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andypantsx3 · 4 years ago

Text

say the word and you know i’ll follow

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

status: complete

length: 3,262 words

summary: While moving in with Shouto, you get caught up reliving the scene of his confession. Quite literally.

(A smutty oneshot sequel to my fic if i could keep cool.)

tags: romance, reader-insert, fluff, smut

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, cunnilingus, light bondage

notes: Also cross-posted on my AO3! The manga really has me all in my Todo feels rn but I don't wanna write a whole other fic before I finish the Hawks one, so please have this fluffy smutty one shot as a compromise. It likely won’t make sense unless you’ve read if i could keep cool first, so please check it out if you have the time!

It was sweltering when you stepped outside to make your way to Shouto’s apartment.

A thin film of sweat immediately began to build wherever your skin pressed against the box you carried, and the sun beat down furiously on the crown of your head. You instantly started to second guess your choice to take the train, wondering how dumb of a move it had been to decline an alternative means of transit. It was going to be like being packed into a sardine can and roasted over a hot stove.

Shouto had offered to send an agency car, but there were only so many more times you were going to make the trip from your crumbling student apartment to his place, and you had wanted to make the most of it. You didn’t even really need to bring boxes over just yet--as Shouto had hired a moving company to take care of everything next week--but you didn’t want to lose anything that was inside this one. This one held all your most treasured items--keepsakes from your friends, a pressed white tulip, and all the gifts Shouto had ever given you (minus, of course, the vegetables).

Steeling yourself for an uncomfortable twenty minutes, you set off towards the station, weaving through the tired crowds of people who looked just as sun-weary as you. Thankfully, with a hat over your face and a box you could shift to obscure your features, very few people seemed to recognize you as you did so.

A lot of the media attention surrounding your mishap a year ago had died down, and you had been good about keeping your relationship mostly private, so you weren’t exactly a household name to most people. But there were enough twitter-savvy teens and meme-literate college students that you were sometimes recognized as you went about your daily life.

This time, you were only eyed curiously by one pair of teenage girls as they bundled into the train car across from you, but they didn’t say anything to you, didn’t ask you to reenact the most embarrassing five seconds of your entire life into their phones, as many often did. The box hid you from the rest of the train car, and no one else seemed to take interest in your presence.

After exiting the train at downtown, you made it to Shouto’s building in record time, all but rocket-fueled by your desire to get out of the hot sun. The security team in the lobby of his building gave you friendly nods as you passed, one of them graciously pressing the button for the elevator so you didn’t have to fumble around your box.

You thanked her, making your way into the elevator and elbowing the button for Shouto’s floor. The elevator was even cooler than the lobby, and you shivered in delight as the frigid chill of air conditioning washed over you. God, this building was so fucking nice compared to yours. You were going to be spoiled as fuck once you lived here.

You made it to Shouto’s floor without incident, though digging in your bag for your keys was impossible at the moment, so you knocked on his door as firmly as you could manage with the box still balanced in your arms.

There were a few seconds of silence. Then, the door swung open and Shouto stood there, grinning at you.

His hair still looked a little damp from a recent shower, and he was wearing a dark button up over a soft tee shirt and a pair of dark jeans. He looked unbearably good, as boyishly handsome as ever, and your heart gave an embarrassing little stutter, like it always did whenever you saw him. You suspected it was always going to be like that, no matter how long the two of you had been dating.

Shouto’s eyebrows went up as he considered the box in your arms. That heterochromatic gaze picked over you curiously, expression going carefully blank, like it typically did when he was up to some mischief. And then, after a long moment, he spoke.

“You’re not wearing the scarf,” he said, sounding upset.

You stared up at him, feeling your brow wrinkle. The scarf? It was fucking summer, and the scarf was neatly tucked away in the box you were holding. It was literally boiling hot just outside the well-air conditioned hallways of his building. Why on earth did he think you would be wearing--

You inhaled a little sharply when the answer hit you.

The scarf.

The scarf was the first thing he had mentioned the day he had finally confessed to you. Well, after you had confessed first, really, on national television earlier that week, that you were thirsty as hell for him and were also really bad at picking up subtle clues. Or overt clues. Or any clues, honestly.

But now you were standing in his hallway with a box again, and he was clearly remembering what had happened the last time you had done so.

You wracked your brain for what you had said to him in reply that day, trying to hone in on the words past the sudden swell of embarrassment.

“Uh, it’s in here,” you finally replied, gesturing to the box.

That grey and blue gaze dropped to the parcel in your arms, then flickered up to your face. You pushed the box at him, the way you had the day he’d confessed, feeling just as squirmish as you had then.

What else had you said to him? Something very watery and over dramatic, likely. Something like...

“It’s all, um, there--if you wanted to check,” you said. “Except for the vegetables obviously. But I can pay you back, if you give me a couple months.”

Shouto was clearly suppressing a smirk as he feigned curiosity. “Pay me….what?”

You suppressed your own absurd laugh, wondering how far down mortifying memory lane he wanted to go.

“I also wrote down a recommendation for a new cleaning lady, if you want,” you said, patting the top of the box. “It’s in there. Her name’s Mika, she’s super nice. And I can message you or your manager when I have the money. Just let me know which one you’d prefer. Or I can have Mika drop it off.”

Shouto gripped the box, then, long, elegant fingers pulling back the flaps for him to peer inside. He looked absolutely delighted to find the scarf actually within. In one fluid movement, he pulled the scarf out, depositing the box behind him, and turned back to grab your sleeve, pulling you quickly into the apartment with him.

“Okay, what are you doing with the scarf this time?” you laughed, breaking character.

One white eyebrow went up as Shouto gripped your wrist firmly, eyeing you closely as he pulled off your baseball cap.

“Mm,” he hummed absently in his deep tone. “Something I should have done the first time.” He caught your other wrist, pressing it into the sinfully soft fabric of your favorite accessory.

You looked at him, bewildered, feeling your mouth twist into a slight frown. You rather liked the way things had gone the first time around, considering that you had ended up with a boyfriend at the end of it all. What was his bone to pick with the first time around?

“Uh, if I’m recalling correctly, the first time went great,” you said to him. “Like, really really great. Christening your countertops several different times great.”

There was a flash of white teeth as Shouto grinned.

“Ah, but I missed an opportunity,” he said. A soft sensation slid over your other wrist, and you looked down in confusion.

Then it hit you what he was up to, and your face instantly went up in flames.

A firm tug had your wrists knotted together, and Shouto smirked down at you, tugging you closer by the silky fabric of your scarf. Your stomach swooped at the intent look in his eye.

“I had been upset you weren’t wearing the scarf,” he said. “But there was an easy way to fix that.”

You swallowed heavily, your tongue feeling strangely thick. Your brain was suddenly, but predictably, very very empty.

“Y-yeah. But technically you, um. You did fix it,” you babbled helplessly, limbs growing shivery with static as Shouto pressed closer. He was so warm, and he was so stupidly handsome.

“I’ve, uh, worn it a lot since,” you managed.

Shouto considered you quietly, a familiar, wry little smile pressing at the corner of his mouth.

Before you’d started dating, you’d been confused as hell by that expression, suspecting it meant he was bewildered by your very existence but was too polite to say so. After just over a year together, however, you had learned that was just what his face did when he thought you were being unreasonably appealing. Which, mystifyingly, was mostly when the working part of your brain disconnected from your mouth.

You scrounged around for other coherent words, thoughts thick and sluggish, like you were thinking through pudding.

Shouto, however, was merciful, putting an end to your suffering by leaning down and taking your mouth with his.

All the coherent thought you’d managed to dredge up melted away like frost under the morning sun. You pressed yourself closer to him, leaning up to give him better access to your mouth. Shouto kissed you as stupid as he always did before a hot hand came up to cup your face, thumb sliding over your cheek affectionately.

“It seems I’ve got you in the scarf as I had wanted,” Shouto said quietly, once he let you up for air. “But now I find that the scarf is all I want you in.”

You opened your mouth to respond, though what you might have said was as much a mystery to you as anyone. But all that managed to come out was a choked, breathy little noise.

Shouto laughed.

Then there were large hands on your waist, and the next thing you knew, you were staring down at the wood paneling of Shouto’s floor as it moved underneath you. Shouto adjusted you over his shoulder briefly, and then he was charting a brisk course to his bedroom, depositing you like an errant pillow back onto his sheets.

Your cheeks burned as he crawled over you, gaze hot and searching.

“Are you alright, love?” he asked.

You nodded vehemently, eyes pulled to the little flat sliver of his abs where his shirt had ridden up.

“Good, yeah, I’m so good,” you managed to garble out. You were going to be so embarrassed about this later, but as usual when it came to him, you really couldn’t help it. If you’d learned anything in the year you’d been together, it was that you would always have the world’s fattest crush on Shouto Todoroki.

Strong fingers came up to grasp your chin, tipping your face up for another searing kiss. You managed to loop your bound arms over the back of Shouto’s neck, tangling your fingers in his soft hair and pulling him down to you more firmly.

Shouto flattened himself against you, so that you could feel every strong plane of his body, every hard muscle. You shuddered, and you could feel Shouto smirk against your mouth.

“Like that, do you?” he asked, hands pulling at your shirt. You wiggled so that he could pull it out from under you, sliding it up to rest just below the scarf. In the next second he’d also gotten you out of your pants, so that you were mostly bare to him in the cool apartment air.

Shouto looked you over for a moment, looking like he still couldn’t believe you existed. “Having you over the countertops was something that I wouldn’t change. Something that I won’t change, once you move in.”

Your face went hot and you squirmed underneath him.

“However,” he said softly, “I believe I would have liked to have been more deliberate with you. Taken my time with you,” he paused. “Perhaps...I might have made you come once for every photo of me on your twitter.”

The tips of your ears went hot. Jesus Christ, he couldn’t be serious.

You had deleted that twitter over a year ago, and though he’d apparently been allowed access to the contents by his manager (rude) there was absolutely no way he could remember how many pictures of him you’d retweeted. You’d been the one doing the retweeting, and even you didn’t remember, though you thought the number was probably embarrassingly high.

“There was like, one,” you squeaked out.

Shouto’s smile went dark and he leaned over you, his perfect, infuriating mouth so close he might have kissed you again.

“Thirteen,” he said, mouth brushing yours as he spoke. “There were thirteen photos of me on your twitter. All while you tried so hard to act like you didn’t want me, that you wanted to be just friends.”

“Hey, you said you wanted to be my friend,” you protested. You jerked when his hand slid up your side to cup a breast, thumb slipping under the band of your bra.

“You weren’t accepting my gifts,” he said, fingers grazing your nipple. You bit down on an embarrassing noise, letting out a sharp breath. “How else was I to make you take them?”

You opened your mouth to respond but Shouto made another pass over your nipple, and a moan escaped you instead.

“That’s right, love,” he said encouragingly. “Now I’m going to make you give me something in return. Thirteen somethings, in fact.”

He peeled down the cup of your bra, fastening his hot mouth over your breast. You whined, twitching when he flattened his tongue, dragging it slowly over the point of your nipple. A strong arm came up to press your hands down over your head.

“Shouto, thirteen is insane,” you panted.

He paid you no mind, instead swirling his tongue in a way that made your vision blur.

A tugging at your wrists made you look up, in time to see Shouto one-handedly looping the long end of the scarf through the slats on his headboard and pulling tight. Your whole body clenched up at the implication.

The slide of fabric over your breasts told you that Shouto had also managed to get your bra up, and hot mouth closed over your other nipple, long fingers carefully plucking at the other. “We have all weekend, love. Thirteen is ambitious but quite possible.”

You made a weak noise of acknowledgement, hips shifting forward against his stomach.

Shouto laughed, hot breath ghosting over your breast, and then he was crawling down your torso, hands grasping your underwear. He pulled it down slowly, torturously, until he managed to get it off you, then pulled your knee over his shoulder.

You whimpered, feeling like you might actually pass out from how hot he looked, one thigh thrown carelessly over his shoulder, gaze intent, staring down at you like a starving man looking at a hot meal.

You squirmed, trying to pull your arms down to get your hands on him, but the scarf held fast, pulling more firmly over your wrists.

“Shouto, please,” you said, though whether you were begging for him to touch you or to let you go, even you didn’t know.

Shouto seemed to take it as permission. Those two-toned eyes passed over you hotly, and then he was leaning down, biting down gently on the inside of your thigh. You jerked violently, but he held you in place, mouth trailing slowly, slowly down to where you wanted him.

You thought you might actually black out before he got where he was going.

“I can’t believe I ever told you you were unwelcome in my apartment,” he murmured, sucking a slow bruise into the skin at the crease of your thigh. “Once you move in, I’m never going to let you leave it.”

“Oh my god,” you said.

Shouto’s tongue flicked out, catching the edge of your sex, and you tried not to choke on air.

Then, finally, he moved, fastening his mouth over you, exactly where you wanted him. All reason completely left you.

After that, everything was an unbearable flurry of feeling--a soft tongue swirling over you, the tickle of his bangs on your stomach, the press of broad shoulders between your knees. There was the rasp of his sheets between your shoulder blades, the slow, deliberate press of two fingers inside of you, a firm grip on your thigh, fingers digging in tightly.

You could feel every point of connection with him, every minute movement of his mouth over you, and the sensation built up into something so horribly, terribly good. You were unable to do anything but writhe and pant underneath him, babbling something that sounded like it might be an approximation of his name.

Shouto hummed and sucked softly, those long fingers curling inside you. He finally hit a spot that made you see stars, and you practically lifted off the bed, back bowing. Shouto licked you through it, tongue curling expertly around your clit while you sobbed out his name, only slowing when your body went slack, collapsing back into his sheets.

When you could see straight once more, you realized he was staring up at you, that wry smile curling the corner of his mouth again.

You fought down a blush, feeling an embarrassed grin pull at the corner of your own mouth.

“You’re unreal,” you said. “I can’t believe I’m going to get to have you all the time.”

Shouto pressed a short kiss to the skin of your hip. “You already have me all the time.”

You flapped a hand in its bindings. “You know what I mean. I can’t believe we’re going to live together.”

His fingers slid gently over the back of your thigh. “I’d have had you in here sooner, if you hadn’t insisted on graduating first.”

You laughed. He was always so very straightforward about whatever he wanted.

He had been making very unsubtle noises about living together only a few months into your relationship, but you’d insisted that you wait at least a year. He’d grown up with more conservative mores, having been raised a rich boy, and taking things quickly once he knew he was serious about you seemed to be the style of things. But you, despite your frankly unreasonable thirst for your own boyfriend, knew the value of taking things just a little bit slower.

So you’d waited a year, just to be prudent, though you’d known all along how things would end up.

And now he finally had his way.

“I’m all yours now,” you promised, laughing. “Soon you’ll be sick of me hogging the bed, and leaving books everywhere, and getting so blackout at the farmer’s market that we don’t have room for all the vegetables.”

“Ah, you’re using me for vegetable access,” he accused, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the smile he was attempting to smother into your thigh.

“A girl’s gotta have her priorities,” you grinned.

Something lit up in Shouto’s gaze again, and he shifted up against your thigh to lean over you more fully. His fingers gripped the back of your knee tightly.

“I'll make you pay for that,” he promised darkly. “Twelve more times.”

You shivered as he took your mouth again, fingers sliding back between your thighs with obvious intent.

And then you really did. You paid for it.

Twelve more times.

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shouto todoroki #bnha fanfic #bnha #smut #fluff #bnha x reader

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lovebecomeshim · 3 years ago

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hello! your zutara posting today has finally motivated me to ask this question because I came to atla very late(last year, to be specific) and I Love It Very Much but am 1000% out of the loop as far as why what remains of fandom (at least that I've seen among my friends) is so very strongly zutara. I'm not opposed to it per se I just don't really know what has driven it to apparently be such a popular ship? can you help me understand and maybe convert me a little bit?

Hey!! Your ICON! :D I can try but I’m not sure how coherent I’ll be; however I AM sure someone a lot more competent will be willing to add to this. Either way, I’m glad you asked because my plan was to drag down as many people as possible with me.

*smacks the hood of zutara* this baby can fit so much mutual love and support!

This got so long, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to put it under a cut on mobile and it already got deleted once so I’m scared to mess with it lol. Moving on.

I’m gonna start this with a disclaimer that im on mobile so formatting is tricky and I’m also really new to atla in that I only completed my first watch through in like 2019??? So some of my info is all just based on what I’ve picked up from Discourse 👀 so anyway the sparknotes version: zutara was wildly popular from the beginning. To the point where the atla crew internally disagreed on which ship should be endgame. (Ex. Bryke [showrunners] asked the writers to rewrite The Southern Raiders to make Zuko seem less ideal for Katara than Aang [which failed, depending on who you ask]; the animation team purposefully created a visual parrallel between Oma and Shu in the Cave of Two Lovers and Zuko and Katara in the catacombs under Ba Sing Se in the Crossroads of Destiny; etc.)

The ship was popular enough that Bryke actually chose to display zk fanart at a con for the sole purpose of mocking the fans, but that’s neither here nor there. The entire episode Ember Island Players, while a love letter to/parody of the whole show, was an opportunity to address zutara’s viability as a canon pairing (while, again, mocking zutaras for romanticizing that catacombs scene). Point is! It’s always been popular but with it not being endgame, there’s got to be something that’s given it staying power.

And that’s honestly got to do with three things: their dynamic, thematic cohesion, and potential.

(You know what... you know what, it’s four things. The fourth is they’re so aesthetically pleasing together and individually. Like, they’re just good looking people [specifically when they’re grown but they’re also cute kids] and that absolutely doesn’t hurt) (but it’s not the Point, it’s just nice to point out sometimes)

The dynamic is hard to get into without also looking at the canon pairings, but I think I can do that without unnecessary bashing. It’s just that part of the magic of zutara is really highlighted by what they give to each other that their other relationships don’t.

First off, it’s classic enemies to (would be) lovers. The absolute truest form of it. It’s not too different from how CS started out: a rogue antagonist with a job to do—but no personal vendetta against the future love interest—who is deeply and emotionally invested in his personal storyline (revenge/redemption) with little regard for how it effects other people after his entire life and genuine good nature are marred by suffering, and a fierce warrior girl with a strong moral compass and her own personal investment in stopping him (protect her family and save the world doing it). Obviously frustration and animosity grew between them by the nature of them being on opposing sides, but that just lends itself to the sweetness of their later reconciliation.

The thing is that while they’re wildly different on the surface (he’s a hot-headed prince of a fascist regime who is trying to capture the Avatar to please his father; she’s a nurturing daughter of the chief who is trying to protect and train the Avatar in order to topple his father’s throne) they find out that they have so much more in common both in their experiences and their personalities.

(What follows is an excessive use of the word “both” and I’m sorry about that)(I can edit it. I can do that. That IS an option............)

They both have an innate sense of justice that they are determined to see done (zuko, at the war meeting, sticking up for the Earth Kingdom kid when the guards torment his family, choosing not to steal from the pregnant couple despite his circumstances, abiding by his word to leave the SWT should Aang come willingly, etc.; katara, literally.... at any point). They both have pretty one-track minds at accomplishing certain goals once they’ve put their mind to it, regardless of a lack of support in that endeavor (it goes without saying I guess, but zuko’s entire hunt; katara’s determination to get the earth benders to fight back, her determination to absolutely destroy Pakku until he agrees to teach her, etc.). They both lost their mothers at young ages. Their worlds are war-torn and traumatizing to them both, if in different ways, but that ultimately forces them to grow up too quickly to be wholly independent individuals. They both have issues with their fathers (for WILDLY different reasons, but). They both hold extreme prejudices that they need to learn to overcome (which ties into thematic cohesion)(bit like Lizzie and Darcy in that way but magnified by a million). They’re both extremely emotional and empathetic—which can and often does result in loud outbursts. Katara’s a bit better adjusted and can temper her anger for longer than S1 Zuko can, but they both feel that anger deeply and have no compunctions expressing it (Katara is, usually, more justified, particularly in S1. Again, S1 Zuko is severely maladjusted but at the point when they could’ve feasibly become a couple, he’s so much better off with the way he carries himself). They both struggle with feelings of inferiority in their bending abilities when confronted with prodigal benders like Aang and Azula, but have the work ethic required to double down and become two of the most powerful benders in the three remaining nations. This is a little more minor but it is a parrallel that appeals to some shippers that they both have these alter egos in the Painted Lady (notably fire nation coded) and the Blue Spirit (water tribe coded) that are pretty different from who they are day-to-day and are useful in accomplishing a purpose that they as themselves cannot.

(I’m.... I just realized that this could potentially get very long. Should I have made a slide show with bullet points??????)

