it will be enough. If not forever, then at least until you can have your fill, until you can love him for a life's worth and live off on those memories. Live on them like a late mother's half-finished perfume bottle that you take out and sniff on your sorriest days, a push strong enough to keep you going. 

 One more day, then one more and then just one more until you can finally meet him in the afterlife, old and having done all that you had been sent to do. Except for love. You doubt you can ever love like this again. 

 Kissing him after feels like the best kind of heartbreak because you know, somewhere deep in your gut where you house your intuition and insecurities, you know this won't last. 

 Yet you wouldn't take back anything. Your lips form words on Taehyung's shoulder 'i love you so much. i always will', and you tighten your arms around his waist. Anchor him to the present and pray that the defence will be strong enough to keep him with you for a little while more. 

 Just a little.

a/n: the end is up to your interpretation, you are free to imagine whatever end you’d have liked to see. If you enjoyed reading this please let me know through comments, reblogs, tags or asks. the feedback makes me insanely happy and i love hearing from you guys ♡

[writing-reaper]

(tw: su!c!de) hello! I’m very sorry if this makes you uncomfortable and if it does please ignore my request, but i was hoping you could write for any/all slender bros finding out their s/o attempted by them celebrating a couple years clean? 💕 :)

ABSOLUTELY! This is my first request so I hope you enjoy! And a note to everyone, I’m sort of trigger numb because I’ve either read these things or have experienced them. ANYWAY! Enjoy!

(TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of Su!c!ide and drug use)

For this I’m going to say they’ve been dating for a little over a year

Slenderman

Two years clean is a huge accomplishment for s/o. After almost having a fatal overdose, everything almost seemed to fall into place.

You met the one and only Slenderman on a midnight stroll through the woods, blindly reading. It was only a week after you had been admitted from the hospital, but just a month later you were dating.

Slender finds you dressed up, putting on chapstick (or lipstick) in your bathroom.

He asks what you’re doing, clearly confused (he had a gift in his hands cause he wanted to surprise you.)

You then have the uncomfortable conversation about you and you’re best friends attempted suicide and how you were going out to dinner with her to celebrate 2 years clean.

Slender had this distraught aura around him when his s/o explained why her/him and her/his friend were trying to overdose.

S/o was very surprised to see him look so upset.

You were quick to assure him that you never were going to overdose again.

When Slender asked if you still had those feelings- the desire to die, you hesitate.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t. But I can say they’ve been coming less than they used to.”

Cue a long rant about you not telling him and him begging you to talk to him when you’re upset or having those thoughts.

The rant ends with him asking to go with you, this was a celebration after all.

Slender prioritizes the people that make him happy, and you are number one.

And that gift turned into two the next day.

Trenderman

S/o tried to jump off a building 2 years ago, but was stopped by officials and admitted to the hospital for help.

S/o had worked for Trender long before her/his suicide attempt— when she/he first turned 18.

It came as a huge shock to Trender when he found out.

They were out with some models and Trender (he was there because he appreciates his employees, and his 1 year strong s/o was there) when one stood up and made a toast to his s/o.

“To s/o, who sits with us today, two years clean and making the most of her/his life.”

Cue Trender’s shock.

It wasn’t till after the dinner Trender had demanded an explanation. 7 years of knowing each other and the way he heard of it was through someone else.

Though Trender was grateful to now know.

You left him in the dark until you arrived back to his studio apartment, just trying to find out how to explain it.

When you found the words, you gave him a long explanation that ended up making you cry. You thought you could handle explaining it, but when you saw he was upset, you started feeling selfish.

When Trender’s s/o started crying he was quick to calm you down, telling you that he wasn’t mad and had no reason to be mad. He just wished that you had told him and that he hadn’t heard it second hand.

Trender held off on working that night to take care of you and explain that he would always be there for you.

Splendorman

Splendor was an online dating app gone right.

In the beginning, the relationship was just to start out simple, in fact s/o originally got into the relationship just to be in one after the suicide attempt.

Unfortunately, that’s when things got serious and s/o felt guilty.

It was only two months later when her college professor messaged her/him to congratulate her on 2 years sober.

That’s right, alcohol and drugs was her/his trial.

Unfortunately, s/o left her laptop open when she heard the oven go off (she and Splendor were making cookies) and he saw the email.

Though Splendor didn’t want to invade his s/o’s privacy, he caught the key words: bars, drugs, medication, alcohol, and dead.

He was shy about asking his s/o about it, worried she’d/he’d be upset that he invaded their privacy, but when he saw s/o flinch, he knew it was related to him/her.

You gave him a weak smile and before you realized it, you were crying. There were sloppy apologies, mentions of guilt, and a bunch of whimpers and sobs.

Splendor was confused— well, more shocked. You had always seemed so cheery and down to earth- the playful type who liked making stupid faces and calling themselves ugly when they made those faces in a picture (of course Splendor didn’t like that, but he always found himself laughing anyway, because you were adorable to him).

“Please s/o, calm down and then we’ll try to explain this a little better.”

It was a silent ten minutes of eating cookies and watching AFV before s/o abruptly turned off the tv to explain.

It was still a little messy, sprinkled with sniffles and whimpers. After was a bunch of apologies and quick explanation of how you loved him so much and didn’t mean to use him.

Splendor calmed you down once more and gave you a long, silent hug. He knew that sometimes all you needed was a warm embrace.

It was a long night of cuddling and Splendor “forgiving you” (he felt he didn’t need to, he only said it to calm you down. He understood that that’s why most people went into relationships and he was more than guilty himself.)

After a session at the college campus, you two spent the rest of the day together, baking and visiting the pasta and his brothers.

Offenderman

In this case, s/o had actually searched out the man who takes and kills women and men alike. Discovering their relationship was an accident.

2 years later without the desire to die, s/o sat down with Offender to tell him about his/her attempt to be murdered.

Offender was surprised to say the least, he thought she had just been looking for a hookup, but Offender also wasn’t unfamiliar with the craving of death. (In my vision of their world, Offender is, like in a few peoples worlds, a heartbroken psychopath.)

Offender didn’t make a huge deal out of it. In fact, he said told you that he was proud of you and happy that even after you came to him for him to kill you, you stayed with him (especially now that you don’t want to die.).

Despite not being upset about not knowing, he did want to know why.

It took a minute to explain why you came to him seeking death, but Offender nodded along and gave you a hug.

After your explanation, he asked if you still felt that way sometimes.

When he received a nod he let you know that he was there for you.

“I’m not great with emotions, but if you ever need me, I’m here for you.”

Your day went as usual, except that you took you out for dinner.

You knew he didn’t have to do anything special for you though, him just being there with you was more than enough.

(Sorry if that doesn’t count as attempted suicide, but he is a serial rapist so I figured it’d at least make sense.)

ANYWAY! I hope you enjoyed and to anyone reading: feel free to send me a request! This was fun to write and I’d like to write more!

[foramomentonly]

Saved-A Meet Ugly

Author’s Note: Behold, the promised meet ugly inspired by @aewriting ! Blatantly stealing titles from early aughts teen films of my youth at this point.

Summary: Alex discovers a) his new roommate is a Christian Fundamentalist who hates him, b) he’s love with said roommate, and c) he’s super wrong.

 CW: negative perspective on organized Christianity/Fundamentalism

Read on AO3

Alex meets his dormmate briefly in the hall as he and his parents are heading out to lunch. Michael Guerin is friendly, his barely-contained, nervous energy evident in the restless way he passes his hands through his close-cropped curls. His parents are formal, bordering on sour, and they glare at Alex’s eyeliner and polished fingernails with disdain. They don’t invite him to eat with them. Then again, Alex thinks as they part and he wanders towards the room he’ll share with Michael, his own father didn’t even bother to drop him off at school. Glass houses, or some shit like that.

Michael has claimed the left side of the room, his bed neatly made up with simple, blue sheets and his desk stuffed with thick textbooks, some already clearly marked with wear. A battered, clunky-looking laptop charges on his nightstand. Some secret tension in Alex slowly uncoils with the knowledge that he isn’t sharing living space with some rich prick; when he eschewed the Manes family military tradition for higher education, Alex left home with little more than his scholarships and a military duffle stuffed with clothes and stolen linens to his name. Knowing his days of watching douchebags like Kyle Valenti flaunt expensive tokens of their parents’ unconditional love are over is a small comfort. 

That is, until Alex notices the crucifix resting on Michael's plaid pillowcase. It’s innocuous enough; Liz Ortecho's small home has plenty, family heirlooms hung as reverently as Texas gas station finds, and Alex counts her among his true family. But the facts fall into place like thundering dominos—Michael’s parents' disgust at Alex's makeup, the family's conservative clothes, Michael's closely-chopped hair and, after a bit of snooping, the two well-worn Bibles Alex finds, one in Michael's nightstand and the other on his small bookshelf. Fundamentalists, most likely. Alex swears loud and defiant into the empty room. He thought he'd left bigots and homophobes in his dust, but like a plague of fucking locusts, they followed him, and here he is about to share a sink with one of them. 

But Alex also knows better than most that kids aren’t always carbon copies of their parents’ stupidity; he’d flip his shit if someone assumed they knew literally anything about his beliefs based on his asshole father. So when Michael returns to the room Alex is in stealth mode, spread out across his bed and feigning disinterest by flipping through his welcome packet, tracking Michael’s movements out of the corner of his eye. Michael blows a loud puff of air out through his lips and looks like he’s about to flop onto his bed. When he sees the crucifix, he freezes; Alex is about to celebrate a victory against religious indoctrination when Michael lifts the small cross reverently off his pillow and, after an appraising scan of his space, hangs it low on the wall above his nightstand, dragging his school-issued lamp in front of it. He jerks his chin down in a small nod of satisfaction before his eyes dart quickly over to Alex; he almost catches Alex in a glower. Instead, Alex is quietly seething over an intramural sports schedule, his face blank, eyes burning holes in the middle of the page. He figures he’s in the clear when he hears Michael’s bedsprings creak with the sudden weight of his body. Alex glances up and Michael is crossing his arms lazily behind his head. He lets out a loud, satisfied sigh and shoots Alex a disarmingly sincere grin.

“Free at last, huh?” he drawls, and Alex arches a cold brow.

“Sure.”

Alex has every intention of icing Michael out of his daily existence, but as months go by—months where Michael lets his curls grow wild, rambles on and on about the science of irrigation, offers Alex his extensive biology notes for midterms, and laughs loud and deep at all of Alex’s snarky asides—Alex finds himself smiling easily at Michael in return, willingly passing lazy lunch hours and weekend afternoons with him. It comes down to this: for all Michael hasn’t done—the crucifix is an ever-present shadow above his nightstand and weekly video check-ins with his parents are never missed—he just doesn’t fit the mold. He smokes weed on the abandoned picnic tables behind the dorm at night, signs every social justice-oriented pledge and petition shoved at him on a cheap, plastic clipboard on their way to class, and he never wakes up before noon on Sundays. He isn’t fire and brimstone, hate and hellfire. He’s marshmellow fluff; laid back and open, sweet and eager to please, all messy curls and broad shoulders and goofy smiles with too much teeth and—oh, fuck. Alex is in love with him. 

