#one step closer to owning this movie in every medium

[odiemodie16]

forgot to post about my new mauricr 1987 soundtrack on cassette that i got this morning! its super cool but i havent had a chance to properly look into this cassette yet

[toomanygoldfish]

apple juice at a coffee shop

“could I get an apple juice?” Your order may be fairly simple but at least it’s consistent.

you and Iwaizumi were at a local coffee shop, wasting your time before the movie you were supposed to watch started.

“sure! what size?” She looked up at you expectantly.

“let’s go with… medium” The barista picked up a cup and wrote something small on it before passing it to her coworker.

“of course one medium apple juice coming right up!” She turned to Iwaizumi, “and for you sir?”

his eyes widened in surprise like he wasn’t expecting to be asked something like that. His eyes frantically looked into the menu.

“Oh…. Um …. Can I get a medium London fog?” The barista smiled lightly at him before marking his cup and handing it to her coworker once more.

“of course. Is that it for you two?” she asked mildly. Iwaizumi looked to you in mild panic.

Noticing his panic you quickly end the conversation,“yup, thank you” you turn to your boyfriend.

“iwa? A London fog? I didn’t take you for a tea kind of person”

“it’s tea??” “yes?? What did you think you got?!” You notice someone standing behind him, so you loosely pull his arm, guiding him out of the person’s way.

“I don’t know? It was on the board as a barista favorite, and I’ve never been here before, so I was kinda caught off guard.”

Chuckling lightly you look at him with a raised brow, “you got a new drink because it was somebody’s favorite?”

“yes…” He leans against the pickup counter, “to be fair I didn’t know what else to get.”

You stare into his soul for a second longer before looking away, “you’re strange.”

“ and yet, you love me for it.” He reaches for you hand and holds it in his own.

“that I do,” you squeeze his hand affectionately, “your tea is ready”

he grabs his tea from the barista and walks away, he pulls you after him not once letting go of your hand. once you are a few meters away from the counter he pauses and brings the cup up to his nose, sniffing hard. he pauses for a moment, seemingly trying to figure out how to feel about the smell before going in for another sniff. He does this three more times.

“Pfft- you look like a weirdo right now, just a buff dude leaning over his hot drink sniffing hard” you start to pull him towards the exit, he follows you haltingly, stopping every few feet to sniff the cup again.

“Have you ever had a London fog?” He walks to the door and pushes it open, holding it for you as you step through it.

“no, I don’t know what’s in it”

“neither do I”

“ you should look it up, let’s sit here”

You sit down on a bench outside the coffee shop. You had started to take some small sips of your apple juice as you checked you socials. When you glance over at Iwaizumi, he is intensely staring at his phone.

He puts down his phone and catches your eye, “it is gray tea and steamed milk” he gives you a small smile and you return it.

He goes to take a si, but right before he sips, he brings the cup back up to your nose. You snort because he has never been the type of person to be scared by trivial things, let alone a new drink.

He turns to you once more,“it smells like lavender, smell it” he passes you the drink, carful not to spill its hot contents on you. you bring it closer to you nose, and take a deep breath. “ooo it does! Take a sip!”

He very cautiously brings it to his lips. Iwaizumi takes a tentative sip then closes his eyes, deep in thought.

He hesitates then says “it tastes like lavender… it tastes like how a microwave sock smells”

You blanch,“I’m sorry? A microwave sock?”you swivel to look him in the eyes, and repeat very slowly “a microwave sock?”

He places his drink down on the table. “you know….” He pauses to think for a second “The one where you put it in the microwave and heat it up, some girls use it for cramps?”

You blink incredulously at him. “a rice sock?”

“yes! that’s the thing, here try it!” You grab the drink from in front of him, you drink slowly, careful not to burn you tongue.

You pause to think carefully, and the more you think about it the more you realize that he had gotten the taste spot on. “oh, OH your right!!”

you slide the drink back over to him, and he grabs it and starts to drink. He manages to burn his tongue. Iwaizumi takes another sip and wrinkles his nose. “Do you not like it?” He face was scrunched up adorably, but it softened into a small smile when he saw you looking at him.

“it’s not my favorite,” he says honestly “I mean, it feels like something you would take studying, but I’m not studying, I’m on a date with my lover”

now it’s your turn to wrinkle your nose at his wording. “don’t say it like that! It sounds like I’m you affair partner”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and sips at his drink again, he gives a noncommittal “Mmm.”

you look at his face and chuckle. “You can toss it ya know”

“with the liquid in the cup?”

You shrug “I don’t see why not, you could also pour it out”

He checks his phone and goes to stand up, “ok, our movie is in like 3 minutes, let’s go.” The two of you start on your way to the theater behind you. Iwaizumi stops next to the plants running next to the walk way. He pulls the lid off of the cup and slowly pours it into the ground. You speak up from behind him.

“do you think it’s cannibalism?”

“what?” “giving your tea to the plants,” you pause and stare intently at the wet patch of dirt, “they are drinking the soul of their brethren” he gives you a strange look before putting the lid on the cup.

“I think everything is a cannibal if giving the chance.” He shrugs and throws his cup into a trash can nearby. “given the chance… iwa I think you mean, ‘put in dire situation’ cause if you say it like that….” You widened your eyes, chuckling and look deliberately to the side.

Iwaizumi gives you a weird look before grabbing your hand and pulling you closer to him. “Alright, let’s move on from that topic, let’s go to the movies”

You smile widely, “with your affair partner!”

“no-“

[kingofthewilderwest]

If the rumour that Dean Deblois is returning to direct a remake of HTTYD is true, I hope this time it's a more faithful adaptation of the books!

[Edit: I notice you didn't mention live action in your message at all. This is what I get for answering an ask on a fever. Apologies!]

I hear this every time conversation of live actions returns to the HTTYD fandom. XD And so I'll say my hill I'll live on again, ahaha, if that's alright with you. To be honest and with all kindness, I think a live action would be an extremely poor match for the whimsical charm of the books. If the books were to be adapted faithfully, they'd require the opposite: the levity of good 2D animation style! ^.^

I wouldn't want to see a Toothless visually limited by the bounds realism or semi-realism... but a highly expressive, emotive Toothless whose obnoxiousness and voice can be best transmitted to us through the zany, colorful, flashy, fast, and limitless world of animation. He works better as an animated, cartoonish creature, as even Cowell's art illustrates. Wouldn't a Toothless limited by the slower, sloggier bounds of a live action be dull and not up to par with the imagination? Wouldn't it be so much more fun and charming to see the Hairy Hooligans with wild beards and all the colors of the world and bright animation of every wacky dragon you could think of?

Cowell's writing is like a child's sketchbook, uninhibited and ridiculously creative and unrealistic and free. It deserves a style to match.

I understand wanting a faithful adaptation of the books because I think a cute 2D animated short TV series could be a fantastic way to do them and I'd enjoy it, but personally, if someone said "live action HTTYD movie remake of the books," I'd be heavily worried and know it would turn out bad. It's a mismatch of styles. The live action would drag everything down. The reason the movies changed plot in the first place was trying to adapt the story to a new medium, the Hollywood movie, and I respect them for that.

In the end, anything vaguely touching DreamWorks Land is going to care about capitalizing on DreamWorks's success. Its 2010 animated movie obviously started one of its most successful franchises ever. It's proven screen success and that's all a big corporation backing it will care about. They're going to adapt that because that's where the brand, the money, the public knowledge, and the audience is. At this point, you'd have to get an entirely separate creative team entirely separate from DreamWorks starting from the ground up to expect something more books-related. And frankly, probably something from smallish organizations, too, since adapting closer to the HTTYD books would now be more of a "niche" project.

I know the books fandom wants that adaptation bad because people keep saying this over and over, but I vote that instead of people desperately raising live action to the table (because eveeeerrrything has a live action now), lean into the heart of what the books convey, and want an adaptation that'd do it proper.

As far as information about DeBois returning, it's in news sources like the Hollywood Reporter:

Taking a massive swing, Universal Pictures has put in motion a How to Train Your Dragon live-action movie, with Dean DeBlois, the filmmaker behind the original animated trilogy, back in the saddle as writer, director and producer. The feature project is already steps into the development process. Universal has dated the feature for a March 14, 2025 release. And sources also say the casting process is already underway. This new Dragon will adapt the trilogy of movies that were made by DreamWorks Animation and released in the 2010s to great acclaim. One of the creative challenges facing the filmmakers is trying to find the balance of making the dragons appealing and friendly, like some were in the original movie, and realistic.

John Powell has posted about it on Instagram:

(screencap: my own)

It's interesting to note DeBlois's comments on live actions over the years. For instance, from February of 2019:

There have been a few directors who are known for animation moving across into live action recently, like Brad Bird and Travis Knight. Is that something you’d want to do? It definitely is. I’ve wanted to add live action to the toolbox for a long time. Between Lilo & Stitch [DeBlois co-wrote and directed that film with Sanders] and How to Train Your Dragon, I spent about seven years setting up live-action projects to write and direct. And each one kind of hit the rocks. But it has kind of left this open ambition to try it again. I don’t know if it’s the next project that I’ll do – I haven’t actually made any decisions about what’s next. But I do hope that there’s an opportunity in the future to do something in live action that that appeals to my sensibilities and where I could apply the skills I’ve developed in animation.

But yet he also said:

There has also been a recent trend of remaking classic animated movies into live-action films – even Lilo & Stitch has been mooted for the remake treatment. What’s your take on that? I find it off-putting, to be honest. In one sense, I think it’s easy because all of the hard work of finding the story and honing it has been done – so now you get to take a movie that’s been a success and just make it in a different medium. But more than that, I feel that the live-action adaptations negate the animated ones in some way; as if to say that they are better than the original. You know, “let us improve upon your flawed medium.” So as somebody who loves animation, I think it loses the charm.  Maybe it appeals to a wider audience – and they certainly do well. So I am probably in the minority. But especially for a film like Lilo & Stitch, which was such a singular, quirky vision – we were basically a group of people trying to make Chris Sanders’ idea for a storybook come to life. And it’s so personal; it’s not an age-old fairytale or a known legend. It’s such a specific story. So to remake it, particularly with a new group of people that weren’t part of that original team… Yeah, that seems like an odd one to me.

So. I'm not 100% sure what to make of what he said then in light of what we're hearing now. But yeah. I'm sure you've seen some of the info, but in case you or others haven't, that's where this is coming from.

[chuckbass-love]

56 and 100 with andy or steve plss

Hellooo lovely. First of all thank you for the request and i’m sorry for the long wait. I was taking a break from requests to work on the multiple series that i’ve got going on but i’m back now and i hope this is worth the wait. Secondly, i chose Andy for this and i really hope you love it.

Prompt #100: “Call me selfish, but i don’t ever want anyone else to touch you”

Prompt #56: “Come sit on my face, let me show you how much i missed you”

Disclaimer: My work is not to be translated or to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Andy Barber x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Jealousy, fluff, smut, oral sex ( f receiving), language and ass grabbing. 18+ guys

Word Count: 2,861

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @lovingpostit go check them out💜

I’ll Show You

It’s been one hell of a day at work today and all you want now is just to cuddle up on the couch next to Andy, a glass of wine in hand and some random movie that he’s been dying to watch all week on the TV. To tell the truth you don’t even care what movie it is, all that matters is that he’s next to you, holding your body close to his with his cologne filling up your senses and intoxicating you. Oh and lots of kisses are also a must.

You could honestly spend forever in his company and it’s been that way since you first met, you’ve always been drawn to each other like magnets, to put it in the most cliche way possible. But it suits the two of you because you’re both introverted and home bodies. So any time you get where you can just sit together and enjoy each others company, you take it no questions asked.

This week has surprisingly dragged, probably due to all of the clients you’ve had. Your calendar has quite literally been chock a block full not to mention the severity of the things your clients unload onto you. It’s been tough. But you got into this business because you can’t help but help people and you knew the second you started on your journey to becoming a therapist that it was never going to be easy. Nothing good ever comes easy. But you don’t mind that, you’ve never shied away from a challenge before and your brains are just another thing added onto a long list that Andy keeps of why he fell in love with you.

That along with your heart of gold.

On the drive home you decide to turn the radio volume up a little more than usual, you need something to keep you going until you can run into the arms of your love and as Led Zeppelin comes onto the radio, you know you picked the right day to crank the volume up. What a band.

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

Andy is just making his way out of his own office and down to the parking lot to drive home himself. He’s usually home before you but tonight he had to clear up a couple things before he got to leave and much like your career, his is also never stress free, but he loves it too much to give it up.

As you park your car you notice Andy’s isn’t here yet which isn’t unusual, you know he’s most likely had to stay behind a little later so you decide that you’ll be the one to start cooking dinner ready for when he arrives. You step out of your car and head to the back seat to retrieve your bag along with your jacket from this morning before strutting up to your front door. But before you can even put the key in the lock, your neighbour Ian jogs over, calling your name to catch your attention.

“Ian, hi” you beam, greeting him with a friendly smile, one which he returns gladly.

“Y/N, me and Julie were just talking and since i’m taking the boys out golfing tomorrow, she’ll have a spare coupon for the spa, if you’re interested in joining her”

You have been rather tense lately and since it’s Saturday tomorrow, you’re not gonna pass up such a wonderful opportunity to relieve the tension building and the knots forming all over your back.

“Sure, that would be great. What time?”

“11” he responds simply and you nod your head rather enthusiastically.

He places his hand on yours as he smiles from ear to ear “brilliant, she’ll be over at half ten then just to be safe. Have a nice evening” and with that he walks away just as Andy is walking towards you with a not so cheery look on his face. Must have been a tough day at work for him too.

“Hi handsome, what’s with the pouty face?” you tease as you let the two of you into your shared house but he doesn’t seem to be laughing at your not so funny joke.

“Andy?” you press him for some kind of response even if it’s a nod or mumbling, you’d rather something than to be blanked by him but to no avail.

He just shrugs his coat off, hooking it onto the coat rack before slipping his shoes off and placing them in the shoe holder. And since he doesn’t seem to be responding any time soon, you do the same before padding into the kitchen to have a look at what you have in the refrigerator and the cupboards to cook for dinner. You eventually settle on a simple dish, mac n cheese. It doesn’t take too long to cook and that’s exactly what you need seeing as you’re starving.

You take one of the many pots and pour some water in it before setting it on the stove on a medium heat to boil whilst you change into something a little comfier.

As soon as you enter your shared bedroom you see Andy making his way into the closet too and when you walk in he turns his head to see you staring right back at him, confusion all over your face.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, hoping that this time he might actually tell you rather than acting like you didn’t open your mouth “what did Ian want?” is all he says and it’s all he needs to say for you to know just why he’s acting off with you.

