#heaven fucking forbid a character exist for the hell of it

[sleepydrabbles]

I promised myself I wouldn’t get upset but jfc what is with the traveler hate. People. Like I have my complaints but I have those complaints about all the characters I’ve gotten from this game. This or that function sucks, damn what the hell was that line, etc. etc. It just feels like people genuinely don’t want to interpret the traveler in a positive light. I’m not asking for people to love them to death or whatever, but like… jesus christ have a little empathy. Or sympathy. I think sympathy is more attainable for that type of person.

[hermioneismyrealname]

Here for the cringe. Staying for the cringe. Am I enjoying it? Hell yeah. Could it be better in certain aspects? Of course but what series is perfect? Don't say utsushii kare because I will admit that it has some flaws. It has come to the point that where if it isn't in your face good, it's nuance and entertainment aspect is defenestrated. Ah well. Thus is the strife of enjoyable content.

Oh, look, another Reddit thread on how annoying a person thinks Middleman’s Love is. Very original. This surely isn’t the 8th one I’ve seen of these today. 🙄

[jade-len]

guys, guys.

be honest with me. would anybody be willing to read any SVSSS x reader stuff (or, just SVSSS with reader fanfics in general?) like please i'm being so deadass right now. i am very willing to write, it's just that i have no clue if anyone would want to read that???

i know that the people in this fandom don't necessarily have any x or & readers, but i'm sad and pathetic and have a weird emotional attachment to the characters. like hear me out guys.

i present to you all a few ideas i have:

1. reader transmigrates into SVSSS and decides, fuck it, let's become a counselor/therapist/emotional support service pal. half of the conflicts in the novel would've been prevented if therapy, communication, and simple observation existed! mu qingfan, give me a chance!! i promise this will lower the qi deviation rates by at least 50%.

liu qingge? alright, let's work on learning identifying your feelings better and not respond via violence to every situation. shen jiu? hey, hey, it's okay to be vulnerable! no- please don't go self projecting yourself onto an innocent 14 year old. luo binghe? *pulls out 5 different documents* heavens, where do we even start? like, gods forbid any of them have a proper support system, or at least be able to express their feelings and deal with them in a healthy manner!

2. liu qingge x reader where he gradually stops painfully pining and gets the love that he deserves. he gets his pretty face cupped gently and kisses all over it. that's it. that's the fic idea.

3. bingge, the original luo binghe, gets sent back in time.. all the way back to right when his mother died. he believes that he's been given a chance to re-enact his revenge, play it smart all the way from the start and have an upper hand now that he has to relive this! however, that quickly changes when this random fucking person (aka, reader) just wont stop bothering him?? what the hell do they want??? (for this one, i'm not sure if reader should be a transmigrator who believes they're in SVSSS instead of PIDW and is unaware of the whole bingge thing, or just some npc that proves him wrong about kindness).

4. SVSSS hater (or someone who just has a very complicated relationship with it!) reader transmigrates into it after tweeting "stupid author, stupid novels". they then proceed to accidentally collect two husbands they were so actively against before. ugh! now that i'm here, i guess i'll try to help out with their relationship and give my advice so that they won't have so much conflict, ones that were super frustrating to even hear about!! shen qingqiu, that dense ass guy and unhealthily codependent luo binghe! wait, what? what do you mean they both want me to be part of their marriage now??

sincerely, very much inspired by this tweet (reader most likely isn't going to be an anti, though);

low-key might combine the first and fourth fanfic idea? will make reader gender neutral (or even male!) though. but overall idk. idk if people will even wanna see that at all, man. ok please give thoughts. or not lol

(10-11-23 edit: i'm currently writing the bingge one rn!)

[hopeluna-archived]

We lose brain cells when we are together....

Being best friends with Shinso Hitoshi

Characters: Shinso Hitoshi x reader (platonic)

Content: fluff, crack kinda?, little bit of Izuku Midoriya x reader, reader is a crackhead 'cause why not, also a kinda dark joke that my mom wouldn't appreciate, this is long and I have no regrets, this is so self indulgent💀

M.list

Alright lets be honest here first. When you two first met, Hitoshi made some small talk but other than that didn't really wanna converse with you. The crack energy was too much for him. He kept his distance with you but no matter where he went, it was like the universe decided to torment him 'cause he always seemed to bump into you.

Time skip to a more run ins and you talking his ear off, there you were, two best friends. The dynamic between you is basically, You: Crackhead, Hitoshi: tired of the crackhead.

He'll act all grumpy when you drag him somewhere to hang out but don't mind him, he loves hanging out with you. Hitoshi also loves the fact that you don't see his quirk as "evil" as many people do.

If you are a cat person, he is in heaven. It will be a sacred ritual to go to a cat cafe once a week. If you cancel on the plans, well get ready to receive the silent treatment.

The sassiness between you two is high on this one. Its like you'll be minding your own buisness and he'll just randomly go "can you not? Your existence is giving me a headache". Of course he doesn't mean it <3

You two are attached at the hip a lot of the times. And with that comes speculations from people if you two might be a couple. When someone actually asks if you two are dating, Hitoshi would be like "pfft why would I date this ?" and you're there just like "bitch🤚 no cat cafe meetings for a month" and he'll crumble like "NOOOO" .

You are the only being in existence who is allowed to touch his hair. If you ever want to style it, he'll make a offended face but nevertheless let you do it and he'll keep it if you say and glare at anyone who makes a joke of it.

You constanly scolding him about his sleep schedule like yours isn't fucked up as well. Hitoshi will call you randomly at like 3 am to tell you a cat fact. Most of the times, his training with Aizawa stresses him out so you drag him to have a self care routine. God forbid you sneak a picture of him with a face mask and cucumbers on, he will bury you alive.

He acts like he hates it and will groan everytime you tell him stupid ass jokes. Though sometimes he laughs like that one time you went " 'Toshi, 'Toshi" "what?" "Whats the difference between a lightbulb and a pregnant woman?" ".....what?" "......you can unscrew a lightbulb" and cue Hitoshi trying not to burst out cackling.

Friends don't judge each other, they judge other people together. This is a motto that you two go by. Ya'll be in a cafe or a park or just walking and you two would just judge other people together and roast them to hell. And Hitoshi acts all nonchalant but he is definitely interested when you come around and gossip about shit that just happened with other people.

The UA people didn't even know you existed until one day you decided to randomly pop up to embarrass Hitoshi. Its not that he avoided talking about you, its just that they never asked and he is a private person by nature so they just never knew about you.

Denki audibly, and dramatically, gasped when the usual stoic Shinso Hitoshi cracked a small smile on seeing you running at him full speed. The others were kinda surprised too when they saw how easily he conversed with you.

After that, your presence became more and more frequent around the group. One time Mineta tried to flirt with you disgustingly and after you quickly ignored him, Hitoshi dragged Mineta....somewhere. Nobody knew where Mineta was for two whole days, all while Hitoshi had a small smile on his face.

Hitoshi pretended to gag in disgust when one day you came to him rambling on about how lovely and adorable Midoriya is. He will however push you to talk to Izuku when the group is together 'cause he can see how much you like him.

So basically, being best friends with Shinso Hitoshi is definetely a whirlwind. He'll act all cool and stoic but with you its like his brain cells just die and you both radiate crackhead energy. And he'll always be there, supporting you, motivating you and being a shoulder to cry on.

And he will rarely say it but he is glad and feels lucky to have you as his friend.

────────────

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!! Do not repost or claim as yours though, its not cool.

[blommis-writes]

"We should welcome twitter users coming to tumblr" yeah okay but have you ever had to interact with twitter fandom people? They're some of the nastiest beings to ever exist on this fucking planet.

They're the same who stalked Joseph Quinn wherever he went after season 4 of Stranger Things dropped and Eddie Munson became a fan favourite, leaking his dating app profile and his private cellphone number. (They also leaked Gaten Matarazzo’s cellphone number from what I got.)

They’re the same who harassed the Heartstopper cast so much that one of the main actors deactivated his twitter profile and the other was forced into coming out as bi.

And god forbid if you DARE criticizing the show they like, even if you’re a fan of it yourself. Just this morning I got a load of shit thrown at me on twitter because I dared pointing out how netflix acts in different ways towards wlw shows than mlm shows. I went about it logically looking at stats, and used First Kill and Young Royals as an example, because I watched both and the stats were very different in terms of budget, of views, etc. so overall, an easier comparison to make than between two shows who had almost identical stats.

Somehow (considering I usually get, at most 10 interactions under a tweet on a good day), my tweet blew up among Young Royals fans and I got 1000+ among replies and qrts of people who disagreed and I thought okay, not everybody has the same opinion right? Conctructive criticism is a thing right?

Well, on the goddamn blue bird app it is not.

People just said stuff like “it’s just because that First Kill sucks ass” and I tried explaining why (aka the tanking starting budget), so they went on to straight up calling me stupid, dumb, ignorant, they said I did not understand that one is Netflix USA and the other is from Netflix Nordic, mixed with a lot of swearwords in the crassest display ever.

And like. The fun thing is, I’m completing a master’s degree in Swedish. With my main faculty being media criticism. It will literally be my job, one day, to translate and criticize Swedish-speaking and English-speaking media.

Plus, though it’s not one of my favourites, I’m a fan of Young Royals myself because I started watching it to practice my Swedish language skills, and actually worked with its subtitles for a project of translation I had to do for class.

Tumblr may be a hellsite (affectionate) bit it’s really chill now, and kind of a safe heaven for me where I can interact with any kind of fandom and talk freely about which shows, characters and ships/pairings I love (i.e. apparently everyone on twitter is a Billy Hargrove anti. Seriously. Went to see if there were some fanarts, hcs, or other pieces of fanon really, but there was nothing except for hate tweets against both the characters and fans who like him), even when it comes to more serious and technical stuff like why netflix dooms certain shows from the start (cough cough First Kill cough cough) and I would hate to see it become full of hate just like twitter is.

Soooo, tl;dr: Like hell am I welcoming people you can’t have a civil discussion over anything with here.

[missgeniality]

A Date With Destiny (m)

“Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves, alone - we find it with another.” - Thomas Merton

➺ Pairing: Jungkook x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Strangers to Lovers, Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Fluff, Smut, one comedian in the mix

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 11k

➺ Summary: You are a boss lady in the tech industry travelling to world for work. He is a chart-topping artist touring the globe to perform in front of millions of fans. In the cosmos of life, you are not likely to cross paths. Luckily, fate has a different plan for you two.

➺ Warnings: dom!jk, unprotected sex (sex is cleaner when you pack your weiner!), hickeys galore, lot of spit, oral (male and female receiving), balls receive attention, throat fucking, cum eating, edging, masturbation kinda?, cum play, pussy slapping, pussy sniffing, fingering, squirting, spanking, pain kink?, tit slapping, reader teases a bit but this man is a tease maestro, cum stuffing (is that a thing even?), Jungkook’s THIGHS need their own warning

➺ Author’s Note: @ppersonna​​ is an angel among us peasants. Thank you so much for all your help with this!   This is my first attempt at writing, and the tiniest feedback goes a long way! Hope you enjoy! 

When you die, the first pit stop you make is to the coffee gods. 

Without coffee, this whole month would have been a disaster. Back-to-back meetings, daily flights, countless documents being read, it’s a miracle your eyes are open and fully functioning. 

Being the Chief Technical Officer of a well-established company at your age had been anything but a cakewalk. You had strived hard and crossed many boulders to come to where you are. But if reaching that point required huge amounts of effort, now your work is tenfold. 

“Why can’t I just get longer flights so I can nap in them?” You mumble into your nth cup of coffee - not keeping count is for your own sanity. 

“Because longer flights apparently have crying children. You, our resident baby-magnet hypothesized that shorter flights equal more time in hotel rooms ‘sleeping’. Guess who sleeps in said hotel rooms? Everyone but you.” Your personal assistant and part-time truth-spouter Jake offers helpfully. 

“Past me was such an idiot.” You shoot back, wondering if you could inject the espresso right through your veins.

Jake pouts. “Woman, you take on jobs that an intern could do. If you weren’t such an unnecessary perfectionist I would be on the beaches of Thailand, getting sensual massages and eating some pretty pussy. But here we are, on our way to Seoul. So quit your whining because clearly, I have lost more.” 

“What if I wanted to do that too?”

“Can I watch?” 

“Right.” And that was the end of the conversation. 

Passengers on flight KE654 from Bangkok to Seoul are requested to report for boarding at Gate 45A. First Class passengers will be boarded first, followed by Business class and lastly Economy. Please keep your boarding pass ready for checking.

Jake stands up, groaning. “This is where we say goodbye. Do you wanna pretend like we’re strangers and have a hot one-night stand when we land?” 

“Sometimes I think it’s your natural response to flirt with a breathing being. Do you ever accidentally just, you know, flirt with a tree?” You try to sound sarcastic, but you’re genuinely curious. 

“If a day comes when a hot specimen like me has to flirt with a tree, humanity is doomed. Catch ya later!” He blows you a kiss before leaving for the restroom. You shake your head in awe, a small smile finding your lips. He knew how to get your mind off things.

For all his flirting, Jake’s interest in you is perfunctory. He looks after you, keeps you from starving or gouging your eyeballs out, and calms you when things are too hard. He’s seen your worst. You’ve seen him drunk out of his mind, bailed him out when he “accidentally” smoked up, and heard every new pick-up line his ingenious brain churned out. Basically, you’ve seen his worst as well. 

You take a look at your boarding pass. 3C. Jake would be in business class, and you in first. Not your choice, the company makes the rules. It's for the better, he says. Apparently, he can ‘prowl for his hunt better’, without your judgmental glare. You nearly vomit on him just for his choice of words.

Entering the flight, you stash away your hand baggage the first place you find the room and head to your seat and-

Holy. Shit.

Jeon Jungkook is sitting on your seat.

Jeon Jungkook is on your flight? 

BTS is on your flight? 

What are the odds?

Granted, you’re not a 16-year old obsessive fan, collecting photocards and waving light sticks through the screen, but even in your adulthood you’ve admired their music and shows, routinely keeping up with their discography. 

Hell, you even learned Korean years ago to better understand their songs. Maybe you are an obsessive fan.

But you can’t approach them like that. They no doubt want some privacy and not be recognized. God forbid you approach Jungkook with crazy eyes, just to be escorted off the plane for stalking. While you liked their work, you had your own, and getting thrown off this flight does not help you there.

So, you’re just gonna have to speak to him like just another passenger. 

BTS who? 

Biggest boyband who? 

You only listen to Frank Sinatra. 

“Excuse me?” You call out, a shiver of a whisper leaving your lips. You immediately chastise yourself for being so star-struck.

Big, round eyes glitter under the bucket hat. The softest ‘huh’ throws a lasso over your heart, and holds it captive. He adjusts his hat, inked fingers making a brief yet lasting appearance. The epitome of tenderness, you muse as his eyes flit here and there to figure out the situation. After finding no one to help him out, he gently offers “Yes?”

You feel extremely guilty for marring his serene face with creases of trouble. “I think this is my seat. See, 3C.” you say, pointing to the seat and then to your ticket for good measure. Did he suspect you recognize them? No. Do you look like you’re over-gesticulating? Totally. 

“Oh.” His brow distresses further, the sight has you ready to give the man your seat and hide in the bathroom for the rest of the flight. “But even I am 3C.”

His ticket shows the same characters as yours. 

Huh?

With both your faces contorted in confusion, an air hostess comes forward to help. 

“We both are booked on the same seat. How does that happen? Do I need to catch another flight?” You suddenly pour out, remembering the countless commitments you have in Seoul that would go down the drain if you don’t make it by tonight.

She's quick to reassure you. “Do not worry ma’am, I’m sure there must have been an error in the printing. I’ll be right back.” At the same time, Jungkook is approached by someone, probably one of their staff, to discuss the issue.

The air hostess returns smiling. “Ma’am, you both were booked on the same seat but this adjacent seat was left empty. We are extremely sorry for the error. You may take 3B.” She reiterates the same message to Jungkook in Korean, who then looks mighty relieved. 

Goddamn, his eyes got bigger. How much bigger can they get?

“All okay then?” He glances sideways, smile irradiating your senses and waking you up better than all the coffee could. 

“All good. Sorry for the trouble.” You add, even though it isn’t your mistake in any way.

“No no. No trouble” He beams back. 

Aw, you are in trouble. 

As the flight is about to take off, you can see the rest of BTS in the rows ahead of you, with some other staff members taking up other seats. There’s one old man with a scowl on his face, whom you can’t place with the BigHit group. Great, no crying kids. Unless the frowning grandpa snores to the heavens, you can actually catch a good four-hour snooze. Take that, Jake. Hope a kid blows snot in his face. 

Looking at your neighbor, you find him busy searching for a good video game on the screen. The other members seem to be using this flight to catch a nap, except him. You always wondered whether their on-screen persona was real or not. Now you could say at least one of his characteristics is true. 

