#like idk why i made him discombobulated

[jasongotdrip]

i love ur art u should make more fr

if you have art block u should draw your favorite character from hazbin :)

EEE THABK YOU SI KYCH😭😭

I probably draw him the least but not on purpose, like i have other favorites too that’s why

husk is my favorite bc of his personality, grumpy with a soft side🤭 plus he knows like 6/7 languages, he doesn’t give a sh-t and he’s just so great<3

This is horrible it took me only like 5 minutes obviously but my wish is your command😭💜

(it is almost 1 am pls help)

[aestheticpearl]

Mountain x GN angel reader? Maybe where like the reader was sent to earth to do a task but they completely forgot about it and idk

i love how vague this request was lmao

— 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫

[𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬] mountain ghoul, angel!reader

this was very out of character for you, you were always laser focused on your missions. that’s why you were chosen for this mission because you’re very reliable, but let’s just say that the landing was not in your favor this time. the snow made the landing softer but the tree branches scraped you up on the way down. you were freezing to say the least and for the life of you, you could not remember what you were sent down on earth to do.

“are you hurt?” a tall figure asks you turn your head and you feel your cheeks heat up instantly, you place your now cold hands over them in an attempt to cool them down. the forest you’ve landed in seems to be located behind a large looking cathedral. you feel distracted it’s so unlike you to be so unsure of what to do.

“uhhh…” you’re dumbstruck at this very tall ghoul, he wears a mask but your abilities allow you to see through it and he is just too gorgeous for his own good. his masked head tilts to the side and you easily read his body language, he is very confused.

“hello..?” you shake your head to snap out of the trance the ghoul as unintentionally put you in.

“h-hi, i’m sorry i’m just a bit discombobulated.” you say standing up and brushing yourself off.

“you have wings and are hurt.” he states and points to the large scrape on your arm.

“oh um yeah, i was sent here but i-i uh i can’t remember w-why”

“i’m mountain” he extends a hand to you and you shake it and introduce yourself. “you can come inside and i can patch you up”

“oh thank you but i don’t think i’m welcomed in there”

“i can sneak you in, you don’t seem to mind that i’m a ghoul so what could be the problem with you going inside?” you nod and realize you’re still holding his hand, but before you can take it back he pulls you toward the building.

right now going into this large building seems like your only option since you still cannot remember the reason you were sent down here for. you stare at the strange art work decorating the walls before you accidentally bump into mountain’s back.

“this is the bathroom, wait here and i’ll get the first aid kit.” you nod and stand in front of the sink to examine yourself in the mirror, you check out the wound on your arm and see how it is taking it’s time to heal itself.

you startle when mountain opens the door with a first-aid kit in his hands and his large goggle covered eye’s staring at you intently. you both stay silence for a moment or two before mountain places the kit down and grabs you to place you on the counter. you sit in shock, dumbfounded that he just lifted you with such little effort.

“let me see your arm” you hold out your arm to him while still staring in shock. “thank you” he says before he starts disinfecting the wound. you wince when he applies a small amount of pressure.

“i’m sorry” he apologizes and you quickly shake your head.

“no no i’m okay, uh thank you for doing this” mountain continues cleaning the wound while still listening to you. “for helping me and uh” he looks up at you and you freeze.

“you’re welcome, it’s not everyday i see an angel fall from the heavens” your face grows hot and you pray he won’t be able to tell; he can. he holds up the back of his hand to your forehead.

“are you getting a fever? you feel warm”

“you’re very handsome” you blurt out.

mountain is taken aback by your very bold statement and suddenly it’s his turn for his cheeks to grow warm. he’s a little confused considering he is wearing a mask and you’re unable to see his face.

“b-but i’m wearing a mask?”

“i see you, you are very kind”

“t-thank you”

your wings twitch, the small movement snaps mountain back to reality and he fumbles for the bandages to wrap your now clean gash.

“mountain..” a shiver runs up his spine at the way you say his name.

“y-yes?”

“there are more coming”

“what?”

“there’s people down the hallway and they’re walking towards where we are”

“o-oh! okay, come with me” he says as he takes your hand to lead you out of the bathroom and then down the hall quickly before you’re outside again.

“okay you have to go now”

“but—”

“please you have to go, i don’t know what they would do to you if they found you”

“i don’t want to leave you, i can’t remember why i was put on this earth but i want to stay with you” mountain lets out a distressed noise while checking over his shoulder before taking both your hands in his.

“you’re really sweet and i really like you but you cannot stay here, it’s too dangerous” you pause before looking down at your connected hands.

mountains hands fit perfectly in yours and you know you can’t stay here with him but the thought of leaving him breaks your heart. your eyes drift over to the bandages that cover your now healed arm, you smile at them and look up at mountains masked face; it’s clear that he’s very distressed.

“i’ll find you again” you can’t tell if you’re reassuring him or yourself at that point. “i promise” mountain nods before you turn and fly off.

“goodbye little dove”

please reblog to show support ✧·˚ ༘ * ༄

maybe i’ll make a part two 👀

.love always <3 pearl

.masterlist

[solomons-poison]

i would like you to study satan under a microscope. what are your feelings on him and his character and ect.

I love the way this is worded lol

Oh boy I have a lot of feelings about Satan. He is one of my favorite characters tbh, for many reasons, and I am so so happy for how the writing has expanded on him in Obey Me Nightbringer. My thoughts are just a ramble so it's going under the cut ✂️

(Also at the time I'm posting this, I have made it to lesson 12 so there are spoilers about that marked in red)

So Satan's already one of my favorite types, a somewhat serious-seeming scholar who is quite a goofball when you least expect it. He earns points with me for being a cat lover, and he's such a romantic on top of that. I've had so many thoughts about him writing poetry for the one he loves, maybe even as a confession.

Comparing him from present-Satan versus past-Satan is really cool to me, I really love seeing the contrast of what he was like in the beginning to how we know him now, in the original Obey Me. Like changes in personality, speech, his views on the world and the people around him, everything.

Although it is partly comedic, Satan being practically a feral child is so important to me at this point in time in Obey Me Nightbringer. Even though he has been watching everything through Lucifer's eyes since in the Celestial Realm (which I love that detail, because then we know from that that Lucifer had issues with the Celestial Realm and Father long enough to bring Satan to life), he has had no chance to socialize and be brought up normally like the others.

All he knows is the rage that was delivered unto him by Lucifer, rage against humans (or more specifically anyone harming his family) and them dealing with the Fall. Not to mention, after leaving the Celestial Realm, now they all had to deal with the racism?? Prejudice???? Idk what to call it, but the people of the Devildom refusing to accept them and disrespecting them.

On top of that, he's now tethered to these almost unknown people, people that are seemingly already a family unit and he's just. Existing somewhere alongside it?? So he's doubly misplaced, not quite having a set place or category to exist in and feeling alienated. (I can't help but laugh at Lucifer putting a curse/spell on Satan so that he couldn't just run off, but eventually ended it because Satan would just growl at him the whole time 💀)

As I'm typing this, I've made it to lesson 12. I honestly wasn't sure how Satan would feel towards finding out MC is a human, as we didn't get a clear answer compared to some of the others. But I'm glad he acknowledges that, had MC confronted him directly about it and confessed, he would have gone into a rage, and the only thing that maybe saved them was the fact that he heard it secondhand.

But after considering the facts, that MC still tried to help and protect the brothers during their time as attendant, and (of course depending on your dialogue choices) mostly treated him pretty equally to the others, he needed to rethink how he felt. Satan realizes that MC being a human isn't automatically a bad thing, and that there's more to consider than that.

It's especially very sweet to me how he says that he will dedicate his time reading to researching the curse on MC and how to lift it, when previously, he was mostly focused on things for himself, simply learning and gathering knowledge, along with the occasional mischief in how to defeat Lucifer. It's such a difference seeing everyone so serious and how their separation from the Celestial Realm really seriously affected them.

I am very glad to see Satan start to be accepted by the brothers. Honestly the whole situation is just a lot to think about, and it's understandable why both parties were so discombobulated, suddenly having this new brother to learn about while Satan is dealing with his inherited rage. It's heartwarming to see the brothers acknowledge that Satan does have a space with them. He even gets along with Luke in lesson 12, albeit briefly, but it's interesting to see him learn to interact with someone more rationally and calmly lol.

I'm OK with everyone being a little more silly in the original Obey Me, as this is thousands(?) of years after the Fall and they've had the chance to grow into their sins and powers. But it's just nice to see how this sudden change affected them, and especially Satan who was born from such a traumatic and major event.

This feels like a lot of word vomit and probably doesn't make much sense, but tl;dr, I love Satan's character and I have a lot of feelings for him. I'm very interested to see his continued development from here

[safetycar-restart]

i have a thought that's been in my mind for a while now, and idk if this is something you'd like but if it's not just ignore this!

literally edging and overstimulating poor charles, who is squirming around, completely disoriented - and then you condescendingly call him daddy. yes, this is a risky thing to do with sensitive charles, but for the sake of the ask we'll do it.

now this is some form of degradation i guess, but just calling the poor thing under you, who has completely submitted to you and lets you think instead of him, daddy, is just. wow. mind has been discombobulated.

now i can just imagine him, eyes screwed shut and moaning loudly, while you're stroking his cock, him calling you mommy over and over again, and you just decide to say "that feel good, daddy?" and he sorta just starts shaking his head no rapidly, replying to you and saying "no, mommy! no no! your baby!" while his cheeks are red, he doesn't know whether it's arousing or embarrassing. you wanted to try it just to get a kick out of him, but you probably won't risk it again.

you run a hand through his hair, kiss his cheek before telling him "mommy's sorry, you're my baby, yeah? my sweet little baby." and he nods, pout on his lips, as he replies with "yeah, your sweet little baby. mommy's baby." and you just find the sight in front of you, the pouty, giant baby, so adorable, you don't even know why you'd do anything like that ever again.

yeah idk how you feel about this but i had to get this outta my head 😭😭.

- 📓

Aw oh my goodness this is just... it's cute and funny and angsty? How did you manage to incorporate those into one ask?? how the fuck??

Sometimes you like to tease Charles a little? Charles loves to be reminded of how subby and needy he is during scenes, cause he feels so safe and so it's just so cute to call him out for it and have him blush and giggle and whine out "mommy!!" cause he knows.

That's how you get the idea to see what could happen if you call him daddy.

You decide to try it when you overstimulate him? You've made him cum three times already, edging him twice and then making him cum and then giving him some cuddles and repeating it. Charles loves when you do this, when you just use him like a toy, making him beg and cum and squirm and then give him cuddles until he calms down and then doing it all over again.

You've just given him some cuddles after his third orgasm and then it's time to start edging your sweet boy again. He whines and cries, mumbling 'mommy' as you start to stroke his overstimulated cock again.

So you're sitting next to him, his leg over your lap as you stroke him and he's hiding his face in your neck.

That's when you kiss his cheek and sweetly say, "Aw, feel good daddy?"

He tenses for a moment, clearly trying to work out what you just said and then he's shooting up, squirming and shaking his head.

"Mommy!!" he whines, pouting, "No mommy! Baby boy, not daddy!!! No mommy."

You laugh, kissing his cheek. You expected a reaction, but you didnt think you would be greeted with such a strong reaction. Charles is still pouting and just faceplants into your chest, whining "No mommy!!" over and over again because you must realise!!

"Aw I'm sorry," you say, wrapping an arm around him and kissing the top of his head, "Mommy is sorry. You're my little baby, yeah? Can't do a thing on your own."

He nods, not caring that he's admitting to being so needy, because he is!! He's your baby boy.

[rotzaprachim]

8 + one or two questions of your choice for the grishaverse :)

8) common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

the ken-dollification himbo-isation of matthias especially as it's used to kind of... flatten the mental processes of discombobulation and dissasociation and dislocation that come from being deradicalised from a cult? he thinks kaz is a demon but was he really wrong about that? i think matthias's character has a LOT more complexity in the books than people give him or the arc credit for and the way the very complex IRL psychology of how all-consuming and total the logic of cults and religious extremism are is flattened into big dumb dumb... dumb dumb... as well as the idea of matthias's ken-doll like ignorance around sex and whatnot as being some kind of light fun character trait instead of almost sometimes a write-off of the very real fact he was very much in a genocidal cult... idk man. it grinds my gears.

also! kaz's *distance* towards inej in the books! look he's not Nice to her and i don't want to excuse that but he has VERY good reasons apart from his own prudishness to keep that distance and that is that he is the boss and she is the employee! kaz keeping distance between himself and inej is the most ethical thing he can do in the most unbelievably unethical situation possible and i don't think a lot of fandom keeps that in mind esp during fics during the pre-soc era. THAT's why it's SO important he pays off her contract in CK it's literally the first step that possibly could happen in order for their relationship to progress in any ways.

what was the last straw that made you finally block that annoying person?

that person who plagiarized my fic and became a big name author in fandom sure grinds my gears/

worst part of fanon?

not a fan of a lot of the kanej content that kind of makes a sexual show of kaz being mean to inej or things that edge on straight up domestic abuse cause he's AWFUL it's JAIL TO KAZ FOR A MILLION YEARS JAIL like don't get me wrong he is REALLY awful, terrible even, i don't vibe with the tailorswiftisation of him either but like.... not to Inej he isn't. the reproduction of the if a boy is mean to you he LIKES YOU LIKES YOU thing but under new wording idk. anyway if he treated inej IN EITHER BOOK OR SHOW CANON like he does in a bunch of fics i'd literally want her to murder him no jokes

topic that brings up the most rancid discourse

the disk horse is always on the darkling being jewish and not a single. other. grisha. why are zoya tamar nina and jesper never jewish omg. why are the fics always the crows celebrate xmas and never jesper's crazy exciting fun hot girl purim party!!!!! why not that.

and finalllllyyyyyyy

a compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom

people can write matthias very aggressively controlling nina during sex but also i hate it and don't buy it. guys the princess and the fjerdan was a joke (and a commentary about eroticised xenophobia) for a reason. guys. his canonical sexual fantasy as of CK is about going down on her guys. the only way he's a top is if he's a service top or something y'know? anyway.

[nibwhipdragon]

Alright, Joseph for the character ask I wanna read an essay

You all really know who to ask for these character ask games don't you. Thank you I have. Written a lot. I apologise in advance if my writing seems to be discombobulated at times or if it feels like I'm going in circles, my brain has been like mush lately I cannot essay properly rn

Tagging @pey-no-attention-to-me as you asked for this too :3

It's all under the cut because I wrote SO MUCH.

Sexuality headcanon: Bisexual fr ❗️❗️❗️ Though I did see something abt Joseph being aro on here ages ago and it's been rattling around in my head ever since...him being aro/aroace actually kinda gives a reason as to why he's Like That imo, I like to dabble in it. Also it's really funny

Gender headcanon: Genderfluid 💥💥💥 It just fits, yknow? Though I am also open to other gender headcanons, I like to dabble in trans man and trans woman Joseph sometimes (I actually did do a screenshot edit with transfem Joseph once, and oh my god I hate hair so much) <3

A ship I have with said character: Caejose is my main ship with him, as you can probably tell. I also love joseq, they're such a sweet little couple, it's so wholesome (we ignore the cheating, though Joseph does have his selfish and bad traits he would NOT cheat, I hate Araki making him cheat just to get another Joestar for the plot). Hmm actually I should write some joseq I haven't written much and when I do it's sidelined by caejose...

A BROTP I have with said character: JOSEPH AND SMOKEY FR!!!!! WE SHOULD'VE GOTTEN MORE OF THEM AND THEIR SHENANIGANS!!!!! THEY WERE SUCH A GOOD DUO SMOKEY WAS THE FIRST FRIEND JOSEPH MADE HAUGHHHHH ARAKI WHY DO YOU DO THIS ALL THE TIME (I need to actually work on my full rewrite of jjba tbh)

Also I think there's probably something that can be said about Joseph having no proper friends before Smokey. Idk man but the way he always gets so aggressive over the littlest things, but it feels almost defensive in a sort of way to me? Like with the way he immediately demanded to know what was up with the Squid Ink Spaghetti, and the way he was really tentative with starting to eat it once he was told what it was. Yeah that could be chalked down to him just being wary of it as he's not used to the food and he won't know if he'll like it, but with him having no friends and also being arrested 3 times before hitting 20, I have a feeling something else is at play. Joseph was likely bullied in school, if I'm completely honest. That guy 100% did not have a good childhood I can guarantee you that.

And with that likely being the case, his first friend being Smokey kinda has a lot more meaning if you get what I mean. Like they first met because Smokey stole his wallet and ended up being attacked by the police for it. Of course yeah Joseph's not a racist so of course he wouldn't stand for that (ONCE AGAIN, WE IGNORE PART 3 BECAUSE ARAKI LITERALLY CANNOT KEEP HIS OWN CHARACTERS CONSISTENT. GOD.), but the whole arresting thing you'd assume he'd be fine with. And oddly enough he's not, he doesn't want Smokey to get arrested in the first place. You'd think he'd tell them to chill tf out with the racist stuff and leave it at that, but the first thing he tells the cops is that he gave Smokey the wallet – meaning there was no crime committed at all. And the police also only start doing stuff to Joseph after he tried to get Smokey off it scot-free (I feel that this change is more emphasised in the manga, where they straight up ask Joseph why he cares about Smokey as he's white and Smokey is black, I feel like they sorta bring Joseph down to Smokey's level in their minds after Joseph still stays on Smokey's side), so he definitely doesn't do this for his sake as it'd be better for him if he just left it. And with this being Joseph, with his selfish streak, that's quite notable. Personally I think that Joseph could recognise that Smokey wasn't in a good spot if he was stealing in broad daylight like that, he must've been desperate to do that. And once he saw how the police were treating him that just made him wanna make sure Smokey didn't get arrested more. I feel that if he really was bullied in childhood he'd understand the othering going on here (sure he can't understand completely bc getting othered by bullying and getting othered by racism is different. But the similarities ARE there) by the police to Smokey and that's what does cause him to have that REALLY violent outburst towards them (it was deserved, yes, but it didn't need to go that far to get the job done, ykwim). Actually the violent outburst is actually quite notable, seeing that kids that have been abused a lot – because bullying IS abuse – do usually tend to become aggressive and have behavioural and emotional regulation problems later in life as a result of it, sorta like a defence mechanism (and also because being bullied is not a good place to grow up in they also probably didn't have a chance to learn how to regulate emotions, especially if they were being teased and mocked for their feelings and that) and oh my god I'm going off on a major tangent I'll stop now

They also seem to have a sort of brotherly bond with each other, and I love that. They're just really awesome and cool and god I wish Araki had more screen time of them. Part 2 suffers from a lot of pacing issues actually now that I think about it. I'm Normal as you can tell

A NOTP I have with said character: Literally anything incestuous. There's so much incestuous stuff I come across it all the time it's so bad. I hate how Araki goes about writing jjba as he goes along if not for that we wouldn't have had the whole Lisa Lisa bath scene while also being his mother, which I think a lot of the incest stuff comes from. It's just...ew. You can't even get any interesting takes on the narrative with it the majority of the time. Just. 🤢

Also Josekars. Like I can see AUs where Kars ends up turning good and becomes friends or whatnot, Kars is a very interesting character for plots like that, but I simply do not like the ship for em both, it's just not my cup of tea.

