#why doesn’t solar have shoes though?

[peachyapples25]

Solar’s feet were a bit bare so I designed him some boots I think he’d like ☀️

-🍎

[ungrateful-cyborg-moved]

On Minfilia

When you take Minfilia at face value, she’s honestly a good character. And her writing is consistent enough that I can’t completely say that the way the community reacted to her was due to it but at the same time... it kinda is, in my opinion, and most of the arguments given to “hate on her” by people are mis-attributed griefs with the storytelling itself or the gameplay.

(The way some choose to mis-attribute it speak more of those people than of the story or devs, though.)

To me, Minfilia is a just and kind woman, if a bit politically naive, who tries her hardest to fill in the shoes of Louisoix when it’s very much not what she signed up for in creating the Path of the Twelve. It’s a hell of a role to take on at 22 (time of the Calamity, since she’s 27 in ARR) and she did an admirable job with it. You can understand why those who’ve known her for a long time feel like she’s incredible, given the facts.

But if you’re not a Legacy player, you don’t know those stakes, you don’t know her, and she doesn’t know your character either (she recognizes Legacy WoLs from what I've gathered).

So your actual introduction to Minfilia goes like this: you get told by Momodi that a secret organization is interested in hiring you and to go to Vesper Bay. You go there and speak to Tataru.

A summary in two screenshots:

The named Scion depends on where you started: Thancred for Ul'dah, Y'shtola for Limsa, Yda and Papalymo for Gridania. It's not Minfilia who recruits you, it's them. She just gets to make it official because she's the boss and got the last word.

And not only that but you've traveled to the town, then get to pass three doors (and two loading screens) in total before meeting her: to enter the building, to go to the basement and, finally, to enter her office where she's talking to the main Scions.

Which seems entirely trivial but I feel like it create a pre-existing distance before you even get to meet Minfilia.

In the Solar, she introduces herself, then immediately puts some distance between you and her by walking behind her desk—ironically while telling you that you're amongst friends—and starts her speech about the Scions, the Echo, the Primals and the fact that your Echo is especially strong. A speech she ends with this (notice the crossed arms—distance, again):

The next cutscene is about the perks of the job, settling once and for all that your relationship with her, even though she calls you friend, is transactional and hierarchical.

Which is fine, I'm not complaining. But she's our boss, which sets her apart from every other character in the story, Scions included.

The next hours are literally spent executing her orders, going back and forth between Vesper Bay and wherever she sends you (and we didn't have the aetheryte tickets until patch 5.3) until she gets abducted.

We meet quite a lot of NPCs who tell us that she's a great diplomat (something we didn't get to see so far since she doesn't accompany us on our diplomatic mission to talk to the Sylphs about Ramuh) and talented to bring people together (which is probably true but always happens off screen). We don't get to see it until well after they made her go from our boss to a damsel in distress we need to save.

To quote Erenville: first impressions last.

Especially when the story doesn't give you opportunities to change it for hours of gaming time.

She's not as passive as people tend to remember, but they botched her introduction to non-legacy players, in my opinion.

So I can't say it's entirely fair to pretend there's no reason to dislike her, or at least to not care much about her. There are other characters who play a similar role to her up to a point: the Exarch for example. But the Exarch goes, literally, outside to meet with us. We get to see him deal with Ranjit and the threat of Eulmore. By the time he needs saving, we've seen what he can do, even discounting his help in the first dungeon. I don't think he would have received such a warm reception if he'd just been waiting for us passively in the Ocular for the first half of Shadowbringers.

It's worth mentioning that the writers were working on the 1.X patches at the same time they were writing ARR, though. And to me, it feels like they either forgot or didn't care that new players wouldn't have a pre-existing rapport with Minfilia.

After all, Louisoix tells her in one of the short stories to wait for "one who bears the light". When we meet her in the Solar, we doom her: her role was to serve as a bridge between 1.0 and 2.0. To wait for us.

And we're here now.

(I don't think they meant to keep her around, even without the general disliking of her that players had—and that's probably why the twins were here from the start.)

[mageofspacemultiverse]

The Comedian - The Superego

“And then, if I were to go, ‘it’s just another doomsday device!’, would that be crossing the line—?”

He was milling. Back and forth, shuffling his shoes against the underfoot shag…again. Drifting.

“Adobo…?” A crimson red crescent bounced impertinently against an LED screen. “Mooshu…?” They would be eating dinner in her office tonight, it had been decided, but getting there was half the battle.

Trajes’ bottom lip pursed, itching at a spot behind his ear where the elastic of his performance mask burrowed into the skin. His hair remained stoic in its over-prepared masse despite the motion. “Why do they call it that anyways—? Mooshu…if I wanted to ridicule moo-beasts I wouldn’t need to name a dish after them—! Just get me a forklift, a plunger, and two trolls with too much free time on their hands, ahh—?”

She pursed her lips gently, chuckling under her breath. The young man’s small grin emerged further. “I’m not one to know that. It’s rated not too poorly, and less venomous than some other foods you’ve tried eating before.”

“Good point…— Hmm, oh, what about wontons—? Have you ever sung a wonton a swan song—?”

“Never. Perhaps on my next park visit.”

The boy unfolded himself onto the lavender suave lounge just next to him, kicking his feet as she silently made the decisions for him, as always. A hand went to the lavender agenda set on the wooden side table beside her, unclasping a black string from around the button that held it together.

“How did it fare, though?” Her face-paint contorted slightly before she put her head down, checking the notes of their most recent appointment. “We agreed you would try to write some parody of a memory that was quite fond to you.”

“Oh, yaaas, well, y’see—! I brought a few friends to it, including one of my relatives that you directed me to—!” Hands went to knees, sandpapering the bony bumps. Trajes tended to do this when he got excited, but she could already tell he was deflecting. “I might’ve made some friends—! A bit of a dull night for the rest of the audience though—. There was a blood-pusher stoppage in the middle of my monologue on the Battle of the Gnashing Grasses—. Total mood killer, but I pushed through—!” An expectant blink and a slow pause was enough for him to hum and reconsider for another moment, before he added once again: “Well, it was, well, I had a bit involving the first time I discovered hair glitter—?”

She’d written most in short-hand, ineligible to those who didn’t know the style. Her bum shoulder made the scrawl especially peculiar. “And, how did Ashter react? You’ve said before you were interested in connecting with him on a deeper level.”

“Well, he was…confused, and uncomfortable, but he came—!” His tone bounced with uncertain optimism.

“Do you think based on his reaction he wants to pursue your connection as a mutual friendship?”

“Aaheh, I don’t really know—.” Trajes ran a hand bashfully through his hair apologetically, staring towards her with a small smile. “He doesn’t outright hate me—? He has a lot of friends and doesn’t need me, but it’s like you said: ‘You have to control your impulses, young man, or you’re going to get into huge trouble—!’ Sorry, I might be paraphrasing—.”

Trajes Faurux was impulsive; she’d wrote an article in the Alternian Alternative Medical Stratagem seven solar cycles ago to that end. Giving him patience had taken a few sweeps of grueling focus. A fun pastime in her retirement, but seeing progress, seeing the pupa break, was a reward in and of itself.

“Good, good. Keep viewing the pros instead of focusing on the cons. The only way you can have the confidence to build a relationship is if you have confidence in your own abilities.” Her high heel of one leg pumped open air, and her pen waved betwixt two fingers.

“You’ve…gosh, you’ve helped me so much Superego, y’know—? Like…—” Trajes laughed with another sweep through his hair, hugging around himself. “I know you’ve sacrificed…so…so much for me, and… snf—“ He wiped away the forming tears with the edge of his sleeve. “—I have…I’m making friends, and having success, and…snf…and one day, I really am going to pay you back, I promise—!”

She sat back and looked to him again, lips soft and forlorn, but fully formal. “My role in your life, Trajes, is as an anchor, not a trader. While your therapy has the chance to be helpful for patients similar to you in the future, do not split your attention with that worry. I’m already quite well off. Mead?”

Trajes’ mouth squished together, puckering, before he nodded queerly. Something was on his mind, but as she poured him a paper mug of the liquor, he stayed silent about it. She’d known him long enough to get a sense of his body language too: shoulders tight, legs tensed.

“And yes, that includes what we mentioned before…I’m not your lusus.”

“You’d ought to be, though.— You might as well be—.”

“I ought to decide what I ought to be, dear. If I were 30 sweeps younger-“

“I’m sure there’re other coddling laughsassins around, right…—?”

“Sure, for the right price.” The Superego’s eyelids narrowed and she smirked. “But I did not insist for your datasets in the drone inventory to be deactivated out of a need to coddle you. I recognized it was necessary, therapeutically. I have made you self-reliant for a reason.”

He nodded absently, taking a small sip of his mead politely, the reminder of how much effort he was sitting on his think-pan. It was honey and metal on his tongue. “I’ve got two more gigs lined up—. Zaldes would’ve liked one of the locations, actually—.”

“Hmm? Is it near his grave-site?”

“…yeah—. Umm…yeah, there’s a rebellion re-enactment going on in the woods where—.” He didn’t need to fill in the rest, she knew, and as Trajes trailed off she scribbled more. “………might visit him before—. Figure it’ll settle my nerves —! What do you think—?”

The Superego shook her head. “That symbolism is not mine to interpret. What do YOU think?”

“I think…he’d appreciate it- oh!”

Ugh. The doorbell. Just when they were possibly getting somewhere again.

“Oh, Supergo, I think our stuff is here—! It was wontons and mooshu, right—?”

“And lobster soup for myself. Wait there Trajes, I’ll take care of this.” She stood up, all eight foot tall, leaning her weight onto the cane she grabbed from behind the chair. In younger years she would’ve ruffled Trajes’ hair on her way, but weaning him from the small affections was a strategy to make him independent. As she strode to the door though, the last sentence she’d written in dark orchid was the same as it had been before.

Still suppressing.

[astroismypassion]

Astrology observations ☕️ ☕️ ☕️

Credit goes to my astrology Tumblr blog @astroismypassion

☕️ Aries Rising is very “what you see, is what you get” person. Also, even when they get married they could just see it as just another day in their life. Also, they are just as adventurous and experimental as a Sagittarius Rising!

☕️ Virgo and Gemini Lilith might prefer online dating/chatting before meeting you in person, because they like to have control over their image, words, what you perceive them and take more time and thought to respond. They usually have “a curated image” going on with their behaviour.

☕️ Taurus Moon might really struggle with daily showering, shaving and other hygiene. They constantly postpone it or sometimes feel to lazy to do it. They would also buy expensive clothing and shoes, but are too cheap to get a haircut.

☕️ Taurus Moons also might marry their first love, very much the type “date to marry”. Even if you break up with them, there’s a high chance they might run after you again in the future.

☕️ Aries Chiron or Chiron in the 1st house has a name that gets constantly mispronounced. Or there are several ways to say it.

☕️ Okay, so this one might get a bit controversial, but when people with 8th house synastry break up or break off the connection, those around them, who know them, react STRONGLY. And by that I mean other people can be heart-broken, really down or feel like they don’t believe in true love anymore. Whichever the option, it’s like people feel the heartbreak too. Just look at any major celebrity couple with 8th house: Emma Stone and Andrew Garfield, Miley Cyrus and Liam Hemsworth, Selena Gomez and Justin Bieber and many more. These relationships STILL get talked about even years after people seem to be “heartbroken” along with them.

☕️ When Capricorn Moon woman doesn’t like someone’s mothering style, they won’t like their children as well. 😬

☕️ I still don’t know YET why, but honestly check guy’s Pallas Athene to see how (non)committal he is. I saw a pattern with Aquarius Pallas being highly individualistic and not wanting a relationship, Virgo Pallas men who are workaholics and might pull the “I’m focusing on my career, I don’t have time for a relationship” card and Aries Pallas who are just too selfish to even consider sharing something, so they shy away from any concept of a relationship. I would say much more positive would be Taurus or 2nd house Pallas, maybe even Libra Pallas (though he might be extra flirty or have multiple crushes😬).

☕️ You can learn SO MUCH from Solar Return charts. You want to know if you will be entering a long-term partnership? Search for Venus in the 7th house! You might hang out more with sign that fall into your 1st, 7th house. Which sign you might not really see much (if even) that year, it’s the sign over your 12th house. Who you will be talking to only on social media/online? Check 11th house sign, but also where your Mercury is. Also when you might decide AGAINST entering a partnership? Mercury, Uranus, Moon, Saturn and sometimes even Jupiter in the 7th house in Solar Return chart. If someone’s sign falls over your 4th house, you might be visiting their hometown or be in their home that year, or even live together.

So my point, if you are feeling someone and want to know if this is even going somewhere, my advice would be to check your Solar Returns for 2, 3 years ahead. If their Sun sign is the sign in the 7th house one year, they could be very romantic, charming to you that particular year. Next year, their sign is over your 12th house, you might not see that person much (if even). They could start living at a distance from you (like a different country even).

☕️ You could view people with the same Sun sign as your Juno sign as having your ideal partnership or ideal marriage. If you have Gemini Juno, you could think Gemini Suns know how to do relationships or even envy them their partnership.

☕️ I noticed a common correlation that you tend to marry or have a significant long-term relationship with the following Sun sign:

@astroismypassion ‘s compatibility (birth number - Sun sign) theory

If you are born on the 1st of any month you could be in a significant relationship with the following Sun sign: Aries Sun or Libra Sun, even Capricorn Sun,

2nd, 8th, 17th, 20th, 26th: Taurus or Scorpio Sun,

3rd, 9th, 12th, 18th, 21st, 24th, 27th, 30th: Gemini or Sagittarius Sun,

4th,13th, 31st: Cancer or Capricorn Sun,

5th, 14th, 23rd: Leo or Aquarius Sun,

6th, 15th: Virgo or Sagittarius Sun, even Gemini,

7th, 16th, 25th: Libra or Scorpio Sun, even Aries Sun,

10th, 28th: Capricorn Sun, Cancer Sun, also Aries Sun,

22nd: Cancer, Taurus, Capricorn Sun,

11th, 29th: Aquarius or Leo Sun, even Taurus Sun

☕️ Scorpio Moon men want a woman who will provide for their security, travels, other things they desire. They want someone to support them financially.

☕️ Pisces Venus dislikes games of seduction when talking to someone. They want other people to be more honest and upfront about it, because they dislike guessing. These are also the types to say that people “play too many games”.

Credit goes to my astrology Tumblr blog @astroismypassion

[jess-themess05]

Favorite fics?

oh geez. i’m gonna try keep it sweet and simple less i go on and make it unbearable to read. also these summaries are gonna be terrible but i think all of these are gonna be fnaf sun and moon fics i’m SORRY ITS IN MY HEAD BUT ANYWAYS- SHORT N SWEET LES GO

A Dose of Sunshine and Starlight - @give-me-your-monsters a slow burn w/ lots of angst and bittersweet-ness aww but you are all mentally ill.

Bug Love - @theohnocorral the boys are now bug-ified gods and take a liking to a mortal who probably apologies to inanimate objects

Universal Jesters - @lovelymoonmagic you accidentally become the handler to pair of bots with memory loss and mystery trauma

it was, in reality, not fine - @bones-of-a-rabbit you, the reader, have the self preservation skills as a bowl of soup. also oblivious to love hehe

Late Night to Early Morning - Loyal_Backstabber reader meets neglected robot clowns and vows to risk their life for them

Solar Lunacy - @bamsara its- ITS SOLAR LUNACY. anyways you meet certified murder robots and say i can fix em, they’re gonna fix u too.

copper cogs rusted through - @paper-lilypie “oh what’s this, one of these jesters tried killing me? eh it’s fine” then you fall in love

Rotating Shifts - LightningTriceratops protag mistakes sun for unconscious, jaundice ridden man and realizes he’s a robot with a not dead brother and separation anxiety

basically ANYTHINGGG by @naffeclipse , but the first story i ever read from them was In Deep Dreams Between the Waves very different fro, eclipse in sleuth jesters cause he’s actually decent. (also poor vanessa girl don’t get a break)

Clowning Around - EngageSage you overcome your anxiety to protect a poor jester, and are fueled by spite to fuck up moon man for being a certified bitch

Celestial hearts in a purple mind - @kabra-malvada *finds ominous object* *touches it* *is shocked to find they are possessed*

Twin Animatronics With Too Much Time on Their Hands - @twinanimatronics & @dana-chan-the-control-brain you fall in love and fight the temptation to resurrect a dead dude and kill him again

The Night Shift - @certified-handler oopsie you now work with a needy jester who sweeps you off your feet, even more oopsie he turns into a psychopath when the lights go out and triple oopsie you fall in love with HIM too

Star Crossed Souls - @faz-friendly-light-up-shoes reader said “god give me a sign i’ll find love.” gets the sign, and ignores it

404: Personal Space Not Found - CrazedAuthor anxiety filled individual thinks they will be fixed by a child supervisor, gets surprised by his stab happy twin

Celestial Syzygy - @echoingkarma you’re like the jack of all trades, including befriending animatronics who may or may not hate you (and want to maim you) you are probably underpaid.

My Neighbor Mr. Roboto - @kagedbird oh what’s this? you think moving into your new apartment will be simple and boring? WRONG there’s a robot in your closet. and everywhere- why are there so many-

Apology Flowers and Blooming Hours - @daunsun you’d think sentient flowers would have no angsty backstory huh? well actually...

Our Orbit is Elliptical - @sycopomp like your intrusive thoughts came to life, and you choose to ignore them

Lost and Found - SmolShampoo technology is so cool right guys? you got ai, and that ai can get traumatized! how cool??

Stare at the Abyss; It Might Look Back - @characcoon reader becomes a human punching bag and finds new rusty robot roommates. once they escape a deteriorating child’s play place they walked into

Ventura Highway - @madamemiz says “hey is anyone gonna take this robot?” and doesn’t wait for an answer.

Repaired Unstable - @blonde-fraumell you decide to work alongside your childhood friend! oh how non threatening he was- hey why’s this man TEN FEET TALL. and why’s this other man so kickable.

also, obligatory mer may fics! even though it’s no longer may these are still being updated :D

Luminescent Charm - @finfiprince reader finds the fishy dudes they saved as a kid in a cage, continues to spite god until they can save them

Celestial Omens (that really like Fishsticks) - @bamsara (again yes) you save two scared bastard fish and feed them in your bathroom, a decade later they see u and go “well they gave us fishsticks no drowning for them”

The Sea Jesters are Real Science - MatosaurusRex & sixty_nine13 your idol hires you to take care of real life mer! wow! unfortunately being their therapist wasn’t in the contract

Pisces Caelestis - S_V i’m a little scared of reader. they got attacked by a mer and passed out for 3 days and said “yeah lmao i’ll be fine” nO YOU WONT-

[smp-live]

The apocalypse happened a few years ago. And- it's vague, the apocalypse. It's not some big earth-shattering moment. It's confused tv reports and impulse decisions and little growing bits of tension until the pot boils over.

