#you can blog/ignore/move on with your life instead of hazing them

[balarai]

I really hate callout culture... Like really fuckn hate it.

People seem to take the worst possible take on a post and then drag more people into their little mob through anon and then use trivial fandom bullshit to justify death threats and hazing. And the fact that the mob uses ANON most of the time to spread their claims just rubs me the wrong way...

It's usually people who have been built up on a pedestal in some way... Either for their creative skills/work or for their opinions/ social skills. Idk it honestly feels like people LOOK for reasons to tear someone down, or make false claims to try and build an us vs them mentally.

The target likes a ship with teenagers?? Or with a 5 year age gap?? Obviously a pedophile and pervert. The target likes a character we have deemed problematic? They're an abuse apologist!! (looking at you problematic SU fandom, you know what you did). Target made a post that mentioned some that could be problematic if you squint and shift 5 dimensions to the left, obviously they are dangerously misinformed and actively harmful!!

There is a reason we as a society have the justice system and we don't follow mob mentality. If you don't like someone, block their social media and move on with your life. If they are actually harming someone, like actual abuse not petty fandom drama, then go through the appropriate channels but for fuck sake don't think hazing and cancel culture is the appropriate way to handle things.

[sepia-mahogany]

Prompt: hearing about xuanwus defeat, madam jin and jin zixuan come to lotus pier and overhear madam yu saying wei wuxian should have let the 'sect heirs die', lwj who's recovering also overhears, the 3 get first hand experience of jiang household situation and decide fk this and take wwx out of there, its a prompt from vrishchikawrites blog (a wonderful write!) So maybe ask permission?

From the prompt on @vrishchikawrites

Jin Zixuan could not forget the young man, the head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang, who, despite his previous (petty) grievances with, had stepped up when everyone else had been frozen on the spot, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not get his blood stained image out of his mind. Which had led to this discussion.

“What? No! I forbid it.” his father responded when he asked for sending reinforcements to Jiang Sect, while he understood with Cloud Recesses burnt down, and Nie under attack, either Yunmeng Jiang or Lanling Jin were next on the table, and despite having well equipped men, with the best of weapons, his father refused to extend help. 

Refused to stand against those who sought to harm his son, ‘in situations like these, know when to step back’ he had said, and Jin Zixuan could feel shame creeping up under his skin, outnumbered and clearly at losing stakes, he hadn’t hesitated to save him, and what would that make him if he forgot the debt so clearly owed? To live the lavish life of a coward..! He could see his mother fuming from where she stood, and closed his eyes to suppress his bitter thoughts, he wanted to do something, anything to help.

And suddenly, anger melted from her face and that smile crept up her face and he felt a chill down his spine, a sense of foreboding overcame him, he could see his father tense as well. “Of course, the Jin Sect sides with them.” she spoke, venom dripping off her every word. “Nothing wrong if the Sect Leader’s wife wants the marriage renewed?” a pit formed in his stomach, he did not want to marry a woman he barely knew, but using this opportunity, they could, in a sense create a bond, stronger than of just two sworn sisters.

However, “Madam Jin meets up with her sworn sister, Madam of Jiang Sect, just as Qishan Wen begins its attacks?” the war has been declared, how would it seem if the two sect Madams, and the Sect heirs are meeting, with or without the Sect Leader? “The risks are completely unneeded, what do we gain from this?” his mother glared at his father, who pointedly ignored her, Jin Zixuan exhaled, thinking things over.

As much as he disliked the engagement, he knew she would not bring it up, unless the situation, as dire as it was, needed it, this bond could provide future aid to one another should the need arise, so Jin Zixuan kept his disagreements to himself, because he knew she wouldn’t force him, not with the concerns of a  cold loveless marriage like his parents, he knew she was using it as a cover to aid her sworn sister.

An opportunity, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then remembered how the Second Jade, Lan Wangji had stood shoulder to shoulder with him,  and Wei Wuxian, Head Disciple, had stepped up to save them. 

Jin Zixuan exhaled, and made a decision, muttering out a half-hearted excuse, he left them on their own, and later into the night, he approached his mother.

--------

The boat landed steadily, unnoticed in the middle of the night, his mother had won the final say in the matter, of course with the reluctant agreement of remaining disguised as just another trade ship, the serene view would have been calming, had his nerves not have been high strung from adrenaline, small sacrifices, he could of course find a way to break off the engagement in a future of more peaceful times.

Jin Zixuan climbed out the boat first, followed calmly by his mother, the disguises were near perfect, for the disciples around the brightly lit place to look curious, but not alarmed. One, he recognised seeing a few times at Cloud Recesses, came near them with a nervous smile. “We offer you our sincerest apologies but...we’d appreciate it if travellers could avoid an audience with the Sect Leader?” 

The disguises were perfect then, for they had been mistaken as travellers that would go to and fro from Yunmeng Jiang Sect, his mother sniffed and looked at the disciple sternly “We are not here for the Sect Leader, but the Violet Spider, we have an important message for them.” Jin Zixuan had noticed before but now it had become more apparent as the disciples shifted around, something was off, it dampened his enthusiasm and the rush he had felt earlier, instead concern filled him, had something happened to Wei Wuxian?

His mother held out a token, the disciple’s eyes widened and he bowed in respect, “I assume this would be enough?” Madam Jin said curtly, and the disciple nodded, though tensely. “This one will escort you to the guest chambers” 

The curious gazes had not been moved, as they moved inside, step by step, down the corridor they went, as the muffled voices became more distinguishable, all 3 of them froze when they heard, unmistakably the Jiang Sect Heir’s voice. “-You shouldn’t have played the hero and you shouldn’t have cared for such a hell of a thing. If in the beginning you hadn’t….” 

Jin Zixuan felt a cold pit forming in his stomach, surely he must be mistaken, but seeing the expression twisting  on his mothers face, he could assume he was not, in fact, misunderstanding what Jiang Wanyin was implying. 

The disciple bowed quickly, slightly panicked “If you’d follow me-” Madam Jin pointed at him and he immediately shut up, head bowed, just as the Jiang Sect Leader reprimanded “Jiang Cheng.” Silence followed. “Do you know in which ways what you just have said is not appropriate?” was followed by a glum “Yes.”

Even if slightly, Jin Zixuan relaxed, his mother’s expression lightening into a frown, ‘at least someone is self-aware’ Madam Jin thought. “He’s just angry and speaking without care” another voice added, Jin Zixuan perked up, Wei Wuxian! So he was alright, he felt relieved. Madam Jin continued to frown, Wei Wuxian was clearly trying to lessen the pressure off of the Jiang heir. 

Another harsh voice cut through them all “Yes, he doesn’t understand but what does it matter, as long as Wei Ying understands!?” rang out her voice, Madam Jin’s lips pursed into a line, of what her son had just said, that was what she was focusing on?

 “‘To attempt at the impossible’ is exactly how he is, isn’t it? Fooling around even though he knew it’d bring trouble to his sect!?” Jin Zixuan sneaked a look at his mother to see her eyes cold, her fist clenched tightly, he was aware they shouldn’t be hearing this, but this? It wasn’t what they expected at all, he was frozen in place, what in the world was he hearing?

Madam Jin’s thoughts matched her appearance, for once she felt less than charitable towards Yu Ziyuan, and more and more like a fool, here she was, risking her and her son’s safety, her sects safety, for a woman who couldn't care less about her son’s life, but was also wilfully blinding herself to the war right on the horizon, ‘No’ she thought to herself, ‘it was I who was truly blind’

And it was the boy she heard being called ‘Fengmian’s bastard’ or ‘son of a servant’ who had saved her son's life instead, she bit back the bitter chuckle that threatened to escape her, truly, what a fool she was, to be caught in the violet spiders web.

She looked at her son, whose face clouded over the more he heard, she grabbed his arm tightly, if nothing else then to prevent him from barging inside, with Jiang Fengmian’s favor, she was sure that they didn’t need to interfere, until, “My lady, what are you doing here?” she held back her disbelief, her son on the other hand, inhaled sharply.

This was what he was focusing on? Not the insults to his bas- to his ward? To his sect’s entire foundation? It would seem she was truly mistaken, in her and Yu Ziyuan sharing their miseries, entirely wrong about her character, and who was still throwing around callous words for the sake of it, for what else? If not her own cruelty?

"What am I doing here? What a joke that I am asked of such a thing! Sect Leader Jiang, do you still remember that I'm also the leader of Lotus Pier? Do you still remember that every inch of the earth here is my territory? Do you still remember, between the one lying there and the one standing there, which one is your son?" Disbelief and disgust couldn’t even begin to describe what Madam Jin was feeling, the Sect Leader’s response,  however, “I do remember.” Enhanced those to the heights she didn't even know she was capable of feeling.

And so stood the enraged Madam of Jin Sect, the horrified Jin heir and one ashamed disciple whose head could bow no lower, but that was nothing compared to what was said next “You do remember, but there's no use if you simply remember. Wei Ying, he really can't take it unless he stirs up some trouble, can he? If I had known, I would've made him stay in Lotus Pier properly and not go outside. Could Wen Chao really have dared to do anything to the two young masters of the GusuLan Sect and Lanling Jin Sect? Even if he did, it'd mean that they ran out of luck. Since when was it your turn to play the hero?"

Blood roared in Madam Jin’s ears, her nails digging into her palm, she wanted to bite Yu Ziyuan’s head off there and then. ‘Of all the idiotic, foolish, horrid, things she could utter-’ in her cursing, she only realised she had put too much force in her rage filled haze when her son hissed in pain, she immediately let go of his arm, and pinched the bridge of her nose, taking calming breaths.

She was afraid she would do something terrible and irrevocable if she stayed there any longer, listening to a pathetic mockery of- she exhaled and pushed Jin Zixuan towards the open doors. “B-but mother-” he looked back but she gave him that look and he quietened “Later a-Xuan.” while moving outwards, the disciple trailing behind them, they could easily catch some of the words the woman threw at Wei Wuxian.

Madam Jin gritted her teeth in anger, and left without looking back, once she and her son were seated in the boat. “A-Xuan” she began, lightly ruffling his hair “Your marriage is up to you to decide, I will have no say in the matter from here onwards” Her son was not going to be married into that cursed Sect no matter what if she could help it, she moved forward to pull him into a hug, “Mother was wrong.”

 “But mother what about..?” She heard him say, she pulled back and rest one hand on his shoulder, the other caressing his cheek, her son, who by the Jiang’s standards, should’ve been killed, and her blood boiled in her veins. “We came here to make a bond and talk if it were possible, since that wasn’t possible, it can be done some other day.” She lightly patted him, and seeing his thoughts drift off, thought to herself darkly ‘and if the Jiangs are attacked, well, they ran out of luck then.’

Her son hesitantly nodded, “Wei Wuxian...I owe him, for saving me then, if not for him.....” She sniffed, as if indicating what was obvious “Of course,” When the news spread later that Lotus Pier was attacked, with Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian on the run, she hoped for Wei Wuxian’s survival, more so than the Jiang Sect Heir.

And if, perhaps, after a few years her son proposed sworn brotherhood with that Wei Wuxian, well, it wasn’t without her approval.

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

authors notes i guess?

Okay so writing Madam Yu’s lines legit left me disgusted like wtf was she even saying?? Also like I tried to write Madam Jin similar but a bit less than Madam Yu (ya know madam jin never whipped kids with her spiritual weapons, if she had any, not to our knowledge at least...right?) but ended up venturing straight into slightly dark madam jin heh, also like no engagement, no jin-wei tense relationship, (there’ll be 1-2 parts more probably) also wwx woke up earlier in this one, this’ll serve as catalyst for later years. 

[meliorist-midoriya]

the meaning of “i love you”

synopsis: bakugou tries to learn the meaning of “i love you” long after it’s been told.

pairing: bakugou x reader

genre: fluff with a touch of angst and lotsa pining

warnings: brief hospital setting, mentions of injury, bakugou is bad at feelings™

glossary: Y/H/N - your hero name

word count: 4.3k

a/n: dedicated to @katsushimaa​, the reason why this blog exists. in other words: HI YSSA IT’S YOUR ☀️ ANON (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ♡ update (1/6/2021): this fic is also read on peachy can’s youtube channel! this is with full permission and credit, and the only work with only this channel.

“I love you.”

Bakugou stared, speechless, as you confessed to him under the cherry blossoms, diplomas in hand. His throat locked and his tongue stalled as he wordlessly gaped at you. Around words? No, he didn’t even know what to say. The wind blew the petals off the branches, shocking him out of his stupor once they obscured his vision for one precious moment. He still couldn’t find the words to respond.

He didn’t know how.

All his life, he hadn’t cared for affection. Only victory. Anyone vying for his affections soon ran crying (humiliated, if they were lucky), the unread love letter crumpled in their fists as he moved on with his life without a care. But this, he couldn’t bear letting go.

Bakugou didn’t know how to hold on, either.

For the past three years, people came to know you as his other half. The one who kept him in line, yet helped lift him to even greater heights. The one who could withstand his withering glare with a smile. The one he kept by his side. For the past three years, your relationship remained ambiguous, this ambiguity becoming the open secret of your year. Too close to be just friends, yet not quite lovers either. A deeper connection that neither of you dug into, content with your dynamic.

Until now.

A part of him loathed that you were the one to make the leap when he didn’t even know what to say, but a little voice in the corner of his mind told him that maybe, just maybe, this would finally get his ass moving.

You smiled. Softly, slowly…

Knowingly.

He had to remind himself to breathe.

“You don’t have to answer me right away, I’ll wait for as long you need.”

And with that, you were gone. Bakugou was left staring at your back as you walked away from him and, as he would later discover, out of his life for the next two years.

“Hey, Bakugou! How are you holding up? Who knew Y/N took an offer in America? Did you know? None of us did.”

Ugh, Dunce Face. It’s been a month since graduation, and three weeks since you revealed you were entering America’s pro hero scene the day before you left. You’ve always been terrible at goodbyes…

Was that why you decided to confess at graduation? Because you knew you were leaving?

“No, I didn’t know, now fuck off.”

“Rude!”

The cherry blossoms have long since fallen, slowly unfurling verdant leaves replacing the pink blooms under the shining late spring sun. Of course, not even this beautiful scene could improve his mood when he was stuck on patrol with this idiot. Their agencies were working together, so he had no choice but to go along with it.

Once he gets his own agency, he swears…

“Bakugou-senpai!” A pair of second-years clad in the U.A. uniform called out to him, waving.

Ah. He recognized these two. Stuck to him like leeches after he spoke to Class 1-A as one of the Big Three, pestering him endlessly about all the crazy shit that happened his first year and asking him to mentor them. You were the only buffer that kept him from blowing up in their face.

“Ground Zero to you, extras!”

They laughed him off (these brats) and walked up, jokingly asking for their autographs. Kaminari took them up on it, shoving the paper in his face after.

After (admittedly very little) bitching and glaring, he snatched the notepad from Kaminari’s hand, signed it, and sent them on their way, letting his gaze linger on the pair as they elbowed each other and geeked out over the signatures they just got. In a brief flash of curiosity, he tried to imagine you two during your first year, walking back to the dorms after class, but something felt… off. The atmosphere wasn’t right, the image he tried to lay over the two students ending up washed out and misshapen.

An empty feeling sunk into his bones at the thought of having that same… disconnect with you.

“Ah, feels nice, doesn’t it?” Kaminari went ignored, Bakugou still staring at the retreating backs of the excited second-years. A devilish grin split Kaminari’s face in two once he followed Bakugou’s line of sight, “What’s this, Kacchan? Reminiscing over the old days already?”

Kaminari’s teasing tone ripped him out of his thoughts and Bakugou growled, shoving the blonde’s face away as he continued stomping down their patrol route.

“I won’t say it again, Pikachu, fuck off!”

Y/H/N DOMINATES HERO CHARTS FOR THIRD TIME IN A ROW

It took Bakugou a second to translate the headline from English to Japanese in his head, but he found himself smiling down at his phone once the words clicked. He expected nothing less, it was you after all. The U.S. Hero News logo faded away with the click of his phone locking, pocketing it as he swung open the door with a loud bang.

“Would it kill you to visit more, brat? And how many times do I have to tell you, stop slamming the door open!”

“Whatever, hag!” Bakugou snapped back, dropping the box of pastries on the counter before slumping into his seat at the dining table. Masaru looked up from his laptop and smiled at his son, something behind the mirth in his eyes that Bakugou couldn’t pick out.

“Someone’s in a good mood.”

Was he…?

Yeah, you could say that.

It’s been a little over a year since that day, and the both of you have paved your own paths in the hero industry since then. Bakugou finally, finally, after a year of busting his ass and making connections, went independent and started his own hero agency. Now, he only answered to himself (and, well, the Hero Public Safety Commission) and didn’t have to be held back by any hierarchy. An added bonus was that summer was always good to him (to villains? Not so much).

You? The headline spoke for itself.

“…I guess.”

“I’m glad. Your mother’s making your favorite for lunch, since this is your first visit ever since you opened your agency,” Masaru said, and there was that damn look again. 

The soft clink of the plate being set down in front of him cut Bakugou off before he could question him, and the flow of the meal swept away any opportunity he would’ve had. He found himself silently watching his parents’ interactions as they unfolded in front of him. An easy back-and-forth, flowing smoothly from years of practice.

Bakugou nearly dropped his bowl as an old memory blindsided him. An image of you, offering him food in the U.A. cafeteria with a smile flitted across his mind’s eye.

He shoved another piece of tofu into his mouth before the thought had the chance to linger. 

The rest of lunch went smoothly (as smoothly as it could with him and his mother in the same room), and he bid his goodbyes once the dishes were done and the end of his lunch break inched closer.

“I’m rooting for you, Katsuki,” The man in question shot a perplexed look at his father before shutting the door behind him. First, the weirdly knowing look, now this? Confusing old man...

He started down the path back to the agency for patrol, letting his gaze sweep over the bustling lunchtime traffic. Normally, he would’ve been keeping an eye out for any trouble since apparently, people loved starting shit when he was conveniently off duty. Instead, his mind wandered as he observed the people around him. 

People watching, was that what this is called?

He found himself doing this more and more often lately, as dangerous as it was to let his mind wander when he was out and about. An elderly couple tottering their way out of the corner store with their arms linked, the married couple further ahead swinging their squealing child in between them, a young pair giggling like lovebirds on a honeymoon as they walked down the sidewalk. His eyes skipped over the other pedestrians and bounced from couple to couple, subconsciously trying to make sense of the three words that had stubbornly stuck themselves to his mind for the past year.