Turning away, you bring your focus back to the document at hand. The schematics for a new product your company was launching. You had spearheaded its conception and looked over every single detail in its manufacturing. The Seoul branch is one of the main players in its production, and your last stop before heading back home. You must have every word in this file burnt in the back of your eyelids to make this deal smooth. 

Reclining your seat, and putting your legs up, you got down to business.

An Angel was calling you. 

You want to wake up, but you couldn’t, fearing the Angel would stop singing to you. Something is poking you, but the voice just drowns it all out.

Wait...

Fluttering your eyes open, you see Jeon Jungkook staring right at you. 

“Hi... They, umm--Food? Want to eat?” the Angel utters. Jungkook utters. Tomato, to-mah-to. 

“Oh!” you exclaim, wiping non-existent drool on your face. His palm on your shoulder quickly retracts at your exaggerated attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Thank you so much.”

Then, he does that thing. He smiles. Eye scrunch and all. 

Fuck the coffee gods. When you die, you want to meet the Grand Master and ask him what crack he was on to hand over so much power to one man’s smile. 

The food is placed on your table, and you thank the hostess graciously. 

“Do you need anything to drink?” She asks, to which you only shake your head. There was enough caffeine in your system to shoot a horse to the moon and you were still drowsy. There was no need to catalyze this process with booze.  

“Your Korean accent is pretty good.” Your next-seat resident comments. Ah, you had conversed with the hostess in Korean. 

“Thank you very much.” You giggle, roleplaying an acne-prone teenager talking to her hunk of a crush.

“Have you been speaking for a long time?” He pops a huge morsel of food after asking. Well, that’s another on-screen quality found to be accurate.

“Six years now. Comes in handy for my work.” 

“Oh! Did you have to learn it for work? That’s fascinating.” Another mouthful went in. You didn’t even know it was physically possible to hold that much rice using chopsticks.

“Uhh.. no..” You tussle your hair, trying to stop your cheeks from turning beet red, “I just listened to some music and consuming more content.. and subtitles are a bore, plus I needed a hobby at the time so..” 

Your unnecessarily long explanation was cut short by Jungkook’s child-like laugh, enjoying the pickle you were putting yourself in. 

“Hey! I just didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation, that’s all.” you try to be cross, knowing it’s inconceivable since God himself seems to have given him whatever he wanted. If big ol’ Almighty can’t stand against his charms, you are but a mere pleb. 

He looks at you kindly. “Thank you, that was very thoughtful. I’ve been speaking to so many foreigners trying to get across to them I got surprised when you spoke so fluently.” 

He went back to chomping on his food like it was his last meal, completely unaware of your staring.  

You both speak for a long time. He explains their latest shoot and fan meeting, and you listen to him pour out his love for his job and fans as much as he could articulate. The rest of the emotion is portrayed by his now widest eyeballs (they cannot get any wider, you confirm by asking him - a request he apparently gets a lot) and intense gesticulation. It is very gratifying to listen to his past schedules, and you slip in a quick prayer for not having a job where you had to maintain public appearances while having a schedule as persevering as theirs. Sure, you had a ton of commitments. But can you throw your hair in a bun and aggressively scowl at a monitor and still meet your target? Fuck yeah.

You went on to tell him about yourself - your job, your travels, the reason you were in Seoul. He listens to them with rapt attention throwing in appropriate questions without interrupting your flow. He gives the right amount of sympathy; just enough to show that he understands why you have three sets of nightwear and a futon in your office, but not too much where it seems like you should “take a break” and “think about the joys of motherhood” - as you are often told. 

During the conversation, you digress a little to take in his slight features. The apple of his cheeks, in full display, when he tells you about how he pranked his members. The light pout of his lips when he talks about the times their path seemed too far-fetched, when every single obstacle felt like the end of their career. The stars in his eyes when he speaks of how he feels during tours, meeting the endless number of fans, the drive that keeps him going. They all make an endearing package. Eager to please, you kept the conversation going with gusto. The meal is followed by a snack break, after which you had effectively exhausted all conversation topics that could be brought up with near-strangers.

A quick alcohol break later, (yes, you caved, the catalyst was welcome) you both doze off, seemingly exhausted from recollecting respective timetables. He wakes up soon after to play video games and talk to the other members. But you fall into a deep slumber, with an Angel’s chuckles in the background guiding you through the sleep. 

Jungkook wakes up to see his character dead. The video game was forgotten after his conversation with you began. 

He spent an inordinate amount of time talking to you. And now that you’re asleep, he is only thinking about how much he enjoyed the conversation. Jungkook is not a speaker. His introversion leaves much to be desired in that department. Most of the time, his members cover for him, play the role of dutiful wingmen, and introduce him to their friends. And still, it took him a long time to talk freely.

But something about you made him open up.

Maybe it was the way you listened to him, lips slightly parted when you were absorbing every single word he let out. Maybe it was the questions you asked, treading lightly and skirting any personal questions. Maybe it was the fact that you pretended to not know him at first, mindful of his privacy. The butterflies in him could be explained by this.

But.

It could also be how graceful you looked, even though you’re dressed in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. It could be how you carried yourself, with great elegance and poise, even though your work was taxing. It could also be your toe socks, and your glee when he showed you his.

Your personality is infectious. He already misses you, despite you being inches away, desperately wants to exhaust every second of this journey engrossed in you. 

He wonders if you feel that way too.

Speaking of whom-

A snicker escapes his lips when he turns to face you. 

In your sleepy haze, Jungkook sees that a) your mouth is wide open, b) your hands mindlessly fiddle with the reams of pages on your lap, and c) your eyes scrunch as sunlight pierces through the flight to bounce off your face. Cute, he muses, trying to locate the source of the criminal rays irking you. 

The window letting the sunbeam in is beside an old man sitting on the other end. He is eyeing the magazine in his hands with abject disapproval, like the booklet had sullied him and his family. 

Gathering up the courage, Jungkook calls out for the man.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you mind pulling the window shade?” He asks, in the sweetest voice that his hyungs would melt at first listen. 

Puppy eyes are met with the geezer’s piercing glare, making Jungkook wonder if he accidentally said something strikingly offensive instead of what he thought he said. About to backtrack his words and try again, he gets interrupted by the man letting out a big grunt, after which he continues in his endeavor to telepathically set fire to the magazine. He does not forget to give a nasty side-eye but completely refuses to comply with Jungkook’s request. 

“And my team thinks my glares are spooky.” You pique, having witnessed the whole interaction, “I ought to have him on board”. Jungkook snorts, and you take that to be his agreement. 

Pausing, you throw caution in the wind and add, “Thank you though, that was very sweet of you.”

He eyes you demurely. “No problem, you looked like you needed the rest.” 

“Listen, I-”

“So I was think-”

Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared to land at the Incheon International airport. Please ensure your backpacks and suitcases are stowed away in the overhead compartments or underneath the seats ahead of you. The flight attendants are currently passing around the cabin to make a final compliance check and pick up any remaining cups and glasses. Thank you.

High-quality curses almost make it to heaven (speakers). The announcement dissipates all the courage you had mustered, feeling a rush exit your body. You had almost asked for his contact - and by the looks of it, he had wanted it too. Or maybe your hair is a rat's nest and he was just going to point that out. Guess you will never know.

You shyly smile at each other before going about following the instructions. Your half-read document gets stuffed back into its bag, to be read once you have no distractions in the form of eye candy armed with saccharine speech. Well, you have Jake to distract you plenty, but you can shoo him away by threatening his paycheck. 

As the flight descends, you look over to your neighbor - one last time, you guess - and surprisingly lock eyes with him. Anything that had exited you comes rushing back, veins in full alertness. A moment’s awkwardness later you both burst out laughing, each doing their best to hide their crimson cheeks. You find one more online fact to be true - Jungkook’s peak happiness laughter, eye crinkle and nose scrunch, can melt your whole entire heart. 

“Hey mami, come here often?”

“For the last time Jake, I will not hesitate to donate your bones for science.”

“Well, I heard bone, it's already a win for me.”

You let out a sigh of exasperation. There is no reforming him. 

“How was the flight?” Jake questions as you approach the baggage belt. Looking out for your somber black suitcase, you try to play it off like you did not spend the whole time in the company of a stranger who is on the fast track to your heart.

“The usual. Sleep, eat, read needlessly printed out documents that could have been shoved into on email, repeat. What about you?”

As Jake starts an account of his flight experience in exorbitant detail, you took the opportunity to try and find your ride. Once you locate it and get in, you catch the end of his sermon. 

“-and the name of the book will be ‘How to manage a farm - ‘cause chicks gon’ be crazy!’. What do you think?”

“I think it was a good idea I chose to zone out.”

“Y/N come on! It’s a self-help book for poor souls born without my raw charisma. Men and women out there want me, but I can’t satisfy them all. I will just resort to making more of me! It will have pointers, DIY’s and pick-up lines crafted by yours truly - wanna hear one?”

You throw your bag in front and turn to him. “Do I have a choice? Go ahead.”

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he starts. “Am I cute? Squish my cheeks. Am I hot? Clap my cheeks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Points for creativity. You’ll still get wine splashed at you.”

Jake was not one to give up. “‘It’s good we don’t need eye condoms, or you’d be on your way to delivery.’”

“Just… don’t have kids, okay? This gene must be stopped, right here.”

“Okay, this one is my all-time favorite. ‘Rack so big, I don’t motorboat, I motorship.’”

That’s it. The guffaw itching you since the start of this conversation is out of its cages, populating the air in the car. Wiping stray tears from your face, you face Jake, seeming very pleased with himself. Undoubtedly, he is coming up with absurd scenarios to ease your nerves. No book is in the works (one could only hope).

“Thank you, I feel much better now. You can stop coming up with these.”

The goof has the gall to look appalled. “I was going to cut you ten percent of my book commission but I guess that’s out. Hmph.”

“I’m at the receiving end of all these pick-up lines. I should make twenty at least for all the nuisance I’ve put up with.” 

“All right mami, we’ll shelve this for later. Here’s the schedule for today. You have a 10 a.m. breakfast meeting with Dr. Park Shin Young, Lead Research Scientist of the project. Then you have a bunch of seminars to attend, which will go on all afternoon. There’s a bar right beside this venue.”

“How is that pertinent?”

“So you know where to find me.” He continues, unperturbed. “After which there’s an evening meeting with the whole team to demonstrate the product and a marketing meeting right after.”

“Am I required for the marketing meeting?” Your expertise is limited to the technical field. PR work isn’t your cup of tea, but they stubbornly demand your presence. 

Jake exhales. “We’ve been through this. You CAN doze off during the meeting, but you have to be there. Just pretend you’re a college student, sitting in one class, completing assignments for another.”

“But if I’m there I feel the need to pay attention.” you whine.

“Clearly you weren’t one of those college students,” Jake says, perusing through his diary, “Stop being a pedant and do one of those things people do. Loving their jobs and whatnot.”

Before you can retort a reply, the driver pulls up to your destination and you exit the car. 

Eleven at night is when you finally check in to the hotel. The tedious day warrants your heels coming off before you even reach your floor. There’s an irritant drumming, from the balls of your feet right up to your temples, that beg for your attention. Setting your footwear on your bags, you massage your feet for temporary relief as the lift took you closer to a more permanent one.

Once your suitcase gets parked in the closet, you head to the bathroom to soak your day away with the bath bomb kit you were gifted in one of the seminars. The ball fizzles as soon as it hits the water, dispersing in tiny bubbles and a heady aroma of vanilla and lavender. The soft amber tones of the walls, the lambent gold lighting, and the ambrosial air put all your senses at ease. You sink in; the bathwater permeating warmth through your skin. Crackling bubbles with every move; the water teases your neck, soothing the laceration with every lick. Every pulse point on you is enhanced - you let yourself float wherever your mind takes you. 

A familiar face makes its presence known. You allow yourself to think about him, after pushing his visage away all day. Something about him… felt like home. Soothing, comforting, always speaking in dulcet tones unless something humorous pulled out a loud laugh. Even that wasn’t jarring; it was the exact opposite. Felt like sunshine filled your lungs every time he cracked up. Made you want to keep talking to him, keep him amused and entertained. You can’t imagine he converses with every stranger like that. 

But maybe he did; maybe this is some unspoken celebrity culture you were unaware of. 

All you know is that this was a once in a lifetime experience. There’s no way you are encountering another personage ever again. There’s no way you’re encountering him again. Luck can only thrive so far. 

So when you exit the bathroom, clad in a towel, remnant bathwater dripping from every end, the last thing you expect is Jungkook, spread out on the bed, casually flipping through his phone like it’s his own abode. 

“J-Jungkook?”

Y/N. In his room. In a towel. Dripping wet hair. Emanating a delectable aroma. 

Y/N. In person.

He is dreaming. He has to be. He's been thinking of you ever since the flight, so now he is delusional. Nothing else. There’s absolutely no chance that you’re in his room, let alone… like this. 

Right?

“What are you… what are you doing in my room?”

Wrong. 

Jungkook knows he should say something. He should not be gawking at you like he is doing now. But God. You look so pretty, eyebrows arched up in confusion, jaw about to be unhinged, hands fluttering around not knowing what to do. 

He forces his body to action.

"Y/N!" He exclaims, finally averting his eyes to face the wall. 

Pause.

"Wait, what do you mean MY room? This is my room!"

You’re baffled. "Huh? How is that possible? This was given to me!" 

“I really don’t know, Y/N, there must have been some confusion! Please, you have to believe me!” 

Jungkook wants to turn around and face you. He desperately wants to clear the air. He can see that this looks bad. He obviously looks like an enamored creep, waltzing into your space. You probably think he does this all the time. Many a time people have misunderstood him, his celebrity status not earning him many points. You must think the same.

And now you’re going to tell him to get out and never see you again, he hypothesizes. His brain is working overtime trying to remedy the situation, without noticing your now relaxing demeanor. 

“Oh, okay.”

“I’ll fix this, I’ll go to the reception and fix this. You don’t worry, I didn’t see anything, you can trust me, I’ll go an-”

“Hey, hey,” your tone gentle, “it’s okay, trust me. Just, let me get dressed and I’ll come down with you.”

Your soothing response almost has Jungkook on his knees. Whoever orchestrated this meet, he is just thankful for this good turn. Anyone else would go berserk, and rightfully so. 

But you’re not anyone else. 

He isn’t just anyone.  

Technically, he isn’t a stranger, you try to justify. You should have been more shocked, enraged, or at least doubtful of his intentions. But you weren’t. You had accepted his explanation, let him stay in your room while you changed in the bathroom, and now are en-route to the main desk to rectify this error.

The air around you two is strained; he won’t even look you in the eye. Any question you have is replied to concisely, leaving no room for a chat. Nothing to disperse the tension between you two. 

Like now, in the elevator, Jungkook has done the math and maintains the maximum distance between you. Opposite ends of the diagonal of this lift, his peripheral vision probably barely picks you up. However, his evasion helps in a way--you are able to study his full form.

He is dressed casually, and any lesser man would have seemed casual enough. On him, it is a whole new game. Ripped jeans hugging his sturdy legs, the slashed fabric allowing you a peek of his dangerous thighs. A plain white t-shirt tucked in to show off his lean waistline. The only thing holding you back from having a full-blown wet dream, wide awake, is his chestnut overcoat, saving his modesty and yours. 

Jake was right, eye condoms are the need of the century. 

To be fair, Jungkook had the worse end. He saw you scantily clad, post-bath glow and everything. You wonder what is going through his mind. 

Definitely nothing like the debauchery unfolding in yours. 

He has probably seen his fair share of women, and one hot to trot lady isn’t anything new. If anything, him dodging you is a sign of his civility, something you are lacking apparently--ready to jump his bones.

Stop thinking about his thighs, you whore. Get back home and trusty old Vlad the Impaler will take care of you.

The employee’s jaw almost hits the desk as Jungkook explains the situation. 

“Ma’am, Sir, we are extremely sorry about this confusion. We usually keep another key for family members, but somehow you got them both. We are deeply apologetic.”

“Yes, it’s okay, I’d just like my room key now and-”

“We will give you the best of our service to make up for this disorder. Not that we didn’t plan on giving you the best anyway, but now it will be top-notch! Please allow us to have your room cleaned again ma’am. Kyuyoung-ah! Get the people to prep 5338 and set 5337 again, and add more flowers!”

“Hey, that really won’t be necessary, we can just go back and forget about all thi-”

“And!” She continues, relentless, fully intent on doing her job, “Here are coupons for our round the clock pub! The ambiance is phenomenal, and our bartender makes a mean drink! You can use the facility for free during your stay. Hope this compensates for our gaffe. Once again, we are extremely sorry!”

She extends two passport-sized coupons that you hurriedly grab, wanting this quandary to end. 

The walk back to the elevator is less tight-lipped, only because Jungkook starts his deluge of apologies. Even though you had felt the same way on the flight, he was going overboard. You quickly assuage him and deflect his concerns.

“It’s okay, Jungkook. It really is. I know it was a mistake.”

“I know, but I shouldn’t have just walked in like that. I should have checked.”

Your expression is the visual form of a question mark. 

“Do you go around making sure your hotel room doesn’t have a surprise occupant?”

