#in response to a lotta bullshit

[ponyfartsu]

The unapologetic femininity of a raider

[magnoliamyrrh]

"the difference between a conspiracy and fact is time" isnt always true because some things are just genuinely loony and wrong but. boy oh boy is it true in too many cases

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

don't hold hands, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: You're fucking your ex-boyfriend's ex-best friend. You also now own a condo with him and owning this condo has made you house-poor. Yeah, it's not the usual love story and it's not going to be one. Not until you paint the walls black, that is.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mostly conversations and feels tbh; minor smut (fem reader, marking / scratching, m-receiving oral, doggy, penetrative sex); non-idol!AU; guitarist!music producer!Yoongi x novelist!reader - fwb / roommates-to-lovers

just a story about two people who shouldn't fall in love falling in love, I have plenty of nasty smut so this is a different beat for ya lmao

--

“Is it fun being tortured?”

“Not really, no.”

It wasn’t fair to be this critical but, as long as you didn’t let these words travel outside this room, it was fine, right? At least, you kept telling yourself that. Delusion at its finest.

“It’s so stupid that people enjoy sticking their nose in drama that doesn’t involve them only because their lives are too boring to have any,” you sighed, tossing your phone across your desk, letting it skid into a pile of post-its covered in scrawled notes. “All because I deleted some photos.”

Notifications were now blocked.

“Some people mistake privilege with right.”

You glared at your phone even though the contents were the offender and not the device. Rolled your eyes, knowing you would be coming back to a shitstorm, but you couldn’t take it anymore. There had to be a limit. And the voice beside you had been telling you to put the damn thing down and stop deleting comments one by one, but the stubborn ram in you thought you could just headbutt through the bullshit.

And that imagery was gonna end there, thank you very much.

Your forehead found the palm of your hand and you sighed again, suddenly feeling the weight.

“I’m never doing that again.”

“You don’t have to.”

Minutes passed.

Silence never felt so serene.

Then it was cut through by steady, slow acoustic guitar, the notes drifting out from behind you. It almost made you feel more guilty. Almost. How fucked was that? You, sitting here right now, staring at nearly bare walls and a table covered in notes and your trusty laptop, almost feeling guilty for the guy that had backed out of the joint loan for this condo in the city that you didn’t even fuckin’ want, but you had been too far into the process to not lose a whole lotta money and too angry to let yourself lose.

How ironic, feeling guilty for the guy who cheated on you.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” was the guitar player’s response. “And you shouldn’t be either. For anything.”

You knew you shouldn’t apologize. It just felt like the thing to do, because you hadn’t been wholly right either and, even if you weren’t more in the wrong, you were still wrong, and wasn’t that fucked, putting levels of blame on a situation that, at the end of the day, was all said and done and left everybody bitter and full of scars.

The shitty part was everyone was on your case now and blaming you.

This was what you got for dating the lead singer of a punk band that skyrocketed to popularity on social media. Looked all elegant dark romance on TikTok and Instagram, just screaming and hate-fucking behind closed doors. Constant content to cover up the toxicity. And maybe it was your fault too, letting it get to your head that maybe you really were the beautiful, mysterious muse that the followers painted you out to be. You glossed over red flags – late nights, drugs and drinking, sleeping in rooms of girls that called themselves fans – all part of the industry. Nothing happened. Honest. But the greatest mistake was letting him tag you on Instagram. How cool was it that you were an author?

This bastard.

Not only had you given him some of your best quotes for his lyrics, but now you couldn’t publish those words as your own because this bastard would fuckin’ sue you for plagiarizing.

The guitar continued behind you, on the mattress on the floor.

So, not only were you getting crucified on social media at the moment because he had called you a backhanded bitch in his Instagram stories but also because you had deleted all photos of him on your profile and said fucking nothing. Silence to be polite and all that. He cheated on you, he was leaving you for some whore you had plenty of suspicions about, and, worst of all, he waited until you and him were finalizing the down payment for this expensive-ass-fuck high-rise condo – that money was out of your own pocket, not his, how convenient – and backed out of the loan for the mortgage. His reasoning?

You cheated on him first.

Hello?

With his former guitarist.

Hello?

Your ex-boyfriend had fired his former guitarist ages ago because you and him had gotten too friendly.

Alright, man.

You liked the guy, sure. Talked to him when he was in the studio and found you had a lot in common. Plus, he was crazy talented. Made most of the melodies, self-produced a lot of the songs for the band so they could save money, even contributed to lyric writing so they didn’t have to spend on that either. He even had a good voice, although sadly the band rarely used it. Your art of words paired with his knowledge of music made some viral hits. But then tensions rose between him and your ex when they started butting heads for no reason (there was a reason and it was ugly jealousy). Then arguments rose between you and your ex, but instead of breaking up, you buried yourself into writing your next novel to let the situation cool off.

Sigh, okay, call a spade a spade.

You were avoiding the confrontation.

He fired his guitarist and got a new one.

Then things were good.

Until they weren’t.

Of course, they weren’t. You didn’t solve shit, and he was fucking every girl that threw themselves at him behind your back. Good thing you had strict rules about condoms, otherwise you would probably have some lasting consequences right now. So, when the ground cracked and split apart from under you, what did you do?

Yup, this was the part that made you no better.

You found that former guitarist and fucked him.

Word travelled around. Word also travelled around that somehow you got someone to be part of that insane loan you got talked into. And, oh, shit, did things get messy once a certain someone knew who it was.

But here you were.

Feeling guilty.

You probably couldn’t publish for at least six months to a year because, harrowingly, your demographic was young adult – you had even relied on social media for self-marketing, fuck – and the half of a novel you had now had to be scrapped considering that so many of the quotes were now distressed in dark venues by the lips of an egomaniacal dick that you allowed into your pussy far too many times. Once was already too many.

Fuck.

You didn’t even want to live in the city.

It’ll be so much easier for me to get bigger opportunities. Don’t be a selfish bitch and only think about yourself.

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to throw your laptop into the wall and break it into smithereens, but you didn’t because this piece of technology was currently your only chance of making money. Fuck. Me. Always talking about himself like he was only important member of the band, even though it was the other guys who wrote most of the music and lyrics. No one sided with you, obviously. This was their job and technically not their romance. They were sympathetic but not empathetic to the point of jeopardizing their jobs. Obviously, you hadn’t signed any contracts for royalties or credit. This was supposed to be your soulmate.

Soulmates weren’t so generous to give you pennies.

You’re being greedy and self-important. Oh, so you’re only in the relationship for the money? I’ll give you money once we make it big. Once we get it all, I’ll buy you everything you want. But you gotta help me out now. We’re starving artists, ya know?

You should have asked your parents for monetary help, but you didn’t. Your pride didn’t want to hear the told-you-so speeches for dating a guy they didn’t choose for you. You also didn’t want the arranged marriage appointments back in your life either.

So.

Trapped in white walls, post-its of false starts, and impending doom.

Dramatic, but you were a writer.

“Come here and sit down with me.”

Some part of you didn’t want to face him. It was really dumb. He was your new roommate now. You were fucking him when you were too sad to avoid it, and it was pretty obvious he knew. You were living off his money. Sure, he only paid for half the rent but then food mysteriously appeared in the fridge, bathroom necessities were stocked when they were running low, cleaning supplies neatly sorted into the closet, and all that other shit. None of that wholesale stuff either, but the nicer things normal households could afford.

It wasn’t an exaggeration that you cried into the soap during your shower last night.

All because you finally acknowledged it wasn’t one of those shitty bars that made skin feel like plastic but actually fragrant lathering liquid that you could put on the dense, not-falling-apart-in-one-use loofah that you hadn’t bought. You would have been satisfied with cutting coupons and living on the dregs of the bare minimum, but someone cared enough to not let you do that, and you currently couldn’t do anything to contribute and probably couldn’t for a while.

And that made you feel undeserving.

Maybe you were only fucking him because that was all you could offer.

Pathetic.

The guitarist called your name softly.

Like a beaten dog, you got up and sat down beside Min Yoongi.

He continued to play a melody you didn’t know on his black acoustic guitar. He hadn’t moved in all his instruments and equipment yet. You had told him he could have the whole living room for his studio. He had asked if you were sure and you responded that you were sure that you weren’t going to have anybody over ever so, unless he wanted a living room space, you didn’t want one.

“Shit always happens, you know,” the deep voice reminded you.

“This happening was of my own doing and now I’ve ruined my own life,” you muttered, bitter over a boy and hating that you were bitter over a boy.

A small chuckle. “You have to admit you had help.”

Stupid boy.

“Can’t be helped. Humans are animals of regret.”

It stung to regret.

The guitar playing stopped and now you were met with silence.

Don’t cry.

But it was so tiring to be angry. So easy to be sad. So easy to think, my fault, for being swept up in what he was but not who he was, for believing that you knew what was best when clearly it wasn’t, for being spiteful on purpose. For avoiding looking at Yoongi in the face because you were too ashamed to acknowledge what was going on here.

For being too afraid to ask what he thought of it.

“I regretted not stealing you from him sooner. Thought you were too fuckable for that loser from the first day we met.”

A strange feeling.

Skin prickling, glancing the that pale hand of graceful, callused fingers simply resting on the neck of that guitar, not looking at Yoongi’s face even though you knew it quite well in profile.

“That’s one way to make me feel better,” you replied.

“I’m not trying to make you feel better. Just being honest,” he replied, tapping his fingertips on the wood. “You are ten times too talented and a hundred times too pretty for a guy like that.”

You twitched. “Are you shitting on my standards?”

“Back then? Yeah, I am.” A calm hum, setting aside his guitar and placing his elbows on his sweatpants-covered knees, charcoal gray and worn. “Pretty clear you went full desperado for a guy that didn’t deserve it. Also, he ain’t hot shit like he thinks he is.”

Ow and what the fuck. “Fuck off.”

You felt movement and tracked his hand raising, spinning a finger around his temple. A brief glance and the details sank in. Long, windswept black waves, light cream skin, pointed gaze directed forward and not at you, pensive slight frown of pink lips. You looked away again, past his loose white t-shirt and to your hands.

You used to be proud of them.

They used to be able to type prose like no other.

Now they were twisted in an oversized, olive-green sweatshirt that you picked up from the sale bin of the convenience store for dirt cheap and they didn’t write jack shit.

You also hated olive-green.

Nothing personal. It just wasn’t your color.

“You’re a psycho bitch to put up with him,” Yoongi commented.

He wasn’t wrong. “I’m a psycho bitch all the time.”

“Yeah, and I don’t date crazy.”

You thought you would feel insulted, but you were past the point of caring. Also, there was something about the way his calm voice said it. Like he knew what he was doing. Huh. That was a silly thing to think. Of course, Yoongi knew what he was doing. He did it. He let you in his studio when you tracked it down and camped out until he showed up. He had listened to your psychobabble and didn’t back away when you pinned him to the wall.

This wasn’t dating.

“At least, I thought I didn’t,” Yoongi added, not touching you.

He fucked you too. He wasn’t a starfish in bed, that was for sure.

“I wanted to get back at him too, you know,” that deep, hazy voice murmured beside you. “That bastard turned my friends against me, stole my mixes, and cut out all my connections. Made me start from the ground up, alone.”

Yeah, you did know that. You helped badmouth Yoongi. In the name of love.

Shit.

“Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry.”

Ouch.

“And you shouldn’t be, ‘cause what’s done is done and being sorry isn’t going to change anything.”

You untwisted your hands from each other, realizing your knuckles were white from anxiousness, and relaxed them on your bare knees. Best you could, anyway.

“Yeah,” was the best response you had. This fucking boy ruined your life and stole your eloquence too, apparently. Motherfucker. “You’re right.”

Neither you or Yoongi said anything.

Minutes passed.

Another night in the condo and both of you were sitting on a mattress with a single blanket, deflated pillows, and a box of condoms on the floor.