A random headcanon: Whenever he had a nightmare as a child, he'd go and sleep in the same bed as Erina, as it'd bring him comfort. However, he still did this even when he was older, until he finally moved out with Suzi. Erina never minded, she'd do anything to make him feel better. (WAAAAHHHHH JOSEPH AND ERINA'S RELATIONSHIP...)

General opinion of said character: do i even need to say.

Well. I think he's very interesting due to his personality and morals being very gray in a way the other Joestars aren't, the other Joestars mainly have their negative traits be in what they do (steal, be a delinquent, etc.) and not their actual personality traits like selfishness and that. He's terribly underused by Araki and also mischaracterised in later parts because it's Araki of course that's gonna happen. I think about him every day for hours at a time he's at the forefront of my mind constantly I'm Normal about him and he's one of the main things keeping my mind tethered to jjba as Sonic's kinda dragging me away from it, hence why Sonic and Joseph are fistfighting in my mind, they both want all my autism RAM so bad you have no idea. Nobody gets him like I do. OK maybe not nobody else, Seaweed and Kirsten get him. Other jjba mutuals don't Josephpost enough/I don't know irl so I can't make a proper judgement on it. He makes me sick I hope he dies. Taking him out for ice cream. Kissing him sloppy (platonically). Detaching his penis so he can never have sex again. Joseph Joestar

[overheaven]

i really love the take that Hitoya is pretty emotionally stunted and that’s why he really connects well with Jyushi and Kuko. some people like to call him their dad figure but i’ve always (half-joking, half-serious) said he’s their babysitter. like someone who’s maybe not totally secure either, but at least older and thus wiser about the world. i don’t think he’s immature, but yeah i get a lot of “it’s alright, i’m 35 and i don’t know what i’m doing either” energy from him.

compared to Jakurai who has war trauma and literally adopted and effectively lost his own kid, Hitoya is (imo) a pretty neat example of a character who has less “shocking” or w/e you wanna call it trauma that has discombobulated him. death of a loved one and bullying are very overt trauma, but there’s something unique about how that type of trauma is contained to settings like the family unit, school, etc. It’s more pervasive and less shell-shock. If that makes sense. Hitoya and Jyushi both lost a caregiver / older loved one; Jakurai, a parent, lost his child. Different dynamics of maturity.

Jyushi is, of course, also coping with very similar trauma, but he’s only 19 and he has an older friend who’s been through that already to help steer him towards a more effective path of healing— which Hitoya only knows because he’s already made the mistakes, suffered alone, and built a whole new life path because of the devastating events in his past. He did it all on his own! How many years of study and hope (years of young adulthood!!) did he lose when he threw his original goals into the trash? And now here he is, a successful adult with a really illustrious career, but like. Has he really healed? idk.

i could probably make a case for Hitoya’s “he likes money” character quality being born of insecurity rather than greed or anything too tbh but the best contrast for that is Rei and we honestly don’t know what his real deal is so LOL we’ll postpone that idea

and i have similar feelings about Sasara and Rosho and how they navigate the emotional trauma of neglect but that’s a whole other post because i’m very invested in DH and could write a lot more in-depth meta about them lol

anyways that’s my thoughts on Hitoya since he keeps saying hi to me in ARB, cheers 🥃⚖️💜

[samsspambox]

what is love (baby don’t hurt me)

irt this post i made last night, i feel like vyn was once afraid of love. and there are different kinds of love, so maybe he was scared of all types? idk. vague character study, it feels discombobulated bc i wrote this in the car. no edits LMAO. spoilers for vyns upbringing!! nothing too major but i’m still going to put it out there. obvious song title is obvious. vague feelings of hurt/comfort

wc: 1,181

He first felt it in winter. 

Vyn was a kid when he first realized that love was a hoax and nothing but chemicals in your body to push along copulation. That was all it was and that was all it ever would be. His father, in his laments, had let what happened to his mother slip. 

He had been angry for the longest time. But he couldn't find it in himself to blame either of his parents. They were both manipulated by outside sources, but their supposed 'love' had made things even messier. One winter evening, while one of the nannies read him The Princess and the Frog, he realized that love was fake. Love didn't exist, it was a series of circumstances that blinded you to the point where you would be nothing without the other. That was what love was to him, and he decided to never fall in love with someone lest he repeat what happened with his father. 

Love was... Fake. Stale. A TV set of a show that with one gust of wind could be brought down to its knees. It was an attachment to things that aren't worth anything at all. That was what love was. And he wanted no part in it. 

——

When he was in college, Vyn learned about the 7 types of love: Eros (romantic, passionate love), Philia (affectionate love), Agape (selfless, universal love), Storge (familial love), Ludus (playful love), Pragma (enduring love), and Philautia (self-love). 

He never understood that topic to begin with. Love was... a big amalgamation of feelings. Why was it divided into subsections? Had he ever felt Storge from his father? From anyone? No. At that point in his life, he had been confessed to many times, mostly by young duchesses and some dukes looking for power. He was a teenager, so he copulated. But he was detached from it all. No one loved him, they loved what power he could bring. He did not love anyone, he had vowed as a child to not do so. 

Who would care about different types of love if you refused to feel it? Or better yet, when without any of the glitz and glamor, you did not have anyone who truly loved you? Love wasn't any of those subcategories. Love was just love, and he would steer clear from it. 

——

Eros hit him first. 

And how wouldn't it when the most exquisite creature was standing a mere foot away from his desk, giving him an answer only few would dream of? That day he rushed over to a greenhouse and bought a new rose plant with green and unopened buds. He would cultivate this plant like the feeling he was experiencing as an experiment on himself. 

He who has not been loved or has given love experiences it for the first time. 

It sounded like the perfect journal-title.

——

For every new emotion he experienced, Vyn had a habit of buying a new flower. He found that this was the perfect balance of detached and present as related to his emotions. Bold emotions, like anger or hatred, were represented by bold and striking colors. Emotions like kindness, wonder, hope, would be paler colors. 

Love, he decided, was to be pale pink. It was something he was new to experiencing and quite scared to do so. Would he also lose his sight, just like his father? Or would he prevail this storm and make it out unscathed. Only time would tell. But for now, he tended to his flowers, just like he was tending to his heart. 

— 

He wasn’t sure when Agape and Storge hit him next. 

Maybe it was late one night when Marius came back to the office with an Earl Grey tea with a splash of milk and two sugars. Maybe it was when Luke came over to his house one day asking to be stitched up and they had spent the night talking about who Sherlock Holmes was as a character. Maybe it was when Artem took him to the orphanage to take care of the little kids who clearly needed someone. He found himself smiling a lot more, anticipating the days he would go into the office. Waiting for the next case that would require not just Rosa, but the entire team as a whole. 

It really hit him as he was making a cake for them to eat. They had all worked hard and decided that they would pull an all-nighter in regards to the case. Vyn, being the only person with the semblance of a sleep schedule, promised them that he would come back at the earliest time possible. He had set an alarm for 8 am and done all of his routine things just so that he could bring them something sugary to wake them up. 

He almost dropped his piping bag in realization. 

He needed to get more flowers. 

— 

Vyn wasn’t sure when he started closing in on himself. 

If anyone asked, he has just gotten busy with his research. He had his classes he needed to grade, he had the center he needed to manage. He was busy and the world didn’t just stop because you were (platonically) in love with your friends. 

His work was his crutch while he settled with the realization that, yes, he did love in more ways than one. He was able to experience love and to give it in his own way. Hell, he would hazard saying that sometimes that love, those pieces of himself he gave with no expectations that they would be returned, was reciprocated. he wanted to believe that he was capable of being loved and that he wasn’t this… broken person who devoured themselves of love because he was scared. 

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? 

He didn’t want to be hurt like his father. He didn’t want to lose himself the same way his father did, or even then he didn’t want to lose sight of what was important. When had they gotten so tangled up with his definition of importance? When had his heart split in four equal pieces for these four individuals he had nothing to do with? When had he started missing them? 

He sighed as he walked into a patient’s room. He was already lost, wasn’t he?

— 

The second he walked into the NXX office, he felt his chest constrict because they were still there. They were there and they were worried. They didn’t swarm him, but Marius thrust an earl grey and grumbled about how his tutoring wasn’t that bad. Luke gave him a small chain to hang off of his badge that tased people in case he ever ran into trouble. Artem wordlessly slid him a packet of seeds he knew that he had been eyeing and asked to come over for some baking lessons because apparently, he lacks baking skills. 

He loved. 

And he was loved. 

—

The flowers in his garden grew brighter and more vibrant because somehow, love is just as passionate as any emotion. 

[bigskydreaming]

ANYWAY.

Current mood is contemplating an AU wherein Boone (yes that Boone, its been too long since a Dick and Boone shitpost so off we goooooooo) anyway, so AU wherein he graduates from his League of Shadows training around the same time Dick becomes Nightwing, and since I headcanon Boone having known who Dick really is for years because he’s not a complete dumbass and Dick Grayson is a fairly high profile figure and it doesn’t take a genius to look at a picture of him and recognize him as “aka Freddy Lloyd,” I mean, they did live together for weeks or even months.....

POINT IS, so Boone is all done with his training and sees Nightwing bigwigging it up with the Titans and then sees there’s a new Robin in Gotham, and all these thoughts come together in a perfect storm for Boone to be like LETS PLAY “WHAT IF I GO FUCK WITH FREDDY!”

SO. In this AU Nightwing and Shrike’s confrontation slash reunion happens before he ever moves to Bludhaven to be a solo act and when he’s still based out of New York, and actually takes place in Gotham during a period when Bruce is out of town on an extended mission or something, as this Shrike figure starts stalking Robin and Jason is like UMM HELP GIRL, I mean not that I need it CUZ I DON’T, but like if you want to come help with this weirdo I guess that’d be alright, we could hang, its cool.

So Dick trainsurfs down to Gotham all quick like a bunny and is like waaaaaait a minute, this guy calls himself Shrike? That’s weirdly specific, I knew another Shrike once......and Jason’s like maybe this is the same guy? And Dick’s just all umm no, he’s dead. He like, died and stuff. He made like a corpsicle. Definitely not him, its gotta be someone else....oh fucking hell, its Boone. Of course its Boone. Why did it have to be Boone?

And Jason’s like who the fuck is Boone?

Dick shushes him distractedly. Nobody. There is no Boone, only Zuul. Eat your vegetables.

Jason: You are the weirdest person alive, and that’s saying a lot, I live with Bruce. What is going on right now?

Dick: Nothing? *examines himself in a mirror that is actually just a broken piece of window glass procured from yon surrounding rooftops* Hey how does my hair look? Is it wavy enough? I feel like it could be more wavy.

Jason: Is your hair - what? Dude, is this Boone guy like your ex-boyfriend or something?

Dick: Please. As if. He wishes. Also I knew him when we were like twelve. Or eleven. Maybe ten. I forget. It was definitely pre-pubescent though.

Jason: That’s not a denial.

Dick: Its also not an admission and also stop being smart and insightful, its rude and I did not ask. Besides, its not like I’m trying to look good for Boone, eww, he’s a loser, I would never. I’m just trying to look BETTER than him.

Jason: Ahh. Well. That’s different then.

Dick: See? You get it.

Jason: Not even a little bit. If this is what puberty does to you I want no part in it.

Dick: Too late. Its already begun. I spy hairs on your chinny-chin-chin.

Jason: What kind of bizarre Three Little Pigs segue is.....who ARE you right now?

Dick: Stop victim-blaming me for my discombobulation! I haven’t seen Boone in years and he could be here any second now and he already has the lead, I can not let him confront me in a state less than poised, suave and sophisticated, its just the RULES.

Jason: Well you’re off to a stellar start. Why is it so important you win this whatever this is with whomever Boone is and also are you still going to therapy? I feel like maybe not and maybe that was a mistake.

Dick: You’re a terrible little brother, just the worst. And okay, look. Its complicated, see. I met Boone at a very specific time in my life when both of us were kinda floundering in that verb kinda way, not like the Little Mermaid kinda way.

Jason: Stop using similes. I’m begging you. It hurts.

Dick: THE POINT IS......we were both.....kinda lost, at the time. Aimless. Looking for purpose. And one of the things we both ended up kinda turning to in search of that purpose was like.....our natural competitiveness.

Jason: Wait. You’re competitive? You? OMG THIS IS BRAND NEW INFORMATION.

Dick: I hate you. You are a blight upon the wheatfields of my soul. NOW IF YOU’LL EXCUSE ME, I WAS MONOLOGUING. Okay. So. Boone and I, we kinda fell into this cycle of eternal competition, that was intensified by us not really having anything else that was OURS at the time, so it became sorta like....the only thing that mattered? If that makes sense?

Jason: Weirdly, that’s the first thing you’ve said all night that DOES make any sense. Okay. I’m keeping up. Continue.

Dick: So it was like constant one-upmanship. If I snuck in somewhere without a trace, he had to sneak in better. If he was unmoved by being surrounded by dead bodies and gore, I had to be more unmoved. If I escaped from a deathtrap in half the time expected, he had to halve that when it was his turn, and if he made it through an obstacle course while bleeding from a leg I had to beat him while bleeding from both legs, look it was this whole thing.

Jason: Wait, and you knew this guy when you were ten? Where the fuck did you two even MEET? Jason Voorhees’ Little Daycamp of Horrors?

Dick: ANYWAY. The point is everything is about competition with us, it always has been, and like, he’s the only person who was ever able to keep up with me at least at the time and just like I was the same for him, and so we hated each other because we were both mad at the world back then and hated everybody and everything, especially the one and only other guy who kept showing us up, but at the same time, we were closer to each other than anyone else in the world at the time because we were the only ones on each other’s same page and able to stay on that same page so there was like.....weird solidarity in that? Idk. I TOLD YOU IT WAS COMPLICATED.

Jason: No, its okay, I get it. So what happened?

Dick: Oh, our mentor died and Boone thought it was all my fault. His name was Shrike too and given that Boone’s here now and calling himself Shrike, I’m guessing he still does.

Jason: .....uh huh. Was it your fault?

Dick: Only a little bit! It was mostly gravity. That bitch.

Jason: Ooookay, not touching that one. So. In conclusion: he’s.....here to kill you then? Or he’s not here to kill you then.....?

Dick: Oh he’s here to kill me, but ONLY if he can beat me first. If he can’t beat me, then no, he’s not here to kill me, just whine, wangst and moan at me.

Jason: And by beat you, you mean at.....having wavy hair?

Dick: At EVERYTHING. Ugh, were you even paying attention?

Jason: Oh yeah. I’m SO glad we cleared all this up. Next time, just simplify and explain he’s your childhood frenemy turned actual nemesis.

Dick: Huh. Yeah, y’know what, that does pretty much cover it....

Jason: Who you totally want to bone due to unresolved and conflicting feelings stemming from your brief but intense time together in your formative years as well as and compounded by your neurotic obsessive attraction to hyper-competent individuals who challenge you on physical, mental and emotional and even moral levels.

Dick: What the....a) you’re wrong, b) STOP STEALING MY PSYCH TEXTBOOKS and c) you could not BE more wrong.

Jason: Your hair looks flat and lackluster. He’s totally gonna beat you there.

Dick: You’re the actual worst. 

[jksangelic]

peaches & piercings (m)

↳ rating: M

↳ genre: punk!jimin, e2l, college au, very explicit smut, one-shot, jimin is a whole asshole

↳ pairing: cheerleader!reader x punk!jimin

↳ warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, sub/dom themes, casual sex, be t r ay a l, alcohol (and weed? idk) consumption, oral sex (male receiving), squirting, thigh-fucking, kind of exhibitionism?, jimin is pierced (that’s all i’ll say), just expect the worst from me tbh

↳ summary: jimin, dipped in hair-dye and pierced in so many places that you just couldn’t keep track, doesn’t think you’re his “type”. you call bullshit.

↳ note: i reallyreallyreally hated this fic. loved the idea, hated how i wrote it. i’ve had this bad boy sitting in my archives for months and months and months and couldn’t gather the courage to post it until NOW! partially because this is an apology fic for my inactivity and more so because i just think i’ve read it too many times that at this point, i’m just being nit-picky and need to move on.

a special thanks to the lovely @14statelier whomst unwillingly received dong pics for the sake of this fic. i’m so glad i found someone as sweet as you to beta for me + become an even better galpal! love u always xx

also thanks to my gal @jungshookz, i’m pretty sure (78% positive) i sent her my idea via snapchat and was probably inspired by her in some way, per usual.

OKAY i’m done you can read now hehehe

↳ words: 11.6k

↳ parts: one | two (complete)

“Jungkook, if you’re not going to throw it then get your grabby hands off my waist,” you warn, eyeing him as he stands behind you and delays in one-manning you into an extension or ogling your ass in your skirt.

           “You’re just so wobbly today, I’m waiting for you to chill out a bit,” he lies with a smirk. You smack his hand but exhale deeply as you firmly grasp his wrists and count.

           “1, 2!” With mutual timing, Jungkook dips down with you before heaving your body above, squatting to catch your heels mid-air, and pumping back up into an extended position. He’s right, you wobble a bit, calling out, “Bail!” and feeling his hands disappear beneath to re-catch your thighs and bring you down safely on your toes. You curse silently under your breath but pat Jungkook’s shoulder as a symbolic “thank you”.

“It’s too fucking early for this, I’m tired,” you say, only making excuses for yourself.

“Well, liven up. The doors are going to open soon and no freshmen want to join a failure of a cheer team.”

“Hey, stop bickering,” the captain, Suzy, orders, “Y/N, you’re fine to just handle the flyers, I’ll stunt with Jungkook.” You squish her into an exhausted hug.

“This is why you’re captain,” you coo.

With that, some of the staff open the gym doors, welcoming an intimidatingly large group of people in with smiles. You fake one yourself, ready to get this over with as soon as possible so you can go back to your dorm and sleep. Within ten minutes, you had a group of girls and a handful of brawny guys already watching Suzy and Jungkook’s exhibition, a mixture of oohs and ahs being rewarded. You handed each of them a thin, poorly-made flyer with pixelated clipart of a girl doing a toe-touch before they scrambled.

After a while, most of the initial commotion dies down and you people-watch each clueless face, thinking how adorable they are, so young and so lost, as if it weren’t you only a few months ago. You’re only a sophomore, but in your head that gives you enough authority to judge the freshmen.

You snap out of your daze upon boots clicking in the distance, soon revealing a man seemingly darting through the crowds to exit across the other side. You would’ve ignored him if it wasn’t for his peachy-tinted hair, long and slicked back atop and close-shaven near his neck, his thin but fit stature dressed in all-black, and the glint of metal, that you soon realized was a septum piercing, in his nose. He has a dark sleeve consuming his right arm and you wonder what eighteen or nineteen year old has a fully-developed sleeve.

Although his eyes were covered with chunky black sunglasses (in the gym, at that), the rest of his appearance sent your pierced-and-tatted-hot-boy alarm berserk. Suddenly awake, you wait for him to head closer to your booth before hopping next to him.

“Hi there, freshie. Care to take a tryout flyer for this year’s cheer team?” you ask with a pitch that’s much higher than your own, kindly handing him one of the shitty-looking papers. He mutters something under his breath that you don’t catch but speaks before you can ask him to clarify.

“Not a freshman. Do I look like someone who cheers? I’m just looking for the counseling center to turn in my transfer papers.

“Also, can you, like, give me some personal space?” he continues in a mock valley-girl tone.

You jump back, completely caught off guard with his sudden hostility and attempting to regain your composure by clearing your throat. Someone must’ve shoved a stick up his ass this morning.

