#why not just step put of the way lmao
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I love fucking around with the NPCs in SMBA
You can use woodball and light yourself on fire and if you bump into them they'll push you away but then shake off their hands because they just pushed your ball that was on fire
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Small drawing collection of my latest creation Emran as a teenager/freshly minted Air Acolyte, for my dear partner in unhinged OC shenanigans @katkastrofa, as promised <3
#my art#artists on tumblr#the legend of korra#original character#I need to figure out a way to tag these guys#like with renny and dori I just put sotrl in front of their names and that works#but emran is technically an LaF character. though not uniquely tied to that verse. and idk what to do with Ila and Alasie#maybe I need to have some unique oc tag or smth. I’ll figure it out#if you’re wondering why I stayed up until half past 7 a.m to draw this it’s because I needed some way to cool down#after the kuviren smut absolutely broke my brain#and what better way to do that than by drawing my sweet baby boy?#yes lmao he went from baby girl to baby boy in like 24 hours. fucking sue me#but actually. actually!! they’re both. they contain multitudes :)#they probably haven’t even realised that at this point and are still in disguise#convinced that she’ll be punished for her deceit if anyone found out that she’s actually a girl#(okay off topic but the switching pronouns are really fun lmao)#but give them time. they’ll figure it out soon enough. in these pieces they’re slowly getting used to temple life#and that is the first step to self acceptance#I’m actually extremely proud of these. especially the one with the apple basket. I feel like the androgynous vibes are really there#and he looks like his brother the most in it#but the others are fun too. I loved doing the portrait. I should do them more often#and.. I will admit. I traced the lemur. I can barely draw people okay how do you expect me to draw animals#but I just think that Aiza would really love a little lemur friend#animals don’t judge and she doesn’t have to watch herself around them. she can just be. plus the lemurs are really cute <3#I want to eventually do a companion to this with Aiza instead. maybe from back before she ran away#probably something based on reflection from Mulan too bc the vibes are there. though.. to be completely honest#I’d say they have a lot more of Shurochka Azarova’s vibes than Mulan. but that’s just my love for Soviet cinema taking over#it’s essentially if mulan fought napoleon instead. and when discovered instead of left to die they promoted her to lieutenant 😁#I realise the comparison is completely incomprehensible to everyone but me but.. go watch the hussar ballad. it’s free on YouTube with subs#okay enough rambling. i shall now go to bed. @ Kat I hope this brightens up your morning at least somewhat. I love you!!
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I was gonan make a post apologizing for lack of regular art but I feel like jts already clear im sporadic and in and out of it bc chronic pain and circumstances. So for now I'm gonna hibernate, get my health steady again, deal with money issues, and art will happen when it happens.
#i do feel kind of worn down by it. i wish patreon and commissions didn't feel so taxing even with accommodations ive made for myself#maybe it'll feel better in the future when less is going on but rn it#places this barrier of management in front of art that makes it less relieving to do#cause there's always a part of my brain reminding me it needs to serve a purpose and needs to pay off in some way#which isn’t a new feeling for artists obviously. maybe doing it all since hs js also why it's tiring. and patreon changjng the way it does#working part time now too. idk if maybe id like to step back from it#it's abnormal that i worked taht hard and it did help me get out from my parents and stay out. but im also tired ect#idw let people down by not being able to keep up with a self imposed expectation or#be irresponsible and remove sources of income for myself. redbubble inprnt and patreon all suck in ways that bother me hugely#i only really enjoy itch.io at the minute#not to say anything bad abt patrons or commission clients you've all been excessively kind and patient and understanding always#i wish i could make them better i feel like there's no way how it is at the minute is of value compared to my output as an older teen#but yknow. self imposed worry. im just worn out and id like to just make things without the management and the fretting and the#i havent made a comic post for patreon in ages or this or this i havent made a speedpaint or a song or#yadda yadda lmao#sorry for the impromptu ramble#this isnt to say id never do commissions or a store or anything again or i want to not make money off art#god knows i will need to be grinding out comms once im well again but ex#i feel like im getting less and less able to manage it and then putting out less and less#and hoping ill somehow get very healthy and active again one day and make it worth the wait yknow.#it's not a feeling i want my art to carry in me.#part of me and the parent in my brain is saying it'd be selfish to give up income but the rest is like#that's cruel. i want to feel good and healthy
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(genderly) chill as hell if i was only ever glimpsed / detected like this
#Shrouded In A Rectangle neither sleeves nor an open front to be besieged with? yes#just doing whatever else like doesn't matter. tee cargo shorts which is my best guess rn of my ideal outfit. + sandals Absolutely#unfortunately my hair could never do that. somehow neither am i yet like forties fifties? have i not been at this for eons?#i Can be like uh let's just nobody talk to me i'm busy pensively perceiving truths that you don't ever actually wanna hear about#just the other day it was like hey....a [way Having To Talk could be a difficulty / problem] was under my nose in this lifelong pattern#certainly noticing the Verbal Exchange Demand heaped upon burnout as like [delay delay delay struggle weariness stress]#but also who knows like spent plenty of time just probably indeed Not having to have such exchanges while burned out. not noting them#anyway like this isn't even [dysphoric Ideal Outfit until i could [whatever supposed even more ideal than that gender euphoria]]#though shoutout to that but like nah get shrouded anyway. the only [how do i look] im motivated to consider is: when it's a costume#when it's just me it's like. i guess whatever pants and a comfortable enough tee. need glasses. hair's w/e so cut quite short ig#might accessorize w/things that are fun to me like hey yeah yknow i might want a calculator watch#[yea as a kid it was like :( im actively appreciating the animals supposedly Gross or Bad] if i had hated little friends Sure yaay#if i had disorienting light effects like a pelagic creature. but you don't even need that. like hey i'm nd in real life. i got it#chat i'm in the walls too bestie lmao. if only my bigfoot pose reference Step was this good#tl;dr long rephrasing of my being like; now the gender slay....#& nodding & Noting when [worksheet exercise: what's your gender euphoria look?] is like shrug idk. but this is serving maximally to me; so#going Chat how can i up my uncanny stats. looking up ''isn't it like Uncanny knowledge e.g. so like why not....canny''#but i think the un canny is the Uncanniness Accuser's perspective. not of My ken. your literal weird one maybe#so again apt to be like jk i'm just autistic & shit; i got it....horror shit challenge impossible: Don't have sm typical mundane#[disability moment] as like Unsettling danger/malice cues. challenge impossible; again#subverted here like as [horror holding hands touching foreheads w/comedy] w/o Rescinding just casual disabled behavior/qualities#just remembered like three witches weird sisters etc macbeth. weird uncanny soothsaying gendering. word#anyway i should be shrouded (made no any connection whenever i put the blanket now over my head & shoulders in place min ago)#perhaps the real Ideal Look insight: i do not have any way i wish to be observed by people. secret passages / removed room anytime
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The PJO show is definitely not BAD, it’s very fun and cool, but tbh I dislike almost every single change they’ve made from the book lol
#disclaimer this is not about the casting I do not care about them de-blonding anyone annabeth I love u#it’s about the plot changes! I don’t like or don’t understand the point of most of them!#sally doesn’t tell him about the gods!#Percy doesn’t get mad at Grover! At least not like this!#he doesn’t get riptide back until they leave for the quest!#also the change of why he gets kicked out wasn’t like worse but I didn’t really get why they did it#and juniper???? in book one???#but the biggest thing is Gabe. I really don’t like the way they made him like wimpy?#he’s literally physically abusive in the book. he steals Percy’s money the second he steps through the door.#he’s dangerous and sally is kind of scared of him in the book. she doesn’t yell at him and demand to go away and threaten his food#idk maybe he’ll get worse later but as of now: does he deserve to get kicked out? absolutely. does he deserve to be killed? not really?#also Clarisse looks too well groomed lmao that’s NOT my war daughter#and she just makes other people bully Percy? no way. she was the one shoving his head in the toilet!!! give her her violence back!!#ALSO! where is annabeth? she’s supposed to be obsessed with him bc she thinks he’s the one to get the quest and he’s been here like two days#and she is nowhere to be found????#anyway not putting the show tag on this it’s just personal rant time#mine
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Whose your favorite drag queen?