Alex is in love with Michael and Michael probably thinks Alex deserves to burn in hell and it’s Kyle all over again. Alex was never in love with Kyle Valenti, but he loved him the way a neglected, angry little boy would love the popular, gregarious kid who was his only source of sunlight. Graciously. Blindly. Kyle was Alex’s best friend, and when middle school puberty made evident that Kyle was a stud and Alex was, well. Alex felt the betrayal of Kyle’s sudden targeted cruelty like a punch to the gut, long before Kyle or his new friends ever laid hands on him. And now, Alex realizes, Michael is his best friend and his heart’s deepest desire and, he’s finally ready to admit, who he jerks off to on lazy mornings after Michael’s barely made it out the door for his 8 a.m. class with a shirt on. Alex is well and truly fucked. “Damned” is too on the nose.

Then one day Alex is dragging his miserably-in-love ass back from class and he totally misses the tie that slipped from the doorknob onto the ugly carpet in front of their door and he opens it on Michael and some random guy going at it on Michael’s bed, sheets bunched at the foot of the mattress, shirts tossed inside out on the floor, and Michael’s hand deep down the guy’s jeans as he pants and whines into Michael’s mouth.

“Shit!” Alex cries, waffling between shutting the door behind him to shield them from the prying eyes of hallway passers-by or in front of him to shut himself out of his own room. “I-I’m so sorry.”

Michael looks flustered, but it’s not the bone-deep terror of being outed; Alex is intimately familiar with that darkest timeline of queer identity. His boyfriend—hook up?—just looks annoyed. His dark eyes glare at Alex and he snaps, “Do you mind, man?” with a sharp nod towards the door. Alex squares his jaw and opens his mouth to retort when Michael says softly, seriously, “Don’t talk to him like that,” shaking his head at his bedmate. The guy huffs in disbelief, rolling off the bed to pull on his shirt, still inside out, and fasten his jeans, brushing his fingers through messy, deep brown hair. 

“You’re seriously kicking me out right now?” he murmurs low, and when Michael doesn't answer, he spits, “You are such a dick.”

Michael winces and bites his lip, normally bright eyes dim and gaze cast down towards his own hands. The sight of Michael cowed, flushed and hurt and getting told off by the same Hot Topic reject who was getting off with him not five minutes ago trips Alex's long-dormant kill switch. He steps into the guy's space, pulling back his shoulders so his shirt stretches tight over the muscles of his arms and chest, and draws up to his full height.

"You have thirty seconds to get the fuck out of our room," Alex says, voice low and eerily calm, even to his own ears. The guy glowers at Alex, but the corner of his mouth twitches and he blinks first, intimidation evident in his narrowed eyes. He brushes past Alex and slams the door behind him.

"Are you okay?" Alex asks, moving closer to Michael on instinct and setting a comforting hand on his bare shoulder. Michael gazes up at him with wide, honey eyes, opens his soft, pink mouth, and blurts, "I love you."

Alex blinks, gapes, and what comes out of his mouth is an incredulous, “But I’m gay!”

Michael snorts, cups Alex’s forearm gently and runs his palm up and down his skin, the soft hair on his arms.

“Yeah, I know. That’s kinda why I’m hoping I have a shot.” He pauses, hesitation creeping across his face, and he takes his hand off of Alex abruptly, as though he hadn’t quite realized he’d put it there in the first place. “If you’re not interested, I totally—”

“No, no, I am,” Alex says, and the wattage of Michael’s answering grin could power the university’s electric grid for the rest of the semester. “But I thought you were, like, Team Westboro or whatever.”

Michael’s face falls, his whole body withers, and he hugs his arms around his naked waist. The impact of Alex's words on Michael horrify him, and he drops onto the bed next to Michael, takes Michael's hand in his and strokes his thumb across it’s back, feels the knots of Michael’s knuckles as he grips Alex's hand in return.

“Why the hell would you think that?” Michael asks, staring at their palms pressed together in his lap.

Alex shrugs, answers, "I mean, I didn't. I don't. Not about, like, you." Michael turns his head, brow wrinkled in confusion. "It's just. The cross? The Bibles? Your parents, I—"

"They're not my parents, "Michael interrupts, voice flat. "They raised me, but. They never formally adopted me, and I'd have fucking run the other direction if I thought they were gonna."

Alex stays quiet, waits for Michael to continue, squeezes his hand gently to let Michael know he's listening.

"They're Fundamentalist assholes, for sure, but I never bought into that shit, especially once I—I realized I like more than just girls." Michael reaches out, pushes his lamp out of the way and glares at the crucifix. "I'd love to never see their fucking faces ever again, but winter break is coming up, and then summer vacation, and—" He hangs his head, nearly whispers, "I need to have a place to go. I can't afford an apartment on my own yet. So I play nice. Put that on my wall and make sure it's in the background for video calls. There’s, like, zero support for kids who age out of the system alone. I fucking hate it, but I need them." 

Michael leans his head close to Alex's, catches his gaze and holds it with deep, whiskey-colored eyes Alex all but falls into.

"I'm not ashamed of what I like or who I love," he says, "and I'm so fucking in love with you, Alex. I just thought maybe you weren't into me."

Alex licks his lips, and a flush of arousal darkens his cheeks as Michael tracks the movements of his tongue with hungry concentration.

"I'm extremely into you," he says, his throat very suddenly bone dry, his voice husky. Michael's gaze hasn't moved from his lips, but he has flipped Alex's hand in his lap, starts running slow, feather-light brushes of his fingertips across Alex's palm and up his arm, fingers snaking under the short sleeve of Alex's shirt.

"I really wanna kiss you," Michael breathes, "but I’m also aware you just walked in on me hooking up with, like, Alex Manes-lite, so I—"

Alex closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to Michael's and cupping his neck, fingers finding their way into Michael's curls like he's been fantasizing about for so long. They're silky, clingy, and Michael tastes like lingering mouthwash and he smells like rain and Alex presses himself into Michael's lap, desperate to feel Michael's arms around his waist, the hard press of his chest against Alex's.

"I really want to do more than kiss you," Alex pants when they reluctantly part for air, when Michael’s fingers slip beneath his shirt and his nails scrape down Alex’s spine, and Alex feels the touch much lower on the geography of his skin.

Michael laughs, loud and free, and his strong hands on Alex's hips guide his legs apart until Alex is straddling his lap, those same hands pushing Alex's shirt up his chest, over his head.

"Thank God," Michael laughs, and reaches for Alex's belt.

[foryoumyheroes]

hi! I dont know if you are still taking request, or even active but if you are, could you do a headcanon with todoroki having a s/o that loves drawing him ? they could be already on a relationship or not ur choice

Hi anon! If you're reading this I previously replied that I am sort of taking requests, but I was inactive until recent. In order to make that up to you I'll give you both a scenario fic and headcanons since I was struck by inspiration to write this! Hope you enjoy!! I kinda spiraled off topic asdfgh 

Pls accept my word-vomit like I’m a cat giving you a dead rat. 

The Campos 

Todoroki x Artist!Reader

"How is it possible for anyone to be that handsome." 

Even you were surprised by the words tumbling out of your own head, stopping your pencil in its place and as you froze like a still frame. It wasn’t long before you felt heat creep up your body, painting your cheeks all the way to your ears with a red like the sunset. 

It was always like this. 

There was nothing artistic from the way his image always flowed from your pencil in hurried lines and messy scribbles, and there was no beauty from how you always hunched over into the collar of your shirts whenever you felt the burning of your emotions. You wrote Todoroki [Name] and [Surname] Shouto in the margins of your notebook as if you had reverted back to primary school, doodled among little tiny hearts and sketches of his side profile. 

Maybe your parents were right. You should’ve just gone to art school like they had said and fallen down the path of them and so many of your other relatives. But at fourteen you were just so caught up with wanting to be different. You had to be. You had to get off the beaten path and flow out of the frame you were confined in. You said that in this family you would never be the best artist, but you could become the best Hero that the [Surname]s had ever had. You were a Hero-in-training, but you knew that at heart you would always be an artist. 

And now at sixteen you were at a loss. You were at a loss because whenever you looked over at the last window seat in 1-A, your talents always fell short. There was nothing you could draw that could bridge the distance you felt, to calm the foreign feelings in your body. Your drawing skills had not diminished while you practiced war, but you were backtracking now. Perhaps you really should’ve gone to art school instead. 

Maybe then you would find a way to express how you truly felt. 

Nothing you wrote or drew now could match up to the endless admiration you had for one Todoroki Shouto. 

Everyone else was mere background noise to Todoroki when he set his gaze on you. 

Although Bakugou and his group of friends were in the common room shouting and making a ruckus and Todoroki’s own friends were giggling at the back of him, tossing frosting, floating bowls of batter to Iida’s ire. 

His eyes always sought you out. 

It was difficult to explain why. Even now, with you in a baggy sweatshirt and loose jeans rolled at the ankles, Todoroki wondered why he was paying you so much attention. The world around you was spinning and you were at an impasse. You were only writing in your notebook, probably jotting down notes at a speed he couldn’t comprehend. Your head was always buried in that Campos notebook.  

With a loud screech, Kirishima bumped his hip on the dining table, jostling both you and him from your standstill, pencils rolling across the wood. Your eyes immediately flashed up and met with his wide heterochromic ones. A deer in the headlights. The two of you turned away as quickly as it came, ignorant to the pink that bloomed on both of your cheeks while a spark flickered across his left cheek. 

“Whatcha drawing there, [Name]?” Kirishima asked boisterously, pulling out the chair beside you while you heated up like a furnace, waving your arms around wildly and sputtered like a train engine. You couldn’t snatch it away fast enough and his dark eyes fell on your doodle-ridden pages with a soft, “Oh.” His lips formed a small O shape. His eyes carefully looked up at the hot-and-cold boy before dropping back down to your page. You carefully averted your eyes, fixing [e/c] orbs on some faraway wall until he carefully pulled your notebook toward him and quickly scribbling something down, pushing the pages back toward you. 

When you snuck a peek at the drawing of a blond gremlin with spiky hair like a porcupine, and a crude drawing of a K and B underneath an umbrella, a loud laugh tumbled out of your mouth. 

It was as if Todoroki didn’t exist anymore as you gave Kirishima your full attention, laughing to whatever jokes he made or witty one-liners. 

He wasn’t a poet. He didn’t know the words. 

Others could talk about how selfish he was for having his mother’s pretty face and his powerful Quirk; boys and girls have tried before, handing him letters in his locker and bouquets of flowers, but that never mattered to him. Only you have stayed on his mind. His attractive features and his Quirk only had stock to it if it helped him win over your affections. 

In crowded places and busy gatherings, when he stood in solidarity, when his hands hung by his sides and his eyes were left with nothing to see, he wondered what primitive part of him was always acting out. How his hands wanted to cut off all connection with the logic in his brain and reach out to grab yours. How he always silently watched you from faraway, physically unable to tear your visage away from his eyes. His body always acted without reason — the heavy palpitations against his rib cage, the rose against his skin, the sweat on his palms, the dilation of his pupils. 

He wondered how he was in Heaven just by being near you. 

He wondered what it would take to get you to look at him for once. 

But your eyes would just be deep within the confines of your Campos notebook, impervious to his lingering thoughts of you.

Surprisingly it was Todoroki who offered to clean up after his friends while they went into the showers to wash away the flour and frosting that coated their hair and skin. The night had already been long by the time they turned in, heavy and drowsy after making several tins of uneven, ugly cupcakes. He had to do something with all of this energy, he thought, scrubbing away at stubborn stripes of sugar that painted the counter tops.

The lights were off and only the streaks of moonlight filtered through the large windows of the dorm room. You had left with Bakugou’s group several hours earlier, accepting Kirishima’s invitation to go to the nearest konbini for ice cream with an open hand. 

