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retrievablememories · 4 years ago

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love thy neighbor | kun (m)

title: love thy neighbor pairing: kun x black reader genre: fluff, smut, neighbors to lovers request: “Hello again Rain! I hope you're doing well and I'm happy to see you're open for requests again. Your writing in general is a treat to look forward to. An idea for a fic I'd like to suggest is wayv kun/black oc where they're neighbors that secretly pine for another and do feel free get very nsfw lmao. TY!” word count: 5.7k warnings: alcohol use, protected sex, dirty talk, dry humping, riding a/n: i used a prompt from this list of ideas to help me create this fic.

i’m sorry, this fic could’ve theoretically been finished long ago but took me 3893 years because kun intimidates me (and i don’t know why) and that makes it hard to write for him l m f a o chile anyway...

Your neighbor might actually kill you one day—but only in the figurative sense.

Kun is too beautiful and kind for your sanity; he’s like one of those men out of a romantic novel who simply should not exist. In other words, the ideal guy. One who helps all the little old ladies in the building take their groceries up to their apartments, one who feeds all the stray cats that hang around the complex, one who helps new tenants move their things in without even being asked.

Your roommate Charlotte would probably be totally smitten over him just like you if she did not already have her own happy relationship with her girlfriend. But since she does, she has decided to spend her time instead teasing you about your crush on him and trying to persuade you into getting tangled up in a matchmaking mess.

“I’m sure he already has a girlfriend, I don’t know, trying to shoot my shot seems ridiculous,” you say to her, worrying the edge of your blanket in your hands. You toss and turn on the couch, flipping onto your stomach and sighing before shuffling onto your back again. “People like that can never stay single for long. Right? They get snapped up quick.”

“You’d know if you simply asked,” Charlotte points out. “Staring holes into his head won’t help you find out more about him.”

“I guess you’re right,” you say, your fingers stumbling over the blanket as it momentarily slips from your hands. Still, the idea of asking him if he’s dating anyone, whether discreetly or more openly, makes you nervous. You’ve talked to Kun several times before, even hung out with him at those friendly get-togethers your apartment building always holds to get the residents mingling, but you’re still anxious around him. It makes you feel silly, like you’re back in high school; but you aren’t quite sure what to do with those emotions or how to form them into something coherent. “Easy to say all that when you already have the person you want, though.”

“Oh, girl. Love is not easy, but that’s why you have to fucking work for it. AKA, go for what—or who—the hell you want and stop pining over him like some lost Juliet on our couch. It’s better than watching you flop around like a dying fish.”

You stand up from the couch abruptly, leaving your blanket to the side and glaring at her. “You don’t get it, ugh.”

“I get it! But you refuse to let me help—”

“Yes, because if I did, you’d say something completely ridiculous and tell him I’m madly in love with him or something.” You head to the bathroom to check yourself in the mirror.

Charlotte throws her hands up in surrender. “Hey, maybe. But that wouldn’t be a lie.”

“Really? I don’t think—”

“I think so. The way you talk about this guy, it’s definitely sounding a little like love to me.”

Once you’re satisfied, you come back in the main room and grab your keys, wanting to end this conversation before Charlotte sets a world record for how many times she can make you feel embarrassed. “Whatever you say. I’m gonna go to the corner store, so...speak now if you need something or forever hold your peace.”

“You can’t run from it,” Charlotte sing-songs, going back to reading her magazine. “And no, I don’t need anything.”

Once you get out your front door, it’s just your luck when you see Kun’s door is also open. You are not dressed for running into him, of all people; your “corner store” clothes being just a T-shirt, leggings, and slides. You freeze in place and momentarily think about unlocking your door and bolting back inside, which you realize is utterly ridiculous. By then, it’s too late; he’s already coming out his door and closing it behind him.

He perks up when he sees you outside, smiling at you with those deep dimples that make your insides melt. “Hey Y/N, good to see you.”

“Kun! Uh—great to see you too.”

“Are you going out somewhere?” he asks. Inwardly, he feels a bit silly for asking because you clearly are, keys in hand and everything.

“Yeah, just to the store to get a few things.” You wave your hand, and you almost have the urge to lean on your doorframe to appear more calm and collected than you are. Which could potentially end up looking sillier than you intended. “How about you?”

“Going to see a friend,” he answers, and he brushes his hand through his hair in a way that’s completely casual but somehow modelesque at the same time. This is unbelievable, you think to yourself. “We haven’t met up in a while, so…”

“Oh yeah, it’s always nice to go out with old friends,” you say, smiling at the thought of it. Kun nods his agreement, and then has an abrupt, wild idea to ask if you’d like to go out somewhere sometime. Too busy warring with himself over whether he should take the dive, he doesn’t notice you heading towards the stairs already. “I hope you two have a good time!”

“Oh—thanks. Hope you enjoy your trip.” He chuckles, following you down the steps to get to his car. Well, that moment has passed. Sure, he could probably still ask you now if he was bold enough about it, but it feels too awkward to randomly ask someone out in the middle of a stairwell.

You wave bye to him once you both get in the parking lot. He watches you walk to your car with a wistful smile on his face. He wants to say more to you, but the timing isn’t right and it’s best not to hold you up right now. Plus, Hendery’s probably already waiting for him.

It would’ve provided you with a lot of relief if you knew Kun was facing a similar dilemma to you. He’d never had much problem talking to women he liked in the past, but something about you made him feel clumsy and hesitant. But just like with your inability to move forward, there’s no way for you to know his feelings without him saying anything about it—which he has been hesitating over for the longest.

Maybe he was also still cowering from the embarrassment of the time he’d tried to show you a magic trick that didn’t quite work out, but it was a convenient excuse. At least for him, anyway.

One day he’d get the courage to tell you how he felt, but he didn’t think today was that day.

–

Some strong shots and a few hours at the club was exactly what you needed to unravel your nerves after a long week. You and a few others from your work had decided to go out that Saturday night as a group effort to unwind from dealing with your overbearing boss. “Just a couple shots” eventually turned into more than that, though, but you weren’t complaining. As long as it gave you the opportunity to discard all your issues for a while, you didn’t mind losing yourself a little.

However, your night of fun quickly dissolves into frustration when you realize you’ve lost your keys and have no way to get back into your apartment. You’re not even sure where they might’ve disappeared—in the club, or in the rideshare back to your apartment?

Charlotte is out of the city for the week visiting her long-distance girlfriend, so there’s no way you’re getting back in your apartment tonight. The main office won’t be open at this hour, either; it’s the weekend, and nobody will be there regardless until Monday. And you’re definitely not drunk enough or desperate enough to try to bust the door down.

Though it pains you to do so, you knock on Kun’s door, your head throbbing and dizzy. You feel bad about this. He won’t even be awake at this hour and might not answer, but you don’t know what other options you have. You aren’t familiar enough with your other neighbors to ask this of them. Especially not the old lady living on the other side of you who has a perpetually judgmental aura towards everyone in the apartment building. The only person she seems marginally approving of is none other than the man himself—Qian Kun.

It takes a good minute or two, but you hear the latch unlock, and Kun is suddenly standing in front of you, a look of concern on his sleepy face. He is adorable like this, in his pajamas and his hair mussed and his eyes foggy with sleep. He’s so cute it makes you want to cry—and so you do.

But your tears are mostly because you’re very tipsy and tired and currently locked out of your very comfortable apartment.

This awakens Kun immediately. “Y/N? What’s wrong?” He gently pulls you into his apartment, his tone quiet but panicked as you put your face in your hands and cry. You just shake your head for a few moments, crying too much to say anything to him. When you don’t reply, he doesn't try to press you for answers; he just puts his arms around you, a bit carefully as if you’re made of some easily breakable material, and lets you wet his T-shirt with your tears.

Finally, when you’ve collected yourself some, you abruptly feel foolish for crying over something like this. He probably thinks someone’s died, and you’ve gotten him all worked up for practically nothing. “I-I’m locked out,” you sigh heavily, and he has enough politeness not to outwardly react to your alcohol breath with your close proximity. “And my roommate is gone…forever.”

His eyebrows lift. “Forever?”

“The whole week, Kun...but it feels like...f-forever.”

“Ah...I see. Is that why you were crying?”

You put your head back in your hands. “Just kill me.”

“Don’t feel bad about it,” Kun says, and there is a tiny lift to his mouth like he wants to smile at your dramatics. “It’s fine. You can stay here tonight.”

“Kun, thank you.” You’re still loosely embracing each other, and you squeeze your arms more tightly around him. Maybe it’s just a reason to rest your head on his chest again and hear his heart beating strong against your cheek, but you wouldn’t admit that. Wait, why is his heart beating so fast? “Thank youuu, I love you so much, this means the world to me.”

Kun’s mind catches on the words I love you so much, and he knows you’re just drunk and need to sleep it off and aren’t really thinking about what you’re saying, but he cannot help lingering there for a moment. He’s glad the front room is still dim from the single lamp he turned on, otherwise you might notice the flush growing on his cheeks. “I...it’s no problem. We should get you comfortable, then.”

As it turns out, get you comfortable means he lets you sleep in his bed while he takes the couch. In another context you’d protest, not wanting to kick him out of his own space, but you are simply too smashed to think about it. You’re seconds away from falling asleep where you stand now that the adrenaline of discovering you’re locked out has worn off. Kun has the idea to make you drink some ice cold water, though, which wakes you up enough to take a proper shower.

By the time you get out of the shower and are wearing his clothes—his clothes—you are feeling a little more sober. You also feel like you’re going to have another small meltdown over all this. “This” being: wearing Kun’s clothes and standing in his bedroom, which is decorated with all his interests and treasured belongings. There’s a small studio setup in one corner, which interests you, but you don’t investigate it any further.

Now you have another little problem, though; what are you gonna do about the pillows? You don’t have anything to cover your hair with, with all your scarves and bonnets in your own apartment. One night of sleeping on a cotton pillow wouldn’t kill you, but that doesn’t make it any less distasteful to think about.

Kun comes into the bedroom to check on you and sees you puzzling around, sitting on the bed and looking awkward. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh. It’s nothing really,” you rush out, unsure if you should tell him about a problem he likely won’t even understand. It must be at least 4:00 a.m. by now, meaning you both desperately need to get some sleep.

“You can tell me, I won’t bite.”

I wouldn’t mind if you did pops into your head, but you immediately try to ignore that thought and are silently grateful that you do not blush visibly.

“Uh, my hair.”

“Your hair?”

“Okay, I need to cover it at night so it won’t get all broken off or anything—sleeping on cotton does wonders for destroying moisture—but I don’t have anything here to use. I mean—it’s...not a huge deal though, I can deal with it for a night?” You’re rambling now. Kun just nods, taking in all this information like he’s listening to something very important and very interesting.

“So then, what would you do to stop that?”

“Wear a scarf, or a bonnet, or using a silk pillowcase works, too. But you probably don’t have any of that stuff, you don’t have to bother with it—”

“Well, let me see.” Kun disappears into his closet and you pause, wondering for a moment if he actually does have a bonnet or something in there. Which would probably be a little hilarious to you.

He comes back out with not a bonnet of a scarf or even a pillowcase, but one of his own shirts. It’s just the right material though, being a pretty purple silk.

“Oh—Kun.” At this point, there are several emotions all trying to come to the forefront, though you have no clue which one to settle on. “Your shirt? You really don’t have to. I could…”

“It’s just a shirt, Y/N. There are a lot more where that comes from...I don’t mind.” He chuckles.

You sigh bashfully but take the shirt from him. “Thank you, it’s really thoughtful of you.” You cover the pillow with his shirt, and it works perfectly.

“Anyway, if you need anything else, just tell me,” he says, lingering by the door.

“I will...thank you,” you say, your voice quiet as you give him a nervous smile. Only when he shuts the door and his footsteps fade away do you allow yourself to bunch the comforter in your fists and scream into it. Everything in here smells just like him, which is probably more than enough to fuel all of your Qian Kun-related daydreams for the next 8 months.

It doesn’t take long for you to drift off when you finally do lie down, and your mind is blissfully empty of anything throughout the night.

The next day takes a bit of settling into. You’re momentarily alarmed when you wake up faced with a strange room until you remember last night’s events and recall where you are. There is also the smell of food, good food, which is also sadly unfamiliar to you. Charlotte can’t cook to save either of your lives, so you know you’d never be waking up to the smell of a professional chef-approved breakfast if you were still in your apartment with her.

Walking out of Kun’s room, you see that he’s in the kitchen, halfway finished with cooking breakfast for the both of you. It’s more like brunch at this hour, but what does that matter.

You linger at the doorway for a moment, allowing yourself to imagine that this is what things would be like if you were dating. Getting this view everyday? Life cannot be this unfair.

Maybe not too much, though, since you are standing in his kitchen.

“Oh, good morning,” he greets you, breaking your reverie. “Did you sleep well?”

“Good morning. I slept great. Thanks again for, you know, the shirt, haha…”

He grins, and his dimples come out. “Sure thing. Go ahead and sit! Breakfast will be ready soon.”

It’s the best breakfast you’ve eaten since living with Charlotte; maybe some of the best food you’ve ever had. “I had no idea you could cook this well,” you say. “I mean. I guess I wouldn’t since I haven’t—you know, uh—eaten here before, but—it’s great.” It’s just your luck that your thoughts come out in this fumbling mini-rant, but Kun only laughs good-naturedly.

“Thank you, I’m truly glad you like it.”

You both continue eating breakfast while making light conversation. This just might be the longest conversation you’ve had with each other, and that knowledge seems surreal. You’re almost a little glad you lost your key. Almost.

“So...today is Sunday. And the leasing office still won’t be open until Monday.” Kun says this over the remnants of breakfast. He speaks in a measured tone, like he’s trying to ensure he says the right thing. Whatever that could possibly be. “And you told me your roommate won’t be back until Monday.”

To your credit, you hadn’t exactly accounted for this when you first came over to his place in your distressed state. That means another night spent in his apartment though, which becomes very obvious to you now. “Ah. Sorry, am I imposing?”

“What—no, I-I just wanted to make sure you knew you can stay here tonight, or—however long you need.”

Relief floods through you, and you briefly wonder why you even worried about it; as far as you know, he’s not the kind of person to just kick someone out. “Ohh, of course—that’s good to know. Thank you for all this!”

“You’re welcome.” You miss the smile he gives to your response as you’re busy drinking your juice, but it’s one filled with a certain affection.

It feels a bit awkward to just sit around in his apartment all day, with nothing to do and all your belongings still locked out of your reach in your own place, so Kun shows you the studio in the corner of his room. He’d talked about being into music before, but you’d never heard anything of his until now.

When he plays the keyboard for you, it’s to the tune of a beautiful self-composed song. You almost pinch yourself to remind yourself this isn’t a hallucination or a fever dream. A man this appealing really exists, and you’ve stayed the night in his apartment and eaten his breakfast. You give a small round of applause when he finishes.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if you became a famous singer or something? I’d come to all your concerts,” you say lightly, kicking your legs on the edge of his bed.

“All? Really, all?” He laughs.

“Yes, all. A voice and talent like that deserves all the attention.” You lean back on his bed, stretching your legs out. “But all your venues would probably be sold out. Hopefully you’d remember me from your lil’ ole apartment building. I’m sure you’d be living in a penthouse by then.”

Kun smiles bashfully at your compliments, waving his hands as if it’s too much. “Thank you. But I don’t think I could ever forget you.” His voice grows a bit softer. His expression is more genuine than you expect for a conversation that was so playful only seconds ago, and you find it hard to hold eye contact all of a sudden.

It is your turn to be bashful, and you shrug in an effort to seem natural. “Well, I’m flattered.” Despite your unaffected demeanor, you don’t think those words will leave your mind for a good while, even if you wonder about the meaning of them.

Later that evening, Kun makes dinner and you watch TV together, flipping to whatever channels have dramas or movies playing.

You two eventually fall into another conversation when you can’t find anything good to watch—one that does not make you overly nervous for once. During a lull in the talking, that big question pops up into your mind, and you wince internally at how Charlotte would’ve already told you to make a move. You aren't sure how to do that without making him uncomfortable or seeming too sudden, but you decide to make an attempt.

You edge into it with, “So, um, your place looks pretty nice for one guy. It’s just you here, right?”

“Ah yeah, just me. Thanks, I do try my best.”

“Haha, I’m used to my guy friends all having super messy apartments until they get a girlfriend and she teaches them how to clean a stove for the first time…”

“Oh really? That’s a bit sad for them, isn’t it?” He chuckles. “I’m not dating anyone right now, so it’s all me.”

Just the information you were looking for. You try not to show your elation. “Why not?” you blurt out. Then you cringe because this might sound too invasive or even judgmental, but Kun only grins. “It’s just, it’s a little surprising. You’re such a generous person. You seem to care about everyone, even those poor stray kitties that stay outside the apartments all the time.”

He smiles timidly in response to receiving more of your compliments. “I guess it seems curious when you put it like that.” Just like when you’d drunkenly said I love you so much, there’s suddenly heat on the back of his neck that he hopes won’t turn into another blush that’ll expose him. “I don’t really know, I haven’t thought much about it; life’s weird like that.” He isn’t really sure how to answer that question in a way that won’t be too big of a hint that he’s interested in you, though he’s also not entirely sure why he’s still trying to hide it. Wouldn’t now be the perfect opportunity? When will you two have this much time together again? Still, you staying in his apartment for two days doesn’t mean you like him, and maybe he’s jumping the gun.

“That’s true. Guess that’s the same reason why I’ve been alone for a while now.” You shake your head.

“You?” Kun is equally surprised to know this about you.

You laugh incredulously. “Does that shock you or something?”

“I...well.” He rubs the back of his neck as he searches for the words. “I just thought...you’re very pretty, and you’re always really kind when we speak, so...”

“Oh?” Your face heats up at that.

“Yeah, I…think anyone would be lucky to be with you.”

“Oh.” Your body’s first instinct is to freeze with nervousness, but you know Charlotte would be kicking your ass in gear right now if she were somehow here. So, you decide to stop stressing about it and just do it. “Well...wouldn’t it be nice if we both had a way to fix our problems at the same time?”

Kun pauses for a moment before replying. “What do you suggest?” He knows what you are proposing—you can see in his eyes and his slight grin and his posture that he knows—but maybe he wants to hear you say it out loud.

“Hm, well…I don’t know, what do you think?” You lean a bit closer to him, raising your eyebrows and trying your best to look innocent and unassuming. His smile turns into something different with your increased proximity. Something a little more sly.

Mirroring your actions, he inches nearer to you until there’s little space left between. “Well, I think…” Kun tentatively closes the remaining gap between the two of you, the rest of his sentence left to linger as his soft lips envelop yours.

Maybe it’s corny to say it, but it definitely feels like one of those fairytale kisses with the fireworks going off and streamers popping; even though you’re sitting on his couch wearing his pajamas, some movie in the background you’ve long forgotten the plot of, empty dinner plates sitting on the coffee table in front of you.

You aren’t sure how you end up in his lap—who made the first move? Was it his hand on your back or your hands on his shoulders? You straddle him on the couch, your arms slipping around his shoulders and his hands on your back but assuredly traveling farther down your body.

Kun’s hands come to rest on your thighs, pulling the fabric of his shorts up a few inches higher. “I never thought I’d see you wearing my clothes,” he says lowly, grinning against your mouth.

“I also never thought I’d be sitting in your lap like this, but maybe sometimes dreams do come true,” you say jokingly, your lips rubbing against his skin as you slowly kiss his jaw.

You can’t see his expression, but his eyebrows shoot up at that. “Dreams, huh? You think about me often?” His voice pitches lower when he asks this, aroused by the thought of you imagining anything quite so lewd about him. You’ve definitely incriminated yourself now and won’t be able to wiggle out of it without an answer.

“...Maybe.”

“What do you think about me?” Kun grips your hips, which quickly turns into him grabbing your ass��tentatively at first to test the waters, and then firmly enough to grind you against his hardening cock. Sensing him solid and warm underneath you sends a shockwave down your spine, and the sensation heightens when his voice caresses your ear, all low and tense with arousal. “It’s just the two of us here. No one else has to know.”

“I think about your...lips. How you might kiss me. Or what you might say to me. And...your hands.” You pause there, a quiet breath whispering past your lips. “You have really big hands, you know.”

“My hands…” Kun places one on your chest, spreading his fingers across and touching your collarbone. The heel of his palm glides on the top of your breast, and just that touch is enough to get you more worked up. “Hmm. Actually, I’ll admit I’m pretty good with my hands.” He smirks, and he’s possibly the finest thing you’ve ever seen. “What else, Y/N?”

“I thought about how you’d touch me.” His hand slides between your breasts now, down your sternum, and to your stomach. “Maybe I’d invite you into my apartment when Charlotte wasn’t there. We’d watch some stupid movie and pretend to be into it, but we’re really just thinking about each other. You’d eventually end up slipping your hand up my skirt...and making me cum all over your fingers.”

You aren’t sure how you’re saying all this to Kun right now, the dude you have a major crush on, without bursting into flames.

His shaft rubbing against your clit even through your layers of clothes makes you sigh dreamily, pressing your forehead to his and gripping at his shoulders and biceps. His bangs are soft against your forehead, and your breath stutters when he moves to kiss the side of your neck. He has to know how hard your heart is beating right now.

“And then what?” His voice is barely a whisper, then.

“And then you’d fuck me, of course.” There’s a slight laugh in your voice at the ticklish feeling of his lips kissing your skin.

“And then I’d fuck you...hm,” he echoes. “Sure, I can do that.”

The promise of it entices you, and more heat pools between your legs, amplified by the fabric rubbing against your sensitive parts. His hand that’s still on your stomach travels under your shirt then, and your hips falter in your rhythm against him when his fingers brush across your nipple. He brings his lips to your other breast, lapping his tongue against your nipple over the fabric.

You soon come like this, his shaft grinding against your clit and his clothes rubbing against your skin, his hands on your ass and his lips traveling across your breasts. The orgasm is sudden and surprises you, but it’s good, and you convulse as the waves of pleasure course through you. You weaken and slump against him, with him still teasing your breasts with his mouth and hands. Pushing your face into his hair, you moan into the black strands until the quivering stops.

You’re breathless when you speak again. “You haven’t come yet.”

“I’d rather do that when I’m inside you,” he replies. You giggle quietly.

“...What are you waiting for, then?”

“Hold on.” Kun carefully maneuvers you off his lap, and you already want to complain at the lack of his touch. “I have to get a condom.”

“Hurry, or you’ll miss all the fun,” you say as you pull your shirt off with your back to him. You look back over your shoulder at him and grin mischievously.

“You’re such a tease…”

Kun goes into his room to fetch a condom, and when he returns he’s already pulling his shirt off, leaving it on the floor somewhere. You’re fully naked now, your legs pulled up to your chest and your chin resting on your knees as you sit on the couch. Kun’s eyes drop between your legs, your inner thighs still glistening from your previous orgasm, and he swipes his tongue across his lips at the sight of you, wet and ready for him.

Likewise, your eyes drop to the dark trail of hair leading into his pants and his bulge just below it, the way his sweatpants cling to his length, and your pussy throbs with the desire to be filled.

“Please, hurry.”

Kun doesn’t waste any time in getting the rest of his clothes off, shoving his pants and underwear done in one swift move and rolling the condom over his shaft. He climbs onto the couch, grabbing your legs and guiding them around his waist, and you giggle at his eager but gentle touch as you recline on the couch pillows behind you.

