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mamamittens · 1 year ago

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Time for my nightly bullshit like a ridiculous bedtime story solely designed for shenanigans.

Sides, its good practice while I recharge and prepare to start writing my pending fics lol (decided to leave Hody for later btw, so prepare to say goodbye to Uncle Fishy in a chapter or two--depends on how much I decide to put in one chapter).

Boro was a fairly simple man at heart. A deep love of his craft and the sea coalescing into a life of lighthearted piracy. He respected and admired his strange crew.

Captain Minnow, the zanny man who's obsession with the image of smoking is matched only by his ability to exclusively set himself on fire anytime he tries to smoke.

First mate, Cantore, who grounded their flighty captain when he wasn't arguing over the unpredictable weather.

The twins, Hiro and Kazu. Squirrelly young men who delight in confusing everyone with their mirrored mannerisms and inspired swordplay.

Hestu, the trick shot wonder who refuses to shoot straight for any reason. He frustrated many but there was no denying his creativity.

Tim, Jim, and Sean, the three childhood friends that assist in running the ship. Sometimes it was hard to figure out if they actually liked each other or just liked fighting one another. Constantly finding things to compete and make bets over.

And finally the youngest. Sir. Odd young man, with a seemingly stony expression and massive white wings. He'd quickly taken over the kitchen after seeing the pitiful 'dinner' Hestu put together... Consisting of jerky between slices of potatoes instead of bread. He hadn't been impressed with the state of the kitchen either, ripping the whole crew a new one for even thinking about eating out of it. But Boro wasn't fooled. Young Sir had a soft side a mile wide, fussing over them all between meals.

Seeing the withdrawn young man try and navigate around the large crew was painful--almost as painful as watching the Whitebeard Commander, Thatch, try and hold a conversation with Sir. Who, in turn, did his level best to never be in the same room as Commander Thatch. Boro was concerned at first, of course he was.

But judging by the puffy wings, Boro thought it safe to assume that this wasn't discomfort so much as it was Sir being flustered for some reason. His habit of never meeting anyone's eyes for longer than a brief second--or intensely staring into your soul--ratcheted up to the point that Boro could clearly see Sir avoiding looking at Commander Thatch's face entirely.

It was amusing but strange.

Early morning, about two and a half weeks into their unexpected stay on the Moby Dick, Boro rolled out of bed and walked between bunks to wake Sir. Fluffy wings disheveled and curled around him protectively. All it took was a few gentle cards of his hand and the feathers shuddered. Wings fluttering and lifting away as a hazy blue eye looked up at him petulantly.

Sir huffed, burying his face into the pillow with a yawn before rolling up out of bed. Tugging the blanket back into place behind him as he snagged his glasses and pack. Usually, Sir showered at night, but last night he helped clean the kitchens and asked to be woken up early.

Boro, knowing how much Sir liked his privacy, agreed and silently promised to ensure no one walked in on the young man. For his trouble, he received a gentle brush of feathers across his bare arm as Sir shuffled by him to the nearest showers.

Sir yawned, wild and loose curls consuming half his face and shoulders in a frizzy bush. Boro smiled fondly, finding the ruffled, sleepy look cute on his youngest crewmate.

--*--

Nikia stretched, freshly cleaned from head to toe and well awake now. Hair as dry as she'd get it without a hair dryer and soaking a damp spot on her hoodie. For now, it would behave and stay mostly out of her face. But frizz was terrible at sea so she knew it would be a matter of time before she had to pull it back just to not constantly eat her own hair.

Thanks to Boro standing guard she didn't feel weird taking a few extra minutes to clean her feathers more. So they'd be a fair bit cleaner now as well. She didn't mind bunking with a bunch of guys but showering around total strangers is where she drew the line--although she wouldn't shower around even close friends either for that matter.

She had just returned her bag of essentials and clothes she'd personally been washing every week when Thatch happened to pass by.

Nikia grimaced to herself, still finding herself too embraced to talk to him directly.

"Sir!" Hell, he even kept calling her 'Sir' like her smartass crew. "There you are! I've been meaning to ask something." She could see his smile in her peripheral.

"What bout, darlin'?" Nikia cringed to herself, cursing her instinctive use of sweet nicknames with a total stranger. She did find his flush amusing though. Nice to know they can both be flustered.

"Well, I was thinking that your pantry must have things that are going bad but I wanted to ask before using any of it." Thatch grinned sheepishly. Ah. That makes sense.

"Sure thing, darlin'. They'd go to waste otherwise so like, knock yourself out." Nikia agreed easily. Thatch, a grown ass man, pouted.

"Actually, I was hoping you'd help me carry out the food stores to go through them on deck." Nikia grimaced, aware that it had been fairly warm the last few days. There was a reason she retreated to below deck often. Pale as she was, she was liable to burn and the idea of suddenly gaining a tan freaked her out.

She was, of course, ignoring the light tan she had already started to gain from the slight increase of time under the sun.

"...Ah suppose. Hope ya want potatoes. They bought a metric fuck ton before I joined and I was still trying to get rid of them. Well, without throwing them into the sun." Nikia grumbled. She glanced at his face and looked away at the bright, pleased smile.

Thatch threw his arm over her shoulder (mindful of her damp wings) and marched through the hallways, chatting away about some of his favorite uses for potatoes. He definitely knew his stuff, although it mostly went over her head.

When they reached topside she knew she'd have to ditch her sweater at some point. Her wet hair and wings did not alleviate the heat in the slightest. Instead soaking up the hot sun in a way that would be delightful if she planned on napping.

The pantry was tucked away near the kitchens and was filled with barrels and bags of foodstuffs. There was a freezer and fridge too, but those were staying. It didn't make sense to drag them under the sun just to watch them thaw.

The barrels were big and usually quite heavy, but Nikia never did know when to quit while she could manage with her own two hands. Choosing to 'walk' the barrel out of the storage room as Thatch recruited a small number of men to assist once he realized she couldn't lift the barrels herself.

As she suspected, even the chill in the lower deck didn't help her for long. But she managed to stick it out until everything perishable was removed and ready to be inspected under the sunlight. She huffed, walking just behind Thatch as she tugged on her sleeves, carefully separating the fabric of her tank top to make sure she didn't flash anyone.

When she was safely up top, she stood out of the way and grumbled, finding the task of wrangling the fabric away from her wings taxing. But necessary.

The relief when she succeeded was instant and she smiled, noting that her hair was nearly dry enough to pull up without making her arms ache from the strain of brushing it into place above her head.

The yellow sleeves tied neatly around her waist as she made sure her tank top was settled in place and walked forward. Only to find shocked expressions meeting her gaze.

Thatch looked startled, cheeks red as he struggled for words.

Nikia grimaced.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Ya feel snowblind lookin' at me. No need to make a fuss bout it." She grumbled, brushing back her hair to try and settle it in place over her shoulder.

"... You're a girl?" Thatch asked in a strained voice. Nikia frowned, narrowing her eyes. She glanced down at her very obvious cleavage.

"...Yes? Ah wa'n't hidin' it..." Nikia wrinkled her nose. "Wait... Do you think my name is actually 'Sir'?"

Thatch looked up at her face, now confused.

"It's not?!" Nikia huffed.

"No! They're just a bunch ah smart asses!" Nikia hissed.

"Sir?!?" Boro did a double take from the deck of the Moby Dick. Nikia whipped her head to look at him.

"Why the FUCK are ya surprised?!?" Nikia demanded.

"You're a woman?!?" Boro sputtered, cheeks flushed as he struggled to look at her without looking down her shirt, which was admirable given the higher perspective he had.

"Yes. I. Am." Nikia rolled her eyes. "Ah've literally been using ma mom voice on y'all, why tha hell did ya think I was a man?!? It's pretty obvious?" Nikia gestured to her chest before pausing, brushing her hand over her sweatshirt. "Ah... Right."

She'd taken to wearing baggy hoodies cause it was annoying talking to someone when their eyes were firmly fixed on her tits. Sure, she didn't look people in the eyes consistently either, but at least she didn't stare down at their crotch or whatever.

"W-We uh... Haven't ever had moms?" Boro admitted.

Nikia's annoyance dissolved.

"Oh, honey. C'mere, baby. Ah'm sorry--I didn't mean ta trick any of y'all, I thought y'all were being smart asses!" Nikia declared, opening her arms to the flustered man. He was unusually red in embarrassment but gamely wandered over and accepted her apology hug.

This was the first time she's been so close with her crew and was surprised to find how solid Boro felt. Her damp wings curling forward as she wrapped her around around his neck.

"... Wait, does this mean all of y'all thought I was a boy?" Boro nodded against her shoulder before resting his chin in place.

"We thought you were a teenage boy." Boro said apologetically.

Nikia laughed hard into his shoulder, snorting.

"O-Oh noooooo! Nooo, honey, oh no!" Nikia cackled before pulling away. Still giggling she corrected him. "I'm twenty-seven, honey. And it's Nikia. Ah don't mind 'Sir', really, but everytime I tried to mention my name something stupid happened." Nikia giggled, smile falling as she hissed in frustration.

Boro smiled.

"Nice to meet you, Nikia, Sir."

She snorted, cackling again.

--*--

Thatch was frozen. Utterly floored as several things crashed into him at once.

He'd thought 'Sir' looked quite cute with his wet hair draped and curled over his shoulder, tucked partially behind his ear instead of pulled back. Face flash from the shower and wings incredibly damp.

It felt like his lucky day to manage to drag him into an activity with himself. Amusement and fondness building as he got to show off his strength by casually lifting barrels 'he' could only shift around.

Then, oh then, 'Sir' walked onto the deck and pulled away his sweatshirt. Thatch was expecting a fairly pudgy body, soft from good food and a protective crew. And he sort of got that. Pale skin stark against the dark tank top.

But the 'round middle' he thought he saw from under the baggy sweatshirt was a soft dip between her ribs and hips. A majority of the 'thickness' an illusion from fabric draping over her chest. Her arms were soft, clearly she didn't fight or do much heavy lifting.

A dragon skull inked over her right shoulder and upper arm like a pauldron, gold bells and red string around her wrist. Some sort of sword with wings on the left forearm.

Thatch didn't even realize she had any tattoos to begin with.

His heart stuttered in his chest as she laughed loudly, expression bright and amused with more life than he'd seen so far. Her soft apology and reassurance echoing in his blood.

Boro gave him a look from over her shoulder, almost in warning.

This revelation hardly changed his plans. He still wanted to get to know 'Sir', Nikia. It's just that now he knew her wide smile and cheeky cackle made his heart stutter.

Oh shit, they'd had a woman bunking with men and showering in their area for almost three weeks--Oyaji was going to be pissed.

One thing at a time, Thatch supposed, watching Nikia smile and flutter her wings in the sun.

(really rough example of the tattoos, only one of which is based on an actual tattoo I have, the shoulder one is one I've wanted for years but I'm broke lol, bells I just thought would be cute ngl)

#one piece #back on my bullshit #not a sir au #one piece oc

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puff-mmd · 1 year ago

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6/17/23

ok well, first just wipe your brain of everything i've ever said about orobas tbh

he's not a prince anymore, he's an incubus and has a job now (he works at the same strip club as charon)

like i just figured fuck it, he wants to be a whore so bad let him have it. i could never see him doing anything even remotely related to leadership, so that role is just gone anyways. if fucking is his most consistent trait, damn it all guess you do it for money now.

any interactions with humans are gone now too, instead it all takes place in hell. basically, there are demons that serve each of the seven sins, and different sins have a different rank in society. lust is one of the lower rankings, consisting of you guessed it, charon and orobas (who are both incubi - succubi and incubi are the demons that serve the sin of lust).

he also has gained a sister, and im throwing around the name avalir for her. she's a succubus, but she hates sex - there's no way she could work the job orobas does. i've been thinking about the idea of him having a sibling for a while (i know, and after you said the thing about siblings - but hey, im not throwing him in kaisei's story lol).

she's kinda interesting, probably does something more indirectly to serve her sin. i pulled up an old yuna model (which look nothing like the design i want to make for her now) and im just like yeah she kinda fits the bill.

being of lower ranking, they're often used and looked down on. orobas hates it, he's still a bit stubborn and doesn't like being treated as a lesser demon just because of his sin, but he doesn't do much about it.

that is, until something forces him to care about how they're treated.

something like his sister being killed.

i know, the sibling death thing is overdone, but he actually seems to care about his sister a lot, and losing her makes him angry enough to do something so for now i'll run with it.

i was also thinking about how it would have happened - orobas still blames himself even though *technically* it wasn't his fault. he wasn't there to help her, and he feels guilty about it.

basically i'm taking the revenge plotline and giving it to him.

he's leaving work late, he had stayed to help charon close up (he promised beforehand and he doesn't go back on a promise), but on his way home, he finds avalir sitting on the side of the street with a few guys standing over her. as he gets closer he can smell blood, and just, he doesn't really think other than connecting that these guys have hurt her.

he ends up hurting them badly, but they get away.

i can see him falling to his knees and holding his sister, trying to call charon for help, but by the time he shows up it's too late.

like, seeing orobas show emotion like this is very new, and i think it sucks for him to lose his sister, but as a character it's a motivator for him to actually use those fangs and claws of his to get back at the people who killed her.

and hey, maybe she doesn't even end up dead, but very hurt - he'd still be out for blood of the demons that dared to put a hand to his sister.

it also opens up a "why" she was targeted - simply because they knew she was a succubus, tried to get some, and she rejected it?

are there other reasons why she was sought out in paticular and could they also relate to orobas?

i don't know yet!

but i actually want to think about him and his story and know why so that's better than mostly anything i've come up with for him before!

and i wanted to change his name but at this point he's kinda married to it. i can't unsee it, and now his whorobas nickname fits.

because he literally is one, he gets paid to fuck just as he's intended this whole time lol.