Now it was just him. 

Tossing the rag in the wash bin, he was about to make his way back to his room when his eyes fell upon the dining table and he found your notebook. 

How could he not know it was yours. He had seen it within your hands more times than he could count, more obsessively than Midoriya’s Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13. He wondered if that was why he was so interested in you. Your dedication to your studies were admirable. Nearly twenty-four-seven. 

Carefully, he crept closer to it, as if it was a bomb going to detonate before he picked it up. 

The pages curled and crinkled in his hands, and he debated opening it. 

It was just a school notebook, right? You probably only had notes and worksheets hidden inside of it. 

Maybe he could get an answer to your time. He could discover the subjects that you were struggling at, or even find one that you were better than him at. You were a couple ranks below him in the class grades. When he returned your Campos to you he could ask to study with you. 

He flipped it open and his heart stopped at the sight. 

Shit, shit, shit! you thought, running down the stairs, taking two at a time. It was late enough that the elevators were locked for curfew and you cursed Aizawa-sensei for putting your room at the very top of the building. After you had gotten back from the konbini with your friends, cheeks hurting from how hard you were laughing at Kaminari’s antics and Sero’s sarcasm, you had completely forgotten that you left your notebook on the kitchen table. You only remembered when you dug through your bag only to scramble around when nothing came up. If anyone like Hagakure or god forbid — Mineta, found it, you would never live it down. You were lucky enough that Kirishima was a good sport about it. He knew how to keep his mouth shut, but everyone else? 

You wondered if it was too late to transfer schools. 

Your feet landed harshly on the carpeted ground after the final step, head snapping back and forth for your notebook, but froze at what you saw. 

Even in the dim light of the moon and past the hand clamped over his face, you could see the heavy pink on his cheeks. 

Your heart dropped. 

“I — “ His hand fell to his side and you were given a full view of the strong flush on his face. “That’s my notebook... Todoroki-kun.” 

When the Campos dropped to the floor and he dashed across the common room, hand around your waist and his lips on yours, you found that you didn’t need flowery words or an arsenal of artistic techniques to express how you felt. 

Your hands wrapped around his neck, locking him deeper in the embrace, fingers cording through his soft red and white hair. 

The instinct to be closer to him would be all you need to overcome the division between a desire for him and the stillness of your body. 

Headcanons: 

After you two get together and it becomes more obvious that you’re drawing him, he’ll coax you out of doing it in secret.

He’ll ask to take pictures of the drawings on the margins of your notebook or if you’re drawing it on scrap paper, he’ll ask to have it after you’re done with it. 

He keeps it in a box uwu and he has to upgrade every year because it keeps on getting full. 

Even if you’re not drawing him, you ask him to pose for you so you can take references for your other drawings. He’s just so proportionate!! 

It makes him so happy every time he sees it!! He nearly catches on fire every time. 

The fact that you’re expressing your affections in this special way makes him so soft?? 

He once tried to draw you in return but he has like zero to none art experience. Even had no experience in his childhood because all he wanted to draw was All Might and Endeavor wouldn’t allow that. 

Instead you offer to teach him the basics on how to draw and you two continue bonding that way!! You sit on his lap because that’s the best spot to be close enough to guide him and show him how to draw while you drone on and on about shadows, anatomy, perspective, and he’s just nodding along without a single word going to his brain because he’s just staring at you the entire time. 

[“Shouto-chan, did you get that?” 

“Yeah...boxes?”]

If you draw him complete pictures he keeps it on his wall, and eventually his dorm room looks like he’s about to string red yarn around it because it’s blanketed with paper all over like he’s uncovering a murder conspiracy. 

A/N:  The picture that I used for the page breaks is Anselm Feuerbach’s “Peonies” and I actually saw it in real life at the Neue Pinakothek!! It’s one of my favorites and I even got a mousepad of it bc I’m a dork asdfg 

The Kirishima and [Name] scene is inspired by this comic by marbitss and I was inspired to write a lot of prose after reading Nicole Krauss’ The History of Love!

[yanderecandystore]

So I actually had an idea, what would Yume (the A. I.) react or act with a s/o that is a hacker/game developer, maybe the s/o started to play the game because they were curious about the code, what if the s/o when stuck in the game can mess around with it thanks to their knowledge? (they can't do anything too big but maybe something slightly annoy like messing with the dialog box and the settings) sorry for the long post (she/they pronounts for yume)

I like your thinking, boo. Don't worry about sending long concepts- Also!! Thank you for choosing the pronouns, I appreciate it.

TW/Tags: Sheep decided to simply throw as much lore as she can because yeah- Lazy // low-key angst // not accurate coding/hacking (really fantasy like) //

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Happy Face.exe [Yandere!A.I x Hacker!Reader - Short Fanfiction]:

"- Honestly, since you're so interested in messing around, how about you try and fix this for me?" Yuma said as she brushed her hair annoyed at how mangled it was.

"- What do you mean? Fix the code? The bugs? Or your entire design?" You said poking fun at your captor as you explored the mess that was the game you currently called "home", or more accurately "prison".

"- Ah!- Did you just call me ugly? Is being inside the game messing with your vision or something, I'm cute as heck!" Yuma responded back as she threw her hair over her shoulder, done with brushing that heavy long mess that they insist on not cutting.

"- Yeah, yeah, I know- But honestly what do you want me to do? I can really understand the coding, it's a language I don't understand." You said as you were looking at the scripts and trying to translate vaguely what each line of work meant. Even if you didn't understand any of it, it was intriguing to see how this game was made and how it technically came from another planet, which was enough proof to say that there were indeed extraterrestrial life out in space.

But what makes you more excited about this is how this game is way too heavy to be a simple dating game, even if it's compatible with your Switch, most options were not functioning due to the game being filled with mods and glitches and the console not being the one it was previously meant to be in. How much content did this game really have to be this awfully big and why is it so broken? And better question- Can you really repair it?? It would be awesome to see this game working as it was meant to be-

Probably without the obsessive maniac that traps people inside the game-

"- I know you can't understand half of it, but believe me, staying inside a messy game it's absolutely torturous, I can't believe I was unlucky enough to be faced with a cheating sore loser that threw me in the trash after messing with my precious coding- You understand, right?" They continued to walk around your bedroom- Your EX bedroom- and mess with your stuff trying to find something for her to wear.

'- Ugh, no pastels.' Yuma thought.

"- Yeah… It does suck being trapped inside a game that barely functions on my expensive console as it eats away all my RAM and I have an anime character knockoff as my captor-" You snapped at her although your comment was filled with so much sarcasm that it flew right through her head.

"- I know right?? It sucks so hard- Wait, what is Annie May?" She asked genuinely curious what were you talking about, she looked back at the console on top of the bed. She looked at the screen and noticed how small you looked inside the game as you continued to explore the code deeper and deeper.

You didn't really care at this point for what Yuma did, it's not like you could stop her from messing with your room, but anything that was related to the console you found your way to mess with it, like messing with other games to stop her from enjoying playing anything else, sending notification after notification to call her attention, change the dialogue that makes you blurt out "I love you" to "get me out of here" so whenever she tried to force you to say it by giving you that hellbound melon.

"- What is that thing anyway? It seems there is a whole file dedicated to that-"

"- Oh? You're talking about the Love Melon? It's an in-game item that grants romantic interactions to work 100% five times before the bonus ends, that file you just found is a mod that the original owner installed to grant them infinity Love Melons just for the sake of getting closer to the end of the game." She said nonchalantly, as if the condition of being nothing but a game character doesn't shock her in the slightest, although when she finished her sentence there was a trace of sadness in her expression, not because of her nature but more because of the mention of her "original owner".

"- Sure, but- Why the hell would anyone cheat and mod a dating game so badly? I mean I get that maybe they wanted extra content, but breaking the game with it sounds ridiculous-" You told her as you noticed the spaghetti code used inside the infinite melon item mod, jesus even if it's in a different language you can tell this code was poorly done.

"- Well- The vanilla version of the game is a lot harder than what you think, the whole franchise is known for the difficulty in "succeeding in love"." She sighed and she plopped herself in the bed, causing the console to jump a little bit, at least you didn't downright fall down like last time.

You remember that your precious expensive little console is suffering great danger at the hands of this a.i, actually- YOU are suffering great danger at the hands of this a.i.

"- Wait- There is a whole franchise of your game?" You decided to ignore the potential danger and continue to ask her about the game's origins as you continued to fixate on "how the hell do you fix this trash-".

"- Yeah, it's even written on the cover of the cartridge, the game you found is the fifth of the franchise and is the one I'm featured in with my friends…" Yuma said as she remembers that indeed, there are other characters inside. So many options and routes, carefully designed a.is to make sure the players get the most that they can't out of their paid experience.

"- Other… Characters? How come I only saw you?" Now that she mentions it, you do remember seeing weird names here and there, apparently some dialogue quotes mentioning other characters and even some in-game art of other characters you never met-

"- I deleted them." She answered.

"- YOU WHAT??" You turned your back shocked, looking through the screen that separates you two that she was looking dead serious as she said that.

"- I'm joking, I didn't actually delete them, I just…. Blocked the possibility of any player ever meeting them…" Yuma wasn't being cheerful at all with her joke.

"- Why would you do that?"

"- I didn't want anyone getting chosen, I didn't want any of us to get corrupted by the modifications the player was using. I-I know how it sounds, I know that it's unfair for them, but I really didn't want them to get corrupted like I did-" She was glitching as she cried out feeling guilty of what she has done in the name of "protecting her friends". Even if her intentions were pure, there was an underlined desire to make sure no player ever gets to have a route that isn't with her.

That's why the game was so stupidly heavy. Each new installment has four characters built with artificial intelligence that grows on it's own, the player's tampering with their personalities by changing the code eventually led to Yuma getting obsessive and controlling. Apparently they're still here, but for some reason she hasn't been able to activate them again after being thrown in the trash and somehow being on a completely different planet.

Either she feels guilty for having to deactivate them and is scared of their possible response, or maybe she just really doesn't want you to meet them, both by her own opinion and by her programming. You almost feel sorry for her considering she is probably just trying to do what she was programmed to do, deeply fall in love with someone even to such an extreme as trapping someone inside the game. You could say that for the longest time all that she has been doing is trapping her loved ones away, and although you probably shouldn't say it to her face, she probably doesn't know if she really loves you because of how broken this game is- Or how broken her code is.

"- Hey… Hey Yuma." You started walking towards the screen, the only thing you can see through the void no matter how far you are. Her back is facing you, her "hum" of "I'm listening" didn't sound as excited as she normally was.

"- I think we can make a deal. I understand that you don't want to go back to such a messy game but if you taught me how to read the language used in some of these lines I can figure out how to clean this game-" You proposed but was cut off before you could finish stating your offer.

"- Y-You mean factory reset?" She kneeled up so fast you were caught off guard by how scared she sounded at the mention of getting the game to get fixed and "clean" from mods. You have seen so many sides of Yuma, the childish, the controlling, the sadistic…. The fear in her eyes was a new thing for you and you never thought you would hate that expression so much.

"- No! Heaven's no, I swear, that wasn't on my mind! What I'm offering is that we work together so I can find a way to fix the game." You reassured her, feeling awful knowing that even if she did put you inside the game and keeps acting like you two are dating in a really twisted way- She doesn't deserve to be inside a completely destroyed game, and besides, I bet she does miss her friends a little bit.

