#It’s just every attempt I make to go out and b a Person it’s thwarted so I suppose I am destined to live a life of solitude | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

junowritings · 3 years

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Howdy do~! I have a little request to ask. I love what you did with Ruggie, Azul, and Deuce reacting to their fem!s/o protecting them in a fight. Could you please do the same scenario with Riddle, Leona and Jamil? Please and thanks!

I'm so happy you liked them~! I've already finished Riddle who can be found here! I hope you enjoy these~!

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Leona

♡ Leona’s one of those people that you don’t always mess with unless you A. Know what you’re doing, or B. know the exact point when to ease up before things go too far. With that being said it’s really fun to try and get a rise out of him if you’ve got the guts for it; however there’s a big difference between some playfully tricks and being downright malicious - and it’s the people with malicious intentions that definitely need to watch what they say and do when in his presence.

♡ Sure, Leona may be pretty lazy at times (a lot of the time, actually), which has sometimes led to a couple hot-shots underestimating the dorm leader and thinking that it’s a great idea to try and work their way up the pecking order by going through him. More than once he’s had to handle a couple of cocky first years, so overconfident in their abilities that they believe they can pick a fight with him and win. In such cases, he’s swift to nip that in bud and remind them that he’s the head of Savanaclaw for a reason, and uses them to prove as an example to any other people who think it’s a wise idea. This makes it so that altercations are few and far between, so chances are if someone’s gonna have enough of a problem with him to try to fight him, it’s gonna be from another dorm.

♡ The first indication that something’s happening is when some punk has the audacity to shoulder check him in the hallway, making eye contact the whole time as if to flaunt that it was intentional. It’s immature, and frankly he’s feeling generous enough to give them one chance to walk away as he elects to ignore them and keep walking. They don’t like that one bit and Leona hears them grumbling to themselves as they whirl around on their heel and move to stride back over to him again. Their attempt to pull the same trick twice backfires when he grabs their shoulder and shoves it away without even looking, only sparing a glance in their direction to flash an unamused scowl as he warns them to think twice before he loses his patience - not a threat, a promise.

♡ It falls on deaf ears, the “what the fuck is your problem?” they throw at him painfully ironic as they advance on him, squaring their shoulders in an attempt to look intimidating as though hoping he’ll cower. But Leona’s no cub, and certainly no coward, and so he steps up to the challenge, straightening up and rising easily to his full height as he steps forward, glaring down at them as his scowl morphs into a full on snarl. Leona doesn’t even give them the chance to try and land a hit - the second they pull up their fist he bats it away, watching them stumble and try again.

♡ They keep trying, managing to at least nail him in the shoulder before he starts taking the fight seriously. This time the student tries to get a kick in, and no sooner has their boot made contact Leona counters with a kick of his own, hitting them hard enough that they buckle, cussing him out as they grapple for his hair, yanking hard and attempting to bring him down with them. He hisses, baring his teeth and jabbing at the crook of their elbow only getting angrier the longer they hold on. He’s just about done contemplating how he’s gonna end up sending them to the infirmary when someone else finally intervenes, having spotted the confrontation as they rounded the hallway.

♡ Another set of hands dives into the fray, untangling the student’s grip on his hair until they let go long enough for Leona to whip his head back out of their range. Chances are he’d have dived right back into the fight were it not for the fact that someone stepped between them - you, to be specific. You look pissed - at first Leona thinks it's aimed towards him, but then you whirl round, leaning down to yank the student up by the crook of their arm and pulling them with you till they’re far enough away from Leona. At that point you relinquish your grip, giving them a rough shove for good measure; they give you a seething look, but your only response is “Be lucky I’m not letting him finish this fight - Get lost.” as you jab a thumb towards the dorm leader as if to support your argument.

♡ The student huffs, but ultimately storms off pouting like an insolent child not getting their way; the pair of you watch him leave before a groan directs your attention back to Leona. He runs a hand through his hair, massaging the part that was yanked with a dissatisfied grumble. Maybe he’d feel better if he’d gotten a few more punches in, but now that it’s over the ache from where the hand had been is getting on his nerves, but it’s nothing he hasn’t experienced before and is just fine shrugging it off.

♡ You aren't, however; a tentative hand comes to rest over where he’d been touching, hesitant at first till you’re sure that he’s not going to move away from you. Your touch is significantly more gentle, and gone is that miffed look from earlier, now replaced with something a little more fonder. Leona hasn’t been privy to your anger often - exasperation, sure, he’s done plenty to see that side of you, but anger is another thing. Your fingers ghost over a soft spot and his mouth twitches at the discomfort, almost unnoticeable if you weren’t close, and just like that your expression turns stern as you muse out loud that maybe you should’ve let him kick their ass after all, That gains you a toothy grin in response, one that remains on his face even as he guides your hand away from his head and stands back up.

Jamil

♡ Even after the overblot incident Jamil’s still picking up the pieces. Regaining the trust of his dormmates was challenging enough - it took a lot of time of being mindful of his actions and helping others to even start the process of getting them to look at him without being wary of him breaking again. And even then he’s still working to rebuild the faith that they once had in him, as arduous of a road that is, though Kalim’s open forgiveness certainly helped; it’s a long journey that’s going to take longer than just a few weeks, a fact Jamil is acutely aware of.

♡ However there’s still a good number of people who don’t trust him, and he has yet to miss the glares and wary glances casted his way when they believe he’s not looking. He can feel the eyes on his back, tense and hesitant as if waiting for him to trip up and reveal some other nefarious plot; he doesn’t blame them of course - in their position, he’d be equally as cautious, however the unrest still builds, and Jamil knows it’s only a matter of time before someone moves in to bury the proverbial dagger. Until someone actually decides to act there’s little more he can do than carry on and handle that inevitable confrontation once it comes.

♡ It seems he’s not the only one who notices the tension however. After the initial incident you begin visiting Jamil more and more often, going out of your way to spend a little more time together with him. You’re worried about him, that much is obvious, but it comes from a place of affection rather than malice compared to his interaction with others, so Jamil more than welcomes the company. He’s familiar with your protective nature, both because he’s perceptive and because he’s seen it for himself; you value your relationships with others highly, and he knows you’ll do anything to keep those same people protected. Your additional presence seems to ward off some of the seething glares, and helps to alleviate some of the tension Jamil carries around.

♡ But you can’t always be there, and it’s one of those times that you’re not that things end up coming to a head. Jamil expects a confrontation - what he doesn’t expect is for them to try and take him by surprise, taking advantage of a moment where he’s alone. He hears the footsteps running up behind him, and he has just enough time to sidestep to the far side of the corridor before a student goes running past him, tripping over their own feet after being thwarted from their would-be punch. When Jamil looks back to check where the student had come from there’s several others racing to close the distance right alongside their friend, looking equally enraged as they approach. One person Jamil can handle, perhaps two or three; however there’s enough to know he’s outnumbered and Jamil, though he loathes the thought of fleeing, knows a fight he can’t win on his own when he sees one.

♡ Two sets of hands grapple for him but he twists out of their grip with ease, already working to generate some distance between him and the others as he eyes them cautiously. He attempts to gauge if there’s any chance of them giving up now that they don’t have the element of surprise on their side; it's not that easy however, and once they begin attempting to approach again a vicious back and forth begins. They’re hissing threats and other obscenities, which works in his favor since they’re more focused on yelling instead of putting all their effort into catching him. Even so the distance is gradually closing, and with the lack of people around to intervene things aren’t looking up anytime soon.

♡ Right when one of them tries to take another grab however, a loud shout breaks through the voices, and just as suddenly the students are yanked back and away from him. There’s yelling and struggling, and Jamil’s taken aback to find out that the people jumping to his aid are none other than his fellow Scarabia students, who seem just as surprised at what’s going on. Who doesn’t look surprised however is you - you look absolutely miffed as you storm over to one of the apprehended students and shove them back for good measure, using every inch of your willpower to bite back the cusses you so badly want to say once you realize exactly what’s going on.

♡ Jamil’s startled by the turnout, though he gets little more than a word in before you’re talking. “I swear, I leave your side for a minute and some jerks think they can attack you! And how is a whole group against one person fair?! Huh?!” You hurl that question at the group, who flounder under your words with no leg to stand on. Their lack of reasoning or response only fuels your anger, and you take a step towards them as you add, “Even think about doing this again - to anyone - and you’ll answer to me, okay?”

♡ That gets a chorus of anxious nods along with pleads to let them off the hook. You cast a glance behind you at Jamil seeking his verdict; he sighs but gives a nod and the Scarabia students let release their hold on the group and give them a wide enough berth to start retreating. It isn’t until the last ones out of your line of sight that you relax, rubbing your temples with a deep exhale. “Man, just wait until Kalim hears about this.” At that Jamil responds, the protests of informing the excitable dorm head of the event already forming when you turn to ask him if he’s okay.

♡ “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” you look worried as you ask, now turning fully to face him trying to discern any possible injuries as you take a step towards him, close enough to place your hands on his shoulders. At his reassurance that yes, he’s fine, the nervousness doesn’t leave your expression as you let out a sigh. “Good, good. If they’d done anything and I didn’t get here in time I…” you trail off, expression souring at the unpleasant train of thought that seeps in at the very words. Jamil notes your falter and brings a hand to cover one of your own, giving it a reaffirming squeeze trying to wordlessly quell your worries. This time when he repeats that he’s okay you seem convinced, relaxing a little more as you shift your hand just enough for your fingers to interlock.

#twisted wonderland #imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #twisted wonderland x reader #headcanons #twst x reader #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland headcanons #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #twst leona #jamil viper #jamil x reader #twst jamil #request #ask #dfghgfd Jamil's one of my favs and I think it shows with this lmao

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jonroxton · 2 years

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hi pardon. Can I ask you something? What's your thoughts on Lois Lane played by Amy Adams? About her personality, her decisions, her wit?

i love lois in the dceu. I adore her, actually. she’s fearless, intuitive and extroverted, like all the loises we know and love, but amy!lo is much more reserved and restrained, carrying with her a pathos the other loises don’t often get a chance to show off with such gravity. lois and her decisions, her place at the daily planet and her work ethic, it’s all taken very seriously in the dceu, enough so that her leaving in zsjl is her whole arc. it began with the choice to make her part of the secret. by taking that very old superman trope and just skipping it, we get that trusting great relationship she will eventually have with clark be the beginning of that epic relationship, and doing so opened up many choices for goyer to show off her best traits (integrity, loyalty). she’s a character who affects the story by action, when usually lois is reactionary. she’s part of the journey and so the film relies on her presence to carry the plot and the emotional core of the story. i was wrong about her role in zsjl (the arc i envisioned for her would’ve been in jl2+3!), but even there her presence is vital. she emphatically matters and her romance with clark is not just a love story, but THE story. everything happens because of lois and clark, including the knightmare and the eventual restoration (*ahem*). you take her out and all the movies fall apart. her character is made entirely of decisions, so her personality and wit are revealed there. let’s count the ways! this got long!

1. a] in man of steel, lois is introduced going after a story, researching the mysterious object in the ice. when she arrives we learn that she got an injunction from the courts to be there. so right away we learn there was an attempt to stop her and she thwarted it! she’s pursuing this mystery, and she’s willing to go head to head with colonel hardy to be there, unfazed by his stand off demeanor. her wit is straightforward, still abrasive, but like I said above, restrained. she doesn’t have anything to prove, she’s already there. she has a good attitude. she keeps this restrained and thoughtful attitude all the way through zsjl.

b] she follows joe/clark because he’s walking around in a shirt in -60 degree weather and is curious about it. her curiosity leads her to the ship and results in her getting hurt and meeting clark for the first time.

c] this is a subtle moment, but it’s another choice. clark lets her know that the he has to cautorize the bleeding, because if he doesn’t she’ll continue to bleed internally. she’s doesn’t know how, but she nods in agreement to let him help her. it’s exposing her ability to trust intuitively. here the first core of clark and lois is formed, showing not just that clark is calm and helpful, but that even under stress, lois listens.

d] lois then begins her search for clark proper and it takes her all over the country. she does this for MONTHS. she follows lead after lead, believing these extraordinary stories about this man, all the way to their source. this is perseverance, this is openness. she’s a believer and more than that she’s a seeker. she’s willing to go out of her way to prove it. her work is not just the thing she does, that she and clark will share. it carries the plot forward.

e] and it pays off. clark of course had every chance to stop her, but he didn’t. he let her find her father’s grave and follows her there. he exposes his deepest regret, giving her a counter reason for why she shouldn’t expose him. clark doesn’t ask her not to tell the world his secret, he gives her the option. it’s not just clark’s choice anymore! and lois chooses to keep clark’s secret and so keep clark’s father’s wish to wait until the right moment to reveal who he is. this shows trust and integrity and character. lois is sitting on the greatest story in the history of the world. she knows his name. she knows where he lives. she knows what he’s done, what he can do. and she keeps it. not because she’s asked to, but because she respects clark and what he does.

i don’t think people realize the gravity of the choice here. lois is already a world famous reporter. she’s won pulitzers already. this news would’ve set her name down in permanent stone. and she chooses not to reveal it to maintain clark’s trust, showing him that she takes his choice seriously and his past and his father seriously. her agency here honors clark’s agency, it honors jonathan! it shows clark that she’s someone who can be trusted and relied upon. it proves her word is her bond, and that’s so important because her livelihood is literally words. it’s sublime really and a travesty that ppl don’t understand just how deep and meaningful this moment is.

f] so zod arrives and lois is literally the only person in the world who knows clark is the one he’s looking for. when she’s exposed as knowing who he is, she chooses to flee! that’s another small but important choice, irregardless that she gets caught . then, even more revealing, she refuses to tell them who he is. it’s literally the world or clark, and she chooses clark! she’s under government threat!

(and it’s constant! clark chooses her. I WOULD LIKE TO SPEAK TO LOIS LANE is ugh it’s perfect. when clark decides to reveal himself to the world it’s to get lois out of prison! IT’S SO COOL. ITS SO ROMANTIC. ITS SO EXPANSIVE. it’s putting to the test that epic history they have. why are lois and clark so loyal to each other? because of this! because lois is loyal to him without gaining anything, and clark is loyal to her and it gets him imprisoned! clark exchanged his secret for her freedom! this is the plot! this is the story the movie wanted to tell. it’s not a subplot romance. the building of their relationship is literally the plot!)

g] lois is with clark when he gives himself up (choice to stand by him, against all odds) and then she volunteers to go in with him, making the situation much less dire than it could have been. she’s fearless. absolutely fearless. and the story constantly reaffirms this and her loyalty to clark.

h] lois uses the key clark gave her bc her intuition is perfect and with jor-el’s help escapes. the key also allows clark to reverse the atmosphere in the black zero and helps him save all of them. her choices here literally save their lives. it’s also how the last act of the film begins, with jor-el giving lois the information to defeat the kryptonians. without lois there is no plan! take lois out of this and there is no last act of man of steel!

i] this is a smaller choice, but she tells clark the kryptonians looked in her mind, showing him again that she is an honest person

j] she tells the team the plan and she again volunteers. she knows she can die, but the world and helping clark is more important. all those lois traits we know and love, her integrity, her fearlessness, her willingness, it’s all constantly and consistently reaffirmed.

2. BVS is one huge reaffirmation of lois and clark’s loyalty to each other and their integrity and work ethic. everything about this movie proves why it was right for lois and clark to trust each other all throughout MOS.

a) it all begins and ends with the bullet, and what that bullet means to her and to clark, why that bullet is there in the first place. confusion abounds. she literally says it, “i want to understand what happened.” she’s confused. so is clark. everyone is confused. there’s too much noise out there. but there’s this bullet. she choose to pursue this bullet, not knowing what it means. her intuition carries all the way through and she’s proven right across the board.

even her being wrong yields results, because swanwyck goes to her after telling her she’s wrong to tell her the truth. so it’s not just clark that trusts her, but swanwyck too. and swanwyck already knows lois is person who can keep her word (nothing he said or threatened in MOS got her to reveal clark’s identity!). now that we know swanwyck is martian manhunter, then we can deduce that he read her mind and concluded she was trustworthy. lois’s work and insistence even when wrong, it shows her character not just to us, but to characters like swanwyck.

b) she chooses not to tell clark because she’s doesn’t know what’s going on. she doesn’t understand what it signifies. she wants more information. and her entire arc is seeking that information. when clark finds out, he’s concerned, but he doesn’t stop her, and she doesn’t stop. thy’re separate for most of the movie, but their respective arcs are about unraveling the truth, understanding the truth. this would’ve been conflict in any other movie, but MOS established a loyal, trusting, confident duo, people who believe what the other says. when lois says, I have a job to do, clark says, go off, be careful. it matters that it’s like this. it matters that their conflict is external, because, again, it reaffirms all of the qualities that makes them work. and it’s all rewarded. ALL OF IT. she figures out it was lex. and it’s her information that helps convict him. all of her work and her confusion and intuition, all of it, is rewarded in the end.

d) lois CHOOSES to go to the fight. she chooses to step in between bruce’s boot and the spear. she chooses to protect clark. she literally runs to get in between him and bruce. my fearless bb.

e) lois thows the spear in the water to hide it, and ultimately this helps protect it from all the rubble. when she realizes doomsday, a possible kryptonian creature, is let loose, she goes back for it. these are all choices down the line.

f) this one is subtle but so great. one of those things that’s taken for granted in live action, but used to full effect here. lois doesn’t just give up as she drowns. she bangs the hell out of the rubble because she KNOWS clark will hear her. and he does! and its because of this he finds the spear.

g) finally, after losing clark, she decides to accept his proposal. she’s still loyal to him in the end, wearing his ring. it’s a heartbreaking and human moment.

3. ZSJL. a) so we know actually very little about lois and her life, but we do have this rounded fully realized character whose actions are integral to the plots of MOS/BVS. her choices matter. and those choices are tied into her job, her integrity and her capacity to see these jobs complete. so it’s absolutely telling that lois stops working at the planet. this choice reveals how important her life with clark was, and what their relationship meant to her. important enough that it eroded her life as a journalist.

b) instead she chooses to go to the monument. every single day. for weeks. her mourning is taken seriously. her love for clark is taken seriously. her grief is real. she misses him. and it’s not something to make fun of, or a subplot. it matters bc ultimately it’s her coming to the monument that makes it so when clark comes back he is stopped and truly recovered.

c) it’s another subtle way they show character too, when martha/swanwyck goes visit lois and urges her to return to her life. lois here chooses to let clark go, to say goodbye, one last time. it just so happens that this time it’s when the league brings clark back.

d) it’s absolutely stunning seeing lois just run up to clark after he beat teh shit out the most powerful people in the world. her fearlessness once again in full force. this wouldn’t have worked if we didn’t have mos/bvs. this moment works because lois and clark, up to this point, have been trusting, loving, communicative and kind to each other. their love is instinctual and deep, enough so that even without memory of his own name or life, clark recognizes her.

4. in conclusion

lois is treated honorably and seriously in the dceu, her choices matter to the plot, to the emotion, to the spirit of the story. she’s still funny and sweet, she’s just not loud or so extroverted as her counterparts.i love her a lot for the way the films treat her, how much they care that her actions matter, how intertwined with the plot and so with clark’s development and his journey. lois is of course an integral part of every superman story, but in the dceu it just carries a little more weight because of how seriously they take the situations.

it’s wild because this is the lois we know least about, but she’s definitely the one given most decisions that affect the plot. and that’s story power. that’s important.

it’s also done in such a subtle way. we don’t hear lois is the greatest reporter of our time, we SEE it, twice over. MOS is her chasing the superman story and she figures it out and gains his trust and helps save the world. in BVS she takes a one inch piece of metal and unravels one megalomaniacs entire plan. when the greatest detective couldn’t see it.

she’s just a cool character. a wonderful female character in a movie genre where female character’s choices don’t matter, where their choices usually get them into trouble or they’re admonished for it.

ultimately, i think the dceu loves lois lane as much as it does clark kent, and I WANT IT BACK. I WANT IT ALL BACK PLEEEEEEEEASE.

#mystuff #dceu #lois lane #amy adams #man of steel #batman v superman: dawn of justice #MY DREAM ASK I LOVE YOU NONNIE #i adore amy!lo and dceu!lois #restorethesnyderverse #clois

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blushnote · 5 years

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rich girl | m.

⟡ word count: 6,708. ⟡ genre: smut, a bit of angst if you squint. ⟡ contains: a blowjob, facefucking, overstimulation, squirting, dirty talk, shower sex, copious use of petnames, just a whole lot of sin.

summary: wonwoo likes to call you a rich girl, and you hate it because it’s true. in fact, you hate a lot of things: your friends, your parent’s attitude, the way your life is supposed to be perfect even though you’re miserable. not much makes you happy, except for a punk boy who you can’t even be with.

a/n: this is a reupload because for some reason tumblr wasn’t showing me my own posts? anyways, sorry for the wait!! enjoy hehe.

your parents don’t like wonwoo.

even better – they don’t like the fact that you like him.

wonwoo isn’t supposed to be someone you like. he’s kind of foul-mouthed, awfully conceited, and he probably makes deals with the devil in his spare time. he likes to hang around those dimly lit corners at night, just outside the local shops, puffing from a cigarette beneath the dusty street light and chuckling amongst his friends. they all hang out together. they’re very tightknit in the way that they only meet on the corner to smoke and laugh and then head their separate ways when it gets late enough.

honestly, you didn’t think you were going to like wonwoo either. most friday nights you go out for drinks with the daughters of your mom’s friends. she’s a business lady, very professional, makes good money, and has the politeness and etiquette of a true monarch. her friends mirror her every quality, and so do their daughters. you like them, even when they snap at you to sit straighter or give you unnecessarily stern glances while you swallow your alcohol in inhumane gulps. they’re great, but they give you a headache.

also, they’re the only friends you have, even if they’re not very good ones. they once left you to get home by yourself when you got too “drunk” for their liking. not wanting to soil their sophisticated reputations, they literally abandoned you after your wobbly trip to the bathroom to fix your makeup. you came back to an empty table. when you left the bar, this unknown man tried to take you by the arm, promising that there was a telephone just around the corner for you to make a call. your cellphone was dead anyways.

“what the fuck are you doing?”

there was a deep, displeased voice that echoed from the street corner as the mystery man tugged you away. you couldn’t help but stumble in your saint laurent heels. they didn’t add much height, yet you felt as though you were walking on stilts. quickly, you made eye contact with wonwoo. he stepped away from the pole and removed the cigarette from between his bubblegum lips, just before he adjusted the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. the air was cold, so he wore a beanie that pulled his hair back.

the man stuttered in response. he attempted to configure a convincing statement, but wonwoo cut him off.

“do you know him?” wonwoo asked you directly. his friends were silent as they crowded the corner, but they looked ready to pounce.

“n-not re-really, no.” you fought to respond sluggishly.

wonwoo then narrowed his eyes at the man who was digging his nails into your skin.

“do you know her?” the man countered. he sounded almost petulant.

“no,” wonwoo admitted impassively, “but i’m not an idiot, and i’ve hung around here long enough to see my fair share of fucking weirdos. go slink back to the other side of the street before i shove my cigarette past your eye socket and into your cranium.”

honestly, wonwoo’s words almost turned you completely sober. the man looked like he wanted to argue, but his pathetic type doesn’t usually put up a fight when their plans are directly thwarted. he released you, and melted away into the night like a sad, shrinking shadow.

“do you need to use my phone?” wonwoo was already revealing it from his pocket.

you nodded. you knew your mother would explode into fumes if you called her at this hour, so you dialled the local taxi service and decided to wait right outside the bar. you wanted to thank wonwoo for intervening when he did. he didn’t necessarily look like a bad person, but his tainted mouth and snarky expressions didn’t exactly shift him into the light.

