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armoredtitanmistress · 1 year ago

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𝙖 𝙨𝙤𝙡𝙞𝙡𝙤𝙦𝙪𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙬𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙙 | ᴛᴏᴊɪ ꜰᴜꜱʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ| forgotten gems (18+ MDNI)

pairings: toji x gojo!reader

summary: your family doesn't understand your value but Toji sure does.

tags/genre: toji x gojo!reader, gojo’s older sister, pre-star plasma vessel arc/star plasma vessel arc, suggestive language (thanks to Toji, of course), explicit language, symbolism (?), misogyny, satoru being a little brat (are we surprised?), strangers to friends to ?, fluff, 2nd person point of view, the first person point of view switches are intentional!, original character (Osamu Zenin).

warnings: 6.3k word count, rated M (18+) for language and sexual scenes, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, male dom, fem sub, praise kink, degradation kink (barely), boob play, calls her a slut, handjob (fem and male rec.), teasing (this is toji were are talking about), sweet talk, dirty talk, pet names, semi-edging, cowgirl, safe-sex (they used a condom).

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You had let your guard down. Your mother had informed you about a brunch you had with your father and it did psyche you out. Your father never had a one-on-one with you unless it was business-related. Therefore, your thoughts leading up to the brunch pertained to your father with slight glimpses of that night with Toji. Your mother had chosen your clothes, usually a cause of alarm but you had been so preoccupied that you didn’t question why she had insisted you wear a pale blue kimono with displaced floral arrangements as the design and to wear your hair up in a bun with silver floral blue hairpin. Extravagant wardrobe choice for a brunch.

You were truly blindsided when instead of seeing your father you were met with a smug Osamu Zenin sitting at the table you were directed to with food already there for you.

“Gojo, you made it this time. I was expecting to be stood up as per the usual routine that we find ourselves in.” He mocked. Even his appearance reeked of pretentiousness. His relatively long hair was being pushed out of his face and into a low ponytail.

He wore a yukata that was similar in color scheme to your outfit, just a darker shade of blue and devoid of any sort of pattern. His frame came nowhere close to Toji’s. He was slender and had a few developed muscles in his biceps at best. Gesturing to the seat in front of him, he says, “Please take a seat. I paid for all this food and it would be a shame to see it go to waste.”

Osamu Zenin was the perfect man for you.

A sentence that your mother believed wholeheartedly to be true. In comparison to any other son that Naobito had tried to set you up with, your mother voiced her utmost praise for Osamu. She would surmise him as a younger version of your father, down to the haircut and the personality. Truly what any woman wants a potential suitor to be described as. Among the Zenin clan, he fell under the previously inhabited category of Most Attractive. However, his personality didn’t match it. His looks had the female diaspora yearning for him and his personality had them at his beck and call. You called it an epidemic of Stockholm Syndrome.

You surveyed the restaurant out of the slim hope that your father would appear from either the bathroom or the front doors. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be found. You scoff at the situation, “If a woman actively avoids seeing you during arranged meetings like this, that should be a clear enough sign that she isn’t interested.”

“Send your mother my gratitude for managing to make this happen.” He took no offense to your words and dared to smirk, “You’d be pleased to know that this meeting holds substance.”

“How so?” You ask with the same amount of interest that you had from the beginning of the interaction.

Zenin hold a dominant trait within their family. It appears in each generation and if it skips one then surely the child is illegitimate. That trait is being incessantly annoying until they get what they want. You’ve seen it first hand and historians write about it enough for it to be true. They were bred manipulators with an apathy that matched that of a sociopath.

The Gojo’s were quiet with their manipulation. It’s hard to tell it even happens until someone is negatively impacted by the repercussions. They also hid their misogyny well.

“Take a seat. I hate looking up at women when it’s unnecessary.” He urged with a load of disdain coming from his mouth. Women were to be at his beck and call. Never the other way around. He had confessed that to you during one of your first meetings. He knew of your reputation and he was confident that he could make the impenetrable Gojo his without much effort. Gojo’s are complicated beings and he had figured that out after 6 years of courting. His favorite play must’ve been Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew. Unfortunately for him, yours was As You Like It.

“And I like looking down on men when it is.” You shot back with a pointed look with your arms crossed over one another not before directing it toward the other patrons inside. The entire establishment reeked of affairs and widowers. “Speak up or I’m leaving.”

“You Gojo’s are insufferable.” You heard him mutter under his breath.

The Gojo’s and the Zenin had a history dating back to the era of feudal Japan. The story goes that during the Edo period, the heads of the clans fought resulting in the death of the Gojo clan head. It was said that they were each in possession of their inherited techniques– a battle of the century. The backstory as to what led to the fight has been misconstrued and in semblance to the Bible has been interpreted further and further from the truth. It was a mystery to you why Naobito wanted to push a marriage between the two families. The malignant history should’ve prevented any sort of arrangement. Your father was impartial to the arrangements and if he did care, he made little effort to show it.

“Yet you still chose to pursue me. Seems counterproductive.” You chastise, “The answer will remain the same for as long as I live. I’d pick any of your relatives over you without missing a breath.”

He scoffed and countered, “Now you and I both know that’s not true.”

He may have been right. The other “suitable candidate” would be Jinichi and let’s just say you liked his brother better.

“Do we? Because I’m failing to see when you and I have seen eye to eye on anything.” Your voice had slightly risen and if there had not been prior threatening conditions, a few heads would’ve been turned. From the outside looking in, you two were in the middle of a lover's quarrel. A demeaning assumption to be lumped into.

“You’ve wasted my time.” You sighed and decided not to linger any longer, “This meeting doesn’t hold any substance and I do not like wasting my time so frivolously. If that’s all you had to say I’ll be leaving.”

Your feet pivoted away from him, walking away as you searched inside your clutch to text your driver that you were ready to be picked up.

Osamu didn’t seem bothered by it. He had anticipated that reaction. He snapped his fingers at your departing figure and called out, “Oh, I wouldn’t leave so soon. This proposal is concerning the Six-Eyes that you treasure so much.”

His words managed to halt your movements but were not enough to commit to turning back. Each snap he’d do was transcribed in your mind as a countdown of you getting closer to getting visibly pissed off. Having found your phone, you quickly typed out a text to your driver but let your fingers hover over the send button before you questioned his audacity, “Are you using my brother as a threat? Should I relay to you the reason for my declining all your former marriage proposals?”

“I say that to you not as a threat but as a warning from your clan.” You turn around and see the satisfaction dripping from his tired eyes. You’ve seen that expression before and it wasn’t as antagonizing as his.

“You’re speaking in tongues. Would you like me to cut it off?” You warned but he didn’t back down even if he knew you weren’t one to speak without purpose.

“Always quick-witted aren’t you?”His boisterous laughter resounded through the restaurant. He turned some heads but they soon disappeared into their conversations. He laughed out your name before explaining, “Do you truthfully believe that your clan is going to allow a woman to lead them? Let alone by herself? It would be blasphemous for you to even be considered in earnest for such an important position.”

“I don’t see why they wouldn’t. I at least would know how to get to the point in meetings like this.” You stated before turning your phone off and placing it back into your clutch.

“Your clan has no plan on making your position permanent. You are merely there to become an acting clan leader for Satoru. After he gets to a relatively sentient age, they’ll release you of your title and sell you off to become a housewife.” He informed you as he looked thoroughly pleased that you had finally given him your full attention. He took a bite out of one of the hors d'oeuvres and continued, “How does it feel to be lied to?”

You remained poised but let your words pierce for you.

“Why would you of all people know any of this? I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you at any of the Elder meetings.” You mockingly wondered, searching for an answer in the ceiling. Your eyes find him again and you deadpan, “Oh, wait.”

He scoffed, “I happen to be in the ones you aren’t a part of.”

“Is that so?” Knowing full well that he was spewing bullshit.

“Why would I risk my livelihood for a man.” Then it clicked. He was so insistent on being married off. Particularly to you. A Gojo, nonetheless. It was for the same reason men initiated wars or talked over women. It all came down to power.

“Ah, that’s what it is, isn’t it? What this whole thing is about? This has never been about Satoru.” You began as you lifted yourself from your seat and gathered your clutch into your hands.

“Where are you going?” He asked. His hands were getting ready to grasp your wrist but were repelled by an invisible force. You glance down at his hand and scoff, “Not enough for you to know how different you are from me.”

“I’ll say this as I look down on you because I know how you adore looking up to me. You’ve been doing it your whole life.” You leaned your body down until you were level with him and zeroed your blue eyes into his eyes, “You loathe the idea that a woman would be in a higher position than you. If I marry you, it’s because I chose to. Not the other way around. Your threats don’t even hold a value because even in that scenario, you're not the one in power.”

But neither did you. Sorry to cut off your monologue but if his power was nonexistent then yours was miniscule.

Families tend to bear the signage of their legacy. A Gojo was thorough and quaint with an honorable benevolent presence. Their eyes and hair are key components to their icy exteriors. Not an inch of warmth to be dispelled from them. They get what they want and whoever harbors the consequences of that is left as residual fragments of their greed.

That’s why when you walked into your family’s dining room, you had all but smoke coming from your ears when you saw your mother enjoying her midafternoon tea with a fashion magazine in hand. You were a spitting image of her minus your hair and eye color. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and a blue hairpin similar to yours. Her kimono was also blue but was a shade of blue that was nauseating to stare at. Kind of like a person with motion sickness on a boat. She didn’t have to bat an eye to notice the bad energy you had given off when you entered the room.

“Back from brunch so early?” She commented as she licked his finger to turn the page.

“Would have been there longer if the meeting was worth my time. I ask that you don’t involve me in any of your schemes moving forward.” You tried to remain composed but it was hard when she barely acknowledged your presence.

“Osamu is a good man. He has a good head on his shoulders and enough tact to understand what it means to rule a clan. He is perfect for this family.” She answered, not breaking her stride in skimming over the magazine pages.

Your father was the pillar of your family and your mother was the maintenance crew that made sure to preserve that image. Your mother had a mind but that mind was enshrouded with images of your father’s reputation. It must have been an inherited trait to desire to control every and any aspect of life. Her image must be upheld alongside those whom she associates with.

Of course, you included. It was deceitful to the public that she portrayed herself as a loving mother. You’d tell me that she was the Victorian era’s incarnated embodiment. She loathed you since she laid eyes on you. She had done everything right — met your father, married him, received the power, and bore the clan an heir. During that high, she failed to take into account birthing a daughter. A firstborn daughter, at that. Countless times had she tried to mold you into the perfect woman by attempting to dissuade you from becoming the clan head. Deeming it to be too masculine for a woman. That playing house was biologically instilled within you and that going against it was an act against nature.

Your mother, though married into the family, held the insinuation of being a Gojo best. Her favorite color would have been green if blue didn’t exist. She designated specific blues for the family. Your father was a Royal Blue to commandeer his role in society and accentuate his noble features. His color resembled the waves of The Great Wave off Kanagawa. He carried power in his stride with a color that was made for him.

Satoru was categorized as a blue which could never be forgotten. You see it once and use it as a reference for describing the perfect hue of blue. It illuminates any kind of room whether it be an office, a library, or a bedroom. It matches each occasion. As a gem, he was a sapphire solitaire.

Blue is the root of all your problems. From your conception to the present day, blue plagued you because you weren’t a specific hue of blue. Matter of fact, you were the palest blue that painters could find. The kind of blue that was painted in nurseries, the kind that the sky was known for, and the kind that resembles a forget-me-not. As a gem, you belonged in the possession of someone else.

You were cold. No, not because of your appearance but because you decided to wear nothing beneath the baby blue silk pajama set in place of the pair of sweats and the baggy t-shirt you had tucked underneath the floorboard of your closet. You were in your room and you easily could’ve wrapped your blanket around you but didn’t feel like staying in your room. It had as much personality as your public persona. It’s not like you were able to design it. Your mother’s strict aesthetic did not discriminate when it came to your private life. If anything it was meticulously calculated. She wanted it to become a lifestyle rather than a facade.

You wanted the comfort of a home. This room that has been yours since you were born never grew to become one. The house as a whole was not one either. In hindsight, you should’ve gone to the garden but the chances of running into Toji were too risky.

Since your night with Toji, you were scared of him. How he made you feel per se. Never in your life had you felt as desired as he made you feel. Sex was coined to be meaningless for people in your age group. Just something that had to be done by a certain cutoff age. From what Yuki had told you, it happens and you move on. So why would you rather let your garden wither than have to face him?

Intimacy comes with sex, that’s just the nature of it. You knew what you were getting yourself into but the capacity of it left you blindsided. You’ve been praised for your value for so long that you have forgotten that your value was based on your worth besides someone else. Without a name, you were as good as a fine china dining set. You had gone on a whole morality spiel with Satoru about the importance of names and yet you hated when people used your name. That night your name was brought up but instead of it feeling like a weight on your shoulders it was the complete opposite.

A man should never have this sort of hold on you. They never have until him. Not even with guys who looked like him. All the men in the world could disappear in the world and you’d exhale in content but not without the wandering thought of him.

Nature was a familiar topic for you. Nature and instinct coincide with one another. You adhered to instinct well. That’s why you knew that your relationship with Toji was based on the natural pull of instinct.

While you were enshrouding yourself to fear, Toji was convinced that you would be the best he ever had and encouraged the thought of seeing you again. He had been going based on late-night fantasies he’s had of you since he was a teenager. How could he not? The desire to want something that is so out of reach yet so agonizingly close? You had manifested into a personalized kink for him. He could freely explain his desires for you ranging from what he wanted to do to putting those desires to practice. He was open in that sense of your relationship. That was the situation until you turned the tide.

You stopped coming to the garden, completely. It could’ve been a coincidence seeing as during that time of year cursed spirits tend to be at an all-time high. However, you aren’t the only sorcerer in the world and you couldn’t possibly be busy enough to neglect your garden. It wasn’t until after the second week of your absence that he clued in that you were avoiding him.

He wasn’t having it. In the same way that he was “having” an overly intoxicated woman grinding her ass on him with no rhythm to save her life. A few weeks ago, she would’ve been the standard- an average girl with big tits and an even bigger ass. He accepted that a lot has changed for him since he met you. He pushed her off and though she scoffed at his rejection she didn’t continue her advances and let him leave. He didn’t even know why he was at this club. He didn’t want to be there. He thought the neon flower light decorations were too tacky compared to what he had grown used to. He didn’t want to see the flowers in the garden, frankly, he didn’t give a fuck about them. He wanted to see you.

You had been in your world when you began to hear taps against your bedroom window. You’d seen clouds earlier that day and had written off the tapping as heavy rain. Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest when you noticed a dark shadowy figure tapping incessantly on your bedroom window. Foolish to even confuse the sounds of Toji Zenin as something so peaceful

You pondered for a while if you should even acknowledge him. You could go about your night and pretend he’s not there. You would’ve followed through if your window didn’t sound like it was on the brink of cracking.

You cracked the window open and immediately started questioning him, “What are you doing here? How’d you even know this was my room?”

For once, Toji wasn’t annoyed by your incessant need to ask trivial questions. He would’ve let you continue with your tangent if it hadn’t felt like it was below zero degrees outside.

“I’ll answer all your questions if you just let me inside. It’s fucking cold out here.” He had the decency to ask but didn’t plan on listening to what you had to say after. He tried to push through the small gap you left open but you blocked it with your body. He raised a brow at your actions, amused by your stance, and cocked his head at you to speak. His expression briefly reminded you of the look he had from that night and you prayed he didn’t hear you gulp. It was dark out and the light from the moon couldn’t make out.

“Ironic. The man with an inhuman body is getting taken down by a little breeze.”

His eyes darted to your breast and he couldn’t help but lick his lips, “Not the only one that’s being affected.”

You furrowed your brows and let your eyes travel to where his eyes had landed and felt yourself heat up. You weren’t wearing a bra. Why would you? Your nipples pierced through your silk pajama shirt enough that you couldn’t even form a rebuttal. You crossed your arms over one another trying to protect your decency. Again, why would you? He had seen far more than an erect nipple from you.

You shook your head and tried to affirm, “You need to leave. You can’t be here.” You planted yourself in front of the opening and tried hard to play off your embarrassment. He took your attempts as nonsensical.

He planted his elbow on the ledge and used his hand to prop his head, he mused, “You’re gonna make me leave after I’ve gone through all this trouble? You're so cruel, sweetheart.”

He had used that nickname once before. At the time, you assumed it was a slip of the tongue. Even now, you have followed that same mentality.

You scoffed and puffed your chest out, “Cruel is one of the many things I’ve been called and I take pride in it.”

His position remained the same, caring little that his body could enter hypothermia if he remained outside. He continued the banter, “So have I. You’re nothing special, sweetheart.”

Surely, not a slip-up anymore.

“That’s a new one.”

“Like it? Think it matches you well.”

“A lot of words have been used to describe me but sweetheart has to be a new one”, You shook your head in protest and subconsciously side-stepped out of the window opening. Enough to give him an opening, one that you had noticed too late. Your back was already pushed into the wall and his hands were cupping your jaw. You opened your mouth to speak but he had his fill of hearing your voice. His lips caged yours in desperation. His desperation could only be described as Odysseus coming back home after decades away from Ithaca. You couldn’t reprimand him either because as much as you had actively avoided him, you missed this feeling. One that you couldn’t pinpoint.

“Good.” He breathed out before diving back to your lips. His lips suctioned onto yours as if he were sucking the seed out of a cherry. His hands that had been stationed on your chin deviated to the back of your neck, pushing your lips further into his. Breathing did have to happen and with one last peck, he spoke, “I would hate for someone to see you like that.”

“As a decent person?” You tried to joke and keep the situation airy but you missed the feeling of his lips on yours already. This is what you had been afraid of. He is an addiction you can’t quit once you start. He held that over you and he didn’t even know it.

“You think you're decent?” He asked as his lips traveled down from your lips. Kissing against your chin with the same amount of passion as he had down to lips seconds prior.

You softly exhaled, “Don’t think I’m the worst.”

“Sure, you don’t.”

“And you are?”

“Don’t start putting words in my mouth now.” He scoffed as he sucked harshly against your neck. He let that happen multiple times, each more prominent than the last. You let his mouth ruminate on your neck in bliss. The breeze coming from your window knocks you to your senses.

“We have to stop.” Your room was far enough from the rest of your family’s rooms but you didn’t trust your voice if you did continue on the path you guys were heading toward.