He grabs his dick and lines it up with you, then pushes it in slowly at first. The stretch makes your toes curl, but it is a good kind of stretch, the kind that fills you to the brim. Like the missing element you needed.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice husky from the pleasure.

“Fuck, please,” is your answer as you shift your hips and try to get him all the way inside quicker. Noticing your urgency, he slides the rest of the way in until your hips are flush against each other and starts thrusting into you. His length dragging across your walls feels much better than you could’ve imagined on any given night, and you clasp your legs tighter around him to get ever closer.

After a point, he pushes your legs up with his hands behind your knees so he can get a deeper angle, and you both moan at the difference in sensation and how much tighter you get around him.

There is no ignoring the messy wet noises of your bodies colliding due to the slickness of your previous orgasm and the new wetness he’s continually fucking out of you. Each thrust reaches deep inside you, deep enough to make you nearly sob, your hands fumbling over your breasts and your clit all the while.

“Kun, god yes please,” you whimper, rocking your hips into the rhythm of his own. You fucking him back makes him groan deeply, his bangs hanging off his forehead as he dips his head to watch himself slide in and out of you. You could not control the urge or the motion of your body even if you wanted to; you want all of him, as close as he can get.

“I don’t want this to end,” he moans, and he pulls out without a warning. You gasp at the sudden emptiness, and your discontent comes out in a full whine. You’d be more embarrassed about it if you weren’t currently consumed with desire, but you presently do not care.

Kun sits back on the couch and pulls you on top of him again. “Ride me,” he says. So you grasp the base of his cock, him grunting as you do, and you press the tip against your entrance before pushing it in. He watches himself slip inside of you while fully enraptured, one hand tight on your hip.

Once you are full with him again, you experimentally grind against him to see how it’ll feel in this new position, and your arms tremble as his pelvis stimulates your clit.

“Go ahead,” he whispers, grasping the nape of your neck and kissing you hard once more, “fuck yourself on me.”

So you keep grinding your clit on him like that, your limbs shaking from the stimulation and your walls fluttering around his cock. You can barely catch a complete breath from him kissing you hard enough to make your lips swell, and your head is so fogged with lust that all you can concentrate on is getting yourself off just like he told you to do.

“Kun…” You roll your head onto his shoulder, pressing your forehead into his skin, your body tiring as you get closer to reaching that high. You’re so close to coming, but you’re not sure if you have enough strength left to get there on your own. Kun notices the state you’re in and grasps your hips to pull them into his, effortlessly sliding himself into you while making sure your clit gets stimulated at the same time.

The new friction of his dick rubbing against your g-spot in this position is enough to have you finally coming and crying out against his neck.

You continue babbling nonsense against his neck as he keeps fucking you, searching for his own end. His hands are hot on your body as he moves you up and down his length.

His climax comes soon after yours, his dick pulsing and his pace slowing. Your back arches at the sensation of him throbbing inside you and releasing his cum into the condom. The way he groans in your ear has your stomach clenching.

For a few minutes after, you both sit quietly and do nothing but cling to one another as you come down from the pleasure.

“So, does this mean we’re together now…?” Kun asks hopefully, running his hands over your back as you lie against him.

You smile against his skin. “Obviously. But if you still want to convince me, we can go a couple more rounds…”

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bontenten · 4 years ago

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Sleeping Beauty

Pairing: Shirabu x f!reader WC: 5.6k Genre/Warnings: smut, fairy tale retelling, incest, dubcon/noncon, drugs (sleeping pill), somnophilia, abusive past relationship, implied rape (not Shirabu), panic attack, victim-blaming, hero-complex with a bit of god-complex, hints of yandere, uhh medical malpractice, Shirabu’s bangs

Summary: The real story of Sleeping Beauty is anything but beautiful. Shirabu will do everything he can to keep you in a safe haven where you can freely dance with your prince once upon a dream.

A/N: This is a part of the whorehouse intoxicated collaboration, rest of the pieces of this toxic journey can be found here! Thank you Ria and Angel for helping beta <3 Love you both so much.

Unofficial bgm: Once Upon a Dream & Once Upon a December

"You'll never wash me from you," he sneers, pulling you back by a handful of hair. You feel a blanket of pain shoot across your scalp. "You'll never really get away. Time to wake the fuck up."

"G-get away from me!"

You thrash and kick your legs wildly hoping something will land. The moment you hear a pained grunt and feel his grip loosen, you scramble up to your feet and run. Your shoes grate against wet cement as you take off. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you will your legs forward one after another. The caw of birds seem to act as a beacon leading you through the twists and turns of the terrain.

A left turn here, two blocks straight. Past the corner store and beyond the stoplight. Three blocks. Right turn. Two Blocks. Five steps away. Four...Three..Two...Safety...

----

"In the forest, the princess played with a lot of animal friends. She grew up there in the cottage with three fairies looking after her."

Thunder claps and lightning strikes outside.

"It's so loud Kenjirou-nii!" you cry, burying yourself into Shirabu's arms.

"Shh, I'm here," Shirabu coos, rocking you back and forth until your sobs subside. "One day, the princess was singing with the songbirds..."

Shirabu begins to recount the fairytale of Sleeping Beauty to you, slowly easing your mind away from the turbulence outside.

"Do you think you can sleep now?"

You shake your head and jump again when the thunder claps over the roof of the house.

"It's okay, I'm right here. Big brother’s always going to protect you."

"Like the prince protecting the princess?"

"Yes, exactly. You're always my princess, now go to sleep. I'll wake you when the sun's up.”

After a while, you calm down and slowly drift into sleep with your breaths evening out. Shirabu pulls the covers over both of you and enters sleep as well.

The winds continued to howl outside the window...the branches tapping...tapping against the window...tap...tapping…

----

Shirabu Kenjirou opens his eyes. He had just fallen asleep while studying for the third time that night. There is no use staying at the library if he is going to treat it as a hotel; he’ll be better off going home first. He yawns and stretches his neck, then packs his bags to return to his apartment. There are few students left in the building at this ungodly hour. Dark clouds loom overhead and the air is filled with the pitter patter of autumn rain hitting cement. Shirabu zips up his coat, opens his umbrella, and walks into the dark.

You would have been so frightened by this sort of weather, whimpering under your blankets, counting sheep with shaky breaths. Just like how you did in that dream of his earlier.

While growing up, Shirabu hadn't cared all that much about anything else considering he spent most of his time with his studies or playing volleyball. Although there was you, his little sister, he figured you had your little bubble anyway. But on a stormy night, you teetered down the hall after finding your parent’s room locked. Afraid and sleepy, you looked for comfort elsewhere and arrived at Shirabu’s room.

Shirabu had been most irritated and decided to shoo you out with strings of curses and profanities, but he couldn’t. The sight of your form huddled right outside his bedroom, with young eyes pleading for him took hold of a bit of humanity in Shirabu’s heart. So, he let you into his room, a safe haven, and eventually a world that was composed of only the two of you against the rest of the world.

Shirabu has known for a long time that you are the most brilliant, precious, and purest thing he’ll ever encounter. Always perfect. Forever unsullied.

There are many things that Shirabu wants to shield you from. If he can secure one more hour of innocence, one more day, one lifetime, he’ll do so without a moment of hesitation. The real world is unlike the fairy tales that you hear about while growing up.

The real story of Sleeping Beauty is anything but beautiful. There isn’t a handsome prince the princess meets in a forest. No color changing cake. No kiss of love. In the real story, the princess is put into an endless slumber and has her virginal body taken by some unknown beast of a king, used like a rag for his carnal pleasure. When he leaves, the sleeping girl is then forgotten like trampled daisies under the hooves of horses. And she will wake to find her womb bulged with bastard life as a result of the damnation. The stretches clawing around the navel as permanent reminders that nothing will wash him from her.

The real world is dark. Horrible. Wretched. Dirty. Filled with suffering. That is why he, Shirabu Kenjirou, responds to the call to action and enters a life of service. In his heart he yearns to save and help, even if just a little, by becoming a prince with a white coat. He will not give up trying to salvage pieces of humanity he’ll touch, and in the process, carve out a haven, a little forest with a cottage, for his dearest sister to safely live in.

It has been a while since he last heard from you. Partly his own fault, really. Ever since Shirabu entered university and then medical school, the number of times you two would meet up dwindled. The hours on the phone became texts and soon after, communication vanished into mostly silence.

You are in university now, grown up and stepping into the real world, but that doesn't mean you are no longer his little sister. And because you are the one and only, Shirabu feels that he should try to do a better job as an older brother and check-in with you to see how you are doing. So, Shirabu takes out his phone that’s still on silent after studying.

27 missed calls from Sister

Shirabu pauses in his tracks and returns the call. Cars zoom by on the streets while he waits for the line to connect.

He was right, you must have been frightened.

The first call doesn’t connect, so Shirabu immediately tries the second time. You pick up on the third attempt.

"It's me, I'm so sorry I didn't pick up earlier."

"K-Kenjirou-nii..." your voice weakly translates over the speaker.

Shirabu presses the phone closer to his ear and turns up the volume. "Where are you now," he demands. "At school?"

"...Your place..." Your voice sounds so dangerously faded, like petals beaten to the ground from the rain.

Shirabu bolts. His apartment is just a couple blocks away. Around the corner just up ahead. Shirabu makes a sharp turn and splashes through a puddle.

"Stay...on the phone with me," he urges, paying no mind to his soaked shoes and socks.

You nod in understanding, as if he’ll hear your action.

"I'm almost there okay, almost."

Shirabu isn’t lying. A few moments later you hear the frantic footsteps coming closer to you. The stomping noises make your skin crawl, but the familiar face of your brother melts those fears away. He appears with his wet bangs stuck to his face and his shoulders heaving up and down. It’s him, your niichan, your prince finally here.

You scramble up and dive into his open arms, in relief that you are safe at last, as you finally allow tears to mix with rain.

"I was so scared. I missed you so much, Kenjirou-niichan," you sob into Shirabu's wet coat. "Where were you, where were you?"

"I'm sorry. I'm here now, I'm sorry," Shirabu apologizes, "Let's go inside first, alright? We’re both drenched.”

----

Under the bright lights of the living room, Shirabu gets a better look at you. You catch his discerning eyes studying you up and down, visually tracing the markers of your demise. That’s when you crack.

“Kenjirou-nii...the real world, the world is a horrible place. I trusted him, you know? I trusted that man.”

Foolish and stupid, Shirabu wants to say. It’ll be easy to simply yell at you.

Shirabu is not someone without a temper. He was quite known for it back in his high-school days. The bruises, the scars that did not heal well. Shirabu reminds himself to keep his composure, especially in front of you. He’s to be a doctor. He’s to be a protector, a savior. And with the training he already has so far, Shirabu knows he’s already as good as any board certified, licensed white-robed saint. He just needs to do what he’s meant to do. Heal. Clean. Purify.

After listening to your brief tale, Shirabu tells you not to worry about anything else tonight other than take a hot shower and get some rest. He gives you a reassuring smile and sends you off to the bathroom with towels and a large t-shirt.

While you wash-up and lose your thoughts piecing together the messy events of the night, Shirabu paces in the living room after he changes his own wet clothes. Nevermind the medical books he still needs to pour over, all Shirabu wants to do right now is track down the culprit and stick a scalpel through his socket. No, that’s just too easy. That bastard deserves something much more horrible, a slow and patient torture, a death within grasp but just out of reach. As if agreeing with Shirabu’s thoughts, your phone on the coffee table lights up. Shirabu picks up the device and watches the notifications pop-up.

Shirabu sees an unknown number call you. He doesn’t pick up, letting the phone ring while he reads the numbers across the screen and commits them to memory. The phone calls stop and an onslaught of texts follow; some coherent and others far from decipherable. There are messages of broken apologies and confessions of persistent love. Requests for you to go back to him. Shirabu scoffs at the language.

Shirabu continues to wait with impassive eyes, but the tight death grip around the device gives away the boiling rage beneath his skin. How dare the man behind that accursed number treat you, his little sister and princess, in such a foul manner. This beast who stole from you. Who is the reason behind the tainting of your now sullied innocence.

Finally after a few minutes of silence, the screen lights up with a series of curses and condemnation that show the man’s true colors. A morphed beast due to your lack of response. Shirabu scrolls through the list of notifications again with impassive eyes, but the tight death grip around the device gives away the boiling rage beneath his skin.

"You will pay," Shirabu seethes, taking a knife from the kitchen and ramming the sharp end straight into the device glass. The phone buzzes desperately and goes dark. You have no use for that phone anymore after all of this anyway, and the cursed number is already memorized by Shirabu for his own purposes.

----

Shirabu’s room is tidy. The two bookshelves on either side of the table are filled with books, photos, and many other accolades. That’s your older brother alright: perfect, proper, always right. Always right about everything, except one thing. The world you know really isn’t the wonderland he told you about growing up. Not at all.

You bury your face into Shirabu's pillows and will yourself to sleep. You are safe here in his bed. It’s a haven...safely tucked in a forest. You are in a forest. The trees and the breeze. Songbirds are singing.

You can dance here, twirl about...safe...free…

The trees melt.

Birds squawk and screech, scampering away…

Ink engulfs you....swallowing you whole

Falling...falling…

"You'll never wash me from you," he sneers. "You'll never really get away. Time to wake the fuck up."

NO! you try to scream. You can’t, the weight on your chest sinks you deeper, only silence is uttered...choked…

Wake up.

"Wake up!"

Your eyes fly open and you see him. Him. A blood curdling shriek finally tears through your throat and you thrash. "Getawaygetawaygetaway! NO!"

"It's me, hey, it's me. You're okay, you're safe." Shirabu’s eyes widen with worry at your outburst, but gives you ample space to breathe and compose yourself.

This familiar voice. It does not belong to him. It’s definitely not him.

"...Kenjirou-nii?" you ask quietly. The shadow is backlit from light coming in through the door and your vision is still fuzzy from the nightmare.

A tender hand closes around yours. "Shhh, it's okay, you're okay now. It was a bad dream, you're safe. You're safe. I'm here."

Cold sweat runs down your temples. Your breath is fast and shallow.

"Follow me, okay. Breathe in..." Shirabu takes a deep breath. You follow his voice and movement as if they are lanterns guiding you through a maze. "And breathe out. Good, you're doing great. Breathe in...and out..."

You feel your mind slowly beginning to clear with each inhale and exhale. Finally, you see Shirabu clearly again. You can smell the scent of his body wash from him. The texture of the blanket rubs against your fingertips. You’re here in Shirabu’s room. Safety. Haven.

"I'll be right back," Shirabu tells you, before leaving you for a moment and going towards the bathroom. He opens the medicine cabinet, pops out a few white pills from a box.

"Here," he says holding out the small tablets in the middle of his palm. The off-white seems to almost glow in the dark.

"It's zolpidem, a sleeping pill I sometimes take for insomnia. It'll help you for tonight, and then we'll get you something else tomorrow that'll work better."

You look at the pill and then at Shirabu. Shirabu is someone you love and trust with all your heart. His embrace is your anchor and haven when the rest of the world has turned a blind eye. He’s your brother. One and only. There’s no reason not to trust him.

"I won't see him will I?"

"No," Shirabu affirms. The pills don't really manipulate dreams, but if reassuring you can placebo sweet dreams, then what harm really is there? He didn’t pass Ethics with top marks for nothing.

Shirabu gently presses the pill body against your lips and you part them, allowing the small object to slip through. He feeds another and you open your mouth obediently. You look at Shirabu’s eyes which are fixated on the way your lips wrap around his three fingers. Kenjirou-nii’s lashes are so nice and pretty, you think.

One gulp of water later, and you feel nothing but a cold sensation traveling down your throat and disappearing into your belly.

"It'll take about half an hour, I'll stay with you until you fall asleep," Shirabu says. He supports your back and gently lowers you back into the comforts of the plush mattress. Shirabu will surely carry the same attentiveness and care when he becomes a full-fledged doctor. You are sure of it. The big brother you grew up with has truly grown up and matured. But no matter how much he changes or how much you mess up, he’ll always be your big brother.

"Can you lie down next to me again, like when we were young?"

An innocent request from a patient-in-need. Shirabu complies and lies down next to you.

"I remember when we were young, I would make you dance with me to live out my princess dreams. You remember?”

Afternoons next to the stereo, crayons scattered on the floor. The smell of something baking in the kitchen. Shrieks and laughter in the living room. Even though Shirabu would be mildly annoyed at first, he found humoring your imagination to be a pleasant and soothing experience. Even he was sometimes whisked away from textbooks into a magical forest that was just you and him. The stress and burdens of everything else all seem so much lighter on his shoulders when you’re simply just there.

"Of course I remember, silly."

You hum softly and continue waiting for the medicine in your bloodstream to make its way through your body.

"Do you...remember the sleeping beauty story you would always tell me?"

"Yea?"

You pause for a moment before quietly asking, "Kenjirou-niichan, why did you lie to me?"

Shirabu does not respond and only glances over at you, eyeing your closed lids. Closed though they may be, the tiny beads of glimmering tears are beginning to emerge from between the lashes and trail down your cheeks.

"There is no prince, Kenjirou-nii...no prince for me, no one...niichan...," you mumble between your breaths. The drug is starting to take its effect, ushering your mind into another dimension far away from hurt and pain. It swallows you like a pit of ink, sinking you deeper and deeper...

----

Kenjirou-nii, why did you lie? Earlier, Shirabu felt his breath hitch when you asked that.

He calls out your name softly, brushing over your cheeks, and listening to your soft breathing for a good while to make sure you are in fact asleep. At long last, maybe this is a good dream.

A lie? No! Not a lie, Shirabu wants to tell you. For you, his dearest sister, who only ever deserves happiness, in the rawest and truest form. You are supposed to have a life of others giving gifts of love, never having to offer anything of your own.

Shirabu feels his blood boil once more at the thought of that man who stole your innocence away. The one who took your body for his own carnal pleasures. The one who dared to steal you from him, Shirabu Kenjirou. If Shirabu's nails are not kept in immaculate condition for his profession, no doubt, his grip would be drawing blood from his palms.

Those marks and scars across your skin. Shirabu traces his finger down your neckline and along your arms...

Your head turns from left to right and you manage to shrug the big collar of the t-shirt off your shoulder. Shirabu can see, under the glow of moonlight from the cleared night sky, a nasty mark. A permanent mark. And before he realizes it, his fingers are already traveling over, tracing along and testing out the patterns and bumps.

Shirabu feels his chest burn beyond the anger and fury. Guilt. Where was he all this time when you were suffering? Why hadn't you just called him then? Anguishing thoughts of his little sister writhing in pain under that beast's grasps tear Shirabu apart. Did you cry? Were you scared? All these years studying for what? For what noble purpose is Shirabu trying to pursue if he can’t even save those closest to him?

Shirabu continues to search for any other marks or discolorations that are splayed across your skin like a map. It is what it is now. But Shirabu still has his calling. He is a man who answers to a life of service and healing: a prince in a white coat. No matter what happens, even if you’re tainted now, you’ll still be his little sister.

Even if your naivety and stupidity got you into the mess in the first place. Of course, why didn’t you listen to your brother’s warnings and stay in a safe haven like a good girl? Stay in your room and study for your future like a good student? Like him? Why did you think running off for fun, enjoying “youth and freedom” like the other degenerates would be a good idea?

Shirabu grits his teeth. Look at you now, damaged and past the point of no return, used. Injured and ill. Still, he needs to get the full story first, and see where else you might possibly be hurt. A complete diagnosis needs to come first. After the messages from the man, Shirabu is all the more certain that there are more clues left, and he needs evidence. He needs to know. The comforter is pulled away and careful hands examine the lines of your palms.

Once upon a time, you grabbed Shirabu’s hand and tried to use the methods of schoolyard palm-reading on him. You even exclaimed, “Kenjirou-niichan, this line means you’ll live a long life! And we can be together forever because my life line is really long too!”

Shirabu smiles at the memory and presses a kiss to the center of your palm. It must have been so painful, how could you have possibly endured? But you did and you survived. You are so brave.

Probing fingertips trace across your collarbone and push the fabric of the large t-shirt up to reveal your torso. Shirabu blinks, realizing that this is now the body of a fully matured woman. You take a deep breath in your sleep from the cold air running across your exposed breasts. Shirabu can see the nipples perk up from the chill and hesitantly touches the bud with a hint of academic curiosity.

“Mmm, that tickles...” you giggle softly. Your hand pushes Shirabu's off and scratches the same spot he just traced, fondling your own breast briefly before letting go and continuing to sleep. Even grown up now, still the same adorable little sister.

Shirabu lets himself tease your nipples and knead the soft flesh of your breasts, toying around and watching your cute little expressions. Sometimes you’ll respond again and paw the tickling hands away. It’s fun, like playing a little game.

But when he lets his eyes wander down, Shirabu’s eyes narrow. Below the breasts, on either side of the waist, Shirabu sees damning marks of deep purple turning into a disgusting yellow. Like cursed claw marks. Shirabu hesitantly presses on the bruise, watching the color transform under his touch. He stops immediately when you begin to whine in pain. Carefully, Shirabu presses a kiss on these markings too, just like any other little injury you sustained in the past. A kiss so the pain flies away.

Foolish, foolish girl. Naive princess. Why did you let this happen to yourself? In the future, don’t run anymore. Stay here where it’s safe.

There is just one place left Shirabu did not examine yet, a hidden spot that is supposed to be locked away that someone else discovered. Shirabu looks down at the dark lace panties obstructing his view like gates of a castle. It’s a poor “keep out” message; if anything it entices anyone who sees it to come in. A tempting invitation to see what’s behind.

Shirabu allows his clean fingers to easily slip through and begin a thorough investigation through the soft folds of flesh. His fingertips dip into a pool of wetness. He furrows his brows. When did this happen?

Why are you wet? His eyes focus on your sleeping face that still has a relaxed smile. What are you dreaming about that makes your body like this? Shirabu drags the fingers covered with your slick to circle your clit. In response your thighs clamp and twitch. So sensitive, still inexperienced, even if you’re sullied.

Shirabu slides the soaked panties off and pushes your thighs apart so he can continue his examination. That person must have touched this area too, his fingers have been here, and then…plunged his fingers into you like so. Your body trembles as Shirabu’s two fingers probe in, fully examining your inner anatomy. Soft, warm muscles clamp tightly around his digits and try to stop them from entering further. It’s for your good and his knowledge. He pushes deeper into you, dragging alongside the bumps and ridges of your walls.

You whine loudly and arch your back when Shirabu’s fingers find a sweet spot. Your head shifts on the fluffy pillows.

“Did you like that? Did that feel good?” Shirabu asks, probing your hole once more. As if in agreement, your body twitches again and your hips automatically roll against the palm, pressing your sensitive clit into the surface. Your breathy sighs are soft and sweet, unlike any other sound Shirabu has heard from you. It’s like a spell that enchants Shirabu and beckons for him. He shudders as he feels his cock responding to each noise coming out from between your lips.

It’s good, something feels so good. Under the sunlight, you feel warmth pooling throughout your body. There are tingles in the soles of your feet, like grass tickling skin while running around barefoot. Your body feels so light and relaxed. It’s warm and you’re not in this forest alone. The shape of a prince appears. You know he’s a prince because his voice is gentle and his touch feels safe.