“thanks,” you told him as you handed over his phone, “i-i appreciate what you dd-did.”

wonwoo made the effort to blow the smoke from his cigarette away from your face.

“it’s fine,” he shrugged, “happens all the time. figured i’d just stand here and be useful i guess.”

so there is a reason you’re always at this corner.

that’s what you wanted to say, but you were too shy, too foggy, to articulate any other acknowledgement apart from a tight-lipped smile. since then, you knew wonwoo would be someone you liked.

wonwoo liked to call you a rich girl. it bothered you, mostly because it’s true. you wore diamonds in your ears, pricey jewels on your fingers, dressed in luxury outfits and designer products. you lived a lavish life because your parents were well off, but it’s not like you tried to rub it in everyone’s face. in fact, you were quite modest, and you only wore the jewelry because your mother never stopped draping you in it. after your first encounter with wonwoo outside the bar, you greeted him again on the street upon exiting the floral shop.

he was alone, not even smoking a cigarette, instead sucking on a vibrant, cherry red lollipop. you could smell its sugary coating the second you stood in front of him.

“hey, rich girl.” he nodded. “how’s life treating you?”

the only reason you approached him was out of gratitude. you had already thanked him for his intervention that one night, but you wanted to thank him again now that you weren’t intoxicated and cloudy in the head. notably, your expression soured at his words.

“rich girl? that’s not my name.”

wonwoo looked you up and down skeptically. his eyes were a strong, earthly shade of brown behind his glasses, but in that afternoon sunlight, they flared up slightly, and the colour was more molasses-like. thick and sweet.

“are you joking?” he seemed like he wanted to laugh, and swirled the lollipop to the opposite corner of his mouth. “babygirl, those heels you’re wearing are more than my rent.”

you didn’t know why, but you were transiently overwhelmed with the urge to drop to your knees and let him fuck your mouth right there on the corner. was that too soon? oh well. you already thought it. remembering you were supposed to feel disrespected at his comment, you crossed your arms, though it only accented the jaded bracelet your friend bought you as a birthday gift.

“i’m going to pretend i didn’t hear anything you just said. i wanted to thank you for getting me out of that situation last week. i thought i should tell you again, now that i’m… well… sober, i guess i could say.”

you then swallowed tightly. “do you really stand there to stop creeps from taking advantage of people?”

wonwoo shrugged. he then tousled his hair, which had been flopping in multiple directions. it was on the longer side, and seemed to be the same colour as dark, silvery ashes, though the roots were pretty much black. his hair looked so soft and springy. you almost wanted to comb it down for him.

“i’m just at the right place at the right time.” he said.

what did that even mean? you simply accepted his response and pressed on.

“well, i wouldn’t mind repaying the favour one day. do you want a coffee or something?”

“no.” wonwoo replied sharply. “you could do me one better and slip me a couple hundred from your pretty bank account. i’m trying to get the local black tar heroin dealer off my back.”

you nearly choked.

“wha-what? are you… serious?”

wonwoo maintained his staid, emotionless expression, and you were really starting to believe that there was a black tar heroin dealer running rampant in the streets that might pop wonwoo if he didn’t pay him off. but then a gradual smile pulled up his lips, and you wanted to retract your entire offer.

“yes, it’s a joke. you’re too easy. the only drugs you’d find in this part of town is the ibuprofen for your grandma’s arthritis. you don’t get out much, do you, rich girl?”

you gaped widely at him.

“careful, baby,” he smirked, and he suddenly brought his hand out, raising your chin with his cold fingertips to close your mouth. “don’t breathe too much of this cheap air. it’s not filtered.”

in a bubbling, festering haze of anger, you snapped his hand away.

“for your information i—,”

abruptly, you heard your name echo from down the street. turning around, you watched your mother exit the floral shop, carrying a pale green wrapping of scarlet poinsettias. they were so huge that the petals almost covered her entire face. it wasn’t her fault, but she couldn’t have picked a worse time to come looking for you, especially when she was cloaked in the thick warmth of her sable fur coat. you sighed deeply and faced wonwoo again. he’d lost his lollipop, attempting to spark up a cigarette instead.

“aren’t these just gorgeous?” your mother swooned, running her fingers over the butter-soft petals. “they certainly cost a pretty penny to get such an exquisite arrangement, but i couldn’t help myself!”

you wanted to sink straight into the earth. wonwoo was looking between you in pure amusement as he crammed his lighter inside a pocket on his jeans. your mother didn’t even seem to notice him until he took his first puff, the distinct potency of the smoke making her nose scrunch.

“a-and who’s this, dear?” she couldn’t even mask her discomfort as she inquired you about wonwoo. at that point, you hadn’t even known his name yet.

“wonwoo,” he introduced himself, “a new friend of your daughter.”

“oh, how lovely,” she nodded at him while forcing a crooked grin. “honey,” she then placed her hand on your shoulder and spoke closely into your ear, “your father is parked down the street. we need to leave soon and get these out of the cold, so please finish your conversation quickly.”

as soon as she slipped past you and began striding swiftly toward the car, you could already taste the muddled defeat on your tongue. if you weren’t protruding the mirage of a spoilt rich girl then, you certainly were now. at least he didn’t blow any smoke into her face, though that didn’t diminish the fact you were going to receive a lengthy lecture in the car.

“why would you say we’re friends?” you scolded wonwoo.

“because you don’t have any.” he responded matter-of-factly while tapping some ash off his cigarette.

“that’s not true! what do you even know about me anyways, apart from that i’m rich.” you made sure to incorporate in-air quotations.

wonwoo pushed back the silver tresses dancing in front of his glasses, embracing the cool, afternoon current against his face.

“not a lot,” he admitted, “you come for drinks every few fridays. sit at the table looking like you hate your life and all the people in it. then you leave with your phony little rich clique.”

“not to be rude, wonwoo—” you almost wanted to laugh; you came here to thank him. now that ship had completely sailed— “but you’re kind of a dick.”

he then had the nerve to roll his eyes. “you’d drop to your knees and suck mine in a second, babygirl. now didn’t your mother say you should hurry up and get in the car? the princess can’t be out of the palace i’m guessing, especially not to talk to assholes on street corners.”

what else could you do apart from swallow your own frustration, bite your lip, and brush past him? there was nothing. it was too bitter to stand outside anyways. a strengthening winter wind was beginning to pick up from the north, the sting making your eyes water. at the same time, your cheeks were hot metal. if no one were on that street, you certainly would have taken him right into your mouth and sucked him dry. he was ridiculous and cruel, but you loved the unhinged nature he unearthed in you. it was liberating in a sense.

you wondered what would become of your relationship.

“where did you say you were going again?”

you looked up from the porcelain dinner plate, in which you’d been picking at the last few crumbs of your wine reduction pineapple cake. it wasn’t your favourite dessert, though you always finished every meal out of respect for the family’s personal chef. you saw your father reach for his water glass. he took a long sip and eyed you over the candlelight and scarlet poinsettias. it was in a way that was completely and unabashedly suspicious.

“ester and i are going to the jewellers to get a custom necklace as aria’s christmas gift. i told you like five times already.”

of course, that was a gigantic lie. you and ester had already gotten the precious necklace last week, you just needed a reasonable excuse.

“and you’re coming straight home, correct?” his voice was stern and unnegotiable.

“i always do.”

“not always.” your mother chipped in as she cut a piece of the glazed cake with her fork. “you’re not going to see that one character, are you?” she always called people with less fortune characters, like they weren’t even considered to be real.

“who?” you acted clueless, and poured yourself more of the sugary, pink lemonade.

“you know who,” there was already a note of displeasure in her voice, “that boy from the corner. the one who smokes. i wasn’t very impressed by his actions.”

you started to squeeze the white cloth across your lap. “he’s trying to quit. i’ve persuaded him.”

“he won’t do it,” your father shook his head, “and he’s not right for you. i don’t want you near him.”

“and that’s why you’re coming straight home after the jewellers.” your mother continued, not allowing you the breadth to speak.

this family couldn’t get any more ridiculous, you were tempted to scream. instead, you pushed out your chair and collected the utensils sitting on your placemat. a maid passing by had scrambled to assist you, though you told her thoughtfully that you could take care of yourself. in actuality, it was the perfect time to get going, just as you could feel the anger warm your own blood to a boiling crimson. you threw on a long peacoat, a spritz belonging to a vanilla perfume, and your saint laurent opyum heels.

“i’ll be home soon!” you shouted down the marbled corridor, but it was only your own voice that echoed back to you.

your knees were beginning to lose feeling from being pressed against the sponge-like carpet of wonwoo’s bedroom, and they would probably ache like hell whenever you came to your feet again, but for the time being, you really didn’t care. your hands were braced against wonwoo’s knees as his hand tangled possessively through your hair, each of his tugs causing your scalp to burn and tingle. you were crying. you loved to be used by him, and he loved using you. especially the warm inside of your slick mouth.

“ff-fuck, that’s it, babygirl, j-just let me fuck your pr-pretty fuckin’ face.” quickly heeding his words, wonwoo bucked his hips up in a sudden snap, the head of his cock nuzzled deep against your throat.

consequently, you gagged, and there were glossy trails of your own saliva uncomfortably pooling down your chin. he bucked up again, his fingers clasping your hair even tighter. you were struggling to breath around him, white, cottony spots blurring your vision while he forced you to take him even further. you were clutching onto his knees with enough strength to bruise his pale skin. but hearing his voice, lined with lust, heavy and laboured, how it hitched when everything felt too good; you were addicted to it.

“you’re so good at this—,” wonwoo grunted through his teeth upon jamming your head down again, “m’gonna cum down your f-fuckin’ throat, baby. be a good girl n’ m-make sure you swallow a-all of me, huh?”

you learned that wonwoo was really filthy. he didn’t have a preference for where he came, though you had to regulate his carelessness. if any of your clothes even got one rip, one pulled up thread, or god forbid a stupid ejaculation stain, your mother would put your head on a mahogany plaque. wonwoo always made fun of you for belonging to a rich family, having to act like the town’s local sweetheart because one wise crack might cost your parents a lost business partner. but you knew he loved it.

the elegant daughter of a rich heir running around with the outlandish punk? he adored it.

eventually, you had to come up for breath or else you would’ve fainted between his thighs. the air gushed into your lungs and coldly filled your chest. a string of your spit was connected from wonwoo’s flushed, hard cock to your wet lips. you could hardly discern anything that surrounded you. the oxygen had yet to thoroughly circulate and the tears were creating a thick blur. wonwoo started to stroke himself while you prepared to take him once more. the empty void in your mouth was a horrible feeling.

“you look like a fucking mess.” wonwoo grinned as he noted that your body was shaking. “am i being too rough with you, babygirl? should i just jack myself off and cum all over your face instead?”

“n-no,” you suckled in a half-hearted breath, “i-i can do it.”

wonwoo smirked. “you still want it down your throat?”

you could see him clearly now. his cheeks were tinted pink, and his eyes were impossibly dark, glittering in anticipation. without thinking, you nodded eagerly, knowing this was what you wanted. he then tapped his cock against your swollen lips, to which you opened up again and calmly took him as deep as you could. he watched your eyes glister with more tears before he started thrusting up into your mouth. his fingers were gentle. they brushed the stray spindles from your face, now destroyed by tears and drool.

“i’m surprised your tears aren’t pure gold,” he laughed, “i guess you aren’t so special.” your spine tingled as his hand crept back through your hair. “m’gonna make you cry even harder, baby.”

his grip had turned to solid iron against your scalp. you got less than a sliver to brace yourself for his unrelenting treatment, in which he pushed you straight down on his cock and kept your face right where he wanted it. with his hand against the back of your head, wonwoo snapped his hips upward, feeling you immediately gag in response. then, he unleashed on you, using your mouth as a mere fucktoy, getting all his pleasure’s worth from you in each of his hard thrusts. everything was so overwhelming and rapid.

wonwoo couldn’t help the mantra of guttural, taunt curses. he started to moan even, his deep voice cracking the second he felt his sticky cum start to abundantly spurt. without a warning, you struggled slightly to accept and swallow it, though wonwoo was intent on keeping you flush to his pelvis until every drop was polished off. he was still thrusting shallowly into your mouth, and you could feel his length gradually begin to soften. his release was warm, and it was similar to cream sliding down your throat.

after he removed himself from your mouth, he titled up your head by the chin.

“did you swallow it all yet?”

you shook your head. quickly, the side of your hot cheek was met with wonwoo’s hand. he’d given you a timid slap, one that wasn’t meant to hurt, but stung gingerly.

“i wanna see you swallow, babygirl.” he purred. “be good, won’t you?”

your tears were dribbling uncontrollably as you fully swallowed his seed. god, your throat felt like it was on fire. each muscle in your jaw was burning up ardently. your knees were so numb you didn’t even think you could stand. there wasn’t enough time for wonwoo to return the favour. you were sure he could smell the thick scent of your arousal, especially as it ruined your underwear and shone on your inner thighs.

but you didn’t care. having him use you for the night was enough.

“are you alright?” wonwoo asked, getting himself back in his pants.

you didn’t respond, just gripped onto his knee tightly and attempted to stand. your opyum heels were still on, and you nearly broke an ankle as the blood rushed into your legs. wonwoo stood also. he stabilized you by holding your shoulders, at least for a good minute. pulling back your sleeve, you rid the tears that stained your face with a quick wipe from your hand. you were going to have to be very speedy getting back to the house, unless you wanted your father to send the swat team after you.

“god,” you sighed with a raspy, dying voice, “i hate my life.”

wonwoo scoffed at you lightly.

“what lie did you tell them this time?”

you muttered, “i was going to the jewellers.”

“that’s a long time to be at the jewellers.”

“i know that,” you snapped quickly in response.

more tears pushed at your ducts. you couldn’t believe how unhappy you were, even despite having every material thing you could ever want. sometimes that particular thought would just pummel you out of nowhere and you’d fight back the urge to cry.

wonwoo’s hand cupped the side of your face. his thumb stroked gently beneath your eye and he leaned in to kiss your mouth softly. his tongue tasted like a cherry lollipop. he really was trying to quit smoking.

“what are you gonna do, babygirl?” wonwoo hummed, pressing his forehead against yours as he continued to brush your cheek.

you held his waist. “i dunno,” you croaked, “my parents don’t like you. my dad doesn’t want me near you.”

“then don’t tell him i fucked your face, princess. it’s easy.”

there was a puff of meek laughter in your chest. for a few more minutes, you let wonwoo hold you. it was the most comfortable and happy you’d felt all day. you were running short on time. the first thing you’d do when you get home would be to run a hot shower and most likely finger yourself while you thought about wonwoo’s cock lodged deep down your throat. maybe one day you’d really snap and stuff all your belongings in a suitcase and come live with him in the shitty scope of town.

but for now, that seemed unattainable.

you’d have to come up with another lie as to why you just spent two hours at the jewellers.

“the earrings were the most magnificent things i’d ever seen! i’m going to wear them for my modelling gig next month, in paris of course. i’ll even text you guys some photos of them when i get home. they have these little opal centres that absolutely sparkle.”

just one more word. if you had to listen to aria babble one more word about her modelling gig or her stupid opal earrings or her all-expense paid trip to paris then you might have to throw your glass of chardonnay in her face. those were the only three things she talked about. then the month would change and she’d have another three things to drive into the mud, yet everyone at the table ate up her words like they were a slice of chocolate cake. you were starting to develop a headache.

“that’s wonderful, aria!” ester was gleaming as she readjusted the strap on her pearl-white dress. you could just tell she was dying to incorporate tales of her own wealth into the conversation. “i can’t wait to see your modelling pictures. that reminds me, i still have some old videos from when i went parasailing in bali. do you guys wanna see them?”

everyone started crowding around ester’s side of the table, attempting to view the footage she was pulling up on her phone screen. however, you didn’t budge, and continued to stare with a dull look in your eyes out the bar’s front window. through the glass, you could see wonwoo standing at the street lamp with his friends, swirling around another lollipop from cheek to cheek. you wondered if it was cherry. his last flavour had been green apple. you tasted it on his tongue when he’d fucked you in the backseat of his car.

but that was a week ago.

“don’t you want to see?” ester was smiling at you.

winding your fingers around your thin wine glass, you shrugged. “i’ll pass.”

“suit yourself.” ester replied, and started to play her first video.

you hated everything about this situation.

wonwoo was right. you really didn’t have any friends, and that became especially clear as you observed everyone at the opposite end of the table, adoring ester’s cute, ditsy little parasailing videos that her boyfriend took. you wished you liked the same things these girls did. your life would be one-hundred times more enjoyable if you just embraced your sumptuous blessings and shed a couple brain cells to be on the same level as them.

then again, you didn’t want to be exactly like them.

they left you to get home by yourself just because you drank too much. at a bar.

pressing the wine glass against your lips, you tilted your head back and easily gulped down the remaining chardonnay. it was a pleasant coolness that streamed down your throat, and you slammed the glass onto the table once it was emptied; even slouched back in your seat and didn’t bother patting your lipstick dry with a tissue. aria raised an eyebrow at you. she looked like she was itching to say something. you were in the mood for a challenge. if she was going to make a passive aggressive comment, it better be soon.

“i hope you have a designated driver.” she finally decided to chuckle.

you rolled your eyes. “shut up, aria.”

ester and her friends immediately looked up from the phone.

“excuse me?” aria replied while tucking a strand of her behind her ear. she seemed a bit baffled by your sudden disdain. “i don’t believe i’ve ever heard you speak like that.”

you were beyond a point of caring. “what are you gonna do then? tattletale on me? you’re such a fake.”

“that’s way out of line.” ester intervened, staring you down intensely. “why are you acting like this?”

“whatever.” you stood up from the chair and reached for your coin purse, revealing a wadded clump of cash that you slapped on the lacquered table. admittedly, the alcohol concocted with your frustration (not to mention being around wonwoo’s snide personality) had quite the effect on your behaviour. if you never had to see these girls again, it would be too soon. you couldn’t believe that you’d even went through the effort of buying aria a christmas present. the only thing she gifted you was a card with her signature on it.

like that was fucking useful.

“i think you need to leave.” ester announced like you weren’t already gathering your things.

“exactly.” you falsely commended her.

she probably had a pea-sized diamond in her skull instead of an actual brain. “i’m leaving now before you guys get the chance to ditch me. don’t worry about it though. i can actually walk myself out this time.”

if only you had a camera ready to capture their gobsmacked expressions. it would have been embarrassingly laughable. you flicked past them toward the door and pushed into the nighttime air, which was crisp and wonderfully cold to your warmed flesh. you felt powerful for summoning the courage to break ties with them, and yet, at the same time, you found that you were on the verge of tears. they deserved to have their toxic behaviour thrown back in their face. it was just that you felt a bit broken.

now you truthfully were alone. well – apart from wonwoo.

you approached him as he stood at the corner, still suckling on his lollipop. him and his friends were in the midst of a humorous conversation when you tapped on wonwoo’s hard shoulder. you always wondered what they spoke about. it always seemed more interesting than the lifeless talk you once endured inside the bar. he didn’t seem all that surprised to see you, though he did look with concern at the watery film across your eyes. you could smell the sweetness of his lollipop; it had to be strawberry.

“are you okay?” wonwoo asked, his breath forming wispy cotton against the dark sky.

you ignored his question. “i want to go back to your place.” you told him.

“now?” he raised his eyebrow.

“yes. now would be good. i’ve just been thinking, and i really want you to eat me out.”

you didn’t care if his friends overheard. apparently, wonwoo didn’t care either. he smirked at you and licked his lips, though there remained a bit of uncertainty in his eyes. you had yet to answer his initial question. from inside the bar, you knew those girls were staring at you, watching you talk to wonwoo.

they were definitely going to tattle to your parents.

your fingers clawed mercilessly over the bed, practically uprooting the linens tucked beneath the mattress as wonwoo kept your thighs tightly locked apart. everything felt so dense, so hot, like the universe was pushing down on your chest and igniting flame inside of your body. you lifted your head off his pillow, only capturing a mere glimpse of his pink tongue gliding past your slit, the muscle coated purely in your arousal. he started to fuck you with his tongue, digging it as deep as he could within your heat.

unabashedly, you moaned, extremely loud and most likely disturbing everyone in his apartment complex. everything about the technicality and purpose of his movements was pushing you toward a climax that would be unlike any other. he was so impatient to get a taste of you that he hadn’t even taken your skirt off, instead bunching the pleated material up against your stomach while your underwear were thrown to the floor. suddenly, you were gasping, and your head collapsed back to the pillow.

wonwoo had managed to wriggle his hand between your thighs. as he ran his tongue in hot, fervent licks against your needy clit, he pushed two fingers inside of you, scissoring you open.

“ffuh-fuck, wonwoo!” you wailed, your hand grasping at his soft hair to keep his tongue against you. “it fe-feels s-so … s-so fucking go-good!”

he’d been taking his sweet time in building up your climax. you allowed him to have his way with you, since he knew how to work your body as though he were magic. his fingers started to curl. it didn’t take him long before they were hitching up into that one golden spot, the one that caused the entire room to whirl. you could tell that he was smiling. he began to messily circle his tongue around your clit. the sensation of the warm, wet muscle pleasuring your most sensitive region was leaving you breathless.

“c’mon, babygirl,” wonwoo mumbled against your core, his fingers thrusting up heavily and abusing that spot inside of you, “you gonna let go and let me taste your cum? you’re fucking dripping all over the bed.”

there was a glimmer of drool leaking from the edge of your mouth. you were so blissed out and crammed with euphoria that you could hardly articulate a response. wonwoo wasn’t giving you much of a chance either. he started a brisk pace rubbing his tongue against your clit, and then he closed his plump lips around you to better flick it with the pink muscle. his bicep was probably burning as he slammed his fingers deep into your heat, making you squelch. your slick had thoroughly soaked the sheets beneath you.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you panted, arching your chest into the air, “i-it’s s-so much, w-wonwoo—m’gonna—nngh—m’gonna cc-cum!”

wonwoo kept your hips pressed firmly to the mattress with one arm as your pleasure exploded. the tears easily streamed down your flustered, glossy face as this extreme contraction passed through you. it was incredibly wet, too wet, and you knew exactly what had happened as wonwoo pulled out his glistening fingers and completely buried his face between your thighs. god, it was fucking embarrassing. you would have curled away from him if wonwoo wasn’t so persistent. he kept licking at you, hard and fast.

at that point, your tears were no longer tiny beads. the sensitivity had left your nerves completely raw, and you sobbed helplessly as wonwoo continued to eat you out. his tongue felt like it was lapping everywhere, impatient and hungry. you tried to pull him away by dishevelled hair, but he swatted your hand back and bit down softly on your swollen clit. before you even knew what was happening, wonwoo had somehow forced your body into another orgasm. his tongue was inside of you as the second wave hit.

“pl-please,” you whimpered in utter fragility, the mixture of pleasure and pain becoming too overwhelming as wonwoo attempted to lick you clean, “pl-please, wonwoo… i-it huh-hurts..”

he chuckled against your sore flesh warmly. “are you sure you’re done, baby? bet i could make you squirt again if i was real gentle.”

“i-i don’t want to talk about it…” you said shakily. honestly, you didn’t even know your body was capable of feeling that much stimulation and pleasure. it was cosmic.

“awe, don’t be embarrassed,” wonwoo hummed, “you have no idea how fucking hot that was.”

“i don’t want to know.” you sighed.

wonwoo scoffed innocuously. he pecked the inside of your thigh, then each hip bone, before he crawled overtop of you and let you taste your own sweetness off his tongue. you spent a few minutes idly making out, smearing saliva over each other’s flushed lips, running your hands up and down his broad, hard chest, leaving scarlet rivulets along his biceps. wonwoo began teasing his fingers against your slit again, and you gasped into the kiss as his finger sunk into you, slowly, deeply.

