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her-mothers-daughter · 1 year ago

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oc asks: character design edition

( asks from this post, format stolen from @sargauths )

glance: At first glance, what stands out most about your OC's appearance? What's their distinguishing feature?

It would probably be her eyes: larger than normal, slit like a serpent's, a mix of gold and amber that stare unblinking. While her actual ancestry might be a mystery to some, the fact that she is not human cannot be made any more clear than through her eyes.

face: Describe your OC's face. What's their smile like? Are their orbs cerulean? What would someone notice first when looking at them?

Somewhat long and angular, sharp cheeks and a sharper chin, narrow jaw line. Her nose is short and pointed and upturned. The most obvious feature are her above mentioned eyes but on top of that she has a wicked mouth of pointed teeth that are almost always on display, whether by habit or by virtue of having next to no real lips to speak of. She is also seemingly lacking external ears, though it's hard to tell for how her long, dark hair is kept carefully draped.

stature: What's your OC's body type? How tall are they? Do they wear clothing to accentuate their look or do they try to mask it?

Dee is tall and lanky at about 6' and has the proportions of a human on a stretching rack. Everything about her is just a little too long, from her neck down to her fingers down to her legs and feet. Perhaps if she had any [obvious] shame in her own shape she might try to veil herself in cloaks or jackets or loose clothing, but it might just make her look silly rather than simply a bit wrong, so she does not bother.

motion: How does your OC move? How does their clothing help or hinder their range of motion? Are they flexible, coordinated, clumsy?

While the height of Dee's thieving days are behind her, she still holds on to old habits as best as she can manage. Her motions tend to have an latent smoothness to them that anyone who knew how to use such grace would know could be much improved. Her stride is long and slightly loping, with a slight sway that would probably twist up anyone else's ankles if not put them on their arse. Her hands are surprisingly dexterous and with the right tool in hand she can either crack a lock or forge a signature near effortlessly. Sadly, she's not near as flexible as she used to be, though if pressed, she can squeeze into some pretty tight spaces.

stillness: How does your OC act while still? Are they fidgety? Do they have any common gestures or tics? Does their clothing affect how they hold themselves while at rest?

It depends. Dee is capable of perfect stillness, a gift of her lineage and House, and if her patience allows it, she can remain as such for days at a time. Thankfully such lengths have not been needed in some time, and Dee has instead learned to enjoy fidgeting with small things like coins when she finds herself bored or idle. When speaking in the company of others, Dee leans into a tendency towards sweeping gestures with fingers and wrists, though she's just as fond of stuffing hands in her pockets or hooking thumbs through belt loops.

At rest, she is cat-like and prone to lounging bonelessly if time and place allows. In the Pitchfork she might find herself draped over chair as though she were a coat herself, elbows and arms bent this way and that, legs stretched out to take up space. In bed, she is a little more tidy, if only just.

canvas: Does your OC have any scars, piercings, tattoos, or other markings? Do they display or cover them up at all?

Small scars from scrapes and scratches untreated spot her hands and arms but nothing particularly severe or notable. There's a particular web of scars around the knee of her right leg: mostly burns, some lacerations, none of it pretty. On the worse days, it aches like nothing else. It's rare for Dee to wear anything that goes above mid-calf; if she is sensitive about anything regarding her body, it is that. Regarding tattoos or piercings, Dee has none save for the mark granted to her and her fellow Dreamers (which hardly counts as anything as far as she's concerned).

CUT & CLOTHES

night: What does your OC wear to sleep? Do they have a favorite pair of PJs, or are they more the birthday suit type?

Usually, Dee simply sleeps in her small clothes. Having a specific set of clothes specifically for sleeping seems both silly and wasteful. In the cooler months, she'll happily pile on blankets, however.

day: What does your OC wear on a normal day? Why do they default to those clothes? Do they wear similar things, or do they change it up?

At first glance, Dee's typical attire almost seems as rags: a ratty sleeveless shirt or what might have once been a tunic in plain and drab colors, a pair of trousers, some boots. Her upper and lower arms are typically wrapped in lengths of stiff cloth or leather bands that seem to serve no real purpose save but potentially obfuscating the other belts and bands upon which she keeps a number of small pouches and sheathes. On a good day, she might have a lightweight and loose cloak about her shoulders, but rarely. Her attire is loose and airy and most of all it doesn't weigh her down, so she's unbothered by worn and tattered state of it all. Money spent on something as silly as clothes is money gone from her coin purse, after all.

formal: What's your OC's formal look? Do they like dressing up? Do they have different looks for different occasions?

She doesn't have one save for what has been given or assigned to her, really. Dee does not often tread the places where formal wear are a must, and so she has neglected to pick up anything of the sort for herself save for at Cressida's expense. A fine but otherwise simple jerkin and a pair of trousers of finer make than what she usually wears were about as far as she was willing to go regardless of whose tab it was put on, and the whole thing is both too stuffy and too restrictive to not be a nightmare for her. If she's good enough, nobody will see her anyway, so what's the point of it?

informal: What's your OC's lazy-day look? How do they like to dress when they're winding down?

On a lazier day, she might settle for little more than one of Saxon's shirts, which are shirts proper with sleeves and sometimes buttons or ties about the collar, and a pair of slacks. Winding down usually means that things come off, which she usually only does in the privacy of her room either at the Pitchfork or in the manor.

outerwear: What's your OC's outerwear situation? Jacket, sweater, cloak? What sort of weather do they deal with most and how do they protect themselves?

Waterdeep is usually fairly agreeable with her so she hasn't worried too much after jackets and cloaks. She had one at one point and has been neglectful in pilfering another, if only to help deal with the rain. When the season turns colder, however, a coat or jacket doesn't do nearly as much for her as staying near a hearth or a warm body. Luskan, if they make it that way, is going to be dreadful for her and Bashmuz both.

footwear: What does your OC wear on their feet?

Boots! They're soft-soled and about knee-high, reinforced here and there with thin metal. Nothing special.

road: What does your OC wear while traveling? Do they have high-quality equipment, or are they making do? What does their gear look like?

The nicest things Dee has on her person are probably her weapons. Dee hasn't put a lot of thought into it, really, given that she's been spending coin on other things, but she's probably over-due for some sturdier equipment…

armor: What kind of armor does your OC wear? Is it well kept? Bonus: where does it come from? Is there a story behind it?

One could hardly call it armor but she sticks mostly to leather and cloth. If anything hits her too hard, it's just as like to break her, so her focus is more on not getting hit in the first place. Her boots are fairly well kept but the rest of her attire has been very, very worn and has gone through quite a lot, especially over these last few weeks.

arms: Does your OC have any weapons? What weapons do they carry, and how do they wear them when they're not fighting?

Dee has a small but growing collection of knives and daggers, which are what she keeps upon her person at pretty much all times if it can be helped. There are loops on her belt where she can keep them sheathed, and she's been known to keep smaller, simpler blades tucked into her boots.

roots: Is your OC's look inspired by any specific style of clothing or fashion trend? What are the roots and/or inspiration for their look?

Initially I wanted to give her something more in like with WoW rogue armor but that might be something she will have to graduate in to if she does at all. I like to think of her leaning more into Fromsoft style bandit/thief/rogue fits: simple, often mismatched, clearly designed for someone with faith in dodge rolling.

texture: Does your OC favor any specific kinds of cloth or textures? Is there anything they can't wear or don't like? What sort of fabrics do they prefer?

Simple and lightweight, things like cotton and linen and certain leathers are her preference. If she can, she avoids wool and she absolutely loathes heavier, coarser fabrics like burlap for how terribly they itch her skin. Things like silk are far, far too fine for the likes of her, so she avoids such materials whenever possible as well.

wardrobe: How big is your character's wardrobe? Do they wear things threadbare, or can they afford new clothes often? Are they any good at mending and repairing their own clothing?

It's pretty pitiful! She will wear things until they wear out rather than shell out coin to replace them. Too impatient for mending, so she might push it onto Saxon or whoever else she might lean on for a favor. Until the whole matter with the Dreamers, Dee simply did not abuse her clothes near as much… but likewise, she's made more coin than she's seen in whole moons, so maybe the others might have luck convincing her to spend a little gold.

ACCESSORIES & ACCENTS

bling: What jewelry does your OC wear? Does it have any meaning?

Upon each and every one of Dee's fingers is at least one huge, gaudy, ostentatious ring. Most are gold and many are embedded with some kind of gem stone with no apparent concern for color, shape, nor cut given. A few are smaller pieces, albeit well-crafted and of fine metals. All of them are trophies, and a few of them might even come with stories.

hair: How does your OC wear their hair? Does it have some kind of meaning?

Her hair is naturally straight so she just keeps it long and framed around her face. On a very rare occasion, she might wear it tied up into a single thick pony tail. Either way, there's no real meaning behind it: only that it is what is easiest, and what is simplest to maintain.

makeup: Does your OC wear makeup? How often? What kind? Why do they wear makeup, and do they like it?

None! Sees no reason for it, and has no desire to learn how to use powders and rouges or anything of the sort. She might not have strong feelings about the way she looks, but she's not bothered enough by it to try and dress it up.

favorite: Does your OC have a favorite article of clothing or accessory? What is it? What's the meaning behind it? Do they wear it all the time or do they wear it sparingly to keep it safe?

There is a specific ring that she has a strange fondness for, though the story of how she came to have it is not entirely pleasant. Now, she keeps and wears it mostly out of spite, but the fact that it is large and rough enough that it might add a little kick to a good punch makes for a pleasant excuse as well.

change: Has your OC ever drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about the change?

Once, when she was much younger, she embraced loose, draping sari and similar garments, delicately embroidered and brightly colored, and ornamental cuffs, bracelets, chokers of metal and bone. It was a different life in a different place under different circumstances, and whether she has any fondness for it or not, Dee has shown no desire nor intention to clothe herself in anything that reminds her of those days.

alternate: What would your OC's alternate universe look be? If they're a fantasy character, what's their modern look? If they're sci-fi, what's their fantasy look? What AU would you want to see your OC in, and how would they dress themself? Bonus: Prompt an AU!

I could easily see Dee fitting into the punk and sukeban scene, complete with a rad leather jacket covered in colorful and offensive patches. As for AUs, she already has a few despite being an AU herself: a FFXIV Warrior of Light, where she currently dresses in a loose, open shirt, trousers, and bandana but might someday earn herself a proper set of Ninja armor; and an Elden Ring AU where she is fitted in a mix of leather and Drake Knight armor and might someday reach for Black Knife armor.

#character building

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fancycat-thesilvertux · 2 years ago

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Oh @krzys2000 . But of course MK is going to beat Bakugo to a pulp - One Punch Man style. Bakugo trying to start shit and MK not having it, silencing Bakugo by knocking him back with one punch. Do you know how to ego crushing that would be? And MK wasn’t even using his full strength!

Absolutely MK has a gate on sight. Well, it’s more like a very intense dislike because everything about Bakugo is setting MK on edge. Making him bristle. When it gets found out about Bakugo’s past, MK realizes why - he did always hate abusive $#!+s. The golden eyes would only do so much in allowing MK to view certain things, since I feel that the power needs to grow a a lot more to be on level with Wukong’s own, but at the very least allowing MK to see something very wrong with people’s auras like how Wukong saw the seal on MK’s jacket and knew it was Macaque.

I have a saying. If there’s no concrete background regarding a character, they’re free real-estate. We can build them up or knock them down however we like, especially in AUs.

Hmm, a seal on the crown making it a limiter for MK’s powers? That would work well in helping him hold back since he’s a - niche-type I think? Displacing him from his own universe shows a significant difference between him and others in the BnHAverse when he goes full-out because MK’s experiences are against opponents of supernatural proportions, and his powers and abilities are more versatile.

An invisibility enchantment on it so MK can make it appear and disappear at will - if he’s wearing it there’s no chance of something like the golden filet being put on him. Though a summoning instead of invisibility would work better probably just because wearing that constantly would be pretty annoying after a while I think especially when trying to sleep and when needing to shower.

Anti-possession is an absolute must. MK will not have his mind jacked after the LBD debacle.

Yeah, when they started getting to know MK’s new friends, the jealousy does lessen. It especially helps that they feed each other’s energies.

That. Is. Adorable! Pictures were taken. Many pictures were taken. And no, MK doesn’t turn into his monkey form until later - I’m thinking the Overhaul fight.

Macaque has long since learned to stop questioning the craziness of anything involving MK. He does indeed blame MK since Tsukauchi wouldn’t be his wingman if not for the kid, but Macaque can’t really complain. He’s too fond of MK to do that, plus, he has help now in wooing Wukong!

Scary Godmother skeleton key. I’m a sucker for that movie and it’s sequel plus the idea of a good key opening a door between dimensions just. It’s just something. Though it’s more the size of a key blade and is more like a hacksaw to dimensions, since let’s be real here, Hatsume absolutely would take a hacksaw to reality and saw at it to get where she wants to go. Mei too, for that matter.

Nedzu is a troll of massive proportions packed into a fun sized body but even he won’t go near certain brands of unhinged. MK when he’s being a grinning gremlin is one of those brands. Wukong is also of a similar brand of unhinged, and everybody really should’ve known that they were cut from the same cloth in being gremlins.

It only adds to Todoroki’s theory that MK is Wukong’s child made from magic since Wukong confirmed he didn’t sleep with anybody and that demons have low fertility rates doesn’t mean though they don’t have other ways to have children. Shouto’s theory is terrifyingly accurate. =3

You said that you have an AU for a LMK x BnHA crossover.

Could you tell me about it?

Absolutely!

So this AU takes place after S3.

MK’s thoughts after defeating the Lady Bone Demon aren’t very pretty. We see in canon that he’s hard on himself, and while coming down from the high of defeating such a terrifying villain such as LBD, all the trauma catches up to MK.

He begins having thoughts of ‘if only I’d been better, if only I’d been stronger, smarter, a better hero.’ He begins to think that maybe, he could’ve spared his loved ones so much trauma if only he’d been better, begins to think that they shouldn’t have had to suffer so much trauma in the first place all because of him.

Ever hear the saying “be careful what you wish for”? That’s the catalyst for this AU.

Working out this part but I hat I thought up for it was that a demon goes after an artifact that can grant any wish, a sort of genie’s lamp but it can only grant one wish instead of three.

The demon gets defeated and the artifact is in MK’s hands. They thought the wish had to be spoken aloud to work but here’s the catch - wishes don’t come true when spoken aloud. To quote Puss In Boots: The Last Wish, birthday wish rule.

MK’s thought of if only I could be a better hero activates the artifact, causing him to be sent to where he could be a better hero - the Boku no Hero Academiaverse, seeing as there’s hero schools.

I thought about MK being happened across either option A) Dadzawa, option B) Mama Joke, or C) Papa Tsukauchi. And yes, I did mean to call them those.

Aizawa is such a dad, adopting without the paperwork his class, even though he doesn’t admit it, and MK in the same class as 1A would be hilarious since I do have thoughts on who he’d be friends with. This AU DOES start before the BnHA events, since I don’t want to land MK right into the middle of the school year, especially since I feel certain events and behaviors could be thwarted with him there.

That said, even if I don’t go the Dadzawa route, I still planned for MK to have those relationships with 1A students since his presence would help I think with a lot of them. But MK and Shinsou and Eri being siblings would be just perfect in my book.

Ms. Joke, despite being a goofball, takes her job both as a pro hero and a teacher especially seriously. I feel like since she deeply values her students and believes in them that she’d be good in helping MK find confidence in himself as a hero. (That, and he’s got too many dads, let him collect moms!)

Detective Tsukauchi’s Quirk let’s him know if someone is lying. MK lies a lot regarding his own well-being, so having someone that’ll not let him get away with that would do him well. Plus, Tsukauchi is a friend of All Might’s, and I did have plans for MK and Midoriya having a friendship since they have a great deal of similarities and would be helpful towards one another.

That’s pretty much what I have for the AU though.

#bnha x lmk au #lmk au #bnha au #crossover au

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frosted-night · 4 years ago

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Jack Frost Designs Review

Yes it’s finally his time. This is going to include his book designs including previous incarnations in said books. There are more movie concept designs than book so, let’s dig in shall we?

This was in fact the first ever Jack Joyce designed while he came up with The Guardians Of Childhood. He even comes with his own backstory! (Which was cut. Sorry Joyce posts walls of text so it’s a girthy read.)

So instead of a young mischievous trickster, we got a much more depressing story of Jack. (Jack by default is sad obviously) but this one... It kind of hits differently and almost reminds me of the story he crafted for Pitch. A dad who tried to defend his family but through tragic events was ripped from them and changed completely. Design wise, he’s a lot more tree than snow. There doesn’t exist a colored version of this so we’ll never know if he sported winter and dull dead leaf colors rather than grassy greens.This Jack has a weird presence to him, I can’t put my finger on it. Rating: 6/10 He’s really neat! Just a little too Autumn feeling rather than a blend of both Autumn and Winter.

Nightlight feels like the baby evolution if Jack was a pokemon and that's what I’m gonna stick with. Below is a more recent version of him colored.

In all honesty that one is easier on the eyes proportion wise because sometimes Joyce has ‘interesting’ anatomy choices but we aint going into that today. It’s interesting how his hair somehow looks shorter and longer than Jack’s at the same time. Could be because the longer strands float seamlessly but star boy hair physics what can ya do. It’s a little hard to tell what is his skin and what is his armor, so that is a casuality in making a character only have one or two colors in their color scheme. I love other artist’s depictions of Nightlight but the canon one feels a little weak color wise. Rating: 5/10 Sorry, get some better LEDs and then come back.

Here we have a book Jack but I can’t entirely recall if this was used in the books or not. I digress. This design looks like him still wearing very Nightlight-esque armor/clothing and slowly growing into his new persona as Jack Frost. The intricacies are hard to make out but we’ll work with it. This one is very interesting to me because he very much looks like an older teen close to young adult. His hair looks very fluffy too. Not many complaints about this one but not much praise either.

Rating: 6/10 Not great but doesn’t stand out that much.

Remember when I said Joyce had ‘interesting’ anatomy decisions? Jack looks like he has half a head here and it bothers me GREATLY. This is the adult Jack design he went with. Supposedly he likes the opera and he sure looks it. This! Exists!! Kind of wish it didn’t. The outfit is nice but it just doesn’t fit Jack as a whole. This just screams to me that it’s someone else with a similar-ish hairstyle.

Rating: 3/10 Guess he’d be the...Phantom Of The Opera. (I’ll go home and so should he.)

And finally the final Jack. This is the one that almost exactly resembles the Jack we got in the movies(Probably because it was made after the movie but w/e) but just add a cape on him. I can’t really tell if hes got a hoodie and a cape, or just a cloak+hood on top of a sweatshirt. It isn’t too important because my thoughts on this one are obvious. Rating: 10/10 Edna Mode would have a field day with you boy.

MOVIE DESIGN TIME

Joyce claims this is a design he drafted when Leonardo DiCaprio was considered to voice Jack and I can kind of see that with how his face is drawn here. This Jack looks a lot more like a warrior and less of that trickster look. I can’t say I’m a fan of the weird antenna his hood has but his sword is really cool looking.

Rating: 4/10 Nice bow and sword but it can’t save your fashion choices.

This looks like a lanky 11-13 year old who would put rocks or slugs in my shoes and relish in my disgust. He has the exact look of a snot nose kid and I’m unsure how to feel about it.

His various hairstyles drafted here sort of make him softer looking or just more of a snot nose, no in between. Maybe even an Anime Protagonist.

The top right one almost looks like Hiccup from How To Train Your Dragon if you squint. It’ll be a little hard to rate them all as one individual but why not.

Rating: 5/10 I don’t hate them but they aren’t my cup of tea.

AH- IS THAT A FUCKIN GREMLIN?

Oh wait no it isn’t he looks like a 10 year old. Whatever don’t feed him after midnight. The staff’s design of not being shaped like a G is an interesting tidbit but the whole design looks like he’s really young or like a troll etc. This Jack looks like he thinks girls have cooties uses outdated slang.

Rating: 4/10 This is me being generous.

It honestly looks like he hiked his pants up all the way to his chest. A late teen with horrid fashion choices once again. Not many other thoughts here.

Rating: 2/10 Get a sweater on or something.

This is one is very interesting looking to me. His clothes looked a lot more leather based and very human-like. The tatters, tears and frays all make him look like he was a victim of an accident that never changed his clothes. It makes me wonder if this Jack had the same death as the final movie Jack or something else entirely. Either way, this one looks like hes a mid to late teen which really adds to my intrigue.

This was another image that greatly resembled the design so I included it here. It almost looks like his skin is blue here which is pretty neat to me at least. He’s also got leaf motifs here, which from the first Jack design Joyce made, we can see a pattern here.

Rating: 8 /10 I was originally weirded out by his head but now its not so bad.

This Jack is definitely dressed more like a nature boy rather than him having human influenced fashion and it’s an appealing touch. The tiny leaf sprouting from his staff is also kind of cute since the designers seemed to want to put leafs somewhere on his designs. His hairstyle is also very cute but it reminds me of Sasuke Uchiha in a sense. (Not a setback for me at least)

Rating: 7/10 13 year old Jack is going thru a phase.

I thought this Jack didn’t show up again in story boards but I was wrong!

They look a little different from each other but just similar enough to pair together, so bare with me. The first one obviously has looser pants, slightly longer sleeves and got his leaf motif going. This second Jack is a VERY green. It gives the impression that this Jack made his clothes out of plants and natural materials. Again I’m not wholly sure if greens fit his color scheme but they sure went for it for a while. I can’t say I’m a fan of it because it heavily reminds me of Peter Pan.

However a very similar looking Jack could be found in this storyboard. It doesn’t look as green as the other storyboards made it out to be and looks more like dead grass. Which is a pretty nice touch.

Rating: 5/10 I don’t hate it but it just doesn’t vibe yknow.

Speaking of a vibe...hoo this certainly has one. This Jack isn’t old but certainly doesn’t look very young, maybe in the 20-30 range, thats just me. He has facial features that remind me of Pitch but resembles the Jack Frost of Santa Clause 3

That being said, I wondered if him looking similar to Pitch was in the storyline of them being brothers.(Which was a scrapped thing, who knew.) He’s a bit more menacing in this design but certainly seems like he relishes in his work.

Rating: 4/10 I’d make it a lower score but I gotta give it props

NOW THIS JACK IS KINDA INTERESTING. This one looks like he’s 16 and going through a grunge phase. He’s gonna play Nirvana loudly and not turn it down even if you tell him too. His staff itself has mini icicles hanging off of it and leafs look stuck to his shirt. Did you glue or staple those on Jack? His hair also looks much longer than his other designs and I kind of dig it( Shut up I’m bias.) I’m not wholly sure why else this design has stuck with me but it just has something about it that I just love. I wish there was a full body drawing of it.