“Oh, uh, sorry. Once you leave the gym, you head right, pass two sets of restrooms, head left, and it’s behind the big statue where the foyer is.” Your voice sounds much better.

His eyebrows rocket upwards over his glasses, completely frazzled by the number of directions you gave him, “Shit, okay. That’s a lot.”

“Here, I’ll just walk you,” you say, not giving him any time for him to probably decline. You don’t even question if he’s following you or not, the obvious clunkclunkclunk of his boots giving it away.

Unsurprisingly, the man doesn’t try to talk to you on the way to the counseling center. At most, he walks side-by-side, at least three meters between you for good measure. And even though it’s pretty clear he doesn’t want to talk, you ring him out a little more anyway.

“So, you’re not a freshman. Underclassman or upperclassman? And you’re a transfer? From where?”

Pass two sets of restrooms and head left.

“Senior. From Busan.” He doesn’t even show a hint of feeling. Emotion. Does this guy even breathe?

Straight until the statue in the foyer.

“Great. Well, it was nice to meet you, senior from Busan. I’m Y/N. If you ever need help or anything, feel free to ask me,” you deadpan, swiveling on your feet to salute him.

He leans on one hip, taking a hand with an incredible amount of rings on it and pushing his sunglasses over his hair like a headband. You certainly weren’t expecting a reveal of the kindest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen in your entire life. He almost looks permanently sleepy—eyes drooping flat on the lid. Your trance distracted you from his brief once-over, unpredictably impressed by your looks, if he had to admit it.

“It’s Jimin. Jimin, senior from Busan. See you around, cheerleader,” he says with a sly tilt of his lips before swinging the door open and slithering into the office. Past all the glitter and bright colors that poured out of that hideous uniform of yours, Jimin found you really cute.

Jimin waits patiently for the front desk to call him up, lounging in one of the hard, black plastic chairs that never failed to give his ass cramps. Though he didn’t seem like it to new faces around the campus, he was ecstatic to be starting college again in a whole new atmosphere. He even got to room with another male originally from Korea, Min Yoongi, in a small condo not too far a walk from the area.

He could even prospect cuties like you during his year, undoubtedly positive he could busy himself judging by the attention he’s attracted so far. All it would take is a hungry stare, a lick of his lips, an all-knowing smirk. It was easier here than it was back home, if not child’s play. He could have you in three hours flat. But then he thinks of you choosing the obnoxious cliché of college cheerleader and cringes at the idea of associating himself with such… American-ness. He could at least go for some sort of indifferent, grunge hipster that might actually have some thought to her. Yeah, more his style.

The woman at the front finally calls for him, so he arranges his papers and shoos away any daydream of hooking up with the girl in a tight skirt and ankle socks.

Taking the long route back to the gym, your imagination sputters through all the possible reasons why you should hate that guy, bad-guy radar ringing and shrieking and threatening to punch you square in the eye if you even think about it. Eventually, it comes to the conclusion that he was just new, he was probably having a rough moving-in, and you shouldn’t judge a transfer by their hair. Book by its binding? You don’t really remember how the saying goes in this situation.

“Hey, good job on snaking yourself out of flyer duty. What, did you bang Asian Hot Topic on your way?” Jungkook snickers.

“And did Cait break up with you because you can’t dom for shit? Hand me my jacket.”

He guffaws, practically throwing the clothing at your face, “We didn’t break up, asswipe. How am I supposed to act when she suddenly calls me ‘daddy’ without previous warning? I’m not ready to be a father.”

“Kook, you’re dumb as shit. Maybe I should bang Asian Hot Topic and give you pointers of how a real dom works their magic.”

Jungkook crosses his arms in denial, “Pfft, you don’t even know him. He could be a receiver for all you know.”

One, two, three seconds. You both chortle at the impracticality.

You take one final look in the body mirror, adjusting the slinky grey dress and hanging an oversized burnt-orange corduroy jacket over your shoulders for that final touch of unnecessary, but fashionably-adept, garnish to your outfit cupcake. Not having enough time to do your hair, you sweep it over to one side and leave it as is.

“You look fine and you’re ten minutes late so get out already,” your roommate, Sara, whines. She practically pushes you out, slamming and locking the door for emphasis.

Waving off your discombobulated roommate, you start your trek to the humanities building (which is so far away) with a skip in your step. A new school year meant new people, new classes, more lunchtimes with subpar food and occasional parties that could potentially lead to you getting arrested. Who knows!

A new school year, however, didn’t mean that you would know your way to your new class apparently. Bummer.

It’s only by your fourth circle and a glance at your phone that you panic, fifteen minutes somehow passing in the midst of your scrambling. Pace quickening, you pull out your paper with sloppily written notes of what class room number was at which time, simultaneously half-jogging past classrooms and—

“Oof!”

You land straight on your ass.

“Ow, watch where you’re going stu—oh, it’s you.”

You look up groggily, pain stinging through your legs from the brunt of your fall and lazily making eye contact with a pair of puppy dog eyes. Jimin stands above you, rubbing his chin where, you suppose, your forehead made rough contact with and indiscreetly staring at your bright blue panties where your dress failed to cover.

Hopping up and dusting yourself off, you pick up your fallen bag and paper before glaring at him, “Sorry, I got lost and wasn’t paying attention.”

He scoffs, “Aren’t you the cheerleader? You’re supposed to be, like, the girl scout of the school, right? You shouldn’t be lost.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, well. I am,” you mutter to yourself, “I don’t even think there’s a 207 in this building…”

“Oh, 207? Intro to psych, right? That’s where I’m going too,” he admits, eyes blown wide. Welp, certainly not the highlight of your morning.

“Great. By the looks of the current time, we’re both lost and,” you wave around the empty corridor, “there’s no one who’s going to help us.”

“I’m not lost. I just woke up late,” he answers nonchalantly, a warm glow to his face like he couldn’t give two damns about his class.

“W-What? Then let’s go! Where is it?”

Jimin twirls and walks a different direction, mumbling, “I’m not your escort, rich girl.”

You prattle at his comment but follow him anyway. When you find the correct lecture hall, you groan at the fact that you already passed it several times. He opens the door quietly, not even bothering to hold it for you as you scramble to catch it. A couple of the back rows look back at you two, annoyed by the minor inconvenience.

“Well. Welcome to my 10AM psychology class at,” the professor booms through the hall and peeks at his wristwatch, “10:36. Go ahead and take these two free seats.”

Jimin shrugs and walks towards the front of the room, a quiet and embarrassed you tiptoeing behind him. Being this late and having to sit next to this ass wasn’t how you wanted your first day to go at all.

For the remainder of the 24 minutes until the first break, you skim over the contents that you missed in the syllabus and want to ram your head into the closest wall. Participation and attendance by themselves are 30% of your grade, homework and assignments (thank god) being a measly 20%, and the final plus tests and quizzes a hunking remainder of 50%. What even was this system?

During your ten minute break, you silently scroll through your phone notifications, setting it down irritatingly when the hall refused to grant you enough service to respond to any of them.

“Don’t have LTE, princess? Might as well watch paint dry without your phone to entertain you,” Jimin snickers beside you. You scowl menacingly at him and he giggles more.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but back off, Jimin. Sorry I don’t, like, play the electric guitar in my free time or whatever.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, still smiling and blowing bubbles with his gum, popping them quite obnoxiously, and quite intentionally.

“What, do you think I play the electric guitar? Are you stereotyping me as some sort of garage band drop-out punk?” he jesters.

“And do you take me for some sort of pink fuzzy consumerist? You don’t know me. Buzz off.”

Jimin had definitely tucked you into his mental folder of “tough gals”; his aloof tactic of flirting not seeming to penetrate that pretty skull of yours. He could just take the path of least resistance and approach you normally, but where was the fun in that? You were too interesting a specimen to just use-and-discard.

Jimin suddenly thinks you look attractive with furrowed brows and pouted lips. It was most definitely working for you, so he lets it slide for now. When class ends, you all but bolt before Jimin can even look your way, sure he’d find another surface flaw to pick at.

You suddenly think of what all of the adults in your life have said during your upbringing: people that went out of their way to bully you were either jealous or had an embarrassingly crushing “thing” for you. Jimin, on the other hand, was just annoying.

Of course, to your dismay, class isn’t the only time you ever saw him. You weren’t totally stupid. The campus didn’t stretch for miles and you were bound to see him sometime and have to deal with the efforts of avoiding the man at all costs but fuck were you praying to whoever controls your Sim above that they would grant you some mercy.

“Just tell him to fuck off if he’s so far up your ass,” Jungkook argues, crushing his juice box in one gulp and biting his massive cafeteria burrito.

“You don’t get it, Kook. I have. So many times, in so many different instances. Did I tell you about the time I thought he was helping me get a textbook from a tall shelf but he ended up taking that last one for himself?” You angrily rip a bite from your limp sandwich. You really did hate Turkey Thursdays.

“Eh, first come, first serve. Maybe he didn’t know you were trying to grab that one.”

“My ass, Jungkook. He claimed that if I really wanted it, I would ‘do something in fair exchange’ for it. I’m not looking to going into prostitution anytime soon.”

“Respect sex workers,” Jungkook criticizes.

“Oh, no, totally. Sex work just isn’t my forte.” Kook shrugs.

“Okay,” you continue, “how about the time I went to IKEA to buy that ceiling lamp and was obviously struggling to one-trip everything from my car? The dumbfuck passed by and asked if I needed help, so I was like, ‘Yeah! Sure, it would definitely make up for the time you asked for sex in lieu of my psych book,’ but instead of helping me carry anything he took my coffee, drank some, and left.” Jungkook starts a rebuttal but you cut him off short, “Then he showed up to my work the other day, god knows how he even saw me in there, and started taking a video of me when I wasn’t paying attention!”

“What the hell,” your friend sports a face of disgust, “like, he’s stalking you?”

You scratch the back of your neck, “Well, not exactly? I think he was just maybe—see, A$AP Rocky may or may have not been playing on the speakers, and I didn’t know anyone was in the shop! So. I don’t know. I started—”

“Started rapping with a rolled up poster as your microphone,” he deadpans. Finishing your horrid sandwich, you crumple the saran wrap and chuck it at his eye, satisfied when we wails exaggeratingly.

“Maybe that’s just his way of flirting with you, he’ll get bored eventually.”

“I think he just hates my guts and thinks of me as an equal to the gum under his thick, goth boots,” you mumble.

“Does it matter? So what if Danny Phantom doesn’t like you?”

“He’s causing a problem though. Besides, everyone cares if someone doesn’t like them. It’s bullshit if they tell you otherwise; bullshit or a lack of sympathy.”

“So what are you going to do about it? Because I’m totally your friend and all but I don’t necessarily want to hear about your boy problems all the time.” You harrumph at his negligence and slump back into your seat.

There really wasn’t anything you could do about it; it wasn’t bad enough to the point of distressing tyranny. You simply couldn’t befriend the guy, it was obvious he didn’t want that. You would just have to pray to all things good that he would eventually lose interest, stop harassing you out of kindness, or have a change of heart and treat you like the saint you were.

If only it were that easy.

Sylly-week kicked ass, to say the least. Even two days prior the hectic week from hell, your body aches from partying while your wallet cries from all the textbooks and supplies you paid for.

Sara slept beside you, forehead stuck to the desk with her laptop stuck on some sort of half-assed document and you couldn’t fathom a better picture to represent college.

Although it was already around 11, you hop out of bed and throw on your windbreaker from cheer and some spandex, shuffling into a pair of your sneakers and bolting out of your room with your bag. The amount of sodium and sugar you consumed from Cup-O-Noodles and off-brand cookie dough bites made you feel disgusting, and you know running a quick mile at the gym would get your blood pumping enough to make you: 1) feel better about yourself and 2) put your ass to sleep.

The walk is short, the air still a little heavy with heat but cool enough for you to be comfortable in a long-sleeve. Some tired students exit the library, really the only other people you see at this hour. You would’ve thought it creepy if the campus wasn’t so well-lit and played background music through the announcement speakers. If you died or got kidnapped, at least it was to some groovy jazz.

You swipe your card across the sensor beside the athletic building door, waiting for that subtle beep before the gears clank and allow you to heave the door open. Immediately, the smell of sweat poorly masked with air freshener fill your nostrils and your adrenaline builds. You’re no body builder, but a run certainly sounded nice right about now.

You practically skip through the halls, rounding a corner to enter the weight room before you stop in your tracks to see someone in the room across. You squint suspiciously, peachy hair striking a very strong familiarity to…

“Jimin?” you whisper to yourself. You shouldn’t be surprised that he’s at the gym, but you are because he isn’t. He’s in the dance studio. Before you bolt, your eyes glue to his sensual movements, legs gliding across the floor and body free-flowing alongside the bass-filled music. No previous bias could deny that he looks like an angel in his room, dancing smooth as meringue and practically skating across the floor despite those clunky black boots of his; and powerful, hitting every note and beat with intention and vigor. You’ve never seen anyone dance like this.

After a few seconds, you render that you’re spying on him and continue walking, nervously scuffing your sneakers down the linoleum and immediately, and unfortunately, catching his attention.

He first sees you in the mirror. Ignores you. Then realizes it’s you and turns into the most ungraceful bag-of-bones as he scurries to pause the music and chases you down the hall.

“Hey!” he yells, grabbing your elbow.

“Don’t touch me,” you strike back, jerking your elbow out of his grasp and staring him down.

He looks apologetic, genuinely worried for a second before he breathes deep and tries again, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you like that. Um, why are you here?”

“Um, because I can be? I was going to go to the gym, dickwad.”

It takes all of his patience not to insult you, “Okay. You’re right. Were you… were you watching me?”

You give him a sickeningly-sweet smile, “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just passing by.”

He nods solemnly, straightening his tank as if it wasn’t already wrinkled and damp with sweat, “Okay. Okay, cool.” He starts to turn before he keeps going in a 360.

“Can you keep this between me and you? That I was here? That I was here and I was—”

“Dancing?” you ask quizzically, “Why does it matter?”

His eyebrows stitch together in frustration, “Y/N, do I look like I’m a dancer?” He gestures to his piercings and his sleeve, waving his hands about in so many different places that your lewd curiosity wonders what he looks like naked—for the sake of knowing how many piercings and tattoos he has though, obviously.

“I think you look like a dancer. Just not a contemporary dancer. Did you take ballet?” you half-tease, crossing your arms and beaming slyly at him.

Jimin huffs, impatient, “Will you just keep it locked somewhere in that airhead of yours?”

“What’s in it for me, Jiminie,” you pout, “what do I get as reward for keeping your secret?”

He falters a moment, licking his plump lips and walking dangerously close, “You want a reward? I don’t take you as that kind of girl, Y/N.”

He must be delirious, eyeing him so and shoving him away, “Ew, no. I just meant, like, be nice to me from now on. And help me with psychology. That class is nothing but a memory test.”

He blinks dumbly from your rejection; who ever rejected him? He waves it off.

“Okay. I can be compliant. I won’t treat you like the rich bitch you are, and I tutor you on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Deal?”

“I’m not a rich bitch. I have student loans like the rest of the student population, thank you very much. Deal.”

You smile at each other devilishly, ready to part ways before bursting out with an instant, “Wait!”

Jimin looks over his shoulder curiously. Damn, you could really see how toned his shoulders were in that shirt.

“There’re dance majors here, is that what you transferred for?”

He turns all the way, leaning sideways against the wall and sighing, “Honestly, yes. But my family thinks I’m transferring to finish my business degree and that I would have better opportunities here. I really did it because there’s some great studios in the area but—” he catches himself rambling, “I don’t know how they would feel about my grand decision.”

You shrug, “You’re a great dancer, Jimin. Honestly, you could open your own studio here if you wanted to. You do have great opportunities.”

His sleepy eyes stare you down, a half-smile drawing itself out before he can take it back. “Give me your phone,” he orders.

You don’t know why but you do.

He dials into it with his overly-accessorized fingers, giving you a moment to get a closer look at his septum and the abundance of ear-piercings he sports before he hands it back. You’re pretty sure one of them is Gucci and you bite back a chuckle. Rich bitch.

“That’s my number. Text me when you’re free on study days.”

And with that, he re-enters his room and resumes the music.

The first time Park Jimin meets with you at a Starbucks on a Tuesday, like he instructed, you thought you somehow managed to get yourself stuck in the Twilight Zone.

“Hey, it’s Y/N. My last class ends at 3 on both days and there’s already a quiz this Friday. Help.”

 You sent the text without emojis. He didn’t deserve any.

You had barely got to Instagram before he texted you back. With multiple messages.

 “u text like a gramma”

“but ok”

“starbucks at 330? i’ll buy”

 You giggled to yourself at his joke, sending a single “(:” and putting your phone to sleep.

 To your disbelief, he really did buy you a cheese danish and a tall, iced, caramel macchiato. You sip it gingerly while he pulls his things out of his bag: a couple mechanical pencils (the industrial, expensive ones), a 1-inch binder organized by subject with dividers, and notecards. You grab them and hold them up like it’s evidence from a leading murder case.

“Notecards? You are way too organized and functional.”

He snags your pastry before you can grab it and takes a huge bite, “Yeah, but ih’s gonna het you a bedder ghrade.”

Whining, you get it back after his second bite, somehow only half remaining.

“Okay. Let’s get started. It should only be a vocab check because that’s really all he’s asked us to study so far. We’ll start with my wonderful notecards,” he waves them in the air for effect, “and see which ones you do and don’t know.”

You nod, waiting for the chaos to begin. Who were you to tell him that you haven’t actually studied any of the vocab yet? He holds the first one up. Abductive reasoning.

“Uhh… is that like, something detectives use on kidnapping cases?”

“Wh-What? No. Well—are you thinking of ‘abductions’? Abductive reasoning is being able to use the two states of induction and deduction alongside your intuition to reach a conclusion,” he pauses and tilts his head a little, “ I guess the best analogy is giving out a verdict on a criminal case. Without being 100% sure, they use the evidence to tie together as many different points as they can to come to a conclusion. So, I mean, you got it wrong, but you can easily remember the definition with that.”

You’ll take what you get (majority of his reasoning went through one ear and out the other, anyway), wiggling your eyebrows in justified approval. Jimin laughs at you, eyes squinting to slits and shaking his head. He takes notice that you aren’t wearing much makeup today, your cheeks and the bridge of your nose a tad red with irritation and a bit dry where the sun burnt and eyes daintier without so much eyeliner on them. You threw on a tank and some workout shorts and look like the epitome of… comfortable, in your head. Jimin thinks you look effortless.

“Park?” you wave your hand in front of him.

He catches himself staring and jumps out of his seat, chair screeching across the tile.

“Sorry,” he coughs, “I’m going to take a whiz.” Stupid. He practically trips over himself to get to the restroom.

You watch him hurry to the back. He probably had much better things to do than help you study in the middle of the afternoon. A couple of younger girls watch him as he passes, giggling like a pack of fangirls and combing their hair out of their faces. If they only knew.

Did he even have a girlfriend? Most likely not, right? He only just transferred here and despite his well-endowed looks, he was still intimidating. Like a giant “don’t touch, I bite” sign constantly hung around his neck.

He comes back shortly, and before you can deduct that you would rather save the embarrassment than to quench your curiosity, you ask, “Are you dating anyone?”

“Because you get a lot of followers,” you reason, shamelessly pointing out the girls who ogle his tattooed biceps. They giggle again when he looks their way. God, so many giggles.