You’re taking this too lightly; it's obvious you are doing it for him. He can only laugh, broad delicious shoulders loosening in relief.

After a delay, you add, “You can’t help it if fate wants us crossing paths like this.” 

The quip makes Jungkook lose a beat. He cocks a brow in surprise - at that juncture, his features lose all boyish charm and turn unquestionably irresistible. 

Then, in a flash, the expression is replaced by his usual grin, back to his boy-next-door spirit. Are there world records for this speed? Jungkook needs to sign up to one.

Collecting the stars floating around your head, you return the favor, thankful that the barrier is now broken. 

After a quick break of courage gathering, you turn to him. “How come you’re staying in this hotel? Thought you’d be home.”

A thought is building in your mind; that this is too personal a question. But before you can take it back, you hear a chime. Jungkook moves. And somehow, you are moving with him. 

The elevator door opens, and people walk out. 

But that’s not where your attention is. 

You are focused on the sole patch of your body in contact with Jungkook’s arm. 

The palm of his hand sitting at the small of your waist is what had guided you away from the elevator. Even through the fabric of your t-shirt, his hand is sending goosebumps all over your body. The air feels twenty degrees too hot for you.

Jungkook is simply being his chivalrous self, while you are ready to get arrested for public nudity.

Woman, you are a disgrace. Get laid.

Jungkook will high five himself once he gets to his pad. 

Is it right to get so euphoric about the smallest act of intimacy? That too with a near stranger? He has no answer. You are special to him; that much he knows. And someone up there agrees with him as well, letting him run into you again (albeit under crude circumstances; he’ll take what he gets). In this proximity, he can hear the slight gasp that escapes you once you recognize his hold, feel your muscles tense, smell the flowery fragrance you still carry. The fragrance that takes his mind on a rewind routine; one he forces to a halt. He feels lewd for taking pleasure in that misfortune, but he can take pleasure in the present. 

Entering the elevator, Jungkook has taken note of one thing: the roles have been reversed. On the downward voyage, it had been him avoiding you. Now, even with the closeness, you refuse to meet his eye. Something on the carpeted floor has your unrelenting attention. Letting his gaze dip to you, he bit back a smirk. Good to know you are as affected by him as he is by you.

“It’s a shoot.” 

You relent, looking up to him. “Huh?”

“You asked me why I’m here, it’s a shoot. The site is close by, so we don’t waste time traveling. Once the shoot is done, we will get back home.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” 

You beg your grey matter to find some topic of conversation to halt the blood rushing to your cheeks. The atmosphere is frozen again, but not like last time. Any unease earlier present has drifted. The tension that once kept you from closeness now keeps you from moving apart. His hand sits unmoved, continuing to rest on your hip. Jungkook can hear the loud thudding of a heartbeat, but he cannot discern whether they are from his heart or from yours.

Continuing after a pause, “I will be here for a few days now.” he adds, the suggestive hint of the words masked by his innocuous smile. 

“Ah.” You lamely add. You ought to kick yourself - but at this closeness, you might hit him too. 

The span of your separation is contracting, even though none of you move. Like the land underneath you is shifting, because even Mother Earth can’t handle the sexual tension in this confined space. 

“Ma’am, Sir, you’re here!” 

The booming voice of an employee disrupts the scene. You jump, wondering how you didn’t hear the door open, while Jungkook takes a graceful step back unscathed. 

“Your rooms are ready, please follow me.”

The walk back is quiet, except for bashfully exchanged glances and racing pulses. When you finally reach your respective rooms, he speaks again. 

“Want to accidentally cross paths with me at the bar?”

The heat reaches your ears. A moment of silence prompts you to look up, and you are held hostage by his eyes. His gaze flickers, intense and probing. Then, as if it never happened, his eyes narrow and his smile softens, harmless and easy. Again, this has to be witchcraft.

“Maybe we’ll let destiny decide. Hasn’t failed us so far.” 

Now, alone in bed with nothing but your thoughts, you wonder when it will ever happen again.

Three days. Three days before it happens again.

Three days filled with conferences, a ton of files, and a lot of battery acid disguised as coffee. Apart from the success of your work, the highlight of your time is when Jake tried to fix his shoe heel at a meeting and ended up gluing his fingers together. In a quiet room filled with immersed employees, he had yelled, “Superglue, my ass!”. 

The punctuation was not vocalized. 

Tonight was your last night in Seoul. It was supposed to be a night to yourself, but an office party pulled you out of your cavern to get dressed. You put on an elegant dress, a black and silver number, only to find the ‘party’ was the most monotonous excuse of networking. High-end businessmen exchanging cards over non-alcoholic fizz was not your idea of a party, so you quickly excused yourself. 

The coupon still weighed heavy in your purse, carrying memoirs of the last time you saw him. You had wanted to go earlier, but always held yourself back. What if he wasn’t there? What if you missed your chance? Why did you have to sashay away with a cool statement that night instead of clawing your way through the lust-filled air and settling things then and there? 

You supposed a drink at the hotel bar on your last night couldn’t be a bad thing, even if Jungkook didn’t show up.

So here you are, sipping on your wine and trying to appear nonchalant as you look out the window overseeing the city’s skyline. One ear is trained to the door of the pub, the slightest peep from that corner alerting your antenna. 

So far, no sign of him. 

This won’t work, you tell yourself. Second time’s a charm, third time’s pushing it too far. 

But as you wave the bartender to top up your drink, the corner of your eye catches movement; one, two, three heads appear through the door. Signature multichromatic mops of hair make their way in, forcing your pulse to marathon mode. 

And then you hear it. 

You hear his trademark cachinnate echoing through the structure. Multitudes of contrasting sentiments fill your gut. Are you sensing relief, that fate served its purpose without fail? Or is it the anticipation of how events will unfold? A sense of titillation, that a three-day old bond makes you feel more than year-old relationships you’ve had? You pry your eyes from that direction, trying to appear aloof when you are anything but. 

When you think you’ve gathered your composure, you look up. Like a hare falling for its bait, you are trapped, because he is looking right back at you.

Jin and Jimin are laughing about something that happened on set today, but Jungkook only has eyes for you. He can’t believe his luck. 

The past few days, his schedule had no give. After every shoot, the only thing he remembered was taking off his shoes and falling into a deep slumber.

So today when the shoot wrapped up earlier, Jungkook grabbed his trusty wingmen and open bar enthusiasts to utilize his coupon, and possibly test his kismet.

“Wasn’t she on our flight?” Jin observes, tracking Jungkook’s sight. 

“Oh yeah! Dude, is she the one?” Jimin keenly notes. “How do you keep bumping into each other like this?”

Jungkook downs his whisky, the burn felt from the throat to his diaphragm. “I don’t know, hyung. I don’t know what to do.” Beckoning the bartender for a refill, he tears away from your sight. 

 “Okay, liquid fortification is all good but how about,” Jin stops briefly to pluck the coupon out of Jungkook’s hands, “we handle the drinks department while you attend to her?”

Jimin nods in assent. “The worst thing you could do is spend time with her slurring and garbling while she ditches your sorry ass.”

“Hey! I won’t do that. Just, ” Jungkook gulps, “I don’t know... We’ve met like, hardly a few times. It really doesn’t make sense. What if we’re not on the same page?”

Jimin frowns, and even Jin seems unhappy with his reasoning.

“Things don’t have to make sense. You’re two consenting adults. You like her. By the way she’s eyeing you right now, I’m sure the feeling is mutual. You said it’s easy to talk to her right?”

Jungkook pouts, but sees his point.

“Then go with that. Don’t chart out a plan, just go with your heart.” Jin adopts a soft smile of encouragement. 

“Meanwhile we will grab the others and exploit this coupon to the full extent!” Jimin gleefully appends.

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle as he laughs with the other two. They are right. Carpe diem, right?

Finding you again, his breath hitches. You look beautiful. The sleek black dress with silver embellishments over the torso. It hugs you in the right places, accentuating your already alluring frame. Your shoulders bare, elegant collarbones waiting to be tasted. Hair tied up, exposing the delicious curve of your neck, a stretch Jungkook wants to pepper kisses onto, without missing a spot. You look exquisite against the backdrop of the night.

Carpe noctem it is. 

“Did you really dress up to use the coupon?” The tongue-in-cheek query breaking your line of thought.

A breathy chuckle leaves your lips, hopefully masking the frenzy in your heart. 

“I had a party. A very dull party. Figured I preferred my own company over that.” 

“Do you prefer your own company over mine?”

He’s still standing, tall frame waiting for your permission to occupy the next seat. God, he looks amazing.

“Not at all.” The words leave huskier than you intend, but they convey the message.

He takes the seat, a mere step away, his cologne wafting over to your side. The alcohol buzz makes the scent feel stronger, every bone in you wanting to dive in nose-first. 

Apparently you have been staring, because he nervously chuckles “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Should you go the modest route or fuck it?

Fuck it.

“You look... great today,” is all you get out. Stupid brain spewing half-baked goods.

Understatement of the year. He looks like sin incarnate. All black attire highlighting his golden skin, the dichotomy of his whole look has you understandably tongue-tied. Black jeans - no rips, sadly- with a dark grey high-neck t-shirt, tucked in of course, because pain is the only constant for you. A black trench coat is thrown on top to seal the look. The obsidian outfit sends desperate need through your body, an intense desire to rip it all off surging through you. Somehow, through all these layers you can sense his fit body, his rippled muscles, his sturdy pecs, like they have an aura of their own. 

“Ah, thank you. You look amazing as well.” Halting a moment to sip his drink, he resumes.  “Sucks that you dressed up for nothing.”

“Well, you liked it. So it's not for nothing.”

If looks were potent, Jungkook’s own could set you on fire. Gaze coolly raking over your figure, the tick in his jaw betrays his reaction. A chill passes through every part of your body under his intense scrutiny.

“Are there other things you would wear… if I liked it?” He carefully treads.

“There are certain things I’m wearing right now that I’m sure you would appreciate.” 

If not for the shrinking distance between you two, you couldn’t have caught the low hiss. His animalistic need, usually kept well under control, is raging against its bonds, screaming to let go. Your exquisite gown, flowing down your curves, accentuating the swell of your ass - God save this dress from his feral hands. Against his will, he restrains himself. He would make this a lasting encounter. 

“How many drinks have you had?” He needs you to remember every single moment.

“Two glasses of wine, don’t worry. You?” 

“A shot of whisky, that’s all. Haven’t even finished my second drink.”

Gone were his cherubic appearance and dimpled smiles; the man in front of you is oozing pure sex appeal. His clenched jawline, furrowed brow, and perfectly placed tresses add to his raw masculinity. The cusp of your thighs is damp; if this is his effect here, what will it be behind locked doors? You wonder whether this is the same man that gushed about old-era video games in the flight. 

“Well, if you are wearing them for me, I’d be a fool to miss them.” he brings you back to the present. Twinkling eyes match your eager ones as you give a small nod.

Every step you take shoots a thrilling tingle through your spine. Every inch of distance closed forces you to close the next with doubled speed. Every foot forward adds to the thick air, laced with hunger, desire, and an inordinate amount of trust placed in the hands of a stranger. 

The first time you two walked back to the elevator, his move had caught you unaware. 

Now, the arm wraps around your entire waist, body flush against his, yet you yearn to get closer. 

Last time, you couldn’t match his gaze, skin burnt a crimson hue. 

Now, your eyes are locked together, any movement in your surroundings be damned.

Michael Jackson rising from the dead and performing Thriller wouldn’t tear you away from your current view (sorry MJ, maybe next time).

When the doors close, he places a palm on your bare back, bringing you to his chest.

“I’ve wanted this so bad, ever since I met you. It’s insane.”

The hand caressing your back makes you sigh. “Not if I wanted the same.”

His grip tightens. “The things I want to do to you...” eyes searching yours, ”tell me you can handle it.”

“Oh baby,” you drawl, “I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever it is,” your lips hover on his, “I can take it.”

The elevator doors opened too soon for your liking, and Jungkook drags you through the corridor. You’re practically hanging on to him, feet barely responsive, the faint buzz of wine making you giddy. His hawkish gaze soaks in everything you do, memorizing every response to his touch. 

You lean over to lay wet kisses on his neck. Pleasure searing through his veins, Jungkook’s knees almost buckle. He pushes you against a wall and locks you in with his form.

“Uh-uh-uh, honey,” he tsks, “you’re not making this easy on me?”

You pretend to ponder. “Well, I didn’t plan on making it easy.”

He smirks, all sex, and the wetness between your legs is making its presence known. Leaning into your ear, he whispers, “Unless you want me to have my way with you right here…” and all your brattiness dissipates. 

Satisfied, he grins. “Your place or mine?” 

“Hmmn, depends.”

He cocks a brow. “On?”

“Am I gonna be able to walk tomorrow?”

That damned smirk. “Your place it is.”

Jungkook’s lips are on yours the moment your door is locked. He cages you against its frame, teeth clashing and biting anything they find. You let your hands roam all over, searching for something to hold on to. A throaty sound leaves Jungkook when your digits card through his hair and tug on it, a sound you gladly swallow.

Time seems to have taken a break. Your thoughts are blank. You chase the kiss like it's the only thing you know, the only thing you’re born to do, your sole mission in life before you die. The bruising pace Jungkook set is eagerly matched by you. Gravity is slowly losing its meaning, and you’re nothing but a stray entity floating in space. And this kiss is your only source of air. 

Jungkook pulls you towards him, closing the nonexistent distance between you. Heat rises from his chest, the feeling is hypnotic beyond reason. A taste of you has ruined every other flavor. He kept his eyes half-open, sneaking peeks at your flushed face whenever you come for air. His fingers explored your body, grabbing your ass and pulling you into him. Your clothed crevice jolts at the friction, hips hounding for more.

The moan that leaves you gets muted, because Jungkook takes this opportunity to take control. Tongue forcing its way in to explore every corner of your mouth, it melds with your own muscle. If this were a dance, it would be a fierce tango, oozing with sexual tension. Breathing is now trivial, this kiss is imperative. 

Jungkook’s hands grab your hips and twirl you, both of you now facing a full-length mirror. You can witness your neckline being abused, mulberry blossoms left in place. The sight has your sex clenching, and lips liberated, you couldn’t stop yourself from mewling.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m going to make you scream so loud, the hotel reception will hear you.”

With your head spinning in lust, you try to form your words right. “An- And what? Discuss how a second room for you was - oh god - was useless?” 

Jungkook pauses to admire his craft; your neck, shoulders, and collar are now littered with bruises, like a garden of hyacinth at his disposal. The view is maddening, your lusty gaze locked on to him in the mirror. His mane is tousled, no doubt your handiwork, and his hand is tracing the outline of your dress. 

“That cursed day,” He chokes out, “You were so fucking hard to resist you know?”

You turn back to face him, hand reaching back to undo your halter neck, “You have me now.” Stepping back, you let your gown fall.

He froze. You are standing in front of him, robed in only your black lace-embroidered strapless bra, and matching panties, each adorned with a white bow. The swell of your breasts barely caged in the cups, making Jungkook drool at sight. All the wind was knocked out of his lungs; you look like a prisoner’s last meal, waiting to be devoured. 

“On your knees.” he commands.  

Not a second is put to waste. You begin undressing him, unbuckling the pants and aggressively pulling them down. Next come the boxers, and you are faced with-

Wow.

You mean this in the nicest way, but, what a dick.

He is already hard, the mushroomed tip angry and red, leaking a drop of precum begging to be tasted. The girth exceeds your expectation, already visualizing the delicious visual of your cunt stretched thin. He is going to reach places even Vlad the Impaler couldn’t; you are already brimming with anticipation for the final act.

And his thighs. Nothing angelic about them. Taut. Muscular. Sinewy. Something uncivilized in you wants them to trap your frame between them, caging you, pinning you down. You press kisses on his inner thigh, letting your tongue poke out when you hear him exhale. A sharp bite shocks Jungkook, but you only smirk.

“Wanted to do that since I saw you.” 

The stare that meets you is practically challenging you to try that again, and perhaps reap some delicious consequences.

You bring yourself back, giving his cock the full attention that it deserves. Looking up, you see his half-lidded eyes, assertive and arresting, compelling you to go on. 

You bring your palm up to him. He raised a brow in question.

“Spit for me.”

Jungkook almost busts his load when he hears you. “Fuck, so dirty.” he garbles out. Rolling his neck in an attempt to divert his blood, he takes your hand and drops a thick glob at the center of your palm. 

A throaty moan arises from you, and his dick is harder than ever.

“Go on baby, show me you can suck dick like a champ.”

You give him a confident look; you’re about to rock his world. Starting with small licks, you tease the slit and taste the pre-cum lodged in it. Meanwhile, you work the spit along the shaft; you spit on it again, the original amount insufficient to cover the length. You can feel his dick twitching against your attention, eager to be sheathed. Interspersing with some long drags on the underside, you zero in on the pinched skin under the head. 