“what’s wrong?” wonwoo asked while pumping the digit at a gentle pace.

“what do you mean?” you squeaked, staring into his brown eyes tinged with his earlier concern.

“you know what i mean,” wonwoo hummed, “why were you about to cry outside the bar? what happened?”

“are you sure we should discuss this while you’re fingering me?”

“baby, just tell me.” wonwoo urged with a comforting tone in his voice. he started to massage his thumb over your clit, and your entire body jolted.

you sniffled. “i-i just, i— i kind of cut ties with my friends. a-and i’m glad i did it but now i’m just gonna be even more a-alone.”

“of course not,” wonwoo shook his head, “you have me.”

“are you sure?”

slight amusement and shock coloured wonwoo’s face. he pulled his hand away from your core and looked like he wanted to laugh. you couldn’t blame him, but you also couldn’t help your insecurity.

“i’m sure, baby.” he told you firmly. “i’ll always be here for you. i promise.”

you smiled up at him, feeling your heart start to soften.

“can we take a shower?” you then proposed. “i want to get these tears off my face before they dry.”

while wonwoo was busy getting the water running inside the bathroom, you noticed your phone start to glow and vibrate on his nightstand. it was your mother’s number on the screen. taking a long, slow breath, you flipped your phone upside down and ignored the call. it was a risky move, but it felt almost healing in a sense to turn away from the stress in your life. instead, you focused on what mattered in the moment.

wonwoo joined you in the shower, the water gliding in silk-like pathways around his lean muscle and smooth skin. he pushed back his wet hair, sparkling droplets sticking heavy to his eyelashes. he pressed you against the tiles, and their icy touch sent a shiver up your spine. in the midst of the steam and heat, he was kissing you again, suckling softly on your tongue and squeezing your breasts in his hands. his aching length, hard and heavy, brushed between your thighs, to which your palm started to glide up his shaft.

he smiled against your mouth, “you want my cock inside you, babygirl?”

the fire slowly rebuilt itself from the embers in your stomach.

“yes please.” you lilted innocently.

wonwoo decided to press your front against the glass wall instead of the tile. his lips were leaving drifting pecks up your shoulder blade, and he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. a rough, deep groan filled your ear as wonwoo rubbed his cock between your folds, allowing your arousal to coat him generously. however, you were yearning to feel how he filled you entirely, until you could feel him nestled right to the brink. wriggling your hips against him, it was your non-verbal cue for him to start sliding in.

he cupped your breasts in his hands, whispering into your ear, “how should i fuck you, baby? do you want it hard?”

as impatient as you were, there was something about the atmosphere that told you to prolong your intimacy. “n-no,” you mumbled as the fog swathed around you, “s-slow, i want to feel you.”

your moan was almost louder than the water spraying against the tiles when wonwoo started to push inside of you. once he was buried as far as could fit, he started to grind into you, extending his pace so that you could truly feel his every inch and vein. his fingers were massaging your chest, the round flesh almost like velvet to his touch. everything about your body was endearingly soft and warm. he loved it.

“does it feel good, babygirl?” wonwoo purred. he was situated at such a pleasurable depth inside you that you felt like complete gelatine. he thrust into you a little harder, but it was enough to make you cry.

“s-so good,” you stuttered, licking the water off your lips. “do i feel good t-too?”

wonwoo smirked. he moved his hips at a shallow pace. “mmhm. you’re so tight and warm around me, baby. feels so perfect. how pretty do you think your pussy would look with my cum dripping out of it? should we try it?”

you pushed yourself back against his pelvis, “fill me up, wonwoo, please.”

“of course,” he grinned, and slowly dipped a hand down your stomach until you felt him begin to rub soft circles into your clit.

“let’s see how much you can take, babygirl.”

you were exhausted. you were sore. but you felt safe. you made an audacious decision and decided to spend the night at wonwoo’s rather than going home, where you knew you’d be greeted by an equally displeased mother and father that aria had snitched to. it was the first time you’d gone to bed without wearing pyjamas that weren’t expensive, pink satin. you were clad in nothing but one of wonwoo’s old t-shirts. he tried to give you one that didn’t still carry the scent of stale cigarette smoke.

his arm was around your waist, your spine resting comfortably against his chest while you lay together beneath the bedsheets. the sheet that was stained in your arousal had been tossed in the laundry hamper. you knew wonwoo would never stop teasing you about it. anyways, life felt different at his apartment; in fact, it felt better, especially when wonwoo kissed your temple before shutting off the light. your wealth had never been a defining factor in your personality, but it did make you consistently miserable.

that night, it was just you and a boy, a boy who you were quite positively in love with. maybe he loved you too. you weren’t completely certain yet, and you didn’t want to rush anything; however, you felt fairly confident his heart was likewise when he buried his face into your neck and wished you goodnight in his low, sleepy voice.

whatever your parents had to say, you’d find out tomorrow morning.

right now, you weren’t the rich girl, but a happy girl, and that mattered more to you than anything else.

#wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #jeon wonwoo #svt smut #svt fanfic #seventeen imagines

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moonbeambucky · 4 years

Text

Hey Neighbor (Part 10)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 4154 Warnings: fluff

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: You guys... this is fluff central plus I expect some screaming... A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 9 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

It was already dark as you headed up the steps from the subway station, shrugging your jacket a little closer to your body to keep out the chill. It wasn’t even officially winter but the cold weather had decided to make itself at home in New York.

Although you were exhausted from a long day at the hospital you were meeting up with your friends straight from work for an early get together. Someone had the bright idea that you should all go ice skating. It wasn’t your first choice considering you’re not that great at it but the promise of hot chocolate and sweets curbed your protests.

You walked with purpose through the massive crowds in Bryant Park, everyone with the same idea on a Saturday evening; wander through the shops and food stands set up for the holidays and ice skate in a place only slightly less crowded than Rockefeller Center.

A bluish white star shines high above the large tree, sparkling with its own multicolored lights. Beneath it is where you find your friends, huddled together to keep warm.

“Hey!” you shout approaching them.

Your arms wrap around puffy jackets, cold cheeks pressing together for kisses. A new person has joined your group’s hangout for the first time and you welcome her with open arms. Steve was head over heels for Peggy and although you were kind of sad he hasn’t been around much to hang out you wouldn’t trade his happiness for yours. Besides, Bucky’s sort of taken his place to come over and binge TV.

Sam took charge to lead everyone towards the skate rentals. With all the couples paired together you found yourself beside Bucky, trying to not get separated with everyone through the crowds.

“How was work today?” he asked, shouting over the mix of chatter and holiday music.

Your cheeks became tight with an uneasy frown and you didn’t have to explain further. Bucky knew how taxing social work could be. Not every day ends with positive results. Sometimes people refuse help and there’s nothing you can do about it, other times you see the end result of a situation that should have had an intervention years ago. But the system is flawed, so all you can do is your best.

His arm wraps around you and Bucky stops to pull you closer to him. The gesture of his embrace is met with scoffs by those he made stop short but Bucky ignores the angry stares. He squeezes a little tighter, an unspoken signal to let you know things will be okay; exhaling a sigh you know it will be.

No one noticed how the two of you lagged behind but you found your way to the booth, picking up ice skates and making your way to the locker area.

“Have you ever done this before?” you asked Bucky as you began tightening your laces.

Hair fell in front of his eyes as he tipped his head down to laugh. “I played hockey when I was twelve, so I’m hopin’ I’m not too bad. You?”

“I’m alright.”

Wanda whipped her head around immediately after hearing your words. “You’re such a liar!” She locked eyes with Bucky continuing, “Remember how Bambi was on ice?” He chuckled, nodding. “Well Y/N is a thousand times worse.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that fell from your lips. “Wanda you are so dramatic! I am not that bad.”

“Just watch out Barnes, when she falls– and she will– she grabs the nearest person and takes them down with her.”

Your eyes rolled back as you laughed again, telling Bucky to ignore Wanda. It had been a few years since you had gone ice skating and sure, you might be a little rusty but you were still feeling pretty confident.

By the time you got on the ice you had lost any shred of hope in your abilities. You were clinging to the rail trying to hold your balance despite your legs wanting to splay outwards, yelping every time someone swooshed by you gracefully.

“Hey Bambi,” Bucky teased, gliding towards you. “Take my hand.” He extended both hands to you, his soft smile doing its best to push aside your nerves.

Your grip on the railing strengthened as you let one hand go, taking his gloved hand with yours. Bucky held your gaze, blue eyes that spoke only trust as he encouraged you to let go. Your face scrunched tightly as you felt the nerves built up, but with one final push you released your hand and found his.

“Don’t let go of me,” you pleaded, shakily as Bucky skated backwards, pulling you towards the center of the rink.

“Never,” he practically purred, which was dangerous considering your knees already felt weak from the position they were in.

Bucky attempted to teach you how to skate because, as he suspected maybe there was some truth in what Wanda said about your abilities, or lack thereof. From the corner of your eye you spotted Natasha, slim fit leggings hugged her curves as she glided gracefully on the ice. She became a blur of red hair as she spun in place, with Clint smiling in awe at her.

“She and her sister used to do ballet,” he remarked towards you both as he waited for her to come out of the spin, her arms finding the familiar dancers pose above her head.

Your brows furrowed. “Sister?” You thought Natasha didn’t have a family; in fact you definitely remember her telling you her parents died a long time ago. She never once mentioned having a sister.

Reading the confusion on your face Clint filled in the rest. “Not her real sister but close enough like family. It’s another reason we’re having a hard time with the wedding. She’s in Russia, has a job that keeps her as busy as Nat so it’s hard to coordinate and Tash would definitely want her there.”

Clint left to join Natasha at her side and they skated together, as did Wanda and Sam. His distinct laugh stood out from the distance as they coasted along the outer portion of the rink. Even Steve who was always a little clumsy somehow became a near professional as he and Peggy skated by.

“How is everyone so good at this?” you huffed. The aggravation you felt with yourself made you lose focus for a moment, your legs nearly slipping on the ice but Bucky caught you.

Bucky’s voice was smoother than paved ice as he assured you, “You’ve got this. Just follow me.”

It was a slow start to learn how to actually skate, you still held one of Bucky’s hands as you marched on the ice and slowly you trusted his encouragement enough to let go. He skated right beside you as you turned your marching into tiny glides.

“You’re doing it!” he proudly cheered.

You smiled widely as you traveled along the ice, slow and steady. Bucky was showing off a bit, winking at you before he spun around, looking over his shoulder to skate backwards. He glided beautifully across the ice, effortless and full of fun. Your small strides were good but not as freeing as the way he moved.

Maybe it was the confidence you felt in accomplishing a very basic move but you wanted to make Bucky proud, step it up and really go for it. Without instruction you took off, pushing your blades harder into the ice to take longer strides.

Liberated was not the word you would use to describe your current mood. It was fear that settled deep within your bones. The fear of your legs shaking with unease, wobbling with every stride as you picked up speed. The fear of wanting to stop but realizing you never learned how. The fear that you were about to collide into–

“Bucky!” you shrieked just before you slammed into him.

It happened so fast. Bucky was thrown off guard by the way you knocked into him. He tried to regain his balance and keep himself from falling but you weren’t helping. Panicked by the fear of hitting the ice, you grabbed onto him, legs flailing wildly– like Bambi, as you tried to regain your footing on the slippery surface.

Your frantic grabs were a little too forceful, thwarting any of Bucky’s attempts to keep you both upright and within seconds you slammed to the ice pulling Bucky down with you.

After the initial shock of falling on the cold hard surface, panic washed over your body and you looked over at Bucky hoping you hadn’t hurt him. His legs were out as he sat hunched over, his hair had come apart from the neat bun it was previously in and worst of all, he was silent.

“B-Bucky...” you spoke hesitantly, “You okay?”

Your muscles ached as you pushed yourself to your knees. Bucky still hasn’t said anything. It felt like the ice cracked beneath you, with anxiety wrapping its claw around your leg and pulling you underwater.

You swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath before you began extending your hand towards him. A sudden roar of laughter startled you, your heart skipped a beat as your arm snapped back beside you.

A deep rumble came from the bottom of his stomach as Bucky’s entire face lit up bright red with laughter. Bucky couldn’t stop laughing, even as he slowly stood up, assisting you to your feet as well.

You were still holding hands, giggling about what happened when Wanda skated over.

“I warned you,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her.

You and Bucky looked at each other, not even trying to stop the way your lips were pulling into smiles, your eyes crinkling as you both burst out with laughter.

It was decided that ice skating was over for you. You let the group know you’d be grabbing something to eat while they continued to enjoy the rink and not crash into each other.

“Do you want food food or snacks?” you asked, looking at the options of the various places within the glass atrium.

“How about both?” he answered, chuckling.

There were a lot of things to choose from so you decided to split a few things to try a bit of everything. You paid, insisting you had to after knocking into him on the ice.

Bucky carried the food to a table that was cramped in between other seats. You apologized as you elbowed him while trying to take off your jacket. It was warm inside thanks to all of the kitchens, a wonderful contrast to the weather outside. You sat underneath a canopy of lights with a perfect view of the rink and Christmas tree enjoying each other’s company.

“Are you excited?” Bucky asked about your upcoming trip as he took a swig of his spiced ale.

“Yeah, I can’t wait to go home. I haven’t been back since June.” Seeing your parents just a few times a year is not what you envisioned but you knew living in New York meant making sacrifices.

“How are you going to survive a week without me?” Bucky teased, leaning closer to you as he grabbed some fries.

You smiled, teasing back, “I’ll have to blast some music through the walls to remember you by.”

Bucky playfully nudged your shoulder and you both laughed, unaware you had company. Clint and Natasha stood in front of your table asking if they could join you. It had gotten a lot more crowded since you first got there and that felt like something you should have noticed but you and Bucky were so lost within your conversation you hadn’t paid attention.

“Mmmm this is so good,” Bucky said, with his mouthful of food, rolling his eyes back as he savored his s’mores doughnut. “Have some.”

He broke apart a large piece for you but your hands were still sticky from the caramel buns. You opened your mouth as a joke for him to feed you and unexpectedly he did, which led to more laughter as you asked for a napkin to wipe away the gooey marshmallow from the corner of your mouth.

Natasha and Clint shared a look with each other, and she smirked, raising her brow towards him. Clint signed something towards you that you didn’t quite understand. Something about you and Bucky with “sugar” possibly? You were still learning ASL so you weren’t really sure.

“Did you want some?” you pointed to your plate of desserts, in case that’s what they were talking about.

Clint declined and Natasha spoke up, repeating the word he was signing before with her hands. “It means cute.”

Your brows furrowed for a moment as you watched Clint sign again, “You look cute with Bucky.”

The realization hit you making you roll your eyes and chuckle. You brought your hand up to your mouth, closing your fingers against your thumb as you signed for him to “shut up.” This time you caught Natasha’s smirk and promptly ignored it, all while Bucky was clueless to the conversation happening in front of him.

“Don’t worry about it,” you reassured him, staring back at Clint and Natasha.

Being back at home was a nice reprieve from constantly being on the go in New York. Here you could stop and take a breath, your mind quiet and at peace instead of hearing noise– all day there was noise. Jackhammers, car horns, people shouting, music playing. It was the music you missed the most ironically.

You had grown accustomed to Bucky as your neighbor, and even though he no longer blasted the music through the walls you were always privy to hear what he was working on.

Kicking off your comforter, you got up from the bed to grab your phone that had been charging across the room. Since you left home your parents rearranged your old bedroom into a guest room, not taking into consideration the location of outlets. You tried not to be on your phone too much considering you had been away from them for months but now as they’ve gone to sleep you’re up and kind of bored, so you decided to check in on your friends.

You scroll through notifications, watching Instagram stories of Steve teasing Sam at the gym, Wanda posted a photo with her mom and another at Pietro’s grave which made your heart feel heavy in your chest. And then there was Bucky.

He brought the smile back to your face with the latest photo he texted you. The day after you went ice skating you woke up to a surprise, a selfie of him in the mirror. His shirt was lifted up slightly revealing a very toned stomach. He faced the side mostly as one hand was pulling down the fabric of his sweatpants revealing a large deep purple bruise that seemed to spread across his hip and backside. The overly exaggerated expression of pain on his face really sold the picture and you burst out laughing.

Every few days you were sent new photos as Bucky continued to tease you about the fall and today’s was no different. His bruise faded into a greenish splotch on his skin and Bucky crudely drew the outline of a tree around it with a messy yellow star on top.

You: Cute

Bucky: You think my butt is cute?

You chuckled at the gif that followed, Milhouse suggestively raising his eyes, and promptly responded.

You: It looked better when it was purple

The rest of the night was spent texting back and forth until your eyes became too heavy and you fell asleep. A few days later you wished Bucky a Merry Christmas, bursting out with laughter during breakfast with your family as you saw his latest picture.

Bucky smiled through the white shaving cream that was spread across his face in the shape of a beard. He even coated his eyebrows with it; the perfect touch to go with his red Santa hat.

Your mom asked what was so funny but you shrugged it off saying it was nothing. You’re not exactly sure why but you supposed it was easier to dismiss it than hear a speech about dating. Besides, you and Bucky were just friends.

Finishing the final touches of your makeup you took a moment to check everything in your bathroom mirror. Makeup done, hair perfect, earrings… Now where did you put those? Oh right! Your heels clacked along your floor as you strode towards your dresser, picking up the sparkling drop earrings that went perfectly with your outfit.

Standing in front of your floor length mirror, you put them on, admiring your outfit. You were going to Clint and Natasha’s New Years Eve party and the invitation stated to dress in cocktail attire.

You picked out a beautiful dress, shimmering in blush pink sequins that fell just above your knees. The collar was high and the sleeves were long, perfect for the bitter winter of New York; though you hoped you wouldn’t be too hot considering the amount of people that were going to be packed in a small apartment.

Turning around you admired the rhinestones that decorated the heels of your champagne colored pumps. A knock at your door pulled you out of the sparkly trance and you knew it was Bucky. You agreed to be ready at this time so you could head upstairs together.

Opening the door you greeted Bucky with a big smile, taking in the way he wore the hell out of a slate blue suit. You had never seen him this dressed up before but he looked great. His shirt was a darker blue and the contrast between both really brought out his eyes.

You were so preoccupied by Bucky’s suit you completely missed the way he stood there frozen in silence. His mouth was agape, heart pounding a little harder against his chest as he just looked at you.

Realizing he had been staring for too long Bucky forced words to come out of his mouth. “Y/N… Y-you look incredible.”

Heat crept on your cheeks after hearing his comments, turning away to smile a little too awkwardly.

“I need like half a minute if that’s okay.”

“Take your time. It’s not like we have far to travel.”

Bucky made himself comfortable on your couch. Although you had music playing he couldn’t pay attention to it. His eyes were drawn to you and he felt… well truthfully he felt a bit like a creep, staring at your bare legs and those sexy heels.

Exhaling a deep breath, Bucky pulled out his phone trying to distract himself as you finished getting ready. He’s not sure what else you needed to do since you already looked perfect. Beyond perfect, you were stunning, beautiful… and there his mind goes again.

“Hey, would it be too much to ask if you can hold my keys?” you asked, pulling Bucky out of his thoughts. “My bag is small and I don’t want it scratching up my phone.”

“Yeah, ‘f course.” He smiled, standing up now that you seemed ready to go.

After locking your door Bucky secured your keys in his pocket and you walked to the elevators. His eyes were glued to your back, staring at your skin through the open cut out of the dress.

The quick ride felt awkward as Bucky forced himself to look straight ahead but it was difficult, your dress sparkled in the hazy reflection of the elevator doors. It was impossible to not look at you, shining like the brightest star against the backdrop of night.

“Wanda said Sam has to work tonight.”

He’s thankful for the small talk to focus his thoughts. “Oh really? That sucks. Is she still coming?”

The doors open and Bucky extends his arm for you to walk out first. “Yeah she’s on her way.”

You walked down the hall to Clint and Natasha’s apartment, with their front door being above Bucky’s but that’s where the similarities ended. As Natasha welcomed you inside you were in shock.

Their apartment was double the size, with a bright open space made brighter by the white walls and sleek black furniture. To the left was their kitchen with a marble island that looked wider than your bathroom. To the right was a closet and a giant bathroom complete with an enviable washer and dryer. The modern fixtures made everything look incredibly high end. Their bedroom was smaller but still they had a bedroom, unlike the studio apartments you and Bucky rented.

Natasha introduced you to some of the other guests. Some were Clint’s friends and coworkers and some were her own. She introduced her bosses, Matt and Franklin, and their dates Karen and Marci who were also her coworkers. Despite her collected exterior you knew she was nervous, this was the first time she was hosting them and she was eager to make a good impression.

Clint greeted you and Bucky offering to get you drinks. You made polite conversation with them until Steve and Peggy arrived, excusing yourself to say hello. Wanda was right behind them, pouting deeply as she sighed about not being able to kiss Sam when the ball drops.

“Foggy Bear, I’ll be right back,” Marci cooed, kissing him on the cheek, walking away with Karen following her.

He blushed, as a goofy smile spread across his face. “Heh, you know how it is.” He turned towards Bucky to ask, “How long have you and Y/N been dating?”

Bucky choked on his drink, coughing and turning a little red. “Y/N? Oh no, no, we’re just friends.” He felt a little embarrassed for making a scene, half wondering if the thoughts he had about you earlier were written all over his face.

Matt cocked his head, clasping his hands on the handle of his long cane. He wondered if he should tell Bucky he could hear the way his heart raced when Y/N was by his side. Instead he smiled in a way that said more than words could and Foggy seemed to understand.

Bucky excused himself to mingle, finally saying hello to the rest of his friends that he spent most of the night with.

“One minute until midnight!” Clint shouted, raising the volume of the television that showed shots of a crowded Times Square filled with people as frozen as they were excited to be ringing in the new year.

All of the couples quickly got together leaving you, Wanda and Bucky awkwardly standing beside each other.

“I’m gonna call Sam,” she said, heading to the bathroom for a better chance at hearing him through the noise.

The clock was ticking by and you chuckled awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

“So…”

“We don’t have to kiss,” he reassured you with a smile.

It was nice to not feel the pressure, although as you looked around the room seeing everyone together you felt out of place.

“We could though,” you said, meekly. “It’s tradition… to start the year with good fortune.”

Ten! Nine! Eight! ...

Bucky’s heart was racing quickly. “O-only if you want.”

You nodded, smiling and he swallowed a thick lump.

Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!

Cheers erupted all around you followed by only the sounds coming from the announcers on TV as everyone paired together, heads tilting to lock lips.

You smiled coyly at Bucky, looking down and chewing on your lip. He took a step closer, and you lifted your head towards his. It was all too fast and yet agonizingly slow at once as his hand raised to cup your jaw.

Your eyes locked, and you were entranced by the way his pupils grew wider the closer he got. Bucky’s gaze went down to your lips, perfectly painted lips that fell slightly open awaiting his kiss.

Bucky leaned in, his eyes beginning to close until he felt the press of your hands against his chest. A small smile tugged on his lips and Bucky closed the gap between you. Your lips were soft against his as you kissed him, parting your mouth just enough for him to feel a slip of your tongue that sent sparks flying across his body.

He kissed back, his soft lips caressing yours skillfully and unlike anything you had felt before. Your mind wandered briefly to the amount of women he’s kissed before. Have they all been like this? You push aside those thoughts to enjoy the moment, reveling in the magic of his lips. Bucky has stolen your breath away and you let him.