“Have to? Or scared to?” He asked with the intent of getting a legible answer. He knew you avoided things when they got too serious. He’s experienced it firsthand. His hands trailing toward the buttons on your shirt and unbuttoning them with expertise. With your boobs on full display, he let your shirt drop off your shoulders and onto the floor while his fingers wasted no time toying with the nipples that had been taunting him since he had seen them.

“Gotta answer? Your body does.” He mocked before letting one of his hands sweep across your stomach until they found solace in the band of your pajama pants. Just like the bra, you weren’t wearing any panties. His fingers fiddled with the band but restrained themselves from delving further.

“Got anything to do with you disappearing on me?” He whispered into your ear with his eyes targeted at your own. You tried to avoid them by focusing elsewhere but looking up or down you’d still be met with him.

You groaned from the sensation of his hands, “You want to talk about it now?”

He squeezed particularly harder on your boob and inched his hands further into your pants then cheekily asked, “Why? Is now a bad time?”

This had to be some form of torture. You wouldn’t put it past Toji to leave you like this. He tends to do things his way and right now was a prime example of it. As you said before, Zenin’s are inherent assholes. However, he was currently the asshole that managed to cause a pool to form in between your legs and the only one capable of doing anything about it.

“I was busy.” You answered quickly. It wasn’t a lie but it also wasn’t the whole truth. You could’ve reached out to him or even gone to the garden. The reasoning as to why briefly left you as you pushed your legs against one another was to absolve you of the tension that he had built up.

You felt his smirk against your ear before whispering, “Nah I don’t think so.” He dipped his head down to kiss the edge of your cheek that led into your ear. His hand on your boob continued its ministrations while the other one let your pants pool at your ankles before continuing its journey into your cunt. He would stop himself whenever he’d hear your breath falter, “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were avoiding me, sweetheart.”

You hummed eagerly, impatiently waiting for his fingers to find your clit. Any conscious reasoning telling you to stop before was shunned by lust. He was satisfied with your admission. He promised himself that he’d edge you the next time he’d get to have you and this reaction was enough for him. His fingers gave you what you wanted and your immediate response was to let out a cry. Your mother was home and unfortunately, her room was the closest to yours.

You bit your lip to mask the noise but he wouldn’t allow for that. His pace went faster, swirling his finger over the bud and flicking it a few times. He was trying to elicit noise out of you. It was hard to tell before what he was wearing, the moon barely illuminating his figure. He was wearing a black crew neck and sweatpants. Nothing to gawk at. It was his usual clothing but it did give you an idea of your own.

You slid your hand to his bulge and palmed it over his pants. He groaned into your ear, “You're better than that. If you’re gonna do it, you shouldn’t half-ass it, baby.” He let the hand that had been busy on your boob deviate to his waistband pulling his pants along with his boxers down to let out his hardened cock. He grabbed your hand and said, “Spit.”

“W-What?” You stuttered, staring at your hand in awe.

“Need to wet it before you start to stroke it.”

You were reluctant to do so but did as you were told. He smirked and guided your hand to the base of his cock. You’d never given a handjob before yet you managed to handle his cock with ease. He had to reward you for your hard work and caught your lips before plunging his fingers into your cunt. His groans and your moans fought for dominance as they desperately tried to be heard.

He was knuckling deep in your pussy while your pace on his cock was faltering.

“Doing so good for me, sweetheart. You must be wishing my fingers were something else.” He grunted as his pace increased. Your back arched against the wall while your body curled into his. His words held truth but you weren’t going to deny his fingers were doing a good job substituting it.

Your fingers tried to simulate the same pleasure he had been giving you, trying to remember the porn videos you’d watched when you were younger. You let one of your fingers graze his slit before swirling your finger around the base of the head.

“Am I doing good?” You panted out between battered breaths.

He sucked on your neck as he praised, “Always s’good f’r me.”

His praise went straight to your core and had you shuddering out an orgasm on his fingers. Though you were wrecked from cumming, you were still adamant about getting Toji to cum. His cock was twitching in your hand and you knew he was getting close. Just when he was close to finishing, he pulled your hand away.

You raised a brow at him and he pecked your lips before quickly replying, “Wanna cum in you.”

He tossed his crewneck somewhere amongst the other discarded clothes before lifting you and wrapping your legs around his waist.

“My bed. Now.” That is all you managed to get out of the kiss. He chuckled against your lips before sitting down on your bed and having you straddle him. He tossed his crew neck somewhere amongst the other discarded clothes before cupping your hips in his hands as you leaned in to kiss him. Your hands had tangled themselves in his hair pulling on it as your pussy grinding against his thighs. He halted your movements with his palms, tapping them against your thighs.

“I forgot a condom.”

The Toji Zenin. Forgot a condom. The irony.

For once, you thanked Yuki for her stupidity. You got off of him, walking toward your closet and searching for the clutch she had let you borrow. Pulling out the box, you tossed them to him before clearing your throat, “Will those work?"

He caught the box and looked at the familiar packaging then smirked up at you, not expecting you to have a stash of condoms but amused that you did. Shaking the box at you, he asks, “Where’d you get these?”

“A gift from a friend.” You respond as you walk back to him.

“A friend?” He tries to pry, opening the box and pulling out a condom. As far as he’s concerned, he was the only friend you had.

You narrow your eyes, “Do they fit or not?”

He chuckles at your insistence but nods, ripping the packaging and putting the condom on with ease. He hooked a hand around your waist, situating it in between his thighs before snaking a hand down to slap your ass catching you off guard. He smirked and challenged, “Still wanna learn how to ride, cowgirl?”

You flushed at the memory of your first time together. How you managed to be so daring was a mystery to you. It had to be the sex-induced confidence. You’ve heard of a lot of different positions from Yuki. She even gave you a ranking on which positions were best and listed the pros and cons for each one. The downside of this one was stamina and luckily for you and Toji that wasn’t a concern.

You nod your head and you feel his hands on your hips lift you back to the position you were previously in while your hands situated themselves on his shoulders. He kept your hips slightly alleviated from his then used one of his hands to align his cock to your entrance. Not before sliding it along your entrance getting a mewl out of you.

“Can’t you just put it in?” You irritably asked. Your cunt tried hard to clench on his cock whenever he’d glide it over.

“Need to give my pretty girl what she wants.” That was his warning before he slammed his cock right into you. Your head lolled to his neck while your nails dug into his shoulders from the impact. A wanton moan followed after the impact and you could only pray no one heard.

The cocky shit dared to cackle at your reaction. You bit his collarbone but his laugh just became more obnoxious.

He gripped the small of your back, guiding you to bounce up and down on his cock. Compared to your first time, he was handling you in the same manner as he did his hedges, sloppy and rushed. However, just like the hedges he had a method to his madness.

“Just gotta do it like this.” He instructed before whispering in your ear, “Think you can do that, sweetheart?”

His answer came in the form of another moan and the rolling of your hips into his. You were a fast learner. Such a fast learner that he’d think you’ve done this before. You were going along with what felt right and what would get you closer to the end. With that being said, your awareness about your noise level had been clouded with desire.

“You can’t be so loud. Wouldn’t want your family hearing you be such a slut now would we?” He mocked, rutting his hips into yours at an animalistic pace. He had delayed his orgasm for as long as possible and as he had said he wanted to be in you when he did.

“N-Nooh” Your words and your tone of voice weren’t corresponding to each other. You tried to ignore the way you clenched at the degrading nickname. He wasn’t.

“Oh, you like being called slut?” He growled, harshly slapping your ass causing you to bite down on his collarbone to mask your cries. You tried to match his pace, trying to coordinate with him but it was no use. He was animalistic.

“That’s right. You’re my slut, baby.”

You whimper — something bordering pathetic — but your pride is left on the floor with a whimper being the only noise you could remember. You're nearing your end. He can tell, probably before you can. Your mind is enshrouded in galaxies and nebulas. You wanted it to stay there. You wanted him.

“S’good, baby,” he coaxes, brushing a few sweaty strands of hair from your face. “My pretty girl.”

You cum hard with his name still on your lips. He caught your moans with his mouth and didn’t relent with his speed trying to catch his end. If he’d continued any longer you would’ve reached your third orgasm of the night. Fortunately, the loud groan he let out in your mouth and the feeling of the condom filling up didn’t let that happen. You wouldn’t have minded if you didn’t feel like your legs were going to be impaired the next day.

He tied the condom off and tossed it in your bedside trash can. He fell into your mattress pulling you on top of him. Your legs tangled and the both of you were communicating in giggles.

“Can’t believe you forgot a condom.” You teased, laughing into his chest.

He seemed flustered by the question, an expression you don’t see often from him. He avoided your eyes and lifted a hand to rub his neck before he answered, “I wasn’t planning for things to go this way.”

“What were you planning?”

You felt him shrug.

“Just wanted to see you I guess.”

“Oh.” Is the safest response you could think of. You guys were friends. It was just now with the added benefits. A sting was felt in your chest at the implication but his hands rubbing circles on the small of your back soothed that sensation away.

It was silent for a while. Neither one of you knew what else to say.

His slowed breathing indicated he’d fallen asleep. You felt safe enough to say what you had initially thought. You left a shy kiss on his chest as you mumbled, “I wanted to see you too.”

Morning came soon and Toji had left just as fast. By the time you’d woken up, he was gone and the window that had been open was firmly shut. All that was left of him was your discarded clothing from the night before, the condom in your trashcan, and a text from him.

Toji:

Sorry.

You rolled your eyes at the text. Why’d he apologize for leaving? You sent a question mark and tossed your phone on your mattress. You threw your pajamas into your hamper before putting on a robe, grabbing a change of clothes, and walked out of your room and toward your bathroom.

A shriek of your name caused you to turn around. Satoru was standing a few feet away from you with his eyes beyond the words of terror.

“Your neck!”

Curse that Zenin fuck.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: sorry for the three month break! honestly had a lot of trouble writing this chapter. I decided to rewatch the anime and saw some edits on tiktok that sparked my inspiration. the next couple of chapters are going to be heavily reliant on action as to stay relevant to the anime. Also, I have a playlist that I use when I'm writing for this fic. Here's the link!

references:

Taming of the Shrew: Lucentio loves Bianca but cannot court her until her shrewish older sister Katherina marries. The eccentric Petruccio marries the reluctant Katherina and uses a number of tactics to render her an obedient wife. Lucentio marries Bianca and, in a contest at the end, Katherina proves to be the most obedient wife.

As You Like It: Rosalind and her cousin escape into the forest and find Orlando, Rosalind's love. Disguised as a boy shepherd, Rosalind has Orlando woo her under the guise of "curing" him of his love for Rosalind. Rosalind reveals she is a girl and marries Orlando during a group wedding at the end of the play.

The Great Wave off Kanegawa: famous japanese painting.

tag list:

@cococola-cocaine @justtnat @softvgold @missroro

comment to let me know if you want to join the tag list for future updates!

make sure to reblog, like, and comment! they really help me know what you guys like and don't like!

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maybeitsalivescribbles · 9 months ago

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Prompt from @unboundprompts: "The door never led to the same place twice."

Nothing is ever really lost

(Tw: quick mention of death, illness and war)

The door never leads to the same place twice.

You don’t know where it comes from. It’s just there.

Sometimes, it materializes out of thin air in your room, and won’t go until you open it.

The first time, when you were much younger, it was made of white porcelain and just big enough to let you pass. You were scared of course, but curiosity got the better of you, and you went to the other side.

You have a clear memory of that day. What a happy travel this time! It'd led you to a quiet beach, at dawn. You’d taken out your shoes and let the sea go to your ankles, watching the sun rise, listening to the waves, and oh how you’d missed that sound. When people had started coming in, notably a couple wearing weird clothes and short haircuts, you’d come towards them, your naked feet running on the sand, and told them excitedly where you were coming from. They'd smiled, thinking you were a charming little liar, but they’d invited you under their beach umbrella. You’d spent the day talking, eating sandwiches full of fish paste, and exchanging stories. You didn’t speak the same language, but somehow you understood each other. At the end of the day, you'd waved goodbye to them, and you'd come home.

The door had disappeared right after, gently fading into nothing, but it'd come back.

You’re okay with that.

You are used to it by now. Eventually, it turns up again, and when you’re ready, you go through.

It never looks the same way. The porcelain from the first time has become wood or metal, and sometimes it’s made of things even stranger, that you can barely describe. Either way, it’s always warm to the touch. It brings you into strange little villages where you see cottages with roofs and beds made of straw. You visit towns full of half-timbered buildings, built on hills, nested on a plain or around a large river. Sometimes you see huge megalopolis with shining bridges and steel blue skyscrapers.

At first, you just wandered through. Since you can’t control the destination though, and you’re pretty sure you can never go back in the same place, you’re now prepared. Each time you step in, you bring a bag full of notebooks and boxes and a camera picture. You interview each inhabitant who wants to. They’re not deep questions: what tools they use to make their food, what they like to do, how hard their work is, how they feel about their families, and so on. You collect meaningless trinkets, pocket change, leaves, and seeds. You take pictures of everything. The constructions, the people, the food on their table, the bugs sleeping on plants, the night sky – everything.

Strangely, you’re never scared. You’d never dare to be so bold in your original world. The deep feeling that this is not your world keeps you strong. No matter how many times you’ve crossed the threshold, it never feels quite real. It's like a dream, and you've left your fears behind. You can do whatever you want, talk and behave however you want, and nobody can punish you for that. You’ve discovered that if you call it during your travel, the door comes in front of you. Home is always close and no one can follow you there. People have tried, but the knob refuses to work for anyone else but you. You’re safe.

When you’re back, you organize your findings in your shelves. Your room begins to look like a crow’s nest, full of shiny things.

You’re okay with that.

However, not all travels are pleasant. Sometimes, villages are full of starving people with eyes too big and too shiny. You meet young men and women whose bodies are full of spots, their limbs smelling like rotten flesh already. Children about to be hanged for stealing apples. Soldiers killing inhabitants in summer clothes. And sometimes, there are only ruins, where all you can hear is crying.

The first time, you thought you were in hell. The door was huge and ebony that day. You don’t want to remember what you saw behind, but you do. Someone died in your arms that time. Once you were back, running away and sobbing, you’ve thrown yourself into your bed and did not touch the door for months. It waited and you hated it. You hated everything in the world, including yourself. Your eyes were closed tight not to see anything.

You can’t keep the memories out of your brain, though. You can’t help but feel guilty. It’s not like you could bring anyone with you, but still. There must be something you can do. After some time, you prepare another bag. This one is full of things you’ve already collected. The next time you meet another devastated city, you clench your teeth and go through. You share seeds to grow food. You leave behind machines plans that were used to heal or to help build houses again.

When you're done, you tell stories. You’re full of them now. The families and their kids who don’t know about tomorrow hear about the people you’ve met, their hopes and their desires. You tell about the shining skyscrapers and the bugs, the way the sun shone on the hills and the roofs of cities, how warm and light was the breeze the day you saw the ocean, and so many things you forgot.

And then, when there’s nothing left to share, you go home. The door will bring you far, far away next time, because the only thing you know for sure is that it never leads to the same place twice.

Of course, if you asked the people from the other worlds, they would tell you another story. They’d say that the door only leads to one place, where a witch lives. They’d tell you about how she walks the earth through time and space. Some pretend she’s a bringer of apocalypse, always there in troubled times, taunting poor souls, speaking of blessings they couldn’t get. Some pretend it’s a beneficent fairy, always there with little helps and little comforts.

It doesn’t matter much to you. You know that all your life, there will be the door.

And you’re okay with that.

Back to Fantasy Masterlist

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #original fiction #creative writing #fantasy #fantasci tumblr #my writing #original writing #fantasci writing #writing snippet #writing dialogue #writers #writing community #original character #oc #original story #fantasci #trying to write something that isn't 90% dialogue

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ao3gobi17 · 1 year ago

Note

Hi I have two questions - What would you have done differently if you’d written AWOW? And if Custody was set in Pandora what would that look like? 🥰

I really loved AWOW and any changes I'd make would be dependant on whether I knew what was coming up in Avatar 3 and beyond.

A couple of things that come to mind are:

1. I don't think it's super clear why Ardmore still has the recoms chasing after Jake after Jake gives up the fight and runs away. If they think he's still leader of the Omatikaya and is just recruiting the Metkayina/drumming up support from other clans I would have made that a little more obvious.

2. It seems like Neytiri giving Spider the scar is meant to parallel Jake giving up leadership earlier in the movie, but I'm not clear on what that parallel is.. presumably its the son for a son thought from Jake later since Spider has never been a leader? I would have either changed the earlier scene or made this more obvious.

3. I think they did a good job with so many characters in the climatic sequences, but there was a lil bit 'one gets captured then freed then another captured and freed, people are split into twos and threes then split into different twos and threes', esp with the kids... I mean I loved it, I'm glad it was a long sequence, but I reckon it needed tightened up, with the Metkayina being a little more visible.

4. This is less for plot reasons and more for selfish reasons but I would have liked one more (short even) Q and Spider scene. Especially during the Seadragon period because they'd got super comfortable with eachother, Spider is now 'betrayed' and upset as Q is decimating these villages and it would have been good for him to have had a bit more animosity towards the Seadragon crew and esp after he sees that they hunt the Tulkun for just the Amrita.

5. I would have had Lo'ak and the other kids name check Spider during the Metkayina sequences - when Jake references him to Kiri when she's upset, it feels like a very barren single reference, like they only just remembered him.

6. I would have only had the one recom die when Neytiri and Jake (and Neteyam) ambush Q to save the kids. I understand that it helped establish Neteyam and it would be weird for Jake to not get a successful kill, but I'd have preferred if after Neytiri's first shot there's just a lot of diving for cover etc like the recoms are actually pretty worth opponents? Would help with the shock impact later of Neytiri's rampage.

7. I probably would have given Payakan a voice... like a telepathy type thing... maybe not using a lot of words and maybe only for Lo'ak but I wanted to get a 'human' vibe from him.

8. I would have de-Americanised Spider and Lo'ak a bit and I would have had Q do the haircut and get clothes on Spider.. It would be good for showing time passing and esp if Spider is slowly reverting back to his original form without Q stopping him, while Q himself is getting more Na'vi.

The Custody question is tricky, because I deliberately went modern AU to avoid Pandora! You could have a scenario where Q appears to have killed Paz but I imagine he'd be court marshalled and sent back to earth or else he'd be 'forgiven' to continue work as normal. Q and the RDA are the main authorities on the human side, so it's less likely we'd see the combo of him stitched him up by someone internally and also remain in his post.