If this feels good, it’s only because this is an act of love. If this makes you happy, it’s because it’s love. If it’s love, it’ll fill the empty pools of hurt. And if you’ll be whole again, you’ll heal. Shirabu makes up his mind and caresses your cheeks tenderly, So beautiful. Always beautiful. A sleeping beauty. His hand reaches to the waistband of his pants.

The prince rests his hand on your hips and excitement jolts through your body. You wrap your arms around his neck and smile back.

Shirabu freezes the moment he feels your arms wave into the air and reach for him. The sneaky fingers run across his skin.

"Dance..with me," you slur before falling back into silence.

The alarm washes away when he confirms you are still sound asleep.

"Are you dreaming of your prince?" Shirabu asks while tearing open a condom packet. Medical safety. He should have worn gloves earlier too, if he wasn’t already too entranced. "Dancing? Then I'll dance with you."

Forever. I'll be your prince, my sweet darling.

Shirabu runs the length of his hardened cock along your glistening slit. Rather than take, rather than pillage and steal...Shirabu will give. Replace the gross markers of pain with soft fleeting kisses. Replace the innocence stolen with love given unconditionally. Shirabu will give you all the love you deserve and more.

Shirabu’s fingers weave into your delicate ones, the palms join together, and your fingertips automatically lock with your niichan’s. It’s the starting position for a waltz in the forest, once upon a dream.

The man takes the initiation, the leading step. Shirabu closes the gap, sinking his length into your sweet embrace in a fluid and wet squelch. You respond, digging your nails and tightening your grip on his hands. Your other arm hugs around your partner, your niichan, pulling his body close against yours. Your blank eyes flutter open briefly to look straight at the shadow of Shirabu. Of course, you don’t see anything, you’re actually in a warm forest shyly gazing at your prince. Shirabu almost thinks that he woke you up, but you only let out a quiet moan before your body relaxes again.

Shirabu groans and rests his cock in your warm and tight embrace. This is the way it should be, how it ought to be done. No one else can lead you in this dance the way he can. The way he will. This is not the self-fulfilling king stealing the princess’s virginal body for his own pleasure. This is the loving prince who loves and gives selflessly. Your big brother knows you the best, knows how you’ll respond, knows how you’ll like it. Shirabu slowly draws himself out and thrusts back in.

The prince presses himself so close to you, and you inhale sharply. During the waltz, you always have to maintain body contact with your partner. You feel his breath on your cheeks, and you’re sure he can feel your hammering heartbeat. The intimacy builds in the tender but secure hold. The steps are quick but the movements are not violent. It’s just enough that the heat stirring in your core spreads throughout your body.

Breaths become more labored and raspy into the act. Shirabu sees your face morph into bliss as he continues his pace and rocks his hips into you. His own brows furrow as Shirabu feels his grip over rationality falling apart with each thrust. Each flutter of your walls against him only invites him to come in deeper, farther. Harder.

“...K-Kenjirou-nii...,” you softly cry out.

Your honeyed voice is a thick syrup trapping Shirabu, coaxing him. It’s like a melody inviting a weary traveler, a lost prince, in for rest. Your voice, your body, it’s tantalizing.

"Too good," Shirabu groans to himself. Why is it so good? You, his little sister, how? He looks down towards where he sees his cock, covered with your fluids, disappear into you. The thin latex barrier doesn’t stop how close the two of you are, Shirabu feels each clench and spasm around him. “My little sister, I didn’t know…”

Shirabu can now understand just why that man did all that to you. Why that man wants to keep you by his side. Why he incessantly sends messages and tries to manipulate you back into their world.

It’s the only explanation, really, when you don’t even know how bewitching your body is. How enticing your voice is. Anyone would want to keep it as their own. Your warmth, your sweet, sweet hole. This cunt of yours is itself a safe haven. And Shirabu feels like he’s the one being made whole from you. It’s all because of you.

Each moan from you. Those gentle mewling cries, a witch’s spell, an incantation for addiction. That man is trying to manipulate you? How? When your whole existence manipulates everyone first, drawing them all in with the image of your unsullied purity.

Shirabu feels his impending release around the edge. His pace quickens and his thrusts meet with each of your twisting squirms. Your head tosses side-to-side on the pillow as your sleepy climax washes through.

Spin. Faster and faster in the forested ballroom. Twirl for the finale. You feel a dizzying jolt as the prince dips your body back. It’s a whirlwind of love. In your dream, the sunshine is so warm and growing so much hotter. It feels like you’re floating. So light and free. That prickling tickle in your feet is growing stronger until little fireworks set off across every corner of your body, filling you completely. The forest melts as the colors blend together in a dreamy painting.

Euphoria, as Shirabu finishes spectacularly, clutching your sleeping body close to him in a messy ending pose. The final winds of the dead storm outside sound like a rumbling applause for this sinful waltz. He can hear his own pants and your shaky breaths mix into a fading duet. Shirabu lets himself bask for a moment, resting, entangled with you.

Everything makes sense now. He completely understands why the bastard king forces himself onto Sleeping Beauty. He completely understands why your allure is much too exquisite to pass on. Shirabu pulls out and carefully removes the condom, collecting the white essence you bewitched out from him into a little package with a tie. Dangerous little princess, that you are.

Even though Shirabu now fully understands the complete story after careful examination, there are still a few lines Shirabu will draw. One, that man has still committed a very grave sin, being the first to sample your purity, stealing that away from Shirabu? Damaging your flesh and skin? Unacceptable, he thinks as he tosses the used condom into the waste bin. A complete low-life who doesn’t know how to cherish. Punishment will be due.

Shirabu returns to the bed where your unconscious body is still sprawled between bunched sheets. His blank eyes study your spread legs and puffy cunt that’s still quivering every now and then. He taps his index finger against your sensitive clit. As if it is a magic button, your body briefly trembles on command. As if you are ready to enchant another unsuspecting traveler into your safe little haven. A little bit of fluid leaks out from your hole, presenting itself seductively. Welcome.

Shirabu scoffs. And number two, you’ll be better off staying here with himself, your big brother. You’ll be safe here with a prince who knows best how to love you right, and give you the world. This is the way it should be; before you completely lose yourself into degeneracy and invite just about anyone into you.

Those sleeping pills will be insufficient for the long-run. A different concoction while you are still healing from your terrible trauma will be needed. A cocktail of sorts that will target different needs. Yes. Shirabu files that thought away, putting it towards the top of his to-do list. There’s so many things he has to take care of. Too much pain in this world waiting for him to don white robes and be out there.

“But you’ll always come first on niichan’s list,” Shirabu whispers, slipping your panties back on and pulling the comforters over your body. He’ll never allow you to be sullied again. You’ll stay here in this safe haven, like a little cottage tucked away in the forest. Dream here. Find happiness with the only prince you need.

The first rays of dawn begin to brighten the sky, shooing away the cloak of night. The first songs from the birds announce the arrival of a new day. The morning light filters through the windows of the room, spilling over onto the bed and your quiet, unmoving form.

Time to wake up now, sleeping beauty.

#shirabu smut #shirabu x reader #shirabu kenjiro x reader #hq smut #haikyuu smut #tw:incest #tw somnophilia #tw yandere #tw drugging #tw dubcon #tw noncon #the intoxicated collab #emi.freshtea #🍵.shirabu

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d-criss-news · 4 years ago

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20 Questions With Darren Criss: How Acting Has Helped Him Make New Music

While Darren Criss has graced our TV screens with a range of characters, from high schooler Blaine Anderson on Glee to serial killer Andrew Cunanan on The Assassination of Gianni Versace, he was last spotted just being himself, on our For You Page on TikTok. “I’m walking to rehearsal with a guitar on my back with a Trader Joe’s bag ... I did not bring an umbrella because I forgot that it was raining. I’m rocking that NYC musician life,” the Glee alum explained in the hilarious clip posted three days ago.

While Criss’ acting work has earned him acclaim and stardom, he leaned into making music during the pandemic. On Aug. 20, he dropped a new EP, Masquerade, featuring five new tracks that Criss says were inspired by the different characters Criss has embraced throughout his career. After Criss wrote songs for his musical comedy web series Royalties and Apple TV+’s animated sitcom Central Park before the pandemic struck the United States, he then used those experiences as a precursor to his new EP. As Criss continues to promote his new music, he answered 20 of Billboard's questions – giving us a peek into how his new EP came together, and how growing up in San Fransisco shaped him as an actor, singer and all-around artist.

1. What inspired your latest project, Masquerade?

Although I would have preferred that it come at a far less grim cost, I finally had the time. Before the pandemic, I had written 10 new songs for my show Royalties -- along with an original song for Disney and another for Apple’s Central Park. These were all assignments in which I was writing for a certain scenario and character. Go figure. It was the most music I had ever written in a calendar year. This really emboldened me to rethink how I made my own music— to start putting a focus on “character creation” in my songs, rather than personal reflection. The latter was not proving to be as productive. The alchemy of having this time and having set a new intention with my own songwriting and producing made me put on a few of my favorite masques and throw myself a Masquerade.

2. How do you think your background as an actor complements your music?

They are one and the same to me. I treat acting roles like musical pieces— dialogue is like scoring a melody; there’s pace, dynamics, cadence, tone. Physical characterization is like producing -- zeroing in on the bass line, deciding on the kick pattern. Vocal characterization is like choosing the right sonic experience, choosing the most effective snare sound, and mixing the high end or low end. It goes without saying that it works in the complete opposite direction. Making each song is taking on a different role literally and employing the use of different masques to maximize the effectiveness of the particular story being told.

3. On Instagram you wrote that “Masquerade is a small collection of the variety of musical masques that have always inspired me.” Which track do you identify with most in your real life?

Everybody absorbs songs differently. Some key into the lyrics, some into the melody, some the production, some into vocal performance. When I listen to songs, I consider all of their value on totally different scales. So it’s hard to say if there’s any track I “identify” with more than any others, since I -- by nature -- identify with all of them. I think I just identify with certain aspects more than others. If it helps for a more interesting answer, I will say I enjoy the slightly more classical, playful -- dare I say -- more Broadway-leaning wordplay of “Walk of Shame,” but that’s just talking about lyricism. I enjoy the attitude of “F*kn Around,” the batsh--t musicality of “I Can’t Dance,” the relentless grooves of “Let’s” and “For A Night Like This.” All have different ingredients I really enjoy having an excuse to dive into.

4. What’s the first piece of music that you bought for yourself, and what was the medium?

Beatles audio cassettes: “Help” and “Hard Day’s Night.” I just listened on repeat on a tape-playing Walkman until my brother and I got a stereo for our room with a CD player in it, which was when I just bought the same two albums again, but this time as compact discs.

5. What was the first concert you saw?It’s hard to say, because my parents took us to a lot of classical concerts when we were small. But I guess this question usually refers to what was the first concert you went to on your own volition, and that my friend, was definitely Warped Tour ’01. My brother and I went on our own— two teenagers going to their first music festival, in the golden age of that particular genre and culture. It was f--king incredible.

6. What did your parents do for a living when you were a kid?

My dad was in private banking and advised really, really wealthy people on how to handle their money. My mom was, by choice, a stay-at-home mom, but in reality, she was my dad’s consigliere. They discussed absolutely everything together. They were a real team, and I saw that every single day in the house. They both had a background in finance (That’s how they met in the first place.) and were incredibly skilled at all the hardcore adulting things that I absolutely suck at. They were total finance wizards together. So of course, instead of becoming an accountant, I picked up playing the guitar and ran as far I could with it. Luckily, they were all about it.

7. What was your favorite homecooked meal growing up?

My dad was an incredible chef. For special occasions, I’d request his crab cakes. They were unreal. I’ve never had a crab cake anywhere in the world that was good as my dad’s.

8. Who made you realize you could be an artist full-time?

I don’t know if I’ve actually realized that yet.

9. What’s at the top of your professional bucket list?

The specifics change every day, but the core idea at the top is to continue being consistently inconsistent with my choices, and to keep getting audiences to constantly reconsider their consideration of me. But I mean, sure, what performer doesn’t want to play Coachella? What songwriter doesn’t want to have Adele sing one of their songs? What actor doesn’t want to be in a Wes Anderson film?

10. How did your hometown/city shape who you are?

San Francisco. I mean, come on. I was really lucky. The older I get, the more grateful I am for just being born and raised there. It’s an incredibly diverse, culturally rich, colorful, inclusive, vibrant city. By the time I was born, it had served as a beacon for millions of creative, out-of-the-box thinkers to gather and thrive. I grew up around that. The combination of that with having parents, who were unbelievably supportive of the arts themselves, laid an incredibly fortunate foundation to consider the life of an artist as a legitimately viable option. It’s a foundation that I am supremely aware is not the case for millions of young artists around the world. I was absurdly lucky.

11. What’s the last song you listened to?

I mean probably one of mine, but not by choice. I know, lame. But I’m promoting a new EP, what’d you expect? But if you wanna know what I’ve been listening to, as far as new s--t is concerned: a lot of Lizzy McAlpine, Remi Wolf, and Charlie Burg.

12. If you could see any artist in concert, dead or alive, who would it be?

The Beatles is an obvious "yeah, duh." Sammy Davis, Mel Tormé, or of course, Nat King Cole. I would’ve loved to see Howard Ashman give a lecture on his creative process and his body of work.

13. What’s the wildest thing you’ve seen happen in the crowd of one of your sets?

I feel like just having a crowd at all, at any one of my sets, is pretty wild enough.

14. What’s your karaoke go-to?

The real answer to this I’ll write into a book one day, because I have a lot to say about karaoke etiquette. I have two options here: I can either name a song that I like to sing for me, for fun, or I can name a song that really gets the group going. The answer depends on what kind of karaoke night we’re dealing with here. So I will say, after I’ve selected a ton of songs that services a decent enough party vibe for everyone else, then I would do one for me, and that would be the Beatles’ “Oh! Darling.”

15. What’s one thing your most devoted fans don’t know about you?

What I have up my sleeve.

16. What TV show did you binge-watch over the past year?

Dave is a stroke of genius. There are episodes that I believe are bona fide masterpieces. Also, My Brilliant Friend is a masterclass in cinematic television.

17. What movie, or song, always makes you cry?

It’s A Wonderful Life.

18. What’s one piece of advice you would give to your younger self?

Get used to sharing everything about yourself and your life now, or more astutely, to the idea that you don’t necessarily get to control how your life is shared. I know it’s not really your thing, but you’re gonna have to get used to it, so start building up those calluses now. And don’t worry, all the stuff you love now will be cool again in your mid-thirties, so keep some of those clothes because you’ll be a full-blown fashion icon if you just keep wearing exactly what you’re wearing. Oh nd also, put money into Apple and Facebook.

19. What new hobby did you take on in the last year?

I’ve always been a linguaphile. My idea of leisure time is getting to study or review other languages. This past year, I took the time to finally dive into learning how to read, write, and speak Japanese. Other than making music, it was one of the biggest components of my 2020-2021.

20. What do you hope to accomplish or experience by the end of 2021?

I hope I get to play live shows again.

#darren criss #billboard #masquerade ep #press #sept 2021

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collecting-stories · 4 years ago

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3 am - JJ Maybank

Request: hey! if you’re taking requests could you write something where the reader and jj are dating and jj starts to distance himself from them and the reader is freaked bc they think he’s gonna break up with them but he actually just is scared to tell them he loves them 🥺👉👈

A/N: Sorry it’s taken me so long to get this out!!

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

You stared at your phone, messages open to the most recent string of texts you had sent to JJ. You were trying so hard not to be ‘one of those’ people but it had been almost three days since you had heard from him and the sudden drop off the face of the earth had you thinking the worst. Reaching out to anyone else hadn’t helped, Kiara and Pope hadn’t seemed to notice anything off about their best friend and you read the text between the lines. Ghosting was just JJ’s thing, relationships with him didn’t last long and this one had lasted the longest that they’d seen.

Part of you thought that maybe you should just take this as an out, a painless one because you didn’t have to hear him tell you he didn’t like you anymore or that ‘this wasn’t working’. So maybe you should’ve just taken the out but you couldn’t. You liked JJ and you wanted some kind of explanation, even if it was just him breaking up with you.

‘Can we please talk? This ghosting shit is really freaking me out’

The fifth in a small string of texts, carefully thought out in the beginning, trying not to badger him too much, until now...letting yourself sound desperate simply because you were. You weren’t expecting much of anything in return but, at three in the morning while you were laying in your room rewatching old episodes of Veronica Mars, your phone buzzed with a text from JJ.

‘sure. Meet me at hawks nest’

Two weeks of nothing but silence and finally he had responded. If it was anyone else in the world you would have had the good sense to ask them when, exactly, they wanted you to meet them, but you knew JJ well enough to know that he meant right then. Because he was probably laying around at John B’s wide awake and on the verge of sobriety.

You dressed and drove to the Hawk’s Nest, parking near the sign and walking to the actual structure, using your phone as a flashlight in the dark. The ground was damp from the week of rain, coating your feet and sandals in blades of grass. JJ’s dirt bike was at the bottom of the wooden stairs when you got to them.

“JJ?” You called, careful of the steps in the dark. Hawk’s Nest never really felt safe to you but you’d agreed to meet him here simply because of your desperation and rickety stairs wouldn’t deter you now.

He was on the first platform when you got to it, sitting on the edge with his legs dangling over, his own phone flipped on its front, flashlight illuminating the dark. You turned your off and stuck it in your back pocket, walking over to him slowly. “Hey, uh, thanks for...meeting me.” You weren’t sure how to say what you wanted to, if you should dive right in with the heavy questions or act like you hadn’t been losing it over his absence in your life for the last two weeks.

JJ had thought about ignoring the text, the same thing he’d been doing since he started avoiding you, but something about seeing your name pop up on his phone as he laid there on the pull-out at John B’s had him feeling desperate to see you. Fazing you out hadn’t been a gradual thing. Realizing that he had feelings for you, real, serious feelings, had been gradual. At first he’d ignored it and then when he couldn’t do that he tried to downplay it to himself but when other people started to notice he decided that all he could do was cut you off. He figured there would be nothing after that. A clean break, maybe a little shitty on his end but it would be easier if you thought he was just some asshole that was playing with your emotions and you didn’t know just how deep he was in this.

But then you started texting him when he started ignoring you, asking if he was okay, asking his friends about him. You weren’t going to let him off that easy and he knew, sooner or later, he was going to have to face up to his feelings. He just wasn’t ready to hear you tell him that you didn’t feel that way because he was positive that would be your response. JJ was the kind of guy who was great for a few weeks in the summer but not the sort of serious boyfriend material that anyone would actually want.

And he should’ve just ignored you but he couldn’t bring himself to. So he agreed to meet and he showed up at the Hawk’s Nest at three in the morning, sucking down the vapors from his juul and trying not to lose it completely before you even opened your mouth.

But that was the thing, you were just standing there in the dim light from his cellphone, not saying anything.

“So...what did you want?”

“You weren’t answering me...I didn’t wanna bother you but,” you shrugged, unsure exactly how you wanted to word your sentence. What were you even trying to say to him? “I mean, I thought things were going really well and then you just kinda...ghosted me.”

“Yeah.” JJ nodded. Maybe he could just pretend that he was in some weed induced daze, he practically almost was, and write off him showing up as a totally out of character moment. He could just respond to everything noncommittally and hope that you got annoyed enough to just leave.

“Well I just..I don’t get it, I guess. I mean, what happened?” You asked, trying to get something more out of him.

He shrugged, “don’t know.”

Your shoulders sagged and you clenched your fists, trying not to get too upset, or at least not more upset than you already were. You wanted answers and yelling wouldn’t get you anywhere, though JJ’s current approach to the situation had you wanting to shake him and make him understand how upset you were.

“Seriously Jay? Why did you even agree to meet me if you were just going to act like this?”

“I don’t get why you wanted to meet up anyway.” He replied, turning more toward you. He pushed his phone away with his hand and for a moment he was shrouded in shadows.

“Because you fucking ghosted me with no explanation whatsoever. I thought things were going really well but I guess I was wrong? I don’t get it, I’m sorry I don’t understand like...I really fucking love you and you just, dropped me like it was nothing.”

JJ said nothing for a moment, finally pocketing the juul he’d been flipping around in his hands since you had arrived. He bit at the inside of his bottom lip, twisting the ring on his thumb as he tried to think of something dismissive to say. In all honesty, his resolve was fading, more so now that you had told him that you loved him. It was the insecurity over that very thing that had made him ghost you in the first place.

“Whatever, I don’t even know why I bothered.” You said, turning on your heel and heading for the stairs. The silence hadn’t been taken the way JJ had meant it, as a stunned realization that you were in this as deep as he was. Instead you read his silence as rejection, leaving before he could see you cry.

“No, wait!” JJ scrambled to his feet, grabbing his phone as he stood up, casting flashes of light all over the place as he ran down the stairs after you. “Wait, wait.” He reached you at the bottom step, stopping you at the ground level when he darted out in front of you.

“What JJ?” You hissed.

“Wait...I...” he took a deep breath, “I didn’t think you felt that way about me. I thought, I figured I was the only one feeling that way so I cut you out.”

“Why didn’t you just talk to me?”

“I didn’t want you to break up with me.” He replied, “I thought if you knew how I felt and you didn’t feel the same way then it’d be over.”

“But I do feel the same way and you would’ve known if you’d talked to me instead of cutting me out and treating me like crap.” You said, “I really do love you JJ, but I can’t do this again-”

“You won’t. I won’t.” He promised. “I fucked up, I’m sorrry. Let me make it up to you, please.”

“Okay...but not at 3am...how about we get some sleep?” You offered, looking back to your car in the dark. You would figure things out in the morning, for now it was enough just to know that you and JJ weren’t over. Far from it.

Taglist: @stevie-buck @bijleegiregi @vitaminekabc @minigranger @teamnick @just-smile-darling @obxsummer @damonsalvawhore27 @isqbella @tomzfrog @fangirlvoice @phantompogues @98starkeys @ilovejjmaybank @lemur46 @khiaraaa-in-spacee @babygal-babygal @niya-savage @divvrx @princess-of-the-fandoms @thecaptainsgingersnap @jenjie @yourprincess-maybe @wowmaybankk @goldeng1rl8 @heavenlymama @vindictive-hearts @alexa-playafricabytoto @dontjinx-it @randomficsandshit @niamhobrien @strangerthanfanfiction713 @tovvaa @freckled-and-daydreaming @harleylynn @bibliophilewednesday @dpaccione @bolaurel @poguestyleskye @beautyandthebleh @under-a-canyon-moon @outerbankspreferences

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certifiedmarkleetrash · 5 years ago

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songs that make me feel like a main character (includes kpop)

*I made this playlist on spotify, I know I could link it, but I know some of these songs do not tickle everyone’s fancy. ALSO, I listen to a wide range of music (kpop, pop, rock, etc., so its kind of everywhere*

*added the Spotify link*

Please feel free to suggest songs that make you feel like a main character, I would love to listen to them!

I may or may not get some of these songs off of tik tok and if you work at Aeropostale, you might recognize a lot of these songs

I will add new songs too!

