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magnolia-among-the-stars · 4 months ago

Text

twin sized mattress (rafe cameron)

summary: What happens when one moment you’re coming home to change for a secret date, and the next you’re being dragged away to a "wilderness therapy camp" with no warning, no goodbye.

Kitty Hawk isn’t a camp. It’s a prison disguised as a lesson, a place designed to break people like me. No contact. No escape. Just rules, isolation, and the constant reminder that this is my fault.

I don’t know how long it’s been since I last saw Rafe Cameron. Maybe he moved on. Maybe he doesn’t even know I’m gone.

But if he does? If he finds out where they sent me? Then I don’t know who should be more afraid—me… or the people keeping me here. based on this request

word count: 6590

trigger warnings: forced disciplinary camp, isolation, emotional manipulation, toxic positivity, gaslighting, coercion, PTSD-like symptoms, mentions of forced labor, exhaustion, restricted food, physical abuse (in the altercations with the security team)

A/N: i take this topic so seriously because I know that even though Kitty Hawk is a fictional location, there are real camps out here that are doing this. there's a few real impactful documentaries on netflix (among so many others) that talk through the horrors of these programs. Please take care of yourself in reading this - I'm really proud of it but it is a much heavier topic.

I never thought my parents would do it. Truly. I mean, of course I thought it was possible. Hell, they’d threatened it the entirety of freshman year. That was the year John B’s dad disappeared, the year that Kie went off to Kook Academy. It was a rough year for all of us. So sure, they’d threaten the idea if I kept hanging out with ‘that Maybank kid’, if I kept up my ‘attitude’ or my ‘late night sexcapades’ as my mother called them.

I could still see her face, just last weekend in the kitchen pouring another cup of coffee. The night before, we’d been out at the Boneyard having a few beers. I could still see the pinch in between her brow, could still see the tremble in her upper lip as she scolded me. “Keep this up, see what happens. I swear, if I wake up one more time in the middle of the night to find that you are still not home…if I find out you were partying with those criminals - you are done, do you hear me?”

We’d always landed somewhere between Pogues and Kooks, having moved here after my dad took a job in the Coast Guard but living on The Cut to save on moving costs. I’d always found myself at peace with the Pogues, surfing during the summer days and boating in the evenings. It was always lighthearted. Work hard, play harder. I should’ve known it would bite me in the ass someday.

Dripping from the rain and in desperate need of a change of clothes before heading out, I didn’t even have a chance to tug my key from my pocket when the door swung open wide.

A strange man stood in the doorway, staring down at me menacingly. I raise a brow, try to peer around the behemoth of the man. “Am I at the wrong house?” I mumble, backing up a little bit to get my bearings. My back slams into something dense and I turn, noticing another man with his arms crossed. “What the–,” my heart drops to my ass and bile rises in my throat.

It’s a blur after that of hands on skin, flip flops displaced on the wet grass, of screaming and promises and begging. Bruises form from kicking against the car door, from punching against the glass. I get a glimpse of my mother sobbing on the porch as I’m driven away in a black SUV, my father wiping his mouth.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I have just enough time to stare down at the incoming text message. I just parked, let me know when you get here?

I try to quickly press out a response, send an SOS but I’m not quick enough. The man sitting to my left snatches it from my grasp and all hope of escape, of stopping the nightmare of some therapeutic wilderness camp for troubled teenage girls.

______

It feels like too much time passes in the dark of the woods by the time I see the sign, illuminated by solar lighting on the side of the road. Kitty Hawk. The hellscape that Kie’s parents had threatened a few months back. At least Mike and Anna had come to their senses that listening to your child had been the solution to their rebellion instead of a traumatic kidnapping and manual labour. How peachy.

Bigfoot pushes me from the slick leather and out of the car, wrapping a stiff hand around my bicep and all but drags me up the dirt path to a cabin at the top of the hill in the center of the facility. It’s dark; rows of evergreen cabins line the paths through the trees. It’s too quiet, the only sound coming from any direction were crickets and a quiet echo of shouting. Creepy.

Inside the main office, a woman with a toothy tight smile and tired eyes tells me that this is a chance at redemption. “This is a chance to right your wrongs, to really make something of yourself.”

“I’ll pass,” I tell her, nodding absentmindedly at the cat bobble head that sways on her desk. “I should really be getting home…I’ve got a date.”

“You do…with your future.” She covers it with her hand, forcing me to look up at her. Her smile tightens, stretching too far. “And I have high hopes for you,” she says.

“No, like an actual date, it’s important,” I say, blinking a little and frowning. I think of him, sitting out on the beach waiting for my text message. He’s probably looking out at the ocean, watching the storming waves and wondering if I’m blowing him off, if I’ve finally called off whatever it is that we had before things could get serious; before we told anyone anything. Probably wondering if I was coming to my senses. What Pogue would ever want to get into a serious relationship with the Kook Prince anyway?

“Sweetheart, we need you to work with us here. Alright? We can work together to make things better, okay? Can you trust us?” the woman says, leaning forward like we’re friends.

I stare at her for a moment, disturbed by the optimism. “I need to atleast make a phone call.”

She shakes her head, waving to the goof in the corner standing at the ready. “Patients cannot use their phones or have contact with anyone for the first six weeks of the program-,” she continues to rattle off a series of rules. They go in one ear and out the other.

And when Sasquatch finally comes in to drag me off to a cabin, all I want is Rafe’s hands on me instead. And when I lay on the thin mattress on the bottom bunk in the overcrowded girls’ cabin with springs digging into my back, I try to imagine the soft sand underneath me and the scratchings on the plank of wood above the stars. I try not to think about how heartbroken he must be, not knowing that I’d been sent away.

____

Days pass in a daze of survival; of medication trials, gaslighting unqualified therapy and lots of splinters. Between group sessions of talking through our wrongdoings and ruthless workouts to ‘sweat out our sins’, the counselors are convinced that becoming lumberjacks will cure us of whatever illness has caused our disobedience. My hands quickly become calloused from the endless hours of splitting wood with an old axe, my shoulders sore from carrying logs to and from one site to another. There’s no real structure, just ragged breathing and murmurs of toxic positivity quotes that hard work builds character.

No one talks about the horrors of being taken from their homes and families, of the depression that causes them to act out. I watch a girl, maybe a year younger than me, sway on her feet. She’s holding an axe that’s longer than her arm and I worry she’ll hurt herself. I step forward to steady her, slip the axe from her loose grip.

Betsy Sue or whatever the fuck her name is steps back with a wide gaze.

Big Boss Man appears almost out of nowhere and rips the axe from my grasp. He tucks my arm behind my back, like I’m a threat to his stature.

“Threatening a counselor in your first week,” Betsy Sue says, shaking her head and scribbling something on her stupid clipboard. “That’s two weeks in the Reflection Cabin for you. I hope you’ll take that time to really think about how you want your experience here to go,” she says through clenched teeth.

“No, no - I wasn’t even threatening you-, no, get off,” I try to shove their hands away like a scared cat. “She was going to pass out, you barely feed us-,” I grunt as I’m shuffled through the woods, kicking and screaming. They close me inside the dim cabin, leaving me to the dust glinting through slips of light from under the sealed windows. They’re cracked open just about two inches, allowing the cool breeze to seep into the room like a crushed straw. I notice the lack of sheets on the thinner mattress and the state of the dirty toilet. Fuck.

—

It's been days since he’s heard from you. Rafe Cameron wasn’t someone who normally got left on read and yet that alone didn’t even cause him to stop thinking about you. He didn’t know how it happened but he knew that your laugh is infectious. He had never pictured himself settling down and yet, he had thought about what size your ring finger was.

You’d been around Sarah ever since Ward’s death…the first time. One of the annoying Pogues who’d been treasure hunting around Kildare like you were Jack Sparrow and yet, he couldn’t help but search for your face in a crowd. And one late night, long after he and Sarah had agreed to be in each other’s lives, he found you staring up at the stars on the patio. The rest of the Pogues were passed out throughout Tannyhill from a night of partying but you? You were curled up on a covered wicked chair, hair twisted into two lazy braids and hand deep into a bag of cheese puffs.

“The hell are you doin’ out here?” he grunts, looking at the mess your friends had left.

You just crunched away, unbothered by his tone as your dirty orange fingers pointed up at the sky. “Meteor shower.” You held out the bag for him, “Wanna watch?”

Rafe didn’t know what he was doing when he settled down below the wicker chair, shoulder bumping yours as he stared at your dirty fingers holding the big bag. “Those are disgusting,” he mumbles, staring at your profile and the way your lips curled up.

“And?” you said, turning to look at him with a raised brow.

He felt like he could kiss the smirk off of your face. So he tried. And you tasted like artificial cheese and malibu. He swore he fell in love. And then you stood him up, there on the beach a few nights ago. And then he noticed that you hadn’t been around the house with his sister either, nor at the farmer’s market with Kie and Cleo, not even at the marina with the boys.

Were you avoiding him? What the hell had he done to deserve the silent treatment and a no show. It wasn’t like he could just straight up ask Sarah where you were hiding. You’d never really gotten to the point of making it official, of sharing with your friends that you’d done the unspeakable. You’d gotten involved with Sarah’s recovering assaholic of a brother.

It’s not until a few days of stewing later that he decides he can’t take it anymore, that he can’t move on until he’s seen you. That what you guys had felt too real for him to just shrug it off. When he walks into the kitchen though, he’s not expecting the whole clan to be there again. But he counts only six and deflats until he hears their conversation.

“They said she went on a trip to go visit family out of state,” Pope shares, leaning down and shaking his head.

“There’s no way she would’ve left without telling someone something,” Sarah shakes her head, leaning on John B. “It’s just not her.”

“You don’t think they could’ve—,” JJ drags a finger across his throat and gets a few groans, a pinch from Kie.

“JJ, not funny. No, the only thing that they’ve ever threatened her with is–,” Kie looks up at the sound of Rafe’s footsteps, catches his curiosity. “Rafe? What are you doing here?”

“Where is she?” he asks, crossing his arms. Sarah notices the strain of emotion settling into his jaw, his hands tucked into themselves to stop from shaking. She tilts her head in realization, she’s always been too perceptive.

“We don’t know,” she says. “But from the way you’re shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you have something you’d like to share with the class.”

Rafe huffs out a sarcastic noise, somewhere between an amused snort and an annoyed laugh. “Cute, real cute. Your little friend was supposed to meet me out on the beach the night of the storm. Never showed. So, because she won’t answer my calls or texts – you can tell her that she can come out of hiding now and tell me to fuck off like an adult.”

“The night of the–oh my god,” Kie covers her mouth. “Dude, her parents pulled the trigger.”

“I knew it,” JJ shouts, slapping the countertop in confirmation but Kie shuts him down.

“No, listen, her parents told her two weeks ago that one more late night and they were sending her away to Kitty Hawk. That’s the day that we were stranded on Figure 8 because someone-,” she looks at JJ, “forgot to put enough gas in the Snapper.”