So I guesss... I'd have him captured by the Na'vi? Spider doesn't visit him because of the whole war criminal thing. Jake and co are keeping him alive for intel. Q is still demanding to see Spider that way. He could be recom!Q or regular!Q - and then his team probably rescue him and grab Spider same time?? Or maybe they rescue him and try to find Spider but grab a Sully kid instead and that plays out like the Leo thing but with the comms. I'm not sure the Paz thing would be much of a murder mystery though, so aside from Q attempting to bond with a reluctant Spider, it would prob diverge a lot from the original plot! <3

#gobibside #custody #awow

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ehlnofay · 2 years ago

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(content warning: disease, self-injury, body horror)

Tel Fyr is that way. That way, across there, across the sea, and ze’s almost there, ze’ll reach it if ze just keeps walking. Walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking. Ze’s been walking. Ze can walk. Ze can walk. It hurts, and zir knee is weeping and so swollen it’s burst the seam of zir trousers, but ze can and ze has and ze does. But the water.

But the water.

Ze’s so close, so close, so close, and ze just needs to get there, but when ze traces the shapes of spellwork in the air, fragile and fine as spider silk, spellwebs, careful, zir fingers stick. Zir hands are bloated. Zir fingers won’t move the way ze wants them to.

Ze knows why. Ze understands. It’s the disease and if ze keeps going ze’ll be better. But there’s a thudding in zir head that twists zem into knots and tangles into shapes and colours never known before. Ze can’t follow a thought to the end, there’s too much in the way, like the skin on the outside grows inwards, thick and bulbous and distended, blocking the pathways. Blocking zir veins. Can ze bleed, now? Will ze ever bleed again? Will there be an ever? Time is disjointed, now, and ze can’t seem to keep it straight.

The sky is flooding orange and ze’s still standing on the shore, arms raised, failing to cast water walking.

Ze can’t keep track of the time. Ze can’t follow zir thoughts to the place where they end.

Ze can’t find someone to help – ze wants to, ze wants to, please, won’t anyone help me – but everyone runs and ze understands but please, please help me. That’s the only thing that stays, that and the drumming in zir head, dull and persistent, following the sound of the blood in zir veins, like something is knocking against zir skull. It sounds like ligaments snapping, one two three, like something being torn into pieces, percussive. It sounds like a knife on the chopping board back in zir house in the plaza in the Imperial City, like zir mother trying to teach zem to make vegetable soup even though she didn’t really know how, either. You hold the knife like this to dice the carrots, nice and steady, keep your hands clear of the blade. You hold it like this to slice the tomato, and her fingers squished it into a pulp, leaking fluid red like blood, clear like whatever else it is that comes out of zir wounds nowadays.

The sky is purple, now, patterned with stars, and ze is still standing on the shore, arms raised. Zir fingers, thick and heavy, twist again and again in a mockery of shapes only zir muscles remember, trying and failing because ze can’t get zir head straight, because zir hands don’t move like they should. Zir fingers are bulging. Dropsical. Zir fingernails, ze thinks, are greying, silver-white, the colour of metal, or bone, but it’s hard to say, really, it’s hard to see. Ze can’t focus on colours, can’t name them. There are colours in the world ze sees now that ze’s never understood before.

Most of them are red. There’s a lot of reds, it turns out, slimy and dry and visceral, like the manifold drumming in the back of zir head.

The sky is dark and ze needs to cross the ocean but ze can’t with these dim, inflexible hands.

So ze focuses – collects zirself, all of zirself, the original parts and the things that have grown since, even the painful lump on zir leg that makes it pull when ze walks, even the way zir new haircut falls in zir eyes now that ze can’t remember to tie it – and ze casts a different spell. Ze remembers this one without trying, even bloated and cursed and corprus-wrecked, even with zir mind dragging and drunk on drumming. It’s easy as the flick of a wrist, and a bone-handled knife slips into zir palm.

(The bone is wobbly, chipped, incorrectly proportioned. The blade is needle-sharp.)

Ze recognises this as a bad idea – even bloated and cursed and corprus-wrecked – but ze raises zir empty hand, spreads the turgid fingers. The movements are stiff, jolting, irregular. Zir fingers look like sausages. (Minced. Raw.)

With all the care of a butcher, ze jabs the knife into zir thumb.

(It doesn’t hurt. Few things do.) (That is to say, everything already does. Is that not the same thing?)

The knifepoint lances through the swollen skin near zir knuckle. The flesh rolls over it like waves. Ze drops the blade and pinches, near the base, watches the wound begin to leak. (It’s the same strange weeping. Sweet and golden and reeking of rot.) Ze drags zir hand up, watching the flesh roil, the build-up of fluid dripping down zir knuckles, trickling to encircle zir swollen wrists like a bracelet. Ze almost licks it off. Ze doesn’t. It drips onto the sand.

Ze squeezes the rest from the bloating around zir thumbnail, picks up the conjured knife, and positions zir hand again.

By the time ze’s drained each of zir fingers like abscesses (and are they not – is zir whole body not a walking wound) the stars are puddling in the velvet black sky. Ze hasn’t sat down. Zir legs are so lopsided that ze doesn’t know how ze would stand again if ze did. Ze tangles zir hands again, tracing a pattern zir muscles recall even though ze doesn’t, and it isn’t like it’s supposed to be – ze doesn’t move soft and smooth, like spellcasters are supposed to, in lines and loops and curls, zir hands jolt in fits and starts and violent writhes – even with the bloating down and zir fingers not colliding, ze’s still not very mobile and certainly not elegant – but it works, almost, sort of, anyway. The motion’s meaning is right enough, and the world bends beneath zir hands.

Ze leaves the wonky knife, dripping ichor, in the sand, and ze steps onto the frothing surface of the ocean.

Ze’s almost there, so close, almost. Ze’ll reach it if ze just starts walking.

#I wrote this one like a million billion years ago and thought about posting it a lot but for some reason never did??#weird. since I was talking about caelestis today it felt appropriate #here's some Zem Having A Shit Time. do with it what you will #it's a reasonably old piece but I still quite like it and it's not important enough to the plot to need rewriting #and I kept meaning to post it and never got around to it! so here it is at long last #my writing #fay writes #oc tag #caelestis #nerevarine #morrowind #corprus #the elder srolls #tes #tesblr

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tkvkfanfics · 1 year ago

Text

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

!!! CHAPTER 3

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ↝ Taehyung was painfully aware of the truth; life was never free. Every decision he made had a consequence, and it seemed clear what price he would have to pay if someone got to know about the true character of his and Jungkook's relationship. However, he had come this far and there was no turning back or throwing it away. Sadly, he wasn't too brave either.

↝ Taehyung's and Jungkook's relationship right under the nose of obviousness.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢꜱ ↝ taekook, idol⥏ taehyung x idol⥏ jungkook ↝ idol⥏ taehyung x original male character ↝ straight namjoon ↝ namjin, idol⥏ namjoon x idol⥏ seokjin ↝ idol⥏ seokjin x original male character

ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ ⥏ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ ↝ mature 18+ ↝ angst, homophobia, explicit sexual content, self-realisation

ᴛᴀɢꜱ ⥏ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ ↝ secret relationship, slow-burn, awkward first times, awkward romance, complicated friendships, taehyung forgets he should play a detective, ↝ idolsAU, BTS 2016

ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ

ʀɪꜱᴋɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴠ��

Taehyung looked up from his bowl where his spoon was drowning the Chocolate Rings in the cold milk rather than scooping it up, when he heard the lazy steps dragging across the floor.

He and Jin’s pink apron tied up behind the man’s small waist, were the only ones yawning in the kitchen while the rain was drawing shadows on their faces before the powerful thunderbolt didn’t mark Taehyung’s frightened soul on the opposite wall.

“Morning,” grunted Hoseok and rubbed his right eye, smearing the mascara he forgot to wipe clean yesterday's night before going to bed. Although, looking at his pale frowning face, in Taehyung’s opinion, the black shadow could pretend to be a dark circle from not enough sleep without too much suspicion.

Taehyung’s mouth opened to push out the greet but it proved to be difficult to find his voice after not using it to fight the monsters in his dreams even in real life. So, instead a tired smile spread on his lips, dipping a dimple above his left cheek and he nodded shortly, sighing when Hoseok’s hand patted his back and squeezed his shoulder for support.

“Smells good,” Hoseok’s hoarse morning voice made an appearance again and this time Seokjin spun around on his heels quickly, facing his dongseangs with the raised spatula and a surprise lifting up his eyebrows.

“Hoba,” he breathed out after he recognised the man under his messy haircut and the blanket draped over his body, stomping unsurely behind the empty chair next to Taehyung. If Taehyung had the energy to let go of his spoon providing him the ground, he would pat the vacant seat, it was not like he was waiting for anyone. Jungkook usually wakes up ten minutes before they have to leave, long after their bellies are full and the toothpaste has started to dry around their mouth corners. And Jimin still isn’t talking to him.

So, instead, he just continued to watch the chair, hoping the gesture would be enough.

Most likely he zoned out while running his eyes over the seat cushion tied up to the legs of the chair by the simple strings, because the next time he blinked, the same chair was pulled away, dragged over the floor on its two back legs, and Hoseok sank into the soft pillow with a heavy huff, pushing the chair closer to the edge of the table while boring his heels into the parquets. Just as the back legs met the floor again with a well-known thud, the plate, with the deliciously sizzling bacon in its juices, that Jin was turning on his pan not even a second ago, and a bread, made a loud ringing sound when Hoseok put it down in front of himself, digging into the food right away, seemingly not caring the fatness would wrap over the figure he has been so hard working on.

“Eat well, hyung,” mumbled Taehyung, unexpectedly discovering his voice just behind his teeth.

“Hm?’ Hoseok looked at him mid-bite, the yellow fat was freely dripping down his chin and Taehyung had to look away as his crying stomach started to sing serenades blending with hunger pangs hitting against his abdomen walls, ‘Oh, eat well too, Tae,” responded Hoseok, his gaze fixed on Taehyung’s poor bowl of milk where his favourite Chocolate Rings were so soaked they were the whole two sizes bigger than usually, floating on the white surface and on his spoon.

Taehyung pursed his lips and opened them again in a smack and sent a low, “Thank you,” towards the man sitting next to him, who was too busy in a dreamland of salt and unhealthy food again, while Taehyung continued to fight the betrayers in his path of diet.

They continued in their shared melody of clinging utensils and slurping mouths whilst Jin was stirring the soup in the pot, his hands searching clumsily for spices from time to time, until, all three of them this time, didn’t turn around when another tap tap of slippers fell on their ears.

Leaning against the sofa where Taehyung watched Cha Dohyun on the television going through the emotional character changes the yesterday night, stood Jungkook. With eyes glued by sleep and cheeks puffy from the snores he kept blowing the whole night, he was waving with his arms around himself, preferably trying to grasp onto something that would provide him stable support under his wobbly knees. How he managed to pull the T-shirt over his head, even if the fabric looked wrinkly and loose in some places, and button up his jeans, even if his underwear was showing high above the hem, was a mystery to Taehyung, because despite one sock missing at the second one was inside out, pulled over his foot, he looked more ready than Hoseok whose pyjamas sleeve was showing under the blanket.

Taehyung once again searched for Jungkook’s face, noting the adorable pout pulling on his mouth, but lack of the anger from the previous night, when their eyes met shortly. Instead, he blinked twice, as if wishing him a lovely morning. Taehyung stared at how his eyelashes grazed his cheeks for the second time and a clear tear flew from the delicate hair, falling somewhere on the floor as an invisible drop. Taehyung blinked back, saying, ‘Welcome, love’.

“Jungkookie,” Jin stretched out the last syllable of his name, turning around fully and tilting the pan his hand, in an oven glove, was holding by the handle, until the swell of his bicep didn’t grow, showing the same curled bacon that was on its best way to disappear from Hoseok’s plate.

Taehyung wanted to laugh, but his lungs felt too empty and his abdomen muscles weak, when Jungkook’s nose scrunched up, only this time not from amusement but from disgust as he watched the juices gathering in the dip of the pan. Jungkook shook his head, his knitted eyebrows had never relaxed, and he crossed the imaginary threshold diving into the living room space and their kitchen, accompanied by Jin’s scoff of disbelief.

Taehyung followed the back of Jungkook’s head, chuckling over the state of his hair that he felt a need to ruffle in love and mischief, or comb it with his fingers until it didn’t lay flat and styled against his scalp, or until its scent didn’t linger on Taehyung’s skin.

Jungkook reached out over the kitchen counter where Taehyung left the box of cereals and pulled the package closer to himself. Taehyung waited until he would stand on his toes to open up the cabinets hiding their porcelain or plastic bowls, but instead, Jungkook’s hand disappeared in the box of Taehyung’s favourite Chocolate Rings up to his elbow. He could hear the muffled rattling as the pieces collided with each other or hit the paper walls, and soon after, Jungkook pulled his hand back out, crushing the chocolate cereals in his fist. While Taehyung this time could help the laugh baring his teeth, Jin smacked the back of Jungkook’s neck with the kitchen cloth that usually hung up over the oven, when Jungkook brought the hand to his mouth and stuck it up until his cheeks weren’t so big they could compete against a hamster’s.

“Ow,” moaned Jungkook and looked behind his shoulder with a frown, glaring at the offending cloth still swaying in Jin’s hand, now touching his hip. However, he must have heard Taehyung’s chuckle too, as he ignored the eye roll Jin was eyeing him with and turned his whole body until his backside wasn’t pushing against the handle of the kitchen counter. Jungkook’s eyes were travelling up and down Taehyung’s face, and if Taehyung knew him enough, they were counting his moles. When they finally stopped just a millimetre below his cupid bow, Taehyung gulped, and the action didn’t go unnoticed by Jungkook’s gaze. He bit his bottom lip and pulled an eyebrow over his squinting eyes up. Taehyung didn’t know if he was blushing because of the expression or because he knew what was Jungkook thinking about. There wasn’t a day they haven’t started with a sweet good morning peck of their lips, no matter if they woke up with the marks of the same pillows or mattress imprinted on their skin, or if Taehyung hurriedly closed the door of the bathroom where Jungkook was splashing water over his face.

He had to physically stop his leg from bouncing, ready to drag him perhaps in the shadows of the narrow corridor, where he was sure Jungkook would follow him. Only, maybe he was shaking with anticipation and desire just inside, as he stayed seated and calmly watched Jungkook taking step after step until he wasn’t standing behind the chair on the opposite side not only of the table but Taehyung too, all while Hoseok continued to lick his fingers, undisturbed. Taehyung rather avoided Jin’s back moving in front of the stove.

It looked like Jungkook had woken up early today only to pull some surprises from his sleeve for Taehyung. His hands encircled the backrest of the chair, but instead of just sitting on it as Hoseok had done not even ten minutes ago, he lifted it up against his chest; wrapping his arms around the wood until his forearms weren’t touching, as if the weight of the furniture was breaking his back, but Taehyung was sure he was only trying to be funny, and, carrying it around the table, he let the chair fall next to Taehyung’s empty side. Taehyung noticed how the middle of the seat was pushing against the table's leg, making it uncomfortable for whoever sat there. However, Jungkook didn't seem to mind; he barely flinched when his knee hit the hard surface as he settled down.

Strangely enough, or maybe not that much as Taehyung was too lost breathing in the flowery fragrance of Jungkook’s new perfume, while his head started to spin, it was Hoseok who mentioned the new arrangements of their kitchen chairs, “Do you like to watch the rain, Jungkookie?”

“Huh?” the question snapped the tension only Jungkook’s and Taehyung’s eyes were following, sending them both back to reality where the rain’s path and the loud crash of the storm weren’t just a romantic background playing in Taehyung’s mind, but a roaring presence enhancing the guilty of their faces.

Taehyung hid his blushing cheeks in his breakfast, hoping the white of his milk could make the hot redness more faded pink, while trying to ignore Jungkook’s elbow poking his arm every time it slid across the table when the weight of his head resting on the back of his hand became too much.

Hoseok stood up, Taehyung could hear and feel his leaving presence. He lifted up his eyelids and stuck his eyes on Hoseok’s retreating back, coming to a halt just a step before his toes could have tripped over the edge of the rug under the sink, and he placed his plate under the stream of hot water emitting steam and breaking through the grease. Just as he reached for the sponge, Jin placed the spatula and the pan on top of the dirty dishes, prompting Hoseok to groan and Jin to argue back.

Seeming the distraction, Jungkook leaned in, Taehyung’s pulse picked up speed when he felt his breath grazing his neck, and he whispered, “I hoped to find Jin hyung here alone.”

Taehyung could feel his lips pouting and brows frowning. Keeping his gaze on the arguing duo and the shaking pot lid over the bubbling boiling soup, he mumbled back, barely opening his mouth, “Why?”

Jin suddenly noticed the rattling of the pot and he hurried up to turn down the flame before the foam started to spill past the edge, leaving Hoseok who seemed to be occupied by the tiny letters on the wet sticker placed over the dishwasher, alone by the sink. Hoseok turned around to place the bottle under the bright light, and when his eyes fell on Jungkook, the boy stretched out his hand and wrapped his fingers around Taehyung’s spoon. Soon his favourite Chocolate Rings were swimming in their dissolved mushy state inside Jungkook’s mouth.

Hoseok turned back around and as soon as the faucet squeaked before the water began to fall again, Jungkook ripped the spoon out from the bite of his teeth and let it drown in Taehyung’s bowl. “I wanted to talk to him if we could see Hyungu-ssi,” he muttered with a voice still thick with milk, before he stuck out his tongue and his face twisted in a grimace. “Gross.”

Taehyung’s eyes bulged in disbelief and his jaw dropped open in shock as a gasp escaped his mouth without warning. He quickly slapped one hand over it in shame.

Taehyung was almost too astonished to speak, trying unsuccessfully to process the fact that Jungkook had suddenly changed his mind and agreed to seek others' help when he stormed out of the living room with a fume leaving his nostrils before Cha Dohyun's inner monologue could have come to a resolution. Hadn't he been so strongly against the idea just a night ago?

“What has changed?” Taehyung spoke his mind aloud, a part of him couldn't help but feel suspicious.

Jungkook took a breath in and turned his head to face him, before he sighed, “I hate to fight with you.”

