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aminiatureworld · 3 years

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In My Dreams IV

Characters: Xiao, fm!reader

Word Count: 3,167

Warnings: Brief depiction of violence, nightmares

Premise: The past is many things. Something to admire, something to learn from, something to hold dear. And yet how unreliable it can be, especially in the hands of ghosts.

In which the reader dreams of the past.

Author’s Note: Translation notes and historical references will come after the fic. This one was a little sketchy/ooc, prolly because I’m tired.

Xiao

If there was one thing that you appreciated most about your relationship with Xiao it was the fact that he never attempted to cage your independence.

Though the adeptus had a penchant for clinginess – something he’d never actually admit to – the circumstances of both his and your past had set a standard for a level of separation that you greatly appreciated. You were never pressured to tell Xiao about things you weren’t comfortable sharing and in return you never pressed your partner in regards to topics or events that made him somewhat uncomfortable.

And yet there was something very isolating about such a freedom.

It was an ordinary enough commission, laughably so in fact, the kind that you could knock back in ten minutes flat if you put a little effort into it. Treasure Hoarders were once more encroaching on Liyue, this time gathering at the vicinity of Dunyu Ruins, something that would surely be a hazard to the archaeologists who gathered to study the lost jade monument. The act of chasing out the Treasure Hoarders was indeed easy enough, and it was only until you started rifling through their loot that you found yourself uneasy.

The lid was an innocuous enough item. Though the box that it once covered was nowhere to be found it must’ve been a work of art, as the smooth tortoiseshell lid was clearly the result of patience and love. Painted a deep blue it depicted a snowy scene, with a castle or cathedral at the front and center. The building itself was of a unique design; a tall turret stuck out at the top while small onion domes sat a little lower, each painted a more outlandish color than the last. The architecture was completely unlike what one might see in either Liyue or Mondstadt, and really there should’ve been nothing to it except the odd design of the building. Yet the moment you set your eyes upon the building you felt something harden in the pit of your stomach.

You never thought about what you couldn’t remember; after all, what was the point of it? Why mourn something you weren’t even sure was good or bad? Yet in that moment you felt that you would give very little to not remember just a little bit. At least enough to know why the image of a cathedral in the snow made you wish deeply for something you couldn’t remember, and frightened you just as much.

“Something’s wrong with you face.”

“Xiao!” You sputtered, surprised by the sudden bluntness of your partner. “My face is just fine, a little dirt won’t kill me.”

“That’s not it.” Xiao scowled. “Your face is harder than usual. Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened! Sometimes I just don’t smile, okay?” You instinctively moved the corners of your mouth upwards, trying to ignore the sudden jump in your heart rate. “I’m fine.”

Xiao looked supremely unimpressed at your efforts, sighing and flying up to the balcony of the Inn. You sighed, letting your expression once more droop. It was easy sometimes to forget how in tune Xiao was. You wouldn’t expect it from an adeptus who had spent thousands of years mostly secluded from humans, but your partner was impressively good at reading your mood. Usually you didn’t mind the ability of his, even welcoming the fact that he so bluntly brought up the question of your feelings. But today you wished despite yourself that he was a little less aware. After all, how could you explain to your partner what you didn’t even understand yourself?

The rest of the night was oddly tense. Though Xiao said nothing you could tell from the way he stared intently at your face that he hadn’t given up his suspicions. For your part you tried to ignore his gaze, talking about trivial matters such as the question of replacing the Guild roof and the fact that you had managed to gather a few Qingxin during your commissions. All the while you felt the roiling of your heart; and all the while you kept rubbing your fingers along the smooth finish of the lid in your pocket as if in doing so you might suddenly be struck with what you currently missed and currently, desperately, needed.

The next day you walked up to Katherine utterly exhausted. Though you’d made a concerted effort to sleep, knowing that if not you’d just arouse more worry in Xiao, most of the night had been spent tossing and turning, your eyelids feeling paper thin as you attempted to drag yourself down into the depths of sleep. Of course now that the sun was shining you felt like even a stone bench would be a soft enough mattress. Blinking heavily you smiled awkwardly at Katheryne.

“Any commissions today?”

“Two ordinary sweeps and one request.” Katheryne tilted her head slightly. “Are you sure you don’t need rest?”

“I’m perfectly fine Katheryne, thank you for worrying. You said there was a request?”

“Yes. It seems that the citizen who noticed the Treasure Hoarders for us claims to have been robbed by them. He says to meet you at Dunyu Ruins so you can hand over the item.”

“And what item is that?”

“He said it was some sort of box lid. He didn’t give many details I’m sorry. If you’re uncomfortable though of course we could send someone with you.”

“I’ll be fine, thanks for worrying.”

“Of course! Good luck!”

“Thanks.”

You turned around, trying to stem the ice that flooded your veins. Who was this man to whom the cathedral belonged? How did he come across such an odd item, was he from one of the other nations of Teyvat you hadn’t visited? Most of all you wondered if he held some connection to your past. The idea thrilled you in some way, though dread also lingered. You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to meet this mysterious person. Commissions were commissions however; you wouldn’t betray the Guild. No matter how much you wanted to; you couldn’t.

The Dunyu Ruins were still, no monsters seemed to linger at the gates and no other adventurers peeked out from behind old walls. The air was utterly still, something which worried you greatly. Walking at an increased rate you sought out your mysterious commissioner. The more you thought about it the more you wished the whole thing to be over as soon as possible. Turning the corner you stopped in your tracks, gazing in awe at the person a few meters in front of you.

The first thing you thought was how oddly he was dressed. The second thing was that he was much younger than you had expected. The third thing was that you felt an odd sense of familiarity from him.

“Ah yes, the adventurer who accepted my commission. Have you brought what I asked of you?”

Though a response was certainly in order you found the words stuck in your mouth. Staring at him you felt the ground shift between your feet slightly. He was familiar, this young man in front of you, and yet he was also a perfect stranger. He seemed more like an apparition than anything, a spirit who had yet to cross to the far side. You stepped closer, reaching out your arm slightly. If you went to touch his shoulder, would your fingers go right through him?

“You really must think it’s odd that I’ve returned.” The man chuckled. “I assure you I’m completely real. You weren’t the only one to survive sister, though I know that information might be too little too late?”

“Sister?” You snapped out of your trance. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Surely you aren’t pretending not to recognize me? I think that’s beneath even you. Come now, was I such a brat as that?” Reaching out the young man went to grab your hand. Instinctively you pulled away, feeling discomfort shoot through you.

“I don’t know what you mean? And you certainly aren’t my brother! I’ve never had a brother!”

“Then who was the kid you lived with your whole life before the incident?”

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know about any incident or any brother. You asked me here to return something so I’m returning it.” Reaching for the lid you thrust the little work of art in front of you. “Here. Take it.”

“So you really don’t know who I am?” The young man reached out to take the lid. “How is that possible? Have they gone so far as to erase me from your memories? Have I been taken out of your family?”

“They?”

“The gods.” The young man’s eyes seemed incredibly harsh all of a sudden. “Their presumptiveness holds no bounds.”

“Don’t speak of the archons that way.”

“Answer me this,” the young man ignored your protest, “where are you from.”

“Why should I tell you that?”

“Humor me.”

“I…” You stood there for a moment, wondering whether or not you should tell this strange figure the truth. Morbid curiosity floated in your mind, and you took a sharp breath. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“So I really have been erased from your mind.”

“Nothing’s been erased! I just don’t remember, should that surprise you so much?”

“Yes, it does. I see my plans will have to be changed.” The young man took a deep breath. “Very well then, we shall see what we shall see. I have an offer for you.”

“And what is that?” You felt suspicion wash over you.

“Join the Abyss.”

“Over my dead body!” Instinctively stepping away you drew your polearm. So that’s what this was about.

“I figured you might say that. However, let me tell you this. Our family was torn apart by the cruel whims of faraway gods. Teyvat suffered the same fate, still suffers it. You may not remember what happened to us, but I know it is buried in you somewhere. If you wish to avenge our family, then you’ll join us.”

“I have no petty thoughts of revenge against the gods.”

“That may very well change.” The young man smirked. “I’ll be back in a week. I expect your answers then.”

He was gone before you could say anything, carried away by a blanket of purple stars. You stared at the empty ruins, confused and empty, feeling far worse than you had felt when you arrived here.

“You look worse.”

“Thanks Xiao.” You let out a sigh, unsure how to respond.

You’d spent the rest of the walk back to the Wangshu Inn in agony, thoughts darting back and forth as you tried to reason with yourself about the veracity of the young man’s claims. There was no proof he was who he said he was after all, no proof that he wasn’t simply insane, or trying to convince you to join him by lying. Yet there was something about him, his demeanor, his anger, something that spoke to a truth about him. Not that the idea made you any happier. After all truth or not, he was still an Abyss member, or at least an advocate. You could never side with him, even if he was your long lost family. And yet what if he was your family? What then? Would it truly be a betrayal then to simply send him packing?

Xiao’s hand enveloped your own, the soft warmth drawing you out of your confused thoughts. Looking up you found him leaning into you, the tips of his hair lightly brushing your cheeks. His eyes bored into you ask he scanned your face. You stood perfectly still. You knew what Xiao was doing, knew that he was trying to figure out the depths of your discomfort. It was valiant of him, even if you hoped that he turned up empty handed. How could you tell Xiao, an adeptus who served directly under Rex Lapis, about the man who blasphemed the gods.

“You should sleep.” Xiao finally pulled away.

“It’s still early evening.”

“You didn’t sleep well last night, I could tell. You should sleep now; maybe you’ll feel better.”

“Maybe.” You replied, knowing that even if you slept better than you had ever before nothing would change when you woke up.

Still your eyelids were heavy and your feet aching. Sleep beckoned you with open arms, and you were quick to fall into its depths. Pressing a soft kiss on Xiao’s cheek you made your way up the stairs. Collapsing onto your bed you let out a sigh of relief. Sleep was coming on fast, and you quickly found the outside world swirling away. The last thing you were aware of was a dent in your mattress, and a set of familiar eyes staring down at you, filled with affection and worry.

It was dreadfully hot. That was the first thing you were aware of. The second was how loud everything was. There was a terrible sound swirling around you, inhuman shrieks seemed to rise up from the ground beneath you, accompanied with a banging that cracked through the air, echoing oddly in a night that was all too quiet. The third thing was that you had no idea where you were. Looking around you found yourself reeling at the scene that met your eyes. The house in front of you must’ve been nice at some point, but now had fallen into ruin and disrepair. Smoke was drifting up from a door that led into the ground, and bottles lay in pieces on the ground. A wall seemed to separate the house from the outside world, so tall that you had no idea what lay beyond it. Trembling slightly you felt yourself move towards the source of the noise, feet moving despite the rising dread that you felt. Making your way down a set of stairs a few lines came to you all of a sudden.

A ceiling of amber, a pavement of pearl

The smoke was thicker now, filling your lungs, leaving you short of breath. Little bits of orange blurred your vision, wielded by strange men in strange uniforms. They seemed distorted in the smoke, made into ghosts that might haunt a child’s nightmares.

Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still

You didn’t move your head towards the back of the room, somehow you couldn’t. Your very soul fought against it. Instead you closed your eyes, overwhelmed with how hot it was.

“You’ve come so far and you can’t even look?”

The voice was mocking, familiar, full of scorn. Opening your eyes you stared at the men in front of you, the men with fire at the tips of their hands. Why did he want you to look? You knew what you’d see. Somehow you knew.

We climb’d on the graves, on the stone worn with rains

You couldn’t make it out among the smoke. All you knew was that it was red.

You screwed your eyes shut, even as sudden clarity danced before you. Someone was calling your name.

There was a hand on your shoulder.

And alone dwell forever

The smoke cleared, and with it the dream.

The scream ripped through your throat before you could even process it. You knew that you should stop, knew that you were no longer dreaming, knew that the hand on your shoulder belonged to your terrified partner. Still you screamed. You screamed and screamed and screamed.

“Hey. Hey!” Xiao’s voice was frantic. Shifting your gaze towards him you felt yourself begin to tremble.

“It, it was true. It was true, I saw him. I saw him. I saw me. It was true. I, I, they’re dead. They’re dead.”

“It was a dream. No one’s dead.”

“But Xiao, they’re dead. He was right, they’re gone and dead and somehow I forget them.”

The loneliness slammed into you, mixing with the horror that sent your stomach churning. You dug you nails into your palm, desperately trying to stop shaking. Everything seemed distorted, the light emerging through the window just as menacing as the dark.

“Take my hand.”

Xiao pulled one of your hands on his lap, gently opening it and running his fingers over the marks that now rested in your palms. Unfurling your hand you it was flat against his he covered it with his own. Letting his palm rest gently against yours he looked up at you.

“No one is dead. You were having a nightmare.”

“I was remembering, Xiao. I finally remembered something. And now I wish I never had.” You unfurled your other hand, wiping furiously at the tears that pooled in your eyes. “I’m so alone Xiao, I’m so alone.”

“You aren’t alone.”

“My family, my family is gone. The only one left is an Abyss member. I, I’m so utterly alone.”

You felt Xiao drop your hand slightly. The sudden lost connection made your founder for a moment, but soon the feeling was lost as Xiao wrapped his arms around you. Pressing kisses to your forehead his grip was tight and strong, encasing you utterly in soft comfort. Letting yourself collapse slightly you leaned into his embrace.

“You’ll never be alone. I’ll always be here.”

If promises were conveyed in actions then you had no reason to doubt Xiao’s. Though the air around you was sticky with heat you found yourself pressing into your partner’s chest eyes more, soaking up every bit of connection that you could get. Xiao said nothing more, simply keeping you in his embrace, lips brushing against your cheeks as he kissed away your tears.

You knew that he wouldn’t ask about your brother that night, perhaps not even the morning afterwards, or even tomorrow evening. After all your partner wasn’t one for words, and your relationship wasn’t built upon the expectation of painful transparency. If you weren’t ready to talk he wouldn’t push you.

Eventually your tears slowed, though the pain in your chest still burned like a brand. Bringing your hands to your chest you gazed up at the adeptus who was still wrapped around you.

“Can we stay this way a little longer?”

Xiao’s eyes gleamed catlike in the moonlight. Leaning down he brushed his lips against yours, sighing slightly as you met him with exhausted ardor. Pulling back you rested your head on your partner’s chest. The dulled beat seemed almost musical, a reminder that Xiao was alive, a reminder that he was right next to you.

You had assumed in some way that it meant he didn’t care, or didn’t want to know. Though you would’ve never thought that before, the feeling of loneliness that had threatened to swallow you up had made that perfectly clear. Yet Xiao did care, cared enough not to prod and poke at wounds that were surely bleeding even now. Cared enough to kiss your worries away, cared enough to let you embrace him as long as you needed. Cared enough to show that you weren’t truly alone.

In a week you’d give the young man who had once been your brother an answer. In a week you’d face the fact of your loneliness, of a family that you’d once been a part of. In a week you would let yourself be truly lonely. But until then you would listen to the familiar beat of Xiao’s heart as you remembered that you weren’t truly alone. That you never would be.

-------

The box lid itself was based off nothing in particular. The building painted on it is a reference to Saint Basil’s Cathedral.

The poem I used was “The Forsaken Merman” by Matthew Arnold

The scene in the reader’s dream is a reference to the execution of the last Imperial family of Russia. It took place in the basement of the Ipatiev House in Ekaterinburg on July 17th/18th 1918.

