#it tries so hard to be three different movies at once that it fails to be even one of them

[that-one-empty-skull]

Diversity win! The first queer slasher is centrist!

[koqabear]

「 Camera Shy 」

♫: Automatic, Red Velvet // Movie Star, CIX // Color Me, JUNNY // Kitty Cat, KISS OF LIFE

“You’ve always tried to live an honest and responsible life; never spending money on anything ridiculous, scoffing at the things other people would be so willing to drop their paycheck on. But when life gets hard, you’re bound to give into your guilty pleasures, right?”

camboy!Beomgyu x fem!reader

Genre: f2l, smut, pw/minimal plot 

Word count: 14.4K (there’s like three different smut scenes here)

Warnings: gyu has a thing for glasses idk don’t question me, (mc wears glasses, not necessarily prescription), gyu is lowkey manipulative if u squint, slight possessiveness on his part? nothing toxic (i think), alcohol consumption, gyu has a tattoo.. 

smut warnings: gyu is a bit of a perv! mean dom!Beomgyu, sub!mc, masturbation (f&m), filmed sex, (consensual), dirty talk, degrading, use of toys (f&m rec.), exhibitionism, voyeurism technically, bit of a voice/hand kink? slight humiliation kink, mentions of safe words & subspace, mentions of squirting lmao, manhandling, spanking, pet names (princess, baby, etc.), fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, marking, dry humping, handcuffing, biting, unprotected sex, dumbification, dacryphilia, creampie (lmk if i should add anything!)

Notes: lemme tell you. i wrote abt the tattoo before i stumbled upon that pic, when i tell you i was just ??? barely proof-read heehee. the thought of this au hit me like a that-so-raven vision, and I literally spent the whole day making sure I could finish this. enjoy bc i love camboy aus sm. (oh and pls, do me a favor and reblog— i have an ominous feeling about what’ll happen to this fic once i post it.)

Beomgyu has always found the idea of his work a bit ridiculous. 

Day by day, he’s a normal college student— he spends his early mornings in classes, taking all the morning slots everyone was always reluctant to enroll in before he went off to work; he was known as that cute server amongst the women that visited the restaurant he worked at, able to upsell and gain tips with ease as he quickly became a favorite amongst his coworkers.

He liked the attention— of course he did, he needed to in order to thrive in the field of his actual job, his hours at the restaurant nothing but a side hustle compared to the hundreds he could make of a single stream.

Those hundreds could always breach into the thousands— but those were on especially good days, like his annual Valentine’s Day stream he always held for his lonely, single viewers. 

Beomgyu was quite the sweet talker— he got the practice from his day-to-day shifts, watching girls his age and older fawn at his words and flutter their eyes playfully. It was clear they enjoyed the attention just as much as he did, a cute smile on his face as he faked a shy laugh whenever they would compliment him.

Your hair looks really nice today. You smell amazing. Do you work out? You have a really nice voice. 

He got that last compliment a lot.

“Do I?” he would purr, a sultry smile crawling on his face each time, like a practiced action as he would tilt his head teasingly— the reaction would be positive each time, without fail, and he would always end up with a collection of napkins with scrawled phone numbers every time he would clock out— his coworkers would poke fun at him every time they watched him dump them all out apathetically. 

You weren’t into that one person? Dude, the lady at table seven was so fucking hot.

Beomgyu never really paid mind to their teasing— he could care less for the men and women that tried to butter him up during his shifts, forced to act as though their shameless flirting didn’t make his stomach twist unpleasantly— instead, he would be forced to smile, laughing sheepishly before he would slip away with one last comment. 

“I’m flattered, really— but, I have someone I’m interested in.” 

That someone was you— the pretty girl that sat across from him during his ten am lecture, finding himself spacing out every time and staring off into your direction; though you never seemed to notice, much too caught up in taking notes as he watched the way your brows would furrow, biting at your lip and adjusting your glasses as you remained focused— whether those glasses were for reading, blue light, prescription, or even decoration, he didn’t care— all he cared about was how unnecessarily attractive you looked in them. 

He thought about you more than he liked to admit— it was frustrating at first, his thoughts starting as nothing more than puppy love to something worse— it was only after you piqued his interest that he began streaming more. 

This was both a good and bad thing; good because, well, he began to climb the ranks of popularity and earn more, but bad because he would find himself thinking of you. Each. And every. Time. 

“Wish I could fuck you,” he would sigh out, his comments going too fast for him to keep up with as his eyes fluttered shut; leaning back against his headboard, he shifts, making sure everything but his lips remain out of frame before he’s back to closing his eyes, “would you let me make you feel good? God, I’d do anything just to feel you, taste you…”

As far as his audience knows, he’s speaking to them— the comments grow wild and tips flood in, all asking him to stop being a tease as they watch the way he palms himself through his sweatpants; grabbing at his length, stroking it slowly as he lets his imagination run wild. 

He’s not wearing boxers; Beomgyu knows it drives his viewers mad, able to see as a wet spot begins to form on the light material, his tip leaking furiously as his other hand tugs the hem of his sweater over his chest— his vision is hazy as he reads the requests, laughing softly as he allows his fingers to trace along his chest absentmindedly— tracing over the muscle of his abdomen, circling his nipples slowly as he reads a comment under his breath.

Stop teasing and hurry up already !! >///<

The comment has him rolling his eyes— yet his usual tippers begin to request the same thing, and his hand is slowly tugging at the tied strings of his pants as he smiles, mocking and mean as he bites his lip. 

“Hurry up? You want to command me while you’re over here throwing money at me like a whore? All just to watch me fuck myself, dreaming that it could be you?”

The comments start speeding up; it’s all a blur to him, but the sound of money coming in is enough to tell him that his usual audience is active again.

“Pathetic,” he sighs, his voice deep and grumbly as he reads over the requests that come in with the money: yes, i wish it were me there… please, can we see your cock?

“Desperate little sluts,” Beomgyu hums, tugging his waistband down and allowing his cock to spring up; it smacks against his stomach, and though the people in his comments attempt to regain his attention with dirty words and useless requests, he knows it’s all because of you— guiltily, he finds his thoughts straying the moment his hand wraps around his cock. 

His streams have a certain formula to them; the more money, the better the show. Which is exactly why he ends up kneeling in front of the camera, fucking his cock into a clear flashlight as he listens to the sounds of tips coming in left and right— but his eyes remained shut, spilling enough filth to have his audience satisfied as he allows to let his imagination run wild. 

In every stream, he cums to the thought of you; he has to bite his lip to not moan out your name like a pathetic bitch in heat, flooding his fleshlight with cum and continuing to fuck into it until his next orgasm.

In every stream, he finds himself thinking the same thought at least once— do you watch his streams?

»»»

The concept of camboys is ridiculous to you.

Why in the world would you spend all your money and emotions on a single person, when you can just go on Twitter and find the next best account that has yet to be suspended? Well, it’s not as though you find the idea of sex work appalling, but you don’t think you’d ever feel good about yourself spending a hard-earned paycheck because you were horny. 

You’re not stupid; you know sex workers make bank, and you know that there are people in the world that love emptying out their bank accounts to such workers; whether it’s due to a kink or to feed into their parasocial relationship, you’re not sure. 

You find that a good session on Twitter and your fingers usually does the trick— maybe a toy or two, if you find yourself feeling that needy. 

Today’s session quickly becomes both disappointing and humbling; every account you try to look for has either been suspended or deleted, and every video you come across is something that’s not to your taste or something you’ve seen many, many times. 

You feel weak as you come across the same account again; guiltypleasures— and he’s damn right, because you’re unable to resist the urge to click on his icon, feeling your thighs rub together with impatience as you sit back in bed— scrolling through, you’re surprised to see that he’s posted another video— without a second thought, you’re watching it. 

“Fucking pathetic,” he sighs out, the familiar growled phrase making you gulp; you never found yourself to be too attracted to men who are extremely dominating and mean, but the man on your screen is somehow able to make it work as you find yourself getting wetter, “are you touching yourself right now? Don’t you wish I was there with you?”

And shit, you think you know why he’s able to make you come back to him every time, even if he’s posted nothing new and you’re forced to rewatch old videos most of the time; maybe it’s because of his hands, delicate and thin as they wrap around his favorite pocket pussy, or maybe it’s the way he slowly fucks into the said toy; stretching it out, his tip poking out and oozing enough cum that you can hear the wet squelching sounds that come from every thrust.

Or maybe, it’s his voice, deep and breathy and addicting as he mumbles out filthy things like it’s the only thing he knew how to do; his lips are red and swollen as he groans, hissing through his teeth as you watch the way his hands tighten around his toy. 

“Shit, I’d fuck you so good,” he sighs out, hips rutting into the toy in his hands as he laughs; his head tilts, and though you’re only able to see his lips, you know his eyes are teasing as he looks into the camera, “fuck you so that you’d never want anyone else but me.”

His thrusts are picking up— you didn’t even realize the moment you began touching yourself, embarrassing whimpers and breaths falling from your lips as you keep your eyes honed in on his motions; you’re close, so close, your ministration speeding up as you fight to keep your eyes open. 

“You’d be my good little cumdump, just for me to use— right?”

The video ends shortly after.

God damn it! your mind screams, the sudden cut-off catching you so off guard that you completely ruined your orgasm; you feel insanely embarrassed by how frustrated you feel, not realizing how short the clip he posted was until now. Clicking away, you feel as though your mood is ruined as you read the contents of his tweet. 

A small clip from the stream. Watch the rest here: https://…..

Shit. Of course he would be a camboy. How did you not realize this sooner?

Honestly, if you sounded like that, you would be one too— and frustratingly enough, the brief cutoff is a damn good marketing strategy, because after a moment of thought, you’re clicking on the link.

You could just rewatch the video— you could also just go rewatch his previous videos, or even use your imagination to help you finish— but the idea of doing so is much more unpleasant than usual. (And humiliating, because you’ve found with horror that you’ve begun to memorize how his previous, equally as short, clips go.)

Your resolve begins to weaken the moment you click on his page— because of course, everything costs money— It costs to see his previous streams, costs to message him, and costs to get a fucking membership. 

Who is paying for all this?!

You, apparently— because after some serious, slightly horny-impaired thought, you decide that getting a low-tier membership wouldn’t be too bad, right?

The cost is monthly (because of course it is, this website seems to want to charge you for just looking at his page) and you wince slightly as you watch your transaction go through. 

Once you see the notification of your purchase pop up on your phone, you feel dreadfully sobered. 

Because shit, being a low-tier subscriber only gets you a part of his most recent streams— about less than half of it, you notice— only able to get full access to streams prior to this month. It’s enough for now, but you can’t help but feel as though you’ve become the very thing you’ve despised as you lay back in your bed, staring at your ceiling for a moment before you’re sighing.

You’re still horny. 

»»»

You think you can get behind the whole camboy thing. One may say you’ve been swayed, and quite honestly, you don’t think you could dispel such claims at this point.

Because it’s been a few months, and you’ve managed to stay through the whole thing. You’re surprised that you’ve begun to keep his streaming times in mind as you go about your day, ending your study sessions early or wondering if you’ll get home from work in time to watch his streams. 

You always do. Maybe it’s a deity above making sure you get your money’s worth, or maybe it’s the fact that guiltypleasures is a human too, with a normal life and better shit to do than sit in front of a camera and jerk off all day. 

The idea of following in his footsteps has crossed your mind more often than you expected; anything would be better than being a hostess at this god-awful job you have, forced to sit through the way people take out their anger on you and proceed to flirt with the servers— one of those servers being Beomgyu.

You were able to realize how popular Beomgyu was after your second shift— it didn’t take a genius to figure out why as you were left to deal with the way women of your age and older (mostly older. So many older women.) would creep up to you shyly, putting up a front of innocence as they asked you is Beomgyu here today? Could we sit in his area, please?

Seeing him rack up tips after a busy shift is always enough to have you wondering if you should switch to being a server— but then you see the way the women are treated, your stomach flipping in disgust at the way men leer and comment at them— you’ve even seen Beomgyu get cursed at plenty of times as well, shivering at the jealous partners and the way they’ve been blacklisted for threatening him. 

Tonight is one of those nights. You’ve clocked out, shrugging on your jacket and gathering your belongings when you see Beomgyu storm in through the employee entrance; you don’t think you’ve ever seen him angry, but the sight has your eyes widening as you watch the way he frowns at his uniform, cursing angrily under his breath as he approaches the break table you stand by. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, low and breathy and mean as he continues complaining, berating the customer that had the audacity to throw their drink at him— but you, in your very depraved state, remain stuck on the way he sounds, his voice far too attractive for a person who is spouting out filth.

This feels familiar. 

“Hey, you okay?” you ask softly, feeling awkward as you mentally slap yourself for your train of thought; it seems as though Beomgyu hadn’t even realized you were there, his head snapping up as he stares at you like a deer caught in headlights— his mood is immediately shifting as he sends you a sweet smile, acting as though his clothes aren’t soaked as he waves you off causally. 

“Yeah. Just some ridiculous customers,” he says, laughing softly as he grabs at a pile of napkins on the table; you wince as you watch him scrub roughly at the stains, unable to stop yourself as you jump to his aide. 

“Here, you’ll only get the stains in deeper if you do that,” you say, taking the napkin from his hands as you begin to dab at his uniform without much thought; you’re much closer than you should be to someone you’ve never really talked to, but you don’t seem to realize it as Beomgyu practically forgets to breathe from your proximity. 

Shit, how did he find himself in this situation? He might as well go back out and thank the jealous, “tough guy” boyfriend that threw his drink at Beomgyu, because he feels as though every guilty fantasy is coming back to mind as he takes in your concentrated expression, your hand placed firmly on his chest for support as the other dabs at the stains in his uniform. 

You smell so good. Even though you’ve been in the restaurant just as long as him and have been around food this whole time, he’s still able to pick up on your scent with every shaky breath he takes. 

You’re wearing your glasses, too.

Beomgyu’s mind is wandering off to dangerous places; he knows he needs to get himself under control, because the danger of him popping a boner just from how close you are is a higher probability than he’d like to admit. It seems as though you’re snapping out of your trance the moment he clears his throat, your face growing hot and slightly horrified as you jump back; Beomgyu can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips at the sight, finding your embarrassment oddly endearing. 

“Sorry, got carried away,” you say, smiling shakily as you take in the way Beomgyu practically beams at you— always a sweet, nice guy, waving you off without a problem as he laughs softly.

“No, it seems to have helped,” he says, and you can’t help but notice how oddly charismatic he is even now, during this mundane interaction that has you stuttering over your words stupidly— but to be fair, how are you supposed to give him advice on how to get the stains out when he’s looking at you with the cutest god damn puppy eyes you’ve ever seen, his brown eyes round and sparkly as he listens intently to every word you say? 

“I wouldn’t have thought to do that,” he smiles, his cheeks puffing up cutely and oh, is it weird that you want to coo at how cute he is and pinch his cheeks…? 

Definitely weird, you decide, letting out a soft laugh as he tells you that he’ll try it as soon as he gets home. 

“Speaking of which, I’ll let you go; you probably don’t want to be here longer than necessary,” Beomgyu is so kind and considerate even as you tell him it’s fine and that you didn’t have any plans after work anyway. 

“I’ll let you get back to work,” you can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you as Beomgyu asks you to wish him luck, the smile he sports coy as you follow his command without any hesitation— you take this as your chance to leave before things get awkward, but a part of you itches to go back and talk to him more. 

Beomgyu’s good, you realize as you’re exiting the building, a bewildered laugh escaping you as you realize that he managed to charm you just from that short interaction. 

You get why he’s so popular. 

»»»

Any plans to go to bed early and rest are immediately thrown out the minute your phone buzzes beside you. 

You were just about to put your laptop away— just on the verge of falling asleep, until your eyes reluctantly drifted to read the words that take over your screen— it’s a Twitter notification, the username making your eyes widen as you’re scrambling to unlock your phone and read the rest. 

guiltypleasures

had a shitty shift today, let me take it out on you? https://…….

Oh. oh, oh lord… you can feel the exhaustion lifted off in an instant; suddenly, you’re wide awake, eyes widening as you quickly copy the link of his tweet into your browser— while your mind scolds you for trying to stay up and possibly ruining your sleep schedule, the other, much more sinister part of it tells you that you’re paying for a reason. 

The stream starts in five minutes. 

While you wait anxiously in your room, your hands swiftly going to your nightstand to take out some toys— your trusty vibrator and a dildo you recently bought, all because of him— Beomgyu paces around his setup, gathering his own toys and changing into something that the viewers might like; today's ensemble is a bit more bothersome than usual, but he knows how much his viewers like when he dresses up and role plays a bit with them. 

He was tired; today's shift took a toll on him, and he’d rather be fast asleep than putting on a stream— but after looking at today's earnings, he couldn’t help but feel unsatisfied with it all, deciding on impulse that he would put on a stream to make up for his lack of tips— instead, he’ll earn tips in another way. 

“Hey,” he starts quietly, sitting back in his seat as he takes a glance at his monitor, making sure his face is out of frame. The viewer count rises and comments flood in no time, all of them freaking out about how good he looks in the suit he wears; the all-black ensemble feels stifling to him, but he knows taking it off will be worth it in the end. 

Bad day today? Let us make you feel better :( 

His top tippers are all begging for his attention, desperate and needy as always as they beg for him to get started— but he feels a lot more sluggish than usual, his gloved hands caressing his thighs slowly as he reads the comments out loud. 

“Yeah, today’s shift wasn’t that great,” he speaks, his voice deep and sultry as he allows a moment to pass, reading all the comments that beg for him to use them, “I only thought about you though. Just wanted to see you.”

There he goes again— he’s no longer talking to his audience, but to you instead, closing his eyes and imagining a world where you’re in front of him, or even on the other side of this screen, one of the many faces that lusts over the way his cock begins to harden, the bulge becoming much more apparent as he lets his mind wander.

Unbeknownst to him, you are on the other side of your screen; a shy and flustered mess as you shift in your bed, watching the comments fly by as you wonder if you should join in— not that you could, anyway, your low-tier subscription excluding you from doing such things, as ridiculous as it is. 

You’re practically devouring the man on your screen with your eyes; taking in the way he’s dressed, his pretty hands covered with leather gloves as he runs them slowly over his black trousers; stopping as they run back to his hips, a hand beginning to palm at his bulge as he spreads his legs a little wider in his chair— today's setup is a bit different, along with his attitude as he seems to sweet talk the audience more than usual. 

“Seeing you is the only good part of my day,” he sighed, his free hand trailing up his chest before it stops at his tie— he’s tugging at it, loosening it and allowing it to hang around his neck as he continues, “Can’t stop thinking about how much I want you, how I’d fuck you until all you can remember is my name.”

The offer is tempting; you groan a little as you watch him begin to slide off his blazer, throwing it to the side before he’s unbuttoning his white shirt— he’s making quick work to become undressed, you notice, untucking the material and undoing his belt as the sounds of it jingling ring out in the room. 

Yet, no one knows his name— no one knows anything about him, except the tattoo that runs across his side as he slides off his shirt, the sharp, elegant lines running all along his ribs, trailing down to his hip bones and disappearing under his pants— the rest of him remaining a mystery as you’re left to lust over a nameless, faceless stranger. 

That’s probably where the appeal comes from; you’re able to imagine anything about him, from what his face looks like to what he may do when the cameras are off; you’re free to mold him into the perfect fantasy, using him and projecting onto him as you watch him slowly unzip his pants, a hand slipping under as he begins to jerk himself off teasingly, slow as always as he waits for the requests to come in— like clockwork, your eyes fall to the end of his tattoo, taking in the cute heart that rests by his hip bone, the ending of the elaborate piece that always has you wondering what it’d be like to see in person. 

“Hmm? You want more?” he says, tilting his head slightly as he smiles; it’s mocking as always, biting into his lip as he begins to roll his hips into his hand— making a show out of it, throwing his head back and letting out a breathy moan that has you shivering.

“How about you show me just how much you want it,” he sighs out, smiling evilly as tips begin to come in left and right as a response; you find the way he’s able to manipulate the audience impressive, always able to get them to blow their money on him without hesitation. 

He leans forward, towards the screen, and you’re able to admire his lips as he reads the comments, mouthing them as the lights cast a glow on his pretty, pouty mouth, his neck tempting and begging to be marked as you watch the way he displays it so teasingly. 

“Good girl,” he laughs softly, your eyes flickering to the comment section for a moment; his top tipper has spent an egregious amount on him yet again, and you listen to the way he softly begins to fulfill her request, the rest of the audience momentarily disappearing as he begins to speak to her. 

“Always such an obedient thing for me, hmm? Tell me, what do you want to see?” 

His manipulation is seamless as he watches another tip flood in; all from the same person, the amount doubled in order to get his attention past all the others that blow a measly twenty on him, nothing compared to the three hundred that is highlighted in gold, the comment momentarily pinned for the man to read it.

I want you to fuck your favorite fleshlight and use a vibrator while you think of me. Can you moan my name please? It’s—

Her comment has your eyes widening for a second; it’s bold and demanding, and the idea of requesting such a thing from the camboy in front of you is daunting as you read her request over and over— your face feels hot and you’re already taking off your sweatpants from how needy you are, wondering if the man on your screen will accept such a request.

The first two are nothing to him— in fact, it’s more on the tamer side as he already finds himself reaching for the aforementioned toys. 

The problem lies in the last request. 

He’s not one to moan names on a live stream; he usually saves it for personal requests he gets, the videos much more personal and calculated as he gets to take his time with them— so for his top tipper to request such a thing on his livestream is a bit more difficult; especially when he spends this time thinking of you. 

But then again, it’s three hundred dollars. 

“Okay then, is that what you want? Hmm?” he teases softly, purring out her name at the end as he watches the way she tips him again; it has him laughing in amusement, sitting back in his chair before he’s crossing his arms over his chest, singing out her name with a soft lilt as he watches the way she continues to pour money at him like it’s nothing. 

Soon enough, more requests come in; all with the same amount and request, hoping that they’ll be able to hear their names fall from his lips as he slowly begins to tug down his pants, raising his hips as he’s left in nothing but his underwear, the briefs straining painfully as his cock twitches, begging to be free. 

“One at a time,” he murmurs sweetly, patronizing as he mumbles that it’s her turn now, watching the way she seems to react with every purr of her name. 

The sudden trend of requests makes his stream slightly difficult; he’s always found himself to be a lot more into them when he’s mentally moaning out your name, lips ghosting over the syllables every time he’s coming undone. Instead, he’s forced to moan out the name of a stranger as he begins to palm himself slowly, even though his mind thinks back to you and the small interaction you had today. 

He feels his cock twitch at the mere thought. It’s painfully hard and won’t stop leaking as he takes it out, not needing to use any lubricant as he begins stroking it slowly, hips jumping at the feeling of the leather against his skin— and though his lips moan another’s name, his eyes remain closed, thinking about you. 