Normally, he would’ve brushed off the thoughts plaguing him for the sake of his work, but these just wouldn’t leave him alone. They left him in a confused haze, a void slowly eating a hole in his chest and leaving him feeling incomplete.

To top it all off, he kept seeing you, in every couple that passed his line of sight. Every time he saw you two instead of the couple on a date or the married pair holding their child’s hand, the void closed for a brief moment before expanding even wider the second the image dissolved, leaving him with only a deep sense of longing making a home for itself in the void. Except he had no idea what he was longing for. He knew you were okay, and that was enough.

Was it really enough?

It was like he was trying to cobble together a puzzle with no reference and some of the ends cut off, blindly slapping pieces together and hoping it worked out. Loosely forming ideas, certainties, what-ifs, all trying to be linked together by a single man that, as much as he hates to say it, had no idea what the fuck he was doing (and it would be a cold day in hell before he asked for help). 

Shouts and screams snapped him out of his daze and he glowered at the villain crashing out of a nearby store. Sparks crackled and burst into blazing heat in his palms, evaporating the melancholy haze in his head to focus on the poor soul that had crossed his path.

The half-finished puzzle slunk back to the corner of his mind, waiting for the next time he would pick up the pieces and try again.

“I would like to get to know each other more, Bakugou-san. On a date, maybe?”

He paused mid-stride and stared at his colleague in barely concealed shock, who was too busy hiding her flushed face in her scarf to look back at him. He’s known this woman barely two weeks, then she suddenly hits him with this. Yes, he was caught off guard, sue him.

They were on a coffee run, for God’s sake!

“I mean, I know our agencies are only collaborating for this short time, but I think we could make it work, don’t you?”

Whatever else she was trying to say was cut off by a strong gust of wind nearly blowing the scarf off of her neck. The autumn chill the wind carried along with it wasn’t what made Bakugou feel oddly cold despite the scalding coffee in his hands, though. No, the chill had seeped into his being the moment she had opened her mouth, a certain dread at the thought of what would happen if he said yes.

If he said yes, he would lose you.

Suddenly, he was 18 again, diplomas in hand and wearing a uniform he had cast off long ago instead of his coat. He blinked, and he was back, still staring at the flustered woman next to him as the dying leaves fell around them.

Why? Why? Why can he only see your face? Why could he only see the pink cherry blossoms of a time past, instead of the blazing red leaves the wind had kicked up? He didn’t know the reason, he only knew that this wasn’t what he wanted.

“…No, I don’t.”

What did he want?

Walking into his office to see four people staring back at him with unreadable expressions was the last thing he expected today.

“Oh, Bakugou… I’m so sorry.”

What? Why was Mina looking at him like that? Kirishima, Kaminari, and Sero too. Did he miss something?

“Look, I just came in, so whatever the fuck happened, you need to spit it out, and you need to spit it out now,” He slammed his bag on his desk and glowered at the group staring at him with- was that pity? He didn’t need fucking pity! He needed information! What the hell was going on?

“It’s all over the news, bro.” He stared at Kirishima for a second, two seconds, the dots taking longer than they should’ve to connect.

News…? News…

He hasn’t checked the U.S. news yet.

Ignoring the foreboding feeling bleeding into his soul, he rushed to take out his phone from his coat pocket, nearly dropping it from his fumbling, and he pulled up the U.S. Hero News website as fast as his numb fingers would let him. That little loading bar was testing him, he swears-

Oh.

Suddenly the snow soaking into his coat and hair wasn’t so cold, compared to the chilling horror that froze him to his very core. The world stopped moving for this second, his eyes burning from how long he was staring at those little pixels spelling out his world crumbling.

Y/H/N CRITICALLY INJURED IN BATTLE. RECOVERY UNCERTAIN.

Almost immediately, his eyes zipped through the article, over and over and why were there no details?  Did no one really know anything? He’d have to make calls, send emails, pull strings, there’s someone in the U.S. he knows, maybe they would-

“-kugou? Bakugou! Snap out of it!”

Was he being shaken? Oh. He was.

Suddenly Kaminari’s face was up in his and he almost headbutted him from the shock.

“Dude, we lost you there for a second. You read that article like twenty times! Are you okay?” He growled and actually headbutted Kaminari this time, glowering at him as he stumbled back with a bump on his forehead, “Should’ve expected that…”

“I’m fine. What happened was unfortunate, but there’s nothing we can do. Now get to work, we have a case to work on.”

“That’s… cruel, man. We all know how close you were with Y/N, don’t you think you should care a little more-” Kirishima shut up with a single glare, valuing his tongue more than whatever message he was trying to convey. Care? He did care! There were so many things that had to be done, and he had no idea how much time he had left. But this… this was his problem, and no one else’s.

“Maybe you should dry off and warm up first to make sure you don’t get sick…?” Sero waved in the direction of the locker room, and Bakugou shouldered past him wordlessly, snatching up his bag and ignoring the water stains it dripped into the carpet.

“Is he really okay…?” Kaminari whispered the moment he saw Bakugou turn the corner.

“I think we already know the answer to that.” Everyone in his office nodded in agreement with Mina.

This was going to be rough.

Several hours later found him in a hospital of all places, speaking with a doctor about one of the patients that was involved with the case his agency was tasked with. 

Wait outside her room, they said, I’ll let her know that you need to speak with her.

Waiting was the last thing he wanted to do right now. Waiting meant he had to sit still, which meant that he had time to think. Waiting meant worrying. His mood was already sour from seeing all the happy couples cuddling up under the pre-Christmas snow on his way here. What would’ve usually left him with a gaping hole in his heart, instead made dread curl in his core and send a million and one what-ifs rattling around inside his head.

He needed to calm down, he couldn’t question anyone when he’s in a mood-

“Please, whoever’s listening, hear my prayer…”

Bakugou looked up at the sound of someone praying, his eyes stopping at the sight of a man kneeling at someone’s bedside with their limp hand clasped in his. The wedding bands on their fingers gleamed in the bright artificial light. He quickly cast his eyes back down to the linoleum at his feet, but it was too late, the headline running in his head for the hundredth time today.

The image of the man praying for his wife’s recovery kept playing in his mind like a broken record and, against his will, slowly changed to the image of you. Limp and wounded in a too-big hospital bed, connected to tubing and wires with too many machines beeping.

He felt sick, the dread climbing it’s way into the void in his chest and ripping it open to make a home for itself.

Of course he would hate seeing you in a hospital bed, just like he would Kirishima or anybody else-

No. This wasn’t the same.

He was scrambling for the puzzle pieces now, his mind going into overdrive to figure out if this wasn’t the same then what the hell was it?

“Ground Zero, sir? She’s ready to see you,” The physician pulled him out of his speculating and he nodded, clearing the sudden lump out of his throat and slipping into the patient’s room. A puzzle piece clicked into place the moment he saw her sitting up in her hospital bed, awake.

He wanted you to be okay.

He wanted you.

Bakugou found himself praying as he laid in bed that night.

The steady ticking of his clock roused him before his alarm did, a rhythmic metronome that dug into his eardrums and yanked him out of his deep sleep. Bakugou sat up with a groan, glaring holes into the damn thing like it had personally offended him for waking him up so early, mocking him with the time he was not supposed to be up at.

4:27 AM.

Wonderful.

Is going back to sleep an option…?

The restless energy that threatened to shake him out of his skin if he so much as held his breath was answer enough, and he swung his legs out of bed with a frustrated huff to go about his morning routine. An early start it is. The minutes passed as he went through the motions, coming back to his senses as he pulled out his phone while the coffee brewed and opened an app with practiced ease. Ease gained from opening it almost thrice daily for months.

He normally wasn’t a coffee drinker, but he would do anything if it pulled the void from his bones.

New hero, villain arrest, villain arrest, hero scandal, villain arrest, crime ring bust, hero scandal…

No news of you.

There hadn’t been news of you for the past four months, and Bakugou was slowly losing it. All the people he reached out to gave him vague answers or dead ends and only confirmed one thing: you were alive. 

At the time, it felt like Atlas had taken the sky back to carry on his own shoulders so Bakugou could finally breathe, only to dump it back on him the moment his relief wore off and he started trying to fill in the blanks.

You were alive, but were you okay? Were you in a coma? Wounded beyond repair? Put out of commission?

He shut off his phone, cutting off his train of thoughts, and filled his mug before making his way over to the balcony. Calloused fingers slowly traced over the books neatly placed on the bookshelf next to the balcony window, the early dawn light bathing the titles in a soft glow. He paused as the sunlight glinted off of a certain title printed in gold. Another memory rose from the depths as he read the title over, this time from that hellish first year at UA.

He let it, this time.

“I don’t want to read some fucking romance story.” He spit the words out like they were foul, scowling into thin air as you walked beside him, the book in your hands.

“Come on, Bakugou! It’s really good! You don’t even know what it’s about!” A glance down earned him your puppy eyes, and he begrudgingly conceded.

“…What is it about, then?”

“It’s a story about a girl that had to learn what emotions were, and the one that waited for her.”

You had shoved it into his hands anyway, and he never found the chance to give it back. 

A hesitant pause, then he slipped the book out of its space, wincing at the dust that billowed off of the cover. No harm in picking this up to read along with his coffee as long as it kept him from checking the news again.

His subconscious laughed at him as it picked up the puzzle again, slowly trying to piece it together as he opened the book to the earmarked page.

There was time for a quick read, right?

Wrong.

So, so wrong.

He ended up becoming immersed in the book, so drawn in by something about the story he couldn’t quite put his finger on, that he nearly ended up being late to work.

Nearly. Bakugou Katsuki didn’t do late.

He swung the door open right as the clock struck 8:50, brushing cherry blossoms out of his hair with a quiet grumble as he walked into his agency. He stopped short at the familiar (too familiar) sight of his friends grouped together, whispering to each other urgently.

“What do we do?”

“Just…tell him?”

“And get blown up because he decides not to believe us? Yeah, right!”

Secrets. Again. The last time this happened…

Nope, not going through that fucking song and dance again.

“Decide not to believe what?” They stiffened in shock and turned toward him with sheepish smiles. His scowl deepened, the scene reflecting one from this past winter too closely for comfort.

“H-Hey, Bakugou, what’re you doing here?” Kirishima, Mina, and Sero all groaned in unison as Bakugou cocked a doubtful brow at Kaminari’s godawful cover-up. He’d indulge him, for now.

“I fucking work here. What the fuck are you dumbshits doing next to the receptionist’s desk?” They floundered for an answer, and the receptionist himself stepped in with a polite, paper-thin smile.

“You have a guest waiting in your office, sir. I sent them in ahead of you.”

“That’s all you idiots-“ A pointed look, “-needed to say in the first place,” He resisted the urge to sigh at the people he begrudgingly called his friends. Fixing the bag on his shoulder, he turned on his heel to start in the direction of his office, “Probably that patient from the winter case again. See you.”

He made a mental note to give his receptionist a raise, especially since he had to deal with those idiots on the daily.

They watched him disappear into the hallway in stunned silence, Sero eventually breaking the silence to weakly voice the one question they all knew they were thinking.

“Who’s going to tell him it isn’t Mrs. Nakamura?”

The receptionist heaved a quiet sigh as he sat back down at his desk. He didn’t get paid enough for this.

“I already told you, Mrs. Nakamura, we’ll let you know if there’s any upda-” Bakugou’s words died on his tongue once he stepped into his office, his bag dropping to the ground with a dull thud that he didn’t acknowledge, “…You’re not Mrs. Nakamura.”

“I’m not.”

A soft laugh. How long has it been since he’s heard it last?

He watched as you slowly stood up from where you had been watching the cherry blossoms outside, not missing the slight wince and the bandages you were swathed in as you did so. It was the only thing holding him back from crushing you in a hug right then and there-

Wait, a hug? Since when?

Bakugou had the sense to get himself together and picked his bag up from off the floor, kicking the door shut as he did. Heart beating out of his chest, he walked over to meet you in the middle of his office. He felt the void in his chest filling, but there was something that was keeping it from completely healing over. He knew what it was, but how would he-

“You’re here?”

“I’m here.”

His head was spinning. You were here. You were more bandages than skin but you were here. You were okay. The weight lifted off of his shoulders again and, despite the relief flooding him, he managed to choke his response out, wincing at his tone.

“Why now?”

“Well, you probably saw, but I got my ass handed to me-” Bakugou couldn’t help the incredulous snort that slipped, tossing his bag onto the table. That’s putting it lightly, “-and my contract with the agency was almost over anyway, so I got sent home for the rest of my treatment and physical therapy.”

“That’s…good.” There were words he had to say. What were they, what were they? Hurry up you idiot-

“Um, I know this is sudden, but do you remember… at graduation…”

Of course you would beat him to it again.

“I remember, and I… think I have an answer.” His ears felt hot as you laughed again, but this time he saw the tenseness in your shoulders, wound up from nerves. A step closer (it felt right), and suddenly he was in front of you, nearly buzzing with anticipation.

“You think? Lay it on me, then,” You (tried) to give him a reassuring grin, the sight of you with the cherry blossoms outside painting an all too familiar image. His breath caught before he could get his words out, his heart beating the breath he would’ve used out of his lungs and no not again not now-

This time… This time he would have the words to answer.

“It took me two goddamn years to get this far, so you better fucking listen, and listen well.”

“I’m listening, Katsuki.”

How three little words could feel so foreign on his tongue was beyond him, but deep down, he had a feeling that it was right. Your brilliant smile after made everything worth it anyway, and he felt the longing void in his chest finally knit itself together. Another puzzle piece clicked into place, placed by your own hands this time. The picture was far from finished, but at least now he had you by his side to help him put it all together.

He still wasn’t entirely sure what love was, but he was sure of one thing.

He wanted to learn with you.

[xwasted-days]

𝖘𝖆𝖋𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 || 𝖇.𝖍.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

A/N: It’s probably been done before, but I wanted to throw together a little song-fic based on Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift ft. The Civil Wars. I’m sappy and I like sad things. Also, this is my first tumblr fic, pls be nice. Requests are open and I have no tag-list, because it’s a new blog. 

Work Count: 2, 276

Complete Story Warnings: Major Character Death, Pure Angst, 10/10 sad. Also, probably language. 

The battle of Starcourt was turning in favor of the party and all therein, but war was never without casualty. 

Billy Hargrove had a questionable character and reputation among most in Hawkins. People wanted him as a friend or a fuck, and those that didn’t wanted him gone. Few succeeded in ever knowing Billy as more than the sad little king of his sad little hill, and even fewer knew the plights he faced at home. A minimal two: Max, the step sister, and Y/N, the girlfriend, who rushed into the center of the mall behind Mike Wheeler, unable to help as Billy threw himself in El’s path. Y/N moved before her mind could register: scrambling forward when Billy caught the mindflayer’s clawed gullet in his hands. Those beautiful, calloused hands with the feather-soft touch. She took another step forward, faltering as a tentacle dug into his left side, the sickening crunch of torn flesh and splintering ribs echoing in the building silence. The second hit came and she rushed forward again, slipping on fragments of broken glass. Y/N’s knees hit the ground hard, the sharp sting barely registering as the hits kept coming, clawing all around his torso. He screamed each time, every cry cutting off in a strangled garble at the sharp shock of another tentacle landing its blows. Billy screamed, daring the monster on, and Y/N screamed, begging it all to stop. 

The final blow landed in the center of Billy’s chest, silencing him. Max’s scream sounded somewhere behind her. 

As the mindflayer pulled away, thrashing, snarling, wailing in defeat, Y/N ran forward, slipping in rapidly pooling blood as she pulled Billy to her chest. 

I remember tears streaming down your face, when I said, “I’ll never let you go.”

The words, even as they left Y/N’s lips, felt like the deepest and most real thing she’d expressed since the moment he was taken by the mindflayer. 

Since the darkness had fallen over Hawkins, she’d felt vacant, plastic, unreal. She supposed the notion came first when Barb had gone missing; when the trio of sub-popular girls was first fractured. Everything seemed to fall apart until Y/N found out what really happened to Barb, what was haunting Will Byers, and what hunted the people of Hawkins.  

Life was a ceaseless ebb and flow of highs and lows; still, she never expected the tide to pull away as it was now. Nothing could compare to this feeling: her boyfriend tucked in her arms, fading away before her, was what would cause the tidal wave to break. 

Cool and fragile, the rapid thundering of his heart beneath Y/N’s palm, the salt of crystalline tears sliding off his angled pale, cheek, his hand gripping her arm as he clung to waning life. Billy opened his mouth, hoping for any words to form. None did. He felt the pain with each blow, but as the creature yanked itself away and Billy fell, there was no sensation. Nothing but an icy numbness. After his mom left, Billy prayed for nothing more than to lose his feeling, and now it was gone he wanted it back. 

He wanted it back because he wanted to stay with her. He’d always known he was a selfish bastard, but this instance wasn’t for himself. It was for her; his Y/N. The only girl he gave a shit about for longer than one night at a time. And now, he was going to lose her. “..I-” he struggled again, shivering in her arms. 

When all those shadows almost killed your light

“Shh,” Y/N cooed, bringing her hand up to brush sweaty, blonde curls off of his forehead, ignoring the scene that played out around them. Billy was never meant to get caught in this crossfire; he was meant to be as he always was: cocky, stupid, young and reckless. Seated atop his lifeguard seat, staring out over the crowds of Hawkins Community Pool as a king surveyed his kingdom. Instead, he was out there, vulnerable to to the upside down, taken as so many others had been.

Y/N glanced down at the gaping, bloody hole that forced the pale colored fabric of the shirt at Billy’s chest to dip inward, the rich, viscous, and sickly stain making her stomach churn. She bit hard on the inside of her cheek, a meager attempt at staunching her tears as she played strong for Billy’s sake. She felt his hand at her arm give a squeeze, her attentions drawing back toward the boy in her lap. Y/E/C eyes connecting to Billy’s steely blue ones again, she offered a shaky smile, her thumb smoothing along the arch of his cheek. 

I remember you said, "Don't leave me here alone…"

Billy’s voice was soft and hoarse, barely audible as the commotion of the party and the mindflayer fizzled on around them. The fair haired, beautiful boy Y/N had fallen so deeply for let out a soft grunt of protest at the ache, his body twitching involuntarily as pain coursed through him.

“Think you can get rid of me that easily, ya little shit?” Y/N asked with a gentle chuckle, keeping her shaky grin to ease Billy’s worry. Her tears flowed more freely now, slipping down her cheeks as she held him close. “Gotta try a whole helluva lot harder than that, Hargrove. You and me. California, remember?” 