MY PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED.
a lovely question. also a very complicated one. clears my throat . I HAVE A LOT OF THEM.
if i had to pick a solid number one ever, i'd probably say trixie mattel even though that's a basic af answer. i just watch her content the most, plus i listen to her music super frequently; in general she's the queen whose content i interact with the most and i love her.
my second favorite (a very close second, almost tied) is katya. again yeah a basic answer but its also a GOOD ANSWER. i started learning russian originally because of her, and like trixie i watch tons of videos she's in and listen to her music, just slightly less than trixie cause theres less to consume. love her vibes. whats wrong with her (lovingly). i wanna study her
easy number three placement is gottmik. inspired my dream to become a drag queen because i finally saw a queen on rpdr who was like me (transmasc) and i truly think she's had some of the MOST incredible runway looks in history, especially after her run on as9. she was robbed as fuck by the way, fuck the producers for setting up the season like that it was rigged. rigga morris. justice for mik and plastique. gottmik deserved to win season 13 (i love symone too dont get me wrong) and she ABSOLUTELY deserved to win as9. those fucking runways? not even top 3?? i'm going to kill myself in front of rupaul to permanently alter the trajectory of his life.
as for other like honorable mentions, all my answers are again very obvious because my favorites are the fan favorites but i love laganja estranja, adore delano, gigi goode, crystal methyd, bob the drag queen, peppermint, + more. oh and sasha colby. everyone loves sasha colby. i think my least obvious fav is ivy winters (s5) or max malanaphy (s7)
#now the question of my favorite SEASON of drag race.. thats a whole other thing#which#if you want to know#cough cough...#but anyway#thanks for asking so i can yap my head off LMAO#casey talks#asks#and by the way im NOT saying gottmik was robbed just because i like her. i LOVE ANGERIA but gottmik should have made top three!! at least!!#get roxxxy andrews off my goddamn tv screen AND PUT GOTTMIK WHERE SHE BELONGS#and while im at it katya shouldve won as2 i know thats a dead horse thats been kicked plenty of times#but idc#and i KNOW most people just say she was robbed because they like her more than alaska#but i DONTTT CAREEE#THATS NOT WHY *IM* SAYING IT !#im saying it cause i MEAN IT as much as i love alaska i truly think katya has more to offer than her#now trixies as3 run is controversial enough that i wont say a word about it but thank god shangela DIDNT win. anybody else is a step up
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the absolute vicious shit people think they have to say whenever the topic of 'picky eaters' comes up ESPECIALLY when it's about children is just sickening
#post : my child doesn't like carrots so I#rando : WELL I WOULD JUST *describes a thousand different ways to abuse a child* AND IM THE NORMAL ONE HERE#adult : i can't eat fish because#rando : LMAO GROW UP WHAT ARE YOU 5 FUCKING IDIOT LOL JUST STARVE FISH HAS GOOD VITAMINS JUST KYS#have y'all tried not being dicks about other people's diets ffs#especially when it's like. a video showing how a parent is successfully introducing new foods to their picky kid#like Oh they only like cheese crackers so i'm gradually nudging them towards grilled cheese sandwiches with these steps#and then hopefully use the grilled cheese as a base to introduce other types of sandwiches etc#and it's just. it works. it's respectful of the kid's boundaries. it's healthy.#and Still a thousand people just jump to say INSTEAD OF DOING THIS THING THAT WORKS TRY BEATING HIS ASS (WHICH WONT WORK)#so many people are fucking eager to tell you they Love violence against kids who have no way to defend themselves#that they're fucking sludgebrains who haven't come up with actual parenting techniques#so all they know is ''hit child'' or ''yell'' like a fucking level 1 pokémon#that they view the small young people they have agreed to take care of as dolls that must obey or get thrown against the wall in a tantrum#if your entire plans for parenting are ''i'm just gonna use violence until my human toything complies'' don't become a fucking parent#Anyway this was about picky eating and how people don't know how to mind their business about it#why are you so pressed about what someone else Doesn't put in their mouth. why are you so weird#humans come with a variety of tastes in anything from fashion to colors to home decor to favorite animal#and you can't fucking fathom that they'll also Not all want or like to eat the same things ? fucking cringe
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i was very brave and booked an appointment with a piercing studio
#i have this one piercing that’s really not healing the way i want it to#but i’ve just been putting off going to a piercer and getting some advice 🫠#and now i’m afraid of being asked why i didn’t come sooner lmao#but. this is a step in the right direction 👍
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I'm gonna vent in the tags so scroll past if ya don't wanna read all that 😃
#im fucking pissed off right now oh my god#just found out two coworkers of mine were talking maaad shit behind everyones back 😍#and the manager is siding with them! and trying to avoid hr/higher ups stepping in! isnt that cool!!#not just work related stuff (apparently talked shit about my closes when neither of them can fucking close properly???) but also#about mine and two other coworkers weight!! isn't that cool!!!#it's shit to do either way but what confuses me is that one of them is about the same size as me??? why are you talking shit?? and my two#other coworkers got it even worse because they are heavier. like what the actual fuck.#i dont think either of them are good employees but hey im not perfect either. but ive avoided talking shit about them#even thoughive been annoyed in the past few months that they've gotten preferential treatment from the manager#but talking shit about everyone who works here when they put in half assed effort and then also posting tiktoks about it?? yeah ok fuck them#they avoided an hr claim cause our manager tried to cover it up#nah im done there lmao fuck that place#ok rant done sorry y'all#personal
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i really want to be one of those beautiful girls who always have impeccable hair and natural-looking makeup but the truth is most days i truly don’t have the desire to put anything more than the bare minimum into my appearances
#i’m pretty simple tbh#i have great fashion taste (and am willing to admit it hehe) and i like to look good so i put care into choosing what clothes to wear#but i never really cared at all about makeup besides lipstick and eyeliner#(my best friend who is one of the most beautiful people i know would always wear black eyeliner and mascara and i just loved the look)#on a good day i accept myself the way i am but other times it’s hard to feel beautiful#i don’t know why but the thought of having to set aside time to do my makeup every day make me cringe a little bit inside#and then i see my little sister and my cousin and so many other girls and i’m like ‘belle you gotta step it up for people to start seeing yo#you differently and as more attractive.’#i remember when i was Little enough for my mom to do my hair every morning (and i had long hair) she would do all these fancy braids with it#and after a while i’d just… had enough of the fancy hairstyles. no more sitting still while someone braids my hair for me#so i got a shoulder-length haircut and never looked back and i’m FINE with just wearing my hair loose and natural every day now#but it’s quite think & dry & curly so it’s not always that easy#anyway traditional beauty standards SUCK#it shouldn’t be like that but it is. and i think a lot about the notion of ‘femininity’ and especially feminine beauty standards that are pl#placed on hispanic women and wonder just how much of that was passed down to me through my mother#i swear i will get a pixie cut and/or keep my hair short even if it is partially out of spite#belle speaks#this post is sponsored by tiktok LMAO
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Honestly "I could give you the world but you'd poison the seas" is Frosscore enough that it could apply to most people who have ever cared about him. But also, it should clearly be about Lis. Combine that with Aloy's "Elisabet is the only reason you even have a planet to return to" for greater impact. Boom
#not to be obsessed with not only my own playlists but also my own writing but. man. poetic cinema#starting to think that the reason fross is always self-sabotaging is because he's already convinced that everything will inevitably go wron#and instead of waiting for it to catch him off guard he just. poisons it a little himself first.#and maybe then it won't hurt as much when shit does hit the fan!#(< look at this dumbass (me) having the exact same realization about my characters five separate times bc my memory sucks 😔)#but just look at his history. every time he tried to do something the right way in earnest it got fucked up for reasons out of his control#so. i could see it. why put in the effort to do things the right way if he's gonna get disappointed in the end?#it's almost like the hurdles that he himself creates are a test. and smth can only be worth pursuing if it can endure those hurdles first#it makes sense why his redemption arc starts once he's stuck on earth and he's like.#''ok now nemesis is gonna kill me for sure. there is nothing i can do to make this situation any worse. guess i'll wash the dishes fml''#lol#but i also think about pre-apocalypse fross practically begging tilda to let him have something that's uniquely his. even if it sucks#(putting a pin on fross's anxieties about being cloned and his disdain towards aloy and beta in that regard)#because he feels like he's always been pulled by external forces and he doesn't know how to break free. doesn't think he even WANTS to#because it's all he's ever known. and stepping outside of his comfort zone is scary :')#but of course he doesn't have the emotional awareness to even be aware of any of that lmao. pity#oc: fross#oc tag#ramble#anyways. sorry i put the meat of this post in the tags. i didn't expect to write this much lol