Ian and Julie have lived opposite you ever since you moved in and you automatically got along, all four of you. They’d get a babysitter for their children and you’d double date every now and then but those fun times were interrupted when Andy insisted that Ian had a thing for you. Although you tried to convince him that it wasn’t true and he was just paranoid, you couldn’t help but notice the evidence too. The way Ian would look at you and hold his stare a little too long, the way he’d flirt without you realising it at the time and obviously today, the way he had his hand on yours. Andy must have taken one look at that and assumed the worst.

“He asked if i’d go to the spa tomorrow with Julie, i said yes, why?” you have to be sure though, although you’re assuming now, you want him to be able to tell you what’s got him so bitter.

“I don’t trust him” he mutters as he finishes changing into some sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

“He’s harmless Andy”

“I saw the way he was with you just now, touching you and giving you that shit eating grin, he knew what he was doing”

“Andy, whatever he thinks of me, i don’t care. I’m with you for a reason, can you just trust me”

“It’s not that i don’t trust you” he snaps

“Except it seems that way”

You hold off on changing for now, deciding that storming off childishly is the better option. Once you’re back downstairs you then place the pasta into the now boiling water, making sure to turn the heat up one more too.

“Why can’t you just see things from my perspective here?” he wonders out loud as he leans on the kitchen counter, catching your attention. The way his hands are in his pockets and his shoulders are hunched over, it makes you feel bad for even getting mad at him. Sure jealousy isn’t great but when he gets so worried about other men stealing you away you can’t help but realise just how much he loves you. He loves you so much that the thought of you leaving breaks him let alone if you were to actually go.

But he doesn’t have to worry about that and you’ve told him plenty of times.

“It’s not that i don’t see things from your perspective, it’s the fact that there’s no telling you. I would rather be alone for the rest of my life than be without you yet you’re too caught up with Ian having a little crush to notice that”

“Yeah well call me selfish Y/N, but i don’t ever want anyone else to touch you let alone flirt”

Instead of fighting back against him you step closer and wrap your arms around him as you stand on your tip toes and just as your lips touch his, his hands grip your face gently.

His grip tightens the more you kiss him and when you slip your tongue in, he loses all control. His hands dance all over your body, leaving no spot untouched. Goosebumps form all over as the kiss heats up, the pasta long forgotten on the stove as you’re too busy being ravished by your man.

“Someone’s very possessive” you mock, smirking a little into the kiss before he kisses you so hard it knocks the air from your lungs and when you pull away you’re gasping.

Your breathing hitches as he rests his forehead to yours, his handsome face inches away from yours and all you want to do is just claim his lips, just like you did seconds before. You can’t get enough of him.

However, he beats you to it, gripping your chin aggressively as he bites down on your bottom lip with need. You pull him closer by wrapping your arms around his neck loosely to which he happily obliges.

“Is that a problem?” he asks, raising his brows at you as you struggle to regain control of your breathing, you simply shake your head no in response, half expecting it to end here. But he has other plans.

“Good” he starts, slowly walking into the lounge leaving you stood there confused. So you decide to follow, only to find him laying down on the couch with his eyes trained on you.

“Now, why don’t you come sit on my face, let me show you how much i missed you today”

Your heart skips a beat as you watch him smile afterwards, you can’t quite believe that he’s all yours.

Without another second left to pass, you head over to him and begin to straddle his waist. He quickly takes control, moving you further up until you’re hovering above his chest.

Large calloused hands grip the hem of your skirt, slowly pushing it up to expose your laced black panties. Andy can’t help but choke on air as he sets his eyes on your panty clad mound. But rather than waste time, he starts to devour you over the lace before eventually slipping them to the side and feasting on you like a man starved.

The sensation causes you to throw your head back and practically scream due to how good it feels. His tongue on you like this will never get old, it’ll always be one of the best things in life, one that you’ll continue to enjoy for many years to come. The way his skilful tongue glides over your puffy folds with such precision before he eventually latches on to your bundle of nerves, it’s almost too much to bare and you can feel the coil tightening already with every suck and lick.

And when he slurps on you as he drinks the juices that pour from your fountain you’re unable to stop your hips from moving on their own accord and before you know it, you’re grinding yourself on him desperately as he lays there taking it like the greedy man he’s always going to be for you.

For him, you’re it. You’re the one and you always have been since he first met you.

After Laurie he didn’t expect to ever want another woman again until you came along. You rocked his world, turned it upside down and since then, he’s been hooked. He’s obsessed with the taste of you, the smell of you, the sight of you and the sound of you. You ignite a fire within him, alert all of his senses and turn his whole body into gooseflesh. Just the way he loves.

He flickers his eyelashes before looking up at you as his hands make their way to your perfectly shaped ass so that he can dig his claws into the soft skin of your round globes, causing you to keen for more.

The sounds your making should have alerted the neighbours by now but even if they do, Andy doesn’t care. He just loves the music you make as you arch your back, still riding his tongue as he pushes it further into your tight and wet hole.

“Please, Andy” you cry out, reaching down to run your fingers through his fluffy hair, you’re desperate now, even more so.

“Hm?” he mumbles, the noise vibrating onto your pussy “i’m gonna cum” you breathe out heavily, trying to gain control over the situation but failing miserably. 

Andy rests his hands on your hips, stilling the movements before diving back in for more. He swirls his tongue around your folds once again before ultimately settling his plump lips around your pulsating clit and sucking like his life depends on it.

You can’t hold back anymore, the sinful moans are enough to make him cum too without you even so much as touching him.

And with one final suck and two of his fingers massaging your folds, you cum with a frantic sob. Your body launches forward and he pulls you down so that you’re laying on top of him.

He strokes your back delicately, soothing your shaking body. He can feel your legs jolting every couple of seconds.

Eventually you get off of him and attempt to stand up but of course, you fail miserably.

“So, how was that?” he rasps, chuckling simultaneously

“Perfect, oh and i missed you too today” you smile and he eventually stands up as you slouch down.

“Good, now just let me finish the job then we can order takeout” he says, causing you to furrow your brows but the unasked questions have their answer once he gets on his knees on the floor between your legs and dives right back in.

You shiver a little, your pussy is still trying to recover but he just can’t get enough. His tongue laps at the cum still spilling out of you, making sure that every last drop is inside of his mouth before swallowing it all.

“Now i’m done” he quips and you sit up a little, pulling him closer to you so you can get a taste of yourself on his tongue. Once he slips it into your mouth you can’t help but get carried away, until the door knocks, disturbing you from your peaceful and romantic moment.

You stand up to go and answer it, quickly sorting out your appearance in the hallway mirror before you open it. It’s Ian.

“Ian, hi... again” you giggle nervously as you turn to see Andy’s face change from content to angry in seconds. He practically jumps up off the couch to join you at the door, his beard still damp with your arousal.

You watch as Andy stares the poor man down before wiping at his face.

“I was just stopping by to let you know that Julie wants to leave at 10 instead, you know because of traffic and all” you can practically smell anxiety on him and Andy notices it too.

“Sure, that works for me” you say before the situation turns awkward.

You glance over at Andy who is just stood there watching him intently but he’s coming off rather intimidating.

“Anyway, we’re about to order takeout Ian so we have to go” Andy adds in before snaking his arm around you waist and pulling you closer to him, you follow Ians eyes as he looks down at your skirt and you can only hope Andy didn’t spot that but judging by the change in his breathing, he did.

Shortly after Andy bids Ian goodbye and as he’s walking off, you’re still in the doorway.

You turn to your jealous boyfriend and tut, resting your hands on your hips but he soon disbands your serious facial expression as he smacks your bum which causes you to squeal.

“Andy”

“Let’s get you to bed so i can really show you how much i missed you” he kicks the door shut as he picks you up to carry you to your shared bedroom and you just know you have a long night ahead of you.

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LMK if you wanna be added to any of my tag lists...

[fumingspice]

kiss me hard before you go

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x Reader

Angst because someone (not naming any names) *cough* @lilypadscoven is too happy to write angst. Such a strange excuse, i know. Like whose even happy anymore? That’s so 2014, Freya.

Warning: Angsty as shit! I think. Idk im usually a happy person. Mentions of cheating, mentions of smut etc. 

Requests are open!

taglist: @sarahp-stan @jumpoffabridge-t @sarahpaulsonsoftie @definitelynot-a-writer @bottom4delia @delias-bitch-craft @creepingwolfberry @thesapphictimelady @goodeday2u @that-fucking-error @saucy-sapphic @sarahp-stan @winters-witch-bitch @rainbow-hedgehog @pearplate​

You frowned to yourself, flicking through the endless posts on Instagram. It was some godforsaken hour in the morning and no matter how hard you tried or how deeply you tried to ease your restless mind you could not fall asleep. You scrolled on social media endlessly. 

God, what time could it even be? 04.27.

You gave a defeated chuckle. Even time was in on the universe’s cruel joke. She exited Instagram and went to messages. You couldn’t count the number of unsent messages and thrown out speeches you had started and couldn’t bring yourself to finish.

Billie Dean Howard.

The contact had found itself hidden deep in the archives of old messages. You hadn’t contacted her since December when you had walked away. 

Walking away was better that being the one left behind, or so you had tried so hard to tell yourself. In hindsight, the truth was that Billie Dean was going to end up leaving you anyway. Was it courage of conviction or just the simple knowledge that you couldn’t live knowing that the only person you had ever opened your heart to was going to leave you?

What was the last thing she said anyway?

Goodnight :(.

Always with those stupid text faces. Those stupid, adorable text faces. How did she have such a powerful effect on you that you could see Billie’s face in a colon and a bracket? Why hadn’t you blocked her yet? What was left to hold onto other than movie-like memories that had slipped away like the changing of seasons.

You slipped from beneath the covers, Your hair tickled Your shoulders. There was no one beside you for you to reach for in your infinite loneliness anyway. It wasn’t infinite. Why did it feel infinite? Why did you allow one person to waltz into your heart and make you home there? You reached for an unopened bottle of wine and paused. Billie had left this bottle there. You never drank unless it was around Billie. 

“Dom Perignon,” Billie told you. You were never interested in the details of fine wine. All you knew was that the older it was the more people liked it.

“Isn’t that expensive?” The brunette asked, reading the label.

 Billie nodded with a throaty chuckle. “Only the best for my girl. I thought I would save it for a special occasion.”

A special occasion. You chuckled in spite. The occasion in question was supposed Billie’s birthday. A party with many guests. One too many. The house was brimming with sets of both of your friends. You could recall reaching for the same wine all too well before being stopped by your friend’s girlfriend. Erin took you by the wrist and guided you out to the garden. 

“No one’s out here,” you protested. Erin’s face was almost forlorn. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Sorry for what? You snapped out of your confusion. You could see the side of Billie’s body. Pressed against the wall beneath someone else. The anxiety had somehow eased when you watched Billie kiss another, fading into nothing because you knew that there was quite literally nothing that could get even worse than what you were watching.

You pursed her lips. When you imagined these moments, you had always imagined screaming bloody murder. You imagined punching and yelling. You couldn’t move. No tears. Hell, you couldn’t even feel. Erin grabbed your arm and trailed you back, but not before the sight of you, heartbroken in a red dress. had registered in Billie. She barely had time to pull away from her kiss and have the shock of what she was actually doing register. 

It was always a red dress. Red dresses end up in heartbreak. A goddamn blaze in the dark.

Now, you found yourself standing at the window that looked out into the garden. Looking at the spot where you had seen her lover betray every bit of trust that you had. What would have happened if you didn’t see? What if you had seen but Billie didn’t? Would you have said anything? Would Billie have said anything?

It doesn’t matter anyway.

Billie was wine. Aromatic, warm in her stomach. She was a magnificent swirl. She was the impossible to hide stain on your favourite white dress.

Every inch of this house had Billie in its essence. She was inescapable. 

It got even worse when a buzzing noise brought your attention to your phone. “Who the fuck could that be?” you asked yourself. Your heart dropped at the contact.

Billie Dean Howard is calling...

Your world collapsed for a moment as you stared at the phone buzz. Your head told you not to answer, your heart launched for it like a desert oasis. You let it ring a moment too long. You barely managed to blurt out a cracked, “Hello?” when Billie hung up. Presumably giving up.

You bit your lip. Your thumb hovered over the redial button as you fought with yourself. Maybe she’ll call again. That’s a huge maybe. Your finger jolted down unintentionally. Billie picked up on the third ring.

“Y/N?” Her breath hitched. “Y/N, can you hear me?”

You swallowed hard. “I’m here,” you stated flatly, “I can hear you.”

“I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“Honestly,” you replied. You felt no need for warmth. “I don’t think I meant to.”

“Oh. Uhm, how- how are you?”

“What do you want, Billie? It’s five in the morning,” You cut off. You could hear Billie’s breath falter a little.

“To be honest, I just wanted to see if you would pick up.”

You shook your head, cursing how well you knew the medium. “Don’t lie to me, Howard.”

Billie chuckled. “How can you tell?”

“You were the medium, but I was the human lie detector.”

“You’re a lawyer with an Irish mother and Scilian father. It would be more shocking if you weren’t one.”

You smiled, before catching yourself in an eyeroll. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m in town. I wanted to see you.”

“It’s five in the fucking morning.”

“You’re telling me that I actually woke you up? You were sleeping when I called?”

You bit your lip. “Yes.”

Billie chuckled again. Like it was a fucking game to her. “Well, now who’s lying?”

“What do you want, Billie?” You scoffed.

“I already told you. I want to see you.”

The audacity of the last sentence. The fact that you knew Billie Dean would come whether or not she was invited boiled your blood.

“Why.” It was more of a flat remark than a genuine question. Why. Why now.

Billie was silent for a moment. “I just want to see your face.”

Your groaned internally, another eyeroll coming into play. You scoffed. “You know the address. Find your own way over.”

And she did. The door knocked almost immediately.

You opened the door so quickly that it creaked aggressively.

“You have some fucking nerve. You know that right?” You snapped. The medium’s eyes widened in shock.

“Nice to see you too.”

You stepped aside and ushered her in, cold from the whipping air. Refreshing if you weren’t standing in shorts and a cardigan.

Billie turned around to face her. Tension grew, like insulation keeping everything in. You could choke on all the words you never said. 

“You look beautiful.”

“Je vais te tuer avec mes mains nues et dormir comme un bébé après.”

“I’m flattered.”

You groaned and walked away from her and into the kitchen. You didn’t know if you would slap her, kill her, or kiss her. You were just as prepared to strangle her as you were to fuck her hard on the kitchen floor then and there, kissing every single freckle and mole on her skin. “You have three minutes,” You muttered, pouring yourself a cup of coffee to stop yourself from looking in Billie’s direction. Your heart raced at a thousand miles a second.

“I just dropped in to say hi.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

You were unamused. “Is that it? Are you going get out of my life again?”

Billie frowned. “Am I? Y/N, you left me.”

“Because you fucking cheated on me, Billie Dean! What? Did you want me to pretend I didn’t see it? Pretend nothing happened? Do you want me to pretend that you didn’t rebuild my ability to trust people just so you could knock it down yourself?” You shouted. The words were coming out thick and fast now apparently.