#genshin impact fanfiction #xiao #xiao x reader #genshin impact #genshin xiao #requested #scenarios #my writing #sorry mistagged as gn out of habit first jme

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ac3id · 4 years

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resilience [18+]

pairings: shigaraki tomura x female! reader

summary: if you’re updated w/ the manga u prolly know shigaraki is now all beefed up phew. shigaraki stans stay winning. so here’s a fic where our struggling pro hero y/n wants to become stronger but working hard iisn’t working so she runs to shigaraki, the king of the underworld, to give her a quirk. shigaraki takes this as the perfect opportunity to teach a scum hero hero her place.

warnings: dubcon-ish, shiggy is really mean, dumbification, size kink nasty nasty

word count: 4k+

masterlist

From a young age, everyone around you had high hopes for you. Your parents wanted you to make them proud, your teachers wanted you to give your hundred percent always. Your friends admired you, they dreamed of being you. You were the golden child. Loved by everyone so, when you developed your quirk no one was shocked to learn that it was one of the strongest quirks out there.

Your parent’s dreams for you soared even higher and soon everyone was complimenting you and deeming how amazing you’d do as a Pro-Hero and you listened to them. You trained your entire childhood in hopes of becoming the No. 1 Hero, even got into a known Hero school, and graduated on top of your class. You thought you were invincible until you started your career as a Pro.

It was hard. It was so much harder than you had expected. Apparently, your will to save citizens wasn’t enough to make you a legitimate Hero to the eyes of the public. Even if you worked your ass off it wasn’t enough. Weaker and useless Heroes whose only specialty was steering drama with others would sweep in at the last minute and take your victory as theirs’.

You wanted to speak up about this but your agent had said you’d go nowhere; those Heroes had been in the business longer. No one would have taken your side, you were just a rookie. If you wanted to be admired, you had to also use cheap tricks and form connections with names.

At first, you refused. It went against your moral code but soon after you started receiving angry phone calls from your peers; them explaining how embarrassing it was that no one even knew who you were, your mind quickly changed. Next thing, you are just like the others using cheap tricks working on your public image rather than actual Hero work. You thought finally it’d work and it did! After a few months, you were under the Top 30 Heroes list. The “hard” work had paid off now, it was only way upwards to the No.1 but you found yourself not rising the ladder. You were stuck in the Top 30. Nothing upwards but other Heroes were beating your position, it was all falling over again. You needed to do something to save yourself.

That’s when you heard about him. A man who granted people power, the King of the Underground. He acted like the Devil himself. Granting your desire for a price. People talked about him in hushed whispers, they acted if he did not exist but he did. He was very much there. His men had been terrorizing the country for so long; his men were hardest to fight.

You thought about it. You could reach him and ask him for power, after all, you could do anything to be the No. 1 Hero. You couldn’t afford to disappoint the people who had supported you, your entire lives even deep down you knew the only reason everyone- anyone talked to you was for their own selfish reasons but that was okay. They were the only people you had.

So you rolled the dice and made up your mind to meet the Mad King. Shigaraki Tomura.

The hallway was run down and dimly lit; you watched your step as you moved forward not wanting to step over a dead rat or lizard. You were told that you’d see Shigaraki if you walked through it. Your heart beats faster with each step you take; the hallway is awfully quiet excluding the sounds of rats chattering away in the distance.

Meeting him was not easy, getting this far had been hell. You had to make many calls and sit through many sleepless nights just to confirm the rumor all while making it look like you weren’t investigating Shigaraki Tomura behind their backs. You had gone through a great deal of trouble to make sure your identity was kept hidden from the Government.

As you took the last turn you were met with a shut door. You latched on the handle, twisting it and pushing the door open. It was a meeting room. A long table stood in the room chairs all empty beside the very center.

A man sat there, his legs propped up on the table resting over papers and pens dressed in an expensive suit, his long white hair scanned his face. A severed hand rested on his face red, angry eyes gleaming from the gaps of the fingers. Upon seeing to enter the room he crossed his hands over his chest, muscles bulging- almost ripping the sleeves open. He looks at you finally acknowledging your presence; glaring from behind the hand his gaze sends a shiver down your spine. You stand completely captivated and amazed yet scared under the presence of Shigaraki Tomura.

You stand there frozen unable to move. You never thought you’d ever meet the most wanted man in japan like this: dressed in nothing but a t- shirt and jeans, unarmed and vulnerable

His harsh voice cuts through the air as he glares at you.

“Well?” he asks and you walk inside the room. You stand there awkwardly, wondering whether you should take a seat or not, “Am I supposed to sit down too? Might as well ask if I can kiss your feet?” He snarls, the sarcastic comment leaving his tongue without any hesitance.

He’s quite mean.

You mumble a quiet apology as you sit yourself a few chairs away from him- you’d like to keep your distance from this dangerous man, biting your lip you think of how you should start the conversation but Shigaraki is impatient. He groans in amusement and slams his feet on the table, flying the papers

“What. The. Fuck. Do. You. Want. Why. Are. You. Here.” His tone was harsh, filled with irritation. “I am here for the quirk.” Shigaraki’s brow twitches, he stares at you with confusion basking in his eyes.

“Quirk?” he pauses tilting his head up facing the ceiling, his hand goes to scratch at his neck; breaking the skin. While he thinks to himself about what you could possibly mean, your mind starts thinking about in all the ways this scenario could work out. Maybe he’d give you the quirk and let you like you were promised, only come back when he needed your assistance in some task. To be honest, you weren’t quite ready to face that day yet. Second, he could kill you right here, right now for just thinking about something so obnoxious. And that’s about it. Those were the only two scenarios you could think of. You also thought of catching him off guard and bringing him back to the Hero Commission but you also knew he was way stronger than you. You silently prayed that you’d get out of this alive and well.

For a second, you thought Shigaraki had fallen asleep. He was too quiet and the hand on his face did not help in distinguishing whether he was sleeping or not.

“Shigaraki,” you called and he turns his face back to you, “You’re that fucking Hero.” he spits with disgust. “You want a fucking quirk right? I was told I’ve got an appointment with some scum Hero who wants to get stronger.” You did not pay attention to his belittling. You had gone through much worse hate and had survived.

“Yes, now, would you please tell me how I can get one.” you added the ‘please’ mockingly, it seemed to affect the villain.

“I don’t help pigs like you.”

You almost rolled your eyes, there was more convincing to do and you did not want to talk- hell- breathe the same air as this man but you couldn’t return home alone. You had to endure it. You took a deep breath and calmed yourself down, getting ready for a long night.

“I couldn’t care less what you think about me. I was promised a deal and I expect you to keep your end of the bargain up.” you sighed, “Just for walking through that door and sitting here I had to pay a lot out of my pocket. I’m not leaving until you give it to me.” Your voice was sturdy and rigid. Exerting confidence, for a moment you felt strong. Talking back to a wanted villain like him gave you a false sense power. He sat silently, lost in thought again.

“You’re gonna be here a while? That’s bothersome. But….you do know that I can just kill you and leave? Make it easier for both of us.” he finished. Anger surged through your veins as you decided against choking him to death. “Shigaraki. Please.” you begged, Godamnit. As much as you wanted to rival his hate towards you, you were smart and knew that you couldn’t afford to make any rash decision now because a single touch from him could mean game over for you. “You’re begging now?” He scoffed, “Okay, tell me why you want it so bad.” You bite your lip deciding whether you should go along with his idle chit-chat.

“Listen. I really need it. I’m stuck in a useless rank and the walls keep closing in. I don’t disappoint the people around me. It’s really important to me. I don’t expect you to understand but- shit if you want me to beg I will. For that power, I’d do anything.”

An eerie silence filled the room, Shigaraki remained quiet. He thought about what he could want from you. There was nothing, you were useless to him- a waste of time really. He should just decay you and leave. That would be the right thing to do but then again, the way you looked at him with desperation in your eyes stirred something in him. Maybe it was the unconscious acceptance you held knowing that he is in charge. The power imbalance was starting to get him going. He could imagine you wrapping your pretty, plump lips around his fat cock while he used your throat as he pleased. He was a little tired after all. Maybe he’d even give you a weak quirk and let you off to do your worthless heroics.

“So you’d really do anything?” He was intrigued. You didn’t want to say yes because you knew he’d make you do something horrible, something you could never really recover from. You could see it in his eyes but in the end, you knew.

“Yes. Anything,”

He quickly lifted the severed hand from his face and placed it gently on the table, you genuinely wanted to cry. His lips curled at the corner, his lips split into a menacing smile. It was evil, it was dangerous yet it was the calm before the storm. The crazed smile only made you aware about how much you were going to regret this decision. It made you sick.

“Sexual favors. If you want this power, make me cum.”

Your eyes widen in shock, your mouth agape as you process his words. What?

“You can’t be serious.” your voice was low, your heartbeat quickened and you felt your hands grow cold. Anger and confusion masked your consciousness.

“I’m waiting.” he sang, his shrill voice sending shivers down your spine. He was joking, right? No way was he was actually expecting you to do it. Right? He did not say another word instead pulled his feet off the table and slammed them to the floor. He spread his legs and patted his right thigh, looking directly at you with a smile,

“you’re joking.” you commented. Shigaraki stopped smiling, his head lowered, bangs falling over his eyes; you could not see the face he was making. He clicked his tongue and the ‘tch’ sound resonating in the room, “You think I’m joking?” he asked, his voice now filled with annoyance. You did not answer; you did not what to say. You were beginning to think he was not messing with you, and that he actually wanted you to perform that horrendous act.

His head turned back to you, his eyes spiraled into angry slits, vermilion orbs gleaming under the well-lit room displaying grim intentions. You knew he was serious.

You took a deep breath, you knew the price of your dreams was high; the sacrifices you had to make: colossal. But right now, you were given a chance to obtain power- grow stronger to get a step closer to your goal but at what cost? If you, right now, gave yourself up to this notorious villain, what would you lose? Dignity? Pride? You had lost all of that the second you had entered the room.

Nothing was left to lose. From all the horrendous things he coils have asked you to do, you should be glad all he wanted was some pussy.

You swallowed nervously as you got up from the chair moving towards him in brief, calculated steps. You stood in front of him, his knee at level with your crotch; he looks up at you and smirks. His knee jerks forward, pushing through your thighs and grinding up against your clothed cunt. You gasp in surprise, almost walking away from him. Your fists clench by your side and try to surpass any sounds from passing; the movement of your panties rubbing on your clit sends jolts of pleasure throughout your body. You bite your lower lip, glaring down at him as he continues to aggressively grind his knee on your cunt, your mouth falling agape as the sensations get too overwhelming and your climax starts building. A whine falls from your lips when it stops. Shigaraki abruptly withdraws his knee from your thighs, a wet spot forming on the expensive fabric of his pants. He looks at you and smirks,

“Hero Slut.” he comments, making your blood boil, you try to retort but his fingers inch towards your hips, fingers pulling at the waistband of your jeans.

“Take it off.” you hesitate for a moment, “take it off or I’ll dust It.” he threatens, you did not want to walk out the room half naked. You quickly tugged your jeans down, it pooled around your ankles. Shigaraki’s eyes never left your lower body, his eyes stayed glued to your pussy, almost drooling at the sight black and white striped panties. Feeling embarrassed under his predatory gaze, you push your hands forward, covering yourself making Shigaraki frown. He pushes your hands away and replaces them with his own. His fingers rub at your clit through your panties making you writhe in pleasure, you feel yourself get wet, a dark spot starting to form on your panties. Shigaraki glides his finger till your hole and drives them to your hips pulling at the waistband of the fabric and letting it hit your skin with a snap, you gasp. “You like that?” he asks, smirking and repeating the action, “Take this off too.” he finishes.

He leans back in his seat spreading his legs while he watches you strip out of your panties, his eyes a shade darker clouded with lust.

“You look better now.” his voice is low and condescending as he pulls you down to straddle his lap. His hands carefully moving up and down your torso, under your shirt, fingers touching the underside of your bra. He guides one of his hands to your hip, and claps around it pressing hard enough for a flash of pain to spark along the bone as he keeps you firmly pinned on his thigh. Gripping one of your thighs firmly, he restrains you from pressing them together. He runs a palm along the inside of your thighs in fascination, you feel yourself get worked up embarrassingly fast, “Look at you,” he barks, a crazed smile blooming on his face.

“You’re all neglected. How often do you loosen up, whore?” His slender fingers trail downwards to your cunt, he runs a slender finger painfully slowly over your folds, buries it inside your hole moving it around and curling the digit inside you before withdrawing. His eyes scan your face as his thumb strokes down on your clit. Your eyes shut close as you bit your lower lip- trying your best to surpass moans which might further entice him. Your body jerks up with need as you gasp out, your hands balling into fists, choked mewls flow from the back of your throat, “I’m gonna fuck you stupid.” he growls

“N-no.”

Shigaraki chooses to ignore you as his hand grips the back of your head, pulling you closer towards him before pushing his lips against yours’ while the other hand reaches behind you, wandering across your ass, grabbing a firm hold of the soft flesh. He pulls away from the kiss and both you regain your breath, taking in as much as you can. Shigaraki leans in, you think he’s going to kiss you but instead, his lips hover over your ear. You feel his warm breath tickling your ear as he whispers in a raspy, broken voice.

“If you want this power so bad,—" your breath hitched as he pushes another finger in your small cunt, “—grind that worthless cunt on my thigh.”

You look down at him with half-lidded eyes zooming on his cock straining through his pants. He catches you staring. His eyes light up with amusement, “You want that too, huh? You’re just a cock hungry whore after all. Its fine, you all are,” He pulls his fingers out of your dripping hole and presses them against your lips.

“Open up,” he commands. You hesitate for a moment but eventually, you obey. You open your mouth, only slightly yet he aggressively shoves his middle and pointer finger into your mouth. “I don’t wanna feel any teeth.” you pucker your lips around his finger, sucking his digits into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his fingers, tasting yourself around him. Shigaraki sighs, “Laughable isn’t it?” he begins, “Do your Hero friends know how much of a pathetic slut you are? I bet they’d love you see you like: half-naked, sitting on Japan’s most wanted criminals lap, begging to be fucked?” He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, a ‘pop’ sound reverberating in the room. He pats your thigh, “Come on. If you please me good enough I might even give you my dick.”

The realization hits you. Shigaraki wasn’t doing this entirely for his pleasure. He just wants to humiliate you, see you cry, call you names- anything to make you leave this place broken. A fair price.

A smug smirk reaches his face yet again as he watches you shift around his lap, straddling his left thigh. You put your arms cautiously around his shoulders for support, grounding your sensitive bundle of nerves down against his thigh, exhaling as the muscle rubbed against your clit in the best possible way. A tight coil forms in your lower abdomen as you frantically grind down, pleasurable sensations fogging your mind. His hands are still on your hips as you roll your hips in brisk circles against his thigh as you chase your climax, your mouth falls open at the sharp pleasure shooting through your body as you grind down faster, your mind grows hazy. Thoughts jumbled- and non-existent, only focusing on the rocking of your hips back and forth against his thigh. He occasionally flexes the muscle to intensify the feeling of your approaching orgasm, you’ve barely even had any stimulation and you’re already so close. You tug on your lower lip between your teeth, eyes skewered shut as you feel your orgasm building up, seconds away from erupting, and washing over your entire body. “Is the whore close?” Shigaraki speaks, “Looks like you I didn’t even have to fuck you stupid. You’re humping my leg like a bitch in heat. You’re already stupid. This is the real you. You just pretend- act as a functional member of this rotten society but deep down, you’re just a slut begging for a big cock to stuff her holes. Am I right?”