Girls in Bikinis - Poppy

12345SEX- UPSAHL

Zombie (English Ver.) - DAY6

Afraid -DAY6

1 to 10 - DAY6

Love me or Leave me - DAY6

Day and Night - DAY6

Stay Tonight - Chungha

Lies - Will Jay

Cosmic Love - Florence + The Machine

Electric Love - BORNS (yes I know the dude is problematic but this song is a main character bop)

Dark Paradise (Parov Stelar Remix) - Lana Del Rey, Parov Stelar

Wildflower - 5SOS

No Shame - 5SOS

Role Model - Phoenix

On My Own - 3LAU, Nevve

In Degrees - Foals

No Going Back - Yuno

Fading Youth - Punctual

Maybe You’re the Reason - The Japanese House

The Hype - LEISURE

All For Us - Labrinth, Zendaya

Sundress - A$AP Rocky

Dang! - Mac Miller, Anderson .Paak

Ladders - Mac Miller

Best Friend - Sofi Tukker, NERVO, The Knocks, et al.

Swan Song - Dua Lipa

Rocket Girl - Lemaitre, Betty Who

Graffiti - CHVRCHES

I Think I’m OKAY - Machine Gun Kelly, YUNGBLUD, Travis Barker

So What - LOONA

Blinding Lights - The Weeknd

Sexy, Free & Single - Super Junior

The Chaser - INFINITE

Treat People With Kindness - Harry Styles

That’s The Way It Is - Daniel Lanois

She - Harry Styles

To Be So Lonely - Harry Styles

Falling - Harry Styles

Psycho - Red Velvet

Adore You - Harry Styles

Watermelon Sugar - Harry Styles

Golden - Harry Styles

But, Honestly - Foo Fighters

Spark - Taeyeon

365247 - DAY6

Deep In Love - DAY6

It’s Okay To Cry - SOPHIE

Lights Up - Harry Styles

My Body - Young the Giant

False God - Taylor Swift

I Forgot That You Existed - Taylor Swift

Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince - Taylor Swift

The Archer - Taylor Swift

WHO DO U LOVE? - Monsta X, French Montana

FACE - Woosung

Best Part - DAY6

Wanna Go Back - DAY6

Time of Our Life - DAY6

Awkward Silence - Stray Kids

Illusion - ATEEZ

CROOKED - GDRAGON

Don’t Need Your Love - NCT Dream, HRVY

ME - CLC

gogobebe - Mamamoo

Bon Bon Chocolat - EVERGLOW

Photograph - Def Leppard

Butterfly - LOONA

WANT - Taemin (bop of 2019, fight me)

We Must Love - ONF (stan ONF you cowards)

Youth of the Nation - P.O.D.

Don’t Blame Me - Taylor Swift

I Did Something Bad - Taylor Swift

Sassy Me - Red Velvet

My My My! - Troye Sivan

Anybody Out There - Young Mister

Bloom - Troye Sivan

Shout - Tears For Fears

We Are The World - U.S.A. For Africa (can we do a reprise of this for the pandemic PLEASE)

Hysteria - Def Leppard

Livin’ On A Prayer - Bon Jovi

Don’t You (Forget About Me) - Simple Minds

Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic - The Police

Everybody Wants To Rule The World - Tears For Fears

Woman - BoA

Replay (PM 01:27) - NCT 127

1, 2. 3! - Seungri (I hate you seungri, rot in prison, I also hate you put a bop this good)

SEE SEA - Hyolyn

NANANA - IMFACT

I’m Not Afraid - Holland (stan Holland YOU COWARDS)

BLUE MOON - Kyeongri

1, 2, 3 - NCT Dream

Beautiful Feeling - DAY6

Naughty Boy - PENTAGON (okay but who else cried rtk ep 3)

Seesaw - Suga of BTS

Euphoria - Jungkook of BTS

HANN (Alone) - (G)-IDLE

Youngblood - 5SOS

Now or Never - SF9 (bop of 2018 I will fight you on this)

Taking Off - ONE OK ROCK

What’s Good - SVT Rap Unit

Take What You Want - ONE OK ROCK, 5SOS

SUNSET - Kim Donghan

Better Better - DAY6

Feeling Good - DAY6

We Are - ONE OK ROCK

Something New - Taeyeon

Forever Young - BLACKPINK

Take Me Higher - A.C.E.

Spotlight - Pristin V

Good Evening - SHINee

Needing/Getting - OK Go

This Too Shall Pass - OK Go

Call Your Name - JBJ

Trigger - VIXX

Shine - Pentagon (okay but also bop of 2018, and ptg should of gotten their first win with this song, ROBBED)

Egoist - Olivia Hye of LOONA, Jinsoul of LOONA

LIKEY - Twice

I Wait - DAY6

I Smile - DAY6

I Loved You - DAY6

INTRO: Neo Got My Back - NCT

BOSS - NCT U

THANKS - Seventeen

Bad Boy - Red Velvet

LOVE SCENARIO - iKON

Take The Dive - Jonghyun

Heroine - Sunmi

Greedy - Ariana Grande

She Is - Jonghyun

Born Hater - Epik High, Beenzino, Verbal Jint, et al.

Run Away With Me - Carly Rae Jepsen

new - Yves of LOONA

I Just - Red Velvet

Crazy Sexy Cool - ASTRO

Callin’ - A.C.E.

ON/OFF - ONF (stan [and I cannot emphasize this enough] ONF you cOwArDs)

I’M THE ONE - MXM

MOVE - Taemin

Sting - Stellar

You & I - One Direction

Ride - Lana Del Rey

Pied Piper - BTS

Like This - Pentagon

Don’t Know You - HEIZE

LOVE ME LOVE ME - WINNER

Story of My Life - One Direction

Act My Age - One Direction

Clouds - One Direction

Night Changes - One Direction

Girl Almighty - One Direction

Don’t Hold Me - DMEANOR, Swings

What U Do? - EXO

You Better Know - Red Velvet

View - SHINee

Singing In The Rain - Jinsoul of LOONA

Long Road to Ruin - Foo Fighters

My Hero - Foo Fighters

Will - Jeong Jinwoon, Tiger JK

Really Really - WINNER

I - Taeyeon, Verbal Jint

Why - Taeyeon

WAKE ME UP - B.A.P.

I Got Love - Taeyeon

Deepened - Brave Girls

Learn to Fly - Foo Fighters

Walk - Foo Fighters

Everlong - Foo Fighters

Into the New World - SNSD

Wheels - Foo Fighters

Come on Get Higher - Matt Nathanson

Wonderwall - Oasis

Alone - Heart

Home Sweet Home - Motley Crue

God is a woman - Ariana Grande

Maker - Big Wild

Me and Michael - MGMT

Are You Bored Yet? - Wallows, Clairo

God’s Menu - Stray Kids

fever dream - mxmtoon

Prom Queen - Beach Bunny

Close - Nick Jonas, Tove Lo

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thelittlesorceressbg3 · 2 months ago

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Deep Dive on Waverly

Since I’m still introducing Waverly to the tumblr community I decided to dig up this old character deep dive that me and @darcydekarios did a while back!

Q: What common/uncommon fear do they have?

A: Thunderstorms. Growing up Waverly always went to her mother for comfort during thunderstorms. After she got kidnapped by the nautiloid and that was no longer an option, Gale quickly became her new safe person. I hc Gale LOVES listening to the rain and thunder while he’s curled up with a book, so he probably has Waverly cuddle up to him while he reads to her.

Q: Do they have any pet peeves?

A: Being treated like a baby. Even though she’s the youngest member of the group (20) and cries a LOT. 😂

Q: What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

A: 1, A quill and notepad. Back in her tower in the upper city Waverly read and drew a lot to pass the time, so she loves writing and drawing. 2, Her teddy bear Gale won for her at the circus. 3, One of Gale’s shirts she stole from him.

Q: What do they notice first in a person?

A: Because of her sheltered upbringing Waverly tends to lack “street smarts”, and can be very naive and trusting. That’s how she got her scar during her adolescent years.

She pays attention to people’s hands and tries to gauge their intentions based on what their hands are doing.

Q: On a scale of 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

A: Probably 4. I don’t wanna think she’s a total wimp but at the end of the day she IS still a squishy caster.

Q: Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

A: It would really depend on the context. If it’s to defend someone she loves? Fight.

Q: Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

A: Waverly is an only child; she’s the illegitimate child of a noblewoman and a commoner. She was raised by her mother and never met her father, so for most of her life her mother was the only family she had.

It goes without saying her adventure companions became her found family. Astarion especially is like a big brother to her. He’s constantly teasing her and giving her a hard time but he’ll be one of the first to knife someone if they hurt her. (If her wizard boyfriend doesn’t get to them first!)

Q: What animal represents them best?

A: A bird. Waverly often looks back on her time confined to her tower and compares it to being a bird in a cage. For the first time she’s seeing the world and spreading her wings. ❤

Q: What’s a smell they like/dislike?

A: Likes? Old books and lavender. (Yes, Gale’s smell.)

Dislikes? Probably secondhand smoke from cigars and pipes. (Because same girl)

Although I do headcannon Gale partakes of a pipe even now and again and one night at camp Waverly insists on trying a puff.

Gale: Are you SURE? 🤨

Waverly: Yeah, I can handle it! 🙂‍↕️

Waverly nearly 💀’s.

Q: Have they broken any bones?

A: No, not yet!

Q: How would a stranger likely describe them?

A: Naive, ignorant, “innocent” if they’re going for a nicer sounding word.

Q: Are they a night owl, or a morning bird?

A: Definitely a morning person! A cute contrast to Gale who I hc is hard to get out of bed.

Q: What’s a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

A: She hates ham and how overpowering the flavor is.

She loves sweets, especially fruit filled/flavored desserts. Raspberry is her favorite.

Q: Do they have any hobbies?

A: Writing is her main hobby. She kept a journal all throughout her adventures that she would later use as inspiration for her book series, The Little Sorceress.

Q: Boom! Surprise birthday party! How do they react?

A: Tears. Just fucking waterworks. Everyone there is getting a hug + a little happy crying snot on their shirt.

This is unbelievably cute to imagine when you remember she never had friends or really anyone outside her mother until her 20th year so she’s never had a big party for her birthday before.

Q: Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

A: As a noble who loves to write, definitely neat! Being a sorceress I also imagine she uses mage hand to write once her hand gets tired/she needs her hands free while she writes.

Q: What are two emotions they feel the most?

A: Mushy gushy puppy love whenever she’s around Gale which is almost always.

Happiness. In spite of everything she has a very sunshiny disposition and always tries to be an optimist. It’s one of the reasons everyone in the party would collectively (cancel future birthdays) for her if someone hurts her.

Q: Do they have a favorite fabric?

A: Silk. She loves the feeling of sleeping in it.

Q: What kind of accent do they have?

A: Queen’s English, definitely lilted/sweet/cutesy sounding. (Tav voice 8)

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shattered-catalyst · 4 years ago

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OCD Subtypes for the RPC

Part 1 is here

Well well well, we are back for Part 2 of the Roleplayer’s Guide to OCD.

Fellow Ocd Folks, I see you in those tags and I'm going to do my best to ensure those obsessions are represented here- BUT understand that physically it is not going to be possible to list every single one because I am one person. Regardless its incredibly brave of you all to rb and add things in the tags, I know its hard to talk about this shit and I see you. I see you.

Resultantly I typed this out and posted it in formatting to assist with accessibility in mind; if you cannot read it still ( I tried Im sorry!) i recommend the copy and paste method or getting the chrome extension bee-line reader.

There will be grammatical and spelling mistakes. Im sure spacing is odd some places, but you have to understand doing this is extremely anxiety provoking for me so Im just getting it done when I can.

Remember to use your critical thinking; not everyone has the same symptoms/compulsions/triggers and all that.

OCD is fluid. Its like liquid mercury. One day its a handful of subtypes another day its another different serving.

If you are in general squicked about certain topics even by mention read ahead with your own judgement. Remember us folks that have OCD have many disturbing and distressing experiences so if you are writing a character who has OCD and you can’t read about it just don’t give them that obsessive thought/ compulsion. Make sure writing is still a safe and enjoyable hobby for yourself first and foremost.

But ethically and morally I cannot and will not leave out the more disturbing bits. You have the ability to scroll by, I and many others do not get the chance to escape triggering content that our own mind creates.

So read ahead with your best judgement or at least skip around the squicky parts and educate yourself on what OCD is so people quite using it as a Obsessive Christmas/Corgi/Cat Disorder thing. Alright? Cool beans.

Okay so you made it passed post 1 and got under the read more. Give yourself a gold star for diving into this monster of a document.

Below is a crash course it is not meant to replace actual psychoeducation, personal research, or google. Honestly most of us do our research extensively but because OCD is treated so horribly by social media, media, and society in general.

I wasn’t sure where to throw these together because the education tools to learn fully about OCD are very specialized and thus very restricted. I found that many people DO have these experiences with OCD though so I will represent them throughout. I’ll also sprinkle some of my own experiences so you can get a good reference of a person who has the disorder and not just a randomly generated person.

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So OCD is made up of Obsessions, Trigger, Intrusive thought, Misinterpretation/feared consequence,Somatic and Psychological Anxiety, and Compulsions/Rituals.

Your character may not be able to list all of these. In fact if they aren't in ERP therapy they may not be able to puzzle these things out. But YOU as the writer should know them. Your character won’t be walking around talking to just ANYONE that they have OCD. Remember a huge aspect of OCD is it’s Shame. The disorder makes us feel intense shame regarding our intrusive thoughts, as a result OCD goes undiagnosed for years especially if it has pediatric onset.

We won’t tell anyone what we are experiencing or why we are doing x y or z. We act like nothing is wrong because to emotionally react is to admit to yourself- and therefore the world- that you have had this intrusive thought and are therefore by virtue a horrible person.[For further information I would suggest also researching PANDAS].

It may be noticeable if your character has an intrusive thought. They may wince or grimace or roll their eyes certainly, but they won’t open up to Joe at the cafe about how their brain is constantly torturing them. I apparently have a very noticeable eye twitch.

Depending on the nature of the intrusive thought it will get more or less of a reaction out of me. Its usually dependent on how distressing the intrusive thought is and/or if its a new one.

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You see OCD doesn’t sit still. It never looks the same. You’ll have your long haul intrusive thoughts that are with you for years but then you’ll have weird ass ones that just appear and demand their voice be heard yelling about cars hitting people or squirrels getting eaten.

Some people have similar ones! So while everyone is different there will always be someone out there with an intrusive thought similar to yours.

For instance; I bonded emotionally with a lady on reddit because we both have intrusive thoughts during storms that animals and the homeless are dying. We were both horribly relieved to find another person and also distressed that every snow or rain storm brings horrible images and whispers to your mind that while you are warm and snug in bed someone is freezing to death. And its all your fault.

Some days are better than others. As with all mental illnesses it isn’t CONSTANT ALARM BELLS. Some days it will be all alarms and other days it will be like a gentle whisper on the breeze. You can almost not notice it. Almost.

Obsessive thoughts run the gauntlet from ‘i will/could have/may/may accidentally harm etc’ something that you hold of value. This is any obsessive thought that you have: you think about repeatedly and not by choice, it is very anxiety provoking, it is unwanted, and unwelcome.

Mine run the scale from ‘squirrel will be murdered’ to ‘being responsible for harm’.

Compulsions or ‘rituals’ are any behavior done to alleviate the anxiety from the intrusive thought and trigger object. In short, compulsions and rituals are not fun. they are absolutely not logical, and we know they are not logical but we are forced to do them. Thats why its a disorder.

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To emphasize from post 1: magical thinking and the faulty link between thoughts and actions are hallmarks of OCD. Magical thinking can be anything from contamination to if I turn around three times or stare really hard at something the bad thing wont happen. Sounds weird and is weird and we know it is thats why its a disorder and not a delusion.

The faulty belief that thought=action is the biggest hurdle it is incredibly difficult to grasp, at least for me maybe some of you that have done further ERP can attest, that the mere concept of a thought not being the same as an action is completely and totally mind blowing.

Free will? Yeah thats terrifying. IDK about anyone else but free will is absolutely terrifying; what do you mean i could do anything i wanted?

Thats how you face OCD(WITH A TRAINED THERAPIST). You give in to ambiguity and the unknown. Its breaking that link between thought and action. Its incredibly difficult and draining. A five minute exposure leaves me in shatters for a week and two five minute ones had me ripping my nails past the nail beds with anxiety.

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Just a reminder: Do not have your character expose themself or expose folks with OCD to a trigger to “ help us get over with”. That is literally forcing someone with a mental illness into a break down and is not helpful. In fact its worse because a person knows about this intrusive thought and they tried to make it real. More shame and some trauma.

If you have OCD, more likely than not a family member or significant other has tried this with the purest of intentions. But it never works like that. Theres a reason that therapists get special training for this. If people want a post on ERP I can make one at some point.

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Actually let’s drag me with the squirrel thing as the example- fellow OCD Folks get out a pen and paper and try breaking down one of yours;

Obsession:Squirrel will be murdered

Trigger: seeing a squirrel

Intrusive thought: Graphic images of a squirrel being murdered by a hawk/ impaling depending on the day

Misinterpretation/feared consequence: Squirrel will be killed and its all my fault

Somatic and Psychological Anxiety:intense anxiety, palms sweating, heart racing,

Compulsions/Rituals: Must stare at the squirrel to prevent bad things from happening,

Now imagine if that is every time you see a fucking squirrel. You have somehow become completely and totally transfixed on a squirrel and nothing is going to pull your attention away or the squirrel dies- which your mind is giving you lovely images of btw.

Cute right?

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Below are the subtypes with general information/example thoughts/ and how some of these have impacted me socially because apparently some people dont understand that mental illnesses impact their social lives?? yall...

Social: This can range from ‘ i am constantly thinking i did something wrong so i have to ask for reassurance that we are still friends’ to completely unrealistic worries. Maybe its an intrusive thought that ‘ your voice is annoying them’ . There’s reassurance seeking, internal and external checking.

It makes friendships extremely difficult and exhausting. You’re not trying to get to know someone with an annoying frat boy egging on anxiety in your brain. This can also manifest as having strict rules for yourself and ethical codes.

My therapist likes to say she could give us (folks with OCD) a pile of hundred dollar bills and come back and they’d all be returned. Because OCD makes you so strict and morally confined. Which ISNT fun. Like I dont get pleasure over having to memorize the entire Code of Conduct!

Social Media: Its the bane of human existence some days and a lifeline the next. But what if everytime your follower count was an odd/even number it sent you into a panic attack. What if you spent all your time with intrusive thoughts that somehow someone misinterpreted a post or that someone is going to be harmed by a post you made about tapirs.

You may be forced to block people to get your number down or keep pornbots on your blog to keep your number what you like (see there is a use for them! We sacrifice those before actual users!) You may be refreshing your page every second because ‘what if you miss a message’. It's going to look a lot like ‘check check check check reassure yourself double check your posts check check check reassure check check FALSE MEMORY check your post etc’

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Clothing/Body Image: When its not Body Dysmorphia it can be OCD. Sometimes this looks like I obsess about a body part and therefore I choose my clothes/hairstyles to hide those. Some personal examples: as a kid I was sure that mind readers exist ( THIS IS AN OCD THING TOO I was so relieved to find that out) and that if i didnt wear a particular hat they would see all these horrible thoughts and it would be revealed what an awful person I was. So I wore the same dumb ass bucket hat for a year (or more I cannot remember but it was a long ass time).

I was once so fixated on being given a compliment on my eye color that I wore sunglasses (even at night) to a summer camp. And if any of those teen girls in that cabin that stood up and mocked me in a crowded lunch hall by singing ‘i wear my sunglasses at night’ you all owe me 40$.

Even younger still I had intrusive thoughts. Like say, if anyone noticed I was female that i would be kidnapped so I chopped my hair very short. I altered my appearance to be very androgynous and even switched to walking more masculine. Because omg if your hips move someones going to kill you thats just how it works. ( It doesnt help I later figured out I was a lesbian)

Your wardrobe may be impacted by OCD and yes so can your body image.

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Also yes the fear of mind readers is also a thing; i always thought I was somehow faking OCD because yes that is also a…..

Faking: Do you value telling the truth? Do you detest lying ? Boy Howdy do I have some news for you. OCD is going to try and convince you that YOU LIED. Whether it was on a chastity pledge to get a free sandwich or in a conversation you just HAD. This links a lot with false memory OCD.

Another aspect is OCD makes us doubt we have OCD and tries to convince us we have any other diagnosis under the sun and we are obviously faking our OCD.

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Sexual Orientation OCD; It is as it is called. Sexual Orientation OCD is what happens when your brain goes ‘hold on what if you’re not this orientation what if you are THAT’. It doesn’t matter where on the LGBT umbrella you fall you will have OCD trying to convince you otherwise. From compulsive staring at members of the same/opposite gender to compulsively reassuring or checking with yourself to ensure that ‘ no no you are in fact THIS orientation.’

This can range in behavior from binge watching porn, staring compulsively to check that there is OR is NOT attraction,self checking past experiences and memories, analyzing your clothing and your lifestyle in painful and intricate methods.

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False Memory OCD; False memory OCD is basically your brain sitting you in a noir interrogation room, handcuffing you to a chair grilling you. It demands that you did *insert bad thing here*. This can range from anything from something Harm based to pretty much *anything* from other OCD subtypes. Which is quite delightful really.

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Sensorimotor OCD; Sensorimotor OCD is obsessive body responses. These can be ‘ I have to cough really hard and really feel it right in my chest and if I can’t get it right I have to cough until I do’. This can be counting your heartbeats. Trying to check yourself that you in fact have a heart and checking and reassuring that it is still beating. It can be hyper-awareness of swallowing or even swallowing repeatedly. It is anything with selective attention; ie its an automated process but your OCD is forcing you to be aware of it.

Your OCD makes you aware of the sensation of, say, breathing, and then it convinces you that if you stop paying attention to it you will stop breathing. So now you’re horribly aware and focused solely on breathing and breathing alone. It keeps me up most nights with the pounding anxiety fueled by the pressure of ‘if you stop focusing on breathing you will stop breathing completely’ or waiting to feel that last heartbeat in your chest.

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Existential OCD; You ever feel existential ? Existential OCD is like having a very aggressive existential crisis that turns you into NEEDING answers IMMEDIATELY. This can look anything from hours panic scrolling the net to panic inducing anxiety because you don't know what happens after death. The thoughts are like foghorns on a misty sea.

This sounds basic and the only example i can give is as a teeny tiny 7 year old I had a panic attack in bed screaming that ‘ what if im a dinosaur and im asleep and i wake up and my whole family is GONE’.

To be fair I did like dinosaurs a lot.

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Harm OCD; This is pretty self explanatory but I will give more details. Harm OCD is OCD demanding that you will/could/can/may have/might harmed yourself/others/any living creature and that you alone are responsible.

This means anything from getting anxious driving over crosswalks because ‘what if you dont see one and hit someone and its all your fault and you hit someone go back and make sure you havent hit anyone’ to ‘im holding a knife so im going to accidentally stab someone’ to ‘ i didnt see my cat this morning and now im at work and think she must be dead and i am responsible for her demise.’

It can be as simple as ‘if i use a pencil i will stab myself in the eye’ or as complex as ‘ i may accidentally say a slur’/ ‘ i am going to say this horrible thing out loud if i cannot control myself.’ It can also be images of terror or racist/sexist/ableist jokes in your mind that repeat like a broken record.

(Please note from section 1 that this is extremely anxiety provoking and not something you would do. OCD preys on what we respect the most.)

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pOCD; Tumblr listen the fuck up because I am tired of seeing people get called shit on this website for having this mental illness. People who experience pOCD are not pedophiles, they do not get any pleasure or benefit. The thoughts and images are meant to induce harm to the person experiencing them. Children are normally the trigger for this and the resulting images can be very graphic. Again you aren’t attracted to children- thoughts of them getting harmed hurt you so your OCD makes you see them.

