#been doing a lot of full body/pose practice by drawing their ending dances

[mo-ok]

red boys?????????? red boys 😌😌😌😌

[whumblr]

So I'm looking for musical whump prompts- such as the whumpee is a musician and whumper is trying to ruin music for them- but I can't really find any. Do you have some?

Well, I’m always up for ruining Whumpee’s associations with certain songs. (for full details see my published work :), like this prompt or Zayne singing to Jay + the bonus chapter after that...)

Anyhoo, we came for the musicians and the prompts.

* Forbid them to sing. Go even further and forbid them to use their voice. Use a shock collar to further imprint the message and ruin their voice in the meantime.

* Or you know, just shred their voice by making them scream a lot.

* Forbid them to perform. Maybe catch them trying dance moves in their cell. Tie them up in a stress position, forcing them to keep the pose for hours on end.

* Start playing their fave song like a pavlovian bell just before Whumper steps into their cell, just before the torture starts. After a while you'll have them begging for mercy when they merely hear the first tone of the song.

* Break their fingers, break their ankles, whatever they need to perform.

* Or in other news, force them to sing, perform, play. Mistakes are of course badly punished.

* Fun to use in the aftermath, where Whumpee sees their piano or hears a song they’ve been practicing and they figure to give it a shot, try again. They’re either reduced to a puddle when they realise they can’t hold their poses anymore or play as they used to with their body ruined.

* And of course their mind ruined. Mistakes stand out so much more now and they flinch and halt their performance, glancing up to a figure that always loomed above them, waiting for the punishment that doesn’t come anymore.

* Also fun if they play for Caretaker, who may be a coach or trainer, and they see Whumpee fall apart and glance at them with the utmost fear in their eyes at the smallest mistakes.

* Heck, have them try a public performance again and they completely freeze up and stop playing or singing all of a sudden in front of hundreds of people when they make a tiny mistake only they can hear.

* Interesting to combine with an 'I'm never going on stage again'.

* Or have them lashing out. When they either realise there's no more fun in music or when they realise they can't perform like they used to. Have them fling that violin across the room, smash a fist into the keys in frustration.

* Forcing the Whumpee to perform for Whumper’s friends. They’re forced to include silly dances and wear a humiliating outfit. Whumpee’s horrified yet also terrified of the consequences when they show their discomfort with it all. Or worse, when they outright refuse. So they go all out, give a show like it doesn’t bother them at all.

After the show, Whumper comes to them, taunting them. “You loved this, didn’t you, loved all the attention. Doesn’t matter how you draw the spotlight to yourself even in this” he picks at the fabric of their outfit with disgust, “disgusting attire.”

Whumpee’s not sure how to continue after that. Continue being mocked or show how humiliated they are and risk punishment.

* Counter offer: ”You dare, you dare put on a show like that for my friends?!”

[a-dusty-emerald]

Hogwarts House Parties ~ Headcannons~

Gryffindor: Oh well, they are the wild ones and they know it. They make a big fuzz about their party the previous days, inviting everyone - Fred and George for sure fly enchanted little paper planes to everyone in class and stick posters in front of portraits, ignoring their shouting and insults. As soon as you enter the Gryffindor common room, it is noticeable the furniture have been pushed aside - they are now used as tables for the enormous amount of butterbeer and firewhiskey they have smuggled in - except for 2 couches that are filled with everyone’s coats and bags. People wearing their uniforms finally loosen up completely, the magic fireworks occasionally lighting up the whole room. Everyone has a mug full of alcohol in hand, their ties tied around their heads, drunken sweaty bodies dancing frantically at the biggest pop song hits, like S&M-Rihanna (Fred’s favourite btw). Some daredevils of the lot play around with diluted Amortentia shots. Dare or Dare and Spin the bottle are played in the corner of the room, with some brave ones making out and blaming it on the firewhiskey and other drunk people gossiping about what’s going on.

Hufflepuff: Everyone is welcome there. The best food in the whole school, and that’s a fact. Even before entering the room, the smell is enticing. Casually clothed students enter the Hufflepuff common room, where warm mulled wine, butterbeer and fruit punch are placed on the main table. Drinks in hand, students roam while dancing to the rest of the tables to eat the best sweets that can be found in Hogwarts. Drunk people take photos posing while Doja Cat’s “Say so” is playing. Some are dancing on chairs with their friends hyping them up from below, some are playing Never Have I Ever and some are laughing at Cedric’s ability to trip while walking after practically drinking a full bowl of fruit punch. Anti-hangover pills are crushed and laced in the drinks though, so the alcohol is not something the students really care about. 

*Also, one word: Karaoke. And, there miiiight be some edible things at the hufflepuff party*

Ravenclaw: Underrated as hell. Ravenclaw parties come straight from the 1990s, with their common room being practically transformed into a neon disco. The dress code is simple: White or neon clothing. Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” plays as soon as the doors open. Luna offers neon markers and glow in the dark body paint. Blaise has helped her smuggle alcohol in. The entry fee is two full jello shots in front of him. Some people get flirty with drawing on each other’s bodies and dancing, smearing paint on each other, while others already head to the “VIP” area of the room (which is normally the study area) and play intricate crime / drinking games. They are searching for clues among people dancing, and the losing team gets to drink as many vodka shots as the clues they missed. In the end, everyone is so drunk. Some Ravenclaws also prefer to live an... out of this world experience, certain pills are passed around. Thank goodness their parties are always on Friday nights, because they could NEVER study the next day.

Slytherin: Always memorable, and when not, the alcohol is the one to blame.  Hookahs are also available. They are extravagant AF. Their common room reeks old money and they know it. They have the most exquisite drinks, the most expensive, the most hard to find, the ones that do the most damage. The dress code is not “smart”, but is always the same: “Dress to Impress”. Girls wear their best outfit - the one that will turn the most heads, while boys usually rock their fashionable jeans with their expensive shirts, and make their way to the bar to get some drinks for their group. “Daisy” by Ashnikko is playing while Draco takes a tequila shot with Blaise and Theo. It’s the kind of party that the whole room is shaking, because everyone is screaming the lyrics while jumping and dancing. The wildest drinking games ever seen take place in the centre of the room. Sweaty drunk students dance till they can’t anymore, laughing at whoever can’t hold their liquor. Random accessories like masks, sunglasses and crowns get passed around, with people taking multiple drunken photos with them. The Weasley twins always find their way in, and are placing bets on who is going to pass out with fellow Slytherins. Overall, its an experience.

[eclecticmiasma]

Human Art (Yandere!Rohan x Reader)

🖤 For the eternally lovely @vani-ya​ 💚

When strange things start happening around your apartment, your kind friend Rohan offers you a place to stay. 

NSFW

[Warnings: somnophilia, rape, mind control, abuse, dead dove: do not eat] 

It started out innocuous enough. Doors ajar that you could have sworn you closed. Missing laundry. Strange bruises. The fact that Morioh had a serial killer running around wasn’t exactly a secret, so you just felt like you were being overly paranoid when little things around your apartment began to go awry. You weren’t always the most mindful person, and a few little incidents did not a serial killer make.

That is, until the open doors had broken locks. Until you found strange stains on your underwear. Until the bruises that marred your hips and thighs began to look like fingerprints.

“Maybe it’s a ghost!” Okuyasu jested, waggling his eyebrows. Rohan shot him a look of deep disgust. Okuyasu’s face fell as he remembered the existence of Reimi, “Sorry…”  

“Well, you’re more than welcome to crash at my place,” Josuke interjected, “Mom’s probably dying to have another woman around-” At this, Rohan let out a snort of laughter.

“Stay at your place? And sleep where exactly?” Josuke chewed the inside of his lip.

“I…I mean I could sleep on the couch…” The mangaka rolled his eyes and set down his coffee with a frustrated clink.

“Am I always the only one with any real solutions?” He turned to you and looked you sternly in the eyes, “[Y/n], I’m sure you’ve noticed that my house is massive. As long as you don’t interrupt my work, the best thing to do is to stay with me for a while,” The gang blinked at Rohan, shocked at his uncharacteristic generosity. Okuyasu got ready to grill him on the fact that he refused to let him and his father stay at his mansion despite the fact that they continued to live in an abandoned shack, but Josuke elbowed him before he could start.

You were hesitant to accept. While it was a generous offer, you never really spoke to Rohan beyond gathering cursory information about the town’s other stand users. He sensed your unease and softened his gaze.

“It’ll be…an adventure. Maybe you could even help me model certain character poses? There is a severe lack of women in my work.”

In the end, you agreed. All of your things were moved to Rohan’s with the help of your friends, and you found yourself much more at ease with someone else in the house. Even if your rooms were fairly far apart, you felt much less likely to be murdered while not living alone. Whether or not that was misguided, you began to enjoy your temporary home.

But, slowly, incidents began to occur at Rohan’s home too. Much like before, they started out small. Bits of hair in your bed that weren’t yours. More marks on your body, covering the ones that had faded. One morning, you woke up with something dry and flaky across your chest and neck. You started to think that Okuyasu was right, maybe you did have some kind of ghost following you around.

When you voiced your concerns to Rohan, he waved them away. The two of you did laundry at the same time, so of course it was probably his hair caught in your blankets. Your aloof nature meant that you constantly bumped into things, he saw it himself. As for the mystery substance on your chest, maybe you needed to buy some new body lotion that wouldn’t clump up in your sleep. He recommended a local brand. Everything you came at him with, he had an answer for. Rohan’s level-headed nature put you at ease, and you were thankful for him.

But then everything fell apart. You don’t know what possessed you, perhaps it was a familiarity with the mangaka’s drawing room after having modeled for his various projects several times, but you found yourself perusing his massive catalogue of books. He had a novel on nearly every subject. As he told you many times, he found it of utmost importance to take inspiration from the real world.

When none of his library piqued your interest, you walked away from his bookshelf and padded over to his desk. Though you were never allowed to look at his unfinished work, curiosity got the better of you. Rohan was much too controlling when it came to his work, you felt. A little peak wouldn’t do anyone any harm.

You picked up a sketchbook and rifled through it, amazed at how detailed his drawings were. Birds, insects around the home, coffee plates, sandwiches, human hands, anything and everything he saw was sketched out to the most minute details. He was absurdly talented. You felt a bit of pride in being his friend.

At the back of the sketchbook were nude drawings. You blushed as your eyes raked over the lewd poses. Some genitalia was drawn, both male and female. The model’s body was contorted in all different poses, many sexual in nature. As you flipped the page, you were shocked to see actual sexual acts being performed. You had never heard of models that were willing to do this kind of thing. Although, Rohan had a lot of money and none of the sketches showed their faces. Except for one.

The sketchbook tumbled to the floor.

The face was yours.

Not once had he asked you to pose nude for him, but there you were. Your full body was on display. Leaned back over the edge of a sofa so that your hair dragged along the floor. One of your hands grasped your breast seductively while the other delved into your core. It was unmistakably you, down to the birthmark on your abdomen. You knew Rohan only drew from what was directly in front of him, so how in the world-

Rohan cleared his throat behind you, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. A devious look danced behind his eyes. He set down his satchel unceremoniously and closed the study door.

“I suppose this was bound to happen at some point,” Your heart raced as the lock clicked in place. Rohan slid off his gloves and threw them on the leather chair next to his satchel. Not once did he take his emerald eyes off of your now trembling form.

“I don’t understand,” You managed to say, though your voice was weak and nearly unintelligible.

“You wouldn’t,” Rohan chuckled darkly, “You’re much too stupid to put two and two together. Now, kneel.”

To your shock, your knees immediately hit the wooden floor.

“Heaven’s Door,” Rohan muttered, taking your face in his palms. Your whole body tensed and something like a book opened in your left cheek, “You know, this charade has been quite fun. I probably could have been happy to keep you as my perfect little pet forever. But, seeing you like this, seeing the genuine fear in your eyes, I’m starting to realize that your inability to remember our time together has honestly been quite boring,” He whipped out a pencil from his pocket and erased something from your pages.

All at once, everything came flooding back. The nights in your apartment where something, someone held you down while you sobbed, marking your body as their own. The way they flaunted your stolen underwear as they huffed it while fucking your breasts. Broken locks strewn to the floor as you screamed.

And at Rohan’s house, memories of him choking you until you complied with his demands, his thick cock stretching your throat. The unhinged glee in his eyes as he came all over your neck and chest. Images of your naked, trembling body on display as he drew you any way he wanted, even while being used by him.

Paralyzed by Rohan’s stand, all you could do was remember and weep.

“There we go,” He said, closing your pages and stepping back, admiring his work, “I even took out the clause that says you have to obey any orders I give,” A dark grin danced across his features, “Now, look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

You couldn’t. Not after the visions that played in your mind. Everything you had feared for months stood directly in front of you, taunting you. Pain erupted on the side of your head as Rohan twisted your hair around his fist and pulled you way from the side of the desk. He used that momentum to throw you to the floor and, immediately, he was on you, tearing off your clothes with practiced precision. Though you kicked and screamed, Rohan was deceptively strong. You cried out as he wrenched your arm painfully behind your back.

“Keep fighting me, and I’ll pop your arm out of its socket,” Despite his warning you continued to struggle, wriggling underneath him for any kind of opportunity to get the upper hand. He let out an exasperated sigh and tugged hard. You cried out as burning agony shot down your arm and the limb fell to your side with a thud, “You really think one would learn after the first twenty or so times. How did you even survive on your own for this long?”

With the rest of your clothing off, he moved his weight from you and ordered you to get back on your knees. Trembling, you acceded, forcing yourself up with your working arm to face him. You watched as he retrieved his sketchbook from the floor. He flipped through the pages with annoyance.

“Not many left. Ah, here’s a spot. Now…what do I need from you…” Rohan’s brow furrowed as he tapped his chin with a fountain pen and looked at your sobbing face. His lip curled in disgust, “Let’s put that mouth to use. Open up,” Your eyes met his and you silently pleaded for mercy. Images of him forcing his way past your lips flashed before you, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to comply.

“I shouldn’t have to repeat myself,” Fury bubbled beneath Rohan’s calculated stare. After you continued to hesitate, he cupped his hand and put it to his ear, “What’s that? You’re begging me to paralyze you with my stand?” You shook your head furiously and opened your mouth for him, ashamed, “Good girl.”

Rohan walked over to you and unzipped his baggy trousers. With pen in hand, he fished out his half-hard member and let it hit your tongue. Fresh tears streamed down your cheeks. His thumb grazed your cheek, and for a moment you thought he might even take pity on you. He only smirked.

“Mess up my drawing, and I’ll throat-fuck you until you have to use a feeding tube,” Fear coursed through you as he started to draw, lightly thrusting his length along your tongue to allow it to fully harden. You barely breathed.

Minutes passed. Ten. Twenty. Rohan sketched the way his cock sat between your lips as if he were sketching a detailed flower. Nothing in his facial expressions betrayed the act in which he was participating. But he was certainly aroused. You fought back the urge to gag when salty pre-cum hit your tongue.

When he slapped the sketchbook closed, you jumped. The sick sense of security you felt while he was drawing melted, and terrified anticipation took its place.

“Get on all fours,” Reluctantly, you did as he said. He came up behind you and slid his hands along your inner thighs, “Spread your legs…Further,” Your face heated up with shame and rage as you felt him grasp the soft flesh of your behind. He toyed with it, massaging it and spreading it apart to examine your innermost parts.

“Wait!” You cried out as something prodded at your entrance. You lurched forward to escape him, but tumbled onto your dislocated shoulder. Rohan quickly caught your hips and dragged you back across the floor. A sharp slap resounded in the room as he reared back and spanked you as hard as he could, “Please, Rohan-”

“Please, Rohan,” He mocked, smacking you again, “Do you know how long I’ve kept myself from burying my cock inside of you?” Burning pain filled you as he thrust himself forward, plunging inside of you with his thick length. Your nails dug into the floor as you sobbed, begging him to stop.

His pace was instantly vicious, dizzying. It was painful, so incredibly painful, but your cries fell on deaf ears. He even chuckled as you writhed beneath him, trying desperately to get away. With a swift motion he grabbed the back of your head and pulled you to him so that your back stuck to his chest. His clammy hands enthusiastically grasped at your bouncing breasts.

“Don’t you wonder why…” He growled in your ear, rolling his hips against you, “…after all the ways I’ve taken you, why not here?” His hand moved from your chest to rub painful circles into your clit. His other hand slid up to your neck and gripped it so tightly that you could barely respond, “I don’t mean to sound sentimental, but I wanted you to remember it. A whore like you should be so lucky to be fucked by Rohan Kishibe.”

Finally, his thrusts slowed and he shifted the angle of your body. Though it was still painful, the new position allowed his dick to plant a cloying feeling deep within your core. Every time he penetrated you, it gave you pause. Combined with the more deliberate ministrations of his fingers on your clit, the realization dawned on you that you were dangerously close to orgasm. Your heart raced at the thought. You wanted to scream, but Rohan’s grip on your neck kept you near silent.

“Cum for me you little slut. I know exactly where your buttons are, so don’t try to fight it,” The world around you spun as lack of oxygen finally took its toll, and everything you had been fighting so hard to stop fell by the wayside. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, little pinpricks of light dancing in your vision as your body trembled. Rohan cackled psychotically and let you drop to the floor.

While you came down from your high, Rohan fucked you harder. Your knees rubbed the floor painfully as he took you, slamming his cock deep within you again and again and again. You had no energy to hold yourself up, especially with just one arm, and you let him have his way with you as you silently cried.

His own orgasm wasn’t far behind. To your absolute shock he pulled out of you, digging the nails of his left hand into your thigh as his right milked out semen all over the skin of your back.

As soon as he released every drop of cum, there was shuffling behind you. You dared to glance down to see that he immediately went to grab his sketchpad to draw your freshly marked body and abused hole. You didn’t even need to be told to stay still.

When he was finished, he flipped you over. You yelped in shock as he grabbed your foot and held it up to where he could see the bottom of it. Pain shot through you as he took his fountain pen and sliced into the sole of your foot, cutting a thin line.