The broken king of Hawkins High put on a woozy, pale-lipped smile and hiccupped on a sob, coughing after. A soft mist of blood peppered his lips and chin, staining his teeth crimson. California, their would-be paradise, far away from Indiana and all their worries. He’d sworn up and down that they would leave one day, go back to his home and flourish in ways unimaginable. His promise now seemed as broken as he was. He was fading. Y/N didn’t have enough time.

But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight.

The flutter of Billy’s heart was growing more and more faint, and the beats, which willed themselves with great difficulty, grew slower and slower in their efforts. 

Billy leaned his weight further into Y/N’s body, slack and woozy. All the coherency in his head fading. She had promised that wouldn’t leave, said she wouldn’t let go, but she had. Or hadn’t she? He could hardly tell, his vision fading in and out, gleams of purple and pink, the hazy sound of distant chatter. Billy felt his chest heave with a great gasp, and his jaw open and close with the effort of breath. It happened again, and again. He felt hands on his arms, squeezing, but he couldn’t register the effect of the sensation. He was cold, so cold. He wished so vehemently that he could ask Y/N what was going on, but Billy couldn’t seem to find his tongue. 

That’s a first, he thought, trying to squeeze back the person in his numbed fingers. Every bit of him was so cold, probably frozen from where he had been, lost in darkness with the delicate snowfall. He was sure another erratic breath would leave him in shards. His head lulled to the side, hardly-seeing eyes registering the plume of Y/H/C and a small streak of fiery red. He searched between them, hoping to register on either of the faces that peered down on him, but none came. He coughed, gagging on something oozing in his throat, feeling hands tighten and voices raise. 

Soft curls of blonde hair fell over her his forehead, even as Y/N pushed them away, shifting his weight so Billy’s head was more firmly pressed to her chest. He was growing more and more still, even as she and Max begged him to stay. The girl took a breath, fighting down the body-trembling sob that wedged in her throat. “Billy? Wake up, Billy, please?” She asked, watching a tear of her own fall down to slip against his cheek, rolling down onto his stubbled chin.

Billy took a deep, shuddering breath, so loud he scared himself. He'd forgotten to breathe, and the muted voices he heard in his haze kept him there. Her voice. The voice he listened to in the quiet solitude of a shared bedroom, or in the crowded halls of Hawkins High. The voice he grew to love before he could even remember what love felt like. The voice he wanted to hear for the rest of his life. 

He blinked, trying to clear the tears in his eyes, focusing on Y/N and Max hovering above him.

“....I’m sorry.” Billy shuddered as his eyes glossed over,  a sudden cloud overtaking his vision. The clarity of the world was fading into shapes, then shadows, and careening rapidly into darkness. There was a loud bang somewhere near him and had he retained the strength, he would have jumped. Another bang. And another. One, two. One, two. One. Two. One. Two, each pair of beats getting further and further apart. Billy breathed out, defeated, overcome by the realization that those noises were thuds of his heart stopping. He couldn't see, he couldn't feel, he couldn’t taste anything but the heavy black goop on his tongue, he could only smell the coppery, acrid stink of blood that clogged his sinuses. All that was left was hearing; Billy was caught listening to the terrible, awful rhythm of his once-small heart, stopping. He listened again, hoping to hear the voices, praying they would draw him out of it, but there was no sound. Nothing. Not even the beating of his heart. Just his remaining consciousness, slowly going black. Billy Hargrove was dead, he knew. He wanted to scream, to panic and cry, but nothing was there. 

He didn't see the light that everyone blathered about, he didn't feel the peace. He was the hollow, lifeless shell of a boy who could have been more than a lifeguard with an attitude problem. And he was dead. And he left her behind. 

His beautiful Y/N, whose voice and smiles and touches were forfeit to the darkness that consumed. 

Don't you dare look out your window, darling, everything's on fire. The war outside our door keeps raging on. Hold onto this lullaby, even when the music's gone. 

Y/N  felt the final, sickening beat of Billy’s heart beneath her hand. Another tear fell onto Billy’s face, then another. And another. Max whispered, begging her step brother to wake, her small hands shaking his bloodied shoulders to no avail. A hard, broken, centuries old sob tore through Y/N’s chest and echoed through the mall; the cry of everyone who had lost someone they loved for good. The cry that begged death to return a loved one to the land of the living that always fell on deaf ears. 

“Billy, please,” she whimpered, trembling fingers soothing the lifeless skin of the boy she loved. Every thought, hope, wish, and dream connected to him was gone, dead as he was. 

Jagged orange patterns began to dance on the ground all around them, and offered the girl nothing but a ghastly illumination along her lost lover’s gaunt, pale face. It made him look hollow, as if no happiness, no mischief, no curiosity had once been lurking behind those coy, gorgeous eyelids. His once tanned, golden flesh was sickly and pale, the adonis within snuffed out forever. Y/N  snarled and sobbed hard, holding Billy closer, hiding him from the sickening yellowed light of the fire that grew.

She heard feet scramble around as the party gathered, their footfalls echoing like hard beat of the drums of war.

Villains never prevailed. Heroes never lived. No one was ever truly saved. Y/N’s shoulders caved and shook as she sobbed, broken and holding onto Billy’s body. Stifling a hiccup, she sighed sadly and started humming and rocking him back and forth; their song mumbled on tear-stained lips. She was chained to her place on the ground, lost. 

She didn’t see the others there, she couldn’t hear their words. She didn’t take notice when Max hid her face in El’s shoulder and sobbed for her lost brother.  

The world around her was crumbling into vacant nothingness and Y/N felt herself heave with another sob. She leaned back, her blood stained fingers gently brushing the infallible, pure flesh of Billy’s cold cheek, smoothing the tears she’d left there away with another broken whimper. “I love you…” She whispered longingly, her voice needy and raspy. 

A hand pressed to Y/N’s shoulder. It didn’t matter whose it was. It wasn’t his. And she hated that it pulled her back. The distant thrum of helicopters rattling in the skies, the sobs that left Max as she cried, the soft sniffles that sounded from El as she sat in mourning solidarity with her friend. Steve’s voice low as sirens began to wail in the streets. 

“Y/N. We gotta go,” Steve said, joined at her flank by Robin, whose thin hand came to rest on Y/N’s arm. She didn’t move. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t leave him. Another sob leaving her, Robin leaned forward to rest her head on Y/N’s shoulder, rubbing her arm gently as she could, tears flooding her own eyes as she looked across to Steve’s battered face. 

Harrington hated Hargrove with all he had, but he didn’t deserve this. Y/N didn’t deserve this. Nostrils quivering as he fought to keep strong, he gave Robin a solemn nod. Together, they helped place Billy on the ground where he fell and pull Y/N back, consoling her as she cried. 

Just close your eyes. The sun is going down You'll be alright.  No one can hurt you now Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound.

[null-whump]

Whumptober Day 9

Another prequel! Some Varren backstory...a long time in the making, actually.

Warnings: Death via knife

Word Count: 1,418

Whumptober Prompt 9 – Take me Instead | Run! | Ritual Sacrifice

–––––––––––––––––

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Varren tightened his grip on the knife, trying to keep his hands from shaking. He glanced at the heavy wooden door, the only thing between him and unimaginable evil – and incredible power.

His familiar smiled. “You’re not having second thoughts now, are you? We’ve come this far, there’s nothing stopping us!”

Varren hesitated. “I know that, but – well, there’s a reason that people don’t kill demons.”

Corvus placed his hand over Varren’s, steadying his grip on the knife. “You’re better than that,” he said confidently. “You’re prepared. Think of what we can do when you’ve killed that thing!”

Varren looked again to the door. He could almost feel the presence of the being on the other side, seeping into the hall. Corvus was right. He wasn’t going to back out – he wasn’t afraid.

“Alright.” He nodded firmly. “I’m ready.”

Corvus’ smile grew. “You remember what you have to do?”

“Of course.”

Corvus unlatched and pushed open the heavy door. It creaked on its hinges, and flickering torchlight from the hall spilled into the room. Varren steeled his nerves and stepped forward, Corvus close behind.

The room was barren, smooth stone with nothing inside other than the figure kneeling in the center, chains fastened around its arms and legs, keeping it on the ground. At first glance, it appeared human, a male of moderate size, maybe thirty years old, with brown hair. In fact, there was nothing about the physical appearance out of the ordinary – rather, there was an undeniable malice surrounding him, something that screamed that he wasn’t right. The man raised his head, and his eyes were black, deeper black than should have been possible, blacker than a closed room with no lights, so black – Varren tore his eyes away from the gaze. He knew the dangers of staring too long into a demon’s eyes.

“Are you foolish enough to come and kill me?” The voice was low and powerful. Despite being chained down, he projected an overwhelming air of confidence.

Varren breathed deeply and cleared his mind.

‘Don’t speak to him,’ Corvus reminded him, as if he hadn’t repeated the rule to Varren enough times already.

The creature on the ground cocked his head. Even without looking, Varren could feel his eyes piercing through him. “You will regret this, human.”

The demon didn’t sound desperate; he didn’t sound as if he were bargaining for his life or trying to dissuade Varren from the task before him. He sounded calm, as if he were simply stating a fact.

Varren pushed any thoughts of turning back out of his mind. He would not let himself be talked down. He stepped forward and lifted the knife.

“There are few mortals who can kill a demon and retain who they are, not lose their mind to the power,” the demon said. “You, Varren Evrenden, are not one of such people.”

Varren nearly stopped; nearly hesitated, nearly dropped the knife and fled the room, leaving the terrible creature behind him for good. Corvus’ presence, his voice reminding him not to fall for the demon’s tricks, kept him steady. He raised the knife. He thought he heard something, whispering of a hundred voices in the back of his mind as he prepared to bring the knife down, straight into the demon’s heart. His heart raced, and his hands trembled.

‘Varren!’ Corvus jolted him out of his hazed state. ‘Don’t wait – do it!’

Varren grit his teeth and plunged the knife into the demon’s chest. The voices stopped – everything stopped. Varren found himself staring into the demon’s eyes, eyes that remained fixed on him even as blood poured from where the knife was embedded in his chest. In fact, the demon hadn’t so much as flinched.

Varren’s hands were locked onto the knife, and he could feel the demon’s life draining away. Not only that, he could feel something else, he could feel the aura of darkness, the horrible presence of the demon. He could feel it so much more than he had thought possible, and he could feel it draining away – no, not away, but into him – as if the knife were a conduit, pulling the essence from the demon and channeling it into Varren.

Suddenly, Varren found that he was terrified. He gasped, or tried to, but his chest was painfully tight. He tried to pull his hands from the knife, but they were held there by some unseen force. The demon, it’s eyes finally fading, smiled. Then the flow of energy stopped, and Varren fell backward with a cry. Corvus helped him up, but Varren barely registered it. He was shaking, he felt cold and hot at the same time, and his head was pounding. But worst – worst was that awful darkness, so much stronger and more terrible than before, and it felt like it was a part of his very soul.

Corvus was saying something, speaking urgently. Varren moved his head minutely, enough to see his familiar’s concerned face, before he slipped into unconsciousness.

His dreams were strange and terrifying, and when he finally jolted awake it took several seconds before he was able to calm his breathing. Corvus was sitting by his bed, watching him closely.

“How do you feel?” The familiar asked slowly.

Varren winced and reached for his head. It wasn’t throbbing as much anymore, and though the horrible darkness was still present in his mind, he found that if he focused, he could push past it.

“I’m alright,” he forced out.

Corvus laughed, a relieved sound. “That’s good. You had me worried for a while.”

Varren pushed himself to the edge of the bed and stood shakily.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, more to himself than to Corvus.

‘I’m fine.’

He was fine, for several weeks. The terrible aura was always there, impossible to ignore, but he resolutely pushed past it, determined to ignore it until he had adjusted. The nights were worse. He was plagued by nightmares, images of blood and fire and pain, and through it all an overwhelming fear that always took him several minutes to shake after waking up, usually in a cold sweat.

“It’ll take time,” Corvus had told him. “You need time to adjust.”

It was around three months later that Varren began to suspect that, maybe, he wouldn’t adjust after all. The nightmares were worse, if anything, and the horrible, unshakeable darkness followed him wherever he went. He told Corvus that he was fine, that he was handling it well. It was four more months before he finally cracked.

Varren slammed open the door where Corvus was working, startling the man, who stood and eyed him warily. “Varren?”

“I can’t do this anymore,” Varren said, his voice bordering on hysterical. “Corvus, I can’t do this – I thought it would get better, but it never has – it almost seems like it’s getting worse!” He gripped his familiar’s arms desperately. “Please, I can’t live like this! There has to be some way to make it stop – you know more about demons than anyone, surely you know a way, please!”

Corvus stared at him for a long moment. “There isn’t,” he said finally.

Varren felt any hope he had shatter. “What – what am I supposed to do?” He stammered.

“Frankly, I don’t care,” Corvus said bluntly. “If you’re going to give in so quickly, I have no interest in helping you.”

Varren stared in disbelieving shock. Surely – surely Corvus didn’t mean that.

Corvus pried Varren’s hands from his arms. “I’m disappointed,” he sneered. “I chose to work with you, among plenty of other witches, because I thought you would be different. I thought you could handle it.”

“What are you saying?” Varren felt his confusion slowly turn to…hurt. Corvus, his friend, was telling him that he didn’t care. That he was – was disappointed.

Corvus glared down at him. “You’re pathetic,” he hissed. “You’re weak, like all humans. I don’t know why I thought you were different.” He turned away. “I don’t care what you do now, but you’re doing it alone.”

Varren couldn’t say anything, couldn’t even think properly as Corvus left, his words echoing in his head. Weak. Pathetic. Slowly, the despair, the fear, began to give way to something new – anger, then hate. Varren let it cover him, a welcome change from everything that had been consuming him for the past six months.

‘Weak – I’ll show him who the weak one is. Him, and the rest of them. I am not weak.’

–––––––––––––––––

Tag list! Let me know if you want to be added or removed, or if I somehow missed your name.

@castielamigos-whump-side-blog @shameless-whumper @whumpity--whump--whump @whumpitywhumpwhump @nervous-writer @this-zombie-will-eat-you @abyssshifter @whumpersworld @whatwasmyprevioususername @scared-and-crying @whatwhumpcomments @blackrosesandrhyme @amethystpath @utopian819

[bngtanah]

The Difference Between Boys & Girls | o1

summary: Sam & Erin are university students who share a cheap one bedroom apartment above a shitty takeaway restaurant. Due to the limited space, they’ve grown accustomed to sharing just about everything, including the occasional kiss. Despite the amount of time they spend together, their complete comfort in sharing a bed, etc, the pair continues to hold on to the idea that they are completely “platonic.” None of their friends believe this excuse, but as ridiculous as it sounds the unconventional living situation truly does seem to work for them.

Well, it used to anyway..

pairing: Jung Hoseok (Samuel Park)  x Named OC characters: meet the cast.

word count: 10k+ genre: angst, smut, fluff

chapters: o1| o2| o3| o4| o5| o6| o7| o8| o9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14

warning: boyfriend!hoseok, jealous!hoseok, friends to lovers trope, college au, angst, sexual themes, slow burn, ambw

a/n: i am a fool. I accidentally deleted my blog so this is me re-uploading EVERYTHING.

"You headed out?"

Erin's head whipped around in her roommates direction as he appeared in the doorway of their shared bedroom. He was shirtless, for no proper reason, jogging pants barely clinging to his hip bones. Sammy and Erin, to a certain extent, had stopped being shy being half-naked or completely naked around each other after a successful year of living together, and keeping things from becoming noticeably awkward between them. It was almost a tradition for them to freely walk around their tiny apartment space in the dead of winter or in the sweltering heat of summer in next to nothing.  

She turned in her seat to fully face Sammy as he flashed her one of his infamous megawatt smiles. It always amazed Erin how he did that, going from smoldering and sexy one second to unexpectedly adorable the very next. It was a talent if she ever saw one. Erin inhaled and clenched the makeup brush in her hand with a tighter grip.

“Uh, yeah. Some girls from my study group invited me out for a drink” She nodded, tapping the fluffy end of her powder brush against her knee as she did her best to keep her eyes focused on his face and not his bare chest.

“I don’t really feel like going, but it beats lying around here doing nothing with you all night,” She shrugged.

Sammy rolled his eyes and drilled his toned shoulder into the doorjamb. "You make it sound like we don’t have any fun just lying around" He replied with a gentle pout.

"Oh, so much fun," Erin reassured with a hint of sarcasm. "But I’m sure they will kick me out of the group if I keep turning down their G.N.O’s."

"They sound like shitty friends; why would you want to go out with them anyway?"

"Well, there aren’t too many people falling over themselves to hang out with an English major, some of us have to take what we can get" Erin chuckled and turned back to face the mirror to finish constructing her 'I don’t really want to be here’ face. Minimal makeup and boring straight hair.

"I enjoy hanging out with you, am I not enough?" Samuel shot back.

Why were they debating this?

The question nearly fell from Erin’s lips because it almost sounded like her roommate was trying to convince her not to go. It was a stupid thought but one that had to be considered.

"Sammy," Erin sighed. "Are you bored or something? You're a big boy I'm sure you can find some way to entertain yourself when I'm not here," She craned her head to look at him again, "Maybe catch up on some of the 'anatomy' research I caught you doing in the living room last night?"

The slight frown that was forming on Sammy's lips disappeared into a broad grin in response to Erin's statement, making her stomach flutter just slightly. She always enjoyed seeing him laugh, especially when she was the cause.

With him partially distracted, Erin took the chance to subtly drink in every inch of his toned skin. He wasn't overtly muscular, more lean than anything but cut where he needed to be. Erin concluded that he had the years he spent dancing to thank for that.  His face… Sam had a face that wouldn't seem like much at first glance but there was simply something about him that made you want to keep looking once he caught your eye. Strong jawline, straight nose, deep-set brown eyes that turned into half-moons whenever he smiled, which was often. It convinced Erin that he could make any person fall in love by doing something as simple as breathing, and you'd find yourself becoming jealous of the air that filled his lungs because it could touch him in places that you couldn't.

Not that she was in love with him, but she would be an idiot not to notice what a total hottie her roommate was.

“Whatever, noona.”

His voice snapped Erin out of her haze.

"Go out with your book nerds and paint the town beige," Sammy pushed away from the threshold, padded into the room and came to stand behind where Erin sat.