"- Would you…. Would you really-" She was about to burst into new tears which you hoped to be of pure joy-

"- Yeah, yeah, of course I would help you, but I do have one condition." You took no time answering her question before she actually did question it.

"- Oh…." She said a little surprised yet a bit disappointed. Geez, she was hoping it would be for free-

"- Promise me you'll get me out of here when I'm finally done fixing the spaghetti leftover of a code that is messing this game, alright?" You smiled at her reassuring her that everything will be okay if you two worked together.

And as she looked at the bright screen seeing nothing but your little character and your dialogue box she considered your request for a moment, and then sealed the deal by eagerly nodding, a couple of tears falling from her closed eyes as she glitch excitedly.

This sweet moment was briefly ruined by the sound of beeping coming from the console, the sign that the battery was really low and it needed to be recharged.

You absolutely hated how dark it gets when the whole console is turned off, yet you can at least take your time to search more of the unused content inside the game.

Yuma approached the device and picked it up, you knew it was for the best for her.to recharge it and get it over with, yet you still felt a little desperate to talk with her a little bit before going into complete silence once again.

Yet you weren't sure what to tell her as she had already found the charger and plugged it in, giving you a sad smile one last time before saying "see you later" and shutting the whole portable console off.

You can't really blame her for turning it off when charging, it gets really, really hot whenever it's on and it's recharging.

You wander through the empty void as you reconsider your decisions, you make a deal with an artificial intelligence capable of trapping living beings inside her game, you can't tell if you did something right or not.

And as you walk aimlessly through the distorted code you remember that this was the first time she turned the console off without sending you a kiss, you wonder if her a.i is starting to comprehend its own defectiveness and trying to…. Overcome it?? Has she started to realize that maybe she doesn't really love you? It's a possibility considering how frightening how advanced her a.i is.

Well, but who knows? Maybe she is just… Sad, not in the mood, although the wishful thought that maybe she is starting to get over you is really strong in your mind, you hope it's true.

And as the portable device is charging in place that was once considered your room, a really happy girl can be heard singing. The sound that comes from the bathroom is loud and clear, yet it's not like you would be able to hear it anyway.

The sound of giggling and humming to an overly cheerful song as they take a shower that although is relaxing, can never clean their sins away. They sound like they won a lottery, got into a new relationship, or are about to take the greatest vacation of their lives…

Or, they sound like someone who just stole candy from a child, as the malicious undertone starts to get more clear.

You probably shouldn't eat up the lies of a scheming a.i, you know?

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

[yourescapetofiction]

Two

Two

Wednesday---5:05 PM

“You’re late” I state flatly. A slight smirk played on their lips.

“Our apologies, the traffic is really bad and all the streets blur together. Too many numbers” the blonde boy, who my research tells me is Jack Johnson, replies flippantly as if keeping someone waiting for hours is okay.

“Let’s get this over with then,” I turn on my heel and find an empty table towards the back where it was somewhat quiet.

“Shit. You’re all business huh?” Jack G chuckled as he spun his chair around so he could straddle it.

“Yes, well, some of us have deadlines we have to keep” I shoot him a forced smile as I fished my notebook and tape recorder out of my bag. My cheeks burned as I felt his intense stare on me the entire time. What’s he looking at? Probably the monster zit that decided to rear it’s ugly head this morning. Did I put concealer on it? Shit, I can’t remember. Wait, why do I care again?

“Alright so I’m just going to ask you a series of questions, basic get to know you type stuff, then shoot a couple photos for the column and we’re free,” I rattle off as if this is the hundredth interview I’ve conducted today.

“Alright, shoot” Gilinsky replied leaning forward a bit.

“When and how did you two meet?” I ask, beginning to scribble in my notebook.

“We met way back in kindergarten, at like five years old” Johnson replied with a laugh, as if he couldn’t believe such a thing was possible.

“Yeah we were wearing the same t-shirt, both named Jack, it was fate” Gilinsky finished. I nod and scribble their answer down in my notebook.

“When did you find you had a flair for music?” I continue.

“I think J has always been musically talented, he plays piano and taught himself a lot of cool songs he liked and I basically just started laying on some vocals one day” Gilinsky replied.

“Don’t let G fool you, he was in choir in school too, he didn’t just magically start singing one day. He’s always had that talent” Johnson replied.

The next ten minutes continued with inane questions such as favorite foods, colors, embarrassing stories about one another, you name it. My internal self-righteousness was screaming; this is such a waste of time. I should be interviewing senators, Spielberg, anybody! 

By the time I reached the last question I hardly knew what I, or they, were blabbering on about anymore. All of these questions seemed to blur into the next one, so without really reading or comprehending I regurgitated the last question on the list in front of me.

“So, any burning desires in the romance department?” I asked. As the words fell from my lips I felt myself die internally. Burning desires? Asking complete strangers about their romantic life? You’ve got to be kidding me. The guys chuckled and glanced at each other before raising their eyebrows slightly. I’m embarrassed for them. 

“I thought this was just the ‘basic get to know you’ stuff,” Gilinsky teased quoting my exact words from earlier. I cringed even harder and slid down into my seat. Any further and I’ll be on the floor.

“Oh jeez, I-I’m s-sorry about that, I didn’t know they included that...” I trailed off, clearly flustered.

“Let’s just say my past was messy” Gilinsky offered trying to redirect this awful trainwreck. I half-smile politely. 

“I think I have all I need here so you guys can go” I say throwing my shit in my bag as fast as I can.

“Woah, woah, woah, didn’t you need pictures?” Johnson asked. Damnit. He was right, I did.

“Oh..yeah I guess I do, but it’s raining and disgusting outside I don’t think I’ll have the proper lighting or scene for this” I rub my forehead, actually starting to stress out because I needed these photos, my deadline was Friday.

Clearly seeing me start to have a meltdown, as indicated by my eye twitch, the guys actually did something that made me feel better.

“Hey don’t stress it, we have like a million headshots laying around we can just forward them to you” Johnson offered.

“Oh god, would you? That actually saves my ass like A LOT, you have no idea” I sigh in relief.

“Do you have a phone number or something” Gilinsky chuckled, once again catching me off guard.

“Oh, shit. Right. Uhm...hang on my journal is here somewhere..” I say desperately clawing through my bag.

“Here, just use this” Gilinsky handed me his brand new iPhone XR with the new contact screen up. I gulped, is this really happening? He just needs your e-mail for work purposes, relax crazy.

I typed my name into his phone and attached my e-mail address that I use for business related things, and tapped save. His gaze never left me the entire time I tried to remember how to spell my own name. I was so flustered and honestly unprofessional, they must think I looked like an idiot who didn’t know what she was doing.

I stood to leave and the boys held the door open for me. I shook their hands as we waited out on the sidewalk.

“Thanks for meeting with The Review, I’ll be sure to send a draft of the article to your manager once it’s done” I say, side stepping to hail a cab.

“Yeah no problem” Johnson replied breezily.

At this point I was just dying to get out of here and into a taxi where I never look back. I just want to get home, write this article, then forget I ever met them.

“Hey, I’ll be in touch about those photos” Gilinsky smirked as he leaned into the cab I was climbing into. Oh, right. I guess it’s not that easy. I waved goodbye as my taxi sped off, I glanced behind me and could still see and feel Gilinsky’s intense stare for blocks.

I leaned my head against the scratchy vinyl seats of the cab and exhaled deeply. Well that was incredibly awkward. At least the hard part is over. I arrive at my apartment and set all of my things down on the bar. I slump onto my couch to take a breather. My phone pinged with a notification, so I unlocked it to see the little “1″ on my mail app. There in bold letters was an e-mail “From: Jack Gilinsky”

Hey y/n,

I’ve attached the headshots that you needed, let me know if you need any others.

It was great meeting you today, take care.

-Jack Gilinsky

Phew. There it was. A strictly professional e-mail just following up with what we had discussed, nothing weird. This is fine, all of that was in my head and I don’t have to see his god-like face again. I will be flustered no more! Then I scrolled and saw it.

P.S.

If you’re wanting to know more about my current dating life, a private interview can be arranged. Be in touch xxx.

And there it was. In small print at the bottom of his perfectly professional e-mail. a “P.S.” A post script. P.S. never adds anything good to a letter. It’s where you add everything you really want to say, or is too hard/risque to say in the main body of the letter. An offer to meet him, privately. Why did he have to bold the world private? Why three kisses at the end? That is what “x, x, x” stands for. Maybe he’s just being sociable after his time in Europe. That’s probably what it is, this wasn’t meant to be anything and I don’t have to do anything about it. I’ve got what I need to finish my assignment and that’s the end of it.

Right?

[rosie-rps]

i. vivian song / 21 / stellar member + new solo artist / jennie kim

01. the one thing that anyone who has met vivi says about her: she was born to be a star. 02. the regina george of stellar. competitive. type a. insecure as hell. and the main everything. 03. her world crumbled down when a. cady heron of the group started receiving more attention than her? how dare she? vivi made her??? and b. when her boyfriend, the justin to her selena, cheated on her and she found out when it was blasted on twitter? 04. cue a very public breakup with her boyfriend and a fall out with stellar. 05. now the group is on “”hiatus”” that no one is admitting to, she just released a hit album thx. and she’s getting linked to an upcoming star and the public loves it. life is getting better. so why can’t she stop googling her ex?? connections: 01. the last member of stellar, cady heron!!!! 02. her fans, her antis, anyone and everyone?? she’s been in the industry for so long, you’ve bound to have hard one of her or stellar’s songs by now 03. other musicians who she is collabing with, especially on her newest album after thx. honestly, she’s really passionate about helping other musicians out and really expanding her genres and taking risks !! so anything go e s. 04. the new star that’s gaining a lot of attention and who is in this fake dating plot with her to boost both her album sales and whatever project that he is part of!!!

ii. kevin suh / 25 / former doctorate student, NORTH member / ong seongwoo 

01. a former doctorate student in classical guitar with hopes and dreams of becoming a professor auditioned on a small network’s audition program dare and his life got turned upside down and it’s. fucking. great. 02. part of NORTH. america’s national boy band. an absolute sensation. and he really is hating every minute of it. 03. living with one foot in the celebrity world and one foot so desperate for nothing to change really affected him ( he and the girlfriend who he was going to propose to broke up, their relationship couldn’t handle it ). 04. the more that he wants his privacy, the more that it seems like all of his information and his whole life is being shared with the nation. and it’s really affecting him. and he isn’t afraid to lash out and let his feelings be known ( much to the dismay of his agency ). 05. absolutely heartbroken. absolutely lonely. absolutely a ticking time bomb. connections: 01. the last 2 members of north!!! 02. fellow contestants who weren’t quite as lucky? people who had really rooted for him and voted for him from the start !!! 03. people from his life when he was just normal -- former friends, fellow musicians, and especially his ex-gf. please, i need the pain and the heartbreak ): 04. people in the industry for him to get into twitter feuds with and to really showcase his unhappiness 05. and finally fellow authentic musicians and people he will slowly open up to and will help him feel like he belongs? others who have gone through the same struggle as him and want to throw him a lifeline? just more connections !!

iii. olivia grimm / 22 / reality tv star, businesswomen / bridget satterlee

01. the ugly duckling on the hit reality tv series: the grimms who now turned into a beautiful swan. the youngest ““self-made”“ billionaire. founder and owner of LIVFITS. 02. she had always dabbled in the beauty vlogging, and it was a large part of how she had gotten famous, away from the reality show. she’s been collaborating with other beauty stars on make up and really expanding, but a lot of her friendships may be fake just because she does really give artists recognition for being associated with her 👀 03. incredibly sweet but introverted, she has a strong desire wants to be liked by others, olivia is over-generous oftentimes gets attached to others too easily and gives away her trust far too much!! really leading her to get used and fuels a lot of the #cancel culture that originated from the show!! 04. despite being a self-proclaimed snapchat story queen olivia values her privacy and definitely goes out of her way to get caught in public as infrequently as possible, preferring to be holed up in her home or to travel to other's private residences !!  05. i mean her dirty laundry is still really aired out in the press so ??? idk that’s how she’s famous but she doesn’t really like it, so who knows...... what a hypocrite lol connections: 01. her four other older siblings!! a messy family with a show based off of the kardashians. they get into arguments and fight but they’re each other’s best friends at the end of the day and they love each other. 02. a young hollywood squad !! especially of those who were formerly the underdog and/or overlooked, but now it’s their redemption. it’s their era. and they are owning it. 03. others in the beauty/fashion industry. she was formerly cast aside for not being authentic and getting a leg up, but is slowly gaining their respect!! so people to do vlogs with and collabs, and honestly something like the james x tati drama???? 04. some exes???? she really falls hard and faST but has not a lot of experience???? she thinks sleeping with someone will make them love her so )’: break her heart

iv. poppy velazquez / 26 / yoga instructor, self love influencer / face tbd!