“I was so drunk, Y/N,” Billie whimpered, her eyebrows furrowed. She was in genuine pain, you could see the guilt right in her brown eyes.

And you couldn’t give a shit.

“I’ve heard this a hundred times.”

“How many times do I have to say sorry for this?”

You raised your mug to your lips. “You can say it until I’m dead.”

You met the medium’s gaze. Brown eyes waterlogged with tears. Billie dipped her face in her hands. “I don’t know if I can go through with this again.”

You snapped again. “Good,” you said. “Because I’m done.”

“You can’t be serious.”

The pair met, closer than you had in months.

“No matter what stupid, thoughtless, selfish, idiotic, drunken things you said or did. No matter how many times. I have never stopped loving you. I’ve never fallen out of love no matter how many times I told myself I had. I haven’t gone to sleep without imaging your goddamn mouth on my lips and hands on my body and I fucking crave to hate you for it,” you spat, venom on you tongue and tears spilled down your face. “I don’t sleep, Billie. I don’t sleep because I know your arms aren’t there to hold me when I’m still awake at four in the morning. Because I can’t reach across the bed no matter how angry I am at you and feel your hair. I fucking love you goddammit. You threw that away. Not me.”

 Tears streamed down Billie’s face. “I regret what I did every. Single. Fucking. Day. I miss coming home and seeing you writing those stupid fucking reports that I know you hate writing because I know you hate your job. I miss seeing your face when you’ve won a case that has been scratching you for weeks,” she inched forward once more, her hands close to Mallorie’s face. “I miss seeing you reorganising the goddamn silverware every few weeks to keep the Fair Folk happy in the same way I miss seeing the way your mouth curls when you come.”

 You scanned Billie Dean, searching despreately for a bluff, something that would give way to the fact that this was all a lie; a gimmick for a one night stand so that you could just shut her out and go back to hating her. Hating the person you love is so much easier than having your heartbroken again. You couldn’t find that bluff. Even your gut-instinct that panged you when someone lied to you wasn’t alerting anything. Billie’s words were as genuine as her tears and it was killing you to see that Billie loved you. The lawyer had hoped- prayed even- that the medium’s words had been bullshit, sweet nothings that could be whispered into the ear of any lover that had fallen into her bed. But you weren’t just a one time fling that had walked into a casual meet. You had walked into her long-term girlfriend with her tongue down another’s throat. You had stashed that little red box with a diamond engagement ring inside even further into the closet that night, and that’s what had hurt you.

A raw truth in her words soaked into you. Refreshed you. They were the words that the ocean screamed back at you when you stood on the cliffside begging for a reason to go on.

And so you gave in. Almost, at least. You stepped forward into Billie and allowed her storm to engulf you. There was no calm here. There was a raging appetite for destruction and creation. What was that lyric? A tornado has met a volcano. Her lips ravaged yours to the point of being rubbed raw, the type of sting that bothered virtually every moment of your waking day, one that went on for days. You bit down on her lips, her tongue, her chin and cheek. Whether in was in spite or the desperation to seek and find every single piece of her that you could was unclear. 

Those fateful memories crept back, and you pushed hard against her chest. Billie’s lips, now red, white and swollen, pressed against yours again, retracting when there was no return.

“I’m sorry,” you lied. “I think there’s a possibility that I don’t love you.”

Billie’s eyes resembled a broken mirror, or maybe the view of a dying star. The thing about dying stars is that they died a very long time ago and you only notice years later. She nodded with a weak smile. “I understand,” she whispered, pressing her head against yours. She picked up her bag and turned to leave.

You stopped her. What on Earth were you doing? Let her leave so you can hate her in peace.

“Kiss me. Before you go,” you pleaded. “Hard.”

Billie shook her head, her face scrunched before throwing her face at you. The force drove you into the counter sending a glorious shock of pain up your back. Billie was doing what you had asked.

“Fuck you,” you pulled away and muttered, as if she had gonr too far in teasing you.

“What did I do?”

You raised your hand and slapped her face, lightly. “Fuck you for proving that I still love you.”

A rush of relief knocked Billie, visibly. She returned to your lips, much more gently this time, as if she were savouring every part of you.

“I told you to kiss me hard,” you whispered, although not necessarily opposed to Billie’s touch.

“I’ll do anything you really want,” she replied.

You paused for a moment. “Anything?”

Billie smiled. “Anything.”

You kissed her once. Soft. Tentatively. “Fuck me. On the table.” 

[kz-i-co]

A Simple Favor

»Summary: Your best friend ends his relationship and ends up staying with you.

»Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

»Genre: smut

»Words: 2.1k

» M.List

»A/N: let me know if you guys want this to be a series?

-

"Why the hell did you go in there? Tsk...you deserve to die then- ahh." You screamed as you heard a knock on your door that was perfectly in time with a random jump scare.

Your body was fighting every urge to get up and retrieve it but before you know it you heard your door close shut and foot steps coming closer. Your breathing picked up as you sat up staring at your hall and a shadow coming closer. As soon as the figure turned the corner you screamed throwing a pillow.

"It's just me." You heard the voice and immediately grew angry.

"JISUNG WHAT THE FUCK!!!" He was quick to sit next to you already hogging your blanket and eating your popcorn. "You can't just enter my place."

"You were taking forever and I know where your spare key is.

"You scared the shit out of me."

"Why are you watching Annabelle?"

"I like horror movies." You shrugged.

"Not me." He grabbed your remote changing it.

"Excuse me, who invited you?" You snipped taking your remote back.

"I always come to your place."

"It's fucking 12:30. Why are you here so late?"

"I have nowhere else to go."

"What do you mean? Plus you have Chris and Minh-"

"Nowhere I actually want to go." You were silence as you tried to put the pieces together.

"I broke up with Sohyun." He was looking at the tv. "I'm just fed up with her, she complains about everything, she's constantly yelling at me for every little thing, I just need a change."

"Have you ever thought that maybe this quarantine is just making you both nuts?" You suggested trying to sound optimistic.

"We've been fighting for months. But I'm sure it's not helping."

"I'm sure you just-"

"I'm sure." He cut you off. "Our relationship stopped feeling special for a while now, I just didn't want to believe it."

"I love you Jisung but you're really bringing me down." You slouched against the couch.

"Maybe if you turn off this evil doll movie, it will lighten my mood."

"Fine." You picked through different comedy titles until one crossed your sights.

"You looking for a roommate?" You looked at him pursing your lips not knowing what to say.

"My apartment is a one bedroom."

"I can stay on the couch."

"Doesn't your other friends have open rooms?" He just stared not answering. "I'll let you stay for a little bit so you can find your own place or moving back in with your girlfriend."

"I'm not moving back in with her." He quickly shut you down.

"You've been together for what....7 months? You really want to throw that away?"

"Thanks for reminding me....how could I be so stupid to move in with her, 7 months is way too soon."

"I don't understand, you two seem fine last time I saw you."

"I was dead inside." He laughed at his own joke. "No really she's fine one night and then the next she's pissed at me. I can't even remember the last time we kissed."

You couldn't help but feel sympathy for your friend. You never really liked Sohyun but that was none of your business.

"What about you (Y/N)?"

"We are never going to finish this." You teased.

"What about me?" You continued to ask.

"Who was your last boyfriend again? Wait...please don't tell me Sungjae."

"Yeah, so what?"

"That was over a year ago that's all." He looked back up front letting you unpause the movie.

-

It's been one week since you've let Jisung stay with you and it really wasn't as bad as you thought, especially during quarantine. He was a slob no doubt but he was actually nice about helping you stay tidy, but with a helping of sarcasm. He was your best friend after all and he was fun to be around, for the most part.

"Your bed is a queen right?"

"Yeah." You looked at him confused.

"Meaning you can fit two people in it."

"You ask about sharing my bed one more time, I will seriously toss your ass out."

He pouted. "No, I appreciate your couch, I just want to make sure you're not lonely."

"I'm perfectly fine thanks."

"Shall we rent a new movie?" You changed the subject. "Oh how about this?" You picked a comedy movie that had actors you recognized so you decided to complete the purchase.

Jisung has ordered food since he was grateful for letting him stay.

"This movie is unrealistic." Jisung complained.

"How?"

"They don't even like each other." He was referring to the sudden make out scene that was quickly turning more intense.

You always hated watching a movie with these type of scenes, it was always awkward no matter who you watched it with. In particular Jisung, who was fresh out of a breakup. He was clutching onto your pillow trying to stay still as he grew uncomfortable.

He sighed suddenly as he began by turning next to you. "I know you don't like to talk about it but I'm just curious."

"What?" You whined.

"When's the last time you did it?"

"Come on-"

"(Y/N) you know you can trust me with anything." And you could. Jisung was the only friend that you were an open book to, but you still couldn't help but feel embarrassed.

"I don't know, last summer."

"What?"

"Please shut up......this movie was a bad idea."

He was silent for a little while that it actually worried you, so you felt relieved when he began. "I have a proposition." You looked at him. "Why don't we just do it with each other, it's been awhile for the both of us."

You weren't convinced you heard him correctly.

"(Y/N), please I'm not into hook ups and it's a hard time to date right now."

"But we're friends."

"That's why it's perfect, we know each other more then anyone and it won't be weird since we trust each other."

"It's weird just talking about it."

"It's not weird, we just use each other for special needs and we can stay friends...no ties."

"Someone always gets hurt in these things, don't you watch movies."

"How are we going to get hurt, we've been friends forever and we're always honest with each other. If you don't like it we can stop."

"I don't know."

"I would never do anything to hurt you, you know that don't you?" You hated when he looked at you like that. Jisung was an emotional person and really was everything to you.

"Okay......" He smiled. "But I have conditions." His smile quickly dropped as he looked at you unamused.

"This is only between you and me. Don't tell anyone, not even your friends. Also if you happen to get back together with Sohyun, we end it."

"That won't happen but okay."

"And if things start getting weird between us, I want it to stop."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I just don't want this to change us."

"It won't." He said. "When can we start?"

"You're really bottled up aren't you?" You arched your eyebrows.

"You have no idea." You couldn't help but notice his already visible bulge. This movie just had to have explicit scenes didn't it?

"Bedroom or here?"

You rolled your eyes. "It don't matter."

"Would you rather do it in the kitchen?"

You playfully hit him. "Let's just go to the bedroom."

"In your bed?"

"Was this all to just win over my bed?"

"Of course not. And it's not just me, you want it too, unless you would of said no."

"Whatever jerk."

"Last thing." He began and you looked at him confused. "Try not to fall in love with me."

"Likewise." You returned his cocky attitude and got up and made your way to your bathroom.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"It's been awhile so I need to clean up a little."

"I don't care about that."

"I don't want you to be disgusted-"

"You are far from disgusting (Y/N)."

"You've never seen my body."

"I don't need to." You were taken back, you couldn't help but blush.

He looked around the room. "First things first, do you have any condoms?"

"I think I have a few of Sungjae's left over."

"What? Ew."

You gave him a questioning look. "It's not like they are used Jisung."

You opened your underwear drawer grabbing the box. "They're too small."

"You didn't even see the box yet."

"Don't need to." You shut him up by throwing the box at him. "Sungjae is a medium? Did you even feel anything?"

"You are seriously making me regret this."

"Can I just pull out?" He whined.

"I'm going to kill you."

"Okay fine." He began by removing his plaid shirt that hung over his plain white t-shirt.

"So how do we-"

He came really close to you that you grew speechless. "Um.....we don't have to kiss or anything." You looked up at him as he was already leaning down.

"How are we suppose to set the mood if we don't kiss?" He arched his eyebrows. "Plus...I'm like a really good kisser so you wouldn't want to miss this opportunity."

You shook your head amused. "Why do you have to be so annoy-" You were cut off by him sealing his lips with yours. You had the urge to push him off but you couldn't, something felt right.

And now you fear the worst.

Once he pulled away, you felt dizzy but you wanted more as you kissed him back to his surprise and he leaned you down on the bed.

Everything was happening so fast that you couldn't even process. He had you pinned against the bed while he kissed up and down your neck. His wandering hands started brushing up your shirt, feeling every inch of you.

You felt him playing with your bra strap, eventually loosening up the tight fabric. He had it off quicker then you realized and immediately started messaging your chest, loosely under your shirt. His lips made it's way back up to your lips, feeling more moist then before.

He stopped suddenly once he felt your hand making it's way inside his jeans. He closed his eyes tightly as you rubbed against him. You could feel the tightness growing causing you to unzip his jeans for more room.

When you felt like he had enough, you tugged his shirt up signaling for him to pull it off. You took some time to admire his toned body that you began to wonder when he even started hitting the gym. He suddenly distracted you by tugging off your sweats and you went ahead and took off your own shirt being completely exposed.

It almost looked like he blushed as he saw you in full. At this point you were growing impatient as he was taking his time with the protection.

"Jisung can you step on it?"

He looked at you amused. "Wow someone is a little eager."

"Shut it."

"I told you I didn't even want to wear one." He leaned forward and began kissing your neck once again before making his way to your swollen lips. You felt him slowly push in, not aware of how tight you were.

You couldn't help but wince from the slight pain until the feeling subsided to pleasure. His muffled sounds were so beautiful as he began your movements faster. The pleasure was familiar and too far forgotten. Almost like a dream. If only it was to save you from all the trouble you can already predict.

He leaned down kissing you passionately once again as his pace was comfortable. You felt like you were lost in your own world not caring who can hear you. You moved your hand to the front of your folds to guide your pleasure closer to the edge. You felt numbness scattered throughout your body as the climax finally reached its high point. Once he reached his he collapsed to the bed next to you.

You looked over at Jisung and you couldn't help but smile seeing how exhausted he was. He turned on his side facing you as he gently started to close his eyes.

Try not to fall in love with me.

You remembered what he said. Maybe it was just your hormones talking but you felt butterflies non stop. You're just hoping you didn't feel this way tomorrow.

