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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

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Making Ends Meet | dark!Mandalorian x reader

summary: you’re just a simple woman trying to make your way in the universe, with the universe’s oldest profession. unfortunately for you, a new customer doesn’t plan on going easy on you.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: smut (dub con), kidnapping (?? kinda), prostitution, rough sex, pain kink, lots and lots of degradation, ooc mando being a meanie

please do not read if this content would be triggering or upsetting for you, dark fics aren’t for everyone and it is your responsibility to manage your own content consumption

If you were going to have any hope of making rent this month, you needed to book someone tonight— and not a cheapskate who’d try to stiff you after he’d already stiffed you, no, you needed a big spender, a high roller. You needed somebody who had extra credits to throw around and wore it on his sleeve.

You needed a guy like the one who had just walked in— with beskar on his sleeve. That’ll do quite nicely, you thought to yourself as you watched the Mandalorian cross the room to talk to the bartender.

Seemed like he was here on business, unfortunately, from the way he didn’t even venture a glance at you or any of the other women skulking about; but then again, you couldn’t be entirely sure where he was looking with that big helmet covering his face. It might not be the easiest sell, but you were determined to get this guy for the night— and, more importantly, his money.

Walking up to the bar with your best sultry saunter, you leaned in beside him and smiled as he turned his head to look at you. "Hey," you purred. "Haven't seen you around before. We don't get a lot of new faces around here… even when they're hidden."

He didn't say anything, which was a little concerning, but his head tilted down a bit as if he was looking at your body, which was a good sign.

“What brings you to Tatooine, hm? Business…” you trailed off as you ghosted your fingertips over his armor-clad forearm, “or pleasure?”

“Business is my pleasure,” he informed you sternly.

“And pleasure is my business,” you countered with a smirk. Before you could say anything else, the bartender returned with a sack in his palm that he tossed into the Mandalorian’s hands, something metallic jingling inside.

“For a job well done,” he explained with a crooked, toothy smile, “as promised.”

“Payday, huh?” you noticed, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. “Never comes often enough, amirite?”

Your quip was met with tense silence as he slipped the bag into a sack at his waist. He turned to leave, but you reached out for his shoulder and stopped him.

“Wait,” you requested, desperation starting to taint your tone of voice. He spun and faced you again, and you tried to keep your body language relaxed and sensual in spite of your stress. “What are you gonna spend all that on?”

“My ship,” he decided after a quick moment.

“Why not spend it on yourself? You must be tired after working a long, hard day,” you sighed sympathetically, stepping a little closer. “Why don’t you stay a bit longer and take a moment to relax?”

It didn’t seem like he knew what to do with that, and you motioned to a wide, cushioned chair nearby. Amazingly, it worked; he walked to the chair with that swagger of his, the blaster at his hip suddenly so much more obvious with the way it swung with every step. As soon as he sat down, you put a leg up beside him, straddling him slightly but leaving enough space to (hopefully) have him wanting more.

“You must be getting hot under there,” you smiled, making sure the double entendre was obvious.

“Maybe I am,” he shrugged.

“All this heavy armor... does it get uncomfortable?”

“I’m comfortable,” he denied.

“Good,” you purred before biting down on your lip as you rubbed his chest— or, rather, his chestplate. “You know, I’ve heard that Mandalorians are even harder underneath the steel.”

He paused a little before he answered. “Only in a few key places,” he finally replied, his gloved hand reaching to brush over your thigh. You grinned, knowing you finally had him.

“Why don’t you come to my room and show me?” you suggested.

“I imagine your time isn’t free,” he observed.

“Fifty credits for an hour, or a hundred for the whole night,” you enumerated.

“That’s a little steep,” he noted with a tone of irritation.

“It’s my price,” you shrugged, “take it or leave it.”

“I’ll leave it,” he decided, shoving you back and standing up to leave.

“No, wait,” you blurted out, “eighty for the night.”

“I don’t have all night,” he informed you sternly. “Twenty for the hour.”

“Twenty?!” you squawked. “What kind of girl do you take me for?”

He grabbed your wrist tightly, suddenly, and pulled you into him. “A whore,” he answered with a rough growl, “and apparently not as cheap as you look.”

You swallowed dryly, irritated by his attitude but desperate for the cash you knew he had. “How often do you come through Mos Eisley?” you asked quietly.

“As rarely as I can manage,” he replied.

“If you pay a hundred now, I’ll be here every time you come in, for as long as you need,” you offered. “Standing order, permanently.”

It was difficult to negotiate with someone whose face you couldn’t see: you weren’t sure if the silence was him considering it, or just watching you squirm in his grasp for fun.

“A hundred,” he repeated slowly, “for whatever I want.”

“Whatever you want,” you nodded quickly.

“Whenever I want,” he added.

“Whenever you want.”

He let go of your wrist and you stumbled back, rubbing the sore skin with your other hand. “Show me to your room,” he requested suddenly.

You led him back behind a few tattered curtains, past the hall and up the stairs to your cramped apartment. It wasn't much, but the red silk draped everywhere and the incense burning in the corner certainly set the mood for the work you did. Your door slid shut automatically behind him, and normally this is the part where he’d kiss you or you’d kiss him, but that was sort of impossible in his current state. With an awkward pause, you waited for him to undress.

“Take off your clothes,” he instructed instead— and it was even more dominant than you expected, but you were happy to oblige as you untied the strip of fabric keeping your flowy tunic together, letting it fall off of your shoulders and onto the floor. You didn’t have anything else on, just for the sake of simplicity, and he said nothing as he stepped forward until he was just inches away from you.

He quickly disposed of his gloves to touch you with his bare hands; his rough, warm skin over your waist and hips and breasts was a strong contrast to the worn leather, and even moreso to the hard, cold beskar. His skin was tan, especially considering that it rarely saw the sun, and you let yourself imagine what the rest of him would look like based on that long with the subtle dusting of dark hair that extended from his arms. Of course, in your mind, he was stunningly gorgeous, because it was more fun for you that way. The way he spun you around quickly and forced you to bend over the edge of your bed made you realize he wasn’t as interested in your fun, though.

You yelped a little at the unexpected force, and again when he slapped your ass out of nowhere.

“You’d better make it worth my while, after I paid a hundred credits,” he grunted.

“Of course,” you agreed quickly, looking back to see him slipping to fingers underneath the edge of his helmet.

“Don’t turn around,” he growled. “Don’t look back.”

“Okay,” you nodded nervously as you whipped your head back to face in front of you, staring diligently at the dark red comforter beneath you, “I— I won’t.”

You heard the rustle of clothing and a sigh of relief— noticeably one not modulated through the helmet speaker. Unceremoniously, his helmet was tossed down onto the bed beside you, bouncing and rolling a bit before it found purchase on your quilt.

Next must have been his trousers, as you heard his heavily-equipped belt fall to the floor just before the subtle little grunt you’d come to know as the sure sign that a man had freed a throbbing cock from the confines of his trousers. He roughly kicked your legs apart, grabbing your hips and using them to hold you up as he started to grind his bare cock against your slickened folds. You could tell by the way his shaft spread your lips that you had no chance of taking him— he was too thick, you couldn't even tell how long he was yet but he was definitely too thick.

He must have realized something similar, because he pushed you forward a bit; you realized he was looking down at your pussy, which made your face burn with embarrassment.

"Get yourself wet for me," he instructed firmly.

You didn't think you would ever be able to get wet enough to fit him. "How?" you asked.

"I don't care how, just do it. You have thirty seconds."

You gasped a bit but shoved your hand between your legs and frantically rubbed your clit— it didn't really feel that good, with the pressure and fear overwhelming your senses instead of pleasure. And he didn't make it any easier on you by literally counting each second. You got a bit wetter, sure, and you'd already been turned on from earlier, but it was still not gonna do you much good against the monster he intended on putting inside you at any moment.

"Fifteen," he continued counting, his voice dropping so much deeper all of a sudden. "Fourteen."

Halfway out of time already and you weren't that much more wet than when you started. Your mind was racing with thoughts of everything sexy you could manage to conjure— his voice did help, the deep timbre reverberating right up your spine as anxious fear started to blend in with forced arousal. You tried to focus on the ways that being fucked by a faceless, mysterious stranger was sexy, rather than the ways it was terrifying.

"Ten," he counted, his voice changing as you heard him smile— you weren't sure how you could hear it, but you could. "There you go, I can see it now."

You whimpered a little, the sound catching in your throat as fingers suddenly teased your entrance, not quite pushing in but threatening to. As they swirled around your folds, a lewd wet sound filled the air, mixing in with your heavy breathing and his dark chuckle.

"You hear that?" he asked, and you nodded quickly. "Just a few seconds left, make them count."

Rubbing faster, you felt your hips start to rock of their own volition, similarly to the way your walls were clenching around nothing in search of being filled.

"Three, two, one," he finished as you felt the thick head of his cock start to push against you. You dropped your hand, knowing you'd need both to stabilize yourself. "You want it?" he asked roughly.

"Yes," you answered, your voice coming out weaker than expected.

"Beg for it," he instructed coldly.

"Put your cock in me, please—" was all you could get out before the words stopped in your throat as he suddenly pushed in. You were barely processing the first inch as he barreled past your resistance to shove the next few in. It already felt like you would run out of room inside your body before he ran out of cock.

"F-fuck," you hissed, "slow down. You're too big." You hoped maybe he'd take pity on you if you phrased it as a compliment. You were wrong.

"You're a whore," he reminded you, "can't you take it? It's all you're good for, anyways."

That got you to shut your mouth as he thrust himself completely into you, finding the end of you easily with the head of his cock while your hands clutched the bedsheets for dear life. You winced but managed to suppress a cry as he started to fuck you, not quite fast yet but so much deeper than your brain could process. "Ffffuu-uuck," you stammered, the sting starting to fade but the overwhelming pressure never really letting up.

"How's it feel?" he asked, almost sounding like he could moan but holding back. "Don't lie."

You realized, then, that he didn't want you to fake pleasure like most clients did— he wanted to see your pain, and know he caused it. He enjoyed hurting you. You swallowed the lump in your throat and whimpered your honest reply: "Hurts."

"Good."

His balls slapping against your clit only added to the overwhelming sensations you were trying so hard to ignore, pain and pleasure becoming indistinguishable all of a sudden. You could tell your walls were clamping down on him as pressure built in your gut and threatened to push past the point of no return. Your moan was so much louder than you expected it to be, broken and guttural and animalistic.

He pulled your hair roughly, making you yelp. “That’s right,” he instructed through his teeth, “fuckin’ scream for it.”

“Fuck!” you sobbed loudly.

He leaned forward and it felt like his body would surround yours, somehow, especially when he reached down to roughly grope one breast and then another. He never stopped thrusting through it all, even when his head fell exhaustedly between your shoulder blades— it was so odd to be able to feel his forehead and hair on your skin but have no idea what his face looked like at all.

The telltale signs of orgasm were arriving in your body— your thighs quivered, your voice cracked, your walls and clit throbbed with need. It felt like you could read every detail of his cock inside your silky wet heat, like the ridge of his leaking head was rubbing up against your swollen g-spot with every thrust. You felt as if being so full of him had forced you to vacate your mind, too, to accommodate his size— as if that were possible.

Either he sensed your peak approaching as well, or he just had convenient timing. "Wanna feel you come around it," he grunted. "Can you come for me? Or are you completely useless?"

“‘M close,” you warned him as your answer, shame sending a shiver up your spine even though you felt guilty for it.

“Then come,” he ordered, “right fuckin’ now.”

It was odd how that actually did push you over the edge, his brutal thrusts and degrading words creating a perfect storm inside you as the friction became too much to bear. You sobbed as it wracked through you, arching your back absent-mindedly, clenching your legs together as best you could with his legs in between them. He didn’t stop fucking you through it, which meant that the sensation built to the point of ‘too much’ extremely quickly as your attempts at begging for mercy were lost to breathless moans. Overwhelmed, your body collapsed onto the bed limply, your hips only staying up because he held them up, like your weight was nothing to him at all.

"Yeah, just like that,” he taunted, “fuckin' come on my cock, fuck— you're just a dumb slut, huh? You love getting fucked like the desperate, needy fucktoy you are, is that it?"

"Y-yes," you whined weakly, cheeks burning at the feeling of him using your body— or maybe it was from the head rush caused by the afterglow of your orgasm.

"You like it when it hurts,” he posited. “You want me to hurt you."

"Yes— don't stop, please…" you whimpered, quiet but definitely loud enough for him to hear.

“Not gonna stop,” he promised, “‘til you’re full of my come.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, voice sounding hoarse and thin. It had been a while since you lost your voice because of a session… and since you had walked funny for a few days afterwards. This one was definitely going to do both.

As his hips started to slam harder and faster into yours, you really hoped it was a sign that he was close; his raspy groans made you sure of it, though. You could feel his cock swelling and flexing, incredibly, and it made you a little light-headed but it made your overstimulated walls throb around him as well.

With one deep, exhausted growl from the man behind you, a warmth began to spread through you from the inside out. When he released his grip on your hips, you fell onto the bed with a sigh and a thud. A hand appeared in your peripheral vision to snatch the helmet off of your bed, and it only took him a few moments to stuff his softening cock back into his trousers and magically be dressed again. Funny how he looked exactly the same as he had half an hour ago, meanwhile you were confident you looked totally fucked-out and fucked-up.

“You’re a good fuck,” he offered a monotone compliment as he pulled on his gloves, staring down at you as you slipped your robe back on and tried to ignore the warm sticky feeling between your legs.

“You’re… intense,” you replied, chuckling a little. “Guess I’ll see you around, then.”

He didn’t respond, or leave, but just stood there looking at you for a minute as you stood up and adjusted yourself, trying not to limp noticeably because you figured he didn’t need any more ego. “‘Whenever I want’ only applies when I’m on this planet,” he observed suddenly, interrupting the silence, “which I try not to be.”

“You can come around as often as you like,” you explained. You froze when he appeared behind you, reaching his arms out and caging you in against the wall the second you'd turned to face him.

“But wouldn’t it be so much more cost-effective if you were with me all the time? On my ship?”

You whimpered a little as he leaned in closer, and you felt his gaze on you through the dark visor of his helmet even though you couldn’t see it. “That… that wasn’t the deal,” you whispered nervously.

“The deal’s changed,” he growled, ignoring your yelps of pain as he manhandled you and pinned you to the wall by your neck before you could even try to fight back. “Whatever I want, whenever I want,” he growled, “that’s what you said. I’ll hold you to that.”

The leather gloves creaked softly as he tightened his grip on the sides of your neck, forcing your lips to fall into a useless gasp for air. Your hands reached out to claw at his chest, a silent plea for release, but he wasn’t having it.

“Whatever you want,” you barely managed to croak out as your vision started to go dark. “Please, Mando…”

“Whenever I want?”

“Whenever, please,” you cried, tears stinging your eyes. He let go, finally, and you crumpled at his feet. Somehow, you’d managed to sell yourself into slavery— for a measly hundred credits. This whole thing had begun with you needing to make rent, and it ended with you realizing you wouldn’t return to your apartment again at all.

He didn't need to shackle or bind you to make you follow him to his ship; his power over you was nauseatingly effortless, but you weren't about to try to run from an unhinged warrior like him.

You'd always wanted to leave Tatooine and explore the galaxy… this wasn't exactly how you'd imagined doing it, as a Mandalorian's whore, but there were worse fates. Like being a Mandalorian's target. And you planned on doing whatever he wanted you to if it meant avoiding that.

#dark!mandalorian #dark!mandalorian smut #dark!din djarin smut #the mandalorian dark fic #dark!din djarin x reader #dark!din djarin x y/n #dark!din djarin x you #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you

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bitchesgetriches · 4 years ago

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hi bitches! I have recently been seeing a lot of what I'm reading from yall include "don't own a car! they're money sinks!" and I'm glad yall acknowledge some ppl have to, but do you have any financial advice for people like me who live in the country near towns with little to no decent public transit? I already have my gas budgeted, and I'm on a parents insurance plan, but my car is used and I've already had to replace so many things in it and it still has issues! are there any savings or cost planning yall can suggest for a car owner like me? even throwing this to your followers may be helpful :)

This is a great question! And thank you for being understanding of my habit to just full-on hiss like a rabid raccoon whenever car ownership comes up.

I think the first consideration is affordability--not just in the purchase price, but also in maintenance. In general, domestic (made in the United States) or Japanese cars are the most affordable across BOTH purchase price and repair (most Japanese vehicles are manufactured in North America these days). I own a German car (VW Golf hatchback, currently full of loose hay, dog fur, sawdust, and spilled chicken feed) and anything other than minor repairs is super expensive because often the parts need to be ordered from overseas. Those imported parts add up in maintenance costs over time.

It's also important to stay ahead of repairs. With a little research, you can find out a) what are some common parts that need to be replaced or repaired in your vehicle, and b) the mileage at which those things need to be repaired. For example: if I'd replaced the timing belt in my old Subaru at 175,000 miles, I wouldn't have totaled the car at 190,000 miles. So find out the rough repair schedule and set some calendar reminders.