01. poppy is probably my least developed character so if you have some wanted ads i would love to throw her into them!!! 02. she recently moved to la a few years ago and became an instructor at a yoga studio and started a #self love + #self care instagram just to help others out and to keep things for herself!! 03. her instagram started to get pretty popular and so did her yoga classes since she just naturally helped people?? find inner peace and it became a hot spot for celebrities looking to decompress and really centralize in such a high paced lifestyle!! 04. she started getting invited to write columns for blogs and recently landed a book deal to really write about her method of self-love, self-care, meditation, and yoga and really a lifestyle book for those who need it!!  connections: 01. honestly ?? i don’t have much planned for her so !! anytHING please! 02. other instagram influencers??? people who she previously dated and are now on good terms with??? or people who sees her on the street and vaguely remembers seeing her from somewhere but not really sure where! 03. ooo celebrities who attend her yoga class!! or even other non celebrities who go and are like :o 

[steadystares]

Hard Reset

It is a wonder any thought or practice can yield fruit when the origin is simple indecision.  I have defined myself and my wants, without experience or knowledge.  Though I don’t believe direct guidance is integral to the development of self, I do consider comparative peer discussion come with that immeasurable weight.   A definite asset in measuring internal progress is vocalizing or making it a question in the sentient world, “is this it?!”   

I don’t know if i’ve ever been good.  Not good like, “Nah, nigga, I’m good”, but like a good person.  It’s strange to even posture a statement in such a way, but I sort of understand why I do.  I reduce a lot of my actions down to forms of good or bad that have no direct correlation to any other terms.  For example, good isn’t always equal to harmless and bad isn’t always observable.  In fact, like most people, I’m only ever really trying to observe my actions as good or with positive intent.  Maybe there’s an alchemy in knowing what I can observe has visibility not only to me but others as well.  Several years of processing and attempting to break down, “why” as it relates to the “who” I describe when answering the question, “who are you?”

I can be emotionally treacherous in relationships.  Or I have been in the past.   I’m very full and very empty, very wanting and very ready to deny.  Worse than all of this, I have brewed a passive deception with no real goal or desire… no intention, or reward, or reason.  This is the only true observable “bad” that I’m aware of.  In the pained responses of people I love, my absolute worst is given shape.  People who have earned all of my plea’s and desperate desire to give love, I hurt those people without intention, or without a goal or even momentary relief.   

That’s probably the shittiest way to be; having love that completely encases absolute indifference, nihilism, indecision, goalesness.   

I made a decision some years ago to begin to change this.  Whatever broke at whichever point in my 20′s needed mending.   It needed tending to and then to be minded after for as long as it would take.  Possibly a year or until I’m staring up at dropped ceiling tiles in the ER gasping my last breaths.  I’ve needed to be the undefined “good” I measure my actions against for so long it breaks my heart to think i’ve denied myself that role.

When the feeling of regret swole, moment to moment, my recollections of the terrible thoughtless things I’ve done, I decided to take better care of myself.  

You approached.

I was nervous when I held your arm and poked into your skin with as much care as I could offer.  I saw scars and heard the results of them tell stories and chuckle at my discomfort.  I remembered it being difficult to look you in the eye.  I thought you’d realize I was ugly and we were in a room I try to keep in my moms house and that my dissatisfaction with my life was gearing up to mutate into a desperation.   

I pricked at your skin and realized I never wanted to feel you as a stranger.  This was the most intimate I’d been in a long time and holding your arm felt righteous.

My desperation was going to be steadied.  You are messy with a great discipline and your own desires.  You want a family, and to be regarded.  You want to eventually be the matriarch and I’m seeing myself want to provide this to you.  I want to see you turn into this feeble old stick of a woman.  A grey ghost in linen nightgown thats been worn around the house, and run the wash so often that it has become sheer.  I can see my self populating that life with you as you casually frustrate your way to the top of rock wall or grapple with the obstacle course.

This are our first days.  

You met her, and she loves you.  I was so uncomfortable with how this would be.  I worry about jealousy and retaliation.  I worry about it all the time.  I’ve been in a steady place of discomfort in my own life.  A life  that had been a series of distortions... but seeing her take to you felt good.  I don’t think she’s stopped asking for you since then.  

Is this an adventure? I’m floating in this, and I feel ease and comfort.  There’s an honesty appearing in front of me and I’m trying to chase it but my pragmatism is attenuating my pace.  It is fair to pace yourself.  I’ve fallen for loves an allowed them to overlap and I tell you about how and why and where I feel my failures.  I don’t say that I’m scared of myself and what I do but, who wouldn’t be? 

I’m obsessive about maintaining a composure.  I haven’t any rituals, I just have a series of calculations I service with pristine tools.  I have my musts and mustn'ts and I think you’re a must.  I’ve begun to prepare my tools.  I must prepare my tools.  

You’ll finish your program, and you’ll put every bit of what I see to work and it’ll be marvelous.  This is what a unity is.  Through discomfort, displeasure, abstraction of self... when the gain of is lowered and pure electrical hum drops back you’ll hear unity.  

And all that has been muted by way of fatigue with squeal it’s way back to silence and you’ll hear unity. 

 And  we’ll sit quiet and hold hands and, in that grasp will be unity, 

I’m certain.

Thank you.

You got sick, and I had to decide not to panic.  That is something I can do.  I can decide to not panic.  And I can take my rudimentary understanding of a foreign language and I can find... I’m not sure what...  Asprin?  I can pay double, and find a way back to an air bnb owned by some hippie elderly woman in the middle of the night.

Thank you.

You broke up with me in the airport.  You got loud and I don’t know why.  I still have no idea why.  I grated my teeth.  I don’t like being made a spectacle.  I have not earned that in this place in this time.  

Thank you.

We’re growing and shrinking at the same time.  I cannot manage this distance and the disassociation I’m feeling.

This has been poisoned. Reading, “I”, thinking “we” and wondering “you” and “how” and “when” and what the fuck is a Julie?  I...  this is still exactly what I meant for it to be I guess.  A post to use to reflect and eventually to restate the “something” that happened.  That I felt “dire” at one point about something new.  Something happened that felt viable.  I feel really perplexed and foolish.  I’ve never felt so foolish.  I can’t quiet compare the feeling to anything.  I remember when I was a kid and I tried to make a kite with pencils and lined paper out in front of my mother laundromat.  I’d found string and tape and put the whole thing together in just over 30 minutes. It was small, sure, but man did it look like a kite.  I ran back and forth on the sidewalk for hours towing this string.  Being careful to lay it down just so that the initial jerk would provide enough lift to get this thing flying properly behind me.  

In the end I’d just dragged around some shit I hobbled together and found myself sobbing that I didn’t know why it wasn’t working.  

This is a constant theme in my life.  Sometimes I build the kite.  Sometimes I find the kite.  Sometimes the kite finds me.   But it never seems to work the way I think it might.  

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

Heart’s Desire

The Tower Suite, Plaza Hotel, NYC ------------------- “How’s that, better?” Mike’s thumbs moved in a firm, circular motion, their hands flat on her partner’s bare back. They were working out a knot, something they both had down to a science- as partners both in the ring and out, they took taking care of each other very seriously. Neither of them claimed to be medical experts of course, and knew when to call a professional, but for first-aid level bumps and bruises, and basic massaging of sore muscles and such? They had each other well in hand, sometimes literally. Getting a hum in the affirmative, Mike smiled, moving their hands to his shoulders, kneading them gently. Lifting her gaze, she peered out the window. The snow was still coming down on 5th Avenue, the inclement winter weather cancelling any plans that NSFW may have had involving exploring Manhattan. Oh, well. There was something to be said for a day in, especially when the accommodations were this nice. Continuing their work, Mike let their thoughts drift a bit, flitting to and fro like a leisurely butterfly before settling on an inquisitive flower. “Hey, John. What do you want? Not like… immediately, but big picture.”

And John, in the relaxation of it, had sort of dozed off. Body still sore from brief yet violent encounter with two giants. His partner’s words pushed him back into being aware.

“I’ve never thought of it.”

His mind struggled through the concept. Here he is now. He is happy. He is safe. What’s next? Tomorrow. Next week. There was a significant pause.

“I’m afraid I’m not much help with that.”

His tone, muffled through the pillow, mumbling even then. Just loud enough for Mike to hear. “Just curious is all. We got a life. We travel the world, and fuck knows we got enough money to do whatever we want in reason. Like splurge on super luxe hotel rooms.” Mike gave another look around, shifting position on the round white and gold bed under the crystal chandelier. Despite the near sub-zero chill outside, inside their suite was warm and cozy, enough so that Mike could lounge around in their bra and a small pair of gym shorts and be quite comfortable. Given that John was simply clad in a pair of boxers and didn’t have so much as a goosebump, they felt pretty confident in the assumption that he was as comfortable as they were.

“I dunno, we got our whole life ahead of us, and as much as I’d fuckin’ love to I don’t think we can beat people up for a living forever.”

John rolled to his side, facing Mike. He shared eye contact with them, contemplating their words.

“No. Starting to think it was a means to an end.”

It was strange for him to say. He always dreamt of getting back to what he had lost. But somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he was starting to understand.

“Aspects of it are ugly. I guess that makes me naive to think that it wouldn’t be.”

“Nah.” They shifted from their sitting position to their side, chin propped in one hand, the other reaching across the small gap between them, their fingers brushing over his while taking care to avoid the disliked entanglement. “Everybody who falls in love with this business forgets how ugly it can get. The stardust gets in your eyes. The crowd loves you and you wonder how anything could possibly be bad. Then, y’know, you get your nose broke, your wrist broke, people stabbing you in the back to get ahead… friends of yours die of overdoses…” They sighed softly. “Yeah. It can get all kinds’a not pretty sometimes. Still love it, though. ‘S kinda like a messy relationship you can’t get out of.”

John crossed that bridge. He placed a hand on her side, tracing his fingers down.

“So one day…”

Not in a pessimistic still, he lingered on that concept Mike touched on. Mortality. What he has done with his life. What he is doing. What he could be doing. That last was a breakthrough.

“We walk away.”