While it wasn’t anywhere close to ‘I was wrong, you were right, I am sorry’ and his stubbornness was most likely kept dormant for the time being, the raw emotion in Jungkook’s eyes still seemed to pierce through Taehyung’s upset soul with honesty and affection. It melted Taehyung’s barriers and showed him a new perspective on how to approach the situation.

“Only if you want.” Taehyung dared to reach out his hand and caress the bumps of Jungkook’s knuckles, despite the danger that had taken the form of their sleepy bandmate battling against his worst enemy, the dirt.

დ

A palm slammed against the flat button of the radio, repeating the tones of the same song for the whole day, and Taehyung’s eyes snapped open, breaking from the concentration that was trying to combine the memorized steps with the right counting, he found his own self staring at him from the glass of the wall-length mirror. He didn’t notice when his eyes had closed, but it was nothing uncommon for him, when he was focusing hard on his steps, trying to eliminate all the possible distractions, where his own body moving in the mirror was definitely one.

He looked above his shoulder, his knees were still bent in mid-step, while his hands posing in front of his face started to shake, and his sight fell on the man behind him, standing by the small, square table on its short legs, pressing on the springy disc tray with his fingers until it didn’t bounce open, revealing the still spinning CD inside. Taehyung’s eyebrow raised up.

“Taehyung-ah,’ sighed Hoseok as his gaze ran between the slowing-down disc and Taehyung’s figure trembling on his legs, ‘I know you want to get it done but it is getting late,” he reasoned and lifted his hand again to pick up the CD. He held it between his thumb and middle finger, high in the air, squinting if he saw some scratches on the shiny surface between the rainbow the light had drawn there, before he pushed it inside the case with a soft clicking sound.

Taehyung's arms drooped to his sides, hanging there limply, and he started to feel the full effects of standing still for so long. His knees quivered, his energy draining, yet he refused to surrender and collapse into himself. Despite the heavy exhaustion that was quickly settling, all the mental fantasies of allowing his spasming calves and tensed tights to relax in one long exhale, had to be put on hold.

“Hyung,’ he dragged his legs towards where Hoseok was standing, closing his eyes when the impact of his foot hitting the floor broke one blister filling with liquid at the bottom of his sole, ‘you can go home, you look,’ he pulled an eyebrow up at the hollowness of Hoseok’s cheeks, ‘pretty hungry, but me, I need to do this,” his hand reached out and took the clear plastic box from Hoseok’s loose fingers. “I swear I am almost there!” his voice jumped and danced over the tones of encouragement while he shook the CD case in front of Hoseok’s eyes, trying to come off enthusiastically, despite his dropping mouth corners and tiredness that made his eyes look rather dull.

The truth was, he knew he had already won by the time he refused to call it a day, regardless of the dropping bodies and hands packing up the bags around him. And Hoseok's attempt to talk him out of it was no more than an act of politeness. He would say the shake of the head was anticipated. They all knew in their hearts what they were doing was wrong, pushing their bodies mercilessly towards their limits. But what could they do when the simple praise and the mere approval felt like it was worth all the torment and collapse?

Hoseok sighed, looking at Taehyung through the see-through case. His fingers wrapped around Taehyung’s wrist and travelled lower towards his palm until they weren’t covering the entire surface of the flat plastic box. He took the CD out, watching it for imperfection out of habit in the brightest light, before he put it inside the player.

“Just... don’t be here for too long,” he let the air out, speaking out yet another gesture of politeness.

“I won’t,” Taehyung nodded a promise and a big relief sent his heart towards the calmer journey against his ribcage when Hoseok turned on a heel, facing the door. The tips of his shoes stopped a centimetre before the gap above the threshold and he threw the last glance behind his shoulder. Taehyung quickly drew a smile on his lips and raised his thumbs, the tips of his fingers, pointing up, perfectly copying the way his lips corners were raising his cheeks. Hoseok placed his hands on the handle and with one slight push, the door opened, revealing the dimly, compared to the practice room, lit hallway and Jungkook, leaning against the surface, who as soon as the door creaked in the hinges, jumped away, nearly hitting the opposite wall, and his cheeks flushed a deep red.

Looking at Jungkook’s guilty blushing face, the way his gaze fell from the surprised Hoseok standing with hands high above his body and Taehyung, whose finger was hovering above the radio button, Taehyung felt a need to put his face in his palms and shake his head. “Jungko-”

“Hyung, I, uh,’ Jungkook blinked and quickly looked straight at Hoseok, ‘I was just... um,’ he scratched the back of his neck before his eyes grew wide with a sparkle of an idea, ‘checking if I left my phone here, you know?” as he stammered through his explanation, Hoseok's gaze fell to his second hand that was trembling by his tight. Taehyung heard himself groan and his fingers touched the sides of his head, pushing on the skin until it didn’t wrinkle in the middle.

Both of them noticed a small, rectangular device peeking out from behind Jungkook's slender fingers. The realization must have dawned on Hoseok as he observed the phone's screen faintly glowing around Jungkook’s shoes.

Hoseok couldn't help but raise an amused eyebrow as he caught Jungkook red-handed. He glanced at the phone, then back at Jungkook, and a mischievous grin tugged at the corners of his lips. It was evident that Jungkook's excuse about searching for his phone had crumbled under the weight of his own excuses and lies.

He decided to play along for a moment, his tone teasing yet kind, “Jungkook-ah,’ Hoseok said, his voice laced with amusement, ‘I think I found your phone,” with a barely contained chuckle, he nodded toward the device, still hidden in Jungkook's shaking hand, watching with satisfaction how his face turned an even deeper shade of red. Then he took one step towards the embarrassed boy, patted his chest and disappeared behind the barrier of the opened door.

Taehyung could hear his retreating steps, slowly fading inside the dead corners of their company building and without taking a single breath, he stared right at Jungkook, whose eyes were following Hoseok's back. Only when Jungkook turned his head, meeting Taehyung's panicked gaze, he pushed from the small table preventing his mortification from spreading not only inside but also outside, visible on his skin, and, hissing with every blister that leaked the liquid, he ran towards Jungkook's figure standing one foot in the hallway and the second inside the studio. He reached for his forearm and pulled him inside, kicking the door close behind their backs.

"Phone?!' he found himself half shouting half whispering, 'Really?" Taehyung tugged at his own hair, tangling up his fingers between the strands, he cried out, "Not only Namjoon hyung, but also Hoseok hyung now?" His head suddenly felt too heavy standing on his neck, he whimpered and leaned forward, finding comfort in the middle of Jungkook's chest, smelling the sweat that seeped through the wool of his T-shirt. As he eyed the never-forgotten device still in Jungkook's hand, his intrusive thoughts whispered to him to throw it against the wall, or maybe the red mark against Jungkook's forehead wouldn't look so bad. He shook his head, clearing his mind.

"Tae hyung,' Jungkook began, letting his sweaty hand fly to the back of Taehyung's neck and he squeezed the soft skin there, 'I don't think hyung knows something," he tried to reassure him, but the strength of his digits boring into Taehyung's muscles felt hardly comforting. Taehyung wriggled away from him.

"Oh, please,' raising a finger in front of Jungkook's mouth 'he definitely does! Haven't you seen how he's been looking at us?" Taehyung rolled his eyes.

"At me,' Jungkook corrected him, placing a palm over his index finger, 'he was looking only at me. You are starting to become paranoid, hyung." Jungkook pursed his lips and as he pushed on the raised finger his palm was slightly touching, it bent with a snap in Taehyung's knuckle, for sure leaving a nail mark in the soft flesh.

"And you are way too chill about it,' scoffed Taehyung, their morning conversation coming in bits back to the front of his memory, 'I thought we were here to talk about it and not argue again," he noted, glancing around the empty practice room. Its quietness and brightness making the emptiness that much more noticeable. It might have been the tension that never seemed to leave or the suspense of what the night might bring that caused Taehyung to feel as if he had never been alone, surrounded by the lengthy mirrors and his reflection.

"Yeah, you are right,' sighed Jungkook, following Taehyung's gaze, 'So, where is Jin hyung?" he asked, yet his tone was lacking curiosity. He set his eyes on the same emptiness that was teasing Taehyung's mind, breaking the clock and spreading around them like forever.

With one sharp inhale, Taehyung felt the air shifting in a blink of an eye. One moment, his hand felt warm under Jungkook's palm and the very next, the same hot palms were tugging at the fabric of his practice T-shirt, pulling it out the hem of his sweatpants, the blunt nails fighting for life to get hold of the weak threads, and with the sound of a tear, Taehyung's mouth opened with a breathy gasp choking the air in his throat when the overpowering heat pressed on his exposed back, seeping through his pores and muscle to his spine. He bent in his waist, opening his shoulders and his head lay back exposing his neck where his Adam's apple was already busy bobbing the throaty whines and moans.

"What are you..." he pushed through the heavy cotton set on his tongue when the wet lips attached over the vein, raising next to his pulsing point.

"The same,' Jungkook sucked the skin in and Taehyung found himself turning off all the alarms, going crazy about how to be careful, when the sharp teeth grazed the sensitive spot, 'Jin hyung is doing. Why else he wouldn't be here?" The tongue licked over the throbbing bite, pressing one kiss after another up Taehyung's neck until the hardness of his jawbone didn't stop him.

"This is not-ah,' Taehyung could feel the blood rushing to his face because of the sound leaving his mouth when the hands massaging his lower back travelled up and, spreading the fingers wide until the thumbs weren't reaching past his sides, they stopped right over his ribcage and pressed under the swell of his chest muscles, 'This is not a competition, Kook-ah," despite his words, his back arched, chest pressing onto the soft balls of Jungkook's fingertips. He enjoyed the feeling of hands moving in circles under his T-shirt more than he should have for someone with arguments, full of logical protests, on his tongue. But even these words left his throat unvoiced as they were gulped down by Jungkook's mouth suddenly over his.

"Kook," sighed Taehyung into the kiss, changing the complaints into the sound of Jungkook's name.

"Tae."

Jungkook's hands stopped moving, they were just resting close to his heart, while Taehyung's mind became blank with anything but the plush lips swelling his own.

However, the excitement, bubbling down in the pit of his stomach, as the simple path of the kiss, the one he could navigate on even with his eyes closed, soon evolved into something else. It was no longer a delicate dance of warmth and softness. He could taste the faint sweetness of Jungkook's lip balm rolling as a wax at the back of his teeth as he bit down on his lips, and feel the warmth of Jungkook's breath against his cheek, pushing out the sounds he had only dreamed to hear. It was like a blend of anticipation and a deep connection, leaving him breathless and wanting more. The kiss turned his blood into the hot fluid of fever, suddenly filling every pathetic cell of his body with awoken passion, rushing into his pliant limbs and leaving him surprisingly needy. Taehyung's eyes grew wide over the realization and his body became painfully aware of the elastic of his sweatpants pressing under his stomach. He blushed deep to the roots of his hair and before Jungkook's hips could have slammed against his, in an innocent effort to get their bodies closer, he put his hands between Jungkook's chest and his.

"Stop," he mumbled, pressing against the muscles under his palms, only to whine in desperation over the strength and sturdiness as Jungkook didn't even budge in a lost balance. "Jungkook, please," he begged more urgently, closing his hands until there weren't his fists pushing the body away from his.

"Why?' breathed out Jungkook and leaned his forehead against Taehyung's, his words were falling in a hot gush of air over Taehyung's parted lips, 'You like it."

Taehyung could feel his whole body freezing. He was close to trembling from the cold as all the heat seeped out from his core as the mortification swirled down the hollow tubes, the burning passion left behind.

He glanced at Jungkook, 'Did he notice?'.

"Yeah, and that is the problem."

Taehyung turned around, his back tensed and curved as if to hide from the world. Jungkook's hands slipped from under his T-shirt, letting it fall over his body again. He hugged himself tightly, rocking on his heels with his head bowed.

"Hyung?"

"Uh, I... um, I am shy. We haven't discussed...' Taehyung could feel himself getting flustered, 'this, yet. And..." he looked around the room again, only this time, the emptiness seemed to be closing in on him. His own pink, sweaty face, peering back from every angle, was reflecting the same fear and embarrassment tingling on his nerves. "We are in public."

"But-"

"Jesus Christ, Jungkook-ah,' exclaimed Taehyung, throwing his hands in the air before he hid the shame behind his fingers, 'I am embarrassed, okay? Can you... let it be?" his voice was bouncing from the walls and shaking the mirrors.

He didn't want to cry, spilling tears from nervousness and shyness was just humiliating. But as his eyelashes brushed past his cheeks, he felt the wetness smearing behind his eyelids. He pressed them tightly together, trying hard to hold back the chaos of his emotions from leaking. He threw his head back, letting the light from the chandelier brighten his skin, the thoughts of gravitation pulling his tears down almost made him laugh.

"Why are you crying?" asked Jungkook bluntly with a hint of panic in his voice. Taehyung could feel his presence hovering somewhere close, only a worry holding him back.

"Nothing,' Taehyung mumbled, 'I don't know, I am stupid," the second wave of embarrassment screwed his muscled together in a grimace while he pulled the moment from his memory out, repeating it over and over again in his mind.

"No."

Taehyung had almost given in, his eyes close to opening so he could see the pout that for sure was pulling on Jungkook's lips. Instead, he just scoffed; of course, Jungkook would disagree with whatever attempt to bring himself down.

"Why are you crying?' pressed Jungkook, 'Did I do something wrong?"

Taehyung groaned. His head fell down with a bounce, his chin nearly hitting his chest, but the muscles at the back of his neck felt too tight.

Taehyung slowly turned towards the boy behind him, showing him his red teary eyes and glowing cheeks of the same colour. "You did nothing wrong,' he spoke to the mole at the tip of his nose, 'I am just overwhelmed, that's it." He allowed himself to glace up to meet the dark eyes running up and down his face as if they were trying to bring together the individual letters of his words and twist them into some other meaning. "Uhh... Why are you like this?"

"Jungkook,' he said firmly, only to wonder where the sudden spurt of confidence was coming from when he was shrinking away the more he spoke, 'I got excited, like too excited. I got,' he pushed his voice down barely above the whisper, 'hard, okay?"

Taehyung couldn't believe what his mouth was speaking, around what confessions his tongue was wrapping around. His fingers found the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it down, stretching the poor fabric over his legs, that used to just slightly touch the top of his pants pockets, until it didn't warn to tear.

He struggled to understand his inner turmoil, he remembered himself in a similar, but oh so different, situation a few months ago, when his unmistakable arousal wasn't a problem. It rather led him on his path of self-exploration and self-discovery. However, with Jungkook, he didn't feel the same eagerness to explore. Instead, he longed to be fully prepared and ready for whatever might unfold between them. The desire to savour the moment and ensure it had taken over the impulsive curiosity that had driven him before. The only problem was, he didn't know what he was doing.

"Yeah, I know," Jungkook said simply, even going as far as stretching his lips into a small smile, his eyes fixed on Taehyung's trembling fingers holding the fabric of his top as if his life depended on it; which, after listening to Jungkook's revelation, might have.

"Someone, just kill me, please," cried out Taehyung, looking up as if he could see there whoever he was begging to.

"Hyung, no, hyung,' Jungkook choked out a laugh, he reached forward, trying to get a hold of Taehyung's arm, but another wave of laughter sent him leaning forward and instead, he placed his hands over his bent knees, 'It's alright. There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"What do you mean, of course, there is!" whined Taehyung, the level of the mortification in his blood was increasing with every Jungkook's word, the poison in his organism bringing his decency to his death bed.

"No, hyung, I mean...' Jungkook cleared his throat before continuing, 'I got hard too." At least he had enough shame to blush.

It was the spur of the moment, or perhaps an instinctive reaction. Taehyung couldn’t even blame it on an invisible strength falling on the back of his head and pushing it down against his will, as it dropped, following the movement of his curious eyes, moving with all the consciousness along the creases of Jungkook’s practice T-shirt, watching the loose threads tangling into the chaos at the bottom of his shorts strings and stopped right in the middle where the swell of his crotch was still visible against the fabric. He gulped visibly.

“Are we interrupting?” There was a lack of knock on the door, or maybe Taehyung just didn’t hear it, staring shamelessly at the prominent bulge under the layers.

Taehyung’s eyes snapped up, looking distractedly around himself and above Jungkook’s shoulder, the door from their practice room was pushing against the next wall again.

Jin was standing in the narrow space of the doorway, casually leaning against the smelly metallic frame, with one hand placed under his chin, emphasizing his curiosity, and the second one disappearing behind him in the darkness of the hallway, as the movement-sensitive sensors, casting a light over everyone’s step, were dormant. He tilted his head when Taehyung’s mouth opened, lapping in the emptiness of words.

“We are not too late, are we?”Jin put a confident smile on his lips, shrugging off whatever confused expression Taehyung and Jungkook drew on their faces, and he stepped inside, pulling his boyfriend out of the darkness with him.

As soon as the lamp light fell on Hyungu’s face, the man pursed is lips in something resembling a shy smile, his gaze falling from Jungkook, standing with his back straight as a ruler and hands proudly put on his lips, and Taehyung, who resembled more an animal caught on the headlights. Even his cheeks were shining the same colour as the animal’s coat when the car’s reflectors threw their lights on them on a deserted road. Taehyung couldn’t help but wonder, how much they heard, hitting their ears from behind the door, but judging by the way Hyungu bowed his head in what seemed to be an almost apologetic gesture, Taehyung wished the car’s front could hit him, imprinting the shape of the metallic bars of the car grille into his skull forever.

As Hyungu took one last step and stood right by Jin’s hip, not letting go of his hand, Jungkook cleared his throat, before the stranger man could say something, and looked down at his feet, his timid nature always coming out in front of the people he didn’t know, and Taehyung thought, Hyungu’s intimidating aura wasn’t helping it at all. He remembered his own head screaming at him to find a place to hide when he saw the man for the first time. But the barriers of tensed muscles, not giving off much of his emotions, melted down as soon as the Christmas carols started to play above their head and he took the first sip of his drink. Taehyung liked to return back to that late evening inside the vacant coffee shop from time to time.

“Sneaking out while everyone is watching me, as if they were waiting when will I make a mistake,’ Jin let his words fade in the silence of their breaths, loud, closed between four walls,’ became difficult,’ he continued, his shoulders dropped and Taehyung could sense the weight of trouble taking a toll on him, ‘but,’ a naughty sparkle glistened on the surface of his eyes, ‘it’s fun doing it right under Namjoon’s nose,” he laughed, failing to notice how Hyungu’s timid smile changed into something darker, but Taehyung was watching him, taking in the way his beard jerked as the muscles surrounding his mouth were not strong enough to hold back the sour expression tugging at his lips.