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

TITLE: Out of the Grave - Chapter 3: The Aftermath (Chapter 1 here, Chapter 2 here)

It took 10 minutes and lots of questioning and cajoling to get Jenny to calm down enough to listen to anything Abbie said. She maintained an air of defensiveness, shoulders squared, muscles rigid, face a drawn mask of doubt. Even now, sitting across the table from Abbie while he sat between them at the head of the table, he saw the tension in her, unsure and unwilling to believe, even as her defenses began to crumble. "Tell me again," she demanded. Abbie sighed patiently in resolution and explained everything in detail: how she'd emerged from the lake, the knowledge she suddenly had that felt like a light coming on in her brain, missing three and half days and the significance of that, the questioning Ichabod had done. He noted she conveniently forgot to tell Miss Jenny of their...ardor, for which he was most grateful. Somehow he knew she'd be excited and tease them incessantly, if not this night then starting with their next encounter. As it stood now, he felt like the flayed end of a raw nerve and didn't think he could handle much more of anything, let alone good-natured ribbing of something so momentous and incredible. Once he noted that Miss Jenny had calmed—indeed, even showed relief and elation—he silently excused himself, pussyfooting to the kitchen to make some tea and heat up some of the lemon loaf that Abbie favored. At the sight of it, his stomach grumbled, and he realized he couldn't remember the last meal he'd had. With the hum of the Mills sisters' voices as background accompaniment, he set about making himself a PB&J. His eyes burned like fire with every blink, but he couldn't possibly head to bed right now, not even sure sleep would find him, no matter how desperately he needed it, for fear Abbie would disappear while he slumbered. She had to be here to stay, didn't she? He couldn't consider otherwise. Besides, she'd returned with a deeper understanding of their mission. They were destined to this life, called to something greater. He nearly chortled out loud at the absurdity of his own thoughts—he sounded nigh like one of those blasted Hallmark movies Abbie indulged in during certain times of the month. Destiny, fate, meant to be... Perhaps he was delusional. But the Bible foretold of them as an unbroken pair, and Abbie had confirmed their entwined fates upon her return. And her return had certainly entwined them more than they'd ever been before. A flush rushed through him at the memory of kissing her, touching her, of her in his lap, closer than he'd ever thought possible. She'd floated in like a dream and started to fulfill his in brilliant Technicolor.

The kettle began whistling, and he shook off his wayward musings for a moment to remove the pot from the burner. He poured for the sisters, and while the tea steeped he ate his sandwich, nearly inhaling it to quell the growling monster in his belly. He heard sniffling from the other room, the sound drawing him back to the tunnels after Pandora's wretched box had exploded, blowing his last hope of finding Abbie to Hades. The dreams—or had they been visions? He'd have to ask the Lieutenant if she remembered coming to him telepathically, spiritually, or by some other supernatural medium—haunted his waking hours, and if he'd slept the past few days he knew he'd find them there too. Her seemingly contented goodbye, acceptance of him moving on without her, the way that, even in that netherworld, they danced so smoothly around the way they truly felt. He hoped...Heavens, how he'd hoped she'd felt the depth of passion for him that she inspired in him. At times he could barely refrain from spelling it out, touching her simply to feel the softness of her skin, holding her close because she was there.

Now he knew a touch of her fervor and he longed to burn in it, wholly consumed and happily so. Let it consume him the way his grief had, a pleasant and pleasurable replacement that'd taken her dying to bring about. What a fool he'd acted, skirting the issue this past year. After everything that'd happened to him, all the things he'd lost, he should've known better. Tears pricked his eyes. The places she'd gone to for him, for them, for the world...Purgatory, the catacombs, death. He had so much to make up for. Lost time, chances, moments, and words. He'd only begun to speak the avalanche of emotions held in his heart. The timer beeped loudly, signaling the tea had finished steeping, and he moved before he fell asleep on his feet right there in the kitchen. Extracting the tea strainers, he set the mugs and cake slices on a serving tray and put the sandwich fixings away. Every move felt like swimming through molasses, but he forged ahead, delivering the tray to the dining room. The Mills sisters stood in a tearful embrace, neither facing his direction, and he quietly slid the tray onto the table and made a silent escape. Hell's bells, but he needed rest. He didn't know how long the sisters would spend reuniting and discussing what's transpired the past few days, and he didn't want to interrupt, so he slipped down the hallway and into the bathroom. He took a quick, hot shower, scrubbing the strain of desperate wallowing from himself and washing his floppy hair into some semblance of normal. Drying off, he slipped on his robe and brushed his teeth, freshening his body the way he'd started to clean his spirit by speaking what he'd so long cherished in his heart. He took a long look in the mirror, barely recognizing the gaunt face staring back at him. Dark circles framed his tired eyes, his cheeks seemed to have sunk into his face, and his beard looked slightly untamed. He fixed the latter with haste, knowing the rest would improve with sleep and proper hydration and nutrition, which he'd sorely lacked as of late. He shuffled to his room and stopped short. A whirlwind had blown through it: clothes and books lay scattered and strewn about, the desk chair lay on its side, and the covers of his bed had been thrown off. Confusion briefly set in until a quick flash of a memory surfaced. In a grief-blind rage, he'd swept his arm across the bookshelves, sending his favorite tomes flying. Grabbing at the clothes hanging in his open closet seemed the next destructive step, and he'd made quick work of it. Throwing the bedspread, shoving at the chair, kicking at the items already littering the floor gave him minute catharsis. Then he'd crashed down, both emotionally and physically, sliding onto the floor in a devastated mess. Ichabod took a deep breath and, after exchanging the robe for a dark grey t-shirt and black yoga pants (he'd never trade in his now-antiquated attire, but he found the current leisure styles most comforting while at home), began tidying the room, switching the overhead light for the bedside lamp. The room took slightly longer to clean up than it had to deconstruct it, but he set about it quickly, ashamed of his childish outburst but feeling it necessary all the same. He'd believed the prophecies: the Bible, the tablet, the enemies' words that they were the Two Witnesses. He hadn't understood how he could've set his whole modern life, indeed, his heart, on that belief, only to have it crumble in the space of a heartbeat with the loss of his partner. His Lieutenant. (He hadn't the right to think of her as such, but it hadn't prevented him from doing so.) He righted the desk chair and picked up some of the remaining scattered books, still marveling that she'd walked back into their home, whole, healed, and heralding promises of their future together. The Two of them promised to Witness until the end. He had to be dreaming. Something quietly sounded behind him, and he turned to see the subject of his thoughts and affections leaning against the door frame, watching him. She'd changed into a pair of pink and black plaid pajama pants and a matching light pink shirt. It, coupled with the low lighting of his room, cast her face in a bewitchingly warm glow. He watched her eyes scan the room, some of the books still lying strewn about, then flash back to him. Sorrow etched her face. "It's been a hard few days," he murmured unnecessarily as an explanation before turning from her to stack the books in his hands onto the desk. He set them down, one hand resting on the top cover as he took a moment to gather himself. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to ravish her. He wanted to simply stare at her until he'd had his fill of all her beauty. He needed to speak of the days without her, to purge the ache that only she—living, breathing—could ease. She moved into his peripheral and, slightly startled, he turned to her. She held out the last of the books that'd littered his floor, and he took them from her, his eyes never leaving her face, her gaze intently holding his. Even after his earlier revelation, there were still so many things to say...where could he start? He cleared his throat, his brain finally catching on to the fact that he hadn't heard the other Mills sister in the past several minutes. "Miss Jenny?" he nearly croaked, his voice quiet. "She went home. Said she needed rest and a little bit of time," she explained softly. "And that she'll stop by tomorrow."

He nodded in understanding, feeling the same oppressive, cloying need for space to process her return in conjunction with the desire to never let her out of his sight. It all felt so overwhelming. Suddenly he moved away from her gaze, her proximity, and rounded the bed, sitting on its edge before he collapsed under the dueling weights of grief and elation. He didn't want to send her away and couldn't ask her to remain here, but strewth, he was wrung dry. He could hardly keep his eyes open, his head up. Gratitude filled him as Abbie remained where he'd left her for several moments, giving him time, space. Neither felt as good as she had in his arms, but he needed them just as badly. "In either of my lives, I've never felt as scarred as I have following your disappearance into that box." The words, spoken softly on a broken whisper, surprised even him since he hadn't planned on speaking them—hadn’t even known his brain was forming them—and the gravity of his admission sat heavy in the room. His entire 18th century existence, the loss of his parents, his best friend, his wife and son, his homeland. He'd felt those things as surely now as he ever did. But Abbie...losing her had felt different. Weightier. Like a millstone around his neck drowning him even as he still breathed. Mayhap because of their bond as witnesses. Or because she'd somehow become the glue that'd held his two worlds together, the only person who'd believed him, helped him, trusted him. Made him feel real. He stared straight ahead, the closet before him yawning open like the space between them. Perhaps he'd said too much. His heart beat wildly waiting for her response. It didn't take long. He heard her bare feet padding in his direction, and she appeared before him, petite, radiant, and stunning. He couldn't meet her eyes, afraid of what he'd see in them, but her hands sluiced through the hair at his temples, the heels of her hands resting on them as she leaned closer. He felt her lips press sweetly against his forehead, and his eyes dropped closed at the sensation. On sensory overload, he felt barely able to function, yet somehow his hands found her hips, resting lightly on the flare of them as if he'd done this a thousand times before. He felt the bones beneath her toned skin, the slimness of her figure, and his heart nearly exploded with the feelings he had for her. But Abbie chose that moment to retreat, though just enough to see him, her hands still deliciously tangled in his hair as her fingers absently massaged his scalp. He was going to crawl out of his skin if she didn't stop torturing him. Her touch both invigorated and drugged him, powerful in its simplicity, soothing in its method. She moved her hands down to his cheeks, and her thumbs arched along his eyebrows. He fluttered his tired eyes open to stare at her, finding her watching him with a sympathetic, loving gaze. Her thumbs brushed against his cheekbones, her touch sending warmth coursing through his body. The realization that she felt comfortable enough to freely caress him made him shiver all over. "You should rest now," she soothed. "We can talk more in the morning." He could imagine how wretched he looked right now, how she must see him. Gaunt and pale, red-rimmed eyes and dark hues beneath them. A sight bedraggled enough to make her eyes sore. Bringing his hand up to grip her wrist, he turned his head slightly to the right, kissing her palm reverently. She ran the fingers of her other hand through his hair again as he did so. God's wounds, he'd better not be dreaming all of this up. He wasn't sure how much more heartache he could survive. He didn't want to let her go, but his bed called to him like a siren. Reluctantly releasing her, he stood up and turned down the bedspread and sheets, then plopped listlessly down again. He eased down onto his side as Abbie stood by smiling sweetly at him. She watched him so attentively he thought she might just stay until he'd fallen asleep. Which wouldn't take all that long, to be sure. But then she softly bid him a goodnight as she turned to leave. "Please," he breathed in desperation, again speaking without forethought. "Stay with me." A few seconds later, he realized his words sounded like a paltry invitation. "I don't mean anything untowards," he rushed to assure her. "Just...please don't go. Don't leave." He swallowed hard, waiting for her response. Surely she wouldn't think him a scoundrel for requesting such a thing after she'd just returned from the beyond. Would she? Through his bleary eyes he saw her lips upturn in a small smile. She tucked one leg beneath her and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm not going anywhere," she promised him. Ichabod's heart pounded wildly in his chest as he scooted to the other side of the bed. Abbie slid into bed—the sight left him again wondering if he might be hallucinating—reaching up to turn off the bedside lamp. The room plunged into darkness, but he felt her every movement: fluffing the pillow, pulling the blankets up, settling comfortably into the mattress. He, conversely, didn't move, could barely breathe. And when he did, the scent of Abbie's shampoo filled his senses. She lay so close he could he could reach out and touch her, wrap his arm around her, hold her close to him, to feel her breathing. To prove to himself she was real and living and here and...dear heavens, he didn't dare do such a thing. It was enough she'd agreed to stay with him this night. He'd thought he'd fall to sleep the moment his head hit the pillow, but he hadn't anticipated sleeping next to Abbie. Was he too close? Had he given her enough space? Should he move to the edge of his side of the bed? Was she comfortable? Maybe he'd compromised the covers, not leaving enough for her to stay warm with. "You're thinking too much, Crane," she murmured. Something about her tone, that reprimanding but teasing duo she had, made him huff a relieved sigh, and most of his tension evaporated. A moment later, she reached her hand back and grabbed his, pulling it over her side and draping his arm around her waist. Instinctively he moved forward as she settled back against him, and he noted how easily they fell into this most intimate of reposes. She felt real enough, had matched him in fervor and passion. She'd returned with all the grace and grit and poise of the woman who'd fearlessly and faithfully fought by his side since the moment he'd met her. And now he held her in his arms. His Lieutenant... He needn't have wondered if he'd ever get to sleep with Abbie in his bed; before he could even marvel at how wonderful she felt tucked against him, he'd fallen asleep.

[junmyeonning]

Movie Night

Type: one shot

Pairing: Kim Junmyeon (EXO Suho) X Unnamed OFC

Rated: M

Summary: a regular movie night turns into something else when she feels a bit more frustrated than usual.

Word count: 2.4k

Request by: @keichocolate​ 💓 thank you! Sorry if this isn’t what you had in mind but it’s what i came up with:)

(A/N): honestly this is so smut centred, not everyone’s cup of tea i get it. But you’ve been warned. 

-

She fidgets in her seat as she waits for him to arrive, feeling a bit nervous all of a sudden.

Why, one might ask? Simple.

As close friends they share their problems all the time, and this time is no different. She was venting to him over text about how stressful these days have been for her, work issues etc. And that's when he suggested he comes over and lightens the mood a little. Watch some movie, enjoy eacb other's company.

But now she's rethinking her choices, not sure if she wants to be even near him at this time. Truth is her stress is making her want some type of... release.  Let go some of the pent up tension.  Him being there would just mean that she'd be more frustrated.

She feels bad about feeling this way towards her friend, especially since he's so damn nice and sweet to her.  He has never showed any interest though so she assumes he's not into her that way.

Unfortunately that's not the case with her. She's so freaking into him it drives her crazy sometimes.  Whatever, She thinks.  She ignores these feelings and gets up as soon as she hears the doorbell.

"Ah hey," he greets her with a big grin and comes in to hug her.  She relaxes into his strong arms as they wrap around her, taking in his scent that she suddenly feels like she's missed too much.

"You okay there?" He steps back and looks at her with a comforting smile, to which she smiles back at his sweetness and nods.

"Now that you're here, i'm getting there." She flirts jokingly, making him crack up and shake his head as he looks away. Yep, surely not interested.

-

A few minutes later they're already settled on the couch, with all their favourite snacks ready in front of them. She starts the movie and sits down next to him, but he looks at her and pats his lap.

"Relax, stretch your legs." She's hesitant but she complies.  They've done this quite a few times before, this one's no different... right? or at least that's what she tries to convince herself.

She pulls her legs up over his lap, now aware of how extremely close their bodies are as he rests his hand on her exposed leg.  She thanks the lord that they're clean shaved.

They're very comfortable while getting into the movie, snacking every now and then and reacting to certain parts of it.  But of course, just as she started to slightly forget about her little pulsing down there, his hand that was resting starts to move a little.

"Is this okay?" He says gently, while softly rubbing her legs and calves to relief some of the tight muscles. She gulps silently and musters up a casual 'yeah', giving him the green light.

She suddenly finds herself unable to focus on the movie with how his hands feel on her skin, moving along her leg and massaging tenderly. His hands are a perfect medium, not soft but not too rough.

She hums in satisfaction, adjusting herself a little closer to him.  He doesn't take his eyes off the movie, but he continues what he's doing with his hands.  She starts feeling hotter by the minute, her core throbbing with need while wishing these hands were somewhere else.  Higher and higher...