#orobas #charon #avalir

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songouda · 3 months ago

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just putting down some thoughts for my db s/i, mozzarella (i don't really feel comfortable posting any artwork yet, so i figured i would try to put it in words first !!)

head's up, this is a really long post!

tw // brief mention of sex

backstory ig idk lol:

i don't really have much in the lines of backstory (this is mostly because i haven't finished DB Super yet and i'm not that knowledgeable of how DB's world works lol). but i do like the idea of mozzarella just being a homebody that has a garden and makes a living by selling their fruits n veggies. they met goku at a farmer's market and really hit it off from there !! it was love at first sight with goku ^-^ they are also a shapeshifter and just kind of. exist ! (i looked up shapeshifting on the db wiki and apparently there was a shapeshifting school ? i might incorporate that when i do my full db watch !) one idea that i have is that mozzarella had a previous form but eventually chose to stay permanently in their rat form. it's the form that makes them most comfortable. it took them a while to get used to their current form, but after a while, it became their default form. they aren't opposed to taking other forms for fun ! there is no limits to their shapeshifting ability, but bigger and more complex forms can be very exhausting. still, their shapeshifting isn't 100 perfect either; sometimes, if they aren't focused (which is often), the form they take will sometimes have large rat ears, a long rat tail, or huge whiskers ! typically, mozz will only shapeshift certain parts of their body for convenience's sake. for example, they'll transform their arms into huge bat wings in order to fly around quickly. this doesn't take up more energy to do.

design:

i don't think there's any design variations from my actual sona. mozz will still be relatively average height (shorter than goku but taller than vegeta). they might be a little bit furrier and have a longer tail, but that's about it. oh, and they'll probably fit more into the style of DB/DBZ.

personality:

personality wise will be very consistent with my sona (and myself too). ditzy and easily confused but kind-hearted. does their best to be a good person but worries excessively about how people perceive them. a little weirdo for sure lmfao. the only interesting thing i might have to think about is the idea that saiyans are wired to be attracted to "strong" partners (vegeta said 'women' specifically but i'm just gonna say that gender doesn't matter here shhhhh). i don't know if mozzarella is particularly "strong" or "hot-headed" in the same why bulma and chichi and videl is (or, in videl's case, used to be). i'm leaning towards "no, they aren't;" they're probably pretty passive and typically go with the flow. still, they can be incredibly snarky at times and can come off as a bit of a know-it-all (intentionally or not). i think there is an inner strength there but it doesn't manifest in the same way that it does for the main DB girlies. still, mozzarella will throw hands if needed and does not take shit from anyone LMFAO. bascially "i'm not a fighter but don't test me." even if goku is the strongest in the universe, mozz will be more than ready to beat a mf up to defend him (they fucking HATEEE it when people disrespect goku, it's like their no. 1 pet peeve. they'd probably start crying but will still beat a mf up if needed.)

changes to the canon:

this is gonna be difficult to touch on because i haven't really figured it out in my head yet. the main difficulty is gonna stem from chichi. i love chichi to pieces (all chichi haters will die by my blade), so i don't want her to like. not exist LOL. i also don't want them to have gotten a divorce around the time that goku and mozzarella meet. my solution is that chichi and goku just never got together. basically, the "promise" that goku made to chichi was that they would meet again in the future (not that he would marry her) and that promise was fulfilled when they fought at the 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai. they're just good friends and sparring partners. ofc, there's the question of gohan and goten existing, and i want them to exist !! an idea that i have is that goku and chichi slept together a few times in the past and thus, gohan and goten. i haven't decided why yet (failed relationship that ended amicably ? maybe chichi or goku or both wanted kids and they trusted each other enough to want to have children with each other ? they were just fooling around ?), but regardless, gohan and goten DO exist, and all of the events in DB and DBZ/Kai did happen as they normally would, just less gochi (i still <3 gochi tho). oh, and i imagine goku just has his own separate place and doesn't live with chichi. goten lives with her (gohan is grown and already left), and goku lives nearby so he can help out whenever he can. (mozz thinks he's a really good dad ^o^)

mozzarella's inclusion in the canon:

so my idea is that mozzarella and goku met sometimes during Super. the idea is that goku is a farmer (i think this concept was introduced in super) and uses the money for himself and for chichi and goten (both he and chichi work). considering both he and mozz sell their crops at the farmer's market, my idea is that they met here. basically, mozz was not involved in any of the crazy shit goku got up to prior to Super. after meeting, mozz was quickly introduced to goku's main circle of friends and was quickly swept up into all of the craziness goku got himself into. this includes meeting beerus and whis, golden freiza, universe 6, etc. also, bulma quickly ran mozz up to speed on everything that has ever happened to them pre-Super, so while they were pretty skeptical at first, they quickly believed her (mostly due to bulma's birthday party fiasco).

i'll stop this post here since it's getting pretty long, but the reblog is gonna focus on mozz's relationships with everyone else, including goku !!

#rat thinks #self insert #this was much longer than i intended #but i had so much fun writing this all out #i haven't made an “oc” in eons #so it felt really good to sort of make one #playing with my dollies

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ezdotjpg · 3 years ago

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New Links!

Can you tell us a bit about Prism and Ash?

I love their designs

thank u !! First, have these doodles I just did of them

lore stuff under the cut!

Prism

as promised, the colors each have a preferred hairstyle lol see above

I like to think of the colors working according to SU gem fusion rules lmao. That is to say, when they're combined into Prism, Prism is the single sum of all of them, rather than 4 minds sharing one body. But they have to be in harmony to manage it, so when he gets overly emotional in any direction, or wars with himself about something, he splits. Unlike SU gem fusions tho, they were originally one person. They naturally want to exist as Prism, because being split is akin to like, constantly feeling the mental equivalent of phantom limb syndrome.

At this point, they spend quite a bit of time split, because their quest is very recent and they're still struggling to stay harmonious long enough to maintain Prism. They'll get the hang of it eventually.

As a consequence, Prism overcompensates by trying not to feel any strong emotion in particular, in fear that it'll trigger a split. He's level-headed to the point of complete indifference. Honestly, this is probably why they can't stay together very long. Because who can maintain that? That's not really what he's like. But he hasn't realized that yet.

I don't mean to make this, like, all angst tho. This isn't even that angsty in practice. It's a transition period they're still getting used to. they'll either learn to be one person or they'll decide to live with being separate people, or strike some sort of balance in-between.

if it's not already obvious, I'm basing them heavily on the manga.

i actually did do a color pass for Shadow lol, but honestly I haven't figured out how he fits into all this yet. For now, he's dormant.

Ash

I've played very little of LOZ I and only seen bits of AoL gameplay, so bear with me here.

He's a wanderer, sort of perpetually on the run from those who would like to use his blood to awaken ganon. If i'm recalling correctly, there's a prophecy that he's meant to become king of hyrule? he really doesn't want that, so he's also running from that.

he spends a lot of time in caves lol. he's fond of them. he avoids towns if he can manage it, but he always lends a hand when people need help.

probably has the most magical ability of all the links, second only to Mage

he's been alone for so long he has little interest in joining a group

Extremely Tired. He's consistently paranoid and on high alert.

Despite all of this, he's actually mostly content? If it weren't for the threat of the world ending again if he slips up, he'd be pretty much at peace. He's settled on a "this is just how things are" mentality, and he's okay with it. His circumstances haven't made him bitter, if anything they've made him kinder to everyone he comes across.

has the energy of those Kind Guy Who Lives In the Woods youtube channels lol where all they do is post video of themselves foraging and building shelters with no talking and no music, only Nature Sounds. there's always dirt underneath his fingernails. he knows what every plant is and whether or not it's edible. he's clever in fights, using improvised tools and every bit of his surroundings. he's a survivor.

#bonuslinksdotjpg #askdotjpg #bonus ash #bonus prism #bonus links #botw #bonus lore #sketchies

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askfallenroyalty · 2 years ago

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For the dark world design things, I like the sprite where they all become kids but like, did this take place earlier or they all just be like Chara and tranform into their younger self?

Because both didn't really make sense since if it's the first, the story would ended earlier and you have to redraw the arc after to make them younger which probably isn't good for uhh, time probably, or Chara thought after this adventure like, few years later after it ended which isn't realistic, if it's the latter then that mean all of them want to be younger... which probabpy isn't that unrealistic but it would make Chara's situation not unique or special to their situation or whatever, or it mean the dark world work different... which is possible actually but why would G man make a world that make everyone that get in it become superpowered children, what if younger kid or adult get in?

Or maybe they all got in before as a kid and this is the sprite for that, or you just make the younger design as a joke or because you want and I overthink it

Or it's secret and you are not gonna tell me which is ok I just like being a conspiracy theorist lol

NAH you're fine lmao sorry i should of clarified this. i'm still unsure about it.

my logic was chara made the darkworld so it's influenced by their desire -but you're right, the outfits themselves seem separate from that. it's more customized to the individual, same as how Ralsei's castle and Queen's mansions become personalized. The world itself is influenced by Noelle (I assume she accidently made it? but also Kris could of been the one to do so... the world fits Noelle more) And becoming a kid is A Thing with Noelle for like, 1 second, so this isn't even out of the realm of possiblities.

And ALSO yeah, this world is (probably) made from a gaster fragment or at least houses one, it's separate from Deltarune the game and it's canon. I'm not even sure this IS a darkworld or if it's a simulation of one. (maybe the CORE secretly powers a pocket universe that Gaster made? that Chara accidently connects to and drags the gang into)

[has alt id]

Actually i was about to do a write up of pros/cons but i realized making them all kids is a bad idea. it just doesn't work.

cause like, I wanted them all to be kids to keep it consistent between them, but you're right it makes it less special/shocking when chara is Baby. (thinking this time around, we follow Frisk first and then meet with Chara.) anyway i wanted this because the main conflict is that Chara is wanting to force everyone to relive the past, so making Frisk a Baby and relieve their memories isn't a happy thing like it is to Chara.

BUT that happens when Chara True Resets anyway! I feel that'd lose a LOT of significance because we get used to Frisk being a teenager by the time we get to that story point. Also like, the reverse makes a fun effect of "oh YEAH Chara is a teenager! I got used to baby chara again!"

so yeah. i can't justify it and it lessens plot/thematic elements. Plus, its too repetive, even if I think it'd make it more clear what Frisk's problem with reliving the past is like

actually, I can do that with the reset thign too. Cause Frisk HATED being attacked by monsters and Chara's kinda forgotten about that since. So I'm gonna show them fight a lil before they confront Flowey.

Frisk's bard aspect (which like, is based on how I introduced teenage frisk with Vocaloid, this outfit is loosely inspired by that)

Anyway I need to establish more of their story BUT I think the designs should reflect them more (like you pointed out!) like, originally, Frisk was going to have this side plot over befriending Suzy (their universe version of Susie) that was, sadly, dropped because Susie was stuck with Kris and it made more sense for Chara to stay away from Frisk after the DW adventure (cause Chara broke their promise)

BUT now i have the chance to actually explore that! So now, Frisk takes the adventure with MK to be a fun game and a chance to befriend Suzy. I really want Frisk's adventure to be separate from Chara's journey, because Frisk being mopey was Defs over done in the OG, and it makes it more impactful when Frisk gets upset if they're more happy the rest of the time.

Frisk still hates fighting (god. i'm gonna have to design a bunch of enemies...) but since they're not alone (and being haunted by chara), they don't mind it nearly as much. the Vibes of Deltarune (where most enemies just want to capture you) vs. UT (where most enemies are trying to kill you) are so drastically different. Frisk would be SO happy about this change.

#doodles #dark world

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1kook · 4 years ago

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imax & climax

summary; The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack. warnings; fingering, blowjobs, tit play, praise kink, standing sex, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl kinda idk lol, daddy kink that morphs into i love u kink tags; jk is an avid history channel viewer, jk hates Barbie movies ik we took an L today girls 😔, jk goes thru like 4 personality changes (commanding > soft > mean > in love), honestly idk what to tag it’s a mess, he’s still cheesy and romantic but also 👀 just read word count; 9.8k

notes; there is no rest for the wicked, aka miss 1kook writes another part for this fic i swore wasn't gonna be a series except this time we ditch the gentlemen persona and go into maximum overdrive. its not proofread bc i wrote this entire thing at 4 am last night after inhaled a whole bucket of spicy popcorn

[ part 1 ; netflix & chill ] [ part 2 ; hulu & wohoo ]

Jungkook sees it on display during your weekly Target trip. You know he won’t say anything because despite how long you’ve dated he still likes to pretend he’s the epitome of adult maturity. Yet the way his eyes linger over the electronics section, cart rolling to a stop in front of the massive screen, tells you all you need to know.