(He also kinda has the same hair as the Jack Frost in Runescape but I wont go on about that hoo hoo)

Rating: 9/10 *Bad Boy by Cascada plays in the distance*

This one definitely feels like middleschooler trying to be in a band. His sticks just resemble drumsticks to me what can I say. I’m a big fan of his shoes and his color scheme screams a hibernating tree in winter. His hair also looks like it’s covered in frost rather than it being wholly white, which is very neat!! He looks like he wants to fight but has slight hesitance. Overall a very balanced Jack.

Rating: 8/10 He’s ready for band practice

Not many thoughts here, I just found these tiny Jack designs cute. His hoodie being a jacket instead just adds to the charm of this one.

No talk to him he angy.

Rating: 6/10 fun sized boi

Now this Jack resembles the one earlier that dressed entirely in leather brown colors, however he clearly is different than that one. I’m gonna say it, he looks like a zombie or undead in this design and its pretty fucking gnarly. I don’t know whats going on with his hair but I’m gonna assume it’s just the wind making it look like that. He just has the vibe that he was once human but was turned into something else entirely. It isnt in uncanny territory but borders that. This version of Jack meeting Pitch and the others would have been *very* interesting. Rating: 7/10 Eat a twinkie Jack you’ll feel better.

The final design! I can’t complain much about this one. The way his staff subtly has a G shape and a hexagon(his signature shape) is a wonderful touch. Additionally, the way the frost is gathered mostly where his hand is such an intricate detail. His signature hoodie is iconic at this point so I can’t bad mouth that either.(I can’t anyway because there's no complaints from me here.) Although, I never understood the leather straps that his pants had or their functions. I couldn’t find any colonial outfits that resembled Jack’s pants so its a total mystery to me at least.

And I can’t go on about this design until I mention the snowflake pattern in his eyes

Pure beauty. It’s at a hue of blue that almost looks impossible to have, combined with the electric blue color of the snowflake in his eyes. The amount of detail in this movie amazes me to this day. Rating: One Great Blizzard <3/10

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jimblejamblewritings · 2 years ago

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changes hurt | part 2.

Summary: (Y/N) has always been one of the stronger Alphas. Which is saying something when the Avengers is a team overrun with Alphas. A mission gone wrong changes her entire world and when everyone starts treating her different, she doesn’t know if she can cope. Change hurts and (Y/N)’s not sure it’s a pain she cant bear.

Warnings for the Series: strong language, angst, fluff, assault, a/b/o dynamics, sexual content (not sure if there will be smut or just talks, leaning more to just talks but since I don’t know, let’s just say 18+ readers only)

Pairing: Steve x black!reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist)

“That mine?”

You jumped at the sound of Steve’s voice making him smirk at the fact he actually startled you. The entrance to the duplex suite you had was on the floor with Steve and Sam’s rooms. It was late enough when you came back, almost all the lights in the tower were off, that you thought no one would be up. He had only been up to grab some water. A huff sounded from behind Steve and you rolled your eyes. Sharon was clearly still there and not pleased at your sudden scent that invaded past the open doorway and into his room.

She got up and stood behind him, wrapped in just a sheet. You were on suppressants and had just come from satisfying your rut with a very nice Omega but the scent of what Steve and Sharon had been doing all night was beginning to start yours up again. Some sweat beaded on your forehead.

The two other Alphas watched the sweat with intensity and two separate emotions. Sharon felt her rut start up again filled with pure spite as her eyes narrowed at you. Steve felt his come back but his eyes weren’t narrowed at all. Instead, fully dilated pupils followed the sweat down the side of your face and neck disappearing behind his leather jacket that didn’t smell right. He growled, sniffing the air again to see if he could identify the presentation of the mysterious stranger.

“You let an Omega rub his scent all over my shit?”

From behind him Sharon scoffed on his behalf. You crossed your arms, not appreciating her input.

“Needed my little problem solved, found a willing body. Didn’t mean to get it on your jacket, Stevie, my bad,” you said, nonchalantly.

“What did you do, let him fuck you in it?”

That accusation caused you to growl. You stepped up to Steve, invading the barrier of the doorway.

“Let’s get this clear I would never do that to you. I respect you too much as our team captain and another Alpha and my friend. I didn’t mean to let some nobody, especially a random Omega we don’t know try to mark your stuff. He probably took it when I wasn’t paying attention, make a little quick nest.”

“I wa—”

You didn’t give him the chance to apologize.

“It’s late, all three of us are still in rut. I’m calling it up to on edge nerves. Water under the bridge. I’ll let you two finish fucking. Your stink is trying to rile me up again, I’ll give the jacket back when the scent is gone. Don’t forget, we meet on the helipad at 10 for the mission.”

Steve grabbed your arm to stop you. Sharon immediately had a hand on his shoulder. He looked at his hand and then your eyes.

“I didn’t mean for the last part to come out like that, it was meant to be a joke. I know it was an accident. I respect you too.”

“Ok, I still think we should rest. Rut still blew it out of proportions. Goodnight, Stevie. Sharon.”

“Night, doll,” Steve said much to Sharon’s annoyance while she muttered a goodnight.

You continued down your intended path to your room and up the stairs to the bed and bathroom area. Stripping off your clothes, you stepped into your shower. You didn’t shower at the Omega’s place, not wanting him to get some idea that you were considering him as a claim by sticking around past the sex. Once you smelled only like you, you slipped on underwear and headed to bed.

At the last minute, you reached for the jacket thrown at the edge of your bed. The quickest way to get rid of scents was to replace them instead of waiting for them to fade away. It was accident but you still felt bad and wanted to fix it for him. You shrugged on Steve’s jacket to replace the Omega’s scent with yours which you knew he could tolerate more. It wasn’t the best sleeping material but because of how worn it was, the leather was comfortable enough to wrap yourself in and fall asleep.

Late morning came and you stretched with a complaint to FRIDAY— the AI greeting you back as she turned on the lights in your room. You buried your nose in the leather jacket and took a deep inhale. It mainly smelled like you but there was still the linger of the guy from last night. It would take one or two more nights to get rid of. You shoved the jacket in between the clothes in your closet, hoping that would help since you couldn’t exactly wear it on a mission.

You tugged at your suit and met everyone on the helipad where the quinjet was up and running, waiting for everyone. Tony handed you the new bo staff before walking into the jet and sitting at the driver’s seat. You threw it up in the air and caught it, the weight making your hand drop more than normal. Your palms glowed a bright red and slowly the staff did as well. The minute you stopped, the glowing did as well and the staff stayed intact. Knocking the staff against Steve’s shield that was sitting on a seat, you smiled hearing the sharp clanking noise. The staff was vibranium, it had to be. Hopefully it would be the end to you having to get a new weapon every other mission.

The rest of the team piled in, Peter smiling at you and giving you a hug in thanks that he was on the mission. The team chuckled, he was like a little brother to you. Clint once tried to say he was your child but was swiftly met with a boot to the chest as you told him not to accidentally curse you with kids before you were ready or wanted them. The jet ride was silent. Not uncommon when a mission came after most of the team had been in some form of rut or heat. No one liked to talk because they were tired and opted to take the concentration they had to focus on the mission.

You decided on teams for once you got deep inside the base and snuck into the old castle. You grumbled that if it wasn’t the enemy that killed you it would be the falling rocks from the ceiling of the dilapidated structure— the comment making the rest of the tired team smile.

“One of you smells,” Steve and Bucky said at the same time.

The entire team stopped and did a test. You shook your head.

“This might be your supersoldier senses, no one else smells. Everyone took the shot before we left.”

The shot was a masker engineered by Bruce and used by most intelligence agencies either using his formula or a replica once they learned they could make their own. It never lasted long and was carefully tracked but it masked scents from wafting too far past a person, making spies able to do their jobs properly.

“One more check, to be safe,” Steve said.

Everyone sniffed again. Peter stiffened beside you.

“It’s not us,” he whispered.

Bucky and Steve took over completely and worked to find how far the scent was from where you guys actually were standing. The supersoldiers returned with a new plan and new teams. Stepping up to the plate, Tony took Peter under his wing to head down the south hall. You were with Bruce, one slap to his bicep with your heated up hand and Hulk would activate no problem. Nat and Clint were paired up along with Vision and Wanda. Steve, Sam, and Bucky were the famed trio to no one’s surprise.

This mission was worth going in standard teams you guys knew worked. With a final look at everyone, Steve nodded and you all split— turning on the comms and walking with a new alertness. The fighting sounded through your ear piece. You and Bruce looked at each other, it was coming from Nat and Clint. They couldn’t get you an exact location in reference to them. You whisper-yelled for Sam in your comm.

“Can Redwing get Bruce and I to you guys?”

“On it, give me a minute… stairwell straight ahead and go to the right. We’re… three flights down.”

You and Bruce started to book it. The team needed all the help they could get. You narrowly avoided getting hit by a guard that just got knocked out from Steve’s shield. Heating up your palm, you slapped Bruce and Hulk roared to life. Your staff got hotter and hotter until it was bright red. Men screamed as the staff burned them and you spun it with expertise.

“You’ll never get it,” one man said.

He was dressed differently than the others and you knew he was in charge. A beaker was in his hand.

“You’re the only one still standing,” Nat said as she slowly inched to him.

He held the glass with little regard and they couldn’t risk it spilling by ambushing him.

“And this is the only formula successfully completed. I can tell when I have lost a battle… but a battle isn’t war. Think quickly.”

He threw the glass. Everyone watched in horror and screamed for someone to grab it. You were the closest and without thinking dove for the glass— hands still red hot from fighting. The beaker burst in your hands, cutting the skin and causing the substance to seep into the wounds.

“Shit!” you yelled.

“Bruce, get her back to the tower and into medical now. Tell Rhodey to send us a second jet,” Steve commanded. “Everyone else clean sweep the place, we need to find files or something.”

Your hand started to burn before going numb. Bruce, no longer in Hulk form, rushed you back to the quinjet. Your whole body had started to go numb and Bruce worried it was going into shock. Dr. Cho was already waiting with a gurney to take you into the private wing reserved for the Avengers team. The last thing you remembered was Bruce saying everything was going to be okay before the anesthesia or poison, you weren’t sure which, took over and you went unconscious.

Dry. Your throat felt very dry when you woke up. The coughing startled Bruce who had been sleeping in the chair next to your hospital bed. He rushed to grab you water and held the cup up to your lips as you drank. He set the cup down and moved from the chair to sitting on the edge of your bed.

“How are you?”

“I feel like I got hit but a goddamn bus, Bruce.”

He chuckled. “At least that mouth of yours hasn’t lost any bite… (Y/N), there’s a problem.”

“Yeah, I almost died.”

“No, but you might wish you did.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What the hell do you mean?”

“I want you to know, before I say anything, no one else knows but you and me. I was the only one that studied the compound of the substance. And aside from Dr. Cho, no one else worked on you. She only pulled out the glass and helped drain the wound.”

You looked down at your left hand. It wasn’t damaged but you could see where there was a cyst that must have been drained.

“And no one else has been allowed in here but me. You’ve been out for a week.”

“A week?! Bruce what the hell?”

“The substance they were working on was a changing component.”

“Change how?”

“Presentation. It’s meant to mutate presentation cells… you’re no longer an Alpha.”

You shook your head. “Brucey this isn’t funny.”

“I’m not joking. The cells were either destroyed or mutated into Omega cells.”

“You’re lying! You’re fucking lying to me!” You screamed before Bruce slapped a hand over your mouth.

“If you don’t shut up, someone’s going to barge through that door and smell it on you.”

He tilted his head to the frosty glass windows. You could see outlines and shadows of the entire team on the other side. Three heads moved slightly and you stilled— obviously Peter, Steve, and Bucky could hear the movement. You looked Bruce in the eye and nodded slowly in indication that you wouldn’t shout. Bruce handed you the file and talked as you flipped through it.

“I’ve destroyed all the files but one locked in my nesting stuff, not even Nat is allowed to touch that box. This isn’t on your medical record either. I’m going to lock this up with the file as well when you’re done reading it.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

Bruce poured you another glass of water.

“That’s why I destroyed everything. I know this can’t be easy but it’s still your decision, (Y/N). Alpha?” Bruce asked gently when you seemed to stare into space.

You almost recoiled, the word seemed to scorn you as you looked at the file that said otherwise.

“How long can I hide it?”

“They’ll know the minute you change clothes. Roseanne gave me a jacket, said it would help… I lied, I told her. Three of us know.”

“It’s okay, I trust Rose.”

You sniffed the jacket, it smelled strongly of Steve. Enough to mask whatever scent you might be giving off— you refused to sniff your own skin, afraid of the truth. But it didn’t take a smell for you to know that something had changed. You found yourself melting into the jacket in attempts to bury yourself in it.

“The maskers,” you said with delight thinking of the pre-mission shots.

“Are highly monitored by the system to stay within the intelligence community.”

“Bruce, please. I can’t be this. My nature got changed by force. This new one is not mine.”

“I can possibly fake the numbers.”

You shot over to give him a hug. Bruce set you back.

“You’re on these for the rest of your life you know. Or at least until I can try to change you back. But if I can’t,” he faltered.

“I understand.”

“Okay, I’ll bring you the first batch of injections after dinner. Don’t shower before then and keep that jacket on you.”

You nodded seriously and Bruce helped you out the bed. You were forever grateful to the good scientist. The team rushed you when you stepped out of the room and you froze up in fear.

“Back off guys, she just woke up,” Bruce came to your rescue.

They all suddenly apologized and gave you space. You secretively sniffed the air as the team talked about the bullshit lie Bruce told them about the serum that got you— you could only smell the jacket and hints of every other team member. You walked into the elevator and tapped your foot nervously as it slowly made its way up to the residential floors. You forced yourself to stop tapping, not willing to give in to the nervousness of the Omega cells trying to take over.

Dinner was a tense affair on your part and you only breathed when Bruce finally knocked on your door to deliver the masker injections. He patted an extra box on top of the injections informing you that he had gotten himself a prescription for Omega suppressants for you to use. You couldn’t thank him enough. You showered and sat on the edge of your tub.

Normally you were wild with the injections, everyone was. But now you wanted to make sure that it was perfect, that every drop entered your bloodstream. You pulled the band tight around your thigh, holding it taut between your teeth until the faintest semblance of a vein appeared. Carefully— and rather painfully because of the slow speed— you sunk the syringe into your thigh and pushed the top of it until all of the injection was gone.

You took a tentative sniff. Nothing. Opening the box, you ripped one of the pills from the package and chewed it harshly. You grabbed underwear, ready to slip into bed when you thought about pajamas. If you had put on more clothes that smelled like you— Alpha you— then maybe it would help. Instead of grabbing fresh clothes, you reached into your laundry basket to pull out pajamas. They absolutely reeked of your scent and you smiled. It would probably mean you could never wash your clothes again but as long as you didn’t spill something on it, you would be fine, you hoped.

It was hard to fall asleep at first. You tossed and turned in attempts to figure out why, eventually sitting up straight. The second laundry basket stared at you. It smelled like all your teammates and too many pieces were invading your personal space. It was uncomfortable. Grabbing the basket, you tossed any other stray pieces from the other team members into the basket and headed out on your mission to return their stuff.

Thor and Clint weren’t there so you left the piles at the door. Tony and Pepper didn’t even question the return. Wanda was just grateful to have her sweater back and you laughed when she got mad that it had some of your smell on it. She jokingly glared before digging out Vision’s stuff and giving you a hug goodnight. Bruce answered the door to his suite and with an understanding face took his, Nat, and Bucky’s stuff from you without a word. You returned to your floor to give the last bit of clothes. Sam didn’t complain that his shirts smelled a bit like you and threw the clothes behind him without a care. He was telling you funny stories about the week you missed making you laugh. The next door swung open and Steve walked over.

“Heard you were giving back our stuff,” he said with a chuckle. “Can I get that one shirt back? You’ve had for like two weeks.”

“Your too tight shirts? I’m doing you a favor.”

Sam snorted at your retort and Steve rolled his eyes as he reached into the basket and started grabbing his clothes. His pile and Sam’s piles were significantly bigger than the others. You couldn’t help but growl when his hand went to touch the large silk scarf. The growl was Alpha but the reason behind it was pure Omega which only made your growl harsher from your frustration at that.

“What? It’s mine.”

“You don’t even wear it.”

“Tony makes me wear it sometimes at those events.”

“I use it to tie my hair at night.”

You ripped the scarf back from Steve’s hand and dropped it in the basket. He looked down in some surprise at the fury with which you grabbed it. His fingers reached for other pieces and your eyes watched his movements like a hawk. Anytime you growled, Steve’s fingers would drop the fabric and just grab something else. He grabbed his leather jacket. You growled, expecting him to drop it. Steve only gripped it tighter.

“No, I’m not letting you have this one.”

The snarling started and it was another stare-off— only Steve meant it in jest and you were being serious with him for once.

“Stand down,” he said.

“No.”

“It’s my jacket.”

“I wear it better.”

“I don’t usually do this but Stand. Down.”

Steve used the Alpha command and your eyes tore from his gaze. He thought it was because he won, you knew it was because you were smothering a whimper and hoping it died before it escaped your lips. Sam cleared his throat.

“If you two are gonna bang, not outside my door please.”

That snapped you both out of it. Steve added his jacket to the pile in his arms and you bit back a whine. Steve shook his head.

“Thought the rut was over,” he said like it meant nothing.

Steve’s nose upturned. His eyes moved slightly past Sam’s door, not able to actually see inside.

“You got an Omega in there?”

You tensed.

“Yeah,” Sam said as he pulled the door closed.

Steve shrugged. “It’s normally that secretary isn’t it? Smells different.”

“Not bonded to any one, Cap. Can take a different partner if I want.”

Steve agreed and adjusted the pile in his arms. He gave the two of you smiles and retreated back to his room, content that most of his clothes were returned to him. Before you could take a step, Sam grabbed the scarf from the laundry basket. You turned to him. He held it delicately in his hands.

“Tell me why the fuck I just lied for you before I mark this all over with my scent.”

You growled and made a move but the basket blocked you from reaching fully. Sam gripped it tighter and held it close to his face.

“Stop.”

It came out a whine instead of a command.

“You can’t tell anyone. I’m serious, Sam. Swear it to me.”

“On my life.”

The scarf dropped from his hands and back into the basket as you finished your story. He sniffed the air aggressively.

“That stupid stare-off is making the masker ineffective.”

“I wasn’t expecting Steve to use a command. I can’t use another injection until morning, Bruce and I have it carefully planned out. There are no extras.”

“Be careful, (Y/N). And stay in your room until morning before you start to smell up the place.”

You nodded and headed off before Same called your name.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he said. “I don’t see you as any lesser. Understood, Alpha?”

You wiped at your eyes, feeling tears already start.

“Thanks, Sam. But it’s just you. We know what would happen.”

He swallowed with a nod and you retreated back to your room. Steve’s scarf smelled sickly sweet as you tied up your hair with it. The room was clear of everyone else’s smells. Only yours, Steve’s, and the two things from Sam that he let you keep to try and calm you down filled the room. It was better that way. You drifted off to sleep with a very tired command to FRIDAY to lock your door and bar all entrance until you woke up in the morning.

(Part 3)...

#steve rogers x reader #alpha!steve x reader #marvel fic #avengers fic

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mumblesplash · 3 years ago

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okay this has no relevance to anything but im fixating on it right now: how the HELL does any artist do clothing folds and creases. do they just put those things wherever they feel like and hope it looks right? do clothes crinkle in a consistent pattern i have yet to notice? this has baffled me for years

well as with a lot of art things the Correct answer is ‘observe, practice, do photo studies’ but you know full well i don’t do that. i am consequently not The Greatest at clothing folds, but i HAVE spent a greater than average proportion of my life thinking about how cloth moves, so i have some thoughts and can elaborate a bit. however my most useful advice probably boils down to ‘if you get stumped try to find an artist that did something similar to what you’re going for and try to emulate their style’

again, i’m not claiming to be an expert here, but speaking for myself the short answer to your question is ‘i mentally simulate the material i’m drawing and approximate the effect of the movement i’m imagining on the folds of the cloth’. the cool thing is that different types of fabric move differently, and you need to account for that when drawing it. i can already tell i’m not going to be able to put this into words very well, so i’ll include a bunch of examples like i did with the shoe tutorial

obviously stretchy, tight clothes are the easiest (think leggings, superhero costumes, etc) but second place probably goes to well-fitted button-ups and slacks with little to no stretch in them. with this cloth it’s just a matter of figuring out points of tension and moving out from there

these types of clothes are basically just 2 dimensional planes cut into specific shapes and manipulated through the third dimension. all you have to account for in figuring out how they fold is gravity and the position of the person wearing them, and you don’t really have to conceptualize them with any thickness or stretch.

looser fitting things like tunics and dresses are harder, but you still don’t have to account for stretch or thickness most of the time. zoe’s dress here, for example: it’s structured and folds almost geometrically when she moves, with lots of thin straight lines. (also you can see here how i really am sorta making things up, all the lines i’ve made are just suggesting folds and movement, nothing too exact)

because you now have more environmental factors to account for flowier cloth can be tricky, but if you get good instincts for how it moves it’s really good for communicating dynamic action, like how here the wind is plastering his tunic to the front of him and billowing it out behind him:

this drawing is actually a pretty good example of several different types of clothes. jason’s shirt is form-fitting and has stretch, it barely folds at all. his pants aren’t as tight, the fabric in those folds according to the way he moves, but the fabric still doesn’t have much thickness to it. his jacket has no significant stretch to it, but it’s both thick and soft, so on someone with a frame too small to properly fit it bunches up with a lot of softer shapes and almost ‘loops’ at joints, and the little girl’s dress has a lot of fabric to it but is just draping, because she’s not really moving much here

the same leather jacket on jason has a lot less drape to it and is honestly way easier to draw lmao

a good thing to remember with this is if you have a more abstract/cartoonish art style like mine its usually better to aim for ‘doesn’t look wrong’ than ‘technically correct’, which i myself could stand to keep in mind more if i’m being honest. people don’t tend to really Look at things unless they look wrong

…and as usual when i try to explain how i draw things i can’t tell if any of this is even the slightest bit useful, but hopefully getting some insight into how i think about stuff is at least kinda interesting. if anyone has specific follow up questions feel free to hmu

#given that i’ve been into superheroes recently i’ve been getting kind of a break from having to put much critical thought into clothing fold #s in exchange for suddenly needing to get much better at anatomy #splashasks #laudofthedeep #long post #mumbling #someone remind me later to make a tutorial tag

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janetbrown711 · 3 years ago

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"It won't happen again, I swear" Yax?

Once Wakko ran out of the room, the first thing Yakko did was try and see if he could catch up to Max. He had to make sure things were okay- that Max didn't hate him. If he did- oh god-

Max was... everything to Yakko. He couldn't afford to lose him.

Thankfully, Max still hadn't made it outside, and was at the bottom of the foyer when Yakko called for him to stop.

"Max- wait-!" Yakko shouted as he scrambled down the steps as fast as he could. Thankfully, Max obliged, staying where he was.

"I... I wanted to apologize... for Wakko's behavior," Yakko panted, not bothering to stop to take a breath.

"It's cool, Yakko. I get it- really, i do," Max said, putting his hands in his pockets.

Yakko blinked.