You touched his forearm the same time his hand moved to grip your thigh.

And then it was the don’t-look-him-in-the-eyes challenge, and he was doing the exact same thing, eyes averted, black hair over them, lips grazing your jaw. Breath against your ear. Hot. His neck under your lips, flexed, fair skin with remnants of bruises, and your teeth sank in, making new ones, listening to his hiss and feeling his hands slide under your sweatshirt. Weighted palms and blunt nails. Digging in.

“Harder.”

He scratched you up as you climbed into his lap, tasting flesh.

Those firm hands gripped your hips and forced them down. Grinding. Softness to growing hardness, unhooking your bra, hands all over like you had lost your mind, your thighs squeezing his sides, yanking his shirt collar down and licking up his collarbone, dripping spit, shivering as you saw it glisten over his marred skin.

Clothes coming off, thrown aside. Guitar sliding to the hardwood floor as bodies tumbled. Your hands on his chest, your hard nipples pressed into the sheets as Yoongi slipped his hand into your hair and shoved your head down. Mouth open, tongue curling around. Moan striking the air, echoing in the nothingness.

Hard, hot, now wet.

Up, down, hitting the back of your throat, unable to choke in the adrenaline of lust, in need, in desire for pain, rubbing your tongue all over as Yoongi face-fucked you hard and fast, thick cock swelling in your mouth, your lips grazing the swollen head and making him shudder, saliva slipping down your chin that was smacking into his balls.

Was it shameful that you were good at it?

Sex solved nothing but you sure had a lot of it as if it did.

A sharp gasp and salty cum filled your throat, drinking, swallowing with effort and the burning sensation of your locked jaw, maintaining the soft tightness. Tongue tracing the contours, keeping him hard, hearing the rip of a foil packet above your head.

You hadn’t even realized that Yoongi had let go of your hair, letting you lick him all over at your own pace.

“What position?” Yoongi panted, husky and breathless in the mostly empty bedroom.

Mattress, chair, desk, laptop. Oh, and guitar.

Bodies on the floor.

You didn’t say anything.

You just turned around and slid down, elbows on the bed, knees spread, ass up.

“Alright then.”

You bit your lower lip.

You almost turned your head, almost looked back, just to check, right, just to check he was okay with it, and then strong hands gripped your hips, lifting them, sliding in, condom on and stretching you out right away, his knees pushing your knees apart and forcing you to arch your back for the angle.

No chance to look back.

You gasped, gripping the sheets, blinded by pleasure and the fading resonance of pain.

Hard.

Deep.

You pushing back, deep not deep enough, hitting your preferred depth and letting your eyelids flutter, veins burning with the repeated ecstasy. One of your hands lifted and reached back, squeezing his hand on your hip, and the grip became tighter, fingertips digging in, smacking his hips into your ass, and your body threatened to throw him back, carnal power meeting his every thrust, clenching around his hard length, and you could hear Yoongi growl your name, low and deep and voracious.

Somehow, his name fell from your lips too.

Rough and sinful, no better than an animal.

His nails dug into your back and dragged down, burning lines into your skin.

Your head tipped back and you moaned, a clear, shameless sound that would become familiar to this ceiling. Pooling wildfire, tightening muscles, wasted nectar sticky between joined thighs, surge after shivering surge of orgasmic apex stinging your veins as you barely registered Yoongi’s shudder and blissful groan, feeling the pulse inside you made than hearing the sound.

The rush of blood roaring in your ears was far too loud for you to hear anything.

Your face felt hot, so hot.

Gripping the sheets, twisting them, pulling them off the edge of the bed.

This moment.

Very few things were as intense and exigent as an orgasm. Fleeting, but a violently memorable. Pure nothingness of soaring high. You chased it. Again. And again. And again, your fingers tangled in Yoongi’s dark hair, pulling it over his face but he didn’t look at you anyway, eyes closed and teeth trapping his lower lip, breath trapped in his chest, driving his hips into yours again and again.

You both kept going until the limits were reached.

The darkness willingly swallowed you up.

-

Min Yoongi always considered himself a rational person, which was precisely why he found himself entangled in the break-up between his former best friend and the only woman he ever considered committing a felony for.

Yeah.

He also didn’t believe in love at first sight.

She was still way too hot for that idiot though.

His eyes could communicate well enough with his dick. The short skirt and exposed thighs didn’t really help either. Still, Yoongi had let it be. Respect was keeping his distance despite racing heartbeat and keeping calm despite shaking hands. He got used to it once the late-night talks about music and wordplay became a regular thing. Sometimes they talked about general life and were surprised on how well they aligned. Still, she never spoke poorly about her then-boyfriend even though there was plenty to talk about.

Scorched earth was their sacred ground.

It was painful to witness.

Yoongi regretted valuing the friendship, mostly because it didn’t mean jack shit at the end of the day. He regretted believing in the elegant, age-old saying.

Bros before hoes.

Tch.

But mostly, Yoongi regretted pretending like nothing was wrong.

He would see the pain in her expression and not say anything. Watch her pack it all away and greet him with warmth that he didn’t deserve because he had a racing heart and shaking hands every time they met. He would watch his former best friend disappear into hotel rooms without explanation and Yoongi knew damn well it wasn’t right, but he kept his mouth shut because he was a coward, something he figured out later.

He could have washed his hands clean of that shitshow, but instead his hands had held her shaking shoulders and watched her struggle not to cry on that cold night.

Yoongi considered himself a rational person, but never a good one.

Too many ways to judge, and her lips had already connected with his as soon as his shoulder blades hit the wall. He didn’t stop it. Maybe it was bitterness. Vengeance. Hate.

No, it wasn’t any of that, actually.

He didn’t know exactly what but, in that moment, Yoongi knew that he would murder that asshole if he saw his former best friend’s face right then, ready to commit a felony all because those beautiful eyes couldn’t look at him, closing instead to blink back the tears that bastard didn’t deserve.

That meant something, all right.

He knew it could take a long time. He knew it would almost certainly be hopeless. He knew he would probably end up with a broken heart and broke as hell. He knew it was a bad idea and he knew it was going to tear him up, this spiral, but when he found himself looking up to the ceilings of these mostly empty rooms, this condo he now half-owed with the woman that was formerly his best friend’s girlfriend, and Yoongi found he didn’t know and he didn’t care what the future held.

She had trouble sleeping.

Less trouble after exhausting themselves.

He had trouble sleeping too, but that was because he was staring at the ceiling and wondering just how rational he really was. One hand behind his head, under the pillow. The other resting on the blanket, on the curve of her hip, feeling the steady hum of her breathing.

She never cried in front of him.

He knew she did cry, because he heard her in the bathroom sometimes. But never in front of him. Showed anger, yes, but never acted helpless even though it was perfectly reasonable to feel that way after everything that happened. Living on the least for his sake, even to the point of skipping meals and spending all her time trying to write, trying to get back to her livelihood, trying to get past all the false starts. Personally, Yoongi felt that she should give up for now and heal herself, but he also knew how it felt to feel stubborn and useless.

Hah.

It was weird, being so close and yet so far away.

He felt it most in the nighttime, even though that was when he was closest to her.

He was never going to be the same. He knew that. He already wasn’t, surprising himself with his own recklessness, and for what? He didn’t even know what she was capable of reciprocating after receiving all those scars. Didn’t even know if he was the right one, if he was better or worse, if…

If he was believing in something that wasn’t there.

Yoongi closed his eyes and went to sleep.

-

Livid.

It was weird. Feeling it. In the past, you buried it, numb, and promptly lived in delusion. But now you could feel it. What was more, you let yourself feel it. There wasn’t anything to stop you except for the occasional mental peanut gallery of you’re a bad person if you feel jealousy, but anger could overtake anything if you let it.

You stared at the scene before you, several meters away.

Seething.

It felt good.

Mostly because it was honest.

It surprised you. You hadn’t expected to feel anything. Sad, maybe. You had already been cheated on, so naturally you assumed the cycle would begin anew, just with less promises and in the gray area of uncertainty. But, no, instead of being distraught and delusional, you felt maddeningly, viciously, nearly on-the-edge of making a fist and dislocating Min Yoongi’s jaw from his skull because he was speaking to a female-presenting human at the entrance of the building that housed his and others’ music studios.

Did you lack context? Yes.

Would that get you arrested? Yeah, probably.

Would that probably not get you laid anymore and label you as an unhinged psychopath? Without a doubt.

But would it feel good?

Don’t know.

You had never punched someone before, although maybe you should have practiced on your ex-boyfriend. He was probably a more deserving candidate. In any case, you remained frozen in perplexation at your willingness for violence because you were pretty sure your… relations… with Yoongi were nothing more than a lonely bitch and a spiteful silver tongue executing revenge, so the amount of fucks you should give about Yoongi speaking to any human being – other than the obvious health and safety precautions – should be zero.

None.

Basket of fucks empty.

And yet.

Clearly wasn’t since you were mentally calculating the angle and force for jaw dislocation while having zero experience in doing so. In any sort of non-virtual manner, that is.

Hm.

Your hands were firmly in the pockets of your black cargo pants. The hip ones, although you had plenty of choice. You kept them there for the safety of passerby or, maybe deep down, yourself. This caused your jacket to fall open, the outlines of the sew-on patches and thick, bunched-up black denim crowding the space between your forearm and waist, your black cropped tank exposed to the chill evening air. You used to wear a plethora of band t-shirts, but, well, those were probably in a landfill or rotting in a secondhand shop.

You figured you would be cold. Unsurprisingly, the anger kept you warm.

Huh.

You thought about turning around and just straight up leaving, petty and picturesque of course, and then Yoongi seemed to sense your projected violence, looking up from the conversation. Dark waves over his cheeks, striking body line, backing away, hiding his eyes for a moment, not that you could see them that well from this distance. You twitched.

The girl reached out.

Yoongi simply bowed, out of reach, and pushed the glass door open.

Honestly, her role in this moment was so miniscule that you completely ignored whatever she did or possibly could have said to Yoongi’s retreating back. Sharpened gaze, and then he crossed the street with the crowd, walking past oblivious bystanders who may or may not become the harrowed audience of the next thirty seconds.

He stopped before you. Bomber jacket, white shirt, black track pants. Monochrome elegance.

You looked up at him, saying nothing.

Over one shoulder was his usual guitar bag that held said instrument and his yellow notepad sticking out of the pocket. He used it to jot down whatever came to him. You almost said something. Almost. Then you remembered that if this, this between you and Min Yoongi, if this was supposed to be nothing, then weren’t you supposed to do nothing but voice your casual annoyance for making you wait rather than, well.

Admit insecurity?

You looked away quickly.

No, it did not matter how reasonable it was, you didn’t like knowing that somehow you had been weakened by an ex-boyfriend, barely a man, no, a mere locust at best, so it was better to not say anything and accept that this was–

“Sorry, I got caught up with the staff about ending my lease.”

Compromised.

You didn’t look at him. “What?”

“Gonna end my lease this month and move my studio stuff to the condo. I can’t afford both.”

He had told you this already. It had been your idea. You already knew you were overreacting to a situation that you created in your head rather than reality. And, yet, the best your mind would allow was uh huh, a plausible explanation, sarcasm included.

“Ah. Right,” was your sharp, mildly frigid reply.

“I can’t read your mind.”

Do you intend to be exhausting?

Your mental peanut gallery was super annoying.

You breathed in. Cool, crisp air. The sound of cars and people bustling in and out of stores. You breathed in again. Did you really intend to be exhausting, irrational, and, worst of all, dishonest? Really, after all that had happened? After getting here, standing here, arriving to pick up Yoongi at his request to do the grocery shopping together?

You turned back to look right into black-brown, piercing orbs.

“I just realized that I have the ability to be jealous,” you exhaled, draining your lungs. “It’s unpleasant and not nearly as delightfully pivotal as the media makes it out to be.”