It should be noted that Erin wasn't entirely dressed either. She was in her robe, bare underneath, and silently willing her nipples not to get hard. The vanity mirror she set up cut Sammy off at the neck so all she could see was his torso just about pressed up against her back. He leaned down bringing his cheek close to her own.

She inhaled softly. The scent of his soap and cologne filled her nostrils and almost made her eyes flutter with satisfaction. She held it together though, no matter how much Erin harped on and on about not feeling anything but friendship for Samuel the past few months made it clear she wasn't sure what the hell she felt anymore.

They had been friends long before they decided to live together. Having seen each other through all the lows and highs of life since high school, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that they were more than just friends. They were basically family. Which was why Erin just couldn't bear to question exactly what had been going on between them lately. The closer than normal contact, him asking to share the bed with her because the pullout couch was messing with his back, all the goodbye kisses that seemed to linger for a second too long to be innocent. All signs pointed to the fact that he was feeling the same kind of attraction that she was, but even with all that evidence Erin just couldn't muster up the courage to call any attention to it.

Sammy brought a hand up and brushed it through gently through Erin's hair. Inwardly, her muscles tensed at his caress, and ripples of energy splintered everywhere. Erin's hair just happened to be an erogenous zone for her, but apparently only when Sammy touched it, which he did often enough.

"If you really want to go have some fun, then I'll stop bothering you," Sammy stated, twirling a strand around his index finger.

His voice sounded coarse like the words pained him to say out loud, that was probably just Erin's imagination.

Instead of responding Erin shrugged her shoulders and reached for her darkest tube of lipstick that wasn't actually black. Dreary colors usually did the trick to scare any guys planning to target her as an easy lay. To the weak of heart, they seemed to suggest hypersexuality, dabbling in witchcraft or both. Which meant whatever lame pickup line they had planned would not fly with her.

“Don't make it sound like I'm locking you in a cage here by yourself.” Erin said after a few seconds, biting into her lip when Sammy's hand smoothed down to her shoulder.

His brow scrunched, and his lips pulled down at the corners. “There's only so much I can do when you're not here.”

Erin snickered and began lining her lips in plum lipstick. “We have internet and a laptop, go nuts.”

“That's only fun when I think you're gonna catch me.”

Erin's eyebrow quirked, but she ignored that minor revelation “You're so gross.”

Sammy laughed again and that curious hand of his moved back up to Erin's neck, his thumb rubbing circles at her nape.

“You're distracting me,” She said through a soft breath.

“Ah, sorry,”  Sammy dropped his hand, but he didn't move from his spot. His eyes zeroed in on her lips while she put on her lipstick. “Is that new? I really like that color on you noona.”

Capping the lipstick, Erin smiled gently and looked forward, her eyes connecting with Sammy's through his reflection in the mirror. “When exactly did I become noona, by the way? In the years we've known each other I can count on one hand the amount of times you've called me that.”

Sammy smirked and shrugged his shoulders, "You don't like it?"

It was quite the opposite, actually. If Erin had a smidgen of confidence, she would tell him she absolutely adored hearing him call her 'noona'. She was over the novelty of the age gap a year after moving to South Korea but there was just something about the way Sammy said it. It wasn't said condescendingly or begrudgingly but with genuine love and Erin could feel that.

"Nah, it makes me feel old."

"Well, that's too bad because I enjoy saying it to you-" Sammy lowered his frame until he rested on his haunches with is chin just about resting on Erin's shoulder. "Noona."

He was too low for her to elbow him like she wanted to so Erin settled for judgmental glare before returning to her makeup. "Keep this up and I'll be waking you up in the middle of the night just to gush all about all the guys I make out with tonight, with vivid detail."

Sammy cocked a lopsided grin. "I doubt that will happen. When you spend nights making out with guys you don't want to give it up to, I usually just hear you lock the door and bzzzzz." He replied, complete with sound effects and what could only be described as his imitation of a stroke victim having an orgasm.

"Out! Right now, that's enough out of you for the night" Erin exclaimed through a mixture of laughter and embarrassed groans, turning to smack him a few times on the shoulder.

Chuckling, Sammy rose to his feet.

"All right, all right I'll go but I do have one question for you," He said as he stared down at Erin, placing his hands on his hips, and wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. Erin dug all ten of her fingernails into her kneecaps to get a hold of herself.

"What's your question, Samuel?"

"Are you planning on bringing anyone home tonight?"

Erin paused, suspicion making her eyes squint gently. That was a question she'd never heard from him before. "Why?"

"Just answer the question, Erin."

"I....don't know, probably not. Why?"

"I just wanted to know if I'd have time to try out my new noise-cancelling headphones tonight."

With that Erin rolled her eyes and stood to face him, "I've had enough of you Sammy, get out. I need to get dressed and you’re just distracting me with foolishness." Sammy only chuckled then shuffled toward the door, whistling.

Just as quickly as he left Sammy's head popped up at the corner of the entrance again. Erin stared at him expectantly.

"Why don't I come out with you tonight? I know for a fact that you only tolerate those book club girls and I know Kasey won't be coming because I was eavesdropping earlier. Come on, I'll do you a favor. ,"

Erin's fingers strummed the vanity top as she contemplated her roommate's suggestion. The girls from her study group weren't exactly nuns, but they definitely weren't the most fun to hang with on a Friday night. They also probably wouldn't take too kindly to Erin inviting a guy to their 'Girl's Night Out'. However, having Sammy around all but guaranteed that she would have a good time tonight, even if it meant getting on their bad side.

It seemed worth it right?

"Can you promise to be on your best behavior?"

He shrugged. "Probably, but that depends on what you mean by 'best'."

"Like no challenging random people to a dance off, no hitting on any of my study group members..."

Sammy laughed. "Ooh, don't think I can agree to that last request, I've been on a kind of book smart, nerdy girl kick lately."

"Ugh, whatever just don't make it obvious" Erin replied, grabbing her cellphone. "I'll text Kim and tell her I have a....friend joining me."

Sammy beamed and immediately rushed over to envelop Erin in a smothering hug, making her blush like a silly schoolgirl in return. "We're gonna have a blast, noona."

Erin grinned and stroked the smooth skin on his back softly. "I wouldn't speak too soon."

The smile on Sammy's face faltered slightly, but he made no attempt at letting her go, his hands found their way into Erin's hair again and she shuddered slightly. A response that did not go unnoticed by Sammy since their bodies were practically sandwiched together. "You don't sound convinced."

"I don't control the future; we could get hit by a car on our way there. Go cover up your nips. We have to leave soon, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah" The lean boy replied as he slowly released Erin from his grasp and began making his way toward the door for the third time that night. He paused for a second once he was in the doorway and turned to glance at Erin who was combing through her hair, "Can I make a suggestion?"

"This better not be something silly."

"Wear your hair up."

Erin blinked a few times at her reflection before her eyebrow shot upward and she swiveled her head in Sammy's direction, waiting for him to elaborate on his random suggestion.

His expression was serious, and his eyes almost appeared to be darkened. "Your hair up, with that dark lipstick…? You look irresistible."

A pang of electricity sparked right through Erin's core, it took every amount of self-restraint in her not to cross the room and smear her perfectly applied lipstick all over his toned chest.

Instead, she chose to cover up her attraction with a pleasant smile while obediently complying with his request.

 "Up it is."

[hczcls]

hello hello hello !! it’s been a minute since i was in a group setting so forgive me for any mishaps, i am but a lost soul. anywho under the cut is a bit about my child lottie, she’s a mess and a thousand but love her anyways! hmu if you would like to plot or have any wanted connections you can see this child fitting in!

tw:  alcoholism, drug addiction, death, grief, overdose, child neglect, child abuse, underage sex, porn.

APP.

( dove cameron, cisfemale ) - Have you seen CHARLOTTE HALE? LOTTIE is in HER JUNIOR YEAR OF STUDY year. The JOURNALISM MAJOR is/are 23 years old & is a SCORPIO . People say SHE is/are CHARISMATIC, INDEPENDENT, AGGRESSIVE and CRUEL. Rumors say they’re a member of CALLOWAY. I heard from the gossip blog that HAS A ONLYFANS.  (mon. 25. est. she/her.)

AESTHETICS.

the last breath during a chilly night out, champagne flutes and forgotten cigarettes on bar counters. melodic laughter of a child unhinged,  fur coats and ripped fishnet stockings, warm hands on cold bodies, spinning until your ears ring and your stomach curdles, the 3 AM headache from a long night out. the screeching sound of the electric guitar, broken glass scattered across an unkempt home, the hollowness of loneliness, blasting music echoing through empty halls, sandy hallways and discarded clothes, screened phone calls and short voicemails, stacks of medical bills and scattered chips of redemption.

- here’s her board!!

SYNOPSIS.

In short, Lottie Haze fits into the cliché realm of a spoiled rich socialite. Growing up the daughter of a famous rockstar did nothing for her humbleness, being the heiress of a family fortune made before her father in the fashion of famous Las Vegas casinos, Lottie was doomed to a life of narcissism and selfishness from the start. Her life is a blur before coming to Yates, she doesn’t delve much into her past and doesn’t stand for the curios pokes and prods from her fellow peers after they watch all the documentaries about her past. Drug abuse, life on the road, the death of her mother, her own overdose at such a young age before being plucked out of her father’s arms. Lottie doesn’t think about it, doesn’t speak about it, but it’s all there, edited from time to time on Wikipedia. Famous for being nothing but the child of the rich, Lottie’s a lot more than meets the eye, but at paper-thin, she’ll allow most to think she’s the typical Instagram influencer, rich, pretty girl plagued with basicness and ignorance.

HISTORY.

Charlotte Haze’s parents weren’t good for each other. It wasn’t a healthy relationship; it wasn’t made from start dust and fairytales. It was a match made in hell, two selfish souls uniting in a mix of tequila and heroin in the back of the Stillborns’ tour bus. Ricky Danger was her father, a name coined from the mind of a self-indulging teenager with too much time on his hand and brain clouded with too many pills. When Jeanette Haze, daughter of a multibillionaire hotel and casino owner, told him the news of their child he was excited, not thinking of the dangers and responsibilities that came along with a child born of wedlock and on the road. Charlotte couldn’t remember a time in her childhood when things were normal, nothing was the cookie-cutter dream house that most children fantasize about, they had no real home, she had no real toys, no friends her age, everything was clouded with smoke and glamour, money and gifts sent to her by her grandparents who couldn’t gain control of their wild daughter and her idiot of a boyfriend  who was too busy dragging their toddler all over the world with them.

Her mother died of heart failure when she was eight, something that happened so fast that she barely had time to register what it was. There were two funerals, the respectable one full of family members she’d never met who touched her blonde curls, cradled her chubby cheeks, told her how much she looked like her mother and the one thrown by her father. Where men all spoke highly of her departed mother, where alcohol was passed around, stories were told, and the friends she grew up with made her smile and laugh, instead of feeling lost and alone. Lottie was too young to know what was going on behind closed doors, too sheltered from her grandparents to know that they were doing everything in their power to take her away from her father, who simply brushed the death of her mother off his shoulders, and carried on in life, numbed by booze and drugs. This lifestyle wasn’t something a child should grow up in, an idiot knew that, but Ricky didn’t see a problem with it, he didn’t see how damaging it was, he didn’t care, and once he thought Lottie was old enough, he shared it with her.

Charlotte was 11 the first time she got drunk, 12 the first the time she smoked weed, 13 the first time she had sex, and fourteen when she first got addicted to cocaine. The list grew as she did, the perfect little star on the road, the daughter of the world’s ‘best’ guitarist, the lead singer of The Stillborns. He was so proud of his girl, he loved her more than anything, and she lived to make him proud. She could remember the concerned looks from tutors on the road, her father hiring them to make sure he could keep Lottie at his side, having her learn from the strangers when she could, paying them off not to speak about the things his daughter was involved in, and everyone turned their head, said nothing. Charlotte didn’t know any better, the life she lived was all she knew, all she loved. Sex, drugs, and rock & roll, just like her mother, she was truly the perfect girl, just like her father had wanted her to be.

That all changed when she was seventeen. when one night her father must have misjudged the dose he helped her shoot into her veins. Ricky had had his fair share of overdoses, his own, his buddies, even the one that put his wife into cardiac arrest and took her from him. Though when his daughter started to convulse, he couldn’t bring himself to do much of anything but push her onto her side and dial 911. He left her in the dutiful hands of his band manager and a family friend before he left her alone to wake up in the hospital with no clue what had happened, no idea where her he was, and an onslaught of CPS agents, police, and paparazzi.

It was all that was needed for her grandparents to finally get custody of Charlotte, proof of her father’s neglect, proof of his horrible influence of the young girl. Lottie waited for him, waited for him to show up at the hospital, show up at court, show up to fight for her, but he never did. He never called, he never wrote, and when Charlotte was moving in with her grandparents in their little ranch in Las Vegas after spending months in a rehabilitation center, she still heard nothing from her father. The tides changed then, Charlotte realized she couldn’t go on living the way she had, the way her mother had, so rather than wait until the day she was eighteen to go back to her old life, she made a new one, or at least she tried to. It was a twisted Cinderella story, at least that’s how the news showed it. The once tragic life of a child of rock & roll turned into the sugary sweet life of a beautiful Instagram star, Charlotte Haze coined a new life for herself, with the watchful and worried eye of her grandmother.

PRESENT.

College seemed like something that would be good. A set routine, a new chance at life, a way to start over…  sure she didn’t do the best at school on the road but was that her fault or the environments. It would be something normal, a true school environment she never got to experience.  Vermont was far, but with some tears and lots of convincing, she was able to get them to agree to let her leave. , and they made sure to give her everything she needed to get on well, with a few standards she had to meet at least. Music would always be apart of Charlotte’s life, even if her father wasn’t, so she figured journalism would be good for her, getting to explore the lives of all the musicians and artists but while also keeping a safe distance from the true lives some lived on the road, not wanting to break her vow to herself, to avoid any and all triggers to her past.

She’s been sober for a while, though the bumps of life have given her a few setbacks, relapsing is part of the process, after all, at least that’s what she told herself each time she embarrassingly returned to her NA meetings or faced the disappointed look of her grandmother who controlled her allowances, basing how much money she fed to the spoiled girl by how stable her life seemed to be at the time. Lottie was going to live her life for herself, she did what she wanted, how she wanted it, though she put on her best appearances for her grandmother, after all, it wasn’t like she was actually going to get a job to support herself, not when she had all the money she could ever ask for in her namesake alone.

SECRET.

Lottie is used to having things handed to her, she’s used to being able to spend her money frivolously, with no care or worry of consequence. But when her grandparents cut her off and the cash flow stops coming in, there’s not much for her to do to keep her materialistic life up. Sure she could get a job on campus, work at a book store, the coffee shop, the record store… but Lottie doesn’t like to work… and she has little patience for tedious things… and so her genius idea was to make money off doing the one thing she never got bored of, sex. Lottie has a secret camgirl/porn account that she earns extra cash from, it’s not something she’s ashamed of at all, but she doesn’t want it getting out on account of her old money grandparents and her widely known father, the last thing she wants to be is a cliche, even if she’s happily living as one.

TLDR.

So basically, Lottie’s got a tricky background, she’s rich af, spoiled af, bitchy af, and kind of just does what she wants whenever she wants. She’s up and down with her sobriety, views everything pretty cockeyed, considering she doesn’t want to trigger herself into using again, but will down a bottle of Grey Goose with little consideration of the consequences. She’s got a lot to hide still, gets her inheritance from her grandparents and that can be easily toyed with, considering they view her life with a magnifying glass. Connection wise she’s open to anything, hookups, passed hookups, ex’s, FWBs, frenemies, best friends, she’s bi and ready to cry so please, love her.

[hotforharrison]

Meet & Greet ch 17

Chapter 16 <-- Series Masterlist --> Chapter 18

Pairing: Tom Holland/Reader

Summary: You missed out on a Tom Holland meet and greet, but a stranger, who you are pretty sure is a Tom Holland lookalike, rescues you from your pity party for one.

Word Count: 1,697

Warnings: Smut and language, as usual

A/N: Celebratory porn, the first installment!

“Your American bagels are weird,” Tom commented, as he ate one at your kitchen table.

You shrugged. “I didn’t even know there were British beigels.”

“I’ll have to take you to Beigel Bake.” When he realized the implications of what he’d said, he added, “that is, if you want to come back to London at some point.”

“I don’t know yet. I mean, I want to, but…” you trailed off.

London had been special, and you weren’t sure if you could recapture what you’d had there. Your life now felt divided into three periods -- Before London, London, and After London. Things were definitely far simpler in the former two periods.

“I know, love,” he said, placing his hand on top of yours where it rested on the table.

You leaned over to kiss him, soft and sweet.

“There’s something I’ve been wondering,” he started, glancing down. “With all that’s happened, are you still glad that you met me?”

“Yes,” you replied. “I’ll never regret meeting you.”

Of that you were certain.

How did the quote go? 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?’

You weren’t sure that it was ‘love’ in the context that most people used it, at least not yet, even though it was heading in that direction.

You definitely did consider him your ‘first love,’ though, in addition to your first everything else so far. You just didn’t know if he’d also be your only.

“I don’t have any regrets either,” he said, “no matter what you decide.”

His thumb absentmindedly stroked your hand as silence dragged on between you, your unfinished breakfasts forgotten on the table in front of you.

“Am I interrupting any plans you had for today, since I showed up unannounced?” he eventually asked, changing the subject.

“No,” you replied. “The only thing I intended to do today was to avoid the outside world. I’m already doing that.”

“Staying in works for me. Do you happen to have any tea?” he asked.

“I don’t, but I’ll get some next time I’m at the store. It was just okay at first, but now I actually kind of miss it,” you admitted. “I really do need to go grocery shopping, though. I haven’t been since I got back.”

“But you want to avoid the outside world?” he guessed.

“Yeah.” You sighed. “Maybe I should just get it over with and resume my day-to-day life, instead of hiding.”

He shrugged, finally finishing the bagel. “It’s up to you either way.”

You cleaned up the table from breakfast.

“You know what? I’m just going to get this over with.” You grabbed your purse and keys, walking toward the front door. When you glanced over your shoulder, you noticed Tom hadn’t moved. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I didn’t know I was invited.”

“Of course you’re invited,” you said, surprised that he thought he wasn’t.

He quickly caught up to you and followed you out the door.

The drive to the grocery store was as uneventful as you expected it to be.

You had to take a deep breath and give yourself a silent pep talk walking through the parking lot to steel yourself for whatever was going to happen.