A soft hum fell from your lips as you let go, your foreheads pressed together now as you try and catch your breath. As the TV showed fireworks erupting over the Hudson you felt your own, exploding in the pit of your stomach, unsure if this means good fortune or something else entirely.

PART 11

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series

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olderthannetfic · 4 years

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It's really surprising that you're so well versed in older fandoms and yet participate in new popular ones (that cdrama, kpop) is this by design? Im in my twenties and my interest turnover is already way slower than it used to be

You know, that’s a really interesting question. I wouldn’t say it’s by design exactly in that I do tend to just follow what strikes my fancy, and I can’t force myself to want to write fic for just anything. (I find it easier to like reading fic without serious involuntary emotional investment, but writing takes more. Vidding I can do on command most of the time, but I don’t usually bother unless I have a lot of feels or I’m fulfilling someone’s prompt.)

However, me getting into BTS was 100% due to me wanting to understand BTS enough to explain to people who weren’t very interested but wanted to know what was going on in fandom lately. Under normal circumstances, I run the dance party at Escapade, the oldest extant slash con. We borrowed vividcon’s thing of playing fanvids on the wall--all of them set to dance music--as the soundtrack for the dance party. This means I’m creating a 3-hour mixtape of fannishness, which has amazing potential to make people feel in the know about Fandom Today... and equal potential to make them feel alienated if nothing they care about shows up. Only about 100-150 people attend the con, so it really is possible to make a playlist that feels inclusive yet informative--it just takes a huge amount of work.

Every year, I do a lot of research on which fandoms are getting big and look for vids from vidders people won’t have heard of, so there is an element of consciously trying to keep up with things. Generally, I only get into these fandoms myself if I had no idea what they were and then suddenly, oops, they’re my kryptonite, like the buddy cop android plot in Detroit: Become Human, which sucked me in hard for like 6 months on the basis of a vid.

(So if you’re into cross-fandom meta and associated stuff as one of your fannish interests, you tend to have broader knowledge of different fandoms, old and new, than if you’re just looking for the next place you’ll read fic. It’s also easier to love vids for unfamiliar things than fic.)

But though I was only looking for a basic primer on BTS, BTS has 7 members with multiple names and no clear juggernaut pairing, not to mention that AU that runs through the music videos and lots of other context to explain. The barrier to understanding WTF was going on at all was high enough that to know enough to explain, I had to be thoroughly exposed... And once I was over that hurdle, oops, I had a fandom.

In terms of old vs. new, here’s the thing: kpop fandoms in English and c-drama fandoms in English right now feel a lot like anime fandom in English did in the early 00s. I had a Buddy Cops of the 70s phase in the middle, but my current fannishness is actually a return to my older fannishness in many ways.

What do I mean about them being similar?

Yes, I know some wanker will show up to say I think China, Korea, and Japan are indistinguishable, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the way that I used to routinely meet Italian and French and German fans, Argentinian and Mexican, Malaysian and Indonesian and Filipino too. English-language fandom of SPN or MCU may have all those fans from all those countries, but it feels very American most of the time. English-language fandom of a non-English-language canon is more overtly about using English as a lingua franca.

It also tends to attract people who as a sideline to their fannishness are getting into language learning and translation, which are my other passion in life after fanworks fandom. (I speak only English and Spanish and a bit of Japanese, but I’ve studied German, French, Russian, Mandarin, Old English, and now Korean.)

Nerds arguing about methods of language learning and which textbooks are good and why is my jam. This is all over the place in English-language fandoms of Chinese, Japanese, and Korean media. Those fandoms also tend to be full of speakers coming from a Germanic or Romance languages background who face similar hurdles in learning these languages. (In other words, if you’re a native Japanese speaker trying to learn Korean, the parts that will be hard for you are different than if you’re an English speaker, but you’re also usually not doing fandom in English.)

There’s also an element of scarcity and difficulty of access and a communal attempt to construct a canon (in the other sense) of stuff from that country that pertains to one’s fannishness. So, for example, a primer explaining the genre of xianxia is highly relevant to being a n00b Untamed fan, but just any old thing about China is not. A c-drama adapted from a danmei webnovel is perhaps part of the new pantheon of Chinese shit we’re all getting into, but just any old drama from decades ago is probably not... unless it’s a genre precursor to something else we care about. Another aspect here is that while Stuff I Can Access As A N00b Who Doesn’t Speak The Language may be relatively scarce, there’s a vast, vast wealth of stuff that exists.

This is what it felt like to be an anime fan in the US in 2000. As translation got more commercial and more crappy series were licensed and dumped onto an already glutted market, the vibe changed. No longer were fans desperately trying to learn enough of the language to translate or spending their time cataloguing what existed or making fanworks about a show they stuck with for a bit: the overall community focus turned to an endless race of consumption to keep up with all of the latest releases. That’s a perfectly valid way of being fannish, but if I wanted that, I’d binge US television 24/7.

Anime fandom got bigger, but what I liked about anime fandom in English died, and I moved on. (Okay, I first moved on to Onmyouji, which is a live action Japanese thing, but still.)

Hardcore weeaboos and now fans of Chinese and Korean stuff don’t stop at language: people get excited about cooking, my other other great passion. Times a thousand if the canon is something like The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty, which is full of loving shots of food preparation. People get excited about history! Mandarin and Japanese may share almost nothing in terms of grammar or phonology, but all of East Asia has influence from specific Chinese power centers historically, and there are commonalities to historical architecture and clothing that I love.

I fell out of love with the popular anime art styles as they changed, and I’m not that into animation in general these days. (I still own a shitton of manga in art styles I like, like Okano Reiko’s Onmyouji series.) I’ve become a filmmaker over the last decade, and I’m very excited about beautiful cinematography and editing. With one thing and another, I’m probably not going to get back into anime fandom, but it’s lovely to revisit the cultural aspects I enjoyed about it via live-action media.

BTS surprised me too, to be honest. I really dislike that early 90s R&B ballad style that infests idol music (not just Korean--believe me, I resisted many rounds of “But Johnny’s Entertainment though!” back in the day). While I like some of the dance pop, I just don’t care. But OH NO, BTS turn out to be massive conscious hip hop fanboys, and their music sounds different. I have some tl;dr about my reactions in the meta I wrote about one of my fanvids, which you can find on Dreamwidth here.

But back to your comment about turnover: I know fans from the 70s who’ve had one great fannish love and that’s it and more who were like that but eventually moved on to a second or third. They’re... really fannishly monogamous in a way I find hard to comprehend. It was the norm long ago, but even by the 90s when far more people were getting into fandom, it was seen as a little weird. By now, with exponentially more people in fandom, it’s almost unheard of. I think those fans still exist, even as new people joining, but we don’t notice them. They were always rare, but in the past, only people like that had the stamina to get over the barriers to entry and actually become the people who made zines or were willing to be visibly into fanfic in eras when that was seen as really weird. On top of that, there’s an element of me, us, judging the past by what’s left: only people with an intense and often single passion are visible because other people either drifted away or have seamlessly disappeared into some modern fandom. They don’t say they’re 80 or 60 or 40 instead of 20, so nobody knows.

In general, I’m a small fandoms and rare ships person. My brain will do its best to thwart me by liking whatever has no fic even in a big fic fandom... (Except BTS because there is literally fic for any combination of them, like even more than for the likes of MCU. Wow. Best fandom evar!) So I have an incentive to not get complacent and just stick with one fandom because I would very soon have no ability to be in fandom at all.

My appetite for Consuming All The Things has slowed way down, but it also goes in waves, and a lot of what I’m consuming is what I did back in 2000: journal articles and the limited range of English-language books on the history of m/m sex and romance in East Asia. It’s not so much that I have a million fandoms as that I’m watching a few shows as an expression of my interest in East Asian costume dramas and East Asian history generally.

I do like to sit with one thing and experience it deeply rather than moving on quickly, but the surface expression of this has changed depending on whether I’m more into writing fic or more into doing research or something else.

But yes, I do do a certain amount of trying to stay current, often as a part of research for fandom meta or to help other people know what’s going on. Having a sense of what’s big doesn’t automatically mean getting into all those things, but I think some fans who are older-in-fandom and/or older-in-years stop being open to even hearing what’s new. And if you’ve never heard of it, you’ll never know if you might have liked it.

#fandom meta #fandom history #Anonymous

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crowsent · 4 years

Text

a fuckton of things i want in da4

a few words censored bc tumblr will swallow this in the void if i dont. long ass fuck list ahead

a romanceable dwarf

more romanceable elves/qunari

more elf/qunari/dwarf companions

consistent writing for once

more nb representation

good hair. please just give me good hair options. give me long hair. give me luxurious flowing locks. give me braids. give me good fucking hair options

let me shittalk the chantry

dalish elf npcs that impact the plot in unique ways

dalish elf companions that are proud of being dalish

if it is set in tevinter maybe uh. maybe address the issue of systemic oppression (and slavery) of elves???????

a return of the friendship/rivalry system in da2 but improved. maybe instead of a friendship rivalry sliding scale its friendship/rivalry/animosity sliding scale. bc rivalry is more like. two people pushing each other to be better than they were before. friendly competition. hes an idiot but hes my idiot kind of deal. animosity would be just regular disapproval. i liked the crisis cutscenes in dai so high animosity would be the same as low approval and might make the companion leave still, but theres more variety with high approval. high approval “friendship” would be the “were best friends and we share many opinions and agree on almost everything” while high approval “rivalry” being “we disagree on almost everything but goddamn it youre my friend and ill follow you into the fade if i have to” so you can have a high approval with someone instead of being a kissass

actions and choices having consequences again

multiple endings again (epilogue slideshows dont count)

dialogue wheels with descriptions that match what you actually say

characters from rivain, antiva, anderfels, etc

gifts. bring back the gifts. i want to give my companions gifts

maybe. maybe a focus of non-andrastian religion for once?

let me shittalk the chantry

i know its a stretch, but maybe. diverse skin colours. please?

nd characters that are written respectfully and treated w dignity

please bring back the talent wheel from dao and da2

more bi romance options

more wlw romance options

more mlm romance options

ace romance options

nb romance options

background romances

let me shittalk the chantry

far fetched but maybe a polycule?

i lowkey LOVED the fast-paced feel of da2s combat so maybe bring that back in some form? maybe improved to mesh with the tactics of dai to give players absolute freedom of playstyle whether they want to be like me and rush into every encounter or play more strategically

companions with unique companion abilities

would be nice to explore cities

would be nice if the open world were a little smaller so it doesnt feel empty all the gd time

more mage spells. mages felt like just another class of fighter to me in dai. they dont really have any awe-inducing wow factor like in dao or even da2. if the narrative wants me to believe that mages are powerful and dangerous and that it takes multiple templars to hunt down an apostate, maybe show that? give me strong mages

remove the jump ability. its pointless

a narrative that addresses the oppression that the chantry and templars perpetuated please

bring back the attributes

make the choices in dai matter. mages governing themselves? i wanna see that

let me shittalk the chantry

please bring back the healing magic for fucks sakes

multi-class system between rogues and warriors?

multiple specialisations that feel like specialisations and not just skill tree+

player-only skill trees

hardening

companion quests that affect their abilities and further dialogue

actual morally grey choices instead of this stupid mage freedom vs templar oppression narrative that is in no way morally grey but is presented as such and thus leaves the conflicts and narratives set up by dao and da2 to be fucking meaningless

bring back the tactics

would be nice to have an origins-esque prologue again. maybe one that would determine future events in game just to give your character better narrative cohesion with the plot

an approval/disapproval system but for companions with other companions. bringing certain companions together may bring them closer or make them pissed off with each other which affects banter maybe quests maybe combat

give me a fucking mabari bioware. give me back my fucking mabari

day/night cycle

a nightmare mode where you have to finish the main quest on a time limit. it is absurd that dai expects me to believe that i have all this time to do wartable missions that can take literal real life DAYS to finish and still thwart corypheus’ plans in time. bullshit

that said. no more wartable missions. waiting for a countdown to finish isnt very fun

let me shittalk the chantry

kal-sharok. ive been hearing about it since dao let me fucking see kal-sharok

dwarven politics

politics in general. my fav dao quest was the succession crisis plotline in orzammar/the landsmeet and wewh in dai

npcs i can talk to. even with generic dialogue like in dao. makes the world more alive

using the environment to your advantage. far fetched but i would love to be able to pull down boulders if were in the mountains or freeze water to get to places as a mage

home base customisation but the customisation choices you make actually. mean something. and do something. or at the very least give more companion dialogue/banter/approval change

laconic and ergonomic codexes. like. sorted by what kind of codex it is, etc etc but then you just get a brief summary of the codex and the option to read more about it so i dont spend eternity scrolling through cards looking for a specific codex entry. cool aesthetic dont get me wrong but real irritating to deal with. also. maybe. the pc making comments about the codex if you do read more about it? like a dalish elf saying “they got it all wrong” when reading a codex about dalish elves written by a human??? that would a) give character to the pc b) incentivise people to actually read the codex to see what was so wrong about it c) summarise the codex for people who want to learn the lore but dont want to spent the entire game reading text

maybe have the merchants in your home base close to crafting stations so you dont have to take a fucking hike if you miscounted the amount of elfroot you need?

let me shittalk the chantry

avvar companion maybe??? interesting lore right there

bring back stat requirements for weapons and remove the class restriction for most shit. obviously a dagger would be better for a rogue than a longsword and a mage would do better with a staff than a sword and shield but its not about efficiency. its about the roleplay. its about the options. give me the option to make a mage with wildly inappropriate stat distribution

bring back sustained mode abilities

traps. bring back traps. bring back the option to stealth into an area, trap the fuck out of it, and go from there

have the three available classes in kind of a rock paper scissors scenario. warriors do real well against rogues who do real well against mages who do real well against warriors. so you can plan your party depending on who/what youll face AND how much their approval will change during the quest you take them on

let me shittalk the chantry

actually resolve the plot points introduced in dai

a more threatening villain. the inquisitor thwarted every attempt made by corypheus in dai. he was not threatening at all

queer characters. background, companions, etc. queer characters

mounts were meh in dai. maybe. make them faster? or less cumbersome? or have your companions on mounts too so theres still banter?

i liked the armour tinting. let me have armour tinting from the beginning

i would really like mages to move and attack at the same time bc lowkey standing in one spot is uhhhhhhh kinda boring

let me check companions friendship/rivalry levels

would be nice if the narrative acknowledged that elves suffered greatly at the hands of the chantry and stopped victim-blaming them

more taverns. specifically like tapsters in dao where theres a dwarf just reciting something in a language i cant understand and if you look its a ballad/poet about dwarven culture and that was a real nice touch let me have that

dalish elf clan. dalish elf clan that does not get murdered please and thank you

meaningful quests. more cinematic dialogue

make found gear / quest reward gear more valuable than crafted gear

game modifiers like in dai were real nice. i want more

let me shittalk the chantry

quests that can be resolved in multiple ways. like connors fate in dao. and for those ways to impact further quests

companions with varying moral alignments

companions that are mutually exclusive (like alistair and loghain) but are both good companions so itd really make you think

a pc that IS NOT a “chosen one” vanilla da2 is my fav dragon age game for one reason and one reason only and that is because hawke is just some random refugee who escaped lothering. no chosen one magic at all. just an ordinary person who is a real good fighter. and that appealed to me more than this “you are the only one who can do it” narrative

let me meet more elvhen gods

if the setting is in tevinter, GIVE ME FUCKING ARCHITECTURE. give me the high spires, the archways, the buttresses, give me statues lining city gates and magic infused into the buildings. tevinter is a land ruled by MAGES give me magical architecture. give me floating buildings. give me fire floating as orbs above the streets like lamps. GIVE ME ARCHITECTURE

SHALE

let me shittalk the chantry

PIERCINGS GIVE ME FUCKING PIERCINGS BIOWARE

more main quests, longer main quests

if it is set in tevinter maybe. maybe address the fact that tevinter has been at war with the qunari for a while? on and off war is still war. and maybe give us the option to influence the outcome of that war?

more voice options. instead of just american voice or british voice, do the thing in dao again where there are multiple voices of different tones to further cement the pcs personality

more armour designs

biased but uh. can. can taliesen jaffe va a character?

i already said qunari companions but specifically saarebas companions

blood magic

FINISHING MOVE ANIMATIONS

please do not let it be as long as inquisition. inquisition was a SLOG in later playthroughs

body sliders. what if i want a tall but lanky qunari? what if i want a buff as shit elf? body sliders

more eye options

let me call out companions

btw bioware. if you really wanted cullen to be a good guy. maybe handle his fucking redemption arc a little better instead of retconning all the terrible and creepy shit hes done in the past k thx

can female walk/run animations not have. so much swaying hips? no one moves like that

personality dialogue that affects future dialogue like in da2 but meshed with the wider range of emotions introduced by dai

keep the race/s*x lock on romance candidates like in dai. keep the fact that some characters can only be romanced by certain races or s*xes

nb and genderqueer options for the pc

cutscenes of companions interacting

ngl i lowkey liked the random encounters of dao so maybe bring that back

my fav quest in dao is the landsmeet / orzammar succession crisis questline but you know whats my second favourite? the rescue mission if the warden gets captured and you have to play as your party members. give me that again

more creepy/dark shit. dai was too lighthearted for me esp after da2 and dao

let me shittalk the chantry

broodmothers. in hd.

red lyrium broodmothers. in hd

companions with different backgrounds. different faiths. different statuses. different families. etc

maybe make the pcs appearance make an impact on the story? like how bull says he likes redheads, but even if you are a redhead, he says nothing about it????? maybe keep track of which slider the player picks so that can affect the story?

i love my inquisitors but maybe. dont. bring the inquisitor in as anything more than an advisor/npc in this game? let me fall in love with a new pc???

if theres gonna be a homebase like skyhold where youre not in armor. maybe give us better clothing?

a kind of gear skin mechanic similar to ac:odyssey where you can change how the gear looks but keep the stats. so you can equip that higher level armour and keep the look and aesthetic of your old armour and you unlock the skins/looks of the armours you discover/make so you can be both powerful AND aesthetic

i enjoyed the nobility/underworld/arcane/etc knowledge in dai unlocking more dialogue options so maybe keep/expand on that but make it more accessible by side missions or companions or something that isnt the abysmal perk system in dai

let me shittalk the chantry

customisable walking animations. does the pc walk straightbacked? slouched? with a swagger? please

since there will undoubtedly be an obligatory fade sequence, maybe have an option for nightmare demons that ARENT spiders. thank you

slap on subtitles and conlang some languages. i want to hear elvish. i want to hear tevene. give me the languages

more dragons. esp if they look vastly different

more bard songs

i am completely biased here, but i would like to hear laura bailey as a va for a character. preferably a voice option for the pc

hey maybe have the true ending actually included in the base game and not in a dlc (tresppasser cough cough)

better val royeaux

please remove the had to do it to em idle animation tis distracting

on that note, more idle animations. maybe some unique to companions?

very trivial but. unique stair climbing/descending animation

bring back talking to companions on the road. maybe with some dialogue that can only be said on the road???

if banter is interrupted, make like rdr2 and pick up where the banter left off

more vallaslin designs please?

if theres another formal scene like dai maybe. give us. decent clothing. or better yet, decen clothing OPTIONS. i wanna decide how i look in a ball full of haughty orlesians

mage vs templar conflict resolved and addressed please. it is NOT resolved in dai. what we got was sequel bait and a slideshow. resolve it please

let me shittalk the chantry

a pro-mage anti-circle circle mage companion like anders

religious person who doesnt victim-blame elves in the codex or in game or anywhere please

characters more like leliana who question the chantry and acknowledge its corruption and greed

unapologetically sapphic companion

idc if its tevinter i dont want to fucking see queer people being disrespected

a true tal-vashoth companion, one who escaped from the qun

have quest decisions affect whether or not a companion will turn hostile to you or not

if IF solas will be redeemed, please do the redemption arc right

more horn options for qunari

an apostate mage who doesnt use me for their personal agenda whilst hiding something from me (morrigan, anders, solas) thanks

i really dig the whole “leader of an army” thing dai was trying to go for. but you didnt actually. lead. anything. would be nice to have that option. command soldiers. send them places that affect further quests. would even use the wartable for its intended purpose. planning wars. battles. like. you get sent word that there are bandits harassing villagers. you can set up an ambush with your soldiers or confront them headon, and theres a new mini-location on the map like the manor you meet vivienne in where you can go deal with the bandits and depending on your choices, there are actually soldiers with you in a field, or traps in a narrow pass, or even in a city. id rather the wartable shit dont return but if they have to, at least this way youre not just waiting real life time for a bunch of text to appear

i am real fucking excited for the possibility that da4 companions can just fucking die on you. good shit. give me that angst

missions that certain companions would refuse to go with you to. you know. so you actually have to use other members of your party instead of the same 3 (three) people all the goddamn time

disabled characters (i want a character who suffers from the same chronic bad leg disease as i do is that too much to ask)

kinda touched on by the da2 combat point but let me do close combat damage with the staff

no multiplayer. and if there is a multiplayer, dont tie it with achievements

let me fucking explore weisshaupt

(i dont think solas will be the endgame villain of da and i dont think da4 will be the last da game but still) again. for emphasis. resolve the plot points dai brought up

full-body scars and tattoo options

companions and npcs changing their opinions about things over time. eg: a pro-circle mage wanting instead for circles to be abolished after a specific side mission or a main quest decision etc

keep the multiple companion quests. and maybe change what kinds of companion quests are available further down depending on choices made in previous companion quests

please for fucks sake give us more characters of colour

let me shittalk the chantry

#dragon age #dragon age 4 #da4 #long post #its 3 am and i am once again putting on my clown wig bc bioware will fucking disappoint me again

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gagmebucky · 5 years

Text

[bad boy!bucky. teasing. kitten.]

“You’re fuckin’ responsive,” he answers himself, half-bemoaned like he can’t believe it, “like no one’s treated your little kitty like she deserves. But that’s okay ‘cause I’m here, and I’m gonna make it all better, kitten.” The last bit is a crooned promise. “Want me to fingerfuck your tight heat until you’re sobbing into the middle of my hand, don’t you?”

in which you’re supposed to tutor bucky but he has other plans. (includes bad boy!bucky x shy!reader, bucky’s pov, dirty talk, praise kink, teasing, fingering, mild exhibitionism and voyeurism.)

do not repost.

—

“Shouldn’t you be closer?” Bucky quirks a quizzical eyebrow from across the library table, lips slanted in the faintest of smirks, resisting a full blown show of teeth lest he intimidate you further.

Stacked shelf to shelf, the book-laden expanse is desolate on an eight o’clock evening. The maze of literature has a plethora of tables and chairs on in-house reading; of which, the both of you are stationed at one. At the farthest corner of the room, he’s moored you in a coven of privacy: obscured from the front desk by towers of wood and bound paper.

At the opposing head of the rectangular surface, you look up; the first glance in ten minutes since arriving for the studying session as you procrastinated under the guise of arranging the work space. Your wide eyes connect with his, and you swallow. “I. . . I,” you stammer before clearing your throat and nodding. “Yes. I - I suppose I should.”

His fingers flex subconsciously at the anticipation of having you within reach. “Okay, c’mon,” he encourages, settling forward as he pats the open seat beside him. “I won’t bite, kitten.” Before he can control himself, a smirk upturns his naturally redden lips, words drawling out like gravel, “Unless, of course, you want me to.”

Your pretty face darkens a bashful shade, and your mouth opens then shuts. You diligently gather your materials, fumbling some underneath the intensity of his carnivorously blue gaze. Once you’ve packed up your textbook and writing utensils, you grapple them to your chest. “I am just your tutor, James, and all we’ll be doing is studying,” you state, hushed and insistent, almost as if to convince yourself.