Some stuff is possible to repair by yourself! Windshield wipers, headlights and taillights, batteries, fluid reservoirs, fluids... all of these are available for purchase at an auto parts retailer like O'Reilly Auto Parts for a tenth of what a dealer's mechanic would charge for parts AND labor. I changed my own taillight last weekend. Cost me $10 and some elbow grease.

Costco sells the cheapest tires around. How you get access to Costco if you don't have a membership is up to you. (Hint: I borrowed a friend's membership account to order them online.) If your grocery store has a free membership that'll get you points at their gas station, JOIN. I sometimes save $0.40 a gallon this way.

Understand the regular maintenance needs and budget for them ahead of time. Tire rotations and oil changes are hard to do on your own, so if you don't have the proper expertise and equipment, you'll want to budget some visits to Jiffy Lube in your annual car expenses.

Lastly: drive carefully and at the speed limit. Not only are crashes expensive, but it wastes less gas to drive slowly than to drive fast.

Here's more of our car advice including where to buy cheap gas:

Understand the Hidden Costs of Travel and Avoid Them Like the Plague

The Joys of Getting Around Without a Damn Car

Buying a Car with the Bitches, Part 1: How to Choose Your Car

Buying a Car with the Bitches, Part 2: How to Pay for Your Car

How to Maintain the Car You’re Barely Driving

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blatantlyright · 2 years ago

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Retribution

__________________________

Drug dealer Eddie x Ex GF OC

18+ only minors DNI

Tw/tags: #hatesex #noforeplay #drugs #goingindry #meaneddie

2022 Kinktober Masterlist

Kinktober day 12

Lacey sunk down into the hand me down couch. The knock at the door sounded angry. Nobody was supposed to know where she lived. She had made certain each time she did a deal, she met them in public or their place. And she never went straight home, in case they were following her. People rob drug dealers every day. She turned up her record player and tapped her toes along to “American Nights”.

A shadow danced outside the kitchen window. It was familiar. A long, lean body with wild hair. What the fuck was her ex Eddie doing here? He punched at the window frame. “Lace, open the god damn door!”, he shouted, “I can hear The Runaways, I know you’re in there. You and I both know I have no problem breaking into this apartment.” Lacey rolled her eyes. And Eddie wondered why she didn’t want to her back together…

She stood and removed the needle from the record. Her mind shifted through any possible reason for him to be here. The metal of her rings clanked against the door knob as she opened the door. Eddie leapt inside the apartment, slamming the door behind him. His bottom lip was chewed raw. Sweat fell from his hairline. “How fucking stupid are you?”, he asked. “Pretty fucking stupid, but why now?”, she answered.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”, he sneered while lighting a cigarette. He frantically flipped his ashes in the kitchen sink. Staring at the refrigerator, Eddie fidgeted with her magnets. “What is it now, Eddie?”, she asked, lighting her own cigarette. Pulling at his frayed jeans, Eddie paced the small kitchen. It was evident he was trying to properly articulate his disdain.

“I give you a discount because I love you, and you go and betray me by taking all of my customers? Do you understand how badly you’ve fucked me over?” He still wouldn’t make eye contact. As much as Eddie liked to ruffle her feathers, he was still deeply in love with Lacey. It had been her idea to split three months ago. She couldn’t take his outbursts anymore. It was exhausting to always be his verbal punching bag.

She ran her finger over the lipstick stain on the butt of her smoke. It was going to come to this eventually. Sure, she had been selling pills to his regulars. He sold to her for dirt cheap. With that kind of savings, she could pay her rent and still have beer money without getting a real job. It was the least he could do after forcing her hand at a separation.

“Eddie, what do you want me to say?”, she asked, butting her cigarette in the kitchen ash tray. Her long blonde hair was pulling up into a pony tail. The tuft of her bangs sprawled out across her forehead like a spider ready to pounce. As she exhaled dramatically, they hopped up from her brow line. Eddie had always thought she was so cute when she was flustered. Things had changed. There was nothing cute in her for him any longer.

“I don’t want you to say a fucking word,” he spat, grabbing her by the arm. Bruises started from the tight squeeze of his fingers. “What the fuck are you doing?”, Lacey whined. He pulled her into her bedroom, blocking the door. “Take off your clothes,” he commanded. She stared at him with her arms folded. “What the fuck are you doing, seriously?”, she asked.

Eddie peeled off his Iron Maiden tee, revealing his tattoos and the soft trail of hair below his navel. He slowly undid his belt, wrapping it around his hand like a weapon. “Take. Off. Your. God. Damn. Clothes.” Lacey couldn’t help but get aroused at his tone. She followed his directions. Pink clouded her cheeks as she stood completely naked before him. It had been a while.

“Lay down on the bed,” he whispered. Lacey stood next to the bed. While he undid his pants, Eddie leapt toward her and pushed her onto the bed. His arms were stronger than she remembered. He flipped her over onto her stomach and shoved his dick deep inside of her. “Oh fuck ow,” she cried. “Shut the fuck up,” he hissed, slapping her ass.

Lacey held her breath. This was exhilarating. The formidable presence of Eddie behind her made her head spin. His dick pulled in and out of her, stretching her out with no lubrication. It hurt. Her body quickly compensated for the lack of foreplay and she grew wet around him as he selfishly thrusted. “That’s right you nasty bitch you love it when I go in dry.” His fist wrapped around her ponytail and pulled her up onto her hands.

Eddie slapped her ass again. Hot vibrations radiated off the hand print. Lacey couldn’t breathe as Eddie wrapped both of his hands around her throat. His pace quickened as he heard her gargle, attempting to catch a breath. As she began to cry and he felt her tears upon his hands, he felt his peak approaching. He pushed her down onto her stomach and finished himself off on her back.

“Don’t fuck with my shit or next time it’ll be worse,” Eddie yelled as he pulled up his pants. He spat on her back and ran out of the apartment before she could even get up.

#eddie #eddie x oc #eddie smut #smut #fanfiction #ff #stranger things fanfiction #kinktober

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spitpr1ncess · 4 years ago

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BRUISED BODIES CHAPTER 1 LEVI ACKERMAN X READER

(not my image)

“You’re too pretty for this, little girl” remarks your current company. You roll your eyes and have to hold in the audible sigh that almost escapes you. How many times you have heard the same drivel? If you were too pretty, they wouldn’t continue the silent abuse on your body, would they?

You’ve been a working girl since you barely had the ability to think for yourself. You were plucked from your poverty-stricken family with the promise of their debts being written off.

You aren’t special and your family don’t care about you, a lie you’d been telling yourself for twenty two long years. You are a slab of meat and a source of income, that’s all, and believing yourself to be more was a stupid mistake you’d learned not to make, assuming people actually cared about you had caused you more pain than any physical abuse you’d ever endured.

You’re snapped back to reality as a pair of hands paw clumsily at your breasts, you inhale and remind yourself that this is only a temporary situation, but until you figure out how, you must continue to appease the men that Jools sends your way.

Jools is like your older brother, if your older brother worked in a brothel and openly encouraged men to fuck his slightly younger sister. The two of you share an intimate relationship built on a strong foundation of sharing trauma, you know he means well.

Jools was taken around the same time you were, only, as he managed to flourish into a promising young man, he was favoured by boss, and thus, promoted. You and Jools have always seen eye to eye, his depressing background is in servicing men, just like yours and it’s how you built your relationship, why you share such a deep understanding of each other, such mutual respect. This doesn’t go unnoticed by the other girls, and as a mean result, ensures that you are on the less favourable end of their antics, often being the brunt of their absolute frustrations and jokes.

As head of appointments and bookings, alongside other things, he always tries to send you the easy ones, if Boss knew he favoured you, you’re sure Jools would be sacked, or worse, effective immediately. You’re eternally thankful that he chooses to throw you a bone, even if it doesn’t seem much to him, it means the world to you.

Your mindless wandering halts once again, as you make unfavourable eye contact with your unwelcome company, you notice he is grunting as he roughly palms his own erection with his bear-like hands, staring holes through you as he directs his dirty glare at your breasts. Without thinking you grasp his knees and push your elbows to meet, forcing your breasts to squash together in that specific way that the male gaze loves so much, accentuating their plumpness. You are the first to admit that although sex is something that is daily to you, you are a very sexual soul by nature. You love the affect you have on men, and how you can practically melt them down to nothingness in the palm of your soft hand. You’re certain it comes from the trauma that is deep rooted in your hunger for male validation

The man sat in front of you isn’t the smallest you’ve seen but he isn’t particularly well endowed either, weighing up your current circumstances, you decide to make the most of it. Standing up, you lick your lips and undo the tie to your virginal white skirt, allowing it to fall to the ground quietly. It crumples in a small pile and feverishly you step out of it, feigning nervousness. You take your willing participants bear-paw off his own erection and place is gently on the arm of his chair, straddling him, you centre yourself and gently lower down to allow your warmth to press against him. Instinctually, he grunts and pushes back, his actions clumsy and annoying yet you allow it, not wanting to anger him, the men you service are big businessmen and you know better than to piss one off. You have seen first-hand the damage they can and do cause. You let him believe he has control, you grind back and nuzzle into his neck, playing him like a game, inhaling, you pick up on cigarette smoke and some notable cologne brand, nothing out of the ordinary.

You kiss his neck, breathing over his ear, begging him to enter you, you are not stupid, the way you make men feel, like you are infatuated, like there is nothing else you need at that moment than them, always gets you tipped. And tips go straight to your pocket, and any tips that go straight to your pocket, go straight to your running-away-savings. As he clumsily lines up his erection, you lift yourself onto your elbow to assist him in his feeble attempt at entering you, you feel his tip pressed right up against you, simultaneously, you kiss him and sheath yourself entirely. It isn’t anything notable and is in fact somewhat disappointing, nevertheless, you continue to finish the job.

You inhale sharply to sell the fantasy. He grunts again, like some half dead animal, you cringe trying your hardest to not let on as you know that his tips will make the effort worth it. Like a wet dream he was having, you bounce yourself up and down, in and out, in and out, in and out. It isn’t long before you see his head fall back and he stiffens below you, he opens his mouth and grabs your ass, hard. You squeal as you feel his hot seed lacing your insides, you feign your own orgasm, making your legs shake as if you had to convince him like your life depended on it. He buys it; dirty talking you and asking various lewd and cringey questions that make you shudder, if it weren’t for you writhing on top of him, he might have picked up on it. You kiss him before finding your feet, passing him a napkin as he sheepishly cleans himself off, only now feeling shy and vulnerable. He stands and pulls his trousers up; buckling his belt quickly, he then reaches into his breast pocket, he pulls out a stack of fifties, he throws a couple on the floor by your feet. He is trying to regain his masculinity, uncomfortable about looking into your eyes, you used to let it upset you, only you are used to it, each man having the same reaction.

He leaves and you lock the door tight behind him, you tidy up, wiping the chair and cleaning away any fluid that may have made its way to places it doesn’t belong. You wander towards your bathroom; the wooden floor feels cold but welcome on your ever tired feet. You stare into the mirror; a few tears had escaped your eyes without your noticing, it was a pretty normal occurrence for you now.

You glance in the mirror and notice that she is foreign, the girl staring back. Her long brown hair pulled over one shoulder, bruises lacing her frail body, you gently trace a finger over her body and look down to see your body. It is like you are disconnected, her body has not been your body for a long time. You wipe your eyes and turn your shower on, you hop in as it is still running cold.

You inhale sharply. It hurts, and the excruciating pain is welcome, you allow your bare back to fall silently against the wall and slowly lower yourself. You protect your knees with your arms as you grasp them toward you and lay your head between the makeshift protection you have created. Loud sobs escape your lungs as if they'd been brewing for a century.

A long while passes and you don’t hear the door unlocking.

Jools lets himself in, he hears your measly sobs coming from the bathroom and heads toward them, he slides open the shower door, startled, you jump up and let out an ugly shriek, Jools looks at you, pathetic, slim, bruised and sobbing. His head falls to one side as you try to somewhat protect your modesty. Jools has seen everything you have, and you, him, yet it still feels embarrassing and intimate.

“Olive.”, his voice is cool, patient, and laced with a little sympathy, “What am I going to do with you?”, he steps into the shower, allowing his clothes to get sprayed with water, you turn to him and press your forehead to his.

“I am sorry Jools; my emotions are all over the place. I will be ready in ten minutes, just allow me to clean up”, your voice sounds tired and you let out a little sigh. Jools places a hand on your shoulder and gently turns you around. You have been each other’s comfort in such a long life of trauma and you know what is coming next, he picks up your shampoo and lathers some between his hands, he rubs his fingertips into your scalp, scrubbing the dirt of the day out of your hair.

His touch is welcome, if not a little alien. It is rare these days that a pair of hands aren’t grabbing, pulling, pinching or pushing you around, you let out a long sigh, letting go of the anxiety and slowing your heart rate, you close your eyes and allow yourself to be cared for. By the time Jools finishes showering you he is soaked, you both step out into your bedroom. You pull on your skirt and replace your corset, a “uniform” as far as Boss is concerned. You hate it, making you feel vulnerable and cheap, you would rather slip on a t-shirt and shorts, or a loose dress.

Jools discarded all his clothes sans boxers and made himself comfortable on your bed as you were stood contemplating. You stare at him, with his light brown, almost ashy blonde hair. He is handsome, you have always thought this, you just never placed you two together, with him acting the “older brother” for all intents and purposes.

Jools breaks the silence, “Your four o’clock has cancelled, it’s what I came here to tell you” he pats the bed next to him and smiles “come and sit, unless you’re going somewhere”.

You pause momentarily before undoing your skirt again, you let it fall to the ground before reaching for a pair of linen shorts sat on your vanity, pulling them on, you take a few steps before collapsing on the bed next to Jools in complete exhaustion. “I’m tired of fucking the same men Jools” you remark.

“The same men, with the same predictable sex routines, the same sized cocks, the same moves. I’m bored. I’m climbing up the walls, Jools. Throw me a bigger bone, I’m begging you.”, You feel Jools eyes on your face, you let your head fall and meet his gaze. He snorts and pulls himself closer to you. You slide your body next to his and he drapes and arm over your waist.

Your foreheads touching, you lay in comfortable silence for a while. You close your eyes miss him protectively watching over you.

“I’m not sure what I can do for you Ol, unless you want me to fuck you myself. We don’t have much new clientele and any we do have seem like the abusive type, so I deliberately don’t send them your way.” he laughs. You ponder his first sentence, unable to tell if he was joking. You try your luck and shift your weight so you’re straddling him.

“Wh.. what the fuck are you doing Ol?”, You decide that he didn’t mean it, judging by his response. You begin to tickle his sides and he goes bright red before kicking you off, you land on the wooden floor with a loud bang.

“OW. That fucking hurt you fuck.” You stand up and cross your arms like a grumpy child. Jools looks at you and sticks out his tongue, you both pause, waiting for the other to break. It is you who laughs first, shortly followed by Jools who snorts, like a little pig. You can’t stay mad at him, he is so sweet, and you started it, after all.

“I was thinking Jools. If you have some time this afternoon, maybe we could go for a walk?” Your schedule was usually so full you don’t have time to visit outside. It was the beginning of the spring too, so everything was just starting bloom, it was one of the things that gave you a little peace and hope.

“I can’t Ol, I can’t leave the others unattended, in case anything happens, you know the rules” his voice holds a little sadness and disappointment, you can tell he’d like nothing more.

“Maybe I can open up a space for you this weekend? Then we can go out together?” Jools doesn’t work weekends; part of his promotion demands of course, but you did.

“Weekend rates are higher and I rea..” Jools cuts you off.

“I will charge one of your regulars more in the week; I’ll make it up for you, pleaaase?” he draws out.

You look at his face and the little boisterous glint in his eyes. You ruffle his hair like a little boy and laugh.

“Sure thing.”, You reply.

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2-cute-4-school · 4 years ago

Text

NCT Dream reaction to you getting your wisdom teeth removed

Mark

babysitting the dreamies is part of his daily job so he thinks ‘how hard can it be to take care of you for a few hours pffft’

he’s never regretted underestimating you so bad in his entire life ◑.◑

you’re not just a nightmare

you’re THE ULTIMATE NIGHTMARE

he was so embarrassed when he had to gently drag you out of the dentist’s office while you were crying cuz

“mY TOOTH!! mark, i lost my tooth, what am i gonna do?!?! i should have put a leash on it, i knew it!!!! now it’s gone and it’s all my fault!!!!” (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )

*ugly sobbing* *mark awkwardly patting your back while pulling you away from the scrutinizing glares of a few karens in the waiting room*

“mark. i didn’t even get to name it!!!”

poor bby cheetah mark is SO lost

“baby, hey, don’t cry! we’ll uh…. i’ll get you a new one!” ヾ(ﾟДﾟ;ヾ)

you look up with your glassy eyes and your right cheek chubbier than your left from the cotton lodged where your tooth used to be, your bottom lip trembling oh so cutely

and mark just…stops functioning for a moment because

‘HOW CAN ANYONE BE SO CUTE BUT SUCH A PAIN IN THE ASS AT THE SAME TIME IT’S NOT FAIR !!??!?!?’