Know this so you can advocate for folks with pOCD in real life. Remember we are here. We are suffering and we are terrified of your children.

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Poisoning others/or in your food; Life isn’t medieval anymore but sometimes OCD demands we have a food taster or that we obsessively worry that we may kill someone with our cooking. Personally I struggle with colorblindness so I am constantly fretful over cooking any sort of meat so it’s difficult for me to cook it.

However this also comes as; obsessive horrible thoughts of your cooking kill someone or that you have somehow/accidentally poisoned someone’s food (even if you haven’t touched it or been within a foot of it ) or that someone has poisoned YOUR food even if no one has touched it except you. You’re going to be picking apart your food or unable to eat out at all.

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Emotional Contamination: It’s similar to magical thinking and this terrifying prospect of mind readers. Emotional contamination can manifest as anything from intense worry over somehow gaining someone else’s negative personality traits.

Or that somehow by interacting with any role of someone horrible will make YOU somehow also responsible for the horribleness. There is usually a person or a type of person that is a trigger, but it can also be location based.

This is one subtype where magical thinking and superstition are apparent.

For instance; as a teen if a male was in my space or had physical contact;like shaking hands,giving a high five, being in my room etc. I would have to go around and physically touch all the objects that I perceive they may have also touched as a way to cancel out their presence.

This includes wiping off myself to negate even the touch of family members. It really hurts peoples feelings, my father was especially hurt by this.

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Physical Contamination: This goes beyond physical dirt and grime. Most of us dont have spotless homes because if you’re having a fist fight with your brain everyday cleaning falls by the wayside just like it would for anyone else. Physical contamination holds 2 things: physical contamination obsessions AND compulsive cleaning behaviors/rituals. We believe that a small amount of a contaminate can cover large surfaces.

Oh, and did I mention its not JUST dirt/germs/viruses. The list is expansive but heres a mixed bag of what they can be: sticky substances,dead animals,glitter (FUCKING GLITTER),negative words or language,colors, numbers, surfaces in general, food, people, and activities. There is also a hyper responsibility to protect yourself and others from ‘contamination’.

Strangely there is a magical separation between the contaminated world and the ‘clean’ one. Spaces designated as clean would be a bedroom/bathroom/workspace where you are most active. That space is where the compulsions and intrusive thoughts occur. Its not I MUST CLEAN EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME. Otherwise I would be working cleaning houses because why the hell not amiright?

A real world example from a colleague would be a young man with physical contamination OCD is struck with such intrusive thoughts about cleaning that they refuse to allow anyone in their room or any animals in their home. But they are not able to even flush the toilet, take out the trash, wash dishes, or do garbage because of their intrusive thoughts.

The most famous would be compulsive hand washing but I feel it is important to also note OTHER aspects of physical contamination because everyone sees the hand scrubbing stereotype.

Other compulsions include intricate rituals, not touching the floor (i played X-treme the floor is lava during college. I couldnt let my feet touch the floor because it was ‘dirty’),excessive showering (2-8+ hour showers guys, 8 hour showers. Thats what we’re talking about.)

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Relationship OCD: This comes as no surprise that yes you will have intrusive thoughts that you are somehow harming/ will harm/ may accidentally harm your significant other. Whether that be by physical or emotional means. It can look like ‘ I may have lied to her about how much I love her’, ‘ i may not actually love her and I may be leading her on’, and ‘ I must be corrupting her’. These can extend to certain physical activities with false memory OCD as a cherry on top. A great finishing garnish to leave you feeling absolutely dismayed and unable to trust your own perception.

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Scrupulosity: Religion! Whatever that may be! Its a thing with OCD. With Scrupulosity obsessive thoughts run all over the board from; you committed a sin and forgot about it you monster to having to pray continuously/ a certain time/ until its right. What is right?Ask OCD that’s the only person who knows.

We are fairly certain my grandfather had OCD because he went to church for every single Catholic Mass. Every single day. Every. Single. Day. That’s not a healthy amount of attendance(I'm calling you out posthumously because I care Robert!). This can also look like: praying a certain amount of times. Praying until you do it ‘right’. Confessing every single potential sin. Cataloguing and dwelling over ‘sinful’ things.

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Symmetry or Just Right OCD: Symmetry OCD is the runner up for ‘most likely recognized on tv shows’ award.

Symmetry OCD convinces you that if *insert thing here* isnt symmetrical or ‘just right’ (a magical position or number of objects that makes 0 logical sense) that something bad will happen.

This can range from the known; rearranging things. But it also looks like buying more objects until you reach the right amount and even throwing out objects if theres ‘too many’.

It can range from ‘the walls are percievably not straight so now i avoid that room at all costs otherwise i will be trapped traveling the edges of the wall with my eyes otherwise it will fall in and murder us ALL.’ to ‘ this historical bust is one inch off to the left and now all i see is visions of it breaking against the ground.’

So that is what I have time for. 9 pages on subtypes and basic information. If you find yourself wanting me information all of this is easily accessible online. So go, be free and dont ever compare people to Monk again. Write Batman and Scott Summers with OCD. Give us ACTUAL representation and not throw away joke lines. We are here. Our suffering isnt funny. We deserve representation too.

#OCD #writing help #OCD resources.#*drops 10 pages onto your dash* whoops

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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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Legend of the Three Cablleros: Nazca Racing and Mexico A-Go-Go

Saludos Amgios and welcome back to The Ride of the Three Caballeros! And we’re almost at the finish line! After this reviews only 4 episodes, 2 reviews and a top 12 list/celebration of this long and fun as hell journey, this one for free to thank kev for paying for all these reviews and because without him this probably woudlnt’ of happened for some time and I thank him for that. Point is we’re so close I can taste it to being finished here so with nothing else to cover, after the cut we’re diving right into adventure.. literally.

Nazca Racing:

So we open at the outside of Sheldgoose Manor as while we’re not at the scene of the action YET, the show has kept it’s tendency to have intresting intros as it goes on. Point is Xandra is incredulous about the guys claims of a magic barrier.. for some reason. Seriously Sheldrake is a powerful sorecerer, has a lair, even if they don’t know about that part, why WOULDN’T his place be shielded from you guys? Still she has to test it punchiing it , arrowing it and throwing a rock at it.. and the rock does take out a window prove it even if i’ts vandalism but that wasn’t a crime thousands of years ago and no one saw them so we good.

Our heroes brainstorm back at the Cabana what to do, ignoring the girls suggestion that since the cabs can’t get through the barrier they can but are ignored because ... I dunno. I seriously dont’ know, they haven’t treated the kids like this before or since. Also if you were wondering why not humphrey, spark of life. Too risky. But this discourse is interupted as there’s a signal in peru. The trap has been sprung and the girls warn it might be since they KNOW the cabs will show up where they are and have time to plan but are brushed off. We also get the start of a thread with Jose as he gives all his money to some kittens who are actually con artists. Turns out that’s WHY he’s poor: he gets money easily but donates it all to bogus charities. You know like Louie’s kids or PETA. It’s a nice character trait, showing despite being a lady’s man and having a bit of an ego.. he’s still a very good guy if very, VERY gullible. Hopefully it comes up againa s this smacks of a flaw brought up and solved in one episode, and while ti’s adressed her it really dosen’t get resolved, but with 5 episodes left after this I HIGHLY doubt it.

So our heroes are off to the Nasca lines of having gotten there with the help of a shady pilot... instead of you know.. porting there.. but given the Nazca Lines are best seen from air according to wikipedia and best shown off that way, as well as the fact it’s revealed you can enter the realm the creatures represented in the lines inhabit via plunging into it, it does make sense. She could’ve TOLD them all this before going but this is one of her off days. The Nazca Lines are a real life set of geoglypys that look really damn cool, and show up in all sorts of works, the two off the top of my head are Mega Man Starforce 2 where their used as the basis for the villians, and Yu-Gi-Oh! 5ds, where there used for the basis for the earthbound immortals.. also villians, a series of powerful and evil gods, and naturally represented by cards, that bring people back from the dead to serve as their avatars, known as the dark signers.

As you can see they also look really fucking awesome. Sadly I have not had a deck with them as I haven’t really thought about it and you need a field spell to keep them alive, but still good stuff. Really need to watch that arc in full some day.

Point is the plane starts to fall apart because the pilot swindled them, or rather Jose, and they have to jump without a parachute as there’s only one. Xandra of course leaps first forgetting her friends don’t have god strength or durability and will just go squish if her logic doesn’t pan out. Panchito naturally leaps without thinking and Jose decides why not and sky captain and the crappy plane he bought for 5 bucks decides to snatch the parachute so Donald’s forced to leap. It does work though and we do get one of the best parts of the series thus far: our heroes are drawn in chalk which is beautiuflly animated and a really creative idea. Granted the magic chalk thing dosen’t make a LOT of sense given the lines are carved in.. but at the same time we’re talking about three talking birds and a goddess chasing after an overweight one percenter, his talking staff and said talking staff’s son/lover/donkeybatmonkeyrat. Exact accuracy to real life can be waved just a smidge. Point is they find Mono, a monkey and one of the guardians of the lines, who Feldrake apparently trapped, though Xandra is suspcious. NOW, after their already in the trap basically.

But yeah Mono tells them Feldrake is going after the Nazca Gyroscope, a device at the center of the earth that keeps the earth orbiting the sun.

Point is our heroes have to stop him though Xandra is again suspcious as Feldrake wants to conquer the world not destroy it.... forgetting the whole lava lizard scheme... just.. seriously what was his plan there. rule over a pile of ashes.. actually given Feldrake’s competence and intellegence so far. that’s probably exactly it. Why is Sheldgoose the one getting called fool a lot again?

So we get another really stellar Musical Number, draw the line as our heroes progress through the Nazca world. Also I forgot to mention but earlier, in a nice bit of setup, we set up both that jose is a talented artist, which comes in handy here, while donald struggles and doubts himself. Can.. .can relate. Say that a lot but REALLY can relate. They end this wonderful song easing on down the road while our villians watcht hem.. instead of you know going ahead up and erasing them as is their plan.

Meanwhile, the trips sneak into Sheldgooses mansion trying to find some sort of evil scheme or lair or some clue they can use. But instead june, looking for some secret in the money vault, instead is caught by security so a chase insues and our heroines spend the episode barely outrunning the security dogs.. who SHeldgoose apparently raised.

Don’t.. DON’T want to think about THAT any longer than I have to. Point is they find Feldrake’s hidden lair we saw in the second episode where Sheldgoose found the staff. Not bad stuff, just really not something I need to spend an hour recapping.

So our heroes continue along encountering Hanzy, another guardian with giant hands who they free from a finger trap.. and her reasoning is both adorable and chucklesome, as Sheldgoose, having a piece of the chalk, drew a finger trap and never having had one in her size she just had to try it. So the party gains another member as they tread carefully past the spider, the final guardian and one who will eat them without a second thought. With that they reach the gyroscope.. and Mono turns on the cabs revealing Sheldgoose tricked him into thinking they were the bad guys and this is naturally a trap. And that is part of the episodes problem: the tension from “well their walking straight into a trap” is kinda.. nonexistant. OUr heroes ran in blind, and even when suspicious in the liens being on their guard amounts to nothing and we know from last episode this is a trap. It’s one thing to have a plan turn out to be a trap for the heroes or for the villians, as we’ll see later this week, that’s fine.. but either the audience isn't aware or there’s general tension from our heroes not knowing. Here there’s none of that.

So our heroes are trapped in a cage while Sheldgoose and Feldrake head up top to erase them, as if their drawings on hte line, the way they came in are erased so are they. It’s a good plan.. and the tension is dissipated again as hanzy just casually tosses the cage off, mono apologizes and our heroes use the chalk to draw themselves flying machines, with Donald only having a balloon and a basket. Comedic gold. Despite once again any dramatic tension this episode evaporating like ..t ears in the rain? I dunno I don’t have a metaphor that works here. Despite this the race is genuinely thrilling with sheldgoose busting out a shark rocket launcher since neither Feldrake nor Xandra’s magic work in the lines. Nice touch by the way. But he runs out of chalk (”You should’ve learned how to conserve space!”) though our villians reach the exit first by unleashing the spider, who Jose tries to smooth talk into not eating them.. and Donald, like me afriad of spiders, iconically shouting “KILL IT, KILL IT WITH FIRE!”

The heels erase Hansy, which is genuinely sad. Our heroes do escape in time though before he can get them and while Feldrake makes a speech in an awesome moment, Xandra just.. ignores it and fills him full of arrows.. well the g rated equilvent about that, I don’t think any of us want to see Wayne Knight bleed buckets. I”m still not over that scene from Jurassic Park where we saw nothing but I imagined it all right.. I.. imagined it *shudders*

So i’m scared for life but our heroes are free and revive hanzy with the chalk and we get a really sweet payoff to Donald’s trouble drawing as his new finger for her is a bit crooked but she loves it. It shows even if your art isn’t as good as other people’s it’s still worth something. A nice message. Feldrake once again berates Sheldgoose who points out the cabs can escape death again and again... giving Feldrake the idea to go talk to death personally. And yeah these teases... while I get this series was made for streaming.. they keep hurting the story slightly like they did here. Though I will give them credit this one.. ends up ratcheting up the tension next time so props.

Final thoughts on Nazca Racing: This one was decent. The animation was gorgeous and always the jokes were top notch, and the subplot was a nice opportunity for the triplets to take the stage and have an adventure.. but the plot banks a lot on our heroes walking into a very obvious trap and that just sours things for me. Still it’s not a bad episode like “World Tree Caballeros” or “No Man is an Easter Island” for the reasons stated above. And there was no daisy for an episode so while I badly wanted to find out how she’d react to the events last episode, we also got a break from her being bitchzilla, queen of monsters for an episode.. for an episode. “Sigh”

Mexico-A-Go-Go:

Okay back on form. Our heroes return home to find.. a conspiracy board all around the house.

Sadly it’s not that but it turns out the girls haven’t slept since the mansion and while Donald objects to their breaking and entering, they soon reveal what htey found: The Sheldgooses have all been linked to eveyr major disaster over the centuries... ever since Feldrake, who we see as a mortal for the first time, holding his OWN book as a counterpart to the heroes. They also uncovered a connection to Clinton coot and the sheldgooses but don’t have time to elaborate before Donald waves them off to check his messages. Unsurprisingly it’s Daisy who says “In light of recent events” i.e. you know seeing Donald’s friend save her life, dapper abandon her and seeing donald fight an evil sorcerer and wrangle a bear, to give him one more second chance.

Yeah i’ve spent a good chunk of this series complaining about Daisy.. and given she appears in the final two episodes i’m probably not finished. But this is just.. wow. So now she KNOWS, if not all the details that Donald and his friends are entangled in something big and scary, that involves a lives bear and actual fucking magic, so that his ducking out on her last time was NOT him being irresponsible or going to hang with his pals or something stupid, but probably something pretty important, she’s not fully aware of everything but she’s aware ENOUGH to know Donald really is making something of himself or at least is trying and really didn’t mean to mistreat her.. and she STILL is giving him fucking ultimatums!

I just.. i’m so done with this whole fucking subplot. All of it. Not just Daisy, Donald constnatly having a moan about loosing her and whining about going on missions to save the world instead of keeping this ungrateful, bossy, self esteem shattering, shrill, selfish, gold digging, impossibly high stand’s keeping big gulp full of bitch.

Donald.. buddy YOU CAN DO BETTER. Xandra’s right there and even if she’s not interested there’s a WHOLE TOWN of rich, eligible ladies. Go woo one of them! it’s hard getting out there, believe me I know, it’s VERY hard and i’ll probably die alone.. but your a good man, you have good friends. Friends who’ve screwed up yes but good friends to wingman and wingwoman for you. Just... leave Daisy behind. It’s not good for your mental health to keep bending over backwards for someone who wants you to be something you’ll NEVER be. Who wants someone sophisticated and with a steady job.. and the latter part’s never going to happen now your a Caballero, and given that’s more important.. good! If she can’t see what you do or won’t take the time to fucking listen... MOVE. ON. I know moving on’s hard but you have to. For your own health. Staying stuck in place over a person just hurts you and them.

And as for Daisy.. this is easily the worst version of the character. And I went into this FULLY KNOWING this version was bad, FULLY KNOWING she was going to be grating and some of the things she’d pull like Dapper thanks to spoilers. It’s why I held off watching this for so long.. and turns out while it was worth it, the series is quite good, my fears were JUSTIFIED and no amount of reading it could prepare me for how terribly written and horribly damaging this all is. And I do mean damaging: Kids pick things up from media. And while I should’ve caught on sooner, can’t fully blame a cartoon, I did as a kid and teen get my idea of romance from cartoons and tv and thus got the idea that pining after someone in secret was okay and they’ll come around eventually and starring at them and what not is entirely fine and not creepy. Of course it isn’t, of coure you have to say something, and of course you have to let it go if there with someone else. I know that NOW, and there have been much better geek gets the girl plots. .but it still seriously fucked with my autistic brain’s view on friendships with women, something I still struggle with at times. And that’s why I take this shit seriously: Because while thankfully I never bought into THAT , shit where “it’s okay if it’s a WOMAN, abusing a MAN”. Men can be abused to. It’s why we had SO SO MANY unfunny stalker characters in the 2000′s, and so many plots like this where the guy is wrong.. because h’es male and his partner being domineering and expecting him to change everything without doing anything for them or treating them as an equal.. is just not okay. And it speaks to a bigger problem.. out of touch writers who assume because THEIR wives are only with them out of obligation that’s how ALL relatoinships work, when no it’s not get a divorced please god. The Duckverse REALLY doesn’t need this According to Jim, My Wife and Kids, George Lopez, Home Improvement, Cleveland Show, King of Queens, Dinosaurs, Rick and Morty, Glen Martin DDS, etc all bullshit. People break up and Donald deserves better. And I genuinely blame both EP Matt Daner and Tony Anselmo for this. And I have a LOT of respect for both guys, i’ve made that very clear.. but Matt as EP and thus the one in charge fo the overall storyline is clearly the one who thought of this and Tony, who helped write for Donald this series, didn’t either get Tress, whose been doing daisy for two decades and is as knolwedgle for her as he is for donald the same courtsey or chime in given he should know daisy better. Both of these men should know better. Danner wrote for Xiaolin Showdown, that had great female characters for the most part and Tony is a grown ass man whose worked with women and is married as far as I know. Figure it out. This Daisy thing has EASILY been the worst part of this retrospective as a whole, the worst part of this series and probably the worst thing i’ve seen in a duck property.. and again I saw daisy ACTUALLY HIT DONALD.

And this is worse. Because instead of one moment of terrible writing and misplaced slapstick that comes off as abuse, it’s just a constnat barage of emotoinal abuse treated as if i’ts DONALD’S fault. Donald did nothing wrong to her and his only crime is obessing of this hellspawned hardian. Fuck this entire plot with a garden rake lined with acid.

Also just a quick note before we speed through Daisy’s screentime to get to the good part of the episode, there’s, at least no yet NO proper reaction to Donald’s new life and it bothers me it bothers me a lot. She learns he has this whole secret life and has no fucking questions just more of the same old bullshit. “SIGH”

So yeah this b-plot: Donald wants to stay for Daisy

And the others drag him along though this time.. Donald comes off as the asshole because he KNOWS they need him, knows he’s useful and knows this is more important but drags his feet anyway for someone who again, has done NOTHING good for him. And even with the girls saying the’ll help and telling him to keep the mirror handy, he still keeps complaning up until the plans reveaeld.

The plan, which.. May I think, the orange one. I know June is purple, but while May isn’t on board for this, the plan is to have April and June do the totoem pole trench and have donald be the face. So the entire plan is basically this

They have an actually nice date till the ruse is revealed, and while he says “I can explain” which he can.. she PUNCHES the mirrror saying explain this.

So our heroes need to go to Mexico, Panchito’s homeland and somehow, in a series based on and starring primarily south american characters... one of the two times we visit the region and the only time we visit one of the cabs two home countries. Now the latter part i’m fair on since they were likely saving Brazil for the season 2 that never happened and didn’t want to blow their load just yet. The other part.. not so much. I’m not saying set the entire series there, there’s a lot of world, but most of the locations aside from the world tree are pretty common for globetrotting adventure: Easter Island, Stonehenge, Mt. Rushmore, The Pyramids, the Moon, and coming up Camelot and Shangri La. These aren’t BAD settings mind and are used creatively and probably will be in the two I haven’t seen, and the setups involving king arthur and a yeti spa do sound like they wont’ dispoint, but you had a real opportunity to teach kids, and my grown man self, about South America and ya blew it.

But we’re in Mexico where after meeting a spooky cloaked guy who says they might not leave alive

So our heroes enter the temple and the other side and find a bunch of chickens who see Panchito, who insisted on the trip due to his luchadores code of always helping the incident, as a god and their chosen champion for the goddess of light as the preistess explains. So we get a montage of Panchito getting pampred while the other cabs get pushed around, ending at a restraunt. Xandra is naturally suspcious as the locals are being AWFUL vauge about what’s going on here, and this is getting pretty midsomar. Donald is distracted by daisy and Jose is distracted by a beautiful senorita, leaving Xandra to TRY and get panchito to think.. before being distracted herself by a mysterious handsome latino gentleman in black. Though during the dance with thier respective partners, Xandra and Jose both remark that it’s weird.. but are distracted by the sexy long enough for it to be revealed what Panchito’s duty is: as the champion of life.. he has to fight the champion of death. No Prize for guessing who. Though unlike with “Nazca Racing” where the teaser removed all tension since we knew it was a trap, here the teaser last episode helps, as we don’t see Team Feldrake till this moment, and we know something involving death itself.. and finding out panchtio’s representing life just ratchets up tension: we know the bad guys are involved.. but we don’t know how or what they’ll do.

And the how is simple: A one on one wrasslin match!

Or lucha match since we Panchito’s a luchador and we’re in mexico. He’s wearing his usual outfit while Sheldgoose is wearing standard wrestling tights.. so a superstar babyface versus a heel comentator... but actually entertaining this time. As you can tell I love wrestling. While i’m more of a casual fan, I watch OSW and some other wrestling youtubes and don’t really watch the product at the moment, I do love and respect the sport and love a good wrestling episode or series of television as a result, so this hits the spot.

So the match goes on and Panchito has the clear lead as Sheldgoose is playing by college wrestling rules and Panchito is playing by pro wrestling rules. And while you can use standard holds well you gotta mix the two together kurt angle style. Eventually Xandra decides to confront the sexy bird and sexy boy, and finds out, in a twist I didn’t see coming they ARE the god of life and god of death, respectively. While I knew this was a fight to the death, as death explains, a symbolic battle between the two with real stakes to keep ballance, I thought these two were just illusions brought up to keep Xandra and Jose from leaving or digging deeper. Instead they were just doing it on their own and as the god of death shows, they were genuinely intrested. I mean... why not get some while preparing to have your champions do battle. God for you death god, multitasking like that. Same for you goddess of life. Get it girl, you get after it. Jose is a fine man. I’d tap that if I could. Get after it. So Xandra warns Panchito who finds taking life against his code and Jose again shows his awesomeness by pointing out the obvious: the match is timed, so if they run out the clock it’s a draw. Might lead to something but it’s better than nothing. So Panchito TRIES this, but Sheldgoose has leopold “Throw mommy to daddy” (One of my faviorite gags of the episode), and wacks him with feldrake before the whole thing becomes a brawl. And the god of Death does not take DQ’s or outside intefernce well and instead kills them all for breaking the rules.