Anyway, similar. I know there’s more but there’s literally so much to love about zutara that I’ll drive myself a little crazy trying to compile all the ways they’re similar. (Just gonna say that at this exact moment I went back to add more similarities.... so okay then)

Once they’ve reconciled, we see how all of these things only lend themselves to a deeper intimacy together than they share with literally anyone else. There’s a steady partnership that positions them as the mom/dad of the gaang, while also providing the support necessary to allow the other to not have to carry so much responsibility. A lot of zutaras will point out how zuko is actually depicted doing the more domestic chores that are normally relegated to Katara once he joins the gaang, since the others in the group are two 12-year-olds and sokka. The one that sticks out the most is how he makes tea for the group and then serves them, while Katara is able to just relax with her friends around the fire. Fanon expands upon this a lot to Zuko helping with the laundry or the cooking or whatever else needs doing since he, as a once-refugee, is used to doing his own domestic tasks. Before Zuko joined, Katara was the one mothering everyone, sewing for them, cooking for them, etc. She’s always tending to the needs of the group, and that includes emotionally. She does the emotional labor for the gaang 99% of the time, but when she’s the one falling apart, she’s usually doing it alone and without the comfort that she normally provides for others. Until Zuko. And that’s before they’re even friends.

Which is WHY people romanticize the catacombs of Ba Sing Se so much. Katara is verbally attacking Zuko out of her own righteous anger but also her own prejudice when Zuko, surprisingly, chooses to be vulnerable with her. He’s been on a journey that’s opened his eyes a bit, but he’s never actively chosen to expose the rawest parts of his past to anyone. But for some reason he chooses to do that with Katara of all people. While she’s yelling at him. He sees her humanity, and for once can look past his prejudice and empathize with her. And this time, when she breaks down, she gets to be comforted. Katara normally talks about her mother when she’s trying to explain to someone else that she sees and understands they’re pain, as a form of comfort to them. Here, Zuko uses the exact same tactic. He sees her and he understands. And for zuko? He’s not being shut down. He’s allowed to articulate his pain regarding his mother without being ignored and made to internalize it, and he’s allowed to process how he feels about his scar out loud without being told that he deserved it. And then he lets her touch his scar, something we’ve seen him actively avoid before. He’s completely open to her and she’s completely open to him and all it took was one five minute conversation. She was about to use the little bit of Spirit water that she had, that she was saving for something Important, to heal the scar that still daily causes him pain just because they had, somehow, connected.

Plus there’s the whole parallel to the star-crossed lovers forbidden from one another, a war divides their people—

And then zuko messes up, he regresses, he gets what he wants and he HATES it. And the sense of justice he had as a child has been restored to him against his will and he can’t think of anything he wants to do more than the Right Thing, so he joins team avatar. Before he does that though, we get to see his relationship with Mai, which is where comparison really comes in. And what we see is Zuko, fresh off of his encounter with Katara in the catacombs, trying to be emotionally honest with Mai... and getting shut down and dismissed. Which is just how Mai is and it’s fine, but not for Zuko. Still, he keeps trying, and he keeps getting ignored or scoffed at or yelled at. Which is really a larger symbol for how he doesn’t fit in his old life anymore, but again that’s about thematic cohesion. He tries to articulate his anxieties about returning home, he tries to make romantic gestures, he tries to explain how morally conflicted he’s feeling—and Mai diverts to some kind of physical affection to shut him up and a parting comment that is pretty much always, in essence, “I don’t wanna talk about this.” So they don’t. On the other hand, once zuko and Katara are friends, we see him again emotionally distraught and caught up in his anxieties about facing Iroh, and it’s Katara who comes to him and listens to him and comforts and encourages him.

Similarly, we have Aang clamming up and getting uncomfortable whenever Katara shows any negative emotion, usually resulting in him making excuses or running away. Or, in the case of the Southern Raiders, lecturing her on how she needs to just let go of her anger about her mother’s murder. People have talked this episode to death and usually better than I ever could, so imma... keep it brief. There’s a serious disconnect between Aang and Katara in his ability to empathize with Katara and her needs that has her tamping down her vulnerability and amping up her anger. He tells her that he was able to forgive his people’s genocide and appa’s kidnapping (petnapping? Theft??), which is blatantly not true but also not an entirely equal parrallel to Katara’s situation, and continues making these little remarks throughout the episode. But it’s Zuko that Katara opens up to. It’s with him that she’s able to talk about the most traumatic day of her life, and it’s with him that she’s able to get the closure she needs, cementing their bond as friends and partners. This disagreement between Aang and Katara is then... never resolved. They just never bring it up and hear what the other is saying.

There’s a fic called The Portraits of Ember Island that has a line that so completely sums up the heart of the matter for why people love their dynamic. For context, zuko has woken up early to help Katara with the cooking and they spend the whole time just letting one another talk, and zuko stops to ask why she always just lets him talk. And so she stops to ask why he’s always helping, and it goes as follows:

There’s just... so much mutual support! Trust! Intimacy!! And it just continues like that from the Southern Raiders on, listening to each other, advising each other, watching each other’s backs! And then! Literally saving each other’s lives!! I will never be over the last Agni kai. Not ever. Zuko may have been willing to jump in front of lightning for anyone, but he actually did it for Katara. And in a show, that’s the thing that really matters. It’s a fulfilled trope usually exclusively applied to romantic pairings, and it ended up applying to Zuko and Katara. And then she ran out into the middle of a fight with tunnel vision just to get to him.

Also!! Also Zuko pushing Katara out of the way of the falling rocks at the Western Air Temple!! And Katara catching him as he fell from the war balloon that he fought Azula on!! Before they’re even getting along, they’re the ones reaching for each other. They come to this place of equal ground, as partners, who watch each other’s backs, call each other out but still listen attentively and understand, and provide the support that the other has been sorely lacking up until they knew each other (whether that be from lack of effort or lack of understanding from others, or an unwillingness to accept it for themselves).

Then, trailing along under the surface of this, we see the themes of the show totally embodied by Zuko and Katara as individuals and in their relationship to one another. There’s a YouTuber, sneezyreviews, who has a, like, 2-hour explanation on why she not only loves zutara but also believes that their endgame would’ve actually elevated the writing of atla to new levels particularly because of thematic cohesion and resolved character arcs. It’s the zutara dissertation I never knew I needed, and it’s funny and eloquent and effective, so I’m just going to sum up her section on thematic cohesion to the best of my abilities and then link it for whenever you have the time. And I HIGHLY recommend it, especially if you want a full understanding of what makes zutara so great and gives it such longevity.

Guru pathik has a line that goes something like this: separation is an illusion; things that seem different are just two parts of the same whole. Iroh also tells Zuko something similar: balance and strength are achieved when the different nations come together and influence one another and celebrate what makes them each unique. And this lesson is a massive central arc that both Zuko and Katara go through, moving past a black-and-white, good guys-vs-bad guys, us-vs-them mentality and into a greyer, more nuanced view of the world. Zuko sees the fire nation from an entirely new perspective and while he still loves and hopes for his nations future, he surrenders his blind loyalty to them in exchange for an unflinching loyalty to peace and love. Katara too had to come to terms with the fact that cruel people exist in the earth kingdom and water tribes, while some fire nation citizens are just regular, kind people who also need and deserve to have someone speak on their behalf. And this is honed in directly on how they view each other. They grow in their individual journeys to be open to the humanity in the other and then, once they’ve found that, they’re able to grow more in compassion for others in a beautiful feedback loop. And this is all matched in the symbolism repeatedly and intentionally associated with them in canon: sun and moon, fire and water, yin and yang, Oma and Shu who found love despite their warring nations. Their individual arcs are completed in each other and complement the themes of atla beautifully.

The canon pairs... just don’t. Which, again, is fine. But the very things that give atla longevity and popularity are anchored in zutara. Kat@ang doesn’t accomplish this. They’re... nice. Sweet. Especially when you erase a good portion of their interactions in S3. It could’ve been just a sweet love story. (Personally, the dynamic between toph and aang accomplish the same thing that zutara does, with complementary personalities that fulfill the theme of opposites blending in harmony) M@iko, on the other hand, is less sweet but I think wasn’t even supposed to last. Zuko’s relationship with Mai seems to represent his relationship with his old life as a whole. He can’t be emotionally vulnerable, he’s goaded into abusing his privileges, his agency and opinions aren’t respected. They just don’t have common ground with which to discuss anything that matters, so they don’t. As far as themes, the relationship doesn’t fit with atla. It’s zuko returning to and sticking with what is (on the surface) like him, what’s expected. Fire nation with fire nation. Fluid water bender with the flexible air bender. Like with like, separated from what is different and challenging and complementary.

And all of these things combined of course lead to the potential for the ship. I don’t know how familiar you are with the post-atla canon but... well, miss “I will never turn my back on people who need me”, miss “I don’t want to heal! I want to fight!” ends up living quietly in the SWT as a designated healer who turns a blind eye to the water tribe civil war happening right outside her front door. Which can be fine! People change! Some people just wanna stay inside. I just wanna stay inside! But the potential future for zutara is so much more satisfying, with Katara becoming the most unconventional Fire Lady the uppity old cads who are stuck on the old ways have ever seen. Fanon has her serving as a voice for the other nations within a kingdom at the point of its biggest political upheaval, as a confidante to Zuko who can actually help him while he’s trying to figure out how to move forward and make reparations. They have the opportunity, together, to accomplish what they both have set on their hearts to fight for: positive change that lends itself to harmony and balance. And the steambabies! A popular headcanon is that their firstborn daughter, the crown princess, is actually a waterbender, which causes such an uproar among the people who are adamantly clinging to the old ways. It’s just a future full of potential to be forces for good together, full of trust, intimacy, joy. The exact era of peace and love and balance that zuko announces that he intends to ring in with the start of his reign as Fire Lord is, again, magnified by the very personal zutara relationship. And we love to see it.

tl;dr zutara isn’t for everyone. Some people just don’t vibe with it. Some are nostalgic. Some love the canon they grew up with. Some have been disappointed for years. Some just see themselves in other characters and want their happiness instead. Whatever the reason, that’s fine. But for me, I love the way these two, from the moment they give each other a fair chance, are able to lower their walls and prejudices to see the other for the kindred spirits they are. They see each other’s humanity, and their response is to pour out love and support and compassion. I love that they’re a power couple in battle. I love the symbolism and, honestly, soulmatism that colors their every interaction. I love that they embody the whole storyline of atla in their relationship and how it develops, which is notably why their seasonal arcs always culminate in each finale with how they relate to one another. I love that zuko adopting a waterbending move is what actually saves his life and then katara’s. I love the chemistry! And I love the future they could’ve had, instead of the ones they were given.

So, in conclusion: I just think they’re neat and I hope you do too, at least a little bit. Even if it’s just respectfully from a disinterested distance cause you do you. And now here is the video I mentioned. I’m sorry this post got so long and then I gave you an even longer homework assignment, but I can’t recommend it enough. She says it all better than I can.

youtube

#zutara #atla #zutara rant #like really the way the canon relationships were written throughout s3 #it would’ve been more believable for zutara to happen #or at least be hinted at #all of the major issues presented in those relationship were dug up extensively and then... never resolved #and then they just slapped some kisses on a screen and said ‘there all better’#and we just kinda had to say ‘oh ok guess it’s all better then’#this got long I’m sorry #I wrote it all out and then tumblr ate 2/3 of it #which is why it took so long #and what I’ve written now doesn’t even match what I had before #because there’s too much to say about why I love zutara #and the stuff I left out the first time is what came out this time #rip to my original thoughts but this post is different #anyway that’s why this took so long #and I should’ve just made a PowerPoint...#I can do that too if you’d rather not read all of this lol #I won’t be offended #this is incoherent #Alia rambles uselessly #also hoping this doesn’t end up in any wrong tags because I don’t wanna step on toes lol #it’s not anti!! it’s just critical #in a compare/contrast way #I can pinpoint the moment when I started trying to rewrite my points from memory #because everything gets shorter and more succinct #like... I really said all that??? sounds fake and I don’t remember it anyway so here’s the condensed version #with no!! smooth!!! transitions!!!!#also why am I so lazy with proper grammar over text

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immiryn · 3 years ago

Text

On Otherkin And Cancel Culture

In the effort of being clear, I have personal experience with the topic at hand. I write this in an effort to spread awareness of the behaviors that I've witnessed.

It's also worth noting that I am speaking solely to my experiences in the Otherkin communities online, and that any prescriptions are to be taken in said context.

-----

My experience with the clumps of Otherkin communities is transitory. I'm a nomad. From one community to the next, I move. If a community dies, I move. If something particularly egregious happens that I cannot stomach, I move.

I have always searched for a place to call "home" in these communities, and these places for one reason or another lack what I need or desire. Often it's that activity dwindles down and that eventually a server "dies" of natural causes. In one or two occasions, it has been due to acts of a moderator or "public figure" of the server; whether that is something that I disliked personally, or something that affected the reputation of the place and thus caused a rift in the membership.

Within these communities, I have found a sense of tribalism. You are With, or you are Not. You cohere, or you leave. What brings us together is a sense of being Something Other, and sometimes some people are too Other.

This lines up squarely with my last big post, on "Kinnies" and discourse. Regardless of what the individual uses the term for, and regardless of whether they may learn about themselves as part of the group and cohere quite well, the clumps of community have sometimes decided that this was too Other for them. They don't fit into the tribe, so it's time to boot them out.

In general, as long as people are being respectful about it, I don't see a problem with server staff deciding what the focus of their server will be. It's when members decide this, or when people deign to be disrespectful and act without empathy in the process.

Something else that I've witnessed is more sinister in outcome. Most people who don't fit a particular tribe will find another to join. People who have been publicly called out and shamed over any number of behaviors will not.

The topic of the day is Cancel Culture. Hot words, hot topic. Strap in.

If you have substantial evidence, making a call-out post may well be worth it, especially in the more predatory circumstances. This typically involves a manifesto - a long document detailing clearly the transgressions and the evidence that proves that these transgressions happened.

A call-out post may come in two other forms:

A post is put out warning people away from someone. This can range from a paragraph to a few paragraphs, perhaps with a picture or two but sometimes without anything more than anecdotal evidence.

Someone says something in a community space, warning persons away from person X.

In both cases, there is little or no evidence of a transgression other than what one or possibly two people felt happened. There may not even be a criminal act involved. In this digital age, people are more than fine with getting angry over a minor argument and making it into something more.

Why is this a problem? Because people tend to trust their peers with their (social) safety, and don't engage in critical thinking as a result. This implicit trust allows people to share things like "x person did y thing, don't let them hang around". Short statements proliferate far more readily - if you've been on Twitter, you know what I mean - and the discrimination spreads.

When the discrimination is by an admin/mod or by someone who knows them well enough, it can spread through a community space without any real effort involved.

So, the target gets called out for their actions. What happens next?

They may be removed from the server or community with or without due process.

They may be ostracized from other community spaces as word spreads.

Individuals who find themselves vexed enough will assert their right to "keep others safe" by talking to people who associate with the target.

The above behaviors may even occur in a form of intervention, wherein language is used to encourage the target's associates to drift away in one manner or another.

Seems fair and all, but have you asked what kind of Justice this is? Here are consequences of our actions, in order:

Removed the target's ability to learn from their mistakes or argue for or against their issues.

Removed the target's ability to create new associations and learn to integrate into the community (or communities).

Allowed the target to take harassment for their actions.

Allowed the target's associates to be interacted with or manipulated in favor of reducing the assumed effects the target may have on others, which incurs stress and potential little-t trauma on the associates.

Allowed the target to have their associates removed from them, whom may have been able to interact with and understand the actions of the target in a way that allows them to communicate to the target about what happened.

In short, we've punished the target in a way that may not be befitting of the crimes, and we've done so in a way that removes their path towards reformation.

That's Retributive Justice. It creates suffering for the sake of suffering, making spaces "safer" but eliminating people who could contribute to the spaces we share.

-----

It's something that has happened to a friend of mine. Someone who was outspoken and sometimes quite brash in certain communal spaces, but who endeavored to improve the lives of people around them. The consequences for their "actions" have been severe, and people felt it necessary to intervene in my personal life as a way to get at theirs.

I have watched as my friend lost friends, lost people to communicate with and to understand the world through. I saw them lose access to the only place that was willing to host them in the first place, all because one or two people in charge got a bug up their ass over baseless allegations.

My friend lost the opportunity to argue their position, or to reform...if indeed there ever was one.

In the process, I lost my ability to trust in them. Fears, doubts, and traumas were stepped on without a care because the intervening individual "cared for my safety" ... despite only talking to me once or twice, a year or two ago. I've been having to work hard, to journal and process how I felt while trying to understand the motivations and the feelings on the other side.

-----

Shame and blame don't create reform. They merely allow us to create suffering for the sake of our own suffering.

Be wary of anyone who would shame or blame someone else without evidence to back it up. Especially if it's someone who holds a position of power in the social space(s) you inhabit.

#dragonkin #otherkin #otherhearted #alterhuman #wolf therian

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my-writings-and-musings · 4 years ago

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hello!! i am really really sorry if this sounds pushy or somethin but, will you ever publicly release that post swearth drabble you made?? i just curious

Today is actually the scheduled day, and on my partner's birthday no less, how fitting! Originally posted to my kofi for early access to supporters, now it's here for everyone!

Synopsis: Swerve and a human reader share a talk when he awakens after Swearth.

You were the first thing he thought about when he woke up, or so he would tell you later. Moments after he'd confessed how it was your touch, your tiny body clinging so tightly to him, that had welcomed him back to the land of the living. Apparently that had been the clue he needed to realize he wasn't dead.

It had been just you and him in the medical bay for hours following the... Swearth Incident, save for brief check ups from Velocity. The crew had given the two of you ample space and alone time once it was confirmed Swerve would soon awaken, both out of respect and to avoid the talk that would doubtless be needed between the two of you. There had been more than one occasion where you'd drifted off in the eternity it had taken for him to completely return to consciousness, your much smaller body protectively clinging to his beneath a blanket some unknown visitor had been kind enough to lay over you.

It seemed silly now, but you'd actually been angry when he'd come to so casually, yawning and rubbing his visor as if he was just waking from a nap. There'd been happiness as well, obviously, but you were still struggling too deeply to pretend everything was okay. Quite frankly, things had never been less okay between the two of you.

Had you not been able to project down onto his fantasy world, joining the rescue party despite the copious limits of your biology, who was to say you'd have ever seen him awake again? He'd been hiding away in his room for months, dissuading you from visiting him by claiming there was "a huge mess that I'm too lazy to clean up"... Knowing that you weren't sure which hug had last been with his real self hurt more than you were ready to accept.

"Y/N...?"

Anger was briefly swallowed by a tsunami of relief when he sleepily murmured your name, his helm turning to let your face reflect on the newly polished surface of his visor, where your tear slicked expression dissapeared as you hugged him as securely as his broad shoulders allowed.

"I thought I'd lost you..."

A knot in your throat prevented any further words from tumbling out, but the sobs that started to shake your whole body conveyed your thoughts just as well, sending a surge of hot tears splashing against his chest. Arms thicker than you wrapped gently about your smaller body, as calmly as if he were comforting you after a nightmare. A slight tremble in his grip made you hiccup in despair, your experience with his rather frequent hugs telling you the exhaustion from his still recent brush with death was still weighing him down, as ordinarily he would hold you like a lifeline for even the most casual embrace. Too many terrible things were finally registering as real far too quickly for you to process them all.

"I thought... when they called me into the medical bay..." You lost the tirade you'd been saving up to a storm of long buried grief. The memory of that call would forever haunt you, and now it was so recent the words were still burning in your ears, even though they'd been delivered so carefully... Agony from the sight of a familiar body lying broken on a medical slab made you nauseous, enough that only his increasingly desperate hug kept you grounded enough not to puke. Words poured forth in a cracked whisper, all the fear you'd been holding back for his sake rushing out of you without restraint, and interrupted only by an occasional hiccup or sob. "First Aid said you had days... That we'd been talking to a hologram for months, while you... you..."

The servos holding you tight maneuvered you to look him in the visor, keeping you in a loose hug while he put on what was probably intended to be a reassuring smile, though it failed to convince. "Hey, it was no big deal! Just my old shoulder wound playing up!"

"No big deal?" you repeated incredulously. A full body wince beneath you made it seem as if the words had physically hurt him, and while your heart ached as it always did when he was in pain, your other feelings could no longer be contained. He needed help for the suffering he'd endured in private, but in doing what he'd done you had nearly lost the one you cherished more than anything in the galaxy. You couldn't be expected to just let that go.

"You nearly died! You were dying for months!" you said, disbelief still strong at the very idea. The bot you'd adored had been dying in secret with no symptoms, making it impossible to truly believe he was okay in this moment either. It seemed as if he might crumble beneath you at the slightest movement, but you kept talking, refusing to be quiet. "No one knew, not even me, that you were wasting away while we thought everything was fine! I didn't know! How many times did you hold me, or tell me you wanted to be together forever, while you..."

Sobs made it impossible to breathe, and therefore impossible to talk.

"Y/N, I'm sorry..." Swerve said, softer than he'd ever been before. Careful servos pulled in your crying body against his and stroked your shaking shoulders, allowing you to vent everything you'd been enduring. Whether it took moments or hours before you were mostly quiet, he didn't interrupt you for anything, and he was silent until you were and he spoke again. "I never wanted to hurt anyone... I never wanted to hurt you... I... I didn't even know how bad of shape I was in."