“Shigaraki Tomura. Fuck you.” you manage to call out in between your moans.

A blush creeps onto his face and his cock strains in his pants, the print now louder, and his cock begging to be freed. One of his hands leaves your hips and starts palming his cock through the fabric, he lets out a breathy moan as he examines your face: twisted in pleasure yet the look of hate and disgust still linger. Your displease from this entire scenario riles him up, what a disgusting man he is.

He shifts his gaze from your face to your tits bouncing along the rhythm every thrust ; his hands roam underneath your shirt stroking your soft stomach and move to grope your tits through your bra. He kneads your breast through your bra before capturing it with all five of his fingers and changing it into specks of dust. Your shirt receives the same treatment and you whine. You sit there naked, grinding on his thigh while he is still dressed, calm and collected save for the bright pink blush on his cheeks. Sweat drips down from your forehead and a pink hue rests on your cheek. You look like a mess.

“You look pathetic right now, you know?” he speaks. You know, you can imagine and you hate it very much.

A moan escapes his lips; breathing heavily into your ear- he leaves tainted comments. Groaning occasionally as his lips find its way to kiss and suck bruises at your neckline, sinking his teeth and biting down, nipping on your skin leaving marks on your smooth skin all the while his hands violate your breast, greedily groping and kneading the sensitive mounds, rolling your nipples between his fingers, and harshly tweaking and tugging at them- your eyes roll back into the back of your skull, relishing in the pain.

His cock was straining in his pants; you could feel it poking against your thigh. He moves a hand to hastily unbutton and unzip the confinements of his pants, his dick hard against the fabric of his boxers. A wet stop forming at the tip.

He doesn't hesitate to shove his hands into his boxers, groaning and bucking his hips into his hand as he pulls his cock out. His cock springs upwards. It stands tall and hard yearning with need. Pre-cum spills out his leaking tip, red and angry,demanding relief. You stare at it, marveling the size of his girthy cock. You can tell by looking- he’s too big. It was going to be a tight fit.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

“It’s too big.”

“So?” he asks, annoyance filling his voice as he feels himself get more riled up, “More prep-” you’re still grinding your pussy on his thigh, you try telling him how much you needed him to stretch you out before burying his ridiculously big cock in your tiny, pathetic, little cunt. “Uh h pleaseee……....It will hurt otherwise.” His ears perk up at your shameless little confession. “It will hurt?” The obscene smile made its way back to his face and you regretted saying so.

“It better hurt.”

Shigaraki stands up to his full height, towering over you. You stumble and your hips hit the table behind you. You seriously looked like nothing compared to him. His shoulders broader and rigid, his arms buff and robust. Any hopes you even had in defeating him vanishes away into the air as he turns you around and bends you over the table.

Papers scatter and fall to the ground, your breasts press against the cold wood and he captures both your hands holding them behind your back in one hand. His other smack your ass making you squirm, “Consider yourself lucky.” he groans, his cock lining up with your cunt, “I don’t fuck every common whore I see.” His words sting and he pushes past your little hole, tearing it up, tears start to prick at the corner of your eyes. You sniff, “It hurts.” Shigaraki ignores you, lost in the way your small pussy gobbles up his fat cock inch by inch. “Shut up. It'll get better soon enough.” he speaks when he gets annoyed by your little grunts of discomfort. He doesn’t give you time to adjust as he bottoms out, stretching your pussy open. “There. It’s all in,” he spanks your ass making you wail out.

The stretch burns but you soon feel yourself get wetter adjusting to his size. He starts thrusting his cock into you, using your pussy as his personal cocksleeve. He’s mean with it. He goes rough and fast, pushing his cock all the way till your hilt until his tip kisses your cervix. He laughs at how pathetically you whine, you plead for him to slow down but he doesn’t listen. He pulls you up to his chest by your hair, biting aggressively on your neck, whispering perverted remarks in your ear. He plays with you tits, rolling, pinching and tugging on your nipples. His hands are all over you, except where you need it the most- your clit. The hardened nub begs for attention, burning in need to be touched and played with yet he pays no mind to it choosing to watch you suffer in agony instead.

“Pheweaze.” you beg, your tongue lolling out of your mouth. He catches the pink flesh between his fingers, petting it making it impossible for you to talk. “What’s that? What did you say? I couldn’t catch it.” He teases, pretending he doesn’t know what you need. He finally pulls his finger out of your mouth, still thrusting his cock into your cunt, “Pheleaseeee e touch my clliit. I need it.” Finally, you manage to say a complete sentence. You embrace yourself in hopes of Shigaraki finally touching you but instead he chuckles, “Is that so? Is that what you need? I thought you wanted a quirk?” You cry out in frustration. Shigaraki laughs, his shrill laugh masking the lewd sounds of skin slapping against each other. He thinks for a while, looking at you de-flowered, broken to the point where you couldn’t even form sentences properly, he smirks to himself. He’s won.

His fingers snake down to your clit rubbing it avidly. You sigh as you finally feel proper stimulation. Soon enough your loud moans of pleasure fill the empty room and you feel yourself tighten around Shigaraki, “I feel that, your slutty little cunt is squeezing me. You are close, aren’t you?”

Your moans quickly turn into pants as you let out a silent scream while you cream around Shgaraki’s cock, “You came, bitch?” he asks but you just whimper, your body still writhing with the intensity of the orgasm, “Ugh. Hero Slut.” His thrust gets sloppier, you can feel he’s close by the way his cock twitches inside of you. Next you know- you feel- is hot spurts of cum shooting inside of you, painting your insides white.

You plop down on the table beneath you, your body exhausted. He pulls out of you and you quickly turn your head back to him, “The quirk..” you meekly ask. “Messy little slut,” he murmurs, ignoring you. “Makes me wanna mess you up even more.”

“Tomura Shigaraki. The quirk.”

He hummed. “So you plan to go back and pretend you are something more than a worthless slut?-”

“Tomura. The fucking Quirk.” you weren’t in the mood for any of his shit now, “Jeez fine. If you want the quirk so bad, here, have it. Clean it up well.” He’s motioning to his half-erect cock covered with his cum and your juices. “What the fuck.” You ask, getting up standing to your full height. Even though you were much shorter to him ( and very much naked ) you still wanted to show him that you could put up a fight.

“I give the quirks. If you want it, you’ll need to ingest my DNA. And also, didn’t I say I’m gonna come on your pretty face?” Your eyes dart up to focus on Shigaraki's face – and shame washes over you as you witness his sinister look. He pushes you down on his knees and you come in level with his cock.

“Fuck you,” you stutter out, still trying to seem like you have any power, like you’re the one in charge.

He laughs, “Oh, I just did, sweetheart.”

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unmanageable-day · 3 years

Text

Come to me

PART 26.5 - next

masterlist / previous chapter: 26

Summary. After what happened in a relationship in the past, you found it difficult to trust someone with the gentleman image. ‘Gentleman’ seems like merely a concept and it was probably impossible for someone to be a genuine one. Now that you’re stuck with the number one gentleman at campus for a group project, how would you cope with the one and only Joshua Hong?

Genre. College!au, non-idol!au / friends to lover

Pairing. Joshua x y/n x S.Coups

wc / warning. 1k / prolly grammatical error, and nothing more, i guess? (does mentioning shua’s nickname of the holy jisoos count?? if anyone feels disturbed about it, please do let me know!)

TAGLIST. @samemagicpoint @unravellyn @nonuuu @seventeeneration @skylions-den @wooziverse @infinitemoods @haoraecane @sunflowergyeomie @flower0930 @riashushu — [ send ask or dm if you’re interested to be added in the list! 🖤 ]

a/n: i’ve decided to cut this written part into two chapters. hope you still enjoy it, any comments are warmly welcomed! i have this rough draft ready looong time before those smau parts but it took me a while to rewrite it, so it is kinda tricky to connect all the dots hehe

You set the living room as if you were going on a picnic. Instead of a rug or carpet, you used a yoga mat covered with an old scarf—resulting in Joshua quietly laughed at this sudden creativity. The pizza box was wide opened between you and him. Yet what you two had in your hands were two scoops of ice cream. Joshua was the one suggesting to have this salty-sweet-salty-sweet eating pattern.

"Okay. Let's start with... why does everyone call you a gentleman? Oh, I think I've also heard about the holy Jisoos," you trailed off, stirring the ice cream on your cup.

Joshua chuckled. "I honestly have no idea. Some kids made that up. I mean, I do consider myself as a gentle person but I won't even call myself a gentleman."

You nodded slowly, a spoonful of ice cream went into your mouth.

"And, please, stop with the holy Jisoos. If I find out who started that, I think I will commit a murder," he said, rolling his eyes in annoyance. No one really had ever said this particular nickname right into his face, but still, it was the one he most despises of.

Unconsciously you watched his expression quite eagerly. It was probably the first rime you caught him making that face. Even he still kept his smile intact and never showed it if he was exhausted during overtime—unlike you who looked like a mess when it was past 9 PM in the office. And it was fascinating to hear him wanting to murder someone. Basically the word murder and his by-default smiley face simply didn't match.

He made eye contact and you were flustered. "Come on, ask me more questions," said him, looking as eager as you.

"Are you always this nice to people? I mean, not even a bad intention once a while?" That was the best filtered words you can arrange. The truth is, you wanted to ask 'are you sure you're not being fake with all that kindness?' but now that you think about it, it sounds very rude.

"I do plot some things. Well, not to random people, but to my friends." He shrugged, but his voice started to sound more excited. After the last bite of his ice cream, he took a slice of pizza. "Do you remember the first time we met?"

Your eyes got widened at that question. How can you not? You squinted your eyes, looking guilty. "You mean how I made you come late to your first class?"

"What? That was you?"

"... yeah?"

He paused. Tilting his head, he looked at you with puzzled expression. He surely remembered his first day of uni and the accident of coming late and getting scolded by one of the most legendary lecturer in campus because of somebody. Apparently he was too shocked to remember who it was.

“I know, I ran away when you went in to Prof. Lee’s class,” you shyly confessed, covering your face with your hands. “And our second meeting was not great either,” you mumbled.

“Was it coffee accident?”

You nodded.

He smiled wide to himself. Looking at you fondly, he continued, “I thought that was our first meeting. But knowing the truth of our first meeting, it was quite fascinating.”

“I know it’s probably too late, but I’m sorry about getting scolded by Prof. Lee and for ruining your white shirt.” You bowed down.

Still smiling, Joshua shook his head, suggesting to never mind it. “Anyway, about that white shirt..” A mischievous grin grew wider. "That’s not my shirt. It's Jeonghan's. Just a few days before my first day going to school, he dropped some ragu sauce on my shirt he wore. I was already plotting something, that was why I wore his clothes, but you unexpectedly did it for me. So..." He made a face, which strangely reminded you of Johnny’s ‘not my problem’ face.

"Wait, what?" You squinted in disbelief. "But you looked mad though?"

"I did?" The bambi eyes widened at your accusation. "Rather than mad, I think I was more shocked. I mean who wouldn't, right?"

Eventually, you two laughed it off. You were glad you cleared at least one unsettled matter with this guy.

"I'll confess one more thing. You can judge me as you please," he spoke rather excitedly and you just nodded. "You know, I often got anonymous love letters in my locker."

"People are still doing that like in Japanese comic?" you commented, holding your laugh.

"I know right. But that's not the point. Those letters, I never read them. Either I just leave it in my locker, or I just throw them away. Or sometimes Seokmin would read it for me, and still they ended up in the trash."

A dramatic gasp left your lips. "Oh my gosh, those poor girls.. Maybe they're just shy, you know? You should give them a chance." Instantly you realized what you said just changed the mood.

“Why don’t you give me a chance?” he calmly retorted.

You chewed your lips, unable to answer him right away.

"Y/N, I'm shy too, but since we were assigned for group project, I encourage myself to talk to you instead of sending anonymous letter." He tried to break the ice.

"Like you, Y/N, they only see me as someone with that too good to be true image. If they really mean it, why not approach me personally? You see, I had bad relationships too. There are many people who only like the way I look, the way I behave. How I don't really voice out, how I never show them if I'm angry, how I always say "it's okay" when things start going bad and "I'm sorry" even when the fault is not mine. They thought I'm 24/7 an angel who is never upset."

A small part of your heart just melted to finally see another side of Joshua Hong. You simply could feel the honesty. It was nice to see the ‘humane’ side of him, to see his emotion as he shared a bit about himself. Now you felt bad for having bad prejudice about him.

"There is one thing I’ve been wondering. Why me?" you asked carefully after observing him catching his breath.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "It's just interesting to see you. It looks like there are so many sides of you."

You looked at him, confused.

“When you're with me, do you notice you're very quiet? But when you're with Johnny, you turn into someone else and you express yourself easily. When you're with Mingyu, Seokmin, and Soonyoung, you change again. You play along with them, you get their jokes, overall it's like you're a child again playing with your friends. Then Wonwoo, you used to have that sheepish smile when you talk to him. And when you're with Seungcheol...” Joshua paused, clearing his throat and looked away. “It's clear how you're comfortable with him, you talk freely with him, as if he's an old friend. And the way you smile at him.. how could I not envy him?”

You attentively listened to him while trying to digest everything. You were quite flustered that he paid that much attention to you.

"So I thought, there must be something wrong with me. I was insecure of myself. 'What is it that Seungcheol does better than me?', 'Why the quiet Wonwoo can be close with you while I can't?', 'Am I good enough to be with you?', 'Am I a trust worthy person to you?'. I was always doubting myself whenever I tried to make a move. Especially since Seungcheol butts in."

The pizza was long forgotten as you were drowning in his thoughts.

"If there is one thing I'm lacking, it's confidence. I don't want people to know about that. Also, I'm not really into telling others how I feel, not even to Jeonghan. I tend to bottle up everything instead of expressing my feelings. Then I would overthink, I would be overly sensitive about things. In the end, I wouldn't actually do anything about it. I'm a coward, Y/N." His hands were fiddling with the spoon on his empty cup.

"Y/N, do you like Seungcheol?" he asked suddenly, making you flinched in your seat.

"Honestly it's hard to not to.." you said guiltily. It was such a mystery to you too why you felt guilty. It wasn’t like you and Joshua were something in the first place.

#seventeen au #seventeen imagines #seventeen texts #seventeen scenarios #seventeen joshua #joshua imagines #svt college au #svt imagines #seventeen x reader #joshua x reader #seventeen angst #seventeen scoups #scoups imagines #scoups x reader #post by yourblinkies

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firelord-frowny · 3 years

Text

Ok, so here’s my rant about ~critical race theory~ and Certain People’s gripe that all it does is Teach White Children To Feel Guilty, and there’s prolly like a 60% chance that i’m not going where you think i’m going with this. here we gooooo!

There is NO. WAY. to teach a fact-based curriculum on the history and legacy of race and racism in america (or anywhere, for that matter), without kids feeling hurt or embarrassed or ashamed or otherwise Unhappy. This goes for ALL kids. Not just the white ones.

Why??

Because when you learn about living, breathing human beings being brutalized and exploited and humiliated and treated like animals, you are SUPPOSED to feel bad. That feeling is called compassion. It’s empathy, and it’s a GOOD thing. If you can learn about the atrocities committed by humankind against other members of humankind, and NOT feel any degree of despair or shame or disgust, then there’s something wrong with you, tbh.