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I’m so obsessed with how they costumed Evil Voyager in living witness. like ok to emphasize that they are bad they will have uhh black turtlenecks instead of grey. and they’re wearing. gloves. and a couple people have different hair. and like I mean this unironically I think it’s really interesting how tweaking just a couple details can change the impression of a character so much but also on a one step back level I also think it’s really funny that gloves = evil
#I’m only partway into the episode but rn it feels like it’s one of the ones that has an interesting concept#but weird and potentially unconsidered sociopolitical undertones#like ok history is constructed to tell a specific story and the evidence can be put together in multiple ways or misconstrued#good premise! different and interesting! feels a little weird that it’s the victims that we’re supposed to mistrust though yknow?#it’s like they were trying to go one step cleverer than ‘history is written by the victors’ and ended up in this odd spot instead#and it’s easy to be like oh it’s not that deep but given that this show and ds9 were contemporaries it’s harder to feel that way#there are a lot of pieces of voy I really enjoy but it does have a lot of these things that feel unconsidered#(and I do think often it’s just an issue of not thinking rather than malice although I’m willing to make an exception for retrospect)#like I get why a lot of people like a lot of pieces of this show but don’t count it as a favorite overall I think#this post was originally about costuming huh. oh well.#I have shit to say and I didn’t feel like making a second post lmao#voy liveblog
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Also I love when I order something and then almost immediately see a better way of doing what I was going to try to do and then getting to cancel the order and save my money. Feels like a very cheap drug
#so i’m trying to set my ipad up in such a way that i can type comfortably on it#i’ve already ordered what looks like a pretty good bluetooth keyboard and i was like ‘okay but i need to elevate my ipad to eye level so i’m#not looking down’ and i found an adjustable stand thing#it’s a bit like a tripod you can place on a table. you just put the device in it and adjust the height and it holds it up#it looked precarious but the reviews are good so i was like ‘fuck it’#THEN tell me why i saw a video of someone typing on a bluetooth keyboard with their laptop (which they’re using only as a monitor) on top of#a pile of books. girl WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THAT#that’s so much more sturdy and i have a case that’ll hold my ipad in place!!!!#i have So many books. like. it makes way more sense to just do it that way#i was dithering going ‘i can put a step stool on the table’ literally why am i stupid. i mean i don’t care about my dining room table#but like. really lmao. A STEP STOOL#finally a use for all the knitting books i never made anything from#anyway if you need me i’ll be stalking my credit card statement waiting for the refund#and outlining because now i have no excuse not to write!!!#personal
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SWORN RIVALS
Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!Reader
Summary - Taking up sparring with your sworn rival is likely never a good idea.
Warnings - barely edited, blood, implied fighting, suggestive language but no real smut, likely ooc given that the episode hasn't even aired yet lmao
Word Count - 1.1k
!MINORS DNI!
// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //
Pain splinters throughout your hand as your knuckles collide with his jaw. He stumbles backwards—just barely managing to keep himself from falling right onto his ass.
“You fight like a girl,” you jeer, purposefully antagonizing him. “Though I suppose that’s to be expected of a Blackwood.”
A raspy laugh rumbles through Benjicot Blackwood’s chest—a bitter, deep sound that sets your toes curling.
“You’ve got quite a mouth on you.” Forcing his chin high, he flashes his crimson-stained teeth in a wry grin, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. He muses, “But perhaps we should put it to better use, don’t you think?”
You cut your eyes at the bawdy implication. “You’re disgusting, Ben.”
Another chuckle as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, inadvertently smearing blood along his bottom lip. The sight is entrancing—in a morbid sort of way. It glistens like pomegranate juice and, for a mere breath, you wonder if it would taste half as sweet.
“C’mon!” Ben’s teasing tone slices through your thoughts, forcing some sense back into you. “Don’t act like you’ve never thought of it before,” he says, waving a hand between you both, “the two of us–”
You don’t let him finish his sentence, cutting him off with a sharp glare. “I haven’t,” you practically snarl, taking a half-step towards him. “And you shouldn’t either,” you add, “I’d much prefer to be left out of your…" you blow out an exasperated breath, "depraved fantasies!”
“Oh, but you are my depraved fantasies, sweetheart.” Ben’s grin widens as you groan, shaking your head at him. “You're also a liar, Bracken,” he adds, “and a shitty one, at that!”
“You can believe whatever you want, Blackwood—but that won't make it true.”
“Just admit it,” he continues. Swinging one foot forward, he takes a lazy step towards you—then another. “That’s why you train with me, isn’t it? ‘Cause you’re so desperate for someone to put you in your place—and none of those pansies along the Red Fork are fit for the task, are they?”
You grit your teeth, knowing that his words aren’t entirely false.
Training with Ben hadn’t necessarily been a purposeful decision. It was something that just sort of happened. Yet, in spite of the rivalry between your families, you’re willing to admit that you do prefer training with him over the Tully or Roote boys.
He fought you like a true opponent—unlike the others, who felt the need to pull their punches or slow their own strikes, forever treating you like a helpless maiden rather than an equal.
In many ways, you found Ben to be more tolerable than any other boy in the Riverlands, anyway. He was fierce and tough and undeniably skilled with both blade and fists, making him your ideal sparring partner.
You still despise him, though—if only because that is what’s expected of you by your father, the Head of House Bracken.
“Big talk from the boy who hasn’t gotten a single hit in today,” you smugly remind him. “Perhaps if you spent as much time training as you do thinking with your cock, you might actually stand a chance at victory, Benji.”
Less than a foot-or-so of space separates the two of you when he finally stops, his grin souring like rotted fruit.
“Don’t call me that,” he chides, his bottom lip jutting slightly. Your brow furrows, trying to discern if he’s pouting or if it’s simply swelling from when you hit him. “Besides,” Ben continues, “have you ever considered that maybe I’m just going easy on you?”
You don’t buy his weak attempt at goading you—though you do entertain it, asking, “And why would you do that?”
His shoulder lifts into a languid shrug. “Maybe I like it when you push me around,” he drawls, teasing.
Another step and he’s towering over you, his chest mere inches from yours. His scent—a blend of leather and rich sandalwood—floods your nostrils, stirring your senses and leaving you dizzy.
“Although,” Ben’s smirk returns, laden with his usual mischief, “I think I’d like you even more if you were on your knees-”
A scoff rips from your throat, cutting him off with a rough swat to his chest. “Oh, go fuck yourself, Blackwood!”
“Only if you’ll watch, Bracken,” he croons, mocking you.
Every inch of your body is suddenly humming to life, an unrelenting blaze of rage—or was it desire?—setting your nerves alight. Before you can muster a response, a comeback, his fingers have closed around one of your wrists.
“Go on,” Ben murmurs, his voice tantalizingly low. Your breath hitches as he presses your hand to his chest, feeling his pulse beat beneath your palm. “Hit me,” he dares, louder now. “Push me.”
You don’t speak—don’t move, as those storm-cloud eyes dip once again. “Fucking do it—”
You cut him off, fingers curling around the scarlet fabric of his tunic—you should kill him for being so crude, for acting so utterly lascivious!
And yet, despite all logic and reason, you tug him closer. Pulling him down to your level in one swift motion, crashing your lips together in a kiss that is anything but soft.
On instinct, your other hand slips to the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in soft, brown hair. You feel his heartbeat stutter beneath your fist, still gripping his tunic. For no more than a breath, you worry you’ve fucked this whole thing up.
This is wrong! You scream at yourself. Wrong wrong wrong!
But then he moves—hooking an arm around your waist, his nails sinking into your hip in an effort to bring you closer—and you loathe just how right this feels.
Your legs tremble as his tongue slides along your lower lip, a soft moan spilling into his mouth. You feel him grin against you—can taste the blood on his lips, the bitter sweetness dancing on your tongue as he utters, “Eager, are we?”
Tightening your grip on his hair, he hiss slips from his teeth. “Shut up.”
He obliges—his mouth drifting from your lips to your jaw, leaving a bloody trail of kisses in his wake. You try not to think as he finally reaches your neck, earning a soft whine as he nips at your flesh. You try to forget who he is—that you’re supposed to hate him—as he shoves his leg between yours, offering you the very friction you so desperately desired.