“There,” he panted, dropping your leg, “You didn’t really think that was our first time, did you?” He cast a smug smile your direction as your face dropped, “That’s it, that’s the face! Hold still,” He picked up the book beside him and quickly outlined your pained expression. He grinned as his pen flew across the paper, absolutely unhinged. “Anyway, of course you believed me. The only person more gullible than you is that buffoon Josuke.”

“But…I saw everything…” Rohan let out a genuine cackle.

“You remember what I let you remember, you stupid bitch. Why would I pass up the chance to break you anew every single day? To let you think that I still had one more line left to cross? The raw emotion…that’s truly art,” You thought you had run your tears dry, but more just kept coming. A choked sob left your lips as you dared to look at the bottom of your foot. It was covered in scars, some fresher than others. There must have been hundreds. Little tick marks that denoted how Rohan had used you time and time and time again.

Before you could process everything that happened, before you could curl up into yourself and howl at the indignity, Heaven’s Door had you between its grubby little hands. Rohan himself sauntered over and scribbled something on your cheek.

“Now, why don’t you go wash your filthy little hole and go to bed?” Your mind went blank as the world around you fell away. Rohan called out to you as you mindlessly lifted yourself up to walk to the bathroom as he bid you.

“Sweet dreams, [Y/n].” *all original work is my intellectual property. do not edit or re-upload.

[gremlinp0lice]

Night Lovin’ Thing

Prompt: Draco reacting to finding the reader dancing to muggle music. Specifically Dirty Diana by Michael Jackson. Specifically this choreography. https://youtu.be/JavMJziiLjE

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Female Reader

Word Count: 3253

Rating: Explicit

CW: Smut, language, voyeurism

Draco Malfoy was an enigma. Spoiled, rich, handsome, rude, and smart as a whip—he could even give Granger a run for her money if he applied himself. All that put into one young man (plus a little ‘bad-boy’ reputation) should make him the fantasy of any teenage witch or wizard, and you were no exception. But you knew better than to chase after him because that’s all it was—a fantasy, a crush, a fixation. With half of the castle out to get him, and the rest out to snog him, there was no way you ever stood a fighting chance. You knew that, and you had made your peace with that. You were much more realistic.

Which made it all the more painful that you found yourself lost in a daydream while staring at the back of his head in Potions class. 

“Eyes to yourself,” your desk mate (and roommate), Pansy bloody Parkinson, swats at your arm and gives you a nasty look, “or they might just fall out of your head.” 

Rolling your eyes, you go back to your notes, muttering, “I don’t even know what you see in him, Pans, he’s actually a bit of a prat.” Your words seem to light a fire in her, and her eyes burn with rage for a fleeting moment, and she opens her mouth as if to bite back before closing it just as quickly. 

You smirk to yourself; Pansy was all talk after all, but she could still be bloody scary when the mood suited her (and it usually did). 

You steal another look at Draco, a fleeting glance, really, and see his eyes looking back. He looks almost wounded, as if he had heard what you had said. You turn away, baffled. It must have been a trick of the light, or the fumes from your cauldron—Draco Malfoy would barely give you the time of day, much less be upset over something that you had said. 

The lesson, blessedly, concludes soon after, and you practically skip out of the classroom and head for the dormitories, hoping to get there before Pansy does. All the while, all you can think about is the look on his face.

You have about twelve seconds alone in your room before Pansy bursts in, wand drawn. You know she won’t use it (probably), but you pull your own wand close to you just in case.

“That was extremely rude, you know. He heard you. Didn’t your filthy muggle father teach you any manners?” She’s been angry with you before, but never so mad that she has attacked your family. After all, both Tracey and Millicent were half-bloods as well, and she should know better than to bring blood status into whatever squabble you were having.

“First of all, do not speak about my family like that if you value yours, Parkinson,” you snap, drawing yourself to your full heigh (which wasn’t very tall, but you worked with what you had) “and second, I don’t care. Did I upset your boyfriend? What a pity. What are you going to do about it?” 

“You don’t even know him, so piss off, and besides,” her wand drops to her side and she wilts, “We’re not together. Neither of us want to be tied down at the moment. It’s called being mature, have you heard of it?” 

Clearly, Pansy had not. You also suspect that their arrangement was less than mutual, but you knew how badly Pansy pined over the boy, so you pulled back. You knew how to pick your battles.

“Listen, I may have been out of line in class, and if I see him later, I will apologize, alright?” you offer, and she sniffs, but nods in approval, “But if you ever speak about my father like that again, it’s you who I will have to apologize to, and believe me I will make it count.” 

A look of fear passes across Pansy’s face, but she keeps a stiff upper lip, glowering at you. Whatever, you didn’t need this. It was a nice afternoon, and a Friday to boot, and the castle would soon be empty. 

Taking a deep breath, you collect your thoughts, ignoring Pansy as she leaves the room in a huff. You change into something more comfortable, something with more movement, and pack your bag with the essentials; the old radio that your mother had charmed for you years ago, and a pair of sturdy, strappy black heels… ready for some release.

Dropping your bag gently on the floor of the dusty room, you take a moment to examine the room. It was a tiny old Muggle Studies classroom, more of a large closet really, on the third floor that you had convinced Professor McGonagall to let you use as a dance space in your fourth year. As long as no one needed the room, you didn’t make too much noise, and you kept it clean, you could do whatever you wanted in here. You had put a lot of work into it, managing to craft a barre (with the help of Professor Sprout) and you even got ahold of some old, floor-length mirrors left behind by Lockhart. With plenty of natural light streaming in from the windows, it made for a pretty good studio. It wasn’t much, but it served its purpose well.  

You plop gracelessly to the floor and begin to stretch, feeling that pleasant burning sensation in your hamstring when you lean down so far that your nose touches your knee. As the feeling fades, you feel the stress of your day go along with it; as your body loosens up, so does your mind, until there’s only one thought still stuck in your mind. You roll your shoulders and stand; he’ll go away soon enough when you start to actually move. 

With a wave of your wand, the radio crackles to life, it’s not terribly loud, but it suits your needs. It was tuned in to a muggle station playing Michael Jackson’s greatest hits— perfect. You listened to the King of Pop with your father often enough when you were home, laughing whenever he would try to moonwalk across the kitchen floor. There was something about the singer, though, something in his voice that moved you to move as well, something that made you feel powerful, strong, even a bit seductive (not that you would admit that thought to anyone). This was the perfect thing to get you out of your head and into your body.

With another wave of your wand, the door slams shut, and it’s just you and the music, and that’s just the way you like it. 

She says that’s okay, hey baby do what you want... I’ll be your night-lovin’ thing, I’ll be the freak you can taunt…

You had found your inspiration, a beat that moved you deeper than any magic spell could and had begun refining the movements that your body had come up with. With a wave of your wand, the song starts over and you return to your first position, you just had to get this right. Not that you would ever show anyone this dance, it wasn’t for anyone else to see. 

This was for you. 

Though, you couldn’t deny the raw and enticing confidence that this dance was instilling within you, and that maybe, one day, you would dance like this for someone…

With a flip of your hair and a shrug of your shoulder, you were completely focused.

She likes the boys in the band, she knows when they come to town…

Sometimes it made you nervous, the way you could channel the lyrics, written about people you were nothing like, and turn them into a dance that was, inexplicably, them. 

This one was all about the legs—kicking, bending over, dropping to the ground in a deep split that made you feel so alluring that when you got to your feet you almost expected to be followed by a herd of salivating admirers. You would look over your shoulder, give them a smirk and a wave before moving on… This isn’t about them anyway.

It wasn’t about him anyway.

You still couldn’t get him out of your head. When you dropped to the floor, you imagined him landing on top of you. When you ran your hands down your chest in time with the rhythm, you imagined they were his hands, pulling you close. And that scared you. 

And I don’t care what you say, I want to go too far, I’ll be your everything…

You had never felt like this about him before, never thought about him like this- so obsessively. 

Just keep dancing… Out of your head and into your body… You would forget if you just kept moving… 

Blimey, it’s so hot in here you can barely breath.

She looked me deep in the eyes, she's touchin' me so to start… She says there's no turnin' back, she trapped me in her heart…

Raising one arm above your head, you pull your loose tank top off with a flourish as you strike a pose. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you look… good. The black bralette you’re wearing (the one with the lace, not the flower print) accentuates your modest curves nicely, and you feel good, sexy almost. How could you not, with the music playing like that, and those lyrics—this is not a song you ever listened to with your father. 

Forgoing the choreography that you had been practicing, you decide to let yourself feel the music again, finding a new rhythm for your new confidence.

You had never danced like this before, caressing your body like this, moving your hips like that, shaking your hair out so wildly, so unabashed. 

And it felt good.

Until the song ends. 

Until you hear heavy breathing from the door.

Bollocks.

You whip around, crossing your arms over your chest, to catch a glimpse of your voyeur, frozen in the corridor. Of course.

Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway; eyes wide, breathless. He’s not moving, he’s not speaking, he doesn’t even have that silly little smirk that seemed to be permanently stuck on his face, he’s just… watching you. Somehow that was worse.

“Malfoy,” you say quietly, voice scantly above a whisper, “what are you doing here?” 

Your voice seems to jolt him out of whatever trance he’s in, and he steps forward into the room, which you realize now is extremely small, and closes the door behind him. You instinctively cross your arms over your chest.

“I- I, uh, I just came to talk to you, I didn’t mean to intrude,” he stumbles over his words, eyes bouncing all around the room before landing back on you, “but I’m glad that I did.” His composure returned, he steps forward, eyes dark, one eyebrow cocked and…

There’s that bloody smirk.

“How did you even know where to find me?” you ask, shivering under his gaze, contemplating whether to hear him out or throw him out. 

“I hear that you can be found here most afternoons,” he says, chuckling softly, running one long finger along the barre. 

“Yes well, you’ve found me,” you start, but you’re not quite sure how to stop. This exact scenario had played out in your head countless times, and you had to take a deep breath to recenter yourself, and not let your imagination run away with you.

“I have, haven’t I?” he looks down at your shoes, dragging his eyes back up your body. Merlin, was he just going to stand here toying with you or do something? “You know, it’s funny. I seem to have completely forgotten what I was going to say. The way you move is a bit hypnotic, I think.” 

He’s so close to you, Merlin he’s close. You had never realized how much bigger he was than you—taller, broader, he could throw you over his shoulder as if you weighed no more than a bowtruckle if he wanted to.

This is your chance, you realize. You can apologize to him for what you said in class, just like you told Pansy you would do. 

Or you could…

“Did you like what you saw?” you ask, voice low, almost husky. You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye yet, you just can’t. 

Draco is quiet for what feels like an eternity, the only sound the crackling or the radio and your breathing. 

“Yeah, I really, really did.” 

Merlin’s beard, this boy was going to kill you. 

“Would you like me to show you some of my moves?” You can hardly believe the words are coming out of your mouth—this is insane, you feel insane! It’s taking everything in you to keep your composure, and you allow yourself to glance up at him.

His grey eyes are dark, cloudy, a few strands of that platinum blond hair falling in his face, and you barely recognize him. 

“Actually,” he murmurs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “I was hoping I could show you some of mine.” 

That’s all it took for you to take him in your arms and kiss him, which was just as well because he was kissing you back. With both hands tangling in his hair, his loop around your waist and pull you even closer. The feeling of his body pressed against yours is intoxicating, and you have to pull away for a moment to breathe. 

“You have no idea,” he mutters between fervent nips at your ear and neck, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

You let your head fall back as he lavished you with his lips and tongue, world spinning, as he begins to guide you backwards until your thighs hit the edge of a desk pushed up against the wall. 

Shaking fingers working the buttons of his shirt, you do your best to return his kisses, though it’s hard to maneuver, let along think, when his mouth is doing such beautiful things to your skin.

You can’t explain the magnetism between you two, it’s almost frightening, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It was as if you had known he was watching, as if your dancing was foreplay for whatever was unfolding between you now. You weren’t scared at the thought of him watching you, you liked it, and that scared you more. Or maybe it just turned you on.

“Fuck!” you keened as he sucked hard at your neck, his hands and mouth roaming all over your body, grabbing onto any piece of flesh that they could. 

His fingers tease at your nipples through the lace of your bralette, which was so thin and flimsy you may as well not have been wearing anything. You arch into him at the contact, eyes wide as you realize that his other hand is travelling further down your body. 

“Is this what you want?” he whispers in your ear, rubbing you through your athletic shorts. 

Is this what you wanted, to be fucked by Draco Malfoy in an empty classroom? You never did this sort of thing, not this quickly at least, but there was something about him, about what you felt. Maybe it was the dancing, the music that made you feel like this, maybe it was the fact that he was watching you, or maybe you just really needed a good shag. Whatever the reason, you knew your answer.

“Yes Draco, please,” you choke out, helping him to take off your tiny shorts. You reach down to unlace the heels your wearing, but he grasps your wrist and pulls it away.

“Those stay on,” he says, well, commands, and fuck if you couldn’t come from just his voice alone. You nod and loop your arms around his neck, allowing yourself to be picked up and placed on the desk behind you. 

Draco wastes no time, reaching between your legs and thumbing at your clit in a way that makes you quiver beneath him. You breathe hard against his neck as he works two fingers into your cunt, pressing sloppy kisses to the skin there while wrapping your legs around his waist. Merlin did his fingers feel like heaven, drawing in and out of you, curling against your walls so that your vision went fuzzy. If his fingers felt this good, you mused, his cock has to be divine.

On the cusp of orgasm, you bat his hands away, reaching for the button of his pants. As much as you wanted to come, you wanted it to be on his cock. 

Pushing his slacks and underwear down to his knees, his length bobs free, red and glistening under your touch.

“Ready?” he pumps his cock once, twice, pressing in close to you. Your head is swimming and you can hardly string together a coherent thought, but you are certain of one thing.

“Fuck me.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, his inside you. You yelp—his cock is much bigger than his fingers, but nothing that you can’t handle. You feel full, grinding your hips against his to get more of that delicious friction. 

He mutters a curse under his breath, “You,” he breathes, “are so bloody gorgeous,” he maintains a steady rhythm that is starting to drive you a bit mad, adding to the heat building deep within you, “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted you, and to see you like this now,” he pants, “about to come on my cock… it’s fucking breathtaking.”

It doesn’t take much longer for you, until you’ve wrapped yourself around him, moaning in his ear, and coming, hard. He holds you close, crushing your body into his, fucking you through the aftershocks as you finally come down. 

But then something’s not right.

The door opens and you both freeze, panting.

“Sorry for interrupting your ‘you-time,’ but I wanted to say—”

Pansy. Bloody. Parkinson. 

You shut your eyes tight as you see the look of complete rage you see spreading across your face, and Draco cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of her.

And he starts thrusting into you again.

“We’re a bit busy,” he says breathlessly, hips still rocking against you, “would you mind shutting the door?” 

You hear Pansy sputtering for a moment, before the slam of the door, and you open your eyes.

Draco is gazing intently at you, and bears down harder than before, making your heart race yet again. 

You come again, just before he does, his hips stuttering to a halt as you hold each other, pressed together so tightly you wonder if you will ever separate. 

You do, of course, but not without some effort. In a breathless heap, the two of you slide to the floor, where you find your wand and cast a cleansing charm. Draco has his back against the desk, and you lean against his chest, trying to catch your breath.

It was nice, holding each other like this. He ran his hands up and down your arms, a soothing motion that tempted you to fall asleep right then and there, but there was much to discuss before that.

“Did… did that—”

“Yeah.”

“Merlin’s saggy left—” 

“I know.”

The two of you burst into a fit of laughter for a brief moment, cruelly reveling in Pansy’s subsequent misery. 

“Bloody hell,” you groan, an unfortunate realization striking you, “I have to share a room with her.”

[avengerscompound]

The Tower: Family - 23

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing:  Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 1945

Warnings:  Pregnancy, smut (MFF bisexual threesome, Vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, oral sex, electro stimulation, the use of wanda’s powers in a sexual way)

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family.  When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 24: The Photoshoot

The baby shower that had been strictly no gifts had ended up with a handful of gifts anyway.  They were mostly clothes - though Sam’s sister bought a breast pump that she had sworn by, while Loki and Angela had brought protective totems from Asgard.  There were a few plush or little wooden toys from people too.  Rhodey had bought all the kids, starting from Riley and Pietro, Cat in the Hat t-shirts.  Riley’s was labeled Thing One, Pietro’s Thing two, and then there were four tiny baby t-shirts labeled things three through six.  Phil got a little bundle of onesies that had funny little round cat-like blobs on them and the slogan ‘I love all my mommies and daddies’.

The party was fun but exhausting and Wanda, Natasha, and I all ended up going to bed early that night and sleeping right through.

Afterward, Wanda was very excited about doing a pregnancy photoshoot.  It wasn’t too hard to convince Natasha to in the end.  Partially because the pregnancy had been going so well for her and she wanted to commemorate the time she finally got past everything the Red Room had done to her.  But mostly it was just because she loved Wanda so much and she wanted her to have anything that made her happy.

We all headed out to the Avengers facility in upstate New York for the photos.  It was surrounded by forest and by the river so that we could give Wanda the full Earth mother vibe that she’d been cultivating.

We had three ideas in mind.  One was outside and two would be in the old house.  We started with the tamest version.  Wanda, Natasha, and I all put on long, flowing georgette gowns, our hair loose, with flower crowns.  Wanda wore magenta with matching roses, Natasha - black with black orchids, dotted with red poppies, and I wore a sky blue with delphinium and sea holly.

We were going with a family shoot to start with so everyone else wore white linen.  The kids both had baby’s breath threaded through their hair and were very excited to be out in the woods with the family and the dogs.  We did photos of them kissing tummies.  Of our whole group walking in a line through the woods with Wanda, Natasha, and I in the middle.  All of us lying in the grass everyone cuddles up to the three pregnant women.  Photos of hoards of hands on bellies.   All the standard pictures you see when you think of pregnancy photoshoot in the woods only there was a gaggle of us.