"But..?" He tilted his head slighty.

"'But' nothing. I'll admit Wakko stepped up his game but it's most certainly not the first time I've been locked in a room before, Yakko," Max chuckled slightly.

"B-but you were all snappy before- I thought-"

"Oh, right- sorry about that. I was just-" Max sighed. "I'm just worried what Dad'll think. He's... a bit of a worry-wart sometimes," He scratched the back of his neck.

Yakko bit his lip. "What does that mean for... us?"

Us.

"Hey, don't worry. I'll figure out something that'll keep both you and your brother in the clear- as well as a way to also not make him and at your parents or the kingdom. This isn't my first time," Max reassured.

"How?" Yakko asked.

Max shrugged. "I'll think of something. I always do," Max punched his arm lightly. Yakko laughed.

"Speaking of your brother though..." Max said, and Yakko felt his tone change.

"Let him know I'm not mad or anything, despite lying to me and stuff. He's probably just confused," He said.

"Yeah..." Yakko kicked the ground.

"Also... don't take this the wrong way, but I really think you should be spending more time with your siblings. They probably feel a bit neglected or something, which is why he locked me in that tower and stuff- which from what I've seen doesn't seem like the type of thing he'd usually do," He said, and Yakko felt a knot form in his stomach from the guilt.

"Yeah, he wouldn't. He hates that place- grandma locked him up there twice when he was a kid... bad memories. I swear it'll never happen again." Yakko said.

"Ah..." Max nodded his head.

"But... you're right. I've been neglecting them... I'm just sorry it's gotten this far," Yakko sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"Like I said- no big deal. You just need to go to them and apologize and stuff," Max assured.

"Yeah, I'll do that," Yakko promised. Max smiled a little.

"Good," He punched his arm again. "Now, it's really dark out, and I really have to go before it's too late," Max gestured to the door.

"Right, yes- you need to get going," Yakko agreed.

"I'll write to you," Max swore as he started to head out.

"I know, I know," Yakko smiled.

With a salute goodbye, Max ran out and left the foyer.

Well, all things considered, that could've been significantly worse.

Which meant he totally snapped at Wakko for nothing.

Shit.

Yakko had some serious apologizing to do.

"Yakko? Have you seen Wakko?" His mother entered the foyer as Yakko began to climb back up.

"No, i ran straight to Max. Why? Is he not in his room?" Yakko asked.

"He's not in the playroom, his room, any of the closests I've stopped by- I'm getting really worried," Her voice cracked despite trying to keep it together.

Shit.

"It's been a long night, I'm sure you're just stressed out, mom. You should lay down- I can search for him," Yakko said as he reached the top.

"Yakko, he could be anywhere. I-i can't rest until I know he's okay... Oh god, I feel just terrible," She whispered that last part to herself, clearly also being overwhelmed with guilt of her own.

"Look, we can get the guards to look as well, it'll be okay, we can find him and apologize," Yakko held one of her hands and gave it a good squeeze. Lena squeezed back.

"I'll give the orders..." She said, before squeezing his hand once more and going down the stairs.

Yakko had some serious, serious apologizing to do.

.o0o.

The first place Yakko checked was the playroom, but as his mother had said it was empty. He thought perhaps there was a slight chance Wakko had been moving locations, as under the table was one of his favorite hiding places, but alas, he wasn't there.

He then decided it would just be best to look through every single room he stumbled into, but most were empty or full fo servants who just gave him confused looks before he awkwardly stepped out.

He did run into Scratchnsniff though, and he gave him a quick run down and he too agreed to help.

After an hour and a half of searching, Yakko's concern had nearly tripled as he ran out of ideas as to where he could be. He looked through every room, every closet, every nook and cranny but he was simply nowhere to be found inside the castle.

However, as he was about to start all over again, it occured to the crown prince that perhaps his brother wasn't inside at all- but hiding somewhere in the gardens.

In the dark.

Late at night.

In the cold.

Yakko hurried to grab a blanket, his coat, and a lantern before rushing out to the garden

It was a windy night, and the brisk air sent a chill down his spine almost immediately. However, he just tightened his coat as he began his search anyway, determined to make that apology.

He seriously shouldn't have blown up so much. Max wasn't even mad or anything- Yakko blew it way out of proportion. Mom was right- Wakko was just feeling neglected. Hell, Dot probably was too, which meant he'd have to apologize to her too.

God- with how many times Yakko called him an idiot it's no surprise he ran off and away like this. An insult straight from dear ol' Grandma.

Yakko really had been slipping these past few months.

Though Wakko did still cross a line... but that line could've been prevented had he just listened sooner and not neglected them.

Yakko truly was going to have to make it up to them- both of them.

For awhile, Yakko wandered around the garden, holding his jacket close when there was a gust of wind, and shouting his brother's name to no response. His worry grew more and more as it grew later and later and darker and darker.

He wasn't going to give up though, he needed to find him.

"Wakko!!" he called out once again.

Still no response.

Yakko began to worry more. He had practically searched all of the garden by now- if he wasn't out here he was probably outside of the castle walls, where he could easily be lost or scared or hurt or worse, even.

Oh god, Yakko had really, really screwed up.

"Wakko!!!" He called out again, feeling a lump form in his throat.

God- he couldn't start crying now, he still had to find him.

Yakko wiped his face before going into the last place he hadn't looked- the formation of hedges that led to the flower garden his parents loved working on the most. Yakko continued on in, calling for his brother over and over again, begging to be heard and for a response.

Still, nothing.

Until- out of the corner of his eye, he saw him.

He was curled into a ball and shivering tightly, with his legs curled up under his shirt to keep warm. His face was still tear stained from before, but he seemed asleep.

"Wakko!" Yakko gasped, running to him and quickly wrapping him in the blanket.

"Y-yakko-?" Wakko snapped awake, holding the blanket tightly.

"Wakko, we've been looking everywhere for you- why-?" Yakko stopped, realizing 'why' was a stupid question. "I'm bringing you inside- don't fight," he said, as he picked him up.

Thankfully, Wakko didn't, and Yakko successfully brought him back inside and he took his little brother to the family study and quickly put on a fire to help him warm up while his brother sat in silence.

"Wakko!" Dot appeared in the open doorway of the study in her nightgown. "You're okay!" She rushed and hugged him.

"Y-yeah..." Wakko looked at the ground, but still hugged back (though rather weakly).

"I'm glad you're here Dot- I need to talk to both of you," Yakko said, going to the door and closing it. Dot winced and took a seat next to Wakko. Yakko cringed at that, taking off his coat and putting it on a hook before sitting in a chair of his own across from them.

They all sat in silence a moment, with none of them really knowing how to start. God- how do you start a conversation like this?

"Y-y-yakko, I-i'm s-so, so, so, so, so sorry," Wakko sniffled. "I-i knew it wasn't right b-but I-i really thought he was gonna- i didn't wanna hurt you- I just-"

Yakko sighed. "I know, Wak. I'm sorry for shouting at you so much. You aren't an idiot, or a moron. If anyone here's the idiot, it's me," He admitted.

"I... neglected you two. I was so blinded by Max that i seriously hurt you guys and I'm really sorry," Yakko said.

"I-it's okay, Yakko-" Dot tried to smile, but Yakko cut her off.

"It isn't okay, Dot. I seriously hurt you two. I said some really hurtful things, and I need to own up to it." He ran his fingers through his hair as he looked at the fire.

Another stretch of silence.

"Do... do you hate me..?" Wakko asked so quietly one could hardly hear it over the crackle of the fire.

"Of course not Wakko, I could never hate you," Yakko swore.

"E-even though I locked your boyfriend away? A-and tried to soak him with water? And covered your hands in spices so it hurt? A-and took and read your letters?" Wakko sniffled as tears began to stream down his face as he gripped the blanket tighter.

"Wakko, I could never hate you, you're my little brother." Yakko said. "Though those things did really hurt, I know you've learned your lesson and won't do it again, right?"

Wakko nodded his head.

"And for the record Dot, I don't hate you either," Yakko looked at his little sister, who was hugging the pillow from her chair.

"Yakko...? Do you... consider us like friends?" She asked nervously.

"I think we're friends in a way... but in a different way I think family is more than that, you know?" Yakko shrugged, not knowing how to answer.

"Not... really..." Dot looked away.

It then occurred to Yakko that they hadn't had any friends either.

God- he had spent all this time begin upset they couldn't be happy for him when they literally couldn't understand-

Oh god- Yakko was deeply embarrassed.

"I'm so sorry for getting so bad at you two- I didn't know you felt like that. I-" He sighed. "I think you two need to start meeting some kids around the kingdom and elsewhere."

"But I don't want anyone else- I want you two," Wakko frowned.

"Being friends with other people doesn't mean we're gonna disappear on you- not anymore. I promise, I'm going to make up for all of the time I neglected you two." Yakko side tracked.

"And having friends is a good thing, it means you're growing as a person and forming connections outside of your family can be really rewarding," Yakko said.

Wakko bit his lip, still unsure.

"I'm not saying immediately, I'm just saying... perhaps it'd be a good idea. But we don't need to rush it- I still need to make up that lost time," Yakko chuckled weakly.

Neither of the younger Warners replied, both preferring to look at the fire sleepily.

Yakko sighed. "I think it's late- we should tell mom you're okay and we should go to bed."

"M-mom's worried about me?" Wakko sheeped.

"Of course she is, you ran off and were nowhere to be found for hours," Yakko said.

"R-right... I should apologize..." Wakko agreed with his elder brother.

"Yeah, I should go to bed," Dot yawned, which made Yakko chuckle.

"C'mon, let's go," He said, as he put out the fire, as both of sibs were clearly very toasty.

They didn't have to walk very far before they saw their parents, both looking very stressed before they saw their children and quickly ran to them, giving Wakko big hugs with a jumble of "are you okay? are you hurt?"s, etc. etc.

"I-I'm okay- I'm so sorry for what I-i did- I just-"

"I know sweetie, I know... it's just-" Lena sighed. "I'm just... I'm just happy you're okay now."

"We're both happy," William inserted himself, which made Wakko laugh a little.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed," Lena said, scooping her youngest boy up and carrying him to his bedroom.

"...can you carry me?" Dot asked William, who laughed and nodded, scooping her up too.

"Awww, what about me?" Yakko joked to his father.

To his surprise though, his father just smirked and grabbed Yakko with one arm and carried him away too.

Right, his dad was a knight. Sometimes Yakko forgot that.

Soon enough, he was dropped off at his and Wakko's room, and Dot dropped off at hers across the hall (though she got tucked in). The brother's changed into their pajamas and were about to go to bed, when Wakko stopped Yakko.

"Yakko..?" He asked.

"Yeah?" Yakko raised an eyebrow.

"Is... Max mad?" Wakko looked down.

"No, he's okay. It's not his first time being locked in a room, he was just tired and worried about his dad."

"...would you still be mad at me if he was?"

Yakko paused.

"No, I think I would've had my senses knocked back into me anyway," Yakko said. "Mom couldn't let me be an idiot for too long."

"Okay," Wakko bit his lip and turned away.

"C'mere," He opened his arms. Wakko quickly understood and gave Yakko a hug.

Yakko didn't realize just how much he missed Wakko's hugs.

"What you did did cross a line, but you get it now and that's all that matters: that you learn from your mistakes and make up for it, like I am," Yakko said. Wakko nodded.

"I-i'm sorry for making you worried too," Wakko said.

"It's okay... you're safe and here now, that's all that matters," Yakko hugged him a little tighter.

"...I'm also sorry I keep calling him your boyfriend..." Wakko said. "I know you don't like it."

Yakko laughed at that one.

"It's a little funnier now... but yeah, maybe cut that out for the moment," He snorted. Wakko laughed too, letting go of the embrace and going to his bed.

"G'night Yakko," Wakko said, blowing out the light by his bed.

"G'night Wak," Yakko said, blowing out his light and climbing into his own bed.

Both of them had made a lot of huge mistakes, and both were still a little more hurt than either would ever say, but both knew they wouldn't make those mistakes again. They were gonna make up for it,

No matter what it took.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 The End

#my fics #yakko warner #animaniacs #wakko warner #angst #max goof #feels #yax #dot warner #queen angelina ii #sir william the good #lots of apologizing folks B)#this took me awhile to write omstly due to procrastination #bc fr when i sat down it write it took like- 3 hrs tops #i was just hella procrastinating lmaooo #anyway hope y'all like it

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m88n · 4 years ago

Text

cayendo

part two of the playlist series

fluff, comedy, angst, college + fuckgirl au

johnny suh’s birthday party allowed for a serendipitous reconnection with mark lee, and you find yourself taking the precarious leap of faith in trying to be emotionally vulnerable, once more.

►listen to love affair - umi, kiss me more - doja cat, baby powder - jenevieve, restless - bibi, pink matter - frank ocean, forrest gump - frank ocean, cayendo - frank ocean

“You sure you got everything? Your keys, phone—condoms? Plural,”

You sigh into an endeared smile. “Yes, Jenjen, don’t worry about it, don’t think I’ll be getting it on tonight anyway,”

“Hey, better safe than sorry. You know how things could get with you.” Jennie warns you, then looking back into the bathroom mirror as she continues her skin routine, hair wrapped neatly in a towel.

You roll your eyes, smiling lovingly at your best friend, then briefly scrunching your face in your complete inability to talk back to her, “Okay, yeah, you have a point. Thanks for always keeping me in check Jen,”

“Always baby,” She mutters, still focused on the mirror, before craning her neck to check on you, “Don’t forget to text me when you arrive and when you leave his apartment, okay? Update me,”

“Okay, will do mom,” You chuckle, before opening your apartment door to finally catch your uber to Johnny’s apartment.

After a 30-minute uber ride, you finally arrive at your destination. The air outside is chilly during this time of the year, so you thank yourself for choosing to complete your black bodycon dress with an oversized brown teddy coat. Not wanting to appear too done up, you pair your look with thigh high socks and a pair of loafer shoes—all black. You walk closer to the entrance of Johnny’s apartment, before taking your phone out of your jacket pocket to dial his number.

“Yo, y/n, wassup,” He picks up, and you could hear faint sounds of laughter and cheering, assuming the party’s pretty much already started with several people present.

“Hey, I’m downstairs, come pick me up,” You respond.

“Gotcha. Hey guys, I’m gonna go down for a sec, y/n’s here, Hold up, kay?”

“Sure, thanks.”

After a few minutes, you see a familiar tall figure emerging from the lifts you’re able to see through the apartment’s automatic doors, and Johnny’s face lights up in a smile as he spots you in the entrance, walking his way quicker towards you. Briefly brushing his hair back as he beeps his card to let you in, you can’t help but think if he knows you find that habit of his incredibly attractive.

“Hey, hey, wassup, y/n, thanks for coming,” He says, wrapping you in a big hug.

“Hey, happy birthday John, thanks for inviting me,” You respond with a smile.

He sighs into a smile as he looks down at you. “You look good.”

“Thanks. You look great too, haha,” You say as your gaze sweeps across his body, and you wouldn’t be lying as his physique somehow always completes a simple collared shirt and a pair of jeans in the most appealing way. You decide that it’s probably thanks to his proportions—and obviously, the muscles do definitely play a part. You shake off your thoughts of your last meet with him, being reminded of several details—you’re here for a damned birthday celebration, y/n—you try to tell yourself.

You follow him to the lifts so he could take you both to the rooftop, and as you enter, you can’t help but maybe sense a tiny bit of tension between you two—and not the negative kind. You hold yourself from breaking out into a smile from the quietness between you two considering how your last meet went.

“If we weren’t having a party I’d probably push you against the walls of this lift right now,” He finally sputters.

“Johnny!” You warn him jokingly in the midst of chuckling, thinking to yourself that he indeed would be one to address the elephant in the room.

He joins you in your chuckling, looking at you in the eyes, “Am I wrong, though? I did say you look good,”

“Dude, oh my god,” You say, shaking your head with a smile plastered on your face, “Never said I disagree. But let’s keep it PG-13 tonight, yeah? Or at least try to, you’re a host,”

“I know, I know,” He sighs out exaggeratedly, “Just putting it out there cause I know we were both thinking it,”

You look at him with widened eyes, not believing the audacity of this man, before being interrupted by the ding of the lift.

“Oh, look, we’re here.” He says, smiling.

You chuckle to yourself, thinking how he’s always able to amuse you in any possible situation. You do appreciate him for that, as it comes real handy in defusing any sort of awkward tension. When he finally lets you into the venue, you could see that it really isn’t a big party at all, probably medium at best. It’s quite a spacious venue for the number of people that’s currently present. You take a look at the entirety at the venue, quickly spotting that there’s both an indoor and outdoor area—the indoors comprised of a well-lit area with plenty of couch space and two large bar tables, while the outdoors seems to have some large wooden tables and benches with a beautiful rooftop view overlooking the city skyline. Both areas are barely decorated in any way apart from the obvious preparation of drinks, cakes, and food all across the bar tables—which puts the focus of the party into the actual atmosphere of the celebration.

You spot a few people you recognize from the summer camp after taking a good look at the room, before feeling a gentle nudge on your arm.

“That one’s Mark, that one there, with the blue jean jacket on the sofa,” You feel Johnny’s whisper on your ear.

“Ooooh, gotcha, thanks for that.” You respond back in a whisper.

“All good, enjoy yourself, babe,” He winks at you as he walks away, needing to accommodate to the different groups of guests.

You chuckle to yourself, before making your way to the group comprised of people from the summer camp. Few are seated on the couch, while the majority of them are seated on the floor close to said couch, with plenty of throw pillows to cushion their seating. A few of them manages to notice you, as they greet you with overwhelming enthusiasm given the ongoing buzz of the party (and unsurprisingly, as you spot almost everyone with a red solo cup in their hands).

“Hey, y/n, how’s it going?” Ten greets you with a big smile, “I’ve missed you, you’ve totally gone off the radar after the camp,”

“I know right, I kept complaining to Ten that you won’t answer our camp group chat properly,” Chaeryeong adds, face lighting up from your presence, “But it’s all good, boo, I’m glad we get to meet again.”

“Yeah, can’t believe you disappeared, our two-sip y/n,” Ten remarks, earning some big laughter throughout the whole group from the nickname you’ve earned to dub your incredible lightweightedness.

You laugh along with them, though you can’t help but feel the heat of someone staring at you from a distance. Your eyes flicker towards Mark, and you notice he’s been looking at you, since you instantly snapped onto his gaze the moment your eyes move towards his. He nods at you with a hesitant smile in an attempt to greet you, and you respond by subtly waving at him.

“Oh shit, you don’t have a drink, babe, sit down, I’ll make you something—in the meantime, tell everyone about your story with John,” Ten says offhandedly as he rises from his seat, walking towards one of the bar counters with lightning speed as if he hasn’t dropped a dynamite prior to his exit. Everyone laughs at your bemused reaction.

“Ten, dude, what the fuck,” You say, scrunching your face, though laughing at his antics in an endeared way. You look for a vacant seat before making your way towards an empty spot on the floor near Mark.

“Baby, everyone kind of already expected it, it was so obvious how you two were vibing so much during camp,” Chaeryeong lays the truth on you with an innocent smile. “Ten and Johnny went to dinner few days ago and Ten just asked about it, so, yeah,”

“You don’t need to tell the whole thing if you don’t want to though babe, I’m just here to break the ice, that, you know, you both got it going on,” Ten says as he approaches his seat once more, handing you a red solo cup filled with some sort of alcoholic concoction.

You could only laugh at this whole scene unfolding, before finally taking a sip of your cup of liquid courage. You scrunch your nose, hit by the familiar taste of alcohol, before you finally continue to catch up with the rest of the group you haven’t been properly connecting with over the past few weeks.

After around a couple of hours talking with the group, you notice that everyone’s pretty much mildly intoxicated, including yourself, as the topic of the discussion’s started to become pretty scattered with plenty of slurred speeches. You’ve learned your lesson quite well over the summer camp—and decided that tonight you’re going to take it much easier on the drinking. As a result, your level of intoxication somewhat matches the rest of the group, perhaps even less this time, and you can’t help but feel pretty proud of yourself.

“You feeling alright?”

You turn to look at the source of the voice, before finding your face dangerously close with Mark’s. He’s apparently seated next to you now, finally retiring his spot over on the couch. You quickly look the other way, furiously blushing with the thought that you could’ve totally kissed him if you were any closer.

“Y-yeah, I’m good,” What are you, a high schooler? It would’ve just been an accident, and you’ve kissed plenty of men before, you hear your own thoughts speaking to you.

But perhaps it’s because there’s been some sort of undefined tension between the two of you tonight—both of you have been exchanging vague gazes, neither one talking to the other specifically despite wanting to.

“Haha, good, you’ve learned your lesson,” He remarks, “Was scared that you’d need to be carried home again or something,”

“Dude!” You look at him with a smile breaking across your face, “Dude, I swear, no one is letting me off the hook on that one, what, it’s been weeks, man, weeks,”

“Yeeah, don’t see that happening anytime soon, to be honest,” He chuckles at your discombobulated response, “How you been doing though since camp?”

“I mean… Nothing much really—”

“Apart from boning Johnny, at least,” He interrupts you, a devilish smile playing on his lips.

You gently push his arm, eyes wide.

“God, I swear, all y’all do is tease me,” You heave a big sigh.

“I mean, your responses are so cute, how can we not,” He responds.

You feel your face heat up in the slightest from his remark.

“Er—I mean, thanks, you’re cute yourself too,” You scramble to find a response. You’re not lying, he is incredibly cute. You couldn’t believe you’d forget the majority of your time with him after taking his features in—round marbled eyes gleaming through slightly curled black locks; thin, soft lips, a slightly dimpled, pretty smile, and a lean yet lightly toned frame—you decide that he really is very cute, indeed.

He lets out the biggest laughter he’s had tonight, leaving you questioning as to why he’d react that way—it’s not like you were cracking a joke.

He swipes his eye with one of his hands. “Dude, you said the exact same thing last time,”

“Wait, what?” You ask quickly, “I mean, I totally remember, yeah,” Your eyes quivering as those words leave your lips.

He finishes off laughing as he heaves a sigh, a big smile still pasted across his face, “You barely remember anything from last time, huh?”

You can’t tell him you remember almost nothing from your conversations with him during that night in camp, but barely is a good enough escape for you, for now, at least.

“Ah, ff, sorry man, I—I was kinda really fucked,” You respond, not being able to filter your words any longer.

“Kinda expected that, though,” He says, chuckling, though you could perhaps spot a hint of disappointment from the look of his eyes. “You were literally so out of it, you were a sobbing mess and all—not in a bad way though,” He quickly adds.

“Well, I mean, then that just means I’m being honest, am I not?” You cock your eyebrows playfully. You curse yourself internally afterwards, as your mind begins to fetch from the fuzzier contents of your memories, that you indeed, were crying in front of Mark during camp for the majority of that night.

“Yeah, you are.” He says with a smile, holding somewhat of a knowing gaze upon your eyes. You figure that he’s implying something from your conversations prior to this night, but you understand full well of your inability to do or say anything to further this exchange due to your spotty memory—but, for some reason, you find yourself gazing back at his eyes as you feel somewhat helplessly drawn into the intensity of his—almost as if you’re drowning in his presence.