“This changes nothing, Benji,” you pant.
He bristles at the nickname, letting his teeth sink deeper into your flesh, a deep bruise already blooming along your neck. “Sure." His own breathing is frantic and uneven as he rasps, “Whatever you say..”
Your hand falls from his chest to his breeches, fingers already fumbling with the laces when you choke out, “I still think you’re disgusting, Blackwood.”
His own touch disappears beneath your tunic, fingertips trailing along every inch of your skin until his palms finally skim along your bare breasts. He gives one a rough squeeze before flashing that stupid, bloody grin of his.
“And you’re still a liar, Bracken.”
a/n - writing fan fic for a character that hasn't even appeared on screen yet is wild. (hbo, this better be bloody ben or else I'll riot because this is perfect casting). anyway, I don't wanna be held accountable for how terrible, short, and rushed this is (I was bored and didn't feel like putting more effort into this than necessary rn) OR how wildly ooc this will likely prove to be come Sunday.
also---turns out that writing without actually knowing the character is hard! who'd have thunk, am I right?
#hotd imagine#house of the dragon imagine#ben blackwood imagine#benjicot blackwood#benjicot blackwood imagine#bloody ben imagine#bloody ben#ben blackwood#ben blackwood x reader#benjicot blackwood x reader#bloody ben x reader#benji blackwood#hotd x reader#house of the dragon x reader#house of the dragon fanfic#hotd imagines#hotd fanfic#house of the dragon#ben blackwood imagines
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red velvet hearts.
pairing: bad boy!donghyuck x baker!reader
genre: fluff, slight angst
word count: 7.7k
synopsis: you patch up a boy with a bloody nose and bruised knuckles, only to find out that he has quite the sweet tooth.
author’s note: why do i keep injuring hyuck in all my fics lmao??? anyways i tried to write his character a bit differently than i usually do to challenge myself so please let me know how you guys like it! also remember, ladies: this is fiction. you cannot fix him <3
warning(s): brief description of injuries, mentions of violence, maximum amounts of cringe and melodrama
playlist: all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine ― heart eyes by coin ― close to you by gracie abrams ― sidelines by phoebe bridgers ― the alchemy by taylor swift
RECIPE 1. TIRAMISU
“This is not what I meant when I said you need your back blown out.”
“Not funny. I almost died,” you grumble as you wrap the back brace around your torso. You hate the immediate relief you feel from the support it provides, no longer able to tell yourself that it’s really not as bad as it seems―which only makes you angrier.
“Throwing your back out while lifting a giant bag of flour and nearly getting crushed to death by said flour is genuinely the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Yeri, your best friend (derogatory), snorts as she shakes her head. “I wish you had cameras in the storage room because I want to see that shit so bad.”
“Thank you for the brace. You can get the hell out now.” You roll your eyes.
“So, what are you going to do now? Aren’t you swamped with orders?” Yeri asks, ignoring you completely.
You have no clue what you’re going to do now. It isn’t just orders you have to worry about fulfilling; it’s also the freshly baked pastries that you have to sell every morning. After a year of blood, sweat, and tears, the bakery that you built from the ground up is finally starting to gain some stable business. So, of course, you chose now of all times to try to lift a bag of flour over your shoulder like you were Dwayne The Rock Johnson.
“I think I’ll have to hire some temporary help,” you answer begrudgingly.
“You could sound less like someone is holding you at gunpoint,” Yeri snorts, “Come on. It had to happen sooner or later anyway.”
“I was handling things just fine on my own.”
“Were you, though?” Yeri raises an eyebrow, gesturing to your current state.
You fear you walked right into that one. “Shut up and help me make some posters.”
The two of you eventually manage to whip up some haphazard “Help Wanted” posters, the letters written in glitter pen and Yeri’s clumsy bubble text. You tried your best to fill in the empty gaps on the construction paper by placing Pompompurin stickers that you normally give to customers’ kids all over it. The posters look like a nine-year-old girl’s school project gone wrong, but you hope it’s charming enough to catch some attention.
By the time you and Yeri finish hanging up all the posters, the sun is already starting to set, and all you want to do is go home and put a heating pad on your back. After saying bye to Yeri, you start making your way back to the bakery to lock up. Once you arrive, you notice a figure dressed in black slumped over in front of the door. You can see their shoulders rise up and down as they take in labored breaths, leaning against the glass door for support.
Every rational fiber in your being screams at you to not approach the stranger alone, but it’s not like you can just leave this person at the front of your place of business. Cautiously taking a step forward, you squat down to eye level with the stranger, wincing slightly from back pain. Through the sweaty and matted mess of his brown fringe, you can see that the stranger is a young man around your age. However, his face is absolutely battered: bloody (and almost certainly broken) nose, split lip, black eye swollen shut, and a jagged cut on his cheek. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t show it, keeping his head hung down.
Gingerly placing a hand on his arm, you give him a small shake. “Excuse me? Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?”
His brows furrow, and he opens an eye (the only one he’s probably able to open) with a wince before lifting a finger and putting it against his lips. You notice that his knuckles are completely scraped raw.
“Not so loud. I’m okay,” he answers.
“You don’t look―”
As if on cue, his stomach rumbles with a guttural growl that slowly drawls into a sputtering gurgle before dying out all together―leaving a long silence to hang between the two of you.
After another beat, he gives you a sheepish smile. “You got anything to eat?”
You stare at him for a moment; his face is flushed, pink all the way down to his neck.
And like a stupid horror movie character who opens the door to a room that clearly screams danger, you nod.
.
.
.
Fortunately, he―Donghyuck, as he introduced himself―ends up not being a crazy ax murderer.
Unfortunately, you find yourself awkwardly sitting in your closed bakery with a virtual stranger, fiddling with a first aid kit while watching him absolutely devour a piece of leftover tiramisu that you had in your fridge. If the situation wasn’t so insane, you might actually think it was pretty funny. For someone who looks the way he does, this current picture of Donghyuck absolutely doesn’t suit him―bruised chipmunk cheeks stuffed with ladyfingers and cocoa powder stuck on his split lip.
When he’s finished, Donghyuck looks over at you with a mesmerized expression on his face, as if you just fed him ambrosia. There’s a softness to his face that you didn’t think could exist underneath all that grime and dried blood.
“That was…delicious,” he breathes.
“Thanks,” you snort, pushing a glass of water towards him. Unsurprisingly, he chugs it in the blink of an eye. “I still think you should get those injuries checked out, though.”
“Nah, I’ll rub a little spit in them and it’ll be fine,” he shrugs.
“Don’t be gross,” you sigh, scooting your chair closer to him as you set the first aid kit on the table. “Now, come here.”
Donghyuck reluctantly dips his head, and you carefully cup his jaw for support, disinfecting and applying ointment on the cuts and scrapes on his face. You also clean up the dried blood near his nostrils and on his bottom lip, and he doesn’t flinch even when you accidentally brush tender areas like his broken nose or the gash on his mouth. Instead, he stays perfectly still, leaned back in the chair with his forearms resting on his thighs and fingers nonchalantly laced together.
He keeps his gaze trained on something past your shoulder, and you also try your best to focus, but it’s hard to keep yourself from staring―especially when his demeanor has changed so much. He’s so calm and quiet in such a cold, ruthless manner, as if he’s physically steeling himself from pain―like he’s done this a million times before. Occasionally, you feel his eyes swipe across your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention, and it occurs to you how close the two of you are. Suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the heat of his skin against your palm and fingertips, and you rip your hand away from his jaw.
Clearing your throat, you move onto his hands, dabbing his raw knuckles with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol before placing large band-aids on them. Despite your best efforts, it’s hard not to notice how slim his long fingers are or how surprisingly clean his nail beds are for someone who’s covered in blood. You keep your head completely bent, fighting the urge of looking up and possibly meeting his eyes.
“There, all done,” you announce a little too loudly.
“Thank you,” he says softly, “for the cake and for this. For helping me.”
“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t do much,” you blurt, still avoiding eye contact as you clean up the table. However, you notice in your peripheral that his gaze follows your movements, almost hesitantly, before he asks:
“So, you’re hiring?”
You click the first-aid kit shut, blinking a few times before turning back to him. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an answer.