The details are fuzzy; it all happened so quickly that many civilians were left unaware of what exactly went down. One day, they were living, and the next, most weren't.

Nukes, EMPs, solar flares - the survivors find it doesn't matter. One way or another, the world ended, millions died, and everything’s different. Hostile. Harsh. Unforgiving. The sun is bright and searing, and radiation burns skin not covered head-to-toe.

People are cruel and will take advantage of anything they can. If you're not a part of an already-existing group, good luck.

Somehow, two men end up on a wooden pallet floating in the middle of the ocean. Maybe it was a plane crash, one of the few still running downed by a stray shot; maybe a boat capsized, embrittled by the radiation. Same as the apocalypse, it doesn't matter. What does is that now they’re surrounded by debris and a shark thirsting for blood and there’s one thing they both know: trust no-one.

So they don’t. Names hold power, as they’ve learnt over the past few years; names imply trust. When it becomes apparent they’re stuck together and the time comes to introduce themselves, the elder of the two stares out to sea and says, “Call me...” And that phrase brings back memories of a book he’d read long ago, in the Before Days, and so he finishes, “Ishmael.”

The younger panics and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: “I’m Gunk.”

‘Ishmael’ raises a skeptical eyebrow, clearly amused. “Gunk,” he repeats. And ‘Gunk’ nods, crosses his arms.

“Yeah, bitch. It’s...” his mind blanks, “Russian.”

Ishmael’s brow climbs further, and he looks on the verge of laughing, lips twisting ever-so-slightly upward. “Last name?”

“Uh,” Gunk wracks his brain, and something from a history class, years ago, stands out. Nearly forgotten amongst all the useless information - what he calls anything that doesn’t directly contribute to survival, nowadays - and only clinging on through his brain classifying it as ‘important’ for God-knows-why. “Gorbachov.”

“Like... Michael Gorbachov?” There’s a hint of laughter in Ishmael’s tone now, the first in a while. He tries not to let that thought depress him.

Gunk nods, relieved at the reminder of the rest of the name, even if he still can’t place it. “Yeah. He was my father.”

“Michael Gorbachov, eighth and final leader of Soviet Russia, was your father,” Ishmael deadpans, and, frustrated at having been outplayed, Gunk scowls.

“What of it?” he challenges, which makes Ishmael laugh, throwing his head back to the blistering sun high above.

“Okay, Gunk,” he says, and yet it doesn’t feel patronizing.

They both know the other is lying, that much is obvious from the constant teasing and jokes about Gunk’s ‘father.’ But it doesn’t matter, because in the slow turning of the days, they grow close. After all, there’s not much to do on a makeshift raft in the middle of the ocean, other than chat.

Ishmael is handy, and the main reason for their survival. He knows how to purify water and fillet a fish, how to add on to their raft without nails and swim against the ocean current. Gunk wonders where he picked all that up, but never asks.

(A survivalist father and paranoid brother, whom Ishmael hasn’t seen in half a decade. The thought that they’re probably still alive brings him comfort.)

Gunk, on the other hand, does most of the grunt work. Fishing in debris that floats by, diving down for rocks when they briefly dock, and the ever-important duty of keeping the shark they named Clive from destroying their miserly raft. He keeps up a steady stream of chatter through it all, and Ishmael thinks that’s what makes the monumental effort to go on worth it. Then, he wonders when he let himself get attached.

(It was a week or so in, when Gunk had fashioned himself a shelf out of the bottom of a storage bin and some planks, and proclaimed it his ‘comfort shelf.’ Gunk felt the same when Ishmael didn’t tell him to dismantle it, only pushed it aside, even though they were supposed to use that wood to repair Clive’s last attack.)

They survive, they grow closer, they hesitantly trust, and yet, they don’t pry. They don’t share their real names. Not until one day.

Ishmael goes swimming out to a nearby island to scavenge for food and chop down a few trees, if he can manage. Gunk stays on the ship - an anchor is next on their to-do list, and so he’s responsible for keeping it from drifting off with his tiny paddle. Except it’s not well-crafted, and grey jaws reach up to snap at the wood he’s standing on so he uses it to stab Clive, and the tip breaks off. The raft starts drifting away.

“Ishmael!” he calls, then again, louder, “Ishmael! Fuck, man!” But he’s nowhere to be seen, and the current is dragging Gunk awfully far out from the island.

He keeps calling, shouting, screaming, increasingly panicked at leaving his friend, the man who’d helped him survive for months, now, behind. Until his voice grows hoarse the way it never did from rambling for hours on end, and a little speck appears on the beach of the island.

Ishmael waves widely at him, and he must be shouting but Gunk can’t hear it over the lapping of the waves. So he assumes what was said, hollers, “I can’t fuckin’ come back, arsehole!” and raises the remains of the paddle over his head to clarify.

The speck stills, then bursts into motion, tossing everything he’s holding aside and shucking his shoes. Gunk can practically hear him mutter about what an “ridiculous child” he is, because although they’ve never shared their ages Ishmael’s decided he’s the elder of the two, which obviously means Gunk is a child.

And then Ishmael dives into the water, and he’s closing the distance between himself and the raft with each stroke. He cuts a straight line through the waves, until he suddenly swerves to the left. Gunk is confused a moment, before he notices - a grey fin jutting out of the water next to him.

Clive goes in for another pass, then another, and Ishmael jukes him out both times. He’s maybe five meters away, now, but the shark is coming back so Gunk screams. But Ishmael’s head is underwater, and he doesn’t hear. Just keeps going, towards safety he won't make it to.

Clive barrels into him. Ishmael vanishes underwater.

He doesn’t come back up.

Gunk is diving in before he can properly think, pushing past the cold shock of the sea, as he uses his self-taught skills to bring him to where he guesses Ishmael last was. Then, he takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and goes under.

After a nervewracking few moments, his elbow bumps into something and he latches on, desperately dragging it upwards. They break the surface and he gasps for breath, Ishmael limp against him.

The trip back is agonizing. Ishmael is deadweight, their clothes are waterlogged, and Gunk has never been the best swimmer. But Clive is still lurking, and he refuses to drown after all this time, so he manages to drag them both back to the raft through pure willpower and spite.

Gunk collapses next to where he’d heaved Ishmael onto the planks, taking a second to compose himself. Shivering violently, he curls into a ball - he'll have to go for a spare change of clothes. His eyes drift shut. In a moment.

Then, panic seizes his heart as he becomes aware of how still Ishmael is. He jerks up, staring at him, searching for any sign of life, anything-

But a moment later he relaxes, when Ishmael rolls over and starts heaving out saltwater. Gunk reaches over and pats him on the back until it subsides, and he falls back onto the wood.

“You,” Ishmael says, letting his eyes flutter shut, “are so stupid.”

Gunk feels a burst of indignation. “Hey, what the fuck! I just saved your dumbass, Ish-ma-el.” He scowls at Ishmael’s placid little twist of the lips.

“Wilbur,” he murmurs, hands folded over his chest.

“What?”

“My name is Wilbur.”

Oh.

“I’m Tommy,” he says after a moment of silence where it sinks in, what he’d just been told, the trust laid on him, and then lays down next to Ishmael - Wilbur, now.

Wilbur just hums and wraps an arm under his shoulders, tugging him close - which is new; they’re really going all-in with this trust thing, huh? - then says, “So, so stupid.”

“Oi,” Tommy protests, but leans in closer.

Things aren’t really visibly different, after that. They still bicker, still do the same daily tasks, still slip up and call each other ‘Ishmael’ and ‘Gunk’ - though it becomes less and less common, other than with a teasing tone. They finally get their anchor, which means Tommy has the chance to go on land; though he quickly grows to dislike it after an incident with a particularly pissed-off boar.

To an outsider, everything remains the same. But to the inhabitants of the raft, it feels different. More homely. Warmer.

Once, after Wilbur chides Tommy over something or another, Tommy rolls his eyes and says, “You know, we really are like brothers.” He tries to keep his tone joking, and to not let himself hope for the words to be true.

Wilbur freezes. “Don’t say that; I’ll cry.” He blinks once to keep the tears at bay, and tries to push down the warmth in his chest.

(They both fail.)

About four months in, a light appears in the distance, at night. They angle their sail towards it and the dark shadow on the horizon. A few days later, it becomes apparent what it is: a lighthouse.

Inhabited land. Civilization.

They gather their meagre supplies once they dock, then ditch the raft in favour of climbing the lighthouse. And, from the top, off over a hill, Wilbur spots it first, points it out to his brother, who squints-

A Dome.

[lenasai]

hello! is it possible for you to explain the whole… pre-history/megan ito/parker macmillan narrative? i feel like i do not understand anything that happened before the semi-centennial. :(

—–

yeah i can do that! (also idk why i had regular asks turned off, i don’t remember doing that)

anyway the majority of prehistory (i) focuses on parker macmillan and megan ito, who have an extensive history. there’s a song about that.

also this got very long so i am putting it under a cut

parker macmillan played for the alaskan immortals and was generally considered to be a very good player. the immortals won the internet series in season a.

in the season a elections, the antarctic fireballs hexed parker with firewalker, a modification that caused the team he was on to become unstable (more likely to be incinerated in a solar eclipse) if he leaves.

the hawai’i fridays also hexed parker with non-profit, a modification that caused fans of his team to not receive any snack payouts from him. it is implied that the coin was not only a fan, but she was a fan of the alaskan immortals and had parker as her idol, therefore not receiving any payouts as a result of non-profit. this may be what caused the immortals to revoke parker the first time in the season b elections. when a player is revoked, they gain the roamin’ modifier, meaning they have a chance to leave a team at the end of a season

parker roamed to the canada artists at the end of the elections, and the immortals became unstable as a result. they were incinerated in season c, becoming the first team to be incinerated.

the canada artists revoked parker a second time in the season c elections, and the oregon psychics revoked him a third time in the season d elections. this is how he became super roamin’ (switching teams every nine days.) he then roamed to the minneapolis truckers, where he spent a bit of time on the same team as megan ito. in the same election, the mallorca whales gave parker a force field, preventing him from leaving the truckers due to its force modifier. (this is all detailed in “an exile.”)

so here’s where megan ito comes in.

megan started out as a breath mints player, but was stolen by the baltimore crabs in the season a elections. megan was also seen as a pretty good player, helping the crabs win the season b internet series and setting up their rivalry with parker. the season b elections are still redacted at this point, but it is implied the charleston shoe thieves stole megan because they were a pitcher for the shoe thieves in season c. “a rivalry” details a game between the canada artists (with parker batting) and the thieves (with megan pitching.)

at some point, megan ito joined the minneapolis truckers and was on the team in season e alongside parker. “a traitor” doesn’t have very much unredacted information, but what we do know is megan stole parker’s force field, leaving him able to roam again. (megan has the traitor and trader mods, meaning they can steal items from anyone.) parker then roamed to a new team, leaving the truckers unstable.

on day 13 of season e, the minneapolis truckers were incinerated. most of the players went directly to the hall of flame…except for megan ito, holding the force field. the force modifier prevents players from leaving their current location. the problem is, that location was the minneapolis truckers, which no longer existed. megan was caught in a state of superposition, simultaneously in the hall of flame and in the ilb. this caused some problems and uh. well. we made lōotcrates tweet this giant wall of text in “an alternate” because Wow That’s A Lot. basically, megan exploded and became the first example of a player with the static modifier (chronologically. the first actual examples to happen in-game were most of the players from the second wyatt masoning in season 14.) we still don’t know what happens to static players other than removal from the roster, though we may find out after short circuits ends. maybe.

so megan exploded and as a result, their alternate (new megan ito) was called. new megan joined the boulders bay birds.

back to parker. parker roamed to many more teams over the course of season e as a result of super roamin’, causing all of those teams to become unstable and some unlucky teams to be incinerated.

the moment shit really hit the fan was at the end of season e. at the end of the previous four seasons, parker had been named an mvp. players who are named mvp five times and become legendary are removed from the league and preserved in the vault. well…parker got named an mvp for the fifth time and was removed from the ilb…meaning every single team became unstable. this caused the postseason to be canceled and the election to be held early. the boulders bay birds then took the force field from new megan and gave it to parker.

prehistory ii is entirely redacted, so we don’t know what happened during that time, but at some point, new megan also became legendary and was preserved in the vault, where they remained with parker macmillan until the semi-centennial, only to steal parker’s force field and repeat the cycle again.

(and then only one team was actually incinerated due to firewalker in season 24. lol.)

and that’s the story of parker macmillan and megan ito. i think about them a normal amount. (this is a lie.)

i’d be happy to explain any part of that in greater detail if you need it - it’s a lot of stuff but that’s the rundown of what happened in prehistory i!

[howtobangyourmonster]

TomTom the Minotaur, Pt. 1

Minotaur man with human woman, vaginal fingering

When attempting to traverse an eldritch forest hell bent on leading you astray, it's vital to hire a guide with an excellent sense of direction. It's less vital that he be charming and sexy, but it sure helps pass the time.

“Worth every penny.” That's what his reviews say.

Seeing him in person, I feel less anxious about the journey ahead. Tall and broad, his skin a gorgeous dark brown speckled over in white freckles like stars, horns gleaming and wickedly curved and broad as his shoulders. He'd be intimidating if it wasn't for the kindness of his face. He's damn handsome, but that's not why I hired him. Well, not the only reason.

His mouth curves in an easy smile as I approach. He looks down at me as he finishes rolling the sleeves of his plaid button-down up, revealing the sculpted muscles of his massive forearms. “You must be Stella.”

I shake his hand, my own completely swallowed in his, though his grip is gentle and warm. “Yes, and you're Tom?”

“Yes, ma'am. Your email said this is your first time crossing the Briarwood?” he asks, friendly brown eyes crinkled at the corners in polite curiosity.

“It is, and I'm pretty nervous about it actually.” I admit.

“Understandable, it's a very disorienting place, especially for humans. I'll get you through it, don't you worry. My family has been guiding people through for generations, I practically grew up in there. I've never lost a traveler.”

His confidence is earned; he's legendary even among guides and has the rating to prove it on NaviGate. His services have the price tag to match. Too many people try to cross on their own, or turn to disreputable-but-cheap “guides” who most likely ditch their charges and pocket the money. Disappearances are commonplace. I don't want that to be me.

“I'm counting on your reputation's accuracy, TomTom.” I smirk.

“Are they still calling me that?” he grimaces, one hand rubbing the back of his neck(and putting his glorious biceps on display). “Embarrassing nicknames aside, I don't want you to worry. I'm taking you the safest way though the woods. It's the slowest route, but we won't run into trouble. Should be very boring.”

“Boring is good! I've got all my gear,” I gesture with my head to the large camping backpack I'm sporting. “I'm trying to just think of it as a long camping trip.”

“That's good, that's basically what it is. We're not getting anywhere near any settlements or dens in there, we shouldn't see anyone else the whole time. I hope you brought something to keep you entertained.”

“I've got a bunch of digital books and podcasts downloaded, and a solar battery. And a couple print books.”

“Good call, sometimes the sun doesn't break through the canopy for a few days.” Tom hefts his own massive pack onto his back, hooking his thumbs into the straps. “Shall we?”

I follow him as we take our first steps onto the trailhead that, with his help, should deliver me safely through the Briarwoods, one month from now.

“I kinda expected it to be more...creepy in here.” I say.

Tom chuckles. “Yeah, I hear that a lot. I think it would actually be less sinister if it did look more creepy and dark and gloomy. It's not just that the path shifts and changes, it's that the forest tries to distract you as well as disorient. Like...look up ahead there.”

He points off to the left, up along the trail, to a meadow of golden grass waving in a gentle breeze. The edges of the meadow disappear into a grove of quaking aspen trees, leaves shimmering like golden coins as they catch the light. Suddenly, the whisper of wings reaches me as hundreds of iridescent green butterflies rise from the meadow in a dazzling display of color.

“...Wow.” I breathe.

“Yeah. It's pretty. And absolutely a trap. You set one foot in there, you'll be asleep in seconds.”

I peek into the grass as we pass the meadow, making sure to keep my feet well within the trail. I see bones poking out of the dark earth, and a sunbleached skull staring eyeless at the sky. With a shudder, I turn back to Tom.

The first week of our journey is pretty straightforward. He points out the forest's traps and lures to me. After one incident where I nearly wandered off, following some windswept notes of birdsong(“That wasn't a bird...” he warns), Tom takes to holding my hand as we walk through particularly dangerous stretches of the trail. I certainly don't mind. At night he sleeps in front of the entrance to our shared tent, to keep me from wandering off without waking him. When it happens, he turns me back to my sleeping bag and gently hushes me until I lay back down and sleep. And then teases me mercilessly in the morning.

“If you're so keen on a night stroll, just wake me up, I'd be happy to keep you company.” he winks.

“It's not my fault! It's the damn sirens!” I laugh.

“They're not really sirens.” Tom says. “It's just the forest trying to trick you.”

We're sharing a meal during a lunch rest in a rather lovely spot next to a river. The sun has actually made an appearance today, so I have my solar charger out.

“What's the scariest thing you've ever encountered in the forest?” I ask.

Tom is very still for a while, brow furrowed as he considers his answer. “I think...the scariest times are when the forest has gotten to know you, and it knows what you're afraid of, and it uses that against you.”

He says this very quietly, with the manner of someone who speaks from experience. I don't pry further.

The river is safe, he says, and clear. We take the opportunity to wash clothes and refill canteens.

“Do we have to get back on the trail, or can I wash? I feel pretty grimy...”

“You set the pace, Stella, I'm just here to keep you out of trouble.” he grins. “I wouldn't mind getting clean either. You go ahead first, I'll keep my back to the water, and you just keep talking to me so I know you're alright.”

“Such a gentleman, respecting my modesty.” I tease. I peel off my trail clothes from that morning and give them a quick wash, hanging them up to dry on the line with the other clothes, while I chat with Tom's back. The water is cold and bracing, but invigorating.

“It'll be a few days before we come across another safe water source.” Tom says. “There's a spring we should run into tomorrow but you can absolutely not touch it.”

I drag my nails through my hair, raking the dirt and debris out of it before rinsing it in the river. “Is it cursed? Haunted?”

“It's a mouth.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

I dry off with the superabsorbent camping towel I bought for this trip, slip on my pajama shorts and a tshirt, and join Tom where he sits on a log. “Your turn!”

Tom stands and steps back over the log toward the river. I keep my back to him as he strips off his shirt, but my curiosity gets the better of me and I glance back over my shoulder. He bends down to take off his boots, and I take in the sight of his impressive backside straining the seams of his jeans. I'm lost in daydreams when he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of the jeans and pushes them down around his hips, taking his briefs with them. The lines of muscle in his back, the play of light and shadow over the planes and curves of his body are stunning. He bends down to remove the clothes and catches me staring, doing a double-take at my expression.

“Hey, what about my modesty?” he asks with a cheeky grin, one eyebrow lifted in challenge.