“Do you need a trolley?” Tom asked as you walked up to the entrance.

“A what?” You were confused.

He pointed to the shopping carts.

“Oh! Yeah.” You grabbed one. “Your British-isms are weird.”

He chuckled. “I could say the same about your American-isms.”

No one paid any attention to you as you shopped, picking up everything you needed after being gone for two weeks, while chatting away. It actually felt relatively normal, and you wondered if you were being lulled into a false sense of security.

Your last stop before checking out was the international foods section because you knew they had some British snacks.

“Sweet!” Tom exclaimed when he saw them, tossing a few into the cart. “No offense, but some of your American snacks are disgusting. I don’t see how you can eat them.”

“None taken,” you said with a laugh. “I can’t say the same about your British snacks. I actually liked most of the ones I tried.”

“What was your favorite?” he asked.

“My favorite British snack is obviously you,” you replied, trying not to laugh and failing.

He laughed, too, as you walked together to the front of the store.

You made a point of going through the self-checkout, even with a full cart, to avoid cashiers who you thought might recognize Tom.

It took longer than you would have liked to check out, but the cashier in charge of the self-checkout ignored you, barely looking up when you walked past her to the exit doors.

Tom helped you load the groceries into the trunk. You got in the car and started the drive home.

“That was painless,” you commented.

“You sound shocked,” he said.

“I am. Is that what it would be like dating you?” you asked.

“Most of the time, but not always,” he admitted. “Sometimes people recognize me and want selfies, and of course there’s the paparazzi.” He paused. “Did you think people would hound you everywhere you go?”

“Yeah, I kind of did,” you confessed.

“Remember how it was in London before you left, how we went out quite a few times, and I took you sightseeing, without anything happening?” he asked.

You nodded, fondly remembering what you referred to as ‘the bubble.’

“That’s how it would be most of the time.”

“Oh,” you responded.

“Oh,” he agreed.

“You made it sound scary when we talked about it on the phone after I got back,” you said.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I just wanted to be sure you knew dating me isn’t like dating someone who isn’t famous. I’d rather avoid the heartbreak of you realizing that later on.”

“I’ve never dated anyone before. I don’t really know how to date someone, famous or not,” you admitted.

“For all intents and purposes, we’re already dating, just without the label. The label’s more for everyone else than for us.”

“So we’d just keep doing what we’re doing?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“Oh.” You were quiet as you parked in front of your place. Dating Tom didn’t seem nearly as daunting as it had, and you knew you definitely wanted to continue what you had with him. “So, I guess we’re dating?”

“I guess we are,” he confirmed.

You were silent again as you unloaded the trunk, and he helped you carrying everything into your kitchen.

“What happens now?” you eventually asked.

“Well, we’ll get your groceries put away before they spoil,” he responded, drily.

You chuckled. “You know what I mean.”

He grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers with his. “We can do this,” he started, then pressed a kiss to your lips, “and this while we’re out.”

“But not this,” you added mischievously, as you grabbed his semi-erect cock through the fabric of his pants.

“No, not that,” he agreed, “but we’re not out right now.”

You dropped to your knees in front of him, quick to undo his pants and get his cock out. He’d already firmed up by the time you got him in your mouth, hand wrapped around the base. You immediately started bobbing your head, not looking to tease.

“Such a good girl for me, darling,” he praised, burying his fingers in your hair.

You moaned around his cock, taking him a bit deeper into your mouth.

Arousal was an insistent pulse between your legs.

You fumbled to get your pants open with one hand, beyond desperate for some stimulation by the time you finally got your fingers into your damp panties.

It was never as good as when he took care of you, knowing your body as well as you did at this point, but you shoved two fingers inside yourself and started to pump them in and out at the same pace you worked his cock.

You tasted a burst of precum against your tongue.

“Fuck, I can hear how wet you are for me.” He groaned, then pulled out of your mouth. “Up, up, up.” He helped you to your feet.

You stumbled while you shucked your pants and shoes, glad you’d chosen some that slipped on instead of tied.

He swept a few bags of groceries off your kitchen table, contents clattering on the floor, and hefted you onto the newly cleared space.

He pushed into you in one long stroke, and started pounding into you at a punishing pace.

While you were wrapping your legs around his midsection, your hips tilted. His cock bumped directly against your g-spot hard, and you wailed.

“Love?” he asked, immediately slowing down, concern crossing his face.

“Don’t stop!” you cried out, surprised how forcefully that had come out, thrusting your hips against him in an attempt to spur him back into action.

He resumed driving into you hard and fast, right against your g-spot. It felt amazing.

Before you could reach a hand between your thighs to get yourself the rest of the way there, you suddenly toppled over the edge untouched.

You tightened around his cock, entire body tense, pleasure radiating from your core. It was almost too much, and simultaneously exactly perfect. At the peak of your climax, you felt a wet rush.

It was a bit like being underwater when you heard him shout your name, and felt him pump into you a few more times before stilling.

You were rendered light-headed from the intensity.

“That was so fucking hot,” he eventually commented, still breathing a bit hard.

“What just…” you trailed off, still deep in your post-orgasmic haze.

“You squirted. I thought we’d have to use the g-spot vibrator for that. How was it?”

“It was…” You paused, trying to find words, before eventually settling on, “wow.”

He pulled out slickly and stepped back, but you remained lying half on the edge of the table, unmoving, eyes still shut.

You heard the rustle of a plastic bag. “I think we’re going to have to go back to the supermarket.”

“Worth it,” you responded. And it most definitely was.

Tag list: @drown-me-before-dema-does @tom-hollands-blog @tylers-ankles-beebos-forehead @moorehollandplz @delicatepeterparker @thollandss @musicalburrage @captainbuckyy @adayasgeorgia @victor-criss-bish

[httpjeon]

03. hot bot ― jungkook (m.)

jungkook/reader | android!au, hotbot!au | smut, angst

wordcount: 2.1k

contents: emotional blue balls, rough sex, slut shaming, forced orgasm, light fingering, no aftercare, yoongi appearance

― synopsis: you have the option. but will you take it?

a/n: this is what i like to call...rubbing salt in the wound.

blog masterlist ― series masterlist

© httpjeon 2019. do not repost or modify.

“A message to our loyal customers! A new and improved line of Hot Bot’s are officially on sale. Get your hands on a one-of-a-kind bot before they’re gone! Below is a coupon code for only a select few! Use it wisely!”

The message you received from Hot Bot Inc immediately sent your heartrate into overdrive. You read it repeatedly, trying to gather up the courage to click on the link that would redirect you to the website. You hovered your mouse over the link and closed your eyes and clicked. Your eyes hurt as you squeezed them tightly, willing yourself to open them and look at the page.

The page was exactly the same as you remembered it and you were already signed into your account. You clicked on the banner that would bring you to the Hot Bots for sale, your heart still hammering away in your chest.

After a second, you were brought to the familiar page that you had bought Jungkook from. At the top right corner, you could see the filters that had been applied through your survey you took that day.

You began to scroll the page, ignoring the bots that didn’t look like the one you were looking for. It seemed the company had released a new line of bots; VIX2000. However, none of them caught your eye, and before you knew it; you were 2 pages in.

Suddenly, a new line title caught your eye.

BTS900+

You stopped breathing for a second as you passed the Taehyung and Hoseok bots.

And then, there he was.

Jungkook.

You quickly clicked on him.

“After some bugs were reported, Jungkook was reprogrammed. We now introduced the new and improved model!”

“Bugs?” You scoffer, glaring at the screen. “There was nothing wrong with him.”

Before you could realize what you were doing, and before you could think too much on it; you clicked add to cart.

The company had reimbursed your purchase after Jungkook had been recalled; giving you full money back. You also were given the coupon code on the email and your account had been given a discount for any bot bought after you lost Jungkook.

You stared at the payment page; your credit card and address info already filled in from before, though you had to add in the coupon code. Your mouse hovered over the complete purchase button; thinking over your options.

What were you expecting? What did you want? What would you do if Jungkook wasn’t the same?

…Would you regret it?

Decided that it was worth a shot, you clicked the button and were immediately brought to a confirmation of purchase page. It was as if they were mocking you; are you SURE you want to do this?

After confirming it, your order was placed.

Your phone pinged, alerting you via e-mail that you had purchased him again.

You paced in front of the front door, clutching your phone in your hand as you did so. You had gotten a notification a moment ago that you had a delivery on the way up. And it could only be one thing.

Jungkook.

It felt like hours passed before the doorbell finally rant. You whipped the door open, startling the delivery boy on the other side, who stared at you with wide eyes.

“D-Delivery, ma’am…” He muttered, using the dolly to push the oversized box into the living room; the same place you first met Jungkook.

“Thanks,” You breathed out, staring at him until he backed out of your apartment; a look of what could only be described as fear on his face. At that moment you didn’t care about being rude or keeping up appearances, you wanted him out and you wanted him out now.

Once the door was shut and you were all alone with your box, you exhaled loudly. Your hands were shaking as you grabbed a box cutter out of the little dish sitting on your coffee table, you used it to cut into the box.

There was an overwhelming sense of deju vu when Jungkook was revealed to you. His head hanging and his hair covering his eyes. This time you didn’t need to bother reading the instructions, you reached to the nape of his neck and pressed the button with a soft click.

Immediately, Jungkook’s head rose up, revealing the almost innocent doe-eyes he possessed. You momentarily forgot how to breathe as you stared at up.

“Please register owner’s name,” He said, voice monotone, matching his emotionless eyes.

“_-____...” You whispered, a shiver going down your spine at the cold, lifeless gaze he set upon you.

He pressed his lips against yours. They felt the same but, the emotion behind it wasn’t the same. You pushed the thought aside and allowed him to escort you to the bedroom.

He didn’t waste a second before tearing into your clothes. The raw power behind every move he made reminded you that he wasn’t human.

When you were bare before him, he grinned; a dark, lustful gaze in his eyes. Where they used to be so soft and bright…he really was different.

Suddenly, his hands were on your waist, making your squeal when he roughly turned you over onto your knees. The scent of your detergent filled your senses, calming you and almost making you forget where you were. That is – until a firm hand hit your ass with a resounding slap.

You cried out into your bedding, the burning sting sending tingles all through your body. There was a pause in his slaps, and suddenly you felt two fingers slide into your cunt.

“Tight, babygirl,” He growled, leaning forward to bite into the reddened skin of your ass. You whimpered at the pain that burnt into your brain. “Can you even take my cock, I wonder?”

You were silent, save for the guttural panting into your bed. Apparently, Jungkook didn’t want that – instead he growled.

“I asked you a question, slut!” He snapped, slapping your thigh hard enough to leave a red mark.

“Y-Yes, I can take your cock! Please, Jungkook,” You begged, making him chuckle.

But it wasn’t a chuckle you were used to hearing from him. No, this one was dark and held no kind undertone to it.

As you were lost in your thoughts of analyzing his laugh, he pulled his fingers out and positioned himself behind you. You tuned back in to the sound of his zipper being undone.

You inhaled, feeling the blunt head of his cock press against your entrance. You exhaled as he began to push into you. The feeling of your walls burning at the stretch reminded you that he hadn’t even prepared you. However, the stretch definitely wasn’t unpleasant.

“You better hold on tight, little slut,” He growled, gripping your hips to leverage.

As he pulled out, you gripped onto the sheets, already feeling the power he held before he even began to fuck you. The pace he set was unreal, unlike anything you’d ever felt. His cock hammered into your g-spot, stars lining your vision as you cried out. However, you own cries weren’t even reach your hazed-up brain. All you could think about was the intense orgasm Jungkook was about to force out of you through fucking you alone – no contact to your clit.

“Fuck, you gonna cum?” Jungkook growled, reaching forward to wrap a fist in your hair.

You whimpered out your response, not even able to formulate a response as the pain from your scalp seemed to be the nail in the coffin. You exploded, your legs trembling and failing to hold your body up as you came. Through your own shrill cries and pleasure, Jungkook came as well. You came to with the heat of his release leaking down your thighs.

“Fuck,” He sighed, laying on the bed. You fell to your side, thighs still trembling at the force of your orgasm.

You quickly realized Jungkook wasn’t going to make any move to take care of you. Not like he had last time.

This is what made you realize that he truly was different this time.

He wasn’t…Jungkook.

As Jungkook went into rest mode, you sat on the bed, hugging your knees. If you didn’t know any better, you could mistake him for a corpse.

He looked so lifelike, however, he was completely motionless – not even breathing. After all, androids didn’t breathe. Even though you had experienced life with Jungkook before, this new model was completely different.

The old model possessed such a lifelike disposition, he smiled and laughed. He showed emotion and you could feel his love for you in every touch he made.

This Jungkook, however, was nothing but a robot.

A robot.

The phrase caused tears to sting your eyes as it hit you finally; this wasn’t the same Jungkook.

He looked and sounded the same to the old one; but it just wasn’t him. There was no doubt about it.

You crawled out of the bed, grabbing your phone off the nightstand before you left the bedroom – not even sparing a glance to the android in your bed.

As you walked down the hallway, you brought up an old contact that you hadn’t brought up in ages.

It rang a few times before a deep, groggy voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Yoongi…? It’s ______,” There was a beat of silence before you could hear muffled rustling of fabric.

“_____? What are you callin’ me for? It’s been…months,” He said, sounding much more awake now. “Are you alright?”

“I just need to know something,” You breathed, sitting on your couch while trying to will yourself not to cry.

“What is it?”

“Can you still…reprogram androids?”

Yoongi threw down his coat and it landed unceremoniously on the couch. He never really was one for tact.

“Let me get this straight…” He sighed, pacing around your living room, running his fingers though his already messy black hair. “You want me to illegally reprogram your sex robot…because he’s changed?”

“Yes!” You cried, though kept your voice quiet since it was late at night.

“What do you mean ‘changed’?” Yoongi pressed, finally taking a seat on your coffee table – you couldn’t even bring yourself to chastise him.

“When I first got him…it was like he was human! He had emotions! And then he was recalled for being defective,” You explained, crossing your arms over his chest. “A-And I bought him again but now it’s like he’s…he’s…”

“A robot?” Yoongi finished for you, making you nod. “Those who make androids…they keep pressing the limits they can go to with the AI. But sometimes, they press too far and end up creating another form of intelligent life. When they realize this, they have to backtrack – they can’t lose control of their androids.”

“S-So you’re saying…Jungkook was too human so they had to ‘fix’ him?” Yoongi nodded at your words, making tears sting in your eyes. “There was nothing to be fixed!”

“Not to you…but an intelligent android like that…” Yoongi sighed again. “Though we have this technology, we’re still scared that the robots will make up obsolete and overtake the world.”

“Yoongi…” Still fighting back tears, you took a seat on the couch, staring at Yoongi’s tense back. “Can you bring him back or not?”

There was a beat of silence, as if Yoongi was weighing his option. Slowly he looked at you over his shoulder.

“Yeah, I can…” He answered, making a smile spread across your face. “But there’s a catch…”

“Catch…?”

Yoongi stood up again. Though he wasn’t the tallest man, having him standing over you like this was certainly intimidating and you found yourself struggling to breathe at the dark look in his eyes.

“If I reprogram him; there’s the possibility that it can go wrong, and he could end up…” He trailed off, trying to think of a way to word it. “dangerous.”

“What do you mean?” You prodded, biting your lip at the fear his words put in you.

“I mean, the company could have put a safeguard in place to make it impossible for him to reprogrammed. One wrong move, and he’d turn into a monster. He could kill you, kill me. He could turn vengeful and try to kill the people who created him.” Yoongi explained, sinking his hands into his pockets to quell the shaking in them. “There’s also the possibility that the company will be able to detect that he’s been tampered with and you and I would both be on a one-way trip to federal prison.”

You opened your mouth to speak but, words failed you. What could you respond with? You looked up at him, as if asking for help. You swear you could spot a shred of sympathy in his gaze. Suddenly, he took a seat beside you and sighed.

“_____,” He said, locking eyes with you. “You have to decide if you want to risk that. Or if maybe…it’s time to let him go.”

What to do...

[stormquill]

One Equal Temper | chapter four [V/Reader]

As hell itself wreaks havoc upon your city, an angel lands on your doorstep—one who doesn’t seem to realize he has wings.

Author’s Notes: Follow the blog @one-equal-temper.

Notes: Content warning for suicidal thoughts.

Even in high concentrations, Qliphoth pollen was hard to see with the naked eye, but V could still sense the thick of it in the air. It was heaviest wherever civilians had grouped up but hadn’t made it out alive, such as traffic-jammed roads and community buildings used as safehouses. Where there were corpses, there was pollen.

Where there was pollen, there were demons.

V traversed the shattered streets of Red Grave while Griffon scouted overhead for more enemies to hunt down. In the near distance, a shred of lush green and stark white interrupted the dreary landscape of dust and haze. It sat on a small balcony several floors up an intact apartment building, the plant’s colours standing out from its dull surroundings as bright as Christmas lights in the dark.

Nearly two weeks had passed since the first attack. Without proper maintenance, something as insignificant as a personal planter should have withered away days ago.

Someone must have been taking care of it.

V pointed at the balcony with the tip of his cane. “There.”

“You got it,” Griffon said, and he was away.

V waited for his familiar to return, offering an arm for him to land on once he did so.

“Well, it’s a human.” Griffon perched and shook out his feathers. “Ain’t gonna last much longer, though.”

“Injured?”

“Nah, but humans ain’t supposed to be around Qliphoth pollen for this long. Whoever’s up there reeks of it. Fully infected with the stuff. Might have another few weeks—a month, tops. That’s if the demons don’t get to ’em first.”

V made a thoughtful noise. Though this was the first instance of Qliphoth poisoning they discovered so far, the nature of the situation didn’t come as a surprise. Civilian evacuation may have once been a priority, but two weeks into the disaster, most people they found were either dead or close enough to it.

“Let’s get goin’, V,” Griffon said, shrugging his head. “We shouldn’t bother with this one. Ain’t nothin’ we can do.”

Logically, V knew Griffon was right—they were halfway to their deadline, and they needed to optimize their time wherever they could. However, V couldn’t ignore his curiosity about the stranger in the apartment. They were someone who managed to survive this long on their own. Someone who didn’t know they were terminally contaminated by the very resources keeping them alive.

Someone who took care of flowers in their spare time.

Letting go of Griffon, V retrieved his book, as he often did in times of indecision. The words of William Blake held no prophecy for him, but it was a far more elegant solution than a coin flip.

“A flower was offered to me; such a flower as May never bore. But I said I’ve a Pretty Rose-tree; and I passed the sweet flower over.”