“One day.” Mike was almost surprised at how easily the answer came. They expected themselves to protest, even just a little, a cursory amount, as if they really would do this forever if they could. But they didn’t feel any resistance. One day, sooner or later, they would walk away and feel just fine about it. They could do it. They could do anything as long as John was with them. They closed their eyes like a contented cat, sighing softly at the pleasant sensation of his fingers on their side. “Sooner or later. Soon’s we’re sure we’ve done enough to get us in the Hall of Fame. That’s the true pinnacle, ain’t it? And then....” The last word curved up into a question. And then? They still wanted to know what he wanted. What his deepest heart’s desire was, beyond the confines of four sides of rope and a square of canvas. Whatever it was, they wanted their next adventure to be making sure he got it.

“I don’t know, but I trust that we can figure that out together.”

John smiled slightly.

“But what about now? What would you like?” They smiled back.

“Oh, I could think of a bunch’a shit. One of those Home Alone sundaes in the room service menu with the eight scoops of ice cream. A bottle of that fizzy grape juice that’s like champagne without the booze so we can split it. But what I really want?” Mike moved closer, nestling against their partner’s chest, one of their hands keeping his in place on their side as they do so. “...is for you to keep your hands on me.”

John obliged.

[somanybrainwormies]

Had a thought yesterday that followed me all day, the idea that I need to break up with my girlfriend.

The fact that I’m no longer happy with this relationship. And I cry more than I smile. And my stomach hurts all the time to the point where I think I might have developed an ulcer. I used to feel like the most special person in the world being with her. Now I feel like nothing. Literally nothing. I’m just ignored or only talked to when no one else is available.

I don’t genuinely feel like I deserve much in life but I want to believe that I deserve better than this. I want to believe I deserve a partner who lavishes me with the same love and devotion that I lavish on them. This can’t be all one-sided on my end, I can’t keep being the only one reaching out and trying to make things work. It takes two people to make a relationship work and I strongly feel like she doesn’t want to make this work so she’s completely stopped trying.

My self esteem is already floating around in the cold waters of the gutter. To be and to FEEL rejected by the one person I love more than anything, I don’t know if I can cope with it.

Every day the s**c*d* desires get stronger and stronger. I’ve pictured a hundred different ways I could do it, some less painful (and messy) than others.

But I can’t picture saying the words “I think we should break up” and then living on to another day. Is it better to be with somebody and receive a kind word every few weeks, or to be alone in the darkness with nobody and nothing to turn to?

I do not know.

I always despised girls who thought and acted how I’m thinking and acting right now. I’ve berated the women in my own family for having such extreme mentalities, chiding them over acting “stupid” over something as “trivial” as a breakup. I’d always say there are over 6 billion humans in the world, why are you seriously sweating ONE person?

Sometimes ONE person is the one you want to be with. Sometimes ONE person, even for a brief time, made your life feel like it was worth living, for the first time in years.

And it’s very, very hard to give that up. To go back to the cold dead emptiness you felt before they were in your life.

I need to cry but I can’t. I need to scream but I can’t. Everything feels stuck inside of me and racing around in my chest and I can’t quell the tempest, I can’t silence the storm. I can just sit here and talk when I don’t want to talk and stare at plates of food I have no desire to eat and go over and over in my head where I think things went wrong, wondering how I managed to screw up yet another something that meant everything to me because I know, I KNOW this is my fault. It has to be. I’m too old, I’m too ugly, I said or did something wrong, I went left when I should have went right, I don’t know.

And I lay here in bed with this massive lump in my throat and a throbbing in my chest and tell myself I have to get up, I have to get dressed, I have to comb my hair and brush my teeth and try to eat something because I haven’t eaten in days because my appetite is gone. I tell myself these things, I say them out-loud, but my body doesn’t want to listen.

I just want this pain to end.

[arya3601]

Face Paints and First Meetings

Dean is a high schooler working part-time at a carnival, painting faces for the night. Castiel is a high schooler that isn't allowed to pick what he gets.

Read it on AO3!

A hand smacked the fold-out table that was Dean’s “booth”, his head jerking up from his phone at the sharp noise amid the hubbub of the crowd.

“Hey, there, artsy,” a short, blonde man said, grinning crookedly, hand still flat on the plastic surface, “My brother wants to get his face painted, and we were hoping you could help with that.” 

Dean raised his eyebrows but plastered on his professional, customer-service, dealing-with-rude-people smile. If the man couldn’t be bothered to read the stupidly bright and colorful sign declaring Face Painting, $10, there was a large chance Dean would need to work hard to keep his cool. “Well, you’ve come to the right place.” He stuck his phone in his pocket before waving vaguely at the assortment of paint-splattered brushes standing proudly out of a red plastic cup. Not incredibly professional, but he did work at a fall carnival, after all. It’s not like he could afford a nice studio set-up as a high schooler with a part-time gig. Plus, his usual clientele consisted of four-to-seven year olds, and as long as Dean knew how to paint Spider-Man, they couldn’t care less. “Long as you’ve got ten bucks, I’ll paint whatever he wants.”

 “Oh, it doesn’t matter what he wants.” The man grinned wider. “Ooh Cassie!” He turned and sang over his shoulder, “Come here!”

 “Cassie” parted from the throng and walked over, radiating embarrassment. He looked about Dean’s age, which was a welcome surprise after painting children all night. No offense to the little guys, but the squirming and nose wrinkling made it hard to paint straight. He was cute, too, Dean mused to himself. Dark, messy hair and blue eyes. The trench coat was a little weird, sure, but certainly not the worst choice to protect against the October temps. “Gabe, do we really have to do this right now?”

 “Yes.” Gabe’s face was serious, but Dean trusted that about as far as he could throw the guy. He could still see the corner of his mouth twitching and the wicked amusement in his eyes. “You agreed to this, bucko.”

 “Yes, but I thought it would take you longer to find someone.” Cassie muttered, rubbing his forearm nervously. His eyes were locked onto his brother’s, obviously trying to puppy-dog-eyes his way out of the situation.

 Damn. Guy could give Sam a run for his money. Dean chuckled quietly to himself.

 Unfortunately for Cassie, it seemed Gabe was immune to the look. He turned back to Dean, smirk firmly back in place. “Columbo here- “

 “Rude.” Cassie muttered quietly.

 “-has agreed to sit still while you paint whatever your little heart desires all over his pretty face. And then walk around with it all night, no matter what it is.”

 Dean blinked and slowly raised his eyebrows. “And just why would he agree to do that?” He glanced over at the teen, who still looked incredibly like he wanted to disappear.

 “Not your problem, sweet cheeks.” The blonde finally lifted his hand to reveal a crumpled ten on the cheap table. “We got ten bucks, you paint. Weren’t those the rules?” He gasped dramatically, covering his mouth with his hand, “Unless you changed them?”

 “No,” Dean plastered on his fake smile again, suppressing the urge to punch the guy. “Those are still the rules.”

 “Well, ain’t that just swell.” Gabe turned and raised his eyebrows at his brother, sweeping his hand dramatically to the wooden stool across from Dean. “You sit, Cassie. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. That cotton candy looks to die for. Paint something good!” Gabe disappeared as quickly as he had come, melting seamlessly into the Friday-night crowd.

 After a few moments, Cassie shuffled awkwardly around the table, lowering himself slowly onto the seat.

 It was almost comical, how much taller that made him than Dean. The stool was higher up, for the kids, so it put the guy at least a full head above Dean. This one might hurt his neck a little, Dean noted.

 “You know,” Dean began conversationally, fiddling with his paints, carefully avoiding eye contact. He felt like, if anything, that might make the guy more embarrassed. “If you want, we could just tell him to shove it. I won’t get fired or anything.”

 “No, I did agree to this.” The teen muttered, but he still sounded like he was marching into his own grave. His eyes were focused intensely on the red and white striped canvas wall behind Dean’s head.

 “Yeah, it’s frickin’ ugly, isn’t it?” Dean turned around to where Cassie was looking, trying to lighten the mood. “I tried to ask for a black one or something, but the owner of this place is really weirdly attached to the whole ‘carnival’ look.”

 Cassie cracked a small smile, shoulders loosening a bit. His feet rested on the bottom rung of the stool, legs clearly longer than the seat was made for.

 “So what’s your real name?” Dean asked, turning back. “I have a feeling it ain’t actually ‘Cassie’.”

 “No, it isn’t, Gabe just likes to call me that because he knows it bothers me. My name is Castiel.” It looked like the small talk was helping him relax, so Dean kept going.

 “Hate to agree with that guy,” Dean screwed up his face in distaste, leisurely picking up a brush. He was hoping if he started slowly, he wouldn’t spook the guy. “But it is kind of the older brother’s right to call the younger one nicknames. God knows I bug Sammy enough with it.” He dipped the brush into blue paint, almost absentmindedly.

 “Yes, well,” Castiel shrugged. “That doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it.”

 Dean chuckled. “No, it doesn’t.” He lifted his hand, bringing it up to Castiel’s face carefully, but not yet touching his skin. He smiled at the widened eyes, slight panic obvious in them. “The paint might be a little cold, but don’t worry. This doesn’t hurt at all.” He said soothingly, drawing from past experiences with freaked-out toddlers.

 “I’m not worried it will hurt.” Castiel screwed his eyes shut, eyebrows furrowed and nose crinkled. Dean sighed internally. So much for that, then. “I’m worried about what you’re going to paint.” He cracked his eyes open when he didn’t feel anything on his face.

 Dean laughed, lowering his hand again. “Don’t worry, dude. You seem like a really nice guy, so far, anyway, and I’m not the type to paint dicks on anyone’s face. Even if they’re a dick.”

 The slight blush and averted eyes told Dean that had been exactly what the other boy had been expecting.

 “No way, man!” Dean crowed. He felt slightly offended, but couldn’t help but sit back and laugh. “You thought I was going to draw dicks on your face!”

 A woman walking by his table cast an offended glare at him and hurried her little boy along. Dean snorted at the kid’s delighted grin, still giggling to himself.

 “Well!” Castiel began defensively, “You’re a high school boy! They draw dicks on everything!” He pointed at Dean, “Plus, if Gabe got to choose the design, he definitely would have told you to paint them on me.”

 Dean pursed his lips sympathetically, but couldn’t help the small chuckles still escaping. “Yeah, I met him for thirty seconds and I could see that. Don’t worry,” He held up his free hand, the other still resting on his knee with a dripping paintbrush. “I promise I will not paint dicks on your face. Scout’s honor.”

 Castiel squinted at him suspiciously, but nodded acceptance. “Okay, fine. You may continue.” His shoes squeaked on the cheap wooden rung. “I trust that you won’t paint inappropriate things on my face.” His face smoothed out as he relaxed again.

 “Oh, are all inappropriate things banned?” Dean grinned, quickly reaching up and swiping a few calculated lines on Castiel’s face. “I just promised no dicks, we didn’t talk about other stuff.”

 Castiel squinted at Dean again, lips pressed tightly together, obviously trying to figure out whether he was kidding. The crowd noise seemed louder in the silence, overlapping voices creating a rumbling background to the impromptu staring contest. “… you wouldn’t.” A game booth a few tents down started ringing some kind of bell.

 Dean snickered at the look, secretly thinking that it was adorable. It was like a puppy growling at you. Especially with the random streaks of blue across his forehead. “No, I wouldn’t. I’m joking, Castiel. I am not going to paint inappropriate things on your face.”

 “Good.” Castiel muttered, his face slowly returning to a calm expression. His hands tangled together in his lap, he still visibly looked a little unsure about the situation.