And if you happen to have some Major Traits in common with the demographics that were primarily responsible for whatever atrocity you’re learning about, you are GOING to have a negative emotional response to that, whether the source you’re learning from tells you to or not. It is NORMAL to feel uncomfortable with knowing what kinds of horrors your ancestors may have been responsible for, and that those acts continue to impact the present-day world. It is NORMAL to feel upset about the fact that even though you obviously didn’t Do Anything, you still have certain privileges thanks to those who did do everything. No, you can’t wave your arm and Fix It. Nobody expects you to.

You might think I’m talking specifically about white people, but I’m not. I’m talking about ANYONE who belongs to a demographic that, historically, has caused or participated in the mistreatment of a different demographic. Think: Christians who feel bad about the ways Christianity has been used as a weapon against certain groups of people. Straight people who feel badly that Other Straight People have made the lives of LGBTQ+ people so difficult for so long. Like, you don’t have to have ever called somebody a homophobic slur in order to still accept a moral obligation to do what you can to mitigate the effects of homophobia in your community. You don’t have to have ever personally forced an indigenous community to abandon their spirituality before you can go out of your way to do whatever small things you can do to support the interests of indigenous peoples.

So yes: when it comes to racism in america, you feel ashamed and sad when you learn about it BECAUSE IT WAS SHAMEFUL AND SAD. Literally, how is somebody NOT supposed to feel shame or sadness or disgust when they learn about all the many ways black people fucking died on the slave ships before even reaching their destinations? What, other than utter revulsion, should you feel when you see images of the torture devices that were used on black bodies? How should you feel when learning about slave “owners” raping enslaved black women? About how even toddlers were forced to do labor? How should you feel when you learn about black protestors being mauled by police dogs? assaulted with fire hoses? About people pouring acid into a swimming pool because black people are in it???

You feel sick BECAUSE IT’S SICKENING. And to try to avoid that discomfort is an act of cowardice, tbh.

Also??? The implication that ~critical race theory~ isn’t a difficult topic for black kids (and all kids of color, really)???? Ridiculous.

Trust me: We do NOT enjoy sitting in a classroom and having to take turns ~reading aloud~ passages about black people being chained and beaten and murdered and lynched and spit on and shat on and humiliated. But we fucking DEAL WITH IT because we know that if we let The World forget that shit, there are people out there who will do everything in their power to bring it all back.

You NEED to feel disgusted, and yes, you even need to feel a little bit ashamed. And you need to feel that way so that, inevitably, when someone in your day-to-day life does or says something repugnant about a race, you will EAGERLY shut them down, because you are incapable of stomaching that kind of hideous and dangerous attitude.

Which leads me to my final point: OBVIOUSLY the white people who are alive today are not responsible for what was done decades ago. Duh. Nobody thinks that. But these two things are also true:

1) White people today... ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE SHIT THAT WHITE PEOPLE ARE DOING TODAY OMFG

and,

2) White people today are not responsible for the past, duh, but they ARE responsible for the future.

We’re all responsible for the future.

And the reason why it’s critical for white people to play an active role in continuing to right the wrongs and heal wounds isn’t because they’re the ones who hurt anybody decades ago - it’s because they should CARE ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE. They should care about the future. When you see people suffering, whether it’s because of a natural disaster, or because of famine, or because of whatever, you are supposed to help. You just ARE. You help because it makes you sad to know that people are hurting when they don’t need to be. You help because the idea of being ABLE to change the world for the better and then just choosing not to do it is repulsive to you.

What do you do if you see somebody being robbed or beaten on the street in broad daylight? You help. You call 911. You do whatever you know how to do, whether it’s consoling the victim, or administering first aid, or staying with them until Actual Help arrives, or even just making sure that the situation is being handled and that you don’t have anything of further use to contribute before moving on. You don’t huff and balk and sneer that “I’M not the one who mugged them, so why should I have to do anything? The mugger should be the one calling 911 and helping to stop the bleeding, not me!”

THAT SOUNDS SO FUCKING STUPID! And it’s EXACTLY how people sound when they bitch about how They’re Not The Ones Who Were Racist 200 Years Ago.

but the REAL gag is that they are the ones being racist Right Fucking Now.

Anyway, I guess I lied lmao bc here is my ACTUAL final point:

Children will survive the unpleasant emotions that inherently come with learning about unpleasant parts of human history - especially ones that continue to have deeply damaging and GLARINGLY obvious impacts on all of our daily lives. And the BEST way to ensure that they survive it is for the adults in their lives to learn to stop being such fucking cowards and start taking responsibility for the future instead of bitching about who’s to blame for the past.

#ok to reblog

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pomrania · 3 years

Photo

I asked for breeds of dogs to draw as pokemon types, and here they are. Some are more recognizable than others, both in type and dog breed, and some look better than others, and some were easier than others; but it was good practice.

Below the cut, there’s my running commentary throughout the process, preserved for posterity. Basically it’s just me complaining about things, but if you want to read it, that’s your decision.

WHY DID I THINK I COULD DO THIS, this was artistic hubris.

Okay, look up a compilation video for the first breed on the list, that should provide a good point of reference.

Heh goldies are funny doggos.

Okay this isn't actually so bad once I get into it.

FUCK HOW DO YOU DRAW HINDQUARTERS

Okay I remember what beagles look like, this video is a good refresher; I slept with a stuffed toy beagle when I was a kid, I got the general stuff down.

HOW THE HECK DO I MAKE THIS INTO A GHOST-TYPE

So I guess I'm going with ghostly extra wagging tails, sure why not.

A dragon-type borzoi, okay, these dogs already look like dragons, this should be easy. ...words spoken just before disaster, I know it.

Heheh them doggos got long snoots.

What was that heraldic unicorn pose again, that should work well for them....

This looks just like a dog and not like a dragon-type DAMMIT.

Next is CORGI hell yeah! They're so hecking CUTE, and I know I won't be able to draw them to their full adorable, but at least I'll have fun watching the reference video.

This seems to be coming along well.

I wasn't planning on colouring them, but I might have to, to get the markings shown properly. But that will be AFTER I've done everything else.

Flying-type samoyed! I love samoyeds, they're so FLOOFY. Well actually the person suggested air-type, but euh.

Okay I have a good idea for this one. Don't know how well it'll turn out, but that's art for you.

Okay yes this is adorable and I love it.

Most of what I know about rottweilers, is that pretty much all of them that I've met, have been aggressively friendly, like "knock you over in an effort to lick every square inch of your face" aggressively friendly. Not really sure how I can convey that, or how I can show a rock-type, but that's what "trying things and seeing what happens" is for.

Oh frick I'm gonna have to draw 3D geometrics for the "rock" stuff ain't I.

Hm a "geode" type design might be cool; I'm prolly not the best person for that, but I'll bloody well try anyways.

Aaand I hit a major block, what even POSE do I use for this. Gah. Welp, when in doubt, go for the most basic stuff possible. Can I do better than that? Yes. WILL I do better than that, right at this moment? Probably not.

Rotties are big chonks aren't they.

Hm. Okay this doesn't necessarily look very "rottweiler", but it DOES cover up a bunch of my mistakes in anatomy, and I've always thought this style looks cool.

...I think I'm just going to skip "fighting-type boxer", since I'm willing to bet actual money that someone has already drawn that, it's just so obvious. And also this was one of two suggestions, so I don't feel guilty about ignoring that person (because I didn't ignore them).

Labs are like the most "generic" looking dogs I can think of, how am I gonna do this cool?

Two compilation videos later, I don't even have a CONCEPT in mind. The best idea I have is something playing off of a snowman, but that's literally it; those words, no image.

Heh, maybe one jumping in the air with a dopey expression to catch a snowflake? Seems a bit complicated, but I'll think on it.

Huh I don't think I've ever drawn a dog chasing their own tail before. It's a good exercise in posing and "okay if this motion is being made, how would the limbs move". Still frustrating though.

But how do I make it ICE-TYPE?! At least I have some vague ideas for the next one, but that's for ONCE I'VE FINISHED THIS ONE.

...I'm at a loss. I'm going to look up ice-type pokemon for some inspiration.

So it seems to be mostly shown in colouring, WELL THAT'S NO HELP TO ME.

Screw it I'm going basic as hell. ...or maybe just STUPID as hell, because I decided to draw a dog wearing skates.

This was the worst of all of them, but it's DONE now.

Maltese doggos already look like fairies, but I've learned from the borzoi one, that this just makes it HARDER. (They sure are hecking adorable though.)

They're just little puffs of fur! How can I make them look distinct?

Oh yeah there's also the "show" grooming they can have.

Some vague ideas, but I'll also check the list of fairy-type pokemon for inspiration.

Okay I'm just going to go full Baby as that seems to be the general trend.

This just looks like a regular maltese.

That's not MUCH better, but it's SOMETHING, and that's the end of the list so woot I'm done.

#no fandom #fandom: pokemon #original content #not a reblog #drawing

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boymeetsweevil · 4 years

Text

MBD - 04

Grouping: Reader x Yoongi

Word Count: <8k

Summary: Three lessons to be learned: 1) don’t read the comments. Ever. 2) Baking will never let you down. 3) Don’t tease Yoongi.

Warnings/Themes: Angst?? Heavy doses of body image and related unhealthy behaviors, low self-esteem, cyberbullying? May be triggering for some. Some suggestive content. A jealous Yoongi.

part 0, part 1, part 2, part 3

A few more days pass through your break from work. Yoongi stayed with you the morning after coming back from the club to help you nurse your hangover, but he’d been in the dorms and studio since then. This left you with extra time on your hands.

In that time, you visited your best friend and your cousin who both lived deeper in the city, a mere hour’s ride from your apartment in the outskirts. You also got ahead on some work despite the fact that your boss gave you strict warnings about fully enjoying the break after seeing how hard you worked on the project for the quarter. But eventually you ran out work you could do and had nothing left but Netflix and the internet.

As it turns out, being alone with the internet ends up being a horrible set of circumstances. Curiosity and boredom get the best of you, and you find yourself breaking a cardinal rule.

You google Yoongi to see what pops up and get recent news about him being spotted with a lady friend. You know better, but optimism pulls you in and you’re opening up one of the articles. Apparently a fan that snuck into the VIP booth snapped a picture of you dancing with him at the club you went to a few days prior. Yoongi looks handsome with his bare face half obscured by his mask and a soft expression as he looks at you. But you let out a raspy gasp at your picture.

The only good thing about the photo is that your face is turned away from the camera, leaving your identity barely undiscovered. But your neck is coated with sweat, gleaming under the club lights. In the picture, the dance-move you’re doing is frozen, awkward and contorted, your body looks all wrong. With the powerful camera flash, you can see all the spots on your clothes where sweat had accumulated, all the spots where your amateur makeup skills failed. There’s no grace, no elegance, no dignity afforded to you in the photo. It’s not the first time you’ve seen of yourself in a random pap site or careless photos. But it’s by far the worst one you’ve seen.

Like a magnet is drawing you there, even though your stomach already feels like shards of ice are forming inside it, you break a second cardinal rule. You read the comments.

It’s amazing that she feels comfortable looking like that when there’s a literal GOD standing next to her. I could never do that. I wouldn’t even leave the house

Why is something like this allowed when there are much prettier girls to pick from?

I don’t think Yoongi would be stupid enough to date this girl, the picture probably just makes it look like they’re together when they’re obvi not

actually I think this is the same girl in that ##0524 photo. Look (image01) same hairstyle and earrings. I think she just turned into a blimp...

Guys plz be nice u don’t know this person. Maybe she has a really great personality

so? This is what she gets for trying too hard to cling to Yoongi

Yo it’s prolly cuz she’s rich. You see those leggings? I didn’t even think they made them in that size but they’re from that brand IU wears. And they’re like $250 :0

She wasn’t even that pretty before this but now I REALLY don’t get it. Yoongi~~ there are skinnier girls who would suit u better

Load 675 more...

You slam your laptop shut before fumbling for your phone. Breathing levelly, you’re the picture of eerie calm with the exception of the way your hands tremble. You pull up your text messages to text your best friend when you stop yourself. While the company knows that you’re dating, you’re not allowed to disclose any information about Yoongi or the relationship to any third parties. To the public he’s still single despite his dating clause having expired long before you even met. And there’s no way to explain what you’re going through to your friend without bringing up your secret boyfriend’s stardom.

So who can you turn to, you wonder. You can’t tell your friends. You can’t tell your mother either. As much as you love her, she’d spill the secret in minutes out of well-meaning pride. And there’s no way you can tell Yoongi.

Taking a deep breath in through your nose, you hold it for as long as you can before shoving a pillow over your face and screaming. All that’s left to show for the few minutes you spend screaming is the fact that you feel about 1% better and your now-hoarse voice. But the relief doesn’t last. The relief leaves room for heat to rise on your skin. Annoyance fills all your empty spaces. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and feel more anger.

Maybe you just aren’t working hard enough and people can just see that. Maybe you just aren’t being productive, you haven’t earned your spot yet. You hop off the bed and look around the room, almost frantic in your search for something to work on and actually improve.

Start with a deep clean, you tell yourself.

Two days later when Yoongi comes over, you’re still in the process of purging your tiny apartment.

“What’s all this,” he kicks gently at the garbage bags full of clothes littering the walkway to your bedroom. You jump at the sound of his voice, having forgotten that he mentioned coming over.

“I’m just doing some tidying up. I started with towel folding videos on YouTube and ended up realizing I have a hoarding problem.”

“I don’t think having dust bunnies under your bed counts as hoarding, but okay.” He searches for some space on your bed to sit in. The duvet’s surface is also covered in a mixture of old clothes and little knick knacks you’ve had since before you graduated college. “I didn’t realize you had so many clothes.”

You watch him pick up a spaghetti string top that you hadn’t gotten around to sorting yet. He gestures towards the two trash bags full of clothes on the floor.

“Put it in that one,” you point to the one furthest from the bed.

“Is this the donate pile?” He folds the shirt almost neatly and places it on the top of the other items with a sympathetic pat.

“Uh, no.”

“Then what is it? Looks like you already have everything you’re keeping,” he peers into your stocked closet.

“That’s actually the...inspiration pile,” you explain quietly.

“What?”

“It’s the stuff I'm gonna keep as motivation for me to lose weight.”

“Oh,” you’re surprised to see what looks like faint disappointment in Yoongi’s eyes as your words register. “I mean...makes sense.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean that’s one route you could take.”

“Is there another route?” You turn to face him fully from your spot on the ground with a confused smile. The shoes you were organizing lay unattended.

“Well, you could not lose the weight,” he shrugs.

You avert your gaze to the ceiling, as if the true meaning of his words will be scribed there. It sounds as though he’s suggesting you don’t try to get back down to where you were before the huge project your boss assigned you, but you figure that can’t be it.

“I just mean that you could donate these,” he points at the clothes in the inspiration pile. “Some of them look like they’re brand new—I’ve never even seen you in them. And you could just get some new clothes.”

“You mean like ones that fit me now?”

“Or like before.” He shrugs. “Your style was nice, I don’t know why you changed it.”

“It changed because nothing I had before fits now. So I have to wear this other stuff.” You’re talking about the shapeless sweaters and the monotonous greyscale pants.

“You don’t have to.”

He makes a valid point, but it’s a small one. Besides, there’s something else you’re digging for. “So you really think I should buy bigger clothes?”

“Yes,” he says, like it’s so simple.

“Okay...but these clothes are supposed to be there to motivate me to lose the weight. If I just get a new wardrobe, that’ll mean the motivation is gone.”

“Okay,” he draws out the syllables while waiting to hear what your point is.