Griffon flew in place. “So...we move on?”

“On the contrary,” V smirked, shutting his book. “This means it is within our best interests to have a closer look.”

-

A few minutes ago, you had woken by V’s bedside with your hand in his, and your hair full of bloody, bent feathers Griffon crowned you with while you were asleep.

Now you felt like you were piloting a body that didn’t belong to you.

The two of you were standing on your balcony, watching the rising sun slip between spaces granted by the half-demolished buildings across the landscape. Dark clouds hovered ominously in the distance. Under the weight of V’s words, you went from gazing at the sky to glancing down over the railing in front of you, thinking that if you jumped from this height, you would only be saving yourself some time.

The headaches, you realized. The constant waves of pain that ebbed and flowed but never disappeared, were just forecasted echos of your own death rattle.

Bile rose in the back of your throat. Your vision drifted from the dizzying heights to the planter by your feet. The flowers there were tall and strong and so very much unlike you.

“I am sorry I did not tell you sooner,” V said.

A smile ghosted across your face. “Not really something you can bring up in casual conversation, is it?”

“I am not one to shy away from death. I have seen much of it during my time here, helping others escape the city.” Lowering his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I feel guilty for never having extended you the offer.”

“You didn’t help me escape because I was sick?”

“I do not know the nature of your condition. If there was the slightest chance it could result in further pollination of the Qliphoth, I could not risk having you leave city bounds.”

Understandable, you thought. When you first met him, he mentioned the disaster was contained to Red Grave—jeopardizing that just to buy some time for a then-stranger made no sense. You were a ticking time bomb, poisoned by the air you breathed and the water you were once thankful to still have running through your building. Be it death by demon or by hell-plant, you realized there was nothing you could have done to survive this ordeal. Your fate was sealed the moment you woke up in the recovery ward.

You fidgeted with the hospital band still around your wrist. “I think I knew.”

The words escaped you without thought. You felt the green depths of his eyes on you, and you really, really wished you couldn’t.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” you muttered, “but I think I just...deep down, I knew something was wrong. That’s why I told you I wasn’t interested in leaving the city. Because I knew I wouldn’t be able to.”

The thought filled you with a graceful sense of finality that eased your dissociation, and the electricity of your anxiety settled to a crackle within your bones. The trembling world around you still didn’t feel like your own, but at least it was starting to jitter back into place.

You folded your arms on top of your balcony railing. “You know, sometimes I think I died back in that car crash and woke up in limbo, and you’re some psychopomp sent here to take me home.”

V rested both hands on the grip of his cane. “His eyes, like hollow furnaces on fire; a girdle, foul with grease, binds his obscene attire. He spreads his canvas, with his pole he steers; the freights of flitting ghosts in his thin bottom bears. He looked in years; yet in his years were seen; a youthful vigor and autumnal green.”

Amused, you cast him a sidelong glance. “A little pompous to make up poems about yourself, don’t you think?”

“It was written by a Roman poet named Virgil,” he smirked back, “about the ferryman of Hades.”

“If I give you a quarter, will you let me pass?”

“You are not dead, starlight.”

“Not yet.”

You continued looking out across the distance: the morning sun, the broken buildings, the grey clouds approaching on the wind. There was sure to be a storm tonight, and only one question left on your mind.

“...why did you knock on my door?”

You didn’t need to explain yourself further.

After Griffon’s first visit, V knew that you were alone and irreversibly poisoned by the demon tree. At that moment, he could have walked away without a word, knowing your infection would die in isolation with you, and you would have been none the wiser of his existence.

But V hadn’t done that.

Instead, he chose to visit you, finding your building’s front entrance completely barricaded with anything on the first floor you had strength enough to move. He chose to climb six flights of fire escape stairs up the side of your complex—he chose to knock on your door, to introduce himself, to accept your half-crazed invitation for tea.

Why?

It was your turn to keep your eyes on him now, and to your surprise, he would not look at you. He seemed reluctant to respond, but yours was the first truly personal question you asked of him in the days you had known each other. You would not back down without an answer. He owed you that, and he knew as much.

“I felt a kinship with you,” he settled on.

“You had no idea who I was.”

“Perhaps not at first.” More hesitance graced his features, drawing his brows together and wrinkling the corner of his nose. He gripped the railing before him tightly, as if he were bracing himself to speak. “As I have told you, I was placed within this realm to serve a purpose. What you do not know, however, is that if I am successful on my quest, I will...cease to exist.”

Your thoughts glazed over as you felt your stomach drop.

“When I learned of you, I saw myself,” he continued. “Frightened. Alone. Not long for this world. I believed helping you would assist in the navigation of my own shadows. Alas, I did not expect to find an evening star within the darkness.” With a somber smile, he turned to look at you. “My reasons for finding you were less than altruistic, I admit. In my selfishness, I withheld something important from you—something that was a matter of life and death. I understand if you are unwilling to forgive me for that.”

For the first time since the conversation started, you met each other’s eyes.

For the first time since you met, you understood that you and he were the same.

“Do you know why I came back for the flowers?” you asked.

He tilted his head ever-so-slightly in curious attention, his dark bangs brushing along the side of his face.

“Even before all this went down, I...didn’t really have anyone. I was alone. Being alone got hard, sometimes. So I, um.” You started fiddling with your wristband, again. “I bought some seeds. I learned how to plant them. How to take care of what grew. It probably sounds stupid, but...it was nice, you know? Having something that counted on me. When things got really bad, I would just think, ‘I can’t kill myself now. Who would take care of my flowers?’ And after everything that’s happened...I didn’t want to give up on the one thing that needed me. If they somehow managed to survive, I couldn’t leave them to die alone.”

Your throat suddenly felt tight. You turned away from him, lowering your head and pressing your palms into the corners of the balcony railing. Everything within you felt like it was welling up at once, but you willed yourself not to cry. Not here. Not now.

“You could’ve left me, back then.” You tried to keep your voice from wavering. “You could’ve left me to die alone, but you didn’t. You don’t have to be alone, either. I can be here until the end of us, if you’ll let me.”

You felt a hand rest on top of yours.

“The privilege is mine,” he said.

Somehow, the weight of his hand felt heavier than before.

Letting your eyes slip shut, you took a deep, shuddering breath, focusing on nothing more than keeping yourself from breaking down. You wanted to turn around and reach out and hold him—he would be a much better anchor than the railing, you were sure of it—but the headache still flashing lightning behind your eyes was blinding, an unholy mixture of demonic migraines and unprocessed grief.

“Can I have some time alone?” you asked. “Not long, I just. I need to think.”

“...I do not think it wise to leave you to your own devices at the moment.”

“I’ve made it this far, you really think I’m gonna throw it all away by killing myself? How boring of an ending would that be?”

You meant for the joke to lighten the mood, but the way he was looking at you now made your heart sink. The concern in his eyes was uncompromising.

“I can’t kill myself now,” you said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Who would take care of you?”

He smirked. “Who, indeed?”

V released your hand to tuck your hair behind your ear, and the sweetness of his touch was almost enough to dull the pain.

-

It took some convincing to assure V you weren’t a danger to yourself, but he eventually agreed to give you space that afternoon—on one, non-negotiable condition.

The idea of being babysat by a demon didn’t sit right with you, but you appreciated the concern.

With Shadow never more than a few paces behind you, you tried to go on with the rest of your day, rumination over the morning’s events serving as background noise to the idle buzzing of your headache. You changed out of your soiled clothes. You took a shower to rid yourself of last night’s blood stains. The water was ice-cold like always, as you had no electricity to warm it, but you sat on the shower floor and stayed under the stream until you were as numb as the thoughts bouncing around your throbbing skull made you feel.

You were going to die.

You were going to die and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

The revelation didn’t affect you the way you thought it would. You felt like you should have been sadder, angrier, more indignant about the whole situation—but the truth was you came into this mess pre-saddled with learned helplessness. In the weeks before V arrived, you thought the chances of being rescued were slim to none, and you held no illusion about being able to survive indefinitely without demons closing in on your position. For you, dying wasn’t so much a matter of if as a matter of how.

Now you knew.

The rest of your day was spent curled up in bed, your head buried beneath your pillows as Shadow kept a watchful eye on you from her guard at your bedroom door. Rain had arrived with the evening and it made you feel as unsafe as it always did since the attack. Being unable to see or hear anything beyond the storm sent your mind reeling, imagining what manner of hellish creatures could be closing in on you without your knowledge. Every clap of thunder seemed to rattle the hive inside your head, and you wondered how long the infection would take to eat away at you. You wondered if you would lose your memory.

You wondered if it would hurt when you died.

This is how V must have felt, too, you realized—knowing the end was coming, like a stormcloud on the horizon, keeping you resigned to the inevitability of its arrival. Still, where you were once terrified, trying to survive behind barricades and stolen rations, it was almost freeing to know nothing you did mattered, anymore.

Shadow gave a quiet growl at your door. You poked your head out from beneath the covers. She looked at you, took a few steps from the doorway, then glanced over her shoulder to look at you again.

She wanted you to follow her.

There was no urgency to her steps as you took the familiar path through the dark hallways to the fire escape. The window was open when you arrived, letting rain pool on the floor. You recognized the figure standing outside long before he came into view.

V leaned against the window frame under no cover from the rain, fully soaked from head to toe. His skin and leathers alike were slick with water, and his wet hair stuck to the sides of his face, the black strands appearing a deep blue beneath the moonlight.

He reached a hand through the open window. “You told me you missed the rain.”

Your knee-jerk thoughts kicked into overdrive—this was absurd, you’d get drenched, you’d catch a cold if you went out in this weather—but you noticed the carefree glint in his eyes and you were reminded of the briefness of your shared timeline.

(Nothing you did mattered, anymore.)

Charon offered you his left hand, and you accepted it, with vigor.

“Hold tight,” he said.

Your first mistake was assuming you would take the stairs.

With your still hand in his, V leapt over the fire escape railing. An embarrassing shriek tore from your throat as your guts gave a sickening dip during the six-story drop. Shadow morphed into a cloud of black smoke and shot out beneath you, faster than anything, her form a dense fog beneath your feet that guided your fall and allowed you all a soft landing. You landed with far less elegance than V did, but his hand within yours kept you steady on your feet.

“Jesus christ,” you chuckled nervously, near trembling from head to toe. “Warn me before dragging me off a fucking building next time, will you?”

“Now, where’s the fun in that?”

In a billow of dark vapour, Shadow returned to her sigils tattooed across V’s skin.

The streets around your building were still a destroyed mess, with large sections of pavement a rough puzzle of split pieces beneath your feet. The pouring rain was cold against your skin, but still warmer than your earlier shower; it didn’t take long for you to get completely drenched as you walked alongside V.

V ran a hand through his sodden hair, flipping it back and out of his face, and the sight of him had you hypnotized. His eyes drifted to meet your stare before sliding down to take in the sight of you—and you were suddenly very aware of how your soaked top was clinging against your skin.

“The rain suits you, starlight.”

“That makes two of us.”

A sly smile, and he turned away from you, again.

V kept several paces ahead of you as you continued your leisurely stroll. He began twirling his silver staff in his hand and placing one foot directly in front of the other, heel to toe, as if he were walking the length of an invisible string. There was a sudden bounce in his step you weren’t sure what to make of, at least not until he started strutting along low walls and uneven chunks of debris with perfect balance. Spinning his cane between his fingers with practiced ease, he performed choreographed steps to some silent rhythm playing in his head, moving confidently beneath the rain as if he were the star of a showtune.

You couldn’t believe your eyes.

He doubled back to quite literally dance circles around you. You couldn’t hold back your laughter, and the sound was music to his ears.

You applauded. “All you need is a top hat and you’ll be ready for Broadway.”

“Indeed.” Coming to a stop in front of you, he gave a gentle bow as he offered you his hand. “Care to join me?”

Once again, your immediate thoughts were of embarrassment, rejection, impracticality—but once again, you thought better of it, and you took his hand without objection.

V guided your arm, holding your hand up and a little off to the side of you. The hand that held his cane rested closed-fist against your waist; you could feel the length of steel along your back, and it kept your posture straight.

“I’ve never really done this before,” you mumbled.

“Not to worry,” he replied, guiding you closer to him. “Just follow my lead.”

(Didn’t you always?)

Without warning, V started to move.

Step, one, two. Step, one, two.

The moves weren’t complicated—he took you on a slow, informal sort of waltz, his swaying steps back and forth simple and easy to follow. Though you somehow managed to keep both your left feet from stepping on his, there was an effortless fluidity to his movements that made you feel clunky and square-wheeled in his arms.

“Shouldn’t there be music?” you teased, trying to hide your self-consciousness.

“Ah, I knew I was forgetting something. Let’s see, now...”

And he began to hum the first few notes of Singin’ In The Rain.

You could not stop yourself from shying away, from pressing your forehead to the crook of his neck to hide your smile against him, for the way he looked at you as he hummed the melody was enough to set your cheeks on fire. Not one to be deterred, he rested his chin on top your head and continued the song in its entirety, syncing your gentle, swaying motions to the tune. You could feel the resonance of his voice vibrating beneath his chest.

He sounded happy, or something like it.

In a moment of bravery, you stepped back and raised your held hands as far as they could go. Laughing, V took your cue and twirled—at his height, you had to tiptoe and he had to bend down for him to make it all the way under your arm.

The sound of his laughter, the sight of a smile that actually reached his eyes—knowing you were responsible for both made your pulse thunder more than normal within your head.

You rested a hand against his cheek and he leaned into your touch as he did the previous night, affectionate and undeniably cat-like.

“...can I kiss you?”

The words fell from your mouth, rushed and uncertain, emptying all the air from your lungs. The confidence in his eyes flickered and filled with questioning—that same innocent curiosity from your very first meeting, as if he were surprised to be seen this way.

As if he’d never done this, before.

“Please,” came his whisper, gentle and sure.

So you tiptoed.

Soft was the first word that came to mind—from the careful press of his lips to yours, to the feeling of his rain-soaked skin beneath your fingertips, to the way he eased so completely beneath your touch. It surprised you, how someone who seemed all sharp angles and rough edges could feel so delicate in your hands.

He hadn’t realized his eyes were shut until he opened them. He was not sure if he forgot to breathe, or if you simply took his breath away. Multitudes of experiences lingered within his memories, but few had been realized by this vessel; this felt far more powerful to him than any single memory he came equipped with, for this was a moment he made entirely for himself.

He may not have been his own, but you, you were—his and his alone.

Holding his face in your hands, you laughed softly with a happiness you hadn’t known yourself capable of, the sudden tears spilling down your cheeks indistinguishable from the rain.

However much time you had left together, you swore you would make the most of it.

[branch--chief--faba]

Branch-Chief--Faba

It's me, the former owner of branch-chief--faba. 

Someone I know pointed out the post @trash-troll made and after reaching out to them they did imply me with their post. So let's start out with the obvious; me writing this post means I'm alive.  Though I should add 'barely' to that. 

Trash-Troll showed me screenshots of people talking about me. And after them convincing me to do it I've decided to write my version of what happened or more importantly.. how I feel about the whole thing. I am not here to debunk anything.. because it will become a he said/she said thing. Let’s just go into this wall of text by saying both parties fucked up.

The end of 2017 and all of 2018 were pretty bad for me, mentally. I was hurt and lost and I didn't know what to do. A year prior to that I made the blog.  It was fun! I never had so many people reaching out to me and willing to spend time to me. That was a whole new experience and in hindsight I didn't know how to deal with it. This isn't me debunking or saying something did or didn't happen but I guess I was in over my head. I had never been popular or even had friends before. Or friends who weren't forced to hang with me because of college or them being co-workers. You know how proud I was that people found me cute or pretty when I posted a selfie? Yeah that never happened before. It boosted my self esteem sky high. 

I did some things that in hindsight weren't smart or downright stupid. I let people play me. I fought battles for people I should have never fought. I was just so afraid that if I didn't do it- they leave and I'd be alone again. I didn’t purposely stick my nose in other’s business. I just wanted to help and now i feel that some people really took advantages of that. In that sense this blog was both a blessing.. and a curse for me. I was so obsessed with keeping everyone happy that I forgot my own happiness and I forgot to look further than the tip of my nose and to please some people I hurt some others, unintentional at the time.. but I understand now and I’m sorry.

I can only apologise for it now. I am to blame for my actions even though they were inspired by others and sometimes it was peer pressure.  I admit that I should've been stronger when i was in a discord made to slam a group of people. I've been a fool and absolutely stupid. You know those PSA’s when they tell you doing nothing is as bad as the bullying? Yeah. At times i was the bystander... and I wish I could undo it but I can’t. 

I feel like (now that I've seen screenshots..) that sometimes I was set up to vent about a person only for it to be shared. Was it fair for me to vent? Yes and no. In my eyes- I was hurt by a few people and I thought the person i was talking to (this venting only happened one on one, never in a group.) was someone I could trust. I know better now and I feel stupid. I said things in pure emotion and in confidence. I was angry and hurt and I just wanted to vent those feelings. Again, I'm the fool for walking into such an obvious trap. I don't blame anyone but myself. I should’ve know better. I really should. However, this isn't just about me. 

There are things people did that are wrong too. Things that hurt me. I will never forget me finding the courage to call someone out on how their actions harmed me mentally and them saying that 'It was my own fault for being too emotionally attached to them'. That's painful and that hurts, even today it haunts me to my core. 

I won't forget that I was doxxed, that i got daily anons to kill myself, that they wish I had cancer, etc.  Even though I enjoyed writing Faba up till that point I just had to slow down. I had up to 1000 asks at the end of it and a lot of them were nasty anons. I deleted one and two came in it's place. Eventually I just had to stop for my own sanity.  I know people suggested and would suggest now that I just should’ve turned the anons off but again. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I thought that turning them off would mean people wouldn’t like me anymore, because there were good anons too! I figured ‘why should they suffer because of a few’ and in hindsight.. I should’ve just turned the anons off. I know hindsight is 20/20 but.. 

It was around that time almost everything went sour and I still don't know why. This is not me being a idiot, I really don't know why. I am still so socially awkward and figuring out human emotions is hard for me. Sometimes I don't understand until someone tells me 'Hey I'm mad at you because you did X or Y' I'm working on it though but it's not easy.

I won’t forget how a duo of a cis man and a cis woman reached out to someone and pretended to be a gay couple. And I will never forgive myself for not stopping it.  And if you were the victim of this and if you read this then I’m so sorry. Know that I am absolutely disgusted with myself.