He rubs the back of his neck nervously and that intrigues you, “No, I’m not dating anyone. I think if it weren’t for my… accessories? And the fact that I’m foreign, girls wouldn’t like me as much.” You find tiny comfort that he’s single but squish the thought away.

“How ‘bout you? Dating that guy on your team?” he retorts.

“Who, Jungkook?” you snort, “No. He has a girlfriend and he’s all brawn over brain. I’m not dating anyone, actually. I don’t like guys that are so competitive to win females strictly for the points, and there’s a lot of that here. S’gross; we’re not animals.”

“We kinda are,” he argues, but smiles understandingly.

“Okay, but not in the way where your possible significant other has to perform an instinctual mating dance?”

He juts up an eyebrow, “Really? Because I could easily arrange that.”

For the first time, you both laugh. At the same thing. Who knew that Jimin could dance of all things? And pay for your food? And actually be a nice guy who’s really smart? Thinking about it, today has gone so polar-opposite of what you expected that you contemplate if this is Jimin’s identical twin that just happens to have the same piercings and ink that bully-Jimin has.

Twilight Zone.

“Okay, let’s continue,” he says, resuming the queue of notecards.

“Define abulia.”

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” Jimin waved a hand in your face.

“Hm? Sorry, say it again.”

Jimin packed up his supplies, then grabs yours and tucks them into your bag, “I said, ‘Are we going to your place right now?’ You said you picked up Black Panther on DVD so I want to watch it.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Cats and shit.”

You both stand up and stretch, the rest of the students in the lecture hall slowly filing out. Midterms were already approaching, which meant that you and Jimin had known each other for quite some time now. His tutoring was ditched weeks ago after you were finally comfortable with the material and able to comprehend what the professor was saying without Jimin to interpret. At first, meeting up stopped completely. You two would talk occasionally during class break and that’s all, and after a while, you just figured your deal was completed and Jimin finished his case and you both separated onto your different ways.

But then Jimin had asked if you wanted coffee at the same Starbucks you had first studied at, but for no specific reason. Just to hang out. So, you did.

Hanging out once or twice for coffee turned into twice getting lunch turned into four or five times lazing about your dorm, and now, you were just completely, wholesomely, friends. It was hard not to be on edge at the contrast of current Jimin to hell-on-earth Jimin, but you took what you could get.

“Is something on your mind? You’ve been spacing out for a long time,” he prods, taking your bag himself and throwing it over the same shoulder his own bag was on. The

walk to your dorm building was short but you could feel your feet dragging from sudden exhaustion.

“I think I’m just tired? I’m fine. Ready to Black Panther it up and all that jazz,” you chuckle. He takes the hint and resorts to quietly humming to your room rather than talking. That’s one thing you liked about him, he always knew when your mind just needed simple white noise.

Unlocking the door and jostling it out of its stickiness, you make a running jump to faceplant onto your bed. The mattress dips next to you when Jimin sits.

“I know you like cheer and all, but I think you need to take a break,” he says.

“Easier said than done. And I have mandatory captain conditioning in 3 hours,” you groan, propping your head on the palm of your hand to watch Jimin as he eats a stale bag of chips that he found on your nightstand. His face contorts in repulsion and throws the bag away.

“Okay, well, you’re not going. Tell them you’re sick. Let’s watch some DC movies and eat popcorn and have, like, a girl sleepover but I’m not a girl and I don’t want to spend the night,” he says, counting each point on his fingers.

“First of all, you lunatic, it’s Marvel not DC. Second, I don’t have popcorn. I can’t just skip conditioning because if I gain one pound Jungkook will sense it with his nose or something and attack me.”

“What,” he says in disbelief, grabbing your waist with one hand and squeezing a little, “you’re fine. You’re not going today and that’s final.” It’s not very often he touches you and as much as you try not to show it, you feel your face heat and mouth gape open and closed, ready to combust. You don’t particularly know why; guys touch you all the time (not in that way, thank you very much) but when it was Jimin, it was like you had been raised feral and failed to receive any means of human interaction.

He notices, taking his hand away as quick as he placed it and looking at the floor. Despite your lack of proper reaction, you would be lying if you said you didn’t feel a little twinge of disappointment. God, you’re so confusing to yourself.

“How about you? Your vampire ass won’t dance in sunlight so you must be tired too. How long do you normally dance for when you’re in the studio?”

“Well,” he lays flat on his back and stares at your popcorn ceiling (your dorm building was extremely outdated), “I try to workout at the actual gym in the morning before I get ready for class, and then I dance from 11 to whenever I feel is enough during the weeknights. That is, if no one’s there.”

“Why do you even follow this whole path of disliking mainstream trends and ‘rebelling against the world’? Isn’t that tiring? Aside from dance, do you, like, make your own skateboards and go to secret underground bars or something?” you tease. He rolls his head towards you in annoyance and mouths a “ha ha”.

“No, I just. I don’t know. I don’t like people telling me what to do or where to go or how to look,” he showcases his tatted arm. “This is all mine. I don’t want to be another puppet controlled my whole life to consume and work off a never-ending debt just so I can only live comfortably when I’m old but too old to actually live.”

“Wow, bro. That’s deep,” you pretend to smoke a pretzel stick. He continues anyway.

“Recently I made some friends that are in one of my labs. They’re from Korea too. If I’m not studying or working or hanging out with you, I’m probably with them. Partying or something,” he says, stealing away your “cigarette” and crunching on it loudly.

“Woah, you work? How do you find the time to do that?”

“Kinda. Nothing official, I just tutor people sometimes. Charge them by the hour and make some decent pocket change for food or whatever.”

You contemplate. How come he’s never charged you for your tutoring before? You ask him, studying his side profile and admiring his jawline when he talks. Flexing then easing; taut then relaxed.

“Because we had a deal. We agreed that I would help you in psych as long as you kept my secret, in which you did, so I figured that was good enough. Besides, you’re too cute to charge. I look like a bad boy but I’m not evil.” You giggle, resembling a middle-school fangirl and exaggerating a flattered stature.

Jimin laughs again, light and refreshing staccato notes that you could honestly listen to all day. It was therapeutic in its own crackhead way.

You’ve been unintentionally staring at him more and more often, Jimin finally taking notice within the last few minutes. He knew how to read a girl; how revealing they make themselves to impress him or how their eyes dim in any sort of suggestion that his hands should somehow find place on their body. But with you, he has no idea what that stare means. For the most part, you carry yourself so independently to the point of being standoffish and Jimin just can’t figure you out. He sought the day you would give in and beg for a night with him just like most of the other girls in his classes did, and when you didn’t, he wanted to know why. Not out of inflated ego or need to get into your pants—okay maybe because of that initially—but even more so that he just needed to dissect you. Know how to get you going, what kind of person you really are, which was completely different from what he originally imagined.

You were talking amidst his thoughts, not paying attention to the strings of sentences that fell out of your lips and before he knew it, he held himself directly above you, hands on each side of your head and staring right down into your disordered doe eyes.

“What makes you so different?” he asks aloud, more to himself than you. Puzzled and not under the impression that it was a rhetorical question, you shake your head.

“I don’t u-understand. What are you doing, Ji—”

He tucks a loose strand of yours out of your face, causing you to hiccup. “I feel like when I think I know you, I’m actually far from it.”

You don’t particularly know what you’re supposed to say to that.

“You didn’t ever need to get to know me. You just needed to make sure I kept your secret,” you play along. Knowing it wasn’t really the whole case, your own statement stings a little. If it weren’t to save his own ass, would he even be here right now?

Like he read your mind, he answers, “Why would I be here? I haven’t needed to help you in weeks. I’m with you all the time because I want to be. Because I—”

“Because you…?” you trail on, heart beating so hard you swear he can hear it. You wanted him to say it, maybe that’s what was keeping you from confirming your feelings. You needed validation; that this wasn’t just you or that this was some one-sided longing because you doubted someone like him could ever like someone like you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks instead, so hesitant and delicate and worrisome all in one question and you ponder if this is the same boy you first met at orientation.

“Please.”

He dips down slowly, eyes half-closed in anticipation of what your face looks like so close, pausing an inch away when you shut your own. You feel his warmth near your mouth, waiting for that first touch, any contact, until it seems like it’s been far too long. When you peek, you see nothing but his perfect… cheekbone? He stares, jaw stuck open and eyes fluttering, at the intruder in the door before swinging himself off the bed and coughing awkwardly.

“Oh, Sara. I didn’t know you were coming home so early today,” you squeak out. You sit up yourself, brushing off nonexistent dust from the bed and watching Jimin gather his things in a rush and squeezing past a concerned Sara in the doorway. He doesn’t even turn back, ears stinging red and peeping a quick, havetogotextyoulater. Great, the asshole left you to face your roommate alone.

“Was that Jimin? Park Jimin? The fucking transfer student?”

“Oh my god, Sara, what’re you freaking out about?”

Dropping her stuff in the middle of the room, she shrieks annoyingly and grabs your shoulders, “Are you seriously fucking with the Park Jimin? Y/N. Nuh-uh. No way. Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

“Chill out! We’re just friends. He tutors me sometimes.” Not quite a lie.

She eyes you and deadpans, “Yeah, I didn’t know tutoring also included a one-on-one session of how to have sexual intercourse.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you remove her hands, which were digging crescents into your skin, and pretend to arrange your bed, “we haven’t even kissed. You just walked in at an inconvenient time.”

Sara sighs, rubbing her temples and sitting on your bed, “Look, babe. Just be careful. I’ve been to parties with him and have heard some awful things. Shit you expect from a movie where the girl gets fucked over because the guy doesn’t know how to keep his dick in his pants. I just want the best for you, okay? He’s not as sweet as you might think he is.”

He isn’t sweet at all, you said internally. But still, your heart clenches at her words. Sure, he acts like a dick, and you shouldn’t be surprised if he really does get around as much as Sara suspects; but there was just some sort of denial that lingered. If he really was such a player, why would he have stuck around with you for as long as he has, as platonic as it has been until now?

“I… I didn’t know that. I’ll be careful,” you assure her.

All it took was a squinty-eyed smile and a tiny caress to the small of your back on the way into the lecture hall for you to completely melt into his hands. You were simply putty, magically molding into some gross, odd-smelling ball of love just because of the almost-incident yesterday. You can practically feel the radiating disappointment from Sara if she knew how easily you gave yourself up for him.

His face reoccurs in your daydreams for days, all the way up until the weekend comes up from behind and smacks you on the ass.

“Focus,” Jungkook taps you through you skirt again. Oh, or maybe it was Jungkook.

The stadium speakers blared with announcements and you’re brought back to the world of clashing helmets, captain’s orders and Jungkook’s strong hands residing on your waist for partner stunts.

You didn’t need to be reminded, you were much more stable than you were weeks ago. He throws you in the air during the signaling note of the band and catches your right foot with ease above him, keeping you stable as you pull a heel stretch and present a pretty smile. The crowd roars along, inspiring the team and singing along with the cheers.

By the end of the game, you’re exhausted, tearing down paper signs from the concrete walls and shuffling your poms into your bag in a hurry.

“Hey, are you going to the feed after? Everyone’s going, I could give you a ride,” Jungkook offers, but you shake your head.

“I’m pretty beat. I’ll go next time.” He shrugs, finding more interest in catching up to someone who is interested than trying to convince you otherwise. By the time your clean-up is done, most of the fans are gone, the stadium a comparable difference of quiet than how it was only twenty minutes ago.

“You’re sure taking forever,” a sudden voice pipes up. Outside the gate stands Jimin, all-black tank and jeans, per usual. “You looked great out there.”

You smile, suddenly awake and jogging towards him, “What’re you doing here? I thought you didn’t like football.” During all your rushing do you realize that you relax around Park, time always seeming to slow down in his presence and you dissolve into his effect.

“I don’t. Such an American moneymaker. They’re all cons.” He takes your bag like he always does, leaning against the gate and looking excited, “Mind if we stop by my place? I have something to show you. It’s not far, probably only a 5 minute walk from here.”

You nod before he even mentions how long it takes to get there, heart palpitating at the thought that he’s inviting you over. You’re sure you smelled from cheer and you probably looked like the opposing team warmed up suicide runs over your sweaty body, but you nod.

“Were you here the whole time? Or just towards the end?” you ask, slightly insecure towards the fact that he could’ve been watching you cheer.

“Was here since halftime. Got Yoongs to watch with me at the gate where I was before for the most part. He left halfway through fourth quarter though, said he got tired from seeing others exert themselves so much,” he chuckles at the thought, eyes squinting and crooked tooth visible from the side. Your heart swooned, you were even starting to notice the little things. How he acted. His habits. What he did and didn’t like.

You were in fucking deep.

“I did get to see you cheer though,” he answers your unspoken inquiry, “you looked pretty, Y/N. It’s like watching a whole ‘nother person compared to how you act outside of uniform.” You’re still stuck on the word “pretty” and nod along like you’re listening.

“You should see how people look at you,” he draws on, “like they’re entranced. Even when you were just relaxing on the sideline, not doing anything, you stand out.”

“Oh my god, Jimin, where is this even coming from? One more compliment and the world might explode from the paradox you’re creating.”

He shoves your shoulder lightly, laughing at your tomato-red face, “What do you mean? I can’t compliment you?”

“No that’s not—I just mean. You know. You used to hate me and now you shower me with praise like I’m the best person in the world. It’s just crazy how much our relationship has changed. And… And yesterday—”

“Yo, can’t believe you really stayed for the rest of the game,” a raspy voice outbursts. You just realize that Jimin stopped you in front of a house, presumably his house, as a mint-haired ball sits on the porch. He inhales from his cigarette and exhales through his nose before throwing it underneath his boot.

“Hey, Yoongs. This is Y/N. Y/N, Min Yoongi, my roommate. Has a bad smoking habit and have only recently gotten him to smoke outside.” Jimin snickers, offering a hand to lift Yoongi off the step and welcome him into some bro-hug.

“You smoke too, bastard. Just did it ‘cause I knew you were bringing someone home tonight,” Yoongi retaliates, eyeing your figure. Shivers run down your spine at the comment.

Jimin coughs unexpectedly, then anxiously laughs as he pulls your arm behind him and into the house, “We’ll be in the living room. Go sleep or something.” Yoongi only clicks his tongue in response.

“Sorry,” he says once your inside, “he can be a little too personal sometimes. He’s really nice once you get to know him.” You shake your head, giving him a comforting smile that eases the tension in his shoulders.

He settles you on the couch, host-like politeness apparent when he asks if you want anything to drink, tells you where the bathroom is, and hands you the tv remote before disappearing to find his laptop. His home was cozy, minimalist furniture often in gray, black, and an occasional blue spread throughout the rooms. You weren’t sure if the boys were attempting to be modern or if college tuition only allowed them this sort of set-up, but nonetheless, it was way nicer than you expected.

“Back,” Jimin plops onto the couch right next to you, Apple laptop unlocked to a default background. He looks to you briefly before setting up some page on Google, “Have you signed up for your classes for next quarter yet?”

He looks different, your eyes scanning over his face to figure out just what it is, “Basically, just gotta confirm and pay and whatnot. Have you, Jimin?”

It’s his septum, you discover, that he’s taken out. He looks handsome either way. Propping the laptop suddenly on your lap, he beams, “Yeah, go ahead and take a look.”

You scroll through the page, humming to yourself, “Mhm… Mhm… Accounting, business 101, contemporary repertory… God, you’re going to hate sociology with Doyard, she’s a complete psycho!” You trail, giggling at his misfortune. Once you’re done, you meet his discontent face.

It takes a few takes from his face to the screen, back to his face, until oh shit!

“Wait does ‘contemporary repertory’ mean something important?” you squeal in rushed excitement. “Is that a dance thing? Are you taking a dance class here?” Before he can even explain, you shut the laptop and safely place it on the coffee table before tackling the man, withdrawing an oof from his lips.

“Easy, girl. Please don’t break me before I even get to show up on the first day.”

“Jimin, this is amazing. You’re finally doing something you want to do, during regular hours, at that!” You nuzzle into his warm chest, “I’m so happy for you, Jimin. I hope you have fun.” His heart clenches at that; how could you be so fucking caring about him? He knew you’d be surprised, but not genuinely happy for him. His hand glides over the skin between your midriff and skirt, an inkling of a gasp floating out of your throat.

“Sorry,” he whispers, moving his hand higher and locking eyes with yours. Time is always slow with him but now, it’s like it was screaming at you to take the opportunity. Unwinding one of your arms from around his neck, you smooth his hair up so you can see those prepossessing eyes.

“You can touch me,” you confirm just as softly. His features harden and you hope you didn’t read the situation wrong.

“I… I never got to kiss you that night.”

“Then you can kiss me now, if you’d like,” you say, pleading in your voice and it’s all he needs to hear before he burns his lips into yours. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted this,” he pants between suckles to your bottom lip. He kisses like he dances: powerful and in perfect control with his body, molding it to yours and massaging the skin he just apologized for touching only seconds ago.

You cup his face and look down at him with sultry prowess, “I want you, Jimin. I’ve always thought about this, hoping you would just make a move, idiot.” You dive back into him, his moans prominent when you lick and nip at his lip. He lowers his grip to your ass, squeezing and pushing his hips into your own.

“Well, I’ve always thought about fucking you in this cursed uniform,” he growls, forcing a giggle out of you. Grinding down into him for effect, your mouth travels to his ear so you can state a small confirmation.

“I’m flexible, babe. I’m all yours.”

He hums his praise, latching his mouth onto your neck, laving and peppering blues into your skin before he carries you off the couch. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, “Where are you taking me?”

Heading into a hallway and taking a sharp left, he kicks his door open, “I don’t know about you, hot stuff, but Yoongs doesn’t need to see you getting dicked down in our living room,” he jests. When he lays you back onto the foot of his bed, you briefly scan his room and find it hard to believe that it’s relatively clean, the posters on his walls the only thing that seemed cluttered. This guy was your high school self’s wet dream. Scanning him promiscuously, you chuckle.

“I can be into it,” you drawl playfully.

Earning an unimpressed scoff, he fingers the hem of his shirt, “You’re mine,” he sheds it in a swift pull and throws it to the side cockily. Marveling at each detailed divot and curve of muscle, you can’t help but bite your lip in frustrated anticipation. “Unless, you don’t want me,” he finishes with a tilt of his head. He knew what he was doing, simulating innocence to draw you out of your transfixed stupor to hear those three words string from your mouth. You reach out to touch his abs, tracing over linework of ink and watching him shiver from your touch. Knowing exactly what he wants to hear, you gaze into oblique eyes and mouth the words, “I do want you”.

Goading him on, you lay back and extend your legs above you, shuffling your spandex tantalizingly slow over your skin. Jimin whistles at your show, staring at the white g-string you sported under your skirt and wandering his hands over the supple skin you expose.

“Jesus, you fucking tease. Leave the skirt.” Tittering at his request, you dig your heels into his back to propel him down towards you, his ringed hands keeping himself afloat and a winning smile winking down at you. Bless your heart you didn’t faint right then and there.

He kisses you like a man starved, lips burning hot with desire and aching to be bit—so you give him that. Sinking your teeth gently into the flesh, he punishes such action with a slap to the underneath of your thigh, then holding it close to the side of his abdomen and rolling over with you on top. Practically suffocating from lack of air, you dislodge yourself, quite reluctantly, from his mouth and soothe his complaints with brief kisses to his thick neck.