When the kids seemed to grow bored of the photoshoot we all headed back to the house so Wanda, Natasha, and I could change and they could play with the toys they hadn’t seen for the last month since we’d been back.

Wanda, Natasha, and I changed into lace gowns the same colors as the others.  These weren’t normal lace gowns though.  They were strapless, and while the empire cut bodice was solid the skirt was completely transparent and opened right down the middle exposing our bellies.  We paired the dresses with lace boyleg panties.  Wanda wore black, Natasha red, and I wore white.

We stayed inside for these photos and posed in sexier and more intimate poses with each other.  We would drape ourselves over couches and the bed.  We cuddle up to each other and put our hands on each other’s exposed bellies.  There were photos of us kissing and caressing each other.

Finally, we stripped down to our underwear for the last part of the shoot and hopped in a tub with milky white water together.  The photographer decorated the outside of the tub with flowers and candles and floated flowers around us in the tub, so the three of us were all floating, with our heads on the edge and our bellies poking out of the water towards the middle, our legs tangled together in the water.

By the time we were done, I was pretty tired and hungry.  We changed into sweats and ate with the others before the three of us went to take a nap.

I woke up to a shift of the bed beside me as the whole thing swayed.  I opened my eyes as whoever had climbed into bed with us wrapped his arms around me and turned to see Thor.  Natasha was already gone and Wanda had started to stir beside me.

“Good evening, my queen,” Thor said, kissing my neck.  “I was sent to wake you up.”

“You gonna do it by getting me all worked up?” I complained, backing my ass against him.

“You’re always waking us with kisses and soft touches,” Thor said.  “I was merely returning the favor.”

“You’re not an overly hormonal pregnant woman,” I huffed.

“No, that is true,” he chuckled.  “I am a man though.”

I started giggling and Wanda moved closer to us.  “What’s happening?”

“Dinner will be served shortly,” Thor explained.  “I was sent to come and wake the both of you.”

“By getting me all turned on,” I pouted.

“I can tell,” Wanda teased.  “Which isn’t helping me at all.”

“I am sure I can help both of you with your problem before the meal is served,” Thor said as his fingers traced over Wanda’s nipples.  “Who would like to go first?”

“Elise,” Wanda said, quickly.  “The two of you can bring me close before you touch me.”

“As you wish, my love,” Thor said, leaning over and kissing her deeply.

As the two of them kissed, Thor slipped his hand into my pants and began to slowly roll his hips against my back.  I could feel his erection starting to press into me as he rutted against me, but he took his time, teasing my clit and kissing the side of my neck.

Wanda leaned forward and kissed me, her lips parted as they brushed over mine, and I followed her lead, bringing my tongue out to meet hers.  I moaned softly into the kiss and ran my hand up into her hair.  She hummed and shifted closer, our bellies touching against each other.

She pulled back and lifted my shirt over my head.  As she did thor pushed my pants and panties down in one go.  He shucked off his own clothes and pulled me tighter against him, so his erection sat against my asscrack.  Each time he rolled his hips his shaft moved up and down the crevice.

His hand returned to my cunt as Wanda leaned down and pulled one of my nipples into her mouth.  I mewled and tugged on her hair as my arousal started to seep from within me.  Thor’s fingers worked my clit quickly and with practiced ease, sending shivers running through me and making my whole body vibrate in anticipation of more.  A small spark danced off his fingertips, sparking against my clit.  I gasped and came then and there with no warning, jerking between them as my cunt spasmed.

Thor chuckled.  It was a deep booming sound that made me feel warm right to my core.  “That was quick.”

“You cheated,” I teased playfully.

“I am sorry, let’s see if I can do this properly,” he laughed, and lined his cock up at my entrance.

“Don’t do anything to hurt the babies,” Wanda said, looking over my shoulder at Thor.

“My life,” Thor said.  “I am a fertility god, I know what I’m doing.”

I started giggling but it was cut off by a gasp as Thor thrust into me.  He didn’t allow any time for me to adjust, he just began to thrust into me from behind.  Wanda resumed sucking on one breast and then the other.  She was feeding off both mine and Thor’s pleasure, and as we began to moan with it, so did she.

She flicked her wrist and a small ball of pink light ran down my skin, between my legs, and began to vibrate against my already oversensitive clit.  I mewled and jerked back between them, my legs trembling.  One of my hands tightened in Wanda’s hair and I reached behind me and gripped Thor’s arm with the other, tethering myself to them both.

“Oh god,” I gasped, quivering between them.  “Won’t last.”

“Whenever you want, Elise,” Thor rumbled as he continued to snap his hips into me.

I tried to relax, but my muscles spasmed and clenched.  I dug my fingers into Thor’s arm and he wrapped his hand around my throat and tilted my head back to him, fiercely kissing me.

Things became hazy and I couldn’t focus on anything except the building pressure in my cunt and the tendrils of pleasure that spread out from my breasts.  Wanda increased the buzz from her energy projection and moaned loudly as my cunt suddenly seized up.  I cried out, breaking the kiss with Thor as I came hard, shuddering between them.

Thor slowed his pace, fucking me through my orgasm before slipping out of me and climbing over us both.  He positioned himself behind Wanda so he was spooning her the way he did me, and cradled her carefully.  I kissed my way down her body as helping Thor undress her as Thor rutted slowly against her.  When we’d removed her shirt, I latched on to one of her breasts and sucked on her nipple, drawing a sharp gasp from her.  Thor pushed her pants off and began to slide his cock up and down her soaked folds.

I kissed down lower, over her baby bump where the strings of light only I could see connected me to both her and the twins growing inside her, and down to her cunt.  Thor adjusted her hips back and eased his cock inside her.  She moaned softly and I lifted her leg and began to lap at the place where they joined and up over her clit.

“Oh!”  She gasped and her hands tightened in the sheets.

“Are you okay, my beloved?”  Thor asked.

“Oh yes, Thor,” she mewled.

He began to thrust and I sucked greedily on her clit.  The flavor of her arousal filled my mouth as I lapped up her fluids.  They were musky and sweet and heady in a way that almost made me drunk on her.  Each flick of my tongue made her moan more loudly and she seemed to have trouble controlling her limbs.  She gripped at the sheets pulling them free from the edge and she kicked out, her toes curling.

Her clit began to twitch under my tongue as her breathing became ragged and Thor’s hips started moving faster, stuttering as he came closer to his own release.  I sucked Wanda’s clit into my mouth and flicked my tongue quickly back and forth over it and with a loud cry, Wanda came, her powers flaring out and engulfing us like an embrace.

Thor groaned and jerked up into her, releasing.  I could feel the pulse of his cock at the base against my mouth as he filled her.  Their fluids mixed together and leaked from Wanda down Thor’s shaft.  I licked up the cocktail of their arousal greedily and climbed back up the bed as Thor slipped from Wanda.

“Now, now, my loves,” Thor scolded, sitting up.  “We have to join the others for dinner.  You can’t go back to sleep.”

“Just five more minutes,” I joked, cuddling up to Wanda, making her giggle.

Thor gave my butt a playful spank.  “Come along.  None of that.”

Wanda and I got up, laughing as Thor helped us get redressed and we headed down to join the rest of our family.

// NEXT

[spinchip]

ooo if you're taking prompts maybe something with amara? i'd love to see her and zane talk about seer stuff and goof off together

A/N: This got out of hand. 2500 words, it’s some Zane and Amara bonding, then Zane gets a scary vision and Amara and Alma help him through it. Warning for Zanes vision: blood, gore, body horror. no main characters or ocs are hurt!

Amara hit the training mat with a grunt, rolling across the soft of it with the force of the throw, letting her arms flop uselessly as she splayed out on her back. She heaves out a breath, sweat slick on her forehead and frizzing the edges of her hair.

“I think i’m starting to get it!” She announces, breathless, and Zane grins behind his hand. Amara may have an affinity for things to do with psychics and visions, but martial arts was a bit out of her skill level.

Lloyd smiles apologetically, hands on his knees as he leans over her, “I’ll try coming in a little easier and give you a chance to practice the counter in slow motion.”

“You know, that sounds good and all, but i think i might sit this next little bit out. Gonna let the lesson sink in a little, you know? Sleep on it and all.” She nods to herself, folding her hands over her stomach as if she’s totally meant to be laying in the middle of the training ground.

“Sounds good.” Lloyd laughs and lets her off easy, offering his hand to pull her up.

After working together to get her off the ground, Amara presses a hand to the stitch in her side and hobbles her way over to the others, who’d been watching the impromptu training session with amused eyes, “That’s the last time I watch you train.” She mutters when she gets within hearing range, giving Zane a teasing stink eye.

Cole takes her spot, running a few drills with Lloyd in a much smoother and confident way than Amara had. She seems unbothered, stretching out her tense muscles.

“You did very well for your first time.” Zane offers, moving into a simple yoga pose that he motions for Amara to imitate.

“Thanks.” She sighs deeply, rolling her shoulders, “I try to keep myself in alright shape, but this was a bit more advanced than jogging or lifting weights.” She mutters, shifting into the tree pose, letting her body cool down from the heavy workout, “Grandma works out too. Keeping your body active helps keep your mind active, most seers try and hold a healthy routine.”

“Physical exercise helps with visions?”

Amara shrugs, “Exercise, eating right, meditation, all that. Your body is a temple or something. These abilities we have cost you, the toll they take can be rough if you’re not prepared, though I suppose you’d have an advantage on the physical effects. A heart attack wouldn’t affect you.” She hums, mulling that over as they break pose. They run through a few more together until Lloyd signals they should clean up. “Thanks for the yoga, hopefully that will help my sore muscles.”

“Would have worked better if you had not talked through most of it.” He jokes.

“Everything I had to say was very important.”

Lloyd claps his hands, “Alright, I think we can call it for today. Great work everybody.”

“Cool, I could use a shower.” Kai sighs dreamily at the thought of it as they all gather their water bottles and towels.

Nya wrinkles her nose, “You can say that again!”

It’s not really all that funny, but the others laugh anyway, and Zane smiles along with them. It’d been a good day, he’d made some great stride that morning with Geand Seer Mirai in getting more comfortable using his seer abilities, and Amara had come to watch them train- and even agreed, at his insistence, to do some defensive training as well. He was worried about her being caught up with the Ninja when she couldn’t properly defend himself. They’d gotten a lot done that day, and he felt good.

He sighs, feeling the cool breeze on his face for just a moment longer, and then he turns to follow his friends insi-

Water sloshes around his ankles and he stumbles at the thickness of it, kicking liquid everywhere as he tries to catch himself. he blinks, disoriented- the horizon yawns around him, red water stretching endlessly across the skyline- the monasteries courtyard has vanished, open sky swallowing everything he can see. The sky is a hellish orange, boundless and never ending, the sun a suffocating weight in the sky and spots dance in his eyes when he glances too close, the heat threatening to hold him too tightly, wringing the strength from his body with it’s burn. The air is heavy and thick and dragging across his shoulders, the smell of rot and decay sitting slick and cloying on his tongue, filling his head until he gags with it.

The liquid soaking into his pants is not water.

There’s so much blood it pulls at his ankles, so much gore it spills across even the farthest point in the horizon. There’s no sign of land, no point he can get to to save himself, his gi is turning crimson and tacky where it clings to metal. He can feel it inside his mechanics. He scrambles back, stumbling over unseen lumps below the surface. His shoes slide on something slippery and wet and he trips backwards, blood sloshing around him as he hits the surface, and it sinks and stains his clothes, his hair, his skin. He’s frantic, scrambling to his knees to try and push himself back to his feet when he realizes what he’d slid on.

Skin, hair, teeth, bone.

Bodies rise to the surface, all in different states of decay, all of their rib cages torn out- a bloody, gaping hole where their hearts should be, blood pouring from the wounds as if they were fresh. Mouths hang open, eyes roll back to expose the whites, hands curled and twisted in on themselves.

Confusion and panic paralyze him, where is he? Where are his friends? He’s alone. He’s alone! What is he supposed to do?

The blood ripples, Hands surge up and up, the bodies undulating and moving to grasp at him. Sightless eyes and broken jaws and torn flesh moving and searching and hunting. Their fingers dig into his clothes, lock around his wrists- The pool beneath him heaves, yanking him down and he sinks to his chin before his processor kickstarts back to life and he struggles against the pull. His head’s tipped back, gasping against the blood that threatens to fill his mouth, straining against their strength in panicked, wheezing breaths.

They yank again and raw pain flares up his joints as if they were attempting to pull his arms off with the force of it. The dead wail, and it’s an ugly, nails-on-chalkboard thing- a cacophony of noise, and endless screaming, until they all coordinate enough to say, “YOU HAVE TO COME IN.” a thousand voices overlapping in pain and anger and fear, the jaws of the dead moving lifelessly, “GO UNDER.” they scream and whisper all around him.

The next tug is too strong, and the blood floods his senses, swallowing him up beneath the horror of it all. Once they drag him under, the hands vanish and he kicks out with his legs and surges upwards- but the surface is gone, nothing but endless red that begins to move, a current, dragging at his clothes and his eyes and his hair. He doesn’t need to breathe but he holds his breath on instinct alone, swept alongside bodies that don’t grab at him until he spots a black hole opening up before them, swallowing down everything, consuming all in it’s path. Panic seizes him again, the hole is- it’s nothing, there is nothing there, there is nothing past there, and when he passes through it he’ll be nothing too. He cant fight it, it’s getting closer and closer- he’s dying he’s dying he’s so so hungry-

Hands on his face, bright light, he’s sitting on the ground- wasn’t he just floating? he’s trembling all over, someone is running soothing hands over his face, the sun is warm and familiar above him. Was he alive?

“Where am I?” his words run together so badly he’s not sure anyone understands him, the black hole is gone, the bodies are gone.

He grabs at his shirt frantically, yanking on it- white. No blood. The blood is gone. It felt so real. Is any of this real?

“Shhh,” hands on his face, not grasping, not forceful, not pulling him under, running over his cheek bones, his forehead, petting at him gently. Her voice is filtering through the unreality he’s stuck in, “Shhh…y… t… yo… hom… sty... Zane.”

“I am Zane.” He grasps that, he knows that, it’s real. He’s Zane. He’s a ninja. Shouldn’t the metal he’s made of be stained red? There was so much of it. He digs his fingers into the surface he’s sitting on, grit beneath his artificial nails.

“You had a vision,” Her voice breaks through as a whisper, his eyes obey and start to focus- the sky is blue, the sun is warm but not sharp, there’s dirt under his hands. He feels so far away from it all, like his head is full of cotton, like he’s looking at the girl in front of him from a set of eyes just behind his own. “You had a vision, it was scary. What you're seeing right now is real, Zane. You’re in the monastery courtyard. We were training, do you remember training with me?”

The memories are foggy and hard to grasp, “Amara.”

She leans forward and presses their foreheads together, the pink of her eyes something he can focus on, the contact bringing him back to earth, “You can get through this, Zane.” She presses closer, the comfort of the contact making the panic wane.

Grounding. he needs to ground. He focuses on the way the fabric of his clothes feel against his metal skin, bringing his hands back up to twist in the fabric of his gi. He traces the near imperceptible freckles on the bridge of her nose with his eyes, he lets her hands on his face draw the last dregs of panic from him.

He blinks, the world overexposed and bright, so much more comforting than the glaring orange from before. He’s in the monastery courtyard, Amara is here. He was just training with his friends, before he was in the river of blood. No- that was a vision? It wasn’t real. This is real.

“Come back. I’m right here.” She coaxes him gently, guiding the floating edges of his consciousness back home.

He unclenches his hands where they’ve twisted up his shirt and latches onto her, hiding his face in the crook of her neck, clinging to her. Sweat and vanilla floods his senses, not unpleasant only because of her arms around him. She caresses the back of his head soothingly, her fingernails catching in the short scruff at the base of his neck. He knows he’s crying, he can’t help it.

He doesn’t know how long they sit like that, but when the sobs subside and he finally pulls away, Grand Seer Mirai is crouched at his side. Amara sits back in his lap, smiling softly and running a hand in soothing circles over his shoulders, “Hey.” She whispers.

“Hey.” His voice modulator is rough, he doesn't bother correcting it.

“Glad to see you’re back with us, Honey.” Mirai says quietly. She takes his cheek gently and turns his head toward her, wiping at his face with a warm washcloth, thin layers of ice cracking and flaking off, “How are you feeling?”

Dread crawls up his throat and before he can think better of it he tells her, too honestly, “I’m really scared.”

Amara reaches out and holds his hand reassuringly, shuffling closer where she’s tangled up in his legs. Mirai keeps cleaning his face, “It’s okay to be afraid. Visions are disorienting, frightening things- they’re simpler when you sleep, the line between dreams and reality much easier to find- visions in broad daylight are harder. You are doing great, Honey.”

She sits back, “Why don’t we go inside? I can make you some tea, and we can talk about what happened. Your friends are worried about you.”

Zane nods, and Amara crawls out of his lap, lacing their fingers together so she can help him to his feet. He sways dangerously when they first stand and she presses close to his side, a long moment passes before he feels confident attempting to move and she’s with him every step of the way, “I’m here to help.” She says, her support at his side stabilizing him.

The cool of the monastery is welcome, the heat of the sun vanishing off his shoulders. Mirai guides them into the living room and Amara sits on the couch, patting the cushion next to her. Zane practically collapses onto it, and she throws her legs over his lap, leaning over to wrap her arms around him. Normally, the contact would be too much, but with the horror and disconnect from his vision still sticky on his skin, the touch helps. Time passes fuzzy and disorienting, he’s not sure how long he’s sitting there before Mirai hands him a cup of tea.

Amara accepts hers from her grandmother eagerly, wrapping her hands around the hot cup with a contented sigh. Zane realizes only after he tries to drink his why she’s huddling over her cup. His is frozen solid- she’s cold. He’s making her cold.

He takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut and squashing the swell of power that has been trapped in the bubble of terror still caught in his chest. Amara straightens up next to him in surprise, the chill she’d been dealing with vanishing from the air.