You and your meek personality, always letting guests take out their anger on you before they’re turning around and sucking up to Beomgyu— he’s always had to resist the urge to fuck them up as a response, knowing that you think no one else notices your sullied mood and your crestfallen gaze every time they seem to get away with it. 

He’s never free to comfort you. You’re both far too busy to be around each other for longer than a few minutes, and today was like a blessing as he caught you at just the right time— he would have stayed the rest of his shift back there talking to you, if only he hadn’t been playing the part of a sweet, considerate guy. 

He thinks back to how you felt against him. How, even though your actions were innocent and you were much more focused on taking out the stain of his uniform, he still felt the warmth of your hand against his chest, delicate and smaller than his as you leaned in close enough to allow himself to get a whiff of your sweet scent.

And those glasses. 

He never thought he would find himself hung up on such an item, but the way they make your eyes look big and sparkly is practically enough to make him cum on the spot. Instead, he grabs a hold of his newest fleshlight, soft and tight, just how he imagines you would be. 

It’s perverted, but as he slides his cock into the tight sleeve, groaning slightly at how he’s barely able to push through, he imagines that it’s you. His mind begins to wonder what it would be like if you were above him right now, your thighs encasing his and your pussy leaking onto his cock as he fucked into you without abandon. 

As he turns on his vibrator, running it along his balls and letting out pathetic moans, he imagines what it would be like to use it on you while he fucked you, imagining the way your tits would bounce and your eyes would squeeze shut as he made you cum until you were unable to hold yourself up. 

On the other side of the screen, you imagine the same thing. Your legs are shaking and you’re fighting to keep your eyes open as you follow the pace he’s set, pressing your vibrator firmly against your clit and letting out weak whimpers at the sensation. You try to ignore the way he calls out the same name over and over, wondering instead what it would be like to hear your name from his lips— the sound is ringing throughout your mind the moment you imagine it, burying your face into your pillow as you increase the intensity of your toy. 

“Let me fill you up, want you dripping with my cum,” he growls out, the sloppy sounds of his thrusts only spurring you on as your thighs close around your hand, hips grinding into your dildo as you sink your teeth into your lip ruthlessly— it’s almost enough to draw blood as you watch the way he cums into his toy, hips continuing to rut into the it even long after he’s come, a white ring forming at the base as he turns the vibrator off from the overstimulation. 

“_— Shit,” Beomgyu almost slipped up for a second, proceeding to moan out his requested name repeatedly as a distraction. 

And you know you’re imagining it, but you’re briefly coming undone after that, your pussy tightening against your dildo and your legs shaking as you run your vibrator along your clit, imagining that it’s him inside you, that he’s currently spilling his load in your cunt— your mind swearing that you almost heard your name slip from his lips for a second— and it isn’t until you recover from your orgasm, the sound of another name leaving his lips repeatedly making you come to, that you realize it was your brain playing trick on you to help you get off. 

But you weren’t imagining things. 

Beomgyu hopes his audience didn’t pick up on his small mistake, but he’s relieved to see that they’re none the wiser as they continue to request to hear their name next.

“Let’s see…” he says, and you’re barely able to keep your eyes open as you watch the way he leans towards the camera again, reading requests off the monitor as he grinds his hips into his toy absentmindedly throughout it.

He’s barely getting started.

In turn, so are you. 

»»»

Beomgyu is the sweetest guy you’ve ever met. 

After your brief conversation at the restaurant, you quickly found yourself talking to him more often. 

It turned into him sitting next to you during the one class you shared, your friendship growing stronger day by day as you got to know him better. 

He acts like a puppy; he’s so sweet and kind, his voice soft and endearing every time he spoke to you— and, like a stark contrast to the flirty and outgoing guy you saw during your shifts at the restaurant, he was very shy, ever the gentleman as he always treated you with nothing but kindness. 

“Good morning,” Beomgyu hums, sitting in the seat next to yours before he’s placing down a cup of coffee, “I got this for you. I already finished mine, but I thought you might like some too.”

Sweet gestures like these were common with him; despite your insistence that he really didn’t need to, he always did it anyway, ever the charming man as he sent you a cute smile that would have you unable to say no. 

“Hey, I heard you’re friends with Yeonjun?” you ask, reluctantly accepting the drink after he insisted that you didn’t need to feel bad; your lips are curving into a small smile as you take a drink, stomach flipping at the realization that it was your usual order— you’re surprised he was able to remember it after the first time you got coffee together. 

Beomgyu nods in confirmation. You’re a bit surprised by his answer, unable to see the two be friends due to their contrasting personalities. You can tell that he’s curious as to why you’re asking as he pouts slightly— a habit he always does when he’s confused— and you’re quick to swallow down your drink and give him context.

“He’s having a party this weekend. I was wondering if you’re going?” you say, and Beomgyu feels his stomach drop slightly; not because you were going— well, not entirely, at least— but because if you were going, you’d definitely end up seeing a different side of him. And after seeing how fond you are of his puppy-like behavior, he dreads seeing your reaction to a much more reckless side of him.

“I… think so,” he says sheepishly, wondering what kind of excuse he should make to not go— but he pauses, seeing the way you pout at him, grabbing his arm desperately as you lean into him as you plead.

“You should go— pleeeasee? Yeonjun’s parties are super over the top and he always invites hella people, I don’t wanna be there alone.” 

You have this man wrapped around your finger; with one look at your face, your gaze sweet and pleading as you cutely pout at him expectantly, he finds himself agreeing, unable to fight back a smile as he watches the way you cheer triumphantly, quieting down the moment the lecture starts. 

Beomgyu will definitely have to be careful this weekend— but seeing you will be worth it, even if he’s risking the chance of potentially changing the way you’ll view him forever. 

»»»

You have yet to see Beomgyu. 

The party started hours ago, yet you’ve only been present for a few as you’ve already both greeted and lost Yeonjun, forced to mingle with people you barely know as you all hang out in his backyard— because lord knows how packed and stuffy the place would’ve been if he held it inside. 

You currently find yourself playing cup pong, teaming with the girl in your communications class as you go against two strangers— Yunjin is much friendlier and outgoing when she’s drunk, cheering you on and yelling triumphantly with every ball you get in— you’ve barely had anything to drink as a result, and Yunjin is eager to fix that as she hands you a small shot cup; you’re hesitant at first, only accepting it after she explains that it isn’t strong at all, the soju mixed in with other things as she tells you you’ll barely feel it. 

It’s not that you’re a lightweight that would get drunk off one shot, but you’d rather not get shit-faced when you have yet to find Beomgyu; your eyes scan over the place once more after you take the shot, Yunjin’s cheers falling deaf onto your ears as you allow the team in front of you have their turn. 

“Drinking already?”

Beomgyu has snuck up on you successfully— you’re flinching in surprise as you feel his hand fall gently on the small of your back, leaning in close so he’s properly able to speak to you over the music. 

Beomgyu feels as though looking at you is a sin; he’s forcing himself to keep his eyes off you, listening to the way you ramble into his ear about how happy you are to see him, your head tilting back and exposing the column of your neck to him to get him to hear you. 

“You’re not wearing your glasses,” he comments, oddly hung up on it as he watches the way your smile only widens.

“Yeah, didn’t feel like it,” you say lightheartedly, leaning back against Beomgyu and finding comfort in the position that allows the two of you to speak over the booming music.

Unbeknownst to you, he takes this moment to drink in your appearance. The white, oversized button-up you wear is left completely open as it drapes over your figure, the light blue denim shorts entirely too tempting as they ride up your thighs, much too short to even cover you properly— but of course, that’s the look you were going for, leaving your bottoms unbuttoned and folded down as you allow your bikini to peek through— the color is flattering on your skin, and Beomgyu wonders if he’ll be strong enough to resist you, eyes flickering over to the pool that’s filled with plenty of people as a distraction. 

“You wanna go in?” you ask, and Beomgyu realizes you’ve followed his line of sight, shaking his head quickly in response. You laugh, turning around briefly as you listen to the sounds of Yunjin telling you that you have to drink— you freely down the shot in the plastic cup this time, much more at ease now that Beomgyu is around— and turn back to him, pulling at his shirt slightly as you take in his attire.

“Come on, you’re definitely dressed for the part!” 

And that much was true— though he realized halfway through his drive here that doing so would not be a good idea, especially if he wanted to keep up this cute, innocent act of his.

“It’s too full right now,” he says, his excuse valid as you study the pool for a moment— only to agree, turning back to the game as you tell Beomgyu to cheer for you with a cheeky smile. 

It doesn’t take much longer for you to get tipsy— all because you made the mistake of trusting Yunjin to play properly during her turn, missing entirely and proceeding to get the two of you obliterated after she went against one of the guys on the opposite team (Jake, he later told you.)— but you’re quick to make sure to bring Beomgyu down with you, handing him every other shot you get as you tell him he’s now on your team.

What you don’t seem to realize is that Beomgyu is not a lightweight— far from it, watching with amusement as you slowly begin to get tipsy, your mouth loosening and your personality becoming much more outgoing after losing the game to Jake and his friend— three times in a row. 

“Again?” you ask, laughing at the way Yunjin yells in agreement— Beomgyu has to tug on your shirt to get you away, telling you that it’s definitely not a good idea to go again, especially with someone as uncoordinated as Yunjin. 

“Why didn’t you play with me then?” you say, leaning against him as you smile up at him prettily; he’s leading you away from the table and towards the grass, over to where a small campfire is lit, plenty of chairs scattered about as the music becomes louder in this area. 

“You don’t like games?” you ask him, stumbling to a stop and tugging at his shirt to stop with you, just so he’s able to hear you better. Coyly, you smile, your eyes twinkling mischievously as you lean in to speak to him quietly, “Don’t you wanna play with me?” 

Your words are fairly innocent— but your delivery is not, and it has Beomgyu sputtering in surprise as he wonders how he should respond to such a random advance— though he doesn’t need to in the end, watching as you break character and laugh at your own antics, perking up immediately as you listen to the song that’s playing. 

“Oh, I love this song!” 

You’re dancing carelessly to the song without a second thought, pulling Beomgyu in and laughing at the way he seems reluctant to let loose; it’s probably the alcohol in your system that’s making you act like such an idiot, leaning against him and smiling at the way he seems adamant to avoid your gaze. 

“You know, I just realized that we’re matching!” you laugh, tugging at the collar of his white button-up before you’re glancing down; it’s tucked neatly into his denim shorts, and your smile is only growing wider as you look back up at him, “we look like a couple or something.”

Your words affect him much more than he’d like to admit— but he has no time to dwell on it, eyes looking past you and at Yeonjun, who walks straight toward the two of you with a grin stuck on his face. 

“Hey, why didn’t you tell me you were here?” Yeonjun yells, grabbing your attention as you’re turning to greet Yeonjun; you’re bubbly and seem to find everything funny as you giggle slightly, waving at him happily before you’re stepping away from Beomgyu. 

“I couldn’t find you,” Beomgyu mumbles, watching the way Yeonjun slings an arm around your shoulders casually— he feels oddly angered at the sight, unsure why it irritates him so much to see the two of you act so close. 

“Didn’t know you two were friends,” Yeonjun says, and he watches as you begin to ramble about your history with Beomgyu with a small smile— scanning your outfit, he frowns. 

“You haven’t gotten in the pool yet?” Yeonjun asks, raising a brow at your entirely dry figure; you shake your head, which only makes him tilt his head in confusion, “I thought you said that’s the only reason you were coming?”

“Well, I just haven’t gotten the chance to,” you say sheepishly, the shy smile on your face quickly turning to one of confusion the moment Yeonjun hugs you; he’s got you tight, and you’re stumbling along with him as you begin questioning what he’s doing, your eyes widening the moment you peek over his shoulder— you’re heading straight to the pool, the volume of your yells rising significantly as you begin to struggle against your friend, yelling at Beomgyu to come to your rescue. 

(It’s all for dramatic effect. Yeonjun laughs at the way you pretend to struggle against him, and he pretends he doesn’t hear your laugh of joy the moment he falls over the edge, letting go of you in time and forcing the two of you into the water.)

You’re pleasantly surprised to find that the water isn’t freezing; you personally thank Yeonjun’s heating system as you come up for air, wiping at your face and adjusting your hair as you begin to splash Yeonjun, insulting him for being such a bully. 

Your movements are immediately stopping the moment you spot Beomgyu at the edge— Yeonjun is quick to leave, sending you a small wink (the term “wink” used loosely) before he’s off to find his next target—he’s taken his shoes off and he looks more than ready to jump in, and you can’t help but laugh sweetly at his concern before you realize that you should probably take off your shoes as well.

“You okay?” He asks you, watching the way you cringe as you take off your shoes, tossing them over the edge and leaving them to dry as you swim to where he stands. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you smile, watching the way he seems hesitant to do anything— to get in or leave, you’re unsure. A second passes before an evil thought pops into your head, taking notice of your equally soaked clothes that remain stuck on your body.

“Oh. Hey, could you hold this?” you begin, shedding off your shirt before you’re bundling it into a ball, holding out the fabric for him— he crouches down, arm reaching out for your shirt— and you seize your moment, both hands grabbing onto him and tugging as hard as you can. 

And Beomgyu, in his unguarded state, falls in immediately. 

The laugh you let out is pure evil as you watch him fall in, flailing for a second before he’s coming up for air— and honestly, Beomgyu can’t even be mad, at least not when you’re laughing so hard, your face lit up as you take in the way his hair is completely flat on his head. 

“Sorry. Couldn’t help it,” you say, but you don’t look sorry at all as you swim over to your shirt that’s now sunk into the bottom of the pool. You’re diving down to get it, quick to throw it over the edge and by your shoes before you’re tugging off your shorts. You’re glancing back at Beomgyu, relieved to see he doesn’t look angry at all, when you spot something peculiar. 

“Woah, what’s that?” you ask, approaching Beomgyu eagerly as he’s quick to follow your gaze. His cheeks are on fire and his hands are quick to fly onto his ribs, turning away from your curious hands and even more curious gaze as he stutters out an excuse. 

“It’s nothing.” That’s probably one of the lamest things Beomgyu has ever said, and you’re not believing him for a second as your eyes widen at his sudden change in behavior. 

“Is it a tattoo?” you ask, trying to get a peek through the cracks of his fingers; but the water makes everything blurry, unable to get the details of it before you’re humming appreciatively. “Hmm. That’s cool— I didn’t know that was such a common spot to get tattooed.”

“Is it?” he asks, and suddenly, he doesn’t seem to want to hide it anymore. Your curious gaze and awed compliments have him smiling, raising a brow as he feels himself become more confident— the idea that you of all people would judge him seems ridiculous now.

“Who else do you know that has a tattoo here?” you’re late to process the question— only because your eyes are widening as he admits that it is a tattoo, the words flying out of your mouth before you can truly process if it’s a good idea. 

“I don’t know. I’ve just seen it online, I guess.” Of course, this could mean many things— but it means one thing to you, and you’re practically biting your tongue from the sheer terror that you inadvertently admitted to a guilty, secret pleasure of yours.

“Online?” he asks, and you try to not look suspicious as you choose to simply remain quiet and nod. 

“Yeah, like on Pinterest and stuff,” you add, hoping that it’s enough to prove your innocence (to yourself) as you watch Beomgyu nod along to your words. 

“Aren’t your clothes weighing you down?” you ask, eyeing the way he’s barely moved with a small smile, “or like, are you not wearing anything underneath?”

Most of the people here came with their swimsuits underneath— some just opted to strip to their underwear, which is why you didn’t feel alarmed to find people stripping their layers in order to jump into the pool. 

Though, now that you think about it, you feel a bit bad for forcing Beomgyu to get in without much of a warning. Your concerns are quickly soothed, however, when Beomgyu shakes his head, hands coming up to unbutton his shirt before he’s laughing softly at your words. 

“I was wearing my shorts underneath these,” he confesses, your eyes widening as you find yourself going silent— because wow, was Beomgyu always this ripped?

You feel odd as you watch him strip, sliding off his shirt as most of his torso remains underwater; he’s slowly making his way to where you stand by the edge, and you can feel your heart stopping as you take in the look in his eyes. 

Dark. Dangerous. Tempting. You think you’re imagining things as you look away, gulping heavily as you feel yourself sobering suddenly. He’s throwing his shirt in the direction that your pile of clothes lie, and you feel oddly embarrassed by the way you have to look away as he strips his bottoms off as well. 

You’re only glancing back in time to see him hover out of the pool for a second, his upper body coming out of the water as he takes a moment to lay out both your clothing properly. 

Holy shit. 

Was it common for people to have the same tattoo? It surely was, right? Those are the only things that are going through your mind as you observe Beomgyu’s tattoo, taking in the familiarity of each line as your eyes drift down to his v-line— your eyes spot the small, perfect heart that rests right at his pubic bone.

Oh god. Oh god, oh god oh god, you think, trying your best to not lose your shit and melt in a puddle of horror and embarrassment as you realize that Beomgyu has the exact tattoo as guiltypleasures.

It had to be a popular tattoo. Or maybe it was a reference to something, or a drawing a tattoo artist put out to let other people use— anything, it had to be anything else than the conclusion your mind was terrified of making, meeting Beomgyu’s gaze shyly as you realize that he’s caught you staring, hard.

“It’s pretty,” you breathe out, unsure you can trust your voice as you watch Beomgyu sink back into the pool, “Is it… a reference to something?”

Please say yes. Please say yes.

“Thanks,” he starts, leaving you on edge as he takes a moment to inspect his tattoo— running his fingertips over it, tracing over the delicate lines in a way that has you gripping onto the edge of the pool, “and no, it’s not. I designed it myself.”

You’re gonna pass out.

“Really?” you grit out, hoping he can’t pick up on the tension of your voice as you smile, albeit forced, “Like, it’s one of a kind?”

“Yup,” he grins, staring down at his tattoo with a proud look on his face, “One of a kind. My tattoo artist didn’t even post it, upon my request.”

You’re gonna cry. Maybe you’ll scream, or even sink into the pool and try to drown yourself. 

Because Choi Beomgyu, your closest friend for the past few months and the man you may or may have not been beginning to crush on, is guiltypleasures, the man you lust after every night and fucking pay to watch. 

You know they say that quiet guys are the freakiest, but this is too fucking much. 

“That’s so cool,” you say, sinking into the pool so the water is up to your mouth, hoping that you won’t blurt out any more stupidities as you stare off into the distance, attempting to let this new information settle in. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, and you hate how attentive Beomgyu has become— even more because everything is starting to click, his husky and deep voice a replica of your stupid camboy’s, your body reacting involuntarily to the sound of it as you simply nod softly. 

“Mhmm,” you hum out, coming out of the water a bit so you can speak, “I think those drinks from earlier fucked up my stomach— I should go home.”

“Oh,” Beomgyu says, and you feel awful for the way he’s become confused at your sudden shift in mood, “Are you sure you’ll be okay driving—?”

“I Ubered here,” you mumble, oddly embarrassed at your words, “cause I knew I’d probably drink a lot.” 

“Well then let me take you home,” he insists, ever the gentleman as you try to say that he shouldn’t, that he should just stay and enjoy the party. 

“It’s dangerous to call an Uber at this hour though,” he continues, his stupid fucking puppy eyes taking a toll on your resolve as you bite your lip, “Plus, I only really came to this party because of you.”

God, what the hell was this behavior?! This innocent, shy, and sweet Beomgyu was a complete one-eighty— scratch that— was an entirely different fucking person than the one that always talked down at you at night, spilling filth like it was in his nature and treating you like you were worthless.

It was a bit terrifying as you watched the way he remained entirely oblivious to the Earth-shattering realization, getting out of the pool and reaching out to help you out with a sweet smile. 

After a second, you take it. 

You feel so awkward as you gather your clothes; you’re jumpy and you’re sure Beomgyu has picked up on it as he eyes you from time to time, watching as you wring out your clothes as much as you can before you’re slipping on your shirt, your shorts left in your hand as you avoid Beomgyu’s eyes entirely. 

“I have a few blankets in my car— you should use those to keep yourself warm,” he says softly, looking back at you and frowning at the way you only nod with a tense smile. 

Was he wrong about you? Were you lying when you reacted positively to his tattoo? Beomgyu has no idea why something as simple as a tattoo would change the way you treat him entirely, but he’s determined to get to the bottom of this as you enter his car, entirely stiff as you wrap one of his aforementioned blankets around yourself. 

“Hey, did something happen tonight?” He asks you halfway through his drive, licking his lips nervously as he watches the way you jump in your seat, not expecting his question at all as you remain silent for a second.

“Uhm, no?” you say, though you seem unsure of your own answer as you wrap the blankets a little tighter around yourself, “I’m telling you, it was probably the drinks— I didn’t think my stomach would be so sensitive tonight.”

Your explanation is entirely plausible, but Beomgyu doesn’t believe it as he watches the way you remain tense, his car slowing to a stop as the two of you wait at the stoplight in an awkward silence. 

“You’re lying,” Beomgyu says, deciding that it’s better to just be bold instead of tiptoeing around the subject, “Is it because of my tattoo?”

Your lips press together. 

“It is,” he says, and he feels an unexpected wave of disappointment and anger wash over him, “did something that small put you off that much?”

“That’s not it,” you say, your heart pounding against your chest and your body heating up as you realize that you’ve upset him— and greatly, because you’re able to see the way his brows knit together and his hand tightens on the steering wheel as he begins to drive again. 

Did he think you were judging him? That you thought less of him because of such a small thing? 

“Then what is it?” he insists, and you’re mortified to see that you’re stuck in traffic, victim to Beomgyu’s sharp gaze that demands answers, “Cause you’ve been acting weird since I showed it to you.”

“I’ve seen it before,” you mutter quietly, sinking into your seat from the humiliation, “I recognized it. Your tattoo.”

Beomgyu pauses. Then he thinks of the many times he’s had his shirt ride up when he’s around you, from stretching to taking off his hoodie and having his undershirt get pulled up along with it.

“Okay?”

“Like. Online.”

That’s enough to leave him silent. Stupefied, even. One glance at you and your body language is enough to confirm that it’s exactly what he’s thinking, your posture so small that you look like you wish you could disappear. 

“You’ve—“ he swallows, wondering what else to say as traffic begins moving again, “like… Twitter—?”

“Your streams.” 

Fuck. Fuck, oh fuck, Beomgyu needs to get the fuck out of the car this instant, because his dick is already hardening and he can feel his brain short-circuiting at your words— you watch his streams. 

In your mind, you feel as though you’ve completely dug a hole for yourself— Beomgyu is probably horrified at your confession, but it’s not as though you knew it was him, or that you had any malicious intent, or that—!

All Beomgyu can think of is how he shouldn’t park the car in the middle of the road and fuck you stupid. 

“Did you watch them a lot?” he asks you, his voice eerily quiet and stable, and oh no he’s interrogating you right now, this is the end for you.

“Yeah,” you say, deciding to be completely transparent now that you’ve decided to tell the truth, “I’m sorry.” 