Not kidding. The main cast is DEAD minus Xandra, as Death still wanted to bone her, but she refuses. So now Xandra is left while al lher friends are dead while the god and goddess head off in his caddy to go knock over mailboxes I guess.

Final Thoughts on Mexico-A-Go-Go: Outside of .. certain parties, this was a REALLY fun one, with a great wrestling theme, a great mystery and the awesomeness that was the god of death, who was smooth, cool and thoroughly interesting and I wish there was a second season and his and xandra’s dynamic was really interesting. One of the series best, helped by the fact the Daisy bit while thoroughly irritating, was religated to a pretty funny subplot, with May being understandably skeptical of the plan, it somehow working and the sheer redicuonsess. It dosen’t make daisy tolerable, but it makes the episode better.

#the legend of the three caballeros #donald duck #jose caricoca #panchito romero miguel junipero francisco quintero gonzalez #panchito pistoles #xandra goddess of adventure #april duck #may duck #june duck #humphrey the bear #the arcuan bird #ari #baron von sheldgoose #lord sheldrake #ride of the three caballeros #the three caballeros #ducktales #donsy

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grim-faux · 4 years ago

Text

2 _ 25 _ Rain Splattered Walls

First

The incident with the factory left him more… run down than he first anticipated.

He exerted a generous sum of his powers and energy to keep the building stable, bar the child from the intense heat, and locate a manageable exit without taking out a wall. Upon succeeding with that tall-tall order, he didn’t regard how badly it affected him until much later.

When he tried to pass through a television.

It was routine as always. He pulled the boy through with him, barring the unit from an unfortunate incident. For a while Mono hadn’t been keen about going near the televisions, and getting him to cooperate was becoming an increasing issue. Usually once he dumped Mono on the other side, the child would scramble for cover, due to his vicious electric repulsion on nearby objects and furniture.

He didn’t get his torso all the way through, before he was deflected back through the transmission. Mono had looked up, his hat nearly flew off in shock when he abruptly vanished.

Landing back on the other side of the device was punishing. Static sizzled, reminiscent of the way it had always felt when She hauled him out of the televisions when he tried to traverse the winding hallway; not dissimilar to how it felt, when he first departed the Tower after so many decades of waiting. For a while he lay stunned, the adverse feedback thunderous in his thoughts. He could barely process what happened, as he lay like a collapsed folding chair beside a cupboard. The television sat on a food preparation counter; climbing up into the screen and then through onto another level or whatever was never a problem. It wasn’t a problem.

For a while he’d know he wasn’t in top performance. Since leaving the industrial shack where he first had a pause, since crawling from the imploding factory, he’d known. He was much glitchier than normal, his usually frazzled outline nearly unraveling. Phasing. That he hadn’t really tested… much. A few of his other abilities, such as tempering time, were not in top performance. His pace was dulled, and that prompted Mono to give him odd looks.

Speaking of which, here he comes. Also, the television just ignited. After the little palms flickered within the glass and the whole child came flying out.

Mono did an impressive skid off the counter, did a midair flip, and landed – straight board – flat on his back way below on the floor. Particles of gray cinder drifted down around him, while the burnt husk of the TV crackled.

“How very helpful,” mused the Thin Man. The boy’s stunned state began to unnerve him. “Mono?” He reached out and nudged the chest, only to confirm yes indeed, this child was out cold.

Sighing, the Thin Man collected the boy up. “Again.” Technically, this time wasn’t Mono’s fault. As always, he made sure to pluck up the hat and pocketed it.

The graceful dive did save the tall thin man the indignity of someone witnessing his haphazard method of climbing all the way to his feet, out of his crumpled state. He was much-much more bedraggled than he first judged, and even if standing without a flashy glimmer wasn’t an issue despite his disproportioned build, this time his limbs were not cooperating. However, after waging war with gravity and bracing himself to the counter, he managed to steady himself on his own two feet. A triumph.

This is why he decided to take refuge in the tacky suburban district not far from the industrial region. It was as far as he was willing to venture, with the Viewers out in abundance roaming. He wasn’t confident with a confrontation.

All the dwellings looked identical and he supposed the interior was the same copy pasted layout. He didn’t manage a search of any, opting only for the first he could force into without straining his fatigued powers. It was either the fourth or fifth, the door was locked but not barricaded. Once secure inside he gave the rooms a cursory investigation, insuring nothing lurked within to surprise him.

Plenty of furniture sat loitering around the rooms, damage remained limited to the structure’s own shortcomings – the wind picked away the outer skin, while water sloughed through the walls, and the weight of time crushed its resolve. The deserted shelter burdened the onslaught of its environment, leaving enough of the interior withstanding.

The boy he bundled up in a jacket and left on a spare couch in one of the obscure rooms. Mono would be all right, but the Thin Man needed quiet and inactivity for a time.

He slumped in some secluded interior room, no windows to speak of, only two entries connecting it between a spare room and a stairway. He didn’t make it to the chair, toppled on the far side of the room with other furniture pieces. He didn’t care. If he wasn’t cautious of his state, he might dissolve into the airwaves. That wasn’t too upsetting to consider. Whatever happened or didn’t, he needed to be still for a period and do nothing.

Like in the Signal Tower, biding away the invisible tally marks on some obscure, nonexistent wall somewhere. Waiting for the door to open. Done. He’d had it with the world. He wanted nothing more to do with such trifles.

Time being a vague concept is nothing revolutionary in the Pale City, of constant downpours and dense overcast – the only substantial indication of times passage being the suffocating night and all its rolling black. However, this endless encounter with the nocturnal is impossible to court when buried and lost deep within the bowls of some building, with no clear indicator of a way out, no natural light – however stingy it is – one collapsed construction rolling into the next shattered exoskeleton of its neighbor. The endless graveyard civilization had become.

The Thin Man has no grasp of how long he sat. This duration became reminiscent of his penance in the Signal Tower, decades discarded to the turmoil of his fate. How petty and pointless the world was, how unnecessary existing in it became after unyielding punishment. He did reflect how minimal an effort it would take to dissipate him now, not that he cared. It was just idle rumination. His fate all along was to be discarded – by his one friend that girl, by the Tower, by his naïve younger.

A box of food was left within his vicinity. He does not know where it came from let alone why it is there, it just is. It seemed like he barely tipped his hat down once more, and when he raised his gaze a moment after, there was another. For some while he puzzled these items, more along where they came from rather what specifically they were. Some sort of long enduring nourishing treat, or a whole instant meal – he doesn’t bother to dwell on it long. He’s not curious.

Later yet, he raised his hat toward the obnoxious prodding at the hand settled over his knee.

Of course it’s the child. Mono huddled among the boxes and cartons of food things, trying to wrap a scrap of shirt sleeve around his hand.

“Child. Go away.” He brushed Mono back with the hand and flicked off the cloth piece. “Find some other… entertainment, and let me be.”

The boy retreated by a few paces and settled down, the ever-faithful coat bundled around his curled shape. “Stre’gth. Need str’gth. N’hurt.”

The Thin Man raised the hand to his hat. Associating with the child alone was a draw. It didn’t feel as if he was managing to recover at all. Looking at the packages, he wondered how long it was that Mono had been foraging. At least the boy had food.

“No,” he rustled through the static, his tenure somewhat scratchy. “I only need A̶l̸o̴n̵e̶ and quiet, B̸o̸t̵h̴ ̴O̵f̶ ̶W̶h̸i̶c̷h̸ ̴Y̵o̷u̶ ̴I̵n̷t̴e̵r̵f̵e̵r̸e̵ ̵W̷i̸t̵h̶.̴” He tried to settle back into the edge of the wall, but instead settled the boy with a glare. “You̶ ̴A̶r̷e̴ ̷N̶o̸t̷ ̶H̵e̷lping.”

The voice piped up, “Wut need?”

Faster than a whip could crack, the Thin Man snatched up one of the boxes and tossed it at the entry leading to the next room. Beyond the doorway, the container POPPED! against the wall and scattered elsewhere. “I̸̩̊̊̂ ̶̢͐̇͑T̷͉̾o̶͓͚͘̚l̸̮͉̬͗d̷̟̓̔ ̸̳̖̽̈̕Y̵͔̒͠ó̷͔u̸̖͌͘ ̴̟̭̼͑̋͠I̸̗̐̽͒ ̷͕̻̬̿Ň̴̪͆̎e̸̦̯̮̋̅̑ę̸̳̘̐̕d̸͕͔͊ ̸̡̘̄̕Ä̵̧̖̣l̶̨͝ơ̶̥͕̙̄͛n̷͈̦̞̑ẹ̵͕̚.̷̻̖͇̾̓ ̴̤͋̿F̴͓̽ȋ̷̗̳ń̶̬̪d̷̦̫͒̀͝ ̴͍͍͋Ỷ̷̞͚̬ȏ̵̩̝̒͂ů̶͕ͅ ̶͔͌̈̈́S̷̯̳̾o̴͔̞̤̔ṃ̷̂͆̈ͅe̴̖̻̭͝ ̸̞̗̋͒̚O̶̢̦͋͂t̶͈͒ẖ̴̓̀͊e̷̲͍̽̅r̸̪͊ ̶̛̦̾D̴̜̰͚̾͐i̴̘͐͜͜s̵̙̉t̸̳̞͑r̶̦̚ã̷͓̖̫̈͠č̸̼̳̈́ť̶̳̠͝i̶̻̔͝ỏ̵̧̩̍n̸̼̑.̶̣̤̹̒͐̊ ̸̢̖͐̀̑͜R̷͖̙̊̇͝ṳ̶̘͛n̸̪͓̈́ ̷͈̒̊O̴̝͔̗͑f̶̘͉̒͜f̴̝̗͒ ̸͍̥̅ ̵̩̗̩̋̐Ǐ̴̳͎ ̸̬̓̿̆D̶̻̣̓̅o̷̮͂n̵̗̊̂'̵͍̭̊̕T̴̯̅͊ ̸̩̳̈̊ͅC̵̢̜͎͆͆ä̵̢̘͠R̴͉̓͒͊Ě̴͓͕͔.̶͓͍̔ ̶̹͛M̵̰̞͕̈́̇a̷͕̜̐͌̚Ķ̶̋Ȩ̴͇̩̎̉͐ ̶̱̑͐͝Y̷̤͉̚͝ͅö̵̱̘̖́̃ù̶̱̬͔r̸̰̀̃͜Ŝ̵͓̌E̷͈̐͂L̸̩̺̒̒F̷̦̗ ̸͖̼S̵̩͓͈̃́c̶̛͈͌̓Ā̵̧͍̹R̵͉̹̓́̋C̶͖̕E̸̥̱͆̈́.̵̭̮̬̒̉̈”

Finally the boy got the hint, and he tore out of the room, zipping out through the opposite entry and the hiked up the stairway.

This allowed the Thin Man to deflate against the wall. He didn’t need the child being a prodding nuisance, staring at him, muttering in his broken dialect. It was the boys fault he was in this state, whatever it was he did to that factory – getting lost in the middle of it. That boy knew better.

“It calls to me.”

It was the first time they emerged from the buildings, the endless rolling carcass of skyscraper interiors, the dark corridors and hallways that made up the world they now inhabited. The only world they came to know – broken and run down, mold infested walls, damp crevices – the trusty flashlight cut through the murk, excavating the dangers from the dense gloom choking out the somber blaze of stale lamps.

For a time, the two children acquainted themselves with what damp was, and how fleeting that was. Though Mono reflected She endured better than he was, since the drowning onslaught of weather didn’t appear to bother her much since she same into the very lovely raincoat. Unlike his amazing coat, drenched in his sweat and grime, and whatever else he traipsed through. The raincoat let the world slide off it, the colors vibrant even in the stark despair of the collapsing passages beneath floorboards. It was an incredible find, a rarity in the world they shared. It was Her.

He… isn’t sure where it happened. When it began. Something was different now. More different than Six now having a color. Since they accepted pack. He’s not sure when or how. Something is different.

Mono was soaked within moments upon exiting out from the bore out hole in the elevator room. They checked their surroundings, an open rooftop with a narrow exhaust spout. No dangers in sight, the only movement a waterlogged shirt flapping over a partially shattered rail. A vast spread of buildings rolled through the landscape around them, so tall and numerous he couldn’t see the streets twisting below in the brewing mist.

And something more.

High and higher still, barely perceivable in the early dawn (or suffocating dusk) the most imposing and massive structure to exist ever, challenged the skyline. Much of the ominous Tower lay obscure within the veil of downpour, but at its highest spike, a gleaming light pierced through the scratchy veil, skewering the storm with dominating clarity.

Six was the one to brush ahead of him, go to the edge of the roof and stop. She gazed out into the jagged capped tops of building roofs, now so miniature and wretched when compared to the backdrop of the master spire. She gazed beyond to the Tower, and beyond that yet. Perhaps envisioning the perilous journey which lay ahead. Seeing beyond that even, to a world they couldn’t grasp. A place that could never exist, since they didn’t know what could possibly exist aside from… this world.

But Mono… felt the dreadful buzzing writhing behind his eyes, and braced himself against the horrible thrumming pressing within his eardrums. The falling rain was no longer an overlapping thread of droplets, but the twisting churn of static from one of the televisions. He was compelled to reach out to the distant monolith, somewhere in the vibrating lines he can make out… the hallway, swaying side to side as he conducted the signal with skillful ease. Someone is there behind the door – since when was there a door? If he reached it, all his questions would be answered. All he had to do was run toward it, and never stop. Never.

Snuffling, the blood trailing from his nose peppered the inside of his paper bag. Rather reach for the Tower and all its promises, he snatched the hand of the girl at his side.

“It calls to me,” he mumbled.

Beside him, the cunning yellow raincoat shifted. She didn’t understand. He understood less. But together, if they stayed together, they could survive. They would survive, because they had someone to reach out and grab for.

The child was gone. Good riddance.

The boy did not go without imparting a few items. More food containers littered the floor, among that are toys of various shapes and creatures, and a few vehicles. Blearily, he wondered how long he was out. The sitting and waiting was monotonous, the dormancy seemed to help, though not by much. It did not seem to improve his mood or strength.

This time he was able to resituate himself in a glitchy pulse, the small collision of knickknacks nearest to him repelled back in his shift. Some distortions persisted to haunt his form as he moved languidly from the secluded room, and roved the other areas of the home. One hand traced the walls in case he lost his balance, the other he kept bent behind his back. Once he proved no more use to the boy, the child left. That was reasonable, Mono was in need of certain things and the Thin Man was no more animate nor more useful than a spooky chair. Even a chair had its use. Even a chair was better company.

Heh.

With his explore of the abode updated – nothing changed for the most part – he found his way to the kitchen and dining area. He manipulated one of the chairs away from a shaky table and took a seat. Leaning heavily on his arms bent across the tables surface, he tilted his head and hat to examine all the wrappers and other packages massacred across the chipped linoleum floor. Insects crowded the ruptured containers and other bits of plastic wrappers, all of which lay stained with foods. It didn’t appear anything survived the child’s initial attack, however long ago that had been. By the smell of it (and he didn’t really want to smell it) it must’ve have been a while ago. Only vermin rifled about, eating more cardboard and dried glue than crumbs.

Thus far, he had not been upstairs. The lower floor was safe, that was good enough. However, upstairs there was a television. He could sense it. Not that it could do anything, nor did he care, but all the same it awaited.

For another interval he disconnected from the dismal world. Waiting, he could do that. Shutting out the world got him through many long spans of his miserable existence as occupant to the Signal Tower. He was a master of such tactics.

In his travels as a small-Er child, he learned many things from his various packs. How to identify danger areas, the many ways to trick traps. Where to find the safest foods, what to do if he became ill. How to survive, and why that was important.

But the Tower. The Signal Tower, the Flesh, and the all-seeing Eye – they showed him the truth.

One of the chairs skidded away from the table side, but not by his whim. A hefty box thumped upon the table’s surface, right after, the paper bag popped up. The Thin Man suppressed the crooked smirk – ah, the nostalgia.

The boy scooted the container across the dusty table surface and shoved it against his fingers. The blank cutout eye holes of the mask peered at him, as the child shuffled back. Nothing lay within the flat stare of the paper mask; it concealed the face of a oblivious little child.

Once more Mono shuffled forward and nudged at the box.

“Why do you insist on tormenting me? Does it amuse you?”

Mono cracked the top of the lid and rustled at the inner packaging. “Y’hurt.”

“I am not hurt.”

Without raising the mask, the boy tore out some food bit and set it beside the Thin Man’s fingers. “Sleep. L’t.”

He prattled his fingers atop the box container. “I am not sleeping.” Then, he took the container and tossed it off the table. “I need quiet. Go… do whatever it is you do, when I’m not around.”

As expected, Mono dropped off the table side and retrieved the food box from among the swarming insects. He fought and shook, flapping his coat about as he struggled with the aggressive barrage of nippers. With a well-aimed toss, he secured the box atop the chair seat and soon joined it. He persisted to shake out the swarm, even after hefting it and himself back onto the table surface.

. “Bu’aam fix,” he whispered. “Take c’re. S’Important.”

The Thin Man couldn’t restrain the laugh that boiled out of him. The lone lamp in the corner of the kitchen flashed and burst, if not for the window on the other side of the home, the place would be settled into darkness.

“Heh. Excuse me,” the Thin Man hummed, failing to the wrestle the thick chortle under control. Oh, the irony. “You can’t fix this. You cannot fix anything. The sooner you accept such facts, the better you will be.”

Mono sat crouched over the box, legs folded up and arms coiled over his shins, the blank face of his paper bag mask studying him. Was he trembling? His sides vibrated with each rapid breath.

“Aam fix’t,” he croaked. “Can’ll do. G’nna do.”

Such valor. That fortitude in the face of utter despair was the first to desert him in the Tower. The child was a mess, both figuratively and physically. Once again, Mono was soaked in grime from the filthy streets, the layers flaked off the sleeves and shoulders of his coat; his legs as well, stained by everything.

The Thin Man sat up straighter in his chair and held out the hand. “Come here, child.”

Mono abandoned the food containers and withdrew a few feet, shaking the bag swiftly. Before the man in the hat could change his mind and reach, the boy was out of range and over the edge of the table. He didn’t search for where the child went or see him depart, but he knew all the same when the child abandoned the home completely.

Eventually, that boy would get the hint.

In the meanwhile, the Thin Man roamed aimlessly through the rooms, and sometimes ventured to the upper story to peer out the windows. He supposed if he had yearned for a simple window within the Tower, the impulse would not be a difficult desire to grant himself. Even to build a fake scenery of a world he would have preferred, a lie, the thought that he must have fallen for many-many days and nights before reaching the bottom of that ghastly pit, would squelch all enamor for a treat. Besides, what would he need scenery for? What was there to look at? To dwell upon? He held nothing dear, but the nightmare of his fate.

“I miss you.”

Sometimes he preferred sitting in the secluded room, in the dark pseudo void. Though now, he fixed one chair and sat it upright. Just like the Tower. At times, he did miss the blissful ignorance, even the maniacal cackling within the fortified walls – mocking his idiocy. He didn’t care. Let Them laugh. With a thought, he could send them away forever. But then….

He would be truly alone. And forgotten.

Then there was that boy. He came and went as he pleased, while he remained entombed in this rotten house among scattered rubbish piled in from wherever the child crawled off to. The desire to abandon this miserable smear on the map mounted, but he was not there yet. Not confident to venture through the roads, risk encounters with the lurking residents, let alone the random disintegration of the roads beneath his feet. Though falling into an abyss was more tolerable, than spending another moment in the presence of his younger-self. That child couldn’t leave well enough alone.

This was all his fault. The boy didn’t grasp that, or refused to accept it.

Usually when the child crept in, it was with some food item. Sometimes a bone of all things, what was wrong with this child? Other times, he hauled in some large toy and dumped it off. Mono didn’t really come into the room, but scooted the encroaching clutter inward. Then for a time he would disappear, upstairs he suspected.

By now the hoarding wasn’t isolated to toys or random foods, but other items such as purses and shoes, children’s books mixed in. Jewelry and chains, shiny pieces of metal, a hammer, a wallet, some stock card with printed speek (faded), a toupee, a ball of yarn – to name a few.

For the televised life of him, the Thin Man couldn’t put what all this was meant to achieve. Let alone, what spurred the impulse.

Of all the gall, inevitably the child would come to the room and peek in from the stairway entry. “Hey,” he whispered. “D’s help?”

It did not. He wanted the child to disappear. But he said nothing, opting to conserve his reserved energy and dip his head down. Eventually, the child grasped no response would be forthcoming, and at last shuffled off to… elsewhere. Not gone completely, by the faint tinge of the Transmission, but close enough.

While the child made himself scarce, a stale sort of peace settled over the repugnant dwelling. As far as he was concerned, it wouldn’t be long enough. The hush was soothing to an extent, and he could listen as water murmured within the hollowed spaces of the walls, reminiscent though tame compared to the dull chatter throughout the depths of the Signal Tower.

For an interval he disconnected from the detestable world, and focused only on the shrouded veil, nestled in close to the static output of his interference. At times he dipped into that bleak place his mind nestled in when he came to terms with his fate and what the world meant. He fled into placid thoughts with nothing substantial, a null which cushioned him against the harsh truths he had come to accept.

Nothing existed beyond the walls of the Tower, aside from lost causes and the fantasy of survival. At the end of the metaphorical day, what came of surviving the hazards? Nothing but an empty existence, and the melancholy inevitable. He was so tired of it.

The Tower had not the need to do anything, to interfere or abate at all in his childish scheming; not before nor after he brought the boy to its doors. The Flesh with all its endless Eyes, all seeing the cycle and all the iterations. It simply bided by, snickering, jeering at his endless demands for answers to pointless questions. Merely knowing did not grant insight, the mass could have been forefront with the truth (might have been with its methods) in the ever-winding knot of an endless cycle, he would know no different. Likely, he wouldn’t have cared.

It was such a childish notion to expect anything more from a world, which hated him. After all these years, he forgot what he initially hoped to achieve in the failed journey. Except when She was taken. He did recall the vibrant drive to venture to the Signal Tower, all for his F̵r̵i̶e̸n̸d̵. Though not much before… that. Not a lot, before realizing the Signal Tower would gleefully welcome him through its doors. As if greeting him home after such a long, drawn-out time of waiting.

The thought was nice though, to think of a place waiting for him.

Upon one of the occasions the boy emerged to drop of some… item, he gave in and stood from the rickety chair. He shuffled among the abundance of discarded curios, flashing and reappearing closer to the entry leading into the stairway.

Mono scrambled down the other corridor and dove into the next room, well out of view. The Thin Man made no comment nor sought the child, but commenced clicking up the steps to the upper floor.

The television was somewhere in the upper story, however, the Thin Man had not actually seen it let alone located its actual whereabouts. Not until he located the pull string of the attic, embedded with the ceiling. On his silent demand, the spare slot for the stairs unfolded down to the tattered carpet. In a distorted glimmer, he was already standing in the spare space above.