When he opens his eyes again, he feels more in control than before. He still feels awful and mixed up and a little disoriented, but he can control his powers again, and that gives him another anchor to focus on. Mirai smiles from where she’s sitting on the floor next to them, and reaches over to the coffee table to prepare him another cup of tea. The lights are off, sunlight from the far window enough to see by. There’s a blanket draped over his shoulders he doesn’t remember being given. The Grand Seer has a tea set prepared on a tray, tea, sugar, honey- everything you could need.

She hands him another cup, taking his previous, and he is quietly proud when he doesn't instantly freeze it.

“How are you feeling?” Amara asks once he’s taken his first sip.

“Better.” He admits, “Are you alright? My powers…” He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence, losing his words.

She gets it anyway, “I’m fine,” She reassures him, “You never got cold enough to hurt me.”

“That took a lot of strength,” Mirai praises him quietly, “You were gone in a vision, yet you still had the power to control yourself.”

Amara hands her grandmother her empty cup, smiling at Zane, “We’re really proud of you.”

He smiles weakly and doesn’t feel strong at all.

[silverryu25]

Hey, Santa Baby~ ;)

This was written for a raffle organized by @catsitta on tumblr (here is a link to the post if anyone wants to join! ends on Dec 30th). Since they said anything goes for the raffle I decided to do a smol fic (kinda? is 1k words considered a fic or a drabble? >.>) for some of their art UwU

And since tis’ the season we gotta go with a nice festive skele, right? So I picked this masterpiece! >:D

Under the cut cause of suggestive themes! ... what can I say, it’s Lust :P

A friend helped me pick who to pair Lust with! Hope you enjoy :D

Pairing: Rust (bara UF!Sans / UL!Sans) Tw: suggestive dancing, swearing

And I apologize but I’m stealing the title cause it’s too perfect UwU

AO3 link

Before starting I apologize for any OOC from Lust, but I never wrote him and there isn’t a lot to read with him so I might get him wrong >.>

A Giftmas party. He was stuck in a fucking Giftmas party.

Red let out an annoyed sigh, downing another spiked mustard shot. If he was stuck here, he’d at least get properly hammered. It would make time pass faster and let him relax enough not to start a fight.

And boy did he wanna start a fight.

There were too many versions of him that were getting on his nerves. He wasn’t a patient monster, not since forever, and if he snapped it wouldn’t end well. Especially since he seemed to be the biggest Sans here, most of his counterparts barely chest height, with rare exceptions. He didn’t really get how that worked since they were basically the same person, but he didn’t care.

He wouldn’t even be here if he had a choice. Boss insisted so now he was stuck here. For a while. He couldn’t leave without taking Boss with him and who knows when he’d want to go back to their shity universe. He was planning something with alliances or some crap like that. Red didn’t really remember and didn’t care. He knew he should, but he just didn’t have it in him to care anymore.

It didn’t really matter.

Why would he care? It’s not like he had anyone or anything to fight for. Boss was stronger than him at this point, he could take care of himself. No one needed Red. He was more trouble than use, especially with his short temper and violent tendencies. And even if he wanted, he couldn’t find anyone who would care for him, not with those useless, scarred, ugly bones of his.

Being surrounded by undamaged, smaller and softer versions of himself wasn’t helping his mood. He could feel every scar that littered his bones itching. It wasn’t like he was ashamed of them, they proved he could survive a lot of crap. But seeing what he could have been-

Before his skull could spiral down that thole anymore, the lights suddenly turned off. Normally, he would have panicked, but he was way too sloshed to really care what happened. He did tense up, preparing for an attack in case it came, but otherwise didn’t move. Luckily for him, instead of an attack there was a flare of stage lights and loud music started playing. It sounded familiar, but his buzzed brain wasn’t processing things right so he wasn’t sure.

The stage was drowned in red and green lights, occasionally a purple and pink one playfully mixing in. It was hypnotizing, drawing his eyelights to the centre of the stage. After a few moments, the curtains lifted showing a row of monsters lined up on the stage.

Red didn’t even glance at them, his attention instantly landing in the centre. There, looking absolutely sinful, was a version of himself. But he was so unlike Red, he couldn’t believe they came from the same basic source.

The monster was gorgeous. His ecto body summoned, soft and supple. A soft purple, shining beautifully in the hypnotic lights. He was wearing a hot dumb Santa outfit that barely covered anything. Hell, it showed off his cures and made them look even more attractive. And boy did he have curves. His female ecto body was very well endowed, curves in all the right places. Red felt his fists squeeze thinking how soft that ecto would feel in his rough phalanges.

Red didn’t have a chance to explore that thought cause the monsters on the stage started dancing to the song. They were pretty good, earning cheers from the crowd, but Red had eyelights only for one monster. He didn’t even know his name, but he couldn’t look away. He was too buzzed to fight it so he just gave in. He leaned back on the bar behind him and looked at the show, tracking every move, dip, hip shake and turn.

The monster was a talented dancer, as if he was doing it for a long time. Red could tell he was having fun, every movement showing his joyful intent at the attention and cheers. The music changed every so often, seamlessly flowing, the dance going faster, then slower, then speeding up again to follow.

Somewhere in the middle Red could swear he caught the monster’s eyelights. It almost looked like they sparkled as they met his. He was ready to dismiss it but suddenly the way the purple skeleton danced became... more intense? Practically lustful?

Red wasn’t sure if he was seeing right, his brain didn’t work properly, so he might have been imagining things. But right at the end, as some obnoxious holiday song was playing, the dancers paused for a few moments, standing in a pose with one arm up on their heads and one leg lifted, the other arm straight down, shaking in rhythm with the song. All the dancers were smiling at the crowd, as far as Red could tell from the corner of his vision.

Only the purple skeleton monster turned his head pointedly in Red’s direction and, with a wide and inviting smile, mouthed the song line “hey, santa baby~” and... winked.

Red could feel his cheeks warm at that. He was blushing? Fucking hell no. No way. He wasn’t. Why would he blush at something as stupid as a wink? And it probably wasn’t even for him. It must have been for some monster standing between him and the stage. What the hell was wrong with him.

Thankfully, the song stopped and the dancers bowed than left the stage. With a sigh of relief, Red turned back to the bar, finally free from that hypnotizing monster light show. He ordered a few more shots, still feeling too sober do deal with... everything.

The drinks were taking forever, making his mood sour even more. Just before he was about to growl after the barkeep there was a soft touch on his elbow. With a scowl and a “wha’ da fuck do ya want?” ready on his teeth he turned towards the offender. And froze.

There was the purple skeleton monster, still wearing that adorable ridiculous outfit. Red stared, feeling his mouth turning dry. He couldn’t think straight enough to say anything, but he didn’t have to. The smaller skeleton, mercifully, took the lead.

“hey big bone, i’m lust.” He gave his name, followed by a smile and that same sinful wink. Red could feel that blush returning full fore.

Suddenly, he didn’t mind being stuck at this fucking Giftmas party.

[cutie1365]

How Can I Resist You? Chapter 4: Mamma Mia

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader (Mamma Mia AU)

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Let me know if there are any.

A/N: It’s been a while, I know, I know. I’m kinda losing steam on this story so if anyone has any ideas or things they want to see please let me know! I need some inspiration!

Any and all feedback is welcome and encouraged :)

Masterlist linked in my bio. Taglist form in bio.

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Tom took your hand, pulling you through the hotel. There were so many parts you hadn’t seen, so many hidden treasures.

You pass a closed door that Tom seemed to ignore.

“What’s in here?” You ask, pointing to the door with your free hand.

“I’m not sure, I’ve never seen it open.” He shrugs, trying the door, to no avail.

You move to the window, trying to see if you could peak in. It was dark, but the moonlight illuminated some boxes and a piano. Now you were intrigued.

“Wanna see?” You smirk, stirring up your sense of adventure.

“It’s locked.” Tom says confused.

You smirk and drop to your knees, pulling a bobby pin from your hair. You bend it and put your ear near the door, waiting to hear the pins click as you juggle the bobby pin. After a moment and one final click, the handle turns with ease, the door swinging open. You raise from your knees with a smile.

“Well you’re full of surprises aren’t you, love.” Tom smirks.

“No, you just underestimate me.” You retorted with a smile, turning to enter the dusty room.

It looked as if no one had been here in ages. You moved over to the piano, finding piles of old sheet music. This must have been some sort of music room, given the grand piano and raised stage like platform.

Tom wandered towards an open box, pulling out furs and the most wild outfits you’ve ever seen.

“This is amazing!” You beamed, holding up some sheet music and turning to Tom.

“What do you think?” He smirks, he’s holding up a pair of bright blue spandex pants that flare at the bottom with feathers.

“I think it’s your color.” You giggle.

“Oh, what about this one?” He tosses a sparkly sequin dress at you.

You told it up against your body, it fell on your upper thigh.

“Absolutely not.” You laugh, tossing it to the side.

You return to the sheet music as Tom starts sifting through a box of old photographs. They all seemed to be original, and handwritten. You grabbed one that spoke to you and sat in front of the piano.

You hadn’t played in years, and you were never really good. You practiced the melody of the first line for a moment, drawing Tom’s attention over to you.

Slowly you played the first line, singing the words as you watched your fingers move from key to key.

“I was cheated by you, and I think you know when.” You began.

Tom was standing behind you now, watching you carefully. You repositioned your fingers and started the second line just as slowly as the first.

“So I made up my mind, it must come to an end.” You sang softly, you could feel the emotions in the lyrics.

Tom slid onto the bench next to you, his fingers danced over the keys with a graceful dexterity as he continued the song. He’d clearly had a lot of practice. If you weren’t trying so hard to hate him you would have found it really attractive.

“Look at me now, will I ever learn?” You stood, singing dramatically, causing Tom to laugh.

“I don’t know how but I suddenly lose control, there’s a fire within my soul.” You sang, grabbing a blue boa from a nearby box and twirling as you threw it over your shoulders.

“Just one look and I can hear a bell ring, one more look and I forget everything.” The music was picking up now. You grabbed another boa and wrapped it around Tom’s neck as you shimmied and danced.

“Mamma mia, here I go again. My, my how can I resist you?” You jumped to sit on the edge of the piano as Tom continued to play.

“Mamma mia, does it show again. My, my just how much I’ve missed you?” You sang with a smile.

“Yes, I’ve been broken hearted, blue since the day we parted.” You reached up dramatically, boa in hand as you laid back onto the piano. Your back hitting the cold surface.

“Why, why did I ever let you go?” You jumped off the piano, extending your hand towards Tom. He was still donning the blue boa you’d wrapped around his neck. He took your hand, allowing you to pull him from the piano bench.

“Mamma mia, now I really know...” You sang, giggling throughout because Tom was twirling you. He pulls you forward, and you spin towards him, both of your hands placed on his chest to stop you from slamming right into him.

The two of you were dancing fools, laughing and giggling, oblivious to the presence in the hallway watching you carefully.

“My, my, I should not have let you go.” You sang softly, losing focus as you realized how close you and Tom were. He eyed your lips with a soft smile, still holding you against him.

You took a chance, a leap of faith, not caring if it was a bad decision. You closed the gap between the two of you, and your lips met his. They were warm and soft, he was gentle and sweet. Not all what you expected from the town playboy. You didn’t know how much time had passed, your senses were distorted, as if they were under attack. You almost felt lightheaded, that surely wasn’t the reaction you were expecting. You pulled away for air, almost shuddering at the loss of contact. The two of you stood frozen for a moment, smiling and looking into each other's eyes.

Neither of you noticed the owner of the hotel, Sophie, the reclusive old woman lurking by the door. She’d heard the piano playing, after nearly twenty years and shot out of bed to reprimand the trespassers. Instead, she watched with a smile as she noticed you and Tom, dancing and singing her mother's song. She watched, reminded of herself and her late husband when they were your age. She couldn’t stop you now, Donna would have wanted this. To let Aphrodite work her magic once more. She’d seen Tom coming to the island for years, but she’d never seen him act like he does with you. He wouldn’t be caught dead dancing with a feather boa wrapped around his neck, and yet here he was. As she sees the two of you inch closer, the chemistry growing, she leaves you to it, retreating back to her quarters. She knew if anyone could bring Tom into the light, it would be Tanya’s granddaughter. These songs were just as much yours as they were hers, even if you didn’t know it, and she wouldn’t take them away from you.

“I saw something you might like.” Tom breaks the silence with a smile, pulling you towards the box of photographs.

He pulled one out, holding it up to show you. Three women stood on a stage striking a pose in the very same elaborate costumes that you’d rifled through. Handwritten across the bottom of the photo was “Donna and The Dynamos.”

“Look Donna,” You pointed to the woman in the middle, “She must be the one who this place is named after.” You beamed, feeling even more connected to this island.

Tom flipped the photo over and began to read the inscription on the back.

“Donna and The Dynamos, 1979, Donna Sheridan, Rosie Mulligan, and Tanya Leigh-.” He read, before you cut him off, ripping the photo from his hands.

“Tanya Leigh?” You repeated in shot, flipping the picture over to stare at the side profile of the tall brunette that you nearly didn’t recognize.

“What?” Tom asked, concerned.

“That’s my grandmother.” You looked up to him, eyes wide in surprise.

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Any and all feedback is welcome and encouraged :) Please I need more ideas for this story if yall want to see more.

Taglist in reblog

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Something to Uplift Us

Ao3,  MasterPost

Relationships:  Romantic DLAMPR (Roman-centric, kinda Remus-centric), platonic Creativitwins!!!

Do I like this??? Meh. Is it something that I wrote? Yes. I will heal myself from SVS-R with Fluff.

Warnings: Remus Typical Nonsense, swearing, mentions of being in Quarantine, all sympathetic sides, non-sexual Pole Dancing

Word Count: 2,667 

Roman was the essence of romance and it showed. For his entire existence, he'd been well acquainted with the hypothetical. If he were his own person, if he had a prince of his own, if he had the chance at a romantic relationship, he knew what he would do. Roman knew relationships, he always had, and it had tortured him to know that he'd never have one.

Which was why it frustrated him to no end that he hadn’t been the one to ask out his fellow sides. He’d honestly never thought that it would be an option. When he first developed his feelings for the others- Virgil, Patton, Logan, Janus, in that order- he had felt nothing more than excitement. He was giddy, he was light-headed, just to know that he could feel that way. He would spend hours daydreaming, just musing over the way they made his heart stop, but he never hoped for anything to come of it. He wasn’t sad, or mournful, or pining per se- just so caught up in the joy of feelings that he forgot that he could do something with them. 

So he thought about it a lot, suffice to say. And all he had now was time to think; it was nearly month three of quarantine. Roman had wrung his brain out like a sponge for anything new to think about- The Imagination was practically turning gray! He tried to tend to it, truly he did, but it was getting harder every day. Creativity's fellow sides had all busied themselves taking up new hobbies- Virgil was teaching Patton to draw, Janus had learnt embroidery, Logan took up knitting, Remus made trash sculptures… They all seemed to be having their own little renaissance (complete with plague), and what was Roman doing? Wasting valuable free time!

  In a fit of desperation, the artistic trait dived under his large canopy bed, rummaging around until his hand caught on the lip of a cardboard box. With no small amount of effort, he pulled the enormous container out from under his bed so that it could be properly examined. There, piled high in the box, were dozens of notebooks and sketchbooks- all of which filled to the brim with writing, drawings, and poetry. Having no clue what he was specifically looking for, Roman upended the box and watched the contents crash to the floor. Something in here would surely spark his mind! Perhaps some old work would catch his eye and inspire some redraws!

The side hadn't needed to search for long. Right at the top of the pile- bright pink, its cover dotted with puffy heart stickers- sat a large, spiral-bound sketchbook. You could almost see the light bulb pop up over Roman’s head as he squealed and snatched up the sketchbook. Flopping down onto his bed, he flipped it open in one hand and placed the other against his chest. 

“Ooh, some of my best,” he cooed to no one in particular, gaze turned to the dozens of love poems surrounded by little doodles of hearts that filled the pages. This was the journal he’d confided in before the sides had all officially begun their relationship, filled with flowery prose about anything from Janus’ scales to Patton’s smile; from Logan’s laugh to Virgil’s freckles (a rare sight, usually hidden by make-up). Roman was so lost in nostalgia that when the ideas hit him, he nearly fell out of bed in excitement at his own thoughts.

Of course! He could take all of these old writings and compose them together, into one eloquent amalgam that would illustrate perfectly all those things that he’d been unable to articulate in the beginning! And it seemed only fitting that such a soliloquy be delivered in The Imagination- in the most gorgeous scenario he could fabricate! Somewhere open to a starry sky, for his left-brained loves- but it had to have ornate architecture, of course, and it had to be cozy. Oh, it was all coming together now.

Roman leapt out of bed, posing with his hand above his head and sinking deeper into The Mindscape extravagantly. He didn’t waste time looking around at the depressing half-formed scenery, sweeping his arms up and erasing the entirety of his half of The Imagination. Time to get to work.

Remus was stretched across the Commons couch, his head in Janus’ lap and feet in Logan’s. The TV hummed with whatever show they’d thrown on as background noise, and a few feet away at the counter, Patton and Virgil were hovering over some sort of scrapbook.  Nobody had the energy for conversation; nobody had the energy for anything. 

It was magnificently boring. The Duke already filled up an entire sketchbook, written half a dozen shamelessly smutty self-insert fanfictions, constructed and subsequently destroyed eldritch beings in his room, and bothered his boyfriends. So, all that was left to do was doze.

It didn’t help Remus’ tired state that Janus was running his fingers through his hair. The monotonous waking world was finally slipping away. Maybe there was something buried in his dreams that could hold his attention.

But just before sleep took hold, a white-hot energy ran through the trait’s body, jolting him so suddenly that he tumbled off of the couch and onto the floor. His arms and legs were all pins-and-needles as he looked up at his very concerned partners.