Rafe stiffens, guilt washing through him for thinking that you would’ve walked away without a single word. He’s reminded of the soft commentary woven into your conversations; that your parents were absent, harsh.

“You really think her parents would send her away?” John B asks.

“Yes, 100%. My parents got the name of the place from her mom. They’ve been threatening it for a while now. We just laughed it off…”

“Lets go get her,” Rafe blurts out. The whole group turns in confusion at his outburst, watching as he grabs his wallet and keys from the bowl on the counter. He looks like a man on a mission and they freeze. When he realizes no one is moving, he glares. “What are you all looking at me like that for? Do you want to go rescue your friend or not?”

They share a look, a six way silent debate and decide that no matter how strange it is – having Rafe Cameron on your team was better than against.

—

I don’t know how much time passes, unable to tell the difference between sunshine through the dirty windows and the beaming lights spotlighting movement through the facilities. I start to get restless after a day of reflection, pacing up and down the rows of empty bunks and reciting all the joyful things waiting for me outside the doors of the cabin, outside the walls of the camp.

Two days later, one of the fake therapists comes in with another stupid clipboard to chat through my diagnosis. She gives me some mumbo jumbo about defiance and attention-something or other. I’m too distracted by counting the steps it takes to make it around her and through the door. How quickly could I run to the gate and get to the main road…could I flag someone down in time?

I wonder if anyone even realizes I’m gone. Do the Pogues think I’ve just left without a word? Does Rafe? Are they looking for me?

She asks me a question, calls my name.

I run for it. I should’ve tightened my shoelaces.

Stumbling over myself, losing the momentum of surprise, Jack and the Beanstalk easily grasp onto both my arms and shove me back into the cabin. I struggle in their painful grips, swinging wildly to see if I can break free. It’s futile and eventually Beanstock just tosses me harshly to the ground. I lay there longer than expected, stomach aching from my one meal a day. My arms start to bruise from the handling and a hopelessness washes over me.

“I was really hoping you would’ve made some progress but it looks like you’re still unwilling to let us help you,” the woman clicks her pen and tucks her clipboard snug under her arm. “We’ll try again next week, hmm?” She turns to leave, taking the big brutes with her.

I scramble to my feet, desperate to stop the door from closing. The light is snuffed from the room, the heavy sound of a padlock grinds against the wood and I’m alone again. “No, no, please,” I shout, slamming against the sturdy framework.

I didn't get a meal for a long time after that. I notice a subtle shift in lighting outside and if I squat near the two inch opening, I hear a buzzing noise that almost seems like a shift in setting. I scratch a notch in the wood of a bunk post when I hear it. The bologna and melted cheese sandwich is not nearly enough to make my stomach stop hurting and my throat is too raw from screaming to be able to enjoy the meal.

—

The drive to Kitty Hawk is tense and quiet, Rafe’s knuckles turning white at the thought of you being forced from your home. Kie had filled him in on all she’d heard about the program, the mocking website with the sense of community and enthusiasm for growth. It made his stomach churn.

He checks the rearview mirror, ensuring your loyal and idiotic friends are still behind him in the Twinkie. Sarah watches the stiffness in her brother’s movements, the tension in his limbs. She ponders a little, feeling bold with just the two of them in the car. “So,” she takes a sip of water, “how long have you guys been seeing each other?”

Rafe’s head snaps toward her, eyes flickering back to the road as he tries to collect himself. “Seeing who?”

“Rafe, I’m your sister. We may have been at odds for a long time but I know when you’re tucking something away because you don’t want someone to see you vulnerable,” Sarah says. When he says nothing in response, she smirks a little, looks out the window.

“It’s been a few months,” he says, clearing his throat and wiping his mouth. He taps his fist against the steering wheel, frustrated with his honesty. Rafe feels like he’s betraying your trust a little, sharing a secret you both hadn’t agreed to share. “We weren’t official…not yet anyways.”

“But you lo-,” she stops herself, not wanting to scare him off, “you care about her.”

Rafe gives her the side eye, noticing the signage up ahead for the damn camp. “I love her,” he admits, turning into the place. He watches as the twinkie rolls off to the side, leaving just the two of them puttering down the dirt road. He stops for a second, foot hitting the break impulsively. He’d just gotten his sister back in his life, finally getting on good terms with her. Rafe couldn’t lose another person. Not with all that he’d done to make amends. “Are you…are you like, mad?”

Sarah looks at him with a softness that he still wasn’t used to. He didn’t know where she’d inherited such a look, not having been raised with it himself. “Rafe, she’s been lighter and brighter in the last few months than I’ve ever seen her. I’m going to make the assumption that you have a lot to do with that.”

“Really?” He can’t help the smile that stretches across his face, the burning in his cheeks at the admission.

“Yes, really,” Sarah laughs, amused at the site of him being bashful. “And you’ve become way less snappy and more tolerable, so I’m happy as long as you’re both happy.” She covers his hand with hers, smiling “Let's go get our girl.”

He nods, squeezing her hand and starting to drive up to the men walking around in front of the gate ahead.

“So like…do you…have a plan?” Sarah asks, tensing as they wave them to a stop.

“We’re going to buy the camp,” he says, rolling down the window and looking over at her. He looks over the stern man, feeling a subtle rage underneath the surface of his skin. But Rafe is Ward Cameron’s son after all and he knows how to manipulate his way through a deal. He’s made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t be that person anymore, wouldn’t become his dad. But sometimes, the toolbox comes in handy for the greater good.

“This is private property,” the man grunts, nodding to the road. “You’ll have to turn around.”

“We’re here to meet with the director of the camp about an investment deal,” Rafe says, oozing with an authority that Sarah hasn’t witnessed in quite some time. It sends a wave of discomfort over her but she stays quiet, letting him work. “Elliot Calloway?”

“Investment deal? You?” the man says, raising a brow and looking back at the other security.

“Yeah,” Rafe pulls his business card from his visor, flashing it at the guy without care. “My family is pretty big in the development?”

“Mr. Cameron, give me just a moment,” the man’s tone changes, stepping away to radio someone. He comes back after a few minutes, nodding to the gate. “Central building just beyond the parking lot with the buses. Mr. Calloway will meet you there.”

—

I sit against the wall under the windowsill, staring absentmindedly at the door frame. I try to listen for the hum of the lights switching, swaying absentmindedly to a tune stuck in my head. My head lifts at a voice dancing through the wind outside. It’s a newer voice, unique from the roulette of voices that I’d gotten used to in the time since arriving at camp.

The first thought that runs through my head is that the new voice is Rafe. The thought that follows is that I have gone crazy. The voice is gone before I can even stand and try to peer out the window. It would be a waste because I was certain at this point that I was forgotten about, that no one was coming to save me. This was my new reality.

My delusions prove correct because the voice doesn’t come back, doesn’t drift through the window as time passes. What does come back is the hum buzzes and another sandwich – just cheese this time – is slid through the door. The cabin gets chilly as I deconstruct my sandwich on my lap, ripping parts of the bread away and eating slowly to pass the time.

There’s a commotion outside the door and I glance up from the slice of American cheese when I hear the padlock click open, hear the hinges squeal. There’s a stream of light that hurts my eyes as the door is pushed open but it's gone as quick as it came. My shoulders tense as a figure ducks a little, coming closer in the dark of the cabin. I stay pressed against the wall, deciding that a splinter from the unfinished framing is better than whatever the security guard is up to.

“Please, I promise not to try to escape,” I whimper, scrunching my eyes shut in hopes that this is all just a terrible nightmare.

“Well, that’s a waste I guess.”

I blink, eyes straining in the dark to look for a sign that I’ve officially lost my mind, that I’ve started to hallucinate in the solitude of isolation. He’s kneeling down a few steps back, dressed in the classic black uniform of a guard. “Rafe?” My throat tightens, the dam breaking as all the feeling rushes back through me.

“You didn’t think I’d let it slide that you missed our date, did you?” he murmurs, crawling forward to wrap his arms around me, pulling me into his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” I blurt out, tensing against him. I melt into his warm, finally feeling protected in his caring embrace. He smells like the beach and feels like home.

Rafe’s hands slide under me as he tugs me forward, pulling me into his lap. I can’t stop the sobs that wrack through me, trying to cover my mouth so that no one will hear how loud I am. It’s scary how much I had convinced myself that I could survive without softness, without being held in a way that wasn’t aggressive, and wasn't forceful.

“How many days has it been?” I sniffle a little, shaking.

Rafe reaches up to wipe away the tears, cradling my cheek as he searches my face. It’s easy to recognize the frustration in his brow, the tension in his jaw. “It’s been a week but we’re breaking you out of here, okay?” He rises to his feet, picking me up with ease. He takes my hand and guides me to the doorway.

My stomach churns, heart racing as I suck in a breath. Something deep inside panics and I tug at his arm, hesitating in the middle of the cabin. “Wait, wait,” I whisper, staring at him wide-eyed.

Rafe looks back at me, tugging a little on my hand. “Doll, c’mon, we don’t have much time.”

The way he tugs at my hand causes my throat to tighten again and I pull back, like his touch burns my flesh. I hold my hand against my chest, curling into myself. “Rafe…I don’t…” I start to say, losing my breath. “I don’t…what if they–”

“Shhh, shhh, hey–hey,” Rafe steps back cautiously back into my personal space, hands up as if he’s trying to show me he means no harm. His blue eyes are flecked with worry as he takes in my state. “What did they do to you?”

I don’t know how to respond, the nightmare of the apparent week since I’d last seen him dying on my tongue. I open my mouth but nothing escapes me. I look down, feeling so unlike myself.

Rafe steps closer, slowly moving his hands to hold my face again so he can stare down at me. His thumbs smooth over the apples of my cheeks, his skin cool. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here but I promise you, no one comes near you again – okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper, looking up at him.

Rafe nods, gives me a little smile and checks his watch. He looks to the door and starts to move with a little more intention. He can peel the black hoodie from his slender torso, checking his watch one more time. “You trust me?”

I nod without hesitation. “More than anything.”

He steps forward, pulling the hoodie over my head to cover the stupid Kitty Hawk uniform from view. It’s dark only for a moment before I’m staring up at his face again. I’m swimming in cotton, the clothing big enough that it covers my shorts. Rafe takes care as he brushes his hands along my neckline, freeing my hair from the collar. “Alright, here’s the plan. We’re going to head into the woods down by the water…it seems like no one really goes down there. We’re not gonna run, that’s going to draw attention to us,” he rushes to explain.

I can’t help myself, rising up on my tippy toes and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you for coming to get me,” I whisper, fingers poking out to clutch at his shirt. Before he can respond, before he can react - there’s a loud burst of noise outside in the distance. I gasp out as we’re suddenly engulfed in darkness. “Rafe?”

“That’s our cue,” he says, sliding the hoodie over my head and lacing our hands together. “Once we get outside – don’t stop moving, okay? Head down and don’t let go of my hand, alright?” I nod, trying to ignore the thoughts racing through my mind and how hard my heart beats in my chest.