I whip my head back around, cheeks burning. “I'm sorry, that was...so inappropriate of me!”

He laughs, voice like warm caramel. “Minotaurs bathe communally, I'm not shy.”

I keep my eyes focused on my shoes. “I went to a minotaur-owned bathhouse in Alberta with my mom once.”

I cringe. Why did I feel the need to say that?

“Yeah? What did you think?” he asks.

“It was nice, I really loved the olive oil soaps.”

“I have some in my pack, can you fish one out for me?”

My mind short-circuits for a second. I dig through the pockets of Tom's pack until I find one of the small bars. When I turn to face Tom, my mouth goes dry.

He's standing hip-deep in the river, sunlight reflecting off the water and making his rich sable coat glisten. His head is tipped back, arms up as he arches his back, and it's obvious he's putting on a show for me. So I indulge myself, and let my eyes trail over his biceps, his horns, the thick corded muscles of his neck, rivulets of water dripping down his body. The firm planes of his abs ripple under the smooth skin that replaces the coat of his shoulders and back. Those white starry freckles splash here, too, and I follow their trail down to a thicker nest of hair where his hips meet the water.

When I manage to drag my eyes back up to his face, he's watching me with amusement.

“I love the way your skin pinks like that when you're embarrassed.” his voice is a deep rumble. He tips his head down to look at me, the gold rings in his ears and nose sparkling at me. “Or...maybe you're turned on, not embarrassed at all.”

Feeling bold, I wade into the river, not caring that my shorts and tee are now soaked and clinging to my skin. From the way Tom is staring, he doesn't care either. I hold out the soap.

“Did you need this?”

“Thanks.” he plucks the soap from my hand, lathers it up, and begins working the suds over his chest, never breaking eye contact. “Your clothes are all wet, Stella. You should hang them up to dry.”

I consider the implications for a moment, before deliberately turning away and wading back to the shore, acutely aware of my clothes clinging to the curves of my ass, my breasts. I peel them off, bending at the waist with my ass directed Tom's way, and I'm rewarded with his deep rumble of approval. Straightening, I wring the clothes out and hang them on the line, glancing over my shoulder at Tom. He's washing his arms, flexing them more than is strictly necessary.

In for a penny, in for a pound...

I wade back out to him and hold my hand out for the soap. “Looks like you could use a hand?”

The smile he graces me with is wickedness incarnate. “Obliged, ma'am.”

I lather up the soap in my hands and move around him to his back, running my hands up along his spine and fanning them out over his shoulders, as high as I can reach. He makes a pleased sound, deep in his chest, as I massage the soap into his shoulders, where his coat is thicker. I use my nails to rake the soap through, gratified as his head tips back and he moans. Moving on, I scrub down his back, appreciating how hard his muscles feel under my hands. I palm his firm ass and he laughs over his shoulder at me.

“Enjoying the view?”

“Extremely so. Are you typically so hands-on with your clients?” I ask.

“Are you this hands-on with all your guides?” he counters.

“Only when they're as gorgeous as you.”

“So not frequently then.” he says. I laugh at his brazen confidence, deserved though it is. “Here, let me.”

He gently turns me around and massages the soap into my back, his large hands feel heavenly as they work out the knots and soreness in my muscles from a week of sleeping on a camp cot. I moan and lean into his touch.

“I like that sound. I'd like to make you make it again.” he says, digging his thumb into a stubborn muscle. I moan louder, my knees nearly buckling. I can feel his cock hardening against my back. His voice is low and heavy with promise in my ear. “I'd like to do a lot of things, if you're interested...”

I reach up and take hold of his hands, pulling them around to my breasts. He kneads them, slippery with soap, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they peak.

He reaches one hand down below the water and brushes his fingers between my legs, a tentative questioning touch. I nod eagerly and spread my legs more to allow him access. Tom uses his other hand to guide my arms up around his neck, my back arched and pressed to his chest.

“Hold onto me.” he whispers as his fingers slip between my folds and find my clit. I whimper as he starts rubbing small, slow circles. His cock is hard and hot against my back as I buck my hips into his hand. His other hand reaches under my thigh to lift up my leg, spreading me further. “I've got you, I won't let you slip.”

I let go of his shoulders and grab onto his horns as he bends his head over me to kiss the top of my head. The finger on my clit pauses to push back the hood, then resumes its assault. The increased sensation has me crying out, emboldened by our solitude.

“Fuck, I'm so close, Tom...”

He slips a finger inside me, slowly working me open on his hand, then adds another. The stretch combined with the pressure on my clit is deliciously agonizing. I'm only dimly aware that I'm begging him to fuck me.

“Oh, you're not ready for that, Stella. Not yet.” he says, pumping his fingers in and out of me with deft turns of his wrist. “Need to work up to taking my cock, don't wanna hurt you.”

I whimper. “Please, I need more...”

Tom works his fingers deeper and faster, dragging them against the sweet spot inside me that has me seeing stars, and I come gasping. He slowly works me through it, whispering how good I feel spasming around his fingers, how he wishes it was his cock, how he wants to watch me ride him.

I'm limp as he lifts me out of the water and carries me back to the shore, the soap long forgotten and lost downriver. He balances me on one of his massive thighs as he digs in his pack for a towel to lay out, then lays me down on it.

“Wait, you didn't come.” I protest, reaching out for him.

“You can make it up to me later.” he winks. I watch him take down our dry clothes and the clothesline, pulling on his fresh clothes and boots. He brings me a change of clothes and helps me pull them on. “How're your muscles feeling?”

“They feel great.” I admit with a lazy smile. “You have some magic hands.”

“I look forward to showing you what else I can do.” Tom helps me shoulder my pack and we continue down the trail, away from the river's edge and into the deeper woods.

[sunshine-on-my-mind]

That dog is so cute! Imagine a situation in which Frank/Colin turns into a dog and tries to tell you he needs help 🥺

a/n: this is pretty cool hehe, and i’ll go with Frank. also i’ll have to add some element of magic or advanced science. hopefully you like it! (check the end notes for more)

that dog here means the dog from hawkeye (series), yes he is a cutie.

Frank Adler x Reader

warnings: fluff, advanced science/ magic, experiment gone wrong, mary being a genius (as usual), frankie as a doggo - such a good boi.

everything was ready, well almost ready - Mary, Fred and the cup containing the special potion. what potion? well for that we have to go a little back into the story.

little genius Mary had the idea of a brilliant experiment. they were supposed to some kind of experiment for school, science class. but all the other kids were making volcanos or the solar system and it seemed to boring for her. so with proper research - something mary loved - mary came up with the idea of creating something extraordinary.

she made this liquid potion, that could turn someone into a dog. yes as impossible it may sound, the little genius did it. she was still working on the antidote though. she planned to conduct the experiment on Fred, her cat, because she thought it would be ‘so cool’ to see her favourite cat turn into a dog.

besides she would have loved to have a dog as well but Frank said “no more pets”. so maybe this was a win win situation, she would be able to have a dog - temporarily and show her fellow students what a cool experiment she has planned. now just a few more hours before the antidote would be ready.

meanwhile she thought to pay her friend Roberta a visit. when (y/n) came back to see the Adlers, she saw an empty house and a dog. wait a dog? the dog came rushing towards (y/n). he was so cute, she sat down to pet him. “hey buddy, who are, how’d you get here?” the dog tried her best to communicate but unfortunately she couldn’t understand much. so she did the next best thing she could, gave him a snack which he happily ate.

“i’m home” mary announced. (y/n) immediately started questioning mary about the dog. “what dog?” was her first question. and the dog made an appearance to answer that question. she looked confused. when suddenly something click. she started looking for Fred. much to her shock, Fred was casually playing with his toy, with no care in the world. “so if Fred didn’t drink the potion then who-“ she couldn’t finish her second question when she saw Frank’s shoes and clothes on the floor. he came back. he- “oh no” mary panicked.

“what do you mean by ‘oh no’ missy?” (y/n) asked the little girl as she started looking up at her with doe eyes “ok (y/n) don’t panic but i may not what might have happened” she tried to be as innocent as possible. She explained that she made this special potion, which she had left in a cup on the table. and well Frank came back home so…

“why would you leave such a potion in a cup? on the kitchen table??” (y/n) couldn’t actually believe this was happening but the way that dog stayed close to her, being all happy when she looked at him with a smile? well it’s definitely Frank.

“i am sorry, i was in a rush and no one was supposed to come back home so soon. don’t worry the antidote is almost ready, will maximum take an hour. just take care of him for that time. please (y/n) please please, i am so sorry.” (y/n) pleaded. “i am not the one you have to apologise to mary” (y/n) pointed at Frank the dog

mary slowly approached her uncle, with an apologetic smile “hi frank” she patted his head “i am so sorry, i’ll bring you back okay?” the dog sounded sad. “the antidote would work right?” (y/n) asked

“most probably” mary said, still petting the dog. “what??” (y/n) is scared. what if it doesn’t? no no it can’t be happening. her boyfriend cannot turn into a dog. no matter how adorable he looks, she needs her boyfriend back. “i mean yes, absolutely, 100%” mary informed without maintaining eye contact with (y/n) and rushed to her room where she was working on the antidote.

“hey frankie” (y/n) said when she kneeled in front of the dog as he started licking her face. she giggled “good boi, my best boi” she patted his head and gave him cuddles. “i’ll turn you back into my boyfriend okay sweetie? don’t worry, i’ll do everything i can”.

after two hours mary came back with another liquid - the antidote. the dog drank it and the other two left the room. decided it’s best to give him privacy, who knows how the changing back process may look like?

they waited in another room. “Mary!!!” frank yelled and the other two ran to meet him. (y/n) hugged Frank tightly while Mary hid behind her, scared. after a session of apologies, things cooled down a little

“Frank? Frank??” (y/n) looked worriedly at her boyfriend who seemed restless and was sweating a lot. “Frank?” she shook him gently “what? what just happened?” Frank said, rubbing his eyes as he woke up.

“you tell me” (y/n) said “frankie i was so scared you were shaking” frank looked around the room, he was on his bed. it was a dream. oh it was a dream - a nightmare. he explained his nightmare to (y/n)

she looked worried but she also giggled at the thought of Frank as a dog. “oh frankie you would have been so cute as a dog” she said while pulling him close and playing with his hair. “good boi, such a good boi.” he huffed and looked away. “don’t say that, it was scary.” she kissed his neck softly and muttered a “sorry” he looked back and kissed her nose “you took good care of me when i was dog” she smiled “i’ll always take care of you frankie, no matter what” he kissed her again, this time on the lips. “i love you baby” she giggled and replied “i love you to my cutie”.

end notes: hiii i am sorry if this is weird or not that good because i wasn’t very sure of what to do. i made it a dream because that felt more believable? but anyway i hope you like this. feedback is appreciated.

[sugar-petals]

♡ måneskin scenario: getting to know ethan 

↳ NOTE. by popular demand and because i’m entirely enthralled by the phenomenon that is ethan torchio myself, here we go givin’ the gorgeous drummer some love.

word count. 5.5k

TAGS. no warnings all fluff, fem!oc, slice of life, photographer!reader, first date-ish, shy flirting, ot4 is part of the plot, ethan being sexy in heels

Jacob had enough of that twilight bullshit and joined a glam rock band. At least that’s what you thought seeing Ethan around for the first time. Setting up the kit, carrying his whiny band members around, fixing his ruffle shirt, chugging some water: Big gig tonight, extra long setlist. Five minutes later, complaining about his brocade shoes being hard to kick the bass drum with. Even later, silently nodding along to an impassioned Damiano speech crafted to boost the morale, and posing for your camera in his silver jumpsuit. Friendly to approach all the way, but without initiating stable eye contact even once.

One thing’s for sure. As your favorite professor said back at university: Someone may be photogenic and unearthly as hell in terms of looks, and even be intimidating — but also so damn shy, you won’t see their eyes a single time. „Gotta work with it and not against. Then it gets interesting“. In essence, the takeaway from that course. Which does come in handy now. Ethan seems like the kind of guy you really have to get into for a more intimate-feeling picture.

Sure, many people in front of your camera have all kinds of introverted personalities anyway, wearing sunglasses in particular. So much about eye contact in the first place. And the aesthetic is priority, not studying character. Although you really are a fan of that, it’s a huge part of photography if anything. Alas, you’re here to „capture nothing more but the spirit of italo-rock, the attitude, the hedonism!“ (the exact words of your boss) for a music magazine after all. Really, nothing more? You paid attention to how he worded it. Fair enough. Rock spirit, that’s all, the exciting parts.

Ethan surely has it. Drumming on everything he can find during rehearsal breaks („music is everywhere“) with his sticks, even Thomas’ amplifier. He’s actually dorkier than you thought, less composed when he’s in his element. First impressions do deceive. The hair’s hard to miss, too. It’s the central motif that attracts you. You may or may not have taken over 50 shots of it just because. Ethan is a bad bitch and he better know. You climb around the venue to get any salient angle of Måneskin you can think of. Even from all the way back, last row. You don’t want to annoy them being all up in their face constantly. You’re hired to get all the good shots, they’ve been a band for seven years already, professionals in the making. Doesn’t mean you have to stand below the edge of the stage and never change position.

Even from back there, the silver reflects beautifully at the back of the stage. The fashion’s all designer and it shows, but Ethan couldn’t look bad in any of the shots even if he tried or wore the plainest black suit (hell, that would be just as beautiful in fact). Just how long is that hair anyway. All the way down to the solar plexus, must be 24 inches or more. 25, even. Many rockers would wear it that way, but Ethan seems particularly interesting with how he touches it, how he behaves with it. There we go again with the character study, you can’t help wondering.

But really. It’s any photographer’s dream when someone moves their hair around so damn naturally. Gives a great variety to how it frames and shades the face. You like to play with light all the time. And hey, why ask for eye contact when he does even better posing in other ways. The body, too, Ethan’s posture is great. Victoria and Thomas often bend to really get into their power chords, Damiano frequently hunches forward for a belt. But Ethan’s throned at his kit like some royals taught him to be a good boy. Back straighter than a pole, how the hell.

No glance in your direction still, even if you return from your last row spot to move around on stage with the camera. Which gives the band a motivation boost and chances to try out gestures up close, too, so even better. Hey, maybe it doesn’t annoy them. You can actually get used to it, this way of photographing them is all dynamic. Nearing the end of the first rehearsal, you’re all busy maneuvering between Thomas and Damiano to get a nice semi-profile from Ethan’s left side. Gotta work with it not against, you chant to yourself as a mantra, and it seems easier to stick to than you thought.

How glossy all that hair is commands all the attention of your shutter release in and of itself. That he takes good care of it and has been growing it since forever shows a dedicated guy. It’s actually quite wavy. The band arrived in the pouring rain and Ethan’s curly strands at the crown and nape of the head were definitely showing — super cute. An army of stylists took on the resulting humidity frizz. They whipped out the straightening iron and protective spray, and even now before the big performance, Ethan brushes his hair out in front of you, and sweeps it around with his fingers anyway. You take pictures of the bits you find most candid, and decide to rather perfect single shots instead of making several in a row. The more you photograph him, the more you want to discover his essence in one picture. His sheer presence almost begs for it, it’s ridiculous.

Victoria on the other hand has no problems with rapid-fire releases and comes close to your lens to pull funny faces. She’s got some of the coolest poses you’ve ever seen with her bass, and hops around the stage like a bunny to the beat. Thomas is a virtuoso and pro who keeps on doing what he does when you make him pose, and Damiano can flirt with any camera ever. He even lowers his red leather jacket off his collar bones for you to have a great shot. He’s promising and most definitely a born divo, your boss will be happy with those pictures most definitely.

Then again. Behind that supposed hedonism is so much hard work and thought. Damiano even gives you ideas for angles during the second rehearsal. „Hm, maybe stand on the amplifier?“ Eagle perspective, not a bad idea at all. After trying out said suggestions with the help of triggered stage security making sure you don’t fall off the construction („eh, Damiano always suggests the most reckless things to staff, don’t mind him“), you find yourself concentrating on what goes on at the back of the stage all over again.

Ethan is busy practicing a new solo which has you curious about whether it’s for an upcoming album. Though again — the shoes cause trouble. Ethan complains again, the music stops. That could very well be the reason why he seems so preoccupied today, or is it? The manager tells the stylist, and the stylist hurries, voilà, Ethan has a new pair of shoes brought in. Ones with a thicker sole, bit of a chunky heel, and laced up rather than being slippers, a drummer’s worst nightmare as you have learned today.

You wait until he changed. Then snap some more pictures how he continues practicing calmly, and the sound did improve since he can kick the bass drum better now. Now you position yourself across the stage all over, in the empty audience ranks. Ethan is the most radiant and confident when you just take a step back. But well, he still sweeps his hair around a whole lot and looks even more tense-looking than Damiano who’s doing vocal warmups and jumping jacks, „Come on guys, come on, we’re starting in 30 minutes!“.

You can tell he does it more often when he’s nervous. And that means he does it very often. People would probably assume it’s vanity, or the fact that the hair gets in the way. You can see that for him it’s a place of distraction, maybe safety. A gesture like an anchor. He’s used to it being long just like his eye shadow being dark and smoky all day. He knows the drums by heart, if it falls in his face no need to shake it away. And besides. The strands reach below his shoulder blades, it stays down his back if he doesn’t move around too much. He could easily tie it up as well. All those things go through your mind without you even knowing why.

To switch things up a little, you photograph Thomas fooling around with Victoria at the snack bar, stuffing fries up their noses, and already see the lighting technicians do their final check. Some of them you know briefly, you made shots at this venue before, last year for a Shakespeare theatre play. You did some freelance work in the scene, but now you’re put to the test for more involved jobs. Hard to complain though, Måneskin are amazing in front of the camera. If Damiano is not the ideal Hamlet, you don’t know anymore.

Something new happens all the time, the expressions are priceless. Ethan’s in particular, when he does his wide-eyed surprise faces learning that there’s actually healthy food at the snack bar. „Vitamins, how nice.“ — Thomas, pokerfaced, reacts with eating a mayonnaise-dripping sandwich. Ethan, unfazed. Headed straight to the fruits. You’ve never seen a tall silver glitter tower like him walking around biting a bright red apple. Well, you can take Jacob out of twilight, but not the twilight out of Jacob. Snap, another picture. Clash of words, that’s a nice theme.

The concert of this evening seems particularly energetic and leaves your camera roll with some brilliant, tweet-worthy material. Damiano covered in confetti, eyeliner running. Victoria on the shoulders of Ethan while he’s playing her bass.  Thomas, stagediving. Fans waving banners and chanting along to Seven Nation Army. Your ears are ringing when the light technicians close down the stage two hours later. Thomas really played his soul out with the solos, and your feet seem to vibrate. That’s your body thinking Victoria’s bass is still playing, but the magazine is very happy with how the pictures turned out after you send the whole batch to them as soon as you can.