Something fluttered in those orbs.

Or maybe it was the wind catching his bangs, drifting black strands over his eyes shadowed by dark circles.

Yoongi half-smiled.

“Makes for good songwriting material though.”

There was an air of helplessness to his words. A tone you couldn’t define, except for the understanding, which left you both baffled and with a sense of guilt. There were emotions in that barely-there smirk on those familiar lips. Relief. Maybe a slight bit of shame. A shadow of guilt too. You realized people were glancing at you and him as they walked past, wondering why you both were at a standstill on the sidewalk. Yoongi seemed to not notice them or care.

You pulled your hands out of your pockets.

“Come on. We should go before it gets dark.”

Before you noticed it, your hand was rising.

You pulled it back, but not fast enough.

Yoongi’s free hand reached out and grasped around yours, strong fingers enclosing. Sliding up, calluses on your palm. Your hand lowered, slowly, your eyes moving in the opposite direction. Lips parting. His hand was colder than yours.

You stared at Yoongi.

He looked back, expression unreadable.

“I don’t hold hands,” you said, suddenly breathless.

You tightened your grip.

“Neither do I,” Yoongi replied, taking a step, on the cusp of walking past you, his hand around yours. “I simply just don’t like the idea of yours getting cold when I can do something about it.”

Previously, when you held hands, it was always with a purpose of showing public affection. The look-how-real-this-is-because-there-are-clear-witnesses show. Front row tickets nobody asked for. But this.

This.

You blinked hard and the sting was inside.

The sting of wasted time.

Your name in that raspy, soft voice. Familiar. You looked up, not saying anything and hoping the eye contact was enough. All Yoongi did was smile lightly and tug your hand.

“Let’s get take-out and shop tomorrow. We have plenty of time to eat healthier.”

-

“You can cry in front of me.”

Min Yoongi heard her breath hitch and still.

Seconds that felt like hours ticked by. It was the dead of night. Or maybe one could call it the time when honesty came to life, if the conditions were right. He knew this time well usually with a drink in his hand, but this time he was laying on his side with bruises of bites and carnal memories lingering on his fingertips.

“I wasn’t crying.”

Her voice was thick and strained from trying to keep it even. Her moment of jealousy had happened days ago. He had recognized it right away. Call it personal experience. He also recognized that she didn’t like to feel that way. It was obvious from her torn yet furious expression. It confirmed a lot of things for him. Still, she seemed pleased to help him move and set up his things in the bedroom. They found the living room to be a bit too echoey due to the large space so they switched the two, pulling the mattress to the living room and setting up his equipment in the center of what was formerly the bedroom.

He told her to paint the condo.

She had mentioned in passing that someday she would like to paint her entire living space black. Not this place, because he owned it too, and you probably think I’m crazy for wanting a dark space, huh, Yoongi? He asked her, why wait? No one lives forever. We’re just passing through.

She had given him a weird look.

We own this condo. Paint it.

There were cans of black paint waiting.

Yoongi had intended to go visit his family over the weekend. His parents and his brother who had recently been promoted to head chef at the classy restaurant he worked at. Someone in the family needed to have prestige. Well, that was his own personal feeling. Surprisingly at this point his parents had given up on telling him to get a higher-paying job. They told him to simply be happy.

And get married.

Yeah, about that.

He was still trying to get used to the music producer thing, for fuck’s sake.

“Are you afraid I won’t understand?” Yoongi let himself say, not turning around yet.

Sometimes, people didn’t want you to see them weak. He could understand that.

Call it personal experience.

A shuddering sigh. Deep breaths. Words bogged down, drained.

“I can only be so pathetic before I lose my mind recalling the past,” she mumbled. He felt her weight deepen on her side of the bed, as if she was trying to melt into the mattress. “I made things hard for myself. For you. It’s pointless to cry about it anyway. In the end, it only makes me look ungrateful.”

Yoongi thought about it.

“It’s true that you probably shouldn’t have involved me.”

He shifted, laying on his back now.

“But I’m not a good person either. I agreed, after all,” he murmured, his skin tingling with bruises and carnal memories. “Hm, to be honest, he was always a dick though, from high school till now. Always will be, I fear.”

“You’re easygoing enough not to be affected by his asshole behavior.”

“Not my job to change people. I leave that to parents and clueless fools.”

A pensive silence. Surprisingly not an irritated one. She seemed to accept it.

“Why did you become his friend?” she asked, staring at the ceiling with him.

“We just happened to like the same thing. Music.”

“I’m lucky you decided to become his friend.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “I’m lucky that somehow he managed to bamboozle a hot and clever girl, two things he’s obviously not.”

She almost laughed. Almost.

“Who the fuck uses the word bamboozle?”

“You had to admit you were bamboozled, because you sure as hell weren’t dick-drunk.”

“Oh? You think you’re that good, huh?”

“No, I just know he’s that much worse.”

The faintest of chuckles.

“You… You get better every time,” she admitted. “I think I just caught you off guard the first time.”

“Firstly, I don’t like wasting time and, secondly, I had given up for a while before…” I met you. “Romance seemed like an expensive, worthless distraction when I could be using that time and money trying to push the band forward,” he pivoted, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes. “Then that went to shit.”

“Sorry.”

Automatic.

He chuckled darkly. “I’m confident I got the better deal.”

A trembling pause.

“Why do you think that?”

He reached over and placed his palm on the top of her head, lacing his fingers in her hair. Messing it up.

“Tell me the truth. Was he good at sex?”

A burst of laughter. “Really? Alright. No, he wasn’t. He sucked. Thought he was a piston of a muscle car instead of a human being. Oh, and once he fell asleep on top of me.”

He cocked an eyebrow. Turned his head and forced hers to turn as well.

She was smiling.

Yoongi found his chest tight and breath shallow.

“And you didn’t leave him then… why?” he pressed.

She winced, albeit playfully. “I yelled at him. A lot. I don’t know, maybe he was tired.”

“Not an excuse.”

“I know, I know…” Sigh. “I… I didn’t want to believe I made the wrong choice.” Her eyes shifted, but her body was still turned to face his. “I… It made my entire family angry, dating him. Especially my parents. They would never forgive me and hold it over my head forever. I had to make it work. I thought, if only I worked hard enough…” Another heavy breath, squeezing her eyes tightly. “I know it was pride, but I wanted to prove to them and myself that I could do anything. Bad choices? Maybe. But they were mine. I don’t want my life decided by what is best for me. If I suffer for it, those are my consequences.”

Her eyes opened, but barely.

Yoongi kept his hand on her head, running his fingers through her hair.

“I… I feel like shit because now you’re stuck in my mistakes,” she breathed.

He liked to touch her hair. It felt comforting.

“You know what your problem is?”

She glared under lashes and dared him.

Undeterred, he continued. “You blame yourself for shit that hasn’t even happened.”

A disapproving frown. “Hah?”

He tapped her forehead. “You think it’ll bother me if you cry, but what truly bothers me is that you cry alone.” Pushed back the strands, and now he was closer, sharing breath. “You think I’m stuck in your mistakes. Mistakes don’t inherently have only negative consequences. They almost always exist in a gray area.”

“I... I know that,” she grumbled, face against his chest.

“I did say you were clever.”

A drifting, drowsy silence.

“I’m not clever,” she whispered to his skin, pulling her body closer. “I just like you.”

Yoongi felt himself losing to sleep.

“I’ve always liked you, since the moment I saw you,” he muttered into her hair, breathing in the familiar scent, so quietly that he wasn’t sure if he said it at all.

-

“Ah? Yes? Sorry about that. Oh, yes, uh, I’m painting. Everything. Yes, I’ll be sure the keep the windows open. Thank you.”

You closed the front door of the condo. Well. You had expected nervousness, but somehow the conversation between you and the downstairs neighbor had been very calm. Apparently, he worked from home and wasn’t expecting the loud crash of the ladder from your unit.

In your defense, you hadn’t expected it either.

Thankfully, you hadn’t been on the ladder, only trying to figure out how to set it up. It was one of those compact ones that saved space but required some innovative thinking to get the taller height you needed. One crash and a YouTube video later, the ladder was now secure, and then came the knock on the front door.

The thoughts flew by – I don’t belong here, I can’t do this alone, they’re going to scold me and I haven’t even done the upper half yet – but the guy just seemed curious and confused. Didn’t even comment on your awkward outfit of navy boys’ basketball shorts and ill-fitted gray sports bra. Both on super sale. You were still wearing your bra because of the incorrect size, so the gray blob was bordering on ugly-ass tank top.

Look.

Some people had clothing they didn’t care about to paint in and some people had to dive in sale bins because they left behind most of their wardrobe and, with the clothes, their bad memories.

That was the intent.

Things rarely go as intended.

For instance, you thought you were going to feel imposter syndrome for a neighbor knowing that you were painting your own goddamn walls. You turned away from the door after you locked it, frowning. That’s right. Like it or not, bad decisions and minus an ex-boyfriend later, these were your walls. You looked up, out the large, floor-to-ceiling living room windows, and saw the sunlight sparkle over the sprawling city, walls painted half-black and half white surrounding you, and you could say that you never wanted to be here, but.

It was a sick view.

We own this condo. Paint it.

Your muscles were sore from the repeated swiping motion of the paint roller, but there was still this inexplicable energy coursing through you.

“What if it doesn’t look good?” you had asked Yoongi.

He had shrugged. “Then we paint it again.”

“It’ll be dark.”

“Wow, really? I thought black was supposed to be bright and cheerful,” was the sarcastic quip. “Just believe you have good taste and paint the damn walls.”

This condo was an investment that made you poor.

That was the truth you needed to face.

You have good taste.

You scrunched your face slightly as you remembered Yoongi’s facial expression. Was he… praising you or himself? You squinted. This guy. Picked up the paint roller again and saturated it with ink black, making crispy crinkly sounds as you shuffled over the plastic. Good taste. Well, that was relative, wasn’t it? Everything was at the end of the day. You climbed onto the ladder and began the repetitive, monotone motion once more but at a higher elevation. You should have put your music back on. Your phone was on the plastic-covered mattress and you were not about to go back down until you finished this section or ran out of paint. This was going to be a long process, but you had several days and too much time as Yoongi had already left to visit his family.

Now you were alone with a lot of paint and mind-numbing fumes.

Shit, you should have opened the window.

You would have to paint a second coat anyway. Who cared if the first coat was shitty?

Sigh.

Climbing down and doing your due diligence before returning to your post.

You had forgotten once again to put your music back on. Hah. Well, that was fine; you had yourself. You didn’t mind being alone. Heh, sometimes it was better to be alone. You continued rolling away, hardworking in the consistent rhythm. Thinking about it now, this might have been the first time in a long time that you were okay with being alone. Before, you had felt guilty whenever you weren’t thinking about your relationship. Huh. Odd. Was it some kind of mental self-reassurance when you knew something was off? It was hard to tell, but possible.

Everything was off about that relationship. You just had too much pride to admit it.

You sighed, climbing back down to reload.

Wait a second. Was this why there was that wider step towards the top of the ladder? You poured some more paint in the tray and carried it up with you. Oh shit. Wow. Innovation. You coughed and went back to a different patch of wall. No one saw that. See, perks of being alone.

Well, you didn’t hate Yoongi being here.

You stopped painting.

You didn’t just think that.

You went back to painting. Shut up, nagging feeling. You furiously painted on, ignoring your soreness, telling that little voice in your head to shut up, because there were plenty of reasons not to think stuff like that. Firstly, you weren’t ready to think stuff like that. And what if it was only hopeful transference rather than genuine feeling? Asshole or not, your ex-boyfriend’s betrayal of trust was not something so easily overcome. It wasn’t fair to Yoongi either, pretending to like him if you weren’t sure.

You liked Yoongi before you broke up, too.

Wasn’t that fucked up?