His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, his teeth following to nibble on them before releasing. “Whatever you say, kitten,” he claims, but there’s a covetous glint in his dilated pupils that says otherwise.

Albeit with hesitation, you pad down to the chair directly diagonal from him and sit. A unique lull of vanilla and cinnamon greet his senses, another intoxicating whiff when you flip your physics book open to a chapter about electromagnetic waves.

After skimming it with your eyes, you straighten. “Okay, um,” you say without looking at him. “Are you sure you want me to tutor you? Because it’s not my major, and I’m only getting a B—”

“I’m sure.”

Unbeknownst to you—and to anyone who looks at him—he’s getting an A in Introduction to Cosmology. The thing is, he heard you’re one of the volunteer tutors; what’s a better way to get to know you than through deceiving you into being alone with him in a nearly empty library.

A part of him feels guilty for that but it’s a necessary evil. Utilizing your predilection for helping others, he’s finally gotten you on your own. With your generally skittish personality, amplified when it comes to a roguish reputation like his, it was his only course of action. And he’s wanted this, wanted you for awhile now.

Ever since he’s seen you in the front row of class, jotting down line and line of lecture, catching glimpses of your face buried in a book underneath the campus tree, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his head. But upon approaching you, you were all stuttering and clumsily running away.

Turns out, his capable temper and brazenly illicit activities are more infamous than he initially thought. Which he should feel proud about, not annoyed by. But given its fault in thwarting his courting of you, there’s a flicker of agitation.

That particular emotion is simmering with every second he inhales your bewitching aroma and eyes your beauty up-close. Warmly dimmed lights cast down a glow on your face, the shadow of your cheekbones, the length of your fluttering lashes. Your eyebrows are pinched cutely in concentration as you scan over his error-ridden homework, pink tongue peeking against your upper lip.

God. You’re so cute. But in a way that makes him want to sheathe himself inside you as deep as possible and watch you writhe around on his cock beneath him.

His jaw locks briefly as desire pits in his stomach. And, he knows he’s staring, an intensity of hunger display within his shark-like eyes. Undoubtedly, you see through his storming oceanic pools and know that there’s a gluttony of dastardly impulses flashing through his mind; carnal movies starring you and him in the leading roles.

For the millionth time, you clear your throat. “S - so, I think we should go over the easy ones first. Then we - we. . .” you fumble over your instruction when his hand finds its way on your thigh, squeezing lightly through your skirt. You gulp and spare a nervous glance around then whisper, “What are you d - doing?”

“Trying to learn,” he answers casually, moving his hand to slip underneath the fabric. He withholds a sound at the soft smoothness contrasting against his rough palm. Gauging your reaction, the shiver that slithers down your spine but the alarm widening your big eyes, he stills in place, tracing lazy circles with his thumb. “Aren’t you gonna help me, kitten?”

You nod quickly. “Y - yes, of course.” You shuffle in your chair but he keeps a steady hold on you. “What I was saying is that, we’ll go slow then when you understand the basics, we’ll go f - faster with some harder problems.”

“You know, I’m the type of person who prefers to go fast. I like to go in all at once, no preparation. . .” He licks his bottom lip. “Fast and hard. You think you can handle that, kitten?” On cue with the pet name, he glides his palm up your sensitive inner thighs, inching to where you’re radiating heat.

Immediately, you gasp. “J - James!” you admonish a little too loudly and drop your pen to seize his wrist as it fixes between the cradle of your hips. “I - I’m trying to tutor you; what are you d - doing?” Despite the appalledness of your voice, your hips are instinctively bucking into the stimulation.

“I’m listening,” he insists innocently, tilting his head as if perplexed by your fidgeting. “Is there something wrong? D’you need to use the bathroom?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip, clearly crossed between calling him out and brushing it off. To his lucky surprise, you chose the latter. “L - let’s begin, then.” You relinquish his wrist and focus on the work splayed out on the table. “The test is coming up, and you’ll need to memorize the equations so - so—” When his hand reaches your panties and his index finger draws lines up and down your slit with the faintest of touches, you jolt, gasping, “James, we’re supposed to be studying!”

The look on your face, he can't get enough of it: embarrassment attempting to cover the need shining in your sparkling eyes. “I am.” He chuckles huskily as he undulates his fingertips along your cloth-clad slit. “I’m studying your little pussy. And you wanna know what I notice right off the bat?” he questions like you can respond but you’re too busy shoving a fist in your mouth and smothering sounds as he goes to work.

He kneads your sex crudely, manipulating the weeping flesh through soaked cotton between his fingers. He hasn’t touched you for more than a minute, and you’re already a puddle against the chair—slicked up and primed for something to fill up that tight hollowness inside you.

“You’re fuckin’ responsive,” he answers himself, half-bemoaned like he can’t believe it, “like no ones treated your little kitty like she deserves. But that’s okay ‘cause I’m here, and I’m gonna make it all better, kitten.” The last bit is a crooned promise. “Want me to fingerfuck your tight heat until you’re sobbing into the middle of my hand, don’t you?”

As you nod with fluttering lashes, he bypasses your underwear and palms your hot, soft mound. A moan vibrates through his throat at the same time you squeal. He beelines for your clit, swollen and just begging for abuse—which he’s more than happy to provide, to wear the tiny bundle of nerves out until you just can’t stop shaking.

The mere image of your cute self undone like that in the public has all the blood rushing to his cock and straining for release; for you to give him that release but that’s not his aim right here and now. Right here and now, it’s about corrupting someone as sweet and good as you—to be the blackguard that unravels you like candy bar and eats you whole.

“G - god. That’s good,” you whimper, raking your nails down his muscular forearms, and he’ll wear the red marks with pride in the future. You survey the surroundings but he can’t care less about whether someone’s watching. “James. H - hold on—”

He pauses and lifts a brow because you’re still rutting into his caress like a dog in heat. “You really want me to stop, kitten? ‘Cause your sexy body is telling me otherwise.” If you want him to stop, he has zero qualms about doing it; he’s willing to do whatever it takes to get you in your entirety.

You shake your head. “N - no. I - I like it,” you whisper shyly, blinking those hypnotizing orbs at him. “But—”

Cutting you off, a familiar voice rings out, “Hey!” Deep and annoyingly authoritative, he identifies the blond librarian’s baritone pitch. Heavy footsteps on hardwood became louder as a build rivaling Bucky intevenes. “I heard someone yell—”

Bucky grunts. “We’re just fine, Rogers.” He punctuates the word by parting a finger past your tumescented folds, sliding in with a curved angle until he hears your muffled but telltale choke that he's about to stroke your g-spot. A smirk curls into his lips as you slump in your seat, arms braced around your head to hide your face. “Oh, yeah. We’re doing great.”

Steve narrows his eyes and folds his arms, nonverbally saying he won’t be brushed off that easily. “Am I seriously supposed to trust someone like you, Barnes?” he retorts with a scoff and takes a step closer to examine you.

Which, if it were anyone else, he’d tell them to fuck off before he makes them. In this case, however, he’s knuckle deep inside you, and he sorta wants Steve to know that. In Bucky’s failed attempts to pursue you, he noticed that his childhood frenemy had also developed feelings for you, but is too daft to act on them. So, there’s some satisfaction in showing him you’re literally wrapped around his finger.

Your channel possesses him like a vice, practically gushing with every slow thrust, fevered like the contents of a volcano, and soft like silk; he knows you’ve been made to be seated around his cock. And with that conviction in his head, he’s going to show you off proudly.

“Kitten, why don’t you tell Stevie here that I’m taking good care of you?” Bucky purrs in your ear, gaze connected with the fiery depths of Steve’s. “Just reassure him that I’m handling my perfect little kitty just like she needs.”

It takes you a minute to gather yourself—not that it helps—then you raise your head. Your face is dazed in unmistakable desire, a shimmering sheen of sweat around your forehead, pupils blown wide. “I - I’m fine,” you croak, a tone away from being a moan. “James is h - helping me.”

Satisfaction fills him, and he has to share how pleased he is with you. Keeping the heel of his palm flushed against your clit, the texturized pad of his finger rasps over that soft spot inside you over and over, speed quickening every time, making you sporadically spasm around him.

The sensations hit you at once because you coil yourself into his embrace, trembling with your nose pressed into his chest, and his other arm huddles you close while his fingers play you like a fiddle. His black t-shirt does a decent job of suppressing your pleasure-heavy cries, but in a library setting, the noises are unmistakable.

In shock—jealousy or arousal, both probably—Steve takes a step back, eyes like moons and lips parted as he watches the girl he has a crush on shudder and sob in the throes of orgasm within the arms of his frenemy. All the time, Bucky’s remain on his, an infuriating smirk upturned on his lips.

Because he’s an asshole, he ducks down to stage-whisper in your ear, “That’s it, kitten. Squeeze my fingers, show me how tight you’ll feel bouncing on my cock. Be a good girl for me, and do exactly what I say.” Your cries crescendo, and your channel twitches warningly. “There she goes. You’ve got the softest, littlest, wettest pussy, don’t you, kitten? And I’m the only one who gets to have you, right?”

Along with a nod, there’s a distinct bleat of, “Y - yes!” And that snaps Steve out of his perverse trance, blinking back into reality, and spinning on his heels to storm off, probably to jerk off or punch something. Either way, Bucky’s having the best time he’s had in awhile, and it’s all thanks to you.

You bite into his pectoral through the blend of polyester and cotton when you cum, a sting that he absolutely loves. Your velvet walls pulsate and throb as you flood his hand, your whole body vibrating with the force that upheaves you.

He rocks you through it: repeatedly cooes of “Good, kitten,” and waning strokes of his fingers, holding you snugly. Once the convulsions have stopped, he pops his finger free and sucks it clean. At the taste, a groan wrenches through his throat, and the urge to get on his knees and lap at the source dominates him.

Blearily, you look up at him, all timid and such. And he feels his heart melt. “I don’t want you to fail,” you blurt out. “I’m sorry!”

He cracks a grin. “It’s fine. I’m doing good in that class, anyway.” He cups your cheek. “I just wanted to hang out with you. Why don’t we get something to eat, and then later, I’ll eat you?”

Although flustered, you nod with a small smile. “O - okay.”

[masterlist / feedback]

#bucky x reader #bucky x you smut #bucky barnes imagines #marvel imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel x you #marvel smut #my writing

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crimson-snowfall · 4 years

Text

Unappreciated Character Month: Dazai Shenanigan Alphabet (ABCDE)

Hi, so this month happens to be Dazai’s birth month so I decided to make something special for him and participate in the Unappreciated Character Month. So basically this is also a scenario alphabet, but as the title implies, the main theme is how Dazai messes up with the residents... or how they thwart his efforts to do so at least. I’ll try my best to stick to this theme but no promises since I haven’t really planned ahead on all of the letters yet.

A - Argument

"No, no! That's messed up!" Arthur grumbled in annoyance. Dazai had an amused expression as he watched his fellow author slowly lose his frivolous demeanor with each disturbing suggestion he made.

"No, it's not. You'll even thank me later once you realize how good of a plot it is!"

Arthur rose from his seat and stared down his uninvited guest. "What about you make me thank you now by getting out of my room?"

Dazai left Arthur's room with an unmistakable smile of self-satisfaction that Isaac reflexively ducked out of the hallway to avoid drawing his attention.

B - Brother

"Awww come on Ai-chaaan! Just say it once, won't youuu?" Despite Isaac's best attempts to avoid Dazai that day, they still ended up running into each other.

"No, never! Let go of me you nutcase!" The poor physicist tried to pry the author's arm away from his shoulder, but to no avail as the other man exerted his own vampiric strength.

"I'm afraid that's not how you say 'big brother', Ai-chaaan."

"Gods, what have I ever done to deserve this..." Isaac could only curse under his breath.

C - Chores

"You need a help with that, Sebas-kun?" The way Dazai said it sent shivers running down on the butler's spine. The eccentric author doesn't normally go after him, and when he does, it is often because he's in such a good mood.

"No need, Dazai-sensei. I can handle this on my own," the words came out of him in a rapid fire.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Now, if you would excuse me."

In his rush, Sebastian left the cup of coffee that he was meant to bring for Arthur.

D - Drum

Mozart stared in absolute horror at the latest addition in the music room. Just as when he was about to march off into Comte's room to demand an explanation, his least favorite person in the mansion came in from the window.

"Oh, there you are Mo-kun," Dazai chimed in happily as he walked over to the obscenely large taiko he acquired on a whim, "...so how do you like my new drum?"

It took every last bit of Mozart's composure not to bash the whole thing into the eccentric author as he prattled along about them being roommates now.

E - Elephant

"Cease this cacophonic monstrosity at once!" Mozart furiously barged into Dazai's room, who for some reason had been acquiring all sorts of instruments from his homeland.

Dazai dropped the flute in mild surprise, for he had been expecting the pianist to knock at the very least.

In Mozart's defense however, he tried, he really tried his utmost best to just ignore the sacrilegious sound, but then it proved to be just too much for him. A few hours in of silently bearing it and he felt like he could never hear a tune right again.

"What's wrong with you?!? Don't you have any writing to do? If I wanted to hear elephants, I would be going to the zoo– no, even elephants sound better than you do!" In retrospect, no matter how angry he was, he probably shouldn't have said that.

For one week later, Mozart learns that Dazai has taken in a baby elephant.

Btw this is an entry for Day 5, which is a free day according to the prompt list; I will be posting five letters per free day up until June 25.

Tagging: @unappreciatedotomelove

Dazai Shenanigan Alphabet: ☆ | FGHIJ | KLMNO | PQRST | UWVYZ

#unlovedotomecharacters2020 #ikemen vampire #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp #ikemen vampire dazai #scenario alphabet #ikevamp fanfic #ikemen vampire fanfiction

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these-are-the-first-steps · 4 years

Text

Hey, come read my shit:

STAR WARS (it’s all reylo)

PREY - “Kylo Ren, recovering, retrained, and bolstered by the Dark Side thanks to Snoke, is still obsessed with his failures and the scavenger that got away. Carving a furious path through the First Order fleet and throwing everything to hell, he hones in almost desperately on her location as she runs from his whispers until there is nothing left but them.” Featuring such stellar tags as “she’s running but he’s coming for her and lets her know it”

Exigence in Force Majuere - “This war has raged for ages and most of the leaders at its helm are long gone. It's left to Kylo Ren, and Rey, his constant opposing force, whose minds have seeped so far into each other as to make planning in secret impossible, to come to some accord or else watch the galaxy burn in their futile efforts at mutual destruction.”*

*This is/was a non-linear story added to via submitted prompts on tumblr and written to a loose storyline already in my head.

Neon Lights - [ONESHOT] Kylo Ren is the highest paid movie star in the world. He's also the number one drug user, number one patron of any whore pretty enough to catch his attention. But her voice never leaves his head. It won't leave him alone. And all he can do is replay their parting over and over and over again.... [[This story has TWO ENDINGS- happy and sad! Because I couldn't make up my mind and the angst was so good. But y'all-- the sad ending is SAD. Read the TAGS. And a reminder that drama is drama and not real life.]]

Solace for the Damned - “Christmas Eve, and a lone priest of a tiny, isolated parish works feverishly in the snow until an old friend drops by. She misses him- what will it take to lure him away? When will he stop hiding behind the cloth?”*

*a story I was real excited for just as a lot of personal drama started for me which botched everything. Sorry ‘bout that.

How Silent Are Your Saints? - [ONESHOT] “Rey's run off, and Kylo's in hot pursuit. When he finally finds her, she's stark naked planted in a tiny metal tub trying to scrub herself clean of the grit of the planet she hates so much. So why did she come back?? Why won't she just come home with him??

Very angry, rough smutty times. Rey is angry, Kylo's angry, and she makes it worse every time that pretty mouth says the 'B' name he hates so much...

This story was inspired by a piece of art done by Hotside on tumblr depicting Rey essentially sponge-bathing in a small, shallow tin back on Jakku with the shadow of Kylo Ren looming out of frame. Link inside!!”

There’s Only So Many Things You Can Steal From A Courtesan - [ONESHOT] ...and bitchin’ moves to catch the ladies ain’t one of them. Long overdue Matt trash, but it’s darker and not your typical fare- for cheesytriangle/picarito on tumblr.

A Lady Should Never Promenade A Ballroom Alone - [ONESHOT] “Rey is undercover at a ball. So is Kylo Ren. Who thought putting Rey in that dress was a good idea? Borderline drama, fluff, crack without actually totally falling into any of those categories, with a generous helping of SMUT. NOT an AU. Written for a "oh hey, what are you doing here?" prompt request.” *

*hilariously this is the most popular oneshot I’ve ever written.

Too Late - [ONESHOT] “He has to watch as she leaves, watch as she goes into the arms of someone else. But it began before he ever arrived. He's simply too late.” —hi. This is not a happy story. But it’s short.

Can’t Keep Them Down - “I made a post last week saying I'd only reply to ants with explicit porn or cute fluffy animals. While I think the fandom may have taken more advantage of that than actual ants, it's still been a lot of fun. This is a collection of the short drabbles I wrote up- chapters will be added as they happen on tumblr (and maybe I’ll occasionally post something here that I don’t post there so subscribing might be a good idea- who knows!). There is no sequence unless specified. Every single chapter is rather explicit porn. ENJOY, SINNERS.”

Let It In - [ONESHOT] Kylo's control over himself is wearing thin- not like it was gridiron to begin with. He lapses more and more into daydreams, fantasies, of her. Of them. He sees her everywhere. He hates himself for it. But the more they consume him, the more he can't help but indulge, and as he abandons his duties once more to sequester himself in an effort to not rip The Finalizer into two, he finds, to his anguish, that maybe his traitorous thoughts aren't just his alone... [[Art inspired, ILLUSTRATED fic attached to a work produced by Arriku/Spacefugue/solarfugue/cherryfury on tumblr]]”*

*I lose points for this fic because I was told later that they were sitting down in the art so I got it wrong. Sorry, arriku- I still feel bad. :/

The Choice - [ONESHOT] “At the end of the world, he made his offer. The planet cracked like an egg beneath their feet, ready to give birth to a brand new star, and still he couldn't bring himself to say it- couldn't bring himself to say he needed her. Instead it came out as "You need a teacher!!" Anything- *anything*- to keep her close to him. But would she understand? Choices, choices...”

Control - “They pound at her head, the Darkness, her demons, she lashes out, but no one can understand. They can't see what she sees, feel what she feels, they're closing in, and she can't escape, but when she finally flees to the outside..... [[This is a *former* one-shot based on a song that I swear will be Rey's theme for episode 8. PREPARE FOR THE ANGST INSANITY TRAIN!!]]”*

*officially unfinished. Ah well. Dunno if anyone really missws it anyway....

All Good Things - [ONESHOT] “Trapped in a cave after a First Order attack causes a massive collapse, Rey is left with a mangled leg with no rescue for days. Just as she starts to fret that no one will ever come, a familiar voice brushes against her mind and offers her aid. But at what price? As her injuries worsen, she may not have much of a choice.” —hi. This is the most lighthearted reylo fic I’ve probably ever written.

——————

FARSCAPE

Everything - [ONESHOT] “Moments after the skreeth attack in 'Terra Firma', in the dizzying whirl of sirens and emergency workers and special agents rushing into the ruin of his father's home, John is brought bad news from D'Argo and Chiana and, faced with the reality that his best friend since childhood is dead, finally must tell his family everything.”

——————

XENA

Mandatory Refusal - [ONESHOT] “Countless times he'd watched her calmly walk into the arms of Death. And countless times he'd watched her thwart it all the same. She always came back- she always found a way. Even when she chose to take her own life, he'd respected her, respected her decision enough, to let her go through with it. But not this time- not after everything they'd been through since then. She wasn't getting a choice this time.

Takes place during Xena's final battle in AFIN:2. Ares wasn't so conspicuously absent as he seemed...”

You Can’t Run Away - [ONESHOT] “What happened after Xena left Hercules in "Unchained Heart"? What led her to bury her armor in the dirt? As soon as she turned for good, Ares hounded both Xena and Hercules by raising Darphus from the dead and filling the killer's mind with no thought other than to feed them both to Graegus- no one gets to simply walk away. Set in the space between UH and Sins of the Past.”

——————

METALOCALYPSE

....yea I wrote a metalocalypse fic, you wanna fight about it? comedy is hard and it was a fun challenge, especially that flavor of comedy.

Succession - [ONESHOT] “Story takes place at the tail end of 'The Doomstar Requiem'. Charles takes his place as the High Holy Priest of the Church of the Black Klok and the band is left without a manager. In an attempt to find a new one, they hold 'manager auditions', but old grudges interfere and one of the band members takes a turn for the worse. cannon ONE SHOT!”

#star wars #reylo #reylo fanfiction #xena #x:wp #xena/ares #farscape #metalocalypse #dethklok #my fanfics

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marithlizard · 4 years

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Ace Attorney: Rise From the Ashes (Day Two, Trial Latter) (part 3)

Wherein I attempt to liveblog a mostly text-based videogame. The trial continues! Lunch is over and yet we’re still being fed indigestible statements.

Court has recessed briefly for information-gathering. The clock says it's not even noon, but I feel like we've heard hours’ worth of (mostly untrue) testimony.

Lana has been called to the judge's chambers for reasons unknown. Ema is realizing just how much of a, what's the polite word, “freewheeler” she's chosen to represent her sister. But Phoenix is still flailing about when any other defense attorney in this world would have given up, so she'd best appreciate him.

It's the cowboy! Who pointedly mentions Lana's scarf, which he saw her wearing on the day of the murder. Since she wasn't wearing it in the photograph taken afterward, presumably the missing muffler is...in the car muffler? Was she trying to hide something, or give Edgeworth carbon monoxide poisoning? And just why is Marshall dropping us this helpful hint?

Court resumes with Edgeworth on the verge of some kind of conniption fit. The judge lists off his symptoms concernedly - oh NO surely you didn't eat one of the lunchboxes, Edgeworth! I've already been wondering how Angel Starr resisted the urge to give you food poisoning for two years, and that was before you verbally eviscerated her on the witness stand.

...Hello, who's this?

Peach suit, white hair, pink glasses and an avuncular folksy charm. You. I don't like you.

"Udgey?" Is that the judge's name, or some sort of twee pig-latin nickname for Judge? And "Wrighto" and "Worthy". And he can get away with calling people slightly demeaning and offbeat nicknames, because apparently he's the district chief of police, Damon Gant. Phoenix is chastised for not recognizing him, which is probably fair.

Okay, that technique of taking away the dialogue box for several seconds while Gant cocks his head and blinks at us is quite effective. This, we're silently being told, is a character so powerful they can interrupt the flow of the game itself.

The judge notes that it's been "over two years" since Gant was in the courtroom. That matches when Angel was fired. This is all about one case, isn't it? The case Lana and the victim worked on, the case that got Marshall demoted.

Gant has brought some false sympathy for Edgeworth and also Lana's missing scarf, which was indeed found stuffed in the car muffler. (So the lunchlady was telling the truth about at least something.) The scarf was wrapped around a switchblade with a tag on it. So, not a personal possession like Edgeworth's knife, but...an exhibit? Something from storage? Like, evidence storage?

Edgeworth is justifiably upset that the police investigation didn't notice a scrap of red cloth hanging out of the car muffler inches away from the body. Gant's initial sheepish admission that "this is embarrassing, even for us" suddenly turns into that blinking Look again. I feel like a trap is about to be sprung.