“I―yeah. How did you know that?” you ask, puzzled by such a random question.
Donghyuck points at a poster that you didn’t even know you left here, sitting on the table right behind you. You realize that he was probably looking at it while you were patching him up.
“That poster that says ‘help wanted.’ With the Pompompurin stickers. I’m actually in between jobs right now, so if you would have me―”
“You know Pompompurin?” you interrupt him. It’s not that important and should not stand out to you as much as it does. Yet, you can’t help but grin at the fact that someone like him knows about a tubby Golden Retriever character with a name that sounds like a mashup of the English language’s most adorable onomatopeias.
Donghyuck trails off, stiffening as if you just found out his deepest, darkest secret. He opens his mouth slightly, trying to speak but unable to formulate a response―an excuse, rather. Instead, he just lets out an airy cough, putting a hand over his mouth and turning away from you in an attempt to obscure his face. Despite his best efforts, he can’t hide his glowing red ears and the way his earlier coldness melts away.
“I―yeah,” he responds, words slightly muffled by his hand.
You struggle to maintain your composure as you gnaw on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. Fighting a smile in your voice, you finally say:
“The pay won’t be that much, but you’ll get a bunch of free desserts at the end of the day. Are you okay with that?”
It takes him a moment to process that you’re offering him the job, and you watch his eyes light up and a warm smile overtake his face. There’s still a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks, clashing with the purple bruising and swelling of his injuries.
“I’d love nothing more.”
Suddenly, it occurs to you that Donghyuck somewhat reminds you of a tiramisu.
He may look a bit rugged and grimey, bitter like coffee, but in actuality, underneath it all, he’s soft and fluffy (but not too sweet) like a mascarpone filling.
RECIPE 2. BLUEBERRY PIE
“Are you out of your mind?”
You cringe away from your phone, hurriedly turning the volume down. “Damn, you don’t have to scream like that.”
“You should be the one screaming,” Yeri hollers. “I better not come over one day and find your body stuffed in the freezer or something.”
“I thought you wanted me to hire someone!”
“Not some random dude off the side of the street who was covered in injuries and doesn’t even have any baking experience,” Yeri hisses.
“I don’t need him to bake. I just have him working the front counter and doing all the heavy lifting when I get my ingredient shipments,” you protest. “Did you think I would really just hand over all my orders to some random dude and go party it up in Cancún or something?”
Yeri is silent for several seconds before asking, “He’s hot, isn’t he?”
“What?”
“So you did know what I meant when I said you needed your back blown out.” You can hear the smugness in her voice.
“Yeri,” you say tiredly, “please be serious.”
“I am serious. You’re the one being unserious,” she retorts. “Yesterday, you acted like you would rather sacrifice your firstborn child before hiring a part-timer, and now look at you. Dickmatized.”
“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”
“So, when do I get to meet him―”
You quickly hit the button to end the call and shove your phone into your pocket, letting out an exasperated sigh. You definitely won’t be hearing the end of that for a while. Your face feels warm for some reason, and you decide that you need a coffee break. After you finish making it, you pour yourself and Donghyuck a cup.
You peek your head out from the curtain that separates the kitchen and the front counter to see if Donghyuck is busy. He’s politely chatting with an elderly woman, and your eyes nearly pop out of your head when he takes out the entire tray of egg tarts in the glass display and wraps it up for her. The woman happily hands him a wad of bills and waves him goodbye. After putting the cash in the register, Donghyuck turns around and catches you in the middle of gawking.
“Oh, Y/N. I was actually just about to head back there. We’re out of egg tarts for the display,” he says nonchalantly.
“Uh, yeah, I can see that,” you whisper loudly, “Was that Mrs. Kim? Why the hell did she order a dozen egg tarts? That woman can barely finish a single cookie.”
Donghyuck blinks, clearly confused, whispering back, “She asked for my recommendation, so I said egg tarts since no one had bought any yet, and she said she would take all of them.”
You pause, things finally clicking. Grinning knowingly, you say, “You know, having you work the front is doing wonders for sales.”
“I don’t understand.” He furrows his brows.
You laugh, handing him his cup of coffee. “I’m talking about your face card, Donghyuck. You’re too handsome, so you’re flustering the customers.”
“Are we not whispering anymore?” he asks awkwardly. “Besides, that’s not true. Look at the state of my face right now.”
His injuries have faded significantly, but the bruising and cuts are still there. You want to tell him that superficial wounds can’t mask the warmth in his caramel-brown eyes, the fullness of his cheeks and the sharp jawline, and the air of mystery that enshrouds him and draws people in.
But you don’t.
“Well, for someone who’s only been working here for two weeks, you’re doing superb. Injuries or not.”
And it’s true. You’ve always preferred to work alone because you’re the only one who understands how you want things done. You naturally assumed it would be a hassle and a waste of time to try to explain to someone else when you could just do it yourself, but Donghyuck never seems to need an explanation. In fact, he knows before even you.
He gets to the bakery three hours before you, cleans and preps all the equipment you need for the day, unloads the ingredient shipments, and is already manning the front counter by the time you arrive like it was no big deal at all. He also seems to have a sixth sense of knowing when you’re about to do something you shouldn’t be, even though you downplayed your back injury. He’s somehow always there―moving all the stuff you keep on the top shelf to somewhere within your reach even though you insisted that the rickety wooden step stool you use is perfectly safe, cleaning up a glass beaker that you accidentally shattered, taking out the trash during his breaks, checking in on you when you skip lunch. He even turned down his first paycheck, saying it’s repayment for patching him up and feeding him.
Donghyuck is so perfect that sometimes you wonder if you’re being set up, like maybe he’s secretly embezzling money from the cash register―which would be a more viable theory if he didn’t drive an Audi to work everyday.
“Thanks for the compliment. And the coffee,” Donghyuck says, snapping you out of your thoughts. He gingerly takes a sip and makes a strangled noise, a mixture being choking and retching, before slapping a hand over his mouth.
“Are you okay? Was it too hot?” you ask worriedly.
“No, it’s just…really bitter,” he mumbles, words muffled in his hand.
“Oh,” you blink, “Sorry. I drink black coffee, so I forgot to ask if you wanted creamer and sugar. Come on, there’s some in the back.”
The two of you head to the kitchen, and you watch him dump an exorbitant amount of creamer and sugar in his coffee, the dark roast swirling into something more akin to milk tea.
“You know, there might be some chocolate milk in the fridge if you’d rather that,” you tease.
His head shoots up, those doe eyes lighting up. “Really?”
“No,” you trail off awkwardly, “Sorry, I'm just messing with you.”
It’s a bit adorable that you can visibly see him being disappointed in there not being chocolate milk before growing embarrassed, looking down at his cup. He turns away from you, but you can see the flush on the back of his neck.
“You really have a sweet tooth, huh?” you laugh.
“Pretty lame, right?”
“Why would that be lame? You’re talking to someone who owns a bakery, in case you forgot.”
Donghyuck smiles at you, and it’s sugary sweet like buttercream frosting. He looks at you like you just said the most wonderful thing in the world; in fact, he always makes you feel like that, no matter what you say or do. “I guess you’re right.”
“What’s your favorite dessert?” you blurt, needing a distraction urgently.
He pauses briefly. “I don’t think I have one.”
That actually surprises you. “You don’t? Even though you love sweets so much?”
He laughs, the sound harsh and rough, and it almost makes you flinch. “I’ve never really had an opportunity to have many until now.”
There’s clearly weight behind his words, but you know you’re not in a position to ask any further. A selfish part of you wants to be important enough to him that you are in a position to know more, but you’re all too aware about him very purposefully keeping you at arm’s length.
“Well, you have plenty of time to find out,” you quickly continue, pretending not to notice. “Actually, I’m going to a blueberry farm tomorrow because I’m thinking about adding blueberry pie to the menu. When I get back, I’ll bake one for you, and you can be the first to taste test it!”
“You’re going by yourself?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow.
“Of course. Who else would I go with?”
“Me. I’ll go with you,” he replies immediately.
“But it’s, like, a forty-five-minute bus ride to the farm. Plus, coming with me to get ingredients isn’t part of your job description anyway,” you explain.
“I can’t come with you on my own free time?” he asks, tilting his head. “Besides, I’m worried about you overexerting yourself with that back injury. A bumpy bus ride definitely isn’t going to help, so I’ll drive us there.”