Is it possible to come untouched like this? Beomgyu might just find out, because the way your voice is so meek and shy and guilty has him biting down on his lip, his mind growing foggier and his foot pressing down on the gas pedal a little harder as he begins to weave through lanes. 

“You were a subscriber then,” he says calmly, and you feel as though he’s trying to humiliate you on purpose as you nod your head in admittance— unbeknownst to you, that’s exactly what he’s doing, enjoying the way he’s breaking you down from just a few questions with sick pleasure. 

“How much money did you spend on me then?” You’re finding his line of questioning a bit odd at this point, but you refuse to look up from your lap as you find yourself answering anyways. 

“I was just a low-tier subscriber…” you say, and it feels even more humiliating to admit that you cheaped out on him— what the hell was wrong with you?

“Low-tier? Not even a single tip?” he repeats, and you don’t seem to register the way he pouts at you until it’s far too late.

Stopping at a red light, he grabs your chin, turning your face roughly so you’re looking at him— and he’s back, the man behind the screen, except this time you can see the sheer pity that fills his gaze as he speaks to you as though you’re lower than him.

“How are you gonna make it up to me now?”

»»»

God. Fuck. Are you dreaming? You think you might pass out.

“I know, I know I said I wouldn’t stream tonight— shouldn’t you just be happy I’m here?”

Your stomach is twisted in knots and you feel small as you attempt to take in everything properly— Beomgyu’s setup, the same room you’ve seen countless times before— you’re able to see it all, from his large computer monitors, his filming camera, to his grandiose bed and the insane amount of toys he keeps on standby. 

You shift restlessly on your feet, entirely bare save for a shirt that Beomgyu let you borrow— another white button-up, the very same one that he loved to wear when he dressed up, now hanging from your figure as he allowed the two of you to freshen up the moment you got to his home. 

Nervously, you had left the shirt completely buttoned up; you watched from behind his camera as he continued to sweet talk his viewers, dressed comfortably in a sweater and sweats, his attire a complete contrast to your own. 

“You’re happy to see me? I don’t believe you,” he smiles, and you feel as though you’re back to being a faceless member of his stream as you press your thighs together, able to hear the way notifications pop up on his computer, all of them signifying a new tip. 

“You know, today’s a pretty special occasion actually,” he begins, pausing to see his comments and the reactions within them, “you’re curious? Do you wanna try something new with me?”

Yes. It’s the only thing he sees in his comments, and he lets out a soft laugh before he’s turning back to his camera.

Then, he’s looking past it.

“Come here, baby.”

You knew this was coming— you agreed to this, for crying out loud, but you still feel as though your legs are made of jello as you hesitate, biting your lip before your eyes are widening nervously, the safe word the two of you established beforehand running through your mind like a mantra you mustn’t forget. 

“Come on, you don’t want to keep them waiting, do you?” he asks, eyes flickering over to his screen, watching the way everyone seems to go haywire from his words, “See? They’re curious, they want to see you.”

You’re taking your first step towards the camera— then another, and another, until you’re walking past the setup, your back facing the camera as you make your way to where he sits at the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do as you remain frozen in front of him.

“What, are you nervous?” he asks, and he’s only able to let out a mean laugh the moment you’re nodding in response, unable to use your voice properly— that’ll change soon, he thinks, reaching for your hands and guiding them to his shoulders. 

“Don’t be,” he whispers, aiming for your thighs next as he’s tugging at them, pleased with the way you let him mold you to his desired position, your thighs on either side of his as you hover over him pathetically, “I know they’ll love you.”

Neither of your full faces can be seen— but the audience can definitely see the way he captures your lips in a harsh kiss, filled with nothing but pure need as he finally gets to feel you properly— you feel as though you’re about to run out air when he finally pulls away, laughing as he feels the way you buttoned every single button of the shirt he gave you. 

“Now why would you do that?” he whispers against your lips, and your fingers dig into his shoulders pathetically as you watch him rip it open— the viewers are going wild at the sight, tipping ridiculous amounts of money just so they can get Beomgyu to see their requests; curiously your eyes drift to his monitor.

You practically collapse at the things you read on the screen.

Finger her. Eat her out. Use a vibrator on her, tie her up, breed her until she can’t walk straight, use a dildo on her— 

The horror comes from the fact that Beomgyu is clearly considering doing all of it.

“What do you think baby?” he asks you, pressing his hand on the small of your back and forcing you to arch into him, your ass perking out and your cunt left to be entirely displayed as he trails his hand up your back, lifting your shirt along with it as he allows the viewers to get a good look at you.

“Anything that piques your interest?” he whispers, your head buried in his shoulder as you shake from the embarrassment of it all, “or…”

You jolt at the way his hand lands a sharp smack on your ass. He’s quick to soothe the area, smiling at the way he takes in the small whimper you let out, burying your face deeper into his shoulder and arching more in response. He lands another one, much more harsher than the last as his hand immediately drifts to your pussy, spreading you for the camera and watching the way you practically glisten under the light. 

“Should I decide how I get to use you for myself?”

He’s a bit surprised to find that you’re quick to nod at his second request, much too shy to even lift your head from where it rests as your fingers dig into his skin. 

He smiles, his eyes drifting back to the monitor as he begins reading over their requests. 

“Hmm, are you shy, princess?” he asks, fingers trailing along your slit, feeling the way your hole flutters at the feeling, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside as you whine quietly, nodding at his words.

“But you’re so fucking wet, and we haven’t even done anything,” slowly, his fingers slip inside— you’re both moaning at the feeling, and Beomgyu thinks that he might just be the one to cum as he feels the way you stretch around his fingers. 

“God, you’re so tight,” he groans, beginning to test out the waters by scissoring you— spreading you out for the camera, watching over your shoulder as your arousal practically leaks out; he gulps, unable to keep his eyes away from the sight as he sighs.

“Feels so soft and warm,” he mutters, placing a kiss on your temple before he’s reaching for something off-screen— the box of toys, you realize, forced to keep your face buried in his shoulder in an attempt to not show your face to his audience. 

“Just like I thought you would be,” he says, smiling against your skin as he murmurs the words into your ear— just for you to hear, not for the thousands of people who are currently watching the stream.

“Do you know what I thought about every time I went live?” he asks, sitting up and shifting so that you’re back in position, shaking your head softly as you feel his fingers begin to circle your entrance. 

“You.” the stretch you suddenly feel has you moaning pathetically, the first sound the viewers are able to hear as the comments begin to fly past— your legs are shaking at the feeling of him slowly pushing the silicone dildo into your pussy, thick and long as you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling tears prick at your eyes from how full you feel.

“I thought of you. Every time.” 

Beomgyu’s eyes are dark as his hand grabs at your ass, spreading your cheeks and showing off the way the dildo begins disappearing into your tight cunt, your arousal already beginning to drip down the toy with every slow thrust of his. 

“Wished you were there every time I would stream. I thought about fucking you the way I would fuck my toys,” his thrusts begin speeding up; you’re a moaning mess against him as you push your ass back, showcasing yourself perfectly and pushing up against the toy that he continues to ram into you— you’re jolting back into him with every thrust, your hands beginning to cramp with how hard you’re holding on to him.

“I would always moan your name too, did you ever notice?”

Your mind goes back to the time you thought you heard it— and, unexpectedly, you’re coming undone, reaching your peak as you respond with a pathetic yes…! The realization that it had all been real much more overwhelming than you thought. 

Beomgyu continues to fuck the toy into you even long after you’re done coming; you’re a whimpering, crying mess against him, the stimulation making your mind muddled as you quietly attempt to get him to stop. 

“Hmm? What do you want baby?” he asks, lips trailing down your neck and to your shoulders, where he begins to slip off your shirt so that you’re more exposed. He remains fully clothed as he begins sucking bruises into your skin, following one of his requests to mark up your pretty skin— his hair falls over his face, covering him momentarily as he begins drifting along your body carelessly.

It’s too much— yet, it’s not enough to have you using your safe word, and the fact makes Beomgyu smile as he bottoms out the toy inside you, grinding it into your pathetic pussy as he watches the way a ring of your cum begins to form around the base. 

“Come on, talk to me. We’re waiting,” you’re hesitant to speak— that much is clear, especially when you know how much traction this stream is currently getting, the sound of tips constant as you shake your head in defeat. 

“No? Okay then,” your shirt is being slipped off, leaving you naked as you wince slightly at the feeling of your garment being removed. Once again, Beomgyu is moving you around, and you’re facing the camera now as your legs are pried open by his own, the toy still stuffed inside you as you sit on Beomgyu’s lap— right on his hard cock, whining softly as you feel him begin to hold your hips down, grinding into you for some release. 

“Don’t wanna use your words? Don’t wanna say anything to me or the viewers?” he tries again, eyes narrowing at the way you remain disobedient and shake your head, laying back against him as you pant softly.

“You’re not gonna thank our viewers for wanting me to please you, you fucking whore?” his hands are swift, and before you realize what he’s doing, your hands are cuffed behind your back, the fuzzy feeling reminding you of the cuffs he uses on himself sometimes. 

“Fine. You wanna be ungrateful, stay quiet?” every sound that leaves your lips is unsure and soft, barely able to reach the microphone of the camera as Beomgyu scoffs at you. “Then stay fucking quiet. I don’t wanna hear a single word from you, understand?”

He doesn’t let you respond— of course he wouldn’t let you— but the way your mouth falls open suggests that you almost went against his command, the vibrator that he now pressed onto your clit making your legs shake with the sudden stimulation, threatening to close before Beomgyu’s own pried you back open swiftly. 

“Look at you. Like a bitch in heat, only thinking about yourself,” he growls, his other hand beginning to thrust the toy back into you at a harsh pace, listening to the sounds of your arousal and the toy smacking against your skin with a satisfied groan, “Do you have any idea how many people wish they were in your place, wish they could be getting fucked stupid instead of having to sit and watch as I do it to you?”

He pauses. Then, he turns up the intensity of the vibrator with a cruel laugh. 

“You would fucking know,” he seethes, taking in the way you writhe against him pathetically, biting at your lip to keep quiet as your hands struggle behind your back, “shit, can’t you hear how pathetic you sound? I bet you were a lot louder when you watched me, just another of my useless viewers that wish that I would fuck you— that I would even fucking acknowledge you.”

Everything that happens next is all a blur— your mind is foggy and you’re coming undone as you feel Beomgyu bite down on your neck, unable to hold back the pure keen of pleasure that rips through you, a string of unintelligible sounds flowing out of you desperately as you cream around the toy, feeling tears sting your eyes the moment Beomgyu decides to turn the intensity up again.

“Take it. I know you can,” he laughs purely because he knows that you have yet to use your safe word. It’s even worse because he’s right, the overstimulation fogging your mind and making you melt in his arms, still able to trust him even if your mind isn’t entirely there.

After a moment, the vibrator is turned off— you can hear him toss it to the side before he’s pulling the dildo out of your aching cunt, your body twitching at the sudden feeling before your cum is oozing out, dripping all over Beomgyu’s sweats and onto his sheets as he merely laughs at you. 

You’re being turned around again— you feel woozy as you cling to Beomgyu, barely capable of hovering over him as he simply looks up at you, his eyes holding that same, innocent puppy-like look that got you trapped in his clutches in the first place.

“I feel so stuffy,” he pouts, tilting his head up at you as you simply whine incoherently in response, “I know baby. Won’t you help me out?” 

It takes you a second to even register his request, your hands suddenly freed by him before you finally realize what he asked; your hands are slow and clumsy as you reach for the hem of his sweater, barely able to tug it up before he’s helping you out— your hands land on his shoulders once more for stability, your gaze falling on his chest and trailing down curiously. 

And there it is. The very tattoo that got you into this mess, though this time you’re free to gawk at it, not paying attention to the way Beomgyu realized he caught you staring until he’s grabbing your hand, placing it on his chest and trailing it down, allowing you to feel him up as he shudders slightly at the feeling.

Your fingers trace over the tattoo. All the way down, following every elaborate line until you’re stopped by the hem of his pants, hands immediately slipping under before you’re tugging them off, pulling off his boxers too as you feel him lift his hips, left just as bare as you before he smiles. 

You feel his cock poking at your entrance, painfully hard as he begins to rub it against your slit; teasing you with the tip, looking over your shoulder to see what his viewers may be saying. 

“What do you think?” He asks, pushing his tip into your cunt before he’s pulling back out. The action has you whining hopelessly, and Beomgyu has to take a second to recollect his resolve, pausing all movements in order to not come then and there.

“Should I fuck her? Does she deserve it?” He asks, looking over at you, cooing softly at the way your eyes remain glassy and fucked out, “Don’t cry. You don’t deserve to cry, not when you’ve been so ungrateful to our viewers.”

A tip catches his attention, and he’s briefly scanning over the amount and request before he’s biting back a smile.

“See? Even though you haven’t said a word to them, they still want to see me fuck you,” he says, taking your hands off his shoulders and leaving you to wobble momentarily as he places your cuffs back on. 

“Aren’t they the sweetest?”

You’re barely able to process what’s going on— all you know is that your position changes within seconds, and your face is buried into the mattress while your ass is up in the air, your legs shaky as you’re barely able to hold yourself up; luckily for you, Beomgyu is there to help, hands grabbing onto your hips before he’s making you lean back. 

His cock is poking at your entrance, and he’s already able to feel the way your cunt tries to suck him in as he passes his tip along your entrance, left entranced with the way you look under him, a complete, ruined mess as you quietly whine out to him, your voice muffled from where your face remained in his sheets.

It’s cute, really, the way you’re able to focus so hard on keeping your face hidden— if you lifted your head now, every single viewer on his screen would be able to drink up your expression as he fucked you— the thought irritates Beomgyu.

He’ll just have to make sure to fuck you until you’re too weak to move. 

“God, you’re such a brat,” he groans out, entering you slowly and feeling the way you clamp onto him dangerously; even with how wet you are, he finds it difficult to fuck you, gritting his teeth and taking a moment where he merely concentrates on not coming inside you then and there. 

“Stop fucking squeezing like that— ah— shit—,” it seems as though your pussy has him going stupid, unable to form a coherent sentence as he slowly pulls out— the whine you let out is long and lethal, so desperate and carnal that Beomgyu finds himself losing control; tightening his hold on your hips, he begins to fuck into you without a care.

“Such a good little pussy,” he grits out, watching the way your ass bounces against him with every thrust, “fuck, wish you’d let me fuck you sooner— would’ve made you mine, wouldn’t be able to get enough of you— god, fuck—!” 

The way you tighten at his words is dangerous. He’s cursing and talking down like he always does, but this time, it’s just for you. The very thought is enough to have you clenching around him again, mouth agape and drooling against his sheets as your sounds get louder. 

Another tip rings through— the same person from before, repeating the only part of their previous request that Beomgyu has yet to fulfill. 

Won’t she say thank you?

The words have him stuttering out a laugh, unable to help the way he moans in between. His thrusts slow, and he’s bottoming out inside you before his motions are nothing but a slow grind, rutting his hips into your aching pussy while he reaches for something off-screen. 

Your whines and soft complaints at the sudden change of pace are brief— because soon after a familiar buzzing sound is filling your ears, and before you can react, the same vibrator form before is pressed against your clit on the highest setting. 

“Gyuuuuu…!” you whine out, long and desperate and incoherent as Beomgyu grabs at your cuffs, using them as leverage to make you slam back into him. His thrusts are brutal and the sound of skin against skin is enough rivalry to the buzzing of the toy as he begins to use the last of his energy to fuck you to your orgasm, watching as the chat buzzes with excitement from your sudden word.

What? What’d she say?? Was that his name? omg?!

“Do you think you deserve to come?” he sneers, his voice gruff as you shake your head, knowing damn well that you haven’t been perfectly compliant to him like he wanted you to be, especially now that you may have just slipped up and let out a personal fact about him.

“Exactly,” he continues, his thrusts toning down in speed, but not intensity— he pulls out to the tip with every thrust, only to slam back into you and have you jolt forward from the harshness of his pace; the vibrator that was once relentless on your clit is now hovering mere centimeters from you, taunting you as all stimulation becomes insignificant to what it was before.

“Maybe, if you’re good for me, I’ll let you come,” he begins, watching the way you can only nod eagerly against the sheets, your hands struggling against your cuffs— he’s holding your hand at the sight, fingers interlocking as he watches you grip onto his hand with both of yours tightly.

“Will you be good for me? Are you gonna listen to whatever the fuck I ask you to do?” he says, his voice hardening at the end as he looks at you expectantly— a second passes before you’re nodding again. 

“My viewers have been so patient with you. The only reason you got all this was because they wanted it— if it were up to me, I would’ve dumped my load in you already and left.” 

That’s a lie— the biggest fucking lie Beomgyu has ever told, knowing damn well that he would’ve done all this and more to you any day, entirely unprovoked. But he knows his viewers love it, and so do you, because your cunt squeezes him so tightly he’s afraid he might just come early. 

“Aren’t you grateful they loved you so much? Hmm?” you’re barely registering his words anymore. But you’re nodding nonetheless, your thighs beginning to shake from the sheer pleasure of feeling Beomgyu rut into your cunt throughout all this. 

“Tell them thank you,” he says sweetly, not giving you enough time to speak before he’s back to fucking you wildly; his pace picking up, aiming for that specific spot that leaves you dumb and drooly as he places the vibrator back on your clit— any chances of sounding sane are thrown out the window as he begins tugging on your cuffs, bouncing you back against him as the wet sounds of his thrusts ring out through the room. 

“Did you hear me—?” he asks, landing a smack to your ass before he’s soothing the area, slowing down so he can smack you again, “I said say thank you. Do you think you’re above us, pretty?”

Your first attempt to speak is a garbled mess.

“Come on, I know you can do better than that. Or— do you just wanna be a cute little cumdump for me—? Ah, let me use you every time I stream… don’t need any fucking toys when I have my pretty doll for me— right—?” His own sentences are becoming more incoherent the longer he fucks you, addicted to the way your pussy practically sucks him in deeper in response. 

“Try again,” he growls, feeling his own orgasm approaching slowly, “show me you’re not a— shit, a fucking brat, and maybe I’ll let you… ugh, let you come.”

Beomgyu swore he got rid of his habit of rambling like this long ago. But, you seem to be able to bring it out of him, his calm and collected speeches crumbling like paper in his mind as he takes in the way both your arousals are smeared over skin and dripping down your thighs, forming a ring around Beomgyu’s cock as he feels his resolve beginning to crumble— he begins to fuck you carelessly, not able to think about anything else but reaching his high as he waits for your response.

“Mmh—! ugh… fuck…” your voice is increasing in volume, the shy person from before long gone as you begin to chase your orgasm, much too afraid to lose it as you try to form a single, coherent thought.

“Thank…. thank you…” you whine out, but it’s all too slurred and quiet and pathetic to Beomgyu as he growls out a sharp what? His hand pressing down on the small of your back as he glues your hands to your skin, forced to take the way he fucks you as you moan out uncontrollably.

“Thank you..! Thank you thank you, oh, fuck—!” holy shit, you’re full on crying right now, reduced to nothing but a mess of moans and tears as you ramble on repeatedly, only able to remember those limited words as you feel Beomgyu come inside you— warm and deep, stilling for just a moment before he’s back to fucking you, his own moans becoming much more needy at the feeling of overstimulation. 

“Thank you thank you thank youuuu, fuck, fuck fuck mmh—!”  you feel stupid. You’ve definitely been fucked stupid, moaning out those stupid thank you’s like a prayer as you feel yourself slumping completely, a boneless, gooey mess as you rely on Beomgyu to hold you up.

He continues to fuck into you slowly, even after you’ve gone entirely still; he thinks you might’ve passed out, but it’s only for a minute before he sees you shifting again, burying your head into the mattress as he hears the distant sound of you sniffling. 

Beomgyu feels concerned for a second, ready to check up on you and end the stream before you’re grabbing his hand again; then you’re clenching around him, mumbling his name so sweetly while you try to press yourself against him.

You’re straight up gone, he realizes, stilling for a moment and waiting for you to use your safe word— but you don’t, and he sees you peeking subtly at his monitor before you’re burying your face back into his sheets.

“You got a new tip.”

The words are barely audible to him, but he’s quick to glance at it upon your request; he almost chokes as he sees the five-hundred dollars that have been sent to him, his eyes reading over the request a few times before he’s looking back at you.

Could you try to make her squirt ?

“It’s five hundred dollars,” you mutter, and all Beomgyu can do is let out a bewildered laugh, leaning down to place a kiss on your shoulder before he’s whispering in your ear if you’re okay to continue— the small nod you give him is enough to have his cock hardening inside you. 

Fuck, he’s gonna give you the aftercare of the century after this. 

[wolfish-trickster]

Choso headcanons

(I'm sorry i just love this gif so much 😩)

General

He likes to listen to indie bands

There's just something about having a band "all to himself" and being the sole fan where ever he goes

But after a while starts to feel a little lonely not having any fellow fans for friends

Doesn't really see the point in people taking care of plants in their home, especially those that only bloom once and then they die

Isn't a dog or a cat person, he likes both

Would want to learn at least the basics of every skill he can find

His favourite day of the week is friday

Stays up super late even thoigh he promises himself to fix his sleep schedual

Spoiler: he never does

Keeps fit and builts muscle to protect his family

If he meets people who are pretty agressive about their opinions and unable to listen to a different point of view he just up and leaves, doesn't want to waste the energy

Doesn't look like it but he's quite artistic, he especially enjoys making his nose mark into different shapes and ornaments to make himself look cool

His favourite part of working out is laying down and letting his body cool

Learned how to cook so he could take care of his brothers

Friendship

At the begining he would be just observing you

Not even trying to befriend you or your friends, nah

Just quietly watching from afar

His brothers would call him creepy for that

But he just wants to be sure you'll be worth the try

Eventually he's betrayed by Yuji who straight up tells you he has been looking at you when you do your thing

He tries to explain that he isn't shy or anything, but yeah, he was pretty closed off from you after you guys started talking

But since he spoke less he heard more and learned all your little quirks

Where others would buy you generic things for your birthday like a book or a mug he would buy you three new headphones becuase he remembered how you complained to him how often they break for you

Or he would give you something you genuenly need in your life and what would be useful

Also he would want to show you his creative side

Sketch you, write poems and haikus for you

He even tried to crochet you a flower but that failed quickly

He made you an origami instead 🥹

As he started to have feelings for you he needed advice from his brothers on what to do

They all just told him to ask you out

He didn't like that idea

What he did instead was collect his favourite hard rock and metal songs about love and give you that playlist on a CD on your birthday

He hoped you would get the hint

Your oblivious ass didn't 😭

He literally had to spell it out for you the next time you guys met

You gladly accepted his feelings (who wouldn't)

He asked you out on a date the very next day

Homeboy had no idea what to do on the first date tho...