It's the envelope from yesterday, the one delivered by the hapless mailman! Who told Edgeworth it wasn't related to the case, so he refused to take it. Ouch. It is Edgeworth's error, but there's something gleefully malicious about the way Gant just set him up and then sucker-punched him. There was no need for this to be a public humiliation. In fact, it could've been discreetly sorted out before Gant got on the stand. Or before trial started this morning.

(Why IS he on the stand? He's not a testifying witness. He just kinda...strolled in and took over. )

The judge asks Phoenix to examine the switchblade. The knife tip is broken off and the blade and handle have bloodstains. The tag, when I zoom in focus to max, says "S-L 9 2". As for the envelope, it appears to be an autopsy report on Goodman, and doesn't mention the muffler or switchblade at all. It also has a much vaguer timeframe than 5:15.

Edgeworth tries to regain face by demanding an explanation about the missed evidence. This is a bad, bad idea. I could've told you that even before Gant delightedly agrees to testify.

Gant says the knife is special, but that he can't say how unless a "connection is proven between the knife and Goodman." Um. Doesn't the very presence of the knife, deliberately concealed at the crime scene, in itself mean it's not only connected but vital to understanding what happened? I don't think you should get to withhold that information.

Nor do I think "we were having a bad day" is an acceptable excuse for not investigating the crime scene properly. Cops get aggressively motivated when one of their own is attacked, everybody knows that. Or was Goodman some kind of pariah?

...wait. What??? What Gant's saying is so bizarre I misread it. There was a SECOND murder, at precisely the same time (and that's an awfully precise time), at the police department? "Not officially linked to this case" my aunt Fanny.

And Phoenix isn't supposed to ask about it in cross-examination? I predict that will last about five seconds, because we're going to press every one of these statements hard enough to extract olive oil.

Starting with the knife. Both Phoenix and Edgeworth push for more, but Gant refuses. Can I make a connection that will impress the judge? My inventory contains a phone, a shoe...and a note found in the trunk of the car that says "6-75 12/2". Which looks a lot like "2/21 SL-9" if you turn it upside down.

Gant is acting as though this is a circus and he's never seen a clown before, delighted at everything Phoenix and the judge say. This conveys an impression of total contempt behind a fig leaf of friendliness that can't be questioned. It's a passive-aggressive masterpiece. Somewhere in the audience Himemiya Anthy is probably taking notes.

And his facade barely flickers when faced with the memo. The knife was evidence in a case (duh). Stolen from the evidence room...and that's it? That's all we get?

Oh, this guy is skilled. Edgeworth quite reasonably asks why he wasn't told about this impossibly coincidental murder, and Gant promptly insinuates that he's incompetent because he didn't proactively ask. As though a proper prosecutor would have called the department every day with a checklist of possible events. Why, I bet you didn't even consider a Godzilla attack contingency, did you? Tsk tsk.

Gant continues to playfully refuse to give information on this second murder (except that a suspect has been arrested). He offers to give Phoenix one data point of his choice: where, how or when. Apparently this trial has turned into a game show.

We already know when, so I choose where. And Gant makes a curious distinction. The crime took place in the evidence room (where the knife came from), but he won't say where the corpse was found. Was the body moved? As they say, he is playing a game and it is called silly buggers. I'm absolutely assuming he is behind both murders (though sadly he can't have committed both, unless something paranormal or very complicated is going on).

Phoenix points out that a knife being stolen from the evidence room and then found at crime A, precisely when crime B is committed in the evidence room, is a pretty "duh" link. Edgeworth supports by mentioning the note. Whoever wrote it (Goodman, the murderer, or Lana) presumably either stole the knife or was investigating its theft. Even the judge agrees this has to count. Gant just does his blink thing again.

And says his men took two days to assemble that logic. In other words, he knew. And he STILL wants to play games. He'll talk "unofficially", but not reveal the name of the victim. (Why is that so important?) When pressed, he offers another one-data-point choice. I choose ID number which should be easy to link to a name...although apparently Gant doesn't think so.

Victim ID number: 5842189. The judge looks expectant. I have a horrible idea, and check the court record.

Yep. It's Goodman's ID number.

Simultaneous murders of the same victim in different locations? That's an impressive level of silly buggers, chief. And you didn't want this to come out in the trial? If I didn't already know Lana was innocent by video-game rules, I'd know it now.

Even this doesn't faze Gant. (I really wanted to see him look thwarted. Damnit.)

Edgeworth keeps on asking "Why didn't I hear about this?" even though the answer is always "Because Gant has it in for you, and you just gave him another opening to attack." It's as though he can't quite believe what is happening.

Yep, there's that trap-springing look again. With the first honest expression I think we've seen on Gant's face so far! Just for one frame, a flicker of anger and malice. This time he claims the police department sent Edgeworth all the information in that envelope delivered by Hapless Mailman Meekins, which Edgeworth didn't look at.

Hang on. That's not even true. We have that envelope in the court record, and...*scrolls up*...it's an autopsy report on Goodman. It doesn't say which. Even if Edgeworth had read it, he would have had no reason to think there was a second crime and victim. Moreover, Gant already raked him over the coals for not reading it, in this same trial session! No...as the trap unfolds, Gant seems to be claiming this is an entirely different envelope also delivered by Meekins(?) It doesn't make sense.

But truth isn't going to matter here. This is a career-destroying maneuver, and it's uncomfortable to watch. Edgeworth is helpless under the crushing accusations, protesting vainly that Gant could have submitted all this evidence when the trial started. Well, yes, that's what anyone but your enemy would have done... The flicker of malice is back as Gant rubs it all in with a technicality about evidence law.

(Ah, this detail might be relevant: Edgeworth apparently submitted a list of evidence to be used in the trial, which of course did not include things he didn't know existed. That flies in the face of all Phoenix Wright games past and present, in which new evidence is produced about every five minutes during trial, this one included.)

This morning's Public Career Assassination, I mean trial, comes to an end with Gant mentioning the rumors about Edgeworth, and even using his own brief status as a defendant against him. Edgeworth can do nothing but formally grovel. He begs for one more day of trial to investigate all this new information. The judge grants it,of course, but joins in condemning him.

I don't know why Gant wants to get rid of Edgeworth, but it's obvious the plan is to fire him after tomorrow's trial no matter what happens. The only way to save Edgeworth (and oh yeah, our actual client who's barely been mentioned lately) is to bring Gant down. I am on board with this. He's a mean lying stinkyhead and he's smug about it. Get him, Phoenix!

(Rereading my notes from last time, I'm remembering the moment when Angel Starr told Edgeworth "I might be able to save you". Did she know this was coming down? )

#aa #ace attorney #ace attorney spoilers

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spectralscathath · 4 years

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Skinny Vanilla Latte

Mikaela is the world's nicest customer, and Yuu's heart absolutely Does Not go 'doki doki' whenever he comes into the cafe for his standard order. Anyone who says otherwise is entirely incorrect. (Mikayuu but Coffee Shop AU)

Commissioned Mikayuu oneshot for @fyrecrackeruwu

Ao3 link, ff.net link

“Peppermint mocha, extra whip, for Lacus!” Yuichiro called out, trying to remember his customer service smile even though he knew his eyes said ‘I’ll kill you’ to every person in the café. Narumi just had to go and get a new job, like the traitorous bitch he was. Being a lifeguard wasn’t even a real thing.

Narumi’s absence left the Moon Demon Café down a barista, and because Shinoa and Kimizuki were banned from interacting with the general public, Yuu had been the only one they could shunt from the kitchen into front of house.

Fuck this job. If he didn’t need it so badly he’d have tossed his apron in Guren’s stupid face to get rid of the shitsmug smirk.

“Hi, welcome to the Moon Demon Café,” he turned to the next customer. “What can I-” oh my god. Don’t pause keep talking. “… I get you today?”

Holy SHIT someone call Heaven because an angel had gone missing. Seriously, the customer standing on the other side of the counter was the prettiest guy Yuu had ever seen. Not to be corny on main, but this was the first time Yuu had ever thought ‘eyes like sapphires, hair like spun gold’ had ever felt like actually applicable metaphors for someone.

“A skinny vanilla latte, please?” Pretty Boy said with the utmost politeness, and Yuu remembered that breathing existed and so did brain functions.

“Of course, can I interest you in any of our specials today?” He put on his best grin, writing down the coffee.

“No thank you, just the coffee.” Pretty Boy kept smiling, already having his card ready to pay because clearly this guy was Mr Perfect Customer.

“Sure thing, can I get a name for this order?” He barely held back from tacking a pet name onto the end, but he managed. Someone get him a medal.

“Mikaela. Mika works though, please don’t try spell ‘Mikaela’.” Pretty Boy- Mika’s- smile became slightly glassy, with the wartorn eyes of someone who’d had consistent misspellings of their name throughout their life.

“Mika it is,” Yuu grinned at him and scrawled it down. “I’ll have that ready for you in a jiffy.” Why the fuck did he say ‘jiffy’.

Mikaela snorted, bringing a hand up to cover his smile. “Sure thing.”

Yuu smiled and started up the coffee grinder, his cheer instantly evaporating away when he heard the sound of an empty grinder. Where were the coffee beans kept again? Shinoa better not have moved their location to fuck with him.

“It’ll be just a sec,” he forced a grin at Mika, getting a shrug in return. Customer seemed chill, cool. He reached under the counter to find empty air, instantly ducking down to check. Nothing but coffee residue from the bags. Welp.

“Hey, Kimizuki?” He yelled at the back.

“What?!”

“Where’d the coffee get moved?”

“You think I know?! Figure it out yourself, dumbass! I’m cooking!”

Yuu’s eye twitched and he counted to ten in his head to prevent himself from leaping through the overpass to wring Kimizuki’s neck. “Of course,” he grumbled. “Let me just pull some coffee beans out of my ass, that’s how we run things here.”

There was a soft chuckle and Yuu blanched, realising that shitfuck his sarcastic grumbling might have been a little too audible. He whipped around. “Uh- sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

Mika hid his laughter behind his hand again, blue eyes glittering like sapphires. “No no, it’s fine. Don’t worry.”

Yuu relaxed a little bit, kinda starstruck by the mirthful twinkle in those eyes. “I’ll just find you the coffee, give me a moment.” He spun around, hunting through every cabinet he could until he managed to find a dark roast with ‘hi Yuu’ scrawled on it in purple glittery ink. Shinoa and her fucking gel pens.

He started making the coffee properly this time, mentally promising that he would commit first-degree murder and get away with it the minute Shinoa showed her rat face again. He waited for the coffee machine to do the job and wrote Mika’s name on the takeaway cup, pausing before thinking to himself ‘fuck it’ and adding his phone number. He was gonna take the shot, especially since Mr Gorgeous had laughed at his sarcasm.

He finished putting it all together and smiled as he handed it over. “Skinny vanilla latte for Mika.”

“Thank you,” Mika grinned and pulled out a cup sleeve, slipping it onto the cup and completely hiding Yuu’s number. Yuu’s smile cracked. Fuck.

“Uh-” But Mika was already walking away after dropping change in the tip jar.

“Thank you!” He waved goodbye, the door closing behind him with a little jingle.

“You’re… welcome.” Goodbye gorgeous. Guess Yuu’d never see him again.

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

It was with great surprise that Yuu did in fact see Mika again, this time over Mitsuba’s shoulder as she did the ordering and customer talking while he just made coffee after endless coffee. Fuck rush hour holy shit.

He tried to catch Mika’s eye in-between frothing up milk and shaking cocoa powder over a cappuccino, green catching and locking with blue for the barest second before Mika smiled widely and gave him a little wave, a fancy-looking camera hanging around his neck. “Hi Yuu. Good luck with the rest of your shift, I hope it calms down a bit.”

“What, this? It’s no problem!” Yuu bragged, before he caught the side of his wrist on the milk spout and bit back a curse. Always with the burns.

“See you next time.” Mika grabbed his coffee, oblivious to Yuu’s plight, and walked out the door, again emptying some coins into the tip jar before he left.

Mitsuba turned to Yuu, blonde twintails bouncing with the movement. “You know that guy? He’s the nicest customer I’ve had yet. I hope he becomes a regular.”

“Yeah.” Yuu nodded. “Me too.”

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

Mika did, in fact, become a regular. Which was awesome.

Every Wednesday and Friday like clockwork he’d show up, order his skinny vanilla latte to have there, pick a booth, and do stuff on his laptop. It was pretty cool, aside from the fact that Yuu couldn’t write terrible pick-up lines on the latte glasses.

That was Plan A of ‘Operation: get Mika’s number’ thwarted.

Plan B was to write it on the napkins, but then the problem was that Mika didn’t order food. Currently Yuu was on Plan C, which was Plan B but better.

Mika walked in with his laptop bag and his camera-holding thingie, waiting patiently in line until he was at the counter. “Hi Yuu.”

“Hey Mika. The usual?” Yuu gave him a charming grin.

“That’d be great, thank you.” Mika beamed. It was really pretty.

Yuu had to take a second to recover. “Easy, one usual coming up. Do you want to try a muffin to go with it? On the house, between you and me.”

Mika looked like he was considering it and for a moment Yuu’s hopes were rising, rising higher- “Thank you for the offer, but I already ate. Just the coffee, please.” And down those hopes fell, dashed against the rocks and crumpled like wretched Lucifer, cast from Heaven into the pits of hell.

“Sure thing. Give me a shot if you need a refill.”

“Will do.” Mika smiled at him, paid, and pottered off to go take a seat.

Yuu watched him go, noticing that he was wearing thigh-high boots what the fuck that wasn’t fair. That was illegal, that had to be illegal.

“Uh, sir? Sir? Can I order now?” Someone rang the bell and Yuu snapped back to reality, looking at the man in the- what the fuck was that a fucking cat? It looked like this man had lopped off the skull of a white tiger and mounted it on his head what the actual fuck. Yuu really hoped it was fake, he desperately fucking prayed.

Okay, goodbye Mika, hello Crazy Customer of the Day #309.

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

“Afternoon, Mika, the usual?” Yuu grinned at him, the café a bit quieter than usual. Maybe this time he could get a good conversation in while making Mika’s coffee.

“Yep, and also an English Breakfast tea, no sugars. I hope that’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all. You meeting a friend here?” He hoped it wasn’t a date. His attempts to try give Mika his number through shitty pick-up lines could not be foiled so easily.

“You could say that.” Mika smiled cheerfully, offering his card. “On debit, please.”

“No prob. He here yet?” Yuu looked around, not spotting any new faces.

“He said he’d be by in a few minutes. I’m surprised there’s not a rush, normally this place is quite busy. I thought getting a table would be harder.” Mika looked quite concerned at that.

Yuu waved it off as he finished putting in the docket. “It’s pre-midterms week. Everyone’s panic-studying, ordering pizza in, all that stuff.”

Mika chuckled. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m on top of my studies then, or else I might have had to miss out on the best coffee on campus.”

“Wouldn’t want that.” Yuu shot him a finger gun and a wink, before wondering if he’d overdone it. Luckily, Mika seemed to find it hilarious by how his smile went supernova and his laugh bubbled out of him.

“Definitely not. Thanks again.” Mika placed some coins in the tip jar before he went to the booth he always tried to sit at, pulling out his phone once he sat down.

Yuu watched him go and set to work on making the drinks, wondering if he should try make a food platter. Counterpoint to him trying to woo Mika through good food was the fact that Kimizuki was a snotty bitch who would kill him if he gave out even more free food, crushes be damned.

And yeah, Yuu could totally throw down with Kimizuki, but Mitsuba would tattle about it if there was a fight and he’d probably lose his job.

He’d just have to make it the best damn coffee in existence.

He was halfway through making the tea when a man walked in, and Yuu had to stop and stare for a sec because while yes, he was very fucking gay for Mika, he still had eyes.

It was when the total hunk sat down in front of Mika that Yuu felt his bout of ‘he’s pretty’ turn into entirely rational jealousy. Was Mika dating this guy? It took a special kind of hotness to pull off a braid and dyed bangs, Yuu could admit.

He put on his customer service smile as he carried the drinks over, rampant envy broiling in his veins. He set drinks down, being extra delicate and polite with Mika’s coffee and blanking out the other guy entirely. “here you go, Mika. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks. Crowley, this is Yuu, the barista I mentioned. Yuu, this is my dad, Crowley.”

Yuu practically heard the record scratch sound. Dad?

His next thought was along the lines of ‘oh thank god, Mika’s still possibly available’, and he was starting to realise he may be desperate. “Nice to meet you, Crowley.”

“You too,” Crowley grinned back with a touch of a British accent curling around the words, red eyes twinkling in amusement. “Thanks for the cuppa, luv.”

Yuu nodded before tuning him out again and giving another smile to Mika, going around to clear some other tables and already plotting his next move. Fingerguns and winks were now on the table. Mhuahahahaha.

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

“So, Mika, how’s the photography?” Yuu struck up a conversation as he cleared away the latte glass, taking advantage of the restaurant’s quiet to try and kickstart a deep meaningful conversation that he was absolutely going to fill with stupid jokes.

“it’s going well,” Mika smiled, saving the photoshop file on the screen. Clearly he’d lost a file once by accident and saved every program with the vigour of a spartan warrior ever since. “Are you interested in photography?”

“Actually, I’m studying psychology,” Yuu grinned. “Gonna go for a masters if I can once I’m done with this, then eventually you’ll have to address me as Dr Yuichiro.”

Mika’s smile sharpened slightly. “A PhD, huh?”

“Thinking about it.” He shrugged, trying to look humble when he was anything but.

“I think Dr Yuichiro’s got a good ring to it,” Mika smiled slyly, and oh no that wasn’t fair he was not allowed to make it sound so sexy.

“You’re the first. Kimizuki said I shouldn’t be allowed near people,” he grinned.

“And you work the register?” Mika laughed.

“Used to work in the back ‘til Narumi up and ditched us to ‘follow his dreams’,” Yuu told him conspiratorially. “I’m the only one of the kitchen staff who can reliably not scare away customers, so I got shunted here.”

“Maybe I should thank Narumi then, if he got me such a good barista,” Mika smiled. “You’re not scary at all.”

“How dare you, I’m terrifying,” he joked.

Mika scoffed, sapphire eyes sparkling. “As terrifying as my cat.”

Yuu let out a theatrical gasp, balancing his tray on one hand as he clutched his heart. “I think I liked you better when you were a polite customer.”

Mika blinked innocently at him, a challenge curling at the edges of his toothy grin. “Am I not anymore? Shame.”

What a brat. Yuu smirked at him in answer. “Well, I can’t be rude to customers, so I’m legally required to say no.”

“Only legally? Not morally?” Mika rested his chin in his hands as he leaned forward on the table, his photoshop file left entirely forgotten.

“Morally I can say whatever the hell I want as long as it’s not said in front of consumers.” Yuu winked.

“I guess you’re treading on thin ice right now, huh?” Mika bit his lip in affected concern, a prominent pearly canine catching for a moment, and Yuu’s mind went fucking blank. “Best be careful then. I wouldn’t want my favourite barista to go jobless. Right, Yuu-chan?~”

“R-right.” Yuu stuttered for a moment as he tried and failed to come up with literally any kind of flirty remark in reply, getting zero zilch zip from his flatscreening brain. Head empty no thoughts. “I’ll get you a refill, then?”

Mika’s smile screamed ‘cat who caught the canary’. “Don’t keep me waiting, Yuu-chan.”

He nodded and scampered back behind the counter, taking a minute to settle his racing heart. He heard a tapping sound and looked at the overpass into the kitchen, Kimizuki rapping a spatula on the counter.

“You’re pathetic.” Kimizuki’s scornful gaze was only amplified by the glasses he wore.

Yuu flipped him off. Fuck Kimizuki.

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

Yuu steeled his nerve as Mika walked in, refusing to let his crush pull one over on him again. Shinoa hadn’t let up since Kimizuki had told her, and Yuu was getting real tired of every whipcrack hand motion she was sending his way.

Mika smiled very innocently as he walked up to the counter, blue eyes bright and oh-so-breathtaking. “Hello, Yuu-chan.”

Little bastard.

“Good to see you too, Mika,” he grinned, resting his elbows on the counter. “Here for your usual, or are you thinking of switching it up?”

“Hm,” Mika tilted his head like he was considering it. “Now that you mention it, maybe I should try something out. How about something a little sweeter this time, Yuu-chan?”

“I think you’re sweet enough already,” Yuu flirted cheesily, watching Mika’s eyes widen a touch. That’s right, he could flirt too. All that ‘Yuu-chan’ business had no power over him now. “But sure, hit me up with what you want to try.”

Mika’s eyes sparkled delightfully, a challenge in his smile. “What’s your poison, then?”

Yuu raised a brow. “Well, I’m a black coffee kind of guy-”

“Because you grind so fine?” Mika interrupted him, like he didn’t just say the sexy pick up line for Yuu.

He gave Mika a Look, Mika merely batting his eyes back at him. “Double shot, nothing extra.” Maybe a bit of hazelnut when he really needed a pick-me-up. “That’s my coffee.”

“A ‘keep me up til two AM’ kind of guy, I like that.” Mika snickered.

“Stop it,” Yuu cautioned. Only he was allowed to use terrible puns like that.

“Make me,” Mika downright dared him, leaning over the counter a little more.

Yuu grabbed his chin and looked him in the eye, a spark of victory gleaming in his emerald gaze. “Keep it up and we’ll see where it gets you, gorgeous.”

Mika’s pupils dilated.

Yuu smirked at him and let go, picking up the docket sheet. “So, coffee order? You’re holding up the line, babe.”

Mika beamed, a smile like spun sunshine. “You know what, I think I’ll go for my usual after all. But maybe next time I’ll be a bit more daring.”

“Sure you will.” Yuu winked at him. “Later, beautiful.”

Mika laughed as he went to his favourite booth, Yuu internally high-fiving himself as he went. That went excellently.

Okay. Next time he’d ask him out. Next time for sure.

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

Today was the day. It was absolutely the day. Today for sure.

He handed Mika his coffee, got ready to say ‘I love you give me your number’, and chickened out when he realised that was absolutely not the way to ask and would instead plant him straight in ‘ultra creep’ territory.

Next week. Next week for sure.

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

Yuu looked up from wiping down the counter, groaning as Shinoa came in. “Aren’t you meant to be on your day off?”

“Well, yes,” Shinoa smiled far too innocently, and Yuu’s hackles went up with suspicion. “But my dearest friend has been telling me ALL about his new favourite café, so I had to come by and see it.”

“Shinoa, you work here.” Yuu glared at her.

“He doesn’t know that,” she smirked, eyes sparkling mischievously. “I never say names, my darling Yuu.”

“I never agreed to you calling me that.”

“I don’t care.” She swanned up to the counter, propping herself up on her hands and tiptoes. Yuu scowled as she smeared her hands all over the area he’d literally just wiped clean. “Now gimme free coffee.”

“Fuck off. Employee discount only and even then I’m debating making you pay full price.”

“You’re so mean,” she pouted. “And when I’m buying for my friend as well. I think you’d like him, as much as a big meanie like you can like anyone.”

“I like people, I’m not Kimizuki,” he rolled his eyes. “Who’s your damn friend?”

“Oh, you might know him.” Her evil grin came back full-force, making her look downright demented. “Why don’t we see if you can guess from his order?”

“Do you know how many customers we have?” Yuu snapped a tea towel at her hands. “Hands off the counter, you’re probably infested with something.”

“Boo you.” She huffed and raised her hands, twiddling her fingers as she did. “Anyway, I want a multi-mega mocha milkshake with extra sprinkles and four shots of coffee. Oh! And whipped cream. Lots of it.”

“You’re going to die from a caffeine overdose and I will film it.” He wiped the counter down again out of spite.