“You’re going to drive that fancy ass car to a farm? You do realize it’s going to be dirt roads, right?” You cross your arms.
“I think I’ll live. Besides, what makes you think this is the only fancy ass car I own?” He gives you an amused smile.
“You’re joking, right?” You stare at him.
He hesitates for a moment. “Yes.”
“That doesn’t sound―”
“What time are we leaving tomorrow morning?”
“...Seven.”
.
.
.
Unsurprisingly, Donghyuck picks you up right on time, not a minute too early or late. As the universe would have it, it rained the night prior―meaning all the dirt roads are now rivers of mud. You wince every time you heard a splat of mud hit Donghyuck’s pristine white car, but he seems to pay no mind to it. The two of you arrive at the farm within twenty minutes (he found a shortcut), and because you came so early, you get the entire farm to yourselves. The staff arms both of you with a large wicker basket each before setting you loose onto the massive property.
“Okay, make sure to pick the fat ones. The small ones are super tart, so avoid those,” you instruct Donghyuck. “We’re going to fill these baskets to the brim and get our money’s worth.”
“You got it, Captain.” He salutes.
You give him a determined nod and a thumbs up before turning to your respective side and beginning to pick the blueberries. The two of you work without much fanfare or conversation, and it’s a silence that lingers between you comfortably. It reassures you to hear the sound of the bushes rustling from Donghyuck working; his companionship alone relaxes you.
Eventually, when the sun starts peeking through and the weather grows warmer, both of you decide to take a break. You find a spot in the shade before sitting down, pulling out snacks and bottles of water from a backpack Donghyuck brought along.
“I have a surprise for you,” you tell him, trying to hide a smile. “Close your eyes.”
He eyes you suspiciously but does so anyway. You fish out a handful of unripe blueberries wrapped in a handkerchief from your pocket and feed some to him. His reaction is nearly instant the moment he starts chewing them; you watch as his face puckers up from how sour they are and his entire body shrivels into itself, a shudder running through him. He’s polite enough to not spit them out, but you’re not polite enough to resist pointing and laughing at him. Throwing your head back, you laugh so hard that your stomach starts to hurt.
“Oh my God, your face!”
“Ugh,” Donghyuck groans, taking a big gulp of his water. “I should’ve known you had sinister intentions from the start.”
“I didn’t think you’d react like that,” you finally manage to say after catching your breath. “You really can’t handle anything except for sweet stuff.”
“Are you having fun bullying me?” He rolls his eyes.
“So much fun,” you say in a sing-song voice.
Donghyuck tries to continue feigning annoyance, but he can’t help the low chuckle that rumbles in his chest. His eyes always soften when he looks at you, and his gaze is intimate like a lover’s―gentle, tender, unwavering, and vulnerable. But his warmth is always fleeting, and he only allows you glimpses of it through the unmoving walls that he’s erected around himself.
You wish he wouldn’t indulge you so, terrified you’ll try to cross the line he’s drawn between the two of you.
“What are you thinking about?” Donghyuck asks, trying to read your expression
“About the delicious pie I’m about to make when we get back,” you smile.
“I see,” he responds, though it’s clear he isn’t convinced. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“You better be. This is how I’m paying you back for driving me here,” you nod.
“Instead of that, pay me back by telling me what your favorite dessert is,” he suddenly says. “I do still want the pie, though.”
“That was random,” you snort. “Why do you want to know my favorite dessert?”
“Because you asked me, but you never told me yours.”
You suppose he has a point, but you find it ironic that he wants to know more about you when he refuses to offer you even a modicum of information about himself. Despite this, you tell him anyway because you are obviously the fool here.
“If you must know, it’s red velvet cake,” you sigh.
“Why?”
You don’t answer at first, carefully thinking about if you’re ready to be vulnerable in front of him―still a virtual stranger. A virtual stranger who loves sweets. A virtual stranger who is a bit of a messy eater. A virtual stranger who knows Pompompurin. A virtual stranger who worries about you even when he’s not on the clock. A virtual stranger who gently tells you to be careful whenever you try to do something dangerous, whispering, “I’ll do it instead.” A virtual stranger who allows his luxury car to be caked in mud for you.
“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life,” you finally say. “I baked it for my mom’s birthday, and I think I ended up being more excited than her.”
Donghyuck stays quiet, gauging your reaction.
“I was in college, studying to be a doctor like everyone else in my family. So, like a dumb young person who thought that dreams were more important than money, I dropped out of college and went to culinary school. My parents told me I was ruining mine and their lives, disowned me, yada-yada―a bunch of depressing stuff, you know. Eventually, I graduated, took out a huge loan, and opened up my own bakery. Worked a bunch of part-time jobs until my business could stand on its own. Now here I am. Still in debt, though,” you laugh awkwardly. “But I’m not doing too shabby. I was able to hire you, so at least I have a little cash to spare.”
He still doesn’t say anything, so you find yourself starting to ramble. You’re really not sure what possessed you to trauma dump on him like that.
“You know, a lot of people talk shit about red velvet cake because they say the only thing that makes it special is the red food coloring,” you hurriedly explain, “but that’s not true. The cream cheese frosting is super important too. Also, I always say love is the most important ingredient of all. As a baker, you’re kind of baring your heart to the customer, and isn’t it kind of cute that red velvet cake is red like a heart? Okay, please say something now or else I think I’m going to projectile vomit.”
Donghyuck reaches over and brushes a sweaty lock of hair out of your face. His fingers brush over your temple, which makes you sharply suck in a breath. You almost lean into his touch, but you catch yourself. His hand slightly lingers on the side of your neck, like he wants to bring your face closer, but he eventually pulls away.
He searches your face, and you’re not sure what he’s looking for―if anything. Rather, perhaps he’s not searching. Perhaps he’s committing your features to his memory, as if the way you look right now is something he wants to remember forever.
“You’ve worked hard, Y/N,” he says softly, voice slightly hoarse. “This is long overdue, but congratulations. You achieved your dream, and don’t let anyone ever discount that. Not even yourself.”
You wonder how long you’ve waited to hear that. You’re not even sure you knew you needed to hear that. But when Donghyuck says it, it hits you just how long and hard you’ve worked all on your own without a single break. Throughout the years, you’ve really only ever heard, “I’m sorry that happened.” When was the last time someone congratulated you? When was the last time you congratulated yourself?
You surge forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his shoulder. Donghyuck cradles you against him, one hand wound tightly around your waist while the other is tangled in your hair. You can feel his chest rise up and down as he holds you. He smells like lavender soap and a bit earthy from being outside, and the warmth of his skin against your cheek makes you want to close your eyes and fall asleep in his arms.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
“No, thank you,” he murmurs into your hair.
You’re not sure why he’s thanking you instead, but what you are sure of is that you’re crossing the line, taking a step towards him and wondering if he’ll meet you halfway.
.
.
.
“Tada!” you announce cheerfully, setting down the freshly baked blueberry pie onto the table.
Donghyuck claps excitedly. “Holy shit, it looks amazing.”
“I’m still trying to figure out the right portions for the filling, so let me know if you think there’s too much or little,” you tell him as you hand him a slice.
Without even answering you, he stabs his fork into the pie and almost eats the entire slice in one bite, seemingly unbothered by the steam still rising from it.
“Be careful. You’re going to burn your tastebuds off. I’m not letting you eat it for shits and giggles, you know. This is for research purposes.” You cross your arms.
“It’s perfect, Y/N. I’m serious,” Donghyuck says after swallowing. “The filling isn’t too sweet, and the crust is airy and light.”
“Well, alright, Gordon Ramsay. I think we’re going to be adding a new menu item then,” you smile. “Think you can get Mrs. Kim to buy a dozen of these?”
“I don’t think she’ll need much convincing with how good these taste.”
“You’re so easy,” you tease. “All I need to do is feed you. Anyways, I’m going to clean up here, but you should head home. It’s getting late, and you wake up way earlier than me.”
“I’ll help,” he insists.
“Go,” you order, pointing at the door. “I can handle it.”
He looks conflicted but eventually relents when you threaten to physically kick him out. Before he leaves, he turns back to you and says, “Thank you, Y/N.”
“Why do you keep thanking me?” you laugh.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had this.”
“What? A blueberry pie?”