"But you knew you were lying." you said, getting back to the core of the problem. Awareness of his condition mattered far less in the face of what he'd known and kept on doing. Though he did flinch yet again, Swerve didn't deflect this point, and instead nodded glumly in agreement.

"That... yeah, I did."

"To everyone." you emphasized, pushing for an answer in regards to why. Not a single soul on the ship had known what was happening, until it was almost too late. Had Skids not acted so quickly and carried his friend to the medical bay directly... You made a mental note to thank him later, then returned to the present when the minibot in question finally looked ready to really talk.

Taking more than a few starting vents, he finally got his thoughts gathered and his nerves primed, but every single word was unnaturally heavy. "It... it really didn't seem like a big deal. You were the only one who ever wanted to see me, in my own place, but it felt like I was doing you a favor..." Swallowing hard, he managed something like a smile and tried to sound reassuring, even if only to himself. "We still got to talk and everything else!"

There was too much to sort through in his partial explanation, thus you only stared. You'd always known he had issues when it came to self worth, but to hear him say teetering on the edge of death was no big deal? That by ridding you of himself he was doing you a favor? It wasn't something you could really wrap your brain around, but you supposed that wasn't important at the moment, not compared to what still needed to be done. There were more questions to be asked.

"You're hurting, and that's... I know you'd never try to hurt me, but you did. I want you to feel better, and I'll help, but I have to ask..." you said softly, finding the strength only as you came to each individual word to continue. Swerve showed in his braced expression that he anticipated something heavy was coming, a question he really didn't want to answer, but he didn't do anything to stop you.

"Y/N..."

Trying not to cry but still hiccuping, you forced yourself to keep looking in his visor. This wasn't supposed to be easy, after all, you repeated in your head as you finally croaked out the question. "Did you think about me at all? What this would do to me? Did you really think I wouldn't care?"

Something within him, something physical, seemed to break quickly and painfully. You felt it in how he flinched his much larger body as you lay curled over him. The unique way his visor light sputtered when he was hit with deep emotion told you he was reeling, and in that moment you forgot all about the complexities of the situation.

"I... I didn't-" he choked out on a sob, vents pulling air back and forth quickly in the Cybertronian equivalent of breathless crying. Heart breaking, you registered in some deep part of your brain that a dam he'd been relying on had just cracked. Embracing his helm against your chest, you gently stroked his cheek, whispering his nickname to try and convey your support.

"Swervy..."

Clipped by sobs, his words tumbled out mostly coherently, and you held him as they did. "I r-really thought you could... could do better. I'm just h-holding you back and... and if I wasn't there... but I couldn't make myself stop seeing you!" A few hard sobs stopped him for a good minute, at which point your shirt began to dampen with his tears. What you were hearing had been simmering for ages, and as much as it hurt to hear, you knew just letting it out was progress. That didn't make it any easier to listen as he continued...

"The holo... it was s-slow and made it like... like I was saving us both from hurt by slipping away. I didn't have to end things, we could pull back bit by bit and then... then you'd find someone better... but I didn't pull back at all, did I? I even made a second you, because I'm too selfish-"

You couldn't let him finish that thought. "Stop. No more of that."

Swerve looked surprised at your firmness, and admittedly had reason to feel as such. Swearth had included a holomatter of you already, albeit one that lived completely separate from his split personas... It had been you in the simplest, happiest of ways, living your dream life on his fictional escape from reality. Clearly he expected you to still be furious at what had only made you sad.

"B-but I ruined everyt-thing! If I'd just been brave enough to break up with you before-"

"I don't want you to break up with me!" you cried, lifting your upper body to look down at him. Emotions raged inside you with enough ferocity to make you tremble, and for an instant you had to gather yourself. You'd known he was suffering, that he struggled with inadequacy, but for it to have gotten so bad? How had you not known he felt like this?

Swerve looked absolutely baffled at your words, as if he'd heard you wrong or misunderstood. "But... I-"

"I love you! Even if there's some voice in your head that won't let you believe it, it's true! I want to be with you, and even after all this I still do!" you insisted, holding onto him as if he might vanish in a flash like before. Unable to stop yourself from crying at the raw emotions you didn't have the ability to handle, you wiped away the tears on the back of your arm, fighting to keep talking despite the pain. He had to know how you really felt, and if this moment was the only one you could break through to him you were going to use it. His cheeks were hot in your hands as you cupped his face. "I just need you to work on getting better! No more hiding, or lying, or any of that, I want you to be with me as you, because that's who I fell in love with!"

Swerve was totally silent, his little dentae gap showing between his slightly parted lips as he stared at you. His feelings were beyond guessing, but you were growing exhausted, too much to even hope you could keep this up. Sniffling, you laid back down over him. The frame beneath you was warm and alive, but just that morning it had been... he'd been so close to leaving you. Then again, he'd felt fine all the times you'd held him in the prior months, how did you know this was any different?

"I want to be with you. The real you. I don't know how to be sure this you is real either..."

Exhaustion dragged you down against him, and you lost the ability to even lift your head as it all seemed to sink in. You hadn't wanted to make this about yourself, but your pain was just too intense to shove aside. Tears, more than you knew you had, continued to fall onto his chest. As they dripped onto the newly cleaned armor, you felt him suddenly shift beneath you. Curling up partway, he scooped you up completely in his arms and hugged you close.

"It's me this time, babe. A hundred percent. I k-know it's hard to believe that, but I... I want to help you trust me." he said, shaky but firm as he made his promise. For all the hours you'd spent listening to him you'd never once heard him use such a tone. There was conviction in the depths of his visor as he held you close, tapping his forehead against your forehelm. While you could also see pain, there was a desire to fight it now. His request for help came on a quiet murmur. "I don't know how to do that, but I don't wanna hurt anymore..."

"I can help with that. Not all by myself, but I'll be here for you as long as you try." you vowed, stumbling over your words as you found them. There was a strange solace in the idea, as if planning your recovery together was healing in and of itself. Too relieved to care, you pressed your face into his cheek. The faintest hint of his usual scent; sweet energon blends and brews, was still apparent beneath the sterile medical air. It soothed you as you allowed yourself to rest on top of him. "From now on, no more hiding this stuff. We're gonna get you feeling better, I promise."

"I love you..." Swerve whispered, hopefully but tentatively. A lifetime of doubt wouldn't just dissapear after one massive event, you knew that, but the start was good enough for you. Kissing his tear stained cheek, you held him close, hoping your unconditional love was clear in every word. It would be a journey, but you hoped someday he'd understand how much you meant it.

"I love you too, Swervey. Always will."

#transformers #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #lost light imagine #lostlight #lost light #idw #tf #ll #my writing #swerve x reader #swerve #swearth #kofi

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cultivating-wildflowers · 3 years ago

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the moral of donkeyskin is the same as Cinderella duh. When you explained the tale you left out the part that the prince found donkeyskin in the woods while hunting and got her a job in his castle out of sympathy (he was nice to her before he found out she was beautiful). She also used all of her dresses on a ball to go with the prince. Donkeyskin was a lot smarter than Cinderella since she left the ring intentionally in the prince's soup to give him a chance to find her meanwhile Cinderella was ok returning to her shitty life and only lost her shoe accidentally. Donkeyskin was also smart for demanding the source of the king's income (the donkey) and essentially wrecked her would be abusers life while watching all this happening safely married in the wealthy neighbouring kingdom. In conclusion donkeyskin > ella

GUYS LOOK MY FIRST EVER ANON

Give me a sec while I catch my breath. Dude this is exciting hang on hang on.

Gonna just preface my answer with this: I didn't "leave out" anything. I literally checked wikipedia and a couple of other sources to get an overview of the basic story and went from there. As with any fairy tale, everyone puts their own spin on it. The versions I read said nothing about the prince finding Donkeyskin in the woods. Most of the classic Cinderella stories don't have her and the prince meet before the ball, either. That tends to be a modern addition. (Which is why I will always and forever love the live-action Cinderella remake even though I hate Disney with a burning passion.) Same goes for the ring-in-soup bit: sources disagree on if it was intentional or accidental. Either way it was risky because dude could have choked on that. And none of the (admittedly scant) sources I checked were clear on the dresses. No one could even agree on how they were made.

Ok now I lost my train of thought....

We'll come back to it because check this out. You know what's really really really weird? Literally today I gave up trying to read Deerskin by Robin McKinley (a dark retelling of Donkeyskin) because I did not read the content warnings and had no idea she was going to delve into the abuse side of things. I've heard that for the most part she handles it well (setting aside the magical-regaining-of-virginity bit, which I do not support), but I couldn't handle it, especially when I wasn't prepared. Props to McKinley for adding some depth to a frankly wild and bizarre classic fairy tale.

But yeah. Weirdest coincidence, I kid you not. What are the odds?

Getting back on track. (I apologize that it’s not at all coherent.)

1. Don't come for Cinderella like that. It's hardly fair trying to make your point by tearing down another classic story and another heroine who suffers abuse and manages to break free. She had agency, too. (And a smarter fairy godmother if it comes down to that.)

And this is vital: the morals of both stories (Cinderella and Donkeyskin) are vague at best. Old stories like these weren't framed in modern views of abuse and feminism, to say nothing of things like incest. We can't only look at the modern adaptations that do things like having the girl and her prince have some sort of mutual respect and trust before the ball (or the soup dinner).

2. I don’t know where you get off thinking Donkeyskin was smarter than Cinderella. They’re two completely different characters. Cinderella still had a loyalty to her home and her people, however cruel they might be to her. She wasn’t a princess. She didn’t have a trunk full of rich magical dresses to aid her in her escape. All she wanted was one night (or three) of freedom from her life. Donkeyskin ended up going and working in a kitchen and still getting verbally abused by other people who didn’t “get” her. Again, I am asking you to please examine each of these stories in their original context. Girls couldn’t all just up and walk away from bad situations because they were unhappy. I’m sorry. In the end they both needed a prince to reach out and remind them of their worth (and also, like, offer them marriage to pull them out of their old lives).

Take it in context, I am begging you. Girls couldn’t just up and walk away back then. I mean, plenty of people today can’t just up and walk away, or I’d be off in the woods with some cows and some bees and never answer another email in my life.

BESIDES WHICH: the female character isn’t only valid because she gets revenge and walks away from her old life as things explode in the background. Like please. Don’t sell me that cheap modern feminism. Cinderella was brave for staying in her home with people who hated her guts and trying to build a life out of it. She still found beauty and hope in that life. I’m glad Donkeyskin got out (certainly took her a while, thanks to that moron of a godmother) and built a life of her own, but the two are not mutually exclusive.

And if we wanna look at morals, can we talk about how, through all of her abuse, Cinderella remained kind? Like, that’s pretty important. (“Instead of perpetuating the cycle” as Ruby kindly pointed out just now.) (Not saying Donkeyskin didn’t. I don’t know her well enough.)

3. If you look at one of the original versions of Cinderella’s story, either birds come and peck out her stepsisters’ and stepmother’s eyes, or they’re forced to dance all night in red-hot iron shoes until they fall down dead, or both. And the stepsisters cut off toes and heels to try and fit into that glass slipper. Cinderella got her comeuppance, too.

4. What really ticks me off about the story of Donkeyskin is not her reaction to her circumstances. Good on her. Get the heck out of there, ma’am, your father is insane. What ticks me off is how everyone else in the story acts. (McKinley looks at this in depth as well.) No one says “Whoa, hold up now, sir, you can’t go marrying your daughter, get help”. They go, “Yeah, you’re right, you made a promise to your wife, I guess you gotta marry your daughter, let’s do this.” Additionally, it’s frustrating just not having more details. These stories aren’t deep. They don’t go one and on for tens of thousands of words examining all the angles. They go “once upon a time there was a king and his really hot wife, and the wife died and the king went mad and tried to marry his daughter, but her fairy godmother gave her some questionable advice and she booked it out of there. Let’s not go back to the gold-pooping donkey because it’s time for dinner.”

So yeah. That’s what really bugs me. It’s just.... It’s mostly amusement, I guess, trying to figure out what was going through some bard’s head when he first spilled this story. Or maybe it originated somewhere else. Maybe a mom sat at her spinning wheel trying to think of a way to calm down her kids because it was snowing again and they were hungry and she went “lemme tell you a funny story” and at the end, once the kids had settled down, she shrugged and went “I dunno, man, the nobles are weird” and they all had a laugh and the next day Mary asked if their donkey pooped gold.

Augghhh there are so many layers to this I can’t even begin. I don’t know where to start. If anyone wants to chime in and help me untangle this a bit, you are more than welcome.

To the anon (if you made it this far): thanks for not threatening my well-being or calling me a moron, even though it was implied. I do appreciate that. Would have been cooler if you'd not sent me the anon message (that's on me for turning that on) so we could continue this analysis like rational people. I'll just share it with my friends instead and see what they say.

Finally: if you're the same person who responded to the original post months ago, I'm so sorry you're still thinking about this. (To be honest, I've been having trouble forgetting Donkeyskin as well, so, like, fair.)

#asks #mine #Donkeyskin #like wow I don't know where to begin #I have Thoughts but mostly they're mumbling and incoherent #like please speak up sir #Hi Rubes #I know you're watching this

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dear-mrs-otome · 4 years ago

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Ribbons & Bows - SLBP (Mitsunari)

Fandom: SLBP Pairing: Mitsunari x MC Rating: No Warnings Summary: What do you get when the perfectly imperfect neighbor and coworker finds out our intrepid heroine can’t wrap a gift well to save her life? Some reluctant help, and perhaps even more reluctant revelations.... ( A quick bit of Christmas-fluff, for a dear friend’s exchange gift. (Hence the named MC) I waffled on even posting this, so far past the season, but figure someone out there might enjoy it too! 2.5k+ words)

She’d recognize that sound anywhere. The sharp, staccato rapping at her door that carried over the sweet croonings of Bing Crosby singing about a White Christmas - too fierce to be anything called as soft as a knock. She knew exactly who it would be on the other side too, and tried her level best not to let her good mood slip away as she straightened up from tweaking the last folds on the gift she was wrapping.

The apartment was small, small enough she had to weave around the boxes of ornaments and decor she’d pulled out of her meager storage on her path to the door. Not so small though that she made it there before a second salvo of pounding followed the opening shots already fired.

“Mitsunari.” She didn’t even have to wait to finish swinging the door open before she greeted the man on the other side. It was already a given who it was. Neighbor, co-worker, thorn in her side...pick a label and run with it. They all fit her particularly handsome cross to bear.

The man in question shook ravenwing bangs out from behind his glasses with an irritated toss of his head, all the better to fix her with a baleful glare. “October.”

Her gaze slid instinctively away from that frigid stare uncomfortably, but it wasn’t much of an improvement given its traitorous preponderance to travel the length of his neatly trimmed frame any time she didn’t keep it firmly locked. A ‘swimmer’s build’, as Jace from the mailroom always drooled aloud. Lean and purposeful, as immaculate in button up and trousers as always - never so much as a spot, or tuck, or crease out of place.

He was hot...especially for an accountant. She had to give her ovaries that. Too bad his personality had about all the warmth of a winter solstice atop Everest, and even less of anything resembling charm.

Neither of which had ever stopped her heart from doing an odd lurch whenever he met her eyes though.

He didn’t wait for her to dredge up any reply. “Surely you are aware that it is - “ He made a show of checking the ever-present watch on his wrist for emphasis. “Eleven at night, on December the first. So why then, in God’s name, am I being forced to listen to Christmas music at jetliner decibels through my wall?”

“It’s not at ‘jetliner’, Ebenezer Scrooge,” she shot back, hackles immediately up whenever this man was around.

“It’s loud enough to get the attention of Ms. Takemura above you I would wager though. You’re lucky she didn’t call the super on you.” He made a small dismissive snort, before his gaze wandered down to the package she had forgotten she still held in her other hand. His eyes narrowed sharply and she tried, to no avail, to hide the misshapen mess behind her back. “What in God’s name is that? Is that supposed to be a present?”

“Yes, it’s supposed to be a present.” A good part of her wanted to be huffier about her reply...but the other larger part knew it was a sad excuse for a wrapping job, and she couldn’t stifle the sigh that slipped free before she’d given it permission. “It’s supposed to be for Hideyoshi too. I should have just taken the store clerk up on her offer to wrap it for me. Nothing like looking incompetent in front of your boss.”

She could feel him studying her for a long moment, though she didn’t dare look up to meet his gaze. Nearly jumping when he thrust his hand out towards her, gesturing with it impatiently. “Give it here.”

Pure reflex had her obeying his chilly command, and when it was in his grasp Mitsunari turned the sorry thing over as he examined it, a moue of distaste curling his lips down as if he were holding a dead mouse rather than a box and some scraps of paper that were clearly suffering delusions of grandeur.

“How did you even manage this?” He couldn’t have looked less impressed if he tried. “You do understand the basic concepts of geometry, do you not?”

“I-”

Her protest was cut short when he brushed past her and strode brazenly into her apartment, azure eyes taking the chaos all in with a few measured glances. “Scissors. Paper. Tape.”

“What?” She knew he was speaking legitimate words - they just made only the barest attempt at coherency.

“Scissors. Paper. Tape.” He repeated himself, louder and slower, as if speaking to someone hard of hearing. “You can’t give this to Hideyoshi as it is. It would be an insult.”

He took a seat at her sofa as if it were his own home, placing the package on the coffee table before him and looking at her so expectantly she was already gathering the requested items, dumping them on the table unceremoniously - more than a little bemused at the odd turn of events. Seeing her frosty co-worker ensconced comfortably in her living room was hardly the way she’d envisioned her Friday night going when she’d woken up that day.

He let out a small sound of approval, stripping her package of its sorry wrappings carefully, before reaching past the gaudy rolls full of penguins in Santa hats and kittens wrapped in tinsel for a classic striped pattern. For lack of anything better to do, she plopped to a seat beside him to watch as he worked - reluctantly admiring his deft, well-shaped hands as he set about measuring a new piece of wrapping for her box.

“It’s not that I’m messy or don’t care,” she said finally into the silence, both to fill it and to soothe her wounded pride. “It just doesn’t seem to matter how carefully I line things up or space them out. They always end up too short or too long, too wide or not wide enough, the tape sticking everywhere…”

“Again - simple geometry.” Mitsunari’s gaze slid her way archly. “Not a skillset I would imagine is in high demand in HR though.”

She pulled a face at his bent head, hating that she couldn’t argue.

It seemed only moments before he’d finished, an impeccably squared box slid along the table towards her, freshly wrapped. He’d even done the thing where he’d managed to line up the stripes along the cut edges too, to her amazement.

“That’s...wow.” She looked up from turning it this way and that to shoot him a beaming smile, admittedly impressed. “Two hundred percent improved!”

She wondered if she only imagined his slight fidget.

“A two hundred percent improvement is a mathematical impossibility,” he frowned.

“Yes. I’m aware.” She stifled the urge to roll her eyes. “Have you never heard of hyperbole?”

“Intentional exaggeration as a rhetorical device?” he replied. She was about to shake her head, until she saw what looked like the faintest of dry sparks hiding behind his deadpan expression. “No, never.”

“Probably not a skillset I would imagine is in high demand in the finance department,” she lobbed back, and enjoyed the way his lips twitched faintly, as if stifling the urge to smile.

The faux-leather of her cheap sofa creaked as he turned to eye the equally sorry pile stacked beneath her cheery little Christmas tree, its lights winking happily in blissful ignorance of the crimes in repose at its feet. “And what are those?”

“The rest of my gifts.” She bit back the ‘obviously’ that tried to tack itself to the end of that sentence. She wouldn’t ruin this rare detente with Hideyoshi Holding’s prickly CFO just for the thrill of a cheap shot.

“Well...hand them over too. No need for you to embarrass yourself more than you already manage to on the regular.” He arched a sardonic brow at her. “I trust you can be relied on for something as simple as nametags and a stick-on bow, no?

“I think I can manage that much.” It struck her belatedly, as the absurdity of the entire situation wore off slightly, that she was being a terrible hostess - even if an impromptu one. “Would you...like a drink? I have water or tea...or I just opened a bottle of wine.”

Why had she said that? Offering a man alcohol, at practically midnight. Oh, God, it sounded absurdly forward, or hopeful, or...something.

“Wine would be fine,” he replied, to her genuine surprise.

She stood and poured two glasses from the open bottle of table red sitting on her small kitchen counter, sipping one cautiously as she handed the other to him and retook her seat.

He accepted it, and then gestured with it to the seasonal trappings decorating her apartment, a small frown creasing the space between his brows. “Why is this all up so early?”

“My father loved Christmas. It was his favorite time of year.” She twisted the stem of the wineglass between her fingers restlessly.

He reached silently for the first of the packages she’d nudged closer, making quick work of it as she waited with poised pen and welcomed the familiar bittersweet patina of nostalgia.

“He always did all the wrapping, because I was so hopeless. Except his own present of course, which amused him to no end. I keep thinking every year, it’ll get easier with him gone. It doesn’t exactly...but I can put these things up and watch our movies, listen to our music, and feel the good outweigh the bad now.”

Mitsunari only nodded slowly. “It sounds as if he would have approved.”