You sighed and came back down, careful to scoot the ladder without spilling and causing a mess. Back up and at it. Of course, it was fucked up. And you knew it was, which might have been why you let it get that bad. Might? Was why you let it get that bad. Two hypocrites were meant for each other. You huffed, puffing your cheeks. It wasn’t enough to hold the ticking grenade; you had needed confirmation it was a, in fact, a bomb.

Maybe even hoping it would end you.

It didn’t.

For some reason, you thought Yoongi could see that in you.

Damn, he’s really living in your system, hm?

You frowned.

Your phone rang.

You almost jumped, startled at the sudden sound of an old song you used to enjoy. Back when you were a teenager, and the memories came back as you climbed down. A kid who just really liked rock’n’roll, and parents who did not, but that kid didn’t care, annoyingly setting it as her ringtone on her shitty flip phone. Couldn’t you be her again? Before you had time to ponder, you checked your hands for paint and picked up your phone, answering it.

“Hello?”

“Did you eat?”

You blinked, sitting down on the crinkly plastic upon hearing that deep, raspy voice. “Uh, no. I was gonna stop by the convenience store when the first coat was done.”

“No, you weren’t. You were gonna skip a meal,” Min Yoongi tutted. “Because you don’t want to be a nuisance and use the money I had left you.”

Damn. He knew you, all right.

“If I forget, I forget,” you grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, pick up the food order from the front desk when it comes. They told me about thirty minutes.”

“You don’t have to order food for me. I’m not a kid,” you hissed.

“It’s the pho spot you like and if I don’t put food in front of you, you won’t eat. You intend to do all that hard work without some fuel?” A pause. You made a disapproving noise. “And I know you’re not a kid. By the way, what’s your waist measurement?”

You remained a grump. “Why?”

“I’m here, so I’m going to buy you some clothes.”

“Don’t buy me clothes. Don’t spend money–”

“You need things,” Yoongi cut you off. “Unless you want to come with me? You don’t trust me?”

“That’s not it and you know it,” you snapped back. “It’s not worth–”

“Of course, it isn’t. It’s vain and silly and superficial. And I’m still going to buy you things, so tell me your waist measurement.”

“Yoongi, this is your hard-earned money,” you puffed out, exasperated.

“Yeah, and I make money to provide you with a good life because I think you are the most important person to me. So, do you want me to guess with my hands or are you going to meet me halfway?”

Dead silence.

He called your name, softly.

You told him in centimeters.

“Got it. Don’t forget to check the front desk in thirty minutes.”

-

“I love you.”

His hair was stuck to his face due to sweat. “What?”

“I said I love you,” she said, staring right at him, their chests shuddering from exertion.

Yoongi couldn’t believe it, but also he wasn’t surprised. The room still smelled faintly like paint. The windows still had no curtains or blinds. They were still fucking on the mattress in the center of the living room and he was holding the used condom when she said I love you.

The walls and ceiling were all black, covering them in darkness as the city below glimmered with light.

“I love you,” was his reply.

It startled him, the suddenness of his response. He knew he did. Of course, he did, and he turned away quickly, making his way to the kitchen and throwing away the condom, skin tingling, cheeks aflame, and he was startled by the feeling that remained. He hadn’t expected those words to come out of her mouth even though he was sure of his own feelings. Yoongi had resigned himself to not hear it from her lips. He also didn’t need to hear it to know that it was true.

He saw her head to the bathroom.

Time was funny sometimes.

Suddenly they were both staring at each other on the mattress, the usual ritual completed, and the moment suspended.

“You didn’t have to say it,” he finally said. “For my sake.”

“I didn’t.” Her hair curled over her shoulder, caressing her curves. “I said it for my sake.”

Blankets and pillows and questions.

“I wondered about the validity of it,” she admitted to him. “Been wrong before and all that. Might still be wrong. So, I said it just to see if I regretted it.”

“Ah.”

They stared into each other’s eyes.

“Do you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

He half-smiled. How very simple yet complicated. He understood. “All the paint fumes really got to your head, huh?”

She looked up at him and he realized with a start that she, too, was half-smiling.

He reached out, smoothing her hair.

“You have a pretty face, Yoongi,” she teased, eyes sparkling.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I thought it would be too cliché, you and me,” she continued and the tone was different now, softer and more serious. “I thought you would get tired.”

She meant, of me.

He had thought this was cliché too. Cliché didn’t mean worthless though. His hand fell, and rested over hers without a second thought. Warm and against the sheets. “If I felt that way, I would have stopped speaking to you long ago. You could take care of yourself too.” Not safely, but could. “Except for money.”

She smirked.

“So you’re saying I need a suga daddy.”

Yoongi twitched.

“Part of me wanted to sell the condo as soon as possible,” she went on, casually glossing over the comment. “But the realtor said it would be a bad idea. I wouldn’t have any buyers without a minimum of six months or a year. Too many superstitions. Part of me thought I should…”

She looked up to the ceiling.

It was a high-rise, after all.

“All the reasons to move here were his. More convenient, better opportunities, owning rather than renting for the investment… I believed in it, more than myself.”

He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t because all those things had benefitted him already. He didn’t only agree to move in help her out. He was still a working music producer. But she didn’t seem to be saying it to condone him.

“I didn’t really think this place was mine until I painted the walls.”

Yoongi thought he should at least confess this part. “That’s why I told you to paint them.”

A small laugh. “You don’t like it, huh?”

“Don’t you remember the walls of the old studio were dark gray? That was my doing. I always resented the last place I rented because they didn’t let me paint the walls.”

“Ah… He painted over the gray.”

“I bet he did.”

They had fallen to the bed now, side by side.

“I didn’t think this would work out,” she breathed.

“I thought it might,” he hummed.

“Why?”

“You’re hot and clever and I wanted you from the first day I saw you.”

A warm chuckle. “Just like that?”

“Well, you had to give me a chance. Couldn’t make the first move due to the circumstances.”

“It was a convoluted and confusing one.”

“Eh, life’s unfair.”

-

“Your husband already paid.”

Your what?

“What?”

The cashier waved you away. You shuffled back, dazed, seeing Min Yoongi emerge from the bathroom in the corner of the restaurant, tucking a bit of his long black hair behind his ears and finding you in front of him.

“The cashier just called you my husband,” you declared.

He shrugged.

“Surprise.”

You blinked at him.

Patrons chatted and laughed as if this was a normal day. The music was horrendous covers of cheesy 2000’s pop. It was very strange, but the pho was good and well-priced, which was why Yoongi and you came here often after his meetings with music companies. Popular talent was in high demand.

He ticked his head to your outfit. “I know you like this dress I bought you, but you’ve left your coat at the table.”

“Oh, shit.”

“You’ve been scatterbrained ever since you started writing again.”

“Shut up.”

--

masterpost

[angel-of-the-moons]

hii!!! i love ur work!!! i was just wondering if u could do a part 2 of the hobie x reader where they have no strings attached when they were both reallyyyyy horny

(if u could, could they be like uhh either reader or Hobie somehow is close to getting a relationship [or is acc just going to answer someone asking one of them out and wants to be exclusive] and is talking to the other abt it and it could change their little f buddies relationship or something maybe angsty?? maybe fluff?? or maybe like yeah no congrats lets do this one last time until you break up)

thank u v much!!!

No Strings Attached Pt. 2

Hobie x Fem!Reader

(Hobie and Reader are obviously adults in this fic.)

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, PiV sex, counter sex, condom usage, safe sex, wee bit of angst, feelings, a whole lotta feelings(?), marijuana/pot usage (bro nobody can convince me Hobie seriously doesn't smoke it), some alcohol, bad date

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Spoiler alert: Strings got attached. A bit shorter than the first chapter, but I like it like this

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

You and Hobie had agreed to be "friends with benefits" on the account that the biggest rule was it wouldn't affect your friendship, that you wouldn't lose each other due to petty bullshit.

And it was a system that worked. Mostly.

Hobie couldn't deny the twinge of... of something inside him when he saw some loser bloke try to rizz you up with cheap pickup lines. He would crush it by downing a cheap shot of whatever liquor he had, and remind himself that you could do whatever--or whoever--you wanted.

In the end he never had to worry, though. Whenever you needed that "itch" scratched, you two would hook up. Most of the time in his flat, or yours, sometimes he'd park his van somewhere and you two would do it there.

One time you two were in the middle of something and some coppers started pounding on the van doors. You two were quick to make sure they knew they were interrupting something, and peel out before they asked too many questions.

Man, the look on their faces when you swung the door open while only dressed in your panties and one of Hobie's almost-too-tight tank tops was priceless...

You two were hooking up more and more often, the relief and euphoria of just having rounds of backbreaking sex was almost enough to distract you from everything that occurred during the day.

Almost.

Right now you were bent over your kitchen counter, Hobie's long, nimble hands gripping your hips as though his life depending upon it as he stuffed his cock into you at an earth-shattering pace.

"Gh--fuck." You groaned, wiping the drool from the corner of your mouth. "God--fucking--damn it." You bite out after each punishing thrust, stuffing you full in a way that only he has been able to manage this far.

"Ey? What's what?" Hobie chuckled breathlessly as his hips smack into your ass, sending the skin ripping as he fucked into you. "Got somethin' t' say, luv?"

The moment he angled his hips at just the right angle, your body went rigid, your gummy walls crushing down around him as you came around his cock, squeezing him tight as he kept pushing and pulling into your hot cunt.

You buried your face in your arms as they folded on the counter, whimpering as Hobie gritted his teeth and pounded into you at a less coordinated, frantic pace, instead focusing on his own release and need to cum, now.

God damn was Hobie a good lay. He was probably one of the better sexual partners you've ever had, always making sure you cum before he does, taking the time to learn what makes you tick; taking you apart with every swipe and stroke of his fingers and cock.

You wondered how in the fuck Hobie hadn't gotten a girlfriend. Had half the women in the city known how endowed and how well-versed he was in sex, he'd had every eligible bachelorette (and not) breaking down his door to have a chance for a romp in the sheets with him.

You felt Hobie slam up into you in a way that knocked air from your lungs in a choking gasp, eyes rolling back as you felt the condom swell with his cum as he fucked you through his high.

"Fuckin' shit." You sigh, laughing softly as you relax as the last few waves of his orgasm ebbed.

"Mmm... Now what were you sayin' earlier?" Hobie laughed, swatting your ass playfully.

"Ugh. Don't do that!" You laugh at him over your shoulder.

"Mmm, fine fine." He said, cock still sheathed inside you as he put his hands up dismissively. "Now what is it?"

"Oh, right. I have a date tonight."

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

You'd gotten all dolled up, your best dress, nice comfy heels, makeup... The works.

Your dress was a deem emerald green plunge, v-neck that revealed the right amount of cleavage; the hem of the dress ended just above your knees, a slit cut up to mid-thigh, revealing the sheer stockings you wore that hugged your thigh.

You had been asked out by a man who looked far too out of his element in the punk pub you both met in, but he seemed charming and relatively well-mannered. Better than half the drunk idiots who hit on you when you went out.

And being brought to a four-star restaurant? Yeah, you were an idiot to say no to that. You weren't shallow, but hey, you've never gone anywhere this fancy before.

And he seemed nice, you really hoped that maybe, just maybe, you could have a sincere relationship with him. Like, as in, keys to the flat, boyfriend material kind of relationship.

Yeah. You were wrong.

An hour into the date and you were tempted to slip an SOS to the waiter to distract him long enough for you to slip away from Garrett (your date).

He was arrogant, a snobbish prude who, upon inspecting your dress, crinkled his nose and said he expected someone as "refined" as you to dress more conservatively. He also said that women should not be involved with such "heavy" music such as punk, rock, or metal; which happened to be some of your favorite genres.

Garrett had also admitted that the last woman he was with wasn't forthright about her previous "dalliances" in bed. That she was "used goods" and couldn't "satisfy his needs" in a way that a woman lacking would be able to do.