“There’s fuckery afoot!” Remus announced, wide-eyed. He pulled himself up and grinned, ��You guys stay here!” 

Without so much as a good-bye, Remus threw himself into the ground, saving himself the time of sinking out properly. After a moment’s silence, Janus resumed working on his embroidery. 

“Should we go see what that was about?” Patton asked tentatively. 

“Meh,” the three other sides responded in unison. After a moment, Janus added, “It is Remus, after all.”

Roman’s structure was coming together beautifully! Wide marble columns rose up and held aloft the glimmering silver ceiling, the middle of which was a sky-light open to thousands of stars and a brilliant full moon. Surrounding the opening was a spiral of stone roof- through the gaps of which even more astronomically accurate stars shone!

The inside of the building consisted of an immense mahogany stage, currently cloaked by thick velvet curtains and overlooking plenty of seats. Rather than traditional theater rows, Roman had arranged the seating like lovely cafe tables, all of which were given generous space from each other (Except for two at the very front, of course). Lanterns hung from the walls, casting the space in warm lighting. Creativity currently stood at the very back, thinking that it could use just a little more of something. With a smirk, the side snapped his fingers and the wall of the room was pushed backwards several yards. With a few more flicks of the wrist and dividing columns, a little lobby was formed. 

He’d given the theater room maroon carpeting and rich gray walls, but the new back section needed brighter lighting and a more cream-canary color scheme. Now he could just finish the decor!

Or he would have, if not for the fact that at that moment someone crashed into his ribs with all the grace of a flaming motorbike. 

“BRO!!!”

“ACK-!” was all Roman managed, as all the wind was knocked out of him. He glared up at his brother, who was sitting on his chest. 

“I knew you were up to something! You wiped half of the whole fucking Imagination! What is this!?” 

Roman wheezed, pushed Remus off of his chest, and finally pulled himself off the ground to catch his breath. His brother was spinning around the room already, eyes sparkling as he took in the building.

“I had to blank it, I needed my full focus,” Roman explained, back to work and filling the back wall with tall bookshelves, “and it’s a surprise, so don’t tell the others.”

“Oh, I won’t. Provided you let me in on whatever this is,” Remus had an ear-to-ear grin, bouncing on the balls of his feet. After a moment’s consideration, Roman hummed.

“I’m doing something nice for our boyfriends. I think we all could use a little pick-me-up, so do not ruin this!”

“I wanna do something nice for them! Lemme help!” 

“You don’t even know what it’s for! Plus, it’s personal!”

“I already asked what it was for, Stupid.”

Roman huffed.

“I wrote them something. Hence the stage.”

“So, what, you’re gonna bring them all into your fancy library-opera for your poetry orgy and I sit in a corner somewhere and be quiet?”

“Ideally.”

“Not a chance, Whore!” Remus swung himself up onto the concession stand that Roman had just created, tearing into a box of candy (food made in The Imagination always tasted weirder than food or ingredients they conjured elsewhere in the Mindscape, but he didn’t particularly mind). 

“Fine. What do you want to do?” Roman challenged, hands on his hips.

“I. Want. To. Help.”

Roman raised his eyebrows doubtfully. Grumbling, his twin started gesturing around the room as he spoke.

“The stars are too bright, they take the focus away from the stage instead of accenting it. The color of the curtains are too similar to the carpet. You’ve got Corinthian shit in there and bookstore lobby vibes in here, which is garbage and inconsistent.”

Roman blinked, his eyes following along with Remus’ criticism. 

“Hm. You have a point.”

“I’m Creativity too, you know. I have some taste.” The Duke said, gnawing on the cardboard box that had contained Imagination Candy moments before. 

“You’re wearing crocs and jorts, simultaneously.”

Remus waved his hand dismissively, hopping off the counter and rushing across the room.

“Whatever. Come on, I’ve got an idea how I can accompany your performance, too.”

“Oh, goody.”

Hours had past and little had changed in the Mindscape living room- Virgil and Patton had finished up their scrapbooking and were curled up together in an armchair, so Logan was sitting at the counter space previously occupied by the two and clacking away on his laptop, and Janus hadn’t moved. The muddled energy of the room had remained pervasive.

That was, until the door to the imagination slammed open, the doorknob cracking against the wall. Four heads shot up to see Remus and Roman, standing side-by-side (quite looking the part of identical twins, matching smiles and all). 

“Oh god,” Janus groaned instinctively, carefully setting his embroidery on a side table, “What did you two do?”

“Yeah, I don’t trust that look,” Virgil said.

The twins scoffed in mock-offense, continuing their odd coordination.

“We try to do something nice,” exclaimed Remus.

“And not so much as a ‘thank you,’” added Roman solemnly. Eyes were rolled, but Patton perked up considerably (just as planned). 

“Ooo, what are you talking about?” 

“It’s a surprise!” Said The Duke, bouncing up and down. Creativity Prime gave a sweeping motion to indicate the still-open door to the Imagination, which had been steadily seeping into the common room with a bright new energy that it had been lacking for days. 

“Follow us,” he instructed, disappearing through the door once more with Remus at his back. Patton bounced after them immediately, grinning. 

The three left-brained sides exchanged glances, shrugged, and followed suit. 

The twins were backstage in an instant, trusting their partners to figure out where their seats were on their own. Roman began pacing around as soon as they finished warming up. 

“Are you sure you can do this? I’m still not sure if your performance is well-suited to acoustic guitar-”

He was cut off by Remus groaning exaggeratedly.

“I can work with anything, bitch.” 

“Right, right,” There was a beat. “You’re sure you’re ready?”

“I’ve been ready. What’s going on with you?”

Rather than responding, Roman did another lap around the stage. 

“C’mon! Stop pacing before I take a bonesaw to your legs!”

“Okay! Alright! I’m ready!”

Before Remus could come up with any more gruesome threats, Roman snapped his fingers and the curtains began to rise. He took his place half-sitting on a stool up front, a guitar in his arms. Behind him, Remus stood between two sturdy metal poles that rose from the stage and into the ceiling. You can already see where this is going.

When the stage was fully revealed, the lights above the audience dimmed. Figuring that the show would be rather awkward if said audience consisted of four people, the Creativities had The Imagination render dozens of prop-people. They moved and acted like a crowd of humans, but each individual was too vague to focus on for long. Thus it was made very clear where their fellow sides were, sitting right up front with a wide array of expressions from amazed to amused to bewildered.

Roman took a moment to steel himself and then began playing. Originally, he’d planned on spoken-word for his loves, but traditionally there is music involved in pole-dancing, so he’d made a few adjustments in order for Remus to be able to contribute. 

Roman started singing, melting as the gazes of the real audience members turned awestruck (and also very flushed, likely from whatever surprisingly impressive poses his brother was pulling behind him). He liked to think that he poured his heart out into every performance, but for this one it felt quite literal. 

Roman’s voice picked up gradually, and he could vaguely hear metal clanging behind him. It went on like that for a good few minutes- because if there was one thing the Twins weren’t, it was brief- before the show finally concluded. Roman stalled for a moment as both the imaginary and real components of the audience applauded uproariously. Remus swung down from the pole and hopped over to him.

“We bow now, Dumbass,” he hissed, noticeably out of breath.

“Oh- right.”

They took hands and took a couple bows as the clapping died down, standing back up with wide grins and red faces. 

As soon as the auditorium was relatively silent, Patton rushed the stage. He outstretched his arms and hopped up and down excitedly.

“Lemme up!” 

Roman grabbed his hands and pulled him on stage while Remus was still attempting to catch his breath. Morality leaned down to give The Prince a brief kiss, and then bounced over to the much more exhausted half of the act to give him the same treatment. He was grinning so wide that it looked painful, his face a bright pink. The Duke wore a matching expression, but the smile was much more unnatural in that preferred way of his.

“So you liked it?”

Rather than verbally responding, Patton grabbed the hands of both Creativities and made a cheerful ribbiting sound.

“It was wonderful,” Logan supplied, climbing the stairs on the side of the stage to meet them, Virgil and Janus right behind him. He was much less outwardly enthusiastic as the other spectacled side, but no less appreciative.

“Yeah, did you guys put all this together today?” Virgil asked, throwing an arm around Roman’s shoulders. 

“What else did we have to do?” Remus answered with a shrug. 

“Good point.”

Janus cleared his throat lightly, immediately drawing everyone’s attention. His eyes were noticeably rimmed with redness, a small smile on his face as he outstretched all of his arms.

“Here, all of you, now.”

Patton cooed.

“Group hug!” 

Fitting six people into one hug may seem awkward, but it always seemed to work out for the sides. At least, Roman thought so. Virgil would fake exasperation at the affection, but they could all tell he loved it. Logan would try to maintain his dignity and fail miserably. Patton was a ball of warmth and energy that seeped into the rest of them. Janus was by far the best at giving hugs, though it could be considered cheating to have extra limbs.

At that moment it hit Roman that, perhaps he hadn’t started this relationship, but he was still a part of it. And that was all he could ever want.

These    Performances    inspired Remus’. They are oddly calming to watch, and super impressive!

@shrimp-crockpot

[duhragonball]

Hellsing Liveblog  Ch.4-6

This arc is called “Sword Dancer”, and I have no idea why, since they never call Anderson’s weapons anything other than “blades”.   Are they swords?   Maybe, but you never see him dance.  

The story starts at an orphanage, where Alexander Anderson is a priest there, settling a fight between two boys.   He sounds gentle and patient at first, until he tells them that the only thing they should be fighting are demons and heathens.   That pretty much sums up the character.   His mercy and compassion are almost entirely confined to the membership of the Catholic Church.   

Then another priest shows up and informs him of all the vampire incidents going on in the U.K.  Anderson doesn’t much care, since it only means more dead Protestants, right?  Except this latest incident is happening in Northern Ireland.  

So this neatly sets up one of the major conflicts within Hellsing.  Kouta Hirano took the vampire lore from Dracula and expanded it into a sort of 20th Century Cold War thing.   Instead of a single vampire hunter using crosses and holy water, we have an entire government agency, a secret service steeped in religious imagery.    But that religion isn’t a homogeneous thing.   Christendom has splintered a few times over the centuries.   Most notably, there was the East-West Schism of 1054, which saw the Eastern Orthodox Church separated from the Roman Catholic, and the Protestant Reformation that began in 1517.

I’m not sure how much research Kouta Hirano did into this topic, because he seems to have distilled the whole thing down into two major vampire-hunting groups, the Catholic “Section XIII” also known as the “Iscariot Organization”, and the Protestant Hellsing Organization.   Hellsing only bothers with vampire stuff in the United Kingdom, while Catholic Ireland is under the protection of the Iscariots.

Presumably, the Iscariots are tasked with protecting other Catholic nations as well, and maybe other Protestant countries have their own vampire-hunting sqauds to mirror Hellsing, but this overlooks the bigger issue: Catholics and Protestant populations don’t just fit neatly inside of political borders.   There’s plenty of Catholics inside Great Britain, for example, so it’s kind of glib for Anderson to write off British casualties as “not my problem”.  

And I think Hirano recognizes this, which is how Northern Ireland ends up in this story.    All of Ireland was British territory until 1921, when it was partitioned.   Southern Ireland became an independent nation, while Northern Ireland wanted to remain in the U.K., so it did.   This has caused no small amount of conflict in the decades since, and Hirano uses it here rather effectively.    There’s a treaty between Iscariot and Hellsing, one that recognizes Northern Ireland as their territory, but Iscariot still sees a duty to protect the minority Catholic population.  

So Anderson is sent to deal with the vampire attack at Badrick (or “Patrick” depending on who’s translating, and if he runs into Hellsing, well that’s too bad for them.    Despite the treaty, Iscariot considers themselves to be the morally superior group, so they won’t back down if confronted.  

From all of this, I get the sense that the normal relations between these two groups sort of depends on the rarity of vampire attacks.    There’s a lot of unsettled issues between them, but as long as nothing happens in disputed zones like Northern Ireland, everyone sort of minds their own business. 

Anyway, it’s now August 15, and Hellsing is indeed intervening in Patrick.   I never understood why Alucard had Seras sitting outside while he fought the ghouls in this house, especially when he was just going to call her in later.  But now it makes more sense to me.    He went in expecting to kill the vampire inside, and she’s outside to shoot down anyone who tries to escape, just like in Chapter 3.   Except Al found more ghouls inside than he bargained for, and he finds this dull, so he’s calling an audible and bringing Seras in to handle them instead.  

And this marks the debut of Seras’s Hellsing uniform.    In the anime, she gets this look pretty much from the start, so it’s weird to see her wearing pants in Chapter 3.   I assume she’s wearing pants in Chapter 2, but we don’t see her lower body in that.   My head canon is that she was still wearing her old police gear up until Chapter 4, while this uniform was still being tailored.   

I have mixed feelings about the design.    My first time seeing Seras was a cosplay photo, and I dug the idea of a vampire soldier.   Once I found out Hellsing was all about weaponizing vampires, I got into it pretty quickly.   And I found out Seras started out as a police officer, and that seemed really cool.   Like Alucard would handle all the spooky blood licking stuff, and she would dust for fingerprints and use pencils to pick up guns.   The uniform implies a professional discipline, the sort of thing that would set it apart from the almost casual villainy I find in vampire shows like Buffy or what-have-you. 

But, the artwork tends to make this look ridiculous, because Hirano keeps drawing it like it’s skin-tight around the boobs.   I don’t understand why he keeps doing this, since you don’t normally see it on the other women characters in this story.    Unless the idea is to set Seras apart from the others, which I can sort of understand.    Seras is the sidekick, and to a certain extent, she’s supposed to look kind of silly.   Even in this heroic pose, there’s still something goofy about her, like she can’t quite achieve full dignity yet.   Maybe this is supposed to be like Robin wearing the short pants until 1991, but I never really cared for that creative choice either.   

So she starts going to town, and Alucard takes a lunch break while she’s at it, which is a cool moment that didn’t make it into the anime.   He reminds her that the ghouls have to be killed expediently using shots to the heart or head.   That one who fell down the steps was still moving, you see, so Al had to finish him off.

And this is where Seras first addresses Al as “Master”.  This was one of the first scenes I found when I started trying to find out more about the character.  At first, it seemed like Seras was all business, but then you get stuff like this, where she’s doing the creepy vampire bit as well.    I like the way Hellsing approaches this.    Seras is gradually adjusting to being a vampire, and she isn’t always aware of that adjustment as it happens.   It seems like combat helps her get into that zone.   Early on, Seras would seem to change into a berzerker state, then snap out of it.   Except she never snaps out of calling Alucard “Master”.  

This is the start of that hard-to-define relationship between the pair.  Remember, the Cheddar Priest said she would have free will as a vampire, but she defers to Alucard anyway.    Before, that just seemed to be a practical matter.  She recognized Alucard as a superior officer, and as a mentor figure.   But now it seems more fanatical. 

Watching the anime, I was suspicious of Alucard’s intentions, because... well why wouldn’t I be?    He’s fucking Dracular for pete’s sake.   I thought maybe he was angling for some chance to escape from Hellsing’s control, and maybe Seras was part of his plan.  Scenes like this didn’t exactly dissuade me from that notion.  Seras got some ghoul blood on her, and she finds herself compelled to eat it, and he’s looking on very excitedly.    But then she gets impaled through the neck, and that puts an end to that.

Back at headquarters, Integra gets word that the Iscariots have send Alexander Anderson to Barick, and she realizes that this could escalate into a major incident.   No one at Hellsing seems to know much about Anderson, except that he’s powerful, and if he runs into Alucard it could be a major battle.  

This page marks the first appearance of Walter C. Dornez, whom she calls for consultation.   I find it odd that Walter has already received the same report, and has already taken steps to deal with it.   Almost like he expected something like this to happen...? 🤔 🤔 🤔 🤔 

As it turns out, Anderson’s already there.   He’s the one who impales Seras with a bunch of blades/swords/bayonets/whatever, and he already killed the vampire that Alucard was sent to find.    As far as Anderson’s concerned, the only thing left to do is kill Alucard and Seras, but Al shoots him in the head before he can really get started.    But as he goes to remove the holy blades from Seras, Anderson gets back up for Round Two.

Alucard calls him a “Regenerator”, like this is a thing he’s encountered before.   Anderson’s not just a priest with blessed weapons, he’s got special powers that the Vatican gave him for the purpose of hunting vampires.  Then he stabs Alucard a bunch of times and prepares to cut off his head for good measure, until Polnareff jumps in and... no, wait, wrong story.   Yeah, Andy just chops his head off, then goes to finish off Seras.  

Except Seras got away.    Somehow she got up and lumbered off while he wasn’t looking, pulled out all the knives in her back, and then managed to double back and fetch Alucard’s head.   Trouble is, she still can’t get out of the house, because Anderson set up a mystical barrier using sheets of paper.   Boy, that’d suck if you touched a wall and it shocked you.  Seras probably won’t forget this moment....

Then Al’s head is like “Ight Imma head out,” and melts into a puddle of blood. 

The blood then arranges itself into words, which tell Seras to drink the blood, as this will make her into a “true” vampire, instead of a “servant” vampire, which I guess is what she is now.   And this is also the first time we learn Seras’ true name.   Everyone had been calling her “Police Girl” up until this point.   

Although, one might argue from this scene that this is not her original name, and perhaps it’s a brand new name Alucard invented for her, one that she has to earn by willfully drinking blood.   I’m pretty sure this was disproven by later flashbacks to Seras’ childhood, but it’s fun to think about.    Maybe we never knew her human name.   Maybe she doesn’t even remember it.

But before Seras can make that choice, Integra shows up with a couple of guards and tells Anderson to stand down.   He kills the guards, and promises to finish her off as well, but she tells him that Alucard can’t be killed with a simple decapitation.   

Also, Seras is back up.  She hasn’t consumed Al’s blood, but she does pick up a gun to defend Integra, which is pretty cool.   See?  She looks badass here, maybe because you can’t see her anime boobs in this shot.  