“Why didn’t we do this—ah, before?” he pants. Sucking a particularly tender spot of his jugular, he moans out and bucks into your hips. You continue your way down, leaving no inch of skin untouched until you reach where his skin ends and the nuisance of clothing began.

“You don’t make things very easy for me. Can I suck you off?”

“Fuck, don’t ask. Just do it. Turn around, though, I’ll finger you at the same time,” he offers, propping himself up on his elbows as you readjust yourself with your head towards his bulge and your ass facing him, knees keeping you up on one side of his torso. “Perfect,” he commends.

Unbuckling his ridiculously tight jeans, you hook your thumbs under the denim and whisper a quick, “Up,” to pull them off when his hips lift off the mattress. Your pride inflates at the sight of his bulge resting in the crook of his thigh, adorned by simple black boxers that hugged him in all the right spots. All but drooling at the member, you place a loving kiss where you know his head resides, mouthing at it gingerly and soaking the material with your saliva.

He ruts into your face as he watches such indecency, “You know, I should probably tell you something,” he says rather seriously, shuffling your skirt up above your ass and mischievously prodding at your sex with his thumb.

“Hmm,” you mumble, sliding his boxers down enough to suck at the pink tip that oozed of precum and spreading the liquid around with your tongue. The bitterness that came with it was all welcomed, slightly sweeter than others you’ve ever tasted and you appreciated it much more when a man this good-looking was laid out before you.

He groans, “Ever heard of a Jacob’s Ladder? Fuck, right there, underneath a bit…” You suck and nip at the skin of his frenulum, knowing he was bound to like small dosages of pain mixed with his pleasure—a guess all too correct when he cries out in ecstasy and gives your ass a light spank.

“A Jacob’s what?”

“Just—just look at it. If you don’t like it then I can just take them out,” he sighs, all too impatient to give you a rundown of whatever a Jacob’s hoo-ha entailed. You perk a brow at his vocabulary, halting your mouth and sliding his boxers the rest of the way down.

If you weren’t riled up before, you were hot, ready, and willing to beg on your knees to be stuffed with Jimin and his… accessories. You understand the term “ladder” now, three rungs of metal pierced on the underside of his shaft and glinting up at you with intimidation. You hope Jimin can’t see the now overflowing amount of arousal oozing out of your pussy, squeezing thighs together in a useless attempt of hiding yourself.

“Fuck, didn’t that hurt?” you question, hovering fingers over the balls of silver that protruded on each side in complete awe.

“Of course it did, honey. It’s all worth it, though. It’ll make you feel good too. Need me to take them out?” You shake your head a little too vigorously, earning a chuckle and his middle finger to slide in between your folds unexpectedly. Yiping at the sudden entrance, you cast a glare over his shoulder with his only response being the curve of his digit.

“C-Can I lick it? Can it get infected if you don’t use a condom?” you bombard him with questions, entirely unfamiliar with the subject and entirely enamored by it.

“It’s all healed up, baby. You can do whatever your little heart desires with it. And I would oh so much prefer going bare,” he confirms, and your heart flips at his pet name for you. That, and the thought of his thick, pierced cock penetrating you condom-less.

You wrap your lips around him once more, unafraid to take more and more of his length until you feel the cold metal—your stopping point. Call it your lack of experience, but you prefer not to catch your teeth on those piercings today. You make up for it by sliding a hand back under his scrunched boxers, fondling his balls as you bob diligently. He curses and struggles to keep his body still, digging another digit between your legs to slow your own ministrations. When it works and you moan around his cock, Jimin can’t help but want to play a little game.

“Should I give you a challenge, babe? It’s super simple. Whoever makes the other cum first gets to request something. Anything. Deal?”

“Deahl,” you muffle, swirling your tongue lavishly around his crown. Everything with Jimin was much more… intriguing. Even your first time having sex was turned into some lusty escapade of unexpected metallic embellishments and cheeky gambles. It made you feel something in your veins, wanting more and more of whatever poison Jimin was.

Taking a breath, you lick broadly over his entire shaft and scarcely taste the titanium—more than anything, it was just cold. Jimin shudders at the feeling, punishing you with a third and final finger and pushing downdowndown into a spot all too sensitive for you to focus.

Try as you might, your now pathetic attempts of sucking him off is all forgotten in your own haze of chasing your orgasm. Instead, you rest your head on his hip and writhe against his hand, fucking back onto it while he simultaneously prods your g-spot over and over again until you see stars.

“Giving up already? You were doing so well for a while, you could’ve won,” he lilts.

“Jimin, please make me cum. Oh god,” you wail, legs straining for just that final push…

“Is this what you want?” He slides his thumb across, swiping whatever he could collect and using it to knead at your neglected clit. It’s all you need, pleasure washing over you in tandem of near oversensitivity, a near scream tearing through your lungs that only comes out in ragged whines against his leg.

“Beautiful, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re ruining my sheets over here,” he criticizes, removing his hand with an obscene squelch and moving around in the bed.

The torpor you caught yourself in didn’t render what he was saying, just letting him move you about so your head rests on his pillows while he places himself between your legs.

“Jiminie,” you babble, “fuck me.” He strokes your hair away from your face and smiles, that cute puppy smile that turns his eyes into crescents. The rest of him, though, is purely sinful. Hair sweaty and pieced to perfection as his body taunted you with toned muscles.

“I don’t think you’re ready, honey,” he answers, “even though you’re dripping in your own cum.” He leans back and stares at your pussy without embarrassment, pulling your knees together and watching the juices flow even more. “I should put it to use.”

You peer up at him, curious as to whatever the hell he’s dreaming of over there and inexplicably stunned when you see his dick between your legs. “J-Jimin, what are you doing?”

“Shh, just keep them closed tight,” he orders, fucking himself between the lips of your heat and the warm skin of your thighs. You can’t help but ravish the sight of him as he slicks himself up, eyeing you down as his hips roll into you agonizingly slow. His piercings graze against your nub occasionally, warmth once again growing in your stomach.

“Fuck, you’re so soft and so wet. Who did this to you, hm?” You moan maniacally, angling your hips as to catch him and push inside, but he only laughs degradingly and intentionally misses.

“You think I’m going to fuck you if you can’t even answer this simple question?” he sneers. “Answer like a good girl, then I’ll fuck you into oblivion.”

You scramble for words, initially incoherent and struggling. “Jimin! Shit, Jimin. You made me this way. Ah, you m-make me so wet, so please put it in, put it in and—ha, aah!”

He shoves his length in like it’s all he knew what to do, your ankles to his shoulders so he can drink up your moans with his reddened lips. He was right—the piercings didn’t feel like any dick you’ve received before, it was so much better. This was pornographic, it was so good. He all but pistols into you, his cock grazing places previously untouched. Indulging in his heaven sent strokes, you cry and groan at each relentless thrust.

“Hush, baby, Yoongi’s going to hear your pretty self,” he warns, but you don’t give a shit. If anything, you moan louder with a know-all glint in your eye, testing Jimin’s patience. “Brat,” he spits.

He pounds into you repeatedly, completely removing himself before filling you up again and again and again. Between the pressure to your g-spot and the added stimulation from his Jacob’s Ladder—your stomach heaves, an unfamiliar feeling washing over your abdomen contrary to anything you’ve ever experienced.

“Oh, Jimin, wait!” you sob, halting his hips from another brutal shove a little too late. The second he pulls out, your second orgasm (and first ever untouched orgasm) of the night reigns over, briefly showering his lower stomach in your own wet arousal.

“Holy shit, that’s so fucking hot. Did you just… squirt on me?” he growls, not taking the time to hear your answer as he lifts you into his lap, legs wrapped around his muscular back and arms gripping around his shoulders for dear life.

He sinks back into you deliciously, filling you to the brim with your added weight and rutting up into you to chase his own release. Everything is soaked and sticky, Jimin’s ragged breathing and groans so close to your ear that you’re sure it’ll be engrained into your memory forever, his thrusts so deep inside you wail once more.

Consequently, the banging on the wall next to you comes as no surprise, Yoongi’s angry, “Shut the fuck up!” clear as day. Jimin waves it off.

“Don’t listen baby. Moan louder for me. Tell me where you want my cum.”

The slaps of skin become louder; it wouldn’t be long before Jimin came. “Inside, Jiminie, please. Cum inside me, pump me full,” you squeal, lust sparking inside you knowing that his roommate could hear you getting fucked senseless.

One, two, three more aching pounds before he spills into you, his pretty moans music to your ears. You flop back as soon as he takes himself out, suddenly aching all over from how much he stretched your legs and groaning at the pain.

You slap his eager hand away when he fingers his cum back into your abused lips, “That hurts, idiot.” He smiles and sucks your intermingled cum off his fingers with a pop.

“We taste good together,” he husks. Fuck. “By the way. You came first. Stay the night?”

You oblige with or without the pressure of the bet, dog-tired from your beating and not even fathoming the trek back to your own room. Jimin takes charge in your state of haziness, washing you off in his shower, replacing your uniform with a t-shirt of his own and laying you beside him on his mattress (sheets replaced and refreshed).

“You have piercings in your dick,” you state in the middle of the quiet.

Jimin snorts at the outburst, looping an arm around your side and melding his body to yours, “Yeah, is it weird?”

“… Robot dick,” you whisper, words cracking at the face of your laughter.

“Oh my god.”

“So, when you’re going through metal detectors at airports and whatever, do you have to tell them that the metal’s in your penis? Do they have to check?” Titters are awarded with light jabs to your side, which are then led to screams and kicks to his legs.

Yoongi bursts through Jimin’s door, brows stitched together in heated anger parallel to the flames of hell, “I swear to fucking god, if you two don’t quiet down I’ll mount your heads on my wall, it’ll make a great decoration.”

“What the hell, what if we were naked? Don’t just go busting through—”

“Yeah because you obviously care if I know you two are fucking. ‘Don’t listen, baby! Tell me where you want my cum, baby!’” Yoongi mocks. Pillows are flying and insults are thrown as you watch them bicker sleepily, all fading into white noise as you begin to drift off.

Sleep itself feels like a blink, so exhausted that you don’t dream. Waking in the same position that you were last conscious in, the only difference in picture is the fact that: A) the sun is shining through Jimin’s skylight and B) Jimin is no longer in bed with you.

But before you can even question where he’s run off to, his sly self sneaks back into the bedroom, shirtless and face clean from washing up just now. You don’t even hide the fact that you look down to check out his tight briefs, metal detector in your brain trying to scope it out.

“You’re awake. Sorry if I was loud,” he smiles, crawling on top of you as you stretch out like a mangled cat. You shake your head, combing his hair back with your nails as he dips down into your chest. “I like when you wear my shirts.”

“That’s pretty stereotypical,” you whisper out, voice low and raspy from your slumber. This isn’t fair, you think, he got to brush his teeth already.

He sits up and gives you A Look, making you giggle and giving you the leverage to feel up his abs as he flexes haughtily.

“I can get used to this,” you purr.

“I bet you could,” he mumbles into your neck, nipping at the places he already marked last night. He doesn’t push, just relishes in your warmth and fondles you carefully as you continue to wake up and it makes you shiver.

“I wish you would’ve done this a long time ago,” you sigh.

“You hated me.”

“You didn’t make it easy for me to like you,” you retort, gasping when he bites your collarbone, “Now—Now I like you.”

He stops abruptly and pulls away, landing on his side with an elbow and tilting his head towards you, “Well, I hope you don’t start liking me too much.”

You squint, “W-Why? Don’t tell me this was just a one night stand or anything.”

“No! I mean, not just one night or whatever. I just—this is just casual, right?”

You all but bite your tongue to keep from lashing out, “What do you mean ‘casual’? You didn’t say anything about ‘casual’.”

“Oh, Y/N, c’mon. Did you really think we should date? Look at us, baby. We’re just not… each other’s types, you know?”

It’s about time you get up, shoving aside his warm blankets and grabbing your soiled uniform from the floor, “No, Jimin. I don’t know. I thought you were being genuine with me.”

“Hey, no, don’t leave,” he grabs your arm before you leave his bedroom, “Okay, there was some miscommunication. I’m not trying to be mean. Can I just… I don’t know, think about it? I’m just not used to this.”

Looking into his eyes for some sort of confirmation, your tensions subside. “I’m not a toy. If you don’t want to be with me, just say it.” The hurt he feels in your tone breaks his heart, for once. Would he really be willing to try something he knows won’t work?

For you, maybe.

“I do like you, Y/N. Just give me some time.” He pulls your arm once more, hoping you’ll stay. But you draw the line and pry his hand off politely.

“Of course I’ll give you time. I’ll see you later, okay?” He nods understandingly. He can’t feel butthurt when he’s the one putting you on ice, he knows that. So Jimin watches you leave in his shirt, mind clouded more so than when you arrived.

a/n: yay! you made it through the first part! if you liked it, feel free to let me know or ask any questions to the characters! xx, selene

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Storytime!

Sanders Sides Canon Divergence AU - fluff/angst - hurt/comfort - some intrigue - actually has a plot (side eyes my other fics) - largely Virgil centric - it’s about growth i guess idk

Words: 3,960 Warnings: Spiders Characters: Virgil, Janus, Roman, Patton, Logan, (Remus in passing) Universe: Storytime! Genre: Clingy Idiocy still

Chapter 26: In Which Bishops Haunt Virgil Again

newsflash virgil is still clingy but he’s doing okay unlike everybody else

chapter 1 for new readers - ffn mirror

   Virgil sat quietly next to Deceit with his hood up as Deceit talked to Remus again the next morning, waiting for whatever this meeting was where Remus got bit was to be over. Virgil leaned heavily on Deceit with the weight of exhaustion lulling him back to sleep. He couldn’t stop his eyes from fluttering periodically, though he stayed awake. He had trouble getting back to sleep this morning for some reason. Lately, he had been sleeping like a rock, but today he just groaned and rolled around after Thomas woke up.

   Remus waved with a manic smile and disappeared from the room. Virgil yawned and looked up to Deceit, who pulled his hood down. Sounds came back to Virgil’s ears as he blinked slowly up to him.

   “Can I stay with you today?” Virgil asked quietly and hung on to Deceit’s cloak.

   “Of course, I’m completely free to lollygag around, Virgil,” Deceit said sarcastically.

   “Please? I’ll be quiet. I’ll just nap for a bit or something,” Virgil pleaded hopefully. He really didn’t like being alone anymore. The idea alone made him squirm.

   “Can’t you play with your other friends?” Deceit looked to him in annoyance.

   “Logan’s on to something and Roman was asking too many questions. I can’t hang out in Pat’s room with him. I’m just too tired to deal with Remus right now. I just want to steer clear for a day. One day is not too bad to skip on, right?” Virgil begged with a sigh. “I don’t want to be alone all day. I know I’ll have to go back to my room later and all,” Virgil couldn’t stop the sad expression on his face from the knowledge of the inevitable and the potential of D just sending him to his room right away.

   “I suppose I can work in here for now,” Deceit conceded, sounding a little frustrated, and shifted to sit against the wall on the bed. He summoned a folder and his signature quill and worked on his wildly involved business. Virgil smiled and curled up next to him, pulled his sound dampening hood over his head, and rested his head on the edge of Deceit’s lap. Virgil looked up to see a half-smile on Deceit’s face and nestled in to and finally started drifting again.

— * * * —

   Patton looked longingly at the clock in the kitchen and frowned. “I guess Virgil isn’t coming to breakfast,” He said sadly, tapping his fingers against the tabletop. They had finished the food some time ago, and they were all sitting around chatting with coffees or cocoa, waiting for their weird anxiety. Roman knew he’d need to stick around to make breakfast for him, but Logan had even finished his paper and didn’t return to his room either. Roman leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.

   “Maybe he’s sick?” Roman supplied. “He was acting a little odd,” Roman said, feeling worried and glancing at Virgil’s regular chair.

   “I doubt that Thomas has suddenly come down with some kind of mental ailment that would discombobulate Anxiety. He appears to be performing his functions just fine. Thomas is alert, mindful, and ready, to a certain extent. I believe he is just sleeping in again if the past few days are any indication. I am concerned, however, that he has been avoiding me for 2 days,” Logan said tonelessly, flipping through his newspaper.

   “Maybe he doesn’t mean to? He hasn’t been avoiding us and he knows we talk to you,” Patton suggested. “We’ve been busy lately. Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding,” Patton added hopefully.

   “I appreciate your optimism, Patton, but I would like to talk to him, regardless,” Logan said evenly and refilled his coffee cup. “Would you wake him, Roman?”

   “He just said yesterday that it was a terrible idea to wake him up,” Roman said and stayed seated with his latte.

   “Virgil has a tendency to exaggerate at times. It is just part of being anxiety. I am positive you will be fine,” Logan insisted, looking annoyed.

   “If it was something deters Remus of all sides, it’s probably a massive deal. You’re volunteering to come in and help me if I call, then?” Roman grumbled and put his drink down.

   “That is a reasonable compromise,” Logan said, calling Roman’s bluff right away. He didn’t get why Logan couldn’t just go, other than the whole ‘avoiding him’ thing. Roman grimaced and sank down to head to Anxiety’s room.

   The room was well lit, perhaps even a little sun coming through the windows. Nothing seemed out-of-place other than the fact that Virgil definitely wasn’t here. He wasn’t on the stairs, hiding in the couch cushions, not in the kitchen pantry. It was so eerily silent in there that Roman swore he could hear the spiders move. Probably Beatrice on the prowl. At least Roman hoped that Virgil didn’t have any non-pet spiders that were not as docile as Beatrice that he was hearing creep up on him. Maybe it was just the room trying to trick him. Anxiety’s room did always give him the creeps. It was no wonder Virgil enjoyed hanging out in Roman’s room. Roman kicked and pushed and dug around a little more, but it didn’t even look lived in. Virgil usually had blankets and pillows strewn around after waking up since he liked to bundle himself up. There was just one blanket folded neatly on the couch. Roman couldn’t even find a pair of headphones anywhere. Roman gave up searching for him and sunk back to the kitchen table.

   “He’s not in there. It’s so empty that it doesn’t look like he had even been there recently,” Roman said, turning around to look at the stairwell. “I guess he’s in someone’s room?”

   “He could also be in the mind palace,” Logan offered. Roman’s face twinged. He better not be. “That was an odd reaction to my suggestion, Roman,” Logan stated with slight suspicion, raising his eyebrow at Roman.

   “I’m just worried,” Roman said dismissively. Virgil didn’t want anyone to know, and it seemed harmless to hide it. It’s not like it would change anything if Logan knew why he shouldn’t be in there. Virgil would still be missing. “He’s been very present lately, and it’s odd to not see him,” Roman said, sitting back down to work on his latte again.

   “Yeah, it’s been so fun to hang out with Virgil! But maybe he’s recuperating. He has probably been pushing his social energy to the limit lately,” Patton mused with a slight smile.

   “It’d make more sense if he was recuperating in his room, not in the mind palace or in somebody else’s room.” Logan corrected him.

   “Maybe he’s a master of illusion and was hiding in his room!” Patton suggested excitedly.

   “The only illusion I’ve seen him flaunt is somehow being comfortable and not sliding down the stairs when he lies on them,” Roman said, dismissing that idea.

   “Yes, I have also seen Virgil laying upside down on the stairs. I find it somewhat unnerving that he ignores physics so brazenly,” Logan replied. “I do not believe he would be in anyone else’s room, but if you see him, please direct him gently to talk to me. I will finish the information packets in my room,” Logan said with a nod of goodbye a sunk away.