The pile on her side grew larger and his smaller as they worked efficiently through them, until there was only a couple of disasters left. And then Mitsunari picked up a small box - one she recognized all too well.

“Not that one!”

She startled even herself with her yelp, but Mitsunari seemed utterly unfazed, merely fixing her with a single arcing brow as he held the box above her swiping grasp. “Whyever not, Ms. October?”

“It’s fine as it is, honestly.” She lunged again and he only sat up a bit straighter, her fingers brushing fruitlessly against the crumpled underside.

“I won’t give it back until you tell me why.”

He turned it over, looking for a tag, and she rose up onto her knees to make one more desperate attempt - only to watch with a sort of slow-motion horror, almost as if outside her own body, as she lost her balance and sprawled inelegantly across his lap, her cheek planted firmly against an even firmer chest.

They both froze.

“October.” There was an odd, strained note to his voice. “Why is my name on this gift?”

She wanted to die, there on the spot. The only bright spot about any of this was that the crisp weave of his shirt was cool beneath her flaming face, as she scrambled for an answer. Distracted by the balsam notes of his cologne mingling with the evergreen of her Christmas tree, both tickling her nose and scattering her thoughts.

How did she tell him it was for all the times she sat down at her table of one, eating dinner by herself, wondering if he was on the other side of her living room wall doing the same thing at that same moment?

How did she tell him it was for all those times at work she felt absurdly proud of herself for managing to earn one of his quicksilver smiles of praise? The times he held a door, or a taxi, or a stack of heavy files unprompted? The times she heard him come home from the office hours after she had, only to arrive the next morning with an inbox of organized reports, no questions asked?

How did she tell him it was for the face of his she glimpsed sometimes, in that split second when the elevator doors opened on him riding by himself as they passed each other in the course of their daily comings and goings, and she caught sight of what she suspected was the real Mitsunari - the man behind the ice and the vitriol and the acid-etched tongue. Far too young to look so forlorn. As if he’d let a mask slip in the close confines of the tiny space, where there was no one around to notice, and hadn’t quite managed to prop it back up again.

As if it were his default state to look that utterly alone.

“Because I-”

‘Buy them for all my coworkers’ was how she should finish that sentence, she knew. It was the safe answer, the sane answer. The one that sat like sawdust on her tongue.

And then it died at the slow slide of his hand gently flattening itself against her back, keeping her from pulling away. His palm was rock-steady, but she could feel the faint tremor of his fingers bracketing her spine, and wondered just what that small gesture cost him.

She settled for a truth, if not the truth. The one she scarcely dared admit to herself. “Because I wanted to make you smile.”

“I…” For the first time ever, she heard him at a loss for words, as Mitsunari cleared his throat thickly. “I’ve never gotten a Christmas present before.”

It was that confession that finally got her to lift her head, cheeks still hot as she gaped at him, suddenly terrified she offended him somehow. Suddenly even more terrified that the answer was far worse. “Do you not celebrate?”

“I’m not...opposed to it.” There was still a thread of something wound tightly between his words, making a snare of them that kept her rooted to the spot. Counting the hard beats of his heart wrenched out beneath her hand. Five, ten, a dozen as she waited for the continuation she felt vibrating through him. “I’m just not sure what to make of this.”

She could see as much when she steeled herself to meet his eyes - the blue of them looking lost. Emotion moving in their depths, like the flicker of something great passing beneath arctic ice. No less immense for being half-unseen.

“You can make of it exactly what you want.” It was the closest she could come to putting herself out there, coward that she was. Leaving the door open if she couldn’t manage to take that first step herself.

She couldn’t miss the unmistakable way his gaze flickered down to her lips, subliming from glacial to the blue center of a flame in an instant. “And if I want more than just that gift?”

“You can have that too.” Her head tipped up expectantly, in clear invitation.

He didn’t need to be told twice, it seemed. There was a moment, a space squeezed between heartbeats where his breath fanned sweetly over her cheek and his nose just brushed hers - a last chance to pull away, before his mouth sealed over hers and she was consumed.

His lips seared hers, his tongue hot like flame as he sought hers out, the faint taste of red wine still clinging to them both. He swallowed down her moan like the finest of vintages, answering with a tiny hungry growl that set her mind blanking. She clung to his shoulders and felt them flex intoxicatingly as he hauled her to straddle his lap, fingers dimpling hard against her thighs and backside until they were cradled together seamlessly. Bodies pressed in a long line from head to curled toe.

She only tore herself away from the fascination of his kiss when the world began to spin, breaking apart long enough to press her forehead to his and stare into the deep water of his gaze, their ragged breathing knotted together.

“Merry Christmas, Mitsunari.”

It was ridiculous, innocuous. Words dredged up for the lack of any higher function on the part of her brain, although the sentiment was heartfelt.

And it didn’t seem to matter, when he rewarded her with a smile so fragile and fledgling she knew without a doubt it was the first of its kind he’d ever formed, elevating him from beautiful to breathtaking. Her own Yuletide miracle. “Yeah. I think it might be.”

#slbp #slbp mitsunari #my writing #christmas shenanigans #and coworker shenanigans #and mitsunari #three of my favorite things

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moonbythecabstan · 3 years ago

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We're Up Against The Wall (Know I Like It Like That) - Part 1

Rated: M

Pairing: M/M

Fandom: World Wrestling Entertainment

Relationship: The Miz/Dolph Ziggler

Summary: A surprise visit from Mike's good friend takes a surprising turn.

Mike flicked his thumb over the screen, skimming the posts scrolling past with vague interest. He wasn't one for mindless social media perusing, but waiting on his wife usually took quite a while. Especially when she had her girls with her. Their giggles heard every time he peeked into the room to check on how much longer he'd be waiting. Left with nothing else to do, he took to looking through Instagram. Tossing a double tap out here and there, smiling at the many pictures of his friends doing interesting things in their lives.

He glanced at the time at the top of the screen when his restlessness got the better of him, groaning when he found only three minutes passed by. How was it time moved so slow when you desperately wanted things to hurry up? Waiting on your wife and suffering through workouts being the times when you wanted the minutes to fly by. Yet they merely crawled. Dragged.

There was a knock at the door that startled him out of his silent griping. He furrowed his brows at the door like maybe he imagined the sound, but it came again. A rhythmic knocking he recognized with a grin. Pushing up off the couch to greet his friend as he pulled the door open wide.

"Hey, man! Didn't expect you to drop by today." Dolph Ziggler, in classic shades and red Motley Crue shirt (sleeves cut off because of course), nodded to him. Ponytail flicking jauntily back and forth as he shifted weight from the left to the right, a hint of teasing to the 'apologetic' smile he offered.

"Yeah, well. I was in town and... I mean, you know how it is. Better to drop in on a friend than go out to some expensive establishment in town." He paused, head tilted and lips pursed for a moment. "It's cool that I'm here, right?" He leaned over to one side and then the other, seemingly checking behind Mike. Probably wondering if they were going out or if his wife had something planned for them.

After all, Mike was dressed in a casual but still nice outfit. Jeans, blazer, clean white t-shirt. His nicest boots. He figured there was still about twenty minutes before he'd even be close to leaving the house anyway, so he nodded and invited Dolph inside. It was better than sitting bored in the living room, something playing on the television and staring at the wall while his thoughts ran away with him.

Not possible to be bored when Dolph was around. That anyone knew.

"So, judging by your nice clothes and pretty face I assume you're going out soon." Mike dropped back onto the couch, though Dolph remained standing. Glancing from where Mike sat to somewhere down the hall. With a hum, he got into a more comfortable position. Effectively rumpling his shirt and blazer, something he was surely going to be nagged about when it was time to go.

"Yeah we've got some business stuff to attend to. And then dinner at this new steakhouse. I'm just waiting on wifey to be done with her thing so we can go." He checked his watch, grimacing. "Should be in the next twenty minutes."

"Ah. Hence the letting me come in. Better than talking to the wall. Probably anyway." Mike snorted, nearly running a hand through his hair before remembering he'd styled it already. He dropped his hand listlessly into his lap, puffing air out of his mouth up at the ceiling.

"Trust me. It's a much better alternative. What are you doing in town anyway? I thought you'd be up in New York by now?" If he remembered correctly, Dolph had some... thing or other scheduled soon in New York. Of course, he could barely keep up with his schedule, never mind a friend's.

"I do, but that's not for a few days. Well, technically two, but I figured it would be fun to visit my brother for a bit. Except he's apparently busy. Then I thought, 'Hey, Mike probably wouldn't mind a buddy' and here I came." He certainly appreciated it. It had been a little while since they really got to hang out. Usually one of them was busy doing something else or they were hanging out with their group of friends at a party or some formal event.

It wasn't the same as just chilling out. Shooting the shit. Catching up.

"Glad you did. You don't know how long a minute can stretch until you're waiting for someone to get ready to go." Dolph laughed, sunglasses now hanging on his shirt collar and his smile reaching his eyes. Blue as the California sky outside his window.

"Brutal." Then he took a step back, glancing down the hall again and smiling in apology. "Mind if I use the bathroom real quick?"

"Sure. Go ahead. You know where everything is, right?" Dolph nodded, already heading out of the room. Something about him a bit more...highstrung than usual. Mike wasn't sure what it was about him, but he let the musing go in favor of heading for the kitchen. Seeking one of his healthy snacks since it would be a good while before he'd be eating anything.

Not even five minutes later, his phone buzzed on the counter. Curiosity piqued, he set aside the mustard bottle he'd been examining for an expiration date and plucked the device up. Brows furrowing when he found Dolph's message notification there. An amused thought crossed his mind of Dolph stuck in the bathroom without toilet paper or something, though that disintegrated quickly into curiosity when he unlocked his phone and read the actual text.

"Hey, you gotta come check this thing out in your guest room. What is he talking about- guest room?" He tried to think of what in the world Dolph could have found in the guest room, shuddering at the thought of a rat or something being in there. His phone buzzed again, a 'hurry up miz' making him roll his eyes as he pushed away from the counter and walked quickly to where Dolph was waiting for him.

"Alright, what is i- mmph?" The moment he was through the door, it shut quietly behind him. Dolph crowding him up against it. A dangerous and enticing gleam in his eyes. He nearly spoke again, his thoughts shooting off in a hundred directions as he scrambled to understand what was happening, what he'd walked into, but Dolph shushed him. Tilting his head once towards the adjacent wall.

And then he heard it. Talking. It was muffled through the wall, but he recognized the higher frequency of women chattering together. Giggling and speaking in shrill voices that carried into the next room. That being the one he was in currently, Dolph watching him carefully. Heat in his gaze that made Mike swallow. His throat suddenly very dry.

"I believe I remember you once mentioning something about how you've fantasized about this. About us going at it in the room next to the one she's in while getting ready." Oh God. He remembered that? Mike vaguely remembered one of the times they hooked up while out of town, he'd been completely blissed out and barely able to put coherent thoughts together. Rambling on about something while kissing along the throat that tasted of salt and smelled of thick musk. Dolph's fingers trailing along the skin of his back and chest, sending little shivers through his body.

Afterwards, when he had his bearings, he remembered saying something along the lines of what Dolph said to him just now. Cringing in embarrassment and praying Dolph either hadn't heard him or wasn't able to pay attention any better than Mike was. Not that it wasn't truem he was ashamed to say, but he preferred to keep such fantasies to himself. Not wanting anyone, not even Dolph, to know some of the things he really wouldn't mind doing.

Apparently he'd hoped in vain, because the man heard and remembered. Obvious in the smirk he wore as he looked him over.

"Um, I was kind of hoping maybe you didn't hear me when I said any of that." Curiosity sparked in darkened eyes, Dolph humming lightly as he considered him for a moment.

"Why? I mean, it's not the best idea you could have in terms of keeping people from finding out. But apparently that gets you hot, and who am I to deny someone something like that? I'm game if you are." It hit him rather suddenly what exactly Dolph was proposing. What was on the table here. He really wished it didn't have him flushing head to toe. Didn't have his heart hammering at the mere thought.

He wished he didn't want to do this. It was wrong on so many levels.

But damn it he did.

Still, he found himself hesitating. "I don't know..."

Dolph leaned in close, their bodies just nearly brushing, and lightly slid his nose against the underside of Mike's jaw. Pulling a sigh out of him and making his eyes flutter closed. It had also been a while since they got to be together like this, rarely ever alone or somewhere they could feasibly be alone.

He didn't like to admit it, but he missed this. There was something insanely addicting to it. The adrenaline coursing through his veins. The knowledge he was doing something he shouldn't. Their natural chemistry snapping and crackling between them when they touched. Kissed. Their passion burned so hot, so bright, and together it was absolutely blinding. Threatening to burn them to ashes.

Every time they got together left Mike wanting more. He couldn't, really shouldn't, but still he craved. Still found himself thinking about it. Once or twice even dreaming of it, an awkward situation he felt immense shame over while sitting on the closed toilet seat. Head in his hands. Drying sweat leaving his skin sticky. Grimy.

"It's up to you. Whatever you want." In his opinion, though Dolph was trying to make it like the final decision was Mike's to make (and, he supposed, in a way it was since he could technically walk away), Dolph also wasn't playing very fair. Ambushing him in the guest room. Leaning in close, keeping him trapped against the door with his body. Teasing him. Smelling as good as he did. Looking like he did.

Looking at him like that.

Really it wasn't fair at all. Because whether he wanted to or not (he totally did) they were definitely doing this. He had no possible way to fight Dolph, or ignore the hum of energy under his skin. And Dolph knew that. Knew just how to push Mike's buttons to get what he wanted. A reaction. A favor.

And behind closed doors, whatever he wanted in bed.

Not that Mike was, like, complaining. He loved making people happy. Would do anything to do so. What they wanted to do he would do delightedly. Diligently. That applied about ten-fold in the bedroom.

"You know I want." He spoke lowly and with slight irritation because they both knew Dolph knew this. Far too smug for his taste, knowing Mike would play right into his hand. Dolph, grinning, tugged him off the door. Letting out a quiet yelp when Mike suddenly charged him, taking the control right out of his stupidly smug hands. He licked heated kisses into Dolph's mouth while curling around him. Absorbing the pleased moan Dolph let out and kissing back harder. With earnest fervor.

Hands squeezed at his shoulders, fingers then trailing along the back of his neck. Bodies pressed firmly together. His ears picked up loud laughter from the next room and he broke the kiss with a gasp to trail lips along the stubbled jaw. Squeezing his fingers into Dolph's waist, a low sound next to his ear making his hair stand on end.

Muffled conversation continued from the other side of the wall his back thumped into, Dolph whispering against his throat. He grasped tightly to whatever parts of the man he could, taking a shape inhale when fingers picked at where his shirt was neatly tucked into his pants. A shiver running up his spine when quick tugs freed it, hand slipping underneath and nails biting into his sensitive skin.

He wasn't sure how much teasing he could really take like this, praying Dolph took mercy on him but knowing the chances were slim. It was rare they got this, even rarer in the situation they were in, and Dolph wasn't known to squander an opportunity laid so perfectly for him. Trust him on that one.

Fingers plucked at buttons, getting through three before Dolph invaded his space again. A heady scent bulldozing his senses and making him dizzy. Dolph always smelled good, but this was something else. He'd happily drown in whatever bottle this stuff came in, that's how good it was.

"Gonna have to be extra quiet, you know that? They could hear you." Another button undone, his shirt looser across his chest. Falling just a centimeter more open. He felt himself arching, trying to break free or maybe draw closer to the other man. To melt completely into him. "Can you actually do that? Can you keep quiet?"

He swallowed thickly.

"Yeah. Yeah I'll- I'll manage." Another button, Dolph leaning back and shooting him a twisted smile he felt deep in his gut. Leaving him to question just how well he'd be able to manage not alerting anyone in the next room what was transpiring.

"We'll see about that." And then, without warning, he dropped to his knees. Fingers making quick work of Mike's belt, the leather snapping as it was tugged from around his waist and tossed onto the (thankfully carpeted) floor. Dolph glancing back at it and making a face.

"Next time, we'll try the laundry room. I remember it has a hard floor." His response dried on his tongue as eager hands wasted little time with buttons and zips. Mike wheezing, clenching his jaw to keep from making any other sounds, when Dolph's left hand slid across his skin. Pressing firmly but gently into his stomach while eyes watched him with open curiosity.

"Hmmm. Usually can get at least a squeak out of you with that one. Going to have to work harder, aren't I?" Squeezing his eyes closed, he counted to five in his head and let out a steady breath. Trying to center himself and ignore the delicious tingling all over his body.

"You're trying to break me...on purpose?" Dolph hummed, smiling sweetly while tugging down snug dress slacks and briefs a few inches. Cool air skating across his skin and making bumps rise up his arms. A tremor in his thighs. Damn him.

"It makes this a little more interesting, don't you think? Just like that time you did something really similar when I was on that conference call with those really important people I told you about? Remember that?" He did, and that had been pretty entertaining. Dolph's strained voice and broken sentences delighting him to no end.

He was quickly coming to realize it was not nearly as fun on the opposite end. Especially when he liked being vocal. Noisy. Sharing his...appreciation.

"If we're caught-" A pointed look.

"Don't get us caught. Simple." If only it were. He had a feeling this was not going to be anything near easy or simple for him.

#wrestling fanfiction #WWE #wrestling slash #mizler #the miz #dolph ziggler #not everything goes on AO3 #WWE fanfiction #might start posting shorter fics here because there's too many on archive #i have too many ideas someone help #of all my ships these two are the least popular and also the ones taking over my life the worst #an old idea I had years ago I decided to write finally #I thought this was going to be short but here we are #two parts because I can't control myself

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qqueenofhades · 5 years ago

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YESSS.YOUVE GOTTEN INTO THE WITCHER

Ahahaha, yes, I recently watched the whole thing in two evenings. I have never read the books or played the games, so I can’t comment on any faithfulness/changes in adaptations, but I kept seeing it on my dash and people seemed impressed with how a grimdark fantasy world handled the female characters (especially in contrast to the Show That Shall Not Be Named) so I decided to give it a try. It took me a few episodes to figure out the timelines, I didn’t know who any character was beforehand and I almost admired their commitment to not explaining anything (as that text post says, why must a show have a coherent timeline? Is it not enough for Henry Cavill in a long white wig to sluttily fight monsters? And you know, VALID). And yes, it did residually suffer from Male Writer and Grimdark Fantasy Syndrome at points, but you can absolutely tell that it has a female showrunner, it was a gory high-fantasy pulp fiction good time, and I overall quite enjoyed it. (Also, Calanthe -- frankly all the women, but especially her -- can top me whenever they want. Unf.)

As other people have noted, the bar for women in fantasy shows, especially medieval-esque fantasy shows, is so low, but TW gave us multiple complicated, morally grey, powerful women (in fact, the women get most of the meaty storylines while Geralt runs around being a brooding himbo and bantering with Jaskier) without unnecessarily objectifying or resolving to lazy rape and violence or “bitches be cray” to characterize them. The only reference to sexual assault was Renfri saying she’d been raped in episode 1, and Geralt still addressing her as “princess” to demonstrate that it hadn’t taken away her status. There was not a single gratuitious brothel exposition scene in the whole season, and yes, there were random bare breasts in the background of the orgy dream scenes and so on, but it didn’t feel like the leering, exploitative, deliberately-added-for-views-by-circle-jerking-male-producers variety of GOT. I did absolutely side-eye parts of Yennefer’s plotlines, especially the “I need to have a biological baby and get my womb back!!” part, and I wasn’t entirely convinced by the spin they put on it as making it about her choice... but then, they did illustrate that it was mostly about her desire to feel important to someone, related to her own self-esteem issues and belief that nobody would ever really care for her apart from her magic and her magically created beauty. And I, as noted, haven’t read the source material, but I figure she will take on the role of foster mother to Ciri and choose her own family with that, and realize that biology, of course, isn’t the only way to make a family. Since, after all, they were walloping us over the head with the FOUND FAMILY IS REAL FAMILY trope all along, and I respect them for it.

I felt like most of Ciri’s plot post episode 1 was stretched out to keep her aimlessly wandering in the woods without meeting Geralt, and I would have liked to see them meet up sooner than the very end of the season. Plus, Henry Cavill’s Geralt voice sounded like a bad imitation of Christopher Nolan Batman at points, which was a little distracting. But really, you could tell that it wasn’t taking itself completely seriously (i.e. the whole character of Jaskier) and was mostly concocting this frothy fantasy universe for people to run around in and have adventures and brood prettily and fight High Fantasy Armies of Evil All Wearing Black. It also did not feel the need to be relentlessly pessimistic and bash its audience over the head with Everything is Awful, which was nice. When you’re usually punished or laughed at or treated like you’re stupid for entering a fictional universe and caring about the characters, it was like “well, they’ll go through some shit, but hot powerful lady mages! A queen in armor whose husband gets fridged rather than the other way around! And Henry Cavill shirtless! And Jaskier singing a catchy song and getting on his Last Nerve a la Shrek and Donkey! We don’t explain shit but we don’t care! Have fun!”