“Baby, the toilet paper is this way,” you sing, giving the front of the cart a gentle tug that pulls it and his thoughts away from the television that seems to hold reign over his interest.

“Ah,” he mumbles as he shakes himself out of whatever trance he was in. “Right.”

The Target trip ends rather uneventfully; you grab all the items you came for and make the executive decision of swapping Jungkook’s tangerine bathroom soap with strawberry instead. Normally he’d put up a good fight, argue about the comfort that came with consistency, but today he says nothing. You chalk it up to that flatscreen that hypnotized him earlier.

“You wanted it,” you announce rather pointedly in the car. He’s backing out of the parking space now, one hand on the wheel the other pressed to the side of your seat. His jaw twitches as he tries to maneuver around a stray shopping cart someone didn’t return to the retrieval area. He’s wearing that dark jumper you like, with the high collar that covers all of last night’s bruises up wonderfully.

Jungkook scoffs as he finally gets the two of you back onto the main road, Target and the flat screen left behind. “I didn’t,” he defends. “Just thought it was neat.”

You snort. “Neat. Okay, grandpa, did it tickle your pickle?” you tease, obnoxiously leaning over the center console to get all in his face. Jungkook greets your proximity with a palm against your forehead.

“Please don’t ever say that again,” he laughs, pulling to a stop at the next red light. He turns to level you with an easygoing grin, sparkly anime girl eyes extra shiny under the red glow. “Only want you to tickle my pickle.”

You gag. “That’s actually disgusting.”

——

You graduate on a Saturday and your dorm stay expires on the Tuesday that follows. You spend the entire day shoving all your belongings into a variety of trash bags, from your weighted blanket to the collection candles you and Doyeon swore to light every night and never did. Speaking of Doyeon, she cries through the entire process. From the moment you take down the first wall decoration she’s in tears, and not even her mom, who’s come to help out, can quell her emotions. The girl cries and cries. She cries throughout the clean up, like she hadn’t spent the week before cursing the funky aircon system to hell and back. It’s probably the nostalgia that comes with leaving college, you assume. When Jungkook picks you up around noon, even your eyes are glassy.

Jungkook’s mom, who you only just met a few months ago, is over at his place when you arrive. You get along fairly well, in fact, you would even go as far as to claim you got along really well. You had first met her over this past spring break when Jungkook invited you along to his family trip to some tropical island. The Jeons were lovely people. In fact, had Jungkook not explicitly introduced them as his parents, you would’ve thought they were some sitcom actors carrying out the role of most in love, sophisticated lovers to ever exist. Yeah, they were super into each other, and you suppose it’s why Jungkook is the way he is, loves as hard as he does. The only thing that broke their attention away from each other was the sight of their precious Jungkookie bringing you to a family event.

It was hard to keep them entertained. Every second was spent worrying about your appearance, your demeanor, whether or not you looked like a devil beside their (your) angelic boy. It certainly didn’t help that Jungkook was wearing that obnoxiously floral shirt at the restaurant you went to, the first three buttons undone almost lazily. It was a look your boyfriend rarely showed, always so meticulously dressed. Of course, he had that cute boyish style of his that consisted almost exclusively of baggy pants and designer tee’s a little too plain to cost as much as they did. But even those outfits had a specific Jungkook rhythm to them— the darker tones always went with the pants that had twelve buckles on them; the long sleeves always went with the jeans. He was awfully particular about those kinds of self-set rules, and this jarring floral print did not fit any of them. It was too provocative, the black skinny jeans he’d paired with it too devious.

Maybe he knew what he was doing to you dressed so hot like this, but knowing Jungkook, you doubt he did. His parents hadn’t batted a single lash his way, eyes laser focused on your every word as you stumbled through three plates and dessert. It was a battle you fought alone, and one you barely survived.

So despite you impressing his parents, she still gives you an odd look when you enter Jungkook’s swanky townhouse with all your garbage bags of items. You promise her it’s just for the weekend, until your parents clean out your old room that they’ve filled to the brim with holiday decorations and miscellaneous objects. You’re not trying to take her baby chick out of the nest. (Yet.)

You watch TV for a couple hours, mostly her favorite soap operas on his 67 in. screen. It takes up a huge spot on the wall where it’s mounted, glossy black screen glaring back at you. Even his mom scolds him for such a huge screen, and you wonder how she’d feel about the absolute giant he ogled at the Target last week. Super angry, you think, and the image of her raging in flames while Jungkook apologizes like the momma’s boy he is makes you giggle.

She leaves a little after sunset, kissing and hugging the both of you on the doorstep like she’s going off to war and will never return. She’ll be back by the weekend, desperate to check on her baby boy, but you let her have her moment. It’s weird seeing how dramatic the Jeons are compared to how reserved Jungkook is.

You pounce on him the second she’s gone. He goes down with a muffled yelp against the sofa, hands grasping at your waist until you straddle him and begin going to town. Your fun lasts all of two minutes before the old lady novella Jungkook’s mom had been watching cuts to commercials and a loud advertisement for irritable bowel syndrome medication begins playing.

“Oh, that is so not sexy,” you whine childishly, trying to roll your hips over him again. Jungkook laughs, all low and sweet as he sits back up again.

“Give it a rest,” he says, shifting you until he’s got you hugged between those stupidly strong arms of his. His pecs feel strong and comforting beneath your cheek, and the feeling makes your tiny pouting session end earlier than usual. “Come on,” he mumbles as he manhandles you around, until your back is pressed against his chest and you’re sitting between his legs. “Let’s watch this film on Mesopotamian folklore and its overall significance to the nations it birthed after its downfall.”

——

You rarely use the key Jungkook gifted you a few months back. The majority of your visits to Jungkook’s house were either the result of Jungkook picking you up from somewhere and bringing you back, or Jungkook inviting you over after dinner. In short, he was always with you when you arrived at his stoop.

Today you’re alone, juggling two boxes of takeout and some cheap wine in one hand as you fight to unlock his door. He hadn’t answered his phone, which leads you to believe he’s holed himself up again in that damn study. He likes to do that sometimes, lock himself away like some modern day Rapunzel until he finishes whatever project he has this time around. When he gets like this, it’s like all other body functions are forgotten, his brain zeroed in on the lines of code you barely understand.

Just as you suspect, the house is too dark when you finally break in. The hall light is off, which isn’t out of the norm, but so are the kitchen and living room lights. You pad down the hall, flicking on the light to the living room to set down your offerings onto the edge of the coffee table. There’s a scrambled pile of notes on top that seem too disorderly to disregard. You whirl around, making to head back out into the hall and down to the study, when you see it.

A good 90 inches mounted on his wall. It’s a monstrosity of a screen, devouring nearly the entire surface of the wall, from stainless end to stainless end. It’s ridiculously thin in the way all modern TVs are, but this one is even more so given the fact you hadn’t registered it in your peripheral when you walked in. It’s just barely short of a Jumbotron, the kind they have at baseball games to make sure you can see every nose hair on the pitcher.

His mom was going to kill him.

“Jungkook?” you call out slowly, inching back out into the hall with your gaze glued to the screen. Like maybe you’ve imagined this all and that isn’t the stupidly gigantic television screen Jungkook had gawked at just a few weeks ago.

There’s a soft hum down the hall, the sound slipping beneath the bottom gap in the door frame. You make a beeline for the room, oddly unsettled with the huge screen. The door gives way, exposing your boyfriend’s hunched back and the blue light from his monitors that highlights his frame. “Hi, sweetie,” you begin, inching over to him.

“Hi,” he sighs, leaning back into your touch when you step behind him. His dark eyes are weary from staring at his tablet for too long, his usual tender expression melted into one of mild irritation. “Can’t figure this out,” he says, tapping his stylus against one line of absolute nerd gibberish you don’t bother trying to decipher. Maybe another day you would have entertained him, but today you cherish this moment with him knowing it might be his last before his mom comes over and kills him.

“Sounds like break time to me!” Your proclamation makes him frown, a frustrated groan pulling itself from his lips. His head droops forward again, chin touching his chest. But there’s a hint of relief in his groan that tells you all you need to know. “Baby needs a break,” you smile, pressing a peck against the back of his head.

“You’re baby,” he tries to fight, but his limbs are so pliant under your touch that it practically means nothing. “I’m the head honcho around here.”

“Uh huh,” you appease him, finally managing to tug all that muscled body out of his seat. “And apparently that means making dumb purchases.”

“What dumb purchases? Are you talking about the cactus again?” he asks, letting you guide him back down the hall.

“Yes, Kook, the cactus you haven’t watered in three months,” you drawl sarcastically, the sad plant sitting in the kitchen a reminder of both your incompetence. “Namjoon would hate you for that.”

Not amused by the insinuation of his favorite senpai being disappointed in him, Jungkook goes to fight you on that. By then you’ve stopped at the entrance of the living room, glaring at the straight up theater screen that sits on the wall. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you mimic, flopping down on the ground beside the coffee table. Jungkook doesn’t follow, choosing to sprawl himself over the couch instead. “What’s with the Jumbotron?”

He stretches his arms out, moaning something sinful at the way his bones pop. “It adds to the experience,” he says. “Movies are more enjoyable when the pictures are bigger; a tall aspect ratio and stadium seating really add to the experience.” He was such a nerd.

You snort. “The experience— Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t know I was speaking to Mr. IMAX here.”

His cheeks flush a soft pink at your jab. “Don’t be mean,” he mumbles, tugging on your arm as he sits back up. You find your way onto his lap, neatly seated over one thigh like he’s the Santa Claus at the mall; not a single gray hair in sight but you’d still let him call you his hoe, hoe, hoe. Realizing there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Christmas ham, you shake those images away.

“Good thing I brought a movie,” you beam, gesturing to the pretty pink case resting over top the takeout bag.

Jungkook doesn’t even spare it a single glance as he burrows into your neck. “What? No, we’re finishing the docuseries on—“

You groan loudly to muffle the rest of his sentence. “Kook, I don’t wanna watch another episode on Stonehenge being done by aliens,” you whine, picking up the movie case to brandish in his face.

It’s admittedly the wrong move when Jungkook’s eyes roll themselves into another dimension. “Absolutely not,” he says. The case is quickly discarded off to the side as he attempts to distract you with a kiss against your cheek.

Too bad you’re evil and determined. “No! We are watching the Princess and the Pauper and that’s final,” you exclaim, scrambling for the movie before he can hurl it out the window. He catches you by the waist, your fingers just an inch away from the pink case. “Babe!” you cry, but his fingerprints are bruising their way into your skin.

“No more Barbie movies,” he begs, yanking you back onto his lap. He does so with so much force that it makes the two of you tumble to the side, your head bouncing on the cushions as he catches himself over you. “Please.”

“I hate you,” you fuss, pointedly ignoring the tiny mole beneath his lip that drove you crazy. “We’ve seen every single thing on the History Channel this week, but we can’t watch one Barbie movie?”

Jungkook sighs, dropping his head down against your shoulder. He smells good and feels even better over you, but you’re not going to stop until the Princess and the Pauper is breaking in the new Jumbotron. “It’s weird,” he huffs, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “Especially when we start getting… experimental, and I have to listen to Barbie sing in the background.”

“First of all, her name is Annaleise in this movie,” you correct, squirming beneath him to no avail. “Secondly, how do you think I feel when you’re eating me out while some old British dude narrates the creation of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon?”

Jungkook scoffs, finally letting himself snuggle completely into you. “You don’t even realize it because you’re screaming the whole way through.” That earns him a sharp tug at his ear that has him sputtering apology after apology.

“It’s boring!” you feel the need to emphasize.

Jungkook sits up with an uppity look on his face. “It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate the cinematography that comes from educational pieces,” he points out, rather presumptuously.

You shove him off of you. “I don’t care about cinnamon topography, just play the damn Barbie movie,” you hiss, swiping the movie case from the other end of the couch and pressing it to his chest. If words could hurt, yours definitely do. Jungkook crumbles against the couch, childishly stomping one sock-clad foot against the ground as you gesture toward the movie player.

He doesn’t move, and you’re about to begin another tirade against his snobby movie critiquing habits when he procures a sleek, tiny remote that you would honestly mistake for an iPhone from a distance. It has, no joke, about seven buttons max, four of which are just the up and down, left and right arrows. You let out a low whistle at that. Wow. Technology sure was advancing.

The TV turns on to some minimalistic home page, tiny widgets showing every app it has; the bottom row is dedicated almost entirely to Jungkook’s massive streaming service provider collection. After a moment of brewing in his feels, Jungkook quietly announces, “it’s on Amazon Prime.” This is news to you, being able to watch a Barbie film on a streaming service and not the old disk you scratched when you were ten. Something distinctly carnal flashes in your chest when Jungkook clicks through all the payment options without a care in the world. Oh, that was definitely going into your horny 3 am dreams.

Despite his earlier protests, you know Jungkook will soon fall into his usual movie watching habits. He settles into the couch beside you. You cuddle up next to him, enveloping him with the grip of a killer octopus choking out its prey, except Jungkook is usually the one doing the choking in this relationship. Still, it’s not close enough, and you throw your legs over his thigh. You’re practically sitting on him at this point.

You have no doubt the speakers on this thing are average; it was too thin to really pack any punch. However, that was the TV sans the Bluetooth speakers Jungkook has installed all around his house.

(You swear when the android uprising finally begins, your boyfriend will be the first one out.)