So he improvised and went to ask the almighty google

Relationship

He made a list on his phone consisting of advices he took from google and rom coms: first he had to take you see a movie, then go to a theme park, then restaurant and then either take you home or to a hotel

Not his ideal plans for the first date but it's how humans do it apparently

Long story short, it was a catastrophy

As he went to your house to pick you up it started to rain real bad

You guys decided to wait it out in your home

Rain turned to storm

Choso then admited he had a plan written on the phone Yuji gave him

You told him ypu guys cane have home date instead

You and him watched a movie

You guys spent a long time deciding what to cook together but eventually agreed on pasta with some exotic sauce

You had lots of fun

You guys ended the date curled up under your sheet cuddling the night away as the storm raged on outside

Choso found out he loves home dates

He only ever does that from then on

One night him and you decided to take quizes to learn more about eachother

His love language is physical touch

Which makes sense since from his first night of cuddling he has had his hand on any part of your body anytime you guys met

It's like his hand and your body were two magnets

He loves hugging you from behind, shows how much smaller you are than him

Sometimes he likes to lay on your chest and listen to your heartbeat (is what he would tell you but really he just likes to listen to your blood moving in extreme speeds through your body, but he wants to be romantic for you)

Not the one for PDA, will jold your hand at max when outside but inside the house he goes all out

All cuddling positions, all surfaces, all times of the day

Your first kiss happened a week after you had the furst date

He honestly had no idea what kissing was

You introduced him and gave him few lectures 😉

It's safe to say the student surpassed the master

His lips are surprisingly soft and warm

The first time you kissed him he was a little stunned and his nose mark swerved a little

But then he got addicted

Giving you kisses all over your face

He likes the neck the most

Especially the parts where he can feel the blood in your veins

And when he found out tongues can get involved?

He almost didn't let you breathe

The feeling of your soft and wet muscle against his was heavenly to him

At first a little weird but he quickly got used to it

Would chuckle everytime your teeth clinked together

You also thought of introducing him to the concept of hickies but he already figured it out on his own

Doesn't like giving them too often tho, to let your veins regenarate properly, otherwise he would be painting your neck purple every day

He had his time when he read a post on social media about a guy literally dying after his girlfriend gave him a hickie and oit of fear and anxiety refused to give you any hickies for a month

After about half a year of dating he decided to introduce you to his brothers

They already knew all about you

Choso doesn't talk often but when he's in the mood he won't shut up

And lately he has been talking mostly about you

All of them were nice to you and all of you got along super well

Choso fell for you even more

One date night you picked a movie that was a little less innocent than all the ones you watched before

Thankfully you didn't have to explain the birds and bees to choso when a particularly heated scene came on

But you needed to explain to him how to get rid of his very first boner in his life 💀

NSFW

Your first time happened a year after your first date

He wanted it to be special since it's both of your first time

He studied

Aka he watched porn

Didn't get hard from watching it tho, only after he started playing out the scenes in his head with you and him in the actors' places

His first ever jirkoff happened because of this

He made a playlist to get both you and him in the mood

Wasn't needed in the end

After the very awkward first round you went into it like rabbits

Remember what i said about Choso and cuddling? Same goes for positions

All positions, all surfaces, all times of the day

Tho he had his favourites

Among his favourite positions were those he could have you in his lap

He loved it when you could drap yourself all over him

He also like the access to the skin he got

His least favourite ones are where he can't see your face

The different facial expressions he gives with different thrust angles are what keeps him going

His favourite places are the bed or the couch

And he doesn't really care about the time of the day as long as both of you are willing and not busy

The first one to propose oral was him

He was curious about how it tasted down there

He didn't find the taste anything spectacular but could see the appeal

He liked the texture on his tongue more

He also found out your juices taste different during different parts of your month cycle

That way he could keep track of your period better than you

Sometimes after he was done eating you out he mentioned how your time of the month is coming so you should be prepared

Made you chuckle every time with how bluntly he says that

You also offered to give him head

Likes it when you gently drag your teeth along his shaft

Like the feeling when you have an itchy spot and you give it a good scratch, that's the same for him and your teeth

Isn't really sure if he prefers to give or recieve yet

But doesn't mind either way

Period sex is a whole different stuff to him

As soon as he found out coming can help period cramps he was all in

At one point he was curious about what would happen if he pulled out the entire inner lining with his cursed technique

Ended your period bleeding that very day

You loved him even more

Does that for you every single month

But he's not gonna lie, he has a little sadist hidden inside of him

Likes to see blood on his dick

But only period one, as soon as it's real blood from harming you he's out

Doesn't really have any other kinks than that but he's open to explore with you

Would quickly find out he has his horny days too

On those days he would ask you all shy if you two could fuck

You never told him no how could you with those eyes

Long story short he got to try a lot of exciting things with you, for which he's grateful

[gh0st-t0wn3]

Lmk ss edits + headcanons, Part 5 (Porty MK, Artist MK, Delivery MK)

- He/They

- Gay

- Calls Redson either Wildfire or Firecracker

- Whenever something goes wrong he says "called it." (He did not, in fact, call it)

- Calls everyone "Dude"

- Once took Redson out to the Anti-gravity Arcade and got mad when he passed out after almost 32 hours of non-stop dancing and playing arcade games

- Tells MK that he has no fashion sense but will wear the most atrocious combination of colours and patterns himself

- Has multiple ear piercings as well as a bellybutton and tongue piercing

-  Once threw a party that got busted by the police and dispelled himself to avoid getting caught

- Has so much energy, if he's not at a party he's constantly walking around the apartment, if his legs start hurting he'll sit down for like 8 seconds before getting up and walking around again because he still has so much energy left

- Makes the dirtiest jokes known to man kind

- Makes the others do karaoke night with him. every. week.

- Will sometimes put on lipstick and kiss all over Redsons face and neck to make og MK jealous (trust me guys, please🙏)

- Absolutely HATES dark chocolate, it's too bitter for him

- Despises the claw machine games at the arcade, if he gets something and then it falls out of the claw he'll literally break the glass and just take it

- Lives on energy drinks

- Will refuse to drink any soft drinks when they run out of bubbles

- Loves those cringey alpha wolf memes

- Laughs at those firemen saving people in reverse videos and always sends them to Redson, who also laughs at them (yes it does concern MK and the others)

- Smells like sweat and cotton candy (its from flavoured vape smoke)

- Love language is Quality time (and by quality time I mean partying)

- Has a whole box of glowsticks

- "Hey, hey, hey guys, watch this!!" *fails at trick*

- Loves candy, especially hard candies

- Scams kids out of their tickets at the arcade

- Paints his nails a different colour every week, and almost always uses glow in the dark nail polish

- Tried to make his own firework show once and set three houses on fire

- Would rearrange someone's whole room just to mess with them

- Has a monkey form just like og MK, he uses his tail to take prizes from the claw machines without having to actually play them

- He/They

- Gay

- Calls Redson his Muse

- Would probably collect bones. It freaks the fuck out of MK and the other clones

- Will destroy any and every art piece if it doesn't turn out exactly how he envisioned it in his head

- Writes fanfiction

- Constantly covered in paint splatters, charcoal, glue, etc

- Hates baths, lives off dry shampoo

- He acts like a cat whenever he gets wet

- Takes great care of all his art supplies and will flip out if something is out of place

- Agreed to help Sandy paint his boat again the second time he was summoned but only if Sandy stopped changing what colour he wanted it to be after every new coat of paint (Sandy learnt his lesson the first time art MK was summoned)

- His advice is always "just kill them"

- Bites ankles

- Was almost arrested for vandalism (he ran away from the cops)

- Once painted a picture of Redson, who only said "this is pretty good" (it was in fact a genuine compliment, he loved it), and Artist almost killed him

- Analyzes his dreams as if he's the prophet predicting the end of the world

- Won't let anyone use his art supplies

- Growls at people

- Perfectionist

- Smells like paint fumes

- Love language is gift giving and words of affirmation

- If he's focusing on something really hard and something startles him, he'll jump in the air like a cat

- Was drawing at a park once and a bunch of kids were being annoying so he tripped one when it ran past him

- Collects concept art books from literally anything, movies, video games, TV shows, it doesn't even matter if he's played/watched them he just likes looking at the concept art

- Insomniac who 'cures' it with an unholy amount of caffeine

- Has drank paint water before, will do it again

- Extremely passive agressive

- MK yelled at him once for getting paint all over his bed

- Has a monkey form just like og MK, he uses his tail to reach higher places when painting on walls and shit

(Had to use og MK has a base ref because the show did delivery MK dirty)

- He/They

- Gay

- Calls Redson Paprika

- Loves straws, will only ever drink something if he uses a straw (I did this as a kid)

- Is constantly listening to music while doing deliveries and has absolutely passed his destination on multiple occasions

- Surprisingly witty

- Is the only MK who knows how to cook and genuinely loves it

- Has a little bit more chub than og MK does (duplicatnation did him dirty and I will never forgive them for his design)

- Has gotten into physical fights with rude customers before and would do it again

- Absolutely HATES eating fish

-His shoe laces are never tied, the amount of orders he's ruined because he tripped on his stupid laces is insane

- If he gets bored he'll just lay on the floor and do nothing

- Has accidentally eaten dog food before

- After a long day of delivering he'll pass out for hours at a time then wake up again at like 2am

- "Not to be rude, but.." proceeds to say the most disrespectful shit you've ever heard

- Either cannot keep a secret for the life of him, or will immediately forget the secret 5 mins after being told what it is, no in-between

- Him and the other clones accidently broke into a strangers house once, and he felt really bad so he cleaned the dishes before leaving (it was on the news)

- Will @ a specific person in a group chat instead of just dming them

- Sometimes eats out of the noodles he's delivering, no one has found out yet

- Smells like noodles

- Love language is Acts of service

- If he gets into a fight with someone he is fully willing and ready to resort to biting

- Saw Monkey King eat his own hair once and almost threw up

- Sometimes if a customer is being rude while ordering over the phone he'll purposely drive slow or take a longer route so their noodles are cold when they get them (og MK has told him to stop multiple times because he's scared of Pigsy thinking he's the reason they get any bad reviews)

- Has a Spotify Playlist for every possible occasion

- Gives out really good hugs and will hug people for really long periods

- Cries when he sees sad animal videos

- Can't whistle to save his life

- Has a monkey form just like og MK, he uses his tail to hold more orders to get work done faster

[toournextadventure]

Hello my lovely!

I'm obsessed with Wenclair so would you consider doing something where Wenclair are jealous cause reader ist just naturally flirty and Wenclair will react accordingly?

I'm always obsessed with Wenclair. I feel Enid would kill 'em with kindness and Wednesday would just, well, kill 'em

not jealous

You had no idea what you were doing, and that was the most frustrating part of it all.

Enid and Wednesday couldn’t technically be mad at you. You would flirt with everyone, it wasn’t even intentional. The words fell off your tongue as effortlessly as water flows through a creek. What they did hate was how everyone knew you were a natural flirt and they still flirted back with you. They didn’t care if Enid and Wednesday were around, they still did it anyway.

Well. They did it around Enid. They knew better than to do it around Wednesday.

If you had at least known what you were doing then they would be able to confront you about it. After all, you did it even when they were around too. With the barista at the Weathervane, or with the underpaid guy behind the ticket counter at the local movie theatre. It didn’t even stop you if you were on a date with Wednesday and Enid. And you still had no idea you were doing it.

At first it had been adorable, admittedly. Enid had thought it was cute, Wednesday had thought it was clever how you could get your way with a few words. But then they realised people were flirting back, and you didn’t notice they were flirting back. More than once, Wednesday had been forced to glare at some poor kid because they kept trying to flirt even after you were done.

With all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, Enid had tried to bring it up to you once. You were both cuddling in her bed while Wednesday finished up her writing time, and it had been nice and quiet. But then Enid just had to bring it up.

“The barista was really nice to you today,” Enid’s voice rang out. Wednesday’s fingers stopped for just a moment.

“Yeah! Can’t believe he gave me a free frap, that was wild,” you answered, the smile evident in your voice.

“He was flirting pretty hard, huh?” Enid continued.

“What?” You asked. “No he wasn’t, he was just being nice.”

“He was flirting,” Wednesday cut in when she heard Enid’s sigh.

“How do you know?” You asked. “You’re still new to all this dating stuff.”

No one wanted to actually start an argument over something so ridiculous. None of you were so insecure as to think that, even if he was flirting, anything would come of it. It just… hurt a little to see that no one seemed to care that you were all together.

They stopped bringing up your free popcorn at the movies, or the extra whipped cream on your coffee. Wednesday's grip tightened on your hand when someone talked a little too long. Enid kept a possessive hand on your thigh when the barista used another coffee as an excuse to talk to you again. Someone - truthfully they had no idea who it was - broke a mug as he continued to talk.

It all came to a head on the one day all three of you decided to have a picnic out in Jericho. None of you were normies, but you thought the little town was adorable so you would try ceaselessly to find reasons to go. You brought up the picnic and, truthfully, they couldn’t tell you no when it was the perfect day.

In yours and Enid’s minds, at least. Wednesday would have preferred a bit more rain.

It was going well. Really well, in fact. Enid could sit and watch as you tried to convince Wednesday to eat a white chocolate covered strawberry. “For me,” you said with a pout that Wednesday quickly caved for, and all Enid could do was try to hold in her laughter so she didn’t get the brunt of the revenge plot that was bound to appear later on.

And then that damn barista made his appearance once again. He was persistent, Enid would give him that.

Lucky for him, Wednesday was still trying to avoid all your attempts at getting her to try different sweets you had brought. You were failing, but it was your giggle at the attempts that made both girls smile. But the barista kept walking nearer, and Enid knew she needed to step in before Wednesday saw him.

“Nice day out, isn’t it?” Enid asked him when she practically skipped to his position, stopping him from getting any closer.

“Yeah, nice day,” he said, peering around her to see you. “Hey, you’re all friends, do you think I have a shot?”

“A shot at what?” She asked in a far too cheery voice even as she started to see red. Is that what Wednesday always felt when she was angry?

“Asking them out on a date,” he said with a matching smile.

He was either beautifully ignorant or devastatingly brave to ask Enid, of all people, if he had a chance. Had he not noticed that you were always with either her or Wednesday? Did he not see how they held you close, kissed your cheek, practically fawned over you? Or, even worse, did he simply not care?

“I think your chance is pretty minimal,” Enid said with that same smile that only grew. Except this time it wasn’t so cheery. “I mean, they’ve got two girlfriends already. Not sure they can handle a boyfriend too.”

His smile fell slowly as he looked over her shoulder again. Just in time, Enid thought because you were currently giving Wednesday a kiss on the cheek.

“But you should give it a shot if you’re feeling confident,” Enid finished off with a joyful shrug of her shoulders.

“I,” he sighed, “I’ll pass.”

With one final look at you and Wednesday, he shook his head and turned back around to head off. Smart, Enid smiled to herself as she made her own way back to where you were all sitting. You were still blissfully unaware, but Wednesday was giving her a look that said she knew what had happened. She usually did.

Later that night, as all three of you laid in bed and you were snoring softly, Wednesday finally spoke up.

“I would have killed him,” she said quietly.

“I know,” Enid chuckled.

“You should have killed him.”

“I know, Willa.”

[frostandflamesfanfic]

Recipe for Family (Steve Harrington x Reader)

Recipe for Family (Rated G)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 2.0k

Warnings: None, except tooth-rotting fluff (I was in a mood guys)

Summary: Set Post-ST4. The year is 1990. Everyone has moved on since the events of Vol. 2 and living their lives, Steve more than others. He finally has everything he's ever wanted. Now it's Thanksgiving in Hawkins and he begins to realize more and more about what he's grateful for...and a lot of it has to do with you and the micro-clones you call your family.

“Are we sure that’s everything?”

“Potatoes, cranberry sauce, turkey’s in the oven…I think that’s everything, babe.” Steve’s eyes raked over the rows of platters which were currently littered across the kitchen island. This was one of the first times he could really remember seeing his parents’ kitchen full of this much life and chaos.

Actually, that was a lie.

The first time the Harrington family kitchen at this level of chaos was in the early days of your relationship, when you had first started dating. Steve had mentioned how much he had disliked the holiday season. What point was there to celebrating the holidays if you didn’t have people to share it with? This had evidently been a mistake to tell you, as on the morning of that Thanksgiving, you and Dustin were perched on his doorstep with an abundance of shopping bags and baked goods.

The three of you had spent most of the day together in the kitchen, crafting a holiday meal fit for the whole party. Well, if Steve was being honest, it was more so a duo rather than a trio effort. Dustin had thought it would be helpful to “monitor” your progress by shouting random encouragement from his spot at the island, a bag of chips at his side. Steve couldn’t complain though. It had been one of the best Thanksgivings of his life. He tried so hard to memorize every detail of the day, from the way you shared your grandmother’s secret sweet potato recipe to how many times a stray lock of hair would fall into your eyes.

Now here he was, five years later in the same situation. Except things were a little different now. Thanksgiving was still meant to be shared with his friends, but now everyone had all grown up. The kids he used to babysit were college students now, having just come home to Hawkins for the first time since August. He and Dustin still spoke every chance they had, the young genius being the reason Steve’s phone bill is so damn expensive nowadays. The kid just had to be smart enough to get into Columbia.

Another big change was that Steve now owned his parents’ home. After some protest, they moved out after giving their son the keys and lived in a retirement community just outside of Hawkins. They still don’t talk to him, but that’s okay. He finally came to terms with something truly important: they may have been family by blood, but they weren’t the family that mattered. No, because that was you. . .

. . .and your two daughters: Amelia and Emery.

One year after the chaos of Vecna and the great Hawkins earthquake of ‘86, during your two year anniversary, Steve had finally mustered up the courage to ask you the big question. Proposing seemed a lot easier when he first bought the ring. He planned the whole night: a movie, dinner by candlelight, he even wrote an entire speech. Yet in the heat of the moment, all words simply left him except for those four crucial ones.

He still can’t believe you said yes, not to mention that you gave him two little miracles at once. The twins were three years old now and looking more and more like you every day. However, you still swear that Em has the start of his famous hair and striking hazel eyes. There was nothing Steve loved more than coming home after every long shift to his girls. Every day, without fail, they put the biggest smile on his face as they clung to his leg and held on for dear life as he made exaggerated steps toward you to share a gentle kiss of hello.

“I still feel like we’re missing something,” you mused to yourself as you absentmindedly wiped flour off on your apron. You had been cooking for almost three days straight to make sure that there would be enough food for the stampede of guests arriving in the next few hours. “Did we get the rolls from that bakery Max likes? And the special butter for Will? I know certain dairy bothers his stomach.”

“Babe, relax.” Steve pressed a kiss to your flour-covered cheek. “We have everything. Don’t forget, Robin and Nance are bringing over the green-bean casserole. Jonathan and Will were in charge of the stuffing and Eddie’s bringing over the mulled cider with Argyle.”

“I better not see any weird pineapple covered sides or joints being passed around,” you said with a sigh. Steve watched as your nose scrunched up into that little wrinkle he loved so much. He wished he could lean forward and kiss it off your face entirely, but there were much more important matters at hand. You would certainly kick his ass if he fell behind schedule due to stealing some private time.

Instead, Steve turned his attention to his current challenge: baking the perfect pumpkin pie. “Don’t worry, beautiful,” he tried to soothe as he prepped the pie tin. “Everything is going to be okay. Just head upstairs and get ready. I’ll finish up what’s left.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, now go before I pick you up and drop you in that bedroom myself.”

You smirked. “Is that a threat, Mr. Harrington?”

“No,” he replied. “It’s a promise. Although I can’t promise I’ll be too willing to leave if I have to take you up there myself.” He picked up a nearby dish towel and playfully snapped it in your direction. “Now hurry up. Our guests of honor will be here soon.”

You shook your head with a ghost of a smile, making sure to press a kiss to his lips before you sauntered over to the stairs. Steve rolled his eyes and felt the corner of his own lips pull up into a smirk as you purposefully swayed your hips when taking the first stair.

As he rolled out the final pie crust on the calendar, Steve felt a squeeze around his right leg. Looking down, he caught sight of messy sun-kissed chocolate ringlets and big hazel eyes that shone as bright as stars. “Daddyyyyyy,” came the high-pitched and dramatic cry from his daughter. “When can you pway?”

Steve chuckled. “Soon baby, okay?” He reassured her with a warm smile. “Daddy has to finish making these pies. Why don’t you go and make a card for Uncle Dustin with Amy?” He gestured to the living room, where her lighter-haired sister was happily scribbling atop the paper on the coffee table, eyes glued to the television before her.

His mini-doppelganger gave a huff of indignation far too mature for any five-year-old girl. “But ‘wan play wiff you!”

“Soon, Em. I promise. Daddy just needs to finish the pies.”

Emery tilted her head and Steve had to fight the urge to push back a loose strand of her hair back with flour covered fingers. She appeared to be contemplating something, raising a tiny index finger to her lower lip in thought. The action reminded Steve of you and how you’d nervously play with or bite your lips when deep in thought. “Can I helps?”

A warmth blossomed in Steve’s heart and flooded his entire body. He felt the smile which toyed on his lips threaten to split his face in half. His daughter was asking to help him with something; he could teach her something. “Of course, sweetheart,” he mused. “Now let’s wash those hands before we put the crust in the tin, okay?”

One singing of “happy birthday” and cloud of flour later, Steve held Em’s tiny hands in his own as they pressed the pie dough into the tin together. She was standing on the step-stool the two of you decided to buy early on. It was a preparation purchase for when the girls were a bit older and you wanted to encourage them to do things themselves. The fact that his three-year-old– his very own daughter– was standing in front of him using the steps shocked Steve to the core. This little person was someone he helped to create. She was growing up a little more every single day and it amazed him that this could happen with someone so tiny.

He watched as she stuck her tongue out in concentration when stabbing the dough bottom with a fork. It was only meant to get the air pockets out of the crust, but to young Emery, it was a life or death mission. After they pre-baked the crust, Steve let Em mix up the bowl of pumpkin filling…and maybe be the unofficial taste tester. Someone had to make sure it passed inspection, right?

“WAIT!” Em screeched as Steve reached over her head to pick up the tin to put it in the oven once they finished scooping the filling. He smiled in confusion as she reached over to stick her finger in the filling and dragged it through.

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Uncwe Will says a good artist always signs theiwe work!” Em answered proudly. She leaned back slightly once she was done, tiny index finger pointing to the squiggles now etched in the pie. “Emewy…and Daddy!”

Steve could have melted into a puddle right then and there if he could.

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

Nothing could have prepared Steve when he saw you come down the stairs a few hours later. While he had dressed up in a navy button down and slacks, you had somehow transformed into a work of art. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you moved from setting the table to adjusting the pigtails you put in Amy’s hair. God, how did he ever get so lucky?

When you finally caught his stare, you smiled and walked over in his direction. “Hey there, handsome,” you quipped. “What’s captured your attention?”

“You,” came the smooth reply. “Always you. Can’t believe I got so lucky."

“I think,” you started as you smoothed out the collar of his shirt, “that I’m the lucky one.”