Translation: he was so shit in bed he wanted a woman who had no experience to compare his miserable excuse of a forty-second orgasm, bean dick to.

A misogynistic prick who had a virgin fetish.

Yeahhhh... No.

You finally got sick of it, standing up and splashing your chocolate martini all down his expensive suit, the brown liquid staining the white of his button-up.

"Blood hell, are you insane--?!" Garret spat at you, standing up to glare at you.

"I'm fucking my best friend." You say, flipping him the bird after slapping a wad of notes on the table for the poor wait staff. "So you can take your weak ass dick and fetishes to some club where women can point and laugh at you, since you think women who have "given themselves" to men before you are disgusting."

Your heels clicked as you spoke over your shoulder, "And you can lose my number."

The whole restaurant went quiet, aghast and amazed, breaking out into excitable murmurs about the scene that unfolded.

The staff gossiped about it for days.

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

"Bloody hell!" Hobie laughed as he slapped his knee as you retold the story. "Wish I coulda seen that bloke's face!"

"Ugh, I was so close to skewering his eye with a champagne flute." You sigh, taking a drag of the joint in-between your lips, puffing the smoke out of your nose with practiced ease.

"Ah, if ya did that I'd have to bust you free from the goddamn cops." Hobie snorted derisively as you passed him the joint.

"My hero!" You say, clasping your hand under your chin and batting your eyelashes theatrically.

Hobie laughed, choking on the smoke as he puffed the joint. "You li'le shit! Don't make me laugh while I'm smoking!"

You giggle and kick your feet at him as his spindly hand swats at you.

Once your laughter dies down, you lay your legs across his lap, and you both fall into a comfortable silence, smoking and drinking as you watch the television.

His thumb caresses soothing circles into your ankles, your heels long discarded and tossed by his door.

Surprisingly, to his credit... Hobie didn't slide his hand up your thigh and under your dress like you anticipated he'd do. He kept his hands low, massaging you.

And you stayed like that, for almost two hours until he spoke up as the credits began to roll, your name tumbling out of his lips awkwardly.

"Yeah?" You say, stretching and arching your back as you reclined on the couch.

"Shoot me if this is crazy." Hobie said, rubbing the back of his neck, looking somewhere else in the flat.

You blinked at him, sitting up like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on you.

Was Hobie Brown nervous?

"I know you said when we started this you didn't want anything serious..."

"Hobie...."

He held his hands up to stop you so he could continue, "But hear me out. We get along great, we've got a shitton of great chemistry. You're funny as shit, and a badass..."

You lean forward, tucking your knees underneath you.

"You're fuckin' smart as hell, got no business bein' around me, but--"

"Hobie!" You snap, leaning into his face.

His eyes go wide and lock with yours, his thick, full lips opening and closing as he struggles to find the words to speak.

"Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?"

He awkwardly looked to the side, and you gripped his jaw with your hand, jerking his face to look at yours once more.

"Hobie. Again. Are you ask--"

"Yes."

You weren't sure what knocked you off more, the fact he interrupted you with such a matter-of-fact answer, or the fact you knew he was serious. And Hobie was rarely serious about much in his life.

But this?

You lean back, blinking at him, looking at your hands as you dropped them in your lap.

The seconds tick by at an agonizingly slow pace as you carefully make your decisions, pick your words like a farmer selects the best, ripest crop from the vine.

But at the same time... Maybe the decision had been made for the two of you all along?

A grin slowly creeps up your face and you look back at him. "Fuck it. Why not?"

What was it Miguel said? Canon events, and all that?

[hangon-silvergirl]

Bonus Tracks (WIP) by @hangon-silvergirl

When Chrissy suddenly slams flat against his ceiling, Eddie decides that wigging out is now a very appropriate response, and he rushes back and away from whatever bullshit this Wes Craven fever-dream is trying to snap his addled mind with. His own body smacks into the kitchen counter with enough force to knock him, literally, onto his ass, and to bounce Wayne’s portable radio off and onto the linoleum floor with a thunk. In some overwhelming joke of deviant, karmic irony, it starts playing the local FM station, breaking through the buzzing electricity, supernatural tension, and Eddie's own panicked breathing, by introducing Billy fucking Joel to the moment. And of fucking course he's singing "Uptown Girl".

Five times Eddie Munson didn't kiss Chrissy Cunningham + The first time that he did.

Chapters:

"Uptown Girl" - Billy Joel

"Come Sail Away" - Styx

"Wish You Were Here" - Pink Floyd

"Born to Run" - Bruce Springsteen

"Whole Lotta Love" - Led Zeppelin

"And We Danced" - The Hooters

[thebindingofpillo]

in the big ol google doc, when esau dies, jacob is completely distraught. how does he try to cope? like i feel like hair pulling as an unhealthy coping mechanism for jacob. in the game, tainted jacob has a bald spot. and jacob seems the kinda guy to pull on his hair until it comes out when under a lotta stress. also, how does laz try to help? laz is shown to be abit more of less sympathetic person.

Another thing, what is Esau after he comes back to haunt jacob? A spirit trying to remind Jacob of his sins, or was it jacobs negative emotions and thoughts that made esau manifest as he is?

Lastly, how does both Jacob and Lazarus deal with esau?

Someone has read that monster of a Google doc????? Waow………

Anyway I feel like Jacob would be super depressed. I like the idea of him pulling out his hair in distress, but also consider: stress so big it just falls out. Lazarus brushes his hair and it just falls out in clumps… Speaking of which, yes, Lazarus is a bit of an ass, he’s not a bad person and Jacob is still his best friend (and future partner). It’s kinda sad but I envisioned Esau’s death as a huge growth opportunity for both of them, Jacob will learn to live as his own person without Esau and Lazarus will grow to be more responsible and less of a prick. He’ll finally realise how much Jacob means to him and will have to confront the fact that he’s not always been the best of friends to him (and Samson too, especially Samson, but that’s for another time) so he’ll try to make up for it.

I guess Lazarus would try and take over for Jacob. Like, taking care of him, making him food, making sure he eats and stuff… Jacob is also disabled, and Esau had been helping him in day-to-day life for the longest time, so Jacob is not only missing a brother but also a caretaker. Lazarus would immediately go to his house and take it from there, keeping tidy, making food etc. etc. he wouldn’t be alone of course, Bethany, Samson and even Eve will gladly stop by to help and make Jacob feel less alone… but also the fact that Jacob blames himself for his brother’s death will not make things easier for them. I feel like all my characters need therapy ngl. Maybe Samson can help him find a therapist…

As for Dark Esau… it’s Esau. He’s back. Basically the main idea was that Esau, in his first life, made some sort of deal with the devil to get revenge on his brother for everything he did to him (the birthright, the blessing etc.) but Jacob always managed to die before him, or before Esau gained his memories back, so he could never truly get revenge until now. This idea is still a bit fuzzy tho, don’t treat it like gospel. I also liked the idea that Esau’s rage is what constantly brought him back to life over and over, he just couldn’t let go. And not only because of Jacob! Esau’s grudge is also directed towards Isaac!!! Yes, Jacob stole his birthright but Isaac also refused to give him his blessing (and for a very stupid reason too!). And probably towards Rebekah too, since she was the one who originally pitted them against eachother… what I’m trying to say is that Esau has a huge grudge against his whole family, and nobody is safe.

When Esau started manifesting it was for Jacob only, and the man really thought he was going insane since nobody but him seemed to be able to see him. Lazarus was skeptical at first, but he’s dealt with enough supernatural bullshit (like being on a first name basis with the literal angel of death, knowing that demons exist etc. etc.) so while he thinks Jacob is only having a mental breakdown, but he’s still open to the possibility of him being actually haunted by his brother.

As for resolving the situation… eeeeeeh that’s still a bit fuzzy tbh. Like my main idea was that this situation would progressively escalate until Lazarus and Jacob had to find help with Judas and the others (because Apollyon is real powerful, Azazel is a demon and he might help, even Eden could chip in and lend a hand) but THEN Bethany would explode because of Dogma, and even Esau can’t bear to see someone he loved so much in so much pain, and I had this idea he would try and fight Dogma to save her and in doing so his should would be cleansed and ascend to heaven? It’s still a bit fuzzy, but I also think Isaac and Rebekah apologising could help… like it wouldn’t really do anything for Esau, but maybe it could help him let go of his anger and move on. Hell you know what? I’ll throw in Cain too, if someone knows what it’s like to kill your own brother and why it’s a bad thing it’s him! And his whole arc is about the importance of letting go and not let the past consume you etc. etc. it’s too perfect, he can help the flaming ghost. I also know how to shove it in the action: Dark Esau has completely reverted to his old memories and personality, which means he can only speak ancient Hebrew, like in Bible times. And Cain is the only one who can understand him! And then thanks to Cain he could unlock his most recent memories and realise he’s being stupid.

[welcome-to-my-hoard]

I have a question.

What exactly does a hoarder do?

Besides, well, hoard.

Heheheheheh, terrific question, get ready for a long answer.

First, don't underestimate the hoarding, eh?

Sounds lame on the surface, but what ya don't realize is that being able to steal every other classes shit means no one knows what to expect. I'm a jack of all trades (master of some), and ya won't be laughing when ya got TWO classes hucking grenades at'cha. Plus, no one usually realizes I've been swipping their shit until their gun suddenly runs out of ammo, and they're left a sitting duck.

But, ya wanted to know what ELSE I do, so here ya go: I'll start with Medic's favourite, my ability to linger.

It's whole lotta technical bullshit, but the gist is: My body has a real jacked adrenaline response. More I get hit, the stronger it gets. When I die, I stick around for however long Medic and Engie's funky device has calculated.

Dunno why it happens.

Don't really care.

Besides that, I'm also pretty handy. Okay, maybr "Scrappy" is more accurate cause' I'm nowhere NEAR Engie's level, but I got a multitool and a can-do attitude. I can't build machines like he can, but I sure can fuck with em'. I rather help my Engie maintain his machines, or the more fun option, sabatoge BLU's (I reprogram his sentries sometimes. Usually uses up my linger, but it's HILARIOUS to see the look on his face when his own precious sentry turns on him.)

All that said, by FAR, my favourite thing to do is make my smoke bombs. I actually came up with the design myself, so I'm not just stealing stuff from Engie! Janky as hell, but they WORK!

I use em' mainly for cover on the battlefield, or to blind the other team. BUT, if I manage to swipe the right stuff, I can usually slap together somethin a bit more deadly, like smoke that causes spontaneous internal bleeding, or lights on fire, or that smells like PISS! (Because they are literally aerosolized piss, courtesy of BLU Sniper. He fuckin HATES me.)

Anyways, there yah go! If ya don't wanna read all that...

Why the hell did'ya ask the question?

But, hey, I get it, I'm an asshole too. To sum up:

I steal everyone's shit

I can temporarily cheat death

I make smoke bombs

There yah go, there's yur answer.