The speakers really amplify the sound. The opening sequence has your bones rattling inside your body, the loud music of the selection screen reverberating through the entire living room. It reminds you of that pounding COMING SOON clip that used to play at the beginning of DVD’s back in the day. Jungkook scrambles to lower the volume. “Sweetheart, you’re cutting off my circulation,” he wheezes afterwards.

“What? This is how we always watch movies,” you say with a frown.

“Yes, and I always end up with less oxygen than before.”

He doesn’t let you argue, which is good, because you could make a thirty five slide PowerPoint presentation on the advantages of watching movies like this. One, your boyfriend was warm. Two, your boyfriend smelt good. Three, your boyfriend’s ripped body awoke some ancient being inside of you that would not rest until his cock was halfway down your thro—

He hauls you into his lap. The angle forces you to let him go, instead met with the jarring nothingness of having his hot body ripped away. Meanwhile he gets to wrap you up in his arms, hold you like a teddy bear to his chest. “I hate this,” you huff, but the movie is already starting, the beautiful blonde Anneliese appearing on screen. You lean back against his chest, pout still evident. “This is ridiculous,” you snort, her face blown up on this jumbo screen.

“Shut up,” he says, settling in behind you. “Movie’s starting.”

Most Barbie movies you watch end up in one of two ways: either Jungkook falls asleep twenty minutes in or he stays up until the end to critique every aspect of it. With the way he’d gone soft from your early battle, you’re guessing he was going to knock out before the Princess can even meet the Pauper.

As much as you hate to admit it, the huge screen does incite quite a thrill in you. There’s something so nostalgic about watching one of your favorite childhood movies on a screen this huge. The size showcases the sheer perfection that is every single Barbie movie. You lose yourself in the movie, singing along to the opening song and growing agitated when the antagonist appears.

Jungkook says nothing, and you’re half convinced he’s taken his first preferred route and snoozed off, when his fingers twitch around your waist.

There it was.

The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack.

“Absolutely not,” you say, slapping a hand down over his before he can slip beneath the fabric of your shorts.

He lets out an indignant noise, a puff of air running along the side of your face. You ease his hands back over your stomach, taking extra care to knot your fingers with his. “We’re supposed to be breaking in your new screen,” you remind him, glancing up to catch his unimpressed expression.

He complains quietly, but he settles.

For all of twenty seconds.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, trying to act like the subtle rutting of his cock on your behind was a nuisance and not the luxury it is. “Babe, the jumbo screen… look at it.”

“Not even jumbo,” he murmurs against your ear, hot breath sending a shiver down your spine that has your toes curling. You fight to keep his hands still, but the muscles in his forearm tense, inked skin contracting as he slips them between your thighs. You suck in a sharp inhale, trying to maintain your immovable front. Jungkook sees the fortress you’ve built around yourself in the name of watching The Princess and the Pauper, and spares you no mercy with his attack. His hands massage the skin of your thighs, tiny shorts doing absolutely nothing to save you from him. “Jumbo didn’t fit.”

The back of your mind registers the fact he was apparently trying to get a TV even bigger than this. You tuck it away for later to snitch to his mom. For now, you’d very much appreciate it if he could make you cum before the two girls perform the iconic “I Am a Girl Like You” song.

His hands are so smooth, soft skin tracing over your body like you were nothing but a slab of clay ready to be molded under his touch. He abandons your thighs to creep them under your shirt, where he wastes no time tugging the cups of your bra down to fondle your breasts.

Belatedly, your stupid tongue remembers to move. “I know something jumbo that fits,” you babble, rolling your head back against his shoulder. Jungkook laughs at the utter stupidity of your sentence, and the aforementioned jumbo thing fattens against your ass, before brushing his lips against yours. The airy laughter, one of your favorite sounds in the world, is swallowed up by your greedy mouth. “Can fit in two places, actually,” you murmur when he pulls away. His fingers massage the doughy skin of your boobs causing your back to arch slightly. “Wherever he wants it to.”

“Really,” Jungkook teases, obviously entertained by your silly dirty talk. He’s grown used to your outlandish remarks in the past few months of your relationship.

You like to believe Jungkook has fully accepted your occasional bouts of weirdness. He’s had the last few months to grow familiar with the inner workings of your mind, and even absorbed some of it into his own personality. Which is why he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by you referring to his cock as jumbo, when there were admittedly more fitting words to describe it as.

(Thick, juicy, angry, demon cock, if he really wanted to know.)

“Where do you think it should go?” he asks, the low hum of his voice snapping you out or your thoughts. There was no need to daydream about a cock that was right in front of you. His hands slow their gentle caress over you, fingers closing in on your nipples.

A sharp hiss pulls itself from your throat, chest arching as he tugs and toys with your hardened nipples. “Wh-Wherever,” you pant, reaching your own hands down back between your thighs. The phantom of his palms linger, making your hands feel sorely inadequate. “Wherever Daddy wants,” you purr, swallowing harshly when he twists a nipple.

Jungkook groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Don’t,” he sighs, hands faltering over your breasts. Eventually they drift away, settling around your waist as you slip your fingers under the front of your bottoms.

“Why?” you laugh, pointer finger brushing along your clit. “Don’t like it when I call you that, Daddy?”

He lifts his head to watch you play with yourself. His hands grow tight around your waist, labored breath filling the air to harmonize with your breathy moans. You’re absolutely soaking your panties, sticky arousal making the fabric stick to your folds. “You know I do,” he murmurs, watching the outline of your knuckles through the fabric of your shorts. “Thought you wanted to play nice today.” He takes in a sharp inhale when you ease your finger into yourself, a breathy moan escaping from your lips.

You were already so wet, and you’re really not surprised this is how the two of you would break in his new IMAX, high definition flatscreen. Your pussy tightens around your finger, thigh muscles jumping at the intrusion. Fuck, you needed him so bad.

You smirk, drawing your hands out from their hiding spot. The television is the only thing lighting the room, the two of you shrouded in relative darkness. At first, your hand is shadowed by the glow of the screen, nothing more than an outline. But when you turn it just right, the light catches, highlighting the glistening skin of your fingers. It makes Jungkook shudder.

Ever so slowly, you bring your fingers up to his face. The tip of your middle finger runs teasingly against his plump lower lip, his shaky exhales sending a cool breath over your knuckles. “Open, Daddy,” you encourage, watching with rapt attention as he envelopes your fingers between his lips. He sucks, tongue dancing between each digit to slurp off your juices. “Do I taste good? Do you like it?”

You know he loves it, but it never hurts to ask.

Between the two of you, you each had your own share of distinctive interests when it came to sex. Kinks, if you will. You adored the softer, vanilla aspects of sex— the languid makeouts, the slow rutting against his thigh, the whispered praise, the cute pet names. Meanwhile, despite his initially reserved exterior, Jungkook preferred the other end of the spectrum. (You should’ve known from the get go!) He loved it fast and hard, so hard it would make you cry. He liked watching you squirm and beg for his cock while he pushed you to new heights. He liked the sticky, sweaty sex that left you feeling like a used rag beneath him, something you would have never expected given his neat and kind nature.

However, as with all things Jungkook, you always came first. Jungkook’s dream sex style was often pushed to the side in favor of pleasuring you. So quick and rough sex was more of a rare, once in a blue moon, type of luxury. Up until recently, sex had been mostly what you wanted. Either way you did things, Jungkook was fine as long as he got to hold you close.

It was only a few weeks ago that you discovered your shared daddy kink, him obsessed with the idea of shoving you around, something he would otherwise never do. You, on the other hand, found a pleasant satisfaction from being good for him, a stark contrast from your usual sharp tongue and nonexistent filter.

You pull your fingers from his mouth, the sleek drip of your arousal replaced with his saliva. Jungkook grunts as he hauls you further onto his lap, swollen cock nudging itself between your cheeks. “You know I love it, baby,” he growls against your ear. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Have you had your fun now?” he asks, tracing the pads of his fingers around your nipple teasingly.

“Mhm,” you moan. Jungkook’s hands decide they’re done toying with your tits, drifting back down to their original target between your shorts. “Want Daddy to fuck me now.”

He places a kiss against the side of your neck, right over the vein that runs beneath the skin. Jungkook kisses and nips down your skin, until his hair is tickling your collarbones as he sucks a hickey against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Is that the right way to ask for something?” he purrs, rubbing your cunt over your shorts.

It’s nowhere near as fulfilling as it would be without the garments. Nonetheless, it makes you ache for him, thighs quivering at the simple touch like you’re a bumbling virgin being touched for the first time. You’re nowhere near that, but every time with Jungkook was exhilarating enough to the point it felt like it was.

“Pretty please,” you pant, covering his hand with yours.

Jungkook rewards you with a fluttery kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl,” he hums. He finally gives you what you want, bypassing the fabric of your shorts and panties to dip his fingers between your folds. You gasp, hips jumping at the sudden brush of his hands along your quivering folds.

“Inside please,” you whimper, knees moving back and forth, only stopping when he helps you out of your bottoms. He places his free hand on one of them, stilling your writhing to fully focus on pleasing the burning fire inside of you. “Jungkook—“

A slap against your cunt that makes you squeal. “Ah ah,” he warns, voice a low tenor against your skin. If you focus hard enough, you can feel the faint brush of a smirk against your neck. “We’re playing a different game right now, pretty girl.”

On screen, your favorite childhood movie is bearing witness to the sinful acts at your boyfriend’s hands. It shouldn’t be surprising how easily you fall into his arms, onto his lap, especially with your history of movie watching with Jungkook.

From your very first date you were enamored with him; the dip of his Cupid’s bow, so innocent and cute, embodied every single aspect of his personality. He was the sweetest, softest boy, one your brain could never conjure in a thousand years. Jungkook’s level of care was hard to come by nowadays; he was a gentleman through and through.

These days he was growing out of that mature persona, and you like to think it’s thanks to you. Your wildness rubbed off on him, made him confident enough to geek out in public, or be adventurous in private. It helped nourish his impulsivity, which led to things like the Super Bowl Jumbotron watching you fuck now.

Despite knowing all this, knowing the way he is, the slow grind against your ass sends a thrill of arousal up your limbs, sensations converging just beneath your mound. “Yes, Daddy,” you mewl accordingly.

Pleased with your obedience, he rewards you by circling your throbbing clit with his thumb. It’s a terribly slow motion, pad of his finger easing over your engorged bud every other second. You wanted more, needed more. You squirm beneath him, attempting to push your clit against his palm. Your efforts are in vain when he clamps a hand down on your waist. “Sit still,” he growls.

You whimper. “Need more,” you rasp out. Your whole body is acting out now, shifting and turning as you try to wiggle closer. Your mouth brushes against his jawline. The sharp angle is the first thing your muddled thoughts focus on, lips hungrily latching onto his porcelain skin to suck a purple blossom onto it.

Any other day Jungkook would bask in the attention, let you bruise his skin up until he was violet from love.

Today... well.

You were playing a different game.

The hand that had been exploring your nether regions suddenly snaps up, catching your chin between his fingers. The wetness that has coated his digits smears messily across your skin, and you whimper when he squishes your cheeks beneath his fingers.

“No ‘please’?” he huffs, turning your head to meet his eyes.

Dark chocolate eyes you’ve come to associate with love and adoration stare back at you unimpressed. His pronounced brow bone twitches, like he’s holding the true intensity of his glare back for your own sake. He slots his mouth against yours with no warning, tongue pushing its way past your lips. It’s messy, his tongue licking into your mouth like you’re nothing but a lollipop for him to suck on. It pulls a surprised moan from your lips that he swallows quickly enough, biting down on your lower lip harshly. When he pulls away, he’s got that same bored look on his face. You feel small under such a cold look, shoulders scrunching up damn near your ears in a subtle attempt to hide from him.

The action makes Jungkook scoff as he leans away from you. He leaves you on his lap alone, like a tiny island desperate to join the main land. You shuffle around in a hurry, looping your arms around his neck in a last ditch effort to calm him down. It does nothing for Jungkook, who only prods his tongue along his cheek as he regards you with a calculating gaze.

After a moment, he finally says, “on your knees.”

Your heart falls out of your chest. “Huh?” you whisper hoarsely, wide eyes taking in his unimpressed expression. “Knees? But Daddy,” you whine, lower lip quivering as you glance down at the hardwood floor.

Anywhere else you wouldn’t have minded. In fact, anywhere else you would’ve been on the floor before the sentence even left his mouth. You loved sucking his dick almost as much as he loved eating you out. However your knees were embarrassingly frail against hard flooring, which is why most blowjobs had been administered in the comfort of his bed or the couch. Sometimes on carpeted surfaces, but Jungkook never pushed when he knew you would be aching the whole time.

Which is why his current demand has you standing stiff. “O-On the floor?” you murmur.

The stark truth was that Jungkook had you terribly spoiled. His constant pampering had convinced you you were invincible. His love was practically handed to you on a silver plate, cloth napkin folded like a crane beside it. He had never made you do something you didn’t like, and he had never put you in an uncomfortable position, mentally or physically.

Until now.

Jungkook gestures for the ground with a curt nod. “Is there a problem?” he inquires.