Anderson still likes his chances, until Alucard starts to reassemble his body.   Unlike other vampires, stabbing Al through the heart and cutting off his head aren’t enough to kill him.   This is because of... something the Hellsing family did to him over the past century.  I don’t think it gets spelled out in this story, but it’s heavily implied that the Van Hellsing from the Dracula novel defeated Dracula and then enslaved him, and his family line has been modifying him ever since to turn him into their anti-vampire weapon.    And a big part of that involves making him stronger than the typical vampire. 

So Anderson withdraws, but only because he now sees he’ll need a bigger boat.  Alucard tells Integra that Seras’s performance was “the usual”, which is funny considering how pleased he was with her before.    Also he scolds her for not drinking his blood, and calls her a coward when she asks to be addressed by her name.   One way or another, the theme here is that Seras has to earn a name.   The way she is now, Al doesn’t seem to think she needs one.

Volume 1 ends with some notes by Kouta Hirano, including the part about how Alucard and Anderson never seem to run out of weapons.   Cosmoguns? Fourth dimensional priests?   I’m beginning to think this manga about super-powered vampires may not be entirely realistic.

Since chapters 1-6 aren’t quite big enough to fill out a collected edition, Hirano also includes a backup feature called “Cross Fire”, which he produced for “a defunct comic master”.    He calls this a “springboard for Hellsing”, which isn’t hard to see, since it features the Iscariot Organization, including Enrico Maxwell, Heinkel Wolfe, and Yumiko Takagi, who show up later in Hellsing.

This short helps me understand these characters a lot better, because when I watched the anime, Wolfe and Yumiko just seemed to show up out of nowhere, with no explanation given.    I think it was assumed that you would have read the manga collections first, and would know who they were.   Anyway, they’re both nun assassins.   Heinkel dresses like a man and uses guns, while Yumiko weilds a sword, but only when he “berzerker” personality, named “Yumie” is activated.   In this story, she’s actually among the hostages that the duo were sent to protect, but Heinkel shows up and knocks her unconscious, which prompts her to wake up as Yumie and they killerize everyone.   

I’m not sure if the Cross Fire stories are considered canon or not.   The characters show up in Hellsing later, but not quite the same as before.  So maybe these are prototypes rather than the real things.  Maxwell, in particular, looks a lot like Integra here, to the point where I thought he might be a woman in this version.   But the Heinkel/Yumiko team bears a strong resemblance to Alucard and Seras working together in Chapters 4-6, so it’s not hard to see the connection. 

[spicykoreantatertots]

Spine Breaker

Pairing: Jimin x Female Reader

Word Count: 959

Rating: PG

Genres: SFW, College AU

Summary:  You have to team up with dance student Jimin on your art project. 

Warnings: Taehyung says mean things about Jimin bc he doesn’t know him. :(

A/N: This is part of my new drabble series that I’m doing for ficswithluv’s Bulletproof Bingo! 24 drabbles in 12 days so I can get that blackout before the deadline. See my challenge post here and the master list here! Message or send an ask to be on the taglist!

This has not been beta read, please be kind. 💜

~~~~~~~

Today is the most excited you’ve been to go to class all semester. As a freshman in art school, you aren’t actually creating as much art as you thought you would be. There’s so much history and theory to learn before they even hand you a set of paints.

The only class that actually lets you create, Drawing 1, is starting a new unit today. Moving on from Still Life to The Human Body. It’s not easy to capture the curves and lines and life of a human body, but that’s why you love it. It’s a challenge. 

“I heard they’re pairing us up with students from the Dance Program for the unit project.” Taehyung, the boy who usually sits next to you, sits down and leans over to continue talking. “Do you have any friends in dance?” 

“No... why?” Students continue filing into the class, chattering about the upcoming project. 

“I heard we get to choose our partners. I’ve got a friend, Hoseok. He’s an amazing dancer and he’ll be fun to work with.” Taehyung is already doodling vague human-like shapes on his notebook.

“I don’t know anyone in dance.” Taehyung waves you off, everything will be fine. Surely not every art student has friends in dance. Right?

Wrong. After a brief introduction of the Human Body unit, the professor ushers in the dance students. You eye the line of students at the front of the room, trying to find someone who looks friendly. You see a few familiar faces from around campus, but most people seem to be avoiding eye contact. 

When the professor allows everyone to pick their partners, the room becomes chaotic. Everyone makes their way quickly to their friends. Unfortunately most students immediately match up and before you can even catch your breath, you are face to face with the last dance student. 

He is the most stunning man you’ve ever seen. His body is lean, muscles visible under his form fitting clothes. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of designer sunglasses that are probably worth more than your entire wardrobe. His face somehow has a sharp jawline and beautiful full cheeks. And his lips... 

“I’m Park Jimin.” He says, handing you a slip of paper with his name and phone number. “Text me to set up a time to work on the project. I spend most of my time in practice room 13, so we’ll probably meet there.”

“I, uh, okay.” You were about to introduce yourself too, but he’s already walking away. Taehyung approaches you once Jimin is gone. He pats your shoulder, comforting you. 

“Park Jimin, huh? Good luck with that...” He trails off.

“What do you mean by that? Do you know him?” You question as you make your way back to your seat. 

“No, but I’ve heard he’s a brat. Did you see his outfit? He’s rude and entitled and I’ve also heard his poor parents work two jobs each to pay for his school and yet still he spends his money on designer clothes.” Taehyung explains. You turn the slip of paper Jimin gave over in your hands. He can’t really be that bad, can he?

You: Hey, this is Y/N, I’m your partner for the art project. [1:57pm]

You: I’m fine with meeting you in your practice room, but what time and day is good? [4:31pm]

You: Hello... [8:32pm]

Jimin: I was practicing, sorry. If you’re free tomorrow stop by anytime between 2pm and 11pm. [9:02pm]

You: Okay, I’ll stop by after class. Around 4? [9:05pm]

There’s no response after that. Are you really supposed to believe he was practicing for seven hours without checking his phone. Maybe Taehyung was right about him after all.

Standing in front of practice room 13 in the dance building, you’re feeling a weird mix of nervous and annoyed. Jimin seemed very disinterested in this project. All he has to do is hold a pose and let you draw, but apparently that’s asking a lot. 

You take a deep breath and knock on the door. After waiting about thirty seconds, you knock again a little louder. Then the door opens quickly and Jimin pokes his head out. He’s sweating. 

“Oh. It’s you. Come in.” He opens the door and steps aside so you can enter. Jimin is wearing some sweats, still looking like a greek god. His face is clear of sunglasses, so you get a chance to see his eyes. Much like the rest of him, they are beautiful. And surprisingly kind. 

He walks over to his bag and jacket in the corner near the stereo system. He grabs a water bottle and wipes the sweat from his face with the back of his hand. You find a spot near the door to sit down.

“Do you have any poses in mind?” You question him as you get your sketch pad and pencils out. When you look up, Jimin is watching you carefully. 

“Why don’t you watch me dance and then we can discuss.” Before you can respond, he cues up a pop song and moves to the center of the room. 

He begins by moving his arms slowly, delicately. But as the music builds, his dancing becomes more intense, using his whole body, hitting each beat with precise movements. He twists, spins, jumps, and pushes his body to the extreme. The passion in his eyes makes you second guess everything negative you’ve heard about him. 

The song ends, Jimin is breathing heavily. 

“Did you find any inspiration?” He’s wearing a smirk across his face and you notice that your mouth is hanging open, you’re amazed and it shows. Working on this project is going to be even more challenging than you thought. 