Little to no retouching, zooming, or cropping necessary. Ethan is just perfect as he is, you feel like you captured him well. After swiping through the gallery on your tablet, you think Victoria has some great ant’s eye perspective shots as well. Those go right on your own blog, she’s just amazing. The magazine has an enthusiastic article typed out already. Damiano’s mid-air split on beat for the final song makes the cover story on Monday, and Måneskin’s manager comes back to you a week later. „What would you think about doing some behind the scenes stuff for us? We’re planning a music video!“

And that’s how you end up in a Sicilian restaurant with Måneskin and crew a week later, stuffed with Calzone and mind filled with Damiano’s inspiring words (and the occasional catchy freestyle rap). The MV is as good as finished. Thomas had shown you around the mansion they were shooting at, and you could convince a taciturn  Ethan to walk between the marble statues and boxwood trees in the garden. With his black cape on, a rhinestone choker, and the low-cut lacey blouse that the MV director was obsessed with as well, asking you to focus on it. Your best shot even ends up in the thumbnail of the Youtube video without you even expecting it would.

All the garden pictures turned out mindblowing. If not iconic, the best project you had so far. Gets to show you the best things are often improvised. Ethan, stoic as always, sat at the base of armor-clad Emperor Augustus twisting into the blue sky in a large gesture. The marble was a perfect contrast. Ethan ate a ripe pear from a tree, even that was aesthetically pleasing, then leaned against a hunting Apollo, and you also framed him from the back next to Aphrodite and Cesar. He put on his sunglasses underneath Achilles, and knelt at the feet of a Pietà replica. Marvelous panorama shots, with him the shining center. Well, we know since Queen that the drummer is the unrealistically pretty one.

The whole picture series is blowing up on your blog for the whole afternoon. „Count Dracula on a stroll in Versailles — eugh, begone sunlight!“ is what a comment neatly sums it up as. People seem to especially like the shot where Ethan playfully put his cape over Pallas Athena’s spear with a blurry Thomas having a laughing fit in the background. Well, even Count Drac gets photobombed sometimes. Your phone buzzes with notifications every other minute, you do notice it against your thigh. But the insalata of the restaurant is good and the night is young. Victoria and the manager tell old stories of Thomas snapping a guitar string while he was trying to serenade a highschool crush. Ethan scolds them for making fun of it.

Damiano gets drunk and dances on the table, the MV director discusses new ideas, some walk-in fans take pictures. The temperature is still unbearable. You order a dessert to share with Victoria and Ethan. A large tiramisu that the waiter cuts in three pieces, and it’s truly delectable. The chocolate, so crunchy, melty. The cream, fluffy and cool, making for a funny white beard that makes Ethan look like an arctic scientist returning from an expedition.

Of course, you take pictures, all the food is documented. As are late night restaurant shots with Damiano’s heels peaking into the frame when you photograph the band’s friendship bracelets, hand-made by Victoria on a tour bus last year. Damiano’s back down on the table soon, singing, while Ethan creates a beat with two forks. Thomas also agrees to take your camera for a while so you’d be in the frame for a change, too.

You pose for a group picture, or rather a group hug, and being in the middle …Ethan’s arm wraps around your shoulder loosely, hair dangling into his face, but also brushing yours. He focuses on the camera, facing away from you. The schooled eye could catch you breaking a sweat in the resulting photo. Ironically, the tiramisu doesn’t cool you down the way you thought. Thomas is too busy trying to figure out your camera dials and yelling „hey eyebrow king, smile!“ at Ethan.

A round of even more gelato goes down in spoons and spoons. The band members eat like they ran a marathon. Ethan clinches a third round because he can, unhealthy be damned, he needs some sugar and refreshment. And it’s true the MV shooting was strenuous in the heat, and had lots of intense performing parts. Even an invisible rope suspension were Thomas would descend from a ceiling during the chorus with little cherub wings attached to his back because why not. If the manager agreed to recreate this on tour some day, the pictures would be amazing.

You can’t help but think what kind of special effect would suit Ethan the most, and you come to the conclusion that a bridge lift would be the coolest thing ever. A rising part of the stage letting him emerge like an elevator from the underground.  Maybe using smoke machines, too. The idea twirls around in your mind so intensely, Damiano asks if you’re wasted. You’re always getting carried away with all kinds of fantasies like that for over a week now. A dreamy photographer? Not unusual, but it’s seriously distracting you from the present moment.

The crew slowly heads home, and the band decides (translation: Victoria’s mood is) to head to the movies. Just when the waiter arrives with the bill, Damiano spills panna cotta all over Ethan by accident. So bad he’s all sticky from the shoulders down, making Ethan opt for the hotel instead. Besides, he’s been drumming his soul out, sleep is so needed now. Since the group is already gone and there’s still a forgotten cymbal left to carry back to the equipment bus by the hotel, you help Ethan maneuver it around. The heat is making either of you sweat, even with the full dark of the night coming up.

The gaffer lady you’re sharing a hotel room with is already fast asleep. Damn it. You want to cut a video and make screenshots with the laptop being decently bright. And with some volume if possible, you don’t find headphones in the darkness of the room. Ethan clears the desk in his own room for you after removing his make-up. He looks so young and beautiful and tired.

You type and drag and double click yourself through the video and do some last blog updates to deal with all the notifications. Ethan lends you some headphones, but you only keep them on one ear. The humming is too nice to ignore. Nor do you know what to even expect. The bathroom door is open, Ethan is topless washing the lace blouse by hand. Only wearing bellbottom pants and his lace choker — nothing else. He’s fully immersed in his task. He even adds some other shirts and silk scarves into the soap water along the way while he’s at it.

You’ve never seen someone do their own laundry so systematically. Ethan looks like Prince Caspian at the sink, wielding the almond soap bar like his weapon of choice against the enemies of Narnia (the devious panna cotta that’s still sticking to everything). He might be all mysterious, but he’s well able to curse all kinds of things. You tease Ethan for dropping his gentlemanly behavior for a stain of dessert. Ethan insists you sound like Thomas trying to test him with his slick comebacks, which makes you laugh. The blog has calmed down a little and your eyes hurt from editing, so you call it a day and send one last e-mail.

Ethan is drowning in bubbles at this point. The whole room smells like fabric softener. He thanks you for helping him carry around the equipment earlier. In return, you say grazie for him being your perfect muse in the garden today. Philosopher he is, Ethan remarks how Måneskin is usually the one searching for muses, now he ended up one himself — „Maybe not a bad thing, eh. Become the thing you want or something.“ That’s way too deep for a summer night in Sicily, and both of you need a huge portion of sleep. Tomorrow, lots of schedule. You do find yourself wanting to help lick that dessert off his chest. No way you’d tell him.

Ethan waddles off to shower after a crooked, reserved smile for a good night departure. When you close the door to your room and start brushing your teeth, the other members’ voices emerge in the hotel corridor — they’ve returned from the movies. Damiano is even more wasted than before and audibly sings. „You’ve looked at the photographer lady in a certain way earlier, huh. I saw, I saw!“ Victoria does a loud ‚shh‘ noise, and the stoic reply is a simple „Sleep, Damiano, you’ve had too much.“ Thomas giggles, and four doors click shut. Damiano’s singing is now muffled for two minutes until it’s silent. How the fuck can you even sleep after hearing that.

You assumed that Ethan would treat you differently the next morning, in whatever shape or form. But he doesn’t. The greeting is short as it would always be, and he informs you that he did manage to wash out the sugary clay from his clothes as he puts it. Damiano says nothing, adjusts his rings. Thomas randomly pulls zippers at his packed-up equipment. Victoria headed to the car already. Downtown to a studio it goes. The group gets styled to perfection, twenty minutes later they make a reaction video to the newly released MV teaser. Ethan talks about enjoying the sculptures in the garden.

Three hours down the line, you shoot some promotional pictures of them at a pool. Thomas has the time of his life perfecting his diving board skills, and Damiano creates the musical background, singing and prancing. The aerials would make literal perfect editorial-in-VOGUE material. In the meantime, Victoria dozes in the sun. Ethan dives. Sometimes just sitting at the bottom of the pool, othertimes swimming back and forth. The art director suggests you to go into the water, too. He’s right, the perspective works out well this way.

You’re basically standing in there with your flowy pantalon pants and camisole, using a waterproof camera. Your bikini is back at the hotel. It doesn’t matter, everything will dry quickly, the others went in the pool with clothes as well. And you’re all too wrapped up in your passion in the first place. You marvel at how fun the whole scenery looks through your lens. Their outfits are cropped and luminous, today’s color is bright red. You order the lighting assistant back and forth, get some more great Thomas frames where he tosses around a volleyball that the manager brought along. Less rock than usual, but it works. Måneskin at a pool in Sicily.

Damiano splashes water around like crazy. Victoria joins the fun as well, splashing right back. It’s infernal. Well, those are going to be dynamic pictures, you think, and the cameraman never dies, so. Ethan resurfaces every other minute, wiping the chlorine from his eyes. He slicks his hair back with both hands, looking down his body learning how his shirt has become completely transparent. He covers his chest with his hair, quickly, then submerges again. It’s strange. Being topless is usually no big deal in Måneskin.

Almost 12 o’clock. Thomas and Damiano wander off to work on some lyrics, probably the title that the drum solo is part of. All top secret. Victoria returns to her sun lounger, checking her phone. The crew heads for lunch, but you stay in the water, gladly you put sunscreen on earlier. You ask Ethan to try some seated or floating poses at the bottom of the pool that you saw him practice earlier. „No worries, keep your eyes closed.“

What unfolds before you is the most beautiful thing. Ethan’s shirt fans out like a red jellyfish underwater, playing around his body. His figure is just enviable. He gets the hang of it and knows quite how to move. Or rather, to remain stable when the pose is perfect. Hands above his head, horizontal, or seated, only one foot  lightly sweeping over the pool floor, or on one knee, as if he proposed.

Raising his arms helps him sink down and settle, as if he immersed himself in deep meditation. Although the purpose of meditating is to be present, isn’t it. And that’s what he feels like. Ethan would normally switch on autopilot for most of his public interactions, now he’s alive and fully in the concentrated movements of the photoshoot. So much about improvising all over again. The hair creates the most incredible shapes like a black, wide brushstroke, clearly outlined. Thank god you have the waterproof camera. These are moments you’ll never forget.

Your blog notifications keep on bleeping throughout the afternoon. The promotional pictures are a hit. Måneskin’s manager is basically waving five new contracts in front of your face at dinner, but you’re kind of spaced out again. The cozy, rose-ranked atmosphere of the street café you went to is inspiring, and the members dressed up in the most fancy suitwear. Men in Black? Måneskin in Black. It’s almost as if fate read your mind. Ethan is looking at you very intently from across the table when the minestrone is served.

Pasta shells, parsley, vegetables and basil leaves. The scent surrounds the entire table. Damiano, in serious mode tonight, is too busy finding new rhymes and an alternative chorus with Thomas who wildly brainstorms. Victoria drinks, loudly chats with the gaffer lady that you share a room with, and they use a leaf of a palm tree pot plant to tickle Damiano. Thomas plays the acoustic guitar. Ethan and you end up smiling briefly at another. „Bon apetit,“ you say. It’s almost 34° celsius. That’s going to be an entire pile of cheesecake gelato tonight.

Five signed contracts later and halfway through a hefty caprese cake, the title song is finished. An ode to Marlena, fierce like the Mediterranean sea. The piece certainly sounds exactly like this place. Strangers listen to Damiano performing bits and pieces, but you decide to disperse when too many cellphones come out. Damiano wants to go to a bar, Thomas and Victoria carry home their guitars, or to the hotel to be exact, and bags of newly shopped vintage clothes. You ask Ethan if there are any cinemas around the area. „We missed out last time, remember.“

The Palazzo Theater is a small and hidden insider tip far from the main street with its busy beach tourists. Under bulbous metal balconies and peach-colored facades, a small entrance with lanterns on each side guides you inward. Ethan almost hits his head, it’s so low. He’s wearing glossy red bottoms under his suit pants, you’re out and about with a 6’2 giant after all — a statue by himself. A small man with a pipe sells you cheap tickets for a Mads Mikkelsen movie and lemonade, Ethan picks up an XXXL caramel popcorn bucket. You think he’s flexing, but you get a sudden heureka by looking at it twice.

Unlike the S, M, and L bags, it’s thick cardboard and drum-shaped. Oh my god, obviously. Which fine percussionist could ever resist such temptation striped in red and white, the sound deep and dull? It makes you smile how Ethan pursues his instrument even when he seemingly doesn’t, it really has to be a hobby at heart. That’s how a job becomes a profession, and a profession a vocation, your uni professor’s other favorite words all over again. The latter’s words have gotten you far so you again trust the insight that came to you through that quote.

Seeing Ethan standing there, you can almost see the childlike joy at imagining it being empty and ready to get turned around. A tuxedo Italian with Louboutin heels and a ginormous popcorn drum, half past eleven somewhere in Palermo: Ingenious combination, you snap a picture. Ethan makes a cute face, posing like a pinup of the 50s. Who knows how many vintage store posters he’s seen during tours, he must have picked it up there. And— Is he blushing? Must be the dim lights in here.

Off you go to the auditorium. Ethan, who balance the popcorn with all care in the world like it’s his baby, walks the aisle slower than you. The slim steps don’t have any floor lighting. Not very heel-friendly, but since it’s not a huge budget theater and few people dare spike heels on those cobblestones outside anyway, the stairs shall be forgiven. You take out your phone and offer your arm. For every gentleman it takes a gentlewoman, duh. Like rock’n’roll and the camera staff, chivalry (or shevalry as Damiano calls it when Vic holds the door open) never dies. He mumbles a thanks, you climb upward to the fourth-last row, Ethan holds on tight.

No ankles twisted and not one popcorn spilled, you get seated on red velvet. The chairs are dated, but nevertheless ultra comfortable. Nobody else is here. The adverts roll, Ethan cracks open the lemonade bottle caps with his chunky golden lighter because he can. You toast to Mads Mikkelsen’s bone structure and good minestrone, Måneskin’s finished title track, the promo pics, and the discovery of Ethan’s favorite new drum. A whopping five things to toast about? The night’s going to be great.

Damiano catwalking across the screen, wearing a Versace skirt in the middle of otherwise-boring commercials does shake you up. He was picked as a testimonial recently. Though, your pulse is high enough. Ethan’s hair is brushing against your shoulders, not to mention his goddamn massive arms. He can’t get out a single word either for the entirety of the ads, avoiding eye contact all over again. Just how much suspense can starting to eat the first popcorn have. Well, you pick two  from the very top and start munching.

Mads does a great job opening the movie as one would expect, but you just can’t concentrate. Instead, you stress-eat popcorn. Which makes Ethan do the same thing, at least he’s somewhat fixated on the screen. After the first ten minutes, he shakes his head. „That makes no sense at all,“ he clears his throat. „Yeah, yeah it  clearly doesn’t,“ you agree, basically on Torchio-autopilot yourself for the lack of a better reply. You were too busy figuring out the components of his aftershave rather than the thin plot. Shifting in your seat, chugging lemonade…

The air conditioning is scarce, but at least the screen is quite large and proper. You try to focus on the cinematography and do small talk about it. If there’s something you can comment on without having followed the string of action, it’s at least this.  You might be nervous, but you’re still a photographer. „Um, isn’t this chainmail nice in the closeup?“ — „Hm, I guess it works. We should ask Damiano to request something like this from Versace.“ — „Medieval Måneskin Rockers?“ — „Something like that.“ — „Hilarious.“

By the twenty-minute mark, the popcorn drum is almost empty. Gladly, that stuff just shrinks to bits in the stomach. The lemonade just has to galvanize it. You might be able to distract yourself with the camera shots and the last caramel chunks, but that doesn’t change Ethan’s long legs and Acqua di Parma perfume next to you. Yep, you finally figured out what it was, it wasn’t the aftershave. And well. Ethan smells like hotel soap from Milano to Napoli and back.

That scent basically dominates all the others besides a hint of cigar and basil and citrus-y deodorant mixed with runny sweat. God fuck, you can barely stand it. And the almond scent. You take a chance to at least jokingly point it out to him. The random movie flashback sequence is boring — and just as nonsensical as before, no offense to Mads though, he’s just walking around in chain mail — enough to deviate from whatever choppy convo you had going on before.

„I actually washed it twice,“ Ethan pulls off the silky scarf that functions as his current tie, and you recognize it. „The strawberry sauce was hard, but the cranberries… God no, I’ll never go near pana cotta again. Nothing against cream desserts.“ You take the scarf, smell it. Did he literally just hand it to you? Figures, he’s sweating bullets, too. And oh shit, he hasn’t talked that much all evening.

You slowly shift from bodies turned to the screen to facing each other. So up close, so up front, only God can help you know. His eyes are dark and reflective of the film’s flickering lights and changing scenes. You wish you could photograph them on sight. It would be as glimmering as your view from the hotel room, overwatching the unobstructed stars of the Mediterranean bay down the boulevard.

But it’s like you’re stuck in your position this way, feverishly thinking about a reply. What to pick up on, what to pick up on. You think about today, the evening where you edited things in his room. „Uh well, drop your laundry in the pool next time,“ you laugh, more than tentative, with your fingers randomly curling around the scarf. „The chlorine stuff will do the job for you. It’s so aggressive, it bleached by pants one shade lighter.“

Saved. Smooth transaction. Phew. „Oh, the pool was horrible. Not the photos, I mean… I don’t know how you can poison water that way.“ — „I know right? It’s still in my nose. But yeah, was a good idea with the underwater thing. The photos turned out really well.“ — „I really haven’t done something like that before but I guess it turned out hm, nice?“ — „Come on! Nice is understated. Are you fishing for compliments?“ — „No no, by all means!“ — „The one kneeling. It’s my favorite. I don’t even know what to do with all these pictures.“

„I don’t know. Maybe keep them?“ — „Keep… for what?“ — „It’s a separate series, right. The art director didn’t request it. Maybe they can be used for something later on during promotions.“ — „Yeah. We’re always a little extracurricular,“ you laugh again, tense in your voice, and empty your lemonade completely. „This, too,“ Ethan points at the theatre in general. „You’re good to talk to. The better version of alone time.“ — „Thank you. You’re great to go out with. I… really like it.“ Beautiful nature scenes show on screen, but they’re nothing but a blur. You take Ethan’s hands in the dark and smile. „Maybe we should do it more often.“

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[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts

PART 11:

It’s been a long day. A long, arduous, day of plastering on your best customer service voice and smiling pretty for each and every person that walked through your door. Luckily though, your last patient was waiting just behind the door. Rubbing a tired hand down your face, you stride in, trying to look cheerful.

“Hello! So I see from your chart that you’ve-“

The sight that greets you is not what’s on your clipboard. It leaves you stopped in your tracks- trying to figure out why there was a child where a grown woman should’ve been sitting. You check your paper again, making sure you’ve got the right room. You do, and that just confuses you all over again.