   “Well, I can’t blame him for wanting to talk to Virgil and all, that but was annoying of him to make me his errand boy twice in the same five minutes,” Roman huffed and crossed his arms, leaning back on the chair.

   “Oh, I doubt he meant it like that, champ. It’s only if we see him in passing,” Patton said placatingly.

   “I’ll be in my room working most of the day, not passing by random side’s rooms for fun. I’m following Logan’s stupid schedule. He should know that,” Roman gestured in frustration and took another drink of latte.

   “Thomas has been busy lately. I’m impressed Logan found the time to write something and the packets. I kind of thought he’d skip them this week since you two have been working more and more these past couple days. I’m surprised you’re not more tired in the evenings,” Patton said, leaning forward on his hands.

   “You know me, padre, I’ve got plenty of energy,” Roman smiled knowingly and winked and Patton.

   “Oh! You’re right. I forgot,” Patton giggled. “Well, I hope you take the breaks you need, anyway. Creative burn out is serious business!” Patton said seriously, tapping the table with his pointer finger.

   “I’m well aware. I’ve got it under control. It’s actually nice to blow off steam with Virgil in the evenings,” Roman shrugged and crossed his legs.

   “You have been seeing him at night for a few days now. You haven’t been fighting the entire time, have you?” Patton said, looking critically at Roman.

   “Not the whole time,” Roman scoffed and posed with his hand to imply the implication offended him.

   “You should be nicer to him,” Patton frowned.

   “Trust me, Virgil usually starts it. He’s a little…” Roman considered the right word and twisted his hand in the air while he processed it. “… feral in my room,” Roman flipped his hand in the air. “Last night he tried to start a fight three times,” Roman sighed, shaking his head.

   “Oh! Well, sorry for accusing you of being mean, then,” Patton said sheepishly.

   “It’s fine. I started plenty of fights with him. It wasn’t an unfair assumption, and you haven’t seen him in my room before,” Roman said dismissively with a slight shrug.

   “Well, our kiddo is sure full of a lot more fight than flight, lately!” Patton mused, sipping his cocoa.

   “Well, unless you believe Logan’s whole… ‘avoiding him’ thing. I haven’t seen Virgil do that thing where he stiffens and runs off or anything,” Roman said, not really believing Logan’s accusation. Though Virgil was acting exceptionally weird, either way.

   “As I said, It’s gotta be a misunderstanding. Virgil’s been downright pleasant lately,” Patton pouted, summoning more marshmallows into his drink. 

   “Well, maybe for you,” Roman laughed. “I still say he’s feral. Oh, gorgon breath, Thomas has been at the computer blanking and I didn’t notice. He got there early today,” Roman rushed to stand up. “Damnit, Logan, that’s not on the schedule! I’ve got to run, Pat,” Roman hissed, sending off his drink and standing up quickly.

   “Don’t work too hard, kiddo!” Patton waved after him, furrowing his eyebrows in concern.

   “Work hard, play hard!” Roman called out with a proud grin as he sank out.

— * * * —

   Deceit must have given into the pouting puppy face that Virgil learned from Patton. Instead of all the things Deceit said he was busy with today, they were playing chess on the floor in Deceit’s room with snacks and drinks Deceit had summoned. Virgil had hoped whatever Deceit had planned wasn’t so important that it needed 100% of his focus so that playing chess was okay. But Virgil was happy just to be spending time with D. He always got him and always cared for him in his own weird way.

   Virgil didn’t mind if Deceit used him sometimes, honestly. It was nice to be needed. Deceit had even been more straight-forward with Virgil lately. Virgil was pretty certain Deceit did things the way he did because he didn’t want to be rejected or ignored. Virgil didn’t think it was from any kind of bad place. He could get that probably more than any other side, as a side who used to try to scare the others into listening to him. The other sides were kind of assholes to D, so he didn’t have many options. Deceit was kind of an asshole too, but it was hard to care about that in the past when he’d been helping Virgil constantly in the present. Deceit admitted he was wrong, and that was big of him. Virgil knew he hated doing that with burning and over-dramatic passion.

   Virgil was lying on the ground and agonizing between two different good-looking moves, but he was pretty certain Deceit had already thought ahead and was trying to pick the best move to survive over the best move moving forward.

   “Virgil, your bishop has had an opening for six turns, why do you refuse to use it?” Deceit asked, sounding somewhat baffled. He was sipping his tea cross-legged on the other side of the board and fiddling with one of Virgil’s fallen pawns in his other hand while Virgil was thinking. Virgil involuntarily winced and held his clavicle.

   “The bishop doesn’t need to get items from the king or queen for special moves,” Virgil said quietly, just realizing it was a dumb thing to have been waiting for as soon as he said it. He flinched at his own stupidity and buried his face in his hands.

“We’re not playing that accursed version that Remus plays,” Deceit said, tinged in frustration.

   “I… I know. My brain mixed it up, I guess,” Virgil mumbled through his fingers. “It’s not like either of us was playing like that up until that point. I would have pulled a knife on you already,” He exhaled and let go of his face.

   “Yes, it’s such a magnificent idea to pull a knife on me,” Deceit said sarcastically, tossing up Virgil’s pawn and catching it.

   “Well, how else could I have gotten two turns to take your knight without losing my own?” Virgil said rolling his eyes and flipping his hand out.

   “That’s not chess, Virgil,” Deceit said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know what to call whatever that monstrosity is,” He sounded exasperated by the whole subject.

   “Fun until it’s not,” Virgil said blithely. “You’ve judged for us before, but I’ve never judged for you two, are you any good at his weird version?” Virgil asked, finally making his move. It was a bad one, Deceit had immediately taken his piece, and he wasn’t that far from checking him.

   “I’m such a fan of being attacked,” Deceit said bitterly. Virgil chuckled lightly and looked up to Deceit, who looked annoyed.

   “So, really good until Remus pulls out his morning star,” Virgil posited with a smirk.

   “It’s not an inaccurate summation,” Deceit muttered. “I don’t understand why you want to fight with him so much, other than when your aspects eventually taint each other,”

   “He’s fun to fight. I just feel like I have to around him, I get all wired and need to punch something,” Virgil explained. “It’s certainly not that I want an enemy I can actually beat, unlike the crushing weight of capitalism or something,” Virgil added bitterly.

   “You don’t seem to beat Roman much,” Deceit mused with a raised eyebrow.

   “He’s much more fun when he thinks he has won over me,” Virgil said with a smirk. “Just taking a page out of my favourite noodle’s book,” His head swam for a moment as he fought the effects of Deceit’s room. He had been in here all morning, and it was getting very difficult to think straight.

   “Love the nickname,” Deceit said angrily, taking another one of Virgil’s pieces. Shit. He was within range of the king. “Check, darling,” Virgil scrambled for a move, he luckily still had valuable pieces that could protect the king for now. 

   Except for the fact that his bishops and remaining knight didn’t matter, in the end. Deceit had him beat in a few tense turns, regardless of any saving plays Virgil tried to make. He really was brutal at chess. 

   “Checkmate,” Deceit cooed and knocked over the king piece, the entire board disappearing right after. Virgil slumped to the floor and held his head.

   “Brilliant move,” Virgil mumbled derisively. Deceit placed his hand on Virgil briefly before pulling him up to his feet.

   “You need to go, Virgil,” Deceit said smoothly. Virgil pulled him in for a hug.

   “I’m handling it just fine,” Virgil groaned in frustration. Deceit rolled his eyes and hugged Virgil back, and they both sank out, causing Virgil to grumble angrily as they rose into his room. He stumbled for a moment after rising, feeling a little dizzy.

   “Yes, you are completely well and unaffected,” Deceit hissed, letting go of Virgil. Virgil held on stubbornly, though, partially because he wasn’t ready to be alone and partially because he was concerned he would fall over. “You don’t have to be a brat, darling. I’ll stay for a bit,” Deceit said, loosening Virgil’s grip on him with a tinge of annoyance. Virgil stumbled again when Deceit let go of his arms after pulling Virgil off of him. Deceit caught him before he fell to the floor. “Ah,” He said in understanding and carefully lead him to the couch, sitting down with him.

   “Thanks a lot,” Virgil murmured as Deceit lowered them both down together. Virgil pulled himself into a ball to catch his bearings, leaning against Deceit’s shoulder on the couch. Deceit grabbed the weighted blanket off the back of the couch from his nap yesterday and draped it over Virgil, which was an impressive move with one arm. The weight was really grounding and Virgil sank into the couch and laid down on Deceit’s lap instead of fighting it any longer.

   “I don’t know if any side should stay in another’s room that long,” Deceit hummed. Virgil grunted in acknowledgment, not really wanting to admit it but also not really in any state to disagree. “I would scold you for not saying anything normally, but I don’t think it counts in this circumstance,” Deceit mused. Virgil nodded in his lap, extremely grateful that Deceit understood. “I’ll just have to keep a closer eye on you next time,” Virgil cooed. Virgil looked up at him, seeing Deceit staring at a web instead of looking at Virgil. He was willing to spend more time with him even after Virgil had fucked up and let Deceit’s room get the better of him. He wasn’t even mad at him for it. Virgil sighed in relief and nestled into Deceit’s lap.

   “I’m still too dizzy to do anything else, but if you want to snark at a TV show or something we could do that,” Virgil offered quietly. He watched the remote fly up from the coffee table and the TV switched on. Deceit was flipping through the choices, looking for something to watch with him. Virgil was relieved that Deceit was willing to stay while he recovered.

   Deceit had watched 2 episodes and shared possibly a hundred insults at the characters with him before he turned off the TV and reached down to help pull Virgil up.

   “Thanks for staying,” Virgil muttered, sitting up on the couch now and rubbing his face to focus. Deceit looked like he got hit in the face with a whole-ass eyeshadow palette. He was a great actor, though. He wasn’t shaking or looking around wildly, or really anything. He held out his hand, and Virgil took it, and Deceit pulled him into a hug. Once they broke apart, Deceit conjured a large jar.

   “I require some of your fear spiders for an experiment,” He said twisting off the cap filled with holes and holding it out for Virgil. “I know they’re not quite followers but order them to listen to me,” He said evenly. Virgil looked at him in confusion for a moment, but placed his hand over the top of the jar, creating some spiders and webs for them to house inside the jar.

   “I can’t make them last past Thomas waking, is that okay?” Virgil asked as he finished and Deceit twisted on the top of the jar. Deceit just nodded. Virgil placed his hand on the jar and commanded them to follow Deceit’s orders in his head.

   Deceit kissed his head when Virgil pulled away and waved once as he sunk away with the jar. He wasn’t entirely sure what that was about, but he knew Remus was his test subject since their morning meetings and never minded throwing a wad full of spiders his way, in the same way Remus liked to whip out the demonic ooze often. Virgil sighed and crawled to the top of the couch to write some poetry. He needed a distraction, and it felt like it had been a while. He was partially recovered from Deceit’s room other than feeling exhausted.

   Beatrice crawled onto his head while he was writing, and she argued with him about the symbolism in his poetry sometimes, but her telling him he used death too often or to switch his rhyming scheme, but that was funnier than anything else. She couldn’t even hold a pen. Though perhaps with enough effort and some tiny weights she could type on a laptop. The visual made him chuckle. They wrote together quietly. He’d have to credit her on this sonnet, or she’d throw a fit.

   “Hey, Kiddo, we missed you at-Ahh!” He heard Patton say and watched him rise up, recoil suddenly, and sink back down right away. Virgil laughed pretty loudly.

   “My, Beatrice, your abilities have only grown since I created you. Even I can’t make Patton run screaming,” Virgil said with a laugh. Beatrice spun around on his head proudly.

— * * * —

   “He’s in his room this time,” Patton said, raising into the living room and rubbing his arms. “That giant creepy crawly was on his head!” He cried out and clung to Logan, who was working on the schedule in the recliner. Logan just sighed and pat him on the back, being slightly crushed by Patton’s hug.

   “Was he doing anything odd?” Roman asked curiously, looking up from his laptop at the table. Patton released Logan finally and went to go sit on the couch. He took a deep breath of relief.

   “He was sitting on the back of the couch writing in a composition notebook,” Patton said with a little shiver and summoned a blanket and wrapped himself up.

   “That’s completely normal for Virgil,” Logan said. “Did you ask him if he was still going to meet us later for the story session?”

   “There was a giant spider on his head, Logan, I’m lucky I made it out alive!” Patton whined and buried himself in the blankets.

   “I have never seen him with a larger spider than Beatrice, and she is only slightly large for a tarantula, I don’t know if he can even conjure larger arachnids,” Logan said plainly.

   “There are larger spiders than Beatrice!?” Patton screamed and sank from his spot on the couch, his blanket collapsing to the couch. Logan shook his head wearily.

   “I can’t believe he remembered that creeper’s name,” Roman said, rolling his eyes and returning to the laptop. “I’ll just send a note to remind Virgil,” Roman flicked his wrist and summoned the note pad. “I’m not a big fan of that fuzzy demon either,” Roman said and flourished his hand and the note disappeared. He went back to typing and Logan waited patiently to see if there would be a response. A skull sticky floated down to his laptop. “He sent a haiku about how he wants to punch me in the face?” Roman said incredulously and extremely confused.

   “That response seems more like something your brother would send,” Logan said, walking over to the table to take the note from Roman to see for himself. Roman handed it over and shrugged. It was indeed a simple haiku about how he wants to punch Roman in the face in Virgil’s handwriting. But the backside had a big checkmark. He showed Roman the check and placed it down on the table. “Well, he is informed and aware,” Logan said dismissively and returned his work.

taglist: @itsaamood-33 @elizabutgayer​ 

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

BFCD Reviews by Nesha: Summertime on Netflix

This is what I’m gonna do... I’ll be doing more structured reviews later and most likely liveblogging suggested stuff and tagging with “Nesha Watches (Insert Title) for all liveblog posts. For this first review, I won’t be as structured, because I didn’t really plan on reviewing, so this is basically all of my comments to friends @chenoahchantel and @daintyurbanprincess that were made whilst I was watching this show suggested to me by @rbaifzau 

It didn’t take me long to be annoyed with the white boy in this show. It doesn’t take much anyways, but one episode in and I’m over him already. This dude saw her at a party, she got pushed into the pool accidentally, he gave her a dry shirt, and two minutes later tried to kiss her… TF..  

Girl, this bout to be IGNANT...

Chile... She was like, "What are you doing?" And he looked surprised. Like whet. And in episode 2 after having seen her thrice and spoken to her once, he telling his best friend, "I'm pretty sure I like her a lot." I HATE stuff like this. Why did I tell old girl I'd watch this and discuss it with her? 😭

But she like him, so like??? 😭

And her daddy, who we haven't seen yet is presumably a rolling stone. Only one negro in this town and the nigga gotta be probably running around on his wife? 🙄 I'm like, OH, so the one Black man in the show gotta be a rolling stone? And even though his wife is also highly irresponsible as a parent, she's sort of made out to be the victim of his dreams. They never portray Black mothers doing things on their own as victims. That woman was messing up left and right and it's all on her husband not being there, when that's only part of the problem.

Also, if she IS the only present parent and made the decision to do that, she should be doing it instead of leaning on Summer all of the time. 

And she got a close friend that have an obvious crush on her but she seems oblivious. I hate dis

This dude reminds me of Max Theriot. He always looked musty to me. 🤣🤣🤣 He look like him breaf stank. Him and Jack Griffo were working on something where they play soldiers and I absolutely said, "He still look like he stank" when I saw him on Instagram…

This is basically the same mold of dude and it looks moldy and should be tossed out. None for me, thanks.

But, there are moments in this show that's really cracking me up. 🤣🤣🤣 It's like, I feel like I should enjoy it for the messiness of it, but the main characters can be infuriating.

She called him an asshole and he said, "You don't even know me." No duh dipshit. She ain't know you when you tried to kiss her neither. NOR when you was talmbout you like her. 

This girl kissing her friend!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. She's gonna hurt this boy! My Gwad. He finna be discombobulated. 😭😭😭 He all happy today and she don't even see him like that. Lordt.

He walked up and she look uncomfortable AF. Her younger sister is like, "You're being weird." 🤣🤣🤣 Even SHE hip to something. He on the beach talmbout "It's hot today, don't you think?" And took his shirt off. 😭😭😭😭😭😭

I like Summer's friends and feel bad for them because she really didn't treat them kindly. She used Edo whenever she was upset by Ale and then she just completely ditched Sofie on her birthday and didn't even text her or anything. Just had her waiting on her and didn't even apologize. Like, I love that she gets a chance to be human, but being an asshole to the people who you're supposed to be friends with is such an upsetting trope to me.

And the connection between her and Ale is so weird. He comes across as super predatory in the beginning and I don't understand why she liked him in the first place, but also whenever he does something by mistake, she is so angry at him, even though she's been just as inconsiderate when it comes to her friends.

NOW... HE HARASSING HER AT HER JOB. 

WOTTICE DIS HUNNY??? 

Talmbout if she got a boyfriend he'll "take care of him" 😖 After she told him to leave and he said he'd wait for her outside, she asked her coworker, "What do you do to let a guy know you like him back?"

NOW, she went outside and he's there, but her friend showed up to surprise her after work. 🤣 Whoever made this HATES me

He stole a book out her locker and left a card with his phone number. How is this the start of a romance???

OH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. FRIEND IS TALKING ABOUT THE KISS...He said it was perfect........

Chile... And she don't even wanna tell their other best friend. Bruh. He said, "What we have doesn't need to be discussed." Summy PLEASE tell this young man...HE TRIED TO KISS HER AGAIN AND SHE SAID, "We just talked about last night's mistake" 😭😭😭

And she done hurt my friend this way, but she worried about Maxface because his mama can't reach him on the phone??? Girl.. go.. girl...

The gag is that she got mad at Ale because she saw him talking to his ex and she had to cover for him at work, but you've now ACTUALLY put your best friend in a bad space. And he ran into her mom and little sister and looked so uncomfortable but kept it short and sweet. These are people he loves. Idk. I feel bad for him and also like she kind of a hypocrite.

That was what REALLY bothered me. I don't expect her to be perfect, by all means. Black girls should be allowed their imperfections and their mistakes, but the fact that she knows what it's like to have the people you love be so absent and that she would treat her friends this way because of one guy who she's only known for a couple of months was disappointing for her character. She could have been written imperfectly without this glaring problem that I don't believe a real person in her position would actually have. 

I think in real life, the girl who raises her sister and basically has to lift her mother up all the time would overextend herself to her friends, but instead, she just leaves them in her dust as soon as she gets some dick. 😭

He is now hanging out with her little sister. 😭😭😭She goes to school with them but she looks tiny. I'm cringing at everything.

BRUH. Like... I can't tell if they're trying to or not, but I wouldn't be surprised because he's cool with the sister too, but they've been friends a while, so I didn't think much of it until Summer hurt him.I thought she liked him earlier, so idk if he is noticing her or I just EXPECT it. 

OAN, this man realized his son had a motorcycle accident on purpose and got mad instead of concerned

At one point, they say he's been riding bikes for 20 years, and whenever his father is mad that he had his accident on purpose (which I'll come back to) he says that he's never made a mistake like that, not even was he was 4, so Ale is AT LEAST 24 and she JUST turned 18. Which is WILD to me, even though at 18 I dated someone who was 23 (he was possessive and abusive, so I have a real suspicion of age gaps). 