You look back again, eye the dark wood planks beneath you, glossed over enough to make them shine even in this weak light. “No,” you belatedly respond, slowly pushing yourself off his lap and onto your feet. Your big shirt falls back down, covers the tops of your thighs as you stand nude from the waist down. You’re tempted to just yank it down even more, hide beneath the cloth so he doesn’t have to see you whine and bitch about your knees aching.

Jungkook was so cool. He was so suave and composed. He was the opposite of you, which is why the two of you meshed so well together. You’ve thought about it about ten times tonight, but it was true. Despite all that, there were times his mature exterior made you feel small— small and silly. Like now, with him sitting against the sofa, dark eyes tracing up your legs in amusement.

You sink to the ground, very pointedly avoiding his gaze. The wooden slats are cold and hard beneath your knees, your kneecap immediately screaming in discomfort. Jungkook leans forward with his elbows on his knees, messy curls covering half of his face. “You know,” he hums, reaching out to trail his knuckles across your cheekbone. “I kinda like having you like this,” he admits, “below me like the good little girl you are.”

Your breath stutters as it leaves your lungs, fidgeting hands tugging at the front hem of your shirt in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up. Jungkook smirks at the movement, eventually retracting his hand to give you one, condescending pat on the head.

A hearty sigh escapes his lips as he settles back onto the couch cushions. “Keep me entertained, will you?” You gawk, but you know it’s not a question. He reaches over for the remote to turn the volume up on the Barbie movie.

Your favorite song on the entire soundtrack is playing, almost mocking you as you shuffle closer to him. Two hands tentatively placed on his thighs as the two animated maidens flounce around the screen. He doesn’t bat a single lash your way, eyes focused on the huge screen behind you instead.

His sweatpants give away easily, elastic band snapping away from hips. You have to fight that and his boxers down, Jungkook sitting like an immovable boulder in front of you. You barely manage to free his cock— the same jumbo cock you had referred to earlier —and it almost slaps you across the face from the force of its recoil. Your breath catches in your throat, a short-lived squeal as you flinch at the movement.

The sound causes him to look your way, over the bridge of his nose. “Do you mind?” he says scornfully. “I’m trying to watch a movie.”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer, quickly grasping his cock between your fist.

But apparently you’re doing everything wrong tonight. Jungkook hisses. “Shit— would it kill you to lick it first? Like you’re trying to start a damn fire on my cock,” he mumbles, head lolling back to watch the screen again.

You move in slower this time, careful to lick your palm before trying to grab him. When you do, it’s even more delayed, fingers hesitantly tightening around his swollen member. You’re trying to gauge his reaction, worried eyes flickering up to him every few seconds. Jungkook doesn’t object, craning his neck to the side to crack a joint there. With his clearance you carry on.

The strokes are slow at first, hand barely reaching over his tip like he likes. You’re weirdly anxious you’ll mess up for him, make him look at you with contempt. You suppose it’s because of the game you’re playing that you’re on edge. Usually, Jungkook adheres to your rules, soft as they may be, and he never pushes where you don’t want. Tonight, it’s like you’re a show dog desperate to impress her owner. In short, you were his bitch.

You loved it.

As much as you wanted to be good for him, the mere thought of your normally sweet-hearted boyfriend glaring down at you does something to you, makes your pussy clench.

It’ll haunt you for weeks. The image of such unimpressed eyes leveled your way because you couldn’t handle his dick will stain the insides of your eyelids. Even though he’ll brush it off, kiss you and tell you it’s fine, the inner conceited hoe in you will never let it go, will recall the memory every time your hand is under your panties.

Still, you’re terribly desperate to impress him. He was your other half, your lover, your sweetheart, your goddamn king; he deserved only the best— not some half-assed, scaredy-cat blowjob that would leave him reeling back afterwards.

With that belief and a sticky blob of spit later, you’re pushing him into your throat. It’s the first reaction you get since he’d started feeling you up, a deep, raspy groan straight from the pits of hell, that has you working even harder to swallow his cock down. “That’s it,” he pants, carding his fingers through your hair. “Good girl.”

You positively mewl under the praise, tongue growing heavy in your mouth as you swallow more and more of him down. The hard tip of his cock pulses inside, rubbing against your palate and then your throat. A gag catches in your throat, one you quickly subdue by shifting your hips.

Fuck, he was so big. Just the feeling of his cock brashly rubbing against the corners of your lips has you fantasizing about how he’ll undoubtedly stretch your pussy apart later. You moan, letting your eyes flutter shut as you try to wave those images away.

When his cock hits the back of your throat, you’re ten chapters deep into an erotic novel all about sucking Jungkook‘s dick. If your eyes weren’t already shut you’re certain they’d be at the back of your head anyway. It twitches against your tongue, one thick bead of precum sliding down your throat.

It seems to be the final straw for Jungkook, who clamps a hand down on the back of your head, forcefully pulling you away only to shove you down again. With his grip in your hair, he really goes to town. You whimper at his brutal movements, his cock nudging the back of your throat with every harsh tug of your hair. The slippery, wet glide of his cock against your mouth fills the room with a lewd squelching that drowns out the movie.

Your pussy quivers with each new intrusion, thighs pressing together as if that will quell the searing ache between them. It doesn’t, and when Jungkook finally bursts in your mouth, creamy cum splattering against your tongue and lips, it only grows.

“Fuck,” he growls, pushing you away as he sinks back into the cushions. His chest heaves beneath the material of his t-shirt, sweat dripping down from his hairline. Normally, you’d take this opportunity to crawl back onto his lap, lick and kiss away at his body while he recovered. But truthfully, you were both still new to this whole experience so there were still the occasional lulls between actions.

Sensing your uncertainty, Jungkook tugs you onto his lap. He presses one soft kiss against your cheek, eyes momentarily losing their hard edge to assure you everything is fine. You give him a tiny nod, as if assuring him you’re okay. He presses his mouth to yours, plush lips soothing over your raw lips. It’s brief, the kiss; he guides you through it but switches back quickly. He pulls away and bites down harshly on the side of your neck. “So perfect for me, pretty girl,” he murmurs, soothing his bite over with a swipe of his tongue.

You dissolve into a mushy puddle on his lap, muscles growing weak from his touch. Jungkook kisses down your neck, over your t-shirt clad chest, before he’s nudging you back down onto the cushions. With him looming over you, your body instinctively has you spreading your legs apart. His t-shirt comes up with one yank over his shoulders, sinewy muscles coming into view.

“Yum,” you whisper, hands reaching up to trail over his v-line. They’re quickly slapped away, a startled gasp pulled from your lips as Jungkook takes your wrists in his hands.

One shapely brow is raised in your direction. “Did I say you could touch?” he murmurs, pinning your hands above your head. A gasp catches in your throat from his close proximity. You subconsciously tilt your head up, try to brush your mouth against his, only to be denied with a subtle turn of his face. “How do you want it, pretty?” he asks, releasing the tight grip around your wrists.

Immediately, you latch around his broad shoulders, fingers tracing over the muscles of his arms until they meet at the base of his neck. “However you want,” you purr, pulling him closer until your bodies are aligned, the warm heat of his frame over yours. You kiss the spot beneath his ear once before he trails his lips down.

Jungkook mouths against your shoulder, lips tracing over the juncture where it meets your neck. “Hm,” he hums, taking a tiny sliver of skin between his teeth. “And if I said I wanted it hard?”

His proposal is followed by a slow roll of his hips against your throbbing core, the same dick you had just choked on gliding along your folds. You whimper, toes curling as the pleasure washes over you. Every ridge, ever vein of his hardened cock runs along your sensitive folds, reminding you of the aching flame inside of you. “Th-That’s fine,” you pant, leg lazily thrown over his hip. His hands trail over your waist, collecting your t-shirt as they move up your body until it’s pushed over the swell of your breasts.

When the material is finally discarded off to the side, leaving you in that flimsy bra Jungkook that snaps off, he strikes again. His tongue laps over your collarbone first, pouty lips ghosting over the skin as he makes his way to your breast. He takes one hardened peak into his mouth, drawing a shaky inhale from you. He rolls it between his teeth, tongue flicking the sensitive nub as you squirm beneath him.

Eventually he pulls away with a wet pop. Jungkook smirks, a soft puff of air fanning over your newly bruised skin. “Aren’t you the prettiest little thing.” He pushes away from you with one strong arm, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Watch the movie,” he says.

You blink. “Huh?”

Before you know it, he’s tugging you back up onto your feet. He pushes you around, nearly sends you toppling over the coffee table as he positions you to his liking. “Kook!” you exclaim, palms slapping down against the glass tabletop in an effort to catch yourself. Just barely, your reflection glares back up at you.

A tap against your pussy startles you from the sight. “Wha—“

Two hands grab onto your biceps, tugging you up forcefully until your back arches, leaving you bent at a ninety degree angle before him. “Look, sweetheart,” he coos against your ear, voice deep enough that it vibrates through every bone in your body. Your breath stutters in your throat, exhilaration blossoming in your chest. “It’s your favorite movie.”

It is in fact your favorite movie, the same one you had fought tooth and nail just moments prior to watch. On screen, the two damsels are exploring new things in their lives, just how you were experiencing Jungkook’s true intensity for the first time. “It is,” you quietly confirm, back aching from the position.

Jungkook either doesn’t care about your depleting strength or really trusts in you not to faceplant onto his glass coffee table, palms sliding down to the crease of your elbows to hold you. “Tell me what it’s about,” he says

Just as the words leave his mouth, something hard and wet prods against your folds. “Oh,” you cry, fists tightening into balls as the feeling overwhelms you. “Jungkook, please.”

One elbow is let go, and the abrupt release has you scrambling to catch yourself, your glass reflection coming a little too close. This becomes even more difficult when a hand suddenly strikes down hard against your ass, a startled yelp escaping you. Just as quickly as you were released, Jungkook wastes no time snatching your back up, yanking you back until your cunt runs along his cock again.

“C’mon, pretty, thought you knew better,” he sighs playfully.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, chest heaving with every slow roll of his hips. Your pussy was sopping, desperate to be filled with something. It was even worse knowing his dick was right there, just inches outside of where you need him most. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you repeat.

Jungkook chuckles, and your heart backflips when he finally begins lining himself up. “It’s okay,” he assures you, in that same gentle tone he uses when you accidentally shove the wrong food down the sink disposal. “Baby’s still learning,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss against your shoulder as he begins pushing himself in. Just the head of his cock proves to be a struggle, swollen tip stretching your entrance wide. There’s an extra sting today from your half-hearted preparation, the both of you relying solely on your own arousal and excitement to let him in. It’s a nice kick.

When he finally pops past that initial tightness, you swear you could transcend into another dimension from the absolute feeling of euphoria that washes over you. “Fuck,” you mewl, fighting against his tight hold. Your efforts are in vain, ultimately choosing to drop your head down as the ecstasy continues to wash over you with each inch he offers you.

A warning squeeze around your wrist. “Language,” Jungkook reprimands, though his voice is strained and light.

You nod mindlessly, toes curling against the wooden floor. “It-It feels so good,” you whine. Your knees wobble dangerously beneath you, until you’re swaying just the slightest bit.

He gives until there’s nothing left, the soft hairs around his dick tickling your lips as he reaches the hilt. “There we go,” he grunts, giving you one final tug to make sure this is as far as he can go. You squeal, the brush against your walls making you ridiculously high. “That’s my girl.”

The praise has your stomach tightening, the pretty images flashing across the screen completely lost on you. You felt so full. The two of you rarely did it like this, without looking at each other straight on, but there was something about Jungkook’s looming figure being distorted by your brain’s memory, his touches wild and unpredictable, that made something inside of you twitch.

“Ohhh,” you whimper, muscles going slack for the briefest moment. The only thing that saves you from falling over is the killer grip on your forearms; when he tugs you up his cock runs along your pulsing walls. “Please, Daddy,” you beg, mouth feeling a thousand times heavier.

“The movie,” he repeats, slowly beginning to pull away from your clenching heat. You moan. “Tell me what it’s about,” he husks, punctuating his seemingly innocent statement with a harsh snap of his hips.

You wail, stumbling forward at the intensity. Still, it’s just a taste of what he has in store for you. He soon picks a pace, not too rushed or slow, as you struggle to keep your eyes open. “I-I don’t know,” you choke out, the images flashing across the gigantic screen practically unrecognizable to your muddled thoughts.

Behind you Jungkook tuts at your incompetence, thrusting forward with an intensity that would have sent you flying if not for the grip he has on you. “You don’t know?” he huffs, tugging your elbows back again as if to secure his grip on you.

His hips are moving fast now, every piston into your warm heat making you tremble. “Fffuck,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he continues ramming his cock into your pulsing hole. You’re met with a harsh yank that pulls you snugly onto his cock, your entire body screaming at the way he nudges against your cervix. Despite the pleasure it gives you, Jungkook seems anything but pleased.

“C’mon,” he huffs, twisting your arms painfully behind your back. “What did we say about that dirty mouth?” His question is followed with a snap of his hips that makes you choke on your spit. “Need you to be good for me, baby,” he groans.

“I-I am good,” you weakly defend, head hanging down limply as you fight to regain some semblance of your senses. But everything feels too much, from the rough push of his hips to the tight grip on your arms. His cock pulls out nearly all the way each time, swollen tip the only thing stopping him. Every thrust makes you quiver, every touch makes you melt.