The little boy is dirtied, grime lining his cheeks and staining his clothes- he is clearly not the middle aged woman who was on your schedule for today. His hair is a little matted, oily and very obviously unkempt, but that's not what worries you the most. No, what worries you the most is his skin.

All across his forearms, and down his legs is strange tearing. It's like the skin as been split from the inside out, leaving behind a pattern of angry red scabbing and pink scars. They're not clean slices either; the edges are clearly jagged. The cuts were laced together, overlapping and intersecting in a pattern not consistent with any blade or claw you'd ever seen before, and you had seen almost everything.

The sight leaves you reeling, but you don’t falter. A measly schedule mix-up wouldn’t throw you off this easily, especially not with how clearly this little boy needs your help.

"Alright, do you think you could give me your arm?" You ask gently, trying your best to sound friendly. You're not sure if it really matters though- the boy looks straight past you. Focuses his eyes on the wall behind you, like you're not even there. "Can I have your arm? Just to clean up the wound, I promise. It looks like it hurts a lot, and I'd love to help you feel better."

The boy looks at you then, and you're horrified by what you see. He looks at you, big gray eyes and dark eyelashes, but there's nothing there. Absolutely nothing. It's like looking into a void, and all you can see is your own reflection in his irises. It leaves you unsettled. Itching in your own skin, almost tempted to look away.

The boy puts his arm out. Holds it completely straight, locking his elbow robotically. His face stays perfectly impassive. He doesn't even blink while the open cut visibly shifts with his sudden movement.

"I- alright, I'm just gonna clean around the wound. Sound good?" You try again, taking his tiny arm in your hands.

Under your fingers tips all you can feel is skin and bones. He's practically skeletal, and you can't see any veins under skin that was already paper-thin. You're not sure who this boy is, where he came from- but you could tell from a mile away; he didn't have anybody looking out for him.

The thought made your heart break, made your fingers itch with the need to take all his pain away. Fueled by that, you did your best to clean his wound quickly.

It was a fairly large wound, but it wasn't very deep. That would have been a bright side except when you took a closer look, this new cut resembled all the old scars lining his arms and legs. Whatever did this to him, whatever caused the tearing and the weird pattern of scarring, had been doing it for a long time. A disturbingly long time considering the state of the rest of his body.

The current wound is no longer actively bleeding, but it definitely isn’t scabbed yet. Its vulnerable to the air and to infection, so you quickly start cleaning it. The boy doesn’t move the entire time- not even wincing when you spray disinfectant on the cut. It’s the strangest thing you’d ever seen. It was like the boy wasn’t even in the room with you at all. Like he was somewhere else entirely.

He only needs a few stitches, for the broadest part of the cut, but the boy doesn’t react when you tell him that either. He doesn’t flinch when you smear the cold numbing gel, nor does he even blink when you thread your needle. He watches the entire time though- empty eyes tracking each time the needle sinks into his skin. The process is over and done with in minutes, but nothing feels simple. Everything feels wrong and your fingers still itch red-hot beneath your gloves.

A part of you is tempted to use your quirk, just for a second, to see what he was feeling. To try and connect with him at all, since none of your earlier attempts had even remotely worked. But you don’t, you don’t do that- even was you begin cleaning up. You keep your hands to yourself as you wrap up the extra gauze, terrified of what you’d feel if you touched him.

The boy suddenly murmurs something, voice hardly a whisper.

You can’t make out his words- not from where you are a few steps away. So you near a little bit, taking care not to scare him with any sudden movements. He watches you, mouth pressed into a neutral line until you’re close. Then he chews his cheek, takes a deep breath and speaks.

“I-I’m sorry.” The boy whispers.

He shoots forward grabbing onto your wrist with tiny fingers. A chill like you’ve never experienced before runs through you.

It’s like your blood’s gone glacial- freezing up and stalling the flow in your veins. Goosebumps cover your skin almost immediately, teeth threatening to chatter after hardly a few seconds. You’re frozen in place, fear squeezing your heart in your chest, and all your can do is look at the small child holding on to your forearm.

His face is no longer neutral. His eyes are staring right back at you, wide and unbelieving. You can see now that his eyes aren’t translucent gray. They are blue. Pure blue when they catch the white light from the ceiling above and not the dull grey of the floor tiles. You only catch it for a second, then he’s dropping his head, throwing your arm away from him.

“I’m sorry.” He says again.

You spin on your heels, eyes wide. He doesn’t sound like a child. Throughout your time at the hospital, you’d seen many children come and go through the doors, but he didn’t sound like any of them. He sounded withered, tired, like even speaking took the wind out of him. It was a hollowness that had your heart stopping in your chest.

Then he kicks his foot behind him, grabbing at a handle shoved between his heel and the back of the shoe. All you see is the glint of the blade as he unsheathes it and your blood runs even colder than before. You bring your hands up, defensive and terrified but he just blinks at you. Blinks at you and doesn’t even flinch as he drags the serrated blade up the entire length of his forearm. Blood pools around the wound and drips onto the floor, forming an unnaturally perfect circle in front of him. You’re freaked, but the boy is passive. Passive even as the blood congeals, turning thicker and darker until it’s black.

He steps forward, into the center of the black puddle. The void eats him whole.

Your heart lurches in your chest, pulse speeding up, as you watch the void begin to shift once more. The boy’s blood retreats into itself, twisting and pulsating until it’s completely gone. The floor is spotless, and you’re left suffocating.

You can’t remember leaving the room, only bursting through the backdoors and into the cool night. You brace an arm against the brick wall, and snap at the waist gasping for air.

“Oi- leech. Leech.” He calls, and when you look over he’s suddenly right next to you. “What’s up with you, huh? Called your name. What, couldn’t fuckin’ hear me or somethin’?”

You hear his voice now, but it doesn’t do anything to quell the panic. Your heart is racing. “Bakugou. I need to-“ Your breath catches. “Fuck, there was this kid and he- cuts all up his arm and then he took out a knife and s-sliced-“

“A knife.” Bakugou repeats, eyes like wildfire even in the dark. “Where—what the fuck are you talking about? Slow down, can’t understand a damn thing.”

You try to listen to him, you really do, but even repeating the words makes you feel sick.

Throughout your years as a nurse, you’d seen a lot of gore. You’d seen more injuries, and more blood, and more horrific aftermaths than you could recall, but something about this boy made you sick. Maybe it was his small frame- how he couldn’t be any older than 11. Maybe it all the scars lining his arms. Maybe it was his quirk. The way he had to gravely injure himself just to use it.

You try to explain, but the words are coming out wrong. They’re clipped and panicked and Bakugou looks unhappier with each new one punched from your lungs.

“Stop- stop.” He says, fists clenched at his sides. “Did he come at you? Try to get you with the knife?”

“No- I- he got himself. Bakugou, he took the knife and cut himself. And all the blood, it just- it pooled on the floor and turned black and then he stepped in it!” You’re gasping now, hands out in front of you making a wide circle to demonstrate. “He disappeared and I don’t know where he went and I- he was bleeding so much. He was bleeding and he was covered in all these scars and he just cut himself and didn’t- and didn’t-”

You watch Bakugou curl his lip, shifting on his feet. He doesn’t say anything. Not for a long moment, and then he’s surging forward, large hands on your shoulders and forcing you to look him in the eyes.

“You need to breathe.” He says, voice quiet. Like he meant it to carry for just the two of you. “You need to breathe. Can’t do anything if you pass out in the street. So breathe. Just breathe.”

Bakugou squeezes your shoulders, thumbs digging into your collarbone until you look up at him. His eyes are wild, like solar flares, darting back and forth across your face. It’s obvious he doesn’t like what he sees. Still, you try to follow him. Try to look to his own ribcage for guidance until your world stops spinning.

You’re not sure how long you stand there. With his hands on your shoulders, trying to remember how to breathe. It sort of feels like forever.

“I- I need to,” You say suddenly. There’s something caught in the back of your throat, causing you to clear it before speaking once more. “I need to do something. Find him. I-I need to find him. I can’t. He’s bleeding.”

“I know. But you’re staying here. You can’t be reckless.”

Bakugou’s eyes are still blazing, but his voice isn’t like you’ve ever heard it before. It’s quiet, even, just low enough for you and you alone to hear. His thumbs on your collarbone are tracking gentle circles- you wonder if he knows he’s doing it at all.

“You’re gonna go home.” He says. “I’ll take you home, and then I’ll go back out and look. But you’re not goin’ anywhere like this. It’s reckless. Understand?”

Every bone in your body screams for you to fight- to tear off down the alley shouting and screaming until you found the little boy that so desperately needed help. But that seems impossible with the way Bakugou is looking at you now- so sure and certain of his plan. Like there’s no room for argument. Even if you tried to run, you’re sure he’d just catch you.

“You’ll look?” You ask quietly, all wide eyes looking up at him. “I- I need you to promise me. Promise me. Please.”

He squeezes your shoulders once, averting his eyes. “Yep. I will. Promise.”

Then he’s retreating like he’s been burnt, spinning away from you. He drops his hands by his sides, flexing his fingers, and starts off down the alley.

You figure that Bakugou expects you to follow, but your shaking makes that a tall order to fill. Still, you put one foot in front of the other, trying not to see pooling blood in each shadow that lines the empty street.

“What’s he look like?” Bakugou asks suddenly, just a few feet in front of you. “How old?”

“Um, blue eyes, but they look grey unless you really see them. Dark hair. He wouldn’t say his age, or anything really, but he’s definitely no older than 11. Maybe 10.”

That thought has your heart lurching in your chest, spinning your world on it’s axis once more.

“Why- why would he- he was covered in all those scars,” You start, running a heavy hand down your face. “They were from him. His blade- because his quirk is with his blood and- oh god, he was doing that to himself.”

Your heart collapses in on itself. It sits heavy at the bottom of your ribcage, weighing your entire body down with lead. It’s like you’re carrying a mountain with each step, and all you can think about is empty blue eyes and angry red scars.

“Why would he do that?” You ask quietly, eyes following your feet closely just to keep you moving. “Hurt himself just to do that? He can’t want to- there’s no way. Someone has to be making him- someone has to-“

Bakugou spins around, eyes like steel. “Kids’ll do anything to feel powerful.” He flicks his gaze down to his own hands, fingers twitching. Then he shakes his head, begins walking forward once more. “Even hurt themselves and others.”

“So you don’t think- you think he’s doing that all by himself? He can’t, that’s not, it can’t-“

“It can.” His voice is quiet, devoid of all the explosive inflection you’ve come to expect from him. “Trust me, I know.”

Bakugou’s walking in front of you, clad in his hero costume. His black mask is intact, but even without it you’re not sure he’d let you see his eyes. They gave too much away.

Bakugou keeps moving forward, hardly even turns back to make sure you’re still following. He’s quiet, strangely so, and you’re not used to this kind of silence with him. It’s odd- makes the already inky streets bleed darker shadows, every twist and turn heightening your anxiety. You walk a little closer to him.

He turns his head, red eyes catching you close behind him. His lip twitches up for a moment and he slows. Broad shoulder’s slot into place next to yours, and you swear the streets get a little less scary.

“I’ll find him.” He says. “I will.”

Then the silence hangs thick and heavy over the both of you.

Before you know it, you’re opening the door to your apartment building with tired limbs. Bakugou stays back, but you can feel his eyes watch you. Even through the glass when you shut the door behind you. You give him a half-hearted wave but it doesn’t feel right even to you.

You enter you apartment, immediately flicking all the lights on, tilting your lamp until it’s shooting light through every dark shadow. You know that’s not how it works- that the child used blood and not darkness to teleport, but it still helps ease your mind a bit. Anything to get rid of the blackness at the edges of your vision- the blackness that reminds you so much of pooling tar.

Curling your knees up to your chest, you press your back into the cushions of your couch. You wonder when the fear started settling in. At what point on the walk home that the adrenaline faded- when you started wanting the boy and his blood to disappear instead of being found.

You glance at the clock and then to your balcony door, rinse and repeat for the next few hours. Awake and fearful, practically begging Bakugou to show up. As the world seemed to grow more dangerous, you felt more and more helpless without him.

It was a thought that left you feeling even sicker than before, but you couldn’t deny the relief you felt at the sound of knocking.

“Hey,” You yawn, tiredly, sliding the door open for Bakugou. “You find him?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” He admits, brushing past you. “No fuckin’ trace. You sure he was a kid?”

“Positive.”

“And he was covered in scars?”

“Mhm.”

He drops on your couch, tipping his head all the way back with a groan. “I didn’t see any shitty brats. Sorry.”

The apology comes out sharp, a little sarcastic, but his eyes give him away. He is sorry. At least, as much as you can expect from him.

You drop down onto the other side of the couch, tucking your legs up close to your chest. There’s warmth clinging to the cushions, left-over from where you’d been sitting, but you’re still freezing- skin left with a perpetual chill.

Bakugou lets his head loll to the side, rolling against the back of your couch, until he’s looking directly at you. “You alright, leech?”

A part of you wants to lie- but you figure it wouldn’t do much good. He’d just see right through you anyways.

“No.” You say softly, winding your arms around your legs. “Sat here the whole time. Awake. Thinking.”

He looks at you a little strangely then, shifting until he’s sitting straight up.

“Something bad ‘s happening, I think.” Your voice comes out hollow. “With the boy. He’s- I’ve never seen anything like that. He said sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“Mhm. Sorry. To me. And then he grabbed my arm.” You scratch at your arms, trying to keep the itch in your skin away. “I don’t- I think he knew. About my quirk somehow. He touched my skin. Under my sleeve.”

“What?” Bakugou jolts forward, eyes crazed. “Tell me again, from the fuckin’ top. Don’t leave a single goddamn thing out.”

So you recount it, once more, paying extra attention to the way Bakugou reacts to each one of your words. His eyebrows knit together, eyes hardly leaving your face for even a moment. It’s not until you explain the way you’d felt, when the boy had grabbed you, that Bakugou clenches his fist. His knuckles go white as he grits his teeth.

“He fuckin’ knew.” His voice is venomous, steely and serious. “He knew- but that doesn’t- I sat out. Watched- everything. Fuckin’ kid couldn’ta slipped past me. Must’ve come in the same way he got out.”

“You were outside?”

You question is swallowed up as Bakugou stands, gravely voice steamrolling entirely over your own.

“Fucker knew,” He seethes, crossing his arms. “He fuckin’ knew, and he got past me. Gonna- gonna find him. Swear to fuck-“

“He’s a child.” You try to protest, but Bakugou isn’t listening. “Not some crazy super villain and-“

He’s practically worked himself up into a frenzy now, muttering threats under his breath while he paces. You’re not exactly sure why he’s so upset, but he looks at you and suddenly there’s no mistaking the funny little crease in his eyebrows.

Worry.

You can help yourself then, standing and nearing him. Reaching out your hand until your gloved fingers make contact with his forearm.

“He’s just a child.” You say, eyes wide and imploring. “And he said sorry. It’s- I think he didn’t want to. Someone’s making him. So it’s not his fault, alright? He didn’t hurt me. I’m fine.”

Bakugou flicks his eyes down, to where your fingers are resting on his skin. He scrunches his nose up, but he doesn’t shake you off.

“This time.” He says, red eyes staring back into yours, his voice just as serious as before. “This time you’re fine. But it’s not- there’s not gonna be a fuckin’ next time, alright? I won’t- it’s just not gonna fuckin’ happen.”

You think he’s finished, but then Bakugou is flaring his nostrils, and clearing his throat. “‘m gonna find this fuckin’ kid, okay? Swear it.”

“I know.” You say, because you do know. When he looks at you like that, it’s clear there’s never any other possibility. Nothing but the future he carves out for himself. “I know you will.”

Bakugou nods, and after that it takes only seconds until he’s deflating. You’re almost sure you’ve forgotten your gloves then, when his chest settles and the angry red seeps out of him complexion so suddenly. But when you look down, you see nothing but silk where your skin should be.

“You didn’t sleep.” He finally says. “Kid used up some of your quirk, and you’re not fuckin’ tired?”

You look up at him. “No. I- I am. Couldn’t fall asleep though. Freaked out and everything, you know?”

“You’re home now.”

“I know.” You say, finally stepping back and turning away. Wringing your hands together, you settle back into your spot on the couch. “I tried, earlier, to sleep, but I just keep seeing stuff. In the shadows, I mean.”

He looks at you a little weird, hardly for a second, before pursing his lips and shifting his eyes away.

“I know, I know, it’s dumb. Childish, probably.” You backtrack, a nervous, tired laugh leaving your lips. “Couldn’t help it though. Still can’t- actually, I have no idea how I’m gonna sleep tonight.” 

He shifts on his feet, obviously uncomfortable. “You scared of the dark now or somethin’?”

It sounds even more ridiculous when he puts it’s like that- when he phrases it as something so minuscule. But it doesn’t feel tiny to you. The fear isn’t manageable at all when you think about retreating to your bedroom, cowering away from all it’s dark corners and crevices.

Well, you reason, tomorrow was a day off for you. Losing out on a night of sleep is probably the least expensive loss you could’ve suffered tonight.

“Maybe I’ll just stay up.” You finally decide, rubbing at your eyes. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna stay up, I think.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be fuckin’ ridiculous. You’re fallin’ asleep right now.”

“I’m not. I’m good.”

You lie and you’re sure Bakugou can see through it. Still, he says nothing, choosing instead to bide his time. But with each passing minute he squints his eyes, knits his eyebrows together a little more with each yawn that you try to suppress. He gives it another few seconds before swearing under his breath, spinning around until you’re only looking at his back.

“J-just sleep there.” He grumbles, pinched and tight while he clenches his fists at his sides. “‘s your fuckin’ house.”

“I can’t,” You yawn, once again trying to hide it behind your hand. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

“I’ll sleep later, ‘s fine. Stop complanin’.”

“I said it’s fine. ‘n besides, I’ll stay up, yeah? Nobody’s gonna fuckin’ get ya.” His voice is a little soft, and you think Bakugou knows it too, because then he’s clearing his throat. Loudly. Making a show of setting his shoulders back until he looks intimidating again. “A-and if you’re not sleepin’ in the next 5 fuckin’ minutes, you don’t gotta worry about anyone anyways because ‘m gonna kill you myself. So go the fuck to sleep already. Leech.”

You can’t help the giggle that leaves your mouth. Nor the second, louder laugh that tumbles from your mouth when he whips his head around at the sound.

“I get it.” You say gently. “I’ll sleep. But please don’t murder me while I’m at it, okay?”

Bakugou smiles something tiny and satisfied, but he covers it up by turning back around. By sinking to the floor a few feet in front of you, crossing his legs beneath him. He keeps his eyes trained forward, palm unturned and clearly ready to explode whatever lurked in the dark.

For lack of better words, he looked like a guard dog. The most blood thirsty one you’d ever seen, maybe, but that still didn’t change the fact that as long as he was around, nobody out to get you was leaving the room unscathed.

It was thought that settled your mind, had your heart slowing down in your chest. Enough to have you easing down into the cushions, stretching out on your couch with a tired sigh.