“ rweally? would you really do that for me, markie?” (◞‸◟；)

“ASFKSFRDACGCS YES LOML ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING JUST SAY THE WORD AND I’LL BRING THE MOON TO YOUR FEET YOU PRECIOUS LIL BABY” ⊂（♡⌂♡）⊃

and he still insists he’s not 120% whipped for you can you believe it

he ends up piggybacking you all the way back home because your giggles were just too cute for him to resist so he can’t even get tired with how happy he is to witness you so carefree and joyful

and his heart just melts when you leave a huuuge kith with the loudest *MWAH* ever on his cheek and you nuzzle your nose in the crook of his neck that’s like the fatal combination of cute acts ʚ♡⃛ɞ(ू•ᴗ•ू❁)

in conclusion : this man just adores you with every bit of his heart :((((

Renjun

probably asked kun to pick you both up from the dentist

you’re just too much for him smh

you’re cute and all but renjun is a tired uncle

so you’re both in the backseat with kun as your driver and it’s silent

renjun just knows something is wrong there’s no way you’re so calm

but you’re just staring at him like ◎_◎

“uh..babe, you alright?”

silence and then *GASP*

renjun just knows he’s about to facepalm himself into another dimension when you grip his cheeks in both hands

“you’re a fAIRY!!!!!!!” (*ﾟﾛﾟ)

*sigh* *muffled words* “y/n let’s calm down and just-”

he doesn’t get another word out before you shove his face in your lap and literally raise his shirt up to the nape of his neck

damn beach you know what you want huh go off

“where are they???!!?!?! where are you hiding them you impostor??!!!?”

and then you start slapping his back

“ow ow OW, Y/N WTF ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?? STOP !!”

“YOUR WINGS!!! WHERE ARE YOUR FRICKIN’ WINGS ?!?!?” (╬ Ò ‸ Ó)

renjun is this 👌 close to knocking you out for good with a karate chop

so he just pushes you off and straps you to your seat with a second safety belt as he huffs under his breath

“i can’t guarantee you’ll live to see next week” (⊙_◎)

kun watching in the rear mirror like （͡°͜ʖ͡°）

“you know what? i’d really eat some chicken wings right now!! jun, let’s go get chicken wings!!!” ⊂((・▽・))⊃

he’s surprised you even remember his name

but you eventually exhaust yourself and pass out in the backseat of the car so renjun and kun drag you to bed

and renjun just tucks you in like the soft loving boyfriend that he is

and he just stares at you fondly and smooches you all over your face cuz

“how tf can you be so cute, you lil overexcited evil? you’re like the cutest thing in the world and it just!!!not!!!fair!!!!!” (♡ ‸ ♡ )

so even though he complains about you a lot, he’d sell his kidney just to see his lil cute bub happy i’m so soft :((((

Lee Jeno

“let’s go to the playground!!”

“y/n, no, let’s go home and put some ice on that cheek”

“but baaaabe i wanna go one the swing” ( ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥` )

“then we’ll have to ice both cheeks”

“what did ya say???!!?!”

so jeno’s headache only worsened once you both arrived home with no prior stop to the playground

and as much as he loves you he also wants to bang his head against a wall and end his suffering yay o((*^▽^*))o

“just stay still for a second please, i’m really trying to tie this thing properly around your head”

you’re just so restless and jeno is just so done

“does it hurt?”

“ywes, my heart hurts because my own boyfriend doesn’t love me!!!”

“y/n, we already had this conversation, now just-”

“i just wanted a swing!!!” *bursts into tears* *jeno sighs half of his soul out* ଽ (৺ੋ ௦ ৺ੋ )৴

so jeno sits down beside you and pulls you into his lap gently, rocking you back and forth in an attempt to soothe your sobs jeno best boyfriend no cap

“there there, baby, we can’t go out-” *sobs intensify* “BUT i promise i’ll get you a swing right here if you let me take care of you first”

you leech yourself onto jeno’s sleeve and wipe your tears on his shirt but he doesn’t seem to mind the wet patch left on the material as he watches you with that soft look of his (´-ω-`)

so you let him patch you up after his reassurance and after he just pats your head affectionately and motions for you to stand up

and this man just flexes his arms and nudges you to latch on

that’s how jeno ends up with a squealing you as you swing back and forth with your fingers gripping his arm ╰(✧∇✧╰)

Lee Haechan

you want to pretty him up

because “since my left cheek looks like it’s stuffed with a tennis ball, i can’t carry the visuals in this relationship for a while, so i need to hand the responsibility over to you”

“who even said you’re the one carrying the visuals” ℃ↂ_ↂ

“oh honey you’re only now realizing?”

(╬☉д⊙)⊰⊹ฺ

he blames the anesthesia for your severe accusations

but the only way to shut you up is give in to your wishes

so that’s how he found himself seated down on the carpet of your home with your legs draped over his and your totally professional make up applied over his face

“i look like a clown”

“not even make up can cover your true identity, hyuck”

deep breaths, donghyuck, in and out, take it easy (◎ω◎*)

“any preferences for the nail polish color?”

“to match my soul”

“so hot pink” o(≧∇≦o)

*poker face* “you know i could obliviate you if i wanted to clown you”

*pout that hurts hyuck’s lil heart* “but you wouldn’t do that to your hurting baby, would you” *blinks rapidly with puppy eyes*

“you bet i would” (no he wouldn’t you’re just too cute and he loves you too much) *totally not whipped (♥ω♥*)*

painting his nails is the hugest struggle in your entire life

“WHY TF ARE THEY SO SHORT, ARE THEY TAKING AFTER YOU”

on second thought, mercy is no longer available for you

“hyuck, you should tape your fingers so you won’t bite your nails like a preschooler anymore”

“i’ll tape your mouth shut, that’s what i’ll tape” *_*

“hUH???!?!!?” (*ﾟﾛﾟ)

Na Jaemin

“okay jisung is an easy task compared to you right now”

even though this man is used to being the mom of the group

he’s still most likely in disbelief watching his otherwise angel flap around like a headless chicken

but you’re even cutter with your swollen cheek so he forgives you (︶▽︶)

“hey, jaem, did you know i’m closely related to snails??”

“entertain me” (∩_∩)

“they can sleep for years at once. that’s like my main talent.”

“it would be great for me if you’d put this talent of yours to work now”

jaemin ends up sprawled over the couch and watching dramas like a tired mom of 3 hyperactive children with you curled up at his side playing games on his phone

*hiccup*

jaemin’s brain before he even registered the sound : something’s wrong

“y/n baby?” (｡•́︿•̀｡)

*hiccup* *sniffle* *hiccup*

jaemin’s overprotective instincts kicked in ಠ╭╮ಠ

he knocks the phone out of the way and swings your legs over his lap to cradle you against his chest and hush you with the gentlest coos while rubbing your back up and down softly

“what happened, my love? does it hurt? tell nana what’s wrong and he’ll get rid in a second of what dared hurt his precious baby” just imagine this man this would be like the peak of my life 🥺

so in between your boyfriend’s comforting whispers and your harsh breaths of air you managed to let out a few words

“e-elephants, nana”

he already knows the biggest facepalm is coming his way -_-

“tHEy CAn’T jUmP, tHE poOR ELephANTs”

(ノ-_-)ノ~┻━┻

he just sighs and continues rocking you in his arms until you doze off, slumped on his chest, your head cushioned by his shoulder

he softly shakes his head at you and lays a butterfly kiss on your forehead

“i would make elephants jump just for you, my cute big baby” ♡♡(￫ε￩*)

Zhong Chenle

he halfway panics at the way you act

you’re usually the one who takes care of him so your childish act that surfaced because of the anesthesia took him by surprise

“dude they brainwashed y/n” (ﾉ｀□´)ﾉ

once you start babbling to him about the end of the rainbow and the elf that awaits there with a pot full of golden coins he knew you lost it

calls renjun

“hyung i’m sorry for saying you’re batshit crazy with your conspiracies, but aliens kidnapped y/n”

*muffled voices on the other side*

“NO, I’M NOT DRUNK!! they brainwashed y/n or even worse… returned a cheap copy of them”

renjun probably just tells him to put you to sleep and advises chenle to do the same with himself -_-

so chenle just approaches you very carefully, his voice barely above a whisper

“hey, babe, aren’t you tired?”

“actually no, how about a walk in the park???”

“idk y/n, it doesn’t seem like the best idea”

“PLEASE” 🥺

“THIS IS THE BEST IDEA OF THE YEAR BABY!!!11!!”

this man is royally whipped for you so he takes you to the nearest park and keeps a careful watch on you as you bend down to pet every dog that passes by ⊂((・▽・))⊃

while he would do anything for you, he’s very panicky about your safety so he has to hold your hand the entire time and you’re not allowed to leave his side for even a second overprotective boyfriend check

mid walk you take a break on a bench and you lean your head on cheble’s shoulder before muttering sleepily

“lele, i’m tired, imma take a nap”

“are you serious rn” (ಠ_ಠ)

but you’re already a goner and chenle is left fuming by himself

despite his annoyance he still adjusts you so he can piggyback you home and hums songs softly every time you stir (灬♥ω♥灬)

you’ll have to baby him an entire week to pay him back

Park Jisung

this boy is actually quite pleased

because for once he can take care of you and not the other way around without any complaints coming from you

so you both end up curled into each other under a blanket while watching the Frozen movies :((((((((

and for once he ends up watching you more than he watches the movie because you’re so cute reciting all of Olaf’s lines ꒰˘̩̩̩⌣˘̩̩̩๑꒱

but the fun can only last for so long

and when your mouth starts feeling ‘funny’ jisung’s mind goes haywire

“sung, i’m gonna die”

panic panic PANIC (ｼ;ﾟДﾟ)ｼ

“they poisoned you didn’t they??? i knew it!! i knew dentists are evil, how am i gonna explain i let crazy doctors perform dark magic on you???!!?!?” no offense to dentists y’all are life savers

so you have at least 2 ice packs and a bag of frozen peas clutched against your cheek and you swear you’re about to die from frostbite rather than the weird feeling coming from your teeth

and then jisung wraps you in a mountain of blankets cuz ‘we can’t have you catching a cold now too’ as if sweating your ass off is gonna fight off the numbing cold on your face ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

but babie is confused a tad lot bit scared for both his and your life

and you’re kinda very dazed so comforting him isn’t really in your agenda

he probably worries within an inch of his life ヾ( ๑´д`๑)ﾂ

too afraid to let you fall asleep just in case

so every time you doz off sweet cutie jisung just kithes you (๑°꒵°๑)･*♡

and you wake up just to kiss back your cute boyfriend

and he just chuckles and blows raspberries on your neck man jisung would be such a cute whipped boyfriend

but he ends up asleep next to you with his face buried in your hair and arms tightly wrapped around you cocooning you close to himself ah i’m getting soft again ♡(㋭ ਊ ㋲)♡

882 notes · View notes

malloryslourd · 4 years ago

Text

So Much Better

Pairing(s): Mother!Misty Day x Reader, Mother!Cordelia Goode x Reader, Platonic!Zoe Benson x Reader, Platonic!Madison Montgomery x reader

Warnings: Alcohol Use, Smoking, Strong Language

Words: 3,560

—————

A/N: the end of this is so rushed... ANYWAYS😐

—————

"This party kinda sucks," Y/N knew she was yelling, but there was no other way to make sure Madison could hear her. Three hours ago her, Madison, and Zoe had claimed they were heading up stairs to go to sleep after dinner. In reality they were waiting for the household to settle so they could make their "grand" getaway out of Madison's room and to a party they had been invited to a week prior. There was no use in asking for permission to go, the answer was always no so they decided to answer the question themselves.

Madison looked at Y/N, almost offended at what she said. "The party is fine, you suck," she wrapped an arm around the witch's waist, pulling her out of the way of someone passing behind her. Y/N stepped back, pushing the arm off of her and grabbing the drink from Madison's hand. "There you go! That should make things a little more fun!" the blonde teased as she watch her finish what was left in the cup. Zoe had set out to get them all something new to drink so she wasn't as mad as she usually would've been.

Y/N nodded, slightly crushing the cup in her hand. "Hopefully... I'm starting to be over it already." The music was too loud to even understand what they were playing, there had been at least three fights within the past hour, and Zoe had been gone for a lot more than "just a minute" like she had promised. She would've had more fun actually studying or once she drunk something strong enough to fill a few of her senses.

As if God himself heard her thoughts, an arm stretched over her shoulder with a plastic cup almost too full to handle without a spill. "Take it before someone steals it," Zoe's words weren't any softer than Y/N's or Madi's. She handed the other cup to Madison, full just about the same amount but obviously falling victim to a few small spills. The girls took the cups, smelling of much stronger alcohol than what they had previously.

Zoe pressed up against Y/N's back, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Thank you ma'am," Y/N took a sip of the drink. She could feel the hangover building from the one cup alone.

"See, already so much better."

—

"Hurry the fuck up!" Madison pulled Y/N behind her as she pushed pass people on the stairs. The drunken pair was laughing obnoxiously, tripping over their own feet as they tried to squeeze their way through groups of people who were somehow more drunk than them. Madison tried to open a door, failing on her first attempt and additionally giving herself a bruise to wake up to. She tried again, successfully turning the knob this time.

They were over taken with drunken laughter as they sat on the bed, Y/N falling back to look up at the ceiling. Madison took a hit of the vape she had convinced some guy to sell her for lower than half the price he was offering to everyone else at the party. She waved the device in front of Y/N's face, holding it in front of her lips when she nodded her head quickly. Y/N leaned forward, placing her hand on Madi's to hold it steady while she took her hit.

They laughed when Y/N blew the smoke back in her face. Madison laid back to lie down next to her. "Good thing Momma Delia doesn't know, she would have a fucking fit," Madison looked out of the corner of her eye to a now slightly pissed off Y/N. It was amusing to her just how quick she could make the witch's mood change. "Or maybe even Misty for that matter." She made herself laugh- Y/N, not finding it as funny as she did.

"If she knew this was your idea, let alone we just so happened to both be here, she would drag your ass again," Y/N rolled her eyes. She grumbled an insult when Madison jabbed her side, returning a softer elbow to her arm. "And Cordelia would just kick me out and call it a day."

"The fuck she would," Madison laughed. She looked at Y/N, chin basically resting on her shoulder. "Why the hell would she throw her pride and joy out to the curb? Me and Zoe would get abandoned before you did." Madison had a theory that Cordelia and Misty would empty the coven of everything but Y/N before they admitted she was at least a little responsible for her less than star-child behavior. In that theory she was the first to go.

"Whatever."

"What are you 'whatever'ing? It's true! Exactly how it fucking works actually."

"They don't hate you if that's what you're trying to say."

Y/N almost said it so low that Madison didn't hear. But she did, and that's what was important. "They do."

"They don't," Y/N looked at Madison, almost upset that's how she thought her mothers thought of her. "You're my friend... I wouldn't let them hate you, but you don't exactly help yourself.."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mo- Cordelia tries... We talked about it once, how you try sometimes to do your best but you always end up, like, doing shit to piss everyone off and start all over again," Y/N took Madison's hand, playing with the rings on her fingers. "Is this mine by the way?"

"Maybe."

"Cunt... Anyways!" Y/N rolled over. "Like, sad shit aside... They don't hate you, no one really does. Well I mean I hate you," she laughed at the way Madison rolled her eyes.

"Fuck you!" Madison took her hands out of Y/N's as she fought back the smile on her face.

"Now that's how you really get kicked out!"

The pair erupted into laughter. Madison took Y/N's hands this time, leaning to kiss her cheek. "That's how I get burned at the stake, don't even." They laid there for a while, laughing at random things the other said, sharing Madi's vape, and complaining about the music they were playing downstairs.

"Get the fuck up, we gotta fucking go."

Madison and Y/N looked over at the door- surprisingly still hanging on its hinges despite how hard it was thrown open. Zoe stood there as pale as a ghost, something the pair had chalked up to cheap booze mixed with even cheaper booze, or maybe even a bad hit from whatever some random was smoking. She rushed over to the pair, grabbing their hands and attempting to pull them up. She was determined, but evidently not enough to get them out of the bed.

Madison pulled her hand back, Zoe almost falling with it. "Okay... chill the fuck out," another puff of smoke traveled up the contours of the witch's face, disappearing into the air and leaving nothing but the smell of a cheap candy flavoring to linger for a moment. She noticed Zoe was red in the face, but couldn't decide if it was too much to drink red or anything a bit more serious.

Zoe had stopped pulling at Y/N's hand but held a firm grasp on it. "Do you think I'm fucking joking? Get your shit Madi," she took the puff out of Madison's hand, tossing it at the wall when she attempted to get it back. "Y/N get the hell up," another useless tug that barely made her move.