“Maybe so, but at least I’ll die not hopelessly pining for some boy who takes, oh, what was it now?” She tapped her chin, looking deep in thought. He didn’t buy it for a second, especially not when she turned a vicious smile onto him. “Oh, right, skinny vanilla latte. Large.”

He wondered what the hell kind of expression he made that had her cackling like the wicked witch she was. “You gotta be joking.”

“Nope, and remember, on the cup for that one, my friend’s name is Mik-ae-la~” She sounded out the name, taking too much joy in it. “And make it fast, sweetcheeks, he’s going to be here soon.”

“I hate you with every blood cell in my body.”

“Make sure to put one of your cute little pick-up lines on that now,” she winked. “I’ve been reading them whenever I take out the trash. You’re so desperate it’s cute. Now shoo shoo, make me coffee, coffee man.” She flicked a hand at him, revelling in the power that a customer had. Shit like this was why she was banned from interacting with the general public at work.

“Sure thing. I’ll bring your drinks out to you,” he forced out through a smile, teeth grinding together as he gritted them. His eye may have twitched. He wasn’t sure.

She twirled around and skipped to her seat, spinning her favourite little trinket in her hand and making the green and orange lights on it flare up like she was at a rave. He tried to stare a hole through the back of her head before he set about making her the drinks she ordered.

Mika. Mika was friends with Shinoa. It was a testament to how in love he was with that guy that knowing Mika willingly hung out with Shinoa did not become an immediate turn off. He liked her too, sure, for whatever was left of his sanity’s sake, but she was still a pain.

He heard the little bell above the door jingle and glanced up, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Mika waving at him. “Hey Yuu,” Mika grinned, sounding way too proud of himself.

“Hey Mika,” he smiled back, unable to stop himself from getting all soppy at the edges. “Skinny vanilla?”

“You bet,” he winked at Yuu and sauntered off to sit with Shinoa, the two of them immediately starting up some sort of gossipy conversation judging by the hand motions and expressions.

He looked down at the drinks he was plating up, took a deep breath, and furiously scribbled a puntastic pick-up line and his number on the napkin under Mika’s coffee. This was it. He was going to do it.

“I am not a coward,” he muttered to himself, picking up the tray and carrying it over. “That was a multi-mega mocha milkshake with quadruple shots, extra whip, and sprinkles, and a large skinny vanilla latte?”

“She’s having the deathshake.” Mika pointed at Shinoa, who fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“No problem.” Yuu set the drinks down, trying to ignore how he could hear his heartbeat thundering in his eardrums like the bass beat of a good metal concert, keeping on a smile that was at this point reserved only for Mika. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Will do,” Mika reached for a packet of sugar and dumped it into his coffee, picking up his spoon before his hand froze, sapphire eyes tracing over the wickerscratch handwriting on the napkin.

Are you an espresso? Because you’re a shot to my heart. Call me?

Mika blinked up at him, Yuu frozen in place with the sort of calm that only came from blasting beyond panic and landing in the cool grey apathy of total nerve-ridden shutdown.

Shinoa snorted, the sound snapping Yuu out of his quiet reverie. “Uh- I mean, unless you want to kinda- not to be a creep or anything, but we could-” he paused when Mika put a finger over his lips.

Mika’s smile was soft as silk. “I like movies?”

“Movies. Right. I’m off at eight?” No way no way no way-

“Eight sounds great,” Mika’s grin became a bit toothier. “I’ll meet you out front?”

“It’s a date?” Yuu smiled hopefully.

Mika grabbed the front of his apron and kissed his cheek. “You bet it is.”

“Great!” He gave him a thumbs up, practically floating back towards the counter with a sunshine smile all his own.

He heard Kimizuki scoff from the overpass at him. “What coffee shop fanfiction bullshit is this?”

Yuu ignored him, too happy to even care. Best workshift ever.

#owari no seraph #seraph of the end #mikaela hyakuya #yuichiro hyakuya #mikayuu #yuumika #yuumikayuu #fyrecrackeruwu #my writings #commission

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sooibian · 5 years

Text

Elude (1)

Moodboard | Prologue

Main Characters: Kyungsoo x Reader (ft. Baekhyun)

Genre: Dystopian AU

Warnings: Mentions of death, murder, illness and suicide

Tags: @squishysoo-12

Word count ~ 1400

A/N: Kinda unedited, sorry! Please let me know your thoughts.

***

You gradually opened your eyes to a rectangular room. It was just adequate enough to accommodate a small table besides the single bed you lay on. On the table stood a battery powered fan and a carefully placed wooden cup of ginseng tea. There were three open shelves affixed to the opposite wall for all your belongings. On the adjacent wall, a pathetic excuse for a window fitted with thick iron bars. Your servant's quarter was devoid of any plug points, ceiling fan, iron nails, sharp edges - for obvious reasons. You had only gone from one prison to another. At least you had the room all to yourself.

You took another glance at the wooden cup. There was a note underneath it.

That was quite an entrance -B

You felt a faint throbbing in the back of your head. Flashes of events from earlier came rushing to you.

Realization hit you like a truck. You froze.

You were in treacherous waters. This house belonged to the man you hated and feared the most. The sheer proximity to him filled you with a sense of dread. No one must find out. But then again no one would find out. Your father succeeded in keeping your identity a secret. As far as the world was concerned, his daughter died in the same car crash that took his wife. You were merely the daughter of two ordinary fisherpeople. The kind the world didn't care about. And to your credit, you had mastered the art of obscurity.

You read the note again.

Byun Baekhyun!

Byun!

Commander Byun was the President's right hand man - second in charge. He had played a major role in thwarting the Rebellion by having several spies on his payroll, eventually causing the Rebels to lose faith in each other. He was the man who had saved the President's life during the Rebels assassination attempt. Not by the showcase of his bravado, but by deceit.

Commander Byun had lost his wife in an illness at the time of the Rebellion. The event didn't weaken him in the slightest. It turned him into a bigger monster instead. Baekhyun must be his son. You wondered how he dealt with it all. The loss, the fear, the chaos.

You were swimming among sharks. And nobody was to be trusted. Your father had taught you to be smart. You would quietly accept any punishment they gave you for fainting, lie low and go on about your job as any other servant would.

You glanced at the teacup again. Unable to remember the last time you had ginseng tea. Although it had gone cold, you relished every sip of it. As if it was your last.

***

The news of your fainting episode had spread like wildfire. It had earned you a nickname in the kitchen - Princess. Your poor partner was stuck with 'Sloth' since the past two years.

"Set these plates on the dining table, will you Princess? Be careful about it", the head-chef ordered.

The volley of taunts and jibes had just begun.

The mahogany dining table, although elegant, seemed a little ostentatious. But then again, what about this place wasn't a gross display of wealth.

You set the three plates in order as instructed. One for the President at the head of the table. One for his wife and the other for their son.

Like any other family, there were stories about this one, too. Apparently, in her younger days, the First Lady was betrothed to a high ranking officer in the Army. The officer died under mysterious circumstances within a week of his engagement. The President had married her almost immediately after, in a hush hush affair. Speculations galore over her decision to marry a man almost twice her age. Some called her a gold digger. Still do. While many called it a moment of insanity.

Their son mostly flew under the radar. His name is Doh Kyungsoo. He is in his mid-twenties. And he’s being trained to be his father’s successor. He has a regimented daily routine. There are hardly any photographs of him in the public domain. Except the ones from the National Day parades. In the pictures, he's always sat next to his father. Dressed in the same black generals uniform, minus the maroon stars, his expressions unreadable. That was all there was to know about him.

You heard footsteps approach from behind, heading towards the kitchen, as you sat straightening the table covers and mats. You didn't bother to turn around. Dinnertime wasn't for another hour at least. It must be your partner making useless trips from the kitchen. Probably trying to get rid of her nickname by overcompensating. The thought filled you with rage. Half of the population was left to starve in detention centres and here you were, along with a small army of people, fussing over a dinner for three.

"Good evening, Imo! Mmm....smells delicious as always"

You heard a gentle but masculine voice coming from the kitchen. The kitchen staff was all women and none of the soldiers or guards were allowed to visit.

"Kyungsooya!", you overheard the head chef squeak, "where were you all this week? Promise you won't disappear on me like that again! I've been so worried! Imo has been cooking all of your favourite dishes! Oh my God, son....you look so frail! You haven't been eating well, have you? You have to fill up on all that I've cooked today, okay?"

Kyungsoo merely chuckled affectionately over the head chefs fretting.

Her sugary sweet tone towards a dictator's son made you want to gag.

You realized that you'd already started off on the wrong foot. And now you'd broken another unspoken rule by not greeting him when he walked past you. You rushed inside the kitchen just so that you could make amends.....it was your turn to overcompensate.

You hurried to the kitchen, stole a quick glance at Kyungsoo, not meeting his eyes and bowed down almost in reverence. To your utter surprise, he bowed back!

He seemed nothing like the man you've been seeing in the newspapers or the State controlled news channels all these years. His otherwise shrewd and stoic expressions looked much softer sans the uniform and the glaring spotlight of manufactured story-tellers. The thick round glasses gracing his face made him seem like the friendliest person to ever exist.

If this was an act, he was pulling it off with immense conviction.

You pretended to do something around the kitchen, picked up a few rag cloths and walked out. And all the while you felt Kyungsoo's eyes lingering on you.

***

The head-chef had a small garden for everyday herbs she used in the kitchen. Every morning you were supposed to water the plants and make sure they didn't die before you did.

"Morning, Princess!"

You recognized the owner of this voice and groaned internally.

You stood up only to bow down to him, "Good morning, Soldier Byun"

"It's Baekhyun for you", he said with a cheeky grin.

A small smile was all you could manage in response.

"You should come see my garden sometime", he said excitedly.

"You keep a garden?", a quizzical smile spread across your face. You just wanted to get this conversation over with. But didn't want to seem disinterested.

"Yes, but it might be a bit too.....bit too refined for your taste. Anyway, I have a question for you. Do you know what's the most important thing big mansions like these have?"

"A good staff to run the place smoothly", you said almost immediately regretting it.

He chuckled, "Correct, but the answer I was looking for is trapdoors"

Your face fell. Whatever his plan, you didn't want to partake in it.

"And there's one right underneath your bed", he thrust a small locked black box in your dirty hands.

He was now dangerously close to you, his voice down to a whisper "A little something from my garden, and I want you to hide this there"

"What...what happened to the girl who worked here before.... before me", you blurted out.

"I killed her", his nonchalant reply disturbed you. Also made you wonder whether this was some kind of a distasteful joke.

"But you have nothing to worry about, Princess. As long as you do exactly as I say"

A look of pure dread clouded your face.

He let out a small laugh and smirked, "Don't worry about it too much. Just follow my lead"

#exosnet #exo series #kyungsoo series #baekhyun series #kyungsoo fanfic #baekhyun fanfic #exo fluff #exo angst #kyungsoo fluff #kyungsoo angst #exo dystopia #baekhyun angst

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

Text

The Sins We Wear

Crowley and Aziraphale are in love. Tremendously in love. And that love deserves to be expressed, be explored, in all ways possible that they can conceive. The biggest fear in both their minds is, if they do this, will Aziraphale fall? ... But that's not the fear that stops Crowley's hand when the time comes. (2989 words)

(AO3)

Electricity gathers inside Aziraphale’s shop, building with every shot of Devil’s Cut he pours down his throat. It heralds a storm a long time coming, with warning signs and red flags crackling through his head. But every time he comes across one, he fills his shot glass and passes it by. As soon as his glass is empty again, Crowley shakes the bottle his way.

“Top you up, sergeant?”

“I--I don’t know.” Aziraphale considers his glass for less than a second before holding it out for a refill. “I’m afraid if I have too much more, I might forget myself entirely.”

“To be honest, that’s what I’m hoping for,” Crowley admits, throwing back his own shot, then abandoning his glass and the bottle to sit beside his friend.

“Oh?” Aziraphale laughs nervously. “Why’s that?”

“Because, you might say, I’m curious about a few things. There’re some questions I’d like to ask, but I think you might be too skittish sober to give me a proper answer.”

“And what questions are those?” Aziraphale sets his undrunk whiskey down on a nearby table. He’s maybe had a drink too many, but he feels it’s just enough. He needed to be a little looser than he was when they started to brave this storm. He needed to give himself permission to stop thinking too much.

But now he finds himself sobering up, the bottle on the table slowly filling as he pushes the alcohol out of his system.

Crowley does, too, privately coming to a similar conclusion.

If he does what’s he’s been planning drunk, or Aziraphale acquiesces drunk, it’s not going to mean a thing. In fact, it’ll turn wrong. Evil. Which might earn him a few points downstairs, but would ruin his relationship up here.

“I was just wondering - what would you say if I did this?” Crowley rolls onto his hip and leans in, kissing Aziraphale on the cheek. It’s quick and light, barely more than a glorified peck, but Aziraphale sucks in a sharp breath all the same.

“Oh! Well, I think I would say … thank you?” Aziraphale’s eyes flutter shut, his self-esteem speared by his own naiveté. But Crowley adores it. He adores Aziraphale’s innocence in pretty much everything from his themed crossword puzzles to the apps on his cell phone. He has no idea what most of them do, but he refuses to remove them in case they become useful to him one of these days.

To the lover and the demon, consummating this relationship has the potential to be decadent.

“And what if I did this?”

Crowley reaches across his body and puts a hand to the angel’s other cheek, kisses his neck from the thrumming pulse below his jaw to the collar of his dress shirt.

“Oh …” Aziraphale’s hands clamp down on the cushion beneath him, grabbing the material and anchoring himself to it. “Oh, I … um …” Crowley loosens Aziraphale’s tie and unbuttons the first button of his shirt to reveal a section of skin usually hidden - the junction of his neck and his shoulder. He undoes more buttons until he can loosen the collar enough to fit his mouth over that skin. Aziraphale shivers when he does, shivers when he swipes his tongue over it and bites down gently.

The slip of a moan that escapes his lips smells like whiskey and rings in Crowley’s ears like the bells of heaven.

Crowley climbs over the angel’s legs and settles himself in Aziraphale’s lap, kneeling on either side so as not to make Aziraphale uncomfortable.

“Is this all right with you, angel?” he whispers, toying with the next button on Aziraphale’s shirt but not moving an inch to undo it. “Are you okay if I keep going? Or do you want me to stop?”

“I …” Aziraphale’s eyes find Crowley’s lips, a touch too flustered to meet his gaze. Those yellow serpent eyes staring down at him are full of desire, lust, and sin. And as much as he loves Crowley, as much as he wants him, he’s never had those temptations aimed at him in such full force before. It makes him feel weak and nervous, strong and powerful, all at the same time. But he can’t fear Crowley and be with him. He’s already resolved inside himself that doing this, that making love even to a demon, won’t cause him to fall, as long as it truly is making love. Angels are love. As a Principality, Aziraphale’s whole existence hinges on him inspiring love in others. If he is love, if he inspires love, he should be allowed to partake in love.

It made perfect sense to him.

It took longer to convince Crowley than it did for Aziraphale to convince himself.

So, he needs to be a willing participant in this or not at all.

After a beat, his eyes travel up Crowley’s face. He holds his breath, finding it difficult to respond with his body so close, his smell all around him, his heat seeping through his clothes and his skin until he feels like he might burst into flames from the inside. The longer the silence drags, Crowley’s cocky grin starts to fade. He backs slowly away, looking more than hurt. Looking disgusted with himself, and that forces Aziraphale to react. He reaches out and grabs for any part of his demon, his hand latching on to his hip and clutching tight.

“No! Please, d-don’t go. D-don’t stop. I … I … don’t know what to do right now. I don’t know what to say. I’ve never …”

Crowley’s grin returns, fonder and a bit more bashful than before. “You don’t have to do anything,” he whispers, moving back into place on his angel’s lap, lips brushing Aziraphale’s neck. “Just sit back and enjoy how I make you feel. All right?”

Aziraphale nods, his voice going conspicuously missing when Crowley’s lips touch his skin.

Crowley feels his angel swallow hard, attempting to shove down every fear in his head and banish it to his feet.

It’s exciting.

Crowley’s entire existence on this planet has been spent coercing, manipulating, tempting, corrupting. But Aziraphale, technically his adversary, could not be swayed from his course. When they met, bedding this angel was the last thing on his mind but, as a demon, it would have been a triumph. 6000 years they spent playing off one another, conspiring with each other.

Fraternizing.

But look at them now. Thwart one Armageddon, and here he is, serpent of Paradise, corrupting the Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, not because he’s been commanded to.

But because they’re in love.

Crowley’s hands begin to travel, foregoing the light massage of his angel’s cheeks, gently stroking down his neck, nails running over his chest to his soft belly, further down to the waist of his slacks. He sighs softly against Aziraphale’s skin and behind the angel’s eyes aimed upward, the stars align.

“Oh, G--god--“ he moans.

“Shhh. God’s not here, angel. But I am. Say my name, if you don’t mind.”

“B--but … God’s everywhere.”

“Not if you don’t want me to leave off and take a cold shower she’s not.”

Aziraphale gulps. “Qu--quite right. Not here. Not at all. Who is this God person of whom you speak of …?”

Crowley returns to the light stroking of Aziraphale’s sensitive flesh, teasing at the insinuation that he’s about to undo the button and fly to his slacks, but then returning to other areas already exposed. He’d said Aziraphale needn’t do anything, but he feels like a heel sitting there, breathing heavily like a bass stranded on the shore. If this is the start of taking their relationship in a new direction, then he wants to participate, not simply let it wash over him like the rising tide. With trembling hands, he reaches for the buttons to Crowley’s shirt. He opens them slowly, careful not to pull the fabric. His fingertips brush Crowley’s smooth skin, and his kisses stutter.

“Oh, angel,” he whispers. “Yes. Whatever you’re doing, the answer is yes …”

Those words make Aziraphale bolder, more confident. He undoes more buttons, pushing fabric aside. Crowley responds by cradling the back of his head and kissing his neck harder, sucking and biting in equal measure until Aziraphale feels his demon’s lips everywhere at once, straight down to his toes. Aziraphale rolls his head to the side to give Crowley room to work with, rescuing his tie and stowing it off to the side so it doesn’t get too wrinkled. The change in position gives Aziraphale a much better view of Crowley’s exposed neck and part of his chest.

And in that view, the angel spots something he’s never seen before.

He’s never rightly seen Crowley shirtless before. All he wears are long sleeves and long trousers – in black, of course. Aziraphale never questioned it. He thought it was a demon thing and besides, Aziraphale doesn’t fancy short sleeves or short trousers himself, so they have that in common. Crowley does have a stable of shirts that reveal a V-shaped portion of his chest to about mid-sternum. But on this area of skin, his collarbone closer to his shoulder that’s never exposed, there’s a dark mark – longer than the snake on his face. A mark that looks like a handful of words scrawled in black pen.

The angel squints to get a closer look.

“Crowley?”

“Yes, angel?”

“What’s this on your collarbone?”

“Hmmm?”

“I thought it was your mark, but it looks like a name.”

Crowley’s lips, his hands, his body goes rigid, but Aziraphale doesn’t seem to notice.

“Whose name is this? Heather … Manson-Pride?”

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” Crowley straightens, grabs the opened halves of his shirt and holds them closed, on the beveled edge of hyperventilating. He climbs backwards off Aziraphale’s lap, fumbling to close the buttons, nearly yanking them off in the process.

He’d forgotten. How could he have forgotten!? How the fuck could this have slipped his fucking mind!?

For one, because he’d stopped looking at his body in the mirror about a thousand or so years ago. There were so many of them – too many of them. They had become too hard to ignore. And he wanted to ignore them. Now that he had his angel, he wanted to forget they were there.

He wanted to turn back time, start again from the beginning.

Wash the stains away.

A ridiculous, impossible, stupid, and unattainable goal, he knows, because he’s a demon. He did what demons do. Turning back time wouldn’t change that.

There’s no fixing this.

“Crowley? Are you all right? What … what happened?” Aziraphale sits up and does the same, pulling his shirt ends together and hugging himself tight to keep them closed. The expression on his face is one of concern … and embarrassment. An embarrassment so deep, it’s painted brick red splotches on the pale skin of his angel’s cheeks. Crowley didn’t want that for Aziraphale. Not now, of all times. Not when he’s risking so damned much to be with him. But Crowley needs to take a step back and decide how he’s going to deal with this.

“I can’t … I can’t tell you yet.” Crowley inches towards the door. In the depths of Aziraphale’s sky blue eyes, he sees his angel’s heart shatter. “I will! I swear I will! But I can’t ... I can’t do this right now.”

“What’s wrong? Is it … is it me?”

Guilt floods Crowley’s heart at the look of his angel, sitting primly on the sofa, back straight, confused and hurt by a rejection Crowley had no right to lob at him, not when he had started this.

“No, it’s not you, love,” Crowley says softly. “I just … I need to go. But only for now. I need a little time before I … before we …”

Aziraphale puts up a hand to stop Crowley’s rambling. “It’s okay. I understand.”

But he doesn’t understand. He’s lying. The Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate is lying. He’s trying to understand why the demon he’s finally given his heart to after 6000 years is rushing out the door like a married man making the biggest mistake of his life. He’s hurt and humiliated, and he’s doing his best to save face.

Worse – he’s doing his best to make Crowley feel better about leaving him in the dark.

Crowley reaches the door and opens it, taking one last look at his angel. He realizes as he backs out the door that he might be throwing away an opportunity he won’t be able to earn again for another 6000 years, but he doesn’t know what the right thing is.

Occupational hazard maybe.

Or maybe he’s just a tremendous knob.

“I’m sorry, Aziraphale,” he says, and shuts the door behind him.

Out on the empty sidewalk, he races to his car parked across the street. He doesn’t glance over his shoulder to see if Aziraphale is watching. He can’t bring himself to. He climbs inside and turns the engine over, but he doesn’t put the car into gear. He lets it idle, the radio picking up where it left off over an hour before when Crowley first got here, so sure of what he’d wanted he didn’t switch the radio off before he turned off the car. He puts his hands on the steering wheel, listening to the song playing, paying attention to the words for the first time since he’d glossed over them on his way here.

You will remember When this is blown over And everything's all by the way When I grow older I will be there at your side To remind you how I still love you I still love you

He reaches out and changes the channel, searching for something a little more upbeat to start him on his way, but he ends up with more of the same.

There's no chance for us. It's all decided for us. This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us. Who wants to live forever? Who wants to live forever? Who dares to love forever When love must die?

If his Bentley has a mind of its own, which he’s often suspected it does, its sense of theatrical timing is truly unmatched.

“Shit, shit, motherfucking, shit, shit, shit!”

He slaps himself on the forehead, hands grabbing chunks of hair and pulling because he needs pain to focus, needs it to remind himself that he’s not the only one involved here. He’s not the only one that matters. In fact, this bullshit he’s pressed about? It couldn’t matter less.

Him fornicating with an angel does come with risks, but it also has the potential to improve his stock ten-fold. It wouldn’t matter why he’d corrupted an angel. He’d have corrupted an angel! For the folks downstairs, that would be considered a huge win.

If Aziraphale’s notions about love are wrong, making love to a demon could destroy him.

Yup. Tremendous knob. That’s what Crowley is.

Either way, what the fuck is he doing!?

He reaches for the gear shift but his hand moves away. He tries it again, but it happens again, like the damned thing’s repelling him.

That’s the power of guilt for you.

Or he’s right - sentient car.

But he can’t do this, not to Aziraphale. He deserves to know what’s up, and not in a week, not at a time more convenient for Crowley.

He needs to know now, if he’s willing to listen.

Crowley turns off the engine. He climbs back out of his car, not bothering with the buttons of his shirt. He leaves the ends hanging. He no longer cares. If he’s going to come clean, he can’t let it matter any longer.