~~~~~~~

Stay tuned for part two! (Filter 😉)

~~~~~~~

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. Check out my masterlist here and the series masterlist here. I’m always looking for betas and friends so send me a message! :)

[esabri]

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instant Markt market Grad degree besiedeln populate küken chick liebe dear Feind enemy antworten reply Getränk drink auftreten occur Unterstützung support Rede speech Natur nature Angebot range Dampf steam Bewegung motion Weg path Flüssigkeit liquid protokollieren log gemeint meant Quotient quotient Gebiss teeth Schale shell Hals neck Sauerstoff oxygen Zucker sugar Tod death ziemlich pretty Geschicklichkeit skill Frauen women Saison season Lösung solution Magnet magnet Silber silver danken thank Zweig branch Spiel match Suffix suffix insbesondere especially Feige fig ängstlich afraid riesig huge Schwester sister Stahl steel diskutieren discuss vorwärts forward ähnlich similar führen guide Erfahrung experience Partitur score apfel apple gekauft bought geführt led Tonhöhe pitch Mantel coat Masse mass Karte card Band band Seil rope Rutsch slip gewinnen win träumen dream Abend evening Zustand condition Futtermittel feed Werkzeug tool gesamt total Basis basic Geruch smell Tal valley noch nor doppelt double Sitz seat fortsetzen continue Block block Tabelle chart Hut hat verkaufen sell Erfolg success Firma company subtrahieren subtract Veranstaltung event besondere particular viel deal schwimmen swim Begriff term Gegenteil opposite Frau wife Schuh shoe Schulter shoulder Verbreitung spread arrangieren arrange Lager camp erfinden invent Baumwolle cotton geboren born bestimmen determine Quart quart neun nine Lastwagen truck Lärm noise Ebene level Chance chance sammeln gather Geschäft shop Stretch stretch werfen throw Glanz shine Immobilien property Spalte column Molekül molecule wählen select falsch wrong grau gray Wiederholung repeat erfordern require breit broad vorbereiten prepare Salz salt Nase nose mehreren plural Zorn anger Anspruch claim Kontinent continent

[blinkingstardust]

thinker

[tw: death, suicide? idk how tws work]

i'm a thinker, so i used to think that thinking is the solution to just about everything.

it makes sense. the more you think, the sooner you'll find a solution that makes sense, a solution that has most pros and least cons, a favourable solution. and most of the time people end up in a completely horrible situation that could've been avoided, had they choose to stop for a moment and think out the entire situation. then again, for people who aren't just natural thinkers, like i am, they'd say that "everything is easier in theory than in practice," which by theory i am sure is true, but i have never tested myself in practice.

then again perhaps that is also the case when it comes to these seemingly avoidable catastrophes in life—perhaps it is because i have never faced such a conflict, that i have never for a moment believed that not everything can be solved with thought. i'd like to think that it's the reverse—i have never ended up in such situations because i use thought, but even i know as a thinker that the theory isn't valid; so much factors come into play in regards to how irregular, out of the ordinary situations occur in our lives. in other words, there are many external factors contributing to the situations i end up in, not merely my thought processes.

so my current stance in life seems to be that i just haven't been hit with a large enough force to truly test the hypothesis that problems can be avoided by thorough planning. regardless, being the semi-realistic person i am, i spend my life planning to avoid these so-called disasters. i learn about everything—from science to humans, to understand the things that pose as risks into my life, so that when the time comes where i have to face something threatening my safety, i'd be able to fight it off. i know how to spot the right people to hang with, so i don't end up being betrayed or being heartbroken by some worthless man. i know what to do to prevent common diseases, and i know to resist impulses such as binge shopping, so i can save money, and drinking, so i don't die early in life. most of all, i learn how others live, so i won't have to repeat the same mistakes people made. and in comparison to these lives i've read about, 17 years is a considerably long period of time to have lived without facing a major disaster caused by my lack of thought.

i'm not quite sure, though, whether 17 years is an extremely late period of time to realise that i haven't been alive at all.

according to some accounts of science, you begin to die right after birth. biologically, the average lifespan of our cells is about 7-10 years, but the shortest lifespan of a cell in our body can be about mere hours. scientifically, the official age our bodies are considered to start dying begins at 25, because before then the rate of cell growth exceeds cell death. by this standard, me being at the age of 17 means that i haven't officially started dying. 

but lately, it's been starting to feel a lot like i'm dying, even to a physical extent. and it has little to do with the coronavirus lockdown. in almost every aspect of my life i'm doing fine—i have no major health issues, i have a pretty content family, a decent amount of friends to rely on, grades that i can get by with, and beginning recently, regained freedom to roam around the country, meaning a nice, independent life. with the gadgets i have and the money i save, i have enough to entertain myself during the holidays. but even so, it feels so empty. i spend my days lying on my dorm bed, which feels so much more like a deathbed these days, thinking of how to remain alive, but not doing any of the things i know i should be doing.

and by this i mean: i should be cleaning my room, at least once every two weeks, windows opened, laundry done, taking care of my hygiene, and subsequently, my health. but i haven't touched the vacuum cleaner in two months, the furniture's piled with dust, as if no one's lived in the room for years, the laundry basket overflows with clothes worn without being washed in weeks, the window never being opened that it's killed even my resilient succulent, the bedsheets as it were months ago, never been changed. by this i mean: i should be taking care of my food intake, eating as much vegetables and fruits, taking vitamins, and watching my carb intake, exercising regularly and sleeping at the right time to maintain not just my physical, but mental health as well. but i order takeout every other day, and when i don't, i eat instant, processed food, consume an abnormal amount of caffeine and milk day and night, never touching the vitamins placed on the nightstand right next to the bed, eating too much at once then some days, not at all, sleeping more than half a day then, in a day, less than three broken up hours of sleep, and when awake, never moving the body other than to go to the toilet. by this i mean: i should be maintaining an active daily routine through which i continue to pursuit mental challenges, and artistic endeavours to keep my brain alive, making use of the free time i have to take some classes to reduce the study load of the future, to read the books i don't have time to read in school, to write stories of ideas i think in the shower, to sing and dance, and even rap, the songs i listen to daily, to draw the people i love, to speak of the things people need to hear, to even design a house, or dress up avatars, feeding off my favourite aesthetics, anything to keep the brain alive. but i do none of these, even when i have my laptop, my ipad with the corresponding apple pencil, my papers and pens, my phone, my newly and impulsively bought nintendo switch, my books, all placed around me, i don't make an effort to open the apps i need, don't make a single effort to use my brain, use the creativity, and keep it running, instead i lie on my bed for hours, just thinking, thinking of what i should do and what i shouldn't do and not actually doing it, and looking at the full length mirror next to me and realising just exactly how brain dead i look, and that it's only about time that the body follows suit.

and many of the times i spend just thinking, i find myself conjuring ideas in my head, wishing for myself to be not thinking. i find myself wishing to feel, without thinking of the consequences, without considering all pros and cons of the situation, just going with what i feel. i want to fall in love with the wrong person so wholeheartedly, even if everyone around me argues that said person will inevitably break my heart. i want to go to the club and dance like there isn't a tomorrow, sing my heart out, drown my throat in burning liquor and perhaps in someone's tongue, only to wake up with no memory of the previous night in some good looking stranger's bed. i want to waste my money on a good camera, plane tickets to countries in various continents, take beautiful pictures of the scenery and of friends who may not stick with me for more than a year, and feel the pride off the pictures i take, and have pictures taken of as well so i can post them in my social media and have people see how beautiful of a life i have. i want to be openly rude to people who disrespect others, look down on condescending people, and land myself in prison for confidently leading a movement standing up against prevalent derogatory beliefs, and again for hacking into rich people's accounts to redistribute the wealth. i want to spend the nights in the beach, regardless of curfew, staring at the starry expanse of black, with people i care about and people who care about me, shouts echoing over the deep blue, gathered around the blazing red and orange of the campfire, pouring every feeling we've ever felt, in laughter, in tears, in anger, in fear, as humans. i want to be struck by lightning, hit by a bus, fall from a building, faint from the heat, shot by a bullet, and land in the hospital, few seconds from death, and be given a stronger reason to appreciate the life i have. i want to feel human. i want to live for once.

i keep waiting for something, or someone out there to bring about these changes to me. i'm tired of waiting. i want to start feeling instead of thinking. but as much as i want to do something about it, it's too late—my brain has eaten out most of my heart, and i don't know if there's anything left of it. i can't cause myself to feel anything anymore, the only feelings i feel left are fatigue, tiredness, emptiness. a shell of a human.

i'm starting to think that the only thing that'll end my endless train of thought is when i finally stop breathing—but i don't feel scared. i can't anymore. if anything, i await the day.

—

//broke my writing streak (and, simultaneously, my animal crossing streak, and my normal functioning life in general) and have been so... lifeless in a week so maybe writing this may bring about something

[memoriesofyccjungrk]

▫︎ ▪︎  ━ ᴊᴀɴᴜᴀʀʏ 2020 ᴇᴠᴀʟᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ( ᴄᴇɴᴛᴇʀs )

gahyeon knows she’s among the most excited about the evaluation at hand, that much is probably obvious among the trainees. of course, she’s excited to get to perform in front of the coaches – even more excited that they’d be showing the recordings to the ceos. knowing that alone should’ve make her nervous – and to be fair, she was. at least a little. but no, more than anything else, she was petrified.

as far as gahyeon knew, this was the first evaluation the ceo would be seeing of her in a year. it had been a year since she had really been performing for something – for attention, maybe ? she’d been a center back then, and gahyeon knew that meant something for her. meant that he had some sort of belief in her, saw something in her – that had been clear when he’d signed her a year prior to that performance. this evaluation told gahyeon that maybe the coaches agreed with that sentiment. because, while performance was the royal girl’s collective ‘ weakness, ’ gahyeon knew it was one of her own strengths. she was a performer through and through and had gotten a spot in the top ten of her season for her dance skills, her performances.

she had to prove that she could continue to impress. the last time gahyeon had seen so jisub, he’d told her that he saw something in her. potential – the ability to grow. there was no chance she would flub this opportunity to show him that he was right about her. in seven months, she’d be up for contract renewal – she had to prove that her contract would be worth renewing.

drawing in a breath, gahyeon takes her place behind the other girls when told to get in place. yes, she still has months to go – but a lot can change in seven months. gahyeon needed to show them as if this was the last chance she’d get. as much as she wants to say it’s to prove to him that she’s worth keeping, the voice in the back of her head reminds her that it’s not just him. no, because she doesn’t need to just prove to jisub and the trainers that she’s worth it – she needs to prove it to herself.

the last few months have been shrouded in nothing but confusion and doubt, and gahyeon feels as if she’s taken ten steps backward. the feeling isn’t unfamiliar – no, it was a reminder of how she’d struggled after getting signed. perhaps it was the lack of communication – she didn’t know if she was doing well, if they saw something in her, if she was progressing how jisub had thought she would. she didn’t know what anyone thought of her, where the other trainees would praise her, gahyeon had to wonder sometimes if it was just a tactic. while the royal girls were notorious for being kind, loving, attentive, and caring – that didn’t mean that it was real. that didn’t mean it couldn’t all be an act, and gahyeon knew she could be paranoid. so how did she really know ? how could she be sure that they were honest ? that she was really moving forward, and not just taking more and more steps back ?

she had to prove this to herself. performing was what she was good at – the one thing that she’d drowned herself in since she was young. the one thing that really meant something to her, that she was sure she was good at. but becoming a trainee had brought more doubts than consolidation. if anything, gahyeon was more unsure in herself than she had been standing on that stage two years ago. in reality, she knew she had to have gotten better. she had to have made progress. but that didn’t mean the fear didn’t crawl in every crack in her armor.

she had to prove this to herself.

she draws in another breath as the music starts. wills herself to relax, to let any doubts that filled her head fade away – because in that moment, she has to be perfect. she closes her eyes for just a moment – because dancing is something that comes naturally to gahyeon. something that has always been second-nature.

while the track played the vocal track around them, filling the room with the familiar tune, gahyeon still mouthed along with the lyrics as she rolled her neck. this was a style she was comfortable in – something that, perhaps a year ago she wouldn’t have been so comfortable with. she hadn’t danced much outside of hip-hop, nothing with the softness loca’s strong yet feminine movements offered. now, however, gahyeon was comfortable and danced in the style with ease. it had taken time and practice – but gahyeon figured this meant she had grown, hadn’t she ?

taking center at the beginning of the song was nerve wrecking for gahyeon at first – after all, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to manage it. opening a performance like this, that wasn’t something she could’ve seen herself doing, even a few months ago. however, she knew she shouldn’t be so hard on herself – had been told just the same by the other trainees. she tried to remind herself they wouldn’t sabotage her. the girls weren’t like this, she’d known most of them for over a year. not to mention, the coaches wouldn’t have given her center parts without reason – and gahyeon knew she was talented. maybe not how talented – but she could do this. because now, this was something she couldn’t imagine not doing.

after weeks of practice, the dance was second-nature. the smooth movements required meticulous practice and each girl had to had to ensure every move was in sync with one another. even as they dance around one another as someone else took center, gahyeon had ensured she was always working her hardest. that she was always showing her best face – because if there was one thing she’d learned during the mgas, it was that someone was always watching.

when it came to the main rap section, gahyeon made her way to center as the girls split in front of her. she moved forward with the music, mouthing the words along with the vocal track – because while their vocals weren’t the group’s main focus, after she’d performed it so many times how couldn’t she know the lyrics by heart ? once she made it to the front, the dance become stronger and concise, but still elicited a certain softness that came with the femininity of the routine. once they moved into group movements again, gahyeon ensured she kept on time. being at the center and front meant that, although she was crouched and not the main focus, she could easily screw up – and it would be very obvious. she couldn’t see the others behind her, after all. however, gahyeon reminded herself that she knew the routine like the back of her hand – she knew she wouldn’t go off-beat.

when they’d been practicing, gahyeon had noticed the arm work – the precise timing the dance required of them. everything was carefully coordinated, and if one member screwed up, it would be noticeable. but after all the practice they’d had, gahyeon was sure they wouldn’t screw up. they’d all practiced tirelessly – gahyeon had as much faith in them as she did herself.

when it came to the dance break, gahyeon, lisa, and shiah took center. the three had practiced just as hard as the rest of the girls with the routine. especially as they were learning it. they’d dance for hours on end. gahyeon knew they had this routine down-pat. gahyeon didn’t doubt a movement she made. couldn’t. if she couldn’t trust herself, then how could she ever do this for real ?

she had to trust herself.

once again, as the routine was coming to an end and the other girls were on the group as gahyeon took center again. she reached her arm out, moving it slowly to the front as the other girls turned toward her in center. with ballerina fingers, gahyeon swayed her arm from side to side before bounding it to the front to accentuate the word babe; doing just the same as she spun forward. her hair framed her face perfectly, landing nicely on her shoulders as she spun – it was as if it was that movie-magic that kept her looking fierce, despite what could’ve looked like a disaster.

she had to trust herself.

they moved to into the end of the performance, lisa taking center in place of herself. they moved in unison, the replication of the performance they were emulating perfect – or, as close as it could get. gahyeon was confident in their abilities. although performance was viewed as the royal girl’s collective weakness, gahyeon knew they were all talented women. they were all women who worked hard at their craft, and who were determined to succeed. this performance was a clear indication of that.

once again gahyeon took center, and the performance came full circle. what she had begun he was ending. her movements are sharp, and familiar. she spins her finger beside her head, body moving with her as she lowers her hand to her side and the girls all strike their final pose. it’s almost sad – that this is the last time they’d perform this song. over the past month, it had been the collective royal girl’s focus – gahyeon had even allowed more time that she typically dedicated toward her own choreography to the routine for this evaluation. it was hard to believe this would be the last time they’d perform it. gahyeon drew in a breath before allowing herself to relax and bow along with the other girls once the coaches announced they were good to go. gahyeon swallowed as she glanced at the camera one more time as one of their coaches moved to turn it off.

it was sad – because gahyeon could see herself dancing like this for the rest of her life. she hoped the performance would show the coaches as much – anyone who had a say in what concept they’d eventually debut with. that they were meant for this. this was what she was meant for. the girls danced as a unit, they were all strong performers. they could do this – and no matter how long it took them, gahyeon knew that they could do this. she had to believe it. otherwise, how was she going to get through however long it took her to finally get to where she wanted to be ?

[honeymoonjin]

런닝맨 방탄 Running Man Bangtan - Part Two

A/N This final half is just shy of 7k words, so a bit smaller than the last one, but believe me when I say a lot happens. Read part one here.

Warnings: cursing, explicit sexual content (exhibitionism, unprotected sex, handjob)

Summary: You only have one challenge left to complete the second year anniversary episode, but will you succeed and find the spy in time? After filming, the Running Man Bangtan gang return home to celebrate, but Y/n and another member decide to continue the festivities a little longer.

Your final challenge awaited you, and with the amount of time left on the clock, you knew it would be a big one. The rest of your team were in varying states of exhaustion, but it was getting late, and if you stopped for a break now, you'd have to wait a whole day so that the light visible from the windows still looked the same to viewers. Director Lee had decided to just keep rolling.

The brief respite you did get was to change out of your hoodies and jeans and get into some workout gear. That made you all a little nervous for what the challenge could be.

After getting changed, the eight of you were led back into the studio proper, where the production team were spread out across the mirrored wall. A production assistant shuffled the eight of you into place and cameras rolled once more.

Letting out a yawn, you leant your head against the solid body beside you. Namjoon grunted a little but didn't make a move to push you away.

"You will complete your final mission in the Running Man Bangtan Studio. Currently, you have 2 hours and 38 minutes on the clock to complete this mission. However, if you fail this, there is no second chance, and you only get one shot to successfully complete it."

You scrunch up your face in concern. Over two and a half hours was a really long time, too long, so clearly it was going to be something crazy elaborate, or at least time-consuming.

"Your mission is to learn and perform a three minute choreography in pairs."

You blink. All of the members simultaneously relax a little.

"However," Lee cautions, "each dance duo only gets one shot to perform their choreography without any mistakes. If any of the eight of you make a mistake, the whole team loses the mission, and in turn, fails the entire game. You can practice as much as you want within your remaining time," Lee finishes, looking particularly smug as he reads off his iPad.

There it was. The classic RMB twist that kept the show so popular. Either a challenge so complex for so little reward, or a challenge that's extremely simple, but with sky high stakes. You stand up straight again, suddenly more awake than ever. This was the perfect challenge for you.

Director Lee made you draw lots for the dance pairs: Namjoon was with Taehyung, Yoongi was with Hoseok. After opening yours, you cross your fingers in the hope that you'll be with Jimin, or at least the golden maknae.

Of course, putting the good dancers together wouldn't make very interesting television, and the variety show gods certainly want an entertaining show. Jimin and Jeongguk are put together, and Jin turns to you with a cheeky smile.

After the lots were drawn, two dance instructors are led in to begin teaching you. The dance is pretty simple, but there are a lot of moves to remember in three minutes, and even the more qualified out of you begin to feel that this is a losing battle.

"Okay, Jin-oppa, we can do this! It's not that bad," you start, but cut yourself off as Jin goes off the book and starts slut-dropping to the music, holding uncomfortable eye-contact with you the whole time. You look away, sighing. "Every morning I knock on heaven's door but God won't answer. He lives in fear of the mess he created."

"Ah, come on, it'll be fun," he insists, still in a squat on the floor. "We can add a little flair to it, make it sexy."

From across the room, you can hear Jimin's classic whine. "Nobody wants to see that, hyung! And the whole point is to stick to the moves they taught us! At least you don't have to grind on this little freak," Jeongguk pauses in his superhero pose, looking affronted that he's been called a freak. His outstretched arm lowers in defeat, before Jimin tugs him away to go over the steps again.

The room is a disaster by the time you've been practising for an hour. Hoseok has his dance nailed and is parading around the room going freestyle to impress the teachers. His partner awkwardly hip thrusts and wiggles to open air, looking like he wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

Jimin and Jeongguk's dance doesn't look particularly safe for public viewing; even after Jimin's periodic complaining, they dance a lot closer than the instructors asked them to.

Poor Namjoon and Tae are still trying their best to get the hang of the third move, but they're very serious and invested, monopolising the instructors time, and shoving Hoseok away every time he comes to show off.

Jin and you? Well, surprisingly enough, he has a lot more potential than you had initially expected. He's always in rhythm even when the moves are completely wrong, and that's always the biggest battle.

It's been almost a year since you've been dancing regularly, and even you need to ask the teachers over every now and again to get your part sorted. As time trickles down, teams come and go to take breaks and get food, figuring that it's better to conserve energy rather than using it all in one go.

After an hour and a half, Jimin and Jeongguk feel confident that they have theirs sorted, and after a few full practices, the rest of you pile up against the wall to watch them do their final performance.

The song is upbeat and flirty, but Jimin and Jeongguk look like they're moments away from ripping their clothes off. After the three minutes, those not dancing are in tears at their over-dramatic moves and face acting. It's a relief when the dance instructors give them the all-clear, and the two dancers, still panting, just about melt into the floor, slugging over and collapsing against the wall with the rest of you.

At one point in practising, you are mid-twirl when you see Yoongi whispering quietly into Jin's ear, and the two of them walk out of the room, Jin shooting you a half-assed apologetic smile. You shoot a confused look over to Hobi, but he just shrugs.

They're gone for five minutes, a cameraman following them in, and when they finally return, staring at you in suspicion, you huff and get Jin to take it from the top.

It's Yoongi and Hoseok who perform next. After swanning around for over an hour, Hoseok finally decided it was time to try and teach Yoongi instead of letting him suffer on his own, and he makes an amazing teacher. Yoongi isn't a quick learner, but Hobi is patient with him, encouraging him when he messes up and cheering when he gets something right at last. It's more than you can say for your own team, as every time you try and explain something, poor Jin looks more confused than when he asked.

The remaining four of you join Jimin and Jeongguk at the side of the room and watch with baited breath as Yoongi walks the tightrope of almost forgetting a move or being almost too slow, but they end with success. Instead of joining Hobi in the celebrations, Yoongi chooses to collapse on the couch in the breakroom and take a nap while the final four struggle it out.

When the dial falls below one hour, you turn to Jin. "I think we need to do our last full run-through and try it."

He widens his eyes and rears his head back comically. "Are you crazy? We're not ready!"

You go back to the starting pose. "No, we are ready! Okay, let's do one more run-through, and if we make a mistake, we keep practicing, but if we get it, we're done."

He considers it for a moment, then reluctantly places a hand on your shoulder for the first move. "Fine then, let's go."

The first half of the team sit and watch the last four practice (with the exception of Yoongi, who made Hoseok promise not to wake him until the last team does their performance), and you feel a sense of pride when the three minute track goes by without a single mistake on either end.

Even more begrudgingly, Jin allows you to call the instructors over to watch you submit your final performance. Everything is silent except for the catch music.

Jin's hand begins on your opposite shoulder, and when the first line in the song begins you brush it off and twist. Now facing your back, Jin reaches out and leans as you bend forward out of his grasp. As each pulse of the bass goes, you turn, flick, step, step, bend, drop, pose in time with the music, pleased when Jin keeps up perfectly, albeit with a constant look of horror on his face.