Jungkook is staring at your jerking him off. The sight of you, clad in lingerie is blowing his mind. If that was not enough, the mirror in front is providing a sumptuous secondary perspective. The smooth stretch of your back, the swell of your ass, the panty fabric barely able to cover the expanse, everything on you is making him short circuit. Seeing you on your knees, your deferential nature stirs something in him. If he doesn’t control himself, he will bend you in half and ride you to sunrise. He doesn’t want to scare you, but fuck, his depraved early man instincts are telling him otherwise. 

“What are you- ohhh, holy shi-”

Instead of slipping his cock fully into your mouth, you hold it up, and pay careful attention to his balls. Jungkook’s hands come to rest on your head, a telltale sign of his unraveling. With a smile, you let your tongue swipe through every nook and corner till they are coated in saliva.

“You think you’re such a fucking tease, ” He grabs you by your now unraveled tresses and pulls you back, “Ease up baby, your throat is in for a treat.”

In one quick swoop, he lodges himself at the base of your throat, provoking your gag reflex, but you restrain the urge to pull back. Breathing through your nose, you suck and swallow whatever you can; his girth isn't giving you much to work with.

Jungkook growls. “Such a tight fit. Like you’re meant to be like this. Forever.”

The last word slips out unwittingly. 

Alarmed, his eyes flit down to gauge your response, but all you are doing is looking back at him. 

Fuck, your dovelike eyes are captivating. They look so angelic, a complete contrast to the perverse posture you are in. Not an ounce of displeasure in response to his words. Pure, unadulterated affection for him. Only for him. 

“God, you’re going to be the death of me.” Jungkook husks. “You’ll do anything for me, you said?”

Muffled whimpers impart your compliance, and you bob your head up and down for good measure. The tip of his cock hits every ridge of your throat, the vibration releasing more fluid down.

“Pleasure yourself, baby. Touch yourself, but don’t you cum.”

Your brow distresses further, a disgruntled whine leaving you and reverberating around him. Already so turned on, the lightest friction would make you combust.

Jungkook’s teeth clench. “Edge yourself for me, sweetie.” 

It's like your body is tuned to his command. Slipping two fingers under the band, you part and slide them on either side of your throbbing nub. Despite you avoiding any pressure point that might push you over the edge, the pleasure threatens to tip you over. 

You look over for his approval. Swallowing, he nods. Your self-stimulation is making him dizzy. It's time to get serious.

“Such a good girl. Don’t stop, okay? I’m going to fuck your throat raw.” Starting with mellow jerks, “Hope you don’t have to speak anytime tomorrow.” he rasps.

The carpeted floor grazing your knees only adds to the revelry. You’re not in control of yourself anymore. The back of your gullet is aching as Jungkook shoves into you again and again. An amalgamation of his salty juices and your dribble lewdly coats your chin and neck; you must look ravished. Everything with Jungkook feels augmented; every single motion of his making your sex clench. 

He is close - you can feel his grip on your hair tightening. 

“Can I cum on you?” words slither through his clamped teeth. You frantically nod. 

With a loud grunt, he pulls you off and releases all over your chest, a stray pump landing on your chin. Thick liquid, dripping from your jaw onto your collarbones and breasts, the whole scene is filthy good. Your unfilled cunt is aching to be replete with the cum. 

Post-orgasmic glow is dazzling on him--hair drenched in sweat, tufts sticking to his forehead. His breathing is heavy and resonant as dilated pupils take in your soaked state. Bending down, he crooks a finger under your chin, anchoring his attention on your dewy stare. The onyx embers in his eyes bore into yours, studying for any hesitation in them. A microscopic moment of tenderness, unspoken words exchange between you. 

Satisfied to find only searing hunger, his digits collect the beads of cum on your jaw, pushing them back into your mouth. Your eyes roll skyward, relishing the briny taste, nearly asking him to do it again. Leaning further, he grabs the wrist of your hand that is thoughtlessly rubbing your sex - you didn’t even realize you were still doing it. You feel drained, like you orgasmed vicariously through him. 

“My turn.” He wears a devilish expression on his archangel eyes.

Lips connect once again as he pulls you up. If he tastes himself, he is relishing it, with his tongue exploring the deep cavern. With wobbly ankles, you let him guide you to your bed, dropping on your back. He follows you, pouncing on you, plunging into your mouth again like a beast hungered. Bodies melting together like an icicle under the summer blaze, your hands hunt to frisk his skin. Realizing he is yet to undress, you yank at this t-shirt, attempting to liberate him from the offending fabric.

“Tsk, greedy.” he bit your ear, soothing the sting with a kiss. 

“Cruel is what it is.” You huff, like everything he’s doing is not a blissful affair. 

How do men do that? Violently ripping their shirt off and leaving a messy mop of hair in its wake, nevertheless looking like they could walk a runway the next instant. Jungkook was no exception. The moment he pulls his shirt off, you are rendered speechless.

Chiseled chest like the work of an artisan. Droplets of sweat race down the paths traced by the sculpted abs, an intense desire to taste them forming in you. He is a mesomorphic dream who puts Greek gods to shame. Swallowing, you let your hand trace the outline of his pecks, feeling him shudder against your touch.

“Jungkook, please.”

Who was he to deny you?

Leaning up to you with a wicked smirk, Jungkook drops a thick line of spit right on your hardened nipple. The concoction of his cum and spit soaks through the lacy material. A lone finger circles, avoiding the spot that requires the most attention. You arch your back, begging him for more, just more of anything. The wet fabric amplifies the emptiness in your cunt. 

“Aww,” he coos, clearly amused by your neediness, “undo this for me, sweetness. Let me see you.”

Moving at lightning speed, you unhook the bra, swinging it away to a corner of the room. 

“Oh no.” He mock-frowns, veins bulging on his arm as he controls himself. “Look at these tits, fuck.” Mind reeling with ideas, filthy ideas, of all the things he wants to do to you. “You’ve ruined everything else for me.”

You tremble. “Good, so have you. Want you for myself. Want you,” pulling him close, “to do your worst.” you end with a whisper.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens. “Careful what you ask for,” he grits before diving headfirst into your bosom. 

He licks and laves and bites and laps--your breasts are on fire. Continuing his marking spree, new blemishes make an appearance on your torso. Nibbling on one nipple, he pinches the other; pulling moan after moan from you. 

Your hips barely touch the bed, bucking up in response to Jungkook’s sinking teeth into your ample bust. He has decided to not leave an inch without his saliva, and like a man on a mission, covers every part with rapt attention. 

“Yo- You don’t have to--oh holy fuck--you don’t have to, cover me in marks you kno--ohh my go-” The sentence is spastic, piercing mewls breaking your flow of speech and thought. 

“These fucking tits,” roughly clasping your pert breast in his large palm, “they look so much better like this.” The proud smile he shows has not the slightest hint of regret. 

Catching a break, he twiddles your nipples, letting his other hand sit on your covered sex. He is teasing you; you recognize that. Just giving you opportunities to disobey, to take all the pain he has to offer.

It’s a good thing you like the pain.

You slowly roll your hips, trying to grind against his palm, taking whatever help you can get.

A sharp smack lands on your clit, shooting your eyes open - you don’t even know when they closed. Jungkook’s hand is soothing the site of the blow, the pain converting to pleasure under his touch. 

“Patience, sweetness,” the gravely whisper sending tingles down your spine, “such a good girl for me.”

You give him a slight nod - he smacks you again, once, twice, thrice, without a break. Your entrance is smarting, but you want to give him everything. Biting your lips to stop the labored moans escaping, you clench your eyes and savor the burn.

Your show of obedience has Jungkook’s heart thronging. Fuck, he was enjoying toying with you. Playing you like a fiddle. You produce every tone he desires in the form of wanton melodies, he wants to play them over and over again like his favorite song.

“How are we doing?” he asks, a shit-eating grin plastered on him. Before you could answer, his fingers shallowly enter your soaked pussy, still hampered by the cloth. 

“You- fuck, you said I was the tease here?” Your hands are at his wrist, begging to pull the scrap of cloth aside and have his way. 

He comes to face your sopping mound, pausing only to speak “Never said I wasn’t,” and starts pressing soft, feathery kisses. “That day, seeing you dripping in that towel, I dreamt of having these legs around me.”

“I swear, at least take it off - oh Jungkoo-”

Without warning, he kneads your ass and pushes you into his face. 

You feel like you’ve been on the edge for hours. The suckle on your engorged clit along with the abrasion of the lace gets you so close. So damn close. So, so clo-

The tightness in your belly finally snaps and you howl, gushing your vat of arousal onto his face. The high was more intense than you had imagined, so high that you wonder if you will ever find your way back to reality. You feel like a rock in space, aimlessly floating in the vast nothingness.

You dimly notice Jungkook toying with the lacy hem of your panties, pulling it back to snap it against your hip. The sting is soon forgotten, along with your panties flung across the bed, as he parks himself back between your legs.

“You smell incredible.” He approves, taking a long whiff of your honeyed center. “Look at you, so messy.” He licks a long stripe along your crease. “Messy girl, I should clean you up.”

“Wait Jungkook-” you oppose, lids heaving in pleasure. “I need you inside me, please. I can’t take -oof”

Gnawing at your sodden folds, he let his nose press against your clit. “You’re so fucking tight, you think you can take me?” He shakes his head. “Gotta stretch you out, gotta make me fit.” He presses his tongue against your nub, feeling it throb in anticipation. “And I think you can give me one more.” He ends, before invading your drenched channel with two fingers. You are putting up with his torments the best you can; walls fluttering against his lips, legs entwined behind Jungkook’s back trapping him between your thighs. 

“Ah! God - I, I can’t-” Your eyes are screwed shut, hands bunching the sheets in your grasp.

His fingers fluctuate between scissoring motions, their lengths opening you up for him and curling inside, fingertips finding the rough patch inside. He adds a third finger, pussy straining to accommodate them all. Your thighs clench in the burn, and he groans into your pussy at the pressure. Increasing the pace, he pumps into you harder and faster, sucking your puffy lips in tandem. 

“Please, please, harder - let me cum - please oh go-” 

“Fuck yeah baby, your pussy is just sucking me in. You like that? You like me shoving into your cunt?”

“Uungh yes yes I love it!”

“Doesn’t it hurt? Or are you such a slut for pain? Tell me, tell me you’re a pain slut.”

“Fuck, Jungkook, don’t you stop- I am! I am a pain slut! Your pain slut!”

“Goood girrrll,” he husks out. Even though he is taking charge, your words are what control him. “Only mine. My pain slut will come for me now.”

A spray of cum ejects out of you, coating Jungkook’s chest and inundating your legs. The coherent part in you recognizes that you just squirted, but the neanderthal side shuts all recognition of anything that is not Jungkook’s cock. Even after two climaxes, you are hungry to get more. More of him. 

If you don’t fuck him now, you will lose your capability to reason. 

Limbs still heavy and reeling from the ravaging, you pick your pieces and drag Jungkook to the headboard. 

“I’m going to ride you.” you declare and straddle him. 

Jungkook is staring fixedly at your still-leaking cunt. Running his tongue over his lower lip, and licking the remnant syrup of your release. You position yourself, letting the drippage fall directly on his erection. He twitches, eyes still feasting on the mess you are making. 

Finding purchase on his shoulders, you lower yourself. Jungkook’s breath staggers as you drag your inner lips along his hard shaft. You repeat this motion till your fluids drip to his balls. 

“Y/N, I swear to God, if you don’t stop with this-”

“You’ll do what?” you challenge, an eyebrow raised in response to his threat. 

He grabs you by your waist, jerking you up before bringing you down on his dick. Your cunt, creamy from his earlier ministrations, gives no resistance to his hardness. His cock twitches inside as you bottom out. Pulling you closer, he bites your lip and tugs at it. 

“I’ll do this.”

A sharp spank makes you clench around him, the supple flesh of your ass ricocheting in response. 

“Go on baby, ride me.” 

The low-grained command sets you in motion. Slowly gyrating your hips, you feel every ridge of this length inside. Jungkook’s grip on your waist tightens, and you’re sure you will see evidence of it tomorrow. Your grasp on his shoulders isn’t faring any better. 

“You’re so tight, fuck, and so wet. Who made you like this, huh?” A second spank punctuating his question.

“Oh God, you-”, you barely manage to recognize your own voice, “You, Jungkook! Only you!” 

��That’s fucking right, only me.” 

Hips snapping, he meets you halfway. Both of you are lost in each other, lewd sounds of your skin slapping and juices quelching barely muffled by your desperate whines and moans of passion. Eyes locked in like magnets, neither of you could look away. 

Jungkook pulls back a little, slapping your jiggling tit. Your sex clenches, and the following slap has you lodging yourself in the crook of his neck, searching for a reprieve. 

“Want some help?”

One swift move and you are on your stomach, face pushed into a pillow, and ass out. A final spank lands right in the middle, and you can feel it pulsate everywhere. He pushes back into your glistening core, taking control of your pleasure and pain. One hand carding through the nape of your neck, pushing you down, the other hand grabbing your waist and setting the pace. The new angle hits deeper, you feel so full. 

“Jungkoo--unghh I need to cum! Need to- umph- cum so bad!” You are wailing at this point, shame lying somewhere near your flung clothes.

“Fuck, babe, me too. Go ahead and play with yourself, nice and slow.”

It takes a few swipes for the tightness in you to detonate. Tears flood your face as you unravel, your orgasm crashing into you like waves of a tsunami. You clench tight, wetness flows out of your hole as Jungkook pumps in and out, chasing his high. 

He comes undone soon after, ropes of his ejaculate filling your insides. He stays in, plugging you as if to not allow any of it out. But as his member softens, he gives in, turning you on your back to meet his face. 

Butterfly-soft kisses are exchanged after the blazing encounter. He asks you if you’re okay between breaths, a tender murmur you almost miss, as if you weren’t screaming your lungs out moments ago. Nuzzling into his neck, you confirm.

A snort disrupts the silence. Looking up, you see Jungkook chuckling.

In response to your cocked eyebrow, he says “Want to talk about what a freak you are?”

“Want to talk about what a hypocrite you are?”

“Hey, you asked me to spit on you!”

You mock-gasp, hand on chest for the extra effect. “My breasts need medical attention after your attention! Freak!” 

Laughter echoes in the room as you two tumble in the blankets, and you feel his release seeping out of you. Turning to him, you pout, “Your mess is leaking out of me.” 

Jungkook gets up to leave the bed, and you expect a wet towel coming your way. 

What you don’t expect is him parting your legs, gunmetal eyes following the rivulets escaping your abused hole. 

“Your cunt smells so good with my cum on it,” he purrs. 

He gathers the escaping thick liquid and pushes it back into your quivering core. 

Jolting with oversensitivity, you try to stall him but he is fingering you with a vengeance. The ache and soreness soon dispel, bringing forth a new wave of ecstasy. His unrelenting stare concentrates on the mix of fluids on his fingers. With a few strokes on your sensitive bundle of nerves and fingers stuffed inside, you come again, legs shivering and pussy overflowing, his juices intermingled with yours. 

You are dazed; you’ve lost track of everything. The room is spinning in front of you and your body feels like lead. All you can manage is to arch your neck, and plead, “No more, you freak.” 

Jungkook giggles, eyes crinkling in good humor. Ah, the duality of this man is a force to reckon with. You can’t believe this is the same man that fucked you into your bed like a primordial beast. There’s no way you can move anytime soon. 

After a clean-up interval, you are wrapped in each other's arms, melting into the embrace. His musky fragrance putting you at ease, you tuck your in the nook of his neck, basking in the aroma. Hands pressed against his broad chest, exuding warmth for you. His hand cradles your head, snuggling in closer till there is no space to cover. Sweet nothings whispered into each other’s lips, tender kisses exchanged in place of the scorching ones that had passed. You drift in and out of your slumber, fearing the sun would ascend too soon and break you apart. 

A dim glow from the other end of the bed wakes you up. On turning you find Jungkook, dressed in his now-wrinkled clothes, seated on the edge. His gaze, pensive. You lay a hand on his thigh.

“Oh, did the light wake you?”

The alarm on his face makes you smile. “No, your absence did.” 

The corners of his mouth turned up, eyeing you with softness. 

“I have an early schedule. I didn’t want to wake you, but, ” he lets his palm rest on yours, “I also didn’t want to leave without it.”

Neither of you know how to walk away from this. The silence is deafening, unuttered sentiments hanging in the still air. Jungkook’s chest is heavy. 

This is insane. He wants to lay you against a bed of flowers, treat you like the delicate petal you bear resemblance to, worship your body till the sun succumbs to your blazing passion. How is he to explain that his heart is beating through his chest for someone he knows for mere days? He rifles through his memories for a similar instance. 

He finds none. 

Maybe you don’t feel the same way. Maybe, you are blissfully unaware of the tumultuous emotions lurching in the pit of his belly. He can’t assume you will echo his lovesick needs, but he can’t let go. 

You inch closer. 

Fervid feelings die hard. He probes your eyes searching for an intensity matching his. 

You let your lips convey the answer.

Passionate as ever, you draw him into the kiss. His lashes flutter against your rosy cheeks. At the moment, there is no dominance in him. Almost like his tongue, dragging across your swollen lips, is healing the brutality of last night. If you pull back, he comes after you; an incessant tug of war no player wants to win. 