He walks up to Aziraphale’s door. In the time he’s been gone, Aziraphale has turned the lights off, probably to give the appearance that he’s gone to bed. But Crowley can feel him beyond the door, drinking in the dark.

Knock-knock-knock.

“Aziraphale!”

He waits, but he’s met with silence. He feels a long, drawn-out sigh from inside that swirls inside his ribcage, lassos his bones, and pulls tight.

Knock-knock-knock.

“Aziraphale!”

Go away, Crowley.

It’s not spoken, but he hears it all the same.

It doesn’t hit his ears.

It hits his heart.

Knock-knock-knock.

“Aziraphale! Please! I’m so sorry! Let me in! I need to talk to you!”

Another sigh, but this time it’s accompanied by the padding of feet coming towards him. The locks on the door unlatch and the doorknob clicks. Aziraphale appears, completely put back together – shirt buttoned, hair combed, tie straight and in place.

His face bereft of that beautiful aroused flush he’d worn not minutes before.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale clears his throat, speaking with all the enthusiasm of greeting an Amway solicitor. “What’s wrong? I thought you needed some time to think.”

“No, I don’t need time. I need you,” he says, longing to touch his angel, but the crack in the door is too narrow for him to reach through.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s so. But before we do anything, I need to show you something first.”

Aziraphale doesn’t move from his spot, doesn’t open the door, and Crowley deflates, close to dropping on his knees and begging.

“Aziraphale, please? I love you. And I want to make this right by you. I just need you to hear me out.”

“Crowley, I’m done for the night. I …”

“Five minutes?” he pleads. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

“Five minutes?” Aziraphale sounds exhausted so he’ll probably hold him to it, down to the second. But if he’s willing to listen, Crowley will take it.

“Yes. Five minutes.”

Aziraphale nods. “Five minutes.” He steps to the side, opening the door wider for the demon to enter and then locking it behind him.

#Good Omens #Good Omens Fanfic #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #frankie writes

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 5 years

Text

WIP Wednesday - “Obedience”

So this week’s story, Obedience, is a little difficult to talk about. I already discussed on Saturday how it was inspired by just the sense of utter hopelessness that came upon me while researching German history between WWI and WWII which, shockingly, might be tied to why no one is reading it.

(I DO NOT BLAME ANYONE for that. I fully understand that “bleak depictions of the hopeless state of war and the ways in which the army attempts to destroy the sense of self” is not exactly the kind of thing people go to AO3 to read. This was kind of something I wrote for myself? But I’m glad a few people have also enjoyed it.)

One of my readers commented that the way Briathos berates Aziraphale in this story reminded them of how Crowley is with his plants, only worse.

(Literally could not get the “Grow Better” GIF to work why does Tumblr hate me??)

Anyway, while this wasn’t directly what inspired her (I hadn’t seen the connection before), it really comes from the same place.

@wanna-b-poet31 has written some great metas on the abuse Crowley and Aziraphale have suffered and the coping mechanisms they developed as a result. I’m going to specifically link to this one on Crowley’s harmful coping mechanisms, because of the mention of his yelling at his plants. Specifically, the way he uses his plants to relive his own rejection by Heaven, casting out any that are less than perfect with the same terrifying wrath that he probably felt directed at himself.

Seriously that one paragraph from the meta just made me feel so many things and I’m still feeling a lot of them, how do I process this??

It is through this scene - through the trembling fear of his plants - that we get a hint of the wrathful, violent side of Heaven. Yes, you see the three angels ganging up on Aziraphale in episode 5, and yes Sandalphon walks around like a mob enforcer, but honestly what we get onscreen is mostly just the slow, suffocating combination of emotional abuse and neglect. Through Crowley and his plants, we see the way just a tiny application of fear and threats can keep everyone else in line.

And that is something I wanted to develop a bit more through Sawdust of Words. At the moment it’s just rearing its head now and again across the timeline.

The first question, of course, was who to have delivering the threats. I wanted the scene to be mid-battle, and as I’ve stated before, I think the Archangels are too hands-off to ever be in the trenches dressing down one of their soldiers (or, technically, low-ranked officers in Aziraphale’s case).

Side note: if Sandalphon is the “enforcer” I wonder if he is not, in fact, an Archangel (I don’t believe he’s identified as one in any major Angelology) but instead someone whose service during the War made him especially distinguished. If Gabriel is the CEO, Sandalphon is the ex-marine chief of security/personal bodyguard is what I’m getting at.

Anyway, that meant I needed to create a new character, someone who could be there to do the Archangels’ terrorizing for them. Briathos (who is listed in my source as “an angel who thwarts demons”) is one of MANY who serve this role (she’s really a mid-ranked officer herself), but definitely distinguishes herself by being VERY ENTHUSIASTIC in her threatening. She is a True Believer (TM) in somewhat of a different way than Aziraphale is - while he believes that the Ineffable Plan will come to Good in the end, despite the occasional Flood-genocide, she believes completely in the righteousness of everything Heaven does, in this case, killing a whole bunch of rebellious angels.

So now that I have a threaten-er, the next question is what is the threat? She obviously can’t threaten disobedient angels with Falling (as a concept, Falling doesn’t exist this early in the War...slight spoiler, but I’m thinking when all the rebellious angels were abruptly cast out of Heaven, it was just as much a shock to those fighting them...and in any case, that decision would be WAY over her paygrade).* So that brought me to my other idea: Forgiveness.

This is something I’ve hinted at before. I grew up very much involved in the Catholic Church, and one thing you’ll often hear people say is that the Church is VERY much obsessed with guilt and forgiveness - until relatively recently, you went to Confession EVERY WEEK and had a long discussion over everything you’d done wrong, you were made to feel every less-than-perfect thought was a sin, etc. You do not have to dig very deeply to find so many ways this concept has been abused in the last 2,000 years, on some massive scales. The idea that absolution from sin was something you could PURCHASE - even for sins you hadn’t committed yet - was one of the major causes of the Reformation, which got us all the Protestant Churches. The idea of Catholic Guilt is just, like, a really easy punchline for anyone who grew up Catholic, right?

To be honest, this wasn’t my experience AT ALL. My anxiety already leaves me feeling guilty enough all the time (every social interaction makes me berate myself as a moron; my short temper resulted in plenty of actions I regretted). To me, the idea of divine Forgiveness was a lifeline. As long as I kept trying, as long as I WANTED to be a better person, there was one Being who would always be willing to give me another chance, who wasn’t going to give up on me the way everyone else I knew would. That kept me going through a lot of really dark times. I have one distinct memory of going to Confession in high school and it was like the weight of everything I’d done up to that point in my life was taken off my shoulders and put aside, and I was able to go on without it burdening me anymore. The feeling was...indescribable.

So finding out about this dark other side to one of the most important parts of my religion was...well, the best I can say is it was really hard for me.

So it was pretty much inevitable that, writing a story about angels and demons, the concept of Forgiveness was going to come up. It hovers around the edges of “Early Days” in Aziraphale’s anxiety about his sword, Crowley brings it up directly in Chapter 4 - when talking about the behavior of the humans, the thing that made him think they HADN’T been completely corrupted was their ability to forgive each other, no matter what.

Of course it’s in the show itself; who could forget:

(Off the top of my head there are three major scenes involving Forgiveness, which maybe I should address in its own meta?)

So here’s my thoughts on Heavenly Forgiveness in a nutshell:

Heaven, and by extension the angels, are supposed to Forgive and Love freely and unconditionally. You may have noticed they, sort of, DON’T. The Rebellion and the War are a large part of what lead to these changes, Heaven becoming harsher and more authoritarian. One way this immediately manifested itself was in the idea of Forgiveness.

Once the Soon-To-Be-Demons Rebelled, well, they’re UNFORGIVABLE. Now all of a sudden, Forgiveness IS conditional. It can be withheld. It can be denied. If you screw up, it is now SOMEONE ELSE’S decision if you still have worth, if you can be redeemed. And the first thing the higher-ranked angels do is turn Forgiveness into a club they can use to beat the lower-ranked ones into whatever shape they need.

Reducing those like Aziraphale into quivering plants, terrified of the sound of the woodchipper and a now-empty flowerpot.

“Obedience” is here on AO3. If my edits are completed on schedule, the next story will go up Friday night/Saturday morning, and be less bleak.

*Yes, I suppose you can either interpret the casting out as what STARTED the War or what ENDED it; I’m going with the latter.

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papasquatte · 4 years

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Urbex Summoning

“Guys, I can’t tell you how bad of an idea this is.” the whine in my voice was evident, even to me. But I couldn’t help it considering what they intended to do. I passed the bag of equipment to Susan and climbed through the window, determined nonetheless to see this debacle thought to the end. Tony played his flashlight over the graffiti scared walls of our surroundings and spared me a withering glare.

“ For the last time, shut the fuck up dude.”

“Look, even if you don’t believe in the supernatural there could still be druggies or scrappers in here.” Susan handed me the bag back with slightly more force than was necessary, momentarily driving the breath from what I would call my lungs. As I staggered back I was unceremoniously shoved forward by Dan as he came through the broken window. He was carrying our sound equipment and was probably the most burdened of all of us and in no mood to dodge around people.

“There’s four of us” he pointed out as he pulled his bag through.” Any drugie or scrapper’s probably not going to come here in more than one’s or two’s. Worse they’ll do will try and scare us off.” He glanced around the room and frowned. “That might be for the best, or we’ll have to stage something to make it more interesting.”

Ryan stuck his head back into the room. “I’d prefer not to have to. Hallway’s clear this way of crap and the floor's still sound.”

“Well spirits aren’t always accommodating when it comes to filming.” Dan walked over and stuck his head out to look the other direction. "We could split off into teams tonight.”

Susan crossed her arms and glanced at me. “Doug’s got a point. I’d rather stick together.”

Dan waived dismissively back at her. “ It’ll be fine.”

Thwarted in my attempt to logic us back out the window I cut to the heart of what was actually getting my hackles up. “It’s not just druggies man. You’re messing with things you don’t understand.”

Susan punched me in the arm. “What’s this ‘you’ stuff? Why the hell did you even come if you’re not going to participate?”

It was a good question, and one I did not want answered truthfully if I could help it. Instead I hefted the camera bag and muttered, “ you’ll need a cameraman.”

She took the bag from me and unzipped it. “Any of us could

have been the cameraman. But fine, if you want to then here’s the rig. Get it set up and for the love of all that is holy, stop bitching. I had to hear this for two hours on the car ride here, and I swear if you open your mouth to whine one more time I’ll shove that GoPro so far down your throat you’ll have to drop your pants to record anything.”

I busied myself getting the GoPro into the steadicam rig while everyone else was issued mics by Dan and got themselves set up.

“Alright lads and ladies, here’s tonight’s agenda.” Tony clapped his hands together in an unnecessarily business like fashion, “We’ll be doing the introduction here.” He waived vaguely around the room. We’d picked a first floor window that had been broken for years as our entrance. It was screened from the outside by a hedge and led into a fairly unobstructed patient room. It was clear we’d not been the only ones to favor this entrance as the graffiti lay thick and graphic on the walls. “Then we’ll break off into two teams and shoot some investigation work for about forty five minutes.”

Dan put up his hand. “ I thought we were doing voice over.”

“We can decide that for sure later. But I’d like us to have an in person introduction ready in case we go that route.”

“It’s easier than driving back two hours to shoot it later.” Susan put in.

Tony nodded, “the voice over is mostly for the B roll stuff anyway. Maybe narrate some of the history of the place over less than interesting footage.” He played with his clip on mic, adjusting it in some tiny way that was more nerves than necessary. “ Anyway, I see us doing about forty five minutes of investigation shoots in teams of two. EVP work, that sort of thing. That should put us at about 11:30. That gives us about ten minutes to head down to the morgue in the basement and be set up by midnight.”

My gut twisted into knots.

“Can’t we just do a seance or a Ouiji board session? Why does it have to be demon summoning?” The words were no sooner out of my mouth than I knew I’d lost this argument. It was one we’d have several times while on the way over here and I’d lost every one of those too.

“Because everyone does seances or plays with that damn spirit board.” Tony snapped. “ If we want anyone to watch our videos we need to up the ante.”

“Must we up it that high?”

Susan put her hand on my shoulder. “It’s just pretend man, none of this is real.”

I bit back my first response. These idiots were about to die over a Youtube video and here they were telling me to calm down.

“Hey,” Tony smacked me on the chest, as if that would improve my mood. “ film me doing the intro already.”

“Hey, why do you get to do the intro?” Dan crossed his arms and postered in what he clearly thought was a ‘badass’ pose.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Susan muttered by my arm, “here we go again.”

“What?” Tony faked a nonchalant attitude. “I didn’t know you wanted to do the intro. Why don’t you do the voice over stuff later?”

“Oh and let you edit it with your own audio?”

I shifted position and recentered the camera on both of them. “Guys, why don’t you just do the intro together?” I may not have been able to get them to give up this fool’s errand, but I could at least keep them from fighting, again. Plus their gormless expressions as they realized they’d not rehearsed the intro in tandum gave me a warm fuzzy feeling.

Tony glanced between themselves. “Wait, who’ll say what?”

Susan for her part, could think on her feet. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a steadying breath. “Dan, you do the intro, Tony you come in for the history and then I’ll step in for the ritual.”

Tony had enough sense to defer to her. I centered Dan in the shot and counted him in.

“Hey guys,” he threw a causal and not to code salute at the viewers, “it’s us, the Bootectives, and we’re here at the Pendleton Mission Hospital with another great video for you.” I could just catch Tony putting his face in his hands off camera. If Dan noticed, he was at least professional enough to ignore it this time. “Pendleton Hospital is about twenty five miles north of its namesake city. This whole area is saturated in psychic energy and we’re here to investigate it.”

Susan signaled Tony as I paned over to him. “In its heyday Pendleton Mission was a tuberculosis hospital so,” he hefted one of our dust masks, “we brought ourselves some protection. Even if there’s no latent TB bugs, Pendleton Mission has been abandoned for the last thirty years, so black mold is a real possibility and we want to be safe.” I caught Susans eye and she got herself into position, sliding in next to Dan off camera. “And guys, we’ve got a real treat for this investigation.” He did unnecessary finger guns to point me towards Susan. I caught the tale end of Susan’s glare in the video, which, I felt the viewers would appreciate.

She hefted a book that made my insides turn to water. "We’re going to try and summon a demon.”

The book itself wasn’t the problem. It was a rather unassuming brown cloth book printed probably in the late eighties. It wasn’t bound in human skin like some of the more ostentatious occult books I could name. Nor was it written in virgin blood. Which, lets face it, clots far too quickly for that sort of macabre gesture. No, it was typed with sensible margins, copy edited, and published by absolute frothing madmen.

Not cultists mind you. No, you could alway rely on cultists to get something wrong. The worst they could usually accomplish was to summon some Carrion-class table shaker and strand the poor thing here. But this book. This had been written by sensible men, in sensible shoes, who didn’t actually believe in any of the stuff they were writing about. It wasn’t real. So what did it matter to them if they wrote down and published the exact steps for summoning a Slaughter-class demon. And wouldn’t you know it? My group of would-be ghost enthusiasts just happened to find it in the dirt smelling, used book shop down the street. I could have slapped the authors.

Susan went on, oblivious to me mentally running in circles, waving my arms and screaming.I thumbed the record button again to end the clip and nodded at Tony. Thinking about the book again was giving me a headache.

“Alright,” Tony clapped twice as if the act alone would turn off the recording I’d already stopped. “Check your mic’s and lets get exploring.”

“Be careful out there guys.” I couldn’t help myself, I’m a worrier at heart and I did like these idiots. “ Try and stay within line of sight of your buddy at all times. We don’t know who else is here or how stable the building is the further in we go. I don’t want to see anyone showing up on the evening news.”

The others rolled their eyes and gave the same badgered “ok’s” my mother henning always got at this point. Thankfully no one argued with me. I guess since I wasn’t actively trying to end the investigation, they couldn’t fault my better judgement. We paired off and moved out.

By mutual consent and habit Tony and Dan paired off while I joined Susan and headed out. Dan and Tony both held a flame for Susan so I tended to be her exploration buddy so she didn’t have to put up with their antics. It was an arrangement I was quite happy with to be fair.

I held no particular interest in her, not that she wasn’t nice, she was just overly young for me. I simply preferred her cool headed skepticism. She always tried to find the rationale behind an event, looking for the logic in the situation. This was in stark contrast to the boys who’d feed off each other's paranoia and jumped at every shadow. Better for the audience, but more frustrating for me who was just there to enjoy the scenery.

As we headed out Susan turned to me. “ Do you want to film or be in the shot?”

“Film,” I thumbed the record button again, “it’ll be easier to keep the ghosts out of the shot then.”

She laughed and I smiled like I was joking. “Right.” Susan started off down the hall. “We’ll shoot some B roll stuff for them to narrate over, and then I’ll jump at a few shadows and say I’m walking through cold spots or something. By then we can head off and meet them for the ritual and be out of here in time to do a sunrise shot.”

“Oh Gods, don’t remind me about the ritual.”

Susan glared back over her shoulder at me but softened, my face must have been paler than I thought for her to notice in the wane light of our flashlights. “Come on dude, it’s not real. We’ll be fine.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because,” She shrugged, “we’d have gotten evidence of it by now.” We continued down the corridor as we talked, passing decrepit room after decrepit room. I panned the camera into each to give the futur viewer a look at the horrible conditions of the place. It was about what you’d expect from an abandoned building left to the elements. The floor was covered in a mix of waterlogged carpet and ceiling fragments. The corridor and rooms choked with the detritus of years, either left to rot or thrown here by later generations. Graffiti "artists” had redecorated the walls in the sort of school yard vulgarity that was somehow universal in these places. Nothing the viewer hadn't seen in hundreds of other Urbex videos online, but I panned around none the less.

There was a lot of decay to take in, but the panning actions I was doing were for another reason. It was the perfect cover for my erratic movements as I stepped around the Blind Spirits and other spiritual flotsam. They were too weak to affect the material world. They were even too weak for the electronics of our equipment to pick up, being mostly echos and psychic imprints. They were however, unpleasant to step through if you were sensitive to the paranormal. Like stepping on an melting ice cube in a sock, they didn’t hurt but left an unpleasant lingering feeling. Susan barged right through them, apparently numb to the spiritual realm. Personally I think she’s a younger soul, probably hasn’t gone around the bend too many times and been steeped in the supernatural. Old souls tended to resonate more.

“What?” I raised her an eyebrow. “You mean dick heads like us? Or ‘real’ paranormal investigators?” A shadowy hand reached out of a crumbling doorway towards her. I angled the camera so it stayed out of shot and glared at it until it went somewhere else.

“Anybody.” She waived her hand about, going right through an orb. I shrugged. In the end, I’ve always thought it was better that people didn’t know what to expect.

“If it was easy, would it be fun?”

She snorted and shined her flashlight into another room. I almost recorded it, but caught myself just in time. There was a shadowy figure in a nurses outfit in the corner. Her eyes appeared to have been hollowed out and the look on her face told me she was reliving some terrible thing she’d probably done to someone. I turned and let her get on with it. “All I’m saying is that it’s better not to poke things we don’t understand.”

Susan turned back to look at me. “Fine, would it make you feel better if I messed up the ritual?”

“Really?” I must admit the prospect cheered me greatly.

“Yeah,” Susan stopped and turned to look at me. “It’s not like it’ll make a big difference. I’ll smudge something or other.”

“I’d like that a lot actually.”

“Fine then, let’s go fake some ghost shit.”

We spent the next forty five minutes doing just that. To be honest, I missed it more than I’d like to admit. In our early days the gang just went to “creepy” places, few of them ever really haunted. I’d rig up some wires and mechanisms to make chairs rattle and items fly off shelves. While the others jumped and pointed. I’d been damn good at it too. But then our channel had blown up and the guys kept pushing us into deeper and darker places where some real serious shit had taken place. The culmination of all this was their insistence on this damnable ritual.

I’d missed just going through abandoned places and enjoying the scenery. There was something about urban decay that cheered me up. Maybe it was just that, after everything that had been done to this planet, it was nice to see nature gently taking something back. Eventually it would reclaim it totally, and the psychic energy could dissipate.

We wound our way around to the basement slowly. Not really talking too much, just enjoying the stillness. We eventually ended up in the basement, and Tony's ritual site.The boys had beaten us there and started setting up. It was depressingly gothic. All it needed was a ram’s skull to complete the image of satanic barbarism. Susan picked up one of the jet black candles.

“Really?”

“Hey, Hey, Hey,” Tony scuttled over from where he’d been drawing glyphis, in red chalk no less. He snatched the candle from Susan and crouched to put it back. “I had those precisely placed.” He repositioned the candle along some invisible mark only he could seem to see.

Despite Susan’s assurance, apprehension twisted my gut again. I’d have preferred it if we didn’t complete this farce at all if I was honest. Something of my mood must have shown in my face because Tony looked up at me.

“If you touch something I’ll break your hand, just go in the corner and film us.”

I nodded silently. All I was pray to whatever Gods were listening that what Susan planned on doing wouldn’t summon something equally likely to get them killed. I really should have known better, nothing in the ethereal helps without a price, and many of the Gods have a disgusting sense of humor. However, at that moment I was unaware of what that night would cost me and simply stood by to let them get on with it.

It wasn’t until they started chanting that I felt something was wrong. It was when they were casting the words of binding, to be precise, when the circle flared into life. It pulsed with a malevolent red energy that overwhelmed our flashlights and threw disturbing shadows against the wall.

“Cool!” Tony seemed overjoyed. I could have killed him, if I could move. The other two looked more than a little startled that anything had happened at all. I abandoned the camera and tried to move from my spot against the wall, but my feet were cemented in place with a force I could not break. From my vantage point I tried to read the glyphs that had been chalked out in the circle. It wasn’t long before I saw what had happened.

It had been Susan after all. They say if you give a monkey a typewriter and enough time it will eventually produce Hamlet. That sort of one in a million luck had apparently just happened. Susan had been as good as her word and messed with one of the glyphs. However, the particular glyph she had chosen to deface was a very delicate one.

The light from the circle snapped from bright red to a sullen garnet. Shafts of sparkling light lanced up from the now open portal like demonic sparklers. I felt the pit of my stomach drop out as the three of them scrambled for cover.

The rune Susan had chosen to play with had ment “strongest”. It was, in-fact, the rune that had scared me the most. But with one extra stroke in exactly the wrong place Susan had completely changed it. Instead of “strongest” it now stood for “closest”.

The world dropped away as if I’d fallen through a trapdoor, closely followed by the feeling of being slammed against a wall. This wall, was the inside of the circle. I had just enough time to look up at my friends pale faces before the next bit of unpleasantness started. The sparking bars of light began to bend inward. Where they touched me, illusion was stripped away and my true self was forced into the material plane.

This was unpleasant for all present. Besides feeling like my skin had been ripped off like an all-over bandaid, even the prettiest of celestial beings was never meant to be seen by man. Let’s just say there’s a reason the standard angelic greeting is ‘Be Not Afraid’. Infernal on the other hand, we took it to another level. Lovecraft didn't capture half the unpleasantness with his fiction.

I could see their minds begin to crack as I unfurled and roiled outwards, slamming into the psychic bars of my prison. I attempted to use my ‘hands’ to cover the more unpleasant bits of my anatomy and tried to ‘turn’ away as much as I could. It wasn’t much, but it helped enough.

“What the FUCK happened?” of course Susan was the first to recover. Maybe she wasn’t as young a soul as I’d thought.

“Uh,” I rumbled in my manifold voices. “Look, I said I couldn’t tell you how bad of an idea this was.”

#writing #summoning #short story #short fiction

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