Idk. That was... really refreshing. Some of the monsters were gory, but I actually enjoyed watching a story set in a supposedly grimdark fantasy universe, and that’s very rare for me these days. It didn’t confuse the setting with the entire philosophy that it needed to bash the audience over the head with, it gave most of its interesting plotlines to ladies (with a refreshing lack of violence or assault or even casual misogyny -- there was no one acting like Calanthe couldn’t fight at the head of her army because she was a woman) while Henry Cavill was eye candy and Jaskier was enjoyably frivolous, and yes. I dig it.

#the witcher spoilers #tifipants #ask

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whump-me · 5 years ago

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"Forced to watch" (an demon getting punished for falling in love with an angel, so they hurt the angel?)

My first @badthingshappenbingo fill! This one is also for @justplainwhump, who requested “forced to watch” with characters who are more than friends.

Feel free to send in requests! I’m don’t write other people’s characters, but can write whatever type of character you like. Red checks have been filled, yellow lightbulbs have requests waiting.

This one got away from me a little bit - I definitely didn’t intend it to come out as long as it did…

—

The demon stretched lazily as a noise from the kitchen woke them. Amazing, how they still found themselves waking up with a smile every day. They had thought they would have grown bored with playing human long before now. But how could they get bored when the universe, in its generous irony, had sent them such an endlessly interesting companion?

“How about breakfast in bed?” they called. “Food is, as always, optional.”

No answer.

They frowned. That was an invitation that wasn’t often turned down. “Hey, you okay out there?”

Still no answer. Frowning, they freed themselves from the covers and opened the bedroom door.

The first thing they saw was the angel facedown on the floor, wrists and ankles bound not with rope but with chains of hellfire that had already begun to blacken the skin underneath. The angel wasn’t visibly gagged, but seemed unable to open their mouth to speak—or to scream, even as they contorted in visible agony.

Through other eyes, the man standing above the angel might have looked like no one. Just another smarmy asshole in a suit. But the demon didn’t need their eyes to feel the power radiating off him, as hot and deadly as a nuclear explosion. And if that hadn’t been enough, they couldn’t ignore the way their own body seemed to twist and warp under the skin as their entire being called out to the one who owned them.

Satan was standing in their apartment.

The demon lowered their eyes to the ground. “I’ll return to my post immediately.” They didn’t let themselves feel anger, or sorrow, or bitterness at the thought of a lifetime in Hell remembering these few brief years of happiness. They allowed themselves only resignation. They had always known, deep down, that it couldn’t last forever, as much as they had tried to convince themselves otherwise.

Satan’s laughter cut through them like a volley of knives. “Did you think it would be that easy? After you let this into your bed?” He kicked the angel hard in the side, sending them into the wall with a sickening thud. “After you turned your heart to something beyond my service? You will return—but not yet.”

He regarded the angel thoughtfully before turning back to the demon.

“You,” he said, cradling the demon’s chin in his hands, “are a child of Hell, created to my specifications like so many of your kind. You never lost Heaven, and if you were ever allowed to cross its threshold, you would turn away by choice. You don’t belong in that world. In their world.”

He bent down to slowly stroke the angel’s wing. Trapped between him and the wall, the angel shuddered, but couldn’t so much as try to squirm away.

“I, on the other hand… I still remember how it felt to fall. I chose that fate for myself, and even so, thousands of years later, the pain is still my most vivid memory.” His hand tightened around the delicate wing.

A moment ago, the demon had been resigned to their fate. Now they couldn’t breathe. “You have no reason to punish them. I’m the one who disobeyed.”

“I have no intention of punishing this creature,” Satan assured them. “They mean nothing to me.” He yanked out a handful of feathers and let them float to the floor. “Everything I do to them will be solely to punish you for your disobedience.”

They had never been one to beg. They were willing to start now. “Please. I’ll do anything you want. I—”

Satan made a small gesture, and the angel’s mouth unsealed. Their scream cut off the rest of the demon’s plea.

The angel met the demon’s eyes. “It’s all right,” they said raggedly, even though every word clearly cost them something. “I’ll be fine.”

No. No, it was most certainly not all right. There had to be something the demon could do—some way to stop what they knew was coming—

“Do you like their wings? Does it make you jealous to see what you can never have?” Satan ran a finger along the base of a wing, his expression wistful. “Or do you simply take pleasure in seeing them nobly soaring through the sky like the proud creature they are?”

He grabbed the wing roughly at its base. The angel tried to hide their flinch, but didn’t manage it quite well enough. At least not for someone who knew them so well.

“What will they be without their wings, I wonder?” Satan mused. “Bound to the earth, broken and useless. Forever remembering their former glory. They will never be whole again, after this. Never again the creature you loved.”

The angel swallowed. They set their jaw, trying to be brave, biting back a scream or a protest. But they couldn’t hide the raw panic in their eyes.

“But I don’t think we’re quite ready for that yet.” The hand grasping the wing made a small motion. The snap of bone seemed much louder than it should have been, almost louder than the scream that followed.

With his other hand, Satan yanked the angel’s head up to look into their eyes. “Have you ever even felt real pain before? Or have you lived the same coddled life as the rest of your kind?”

Pleas spilled from the demon’s mouth. “I’ll take all the pain for them, and more. Torture me for a thousand years, imprison me until the end of time, just let them go.”

“Don’t worry about me.” The demon could see the force of will it had taken for the angel to stop screaming, let alone to force out those few words. “I can take it.”

“Can you? Let’s test that theory.” Satan snapped another bone, drawing another scream from the angel’s lips.

Through the sound of their love’s agony, the demon could barely think straight enough to keep their words coherent. “Whatever you want—I’ll do whatever you want—just stop this, please stop—”

“You disgust me. I expected more from one of my servants.” Satan regarded the demon with a look of deepest contempt before turning to the angel. “You mean to tell me you actually love this useless, snivelling creature?”

Even now, even here, the angel managed a soft smile. “More than my own life.”

If the screams hadn’t already broken the demon’s heart, that would have done it. Because if not for that love, the angel would still be flying free and proud, somewhere far from this place.

“Ah.” An answering smile, this one cold and cruel, played at the edges of Satan’s lips. “But do you love them more than you love your god?”

And the angel hesitated.

“Answer me.” Satan shot a burst of hellfire at the angel, letting it singe their ear. Instinctively, the angel tried to flap away, crying out as the movement sent a fresh burst of pain through the broken wing bones. Satan didn’t give them a chance to recover; he kicked the angel onto their side, then stepped on one of the wings to hold it in place while he began to burn the other.

He cut off the angel’s howl of pain with a slap to the face. “I don’t want your pathetic shrieking. I want an answer.” The smell of smoke and burned feathers filled the room. “Answer me.”

“No.” The quiet whimper felt louder than all the screams that had come before. “No… not… more.”

Oh.

The demon had known, of course. Even if they had never thought about it, even if they had never let themselves think about it, they had always known. Angels were what they were, and theirs was no exception. And an angel’s devotion to their god would always come before any mere love affair.

But the words still slid into their heart like a knife.

Satan’s full attention was on the demon now as he drank in their reaction. “It hurts to hear what you really mean to them, doesn’t it?” he said softly. “Would you still make all those grand sacrifices for them, knowing the place you hold in their heart?”

But Satan had chosen the wrong question, because the answer came easily. “Of course,” they said, meeting the angel’s eyes. They felt the truth of their words as they spoke them. “They have a bigger heart than anyone I’ve ever known. That heart has room for more than one love, and more than one loyalty. Even if they only gave me the smallest fraction of their heart, it would be more than what something like me is capable of.”

“Then how unfortunate that someone so much worthier than you is forced to suffer for your mistakes.” Satan removed his foot from the angel’s wing. “As a reward for your honesty, creature of God, I won’t drag this out any longer.”

Before the demon could begin to process what was happening, Satan grabbed the base of the burned wing with both hands and tore.

The wing ripped free of the flesh as easily as if he were a human child tearing a wing off a butterfly. The angel’s screams were like nothing the demon had heard before, in Hell or on earth. If the pure essence of pain had been transformed into sound, it would have sounded exactly like that. When the screaming stopped, the demon thought—hoped—the angel had lost consciousness. But the angel’s eyes were still open, wild and unfocused but still cruelly present.

Satan let the wing fall to the floor, where it lay in the growing puddle of blood. He bent to run a bloodstained hand through the angel’s hair and down the one remaining wing. “These aren’t just for flying, you know. Your wings are what bind you to Heaven. Without them, you’re cut off from everything that gives your life meaning.” He turned to the demon. “One more to go. Would you like to do the honors? Ensure that this one no longer has any rivals for their affection?”

The demon almost gagged at the thought.

“Very well. Then I’ll do it—my way.” This time he didn’t tear the wing away all at once. Instead he ripped it from the angel’s back little by little, staring into the demon’s eyes the whole time. The angel was beyond screaming now—their mouth opened as they thrashed helplessly, but no sound came out except a series of strangled gasps.

“Just a little more, and they’ll lose the thing they love above all else,” said Satan, tugging at the wing slowly, almost lazily. “Were those few years worth it, to do this to the one you love?”

“I’m sorry,” the demon whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

The angel’s mouth opened and closed as they tried to answer. But they were too far gone to speak. The demon wasn’t even sure how much they understood anymore.

And then it was done. The wings lay on the floor, useless now, obscene. Satan gestured, and the angel’s bonds disappeared, although they didn’t seem to notice. He kicked the angel aside like they were a crumpled fast food wrapper lying on the sidewalk.

The demon rushed to the angel, stroking their hair, murmuring meaningless reassurances. The angel trembled, making soft desperate mewling sounds, staring at nothing. Did they even know the demon was there? The demon doubted it.

“I’m sorry,” the demon whispered again. “Forgive me.” Then they stood and held out their hands to Satan, preparing to be dragged back to Hell. It would almost be a relief—no torture that awaited them there could be worse than this.

But Satan shook his head. “Stay. Patch them up, as best you can. Try and make them whole again, knowing that you will always fail.” He smiled his cruel smile. “Watch them try to pretend that you’re enough.”

He disappeared, leaving the angel and the demon alone together.

#whump #my writing #bad things happen bingo #forced to watch #urban fantasy whump #angel #demon #devil #wing whump #mutilation tw #Anonymous

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chaoticneutralwriter · 6 years ago

Text

Misery and its Company

As the saying goes, misery loves company now that you’ve officially joined the ‘can’t go to a BTS concert’ club but you find company in probably the last person anyone would think of (even if he thinks you’re the one possessed by a demonic entity).

guardian demon!Jimin x reader

word count: 7.3k

genre: supernatural, fluff, romance, comedy, slow-burn

Related works: see masterlist under guardian demon!jimin au

Continuation of Thirty Second Heartbreak

A/N: And so the ball starts rolling.... (SORRY FOR THE WAIT AS PER USUAL TAT!! But I still love you~)

You're met with silence, which is a bit surprising coming from him since he always seems to have a sassy comment ready to dish out. You spend the time finishing up on typing your message before you finally put your phone down and your eyes naturally stray over to him. The first thing you see is just how confused he looks, the most you've seen him – one perfectly raised eyebrow, eyes scrunched and the corner of his full lips slightly downturn; the image almost manages to crack a smile on you.

Right when you're about to voice your own confusion, he asks. “So what of it?”

The heavy sigh escapes from you before you can stifle it, already feeling the weight of your post-concert depression except you haven't even went yet and the slightest tinge of annoyance for Jimin's tactless question.

“Well, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not made of money and even if I were to go, the cost of the tickets alone is a lot already but now I have to take into account for travel and a place to stay.” You explain, tapping back into your group chat to also continue this conversation there too. “Also, even trying for a ticket is hard in itself; my friends and I were lucky to score some the last time they were here.”

“Then why not try again? You can always split costs for travel and hotel can't you?”

“They're pretty much tight on money too.”

You hear him scoff lightly, cocking his head to one side still very much not understanding your point. “I thought you were pretty much dedicated to BTS, ready to drop the ball for them the moment they announce anything.”

“Not like I don't want to go! It's just...” You feel your frustrations begin to boil over; frustration for not having your city included in the stops, for having restraints like distance, time, money, and that no matter how much you even (theoretically) try to work out a plausible plan, it still wouldn't work. “There's too many strings I need to pull, and not just on my end, to make this work.”

The words pained you even if you were the one who spoke them. They don't stop the dull yearning in your chest that had settled there, only making it worse, to the point where your friend's joke about 'YOLO-ing' it for this concert is looking more and more enticing as you reply laughing to it. Alas, the logical side wins you over at the end of the day, the need for sustaining yourself in the long run and upholding responsibilities smothering out the more impulsive side of you that flares up at the most unexpected of times.

“It's fine.” You say after a while, more to yourself you think than it is for Jimin who's been observing you quietly from the side. “The trailer said that there were 'more dates to come', so I'm gonna put my faith that they will come.”

“Because in BTS we trust?” The demon snorts and the underlying light-heartedness of his tone in the comment successfully tickles a small smile out of you.

“Yeah,” You laugh lightly, “In BTS we trust.”

He says that, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out that it's not as okay as it seems. Days pass by from the initial announcement of the tour, you go on about your life as if everything is fine, like the dog sitting in the burning house type of way.

Jimin still doesn't quite understand your logic in any of this. He gets you've got other commitments in life (school and work) and also money hesitancy, but...this is BTS we're talking about – the one thing that brings joy to you and for all the times you've proclaimed your undying love for them, you choose to pass up the opportunity to actually see them? Because of, what he thinks, are materialistic reasons? What if this was your only chance for another two-three years? He only thinks this because he's honestly seen people with way worse odds against them and yet the minute they get the chance at something they want, they jump on it, money and responsibilities be damned. Impulsivity, the very core to the folly of humans in the best way he's seen it – caused by giving in to the temptations of their own poison, their own kryptonite and often times, lead to their own demise.

He cocks his head again, lost in thought; you're so confusing because by all means you should've done the same; be blinded by your love in pursuit to chase that temporary high, only to crash and burn afterwards in dealing with the consequences. But here, logic wins over your heart's desire and willingly you suffer under the pretense of blind faith instead.

Ah, he thinks in realization, is this simply you choosing between the lesser of the poisons?

He catches a smile creeping up at the corner of his lips at the possibility. Interesting...

“What are you smiling so dreamily to yourself? Thinking about setting a poor sap on fire?”

The ghost of a smile instantly vanishes at the sound of another presence and Jimin's face quickly takes on a more irritable one.

“Yes, in fact, I actually had you in mind.”

“Oh dear brother, you're going to have to do better than that.” Jungkook sidles up to the older demon, plopping himself down on the edge of the building he's found the guardian on. The night air is still cool, but seeing as there is no wind to be felt it made sitting outside pleasant, even more so with the view of the city lights illuminating from below. But Jimin is not here for the view, never really has been while Jungkook on the other hand, is here to pick apart his mentor and friend's brain. Jimin's blasé response to Jungkook's follow up all the more intrigues the young demon because that's a clear sign that something else was on his mind. Something more important and he's willing to bet money on what that could be. So he waits, bides his time to see if he'll crack. It pays off.

“Humor me,” Jimin's smooth lilt breaks through the silence, the only other sounds were the bustling of cars passing by below, too faint to be a disturbance to the two demons in their own world atop of another. “If one was given the chance to see the one thing that brings them joy, with the prospect of probably never seeing them again, would you still forgo your responsibilities, even if they'll most likely lead to your demise in the long run? Or do you not, instead, live a stable life but suffer for an undetermined amount of time on the what-ifs?”

Jungkook straightens up, the metaphorical throwing him off a bit. To be honest, he wasn't really sure what he was expecting but nevertheless, he's willing to take a whack at it. Who knows, it might lead to some more telling things. Crossing his arms, he answers after giving it some serious thought.

“Depends on what one values.” Jungkook responds vaguely enough. “If desire and satisfaction rules above all else, then indulging in ones joy even at the cost of your demise in the long run is but a small matter.” He pauses, tilting his head much like a puppy, as a thought comes into mind. “What's that expression mortals like to say? Curiousity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back? Makes you think they rather prefer acting on impulse than to go through a slow death of not knowing the possibilities from trying.”

Jimin goes quiet again in contemplation; from Jungkook's answer, even he eludes to the fact that humans would naturally fall into that sort of trap – just like how Eve did with the snake and the apple in the Garden of Eden. But then there's you, who's brain triumphs over your heart even when presented with your figurative apple.

“Why do you ask, brother?” Jungkook speaks up after the silence becomes too unbearable for him. “Last I remember, you're not much of a riddler type.”

He doesn't get an immediate answer and it further prods at the younger demon's curiousity. So his mind starts to race, pulling up information he already knew and piecing them together in hopes of coming up with something coherent. Jimin has always been aware of the weak will of humans, ruefully laments on them in fact, for making his job as a demon very lacklustre so why would it get him all hot and bothered now? Come to think of it, he's hadn't had a thrill since meeting Jungkook and....

The light bulb goes off in the brunette's head and his face does not hide his eureka moment. Jimin is immediately suspicious.

“What's with the stupid look?” He asks, eyes narrowing.

“....this is about Y/N isn't it?”

“Wouldn't you like to know.”

“So it is. I knew it!”

“I didn't even say it is!”

Jungkook makes a knowing hum in the back of his throat, noise rising in pitch with thin lips curling at the edges to give his cheeky grin a very bunny-like quality. It takes everything in Jimin to not smack the younger upside the head but with much effort, he settles with rolling his eyes hard and shaking his head, turning away to gaze out at the city instead.

“Has something come up recently with Y/N?” Jungkook persists however, doe eyes wide and leaning into Jimin's personal space. “Did you two get into a philosophical argument? Clashed on morals?”

Jimin remains determined to ignore him, and Jungkook could feel his eye twitch at his friend's stubbornness. So he decides to switch tactics; do the one thing that'll get on the older demon's nerve in one second flat: make absurd assumptions. Leaning in closer for dramatic effect, Jungkook whispers scandalously, much like a gossiping housewife.

“Has she committed a sin?”

The reaction was instantaneous.

“W-What?! What are you even talking about?! Of course not!” Jimin sputters and it brings indescribable joy to Jungkook to see him so flustered (a very rare sight). He can't help the bark of laughter that has his head tipping back but quickly recovers to placate the older demon so that he doesn't end up ditching him with no answers to his odd behaviour.

“Okay, okay then what? You seem awfully troubled and I could only guess it has something to do with your darling of a charge.”

The glare sent his way could kill, dark eyes flashing dangerously red before they flicker back to their muted brown. Jungkook puts his hands up disarmingly, watching the other demon release a heavy sigh while running a hand through his faded midnight blue locks. Jimin stares unseeingly out at the cityscape for a moment longer before he gives in.

“You know how Y/N loves that boy band of hers', BTS right?”

“Oh yeah, the ones who's faces we borrowed, not to mention her room is a reminder of it in our every waking moment and we don't even sleep. Why?”

The corner of Jimin's lips pulls up without resistance in the way Jungkook answered the question, like he was asked what the colour of the sky was. His big doe eyes stare at Jimin, blinking perplexedly.

“Well,” The older demon starts, rolling his head to one side to deliberately drag it out. He hates having to confide in someone, it goes against a lot of his demonic nature but then again, he's currently working as some mortal's guardian now so he can't exactly say this is a first – but that doesn't mean he still doesn't dread every second of this. With a heave of his shoulders, he spills, “They're doing a world tour right now and one of their stops is in the area.”

Jungkook's eyes grow impossibly in size at the news, mouth dropping open in shock and surprise. “Holy shit! I bet Y/N's freaking losing it right now! Is that what's this is all about? Did you tell her she can't go 'cus she's broke or something?”

“Quite the opposite actually.” Jimin cuts in sharply, deadpan. “She's decided not to go because the stop isn't exactly in the city but a few hours bus or plane ride away and something about not having friends agreeing to go, even after the fact I said I was fully expecting her to go too.”

That makes Jungkook pause, completely taken aback. So much so that it makes him zone out and at any moment, the X-Files theme music will start playing in the distant. Jimin looks on in disbelief, not really sure how to react but definitely knows that he's having a hard time keeping a straight face. Finally, after it seems like Jungkook's returned back into his vessel, he snaps.

“That's ridiculous! How can she not go see them?! This is her life's work! Has she lost her mind?! Are you sure we're even talking about the same person here?” He says it all in one breath, eyes still so piercing that Jimin leans back with a concerned furrow of his brow.

“Don't ask me, ask her because I would like to know too.”

“You're right, I should. There's just no way.” Jungkook nods to himself, abruptly standing with a fierce determination that Jimin had to thank his supernatural reflexes once again to be able to stop the younger demon in time from bursting through your room at five in the morning.

It becomes even more painfully obvious as the first days of the tour comes around the corner. Jungkook probably (read: most likely) made matters worst by doing what he couldn't do the first time he heard the news of you not going out of your way to any of the tour stops; ask why in the seven hells you're not doing it. After having to explain to him about how being a broke college student, knee deep in debt (and climbing), working at a part-time, minimum wage job will probably have you end up on the streets before you can say 'BTS', (and Jimin throwing a warning fireball shot at his head) he drops the topic.