“Please Jungkook,” you choke between kisses, “Please tell me this isn’t the last of us.”

He is hovering on top of you, the galaxy in his eyes twinkling at your words. 

“Please, I don’t want this to end.” You continue against his lips. Head versus heart, you fought a losing battle; how were you to stall the inevitable? Fueled, you plunge your tongue into him, determined to make your ardor known. The void of ferocity is filled with slow sensuality; like he is the sole reservoir to quench your thirst. 

“Y/N”, he breathes out, “I feel like I know everything about you and nothing about you at the same time.” Resting your foreheads against one another, he continues. “I’m not about to let fate decide when we cross paths again.”

A grin finds your lips. “Destiny really pulled its weight here, didn’t it?”

He wordlessly nods, not wanting to break the tranquility in place. However, it is short-lived; his phone’s ringer makes sure of it. 

“Yeah, I’ll be right down.” Something the speaker says turns Jungkook scarlet red. “I said I’ll be right there!” he yells before ending the call.

“The members are asking why I wasn’t in my room.” he clarifies, waggling his brows.  You join his laughter, happy to have just the simple moment with him. 

After exchanging numbers (and a photo for keepsake), Jungkook presses one last kiss, lips promising to find each other again. Somehow, you don’t say goodbye. You just stare at his disappearing body, confident that the next encounter is not far. 

Jake is babbling about his night, how he managed to ditch the god-awful party and hang out with some overenthusiastic college-goers who paid for his drinks with their trust fund dough. This is usually the time you ask him if he’s proud of mooching off of children, but today his exaggerated narrative is cracking you up. 

His forehead creases. “What’s up with you today? You haven’t vowed to skin me alive even once.”

“You like it when I threaten bodily harm?”

“I’m kinky like that.”

You just shrug. Erotic images make a fleeting appearance in your mind, but they are interrupted by your flight announcement. 

“Aren’t you glad this is over? You can go back to overworking yourself in your office instead of a hotel!” Jake remarks, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “At least your back won’t break in the travel.”

Thinking over your experience in the city, you confess “Actually, I look forward to returning here.”

A thought slips in, curving your mouth into a smile. You quietly add,

“And yeah, my back was broken all right.”

Thank you for making it to the end! Please do let me know what you think!

[featherfur]

Oh you know what else is awful :Re people's reactions to JC's childhood? A lot of JFM apologism consists of 'that's just how (Chinese) fathers are'.

Like maybe MXTX was trying to get at something, what with the yunmeng siblings having terrible coping mechanisms and poor communication, when she wrote JFM.

Why does everyone just assume JFM was a good parent just because WWX puts him in a good light? Of course he does! WWX's other option is sleeping on the streets so of course he regards JFM as kind and charitable!

But that doesn't erase the fact that JFM is a neglectful father who babysits his 'easiest to get along with' child when he feels like and leaves him for his wife to abuse when he does not to WWX, and a neglectful father who ignores his heir who is desperate to for validation, or a neglectful father who leaves his eldest daughter to raise the other children while making major life decisions for her without consulting her. Just because this is 'normal' does not make it right.

look, im not here to tell anyone who to like or who to hate but there is a Lot of JFM apologism that absolutely reeks of misogyny. And I don't say that lightly.

Saying "thats just how fathers are" doesn't... make him a good dad. It really doesn't excuse anything, it just says that you think it's okay for fathers to be bad parents because it's just what happens. Instead of like, acknowledging that it's not a good thing to be and that a good parent should yknow, be a parent.

Both Madam Yu and JFM are both horrible parents they're just on opposite sides of the spectrum. JFM is no less neglectful and abusive just because he isn't screaming. He doesn't parent any of his kids, he just exists with them and relies on the fact that his wife taught his son and daughter responsibility and hopes that WWX will learn it through osmosis or by his wife. He's a glorified babysitter at best and while WWX does put him on a pedestal, we also see JFM being neglectful in canon multiple times, and WWX is not a reliable narrator. Just because he says that JFM is great and wondrous, doesn't mean that he is especially when we then get scenes of proof that he just sucks. (Also a lot of those moments of him being a good uncle are just... JFM letting him get away with shit.)

And honestly like, if your kid goes around wondering if you actually like him then you've failed as a parent. No matter how good you are to the other kid. You don't get to just choose a kid to care for (which he does in like the worst way). I get that people like characters that are good to their fav and the MC but sometimes man,,, idk I don't like him lmao. He's not a good father even to WWX and it irritates me when ppl act like he was, or blame JC and Yanli for JFM being a shit dad. Or when they blame Madam Yu for Fengmian being a shit dad. Like no, look. I get it. You hate your wife (who you signed up to marry) and you feel like you got the short end of the stick. The person you loved went off to die in the wilderness and abandoned you. You're upset.

You're still a fucking parent. You don't get to ignore and belittle your kids because your wife sucks, because you're unhappy, because you didn't marry the person you wanted. Not to mention you're a pretty shit husband too, you give no shits about the rumors that are hurting your wife and your kids because heaven forbid you make a point to be like "Yeah no Wei Wuxian isn't my kid, my kid is the one in purple. The one with anxiety. And I wouldn't cheat on my wife." It's also the reason I get very aggravated when modern au's have JFM suddenly be a great dad because he's single. No he was a shit parent before WWX and if the reason is because he doesn't like his wife then he's a shit parent anyway. Madam Yu is more likely to be a decent mother, traditional and strict as hell, without a husband letting her name and her kids get dragged through the mud and everything her son has being put in danger because JFM can't be bothered to tell the kid he brought home that he has to follow the rules.

This doesn't even go into the stereotypes of mothers and how women are punished and hated a thousand times more than men because that's "just how men are".

I just,,, so much of the apologism is just refusing to admit that father's should be good parents. So unfortunately the more ppl try to apologize for him and insist he's secretly a good dad, the more i despise him and understand where Madam Yu is coming from. But people are welcome to make their own decisions, and at the end of the day they're both horrible parents and really should not have been allowed to be near kids as anything more than actual aunts and uncles so that the kid can go home and get a decent family dynamic

[dylanobrienisbatman]

The main problem with the whole mal vs the darkling thing in regards to being possessive (or really when it comes to any of their traits) is the fact that throughout, the darkling is clearly framed as the villain and his actions reflect that, whereas Mal as supposed to be the good guy and best romantic partner for Alina, and yet he has all these awful character traits and tendencies. So its less about how awful the Bad Guy is (since he's supposed to be), and more about how awful the person that we're supposed to believe is the best option for Alina is. I don't ship either, just my two cents.

Okay well... two things. First, your comment about "its less about how awful the bad guy is, since he's supposed to be", takes every comment I've made about Darkles out of context, which seems fitting since everything Darklina's spout about Mal is out of context. Him being the Bad Guy is fine, and if you like him AS A VILLAIN, and acknowledge all the bad shit he does, then my posts aren't for you. I think he's a very interesting villain, and a lot of the terrible shit he does that I have to keep making posts about make him a good villain, the problem is when the terrible shit the "Bad Guy" does is romanticized and viewed as the reasons why Alina SHOULD have picked him. So, don't assume everyone gets that "hes supposed to be awful". The point my post was making is that Darklina's love to call Mal possessive, but then turn around and act like Darkles literally enslaving her in somehow sexy and romantic. It's fucking not, and it's transparent as hell that y'all romanticize and sexualize the actually possessive character, and then project false character traits onto Mal. It's so transparent, it's almost funny.

But, more importantly, to your second, very wrong point, I wonder how much of the narrative about Mal having "awful character traits and tendencies" is actually a commentary on Mal as a character, or is it just Darklina's lying about things Mal has done and everyone accepting that misinterpretation as canon. Because, if were making a list...

Fuck boy - False! Mal was not a fuck boy! He was an attractive teenager who hooked up with consenting girls his age when he could, and he was not in a relationship during that time. Alina had never told him how she felt, so he is not beholden to her. (Also, nobody seems to have an issue with the fact that Darkles hooked up with Zoya in the show, that doesn't make HIM a fuckboy... interesting) (also also, nobody seems to discuss Darkles literally sexually assaulting Alina, and lying and manipulating her to get her to be physically intimate with him so he can use her... double interesting).

Slut Shames Alina - FALSE! The ever favourite callout line from Darklina's "He's all over you" isn't him slut shaming her. First, he has no idea what their relationship is like at that point, but more importantly, he is making an observation of her status in the little palace and how she has become his tool. He has dressed her up in his colors, made her put on a show for his benefit, and has created a situation where Alina appears to be his. Mal is noting that after months of searching for her, believing she was being hurt, tortured, or worse, when he arrives to save her, she looks like the Darkling's pet. (and, even if he WAS angry because he perceived them to be romantically involved, boy just spent months fighting for his life, lost multiple friends, and almost died to find her, all while coming to the realisation that he was in love with her, and then he shows up, after not hearing from her for months... I'd be pissed as hell too.) Important Note: He even acknowledges that what he said was wrong and tries to apologise, before Alina tells him that he was right. (Shadow and Bone, pg. 286). He also then apologizes, completely unprompted, for what he said. (Shadow and Bone, pg. 297).

Fat Shames Alina - False! This one is particularly laughable to me, because its one of the Darklina arguments that falls apart the second you actually read the scene. They are running for their lives in the forest, and Mal has to hunt and gather to feed them. He is noting that Alina's appetite has increased since he last saw her, and he makes a joke (ya know, how you do with friends) about how it would be easier to keep her fed if she still had her more meager appetite from before. He makes no comment on her weight, or her size, and he is not actually commenting on her appetite in a negative way, he is just acknowledging that it's a lot more work for him now that she eats more. Right before he says the line, the quote even proves that he isn't shaming her or thinking badly of her: "With a bemused expression, he watched as I gobbled down my portion and then sighed, still hungry". He is noting a change in her, and complaining that its made more work for him. If you think thats the same as fat shaming, well... thats a you problem.

Hates Alina's Powers - FALSE!!!! How to begin... do we talk about it was Mal's idea to hunt the stag in S&B, because he knew she needed it to be more powerful so she could stop the darkling? Do we talk about how he vowed to find the firebird for her, even though he was terrified of what all that power would do to her? Do we talk about how he literally died so she could achieve the power she needed to save the world? Or maybe we could talk about how he believed in her power more than anyone else, like when everyone was making bets about her abilities with the Cut and he knew she'd go further and better than anyone else expected her too, or when he tells her that he was never afraid of her powers, only what seeking all that power would do to her (which is literally the theme of the books, that power corrupts and seeking unmatched power can destroy you)? Mal being afraid of what is going to happen to Alina, being protective of her and worrying over her, is not the same as him hating her powers. He exists to help remind Alina of the themes of the story, and to guide her into maintaining her humanity.

Abusive - ... Do I even need to explain this one? Must I deign an explanation as to why this favourite Darklina lie is so fucking stupid, and also totally hypocrisy? No? Because we all know Darkles is actually the abusive one and they're trying to project their own shit onto Mal to further their abuse apologist agenda? Cool. Moving on.

Possessive of Alina - False! Throughout the entire series, Mal is quite literally the opposite of possessive, but yall just cant read. Not only does he quite literally step out of the way and allow Nikolai to court Alina without argument, which is the most direct example of him not being possessive, he also spends two full books believing, and repeatedly saying over and over and over, that they can't be together because he is not good enough for her. Mal believes, fully, that Alina deserves more than him, better than him, because he's just a tracker and a soldier, just a regular man with nothing to offer her but his love and his protection, and she is a Saint and should be a Queen. Possessiveness is the wish to own and control someone, it is literally the opposite of Mal believing that he's not good enough and doing everything he can to ensure that Alina achieves everything and gets everything he believes she is owed. A possessive character would not tell her to tell him to leave because he has nothing he can offer her, no title or land or country or crown. A possessive character would not promise to be the blade in her hand, because he believed he had nothing but the blood he could spill to offer her.

Angry - True! Yeah, omg, you caught us, Mal is ANGRY! Heaven forbid a teenager who is traumatized beyond belief and has to give up everything in his life, his position in the military (he deserted for her), his friends and the job he loved (Mikhail and Dubrov died for him, and he can't be a tracker in the army... because he deserted... for Alina), and, most importantly, he has to give up Alina (she should be Queen, he believes, and he has to give up the future he imagined with the girl he loves, who he was pretty sure loved him back, because she's a saint and queen and he's just a man), and more, is ANGRY. He has to be the one to find the amplifiers that he knows will end up hurting her, because thats what she needs to save the world. He has to sit by while Nikolai treats him like the dirt on his shoe and tries to woo Alina for his own personal gain (because Nikoalai did not love Alina. Maybe he came to care for her, but he proposed and spent all of S&S trying to get her to marry him when it was obvious they were not in love. He straight up says its so that the next King of Ravka can be married to the Sun Summoner. It's a power grab.) and he can't do anything about it. So yeah, Mal is angry. And yeah, sometimes he's even angry at Alina, just like sometimes she's angry at him. But they always find their way back, always apologize and try to be better for each other, and if you think anger is a toxic trait, and not simply a natural human emotion, might I suggest touching some fucking grass?

Idk why you thought I'd stand for Mal slander on my blog, cuz I will not. So, I'm gonna stop there, because I have shit to do today, but I really do wonder how much of Mal's 'toxic' or 'terrible' traits, that make him such a 'bad' love interest for Alina, really comes from Darklina's who refuse to actually read the text critically at all, and instead take everything he does and says out of context to further their agenda that Alina should have ended up as the Darkling's fucking slave forever, because thats the "girl power feminist" ending somehow. Mal supports her, loves her, sacrifices for her at every turn, and does everything he can do, to the point of literally dying for her, to ensure that she can defeat Darkles and save the world. He protects her, and when they end up happy and safe together on the orphange that they've rebuilt to help the children that were victims of Darkles war and genocide, he spends his days bringing her tea and cakes and flowers, kissing her silly under the stairs in the view of all the teachers, and calling her names like beauty, beloved, cherished, my heart for the rest of their ordinary life together, if love can ever be called that.

[telehxhtrash]

On the cultural lore behind the late Hunter Exam Arc and the Testing Gates Arc.

Hi ! Today I want to talk a bit about Togashi’s use of mythology, legends and lore as a way to emphasize the narrative in his story. 

It’s no secret that Togashi loves to use details and symbolism in his story, but I think the Testing Gates arc is the one arc that uses this writing technique the most. In only a few chapters, Togashi manages to reference and intertwine 3 different legends to highlight the message in his narrative : Gon’s rescue mission is emphasized by the legend of Orihime & Hikoboshi, the legend of Eurydice & Orpheus, and the legend of Izanami & Izanagi.

As you may know, the early part of Killua’s character arc reflects the Tanabata legend, and it’s reinforced by the fact that his birthday falls on July 7th, the day Tanabata is celebrated. I’m going to link this post that is better written than anything I could ever write on this, so I suggest reading this before reading this post ! I’ll still go over the general details of Tanabata below though.

The legend of Tanabata can be closely paralleled to Killua’s early story arc. 

Orihime worked relentlessly for her father and weaved the most beautiful clothes. She was very, very talented and worked very hard for her father. 

However, Orihime lamented the fact that because of her job, she couldn’t meet someone and fall in love. All she craved was human connection, and her working for her father kept her from meeting someone and falling in love.

Her father eventually allowed her to meet someone, Hikoboshi, and they instantly fell in love.

But sadly for her father, that meant that Orihime didn’t focus on her job anymore and only focused on appreciating her time with her lover.

In anger, her father decided to separate the two lovers and forbade them to meet. (don’t take this too literally - the Zoldyck family in its entirety represents Orihime’s father)

As you can see, Killua follows Orihime’s story pretty accurately. He used to work for his family as a skilled assassin, the most skilled one in the entire Zoldyck family’s history. However, Killua lamented the fact that because of this, he couldn’t make friends. That’s his primary reason for leaving the Zoldyck Mansion : see if he could make a friend. And then, he met Gon, and it was pretty much love at first sight. The two of them enjoyed their time together, joking around and sticking together most of the time, until the final phase of the Hunter Exam where Illumi forbids Killua from seeing Gon and manipulates him into going back to the Zoldyck Mansion.

This isn’t how the Tanabata legend ends, but this is where the other 2 legends I want to talk about come into play.

Gon, after being passed out for hours as a consequence of his fight with Hanzo, learns about Killua’s fight with his brother and completely flips out. He proceeds to confront Illumi about it directly and asserts that Killua is his friend and that he’ll bring him back no matter what. After this, Leorio, Kurapika and Gon make their way to the Zoldyck Mansion to get Killua back. As they arrive at the Mansion, the tour guide proceeds to explain one of the particularities of the Zoldyck Mansion : there’s a huge gate that can only be opened by brute force. Anyone can enter, as long as they go through this door. And this is where it gets interesting.

The tour guide mentions that this gate is called “黄泉への扉”, yomi he no tobira. The gate to Yomi.

But Tele, why the fuck are you mentioning this, you may ask.