Donghyuck pauses, a slight wonder in his expression, as if he’s realizing his answer for the first time as well.
“Peace.”
And you think maybe this is a step forward for him too.
RECIPE 3. CREAM PUFF
It’s quite surreal how easily and naturally you and Donghyuck fall into a routine together. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, two weeks becomes two months. You’ve learned the little things about him, like how he always swipes some icing before you can fill up the piping bag or that he’s not a coffee drinker at all (more of a hot cocoa person) or that he purses his lips when a dessert he’s testing tastes off (no matter how hard he tries to hide it) or that he involuntarily sticks his arm out in front of you when he wants to stop you from doing something you shouldn’t.
You also notice that he sometimes comes into work with injuries. They’re not nearly as bad as the first time you met him, but it’s hard to ignore a bruised cheek or bloodied knuckles. He always has a reason for them, whether it’s tripping down the stairs or accidentally falling down and scraping his hands on the concrete. You can tell by the way he laughs it off that he doesn’t plan on telling you the truth, so you laugh with him. The two of you, having taken only a step towards one another, find yourselves completely immobile now.
He always does this: envelops you like a cloud but disappears the moment you reach out for him.
You’re honestly not sure why he’s still here. Your injury has long healed, and he clearly doesn’t need the abysmal pay you’re giving him. He feels like he’ll slip away at any moment, fleeting like a warm spring breeze, and you suppose time flies by when you know it’s limited. Despite knowing that, you can’t help but desperately want him to stay.
“I think it’s cute how hard he’s working,” Yeri randomly says one day as she eyes Donghyuck prepare orders in the front. He’s in the middle of a lunchtime rush, so he doesn’t even notice the two of you watching him like weirdos.
“Well, that’s what I’m paying him to do,” you reply, rolling his eyes.
“Oh, I think the money is the least of his worries here,” she hums, taking a sip of her coffee.
She has a point, but you’re pretty sure she’s implying something else as well. Just as you go to ask her what exactly she means, you hear a loud clatter. Flinching, you turn your attention back to Donghyuck and realize that he’s dropped a tray on the floor. However, the tray is the last thing on your mind when you see the expression on his face. It’s a mixture of horror, anger, and almost sadness―like he’s finally come face-to-face with whatever he’s been running from. It makes your blood run cold.
Donghyuck is looking at a boy around his age; the boy has dark hair, a mole under his eye, and a grim expression. More importantly, he’s covered in injuries too.
“Who is that?” Yeri whispers. “Why does Donghyuck look like he’s seen a ghost?”
Maybe because he has, you want to tell her.
Donghyuck grabs the boy's arm, squeezing so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and mumbles something to him. When he turns around and meets your eyes, he looks pained and fearful as if you witnessed something you shouldn’t have.
“Is it okay if I take my break early today?” he asks calmly, though the tremor in his voice gives him away.
You nod hesitantly, unable to force yourself to speak. You watch him as he drags the boy out; when he passes you, you can tell how tightly his body is wound right now. His jaw is clenched, a muscle spasming as he tries to control himself, and every step he takes seems labored. He’s running on pure adrenaline right now, like he’s physically steeling himself.
However, you don’t think he’s ever appeared so incredibly alone before. As you watch his back disappear further and further from your view, you’re unsure if he’ll ever return, and you never imagined how terrifying that would be.
.
.
.
The cream puffs aren’t rising.
You’re crouched in front of the oven, watching the dough remain flat and lifeless. You should’ve known better than to attempt to make cream puffs on such a shitty day, especially when pastries like these are so sensitive to the environment and atmosphere. Even though you know you should probably just scrap them and try again, you wait for just a little longer, hoping that maybe if you wish hard enough that they’ll magically start to rise.
But then again you suppose that no matter how hard you try, no matter how careful you are, no matter how perfect the batter is, no matter how much time you spend time piping them, no matter how much you want them to rise, they won’t.
You decide that Donghyuck isn’t like a tiramisu at all; he’s sensitive and delicate and elusive and frustrating like a cream puff.
“Y/N, they’re burning.”
Losing your balance and nearly falling over, you gasp loudly. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even hear Donghyuck walk into the kitchen, nor did you smell the undeniable scent of something being burnt to a crisp.
“Oh, fu―!” you curse, hurriedly opening the oven and casually suffocating both you and Donghyuck with a hot plume of air. Sputtering, you look around and grab a random rag from the sink before reaching for the cream puffs.
“Wait, stop!” Donghyuck stops you with an outstretched arm, his hand pressed to your side. “Let me do it.”
He gently takes the rag from your hand and removes the tray of charred cream puffs from the oven, dumping them into the trash before putting the tray in the sink and running some water on it―just how you like it.
Letting out a relieved sigh, he turns back to you and asks, “Are you okay? It’s not like you to make a mistake like that. You didn’t get burned anywhere, did you?”
When you don’t answer immediately, Donghyuck rushes forward and grabs your hands, carefully examining your fingers and arms. “Wait, are you hurt? Where? Tell me where you got burned. We have to cool it down with some lukewarm water. And don’t just say you’re fine. Burns are not a joke, Y/N―why are you looking at me like that?”
His hands are calloused and rough, and you can still see scabs from where he tore his knuckles, yet he touches you like you’re the delicate one. He’s covered in fresh and old wounds, yet he looks so panicked at the thought of you having a scratch.
“Shut up,” you whisper furiously, ripping your hands away from him. “From now on, don’t ask me another question. It’s my turn to ask you questions.”
He blinks, a bit stunned by your reaction, but it’s clear he knows what you’re about to say. He goes to reach for you again but decides against it. “Okay.”
“Who was that guy?” you demand. “Why are you always covered in injuries? Why did you lie to me? Who are you?”
“He’s an old friend,” Donghyuck starts quietly.
“Do you treat all your friends like that?”
“When I don’t want to see them.”
You wait for him to continue.
“Before I met you, he and I and a few of our other friends worked…odd jobs for cash,” he explains, and he looks like he’s choking on every word. “The jobs usually entailed us hurting people and also getting hurt. I did a lot of shit I wasn’t proud of. At the time, I didn’t really care. It was just nice to feel something, whether it was the adrenaline rush from doing the punching or the pain from being punched. I got a bunch of money, bought a bunch of expensive stuff, but none of it mattered. Eventually, I just felt nothing again. I didn’t even have the energy to loathe myself anymore. So, I took one last job, got the shit kicked out of me, and then I left. That’s when you found me―”
He inhales, and his eyes flicker towards you. He gazes at you so longingly, as if you were impossibly out of his reach, that you can’t help but involuntarily take a step towards him.
But he steps back.
“I thought that working here would make me feel like a human being again, but I didn’t realize how much I would―” He pauses again. “I thought working here would be a nice reset for me, but I naively thought that I could completely leave my past behind. My friends eventually found me, and I guess I care about those reckless assholes more than I thought because they managed to convince me to take on a few more jobs with them. That’s why I’ve been coming to work with injuries. But I’m done. I cut them off for good when they walked into this bakery. I don’t want…I don’t want our past to tarnish this place. I want to keep this place a beautiful, warm, and pure safe haven that you worked so hard for it to be. That’s why I lied to you, Y/N. I’m a coward to the bone, and I was envious of you. I was ashamed to admit it to you. You, who had the courage to chase after your dream. You, who had the kindness to help a good-for-nothing asshole like me. I only want you to have happy memories from now on, and I am not one of them.”
“Are you going to leave?” you ask softly.
“I probably should,” he answers shakily.
“What’s stopping you?”
“Just…one reason.”
“When you say it like that, it makes it sound like the reason is me.”
Donghyuck laughs bitterly, and his eyes drag across your face like every movement hurts him.
“You know it’s you. It’s always been you.”
When you reach for his hand, he turns away like just the warmth from your body heat burns him. So instead, you take a step back.
“I won’t ask you to stay, Donghyuck, I won’t chase you. I’m going to wait right here, and it’s up to you if you're going to meet me halfway.”
RECIPE 4. RED VELVET CAKE
When your alarm clock goes off the next morning, you seriously consider just not showing up to work. It’s not like you can be fired for being a no-show when you’re your own boss, after all.
And it’s not like you have any employees who will be expecting you.
You’ll just apologize to Mrs. Kim and your other regulars later. You’re allowed to have a day where you just rot in bed and feel sorry for yourself.