Y/N propped herself up with her free hand, tilting her head slightly as she looked at Zoe. She pulled Zoe down to be more level with her. "Why are you so uptight Zo? Like come on, it's a par-"

"-The neighbors called the fucking cops."

The drunken smile on Y/N's face turned into half-sober wide eyes. Madison, who at some point moved to the floor to find the discarded vape, shared the same expression as she looked over her shoulder. The stares lasted only for a few more seconds before they rushed to grab everything they owned in the room. There was no discussion necessary. They needed to leave as soon as they possibly could.

"You could've fucking said that!" Madison struggled to slip on her shoes. She lost her balance more than once, practically falling on top of both Zoe and Y/N at one point. "You were just gonna let us sit here until they walked in?"

Zoe rolled her eyes. "I'm so fucking sorry that I told you we had to leave and you were too busy laying on your ass! But hey, you're so fucking wasted you probably don't even remember!" Madison looked back at her, almost asking her to say something else to give her an excuse to bite back. No matter how good of a mood either of these were in they had always made a point to form some type of argument by the end of the night.

"Where the fuck is my phone? Oh my fucking God." Y/N was panicking, not even focused on the two about to fist fight behind her. She was sure they couldn't even hear her over the below the belt remarks they were making to one another.

"This was all your fucking idea!"

"It was Y/N's!"

"You wanted us to go out!"

"Shut up!"

"What are you even looking for?"

"My keys so we can actually fucking leave! We've got like thirty seconds to get out of here and you're standing there like a dumbass!"

"I'm the dumbass? Okay, says the bitch who probably got three different strands of mono tonight!"

"Both of you shut the fuck up and help me find my phone!" The pair turned their attention to Y/N who was pulling at the covers of the bed.

"I have your phone!" Zoe pulled the phone from her back pocket, holding it in front of her.

Y/N almost fell off the bed, catching herself with her hands moments before she tipped forward. "When the fuck did you get my phone?"

"When I had to talk you out of texting the fucking groupchat!"

"Give it a fucking break! Let's go!" Madison had already been making her way to the door. Zoe and Y/N looked at her then to each other before they followed after her, Y/N pulling Zoe after her as attempted to keep up with Madison.

Suddenly the blonde had stopped when she reached the bottom of the stairs. She looked back at Y/N and Zoe and before either of them could ask a question a police officer had already walked up to Madison.

—

“Do you know who I am?” Madison struggled to take her wrist out of the officer’s hand, scoffing at him as she turned around to look at him.

He sighed, turning her back around. “Quite frankly maam, I do not care who you are. And if you keep giving me trouble you’ll be taking the ride with your hands cuffed behind your back.” With that Madison stopped fighting, easily letting him guide her to the car Y/N and Zoe were already sat.

As soon as he opened the door she was met with two teary eyed witches. Zoe’s head rested against the window of the car, moving only slightly to look at Madison get in. Y/N’s head was rested on Zoe’s shoulder, tears a bit more visible on her face than the brunettes. “They’re gonna fucking kill us.”

Never did the thought of ending up in the back of a police car ever pass through Y/N or Zoe’s mind- Madison was a different story. She knew they were done for when Madison made a big deal of announcing their names to the police officer like it would make any difference in the outcome of the night. From that point forward she knew the next obstacle was her mothers. And that was going to be the biggest obstacle of the night.

—

The front door slammed hard enough to wake up the entire neighborhood. Y/N, Zoe, and Madison looked up at one another, each looking as if they had been to Hell and back in the span of the last few hours. Zoe's mascara had met at her chin and continued down her neck. She didn't have the perfect behavior, but she was yet to get caught so she was in a deep state of overthinking every decision in her life that had led up to this moment. On the other hand, Madison was conditioned to this already. She knew all the lines about disappointment and responsibility, but she had only seemed to look upset when she saw Y/N and Zoe.

Y/N had returned to stare off into the distance, hoping that possibly this was a really bad dream or even a trip from some secondhand smoke cloud she had walked through earlier that night. She didn't even have the energy to cry anymore, that was over with after the first turn in the direction of the police station. The silence of the car ride back to the academy was almost enough to make her start crying again, but she found herself paying attention to every small detail she could.

Cordelia's extremely white knuckles wrapped around the steering wheel as she broke every speed limit by at least 10 over. Zoe clicking her nails against each other as she readjusted in her seat every other second. Misty holding onto the handle above the passenger door almost as a way to fight back the urge to turn around and let the three of them hear every word she had built up on the way over. Even the slight sticky feeling that Madison's lipgloss had left on her cheek during their heart to heart in that strangers bed.

She was snapped out of her recollection of the night when Cordelia and Misty walked into the dining room where they were sat. Misty was red in the face, she hadn't said a word since the girls got into the car. Madison had sworn she was just a sitting statue in the passenger seat for most of the ride. Cordelia on the other hand had plenty to say when she first saw the girls. "Get in the car," the first words uttered. "What the hell were you three thinking? Are you all fucking idiots?" as they pulled out of the parking lot. "Out of all the things you could've done this what you decide to get caught up in!" just as they pulled up to the house.

As soon as Cordelia parked the car they had hurried inside, just barely hearing her say to wait in the dining room. Even then they couldn't say anything to one another. That's where they were left now, dizzy and tired as they waited for anyone to say anything. Misty took a seat across from the girls, Cordelia pacing behind her.

"We-"

"Don't fucking talk!" the girls shrunk at Cordelia's words, shocked at a harshness they were unfamiliar with. She hadn't stopped pacing, arms crossed firmly in front of her. "I don't want to hear any of you talk, not a single fucking word. Oh my God, how fucking stupid can you be!" Cordelia paused for just a moment. She had been thinking about this almost the entire ride over, yet couldn't find the words to say what she wanted to say. "Anything could have happened tonight and we didn't know where you were, and I sure as Hell hope you weren't stupid enough to get anyone else tangled in this!"

Y/N looked at Zoe, who was staring at her lap, then to Madison, who was staring up at Cordelia. She couldn't help but notice the dramatic difference in how they were taking it. She looked over at her mothers, Cordelia pacing again, Misty staring straight at her. She followed Zoe and fixed her gaze on her own lap.

"It was my idea." Focus in the room switched to Madison. She leaned back in her charge and let out a long breath. Weighing her options, it made the most sense for her to take the fall or this. It was in character for her. "I asked them to-"

"Madi," Y/N cut her off quickly. “It was me... I mean... Fuck,” she ran a hand over her face, hands slightly shaking as she did so. “They were my friends who invited me, I asked Zoe and Madison to go. Going to the party was my idea.” It wasn’t right in her mind to let Madison go down for this just ‘cause. It was her friend’s party. It was her idea to go out tonight. It was her who asked them to go with.

Shock took over Misty’s and Cordelia’s expressions. Cordelia stopped pacing, head turned to look at her daughter. Misty shook her head, “You don’t have to lie for her.”

Madison’s mouth fell agape. Y/N furrowed her brow. “I’m not,” she stated at Misty who obviously thought she had the whole situation figured out beforehand, but was now struggling to understand what was actually happening.

Cordelia leaned onto the table next Misty, staring just as hard at Y/N as Misty was. “Zoe, Madison, go to your rooms,” her gaze didn’t leave Y/N’s as she took the seat next to Misty. Zoe and Madison shared a brief look with one another before they hurried out room, afraid Cordelia might change her mind.

“Really?” Misty’s question was laced with venom, a look of utter disbelief sealing her tone.

Y/N nodded, wringing her hands in her lap. “I know,” she was soft spoken. “They don’t deser-“

“-Quite frankly, I don’t really want to talk about those two,” Cordelia held up her hand. She was biting back her tone, afraid if she was too loud she would wake everyone else from their sleep. “This all comes down on you.” It almost hurt her to admit.

Misty sat back in her chair, barely diverting her gaze. “Madison, I expect this from. You and Zoe? Never in a million years,” she spoke so calmly Y/N could feel chills travel up her spine. Misty’s anger was unlike Cordelia’s. Cordelia was simply just an angry Cordelia who would let a few more words slip than usual. Misty was a different person. Her smile faded, she offered no kind words, and she was willing to get years worth of tension and anger off of her chest in mere minutes if she so pleased. “I don’t think you understand what could’ve happened tonight.”

“God knows what type of trouble you three could have gotten in while we were here.”

“Trouble might’ve done you some good, especially if you think any of this is acceptable.”

Y/N nodded her head. The tears she was deprived of since the ride in the back of the police car were fighting to be released by now. “I’m sorry.”

“Save it,” Misty shook her head. Even Cordelia was a little shocked to hear her, possibly because she had never talked to Y/N like this. “We raised you so much better than this. It’s disrespectful!” her voice rose with her temper. “You would think you would have no reason to act out like this! But no, lets end up in the back of a fucking police car by the end of the night!”

Y/N couldn’t find anything to say, she was at a lost for words looking at her mother. She couldn’t remember the last time she had raised her voice at her. Every apology she could think about was stuck in her throat. They wouldn’t have much effect anyways.

“You’re better than this Y/N,” Cordelia spoke softer than Misty, but no less stern.

“You’re damn right she is.”

A sigh left the Supreme’s lips. She was tired, eyes heavy and barely put together enough to even look like herself. “It’s disappointing to us to know you’re better than this and for you to still go out and do something like this,” her volume rose slightly, obviously able to handle her temper much more than Misty. As much as she knew what she did was wrong, Cordelia couldn’t deny that this was her baby. She had felt more disappointment in herself than she did her.

Misty stood, face red and knuckles whitened from how hard she was clenching her fist. “You’ll think of some way to apologize for this, possib- hopefully,” she held on to the back of the chair, looking down at Y/N. “Whatever the hell this is,” she waved her hand around, “I want it fucking fixed and nothing short of fixed. The day any fucking child of mind tries to pull that shit is a horrible fucking day for this coven.” And with that she pushed the chair against the table and turned to leave, muttering unseeing her breath about “how unbelievable” this all was.

Y/N watched as she walked out of dining room, Cordelia following right after with no less speed. She could feel the anger in the room dissipate, but every word her mothers shared with her were still there as if they were being repeated right in front of her face once again.

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nemicoamatomio · 4 years ago

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Hi! Sorry if I'm bothering you, just wanted to ask you something. My sister saw a while ago your costum Joe and Nicky funko pops and she fell in love with them, her birthday is next month and I wanted to try to re-create your funkos to gift them to her. You did a wonderful job with those funkos so I was wondering if you could help me with this. Like I don't know where to get "Joe's" body. I tried to create a sculpture for Nicky's and it kinda works, but Joe's scimitar is too difficult, so I wanted to just buy the funko. I don't want to be disrespectful because I understand that those are your own works, if you don't want to tell me I understand that. You can send me a private message If you don't want to answer publicly. Thank you for your time!

Ohmygosh, no, not disrespectful at all, I’m humbled and I would love to help!

Ok, so. Prepare for word vomit, sorry. I think I put some of this in a post already, so if I’m repeating myself, I apologize, just wanna have it all in one place for ya!

So Nicky was just Darcy from Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. He’s super cheap. I found him on eBay for $9ish. He’s already got a gun and a sword, so yay! He is wearing a hammer on his belt, but I just used an exacto-knife to slice off the hammer portion, and then used worbla to make it look like a holster (Worbla is a heat-activated sculpting plastic, but you could probably use air-dry clay just as easily, and they sell that at Walmart). His hair and clothing was already the right color, but I used acrylic paint to paint the sword and gun. I believe he’s wearing a tail coat, so I sliced that off to make it just look like a jacket. (Pro-tip: trying to slice through hard plastic is a nightmare, and you’re more likely to cut yourself. If you aim a hot hair dryer on it for a minute or so, it softens the plastic, and makes it like butter. But please PLEASE be careful. And don’t panic if his legs fall off when you do that, it happened to me. It actually makes cutting the coat easier. Then you can just super glue his ass back on, lol).

On to Joe, who is a bit more complicated.

Joe is two pops put together. The body is “future trunks” from Dragon Ball Z, around $7, and the head is Pedro from Shazam, about the same price. The head was very important, because I needed the skin tone. He also has that nice lustrous beard, so bonus points. Obviously Trunks is white, so you’ll have to paint his hands, but it wasn’t too difficult, since it’s not a large area. There are lots of tutorials on YouTube on how to remove Funko heads and put them on another, and they’ll probably explain it better than I can. This one does a pretty good job. I recommend doing all of your painting BEFORE putting the head on, because getting between the head and shoulders is really tough.

Trunks’s sword is a broad sword, not a scimitar, but I just drew on the sword with a pencil the general shape of the scimitar, heated up the plastic with a hair dryer, and cut it to shape with the exacto-knife. Again, please be careful, always cut away from yourself, and preferably on a cutting board or thick piece of cardboard. And be wary of taking off too much. You can always shave away at it if you don’t take enough off, but you can’t bring any back.

Then comes the painting. I did the kill floor costume, which is a grey shirt (I think), a black tactical vest, dark green trousers (I think), and black boots. Trunks isn’t wearing a vest so you really just have to eyeball it. And don’t panic if you make mistakes, acrylic is water-soluble, so you can remove it with a wet brush pretty easily. Or just paint over it with the adjacent color. You will need a very small detail brush to get the vest done past his thicc arms. I wish I was at home right now, I could give you the exact brand and colors I bought from Walmart, but I’m currently at work. If you’re interested, I will look when I get home and message you!

I think that’s it! If you have any questions, feel free to ask me, I would be so happy to help! And good luck!

#funko pop #funko pop custom #asks #ace answers #tutorial

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thegreenwolf · 4 years ago

Photo

Betting on the Ponies (originally posted at my blog at https://thegreenwolf.com/betting-on-the-ponies/)

(Above: Breyer Classic Arabian Stallion made over into a winged unicorn with real wings from a barnyard mix rooster I raised for meat.)

If you’ve been paying attention to my social media or my shop links at all, you may have noticed that I haven’t really been posting much in the way of new hide and bone art for the past year or so. It’s not that I’ve stopped; I still make some fun things for my Patrons on Patreon every month, and I make some bone, tooth and claw jewelry on Etsy to order. But ever since events dried up, I haven’t been regularly making new batches of costume pieces or other Vulture Culture art. My usual M.O. was to make all sorts of new things for an upcoming event, and then once the weekend was done and I was home, post whatever hadn’t sold on Etsy. And since there haven’t been events…well…I’ve just found myself doing other things.

Some of that is because I’ve had to scramble to make up for the lost income; events were a pretty big chunk of my “pay”, and losing them meant having to tighten the belt. I also lost several other income streams thanks to the pandemic making it unsafe to be around groups of people, which didn’t help. So I had to rely on what was left, along with adopting a few new sources of bits and bobs of cash here and there.

And, honestly, I’ve needed a bit of a break. I’ve been making hide and bone art for over two decades now, and while I love it, any artist eventually wants to explore different media for a while. Sure, I’ve stretched my Vulture wings in new directions, going from costume pieces and ritual tools to assemblages and the Tarot of Bones. But ever since the Tarot came out, I’ve been feeling….not really burned out, but a little creatively wrung out, at least. I’ve really appreciated my Patrons and Etsy customers who have helped me keep a hand in that particular medium, while also allowing me to head off in other directions, too.

Which is to say that if you have been paying attention to the aforementioned social media and shops, you may have also noticed that I’ve been increasing the number of customized Breyer model horses and other animals I’ve made over the past couple of years. This might seem like a heck of a departure from skulls, bones, and other dead things. But in a way it’s really me getting back to long-neglected roots.

(One of my favorite customs I’ve done on one of my favorite molds, the Breyer semi-rearing mustang. )

See, I was a horse girl when I was a kid. Or, rather, I was a wannabe horse girl. I never got to lease or own a horse, and even now in my early 40s I’m still about the greenest rider you’ll find. (Seriously, I need one of those kid-proof horses that’s seen it all, done it all, and is probably more trail-smart than I am.) But I was obsessed with horses from a young age. It started with my very first My Little Pony that I got Christmas morning, 1983 (Applejack, if you must know), and then exploded further with a book on how to draw horses and my first Breyer model (Black Beauty 1991 on the Morganglanz mold) in my preteens. Horse actually took over for Gray Wolf for a few years as my primary animal spirit during my teens, so we have a very long history indeed.

And since I couldn’t have a real horse, I ended up collecting model horses, mostly Breyers with a few old Hartlands for variety. I had over 100 at the peak of my collecting, but I had to sell them all in my early twenties when I was between jobs. In hindsight it was probably for the best because having less stuff made it easier to get through the period of my life where I was moving about once a year, but I do miss that collection.

Back then I did my part to add to the artistic end of the model horse hobby, mostly with badly blended acrylic paint jobs and terrifying mohair manes and tails. But it made me happy, and that was the most important thing. Even though I only knew a couple other collectors in my little rural area, and my only real connection to the hobby was through the quarterly Just About Horses magazine Breyer put out, my collecting really made me happy in the same way that my first fur scraps and bones would catch my interest a few years later.