You suppose he’d been too lenient on you up until now, and that final claim makes him snap. Jungkook scoffs, ramming his dick inside of you. “You’re being fucking terrible right now, doll,” he admits, hammering into you like a crazed man. You sob, the coil in your belly tightening with every brutal shove of his cock. It’s something about the way his composure withers away, all sweetness melting off as he thrusts into your cunt. “I’ve asked you twice now what the damn movie was about, and you didn’t answer either time.”

A hand clamps around your throat suddenly, yanking you up right until his breath fans across your ear. You’re not sure when your eyes had become so teary, but the images flickering across the screen are a foggy mess you couldn’t decipher even if you tried. “__,” he rasps against your ear, his voice scratchy. “Tell me. Now.”

You whimper as he shoves his way back inside, the angry head of his cock testing you. “T-Two girls, one’s a princess,” you cry, knees wobbling as the feeling in your core grows. “They look alike, and-and…”

“And?” Jungkook asks as you trail off, his words followed by a particularly brutal surge of his hips. His cock glides against your walls easily despite the way you clench around him.

“A-And they have problems they wanna avoid,” you stammer, the plot slipping in and out of your mind with every roll of his cock into your core. “So-so they swap places.”

Behind you, Jungkook snorts. “What a stupid fucking movie,” he says meanly, before he begins to piston his cock into you. You’re trembling by now, your orgasm looming over your head with each thrust.

Before you can warn him, the thin string holding you together snaps, the sudden flood of relief making your knees buck dangerously. Jungkook barely has enough time to catch you around the waist, holding you against him as a litany of curses and his name come spewing out of your mouth. “No, no,” you wail, your entire body twitching as the orgasm rolls over you. “Kook— Jungkook!”

“I’ve got you,” he reassures you, fingers holding you tight around the waist. The coffee table you had feared cracking your skull on finally comes to use as you press your hands onto the surface in a feeble attempt to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, faintly aware of the rock hard cock between your pulsing walls, probably drenched in your cum now. “I-I didn’t—“

He shushes you quickly, settling the two of you back onto the couch. Funnily enough, he doesn’t bother pulling you off of him, his dick snug inside your cunt as he seats you on his lap. “You’re alright, sweetheart,” he comforts, hands soothingly running up your sides. You want to protest, want to get back on your knees and give him another chance to cum all over your face, but Jungkook nudges your chin with a knuckle. “Watch your movie,” he croons.

The Princess and the Pauper is literally the last thing on your mind right now; didn’t he realize how much you wanted to please him? Why was he choosing now to be so stubborn? Oh, that Jeon Jungkook, maybe Doyeon was right to call him an airhead.

Your slander campaign against your boyfriend is cut short when a hand flutters over your mound, thumb idly tracing over your sensitive clit. Before you can turn and look at him, Jungkook is rutting his hips against you slowly. “The screen, baby,” he says, and you want to argue that you can’t possibly enjoy a movie with him being so sneaky beneath you. The words get washed away when he presses down on your clit.

“Koo— Daddy,” you whine, lower lips still trembling from the orgasm you had two minutes ago. Jungkook responds with a kiss against your shoulder, hands trailing around your waist.

“No more of that,” he mumbles as he begins bouncing you on his cock. You moan, every inhale cut short by the shallow thrusts of his cock into your delicate walls. “Just your Kook now.”

“My… Kook,” you pant dreamily. Your cum provides an even better lubricant than before, lewd squelches filling the area alongside your cries as Jungkook chases both your second orgasms.

“Mhmm,” he groans, jostling you over his lap with no rhythm whatsoever. “Yours, baby.” You stretch your hands back, carding one set of fingers through the hair above his ear, pushing the strands away from his face. “Just like you’re mine.”

Something inside of you tightens painfully, and you’re not sure if it’s your heart or your pussy. You guess it’s both, as you stutter out, “y-your pretty girl?” Jungkook hums in agreement, repeating your favorite nickname back to you. The rest of your words die out between the two of you, lost in the slow and soft movements that fill in. You want to tell him you love him, adore him like no other, but every breath of air is stolen away by him.

Eventually the two of your are cumming, your second orgasms much quieter and slower compared to your first. You still mewl, wither against him when you cream his cock, and Jungkook catches you all the same. He guides you through the fog with kisses against your jaw, your dripping pussy helping him through his own.

When all is said and done and you’re both basking in a post-orgasmic make-out, you realize how sweaty and icky you are. “Ugh, this is gross,” you pout as he wiggles you off his lap. He pushes you beside him, letting you flop over the length of the couch as he reaches for something to clean you up with.

“You’re gross,” he retorts softly, blinking in that slow, drawn out way he does when you know he’s sleepy. His t-shirt runs along your neck, collecting the sweat there.

You nudge him with your foot. “I’m not the one who wanted to fuck during a Barbie movie,” you scoff, pinching the skin on his forearm when his gaze lingers a second too long on your creamy pussy. “Look somewhere else, weirdo.”

Jungkook laughs quietly, looking at you with an adoring expression on his face. He doesn’t even finish cleaning you off, tossing the soiled shirt somewhere off to the side in favor of cuddling into you. “Where? My Jumbotron?” he teases, raining down a parade of kisses against your face. “Don't wanna,” he smiles, too soft and boyish for the words that leave his lips next. “Wanna lick your pretty pussy clean.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” you scold, covering your face with your palms in embarrassment. “Look at your stupid IMAX screen and leave me alone.”

He cackles loudly now, in that evil witch way it took him a while to show you, and you know he’s got that big silly grin on his face now. . “The IMAX screen? The same one that made you,” a pause, “climax?”

“Get off of me.”

——

Just as you predicted, Jungkook’s mom gives him the scolding of a lifetime when she drops by the next weekend. The poor woman nearly faints at the theater screen on the wall, only to quickly regain herself. You giggle from your spot on the couch as she whacks his stupidly ripped bicep with the leek you’re supposed to chop up for dinner later.

What you’re not expecting is for her anger to shift to you as she scolds you for letting her idiotic son make such purchases. She gets one playful thwack against your side with the leek before your charming idiotic boyfriend swoops in to save you.

——

#goldenclosetnet #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #mine

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mcmansionhell · 4 years ago

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Coronagrifting: A Design Phenomenon

We now interrupt our regularly scheduled content to bring you a critical essay on the design world. I promise you that this will also be funny.

This morning, the design website Dezeen tweeted a link to one of its articles, depicting a plexiglass coronavirus shield that could be suspended above dining areas, with the caption “Reader comment: ‘Dezeen, please stop promoting this stupidity.’”

This, of course, filled many design people, including myself, with a kind of malicious glee. The tweet seemed to show that the website’s editorial (or at least social media) staff retained within themselves a scintilla of self-awareness regarding the spread a new kind of virus in its own right: cheap mockups of COVID-related design “solutions” filling the endlessly scrollable feeds of PR-beholden design websites such as Dezeen, ArchDaily, and designboom. I call this phenomenon: Coronagrifting.

I’ll go into detail about what I mean by this, but first, I would like to presenet some (highly condensed) history.

From Paper Architecture to PR-chitecture

Back in the headier days of architecture in the 1960s and 70s, a number of architectural avant gardes (such as Superstudio and Archizoom in Italy and Archigram in the UK) ceased producing, well, buildings, in favor of what critics came to regard as “paper architecture.” This “paper architecture” included everything from sprawling diagrams of megastructures, including cities that “walked” or “never stopped” - to playfully erotic collages involving Chicago’s Marina City. Occasionally, these theoretical and aesthetic explorations were accompanied by real-world productions of “anti-design” furniture that may or may not have involved foam fingers.

Archigram’s Walking City (1964). Source.

Paper architecture, of course, still exists, but its original radical, critical, playful, (and, yes, even erotic) elements were shed when the last of the ultra-modernists were swallowed up by the emerging aesthetic hegemony of Postmodernism (which was much less invested in theoretical and aesthetic futurism) in the early 1980s. What remained were merely images, the production and consumption of which has only increased as the design world shifted away from print and towards the rapidly produced, easily digestible content of the internet and social media.

Architect Bjarke Ingels’s “Oceanix” - a mockup of an ecomodernist, luxury city designed in response to rising sea levels from climate change. The city will never be built, and its critical interrogation amounts only to “city with solar panels that floats bc climate change is Serious” - but it did get Ingels and his firm, BIG, a TED talk and circulation on all of the hottest blogs and websites. Meanwhile, Ingels has been in business talks with the right-wing climate change denialist president of Brazil, Jair Bolsonaro. (Image via designboom)

Design websites are increasingly dominated by text and mockups from the desks of a firm’s public relations departments, facilitating a transition from the paper-architecture-imaginary to what I have begun calling “PR-chitecture.” In short, PR-chitecture is architecture and design content that has been dreamed up from scratch to look good on instagram feeds or, more simply, for clicks. It is only within this substance-less, critically lapsed media landscape that Coronagrifting can prosper.

Coronagrifting: An Evolution

As of this writing, the two greatest offenders of Coronagrifting are Dezeen, which has devoted an entire section of its website to the virus (itself offering twelve pages of content since February alone) and designboom, whose coronavirus tag contains no fewer than 159 articles.

Certainly, a small handful of these stories demonstrate useful solutions to COVID-related problems (such as this one from designboom about a student who created a mask prototype that would allow D/deaf and hard of hearing people to read lips) most of the prototypes and the articles about them are, for a lack of a better word, insipid.

But where, you may ask, did it all start?

One of the easiest (and, therefore, one of the earliest) Coronagrifts involves “new innovative, health-centric designs tackling problems at the intersection of wearables and personal mobility,” which is PR-chitecture speak for “body shields and masks.”

Wearables and Post-ables

The first example came from Chinese architect Sun Dayong, back at the end of February 2020, when the virus was still isolated in China. Dayong submitted to Dezeen a prototype of a full mask and body-shield that “would protect a wearer during a coronavirus outbreak by using UV light to sterilise itself.” The project was titled “Be a Bat Man.” No, I am not making this up.

Screenshot of Dayong’s “Be a Batman” as seen on the Dezeen website.

Soon after, every artist, architect, designer, and sharp-eyed PR rep at firms and companies only tangentially related to design realized that, with the small investment of a Photoshop mockup and some B-minus marketing text, they too could end up on the front page of these websites boasting a large social media following and an air of legitimacy in the field.

By April, companies like Apple and Nike were promising the use of existing facilities for producing or supplying an arms race’s worth of slick-tech face coverings. Starchitecture’s perennial PR-churners like Foster + Partners and Bjarke Ingels were repping “3D-printed face shields”, while other, lesser firms promised wearable vaporware like “grapheme filters,” branded “skincare LED masks for encouraging self-development” and “solar powered bubble shields.”

While the mask Coronagrift continues to this day, the Coronagrifting phenomenon had, by early March, moved to other domains of design.

Consider the barrage of asinine PR fluff that is the “Public Service Announcement” and by Public Service Announcement, I mean “A Designer Has Done Something Cute to Capitalize on Information Meant to Save Lives.”

Some of the earliest offenders include cutesy posters featuring flags in the shape of houses, ostensibly encouraging people to “stay home;” a designer building a pyramid out of pillows ostensibly encouraging people to “stay home”; and Banksy making “lockdown artwork” that involved covering his bathroom in images of rats ostensibly encouraging people to “stay home.”

Lol. Screenshot from Dezeen.

You may be asking, “What’s the harm in all this, really, if it projects a good message?” And the answer is that people are plenty well encouraged to stay home due to the rampant spread of a deadly virus at the urging of the world’s health authorities, and that these tone-deaf art world creeps are using such a crisis for shameless self promotion and the generation of clicks and income, while providing little to no material benefit to those at risk and on the frontlines.

Of course, like the mask coronagrift, the Public Service Announcement coronagrift continues to this very day.

The final iteration of Post-able and Wearable Coronagrifting genres are what I call “Passive Aggressive Social Distancing Initiatives” or PASDIs. Many of the first PASDIs were themselves PSAs and art grifts, my favorite of which being the designboom post titled “social distancing applied to iconic album covers like the beatle’s abbey road.” As you can see, we’re dealing with extremely deep stuff here.

However, an even earlier and, in many ways more prescient and lucrative grift involves “social distancing wearables.” This can easily be summarized by the first example of this phenomenon, published March 19th, 2020 on designboom:

Never wasting a single moment to capitalize on collective despair, all manner of brands have seized on the social distancing wearable trend, which, again, can best be seen in the last example of the phenomenon, published May 22nd, 2020 on designboom:

We truly, truly live in Hell.

Which brings us, of course, to living.

“Architectural Interventions” for a “Post-COVID World”

As soon as it became clear around late March and early April that the coronavirus (and its implications) would be sticking around longer than a few months, the architectural solutions to the problem came pouring in. These, like the virus itself, started at the scale of the individual and have since grown to the scale of the city. (Whether or not they will soon encompass the entire world remains to be seen.)