[teethsmoothie]

something ive been thinking about, and haven't been able to put into good enough words is (& this was gonna go on my bullshit stream of consciousness sideblog, but it's important to me) -

- is ive figured out why, exactly that the overwhelming response to the monsterfucker scaling ive been seeing around bothers me so much. yknow that "all monster fucking is weird to people in the mainstream so we should just be niceys" sentiment. pisses me off because it's a scene. it's a fucking scene, and ive noticed over time there's been less respect towards scenes in general

same sorta flavor of secondhand irritation id get when my metalhead cousin would tell me, someone she knew would call themself "suuuuuuch a metalhead" when they only listen to xyz bands, had never been to a show, & she'd say one of them wasn't even really metal, just hard rock

feels like it's a lotta people kicking their feet pitching a fit cause they can't get into what they perceive as some cool kids club. balking cause a couple folks said they can't call themself a monsterfucker cause they only want wolfgirls and those feratus. yeah they're monsters sure but they're normal monsters.

not everything is for you, not everything has to be for you

it's not even really for me, either, listen to me im not even IN there proper. ive just got a front row seat to it via my best best friend since middle school, and a handful of my treasured mutuals.

im hanging out on the sidelines of it. sipping on something. im hot and bothered about a goo guy but from what ive gathered he's still just some guy, by wide standards. one monster does not a fucker make, and if that's my weirdest pick im happy to be on the sidelines. might get weirder with it but im not in a rush

a good amount of gatekeeping is INTEGRAL to the core a healthy scene . everybody shut up

no reblogs, figure if you want it you can copy paste it or screenshot or whatever but preferably try to word it better. again, this is just kinda messy loose complaining

[yeehawbvby]

Falling Away With You | Ch. 45

Sebastian x F!Reader and M. Rasmodius x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Time for that cute date with Magnus! :^)

Author’s Note: I was gonna release this chapter either tomorrow or next Wednesday, but here it is early, as a little Halloween Spirit's Eve present!! (Totally beating myself up rn for not lining up the Spirit's Eve chapter to come out today.. ough)

Anyway, there's a lotta RomRas referenced in the first half of this one! It’s pure, cavity-inducing fluff >:3 And some sillies, because of course there is.

I hope y’all enjoy it, take care, and happy Halloween! x

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

After freshening up in Magnus’ restroom, I jog back downstairs to the main floor, where he’s patiently waiting for me to head out.

After I slip on my shoes, he takes both of my hands in his, calmly stroking my knuckles with his thumbs. “Ready?” 

I hum my affirmation, nodding and smiling at the handsome wizard in front of me. As per usual when I’m being teleported, I close my eyes, saving myself from any potential freak-outs. I’m curious to know what it looks like to teleport, but today isn’t that day… Or tomorrow. Baby steps, (y/n).

I realize we must be at our destination when I feel a soft breeze against my cheeks and hear the sounds of nature.

The air smells fresh and crisp, and as Magnus steps aside and I open my lids, I’m met with a beautiful, serene forest, like something out of a fairytale. The pine trees directly ahead of us are coated in green moss and beige fungi, and as my eyes scan upward, I notice that there’s a vast cliff behind them, with more woodland up top.

As my gaze pans right, I see a waterfall that drops onto a small, elevated piece of land before creating a new and thicker cascade just below it. There’s a pale rainbow forming around the foam at the bottom, making every straying droplet look like glitter bouncing through the air. The crystal-clear water of the river it flows into shines iridescently under the sunlight, and as I turn around to follow its path, I realize it’s all gathering into a vast lake full of fish I’d never known existed. Some are purple, with pointy pink fins; others teal, with what looks like small rubies and emeralds and sapphires embedded into their scales. 

Completing my full circle, I peek behind Magnus, noticing a similar pattern to what I’d already seen: a long and wavy river, waterfalls, and trees galore. When I finally look back up to him, he’s peering down at me. His cheeks are pink but his eyes stay maroon, and he has that cozy, lovestruck gaze he usually does when looking my way. 

“Where are we?“ My voice comes out quiet, as if speaking any louder would somehow disrupt the peace.

“Grenville Falls,” he answers. “A forest of magical origin that lies far from civilization, and one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever come across in my travels.” I guess that explains why it’s so serene here. Humans haven’t been around to taint it yet. “Until now, most of the magic we’ve discussed has been almost purely pragmatic.”

“Almost.” I give him a shit-eating smirk.

My brother in Yoba is seriously trying to pull the “Magic must be used responsibly!!!” bullshit after casting spells on me for his own horny entertainment on several occasions. Magnus laughs before looking around at the grove we're standing in.

“Buuut,” he pointedly continues, “we’ve only barely touched on the simpler joys that magic can bring.” He turns back to me and laces our fingers together, a soft grin slightly plumping the warm apples of his cheeks. “I realize that, spiritual interference or not, it must have been hard to befriend me – let alone begin seeing me romantically – given how suspect our first interactions must have made me seem, alongside how out of touch I am in current social practices.”

Oh. So he really had almost no idea that I was unwillingly swooning right off the bat? I thought he’d read my mind plenty back then… maybe it was less than I’d assumed. 

I give his hand a reassuring squeeze. Maybe he knows now, if anything – and if not, I could always just tell him when he’s not, like, pouring his entire heart out to me.

Magnus continues, “And yet you took the trouble to give me a chance, my dear, in spite of all that stood in our way. You’re so incredibly precious to me, and I wanted to give you even a sliver of the joy that you’ve brought into my life. So,” he sighs, reaching into his shirt pocket, “Although I don’t have a bouquet, as per tradition with the humans of the Valley, I thought you deserved to be properly and officially courted.” Magnus pulls out a fucking ring, and upon seeing the whites of my eyes, he chuckles. “I promise, this is not a marriage proposal.”

“Oh thank god.” I breathe out a nervous laugh, my right palm resting over my heart.

“But I am asking if you’d do me the honors of being my… girlfriend?” Magnus looks off to the side briefly, tilting his head as his eyes pinken. “I’ve always preferred the term ‘partner,’ but I’m not sure how common of a label that is in these times.” He shrugs, bringing his gaze back to mine, and beaming with again-maroon eyes upon seeing me enthusiastically and vigorously nodding my head. 

“‘Partner’ is fine, I like ‘partner,’“ I squeak out. My cheeks are on fire, I can’t tell if it’s more from the thick blush coating them or from smiling so wide. 

I jump to koala myself onto Magnus, unable to resist pecking his cheek and burying my face into his neck before accepting his gift. As always with physical contact, he barely needs time to think as he wraps his arms around me for support, one hand resting on my lower spine and the other against the back of my hair.

“I honestly didn’t think you were gonna ask,” my mumbles muffle into his collar. “I just assumed it was some sorta elemental tradition for sex to solidify a relationship, or something.”

“That is true in many cases, actually,” he confirms, setting me back on my feet. “Luckily, we more mindful beings have a say in the matter.” 

Now that I’m not frazzled by what seemed like an engagement waiting to happen, I can actually look at the ring – which Magnus had looped onto his pinky for safe keeping during our embrace – up close. It’s fucking gorgeous, oh my god. A small moss agate is clasped against a gold band, and the bits holding the stone in place look like thin vines. Seems almost too delicate to wear.

Holding the ring between his left thumb and forefinger, he says, “That necklace Lady Welwick gifted you is an artifact imbued with her clairvoyant magic to aid your clairvoyant magic, generally speaking. But artifacts can be made to assist you in any aspect of magic, or of life itself, really.” Bringing his right hand up to his right earring – with his usual long, red ones adorning both ears – he explains, “These are similar, in that they provide a defense I don’t normally have. Although young for my kind, I’m still… er. I am an old man.” 

My lips twitch as I attempt to hide a smirk. Magnus notices and chuckles.

He shushes me teasingly before continuing, “I don’t have the same oomph in me that I used to, so I wear these to keep myself safer in case anything should go awry. The rings I often wear serve a similar purpose — but those, I change to accommodate what is on my schedule each day.”

I nod in understanding, eyes wide with intrigue as Magnus brings his hand down to match his left. 

“I conjured this with the same purpose as my earrings. I’ve yet to teach you defensive or combat magic, and while you may hopefully never be put in such a way that someone or something could threaten your well-being, this will offer a veil of protection, as well as invigorate you once you’re able to arcanely fend for yourself.”

“That’s so cool,” I mutter. “Thank you, Magnus,” I smile up at him. Swooning completely. “I love it, it’s perfect.”

“It’s the least I could do for you, my love,” he offers, his expression mirroring mine. He then asks, presenting an upturned palm to me. “May I?”

I nod, opting to place my right hand in his. Rather than looking down at our hands, I keep observing him:

The way he mutters something about hoping it fits under his breath.

The soft squint in his eyes.

The way his bottom lip rests subtly beneath his top teeth.

How his almost nervous expression turns into a bright grin as the ring is slipped on in a flawless fit. That familiar spark I experienced when putting on my necklace for the first time buzzes through my newly-accessorized digit, but I ignore it in favor of watching Magnus for just a bit longer.

Happy, dense crows feet form at the corners of his eyes as he pans them up to mine, before they widen slightly, his irises turning rosy as he notices that I’m staring. I simply smile up at him. The crinkles next to his eyes come back and he chuckles, taking my cheeks in his hands before leaning way down to softly plant a kiss on my forehead, and then my lips.

I giggle out of our smooch.

“What?”

“This feels like an actual proposal, honestly.”

His brows furrow. “Did I do too much?”

I get back on my tippy toes and pull him back down to me before he’s out of reach, whispering, “No way,” before stealing his lips again.

_______________

After all the cheesy stuff, Magnus summoned us a picnic! It took him a bit, and I needed to lend him some mana as he had to teleport it all from storage at home, but he managed. The blanket he brought for us to sit on has a purple gingham pattern, and the food and drinks were rested within a stereotypically tan, woven picnic basket. 

Encased within the basket was a large bottle of cherry wine, a few empty cups, and some snacks. Mostly charcuterie-type things, like cheeses, fruits, and sliced meats, but he included some raw veggies and a few dips for ‘em as well. When I asked about the extra cups, Magnus said that the water here is perfectly safe for drinking, and that he added those so we wouldn’t need to mix the water and wine at all.

As soon as he told me that, I grabbed a cup and rushed over to the river. I’ve never had fresh water like this before – and holy fuck, it was so nice. Never tasted anything like it.

Fast-forwarding to right now, we’re laying side-by-side, lazily snacking on the few crackers and apple slices that are left. Both feeling all silly and happy and wine-drunk. About halfway through the bottle’s contents, we abandoned our cups in favor of occasionally passing the glass vessel back and forth to each other.

Speaking of which, now seems like a good time to top myself up!

I lean up onto my elbows and grab the bottle by its neck, chugging a few gulps back. Magnus, who’s peacefully lying still with red cheeks and closed eyes, startles a bit when I tap his arm with the bottle. I smile down at him. 

“Sorry,” I giggle, “want more?”

He nods, then shuts his eyes again. “Feed it to me.”

My giggle turns into an ugly snort-laugh. “Why?” 

“I’m sooo comfortable, (y/n)…”

“Too bad! It’s dangerous t’drink laying down.”

Magnus rebuttals, “I love danger.”

“Why are you lying?” 

“Who, me?” He opens just one eye, smugly smiling up at me. 

“Don’t play dumb.”

“To think my beloved partner would accuse me of such a horrible thing…” he trails off, sighing dramatically while closing his eye again.

I know Magnus is only teasing, but I still pout with furrowed brows. What a little shit! It’s at least nice to learn that he’s a coherent drunk, instead of the bumbling mess I am.

“Y’know what? Fine!” 

I take a little wine in my mouth, then lean down, meeting Magnus with my lips against his. A surprised hum escapes him, but he melts into the kiss regardless. I stay still, so as to not blow my own cover (this would totally blow it easily in most cases, but right now, he doesn’t seem to notice). Finally, the moment Magnus’ lips part, I let the wine trickle onto his tongue. It’s barely even half of a sip, so it should be safe enough.

Another startled noise emits from the wizard’s throat, but he quickly adapts, swallowing the wine before bringing a large palm to the back of my head. Kissing me harder and deeper. Catching me off-guard. Oh boy.

I put a palm against his chest to steady myself, feeling my already-toasty cheeks heating up some more when he adds tongue. Noticing that my lower half is heating up too, I pull away, rolling over to lay on Magnus’ belly. It would feel wrong to do The Sex in such a seemingly sacred place. 

My head jostles as Magnus sighs contentedly, and I turn onto my side to look at him. 

“You’re s’handsome…” I murmur, reaching over to trace his jaw.