“That means I’ll stay like this.”

“What do you mean ‘like this’? What’s wrong with that?”

Your fists clench at your side as you think back to the photos of you in the club. And the comments from the netizens all saying roughly the same thing. With the puzzled way he stands there and looks at you, you feel another wave of frustration rise up. Did he really not see what was happening? Was he really going to make you say it?

“Hey,” he peers down at the veins rearing against the skin of your hands. “I mean it. What’s wrong?”

He gets up like the discussion is about to go somewhere but his phone ringing loudly with the little jingle reserved for one of his producer buddies stops the conversation in its tracks. You take this as a moment to shoo him out your place before your head explodes. Yoongi looks conflicted, he truly does. Still, he answers the call dutifully and gives a few affirmative words to assure that he is going to be at the studio soon and is ready to work. The call is short, but the mood is still tense like an angry, trapped breath.

“I have, like, 5 more minutes before I have to go—”

“You know what? Never mind. You’re clearly busy with studio stuff and I’m...busy too.”

With steely eyes, you take the clothes he was trying to help you with and add them to your own pile. He picks up the few things he brought with him in his brief visit and eyes you like he wants to say more. His gaze lingers over the sides of your face like a regretful touch and you turn to the side to shrug it off.

Another beep from his phone shatters the gossamer thin atmosphere further. He sighs and pulls his phone back out before hunching his shoulders.

“Can I use your laptop to check my email really quickly before I go? They just sent me a file and I can’t open it on my—”

“Yeah, yeah, just take it with you. I don’t need it,” you cut him off and wave a hand in the direction of your computer.

He looks almost upset when he gathers your laptop in his arms with the rest of his things, but doesn’t push the issue any further. The air is too tight for anything, even a genuine goodbye. Your throat is sore with oncoming angry tears and you just want him out.

The door shuts behind him softly, in place of the usual goodbye kiss. You wait until you know he’s gone let it all out.

*** Yoongi opens your laptop when he’s in the back of the car taking him to the studio. It takes him a minute to remember your password, but he logs on with minimal difficulty and the last thing you were looking at pops up obediently.

The rest of your break from work passes without a visit from Yoongi again. It’s not a coincidence. It’s because you turned your phone off for 48 hours and even after you turn it back on, you mute all other notifications and only look at it to check your work email and tell your friends that you’re ‘unplugging for a bit’.

In that time, you get all your clothes sorted. You burn through an entire fitness-based podcast series. You declutter your whole apartment. But there’s still an unpleasant buzzing under your skin that doesn’t go away. Even with the reintroduction of at-home cardio and the shady water fast you did that promised a lifted mood and a loss of 2 pounds.

Then you’re home from work one day, and you find yourself pacing all around the rooms of your place. You’re fed up with bottling things up, but you don’t know what to do with this knowledge. Yes, it’s nice to realize that everything you’d been chasing wasn’t worth the torture you put yourself through, but you can’t seem to get any further. So you try baking. And when that doesn’t put you at ease immediately, you break down and call Yoongi.

Yoongi picks up immediately. Part of you is surprised because he’s been working on new mixtape stuff and when that happens he’s usually unreachable. But another part of you isn’t surprised because, to him, you dropped off the face of the earth after a near-argument and he’s still technically on break from promotions for a little while longer. There’s no reason not to be answering the phone. In spite of all this, his tone is a tentative mix of concern and relief that has you blinking in confusion before curtly telling him you wanted to talk at your place.

He arrives in a defensive cocoon of layers and squared off features. Only one of the two he sheds at the coat rack by your front door before going to find you in the kitchen, just finishing shoving dozens of muffins into the oven.

“Hey,” he says after clearing his throat to make his presence known.

“Hey.” You turn around and remove the oven mitts you’re wearing. “We need to talk about some things.”

“I know,” he chuckles humorlessly. “I saw that shit on your computer.”

Your brow furrows in thought as you recall the last thing you used your laptop for. Recollection comes eventually. Briefly you wonder if Yoongi read past the top comments. If he gave into the urge to comb through every single one to satisfy morbid curiosity. You nod.

“It definitely has to do with that.”

“Fuck what those people are saying. You don’t need to change or to—to keep an inspiration pile.”

At that, you groan. Your fingers tap on the countertop impatiently. “Can you please stop saying stuff like that?”

“What? That you’re perfect the way you are?” He spits.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not true.”

“Why wouldn’t it be true?”

Frustrated tears well up in the corners of your eyes because while you get that this isn’t an issue he’d ever have to worry about, part of you still don’t understand how he doesn’t get it. He’s trying so hard to be a good, romantic boyfriend that he doesn’t even see how much he misses. It’s supposed to be comforting, you’re sure, but it only infuriates you.

“Because I don’t fucking match you like this!”

He jumps at the sound of your raised voice, eyes wide. “Match me? What the hell?”

“You heard me,” you mumble.

“Yeah, I fucking heard you, but it still doesn’t make any sense. You’re not signed to some stupid contract, you’re not mandated to do anything with your body.”

“Haven’t I, though? I signed that fucking non-disclosure agreement after all. And I get a fucking angry call from your PR agents every time I show up in your pap photos, even though my face is never in them.” At this point you’re pacing again. This time it’s in tight circles in front of your fridge. “You said it yourself, you saw those awful comments. You saw how mad people get when I don’t show myself in just the right way. Those fans ripped me apart, Yoongi.” Your voice cracks and you curse yourself for being an angry crier. Crossing your arms around yourself, you try your best to beat back the tears.

“So you’re going to let a few fans tell you how to feel?”

“A few fans?” You’re close to laughter. “Try six hundred comments on one photo. Six hundred comments about the person who isn’t even the celebrity. And then multiply that by the number of times someone’s caught me at an unflattering angle or when I was bloating or when I started gaining weight back for real. Do the fucking math, Yoongi.”

That shuts him down instantly. Immediately worry replaces the incredulity. “I—how many times has this happened? Is this not the first time?”

You sigh at his ignorance. “No, but this is first time I was dumb enough to read the comments.”

“Why didn’t you say anything the first time something like this happened?” Yoongi’s face is full of distraught guilt. It’s hard for you to look at.

“What do you want me to say? Did you really want to hear me say all this stuff about some of your fans? These are people that love you. And you love them.”

“I love you, too. You know that,” he whispers, voice raw with emotion.

You can only sigh again because you do know. He does love you. He loves you perhaps too much. At this point, it seems like he’s so infatuated with you that he can’t fathom that people would have issues with you. But he’s also so in love with his career that you don’t have the heart to show him the things you’re facing. The dissonance would be too much to add to his already-full plate. And knowing Yoongi, he might do something stupid and get himself in trouble with his own fans. You’d hate to be the cause of something like that in his career.

The oven beeps and you use that as an excuse to escape the way his eyes shine as he contemplates just how much he wasn’t aware of until now.

He leans on the doorframe to watch you pull out the muffins from the oven and drop them unceremoniously onto the stovetop. The muffins are perfectly golden-brown and give off a warm, sweet scent that fills the kitchen quickly. You stand silent with your back to him, shoulders rising with the careful breaths you’re forcing yourself to take.

“Do you still love me,” his voice is small when it floats over to you.

“Ughh,” you claw at your face with your oven mitts. “Of course I do. I wouldn’t have asked you over if I didn’t. But...you have to understand that this is hard for me.”

“And what is ‘this’?

You turn and lean back against the counter, gesturing vaguely with a gloved hand. “This idol thing.” He tilts his head, not understanding. “I just mean that you have this amazing image because you’re out in the spotlight and I don’t want to sully that for you by...not looking like I should.”

“Why do you care about what other people think so much?”

“That’s so easy for you to say when people love you and you look like that. It’s different for regular people.” Your voice cracks once more as the shine lighting up your eyes breaks and runs down your cheeks. “It’s different because I’m already not deserving of you in their eyes. I can’t be regular and not look perfect.”

His hard demeanor softens at the sound of your sniffles and he comes to pull you into his chest, smoothing over your back. “Baby, there’s nothing wrong with the way you look.”

“I know that,” you sob. “I know that there’s nothing wrong with me, but you’ve seen what people say on those stupid forums. No amount of self-confidence could protect anyone from that shit.”

“Can I ask you something,” he says softly after a few aching moments of listening to you try to rein in your breathing.

“Y-yeah.”

“Who are the most important people in your life?”

“Huh?” You look up at him with watery lashes and he wonders how you could ever find fault with what you see in the mirror.

“Whose opinion matters to you most?”

“I don’t know,” you rub wet cheeks against the fabric of his top and think. “My boss since he pays me, obviously. And coworkers, I guess. My friends, definitely. My family, although they’re pretty easy to ignore.” He snorts. “A-and you,” you add on at the end hastily.

He gives you a sad smile when you look up at him. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I mean...doesn’t how you feel matter? You just listed a bunch of other people.”

“Of course what I feel matters,” you say suddenly. You push back from him to clear your head. The tears have stopped flowing, though your cheeks are still wet. “I just can’t go through the world only ever hearing or caring about what I think. But I like myself, Yoongi.”

He nods seriously.

“Even if it doesn’t seem like it because I’m shy sometimes, or quiet. I like myself. But it still hurts to have people tell me they think I shouldn’t. I’m not the type of person who doesn’t react when people attempt to hurt me. That’s the part that hurts the most, I think. Knowing that it was their goal all along.”

“I get that. Or,” He purses his lips, “I think I do. I want to get it, anyway.”

You give him a weak smile because he’s cute, even in moments like this.

He squeezes your hand before bringing it to his lips. It’s not quite a kiss, just him brushing his lips against your skin while he talks. “But I still want to be there for you. And I hate that I could only guess when you were hurting.”

“I should have told you, but I was embarrassed.”

“Why would you be embarrassed?” He moves back to pull up a chair at your dining room table. His gaze is genuine and engaged as he looks to you for an answer.

“I’ve been dieting since the company approved us dating privately. This is the first time I’ve been...normal around you. I was worried you’d have this epiphany. That I’m not who you thought I was.”

“Do you remember the first night we met,” he asks all of the sudden.

“Yeah? You came to visit me at work and freaked my supervisor out. She still has that napkin you autographed.”

“That’s not the first night we met,” he shakes his head and chuckles. “We first met at my party. The one your cousin brought you to.”

“Oh, god. I hardly remember that, I was so drunk. I think I blocked it out.”

“You looked like this back then,” he smiles softly at you, memories of that night settling over the surroundings as they play out in front of him.

“Yeah, I know,” you nod softly, eyes averted.

“And you were so pretty that night too.” His gaze turns slightly salacious. “In that little shiny dress you wore—what ever happened to that?”

“You’re dumb,” you shove him with a simpering smile. He merely grins before pulling you slightly closer towards where he’s seated at the kitchen table.

“You still have it?”

“Oh my god, leave me alone.”

He leans into your space, making you duck your head to hide the way your cheeks flare up at his personal attention. Seeing you like this makes something coil in his belly. In due time, he thinks as he backs off. In due time, he’ll really give it to you. But in the meantime he behaves and doesn’t do anything more than intertwine your fingers together.

“I’m donating the clothes from the inspiration bag,” you mumble into his hair.

He pulls back and is careful to keep his face neutral. “Yeah?”

“I did a lot of thinking. And I realized that I don’t think I can say I really like myself if I keep forcing myself into this...mold.”

His brows furrow, lips pouting prettily as he focuses on following your train of thought. “So, what does that mean now?”

“So, this is me. For a long time probably, unless something major happens. I’m telling you so it can sink in. This is your out.”

“Okay,” he stands up from his chair slowly. Large, warm hands come to cup your face tenderly. “And this is me telling you I don’t want an out.”

“Okay,” you breathe out a sigh of relief so deep you don’t know where it came from.

“Glad that much is worked out,” he says before planting a sweet kiss on your cheek. “Hey.”

“What?”

“Can I have a muffin?”

You roll your eyes but go and get a plate from the cabinet. He watches you carefully as you hesitate at the oven before gingerly putting two muffins on the plate. When you return to the table, you mumble something about just wanting to see if they came out good and he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes a bite of one of your rare instances of culinary genius. He lets out a moan that makes your eyes widen and you take a bite before nodding to yourself.

“Just open a bakery already,” he says with a semi-full mouth and reaches out with grabby hands until you get the message to leave your chair. He pulls you into his lap and you try not to feel too self-conscious as you settle your thighs on top of his own. His hand lands on top of your lap casually, large hands splaying out on top to squeeze affectionately at the softness he finds there.

You worry you’re cutting off the blood supply to his legs but he sits happily with you in his lap and even kicks a little rhythm out while finishing his muffin. You get up and he snags the untouched part of your muffin before pulling his phone out of his pocket.

There’s a stream of messages in the group chat asking about his whereabouts and what he wants to do tonight. He answers that he’s with you and the other members all complain about how long it’s been since you visited them. Jungkook even tells Yoongi to bring you over to his place since they’re having a small kickback with just themselves and your post-break workload is still light. He purses his lips and asks for a raincheck, not wanting to push you into being on just yet.

***

A few days pass and the messages get more and more annoying as the other members whine about not having seen neither Yoongi nor you in far too long. So during one of the last days of their break, while he’s trying to dictate a cookie recipe to you, he breaks down at the 13th ping from his phone in a short period.

“Do you want to come hang out with me and the guys tonight?”

Normally if you’re invited over, you jump at the chance because you love getting out of your apartment and you like seeing Yoongi in his element with the people he’s closest to. But you don’t jump on the invitation now because it’s been so long since you last saw the guys and you know that you looked different then.

“I don’t know,” you fold toasted almonds into the cookie dough.

“Why not?”

“You know why,” you sigh. “And as nice as they are, I don’t really want to deal with the ‘did you do something with your hair’ or ‘wow you look so different’ comments.”

“They’re not gonna say that, they’re not total assholes. Look, if anyone says or does anything stupid, I’ll rip them a new one and take you back here.”

You purse your lips while you think it over. “And then will you stay the night?”

“If something stupid happens, I’ll cancel my studio appointment and stay over,” he smiles at you, eyes crinkling. “I’ll tell them we’re on our way now.”

“I can’t leave now,” your hands flutter up as you go from 0 to 60. “I’m a mess, I need to—”

“It’s just the guys. There’s literally no one there worth impressing. I would know.”

“Fine,” you groan. “Just let me change. I’m covered in flour.”

In your room, you find yourself unsure of what to put on. You no longer have any of the clothes you used to wear when you needed to feel like you objectively looked good. But you do have the gorgeous leggings Yoongi gifted you. You switch out your current shirt for a cleaner one and slip on a pair you’ve become obsessed with.

Yoongi punches in the code to the front door of Jungkook’s apartment while you hold the tin of cookies you made. Your fingers slip against the container due to having grown a bit clammy on the ride over. It took a heinous amount of time to wrap them in a way that would keep them warm all during the ride across the city. And now you’re nervous despite the fact that Yoongi sensed it in the car and hurled reassurance after reassurance at you.

But when Namjoon pulls the door open and greets both of you with a smile and a hug and no weird looks, you let out a tiny sigh of relief.

The guys crowd around you after Yoongi announces that you baked. Hoseok mumbles to himself about Yoongi hiding you purposefully so he could hoard your baking and takes two cookies for good measure. Jungkook says thank you politely before splitting one with Jimin. Taehyung takes two for himself and Namjoon and tells you ‘welcome back’. While the rest of the members snack, you count off the remaining sweets in the container and realize you didn’t give any to Jin.