The architectural Coronagrift began with accessories (like the designboom article about 3D-printed door-openers that enable one to open a door with one’s elbow, and the Dezeen article about a different 3D-printed door-opener that enables one to open a door with one’s elbow) which, in turn, evolved into “work from home” furniture (”Stykka designs cardboard #StayTheF***Home Desk for people working from home during self-isolation”) which, in turn, evolved into pop-up vaporware architecture for first responders (”opposite office proposes to turn berlin's brandenburg airport into COVID-19 'superhospital'”), which, in turn evolved into proposals for entire buildings (”studio prototype designs prefabricated 'vital house' to combat COVID-19″); which, finally, in turn evolved into “urban solutions” aimed at changing the city itself (a great article summarizing and criticizing said urban solutions was recently written by Curbed’s Alissa Walker).

There is something truly chilling about an architecture firm, in order to profit from attention seized by a global pandemic, logging on to their computers, opening photoshop, and drafting up some lazy, ineffectual, unsanitary mockup featuring figures in hazmat suits carrying a dying patient (macabrely set in an unfinished airport construction site) as a real, tangible solution to the problem of overcrowded hospitals; submitting it to their PR desk for copy, and sending it out to blogs and websites for clicks, knowing full well that the sole purpose of doing so consists of the hope that maybe someone with lots of money looking to commission health-related interiors will remember that one time there was a glossy airport hospital rendering on designboom and hire them.

Enough, already.

Frankly, after an endless barrage of cyberpunk mask designs, social distancing burger king crowns, foot-triggered crosswalk beg buttons that completely ignore accessibility concerns such as those of wheelchair users, cutesy “stay home uwu” projects from well-to-do art celebrities (who are certainly not suffering too greatly from the economic ramifications of this pandemic), I, like the reader featured in the Dezeen Tweet at the beginning of this post, have simply had enough of this bullshit.

What’s most astounding to me about all of this (but especially about #brand crap like the burger king crowns) is that it is taken completely seriously by design establishments that, despite being under the purview of PR firms, should frankly know better. I’m sure that Bjarke Ingels and Burger King aren’t nearly as affected by the pandemic as those who have lost money, jobs, stability, homes, and even their lives at the hands of COVID-19 and the criminally inept national and international response to it. On the other hand, I’m sure that architects and designers are hard up for cash at a time when nobody is building and buying anything, and, as a result, many see resulting to PR-chitecture as one of the only solutions to financial problems.

However, I’m also extremely sure that there are interventions that can be made at the social, political, and organizational level, such as campaigning for paid sick leave, organizing against layoffs and for decent severance or an expansion of public assistance, or generally fighting the rapidly accelerating encroachment of work into all aspects of everyday life – that would bring much more good and, dare I say, progress into the world than a cardboard desk captioned with the hashtag #StaytheF***Home.

Hence, I’ve spent most of my Saturday penning this article on my blog, McMansion Hell. I’ve chosen to run this here because I myself have lost work as a freelance writer, and the gutting of publications down to a handful of editors means that, were I to publish this story on another platform, it would have resulted in at least a few more weeks worth of inflatable, wearable, plexiglass-laden Coronagrifting, something my sanity simply can no longer withstand.

So please, Dezeen, designboom, others – I love that you keep daily tabs on what architects and designers are up to, a resource myself and other critics and design writers find invaluable – however, I am begging, begging you to start having some discretion with regards to the proposals submitted to you as “news” or “solutions” by brands and firms, and the cynical, ulterior motives behind them. If you’re looking for a guide on how to screen such content, please scroll up to the beginning of this page.

----

If you enjoyed this article, please consider subscribing to my Patreon, as I didn’t get paid to write it.

#architecture #design #coronavirus #dezeen #designboom #capitalism

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neotrances · 3 years ago

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do u have a fullbody ref of propin i love her so so so much

i’m glad u like her :D!! i haven’t made her a full body character ref but i have sketches of her that show her dress more below!!

her dress is a really simplistic evening gown inspired by medieval and slightly more modern country lolita fashion, her original design was a little too…materialistic to me as propin loves being among humans and views everyone equally (as the goddess of love) and has very little interest in fancy clothing or really appearance at all, so she went from a more royal / noble corset look to a common folk look

( sorry i’m dumping a bit of lore into this but it relates to her appearance i promise <3 ) being a god, whenever they get reincarnated they ofcourse are “born” naked, and many mortals leave offerings for the gods at the foot of the paxion mountain, including food, wine, clothing and jewelry! perodi the god of hate has no interest in appearance either but occasionally decends the mountain and chooses clothing for propin that isn’t too flashy or “god” like bc she prefers to blend in with mortals because she as i said before loves living among them!

onto dress details, it consist of a pale pink gown strung with red ribbon with a low chest cut and a deep plunge in the back with a crude bow connected one cinch of ribbon around the waist to tighten and loosen the dress as needed, the dress specifically was hand made and one of the more “cheaper” clothing left as an offering by mortals

both sleeves are removable and have frills hanging off her shoulders and underneath an extended dyed leather wrist cuff that loosely hangs a bit over her hands, in this picture it’s just a silly sketch of propin and pecus (the god of animals) i’ve mentioned before in the parousia tag that all the gods can shapeshift and pecus in particular rarely exist in his “human” form, he enjoys his fox form more and refuses to speak to mortals pecus is also propins confidant and visits her frequently, bringing her braille books and fruits from recent harvest as well as clothes for when the weather changes as propin is a bit of a “nomad” and travels constantly never staying in one place for long and rarely remembering to change attire as the seasons also change!

back to dress details, here’s another sketch of her show wear! essentially flats with a thick heel and loose leather tied up her leg and thighs, with a tight not in the back so they don’t slip off, i put a few similar shoe examples bc my art is err..anyways her hair is a thick and curly bright red and a bit unkept, full of knots and rarely brushed, pecus often fetched things out of it when he visits her (like sticks or fallen leafs, etc) and she thanks him but honestly doesn’t care, she also has elf ears, as their are multiple races in the parousia stories and when gods reincarnate they always get “reborn” as one of the races so yep shes an elf in this life, and while most elves in parousia are greedy nobles and the bourgeoisie and she strongly dislikes people who aren’t kind and open hearted she can’t really bring herself to hate them as she loves all of humanity too much, and bc of her many mortals have their first good “encounter” with an elf, that being said mostof not all elves r white (woah allegory’s for real life class in fiction who woulda suspected that😱) anyways i ….i think the god of love is always and will always appear to be a black person like LOL sorry no matter what in my stories theyre black, basically shes a bit of a girl next door lookin character :}

#parousia #long post #ocs #✉️#if u have any other questions lmk !! also sorry if the lore is a bit confusing #i talk about it more in my parousia tag!

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mentally-in-northern-italy · 4 years ago

Text

The Best Potioneer (pt. 2) — Harry Potter x reader

***not my gif***

(pt. 1 can be found here)

Summary: You despise Harry. Your Slytherin friends seem to have strong opinions of him already, but during your sixth year, you also seem to have found a reason to absolutely hate the boy. But when you’re forced to work on an assignment together and stay up all night, is it possible for those feelings to change?

Word Count: ~3.4 K

A/N: Part 2 is finally here! I’m so sorry for the delay, school is really being a pain right now. Thank you for all the love you guys gave pt. 1, and I hope you like pt. 2, which will be the last part (unless I get inspired to write another one or something)! This one is very different from anything I’ve written before, and you’ll see what I mean when you read lol. Very dialogue-heavy. Enjoy!!

Another reminder: Thank you to everyone who sent in requests! I really, really appreciate it! But, since school has started, requests will most likely be delayed, as I will only be able to work on them when I have the time to. They are still open, though, so feel free, but please be aware that they will probably take a while. Thanks!

____________________

“This,” you observed, utterly unimpressed, “is just a wall. Do you need your glasses checked, Potter?”

You had shown up to the seventh floor with your bag and all your books, as promised. Harry had already been there waiting for you, leaning on a wall. He saw you approaching and had led you down the hallway, without exchanging any words. He stopped in the middle to face a bare wall, which earned him a scoff from you.

“Just wait,” he told you as he closed his eyes and visualized exactly what he wanted in the room.

“What are you doing?” you question as you walk from your spot behind him to stand beside him, “If we get caught--”

“We won’t,” he told you impatiently, “Now, please let me focus.”

You shut yourself up despite all the questions that were fighting to make their way out of your mouth. You tapped your foot impatiently, not exactly sure what was supposed to be happening.

Before you knew it, the wall that you could’ve sworn that had been there previously, had turned into a door. The door didn’t exactly look inviting, holding a similar appeal that an old Victorian library would hold.

“Come on,” Harry turned to you and gestured to you to go in, “You first.”

You would’ve scoffed at this, except you were incredibly stunned. How hadn’t you known about this room before? You took a tentative step forward and reached for the handle, turning back to Harry to check for confirmation. He nodded once.

You opened the door. It creaked slightly as you took a step inside. A small gasp escaped your lips.

“The room of requirement!” Realization set in for you as you looked around, “I’ve heard about this.”

The room was grand. That was the only way to describe it. It was dimly lit, stacked with books on old bookshelves that looked like they would collapse at any second. At the bottom of the bookshelves were cupboards, that seemed to contain even the rarest of ingredients. In the middle of it all, there was a large wooden table with two chairs on one side. Right beside it, was a rug that looked old and inviting, like something that belonged to an elderly grandma. This was exactly what you needed.

“Yeah,” Harry said as he followed in behind you and shut the door, “I came across it last year when we had our DA meetings.”

“DA?” you turned to face him, turning your back to the large wooden table.

“Oh, uh, Dumbledore’s Army.”

“Right,” you nodded as you turned around again, looking at the bookshelves and cabinets filled with Potions ingredients lining the walls, “No Slytherins were allowed, I presume?” You mocked.

“Well,” Harry tried to diffuse the tension, “I don’t know about all Slytherins… but you definitely wouldn’t be allowed.” He teased lightly.

“Oh, sod off,” you told him as you rolled your eyes. You struggled to fight the smile that was threatening to break upon your lips. Your friends hadn’t mentioned Harry would be able to make you smile so easily. Or that he would let you, a Slytherin into a room that was a designated meeting spot for Harry and his friends last year. Now that you’ve come to think of it, they didn’t mention a lot of things about Harry.

When it really came down to it, you realized in that moment that you had never really had a casual conversation with Harry. Your conversations were always filled with a competitive need to embarrass the other; there was no room for casual teasing. However, now, standing in this room with Harry behind you, you couldn’t say that you minded his presence, exactly. Like you had expected to.

You couldn’t help but ask yourself, is he really that bad?

___________________

[1:34 AM]

“Slughorn,” you decided as you sighed, “sucks.”

You and Harry were both seated at the table, sitting with your bodies slightly positioned towards each other. You were both hunched over various copies of Potions textbooks, searching desperately for any information about Memory Potions.

“Like Snape was any better,” Harry muttered distractedly, barely glancing up, as he flipped through a copy of The Art of Potion-Making, 6th edition.

“He was!” you defended him, straightening your posture and looking up at Harry’s face. Your eyes instantly landed on the tongue that he was sticking out slightly, concentrating on writing something down that he had found in the book. The way he was squinting his eyes, despite him wearing glasses. Ugh. No. Stop it!, you told yourself. You snapped your eyes back down to your textbook, “Er--, yes, Snape! He might have been a git, but at least he was a practical git. He would never give us an assignment like this.”

“He hated me,” Harry told you as he looked up from his book. He shuddered involuntarily being reminded of all the Potions classes he had to suffer while Snape was Potions Master.

“Well,” you looked up again, smirking slightly, “some would argue he sort of had the right idea with that.”

Harry sent you a look at which you chuckled slightly. The chuckle was soft, light-hearted. He had never heard you laugh like that. Oddly for Harry, he didn’t seem to mind the insult like he normally always does. On the contrary, he rather liked the sound. He didn’t know what this foreign feeling inside his chest was-- this feeling that seemed to only grow when he caught a glimpse of your hair falling onto your face as you scanned multiple textbooks at once, but he did know that he wanted to hear the sound of your laugh again.

________________

[2:06 AM]

You yawned as you pushed yourself onto your elbows. You and Harry were now situated on the rug, with you laying on your stomach, continuing your research and Harry sitting up-right trying to keep his eyes open as he, too, tried to write down all the ingredients he had managed to find in one of the textbooks.

Books were sprawled all around you. You reached to grab a copy of Advanced Potions, when you realized the closest one was actually Harry’s.

“Merlin, what’d you do to this thing?” you questioned as you turned the tattered book over to examine it, “Throw it down the Grand Staircase?”

“[Y/N], give it--” Harry had looked unusually alarmed when he caught sight of you inspecting the Potions book that was the secret to his success this year. He reached his hand out to take it from your hands but he was too late, as you had already opened the cover to find “Property of the Half-Blood Prince” scrawled neatly inside.

You looked up at Harry and then back down again. The look on Harry’s face was priceless.

You couldn’t help but start to laugh. Your quiet laughter soon grew loud and obnoxious as you sat up. The room echoed with your laugh, and it would seem, so did Harry’s heart.

“The Half-Blood Prince?” you choked out, in between laughs, “Out of all the nicknames you’ve been given, you choose that one to write in your books?” Your stomach was aching slightly and your cheekbones hurt but your laughter didn’t falter. You clutched your stomach, as you continued to holler.

Harry’s face was flushed red. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be relieved or embarrassed. Or both.

“No--” Harry stuttered as he tried to talk over your giggles that wouldn’t seem to stop, “No, I didn’t write that!”

“Oh yeah?” you teased, “Did one of the girls in your fanclub write it, then?”