Hyungu turned his head, boring his gaze into Jin’s cheek, however, the younger man’s voice continued to grow hand in hand with his enthusiasm, “His red angry face makes me want to do it every day.”

Watching the sparkle of stubbornness grow into a mocking desire for adventure glowing from Jin’s trembling hands and the shadows darkening on Hyungu’s face, Taehyung felt the time freezing; each word falling from Jin’s tongue and each centimetre Hyungu’s eyebrows crossed to touch his eyelids, seemed to be moving slow, the tension was growing and he could feel the approaching argument.

“It’s all right,’ Taehyung cleared his throat, cutting Jin mid-inhale, ‘Namjoon hyung is the reason we wanted to talk to you tonight anyway,” he said cautiously, catching the pang of disappointment in Hyungu’s eyes, before he masked the embarrassment by gesturing towards Jungkook with his hand.

“Kim Namjoon?’ Hyungu spat the name with all the venom, and if Taehyung didn’t have a suspicion before, he certainly was sure now; locking Hyungu and Namjoon in one room could lead to fatal consequences, ‘Sooki told me,’ he eyed the man beside him, ‘this is a double date. What does he have to do with this?”

Hyungu’s eyes snapped up when he heard a giggle escaping Jungkook’s throat. Taehyung also followed Hyungu’s stare, tilting his head at the boy’s wavy smile and the way his shoulders were moving up and down, while his eyes were running over the room, “Double date?’ Jungkook repeated, ‘How anti-romantic Jin hyung have to be so you wouldn’t become sceptical when he dragged you here?”

“Yah-”

It was the second time this day, and probably also this hour, that Taehyung’s head moved suspiciously close to his palms. “Jungkookie,’ he hissed, his lips barely showing his clenched teeth, ‘you are being rude,” he began but was interrupted by a chuckle.

Taehyung looked up despite the awkwardness he could feel climbing up his neck and tinting his cheeks, only to find Hyungu already waving his hand and his voice jumping with laughter while he spoke, “It’s okay. Jungkook-ssi is actually right,” he shook his head and lifted his arm to hit Jin’s side with his elbow. Taehyung understood it as a playful gesture, so Hyungu’s next words confused him, “Sooki here has a whole book of romantic date ideas for your leader, but nothing for me,” the laughter dying in the hollows of his throat was raising goosebumps on his skin.

Taehyung started to think this was a bad idea. If he listened to Jungkook earlier, he wouldn’t be shifting on his feet nervously while running his eyes over the mirrors leading up to the small windows above them, and counting what would take him less time, jumping towards the door behind Jin’s wide back or climbing the walls to stick out the narrow space. What a bizarre thought. An apology was already on the tip of his tongue, despite not being familiar yet with its words and tones, while Jungkook kept struggling with self-awareness. He thought the sound of a hoarse hyung started to vibrate in the air, pushing in between the awkward tension, but Hyungu was quick to cover the unease, again with a wave of hand.

“I am only joking.”

He wasn’t, Taehyung wasn’t sure how he could tell, because Hyungu’s facial muscles looked soft and relaxed and a laugh was still bobbing by his Adam’s apple, it was the loudest sound cutting through what Taehyung understood as a nervous grinding of Jin’s teeth as the not so subtle meaning of his boyfriend’s words gnawed on him.

“So what about Kim Namjoon?” asked Hyungu again after the silence spread even into the darkest corner of the practice room.

Even if he his gaze was falling from Taehyung to Jungkook, Taehyung couldn’t not notice how his eyes kept returning to him sooner than he could blink in the ghost of Jungkook’s shyness. His stare lingering on his body felt weighty and he felt a need to say, to do something.

He noticed how they all were still standing, surrounded by the muddy footsteps on the shiny laminate on one side and the black lines of smudged scuffs on the other. He glanced towards the office chairs stuck one on the other, forming a wobbly tower, pushed to the wall with the polished whiteboard where the chaotic scheme of their dance routine was marked.

He motioned to the unstable tower, wrapping his fingers around Jungkook’s wrist and pulled him towards it, staying a step behind his back, saying, “We think he might know about Jungkookie and I,’ and before Hyungu could lift an eyebrow or before Jin’s tired sigh could resonate within his soul, he continued, taking a chair from Jungkook’s hands and placing it down, ‘It's hard to explain, but I noticed the way he looks at us sometimes. And he's been asking questions.”

He noticed how Jungkook stilled, balancing the second chair on its back legs. He looked up, searching for Taehyung’s eyes and then his lips wrapped around the words, “Questions?”

Taehyung felt suddenly foolish and guilt was feeding on his toes, he caught his bottom lip in the bite of his upper teeth. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he shoved them inside his sweatpants pockets, as if hiding his lies there. He didn’t know why he thought emphasizing his urgency for resolution with false statements, was a good idea. But it pushed a reaction out of the two men watching them uncertainly.

Taehyung expected to be met with a shared understanding coming out as a panic, so to say he was surprised and a little bit disappointed when Hyungu opened his mouth, would be an understatement, “Well, that’s easier then,’ he shrugged, taking the office chair a patting the seat before he sat down, crossing his ankles, ‘if he figured out, you don’t have to stress about all that awkward,’ Hyungu cleared his throat, dropping his voice that normally was grazing the higher tones; without doubt, trying to imitate the deep hues escaping Taehyung’s mouth, ‘Hyung, Jungkookie and I are dating’ talk.”

Taehyung found himself once again standing a step before a crossroad, staring at the parted roads and turning his head, trying to understand. He admired Hyungu for his kindness, positivity, and even his knack for finding humour in Jin's less-than-amusing jokes. However, he couldn't help but notice that Hyungu's approach to life's challenges seemed a bit too rushed if not hot-headed, as if he wanted to get them out of his way the sooner the better, never letting the feeling of hard work linger for too long. Taehyung couldn’t choose, he realized, he needed to build a new road, made up of the elements of the two already existing paths, merging them together.

Taehyung looked down, hiding a sigh.

“He’s been asking me about you guys too.” Jin’s admittance only spurted a life inside Taehyung’s panic. His head turned to face Jin behind him, even if his body forgot how to move, but it struggled to reach further than past Hyungu comfortably leaning against the chair’s backrest that was lining up with Taehyung’s shoulder. There were thousands of words climbing up his throat, millions of short-cut questions searching not only for answers but also for reassurance.

“What is he saying?” he spoke aloud few of them, gesturing with his hands for support, even fully turning around to find Jungkook and cuddle against his chest.

His eyes followed Jin who took a step and stood in the middle of the circle made by four chairs. “You don’t have to worry, I have never revealed anything. He’s been asking for years.” Taehyung could feel his eyes growing wider at that, even the gentle caressing of Jungkook’s hands wrapped around his body stilled for a whole second, before the boy cleared his throat, “Years? But we are d-” he cut himself off, his breath, hitching next to Taehyung’s ear, reminded him of how he suddenly stopped speaking the same way when they were watching Cha Dohyun on their television yesterday’s night. “We’ve been… doing this,’ Jungkook said at least and Taehyung could hardly convince his heart that the guilt he was feeling didn’t hurt over the phrase, ‘only since December.”

Taehyung was entirely focused on Jin as he was stomping his feet before him, so he did not even notice what kind of reaction Hyungu had made. But then, Jin's gaze flickered between the two of them and Taehyung saw the older man subtly raise an eyebrow. He barely moved, it was almost like a faint nod, and Taehyung wondered if he had just imagined it.

“This is a bit embarrassing,’ Jin’s whisper sounded more like a warning, ‘but me and him, we used to… when we were still sharing a room,’ he seemed to be searching for the right words, ‘discuss about you two.”

Jungkook’s chest pressing against Taehyung’s back started moving as he was waiting for Jin to continue.

“About your bond, your chemistry,’ Jin’s hand found its way to the back of his neck, ‘you were never subtle,’ he took a sharp breath in before he released it with a chuckle, ‘Jungkook especially. We always wondered if your friendship would grow into something else one day.”

Jungkook’s chest behind him still felt tense and rigid and Taehyung didn’t have to strain his brain too hard to know what he was thinking. The confessions hardly leaving Jin’s mouth were true, Jungkook himself admitted it weeks ago, he had never tried to hide his feelings towards him. The old shame was lurking at Taehyung, sitting on one of three empty chairs.

“Do you think there’s nothing to be scared of?” asked Jungkook, leaning his chin on Taehyung's shoulder. “You think he's just playing along with your game?” he spoke in a casual tone, but Taehyung could feel the seriousness behind the words. Jungkook didn't sound angry or bitter, but he was clearly trying to make a point.

Taehyung took a deep breath, feeling the weight of Jungkook's chin on his shoulder. He knew what Jungkook was trying to do - to plant guilt in Jin's mind, so he would start to search for his conscience.

Taehyung refused to let that happen, he refused to let Jungkook's crankiness hurt Jin. After all, they also liked to gossip from time to time.

He turned his head slightly, catching Jungkook's gaze. “Jungkookie, stop,” he warned him.

Jin's voice pushed between their locked eyes, “I wouldn't be surprised if he did catch on to something. You still are not subtle,' Jin scoffed, 'But he didn't call for The Emergency Summit in a while,” he dared to let a laugh resonate in the room while referring to the urgent group meetings that used to be held in their old living room, on their old sofa.

“But how can you be sure?” Jungkook persisted, his breath hot on Taehyung's lips. “We don't know what he's thinking.”

“I can’t be sure, obv-”

“Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” All three of them turned towards Hyungu, who had remained quiet until this moment - maybe even a bit suspiciously, thought Taehyung. He seemed confused looking at them, arms crossed on his chest and one foot resting atop the other knee while his ankle was tapping gently along to a secret song. Taehyung wondered what was going on in Hyungu's head.

“Hyung, not now,” Jin tried to stop him.

“But Sooki,’ Hyungu raised his voice as if they couldn’t already hear him loud and clear in the silence that had spread among them, ‘they can’t be hiding forever.”

Taehyung glanced sideways when he caught a movement next to him and noticed how Jungkook lifted his chin and soon after he started to nod slowly in agreement. He looked at Hyungu again before Jungkook noticed him. He wasn’t in a mood for the ‘I told you!’ discussion.

“And we can’t too,” Hyungu kept talking, his other day's calm and gentle tone was gone, replaced by the zealous explanation. “We’ve been together for how long… and I am meeting,’ he pointed with his head towards them, ‘Jungkook -ssi only now. There are other three of your members that have no idea that I even exist,’ Hyungu’s right leg met the laminate with a thud; Taehyung watched how the dried mud stuck to his shoe’s sole broke and dispersed around his feet in a light brown cloud.

“Hyung,’ Taehyung's eyebrows arched in surprise, he had never heard Jin being as whiny as he was now, ‘we talked about this already. Introducing my members to you,' he swallowed and ran a hand through his hair before explaining, 'would eventually result in me coming out to the company. And that,' Jin's face crumpled as if a heavy weight was pressing down on his soul, 'that's one step closer to my family finding out. It's a' he paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, 'complicated situation. I’m not sure if it’s the right move. Not yet.”

Taehyung blinked in shock; it seemed he and Jin were on the same page of a problem. He reached out to place a hand on Jin's shoulder, squeezing it gently to get his attention, but also to bring him some comfort. Taehyung was taken aback, until now, during all the late dinners he had spent in Hyungu's apartment, Jin only expressed his frustration over their leader.

But then again, Taehyung thought, what did he know about Jin's struggles? Sure, they were both members of the same group, but that didn't mean they shared the same experiences or fears. Taehyung sighed, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him as well. There were fears, that he had not enough courage to do as little as think about them.

“We understand, hyung. Coming out is a personal decision, and only you can make it,’ Taehyung felt a need to comfort him, ‘But just know,’ he looked around, stretching his hand towards Jungkook who hadn’t moved from his position ever since Hyungu broke the silence minutes ago, only his mouth opened, as his jaw dropped in the shared surprise, and he forgot to close it, ‘we're all here for you, no matter what,” he whispered reassuringly once Jungkook’s fingers slipped in the gaps between his own.

Jin’s dark eyes bored into his, the expression in them seemed vulnerable for a little too long and then he smiled again, soft appreciation gracing his lips.

“So, what about Namjoon hyung?” Jungkook tried the waters when the vulnerability finally began to dry on Jin’s cheeks, his eyes no longer glistened with worry. Taehyung couldn’t tell if Jin’s fears were his own or if he still played Taehyung’s cards because Taehyung couldn’t, he wasn’t sure about the rules.

“I can talk to him if you want. If you are too scared yourself,” suggested Jin. “Something needs to be done. I can see it’s taking a toll on you,’ he sighed, ‘The hiding, I remember that,’ his eyes closed and he took a single inhale in, ‘vividly,” Jin exhaled.

“But wouldn’t that just urgent him about all this matter? Coming out to the company?” Jungkook's eyes dropped to their clasped hands and Taehyung knew he wanted to say more even before his shoulders and chest could have lifted. “I'm okay with Namjoon hyung knowing, I couldn’t care less.” He didn’t even try to squeeze Taehyung’s hand when it began to shake in his hold. Taehyung thought Jungkook was a lot more empathetic than before, until… “But Bang PD-nim… I…” his voice was steady, it didn’t start to tremble; it was only Taehyung’s hand that seemed like it couldn’t stop from moving; yet, Jungkook's quickly shifting gaze from side to side revealed more than words could say. However, Taehyung’s legs didn’t move, he couldn't bring himself to step closer and comfort him in his emotional distress.

“We all are risking here, Jungkook-ah,” said Jin sternly and watched Jungkook's hand fall to his side.

დ

Taehyung had his back to the open door of his room, with the alluring smell of Jungkook's perfume still lingering on his T-shirt and the echoes of Jin's and Hyungu's quarrel, he had overheard before the door behind him and Jungkook could have closed, ringing in his ears as if they had only just stopped yelling.

He looked over at Namjoon, lying on his bed in silence, seemingly lost in thought. Not even the sound of Taehyung's slippers against the parquets seemed to break Namjoon's state of concentration. Despite the dark circles forming under his eyes from exhaustion and the swell of his eyelids, Namjoon's gaze was falling over the pages of the thick book lying open on his knees; Taehyung noticed the familiar green cover of the book poking out from beneath the worn out newspaper where it was wrapped in. That same book was in his hands the day before when Taehyung woke up sharing his bed with Jungkook. Namjoon’s bed was a mess of papers, pens and old notebooks scattered all over the blankets and pillows, some even pilling up by the bed's legs. He must have been deep in his work when the thought of an unfinished novel and its characters crept up and distracted him from his tasks.

Taehyung took a deep breath and cleared his throat, causing Namjoon to look up from his concentration. His eyes met with Taehyung's and his lips formed a small surprised O.

"Oh, Taehyung-ah,' he raised his hand to greet him, causing the cream-white page to bounce back as his big thumb was no longer holding it down, 'You are back. How was the practice?’ Namjoon’s eyes ran over the yellow stains from sweat tinting the pure-white cotton of his working-out T-shirt along its collar, hanging low and showing the muscles of his chest, and on the sleeves under his arms, ‘Hoseok hyung mentioned that you were staying.”

Taehyung forced a smile, noting how his cheeks ached and strained from the movement. His heart felt heavy with guilt as he kept staring into Namjoon's eyes awaiting an answer from him. He had told Hoseok that he was staying back for practice, and now, he was feeding the same lie to Namjoon. The weight of it clung to him, and he knew that he was slowly wrapping himself into the sticky web of untruths that would only become more difficult to unravel from his body one day. His smile might have hidden his true feelings, but the unease ran within him. “Yeah,’ he nodded slowly ‘I think I get it now.”

“That’s great,” Namjoon looked ready to return to his book, his finger was tapping over the word in the middle of the page which he must have read as last. If he noticed something odd about Taehyung’s behaviour, he said nothing, allowing Taehyung to take in the air full of relief. “You were pretty stressed about the choreography, right?’ he continued nonchalantly, furrowing his brows when he looked back at the letters printed on the cream-white pages, ‘I wish I was such a quick learner as you are,” Namjoon sighed one last time, boring back between the lines.

“Um… ,” Taehyung didn’t know what to say, he didn’t want to lie any further. His hands were grasping the fabric of his sweatpants, giving up under his nails. “Can I come in?” only after the words were out, hitting not only the walls of the room but also Namjoon’s ears, he realised what he said. But it was too late.

Namjoon once again stuck his nose out from the story he was reading and Taehyung was sure if there were glasses sitting on its tip, he would adjust them until they were not fitting perfectly at the root of his nose bridge. “It’s your room too,” Namjoon pointed out.

“Oh, right.” Taehyung’s hand shot in the air and landed behind his ear, as if by scratching the soft skin there, he could handle the embarrassment creeping up his neck; currently as high as his jaw and chin.

Taehyung lifted his leg, bending his knee slowly, until the slipper hanging from his toes wasn't close to falling, and he walked inside, leaving the door behind him ajar. He slowly scanned around the room, as if he was expecting to find something there that he could quickly grab with his quivering hands. He noticed the pile of clothes lying at the end of his mattress. He guessed that Hoseok or somebody else must have placed it on his duvets after it dried up on the cloth rack, since he recognised the black T-shirt with a print he spent days searching for. Only now he recalled he had thrown it in the washing machine together with his other dirty laundry. He walked over to them with quick steps, picking up one shirt after another, folding them properly before placing them on the dresser. He noticed Namjoon’s gaze boring into him, it only added more to Taehyung’s red cheeks, and made his heart skip an extra beat while his hands trembled while zipping up the bag stuffed with his cosmetics. He was ready to head to the bathroom but Namjoon's voice stopped him, “Are you feeling well?”

The bag of faded baby blue colours, over-packed with face moisturizers and face masks, fell from his hands, dropping on the plastic that pretended to be wood under its light brown sticker. The dresser wiggled on its legs.

“Namjoon hyung,’ Taehyung was calling his name suddenly, ‘can I talk to you about something?“ He turned around on the soles of his slippers before this weird courage could leave him, staring at the crown of Namjoon’s head.

There must have been something in Taehyung's demeanour that seemed off, even beyond the surface lie about the practice, because Namjoon immediately pushed his book aside and sat up, leaning against the headboard of his bed, giving Taehyung his full attention.