She realises that it's not her imagination and his hand is actually moving higher onto her thigh, making her squirm slightly under his touch.  She doesn't know where he's going with this, but she's way too turned on to care if this what he has in mind or not.

"More..." she says, almost begging him with her needy tone.  He's a bit surprised but he catches on, now rubbing the outer part of her thigh. She leans her head against his shoulder and closes her eyes, letting out a breath.

"More as in...?" He asks carefully.

"More as in touch me more please." She doesn't know what comes over her as she spreads her legs just a little, risking it all at this point. If that's not what he had in mind then he can stop, she knows it. But what he does next is the exact opposite.

"Hmm," his hand suddenly makes contact with her from behind her cotton shorts, making her gasp. "Here ?"

She moans softly and bucks up a little into his touch, his fingers stroking over her in the process. She is already very wet and she's sure that he can feel her pussy heat.

He starts to get hard seeing how responsive she is to him, she's so turned on and he hasn't even started. He rubs her a little more and she's practically whimpering at this point.

"You should've told me that this is what you need help with." He says huskily, licking his lips and looking down at her with lust blown eyes, which look very different from his usual sweet innocent looking ones.

"Hmm you're k-kidding me?" She chuckles, barely letting out the words as she feels dizzy with the way his fingers are rubbing her just right. "...we're friends."

"So friends can't help each other out?" He replies back, then decides to slip his fingers inside her shorts but still behind her underwear. She moans as she feels herself approaching her orgasm. Just the idea of him touching her is a huge turn on by itself, let alone the physical stimulation he's providing.

"You're close, right baby? Can you cum like this?" He whispers by her ear, making her rock with his fingers as she gets way too hot with his words. She just nods weakly and her mouth drops open, an orgasm washing over her while he takes his time to kiss the spot by her ear.

She regains her breath, dumbfounded with how he made her cum in her panties.  He's still kissing her neck with those soft lips of his, and she thinks to herself that she's not nearly done with him.

She almost forcefully grabs his face in her hands away from her neck, looking directly at him and biting her lip as she watches the intense stare he's giving her.  She goes in for a passionate kiss, finally tasting his mouth for the first time, and it's even better than what she imagined.

She moans into his lips and positions herself better on top of him, now grinding down slowly onto his covered erection.  She almost can't believe that this is reality, after lusting for him in her mind for so long, she's now on top of him feeling his clothed cock under her.  Getting hard for her.

She starts kissing down his jaw then his neck, sucking and biting here and there.  He lets out a little moan which makes her even more eager, pressing herself down harder.

"I need you Myeon, c'mon baby just fuck me please." She can't help how desperate she sounds, but she has never felt she craved someone as much as she does him now.  She had a taste, and now she wants more.  A lot more.

"Let's go to your room then," he replies, and she wonders when did his voice get so fucking deep. "How can I say no when you beg so prettily?"

He effortlessly gets up with her in his arms still, her face in his neck when she suddenly realises what he said.

"Don't get used to me begging."

"That pride of yours... even when you're like this?" He chuckles, opening her door room while she's still hanging on to him.  She holds his face in her hands and smiles.

"Shut up." She kisses him deeply again, and he finally finds his way on top of the bed.  He lays her down, mouths still connected, as he begins stripping off his clothes.

They stop for a few seconds to catch their breaths, and he takes it as a chance to fully pull off his shirt over his head.  She watches his toned upper half in all its glory, while he's unbuckling his belt and smirking, making eye contact during it all.

"Am I gonna strip alone here or what ?" He jokes, unzipping his pants by now.  She rolls her eyes playfully, getting rid of her own top.  His eyes widen a little when her bare breasts suddenly appear.

"See? I'm fast." She says while pulling down her shorts and panties in one go, leaving her fully naked lying there under him.  His mouth falls open a little, his movements slowing down with surprise.

"Hurry upp," she whines, helping him pull down his boxers along with his pants. Now it's her turn to be surprised, looking at his impressive length with a hint of drool from her mouth.

"Holy..." she bites her lip to suppress a moan, her hands freely running down his chest and on its way to touch his cock.

"Nope not now," he takes her hand off before it makes contact, smiling devilishly. "Lie back down for me sweetheart."

With the heat of the moment she doesn't even protest, lying back down as told. She instinctively spreads her legs for him to position himself between them, still sitting up on his knees as he grasps his hard cock in his hand.

Leaning down a little, he teases his head from her clit and down to her pussy opening, then back up in a back and forth motion. She's looking down at where he's making that friction, her breath starting to accelerate as she surprisingly feels yet another orgasm creeping up with how sensitive she is.

"Oh my god, oh my god, Junmyeon..." She's moaning his name as she throws her head back against the pillow, cumming hard yet again, this time just from his tip rubbing on her. He waits for her to get down from her high to tease her about it.

"Again? I'm not even inside you yet," he chuckles, looking at her underneath him and biting his lip. He begins stroking himself now and sighs. "You're so fucking hot."

She's still recovering, looking back at him with half closed eyes as she watches the way he's touching himself. She can't believe how turned on she still is, this time craving him inside her. She brings her knees up by the sides of her chest, now her pussy angled up towards his sitting form.

He quickly reacts and guides his head back to her opening, not waiting any longer as he now slowly enters her wet heat.  They both groan in pleasure, her walls gripping him in the best way possible.

"Fuck..." that's all he's able to muster, feeling like he was about to blow his load right there.  He concentrates though and starts moving slowly, bottoming out before pulling back almost all the way.

He repeats his actions, in and out with slow, deep strokes.  After a little while the pace increases to sharper thrusts, skin slapping and wetness sounds audible throughout the room.

Her moans get louder with how good he's fucking her, and he enjoys seeing the blissed out look on her face from taking his cock.  They go for a few minutes before changing positions, him pulling out much to her protest.

"Turn around." She obliges quickly, getting on all fours with her bottom pointed towards him.  He squeezes her ass cheeks and plays around with them, but she's so frustrated she starts wiggling around closer to him so she can feel him again.  He sees that and laughs a little, finding her impatience both hot, and oddly enough in this situation, kind of cute.

Before she can comment he gets back to it as he holds her hip with one hand, using the other to position himself before once again entering.  The pleasure gets even more intense for the both of them, and he finds his pace once more while he holding her with both hands now, thrusting hard and fast. She can't help the noises that escape her, almost screaming in pleasure when he hits all those spots perfectly.

He moans when he looks down at the view of his cock disappearing inside her again and again, her juices coating him and dripping down around him.  He feels himself approaching his own finish, but not before making her cum again, this time with him penetrating her.

"God I'm so close. You with me, baby girl?" He asks her.  She's not able to form a coherent reply, so she just moans back.

"Cum for me baby.  Say my name." His grip on her hips get tighter, and he fucks into her even harder.  She can't take it all when she feels the pressure building up for the third time tonight, becoming more of a moaning mess under him.

"Oh, Junmyeon!" She reaches her climax, her walls contracting around him and squeezing as this one hits her the hardest. He feels himself about to burst so he pulls out, jerking himself off until spurts of his milk coat her back, groaning and continuing until the last drop.

She slumps over from her position directly onto her stomach now, feeling truly spent out and freshly well fucked.  He grabs a tissue and cleans his mess from her back, then lays down beside her.

She looks at him as he regains his breath, eyes closed and glistening in sweat with a hint of glow. A sight she won't forget anytime soon.

Her hand moves on its own as she lifts a fallen strand of hair away from over his face, making him open his eyes and look at her.

"I'm sorry, is this weird ?" she pulls her hand away and smiles awkwardly, to which he laughs and shakes his head at her.

"It's not. Come here," he raises his arm enough for her to crawl into and cuddle with him.

"What are we now ?" She asks after a few moments in silence, slightly nervous with how he might answer.  He pauses a little and thinks carefully.

"Are you willing for us to be more ?"

"As in, you becoming my boyfriend ?" She looks up at him with a smirk.

"Yeah, I like the sound of that." He leans in and kisses her softly, both of them smiling into it.

"Me too," she pulls back a little and murmurs. "A lot."

[amindofstone]

Match-up, No. 1

Anon asked:

"oh hi hello! i just saw the match up posts and i got super excited cause i love your writings and i never had to chance to send an ask like this lol! i'm 19 years old but i'll be 20 this year. i'm pretty tall for a girl (173 cms!) but still i'm on the chubbier side because i eat a lot and im proud of it lol. i have green eyes, and raven black hair, medium length with short bangs, because i dye it regularly, but normally i'm a blonde! also idk if this matters but i'm straight!

i really like cooking, it's a big passion of mine, i also love singing! music is a big part of my life, i cannot go a second without listening to something and i've always been like this. even though i'm not talented about it, i love to listen to it. i'm a big hopeless romantic so i'm a sucker for anything that's romantic, like movies, songs, books etc! i really wish nothing but for real and pure love! i also collect toys and figures cause i didn't had the chance to buy them when i was little.

i really dislike being left alone. i don't have many friends or loved ones, but whenever i have to leave them for something it hurt's me a lot. i don't like too much people around me but i really adore the ones who i care about. other than that, i hate the way i look most of the time. since i was a little girl i was never comfortable with my body and had lots of issues with it but im trying to do my best to love myself!

i know this was too long but i couldnt stop myself so i hope its okay! im so much lookinf forward to this match up thingy! thank u soooo much for the chance! take care ❤️"

a/n: First of all thank you so much. I'm so so glad to see that you like my work. This is a great motivation for me to keep writing. This really made my day. 💙 And I really hope that you'll be liking what will come next. I really hope that I didn't disappoint you my dear anon. This is my first time doing something like this and going honest I'm really insecure and anxious when it gets to my work. I'm never happy or satisfied by the outcome... But that's not the point. It's about you. So if there is something bothering you please don't hesitate and DM me or anything and tell me. Other than that happy reading! 🙈

Match up rules can be found HERE.

Warning(s): maybe some grammatical or spelling mistakes since English is my third language and I'm still improving in every aspect. (Please have mercy on that))

!!! Please do not steal my idea or work. Credit me if this is shared or published in any other platform or any other way. Please respect me as the writer and my work. Picture is not mine. Credits to: Lord know who. IF anyone knows who did it please tell me so I can give credits. Thank you. :) !!!

• I think that you and Sanji would give a great pair.

• There are a lot of traits of you that resemble that of Sanji in my opinion. And exactly this was the reason why Sanji started to spend more time with you and get to know you more than Nami or Robin.

• Whenever Luffy screams from the top of his lungs "SANJI! FOOD!!" you scream back from wherever you are right now "Gimme a minute and I'll get you something!", before Sanji can react to the food loving man.

• Sanji loves it when you join him cooking because you two seem to be able to work together without having to communicate. But even if Sanji would like to talk to the beauty that was next to him he wouldn't dare saying a word because as much as he loved talking to you he loved listening to you sing while you prepared anything you were on at the moment. Sometimes he would just stop in his tracks and just watch you dance around the kitchen whenever one of your favourite songs starts to play in the radio. He would watch every of your moves and smile like a idiot.

• After some time passing Sanji manned up and asked you out in the most romantic way. Sanji prepared a picnic with some snacks under that one tree with the wing (I hope you know what I mean 😂). Everything was set. You were in the girls cabin reading a novel when you heard a light knock. You didn't look up and just told whoever was there to come in but the person simply knocked another time what made you stand up with a scuff. You were ready to scold anyone that was there for ruining your peaceful reading session but there was no one except of a huge bouquet of red roses. It had a little note in it saying that someone is waiting for you down on deck. With a huge smile on your lips you stepped out of your room just ro realise that the way down to the deck was decorated by flower pedals. The sight in front of you made your heart race. You didn't wanted the feeling that grew with every second in you to stop. But you made it down and was greeted by the blond man you were always fond of. He took your hand in his and lead you to the swing and made you sit down.

• He took both of your hands in his and looked you in the eyes while giving the most sweetest confession ever made. And of course you said yes and wanted to date him

• dating him was the best thing that happened to you. He was sweet and caring. He spend every free second with you. If you were close to him he would always grab your hand and intertwine them. Sometimes he would appear out of nowhere and give you a kiss and compliment a different part of your body just to leave you dumbfounded and confused with a racing heart.

• There was this island the straw hats docked on and to their luck there was a festival planned for the night of the day they came. So Nami and Robin took you shopping and made Sanji go have fun on his own. Unlike these two you wanted something fancy that wasn't a dress but they still brought a few for you to put you in later on. And they managed to get you in a short sleeveless pretty blue-black dress. They did your make-up and theirs and ran out when Franky yelled that the fireworks were about to get blown what was the sign for the beginning of the festival. But you didn't came out because you felt uncomfortable in your current state.

• Sanji sensed that something was wrong and made his way to you only to find you standing in front of the mirror and looking at yourself with a tilted head and slight pout. Sanjis eyes widen at the sight of you. Because of 1. He couldn't believe how good that dress locked on you 2. He was shocked because he knew that you didn't like the way you looked.

• "How dare you!? How dare you not love this beautiful sight?! Baby! Darling! Love! Please don't. You look stunning. Simply gorgeous now please allow me to take you to the festival and brag with the fact that I can call the most beautiful woman mine."

• As you can see Sanji doesn't, can't and won't tolerate you being insecure so he took it upon himself to push your ego and make you love yourself as much as he loves and adores you.

• On the festival Sanji would never let go of you. He would constantly have you close to him so he could protect you no matter what happens. He makes sure to once in a while ask you if you're alright or if you want to go back to the sunny since he knew that you're not a fan of crowed places.

• Sanji left you alone for a few minutes but sat you down on a less crowded and also quieter place to get some drinks. You were happily looking at the ocean when a guy approached you and started a conversation with you. You were clear not liking it but still tried to talk nicely. But the guy seemed to understand your friendliness in a different way and got closer. You told him to keep a distance but he laughed it away and simply acted as if you said nothing. You felt uncomfortable and suffocated so you were about to stand up when Sanji came and kicked him out of the chair with a sweet smile upon his lips saying "Thank you for keeping my seat warm but now move your pathetic stupid ass away and leave me alone with my girl."

• When the guy left he took you in his arms and apologised while sitting you down on his lap while asking you probably a bunch of times of you're doing good or if he hurt you.

Bonus:

• While Sanji confessed his love to you Zoro was in the crows nest watching you two with a disgusted and confused look while silently praying for you to reject him but sadly you didn't. In fact you even kissed him. "TF is that stupid woman doing?!"

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Autumn Soulmate | Ben Hargreeves

✦ pairing — Ben Hargreeves x gender neutral!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 2k

✦ Soulmate AU

✦ request(s) — Can you do a soulmate AU with Ben (from tua lol) where you have a colorful mark wherever your soulmate first touches you, and youve always been confused bc yours has always been like tentacle shaped or some other weird thing from a monster? ; could you do something Ben Hargreeves x reader picking apples from an orchard or going to a pumpkin patch? ; can you do watching Halloween movies and baking/eating those dumb (but delicious) pillsbury sugar cookies with little pumpkins on them with Ben Hargreeves x reader? & Can you do a fic for fall with Ben Hargreeves, just like sipping hot cocoa or apple cider or something while reading books next to each other?