But, aside from that - she gets mad at him any time she sees him with his ex when It is perfectly fine to speak with your ex and whenever she did see them together, it was always innocent and she didn't give him a chance to explain.

But then, when he does something questionable, like whenever he tried to kiss her the first day they met, or whenever he came to her job to ask her out and she told him to leave but he said he was going to wait outside (toxic AF and presumptuous) she is fine with those things.

Now, back to Ale's accident. I really felt so bad for him whenever we discover he did this on purpose, because his father is mad, when they should be concerned. His mother says, "You could have died" and he agrees...

How did they not notice that meant that this young man was so disappointed with his life as a biker that he was literally suicidal? They just grazed past it and whenever he vanished on them, there wasn't a huge call to find him,even though he'd just admitted to purposefully filling a possibly fatal mistake.

I'm prepared for nothing but disappointment. ALL these people outta there. Ale's best friend is in love with his ex. 😭 IT'S SUMMER'S 18TH BIRTHDAY. MYNIGGA She really stood her other best friend up to go get some dick on a little ass boat

The little sister shot her shot! 😭😭😭 He told her she's like his little sister and she burnt off mad denna muffugga

This child drunk, walking down the street in the middle of the night without her glasses...

OMG AS I WAS TYPING THAT SHE GOT HIT BY A DAMN CAR

I was really upset by these things coming to light, and also whenever Blue gets hit by a car, because all of the reviews that I've seen on this site have been that it's a cute love story with likable characters, but nobody mentions the problematic content, the dark portions of the story that can be triggering - like suicide and alcohol incidents and literally seeing a young Black girl be hit and run by a car??? 

I wasn't prepared for that shit in a "cute love story." I think that this story is less cute and more dark than people have made it out to be, and that's one of my problems with it. It isn't marketed as a dramatic coming of age story. It's marketed as a romantic comedy, when it is more serious than that and has a lot of issues that should be considered.

The lesbian best friend is in love with her too??????????????????? I. Hate. This.

My favorite person in this whole thing is the lesbian in the background, Irene. And also Dario.

I was entertained a lot of the times. Just heavily confused because I couldn't figure out what the tone was supposed to be. 😁

In conclusion - it's maybe a dark comedy, not a cute comedy, IS a coming of age about a young Black girl who is kind of an asshole, but Black girls should be free to be assholes too. White dudes do it all the time and are valued characters. The dude is weird AF for chasing around this 17 year old girl and he's in his 20s. Idk if that's normal in Italy. It's nasty to me. Their beginning is young people foolishness and there's not much that we see their relationship built upon, but that happens, yanno. You young, tired and silly and some pushy dude makes his move whenever he see you. Slap some discount sex in a dinghy on it and you have this show. I don't recommend it, but a lot of folk loved it, so I guess it did what it meant to do.

[theteaisaddictive]

It just hit me in a flash that i never asked for your thoughts/rankings of the Cats 2019 soundtrack. Please forgive my ignorance and bestow the gift of your wisdom upon us

i have been caught in a whirlwind of events, which is why i have not responded sooner, but i’m currently home sick so what better excuse is there to wax evangelical (evan . . . jellicle??) about the cats movie soundtrack than this precise moment

i. jellicle songs for jellicle cats

i mean. well. first things first, it was recorded in advance (i assume that the 90s version was a live recording, but i could be wrong here) so of course it is going to sound awkward and stilted. this is nothing compared to how awkward and unnatural it is to see a bunch of actors naked save for cgi fur and ken-doll-like crotches singing and . . . uh, i think they’re dancing? -- around the white cat victoria, who did not have nearly so big a part from what i can digest of the 90s youtube clips. my favourite part has to be the fucking techno beat though. god damn. party on, you funky little abominations.

ii. the naming of cats/the invitation to the jellicle ball

yes, i will be smushing the exposition-related songs together unless i feel like separating them. this is my life, these are my choices. idk, it was fine?? i guess? munkustrap (aka The Main Cat Who Isn’t Victoria or Judi Dench and Quite Frankly Deserved Better Because He Was Giving This Performance His All) kind of just says the naming instead of it being a company-wide thing. they did not include bombalurina or demeter’s names in the naming, and this was the point at which i realised that the big name stars were not, in fact, going to lounge around in the background for the entirety of the play like they do in the musical. :(

the invitation also sees my Sweet Boy mr mistoffelees get his first solo line, which is good bc i fell in love with his sweet little face over the course of the film, and bad bc it marks the start of the absurd victoria/mr mistoffelees subplot which i am convinced was put in because of course a plotless weirdmageddon like cats needs a romantic subplot

iii. the old gumbie cat

something that needs mentioning is that idris elba shows up as macavity at various points in-between songs. i’m pretty sure he shows up for the first time here and like, tries to lure victoria away?? i think?? anyway it obviously does not work bc unfortunately we are stuck with victoria for the entire film, so onto the gumbie cat song we go.

what can i say about the rebel wilson song that hasn’t already been said. she unzips her skin. the cockroaches are uncanny in the extreme. there are slater-sized mice played by children. there is no funky tap routine, or if there is it was erased from my mind by the frequent awkward gaps in which rebel wilson attempted to be funny. dear god. 

iv. the rum tum tugger

miiiiilllllkk

ok, ok, fine. jason derulo gave a fun, lively performance and didn’t even have the decency to do a bad english accent, which means there is at least one song which i have to genuinely like and can’t just like ironically. but also miiiiillllkkk why is there a milk bar in london which is perfectly cat-sized whyyyy. 

v. grizabella

i am going to be honest. i think that this song appeared later in the movie, but the soundtrack only lists ‘highlights’ so it doesn’t appear in the track list. idk what to say. there are some girl cats (unnamed, although i think they have names in the stage version) who are mean to grizabella and then they say that she started working for macavity?? i’m not sure if this does or does not imply that he became her pimp, although he certainly has the coat and hat for it, which only raises more questions which i dare not put voice to.

vi. bustopher jones

fuck james corden. what the fuck did he do to the refined, fat old cat who frequents gentleman’s clubs and only dines on the finest stuff?? he made him dig around in the rubbish bins and interrupt the song twice to make ‘jokes’ about how fat he is. god i cannot fuckign stand james corden and i do not think he’s funny so i’m aware i may be biased but still. god. 

oh yes and then at the end macavity lures him over to a giant bin (in full view of the other cats, might i add) and thanos snaps him out of existence, but sadly not out of the movie. rebel wilson also got thanos-snapped earlier i just forgot to mention it.

vii. mungojerrie and rumpleteazer

i understand that this melody is the original melody and that the melody used in the 90s recording was a change made for broadway; however, this was the most boring fucking song in the movie and they should have used the broadway version, good night. also victoria is there while they burgle the house, for some reason, bc having an audience surrogate means she needs to be in Every Fucking Scene, so that was a Choice.

viii. old deuteronomy

a nice, sweet song introducing judi dench, sung by munkustrap in such a manner that i began to wonder if he was like, her boytoy or something. also the nuzzling is, like, out of control. i know there’s nuzzling in the stage version, but onstage they're also all crawling around on all fours and stuff whereas here they’re bipedal most of the time. it makes it look like everyone is constantly going in for a kiss when they’re actually just being sociable, and it is fucking disorienting.

ix. the jellicle ball

by the way, the jellicle ball itself takes place in some sort of cat-friendly dilapidated theatre, and it is both the weirdest and least weird thing about this whole movie. 

idk, it was fine?? oh wait, i actually forgot -- so waaaaay back at the start, victoria has a famous solo which wasn’t actually a solo in this version but danced with munkustrap, which . . . .was a Choice. so now she dances with like five different male cats, and it gets frantic, and Every Single Cat is just tearing it up on the dance floor, seriously the dancers in this are incredible, and then i think they all collapse on the floor in a heap, and it was at this point that i learned to be thankful i was not subjected to watching a cgi cat orgy while sitting next to my horrified sister

x. grizabella the glamour cat/memory (prelude)

like i said, i can’t remember what order this happens on the movie, so i’m taking the tracklist from the olc on genius. anyway victoria sneaks out for . . . reasons, and she sees grizabella. and grizabella is sad, and sings her song in the first person, because demeter got cut, because fuck demeter, i guess. oh yeah, and tom hooper, he of the masterful subtlety, had jennifer hudson sitting at a lamppost with withered leaves collected at her feet which she pointed to at the relevant lines. i’m surprised he didn’t add a sound effect of a moaning wind.

xi. beautiful ghosts

this was the song that taylor swift wrote for the movie and by god can you tell. it is incredibly jarring and serves no purpose (beyond, i guess, the purpose of deepening the nothing character of victoria), and -- ugh. look, it’s a pretty little song, and both victoria and taylor swift sing it well, but it’s thoroughly unnecessary. it’s like ‘suddenly’ in 2012 les mis -- why is this here??

xii. gus the theatre cat

i am not ashamed to admit that ian mckellen ‘singing’ gus the theatre cat was enough to bring a tear to my eye. because, well. the man may not have sung, but by god he acted. i challenge anyone with a heart to sit through all of cats and not even feel the slightest tug at their heartstrings when gus’s song plays. not even judi dench lifting one leg in appreciation could completely break the mood. oh wait. it did. (also gus got thanos-snapped by macavity immediately after exiting the stage)

xiii. skimbleshanks the railway cat

oooooh fuck YESSSSSS this is the single best song in the whole damn film. skimbleshanks himself?? wonderful. iconic. beautiful. his tap routine?? inspired. he’s skimbleshanks the railway cat -- the cat on the railway train! he inexplicably is wearing red dungarees, making him the fourth cat to be wearing clothes for no reason, and at the very end he spins like a top all the way into the air, before being thanes-snapped out of existence (but happily, not out of the movie) by.....

xiv. macavity the mystery cat

taylor swift is there. she’s undressed except for her cgi fur and a pair of stage heels. she starts tapping her little container of catnip over the collective of cats, causing munkustrap to make the sort of face you see reeve!superman make when he’s being poisoned by kryptonite, except that he is a cat being drugged with catnip and it is hard to take him seriously as a result. the song itself is a perfect guilty pleasure. taylor swift’s accent is shitty enough that you can enjoy the ridiculousness of the entire situation. idris elba cuts in to join the final chorus on ‘the Napoleon of criiiiiimmme’ and then he takes off his pimp coat and is . . . distressingly nude for the rest of the film. he dances briefly with taylor swift. it’s a thing.

anyway they thanos-snap judi dench to a boat on the thames bc she won’t let him go to cat heaven and the rest of the cats are left discombobulated. this is when Local Sadboy mr mistoffelees is uh, peer-pressured into attempting to magic judi dench back to the cats. bc mr mistoffelees has an arc now, you guys. and his arc?? is about getting his mojo back.

xv. mister mistoffelees

this song is also sung in first person by mistoffelees, which makes less sense when you get to the second verse, but whatever the movie only has about twenty minutes left let's just do it. it’s a solid song, but they keep pausing after every chorus to see if he can get judi dench back yet, which really dampens the groove that they have going on. anyway, they get her back, mr mistoffelees believes in himself now, yadda yadda yadda. meawhile back on the boat, this dickhead apparently didn’t bother to teleport the other cats back, so they fight their way out and rebel willson unzips her skin again. at this point in the cinema i was praying for mercy.

xvi. memory

memory was a song. it was clearly sung with a lot of emotion. for me, personally?? that emotion did not connect. sorry jennifer hudson. oh yeah also victoria has a verse in this song and i mentally wanted to s c r e am because this is not your fucking moment victoria, let the sad jennifer hudson cat belt her lungs out in peace

xvii. the ad-dressing of cats

god. let it end. let it end. this last ‘song’ was dragged out minute after minute after minute. judi dench looked into my very soul when she told me a cat was not a dog, and i still don’t know what she found there. when she started talking about cream and pie i could see munkustrap, he of the Giving This Performance His All, continue his impeccable acting by making faces of delight at her words. oh, munkustrap. even now, at the very end, you brought me joy. thank you, dear cat. thank you. 

[our-smooty]

Flowerbeds and Fertile Soil: Chapter 10

Fandom: Good Omens

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens, )Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer

Tags:  Kidfic, Mpreg kind of, they can choose to present however so idk, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Vulva (Good Omens), OCs Galor, parenting, using your snake form to avoid confrontation, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pregnancy, if I missed a tag lemme know

Summary: They could do anything, go anywhere, all without the worry of Above or Bellow making a fuss. Even so, they mostly kept to their little patch of Eden, their cottage and garden and the simple life they’d carved out among the locals. Aziraphale opened a book shop in town, where he only occasionally sold any books (and the ones he did sell, were all modern and stocked specifically for that purpose). Crowley focused his attentions on the garden, and if he occasionally helped their elderly neighbour with her disobedient willow tree, then that was a secret no one needed to know. Lately, however, they had both been feeling rather restless, unbeknownst to each other. Aziraphale tried reorganizing his store, changing the way he tied his bowtie and even ate pizza –something he considered to be far too messy for him personally. Crowley had branched out into birdwatching, and then car maintenance (the human way), and even reading. Nothing scratched the itch for either of them.

Ao3 Link

“All I meant was that maybe we should think about how we’d like to decorate the nursery!” Aziraphale said, wringing his hand as Crowley paced back and forth across their living room. “It’s not meant to be a thing as the kid say nowadays.”

Crowley threw his hands up in the air, frustrated beyond belief. “But it is a thing angle. What colour do we paint the room? How should we lay it all out? Oh Somebody, do you know how hard it is to find baby furniture that’s not on recall?”

He’d been storming around the hour for the better part of an hour, shooting down all the angel’s suggestions. It had all started when Aziraphale asked if Crowley had any ideas for the nursery. Did the angel have any idea how difficult it was to get all the necessary bits and bobs for a newborn? It wasn’t something you just did on a Sunday afternoon!

“Well why don’t we start with something small, like what colour you were thinking for the walls?” Crowley huffed, feeling sufficiently patronized. The fluttering in his lower belly had only gotten stronger these last few weeks, and he hadn’t gotten more than three hours sleep at a time because it felt so strange. 

“And I suppose you  have ideas?” he snarked, coming to a standstill in front of the angel. “Tartan, or maybe paisley?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Crowley couldn’t for the life of him figure out why Aziraphale was acting like he was the one being ridiculous. “Do you think--and I mean this is the most loving way possible you must know that--but do you think maybe you might be experiencing a uh, a mood swing? Only you’re so very upset about this when not five minutes ago you were on the verge of falling asleep.”

“Mood swings?” Crowley hissed, resuming his pacing. “Oh that’s rich. Mood swings my arse! You just don’t have any idea how much thought has to go into planning these sorts of things! There’s a reason I was the nanny, angel. Warlock probably wouldn’t have made it to his sixth birthday if you'd’ve had the job!” Crowley whirled around to face Aziraphale again ready to go into the finer details of purchasing baby gear and the nightmare that was car seats when he noticed the distinct wobbling of the angel’s bottom lip. Thinking back to the last thing he’d said, Crowley realized the line he’d crossed.

“I know--” Aziraphale started, having to cut himself off and clear his throat heavily. “I know I’m not very good at this Crowley, but you don’t have to be such a-a-an arse about it!” He was beginning to choke up, most likely from the fact that Crowley had been inadvertently raising his voice louder and louder.

“Angel I didn’t mean--”

“No I think you did.” Crowley stood motionless, all his earlier frustrations bleeding out. Suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, he felt his eyes begin to water. Maybe Aziraphale had been onto something with the whole mood swings thing. “I just thought it might be fun, picking things out together, setting things up perfectly. We c-could go to the store and get a crib and t-talk about what it’ll be like when they arrive…”

Crowley unfroze long enough to amble over to the couch where Aziraphale had been reading and sit down. The tea he’d been drinking before they started arguing sat on the coffee table was cold and unpleasant. He miracled it to a better temperature, along with Aziraphale’s own cup, and held it in his hands.

“It’ll probably be pretty hectic. Newborns are pretty needy,” Crowley added, gesturing for the angel to take his cup. “You might have been right. About the uh, the mood swing. S’a thing that happens to pregnant humans yeah?”

Aziraphale bobbed his head. “I only know what dear Anathema has told me, and from a few books over the years but, yes.” His voice was light, lighter than his normal tone which usually indicated something was wrong. “Of course it’s not your fault. Your corporation is causing you to behave in certain ways and you aren’t used to it. I’d be a fool to be insulted by anything so natural, just a minor side effect of one of Her greatest gifts.”

As was usual when he was really upset, Aziraphale began to slip back into old habits. Praising Her, deferring back to how he thought an angel should behave. It always made Crowley’s blood boil that even after ten years of freedom Heaven still have such a hold on his angel. It made him even angrier that it was his own fault for bringing this on again.

“No, no. You should be mad angel. My body might be making things difficult but I’m still me. I should know better than to let it get out of hand. You didn’t do anything wrong, you couldn’t.”

Crowley set aside the tea again and lifted his arm in invitation. Aziraphale ducked forward, his own tea still forgotten, and burrowed into the side of his jacket. “I’m sorry Aziraphale. You’re gonna be--you’ll do fine when they get here. We can work together? Sort of a new Arrangement, I guess.”

“I don’t like sleeping all that much, as you know. I wouldn’t mind taking the night shift, as long as you show me what to do,” Aziraphale answered, his voice muffled by the fabric. Crowley took a deep, settling breath, and then did something he’d been avoiding. It was obvious Aziraphale wanted and needed to talk about what was going to happen when the baby came and as much as thinking about that still made Crowley extremely nervous, it wasn’t fair for him to deny the angel continually.

“Good plan. And I--well we could go out and look at a few things. S’not like we couldn’t miracle it safe if it isn’t already…” It was true and Crowley was kind of embarrassed he hadn’t thought about it before. He could probably make just about anything safe for the kid if he tried hard enough. Just like he had with Annabella and Charlotte (it turns out, having small children running around a house full of historical artifacts, some of which were made with hazardous materials, wasn’t ideal). There had been no reason for him to fly off the handle like that and he’d have to try and be more--uhg--mindful. “You’re really worried about doing a good job when they come, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer right away. He was snuggling even closer and Crowley decided to help him along, getting an arm under the angel’s knees and hosting them over his lap. Then he squeezed tight, giving Aziraphale something to latch on to while he was feeling so discombobulated. It seemed to help, because after five minutes of quiet the angel finally answered. 

“I don’t have the experience you do. I'm not good at dealing with the girls like you are, and I never know what to do when I see children crying or lost in the street like you do. It just doesn’t come naturally to me and I’m worried… I’m worried that I won’t be good at it at all and they won’t like me,” he said in a rush. Crowley let him finish because it was obvious that those five minutes of silence had been spent formulating his response and to interrupt would be to derail the angel again. When he was sure Aziraphale wasn’t going to say anymore, Crowley responded. 

“S’OK if you’re not great at it at first, happens to humans all the time. You think the first time I had to take care of a baby I knew what I was doing?” Crowley thought back to the very early days, watching over Cain and Abel--attempting to turn humanity to Hell’s side early-on--and nearly weeping with joy when Eve had come back to collect her children. “Besides angel, there’s no way they won’t absolutely adore you. You’re you.”

“I think you might be biased Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, but he didn’t fully deny it. “I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing. I tried using The Web, and it suggested trying to connect by, well, getting excited about the birth. So I thought we could do the nursery.”