Before he could say more, guests began arriving and the rest of the night sped by in a blur. The Harrington household was filled with the sounds of laughter and silverware tapping against plates. Eddie and Dustin caught up with Mike and Lucas, lamenting about the various adventures of their Dungeons and Dragons groups. They had planned to get the rest of Hellfire to complete some kind of oneshot over the break, but Steve lost the ability to understand what they were talking about somewhere around the introduction of the land of Frotsgaard.

You were catching up with Nancy and Robin, who had moved out to New York to focus on their education and careers. After graduation, Nancy started work as a cub reporter for the New York Times, whereas Robin decided to study theater and English at NYU. They had just gotten a small apartment near 8th Ave that they absolutely couldn’t wait to decorate. Robin was already talking about Christmas trees, much to Nancy’s chagrin.

Em was practically bursting at the seams to talk about her pumpkin pie that she had baked with Steve. She told everyone about her design and proudly showed off her signature to Will, who grinned and ruffled her hair. He called her a natural artist, which only made her squeal with happiness more. Amy took that as an opportunity to show off her latest drawing to Dustin, who promised to hang it up in his dorm as soon as he got back.

At one point in the evening, Steve reached over to tuck a stray hair behind your ear and kiss your temple. He brought his chair closer and wrapped an arm around your waist. As Robin continued to describe her latest class in a very animated fashion, he could feel you relax in his hold. He pressed another kiss against your skin, this time against the corner of your mouth. “I love you,” he whispered in your ear.

This was all he truly needed.

Growing up, the holidays may not have been anything special for Steve. He would have traded anything to have a kinder family, to have parents that cared. But with the family he has now? The love he found with you, the happiness he feels with your girls? He wouldn’t change that for the world. For once in his life, Steve spent Thanksgiving happy and actually thankful for those in his life.

And that’s all he could ever ask for.

======================

Author's Note: To my American readers, happy thanksgiving! I'm actually surprised I was able to draft and write this idea just in time for the holiday. In all, this took me about 3 hours to write and format. As you can tell, I am still head over heels for domestic Steve Harrington, especially dad!Steve. I had this idea and just knew it needed to be written down. I hope to write more dad!Steve in the future because his interactions with little Em are just precious.

If you want to see more fics like this on my blog, make sure to drop a comment and reblog this post. Likes are appreciated, but it's the reblogs that really help spread the word about my writing and send the happy emotion chemicals into my singular brain cell. Want to join my taglist? Shoot me a message, an ask, or even reply to this post and I'll be sure to tag you! :)

Finally, if you have ideas for dad!Steve, send me your thoughts and maybe I'll have the motivation to craft a fic from it. Either way, I'll definitely be responding and sharing the love for our guy. Until next time, my lovely sparks! <3

Taglist: @bakerstreethound

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Five Times John Wanted to See a Movie, and One Time Kayne Made it Suck - a Malevolent Podcast Oneshot

In which Arthur struggles with right and wrong, bemoans the Hays Code, tries (and fails) to define love, and gets a second chance.

Spoilers up to Malevolent ep. 31.

AO3

----------

In January, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

“Damn it, John… fine. You know what? Fine! We’ll go sit in the dark and be perfect targets for someone! Is that what you want?”

He gives in, though.

Arthur can be stubborn. He can be foolish in refusal, often saying no just to say it. 

But to this?

To an innocent request, almost childlike in its intensity, and in its expectation of reply?

Arthur can’t hold out for that long.

Not when it seems to bring John such uncomplicated joy.

#

The movie is called Dancing Lady, and Arthur already knows nothing will ever be made like it again once the Hays Code has its way.

It’s a ridiculous love triangle, a “tarnished” woman (a concept Arthur finds absurd) torn between a rich sponsor and a poor lover, both of whom, at least, see her talent for what it is.

There are some scenes in this one. At one point, Clark Gable massages Joan Crawford’s leg, raising it above his shoulder, only hinting at the things that must surely be on display from Gable’s point of view.

Yowza.

It’s hard not to imagine Joan Crawford making the kinds of faces John describes, and Arthur can’t help a little bit of distracting response.

He focuses on his popcorn instead of anything else prone to explode.

“Those guys are a lot of silk hats and silk socks with nothing between,” says Clark Gable on screen, and Arthur laughs.

John huffs. Why are they being so particular about this?

“Particular about what?” says Arthur.

Tod, Patch, Janie. Why the fuck doesn’t she just lie with both of them? Why do they give a fuck?

Arthur is completely taken aback. “Well, it… I mean… she can’t do that.”

Why not?

Arthur has never in his life considered this question.

It’s about offspring, John decides.

“Ah… no, it’s not really—”

They demand monogamy so there can be no question of inheritance.

“She’s a dancing girl. She has nothing to inherit.”

Sure, but Tod does.

“Yes, but… that isn’t it, John.”

Then what is?

Arthur’s really not sure how to answer. What’s he going to say? That it isn’t the Christian thing to do? “I… it just isn’t done that way. Generally.”

Though in his musician days, he witnessed some truly unique romantic configurations.

It’s a lot to think about.

Stupid, pronounces John with fiendish delight, and continues to tell Arthur everything that’s happening on screen even though Arthur does not reply.

#

In February, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

Arthur sighs. “John. I’ve been fucking stabbed.”

Only a little, says John. The three stitches are fine. You’re fine.

He is fine, honestly. It wasn’t that bad, and in the end, they took out the giant bug-thing that poked him.

He’s pretty sure he isn’t poisoned. Maybe that alone deserves celebration.

Arthur sighs. “Well. I suppose an evening of distraction isn’t such a terrible idea.”

Of course it’s not a terrible idea. It’s mine.

Arthur rolls his useless eyes, but can’t help a little smile. 

#

This movie, though. This movie hits different.

Death Takes a Holiday is about Death himself, who is tired of being misunderstood, and decides to go slumming among humans for a few days to see if he can figure out why.

And he falls in love. 

With a human.

Which can’t end well for that poor lady.

Arthur forgets his popcorn.

The drama is absolutely contrived and thoroughly effective. The struggles of the inhuman to understand the human—

The choice of the human to understand the strange—

“And tonight, I must go back to my distant kingdom,” says Fredric March, whose portrayal of Death is passionate, quiet-spoken, and rife with tortured drama.

“Will you take me with you?” says Evelyn Venable, who plays Grazia, the love interest, and whose name means grace.

“Take you?” says Death, who is pretending to be something he is not, who is carrying on a wild con with the goal of… enlightenment? “Take you? I should be so unhappy alone. Take you? Oh, no, no… don’t tempt me. But Grazia, give me one hour of you—let me hold you once, and feel your life.”

Holy shit, Arthur thinks, because he’s pretty sure he knows how Grazia feels.

Sort of. He’s no damsel, and whatever he and John are isn’t romantic, but still?

“Now you see me as I am,” says Death, at last revealed as shadow, as monster, as darkly divine.

“But I've always seen you like that! You haven't changed,” says Grazia.

She chooses him, knowing what he is.

She chooses him, knowing what it will cost.

The music swells, and Arthur finds himself tearing up. “Then there is a love which casts out fear, and I have found it! And love is greater than illusion… and as strong as death!” Death declares.

John cheers. She goes with him! She went with him! Yes, Arthur!

Does John see the parallels, too?

Arthur isn’t brave enough to ask.

He wipes his eyes, amazed, moved. Almost envious of that stupid made-up girl.

Yeah. This one hit different. 

He can’t help wondering, silly as it is, if this movie was based on something that really happened.

Death and Grazia, reaching across the gap.

It’s not him and John.

But then, who can say just what they are?

#

In March, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

Arthur is tired. “Really? Now?”

Why not? We owe ourselves a little treat.

They do, but after Death’s little romance, Arthur’s not sure he’s ready.

He has decided “friend” is the word for them, but only because he doesn’t have a better one.

Its problem is, it’s not strong enough. It’s nowhere near strong enough.

Arthur is well aware that facing off against the damned pallid mask cult again is the reason for his mood, but what he needs to remember is they failed. 

He’s alive. 

John is still here.

John did not take his exit, his gilt and crafted fire escape, much to the cult’s confusion.

When Arthur destroyed their framework of magic and bone, John cheered him on.

John doesn’t seem to miss them, or regret Arthur’s success.

That means a lot.

Friend? Sure. In lieu of a better word.

Arthur sighs. “What do you want to see?”

#

Jimmy the Gent is bonkers.

Arthur half wonders if it pushes the bar so hard because the Hays Code is breathing down Hollywood’s collective neck, threatening to end artistic freedom forever.

He also wonders if anyone but James Cagney and Bette Davis could have pulled this plotline off.

Cagney plays an unscrupulous man who seeks out wealthy folks who died without a will, then produces heirs to rake in the moolah—heirs who aren’t even real.

The main conflict is his girlfriend balking at his techniques, bailing to join a competitor, and coming back again when the eponymous Jimmy shows himself to be slightly less wicked than the other guy.

There isn’t actually a hero. It’s not black and white; it may be comedy, but it’s comedy gray.

“The only thing he's got that I want is you, and he took you away from me,” says Jimmy.

Oof. Those are some words to hear, and Arthur struggles not to apply them.

“He's got ethics,” says Davis, the dame Joan.

“I don't care if he has carbuncles. The only difference between him and me is he's got a smoother line,” says Cagney as the eponymous Jimmy.

Haha… ah. Wow.

“You can't make yourself clean by making him dirty,” says Joan, and Arthur’s stomach twists.

Arthur slowly exhales. This is a poor allegory for the King in Yellow and him, isn’t it?

But it maybe isn’t so bad for him and Larson.

He’s a little bit better than Larson. Just a little. Is that enough to make him good?

John, funny enough, doesn’t wrestle with morality at all in this, but has a blast with the humor, and praises the cleverness of the characters. He particularly appreciates the way Jimmy puts on airs to win back his lady love. Goal achieved, intimacy earned, all for the price of a barrel of determination and a pinch of deceit.

Arthur is uncomfortable as fuck, and eats all the popcorn at the film, too much popcorn, and gives himself a stomachache.

Somehow, he feels it is deserved.

#

In May, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

They end up picking one all about deceit, romance, and false identity.

The Thirty Day Princess is a heck of a ride.

Are you trying to tell me something? Arthur thinks at a god he doesn’t believe in, thinks at the King in Yellow who is and is not John.

“She Reminds Me of You,” croons Bing Crosby as the hero dances with the princess-under-false-pretenses, who’s filling in for her sick counterpart for a total of thirty days.

Who looks exactly like the ill royal, but most definitely is not her.

I'm standing all alone I've got nothing to live for She reminds me of you And she reminds me of you And it breaks my heart in two

Dear fucking gods.

John is not the King in Yellow.

Except that he is.

Arthur hasn’t processed this. Hasn’t figured it out.

I am the King in Yellow, sounds John’s voice in Arthur’s memory, and Arthur ends up physically ill at the end of the film.

John is quite concerned, but Arthur doesn’t know what to tell him when he asks what’s wrong, and leaves all his questions unanswered like unraveling thread.

#

In September, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

Enough time has passed that Arthur’s resistance has worn down.

He refused two months in a row. He rejoiced (in silence) that the madness with the Order of the Falling Star prevented any such frivolity through August.

But now that’s done, and Kayne has another poorly defined deal that began with an entire group of cultists violently dead, and Percy has Arthur’s blood in a jar for some reason and a promise of future contact, and it’s done.

For better or worse, it’s done.

And it’s quiet.

And John wants to see a movie.

“You know what?” says Arthur, who could use the distraction. "There’s one I want to see, too. Do you know the poets Elizabeth Barret and Robert Browning? Well… Elizabeth wrote some of the most wonderful verse about love and longing that anyone ever has, and apparently, there’s a movie about it, so let’s go see.”

#

The Barretts of Wimpole Street turns out to be completely not what Arthur expected.

Love disallowed by a sex-repulsed parent, physical illness barring the freedom afforded any ordinary adult, a stressful and creepy scene with incestuous undertones, and a decision to kill a beloved pet dog (which fortunately did not pan out) leave Arthur feeling absolutely weird about the whole thing.

The movie tiptoes a lot about morality, about right and wrong, about societal norms and familial expectations.

At least some of it reminded him of arguments with Daniel, after Bella had come down pregnant.

At least some of it reminded him of arguments with James, the day Faroe was born.

All of it reminded him of whatever he has with John, and he doesn’t know how to interpret that.

Norma Shearer as Elizabeth asking, “Robert, have you ever thought that my strength may break down on the journey?”

Frederick March as Robert answering: “It had occurred to me, yes.”

Arthur feels so very mortal, these days.

“Supposing I were to die in your hands?” she says.

“Are you afraid?”

Yes, thinks Arthur. I’m very afraid.

And then comes the line that hits hardest. “Yes,” says Robert Browning. “I am prepared to risk your life, much more my own, to get you out of that dreadful house and into the sun and to have you for my wife.”

Was that an okay thing to say?

Arthur doesn’t know.

He feels like he and John have each made that decision for each other, more than once.

But nobody’s a wife. 

Or something.

He’s not really sure what he’s internally protesting.

“I'm sick of fighting alone. I need a comrade in arms to fight beside me,” Robert says.

“But not one already wounded in battle,” Elizabeth says, who feels lesser, who feels so weak.

“Wounded but undaunted, unbeaten, unbroken. What finer comrade could a man ask for?”

Undefeated.

Arthur swallows hard. Maybe this one was pointed at him, after all.

That was kind of depressing, John pronounces with great cheer as they leave, having enjoyed every moment, and described it all to Arthur in an effort to help him enjoy it, too. I can’t believe he wanted to kill the dog! 

“Well,” says Arthur. “Some people are… cruel… when they lose.”

Someone should kill him instead, John says, and he is joking.

Probably joking.

It feels like John’s moral compass is more reliable than Arthur’s own, these days, so Arthur decides to just let that one go.

#

In October, Arthur says, “John—I want to see a movie.”

Really? You do? You want to hear one, you mean? says John, who’s being clever.

Arthur is able to laugh. “Yes, you whacko.”

John’s pleased. Arthur can feel it. I know you are, but what am I?

Arthur laughs again.

The back-and-forth is ridiculous, but feels so damn good in spite of that. Easy; effortless. Affectionate, knives long stashed.

Three whole weeks have passed since the Rancid Ruby case, and their successful retrieval of the jewel (and the minister’s daughter, whom they hadn’t even known was missing) has brought them enough business and enough income that Arthur has begun to believe John is right: they’re going to be okay.

It’s also put the final nail in the dismissal of their murder case. The minister stood as a character witness, and finally swayed the judge. Who knew?

Parker and Eddie’s deaths have been officially attributed to a burglary gone wrong—backed by Arthur’s wrecked car, miles from the scene; by hospital proof that Arthur, unidentified, had been in a coma; and by Arthur’s indisputable claim of amnesia, causing his disappearance for many months. 

Larson is MIA, having been carried off by the monstrous thing he summoned.

The Butcher is retired, having philosophized himself into a monastery, eager for hypocritical redemption and literal flagellation.

Kayne hasn’t called his favor, but right now, it’s hard to look toward that with horror.

Even this latest case worked out, with a wild showdown in Central Park, loads of witnesses, and the Jade MacGuffin returned to its owner.

It’s all coming up roses. Arthur is almost able to hope.

So what did you want to see? says John.

“Well, they’re saying this will be one of the last great movies—the Hays Code, and all,” says Arthur, who has tried to explain it, and shared John’s frustration at the enforcement of false human experience and morality on screen. “It’s about the great Egyptian queen Cleopatra—a tragic love story, and one that’s inspired all manner of art, music, poetry, and more for centuries.”

Sure. Sounds good. The theater on 15th has popcorn, you know.

That’s all Arthur needs to hear.

#

And it isn’t pointed, it really is not. But it sort of fits how he’s feeling, anyway.

“Together, we could conquer the world,” Cleopatra says, Elizabeth Taylor making every word so sensual that Arthur could drown in any one of them for a week.

“Nice of you to include me,” Warren William’s Julius Caesar replies, and Arthur chuckles, and John says, Hahaha! You can do better! and it’s such a beautiful, perfect shared moment.

And of course, she can do better—in the form of Marc Antony, played by Henry Wilcoxon.

Arthur loses himself in it all, even though he can’t see. The cast is huge. The effects (via John) are jaw-dropping. The music score is moving and expertly done.

When Taylor says, "On. Your. Knees,” Arthur feels some things he really doesn’t know what to do with, but the moment passes quickly.

Cleopatra is everything Arthur wanted in an evening of self-indulgent escape, and John’s continued enthusiasm only makes it more sweet.

Arthur sniffles at the tragic ending, even though he knew it was coming, which Taylor plays to the hilt.

It definitely doesn’t feel pointed like the other movies did. Arthur figures out why when it’s done, while he’s waiting for everyone else to file out so he can leave the theater unhindered.

A lack of communication and irreconcilable core values led to the tragedy on screen.

That’s not him and John. Well, it used to be; but Arthur is certain it’s not anymore.

John says, I think I understand her.

“Her? Cleopatra? How so?”

And with that unnervingly good memory John sometimes demonstrates, he quotes: ‘So Rome would forgive and take you back? And all they demand is for us to part. Why don't they ask the sun to fall right out of the sky?’

Arthur swallows.

That’s how I feel about you, says John, who has never said he loves Arthur, but has shown it, repeatedly and without hesitation.

Arthur has some thoughts on that. "I feel the same,” he says, who has never said those words to John, even though the King in Yellow called him on it months ago.

But Arthur’s fairly sure he’s shown it, too.

He's been thinking a lot about love, of late.

About what it really is, and how it is expressed.

About how the movies usually portray two kinds: romantic, and familial.

This love is neither. It’s different, loaded with unknown spice, broken free from a mold Arthur cannot name.

But it is absolutely real, and Arthur has come to a conclusion that shakes him to his core: he was already willing to die for John, many months ago, yes. But now?

Now, he’s willing to live for him.

Even if Kayne decided to offer me a body, I’m not going anywhere, John says out of nowhere.

“A body?” Arthur isn’t sure where that idea came from. “I doubt he’d do that.”

John says nothing.

Arthur tries to bridge whatever unexpected gap this is, squirming with things in the dark. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to obtain papers for you, if that happened. Make you all legitimate.”

Really. Is that so?

Arthur has to poke. “I’ll say you’re from Montana. That should explain away any obvious social gaffes.”

Gaffes! I’ll have you know I’m far better at handling people than you.

“Well, I suppose we’ll see, won’t we? In this theoretical future that probably won’t happen.”

There’s another slight pause. Arthur frowns.

I want my name on the business, John suddenly says.

Arthur snorts.

Arthur! I’m serious!

“Yes, yes. I don’t see why not.” Arthur is more concerned he might not get his sight back than that John’s name is painted on frosted glass. “Lester and Doe, Private Investigators For Hire.”

Doe and Lester.

“Excuse you. I was in it first.”

But I’m clearly the smarter partner.

Arthur laughs. “You dork.”

And will probably be better-looking, too.

“Now, that’s going too far,” says Arthur, chuckling. 

You’ll see. I’ll draw everyone’s attention with my glorious form, and that’ll give you time to riffle their drawers.

“That’s… not a horrible idea, honestly, though there are a few problems with that—namely, you have no body, and even if you did, I’d still be blind.”

Well, I… well, we…

“Gotcha,” says Arthur, smug, because it’s easier to laugh at this possible future than actually deal with any of it, though even the shadow it casts hurts.

You did not. That’s not even a point. Half a point, maybe.

“Lester and Doe, it is,” Arthur says, because it’s fun to poke the bear.

Instead of answering, John gasps.

Arthur knows John. Knows him well. And immediately stops walking.

“You know, just when I think you two can’t get any cuter, you go and wrap a bow on your dicks and call it Christmas,” says Kayne so close that Arthur can feel breath on his lips.

Arthur staggers back a few steps, then stops himself. Running won’t help. “What do you want?”

Kayne must have kept pace with him, because he speaks just as close, an inch away. “It’s your lucky day! Oh, did you tell him, snippet? Did you? I assume you would have by now, I mean, it’s not like you had half a year or something to figure out how to broach the topic.”

Oh, no. What?

It’s like the ground under Arthur’s feet is shaking, ground he’d thought was solid, but hides a deep and jagged fault line. “What is he talking about?”

Arthur, I—

“Too late now!” says Kayne, and there is a whoosh of air.

Arthur staggers. He didn’t move, but he did, and the sounds and smells tell him he’s no longer on the sidewalk, but in an alley.

And then comes a voice he hates.

A drawl, casual and arrogant, and it doesn’t even matter that it’s coming from waist-height, because his immediate urge is to attack it at once like a bird in a mirror.

“Well, this isn’t what I expected,” says Wallace Larson.

Arthur takes a step.

John reaches across his chest and grabs his arm, hard, like a physical restraint.

“Oh, the webs we weave when we practice to deceive,” says Larson, who sounds fine and dandy, if a little shorter than before.

Arthur, says John, evenly. He’s not alone. He’s strapped to a weird, short table, barely fitting into the alley, and his legs are jammed against the wall. And he’s not alone.

And because this wasn’t fraught enough, the next voice is identical.

Identical. But it isn’t John.

You! Murderer!

“Yellow?” says Arthur, shock stealing sound and sense from this moment, tingling through his body so his face feels numb.

Kayne bounces something light off the side of his head.

“What?” Arthur startles.

“Sorry, thought you’d open your mouth for it, like a baby bird. Popcorn?” Another one hits right under his eye.

“Stop it! What are you doing?”

It’s time for justice! Yellow declares.

Oh, shut the fuck up, John snarls.

Traitor! bellows Yellow.

And Larson starts to sing. Insultingly, it is a hymn.

“Bury my body,” Larson croons in a surprisingly pleasing baritone. “Lord, I don't care where they bury my body. Lord, I don't care where they bury my body, ‘cause my soul is gonna live with God.”

Arthur is going to kill him. The rest of this can sort itself out. He takes another step.

“Hold on there, boyo,” says Kayne in the Butcher’s accent, and takes Arthur’s hand. “You’ll need this.”

That is the handle of a knife. A knife, pressed into his right palm, which means Kayne wants him to do this, and that pours cold water all over the whole operation.

The handle burns, but Arthur ignores that.

Go ahead, says Yellow. You’re already a killer. I see it in your eyes. I know you, Arthur Lester!

This can’t be happening.

“It is, though,” whispers Kayne in his ear. “Looks like Little John didn’t tell you anything, did he? That’s a real foundation for trust.”

“What?” says Arthur, who feels stuck like a skipping record.

You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, says John.

I do. He confessed. He murdered that man and fucking ATE HIM.

He did that because of you! John roars at Yellow. You’re the one who put him in the pit! You’re the one who sent him the gods-damned cannibal! What did you want him to do, just sit back and be eaten?

“What?” says Arthur, weakly.

Because for Yellow to have done that means—

I did? says Yellow, sounding as confused as if he’d been thocked on his phantasmal head.