The first minute passes by with the impassive faces of the instructors watching you carefully, and then the second. Towards the end of the dance, there's a series of steps in a grapevine pattern that are paired with turns, body-rolls, and hip-thrusts. It's the most complicated part of the dance by far, and the stress of being the second to last team, so close yet so far from victory, the moment when you are meant to clasp onto his hand, you go for his shoulder instead accidentally.

You realise your mistake as it happens, eyes flying wide open and mouth slacking, but Jin's hand comes up on the beat and quickly latches on to yours, completing the move correctly.

With a racing heart, you turn away from him and let your linked hands fall across your chest and pull your body against his for the ending pose.

The pair of you stare nervously at the instructors, but they haven't reacted. Nobody breathes for a few seconds, but after what feels like an eternity, the pair share a look, then nod at you two. They didn't notice, or if they did, it wasn't enough to be a mistake.

You exhale noisily, letting your dead weight fall against Jin's broad chest. You feel it rumble against your cheek as he half-carries you over to the wall, loudly declaring that he was the best dancer on the team, and even if they made a million mistakes, his dashing good looks would distract the judges so much they'd never notice.

The two of you are giddy with relief when you finally slump against the wall, Jin shifting to lie down, head in your lap, staring outwards as Namjoon and Tae look just about green in the face.

At some point, Yoongi wakes up naturally and comes back to the group, leaning against Hobi's shoulder and immediately falling back asleep.

Jeongguk is to your left and you make quiet conversation with him while the two stressed dancers freak out ten feet away. His voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper, not that his body mic wouldn't pick it up anyway. "It's totally Hoseok," he insists.

"What?"

"The spy, idiot. Whenever he gets chosen as the spy he always acts like this. He gets all over excited to try and avoid suspicion."

You eye him up. "What happened to sitting and waiting for the spy to reveal himself?"

He raises an eyebrow and gestures down at himself. "Would you not call this sitting and waiting?"

You laugh at him. "Fair enough. I kind of thought it was Namjoon until we got that hint about dancing." The pair of you wince as Namjoon elbows Tae in the face as he does the final spin. "Maybe that's the grand twist. Namjoon isn't a bumbling nerd, he's been a mastermind all along. We'd never see it coming."

"Plot twist of the century. Our ratings would skyrocket. Fans would revolt."

Once the laughter dissipates, the two of you fall into a comfortable silence. The friendly camaraderie lasts up until the final twenty minutes come along, and Namjoon and Taehyung still haven't performed.

Fifteen minutes ago, Jimin had gotten up to help Tae out with his part, while two instructors did their best with Namjoon, and it had certainly helped.

They knew all the moves, but they were too terrified to perform, what with all the pressure on them to succeed.

"Hey, oppa," you call out to Joon. He looks over at you with exhausted eyes. "If we make the two of you our penalties, then it doesn't matter if you win or lose, you'll be getting the punishment anyway."

Your genius idea doesn't go down so well. Namjoon simply sighs and goes back to one last run-through, but Yoongi, half-asleep but holding on out of curiosity, sits up and furrows his eyebrows. "If they're going to get punished anyway, why would they even try to succeed? That's terrible advice."

"Ah." You blink slowly. "You're right. I just figured if they didn't feel so much pressure they might do better."

"They'll get it," Jimin enthused, joining you on the floor as the final duo took their places.

Their performance was like art. Certainly not a beautiful landscape that was framed in a gallery, but more so the garish, graphic street art that was meant to 'challenge you'.

You felt like you had never been so stressed in your life. Their dancing, while technically correct, was so horrendous that you had no idea how they were still somehow succeeding. Namjoon's look of pain for the whole three minutes, their weird tendency of standing as far apart as they could get to avoid hitting each other, their almost mechanical progression of steps struck fear in the hearts of all the other team members, as you waited for the inevitable moment when they would cross from awkward to wrong.

But they never did. They finished, Namjoon holding Tae to his chest, both men stiff as a board, and the judges shrugged a little at each other, then nodded.

There was a moment of complete shock and silence, then Jimin's triumphant hoot caused the room to erupt in cheers and laughter.

The LED clock ticking down in the corner was at 12 minutes and 41 seconds when Director Lee stopped it. It was almost midnight, but the eight of you were too wired from the seemingly impossible win you had secured to feel sleepy at all.

They had paused filming long enough for you to get back into your hoodies and jeans from before, and to have the stylists blot away the sweat and powder your shiny faces one last time.

While getting changed, you had seen Jimin chat with Yoongi, then make his way around the room, chatting to each member quietly. You stick with Jeongguk, who was always the first to get changed, and once the other two maknaes came over you sorted out your voting strategies, all three of you agreeing to go for Hoseok.

As usual, voting was simply writing a name down on a slip of paper in an envelope, and getting Lee to tally up the votes. He went through a reminder, mostly for the audience, rather than you guys who knew the drill by now, that if the spy wasn't correctly guessed they'd get a reward, but if they were guessed they'd suffer a penalty. You were all still riding the high of getting the full-team reward, and none of you really cared who the spy was, more concerned about not being drawn to do the penalty when the rest of their team were enjoying some unspecified reward.

Lee, after counting and re-counting the votes, leant into the microphone. "There is one vote for Hoseok."

Both you and Hoseok's mouths fall open. Hoseok, of course, is annoyed that someone would suspect him. You, however, immediately turn to glare at the youngsters beside you. That one vote was yours, which meant that the other three hadn't listened to you when you said to vote for Hobi.

You gasped, affronted. "You sneaky brat, Ggukie, voting for Hoseok was your idea!"

"Jimin told me that Yoongi told him that the first hint was the spy being a bad cook. So we figured it had to be you. I just thought Jimin was trying to get me off his back, but he managed to convince the rest of us." He flashed you a shit-eating grin and turned to high-five Jimin and Tae.

"The majority vote, which will be the one counted, is seven votes. The person voted out as a spy is Y/n."

You throw your hands up in defeat, shaking your head at the seven guys around you whooping and hooting at their successful blindside.

"Y/n, are you a spy?"

You knew what came next. Sighing, you let Jeongguk turn you around so that your name-tag was visible on your hoodie. He grabbed one corner and tugged.

There was an almighty cheer as your identity was revealed, hiding beneath the name-tag.

스파이. Spy.

At this point in the show, the producers would go back to the interview you shot two days ago where they sat you down and told you your secret mission objective. Everybody always hated being the spy, possibly except Jin who loved the drama of it, and your attempts at trying to fuck up challenges without being caught didn't work on either level.

Director Lee continued, saying of course that you would get the punishment as you had been correctly chosen. "And since you failed two challenges and decided to pass them by putting two names up for punishment, we'll draw short straws for the two other players who will receive the punishment."

You glance at Yoongi, who's looking like the cat that got the cream, and he sends you a smug wink when he catches you glaring. "Wait!" you yell before any members can grab a straw. "Can I choose who gets to go on the penalty with me?"

Yoongi pales and his smile drops.

Director Lee allows it, as you knew he would, and suddenly it's you who's laughing. "I'd like to choose Hoseok, since I like his company the most and also he didn't make a very good scapegoat, but instead I'm going to pick the two idiots who got the rest of you to vote for me instead. Yoongi and Jimin." You finish your short speech and relish in the sounds of Yoongi and Jimin desperately trying to get you to reconsider.

As usual, the moment the cameras stopped rolling for the day, and the episode was over, all the over-acted power plays and rivalries fell away. It was late, and the antics of the day were finally catching up on you all. Director Lee's final words to you all were just to let you know that the punishment would take place Monday of next week, and that he'd email the three of you that were doing it with more details.

Mondays were the regularly filming days, so you figured it would be a split episode: half of the team get to enjoy some good food, relaxing and easy challenges or exciting activities, while the losers drudged about cleaning a stable or something horrible like that. Even though it sucked that you had to do a penalty, you were glad it wasn't on top of another normal filming day.

The lot of you had the luxury of a short elevator trip down two floors being the only transport needed to get to your group dorm. When Namjoon unlocked the door, you all piled inside like zombies, Jin making his way to the kitchen to make a midnight snack for you all, you and Taehyung making your way to the lounge to find something good to watch on Netflix, and the others disappearing to their rooms for quick showers.

It was tradition for the Bangtan dorm to pull an all-nighter after a late-night episode. You found it was generally impossible to get any decent sleep after being paraded around Seoul for all your crazy challenges, and it was nice to just enjoy each others presence for a while. You'd get some warm food, watch some dumb movies, and camp out in the lounge, eventually falling asleep one by one in a massive pile of bodies, blankets and pillows on the floor.

Namjoon had once confessed to you that this tradition was on hiatus once you moved in to start the show after one year. They had gotten so used to it being the seven of them, that they had kind of expected that they wouldn't get along with an eighth member, and a female no less. So for your first few weeks, they would all pretend to go to bed in their double rooms, then sneak into Jeongguk and Tae's room to have a secret sleepover without you.

Those first few weeks felt incredibly lonely for you, and awkward for them. It wasn't until you actually sat down for one of the planning sessions and spent some off-camera time with them that they got to know you.

After a while, they began holding their post-filming cuddle-fests in the lounge again, saying you were welcome to join or to sleep, whatever you felt comfortable with.

It seemed like far more than a year ago now. Now, you felt like part of the family. They happened usually once a week, and you had fallen into a routine of snuggling with one of them for a while, until they fell asleep, then moving on to somebody else, and rinse and repeating until there was nobody else to move to, or you yourself fell asleep.

Tonight, when the ending credits of Paddington came on at about three in the morning, Hoseok and Yoongi had long since fallen asleep, Yoongi with his head draped on Hoseok's shoulder, Hoseok with one of his legs thrown over Yoongi's. Namjoon was on his phone, with Jimin sleeping peacefully on his curled-up legs, letting out a little grunt or whine every now and again. Jin and Jeongguk were tops and tails on one of the couches, and you and Tae were on the other one, you leaning on his chest, his legs on either side of yours.

Each breath he took caused your head to lift up and down again, and listening to the deep tenor of his breathing was better than any sleeping pill. You stayed awake long enough to turn off the TV, then settled back down in Tae's warm embrace, clutching at the corner of your blanket. You imagined a stranger walking in on this would consider it weird; in fact, you yourself probably would've found it weird had they continued their routine when you first arrived. But after living with them, it was so clear that they were a family. Closer than family, sometimes.

Now, you were lucky enough to be a part of that family. Even if you maybe stared at their chests when they got up in the morning for a little too long, and maybe you pretended to struggle to get to sleep some nights so that one of them would let you sleep in their bed with them, but they were your family first, and extremely hot guys second.

When you were away from all your other friends and family for this long, and spent almost all your time with the same seven people, it just became natural to lean on each other like this. Snuggling up to whoever was closest so that you could calm down enough to sleep after a filming day. Jin never complaining when he had to cook for eight people every day. Namjoon sitting with you patiently to help you with your English so that you could interact with fans on twitter. Jimin sneaking out of his room to call his parents so that he didn't wake Yoongi. You taking every opportunity to hug Hobi tightly when you could see he was upset because he hated to be the one needing help from others. You knew each other like the back of your hand, and you loved each other more than you could really even explain.

When you all finally fell asleep you would probably lie in this pile until near midday, each person that got up being extra quiet to let the others have their sleep. The day after filming was always an off day, so that you could recover from whatever the producers threw at you the day before. The afternoon would go by slowly and leisurely, the eight of you eating lunch together, then falling away to spend the time doing whatever you pleased. Jeongguk and Tae liked to hole up in their room and play video games until dinnertime. Namjoon sometimes asked you to go on a walk in the park with him so that he could get some fresh air. Yoongi had bought himself an 88-key digital piano that he was still getting used to using, and if you asked nicely and bribed him with a cup of coffee he would let you sit on his bed while he played a tune for you, something thoughtful and patient or maybe something catchy and hard-hitting.

Jimin was trying to learn how to cook better so that he could help out his hyung, and he loved spending his free-time in the kitchen, watching YouTube videos on how to make fried rice, sneaking around the dorm with a spoon to get Jin to try it. Hoseok would always hang out at the kitchen bar while Jimin fussed around in the kitchen, helping to measure out ingredients and cut vegetables while they chatted amiably about whatever was in their minds at the time.

Jin himself liked watching movies with you but was occasionally found in Tae and Jeongguk's room describing, sports-commentator style, the gameplay as if he had any idea what was going on.

Most of the guys had been living with each other long enough that they were happy to go off and do their own thing when they had the chance, but you still found yourself floating from member to member, wanting desperately to enjoy their company.

But for now, you simply aligned your breathing with Tae's and relaxed, shuffling around so that you could face his chest instead of the ceiling. As you moved, his chest hitched, and you paused, pushing up to see if he had woken up.

His heavy gaze was on you when you looked up at him. His hair was mussed up on one side and flattened against his temple on the other, but his alert gaze told you that he probably hadn't fallen asleep fully in the first place.

You shot him an apologetic smile anyway, and continued wriggling around, stopping only when his hands shot up to hold your hips firmly.

You were still looking straight at him, but you failed to see the problem. It wasn't until you tried to shuffle up again that you felt it.

He raised an eyebrow when your eyes widened in realisation. "Sorry," you mouthed, placing your hands on his chest so that you could hop off him, but his hands didn't waver, in fact pushing down ever harder so that your hips shifted against him. He groaned, and you felt him against your lower stomach.

Although your crotch was on the couch, and not receiving any action at all, the feeling of his hardness against you caused a jolt of energy to shoot through your stomach and down between your legs, where your thighs clenched uselessly together in the hopes of creating some friction.

Of course you had messed around with the guys before. Not that you would ever tell another soul, let alone sweet, innocent Director Lee, but the policy of not having any sexual relations with other members was broken long before you arrived. Your presence certainly exacerbated it, not that you would ever complain.

But most of the time, it was comforting another member, or making drinking games more interesting. Very rarely had anything happened when both (or all) parties were fully stable-minded.

You searched Tae's eyes, which were hooded slightly, for a sign of his intentions. He just breathed out shakily and gave you the slightest nod.

Your gaze fell to the guys around you. There was the youngest and oldest on the couch on the other side of the room from you, both snoring away, and then four more on the ground between you. Namjoon, who just moments before was blinking blearily into his phone screen, had put it down and was stretching out to sleep, but you had no way of knowing if he was actually asleep already or not.

Tae hummed a little, and took one hand off of your waist to turn your chin back to him. With a gentle but mischievous smile, he brought one finger to his lips, pouting a little in a silent 'shh'.

You couldn't help but grin back, nodding your consent, and moving your hands to his shoulders so that you could slide yourself up a little more, dragging slowly over him until your legs lifted up and around him, and two layers of underwear where all that separated the two of you.

Of all the people in the dorm to have initiated something at a time like this, you really hadn't expected Taehyung. He almost always treated you like an older sister, coming to you for advice and comfort rather than plain old company. Even if he did choose to come on to you at all, you figured he would've invited you to his room, or caught you in the laundry room and locked the door, or something equally secure.

But here he was, one hand still on your hip, encouraging you to grind on him while his hyungs slept peacefully three feet away.

It was embarrassing how quickly you soaked through your panties, soon enough feeling the textured drag of wet fabric rather than soft cotton rubbing against your clit. Your breaths were coming out ragged, but still quiet, thankfully, and you were more than content to get yourself off by rolling your hips against him desperately.

Tae had other ideas. Hard as a rock, he lifted his hips so that he could push the fabric of his boxers down. You paused your ministrations and raised yourself up on your knees to give him space, holding back a disappointed whine at your throbbing clit going untouched.

Taehyung was one of the few members, perhaps even the only member, you had never seen fully naked. A little less showy than the others, he hadn't fooled around with anyone much during your drunken truth or dare sessions, and you could honestly say now that the anticipation was truly worth the wait.

If you didn't have to be quiet, you would've asked him where the fuck he hid that thing, but your slack jaw probably gave away the general gist. Your hand fell down between you to hold him securely at the base, marvelling at how heavy he felt in your palm.

He threw his head back at first contact, eyes fluttering shut, abs tensing in an effort to push himself into your hand. Your thumb didn't quite meet your fingers when you grasped him, and you weren't sure you were going to be able to take all of him in this position. You collected some spit in your hand to lube him up enough to start stroking, enough pressure to give him some relief but too slow to get anywhere with it. You sat up onto his thighs so that your other hand could come down too, using your pointer finger to collect the precum leaking from his tip, and bringing it to your mouth. It was a shame he still had his eyes shut and missed it, but you savoured his taste anyway.

After a few minutes of your patient stroking, Tae realised you weren't planning on speeding up, and he tipped his head back down to gaze at you, eyes almost black with dilation. He bats your hand away and reaches out to hook a finger into the sopping fabric between your thighs. His nail scrapes accidentally against your swollen clit and in your surprise, you can't help the desperate whine you let out as your hips shoot forward.

The pair of you freeze, him still with a single finger across your slick folds, you holding your mouth with the hand you had just been jerking him off with.

All is silent. You can hear the whistle of someone's nose as they breathe, a few different pitches of snoring, and Namjoon's periodic sleep grunts. It seems like nobody heard, or at least nobody woke up from the noise.

After a few beats, Taehyung begins to move again, pulling your panties to one side rather than dragging them off you. He puts his other hand around the back of your neck and bend you down until your face is buried in his neck, his pulse jumping against your cheek.

He turns his head slightly so that he can whisper directly into your ear. "Do you want me to finger you first or are you ready for my cock now?"

Hearing your sweet, seemingly innocent Tae whisper that in your ear in the dead of night has you more desperate than ever. You mumble "just fuck me" into the side of his neck, and while he probably didn't hear you, you know he got the sentiment.

He lets go of the back of your neck so that you can straighten up, dragging your now-bare pussy against his cock, lubing it up even more. He stares intensely at the space where the head of his dick slips between your folds.

Slowly, you guide it to your entrance and try to push down. You know that he probably should've fingered you first, but your impatient excitement has you ignoring the searing stretch and pushing yourself down onto him.

The first few inches take a while, both of you sweating with the strain, but once you get the right angle, you slide down, almost bottoming out in one go.

His dick drags against the top of your walls, pushing onto your pubic bone from the inside, and you shudder, clenching around him. Tae's eyes are squeezed tightly shut, brow furrowed as he tries not to thrust up into you before you're ready.

In an effort to take more of him, and feel fuller than you already do, you rotate your hips around him, feeling him hit every spot inside you.

It takes a few moments of muffled groans and bitten lips to get you all the way down, and you feel his cock deeper than anyone's been before. The feeling intensifies when you bend your top half over to lean your elbows on either side of him for better leverage, sucking in an unsteady breath as he moves inside of you.

The muscles in your legs are jumping as you rest on your knees, and you nod at him once your body stops clenching around him so hard. He nods back, and starts to gently buck his hips, rutting into you.

You haven't had full-blown sex with anyone since joining the show, and the feeling of him inside you, the friction against your walls, and his heavy breaths in your ear are enough to get you close to orgasm in minutes. You're finding it harder and harder to keep quiet, and you know he is too with the tightness in his jaw.

Every time he thrusts up into you you clench around him reflexively, and he has to work harder to move at all around your vice-like grip. After a while, your legs start to tire from holding you up, and he struggles to get a steady rhythm from below you.

You shove the blanket off you and onto the floor, not caring if it lands on the carpet or on the body of the person closest to you, and Tae's arms cage you in to his chest, holding you steady as he lifts himself up, still deeply rooted inside you, and shifts you two until you're below him, head leaning back over the armrest.

With better leverage from above, Taehyung grips one of your ankles and lifts it up, pushing your knee into your chest. Your time doing ridiculous stunts on Running Man has surprisingly left you more flexible than you thought, and there's just a small pinch in your inner thigh when he holds your legs open for him.

You expect him to keep his slow, deep rutting from before, but when he looks down and sees you clenching around him, he swears softly under his breath and begins slamming recklessly into you.

Your hand flies up to your mouth to muffle the keening sound that leaves you, the delicious stretch and constant dragging against your upper wall too much to handle. Your ab muscles are going haywire and your back arches up wildly.

The pleasure he's striking inside you is too much by itself, especially as you find yourself hurtling towards an orgasm, and in your lust driven haze you don't even realise how loud each thrust is. With eyes rolling into the back of your hand, you use your free hand to rub frantic circles against your slick clit in the hopes of cumming as fast as you can, holding your breath as you focus intensely on that beautiful edge.

When you begin pleasuring yourself, you hear a whine, and it surprises you that Tae would make a noise so high-pitched, but you're too far gone to care. With one final thrust, you're thrown over the edge, and your legs latch around Tae's behind, ankles interlocking to hold him as close as you possibly can.

He groans deeply as your muscles squeeze him, and he struggles to move. You continue rubbing your clit, biting your other hand as you finally come down from your high.

Once you do, your legs ache from being overworked in such high bursts, and you finally relax enough to let Tae move again. You shudder one last time when he slips out, pussy still pulsing regularly, feeling emptier than ever.

All of your energy has been sapped, and you let your legs fall down uselessly, trying to catch your breath.

Tae has one hand propping himself up, and he reaches down with the other to chase his own end, the wet noise echoing in the silent room. With a few more pants, he lets out one slow breath, and you feel his cum fall onto the bottom of your stomach and the front of your panties, ruining them if they weren't already.

He collapses on top of you, probably smearing his cum into his shirt, but he doesn't seem to care. If any of the members were to wake up, turn the light on and see you there, you're sure you both would've looked atrocious. You, in a baggy t-shirt and soaked panties, still bunched up and exposing half of your pussy, and Tae, with a sweaty shirt and boxers around his ankles, exposing his ass to the open air.

The pair of you sit like that, heaving, for about half an hour. Once you finally get the energy to stand, you hear someone shuffle around on the floor, presumably getting comfortable in their sleep.

Taehyung gets up and pulls you up off the couch with him, using the light from his phone screen to make sure there are no wet patches or puddles of semen on the couch. Once he's satisfied, he leads you to the bathroom.

The bright light causes you to squint, and your legs are still shaky, but you grab a packet of wet wipes from in the vanity drawers, and wipe up as much wetness off of you as you can. You strip out of your underwear and shove them in the trash can, glad you had put on raggedy black cotton panties instead of any decent pair.

Still silent even though the other guys wouldn't hear you from there, the pair of you went back to your room so you could grab some fresh underwear, then Tae's so he could swap out his stained shirt.

Before he leaves to go back to the lounge, you wrap your fingers around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. He stares at you expectantly.

"Do we-" you break off and clear out your throat so it's not so unsteady, and try again. "Do we tell the others? Or keep this a secret?"

He sighs deeply, eyes wandering around the room as he considers. "We can be honest if they ask, but we don't have to tell them anything straight away." You nod slowly. He smiles down at you, then tugs his hand in a gesture to keep moving. "I had a lot of fun, but I know it's not fair to expect you to just be with one of us. We're all in this together."

Maybe if it wasn't almost four in the morning, you would've been able to process what it was he meant by that. But it was almost four in the morning, and he had just fucked your brains out while in a room full of sleeping people, so you just nodded again tiredly and let him lead you back to the couch.

The pair of you were asleep within minutes, leaving only one person still wide awake.

A/N: Here is the smutty sequel (yoongi x reader x hoseok) as promised :)