I will not forget how a new discord was made without me.. and the reason I wasn’t welcome? I was a supposed transphobe. I am not. Since deleting I’ve had A LOT of time to myself and I came to few conclusions about my gender and my sexual identity. DO NOT even think about use my dead name. I can’t believe someone would say that about me. 

I know people think I’m just some money hound and out for that but I’m not. I don’t give a single shit about money. I care about happiness and I’m not getting it and because of it I’m not growing as a person.

I won’t forget how hurt I was by the actions of a few. And I can’t forget because I feel it .. even today. It consumes me and I already hear people laughing about it. Because ‘haha look at this dumb fuck, right? It’s been a year.” but I just can’t. It’s etched so deep inside me that it makes me sick. 

I know you know who I'm talking about it. And I know you know it's you. I’m doing a favour and not tag anyone I’m going to leave the responsibility to owe up to your actions to you and if you don’t.. then that also speaks volumes about you as a person.  And those people I'm talking about need to take a good hard look at themselves. Instead of posting that 'the evil is defeated' gif or celebrating someone deleting out of despair. Because this is not the only story to tell. There are LOADS more. Trash-Troll showed me. Please just be kinder..

I cannot change the past and I will never deny myself having some part in it.. but no one should feel like I do over fandom stuff. NO ONE. And no one can really help you if you see someone get doxxed, bullied or threatened and you sit back thinking 'eh they deserve it' no one deserves it. I know we live in an age where internet is part of our lives. But for many the internet is a safe space where they can just be a little looser than usual.  Just block people.

What happened after I left this blog? I started by deleting my Discord, there were too many bad memories attached to it so I just dumped the whole thing out. I send a message explaining why I did it and send a few people who I thought I could trust my new discord. That not a single soul accepted my new friend request.. yeah that stung pretty hard. So, after keeping it up for two months and resending the friend requests.. I just deleted that one too. 

I stopped using my other socials, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. I had to quit my job. If you can recall it wasn't a job that required a lot of thinking so my thoughts were allowed to run wild. Sometimes I started working and I just didn't know how I got to the end of my shift. It was just.. there. I'd black out thinking about the whole mess. I was feeling numb for months, nothing would bring me joy or sadness. It was like I was stuck in the ocean. Just below the surface and not being able to reach out. I could see people on the shore and I could swear they could see me too, but it was safer to let me drown. 

I deleted all my tumblrs too. All of them. I didn't want anything to do with this place. I moved to twitter for a bit when I got lonely but that didn't stick. I had a few odd conversations but Twitter isn’t really the best place to talk about things I figured. 

I tried to get myself to draw and write again but I couldn't.. I just couldn't.  I tried but every time I opened a word document or put pen on paper I'd get antsy and panic-y.  I couldn't bring myself to create anything at all. Not writing, not art, nothing. Even drawing original characters or other fandom stuff. I couldn't. 

I was and still am too afraid to share anything with anyone.  My brain goes through a whole series of 'what ifs' when i'm trying to write or draw. "What if they like it and we get talking and I mess up again." or "What if I put a lot of effort in a work and people will ignore it on purpose because they know it's me?" those kinds of thoughts.  

My whole memory is warped. What really happend and what did my brain make up. I am not saying I’m not to blame for things, either partly or wholly but I NEVER had the intention to hurt people on purpose. I’m not hiding behind anything but fact remains that I am socially malformed. I don’t understand things. I spend the first 16 years of my life basically talking to no one and when I did.. I was the ‘weird kid’ or I heard my peer saying ‘Don’t talk to the freak.. so weird!’  I was never raised to be social and then I was dropped in a very social group full of very colourful people.I didn’t know how to handle it and it drove me literally nuts. 

I feel into a deep depression and the last two months of 2018 are a haze for me. I barely remember anything. I don’t remember Christmas, I don’t remember New Years. It’s a blur.  I almost died a couple of times, it's no secret. And for that I have the permanent reminder...  I'm glad I didn't do it though.

Now it's 2019 and 2019 is almost over; how am I doing now? 

Not much better. I still have the fear to create. I want to but I can’t. I still barely touch my socials because of my paranoia of people finding me and the whole circus starting again.  I use my instagram because of cosplay commission stuff and I only use my Twitter to support some artists on there. Even then I keep this ‘neutral-someone-everyone-can-like-persona’ just this safe ‘brand type’ posts. 

I'm only back on Tumblr for this and I won't be coming back. This isn't a revival tour. It's like one last song to send everyone on their way. 

Please leave others alone. I truly am not on Tumblr and do not plan to come back not now or ever. I do not have a sneaky hidden blog. All the blogs I used to own are either dead or I just gave it to people who used to own blogs with me.

It's very painful for me to write this all out. I know I'm missing a lot of parts. To summarise;  while I did some things that I'm not proud of. I cannot believe the lengths people went to to make me feel horrible about myself. 

I cannot believe you guys would share some things about me that I wanted to keep private. That I thought was pretty private and you would understand.  I'm sickened by the lies told about me and disgusted that it's still going in 2019, almost a year after I deleted everything. 

I gave my new discord to people and those people never accepted and that's fine, it hurts but it's fine. I never bothered them or sought contact. I will admit that I once accidentally send a snapchat to someone.. but I promise that was an honest accident. I didn’t mean to. But I just don't get the feeling the same thing is happening and I have proof from people that I'm right.  

Can you not post my trauma for all to see? That's not justice that's just being a dick... I have no other word for it. Being an evil dick. I never spoke badly about any of you after the whole thing. I will admit that .. in my anger when it all was going on, I did vent to people and TRUST me I regret that. I thought it would stay between us but it leaked.. 

Do the same for me and please have the decency to apologise for the things you did and just..  stop putting my private shit online without my consent. What I shared, I shared because I felt I could trust people. It was never about sympathy because I do not want it. 

You gain nothing except the satisfaction that you gave me a kick again by sharing it. Which is a horrendous move. You’re not getting even, you’re winning at being a dick.. 

I want to be left alone. I want that confirmation of 'hey we're leaving you alone now'. I want to go back before I was paranoid. It’s not a fun thing. It’s maddening to think something behind EVERYONE’s action. Deep down.. I know better but I can’t stop. It’s a problem and I’m working on it.

I want NOTHING to do with Pokemon OR it's fandom.  I won't be purchasing games or other media from it. I just gave away my copies of the 3DS games to people who wanted them. The whole thing is too triggering to me. 

I wish I could pick up a pencil or pen and draw and write again without having a panic attack and I wish I could show myself on my private social media again without people watching me. 

I know you guys doxxed me before using my Facebook- It's not weird of me to think people could do it again.

I don't mind it, if you hit me up and talk to me via this blog. You can reply to this post or just us DM.  My only rule is to be civil. I am being civil too even though I feel empty, numb and sick. 

And finally.. I apologise for EVERYONE who people thought were me. You don’t deserve that. No one does. 

Well I guess this mystery is solved, what happens next is wholly up to you. I am not going to reach out myself. I made that promise. 

I’m posting this because I have nothing else left to lose. Please show me you’re capable of human decency.  And some things only God can forgive. That goes for me too. 

And just to proof it’s me; I will be tagging this post as I always did; using my old tags. 

[two-blondes-and-an-eraser]

Some of the headcanons the mod has for her boys (warning loooooong) slight nsfw warning?? Maybe?

⁃ Aizawa is a trans gay male

⁃ All Might is a cis bisexual male

⁃ Mic is pansexual and genderqueer (but doesn’t mind he, him pronouns)

⁃ Mic is like 90% deaf and has been from a young age, he has special hearing aids made so as to not hurt is ears when using his quirk

⁃ Aizawa started a club for trans kids at UA, and yes he is called ‘the transparent’

⁃ (The kids are trying to change the name to “the trans cult”, it’s almost working)

⁃ Deku is a trans guy and all might is super supportive!

⁃ All Might is extremely ticklish, his skin (especially near his scar) is really sensitive to touch and you can bet your ass aizawa and mic use this against him!

⁃ Aizawa owns a hairless cat named Iris, she’s dark, long and has pretty blue eyes

⁃ Mic owns a cockatoo name Pom , he is silent and loves to bite things.

⁃ Pom only knows three words, ‘Dad’, ‘Yeah’ and Aizawa, everything else is just whistles and sounds

⁃ Pom hates iris but iris loves Pom (odd)

⁃ All Might has sleep through Pom screeching for 8 hours straight, woke up because iris hit him in the face

⁃ Aizawa has been known by the mics neighbors as cat man because of iris and her love of fallowing Aizawa everywhere

⁃ All Might was so tired once that, right in front of press, he put his head on Aizawa’s and just, passed out while standing

⁃ When their relationship went public, shit hit the fan! Aizawa couldn’t leave his apartment, all Might nearly had an aneurysm and mic nearly deafened someone when they startled him. They had to hold a press conference just to get everything out so no one got hurt or something else.

⁃ All Might is no longer aloud to know any memes, anyone to tell him a meme gets detention and 10x the amount of homework. This is because he yelled “yeet” as he dropped Aizawa into mics arms, resulting in a sprained wrist and a broken tail bone. This is forever called the yeet incident.

⁃ Bakugou has had a screaming contest with mic and, amazingly, got a tie.

⁃ Bakugou also is no longer around anywhere near microphones, not because of the sports festival, but because he yelled “ if your gay and you know fucking scream!” Into the schools intercoms for about 20 seconds,all of class 1-A now has that as their anthem.

⁃ All Might loves the whole class of 1-A, but he still can’t handle them calling him dad might

⁃ Kirishima showed all Might that photo someone made with a picture of small Might with a mustache and a gun, that’s called gun-Might. All Might loves it.

⁃ All mights eyes glow in the dark, Aizawa’s do too but only when his quirk is active. Mic is freaked out by this.

⁃ Mic loves vintage cameras and has at least 6

⁃ Aizawa ran away a lot as a kid, not because he hated his parents or they were abusive, they were just too clingy and strict so he’s not into a lot of touching for this reason

⁃ Aizawa has a big scar on his lower back from a villian with a quirk involving metal.

⁃ All Might was raised by a single mother and refuses to tell anyone about his father.

⁃ Deku’s dad isn’t dead, he’s a villian that got caught and is in jail but he and deku still have a good relationship, deku visits once every other month

⁃ All Might has a heart shaped birthmark on his thigh

⁃ Aizawa has nipple piercings

⁃ Mic’s mom and surrogate father are both quirkless, his quirk skipped a generation from his grandfather ( on his mothers side) to him.

⁃ All Might is Japanese American and moved between japan, America and Britain until he was 9 and finally settled fully in Japan at 10

⁃ Aizawa is 1/5 german, but knows the entire language as his mom taught it to him, it’s actually his first language and he reverts back when extremely mad or happy

⁃ The boys are all actually engaged but just don’t have time to plan so there is no date set yet.

⁃ Aizawa’s grandmother was extremely transphobic and was one of the main reasons he didn’t come out until middle school (the time she passed)

⁃ His mom and dad were actually okay with this,surprisingly, but did give him hell for being gay

⁃ Mic has two mothers and a surrogate father who’s very involved in mics life ever since he was born.

⁃ One is mom, the other is mama, his dad is called pops.

⁃ Aizawa was raised to call both parents mother and father, be responsible and respectful. His parents were very strict. (As said earlier)

⁃ All Might loves anything that even remotely reminds him of his mother, the reason he likes uraraka most of the girls in 1-A is because of this, his mother had soft cheeks and brunette hair the same shade as uraraka.

⁃ Also one of the reason he tolerates bakugou, he has the same eye color and nose shape as his mother.

⁃ Aizawa hates mic’s mustache with a passion ((like mod does))

⁃ All might fucking towers both these little shits so much, that Aizawa’s apartment doors are too small for him (6’3 is my height hc for all Might with his quirk non active, 6’6 when active)

⁃ All mights mother had a healing quirk

⁃ All Might hates miracle whip but loves mayo, he can always know the difference just by the smell.

⁃ Aizawa has allergies to polyester and isn’t aloud to go house shopping with mic and all might so he doesn’t get an allergic reaction, but he does get an input, mic sends him pics

⁃ Once Aizawa had an allergic reaction in front of the class and instead of ignoring like most would think, he literally said ‘nope’ turned and walked away sneezing. All Might had to watch the class but he was proud of aizawa.

⁃ All Might is the least of the three to start sexual encounters, Aizawa is the most, which is genuinely the opposite of what everyone thinks.

⁃ Aizawa has braces in UA and, oh boy, did it suck! He had to wear mouth guards until 3rd year when he got them out!

Well, that’s all I could think of for now, but if you want I can elaborate on any of them, just thought this might bring in some ask! - Emi

Ps. Sorry for the inactivity, I’m trying but Ive got no asks, and those are kinda the point of an ask blog sooo mmm

Pps. This was written at 4 pm in a sleep deprived haze so there is still some mistakes.

[charmingi]

how to be baltimorean

when does it start to feel like you’re from somewhere? like, when do you start telling people that you’re “from” a place? i tell people i’m from durham, north carolina; and that i’m also from dorado, puerto rico; but that i was born in newburgh, new york. i’m “from” all three of these places, but i’m definitely not “from” baltimore. is there a year quota i have to hit? maybe there’s an initiation ceremony or a hazing like a college fraternity. or do i have to wait for the next life and be reborn as a baby in a hospital down the road? i’m curious.

what i’m trying to say is that i’m a baltimorean imposter. i’ve been here for about a year, and i don’t know a single thing about the city other than that there are a lot of crab restaurants and edgar allan poe did something here (lived, died? if only i could remember… maybe i’d graduate to baltimorean). this is, if you can count to two, only two things.

i’m exaggerating for effect, but my ignorance does make me feel itchy. my empty head is decisively disrespectful to the city, which is why i want my sponge-like brain to go out soaking up experiences. baltimore and her people have been here for so long, yet all i know about them is crabs and one dead guy? i need to visit everything – historical neighborhoods, contemporary art galleries, poetry open mics, urban gardens, well-known landmarks, forgotten buildings, flea markets and on and on. the entire time, i’ll be taking pictures like a google maps van (both literally and figuratively).

it won’t be too hard. baltimore’s bus system is a little more forgiving than durham’s, even if it isn’t entirely free. i love the way bus drivers drive here, stepping on the accelerator if i take even a second too long to pull out my card for the fare. i’m not joking, either. it’s humbling to be sent stumbling into a seat. so many people from all walks of life get on and off a baltimore bus. while i get to ride it for a non-essential weekend outing, many others rely on it for their commute. on one hand, it’s amazing to be able to move through so many different worlds on the way to the local plant nursery, but on the other, it’s a little frustrating to uncover the history behind why a neighborhood has been neglected while the one just a block over is flourishing. i wish the government would invest more in public transportation.

i think that was my initial impression of baltimore. the disparity of wealth and why it exists is hard to swallow. that hasn’t changed in the year i’ve been here and i don’t think it will any time soon. i hope to write about it more in my future posts.

i have a hidden agenda, by the way. i want to cement my moments into memories. i notice, recently, that i've been doing a lot of nothing. it’s stressing me out. i wake up, i eat, i work, i sleep, and it all repeats. i barely ever leave my room for anything other than my mechanical class and work schedule. my doctors like to reassure me that it’s a simple byproduct of my disabilities, but you have to admit that it gets a little dull. can you relate to that sentiment? do you know that panic that swells in your chest when you forget to watch the clock and suddenly the sun has set?

by no means do i believe a human must be productive with every single minute of their day to be “truly” living. productivity is a sham; it doesn’t exist. instead, i want to practice awareness. it’s not what i’m doing or why i’m doing it… it’s being aware of what or why, like a meditative practice that emphasizes the importance of feeling every breath you take. awareness is the tool i’ll use to ascribe value to any moment i want. i’ll tell you if that works.

so, this blog will be a collection of moments i've been aware in baltimore. it’s an active protest against my so-far sedentary lifestyle!

i hope all of this made sense… if not, the short version is: i don’t know anything about baltimore, i want to know more about baltimore, i will know more about baltimore, and i’m bringing you with me (imagine yourself in one of those baby backpacks). oh, and i hope to graduate to baltimorean by the end of the semester!

gi out :3

p.s. here's gi in a texan thrift store to prove that he leaves the house (and sometimes travels very far distances):

[anotherdayinchuckletown]

Crossed Wires, Wonka x OFC (1/3)

(A/N: Hey, guys! This is my first multi-chapter venture on this blog, and I’m so excited to kick this thing off today! Eliza received amazing reception after I made that first post about her! She’s very special to me, and I am forever grateful to all of my followers who supported me and gave me a platform to share her!

I title this as a Wonka x OFC piece, but it’s really only shippy in the third part if you squint. It’s pre-relationship because I’m a slow burn gal, as long as you ignore the fact that I have already uploaded smut between them *cough cough*.

And that’s all I’m giving you lol. Please like, reblog, and comment if you enjoy so that I KNOW you enjoy, and I’ll see y’all in Part 2! Thank you!)

-Kate

____________________________

Eliza is yanked from a dead sleep by a long, harsh buzz.

Slate blue eyes wrenching themselves open, she finds that she is not curled up in her bed - rather, she is slumped over her desk. Her cheek is pressed against a set of blueprints for a giant electric mixer, and an empty teacup rests by her left hand.

Mind ever working faster than her body, she is stationary as she analyzes, piecing together her predicament. I…fell asleep while working. Next time…coffee instead of tea. Also…I was awakened. What is the source?

A voice, affectedly jovial despite being garbled by static, pours in through a speaker on the wall, suddenly filling the room. “Hey, sleepyhead! Rise and shine!”

Source located. A voice…my boss’ voice. It’s Mr. Wonka. Does that mean…?

With Herculean effort, Eliza lifts her head. Light does not filter through the cracks in the shades, quelling her initial fear that she has slept through her alarm and is late for work. The only light is the dim glow of her desk lamp, a small model of the moon with a bulb inside, which she made herself years ago.

Alphabet soup sloshes languidly around in her head, only one question swimming to the forefront. “What time is it?” she grumbles quietly. Briefly pawing at a vague glasses-shaped blob on the desk, she picks up what are indeed her glasses. Putting them on and blinking, the shapes and colors around her morph into her bedroom.

“Hello?” Getting no response, Wonka’s disembodied voice tries again, more deliberately. “Eliza? Wakey wakey!”

Eliza stands groggily. Padding across the carpet, she consults the LED clock on her nightstand and squints in confusion.

Five fifty-seven AM.