You swear you might’ve seen a millisecond of Mark’s gaze flickering towards your lips, before he breaks eye contact with you—but you think that might just be your slightly intoxicated mind playing games on you.

In a slight attempt to defuse the tension, he lights up his phone to check the time, and the wallpaper shown on his display allows some unforeseen memories to pop its way back onto your mind.

“Oh my god, dude, Mark,” You shake your head in your remembrance of the memory, “That Justin Bieber wallpaper,”

His face lights up at your recollection, a big grin growing onto his face. “Yeaah, surely this one’s gonna make its way back into your brain.”

“Yeah, oh my god, I was the one who set that wallpaper, right?” You chuckle in disbelief, “Why haven’t you changed it?”

“I dunno man, it was just there,” He remarks with a smile, laughter threatening to break his reserves, “Didn’t feel like changing it,”

You laugh at him because you fully understand what he means, and he smiles back at you and eventually joins you, chuckling in the ridiculousness of the memory.

“I had a—” He starts.

“Chip on my shoulder had to let it gooo,” You both gesture to each other, reciting Justin Bieber’s line in the Monster music video, which became a meme you both developed within your conversations during camp. Both of you subsequently break into laughter remembering how you’ve somehow memed a supposedly somber music video in your moment of intoxication that time.

“Oh my god, Mark,” You say, still in between laughter, definitely on the verge of tears, “We talked about so much—I remember now,” You continue, “We had—have so many damn similarities it’s ridiculous,”

“Yeah,” He manages to breathe out, still laughing. “How’s your Naruto tattoo going? Kyuubi going to emerge anytime soon?”

You laugh even harder at his remark, recalling that you both definitely talked about your shared love for Naruto, and of your Naruto back tattoo in the form of the Kyuubi seal. “Nah, dude, you gotta knock on it before he does,”

He responds with another string of unsuppressed laughter, since that was also one of your running jokes during that night. “Oh, man,” He sighs out, swiping his tears with one of his hands. “Yeah, one of these days you gotta hang out at my place to play Naruto on the PS 4 like we talked about before,”

“Ohh yeah, we did talk about that,” Your eyes light up with excitement in your recollection, “Also a Spotify listening party, am I right? We talked about listening to DPR Live… Sik-K…. SZA, Doja Cat, stuff like that together,”

“Yeah man, we share so much of our music tastes together too it’s insane—” He says, before pausing in the midst of his sentence whilst snapping his finger excitedly, “Also—”

“Frank Ocean!” You both say at the same time.

“Dude, yeah, oh my god, he just released a new song yesterday, right? Finally,” You gush, “I haven’t listened to it, though.”

“Oh, I have.” He remarks, eyes wide.

“Was it—”

“Fucking good.” He interjects.

You flash the biggest grin at him, subsequently turning your eyes into beautiful crescents. You swear you could’ve seen his face flushing slightly pinker—and you find yourself wondering—and perhaps doubting, whether it would really be from the alcohol he’s long left on the surface of the table near the sofa.

But before you could further the conversation once more, Johnny approaches your group, as a good host supposedly should. As he makes his presence known, you swear you could somehow feel Mark sinking into his seat a little more than he has previously.

“Hey guys, how’s it going—y/n how you holding up?” Johnny asks with a grin, faint whiskers forming on his face. His remark stirs some laughter from the whole group.

“Dude, come on, it’s getting real old,” You say half-jokingly towards him, slightly lifting your arms to signify your disbelief.

“Look around you y/n, you think everyone else thinks so?” He jokes, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, just making sure you’re all good, you know,”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d like to know, right, John,” Ten teasingly exclaims from the other side of the sofa, your other friends follow suit in their snickers.

“Dude, host duties, come on,” He retaliates, “But good to see you in tip top shape, as you always are,” He says, winking at you. “When you’re not completely wasted, that is.”

You roll your eyes, grinning at him. “Alright, Johnny boy, whatever you say,”

You suddenly feel your phone vibrate in your jacket pocket, cutting your conversation with Johnny short. You quickly unlock it to see several rows of desperate texts addressed to you by none other than your best friend Jennie.

Jennie [9.42 pm]: okay, hope you’re having fun, stay safe Jennie [12.02 am]: babe Jennie [12.02 am]: bb Jennie [12.03 am]: y/n b Jennie [12.03 am]: so sorry but u still out? Jennie [12.03 am]: just remembered the next 2 days public holiday Jennie [12.03 am]: major supermarkets gn b closed Jennie [12.03 am]: fmlfml Jennie [12.04 am]: i forgot to stock up on bonne maman spread 😞 Jennie [12.04 am]: u kno hw i need my marmalade in the mornings Jennie [12.04 am]: n i saw on google that the supermarket few blocks away frm johnny’s place is still open till like 1 am Jennie [12.05 am]: can u pls grab it otw home im so sorry love ily ily ily ill make it up 2 u sometime

You scoff, shaking your head lovingly at your best friend’s messages. You definitely know how much she loves her marmalade in the mornings, and you really don’t want to deal with her sour mood over the next few days in the absence of them. It’s already pretty late anyway, some of your friends already made their way home, and you wouldn’t mind making her happy with a trip to the nearby supermarket. You give her a quick reply before putting your phone back into your pocket, deciding that you’d head home soon given the supermarket’s nearing its closing time.

“Hey, John, I gotta go soon,” You finally say, moving over closer to Johnny, gesturing to offer him a parting hug, “Thanks so much for tonight,”

“Aw,” He remarks, wrapping you in a big hug, “So soon?”

“Jennie needs her marmalade. Stores are closing soon, tomorrow’s a public holiday,” You say matter-of-factly.

“Alright, got it, Jennie needs her marmalade.” Johnny repeats, firmly looking at you in the eyes. “Okay, stay safe on your way home, okay? You need me to help you order an uber so I could track it for you?”

You shake your head. “Gotta walk to the supermarket first, remember?”

“I can take you home, y/n,” Mark lightly interjects, earning both of your attentions, “It’s getting late anyway, I should be going back soon too—Jaehyun’s gonna think I’m missing,” He jokes.

“Sure he will, dude,” Johnny chuckles, giving Mark a quick bro hug. “Alright, that’s all good then, I’ll leave you to it, take care you guys,”

Both you and Mark bid your last goodbyes to your friends—to Ten and Chaeryeong’s disappointment, you might add—before finally making your way back into the lift on your way down together.

“Thanks for wanting to take me home, Mark,” You say, breaking the silence within the lift.

“It’s all good, y/n. Honestly I still wanted to talk to you, so, it all works out,” He replies with a smile, turning to look at you. You smile back at him.

The lift finally arrives at the floor of the lobby, the loud ding reverberating in the narrow space that has fallen silent once more. Both of you saunter out of Johnny’s apartment, only quietly walking alongside each other. Delicate crimson patches bloom onto your cheeks as the cool, brisk air kisses the warmth off of your cheeks, the autumnal chill greeting you from your first step outside of the premises. The glimmering streetlights paint the city scape in your less-than-lonesome walk towards the supermarket a few blocks away, the only sounds you hear being both of your steps, the gentle rustle of fallen leaves, as well as your quiet breaths lightly tinting the deep indigo sky in shades of frosted white.

“Yeah, it’s fun talking to you,” You finally respond, after a few beats of comfortable silence.

He smiles at you in understanding. “So, Jennie’s your roommate?”

“Yeah, my best friend since first year of uni. Love her to death, to be honest, might not be an exaggeration that she’s helped keep me alive till this day,” You try to joke to keep the conversation relatively light, but you do know that you’re actually telling the truth.

Mark chuckles, “That’s cool, it’s great isn’t it when you find someone who could keep you in line,”

“Yeah, totally,” You respond, “I’m not the most organized type nor am I the most… Put-together type, and she sorta kinda really is, so, it works out, you know,”

“Hahaha, I get you. My roommate Jaehyun and I have a similar kinda dynamic, though we’re not as close as you two, I feel like,” He replies with sincerity, “In this case, Jae’s the y/n,”

You nudge him gently to warn him in a joking manner, as he quietly chuckles.

“Nah, but really, he’s probably really lucky he’s found you,” You say genuinely, “This world’s full of pretty shit people,”

“Yeah, I get you,” He responds, “I feel like, everyone’s probably insufferable in their own ways though—but how cool would it be to find that exact… insufferable-ness… fit with someone else’s… You get what I mean—what I’m trying to say,” Mark says, scrambling with his words.

“Yeah, dude, exactly,” You chuckle, “All of us—we have our imperfections, right, but you know, if you’re lucky, you might find people that could help build upon that in a constructive way, though they themselves are imperfect.”

“Yeah. Hundred percent.” He replies.

“Yeah, no, but I really am thankful for Jennie, though,” You repeat yourself, “—And Hyunjin, he’s my other best friend—honestly, they probably know me better than my family does,”

Mark chuckles to himself. “Yeah. I feel you on that one,” He breathes out quietly.

“.…Did we talk about this, too?” You ask, after a beat of silence.

He licks his lips, before nodding at you with a slight smile. “Yeah, yeah we sure did.”

“Mmmmm,” You hum in understanding as you purse your lips in thought, “We’re probably having a ’50 First Dates’ moment right now or something,” You chuckle.

“Yeah, but instead of legitimate amnesia, it’s you getting incredibly drunk on few bottles of soju,” He chuckles with you.

You heave a sigh, feeling a little guilty, “Yeah, dude, sorry about that, really,”

He smiles at you. “Don’t worry about it, y/n, it’ll come back real soon just like our Bieber convo, right,” He jokes, before abruptly stopping in his tracks. “Oh, we’re here.”

“Oh, shit, right, haha,” You finally notice, “Got so lost in the convo,”

You quickly make your way towards the spreads area, Mark following closely behind you. You finally spot the overly familiar jars of jam you always see tucked into the corner of your kitchen counter. Taking two for good measure, you head your way to the self-check counter, before Mark stops you in your tracks by firmly placing a hand your shoulder.

“Hold up, y/n, gotta get some essential sustenance,”

“….Okay,” You respond quizzically, not entirely sure what he’s implying.

He makes his way towards the produce area, quickly browsing the last of the ¼ cut watermelons available.

“Dude, are you serious,” You say.

“Wait, what? Watermelons are serious business,” He replies. “Jennie needs her marmalade, and Mark needs his watermelon—”

“No, dude, I get it, hundred percent, like—moments of luxury’s like when you’re watching anime with a bigass quarter watermelon on your lap, scooping on it with a damn spoon,”

A wide grin grows onto his face, “Of course you’d know what you’re talking about. Not gonna get any with me?”

“I’m all good dude, still got some at home.” You respond.

He chuckles, as he finally picks one out for himself. “Let’s go,” He announces, gesturing at the self-checkout area.

As you both finally make your way towards said area, you can’t help to notice the specific kind of peace during a midnight stroll in the city, looking at the way the lights illuminate the empty streets through the glass walls of the supermarket.

“Mark, this is such a Frank Ocean moment though, right,” You mutter as you continue to check out your jams.

He pauses whilst checking his item out to smile at you, before proceeding to pay for his purchase. “..How good would it be, if during every midnight stroll, when barely anyone’s there, there’d be an auto-BGM of Frank Ocean’s discography—like, in our ears,” He says, chuckling.

“Oh, man, that’d be so good though,” You respond, putting your items in a plastic bag.

“For real,” He responds, similarly putting his watermelon in a plastic bag. He pauses his movements for a brief second.

“You know, what, y/n,”

“What?”

“Does Jennie need her jams, like, right now?”

“No, Jennie needs her jams in the morning.”

“Come over to my place. Let’s listen to Frank Ocean and get chill. You haven’t heard his last release anyway right,” He proposes.

You smile warmly at him. “You know what, yeah. Let’s do that.”

He breaks out in small laughter from the excitement, before clapping his hands together. “Awesome. My place is around some 15–20-minute walk from here, though. You wanna take an uber?”

“Nah, let’s walk. We get to talk more that way,” You remark.

“True, alright, let’s roll then,” Mark responds in agreement as you both exit the supermarket, continuing to walk outside alongside each other as you have been doing earlier.

As you notice Mark’s evident attempts to deepen the relationship, you decide that it might not be a bad idea to try to do the same—you’ve probably done so with him previously anyway, despite not remembering much of it.

“So, the parents—um, trust thing,” You say, slightly redirecting the topic, deciding upon yourself that it’s still a little bit soon to talk about your family. “How much have I told you, really?”

“Hmm, doesn’t feel right if I were to be the one to remind you. Feels like it wouldn’t have been within your consent or something, you know, even though you were the one to tell me all that back then,” He chuckles.

“Haha, I appreciate that,” You respond, “I guess, as I was saying… It’s always been a little bit hard for me to trust others, I guess, so, I’m thankful of my best friends.”

“Right,” He responds, seemingly to have understood you prior to your revelation.

“I’m guessing that I’ve talked about my past experiences, like, with,… men, I guess,” You say, slightly hesitantly.

Mark chuckles fondly at your genuine attempts to open up. “You know, y/n, you don’t have to force it, right? You can talk about it whenever you’re comfortable enough to,”

“But I want to, Mark...” You say with conviction, “I wanna try,”

He looks at you with a tendered gaze, understanding your resolve. “Okay, well, then go ahead and try,”

“..I have a lot—I guess, but, I think, a huge impact was made from my last long-term relationship, I’d say..”

“Mhm,”

“We had a really toxic relationship… Like, we were high school sweethearts, and had to attend different unis in different states, so we were pretty much long-distancing.”

You look back at Mark, who has his gaze fixed onto you, whenever he’s not looking at the streets to see where he’s heading.

“Like I guess we had what you’d call innocent young love, you know, promise to get married, all that bullshit,”

He nods at you, his attention still fully focused onto you, if not on the streets.

“After a while, I guess he got tired of me, probably? Like I’d literally save up to visit him without my parents knowing, save up to buy him birthday presents. But he’s never given me a birthday present on the day of, you know. It’s always at least a month late… I’d hate to compare, too, but he was always on time for his ex…. And one time, when he got sick, his ex wanted to visit, told me, ‘Don’t be surprised if you bump into her on the way, okay,’. Though in the end she didn’t end up visiting, can’t believe I was just whatever about that,”

“..Fuck…,” Mark huffs at your story.

“….And he was never available for a call, much less video call. We probably called each other once a month if we’re lucky… He was always too busy for me,”

“..What is he, a prisoner who’s only got specific allocated times for a call? Damn,”

You chuckle at Mark’s remark pitifully, “Nah, unfortunately, he’s just a commerce uni student.. I’m assuming I haven’t told you about this,”

“I feel like you’ve told me quite a bit here and there—but not this, you haven’t.” He replies, and you could sense the anger from the tone of his voice.

You laugh at your own past fate. “Yeah, it was a shitty relationship I had with him. He was always telling me how to do things, too. Like we wouldn’t be able to do this right now if I were with him, you know, just walking alone conversing with a dude,”

Mark shakes his head in utter disbelief, and you could almost hear him cursing in his head.

“And every time I’d say we gotta review our relationship, or I’d try to send him my art or whatever, he’d only respond with one or two words or something. It was hard to let him go, too, cause he was too good at promising things when I needed to hear it… Delivering it was another thing, though.”

Mark continues to scoff at your story in its utter incredulousness.

“I really tried so, so hard to repair the ruptures we had. I couldn’t stop thinking that the downfall of the relationship was really all my fault. Cause in the beginning, okay, I had to rely on him a lot due to some family problems. I was going through things….” You say, swallowing thickly in an attempt to relieve a lump forming in your throat.

Mark notices this, looking over at you delicately. He seemingly was about to interrupt you from trying to recall those painful memories, before rescinding his decision to do so seeing as you’re doing your best to open up.

“….I lashed out on him, here and there…. Until one day, he just switched, and never returned. He just turned cold, and only warm whenever he feels the need to retain me, I guess.” You finally continue, feeling your own voice tremble from the weight of coaxing open a part of your innermost vulnerability. “Wasted all those years of my life with him, too, because I thought I could single-handedly return things to the way it was…. And now I’m stuck here, not being able to establish any real, trusting, genuine relationships because, I’m assuming, that’s the best way I’m protecting myself, that maybe, I think I might not deserve all that, and the worse thing is, I can’t help but think that way…. And it’s all my fault that I’m this screwed up.”

You’re taken aback as you suddenly feel wetness making their way down your cheeks, not even realizing that you’ve broken yourself open to the point of tears.

“…Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Mark, I—”

Mark quickly pulls you into a hug, placing his hand gently on your head. “...Don’t apologize, y/n. You’ve done such a great job in opening up, okay? ..Instead, let’s thank yourself for that,”

More tears continue to paint your dampened cheeks as you’ve felt as if you’ve been embraced—perhaps, quite literally—in all your vulnerability.

He takes a look at you with his rounded eyes, the glimmer of the city lights reflected onto the marbled surface of his dark irises.

“You don’t think I should blame myself...?” You ask him with a weakened voice, as your tears continue to fall with abandon.

“No, y/n, I don’t think you should.” Mark looks at you, retaining a firm gaze onto your eyes, “If anything, you should thank yourself for going through all that, and that you’re still standing strong today,”

“B-but I did all that, I l-lashed out on him—”

“And he gave late presents. And he almost never called you. Everyone makes mistakes, y/n, in fact, he made plenty—but okay, what I’m trying to say is that—things happen. And that’s okay. That’s how you figure out what’s good for you or not. Just like finding the perfect watermelon batch for your anime nights in, you gotta sort through the shittier ones, right?” He reassures you gently.

You look at him with glossed eyes full of tears, and the way he’s accepting you, and even encouraging you in all of your vulnerability—you can’t help but fall back onto his arms and sob even more onto his shoulder, effectively wetting his denim jacket.

He chuckles as he holds you in his embrace, “This doesn’t seem new to me,”

“Ugh, shut up, Mark... but, I mean, thank you….,” You try to form a coherent sentence as you continue to sniffle against his shoulder.

“I know, y/n, I know. It’s okay.” He responds as he continues to rub your back.

“God, now I’m just remembering that I wanted to purchase a Champion hoodie myself because you were wearing one during camp and I was crying on it, oh my god, I’m such a mess, I’m sorry,”

Mark laughs heartily. “Don’t apologize, y/n, don’t apologize. Though I still recommend the Champion hoodie, though. They’re real comfortable, good material, too.”

You cry even louder into his embrace, perhaps from immense relief, from being able to experience an overwhelming feeling of being cared for—a feeling that shakes you to the core, one that you’re not sure how to react to but to cry, and cry loud, due to the sheer amount of tenderness that’s become nothing but foreign to your entire body. You tempt yourself with the thought that perhaps, your decision to take the precarious leap in doing something indescribably fearful for yourself wouldn’t be that bad of an idea, at least, maybe not as much as you previously thought.

After Mark helps you calm down, subsequently making the rest of the trip back to his apartment, you finally arrive at his flat, entering his place, and you immediately notice the way Mark makes his way quickly over to the refrigerator to store his watermelon.

“..Shit, I’m so sorry, should’ve cried upon arrival or something,” You chuckle at yourself, genuinely regretting that you might’ve tampered with another man’s watermelon.

“That’s okay, y/n, deep convos know no time nor place, you feel me,” He lightly jokes. “And besides—come on, a watermelon’s a watermelon, all’s good in the hood,”

You chuckle at Mark’s constant attempts to lighten the mood—and a successful one at that.

“And I’m sure it’s fine, it’s only been a few extra minutes,” He finishes, before clapping his hands together. “So, let’s have a mini Spotify listening party, what do you say to that?”

“Yes! Yes please,” You eagerly respond.

Mark quickly looks over to what seems like the sliding door to Jaehyun’s room, seeing that his lights are off.

“Ah, I guess Jaehyun wasn’t waiting for me at all. Dude’s out too, haha, I guess it is a Saturday night after all,” He muses, “Alright, I guess that means we could use the TV here in the living room, got the speakers and all, too,”

You survey Mark’s living room set, complete with what you assume would be a couple of high-end speakers, with a large flat-screen smart TV. And of course, his PS 4 and other gaming consoles are perched right next to said TV.

“Jaehyun and I are kinda into music a bit too much, so when we moved in together we were set on buying some proper speakers for the living room. So even if we wanted to play smash, Naruto, or listen to some sick tunes, we’d be all set,” Mark says as he’s dragging the living room couch farther from the TV.

“Wait, what are you doing?” You ask.

“Sometimes when Jae and I are really feeling it, we’d do this thing when we’d make some space on the floor, lie down with these pillows, and just get really chill with music on or something,” He responds, pointing at the large throw pillows haphazardly strewn all across the carpeted floor.

“Ooh, I was wondering why you’d have so many pillows on the floor. Dude, isn’t this technically kinda like you and Jae’s mancave or some sort?” You joke, chuckling.

“Haha, I guess you’re kinda right. But hey, we welcome ladies—or anyone else really. It’s a… no judgment zone… everyone’s welcome to chill their brains out,” He responds, as he finally finishes preparing the space, moving to grab the TV remote and sort through his playlists.

“Awesome, do you have a specific playlist in mind?” You ask him, as you join him in looking through his playlists on the TV screen.

“Yeah, I have this chill kickback playlist, it has Frank Ocean and everything, including his new song, so it’ll eventually get there,” He says, finally selecting the playlist quite literally titled ‘chilled kickbacks’, and turning off the display of said TV right afterwards.

“Don’t ask—Jae was the one who titled this playlist,” He says, eyes briefly flickering towards yours. “Man’s a fan of Frank Ocean and other things, too,”

“Hey—No judgment zone,” You say as you lift your arms, earning a light chuckle from Mark.

You sit down on the floor, gathering some cushions so you could get comfortable. You see Mark moving towards the light switch, turning it off, and subsequently lighting up some scented candles placed on top of some of the medium-sized bookcases lined around a meter away from the TV.

“Oh, dang, got the full set and everything. Y’all light up the candles too when you do stuff like this?” You ask him, inhaling the pleasant scent of what you would assume to be a light, sweet citrusy scent, slightly weighted by a woodsy one.

“Sometimes, sometimes,” He says, chuckling. “It’s immaculate vibes, you know, why not. But not all the time, though,”

“Dude, you two should get married or something, ever considered that?” You lightly joke.

“We would, but unfortunately we both only like women,” He jokes back, hands on his pockets, after finally having lighted up the last of the scented candles. “We’re just two dudes hangin out having similar tastes, what can you say,”

You chuckle at him. “That sounds good to me,”

He looks down at you, smiling warmly. He’s right though, it really does create such an immaculate vibe. The audio blasting through Mark’s speakers seem to swallow the entirety of the dark, spacious living room, with the highlight of the ambience being the assortment of scented candles carefully perched on several bookcases, wafting its sweet yet intoxicating scent throughout the rest of the room, filling up the vacant spaces where brightness would’ve instead. You wouldn’t hesitate to agree if Mark were to possibly boast this whole set-up as a total sensory indulgence, because this is exactly that.