But the salt has been rubbed into your metaphorical wound and you're still feeling the burn, as much as you don't want to admit it. It's not like you haven't been to a BTS concert before, in fact, you had gone the previous year. In hindsight, there are many fans who wouldn't even have the slightest chance ever of seeing them for a number of reasons; you're blessed enough to have them in your country at all. But BTS, oh BTS, when you're in deep, it's deep. You don't think you can put into words how happy they make you feel, how they became something more than just a K-Pop band you follow because they have great music (bonus that they're all ethereally beautiful, inside and out), how much they influence your life in small ways that cause a bigger effect. It may seem ridiculous to other people, but for those who don't understand won't see how they helped you re-connect with old friends you never thought you could be close with again, comfort you in your hard times with their songs and letters, and helped remind you that you're doing great even when it doesn't seem like it.

They're the ones who tell you the things you need to hear the most.

A heavy sigh escapes you before you realize, and it seems to make your whole body sag. You're on your last few weeks of the semester, crunch time and exams are looming over your head and instead of studying, all you can think of is how you're not living your best life right now.

“That's the fifteenth time you've sighed.”

You throw a halfhearted glare behind you where the demon stands, back leaning against the closed door with his arms crossed coolly. You only let out a grunt in response, turning back around to stare vacantly at your laptop screen, trying to force yourself to read through your online textbook chapters and go through Powerpoint slides on God knows what anymore – the subjects are all blurring together at this rate. You've also have given up on colour coding your notes along the way, finding it too troublesome to switch between the different coloured pens and highlighters you have so needless to say, you're on your way to failing your exams.

You don't even pay any mind when you feel Jimin's presence creep up beside you, your desk creaking at the added weight caused by him pressing his hips into it to peer down at you like a house cat wanting attention and is thinking about sitting on your keyboard to get it.

It goes on for a few minutes but after reading the same two sentences again for the fifth time, you let out a loud, ragged breath, dropping the pen you're holding and letting your head fall forward.

“What do you want?” You ask tiredly.

He doesn't reply right away as if giving the answer some thought before he says in a very deadpanned voice, “You look awful.”

You shoot him an unamused side glance that's devoid of any real effort, picking up your pen to twirl it distractedly in between your fingers as you slouch further in your seat, practically wallowing in your misery. “Yeah, well that's what having five different exams to do within two weeks will do to you. Now, be a dear and leave me alone to die.”

You hear a quiet snort but you really do have half the mind to actually ask him to send you to literal Hell if it means that you'll get out of having to write these exams. You're pretty sure that having your limbs pulled and set aflame will be much more painless than this. But alas, as if reading your mind, Jimin saunters away without another word, footsteps quietly receding and you're surprised he listened.....Or he really is leaving you alone to die a slow and painful death. Damn, there goes your chance.

Looking back at your screen has you wanting to bash your head against the desk and though you really want to just call it a day, you need to get this chapter finished. So after a few more mental pep talk, you haul yourself up begrudgingly to start reading through the paragraphs of texts again.

You make it about three pages away from the end when you're pulled out of your tunnel vision by a hand reaching over to place a mug of steaming tea in front of you. It takes you a second to let the image settle into your mind but once you process that Jimin had went and got you a cup of tea in a small gesture to ease your stress, your eyes immediately trail up to who it belonged to, slightly widen at the realization. When you meet his own gaze however, your face begins to warm.

He quirks one perfectly shaped eyebrow at you but otherwise, his face remains passive. It makes you feel silly, with your racing heart and shaking eyes struggling to remain focused on him. In moments like these, you can't hide behind the facade of being annoyed by his teasing, letting you become just a tad bit too vulnerable in front of him. It makes you not know how to act which makes you fumble and make a fool out of yourself. You hated that feeling, so you shy away, dropping your gaze to the mug of tea and hands reaching up to cup the ceramic with a murmured thanks.

You miss the way he stares at you for a moment longer, just taking in your slightly disheveled hair, the way your shoulders slouch, eyes drooping and the mindless doodles that litter on the pages of your notes, having long lost their focus on the subject at hand. He watches as you delicately hold the mug up to your lips, giving a steady blow to cool the liquid inside before taking your first sip. A soft hum of approval escapes you and already Jimin can see the drink easing your tired body and mind. It's only then that he turns away, letting his head roll back towards the ceiling. Jimin lets you have your moment of peace, letting the companionable silence take over. His eyes drift over to your bedside clock and seeing the time reaching into the early morning hours has a small smile tugging at his lips. It seems you two always had a habit of being in each other's company during these times, but perhaps given the nature in how you met, it's only fitting.

Turning his head back to you again, Jimin finds that you've made it halfway through your mug of tea and decides then that it'll be in your best interest to head to bed.

“You should sleep. It's getting late.”

“....But I need to finish this chapter.”

Even as you go to protest, Jimin can hear the drowsiness in your voice as well as the reluctance to continue. He shifts his body to face you, towering over you as you peer up at him with a slight pout to your lips. Honestly he doesn't know why you're so adamant on pushing yourself like this when you're clearly very tired but a part of him does respect you for your tenacity.... Or he should say stubbornness. Either way, he can't have you fainting all because you choose to bypass sleep but furthermore, what kind of demon would he be if he's not tempting you into the more self-indulgent things in life.

You instinctively shrink back from the demon when he leans down slightly, letting one hand rest against the back of your chair. You watch with trepidation as his dark, alluring eyes roam over your face in an almost calculative manner, and the way the light of your desk lamp makes them glimmer as well doesn't help the growing suspicion you have that he's up to no good. As you swallow nervously, you see from the corner of your eyes his free hand reaching up to the tea mug you have clenched in your hand still, prying it away from your crushing hold with relative ease.

“Now, Y/N....” Jimin's voice flows out like velvet honey – rich, smooth and dulcet, like a Siren's song drawing you in, powerless. Vaguely, you had the thought that Jimin was using a bit of his demonic powers to enthrall you into submission but another part of you argued that you're still very much aware of your surroundings, of what he's doing and that perhaps, to your utter astonishment, you're willingly allowing it to happen; maybe going as far to say that you enjoy it.

You register the gentle way he places the mug onto the desk, never once breaking eye contact with you before you feel the ghost of his touch along your shoulder, nudging you so that you swivel towards him. Your body reacts, goosebumps erupting and as you see him lean in just a hair more, your breath catches in your throat. You watch, hyper aware as his pillowy lips part and he whispers huskily.

“Why don't you be a dear, and come to bed....”

God yes, the words were right at the tip of your tongue, mind unable to distinguish between meaning the bed or something else entirely, but you would've embarrassingly said it in the same way as someone who just got asked if they wanted to eat a plate of the creamiest chicken Alfredo....for free.

But Jimin, Park impeccable timing, the Biggest Tease™ Jimin, knows when exactly to leave you high and dry because the next thing you know, you're being hauled upwards and the swooping sensation of your stomach dropping like you're on a roller coaster kicks your muddled brain right back into fight or flight mode, starting with an undignified cross between a yelp and a loud, choked gasp escaping from your lips. You're jostled into his arms, limbs flailing between trying to reorient yourself and slapping a hand over your mouth to prevent you from waking up Jaehee (and possibly your neighbour). Jimin takes it like a champ, stupidly well-coordinated and steady throughout it all (even has the gall to snigger at you) as he nonchalantly turns to deposit you onto your bed.

You bounce with a squeak but immediately shoot upright, grabbing the first pillow you touch to smack him with it, only the weight and momentum don't add up for an effective throw and instead, Jimin gets a light pat that barely puts a wrinkle in his luxurious black, lace-up collar, tunic shirt (probably made of Egyptian cotton). He makes a show of that by dusting off the spot where the pillow had hit, unperturbed.

“What is wrong with you!?” You hiss indignantly, red in the face. “I'm not a sack of potatoes! Don't – !” You cut yourself off to chuck another pillow at him, this time it flies upwards to his face but he catches it midair. Clearly, you're proving yourself not to be the most athletic but at least you stopped the snide comment that was about to leave his mouth. Unfortunately, the sly smile is still on his face when he lowers the pillow, casually fluffing it as if you had voluntarily given it to him and he's graciously accepted to do it out of the kindness of his heart.

“Now, now my darling Y/N, I know it's past your bedtime so there's no need to throw a tantrum.”

“I'm not a child, Jimin.” You snap back, eyes narrowing on him. “I need to finish my exam notes tonight so I can start on making other notes on my other exams.”

“You can do that tomorrow.”

“I literally have three pages left!”

“Exactly.” He says, plopping the pillow back at the head of the bed. “It won't take you that long. Besides, I can't have you sabotaging my way to getting into the good graces of heaven just because you decide to pull a quick one on me.”

That made you raise an eyebrow. “Good graces...? Oh, right.”

You completely forgot about that; the whole point of Jimin being here. Now that it's been brought up, Jimin's good track record, by the looks of it thus far, meant that he was well on his way to getting let off the hook for...whatever heinous crime he committed against heaven. The thought suddenly has your mind spiralling with questions.

“Are you like expecting their letter of approval some time soon or what?” It slips out before you can really think about it. The demon only gives a noncommittal shrug, tossing the first pillow you threw back onto the bed from the floor.

“Who knows – we never know what heaven is up to half the time. Nevertheless, I'd rather not take any risks so,” He redirects the topic back to you and your deplorable sleep schedule seamlessly with a pointed look, “we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

You scoff a laugh at that, crossing your arms,“You just said you weren't going risk your perfect track record and now you're threatening me to sleep?”

“Oh cherub, I didn't say I was going to use physical force to make you sleep you know.” Jimin smiles with a tilt of his head, making his fringes fall lightly over his eyes....that were beginning to glow red; at first dimly before gradually becoming more luminous. An immediate chill washes over you, your initial stubbornness shrinking back down by ten notches and unease takes over.

“I can simply ask and you would listen.”

Before you can ask what he meant by that, you hear another voice whisper in the back of your, lie down.

Soon you feel your own body seize up and against your will, you're lying back on your bed. The only thing you could do is stare up in shock at Jimin who shoots back a smug smirk.

“W-What did you do to me?!” You whisper shout, voice cracking when for the life of you, you find that you can't get yourself to sit back up or move any of your limbs for that matter.

“Your mind is in such a worn and tired state that it's easy for me to take control, bend you to my will you could say.” He replies, matter of fact. Jimin blinks and the eerie glow vanishes along with the numbness of losing control of your body. You immediately do a pat down to ensure that that's the case and once satisfied, you shoot a hard glare his way.

“That's not fair.”

“It is doll; you could have easily stopped it but in your state, I highly doubt that.”

And being the dumbass that you are, you shoot up in retaliation (and maybe even out of pettiness), but is met with the same constricting force that had restrained you earlier. Jimin is unfazed, not a single hair out of place, one hand cupping his cheek with a sickly sweet smile staring down at your struggling form.

“We can do this all night darling; you know I don't sleep.”

A few more minutes of silent fighting with him no where near breaking a sweat and you about to sweat buckets, you let out a frustrated groan, letting go of the strain you've been putting on yourself in attempts to break free of his hold. It's then that he relents, your body automatically becoming loose against the mattress, too tired to even think about trying to lift a finger and it's with a belated scowl of annoyance that you realized you just played yourself.

“Sweet dreams cherub. You'll thank me later.” Jimin says a little too smugly. In a last ditch effort to getting the last laugh, you limply swing your arm at him, hoping to land an indignant smack to his person but as expected, he dances out of the way in time, giggling all the way.

Contrary to what Jimin said, you're not so thankful. Well....Sure, you did get a fairly well rested sleep but in terms of progress with your study notes....

“What are you doing?”

You minimize the window so that your digital textbook could be seen on the screen instead, going back to pretend like you were in the middle of writing down a note.

“Studying.”

“Right....” You hear him drag the word out as he saunters over to obnoxiously lean over you to reach your laptop. “And not, oh I don't know, scrolling through your Twitter feed to read everyone freaking out about tickets going on sale in half an hour?”

Jimin takes the time to click on your hidden window right at that moment to pull up the receipts. You swat his hand away, hitting with a satisfying smack but all he does is squeak a laugh as he pulls away and you're left red-faced in embarrassment anyways. You throw down your pen in order to rest your head in your hands, heaving out a heavy sigh.

“I can't help it....” You nearly whine. “It's stressing me out even when I'm not going to buy one anyways. Like I should be but I'm not and my mind is just screaming at me why?”

“You know what that is?” Jimin singsongs from his place on your bed, reclining back on it as if he owns it. “It's your gut telling you that you should.”

You shoot a glare his way. “If you think you can tempt me this time then no.”

He shrugs, turning his attention back on his phone. “Your loss.”

Minutes tick by and though you valiantly truck through half a chapter more, once the clock struck its half hour mark, you find yourself unconsciously pulling up one of the ticket web page (you know, just out of curiousity). As expected, the site is borderline malfunctioning probably from the rush of people on their server and on top of that, there's this new queue line setup that you have to go through before even getting to the seat selection screen.

You're currently behind 250 other people.

You feel dejected already, knowing that even if you had wanted to get a ticket, the chances of that are slim to none, just as you had predicted.

“Wow....what is that?” Jimin's breath brushes over your ear so closely that you jump at the sudden proximity. You run a hand over your face, trying to calm your racing heart before addressing the demon.

“It looks like a new queuing system to buy tickets, I guess to stop bots or something....”

“Huh, well shit.” He chuffs, “I'd say getting into hell is a lot easier than that, by the looks of it.”

You laugh dryly, watching the little running man on screen run as if his life depended on it but has yet to move even an inch forward (wow, story of your life). “Aren't you a demon? Don't you have some black magic for this kind of stuff, like cheating the system?”

He hums, tilting his head from side to side. “I can...”

You hate yourself for perking up at the idea, wide eyes following Jimin as he moves languidly back over to your bed. He takes his time to flop back and get comfortable, bringing an arm up to cushion behind his head while pulling out his phone before he notices your laser beam eyes. The sight causes his lips to quirk.

“There are some strings I can pull if you want the tickets that badly, but as with most demonic magic, it'll be at the expense of someone else.”

You deflate, brows furrowing at the statement. “Expense? How?”

“Simple – for you to get the tickets, someone else will lose their chance, no matter how good the odds were for them.” Jimin puts plainly, bringing his phone down. “So do you want to? Just say the word.”

He holds up a hand in a way that looks like he's about to snap his fingers, eyes faintly glowing in that reddish hue. You swallow, watching with morbid fascination that literally all it would take is a snap of his fingers and the tides would turn in your favour. You could have something to look forward to once all the stress of exams and a school year is over; the perfect escape to just forget about your worries for a while.

But you tear your eyes away, letting out a sigh that has you slumping your shoulders.

“No, it's fine.”

It wouldn't be fair, you'd rather try with your own chances and not have to live with the guilt of ruining someone else's because you so happen to have a demon to your advantage (you don't think anyone could say that in their lifetime). You know it'll eat you alive.

Jimin raises an eyebrow at you but acquiesces, lowering his hand almost disappointingly. He watches you close the ticket window and then go back to reading your textbook, the only sounds between the two of you is the scratching of your pen on paper as you take notes. After a moment more, Jimin huffs quietly to himself.

“You're no fun....”

You continue to read through your textbooks for the rest of the day, stopping only to eat and take few short breaks (snacking, getting a drink, showering etc). Even when you feel like you're not taking in any information by the time the sun has gone down, you stubbornly write down everything that might be of significance. As for your guardian demon, the last you saw of him was earlier that afternoon when he had offered to get the tickets by shadier means. You figured at some point he had gotten bored and wandered off to probably tempt more unfortunate souls around the city.

By the time you decided you've had enough and should probably head to bed in preparation for your first exam of the week, it was already half past twelve. You can only praise the sun that the class was at least an afternoon one. But in spite of that, you find that you can't fall asleep once your head hits the pillow and you've settled under your covers.

You toss and you turn repeatedly, trying desperately to shut off your racing mind. Of course, you think ruefully with your eyes shut tight but very much still awake, that the one time you try to be a decent human being and go to sleep early, your mind decides to have a crisis – asking unhelpful hypotheticals like 'are you sure you've studied enough?', 'can you answer this particular question right now if you're asked it?', or 'what if you'll never see BTS again for another three or four years? You're probably missing your one and only chance right now', 'hey, remember that one thing you did when you were sixteen? Man you're such a –'

“You know you'd make a very poor actress from the way you're pretending to be asleep.”

“I'm not trying to pretend.” You grumble, finally giving up and letting your eyes fall back open. As per usual, it takes a while before they adjust to start distinguishing shapes in the darkness of your room and from there, you see the unmistakable figure of Jimin by your door. You shoot him one pointed look before going back to stare aimlessly at your ceiling and after a silence passes between you two, you dejectedly admit, “I can't sleep.”

“I can see that.”

“Maybe it's the pre-exam jitters or something, like I feel like I'm gonna blank out as soon as I see the papers.” You find yourself ranting to him, maybe in hopes of trying elevate your worries or lull you enough to finally sleep. Either way, it has you feeling like you're in a psychology session with Jimin as your psychologist – which you should not have someone as a psychologist....or anyone for that matter. You run a hand down your face, refraining from groaning as you catch your mind racing with ridiculous thoughts again when you should SLEEPING.

You feel a dip in the bed and you don't need to look up to know who it is.

“Humans are so easily troubled by their own minds....” You hear him sigh. “I'm sure you'll do fine.”

You huff one back in return,“As if you – ”

“Like I said cherub, you're funny but not dumb. You're just getting in your head again.” Jimin says this as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. You're surprisingly touched by his words despite his blasé tone but you know by now how to read Jimin's sincerity. It warms your cheeks and makes you fidget with the sheets by your hands.

“....You're very bold to assume I won't totally bomb this exam.” You can't help deflecting. You feel him shift as if to shrug his shoulders.

“Well, when all else fails, you can bullshit your way. You're good at that right?”

A puff of air escapes through your nose, the smile threatening to overtake your face. You swat lightly at him, the back of your hand unfortunately meeting the bonier end of his knee. You immediately recoil hissing in pain. He lightly snickers.

“Sleep cherub.”

“I told you I can't.”

“Count sheeps then.”

The suggestion makes you crane your neck to give him a raised eyebrow and a face that clearly asks, ‘are you serious?’ When all you’re met is silence, you’re surprised that he’s actually serious. But you’re also getting desperate at this point, at your ropes end so you think, why not give a tried-and-true trick a go?

So you inhale deeply, then exhale steadily through your mouth, closing your eyes as you try to slow your breathing and picture a meadow with a little picket fence, where fluffy white sheeps are bound to hop over one by one in succession.

One sheep.

You try to let it become your lullaby, hypnotizing you to drift into a dreamless slumber.

Two sheep.

Three sheep....

Four sheep...

For a moment, you think it's working or...or maybe you're trying to fool yourself into thinking it's working and you just look silly. Actually, were you supposed to say ‘little’ before each sheep or...?

You exhale loudly, eyes coming open again. “It didn't work...”

Even Jimin lets out a quiet groan of his own, head thumping back against your wall. You feel him shift again and hear the light smack of his hands coming down on his thighs as he pushes himself off your bed. “Well, that's all I got.”

“W-Wait, I swear you have a spell for this.” You say, propping yourself up on your elbows. “The sleeping one you always do.”

You faintly see him halt in his steps, turning back to you with a hand on his hip. “Yeah, but it's magic induced sleep – it puts you in a deeper slumber than natural sleep and as a human, you're susceptible to becoming dependent on it.”

“Okay... Yeah, I get it, but....I'm asking you this time – just this once. I feel like I'm going to lose my mind at this rate.” You half plead. He goes quiet and you think he'll humour you by giving it some thought before outright turning you down. “I swear this will be the only time, you can even use enough to just make me sleepy....?”

Still, he remains quiet and you think that's your answer enough. So you begin to sink back into your bed, preparing to count sheep into oblivion when you hear him release a sigh, bringing a hand up to run it through his hair. Then, he turns back to you and you can only stare up in question.

“You owe me.” He murmurs under his breath. You blink, mind floundering for an appropriate response but it seems that Jimin didn’t plan on leaving any room for argument as he carries on to say, “Lie back.”

You involuntarily swallow but obey regardless, lying back fully and getting comfortable. In all honesty, you understand where he's coming from, having already experienced the magic induced sleep spell a total of two times but....you really need this, even the groggy after effects can't stop you.

Jimin stoops to take his seat on the empty space beside you again, only this time, he positions himself in a way he can hover over you. The faint glow of his eyes is the only thing that helps you get an idea of just how close he is to you, along with the soft caress of his breath against your lashes and rapidly warming cheeks. You wait with baited breath, nibbling your lower lip out of nerves. It makes him let out a breathy chortle.

“Relax, you're making me nervous.”

You snort unattractively, eyes darting off to the side as you mumble under your breath. “You shouldn't be talking....”

Jimin doesn't say anything in reply, though you know he's probably smiling to himself and it's only when you feel a gentle hand cupping your cheek does your gaze snap back to his, body freezing up instinctively. He patiently waits until you're used to his touch and though it takes while, you eventually feel yourself loosening up, as if his gaze has you spellbound. Jimin senses the way you once tense body relaxes and he takes it as a cue to prepare the spell, eyes glowing a little more vividly as he whispers the magic words.