Rafe turns to the door and squeezes my hand tightly before pulling it open. It’s pitch black outside but I can hear loud shouting. “Tug that door shut, okay?” he says.

I pull the handle to shut the door behind us as we take off down the creaky stairs, trying to take slow breaths as I keep my eyes on the ratty sneakers I’ve been issued. Rafe’s grip is firm as he leads me quickly along winding paths and between cabins as if he grew up at the camp. I can almost see the opening in the trees that leads down to the water when he pushes me hastily behind a cabin.

“What tha’ hell is goin’ on?” he shouts to someone, his voice disguised with a deep drawl.

I worry that they’ll notice he’s not one of them but my shoulders relax a little when whoever he’s talking to sounds like they haven’t stopped moving. “I think a transformer blew, the generator’s old.”

“Where you need me?” Rafe responds, stepping a little out of my view and I have to press against the cabin to stop myself from following him.

“Get the mouthy one from isolation, bring her for count in the mess hall,” the man responds, his voice further away as he leaves the conversation. I taste bile in my throat at his words, breath hitching as Rafe’s ‘assignment’ to get me. There’s a ringing in my ear and I sway, dizzy with fear. I jump a little when his fingertips brush my wrists.

“Hey, hey, you still with me?” he bends a little so he’s eye level. His voice is soft. “What did I promise you?”

“No…” I swallow. “No one will come near me again.”

“No one will come near you again,” he repeats, nodding in agreement. “You ready, brave girl?” I nod, feeling a rush of adrenaline as he pulls me back onto the path and we move at an intentional pace toward the treeline. I can see more flashlights, zipping across the area as we step out of the view of the cabins. I stumble a little, tripping on roots as we move closer and closer to the water. The rough and rocky path turns soft, making it hard to keep a quick pace.

“Rafe, how are we going to get back home? The water is the opposite direction from the main–,” my mouth falls open, seeing the outline of a few small boats beached ashore.

Rafe turns to me once we are at the shoreline, winking. His hands smooth over my waist to pick me up and into the boat. “Duck down, okay?”

I slide down against the seat, trying to steady my breathing as he pushes the boat slowly back into the water and jumping in once we’re floating far enough in the middle of the water. I watch the way he reaches down and tugs on the pull-start with purpose. Panic settles in my bones when nothing happens.

“C’mon,” he says, tugging again. He tries again. Nothing. “Son of a bitch.”

“Hey, what are you doing?” someone shouts from the beach. Flashlights shining over Rafe and along the boat, shouting as Rafe tries again to start the dinghy. I notice the split second of fear on his face as he struggles to tug the pull-start one more time. Coming back to myself, I stand up and shuffle to his side.

His hands are shaking as he frantically tries to start the boat. “Hey, get back here,” a man shouts, water splashing as they rush into the water to catch up.

“Let go,” I mutter, pushing his hands out of the way to grab the handle. I give it one swift tug and breathe out in relief when the engine roars to life. Rafe grabs the helm and quickly steers up away from the man, causing him to stumble into the water behind us. As the camp and the security disappear the further we get, the more weight lifted from my shoulder.

I tuck my face in my hands, feeling shocked that Rafe actually just pulled a near prison break to come get me. My chest rises and falls as I wipe away my tears.

“Hey, are you alright?” Rafe says, fingers stretching over my thigh.

I can’t respond, hearing a low whistling noise over by the shoreline. My shoulders tense until I see six idiots, jumping and waving in front of the Twinkie and Rafe’s truck pulled over on the side of the road. A laugh escapes me as the boys jump onto the weeds, helping Rafe pull us ashore. JJ ushers me out of the boat and the girls all engulf me in a hug, echoing their relief that we’re safe, that I’m safe.

I turn around, seeing Rafe biting at his thumb as he speaks with John B in hushed tones. He turns back to us, catches my eye.

“Hey, we should get the move on…that security could be sending someone along the water to find you,” Pope interrupts, pointing toward the road that leads back to the camp.

“I feel awful leaving everyone else behind,” I admit, still staring at Rafe. “We should call someone.”

“Don’t worry,” JJ says, climbing into the Twinkie, nodding to Rafe. “Your boyfriend has that covered…its a…it’s a good plan – even I can admit.”

I turn to look at Rafe, feeling the heat rush to my face at the word boyfriend. He just smirks, nodding to the truck. “C’mon, I’ll explain on the way.” I look at Sarah, sitting in the passenger seat in the Twinkie. She scrunches her nose, a wide smile on her face.

“Go,” she says, “we’ll catch up to you.”

I turn to his truck where he’s waiting for me with the door open. He helps me up into the seat, standing there as I tug the seatbelt down to buckle in. I’m hyper aware of his frame, so close to me. “Rafe,” I call out his name, pulling him from what looks like a trance. He blinks, big blue eyes looking up at me in a way I hadn’t seen before – in a way that up until a week ago, would’ve scared me.

He nods, swallowing and closing the door so that he can run around to the driver’s side. He takes off down the road, not even wasting time in pulling his seatbelt on.

“Seatbelt,” I murmur as we peel off onto the main road. When he doesn’t respond, I say it again a little louder.

Rafe gives me a look, huffs and begrudgingly yanks it down with one hand. I reach over the bench, taking it from him and pulling it the rest of the way to clip into place. “What a waste this romantic rescue mission would be if you ended up through the windshield in the getaway?” I say, smiling a little as I settle back into the leather seat.

“It was pretty romantic, huh? Who would’ve thought – me, a romantic,” he says. The tension seems to dissipate a bit, the safety of his truck a veil of relief. Inside, we’re just…us. But things feel different from the last time he’d drive me around, taking me for a late night rendezvous to the beach. Now, he’s the guy that ran toward danger to save me. He’s the guy who set a plan in motion to break me out of an at-risk youth facility.

“I did,” I whisper, looking forward as the words strip me vulnerable. “So, what’s this good plan you’ve come up with?”

“I tried to buy the camp,” he says, causing me to look over at him in shock.

“What?”

Rafe looks over at me, grinning. “You heard me.”

“You were going to buy my way out?”

“Hey, contrary to popular belief, I do try these days to go the legal route first,” Rafe says, holding his hand up. “But the director was taking too long to agree to the deal so we hitched this plan to break you out as a backup.”

“So he didn’t take the deal,” I say, turning to look at him. “How much did you offer?”

“Oh no, he took the deal. I gave him a good faith deposit of 250K in a briefcase. The sleazy bastard nearly fainted. I told him I’d–,”

“Rafe,” I hold a hand up, speechless. “A briefcase?”

He glances over at me and keeps going, not phased by my surprise. “Yeah, I said I’d wire the rest of the money over but it’d take a day or so to confirm with the bank but we could make a gentlemen’s agreement. And in the process, he disclosed all the legal troubles he’s been riddled with in the process of closing the deal. Which was bold considering I,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls a tape recorder out with a grin, “Got this from my dad’s office before we left.”

He clicks the play button and we listen as the man discloses a few lawsuits and unpaid debts he has lingering, how much of a relief it will be to get the place off his plate. My mouth falls open as Rafe stops the tape, placing it in the console. “So we are,” he glances over at me, triumphantly, “are heading to the air strip to meet Shoupe and give him this evidence. And while Shoupe works with the SBI to dismantle Kitty Hawk, we’ll be under witness protection until the trial…but you wouldn’t have to testify unless you wanted to. I made sure that Shoupe knew that.”

His words hit me like a ton of bricks. “Witness protection? Where?”

“Wherever you desire,” he looks over with a cute smile, scrunching his nose. “Sarah’s already made the call. Pilot will be waiting for us on the runway. Shoupe won’t tell your parents until we’re situated.”

I’m at a loss for words as I try to take in what he tells me. He glances over at me, face falling a little.

“You…situated,” I stutter out, breathless. I try to process his words, process what he’s done. My pulse races. “Pull over,” I blurt out weakly, palms sweaty as I glance behind us and notice the empty stretch of dark road.

“Are you alright?” he repeats, looking repeatedly between me and the road.

I click the button to release my seatbelt as Rafe turns the wheel in a haste. “Are you sick?” I don’t answer him, reaching up a hand as we pull onto the shoulder. Dust kicks up around the truck as he pushes the stick into park, watching me wide-eyed. “What the hell is hap–,”

I tug his face toward mine, pressing my mouth to his with a fierceness that I’d never felt before. It’s quick and I pull back, breathless as I search his face. It felt like my nerves were on fire as we kissed, fanning an ember into a flame of desire.

Rafe’s pupils are blown as he reaches forward and yanks me firmly back toward him. We lock lips. It’s messy and rushed and passionate. His hands find my thighs, scooping me up so I’m flush against him.

There’s a searing heat and for the first time, it’s clear that it’s not just sexual tension. It’s survival. It’s praise and gratitude. It’s a confirmation that I’m real, and a guarantee of more. We jump a little, pulling apart when the truck horn blares out in the dead of the night – prompted by my ass.

It causes me to giggle, nuzzling into his neck with a snort while sliding from his lap to sit beside him. Rafe combs his fingers through my hair, unable to control his own laughter. I snort again, leaning into his bicep and looking up at him with a loving gaze. “Was it your idea to blow up a transformer?”

“Well that was really Maybank’s idea…but it did the trick,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead and putting the truck back into drive before taking my hand. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

well, i'm in love. if you would like to make a request, i write for all the main characters of obx and you can send them here or let me know what you thought of this story :)

#rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron #obx #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader

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studioeisa · 5 months ago

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the way of the work husband 📋 chan x reader.

going back to work after the holidays sucks, but at least you've got your 'work husband' lee chan to get you through it.

★ office worker!chan x f!reader. ★ word count: 1.8k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: office, alternate universe: co-workers, fluff/romance. vernon is a menace (affectionately). not proofread. ★ footnotes: been itching to write chan lately and this was the result. dedicating this to my favorite corporate girlie!dinonara @chanranghaeys, who i have been threatening a chan fic with for a little over a week now ෆ sana all may lee chan sa office. 😔 + a special shoutout to @diamonddaze01 for educating me on the how work spouses operate. 🙏

“Is Lee Chan, like, your work husband or something?”

The look on Vernon’s face is perfectly innocent, but his arched eyebrow gives some indication of just how amused he is. You shoot him a scathing glare before turning back to your work-sanctioned laptop.

You don’t answer Vernon’s question. Not at first, anyway. Instead, you opt to wryly ask, “Why do you always have to use his full government name whenever you’re talking about him?”

“Eh. Just ‘Chan’ is too short,” Vernon responds noncommittally. He should be focusing on the grant that he has to write, but he seems intent on quizzing you on your relationship with the company’s newest program assistant.

Vernon leans a little further into his computer chair. He’s always been a pretty amicable seatmate; he just liked to poke the bear every so often.

“So?” he prompts. “Are you and Lee Chan… you know.”

When Vernon makes a vague, crude gesture with his hands, you groan out loud. “Don’t make it weird,” you snap. “And no. Chan and I are just friends, asswipe.”