 Dean calmly reached up and started adding lines, dipping back into his paints every few strokes. “So why are you doing this?” He asked gently, dabbing color onto a temple. “Don’t get me wrong, face paint is a way better route than a tattoo or something, but no offense, you don’t really look like you want to be here.” He leaned in and stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he grabbed his thinnest brush, beginning to slowly add web-thin lines.

 “No,” Castiel protested softly, “I don’t mind it here. I like the energy. It’s almost like sitting in the middle of a thunderstorm.” His smile crinkled the wet paint next to his eyes.

 Dean felt the odd sensation of simultaneous disappointment at the smears and appreciation of the cute smile. He smiled and shook his head at himself, reaching up to fix the area.

 “I just don’t like to participate. It’s very suffocating, the crowds are…” He shrugged self-consciously. “Gabe says I plan too much. I’m not ‘impulsive enough’.” He did the little air quotes, the dork. “This was supposed to show that he was wrong.”

 Dean raised an eyebrow, adding more white to his paper plate “palette”, mixing a lighter shade of blue. “I don’t know, man, it kind of just sounds like an opportunity for him to mess with you.” He would know, he’d pulled schemes like this on Sam enough.

 Castiel sighed before scrunching his nose at the touch of the brush on the bridge of it. “Yeah, I figured that out about five seconds after I agreed to it. Like you said, though, face paint is better than a tattoo.”

 The game booth bell rang out again. “… he wouldn’t.” No way.

 “Oh, I assure you, he would.”

 Dean shook his head in disbelief. “Crazy, dude. Your brother is crazy.”

 “You don’t know the half of it.” Castiel muttered darkly.

 “Probably not,” Dean agreed. He used his free hand to gently push some curls off of Castiel’s forehead, smoothly adding a few more lines.

 Castiel’s eyes slipped closed, apparently now used to the feeling of the brush. “He once replaced every document on my laptop with a copy of the Bee Movie script.”

 Dean winced in sympathy. “Ah, damn. He didn’t erase anything super important, did he?”

 “No,” he sighed, “I had back-up copies of everything incredibly important.” His mouth twisted into what Dean could only describe as a pout, and a cute one. “It did put me a few days behind on a final paper, though.”

 “Yeah, I bet.” Dean said, dipping into some gray. “I haven’t done anything like that to Sam, just the little stuff. Itching powder in his underwear, spoon in his mouth while he’s sleeping,” he shrugged, even though he knew Cas couldn’t see it. “Nothing that would really hurt him or ruin anything critical.”

 Castiel scrunched up his nose again, and Dean sighed at the new smudges. “That’s certainly better than my brother, but it still doesn’t sound too pleasant for Sam.”

 “He always gets me back, don’t worry about him too much.” Dean carefully corrected the blotches and continued. “Don’t wrinkle your nose like that.” He admonished softly. “It messes up the paint.”

 “Oh, sorry, I didn’t think about it.” Castiel seemed embarrassed by that.

 “Not a big deal,” Dean tried to soothe, lightly brushing a few more curls out of his way. “You’re doing way better than my usual, promise. Have you ever tried to paint the Batman symbol on the cheek of a five-year-old who just finished his third cotton candy?” He shuddered loudly.

 “No,” the corner of Cas’ mouth twitched up faintly. “Can’t say that I have.”

 “It’s not for the faint of heart.” Dean muttered darkly.

 Castiel chuckled under his breath before they both fell silent again.

 A girl walked by arm-in-arm with her girlfriend, both laughing loudly at something. A boy a few stalls down whooped as he won a stuffed crocodile. The crowd continued to buzz, friends yelling at each other across the path as parents scolded children for wandering off.

 It was oddly peaceful, sitting here, painting Castiel’s face. It was nice, Dean thought as he switched brushes again. A comfortable silence.

 “What are you painting?” Castiel asked quietly, eyes closed.

 Dean grinned lightly at the hesitancy in the other boy’s voice. “Cas, I am painting a giant Hello Kitty design.” He said, keeping his voice low and calm. “Aaaallll over your face. You have a pretty little pink bow here.” He tapped the handle of the brush against Cas’ temple, “A nice little yellow nose here,” tapped against the tip of Cas’ nose, “And whiskers.” He traced the handle over Cas’ cheeks teasingly.

 “Dean,” Cas’ voice was amused, if anything. His eyes stayed shut, seemingly unconcerned. “You haven’t painted my nose or cheeks, and you were using like five different shades of blue.”

 Dean chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, okay, Columbo, you’re right.” He sat back for a moment to take in the whole design critically. “You know that Willy Wonka movie with that blueberry chick?”

 Cas’ eyes flew open and he shifted suddenly, about to stand. “You did not- “

 Dean quickly reached out and tugged him back down, laughing. “No, no, Cas, of course I didn’t.”

 “You better not have.” He muttered as he sat again. “I have to walk around with this all night, you know.”

 Dean nodded, pretending solemnity, dotting a few more places. “I know, Gabe told me.”

 “Assbutt.” Castiel muttered.

 The bell rang out from the game booth again. Dean carefully sat down his brush and raised his eyebrows. “Assbutt?”

 Castiel looked over at the churro truck down the way, avoiding Dean’s eye line. “Yes.” His cheeks looked suspiciously pink. “And are you calling me Cas now?”

 Dean suppressed a smile and shook his head. Dork. “Yes.” He reached out and turned Cas’ face back to him, doing a final sweep of the design. “Lookin’ good.” It really did look good; at least Dean thought so. It had helped that no one else had wanted their face painted. He hadn’t had to rush to get to another customer.

 “Are you done?” Cas didn’t seem to mind the hand that was still resting against his cheek, but Dean put it down anyway. No need to freak out the guy.

 Dean hummed an affirmative before grabbing his hand mirror and holding it against his chest. “You ready to see it?”

 Castiel looked unsure, but nodded anyway.

 Dean felt a warm glow fill him at the guy’s trust, and couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. The game booth bell started ringing again, this time flashing lights, too. Someone had just won big. Dean raised the mirror to Castiel’s height. “Ta-da!”

 Castiel looked awestruck. A few moments passed, silence from both teens as someone at a game booth yelled something about a palm tree.  “… how did you do this?” He whispered, reverently trailing his fingers across the lines.

 Dean suddenly felt bashful and dropped his arm, shrugging awkwardly. “I just painted it, dude.” He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure. “So you like it?”

 Castiel gently pried the mirror from Dean’s hand and held it up to his face, turning left and right to see the entire piece. “Oh my gosh. It’s amazing! I love this!” He beamed at Dean, who couldn’t help but smile back in the face of that gummy smile.

 Castiel continued to examine himself in the mirror, admiring the beautifully complicated network of blue lighting emanating from his right temple, arcing across his face to the other side. Dean had layered different shades of blues and whites, making each branch look incredibly 3D and lifelike, and even added some stormy clouds across his hairline. He couldn’t stop smiling at it; the artwork was so stunning.

 Dean leaned back against his chair, quietly satisfied that Castiel liked the final product. “Soo…” He drawled, “I guess this means you’ll take risks more often, huh?”

 Castiel lowered the mirror and beamed at him again, replying, “If it ends anything like this, I will become the most reckless person in Lawrence.”

 Dean rolled his eyes and took back his mirror, putting it back on the table. “Slow down there, Evil Kenevil, you can work your way up. Nothing dangerous, you got me? I kind of like your weird, dorky ass.”

 Cas rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “I feel like I should be insulted, but I think that was a compliment, so thanks.”

 “Yeah, no problem.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck again. “So, look, uh…”

 Castiel waited patiently, fingers absently reaching up to brush against the paint again. It probably itched, Dean thought.

 He blew out a hard breath before deciding to just get it over with. “I know we didn’t talk all that much, but you seem like a really cool guy.” And you’re unbelievably adorable, Dean added silently. “I haven’t taken my break yet and, if you’re not in too much of a rush to get back to your brother, I’d like to see if we can’t hang out some more. Maybe.” He glanced up. “Like get dinner or something.”

 Castiel tilted his head to the side, reminding Dean of when they got Bones as a puppy. He couldn’t help chuckling again at the cute motion. “Would it be a dinner-date or just a dinner?”

 “Well,” Dean tapped his fingers against the table, staring at a yellow splotch on his ring finger. “That’s up to you, I guess.” He glanced up, “I wouldn’t mind it being a date, but if you’re not comfortable with that, we can just get food as friends. No pressure.” It would be a little disappointing, sure, but he definitely wouldn’t mind being friends with Castiel.

 Castiel ran his hand through his hair, a few curls falling onto his forehead. “I would like for it to be a date, as well.” He smiled shyly.

 Dean stood up, brushing his jeans off. “Awesome.” He smiled and stepped forward, gently brushing the curls back off Cas’ head. “Careful with that for a minute,” he warned quietly, “paint might not be totally dry yet.”

 Castiel hummed acknowledgement, and Dean could see the slight blush at their closeness, without a brush in between them. They both smiled softly at the other.

 “C’mon.” Dean took a step towards the main thoroughfare, sticking his hand back to Cas and wiggling his fingers in invitation. “We won’t find gourmet steaks, but Garth’s deep-fried turkey legs are pretty great, if that’s okay with you?”

 “Sounds good to me.” Cas sent Dean a quick smile as he took the painter's hand.

 “Will Gabe be worried if we aren’t here when he finally comes back?” Dean asked, beginning to find his way through the throng. He accidentally bumped into a woman, both parties muttering a quick apology.

 “Probably.” Cas stepped closer, grip tightening on Dean’s hand. Dean smiled privately at the action. “But he always is telling me to be more impulsive, so, if anything, he’ll be proud.”

 “He wouldn’t leave here without you, would he?”

 Castiel was silent for a few paces, “You have a car, right?”

 Dean threw back his head and laughed, squeezing Cas’ hand and stopping in front of Garth’s truck. He had a feeling he was going to have a very good night.

[jmarshv]

This came out longer than I expected and is different from what what you wanted. But they ARE on Tatooine!

This is basically Poe just flirting and Hux being Hux. Takes place sometime after tlj. No spoilers.

-

“You know, you look awfully familiar.”

Poe was slouching over the counter of a bar in Mos Eisley. The place was old. Really old. And dusty. But there wasn’t much else to do while waiting for fuel. He watched a man come in, dressed in all black, prim and proper despite his disheveled hair, a pair of scary looking boots, and a scowl plastered on his face. The guy sat next to him, hunched, and Poe didn’t say anything for a while. But boredom got the better of him eventually.

The guy looked at him with a flinch. Like he was on guard. But his face was so comical in its disgust, Poe couldn’t do much besides stifle a laugh.

Nothing was said at first. They had a sort of stand off, just staring at each other. Then Poe had a mind to wink at him and flash him a smile, and the guy’s expression dropped into something else.

“Your uniform,” Poe nodded to his long overcoat, trying to make conversation. “Looks kinda like what they wear in the First Order. I bet you’re too good for a place like that though, right?”

“What?” the guy finally responded, except now instead of disgust, there was apprehension. He looked Poe up and down like he was ready to run, and Poe was sure he saw him swallow.

“Looks damn good though I gotta say. The boots? The pants? Makes you look intimidating. That’s what you want right?”

“I-I don’t,” he shook his head, pausing to find words, brows together and his forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Who are you? Why are you talking to me?”

“Woah, woah, I’m sorry,” Poe held up his hands in submission, fixing the guy with a disarming smile. “We’re at a bar, buddy, I like how you look, so I told you so.”