The oldest member is standing in the hallway, drinking from a glass of water and scrolling through his phone when you find him. He must not have gotten the memo that you arrived, so you make your presence known by softly clearing your throat.

“Long time no see,” you smile at Jin.

He peers at you over the rim of his glass for a few long beats and you work to keep your smile natural. You can’t help but worry that he’s looking at the way you’ve has changed since he last saw you, chiseling away at the outside to see the familiar you he knows underneath.

“I guess it has been,” he finally says when he drains his glass. He leans back to rest his back on the wall. “Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, um, they’re just some cookies I made today. Yoongi had been bugging me about making them and I gave some to the others. I just thought I’d see if you wanted any.”

“I’ve always liked your baking.” He reaches out and plucks a cookie from the tin. A second later half of the cookie is gone. He chews thoughtfully.

“This is a new recipe, so I don’t know if it’s as good as it could be. I haven’t had much time for experimenting in the kitchen with work up until now so they might be—”

“I can only imagine how good they were when they first came out of the oven,” he finishes the rest and cuts your rambling off.

You stand there, oddly nervous, while he chews. When he finishes, he watches you fiddle with the lid so the cookies don’t get stale.

“Something’s changed about you,” Jin says finally, his eyes moving from your hair to your toes. You nearly drop the tin in your fumbling, and cringe from both the comment and your clumsiness.

“Yeah, I... gained some weight recently,” you blurt out in the hopes that it’ll be less uncomfortable if you’re the one to say it. But it’s not.

“Hmm,” Jin’s eyes rove over you more thoroughly, making you stand ramrod straight. “I don’t think that’s it. It’s something else, I think.”

“Oh. Well I don’t know, then.”

“What’s going on,” Yoongi’s voice creeps into the mix.

When you turn your head, you’re greeted with the sight of Yoongi in the doorway. He looks comfortably settled against the doorframe, like he’s been there for a while. His gaze isn’t directed at you, but at Jin, you realize. A quick glance back shows that they’re both looking at one another.

“Nothing. We were just talking.” Jin shrugs before walking over to you. A hand on the small of your back brings you with him and up to Yoongi.

Yoongi fixes Jin with a narrowed stare. “The guys were wondering where you both were. They want to play a game together.”

“We were here. No need to worry about us.”

“Well, why don’t you go in and tell them that? I’m gonna speak with my girlfriend.”

Jin gives him an amused smile before giving you a two-fingered captain’s salute and heading to the living room. It might have seemed dorky if anyone had done it, but you marvel over how cool he makes the gesture look. Yoongi turns to you then and takes in your distant expression.

“He didn’t say or do anything to make you uncomfortable, did he? Jin sometimes is a total asshole.”

“No, he—well, he said I looked different.”

“Do you want me to beat him up,” he steps forward to rest his hands on your shoulders. “Because I can, just say the word.”

“It’s really okay. He said it wasn’t just the weight. That it was something else.”

Yoongi’s lips thin as he tries to look for some other message in your words. “I don’t know what the hell that means.”

“It probably didn’t mean anything bad. Just let it go.”

Yoongi nods but takes both your hands in his to kiss them. You lead the way to the living room, feeling a little more like you can handle the night. There’s not much space with all seven members and you. You end up seated away from Yoongi, on the couch between Jungkook and Jin.

Somehow you get roped into playing some Mario game with two teams. You don’t know anything about video games, but you listen to Jungkook’s instructions carefully when you get one of the controllers because he’s one of your teammates. You’re not very good, though. Jin, your team captain, eventually has to maneuver his hands over yours so your character does the right thing.

“You sure you didn’t change your makeup style or something,” Jin asks during one of the rounds where you’re supposed to be playing against Hoseok.

The question takes you by surprise and you turn toward the sound of his voice only to realize just how close he is when he’s acting as a gaming coach of sorts.

“Uh, no. Why?”

“Dunno,” he doesn’t look at you while he converses with you. He’s watching the screen with a hawk-like focus. “You just look prettier than I remember.”

You stutter around nothing, not sure what to say. In the end you settle for saying nothing, though you do spare Yoongi a glance. His gaze must have already been directed at you because you make eye contact immediately. Knowing that he’s probably just making sure you’re having an okay time, you give him a thumbs up and attempt to make Kirby spin on the large screen in front of you.

The night stays that same level of odd. No one else does anything out of the ordinary, barring Jin. He’s strangely attentive even after you get the hang of playing enough to take full control of the controller. After that point, he still slings an arm across the back of the couch, which makes full contact with your shoulders because of how tightly packed you all are on the couch. And when he wants your attention, he makes a habit of brushing his hand down your arm and sometimes leaving it there.

You figure you just don’t spend enough time with Jin to get used to him. But you’ve seen enough interactions between him and the younger members to know how touchy-feely they are with each other. Maybe you’re just enough of an extension of Yoongi to be included in that touching. So you try your hardest not to question it. It’s just nice to know you've been accepted that much and you start to lean into the touch like you would with your own friends.

Soon enough you’re taking part in the high fives that melt into hand holding when you score a goal.

‘Quite a feat for a beginner’, Jin tells you.

Yoongi watches from across the room as your face lights up once again from Jin’s praise. You look like you’re having wholesome fun and the urge to interrupt that is what kills him. But what kills him more is the way Jin’s thumb strokes gently against the curve of your flank as he gestures to something on the screen while Jungkook takes a turn with the controller.

He didn’t think he was the jealous type, but when Taehyung orders pizza one painful hour later, Yoongi’s come to the realization that he’s much more selfish than he knew. Jin whines until you let him feed you a bite of the pepperoni pizza on his plate, knowing you’re too nice to say no. You think this is run of the mill behavior, but even Jimin raises his eyebrows at the display before peering at Yoongi’s furious profile.

The last straw, though, is when Jin wipes a trickle of grease from the corner of your mouth and waits until you’ve turned your head to say something to Jungkook before sucking the residue off. At that, Yoongi stands up abruptly, nearly toppling over the empty box that was near his knees.

“It’s getting late,” he answers the curious stares watching him trudge over to you. “We should head out now if we still want to get back to your place at a decent hour.”

“Oh,” your eyes are wide, “You don’t have to. I know you wanted to do your thing in the studio tomorrow. I should be fine on my own,” you hint back to the promise he made to stay over if the night was a bust.

“I changed my plans already, so I’ll go later in the week. Come on, let’s call a car and go.”

“I can drive you guys. I brought my car,” Jin offers suddenly. His arm is back to resting behind your shoulders. And because his fingers are close enough to graze your shoulder, they do.

“You really don’t have to,” Yoongi bites out. His stare is potent with silent accusation.

“Yoongi, why not? Jin’s place is across the bridge from mine. It actually makes some sense, and I was getting kinda tired. If we wait for a car, I might not be able to get up early enough to go to that brunch spot you mentioned.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jin claps his hands with finality and gets up from the couch before extending his hand out to you. Much to Yoongi’s chagrin, you take his hand like it’s a genuine gesture of chivalry.

Jin somehow manages to get you to sit up in the passenger’s seat with him, leaving Yoongi to fume in the backseat. Occasionally Jin’s eyes will meet his in the rear view mirror and they’ll crinkle with impish amusement before returning to caressing your silhouette.

“So,” Jin says once he gets on the freeway. “Is our Yoongi treating you good?”

You laugh because you don’t see the game at play. “Of course he is. He’s the best boyfriend I could have asked for.” Yoongi’s resolve softens momentarily at your sincere tone. “I love him, even when he gets weird like tonight.” That comment has Jin cackling.

“You know,” he says once his laughter dwindles down, “I actually had the flu the day of Yoongi’s party. The day you guys met.”

“That explains why I didn’t actually see you there. I remember everyone else being there, though.” You gaze wistfully out the window. “I was too shy to talk to any of you guys then.”

“That’s okay. If I had been there, I would have talked to you.”

“That would have been a fun night, I bet.”

“Yeah,” he makes sure Yoongi’s looking in the rearview mirror. “Who knows how close we’d be today if I hadn’t gotten sick.”

Yoongi’s cheek nearly bleeds with force of his teeth gnawing on the inside. If he could, he’d reach forward and throttle Jin. But he’s driving so that’s not an option.

The torture doesn’t last much longer because about 10 minutes later you’re directing Jin to the parking garage of your apartment complex. The goodbyes are annoyingly drawn out and Jin manages to invite himself to brunch the next morning. All the while, Yoongi stands behind you, dying to get inside and away from the eldest member.

Finally, the door gets slammed shut before Jin can say something stupid about seeing you both tomorrow. Yoongi gives the door a smug look and then turns to catch a flash of your eyebrows raised in amusement. His eyes narrow and he approaches you slowly as you shrug off your layers in an almost too mundane way.

“What’s so funny,” he drawls. He attempts to peer at your face only for you to keep whipping it away every time he gets too close.

“Nothing,” you turn and give him your back while you smooth over your already made bed. “It’s just interesting watching you with Jin. I never really get to see you guys together.”

“What’s interesting about it?”

Yoongi starts unbuttoning his own outer layers with painstaking care, giving you ample time to twitch under the weight of his gaze. You fight to keep a smile from sneaking onto your face, but it’s too hard and you let your lips turn up in a little grin. He can’t see it, but he can hear it in your voice.

“You’re just cute when you’re mad.”

A muscle in Yoongi’s jaw jumps.

“You noticed that I was mad, huh?” He shirks off his jacket roughly, sulking in his subtle way. Luckily—or perhaps not luckily—you’ve come to recognize it well.

“I did.” Your voice is high and steady as you remove your sweater, leaving you in a soft and worn t-shirt. “I’ll admit it was entertaining. A little bit.”

“Is that so?” He hums.

“I mean, I don't know what you were mad about. But I could tell it wasn’t about something serious.”

He merely nods and watches you fidget. You peer at him through the side of your eye and see him meticulously undoing the clasp of his watch. From the way he moves slowly through the process of undressing for bed, you can tell something’s coming.

“Let me ask you something, then.”

“O-okay.”

“Is Jin still your favorite?”

“Are you kidding?”

You have to stop hunting for pajamas at your dresser and turn to him to see if he’s in fact kidding. But he looks dangerously serious, and you have to fight to keep your eyes from rolling.

“That’s what this is about? All this sulky Yoongi is because of that?”

“Just answer the question,” he shrugs his shoulders lightly.

Supposedly he’s calm and collected and not jealous, but his eyes are sharp as they zero in on you. Easily, he pushes himself off the wall he was leaning on. The steps he takes toward you are measured and slow. You still find yourself holding your breath as he comes to sit benignly on the bed across from you. It’s something he does sometimes when you’re getting dressed or undressed. Because ‘he likes the view’, he usually says. But tonight it makes you grab the first thing that you find out of your pajama drawer so you’re not leaving your back vulnerable.

“Of course he’s not my favorite anymore. I haven’t felt that way since before we got together.”

“I was just wondering.”

“Yoongi,” you sigh and pull the old t-shirt off to replace it with a sleep shirt. “When you asked me who my favorite was half a year ago I didn’t realize you were flirting with me. And I didn’t really know much about the group either.”

He nods like he thinks what you’ve said is completely reasonable and you stuff your legs through some of your yoga pants roughly. When you finish, you’re still standing defensively on the other side of the room. He looks up at you and beckons you over without a word. You feel compelled to move forward. Unsure of what would happen if you didn’t humor him.

When you’re finally approaching the V of his parted legs, he motions for you to sit next to him on the bed. You do.

“You know,” he begins slowly, “You looked like you were having a great time tonight.”

“Oh,” you blink. “Yeah, I was having fun. Even though it took a while for me to win a round. And even then I think Hoseok might have let me win.”

“Was Jin a good teacher?”

“Yeah, he was a good teacher.”

“I bet he was. He had a good student. He looked like he was enjoying himself.”

“Maybe,” you tap your finger on your chin pensively. “It didn’t seem like he hated having to show me how to play.”

“No, trust me, he was enjoying it.” Yoongi’s tone dips audibly, and you stop yourself when you realize what he’s implying.

“God, Yoongi, stop it. It wasn’t like that. He was just being nice.”

“I’ve known Jin a long time. I know what he looks like when he’s flirting. It started as soon as you walked through the door.”

“That’s crazy,” you mumble. But then you think of all the lingering touches and glances again and it clicks. “He...he was probably just trying to rile you up. Jin likes to mess with people sometimes. You’re always saying that.”

Yoongi pins you with an odd look. It’s partly amused, partly pitying. Then it turns cold. “You know, Jin’s been sweet on you since I first introduced you. The first night you met, he told me he used to date someone who looked a bit like you when he was younger, before debuting.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper again.

“You really didn’t know?” Yoongi leans in so the words practically brush against the skin of your cheek. “He was shoving himself all over you the whole night and you didn’t notice?”

You shake your head, at a loss for words. His hand finds its way to your opposite arm, pulling you closer to him.

“Hmm,” he hums in acknowledgment.

Then Yoongi’s lips are pressing gently to the skin of your neck. There’s a hint of something in the kisses that makes them feel a bit too heated to be chaste. At first you think it’s gratitude, but when you turn your head to meet his lips with your own, it’s clear that it’s not just that. His tongue snakes in between your lips, and you let it happen as you turn the evening’s events over in your memory.

“Yoongi,” you whisper between kisses.

“Hmm?” His large hands are splayed low over the swell of your back, a pinky finger just barely dipping under the waistband of your pants.

“I think I did know.”

“Huh?”

“I think as soon as he said that thing in the car—about being in your place—I knew he wasn’t just being friendly anymore.”

“Yeah?” he mumbles against your lips.

Taking you by surprise, he pushes deeper into your mouth until he’s stealing your breath. His lips are plush but insistent. And you’re conflicted. But suddenly he’s pulling away with a damp mouth and a firm grasp on your hip.

“You knew and made me sit through all that and then invited him to brunch in front of me?” He nips at your lax mouth. “That’s not very nice.”

“I know,” you sigh.

“Don’t you think you should be punished, then?” When you pull away looking like he’s grown a second head, he shrugs mildly and like he didn’t just threaten to take you over his knee. “Or not. Your choice.”

#bangtan bookclub #networkbangtan #yoonginetwork #hyunglinenetwork #btswriters #yoongi imagines #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fanfic #bangtan scenarios #bangtan imagines #bangtan fanfic #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfic

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insane-weasel · 3 years

Text

Febuwhump Day 2: “i can’t take this anymore”

DreamNotFound/DNF

Sum: Stephen King cliché AU—in where kids find true evil, cliché and then it hunts them to adulthood. Not fully formed idea (not my finest work, more just feeling out characters I’ve never written before).

CW: Animal death, human death, Stephen King vibes.

George’s back was to the wall, his heart thudding in his chest. His eyes went to the door. It hadn’t fully latched, but he couldn’t move to close it entirely now. It would give his position away. On the other side of the door he could hear the soft final footsteps of someone ascending the stairs.

The scrape of a knife against wood—an absent noise from the hefty blade in the killer’s hand hitting the bannister.

How’d he get here?

His life flashed before his eyes.

…

Years ago. When George was ten. This started.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Bad muttered. He was hanging back as far as he could, but not too far from Ant, who was holding the flashlight. Sapnap had his own flashlight and was leading the way, and George trailed between.

“Relax. I’ve seen those older guys in here all the time,” Sap reassured. “They probably have something cool stashed in here. Or like a secret lair. Or I don’t know…”

Sap put his hand to the wall of the cave and shined the flashlight down a dark tunnel that was about a foot high and then towards their current path which was narrow and hardly tall enough for all of them to comfortably walk through. If any of the older guys came in here, they must have to crawl.