However, no matter how much you tell yourself that, you find yourself crawling out of bed and getting ready anyway. You can’t seem to brutally crush that small glimmer of hope that Donghyuck might still be there, no matter how hard you try. When you see yourself in the mirror, you recoil in horror. Your eyes are almost swollen shut from the amount of crying you did last night, and your face is sallow and lifeless.
So much for putting on a brave face, you think wryly to yourself. You tried so hard to look tough, when in reality, you bawled your eyes out and even considered praying to God for Donghyuck to stay. It’s a humiliating and humbling reality check.
“Stand up right now,” you sharply tell yourself in the mirror. “He’s just some guy. Get it together.”
You do your best to clean up your appearance and make the trek over to the bakery. It takes another internal pep talk before you can make your way to the door. After you finally walk up, you see that the lights inside are off. Your stomach sinks, and your eyes start to burn. Even though you’re holding the handle, you can’t bring yourself to open the door. It’s an outcome that you expected, yet you wonder why it hurts so badly.
“You liar,” you mumble to yourself, “You said you only wanted me to have happy memories.”
Once you make your way inside, you numbly head towards the kitchen, trying to remember what exactly you have to do today. Oh right, now that he’s not here, you also have to make sure all the ingredients are prepped first.
When you walk into the kitchen, you do a double-take.
The whole place looks like it’s been completely ransacked: used pans and utensils piled up in the sink, two opened boxes of cake mix, containers of ingredients without lids on on the tables, random lumps of flour and egg shells strewn about―
And right in front of the oven is Donghyuck, flour in his hair and frosting on his nose. He’s holding a cake stand with…you think it’s supposed to be a cake on it? The shape is mangled and haphazardly cut, but it has echoes of a heart. The frosting is a hot mess, as if a bird with diarrhea shat all over the cake. The batter is clearly underbaked and makes the cake look gooey in a bad way.
“Um, I promise I’ll clean all of this up in a second, but I wanted to surprise you,” Donghyuck starts awkwardly. “It’s not perfect, but I tried making a red velvet cake for you.”
You stare at him, still not sure how to react.
“You once said that baking is like baring your heart to the customer and that love is the most important ingredient of all,” he laughs softly to himself. “I think love is the only ingredient I managed to get right, but I’m baring my heart to you now, Y/N. I’m sorry I hid everything and lied to you, but I’m in love with you. Hopelessly so. All my life, I’ve chased a feeling, not knowing what it was. But now I do. I don’t think I knew how to feel until I met you. I never once thought I would ever have a purpose in my life, but you make me want to be a normal, proper member of society. Your dream is my dream. I want to wake up at 5AM and sell egg tarts with you for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.”
Donghyuck sets the cake down on a table in front of you, and you notice that his fingers are dyed red from the food coloring. It almost reminds you of when you first met him, except his injuries have been replaced with red food coloring, flour, and cream cheese frosting.
“This cake is terrible,” you smile, “how did you butcher it that badly when you used cake mix?”
You watch him blush all the way down to his neck, as he sheepishly looks away. “Don’t make fun of me. I really tried my best. I stayed up watching tutorials―”
Leaning across the table, you cup his face with both hands and kiss him, brushing your thumbs across his cheekbones. He tastes like frosting, hot cocoa, and your prayers being answered. The way he kisses you back is bruising, dizzying and knocking any coherent thought out of your head, his hands finding your hips and anchoring you to him. He kisses you like you’re the sweetest and most wonderful thing he’s ever tasted.
When you finally pull away, it takes you a moment to regain feeling in your legs. Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, lips brushing against yours once again as the two of you try to catch your breath.
“I think I’m going to have to fire you, though,” you whisper. “You know, with me being your boss and all. The power dynamic is too weird.”
He hums, pausing for thought. “Then how about I become your business partner?”
“What?”
Donghyuck reaches into his pocket and fishes out his wallet, pulling out a shiny and fancy-looking credit card. He hands it to you without much fanfare.
“I have a lot of money, you know. So I’m going to invest in your business. Use it as you’d like,” he casually announces.
You stare at him, your jaw hanging wide open. He never tried to hide from you that he was rich, but he never told you that he was rich rich.
“Well, damn! Why didn’t you show me this earlier? I would have forgiven you a lot sooner,” you tease, slapping him on the arm. “Are you sure you want to give this to me? I’m quite the gold-digger, you know.”
“When I told you to use it as you’d like, I meant me as well,” Donghyuck replies, shrugging.
“You’re insane.” You hope he can’t tell how much your face is burning up.
“I guess I am,” he laughs, and you don’t think he’s ever looked so free. You want to tell him that you hope he only has happy memories from now on too. You want to tell him that you’ll rewrite all of his scars with sugary and fluffy desserts so that they won’t ever hurt again.
And for the first time in your life, you feel it too.
Peace.
EXTRA
“So, have you figured out what your favorite dessert is?”
Donghyuck stirs slightly, groaning, as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. He slips his hand under your shirt (well, technically it’s his shirt) and rests it on your bare hip bone.
“Why aren’t you asleep?”
“Because I’m curious.”
“If I answer, will you let me rest?”
“Depends on how good your answer is.”
“Blueberry pie. That’s my answer.”
You smile against the crook of his neck.
“Why?”
“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life.”
#nct imagines#nct scenarios#haechan fluff#haechan angst#nct dream fluff#nct dream angst#nct 127 fluff#nct 127 angst#nct 127 imagines#haechan#nct#choerrypuffs
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YOU’RE TRYING TOO HARD ꧂
burning yourself out over something so simple never ends well…
If you know me, have been following me for a while or frequent my posts, you might notice a pattern, I never use the word “enter” when it comes to the void/“I AM” state. I always use the words “tap in” or “induce”. Why? because you can’t enter something that IS you. It’s not possible,
you are the void,
you are I AM,
you are pure consciousness,
you are an awareness,
stop trying too hard, as soon as you think too hard about it, as soon as you look for “symptoms” as soon as you ask yourself if you’re “doing this right” youve fucked up. Why? because you are the operant power, let me ask you a question: who do you think you answer to? why are you asking if you’re doing this correctly when YOU’RE the god of your reality?
do you think you answer to these bloggers, including me, sitting back up after 5 minutes of “nothing happening” to go back to tumblr and double check the posts on here to see if you’re “doing it right”? do you think you answer to these success stories of people you don’t even know, copying what they did to the very detail so that you can shift? do you think you answer to the a million and one methods in this community, limiting yourself to thinking you cant shift if you dont do it like they did it, like that video said you should, like this specific blogger said you should? why are you answering to other people if YOU are the operant power, like you say in your affirmations? why are other people controlling you in YOUR reality? you are being sooo pathetic right now…
stop. trying. so. hard. this shit will always be as easy as breathing, this state of pure consciousness is owed to us
as a god you answer to no one, stop asking if you’re doing it right.
there’s nothing to do, just be
fuck methods and just be
get rid of this mindset that you have to work hard to shift/ tap into the void or “I AM”/ induce pure consciousness
get rid of this mindset that you have to put in any effort at all
get rid of this mindset that you need a method
although time is a concept, why are you putting hours of effort and energy into a routine to help you, what do YOU need help with? you’re a god, you don’t need a routine, just be.
As soon as you acknowledge that you are trying too hard to immerse yourself, take a step back for a second and remind yourself of the truth: no effort is needed!! Like i say, you can rack your brain so much that it drains you, trying to find the “cheat code”, and let me tell you, it won’t end well, and you will know that when in years time you are still here, still looking for “instant methods” all while living a life that you dread.
It should never be a chore, the second it feels that way or the second you feel that you’re draining yourself because you just “can’t seem to get it” take a step back, only for a moment, and calm yourself down because something that only takes you seconds is never that serious.
Relax, Deep breathing, Affirm “I AM”, Let go, that’s it. that’s all you need, nothing else, i PROMISE you
JUST BE, SIMPLY BECAUSE YOU CAN. NO EFFORT NEEDED!!🐆💋
also thank you to beyoncé for this gif and for letting me make this post (iykyk lmao)
#shiftblr#salemlunaa#respawning#reality shifting#permashifting#shifting#law of assumption#void state#loa#success story#void concept#the void#pure consciousness#i am state#the void state#void state tips#voidstate#manifesting#manifestation#desired reality
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