2020….well, it sucked. We all know that. Pandemic, political stress, financial roller coasters and more made it a really tough year for anyone who wasn’t wealthy enough to hide away and weather it all. And many of us found ourselves with more time at home, in need of distractions and solace. It ended up being a time where many people rediscovered their love of childhood hobbies. I’m one of those people. I’ve been slowly edging my way back in for the past few years, starting with repainting a few old Breyer models found at thrift stores, and then gaining momentum as I found that not only was I much better at customizing these models than I used to be, but I was having fun without the pressure to make a living off of it. (Yes, I love my hide and bone art, but when an art form is your bread and butter, it changes your relationship to it. But that’s a post for another time…)

So 2020 saw me really ramp up my customization efforts. I had to stop for a few months in summer and fall when I moved to a spifftacular new living space on the farm I’ve been working on the past few years (with, by the way, THE best studio space EVER!) but as the days shortened I found myself making more dedicated time to repainting and otherwise customizing models. I even started keeping a few of the models I’d bought to customize that were in better condition to create a small, but slowly growing original finish collection, and that really helped me feel like I was back in the (not actually a) saddle.*

That’s why a well-established artist of organic, pagan-influenced arts made from fur and leather and bone and feather suddenly started painting all these secondhand plastic ponies. It’s giving me that deep injection of childhood nostalgia balanced with adult skill and perspective, and it’s offered me a much-needed break from the exhausting schedule I’ve been living the past decade or so. Because suddenly, even with the time spent rearranging my income opportunities to make sure I could stay afloat, I found myself with a little time that hadn’t been scheduled to death, and when I thought about what I wanted to do with that time, I gravitated toward one of the few creative outlets in my life that was purely for fun.**

(Yes, this IS fan art of “The Last Unicorn”! I used a Breyer Stablemate rearing Arabian for the unicorn, and a Breyer Spanish fighting bull for the Red Bull. A LOT of fun to make this particular project.)

In a way having all my events canceled was one of the best things that happened to me, because it made me slow the fuck down. I no longer had several weekends a year where I had to spend weeks beforehand making art and otherwise preparing to be away from all my farm responsibilities for 4-7 days at a time, with all the packing and moving and setup and vending and teaching and teardown and going home and unpacking and exhaustion that goes with each event. I realized just how much each one was taking out of me, especially as I’ve gotten older. And I also recognized how much pressure I had been putting on myself to ALWAYS MAKE MORE STUFF FOR ETSY EVERY WEEK OR ELSE.

So the model horses are really sort of a symbol of the childhood joy I’ve managed to recapture, wresting time and energy back from my workaholic tendencies. I’ve even been thinking about what my professional life is going to look like once the pandemic eases up enough to allow events again, and whether I’ll put the same amount of time toward vending and and teaching at conventions and festivals as I used to. (There are a few favorites that I’m not going to miss for anything, so don’t worry about me dropping out entirely.) But for the first time in a very long time, I’m relearning to prioritize myself, and figuring out that maybe I don’t have to go hell-bent for leather every week, every year, in order to keep the bills paid and the critters fed.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s okay for this dead-critter-artist, pagan-nonfic-author, teacher-vendor-farmer, to indulge herself with something fun, and bet on the ponies to help her get through the tough times.

(P.S. Amid everything going on, I am back to working steadily on my next book, which I mentioned in this blog post almost a year ago. As a recap, its working title is Coyote’s Journey: Deeper Work With the Major Arcana, and it’s a deep dive into that section of the tarot using pathworkings with the animals I assigned to the major arcana of the Tarot of Bones. It’s not just a Tarot of Bones book, though; it’s a good way to get a new, nature-based angle on the majors in general, as well as hopefully gain a better understanding of yourself. My goal is to have it out later this year, self-pub of course, and at the rate I’m going it may end up being my longest book! Stay tuned, and if you want to get excerpts of the work-in-progress, become my Patron for as little as $1/month!)

*At the height of my “horse girl” phase, I had a really beat-up pony saddle I’d bought for ten bucks at a yard sale, and got a cheap saddle stand for it and put it in my room. And yes, I occasionally sat on it and pretended I was riding an actual horse. Hey, it made me happy at the time, and it was the closest I was ever going to get apart from a trail ride every few years.

**Yes, I do sell my customs. But I don’t make them on a schedule, I take commissions VERY sparingly, and I’m getting to stretch some new creative muscles, especially in the realms of sculpting and painting, so this is primarily for my enjoyment. The sales are just a side benefit.

(My ode to the forests of the Pacific Northwest, a Breyer deer repainted to resemble the Columbian black-tailed deer that frequent the farm I live on, along with hand-sculpted Amanita muscaria mushrooms, real and fake moss, and real lichens from fallen branches.)

#Breyer #model horses #vulture culture #artwork #artist

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marksinn · 4 years ago

Text

Passion Project: Inspiration

I don’t think I’m starting at the beginning with this post. Keep your eyes peeled for later posts that explain what I’m doing and why.

After a month of thinking about, sketching and painting designs, I have finally done something. Essentially, recently watching two films has pushed me into action, and a part of me is ashamed to admit it. There isn’t a word count or any typesetting to curtail my thoughts here, so strap in.

When I created this brief I figured I’d draw a million wee skateboards, colour a few of them in, then fling my favourites into Adobe illustrator and make them look good. From there I would take the 5 best up to the skatepark and ask some of the patrons there which designs stood out to them. Next, I would adapt the three front-runners and create sweet PhotoShop mockups that would show what my designs would look like as skateboards. If I had the time, inclination or money by the end of the project, I would have the design laid onto a real skateboard (I’ve been looking to buy a new one for some time) and then be proud of myself.

So I’ve drawn some wee skateboards. Then I started upscaling the designs onto the floorboards of my loft:

This was an exercise to let me see how small things need to be adapted to be blown up. Skateboards can have any level of detail that you like on them, I hadn’t considered this until I was trying to draw a semi-perfect triangle for the traffic cone, or until I was using chalk to recreate four cubes. It’s also been fun to work with different media on chipboard - I have learned that most kinds of pencil, paint, chalk and charcoal do not like being used on chipboard. Decorating paint, however, has no such issues. Thanks, Dulux!

And so, with a few of these under my belt, I decided to try some digital designs. So I jumped into Illustrator and totally ignored my sketchbook, coming up with three designs that were all inspired by the day I had just had. The top design, I’ll focus on last, for reasons that will become apparent (unless you follow me on Instagram, where you’ll already know that it’s an absolute hit, with over 19 likes already!). I was told by a guy at the skatepark that he likes decks with very basic designs, just a colour or two, nothing overly detailed. Another skater told me that he often likes the basic wood background with one small emblem or sticker just beside the wheels.

The duo-tone design felt nice, I’m usually one for over-complicating things. I definitely have an attitude of “If there’s more in it, there’s a greater chance someone will find something they like”. The first colour choice put my girlfriend in the mind of a hand-bag she had seen photographed in the arms of Carrie Fisher - it was designed to look like a Prozac pill. So I changed the colours up, and added the separating black lines and textures to give it some subtle character. I then went full meta with the Minimal design. And, if I’m being honest, I’m incredibly happy with how it looks like a wee character. Expect to see that making a comeback in the very near future. But the top design is what really got me going.

I’ve recently been watching...

...Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, and have been loving Miles Morales’ multiple hobbies of graffiti, mixing beats and saving his neighbourhood from a variety of dangers.

I then went to the cinema to see In The Heights, telling the tale of the Latin community during a blackout in North Manhattan. I found myself wrapped up in the romance, tribulations and music of the cast, and was felt oddly proud of Lin Manuel Miranda - who wrote this as a stage-musical while he was in college, had a modicum of success with it, then went on to create Hamilton, one of the most important musicals of our time. With the success of that particular show taking the entire world by storm, he was given the opportunity to make his old, relatively only semi-popular play into a blockbuster film. You can’t help but be inspired by someone like that.

I often find towards the end of a film I’m inspired by the characters’ journeys: be that from zero to hero, from lonely to loved or from rags to riches. Then I walk out and carry on with my normal life doing normal things. And as the hero of the story’s dreams all came true in the closing minutes (sorry for the spoiler, but it’s a musical, they rarely end in despair), a thought floated across my mind:

I’m utterly sick of being inspired

Now, to my credit, I did figure out in the car home that ‘tired’ would be a far more fitting and rhythmic word to use in this sentence, but this was a mentality that I found resonated really strongly with me. I’m very good at being inspired, I think most people are. We hear stories of people starting their own business, achieving some sporting brilliance or overcoming a personal hurdle and we say “Wow, isn’t that inspiring?” or

“It really inspires you to go out and make a difference!” or

“They are such an inspirational speaker!”

Then we go off about our day, not acting on the inspiration, and, for the most part, remaining uninspired. So I decided to act.

I did some very quick research (/acquiring of images of graffiti) in order to get the right shapes and textures to create a spray paint effect in Illustrator. I did some very quick research (/confirming the colours) of South American flags, taking the blue and red used in flags of the home nations of Miles Morales from Spider-Man and Usnavi from In The Heights. And I created the top design.

YES! I had been inspired and I had drawn a wee picture to show that - I had acted on my inspirations!

Then I looked to my left and spotted three, blank skate decks that I had bought on a whim from Re:Ply (a wonderful wee company who do a great deal of charity work supplying boards to people who need them, selling boards to people who can afford them, and for a very reasonable fee, providing unusable decks to people who want to use them for artistic purposes). I realised I hadn’t acted on my inspiration, I had just drawn a few pictures of skateboards with the eventual aim of PhotoShopping them onto other pictures of skateboards.

So I took myself...

... into the city centre with a shoddily prepared speech: “I’m looking for some cheap, small cans of spray paint. I’ve no idea what I’m doing, or if I’ll be good at it, so don’t want to invest too much into this.” Hiding behind this self-deprecating shield I barged into multiple art-, pound- and model-shops and pleaded with the staff to help a young idiot out. Amazingly, a very kind shop assistant pointed me in the direction of Fat Buddha, a clothes shop I’d always ignored as it seemed a bit to “...” for me. I don’t know what it seemed, but I knew it wasn't my kind of shop. Happy to prove me wrong, the guys in there were super helpful and they helped me buy my first cans of spray paint.

Now I’d spent money...

... and as a skinflint, that meant I had to get use out of my purchases. I had tricked myself into being inspired. Inspiration led me to the drawing, inspiration had led me to buy decks and the paint, now inspiration had to make me spray paint.

I’ll stop yammering on now. Essentially, I had planned on creating some analogue designs then digitising them (I’m guessing I should do a post on my brief, yeah? Might just upload the PDF to save me talking more), but then I found that I was doing the complete opposite. Genuinely accidentally. I had played with a few typefaces from various websites to get fonts that represented the ideas I wanted. The top one was semi-stolen (I can’t use the word ‘inspired’ any more in this post) from the end credits of In The Heights. The larger font is something of a nod to inspirational quotes you see on Facebook or on glittery frames in B&M.

I printed those out and cut them into stencils (very impressed that my digital boards have been drawn to a workable scale, thanks Maths). And after putting down a tack-layer (GRAFFITI JARGON (I think)) I sprayed the whole lot in blue.

Next, I tried to get a little fancy. Using cardboard blockers to create straight lines I added stars* (borrowed from the Puerto Rican flag) and made the bottom stripes vaguely reminiscent of America’s Old Glory.

I peeled the lettering off, and I’d done it. I may have to explain the overtly-negative inspirational quote to people, but to me it’s a clear sign that there’s no point in just being inspired, and that’s all I wanted.

A weight I didn’t know I was carrying was lifted from my shoulders. The plan was to possibly end up with a self-designed skateboard. And now I have one.

*Yes, I know they’re crosses.

#pp_hncgd1 #allhandsondecks #skateboard

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mostlycompetentwriter · 5 years ago

Text

Precious (One-Shot)

M/F Pairing: Y/N x Choi San (Ateez)

Warnings: language, alcohol use, stripping? (lol is that a warning?)

Genre: Action AU; Spy AU

Word Count: 7K

Summary: Choi San is one of the best investigators in PD Kim Hongjoong’s agency, especially when it comes to the baddest mafia gangs. However, despite the inherent risk of his job, nothing could shock him more than the discovery that his wife might be cheating on him with another man!

A/N: This is actually based on a scene from the movie True Lies. Oh, and go hard San, like damn! 👇

San understood the inherent risk of chasing down mafia gangs who always tried their best to test his patience, especially when it involved saving their own ass. However, it made his job much easier when the ones he targeted would quickly betray their own men without any hesitation. For example, when San first brought the agency’s newest scumbag into the interrogation room, he sat him down underneath the low-hanging lamp with his hands tied behind the chair. And San fully expected to encounter another stubborn punk who insisted that he didn’t know anything about the drug cartel that San was investigating. Of course, that would be utter bullshit, but San was also pleasantly surprised to find a man who was balling his eyes out while begging San to spare his life.

“What if I don’t think you deserve to live?” San asked the man, toying with the knife that he held in his hand.

“Please!” the man cried. “I’ll tell you anything!”

“Yeah? Who do you work for?”

“Kim! From the downtown shipyard,” the man said, spilling his secrets as freely as the tears that were falling down his greasy mug.

“That so?” San asked, circling around the man who whimpered when he could no longer see him.

“I’m being cooperative, sir, just cut me some slack!”

San laughed. “What’s Kim doing these days?”

“I don’t know! He’s messing around with some gang downtown, but they aren’t expecting a new shipment until this weekend.”

“What kind of shipment?”

“Cocaine, marijuana, heroin...the usual shit!”

“Who’s he selling to?”

“It’s just a couple of local dealers. He wants them to buy strictly from his organization.”

“Really?” San asked, humming thoughtfully to himself. “What time?”

“Midnight on the East Dock! There’s a boat coming in with the product!”

San sighed because he was somewhat disappointed that the asshole was so compliant. It meant that he couldn’t play with him using his favorite set of knives. “I guess I’ll let the rest of my men deal with you.”

San immediately started for the door, smirking when he could hear the guy calling out to him: “What do you mean!? I told you everything!”

He closed the door quietly, turning to look at his partner Wooyoung who was waiting expectantly with a cheap cup of coffee in hand. “Well?”

“Check the tape,” San said. “He spilled everything.”

“Hell, yeah, dude,” Wooyoung cheered. “I can finally go home before fucking midnight.”

San’s shoulders dropped as he checked the time. “Damn, that means I’m late.”

“Late?”

“My wife was throwing me some kind of birthday party tonight,” San said, already dreading the idea of facing Y/N’s disappointment when he returned home.

“Hey, I’m sure Y/N will understand,” Wooyoung said. “This happens all the time, right?”

San glared at his friend because that comment certainly wasn’t helpful. “Because I have to stay at work all the time.”

“Dude, seriously? Everything’s fine,” Wooyoung continued. “Let’s go tell Hongjoong the good news and then you can go home and make love to your wife or whatever.”

San rolled his eyes, but quietly acquiesced, and he followed Wooyoung as he led them both into the main control room. He was already waiting for them by the time they arrived, and Kim Hongjoong, despite his smaller stature, was one of the most intimidating men that San had ever met. Not only was he in charge of their private detective agency, but he also regularly tracked down some of the most ruthless gang members with ruthless accuracy, leading investigations with a confidence that defined his character.

Hongjoong also spent most of his time at the agency when he wasn’t participating in field work, and San offered him a generous nod as Wooyoung collapsed into one of the leather chairs. “Well?” Hongjoong asked, looking at San with a stern expression.

“He told me everything,” San said, smirking at a video of Park Seonghwa who had just entered the interrogation room on the screen monitor. He could see their unfortunate suspect pleading with Seonghwa as he attempted to slide the chair into the farthest corner of the room.

“Good,” Hongjoong replied. “He didn’t seem very aggressive.”

“He cried like a little bitch,” Wooyoung said.

“Anyway,” San interrupted. “I’m going home, Hongjoong. My wife is waiting for me.”

“Ah, well give her my best,” Hongjoong said, but San couldn’t help but frown at the comment because it was Hongjoong’s fault that his wife thought he was an insurance agent since they were undercover. Of course, San was also responsible because he wanted to keep his wife safe from the mafia gangs that they dealt with on a regular basis.

In any case, San bowed respectfully, and left the two men behind as Wooyoung launched into another story about his most recent exploit involving a girl from a bar downtown.

The lights were off when San finally entered his house, humming to himself because he wasn’t sure if his wife had gone to sleep. After all, she had made the time for his dinner at 9:00 PM, and San was several hours overdue. He could only hope that she hadn’t put too much effort into preparations, but that sort of wishful thinking was quickly blown away when he walked into the kitchen.

“Hey, baby,” San said, hesitating because he noticed that his wife had her arms crossed over her chest, sitting at the table where the remnants of San’s surprise birthday party were waiting in the form of a delectable cake and several neatly wrapped presents. “I’m sorry.” He sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It was a long day.”