Because 黄泉, Yomi, is the land of the dead. Togashi is expressing that this is the gate to Yomi, the gate to enter the land of the dead : the Zoldyck Mansion. The Zoldyck Mansion is directly compared to Yomi. 

In Japanese mythology, Yomi is where all souls go after they die. No matter if you were good or bad, you’ll end up in Yomi. It’s not Heaven, it’s not Hell, it’s just…. A place where you end up rotting forever. It’s described as gloomy and dark, empty and cold. It’s not burning in hellfire, it’s just a place where you just sort of wander aimlessly, empty for the rest of eternity. 

And this cold and gloomy, empty atmosphere can directly be correlated to the Zoldyck Mansion. The tour guide mentions that this is the gate to Yomi, because if you enter, you’ll never come back, but this applies more to Killua. Killua is in Yomi right now after a trauma-induced dissociative episode. He was forcefully sent back to the Mansion, and is now being tortured by his family. If Killua stays there, it’s obvious he’ll never come back psychologically from this. He’ll be trapped in this meaningless existence, cold and empty, devoid of any passion. A life his parents chose for him, a life he doesn’t want to live, a life as Zoldyck heir. He’ll be stuck in Yomi, the land of the dead, forever.

But Gon won’t let that happen. He planned this rescue mission because Killua opened up to him about who he wants to be. He doesn’t want to live according to his family’s plans for him anymore, he wants to live a life for himself and be free. And Gon wants to help him achieve that, because he saw the good in Killua. Which is why he insisted he’d rescue Killua himself and will drag him out of the Zoldyck Mansion. He’ll get him out of Yomi.

Which leads us to the story of Izanami and Izanagi. Yomi is commonly known as Izanami’s retreat after her death, so when you hear Yomi, you automatically associate it to Izanami. And there’s an interesting piece of lore when it comes to Yomi and Izanami : Izanagi’s rescue mission. Izanami died a horrible death after being burned giving birth to the fire god Kagutsuchi : she descended to Yomi. However, Izanagi, her husband (and brother but we don’t talk about that) found himself miserable. He missed her terribly and couldn’t live a life without her. That’s why he decided to make the trip to Yomi to get her back. Izanami ended up pleading to the Gods of Yomi to let her go back to Izanagi, and the Gods ended up making her an exception and allowing her to leave.

I’ll spare you the details but the story ends tragically with Izanagi trapping Izanami in Yomi forever, her ruling over it and the both of them pretty much getting divorced. 

Anyways. What matters is that when you talk about Yomi, it’s automatically linked to Izanami, and Izanami is automatically linked to Izanagi and his rescue mission. A rescue mission that also happened in HxH. Just like Izanagi, Gon decided to take the trip to Yomi, as the tour guide said, to rescue Killua from eternal damnation and be reunited with him once again.

Additionally and still in the spirit of the Yomi lore, the etymology of Yomi (黄泉) is uncertain, but it is theorized that it could come from 山, yama, meaning mountain. Izanami was buried in the mountains and Yomi was thought to be located in the mountains in ancient society, which is leading me to believe this could be the reason why the Zoldyck Estate has a mountain. So it could simply be because the Zoldyck Mansion is referred to as Yomi, and Yomi was thought to be in the mountains : hence the Zoldycks living on a mountain, fitting the Yomi lore perfectly.

There’s one last interesting thing about Yomi. Since Yomi is not Hell, it’s not where peoples’ souls go to get punished but more of a place of eternal wander, it’s oftentimes related to the Greek Underworld also known as Hades. So usually, when japanese media refers to something as Yomi, translators choose to go with “Hades”, which is the translation choice Viz made here.

So by insinuating the Zoldyck Mansion is considered as Yomi, it also connects it to the Greek Underworld, since the two are deeply connected. And interestingly enough, the first thing that pops into my head when I think of the Underworld is Orpheus and Eurydice’s story.

Orpheus and Eurydice fell in love at first sight, and enjoyed all their living moments together, however, this provoked the jealousy of one man who despised Orpheus and desired Eurydice for himself. After multiple events including a chase through the woods, Eurydice got bit by a deadly snake and died, leaving Orpheus heartbroken and alone. He couldn’t do anything but grieve and he lost his will to live without his beloved. That’s when he decided to take a trip to the Underworld in an attempt to get Eurydice back. Orpheus, armed with his lyre and his voice, was pretty much protected by the Gods as he walked through the Underworld and sang his song of love to anyone who would listen. His song and story brought tears to Hades and Persephone’s eyes, and Hades eventually accepted to make a deal with Orpheus : Eurydice has to follow him and he must not look back under any circumstance as long as they’re in the Underworld, or she will be sent back there forever. 

I’ll once again spare you the depressing details, but basically, Orpheus turned back because he couldn’t bear to not look at his beloved anymore, they got separated again and Orpheus ended up grieving his entire life, ending up being killed because of it.

So once again, here, there are similarities between Gon and Killua and Orpheus and Eurydice. Falling in love at first sight ; Illumi despising Gon and wanting Killua for himself and his family, thus ending up causing a separation and sending Killua to the Zoldyck Mansion ; Gon deciding to get Killua back. And for this one, there’s one interesting thing, and I thank @gallyl very much for telling me this, but it’s very important to note that Orpheus got Eurydice back because he sang songs of love and proved his devotion to Eurydice. Gon did the exact same thing. During those 7 chapters where Gon rescues Killua, the word friend is highlighted 7 times.

Gon, and therefore Togashi, makes it a point to emphasize that his rescue mission is solely based on his love for Killua. He’s doing it out of devotion and care for him. Just like Orpheus rescued Eurydice with his song of love and brought tears to everyone’s eyes, Gon managed to go through every hardship he faced by highlighting that Killua is his friend. That’s how he managed to convince Zebro to let him train to pass the gates, that’s how he got to Gotoh and to Canary, and eventually to Silva. Because he kept on saying that he’s doing this because of his love for Killua, which eventually softened all of these people and made them get on board with his rescue mission. 

Another parallel is the fact that Hades strikes a deal with Orpheus with a condition, and should the condition be broken, Eurydice will return to the Underworld. Here, it’s slightly different but still under the same spirit. Silva strikes a deal with Killua, making him promise to never betray his friend, and that if he does… he will be unworthy of his friends and will have to return home. 

There are also a few other references to the Underworld in the way Togashi portrays the Zoldyck Mansion and Silva and Kikyo, but I won’t get into it too much for fear of not being too objective and reaching, so I’ll just go over one. The Greek Underworld is kept by Cerberus, a gigantic 3 headed dog. And while Togashi didn’t make Mike a 3-headed dog, he did include 3 different dogs as gatekeepers of the Zoldyck Mansion, thus keeping a connection to the Cerberus lore.

So by making one random character talk about Yomi, the japanese underworld, Togashi calls back to those two myths : the japanese myth of Izanami and Izanagi and the greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. Togashi put imagery for both of these legends to emphasize that they are connected to the story, and as a way to further highlight the narrative of someone rescuing someone they deeply care about.

I never finished talking about Orihime and Hikoboshi’s story, so I’ll do it now! After being forbidden to meet, Orihime pleaded for her father to let her see Hikoboshi again, until he finally agreed to let them reunite on the 7th day of the 7th month. However, when they reunited for the first time, there was no bridge to cross for them to be able to meet. That’s when a flock of magpies came and promised to help the lovers reunite, creating a bridge between the two of them, and allowing them to finally reunite.

This is once again reminiscent of the Testing Gates arc. Killua asked his dad to be able to see Gon again, until he finally accepted. However, Gon found that it was hard to cross the metaphorical bridge that are all the hardships of the Zoldyck Mansion, until a bird finally helped him : Canary. Canaries are birds that symbolize happiness, freedom and that spread joy. On top of that, I could even reach a bit and highlight that magpies, the birds that reunited Orihime and Hikoboshi are mostly recognizable by their long black tail. Canary and Gotoh, butlers, are the main reason Gon managed to get to Killua, and butlers outfits are characterized with a longer back, reminiscent of a tail, detail that Togashi also put. So it’s easy with that to associate the butlers with the flock of magpie, since they’re the reason Gon managed to get back to Killua.

The Tanabata lore started from the moment we got introduced to Killua’s character up until Killua and Gon finally reunite, and this lore was complemented by 2 other legends that highlight this beautiful narrative of rescuing a loved one.

All 3 of these legends share common themes : they feature lovers who got separated for multiple reasons and one of them pleading to higher forces to let them have their lover back. There’s a common theme of love and devotion that ends up moving the higher forces and lets the person be reunited with their lover at last. All these missions were rescue missions done in the name of love : Orihime pleaded with her father out of love, Orpheus sang his song of love to plead to Hades to let him get Eurydice back, Izanami asked the Gods to let her come back to Izanagi. And Gon begged everyone to let him see his friend. He shouted on top of every rooftop that Killua was his friend and that he’s rescuing him out of love and devotion for him, and that’s exactly what made people help him get Killua back. It’s seeing Gon’s love that made people help him, just like in those legends.

So by giving us references to these legends, by making Gon and Killua follow the same tropes as these myths, Togashi is highlighting the beautiful narrative of Gon’s rescue mission. Togashi is putting little details and symbolism to give his story more depth and make us subconsciously link together a legend about lovers wanting to reunite after being separated, and two legends about people going on a rescue mission to save their loved ones. 

Killua’s story follows the Tanabata legend closely, he meets Gon and it’s love at first sight, they are happy together, until they’re separated. Then he gets sent back to the Mansion, Yomi, the Underworld, which prompts Gon to organize a rescue mission out of love, just like Izanagi and Orpheus. It’s thanks to this love that he moved Zebro, Canary, Gotoh and finally Silva, just like Izanami’s pleads moved the Gods and allowed her to (almost) leave, and just like Orpheus’ love songs moved Hades. Finally, they are reunited by a bird, Canary, and a flock of magpies, the butlers, just like in the Tanabata legend. The lovers are reunited at last, after a long rescue mission.

I can already feel the panicked asks, “but Tele, all these tales end tragically, is Killua and Gon’s relationship broken forever? Are they going to die?”. No. HxH is not a retelling of common legends. It’s not accurately and faithfully translating myths into a manga. It’s using cultural references to emphasize some narratives, and here, it’s the narrative of two lovers going against all odds to reunite with each other once again after being separated. I’ll link you to this post by @/buzzykrueger that explained it better than I could, but don’t worry, I can promise you, Togashi will never head this way. HxH is not a retelling of old tales, and he loves to subvert common classical tropes. He already subverted them many, many times in his manga, and I can guarantee you that Killua and Gon will be fine in the end.

Also, yes, I’m referring to Killua and Gon as lovers in this post, because Togashi made the conscious choice to refer to 3 pieces of lore focused on romantic love. 

Thank you for reading this ! If you’re interested, I’ll link all my references below! Also, Tumblr hates me and won’t let me appear in tags anymore, so reblogs are very appreciated. Ty for reading!

• On the general legend of Tanabata : here and here

• On Yomi : here and here

• On Izanami & Izanagi : here and here

• On Eurydice and Orpheus : here

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

(Here, have a hells studio fic idea: Sammy's reaction and frustration to getting sweetvoice thanks to Benrey)

For the record I’m calling this crossover: Hell’s Life Studio, VR but the AI are causing supernatural bullshit.

Honestly, Sammy Lawrence could rationalize why Joey would hire a security guard.

In fact, if he did hire Benry, the music director might consider it one of Joey’s more logical and reasonable ideas, he even wondered why the animator didn’t do it much sooner.

In addition to the normal reasons why an animation studio or other work place in general would hire security guards, due to the magical nature of the studio and some of it’s inhabitants, if any average Joe walked off the street into the building, everything would turn to chaos.

Newspaper reporters would come at the studio like vultures to a fresh kill, Joey would be demonized as some sort of Satan worshiping lunatic who'd happily sacrifice his employees' humanity for the sake of his success, the toons would get captured by the government and probably get dissected... And heaven forbid what would happen if by accident, someone who wasn't that familiar with the studio and it's magical ink got caught in the ‘splash zone’.

So when Mr. BENRY BENRY BENRY BENRY BENRY BENRY BENRY BENRY BENRY BENRY BENR... came up to him and his coworkers asking to see their passports, Sammy was mildly annoyed by this new guard's rude demeanor, but didn't think much of him other than 'Oh fuck, I guess I'll have to carry my passport to work now, I guess'.

Except, there was one problem; Joey didn’t hire Benry at all. He was just some random guy in a guard uniform (that didn't even have the studio's logo on it at all) who showed up one day and the studio was so weird that people just either didn't care much for another weird thing going on or had came to the same logic-based conclusion that Sammy did.

Scratch that, there were two problems: Benry wasn't exactly human and while he looked like he was, any normal person off the street who wasn't unfazed by the supernatural could automatically tell that he wasn't. As the guard wasn't particularly interested at hiding his otherworldly nature.

Now, in a place like the studio where people experience magical shenanigans almost weekly and have an honest to god living cartoon character as a boss, a dimension-hopping, skeleton summoning, security guard who shits in urinals and may or may not be an eldritch horror god is completely... well, not exactly normal per say, but it's not like the employees would scream and clutch their pearls at the slightest signs of abnormality in their line of work.

The studio had a tendency to dismiss pretty much anything in their workplace that they knew for a fact was not a normal thing as the Ink's fault.

New security guard is phasing through the walls? Must've gotten caught in an ink shower. He hasn't talked to Joey about it? Well, phasing through the walls at will could be useful for his job, nobody's really planning on nagging him about making Joey 'change him back'.

Said guard is hovering in the middle of the break room with his legs and arms rimrod straight and the latter outstretched (in a pose the man had described as 'T-posing' later.)? Must've walked into a ritual by accident and is having fun with it. Some people are just better sports about the weirdness of the studio than others are.

Benry's ...singing? And multicolored orbs are flying out of his mouth? And the blue orbs have the ability to calm people down when they hit them? Again, weird, nobody's really sure why or how the ink did THAT to him. But then again nobody also knew why or how the ink could turn people into cartoon animals and brought inanimate objects to life other than "it's magic".

"Hey, you're not supposed to be in here."

The monotone voice of the security guard droned as Sammy opened the door to his own office.

"Son of a-" The musician took in a sharp inhale and turned to face Benry. "Good morning Benry, are you here to check my passport again for the forty-eighth time in a row or just to cause problems?"

"Wha? I'm not causing any problems. Are you trying to cause problems? Because I'll have to escort you off the premises if you do."

"I WORK here Benry, you saw me conducting the band five minutes ago."

"Yeah... that kinda sounds like bullshit bro. I'm gonna need to check your passport just to make sure."

"Ugh, fine.."

Sammy rifled through his pockets as the ceiling above the pair creaked ominously, making Sammy rifle through his pockets faster as he knew what that meant.

"Not gonna lie, you're looking kinda... you're looking kinda suspicious rn. You got something to hide? What are you trying to hide?"

"BENRY! CAN'T YOU SEE THAT THE CEILING IS ABOUT TO-"

Before Sammy could finish what he was saying, the ceiling crashed down on both of them.

"Ugh... Shit..." Benry emerged from the rubble and fished out the limp music director out of it as well. "You ok there bro?"

As Sammy was unconscious, he didn't respond.

"Fuck, you don't look ok at all... Looks like you need some CPR there, good thing I'm trained by professionals, hang tight."

Benry laid the musician flat on a piece of the floor that wasn't obscured by rubble and opened Sammy's mouth while firing a teal-green heal beam into it with the Black Mesa Sweet Voice. What? He knew better than to cheat on Feetman by smooching a married man, especially while he was in the dark ages where PS4s don't exist and being gay is illegal and pretty much punishable by death.

Sammy lurched back to life coughing his lungs out as the inside of his throat felt like it was oiled, set on fire, and extinguished with sand. Luckily for him, he otherwise felt perfectly fine albeit shaken up by almost being crushed to death.

"Oh cool, you're not dead. So, about that passport..."

"Benry, what the FuuuAAAAAAaAAAaAAAaaaAAaAAaaAaaaaaaaAAAAAaaaAAAAAAAAaAAAaaAAAA!"

Both men jumped back in surprise as a beam of brightly colored orbs flew out of Sammy's mouth starting of in teal (usually means 'need meal' but here Benry was certain that in this context it meant surprise), teal-to-white (I'm struck with fright), white-to-red (filled with dread.), and red-to-dark blue (I FUCKING HATE YOU!).

"Uh.. Wow, rude." Benry smacked his lips. "I just, I just saved your life back there, there's no need to talk to me like that."

Sammy's eye twitched as he stared at him dead in the eyes and chucked his passport in Benry's face before heading up to Joey's office to ask him where he found this guy and why the fuck did he hire this guy.