“Of course, Tae. What’s on your mind?”Namjoon asked with a genuine concern in his voice.

Taehyung could feel himself hesitating for a moment, contemplating how to start. “It’s about relationships… within the group.” The weight of his unspoken secrets pressed on his chest, making it difficult to find the right words.

Namjoon had not even blinked as he listened to the careful choice of Taehyung's words. The mention of relationships within the group seemed to take him interest, “Something’s wrong? Was someone mean to you? Did you fight or-”

“No, no, nothing like that,’ Taehyung was quick to shake his head and wave his hands in disagreement, ‘We are as good as ever,” that seemed to bring a bit of comfort to Namjoon’s concern. “I meant…,’ with a deep breath and a light bite on his inner cheek, Taehyung began, ‘Well, you know, sometimes people in a group develop close relationships,’ he breathed out cautiously, noticing the old habit itching under his skin when his hand jerked involuntary towards his mouth, ‘They are more than just… friendships. You know how feelings can develop, and sometimes,’ Taehyung was aware of the saliva bubbling around his lips, he was blabbering, ‘it's hard to control them,” he mumbled nervously. Namjoon’s eyebrows furrowed as he slowly started to piece the puzzle of Taehyung’s words together. “I was just wondering if,’ Taehyung’s speech became slurred and hardly intelligible as he couldn’t resist stuffing his mouth with his index finger and biting around his round nail, ‘if in such cases, we should be clear with the company about it,” he finished, his voice barely over the whisper.

Namjoon’s eyes were squinting, set over his nose like two narrow lines, he leaned forward, placing a palm under his chin, before he tilted his head in a question, “Why do you ask, Tae? Do you have something you would like to share with me?”

Taehyung felt the familiar pressure of a weighty secret returning and nestling back in his chest. The temptation to reveal everything was almost too strong. Almost. He wavered, his eyes scanning around the room before he looked back at Namjoon.

“Nothing specific,” he replied, hoping the words didn’t fall from his tongue too quickly. “I was just,’ he cut himself off again, thinking Namjoon would see right through his lies about the ‘general curiosity’, so instead, he opted for the partial truth, ‘Jin hyung, he told me you want him to be clear with the company about Hyungu hyung.”

Namjoon nodded thoughtfully, though a hint of curiosity still lingered in his eyes. Taehyung didn’t fool him. “I see what you're getting at,’ he started, ‘Well, Tae,’ Namjoon seemed to be struggling with the chaos of words swirling and racing inside his mind as well, ‘I think it's a tricky situation,” he continued like a philosopher getting ready for a long speech, caressing the paper wrapped around the back of his novel. “We've all worked so hard to get where we are, and one scandal could bring us down. Being honest with the company might be the best way to avoid any future problems.”

As he spoke, Taehyung realised that Namjoon was well aware of the hidden truth in his question, and he squirmed with a pang of guilt gnawing at him because he wasn’t entirely honest about the nature of his concerns and anxiety. He appreciated Namjoon's wisdom and the way he could handle the fragile balance between their personal lives and the group's image.

Taehyung knew he was holding back, concealing within himself, important information that could cost them everything, and more, that Namjoon was so afraid of.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Taehyung pushed the words out of his mouth despite closing his throat, gathering the cleansers and eye creams that fell out the gap between the zipper when the bag dropped and quivered uncertainly before tumbling over on its side.

“Tae-yah!” Namjoon called into the awkwardly loud squeaking of Taehyung’s rubber slippers on the floor.

Taehyung halted, the hand holding the bag’s handle was still swishing along his body. One foot mid-step, he turned to face Namjoon, trying to scold his expression into face giving out nothing only tiredness. “Yeah?”

“Do you remember what I once told you?’ Namjoon spoke with a soft tone, ‘If there's something you want to discuss or share, no matter how difficult or important it may be, you know you can talk to me, right? We are family and we will always be here for each other. I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

A memory flashed before him: they had been sitting in Taehyung’s old room, on his bottom bed, drenched in sweat and surrounded by the walls that felt warmer than usual. The memory of Jimin leaving the room in a hurry brushed against his consciousness, but it was faint, unclear, like a distant echo. It was the day after Taehyung’s life had been turned around so suddenly he hadn’t even realised it at first. In this vivid memory, Taehyung couldn’t help but remember how concerned Namjoon had sounded, making sure Taehyung knew the door to his studio had been always opened.

The memory of that conversation overlapped with Namjoon's current words. Taehyung nodded, his voice quiet and stern, “Yeah, hyung, I know. Thanks.”

He left their room with urgency, not wanting to linger where the heaviness of his lies felt too much to handle. He closed the bathroom door behind himself hastily, creating a barrier between his feelings and the world outside.

#taekook au #taekook fanfic #taekook vkook #vkook #taekook #kpop idol #idol jungkook #idol taehyung #taekook smut #taekook fluff #taekook angst

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years ago

Note

Edward doesn't care so much what Bella says or thinks so long as she sits there, looks pretty, and smells delicious.

What if Bella had a very bad injury on her face? One that the origin of had nothing to do with the supernova?

God, it's only been a few days and I forget which this is from.

Regardless, allow me to amend my statement: so long as she smells delicious she's probably fine.

Now, part of what appealed to Edward later was he views her as a natural and Victorian style beauty (very waifish looking, no use of makeup, very large vulnerable looking eyes, extremely pale skin, etc.). When he does notice her, he notices her swan like neck, her flush, her lack of makeup, etc.

However, what attracts him first and foremost is the scent, and all else, all the little justifications, come long after that fact when per Alice he has realized he's in love with her. Only then, standing in her bedroom and realizing the force of his obsession, does he begin to see her as beautiful.

Before that point he finds her rather mousey and plain. Going so far as to note that she's explicitly not his type and that he's generally not a fan of dark hair or brown eyes.

Before he got a whiff, and before he had to justify his own obsession to himself, Bella Swan was only mildly above average in the looks department and nothing to write home about.

So what if we get a Bella who's even further away from Edward's ideals.

Well, he might try to convince her not to use makeup, or he might tell her she could have a better haircut, though I could see him writing these off as cute Bella quirks the way he does much of Bella's behavior that he either doesn't like or doesn't understand (there's many things in canon that make Bella 'a very silly girl').

If Bella has extreme facial scarring, then I imagine he'd come to find this a very beautiful feature as it makes her vulnerable, shows that she's been through so much already, and doesn't change the overall shape of her face (or her smell).

That's the trouble with Edward/Bella, it's very clear that it is never, in any moment, in any way, about Bella. (To be fair, it's not about Edward either, as Bella has very similar issues on her own end)

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #twilight shipping #edward cullen #anti edward cullen #bella swan #edward/bella #anti edward/bella #meta #headcanon #opinion #shipping

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phantom-of-the-ruckus · 2 years ago

Text

A random out of place "analysis" of the prequel game which is just commentary :D

This is random along with some commentary from yours truly along with some spoilers from the trailer and my odd sense of humor. I advise you to watch it first as I will share as many pictures as I can.

Trigger warning for: Scary imagery, gore, blood, implications, of k/idnaping, and horror

I thank @sarilolla for sharing the launch trailer, you're awesome!

If you see this TW this will signify a trigger warning. I'll try to give some space to avoid individuals who do not which to see it time to skip it. SAFE means that you can read this part ^^

Majority of pictures are from the trailer, others will be credited to the sources along with a link)

So Mortimer is introducing himself and the show. Maybe that was how the show was introduced? Who knows. Either way, although the animation looks weird

Mortimer looks pretty darn cute in this. Looks so huggable and squishable! Still, his voice doesn't really match his character and kind of reminds me of Nick. Sad that Anthony Ingruber (Mort's OG voice actor) was not in this, but at least the new VA is trying their best to give it some charm

Or puberty hasn't reached Mortimer yet/j

Anyways, I found this!

Awful quality due to the VHS effect from the bit of the trailer, but is this a new episode poster? Quite odd. I originally thought it was the Hope Givens poster, but there is no furious fastball in this

Fun fact: If you look at the Hope Givens Poster.... (took it from Sewingsilly's gameplay: Hello Puppets Midnight show playtest #1.)

Riley is actually the tiniest out of them *wheezes* cannocially she's the angry bean of the gang sjjsjsjs

Anyways, here's a Mortimer's cartboard

I don't remember if this is new, but he looks charming!

As the trailer goes on, we get a glimpse of the collectable machine! I's cost one gold coin. Also, I'll never grow tired of the figurines there! THERE. JUST. SO. EFFING. CUTE.

And we get a Riley!

Now I wish that was merchandise :( Anyways, new stuff :0

So we get a whack the puppet game! I just I'm not going to make a joke here, I'm just going to point out that

Why does it have to be the hand puppets like Scout?

Sadly we don't get to see the heads of the Handeemen, but my best guess they would look like the Gatcha prize from the early picture. We also got new character icons to know in what behavior the puppet is at :D

They're pretty darn cute!

This poster is interesting

Mr. Game and watch?/j

Well, I found another episode poster, and it looks like Owen might be in it! I cut it like this because the full picture is not very clear and a figure didn't look very friendly. I think it's a rocket or something

Maybe it's a special or something.

Owen, get a damn haircut

All these were taking from the same shot, this is when we see the puppets doors. Also

SUPERSOAKER!

Jokes aside, I find this quite curious

So, it looks like we have to pass the levels in the first trial to get the true ending? If you noticed Daisy's door, you can see that there is two red dots. What I'm getting from this is that the player lost those two rounds with Daisy.

So does this mean that we actually don't get another chance?

Maybe a game over, who knows.

This is the portion of Riley's introduction of the trailer, but first a fun story.

When Mortimer introduces Riley, he says Riley can help you with your school project. I...I heard it as school budget and I was all like "Why would a kid need a school budget?" then it hit me. Let's get back to the analysis :D

I was actually going to make a joke about why Riley's eyes are not different, but it turns out it is a lightning error. She looks pretty adorable and I love her teeth.

Anyways, Riles likes puns

Two can pun the game, Riles!

C A N O

So, we get a glimpse of Riley and her wheel. I actually wonder what is she doing with a wheel. Is she going to give us some random science fact?

Also, it looks like he get a new puzzle using SCIENCE for Riley's levels. If you look closely, you noticed that the blue box is actually a mirror. This is also a science experiment. I think it was about the properties of light, you had to make a laser light be pointing at a certain place using mirrors. The fact that they actually added science experiments to this game, makes it so much better!

Here's an example of what I mean!

You are using the mirrors and place them in a certain angle to move the light. This is pretty cool!

Also, breadeeman

Also, the icons do change which is quite cool

Anyways, Riley's main puzzle looks amazing. Love that it's a calculator

I am curious how that works. Still, Riley may be the most evil out of the puppets because she makes you do homework /j

I just noticed that when it's a performance time thingy, they have curtains behind them

Also, I'm glad they fix Riley's lighting error in the beta. She looks cute and evil >:3

Also, I just found this

We either may create a puppet or it's for a puzzle. I look like the Royal Violet Scout's head. Maybe we build all the other Scouts? Very odd tho

So, at this point of the trailer. We get the there is something clearly wrong with the puppets. I love that we start with Riley, but knowing her, this may just be a normal Monday/j

During the chase scene with Riley, I catch this

Seems like Daisy and Mortimer and playing a game. Sadly the quality is not too good read it or see what is going on.

TW: Hanging bodies/implied k/idnapping, slightly scary imagery, and hints of blood

Ok, this is one of the biggiest things that the BETA confused me over.How long have this guys had the studio and why there are people hanging there? Was Owen unconcious? Or was Owen a fricking Coward?!

Also, I noticed this poster of Riley slightly during the part when her poster moves

She looks so evil! I love her hair as well; but this also gives me the vibes of "Lilo and Stitch" when Lilo is praying for an Angel and we get a cut of Stitch maniacally laughing. If y'all cannon unsee it

Then my deed was done :Burning Elmo: .

SAFE

"YoU CaNnOt ScApE sCiEnCe!"

This got a chuckle out of me

@dreamland-creations and @sarilolla did bring a hilarious fact that Riley is probably pissed with Owen because her existence defines science.

Hating Owen is one of Riley's favorite hobbies :D

Well, it looks like this is going to be parts episode because Tumblr is restricting my images

Here are the other's parts:

Part 2

Part 3 (Final part)

#tw: gore #tw: implied kidnapping #hello puppets #riley ruckus #mortimer handee #tw: scary imagery #tw: hanging bodies #Tumblr said this was too long #tumblr only accepts 30 pics #so enjoy a nice breakdown of the trailer #will link to the other parts #all this will be published at the same time so links can properly work #hello puppets midnightshow

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aro-comics · 3 years ago

Text

Fashion Analysis (Part 2: Outside of Amatonormativity Alone)

[Note: This post is a part of a series analyzing self-expression, fashion, aromanticism, and how they interact with other parts of identity. For full context please read the whole thing!]

Outside of Amatonormativity Alone: Sexism, Homophobia (and/or Transphobia), Racism, Ableism, and Other Factors That can Impact Self Expression

My comic was originally meant to be a light hearted joke. I’d always been told I’d want to dress up one day, be pretty and feminine once I fell in love with a boy (BLEGH). I was so certain that I would never do that, and now … here we are. I put lots of effort into my appearance, present feminine, all in the hopes I’ll impress a very special someone - a potential employer at a networking event. I think there’s a certain irony to all of this, and I do find it funny that I managed to both be wrong and completely subvert amatonormative stereotypes!

But having the chance to think about the whole situation, I realize now that my changes in presentation reflect far more. The pressure I felt to dress differently are still influenced by fundamental forms of discrimination in society, and I would be remiss to not address these inherent factors that were tied with my experiences alongside my aromanticism. So in this section, I will briefly cover some of these factors and summarize how they can influence people’s self expression as a whole, before discussing my own experiences and how these factors all intersect.

Sexism

The pressure on women In This Society to uphold arbitrary norms is ever present and often harmful, and while I wish I had the time to discuss the impacts of every influence the patriarchy has on personal expression, to even try to cover a fraction of it would be impractical at best for this essay. Instead, since the original comic focuses on professionalism and presentation, this is what I will talk about here.

Beauty standards are a specific manifestation of sexism that have a deep impact on how people perceive women. It’s a complicated subject that’s also tied with factors like capitalism, white supremacy, classism, and more, but to summarize the main sentiment: Women are expected to be beautiful. Or at least, conform to the expectations of “feminine” “beauty” as ascribed by the culture at large.

They also tend to be considered exclusively as this idea that "women need to be beautiful to secure their romantic prospects, which subsequently determines their worth as human beings. The problematic implications of this sentiment have been called out time and time again (and rightfully so), however there is an often overlooked second problematic element to beauty standards, as stated in the quote below:

“Beauty standards are the individual qualifications women are expected to meet in order to embody the “feminine beauty ideal” and thus, succeed personally and professionally”

- Jessica DeFino. (Source 1)

… To succeed personally, and professionally.

The “Ugly Duckling Transformation” by Mina Le (Source 2) is a great video essay that covers the topic of conforming to beauty standards through the common “glow up” trope present in many (female focused) films from the early 2000s.

“In most of these movies, the [main character] is a nice person, but is bullied or ignored because of her looks.”

Mina Le, (timestamp 4:02-4:06)

Generally, by whatever plot device necessary, the ugly duckling will adopt a new “improved” presentation that includes makeup, a new haircut, and a new wardrobe. While it is not inherently problematic for a woman to be shown changing to embrace more feminine traits, there are a few problems with how the outcomes of these transformations are always depicted and what they imply. For starters, this transformation is shown to be the key that grants the protagonist her wishes and gives her confidence and better treatment by her peers. What this is essentially saying is that women are also expected to follow beauty standards to be treated well in general, not only in a romantic context, and deviation from these norms leads to the consequences of being ostracized.

The other problematic element of how these transformations are portrayed are the fact that generally the ONLY kind of change that is depicted in popular media is one in the more feminine direction. Shanspeare, another video essayist on YouTube, investigates this phenomenon in more detail in “the tomboy figure, gender expression, and the media that portrays them” (Source 4). In this video, Shaniya explains that “tomboy” characters are only ever portrayed as children - which doesn’t make any sense at face value, considering that there ARE plenty of masculine adult women in real life. But through the course of the video (and I would highly recommend giving it a watch! It is very good), it becomes evident that the “maturity” aspect of coming of age movies inherently tie the idea of growth with “learning” to become more feminine. Because of the prevalence of these storylines (as few mainstream plots will celebrate a woman becoming more masculine and embracing gender nonconformity) it becomes clear that femininity is fundamentally associated with maturity. It also implies that masculinity in women is not only not preferred, it is unacceptable to be considered mature. Both of these sentiments are ones that should be questioned, too.

Overall, I think it is clear that these physical presentation expectations, even if not as restrictive as historical dress codes for women have been, are still inherently sexist (not to mention harmful by also influencing people to have poor self image and subsequent mental health disorders). Nobody should have to dress in conformity with gender norms to be considered “acceptable”, not only desirable, which leads us to the second part of this section.

Homophobia (and/or Transphobia)

So what happens when women don’t adhere to social expectations of femininity? (Or in general, someone chooses to present in a way that challenges the gender binary and their AGAB, but for the sake of simplicity I will discuss it from my particular lens as a cis woman who is pansexual).

There are a lot of nuances, of course, to whether it’s right that straying from femininity as a woman (or someone assumed to be a woman) will automatically get read a certain way by society. But like it or not, right or not, if you look butch many people WILL see you as either gay, (or trans-masculine, which either way is not a cishet woman). This is tied to the fact that masculinity is something historically associated with being WLW (something we will discuss later).

This association of breaking gender norms in methods of dress with being perceived as a member of the LGBTQ+ community has an influence on how people may choose to express themselves, because LGBTQ+ discrimination is very real, and it can be very dangerous in many parts of the world.

I think it’s very easy to write off claims in particular that women are pressured into dressing femininely when it is safer to do so in your area; but I really want to remind everyone that not everyone has the luxury of presenting in a gender non-conforming way. This pressure to conform does exist in many parts of the world, and can be lethal when challenged.

And even if you’re not in an extremely anti-LGBTQ+ environment/places that are considered “progressive” (like Canada), there are still numerous microagressions/non-lethal forms of discrimination that are just as widespread. According to Statistics Canada in 2019:

Close to half (47%) of students at Canadian postsecondary institutions witnessed or experienced discrimination on the basis of gender, gender identity or sexual orientation (including actual or perceived gender, gender identity or sexual orientation).