“Lie down, get comfortable,” You suddenly get slightly taken aback by the distance closed between you and Mark—and you’ve never realized the actual depth to his voice, until your other senses being taken away in this manner. You feel your face heat up, and you’re pretty sure Mark would be able to see your face turn slightly more crimson if the room was bright enough. You silently thank the room for being dark enough for you to only be able to see the faint outlines of Mark’s face.

“..Okay,” You comply, lying down on a spot you’ve created.

Mark settles down right next to you, and both of you just share this moment—in silence—being swallowed whole by this entire experience. Both of you look at the ceiling, ever so slightly brightened up only by the flickering flames from the assortment of candles Mark’s lit up. Just as you and Mark were getting comfortable on the carpeted floor, the playlist switches to Frank Ocean, as if on cue.

“Damn, immaculate vibes,” You mutter to yourself.

“Right?” Mark responds, and you could hear the slight brag from the tone of his voice.

“Totally,” You reply in complete honestly.

The playlist switches to the song ‘Ivy’ from Frank Ocean’s Blond album.

“..Favorite song off of Blond?” He asks.

“Hmmm. Difficult. I obviously love Ivy and Nights, but I think my favorite’s actually Futura Free,” You respond. “You?”

“I’m more of a Solo guy,” He replies, “Like, if anyone were to tell me to pick one song to listen to for the rest of my life, it would’ve been that.”

“I get it though, I too, love Solo,” You agree, “That moment when Frank Ocean shifts from kind of ad-libbing, kind of moaning or something, to the sound of wolves howling, not gonna lie, that almost made me cry once,”

Mark chuckles at your response. “Yeah, you’d get it.”

“Yeah, I really do.” You say, “Like, the way he embodies his emotions in his music, and how he takes us with him in his experiences—it creates such a raw, intimate, moment.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Mark responds, “Like the way he talks about his feelings and runs through them with you, like I’m not him, I’ve never been and I’ll never be him, but Solo really does make me emotional. Like you could feel the shared feeling of loneliness—and at the same time, it makes you feel less alone? Cause at that moment, someone else completely understands,”

You smile to yourself. “Yeah. It’s amazing how loneliness is such a personal feeling yet it’s more universal than ever,”

“Yeah,” Mark says, and you could hear the slight smile from the tone of his voice.

You continue to share a few moments in silence, as the playlist switches to the song ‘Forrest Gump’.

“You know, y/n, I’d hate to remind you of the stuff you’ve thought about earlier—” Mark starts, after a few beats of silence, seemingly mulling over whether or not it’d be fine to bring up some earlier topics. “And I always try to be objective with my advice for my friends, but I don’t know, I took your story a little personally, maybe.”

“Yeah?” You ask him.

“Although I completely understood where you’re coming from, I didn’t like how you’d think you won’t deserve those things, you know—real, genuine connections. Because I’m just lying here feeling like, we literally have only met twice, and both times, I’ve never been able to connect with anyone this much—not like this,”

“Not even with Jae?” You joke, as you usually would during more vulnerable moments.

“Nah, we just do things cause we like to. But this, this is different. This feels… Kind of real, to me. You’re so capable of real connections, y/n. Maybe even much more than you think. At least that’s how it is to me.”

You stay quiet, entirely immersed in Mark’s attempts to put his thoughts into words.

“And to me, like I’m not even sure this is even objective or anything, but I’m just being honest—to me, you deserve those things, and so much more, y/n. I don’t know, you have so much depth in you. The way I see it, you’re always looking for answers, for yourself, and also for everyone else around you, whether you realize it or not. And that warrants much more than just deserving of acceptance,”

You choose to keep yourself quiet, trying to digest Mark’s words that’s pretty much created a whole tornado within your gut and an unexplainable feeling of heat—perhaps, even warmth—all throughout your chest. You almost feel yourself choking up, despite having emptied your tears on your walk over to Mark’s place.

“…Mark..,” You finally say, “You’re gonna make me cry again,”

“Oh, oh, no y/n,” Mark responses panickedly, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, Mark. Thank you,” You say, and this time, with nothing but gratitude in your heart. For once, you’re being completely open, raw, and honest with someone else—you couldn’t recall the last time you’ve done this with anyone apart from your two best friends. The fear would normally swallow you whole, but something about this shared moment with Mark just creates a blanket of safety telling you that, for once, maybe things are going to be okay with you. Even if it’s just a maybe, even if only at this very moment. That to you, is already good enough, and much more than you could ever ask for.

The playlist switches over to a Frank Ocean song that sounds unexpectedly foreign to your ears. In this moment, you’ve felt something’s shifted.

“..Oh,” You let out.

“..Yeah,” Mark responds.

“..He’s singing in Spanish,”

“..Yeah,” Mark says.

“Oh my god,” You say.

“..Yeah,” Mark echoes once more.

You stay silent, and you notice Mark letting you take in the song in its entirety, the first listen, in such a fitting atmosphere. The song is so good. So, so good.

“I love it,” You say simply.

“It really is very, very good,” Mark responds.

“God I honestly don’t know what he’s singing about since I’ve just listened but… I feel… I feel so much,” You try to explain, turning your head to look at Mark, only to see him meeting your eyes right away.

He’s been looking your way, perhaps this entire time.

“Yeah, I get that,” Mark says, looking straight into your eyes.

You drink up Mark’s features like you’ve never had before—and this time you do so with no hesitation whatsoever. He seems to want to do the exact same, with you.

“Wonder what ‘Cayendo’ means,” You say quietly, your eyes burning the contours of Mark’s face onto the contents of your mind.

“...It means falling, ’Si puedo soportar lo que siento, ¿por qué me estoy cayendo?’” He sings along with the song, still keeping his eyes on you. “.…’If I can deal with my feelings, then why am I falling?’”

You feel heat radiating off of his face, and you’re just realizing the way your heart is hammering right through your chest. You wouldn’t be surprised if Mark’s able to hear your heartbeat given how that’s the only thing you could hear, apart from Frank singing his soul out to you both. Mark’s gaze flickers for a second towards your lips, and a lot less inconspicuously this time around. And as if it’s the most natural thing to do, both you and Mark move closer to each other’s faces, looking to slowly close the remaining space that’s left between your lips.

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binniesthighs · 4 years ago

Text

1-800-Be-Mine | reader x minho | sfw

happy valentines day!! this lil fic of mine is something very new and different from what I’ve tried before and I’m so so excited to share it with you!!

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x lee minho

Genre: fluff, sci-fi, futuristic au, valentines day special!

Tags: strangers to lovers, sci-fi au, futuristic au, blind date au, AI au with a twist, mentions of food and alcohol, featuring hyunjin, tiny heart-shaped confetti of comedy and rebelling against the man lol, fluffy growing feelings

Warnings: Minho’s character in this is an adorable, charming, feeling, AI robot. haha idk if this is a warning but it might not be everyone’s cup o’ tea, if so, that’s why I’m mentioning it :)

Tagging: @stayhavens thank you for allowing me to be a part of this event ❤️

Word count: 7.1k

“If it’s the color of your shirt that you’re worried about, I don’t think that he’s gonna care.”

“--I can’t believe that you’re putting me through this. I didn’t even ask for...whatever the hell this all is.”

“You’re getting worked up over nothing, Y/n. This whole thing is literally the lowest commitment thing that you could ever do on Valentines Day.”

For the twentieth time, you held up the shirt and hanger over your torso in front of you streak-stained mirror. It shouldn’t have mattered much, or even at all, but here you were, wondering what color a synthetic human would like on your body the most.

With feet in the air, your best friend swung his feet with pointed toes and eyes glued to his phone.

“Quit looking at me like that.” Hyunjin didn’t even need to rise his head up to feel your glare. “He’s programmed to forget about you the second that your time runs out, so, I really don’t know why you’re wasting your time over this.”

One more time, you switched the creamy white satin for the wine-red velvet.

“God, this is so depressing.” The shirt hangers clinked together where you threw them down on your bed. “It’s all your fault too.”

“I can’t see why you aren’t excited for this!! I literally made it so he’s perfect for you. There’s like, a 0% chance that this is gonna go badly. You could spit escargot into his lap or get his tie stuck in the car door and he’d still think that you’re the best thing ever. You can do no wrong.”

“That’s the point...”

The floor started to look a lot more appealing in your despair. If you were making a dramatic show for yourself or for you friend, you had no idea, but somehow it felt a little better letting your body sliiide down the side of the wall into a little pool of half-done make-up and hair still damp.

“Stop throwing a tantrum.” Hyunjin scolded. “You have to be there in 45 minutes.”

“What if I...just don’t show up?”

“Then, you’d be robbing me of $360 and the most expensive gift that I’ve ever gotten for you. And, you’d break my heart. I don’t wanna be heartbroken on Valentines Day. I’d hate you forever.”

“Nooooo you wouldn’t.” You tossed your forehead into the palms of your hands.

“I’d hate you for a month probably.”

“Don’t you have somewhere that you need to be?” As expected, your hands were smudged a bit from the tiny dusting of eyeshadow that you had added to your lids.

“I told you already, she doesn’t get off until 8 so I’ve still got time. Besides, I already set everything up back at the apartment. I’m in no rush.” At last, your friend cast aside his phone on the mattress with a bounce. “Get up. I’ll help you. You should still look nice anyway...even if he doesn’t care. This night is about you anyway.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Is satin supposed to feel scratchy...? What? Satin being itchy? ...You must be going crazy if you think--

“--Annnd we’re here!”

The wheels of Hyunjin’s less than glamourous car skidded in front of the hotel with an obvious screech. He was never one for being a good driver anyway. With the pull of his hand through is blond hair he nodded his head for you to open your door.

“Time’s ticking. It’s nearly 7.”

“--Jin--”

“I’m not explaining it again. Just go do the damn thing. You’re overthinking it. Like you do with everything...”

Your best friend rolled his eyes which were blue today: a part of his own Valentines Day outfit: that of which he looked much better than you thought you had. He had slung his arm over his steering wheel looking on, and even more impatient with you by the second.

“Is it a fucking crime to be nervous??”

Hyunjin laughed out sharply. “You’re so cute. ~Especially when there isn’t anything to worry about.~”

You flicked him hard on his perfect arm covered by his perfectly planned and billowy white top.

“Would you like to go out there and meet him if it’s so easy?”

After a subsequent eye roll, your friend reached his long arm to pop open the car door on your side. “You’re not going to make me drag you, are you?”

“I can get it myself.” You growled, shoving his hand away.

The February air was crisp, and just cold enough for your breath to appear lightly in front of your face. Immediately, you started to regret everything: the itchy satin shirt (which you guessed probably wasn’t satin) the stiffness of your styled hair, and the way that your feet felt in the pair of shoes that you had broken out just for the occasion. You had even put perfume on; something that a “strictly deodorant” person as yourself found to be suffocating and odd.

Do Mirrors even have a sense of smell?

On the busy street, cars whipped past with headlights of yellow and red, and the bustle of the holiday evening buzzed on the sidewalk with couples marching down the way arm and arm and hand in hand. The energy of the evening seemed vibrant almost as if the whole world seemed to be slightly more awake. The plastic heels of ladies in their best shoes clicked past.

“Good luck!”

Hyunjin mustered up the most genuine smile that you thought possible for him to craft considering it wasn’t genuine in the slightest.

“Text me about it tonight--or--actually, not tonight, I’ll be...” He obviously winked, “...busy tonight.”

“You’re disgusting!!”

You slammed the car door in Hyunjin’s snide smirk while he laughed out a “Love you!” before speeding away without a care.

The remnants of old snow caked up in the corners of the hotel where Hyunjin had arranged the date. The hotel itself was very old fashioned looking, almost like it had come right out of one of those old movies he would tease you for liking--it was probably why he had chosen it, you thought to yourself. There was a large golden marquee with a strand of lightbulbs tracing the edge all around it much like an old-timey theater, which gave the name for the hotel. At the doorway made of the same golden hue, there were attentive bellhops in matching blue velvet uniforms and leather gloves that they blew in to to keep their hands warm.

When you thought more of it, the night was a bit colder than expected, so you pulled your coat closer to your body. Hyunjin had suggested that you wear your pea coat, however it’s warmth factor wasn’t something to write home about. He had something about how it had made your arms look good...as if he would care anything like what your arms looked like.

You pulled out your phone with your cold fingers to find the information that Hyunjin had sent you.

Name: Lee Minho

Model: Generation Four

Specifications: Personalized

Service time: 7pm-12am

Instructions: Meet at the front entrance of the the hotel The Grand at exactly 7pm where the Mirror will be waiting. Mirror will look like: [see image]

You hovered your hand over the little see image tab. Before, you had decided that you didn’t want to see the picture, and rather leave it as a surprise. That was the thrill of a blind date, right? For a moment, you rationalized it as peeking so that you knew what he looked like so you could find him. You hovered, and hovered...

“No, I shouldn’t...” You whispered out to the open air while you shoved your phone back into your pocket.

“Excuse me?” One of those attentive bellhops had snuck behind you and rose a caring hand to your shoulder: an action which made you jump. “Is there anything that I can help you with? Are you waiting for someone?”

“Oh.” You straightened yourself. “Yes, I am waiting for someone. They’ll be here really--”

“--Is it me that you’re waiting for?”

He had strolled right up to you, and you could barely form the words on your mouth to say “yes.” You had heard the stories about Mirrors before, but as far as you had known, this was your first time ever seeing one this close...and you wouldn’t have even known that he was any different from the flesh and bones that you knew you had.

He was devastatingly handsome; the kind of handsome that models were. Every single one of his features seemed to be carefully planned and calculated down to the little freckle on his nostril and his nose bridge of a perfect angle. Even his physical proportions seemed to be perfect: his arm muscles curved in wonderful angles under his black suit jacket that had one button at the front. He was dressed simply: merely a black tux with a white button up underneath and a deep navy blue tie. His chocolate brown eyes were a bit unique, looking even slightly cat-like.

Not like you had a type, but if you were to have one, he definitely would have been it.

He smiled upon seeing you, and coolly adjusted his silver cufflinks which you noticed had an insignia on them that looked a familiar: it was that picture of the eye with the spokes around it, the symbol of 3rdEyeCorp. As expected, everything in life seemed to come with a branding: even synthetic humans.

“Should we go inside?”

His voice was gentle and soothing, the kind of voice that you knew could lull you to sleep or convince you to do things that you wouldn’t want to. It was a voice that could put you at ease, and you wondered if that was intentional. Perhaps Hyunjin had told them that at times you could be neurotic.

You finally squeaked out a, “Yes.” then followed him towards the soft glow of the magnificent building. He had slipped over past you to open the door, letting you enter first.

“Oh...thanks...”

As you passed him, you could have sworn that he smelled like some kind of citrus scent. In fact, you didn’t know that he could even have a smell. This was but one of the many questions that had been plaguing you for the past couple weeks since learning of Hyunjin’s plan.

It wasn’t that he smelled like a person: that kind of earthy scene mixed up with the lingering scent of shampoo on hair, or a bit of mint holding to the corners of your mouth after you had brushed your teeth right before you exited the door. Still, you didn’t mind the citrus, it was better than nothing at all, you assumed.

He walked up to the maître d with perfect posture, and it was then when you noticed that you were slightly shorter that he was. His suit was pressed, and a line ran down the back directly over his spine.

“2 for L/n?” He said properly, and it felt strange hearing your last name come from his mouth.

“Right this way.”

He looked back at you, almost as if to see if you were doing okay. He held a little glint in his eyes that looked careful, caring even. From the very few words that he had said to you, he still maintained a composure about him that was...human. He was comfortable.

The three of you reached the table with the ironed white table cloth, small bouquet of red roses and two flickering tea candles. The lighting of the room was dim as all restaurants such as this were, and there was a light hum about the room coupled with the occasional clink of silverware on China. There was a fireplace to the corner of the room, and the dense smell of expensive wine hung in the air.

The maître d placed down the menus. “Your server will be with you shortly.”

You thought the small action a bit comical. You were the only one who knew his secret. Still, he nodded with a polite smile. “Thank you.”

The satin fabric on your shirt scraped at your bare chest, and you attempted your slyest attempt at making a tiny itch look nonchalant. He picked up the menu with a few of his brown strands dipping over his eyes. You studied him as he looked it over, not having a clue why. You thought that you had heard somewhere that his kind couldn’t eat. Perhaps he was a new model.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t formally introduced myself yet.” He put the menu down with a little embarrassed smile. “I must’ve forgotten. I’m Lee Minho.”

“I know.” Your cheeks felt hot. “Uh-and I’m Y/n. But--you probably knew that too.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Smile lines crinkled under his eyes. It was the first imperfection you could find about him.

“Yo-you too.”

Minho reached out a slender and pale hand for you to shake and you stared it in a moment of fear. You had never touched a Mirror before, much less wondered what they felt like.

“I don’t bite.” He chuckled out a small laugh that was much too cute for his own good. His shoulders then appeared to relax and he allowed himself to slouch. “At least, my model doesn’t.”

You choked out an ugly chortle at the joke. “Ah. I see.”

“You don’t have to be scared of me. I promise that I feel like anyone else.”

You took it, jumping a little at the sensation. He was warm--not exactly like you expected him to be cold and metallic however. The skin of his hand was cracked and grooved as normal, and it was squishy as if you could feel the muscles that would be underneath.

With a warm grin, he soothed you saying, “See?”

‘Oh...mmhm.” You shook his hand firmly. “Holy shit that's really creepy.” You muttered the words as softly as you thought you could have.

“Creepy?” He laughed out again. “Should I be offended? No one has ever called me creepy before.”

“Oh! Um, s-sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“--It’s okay! I was just kidding. I completely understand. Especially if this is your first time meeting someone like me. It is your first time?”

You nodded drawing your hand back with the warmth from his hand still lingering on yours.

“Let me know if there is anything that I can do to make you more comfortable. Seems like...we’re meant to be too.”

“--Meant to be?” You nearly dropped your cloth napkin to the ground.

“I mean, based off of your profile, they thought that I would be best suited for you. And you know...the programming and all that.”

“Oh! I guess so...”

Next, you thought it best to busy yourself with that glass of water that was looking very oddly refreshing.

“I meant to tell you as well that you look very nice. I think that color suits you very well.”

Drops of water got caught in your throat, “T-AHEM-this?” You pinched at the fabric.

Minho’s eyes widened at your sputtering coughs, signaling to a waiter to come fill your glass once more.

“Sorry, was I not supposed to say that?”

“No! No no, it’s...you’re fine. I was just a little surprised.”

“Surprised? Why?”

“I just didn’t think that you would...nevermind.”

Even though you had nearly choked yourself seconds ago, up went your water glass to your lips once more.

Minho fidgeted with his bangs with his pinky finger: a surprisingly vain little task. Under the dull lighting of the whole room, he did look very handsome; almost much too handsome to be in such a place with you. All at once, you became suddenly aware of the irregular patterns of those eyes peeking at you from their own tables with haughty and whispering words on their lips.

“You look...very nice as well.”

“Mm thank you.” As charming as ever, he gave a smile back. “This is my first time wearing this. I actually picked it out myself. I thought that you would like the color.” His pale fingers ran down the silk indigo tie.

“You thought about it too??”

“Thought about what?”

A snide smile crept over your mouth. Hyunjin could eat his words.

“Well do you? Like it?” A curious little smearing of worry painted Minho’s brow that was once again must too cute for his own good.

“I-I do like it.”

In all honesty, Minho would have looked good in anything, you thought, no matter how ridiculous. Under the thin white cotton of his shirt, you could see his toned pectorals as well. One pinch to the side of your leg was just enough to scold yourself.

He looked around himself in a bit of a silent wonder: from the rafters of the high ceilings painted in gold leaf, to the speakeasy on the far edge of the room with the posh looking bartender.

“I always thought that places like this were kind of stuffy.” He wrinkled his nose.

“You...what?”

“There's always someone at one table wondering if they look better, rank higher, or are more successful than the person at the other. Don’t you think the same?”

“I mean...I think they do keep looking us?”

“Ah. I noticed that too.”

Minho looked around himself carefully, then leaned in closer towards you. “Do you think that they know that I’m...you know?”

You snorted out a laugh covered by your hand. “What? No? How could they?”

“A hunch.”

“Can you even get hunches?”

“I may be a robot, but I can still read a room.”

You hushed him, “Shhhh! Say that any louder and then they’ll really know.”

A waiter in a black apron sauntered up to your table with a thin moustache and a big of a sagging face. He looked a bit less like a real waiter and more like a cartoon one.

“Good evening. Have you finished looking over the menus? Perhaps a bottle of wine to start you off? We have a new house merlot that I would highly recommend.” He reached a spiny finger to point at the name on your menu. “It would pair particularly well with our specials tonight. Seeing as it is Valentines day--”

The droning of the waiter continued on, and you had noticed that Minho wasn’t paying any attention at all. Rather, he had settled his gaze on the flickering of the candles, and the yellow light sparked in his pupils. For mere seconds, you could see something a bit different about them: a extremely thin circle of blue-white light around his irises.

The waiter pulled out his pad with an expectant gaze.

“Uh-yeah, I-I’ll take that. That--whatever-you-just-mentioned.”

He appeared puzzled. “You wish to start with the special orange Crème Brule first?”

“Ah-no! Sorry, can you..” You cringed, “Repeat what you just said?”

He rolled his eyes, but did respectfully as he was told while you sunk further into your chair with Minho’s teasing smirk. This time you listened to the specials, even though you decided you didn’t even want one, but rather picked one of the cheapest items on the menu. That was one of the drawbacks of paying for your date: he had no obligation to pay for your meal.

The waiter looked even more puzzled when Minho said he wasn’t ordering anything, but shrugged, burying his pad back into his pocket saying, “I’ll be over with the wine shortly.”

“Do you want to know something?” Minho leaned back in once the waiter was out of an earshot.

You treated yourself to yet another sip of your emptying glass, and nodded.

“There’s at least four others like me in here.”

“Four? How can you know?”

“I think I’d know my own kind when I saw them.”

“I would never be able to tell.”

The waiter returned, showing the label to the wine to both of you before popping it open and pouring it into glasses with the twist of his wrist. Two drops from the crimson top stained the little napkin he used.

Minho’s hands toyed with the stem of the glass, but didn’t take a sip.

“That’s why they call us Mirrors.”

“How do you mean?”

“Because you’re supposed to see yourselves in us.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Your body had started to warm with the energy of the room after long, and your appetizer of escargot had arrived. Oddly, since Hyunjin had mentioned it before, it embedded in you an odd craving that you couldn’t satisfy until you had some. By now, you had realized that Minho likely wouldn’t have been eating with you, but it was strange: even the other Mirrors in the room appeared to be.

“I’m assuming that you can’t eat then?” You popped the buttery taste into your mouth.

“Yes. It doesn’t make sense for my...biology. If you can call it that. I can’t digest food nor do I have the mechanisms to do so.”

“Maybe we should have done something that didn’t include food then.”

“I do have something though! I know that eating alone like this can be uncomfortable.”