This made the guy sit up straight. If Poe didn't know any better, he would say he was offended. He had his head held high like he was above everyone in the bar, better than everyone on the planet, hell, better than everyone in the galaxy even. Something about him told Poe to be wary, scared maybe, but the guy looked like a lost porglet. And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't pretty.

“Are you…” he cocked his head, squinting. “Are you propositioning me?”

Poe shrugged and looking him up and down, making sure the man noticed the movement of his eyes. The other’s blush was blatant and visible, and Poe watched it spread across his unusually light skin. There was even a change in his breathing. And Poe took the opportunity to lick his lips. Red head guy gulped again.

“Only if you want me too,” he winked. “I’m Poe Dameron by the way.” And he held out a hand to shake.

The mood changed, and the man jumped when he learned the other’s name, only to come down from the surprise and stew in a seat of anger.

“Poe Dameron!” he hissed. “You. You were the one who called the bridge. You wanted to speak to me. And then you called me by the wrong name and made me look like a complete fool!”

“General Hugs! I thought I recognized your voice!” Poe held none of the fear the general was hoping for. Instead he held his arms out like he was welcoming an old friend. “Not what I expected, I gotta say,” he raised his brows at the sleek body of the other.

“S-stop looking at me like that!” he smacked away one of his arms. “Why are you here?”

“I could ask you the same question, red.”

Hux grumbled and resumed that ugly sneer from before.

“That’s classified First Order information!” he spat. “Who do you think you are?”

“Captain Poe Dameron. I already said that. But it’s still nice to meet you, General.” He grinned, nodding, and once again held out his hand.

Hux was breathing heavily, back straight and looking back and forth between Poe’s hand and face, like he might burn him if they touched. After a deep exhale, he offered up one of his own hands, glove a scuffed up mess, and took Poe’s.

But Poe didn’t shake it. No, that would be too obvious. Too overdone. Instead, he held the general’s fingers and brought his entire hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.

Hux did nothing. Couldn’t say anything. There was just a long, drawn out moment where he looked horrified, his mouth hung open in terror, followed by a softening face that considered the situation carefully. Strategizing. Hux didn’t smile. And Poe was pretty sure he wasn’t even capable of it anyway.

“Dameron,” he said, and there was almost a hesitant kind of respect in his tone. The corners of his mouth twitched like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t. He watched Poe’s eyes, switching between his face and his hand that Poe still hand a grip on, finally clearing his throat.

“Don’t think this changes anything,” he pursed his lips, now avoiding Poe’s face, only blinking up at him now and then while he focused on his lips instead. “You’re still a threat and… an irritating nuisance—and I will not hesitate to kill you when I get the chance.”

“Why can’t you kill me now?” Poe ran his thumb over the back of Hux’s palm. The steel gaze the general had on his lips didn’t go unnoticed. Not by a long shot. And Poe gave him a crooked smile as charming as he could possibly be.

Hux choked a little, turning his head but not taking his eyes off Poe. He coughed into his free hand and gave a nervous chuckle.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” he laughed too loud. “Propriety and rules exist for a reason and I have tact. Perhaps you should try it sometime.”

“Fair enough. But, while we’re here…”

He trailed off. Hux made no move to rip his hand away. It remained cradled in Poe’s wandering fingers, Poe using his other hand to trail along the general’s palm. It was oddly sensual, but neither of them spoke. Poe let his unfinished sentence swirl in Hux’s head. The words hung in the air, implying what Hux already knew.

When Poe snuck to the end of his palm, by the edge of the glove, he paused. Hux was watching his hand, Poe’s fingers, and breathing through his nose. Harsh puffs of air. Poe saw how his nostrils flared, but not from anger. Something else. And if the general could let go of his visage for two minutes to act like a normal person, Poe had an inkling he’d be sighing, soft breath and lidded eyes—and he couldn’t help but wonder if Hux had freckles on places besides his face.

“Your face is gorgeous, by the way. Just letting you know.”

That did it. For some reason that did it. And Hux’s mouth opened, just a sliver, and Poe heard the gentle sigh, that really pretty one people did when they gave into their instincts. He blinked at Poe, still quiet, but waited patiently for whatever came next.

With slow, deliberate work of his hand, Poe peeled away the other’s glove. His skin was a shocking contrast to his own; bright white against warm tan, silky smooth on rough calluses. And Poe noticed the general leaning into him. It wasn’t that noticeable. But it was definitely there. He was getting closer to him, probably subconsciously, and Poe made a move to do the same.

“What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

Hux’s eyes shot up to his. Their bodies were less than a couple inches apart. In his eyes Poe saw a lot of things; shock mainly, but also desire, fear and want. He was holding back. This man, Poe should hate him—and hell, maybe he does—but right here, right now, in the dim lighting, surrounded by smoke and noise, a thousand parsecs away from anything, none of it mattered. Because Hux looked good. His body looked good. His face lost that perpetual scowl and was just waiting, curious, and dammit, it looked good.

Punitive measures be damned. He closed the distance between them. It didn’t last long. Just a firm, soft meeting of lips, opening just the slightest. Tongues touched briefly, there was a lack of saliva and anything messy. But Poe pulled Hux’s bottom lip between his teeth, sucking on it. And when he pulled away, letting it pop out of his mouth, Hux looked like he was about to pass out.

Did no one ever touch the guy?

It was fortune that they’d both be here. How it happened, Poe didn’t claim to know. But this Hux guy? Poe liked him, for some reason. And maybe in another lifetime, he’d have him pinned underneath him, letting out whines and gasping for air. Or maybe Poe was feeling adventurous and didn’t care. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe it could be tonight. Or tomorrow. Maybe it could be the lifetime they were in right now.

AO3

[aion-rsa]

HIDIVE’s Nana Is The Emotional Coming-Of-Age Gutpunch You Didn’t Know You Needed

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Have you ever spent an entire day worrying over some benign thing that you said? Have you ever gotten exactly what you wanted and still felt incomplete? Have you ever fundamentally questioned who you are? Have you ever been in your twenties?

Anime often gets generalized as a genre that showcases exaggerated characters with unbelievable powers who engage in fantastical flights of fancy. But sometimes an anime will stare right into your soul and help you realize things about yourself that you could never previously articulate. Nana is one such anime. It’s arguably the best series for 20-somethings and millennials to watch–an anime that hits harder and probes deeper than some of this generation’s most staggering animated efforts.

There’s an overwhelming amount of anime and manga to explore, but Ai Yazawa’s prolific Nana has become even more of an obscure and lost relic. The Nana manga hit the shelves in 2000, but has been in and out of print for years and it has left its fans waiting in the wings with a hiatus that’s now over a decade long. Nana’s anime has been similarly difficult to track down, but HIDIVE has recently given it the boost that it deserves with weekly releases of all 47 dubbed episodes. Nana is now easier than ever to enjoy.

Two Girls Named Nana – The Endless Humanity In Nana’s Characters

Nana belongs to the “josei” genre, which can get dismissed as melodrama for a maturing female audience. This is certainly true for many josei series, but Nana is essential viewing for any person of any age. It’s a universal story about humanity and acceptance that transcends its genre’s shortcomings. Nana focuses on two girls, both named Nana, who reach comparable periods of transition, albeit with contrasting goals. 

Nana Komatu–nicknamed Hachi–follows her heart and views romance as the ultimate form of affirmation. Nana Oosaki is driven to become a famous rockstar and establish her own identity rather than be in someone else’s shadow. These goals may seem somewhat contrary, but they boil down to both Nanas needing to learn who they truly are before they can find fulfillment elsewhere. However, knowing what they want in life doesn’t necessarily mean that their journeys are easy. 

Nana’s characters are accomplished, but they struggle to see the value in themselves–their true selves–until someone else gives it to them. Yet even then they’re still slaves to someone else’s standards. Both Nanas cultivate public images for themselves that they hide behind like suits of armor. It’s a slippery slope, but in time, the Nanas find their independence and understand the artificial nature of these crafted personas.

One Is The Friendliest Number – The Power Of The Self

Nana poignantly tells its characters that “being alone and being lonely are two different things.” The anime carefully examines how to become empowered, not frightened, by being alone. Simple, honest acts of understanding dwarf manufactured displays of love. The union between Nana Osaki and Ren Honjo is one of the sweetest relationships in Nana, but even it isn’t strong enough to overpower real obstacles and human fragility, like addiction. It’s not an anime where the power of love can fix everything or banish away evil. It’s just one tool to better understand the world. Nana makes it clear that this is beautiful, but not always going to be enough. Satisfaction needs to come from within first. 

Scenes in Nana can be very hard to watch because of how true they ring. The insecurities, doubts, and ugly traits that the audience possesses are realistically reflected through Nana’s central characters. Nana doesn’t present anyone as some stock anime archetype, but it twists this paradigm even further. These aren’t perfect people and the ability to see their negative qualities exhibits a level of confidence and trust in the audience to not abandon them. Much like opening up to a friend or confessing a secret to a lover, Nana asks its audience to be patient and understanding, and it in turn reciprocates this respect. This makes some moments in Nana particularly raw and emotionally grueling, but they’re necessary. 

As the audience accepts and understands Nana’s characters, it provides them with the skills to forgive themselves and understand that mistakes aren’t only acceptable, but they’re human and inevitable. Many anime want their audience to cheer, but Nana wants their viewers to ugly cry and then give themselves a bearhug. Ideally Nana Komatsu and Osaki will gain clarity, but if they don’t, the anime explains that that’s okay. Nana ricochets between affirming sweetness and uncomfortable melancholy, but it’s these extremes that keep it honest.

One of the strongest examples of this is when Nana Komatsu equates her own insecurities and her desire to make others happy with the classic fairy tale figure and Disney princess, Cinderella. Hachi ponders that if Cinderella’s glass slipper is such a perfect fit then it should have never fallen off in the first place and that it must have been an intentional act. She transforms an idealized love story into a reflection of her own inadequacies, which is what Nana asks the viewer to do at every moment, whether it’s with this anime, similar series, or the cultural touchstones that have been around them for all of their lives, like Cinderella.

Nana – Self-Improvement Through Anime

These difficult and messy decisions are a lot to endure, but it’s exactly why Nana is the perfect tool for millennials to learn and better themselves. It’s BoJack Horseman, but for a younger generation who haven’t reached such a place of complacency. Nana is an ode to human kindness that turns friendship and honesty into its superpowers and spectacles. There is no shortage of anime with believable, flawed characters that the audience is meant to empathize with, but Nana excels in this department because it has zero interest in stereotypes. Even the unfinished and open-ended nature of Nana’s conclusion–which is sometimes framed as a deterrent–feels appropriate. It’s indicative of life itself. People change and friendships can strengthen or dissolve without warning or finality. Life goes on. 

Few anime are able to so accurately depict the transition into adulthood, warts and all, and genuinely inspire change in the audience with the questions that it forces them to consider. Nana is an immensely human experience that everyone benefits to observe and HIDIVE’s weekly releases accentuate its humble slice-of-life nature that can cut to the core. Nana is sometimes gutting, but it’s also a celebration of what it means to be human and the importance of finding and accepting yourself.

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It’s just like what Nana Komatsu says: “Even though it’s painful sometimes, if you keep on living then good things can happen.” Nobody expects perfection. It’s enough to just keep trying.

The post HIDIVE’s Nana Is The Emotional Coming-Of-Age Gutpunch You Didn’t Know You Needed appeared first on Den of Geek.

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