“Oh, oh, oh yeah,” sings Larson. 

Arthur needs a moment.

“I’m not leaving,” he snaps before anybody can yell at him, and turns to stand at the entrance to the alley, just breathing.

He’s very, very glad he had no alcohol with dinner tonight.

“I dunno, pal, it might’ve helped you out,” Kayne says.

“What is this?” says Arthur.

“Isn’t it clear? No, I suppose it’s not—guess good old Liz (or maybe Henry) redirected the blood from your brain to elsewhere. You’re here to kill your enemy, my boy! End the torment. Flip the switch. Bring that hammer down.”

Arthur swallows. He’s tasting metal again—a thing he’s noticed only happens when he’s on the verge of panic.

Which he is. He doesn’t know what’s going on.

Arthur, I can explain.

“Shhh,” says Kayne, and touches Arthur’s lips.

Arthur tries for him with the knife. 

Of course, it only hits brick, jarring his hand. “Ow,” he mutters. “Damn it!”

“He’ll get to explain it all after. For now, however, you, being the key in this situation, being fully entangled with him, and thus, his representative with a physical form, have a job to do.”

“What job? I haven’t agreed to—is this my favor? For killing those cultists?”

Kayne laughs. “No, you sweet thing. It’s his.”

“His?” Arthur’s voice is small.

I… Arthur, I…

Get back here! Coward! Yellow calls from the alleyway.

“I have questions,” says Arthur, but he honestly can’t think of one.

Kayne tsks at him. “I can see you’re in shock, you tender soul, you, so let’s make this simple. Do this, or John’s gone.”

“Gone?” Arthur’s voice cracks.

“Removed. Incised. Purged, if you will. It’s what he agreed to.”

“John?” says Arthur.

This is what you wanted him in New York for? John says, sounding incredulous.

Arthur’s brain has skipped parts of this conversation like it touched an electrical fault, and he blurts, “Yellow is the King in Yellow, isn’t he?”

Kayne laughs. “Wow, are you behind! They’re both the King in Yellow, my darling rose. Snippet, what have you been teaching him? What, nothing? Well, this is on you, then.”

Get back here! howls Yellow. We’re not finished!

“I said all right,” Larson starts singing again. “You know it's alright. It's alright, c'mon.”

And it calms Yellow. It calms the piece of the King in Yellow, the copy of John that Arthur betrayed, that Arthur ruined so badly that he’s refused to think about it because there’s no fixing what went wrong.

“You are correct on that one,” Kayne confirms. “This is fun, and all, but boys… you’re losing my patience. It’s time.”

Arthur finds himself walking back into the alley.

It’s easy to follow Larson’s voice. 

To follow the sweet-syrup sound of that most hated man, who is awfully damn calm about this, and that is the one thought that surfaces. “You’re awfully damn calm about this, Larson,” Arthur snarls.

“Of course I am, my boy. I’m about to enter immortality. Little hard not to face that with some sorta joy, given all I paid for it.”

“Paid for it!” Arthur’s voice breaks. “You didn't pay for it! Your daughter did!”

“So did yours,” says Larson, who shouldn’t know that, who must have been told by Kayne. “We both got to where we are through that most unfortunate necessity, didn't we?”

Murderer! Yellow declares.

Six months ago, that would have been it.

Arthur would have lost it. Gone feral, melted into violent goo, stabbed and tore and shouted until he was covered in gore, until Larson was unrecognizable, until the form could compete with Uncle for mess and mayhem and pulp in bad places.

Today, he pauses.

It’s not the same, says John, calm, because this is only for Arthur. You know it’s not. We’ve been over this.

He killed his daughter! says Yellow.

He made a mistake and she died—and what the fuck are you crowing about? Your guy sacrificed his on purpose! One’s an accident and the other isn't! Fuck, how stupid are you? Did I get all the intelligence, is that it?

What? says Yellow, again taken aback, again stuttered to a halt in the middle of rage.

Arthur realizes with a little gut-twist that Yellow is weirdly naive.

Gullible. That’s the word. He just accepts what anybody says in the moment, then applies that black and white, childish morality.

Yellow would not understand half the movies they’d seen of late.

Why? Why was this?

“Because he didn’t get to spend a month all alone, silly,” says Kayne. “Isn’t that neat? It’s all about godhood and nature versus nurture and all that kind of thing. If you’d been awake the whole time, your John would be even screwier than he is. It’s almost like your bad luck scratches the itch of some eager, chaotic observers. Anyway! What’s the hold up? That’s the guy who hurt you, Arty. That’s the guy who made your teeth loose. You really gonna hesitate now?”

That’s the guy means Yellow, not Larson, and this just got more complicated. “What happens to Yellow if I do this?” says Arthur, because he never asked that before, and he should have, and it’s probably too late, but that’s just how his life goes.

“Hm? Oh, he’ll die,” says Kayne.

John gasps.

Shit. “And what happens to John, then?” says Arthur.

“Heck if I know. This is all new territory, which is why I’m being so patient. Don’t want to miss a thing.”

“Lead me, Jesus, lead me,” sings Larson. “Why don't you lead me in the middle of the air, and if my wings should fail me, won't you provide me with another pair?”

“So you’re crackers,” says Arthur. “Barmy. Lost your damned mind. This isn’t Jesus. This is Kayne. He’s not going to do anything good for you.”

Kayne gasps. “Such ingratitude!” And he laughs. “Next, you’re going to say you don’t want your office filled with music boxes.”

Okay, that—

Okay.

Arthur needs another moment.

“You don’t get one,” Kayne whispers in his ear. “It’s time. John didn’t tell you, and I’m glad he didn’t, because you are fucking glorious this upset, but it’s time. Kill him.”

“Why?” whispers Arthur, and means so many things.

Kayne doesn’t bother to reply.

I… Arthur, I….

“Will you be all right, John?”

I don’t know.

Arthur grips the knife. Its burning leather handle creaks, and Arthur accepts the pain in his palm, because something this messy should not be easy.

Yellow gasps. You’re going to do it in cold blood?

“I’m sorry, Yellow,” says Arthur, because Yellow is not really the King in Yellow, any more than John is. “It seems I fucked up for you all over the place.”

You’re a killer. I don’t expect anything better from you.

He’s human, says John. He’s made mistakes, and stayed alive. Your guy’s no better.

Yellow seems stunned again. He’s not?

Larson laughs. “Little guy, it’s all right. This is where it was always going. Why do you think I had to get you to New York? You’re my final step. My sacrifice. Your death’ll elevate me, son. Mister Lester, I’m fully ready. Do the deed. Let’s get this over with. Then, when I’m ascended, and I’m a god, I’ll be sure to stop by and say hi.”

Arthur’s throat is tight. “He can’t be serious.”

“His deals aren’t for you to know,” says Kayne. “Also, you’re out of time.”

“Wait,” says Arthur.

“Say goodbye to John in three,” says Kayne.

“Wait!” says Arthur, who has an idea, who suddenly thinks—

“Two,” says Kayne. 

With a choked, miserable sound, Arthur cuts Larson’s throat.

But not with the knife Kayne gave him.

“Oh, foul!” Kayne cries. “Oh! Oh! Cheater!”

Andrew! says Yellow, sounding distraught. Andrew! No! No!

What did you do? says John.

“Improvised?” says Arthur, who has no idea what he’s done, except he had to save John, except the knife Kayne gave him was maybe special, except this complete guess was the only hope he had, and he’d only had time to stuff Kayne’s knife away and grab his own instead.

Larson gargles. He sounds like he’s trying to laugh.

Andrew! Yellow sobs it. Andrew! He doesn’t seem to be dying.

So it worked?

So Larson doesn’t get godhood?

Arthur’s hand is warm with blood. He doesn’t know what to do. He tries to clean that knife inside his jacket, where he hopes it won’t show.

Kayne sighs. Paces. 

Kayne punches the wall.

It’s a bad sound, cracking, crumbling. Something inside the building crashes down, and there are screams.

Arthur shakes.

“You know,” says Kayne. “I’ll give you this one. I’ll hand it to you. Didn’t predict it. That’s awful rare. So I’m really pissed at you, and you’ll feel that soon enough—but I can appreciate a good scam.”

“I didn’t pull a scam,” Arthur says, quieter, because Yellow has begun to sob.

It is an ugly sound, wretched, utterly unselfconscious.

He’s doing that because Larson is dead.

It doesn’t feel good. None of this does. Arthur isn’t the same as he was in Addison. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Yellow doesn’t stop crying long enough to answer.

Kayne shoves him suddenly, bruisingly, against the wall. “I am… really… mad at you. I won’t get to pull an experiment like this again for who knows how the fuck long. But… that was the deal. You did the deed. Technically, you’re off the hook. But you, Arthur—you still owe me a favor.”

“I won’t kill Yellow,” Arthur says.

Arthur!

Arthur takes Kayne’s knife back out of his pocket and throws it down, and the clang it makes in the alley is weird, wrong, otherworldly. “I won’t. I’ve done enough to him! Fuck you, I—”

He chokes.

There is a fist is in his throat, impossibly swelling, knuckles distending, expanding, distorting, threatening to tear him from the inside. Can’t swallow around it. Can’t—

It stops. 

Arthur gasps, ragged.

“Better idea,” says Kayne, and suddenly, Yellow’s sobbing is inside his head.

“John!” Arthur manages, gagging, terrified John was swapped into the dead man’s body.

I’m here! I—what the fuck?

Leave me alone! Yellow howls.

They’re both in there, equally loud, equally growly, and it’s too much, there is a weight to the fulness of an eldritch god in his brain, and his own soul feels pinched and battered and stepped on, and he can’t breathe, and—

“This should be fun,” he hears Kayne say, and then he passes out.

#

The arguing is what wakes him.

That doesn’t matter. I don’t care.

Then you’re a hypocrite of the highest order, John snarls.

What does that make you?

Look, you moron, just calling me things doesn’t make it—Arthur! The change in tone is remarkable. Arthur—are you all right? Talk to me, Arthur.

The sharp concern in John’s voice—tenderness mixed with violence, crafted for him.

Arthur recalls Yellow weeping over Larson, and he aches for him, and wonders if his own inner compass has gotten even more broken over the last day. “I’m… I’m here. Fuck, I sound strangled.”

He does. Haggard, raspy. 

Larson could out-sing him at this very moment, and he won’t be able to sing to calm Yellow for a while, and that is such an odd thought to have that Arthur’s face burns, and he rolls over to press it into the cool pillow.

Wait. Pillow?

Lucky, says Yellow, low and bitter. Yours woke up.

I told you he would. He’s remarkable.

Andrew was remarkable.

Wallace Larson was a motherfucking cheat who traded children and people’s lives all the time to seem interesting. Arthur does it all on his own.

Arthur feels not all on his own a little too much, right now. “Yellow.”

What? says the new voice, and the tone is fearful, and challenging, and tight.

Is he doing this?

He’s doing this.

Arthur already decided he’s doing this, and he may be many things, but he doesn’t easily change his mind. “I’m sorry.”

Both the voices in his head are still for a moment.

What? they say together.

“I’m sorry. I met you when I was… I was at the worst of myself. I lied to you, and tried to control you, because I was so afraid of losing you again. Losing… John again. Kayne told me you were him, and I thought… you know, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I fucked up, Yellow. I’m sorry.” It feels weak. “That’s all.”

There is a trembling inside, a non-corporeal shaking that feels like maybe the fault line has been transplanted into him.

How dare you? Yellow says.

I told you so, says John.

How dare you lie to me! You just murdered my… you killed him!

Arthur sighs. “I did. I wasn’t letting John get taken. No matter what shape I’m in, that’s… just how it’s going to be.”

That trembling again.

Larson was ready to sacrifice you, like I said—but you’re safe now, says John to Yellow, which Arthur did not expect. You’re me. He won’t hurt you.

That’s more faith in Arthur than Arthur has for himself.

I’m not you. We can’t even merge, Yellow says.

“You can’t?” says Arthur, who’d forgotten that was a thing until this moment.

No. We… we’ve both changed too much. We can’t.

There is sorrow in John’s voice, deep and aching, a finality that communicates loss Arthur can’t fully comprehend.

It’s a farewell to a thing Arthur cannot even imagine needing.

He has no idea how to engage with it, so he goes for familiar ground. Not a poem, but the movie they just saw—a way to say, I love you, without saying those words. “‘You choose me, Cleopatra, against the world,’” he says.

John practically surges to respond. ‘Then we'll meet it! We'll smash it to pieces, put it together again and call it ours!’

Yellow is, understandably, confused. You’re going to smash the world?

“No, we… no. It’s a movie.”

What’s a movie?

John scoffs. Your asshole of a guy didn’t even take you to see a movie? We’ve seen six in just a few months!

But what is one? I want to see one! What is it?

Arthur is not going to see a movie right now. He feels like his head weighs a thousand pounds. “How did I get to a bed? Did Kayne bring me here?”

There is a distinctly guilty pause. So, says John. When you’re fully unconscious, uh. We. Um.

We have control of your hideous form, Yellow informs him. You’re in your hotel room.

“What? Wait, what?” Arthur sits up. He feels the same. Blind, left hand and foot numb. Head too heavy, but—“What?”

When you’re unconscious, repeats John, we have control. So we got you out of there, because there’s a dead body, and we don’t need to face the police again.

Cowards, both of you, says Yellow.

Maybe he should take Yellow to see some morality plays before the movies, or something. “Where’s the knife? It had my fingerprints.”

Fucking Kayne took it back. It was weird, Arthur. I’m glad you couldn’t see it. Even with me looking through your eyes, they bled.

Arthur stiffens and reaches up. Sure enough, there are dried tracks of blood from his eyes down his neck. “Fuck. Can you see?”

Yes. You seem all right. Just… that knife was bad.

Why—Yellow stops.

“Why what?”

Why didn’t you use it?

Arthur’s not sure he’s in any shape to verbalize this. “What I did to you before wasn’t right. What Larson was doing to you now wasn’t right. It’s time someone didn’t do the wrong thing by you, is all.”

Silence in response.

Whatever that means.

Arthur stands, shaky as a newborn lamb, and feels his way to the bathroom. He strips as he goes, dropping clothing in a trail.

Is it time for a rite? says Yellow, oddly hopeful.

Rite?

He’s naked.

So?

This is too weird, and Arthur does not engage. He turns on the shower. 

But… humans get naked for rites.

John scoffs. He told you that? What the fuck?

They don’t get naked for rites? Yellow sounds lost again.

“So what you’re telling me is fucking Larson never washed his arse,” Arthur mutters, and John laughs.

Don’t you know anything about humans? says John then, disgusted.

Of course I do! More than you!

They are clearly going to be at this for a while.

Arthur lets them, hoping they tire themselves out.

He’s scraped from the bricks in the alley. Bruised from Kayne’s manhandling, and, he thinks, inside his throat. His right hand, disturbingly, seems to have been slightly burned where he held that weird knife. He can’t be sure, but he thinks he’s lost his fingerprints.

But he’s okay. He made it.

He always makes it.

And for the first time in his life, weirdly, he feels like he might have a second chance at something he truly fucked up.

They’re still fighting about naked humans. It’s obviously a cleansing rite!

You’re a moron!

“Yellow,” says Arthur. “I’m sorry you lost your person. He was a monster, but… I get it, and I’m sorry. Good, bad—they don’t matter when there’s grief.”

Another trembling pause as the steam rises, and Arthur washes away the blood, the sweat, the dubious stickiness he finds where Kayne grabbed him through his suit jacket.

I… didn’t like it, says Yellow, soft.

“I know. I think we’ve all… we’ve all gone through some loss here, through no fault of our own.”

Don’t tell me you feel bad for taking that fucker out, says John. You’ve been wanting him dead for months.

Arthur knows clarification is needed, and it is the hardest thing to do, but he has to make this second chance count. “Since I learned he sacrificed his daughter for power, yes. It made me think of losing my little girl, and though that was… that was an accident, I couldn’t… imagine someone doing it on purpose. I went a little insane.”

A little? scoffs John.

“A lot insane, then. Still. Yellow wouldn’t have landed in him at all if I hadn’t been such an ass.”

Actually, says John. About that.

Arthur has been thinking. “You made a deal with Kayne.”

I… yes.

Why? says Yellow.

To get back to Arthur.

Why? Yellow says.

He’s mine, says John.

“And, what? It was just about getting me to New York?”

Yes. He said if I did that, I could stay in you. He even hinted he might give me a body, if I paid his debt right, though it wasn’t… worded clearly. If I failed, and couldn’t get you to New York, I’d… I’d go back to the Dark World. But then we were here, and nothing happened, and I… I sort of hoped he’d forgotten.

“You could’ve told me.” It hurts a little. More than a little.

I’m sorry.

Arthur sighs. “I forgive you. We made it through. Just tell me anything else like that, all right?”

I will. I promise.

Yellow is quiet. 

Arthur has no idea how this conversation might stack up against whatever else Yellow has heard.

He dries off and limps back to the bed, where he falls face-first into the pillow. “No joyrides while I’m out. I need rest.”

You adapted to that news pretty quickly, says John, suspicious.

“I have not adapted at all. I’m simply too damn tired to engage with it right now. Tomorrow, I’ll have a proper panic over it, but for the next few hours, I mean it. No joyrides.”

Fine. No joyrides.

But what if we—

We promised. No joyrides.

I didn’t promise, Yellow grouses.

I did, and we are both the King in Yellow, and that’s our word. Shut up.

They are never going to stop.

Weirdly… it’s not that hard to tune them out.

It reminds Arthur of the strangest thing: those noisy, chaotic, wonderful days when Faroe’s “friends”—really just toddlers her age, in the neighborhood—came over, and everybody was yelling and squealing and laughing and demanding, and all the other parents (mothers, they were all mothers, and Arthur never fit in) clustered like chortling geese to add to the ruckus.

And it shouldn’t have been peaceful, but it was.

It shouldn’t have been the kind of noise he could sink into, but it was.

Why this is like that, Arthur doesn’t know.

Maybe he doesn’t need to know.

For some reason, John is now telling Yellow the plot of The Thirty-Day Princess. And then the Baron said, ‘We are on a wild goose egg!’

Yellow laughs.

Is it safe, to leave them unmonitored like this?

Then again, maybe they need it.

Arthur certainly needs it.

He has no idea what to do with this. He has no idea if he can keep them both in there. His skull feels oddly… strained.

But now, right now, he needs sleep.

John promised no joyrides. (Arthur will deal with that horror tomorrow.)

John’s promise, in spite of today’s unpleasant surprise, is good enough.

Yellow’s grief is real. That’s going to take time to navigate. Arthur feels he owes that much.

So… is everyone safe now? At least until Kayne returns?

Maybe.

Arthur doesn’t know how this works, and he’s no longer arrogant enough to assume he ever will.

Maybe he doesn’t have to know.

Maybe it’s enough to survive, and listen, and forgive, and try to make up for mistakes.

To take his chance to make up for one, and hold it with all his heart.

Arthur drifts off to the sound of John’s attempt at a Ruritanian accent.

Maybe it really is coming up roses, after all.

--------

NOTES

Of course, I had to do ridiculous research for this so it would all be accurate.

It's part of my self-indulgence. Hush.

Dancing Lady on Wikipedia, and you get to see the scene that made poor Arthur hot and bothered right here on YouTube.

Death Takes a Holiday is on YouTube in terrible resolution here, BUT if you skip to 1:04:44, you get to see where Grazia chooses to go with Death.

The romp that is Jimmy the Gent. The quip about ethics and carbunkles is right here, at 1:25.

The Thirty Day Princess was hard to track down, but I found a solid review of it, a clip of the Ruritanian accent, and of course, Bing Crosby's She Reminds Me of You.

The Barretts of Wimpole Street, including that DEEPLY uncomfortable clip where the father seems to think all sex is evil, then gets weirdly handsy with his daughter. Yowza.

Oh, Cleopatra... they don't make movies like this anymore. On. Your. Knees.

As for Yellow... well, I saw how he responded to Larson at the end of 28. He just... accepted whatever Larson said - weirdly innocent about it, which made Larson even creepier to me. I sort of figured without a chance to reset and think (like John had during the coma), he wouldn't be able to grow the same way.

The hymn Larson was singing, My Soul is Gonna Live With God. In your dreams, asshole.

[sirowsky]

Day 3, and this one is a panicked rewrite because I was in a mood when I first wrote it. So, please bear in mind that I wrote this in an hour and that it's not proofread, and thank you so much to @lowlights for the prompt, which was "Did you just break my door down!?"

Rating: Explicit 18+ONLY Warnings: Pero Tovar x female reader, reader has no description except wearing a dress, anger, heated argument, smut, modern AU. Word Count: 1200 Sirowsky's Masterlist

--Anger Management--

   He’s in the shower when he hears heavy banging on the front door of his house, but it’s been a really long day and he’s in a bad mood, which for Pero Tovar means that he shouldn’t be around people.    So, he ignores whoever’s out there and carries on scrubbing himself clean of the engine oil that’s soaked into his skin through his clothes.

   But just seconds later, a bang so loud that he fears half the house is coming down, suddenly thunders through the structure, and he all but leaps out of the stall.    He grabs a towel without slowing down, sloppily wrapping it around his waist as he leaves the bathroom and goes looking for the source of what he’s almost certain must’ve been an explosion.

   Instead, he finds his front door hanging off of just the lower one of the hinges, along with scattered debris of what had been the doorframe around the lock-mechanism, all over the hallway floor.    And in the middle of all that, is you. Standing just two feet inside the house, panting hard and with your fists tightly closed against the sides of your thighs.

   You’re quite clearly fuming, but that’s not what Pero is most immediately concerned about.

   “Did you just kick my door down!? Are you out of your fucking mind!?” he berates you, almost screaming as his anger builds, but you’re not the least bit intimidated.

   “Yeah, I did!” you scream back, taking a step closer. “Because you’re a god damned coward and I’ve had it with you!”

   “You broke into my house to call me a coward??” he demands, but he’s actually truly shocked at this entire situation.

   Because while he does know that you have a temper, he also knows that it takes a lot to set you off, and he can’t think of anything that he’s done recently that could’ve triggered you.

   “When you stand me up for the third fucking time, you better believe I’m calling you chicken!!” you retort, and suddenly he wants to kick himself in his own balls.

   You’ve been friends for ages and watched each other go through one failed relationship after another, until you both eventually just sort of gave up.    That had then led to over two years of both of you being mostly miserable, until you’d suggested that maybe it was fate and that you should go on a date with each other.    And once that idea came into his head, Pero had started looking at you differently.

   He had realized that you were pretty much perfect in his eyes, and it had astounded him that he’d never seen it before.    So, six weeks ago, you’d made plans to go hiking your favorite trail together and stop for a picnic at a gorgeous viewpoint at the highest section of it.    But he’d had to cancel at the last possible minute because of work.

   Two weeks later, you’d tried again, keeping it simple with dinner and a movie, and he’d accidentally left you sitting alone in the restaurant for an hour before he’d remembered to call and cancel.    Not because of work that time, but because of a very drunk colleague.    You’d been understanding, but also very disappointed in him.