“I think we made a wrong turn,” George reasoned, glancing behind him at Ant’s calm, but similarly reluctant face. He nodded at that, but Sapnap shook his head.

“Just a little bit more! We’ll turn back if we don’t find anything.”

“What if there’s bats in here? Or I don’t know—wolves?”

“There’s no wolves in the UK!” Sapnap said defiantly.

“There could be a bear in here?” Bad said.

“He’d have to be a skinny bear,” George said, turning sideways to avoid a jutting edge in the stone. The two behind him followed suit and Sapnap stalled up ahead, running the flashlight up the wall of stone. It was a little higher in here, but only by a head.

“Dead end?” Ant questioned.

“No,” Sapnap said and stepped to the side, letting the other three crowd into the closet sized space.

A crack was in the stone up ahead, rocks piled on either side of the crack. A painting of a face and other images were on the sides, nearly faded to extinction. Only when Ant waved the flashlight over them a couple of times, did George make out that they were drawings.

“This must be their lair? Less cool then I…thought,” George said. “I don’t think there’s any Pokemon cards in there.”

“It’s giving me a bad feeling,” Bad said. “Let’s just go. We need to get home earlier this time.”

“Let’s go in,” Sapnap suggested. He had to practically squeeze himself through the crack, sucking his stomach in and shimmying his shoulders until he was through. “It’s bigger on the other side. A lot! It’s like a room!”

Sapnap had moved away from the opening, his flashlight disappearing further into the opening, so George quickly followed, and Ant concerned bent down, tucking his flashlight under his chin to try and squeeze through the crack at the bottom where it was a little wider.

“Guys!” Bad said panicked. “Don’t just—fine, I’m coming. Don’t leave me out here.” George got through with some effort, but straightened and dusted his hands off on his pockets to see Sapnap shining the flashlight up at the paintings and old torches on the wall, that were—well, obviously, out. They looked ancient.

Ant behind him shined the flashlight in the center of the room to the big stone in the middle. He thought it looked like a well of some type, but it was covered.

Bad made it through with some muttered anxieties about their situation before he straightened, standing between George and Ant and hesitantly looking around the place.

“I don’t think this is the college kid’s hideout,” Bad said.

George nodded. “Looks too…old?”

“Lots of old things around England,” Ant commented.

“But what old thing is this?” George questioned, nudging the stone well with his foot.

Sapnap was bored looking at the pictures and turned his attention to the stone well. “Oh, I think it’s like a…what’s the word. A grave but not underground—”

“We’re in a grave?” Bad was alarmed.

“I hope not,” Ant said.

“There better not be a dead body in there or I’m telling my mum you were the one who ruined the clothes lines, not me,” Bad began rattling off.

“Want to try and look inside?” Sapnap suggested, turning to George and Ant, and nudging the stone cover with arm.

“I don’t think we can move that,” George argued.

Ant passed the flashlight to Bad and helped Sapnap. George went to Sapnap’s other side and the three pushed against the stone cover. No luck. It felt like it almost budged, but with a great heave, the children gave up. Sapnap looked at Bad who had his arms crossed across his chest.

“Come on, help us.”

“Piss off,” Bad said.

“Either help us, or go on home,” Sapnap snapped.

“Just so you know. I think we shouldn’t do this,” Bad said, tucking the flashlight under his arm and joining them on one side to push against the stone cover. They managed to move it a few inches this time, and with another good heave push it entirely off the stone well

Ant was the first to recover his wits, and peer over the edge. “Someone shine a light down here.”

“Got it,” Sap had his light pointed over the edge. “Oh.”

“What is it—” Bad shined his flashlight over the edge and winced. “It’s almost worse than a dead body. Darkness. Great.”

“So, it is a well?” George said, looking into the darkness.

“I don’t think there’s water down there.”

“Anyone have anything we can throw down it?”

Ant checked his pockets and pulled out a pencil. “Got this.”

“Toss it in then!”

The boys waited for a moment as Ant dropped it in the middle, and waited to see if they heard something.

“Did you hear it hit the bottom?” Sapnap questioned impatiently.

“Maybe it’s too light to make a noise,” Bad said, and searched his own pockets, balancing the flashlight on the edge. “I think I have a few coins. Gimme a second.”

He ended up nudging the flashlight over the edge and George and Ant scrambled for it, but it was too late. They followed the light down and it landed with a loud clang against more stone. It illuminated at the bottom the dropped pencil as well as what looked like something down there, like a cave.

“Don’t suppose anyone sees a rope or ladder or stairs down there?” George proposed.

“Damn it. My father’s going to kill me. I borrowed these from his toolshed,” Sapnap said, gesturing with the remaining flashlight.

“I don’t think we’re getting that other one back,” George remarked.

“No need to state the obvious,” Ant sniffed. They backed away from the well and glanced around the room, hoping to see something else worth their time. Bad stuck near Sapnap since he had the only light near and Ant leaned against the well, staring at the pictures on the wall. Most were too faded to make sense of.

George glanced back over the edge of the well absently as he circled the room and saw the flashlight below flicker. He reapproached the well and glanced over, just in time to see the flashlight turn off.

“The flashlight went out down there!” George exclaimed.

“We should leave!” Bad immediately said.

“Prolly the batteries knocked loose,” Sapnap said, turning to face George, bringing the flashlight with him to shine over the edge. Ant didn’t even turn around as Sapnap tried using the flashlight to see down below. Even with Sapnap, sticking his hand down in the well, the light didn’t reach the bottom. “Whatever. We’ll go. I’m hungry.”

“You know, this could still make a good story to tell Skeppy. He likes when you tell him of our adventures, Bad,” Ant suggested and Bad shook his head. “Sapnap, can you shine the light on the way we came in so we can all get out.”

“Yeah, Bad you want to go first?”

“Ant can,” Bad volunteered Ant who snorted.

“Scared the boogeymen followed us here and are just waiting for us to leave to finally get us,” George teased, elbowing Bad who elbowed him back harder.

Ant fake screamed before laughing. “I’m out. Come on, Bad.”

Bad jumped, then elbowed George again, as if it had been his idea. “Cut it out. Fine. Fine.”

Sapnap and George exchanged looks, as Sapnap held the flashlight pointed at the edge, waving it a little in slight tease as Bad wormed his way through the gap. George went next, but a noise startled him and Sapnap when he was only one arm through.

Sapnap swept the flashlight over to the source of the noise, startling Bad and Ant who he plunged into darkness doing that.

“Hey!”

“Why?”

Sapnap’s light finally landed on the pencil on the ground near the well. He tensed, almost in disbelief, but then with a sort of cocky assurance, approached the well again, and glanced to George.

George understood the unspoken message. He crossed to stand next to Sapnap as he swept the light down again into the well.

Nothing. Just darkness.

“Guys? Hello? We’re stuck in darkness and I don’t like it,” Bad complained.

“Thought we heard something,” George answered, staring over the edge. He wasn’t really comprehending the darkness, until it suddenly wasn’t darkness. The flashlight had turned on down there, but it was being held by someone. His brain was able to pick out a white face peering up at him, flashlight in hand pointed up at them when Sapnap yelled and startled enough to take a few steps away from the well, leaving George with the ghastly visage of only the illuminated smile below.

“What!”

“Someone’s down there!” Sapnap said.

“Let’s go!” Bad yelled insistent and George agreed, backing away from the well and to the crack in the wall. He grabbed the flashlight from Sapnap when he was halfway through, holding it for Sapnap so he could work his way through. Bad was clutching Ant’s arm, glancing between them and the way they came in desperately. “We need to go!”

“I know!” George said. “Sapnap, you good?”

“I’m good,” Sapnap said, straightening. “I’ll lead us out.”

“Quickly, please,” Bad said, practically shoving Sapnap as he tightly squeezed past Ant and George to take the lead. He was the one who knew the caves best, but it meant George was taking the back as they left, staying as close as he could to Sapnap, but left in near darkness due to their now limited light sources.

As they squeezed through the tight passages they took before, George found his heart getting steadily faster and more nervous, his sweaty hands picking up more dirt than they ought to as they scraped across the walls of the cave as he followed the sound of Bad’s voice and Sapnap’s light.

It felt like something was right behind them. George knew it would do him no good. There was no light behind them. He wouldn’t be able to see.

But he glanced behind them.

And saw nothing.

But it felt. Like there was something behind them.

Eventually, they got out of their tight passageway they took and were back into the parts of the cave they knew better, jogging lightly to get out of their faster until they were in the parts lit by sunlight. They were dirt-covered, sweaty and a little shaken, but after a moment, Sapnap laughed.

“You guys should have seen your faces,” Sapnap said, laughing.

“What?” Bad questioned, indignant.

“It was probably nothing. Just a moth, right George?”

George thought back to the terrible smiling face below. “Yeah.”

…

[Present Day]

But as George knew now. It hadn’t been a moth. He felt his hand shaking as he leaned his head back and held his breath, his ears practically homed in only on the featherlight footsteps right outside the door. The steps passed the door after a moment, but George didn’t take a proper breath in, just breathing ever so slightly through his nose.

After all this time. It was back.

It hunted them. It killed some people then.

It’d do it again.

The first death was someone near the sight last time.

…

[Past]

George woke up in the morning without a thought to the day’s events before. There was no reason to be bothered by them, even as he headed off to school. It remained a forgotten trip until he and his friends had made it home and were about to write off the hasty essays and what not and be off to their own devices.

When George’s mom shook her head as he came in, holding the phone. “Oh, George. Not today. Stay in. There’s been an accident near here. The neighbor’s son. He—He fell terribly ill.”

Terribly ill had been a very nice way to say found disemboweled in his bed, his head missing. A very gory death.

The boys discussed it at school the next day. Only Bad and George seemed to reckon it was connected to the cave. “No child murderers live here! We’d have heard of it before if they had,” Bad reasoned.

“Unless a child murderer just moved here,” Sapnap said.

“I reckon child murderers don’t live places. They just keep moving,” Ant said.

“I feel like there was something in the cave,” George said. “What we saw was probably a moth, but it felt creepy in there.”

“Not you too,” Sapnap muttered, taking a bite of his sandwich. “I think you’re over-blowing it.”

But that had only been the first death. The second one, hit much closer to home. While George’s mom had prevented him from hanging out with the others the other day, his father had no same fears and let him leave after he confirmed he finished his chores and what not.

They were in Ant’s backyard, play fencing with swords when Ant gave a cry. “She hasn’t come back!”

“Who?”

“Mimi.”

“Doesn’t she normally spend all day sunbathing out here,” Bad questioned, ducking Sapnap’s attempted foul move of knocking him upside the head. “She’s too old to go far.”

“But she always comes when it’s dinner time,” Ant muttered. “Mimi,” he called out at the woods, beckoning for his old, arthritis ridden cat.

No cat came.

George had been taking a break and got up, stepping past Sapnap who was doing an impressive job of blocking every hit. “Let’s go look for her,” he suggested to Ant.

They didn’t have to go far.

They saw the figure, yellow, bright and hunched over a carcass with a collar on it. The white mask stained red.

“Mimi!” Ant cried out, and he charged the figure, only being held back by George, as the figure straightened, its white face turning to look at them. “My cat!”

“Ant!”

The figure started towards them and George pulled Ant with him back towards his yard. They stopped only when they hit the backporch. Ant was sniveling quietly to himself, and George’s eyes were peeled on the small woods.

Nothing came out of it. But if he squinted he could see a white mask behind the trees.

Sapnap and Bad lowered their wooden sticks, glancing to the two with obvious concern. “Oh god, did she finally croak?” Sapnap questioned.

“Something killed her! I saw her dead body!”

“And the thing from the cave was hunched over her,” George said.

“What—you said you didn’t see anything?” Bad protested, suddenly suspicious. “This isn’t a prank?”

“No—”

“I didn’t see anything hunched over, Mimi,” Ant said, wiping at his tears. “What are you—”

“The thing holding the flashlight in the cave,” George said turning to Sapnap. “You saw it! It was in those woods hunched over the cat!”

“I only saw the floating flashlight,” Sapnap said. “Nothing—why would only you be able to see it?”

“I don’t know!” George said. He glanced to the woods. “It’s out there. Watching us. I can feel it.”

The boys went silent, eyes turning to the woods. “Where is it at?” Bad whispered.

George focused on the woods, but he couldn’t make out any mask shapes within it. “I’m not sure. I just—I just can.” He made eye contact with the pale white face.

…

[Present]

George inched away from the wall, further into the room. He could grab something. This time, the thing knew what George could do. It knew George could put him back in there. That George alone had the power to vanquish him.

Maybe that’s why this time it went after his friends first. Ant was a cat now, there was no curing that. Bad was…wasn’t human anymore either.

He was the only one that could do anything now. George took a deep breath, feeling his heart lock in his throat. There was no escaping it. However, it had gotten out again. Clearly. It wasn’t permanent. Someone had let it out. One of them had to. It took four of them to put it back. It’d only have taken one of them to let it out.

But they got rid of it. They vanquished it. Or so he thought.

…

[Past]

Four boys, an old history teacher and a now childless mother stood over the stone well, now covered again. There was now chains on top and as a final send off, plain English explaining why this shouldn’t ever be opened again.

“It’s over,” Sapnap said.

“Three weeks of terror,” the gruff history teacher said. He’d been named Oldman or something, he moved away after this. His voice had a grim humor. “Three children killed, two adults. And all we had to do to put it back was practically bait it like a mouse on a trap.”

His eyes turned to George. “You listen here, young man—”

“They’ve had a rough day, let’s just get out of here,” the mother said. She gestured them out, but George felt the history teacher’s eyes on his back.

He wasn’t surprised when the woman’s back was turned, he pulled George aside properly this time, jabbing a finger in his chest. “You’re the one the curse is tied to. You’re the one who first made eye contact with it. It’s marked you. When it comes back, you’ll be the only one able to put it back. You’re the only one who can see it properly. You know properly how horrible it looks.”

“I don’t—I can’t,” George stammered.

“Your friends’ lives depend on it.”

“Stephen Olderman, leave that boy alone—are you daft?” His neighbor and the mother of one of those boys he’d never learned the name of cut in, shuffling him back to the safety of his group of friends.

But they were never the same. Ant was haunted. Bad was always itching at his skin. And Sap shuddered, a small tick came over him. Almost as if maybe George hadn’t saved Sapnap in time. That the thing had taken apart of Sapnap with it when it was sealed. Like it called Sapnap to it.

…

[Present]

Sapnap had to have let it out. He was the only one who had any reason to. He was—possessed to. It couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t blame Sapnap.

But with Ant and Bad taken care of, and Sapnap willing to let it out. Then the only person left that could be a threat was…him. George was alone.

And it floored him. He sunk to the ground, suddenly his mind too blank to think about planning some brilliant escape.

He could hear the room next to the one he was in being searched and he decided he couldn’t run anymore. He was facing the creature. He was the only one who could see it. The thing that called itself Dream.

George stood, crossed the room quickly, his heart beating so hard he felt faint, his vision swimming at the edges. He gripped the brass doorknob and twisted it, throwing it open and getting ready to confront the monster.

It exited the room it had been in, clearly having heard George. It stood a few inches taller than him, with the white mask covering its face. It seemed, put-off, George had just revealed himself. Standing weaponless and unprepared before the monster, George just grit his teeth.

“I can’t take this anymore.”

Dream tilted his head, a question.