[brokenclockwork]

Calm down dude

jokes aside, if you think this is me being like genuinely upset, you’re way too invested in me for being a little dick coward who won’t even come off anon. 

like homie. there are things that genuinely make me mad in rwby. like honest to god get me heated as all hell. the way they treat their poc characters. the way they outright refuse even acknowledge that male abuse victims exist. the way they bend over backwards to make their leads in the right instead of just having their leads to the right thing, or heaven forbid, listen to someone else for a change and learn so they can be better and stronger and more well rounded for future conflicts, to the point that the writers are willing to destroy other characters to do it. 

but bud. friend. amigo. this ain’t one of them. I straight up said I was confused, not mad, in the comment that started this all off. I’m confused how the hell crwby have written EIGHT VOLUMES of this damn show, and still don’t understand things like: consistent characterization. consistent world building. timelines making less plot holes instead of more. the fucking implications of some of their writing choices. 

however, I’m even more confused by this fandom’s inability to understand that you can enjoy something and still criticize it. also, you know, how to stay in your own fucking lane. like I could start little bitch anon fits with people I don’t agree with in the tags instead of blocking them so we don’t interact and thus argue / make each other comfortable, but uh, I go outside once in awhile and understand how people are supposed to react. 

[pompadorkery]

As an Nonbinary acesexual leaning towards transmasc, thanks. Almost everything in media is straight couples and the little bit of gay art usually has no plot and is directed and fujoshis and that is not what your content is. Plot comes first, and lgbt inclusive characters second. I appreciate that you actually have plot and well developed characters that are LGBT inclusive, when there is so little of that in this present day. Thanks fam.

I just want more LGBT media I can relate to.

Wlw is mostly what is deemed "acceptable" by society , whilst gay men are still seen as "sinful", just for fucking existing.

Lesbian and wlw content is great! But for me, I just can't really relate to it very well. It doesn't mean I won't watch it or enjoy it though. I just really want representation for mlm as well.

Hell, heaven forbid nonbinary content ever get made, haha.

Society as a whole is still working on being inclusive. I am simply making the content that the media lacks. I want to hear and see more stories about mlm people.

I want more LGBT content BY LGBT people and FOR LGBT people.

I am an NSFW artist. That doesn't somehow make me less of an advocate for community I represent.

People look at porn. That's just facts.

Should Pornhub shut down because there are "sexualized gay men" on there? Is that yaoi too?

I understand my art style is anime inspired, but that doesn't automatically equate my mlm content to yaoi. Saying so is incredibly homophobic.

I also know plenty of gay male NSFW artists who are happy to call their art yaoi. Are they fetishizing themselves?

Honestly I'm just so tired about fighting with kids about this when they have no idea what they are saying, and how hurtful it can be to someone who struggles with their own identity. It makes me feel scared to continue my transition because of the sheer toxic transphobia from these people who claim to be advocates, but then go and attack LGBT creator instead of focusing their attention on actual issues.

I have been thinking about lately about maybe going on T, and I am hoping to get my top surgery at some point this year.

My genitals don't dictate the content I am supposedly "allowed" to create.

I am just so tired.

[remythologise]

i. omg. i cannot believe they're not even gonna ACKNOWLEDGE the confession scene i'm in hysterics. like usually it's relatively easy to just Refuse To Acknowledge canon when it sucks, but they WENT THERE only now they didn't???? really resent being manipulated by the cw almost, embarrasingly, to the point of tears but here we are. anyway feeling v grateful for your posting today it's much more cathartic than this show will manage in its last gasping breaths

I’m asking everyone very politely but sincerely that if you have any like. Ability to influence news write-ups or opinion pieces, I really think that this is something we need to publish about in order to make CW aware of how shitty it was, bc that’s the only recourse we have left of complaint. Like Desti-hell memes did to some extent but the method in which they led queer fans on, put down the subtext for Dean to reciprocate, put down the narrative layers, put down the found family and then just completely fucked everything for the sake of the two brothers being alone at the end. WHILE saying fuck you to their queer main character who has been now rendered even more tragically than before. And honestly if they had done Jack and Cas’ character’s justice in their exit I would not be as mad as I am now. If we’d gotten good speeches and moments of emotional catharsis, I would not be as mad as I am now. But instead, we are struggling to reassemble a broken canon that said ‘fuck you’ to its own message of found family. Where the Cas, the Winchesters and Jack suddenly stopped being fathers and son, where Dean and Cas’ romance was just abruptly used as an unreciprocated end point to not be re-addressed because GOD FORBID Dean Winchester be gay or Castiel, the incredibly tragic, textually queer, character of the show, have a happy ending.

And the thing I’m so angry about is the way the writers are trying to excuse their own writing, like people pretending the Empty is ‘peaceful now’ (nowhere is that text, and nowhere does that mean Castiel is at peace, just non-existent when he could be in Heaven had he been a human, and EVEN then Heaven is just a loop of memories. Argh.) And saying like, oh Jack is God now so he’s a bit more detached and like, one with everything. Cool, why can’t he hang out with the Winchesters ever again or have a drink or, I don’t know, BRING BACK CASTIEL? ‘hands off’ ok he brought back EVERYONE ELSE??? Jack just hates his gay dad I guess! Anyway I’m glad I could be cathartic. It’s so insulting to me that literally any of us, ANY OF US, could have written and edited a better show than this. I’ve seen your fan-vids and fanfic like it is outrageous that this ‘canon’ was entrusted to people who are so incompetent. We are easy fucking marks, Supernatural, we have fifteen years of feelings about this show, and you still managed to fuck it up with your dumb montages, nonsensical plot points, shitty editing and appallingly bad writing. On the second to last ep, no less. Fuck me.

[thrushpot]

rich boy boredom

Steve Harrington x fem reader

“Could you do a billy or Steve imagine? It’s my 21st today and I feel really homesick and alone (I’m on the other side of the country at uni) and idk I feel like I can’t talk to my housemates so I’m projecting onto fictional characters” requested by anonymous.

word count: 1,922

warning(s): swearing, shoplifting, vandalism (up to no good basically)

a/n: happy late birthday lovely ! birthdays can be a bummer for me too tbh :/ and yes projecting onto characters is valid♥️

—

Steve got a free ride up to some fancy ass university across the country, room and board payed for by absent parents, got everything he could ever really want or need. And it was great. He’ll tell you that to your face, maybe even sprinkle some “I’m so grateful for this opportunity” bullshit into his speech, too. But what he won’t tell you is that being a spoiled child can get fucking dull. God forbid he ever voice these feelings out loud in fear of looking like another useless wealthy white guy that has the audacity to complain about something when he could have everything he could ever want and then some. But it got lonely and dangerously boring. And when Steve was bored whenever his folks weren’t around, he always got the itch to fuck something up just to feel anything other than the tasteless boredom.

Since the boy lost his title in high school and now embraced his new dorky guy status (wearing sweaters, even needing glasses for fuck’s sake) girls have either ignored him or friend zoned him. And yeah, having friends that are only chicks is great and all, but now everybody just thinks he’s a gay rich brat that shouldn’t complain about not picking up a date when he could afford a yacht if he simply felt like it. At least everyone who gave him the stink eye had parents at home that payed attention and cared for their well being.

The only girl (or just person in general) in any of his classes that didn’t treat him that way or roll their eyes if he tried to ask a question in class was Y/N. She was smart, he could tell that by peeking at her test scores whenever they got their exams handed back to correct. Pretty, too. Same innocence as his high school heartbreaker Nancy has. Steve isn’t sure if that’s his subconscious type he’s into or if it’s just coincidences. He’d make a move on her if she wasn’t so quiet all the time, he even contemplated if she were deaf or mute or something. The only words he ever heard her speak were ‘here’ for role call at the start of class. Her shy nature was a little intimidating, he didn’t know what she thought about him or anybody else at all. She was sorta mysterious like that, but damn if he didn’t try at least giving her a heads up that she could talk to him if she wanted.

Now was his chance, he’s had at least a hundred chances so far because they’ve shared this class for months now, but still. Steve has to really hype himself up and mentally give a pep talk about what he was gonna say, how he was gonna say it. Y/N was wearing her regular cozy sweater, baggy jeans and ruffled hair as usual. She looked cute everyday, but today he couldn’t help but think she was extra cute. Steve saw her sit down in her usual spot, taking out her notes and book from her bag and patiently waiting for the professor to start.

“Uh, your name’s Y/N right?” Steve asks. Fucking great start, jackass. Of course he knows her name already. She whips her head around in surprise that somebody actually acknowledged her presence and nodded, still unsure of what to say back to the boy. “I’m Steve. If you didn’t already like, know that or whatever. Sorry. But maybe when class is done, do you wanna hang out and do something? Go somewhere? If you’re not busy,” he finally gets out, begging the heavens that he doesn’t sound too creepy and scare her off from him for good. She still stares at him blankly then snaps out of whatever trance she had been in, and talks. He didn’t ever hear what her voice sounded like before.

“I know your name’s Steve.” she replies.

That’s it? That’s all you have to say?

“Yeah. That’s me. So about that—“

“Sure. I’ll go with you. Could use some excitement today especially,” she shrugs then turns around as the professor enters and walks to the front, announcing to the class what they’re gonna be doing today.

“What’s today?” he whispers, but gets rudely interrupted by the professor’s request for the class to quiet down and gives his lecture.

—

Class was annoying as fuck as per usual, but staring at the back of Y/N’s head was the only thing he really liked. Steve wouldn’t dare say that out loud, but it was true. Finally the professor dismissed all of the students to leave, and Steve was quick to pack up his shit and hang out with the girl. Y/N took her time as opposed to Steve, and he went up to her seat to ask what she wanted to do, where she wanted to go.

“Surprise me,” she answers with a smile. The boy returns it and offers to carry her bag for her, not taking no for an answer.

“Okay. I will, let’s do it,” he pumps his fist in the air and briefly regrets showing enthusiasm but it’s okay because she gives him a laugh, and he likes the sound of it. He likes it a lot, honestly.

Back to Steve’s boredom and stupidity, the combination often leads him into trouble. But Y/N was along for the ride, seeming happy that someone was actually spending time with her. She kept telling him about how afraid she was that today specifically would be another stale, boring day. Whenever the boy asked what today meant, but she shrugged it off and changed the subject to something else. She wanted to talk about him, but he was begging to know more about her. She talked about she feels invisible most days, how nobody really recognizes her existence but Steve sees her. He knows she exists, and he likes that she’s here spending time with him.

“Wanna do something stupid?” Steve asks, eyeing the drugstore that was across the street and how no one seemed to be working there tonight.

“How stupid are we going for, exactly?” She laughs. There’s that laughter again. Steve relishes in the feeling of his heartbeat getting quicker, and grabs her hand to cross the road.

“Like, really fucking stupid, honestly.” He answers as he tells her to keep her head down, both of them staying low as Steve conducts a plan. “What do you want right now? Anything. Could be anything, go crazy.” She looks at him and still has no idea what he’s talking about.

“Um, I don’t know. A redbull I guess?” She answers. Steve smirks at her.

“One redbull coming up. Anything else? C’mon, you could do better than that Y/N,” he playfully pushes her shoulder, encouraging her to speak up about what else.

“Okay, okay! Fine, Steve. Jesus. I really want a cake, too,” she says.

“Cake and redbull. Gotcha, stay out here and wait for my signal,” he whispers, patting her back and entering the store without another word. Y/N doesn’t even know what “signal” he’s talking about. Moments later, Steve emerges from the store in a panic, screaming “RUN” at Y/N with spray paint, her redbull, and a cake stuffed in his coat.

“What the fuck, Steve!” She races after the boy and they don’t stop until they’re in behind a secluded building with brick walls surrounding them. Steve is out of breath, and Y/N is catching hers still before she snorts a giggle and holds onto Steve and her stomach, hurting from laughing so hard. The adrenaline they’re both high on is fueling their energy, making them incapable of stopping their fun. Steve carelessly throws the plastic lid off of the cake and remembers that he never grabbed forks for them.

Y/N takes the redbull and cracks it open, chugging some then handing it over to Steve, who takes it and gulps some too.

“You should see the way your hair bounces up and down when you run,” she giggles at him then runs her fingers through it, making Steve blush but not move, not wanting her to stop. Y/N gestures to the spray cans he also stole. “What’re these for?”

“Oh, you’ve never heard of these? It’s like paint, but you spray it, and —“

“No, dumbass! Why’d you take those too? They weren’t on the list,” you interject.

“Ohhhh, right. So like, we could draw or write whatever we want here,” Steve answers simply, taking the can of green paint and spraying your name on the brick wall in front. When he’s finished, he grabs a handful of the cake and shoves it in his mouth and moans at the creamy, sugary fluffiness.

“That is some good shit right there,” he points to the vanilla frosting covered dessert with his messy hand before going to spray more designs on the wall.

“You’re crazy, man.”

“Yeah. No I’m really not, I think I’m just bored. Tired of getting everything I want handed to me. It doesn’t feel like I earned any of it,” his tone switches to something a bit more sad, dropping the can of spray and taking another bite before offering you some cake.

“Eh, sure. What the hell, right?” You shrug, taking the giant bite he fed to you and not caring that some bits of cake land on your sweater. Steve apologizes but you wave it off, it’s just a stupid sweater.

“I’ve had a lot of fun tonight,” Steve murmurs, scooting closer to you before you get up and ignore his protests of wanting you to sit back down with him. You take the red spray paint and start marking up the wall, decorating it with hearts and stars. “Y’know, you never told me what today is,” he gazes up at you before shoveling more cake into his palm and feeding it to you. You eat all of it up then laugh but it doesn’t sound like it’s out of a joke, but something else.

“Today’s my twenty-first birthday,” Y/N answered before going back to the task of vandalizing the brick.

“Shit. Happy birthday, Y/N,” Steve smiles when he stands up, watching you in a daze like he’s never seen anyone look more beautiful than you do right now, cake on your shirt and chin be damned. “Should’ve stolen a six pack of beer too while I was at it.”

“My family forgot. Nobody in class even cared either,” you stared down at the ground in embarrassment, knowing that this rich boy from Indiana couldn’t possibly understand what with his money and his popularity. Steve tilts your chin up with his clean fingers then leans in, capturing your lips in a chaste kiss before pulling back.

“I’m still twenty, my birthday’s not till next September. You’re pretty lucky I like older women,” Steve whispers and before you can laugh at that he’s going in for a better one, kissing the hell out of your soft lips and cupping your cheek. Even with the cake all over his fingers, you’ve never felt this seen before, like anybody really noticed you like Steve did in this moment, on this day.

“You should be thankful I like younger men, too. And what’s the deal with the stealing? Pretty sure you can afford an energy drink, some spray paint and a cake,” you say, petting his hair again and making him purr at the stimulating feeling.

“I just got bored.”

[crowsent]

AUgust 2020: College AU

Prompt given by @augustwritingchallenge

Summary: Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the III gets peer-pressured into going to a party and meets someone.

Pairing: Minor Perc’ahlia

Characters: Scanlan, Percy, Vex’ahlia

Word Count: 3180

CW: N/A

Notes: the tumblr version is unformatted, no italics, no bold, nothing. for that reason, i highly recommend you to read the ao3 version instead so yall get that sweet sweet tone difference.

AO3 Link: HERE

=

Let it be known that Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the III was three more unnecessarily complicated essays away from trudging downstairs into the campus basement where a supposed “demon” dwells to bargain his soul away for but a day of having a clear head for once. The migraine seemed to be permanent. A persistent, obdurate nuisance that’s making his head spin and his eyes see two laptops with furiously typed half-finished assignments on the screen. Well, it was either the cause of the migraine, or it meant that Percy needed to get new glasses.

Or, according to his roommate, one Scanlan Shorthalt, all Percy needed was, “A day off.”

Rooming with Scanlan meant that Percy had experienced more than his fair share of having to skulk to the library, cafeteria, or, God forbid, being forced to wait outside their dorm room whenever Scanlan deigned to bring back a “friend.” More often than not, he had to spend more time turning down Scanlan’s many offers to “unwind” than on actually working on his assignments. Whether it be countless invitations to various parties Percy had no intention of attending, or simply skipping class and laying about with nary a care in the world, roll a couple blunts and allow the feeling to sweep him away. Let the thoughts drift. Stop existing for just a moment.

And though Percy had always turned Scanlan down without so much as a beat of hesitation, perhaps this once time was a rare moment of Scanlan being right for once. Perhaps Percy was working himself to death and maybe it was time for him to stop burning the midnight oil on an essay he was sure his professors merely gave a cursory glance at.

Scanlan swung an arm around the bedpost of his bed, sheets unmade with some of it pooling on the floor. He held a nonchalant pose even as he gave Percy a rather convincing look. “Come on. You’ve been working like a madman for hours! All work and no play makes Percy very grumpy and I, for one, don’t want to see bitchy Percy ever again.”

With another mournful look at his laptop screen, at the paragraphs dancing in his vision, Percy sighed and removed his glasses to rub the headache from his temples. “I have been rather tetchy, haven’t I?” Scanlan made various noises with meanings that might have ranged from “Yes,” to “Fucking duh,” but Percy chose to give him the benefit of doubt. With a sigh of defeat, Percy saved what little work he managed to finish and shut his laptop.