(Source 3)

Fundamentally this additional pressure that exists when one chooses to deviate from gender norms is one that can not be ignored in the conversation when it comes to how people may choose to express themselves visually, and I believe the impacts that this factor has and how it interacts with the other factors discussed should be considered.

Neurodivergence (In general):

In general, beauty standards/expectations for how a “mature” adult should dress can often include clothing that creates sensory issues for many autistic people. A thread on the National Austistic Forum (Source 6) contains a discussion where different austistic people describe their struggles with formal dress codes and the discomfort of being forced to wear stiff/restrictive clothing, especially when these dress codes have no practical purpose for the work they perform. If you’re interested in learning more on this subject, the Autisticats also has a thread on how school dress codes specifically can be harmful to Autistic people (Source 7).

In addition to potentially dressing differently (which as we have already covered can be a point of contention in one’s perception and reception by society as a whole), neurodivergence is another layer of identity that tends to be infantilized. Eden from the Autsticats has detailed their experiences with this in source 5.

Both of these factors can provide a degree of influence on how people choose to express themselves and/or how they may be perceived by society, and are important facets of a diverse and thoughtful exploration of the ways self-expression can be impacted by identity.

Also, while on this topic, I just want to take a chance to highlight the fact that we should question what is considered “appropriate”, especially “professionally appropriate”, because the “traditional” definitions of these have historically been used to discriminate against minorities. Much of what gets defined as “unprofessional” or otherwise “inappropriate” has racist implications - as an example, there is a history of black hairstyles being subjected to discriminatory regulation. Other sources I have provided at the end of this document (8 and 9) list examples of these instances.

Racism (being Chinese, specifically in this case):

For this section, I won’t be going into much depth at all, because I actually have a more detailed comic on this subject lined up.

So basically, if you were not aware, East Asian (EA) people tend to be infantilized and viewed as more childish (Source 10). In particular, unless an EA woman is super outgoing and promiscuous (the “Asian Bad Girl” stereotype, see Source 10), IN MY OPINION AND EXPERIENCE it’s easy to be type casted as the other end of the spectrum: the quiet, boring nerd. On top of this too, I’ve had experiences with talking to other EA/SEA people - where they themselves would repeatedly tell me that “Asians are just less mature”, something about it being a “cultural thing” (Yeah … I don’t know either. Maybe it’s internalized racism?).

Either way, being so easily perceived as immature (considering everything discussed so far) is also tied to conformity to beauty standards and other factors such as sexism and homophobia, which I believe makes for a complex intersection of identity.

[Note from Author: For Part 3, click here!]

#NotAComic #Fashion #FashionAnalysis

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amysteryspot · 4 years ago

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Midnight in Paris - Thomas Shelby x OFC

Requested: No Fandom: Peaky Blinders Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Eve (Original Female Character) Summary: “Never asked you to come find me.” “That’s why you chose fucking France, from all places? Thought I wouldn’t come for you here?” Warnings: swearing, drinking, smoking, mentions of sex (very brief and very light) Word Count: 1182 A/N: Happy New Year, folks! Here with the first fic of 2021. Let's hope that things get better soon. If you don't know Eve yet, go read "Just keep it a secret" to know your thief first hand. It's not required to read this one tho, I think. As always, feedback is more than appreciated. This writter lives for validation (kidding, but not too much).

English is not my first language and this wasn’t proofread by a beta. If you want to be tagged in my stories, just send me a message.

The door closed behind her and Eve sighed, glad for the warmth provided by the lit fireplace. She was so damn tired of walking in those shoes in the cold weather that she couldn’t lose any more time in taking them off. High heels could be classy, and she was very used to them, but the feeling of walking barefoot had no comparison.

She walked to the table, leaving her purse there and shedding her coat, placing it on a chair. It was just then that she noticed the silver tray with an ice bucket and champagne, accompanied by two glasses. Eve frowned, and then the smell of cigarettes filled her nostrils, making her blood run cold as she froze in place.

“You’re a person very hard to find.”

Her body relaxed a bit as a shiver ran down her spine—Eve could recognize that voice anywhere.

“Maybe I didn’t want to be found,” she answered, turning around to face the intruder.

The curtains were open and the sun was setting, the red hue highlighting his silhouette as he stood there, a few feet away from her, at the glass doors that separated the room from the balcony. His back to her, a hand on his pocket and the other holding his cigarette, the smoke spiraling from the lit stick between his fingers.

She noticed his coat on the armchair and cursed herself for being so distracted not to notice it sooner.

Tommy chuckled, stubbing the butt in the astray at the nightstand before turning around to face her, “That much I figured.”

The slight smirk on his face, the perfect tailored suit, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the damned haircut, and those bright blue eyes—she had missed everything about him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I think that’s pretty obvious, eh. You didn’t leave me many options in our last meeting. Just run away before we could talk.”

Their last meeting. Right. Eve chose to remember only the good parts. Everything after she left his bed was locked in a box she didn’t want to open.

“Never asked you to come find me.”

“That’s why you chose fucking France, from all places? Thought I wouldn’t come for you here?”

Eve shrugged, trying to hide the smile threatening to appear on her lips, “You weren’t supposed to.”

“Wasn’t supposed to fall for you either, but here I am,” he admitted, walking to her.

“Tommy,” she tried to warn, but he was having none of it.

He pulled her to him, a hand sprawled at the small of her back while the other caressed her chin gently, tilting her head back a little, so he could look her in the eyes.

“Too many enemies, I know.”

Silence fell between them for a moment. Eve didn’t want to break the little bit of peace, but she had to.

“For real, what are you doing here, Tommy?” she asked, hands playing with his tie.

“I have a proposition for you.”

She raised a brow, curiosity getting the best of her, “A proposition?”

“Yep. I’ve run for Parliament, and I’ve won.”

Eve’s mouth fell open at the information, and she blinked a couple of times before being able to talk again.

“For fucks sake, Tommy. Your ambition really doesn’t know no boundaries.”

“I’ve promised somebody that I would change the world.”

There was a glint in his eyes and a hint of hesitation in his voice. Eve guessed if the person he was talking about was his late wife or someone else.

“And to change the world you need to be a fucking politician?”

Tommy smirked, “It makes some things easier, yep.”

“And what do you being an MP have to do with this proposition of yours?”

“These people I'll deal with, politicians, lords, judges, they only understand one language: fear. They’re all terrified to lose their privileges, their money. To change things I’ll have to subdue some of them by threatening this delicate balance.”

Even frowned, “Blackmail.”

He smiled at her, “Yep, blackmail.”

“And I deduce that you want to employ me as your personal thief,” she joked, rolling her eyes.

“No, I want to employ you as my wife.”

“As your what?”

“My wife,” he repeated, calmly, a hint of a smile on his lips as he watched her struggle. “You have information that the high-class people that hired you don’t want to see the light of day. As the wife of a politician, a gangster, they won’t touch you.”

“Totally for my benefit, then,” Eve raised an eyebrow.

Tommy smiled, almost shyly, looking away from her for a second, and cleared his throat, “More for mine.”

Eve leaned in to kiss him, caressing his cheek when they parted, observing how he kept his eyes closed for a moment before looking at her.

“You don’t know these people. You have no idea what they’re capable of.”

“But you do,” he offered, cradling her face between his hands, “You do, so help me make some changes.”

She sighed, pondering for a minute what she could possibly say to him. It was true that in all of her years as a thief, Eve had gathered enough information about her clients and people related to them, to keep her out of harm’s way. It was an ace up her sleeve, an insurance because there was no way in hell that she would believe that people wouldn’t come after her after the job was done. No, she had to protect herself.

Eve worked in the shadows, taking advantage of the blind-spots of the high-class society, staying as hidden as possible to avoid getting caught. That’s why she had run away from him, months earlier when he had asked her to stay.

Tommy wasn’t right, not entirely. Marriage would certainly keep some of her old clients at bay. They wouldn’t want to cross the cutthroat gangster of Birmingham. But some of them wouldn’t be easily stopped by a bond between the both of them, even if they feared the gangster turned MP.

“Can I sleep on it?”

“As long as you let me join you,” he smirks, nose bumping into hers.

“You’re a hazard, Thomas Shelby. Alfie was right in warning me about you.”

This time, he leaned in to capture her lips in his. Tommy took his time, teasing her with slow touches, catching her lower lips in between his teeth, the taste of whiskey on his touch making her dizzy.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered against her lips, kissing her again and bringing her even closer.

“Your champagne will go warm,” she pointed out, distracted by the feeling of him licking the spot near her pulse point.

“We can ask for another bottle,” he replied, uninterested, and kissed her again.

They did ask for another bottle, hours later, when they were still tangled in the satin sheets. But the new bottle laid forgotten on the table because they fell into each other again. As the fireworks exploded in the sky outside, announcing the arrival of a new year, another kind of fireworks set off between them.

Taglist: @stressedandbandobessed7771 @internalmess3 @giowritess @theshelbyclan @peakyxtommy

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misterewrites · 4 years ago

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Cheers from Newton Haven ( Mirror’s Edge)

Hey everyone E here with a surprising amount original works. haha so you can blame my good friend @hains-mae for this because she enabled me. So long story short I love writing. I love creating ideas, story plots, characters all that jazz. Often there's a lot of leftovers that i put away in word document just so I have stuff to work with or ideas i can use later. Most of the time I might write something just to get it out of my system but it usually just ends up gathering dust in my computer.

I've been getting more into modern urban fantasy stories and watching the unsleeping city which is a modern dnd show (highly recommend it. first season's free on youtube over at the dimension 20 channel) and naturally I wanted to write some so here we go.

I don't know how often I'll be writing this because this accidentally became my side project whenever I need a break from the underground but who knows might turn into another big layered project.

so basic summary is there are a group of friends, associates, reluctant allies, organizations and frenemies who work together to keep the peace of the supernatural world in check and to ensure it remains secret to everyone else while living their lives as best as they can. Today's chapter includes Finnrick Drift a private investigator wizard and his best friend Casey Remington, cleric of the hearth

that's it for me. have a great week! stay safe, take care of each other. wear your mask, wash your hands, get the vaccine if you can and I'll see you soon!

and if you wanna an easier place to read and leave me some good old comments or reviews you find the chapter right here https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/75486005

Not gonna lie i promised I’d try to promote myself more and it’s weird. it feels so weird. haha

It was a busy Friday afternoon in Midtown. People in designer named suits and dresses bustled across the sidewalks in all directions, too caught up in last minute phone calls or sudden late night work orders to notice anything else. The buildings that scraped the bottom of the sky were clean with a fresh coat of paint and maintenance, a testimony to the wealth and power that was found here.

So naturally Casey felt as out of place as fish out of water in his purple baseball jersey and black shorts just standing outside some fancy restaurants doors with his friend.

“Finny” Casey started awkwardly, his sea green eyes darting back and forth awkwardly “Any reason we’re out here being creepy? I got a Neighborhood Watch meeting at like 6.”

Finnrick or Finny as Casey referred to him, was no better dress than he was for the environment. A long black trench coat that was more stitching than fabric, a matching frayed faded fedora sitting comfortably on his head. He wore a nice collared dark red shirt tucked in a black vest but even that felt cheap and tacky compared to the thousands of dollars worth of clothing that passed them on the street every second. At least his black dress pants were dark enough to hide the patch up jobs and naturally the only kept squeaky clean were his loafers.

Finnrick sucked on the thin white stick for a moment before speaking up “I’m debating if it’s worth the trouble. I didn’t realize you had a meeting tonight.”

“Well we always meet up on the fifth. You know talking about treaties, clean up jobs, if any undead hordes have been spotted. My birthday cake.”

“Ah shit” Finnrick rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, his dark brown eyes apologetic “It’s your birthday? Did you want to go? I think I can handle it alone.”

Casey lifted the hat off Finnrick’s head and playfully ruffled his already messy black hair “You getting old Finny. My birthday is the tenth.”

Finnrick waved off his assault “I’m six months younger than you.”

“But” Casey gestured to the smattering of sliver streaks in Finn’s hair “You look older.”

“At least I don’t look like I’m 15. Dude you need a haircut. Everyone here thinks you’re a hippie.”

“A good looking hippie.” Casey gave a dramatic shake, his wavy dark brown hair flowing in the breeze.

The pair burst out laughing, doubling over trying to catch their breath as the business suits eyed them distastefully.

“Alright, let’s get this over with.” Finnrick made his way over, smiles and charm as they approached the doorman.

“Your cigarette sir.” The doorman spoke dully.

Finnrick pulled out the now finished lollipop “Don’t smoke but done anyway.”

The doorman gestured to the nearby trashcan but Finnrick opt to tuck it away in coat pocket. Disgusted but professional, the doorman gave strained smile as he allowed them entry into the building.

Casey nudged Finnrick curiously “Wizards? Warlocks? God not druids.”

“Probably. This is guy doesn’t have an ounce of magic in him but I wouldn’t doubt he’s got some casters on the payroll. Try not to leave anything behind.”

“I’m a freaking walking carpet here!”

“That” Finnrick grinned playfully “Is why you need haircut.”

Casey gave a fake snarl “Shut up and call the elevator.”

Finnrick whistled, amused by the near silence of the opening doors “Such fance. Barely a sound.”

“So what’s the plan?”

Finnrick scratched the little bush of hair he had on his chin thoughtfully “Ask some questions. Probably get no answers. Be threatened more than likely.

Casey cracked the tension in his neck “Think it’s gonna get ugly?”

“Depends on how many witnesses.”

The two made their way to the seventh floor, the elevator smoothly slowing to a stop before the doors opened with a ding. Two burly men in suits were waiting, flanked on either side as they gestured to an empty restaurant dining room.

“The boss will like to speak to you.”

Finnrick and Casey shared a look.

“Sure!” Finnrick beamed cheerfully, patting both the brutes arms as he passed “I was hoping to talk to him anyway.”

The men growled in annoyance but did nothing as Casey and Finnrick made their way to the center talk, unsurprised to find two glasses of wine waiting for them.

“After you” Finnrick joked, pulling out Casey’s chair for him.

Casey gave a mocking smile “Such a gentleman.”

“Only one I bet” Finnrick whispered before taking his seat.

Casey could hear the low hissing of whatever spells were on their chairs being dispelled.

Yep there was going to be trouble.

Casey eyed the room carefully in search for options: The room itself was pretty dark, dark reddish walls with dim lights to set the mood. Most of the tables had been left alone for whatever event this room was scheduled for later with the chairs stacked in the corner. A few feet to their left was the bar, unmanned but well stocked and a window to the outside nearby.

“Well, well, well!” A voice called out from some shadowy part of the room “Who do I have the pleasure of meeting this fine Friday afternoon?”

Finnrick rose to his feet, politely motioning to himself and Casey “My name is Fredrick and this is my friend Charles.”

The man’s hazel eyes shone with suspicion “No last names?”

“Of course” Finnrick grin “But there’s no need for friends, right? We are friends Robert?”

Robert paused, a barely contained rage shimmering just under the surface. His slicked back graying hair and tailored perfect dark blue suit were signs of a precise, irrational control. This was a man that was never told what to do and considered himself above everyone and anyone.

“Of course.” He answered a moment too late. He was not happy. “Of course. What are polite manners among friends?”

“Thanks Bobby!” Finnrick gave a friendly wink before retaking his seat.

Robert fumed but followed Finnrick’s example as a trio of secret service wannabes took their spots across the room: Inhumanly beautiful men with dark suits and shades. Something was off about them but Casey couldn’t put his finger on it.

“What do I owe the pleasure Freddy?” Robert sneered, hoping to see how Finnrick a taste of his own medicine.

“Well Bobby.” Finnrick went on, purposely ignoring the older man’s jab “As you know you have been stealing countless money from your employees.”

Robert chuckled darkly “I am afraid wherever you have been getting this claim is very misinformed. I am a simple, honest businessman.”

Finnrick nodded in agreement “Of course. Of course. That’s how you can say that with a straight face. Honest businessman of mundane practices.”

Casey felt his hair on his arm stand on end as the atmosphere in the room tensed. The brutes growled unhappily, the trio of bodyguards shifted uneasily and Robert’s eyes shone with understanding.

“I see.” He spoke simply “You’re from the other side.”

“Naturally.” Finnrick confirmed “No need to peer around the bush, is there?”

“No need at all. It is refreshing for such transparency. You don’t get that often in the world of business.”

“I doubt you give much either Mister Walker.”

“Enough games. What are you doing here? Some kind of union rep for magical freaks? Blackmailing me?”

Finnrick sat up with pride “Private investigator. Building a case against you actually.”

Robert carefully studied both men before him, trying to piece together their plan, their angle.

“Either.” He spoke after a few moments “You have all you need or more than likely you have nothing and you are simply here to smoke me out, hoping I will give you something to use against me.”

Casey felt Finnrick’s hand move underneath the table and a rush of chilly air brushed his leg.

Casey gave a quick nod to let Finn know he understood.

Finnrick cleared his throat “You’re aware of the works of Tolkien Mister Walker?”

Robert was caught off guard “What?”

“Elves.” Finnrick answered with a calming voice “Elves are the most famous of his characters that aren’t humans of course but there’s more: Elves, dwarves...”

“Hob…” Robert began but Finnrick cut him off.

“That’s a legal matter but yes. Wonderfully fantastic creatures.”

Robert narrowed his eyes “And?”

Finnrick leaned in close, smile mocking and cold “I hate when people take advantage of them.”

Robert was a cold, calculating heartless man who was used to being the smartest one in the room. The one who rigged the playing field in his favor, held every ace in his hand and led his prey exactly where he wanted them to be. He played with people before he destroyed their hope. He was the apex predator in the world of business.

It was satisfying to see that swagger and pride drain out of his face.

The businessman went for the button hidden underneath his side of the table, no doubt the switch to trigger the holding spells on Casey and Finnrick’s chairs. Of course Finnrick had dispelled them first chance he got and since the only other caster in the room was Casey, no one else noticed.

Robert’s face was the second most beautiful thing Casey had ever seen (first being Jaime but there was no need to tell her that). The panic, the fear, the utter confusion. Just poetic justice at its finest.

Finnrick shot to his feet with a surprising speed given his unremarkable build. He muttered the words of power, a magical incantation as his hand made the proper gestures to complete the spell.