You try not to think about who is sitting directly in front of you. Try not to think about how you can’t tell if the blanket you’re using smells like him, or if he’s just sitting too close to tell. Try not to think about how easy it’d be to whisper something tiny-a thank you maybe, for everything he’s doing.

But you know he’d hate that. You know he’d pinch his face up, like you’d just burned him, and that knowledge of him only has you warming a little more.

So you pull the blanket up around your shoulders and settle instead for watching the back of his head as you drift off. The way he never stops moving- making sure to look at each and every corner of the room as often as he can.

//-//

oh my god y'all semester's finally over,, i cAN DO THINGS I LIKE AGAIN - pls my blog has been so dead for the last like, month but i swear im bout to revitalize tf out of it babey !!!! ;))))))

taglist:  @fluffyviciousbunny @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness @waffleareniceandfluffy @monempathieetmoi @koiwoshinai @christianagrace9  @the-shota-king-masayuki @shy-panda02 @devastyle @shoto-supremacy00 @shotoful @falloutgirlzz

[youwontlikethisblog]

Betty, My Betty! Part 2

Okay as I'm writing this I'm rewatching this scene over and over to make sure that I'm picking up the vibes correctly.

After all the entire point of my commentary is to digest what the writer, Fernando Gainta, the director and actors wanted us to know.

We're still in the same time frame of Armando finding out Betty has a boyfriend, though to the audience we are fully aware that Nicolas is just Betty's friend and the person she used to disguise her crush on Armando, in other words, Betty's true love is Armando and he doesn't know that but believes that Nicolas is which feeds the cycle of paranoia this man has.

The day between Marcela and Armando started off estranged due to their argument the night before. Though at first they seemed to tolerate each other when Marcela went to yell at Betty for the checks not being in cash, like she said she had told her, Armando went to Betty's aid and yelled at Marcela(in the hall before she made it to Betty's office) and then he got the worse news of his life and has been on a rollar coaster of emotions.

In this first scene I'll be talking about: Marcela enters Armando's office, pissed off. Her eyes are shooting bullets at Armando and his voice is.. how do I say nonchalant but annoyed? It's mostly an oxymoron.She's asked about the money. He does have a sharp tone as he tells her "My love, I just signed the papers for her to do that." His eyes aren't behind as he too is shooting bullets at his fiance.

I have a love hate relationship with Marcela. One moment I really like her and the next I could strangle her, not enough to actually do it but enough to imagine it.

Marcela has her arms folded in front of her looking apprehensive while shifting on her feet and shaking. Not only does her tone of voice allow us to pick up on her mood, so does her body language. She truly dispieses Betty.

I want to add here that the previous night when Marcela insulted Betty as she was leaving you could tell Betty was upset and not only because of the insults towards her and Marcela insulting her work ethics and role in the company but she stared dead at Armando as if also upset at him. I placed myself in her shoes and my inner monologue was "If only this dude could keep it in his pants and stop being such a whore so I wouldn't get told that I don't do what my father paid for me to study and instead I'm his pimp that would me great! I hate this and you." because we do see Betty being level headed and understanding where Marcela is coming from though Marcela also never makes Armando take accountability for his infidelity which is annoying on both their parts.

Back to this scene.

Armando glares at her and says "Can you give me a second, my love?" he mocks at the end. In the next frame we see Marcela rolling her eyes, arms folded in front of her and our dear and sweet(this is sarcastic) Mario Calderon sticking to the shadows observing and inspecting everything silently. This is important to take into account as this is what allows him to be such a good manipulator because you're not even aware that he's doing it.

Armando without taking his eyes off of Marcela then yells for Betty, twice and Betty runs towards him and in her very sweet and calm voice says "Yes Sir?". I've seen this scene one too many times because I often rewind to study certain scenes, even before I started to write these post and it wasn't until now that I paid attention to Marcela's reaction.

Once again Armando has eyes on Marcela the entire time. Not even when Betty enters the room does he turn to look at her. His tone continues to be strong, allowing us to know that the frustration or anger he's feeling is not directed towards Betty here but Marcela.

However Marcela(Let me just say the actress is so pretty) is now playing her neck, and rocking on her feet. As Armando says "Tell me, did you get the money for the lady?" Marcela's body language is very interesting. As she goes to rub her chin and sports a smirk on her face.

I'm trying to understand why she would react that way as just a second ago she was fuming and then annoyed because Armando was yelling.

These are my two conclusions:

1) Since her back is towards them she could be assuming that he is directing that tone of voice and anger towards Betty, which would make her happy that Betty is paying the price for their argument.

2) That it brings her joy to anger Armando. In a previous post I talked about how Marcela always seems to be looking for an excuse to lash out at Armando and it could be that she enjoys to get him riled up as she says in some episodes back (the make up seggs is always good) or she just likes making him miserable.

Betty goes to hand her the money and asks her if she'd be kind to sign the papers. Betty, even when Marcela had insulted her, her profession, and her role in the company, speaks to her with respect and kindness. Marcela doesn't even look at her. Instead she just grabs the money and starts counting. Mario is in the background taking it all in.

When Marcela laughs at this and tells her "Ha! Are you suspicious? (insinuating that Betty was calling her a thief) or what?"Mario's eyes grow big as he panics(remember that he is worried that if people yell at Betty she'll turn against them(he too isn't that bright as he later leaves a letter that does just that))

Now Armando's reaction is different as his expression softens and he shifts from being annoyed or angered to now trying to buffer the situation. He goes to say "My love you know perfectly well that's just formality. Stop bothering so much" his eyes are wide, his tone of voice shifts from annoyed to apprehensive and Marcela yells and tells him "Don't scream at me!" and he hisses her "You are unbearable."

Betty is really just standing between the both of them uncomfortable as I would too.

Marcela reminds Armando of what they talked about the previous night and how he hasn't done neither one thing or the other. We get a brief frame of Armando, lips tight in a line in anger to then softening them a bit to stare at Betty. This allows us to know that it is an unpleasant idea, in a sad way, for him to fire Betty or even think about it and not because she's the owner of Eco Moda.

Marcela proceeds to tell him not to expect a different Marcela or for her to be kind and we get music that sounds like the jaws song as she exits the office.

Now Mario has been there the entire time. He hasn't said a single thing or done anything to aid the situation. All he has done is read the room, hear and observe everything and everyone.

This is reminiscent of what we come to see of Armando and Marcela's relationship. This is the day where it is solidified that their relationship is doomed and over with. At least the side of their relationship that kept them off each others throats for long. Where Armando would at least make the effort to talk to her and be open, even when she always turned it around to make it about herself and he always had to swallow down his feelings and comfort her when it was him who needed it. Their relationship had some sort of fighting ground. That's what kept them fighting but if we're being honest here their relationship was mostly based on two people who just enjoyed screwing each other. It wasn't based on love, respect, honesty, or loyalty but based on the commitment to their parents and family and seggs.

When I was in middle school I had this teacher talk to us girls about lust and love and how at our age, which was emotional immaturity, we could assume that because we felt attraction it was love but that they were two different things.

Lust is based on physical wants and needs whilst love is based on emotional and spiritual wants and needs. Love is the desire to give while lust is the desire to receive.

Armando and Marcela have never been in love with each other instead they've been in lust with each other except one mistakes this lust for love and mistakes love for possession.

Knowing to tell these things apart in our romantic life helps us establish a healthy relationship and sadly Marcela hasn't learned to tell these two things apart and this scene shows us that very well. Their relationship is doomed and there is no going back because she asked for the head of the person who is changing the life of Armando Mendoza and not just professionally and economically but in a mental and emotional way and though he isn't aware of that yet his subconscious is and it's made up its mind.

As Mario proceeds to ask him what she's talking about he[Armando] tells him that Marcela asked for Betty's head. We then see Betty standing by her closed office door listening in.

Mario asks shocked "What?" because of course, how could he allow Marcela to ask for the head of the secret owner of Eco Moda?

Again our dear and stupid Armando is in another planet, or solar system, point is he isn't in the same wavelength that Mario is in. He goes to explain that Marcela thinks Betty is his accomplice and fixes him up with his dates which then leads to Mario frantically telling him that she's crazy and he can't contemplate that option.

Armando again is biting his thumb nail, he's nervous but agrees and his mood changes drastically. He looks determined as he tells Mario "I know, I know. Look, no one is going to touch Betty!"(in spanish he says "Nadie me va a tocar a Betty" making it possessive that no one will take Betty from him) and we get a cut to Betty hearing him say that.

Here's the important thing to note throughout this scene. Armando's body language and his reaction is shown directed towards Marcela, not Betty. While Mario directs the topic to Betty being the new owner of Eco Moda, therefore shouldn't be yelled at or fired, Armando is sticking to the emotional aspect of it all. How could he fire the girl who is unconditional and loyal to him? How can he fire the girl he likes? and most importantly that no one is taking his Betty away from him. Be that Marcela asking for her head(he's willing to pay the price and whatever Marcela throws at him but he isn't firing her) or Nicolas Mora being her boyfriend.

What makes this concrete? When he tells Mario that Marcela is just taking advantage of the situation with Claudia and that she's always wanted Betty out it shows us hIS thought process. He isn't concerned over Betty being the new owner. If he were he'd mentioned it, just like Mario has. He would say "Marcela isn't aware she's the new owner but we are and I can't fire her." but those words never escape his mouth, even in secrecy with Mario. However, Mario does say those words even when Betty is in the room over or at least insinuates it.

Fast-forward a bit we get a scene of Claudia picking up a bottle of an alcoholic beverage and we get a clean cut to Armando pouring himself a drink. The parallel would be Claudia is drinking because she is heartbroken due to Armando kicking her out of his office so angrily the previous night and then we have Armando pouring himself a drink in the same time frame, he is stressed and he has started to drink more in the past few days but the back to back scenes with the same music tell us that he's also drinking due to a broken heart.

Armando can't catch a break right now.

Again this isn't speculation as when Mario point that out and tells him that it's too early to be drinking Armando gives him a list of excuses saying "Don't you think I've got a pretty sinister day today? Marcela and I are at each other's throats and today is the new[collection] launch. Plus! In that hotel there's a crazy model waiting for me and I don't know what she's going to do when I get there" The problems go escalating little by little as he list them and then he says "and on top of that, on top of everything-" when we say that phrase it means that we've already established we've got problems but what makes all those problems worse, what makes your situation worse is the next problem you're about to list which is the worst. His tone goes from being frustrated like he was naming the other problems to bringing his voice down and in a solemn tone saying "My Betty, has a boyfriend." he then proceeds to say that they are in his[Nicolas aka Betty's eternal love] hands.

Now one again could argue that his concern is Eco Moda because now he is untrustful of Betty and Nicolas with Eco Moda and I will argue back that the writing tells us otherwise.

[Read my two previous post regarding this because it makes it clear that the writer wanted us to know that Armando did trust Betty and Nicolas previous to the knowledge that Nicolas is Betty's eternal love.(I like to say that because I imagine that's what Armando hears in his head when he thinks of Nicolas)]

Had that been his concern he would have said this: 'Don't you think I've got a pretty sinister day? Tonight is the launch for the new collection, there's a crazy model waiting for me at the hotel and I don't know what she's going to do to me when I get there and plus we're in Betty and Nicola's hands now because I've lost the company and on top of that Marcela and I are at each other's throats!' but he continues to hang onto the fact that Betty, his Betty, has a boyfriend which is his biggest concern next to Nicolas existing.

His anguish is that: Betty has a boyfriend.

His concern is that: The boyfriend works in Terra Moda.

His pain in the butt is: Marcela is at his throat asking for Betty's head.

Mario then tells him that he won't deny that he is worried about Betty's situation but that they need to handle the situation delicately and that Armando cannot judge her for it. Cut to a frame of Armando staring at his glass of whisky to squinting his eyes at Mario; who then tells Armando not to criticize Betty's personal life. Again Mario is trying to keep Armando from pushing Betty against them in turn taking away the company.

"You can't question her for not telling you about the boyfriend. You can't take away your trust!" he hisses at the end.

Armando's eyes are the main reaction we get here as the rest of his face is covered by the whisky glass he had in hand. His eyes narrow. He is concentrating on what Mario is telling him and is paying attention to him.

This is setting ground for the later manipulation as Armando begins to do this a lot.

The music changes to a more intriguing one. Mario stands up and leans towards Armando on the desk and whispers "you know what we have to do? What we have to do is to really figure out who he is, what he does and what kind of person he is before we start to panic."

Now who is Nicolas?

We know he is Betty's oldest friend and longest friendship and that he cares about Betty. He went to defend her against Roman and his friends even when he got hit for it. We know that he is protective of her and besides having a crush on a woman we know and he knows bullies and mistreats Betty, he is a good friend to Betty.

He prioritizes her feelings and he does anything to make her happy. Even going along with Betty's lies and schemes.

He tries to advise her to put everyone in their place when they abuse her for her looks when she becomes the owner of Eco Moda, once again showing us that he wants Betty's best interest and doesn't like that people treat her poorly. He is naive and somewhat dumb when it comes to real life problems like dating and social interactions.

Personally I find Nicolas endearing and I think Nicolas has always been very kind to Betty and always done his best to put a smile on her face.

He does let himself get distracted with the idea of riches and he brags about what he doesn't have but even then Nicolas is still morally and ethically correct. He has those tendencies and desires but he never goes through with them because his love for Betty and his loyalty to her keep him from it.

Nicolas is a good person flaws and all.

We know this, Betty knows and Armando knows this.

How are we sure he knows this?

Betty herself said to him "He is my other me" I don't have to breakdown what that means because we know she means that he is basically the same person within that she is therefore, Armando knows who Nicolas is and his distrust isn't based on Nicolás taking the company away. When he said that they were now in his hands he could have meant "Betty is in his hands".

It's important once again to understand this because it isn't until later that day that he finds out about what Mariana told Betty, again we know that Nicolas is the alias Betty uses for Armando, but he doesn't know this.

Right now his true anguish is that Betty has a boyfriend and that boyfriend is Nicolas Mora, an object of disdain to him now and we understand his mistrust isn't based on Eco Moda and what they could do to it but that Nicolas is Betty's boyfriend and he can take her away from him.

It isn't until after Bertha tells him everything Mariana said about Betty and her eternal love(I am referring to the real one being Armando) that he begins to distrust Nicolas as an individual(without Betty) who can "manipulate" Betty with love to turn against them and this then shows the true disgusting nature that two egocentric and selfish people will show.

Armando did use Betty to secure Eco Moda and it is wrong. Mario thought that the only way a girl like Betty could ever get anyone interested in her or get someone to love her was only on interest of money. However and I need to remind you of this, Armando had another reason to go with the plan and it wasn't just that he is a disgusting human being at this point of the novela, but he subconsciously already liked Betty. He already had feelings for her that he didn't understand and he tried to justify for other things.

My personal theory regarding this topic is that Armando in a sense thought he was saving the company and Betty. He thought that by going along with this plan to make Betty fall in love with him he was saving her from Nicolas, who didn't truly love or care about Betty in his opinion and was only going to use her for the money but unlike him [Nicolas] Armando did care for her even if he didn't understand how and the depths of his feelings towards Betty. So he killed two birds with one stone.

He would secure that Nicolas wouldn't convince Betty to take away Eco Moda by promising her love and that Nicolas didn't take Betty away from him therefore saving Betty from pain.

I still haven't gotten to those episodes, I have seen them so I'm going off by memory but again, these three minute or five minute scenes give so much information. Fernando Gaitan did a tremendous job with foreshadowing and parallels(also the actors all have so many ticks that identify their moods that it's so fun to watch!) that it's really fun to pick apart these scenes because they have later consequences in the following episodes.

This post is already long enough lol so I will make another post about this same episode.

[nights-legacy]

Figure in Red Pt. 2 - Zuko

+ Y/N healed and still in the back of her head thought about the kiss with Zuko. She kept it to herself though out of worry of what the gang would think. It wasn’t until after the solar eclipse that she let it slip who had saved her. They freak only for a second before being attacked by combustion man and Zuko to step in and help.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N’s POV

Groaning, I slowly sat up and rubbed my sore shoulder. Having taken a huge fall during the invasion, I was trying to take it easy and heal.  It was early morning and something in the air woke me up. Something didn’t feel right. Toph was missing.

“Has anyone seen Toph?” I heard Katara ask.

“I haven’t seen her since she stormed off yesterday.” Sokka said. I got up slowly holding my arm and walked towards the others.

“Something doesn’t feel right guys. I think Toph may be in trouble.”

“Nah. I bet she's just exploring the air temple.” Haru waved me off. I turned around walked back towards my cot. I heard running away, figuring it was the three boys.

“Maybe Y/N’s right. Toph may be…” The wall In front of me burst open and rumble fell through. I stumbled back and fell. I saw Toph crawling out from the rumble.

“My feet got burned.” She screamed. Questions flew through the air as we all flocked towards her. Only one person could have done this, Zuko. But I thought he changed. He wouldn’t do this on purpose.

“See? You trusted Zuko, and you got burned. Literally!” Sokka yelled. I sat down next to Toph.

“She did say she scared him. He was acting on instinct. What do you guys do when spooked? Make sure the other person is at a far enough distance that they won’t be hurt by your defense? No. I know there good in him, there has to be. I mean why would he save Aang back then and then save me back…”

“Wait, when did he save you?” Sokka interrupted. I looked up at him surprise, realizing I let it slip he saved me. I mentally slapped myself.

“Back when I got my leg caught in the bear trap. That night when you guys went off to see what was going on and the fire nation soldiers found the clearing.”

“Yes.” Aang crossed his arms.

“Zuko is the one that saved me. He fought off the soldier and got me away from the rest.” I told them,

“Zuko did that?” Aang asked surprised. I nodded. He went to say something else but something caught my attention and I jerked my line of sight away from him. ON a ledge on one of the other buildings was Combustion man.

“Combustion man!” I stood up and pointed. Just as I did, Zuko came out and knock him off balance. Just in time too because a blast went off wild and hit the temple instead of us.

“Stop. I don’t want you hunting the Avatar anymore!” Zuko kept yelling at Combustion man as we ran behind the fountain. Zuko kept trying to discourage the assassin much to everyone’s surprise. The assassin seemed to have enough of the prince.

“Zuko!” I screamed as he was thrown over the edge. I watched in horror before sighing in relief as I saw him grabbed the vine. “Aang, you have to do something.”

“Right.” He took off. I flinched at every blast. I felt Katara grab my bad arm and pull me away.

“Katara! Ow!”

“Sorry!” I ducked behind the wall and Aang appears next to me. He goes back out after a minute. I peeked around the wall and looked around. A dust cloud was blocking part of the scene.

“All right buddy, don't fail me now!” Sokka through his boomerang, getting a bull’s eye in Combustion man’s forehead. We walked out as Combustion man was gone. I saw Zuko climbing back up and ran over to help.