   So, this time, you’d made plans to meet at your place, which was just a five minute walk from his, and you were gonna make him his favorite dish.    He hadn’t remembered to cancel at all tonight, because he hadn’t even remembered that you’d made plans.    Not even before his car had decided to start leaking oil and distracted him.

   A quick glance at his waterproof wristwatch tells him that you would’ve had dinner ready at least three hours ago.

   “Fuck…” he sighs, knowing that nothing he says is gonna make up for this one. “I’m so sorry, hermosa.”

   You throw your arms out in exasperation, and he can’t blame you.

   “If you’ve changed your mind then just say so,” you growl, but he can hear how the anger is being replaced by the hurt. “I’m a big girl, I can take it.”

   “No, I haven’t… I’m just an idiot,” he says, shaking his head at himself.

   You seem to agree with him there, but you also look like you’re contemplating something.    Then, from one second to the next, all the hurt vanishes from your frame and something determined and strong takes its place.    And in the next moment, you’re crossing the hallway with long and powerful strides, not stopping until you crash into him, grabbing his head and harshly pressing your lips to his.

   Bewildered, he kisses you back, and every inch of his body is suddenly sparking to life.    He wraps his arms around you, ignoring that the towel drops to the floor when he lets go of it, because now that he can finally taste you, he’s instantly bewitched.    Whatever it was that had him in such a bad mood earlier is completely forgotten, and all he wants is just to get lost in you.

   He quickly pulls your dress over your head, finding you already naked underneath, which only stokes his hunger.    Somehow, the bedroom seems a mile away even though it’s just down the hall, so he slips a finger into you while you’re still walking, needing you to be ready for him as soon as you reach the bed.

   You try to wrap your fingers around his hard length, but he stops you, because if you touch him, he’s not gonna make it.    Thankfully, you take the hint and leave him be, and when he slips another finger into you, your pleasure makes you quiver, forcing your hands up onto his shoulders to steady yourself.    Reaching the bed, he pulls his fingers out and quickly licks them to taste you, because there just isn’t time to do it properly right now.

   He pushes you down on the bed and you eagerly climb back into the center of it, spreading your legs for him as he chases after you.    There’s no hesitation from either of you, no question that this needs to happen, that it’s right and good and perfect, so once you’re settled, he finds the heat of your core and dives right in.

   It’s all a little too hard and a little too fast, but he can’t help it. He needs to have you.    And he can feel that same need from you, spurring him on with your heels against the backs of his thighs and your fingers digging into his back.    But that urgency takes you both to your peak within just a couple of minutes, and all too soon, it’s over.

   Still, as he lays there on top of you, trying to find his breath again, feeling that wonderful boneless sensation spread through every part of him, he’s happier than he’s been in a long time. Perhaps ever.    And he smiles to himself when it occurs to him that without your temper, you never would’ve dared to make that first move.

   “Thank you for breaking down my door, querida,” he whispers in your ear, hoping that you know that he’s not just talking about the door, but about his own walls.

<<<<<<<THE END>>>>>>>

Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging so that more people might find it <3

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[words-4u]

flight scare - j.'c'.m

pairing: javy 'coyote' machado x reader (platonic hangman x reader)

wc: 1.3k

a/n: watched tgm again tonight and i'm feeling very inspired <3

top gun: maverick masterlist

with only a week left to focus on stage 2 of the mission, arguably the most difficult part, you and your fellow graduates were unnerved.

the practice runs were getting harder and harder by the day and today was no different. the pop strike with a steep that required two 'miracles' as maverick liked to call it.

the four f-18s must invert during the steep dive in between the mountains and drop a precise missile into a target that is 3 meters wide. the high climb out of the mountain sounded like the worst of it. due to the angle and speed, you would be pulling nine gs minimum and if you remembered what maverick said "you'll be pulling so hard you'll weigh close to two thousand pounds. your skull crushing your spine. your lungs emploding like an elephant is sitting on your chest. fighting with everything you have to just to keep from blacking out."

it's safe to say that everyone was shitting it but you all knew the risks of the mission when you accepted and now it was time to face the music.

however, your situation was a bit different from others. while your team all had families and significant others they wanted to return home to, your significant other was one of the handful of top gun graduates called back.

you and coyote met in your first year of top gun. he was close friends with hangman and you didn't like hangman so to mess with him you'd actively flirt with coyote whenever the three of you were together. the day that coyote started returning the flirtatious banter, you actually found yourself looking forward to your exchanges in the hallway or after class. it didn't take long before coyote asked you on a real date; a personal drive-in theatre playing your favourite movie and having all your favourite snacks. you two have been going strong ever since and no one, not even hangman and his endless teasing, will ever tear you apart. but this mission might be the one thing that does and as much as you hated it, you were scared.

you were on the red team with fanboy and payback as you navigated the air according to the system. the missile drop was a miss but at least you didn't pass out when you were going up the hill. once you were finished, you climbed out of your plane dripping in sweat and waited back at base with the others as the blue team coyote, phoenix, and bob took to the air.

the ones on the ground were sitting around the radio that transmitted the conversations the ones flying were having. you took a seat in one of the chairs outside of the circle of people crowing the radio.

phoenix and bob's voices carried into the room: "talk to me, bob" to which he replied, "we are twelve seconds behind target. we gotta move!"

and then coyote spoke, leaving a small grin on your face. "copy! try to stay with me."

"you got this, javy," you whispered clutching onto the promise necklace he gave you on your first anniversary.

maverick was supposed to be in the air but he acted as a rogue enemy plane. so now they had the added pressure of another obstacle.

phoenix chose to stay on target instead of engaging maverick as the window of time was slowly closing. once they were over the mountain, bob couldn't get a lock on the laser leaving coyote to drop his missile blind.

"damn it! missed," your boyfriend said over the comms and you cursed under your breath.

the second they pulled up and into the high climb of the mountain is when you sat on the edge of your seat. according to fritz, coyote did the same thing when you were up there.

maverick swooped up behind them and caught phoenix and bob as they were on the rise.

"blue team, that's a fail. level out, coyote," your instructor of 2 weeks said but your boyfriend didn't reply back in the jokey manner that he normally does.

your heart rate started to pick up a little as maverick tried to get a hold of him. "coyote! copy!"

no response.

"coyote, level wings!"

still no response. then maverick spoke the words you were terrified of hearing since the mission began: "oh my god, he's in g-lock."

the room fell silent as you stood and gaped at the radio. you could feel everyone's eyes on you as they all knew about your relationship with coyote.

"he's gonna burn in!" phoenix yelled out.

your chest tightened and you could feel a lump starting to grow in your throat that you couldn't swallow down. you were pretty sure your legs were immobile but you still found your way to the radio at the front of the room and dropped to your knees.

hangman was coyote' best friend so he was standing right next to you.

without hesitation, maverick went after him and rang the tone used to emulate attacks in practice. "snap out of it, coyote! come on!"

you could picture coyote, the man that you've grown to love more than you thought possible falling to his death and that thought alone brought tears to your eyes.

"fuck javy, wake up," you said out loud. at the moment, nothing and no one existed in that room besides you and the radio.

coyote's f-18 was starting to fall straight into the mountains below and it must have gotten closer and closer because maverick's pleading voice was getting louder.

"damn it! coyote! coyote! coyote!"

you rested your elbows on the table and let your forehead rest on your enclosed hands. to everyone else it looked like you were making a prayer but you were just trying to hide the tears that began to fall down your face.

all of the sudden the tone stopped and you held your breath in this excruciating suspense.

"coyote, you okay?"

your head rose as coyote's voice came through the box. "i'm okay. i'm good."

claps erupted around you and you gasped for air and laughed in relief. you felt a hand squeeze your shoulder. it was hangman.

"come here," he said when he saw your tear-stained face. you stood up and he surprisingly pulled you into his chest and gave you a comforting hug; something you didn't know you needed.

"he's good. he's all good."

maverick told him to call it a day and coyote didn't argue with that order. he turned his jet around and returned back to base as quickly as possible to get to you. he knew how easily worried you get especially when it comes to him.

coyote didn't even stop to take off his gear as he jumped out his plane and made his way into the buildings. when he approached the room you were all in, he was shocked. there his best friend was comforting his girlfriend who makes it known that she isn't his biggest fan. his heart warmed at the sight of it but in true coyote fashion, he had to make a proper entrance.

"tryna steal my girl, seresin?"

everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at the figure at the door.

hangman laughed and replied, "no way man she's snotted all over my shirt." he still had an arm around you as you analyzed your boyfriend..

"nah man, she got snot all over my shirt," hangman joked which earned a slap on the chest.

you turned to your boyfriend and hangman knew it was time to clear the room and after 20 seconds it was.

"you scared the shit out of me, you know that?"

"i know."

"i thought i lost you."

"i know."

you rushed into his arms dying to feel his warmth after his near-death experience.

"never leave me," you whispered clinging on to your boyfriend as he held you in equal tightness.

"i won't. i promise," he mumbled into your neck breathing in the scent of comfort once again.

[evediaphoenix1123]

Timebroken au is another au of mine that kinda old. I made it literally during a dental appointment while on laughing gas. I had been left in the room with my phone and thinking about how bad the movie was and went " O what if I make a bad end au ! "

This au of mine is more flexible then other aus because I purposely made it to have multiple paths. All that depends in this timeline is who the Trollhunter is, either it be Jim, Toby, Claire, Draal, Barbara, Strickler, or another crazy choice. The story morphs on who is the hero, since they will have face the foe of Atlas.

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

( For simplicity, past Jim, Douxie, and Aja will be refered under different names)

Jim - Atlas

Aja - Tarron

Douxie - Casperan

(They refer to themselves as this to separate themselves from there old identity)

After the events of Rise of the Titans movie, Atlas tried to move on from the broken timeline he left behind. Even though he worked hard to make sure no one would die here, Toby failed as the Trollhunter and was killed along with many others.

With this failure and the blood on his hands, he resets the timeline again.

No matter what Atlas did, something would go wrong, something would change. He would be left with bodies and scars. The endless loop continue and continue and continue, feeling the torture of the world and the blood staining his hands. He would just reset it and try again against Merlin and even Morgana advice.

Because of each reset, the Krohnisfere slowly became more broken. No longer was it just resetting time, but it was corrupting it. The Krohnisfere slowly latched on Atlas's mind and soul. Once it became fully attached, Atlas couldn't be Jim anymore. When he reset the timeline he was just greeted with the Jim of the timeline, the old face he couldn't recongize anymore. Because of this, Atlas couldn't play the clueless young Jim anymore. He could never be young and innocent again.

Atlas broke, unable to revert back to the young scarless face, unable to truly change the timeline, unable to truly be at peace with the Knohnisfere slowly whispering into his mind.

He resets the Timeline again, in this one young Aja Tarron has been given the title of Trollhunter. With the supporting hands of Krel, Douxie, and there friends. They fought hard for peace and justice.

She was unable to stop Gunmar, she was never warned about the portal. That day, Tarron lost not only her arm, but her brother and friends. Tarron and Douxie Casperan where left as the survivors of the apocalypse.

In the ruins of Arcadia, they saw him in the ruins. Atlas, who looked so much like the kind Jim they knew and lost, but he was covered in scars and had dead eyes. Atlas spoke, telling them how many times he had seen this happen and how many times he will see again. Tarron and Casperan quickly realized, that this foe was worse then Gunmar. This for was slowly destroying time, that they must do something to stop him.

They fought hard, Tarron and Casperan fought Atlas. As the two where about to lose to Atlas, Merlin suddenly speaks through the Amulet. Merlin tells them a plan to somehow follow Atlas to the next timeline so they could stop him, but it was unsure what it would do to the spellcasters.

Casperan quickly stepped up, using a spell with Merlin's help they where able to shoot Atlas damaging the Krohnisfere over his heart, right as Atlas fled the timeline, Casperan used the bit of the power to tie himself and Tarron to Jim, following him through the future.

Now sent back to the time before Kangjar fall, they are separate and stranded around the woods. Atlas awakens to find the Krohnisfere is broken, so he is unable to tap into it's power for time. Tarron is awaken to find the Amulet busted but her brother's weapons in her hand. Casperan wakes up, to find himself unable to even remember who or what he is just the plants comforting him. Now the three of them are desperate for answers and solutions, will they be able to prevent the tragic past or will it repeat. Tarron, Casperan, The Order, Morgana, and Merlin all fight to try and stop the time resets before there world is completely destroyed.

Atlas

Atlas is not a mentally stable person. Due to the time resets, he has gone completely insane so he does random things out of no where. Comfort from friends make him sick since what he did, but he craves it so bad. He is determined to get enough power to reset the timeline and forget everything that has happened. He just wants to be Jim Lake Jr again and live a good life

Atlas wears the armor from the movie and has a sword that's all cipped up. The sword is Arthur sword but its corrupted. He has two deep scars on his face from the events in Wizards. His left eye is miscolored, a duller blue with a sharp point in the pupil. On his left a horn is slowly growing to show the Krohnisfere is bringing back that troll side from some time ago. His nails are sharp and bluish. His teeth are also sharp like a trolls. He also has long cloak that torn at the bottom, he truely looks like a fallen knight.

Tarron

Tarron is a lot more tired and mellow, after everything that happened she honestly just wants to rest. After her brother's death in the last timeline she has grown close to Krel in this one. She knows she can't be his Aja but she still wants to be his sister. So Krel gets spoiled alot by her but so does Aja it's just Krel gets way more attention.

Tarron in her human form wears a tank top with her plaid shirt tied around her waist. Tarron's left arm is missing from trying to save her old Krel from an attack. So she got her left shoulder bandaged up still. She also can put on the Trollhunter armor, the helmet looks like her crown but the armor is all broken, the most notable is the huge hole in the middle from a sword shattering it.

In her other form she stays the same. She keeps her hair in a bun and is missing the top left arm. She got a huge scar that mirrors the armor hole on her chest.

Casperan

Due to the spell Casperan doesn't remember anything. He woke up in the forest with only the feeling of what he was missing but no idea on what it was. Because of this he stays in the forest in a hut he finds and lives trying to remember what he has forgotten. He slowly is getting his powers back but the powers have become more life and plant based.

Douxie hair has grown a lot more, no more blue is on his hair. He keeps it in a long ponytail. He has a huge scar on his arm from the spell drawback, it's black and it's like lighting traveling up. He wears the same clothes he wore before but they are being taken over by plants. He can't control this new powerful magic so its like the plants are trying to hold him. He got flowers in his hair, vines on his arm, and moss slowly growing on his shoulders. It's suspected that it might be a gift from Nari herself.

[unseemingowl]

The Bear and the daily struggle of leadership

Look, we all know it, there are tons and tons of things to love about The Bear. The sharply drawn characters, the way it deals about trauma and addiction and what makes family and community. 

For me personally though, the thing that makes it the most special is the way it portrays the difficulty of leadership and building a good work place.  

I seem to have watched very few tv shows or movies that aren’t about the military that actually takes a long, hard look at this, and that’s usually through an ultimately heroic lens. Though of course, one could say that working in the food service industry is a lot like doing battle, but that’s another discussion. Fact of the matter is that a lot more of us are gonna to go through a kitchen than active duty.

I’ve been a union rep and am still active in the politics at my place of work – and I also write a lot about leadership and management in my current job – so this shit is important to me, and the Bear does it so fucking well y’all. Like so fucking well.

In the Bear we’re shown three different sort of leaders. Mikey, Carmy and Carmy’s former boss in New York. Or what I’d for the purposes of this will call leading through friendship, leading through respect and leading through fear.

Mikey makes confidants of his employees, just like he makes best friends with everybody. That inspires loyalty for sure, but he also does not help them grow, in fact more than once he causes them to demean themselves. Carmy’s former boss pushes his employees to offer their absolute best, becoming the best that they can be, but he also bullies them so terribly that they leave his kitchen traumatized, and gives Carmy the desire to do things differently. Not put others through that.

Honestly, it's amazing how much leadership skills get undervalued considering how many of us have tried what it feels like being at the mercy of a bad leader. Just because you’re good at your job, does not automatically mean you’ll be a great leader of people. A common misconception, one that I see a lot of in my current industry, and other high pressure and/or creative industries. 

But in the Bear, Carmy does actually does make a decent go at it. He proves himself to his employees, teaches them new skills - from his second in command Sydney to the fresher Marcus, delegates responsibility, lifts them up when they fuck up, but he is also willing to assert his position in the hierarchy. He really does so much right, shows that he does seem to have the aptitude for it.   

And he also fails. Fails hard.

Because leading is fucking difficult. And that really is the trick here. I always wanna tear my hair out when people act like whipping an organization or a company back into shape is just about instituting a few new codes of conduct and get rid of one bad apple in the basket.

Sure, those things will help, they’re good first steps, but leadership is putting in effort every day. It’s consciously making the right choice all the time. Because falling back into known patterns is so easy when things get tough.

When Carmy gets put under real, serious pressure, when shit hits the fan, he falls back into what he’s seen before. Screaming, berating, bullying. Because that’s easier. Because he’s human, and even the most well-intentioned people fuck up.  

Carmy’s lucky that he has put in effort before that happens. He’s given his employees a taste of what kind of leader he can actually be. Given enough that they’re willing to come back.

And fuck, I can’t wait to watch the next season to see what kind of leader he’ll be now with that vote of confidence. 

Hopefully his journey can inspire others like him. 

[theprocessofthought]

City of God

City of God

I believe it was Albert Einstein who said the phrase “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” In a way this is what embodies the movie City of God.  City of God is a 2002 Brazilian based film. It loosely follows real events as it showcases the growth of crime in the Cidade de Deus (the Portuguese name’s sake of the movie).  The main theme following the story is “If you run, the beast catches you, if you stay, the beast eats you.” The film itself is a retelling of events from one of the character’s views, said character being Rocket. It opens with Rocket in the conundrum of being between a rock and a hard place. He is placed between a standoff of a gang and the police. I personally enjoy this method of storytelling as it shows me the climax of the story while I have no context as to what is happening. How could you enjoy something like that you may ask? It preps me, the audience for a specific result which forces me to wonder the ways how it got here. Who is the antagonist? Why are these things happening? Is it deserved? An example that comes to mind would be the opening scene of Megamind, which obviously came out much later but the concept of the opening scene is shared. From this point we the audience are transported to the past with the effort of providing context. A small gang of three boys, Shaggy, Clipper and Goose.  These three remind me of the concept of the coin. They are two main sides; Heads and Tails. Shaggy goes from bad to good. He is a bad influence, stealing and threatening violence but after a failed stunt he decides to be a better person, hoping to leave the slums and start a new life with his girlfriend. He’s shot by the police as he makes an attempt to escape in a taxi. On the other side of the coin is Goose, he doesn’t choose to leave the life of crime and at first it seems that it’s works for him but turns out he’s shot as well, not by police but by Lil Dice, the antagonist. Those are the two main sides of the coin but a coin has three sides, the third being the band that holds the head and tail. Clipper leaves the life of crime to become a member of the church, he is the only member of the three that live. I will return to why that is important later.  This trio is outlived buy their younger counterparts those being, Lil Z, formerly Lil Dice, Benny and Rocket. Now why do I mention these three as the counterparts of the former characters mentioned. Benny is Shaggy’s counterpart, ironic considering they are brothers. Benny is a more reasonable version of his brother, becoming one who is loved by all. However, like his brother a girl comes into his life who inspires him to a better life. He is accidentally shot by a bullet meant for Lil Dice, (now Lil Z). On the other side is Lil Z, Goose’s counterpart, which is funny since Lil Z killed him.  Goose dies because he felt he was powerful enough to take whatever he wanted without consequence.  This is exactly what happens to Lil Z, after his arrest he tries to get a gun from the children he has armed over the months and they turn around and light him up with bullets. Once again, the only survivor is the person who tries to get out of the world of crime. Clipper became a member of the church, Rocket on the other hand becomes a photographer for a newspaper. Clipper completely leaves the life of crime, Rocket on the other hand is aware that he cannot entirely leave this life so he finds a way to safely bridge that gap.

[blazenka]

Mirroring Identities

Connor Temple believed he was close to returning to his own timeline and home. Instead he finds himself in a world that should not exist while he struggles with non-existent memories. Can he ever remember his identity? Pre/post Alice. Post Primeval S3.

Original source: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6106179/1/Mirroring-Identities

Chapters: 13

Published: 2010-07-03 - 2010-09-06  

Words: 19945

Rated: Fiction T - Language: English - Genre: Romance/Drama - Characters: Abby M., Hatter - Reviews: 86 - Favs: 13 - Follows: 15

Exported with the assistance of FicHub.net

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

a

b

Chapter 2:

Connor awoke to the weirdest sensation, or lack of sensation since his entire body felt numb, even his eye lids felt it. 'Is that even possible?' he wondered as he tried to move and failed. Connor felt that he shouldn't have been surprised though since it felt like a normal day at the ARC; the only difference is he was trying to so hard to remember… well, everything! Thoughts seemed to be slipping quicker from Connor's mind than he could grasp, as if his memories had become sand. "… is the process coming along?" he began to hear as voices came into range.

"The progress is going as best as can be expected since we've only done this once upon Carpenter. Why does the Queen want this oyster anyway? I could see the use in Carpenter but…" the other man had cut him off. "You have no right to question the Queen's actions! Such talk could make you lose your head if I were to report you." "No, please don't! I was just curious and did not mean anything by it," the man stumbled in reply to the threat. "Well, you know what they said about curiosity and the Cheshire cat. Now, get back to work!" The second harsher man left, followed by the sound of his marching feet.

Connor would have liked very much to be able to open his eyes and ask questions, like where he was. More importantly, he wanted to ask questions to get back to Abby and make sure she was safe.

The second floor of the flat was eerily quiet; the only sound was of two strange prehistoric reptiles trying to gain the attention of a female sleeping on the couch.

Abby felt strangely numb as she awoke while Sid and Nancy squeaked to wake her. Even though Abby could not recall how she managed to get back to her flat at the moment, the sight of it could make her weep for joy.

Unfortunately in the next moment, Abby remember everything, especially the horrible fact that she was completely alone. Abby and Danny were back in their own timeline, they were reunited with their fellow team mates but… Connor was still in some anomaly where none of them knew.

Abby remember Sarah trying to console her, Becker lifting her up into the company vehicle and driving her home. Abby hazily recalled being laid upon her couch as she wept, and then the person covered her with the afghan that was usually draped on the back of the couch.

Abby tucked the blanket closer to herself as fresh tears began to leak from her eyes because she never though in a million years she would miss Connor so much.

Yet millions of years had passed since their time in Mesozoic era and Abby could not help but sulk at the realization she would be miserable until Connor was safe and back in their flat. 'Their flat,' she repeated in thought.