“But you guys display peak work spouse behavior.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be grant writing?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting your afternoon coffee with Mr. Program Assistant?”

Vernon’s rebuttal has you glancing at the digital clock on your desk. Shit.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you say as you grab your wallet and get to your feet. You hate to admit it, but Vernon is right. You’ve started dedicating your fifteen-minute afternoon breaks to cafeteria trips with Chan.

All in the name of friendship, you insist.

“‘Course it doesn’t,” Vernon sing-songs. Just when you think he’s done, he throws in a final jab.

“I’ll have an itemized list of my observations,” he calls after your retreating back. “Just you wait!”

You don’t turn around to dignify Vernon’s taunt with a response. Instead, you flip him off over your shoulder as you contemplate what coffee to get with Chan today.

Rarely are you late to work. Some mornings are just harrowing, littered with minor inconveniences like your alarm not going off or the bus making one too many stops.

When you finally make it to the office, you can already imagine the CEO’s backhand comment about punctuality. Something like ‘early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable,’ probably.

That’s why you feel an immense pang of relief when you notice a vacant seat near the back of the room, one that you undoubtedly know is yours.

You make your way to the chair as discreetly as you can. The bag atop it is taken off the moment that you arrive, and you flash an appreciative grin at the one who made it possible.

Chan— who is already shifting his bag onto his lap— gives you an exaggerated wink in return.

You mouth a wordless ‘thank you’ at him. He doesn’t respond verbally, just smiles at you in that way that lights up a whole room. It’s the type of grin that has you forgetting just how bad of a morning you had; you’d lose yourself in it if weren’t for the ominous presence of Vernon a couple of seats down.

The meeting grabs your attention soon enough, but not before you notice Vernon inconspicuously typing something into his phone.

☑ You always sit next to each other at meetings

“Who’re you texting?”

“Hm?”

“Hellooo! Pay attention to me!”

There’s a guilty expression on your face as you finally glance up at Seungkwan. “Sorry,” you say meekly. “What were you asking?”

Vernon lets out a huff of laughter at Seungkwan’s side. “I’ll bet a dollar that it’s Lee Chan,” says Vernon.

Seungkwan responds with a roll of his eyes. “That’s a given.”

“Yah,” you begin to protest, ready to justify the way you’ve only been half-present throughout your entire lunch break.

Your attempt falls flat when your phone pings, and the screen lights up.

One (1) new text from Channie. 🦖LOLOL I have the perfect reel for this!! Wait a minute~~ 💖💙

Seungkwan scoffs. Vernon snickers.

Your eye twitches, and you shoot back a text underneath the table in a bid to avoid your friends’ teasing.

☑ You message each other all day long

It’s hard not to laugh when Chan is looking at you like that.

Despite the fact that there’s a whole brainstorming session going on— preparation for the company’s next fundraising event— the two of you can’t help your silent communication.

Especially when Soonyoung starts running his mouth about the fundraiser potentially being tiger-themed.

One glance is all it takes. Chan’s lips are drawn into a thin line, and you know he’s also trying his darndest not to laugh. It’s a mammoth effort to hold back yourself, but you manage— not wanting to suffer from your eccentric boss’ line of questioning.

It’s all free game once the session ends, though.

You make a beeline for Chan. He takes one look at your quirked lip before jerking his head towards the door, urging the two of you to have this discussion somewhere you won’t be lynched.

Still, you and Chan can barely resist your peals of laughter as you leave the meeting room with your heads bowed together. Vernon watches with bemusement as the two of you trade incoherent mumblings about Tigger and Pompompurin.

Not that Vernon has any idea what those have to do with anything.

☑ You exchange knowing glances from across the room ☑ You share inside jokes about work and life

“Hey, Lee Chan, where’s your work wife?”

Chan doesn’t miss a beat. “She’s in a meeting with finance,” he answers without even looking up from his keyboard.

A corner of Vernon’s lip twitches upward. Aha.

Chan seems to pick up on Vernon’s smug silence. The younger boy’s head snaps up, his expression quickly becoming guarded. “Not my work wife,” Chan sputters. “Just— I knew where she was, okay?”

“Riiight.”

There’s a redness in the tips of Chan’s ears as he goes back to the Google Doc he’d been slaving away on. Vernon doesn’t say anything more, but he does feign like he’s texting someone instead of adding to his ever-growing list.

☑ Your other colleagues wonder where the other’s at when you’re not together

It’s a bit of an epilogue in its own right, how Chan is the one to know why you’re out for the morning.

The CEO had asked it mostly as a rhetorical question— has anyone seen her?— but Chan’s easy answer has the meeting coming to a stuttering halt.

“She got stuck at her dentist’s appointment,” he says.

Several pairs of eyes turn to Chan. The look on his face is comically caught.

He fumbles for his phone and waves it around awkwardly. “We were texting,” he adds hastily. “That’s why I know.”

How that was supposed to help Chan’s case, Vernon has no idea.

“Well, tell her that we hope she gets better soon,” the CEO says coolly. A corner of her lip is upturned, like she’s finding this entire interaction a little too amusing.

Chan manages a mumbled “Will do.”

The meeting pushes through. Vernon watches Chan from the corner of his eye. Aside from looking absolutely mortified, there’s just a bit of dullness to the latter’s demeanor. A slower uptake, a dimmer grin.

Gee, Vernon muses as he types away on his laptop. Wonder why.

☑ You’re kind of bummed when they’re out of office ☑ You cover for each other when one is MIA

Vernon’s running list is a fun little gig, but it all comes to head on the evening of the company’s monthly night out.

The table at the speakeasy is full of boisterous laughter and greasy finger food. Everyone’s in high spirits for the upcoming weekend, and Vernon has to hold back on teasing those who he thinks are having just a little too much fun.

You and Chan have spent much of the evening acting like you’re in your own world. Sure, you’re not touching each other— this is technically a work event, after all— but you’ve shared laughter and whispers throughout the night that nobody else is privy to.

And, alright, fine. Maybe your knees knock into each other more often than not. Maybe Chan puts a hand over your ear whenever he wants to point something out, and maybe you lean in just a little more than necessary.

It’s obvious to anybody with two eyes that you two are fond of each other. That much is certain.

That’s what gives Vernon the boost of confidence to play wingman by the end of the night.

“You know,” he says coolly as your group spills out onto the sidewalk. “I think the two of you live in the same neighborhood.”

What Vernon is scheming is plain as day to you. You narrow your eyes at him, but he’s undeterred. He only smiles at you and Chan like the menace that he is.

Chan, for his part, raises his eyebrows ever so slightly. He glances at you with a quizzical expression.

“You’ve never mentioned that.” He raises his hand to his chest, as if feigning hurt at being kept in the dark.

A snort of laughter escapes you. “Didn’t feel like it was particularly important information,” you say dryly.

“Of course it’s important!” Chan’s always been a little louder when he’s drunk, so his voice raises an octave or two. “‘Cause that means we can carpool together, or, like, y’know—”

Vernon interrupts with a sage, “You can probably book the same cab for tonight, actually. Make it a double stop.”

Chan’s face lights up. “Great idea, man!”

Before you can protest, Chan is already whipping out his phone to pull up his ride-hailing app. This is not a battle that you’re going to win.

All the while, Vernon grins triumphantly.

☑ You go home together after happy hour

“Can we—”

“Shhh. No, not yet.”

“But nobody’s looking!”

“Wait until we’ve rounded the corner, idiot—”

And so he does.

But the moment the corner has been rounded, Chan is sagging against your side like he’s wanted to the entire night. “Oh, thank God,” your boyfriend sighs. “I didn’t think I’d survive another minute without touching you.”

You can’t help the giggle that escapes you. The feeling is mutual, though, so you reach out to rest your hand on his knee.

“Commendable self-control tonight,” you note. “All the whispering was a little too obvious, though.”

Chan huffs in protest, but the sound loses its edge as he cuddles up to you in the back of the cab. “No one suspects us. It’s just Vernon,” he complains.

“And Seungkwan,” you say. “And Jeonghan, and Minghao, and Wonwoo—”

Your boyfriend gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “Doesn’t matter.” His hand rests on top of yours, just barely resisting the urge to intertwine your fingers. “They don’t know a thing about us, sweets.”

The smile threatening to fill your face finally breaks. When you laugh, your shoulders shake against Chan’s body. You’re not sure if he’s entirely right— you know of Vernon’s whole iPhone note, after all— but you’re willing to indulge your boyfriend if it makes him happy.

“Yeah,” you concede. “They don’t know a thing.”

#chan x reader #dino x reader #lee chan x reader #svthub #keopihausnet #chan fluff #dino fluff #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #(🥡) notebook #(💎) page: svt

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thedensworld · 1 year ago

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I Can Fight | J.Ww

Pairing: Wonwoo x reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: Since you married Jeon Wonwoo, you always considered to not wear revealing clothes. Honestly, Wonwoo doesn't mind.

Maestro is definitely Wonwoo's era. My love from him escalates from hundred to limited🤍 god, i need him in my life. However, enjoy this fluffy fluffy wonuuuu🥰

It hasn't even been a year since you tied the knot with Jeon Wonwoo, the heir to a vast conglomerate. He possesses everything one could desire: a top-tier education, a lucrative career, and a prominent place in society. Yet, despite his wealth and status, he insists that you are the center of his universe. You, a mere lecturer at a university owned by his father, never imagined you'd capture the heart of someone like Wonwoo.

Your paths crossed at an event where you represented the university as its youngest dean. Wonwoo's attention was drawn to you instantly, captivated by the calm grace you exuded. The following morning, you were taken aback to find him at the university, seeking you out.

"I have something to discuss with you," he said, his eyes filled with a mixture of determination and something else, something softer.

As he proposed an internship program to benefit the students, the conversation effortlessly shifted from professional to personal. It became evident that his true motive was to get closer to you, to unravel the layers of your being.

You couldn't deny the flutter of excitement in your heart as Wonwoo confessed his ulterior motive. How could you resist someone who pursued you with such sincerity and charm?

Wonwoo's pride in you knew no bounds. He loved to showcase you to his friends and colleagues, boasting about your intelligence and beauty at every opportunity. Being by his side at elite events was both an honor and a responsibility, one that required the perfect attire to match his prestigious status.

As you surveyed the two gowns laid out before you in the bedroom, the weight of the upcoming event pressed upon you. Your current formal attire had already made its rounds, and you couldn't bear the thought of causing Wonwoo any embarrassment by appearing in the same outfit again.

With a heavy sigh, you reached for your phone, dialing Seungkwan's number without hesitation. He was your trusted friend, the one whose fashion sense you relied on for such occasions. But as you questioned his choices, your finger instinctively pointed towards the more daring of the two gowns—a black off-shoulder number with a thigh-high slit.

"What were you thinking with these options?" you inquired, your voice laced with a mix of frustration and concern. The other gown, a deep red wine hue, was equally alluring, with its backless design and knee-high slit, presenting a different kind of challenge.