“Here.” I held out my hand. He looked at me surprised before grabbing it. I pulled him up, ignoring the screaming in my shoulder. I groaned as he made it all the way up. “Ow.”

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He asked grabbing me gently.

“Yes, but it’s not from him. I got hurt the day of the eclipse.” I said. I looked up at him and got caught in his eyes. I felt his hand on my injured arm, his thumb rubbing gently.

“I’m sorry.” I smiled and went to reach up to brush his hair out of his face but was interrupted by the gang coming up. We turned to them quick.

“I can't believe I'm saying this, but ... thanks, Zuko.” Aang said. Zuko took a step forward. He gave a speech, speaking from his heart. He looked back at me for encouragement. I set my hand on his shoulder.

“I think you are supposed to be my firebending teacher. When I first tried to learn firebending…” Aang agreed with zuko. He looked for approval from us before letting him stay. As the others walked away, I smiled at Zuko.

“It’s a start.” I told him walking past him. I looked back to see him watching me. “They’ll see in time.”

“See what?” He asked.

“That you truly have changed. Or more like you finally took off the blinders to the truth General Iroh has been telling you.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have help Aang escape from Zhao. Even if that was meant to be for your own personal gain. You wouldn’t have helped me escape the Fire nation soldiers when I was injured. You wouldn’t have let Appa go and you wouldn’t have just tried to save us from that crazy assassin. You’re good Zuko. They will just have to see in their own time.” I turned and walked away.

Time Skip

I walked through the hallways, wandering. I heard loud footsteps approaching me. I picked up my speed in curiosity. I turned a corner and nearly ran into Katara. She wasn’t paying attention and I spooked her. She made a move for her water pouch but I quickly blocked her hand.

“It’s just me, Katara. Geez.” She relaxed and looked down.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I was just…” She trailed off looking behind her. I followed her line of sight and saw nothing out of the ordinary. “Did Zuko really save you that day?”

“Yes, he did.” I cocked my head. “Why?”

“It just seems out of character for him.”

“Katara, put yourself in his shoes. He was thrown out of his home by his own father. The only way he was ever taught to cope with situations like that was with anger. He has been on a journey just like the rest of us. His has just been a lot trivial and misleading. His only source of true help was Iroh. Don’t put the blame for his actions on him. If anyone deserves the blame for that, it’s Ozai.”

“Hmm.” She didn’t say anything before walking away. I shrugged and continued my walk.

“Did you mean that?” I jumped and turned quickly, swing my leg out in a high kick. I was blocked and the person caught my leg mid fall. I saw a figure in red standing there.

“Zuko…Don’t do that.” I said holding my chest. He chuckled before setting my leg down. “What did you ask?”

“I asked, did you mean it? What you said to katara?” he asked.

“Of course I did.”

“Wow, um.” He looked down and rubbed the back of his neck. “No one’s ever stood up for me like that before. Outside of my Uncle anyway.”

“That’s because you haven’t had the right company. Hopefully, we can change your experience in that department.” I said before turning to walk away. A gentle grasp on my arm stopped me. I felt my heart skip a beat.

“Don’t go.” He whispered. He wasn’t looking at me and I saw the red dusted across his cheeks. I reached up and used two fingers to lift his head. I cocked my head to the side in silent question. “I, um. I…”

“Zuko, you can talk to me.” I took a step forward.

“Okay. Um…I Have admired you since the first day I saw you. I didn’t plan to kiss you that day but I couldn’t help myself. You sat there, so beautiful, I had too. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since then and…” he kept rambling. I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest.

“Zuko.” I tried to get his attention but he kept going. I gave a soft chuckle before grabbing him by the neck and pulling him down into a kiss. I could feel his surprise before he kissed me back hard. I backed up into the door frame.

“I think I love you.” He finished as we pulled away. I looked up at him in awe. His arms were holding tightly onto my waist with his chest pressed against mine.

“I love you too, Zuko.” I brushed my fingertips across the back of his neck. He shivered and smiled. He set his forehead on mine. I moved my arm a little and flinched. He pulled back slightly and looked down as my arm.

“How did you get hurt?”

“AS the sun came back, I fell back over the edge, trying to avoid a fire blast. I caught myself on a ledge but it injured my arm from the impact.” He gently rubbed my shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I wish my great grandfather never started this war.” He frowned and closed his eyes. I smiled small and reached up to touch his face, just under his scar. He tensed for only a second before relaxing, nuzzling my hand.

“Don’t hold the burden of his mistakes on your shoulders. It was not your doing.” I gave him a small kiss. He opened his eyes and looked at me.

“Stay with me tonight?” He asked softly. “I don’t know if I can be alone. Not anymore.”

“I’ll always be here, when you need me. Just let me go get my bed roll.” He nodded. I pulled away. His hands followed, reluctant to let go. I walked quickly to the courtyard. Everyone sat around the fire. I quietly walked over and grabbed my bed roll and bag before turning around.

“Where are you going?” Sokka asked. I saw a skeptical, curious look.

“Well, since all of you are being blind skeptics, sorry Toph, and won’t let our new team member be involved, I am going to spend time with him.” I sassed before walking away.

“Do you think that’s safe or smart?” Sokka asked. I stopped. As I turned, I saw Aang hit Sokka in the arm.

“I trust him. More than any of you do. I see Zuko, not the son of Firelord Ozai.” I walked away without another word. When I returned to Zuko, he was lying on his rolls, arm behind his head and leg propped up.

“I suppose they gave you a hard time to spending time with me?” He asked before opening his eyes and looking at me.

“Only a little. They didn’t say much after a logically told them off.” I spread out my roll next to him before plopping down on my stomach.

“You know, I bet you could challenge my Uncle in wisdom and logic.” He turned toward me on his side.

“Really?” He nodded before yawning. “Let’s get some rest. You’re going to need some energy if you’re going to start training Aang tomorrow.”

“Is he really been that hesitant to learn firebending?” I nodded, pushing up on my elbows. “Hm. Hopefully I can help him move past that. Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Zuko.” We both laid down. I rested my head on my arms, looking at him. I smiled thinking about how the boy that helped me that day is now lying next to me. He fell asleep quickly. “goodnight, my Figure in Red.”

[nanoland]

Title: Besyd the scarcety of bread amowngst us

Fandom: Supernatural 

Pairing: Crowley/Dean Winchester

Summary: In which Dean asks a question.

Warnings: Crowley being Extremely traumatized and kind of oblivious to that fact + SPN demons being SPN demons (i.e. remorseless bodysnatchers) + Dean being his casually misogynistic self + graphic descriptions of starvation + exhibitionism (sorta?) + sexually explicit content because this was MEANT to be straightforward smut and then Crowley happened, the prick.

Also on AO3!

0  

“So how come you aren’t a hot chick?”

The glass stills an inch from Crowley’s pale lips. “I humbly beg your pardon?”

It’s late. The bar’s quiet. He doesn’t need Dean to repeat himself. Just a moment to decide on a response.

Well on the way to utterly shit-faced, Dean gestures vaguely, meaninglessly. “You offer people stuff. Then, ten years later, you drag ‘em to Hell. And – and they know that’s what’s gonna happen if they make a deal with you. Which means that you gotta be real fuckin’ persuasive. Which you are. Grade A Bullshit Artist and don’t I know it. But... uh, what was I gonna… yeah, wouldn’t it be easier, right, just way easier if you were a hot chick?”

Crowley can tell he’s not done, so he keeps his silver tongue behind his faintly yellowed teeth for the moment.

While Dean is usually delightful company, in his surly, macho way, this evening there’s an uncommonly obnoxious edge to everything he says. That almost certainly means his insecurities over what he’s been letting Crowley do to his arse lately are acting up.

Understandable. Still annoying.

So Crowley’s more than willing to let his favourite human dig himself a wee bit deeper before pouring boiling tar into the pit.

After quickly throwing back the last of his drink, Dean goes on: “Now, I didn’t go to some dickslurp business school. I ain’t that brand of asshole. But I’ve seen enough beer ads in my time to have an idea of how marketing works. You got something you want people to buy? Fastest way is to get a hot chick in a bikini to hold it up. Because guys have most of the money in this shitty world of ours and guys think with their dicks. I know I do. So why did you decide to possess someone who looks like a balding, middle-aged banker going through a stressful divorce? That ain’t enticing. That ain’t capturing anyone’s interest. Y’know?”

“Mm,” says Crowley, and stands up.

“Fuck’re you doing?” Dean slurs, watching him take off his tie.

“Ever heard of the Seven Ill Years, Squirrel?”

“Nope. Seriously, what’re you doing?”

Draping his overcoat over the back of his chair along with his tie, Crowley sets about taking off his jacket. “‘The Seven Ill Years’ refers to a particularly shitty time in early modern Scotland; the 1690s.”

He tugs off his costly leather shoes and places them side-by-side under his chair. “I was in my… early thirties at the time, I think. Thirty-two? Maybe thirty-one. Whatever.”

Dean is gaping now. He’s never seen Crowley without his outer layers, much less the growing slice of exposed chest as Crowley unbuttons his shirt.

“For a lot of complicated reasons relating to oceanic thermohaline circulation, solar activity, and a few ill-timed volcanos, the weather turned rotten. These days, it’s called the Little Ice Age. Us pigshit stupid peasants who lived through it didn’t know anything about all that. All we knew was that it was freezing bloody cold and the crops kept dying.”

“Dude,” Dean hisses, red-faced as Crowley sets his shirt alongside his jacket and overcoat. “Stop it! We’re going to be thrown out!”

“No. Look around. Is anyone paying attention to us? Precisely. We’re invisible to them at the moment, Squirrel. One of my little tricks.”

“Oh. Okay, that’s good. But that’s still not an excuse to take your fucking pants off in public oh my God oh my God!”

They’re expensive pants and Crowley takes care to fold them before putting them down. “To cut a long story short; famine struck. And famine, it’s…”

Crowley pauses, thinking, ignoring Dean’s pathetic attempts not to gawk at his dick.

“It’s hard to describe famine to someone who hasn’t lived through one,” he says eventually. “Language – English, at least – isn’t equipped to convey what it feels like to be so hungry you’ll try to boil and eat someone else’s shoes. Then someone else’s children. Then your own children. There are no words for it. Or, if in some distant corner of our monstrous universe there are, then they’re words that would drive a human raving mad to speak them.”

Naked now but for his black socks, Crowley scratches his stubble. “Sometimes I think that’s why I got on so well in Hell.”

He sits back in his chair. Folds his legs. Taps his fingers on the side of his empty glass. “Don’t get me wrong; having someone cut open your lungs, fill them with scorpions, and sew them up again isn’t fun. But – how can I put this? – you can process it. You can grapple with it. You know why you’re suffering; because you’re in Hell, and that’s what Hell is for. It makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is going about your everyday life and watching all the people around you – the baker, the priest, the prettiest girl in the village – go about theirs while they turn into walking skeletons. And knowing they didn’t do anything to deserve it. Couldn’t have done anything to deserve it, because no crime, no matter how vile, warrants that kind of punishment.”

Dean says nothing.

After a moment, Crowley pulls himself from the dark, sucking well of memory to add, “Anyway, to answer your question; I don’t want to be a hot chick because a. I’m a man and b. hot chicks are skinny, and I will cheerfully burn this world to the ground before I endure living in a hungry body ever again.”

He glances down at his unclothed meat suit and smiles proudly, running a hand up one of its thick thighs. “Also – y’know – I personally think this long-deceased lad of mine is sexy as Hell.”

Gazing at his shoulder, Dean says roughly, “Didn’t know you had tattoos.”

“Oh. Those. Yeah. Can’t stand them. Worst decision the stupid bastard ever made.”

“I think they’re kinda cool.”

“Do you? Well, you do have incredibly bad taste so perhaps that’s not surprising. Now, are you going to get over here and put that erection to good use?”

Oh, bless him; he’s adorable when he squirms.

“Here?” Dean asks, eyes wide.

“Here.”

He says it like a challenge, for Dean can never resist one of those. Immediately, those wide eyes become narrow and determined.

The boy stands. Looms over Crowley, who casually flicks both their glasses to the floor and moves to sit on the cool wooden table. It’s clean, more or less, thanks to Dean (for once) agreeing to follow Crowley to a semi-respectable establishment.

“These hands,” Crowley murmurs, running them across Dean’s broad chest, “don’t have a single callous or scar. See? Soft as butter. Not a single day’s honest work, either of them.”

Dean swallows. Leans in to kiss him, hesitant and gentle.

Contrary to popular belief, Crowley likes gentle. Or, more accurately, Crowley likes being pampered.

He goes on: “And these legs…”

A groan escapes Dean’s lips as one presses up against his crotch.

“…these legs haven’t walked more than ten miles, collectively, since I moved in. No muscles. No blisters on the undersides of their feet. Not so much as a splinter.”

“Jesus,” Dean mumbles, drawing him in and latching onto his neck.

“And this stomach is never empty. Never even close. Never once forced to digest anything that isn’t purely, perfectly delicious. I treat my meat suits better than most people treat their family heirlooms.”

“Crowley. Fuck.”

He squeezes Dean’s arse and growls, “Because this is my reward, Dean. I won this. This softness, this safety. This nurtured, nourished flesh. I endured the seventeenth century and all humanity’s horrors. Endured my mother. Endured Hell. Built myself a reputation and a kingdom. All for this. And isn’t it wonderful? Say that it is, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean moans, even though he can’t understand a word; Crowley slipped into Gaelic a while ago.

(The things Crowley wants to tell Dean and the things Crowley wants Dean to know are categories that rarely overlap.)

Crowley takes Dean’s leaking cock in hand.

“Say I’m beautiful.”

Dean’s knees buckle as he whimpers, so Crowley wraps an arm around his narrow, underfed waist.

“Say you love me.”

Dean comes in his palm, gasping and cursing.

“Say you love me more than anyone else.”

“I’m guessing that was all Scottish dirty talk?” says Dean when he has his breath back. “You were – what? Calling me your bitch?”

Crowley smirks, licks the sweat off Dean’s jaw, and gives his backside a pat before reaching for his clothes. “None of your business. Go get me another drink, would you? Ta.”

 the end

NOTES: The title is taken from a quote found in Karen Cullen’s ‘Famine in Scotland: the ‘Ill Years’ of the 1690s’ (you can find extracts via googlebooks). Yes, canonically Crowley WOULD have been about thirty when this happened. Just in case his origin story wasn’t horrific enough wheee :D

[mcwriting]

call me, beep me

In which I wrote a Kim Possible AU :)

Ship: Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 3865 

Warnings: literally none lol it’s all fun and fluff

#

“Toooom!” you exclaimed in a loud cry. He had clumsily knocked over part of your science fair project, a diorama of the solar system. His misstep caused Pluto to pop off the wire and dented Neptune a little.

“Oh my gosh, y/n, I’m so sorry, let me get that-” he started to reach down and grab the littlest planet at the same time as you, causing both of your heads to bump together.

You each jumped back again, exclaiming “ow!” and rubbing your temples simultaneously.

Things had been off between you and your childhood best friend lately. 

You’d been attached at the hip since preschool, and though you had your ups and downs, had always stayed friends. You were partners in (fighting) crime, but now it was like you were out of sync and couldn’t figure out why. 

“It’s okay, Tom. Seriously. I can fix it myself. You need to work on your project anyways, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. If it makes you feel any better, most people don’t even consider Pluto a planet anymore, so I kinda did you a favor.”

“You take that back! Pluto is so a planet!”

As you both laughed it off, a familiar four-toned beep came from your pocket.

“What’s the sitch, Jacob?” you asked into the phone, where your friend could be seen sitting at his computer.

“Hey, y/n. I was checking out Dr. Gyllenhaal’s purchase history lately, and well... tell me if this sounds fishy: 200 pounds of cherry flavored jello mix. That might not sound too bad except that he’s at the villain convention and just snatched the last 30 liters of mind-control juice. The first person you look at after ingesting some can control what you do unless you can reverse it. Oh, and he invited you and everyone else in town to a cookout at the park tomorrow.”

“Well, definitely doesn’t sound like any regular cookout. I’ll check things out. Give me location on the convention and we’ll head over,” you responded, annoyed that you needed to take a pause on your project that was due the next morning.

“I’m gonna ask him why he chose cherry. I mean, really. All the flavors in the world and you pick cherry!?” Tom said incredulously. You rolled your eyes in amusement and grabbed his arm.

“Come on, jello boy. Let’s go.”

#

The year’s convention was the place to be.

The villain counsel had gotten together and gotten a spot at the biggest venue in Rio, and everyone had been able to share conquests and victories along the beach.

Which is where Dr. Gyllenhaal was happily sipping on his frozen drink in the sun as his henchwoman, Daisy, lounged nearby.

“So you really think jello is the way to go, huh? Not a mixer at the club? It’d be a lot more fun that way,” she trailed.

“Y/n y/l/n and that... that... buffoon of hers are in high school. They cannot go to clubs. But jello! I mean who doesn’t love jello!?”

“Well... me for one. And cherry, really? Cherry? Couldn’t have at least gone for strawberry?”

“Cherry is the best flavor and you know it! Now let me enjoy my drink in peace before we head back to the lair.”

“Better sip quickly. I think that’s her and her little friend on the parasail that just disconnected from the boat,” Daisy said nonchalantly, sunglasses pulled down to see you gliding towards the beach.

“WHAT!?”

He threw the drink aside and sat up quickly.

You and your parachute were floating down gracefully as Tom was struggling. His naked mole rat, Tessa, was desperately trying to detangle him but to no avail, so he decided to bail, dropping into the ocean with a large splash. 

You couldn’t help but shake your head as you detached and landed on the beach, doing a somersault to break your fall. 

“Miss y/l/n, nice of you to arrive,” Dr. Gyllenhaal sneered as you stood. You were about to answer when Tom was clumsily thrown onto the sand by the crashing tide. 

“And you brought your little boyfriend, too.”

You looked down in surprise at Tom, who gave you the same deer-in-the-headlights look.

“We’re not- I mean he isn’t-”

“Y/n and I would never- What are you-” 

You both stammered. 

“Oh how cute. They’re blushing.” Daisy teased. “Now, time to kick your butt.”

With that you ensued in typical hand-to-hand combat along the beach, using your tumbling skills to narrowly avoid Daisy’s glowing fists along with other beach obstacles. 

“Where’s the juice!? I know you have it!” you exclaimed between handsprings.

“Isn’t that a funny question. You know I have some right here but-” Gyllenhaal pulled out a flask with the liquid to gloat, but tripped, the lid popping off and liquid beginning to splash out. “Oops!”

It was heading towards both you and Tom, so you turned to say, “Don’t let it get in your mouth!”

Some splashed onto yours and Tom’s faces. He cringed and ran towards the ocean.

“Tom what are you-” you couldn’t finish the thought, because as you were watching, a drop fell from your lips onto your tongue.

Suddenly, you felt inclined to do whatever Tom said. He was washing his face off with the salt water when you turned back around to look at your nemesis.