✦ warnings — angst, mentions of a shootout, mentions of food and drinks, reader is a botanist, fluff.

✦ author's note — I changed a few things from the requests to make them all fit here, but nothing too drastic.

✦ author's note II — this is late, I’m sorry!! But in my defense, apart from health issues getting in the way, I only started getting a taste of autumn last week.

════════════════════════

Your shoulders itched as you followed your sister through the pumpkin patch. She was getting picky over the pumpkins she wanted to buy for her son to carve.

The pumpkins were supposed to be a surprise for the kid with it being the first time he would be allowed to carve a pumpkin and all.

Rolling your shoulders, you pointed at a medium-sized pumpkin. “What about that one?”

She tilted her head, long hair flowing backward as the air breezed it. Why were your shoulders and back feeling so hot if cold air was hitting both of you?

Could it finally be...

You had had so many false hopes that you wished your heart wouldn’t skip that way still every time your shoulders warmed up.

Every time you were sure your soul marks were telling you your soulmate was close, and every time you became disappointed.

Often, you traced the tentacles embedded on your skin, bright in color and without texture. You wondered if your soulmate would like them if you ever found them — and most of all, you wondered why you had such strange marks.

Did they work with octopi? Or perhaps you had misunderstood the shapes and they were something else? Yet the thing you wondered the most was how had you met them, who could’ve touched both of your shoulders when you were a teen?

And why didn’t you remember them?

You lost sight of your sister which you should’ve expected. She was always quicker than you, and too antsy to stay in the same place for too long.

Taking off in order to look for her, you encountered what you assumed to be a family. The seven of them were obstructing the path so you cleared your throat.

All of them turned to look at you as if on cue. You couldn’t make their faces out, six out of seven faces blurred out and you only could see warm eyes and a bright sunflower.

“Well, are you passing or what?”

“Five,” the man you had been staring at chastised. He stepped towards you, hesitantly offering his hand. “I’m Ben.”

You gave him your name, pressing your palm on his to shake his hand.

The second it happened, you knew he felt it too. Your skin tingled and goosebumps erupted all over your body — your shoulders scorched for a moment yet you didn’t find the sensation unpleasant.

And then, Ben smiled at you — the biggest and loveliest smile someone had ever thrown your way.

“Did I do that?” you wondered out loud, unable to take your eyes off the side of his neck.

He nodded. “You don’t remember? I was trying to move you out of the way in that shootout and you grabbed me.”

“Well, I remember that day,” you blurted, “but not you. You had a domino mask on and—“ you interrupted yourself with a sigh. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, it was something horrible to go through.”

Yeah, it was. You lost your little brother that day. Which you were sure Ben knew because his smile faltered. You gave him a smile of your own, small yet genuine.

He understood that it was fine, that changing the subject would be for the better. “What’s up with the flower, though?” After a pause, he assured you, “I mean, I like it; I’m just curious.”

“Oh! I’m a botanist,” you explained.

Before you could say anything else, one of Ben’s siblings approached you both, dressed in a colorful outfit and sporting sunglasses probably due to a hangover.

“We’re leaving.” He took a long look at you then dragged his eyes back to Ben. “You can stay here and flirt all you want, though.”

“They’re my soulmate,” Ben announced.

“Oh my God!”

Slender arms wrapped around your neck, startling you. The hug was enthusiastic, warm, childlike.

“Klaus,” Ben chastised yet another one of his siblings but unlike Five, Klaus only hugged you tighter instead of ignoring him.

You hugged back, timidly saying hi. Klaus shook you from side to side, elated. You wondered if your sister would be as happy for you as Klaus was for Ben.

When you were finally let go of, you smiled at both of them. Perhaps meeting your soulmate was doing things to you because while you had always been polite, you had never smiled so much in such a short amount of time.

“I’ll tell the others, Romeo.” Klaus patted Ben’s back. As he walked away from you, giving you his back, he yelled, “Be safe, children!”

“I’m so sorry,” Ben chuckled. “Klaus is... well, Klaus. I don’t know how to explain it, or him, better said.”

“I’m guessing not all of your siblings are as enthusiastic?” you half-asked, hoping he wouldn’t mind that you were looking down at your phone.

You typed in a flash, letting your sister know what was going on. She didn’t reply instantly, but that was expected of her.

“They’re all good people,” Ben sighed, “messy, but lovable each in their own way.”

Your sister’s reply came in before you could come up with anything to say to him.

Have fun. Text me if you need me to get you out of there.

Of course your older sister would say that, ever the protective one. She too was a little messy, and extremely lovable. It seemed that Ben and you surely had things in common.

The two of you continued walking through the pumpkin patch, talking about yourselves instead of looking at the pumpkins — his siblings had already picked a few, just like your sister.

��I feel bad that your family bonding time got cut short because of me,” you admitted. “Are you sure you don’t want to join them? We can meet up any other day.”

“Don’t worry, they’ll understand. They know for how long I’ve been looking for you.” He stared off behind you, biting down his bottom lip. His eyes fell on you then and he said, “I’ve never picked apples from an orchard.”

You craned your neck, observing the red apples looked perfect, as though out of a painting. “We’re gonna need a basket.”

The slight chill in the air prompted you to drape the hood of your jacket over your head, afraid it would rain. Ben huffed a laugh beside you, fixing your hood with his free hand. He carried the basket in the other, excited to pick apples from an orchard for the first time.

He climbed the ladder, inhaling the sweet earthy scent as he admired the beautifully contrasting colors. Ben tilted his head, examining the apples closest to him.

Hesitantly, he touched one. “Do you like this one?”

Nodding, you told him, “Pick whichever you like, Ben.” You smiled in assurance at him once he looked down at your figure, watching him drop the apple in the basket.

You didn’t understand how or why, but Ben seemed to stay still for a moment. You were positive he was staring at you, and the only thing you could do was smile even bigger.

He almost started babbling there, he caught himself before his tongue slipped. Ben wasn’t good at complimenting people, and the only thing he could think about was that your smile and the way it made your eyes lit up made him feel calm.

He snapped out of it and went back to the task, giddy.

You saw him grow more comfortable once he had picked a couple of apples. Ben filled the basket with sweet red apples, handing it to you as he stepped down the ladder.

════════════════════════

You carried two mugs with you as you stepped into your bedroom. Closing the door with your hip, you approached him in gentle steps.

Ben looked up, immediately placing the book he had been reading down onto his lap, keeping it open with his thigh. “Thank you, love,” he said softly, taking the warm ceramic you were offering to him.

He inhaled the sweet smell of hot chocolate, blowing onto the lip of the mug in hopes that he wouldn’t burn his tongue.

You waited for him to take a sip before sitting on the bed. As the mattress dipped while you made yourself comfortable, Ben watched you.

He had called you earlier, asking if you would be home soon. He needed to unwind after a bad day. At first, he felt silly, but you didn’t find his complaining pointless nor childish as he had.

You placed your hand on the back of his head, feeling the tense muscles. Softly, you massaged the area with your fingers, applying the lightest of pressures.

And so you found a rhythm, you would stop the movement while he sipped hot chocolate and would take the opportunity to sip your drink, and when he would put the mug down, you would continue the massage.

Once the mugs were empty, Ben slid his arm around your shoulders, bringing your head onto his shoulder.

He picked the book with his free hand and held it closer to you. “Read it to me?” he whispered, “I love the sound of your voice.”

You were halfway through the book when Ben’s arm grew heavy on you, his head falling on top of yours.

Putting the book to the side, you carefully helped Ben lay down on the bed. Throwing the duvet over both of your bodies, reaching over to turn the lights off, you made yourself comfortable too.

════════════════════════

You woke up way earlier than Ben — a force of habit. He hadn’t stayed over many times yet, but you always would let him sleep as much as he needed.

Still, a couple of hours later, he wrapped his arms around your middle from behind, kissing your cheek in greeting.

You craned your neck, smiling at him. “Good morning.”

“Morning. What’s the plan for today?”

“I wanted us to go find last-minute Halloween costumes, but I was going through my movie collection,” you motioned to the boxes in front of you, resting on the dining table, “and I found the horror classics!” You sang, “Sooooooo, we’re baking sugar cookies and having a movie marathon.”

He whined. “You know I’m bad at cooking anything that needs measurements.”

“Baby, the dough is pre-made.”

His eyes lit up. “So we’re having warm cookies without having to measure, or knead, or wait a ton?”

You giggled, nodding. “And they're really cute; they have little pumpkins in the middle. They’re in the fridge if you wanna look at them.”

“Later,” he said, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Have you already picked which movies we’re watching?”

“I was waiting for you.”

His heart skipped a beat. Ben held you flush to his chest, staring at the movie titles before him as you placed your hands on top of his.

Each of you took turns to pick a movie. Begrudgingly, he let go of you in order to walk into your kitchen. You had been right, he admitted when he opened the fridge, the cookies were really cute.

You placed a baking tray on the counter, letting Ben arrange the cookies. You only reminded him to space them up and nothing else, busy with making sure the oven was pre-heated.

“Cookies for breakfast, cuddles, and Halloween movies...” he sighed deeply. “Sounds like the perfect day.”

“Yeah? Who said you would get any cuddles?” you asked teasingly.

He playfully frowned. “No cuddles? What is this? Hell?”

You chuckled, sliding the tray into the oven. As you stood straight, you felt Ben reach for you. Allowing him to pull you closer, you turned to face him.

“I’m so happy I found you.” He kissed your forehead, hugging you by the waist.

“Me too.”

“Yeah? You’ll give me cuddles because you’re happy to have found me, then?”

“You already know I will, don’t you?”

He hummed, smiling down at you as you shifted to gaze at him. God, he really loved your eyes. “And I’ll hug you tighter if you get scared.”

You knew he would.

[haunthouse]

5 for the telephone siblings?

things you didn’t say at all / writing prompts. content warnings: strained sibling relationships, death, the identity issues that come with being an alternate. uh. this one got long and it got sad. also on ao3!

“Seb, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

It’s not a sentence that’s ever preceded anything good, in Sebastian’s experience, and there’s a small, petty part of him that wants to turn his back out of spite, say I will not look, walk out of the locker room and go home. His Steaks, the ones he was with three years ago, pointed at the decree results and said the same thing, moments before he was ripped between realities — and now, when these Steaks say Seb, he knows they aren’t talking to him but to the ghost of the Sebastian he replaced.

It gives him a headache if he thinks about it too much, makes something swirling-sick spark up in his gut. If he doesn’t think about it, it’s like he’s forgetting the world he left behind. There’s no good options, no happy medium, just static droning on and on under darkened skies.

August’s still staring at him, so he fights the urge to run away back with a stick and looks where she’s pointing. The TV mounted on the wall. It’s tuned to the splorts network, tuned to —

Canada. Moist Talkers versus Pies; their game of the day offset from the Steaks’, still going on an hour after the Steaks’ game had come to an end. He thinks August’s pulling a prank until the view switches to a shaky-cam close-up on a murder of crows so thick he can’t see past them, until they part, until out from the swarm steps his sister. She limps to the dugout, leaving the peanut shell in pieces on the field behind her — and despite the shakiness of her steps, she grins a movie-star grin directly into the nearest camera.

Sebastian feels sick.

***

It isn’t that he’s not happy for Jessica.

Sebastian imagines it isn’t fun to be trapped in a shell. Sebastian imagines it’s a little like being trapped in a shadow — not the shadows, like Townsend, but constantly ignored in favor of a sister or a god. Same thing, when it comes down to it.

Maybe that’s an unfair thing to think. Maybe comparing Jess to the god that trapped her there is cruel; maybe comparing himself to her is self-serving at best; maybe it doesn’t matter. The Steaks seemed shocked, when he appeared, that he didn’t fawn over his sister’s every move. Jess seemed shocked, too. Sebastian feels a little bad for whatever former version of himself was here — a version who didn’t seem to want anything more than being the second of two, the lesser Telephone twin.

He’s a little jealous, too. From the stories he’s heard, it seems like this version of himself and his sister were much closer; maybe he genuinely hadn’t minded being in her shadow, maybe he’d celebrated her. Maybe they hadn’t traded jabs every time they were on the field together and meant most of the awful things they said about each other. Maybe they’d actually loved each other; didn’t just say they did.

Sebastian — this Sebastian, the only one who’s here, the one who can’t stop thinking about how he’s not the right version of himself and not the right Telephone and his stats might be better than the old one but clearly that doesn’t actually matter to anyone else — hadn’t spoken to his Jessica in years, when he disappeared. When he was replaced with the other one, he can only assume.

He’d always kind of wondered what it would be like to have a sister he was friends with. They’d fought too much for that to ever be more than an idle daydream, one he would shake himself out of quickly — there was no use in it, even if it would be nice.

(Maybe he’s more than a little jealous.)

But — but — but. But here’s it’s in reach. Here Jess smiles at him when they pass each other on the field, even if it is always a little grief-tinged. He hasn’t been rude to her, but he also hasn’t been kind. He doesn’t call.

And when she’d been shelled, the Steaks had given him condolences like he was the Sebastian they used to know, even knowing he wasn’t. He’d been — not sad, not really, but something more complicated than that. The bitter joy of being the only Telephone mixed with the regret — his chance to reach out taken, too late, not enough, gone. She’d tried calling him a few times, back in season five, and he’d stopped answering the phone, let it ring once and hit end call, not even giving the illusion that he’d just missed it and would call back later — and maybe that was cruel, maybe that was just leftover animosity towards his Jessica, maybe he should have been kinder.

He’d assumed she wouldn’t be coming out of the shell, or that she would be someone else, when she did. The gods don’t do anything without consequence attached.

He hadn’t expected to feel grief at the thought.

Now that she’s back — and with a two-run homer on her first at-bat; he tries to steer his reaction more towards good job, Jess, away from showoff — all those swirled-together emotions make a model volcano somewhere in his gut, threatening to blow.

Sebastian fights back the urge to run, sits himself on one of the sofas in the stadium’s den and watches the game play out. The Steaks give him distance. He tugs at a loose thread on his jersey until there’s a hole in it; he’ll have to get Conner to help him sew it back together before the next game, but he keeps worrying at it anyways, because the harm is already done and he might as well. Jess hits a two-run homer and takes the Pies from losing to victory, and smiles even as she looks like she’s about to collapse.

Leach Herman, from the other sofa, as the TV drones on about the birds and the shell and the league’s star: “You gonna call her?”

Sebastian’s still blinking at Jess’ face on the TV. Takes a moment to process Herman’s words, and another to process that they’re said to him. “I don’t know,” he says.