“Now, sleep.”

The last thing you feel is the feather light touch of Jimin's thumb caressing your cheek as you gladly let the familiar hazy cloud swallow you finally into your much desired dreamless sleep.

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chain-unchained · 5 years ago

Text

June 5

-TRIGGER WARNING-: This post contains depictions of depression and contemplations of suicide. If you suffer from anxiety, depression or suicidal thoughts, you may not want to read further.

If anyone who is reading this has thoughts of self-harm or suicide, please remember that no matter who you are, no matter what you’re going through: you do matter. There is help out there.

National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255

Across the winding river that ran through the Cindersap forest south of Marnie’s ranch was a long line of sheer cliff faces overlooking the vast Gem Sea. Down at the ocean level, violent waves crashed up against the cliffs, spraying foam high up into the air; on some days, when the sea was particularly turbulent, the spray could be seen over the cliffs.

It was the kind of place where if you were to fall, or jump, or simply just walk off the edge, it would more than likely be fatal; if the spiky rocks that jutted up out from the water didn’t end you, then the current would surely carry you far out to sea and finish the job. This was especially true where the river met the ocean via a raging waterfall—the force of the falling water alone would be enough to pull you under and crush you. A slow, agonizing death.

More and more lately, Shane had made the trip through the forest to that very spot, overlooking that shimmering, endless ocean. The idea was always there, in the back of his head, quietly nagging at him so that he could never truly ignore it. After last night, that idea had moved to the forefront of his mind.

Surrounded by three empty six-packs and countless beer cans, he laid sprawled out on the ground, staring up at the thundercloud-filled sky as a heavy, warm rain soaked him. He was so drunk that he couldn’t even feel the wetness of his clothes as they clung to him, the chill of the wind as it blustered over him. But no matter how many beers he had, he couldn’t numb the pain in his heart anymore. He’d even went through a fifth of vodka in the hopes that it would take him to that state of inebriated serenity that he always sought, but nothing helped. Nothing helped.

Nothing could keep Jas’ voice out of his head, repeating what she had asked Marnie the night before. ‘Is he gonna be drunk? I don’t like it when he drinks…’

And then Marnie’s voice would follow. ‘What’s your plan?’ She had asked that day when he’d passed out in his room. ‘Don’t you ever think about the future?’

No matter what he did, he always seemed to end up hurting the ones he cared about. Even when he tried to do something good, his damn dependance on alcohol ruined everything. It had ruined him. And he had let it, because he didn’t have the strength or willpower to change anything. Everything had gone downhill when Jas’ parents died, and the only comfort he had during those dark days was alcohol. Now, all it did was make him even more fucked up than he was, without numbing any of the pain…

An umbrella appeared above him, shielding his face from the pouring rain; blinking the mix of tears and rain from his eyes, Shane squinted up, until Ashe’s face came swimming into view. He was so wasted that he hadn’t heard the farm boy come to stand near his head, looking down to Shane with a quiet expression of concern. “Ashe…” He mumbled, struggling to make a coherent sound come out of his mouth. This time, he didn’t have it in him to push the kid away. He didn’t have anything left in him anymore.

Wordlessly, Ashe sat down, keeping the umbrella held over Shane to protect him from the rain even as he himself became soaked by it. As their eyes met, Shane felt another wave of regret and shame wash over him, mixed with the feeling of nausea from the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. He had done everything in his power to push his only friend away, and even now, he was still there. No judgement, no pressure; even with his pushiness to get Shane to open up to him, he never actually forced him to, and when Shane really needed him to, he backed off. He was a true friend, and Shane had done nothing for him in return. So, then why…? Why was he here now? Why was he sitting out in this storm, just for him?

“I….” Shane could feel a lump in his throat as he tried to talk again. “I’m sorry…. I’m so fucking sorry….” A strong gust of wind blew, and Ashe instinctively doubled his grip on the umbrella to keep it from blowing away. “M…. my life…. It’s a pathetic joke…. Look at me…” Fresh hot tears stung at his eyes, cascading unchecked down his cheeks and into his ears as he sobbed, “Why do I even try….?”

Another flash of lightning lit up the sky just overhead, followed by a crack of thunder that they could feel in their chests. It was as though mother nature herself was hurting for her child.

Through the tears, Shane continued, his voice breaking and shaking as he tried in vain to steady it. “I’m too small and stupid to… to take control of my life…. I’m just a p… piece of soiled garbage flittering in the wind…” For a long minute, he fell silent, as though waiting to see if Ashe would respond. But Ashe remained silent, continuing to look down at Shane as he waited for him to speak again. “… I’ve been coming here often lately… looking down…” He admitted, wanting to close his eyes so he didn’t have to look up at that gentle face but being unable to do so. “Here’s a chance to finally take control of my life… These cliffs…”

For some reason, saying it out loud filled him with a terrifying fear. But maybe… maybe he’d felt that fear all along, and just didn’t realize it until he was saying it to someone who would be impacted if he actually did what he’d wanted to do. “B… bu….” His chin quivered, his face scrunching up slightly. “But I’m too scared, too anxious. Just like always…”

Silence again fell, broken only by the crashing waves, the roaring wind, the rumbling thunder, the plink plink of the rain on the surface of the river.

“Ashe…. All I do is work, sleep, and drink… t… to dull the feelings of self-hatred. Why should I even go on?” The lump in Shane’s throat was painful, pointy and sharp as he openly wept. “T…. Tell me why I shouldn’t roll off this cliff right now…”

It wasn’t a rhetorical question. He was begging, pleading for Ashe to give him an answer. For anyone to give him an answer, a reason to continue this pathetic excuse of an existence. It was cruel for him to ask such a thing of his friend, but he didn’t know what else to do. And he didn’t even know what kind of answer he was hoping for.

“….” Ashe shifted closer, gently resting Shane’s head on his lap so the tears wouldn’t keep going into his ears. “The decision is your own.” He murmured, using his other hand to brush Shane’s rain-soaked bangs from his face as he spoke. “Just know that I’m here for you.”

I’m here for you. Despite it all, despite him seeing Shane at his absolute lowest, Ashe was still there. No matter what choice Shane made, he would support him.

Hearing that reaffirmation made the lump become even bigger. “I… I appreciate that. I really do, Ashe…” He admitted, finding comfort in the feeling of warmth radiating from Ashe’s body. He fell silent again for a few moments before speaking once more. “… I… need help, Ashe… I need help…. Please help me….”

As the words were uttered, the umbrella slipped from Ashe’s hand, carried away on the wind out to the ocean. It was so hard to admit that he needed help. It was painful, and humiliating, and selfish. But… he felt like he could trust Ashe enough to ask for it of him.

“Then let’s get you some help.” Ashe answered, shifting to sit Shane up so he could get him to his feet. He couldn’t put into words how relieved he was to hear those words…

The sound of the wind and rain was muffled by the walls of the clinic; the storm had only seemed to intensify as Ashe had all but carried Shane into town, with little hard hailstones coming down by the time they got inside. Harvey had taken one look at Shane before whisking him into the back, leaving Ashe to sit in the waiting room, shivering as he waited for any word on his friend’s condition.

Afer what felt like an eternity, Harvey finally stepped through the swinging door into the waiting room, carrying a thin white blanket and a cup of hot coffee. “I’ve pumped his stomach and re-hydrated his body.” He explained, handing both to Ashe to help warm him up and dry him off. “He’s going to be okay. It’s good that you brought him in, though.”

“Thank Yoba…” Ashe wrapped the blanket around himself tightly and held the warm styrofoam cup in his numb hands. “Can I see him?” Even with what Harvey had just said, he wanted to see it with his own eyes that Shane was going to be okay.

“Of course.” Harvey nodded and gestured for Ashe to follow, leading him into the back recovery area; an unconscious Shane lay on the bed in the furthest corner, his soaked clothes hanging up by the heater to dry. Even despite the doctor’s efforts to clear the air, the scent of putrid alcohol still lingered from the stomach pumping. “Too much alcohol is terrible for the body…. But right now, I’m most worried about his mental health.”

Wordlessly, Ashe reached out, gently touching Shane’s cheek; it was warm against his cold fingertips, offering a sense of relief to him. “Me too…” He murmured, letting his hand fall back to his side. “… Dr. Harvey, please help him.” He looked to the doctor, unable to hide his own tears any longer. “Help him, because I don’t know how to. Please…! Help him stop hurting…!”

For how hard he had pushed for Shane to rely on him, for how often he kept telling Shane that he was there for him, he didn’t know how to give him the help he needed. He didn’t even know if what he had been doing the whole time was the right thing. He just wanted Shane to get better—not just physically, but mentally.

Seeing Ashe’s reaction, Harvey picked up a box of tissues and offered it to him. “When he comes to, I’ll have a chat with him about his treatment options.” He assured, as Ashe tugged a couple from the box and used them to stem the flow of tears from his eyes. “I know an excellent counselor in Zuzu City.” Looking back to Shane, who finally had an expression of peace on his face as he slept, he continued, “Life can be painful, sometimes… But there’s always hope for a better future. You’ve got to believe in that.”

A better future. That’s all that anyone could ever strive towards, wasn’t it? Life was just an endless pursuit of something better, something always just out of reach. When hope was lost of ever achieving that goal, that was really what could be considered ‘death’… “Yeah….” Ashe agreed with a sniffle, looking back to Shane as a heavy sigh escaped him.

He wanted Shane to start living again. More than anything in the world—more than winning back his grandpa’s farm, even, he wanted Shane to find that hope again.

Though the storm carried on well into the night, the next morning greeted Pelican Town with sunshine and a brilliant, clear blue sky. It had been a restless night for Ashe, though, who barely slept at all, unable to make his brain shut down long enough to rest. He knew that Harvey knew what he was doing, but that didn’t stop him from worrying.

“Sorry, Blue…” He apologized to the cat that he had adopted not long after he’d moved in, running his fingers slowly over the long orange fur that covered the animal’s body. “I guess neither of us got much sleep, huh?”

Blue had been his great companion on the farm. The most laid back and chill cat Ashe had ever met, he was much more like a dog, actively seeking out affection from Ashe and following him around as he worked the farmland. He even liked to play fetch from time to time, when he wasn’t lounging out in the sunlight of course. Even despite the rough night, he climbed up onto Ashe’s chest, lightly butting his head against the farmer’s chin almost in response to Ashe’s apology.

“Haha, you’re too patient with me.” Ashe spent a few moments scratching at Blue’s cheeks before he got up, against the protests of his sleep deprived body. He’d learned quickly that the best solution to exhaustion was to get up and moving, no matter how difficult it was. “Let’s get some breakfast going.”

He said ‘breakfast’, but he really just meant toast for himself and fish for Blue; money was really tight for him right now, meaning that he was really having to stretch what he had. He’d gone and spent all that hard-earned money on seeds, only to wake up on the fourth to find his fields completely trashed from a pack of roaming raccoons. All he could do was salvage as much as possible and use other money-making methods to buy more seeds. It was a setback, but he refused to let it hold him back for long. Despite that, he refused to skimp out on Blue’s food, since there was no reason for the cat to suffer too.

“I wonder if Shane’s awake yet…” He pondered aloud to himself, leaning against the counter as he waited for the bread to toast; Blue jumped up onto the countertop and rubbed against his hand, earning himself more petting as Ashe let his mind wander to Shane. “… I hope he’s okay….”

A knock at the door made him jump—for a moment, he’d thought it was the toaster going off sooner than expected, a minor fright which at least helped to wake him up. “Ah, just a second!” He called, traipsing hastily to the door and undoing the locks so he could open it. Who on earth could it be at this hour, he wondered.

As he pulled the door open, his eyes fell upon Shane, who stood on his front porch with his hands shoved in his pockets and a somewhat meek expression on his face. “Hey…” He mumbled, unable to quite look Ashe in the eye just yet; fidgeting a little, he looked away, bringing one hand up to rub the back of his neck as he exhaled slowly. “Oh man… uh… how do I say this?” He struggled with finding the words for a few more seconds, eventually forcing himself to look Ashe in the eye. “I’m really sorry about what happened at the cliffs. That was… embarrassing…”

It almost felt surreal for Ashe, who stood there motionless with his eyes widened slightly at the sight of Shane. He hadn’t expected Shane to be back on his feet so quickly, let alone for him to seek him out to apologize. “…..” His chin quivered a little, and before he could stop himself, he threw his arms around the man, hugging him tight in a gesture that caught Shane off-guard. “I’m just really happy you’re still here.”

“… It was that serious, huh?” Shane felt a twinge of guilt, hearing that from Ashe; unlike before, he made no move to push him away this time, though he didn’t move to return the hug either. He wasn’t quite up to that, yet. “I can hardly remember…” And that was true; there wasn’t much about that whole day he could recall. There was one thing, however; he could clearly recall Ashe’s presence there.

Letting go of Shane after a few moments, Ashe stepped back, his eyes just a little misty as he smiled happily. “Here, come inside.” He offered, holding the door open for his friend; looking a bit hesitant, Shane eventually accepted, stepping into the small home so they could continue to talk. The toast in the toaster was done, and Ashe poured them each a cup of coffee, sharing a stack of browned bready goodness with butter as they sat down at the table.

“I’ve decided I want to see a therapist.” Shane admitted, holding his cup in both hands as his bad knee jittered up and down anxiously. “Harvey got me in touch with a colleague of his. I want to actually get better…” He looked down into the dark liquid, tightening his grip on the mug slightly. “I want to be the kind of godfather that Jas deserves, and I can’t do that when I’m drinking. So I’m going to give up booze for good.”

Hearing that put another smile on Ashe’s face… and an idea into his head. “Then so will I.” He said, leaning forward in his chair as his smile widened. “I won’t drink anymore, either.”

“H-Hey—” Shane jerked his head up to look at Ashe in bewilderment. “You don’t have to do that. This is my problem, not yours.”

“I want to support you.” Ashe continued to smile cheerily, making Shane’s protests die in his throat. “That’s what friends do for each other~” He was quiet for a moment, before softly admitting, “Though, it’s really not the same for me to give up alcohol, is it…. So, how about this?” Holding out his pinky finger to Shane, he continued, “I’ll give up eating chocolate cornets, too. That way, we’re both getting clean in some regard. We can help keep each other in check, and vent to one another when the cravings get really bad.”

“…..” Shane didn’t quite know what to say; he knew what a bad sweet tooth Ashe had for Gus’ cornets, so for him to willingly give them up just to support him was…. “… You really know how to twist my arm, don’t you?” He asked, reaching his own pinky out and gently locking the two digits together in a promise. “I dunno why you’d want to make yourself miserable, but I’m not gonna stop you.” His face softened a little, unable to remain hardened against that dumb merry smile. “Anway… I wanted to thank you for taking care of me.” He said, once they’d let go of one another’s pinkies. “For whatever reason, you’ve stuck by me since you got here. I know I’ve never said it before, but… I really appreciate you being my friend, Ashe.”

It was the second time in as many days that he was honest with his words. It was terrifying, in a sense, to let down his guard like this and make himself vulnerable, but he understood now that if he wanted to get better, he was going to have to step out of his comfort zone.

His gratitude just made Ashe beam even more. “I’m happy that I get to be your friend~” He chimed cheerily, as though it truly was the highlight of his life that Shane had finally accepted his friendship. It baffled Shane, but he’d kind of figured out by that point that Ashe was weird and not like other kids his age. And maybe that was what he liked so much about the kid.

Curious as to who this stranger in his house was, Blue jumped up onto the table and came right up to Shane, his tail raised inquisitively as his little wet nose touched the man’s hand to sniff him. “…. I didn’t know you had a cat.” Shane commented, somewhat caught off-guard by Blue’s sudden interjection.

“Oh yeah.” Ashe laughed, as Blue decided that he liked Shane and proceeded to lightly paw his hand in an attempt to get petted. “That’s Mr. Blue. I found him not long after I moved in here, pecked half to death. I think he tried to snuggle up in Percy’s henhouse or something and got torn up by his chickens. He doesn’t have any claws so he couldn’t protect himself, the poor thing.”

“You sure do like making friends with lost souls, huh?” Hesitantly, Shane scratched the top of Blue’s head; he didn’t have the best experience with cats, but this one seemed alright. “Well, at least I know you’re not stuck here all by your lonesome.”

The two made idle chat for a bit longer, with Shane firmly cementing himself as Blue’s best friend thanks to the amazing skritches he gave. Eventually, once their cups were empty, Shane got up from the table. “I should get going… Marnie pulled a mama bear move and got Morris to give me today off so I could head to Zuzu City for my first counseling session—well, she doesn’t know that’s what it’s for, but that’s what it’s for, so I better not waste any time.”

“She must have put the fear of Yoba in him…” Ashe’s eyes widened at the thought of sweet, kindly Marnie putting an asshole like Morris in his place. “Be safe on your way there, okay? And I know I keep saying this, but… I’m here for you. No matter what.”

“… Yeah.” Shane nodded a little, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. “I finally know that now. Thanks.”

It was the first step on a long, winding road to recovery; it wasn’t going to be easy, and there were going to be times where he tripped and fell and regressed. But surely, he could reach the end someday. He had to believe in that.

#stardew #stardew valley #stardew shane #stardew farmer #stardew fanfic #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley fanfiction

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 5 years ago

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We’ll Carry On - Chapter Fifty Eight

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

August 8th, 2015

Roman was panting. He and his mom had decided it might be a fun idea to go on a hike, but now it was super hot and they were out of water. Even though they were heading back to the car, Roman certainly wasn’t feeling better with that knowledge. “Mom, I don’t feel good...” he said, voice high-pitched but too weak to be whining.

“We’re almost at the car, Roman, just fifteen minutes,” his mom said. “It’ll be okay, my little knight. Can you make it fifteen minutes?”

Roman wasn’t sure. He shrugged and continued walking. Soon, he was barely doing that, and his mom had him propped up against her as she continued to walk. By the time they got back to the car, Roman was only seeing the world in smudges of color and the edge of his vision was going black. His mom immediately cracked open a water bottle they had left in the car and helped him drink some of it. “We need to be more careful, Roman,” she said. “You can’t push yourself until you almost pass out. For any reason.”

December 12th, 2020

“Well, it all comes down to this,” Logan said playfully. “The Saturday matineé. You know, you really didn’t have to stay after school with me yesterday just because I’m a tech. You weren’t scheduled for that night.”

Roman put a hand to his chest and made an affronted noise. “How dare you!” he exclaimed. “Of course I’m going to stay after school with you, it’s the very end of Hell Week, and there’s no reason you should suffer with the lights on your own!”

“Jack was doing the sound, I would have been fine,” Logan said, looking Roman up and down. “Your costume...I still don’t get why they made it like this.”

“This” being covered in tan glitter, with a few stuck-on starfish and shells for show. “I’m the sand guardian, guardian of the sand!” Roman exclaimed. “Seriously, though, if I’m supposed to pop up from behind where I was hiding in a sand dune while the mystery unfolds, then I have to look the part!”

“I still say you should have gotten a bigger role,” Logan grumbled.

“Hey, I got the lead for the second mystery, and I don’t want to have to memorize that many lines. After dealing with the Remus character, I may be able to memorize anything, but that doesn’t mean I can or should try,” Roman said. “Besides, Nick says that he doesn’t give out the lead roles easily. I’m honored that I even got one lead in the three-act mysteries.”

“True, Nick can be pretty picky,” Logan allowed.

Roman preened under the subtle praise. “You see? There’s no need to get upset on my behalf! I got a lead role for the play my freshman year, albeit the second cast. It’s still not something to gawk at!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Logan said, waving a hand. “Just be prepared for a lightning-quick costume change and try not to trip on stage, all right?”

Roman gave Logan a look with his eyes darting back and forth as he worried his lip. “Uh, yeah, about that...”

“What did you do?” Logan asked, his voice sounding more like a warning than a question.

“I didn’t do anything!” Roman defended. “But some of the other freshmen got their hands on kinetic sand for props, and they sorta...spilled some on the stage. Not enough to stain or make a mess, and they got most of it up! But the stuff they used to clean it means that the stage is still a little...slippery...”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. “And you didn’t tell Nick this, because?”

“Because I thought it would have dried by now, it was like, ten this morning when it happened!” Roman defended.

Roman watched Logan’s face flit through several emotions, which mirrored the five stages of grief pretty well: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and when Logan sighed, his face showed resigned acceptance. “Well we can’t do anything about it now except pray it dries before tonight’s show. If you actually break a leg from that, I will kill the freshmen who did that.”

“You’re the best, Logan,” Roman said with a small thumbs-up.

“The only reason I’m not telling Nick is because I’m not the head of the props department and we can’t do anything, because we don’t have any towels to lay down that aren’t paper towels, and that wouldn’t end well,” Logan groaned. “Just know that Jack will kill you if you break your mic, and I’ll kill you if you break your neck.”

Roman laughed out, “Noted,” before Logan headed into the wings for one last lights check.

“Places, everyone!” Nick called in a stage whisper.