“I mean,” Harry scratched the back of his neck. He was sure now that he should be embarrassed, “I would assume so.”

This only made you laugh more.

Not that Harry minded, though.

________________

[2:59 AM]

Harry wanted to talk to you.

He was sitting a few feet away from you. You two were still situated on the rug, both sitting up-right now. Both of you were starting to get tired, as you stifled yawns while consistently pouring over material that never seemed to end. You and Harry had both taken your ties off and thrown them on the floor. Your robes were tossed on the floor, in a manner that would convey a very different message as to what you two were doing than what you two were actually doing, had someone walked into the room.

Harry had tried to call you over for help multiple times now. Only so he could talk to you, so be it if it was only about the quantity of stewed mandrakes that would be required for the recipe.

But each time, you had given him a response and moved back to your spot, returning to your quiet study of textbooks.

Harry audibly sighed, hoping to get your attention, even if it was only an annoyed glance in his direction.

“What is it now, Scarhead?” you asked through a yawn. You were tired, so incredibly tired. But it seemed that whenever Harry looked at you, you seemed to wake up a little.

“I didn’t say anything,” he tried to play it cool. That’s what he was supposed to do, right?

“Oh,” you yawned again, to which Harry yawned back, “my bad, Oh Chosen One, I sincerely apologize.”

“Are you really going to use up all the names in one night?” He tried not to smile.

You did nothing to conceal your smile, making Harry’s smile appear on his face as well. You scooched over until you were sitting right beside him.

“Not if I can help it,” you turned to face him, abandoning your textbooks, “Tell me Half-Blood Prince, are there any other names you go by?”

“Well, there is one,” Harry pretended to be in deep thought.

“Really?” you asked, with exaggerated excitement in your eyes. You tried to tell yourself that this was purely because of your entertainment. It was to tease him. To belittle him. He was your rival, after all. Your mind forcibly pushed out the ridiculous notion that you were only teasing him with these names now because you found it endearing how he blushed slightly, or how, in some rare occasions, he would retort back. That was definitely not it.

“Yeah.” his breath hitched in his throat as he saw the look in your eyes. Has she always looked like that?

“Alright,” you rolled your eyes playfully, “what is it? The Four-Eyed Seeker? The Serpent Slayer?” You teased.

“Actually,” he smirked a little, “some people like to call me ‘that one guy who was able to brew a draught of living death perfectly and beat [Y/N]’.”

Your teasing composure dropped and you shot Harry an angry look. Without thinking twice, you raised your hand to flick Harry on the forehead.

“Ow!” he cried out, clutching his head more in surprise than in pain. You had made sure not to hurt him.

“You can add that to your scar collection, Potter.”

At this, Harry also raised his hand to flick you softly on the forehead. It felt more like a tap on the head than a flick, but you flinched regardless.

“Now, we can have matching ones…?” he joked weakly.

It was as if time had stopped for a while, with both of you staring at each other. You, in shock, and Harry in something that could only be described as embarrassed nervousness. All you could think was, What an absolute dork! Is he really the guy that Voldemort is hell-bent on defeating?

Meanwhile, Harry wanted to climb into a hole and die, because he could not believe he had just said that.

You wanted to be mad at him. You wanted to be furious. But your anger died down instantly after one glance at his nervous and crooked smile. Frankly, his weak attempt at getting you back was too dorky to be mad at. But you would never admit that.

You huffed in exaggerated annoyance and picked your textbook back up again. Only, you stayed sitting beside him on the rug. You both returned to reading as your arms kept brushing against one another’s comfortably, making you both tingly, causing you two to look at each other from time to time. Harry would shoot you a smile, and you would try your very hardest to scowl at him.

Harry could see through it, though.

Comfortable silence ensued, filled with the faint sound of turning pages and two hearts beating, simultaneously.

_______________

[3:25 AM]

Your eyes drooped closed as you managed to snap them back open yet again. It had been a long night, for sure, and you and Harry were nowhere near being done.

“Did we really have to do this tonight?” Harry muttered, a little irritated. He had Quidditch tomorrow. He needed his sleep. He rested his head in his hands, as he leaned over the table with his elbows on it. You were sitting beside him in a similar position as you massaged the temples of your head that were starting ache.

“Yes,” you muttered back, “how many times do I have to tell you? We would’ve lost if we hadn’t.”

“Of course,” he groaned with fatigue.

“You know,” you turn to look at him, “this is a group project. Stop acting like I’m doing this for myself.”

“I never said that,” he replied, “Just-- It’s just that we’re nowhere close to being done.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly. He needed to be well-rested to properly argue with you.

“We just need to find the antidote to the crushed sea worms,” you tried to recall, “It’ll balance the potion out. And then, we can start brewing.”

“I’m taking a break, [Y/N], wake me up in five minutes?” Harry asked you as he slurred some of his words, being overcome with sleep. Without waiting for a response, he rested his head on the table and closed his eyes.

“Fine. Only five minutes!”

_________________

[3:33 AM]

It had been a little more than five minutes. You knew this.

Yet, you didn’t have the heart to wake him up. He looked so peaceful, with his mouth slightly open and his glasses pressed up against the side of his face and the table.

You hesitantly extended your hand to gently take his glasses off. He stirred a little in his sleep and scratched his face softly, but much to your relief, didn’t wake up. You set his glasses down carefully on the table and tried to return back to your work when you heard a sound.

Snoring. Harry had already started to snore.

They weren’t loud snores. They were soft, gentle. You couldn’t help but smile a little as you looked at the boy snoozing beside you.

Perhaps you were too tired to think deeper, or maybe you just knew the answer already, but you didn’t even bother to ask yourself why you were acting this way. Why weren’t you annoyed by the snores? Why hadn’t you woken him up? For Merlin’s sake, what was with all that smiling?

And most importantly, why were you enjoying working on this blasted project with your arch-nemesis Harry Potter?

________________

The first rays of sunshine poured through the small windows that were lined against the walls, illuminating everything that had previously been dim and hard to see.

Under normal circumstances, this morning would’ve seemed peaceful. Almost ethereal, even.

But as your eyes fluttered open and took in the scene that seemed to appear in front of them, the only thing that you felt was panic.

Your head was resting on the table, with your nose only millimetres away from Harry’s. If you had moved only a fraction of a millimetre, your nose would’ve brushed against his.

Before you had the chance to properly be flustered by this, reality set in.

“Harry!” You practically screamed, “Wake up, Harry!” You sat up in your seat with a jolt and tried to shake Harry awake.

Harry stirred slightly, and furrowed his brows, but didn’t wake up.

“I swear, Potter, if you don’t wake up, right now!” You shouted again.

This seemed to work, for as soon as Harry’s eyes opened, his face also contorted into a panicked expression that was similar to yours. You two had overslept, and missed breakfast. Not only would this raise suspicion among your peers, but if you didn’t hurry, you would miss your first-period Potions class, consequently losing the competition.

“Did you brew the potion?” Harry questioned hastily, as he attempted to smooth his messy morning hair and rush to pack up the scattered books and papers, “Why didn’t you wake me up!”

“Luckily for you, I did!” You replied just as hastily, looking around frantically for your bag and books, “Come on, hurry up!”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Harry snapped, as he looked for his robes and ties. He quickly picked up a tie off of the floor as you did the same.

Taking one last look around to make sure you hadn’t missed anything, and picking up the vial of the memory potion that you had prepared before falling asleep last night, you two were off, running as fast as your legs allowed to claim your victory.

_________________

“Congratulations!” Slughorn exclaimed as he beamed at you, the class surrounding you and Harry as you two stood at the front of the class and the noise of applause filled your ears, “I expected nothing less from my two star students!”

Your heart seemed to swell at your success, and you couldn’t stop yourself from beaming. You and Harry stood side by side, basking in glory, so be it if it was with incredibly deep eye bags, incredibly unruly hair, and a bad migraine from the lack of sleep. You exchanged a few small smiles with Harry that seemed to only make this moment better.

After the prolonged appreciation of your success, you separated from Harry, and walked over to stand beside Millicent, as Harry walked to the other side of the group to stand with Ron and Hermione. As Slughorn started to demonstrate for your next assignment, Millicent smirked at you.

“Nice tie, [Y/L/N],” she sneered as she leaned over, “Looks like Potions wasn’t the only thing you two were doing all night.”

Horrified, as you glanced down to your tie, the world seemed to stop.

It was a Gryffindor tie. You had taken his, and him yours. Your face burned red as you quickly rushed to take the tie off. But many people had already noticed, as they all glanced about, smirking and muttering things about your and Potter’s eventful night.

On the other side of the group, Ron and Hermione looked positively flabbergasted at the sight of Harry’s green and silver tie.

“Mate… your--your tie,” Ron whispered to Harry quietly.

“Wha--?” To say that Harry was petrified, and frozen in his spot when he caught a glimpse of your tie around his neck would be an understatement. His eyes shot towards you, but you did everything you had to do to avoid his eyes.

“Well… um, how was it?” Ron questioned uncertainly, only adding to the awkwardness of this situation.

“Ronald!” Hermione exclaimed, hitting Ron on the arm scoldingly.

“What? I’m only asking!”

_________________

“Hey.”

You turned around to see Harry, looking dashing in his suit, with an awkward smile on his stupidly handsome face.

“Hey,” you said back with a smile, and turned back to the scene in front of you.

Slughorn’s Christmas party.

Of course, you had come. You couldn’t stand to disappoint Slughorn, especially when he had finally started to acknowledge you more in class.

Now, you were standing here in your extremely uncomfortable dress and heels, watching people dancing, and socializing, in which you were taking no part. The only thing that was on your mind was how much you wished that you hadn’t come tonight.

“You…, uh--came alone?” Harry questioned as he took a step forward to stand beside you and watch both of your dates dancing with other partners.

“No,” you rolled your eyes playfully, “I’m not that much of a loser.”

Harry grinned at this, feeling as if this playful remark had broken through the tension that ensued between you two ever since the tie incident.

“Of course,” Harry nodded, smiling stupidly.

“I bet you came alone, though,” you teased, nudging his shoulder a little.

“Funnily enough, no,” Harry replied smugly. You tried to ignore how your heart dropped a little at this.

“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow, “who’s the unlucky lady?”

“Luna. Although, she seems a bit preoccupied with Neville at the moment.”

You turned to look where he was looking to see Luna conversing excitedly with Neville.

“Hm,” you hummed, “Zabini seems a little busy himself.” You shifted your gaze to Zabini, who was dancing with some Ravenclaw girl that you had never seen.

Both of you were quiet for a moment, enjoying the company of the other and watching the terrible attempts at dancing on the dance floor.

Out of nowhere, Harry broke the silence, “Want to get out of here?”

Surprised, you turned to him, “What?”

“You don’t seem to be enjoying this any more than I am, “ Harry stated, rubbing his sweaty palms on his trousers, “let’s leave.”

“And go where?” This prospect didn’t sound half bad to you.

“Up to you.”

“Um,” you crossed your arms, and thought for a moment, “Have you ever stargazed?”

Harry looked dumbfounded. “No…?”

“Great, let’s go.” And with that, you took his arm and led the way.

___________________

The Astronomy Tower was particularly chilly tonight, but you two seemed to have forgotten all about the temperature as soon as you caught sight of the beautiful view of the night sky, teeming with stars.

“Y’know, I almost asked you to the party tonight,” Harry blurted out without thinking about it too much. Clearly, he had gotten far too comfortable, lying on his back beside you, looking up at the stars. He tried to keep his calm as he waited for a response from you.

“What stopped you?” you turned your head to face him, genuinely curious. Your heartbeat had started to beat faster, and your stomach felt weird and queasy.

“I--,” Harry wasn’t expecting a serious response, so he gulped a little before turning his face to face you, “Well, I didn’t want to make it weird, I guess. I wasn’t sure… of what you would’ve said.”

“So…” you smirked, “in other words, you were too much of a coward.”

“What? Absolutely not! I just--. Well--”

“Well,” you smiled a little, “I would’ve said yes if you had, hypothetically, of course, gathered up your courage and asked me. I don’t seem to mind your company nearly as much as one would think.”

“Yeah?” his heart seemed to skip a beat as he looked into your eyes, which sparkled from the reflections of the stars above. He was, quite literally, star-struck.

“Yeah,” you smiled, finally giving up on trying to hide your feelings, and allowing yourself to come to terms with them instead, “I wouldn’t even dream of giving up the opportunity to go out with the mighty Half-Blood Prince.”

Harry groaned, as you erupted into a fit of giggles.

“I would much rather prefer if you called me by my other nickname,” Harry said slowly, his lips curling upwards.

“Which is?”

“The best potioneer,” he grinned. The roles had been reversed, and now it was time for you to roll your eyes and for Harry to chuckle.

The rest of the night was filled with playful banter, with laughs and jokes, and with insults that weren’t very insulting, all the while gazing up at the stars. Though, Harry wasn’t too focused on the beautiful celestial bodies that seemed to occupy the night sky above, as the only beautiful thing he was interested in gazing at, at the moment, was you.

Tags:

@bisexualprinxexx @parkeroffline

#harrypotter #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harrypotterfics #harrypotterfanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter oneshots #harrypotteroneshots #enemies to lovers #harrypotterxreader #harry potter x reader #harrypotterxyou #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n

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