After three years of Abby having to deal with Connor's boxers on the floor, his weird sci-fi movies and late rent pay, she realized her flat had become their flat. Unfortunately, Abby thought, as long as she remembered Connor and the last three years then she would always grieve his absence.

Scientists quickly worked over a young man on the table to make sure he did not go into shock after the complicated procedure was completed. The man in question was strapped to a gurney in a daze while shaking this head side to side as if repeating the action would recall any of his past memories.

It was horrible and strange to not recall who exactly you were. Even stranger, the only thing the young man could recall was blue eyes, bright blue eyes that seemed to be his only comfort at the moment. The man wanted desperately to remember the face belonging to those beautiful eyes, but the recollection was lost to him. Shaking his head again, the young man began to moan out his frustration.

"Horrible and strange… curiouser and curiouser…" "Isn't it? Those words you're a muttering should be the motto here," said a man with a familiar male voice but one that did not bring comfort.

"Where is here? Who are you?" the young man asked as he stranded to look at the owner of the voice. "Oh, this is a land called 'Wonderland'," the man stated with a bored attitude. "And?" the young man asked. "And… oh, my name, you want to know my name. Well, you may call me March like the rest of them do," the man said as he motioned other men who wore white suits covered in plastic parkas to do something, and as quickly, they began to scatter.

Suddenly, the young man was released as sat up slowly upon the table and took in the large room that seemed to resemble an old operating theater. "Would you happen to know who I am?" the young man questioned March. "You? Why, you're known as the Hatter," he replied with a cheery grin.

The grin seemed almost too cheerful and most certainly artificial. "Hatter? Wonder why they call me that?" the young man question more to himself while still in his daze.

"Wonder why indeed," March began as he watched the scientists check the young man's vitals and status. "Do you know why they call you 'Hatter'?" March questioned the man as he sat up on the gurney.

The young man shook his head in reply, not even sure if he possessed the knowledge. Especially since the young man had just seemed to ask March the same question. "'Cause," he began as he set a dark fedora upon the young man's head, "You're always there when they pass the hat," he finished with an eerie grin.

A.N,: Unfortunately, after finishing this chapter I realized this could go a completely different and new direction than originally planned.

What if Connor was picked to be the new Hatter of Wonderland after the original Hatter went to be with Alice in her world?

It is just an idea, and one I'm not sure I would follow through with, yet if a fellow user would like to work on it than please feel free. I would really like to see more stories in this category. Thank you.

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[buzzdixonwriter]

Yesterday Looks At Tomorrow: METROPOLIS (1927)

“We are all interested in the future because that is where you and I are going to spend the rest of our lives.” -- motto of GM’s Futurama exhibit for the 1939-40 World’s Fair as later co-opted by Criswell for Plan 9 From Outer Space.

Predicting the future is hard -- and if you’re going to do it in front of a camera, expensive.

Film makers like dystopian post-apocalyptic stories because they can film them in empty wastelands and run down urban areas, filling them with lots of action and stunts.

Why these worlds are the way they are is almost never explored.

Other times they offer the merest glimpse of the future before yanking the curtain shut, typically in stories where characters travel back in time to address future problems in our  present / their past (Cyborg 2087 is a good example of this).

When film makers go all in for a futuristic production, they tend to focus their stories rather tightly on their protagonist/s, which is great for making the story more relatable, but tend to ignore the broader implications of their themes (looking at you, Blade Runner).

Rarely -- very rarely -- do film makers attempt epic stories with epic values, both visual and philosophical.

The golden age for this sort of thing lay between the two world wars, when exhausted populations longed for some sort of stable utopia to meet the needs of the many while avoiding the conflicts that previously laid waste to the planet.

This found expression in various forms:  Communism, socialism, fascism, technocracy, even the Esperanto movement.

It also found form in three science fiction films, each aiming to express Big Ideas in a Big Way, each succeeding -- or failing -- in similar yet different ways.

(For those who may be wondering, no, we will not be looking at Just Imagine or the serial Buck Rogers In The 25th Century.  In both cases those futures are just backdrop for jokes or exotic flavor, not a serious look at what the actual future might hold…or demand.)

. . .

First out of the gate, Metropolis.

I’ve already written quite extensively on this film (and for the record, I will reference here the most complete recently restored versions; the two public domain versions found on bargain basement DVDs are both virtually incomprehensible).

In many ways, Metropolis is the least forward looking of the three movies we’re examining.  It’s a story of labor vs capital told through a Romeo & Juliet flavored love story with a few fantastical elements added.

It’s basically a story set in the early part of the 20th century and as such firmly rooted in the vocabulary of Marx.

SPECIAL NOTE TO ALL THE MAGAS READING THIS:  No, that does not make Metropolis a Marxist film, much less one espousing communism or socialism; it merely describes the cultural background it arose from.  If this is too complicated for you to grasp, go watch Revenge Of The Sith again.

Metropolis the city operates pretty much the way all major cities and nations operate even today:  There’s a rich oligarchy on top, there are masses of laborers doing the grunt work that makes everything possible, there’s a thin barrier of middle class management that keep the two separate (but lives in constant dread of being cast down once again into the depths – quite literally in this film).

The main plotline involves Maria, a prophetess / pastor / social worker of the lower city, raising the consciousness of both the labor class and the ruling class to what we would call today social justice.  Freder, son of the wealthy city manager of Metropolis, hears her messages, comes down to the catacombs to see for himself, is horrified by what he learns, and -- after obligatorily falling in love with Maria -- tries to convince his father to improve the workers’ conditions.

Dear old dad, however, doesn’t want the established order monkeyed with so he consults with Rotwang, as mad a scientist as one could hope to find, to build a robot double of Maria to destroy her reputation among the workers.

What dear old dad doesn’t realize is that Rotwang carries an enormous hate-on against him for marrying the woman the scientist once loved (Freder’s now deceased mom) and so in revenge programs the evil robot Maria to stir the workers to rebellion that will bring Metropolis crashing down (if you’ve only seen the public domain versions with their absolutely incomprehensible motives, you’re going, “Holy cow -- now that makes sense!  Evil and crazy sense, but at least some sort of sense.”).

Before they wrap all this up, we are treated to some of the most eye-popping and still impressive visuals from the silent era.  The rebellious workers learn too late that their orgy of anarchy and violence has destroyed their homes and almost their children, the oligarchs learn the workers have them by the throat and cojones, and both sides agree to simmer down and find a more equitable future for all.

No denying the ending is somewhat sappy and saccharine, but again, remember the era.  Weimar Germany was like an aerialist doing a headstand atop a flagpole in a hurricane, and film maker Friz Lang & co. were doing their best to warn people of things to come if they didn’t take the current situation seriously and take steps to address a multitude of issues.

The Nazis watched Metropolis very studiously, and took away a lot of lessons about moving masses of people, staging enormous spectacles, and spurring otherwise sane and rational people into paroxysm of violence while otherwise ignoring the heart and soul of the film.

How well did it predict the future? As noted, despite all the high tech (for the era) geegaws, Metropolis remains rooted in the world of 1927.  It is beautiful, inspiring, and moving, but its foresight is sadly lacking.

This does not make it a bad film.  Quite the contrary, that adds a bittersweet tinge to Metropolis, and in a way more evocative of Camelot.

It did accurately show the rising gulf between the wealthy and poor would acerbate conditions for everyone and eventually lead to a situation where nihilistic rebellion is not merely possible but appears desirable to many.

Is it a Big Film with Big Ideas? Yes.  As noted earlier, despite focusing on Freder and Maria’s immediate problems, it covers a broad range of interrelated ideas.  And it’s not about one or two people making an important decision, it’s about literally entire classes coming to terms with a new reality.

© Buzz Dixon

[pridepages]

Page to Screen: Love, Simon

I finally watched Love, Simon. Having read the book first, here's where I think they got it right, they got it wrong, and they got it better.

Here there be spoilers!

Love, Simon is the film adaptation of Simon vs. The Homo Sapiens Agenda.

In broad brush strokes, the film follows the plot beats of the book: teenage Simon Spier connects anonymously with another classmate, who he knows only as "Blue." The two of them bond first because they are both closeted gay boys, but their correspondence expands and they find themselves falling in love by confessional letters. Simon's correspondence is hacked by a classmate, Martin, who threatens to out Simon unless Simon helps Martin court Abby, a friend of Simon's. Simon tries to obey, but when the effort fails Martin makes good on his threat and outs Simon. Simon deals with fallout including bullying, a forced coming out to his family, tensions in his friend group, and the loss of the mystery boy who he was falling in love with by letter. In the end, Simon is able to heal his relationships and finds the courage to propose a meeting with "Blue," who is revealed to be another one of his friends, Bram. The two fall in love and become boyfriends.

Here's what the movie got right:

-It's hard to visually represent a courtship by letters. You can't just have the characters constantly reading out long passages to the audience. The movie has moments where Simon imagines his different potential candidates for "Blue" reading out loud to him. There's a good balance so the audience sees a romance developing, but it doesn't slow down the action.

-It captures Simon's experience as gay and closeted really well. This book, and the film really, are one intense character study. Simon feels like a three-dimensional person and Nick Robinson delivers a strong performance.

-Casual homophobia by friends/loved ones. We're all familiar with the vicious kind of homophobia that the bullies do. But the scenes where Simon's dad makes casual, hurtful gay jokes and you can see the pain flash on Simon's face is a subtle, common experience for most queer people. It's all the more difficult when it's clearly delivered by people who love us and would never intentionally want to hurt us. The growth that Simon's dad has to go through is critical, and the film delivers these moments with veracity and grace.

-Simon's callout of Martin's 'apology.' The speech about how Simon should be the only one who decides when, where, how, and to who he comes out and that Martin took that away was lifted word for word from the book. Robinson's delivery is flawless.

Here's what the movie got wrong:

Simon's friends. These characters are not written in a way that does them justice to begin with--they are largely caricatures--most likely because there just isn't enough time in a movie that needs to focus so intensely on Simon. But the result is unfortunate, because it reduces them to plot devices to increase Simon's suffering.

Case in point: in the book, Simon really doesn't help Martin more than inviting him along to events where Abby, the friend Martin is blackmailing Simon to help him court, will be present. Once there, Martin awkwardly flirts with Abby and that's about it. In the movie, Simon takes a much more active role in messing with Abby's love life, including discouraging her real crush, Nick, from pursuing her. This kind of writing puts Simon far more in the wrong for what he is doing.

The film could have chosen this moment to expand the story into role model behavior: the writers could have had Abby and Nick have a moment where they express that they are (rightfully!) hurt by what Simon did, but have them say that they understand that Simon was put in an untenable position to protect his secret and that they forgive him and they will all work together to heal.

Instead, the film has Nick and Abby get mad, abandon him to the mercies of bullies...and then arbitrarily get over it some time later.

Simon's friend Leah was also done a massive disservice. True, in the book Leah is also mad at Simon when he is outed and her anger is unjustified. However, the motivations are more understandable. In the book, Leah is a traumatized child who was abandoned by her father and fears that she has been replaced in the friend group by Abby, who is a relative newcomer. Leah fears that Simon not coming out to her first is a sign of his rejection and abandonment.

In the film, Leah is reduced to having a crush on Simon and her upset is really about the fact that Simon can't return her feelings. I say 'really' because the writers basically charged down this path and then appear to get cold feet. Perhaps because they feared making Leah homophobic, they have Leah give a mealy-mouthed justification that she isn't really upset that Simon can't return her feelings...she's upset that Simon mistakenly believed Leah had a crush on Nick and then pushed Nick and Leah to go out even though Simon knew that Nick had a crush on Abby. Convoluted? Absolutely. And 100% undercut by the fact that Leah and Simon reconcile in a scene where Leah says she has to 'kill hetero Simon in her head.'

Reader, she was definitely upset that Simon wasn't straight. And the film had her punish him for that by abandoning him. No wonder queer audiences were outraged on Simon's behalf! He does need better friends!

Here's what the movie did better:

-Sassy Simon. In the book, Simon Spier is a rather shy, sweet nerdy gay. A true Hufflepuff, by his own characterization. In the movie, Simon is a sharper character. He pushes back against people--particularly against Martin--when they wrong him or just generally are awful. This may just be personal preference, but I liked seeing Simon with a little more bite!

-Simon's relationship with Bram prior to the reveal is much more fleshed out. In the novel, Simon notices Bram on the periphery and observes that Bram is cute, but Bram is always on the fringes of the friend group and doesn't really step into the limelight until the very end with the reveal. The film's choice to give Simon a closer relationship with Bram, and to give them bonding moments, even to have Simon suspect that Bram might be "Blue" early on (right the first time, babe!) all contribute to a more satisfying love arc. Falling in love by email sounds romantic. But when anyone can craft their best self in a letter, it makes far more sense for these characters to already know and like each other in real life. That makes the letter writing a deepening of what already exists between them--a much stronger foundation for a new relationship!

-Martin the blackmailer's breaking point makes much more sense in the film. In the novel, Martin basically gets arbitrarily fed up at a certain point and decides to give up trying. It's a weird moment. He seems threatened by Simon's relationship with Abby...even though he knows Simon is gay. In the film, Martin takes Simon's fed up advice to make a big gesture with Abby and flies too close to the sun with a public declaration of love at a football game. The whole school bears witness to Martin's humiliating rejection, and Martin is made the butt of cruel posts online. Martin can't take it anymore and snaps, outing Simon to take the heat off. Which of course is a terrible reason! There is never an excuse to out someone. And Martin is the only one to blame for his humiliation. But it makes more sense that this is what triggers a terrible snap decision.

-The scenes with Simon's parents are perhaps the greatest gift of the film. Jennifer Garner as Simon's mother gives the now famous speech that for years she could sense Simon "holding his breath" with this secret and that now that Simon is out he can "exhale" because he is seen and loved by his family and now can look forward to having a fuller life and relationship with all of them. Josh Duhamel as Simon's father gives a contrite, true apology for not seeing what he was doing with his cruel humor. Shifting from his beat as "goofy dad," Duhamel gives an appropriately earnest, even tearful, moment where he acknowledges where he went wrong and strives to assure Simon that he is still loved completely and unconditionally.

Overall, I would recommend Love, Simon both to fans of the novel and to new audiences. I think this movie is particularly effective for starting conversations between parents and their children who are coming out. While the disappointing writing of the friends and the vicious outing arc keep this film from being a fully lovely queer comfort film, I did enjoy it and expect I will end up coming back for re-watches.

[miekasa]

Mie, I’m begging for some Jean college au bf hcs - im literally so down bad for this man and the way you write men is just 🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻

Absolutely, not a problem 😌 I saved this ask as a draft a while ago when you sent it, sorry for just now getting to it. Anyway, I love Jean with my whole heart, best boy, best boyfriend <33

King of forehead kisses, and not even just because of his height in comparison to yours; he just likes it. He likes the feeling of pressing his lips against your skin, and making you feel safe.

Brings you tea or coffee however you like it every day without fail. If he can get it to you in the morning before work/school then he’ll do that, if not he’ll meet you some time in the middle of the day to drop it off. Your own personal courier just for drinks.

He… has a thing for long(er) nails. He loves the feeling of them against his skin, even if you’re not scratching to apply pressure—just you holding his hand them grazing his skin is enough for him.

That being said, he will pay for you to get your nails done. Actually, he’ll pay for… almost anything you want, but the nails benefit him as much as they do you so feel free to ball out.

He never blowdries his hair because he doesn’t... know how to do the back of it. You did it for him once and he hasn’t stopped thinking about it since, but he’s also too embarrassed to ask you to do/style it again.

On the subject of hair, he does do his best to style it and take care of it, but he’s a sucker whenever you play with it. Sometimes he feigns like you’re messing up all his hard work, but he’ll literally crane his head into your touch. He loves it. 

The first time he lays on top of you and you run your hands through his hair... top 10 most euphoric moments of his life. He tries to fight off the sleep threatening to take over him, but it’s futile. Give it 15 minutes at most before he’s knocked out like a baby. 

Dogs love him. Anytime you’re in a park or just taking a walk and there’s a dog around, it’ll come up to him and he looks adorable leaning down to pet it. He loves dogs, too! So he’s always happy to stop and pet them. He’d be a 10/10 dog dad. 

Has your name saved in his phone with two hearts at the end. Do not point it out.

Loves taking pictures together and if you guys are on a date, he’ll ask someone to get a picture for him. He just likes having them to look back on (and to send to his mom, later).

He doesn’t mind painting classes or videos or tutorials, but he hates paint by numbers kits. He claims that they have no sense of color theory and that it takes the originality and fun out of painting. Not to mention the quality of the paints isn’t great to begin with; all of which he takes very seriously.

It’s pretty cute actually, to see him get worked up over the paint kits. He claims that painting and drawing isn’t even something he takes “that seriously,” it’s just a hobby for him (one he’s insanely good at); but in moments like these, you can tell that he’s way more into art and art theory and history than he lets on. 

Huge movie guy, from animated movies to martial arts movies, Jean is usually willingly to give anything a watch at least once. When he’s high, he can go on about his favorite directors and art styles and movie details for hours if you don’t stop him. It’s super cute. Just don’t bring up Moana, because he’ll start crying. 

Arm around the shoulder kind of boyfriend for sure. It’s a casual way of keeping you near him and letting everyone know that you guys are together. Plus it allows for him to easily pull you into him for a quick forehead kiss when needed.

Listen. If you hug his arm, he’s on cloud nine. He tries to be nonchalant about it but he’s about three seconds away from his eyes rolling back in his head it feels that good to him. Bonus if you lean your head on his bicep a little—then he’s a goner.

He takes his bagels very seriously and believes that both you and him deserve nothing but the best quality bagels. He’ll grumble if a bakery gives you guys a less than favorable one and make a note that taking the long route to get to his favorite place is much more worth it.

Always makes you walk on the side furthest from the cars. If he notices you’re not, he’ll just shuffle behind you until he’s shouldering the street and you’re on the inside. 

He grew up on a kind of modern ranch situation; not exactly all the way in the countryside, but not isolate from the city, either. Because of this, he knows how to ride horses, take care of smaller farm animals, tend to plants, and yes he knows how to use a lasso. You wouldn’t know any of that though, because he never ever talks about it. The only way you find out is when he takes you to visit his mom’s house for the first time, and she asks him for a hand around the place. 

(He’s got a cowboy hat, too, but refuses to put it on. He got it when he was, like, nine, okay, leave him alone). 

When he thinks you look tired, he’ll wrap his arms around your shoulders to hug you. It’s usually followed up with a kiss to your head, and a promise that you guys will go home soon and get food on the way. 

He’s a really good cook. He just understands and flavors and pairings really well, so he doesn’t need a recipe to make something that tastes good; he just kind of knows what to add to get the balance he’s looking for. 

Naturally, he’ll cook for you. Especially if he finds out that you haven’t eaten all day/in a long time. He doesn’t care if it’s 11pm and it might seem excessive to make steak and potatoes with a side salad at this hour, he’s gonna do it to make sure you eat, and you are going to sit there and watch. 

He also bakes pretty well, though he isn’t as experimental with his baking as he is with his cooking. He usually sticks to what he knows, and it’s not cupcakes and brownies and cakes; he’s better at croissants, and cheesecakes, and canelés. 

Dating Jean means getting along with his friends. If you guys didn’t know each other before you started dating, be prepared to be ambushed by Connie and Sasha (after Jean stops hiding you away and gives them the green light lmfao). Neither of them waste time with the small talk and formalities; straight into mini golfing and beer pong. They make you feel welcome right away.

Sasha always teases that you’re too good for Jean, and that she might just steal you away for herself some day. Sasha is also Jean’s main confidant, so she really knows just how much he loves you, and yeah, she teases him for being lovesick, but really she’s happy for Jean. And proud of him for facing his feelings like this. 

Connie adores you, and you know he trusts you when he starts going to you for advice/help. Could be anything from schoolwork, to what color he should get his new shoes in. He’s also the one who, surprisingly, you have the sentimental talks with about your relationship with Jean. It’s easy to overlook, but Connie loves Jean, and he’s come to love you too; he just wants you both to be happy, so he’s there to listen when you need it. 

Jean waits outside of your classroom after you’ve had a test or presentation, usually with a drink or a snack, or the promise of taking you out as a treat. Always tells you he’s proud of you, and is there to comfort you if you think you didn’t do too well. 

He does not shut up about whatever major you’re in. It could be the same as his; it could be the complete opposite as his. He thinks it’s so sick that you’re doing it, you make it look cooler, you make it look better, and he’s certain you’re the smartest person in your program. 

He’s pretty serious about his studies, too, so he’s always down to study with you in the library whenever you’re both free. More often than not, he shows up after you, usually with food or extra chargers. He greets you with a kiss on the forehead, and asks you how you are while massaging your shoulders gently. If it’s been a while since you took a break, that’s the first item on the list, after that, he gets to work and stays with you until you’re ready to go, even if he doesn’t have as much work to do. 

He always sits across from you. This goes for when you’re in the library, or out to eat at a restaurant; Jean loves sitting across from you. He gets to see your face the best that way, and he adores looking into your eyes when you talk. 

He’s not... not a morning person. He’s not up at 6am ready to grind, but he wakes up before noon; let’s say 10am is his happy medium. That being said, if you wake up before him, regardless of the time, there’s a 9/10 chance he’ll lay on your back and tell you to hush so you guys can sleep for 10 more minutes. 

If you’re (close) friends with Eren, Mikasa, and Armin, Jean is... happy you’ve got people to rely on, but, “Of all people on the planet, you put your trust in Jaeger?” He acts so bitter (because he is), but deep down inside, he’s glad you have Eren to rely on if you need to. 

(Also, you have to humble him and remind him that he and Eren aren’t all that different. If you like him, why wouldn’t you get along with Eren, bye). 

Turns out though, that it’s not Eren who threatens to beat him up if he breaks your heart. It’s not even Mikasa, although, her threat goes without saying; it’s Armin he’s terrified of.

The last time Armin hated someone, it was this guy in your program, who happened to share a few mutual classes with him, too. Jean never knew the full story, just that he’s pretty sure that kid dropped out the following semester. 

If you have a job on campus, Jean usually doesn’t show up while you’re working (knowing how embarrassed he would be if you did that to him), unless you work the night shift and it’s dead. Connie, however, does show up; usually in some kind of crisis (“Please help me, I don’t know what the fuck APA formatting is and this is due tonight, please, please, please!!”). Your coworkers actually thought Connie was your boyfriend for a minute. That’s when Jean starts showing up more lmfao.

He makes it a point to go on a scheduled, night out, kind of date at least twice a month. He knows life gets busy with school and work and midterms, but he always makes sure you both set side a time to take a well-deserved break and be with each other. 

He’s the romantic type, so these dates are pretty swoon worthy, too. Drive-in movies, nice dinners, classy art exhibits, Jean plans it all. On that note, he really likes planning dates; he just doesn’t like talking about them with his friends beforehand. 

All in all, very romantic, very precious boyfriend. He’s always thinking about you, what you need, and how he can help you out. You’re one of his main priorities, and he just wants to treat you right.