The rest of the Steaks leave quickly. Game’s over; the excitement of an unshelling has calmed; the Garages’ game is over for the day, too, so no risk of beaning-related news filtering in. Home game means they can all go home. Sebastian still doesn’t know how to feel at home here, so he spends most of his time in the stadium; plays games on the den’s TVs when the rest of the team has filtered out, or reads the comics Greenlemon leaves scattered across the common areas.

Leach is an alternate twice-over, so she gets it more than most. Sometimes she sticks around. They tell each other about the places they came from.

(Her home sounds like a nightmare, and as such, she’s adjusted far better than he has to this new world. His wasn’t ideal, but he was happy there. He knew where he stood, there.)

“Far be it from me to tell you what to do,” she says, which means she’s about to tell him what to do. It’s hard to read her expression, but from the tilt of her head, she’s deep in thought for a moment before continuing. “But I saw you when she was shelled. That first moment, realizing what it meant, that she might be gone — I’ve lost a lot of people, Sebastian. You almost lost her, and didn’t realize it would hurt until it was done.”

“Wow,” Sebastian says. “Jesus, Leach. Are you a mind-reader or something?”

“Only sometimes,” she says, which, ominous. “You’re not very subtle, though. Your emotions show on your face.”

“Cool,” Sebastian says, half-sarcastic but too soft for it to come across.

“Think about it,” Leach says, standing up. “Her place on the idolboard has hardly shifted. It’s possible she’ll go back again at the end of this season.”

“I’ll think about it,” Sebastian says, and he means it.

***

The Steaks beat the Garages the next day, and the Pies win their own game in Charleston, and Sebastian hits the call button before he gives himself time to second-guess.

“Seb?”

Jess’ voice sounds the same as he remembers, from both his world and the Jess who’d called him after he’d been swapped. Jess’ voice sounds mostly the same, but it’s hoarse, like she was screaming the whole two months she was trapped. He wonders if anyone outside the shell would’ve heard, if she had been, and feels a pang of awful guilt for the thought.

“Hi, Jess,” he says, and wills his voice to stay steady, and half-succeeds. “I, uh. I saw you were back? And I wanted to say — uh, congratulations, I guess?”

“You called,” she says, slowly.

“Yeah,” he says. “I called.”

“Thank you,” she says, and it’s almost diplomatic, like she’s weighing her words before saying them, which — really, he hasn’t given her much reason not to. Another pang of guilt. “But why? It’s been — it’s been a while.”

(Echoes of that first time she’d called him after he’d been swapped, and had acted as if they talked constantly, had said she was worried when he hadn’t called to fill her in on the election results. He doesn’t remember exactly what he’d said, but it was something like Why are you calling me, Jess, you haven’t called me in five years. He’d hung up on her, then. He wonders what would have changed if he hadn’t.)

“I don’t know, I was just — I was thinking, while you were in there? I didn’t think I’d get another chance to talk to you. And I might not be the Sebastian you grew up with, but — I was never close to the Jess I grew up with, and I thought, it would’ve been nice, if I’d taken the chance to get close to you, when you offered.” He’s rambling. He’s not giving himself enough air between words; he takes a shaky breath, continues. “And now you’re out, and I just… thought I should say hi.”

There’s a moment of silence long enough that he checks to make sure she hasn’t hung up. The background-static of the call still thrums somewhere at the back of his skull, and her name is still written in bold letters on the screen of his phone.

“Sorry, it was — I was in there a while, I don’t know if I remember how to talk to people,” Jess says. “Hi. It’s good to hear your voice, Seb.”

There’s so much warmth to that single sentence that it makes him want to cry.

Instead, he takes a deep breath, sinks further into the couch he’s settled himself on. “We’re playing the Pies next week,” he says. “Can we go for lunch before a game, or something?”

“Yeah,” she says immediately. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Cool,” Seb says.

“You’re playing the Garages tomorrow,” Jess says. She says it like it means something, and he knows it does — because it’s not just the Garages, they played the Garages today and it was fine; it’s their undead pitcher, it’s the body count attached. “I caught myself up on everything that’s happened. Hotdogfingers. The debts.”

“Yeah, it’s been — it hasn’t been fun. She got Marco and Sam the second week, and — they’re alright, they survived, but a lot of people didn’t.”

“Be careful? Please. I can’t l—” and she cuts off, but he gets the gist. Can’t lose him again. Because it was a loss, for her, when he showed up and replaced the other-him. “Just be careful.”

“Always am,” he says. It’s a lie. A joke. She wonders if he knows enough about him to know that.

“I have to go practice,” she says. He can hear a smile in her voice, and he realizes very quickly that he’s never heard that tone from this Jess before. It’d been years, when he swapped, since he’d heard it from his own Jess. “But I’ll see you next week, alright? Day seventy-three. Just call me when you get to Philly.”

“Looking forward to it,” he says, and it’s the truth. “Bye, Jess.”

“Bye, Seb.”

***

The next day, Jaylen Hotdogfingers aims a fastball directly at Sebastian’s chest, knocks him flat on the ground. He has to take a long moment in the dirt to catch his breath. The umpire looks like they want to incinerate him just for taking that moment, for delaying play at all before he drags himself to the dugout, sits heavily next to Leach.

She does him the courtesy of not asking if he’s alright.

He isn’t. He saw Sam and Marco go through instability and come out unscathed and thought, foolishly, that it would be easy. They hadn’t seemed any different after being hit. They’d looked exactly the same; perhaps a little more wild-eyed, but the game does that to people.

He looks down at his hand and it has smoke coming off of it already. The smoke before the fire. Events in the wrong direction, happening the wrong way.

“Do you see that?” he whispers to Leach. Holds his hand out in front of her.

“Your hand?” She tilts her head in what might be concern. “It’s the same as it was before.”

He yanks it back into his lap as if it’s been scalded by the words. He’s nervous enough without feeling burnt, even metaphorically.

He should call Jess after the game, he thinks. If something happens to him, she deserves to know beforehand. On the other hand — the video of three Steaks being struck by pitches won’t be plastered over every blaseball news website for the next twenty-four hours, and he knows she checks those religiously, has every stat and every schedule memorized. He’s seen her mouthing her opponents’ stats to herself when the Steaks play the Pies; some of them are numbers he’s never heard of in metrics he can’t fathom, even though they must exist applied to him, somewhere. 

She’ll find out. He’d be surprised if she didn’t know already.

He thinks, in the infield, at the plate, on the bench, about the pros and cons of calling and not calling. Pros: he could talk to her again. The weather forecast is predicting another eclipse in the next few days, and he feels feverish under his skin, like the fire’s just waiting to engulf him. She cares in a way his Jess never did, has replaced all the distance that used to characterize the idea of siblings in his mind with something else, and it’s taken him this long to even start to wrap his head around that.

She doesn’t want to lose him again. She’d been best friends with the other Sebastian.

And that leads him to the cons: it seems unbearably cruel to try to be her friend if he’s only going to die. If they won’t even be able to see each other in Philly, go out for lunch like he promised — the lack of closure might kill her, too. He thinks about the swirling storm of regrets he’d had when she’d been shelled, and thinks about the hopelessness of an incineration. No chance of being pecked free by birds.

He just has to survive the next week. Then he’ll call, and they’ll go out to lunch together. He can apologize for assuming she was the same as the Jess in his world, at first; he can apologize for pushing her away; he can apologize for not calling, as long as he survives.

When Jess calls him after the game, he lets it ring and ring. He does not listen to the voicemail she leaves.

***

Two days later, Sebastian Telephone is incinerated.

[jaepies]

𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙤𝙢 - attack on titan

*contains spoilers of s4 

reader!imagine

word count : 1,456

┍━━━━━━━✿━━━━━━━┑

you descended towards the mayhem of marley. flames were roaring, having no mercy on anyone as they licked anything they were able to get their hands on. if this was something of a movie, you would have stood there astonished at the scene playing out in front of you. truly it was a place where war had rampaged. eren’s titan stood in the middle of it like he was the puppeteer and the minuscule humans below him were his pawns, only able to move at his tyrant will.

no, he wasn't a tyrant.

he was eren, right?

eren wouldn’t want to inflict such pain onto others like this. the titan who savagely had just eaten willy tybur minutes before was merely a ghost of the boy who you had grown up with. this monster lacked the passion and empathy that used to reside inside humanity’s hope.

buildings were crashing down as you desperately manoeuvred yourself around the unfamiliar surroundings. even the air which you breathed in felt so different from across the ocean. it had been 4 years since the discovery of a world outside the island yet just being in marley gave you the same feeling of disbelief that you had experienced all those years ago.

except you couldn’t help but be entangled by the ropes of guilt.

all this destruction, all this anguish

each scream which rang out in the night sky,

was all caused by you and your comrades. with each thunder spear that you unleashed came with a haunting flashback to when bertholdt the colossal titan and the armoured titan reminded your people of the fear and destruction that laid beyond the walls.

chills crawled up your spine just thinking about it. the havoc that ensued that day was the exact same as the disarray underneath your feet. dead bodies crushed by the weight of fallen debris, you shut your eyes visualising the despair that will befall the corpses’ families. never able to get closure nor will they ever get the chance to say goodbye.

children were under those collapsed walls. their lives cinched from them before they could really begin. you felt as though you were an outsider looking into something you were not a part of. there was a sensation of detachment from reality as the ongoing battle scene became blurry around you. the realisation that you were the trigger for all of this was an agonizing punch to the stomach.

a sudden hand on your back forced you back into consciousness. it was connie - his face wearing a pronounced look of worry however the steel touch of his fingers held a separate message of its own.

‘follow the plan and make it out alive,’

solemnly, you trailed after the bald man onto one of the last standing roofs in the district, leaving all sins committed behind. still, there was a bitterness that laced the atmosphere; stifling your comrades' ability to talk

or maybe no one had the correct words to say.

there was so much that could be done, you had the advantage of power here. you were superior ones for once. these people ‘started it’ first as childish as that sounds. so why did you all feel so awful? standing on the rooftop gave you such height yet it felt as though you were falling into a pit of disgust and shame.

somehow, it was better when humanity’s only enemy at the time was the titans. there was an element of simplicity in knowing who the ‘bad guys and good guys’ were. the saying of ‘curiosity killed the cat’ seemed fitting and whilst you all were not dead yet, you couldn’t help but think everyone had gone too far. the greed of information led to the erasure of the line of distinction.

out of nowhere, more characters joined the narrative, more lives were put on the line which meant there was more to lose. the fiery passion which once encapsulated the faces of your friends was blown out by the coldness of knowledge. historia became another cog in this greater machine with no regards to her wishes, no one even stopped to entertain armin’s idea of communication.

this wasn’t the scout’s plan in the first place. if only time ran more slowly rather than propelling forward, lurching at the next tragedy about to occur. it was frustrating how no one could formulate an alternative to whatever you were doing, there had to be another, more constructive way to solve this issue. you were taught growing up that violence was and will never be the issue.

only a fool would draw a sword in the face of danger and a person with at least a morsel of integrity will bare all their vulnerability and use that as their weapon of choice.

the discomfort of the blades caught up to you. your hands drenched in a clammy sensation as weariness crept its way into your head. these weapons were your lifeline - a medium to plough your way through to the temporary camp of safety. each arduous day in the training corps was spent soaring through forests with the odm gear - you should be used to the feeling by now.

another building came crumbling down as eren boundlessly shattered the body of the town. confined by nothing and no one. was this was the freedom that he was always seeking? or was he just a lost boy hopelessly grasping at a mirage?

you couldn’t help but convince yourself that there had to be a conclusion for all this. every story has an ending whether it be a dismal one where the main character dies or a path where the protagonist encounters a happier alternative. a finale is a finale all the same. the flow of pages eventually come to an end as you move onto the next enticing book.

the ever-evolving idea of freedom made it ever so difficult to anticipate the finish line. just when everyone thinks they can see it on the horizon, more hurdles are placed in front of them, forcing all the runners to continue despite having been pushed past exhaustion a few laps ago.

you and your friends share the same desire of wanting to see how this all ends. the wish for all of this to be over someday is what keep you all going. constantly being fed that if you do your part in the narrative then all the pieces will fall into place. this is what drives you to seize the nearest machine of war and put two men into a long-lasting sleep.

guilt came trickling back - both of its arms threatening to envelope itself around your delicate neck, poised and ready to pull you down a pit that kept spiralling. but you kept meticulously moving forward.

all the clocks had been destroyed in the chaos nonetheless the incessant ticking taxed away in your mind. each tick hurried you further away from your morals. each tick painted your hands a deeper shade of crimson. each tick made more fall victim to the squabbles of humanity.

an explosion was released in the distance and the disruption of the ocean could be felt under your numb feet. the ships upturned against their will before even being given a chance to breathe. the sheer force of armin overwhelming liberio more than it already had been.

he strolled through the port so carelessly as if he was walking through the meadow during the springtime. sardonically, his steps drowned out the yelps of agony coming from the sailors swimming for the last time. you were grateful. your mind had reached the limits of its allotted space that held screams which would keep you tossing and turning at night.

the bristly feeling of a ladder came tumbling down onto you. peering into the ink of the sky, the recent discovery of the aeroplane came gliding in. the bite of its draft nipped at your skin as you began to ascend. the material of the rope rubbed your hands raw from gripping tightly.

fighting against the unwavering twisting and turning, the sight of the entrance gifts your body with a slight feeling of relief. you had survived another round of trying to live.

the embers of fire continued to rage on, proceeding to devour the remains of what you had left. you mused at how picturesque the landscape looked. it had to be a crime that such an abomination could be so alluring. the distance concealed any evidence of the bodies so all that could be seen was the fallen architecture. it reminded everyone of what they had accomplished as you flew away from marley and one step closer to freedom.

there had to be another way.

┕━━━━━━━✿━━━━━━━┙

[limjaeseven]

Don’t Wanna Know (5/8)

VERSE 2: PART 5 OF 8

Pairing: Jinyoung X Jaebeom ft Seulgi of Red Velvet

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 2,064

Summary: Jinyoung gets casted in his first mainstream movie and he wants to tell Jaebeom about it. The elder never picks up his phone.

Warning(s): Mentioned cancer, sad JJP

Jinyoung had hoped that they would stop ghosting each other after their fight in high school but that didn’t really happen. They had always bickered and argued, being complete opposites but after that first fight, Jinyoung didn’t think he could take anything like that ever again. He remembered those four months of ignoring Jaebeom because looking at his face hurt.

The words tore him apart, but what was worse was the way Jinyoung could see Jaebeom beating himself up. From the dark circles to the short tempered attitude, he knew that Jaebeom was hurting just as much as he was but the things that he said held Jinyoung back from comforting him. He wondered when things would get better and though they eventually did, it was a painful journey.

Their next time they didn’t talk to each other for a while happened after they graduated from college. They had been living in the same apartment for almost four years and had gotten good jobs at respectable firms, Jinyoung having signed with a small acting company and Jaebeom with a production house. Things were going well till Jaebeom told him he was in love.