"I thought that's what rich people wear to events like that! It's straight out of the pages of those fancy books!" Seungkwan's voice came through the phone, his defense ringing with a hint of sheepishness.

You took a moment to collect yourself, inhaling deeply before responding. "Do you honestly think I usually wear something like these?" You couldn't help but chuckle, the absurdity of the situation washing over you.

Seungkwan's laughter echoed through the phone. "Of course not. Last time you wore something revealing was when you danced to '10 Minute' at Jeonghan's birthday party in college."

A wistful smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you recalled the carefree days of youth. "And I was so drunk that I slit my skirt and cut my sleeves," you added, shaking your head at the memory.

Seungkwan's tone turned more serious. "Just wear it. You won't embarrass your husband by wearing it. Trust me."

You nervously bit your lip, the weight of Seungkwan's words sinking in. "He's a respected person, Seungkwan. And I'm an academic. Last time I wore something tight, someone actually talked about him."

"No way! What did they say?" Seungkwan's curiosity piqued through the phone.

You let out a weary sigh, memories of the unpleasant encounter resurfacing. "Just that I looked too hot for a professor, and my look didn't match Wonwoo. It was awful, really. I wish I could have stood up to them at the time."

Seungkwan's voice came through with conviction, urging you not to let others dictate your choices. "Darling! Don't let them stop you. What if you are actually too hot? It's their fault they couldn't handle your fire! Stand up to them if someone talks to you like that."

A soft laugh escaped your lips at Seungkwan's fierce encouragement. "You know I can't fight," you admitted, resigned to your non-confrontational nature.

Before you could dwell further on the conversation, the sound of the bedroom door being pushed open interrupted your thoughts. Your heart skipped a beat as you turned to see your husband standing there, his presence filling the room with warmth and reassurance.

"Wonwoo just got back from work, I'll let you know my choice. Thanks for getting me these dresses, though," you informed Seungkwan.

Seungkwan hummed in acknowledgment. "Say hi to Wonwoo. I believe he'll choose the black one."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his teasing remark. "Shut up," you retorted playfully before ending the call.

As Wonwoo entered the room, his presence instantly filled the space with comfort and affection. His tie was discarded, and he loosened his blazer before casting a glance at the dresses laid out on the bed.

"Seungkwan got me these for tonight," you explained, gesturing towards the gowns. Wonwoo nodded in understanding as he wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"He has great taste," he murmured softly, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

A tender smile graced your lips as he pulled you closer, his embrace providing solace and reassurance. "You'll look good in everything," he added, his words washing over you like a comforting embrace.

You gently touched his arms, leaning into his embrace. "But don't you think they'll be too revealing? I could just wear the one I've already used."

Wonwoo shook his head, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "If you want to wear these, then wear them. I think you'll look absolutely gorgeous, whether in revealing clothes or not."

A surge of warmth flooded your chest at his words, his unwavering support comforting you. "However, I would love to see you in them," he added, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, turning your head to meet his gaze. "Really?"

Wonwoo nodded, his expression earnest. "Let's show them that you're hot, just like what Seungkwan said."

Your astonishment grew as you realized he had overheard your conversation with Seungkwan. "From which part did you hear us?" you asked curiously.

"From the start. I actually wanted to surprise you, but you were talking to him," Wonwoo confessed with a sheepish smile.

A moment of silence passed between you before he spoke again. "Actually, I want to thank him for getting you these dresses. I can't wait to see you wear it," he added, his excitement evident in his voice.

He gently withdrew his arms from your waist, turning your body to face him. His hands tenderly moved from your hair to your face, cupping your cheeks and stroking them softly. "I'd love to see you in the black one tonight," he murmured, his voice filled with affection as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

A warmth spread through you at his touch and words, reassurance flooding your senses. "Your friend knows me so well," he remarked, planting another kiss on your forehead before trailing down to your shoulder.

His gestures of love and appreciation enveloped you, melting away any lingering doubts or insecurities.

***

You approached Wonwoo where he sat on the couch in the living room, a hint of uncertainty in your gaze. "Isn't it too revealing?" you asked, your voice tinged with self-doubt.

His breath caught in his throat as he took in your breathtaking appearance. The black dress hugged your curves in all the right places, accentuating your beauty in a way that left him speechless. The subtle yet alluring makeup only enhanced your features, drawing his eyes irresistibly to you. And the scent of your perfume, a familiar fragrance that never failed to captivate him, enveloped him in a heady mix of calm and desire.

As your hand moved to cover the revealed thigh, a part of you that he found utterly captivating, Wonwoo couldn't tear his gaze away from you. His heart raced with a jealous fervor, envying his own eyes for having the privilege of beholding your radiance.

"Is it not working?" you questioned, disappointment evident in your tone as he remained silent.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Wonwoo reached out to gently grasp your hand, pulling it away from your thigh. "No, it's not that," he finally managed to say, his voice filled with reverence and admiration. "You look absolutely stunning, beyond words."

Wonwoo sensed your apprehension and immediately shook his head, stepping forward to take your hand and press a tender kiss to it. "I can't believe I'm married to you. You look amazing, love," he murmured, lifting your hand and encouraging you to spin to showcase your dress.

As you twirled, a hint of uncertainty lingered in your mind, but Wonwoo's gasp of awe and promise to buy you countless dresses like the one you wore washed away your worries.

"You can wear anything you want, love. I can fight.," he declared, his words echoing your own inner resolve.

A smile graced your lips as you leaned in to peck his cheek, feeling reassured by his unwavering support. "I'll fight them with my whole life. But kiss me again, here and now," he requested, tapping his lips playfully.

You obliged, landing another gentle kiss, but before you could pull away, Wonwoo's grip on your head tightened, deepening the kiss into a passionate embrace. Lost in the moment, your hands instinctively found their way to his neck, reveling in the intimacy of the kiss that ignited a fiery passion between you.

"Should we skip the event?" he suggested with a mischievous smirk, tempting you with the idea of spending the evening wrapped up in each other's arms.

You playfully slapped his chest, chuckling at his suggestion. "Let's wipe your lips and let me fix my makeup. Seungcheol is going to kill you if we skip his birthday party," you reminded him, handing him a wet wipe.

Wonwoo chuckled as he wiped his mouth clean of your lipstick. "He loves me, he won't kill me," he mumbled before turning his gaze back to you. "So, what do you think?" he asked, anticipation dancing in his eyes as he awaited your response.

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bearotonin-international · 2 years ago

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Apex predator, my ass. I’m going to pet the dog 🐻🐻‍❄️🐼

perhaps now is a good time for some responsible bear programming to remind everyone that as cute and cuddly as they may seem, bears are lethal apex predators and should absolutely be treated accordingly if ever encountered.

NOT

PET

#Responsible Bear Programming #^^ that's our tag for bears doing what they naturally do #if you do not like seeing bears behave as they naturally do -- as apex predators -- then please filter this tag accordingly friends #we are actually not accepting any complaints or suggestions about our tagging system or the content we post at the present moment #or at any point in the foreseeable future #so please don't try to comment or suggest otherwise #informative rant over now commencing educational rant #DO NOT try to pet the lethal beasts #you will be mauled and or killed #and then the bear will be killed for attacking a person #if you like bears the best thing you can do is ensure that they are not habituated to humans and do not view us as a source of food #either through your trash or through your flesh #keep yourself your neighbors and the bears safe by keeping human-bear interactions as minimal as possible #okay the team's done ranting now #(we're having A Day)#(it has a lot to do with the squirrels breaking into the floor of HQ and eating through our electrical wiring)#ask

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yoiisa · 1 month ago

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LOOKS LIKE THE REAL THING ⋆˙⟡ SAE ITOSHI

"And if I could be who you wanted, if I could be who you wanted, All the time, all the time" - "Fake Plastic Trees" by Radiohead Tags: TW for suicide, familial arguments where children get involved, mentions of injuries, and mentions of violence, unhealthy coping mechanisms (repression). MAJOR ANGST, lotta hurt and not a lotta comfort, Rin haunts the narrative and Sae cannot deal with it part 2 here!!

a/n: I do not know what cortex in my brain is responsible for the amount of angst I’ve been craving but she’s been active and I cannot stop. Radiohead brings out the worst and best in people after all so whoopsie! Have fun!

Bear in mind that I’m pretty sure those are all the TWs this fic contains, but just in case I missed any please proceed w this utmost caution! Always put yourself and your mental health first!

It wasn’t a problem at first for Sae. When you’d had your first kid, a daughter, she’d been a carbon copy of you. Her sat at your bedside, her swaddled in his arms as he whispered about how pretty she would be since you were her mom.

You two had named her Yuki, since she was born on the winter solstice. Snow. When that pang had shot through Sae, he thought nothing of it.

That changed the minute he saw his second born- his son. Haru still looked more like you than Sae, but his eyes, that teal color that seemed to rewind time itself. It stopped his heart. Those big round eyes, taking in his father for the first time. Sae almost collapsed.

Haru and Yuki got along well enough, and he was glad. Really, he was. Yuki seemed born to be a big sister. When Haru was still a baby, she’d litter kisses along his head while they played and insisted that she’d help feed him. She helped Haru take his first steps, and was the reason Haru laughed for the first time.

All of the adults that knew the pair would say the same exact thing: “Those two will be friends forever.”

Sae would always swallow the lump in his throat, which somehow would work to soothe his rapidly beating heart.

Everyone used to say the same thing about him and Rin after all when they were his kids’ age. Rin wasn’t around anymore though. He’d been in a car accident. He’d been crossing the street when a semi ran him over, killing him almost instantly. Sae could see his brother’s body still, lying pale and still as stone in his coffin. Those teal eyes would never open again, never stare at him as if he’d single handedly hung the stars in the sky. People would mutter than it was on purpose for years to come, but that couldn’t be true. Sae knew, it was an accident.

And he’d never gotten the chance to apologize for the fight he didn’t even know was happening.

When Haru first started acting like Rin, you had recognized the signs but Sae instantly got put on edge. It started from as young as Haru being six months old. He had been focusing so hard on rolling over onto his stomach. You, Yuki, and Sae had been sitting in the living room, you and your daughter cheering on as Haru struggled. Sae was smiling down at his son, his heart softening, before it gave a tight squeeze. Sae's eyes widened as he saw Haru's tongue peeking out from his lips. The tiny pink thing was pushed off to the side when Haru finally managed to successfully flip onto his stomach. It hung out a little bit as Haru smiled and you laughed at how cute your son was. You used your finger to poke it back in, and Sae felt like he was going to throw up.

Two years later, Yuki had been watching a TV show while Haru played with blocks next to her. She’d gotten up to use the bathroom, but as she did, her show ended and another program started to play. It was a nature documentary about dinosaurs, and it had a particularly gruesome display of a T-Rex taking a chunk out of another animal. Haru was mesmerized, before Sae and you rushed to turn the TV off. Yuki got an earful from you, but Haru instantly began bawling. Sae did his best to comfort his son, but Haru was adamantly crying for the next ten minutes, pointing at the TV that never got turned back on.