The shades squad went for their weapons but Finnrick had gotten the drop on all of them. He pulled his hand back, a burning flame sitting peacefully in his palm. He pitched the flame forward, lobbing directly at the closet goon. The inhumanly beautiful man rose his arms to defend himself in time. The flame, mostly pressurized air, splashed over him harmlessly as the force of the attack shoved him back into the wall.

Casey followed Finn’s example. He stood as well (not as quick as his friend), a soft gentle light glowing from his hands. He glanced at the two remaining shades and aimed directly for them. A bolt of pure light burst forth from his palms. One goon got a chest full of holy energy and skidded backwards but the other was ready. He leapt to the side and narrowly avoided the attack as he slid out of sight.

The brutes charged towards the pair, murder in their eyes. Finnrick barely spared them a look as he snapped his finger. The two flames sigils he had imprinted om them when he grabbed their arms ignited, twin fires eating at their sleeves and sending them into a panic.

“What’s the plan?” Casey shouted, sending more holy bolts towards the shades.

“Up and over the counter.” Finnrick answered, tossing another fireball.

Casey quickly made his way closer, prepping to leap over the bar when Finnrick crashed into him, a strange whistling sound piercing his ears one moment then silent the next.

“Over buddy over!” Finnrick repeated, grabbing Casey by the collar and heaving him ontop of the counter. Casey flailed for a moment before glancing backwards. Finnrick was right behind him, hand outstretched as a blue translucent field of protective magic hung before the two while the shades opened fire with crossbows, the jet black bolts barely visible in the dimness of the room. They bounced harmlessly off the barrier but Casey could see the cracks starting to form.

Casey hopped over the bar gracelessly, struggling for a moment before clearing the jump. Finnrick tucked himself backwards, allowing himself to roll over the counter top and land on the other side with a thud.

“Remember when elves were honorable?” Casey huffed, quickly scanning the various bottles.

Finnrick scoffed “They were never honorable. They just acted better than everyone.”

“Remember when we were kids?”

“Vaguely. Pass the absinthe. I want to really make this hurt.”

“Blue bottle? These are all in German and Russian.”

“Green liquid. Come on Case I taught you better.”

“Right. I miss when the cartoons used to tell us the mafia was honorable.”

“Criminals these days.” Finnrick shook his head disappointingly “Just don’t make them like they used to. It’s all corporate shit.”

Casey began picking other bottles at random, wrapping them tightly with the tape he brought “It’s disillusioning I tell you. How right is he?”

Finnrick smashed a pane of glass. He took the jagged edge and slowly inched it over the counter, catching sight of the trio of shades for a moment before a crossbow bolt shattered the glass.

He flexed his hand, trying to relax his muscles. They were elves alright. They might be dressed in suits and ears hidden by some sort of glamour illusion magic but old habits died hard. Elves habits never died given their long lives. The trio had fallen into a close knit triangle formation: one fires, one reloads with the last taking aim.

“He had this whole operation locked tight. No one was talking. Either bribed them or made an example of them. Broken bones or horns. I had enough evidence to implicate him but bringing him to trial in the mundy court was going to be pointless.”

Casey moved the bottles back and forth to ensure they wouldn’t come loose midair “So what are we doing here?”

“Given his limited knowledge and the numerous magical violations I counted in this building alone, I figured he’s not registered with the Council.”

Casey’s eyes lit up in understanding “Gotcha. How long we got?”

Finnrick shook his hand back and forth “I’d say 10 minutes knowing the Council. Magic in an unregistered area requires a subtler approach for them. “

Casey snorted “Fake beards and stilts for the gnomes you mean? Robert will be gone by then.”

Finnrick’s face scrunched in concentration “He’s still here. Cowering under the table. He’s not used to dangerous wizards up in his face. Let’s scare him put huh?”

Casey spared his friend a glance “Big shot?”

Finnrick nodded in agreement “Aim high Case.”

And with a synchronicity only achieved through years of friendship, the two stood up at once. Casey threw the makeshift bomb high into the air as Finnrick formed the magical shield once more. Arrow after arrow bounced harmlessly off its surface as the bottles sailed through the air. Finnrick focused directly in the center of the payload. The shield dropped but the elves had broken formation and were all reloading at once. Finnrick pinched his thumb and finger together, murmuring under his breath. A small spark of flame fluttered wildly on his finger. He flicked it as quickly as he could towards the bottles. The spark spun and twisted as it floated towards the payload. The spark expanded, growing in size, and intensity, rapidly without warning. The air warmed as the spark exploded, smashing the bottles and engulfing the alcohol within. Flaming liquid, glass and hot air shot out in every direction. The elves were blasted off their feet and crashed against the far wall with sickening series of crunches. The floor above now had a massive hole in it and the brutes sprawled across the floor. Robert himself was thrown onto the ground, ash and soot covering his face as he struggled to breath.

He tried to call for someone but his ears were ringing and everyone was down for the count. He tried to search for the trouble makers but the smoke that filled the room was too thick.

The elevator dinged open once more and three pale suits came scuttling out. They clung to the walls on all fours, unnatural and repulsive. Their blood red eyes shone in the dimly light room, their fangs barred and ready for blood.

“Vampires!” Casey rubbed his eyes tiredly “This fucker has vampires. Loose by the way.”

“Right?” Finnrick shook his head “There are just so many regulations being violated right now.”

The vampires did not care. They dropped to the floor, gliding effortlessly midst the smoke and flame.

Casey took a step closer to the encroaching undead. He outstretched one hand towards them while the other clasped his necklace tightly. The vampires tilted their head quizzically at the symbol that adored the chain: It was a house of all things, a simple shape of rectangles and triangles no different than what a child would draw.

The vampires chuckled, their eyes bright with hunger.

Of course in their bloodlust they had forgotten something important: It was not the symbol but the faith behind it that was their bane.

Casey held the symbol as high as he could. The vampire shrunk away from him as his eyes blazed with holy energy, the symbol of home glowing with a harsh light. The vampires barred their fangs as a symphony of noises overwhelmed their senses: the soft hum of an air conditioner, footsteps thundering about, the chill of winter, the heat of summer, the overlapping sounds of cars and buses as the roar of crowds boomed in their ears. The city, the hearth of so many people, filled this room for a moment.

The vampires drew back, white smoking curling off their charring flaky skins. They ducked back into the elevator, hiding in whatever corner they could manage until the doors shut with a satisfying ding.

“Come on” Finnrick gestured to the window “I don’t want to be written up for unauthorized magic in an unregistered area.”

Casey and Finnrick scampered to the window. Casey’s face turned a sickly green when he realized how high up they were.

“Ugh I don’t feel good.” his stomach churned queasily.

Finnrick broke the window with his elbow, the fresh smoggy air of the city bringing some color back into Casey’s cheeks “I know buddy but it’s only eight floors up.”

“I hate you so much right now.”

“Okay cool jump now!”

Robert regained enough sense to see the troublemakers leap out the window without hesitation. He struggled to his feet when flickers of something began to form. Before he knew what was going on, the previously empty room was now filled with various creatures: Elves, dwarves, a gnome on silts had appeared out of thin air. They weren’t dress in any ancient medieval garb but rather dark blue jackets, jeans and combat boots with the initials M.R.R.D stitched on their clothing. They were no different than any one on the street aside their more unique physical features.

“M.R.R.D!” the gnome cried out, brandishing a strange clockwork pistol “Everyone freeze! We sensed a magical disturbance and a violation of the Arcane Veil!”

Robert rose to his full height “I am Robert Walker and I…”

The gnome opened fire and Robert could feel exhaustion overtake him. Sleepiness began to ebb at his resolve and before he could mutter another word, he closed his eyes. A dreamless sleep until he woke up in a council prison cell a few hours later.

-----

Casey didn’t scream as he fell through the air. He was too busy trying to keep his lunch in his stomach.

Finnrick waited a moment to make sure everything was in place and with a wave of his hand, the two began to fall much slower. They landed on their feet as if they had taken a step off the sidewalk instead of several stories up.

Casey began hyperventilating, trying his best to get his stomach settled. Finnrick began fanning his face when a man walked up to him.

Casey and Finnrick said nothing, waiting for the Arcana Veil to fill in any blanks they were missing. They could’ve told this man anything but they found from experience that it was just easier to roll with whatever the magical blanket that separated the mundane world from the magical decided.

The man peered at them, his gaze unsure and confused.

“Hey, you guys okay?” he asked helpfully.

Casey and Finnrick remained silent.

His eyes glazed over for a moment, a strange shimmering sheen within his pupils telling the duo that the veil was in effect.

“You guys are oddly dressed for window washers.” the man chuckled.

Finnrick glanced back to find a ghostly image of an electrically operated scaffold behind them, water buckets and squeegees included.

They shared a look.

“Would you believe it’s national window washer day?” Casey filled in.

Finnrick added “Yeah, they let us wear whatever want today. It’s only one day out of the year anyway and most of the time we work by ourselves so no harm done.”

the man nodded like that was the most reasonable thing he had ever heard “Right sorry. I’ll just be on my way.”

Finnick and Casey ducked out of the alleyway behind him, heads low and nonchalant as the human M.R.R.D members began to shut down the restaurant from the outside.

“Well that sucked.”

“Just a little. Here let’s go some dinner on me.”

“Damn straight on you Finny. Brutes, elves, vampires?”

“Oh my.”

“Now I’m ordering extra bread for that.”

#Original Work #original story #my work #Mirrors edge story

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letterboxd · 4 years ago

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In Focus: The Truman Show.

Inspired by Letterboxd data that revealed it to be a lockdown favorite, editor-at-large Dominic Corry looks at the ever-evolving importance of contemporary masterpiece The Truman Show.

It has long been apparent that The Truman Show is an unnervingly prescient film. The story of a man who becomes aware that his superficially idyllic life is, in fact, a live-streamed television show has gone from being high-concept to every-day.

Thanks to the three Ps—the prevalence of mass urban surveillance, the proliferation of reality television and the pervasiveness of video in social media—the notion of cameras filming our every move is no longer a paranoid fantasy, but real life. The twist being that, for the most part, we all willingly signed up for it, and did all the filming ourselves. As Yi Jian saliently observes in his review: “Not to get all ‘we live in a society’ on Letterboxd but I know a person or two in real life that would actually give anything to trade lives with Truman, it do be like that sometimes”. It indeed do, Yi Jian.

So it’s something of a cliché at this stage to point out how we are all living in some version of the The Truman Show, and you don’t have to be a member of the royal family to feel that way. Yet, somehow, the film has become even more pertinent over the last eighteen months. And it’s a pertinence reflected in the massive uptick in viewership for the film as seen in Letterboxd activity.

During the month of February 2020, the last moment of the Before Times, The Truman Show had a modest 1,235 diary entries. That number tripled in April of that year, by which time the seriousness of the pandemic had become clear. And by July, deep in the worst of the pandemic, Truman fervor peaked, with a further 178 percent leap over April’s numbers, firmly placing it in the top 200 films watched by our members in a year of lockdown. (By the way, ‘diary entries’ mean activity where the member has added a watched date; many thousands more also marked Truman as ‘watched’ in those dark months, but didn’t specify a date.)

It’s not difficult to imagine why we might become more interested in revisiting this eminently re-visitable film. During lockdown, social media—including Letterboxd—took on a greater presence in terms of how we communicated with each other. We got used to seeing footage of faces more than actual faces. We were all the stars of our own ‘Truman Show’, and simultaneously the audience of everyone else’s ‘Truman Show’.

Christian Torres boiled it down effectively when he wrote: “Now every movie I see seems to be related to my life in quarantine. I am Truman and I want to escape.” And Sonya Sandra eloquently captured the film’s increased contemporary significance in her review: “This is a real-life daylight horror film. The best kind. Even more relevant in 2021 than ever. We are all Truman, we all want to find what is real in our fake lives filled with media, capitalism and ideology. And it’s our job to fight the storm and get to the truth of it all. Nothing is real, everything is for profit, and everyone is selfish. Go out and find what is real, because it’s definitely not here.”

With its deft, dazzling blending of the profound and the humorous, the optimistic and the cynical, it’s difficult to think of anything released since The Truman Show that comes as close as it does to being a modern-day Frank Capra movie. It’s hopeful, but has its eyes wide open. There’s a darkness in the themes of the film that is never replicated in the colors on display.

While everyone involved delivers career-best work, we must principally credit the triumvirate of talent at the center of the film: director Peter Weir, screenwriter Andrew Niccol and star Jim Carrey.

Star Jim Carrey and director Peter Weir on the set of ‘The Truman Show’ (1998).

Weir is a director who inspires much online love whenever his name is mentioned, but he isn’t really mentioned all that often. Or at least as often as he should be. The Australian filmmaker has delivered masterpieces across multiple genres, and it’s extremely sad that he hasn’t directed a movie since 2010’s not-quite-true World War II drama The Way Back, arguably one of his lesser works. That’s also, insanely, one of only two movies he’s made since Truman, the other being Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World, the wide and rabid affection for which regularly kicks up on Twitter (not to mention demand for a sequel).

Weir doesn’t do many interviews, and while this 2018 Vanity Fair article marking Truman’s twentieth anniversary has many quotes about the film’s modern relevance, Weir doesn’t offer any commentary to that effect, presumably preferring to let the work speak for itself—though in this 1998 interview he did talk about the relationship between the media, the general public and the people we become fascinated with, as a “complex situation”.

The Vanity Fair article does, however, reveal a fascinating ‘what if’ scenario relating to Christof, the god-like director of the in-movie TV show played by Ed Harris, who offers up a pile of pretentious auteur clichés: mononymous, beret, etc. (beyond the whole god thing, that is). When Dennis Hopper, originally cast in the role, wasn’t working out, Weir considered playing the role himself, which would’ve added yet another meta layer. It brings to mind how George Miller styled Immortan Joe (played by Hugh Keays-Byrne) after himself in Mad Max: Fury Road, or how Christopher Nolan’s haircut shows up in most of his films.

Ed Harris as Christof in ‘The Truman Show’ (1998).

And, at one point, it could have gone mega-meta. Weir, in the 1998 interview, talked about a “crazy idea” he had, a technical impossibility back then but easily achievable with live-streaming now. “I would have loved to have had a video camera installed in every theater the film was to be seen [in]. At one point, the projectionist would … cut to the viewers in the cinema and then back to the movie. But I thought it was best to leave that idea untested.” Imagine.

Weir also played a role in helping to shape the originally much more overtly dark screenplay into the cheerier (on the surface at least) shooting script, which is solely credited to fellow antipodean, New Zealand-born Niccol, also a producer on the film. Both men have done the majority of their work in America, but it’s tempting to credit the film’s tone-perfect sense of heightened Americana to the degree of separation offered by their foreign provenance. In any case, it’s clear that open-air mall designers were paying attention.

Niccol’s original screenplay made his name in Hollywood, and revealed a storyteller excited by big ideas. He moved into directing with the smaller-scale Gattaca, released a year prior to Truman (itself delayed to meet Carrey’s availability). Niccol’s subsequent filmography includes several legit bangers (Lord of War hive step up!), and his endearing dedication to lofty allegories in a genre setting makes him an increasingly rare breed in Hollywood.

Like Weir, he is not the greatest fan of giving interviews, but the Vanity Fair piece quotes him making an interesting point: “When you know there is a camera, there is no reality,” thereby making Truman “the only genuine reality star.”

It’s a sentiment echoed by MusicMoviesMe, who writes that “‘Truman Show’ beats all other reality shows out there like Bachelors, Survivors and Kardashians. Come on, when you know there’s a camera at your tail, there’s no reality. So yes, Truman beats all reality shows out there bar none!”

The role was perfectly suited to Jim Carrey’s affected mannerisms, and his status as one of the world’s biggest stars meant he could relate to Truman more than most people. Then, at least. Nowadays, of course, we are all Truman.

“It is always incredible to see how far The Truman Show was ahead of [its] time,” observes The Closer79. “In a world where celebs are monitored 24/7 and we are showered with unnecessary private information on the web, where talent-free wannabes become famous and where you sometimes [wonder] what kind of surreal show society you are in—Truman and his fake show life cleverly have anticipated all of this. Only Truman knew nothing of his luck and he was granted an escape from his glass prison. We don’t really have this possibility… Aren’t we all Truman? Sometimes even voluntarily…”

Austin Burke concurs: “I have always known that I really enjoyed this film, but I had no clue that it would hold up so well years later… Could this be because the strange world that he finds himself in is far more similar to our world today? Possibly, but the idea and themes are so much more relevant now compared to when this originally released.” And while DallasFrance is conscious of piling on about the film’s prescience, his review highlights how there really is no limit to the film’s meta qualities:

“Instead of writing a review about how this film predicted social media, or how we’re all Truman, or yadda yadda yadda, I’ll instead fixate on the miraculous fact that two absolute legends were cast as primary viewers of the Truman Show:

1. The old lady from The Running Man who starts betting on Ben Richards (Arnold Schwarzenegger). ‘He’s one bad motherf*cker!’

2. The villain from The Karate Kid Part II:

‘Live or die, man?!’ ‘Die!’ ‘Wrong!’ *hooooonnnkkk*

I’ve never seen either of these actors in any other roles. With the second one, I felt like I was watching a character from my childhood watch a character from his childhood come to realizations about the characters in his childhood. So actually… the movie’s really about me.”

Never change, LB membership.

We are all generally pretty aware of how ahead of its time The Truman Show was, but that doesn’t lessen its impact. Maddie’s review shows that there’s always some new angle to consider: “Imagine being an extra in this movie… You would be an extra, playing an actor, playing an extra. Think about that long enough and tell me that doesn’t make you want to walk into the ocean.”

Kev goes even further: “Watching other people watch somebody else while also watching that person while also watching the person watching over that person is a great reminder that watching is weird, and to be watched is to not own yourself. Don’t watch, don’t try to be watched. Just live.”

Or perhaps Will encapsulates the film’s ability to present an ever-evolving message best, writing that, “clearly, this is video proof that we live in a simulation.” Beyond mere prescience, The Truman Show is a telling mirror to whatever era it is viewed in. Its message will continue to evolve.

Now that we’re finally (touch wood) emerging from the pandemic, it will be fascinating to see what The Truman Show has to say about its audience and the world they live in, in years to come. Rest assured, it will be well-documented by you, the Letterboxd audience.

Also: can Peter Weir please make another movie? Like, seriously.