“You’re going to keep hunting me down. No matter where I go. I can’t vanquish you. Not with Sapnap…under your control. I give up. Kill me.”

Dream took a step forward, raising the sword, but he didn’t move to kill George, seemingly giving him time to change his mind.

“It’s going to come down to this. We banished you before, but that wasn’t enough. You’d already taken your—taken something—someone—to coerce us into letting you out again. If Sapnap could be…fixed—you’d do it again.”

Dream lowered his head. A nod or small sign of acceptance. Maybe it was nothing.

“We fucked up. We opened your tomb. And now…Ant’s a cat. Bad’s this weird…monster. Sapnap is possessed by something and nearly killed me and you—” George spread his arms wide. “I guess…I’m done running. I’m done.”

Dream took a step forward, pressing the sword to his chest, then lowered it until it was digging into his stomach. He was planning to disembowel him.

“Just one question for you?” George questioned.

The monster looked at him.

“Why me? Why can I see you?”

Dream lowered the sword again, and grabbed George by the collar, dragging him close. He was close enough he could feel his breath hitting Dream’s mask

“I wanted you to see me when I killed you,” Dream said, and ran him through.

#febuwhump #febuwhump day 2 #dnf #fanfic

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djiange · 4 years

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your drawings are so dynamic!! i was wondering if you had any tips on anatomy? or on how you're able to get a dynamic pose? ;-;

awww thank you! 🥺since i’m not professional on this i guess i can only give some little tricks? 😂

About anatomy:

I’m really pants at it - lots of muscles and bones in my drawings are misplaced or not really there on human body - but I manage to pretend I’m doing fine by paying attention on:

a) The proportion. You don’t have to remember the precise size and shape of each part of human body, but the generally form should be eye-friendly.

b) The stance. The easiest way to check it: make sure the character doesn’t fall or stray from their track of movement. Find their center of gravity.

c) Face, head-neck-shoulders structure, and hands. They are the parts that can act, that can tell stories, so expressions and gestures are prolly the most crucial things in portraying human/humanoid/etc. characters.

About the dynamic pose or say composition:

When you start working on a new idea, try not to just come up with a single image/a final result in your mind, but a story or a scene. You can always find some inspirations from other media like literature, music, and cinema.

For example, the one I’m currently using as my tumblr header is inspired by a line from a FOB song called Miss Missing You, “chlorine kissed summer skin.”

So first I got this idea about Merthur kissing in the pool bathing the summer sunshine listening to the song. Considering Merlin in my headcanon is not so keen on sports nor initiative, I decided to get Merlin out of the swimming pool and let Arthur kiss him. The scene visualized in my mind was that on a summer day, Merlin sat at the poolside minding his own business when Arthur rose from the water and pulled him into a kiss. The next step was to give the details about their doing, like what specifically Merlin had been doing - drinking? reading? both? play on his phone maybe? - and how Arthur pulled him - by cupping his face? or by grabbing his wrists or nape? - and to choose a static frame from this scene in my mind. I finally made my mind to render from this angle because I thought their body languages already told the audience that Arthur was determined while Merlin was kinda caught by surprise, so I didn’t have to show their facial expressions to deliver this information, and I also wanted the pov to be like from a passerby who glimpsed the two from a distance… and that’s my train of thoughts during the composing.

The main idea is basically thinking over how every part you draw could function as a device of meaning and using these visualizable elements to convey the narrative.

I hope my hobbyist tips helps more or less?

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essaysbyciara · 4 years

Text

Old Habits Die Hard | Part Four: Down The Stairs And To Your Left

SYNOPSIS | PART ONE: DAYS BEFORE | PART TWO: JUST BE GOOD TO ME | PART THREE: RECOGNIZE THE BUTTERFLIES

Peace!

Warnings: Lightweight mentions of sexual situations, language

A few things! Old Habits Die Hard is now on WATTPAD! If you’re more of a person that uses Wattpad to follow fanfiction, you can now follow on that platform. It’s all up to date over there. Secondly, I’m dropping off the internet grid (new year fasting, you know how it is...) from the 6th until the 26th so there will be no update until I come back (hopefully, it’ll be finished by then lol) Lastly, I love you all and I’ll see you on the flipside!

DOWN THE STAIRS AND TO YOUR LEFT

The latter parts of the day’s sunlight stream into Ariel’s bedroom and bounce off of the water-stained Word Up! posters of Mindless Behavior left hanging onto her bedroom walls. You understand why Aunt Jerri wouldn’t want to remove them; your Dad kept your B2K posters up in your room well after you left for college too. It made him feel like you never left home.

Stuffed animals mark their spot on top of the dresser and in front of the vanity mirror that’s reflecting an image of you braiding Ariel’s voluminous hair into two large french braids. It was getting too hot for her hair to live wild and free.

“I can’t believe my mom is actually hosting a party here tonight. This is not like her at all.”

“Ariel, I can’t either… she’s wildin’ tonight.” So was Yahya for that matter. His insistence on staying the night could only be explained by his desire to get a break from the hyper-emotional and high-stress world of being a civil rights attorney. He wanted to be as wild and free as Ariel’s hair that you’re trying to tame. You’re successful with Ariel. With Yahya, not so much.

Ariel grabs EcoStyler for her edges as you take a look at your phone. Dave has yet to message you again since you ignored his first message and you couldn’t help but feel a bit dismayed by his lack of a following gesture. For him to go out of his way to message you after a year of paying you no mind, you would think he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Your pride, at least, wanted a fight out of him.

“I hope this party is lowkey, Ari. I do.”

“It should be just family and maybe Mr. Jones’ family down the street.”

“I don’t think I know the Joneses like that at all.”

“One of them, this boy Pardi, is fine as shit…”

“Ari…”

You didn’t like Ari to curse even if she was old enough. “Leave those boys alone, homegirl.”

“Speaking of those Jones’ boys … that low-ass Dave’s been asking about you.”

Your emotions spike. You don’t want to show your enthusiasm for Dave’s inquiries about you but you also feigned to know how much he much he misses you and if he craved you or wanted to see you.

“Oh word?” Your poker face is ice cold. “I haven’t talked to him in a minute. He’s okay?”

“Looking real dusted, yeah. He kept asking me about you too. Got on my nerves.”

You sit on the edge of Ariel’s bed, rubbing the corners of her mattress with hands that twitch at the thought of running into Dave before your trip is over. You try your best to shrug off Ariel’s notice of Dave’s attention towards you but curiosity is starting to get the best of you. “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing. Felt like it was better to show him.”

You quickly realize how Dave found you. You wanted to make sure that Ariel wouldn’t pull such a move.

“Ariel … how did you do that?”

“Showed him a picture of you and your man.”

“Girl, no… that wasn’t your place to do that.”

Ariel shoots a puzzled look toward you and you shoot it right down. “I get it but Sis, that wasn’t the move…”

“It ain’t like Dave hit you up, right … fuck, I’m sorry.”

Ariel received -- and believed -- the farcical cliff notes of the story of how you and Dave ended. You told her that you two decided that distance and travel would be too much to continue the relationship. You didn’t want to tell her the real story: that your texts to Dave went unanswered and that when you called him, it went straight to voicemail. You even hopped on I-95 unannounced to drive up to Philly but once you were minutes away from the tolls, you bailed. All of that you couldn’t tell Ariel.

“I doubt he shows his face, Y/N. It ain’t like he knows that you’re here.”

“You sure you ain’t tell him that, Ariel? Since you showing my life off…” Your misdirected irritation toward Ariel is rearing its ugly head. You quickly reel yourself in once you see Ariel start slamming the drawers shut on her vanity. “I’m sorry, cousin. You didn’t deserve that. I know you meant well by what you…”

The faint ring of the doorbell stops your apology in its tracks. You pass a frightened look at Ariel who quickly passes it back to you. You don’t know who that could be at the door. You’re hoping -- but yet praying that it’s not-- Dave.

You run into the bathroom to straighten yourself up before parading down the steps to maybe see your impending doom for the first time in a year. You adjust your sundress to show the right amount of plump and cleavage and shift your dress to show the most thigh you could. You check your Nikes for scuffs of asphalt on the toe box. You inhale so much air into your lungs that they may explode. You exhale once you walk down the steps to see it’s just Yahya coming into the house with his hands beyond full.

Crisis averted.

“Oh you went to the good state store, Yahya. You ain’t holding anything cheap.” Aunt Jerri grabs the two bottles of Woodford Reserve from up under Yahya’s right arm, ignoring the weight of the rest of the goodies that are almost causing him to topple over. The bags of ice are set to fall until you quicken your pace down the steps to catch those bags before they hit the floor. To Yahya, you were on time.

Dave doesn’t want to be late and miss Aunt Jerri’s afterparty, his favorite black t-shirt sticking to his body like glue as the sweat pools toward the middle of his back. He cranks up his air conditioning unit to the maximum. He’s trying to not lose his cool.

Dave’s been thinking about what to say to you all day. A part of him needs to corner you and pour his heart out but he’s too much of thug for that. A part of him desires to play the corner with hopes of you making the first move. Ultimately, all of him hopes that your fiance isn’t there to fight any and all of his fantasies. He knows that he must be on his best behavior: Aunt Jerri and his Mom are close friends. There will be no corner-like-behavior up in that house.

As Dave adjusts the laces on his Nikes, his brother Pardi softly raps on Dave’s door to let him know that the family is ready to head over to Jerri’s house. Dave heaves what feels like gallons of air from his chest and proceeds to walk down the hallway towards the steps. Pardi suddenly stops Dave in his tracks, causing him to almost slip on the top step of the staircase. “Yo, nigga… what are you doing?” Pardi could smell Dave’s tense demeanor since Trace told him that you were back in town. He remembered last summer and what fits those two weeks drove Dave into: insanity.

Like Ariel, Pardi didn’t receive an honest answer about what happened between you and Dave. Dave told Pardi that you were just “a fuck” and that you just made yourself available when Dave needed you. Pardi looked squarely through Dave’s misogynistic postering bullshit to know that Dave was all the way gone when it came to you. You were the woman that paused passionate games of NBA2K when you called his phone. You were the woman who Dave would let sleep in his bed long after he left for work. He wanted you there when he finally got home. You were the woman that had Dave on a James Harden-like tear on the basketball court, showing off just for you.

Pardi called Dave a “bitch” when your phone calls and texts went unanswered and when he, Dave and their boys took a trip to party out in DC and Dave didn’t reach out to you.

Pardi can see the scared in Dave as they stand at the top of the steps. “Yo, you good?”

“Fuck you asking me if I’m good for?”

“Shorty from last summer prolly there, that’s why.”

“Nigga. I’m not even thinking about her.”

Pardi shrugs off Dave with a laugh and walks down the steps. “Yeah, aight. You buggin’...”

-----

“Oh, you trippin’! LeBron is better than Jordan!” Uncle Ro’s passionate basketball debate with Yahya is causing his rotund body to almost careen off of the couch and onto the floor. Although you hoped that the party would be small, nothing associated with your Aunt Jerri is that. She’s beloved on the block and the amount of people filtering into her home is showing you how much. Some pre-wedding donations slipped into your hand during the course of the evening, making tonight’s impending torture somehow worth it.

For a brief moment, you weren’t thinking about Dave. You were overwhelmed by the embracing of Yahya by your family -- blood and neighborhood. You almost cried when Aunt Jerri spoke about your Dad during her impromptu toast to you and Yahya’s engagement. “My brother is smiling, I know that. And that fool wouldn’t crack a smile for a damn baby. Except you. He loved you.” Those were the words you wanted to hear after a day of beating yourself up for a decision you made last summer to make some neighborhood dude named Dave a priority for two weeks all the while he seemingly made you an option.

Your current priority has been watching you filter in and out of the kitchen, grabbing drinks for your Uncles and some of the OG queens from the neighborhood. The brown and white liquor are making love inside of his body, thoughts escalating inside of his mind that would make your Reverend Uncle Ro want to perform an exorcism on him. He couldn’t wait to take you out of that sundress when you both got home. But why did it have to wait for DC?

As Yahya peels his now overheating body off the plastic-covered couch, the front door opens allowing a needed breeze to hit the living room.

But suddenly you get hot.

Although it’s been 365 days, you and Dave catch eyes quicker than an Olympic runner. It mirrors the way that you both first looked at each other last summer, a moment so intense that Aunt Jerri whispered “oh shit!” to herself as if she was watching the drama unfold on The Young & The Restless. She could tell that you and Dave were two magnets that desperately needed attachment. That’s why she told you to “have fun with that.” As he stands at the door, your eyes fixate upon his body. You forgot how sexy he was. He mimics your move, staring down your body like he would be quizzed on it. You were so beautiful. Last year’s feelings and emotions quickly replicate themselves in this moment causing Aunt Jerri to say “oh shit!”. This time most of the room heard her.

Aunt Jerri received the honest story about you and Dave’s fallout. She forgot about all that in the midst of trying to set a party off inside of her house.

Yahya sees your face and knows that something isn’t right. As he attempts to save you, Dave and his family make their way throughout the living room to greet everyone. They became the river that Yahya couldn’t cross.

“Y/N, can you grab that Grey Goose in the basement?” Trace orders, breaking you out of your Dave-induced spell. You happily oblige, needing to get away from the love of your life and the lust of your last summer standing just feet apart from his each other. Yahya finds a way around the crowd to follow you downstairs.

You find yourself leaning over the oak-colored bar while yelling internally at your chest to calm down. You fail to hear Yahya shuffle down the steps and come up to you.

“Yo, what the fuck!” You jump at the precise moment that Yahya attempts to wrap his arms around your waist. He’s never seen you this wound up or scared. It’s uncharted territory for the both of you.

“Y/N, it’s me … it’s me. Wow.”

You never went in for a hug so fast once you realize that it’s Yahya and not Dave. “Babe, I’m sorry. I’m just … I’m just really over-”

“Overwhelmed? I would be too if half the damn city just walked into the house. You know them?”

You know one of them and in ways that you would never tell Yahya. You shrug off Yahya’s question with a kiss which intensifies with every mounting second. Yahya’s lips fail to break from yours as he walks you backward, finding your backside up against the bar. His right hand eagerly climbs inside the slit of your sundress, causing you to whimper and fall even more into his arms.

“Yahya, we can’t. Not down here…”

“Is so loud up there though, They won’t hear shit…”

“Shit? You’ve been around my peoples for too long. But no, not here. Not in my Auntie’s house.” You and Dave didn’t follow such protocol last summer.

Yahya obliges. “If this is your way of punishing me for making us stay up there, I don’t like it.” Yahya playfully bites on your neck before letting you go against the wishes of your body. He’s always there to protect you and you really want to show your appreciation. As he walks up the basement steps, he’s too distracted from trying to hide what’s going on inside of his jeans that he fails to notice someone trying to open the basement door.

“Oh, my bad. I didn’t see you there.” Dave’s too on a mission to get at you that he doesn’t care to become upset at Yahya almost smacking his face with a door. Or that Yahya, the man that now has your love and attention, is standing in front of his face.

“You good. They told me to grab a bottle down there.”

“Yeah, man. The bar is down the steps and to your left. My girl is down there. She can show you where everything is...”

Taglist: @yoursoulstea @harleycativy @twistedcharismaaa @dorkskinneded @need-my-fics @ghostfacekill-monger @writerbee-ffs @chaneajoyyy @amyhennessyhouse

#yahya abdul-mateen ii x reader #yahya abdul-mateen ii #dave east #dave east fic #fanfiction #old habits die hard

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