Not a lot of interpretation is available about the attics space, the area vastly different from the storage room cluttered by the Hunter. Some furniture and boxes sit stacked at the furthest ends of the sloping ceiling, a confusing mass of toys huddled around the television unit. On the chairs fixed facing the unit, lay the usual description of the past residents. The television whirred on at his presence, yielding under his demand. He—

“Bet’Er?” the voice piped up, from the edge of the attic steps. He barely glanced the child’s way.

“Yes.” He knelt to the television and set a hand against the glass. Beneath his fingers images flashed through rapid sequence, at times darker static faded into the blinding radiance, outdated images of people, melodies croon through the garble of voices.

“Make good? D’fix?” The child crept closer to his arm, observing intently as he tuned the transmission.

“Yes, you did very good. A mighty job it was,” he hummed. “That was so impressive.” The boy scooted back a ways and observed without a sound, grays and washed out blues glided across the featureless surface of the paper bag; as if he himself was a screen projecting what was witnessed.

Quietly then, beneath the crackling electricity and the roaring winds blasting the roof, “Far search. N’trict. T’at right. But f’r broke. Aam fix.”

Sigh. “Indeed. Proved me wrong. You fixed everything all on your own.” He settled his other hand against the screen and let the streaming signal haul him through, as effortless as a twig getting swept into a turbulent current.

Arriving on the other side – mind muddled by the brisk dip in the transmission – the nearby shelves and other furniture repelled from his abrupt intrusion. Threads of static and buzzing particles prickled across the nearest surfaces, such as vanity desk and open wardrobe cupboard. As he withdrew completely from the television screen, a door hanging loose on its rusted hinges popped free and tumbled to the floor.

The Thin Man only uncoiled a portion of the way before flashing, and relocating away from the surface of the bed. He gave the small room a short examination, as he fixed his collar and closed in on the doorway. It was doubtful this residence was occupied given the clothing left on the floor, but it wasn’t worth it being careless now.

At his back, the television gave an agonized sputter before the child sailed out. Amazingly, the television didn’t self-immolate, but he didn’t pause to marvel. He moved on through the crumbling corridor to a disintegrating room, the floor gone and much of the ceiling caved down revealing the next room above. Either a bathroom or kitchen, given a severed pipe gushed water across the wall it was mounted to.

With another glitchy sputter, the Thin Man relocated himself down below to a mostly complete ledge hanging within a doorway. He tipped low and stepped through, beyond the threshold lay a short and creaking passage. Within, the lamps glimmered at his presence as he clicked along the uneven floorboards.

A miniscule grunt was barely suppressed in his wake. The boy either jumped or made to shift, as he had. He didn’t dwell on that much, aside from the recognition that the child was following him. As always. Not that he cared to discourage it, nor regarded it much. The boy had nothing else to occupy his time.

The Thin Man reached the end of the buckled corridor and stooped into the next room. Under his usual tapping, the ruptured floor growled. One side of the room crumbled under the weight of splintered furniture, and along the wall trickled runoff from elsewhere. This side of the dwelling didn’t have windows but if he explored the other rooms, he should get a sense of the dwelling’s situation. Aside from it caving in on itself. The location was bare of threats, but the structure was on the verge of collapse.

What was he doing?

He pressed a hand to his brow and suppressed a groan. This was pointless. Nothing would amount from all this… whatever he was doing. Really. What did he think he was doing?

Searching over the drab room, he spied the child huddled beside a mostly dry space of the wall. Resting.

“Child.” He leaned down and tapped Mono on the shoulder. “Get up. You cannot rest there.”

Mono shook the paper bag. “Mm-nhh.”

Very well. He straightened up and began looking through the dim room, still disoriented from traveling through the television. His strength still waned, but slowly he would recover. The boy however, he should have stayed. Nothing existed beyond the walls of the Tower, not for him nor Mono.

He looked down and addressed the firm tugging on his ankle.

“R’okay?” Mono rasped. “Not n’good. Wus wrong?”

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the question. “I won’t stop you if you’re intent on staying here. But I’ll not be waiting.” At last, he found the broken door of the dwelling’s entrance and stepped out, taking the left into the corrupt and sullen hall. He didn’t care if the child followed. He really didn’t. His plight and its conclusion was long overdue.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from looking back for the paper bag. Regardless that he knew without a doubt through the shared transmission, the child would follow. This boy he didn’t know, couldn’t begin to understand. Intent to pursue him wherever he went, despite how unnecessary it was.

The last act he could grant for Mono was insure he had somewhere to go. No doubt the child would be far from receptive, but Mono would follow faithfully to the ends of the city. It’s core, as well. Without question, doubt, or protest. The boy would know no different.

For a time, he had something to think about. That was reassuring.

Without a word, he returned to his current course and resumed clicking down the corridor. Periodically, the lights shimmered against the disturbance of his presence, while his thoughts mulled over what was preferred and what would be right. He trusted without searching that Mono would do nothing but follow, as the child was drawn to him through the transmission of the Signal Tower. Maybe it was for the best. Perhaps like him, the boy was helpless but in seeking him out.

#little nightmares #mono #thin dad #the thin man #little nightmares fanfic #little nightmares fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #mono absolutely will take care of the thin man

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lyssismagical · 5 years ago

Note

15 or 94 for the angst/fluff prompts ✨💙

15 – “You betrayed my trust”

94 – “Don’t you give up on me”

{TW for Car Crash}

“You can’t just do that!” Peter shouts, ripping off his mask to stare Tony down. He’s pissed and he’s not the starstruck kid he once was, too scared to step in the wrong direction around Tony, Tony’s too much of a father-figure now that Peter will show how pissed he is.

“I know what I said, kid, but I couldn’t let you do that,” Tony says, as calm as he can, but he’s obviously angry about this too. “You would’ve gotten yourself killed out there.”

Peter rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “That’s not true and you know it. I know I used to be this stupid kid in a onesie to you, but I’ve learned how to take care of myself now. I don’t need you babysitting me.”

“I’m not babysitting, kid. I’m just watching out for you.”

“If you were watching out, you’d still be home, watching the fucking baby moniter feed. You wouldn’t have dragged out a suit and pulled me from the fight. I had it handled like I said I did.”

Tony sighs harshly, running a hand through his hair. “You have to understand that I was just trying to protect you.”

“I said I had it handled. I would’ve asked you if I didn’t think I could. I don’t need you to come swooping in every time I try to do anything myself!”

“I don’t want you to get hurt!”

“You’re not my dad!” Peter shouts, chest heaving. “You lied to me. You said you’d watch the baby moniter feed and let me handle it, but no, you flew out here to stop me. Again.”

Tony’s visibly angry now, voice lifting. “You didn’t have it handled! There were fifteen armed people in that building, Peter!”

“And I’ve dealt with more! I can’t be a superhero if you keep treating me like a child!”

“You are a child!”

“I’m seventeen for gods sake, Tony,” Peter says, already starting to back away towards the elevator. He just wants to go home before one of them says something they regret. “I don’t need you helicopter-parenting me.”

Tony rolls his eyes, letting out a harsh laugh. “I can’t helicopter-parent you if I’m not your dad, can I?”

“God, can you just admit you’re wrong for once?” Peter says, voice tipping into cold territory. He’s never once acted like this around Tony. He feels like he’s being the annoying teenage-stereotype, but he’s a superhero and Tony should let him act like one. Not keep him cooped up and dealing with cats in trees for the rest of his life.

“Can you just admit that you’re not ready for something like this?”

“You told me you’d stay home unless I asked you for help. I would’ve asked you if I needed you. I thought we’d gotten past this stupid phase when I beat the Vulture for you.”

It’s still a relatively sore topic, all things considered. Tony still feels a lot of guilt for Peter being alone that night, and Peter still deals with a lot of nightmares and panic attacks revolving around the warehouse collapse.

Tony sighs harshly again. “How many times have I had to save your ass after you refused to ask for help?”

“That’s not the point!” Peter shouts, angry all over again. “The point is that you betrayed my trust, Tony! The point is that you promised you’d let me handle this one alone unless I asked you for help, but you couldn’t even do that! Do you just not trust me?”

This is bordering too close to raw territory, real feelings, and that’s normally not easy for them, let alone when they’re angry and fighting.

“Fine,” Tony mutters, eyes dark and jaw clenched. “If you want me to stop helicopter-parenting you, I will. If you want me to let you dive into stupid fights and get yourself killed, go for it, I won’t stop you. See if I care.”

It’s not true, and Peter knows it. Tony cares about him a lot. Too much, probably. But the words still cut deep, and Peter’s never been a good arguer. He always ends up crying if conflict is too much.

So instead of making things any worse, Peter sends Tony one last glare before turning his back and heading for the elevator.

Peter’s driving now. He’s not the best driver, but he can do it. Plus, it saves Happy the long hours to and from the city for Peter. It makes everyone’s lives a little bit easier.

He doesn’t want to drive home. It’s raining now and the sky is dark, and it’s hard to see through his glassy eyes, tears threatening to fall. He almost turns back to the tower to say in his room for the night, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to face Tony again. He doesn’t want another fight.

He should’ve been smarter. He should’ve followed his gut to not drive back.

Maybe that would’ve changed the outcomes of the night.

Either way, the roads are slippery and Peter doesn’t see the truck run the red light. He certainly doesn’t see the way the truck loses control.

The last thing he does see is a flash of black as the truck slams into his tiny cheap car, and then the world goes dark.

*Tony stands in the hallway for a long time, staring at the discarded Spider-Man mask on the floor. Peter left in his suit, with a sweater and short pulled on over it like it would protect his identity at all.

He already regrets the things he said. He knows he should have faith in Peter’s capabilities. The kid’s strong and smart and he’s got a crazy expensive suit on his side. Tony should’ve trusted Peter, he knows.

But on the other hand, Tony can’t lose Peter. He can’t let something happen to his kid.

“Karen’s inactive so I’m incapable of getting a read on why, but Peter Parker’s vitals have fluctuated to dangerous levels,” Friday pipes up.

“What?” Tony asks, drawing his watch up to get look at them.

It isn’t clear why his heart rate has chaanged drastically or why his blood-oxygen levels are dropping, but it’s bad. It’s pretty obviously bad, so Tony summons a suit and takes off towards Peter’s last known location.

When he gets to the scene, Tony’s heart drops to his stomach, hands trembling as he tumbles out of his suit.

There are two ambulances, three police cars, a fire truck, and two tow trucks all surrounding the scene of the accident where Tony can just make out Peter’s little car, wrecked and smoking.

Tony had told Peter time and time again that he shouldn’t buy the shitty, old car off his neighbors, but Peter had been insistent. He wanted a car of his own, not one that Tony would buy for him. He wanted to have his own first shitty car.

And Tony let him as long as he promised they’d fix it up together.

They never really did.

“Sir, you can’t be here,” a woman tells him. She touches his arm gently, eyes focusing on him with concern. “We don’t need Iron Man’s help here.”

“No, not Iron Man, I’m just here as Tony,” he tries to explain. “That’s my kid’s car. That’s- He- He’s my kid, please.”

The woman nods carefully, glancing behind her at the wreckage. “We’re working on getting him out of the car and then you can ride with us to the hospital, alright? Just stay out of our way.”

“Yeah, yes, of course,” Tony blurts, voice shaking. “Just- Please, please let him know I’m here?”

All Tony’s allowed to do is wait on the sidelines.

A man’s dragged out of the truck. He looks alright, still able to stand on his own, only a little bit of blood on his temple and hands. His face is scrunched up in awful grief as he stares at Peter’s wrecked car, as he’s taken to one of the ambulances.

And then finally, finally, they get Peter out of the car.

All Tony can see is blood and he nearly throws up, stomach twisting as he sees the paramedics get Peter onto the stretcher and into the back of an ambulance.

The woman from earlier reappears and grabs his arm, leading him up and into the ambulance as well.

Tony can barely breathe as he reaches out and grabs Peter’s hand, trying his best not to cry. “I’m so sorry.”

Peter’s eyes are closed, skin an awful pale, blood staining every inch of him.

“I’m so sorry, kiddo,” Tony repeats quietly, accepting the washcloth and bucket offered to him and he starts carefully rinsing the blood off the kid, water turning pink. “Don’t you give up on me. Please. I’m sorry.”

Tony focuses on washing away Peter’s blood until they get to the hospital and he’s sat down on one of the uncomfortable chairs, left to call May and Pepper and Happy, let them know what happened and promising to keep them in the loop.

Time passes strangely and Tony doesn’t do much but sit there and silently hope that everything will be okay, guilt swelling within him for hours.

Until a nurse comes and leads him to the hospital room where Peter’s already awake, still looking too pale and hurt, but awake. Alive.

“Kid, I’m so sorry-”

“I know,” Peter says, reaching out one of his hands for Tony to take. “I didn’t really think you were being honest because I wasn’t either. I know you only do what you do to protect me.”

“And yet, you’re here because of me.”

Peter shakes his head, eyebrows creasing in confusion. “It’s nobody’s fault. The weather was bad, it was just an accident. We could spend forever pointing blame, but it’s okay. I’m not mad at you anymore.”

“I’m still sorry.”

And Peter smiles, bringing Tony’s hand up to his chest to hold it close. “I love you, Tony.”

“Yeah, I love you too, kid. Don’t ever scare me like that again, okay?”

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @tonystarkweneedyou {Let me know if you want to be added or removed}

#lyss writes #lyss answers #irondad #Irondad and Spiderson #irondad fic #peter parker #tony stark #kinda lowkey not that proud of this one but yk

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domesticblisss · 4 years ago

Text

The Better Option

Timothy Thatcher x Female Reader; Walter x Female Reader (Mentioned) Rating: Mature (Minors DNI) Word Count: 1830 Warnings: Smut. Rough fucking, oral (female receiving), cheating. Summary: Reader comes to a crossroad.

I met him through Walter.

What Walter and I have, I mean, had, was nothing serious. Just two people that met during a show, each one impressed with the other’s match, one asks the other out for a drink, a few beers in and some good sex happens. Top 3 best fucks I had in my life. It was a good thing what we had, whenever we were on the same shows together we would do our thing, it felt natural, almost couple like, we had everyone asking when we were getting married.

He introduced me to Tim a few months later, on the night Ringkampf came to be. I had seen Tim a few times around the arena where wXw happened and he was always very quiet, most of the time he was by himself, and I never saw him coming up to any of the female talents like we are all so used to go through.

There was something different about the Tim I was formally introduced to the Tim I was used seeing around.

“Liebling, this is Timothy Thatcher. He’s with us now. Him, Junior and I are going to rule the world.”

“Nice to meet you, Dove. Walter has told me great things about you.” Tim said as he shook my hand. His grip was tight, and even with his calloused hands, soft. It was like I met a whole new person that night. He wasn’t the quiet, closed up man I was so used to seeing backstage, but a funny guy with cheeky jokes and long, lingering stares that lasted even when Walter had his hands between my legs or kissing me. It was always like this, Tim was bold, like he couldn’t give a shit about what Walter would do if he caught him staring and that was driving me crazy. It felt like he could read my mind, like he knew which buttons to push to pull me to him. The funny thing is that he never came onto me. He was always respectful, never touched me if it wasn’t on a consensual handshake or hug, always looked at me on eye level, always treated me like I was his equal. But the way he looked at, the way he talked to me, that was just mine.

Things got on another level when Walter bailed on us on one of our drinking nights. Tim and I went to our usual bar ahead of Walter, his excuse was that he needed to finish some paperwork regarding the new trainees and that he would meet us there in 30 minutes max. Two hours passed until he called me, voice tired, a bit out of breath, which left me wondering, saying he got caught up with a bunch of stuff and that he wouldn’t be able to come meet us. That night was the first time Tim sat close to me, right by my side. My mind kept telling me it was just because the bar was noisy, since it was a crowded night, but the energy that surrounded us told me otherwise. I think he sensed my mood change, got even closer and whispered in my ear,

“Is Walter coming?”

“No, he said he got caught up with some stuff” I told him, still looking forward, staring at the dart board that sat on the wall in front of me, my voice changing when I said the reason for him bailing.

“Good, it’s just us then.” His voice was different, different than the usual, different from the tone he always used with me. It was certain, like he was surer something was happening that night.

He kept his face turned to mine, his eyes staring at my profile and when I finally turned to look at him, there was a fire in them that lit up all the feelings I kept hidden from day one.

He looked at my lips and I licked mine instinctively, almost regretting it when he let that stupid smirk take over his face. My impulse control was gone and I kissed him. I felt him smiling before he deepened it, like something he knew it was about to happen became reality. It was completely different from the heated, hungry and rough kiss I was expecting, but in reality it was soft, calm and long, like he was savouring the most delicious desert, like he was taking his time because it might not happen again.

“Do you wanna go somewhere else quiet?” he asked, both of us out of breath and all I could do was nod at him.

We went back to mine that night and what I thought was a friday night thing became a whole weekend thing.

We kept going like this, sneaking around Walter and the boys. I tried to put a stop to it several times, and trust me Tim was always very understandable, he always respected my wishes and never forced me to anything, but at the end of the night, either when Walter had some lame excuse as to why I couldn’t go back to his or why I, myself, had some excuse, I always ended up on Tim’s doorstep.

Tonight, was one of those nights, I hadn’t seen either Tim or Walter for a few days. Tim because I was avoiding him and Walter because he was travelling for work. Tim texted me a picture of my favourite bottle of wine, saying “Just a drink, like the good old days? I miss you.”

I debated on whether or not I should answer, but my heart got the best of me and texted him back “I’ll be there in 30.”

I knocked on his door and was greeted with a grey sweatpants wearing and a friendly smile on his face Tim.

“In exactly thirty. Punctual as usual.”

I didn’t waste time on answering him, closing the door and kissed him, clinging onto his neck. We fucked right there on his doorway. My back to the wooden door as he furiously thrusted into me, making me cum twice, loudly, making me pretty sure he will be getting noise complaints from his neighbours in the morning.

He cradled me after we finished, linking my legs around his waist and took me to his bedroom. He really knows his way around his place, as we kissed all the way to his bedroom, not bumping in any furniture.

He gently laid me in his bed, brushed the sticky hair out of my forehead with his fingers and kissed me.

“Just wait for a little bit, I will grab your wine.”

I always wondered why I gave in to him every time without him even asking. His touch is addictive. From that first night, he knew where to touch me, he miraculously knew all the spots that made me weak. If Walter was top 3 for me, Tim held a spot no number did justice. Being with him was mind blowing, and not just the sex. He was caring, he was funny, he was attentive to my needs. I felt loved even if what we had was just a fling.

When he returned, we stayed in a comfortable silence, the only noise in the room was from the rain hitting the roof. He kept his hands on my thighs, rubbing soft circles in it and occasionally kissing my stomach.

The moment was ruined by my phone going off with texts. When I lit the screen, it was Walter telling me he had arrived and that he wanted to stop by. Tim felt how I tensed and asked what it was about.

“I can’t keep doing this to Walter.”

“Doing what?”

“Lying to him, hiding this from him.”

“It’s not like you two have a serious relationship, dove.”

“I know it isn’t! It’s called being a decent person and telling him the truth.” I was started to get annoyed and it looks like Tim too.

“Do you think he’s being decent to you? Do you think he’s telling you the truth?” His tone of voice raised, and his left hand closed in a fist, knuckles turning white. I caressed it before continuing.

“What are you talking about, Timmo?”

“He’s seeing someone else. Other people, actually. He always does this, goes out with a bunch of girls at the same time, none of them know about each other. That’s why he never made anything official with you. I thought he was going to because of how public he is with you, he’s never public with anyone.” He told me with a sad look in his eyes.

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“So, is you pursuing me something out of pity?”

“What? No! Of course not. I love you. I knew I had feelings for you since the first time I saw you. Way long before Ringkampf and Walter introducing us. I just want what is best for you, I don’t know if this was the best way of letting you know, I’m sor—“ he was cut by my phone buzzing again, this time Walter was calling. Tim gave me a wicked smile before saying “Pick it up and put it on speaker.” as he adjusted his body between my legs.

“Tim, what are you doing?” I asked as he lowered himself.

“Do as I told you.” he commanded before diving in, licking a stripe up my slit.

“Liebeling, where are you?” Walter’s voice came in booming.

“I’m at- I’m at home, why?” Tim’s fingers were working relentlessly on my g-spot, making me strutter.

“Well, I just got home and wanted to see you. I’m coming over, yeah?”

“NO! Fuck, I’m sorry. Mmm, I’m not feeling very well today, I think it’s the flu.” Tim, being a little devil, increased the speed of this fingers while his lips made suctioning motions on my clit.

“Are you sure? I could get meds and soup for you.”

“Yeah, fuck, I’m sure. I already ordered some and I think the delivery dude just arrived. Gotta go, bye.” I hope I turned the call off because as soon as I said my goodbyes the biggest orgasm I ever had hit me. My body was shaking, Tim kept doing his work even with my legs closing around him and he only stopped when my pussy didn’t squeeze his fingers anymore.

He sat up and stared at me, the mischievous smirk back on his lips. All I could do was laugh. He laid by my side and turned my body to face his, his beard and lips glowing with my juices.

He brought my face closer to his, gently rubbing his nose on my cheeks, making me smile.

“I love you, I meant that. And all I want is the best for you. I might not be the best in the world, but I know I’m better than him.” He pecked my lips. “Please” kiss “be” kiss “mine?”

All I could do was nod and kiss him back.

#nxt imagine #wwe imagine #timothy thatcher x reader #walter x reader #DB Writes

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crowdedimagines · 5 years ago

Text

Falling - Harry Styles

*obviously inspired by Falling, which i am OBSESSED with! *italics are from the past, a lot of this story will be from the past. *also, see if you catch some mini easter eggs to other songs from fine line (this wasn’t intentional, but for the timeline to work he never dated camille)

There’s no point in stopping the tears as they slowly stream down my face. As soon as I saw the tracklist to Harry’s new album I had a feeling this one would bring on the waterworks. Now that the album is officially released, I can hear what he’s been working on the past few months.

Falling.

A simple word with so much meaning behind it. It’s hard to fight off the memories of our relationship.

“-and this is the lovely, Y/n.” A friend introduces me to a small group of her friends at the party. She managed to drag me away from a conversation I was having to ‘meet some friends’. I smile and wave to all of the new faces, they go around and give me their names in return.

“Harry.” The last one speaks up, he raises his glass in a wave.

Our eyes pull together like magnets. I’m thankful for the darker lighting that is hiding the blush that creeps over my cheeks.

We all quickly dive into a conversation, everyone present being easy enough to talk to. They’re all lovely and fun people.

“I’m gonna go get another drink.” I announce as I get up from my spot.

“I’ll come with, mine seems to be empty too.” Harry grins and follows me back to the bar.

We both order our drinks and wait for them to be made. It takes a while, seeing how busy it is with all of the people here, but neither Harry or I mind. We immediately jump into a new conversation ranging from music, acting, and travel.

“You’ve never been to the UK?” Harry asks, utterly shocked.

“No.” I shake my head, laughing at his appalled reaction.

“How is that even possible? You’ve never had to film over there or anything?”

“I’ve been to Italy and France, but never your neck of the woods I suppose.” I let out a laugh.

He takes a sip of his drink, neither of us have made an effort to move back to the group since receiving them. I can see my friend giving two thumbs up over Harry’s shoulder. I’m sure this was some plan of hers to try and get us to hit it off.

“Well, you tell me when you’re free and we’ll go.” He smiles, “I’ll be your tour guide.”

God, I would love to take him up on that offer.

“Aren’t you going to be awfully busy with your first solo tour?”