"Ooh let’s see if this works. Okay y/n. Tell me I’m pretty,” Gyllenhaal said, looking at you expectantly. You furrowed your brows. 

“Hmm. Maybe it needs to be an action. Y/n, go get me another piña colada.”

“What do you think I am, your slave?” you retorted sarcastically. His jaw dropped. 

“But I- I bought so much... WHY ISN’T IT WORKING?” he cried out.

Tom appeared next to you again.

“Hey y/n could you tell me if my hair’s messed up?”

You looked at him and without a thought answered.

“Oh yeah it’s parted weird. Lemme fix that.” You reached out and flopped a strand over. 

Dr. Gyllenhaal had a startling revelation.

“Oh no. Oh my gosh. YOU.YOU BUMBLING IDIOT. You’re the one who has the power to control y/n now? Oh dear. Daisy, we need to go at once!”

With that they sped off on a scooter, getting away once again. 

“What was he talking about? Oh hey, my shoe’s untied. Could you get that?” he asked. Usually it was a joke between you that you’d never tie his shoes, but immediately you were knelt down double knotting his laces.

You stood up, confused at what had overcome you, but quickly realization washed over your face.

“You...” you whispered. “I drank the juice, and now you get to control me until we can figure out a remedy...”

“What? No way, y/n. That’s crazy talk. If I had the power to control you, I’d tell you to eat an avocado and you’d actually do it.”

Ugh. Avocados.

One of your least favorite foods. They disgusted you, but without second thought you ran to find one, ravenously peeling off the skin with your bare hands and eating the soft fruit inside.

Tom looked at you in shock and horror.

“OH MY GOSH I”M CONTROLLING YOUR MIND!” he exclaimed, hands thrown upward onto his head. He started pacing and muttering to himself nervously.

You quickly finished the avocado, tossing the skin and pit aside. You wiped your mouth and immediately you were disgusted with yourself, the taste still lingering in your mouth.

“Ugh. That’s what I was trying to tell you!”

“Well call Jacob and figure out how to undo it!”

Immediately you pulled out your phone and rang him up, explaining the situation.

“... and it would really be nice if Tom could get me some water,” you muttered after telling Jacob what had happened.

“Why don’t you get it yourself?” Tom asked, prompting you to run to the nearest snack shack and grab yourself a water. You drank it in annoyance as Tom looked at you sheepishly.

“Well... here’s the problem... so far there’s no known antidote, y/n. Sorry. I’ll see if I can figure it out though,” Jacob explained. You groaned.

“Yeah, okay. Keep me in the loop. And while I’ve got you, could you send us a ride home?” 

“Sure thing, y/n. I’ll be in touch,” Jacob added, screen going black as he ended the call.

“Welp, y/n. This is going to be fun, right?” Tom asked enthusiastically.

“Sure. Fun.”

#

You were quickly putting together Tom’s baking soda volcano as he lounged nearby on your bed. He’d used his new power to get you to finish his project for him.

“As soon as we figure out the cure, I’m so gonna pummel you,” you said as you painted red drips around the rim and sides.

“Maybe it’s best that we don’t find that cure...” Tom started, until you shot him a glare. “Kidding! Kidding. Seriously though, y/n, I’ll repay you for doing this. It’s just, we all know you’re the smart one in this pairing.”

You perked up and looked at him funny as you continued to work.

“Pairing?”

“Well, yeah sure. I mean I couldn’t say couple, and well... I couldn’t think of a better word. Friendship doesn’t sound right either.”

You turned around, cheeks warm.

“What do you mean by that?” you asked quietly.

“We’re more than just friends, y/n. Everyone knows that. We’ve been at each other’s sides for forever. I just feel like only calling us friends doesn’t really encapsulate our relationship.”

“Oh... yeah. I see,” you said, a couple nervous chuckles leaving your breath as you moved on from painting lava to gluing fake trees around the volcano.

“What do you see it as, y/n?”

You felt the urgency to answer truthfully but wasn’t really sure how to. Like you’d said before, it was complicated.

“Well I... I don’t know. You’re my best friend, Tom. I’m not really sure what else to say.”

Tom looked down at Tessa, who was asleep in his hand. 

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, of course. I mean, that’s probably how anyone else would describe it...” he trailed. You felt yourself deflate in the same way Tom did, but you’d been honest.

You kind of had to be, after all. 

After a few minutes of rare silence between you two, Tom spoke up again.

“Hey y/n? You don’t have to keep working on that. It looks incredible as it is and I owe you a million for it.” You stopped what you were doing and leaned away from the project. 

“You know, I think I’m gonna head home. Tessa’s pretty much konked out and I’m pretty exhausted, too. It’s probably best that you finish up your work and hit the hay after I leave.”

You knew his statement wasn’t supposed to be a command, but now you’d be doing just that as soon as he was out the door.

He got up to leave, stuffing the sleepy mole rat into his pocket where she often hid and you stood from your place on the floor. 

“I’ll get all this stuff in the morning when I come to pick you up, okay?” Tom said. You nodded, a slight, lopsided grin on your lips.

You both stood awkwardly for a second before you leaned in, giving him a hug like you often did when parting ways. His arms engulfed you.

“Good night, y/n.”

“Night, Tom.”

With that you parted and he was out the door. As soon as you heard the front door shut, you were back to fixing your solar system.

#

As you got ready in the morning, thoughts about the prior night came bubbling up.

You hadn’t really had much thought about it before, because you’d been “ordered” to do your school project and go to bed, not leaving much time for reflection.

Are we just best friends? Are we not? I mean we aren’t a couple but we’ve got more going on than the average best friend, right? Am I just saying this because we fight crime unlike everyone else? Do I like-

You were snapped out of your thoughts when your  younger twin brothers called up, signaling that Tom was at the door. A few moments later he appeared at your bedroom.

“Mornin’ y/n,” he said, chipper as ever. It seemed that he was going to put the previous night’s events behind him. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, just a second. I forgot to take your project to my car before you got here.”

“Oh I can get mine,” Tom offered, stuffing a tri-fold under his arm and picking up the volcano with his hands.

“You- you’re not gonna make me do it?” you asked.

“What? Nah. I’m actively trying to not mind control you today. I feel bad about doing it.” 

“It’s going to happen eventually, you know. But come on. I don’t want to be late to the science fair.”

#

Yours and Tom’s displays were next to each other in the gym and for the most part, everything was going well. 

He’d slipped up a couple of times in the mind control department, but they were simple questions, so no one really picked up on it.

As you were preparing for the fair to start, you rolled your eyes as your co-caption on the cheer squad (and high school enemy) Zendaya walked up.

“Oh my gosh, y/n. What’s this? A solar system? That’s it?”

“I mean my dad’s a rocket scientist. And did you forget the fact that I’ve been to space? Maybe if you read my poster you’d understand that my project is about more than just some floating space balls.”

“Ugh. Whatever. Mine’s gonna win either way,” she bragged, earning another eye roll.

“Yeah we’ll see about that,” you grumbled. 

She flicked her hair and turned on her heel, headed back to her area. You huffed at her annoying arrogance.

“Don’t worry about it, y/n. You’ve got this,” Tom encouraged. Suddenly all tension left you.

Maybe this mind control stuff isn’t always bad. At least not when you’ve got the best kind of cheerleader by your side.

You looked at Tom with a soft smile. He was paying attention to Tessa, so he couldn’t see the way you were studying him. 

Over the years, you’d seen more of Tom than practically anyone else had, but yet you still found yourself trying to memorize every little mark and freckle on his face. You analyzed each curl of his hair. The way his lashes fluttered when he blinked.

You snapped out of it when he looked back up at you.

“You okay, y/n?” he asked.

“What? Oh, yeah. Just got distracted for a second. That’s all.”

Before he could press you further, your phone beeped. 

“Hey Jacob. Any updates?” 

“Well... I have an update, but it’s not necessarily the best news. There aren’t any known antidotes for the juice yet. I even emailed the seller under a fake name and he couldn’t give me a good answer. I got my hands on a little and will send some to the lab. Hang tight. Oh, and good luck with your project.”

You said some parting words and hung up.

“Well great. We’re no closer to solving this and we have to figure out a way to get everyone in town to not eat the stupid jello unless we can find a cure. This is shaping up to be just the best.”

“Hey. It’s okay. Just focus on presenting your project for now and beating Zendaya, okay? You can definitely do that.”

And once again, you felt yourself succumb to his words as the judging began.

#

“See. I told you you could do it,” Tom said excitedly as you carried a large trophy home.

“I had a feeling I would anyways, but I was kind of under order to win, so there was no way I’d take anything less than first.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s my girl,” Tom said offhandedly, taking a second to realize the implications of what he may have said. “And- and by my girl I don’t mean my girl I mean you’re just my best... um.. you know...”

“Tom. It’s okay. I get it. We don’t need to start this again right now. Now we need to focus on stopping Gyllenhaal and finding a cure. Plus, I need to change into a cute outfit for the cookout.”

# 

Hours of brainstorming and you were still no closer to finding a solution, but most of town was now gathered at the park feasting on hot dogs, hamburgers, and all the chips and potato salad they could handle. 

The jello had yet to make an appearance on tables, and there was no sign of Dr. Gyllenhaal or Daisy as you and Tom approached the families chowing down and having fun. 

You couldn’t, however, ignore the large curtained stage on one side of the park.

After hanging out with Tom and some other friends, the curtain suddenly opened, revealing your nemesis on the stage, microphone in hand.

“Good evening, friends. I’m your friendly neighborhood Dr. Gyllenhaal, and tonight I’m going to be your musical entertainment. But first! We want everyone to feast on the finest dessert, so jello for everyone!” he exclaimed.

You stomach dropped.

“Tom we gotta act fast. You help stop people from eating the jello and I’m going to try to get him off stage.”

As you split up, you got another beep on your phone.

“Hurry, Jacob. I don’t have much time.” 

“Okay, okay. I think I just solved your problem. You remember that movie Ella Enchanted?”

“Uh, yeah. I don’t see the correlation.”

“Well remember when at the end, the only way Ella breaks her curse is by talking to herself in the mirror..?”

“Oh my gosh you’re a genius. If the first person you look at is yourself, then you’re still in control! Anyway you can hook us up with some mirrors?”

“Already on it. But first, you need to test it on yourself just to make sure. I think Gyllenhaal has some extra juice hidden behind the stage if you can get your hands on it.”

“On my way. Thanks, Jake. You’re a lifesaver.”

You sprinted towards the stage, now in a different pursuit than before. You darted around the side, looking around to see if there were any bottles you could grab a quick swig from.

“Oh no you don’t,” a voice called from behind you. Daisy.

“Look, I just want some of the juice for myself alright? Nothing else.”

Yet.

“Oh we’ve got a good girl gone bad, huh? I don’t buy that sister.”

She lunged at you and once again you were in typical combat, flipping around and swinging off stage rigs, trying to get to the lone bottle of juice that was resting in the bed of a truck.

After a couple minutes, you were able to outsmart Daisy and grab the bottle. You pulled a compact from your pocket and looked straight into the mirror.

“This better work,” you muttered, tossing back some of the liquid and looking into the eyes of your reflection.

You didn’t feel any different, so you swung up onto the stage and knocked Gyllenhaal over, searching the crowd for Tom as you tried to trap the mad scientist.

“Tom! Tom tell me to do something!” you cried out upon seeing him. He was furiously rushing between tables trying to prevent people from eating the jello.

“What? Like what? I don’t want to ruin the mission!”

“Just say whatever! Hurry!”

“Okay fine! Eat another avocado!”

Dr. Gyllenhaal looked up at you expectantly, but you had no desire to find the green fruit, not even a twinge. Instead, you continued what you were doing before.

Dr. Gyllenhaal, on the other hand, paled. 

“Oh dear,” he whispered nervously, realizing you had found a solution to the problem he had created.

“Daisy get the helicopter! Hurry!” he cried out, slipping from your grip and running away like he always did. 

You let him go to focus on helping anyone who had eaten the jello, those of which Tom was trying to round up so you could help them.

After getting everyone cured, Jacob had called the lab he was working with to get the jello and dispose of it properly, allowing them to run more tests, too, now that they knew the cure.

You stood aside, arms crossed in satisfaction, as Tom approached.

“So you’re you again? Nothing I say can affect you?”

“Well I wouldn’t put it that way, but I’m definitely not eating any avocados or tying your shoelaces in the near future.”

He gave a chuckle and you started slowly walking home from the park.

“Hey, um, now that you’re cured and everything, I’m really sorry about last night. I accidentally put you in a weird position and I get it if you’re mad at me. I’m okay just calling us friends and ending it there if that’s what you want,” Tom said. 

You thought for a few moments about his proposal.

“You know, I was technically being honest last night, but my answer has changed since then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well... These past couple of weeks, things have felt really...”

“Weird? Off?” he interjected.

“Exactly! We’ve been so out of sync and I couldn’t figure out why! But after last night I realized that it’s because we aren’t simply friends. And I don’t know where you stand on this, but... I think I have feelings for you? And if you want to stay just friends I understand, but I just hate when we aren’t honest with each other.”

“Wait. You do?”

“Yeah. I really do.”

You braced yourself for him to shoot you down and put you back in the friend zone, but his reply surprised you.

“I guess now is the perfect time to tell you that I’ve had feelings for you for... well... ever.”

Now it was your turn to be shocked.

“You have!?”

“Well, yeah. Of course. You’re strong, smart, and beautiful. You kick butt like nobody’s business and above all, put up with me every day. You’re like the most incredible person ever. How could I not be into you?”

You felt yourself blushing as you approached your front porch.

“You’re amazing, Tom. You know that?” he jokingly waved you off, but then you were standing quietly.

“Sooo... monthly movie marathon tomorrow at my place? I’ll provide the snackage,” Tom offered, reminding you of your scheduled hangout. You looked down at the ground with a smile, then back up again, nodding.

Usually this was the part where you’d say goodnight and maybe hug, but this time you took it a step further.

You reached up and kissed him on the lips. It was only for a second, but both of you were stunned upon pulling back.

“I know I usually tell you not to bring anything to movie day, but could you please bring some more of those with you?” Tom joked once he snapped out of it.

“Oh my gosh,” you replied in amusement, giving him a light shove. “Goodnight, Tom.”

“Night, y/n.”

And with that, the man you realized you’d loved for years turned around and made his leave.

#

A/N: yooooo I actually really loved this. I really tried to fit the KP vibes but sorry if anything felt off. There’s just not much as iconic as the og Kim and Ron, ya know?

Anyways thanks for reading and as always please feel free to send an ask or message anytime!

Send a message or ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent or series taglists so I can verify you’ve been added!

Tag list: @readheadwriter, @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @agentnataliahofferson, @spider-babe,  

[haifengg]

°+*When he’s showing too much cleavage - Sejun*+°

 or “Touching Sejun Inappropriately and He’s Throwing a Tantrum”

Summary: You are about to go out clubbing with your BestFriend!Sejun and he is loosing it. idk how else to describe this.

Disclaimer: Mentioning of harassment/assault but in a humorous way. Might be triggering for some people. (Really just as a joke, I know that is a serious problem.)

Genre: Fluff? I guess? Bro Vibes much! Non!Idol

Pairing: BestFriend!Sejun x Reader

It was a Friday night and he has been bugging you to go out with him

for the entire week Sejun was dying to go out clubbing but he didn’t want to go alone 

so he bothered and annoyed you until you gave in and volunteered as a tribute

you only agreed under a few conditions tho

he was paying the entrance fee for the both of you

and he had to promise not to get wasted because you reassured him a couple of times you wouldn’t carry him home

to your surprise he accepted 

when Friday night finally arrived and you got off work the two of you had dinner at his place

just simple plain pasta because neither of you was a great chef or any of that sort

pasta really was the highest of emotions with you two

during the meal you wouldn’t talk much since you were recharging after a long day of work and so was he

though you could tell how excited he was to go out again after years (according to him)

after finishing your meal Sejun put on some music in the hallway and the both of you started to get ready

since you weren’t planning on score with someone tonight you were keeping your outfit rather simple

only some jeans and a white t-shirt plus a few simple accessories 

it wasn’t the first time you got ready together to go somewhere so you were pretty much a well oiled machine

operating around each other

he was taking AGES straightening his hair (which always bothered you bc it meant you had to do your make-up in the kitchen)

out of all rooms it had the best ceiling light

“What are you going to wear?” his voice chimed over the music out of his room

“Why is that important?”

“Because I don’t want to be out dressed.”

“You just walked past me in the hallway, you know what I am wearing.” You replied almost shouting since the music box was right next to you

Regardless of that fact you heard his steps approaching 

“You’re wearing just this?”

scoffingly you turned around, holding you eyeshadow palette in one hand and the brush in the other, only one eye done by now it looked like someone hit you

“Excuse- Oh well, look at that. Who are you trying to take home tonight? I didn’t agree to being abandoned the middle of the night.”

the grin on your face spoke volumes

Sejun was wearing a black t-shirt which effortless revealed his entire collarbones

“W-What is that supposed to mean?” He asked slightly offended and took a panicking step back as you approached him, simultaneously closing the palette and taking both eyeshadow and crease brush in one hand

with the other one you hooked your index finger into the neck of his shirt and pulled it all the way down to his solar plexus, brushing with your finger tip over his white skin

“Don’t be shy! Let me see!” You said maybe a little too curiously.

Sejun jumped away from you covering his chest with his arms, dramatically pulling up one knee almost loosing his balance

“WHAT THE HELL-”

and you just burst into laughter

like

so hard

“IT’S MY BODY!! MY. BODY.” He yelled completely scandalised eyes wide opened

by this time you were on the floor laughing only holding on to the fridge’s door handle

“Calm down, calm down.” You pressed out in between wheezes

“CALM DOWN??”

“That’s what you have to expect when you dress like this.”

“JUST BECAUSE I DRESSED THIS WAY DOESN’T MEAN YOU GET TO ASSAULT ME SEXUALLY!”

“Could you repeat that? I think the neighbours didn’t get it entirely.”

You wiped away your tears completely forgetting about that one eye you already had finished before the harassment

“Ah damn it.”  

“Don’t worry.” Sejun puffed, holding his nose up high. “It’s not as if you would do any damage to that black eye anyways.”

With those words he turned around vigorously heading back to his room

“Where are you going?”

“I. Am. Changing!”

half an hour later than planned you finally managed to leave the house

well, at least you were ready on time

entire make-up finished and hair done as well (which took you a few attempts)

“Are you ready? We’re already late. The place will be packed if we don’t leave now!”

“I’m there, I’m there. Let’s go.” He mumbled while jogging down the hallway and jumping into his shoes

“So ... you noticed showing off your chest might not be the way to go but you think Dwane ‘The Rock’ Johnson is?” you joked pointing at the black turtleneck and the small necklace he wore

“I will never ever ask you again to go to with me!”

You grabbed your bag. “So you finally got to that conclusion on your own.”