He raises his head a smidge to meet my gaze. The little bit of a double-chin this gives him is adorable. Makes me laugh. After a lazy smile, he lies flat again. As he moves, he reaches a hand to my hair and begins running his fingers through it, occasionally soothing my scalp with some light scratches. I hum, thoroughly enjoying how it feels.

Magnus sighs again, then dreamily murmurs, “It’s truly remarkable how lucky I’ve gotten meeting you.”

Smiling, I shake my head. “It’s more—“ I swallow back a small hiccup, “S’more fate than luck, no?”

“I suppose, but it feels lucky, nonetheless.”

I pop the last bit of apple into my mouth before letting myself relax into his touch. After a few moments of thought, I wonder out loud, “What kinda hobbies do y’have other than magic?”

Magnus doesn’t respond right away, but knowing how little time he has for things not magicky, I don’t rush him. 

“I’m not so sure, honestly…” he eventually answers. It comes out quiet, almost whispered. “Gardening, I suppose, although that is often tied to my magic in some way.” 

I frown, then suggest, “So let’s figure something out together.”

He peers down at me. “Anime,” he announces determinedly.

“Wh-“ I cut myself off to laugh, “What?!”

“I would like t’watch anime.”

Maybe it’s the booze, but I hug my tummy as I roll to lay on my side, curling in on myself with giggles. I almost knock the wine over, and Magnus quietly tuts at my clumsiness.

“Why don’t we start you off with manga instead?,” I suggest once I’ve relaxed. “Might like it better.”

“Manga?”

“Anime, but in book form.”

“Oh, that sounds splendid!”

“You read it backwards, just so you know. It’s usually published in Gotoroan, an’ translated for distribution elsewhere.” I emphasize the last two words with a vague wave of my hand.

“I can do that.”

I close my eyes for a few moments, the conversation coming to an abrupt end by my spinning head. “Is there a spell t’cure drunkenness?”

“I don’t believe so.”

I groan, rolling some more to nuzzle my face into Magnus’ chest. 

“Although,” he adds, “a cheeky dip over there might help us sober up.”

“What about the fish?”

He snorts. “Why would they care?”

…Y’know. I was worried, at first, about the potential danger of swimming with these funky lookin’ fish. But something about how candidly Magnus responded convinced me that I should’ve been more worried about the critters’ opinions. 

And you know what? He’s sooo right! Why would they care? Why should I care?!

I flop off of Magnus, laying flat against the blanket for a moment. He stumbles onto his feet, then assists me in doing the same, before beginning to strip. 

My mouth falls open, a little bewildered. For some reason I thought he’d conjure up swimsuits, or that we’d swim in our underwear, or something like that. Promptly, I begin lifting my sweater over my head. 

I observe, “We’re raw dogging this lake, huh?” The chilly air gives my skin goose bumps, but I don’t mind, given how much alcohol raises my temp.

“What are we ‘dogging?’”

I snort. “Oh. Slang.”

“For what?” he asks, stepping out of his boxers. He stumbles a bit and I hold his arms to stabilize him. Shamelessly give him a once-over, too. 

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“I’m very old, (y/n).”

“Not old enough!” 

Seeing me struggle out of my skirt, Magnus offers the same assistance I gave him. Then, he glares at me. Silently, but not even telepathically, telling me he’s gotta know. Sighing and remembering his yearn to be hip and cool, I give in.

“Fine. Sex. But like, without protection or whatever.”

“Ah… we are indeed raw dogging this lake!” 

I chuckle at his enthusiasm. “Hell yeah we are!”

He holds his hand out to me, and practically drags me with him upon contact. I stumble a bit, then jog, wanting to match his pace. Don’t have the time or coordination at the moment to hold my boobs in place, which has me feeling a little self-conscious…

The water shocks me out of any negative thoughts though.

“Holy shit, s’freezing!” I strengthen my hold on Magnus as if it’ll steady my shivers. 

“It’s not that bad.” His teeth are chattering. 

“Liar.” I splash him with my free hand. He lets out a tiny yelp and tries to pull away, but I keep my grip firm, attempting to hit him with a few more watery snipes. 

“Oh, if it’s a war you want, so be it!” 

“What?”

“Hold your breath,” he warns before promptly yanking me down.

I scream out bubbles, laughing in delirium due to both the sudden change in temperature and Magnus’ own distorted under-water laughter. After a short moment of observing how ethereal he looks — his purple hair floating around him, the sparkle of his pale gray skin being tinted blue, the otherworldly fish circling around us — I shake my hand free and promptly bring myself back up to the surface. He follows my lead. 

“Damn it,” I continue to giggle, repositioning my wet hair out of my face. Swiping some water from my eyelashes, I once again mentally thank Yoba for waterproof makeup. “So cold…”

“This seems to be doing the trick though, wouldn’t you agree?”

Unfortunately, he’s right. I feel surprisingly more level-headed now than when I was laying on him in a wine-driven stupor. “Yeah, yeah…” 

I look around, admiring the beauty of our surroundings again, now from a different angle. I don’t notice anything new, but it’s still just as pretty, nonetheless. 

Feeling something tickling my ankle, I look down into the water, watching as a sparkly blue fish swims around me. I giggle. 

“Hey buddy,” I murmur, reaching down to try and stroke its scales. The movement scares it away, though. “Aw, man.”

“‘Twas a good effort.”

I meet Magnus’ fond gaze and furrow my eyebrows. “Not good enough.”

“Maybe someday.”

I sigh. “What are these fish, anyway?”

My partner shrugs. “Many are your typical river fish, such as carp or bass, whose forms have been altered due to the magical properties of the area.”

“Huh,” I grin, returning my gaze to the fish that swim a mere few feet away from us. “That’s sick.” I look back up at Magnus, quickly diverting my attention again when I notice the dreamy stare he’s still boring into me. My cheeks heat up, warming my whole body a little, as if I’m not skinny dipping in an almost freezing-cold river.

Then, my mind ruins the moment — as it typically does — suddenly drifting to my fish friend’s scales, then back to the weird note I received earlier. 

“Can these fish’s scales be made into ink, or something?”

“Perhaps.” With a brow furrow and head tilt, he asks, “Why do you ask?”

“Um…” I think for a moment.

Do I tell him? Well, I suppose there’s no backing out now, really. He’s looking at me so expectantly, and he could read my mind if I were to lie too poorly. 

“I got this letter earlier,” I go on, “and the ink looked really similar to that blue fella that was here before, right down to the way it shimmers. Never seen anything like it.”

Magnus frowns. “I hope it hasn’t come from one of them.” 

A particularly small fish swims closely by the old wizard, this one a vibrant purple. It almost matches his hair. He reaches a gentle hand towards it, and it doesn’t back away, unlike the blue fish who graced me a moment ago. Lucky… 

“It’s been a mutual decision between the Ministry and First Slash that places such as this remain unscathed.” He peers back up at me, letting the guppy move on. “Who was its sender?”

I shrug. “Didn’t have a name or return address. I didn’t feel any energy from it, either.”

He hums in thought. “I’ll take a look, if you don’t mind the intrusion. Maybe I can discern who or what it’s from.”

I offer a small salute. “You got it, boss.” Then, I sniffle. It’s super boogery. I better not be getting sick from this…

“Let’s get you out of here,” my partner prompts, noticing my… goopy state.

Magnus wades over to me, reaching out a hand. I’m surprised it’s so warm as I clasp mine into it, and take advantage of his body heat, looping my arm through his and pressing my bare body closer as he guides us to the shore.

“We’ll head back once you're warm and dry, alright?”

I grin up at him. “Sounds good to me.”

[thessalian]

Faerun!Alisaie vs the Nautiloid

Getting ambushed by a gith while in a very precarious position

Lae'zel: DIE, ABOMINATION!

Alisaie: Oh, go fuck yourself!

Lae'zel: ...What did you just say to me?

Alisaie: You heard me! I was minding my own business, putting on one hell of a show, I might add, and then this bunch of squid-faced assholes descends like a bunch of harpies and next thing I know, I'm in the middle of squid-versus-hellspawn bitch-fight with some itchy fucking tadpole living behind my eye, and then there's you waving a sword in my face! Now, I'm going to take this intellect devourer who is apparently following me around now and I'm going to find anyone still responsive on this doomed Ship O' Squid and I am getting out of here, because I can't figure out what comes next if "what comes next" involves becoming a smear on the landscape! If you want to come with me, fine, great; have fun murdering imps and whatever else and we'll get gone. But if you're going to point that sword at me - nice sword, by the way; hope it's as deadly as it is pretty - I will yeet you right the hell off this ship because nobody has time for this!

Lae'zel: ...If you fight as passionately as you speak, we might have a chance.

Alisaie: *turns to nearest imp; Vicious Mockery resonance* I'M NOT WASTING MY TIME ON THE SNOTRAG-WIPINGS OF A CUT-RATE DEMON!

Imp: *straight-up dies*

Lae'zel: .........All right, yes. We might actually get along.

A little ways further in, rummaging around a room with a yelling cleric in a pod

Lae'zel: That thing I said about getting along? I take it back.

Alisaie: I said I was going to find anyone still responsive; not my fault you didn't listen. Okay ... I figure rune goes in here and ... oh fuck the tadpole's yelling at this thing to open up.

Pod: *opens up*

Alisaie: ...All right, I'll skip being pissed off about it just this once. Hey. You vaguely coherent?

Shadowheart: You keep dangerous company.

Alisaie: I am dangerous company, but that too. Honestly, as long as all the dangerous is pointed at this clustermolest, I say "Let's go, Team Dangerous Company". Want out of here?

Shadowheart: Just let me find ... ah. There it is.

Alisaie: Good. Let's go.

Shadowheart: Kind of surprised you're not asking--

Alisaie: Maybe later, when I'm not just the obnoxious bard who's really wishing she'd picked a better outfit for this bullshit, accompanied by a freaking-out gith. For now, let's move.

Shadowheart: Hang on; why is there a brain on feet--?!?

Lae'zel: Do not ask her about that ... thing at her heel. It murders imps so it can stay. For now.

Alisaie: TEAM. DANGEROUS. COMPANY. MOVING NOW.

Lae'zel: Look, I am in charge here, and--

Shadowheart: Get fucked!

Lae'zel: You half-elves keep saying that!

Alisaie: It'd probably loosen you up and better shagged bandy by this lovely half-orc I met in a tavern outside Waterdeep than mind-fucked by a gods-damned tadpole now can we go?!?

Shadowheart; Lae'zel: *exchange a look*

Shadowheart: I'm with her. Pragmatism's great but I'm a bit full up on fanaticism, as you can probably tell by my outfit.

And, approaching the illithid-vs-demon fight at the helm

Lae'zel: Ugh. I don't believe I have to let the abomination live--

Shadowheart: Just focus on the hellspawn blocking the helm!

Lae'zel: I know, I know; just-- Oh fuck.

Shadowheart: You're getting the hang of swearing in Common. Bravo. What-- Oh fuck.

Alisaie: *is confronted by imp and hellhound-looking thing; which is probably why the swearing*

Alisaie: FUCK. OFF. *pulls lute; dive-bombs to cast Thunderwave*

Hellspawn: *go flying and splatter all over the helm*

Alisaie: Right. Connect this to this and--

Red Dragon: OHAI.

Alisaie: Oh, fuck a bunch of this--

Whole Lotta Shakin': *goes on*

Following a crash, a rather long free-fall, and a psionic reprieve from becoming half-elf jam on a beach someplace...

Alisaie: *looking around at the general landscape* ...Well ... fuck.