He grabbed inside his inside suit pocket and pulled out a wallet: thin and black leather. It had almost nothing in it save for what looked like a iridescent square. Over top of it was the same logo on his cufflinks. He flipped it around his fingers like a playing card.

“What is it?”

“My dinner.” He sated matter-of-factly.

“You’re gonna...eat that? Maybe you shouldn’t--”

He placed it neatly in front of himself, pressing the surface and it morphed into some kind of three dimensional polygon shape of pixels, both large and small, until it settled into a perfect copy of your dish that you had sitting in front of you.

“It’s holographic.”

“Of course it is.”

“Newest in tech at 3rdEye. This is my first time using one. They thought it would be a good idea to send the prototypes out with the Mirrors tonight for the beta test. What do you think?”

“It’s very...realistic.”

“It’s pocket sized, and it can really transform into anything that you could want, but of course...its still not really solid. Perfect for me though.”

He took a bite of his escargot with an equally holographic fork.

“I imagine that it tastes very good.”

“You can’t taste things?”

“Unfortunately, no. Since I don’t need to eat, don’t know why I would need to. I’ve got all the other senses though.”

The house merlot was bitter on your tongue and full bodied. You couldn’t imagine what your life would have been like without taste. He chewed on, and somehow the action really did seem comforting.

“You’re very um, open about yourself. You know...talking about yourself so bluntly. I feel like some people when they do these things, they just want to keep on that suspension of disbelief as long as they can; pretending that you're--”

“--A real person?”

You hadn’t intended on it coming off as insulting, and a “sorry” formed on your lips.

“--I’m not offended. And, you’re right. Most people do. But, I could sense that you were different. I don’t have a problem telling you about me. Something told me that you would like to know.”

“Something?”

“Enough about me though, lets talk about you. You’re a doctor aren’t you?”

“-For animals. Nothing too crazy. I’m working up my way to have my own practice some day. For now, I’m just doing nurse type stuff. Giving immunizations, checking teeth and stuff like that.”

“I read your thesis. The one from your pre-vet. I thought that your research was very interesting. How come you didn’t continue on with animal behavior?”

His string of questions made you crack out into laughter. Never had anyone you had ever dated said that they had read up on you.

“I can’t believe that you just said that.”

“What? I had assumed that you might want to talk about something that interests you like that.”

“That was...so long ago, I don’t even think about that paper anymore.”

Minho took some of his wine down with a polite dab of his napkin to his lips.

“How about hiking then? Or those Frank Capra movies that you like? Which one is your favorite?”

“Stop, stop. This is--”

His eyes widened. “Did I misspeak again? Your friend said that it would be okay if we did the proper research--”

“--Just...sorry, it’s strange that you know everything about me already and we’ve hardly just met.”

“I’m not following.”

“Can you just...forget like, everything you know about me for a minute? This is supposed to be a blind date isn’t it?”

“I can do that.” Minho tightened his tie.

“How about we talk about something else?”

Minho nodded in agreement with a determined tiny grin. “I can tell you about what I do?”

“You have a job?”

Your prompt waiter appeared with a giant silver platter which glinted in the light of the numerous dancing candles around it. The ceramic plates clinked into the glasses assorted on the table, and he lastly offered out freshly grated parmesan for your pasta. You said “when” and he was just as quickly out of your way, but not after granting the both of you one more questioning glare.

“Yes.”

Your date flipped over his holographic square, and soon it transformed into another spitting image of your meal.

“I’m supposed to tell you that I’m a college professor of ornithology but since we’re being blunt here, my job is working for 3rdEye, and doing basically whatever they ask of me. Including this. And actually...” He twisted a string of noodles around his fork. “...I think that it’s going pretty well.”

A quick giggle erupted out from you. “I’m glad that we’re being honest because you do not look like someone who teaches twenty somethings about birds.”

“But if I had said I did, would that have made you like me more?”

“Maybe. I’m sure that they picked that because I did graduate research on migration and flight patterns.”

“Likely.”

“Maybe I should have stuck with animal behavior. Then we would have had more to talk about.”

A silence filled the space between you as you tried your best to eat your pasta with as much grace as you could. Of course, you were still one to get it on your lap and the table cloth, but luckily you had a napkin to protect you. Your date on the other hand, ate as if he was eating with the queen herself. For several moments, you really did allow yourself those brief moments of ignorance: you really were just two people, sitting in a fancy restaurant on Valentines Day, eating a meal together, on a date, as an normal two people would do. Every few moments too, he would look at you with a type of gentle adoration in his eyes too.

And it felt nice.

It really was as effortless as Hyunjin had said. You would be eating your words on this one.

At last, you had scraped out the last chunks of tomato and vegetable bites from your shallow dish, and you sat back which a sense of drowsiness clinging to your eyes. Over time, you had slumped deeper and deeper into your chair as you felt your body warm with the fireplace. You didn’t mean to look, but your watch had read just past 9 o’clock.

“That all tasted good.” Minho sighed, and slumped along with you.

“I thought you couldn’t taste?”

“Ah. You’re right. Well, I enjoyed eating that with you. Did it taste good?”

“It did.”

“Should we get some of that orange Crème Brule from earlier?”

You folded up your napkin on the table. “You mean should I get some of that Crème Brule? I’m the one paying here remember?”

“Are you?”

With the stretch of your arms, you answered, “Not today. I don’t have that doctor’s pay...yet.”

“But shouldn’t you eat something sweet on Valentines Day? Isn’t that also what its about?”

You laughed, “I don’t know where you heard that, but no, it doesn’t.”

“Ah, I see. My understanding of the holiday is very jumbled. Holidays are like that for us. The sort of emotional attachment to them is hard for us to understand. I’ve watched millions of hours of films to understand them...but--”

“--Millions?”

“Yes?”

“That’s…insane.”

“Not for me.” He said with a happy little grin. “Should we be leaving?”

In one motion, he swept up his shirt sleeve, just over his wrist where you had expected him to have a watch. Instead, a faint blue glow emerged on his skin making letters and numbers that you couldn’t read as well from upside down.

“Hm. 3 more hours. What else would you like to do with our time together?”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The winter cold bit at your ears while the two of you walked together down the busy urban stretch. Even later into the night the giddy excitement of friends ambling down the streets and couples linking to eachother with tipsy happiness could still be found everywhere. You barely knew him, but you still felt in some way compelled to reach out and interlock your arm with his as those other couples did. You had a half a mind to reach out to him, but another half a mind to keep your arms wrapped around yourself.

But, as if he had read your mind, he reached out his hand behind him to quietly slip your arm into his.

“Put your hands in your pockets.” He asked, and you did so. “I figured that you must be cold, so...my body heats itself too, makes me more...you know.”

He was warm. Much warmer than your entire body felt had felt then, but still you noted that the tips of his ears and nose had turned pink.

“Where to?” He questioned next.

“I-I’m not sure. I didn’t think this far.”

“I could pick?”

“You know where to go?”

He was silent for a moment, then nodded. “There’s a place that I wouldn’t mind going to. Do you know how to skate?”

“Ice...skate?”

He huffed out with a tiny smile, and you noticed that when he did, no visible molecules could be seen in front of his face.

“Do you? I can pick something else? It’s not everyone’s skill.”

“N-no. I can do it.”

You don’t know why you had said it: perhaps you felt as if you had something to prove to this inhuman person, or you really did want to go there with him, no matter where it was.

You had never learned how to skate in your life.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The ice rink was lined with pink and white string lights: likely a Valentines Day decoration. Plastic hearts made of fuzzy tinsel also decorated the edges of the rink and sparkled under the lights. It had been built into the center of a public park, and bodies huddled in winter coats sat together on the benches to the side, waving at those they knew when they slipped past. Tinny music played over the outdoor speakers: it was some pop song that you had heard before, but didn’t know the name of.

Minho laced up your skates for you, and even then you noticed that his knuckles had turned pink too.

“Are you...cold?”

“Oh! This?” He turned his hands around. “No, I’m not. it’s just another one of my humanisms.”

“Humanisms?”

“Something to make me look more like you. When it’s cold outside my body senses it and does this.”

“I see.”

Even if you knew that he couldn’t possibly feel things in the same why, he was damn convincing--and you couldn’t help but think it was unbearably cute as well.

“Done! You ready? You can take my hand if you want?”

You stood wobbly as a deer taking its first steps. Walking on the blades was much more difficult than you would have guessed. He didn’t need to ask twice for you to grab hold.

“I’m assuming that you know how to do this?”

“There’s a lot of things that I know how to do.” He winked.

The second that your feet met the ice, you felt your heart start beating into overdrive with your anxiety of falling. Over the ice, it too felt colder, and that didn’t help much either. With one hand you clawed to the side of the rink, and the other dug into Minho’s arm.

“I thought that you said that you knew how to skate?”

“I lied. I’m gonna fall on my fricking face and its gonna be the most embarrassing thing ever. Worse than spitting escargot into your lap.”

“Spitting escargot? What?”

“Just--can you help me?”

He tittered with an adorably warm laugh and grabbed back at you firmly. “I won’t let go.”

Even the toddlers in their little training bumpers were more skilled than you. Minho was patient, and coached you through the skills of the left and right motions of your feet and getting into a rhythm. You still flapped your arms around wildly like a wobbly penguin, but he was eventually able to coax you away from the wall.

“See! You’re getting the hang of it!”

“Really?”

Minho nodded profusely, letting go of both of your hands to hold just one. “Stop looking at your feet and just look at me. You’ll trip yourself up focusing so hard.”

Other couples whipped past you, and you thought it best not to look at how easy it was for them.

“I-I think that I’m doing it!”

Minho’s eyes lit seeing you start to swing your feet back and forth. In that pink lighting of the rink, you could see that thin ring of light around his eyes once more. Even though it was unnatural, you still thought that it looked beautiful.

“WATCH OUT!!” Came a distant voice from behind you.

Before you had a second to turn around, a fuzzy blur came barreling into you. Two small bodies: a couple middle school boys chasing each other, came colliding with your teetering body, forcing you to fall to the hard ice with a terrible thud.

“Oh my God! Are you okay?” One of their pre-pubescent voices cracked.

“I-I’m fine...I think.”

Your air had been knocked right out of your lungs and your butt ached with a sharp pain that you hoped you wouldn’t be feeling for days. Both of your hands were wet with ice from the contact. Minho quickly offered you his hand up.

“-You okay?” He brushed ice off of your coat.

Truthfully, you were horribly shaken, and your chest shook, but you lied once more. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”

“No you’re not.” His worried eyes studied you. “Lets get you something warm to drink okay?”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“One hot chocolate please.”

Minho fiddled with his wallet, picking out that same iridescent square from before. As soon as his fingers touched it, it glimmered into a credit card.

“It can do that?” You had uttered, but he gave you back a cautious glare.

The man at the little coffee stand took it without question, and somehow, it worked.

“$3.15″ He monotoned, and gave the card back.

The white Styrofoam cup warmed your hands instantly, and the chocolatey steam delighted your nostrils.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“It’s no problem. I wanted to.”

You took a sip, but a strange silence befell over your date, and he furrowed his brows.

Under his breath, he repeated the word “...wanted?”

The further that you walked along the river together, the less that you wanted to take another look at your watch where it peaked out from your coat sleeve. You imagined that it must have been nearing almost 10:30--optimistically. Instead, you took long and purposeful sips of of your drink and indulged in the way that the heat would seep down from your throat and all the way down your body.

Onward, one of the great and massive bridges of the city blinked with an array of multicolored lights: some from cars, others from the way that it was decorated to look a bit like shining stars. Under the lights, the navy-black of the river reflected the fractals of light. The walkway was nearly empty of people except for the odd couple sitting and cuddled up by the edge of the water. The water should have been frozen, but it didn’t appear to be giving up just yet.

Your companion had drawn quiet with eyes cast down to his walking feet. You had half a mind to reach out to him...

“Is there anything you would like to do?” Your question filled the quiet, but you didn’t expect him to stop in his steps upon hearing it.

“Are you asking me if there is anything that I want do to?”

“Yes...?”

Minho was again quiet, then turned to look at the vast expanse of the cityscape in front of you both.

Suddenly, he began, “Valentines Day is a holiday that has to do with loving, doesn’t it?”

You stammered at the question in your confusion, but still answered. “Yes.”

“You express love on the holiday? You show people that you love them, and that you care for them. Right?”

“I think so...but why are--”

“--What do you think that it means to love something?”

Distantly, cars honked, and music boomed out from drawn down windows, and it floated in the evening air.

For you, loving was something that was second nature. It was little bits of happiness, fuzzy feelings, but it also ached, and felt like being lost. How could you possibly begin to describe what it meant?

Minho’s eyes were full of intrigue and even maybe a twinge of desperation. Could Mirrors even hold such a thing in their eyes?

“I-I’m not sure how to cover it all, but, I guess that I could say that loving something, or someone, is to want them. You want to be around them, you want to see them laugh or smile, you want to make them feel that you care. I don’t think that it is much more complicated than that.

The man appeared even more confused, almost like he had been computing his own mental calculations right before his very eyes. Then, all at once, his eyes softened.

“If loving something is to want it; to have desire, desiring is the first step? Love must be simplier than I thought that it was, and maybe...I think that I can do it.”

“What are you talking about?”

Minho swept up his hands in yours after casting aside the cup to the ground.

“You asked me if I wanted to do something. But the thing is...I don’t think I’ve ever wanted do to anything ever before in my life. It was just, what others wanted of me and what I colud do for them. Not me.”

Realization swept over Minho piece by piece, and soon it all unfolded for you too.

He drew your arms and hands around the back of his neck to pull your body closer to his.

You might’ve looked before, but his lips looked soft and unbelievably sweet: like melting snowflakes, whipped cream, or the fuzzy flesh of peaches.

“I do want something.” He said at last.

“Minho...what are you saying?”

“I-I can’t tell if what it is that I’m feeling is some kind of algorithm, or I’m just...you’re so...different.”

“I hope that you’re not just saying this all--”

“--I’m not! I’m not. I promise...an-and Mirrors can’t lie.” He laughed out. “How can you make a machine that’ll lie to you?”

His hands crept up your sides, and all the way up to cup your face in his hands.

He was impossible. In every way, but he was real. As real as the warmth from his hands and as real as the way that his mouth appeared to wet with saliva and how you could count the tiny moles on his face.

“Well, what is it that you--”

He had drawn your face close up into his, then closed any space that divided the two of you. Your lips parted with his into a meeting of his plush lips that were even softer than you had imagined. Even though you knew he couldn’t taste it, you flooded the taste of chocolate into his mouth, and your body shivered in the way that he ran his tongue over your bottom lip. He wasn’t intrusive, but rather curious, and thrilled. Any semblance of him that was any less than the skin that you felt on yours faded, and you poured yourself all back to him. His fingers held fast to the sides of your face while he kissed back every with every bit of him that he could. Even in the one moment when your eyes had fluttered open, he held his eyes closed, to focus only on you. Your own wondering hands laced into his fuzzy locks.

Each and every kiss that he painted across your lips was laced with indescribable want: something that he shouldn’t have even known, but you could feel it. He echoed the smile that you had pressed into his lips.

“I just want to be with you tonight. Just a bit longer. No more timers.” Minho whispered onto your mouth, barely breaking.

On the one hand, his request terrified you. A Mirror, one who you thought to be unfeeling, pre-programmed, an empty shell, wanted you. But still, you couldn’t control yourself from wanting him back, and everything about him that you knew and didn’t know. Wanting him, was the simplest thing you could have done.

“I-I want that too.”

His smile was thankful, and suddenly every little way that his eyes would crinkle or the corners of his mouth would upturn seemed more genuine.

Minho traced your hands to the back of your his neck where he guided them to the tip of his spine.

“Touch here.” He guided your fingertip over what felt like a bone. “Press down.”

You did so, and the patch of skin sunk down a bit like a button. You held his eyes which flickered wholly with that blue-white light you had taken notice of before.

“Say “Bypass LK2510.” “

He held your finger down still, and you repeated the phrase, watching as the light vanished all at once, even that thin ring around his irises.

“What did that do?”

Minho blinked a couple time like he was ridding sleep from his eyes, then beamed with a grin that only got wider and wider. “They shouldn’t know where I am for a while. You disabled my tracker.”

“I did what??? Can’t I get in trouble for that??”

“Not when I made you do it.”

In his delight, he pressed his lips back up against yours with a kind of light air that was ecstatic and hurried--it was contagious, and the feeling swept over you until you were just as giddy. You were nearly as giddy as a school child reveling in the mischief of knowing what they were doing was against the classroom rules.

Your chest swelled with nervous excitement, but it wasn’t nearly as addictive as any drug that you could imagine.

“Where do you want to go now?” You asked him with hands clinging to the sides of his coat.

“Anywhere.”

[nsfw version/ending coming soon on binniesthighs!]

272 notes · View notes

fandomtookoverlife · 4 years ago

Text

Late

Hotch x reader

Fem!reader

Summary: you go out to brunch with the girls but your late, (as always) and they have a peak at your sex life before you leave.

Note: italics are readers thoughts

Warning: talk of sex, swearing

Words: 1.8k

Category: fluff

A/N: ok this took me way too long to write but that's ok because I like the way it turned out and I hope you do too. Also this totally isn’t based off of the dumb bitch I am and how I act when I’m late. 😂😂

also again with me not being able to come up with a name worth a shit

Interact with me if you like, anything you want,😘😘, not sure what I’ll write next we’ll see. Also not me getting this out instead of doing hw, not me, wrong bitch.

Other blog: @mac99martin

Masterlist

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Shitshitshitshit I’m so fucking late UGH SHIT! You are so late. You’re running around your bedroom trying to get ready. You were going for brunch with the girls; Penelope’s idea, which was fine except that you were getting picked up at 11, you woke up at 10:40. For the last 10 minutes, you have been rushing around your room trying to get ready, preying that the girls would be running late as well. You’re dressed, which is good, you threw on a bit of makeup in an effort to look the least bit presentable and now you were desperately trying to manage the mess that is your hair. You had… fun last night. Aaron had come over and well like you said you had fun. Jack was at a sleepover so Aaron came to your apartment, you stayed up half the night, relishing in the time you’ve missed together in the past week. It came to an end when Aaron received a call saying that he needed to pick up Jack. At that point you decided you should get some sleep seeing as you had to get up in the morning, unfortunately for you, your own personal alarm clock left last night and you forgot to set an alarm, yep, you’re late. You’ve been checking the clock every two minutes, you were probably wasting time checking the time and now you're wasting time thinking about how you're wasting time, UGHH, but you were frazzled and freaking out so you can’t be relied upon for anything right now.

10:53

All you have to do in the next 7 minutes is clean up the rat’s nest that is left of your hair after last night’s activities, find shoes, find your wallet, purse, find wherever the hell you put your phone down and pray that you look presentable.

Unfortunately, there’s one flaw that always manages to escape you, most people don’t show up at the exact minute agreed upon.

It was now 10:56 your hair was mostly put together, 4 minutes ok I can do that. As if you weren’t already having the worst morning, it gets worse. Ya, that phone you can’t find, It has been blowing up with messages for the last few minutes.

“She’s not answering.” JJ had had none been calling you from the parking lot for a couple of minutes with no answer. Em and Pen had been checking in for the last 15 with no answer and continued to send unseen texts to you.

Em finally snapped, “alright, I’m going up.” not giving the other ladies time to respond she opened that car door and got out.

Pen rushed out after her, “Wait I wanna come!”

JJ watched the two women walk toward the entrance to your complex, looking at the empty car around her, got up as well, “ok I’m coming too.”

Emily, completely giving up on you, took out her keys and opened your door, JJ, ever the reasonable one, had protested, saying that they should knock. She got a nasty glare as Em pushed your door open.

As you said before, Aaron left in a rush last night, and you had been running around your room all morning, actually, you haven’t left your room all morning, making you completely unaware of the state of your apartment.

The women stood in your doorway in shock. You and Aaron didn’t just have fun in the bedroom last night, you had fun everywhere, the kitchen, the floor, the table, your desk, the couch, you name it you were there. In conclusion? Your apartment was a mess, for starters there were clothes everywhere, your shirt, Aaron’s jacket, your bra, Aaron’s tie, your pants and last but definitely not least your-ripped-panties right in the open directly in the eye line of the women at the door. And you were completely unaware.

The stunned women stepped in closing the door behind them, the world did not need to see this. They took in the sight, the clothing, the underwear that pen had pointed out, making sure to specify their ripped state. The next thing they noticed was your desk, what was usually a very precise desk was, quite the spectacle. Papers and folders scattered, pencil cups on their sides, pens just everywhere, photos knocked over. The tables and couch were pushed out slightly into the middle of the room, it was very clear what had happened here last night. The ladies looked at each other, their faces blank unsure how to react. A part of them was horrified, the other part really wanted to laugh. That was until they heard a noise coming from behind your door. They all became alarmed, “wait you don’t think Hotch is still in there do you?!” with your normal, horrible timing, that’s when you decided to open your door

Everyone looked stunned. You tried to start asking how they got into your apartment but you were by a frantic Emily, “Is hotch still here?”

“What? No, how did u…” the women looked relieved at your answer, when you started to ask how they knew he was here last night they gestured around the room. And that’s when you remembered the state in which you and Aaron left your apartment last night, “ohhh shit”

Emily started “Ya oh shit, look at this place”

“You guys had fun last night” JJ, always so passive-aggressive. When Pen went to pick up your panties, you sprang into action.

“Alright I’ll be out in a minute you guy can wait in the car” you practically slammed the door behind them, you look back at the mess that in your apartment, “shit”

You get your shit and get out of your apartment as fast as you can, JJ, Pen and Em are in the car waiting as ordered to but when you get in they are all smiling, “soooo, if you guys could just forget what you saw in there…”

“Absolutely not! That image will be engraved in my mind for the rest of my life!”

“JJ, come on”

“Don’t give me that did you see that place, good god Y/N what did you do in there!”

“Ummm…”

Before you could even think of an answer Pen jumped in with, “did you see all her clothes on the ground?”

“Did you see Hotch’s clothes still on the ground?”

“Did you see her desk?!”

“Alright, that’s enough” doing your best to put your foot down while also hiding how absolutely mortified you are.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“No wonder she was late.”

Despite your protests, it went on and on,

“Do you think she has hickey?”

“Hmm, not that I can see” at this point they weren’t listening to you anyway, so you just sat there, trying very hard not to listen, at some point you had started to think about last night. It was so perfect, not only the incredible sex but just being with him, allowing your selves to let loose, show each other affection, which you don’t do around the team. And then there was the literal mind-blowing sex, his hand all over you, his mouth across your body leaving the hickeys that you actually had but skillfully covered. The many orgasms you had that your legs hurt now, your slightly sore throat…

“Do you think that HE has hickeys?”

“Should we find out?”

That was it “NO”

“Well that woke her up, you were kind of out of it there for a second.”

“Ya something up,? Maybe something on your mind, thinking about something, dreaming about it, imagining it, reliving it?” Emily was nudging your shoulder and your face was turning bright red, “oh my god she was!”