A few days later, Sae noticed Haru miming his stuffie dinosaur eating Yuki’s Barbie. Sae just told him to stop playing so violently, and ignored the way his mind was reeling.

When Haru was four, there was one day he and Yuki were eating ice creams in the kitchen during a particularly hot summer day.

“Did you win?” Yuki asked. Her face brightened into a smile as she cheered, “Yes! Got it!”

Haru narrows his eyes as he checks. He pouts and mumbles, “I lost.”

You giggled and petted your son’s head as he complained that I always lose! It’s not fair! Sae made a mental note to never buy that brand of ice cream again.

As you stood at the sink and washed the dishes, Sae walked up beside you and said sourly, “I thought they didn’t do that with the popsicle sticks anymore.”

You just shrugged, unbeknownst to the turmoil he had raging in his chest.

Everything eventually reached a head when Haru was old enough to know what soccer was. He'd been fascinated by his father's games since birth, and one day at the park, he'd raced up to a few older boys and asked if he could play. Initially, he'd just been brushed off, but his nagging got insistent enough that the older kids let him join.

Sae had been pushing Yuki on the swings when he heard the commotion from their group. He'd looked up and saw it then. Haru was shoving one of the boys away from the ball, the older kid shouting about how rough Haru was being. The young boy was ignorant though and played with the same brutality Rin had grown to cultivate though.

He was ruthless to himself. By the time Sae collected Haru to head home, he was covered in dirt stains and was bleeding from scratches all over his arm from the mulch. He had a nasty bruise forming on his shin, and when Yuki panicked, Haru brushed it off.

"Oh, this? One of the older kids accidentally kicked me too hard. But daddy! Did you see that amazing cap trick I scored?! It was just like in your last game!" he squealed.

Those teal eyes. His eyes. Rin's eyes. Haru watched Sae's face with enthusiasm, as if his life and death would be determined by whatever Sae was about to say. They were bright and glowed with the sun making them burn like fire.

Sae could only clear his throat and take Haru's hand in his. "It's called a hat trick. Don't play so rough. Let's go."

But Haru didn't listen. He never would. He pushed himself harder and harder, seeking out anyone who would play soccer with him every time they went to the park. Sae warded Haru off of the sport as best he could, but his son's hunger was insatiable. Haru would join games of middle schoolers some times, despite being barely five years old. Yuki wasn't even ten!

One day, the doorbell to his house had rang. When you and Sae went to the door to check who it was, your heart broke as you saw Haru on one of the boys' backs. Another stood in front and said, "I think he twisted his ankle. He started crying really badly while trying to steal the ball from Ken, and he couldn't walk."

Sae felt a bolt of white hot rage towards his son echo through his body. This is why he kept warning Haru. The game was dangerous especially when playing with people who had you out numbered and outmatched! Why couldn't his son have just gotten that.

Sae was silent on the drive to the doctor's. Yuki sat in the backseat comforting her brother while you kept giving his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel an odd look. On the drive home, Sae couldn't contain himself anymore.

"I told you this would happen, didn't I?" he growled. Yuki goes silent beside her brother and you freeze. Sae presses on. "Haru! Answer me!"

Haru's bottom lip trembles as he croaks, "Yes-"

"Then why wouldn't you listen to me, huh?! How could you be so . . . so . . . stupid!" Sae roars.

When the four of you get home, you scoop Haru into your arms and Sae all but yanks Yuki from the car. You guys walk inside, and Sae fixes a stern glare at his son. He practically hisses, "If I ever see you go near a soccer ball again, you'll pay hell, do you understand?"

Haru could only nod, terrified of his father's iciness. His teal eyes wet with tears that are now freely running down his face. Whereas his eyes used to be wide with awe before, they're now wide with horror and fear. Haru trembles and clutches his dinosaur plushie close to his chest.

When Sae looks up, he almost flinches at how horrifying angry your expression is.

"Yuki, take Haru upstairs. Your father and I need to talk."

Sae doesn't bother to check if his kids actually leave. He hears their footsteps on the stairs and that's enough for the two of you to start going at it like lions. Father of your kids or not, no one speaks to your son or daughter that way.

"What the fuck was that Sae?" you ask incredulously. "How fucking dare you call him stupid!"

"He was," Sae's voice is low and menacing. "He was being stupid and callous with his health and look at where it got him! You saw how swollen that ankle of his was!"

"And you saw how heartbroken you made your son, didn't you?" you shout brushing past Sae and into the kitchen. "He looks up to you you idiot. You're his dream. You should know that by now!"

"If he really did, he would've listened the first time I told him to give up! His dream isn't worth getting hurt over, not like I did-"

"Sae shut up!" you scream. "He's not Rin!"

Sae freezes. "The fuck did you just say?!"

"You heard me loud and clear! He's. Not. Rin."

"How fucking dare you-"

"You think I haven't noticed it too?! I knew Rin too!"

"NOT LIKE ME!" Sae roars, his voice cracking. "NOT LIKE HOW I DID!"

He crowds your space, and you stumble back against the counter. "You knew this whole time," Sae growls, "and you've just been letting me suffer in my loathing all alone?!"

"You have never been alone with me, and you know that," you retort, just as venomously. "If you never came to me with your sorrow, then how the hell was I supposed to help?"

"Shut up!" he shouts. You've never seen Sae this unhinged before. He's unraveling at the seams. "Shut up!"

His baby brother. The truck. It's all he can think of whenever he sees Haru. He's had so many nightmares of Haru's body lying in that coffin or on that street, his limbs bent every which way, his teal eyes-

His eyes. The eyes that would flutter closed as Sae would read him a bedtime story, or would light up whenever Sae made an assist for a goal in a game, or would collect tears when Yuki said no to playing together.

Those same eyes stare back at Sae in the mirror with loathing etched into every crease of his iris. Sae feels his self-hatred in every fraction of his body. His heart is full of it and his brain echoes it across his entire nervous system. He's alight with pain all the time, and he's tired.

He can't stand to stare into his eyes a second longer. Rin's eyes. Haru's eyes.

Haru's eyes are staring up at him now.

"Haru get back here!" Yuki shouts yanking on her little brother's arm.

But Haru doesn't move, he doesn't even flinch, twisted ankle and all. He stands in front of you protectively, his little 3 feet a solid wall from his father's rage.

"Don't yell at her!" he sobs, his cheeks covered in tears.

"Go upstairs Haru," Sae says lowly.

Haru shakes his head, even as you repeat Sae's sentiment. "No! Not if you're going to yell!

"Haru-!"

"Why do you hate me so much?!" Haru asks hysterically, his voice high pitched and squeaky. "What did I do?! I don't know what I did!"

Sae steps back as if he got punched. Haru's entire body is shaking with tremors as he continues to cry. He shakes his head and sobs, "You look at me different than you do Yuki or Mama! You look like you want me to run away and never ever come back! You look at me like you want me to do nothing forever, and be nothing! Sometimes I wish I was never born!"

"Haru!" you shout in horror. You kneel down and try to take your son into your arms, to provide him with some comfort, but Haru shoves away from you and takes a step towards Sae, who's recoiling from his son in horror.

"What did I do, daddy?!" he asks desperately. "Why do you hate me?!"

A deafening silence fills the kitchen. You and Yuki watch helplessly as Haru cries himself stupid. His tears stain the tiles on the floor and wet his shirt. Snot runs from his nose as he watches Sae with those same haunting eyes.

Eventually, Yuki whispers, "Haru, let's go upstairs, please. Daddy doesn't hate you, let's please just go upstairs."

Haru turns just a little, ready to follow his sister, but suddenly Sae falls to his knees. You and your kids flinch at his anguished expression, the one that has seen a lifetime of pain despite just barely being halfway through his life. Sae is sobbing uncontrollably, a sight you've never seen. Not when you got married, not when you had Yuki or Haru, not even when Rin died. Although now, it seems that pain is finally rearing its ugly head.

"I . . . I don't- fuck. Haru, no," Sae moans, grieved. He crawls across the floor and immediately takes his son into his arms, crushing him against his chest. "I'd never hate you. I'll never hate you. I'll love you forever and ever and ever. I'm so sorry. Daddy's so sorry. Forgive me please. You can play soccer. You can watch TV and fight with your dinosaurs and do everything you ever want, but please Haru never think that Daddy hates you because he doesn't. He doesn't. I don't. My boy. My sweet baby boy."

Sae's breath is coming in short intervals now, on the verge of hyperventilating. He squeezes his son tighter against his shirt and sobs into Haru's hair. "Never. Never ever. I'll never hate you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Forgive me. Please forgive me. Daddy loves you. I love you. I love you, forever and ever. I love you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry-"

His breath hitches as you tilt Sae's head up to look at you. You're not smiling down at him, but your eyes hold a softness they were void of just moments before. Sae's own eyes are wild and messy, muddy with his tears. Haru is curled up in his father's arms, crying into his dad's chest.

You put your hand on Haru's shoulder and begin prying your son from his dad, but Sae holds fast, desperate to not let go of his boy. His only boy. His sweet baby boy.

God, what has he done?

Eventually, Sae lets go of Haru, and you give your son to your daughter. "Both of you, upstairs. I'll come tuck you in soon, okay?"

They nod, and Yuki hurries upstairs, carrying Haru in her arms. You turn back to your husband and cup his cheek in your hand.

"Relax for a moment. Then come upstairs. I'll be in our bedroom. We need to talk."

"I'm sorry," he blurts, grabbing your wrist. "I'm-"

You kiss his forehead and he falls silent. "Shh, we'll talk later. Just . . . we both need to cool down first, okay?" When Sae nods, you smile the tiniest of smiles, and head upstairs as well.

He sits in the silence for an hour, a day, a week, who knows really? Eventually, Sae heads upstairs. He walks down the hallway to your bedroom, but pauses when he sees the light on in Haru's bedroom. Haru's scared of the dark after all, and falls asleep with the lights on, for you or Sae to come later and turn them off.

When Sae cracks open the door, Haru is asleep in his race car bed, his dinosaur tucked under his chin. Sae's heart almost gives out as he walks into his son's room. You left the light on on purpose, for Sae to do this now. He flicks the switch to the lamp off and kisses Haru's head, petting his hair with his hand.

His son. His only son. He's fucked things up so badly hasn't he? Just like with Rin.

Sae sobs again and shakes his head. He stays there, kneeling next to Haru for another horrible minute, before standing and making his way to your bedroom. You're sitting with your back to the headboard, your knees drawn up to your chest, staring down at your hands. You look up as he walks in, and Sae closes the door behind him, shutting the rest of the world out to the two of you.

a/n: ill prob write a part two at some point which delves more into Sae and Rins relationship . . .

#bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #sae itoshi #itoshi sae #sae x reader #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x you #bllk angst #blue lock angst

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suzukiblu · 1 month ago

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WIP excerpt for belconna behind the cut, who asked for Billy/Damian fluff and is getting “Damian gets a Pocket”. The fluffy aspects admittedly got a bit less focused on than I intended them to, but in my defense, we're dealing with a displaced ten year-old with extremely skewed perceptions who knows how to do a murder but does not know how to admit to having a single human weakness. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Love love, love love,” Beloved sing-songs contentedly as he slings his new and newly-packed bag onto his back and the eraser bag over his shoulder and secures them both. Damian is–surprised, somewhat, that Beloved has not abandoned such an unworthy offering as the eraser bag now that he has been provided a clearly more suitable option for his purposes.

Beloved’s mere existence is already surprising, though, so Damian supposes such peculiar choices are to be expected from him. Admittedly far less peculiar than Beloved attempting to ensure that Damian has eaten instead of being concerned with securing his own sustenance, but peculiar all the same.

Beloved’s point of origin would likely find him peculiar too, he supposes. Most people seem to, since his arrival in Gotham. It seems . . . unavoidable, here.

Damian finds many things about Gotham very tiring, though he is aware that he is expected to perform to expectation despite that fact. To improve himself to Father’s standards and surpass expectation, because, of course, how could he be the Heir to the Bat if he did not?

He is no longer with the League, but he is well-aware that Father holds himself to even higher standards than theirs, and ones that seem senseless and difficult and that Damian has yet to deduce the purposes behind.

Father does not kill his opponents; Father insists that they all waste Pennyworth’s time. Father complicates simple matters, and simplifies the complicated. A foe is not to be slain even in open combat, nor even particularly maimed if at all avoidable. “Manners” are performative distractions, and blending into civilian life is mandatory.

Damian finds it all very tiring, though making such comments is unappreciated, he has learned. Which is understandable, of course. Father expects better of him.

It remains–frustrating, all the same, when Drake and Brown and everyone else under Father’s mantle can make such statements without reprimand, and often even with approval. But Damian is Father’s blood son and one day will bear his mantle, so he understands that he must meet higher standards to perform to Father’s expectations. It is only logical that he must, in fact.

Though it is frustrating that when Brown cuts short a training program or sparring match and announces her exhaustion to Father’s face, he allows and even instructs her to step back and recover her energy, even if she is still perfectly capable of standing and holding a weapon, but if Damian informs anyone that he finds anything about the process of acclimating to Father’s endless list of illogical rules tiring, the response is always negative–short or irritable or outright hostile, as opposed to the neutral acceptance that Drake receives whenever informing Father that he is tired.

But he is the blood son, Damian reminds himself, so it is natural–and perfectly reasonable–that Father should expect more from him than Brown or Drake or any other ally to his cause. As he well should, in fact. It is preferable that Father does not consider him to be weak or incompetent. That Father considers him capable of meeting his expectations; his standards.

Even if it is–tiring, as well.

Damian will meet Father’s expectations, of course–meet Father’s standards–and will prove that he is worthy of such expectations, and then Father will acknowledge his worth as his heir, and will trust him as his heir, and then all of Damian’s efforts will prove worthwhile. Father will not doubt him, after that; will accept his opinions as worthy of consideration and will not feel the need to doubt his loyalty or compare reports of how he allocates his time when outside of the manor.

So . . . not, Beloved will not last, and neither will whatever Pocket came from Damian himself. Such a distraction from Father’s mission would not be worthwhile, in Father’s eyes. Not be acceptable, in Father’s eyes.

Certainly not for the heir to his mantle, at least.

Upon arrival to the manor, Damian stows his purchases for Beloved in his school bag and sets Beloved himself upon his shoulder where the strap lays, then heads inside while Pennyworth returns the towncar to the garage. Beloved buttons the coat’s shoulder strap across his lap in a manner akin to a seatbelt and settles in with his bags, his hands hooked over the edge of the strap as if expecting potential–turbulence, for lack of a more suitable term. Damian appreciates the obvious instinct of preparation on Beloved’s part, given how frequently “turbulence” has been a concern in his life. It will certainly prove useful on patrol, he reflects as he crosses the threshold into the manor, and he has in fact already sketched out several potential plans for arranging something more secure to actually–

Beloved freezes on his shoulder, then very suddenly throws himself and his bags into the collar of his coat and hides against the back of his neck. Damian–frowns, briefly. Beloved’s instinct to conceal himself is another instinct that he approves of, but he is uncertain as to why Beloved just did so that quickly. The previous occasions he has concealed himself upon, he was much less rushed. So why . . . ?

“Welcome home, Damian,” Father says, and Damian is immediately mortified to realize he was distracted enough by Beloved’s behavior to not notice Father approaching the foyer from the stairs. He locks his spine in perfect posture and represses any physical reaction to that sense of mortification, because he is certain Father already knows he has caught him unawares, and equally certain that the only worse thing would be to attempt to excuse being caught unaware, even by the Batman. Father is going to no more effort to conceal or quiet himself than he typically does inside the manor, and Damian knows better than to allow himself such distractions.

Any distractions, but especially the distraction of a soulmate.

“Thank you, Father,” Damian says, because he has been informed that is the appropriate response to such greetings. He supposes it makes sense, to continually thank Father for his hospitality. He is well-aware that Father has many potential heirs, and he is the youngest and least physically mature of those, and also the one that Father has spent the least time personally training.

And Father did not give him Robin to begin with: Grayson did, in his absence. Because in Father’s absence, Grayson had inherited his mantle, and Damian . . . he had not been Father’s heir, but . . .

Grayson had accepted his service as his partner long before Father had even considered the idea.

#billydami #damibilly #damian wayne #billy batson #dc robin #captain marvel #shazam #wip: damian gets a pocket #belconna

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ducksido · 1 month ago

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Hai!! I decided to be loyal once again and request my schmookie bear Idia🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤 so imagine this 😈😈, Idia with an equally as socially awkward reader, who loves programming video games, the catch is that well… they program otomes😱😱😱

So Idia and reader are already dating and just chilling and they’re trying to make the perfect otome together despite sucking at romantic relationships (Brian once again no work, so interpret may👍👍👍👍👍)

It’s a typical day in Ignihyde—meaning dark, silent, and filled with the glow of multiple monitors and the faint smell of energy drinks and anxiety.

You’re slouched on Idia’s beanbag chair, a laptop on your knees and your fingers flying over the keyboard. Beside you, Idia is hunched at his own desk, cloak pooling around his legs, hoodie up, and hair glowing the softest hue of content blue. You’re both locked in total silence… except for the muttered lines of code and occasional:

“Bro, why did this variable name turn into emotional damage. It’s literally self-destructing my script—oh wait. That was a typo.”

You and Idia are, somehow, making the perfect otome game. The catch?

Neither of you has functioning romantic experience. Outside of each other, and even then it's like watching two haunted raccoons try to hold hands without combusting.

“Okay…” you mutter, staring blankly at the dialogue box on the screen. “So the love interest just confessed, and the MC’s supposed to, like, respond. What would be… realistic?”

Idia blinks slowly. “Uh. You mean in actual human realistic, or idealized 2D husbando dream logic realistic?”

You chew your sleeve. “I don’t know. What would you say if someone told you they loved you?”

He visibly bluescreens.

“...besides shutting down,” you add quickly.

“…Uhhh. I'd probably say something like, ‘N-no way, you’re just saying that because of the stat boost from that one event where I accidentally held your hand—why would anyone like me, I’m a zero-drop-rate SSR-level disappointment,’ and then short-circuit and roll under my desk.”

You blink. “Honestly? That’s better than like 80% of otome responses.”

You both nod solemnly.

Later, while working on the “Kiss CG Unlock” scene, both of you sit stiff as boards.

You: “Should he, like… kiss her forehead? Or is that too intimate??”

Idia: “W-wait forehead is more intimate than the cheek, right? I read that somewhere on a forum. I think.”

You: “What if the sprite kisses the air two pixels next to her cheek to imply it happened off-screen?”

Idia: “Genius. Subtle. Emotional. The fans will cry.”

You both high-five. You miss. Your fingers brush.

You both recoil like you touched a live wire.

Cue Idia’s hair flaring bright pink as he dramatically covers his face with his hoodie sleeve:

“C-crap! Critical hit!! Emotional damage x9999!!”

You wheeze into your hoodie. “We’re literally dating, why are we like this???”

“I don’t know!! You’re my actual love interest! It’s different! It’s worse! You’re real!!” he screeches.

Despite the awkward chaos, the otome game starts looking… kind of amazing. The characters have incredibly nuanced personalities, the routes are emotional and hilarious, and the MC has more depth than most commercial games. (She even has an option to respond to a confession with “No u.”)

You both sit there, staring at the final screen — the last line of code compiled. The game runs. No bugs. All dialogue paths working.

"...We actually made it," you whisper.

Idia looks at you.

“W-we… made a game. Together. An otome game. About romance. Despite being walking cringe compilations.”

He reaches over—slow, like a cutscene CG—and pokes your hand.

“True Ending unlocked,” he mumbles.

Your face heats up. You take his hand.

Achievement Unlocked: ‘Mutual Tsundere Affection.exe’

Bonus: Ortho walks in 3 minutes later and sees the two of you collapsed on the beanbag, holding hands and red-faced, surrounded by empty cans and 700 lines of spaghetti code.

He takes one look at the screen.

“…Big Brother. Y/N. This is the most emotionally repressed game I’ve ever seen. 10/10.”

#twst #twst x reader #twst wonderland #twst yuu #idia twisted wonderland #idia #twisted wonderland idia #idia shroud #idia x reader #twst idia #they're both idiots your honor

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mothmanssweetsucculentass · 11 months ago

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ZZZ Headcanons

Help this game has taken over my free time I love these characters sm <3 Billy Soukaku and Ellen my beloved

Nicole: has a not so secret hobby of bedazzling anything and everything. It’s a real problem in the Cunning Hares apartment, nothing is safe from pink rhinestones and stickers

Anby: cracked at rhythm games to an alarming degree. Can do a 2 person extremely hard DDR song all by herself

Billy: I don’t know how they did it but they programmed an android with autism. Has his own version of a skincare routine which is basically just maintenance on all of his tiny mechanical parts. Can also gain power multiple ways, including solar power. The apartment complex where the Cunning Hares live had a blackout once and everyone used Billy as a personal charging port. Nicole promised to pay him in Starlight Knight merch.