Crowley felt like an even bigger arsehole after hearing Aziraphale’s reasoning. Of course, decorating the nursery was supposed to be something fun they could share together. Crowley hadn’t really thought about how Aziraphale might feel like a bit of an outsider, especially since the demon wasn’t big on talking about every little event. 

“No you're right. I uh, you know I don’t really know how to talk about this stuff. And now apparently I’m acting like a hormonal human, which is just marvellous,” he drawled the last word in a way that he knew would make Aziraphale roll his eyes. “We can start the nursery if it’s gonna help you. Maybe just a few things though yeah?”

That made Aziraphale’s head pop up, a slight sparkle in his eye. “Would you-could we maybe pick a colour for the walls? I seems like the best way to start, unless you have any other ideas?” 

Crowley did in fact have lots of ideas. He may have started bookmarking links on his laptop the day after he broke down and bought that blanket. But he’d also been intending to surprise Aziraphale with a few of his purchases, and he hadn’t picked out paint yet, so Crowley decided it couldn’t hurt. Besides, he owed it to the angel for how much of a complete tosser he’d just been.

“OK, yeah, I think that’s fine. I mean, not much we can screw up with a little paint, right?” Maybe a hundred years ago they might have had to worry, but humans were so much more clever about not putting toxic chemicals in their household conveniences now. Most of the time. 

“My thoughts exactly. It’ll be easy. We can just pop off to the hardware store pick out a colour, and paint! Surely you’ve painted a room before?” Aziraphale had begun wiggling again, is fingers winding and unwinding around the thin tie Crowley liked to wear. “I’ve dabbled a few times but you know I’ve never been very good with arts-and-crafts.”

“S’not arts-and-crafts angel, it’s slapping some goop on a wall and letting it dry,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. Aziraphale straightened his back so he could give Crowley a quick peck. Crowley tried to deepen it and follow after the angel’s lips but Aziraphale didn’t let him. 

“Oh good, shall we get ready to go then?”

“Now?” Crowley asked. Not ten minutes ago they’d both been on the edge of tears, and Aziraphale wanted to go out?

“Well maybe just a few more minutes here. I do so like being close to you like this. Close to both of you.” Crowley made a slightly disgusted noise. “Don’t be like that, I’m allowed to enjoy your company and the company of our baby, Crowley.”

“You’re such a sap.” But Crowley was enjoying it as well. While they’d been arguing the baby had been kicking up a fuss, fluttering about and making him feel like he was riding a rollercoaster. Now they they’d settled down, almost like Aziraphale’s touch had a calming effect. 

Speaking of which, the angel stopped pulling on Crowley’s tie and started rubbing slow circles over his barely-there bump. His skin prickled pleasantly even if it also made him want to hide his face in the sofa cushions. Never in 6000 years had Crowley allowed himself to think he could have something so domestic as sitting around on a Sunday afternoon, discussing paint colours for their nursery. As imaginative as he was, this was completely out of his range, which made it all the better that it was their reality. Whatever he’d done to deserve this, it was worth the millennia of waiting.

Eventually they managed to disengage from their comfortable cuddling and drive to the town hardware store. It was a little family-owned place, the kind where all the sale signs were hand-written and there was a little box with home-made fudge by the till. The little old woman stocking the shelves was thrilled to show them their paint section and to offer all sorts of advice and options. It was sickeningly sweet and by the time she left them to their own devices Crowley’s face was glowing and hot. 

“So, do you have any preferences? I was thinking something in the world of green, to match that blanket you picked out? Not that everything has to be matching of course, but having a little bit of a theme couldn’t hurt. And there’s something to be said for the classic blue and pink, even if they are a little overdone--” Crowley grabbed a random paint swatch and began pretending to inspect it closely while Aziraphale babbled on. The paint swatch in his hand was a depressing taupe, completely unsuitable, so he tossed it aside and grabbed another.

“--and it can’t be anything too bright, don’t want the little one to be overstimulated. But I also want it to be homey. Oh there are so many options to choose from, how does anyone decide?” Crowley discarded the second swatch as well--a strangely cool purple--and shrugged.

“Think humans mostly just go for the classics depending on the gender and call it a day,” he answered, possibly the first thine he’d said since they’d entered the shop. “Green sounds nice though.”

Aziraphale beamed at him and then took his arm so they could walk over to the wide variety of green paint options together. “I’m so glad you agree my dear, but just look at this! There must be one-hundred different shades of green!”

“Well,” Crowley said, narrowing his eyes at the display. Some of the darker and brighter shades began to rearrange themselves to the edges of the section, leaving a more appropriate pallet all clustered in the middle. “There, that better angel?”

“Yes thank you,” Aziraphale answered, giving Crowley a quick peck on the cheek. “We should have brought the blanket to compare colours…”

“It’s alright if it doesn’t match,” Crowley assured him, picking three swatches that stood out to him and holding them up. “If we do all sorts of shades of green it’ll kind of be it’s own thing, you know?”

Aziraphale picked three of his own and held them up against Crowley’s choices. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if they had your hair? All this green with the red, very pretty.” It did paint a pretty picture in his mind, though he’d been hoping their child took after Aziraphale more than himself. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if they got his eyes, or his other snakey features.

“Ngk.” Crowley snatched the paint chips from the angel and held all six in a row. “Pick three or four, any more than that’s gonna look messy.”

He let Aziraphale hum and haw over the colours, though eventually his arms got tired and he had to set them down on a nearby table. As the angel decided, Crowley scanned the selection for a suitable accent colour. Since the blanket had cream base colour, and they seemed to be using it as inspiration, he picked something similar and brought it back to Aziraphale. There were still six options spread out in front of him and it was obvious Aziraphale was struggling to make a final decision. 

“Crowley which do you like? Because I think they’re all perfect and I can’t pick just three!” the angel lamented, wringing his hands and visibly deflating when Crowley added the cream swatch. 

“That’s just for an accent colour angel, don’t worry.” He arranged the paint swatches evenly over the table and gave them an appraising once-over. “I don’t like the middle two, they’re too similar. And that one’s too yellow, compared to the others. Do you agree?”

Aziraphale studied the three swatches Crowley removed and the demon let him. As was evident in almost everything Aziraphale did, change was not something to be rushed with the angel. Even something as simple as picking out paint colours could take days if he was left to his own devices. If Crowley wanted to help, he had to do so carefully as to not disrupt whatever system Aziraphale had mentally created for solving the issue. 

“I do, very good choices dear. Should we go ask that nice woman to mix these up for us?” Aziraphale gathered up the remaining swatches, shuffling them like cards. “How do we know how much we need of each colour. We should have measured the room!”

Aziraphale constant fretting was starting to give Crowley a headache (or maybe it was just another pregnancy thing because Crowley never got headaches), and he hoped this could be wrapped up fast. “Dunno, let's just get a bunch of each and go from there.”

The women was more than happy to help them, though it turned out her husband was the one who knew how to use the paint mixer. He was a grumpy looking fellow, old and wrinkled and curled forward like a willow tree. Crowley braced himself for a tiring, cranky encounter.

“Harold, these two boys need some paint mixed up,” The woman said loudly enough for her husband to hear at the front of the shop. Slightly quieter, but not so quiet Crowley and Aziraphale couldn’t hear she added, “They’re the two who bought that old cottage out on the edge of town!”

“Oh are they now? Tore out all that lilac, replaced it with that tropical-looking shite?” Crowley bristled instinctually--his garden was possibly tied with the Bently for the second-most important thing in his life. But the older gentleman just laughed and clapped a friendly hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “Good on you, place was a mess. And I’m all for lilac being good for the bees, but our Lizzie got stung after least ten times walking past to the park a few summers back.”

“Well, uh,” Crowley stammered, completely unprepared in the face of such outright friendliness. People were almost always nice to Aziraphale upon meeting him, probably something to do with his angelic nature and general air of kindness. Conversely, people usually avoided talking to Crowley at all. He gave off some kind of aura that said don’t talk to me, if you do something bads gonna happen and he was usually happy with that. But the older gentleman seemed honestly interested and a little thankful even; it threw him off. “They’d all grown crooked too, so they had to go.”

The older man nodded sagely. “And the yard, the grass was a right travesty since the last owner move out, nobody had been around to trim it for months!” Crowley scowled in agreement and from the corner of his eye he could see Aziraphale and the man’s wife smiling. In the last decade since the Apocalypse, he’d managed to remain rather singular outside of their small circle of acquaintances. Aziraphale was probably going to make a big deal out of this later, telling the demon how happy he was that Crowley was ‘making friends’. 

“You’ve been doing good work up there these past few years, strange we haven’t met before!” the woman chimed in, passing their chosen paint samples over to her husband. “Though I’ve seen you around together at most of the local cafes and restaurants.”

“Terribly sorry we haven’t been by before, turns out the cottage was in miraculously good shape and didn’t need any repairs,” Aziraphale explained as they all watched the husband begin to mix together the paint. 

“But you’re doing some renovations now?” she asked, plying for more information. Crowley could see the makings of a town gossip in her, though he could sense her prying was more out of interest than malice.

“Yes, we’re, hmm,” Aziraphale trailed off, turning to Crowley. He realized they hadn’t exactly discussed if or how they were going to discuss the baby with strangers. Behind dark glasses he blinked slowly, then gave a subtle nod. Aziraphale took one of his hands and squeezed, his love almost palpable even to the demon. “Well we’re expecting a baby, i-in around five months' time. We thought we’d get a head start on the nursery.”

The old man nodded, more concerned with the paint, but his wife lit up like a Christmas tree. Her eyes flickered over them both, then to Crowley’s stomach where his hand had once again subconsciously come to rest over the small bump. “Oh that’s lovely! Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale answered, practically glowing. Crowley blushed and mumbled something similar. “We only just decided on a colour, you have quite the selection here.” It was an effective way to take the focus off of Crowley, which the demon was extremely thankful for.

“Well you’ve picked a lovely shade of green, whatever inspired you?” Aziraphale began telling her about their newly born nephew and the trip to the baby store. Crowley pretended to listen for a little while before turning to watch the paint being mixed. The old man, Harold his wife had called him, was puttering away and had already finished with one of the four cans. The set up was made so customers could see over the counter and watch the way he swirled the paint before putting it into the mixer. 

“This your first?” the man asked. Crowley hadn’t taken him for the nosey type, but he supposed it made sense considering how his wife was. “We had three, but they’re all moved out with their own families. Lizze, the one I mentioned before? She’s the oldest grandchild, gonna be starting middle school next year.”

“Yikes,” Crowley cringed. Middle school had been one of his in the beginning (cliques had been too good to pass up), but the humans had taken it out of control. “And uh, yeah. I mean, yes, it's our first.”

The old man nodded. “She’s a strong kid, lost of friends. And we raised her mum right I like to think, and she comes to visit us on weekends.” He set the second can into the mixing machine as he chattered. “S’a little different than the others, the first one. Hope you two enjoy it while you can.”

He thought back to all the throwing up and the fainting and the general discomfort with a scowl. Then he remembered cuddling with Aziraphale and the girls on their bed, feeling the baby move for the first time, and picking out clothes together and it slipped off his face in seconds. Harold chuckled and once again clapped Crowley on the shoulder good-naturedly. After that, Crowley didn’t feel quite so uncomfortable and began to grill the man on his appreciation of plants. 

Soon all the paint was mixed and they began to check out. They both thanked the older couple, and Aziraphale even purchased a quarter of their fudge stock. Promises to stop by next time the two ageless beings were in town were made before they made it back out to the Bentley. Crowley insisted the paint cans go in the boot, where they had zero chance of staining the upholstery. 

“D’you wanna grab lunch while we’re here?” he asked the angel as he pulled away from the curb. The paint cans in the back didn’t make a sound, because they knew better than to misbehave. “Could go somewhere new, if we can find anywhere you aren’t already a regular.”

Aziraphale wiggled thoughtfully as he snacked on a square of fudge. “Well, I am a bit peckish, but I think the fudge will do to tide me over. I must admit, I’m a bit exhausted.” 

“Fine by me. Could do with a lie-down, my back’s starting to twinge like anything.” That settled, they drove back to the cottage, the ride going rather quickly as Aziraphale chattered about how best to paint the nursery. Crowley made a few points here and there, mostly just to be ornery about the details and watch the angel fluster, but otherwise preoccupied himself with driving home. When they pulled in the sun was just dipping below the roof of the cottage, painting the lawn in a golden glow. 

Aziraphale was out of the car first, scurrying to the boot and unloading the paint. Crowley would have done the same except when he’d tried to help load them the first time Aziraphale had refused to let him so much as lift a paint can. ‘Bad for the baby’ he’d said, and though Crowley wanted to get his knickers in a twist about being fussed over, he also really didn’t fancy hauling cans of paint in with how achy his back had been for the past two or three hours. 

“I’ll get the tea?” he offered, breezing past Aziraphale to the front door. The angle shook his head and made a shooing motion, coupled with a frown.

“No, no, I’ll get it. You get right into bed, I’ll be with you in a minute.” Again Crowley wanted to be mad, but he thought about how heavy those cans might be, and decided that it’d be fine, just this once, to let Aziraphale be overprotective. With a shrug, the demon made his way inside and trudged up the stairs. HE smirked to himself, already planning how he’d seduce the angle into bed when he brought the tea. It might not even be that hard, though he hoped it took at least a little coaxing.

[writingforthethinkers]

Well, You All Took Your Time

The Maze Runner

Pairing: Newt X Reader

Word Count: 1005

Warning: None

Summary: Requested: I was wonder if you could do a TMR imagine with Newt? Maybe it could take place when they're busting out of the WICKED compound in scorch trials? Maybe there's some trouble getting the reader out of her room? Idk just anything really. Your writing is always amazing! 💕

A/N: Catchy title, I know. It’s like a damn Fall Out Boy song title.

I was made to stay in a room of my own in our new ‘home’, which none of us were happy about. Especially me and Newt. Since the day I arrived in the Glade, we hadn’t been separated, so it came as an icy shock when I was led to a different room than the rest of the remaining Gladers.

You’d think if I’d been able to stay trapped in a maze with them for three years, then I’d be able to share a room with them, but according to Ratman, I ‘needed my own space’ and I would ‘enjoy it much more’. Both statements I didn’t have much choice but to agree with, as the people in this place aren’t very lenient.

Which was another reason why we were sceptical about them. On meeting up with my friends when we ate, we had all unanimously come to the agreement that something wasn’t quite right about our apparent ‘saviours’.

“I don’t know,” Minho said in a low voice, “something just seems off. And not just because they’re separating our two favourite love birds.”

“Although that is on my list of why I don’t like them,” I state, giving Newt’s hand a soft squeeze as I leant closer into him, relishing the small amount of time we had together. “But you’re right. These people are definitely hiding something.”

“Also, what are they doing with Teresa?” Thomas piped up, adding to the speculation.

“And our lesser known love birds, of course,” Minho looked to Thomas, “I don’t know about Teresa, maybe she really was a bit worse off than the rest of us.”

“Maybe,” Thomas mumbled, looking off towards the guarded doors as if he was forming a plan.

“Look, whatever is going on here, we should keep our heads down whether we investigate it or not. At the end of the day, they’re feeding us and I’m sleeping in a proper bed,” Newt stated, taking a large bite of his meal to prove his point.

“Even if you don’t get to share it with our dear (Y/N)?” Minho teased, making Frypan snicker while I playfully roll my eyes and Newt gives him a glare.

“Always room for improvement,” Newt murmured, looking down to his now finished plate.

We were about to continue our conversation when we were interrupted by the arrival of Janson and his stream of names to be called. After watching the line of kids leave the room, everyone left was soon told to head back to their rooms.

“I hate this,” I mumbled to Newt as we said goodbye, our hands linked between us.

“I know, me too,” Newt replied as he leant forward, pressing a soft kiss to my lips before bidding me goodnight.

I didn’t sleep very much, partly because of the lack of Newt lying next to me, partly because I was trying to figure out why these people felt so odd. And suspicious. I sat on the cold floor with my back against the bed, staring at the plain grey wall opposite me. My thoughts were soon interrupted by the sound of shouting and people running.

Jumping up, I rushed to the door, putting my ear against it and trying to catch a few words from guards running past.

“What is it?” One asked, their voice a mixture of exasperation and confusion.

“Some of the Group A kids have escaped. Thomas or whatever his name is, he’s figured out-”

Their voices hazed out as they got too far from the door. My heart did a little jump at the thought of my friends running rogue. Hopefully they were fine, and hopefully they were coming to get me.

In the meantime, I attempted to find my own way out of my room, but to no avail. There were no vents or openings in the walls like Newt said they had in theirs, the only entrance and exit being the locked door. I tried just pulling it, knowing it was locked, but soon changed to hitting and kicking at it as much as I could.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t budge.

“Guess I wait,” I mumbled, sitting back down on the floor, making sure I was facing the door. I listened to the sounds in the corridor, mostly it was guards running and shouting orders. It went quite for a little while until a new set of footsteps were heard, only these ones were a lot more discombobulated. They came with rushed voices filled with confusion that I seemed to recognise as I they came closer.

“She could be in any of them.”

“How are we meant to know which one?”

“Like this,” I’d just managed to identify one as Minho before he screeched at the top of his lungs, “(Y/N)!”

“In here, slinthead!” I called back, getting up and moving to the door. I heard shuffling and then a series of loud bangs before the door swung open only just on its hinges. On the other side stood my friends, the closest being Newt and Frypan who held a fire hydrant in their hands, clearly the source of the noise.

“Well, you all took your time,” I stated, a slight smile on my lips.

“Are you coming or not, shank?” Minho asked, looking up and down the length of the corridor.

“Coming. Definitely coming,” I replied, stepping out of the room and straight into Newt’s arms for a quick hug. “Anyone want to fill me in on what’s happening?”

“These people aren’t who they say they are. They’re WICKED,” Thomas stated, a gun raised in his hands.

“Well I could’ve told you that, but I didn’t realise they were that evil,” I replied, attempting a bad joke as we began making our way down corridor.

“Hilarious, (Y/N). And your timing is excellent,” Minho pats my shoulder as he moves past me, making his way to the front of the group, a smile on his face.

“Thanks, Min,” I reply, taking Newt’s hand in mine as we continue our escape from WICKED’s clutches.

[mrjs-a]

hey stinky smellies im joining the   blog  move   train and starting joker a - fresh. i lov the joker and want to kick him up the ass and get my portrayal moving again rather than it being just shitposts and promos til kingdom cum,, and so i think a blog move is a sweet stinky idea

if u are interested in writing with me on this new blog,   like this stinky post   and i will know that. i dont rly want to follow ppl and end up pondering like “owo whats this ? rp ? =^~^=“  i just want to know from the get - go that the ppl im following are wanting to write shit w me. im setting up a new arc w my stinky gf and so that narrative is going to be part of my main joker chronology, which i will be following rather than flip flopping between different storylines. it’ll be made up of and influenced by a number of different joker stories so i’ll probably just type up everything that has happened in a timeline or some shit idk

the blog is going to be fairly private bc i want to like,, involve the characters im interacting with into the arc and so it’s a tad less discombobulating if the interactions serve a purpose rather than being  uwu who are u

thank u for reading stinky i mean im guessing u have read the post and not just started on this paragraph like why would u have done that. tl;dr im making a new blog w sexy new shit like if ur not a cuck or if u actually want to write w the clorn prank of crem thank u for reading bunghole