“That’s what you always say,” Y/N replied, and San knew that he was in trouble.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, but the words rang hollow in his own ears because San knew that there would be more nights like this in the future.

“I’m tired, San,” she replied, lowering her gaze to the floor. “We can talk about this later.”

San nodded, and his eyes followed his wife’s form as she trudged up the stairs with an absence of her usual exuberance. He groaned when he sat down at the table in her place, feeling his heart break at the beautiful decorations complimenting the natural elegance of their dining room. He knew that this couldn’t continue, and San needed to do something to convince Y/N that he still cared about her, even if that meant ignoring some of his work-related responsibilities.

Subsequently, the next morning San called the office and asked Wooyoung to handle his morning meetings. His friend protested at first, but San drove a hard bargain when he offered him free lunch for the remainder of the week. Wooyoung was suddenly much more accepting, and San was feeling excited about the suprise that he had planned for his wife. As such, he drove to Y/N’s office to surprise her for an impromptu date to the best restaurant in the city.

As he rode the elevator to the corresponding floor, San checked the time on his watch, smiling when he realized that he would catch Y/N right before she usually left for lunch. He also studied his appearance in the reflecting panels of the elevator, nodding once in reassurance when he stepped out into the hallway, enduring the endless maze of office cubicles to find Y/N’s desk. “Don’t blow this San,” he said to himself before walking in her direction.

He was almost there when he heard one of the assistants mention his wife’s name. “Y/N, your mystery man is on the line!”

San paused, faltering in his steps when he heard Y/N’s voice answer the phone call. “Hello? Mike?”

“Mike?” He whispered to himself, shuffling closer to overhear the remainder of the conversation.

“Today?” Y/N questioned. “Of course, I can meet you for lunch.” San swallowed hard, trying not to jump to conclusions. “I’d love that!” Y/N giggled. “I’ll see you then.”

San quickly darted into one of the empty cubicles, holding his breath when Y/N passed him on the way out of the office. His shoulders instantly deflated, and he could feel a bitter rage churning inside his stomach. “What the hell?” he cursed, reaching for his phone to call Wooyoung because he was nothing short of pissed off and nobody was safe from his wrath.

San watched from a distance as Wooyoung pulled up to the sidewalk, rolling down the window to greet San as he climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Hey, man,” Wooyoung said. “Welcome to the club. The same thing happened to me with wife number two, remember? She was a real piece of work.”

“But this is Y/N,” San argued, still shaken from the phone call. “She wouldn’t do this to me.”

“Hard to argue with the evidence,” Wooyoung said, shrugging like he wasn’t at all concerned. “Look, divorces are common these days. I’ll even let you crash on my couch.”

“It’s not going to happen,” San insisted. “There has to be something else.”

“What did you expect, San?” Wooyoung asked him. “You’re never there anymore.”

The brutal truth hit San like a freight train, and he fumbled with his seat-belt while holding out his cellphone. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not giving up on our marriage,” San said. “I’m fixing this before it gets any worse.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened. “San, I don’t like that look on your face.”

“Relax,” San hissed, holding up the phone to his ear. He was pleased when one of the agency’s interns answered from the other end. “I’m coming back to the agency. I need someone to help me tap some phone lines.”

“What!” Wooyoung screeched, but San ignored him as he shot off a series of orders to the poor intern who probably had no idea why San was so angry.

“Do it now!” San growled, assaulting the end phone call button before glaring out the windshield.

“San, are you fucking insane?” Wooyoung gasped. “This is a blatant misappropriation of funds! If Hongjoong finds out...”

“He won’t,” San interrupted. “Besides, I’m not doing anything that could hurt the agency.”

“But you’re talking about spying on your wife!”

“It’s not spying.”

“What the hell is your definition of spying, San?”

“Look, I’m just trying to keep this under control,” San retorted. “I would think that my friend might support me.”

“I do support you, San, but this is taking things too far!”

“Just drive back to the agency,” San growled. “I’m tired of arguing.”

San was pleased when several interns greeted him at the main office of their agency’s building. “Mr. Choi, we have the phone wires tapped at the work location and home address that you gave us.”

“Good,” San said, ignoring the way that Wooyoung was trying to get his attention while they entered the recording room.

“San!” Wooyoung pouted, hurrying to match his friend’s pace. “This is insane!”

“Get me some tracking equipment,” San added, throwing the command to the intern who nodded.

“Tracking!” Wooyoung exclaimed. “You’re gonna follow her?”

“Also, make sure that Hongjoong doesn’t find out,” San said, and Wooyoung waved his hands wildly through the air.

“Earth to San! Doesn’t it seem suspicious when you can’t tell Hongjoong about this?”

“He’ll make a big deal out of nothing,” San replied, checking the monitors that were supposed to record his wife’s future phone conversations.

“Nothing? Does this qualify as anything less than treason!”

San turned to look at his frazzled friend, holding his hands behind his back. “I’ve got everything under control, okay? And I need you to bring the van to my house tonight. I can sneak out Y/N’s purse and we can stitch in the GPS.”

Wooyoung sighed. “Anything else, your majesty?”

“Less attitude would be nice,” San told him cheekily, leaving Wooyoung to fume quietly to himself. In the meantime, San had one of the interns help him load some equipment into his car, ignoring the curious looks that he received from the other agents. Because whenever they attempted to inquire about the equipment, San would lie and tell them that he was doing some reconnaissance work from home.

Which wasn’t that far from the truth.

Later that night, San made sure that he was home early, surprising Y/N when he walked inside to offer her a gentle kiss in greeting. “San!” Y/N exclaimed. “You’re home?”

“Is that a problem?” San questioned.

“N-no,” Y/N stuttered. “But I wasn’t expecting you until later.”

“Hmmm...” San grinned. “I’ll be upstairs in the shower. Unless you want to join me?”

Y/N gasped, and her cheeks filled with an adorable blush. “Dinner...”

“It’s alright,” San said. “We can always mess around later.”

Y/N managed a nod which was nothing short of endearing, and San was even more convinced that he needed to keep a closer eye on his wife.

Thereafter, once he finished helping Y/N clean their dishes, they both returned to the bedroom upstairs. San immediately fell across the bed, enjoying the way that his mattress felt against his back after so many long hours at work. He also studied Y/N from the corner of his eye, formulating his next plan of action.

“I thought that we could have lunch tomorrow,” San said, and Y/N paused in front of the mirror.

“Oh,” she said. “I wish I had known sooner, babe, I’ve already made plans with some of my friends.”

“Really?” San asked, keeping a close eye on Y/N when he reached over onto the nightstand to grab her purse. “That sounds like fun.”

“It’s been a while,” she responded, covering her face with a delicate mask that gave San the perfect opportunity to quietly retreat into the bathroom. He immediately found the window above the sink, opening it just enough to toss out Y/N’s purse to an awaiting Wooyoung who was completely drenched from the rain.

“Yeah, thanks,” Wooyoung retorted, and San paused until he was around the corner of the house before returning to the bedroom.

“I’ll be right back,” San said, but Y/N was still distracted by the mess that she had made of her face mask. San chuckled to himself, hustling down the stairs to fling open the front door.

Thankfully, the agency’s van was parked in the driveway, and San waited by the door for Wooyoung who shakily offered him the purse. “You know, there’s still an opportunity for us to give up on this ridiculous plan.”

However, San’s silencing glare spoke louder than words. “What?”

“I mean, the GPS is at the bottom!” Wooyoung replied, flinching when San slammed the door in his face.

In the meantime, San had re-entered the house with Y/N’s purse tucked under his coat, bringing it upstairs and returning it to its previous place on the nightstand. “Are you tried?” he asked Y/N, laying back down on the bed as he watched her.

“Yeah,” she said. “Do you have to be up early?”

“Not really,” San said, holding his breath as Y/N finally joined him on the bed. He carefully turned over on his side, dragging Y/N closer with one arm wrapped around her delicate waist. “You know,” he hesitated, “I feel really bad about coming home late.”

Y/N stiffened against his embrace. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s okay,” San said. “I should work on that. You deserve better.”

Y/N gave no acknowledgment of his comment. Instead, she muttered something about feeling exhausted because of work, and San simply nodded his head in response. “I love you, Y/N.”

However, Y/N didn’t offer anything in return, and San could feel his heart sinking low inside his chest.

When San arrived to work the next morning, he decided to finally address the mounting pile of paperwork on his desk. It was mostly just an excuse to remain in the office because one of the interns, who he had assigned to watch over the phone lines, might come to him with developing information concerning Y/N. Thus, San was certain that he needed to remain on standby since he might receive an update at any moment.

Eventually, the work was starting to become tedious, and he glared at the clock when lunchtime rolled around, wondering if his wife was going on some kind of lunch date with her “mystery” man. But to San, he wasn’t much of a mystery, just some bastard who thought that he could try and seduce his wife. Which, of course, made him San’s rival, and there was nothing that he wanted more than to confront this man and beat the shit out of him.

His violent thoughts made San feel restless inside his office, and he decided to visit the interrogation office where the interns had been stationed. However, during his brief walk down the hallway, he thought about Y/N and her dismissive attitude towards him from the previous evening. Was his wife really no longer interested in him? Would San have enough guts to give her a divorce if she asked for it?

He shivered at the scenario, but the unexpected sight of Wooyoung talking with his interns provided a good distraction. “What’s going on?” San demanded when he walked into the room, and Wooyoung immediately hid something behind his back.

“San!” Wooyoung exclaimed, refusing to meet his gaze.

“You’re holding something,” San said.

“No...”

San rolled his eyes, cornering Wooyoung against the wall before reaching behind him to snatch away the transcript that his interns had likely created for him. Ignoring Wooyoung’s complaints, San started reading over the words, frowning when he realized that it was a conversation between his wife and Mike. “They’re meeting for lunch,” San said. “I know this restaurant.”

“Oh?”

San turned to address his interns. “Anything else?”

“No, sir,” one of them responded, and San reached behind him for the collar of Wooyoung’s well-pressed shirt.

“You’re coming with me,” San said.

“Where?” Wooyoung asked, and San held up the transcript that his friend immediately objected. “That’s really taking this too far, San!”

“Are you on my side or not?”

Wooyoung hesitated, appearing entirely conflicted, so San made his decision for him. He snatched Wooyoung’s familiar car keys from one of the desks, and Wooyoung only had a brief moment of realization before he was rushing to catch-up to San on the way out the front door. Unfortunately, San was beyond reason, ignoring Wooyoung’s attempts at rational conversation by opening the driver’s side door. “Take us there,” San requested, tossing his keys into the air before making himself comfortable on the opposite side.

Wooyoung was grumbling when he switched on the ignition. “This is really low, San.”

“You’re supposed to be my friend and partner.”

“I am!” Wooyoung said, slowly guiding them out into traffic. “Which is why I’m the most qualified to give you relationship advice, and I think that spying on your wife is a hard pass.”

“Says the same guy who’s already been divorced twice!”

“Yeah, and that means I know when you’re doing something wrong,” Wooyoung said. “And that we're doing right now? Wrong!”

“Just drive,” San insisted, and Wooyoung must’ve realized that his friend was stoically determined to follow through with his plan because he started quietly driving the rest of the way to the restaurant. “Pull in at the front,” San instructed him.

Wooyoung turned off the ignition, sighing as he leaned back in his seat. “There’s Y/N’s car.”

“Turn on the audio,” San said. “You put the microphone in her purse, right?”

“I stitched it myself,” Wooyung confirmed, reaching down to twist the knob on the machine attached to the radio.

There was mostly static until two distinct voices filled the rest of the car. “Hey, I’m so glad to see you,” a male voice said, and San assumed that it belonged to this Mike character.

“Of course,” Y/N responded timidly. “What did you need?”

“It’s important,” Mile said. “I think they’re coming for me tonight.”

“Tonight?” Y/N gasped, and San and Wooyoung exchanged a quick look.

“You’ll be there for me, right?” Mike asked, and San wrinkled his nose at the disgusting tone. “I have something to ask you.”

“Yes?”

“I can’t tell you until it’s safer,” Mike said. “Come home with me, tonight. We can talk in a place where they can’t follow us.”

“Damn, this guy moves fast!” Wooyoung laughed, but he immediately stopped when he noticed San’s fierce expression. “Oh, shit, I mean, that sleazy scumbag! Who does he think he is?”

“Just shut up,” San said, leaning in closer to the radio because Y/N was talking again.

“I have work until 5,” Y/N said.

“I’ll pick you up outside the office,” Mike replied, and there was a sound that reminded San suspiciously of the noise that he associated with Y/N’s delicate kisses.

“I’m beating the shit out of this bastard,” San declared, and Wooyoung shivered at his dangerous tone.

“Are we following them later?”

“Absolutely,” San agreed, reaching over to grab the GPS tracker. “I’m putting an end to this bullshit!”

Wooyoung simply nodded because he knew that San was past the point of talking him back from over the edge.

However, San was usually the type who could control his temper. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time when he had experienced what some might call “blind rage,” but he came pretty close when he watched his wife get in a stranger’s car without any hesitation. Consequently, San was forced to take several deep breaths to clear the red clouding his vision, waiting until he was mostly clear-headed again to open his eyes. Thankfully, Wooyoung was already following Y/N and Mike, maintaining a safe distance so that they wouldn’t suspect anything.

“Keep on that car until they stop,” San instructed his friend, gripping tightly to the dash while they continued to follow Y/N and Mike through the relatively empty streets.

After twenty minutes of tense driving, they finally pulled into a modest apartment complex where Mike pulled in the driveway of one of the units. “He lives there?” Wooyoung asked, driving past their car.

“Turn back around at the end of the road,” San said while pulling out his cellphone. “I’m calling for back-up.”

“Back-up?!” Wooyoung repeated, but it was too late to change San’s mind and he was already ordering most of Hongjoon’s agents off the street to arrive at the complex.

“This is insane!” Wooyoung loudly whispered, stopping his car at the sidewalk near Mike’s apartment just in time to see Y/N walking inside with the other man.

San reached behind him for the gun that he kept on the backseat. “You aren’t shooting him, are you?” Wooyoung asked, but San’s response was nothing but a crooked smirk as he re-loaded the weapon.

Much to Wooyoung’s horror, the other agents were also fast to arrive on the scene, and San greeted Yunho and Mingi who had been dealing with a drug bust downtown. “What do we got?” Mingi asked when he recognized San.

“Some kind of undercover exchange,” San lied. “Clear out the back of the van for me.”

“Do we have any details?”

“Two people,” San explained. “One man and a woman. The dude is complete trash and you can leave him to me, but the woman is innocent, so just try and get her out safely.”

“Yes, sir,” Yunho said, teasing San with the directive.

“Get your agents ready,” San replied because he wasn’t in any mood to joke around.

Graciously, Yunho and Mingi immediately complied, shouting orders into their walkie-talkies while several agents emerged from around the house, completely dressed from head to tie in their uniforms. Actually, the entire complex was surrounded by Hongjoong’s agents with their sleek black cars, and various cases of equipment and weapons ready for their disposal. “Are you ready?” San asked Wooyoung, covering his face with a mask to disguise his identity.

Wooyoung did the same with a grunt. “I’m sure Y/N will never forget this night.”

San ignored him, checking the safety on his gun, before he stationed himself next to the front door of the apartment. He gave a signal to the agent across from him who nodded once, taking a step back to kick down the door with force, and chaos quickly unraveled as the small apartment was filled with dozens of armed men shouting and aiming their guns in the direction of the two people situated rather scandalously on the couch.

San recognized Y/N’s screams, eyes widening when he noticed that Mike had somehow made himself rather comfortable in close proximity to his wife. San grabbed the sleazy bastard who was still between his wife’s thighs, jerking him back by the collar of his shirt. “You piece of shit,” San grunted, tossing the man onto the ground to cuff his hands.

“What’s happening!” Mike cried, struggling against San’s grip. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yeah, right, asshole,” San muttered, forcing Mike to stand on his own two feet again before searching for Wooyoung. “Get Y/N.”

Wooyoung nodded, approaching Y/N carefully because her eyes were filled with fear and she was looking around at all the action unfolding. “Let’s go, Ma’am,” Wooyoung said with a wince, trying his best to disguise his regular voice because Y/N might recognize him.

“Who are you?” Y/N demanded, but Wooyoung didn’t try to explain, reaching for her arm.

Y/N shrieked and fought against Wooyoung’s hold, even as Wooyoung maintained his grip. “Oh, come on, Y/N, don’t be like this.”

“You asshole!” Y/N screamed, turning around to knee Wooyoung between the legs and the younger man immediately collapsed to the ground.

“Holy shit,” Wooyoung cried. “That fucking hurt!”

His loud curse attracted San’s attention, and he brought Mike to another agent with strict directions to throw him in the back of the van. Meanwhile, he ran after Y/N who was flailing her arms while tripping in her high heels. “Damn,” San gasped, fighting for air when he finally caught up to Y/N.