Roman dashed over to where he was supposed to be hiding, and grimaced as he realized he essentially had to lie down in the remains of the water and whatever-else the others had used to clean up the sand. Roman was probably going to dismember John before the day was up for messing around with the props. He should know better; he was a tech, after all!

The floor felt really gross, and Roman was pretty sure he never wanted to lie down for a solid half an hour on hardwood that smelled faintly of cleaning products again. The smell wasn’t too bad at first, but as time wore on it was starting to give Roman a bit of a headache. By the time he had to jump up over the fake pile of sand, he was feeling a little dizzy, but he still put his all into his performance, trying to avoid running on autopilot for as long as possible.

As the first act ended, Roman dashed offstage to get ready for his next part. The intermission was all the time he had to get out of his beach costume and change into a somewhat understated suit. He was sweating from the heat of the spotlights and he looked around desperately for a bottle of water that he could get a sip from, but he had no such luck. The curtain was about to go up and Roman had to get out on stage.

At this point, Roman was struggling to stay off autopilot harder than ever before. The spotlights were beating down and he was sweating underneath his suit coat. He made it all the way to the end of the act, focusing on the blocking and the lines, and not how miserable he felt. He walked off the stage, seeing Logan waiting in the wings. His mouth was moving, but Roman’s ears were ringing and he couldn’t make out the words. Logan reached out to Roman’s arm, but Roman kept walking. He needed to change for the third act, didn’t he? Sure, he was an extra, but he didn’t wear the full suit in the final act.

He paused in his way to the green room, suddenly feeling like his legs couldn’t move. He was panting, and Logan dashed over to him, grabbing him by the arms and shaking him slightly, his mouth moving over and over again in the same pattern, but Roman still couldn’t hear him.

Without warning, his knees buckled and his vision went dark and he collapsed to the ground as Logan’s grip on him slipped. Roman’s head throbbed, and he lost all sense of what was happening around him.

When he finally felt like his thoughts were coherent again and he could crack his eyes open, Logan, Nick, and Jack were all hovering over him. Nick was fanning him with a playbill, Logan was shaking and crying, and Jack was hugging Logan tightly. Roman blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus more than just blurry smears of color he could only recognize from past experience nearly passing-out and his vision going funny.

“Roman!” Logan exclaimed, entirely too loudly for Roman’s ears. “Roman, are you okay?! What happened?!”

A groan was all that could come out of Roman’s mouth. Jack bent down and instructed, “Logan, prop him up a bit. Just his head, if you can’t hold him all up.”

Logan propped up Roman’s shoulders and there was the crack of a water bottle cap opening, and Roman could have sighed in relief as Jack poured water into his mouth, which he eagerly swallowed. When Jack pulled the water bottle away, Roman whispered, “Thank you.”

“Roman?” Nick asked. “How are you feeling?”

“Bad,” Roman said. “Head hurts. Hot. Dizzy.”

“It might have been a combination of the chemicals and the lights that made you pass out,” Jack noted.

“What chemicals?” Nick asked.

“Oh...uh...” Jack squirmed. “Earlier today some of the freshmen techs spilled some kinetic sand on the stage and they had to clean it up, but the floor was staining and it took small amounts of floor cleaner to get it looking good as new again. I wasn’t told about this until after it had happened, right before the show was about to start.”

“Well, that’d do it,” Nick sighed. “Roman, your dads are being led back here, you were only out of it for two minutes. But you’re in no condition to get back out there. Rest up, and if you feel better tomorrow, you can be a part of the Sunday show. No pressure if you can’t, though; that’s what the understudies are here for.”

Roman nodded, which he instantly regretted doing, but Jack helped him drink some more water and Dad and Ami were ushered backstage. “Roman?! What happened?!” Dad asked.

“He passed out,” Jack said simply. “He should be okay, just needs some water and rest.”

“Okay,” Dad breathed. Ami looked visibly relieved as well.

Logan squeezed Roman’s shoulder. “Can you sit up?” he asked. “We can help you get out of here, but you need to be able to sit in the wheelchair they have.”

“Yeah, I think I can...” Roman mumbled, and pushed himself into a sitting position with some help from Logan and Jack.

As one of the techs dashed up to Roman with a wheelchair, Roman was helped to stand just enough to get in the chair thanks to Logan and Jack. He was then rather unceremoniously wheeled offstage. Logan went back to the lights, and Jack went back to the sound, but Nick, Dad, and Ami all stayed with him in the green room as he took sips of water. He needed to change out of the costume before he could even think about going home, and he just hoped that some color was returning to his face.

When he felt considerably better, Nick let himself out of the room at Roman’s insistence. He shook as he tried to push himself out of the wheelchair and groaned. “I can’t stand yet,” he mumbled. “I feel better, but not enough to change into my own clothes.”

Dad checked the time. “Well, everyone is going to be just about done with the play, soon. We should get you out of your costume before your classmates are flooding the place.”

Roman sighed. “I know,” he groaned. “But I can’t do anything about it.”

“I could help?” Dad offered.

“What?” Roman asked.

“The underwear you’re wearing isn’t part of the costume, right?” Dad asked. “And I know what you came in wearing. I can help you with the pants issues and you can handle the shirt yourself.”

“I...okay?” Roman said, voice rising at the end. It wasn’t like he had much of an option here.

“Rem, do you mind going back to the kids to make sure they’re not driving their grandparents nuts?” Dad asked.

“Sure thing,” Ami said, squeezing Dad’s shoulder. “Hopefully we won’t have to carry you to the car, Roman. If we do, though, it’s okay. We just want you to be safe.”

Roman nodded as Ami left. Dad wheeled Roman into the men’s dressing room. Roman was able to fumble with the buttons on the suit coat and slide that off somewhat easily, but his fingers kept slipping on the smaller buttons on the shirt. He growled in frustration as he continued to struggle with the buttons as Dad searched the room for Roman’s regular clothes.

When Dad had returned with the right clothes and Roman was still struggling with the first button, Dad gently pried his hands away and murmured, “It’s okay, let me do it.”

Roman sighed as Dad gently undid the buttons on his shirt. When he was halfway down the row, Roman sighed and muttered, “Sorry.”

“No apologies, Roman, this isn’t your fault,” Dad said. “It was a series of unfortunate events that led you to pass out, and obviously you’re going to be shaky afterward. Even if that weren’t the problem, I wouldn’t mind helping you. It gives me...”

“What?” Roman asked softly.

“It gives me a glimpse into what life would have been like if I had been there for you from the start,” Dad admitted. “Little kids are a lot of work, because they’re so dependent, but every once in a while there are intimate moments that it’s harder to get with older kids or teenagers.”

“It takes those rare moments where they become dependent after that to experience them?” Roman asked.

“Typically,” Dad agreed. He slid the shirt off Roman’s shoulders. “Let’s get your shirt on, and then we can deal with the awkwardness of pants.”

Roman laughed. “...Hey, Dad?”

Dad looked at him curiously as Roman put on his shirt with minimal difficulty.

“Part of my early childhood or not, I’m still glad that you and Ami are here for me now,” Roman said.

“Roman, there’s nowhere we’d rather be,” Dad assured.

#we'll carry on #sanders sides fanfiction #roman sanders #logan sanders #emile picani #our creations #danger gays

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incagewetrust · 6 years ago

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Zandalee (1991)

Zandalee (Erika Anderson) just wants to fuck, and that’s… really it. She could have sex with her willing husband, but he just isn’t artsy enough for her now that he’s working an office job instead of being the free spirited poet he once was. Luckily, her husband Thierry’s (Judge Reinhold) old friend Johnny Collins (Nicolas Cage) shows up, a painter full of passion wrapped in bad extensions and a goatee, that she can have an affair with instead. Zandalee and Johnny then have various sexual encounters throughout the movie, including some sex outside, sex in a church, sex in the laundry room, bjs in the kitchen, body painting, and an oil and cocaine (?!?!?!? WHAT WAS THAT) massage. Thierry eventually starts to suspect the affair, and decides to try and rekindle his and Zandalee’s relationship with a vacation to the bayou. However when Johnny shows up, everything just goes totally wrong as the film suddenly becomes a shitty thriller.

»»————- ★ ————-««

Initial thoughts: well boy howdy Post-movie thoughts: what the fuck

Also I kind of wrote an entire essay on this movie so, buckle up I guess lol.

Good god, where do I even start. Why did anyone think this was an okay movie to make???

I was so excited for this to be so bad it was good when I saw the genres and poster but oh boy was I wrong.

First off, NICOLAS CAGE’S LOOK. Nothing in this known universe could have prepared me to see him look like this, especially in a supposed ‘erotic thriller’. The poster does not do him justice at all. Where do I even begin. The hair is…. so, so terrible. In case you missed it: he’s got extensions in, which blend terribly with his hair because it’s an untameable beast and will not be held down. The solution was apparently to gel the top layers down which awful to look at when you see the back of his head. Then of course, the moustache + goatee look. I can’t lie and say I’m not a little bit into it, but combined with the bad hair, cheesy dialogue, goofy tattoo and everything else, nothing could save this look. At least he had cute clothes?

Moving on, the dialogue. Oh god the dialogue. It’s like someone’s first quizilla lemon got made into a movie. The dialogue is so fucking pretentious and cheesy there’s absolutely no way someone could find this ‘’erotic’. Upon some research I’ve learned that the movie uh…. borrows heavily from a novel/play called ‘Therese Raquin’ from 1868, so I guess that’s why they talk like that? I’m not about to read it to find out honestly. But it adds absolutely nothing to the film for them not to talk in more modern English, and contrasts horribly with the sexy dialogue.

I like trashy “chick-flick” type movies so tbh I probably could have forgiven the script if anything else about the movie was enjoyable, but there’s really nothing. Zandalee incredibly immature in how she acts, and treats Thierry and Johnny. I guess I can get her acting like a brat with Thierry because she’s obviously not happy with him, but her relationship with Johnny is super toxic as well, and just made me uncomfortable watching it. Why you’d keep pursuing a relationship with someone who hits you and keeps telling you to fuck off one minute then change their mind the next is beyond me….. and certainly not exciting to watch.

HEY! DID YOU KNOW HE’S AN ARTIST? HE’S GOT PAINT ON HIS HANDS.

This is my favourite garbage, Hallmark-y romance trope for artsy characters. I know it’s supposed to remind the viewer of the totally sexy body painting scene from before, but the stars really just aligned for me. Also damn he has really nice nails? I’m jealous as fuck.

Okay now I really have to complain about the ending, and it’s going to get extremely spoiler-y. If you plan on torturing yourself with this movie (who would?), or reading/watching ‘Therese Raquin’, this is your warning.

So plot wise the movie was passable because they had all that framework from ‘Therese Raquin’ to go off of, but they really threw all that away for the ending. They absolutely hacked, slashed, and set fire to the final plot points of ‘Therese Raquin’ into a horrible, incomprehensible mess. Whereas the plot of ‘Therese Raquin’ builds up the tragedy to the climax of the novel, ‘Zandalee’ meanders along Johnny and Zan’s love affair and then shoves all of the tragic plot points one after another at the very end, completely changing the tone of the film and slam dunking any possibility of a coherent plot into a flaming dumpster. Apparently this warranted a ‘thriller label’ somehow.

Rather than the wife and lover murdering the husband and pretending it was an accident a la ‘TR’, Thierry just kind of flips out at them and then kills himself, despite Zan and Johnny’s attempts to save him. The aftermath in both have the wife and lover haunted by the husbands death, but whereas ‘TR’ has both the wife and lover commit suicide, the writers of ‘Zandalee’ decided to have Johnny’s cocaine dealer??? (According to Wiki????) Try to murder him, but Zan takes the bullet for him and dies instead???? What the fuck.

I really think they should have stopped copying so hard with the ending because they it’s just a hot mess. They navigated incorporating all of TR’s plot points without being a direct copy in the worst way possible.

Here, I'll fix it: Thierry ends up shooting or drowning Johnny or something out on the bayou, paints it as an accident, and tries to repair his relationship with Zandalee. Zandalee can’t handle what’s happened and commits suicide, and then Thierry can too if you want all three to die. There. Tragedy with similar beats to the source material that isn’t fucking wild.

The ONLY positive I could possible give this movie is that the wardrobe and setting were very nice to look at. I really liked the colour palette in particular, and there were some lovely shots of New Orleans.

This movie honestly made me a bit mad. I want everyone to watch it so we can commiserate, but I also don’t want anyone to have to go through the suffering. My will to finish this movie was powered by morbid curiosity, and because I was waiting to see Nic in sex scenes.

I did actually find one photo of the cast where Nic’s hair is laying just right so the extensions aren’t punching you in the face, and he’s smiling instead of his pouty-sexy-boy look he sports in the movie and….. I’m kind of dangerously into the look when it’s like this.....

Rating:

#zandalee #movie review #review #nicolas cage #this movie is just..... i'm a changed woman #multiple people thought this was okay and now it brings unsexy negative energy to our universe #i hope far in the future someone finds this movie and uses it to conceptualise 1990s human sexuality

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isroselalondebisexual · 7 years ago

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What do you think Jade Lalonde, Rose Harley, and Dave Egbert would be like? I've already seen some analysis on John Strider so i don't wanna force you into rehasing anything ^^;

Jade Lalonde, my girl Jade raised by a Permissive parent, probably wouldn’t look toooooooo terribly different from canon Jade. Her interests are well financed, and she’s a good self-motivator, which is probably good because showing off her achievements to a drunken parent isn’t going to get the same response as a coherent parent. Of course, Mom is super proud of her brilliant daughter, and of COURSE she loves her super duper dearly and thinks Jade is the most intelligent girl alive, but it can get a little frustrating for Jade to explain her interests, and then ten minutes later realize her mom hasn’t retained a word. This Jade’s gonna be more acclimated to frustration and broken expectations, which is gonna manifest itself in two ways. She’s not gonna respond much at all when she’s disappointed, sometimes by really major things that she SHOULD get pissed off about, or she’s going to blow the fuck up over seemingly minor shit that most people would be able to brush off. But it’s more about the principle of the thing than the actual expectation that got broken, y’know? Probably gonna be sneakier than canon Jade, able to manipulate the situation to get her mom to actually DO stuff she needs her to, whether that be through passive aggression or batting her eyelids or setting up a situation so her mom “conveniently” will be reminded of certain things, and that’s gonna carry over into her other relationships as well, entirely unintentionally at first, that’s just sorta how she’s used to operating. Her role, then, as the Witch of Light, combined with that naturally honed ability to manipulate the situation with intelligence and a calculated amount of luck, is going to be one that comes naturally to her, and she’s going to be a HELLRAISER. She’s going to be UNPARALLELED. There will be no imp nor ogre nor time travelling demon who spits destruction from his maw that will be able to stand against her. She’s here, she’s brilliant, and she and her friends will be catching no unlucky breaks because she is the one whose will Luck bends to.

Rose Harley, raised by a dog and some chess people, alone on an island. Probably gets pretty entrenched in her know it all bossy phase pretty quick, but is less sure of herself. Doesn’t get a lot of positive feedback aside from her dog and some chess people who she’s pretty sure she’s smarter than, but that makes human interaction even harder for her, and she’s never really been good at interpersonal stuff to begin with. Lots of false confidence, I think, but suffers from impostor syndrome pretty badly. She WANTS to belong in the group, she really really wants to be involved and included and someone who BELONGS there, but can’t shake the nagging feeling that everyone else is a regular human being and she’s. Weird. And not in a good way. Gonna be more anxious than her canon counterpart, I think. Her favorite books she’s read 1000 times over and she’s got SUPER in-depth thoughts and analysis for the stuff she takes interest in, a very very brilliant girl who is never sure when “sharing” becomes “oversharing” and when “odd in a fun way” becomes “Rose that’s creepy.” Her role as the Seer of Space goes along well with being awake on Prospit prior to the Game even starting, as she has dealt with visions of the future all her life. Unfortunately, since space is all-encompassing, she’s not seeing what is fortuitous, or what WILL happen, or even what SHOULD happen, she’s seeing what happens in pretty much any timeline anywhere and it’s her task to sit down, think about what she’s Seen, and parse together whether they should or shouldn’t take that path. Her honed analytical skills will be pushed to their limits and brought to task over and over again, but through her smarts and what she has Foreseen, she is able to direct their group and conduct them in such a way that the new universe is spawned and they are able to win. The fact that she is SO CRUCIAL to their success helps her feel more like part of the group, but presents a NEW problem of wondering if maybe now they’re just pretending to be interested in her for her abilities. Her big hurdle is allowing herself to see that she is loved and wanted, and she truly does belong with them.

Dave Egbert is a kinda nerdy dude, he takes his camera with him everywhere and is always taking selfies or posting stuff to his instagram and did you hear? I heard someone say he has a collection of like, roadkill or something. Dave absolutely has a collection of dead shit. Also cicada shells that show up on the trees and bushes, because hey man cicada shells are cool. He’s super into his dumb nerd shit like video games and even reads that dumb gamebro magazine that he damn well KNOWS is dumb but he likes it and he’s not embarrassed about his interests! He knows the stuff he likes isn’t cool and doesn’t try to pass it off as cool, he just enjoys himself and fuck the haters. He ADORES his dad, was definitely one of those kids that began crying the MOMENT his dad dropped him off at daycare or smth, very attached but also complains about him sometimes, because kids complain about their parents, especially since Dad Egbert is the type of dude to walk up in front of his kid’s friends and use the embarrassing toddler nicknames like “sport” or “squirt” or smth and Dave’s friends are like “lmao your dad actually calls you ‘sport’ I thought that only happened in movies” and Dad also has like, a wallet full of Dave’s pictures and Dave is just like “daaaaaad” but also heck yes he was an ADORABLE baby so he sorta thrives off the attention. Has the biggest, dumbest crush on John imaginable. Dad found out Dave was queer not because Dave came out, but because Dave is just SO OBVIOUS about his stupid giant big dumb crush on John and Dad just sorta… quietly accepted this about his son and tries to be a good parent however he can. He’s not the most well-educated about queer stuff but he always tries his best to be respectful and that goes doubly now that he knows his kid isn’t straight. Dave having a supportive parent is a very good concept and one I am wholly behind in literally every way. His role as Knight of Breath is the defender of freedom, which probably means he must first liberate his consorts from his denizen, and then has to go a step further to protect his friends, probably from their own neuroses. Jade thinks she has to leap through all these mental hoops, but she doesn’t, Rose thinks she has to PROVE her worth, that she’s valuable, but Dave would love his sister even if she couldn’t do anything for them, John has been trapped in this toxically masculine, angry place for years and Dave can help him out of there, help him find peace and acceptance even within himself, Dave can pry back the dark gunk that’s been coating John’s soul and let him breathe freely, possibly for the first time in his life.

John Strider, we’ve touched on so I’ll just go over briefly here, but I like to keep these asks done in sets and now that I’ve set a pattern I’m not breaking it. John would end up one of those nasty, nasty, angry bullies. Bro is toxic, abusive, hypermasculine, and unpredictable, which means John winds up angry, lashing out, and hypermasculine as well. He goes way too far, way too often, and doesn’t apologize, total jock stereotype from oldtimey movies and shit, strong and athletic and attractive and just plain mean. Acts like he’s hot shit because whenever he’s at home he’s painfully reminded that he is small, and weak, and can’t actually do anything. Dave is his bro and he likes him plenty but he makes a lot of mean spirited gay jokes to start, probably as a cover for his own identity crisis that he has buried so deep deep down inside him you’re gonna need a shovel to unbury that shit, and is oblivious to Dave’s crush on him. Has a soft spot for Jade, who is kinda the only person who can get John to talk about his feelings frankly and honestly, and probably has a crush on Rose because he thinks that that’s what he’s supposed to do. She’s a girl, she’s his friend, that’s how heterosexuality works, right? His role as Heir of Time, I’m afraid, would be a deeply unpleasant one. What would likely happen is he directs the alpha timeline by having his offshoot timeline selves merge with his alpha self, like what Rose did from Davesprite’s timeline back in canon. But instead of just, like, ONE offshoot timeline self merging with the whole, it’s every single dead John. Every single time his friends die, he dies, every time something goes wrong, he gets to Experience that. He gets to have those memories seared into his brain, one with himself, one with every timeline that has ever existed, and it only further cements his belief that life is cruel, and uncaring, and doesn’t give a single solitary shit about him, or his loved ones, because he does love them. He’s broken inside, all warped and twisted wrong, but he does love them. It is only, and I do mean ONLY, once he and Dave manage to have their heart-to-heart, once John allows Dave in, that John is able to slowly pry out of the dark and hurting place that has stifled his soul for so long. Not to be stupidly, ridiculously cliche, but it is love that frees him, and the love between the two of them that helps him heal. John Strider and Dave Egbert would be a nigh-inevitable otp like that’s just the way this AU would work out my dudes.

*sticks m leggy out* I love getting long winded and these are fun, please share your thoughts with me my dudes.

#Rose Lalonde #John Egbert #Dave Strider #Jade Harley #John Strider #Rose Harley #Dave Egbert #Jade Lalonde #Homestuck #kidswap #answers #John #Dave #Jade

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