Once you had actually started eating they let the conversation move on. It was one of the best times you’ve had in a while, you laughed and joked, you really don’t remember the last time you all smiled so much. It was nice to be with them so relaxed and happy, you almost forgot what it was like.

When your phone rang you knew their fun from earlier wasn’t over, they all turn to you, smirks growing on their faces, “hey”

“hey Y/N, I’m sorry about last night,”

“Don’t worry about it, really”

“Jack doing fine now but- it was messy” he said with a tired chuckle

“No no, I get it.”

“Hey hotch” Emily had pulled you phone slightly away from your ear and spoke into it “quite a number you did on her apartment last night” you snatched your arm back from her and shot her a glare

“You're still at lunch…”

“Yes. I am.” with a laugh that was more of a sigh,

“Sorry I totally forgot, Jack just wanted to talk to you, but he can wait-”

“No no, I want to talk to him,” you blushed and everyone smiled, you said you were stepping outside and would be back, they didn’t catch much of your conversation as you walked away, but what they did catch, was way too fucking sweet.

“Wow, they are just-”

“She looks so happy” watching you talk through the window

“Her? Have you seen him?” they thought about the changes in the two of you recently, you both were smiling so much more, you seemed so energetic, he seemed softer. Both so much more selves, a weight coming off both your shoulders, you brought the light out in each other and just being in the same room as you lift the spirits of the team. Watching their fierce leader's stoic exterior melt away and your calm and loving nature amplified out of proportion.

You came back to the table still smiling while they all looked at you, “don’t start-”

JJ cut you off, grabbed your hand and looked in your eyes, “hey,” squeezing your hand, “we are so happy that you're happy.” you blushed and smiled at JJ’s soft, kind words, her motherly exterior and your friends smiling faces showing the sentiment.

After a lovely lunch, filled with smiles, laughter and best friends you pulled up to your apartment JJ had a grin on her face, “so, you want help cleaning up?” the ladies trying very hard not to start laughing.

You clear your throat composing yourself and your face heats up, again, “um no I’m good thanks” getting out of the car as fast as you could.

“Are you sure?” they call after you.

“I’m sure!” running to your door while the ladies kill themselves in the car.

They may be annoying but who would you be to complain about your life right now, how could you, you have everything you could ever want.

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Tags:

@spencers-renaissance @averyhotchner

(lmk if you want to be tagged)

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c-is-for-circinate · 4 years ago

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Thinking today about viruses, allergies, oppression, and anti culture.

(under a cut because WHOOOPS this got long)

Racism is a virus. Homophobia, transphobia, sexism, antisemitism, ableism, etc etc etc, they are all viruses--a topic that many of us have learned a great deal about in the past year. They are ideas, yes, not literal physical diseases, but the analogy holds up. They are infectious, and often spread from person to person without anyone involved realizing they have it. They can sit latent for years, never showing up because the carrier never finds themselves in a situation where the issue comes up, only to flare up and take over when you least expect it. And they mutate, just like the flu, just like the common cold; they put on a new jacket every year and slide in undetected yet again, slip past our internal sensors and bury themselves in our brains until we go in and deal with them as best as we can.

One more thing we've learned about viruses this year is how we can fight them. The viruses of oppression are a little different because they tend to hurt the people around their carriers even more than the people they've infected (although let's talk about internalized anything-ism sometime), but in a lot of ways the attack is the same. You treat the symptoms even when you don't know how to cure the disease: we invest in respirators, antiviral treatments, hospitals; we create and sponsor programs to help those who've been hurt by various oppressions, we uplift our neighbors, we try to keep people safe from violences both big and small. You work to stop the spread: we wear our goddamn masks, we stay home when we can; we train ourselves not to say racist shit that might foster a culture of hate, we stop that guy in our office from making rape jokes, we make slurs unacceptable. You pay attention to your immune system: we seek medical attention when we experience symptoms, we get COVID tests, we talk to our doctors before the symptoms get deadly; we protest and we pay attention to the people who do, we take them seriously when they tell us that something is wrong.

You vaccinate. We train ourselves and our immune systems to recognize the thing that infects us, the thing that we fear. We try to teach our children about history, bit by little bit, on fragments of dead violence the same way we train our bodies on dead virus shells, so that someday they'll recognize the live disease when they see it. We learn about slavery and Jim Crow and the Holocaust. We tell kids bedtime stories about why hitting and bullying is bad, before we ever start teaching them the specific shapes that violence so often takes. As we get older, as we get stronger, we learn about the living stuff, all the new forms that same old virus has mutated into; we educate ourselves, we listen, we read. Just like vaccines, of course, there are anti-vaxxers and denialists shouting about how racism and sexism are already dead and they don't need any propoganda besides Fox News. Hell, just like anti-maskers, there are plenty of people screaming about how political correctness is ruining the world and they demand their right to spread their virus to anyone they can. Often these are the same people.

But we try. And make no mistake, we all of us are already infected, and just like a real virus, once you've caught it once it probably won't ever go away again--but we can prepare, and we can try to lessen the severity of our cases, and we can support our immune systems of activists and protesters and our own internal sense of this is wrong, and we can work, bit by bit, if not towards eradication (not yet, not in this world, but maybe someday in another), then at least towards control.

And then there's allergies.

An allergy is what happens when a human body's own immune system freaks out over an enemy that wasn't particularly harmful in the first place. All our immune defenses--those precious immune defenses, which work so hard to protect us against all those viral, deadly ideas--go screaming into high gear. All of that fear and fury and attack power gets brought to bear all at once, against a bit of pollen or bee venom or cat dander or peanuts, and your body is left itchy and runny-nosed and gasping--sometimes literally--as it tries to keep up. Allergies are miserable. Sometimes they're life-threatening. And the biggest danger isn't the foreign agent that triggers the allergic reaction; it's the immune system trying to fight it in the first place.

Which, yes, brings us to anti culture--but not JUST anti culture. It's a good example, a little internet-centric microcosm of the same force that drives progressives to tear bloody shreds out of moderate liberal politicians. Hell, it's the same force that enables both TERFs and the Capitol rioters. It's a combination of an immune system that points in the wrong direction, flagging the wrong thing as bad, terrifying, danger, NO, and a freaked-out response that can manifest as anything from mildly irritating to absolutely deadly.

To be clear, I am not by any means equating the scale or even the source of these things, any more than hayfever is the same as anaphylactic shock. Likewise, the sources are different. Sometimes, a disease can infect an immune system and point it in the wrong direction. (Terror of the other is the absolute cornerstone of white nationalism, and when that terror gets triggered by a harmless environmental condition like, god forbid, other people asking for rights, the allergy response can be deadly.) Other times, it's the other way around. Our internal immune systems, so well trained to protect ourselves and those around us from the insidious viral ravages of prejudice and oppression, start seeing traces of it everywhere.

And they freak out. And we suffer for it.

We talk a lot of well-deserved shit about TERFs, but it's useful to remember how much their nastiness feels to them like activism. Their immune system, trained and primed and sensitized over years of exposure to misogyny and sexism, catches the tiniest whiff of something that might seem at some point to have possibly been taken for male, and freaks out, because why is that trying to get into our system. Never mind that they're wrong. An immune system that flips out over penicillin is wrong, too. It's still trying to help, and it's still doing more harm than good trying it.

So bringing this back around to anti culture, which was absolutely where I started thinking about all of this this morning: anti culture, the terror of porn and the attempt by antis to protect themselves an other people from sexual content, is an immune response. It is a trained immune response, in people who have been taught and re-taught again and again that rape culture is a dangerous insidious virus that should be fought at all costs. And, right, there's more than a bit of 'the sexism virus infected this immune system and reprogrammed it to fight itself' involved here, but look, we are all of us infected with all of the viruses at least a little bit everywhere. If we tried to direct our immune systems to rip every last shred of -ism out of every last bit of us, we'd rip ourselves apart. Which is exactly the problem.

Porn, in and of itself, is natural. As natural as environmental pollen, and living near dogs and cats, and eating wheat or nuts or citrus fruit. It's even healthy, for a whole host of reasons that belong in another essay. And citric acid and nut-based proteins and whole grains are nutritious, and pets are physically and psychologically helpful, and being exposed to lots of different environmental substances as a child can actually help train your immune system in the first place. Porn can help us figure out what we like. It can help us figure out what we don't like. And while the processes that create it are sometimes unethical and awful, we don't condemn all dogs because puppy mills and dogfighting rings exist, even if we do have dog allergies.

What we see in anti culture is often a good-faith attempt on the part of antis to attack and subdue an environmental trigger that they read as dangerous. It's a panic attack over something that is by nature harmless or mildly harmful, blown out of proportion by the very instincts that are supposed to keep us safe. It's the response of an immune system that's been taught over years and years, by everyone from parents to school systems to the activists they look up to, that negative stimulus is to be feared, avoided, and fought. Of COURSE they're going to freak out.

And of course, early exposure to controlled amounts of allergens can help prevent later allergies from developing. Of course when kids are raised with abstinence-only education, sheltered from the very concept of sex, they're going to grow up allergic to it. (Of course they're going to try to protect other kids from the same, like worried mothers who refuse to let peanuts or wheat products or dirt near their precious babies, whose kids grow up with a whole suite of allergic triggers because their bodies never learned what was okay in the first place.) And no, that doesn't mean we hand pornography to ten-year-olds any more than we should give raw honey to an infant--but of course if our culture refuses to introduce kids to the fact that sex and desire and the inside of their own brain can be messy and silly and kinky and downright weird, we're going to have a higher rate of allergic reaction to the entire concept in adults.

I wish I had a better answer for what to do with understanding that this is what's going through so many people's brains. The best I have is a prescription for allergy-sufferers, who probably haven't read this far through this wordspew of an essay in the first place--but we all get a little hayfever once in a while, and we all sometimes run into content that makes us angry. So some thoughts on how to deal with metaphorical allergic reactions, inspired by the ways we deal with literal ones?

First: we recognize that what is happening is an allergy. The thing we're reacting to might be gross, or irritating, or even unpleasant, but the danger is not and never has been the thing itself. Whether it's triggering a response because of its similarity to an actively dangerous pathogen, or our immune system just doesn't like it, our aversion to one kind of story or another universally says more about us than about it. Luckily, we have a lot more control over our social responses than our biological ones!!! If vocal activism is our sociocultural immune system firing itself up to fight an infection that may or may not exist, then we get to tell our metaphorical white blood cells to stand down. We get to decide.

Second: we get some space. The funny thing about allergies is, while early exposure to allergens can help prevent them, re-exposing yourself to dangerous allergens after you've already developed a reaction to them can make them worse. Anaphylaxis is always more likely after someone's experienced it the first time. Repeated exposure to triggers, whether biological or psychological, can make the effects worse. So stop exposing yourself.

If something makes your throat itch every time you eat it, stop eating it. If something makes you mad every time you read it, stop reading it. Obviously this can be easier said than done in a world that's a lot worse about warning labels on stories than ingredients labels on foods, but that's why fic tags exist. And: sometimes, the croissant is delicious enough that we decide we're willing to suffer through the way the almonds make us feel, just this once. Sometimes the ship or the characterization or, hell, those other kinks that we really like are tasty enough that we'll put up with the trope we hate. We're allowed to do that. But we do it knowing there will be consequences, and we don't blame the baker when they hit.

We also don't have to blame ourselves. It sucks to be allergic to shellfish when all your friends are raving about the new seafood place. But that's not our fault any more than it's theirs.

Third: sometimes, if we need one, we go to the doctor. Or a therapist. Yes, really.

Not because there's anything really wrong with an aversion or even mild breakouts of hives, annoyance, and bitching in your friends' DMs--but it sure isn't pleasant, and sometimes your doctor might have a better solution than 'avoid it and take a Benadryl' that makes you feel a little better in the long run. And sometimes, it's not a mild breakout. Sometimes it's the kind of story that lingers with you for days, makes your skin crawl; sometimes your throat swells up and it gets hard to breathe. Sometimes we get angry enough about something we've read that we can't stand down our immune system, don't want to stop ourselves from writing that angry comment, that tumblr post, that abuse report to the mods for something that didn't actually break any rules. And that's dangerous, because when our immune response can flare out of control like that, we don't always know where and when it will happen next, and the risk of what we'll do if it happens gets way, way higher.

Sometimes it really is worth getting a second opinion. Sometimes you need somebody to tell you, "actually, it is not normal to get tingly and sweaty every time you eat potatoes." There are ways to train your brain and leash your white blood cells that I sure as heck am not expert enough to address. There are, it turns out, ways to feel better. There are ways to mitigate the damage your own well-meaning defense mechanisms might do to yourself or other people along the way.

And: we can take a deep breath when someone with an allergy to something we've baked, something we've written, something we like, is lashing out trying to protect themselves and everyone around them from something they've registered as a threat. Of course they're wrong. Yes, we told them there were tree nuts in the brownies ahead of time; yes, they chose to eat them anyway. But it can be worth reminding them and ourselves that there's a difference between "this thing is toxic" and "this harmless thing has driven my own system into a defensive response that sure makes it feel like I've been poisoned." And it can be worth reminding ourselves as well as them that sometimes, that difference can be really hard to spot.

#driveby meta attack #I guess #whoops I essay'ed #this was not meant to get this long #welp #anti discourse day

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pandoricpies · 4 years ago

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Not sure how to feel (AS IM SCROLLING GODDAMNIT SSOBLR THERE’S ALREADY THRIST DISCOURSE)

*Ahem* back to this post lol. Now let me preface this post by saying this; his design as an individual is very detailed and extremely well-made! The textures, staff, and eyes are some very detailed highlights of his overall design.

However, this brings up a point that I thought about when Carl Peterson was redesigned;

Both he and Fripp are too detailed for this game. They just don’t fit in.

Now don’t get me wrong, there is quite a bit of detail in certain places around Jorvik (Lisa and Linda’s rooms, Fripp’s Chamber, etc.). However, these details are of background or landscape nature if you will, and are decently proportioned so that the characters inhabiting them still fit in (there is probably a more technical term for that but I am not very well-versed in digital design terminology). However, when those smaller details are added to certain characters when other characters’ designs have larger, more round details (again I’m very ignorant on the terminology of this subject) don’t fit that ratio, the difference becomes noticeable. Let’s look at an example of Carl and Lisa (unfortunately I was using Google and couldn’t find a fuller picture of Carl):

A few things to point out here:

- Starting with facial features, we can see that Carl’s eyes are significantly smaller, more realistic and more detailed than Lisa’s. Lisa in contrast has more cartoon-style eyes that aren’t as true to the actual human proportions as her father’s are (I prefer the cartoon style more for SSO because it fits the overall design better). Carl’s nose and facial hair (eyebrows because we can’t compare a beard as Lisa obviously doesn’t have one) are just so detailed... and I’m not saying his design isn’t very well-done. But, that design, however meticulously created, doesn’t fit with SSO’s more bubbly, saturated, and large cartoonistic style. Hair is also another thing to notice, as the details and shading in Carl’s are so much more realistic while Lisa’s hair shading is more sparse.

- Onto the clothing; just look at the difference in clothing stitching between these two. You can barely see Carl’s tan stitching in his jean jacket in the picture and even more so when in game. Another thing to note is the tan fluff on the back of the jacket. Notice how small the ‘tufts’ are and how detailed it is. In contrast, you can clearly see the zipper details on Lisa’s jacket and the fluff on the back of her jacket is much less detailed and more blurred (taking on that less-detailed cartoon style).

The point of this post is just to simply point out some inconsistencies in character design as of late. I hope from now on the team tries to stick to either a more detailed design like Carl and Fripp, or a more cartoon style like the Soul Riders, Maya, and Josh (for some reason they seem to be keeping the younger characters that cartoon style while the older ones are getting more detail).

The design size scale of Fripp and Carl doesn’t work with the rest of the game. On their own, their designs are great! But not for this game.

Also, one more thing to note is the inconsistent height scale. Lisa is said to be a pretty short person. However, when standing next to her father (or any other older adult updated or not), she appears to be about the same height.

Basically, because of all the inconsistencies, looking at Lisa and her father side by side you’d think they were from two different games.

I’ll put some more pics down below for comparison:

Eh just doesn’t look like the same game to me.

#star stable #sso #star stable online #something I’ve begun to notice #soul riders #sse #fripp #fripp sso

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julemmaes · 4 years ago

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What The

Prompt sent by @sayosdreams: Ezra goes on his first date

acotar next gen fan fiction

A/N: definitely not what I had planned for this prompt, but I’m not sad nor surprised. Ezra is 16, almost 17, Andra is 6 and the others don’t appear. But we’re introduced to Dara (MorxAndromache’s son) who is 16, Nia (AmrenxVarian’s daughter) who is 15, and Chelo (EmeriexAzriel’s second daughter) who is 6 and Fabien (FeyrexRhysand’s second son) who is 7 are mentioned.

Fic masterlist

Word count: 6,692

Ezra didn't know he could be so embarrassed for someone else. And so scared for his own personal safety.

When Nia and Dara had told him they'd found him someone to go out with, he'd never expected the guy in question to be...well, like this.

Daniel was peculiar.

When he'd seen him arrive at the bus stop where they'd arranged to meet, Ezra had immediately felt a creepy feeling of unease, which had only increased out of all proportion when the boy whose last name he didn't even know yet had hugged him like his grandmother did every time they visited.

Ezra had stood motionless with his eyebrows pinned to his hairline for a full minute while the other one formally introduced himself, reaching out a hand toward him. He'd seen her nails polished a cheerful pastel blue and had smiled, trying to quell that wrong feeling in the back of his mind, "I like your nails."

Daniel had chuckled disturbingly - the sound still etched in Ezra's mind - and then made a very serious face, "It's to let others know I'm so gay."

The Navarro boy hadn't commented, not wanting to make an immediate bad impression with his date, but he'd found at least five ways to retort to that immense bullshit.

Daniel had linked their arms together and told him he'd take him to his favorite spot, and Ezra had been hesitant with all that physical touch. Not because he wasn't used to having someone around all the time touching him in one way or another, but because Daniel seemed like the kind of person who had no idea what boundaries were and he wasn't keen on being kissed out of the blue.

"So, what are you?" he had suddenly asked him.

Ezra had arched an eyebrow, confused, "What am I?"

"Yes, what are you silly," the other had chuckled. Silly? What the- "Gay, bi, pan?" Ezra had been dumbfounded, and he was sure that if Daniel hadn't been dragging him along, he would have gotten stuck in the middle of the sidewalk. He'd blinked a few times, trying to figure out why someone would ask such a thing for no apparent reason. When he'd still been silent, looking for an answer that wouldn't make him look like a complete idiot, Daniel had asked him again, giving him a light shove.

Erza had looked at him at that point, his expression somewhere between surprised and furious, "I don't know yet, I'm trying to figure it out."

"Oh, poor thing, I'm sure you'll understand after tonight." and again that creepy giggle, "I'll make sure this date makes you realize you're completely gay."

He hadn't told anyone he was going on a date that night, only his two best friends, and in that moment he couldn't have regretted his decision more.

He'd made up an excuse for his parents and Cassian and Nesta were now home chilling, probably doing what they did every Saturday night when they somehow managed to get rid of their kids, but Ezra just wanted to call his mom and get the hell out of that fast food.

He made a disgusted grimace, moving a chip with a handkerchief, too afraid that he would catch some kind of disease if he actually touched that food, when something under the table caught his attention. He opened his eyes wide when he realized it was a cockroach and had to suppress a gag.

"Are you okay, Ezzy?" Daniel asked him in a squeaky voice - Danny, as he'd asked him to call him when they'd arrived at the venue, "You look a little pale."

Ezra looked up at the boy, unsure whether to tell him for the tenth time that he hated that stupid nickname he'd stuck on him almost an hour ago or to let it go and try to enjoy the rest of the evening. Staring at the individual in front of him for a second too long, he gave him the most fake smile he could muster, replying simply, "Everything's fine." even if it was anything but fine. He certainly couldn't tell him that he never wanted to hear another word come out of his mouth, or that the place creeped him out so much that he was sure he'd have nightmares for the rest of his life. Or that the group of guys sitting at the table next to them looked at them so wrong every time he used the word gay that he wouldn't be surprised if they ended the night running away from them.

He'd done so many little things to make him uncomfortable that Ezra was wondering if he wasn't doing it on purpose, if he was on some kind of candid camera and if his friends would be coming out of the kitchen any minute, laughing at his misfortunes.

"That's good." resumed Daniel, then took a bite of his sandwich and some sauce, which should have been any other color but the one it was, fell on the table, "Anyway, back to what we were talking about before."

Ezra winced, closing his eyes and trying not to breathe in the awful smell of dirty water that hovered around the place. He didn't want to go back to the conversation from before. He wanted to run away.

"The first time I came out was when I was eight years old and everyone called me names, like I was telling you." Daniel nodded, continuing to chew with his mouth open, and Ezra could only avoid looking at him for a short time before the boy demanded they make eye contact. He'd explicitly asked him several times.

"Oh and then of course the first Gay Pride I went to was only a few years ago, because you know, they don't do any in Velaris and never will, duh." the boy said making an x with his fingers as he shook his head. Ezra chuckled at that gesture, more out of desperation than anything else, and Daniel seemed to take it as an invitation to continue, because he launched into a detailed description of his first time having "gay sex" with someone.

He shut his brain down, planting a tugged smile on his lips and hoping the torture would end soon.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out as Daniel said, "I kissed someone for the first time when I was ten, a boy of course." He jumped from topic to topic with such ease that Ezra struggled to keep up with him and was a little grateful for that.

It was a text from Nia asking him how the date was going and that she and Dara were at the latter's house, waiting for him to ask to pick him up. He typed a reply quickly, offending her in every way possible for putting him in such a situation and begging her to come as soon as possible. He turned off the screen, putting his phone back in his pocket and then leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest and furrowing his brow as his brain perceived the words "blood" and "anal."

A not at all pleasant sensation began to blossom at the pit of his stomach.

He breathed through his nose deeply and regretted it soon after. If he hadn't ended up throwing up that night or dying, he would have given himself a weekend at a spa with the full package, sauna and all that crap and he would have forced Nia to pay for it. It was his friend's fault that he was now in this pathetic situation.

Ezra closed his eyes, trying to calm his thoughts and completely externalize himself from the outside world - something he'd learned to do on long trips to Illyria when his siblings decided to have a tantrum all at once. When Daniel didn't stop for another ten minutes and Ezra vaguely heard the word orgasm, he stood up abruptly, bringing his hands close to his ears in case he didn't stop talking.

Daniel brought one hand to his mouth and the other to his chest, startled by that sudden outburst from him.

"Ezzy..." he murmured, "what's wrong?"

Ezra clenched his hands into fists, closing his eyes. The feeling in the pit of his stomach was intensifying more and more, "Stop calling me that, please." then he stared into his eyes, leaning forward, "I asked you to stop two hours ago. Two hours."