Nekomata: cuts her own hair and offers to do it for other people. DO NOT trust her when she says she’s good at it

Grace: did gymnastics as a kid which is why she’s able to pull off a ton of backflips and flexible maneuvers in battle

Anton: uses actual cement to keep his hair spikes in shape. Koleda caught him in the act once and instead of chewing him out, she decided to apply some to her own hair and now they’re cement combover gang

Ben: is completely vegan and loves chilling at hot springs a lot. Still sleeps with stuffed animals btw

Koleda: I’m making it canon right now Koleda is trans and you can’t do shit about it. Also has welding as a hobby and made most of her accessories from scratch

Corin: when not in Victoria Housekeeping Co uniform, is a Jfashion junkie. I’m talking super dedicated Lolita fits, menhera inspired clothing, the whole shebang. She ofc designs a lot of her own stuff like her bear backpack and is also responsible for a lot of the accessories Victoria Housekeeping Co wears (Rina’s bows, Ellen’s shark jaw head and neckpieces, Lycaon’s eyepatch and tail straps). She also has a massive crush on Ellen and is too scared to admit it

Rina: has a fur allergy and can’t keep animals around. Which also means she’s allergic to Lycaon. She has to take so much Zyrtec before clocking in but has such a good poker face that Lycaon has no idea. Ellen knows tho

Lycaon: specifically wears the heeled boots and has his odd posture because he’s self conscious about his digitigrade legs, he thinks they’re unsightly for a butler of his standing to have. He also tries to encourage Ellen to wear a long maid dress like Rina does to hide her tail.

Ellen: coincidentally falls into a lot of shark stereotypes. She loves seafood, has to constantly be fidgeting or she feels like she’ll go mad, and the kicker, she gets frenzied around blood, or if the thing she’s fighting puts up a struggle. Corin accidentally cut her hand while repairing her saw blade once and both Lycaon and Rina could barely hold Ellen back once Corin began bleeding. Ellen feels awful for scaring the already timid girl. Corin secretly thought it was hot and would die on the spot if anyone knew that

Soukaku: despite being a huge foodie this girl cannot cook for shit. Is also physically cold to the touch and during the summer her coworkers will ask her to hold their drinks because they’ll stay cold. Soukaku always secretly sneaks sips every time they do this to her.

Miyabi: has the worst sleep schedule known to man. Sometimes you’ll find her awake at 3AM and conked out by 4PM, other times she goes to bed at 8PM and wakes up at 4AM. It’s inconsistent and irregular and a gamble trying to contact her outside of work because she might not even be awake

Harumasa: GAY GAY HOMOSEXUAL GAY. Also pretty cracked at chess and other strategy games. Is also a major old fashioned guy and doesn’t own a lot of modern technology. He’s not into retro or old stuff, he just doesn’t like new stuff

Yanagi: her glasses are fake. When she was younger she needed them, but her vision had naturally gotten better over the years, so she now wears contacts, but for some reason still insists on wearing her glasses. Loses them constantly during battle.

Lucy: even though she was forced to play piano as a kid, she really wanted to be a sporty girl and play stuff like soccer and baseball. Now she has the freedom to take part in the sports she likes and watch them surrounded by the people she likes

Piper: insanely picky eater to the point it drives Lucy up a wall. Is also picky about a lot of other things, like how different fabrics feel, different comfort levels of chairs and beds, girl is a complainer and will always find something to complain about

Lighter: has a side gig as a tattoo artist, has really stable hands too

Soldier 11: has 5 younger brothers, a younger sister, and 2 older siblings who she doesn’t see super often. Has divorced parents who also liked to adopt, which is why she has such a huge family. Her younger brothers love it when she comes home and plays secret agent military with them

Seth: can’t drive. That’s it send tweet.

Qingyi: is outwardly dismissive of meditation tricks and hacks and tips but utilizes that shit in private ALL the time.

Zhu Yuan: shares the vegetables she grows in her garden with all her neighbors. Is also a REALLY good cook to the point people have encouraged her to potentially consider a different career path

Jane Doe: the rat girl has pet rats go figure. But in all seriousness she’d die for her little guys. She has a white one named Cocaine and a brown one named Tobacco and a gray one named Crystal Meth. She thinks the names are hilarious and every time she introduces the rats to other people their facial expressions are priceless

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rei-ismyname · 4 months ago

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Uncanny X-Men #10 review

Well, ten issues in and we finally hear something substantive from Nightcrawler. The Outliers are still being attacked by the Wolfpack sentinels after Ground Bear and Jubilee bailed, the Graymalkin Podcaster clown show continues, and Moonbeam and Gambit go on a date mostly off panel. It looks pretty good but it's unfocused and shallow. The Outliers are the stars and the absence of Rogue/Gambit was refreshing. There's fart jokes?

Nightcrawler thinks to himself that he doesn't want to go back to being an X-Man, except he is an X-Man, isn't he? Realistically, he's having the same doubts everyone else has had. They were left unresolved and brushed aside so I'm not going to spend much time on this. Fool me thrice.

Anyway, he's painting a roof with Chelsea, who ends up being a mutant. Great, just what this book needs more of 🙄. She's probably the wisest person here who knows the mall is a bad idea. Kurt is really enjoying this place as a 'home' that's 'healing him.' How? Doesn't matter. He's just saying words and I wonder why he's even in the book. The lady whose kid he rescued rocks up with homemade German pastries for him which is a nice moment but it's not a substitute for character development. Things happen to him, mostly.

Meanwhile, Deathdream is bleeding out at the mall and The Outliers are rallying. The adult X-Men are feeling like a bit of a distraction tbh. The kids are being developed the most, learning, growing, making choices. It's great for them, but it's an awkward situation if you want more than the barest development of The X-Men. I look back on the first arc and how much time was spent flashing back to Xavier and Sarah Gaunt. No idea what degree of editorial meddling there is, but I find it hard to believe Gail Simone would intentionally take focus off the main characters to that degree.

Jitter uses her powers to become a master combat medic for sixty seconds and takes charge. For some reason the Wolfpack just aren't attacking them right now, despite having a taste for blood and no master.

Calico has her heroic moment and aims to distract the Wolfpack. Ransom is hunting for a needle to save Deathdream and stops to cheer her on despite the ticking clock. Said clock ticks down and he's just a little bit too late, so Jitter is relying on memory. Sure. The 'if X happens, run and leave me' moment is the 5th time this beat has been played this run, and it gets the same response each time. There's value in repetition but I'm not seeing any formalism or thematic purpose here, so it just feels repetitive. Don't get me wrong, the kids are the best part of the book, but I don't get these choices. It's the kind of thing even a parody of action cliché should be embarrassed doing - and it loses power each time.

Time's up! We check in with Graymalkin, where the same dynamic as last time is escalating after the incident hits the news. Trask wouldn't kill kids because of his family history, apparently. Maybe he's referring to his sister, but that's a stretch. He had no problem with basically enslaving Juston Seyfert for his sentinel program. Whatever, maybe it's some new shit. The podcaster isn't happy, and keeps telling him to shut them down, something he's established he can't do. Not sure what was gained by including this.

Okay, Nightcrawler sees the Wolfpack situation on the news (TF are Logan and Jubilee?) He is obviously going to teleport there to meet them, but he stops for thoughts and prayers in a life or death scenario. DEEEEEP BREATH. Fucking really? Yeah, Kurt is Catholic, though he has spent the last few years having a major crisis of faith. He's also an experienced hero and pointedly not an idiot. Stopping to pray when kids you're responsible for are probably being torn to shreds is not something he would do, ever. It's embarrassing and frankly highlights why he shouldn't be in this book. Kurt Wagner is a complex, well-rounded individual. In this book he's been portrayed with 'is religious' as his defining character trait. I hate to go there but I'm dubious that Simone knows a damn thing about him - besides 'religious guy.' All that aside, if you only have room for a single flat character trait, take them out of the book. Kill him if you need to because this is painful. That would free up space for other characters to have beliefs, motivations etc.

Jitter is going off memory and Calico is regulating. The memory is fading and Ember is down though. After encouragement from Ransom Jitter does the Pulp Fiction thing anyway - Calico lapses into despair, repeating her mother's abusive nonsense.

Nevermind, Ember is fine and so is Deathdream. More than fine even. Right as rain. Ransom is reinventing the fastball special except with Ember kicking him in the heart.

Logan and Jubilee finally show up to protect the kids they're responsible for. They're held up by a barricade and a cop. Okay this must be a shape shifter or something because I don't see Logan even asking for permission, let alone wasting time arguing with this bozo. He'd leap the barrier, or slice it. Famously he does not give a fuck and is very willing to use violence. If you thought that was bad, Jubilee convinces the cop and then wastes time flirting with him. Flirting with a cop while their charges are fighting sentinels. I guess now that she's abandoned her baby in Otherworld she's got time to date. This is unserious shit.

I wish I had the gall to follow up that waste of time with 'we're not gonna make it.' This run isn't going to make it. Kurt beats them there and has his second most substantial conversation of the run. With a killer robot dog. He teleports it into the sky and kicks it without hurting himself. Maybe Calico softened them up since last issue.

Jitter and Deathdream seem fucked with two Wolfpack sentinels racing towards them. Ransom and Calico check in, while informing us that Ransom is who they look up to. I mean, she's been doing all the fighting and Ransom was going to leave last issue but sure. Why not? He does throw a robot dog at Logan for him to slice, that's leader shit. If I was being generous I'd say it's a callback to Fall of the House of X #1, where Colossus did the same thing with an ORCHIS soldier. It doesn't matter because Deathdream suddenly figures out he can kill them all. Easily. It's loosely explained and I don't care enough to quibble. His powers are established and they apparently include a healing factor too.

With that, the threat is over. They got them all, together. Right. Logan compliments Ransom who asks not to be called 'kid.' I guess he's the man now, dawg. The mutants are hailed as heroes by local news and The Podcaster is not happy. They've finally tracked down the idiot responsible for this debacle, and she sends him to be tortured. The private sector is rough. I still don't know what the Podcaster's actual deal is, she's all over the place and I can't fathom why anyone obeys or fears her. What does she want aside from a mutant prison?

This book lacks consequences. The adults keep making huge mistakes that other people suffer for yet they get bailed out. It's narrative 101 - if your characters make a mistake they should have to deal with the fallout. They learn and grow. Rogue hasn't made a good decision yet and her team are complimenting her - directly after a prison break with no plan where she spent her time punching Scott. They sent the kids to school and Calico was kidnapped in an hour. Logan and Jubilee fucked up so badly here the kids nearly died. One actually did, but luckily it didn't stick. Kurt is praying and Jubilee is flirting while they're fighting for their lives. These actions aren't being used as mistakes to learn from, they're just things that happen. There's no tension because nothing really matters. No matter what they do things work out and they're hailed as heroes. Personally, I want more out of the flagship X-Men book.

When the wisest person in the book is 6 years old, it hangs a lampshade on how cartoonishly everyone is behaving. I'm thinking that's the point. The ragtag misfits have goofy adventures that seem like the end of the world at the time, but it's just Tuesday. It's the fun book where you don't have to think hard. Moonbeam, Ground Bear, and the Podcaster. PTSD, let's never talk about it again. Diction lessons, sugah. Let's pray.

A look at the letters page tells us everyone is loving the book, and they're definitely real people that aren't cherry picked. Good for them and good for you if you're enjoying it. I'm not loving it, but I'm not hating it. It exhausts me a little but I do enjoy reviewing it. Thanks for reading, Ground Bears.

#x men #x comics #uncanny x men #logan howlett #wolverine #nightcrawler #jubilee #the outliers #calico #jitter #deathdream #ransom #rogue #gambit #marvel #comics #reviews

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