As soon as the screen made a soft ‘click,’ Scanlan let out a loud yell and pumped his fist up in the air in victory. “Finally! I was kind of thinking that you were some kind of robot.” It was the loudest thing Percy had ever had the misfortune of hearing, and he was quite sure that his migraine worsened even more at the sound of Scanlan’s voice. “Okay. I have the perfect idea for you to roll y0our shoulders a bit. Relieve all the tension penetrating your body.”

“Wording, Scanlan.”

Scanlan ignored him. “Just relax and allow yourself to experience everything that college has to offer. A couple of smokes, women, men, bad song choices and spiked drinks.”

“You’re inviting me to a party aren’t yo-”

“I’m inviting you to the best damn party you will ever be invited to,” Scanlan assured. There was fire in his eyes. Granted, Scanlan grew spirited whenever trying to cajole Percy into a party but there was sincerity behind his enthusiasm. “I know you rich kids get invited to all sorts of shit with three-piece suits and butlers with silver trays following after like lost puppies but Percy. Percival. Perc. There aren’t any fountains that shit gold or anything, but come on. If there’s ever a single party that you go to in your college career, let it be this one.”

“I really don’t think-”

“There probably won’t even be that much alcohol and drugs in it. It’ll be rated PG-mostly-13 as far as college parties go.” Scanlan had moved on from his bedside perch and had instead elected to encroach upon Percy’s space, giving his best attempt at puppy dog eyes. “There won’t even be horny assholes humping each other on the couch this time! Hopefully. Probably.”

“Scanlan.”

“Cassandra might be there, I don’t know, but Pike will definitely be there, and I’m the one planning all this for my friends and I’d really like for you to meet them so pretty please Percival Frankenstein Van Helsing Cleopatra de Rolo the Fourth will you please attend just one party to break from your perfect honour roll student life? It’s a birthday party if that helps so it won’t be as wild and crazy as the others. There will even be masks and shit because my other friends are dramatic little shits and I love them to bits and I really want you to meet them all and you don’t even have to suffer the mortal ordeal of being known so please? Please?”

“Oh for goodness’ sake, you win, Scanlan.” Another whoop and a cheer, somehow louder this time, if it was even possible, coupled with a hug that Percy only very slightly recoiled from. “I will attend, with a mask, but do not expect me to stay long.”

“Trust me my friend,” said Scanlan, pulling away with the brightest and widest grin Percy had ever seen from him, “after meeting them, you’ll want to stay.”

Percy doubted it. It had been years now since meeting the Briarwoods, but strangers still made him wary. He couldn’t bear to crush the hope in Scanlan’s eyes though, and resigned himself to an unpleasant night with people he had no intention of talking to ever again once the party was over. Well, once he left. It was going to be one of those attendances where Percy stayed just long enough to be polite. As soon as he could, he planned on booking it right back to his and Scanlan’s dorm room.

If he was already in the room, then maybe, Scanlan would have the decency to bring a potential ‘friend’ somewhere else. (The couches in the common space in the dorm were terribly uncomfortable.) Percy glanced at the clock in the room. Then to his closet, the racks and racks of somewhat formal clothing from a habit he never managed to kick. To the box he knew he kept hidden on the floor, further camouflaged by articles of clothing that don’t fit anymore. Perhaps it would be odd to bring a leather crow-like mask with goggles for eyes to a party, but then again, there was no way in heaven, hell, or any other planes that could possibly exist, that Percy would ever purchase a mask for an event he didn’t even want to attend.

Besides, store-bought masks might fall and slip. His mask won’t.

“I’m going to make some last minute prep for the party. Hang on.” Scanlan hurriedly scribbled an address down in his notebook, tore the scrap of paper off, and handed it to Percy. “Right here. A walk from campus. Starts at seven, don’t be late, see you!”

Before Percy could say anything, Scanlan was out the door, mission seemingly accomplished. He probably only returned to the dorm just so he can invite/cajole/bully Percy into attending his friend’s birthday party. Scanlan even neglected to mention the names of the friends he so wanted Percy to meet.

With a few more hours ‘til Percy has to pretend to socialise at this party, he got up out of his chair, dug out the box from the depths of his closet, and rooted out his mask. For a moment, he did nothing but stare at it.

Foreign and familiar at the same time. A distant echo of the past with a voice that only grew louder and louder the longer he held his mask. It had been years since he had last looked at it, let alone felt the tough material with his own fingers. The glass of the goggles had cracked in places, and the straps would surely no longer fit his head. But he had time, and upon closer inspection at the box itself, it seemed that Percy had subconsciously packed his leatherworking tools, along with more than enough stray pieces of metal, glass, and leather to fashion this mask into something more appropriate for a party.

The migraine still has not gone away, and with every second that passes, Percy gets closer to formulating that plan to sell his soul just to get the pulsing to stop, and he really should get some rest, but leatherworking isn’t work to him. It was relaxing. Freeing. Certainly more than any party would ever do for him. And with Scanlan gone, Percy had the chance to do some work in peace. He cleared his desk, gathered his tools and set to work.

.

“Percy?” The mask Scanlan chose covered only the lower half of his face. A smooth porcelain-like cover. With night cresting around the corner, and the cheap street lamps offering little to no illumination, (because public funding was… not particularly the best in this area) Percy couldn’t quite tell what Scanlan’s mask was made of. It fit him though. Even in the dim light, there were purple swirls that curled near the edges.

Scanlan nudged him. “Hello? Earth to Percy. Please be Percy. It would be so awkward if I was talking to not Percy.”

“Yes, Scanlan. Hello.” Percy adjusted his mask once more. It was strapped securely on his face, with buckles that would prevent any college party-goer that had one too many drinks from tugging the mask down his face.

Scanlan reached up to tap the shiny metal bits Percy managed to attach to the mask and make it look less plain. The nail of Scanlan’s finger made a soft sound as it met metal. “Huh.” Scanlan nodded and crossed his arms. “Look at you Mr. Overachiever. I thought you were just going to bring a plastic mask and be done with it.”

Percy reached up to push his glasses up his nose, only to hit the metal-plated beak of his mask. Right. The goggles were fixed, mostly, but his prescription had been altered slightly now. Scanlan looked a little blurry. “Did you honestly expect me to half-ass dramatics?” Still, with the mask on, no one could tell that Percy would be squinting for the entire night.

“Should have expected as much from the guy with fifty-thousand names.” Scanlan beckoned him over, towards a building flashing with lights and brimming with people. Pink and purple streamers hung down from the front doors, with some gold accents for flavour. “I’ll introduce you to my friends. Oh, and congratulate Vex and Vax happy birthday yeah?”

He had no idea who those were, but Percy assented. He had to shout the closer they got to the building. The music was tasteful, for a party, but it was unbearably loud. The migraine, which had subsided somewhat in the hours of silence Percy spent working on the mask, had begun to surface again. Still, he gave his word, and a de Rolo never breaks his word.

Scanlan, bless him, tried his best ot be heard over the music. Percy even tried to lean down to hear him better. All he caught was, “... nice mask… saw Cassandra…” and then, much clearer than anything else, “PIKE’S HERE!”

Now, Scanlan was a friend, possibly Percy’s only friend in the odd two years he’s been a student in Emon. None but Scanlan had the moxy and resolve to continuously track Percy down and whittle his walls little by little to form a fierce friendship with him. Percy would fight dragons for Scanlan if need be. But, he thinks with great respect mixed with even greater resignation and a little bit of frustration and regret; Scanlan packs up all logic and inhibitions and manners into a suitcase  whenever he saw Pike, and then defenestrated that suitcase as he bolted for her.

Indeed, with the occasional flash of bright light in the building, Percy saw Scanlan’s form rushing over to the side of a pretty woman with pale hair and a plain light blue mask. He could see the laughter in Scanlan’s shoulders from so far away as he and the woman, Pike, talked about things too far from Percy’s earshot.

Now he was simply alone, in a crowded room full of masked strangers with pulsing lights and too-loud music and Percy quickly took off into a corner, doing mental arithmetic with every step to count down the minutes he’d have to spend in this party he never really wanted to go to.

Mercifully, he found a punch table, several bowls lined up with various liquids. He can’t really drink anything in this mask, but he might as well look like he’s mingling with the crowd and whatnot. Percy grabbed a red plastic cup, chucked most of its contents into a potted plant, and leaned his back against a wall, looking out into the sea of people undulating their bodies with the rhythm of the music, and did his best to look like he wanted to be here.

Save the migraine and the lingering whispers in the back of his head about assignments due, the change of pace was refreshing. Annoying, but refreshing. And lacked the social obligations Percy feared he’d have to fulfill when he first came here. People saw him leaning against the wall and assumed that he was merely taking a break from the festivities or awaiting someone. It was peaceful, in a way.

That is, until a woman with an elegant blue mask marched to the punch table, grabbed two cups, downed both, and grabbed a third and joined Percy, leaning on the wall herself, body slightly angled to face him. Percy angled himself as well to face her, to be polite. The mask covered the upper half of her face, with feathers sticking out and up from one side. It matched her silvery blue dress quite well.

“Do you have a sibling?” she asked without preamble, staring into her cup.

Percy instinctively glanced about the room, trying to look for the matching shock of white hair of his sister, whom Scanlan stated might be here. “Yes, a sister,” he answered idly, if a bit sullenly as he found that she was not in attendance. “Though I’m afraid she didn’t join us this evening. A shame too, she would have made for better conversation.”

“Well, at least you don’t have to watch your sister abandon a conversation with you to trip over words with her crush,” said she. She downed her drink in one go. “Honestly, it’s not even the ‘being ignored mid-conversation’ bit that’s bothering me. It’s the pining! It’s the tripping over his own two feet! My brother is a rogue of a man who stole dad’s credit card so he can throw a couple parties and buy some new shit so I don’t have to spend a cent but have him stand in front of Keyleth and he suddenly forgets every language he’s ever known!”

Percy had no idea who this woman was talking about, but a childhood of etiquette lessons compelled him to nod. He wondered what it would feel like, to have Cassandra be so taken with someone in the romantic sense. Just thinking about it felt odd. “Well, I’ve never had the fortune -or misfortune, apparently- to know that feeling, but I can somewhat relate.” The woman gave him a look that clearly meant that she’d lap up any distraction at the moment. Percy would take a distraction just about this time, too. It would certainly make time pass quicker until he could say that he’s attended and make a beeline back to the dorms. “I was peer-pressured into attending this party by a friend, and then I had to watch that friend leave me to fend for myself so he could unsuccessfully flirt with a woman he likes. And then I’d have to listen to him pine all day when he stumbles back into our dorm room with the scent of so much alcohol on his shirt he could be safely classified as a fire hazard.”

The woman snorted and raised her empty cup in the air. “If I had anything in this cup right now, I’d toast to our shit luck.”

Percy raised his cup as well. “I also have nothing in my cup, as drinking with this mask on is terribly inconvenient, but I can toast to that.”

They tapped their cups together, the woman squinting at Percy, finally, finally getting a good look at him. “Did- did you make your mask?”

“I did.” Again, he tried to adjust his glasses, and again, he hit nothing but the beak of his mask. “Well, I made it quite a few years back, but it seems that attempting to get through Professor Groon’s dreadful history essay requirements had… sparked some of my lost creativity. Fixed a couple of things here and there, re-adjusted the straps-”

“Oh God!” she exclaimed. “I haven’t finished the essay yet.”

Neither had Percy. Seeing as he was in the middle of a party, he’d resigned himself to having to rush it in the morning. Again. “I have to admit, I’m more concerned about Professor Groon’s reaction to me not submitting the assignment than I am with taking the hit to my grades.”

She laughed again. Clearly, whatever that punch is had a kick to it that was only just now starting to take effect. “He is an intimidating man, isn’t he?”

Percy hummed in agreement. Professor Groon made a mountain seem small in comparison. “Dear God, yes. And he never seems to blink.”

“Never!” the woman laughed in agreement. “It is such a relief to hear someone else notice that too. I thought I was going mad, uh…?”

Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the III. “Please call me Percy.”

“Wonderful to meet you dear. My name is Vex’ahlia.” She smiled at him from under her mask, face just a little bit red from the punch. The pulsing  lights made the braid draped over her shoulder seem to shine. Her hand stretched delicately out towards him.

“It’s nice to meet you, Percy.”

Percy took her hand in his and returned her smile.

He had no idea what possessed him to do so. Perhaps it was her disarming smile that seemed to knock his legs out from under him, or perhaps it was the way her eyes seemed to glow as they locked onto his, maybe it was even the migraine, throwing all common sense onto the ground. But rather than shake her hand, as he would have done in any other circumstance, Percy bent down just a tad and kissed the back of her hand.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

Perhaps he can stand to linger here a few hours more.

[haleviyah]

Do I have an art theif? Some advice would be awesome...

This is not okay, I don’t care how much you believe and love your Jesus with your everything (whatever that everything is), but when you stoop to a level where you make multiple accounts of myself (or my name per se) and try to act “holier than thou”. Bruh, you best be asking for own devices to kill you at this point, because this shit party you’re throwing is DEAD!

This about a girl I call “Trye” (because that’s the first fake name she gave me), and she (or it/bot) has a history of stealing my art, manipulating it and posting elsewhere. Recently I think she’s trying to make her own teachings to top mine. Jokes on her, because what my other half and I work on is STRICTLY Judaic in nature, and I mean straight up from Israel level of Judaic, not American. We don’t even favour Christianity at all, and we don’t condone attitudes such as lying or stealing like she does.

So I ask if anyone finds an account with my stuff and you don’t see it’s this cussing, hookah-smoking, wine-drinking, hell-and-heaven-questioning metalhead, report the accounts as “fake” it if you wish to. IF YOU WISH TO. I’m not asking you to do it... I’m just simply giving a heads up in case she gets any more ideas and she tries to push the envelope.

But regardless of this insanity, I would LOVE a second opinion about this situation because this just WEIRD: do you think it’s a bot I’m dealing with? Or is this - please, GOD FORBID - a real person who’s actually sick in their head. She hasn’t stolen any photos with my face on it, nor seems interested of any personal information such as my marriage, where I live, or who my family are and etc. However, what she has stolen is this:

- Abstract art.

- a few sketches of anything that reminds her of the Church Bride, Revaltions or the Rapture...

- Pictures of my character Selma (who represents the Body of Christ (Yeshua) and is married to Yeshua)

- Some Hebrew Calligraphy

She doesn’t seem interested in my depiction of Yeshua despite Him being on

EVERY

FUCKING

PAGE!!!!

Probably because He actually looks Jewish (for once), has ember coloured eyes and olive skin and not like what Akiane painted: white skin, Greco-looking and green eyes. (That’s a bit racist, but oh well...)

It’s just Selma she wants...

(my poor baby ; n ;... LEAVE MY BABY ALONE!!!)

She doesn’t even like any of the angels. Okay, Michael can be stubborn and too rational, so that’s understandable. Ezrael, scares the shit out of anyone because... he’s the Angel of Death. Cassiel, Duma, Leviel and everyone else... pretty likeable! But why just SELMA!! I thought you were hot for Jesus, Tyre, not some Egyptian-Jewish red-head.

But still, I have been dealing with her crazy ass since winter 2018, and so far I have chased her off Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, and DevianArt. Facebook is her last strong hold because I REFUSE to get a Facebook for myself (professionally speaking) nor for my series “Rose of Sharon”. I reserve my personal Facebook for family and friends in case they wanna catch up, but I keep it private as possible. I did watermark my material on DeviantArt, just for a side note, but she sneaked onto my RedBubble and took a piece and manipulated it (I was beyond pissed).

Again I ask, what is it I’m dealing with??? If it’s a bot, I’d be more than happy to drop the case. But her actions are too damn organic and specific to be a bot. I am PRAYING this is not a legit person doing this, otherwise I’d be concerned, not for me but mainly for her. Again I ask, if you see an account with obviously stolen pieces, report it as “fake” if you want, hit the copyright button, and message me to make sure it’s fake most of all... just, don’t confront her, she’ll only disappear or block you if you do. Thanks for letting me get this off my chest. And once again, any feedback would be appreciated.

Has anyone had likewise happen to them? Please let me know.

Be wise, and be safe guys!

P.S. if you want to laugh your ass off, she tried to spell “Haleviyah” in Hebrew for her old YouTube, but she did it wrong and it literally translates to this...

Yeah, I agree Google. I agree! Her masquerade is dead ...

But, I know how to spell my name... DUH!!!

(I’m not mad... I’m just flabbergasted...)

— Here’s a FIFTH of the evidence I have collected. Again, any thoughts, feel free to share...

This avatar is obviously not mine, and done through a phone app called PicsArt. I don’t like to brag but I do have a trained eye on which piece is obviously Photoshop or any Adobe medium (I’ve been introduced to a lot of their programs) and which is done on a phone-app such as PicsArt or just simple photo editing like Instagram. It’s not that hard to crop, cut and paste.

The first two pages on the next pic, I never permitted to exists, but I find it pretty chill Catholic’s like my gallery. (Sup, homies! Keep it real. Didn’t mean to make you cry though... ; n ;)

And finally these pages were all done by the same person... how do I know? Same home town in each one... I will refrain from saying where.