If memory serves, she made herself a cup of chamomile tea at approximately two thirty AM in a desperate bid to calm her nerves. Factor in time to drink it, plus an estimate of how long I stayed awake subsequently…

Less than three hours of sleep again.

The plans to begin construction on a new electric mixer are expected to move forward sometime this week. The blueprints must be flawless - anything less is unacceptable.

Eliza has apparently spent the entire night prior ascertaining that they are, in fact, flawless, but she still is unable to silence that nagging voice in her head. The voice that insists it is only a matter of time before she messes up. Before she gets something wrong. Before the precarious tower upon which she built Wonka’s trust and respect topples.

Her boss turns his head and addresses someone in the room with him. “Can she hear me?” he asks them impatiently, albeit muffled. “She should be able to hear me. Maybe if I speak louder -”

“I can hear you, Mr. Wonka,” she practically snaps, cursing herself immediately after. It is so unlike her to allow something as trivial as sleep deprivation to evoke an emotional response.

The chocolatier does not pick up on her aggravation - or, more than likely, he picks up on it and ignores it. “Oh, there you are!” Without missing a beat, he is forcing congeniality again. “I tried calling your BlackBerry, but you didn’t answer. It’s a good thing the PA system we had installed in your apartment is working properly, huh?”

Grabbing said BlackBerry off the nightstand, she attempts to turn it on, before setting it back down in frustration. Dead. She’s not surprised she didn’t notice. Certainly intelligent life will be discovered in another galaxy before she receives a phone call outside of work.

Eliza is not in the mood for formalities at six in the morning. Knowing Wonka, she suspects he isn’t either. Not with all the coffee in the world. “Did you need something?” At this ungodly hour…

“I’m glad you asked! I need you to come in early today,” he instructs, barely allowing her time to finish her question. “We’re dealing with a teeny-tiny emergency over here, and I have an important mission for you.”

“An emergency?” She tilts her head, despite Wonka being unable to see her. “At six in the morning?” Factory operations for the day have only just begun. What could have possibly gone so wrong that backup is necessary already?

“Yes. I’m told there’s just been an avalanche on Fudge Mountain.”

Eliza’s eyes widen marginally. That is definitely a first, and a horrific one at that.

Wonka is quick to reassure her. “Now, not to worry, everyone’s all right!” He continues, “Unfortunately, a few Oompa-Loompas are stranded at the top with all the Oompa-Loompa-sized climbing gear,” he explains grimly. “I need you to take my harness and get them down right away! They’re accustomed to tropical climates, you see, they’re not equipped to be up there for very long.”

The sleep-induced haze in Eliza’s mind clears more and more with each word. Assessing all possible solutions, she can’t help but wonder if calling her is the best way to remedy the situation. The factory is across town, and while she has scaled Fudge Mountain in the past, Wonka is a much stronger climber than she is. “Mr. Wonka, wouldn’t you be better suited for -”

“I thought you might say something like that,” he interrupts. “And you’re right! Normally, I would rush over there myself, but I’m handling something even more urgent.”

More urgent…than an avalanche? Still listening, Eliza hastily crosses over to her dresser and begins rummaging around for a change of clothes. Best to avoid a skirt if she’s climbing - leggings and her Oxford hoodie will have to do today. Luckily, no one at the factory is fussy about attire anyway (particularly not Wonka, the king of impractical fashion choices).

“The sugar sand on Dessert Island started shifting overnight - some sugar that wasn’t infused with the anti-solvent must have gotten mixed in somehow, and it’s causing parts of the beach to dissolve,” he rationalizes aloud.

Eliza does some internal rationalizing of her own as she changes out of her pajamas. We will need to take samples of the existing sand and create a formula to determine how much anti-solvent to reintroduce to the beach. What do I need to bring with me today? My blueprints…the materials for Charlie’s lessons…breakfast? No. No time. Coffee will suffice.

“Anyway, the sudden movement puts the molten lava cake volcano at high risk for erupting! So I’m heading over there to start evacuating Oompa-Loompas and draining that boiling hot chocolate right away!” Wonka rambles, oblivious to Eliza’s scrambling on the other end, both outward and inward. “Two natural disasters at the same time! Isn’t that wild?” His question is punctuated with a short, controlled guffaw.

“When it rains, it pours,” Eliza agrees. Now fully dressed, she crosses over to her vanity mirror and debates whether to bother brushing her hair, eventually satisfied simply to pull it up into a ponytail. “I will be on my way at once.”

“No need! I sent the great glass elevator to pick you up a while ago. It should be there in…” He trails off briefly. “I’d say about five minutes.”

Her blood runs cold. “…Five minutes?”

“Well, you would’ve had more advance notice if you had answered your phone,” he quips, a minuscule crack appearing in his cheerful facade.

Eliza is well aware of the dreadful temper lurking behind Wonka’s feigned smile. He is subject to the same tempestuous mood swings as so many creative geniuses of his caliber are. She is thankful to have never been on the receiving end of such a temper.

Yet, just as he can often be disagreeable, he has also proven that he can be exceptionally kind. Especially toward his young heir.

Wonka and Charlie Bucket seem to have an understanding which transcends any ordinary “tradesman and apprentice” relationship. The factory is a corporeal manifestation of that shared vibrancy and imaginative brilliance. Two areas where Eliza, as a woman of unyielding logic and only the most calculated of risks, is painfully conscious of her shortcomings.

After a moment of careful consideration, she simply murmurs to her reflection, “Of course. Excuse my lapse in professionalism.”

“…It doesn’t matter now,” he responds, an odd tinge in his voice. She would call it guilt, if she didn’t know better. “I’m just glad I was able to reach you in time.”

“Indeed. Five minutes,” she repeats, ruling out the possibility of making coffee before she leaves. “I will be ready.”

Wonka offers some curt manner of farewell that Eliza does not quite register, but responds to regardless. The PA clicks, indicating that she is now alone with her thoughts.

The face in the mirror peers back at her, eyes as infuriatingly placid and steely as ever. If eyes are the window to the soul, as she so often hears, her windows surely must be bolted shut. No one is coming in, and no one is getting out. That is the way it has always been, and presumably, the way it always will be.

[17till27]

more than an other

“What are you?”

A question I get asked almost every week of my life. “Well,” I say, as I begin the verbal dance I know all too well. “I’m a dog person, a caffeine dependent life-form a water polo player and a firm believer in handwritten notes.” A mouthful, yes, but one that I feel paints a pretty solid picture of who I am.

But here’s what happens: they smile and nod politely, maybe even chuckle, before getting to their point, “No, but what are you? Where are your parents from?” I knew it was coming, I always do. While I could easily say Malaysia for the most part, and continue this proverbial two-step, I instead give them what they’re after: “My dad is Muslim and my mom is Buddhist. I’m half Malay and half Chinese.”

On the color scheme, dark brown and pale yellow stands close to each other. Describing something as being black and white means it is clearly defined. Yet when your ethnicity is black and white or when your race is brown and yellow, the dichotomy is not that clear. In fact, it paints a grey area. Being biracial creates a blurred line that is equal parts staggering and illuminating.

When I was contemplating on whether I should write about this on my public blog, I’ll be honest – I was nervous. It’s easy to write about my favorite musical theatre piece, a short story about time travel, the rigmarole of ‘a day in the life’ and how much pretzel bites I can consume in one minute. And while I have opened up a piece of me to a few confidants before, sharing small vignettes of my experiences as a biracial girl in Malaysia, today I choose to be braver, to go a bit deeper, and to share a much larger picture of that with you.

When my parents first met, my dad was an artist (painter, photographer, designer, you name it) and my mom was a temp at the Pepsi company. I like to think he was drawn to her soft hair and sweet eyes, plus their shared love of antiques. Whatever it was, they married and had me and my brother.

Before they were married, they moved into the traffic-driven, steamboat-suffused Puchong – a small town in Selangor, Malaysia. It was leafy and affordable. What it was not at that time, however, was diverse. And there was my dad, caramel in complexion with his light-skinned baby in tow, being asked whether the parental roles have changed and he was the nanny.

I was too young at the time to know what it was like for my parents, but I can tell you what it was like for me – how they crafted the world around me to make me feel like I wasn't different but special.

There was a mandatory census I had to complete in my Moral Studies class (a compulsory subject to take during high school in Malaysia) in sixth-grade – you had to check one of the boxes to indicate your ethnicity group: Malay, Chinese, and Indian. There I was – my thick eyebrows, my honey skin, my freckled face, my mixed race – looking down at these boxes, not wanting to mess up, but not knowing what to do. You could only choose one, but that would be to choose one parent over the other – and one half of myself over the other. My teacher, however, told me to check the box for Chinese.

“Because that’s how you look, Sabrina,” she said.

I put down my pen. Not as an act of defiance, but rather a symptom of my confusion. I couldn’t bring myself to do that, to picture the pit-in-her-belly sadness my father would feel if he were to find out.

So, I didn’t tick a box. I left my identity blank – a question mark, an absolute incomplete – much like how I felt.

When I went home that night, I told my mom what had happened. She said the words that have always stayed with me:

“If that happens again, Sabrina,” she said. “You draw your own box.”

I never saw my mother angry, but in that moment I could see the blotchiness of her skin crawling from pink to red. It made the hazel of her eyes pop and her brow was weighted at the thought of her daughter being prey to ignorance. Despite growing up in a community of diverse races and religions in Malaysia, the concept of marrying a Muslim-Malay man was not on the cards for my mom. But she saw beyond what was put in front of her in that small-sized (and, perhaps, small-minded) town, and she wanted me to see beyond that census placed in front of me. She wanted me to find my own truth.

And I tried. Navigating closed-mindedness to the tune of a high school mate I met on my first week at an international (read: diverse) school who asked if my parents were still together.

“You said your mom is Chinese and your dad is Malay, right?” she asked. 

I smiled meekly, waiting for what could possibly come out of her pursed lips next. 

“And they’re not together anymore?” I looked down and nodded. “Well, that makes sense.”

To this day, I still don’t understand what she meant by that, but I understand the implication. And I drew back: I was scared to open this Pandora's box of discrimination, so I sat stifled, swallowing my voice.

It's either ironic or apropos that in this world of not fitting in, and of harboring my emotions so tightly under my ethnically nondescript (and not so thick) skin, that I would decide to become a theatre artist.

There couldn't possibly be a more label-driven industry than acting, singing, and dancing – and seeing as every audition comes with a character breakdown: 'Beautiful, sassy, brown skin; 'Malay, urban, pretty, teenager; 'Chinese, brunette, modern girl next door'. Every role has a label; every casting is for something specific. But perhaps it is through this craft that I found my voice.

Being 'ethnically ambiguous', as I was pegged in the industry, meant I could audition for virtually any role. Morphing from Chinese when I was dressed in red, to Malay when in mustard yellow; my closet filled with fashionable frocks to make me look as racially varied as an Eighties Benetton poster. Sadly, it didn't matter: I wasn't Malay enough for the Malay roles and I wasn't Chinese enough for the Chinese ones, leaving me somewhere in the middle as the ethnic chameleon who couldn't place a role in my school plays.

On the heels of the racial unrest in Malaysia, the tensions between Chineses and Malays that have long been percolating under the surface in the country have boiled over in the most deeply saddening way. And as a biracial child growing up, I watch in horror as both sides of a culture I define as my own become victims of spin in the media, perpetuating stereotypes and reminding us that Malaysia has perhaps only placed bandages over the problems that have never healed at the root.

I, on the other hand, have healed from the base. While my mixed heritage may have created a grey area surrounding my self-identification, keeping me with a foot on both sides of the fence, I have come to embrace that. To say who I am, to share where I'm from, to voice my pride in being a strong, confident mixed-race woman. 

That when asked to choose my ethnicity in a questionnaire as in my sixth-grade class, or these days to check 'Other', I simply say: “Sorry, world, this is not lost and I am not one of the others. I am enough exactly as I am.”

For example, just as black and white, when mixed, make grey, in many ways that's what it did to my self-identity: it created a murky area of who I was, a haze around how people connected with me. I was grey. And who wants to be this indifferent color, devoid of depth and stuck in the middle? I certainly didn't.

So you make a choice: continue living your life feeling muddled in this abyss of self-misunderstanding, or you find your identity independent of it. You introduce yourself as who you are, not what color your parents happen to be. You create the identity you want for yourself, just as my ancestors did when they were given their freedom.

Draw your own damn box – whatever shape it may be.

[give-her-the-sunny-d]

swappin writing

@puchittothelimit i was up an hour early so i started this, and then i finished it over lunch break. i lied when i said id do it over the weekend:

a tribute to https://puchittothelimit.tumblr.com/post/157845944150/im-in-the-mood-for-something-depressing-can-you . everyone should fuckin read blood moon. i need to find every writing blog on here.

idk how to do the fancy looking title and summary stuff but i figured you wouldn't mind either way. i had to do this on a phone memo pad so if typo, sorry. "if" lol like i didn't already find one and just ignored it bc lazy

Suku's head rested heavily on Awilix's thigh, long body almost coiled at her side and paws tucked in under his body. Awilix's hand shuffled over his fur with increasing uncertainty, fingers curling weakly as they moved from head to neck and back again but twitching every so often. "Be a good boy, okay?" Suku heard Awilix say. "Suku's a good boy. Such a good boy." When Suku raised his head to softly butt his human companion in the side, Awilix's hand slid off and hit the muddy grass with a wet slap. Anxious to be pet again, Suku nudged her arm, and when that failed to get a reaction, he crawled up closer to the still body next to him until half of his body was all but resting atop Awilix's. Half hearted purrs and head butts did nothing to wake the goddess, and finally the jaguar rested his head just under her chin and let his eyes close as if to go to sleep. The occasional perk of his ears every time a branch snapped under the heavy rains was all that betrayed him. He was tired too, but he would stay awake for the both of them. "I know your heart must be breaking right now," someone was patiently telling Suku, "but we can't stay here. We've already tried bringing her back, she just...won't. I'm sorry, Suku." "Why are you even bothering, Ah Puch. Let's go." "Someone needs to try." The corpse god finally got to his feet with a raspy sigh. He looked on pitifully at the jaguar, who was still standing over Awilix's body that was still awkwardly sitting propped up against a tree. Suku's ears were pressed back and his mouth was open, lips drawn and exposing teeth. No one was going to be able to retrieve Awilix's body for a proper burial without paying a little blood for it, even if they had had the desire to do so. It wasn't worth the trouble. "Going to just stand there or are we getting a move on?" Hun Batz asked impatiently after tossing his staff up and catching it several times. "For all we know, the thing's too dumb to understand us anymore." "Shh, that's enough," Ah Puch urged, but he gave in and turned away to follow after the monkey god. For a second, anyway: he hesitated and threw another look back over his shoulder. "Well, you can be damn well sure that the thing isn't going - " "Suku." " - fine, Suku isn't going anywhere anytime soon. Dumb beast or not, it's probably spiritually bound here for the rest of its life. We have things to do right now, you can come back here later to talk with it. Assuming there's still enough of Suku to reason with. Besides, you know the body won't rot. Too much god in it for too long, even if the spirit's long gone. The meatsuit will still be here for you to collect later. Maybe." For all the monkey's crudeness, he was right. Awilix had given up her spirit to send them forward with hope. Ah Puch would be damned if he'd let that sacrifice be in vain, even if a certain beloved jaguar companion got left behind. "We'll be back," he promised Suku, whose mouth was still open in a fearless snarl at the god of decay. "Stay...stay this way as long as you can, I suppose. I'll see about bringing her back." And then they disappeared, leaving body and jaguar behind to soak in the pouring rain. The next seven days and nights rolled by in a misty haze, all running together in a muddy stream thanks to the persistent rain. Suku caught prey once in a while, but limited by how far he dared to leave Awilix's body behind, opportunities were only becoming more scarce. He brought some morsels to her every once in a while in futile hopes that she would respond, but on the eighth day, Suku finally wandered out to find whatever foolish prey might still be around in this part of the forest. There was a gnawing urge inside him that he had never really felt until now, an urge to find food, shelter, a water source, but Suku didn't dwell on the thought for too long. He just did as he needed to, finding shelter in trees instead of sleeping on the ground, traveling as far and as wide as he needed to to find prey and water, marking his territory with deep gouges in tree trunks as he went along. He retreated back deeper into the forest when he began hearing sounds of some kind of animal conflict in the distance one day. It took a while to find a place that pleased him, but find it he did.He stalked around familiar trees and noted with satisfaction that his scent had passed through here before, and he didn't recall being challenged for his claim over it. He could make this his new haunt since the easternmost boundary of his territory seemed like it would be encroached on soon. It wasn't much for prey availability, but it would do. There was fresh meat here too, downed by another beast no doubt, but left untouched for reasons that Suku didn't bother dwelling on. It was sustenance. Rejecting the indignity of scavenging was a luxury that a hungry jaguar could not afford to take. "Oh, nine hells," Ah Puch cursed when he came upon the sight of a jaguar gnawing on a bird carcass. "Suku." The creature disappeared like a phantom at the sound of his voice, reappearing high in a tree and peering down with yellow, feral eyes. "You..." Ah Puch sighed, and then picked his way over to the sizable pile of splintered bones at the base of the tree Suku was hiding in. He stared down at them, numbly noting the markings where sharp teeth had dug into the bones. "You've forgotten everything already." His only answer was an unblinking, yellow stare glowing between the foliage. "We took too long..." "Ah Puch, it's been weeks, how are we supposed to remember where she - oh." Hun Batz came to a stop next to his fellow god and surveyed the scene before them with thinly veiled pity and disgust. "I knew it. I knew this would happen - " "That's enough," Ah Puch snapped, but the sound of light footsteps over grass and leaves behind them made both gods turn around. "Well, well. Look who's here. Man of the hour, hero and savior. Didn't think you'd follow us all the way out here." Hun Batz leaned on his staff and gave the newcomer a distasteful once-over, looking as if he had just swallowed mud. "You were taking too long. I tracked you until a little ways back and then followed the sound of your voices as you combed the forest. We need to head back," the man said, but even as he spoke, he looked up at the tree branches overhead and fell silent when he locked eyes with the jaguar. Ah Puch allowed him a few seconds of peace, and then sardonically, voice dipped liberally in cyanide: "You know him, Xbalanque?" The man didn't answer. Not yet, at least. His eyes flickered down to mull over the scattered bones on the ground before darting back up again to search out the shadowy shape of the jaguar, but it had long disappeared. There hadn't even been a rustle of leaves to whisper of its escape. "Once," Xbalanque finally said. "I suppose I did. Let's go." They left.