“Ahh, you keep up with me then?” He smirks, I’m sure he’s enjoying that little ego boost.

“Pretty hard not to.” I roll my eyes, as if the pop star was so under the radar. “I can hardly leave my apartment in New York without coming across a billboard with your face plastered on it.”

“Well I’m sorry about that, love.”

“Don’t be, it’s a nice face to look at.”

It’s my turn now to smirk and notice Harry slightly thrown off.

“Tour doesn’t start for a month, pick a date before that and we’ll go.”

“You’re putting an awful lot of faith into someone you just met a half an hour ago.”

“I have faith in you, Y/n.”

“And why should I have faith in you?” I tease, “For all I know you could be a very creepy man.”

“Hey!” He laughs, “Haven’t you ever heard of treating people with kindness?”

The first time Harry and I ever met. That first night even, I knew that he was going to mean so much. I was proven correct a few weeks later when we actually did go to London together.

“Home sweet home.”

Harry opens the door wide enough so both of us and our luggage can fit. He’s invited me to stay at his flat, claiming it’s nicer than any hotel anyway. It’s also an obvious excuse for us to spend more time together just the two of us.

“It’s awfully gloomy here, strike one for London.” I joke.

“Hey! It’s late, you can’t judge it yet! Plus we just got off of a ten hour flight, you’re not in the right headspace.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I roll my eyes.

Harry and I have managed to grow so close in the short amount of time we’ve known each other. We met up several more times to somewhat plan the trip, Harry helped me pack claiming he would know what I would need better than I would.

We both laughed until we were crying, trying on the various clothes from my closet. Many random gems, things I’m almost positive Harry wants to steal.

We still haven’t defined what we are. Friends is the easiest way of putting it, but it doesn’t feel quite right. We flirt constantly and were touchy with each other, but we’ve never acted on anything.

“Alright, let’s find you a room.”

Harry takes my suitcase with him as he leads me into the rest of his house. We go up to the second floor and he opens the door to a large room. It’s decorated in simple white with hints of yellow.

“Cute.” I grin looking around the room.

“Y’like it?” He almost seems nervous. Giddy like an unsure child.

“It’s perfect, thank you.”

For the first time there’s an awkward pause. Just a few seconds of what to do, it’s really late and by the sounds of it we have plans for an early morning.

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, H.”

Harry leaves me to my room and goes to his own, which is conveniently across the hall.

He wasn’t lying, the next day we are up bright and early. Too early, I might add.

“Y/n.” He taunts my name on the other side of the door.

“Too early.” I grumble, my face still half smashed into a pillow. I don’t even flinch hearing the door open.

“C’mon, Y/n. If you get up now we can go out for breakfast and go to the farmers market.” I feel the bed dip as he settles on the bed.

“Why can’t I sleep in and we just eat here?” I finally turn to face where’s he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, he has an amused look on his face.

“Because I’ve been in Los Angeles for the past two months. There’s quite literally no food here.”

I let out a groan and drop my head back down.

“I’m amazed with how cute you still look while so angry and having just woken up.”

“You’re such a kiss ass.” I grumble.

“Only for you.” He lightly smacks my ass before walking back out. “Let’s go, Y/Ln.”

I get up and look out the large window to see that it’s raining, but it looks like the sun is trying to come out. I settle on a comfortable outfit, tucking my hair back into a low bun. I wash my face and throw on a pair of sunnies.

“Ready?”

I nod and we take off. We walk to a diner that Harry loves going too, he claims that he gets cravings for it when he’s back in the states. I have to say, after eating there, I understand his hype.

Once were no longer hungry, we take off for the farmer’s market.

It’s cute to say the least. We pick up some organic veggies to cook with for dinner and we find some cheese and fresh bread.

“H, look!” I cross over from the tent we had been in to the one across the street.

“They’re beautiful!” I trail my fingers across all of the different bundles of flowers.

“I almost lost you.” Harry says after catching up.

“Look at how pretty they are!” I pick up a bundle of sunflowers.

“How much?” Harry asks before handing over more than enough for them.

“Gotcha!” Harry smiles looking down at his phone. I’m sure he’s taken yet another candid picture.

“For someone who doesn’t post on social media, you take an awful lot of pictures.” I bump his shoulder as we continue walking.

“Yeah, still like to have the memories.”

Harry and I spent two more days in London exploring more of the city before we decided to take a road trip to Holmes Chapel to see where Harry grew up. It was a long drive, but it was worth it to see Harry light up.

“That’s the bakery I used to work in.” He points out the car window.

“Don’t you want to stop?” I ask, watching him drive right by it.

“No, it’s kind of become a fan beacon now.” Harry explains.

We continue to drive through the town as he points out more spots from when he grew up. Or we sit in a comfortable silence just looking out at the scenery. I don’t notice we’ve arrived somewhere until Harry puts the car in park.

“Where are we?” I ask, looking at the house in front of us. It’s grown dark out, but the house looks warm and inviting.

“My mum’s house.” He quickly gets out of the car before I can ask a question.

“Harry!” I roll my eyes, following him to the door.

“What?” He grins looking over his shoulder. He knocks and it doesn’t take long for an answer to follow.

“Harry!” She pulls him in for a hug, the woman I can only assume is his mother.

They talk softly to each other and I feel as if I’m invading a very private moment.

“You’ve brought someone home?” She shouts with an excited voice. Without a pause, she pulls me in for an equally tight hug. She knocks the air out of my lungs, but I let out a laugh.

“In all these years, Harry’s never brought a girl home!”

“Mum!” Harry groans, a pink color taking over.

“Come in come in! I’m just finishing up supper.”

She disappears further into the house, once Harry and I step in, I can feel the warmth of the home and smell whatever she’s cooking.

“You brought me home to meet your mom!” I tease, turning to smack Harry lightly on the chest.

“No, she would just be upset if I was here and didn’t see here before leaving for a world tour.”

Bullshit.

“Harry, you’ve never brought a girl home before.” I smirk.

“Alright alright, I really like you. As if it wasn’t obvious enough before.” Harry admits, he successfully knocks the smile clear off my face.

“Are you going to say anything?” He asks, suddenly twisting the right on his fingers around out of nerves.

“I like you too.” I smile, “Duh.”

“Thank god.” He sighs, pulling me in for a hug.

“Alright, supper is- oh! You’re having a moment, I’ll go.” Anne rushes back to the kitchen. It would take a blind man to miss the smile and happy dance at seeing us like this.

“She’s a sweetheart.” I pull back so I can look up

“Yeah, we’re a pretty charming family.”

“I can see that.”

After that it was bliss, Harry and I finally got together. Just in time for him to leave on tour. But we made it work, thankfully. Either I would fly out to whatever city he was in, or when he had extended breaks he would come see me on set. Any time we weren’t performing, we were facetiming. Or when the time differences didn’t work, we would leave each other long voicemails, just longing to hear the other’s voice.

By the time he finished his tour, and I finished my movie, we finally got to date like a normal couple and see each other regularly.

“Coming, coming!” I yell, rushing to my door to see who’s in a huge rush that causes them to knock repeatedly.

“I said-” Before I get a chance to yell when I swing the door open my jaw drops at the sight.

“Hi, love.” He grins, a bundle of sunflowers in his hands.

“What are you doing here?” I peck his lips with mine and pull him in for a long hug, “You had things to finish up! I wasn’t supposed to get you home for another week!”

“I’m sorry, love, but I lied. I always knew I could sneak away.”

“That’s kind of evil.” I laugh pulling away, but still holding onto him.

“Which is why I have these.” He hands my the flowers.

“Thank you.” I grin, he follows me into my kitchen and watches as I put them in water.

“So, how does it feel to be all finished?” I ask.

“Good, it was really rewarding, but really exhausting. I’ve just been waiting to come home to you to be perfectly honest.”

“Well, here I am.” I smile, I take a seat on his lap. It’s good to have him here.

Beachwood Cafe. The coffee here doesn’t taste as good when it’s not filled with our laughter and deep conversations. It seems bitter without the games.This was our spot in Los Angeles. Early in our relationship we had stumbled upon the place and it became ours. The baristas growing accustomed to our orders and our stardom.

“You’re absolutely mad if you think that’s a word.” Harry says, his voice getting louder and gaining the attention of people around us. As if we weren’t already doing that. The cafe is always busy, but today it seemed like there were lots of people here.

“Have you ever played Scrabble? Of course this is a word!” I argue. Part of why we like the cafe is the bookshelf filled with board games. Every time we come Harry and I pick a new one we’ve never played together before. Today we settled on Scrabble even though it led to us bickering.

“I don’t like playing with a cheater.” He can’t even get away with it without smiling, but we continue the teasing fight for the fun of it. Banter is always entertaining.

“A cheater?” My voice raising as well, “Look it up!”

We both breakout in laughter over how stupid it is to be arguing about.

Still blissfully aware in our honeymoon phase which lasted way longer than any other relationship either of us have been in. If only I had known then how much worse the arguing would get.

“Harry, what’s happened to you?” I ask, tears freely falling to the floor. The tears being caused more by anger than hurt at this point.

“What do you mean?” His words slurred.

“You’re drunk again, of course.” I roll my eyes, leaving him on the bathroom floor to deal with himself.

“You’ve made a fool of me Harry!” I shout, letting my temper get the best of me, “Do you know how embarrassing you were tonight? Tonight was a big deal for me, I’ve never been the lead actress. You now what this premiere meant to me.”

“Love, I-” Harry follows me out of the bathroom into our bedroom. My attitude and hurt seems to have sobered him up a bit, though he is still far from dry.

“You got hammered before the movie could even start!” I huff, “You were loud and obnoxiously shouting about nonsense! Not to mention the fact that you flirted with nearly every person at the bar.”

“Y/n, it’s fine we-”

“No, it’s far from fine. I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, since when have you felt most comfortable with a drink in your hand? Or a stranger on your arm? This isn’t new for you anymore, you’ve been acting like this for months.”

The silence coming from him proves I’m right.

“If it’s been months, why haven’t you said anything before now. We’ve been dating for nearly two years now, we live together. I would think you’re comfortable enough to tell me you think I’m a drunk.” Harry sasses back.

“I’ve tried! You just get rude or you don’t even remember it in the morning.” I push my hair back out of my face, “The only difference it, tonight was my breaking point.”

I walk to my closet and grab a bag and start shoving essentials in it.

“No, Y/n, wait.” Harry follows me, he takes the bag from my hand and starts pulling things back out.

“Harry stop!” My voice rising louder than it ever has in this house, “Enough. I’m done. We are finished.”

Harry suddenly drops the bag and stumbles back out of the closet. I manage to repack the bad come out to see Harry sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at his shoes.

“I’ll send someone to get the rest of my stuff. You can buy out my half of the lease.”

After that night, I never looked back.

The song ends and I turn off my phone and set it down. I wipe away any remnants at eyes, the tears long dried. Before I can spend any more time thinking about him or the way things used to be, I get dressed for the day. Harry was right about one thing.

I’ll never need him again.

#harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #angst #harry styles angst #Harry Styles

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cordonian-literature · 5 years ago

Text

The Aftermath - Ch. 2

International News

Summary: Drake finds news about Riley and goes to tell Liam

Word Count: ~2.7k

Warning: Mention of character death

*All characters belong to Pixelberry, except those that are unique to my story (I’ve also used some characters and fictional instances from Donna Tartt’s “The Goldfinch”)*

Catch up here!

Tags: @captain-kingliamsqueen @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @gkittylove99 @lovablegranny @loudbluebirdlover @mom2000aggie @kingliam2019

- DRAKE -

Taking the leftover pizza out of the microwave, Drake eats his dinner leaned against the kitchen counter, facing his empty living room. He had Bartie over last weekend. When the boy walked in, the entire place felt more illuminated. Not only was the place more lively with some company, but Drake was finally able to see exactly how boring his cabin was — of course, the initial plan was to go camping, but it started raining, so Drake thought his place would be the next best thing. But alas, it wasn’t. He did his best to make the place a little more fun and to make Bartie’s time with him enjoyable. All he wanted was to give his nephew a break from courtly life. When Savannah came to pick him up Monday morning, the house felt dim again. He knew that even if he preferred being alone, he wouldn’t enjoy it as much as he would’ve enjoy being with friends or with the people he cared about.

Tonight was supposed to be the night that he and Liam went out drinking, but Liam had to reschedule due to an overload of meetings. Drake didn’t take it personally, and was recently used to Liam distancing himself from everyone.

After Riley had left, Hana, Maxwell, and Drake went to Los Angeles to try and find Tariq by themselves. When they got him to give an announcement, it was sent out in the middle of Liam’s and Madeleine’s engagement shower, even though the group wanted desperately to do it quietly. Drake remembered Liam’s face after Madeleine had calmed down the crowd and was giving her own thoughts about how the court had treated Riley; Liam had scanned the crowd for her face, his eyes passing over the faces of his three friends, no Riley in sight. Afterwards, Drake had to tell the entire group that Riley had left the night before. He thought she was bluffing, so he did nothing to stop it.

The court remained in New York for another long week, in an attempt to try and find Riley. They’d gone anywhere they thought could help find her, even the bar they first met her at and her old apartment. They even tracked down Daniel, Riley’s co-worker. Liam had gone as far as to tell Bastien to do a background check on her parents and had a security team monitor her mother’s house for any signs of her.

Drake had been the one to put the issue of finding Riley on his shoulders. His guilt for letting Riley leave that night was something that he knew he would take to his grave. Sometimes he’d work with Olivia and Maxwell — Hana had left court after there was no sign of Riley returning. They’d send small search parties internationally and contacted any establishment that they thought she would have any association with.

Of course, nothing turned up, but Drake still kept his eye on international news, while Maxwell and Olivia continued their own searches. Even though they’d all lost hope for finding Riley long ago, she still remained in the back of their thoughts.

The two best friends were beginning to distance, but Drake was glad that him and Liam were at least trying to stay connected — even though he had moved out of the palace a while ago, his cabin wasn’t a ten minute drive away.

After putting his plate in the sink, he took out his phone and decided to scroll through the internet and current news.

Out of all the states in the country Drake paid attention to in his search, he slowly began to ignore New York. He figured that if she didn’t want to be found, that would be the last place she would go.

He begins pouring himself a glass of whiskey, when he stumbles upon a vague article title:

America Left in Shock as Country's Largest Museum is Bombed Over the Weekend.

With the slight hope that the museum wasn't in New York, he clicks on the link and reads about a bomb going off in a new exhibit in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. He almost exited out before noticing that an internationally known CEO had been found dead and a Senator was badly injured.

He keeps scrolling and sees the subtitle Known Visitors around Time of Incident and Their Conditions. Beneath it was a list of names with either “dead”, “injured”, or “unknown” written in bold next to them.

He scans through the names, as he's always done with any list ever since Riley left, a dull hope in the back of his mind that one day there'd be a list with her name on it. His heart gives a jolt when he reads “Riley Brooks injured”.

- Liam -

After hours of back to back meetings with dignitaries and ambassadors from all over the world, Liam finally gets a chance to close his eyes and lean back in his chair. A rare moment of peace.

He didn’t mind the workload. In fact he embraced it. It allowed him to distract his mind and his heart from the void Riley had created when she left. Years after her departure, Liam never stopped putting the blame on himself. He regretted the heartache he put her through during the Engagement Tour. He regretted that she had to suffer her name being dragged through the mud by hundreds of thousands of people around the world. He regretted every moment he didn’t tell her that he loved her. He regretted every moment that he didn’t cherish her. Every moment he hadn’t held her in his arms had been a moment wasted.

Of course she’d want to leave me, he told himself routinely. I never deserved her. What type of man forgets to cherish such a precious being? How did I forget to cherish the woman who stood by my side even when she was experiencing Hell?

Diving head-first into his work was a necessary reprieve from this thoughts. He would never want to forget her, but he hated remembering how he didn’t keep her safe. This life of loneliness was his punishment, and he believed he deserved it.

When the door opens and the light thud of Drake’s foot steps barrel towards him, Liam doesn’t open his eyes, but asks, “How are you Drake? Did you have a nice weekend with Bartie?”

Drake freezes. “How did you know I spent the weekend with him?”

“Maxwell told me.” He looks at Drake and goes to fill a glass of scotch for himself and some whiskey for Drake. “He usually calls to tell me how his day’s been going. That day he was particularly upset. Sunday, I think it was. I heard Bertrand or Savannah trying to cheer him up in the background, though I couldn’t make out the most of what they were saying through the sobs.”

Drake takes the glass of whiskey. “He cried to you? About what?” Maxwell crying or showing any emotion wouldn’t have been surprising when Riley was around, but after she left, everyone had bottled up their feelings. It seemed unnatural, but everyone was so focused on hiding their own emotions from one another that they didn't even notice that they were all doing the same thing. Lately though, the walls they had built around themselves were crumbling. Their decade of ignored pain was becoming too much to handle, but none of them were ready to face it yet.

Liam sighs, looking down at his drink. “About how Riley never got to meet Bartie.”

“She saw him in Paris.”

Shaking his head, Liam says, “It’s not the same.”

The men take a moment to finish their drinks, the silence hanging between them, as was usual when anything about Riley, her social season, or the Engagement Tour ever came up.

“Speaking of Riley,” Drake starts, pulling out his phone. “She’s in New York.”

“What?” Liam jolts to attention and reaches for the phone, scanning the screen that Drake opened up for him. When he looks at her name, he can’t take his eyes off of it.

Riley Brooks. His Riley.

Injured, but alive.

The article was uploaded less than two hours ago.

Disbelief, shock, pain, and hope all flash through Liam’s face when he looks up at Drake, who explains what happened at the Met, and when he’s done relaying the information that he has, Liam takes a moment to absorb it all. He pulls out his own phone and looks for more articles to read; he was alive with the need to see her name again, the need to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. After all this time, it felt too good to be true.

He’s only able to type “The Met NYC” before he looks back at Drake and breathes, “Maxwell and Hana. We need to let them know.”

Drake takes a moment to respond. Liam scans his friend’s face, and is shocked to find himself expecting Drake to disagree.

And he does: “I don’t think that’s the best idea right now. We should take our time and approach this slowly.”

“Not the best idea?” Liam stands, abandoning his phone. He blinks a couple times, making sure that he's really in the moment, and that he really just heard those words come out of Drake's mouth. “When will it be the best idea?” He stands, leaning against the table to close the distance between himself and Drake. “Eleven damn years isn’t a long enough wait for you?”

“Liam that’s not what I meant. I just think we should give her space. Reach out to her. She's been hurt—.”

“Space?" He turns around and begins to pace. There are too many words, and he doesn’t know how to get them all out. After a desperate decade of trying to find her, trying to find the only woman he’s ever really loved, he has to wait even longer? "Where was ‘give her space’ when you ran after her car the night of my coronation? When you wanted to jump on the plane to New York and follow her?” He took a moment to stare down at Drake. “Do you understand how hard it’s been, religiously searching for her name in every one of Bastien's daily reports? Waiting for Maxwell or Olivia or you to call and say that you've found her or had a lead? Do you understand how hard it is, traveling without her by my side, or without her waiting for me back home? How hard it is, during every damned press conference,” his voice breaks, “being asked of my marrying or at least producing an heir? I can’t get over it. I can’t get over her.” He puts his head in his hands. “Ten damned years and she’s still the person I work to be a good king for...." He takes a deep breath, trying to control his volume. "I understand that you are in pain as well, Drake, she's a sore wound to pick at, but we’ve all been hurting. Maxwell cries about how his ‘little blossom’ would have enjoyed the last Beaumont Bash and how she would have made it more memorable, or how there’s no one else he would want to star with him in his ‘breakdance opera’. We have been calling Hana incessantly over the past five years about returning to court. Do you know what she said to me a few weeks ago? She said she doesn’t want to return without Riley. That it won’t be the same without her. And when I gave my speech to the court and to the people at Applewood last month, it felt just like that, so so empty. All these years—.”

A knock on the door interrupts Liam. He leans back, dusts off his clothes and takes a moment to compose himself, making sure no tears escaped him. He calls for the person to enter and Olivia walks in.

“Liam,” she starts, but stops herself as she notices Drake sitting in front of his desk, and how tense Liam’s shoulders are.

“What is it, Duchess Olivia?” Liam asks.

“It’s Riley,” she starts, all business. “She’s in New York, but has been injured after a bomb went off in a museum she was visiting. I don’t know which hospital she might be in, but I have a list of places I assumed they'd put her.”

“We know about Riley,” Drake scoffs. “Since we know where she is, finding the hospital they put her in shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Actually, there’s quite a number of hospitals she could be in. I called some to check if her name was on their list of patients brought in from the bombing, but they said the hospital they put the victims in would depend on the type of injury. And since I’m not exactly in New York, they wouldn’t let me know if she was there or not, and said I’d have to be there in person for them to give me information.”

“I’ll have Bastien look into it,” Liam suggests.

“Hopefully he’ll have narrowed it down before you get there,” she says.

The men fall silent, looking between themselves and Olivia.

“What?” she spits, taken aback. “You two have been an emotional mess because of her for the past decade and now that you know where she is, you don’t want to see her? You’ve given up, just like that? At the most crucial moment? I didn’t take you two for such cowards.”

Drake stands, balling his fists. “Giving her space isn’t called being cowardly.”

“Maybe not,” she speculates, “but what is cowardly is letting someone you love leave without fighting for them.”

Liam puts his hand up, asking for peace. “We will go.” Drake looks back at him, but Liam doesn’t meet his eyes. “We were discussing whether we should tell Hana or Maxwell yet.”

“Tell them before you take off. They’ll catch up.”

“Will you be accompanying us?” Liam asks.

Olivia’s face falls. “I think it’s best if you all greet her first. If she’s to receive a reminder of Cordonia, I’m sure my face isn’t one she’d want to see first.”

“Nonsense,” Liam claims.

Drake looks back at Liam. “I’ll go tell Bastien,” he says. “Get some things together, Liam. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone, but pack quickly. Hopefully we’ll be able to take off within the hour.”

...

Liam had taken many trips across the Atlantic after Riley left. Though more than half of his trips were for political conferences or parties, the other times Liam would come to just absorb the atmosphere of the city: the constant motion, the consistent energy of people always going somewhere, needing to be in another place, waiting to start something new, unafraid of any interruptions as long as no one stopped moving. It reminded him of her.

Looking down at the water under the plane, Liam imagined what Riley would have been thinking about on her first flight to Cordonia with Maxwell and Drake. Was she nervous, excited, regretful? All of the above? He wondered if she ever crossed the Atlantic again, after she left. Did she ever dream of visiting Cordonia, the same way Liam dreamed of greeting her at the airport after all that time?

He couldn’t even remember what it felt like, to be in her embrace, to force himself not to look back at her during courtly functions when they were on the Engagement Tour. He carried the memories of their stolen moments like talismans, and more than anything he wished he had savored those moments more.

After the men are off of the plane, Bastien told them that they all have to go through a mandatory security check, a precaution after the city had been closed off for the weekend. He notified Liam and Drake that he wasn’t able to get farther than what Duchess Olivia had found. He suggested visiting the hospitals one by one.

“That could take days,” Drake protested. "There has to be a faster way."

Liam thought about contacting Riley’s mother, hoping that the woman had heard something about her daughter and could help them locate her. He decided against it, not only thinking that the woman might not be alive, but he thought it better to respect her family’s privacy. After all, they were in the same city. Their reunion was inevitable.

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