“Who are you people?!” Y/N shrieked, kicking out her legs when San wrapped an arm around her upper torso. He certainly hadn’t expected his wife to fight them so much, especially when she leaned down to bite him. However, he only groaned in complaint and fought against the pain while he managed to drag Y/N back to another agent’s car.

“Take her to the agency,” San instructed one of the other men. “In the interrogation room.”

“Yes, sir,” the agent said, and San waited until he was driving off before he confronted Wooyoung who was still hunched over on his knees.

“Come on,” San said, tapping his foot against him.

“You try getting kicked in the dick,” Wooyoung spat, using San’s suspenders to help himself back up. “God, you stupid prick,” Wooyung howled, still feeling the effects of Y/N’s kick while he flipped off Mingi and Yunho who were laughing at his expense.

“Job well done, gentlemen,” Yunho said, flashing San a quick thumbs-up as he settled himself behind the wheel of the van.

“Ignore him,” San told a still seething Wooyoung before they drove off in the direction of Hongjoong’s agency.

The interrogation room was incredibly high-tech with an indestructible Plexiglas wall separating the room itself from the attached studio which was filled with expensive equipment. Wooyoung and San sat together in the studio, watching Y/N as she stormed around the room, screaming and yelling while demanding to be heard. “She’s something else,” Wooyoung remarked.

“Do we still have the voice changing microphone?” San asked.

“Of course,” Wooyoung said, reaching behind him for the appropriate instrument. “Let me get it ready.”

San nodded, thoughtfully considering Y/N who had passionately refused to sit down even after facing stern directions from one of the interns. She had always been passionate, refusing to give in to others, and it was a big part of the reason why San had fallen in love with her in the first place. It was also impossible to describe Y/N’s beauty because, even after such a long and chaotic evening, she still managed to look good in nothing but casual jeans and a simple blouse.

“Good evening, Mrs. Choi,” Wooyoung spoke into the mic, and his voice echoed inside the interrogation room. “We’d like to ask you some questions. It’s in your best interest to cooperate.”

However, Y/N appeared less than compliant, and she furiously slammed her hands against the glass. “Who are you! What do you want from me?”

“Calm down, Mrs. Choi,” Wooyoung said, flinching when San abruptly took the microphone from him.

“We found you with an incredibly dangerous man, Mrs. Choi,” San said. “Can you tell us how the two of you met?”

“Dangerous?” Y/N repeated, looking nothing short of confused. “Mike?”

“How do you know him?”

“We met when I was having lunch alone one day,” Y/N said. “He came up to me with a briefcase and said that he was being followed by some suspicious agents.”

“Why?”

“He works undercover,” Y/N explained. “His work seemed really important.”

“So important that you decided to help him?” San asked.

“Well,” Y/N hesitated. “He said he needed me.”

“Needed you in what way, Mrs. Choi?” Wooyoung took over, much to San’s displeasure.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “What the hell are you insinuating?”

“Is it because your husband isn’t pleasing you anymore, Mrs. Choi?” Wooyoung asked, whining when San grabbed the microphone from him.

“Let me handle this,” San said, before turning his attention back to Y/N. “Why did you keep meeting him, even though you barely knew who he was?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, throwing out her hands desperately. “I guess it’s stupid, but I kinda liked that he was involved with something top secret. It seemed really special for me to be a part of it.”

“Special enough for you to cheat on your husband?” San practically spat into the microphone.

“Wait a minute! How do you know that I’m married?”

“We know everything, Mrs. Choi,” San said, quickly trying to make-up for his slip. “Did you sleep with him?”

“I hardly see how that’s any of our business!”

“Answer the question,” San insisted. “Your compliance with us could help your case.”

“My case?”

“Of course,” San said. “You were found with a wanted man. That makes you an accomplice.”

Wooyoung cleared his throat. “Isn’t that a little too much?”

San shook his head, determined to get to the bottom of things. “No, I didn’t,” Y/N finally said. “Satisfied?”

“Were you attracted to him?”

“No!” Y/N cried. “What do these questions have to do with anything?”

“I just have one more thing for you, Mrs. Choi,” San said, taking a deep breath as he braced himself for the answer. “Do you still love your husband?”

Y/N sighed, looking around the steel-gray walls of the room. “Yes,” she said. “I still love him.”

“Terrific!” Wooyoung whispered. “She still loves you! Everything's fine.”

However, San still had one more thing in mind. “You want some adventure in your life, Mrs. Choi,” San said carefully. “That’s good because we might have a solution to our problem concerning your association with Mike. Otherwise, we’ll have to turn you into the authorities.”

“Well!” Y/N exclaimed. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”

Wooyoung covered the microphone, looking at San with suspicious eyes. “What the hell are you planning?”

San smirked at Wooyoung. “If she wants some excitement, then I’m going to give it to her.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, but remained silent. “Mrs. Choi,” San said. “How do you feel about doing some undercover work for us?”

After ensuring that one of the agency’s interns could safely return Y/N home, Wooyoung and San drove quietly to the edge of town to deal with Mike. They pulled the van off the road next to a large overpass, dragging him out screaming and crying from the back. But despite his attempts to break free, San held him perilously at the edge of an enormous dam. “Please,” Mike cried. “Don’t kill me.”

San rolled his eyes, even though Mike probably couldn’t tell from behind his mask. “Did you really think you could get away with it?”

“What are you talking about?” Mike questioned. “You’ve got the wrong guy!”

“It’s all over,” Wooyoung said. “Your career as a spy is well-documented.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No, seriously, I’m just a car salesman,” Mike cried. “I’ve never done anything wrong!”

“Why did we find you with that young woman?” San asked. “We overheard you telling her all about your secret as a spy!”

“It’s only because I have to lie to get laid,” Mike said. “I made the whole thing up because I was trying to impress her!”

“A married woman?” San asked.

“I’m sorry,” Mike said, and there were actual tears streaming down his face. “I’m the biggest coward in the world!”

“Get the fuck out of here,” San grunted, jerking Mike’s hands free from his shirt.

“As soon as I’m not looking I know that you’re gonna shoot me!” Mike declared, walking backwards as he looked back and forth between San and Wooyoung.

San pushed him out of the way, reaching for the driver’s side door of the van. Meanwhile, Wooyoung turned around to confront the frazzled man. He reached for his gun, firing off a few rounds into the air while Mile immediately covered his head. “Fuck off, dude.’”

One Week Later

The hotel made for the perfect cover, and an ideal situation to carry out San’s plan for his wife, even if Wooyoung was less than enthusiastic. He was currently helping San arrange the room to his liking, moving one of the chairs into the shadows of the curtains. His partner also handed San a tape recorder, and San smiled at him gratefully. “Look,” Wooyoung said. “I had one of the interns record some shit. Just play the phrases whenever you need to talk to her.”

It was a good way to disguise his voice, and sitting in the corner would help keep his identity protected. “Did you arrange everything with her?” San asked.

“We had an agent call the house earlier with instructions,” Wooyoung said. “We told her that she was meeting a man who’d be expecting an exotic dancer. She’s supposed to tell you that the regular girl is sick.”

“What did you ask her to do?”

“We dropped off an envelope by her office,” Wooyoung explained. “Her job is to plant the bug on the nightstand without you noticing.”

San chuckled. “And who does she think I am exactly?”

“A very wealthy man,” Wooyoung said, reaching for his phone when it started ringing. He answered in quietly, stepping off to the side of the room while San finished arranging a bouquet of roses next to the little side table where he would be sitting for most of the night. Despite the fact that this whole night had been his idea, he was still nervous about how his wife would handle everything, and there was inherent risk of exposing his identity that he was trying to ignore.

“She’s on her way up,” Wooyoung announced.

“Then, you should go,” San said, ushering Wooyoung towards the door, even while his partner flipped off the light switches as he passed them.

“I’ll be in the lobby in case something goes horribly wrong,” Wooyoung said. “Since it might considering how insane this entire plan is!”

“Relax,” San said, giving him a friendly pat on the ass. “I have everything under control.”

Wooyoung still appeared doubtful, but he gave his friend the benefit of the doubt, and San made sure that the door was closed and unlocked before he settled himself on the chair that he placed in the corner of the room. He sat down with a nervous exhale, wondering if he should cross his legs or not, and he held the tape recorder behind him. There was no turning back from the plan, and San anxiously anticipated Y/N’s arrival, finally deciding to leave his legs spread out in front of him.

It was only a few minutes later that he heard the sound of the front door opening, waiting with a pounding heart as Y/N entered the room. San swallowed hard when Y/N approached, wearing one of the sexiest dresses that he had ever seen in his entire life. His eyes trailed down the skin of her exposed legs, moving back up again to pause on the tight fit around her breasts. He cleared his throat and reached behind him for the tape recorder. “What’s your name?”

San jumped when he noticed that the recording's voice was much deeper than his, and it was also slightly accented.

“Y/N,” she whispered, and her tone certainly didn’t match the intimidating outfit that she wore. “The regular girl was sick, but she thought you would like me.”

“Let me determine that for myself.”

Y/N nodded, reaching behind her for the zipper, but San quickly rewound the tape. “No, do it slowly for me.”

She was hesitant, but San sat up straighter when she turned around to undo the zipper on the back of the dress, allowing it to fall onto the floor. San cleared his throat, taking in the sight of Y/N wearing a black set of lingerie, and the panties barely covered her ass when she made a complete circle to look at San again for directions. “Dance for me,” the recording instructed. “I want to see how sexy you are.”

Y/N paused while San reached out to turn on the radio, adjusting the volume for the heavy bass song that began to play throughout the room. San waited, taking in a deep breath when her hips started to move, and it was awkward at first, until she finally found the beat, dragging her hands over her gorgeous body. San watched as her hands traveled over her breasts, moving them down sensuously to tease the waistband of her underwear.

At this point, San’s heart was practically leaping into his throat, and the music sounded unbelievably loud inside his ears. Y/N was clearly distracted by her own dancing, closing her eyes as she continued to hypnotize San with the tantalizing way that she undulated her hips. San groaned at the display because he was uncomfortably hard in his black trousers, reaching down to adjust himself as he watched Y/N grind herself against the bed post.

She dropped lower to the ground, pushing her ass out in San’s direction, and every bit of blood in his body had moved south to fill his cock. It took everything that he had not to launch himself at his wife who was using the post as support to sway her body from side to side. San closed his eyes, leaning over to turn down the radio so that Y/N could hear the tape recorder again.

“Lie on the bed and close your eyes.”

Y/N stumbled in her heels at the unexpected order, but she still obeyed, gently lowering herself vertically across the hotel’s king-sized bed. In the meantime, San took a flower from the vase next to him, walking over to Y/N to drag the velvety petals against her smooth skin. He was unable to help himself when he joined her on the edge of the bed, leaning down to claim Y/N’s irresistible red-glossed lips.

He moaned against her mouth, resisting the urge to climb his fingers along her beautiful skin that was practically glowing from the light penetrating through the curtains. It had been a long time since he had kissed his wife so passionately, and he was determined to make her feel good tonight. Of course, distracted by the moment’s pleasures, San failed to realize that Y/N had grabbed the alarm clock from the corner of the nightstand until she was hitting him over the head with the offending object. “Pervert!” she shouted, immediately rising from the bed. San grunted as he collapsed to the floor, feeling the dizzying effects of the hit that he had just taken courtesy of his wife’s powerful aim.

However, he quickly came to realize that Y/N was trying to put on her dress while limping haphazardly for the exit. “Y/N,” San shouted, and his wife paused. “It’s me!” He removed the mask and held up his hands, watching Y/N’s eyes grow wide with shock.

“San?” she gasped, and her entire body was suddenly shaking.

“Yes, it’s me,” San whispered, hoping to calm her down.

“H-How?” she asked, clutching the dress tightly to her chest.

“I’m not an insurance agent,” San said, carefully approaching his wife like she might flee at any moment. “I work for a private detective’s office downtown, but I had to lie because I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“What?” Y/N questioned, pulling at the strands of her hair as if she couldn’t process anything that he was saying. “None of this makes sense!”

“It was me that night with Mike or whoever,” San revealed. “I interrogated you in that room, and I had some of the agents organize this night for us!”

“San, you sound insane right now!” Y/N said.

“I know,” San agreed, trying to reach out for Y/N, but she quickly took another step back. “I’m so sorry for everything, baby. I couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt because of the stuff that I did at work, so I made up a cover to protect you!”

“You?” Y/N repeated, and San wasn’t sure if it was a question or just his wife’s attempt to make sense of everything. “Y-you're being honest? This was your idea?”

San nodded. “Look, I have a badge and everything,” he said, reaching into his pocket to extract his wallet, holding it out for Y/N who took it with narrowed eyes. “I’ve been working at the agency for years. That’s I’m always home so late because my cases sometimes are more difficult than others.”

Y/N had taken out his badge, studying it with an expression that he had never seen from his wife before. Finally, she dropped the wallet and badge onto the floor, inhaling once as she addressed him. “I can’t believe you’ve lied to me.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” San said, desperately trying to make amends. “I know it was wrong to keep this from you, but I thought it would help you.”

“Help me?” Y/N spat. “Really, San? Because I love thinking that my husband is an insurance agent who spends all night at his office, but it turns out that he’s secretly keeping another identity from me since he could actually die!”

“I’m hardly ever in danger,” San said, but he realized that Y/N wasn’t quite as accepting.

“And what’s this dancing thing all about?” she asked. “You literally tricked me into coming here so you could watch me dry hump the bed?”

“That’s not it, Y/N,” San said. “I- I heard what you said in the interrogation room. You said that you wanted to do something special.”

“But not after my husband lied to me!” Y/N said, meeting San across the room to sharply push against his shoulders. “Is our marriage a cover too?”

“Of course not,” San said, shaking his head. “Y/N, I love you more than anything else in the world.”

“If you loved me, then we wouldn’t be in this situation,” Y/N said. “I feel humiliated!”

“I’m sorry,” San tried again. “This is all my fault, and you can hate me for the rest of your life, but I never wanted to hurt you. Because I’ve loved you long before I became an agent, and I just want you to know that I care about your happiness, even if sometimes seems like I’m the world’s biggest asshole.”

Y/N sniffled, studying San for several long moments. “I believe that you love me,” she finally said. “And I still love you too, but we’re gonna talk about this! Do you hear me?”

“Of course,” San agreed.

“Especially about this disaster,” she continued. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Well,” San said, searching for the correct words. “You look really hot...”

“Shit! I’m still fucking mad at you!” Y/N said, but there was also a carnal energy in her eyes that had San hesitating. “I swear to God I’ll make you pay for this!”

“Is that a promise?” San asked, and Y/N didn’t hesitate to throw her weight against him in a furious kiss as they both landed on top of the luxury bed.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez oneshot #ateez san #choi san #ateez san fanfic #san fanfic #choi san oneshot #san oneshot #ateez san au

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404fmdminjung · 4 years ago

Photo

famed idol life / career meme

notes: i started doing responses one by one, but then i thought it’d be better to do one big mass-post instead of flooding dash all at once. thank you to all that sent in! appreciate u all :~) (if anyone has any numbers they need, please feel free to like this or just let me know, even if i already sent in an ask!)

2. what are your favorite b-sides/non-title tracks you’ve released?

“i like diana. there’s something moody, sultry about it with a touch of elegance. it’s almost like cheap wine on a long friday — contrasting, but it somehow fits. plus, sooah helped out on that track which becomes the cherry icing on top. perhaps, there’s something better coming out on my next album, where there’s too many b-sides that i’d cherry pick myself to be my favorite. for that, look out at the sea, captain.”

3. what is your least favorite song (title track or b-side) you’ve released?

“i don’t think there’s a least favorite. if there were, then i wouldn’t have partook in any of it — my personality’s in it or out of it. there’s no in between, especially where my voice plays a part. i don’t want to touch things where my heart doesn’t lie, that’d just be cruel. wouldn’t it? if it doesn’t relieve my soul a bit, then i don’t think i’d dip my toes in those waters.”

6. what is one thing (a concept, a genre, an outfit, etc.) you would least like your company make you do?

“i’d like to do house funk, maybe house-pop. you’ve seen elements in it in knight’s old releases, and even the oldies like decipher’s done it. unity’s dabbled in it somewhat in their b-sides, and considering fuse has amassed a long bridge of different concepts — the spectrum’s large. i’d like to wear hawaiian t-shirts and prance around to some summer house-funk, and that’s something i think the general public can all dance around in their rooms to.”

8. if you could be in any idol group, which one would you choose?

“i’ve grown accustomed to fuse — i like being in fuse. i don’t think i’d fit anywhere else, though i would say bee would be a nice change for the summer fun. i’d even enjoy myself to be in unity had i been a boy. can you imagine? the fun that would come out of belting welcome to my playground, and singing the tunes to touch. that’d be a girl’s dream come true.”

9. if you could say one thing to your ceo, what would it be?