[magnoliamyrrh]

also idk i just said like we ignore it snd like i rly talk abt it v rarely on here but. we were all reminicing abt our mutual friend who we dont talk to no more bc....... she fucked so many of us up so badly :/// and like. we all loved her so much and cared and frankly we still do but there came a time when after she. just kept hurting ppl and could never take responsability we just.. :///// none of us rly talk to her now. i should have reached out for her birthday. i feel bad that i didnt. i dont have words to explain how much i loved her. she was my best friend. we spend almost every day together for years..... ive also never been so deeply hurt by someone psychologically outside of idk family bullshit....... a lotta times it hurt way worse than childhood family bullshit cuz i rly trusted and loved her. ugffff idk. yea. i wish it went down differently. i hope shes doing better and gotten better. we all still miss her. but she hurt so many of us so bad

[thenonbinarydetective]

why do you think writers are being so misogynistic in the writing of timber?

Also Like I don't think brendan hay was intending it but like saying Tim would feel more guilt for Ariana over say Tam and Zo is kind of veering into the disposable black GF trope, as Tim did mess up with them as he did with Ariana such as like dumping Zo over text and making Tam think her dad was dead........ it's weird

honestly, there's a mix of three things.

1: DC is bad with romance and sometimes writers have this tendency to rely on other characters as like a commentary to affirm or reaffirm the validity of a ship. It's a really common thing with writers who aren't great with romance (sometimes even a specific romance). It's one of those things that's good in theory but can be weak in practice. Like "omg everyone sees it" and it's like sure but can we see it? That's the general weakness that everyone suffers from but timber the most because no one seems to be saving it.

2: there's also a tendency with people writing queer relationships that they don't want to portray the exes as negative as a fear of portraying them as queerphobic or coming off that way themselves. There's tons and tons of fujo fanfics with canon characters as the fujo voice, but then it just reduces the female character into bland and not allowing her to experience emotions. Even justifiably upset, annoyed, angry, heartbroken, or any other post-breakup emotion. It's like the opposite of forcing a girl to be as homophobic as possible because she "gets in the way." instead she's "getting out of the way" but in doing so it's creating this weird prop vibe.

3: Tim also hasn't had the best romantic track record as a romantic partner. He's kinda a shit boyfriend, as you know. Or at least he can be. I love him, but god do I hate Chuck Dixon who is responsible for a whole lotta shit. His frequency to cheat because of misogynistic writers also veers into biphobic territory with "bi people are more prone to cheating" stereotype. I believe there is a rush to retroactively make him a better ex and give them interactions they wouldn't really happen. to say the least.

I don't hate other things brendan hay has done before, I strongly suspect he's roped into some bullshit considering he's basically just written for DC anthologies. He's not making the same decisions as an ongoing writer. Or maybe he is and I'm just being nice. IDK. It's a stupid Valentine's story that's not supposed to be the most pressing thing in canon, but unfortunately, it's following a track no one is attempting to get out of

which if you're wondering how, the answer is to stop including Tim's exes in timber stories and let them just flourish on their own if that's what they want. Also maybe let Stephanie be negative and not think it's the "best thing ever" and maybe actually address the offscreen break up. but I don't trust the latter so idk

[bobsburgersfan17]

hi! not a request but i was wondering how you go about making your bots?

long response, more under the cut

hi! so firstly i'm gonna use this request to apologize for the lack of bots recently, i'm sick and unmotivated.

but what i do when i make my bots, i usually take the request and try to give it some backstory/ a whole lotta random bullshit that leads up to the scenario that was requested. after i write and edit the greeting, i put basic adjectives in the description; so like for daryl i usually put 'southern, redneck, caring, tough' etc. then, for the definition, i look up *character name* characterization and go to the character overview on the twd wiki page.

ex (you might have to scroll past a few other website to find it):

click the link and scroll past the short summary until you see this:

don't confuse the weird summary for the overview. the overview is much more in depth, so i think you'll notice since the summary is only a few paragraphs, but just in case.

that's the overview, just copy up until the amount u need because it describes him and the whole story up to like the finale or maybe even the spin-off? so like, if you make a bot that takes place in s2, then you would only need to copy the backstory up to season 2 so the bot doesn't have the prison arc, terminus arc, alexandria arc etc. in its system because those haven't happened yet in ur scenario.

when you paste it into the definition, i recommend going through and censoring words like murder, killed, death, abused, etc. because the sensors are complete shit now and IT WILL shadowban your bot, making it unable to show up even if it's public. so use words like, sophia's passing, growing up he was mistreated by his dad, etc.

then i go to pinterest, find an icon/picture specifically from how the character looked during the time the scenario takes place. so if it's during alexandria arc i get a pic from the alexandria arc, if it's post-terminus arc i get a pic from there.

then since i like my characters to look pretty neat, i edit them by using picsart and putting a b&w filter over them then slightly reducing it so there's still a bit of color poking through. u don't have to, i just think it looks nice. picsart has a lot of other filters and things that make the account look more neat so if you are interested in that, i totally recommend it.

then i write the tagline, usually a few words to describe the scenario. i also use a fancy font symbol to also make it look neater and cute.

here is the website if u want to do that

then i usually try out my own bot to make sure that its in character and such before i make it public and post it here. anyway hope that helps and maybe ill do a request later

[bellmo15-blog]

If Social Media Was Around During the SNES Era

Okay so let me get this straight! Mario and Peach go on a well deserved vacation hoping to get away from all the bullshit that they have gone though in the last few games… And Bowser still kidnaps Peach anyway? Okay, sure thing Nintendo! Just reuse the plot of the previous Mario games! Cause that’s not lazy storytelling or anything.

Oh, and the place they go to, get this, is called “Dinosaur Land.” Wow, what a creative and unique name for a new location that is. But then again, what do we expect? This is the same company that named the main location for their games “Mushroom Kingdom.” What’s next? Bean kingdom? Flower kingdom? We get it Nintendo! There are mushrooms in the Mushroom Kingdom and dinosaurs in Dinosaur Land! You can name your fictional setting ANYTHING! Why name it after the thing that’s most common in that place? That’s just lazy writing!

Can someone explain to me why when you play the space levels in Star Fox you can still hear explosions and laser fire and stuff! Hello, there’s no sound in space! Space is a vacuum!

Or how about the fact that it takes only a few minutes for the Star Fox team to travel to a new level. In Space! It took NASA four days for one of there rocket to get from our earth to the moon! The closest star to our star, the sun, is Alpha Centauri A. That is 4.3 light years away from us! And I can only assume that the Star Fox universe runs on many of the same rules as our universe! Lotta planets and stars, very far apart from each other! It should not take only minutes to travel between levels! What Nintendo, did you just expect us to forget about astro physics for the sake of “having fun” in a space game?

So the newest Zelda game, A Link to the Past, is a prequel to the first two Zelda games and the intro tells the story of the Triforce and how it was hidden in a golden land that people fought tooth and nail to get into, and that the king ordered seven wise men to seal that land up… Christ, stop adding so many things to the lore Nintendo, your ruining my Zelda and making it two overly complicated!

Who is Smithy in Super Mario RPG!? Where does he come from!? Why is he evil!? Who are his parents!? Why do people follow him!? And why are so many of his minions and weapons so impractically designed? Is he meant to be evil or a clown!?

Let me get this straight, Konami releases a brand new Castlevania game, name it Super Castlevania IV implying that it’s a brand-new game in the series… And it’s just a retelling for the first game with the same protagonist!? Hey, Konami! If I wanted to play Castelvania 1 I would of just play Castlevania 1!

You guys aren’t going to believe this. In Super Mario RPG one of the party members is PRINCESS PEACH? Why!? No one asked for this! Why are they having a woman be pro active and actually help in this game!? This is an attack on masculinity and men! Nintendo is clearly trying to pander to the woke crowd with this shit! Don’t buy Super Mario RPG folks! Vote with your wallets!

Have you guys seen the new Mega Man design they gave the character in Mega Man X? What the hell is this? Why did they change him from this cute and adorable little guy who could still kick your ass if he needed to into this grownup edgy ass looking as mofo? Who is Capcom trying to appeal to here!? Adults? Edgelords? We should boycott this game and show Capcom we aren’t having this new design! That’ll make them go back to the old one, I’m sure!

Wait a minute, Bowser has spent several games up to this point being at odds with Mario and trying to kill him… And Mario’s response is to invite the guy to a fucking go kart race!? Why!? Did you just forget all the shit Bowser has put you though Mario? Is Mario retarded or something? Come on Nintendo, this is basic story telling! You can’t just ignore the fact Bowser’s a villain!

So the Contra series began on NES with Contra 1. Then for the next game they decided to name it Super C for whatever reason. But now, with this new game on Super Nintendo they call it Contra 3? Umm, where’s Contra 2 Nintendo!? Did we skip a number? Or are you guys meant to be telling me that Super C is Contra 2? If so, why not just call that Contra 2? In fact, why don’t we just stick to numbered sequels anyway!? It’s not that hard people!

Man, those mech things in the opening of Final Fantasy 3 were so stupid. The cockpit is exposed meaning your way more exposed to attacks and dangers. It’s just a really impractical and dumb design overall ha ha ha. No wonder the main villain of this game is a clown!

Actually, why is Kefka evil anyway!? Is there a reason? Or is he just doing evil shit for the sake of doing evil shit!? Basic storytelling Square!

So, what the hell is up with the backgrounds during the battles in Earthbound? What were they trying to do with those things? Blind the player? Give them epilepsy? Well congratulations! You did just that! Had to check myself into the hospital because my already poor eyesight was ruined by this game!

WHY IS THERE NO NEW ICE CLIMBERS GAME FOR THE SUPER NINTENDO!?

Christ, why are the Kirby games all so easy? Games need to be hard! Games need to push the player to all limits! Kirby doesn’t. Oh sure, Kirby Super Star does some new things not seen in the previous games but you know what else it’s never done that would be appreciated? ACTUALLY MAKING THE GAME HARD! We aren’t babies Nintendo? We can handle a harder challenge! So just give it to us already!

OH MY GOD NINTENDO WE GET IT! Metroid 1 was a thing! Just because you make us play though the opening section of it in Super Metroid doesn’t make you look clever!

So is there any specific reason King K. Rool want’s Donkey Kong’s bananas so much? Yeah Crocodiles eat bananas but why Donkey Kong’s specifically? There are bananas across this whole island! Just pick those instead! Maybe put a little more thought into your writing game!

Let me get this straight Nintendo. You make a sequel to Super Mario World, put Mario in the title… and you make it a Yoshi focused game!? Come on guys, you can’t just put a character’s name in the title and then have us not play as them!

Oh and the crying Baby Mario does when you get hit is so fucking annoying! Were they trying to drive the player insane or something? Well congratulations, you’ve done just that! I’m taking my copy of this game back to my local Blockbuster and getting a refund!

Jesues fucking Christ Nintendo, did you really have to go that dark for the final boss of Earthbound!? This is a game for kids, are you trying to traumatise them or something?

If you ask me I think the Metroid series would be selling much better if Samus was a guy! Keep your wokeness out of my games Nintendo!

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[abstractreign]

9♣️ - What is your muse’s proudest accomplishment? ( → @hopeful-hugz )

( → playing card headcanon meme !! )

— joshua is proud of himself, but not of anything he has done. he's proud of his own personal progress, of the things he owns and the people he cherishes, but rarely if ever of any specific thing he has accomplished.

though there is his work with Shibuya, for one, it can hardly be considered a single "accomplishment"; it is a constant, endless work in progress and, two, he carries a lot of regret tied to it as well. he can't — and won't, genuinely — even take credit for neku either, because the feats and growth neku's achieved are all his own.

there are notoriously difficult rhythm game note charts that he's perfected, equally difficult games he's played and explored to total completion, flicks he's managed to land in Tin Pin, and tricks he's played on others; but those are so trivial that they don't count either.

perhaps the closest thing to it then, is that he's glad that he didn't go through with the unconscionable decision of erasing Shibuya— of destroying his home, and everything he, his partner, and his (then) Conductor worked for, for over ten years at that point. a part of him's proud of himself for being able to hold onto his humanity at the time, and for making that choice to hold out for longer, believe in himself, and believe in the world again.