Daniel stared at him open-mouthed, some chewed food was visible and Ezra was forced to turn away, trying to erase the image from his mind, but he heard it anyway when he asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

Ezra huffed out a laugh and the group of older boys, who had been watching them since they entered the fast food restaurant, stared at him with somber expressions, then shifted their gazes to Daniel. He brought his attention back to Daniel in turn and said in a low voice so that no one would hear him, "I'm sorry to have to tell you like this, but there won't be a second date and this one ends here."

He didn't even wait to see Daniel's reaction, grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He shivered in the cold of the city and looked around, lost. He had no idea where he was. He didn't know what part of town that fast food was in, and he couldn't understand how Nia knew the place existed. He walked down the main street, hoping to find something - a store, a bus stop, anything - that would help him figure out where he was.

He had just finished slipping on his jacket when he felt a hand tighten around his wrist and pull hard enough to make him stumble backwards. He didn't even realize he was falling until his back hit the ground and the air rushed out of his lungs so violently that it shocked him. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to catch his breath. Panic didn't have time to make its way through his body that someone was pulling him up by force.

Ezra kicked his feet in the air, looking around, unsure whether to scream for help and trying hard to free himself from the stranger's grasp, when he realized with horror that it was Daniel.

The all too cheerful and bright eyes that had characterized that basic little face until that moment, that had frightened but more than anything else bored Ezra to the point of exhaustion, now shone with a new emotion and he was petrified to realize that he looked like another person entirely. It was anger, pure rage in the boy's pupils.

"Daniel-" he tried to say to get him to let go.

Daniel was still clutching the front of his shirt and shook his head when he said his name, "I don't get it, what is it?" he asked, tilting his head to the side smiling, "You don't like to talk about me being gay because you haven't figured out what you are yet?"

What was wrong with this guy?

Ezra's eyes were wide and he couldn't speak. He was afraid Daniel would hit him.

After all, he didn't know him. He didn't know anything about the person in front of him other than the fact that the only trait in his personality was being gay. He hadn't been able to get anything personal out of him, nothing about what school he attended, nothing about his family, his hobbies.

A sheer, unmitigated terror made its way through his mind as he realized that Daniel could easily have been even much older than he said he was.

"Let me go." murmured Ezra, clasping his hands around his wrists. The only certainty he had at that moment was the fact that Daniel wouldn't be able to pull out any kind of sharp object to hurt him as long as he had his hands on Ezra.

Daniel wasn't that much bigger than him, he was a few inches shorter, but Ezra wasn't the kind of guy who would get into fights and win. No, he wasn't like his brother. He was more the type who got pushed into the fight and ended up with a broken nose because he didn't want to hurt the other guy.

The door to the fast food restaurant opened behind him and he tried hard to block out the shaking of his hands, of his lower lip. He couldn't take his eyes off Daniel's, too scared that if he even moved a finger, the other would snap.

"Everything okay out here?" someone asked, a deep, gravelly voice.

Daniel's eyes snapped over his shoulder and loosened their grip on his shirt. Ezra took the opportunity to push him away. Cursing, he fell backwards again, cushioning his fall with his hands and felt a sharp pain go up his arm. Hissing, he brought the limb to his chest, clutching it with his other hand.

Arms slipped under his shoulders, helping him pull himself up, "Here."

As soon as he was on his feet, Ezra took three steps back, moving away from both men in front of him.

He realized with no small amount of dread that the newcomer was one of the boys who had been watching them all evening. He cursed mentally this time, trying to think his way out of the fucked up situation.

How had he ended up there?

How had he ended up in the ugliest neighborhood in all of Velaris just because he wanted to go on a date?

Daniel was looking at the man now, much bigger and bulkier than the two of them combined, and Ezra heard a bicycle bell ring in the distance.

The heads of all three snapped toward the sound, but the only one who started running toward the two approaching figures was Ezra. He heard Daniel yell his name, but that only prompted him to run faster.

Nia was flailing around, swinging dangerously on her bike, and she didn't seem to notice the condition he was in, because she was smiling like a little girl on Christmas morning, but Dara was.

"Nia, come here." Ezra heard him say even at that distance. The girl must have heard something in her boyfriend's tone too, because she bolted beside him and got off her bike silently. Ezra continued to run at breakneck speed until he was in front of his best friends and got on the bike Nia had just left behind. He ordered them both to take off with short breaths and Dara to pedal as fast as he could before darting off down the road.

The boy in question waited until Nia was safely settled on the rack before turning the bike around and following Ezra down the half-lit street.

What the hell had just happened?

***

"I think we should call aunt Nesta," Nia said, with a grave expression.

Dara shook his head, reaching behind her and resting an arm on the back of the bench, starting to play with a strand of her hair, "She'll riot if she finds out what happened."

Nia looked at him frowning, "So you think we should handle it?"

Dara nodded, reducing his lips to a thin line.

"The us-handling-it ended with Ezra almost getting himself killed," she pointed out to him, "I think we've done enough for tonight."

"Speaking of," Ezra murmured. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, his eyes closed, convinced that if he opened them he'd start crying. "Where the fuck did you find someone like that?"

A shiver ran through his body and he didn't know if it was because of the memory of Daniel or because they insisted on spending their Saturday nights in the cold backyard of Dara's house.

Nia scratched the back of her neck, "A friend told me she had a friend who was busting her balls because he's been single for too long and he reminded me of someone." she gave him a pointed look and shrugged, "I didn't think he'd be a psycho."

Dara chuckled tiredly and Ezra lifted his head to look at him, "Why are you laughing, that was terrifying." he repeated for the billionth time. "I don't think I'll ever date again."

"Actually as a first date it kinda sucked," mumbled the girl yawning. Erza knew they were both dead tired and it wouldn't make any difference if he stayed over at his aunt Mor's or went back to his house, either way he would find himself alone in a bed. He might as well avoid a sleepless night because of Nia's snoring.

Truth be told, he would have preferred to be cuddled by his sisters, but he would never admit that out loud.

He opened and closed the fingers of his left hand, wincing every time the cut on his wrist joint moved.

Nia was watching him closely, "You should probably disinfect that."

Ezra huffed, closing his eyes and scratching his eyebrow, "I'll do it when I get home."

"Do you want me to call your mother?" she offered, understanding immediately. Dara nodded beside her.

He thought about it and then shook his head, getting up and picking up the phone, "If you call her she'll think I'm dead or something bad happened - which is true," he nodded, dialing Nesta's number, and bringing the device to his ear, "but she doesn't need to know over the phone."

She answered on the first third ring.

"Ezra? What's wrong?" she asked with bated breath.

The boy grimaced, immediately realizing he had interrupted something, and Dara burst out laughing. By now it was common knowledge what his parents did every Saturday night. Even Dara's moms had their Wednesdays after all.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you," he narrowed his eyes, wrinkling his nose, "but, is there any way you could pick me up?"

Nesta didn't answer right away, but Ezra clearly heard the shifting of the sheets and the uncertain movements on the other side of the line and his father asked worriedly, "What happened?"

"I don't know-" Nesta answered him in a muffled voice, then more clearly, "Ezra everything alright? Are you okay?" anxiety lacing her words.

Fuck, this was exactly what he wanted to avoid. Making his parents worry about things that could easily be avoided was perhaps the thing he hated most in the world.

Casting a quick glance at his friends, he replied, "You know what, nothing, nevermind, I'll stay here and be back in the morning, don't worry about it." he tried to fake a smile, even though his mother couldn't see it and Dara scoffed, standing up and nearly knocking over Nia who was leaning on his shoulder, "Pass it to me." he murmured.

Ezra pulled away, reaching an arm out to his friend to hold him back as Dara smiled and reached for his phone.

"Where are you now?" asked Nesta urgently. More frantic movement on the other end of the phone, "I've got you on speaker."

Ezra grunted when Dara jabbed a finger into his ribs, "At aunt Mor's." he let out a giggle when he escaped his friend and started running around the garden, "But don't worry, I'm here with Dara and Nia, I'll be back tomorrow."

"Love, you never called me to pick you up in sixteen years of living," the woman pointed out to him. She heard her father agree with her as he warned her that he would wait for her in the car, "Even if nothing happened, something has to have and I don't want to put unnecessary burdens on Mor or Em. We're on our way." Ezra was about to retort when the beep beep of the call being closed rumbled through the phone.

The boy huffed, stopping his run abruptly, and Dara slammed into him, nearly knocking them both over. They burst out laughing as they pushed and pulled in a non-violent fight.

As they fell on top of each other, starting to tickle each other, Nia snickered from the porch, leaning against the railing, "How nice it is to have a boyfriend who has a boyfriend."

"You love us." both boys shouted, opening their eyes and mouths wide and looking at each other immediately after, "Aah, twins." they said again simultaneously. They burst out laughing and Nia ran a hand over her face, warning them that she was going into the house.

Dara stood up at that point, pushing Ezra away, but he helped him up anyway and they silently joined her, trying not to wake Mor and Emerie who were resting on the couch undisturbed. His friend asked him to warn his mother not to ring the bell, so that she wouldn't wake up his moms, and Ezra smiled and nodded.

Dara was the only child of aunts Mor and Em. He was only a few months younger than Ezra, but had been adopted when he was already two years old. Of course, none of the three could remember a day without the other two, and although Dara and Nia had been together for a few months now - after years and years of banter - the dynamics of the group had never changed.

Although Nia had become a little more possessive now where Dara was concerned, it was never really about jealousy. Ezra was just scared when she took on that stern expression that also characterized her mother Amren and threatened him with death when he accidentally hurt Dara during one of their friendly fights.

They entered the bedroom and Nia was already sprawled out on the mattress like a starfish. A soft snoring sounded in the room and Ezra shook his head, "How is she already asleep?"

Dara didn't answer him, but smiled slightly, looking at the shapeless mass of hair that hid the girl's face. He walked over to the bed, grabbing a blanket from the chair and trying to cover her entirely, but from the position she was in, an arm or leg would always be exposed to the chill air.

Ezra felt his heart tighten in his chest, "You're lucky." he whispered.

Dara snorted, looking up at him with a curled brow, "Don't go soft on me, you know we'll both start crying then." then he turned back to Nia, moving her hair out of her face, "It's also after eleven, if we start talking about this stuff I could seriously cry." an even wider smile made its way onto his lips and a twin one appeared on Ezra's. Plus, if Nia woke up with both of them crying, she wasn't going to let them live it down.

Dara and Nia had come before Cal and Nora, before Nate, Theo, and everyone else. Ezra didn't know what it would be like without them, and he never wanted to find out.

"You know, though, yeah," Dara whispered once they had settled into the bean bag chairs, "we're lucky."

Ezra looked into his eyes, yawning, "Do you think my mom will let me go to sleep without an interrogation?"

Dara grinned, "Are we talking about the same Nesta who kept us up an entire night just because she kept losing at UNO?" he reminded him of that deadly night a few years earlier, "Because I'm sure that a person who is willing to keep three whining babies awake just to win at a stupid game isn't going to let something that relevant go until they get their revenge."

Ezra groaned, closing his eyes, "I don't even know how to approach the subject."

"What part?" Dara then asked, watching him closely, "That you also like boys or that one guy almost smashed your face."

"Not helping." he deadpanned.

"No, but seriously," he pulled his legs up, crossing them underneath him, "I know your whole-" he moved a hand in midair, pointing to Ezra's head, "thinking and I don't want to make you more anxious than you need to be, but what if they don't react like you always thought they would?"

Ezra had thought about this countless times, about how his parents might react to such an admission, but the outcome had never bothered him much. He didn't really conceive the concept of coming out when you were growing up in a family like his. He didn't like the idea of having to specify to his parents that one day he might bring home someone who wasn't a woman.

One of his father's closest friends was a lesbian and her son was sitting across from him. If his parents had any objections to that, they would certainly have told him or talked about it.

He was sure it wouldn't have sparked any reaction in his parents.

"It'll be fine." said Ezra only.

"Definitely." Dara dropped his head back, "So how do you plan to introduce the I-went-out-with-a-crazy-man instead?"

Ezra shook his head, "I don't?"

"I'm serious." the other replied, closing his eyes.

"So am I."

They remained silent, Dara surely having realized Ezra didn't want to talk about Daniel anymore.

"What are you planning on doing for Valentine's Day?" he asked suddenly.

Dara chuckled, "I have a girlfriend now man, we can't go out anymore, you and I."

"You dumbass," Ezra insulted him, "I meant with Nia. Where are you taking her?"

Dara pulled himself up, stretching his arms overhead. The boy couldn't sit still for half a minute. "Actually I think she wants to take me somewhere and I'll let her," he nodded thoughtfully, "Although I'm kind of terrified she's going to take me into the woods and kill me, I'm going to activate the location on my phone so you'll always know where I am."

Ezra didn't laugh, he just nodded. The phone vibrated in his hand and his stomach twisted again.

"We're out." the message from his mother read.

He looked up at Dara and found his friend watching him, who gave him an encouraging smile.

They bid each other goonight with their secret handshake and then Ezra walked out of the room just as Dara lifted Nia and tucked her under the covers, laying down next to her.

***

"Are you going to tell us what's going on or are we going to have to guess?" asked Cassian looking over his shoulder once he was in the car.

They were already halfway home and Ezra had only said hello to them, in a very controlled tone of voice, but his mother had tossed back in her seat and stared into his eyes for what had seemed like hours before shifting her gaze to her husband and saying, "Yeah, something happened."

She had watched him for so long that he couldn't understand how she hadn't seen the bloodstain on his sweatshirt. He pulled up the zipper on his jacket, already thinking about how he could remove the stain from the fabric.

"Can we talk about this tomorrow?" he tried to ask. He was looking out the window, but he could feel both his parents' eyes on him.

"Can you sleep if you don't talk about it, or are you going to be up all night?" asked Cassian again, "Because if it's the latter, I'd rather talk about it now."

Ezra closed his eyes, thinking about what to answer. "Is Andra home?" he asked softly.

Nesta nodded, "She's been asleep for a couple of hours though. She's been playing all day with Fabien and Chelo and was dead tired." she said in a chipper tone, "How come?"

"I'm taking her to my room." he replied only.

His mother turned to him again, this time with a lopsided smile on her face, "It's not like she's a dog."

"Yeah, I know," he smiled back, "but at least I'll sleep better."

"Alright, we'll talk about it tomorrow though," Nesta told him. He merely nodded.

Not even two minutes passed and Cassian asked, "Did you have a fight with Dara?"

Ezra nearly burst out laughing, "No, Dad."

"With Nia?"

"Cass." his mom admonished him.

The man turned to her with a mock confused expression, "What?"

"He told us he'd talk about it tomorrow, stop it."

Cassian huffed, "Fine."

As soon as they arrived home, Ezra said goodnight to both of them and went straight to his room. He slipped off his jacket and got into his pajama pants, grabbing his shirt and heading to the bathroom to try and clean his sweatshirt as best he could.

He remained shirtless as he searched the drawers for cotton wool and wound sanitizer. He gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into fists as he spilled some of the liquid on his cut. It wasn't too long or deep, but it had bled him quite a bit, especially considering he hadn't stopped moving his hand half a second, preventing the skin from healing.

He'd definitely done it to himself when he got free of Daniel, but he hadn't realized he'd hurt himself that badly until he'd gotten to Dara's house and Nia had seen the red stain on his sweatshirt. He cleaned the cut from the dried blood, changing cotton balls after the first one had turned completely red.

He turned on the water, running his entire forearm under it, when the bathroom door opened and his mother's head popped into view. At any other time he would have told her that she had to knock before entering their bathroom, that he might be naked, but upon seeing the color drain from her face, he remained silent.

He turned off the faucet, cupping his hand over his wrist as Nesta entered the bathroom and stared in pure terror at the cotton wool and blood on the sink. He hadn't seen his mother so scared since the day he'd broken his arm.

"Mom..." whispered Ezra, stepping forward, toward her.

"What happened?" she asked bringing a hand to her throat. Then she looked into his eyes, "Did you do it yourself?"

Ezra frowned, confused. Then the shock of what his mother's newly spoken words implied hit him and he shook his head, wincing. "No, god- no mom. I-"

Nesta moved until she was in front of him and gently took his arm, moving his hand from his wrist until she saw the cut and sighed. Whether in relief or otherwise, Ezra didn't know.

"You need to tell me what's going on, and no, you can't go to bed without telling me what you did tonight first," she murmured to him, without looking at his face. She had taken another piece of cotton and was dabbing at his wrist with the gentleness that only a mother with her children could have, checking for soil residue or anything else.

"Nesta?"

Ezra winced when he heard his father's voice calling to her.

Mom looked him in the eye, tossing the wadded up bits, "If you promise me that as soon as you get out of here you'll come talk to us, I'll go out now and let you get ready for the night in peace." she told him.

She was looking at him with so much emotion that Ezra regretted even thinking about lying to her and telling her he just fell off his bike. Besides, if it had been about something so stupid, he would have told her right away and she knew it. So, lowering his gaze to the floor, he nodded, "I promise."

Stepping out, she picked up the clothes Ezra had left on the floor and then he was alone again. He brushed his teeth, thinking about how to deal with this. He grabbed a band-aid from Celia's locker - she used more than anyone else put together because of soccer - and then slipped on his pajama shirt, leaving the bathroom and heading for his parents' room. Halfway down the hallway he turned around and stopped with his hand on the doorknob of his room. He closed his eyes, smacking his forehead against the wood, "Let's do this."

He didn't have time to knock that his parents' door opened and Cassian looked at him differently than he always did, looked at him like he was trying to read his mind. Ezra felt himself blush for the first time in a long time and shifted his gaze to his mother, who was sitting on the edge of the bed and smiling at him.

Ezra slipped into the room, sitting down at the end of the bed. Nesta settled against the bedpost and Cassian sat down, facing the wall. He couldn't see his father's face, but he sensed his concern as waves radiated from his body.

"I had a date tonight." mumbled Ezra playing with the blanket, but keeping his eyes on his mother.

Nesta opened her mouth slightly wide in surprise, then closed it again, composing herself, "Why didn't you tell us?"

"I don't know," he confessed.

"How did it go?" asked Cassian, turning to face him.

Ezra scratched his head, "Bad."

"I'm sorry." his mother told him with as much sincerity in her voice as she could muster. Then she cast a quick glance at his dad and Ezra took a deep breath, bracing himself for what was to come. "How did it get so bad?"

"The other one wasn't exactly sane," he said, brushing the patch with his fingers.

Cassian stiffened and flexed his fingers several times, "Did she do anything to you?"

Ezra felt his heart start to beat a little faster, "He was-" then he stopped, looking at his parents. Neither Nesta nor Cassian seemed the least bit touched by what he'd just said. "He was peculiar."

They waited for him to speak, giving him time to process.

"He immediately started touching me and normally-"

His father interrupted him, "Touching you?" he asked in a low voice.

Ezra had never heard that tone of voice before. He had never seen Cassian's eyes grow so dark, his jaw so taut. Everything in the man's body screamed anger. His mother had pulled herself up straighter and extended a hand toward her husband, as if she needed physical support to deal with such a conversation.

He was quick to specify, "Hugs, he was always trying to find a way to touch my hands, my face, and normally it wouldn't bother me, but it was the first time I'd seen him and god, I don't even know his fucking last name." he didn't bother not to say the bad word. He knew his mother didn't care right then and he needed to vent. Cassian nodded and while Nesta seemed to have relaxed a bit, his father hadn't lost that feeling of hatred that was rippling across his face.

"He talked the whole time about things purely related to the fact that he was gay and he went into detail." he said with wide eyes, "And he demanded that we look at each other while he talked and that made me uncomfortable in no small part and the place he took me to." he shuddered, "It looked like something out of one of those TV shows that Celia always watches about houses full of trash."

Nesta crossed her arms over her chest, with a worried gaze, "Why didn't you call me? I would have come right away."

Ezra looked at her, shaking his head, "I thought about it, but I had arranged with Nia and Dara that they would pick me up with their bikes and I texted Nia and-"

He paused to catch his breath.

"As soon as he said the word orgasm I got up and told him I didn't want to see him anymore and left."

Cassian nodded, "You did the right thing." he told him resting a hand on his ankle, "With these people you never know what can happen-"

Nesta interrupted him, "How did you get the cut?"

His dad frowned and turned to her, but Nesta was just watching Ezra as she bit her lip, growing more and more agitated.

He closed his eyes, sighing, "I fell."

"Yeah, but how?"

He remained silent, trying to find a way to tell the story from the beginning without his parents losing years of their lives before he could finish telling.

"Ezra." his father murmured, tightening his grip on his ankle.

He took a deep breath and tried to say it all at once before they could interrupt him, fixing his eyes on the seams of his pajamas, "He followed me outside and grabbed my arm, but I fell backwards. He grabbed me by my jacket and when I managed to get free again I must have fallen on a rock or something sharp because I hurt my hand." his voice was shaking at the end of the sentence and he hadn't realized how striking it had actually been for him. "Some guy came out of the fast food restaurant and distracted Daniel and I ran. I found Nia and Dara on their bikes and we rode home." then he wrinkled his brow, "I've already blocked his number and his every social account." he added under his breath. When he looked up at his parents, he felt tremendous guilt. Nesta had a hand over her mouth and her eyes slightly glazed over. He could see all kinds of emotions battling there: anger, apprehension, panic, worry. He could see how much it was costing her not to leave that house and go find Daniel on her own.

Cassian had sprung to his feet and was now pacing back and forth between the closet and the bathroom, hands crossed behind his head as he took deep breaths.

Ezra didn't know what to do. They had broached the subject of relationships many times before, there was no reason why they should have to explain to him why everything that had happened was wrong and that it wasn't normal, that it wasn't his fault. He knew.

"Are you okay?" his mom asked him.

He nodded, "I didn't want to tell you tonight because we're all tired, tomorrow morning would have been better." then he shifted his gaze to his dad, "I'm sorry, dad."

Cassian froze, letting go of a trembling breath as he shook his head. He sat down next to his son, wrapping his arms around him and holding him to his chest. Ezra melted into the embrace, wrapping his arms around him in turn.

"You don't have to apologize for anything," he murmured to him. He pulled away just enough to look into his eyes. Then he shook his head again, "I'm sorry you didn't tell us about the date and I'd appreciate it if in the future you would."

"Yeah," Nesta indulged him, moving around on the mattress until she was next to them and could place a hand on his face, "we don't care who you go out with, but at least know where you're going so that if something happens we know where to come get you."

Ezra nodded.

Then Nesta opened her arms and he released herself from his father's grasp to find comfort in his mom's.

"I'm sorry, love." she whispered to him.

Ezra shrugged, saying in a muffled voice, "Don't worry, I'm fine."

And he was indeed fine.

He felt his father's hand caressing his back and they stayed there for a while longer, while Nesta and Cassian exchanged a look full of emotions and worries, but also of relief because the evening could have ended in a completely different way.

It wasn't until the next day that they would ask him if he wanted to press charges and how it would all play out should he decide to continue, only after they had talked about it a whole night between the two of them.

In the meantime, Ezra would come out of their room after saying goodnight to them for the second time and crawl into Andra's bed, where the little sister would immediately attach herself like an octopus to his neck and where they would fall asleep peacefully hugging.

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