“you’re the prettiest person i’ve ever seen. in the whole country, out of all the women in the world — you’re the standard of beauty. but i’m sure the whole world knows that by now, don’t they? i thank you for giving fuse some of the best songs, and though i’ve never met you face by face, i’d like to believe you’re better than what’s shown from face value. but, still — my wannabe face is you but no amount of plastic surgery would turn me into you, would it?”

10. if you were auditioning for your company today, what would you perform for your audition, or what would you change from your original audition?

“i don’t think i’d repeat the dance, nor attempt to dance to something like seo taeji and boys. if i recall, i did h.o.t’s we are the future, and snsd’s kissing you with a ruler i had in my back pocket. in retrospect, that was my standard of dancing — if only i’d known it’d become a bad memory to highlight the work i have left. maybe, i’d only stick to kissing you, ruler version while singing something more melodically acceptable than finkl’s now.”

11. if you could do any special stage, what would it be and who would it be with?

“i don’t know — i don’t know many things when it comes to these mix and match scenarios. i know i’d like to make a stage where i can dance freely as if i’m in the comfort of my own home. perhaps to a song like gee, or even oh — even willing to dabble in lipstick’s genie if it means dressing up like a sailor and going ahoy. i’d want to do the stage with jeonghwa, sooah, and well — i don’t have that many friends to give you a special stage, oops.”

13. if you could become a model or ambassador for any brand, what would you choose?

”again, i’ve been blessed and satiated with each and every opportunity given. working with dior has been a smooth sailing ride as well as cartier — perhaps, given the option i wouldn’t opt for pathere de cartier but a different line. still, nothing really takes away from the heart and soul of their jewelry, which i appreciate with my cup of tea. i’d continue to work with dior, and if hermes would ever take the punch — i’d even have an affair with them.”

14. if you could be on any variety show, which one (or which type of one) would you want to be on?

“knowing brothers — i really watch that show. or even, 전지적 참견 시점 — those are the shows i keep tabs of on a weekly basis. i'd love my manager to have her time to shine and steal the hearts of the world with her variety work. she’s a very funny person you know. as for knowing brothers? that’s a given knowing how quick the crowd is on their feet and the little mini-games that come from each episode. i hurt my stomach each time from laughing along so many times.”

16. what changes would you implement if you were the ceo of your company?

“a free-for-all. i’ve never wanted to become a ceo, but had i been granted the opportunity to rule on all floors, i’d implement a few things. mandatory art classes, and creative freedom to the album jackets for all my artists. no dating-bans, let it all air out — most of all, i’d let them do as they wished as long has it harmed nobody else and they could handle the aftermath. no restrictions, roam free, bunnies.”

17. what do you do to relieve the stress of idol life?

“call me pretentious or call me a sell-out, i do what any other normal person does. i like sitting in the cafes with my notebook out, sketching. i sketch people that come in and out, or the people that decide to sit next to me. if i’m home, i’m painting on canvas with my record player crooning in the background or knitting a sweater to wear next winter. on a really adventurous day, you’ll see me playing the pole or stretching my limbs at pilates. but that’s on a non-lazy day.”

18. what tips would you give to a trainee about to debut?

“wear your skin like armor, and let it thicken as time goes on. no need to get hurt by words, and instead roll with the punches — learn to accept the hate that comes, and be scrutinized underneath a microscope. sometimes, you don’t know if it’s really reality, but the faster you assimilate yourself, the quicker you learn to glide past your career. think of everything as a catch-22, only there’s no real safety net.”

19. what was the hardest part of being a trainee?

“getting along with the other people and have them stay away from getting to know me. it’s obvious, the trainee life is temporary — there’s going to be those that debut and those that don’t, so why pry further than you have to? everyone should’ve been given the basic privacy instead of trying to play formalities and get along. other than that, i hated dance practice and i still do. dance isn’t a strong suit, and having someone force me to follow a tempo i can’t march to was no fun at all.”

20. did you enjoy the lifestyle of a trainee or of a debuted idol more?

“i liked being a debuted idol far better, only because there was a layer of privacy given to me. ironically, i was suddenly in the public eye. yet, it still allowed some layer of anonymity within the inner circle and the day to day people i interacted with. starting from a sea of trainees, and having it dwindle to a group of my members — it all made it easier to handle in the end. besides, i was getting no sleep regardless trainee or not.”

22. describe your dream sub-unit (members and concept).

“take the fuse darker concepts — peekaboo, bad boy, psycho. and merge it into one, all while getting rid of the dresses too short to dress in. wrap it all together, and you get my favorite concept. i like mystery, and latent meanings behind pretty tunes, and being able to do that each comeback would be a dream. surely, the audience might get bored of it, but i wouldn’t and i’m allowed to be selfish, aren’t i? my dream sub-unit, i’d take sooah. without sooah, i don’t know what i’d do, really. she’s like a mini-mom, three years younger. then, i’d take kiana for the dance that sooah and i can’t handle. i suppose i’d add suji in there because i don’t think anyone can belt like she does, no offense to kiana. but there’s a heartier belt when suji does it. sorry to our leader, i guess.”

23. out of the following six options, would you rather be allowed to play a major hand in the lyrics, production, choreography, styling, music videos, or concepts you release?

“i started off in lyrics, so i’ll stay loyal till the end. i’ll keep to the lyrics, so i can continue to write the stories my heart wants to say. sometimes, i’ll fall into cliches, but that’s okay. if it’s not in music production or the general content of the song, i suppose i’d take a dabble in styling — and stop dressing myself in the short skirts making it impossible to dance. really, those are the only two things i’ll be selfish for.”

25. what is your least favorite part of being an idol?

“waking up early, not having enough time to draw — those would just be the superficial things, right? but really, there’s pros and cons to any jobs, just ask any office worker with a nine to five. however, if i’m given a sliver of honesty to wave my grievances, i’d like to mention that i don’t like working in short skirts that get shorter each comeback. i don’t like getting mauled by the public of who i make eye contact with or who i work with — i don’t like getting over criticized and the list goes on.”

26. what is your favorite part of being an idol?

“i’ve always been a story teller. i like crafting stories and telling my world for how i see it, and given this opportunity in music, i’m able to do so. i like playing with instruments, sketching out things for an album idea — the creative process while meeting new people along the way. it’s a journey, an adventure and most of all, it avoids stagnation. i’m on the move, go go go.”

27. would you rather be incredibly famous with a terrible reputation and hated by most or be fairly unknown with a good reputation and adored by those who know of you? why?

“i’m already disliked by most — they don’t like the way i dress, who i’m friends with or the manner in which i present myself. but i’m given the opportunity to ignore these things along the way, and learn to handle things bit by bit. given the choice, i’d rather hide in anonymity with the few around me enjoying my presence. i’ve learned by now, public opinion doesn’t correlate to much as it’s nothing more than a crow perched far away as poe would say.”

29. what have you learned about yourself and/or society since becoming a celebrity?

“i’ve only been taught life skills, such as time management and patience. in hindsight, i’ve learned how cruel people are to judge things from what they see at surface level. the world’s superficial — that’s a bitter pill to swallow. i don’t know much about myself as i haven’t gotten that part figured out. instead, i’ve just learned that the world is cruel and the people in it amount to little to no positivity — go figure.”

#fmdmeme001 #fmdyiyeon #fmdmaverick #fmdjaein #fmdkiana #jihoonfmd #jihaefmd #thank you all again for asking!#(큐뀨↻queue)

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schleierkauz · 5 years ago

Text

The Color of Revenge: Chapter 4

Me: “This story is sooo interesting! Maybe we get to meet one of the witches next? Maybe a chapter from Roxane’s perspective? Maybe some insight into what exactly the Prince is up to? Maybe -” Cornelia Funke: “Anyway here’s Ironstone.”

(This is also your reminder to definitely listen to the official version once we get it because this chapter kinda kicked my ass. If any part of this just straight up makes no sense pls tell me. Enjoy!)

Chapter 4: An unpleasant Companion

Of course Ironstone had lied about his master. Orpheus was very much alive and healthy, aside from his chronically sensitive stomach and flights of migraine, which only served as an excuse to spend hours in bed. Meanwhile Rudolph washed his clothes, cooked, scrubbed the floors and worked himself to the bone with a thousand other tasks.

Orpheus had ordered him to visit Elinor. He had given very specific instructions regarding the order in which they were supposed to visit his old foes. Ironstone was almost done. Only Farid was still missing since he wasn’t in Ombra. He had hidden one of the wooden sticks that Orpheus had given him in the belongings of all the other people he’d visited – under the bed, inside of bags, shoes or clothes.

“What are those for?“ he’d asked as Orpheus had counted the small wooden sticks into the leather bag that had been strapped to Ironstone’s back like a backpack. “Do you want me to try my hand at arson? That’s hardly a good way to kill the Fire-Dancer.”

“It’s none of your concern what those sticks are for,“ Orpheus had answered with his usual air of importance. “Maybe they’ll catch you while you hide them and I don’t want you to be able to reveal my plan.”

Unsettling – but so far no one had caught him. And Ironstone was determined to keep it that way. Orpheus had impressed it upon him that the sticks had to stay with the person they were meant for for two nights. Under no circumstances were they to be discovered before then. So Ironstone had tried his best to find good hiding places. Orpheus could turn very nasty if his orders weren’t followed exactly as he wanted. He had almost drowned Ironstone in his ink once and a few times the glass man had had to visit the glazier for broken off limbs. Not to mention that fit of rage during which his master had chased him through his shabby chambers with a hammer. No glazier would have been able to fix that damage.

Ironstone couldn’t have explained why he stayed with Orpheus despite all of it. Maybe because it was nice to work for a master who was even more devious than he himself.

“Two nights, then you go to collect them again and give them to Baldassare so he can deliver them to their final recipient.”

Baldassare. The man on whose shoulder he’d travelled from Tyrola to Ombra was just as evil, devious and unprincipled as Orpheus himself. He would’ve sold him to the men who fed glass men to fighting dogs in order to sharpen their teeth had Orpheus not made it very clear that he needed Ironstone back unharmed.

Baldassare Renaldesci liked to brag that he’d been a master thief since his fifth birthday and since his eleventh also a very gifted murderer. He claimed to have sent over a hundred men and women to the afterlife – a place that was, according to him, similar to a giant pub, which meant he really just did his victims a favor. The wooden casket in which he kept buttons and belt buckles, cut from the clothes of his victims, was filled to the brim.

“It helps me to remember how many there were,“ he’d explained to Ironstone, obvious pride in his voice. “Most people have no idea how hard it is to kill a grown man and how fiercely some try to defend themselves.”

The casket also contained two gold teeth (Ironstone was grateful that Baldassare didn’t mention where they’d come from) – and a glass eye that was supposed to protect him from the evil eye.

Baldassare’s eyes were brown like those of a cow and most of the time they seemed so dull and disinterested that one might have mistaken them for glass as well.

But appearances could be deceiving.

Baldassare’s cow eyes didn’t miss anything, which made his claim that he’d once been a spy for the duke of Milan at least a little bit more believable.

Anyway – he didn’t bathe often enough, he liked lousy lodgings where the rats were bigger than Ironstone and he loved cheap prostitutes who thought glass men were adorable little pets. Plus, he enjoyed fighting, was constantly high on cheap wine, elf dust and cinderella lentils and wrote bad verses to worse melodies which he considered to be an expression of his untamable genius. To make it short: Ironstone was counting the days until they finished Orpheus’ tasks and he could get off of Baldassare’s filthy shoulder.

At least the weather was a lot more pleasant in Ombra than it was in Bruneck – and there were glass women. And a lot of troubadours and rich merchants who needed glass men. There had been moments when Ironstone had seriously considered not going back to Orpheus. But he had gotten used to him and his black heart. And it wouldn’t be easy to find another master who was so thoroughly supportive of his desires to do evil.

The abandoned house that Baldassare had claimed as their home still had the sign of the Black Death painted on the brittle door, even though it had been 20 years since the plague ravaged Ombra. The empty rooms behind it smelled like mold and rat dung and the glassless windows let in every biting smell that came from the dye baths of the tanners nearby. Flayed skin… Quite appropriate. Orpheus probably had something similar in mind for those who had foiled his plans, even though he kept the specifics a secret.

Baldassare was snoring on a bearskin he’d stolen from the tanners, his fingers white with elf dust. He was a tall, strong man who wore the blurred remains of past beauty on his puffy face. His black hair was a little too black (he dyed it with the foul-smelling liquid the tanners used for their skins) and you could always deduct his last meal by looking at his clothes.

Ah, the world was so unfair! Baldassare would receive a bag of gold for his services while Orpheus’ own loyal (well… somewhat loyal) glass man had to content himself with dry bread, hard cheese and sour wine.

Ironstone tiptoed closer to Baldassare’s sleeping form and pushed his tiny hand into the bag tied to his belt. Ah yes… A few coins were still in there. Surely he wouldn‘t miss just one. Judging by how he wrote down his verses, his skills for counting probably weren’t much better than his spelling. But Ironstone had only just closed his hand around the coin when dirty fingers grabbed him.

“And what do you think you’re doing there, Shard Head?” Baldassare slurred and held Ironstone up in front of his bloodshot eyes. His voice sounded like oil. Warm, rancid oil.

“Should I sell you to one of the travelling merchants who export glass men to Persia and Mauritania, where they have you fight snakes and scorpions? I hear there’s a great demand. Because there’s usual nothing left of your kind but a few splinters.”

Oh yes. Baldassare Renaldesci had a black heart. Maybe it was even darker than that of Orpheus. Ironstone knew that there were a few things Orpheus valued in this world. But he had yet to find anything that inspired such feelings in Baldassare. Except maybe himself, louses and all. And his bad verses.

“I haven’t had a proper meal since yesterday!“ Ironstone shrieked. “I have a right to at least one meal a day! And the sun is already setting!”

“It is?“ Baldassare scratched his paunch and struggled to get on his feet. ”Damn. The Black Prince is holding an audience for all troubadours who want to join him. I want to recite one of my verses.”

“Your verses? You have something else to deliver him, did you forget that?“

They had split Orpheus‘ list up between the two of them. The dead-and-buried-list, as Ironstone liked to call it. Of course Baldassare had made sure that he only had to deal with six of the 14 names on it. His argument had been that Dustfinger, the Black Prince and the young firebug were far more dangerous tasks than the bookworm woman or the old Inkweaver.

Ridiculous.

After all, the split made the Bluejay and his daughter Ironstone’s responsibility. But Baldassare had just given him a slimy smile and pushed eight of the wooden sticks towards Ironstone.

“Come on, Ire – you attract way less attention than I do“ he’d purred.

Ire, Shard Heard, Pipsqueak, Fog Face (a reference to Ironstone’s foggy gray limbs) – Baldassare had many names for Ironstone and he didn’t like any of them. But he consoled himself with the fact that the nicknames he used for Baldassare were even less flattering.

“Forget? I forget nothing and no one, Shard Head.“ Baldassare pulled the round silver mirror out of his pocket that he treated it with more care than any of his other belongings. “Baldassare,” he murmured as he spat into his hand and smoothed back his dyed hair. “You’re still one handsome devil.”

The silver offered a blurry improvement on reality and the elf dust probably did the rest – there was no other explanation for this judgement. Ironstone was continuously surprised how much vanity hid behind Baldassare’s sleazy appearance. He even owned an ivory comb and a brush for his teeth.

“Oh no, no,“ he said just as Ironstone was about to get comfortable on the bearskin. “You’re coming with me. It looks good when a troubadour has his own glass man.”

Wonderful. Ironstone had been up and about for almost four days and nights to finish his portion of the list.

“The Black Prince doesn’t like me at all!“ he protested when Baldassare grabbed him. “He won’t even want to listen to your verses once he sees me! And then what? Do you want to sacrifice your future fame for Orpheus’ old rivalries?”

Baldassare was usually a very suspicous man but when it came to his stilted verses he believed even excuses as absurd as this one.

“That would be too bad, yes. Ah, va bene, you’re staying here – but get me some new strings for my lute.”

Of course. It wasn’t enough that he tortured the ears of everyone around him with bad verses, he had to follow it up with even worse lute melodies.

“Get them? How?“ Ironstone held his hand out to Baldassare, hoping he would get the hint, but the man just sneered at him.

“How? Steal them!“

Ironstone glanced up to the worryingly fat spider that was lurking in its net under the moist ceiling. He decided to dedicate the rest of the evening not to Baldassare’s or Orpheus’ desires but his own. The street in which Ombras instrument makers worked was south of the tannery streets but Ironstone turned north, towards the seamstresses who made clothes for the wealthier citizens of Ombra… assisted by countless glass women.

(Next chapter)

#cornelia funke #the color of revenge #inkheart #inkworld #look guys it's a new character! sure hope i got his name right jfhgdkhgf #rainer strecker speaks very clearly but some of these italian names.... man #i'm gonna read myself into the inkworld and start a union for rudolph #i only ever post these in the middle of the night maybe i should work on that?#then again #it's only the middle of the night for me #good night everyone #and yes it is ELF dust #not fairy dust #also i want to know what cinderella lentils are #cornelia pls write more about these magical drugs #ly dont look

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