Seulgi was her name, she was an intern at the production house and the most beautiful woman Jaebeom had seen. He spoke of her endlessly to Jinyoung, who just felt the strong urge to bury himself alive. Jinyoung had known he was in love with Jaebeom for years. It wasn’t even that he liked men, he just knew that he wanted no one but Jaebeom.

He remembers the first time he got her home, she was one of the nicest people Jinyoung had ever met, making it impossible for Jinyoung to hate her, and most importantly, she made Jinyoung happy. Jinyoung had never seen Jaebeom smile like that, like the weight that he forever carried on his shoulders had vanished and been replaced with a cloud.

They went out a lot, Seulgi never staying over mostly for Jinyoung’s benefit. She lived alone so Jaebeom spent most of his time at her apartment. Shared breakfasts with Jinyoung became texts letting him know that he’d spent the night at her house and driving together to work became apologies about needing to drop her somewhere.

Jinyoung hoped that it would fade, despite the fact that Jaebeom was happy, a selfish part of him wanted them to breakup, sending Jaebeom rushing back to him. The other part of him weighed down with guilt over those thoughts. It was a vicious cycle of jealousy and self-hatred that made Jinyoung feel like he was drowning.

The world came crashing down on Jinyoung when Jaebeom announced that they were moving in together. Jaebeom was leaving him for good, Jinyoung thought. He knew that he wasn’t actually going anywhere, they were still best friends and nothing would ever come between them but for Jinyoung’s brain it was a big red signal telling him that he wasn’t needed anymore.

“Isn’t it too fast, hyung? You’ve only been dating for six months” Jinyoung didn’t know if he was trying to reason with Jaebeom or himself.

“I barely come here anymore, half my clothes are in her wardrobe. I know it’s faster than usual but I think she’s the one, Jinyoungie” And Jinyoung believed his words. The look in his eyes told him that this was it, the woman he was going to marry, he could already picture them with two little kids in his head. It took everything for him to not fall to the floor from the sheer emotional exhaustion.

Packing was much easier than Jinyoung thought it would be, he hadn’t noticed the way that most of Jaebeom’s possessions were already gone. He didn’t know if it was ignorance or denial on Jinyoung’s part but Jaebeom had found someone he wanted forever. He had known that it wouldn’t be just the two of them forever, he knew that eventually they’d have to find their own paths in life but this was all too soon.

Jinyoung cried that night, as he sat on the floor of Jaebeom’s empty room. He couldn’t imagine living alone, even when Jaebeom wasn’t at home, Jinyoung could at least walk in there, smell his perfume on the clothes, fell his presence in the space but now it just felt sad.

They met less and less as time passed by, their lives packed with work and love for Jaebeom. Jinyoung moved into a smaller apartment closer to his workplace, unable to sleep without Jaebeom across the hall from him in their old home. The housewarming party was just Jaebeom, Jinyoung and a bottle of wine, which was only for the younger since Jaebeom had sworn off alcohol.

Then came the day that Jinyoung got casted in his first movie, it was a medium budget rom-com and Jinyoung was only a supporting character but it was still a big deal to him. He had tried to call Jaebeom to tell him about it but the elder never picked up his call. Desperately wanting Jaebeom to come meet him on set once he called and called but it was never answered.

Months passed by and the shooting wrapped up, but there was still no contact from Jaebeom. He tried going to his apartment only to be told he had moved out months prior. That’s when the despair really kicked in, Jaebeom didn’t want him anymore, he didn’t even bother telling him he was moving out. As a last resort, Jinyoung went to Jaebeom’s workplace, just to talk to him once and he wasn’t there. He saw Seulgi but she looked uncomfortable as she spoke to him.

“Where is hyung?” He asked, desperate for answers.

“I’m sorry Jinyoung but Jaebeom can’t meet you right now, he’s been quite busy and wants no distractions” He could tell she was lying, Seulgi wasn’t a good liar.

“Can you just give these to him?” Jinyoung handed over two tickets for the premiere of his film to her before leaving. He still didn’t receive any calls from Jaebeom, things were over between them forever, he thought.

Jinyoung didn’t realise how quickly the day of the premiere came. He felt like he was dying as he donned on his brand new suit and walked down the red carpet with his co-stars. His smile didn’t reach his eyes as he looked into the cameras, his jokes not carrying any of the energy. The seat he had reserved for Jaebeom and Seulgi was just down the row and no matter how many times he checked, there was no one there. Even after the movie started, Jinyoung hoped that they would come in, apologising for being late and congratulate him afterward for his achievement.

He received compliments from his colleagues and critics alike who attended the screening but he didn’t hear any of them. He put up his act long enough for him to exit the building from a side exit, away from the public eye.

The tears welled up the moment he was alone, Jinyoung’s body growing weak as he let the events of the previous hours sink in. It had probably been the most important moment in Jinyoung’s life, and Jaebeom didn’t come. He tried to walk around outside the theatre a bit to get some air but his lungs felt like they were full of water. He struggled to breathe, his legs moments from giving away.

Every attempt at rationalising Jaebeom’s actions failed and Jinyoung realised that he was fighting a lost cause. Breathing deeply, he reached his hand out to hail a taxi. Just as he was stepping into the vehicle, he thought he heard his name being called out, it sounded like Jaebeom’s voice. He didn’t turn back though, he just scolded himself for fabricating his presence because there was no way Jaebeom was there.

It had been two days after Jinyoung’s housewarming party that Jaebeom collapsed at work. He was in the middle of directing a scene for a music video when he just crumbled and fell, fortunately one of his co-workers caught him before he could hit his head on the ground.

Seulgi had been nearby at the time and accompanied him as he was rushed into the hospital. Jaebeom had changed his emergency contact from his parents to her just to make sure Jinyoung wouldn’t find out about his condition. Seulgi knew, he had told her that early into them dating, letting her know that he wouldn’t be around for too long. He had also made her promise to never tell Jinyoung.

She had waited outside the ICU for nearly four hours before the doctor came out to tell her what was wrong but all she could hear was ‘worse’ and ‘not much time’ through the cloud of fear surrounding her. He had let her know that he was unconscious but she could meet him when she heard Jaebeom’s phone buzz next to her. She had received it from one of the nurses who had seen it fall out of his jacket pocket as he was wheeled in.

Seeing Jinyoung’s caller ID terrified her, what was she supposed to tell him? She hoped that if she didn’t answer he would not call again but the calls kept coming. Scared, she blocked his number, making a mental note to tell Jaebeom when he woke up.

But he didn’t wake up, not for a while. His body grew weaker in the days he was at the hospital, his body waiting to succumb to his condition. Their apartment was too far away from the hospital for Seulgi to travel back and forth everyday so with the help of her parents she moved into a place nearby after being informed that Jaebeom could easily be admitted for months.

And that he was, it was three months till he was discharged. It took another few weeks for him to finally come back to normal. He finally got a hold of his phone the day of the premiere but was surprised to see no calls from Jinyoung.

“Did Jinyoung not even call me once?” He mused. He asked Seulgi about it who had completely forgotten about blocking Jinyoung and she apologised profusely as he told her about what she had done. Though he tried to empathise with her actions he was mad beyond belief. He knew he would have hurt Jinyoung immensely by just disappearing off the face off the earth for months.

He tried to call Jinyoung but his phone was switched off. Dejected, he headed to bed to get some rest but just as he was about to turn the lights off he noticed two tickets on the bedside table. He had never heard of the movie mentioned on the tickets and was confused as to why they had premiere tickets to the show.

Looking up the name of the film on his phone, Jaebeom felt his entire world come crashing around himself. Park Jinyoung, his Jinyoungie was listed as one of the cast members. Jinyoung had finally been casted in a movie and Jaebeom had missed its premiere.

The screening started at 7 pm and it was nearly ten, Jaebeom cursed out loud as he rushed to throw on some clothes, he hoped Jinyoung was still caught up in the interviews so that he could at least show his face at the event. He ignored Seulgi as she asked him where he was going and hopped into his car, driving as fast as he could.

Parking his car outside the theatre, he noticed the press interviewing the main cast in the lobby of the theatre but Jinyoung was nowhere to be seen.

“Lim Jaebeom?” One of the staff members called out as they noticed his presence.

“Have you seen Park Jinyoung anywhere?” He asked them, panic rising in his body.

“He didn’t look very well, told me he was going home early. He just left so you might still be able to catch him” They pointed in the direction where Jinyoung had gone and Jaebeom thanked them before running full speed to catch up with Jinyoung.

“Jinyoung!” He shouted out as he saw Jinyoung step into a taxi. The younger hesitated for a moment and Jaebeom waited for him to turn around, but he never did. Jinyoung quietly climbed into the car and drove off, leaving Jaebeom panting on the sidewalk.

[mccnyoongi]

buttercup ⇢ pt one

⇢ pairing: yoongi x fem!reader

⇢ genre: smut + slight angst

⇢ au: college!au, fwb!au, stoner!yoongi, assholeish!yoongi, fuckboyish!yoongi fwb to lovers trope

⇢ word count: 6k+

⇢ warnings: smut, honestly mostly porn, unprotected sex, recreational use of drugs & alcohol, dirty talk, praise, degradation, ridiculously excessive use of pet names, fingering, dom!Yoongi, unprotected sex, slight dumbification (whoops), hair pulling, creampie??, oral (f receiving), pussy slaping, reader has a thing for Yoongi’s hands because who doesn’t, reader and yoongi are both sarcastic and oblivious, this part is basically pwp.

⇢ synopsis: Min Yoongi wears leather jackets, fucks you like he hates you, spends most of his days on the wrong side of a blunt, and calls you the sweetest names when no one else is around. And you definitely aren’t falling in love with him.

⇢ author’s note: so yes, buttercup is being cut up into two parts thanks to a lot of my life getting uprooted this week!!! ill spare you the details but everything is really chaotic rn so im sorry this isnt exactly what i promised :( thank u for all the insane amont of love ive gotten so far. this is a pretty um... filthy piece of writing skfjsd and it’s definitely not perfect and id love to get better with everything i put out on here but i hope u guys enoy ily xx

If there was a magic lantern hidden somewhere on the campus of this university, you’d find it and your first wish would be to make it so that no one found out about this whole illicit affair you’ve been having with Min Yoongi. The secrecy was fun, sexy like you guys had a whole Mr. and Mrs. Smith thing going on. Or something. Your second wish would be to make his dick vibrate. 

But then he just had to go and go down on you in a bathroom during a party at the Beta Tau Rho house, not even a month into the fall semester, knowing you wouldn’t be able to be quiet or subtle at all. And he was so smug about it too, the fucker.

You can still feel the embarrassment buzzing under the surface of your cheeks from when you walked out that bathroom door and a dozen frat boys and mutual friends of yours and Yoongi’s were out there, waiting for the two of you to emerge and giving you a round of applause when you did. Yoongi had just laughed and rolled his eyes before leading you to the kitchen to get the pair of you some drinks. He’s always been particularly good at brushing that shit off of his shoulder. You aren’t, but you’re pretty good at pretending.

Maybe you should have ended it all that night. Of course, you didn’t. You figured, hey,  you’re young and in school so fuck making good decisions. Of course, the fact that no other guy has ever been able to dick you down nearly as well as Min Yoongi can is probably a huge contributing factor. 

Sure he might be grumpy, and sarcastic, and he tries way too hard to look cool and nonchalant, but he’s also the first guy to ever make you squirt. And you’re pretty sure that the way he waxes poetic about your pussy would make even Shakespeare swoon. So maybe the pros outweigh the cons, but only just.

“I can’t believe you’ve been getting Yoongi dick for almost three full months and haven’t divulged every single detail and vein to me, you cold, uncaring bitch-” Jimin’s voice is far too loud for the student-run coffee shop the two of you regulared every Sunday; a tradition that Jimin always insisted upon. He loves his traditions almost as much as he loves destroying any personal boundaries between the two of you.

“Keep going Park, see if I ever buy your coffee again.”

“Don’t change the subject,” You can’t say you’re surprised that Jimin is reacting like this. Self-proclaimed ‘disaster bisexual,’ Jimin was one of the very first friends you made back when you were a shy, barely functioning freshman. 

He actually introduced you to all his frat brothers, and a large number of the people you now call your friends. Including Yoongi, whose dick seems to be a reoccurring topic between you and… most people you know. Even if they weren’t at that dumb party, Jungkook made sure that every living being that stepped onto campus was aware of the newly found out fuckbuddies.

“We don’t keep anything from each other, Y/N,” He’s whining over his coffee now, full lips perched in that pretty pout that he regularly uses to his advantage. “I even told you about that time I puked on Namjoon’s dick in our second year!”

“Mmm, and I wish you hadn’t told me, Minnie-” The visual still haunts you, but Jimin has never had any predilections when it came to oversharing, especially not with people who have the misfortune of being his best friends. “‘Sides, I didn’t figure it was important, the whole Yoongi thing-”

“His dick, you mean.”

“Because it’s not like we’re getting married,” You carefully ignore him, a useful habit you’ve picked up three years into being his friend. “Just sex, remember?”

“So fucking what? You told me how you sucked Jeon’s cock in a movie theatre less than twelve hours after it happened-” You take a large gulp of your own iced coffee to busy yourself when the shameful memory is brought up. Not shameful because of the promiscuity of the act, no you’re an adult, thank you very much, but rather because of the boy you performed them on. Jeon Jungkook is now more of an annoying younger brother to you than anything. Not to mention he’s got a giant mouth that couldn’t keep a secret even if it killed him.

“Jesus you could’ve picked any other example-” You groan out as Jimin smirked, receiving the exact reaction from you he wanted. You think you’d have learned by now. “I’m sorry, okay? You big baby.”

“Hey, you’re on thin ice,” He points an accusatory finger at you and you have to fight the urge to smack it out of your face. “Now you have to make it up to me.”

You sigh- Jimin can really be exhausting when you’re only half a medium coffee in. “And how do you expect me to do that, Park.”

“Dick details, fucking obviously,” He says it like you’re a moron for even asking. And maybe you are. “Well details in general, I guess. You know, the basics; length, girth, does he make you call him daddy, is he good- I mean he must be un-fucking-real if you’ve been bouncing on it for three goddamn months, you whore.”

“I’m not giving you measurements, Jimin, I’ve yet to take a tape measure to it- and stop assuming everyone has a daddy kink just ‘cause you do.”

“Okay, vanilla bitch. You’re lucky I already know he’s got a monster cock from that time he streaked at that post-mid-term party next year.”

“Then why’d you even ask?”

“To see if you’d tell me the truth. It was a test and you failed.”

“I may be a college student but you’re gonna have to threaten me with a little more than a failing grade to spook me,” You roll your eyes playfully- there’s no real threat in his words, there never is.

“You’re right, I’m sure you’d much rather be punished by Yoongi, huh?”

                    ..............................................................................

Watching Yoongi roll a joint, his long, slender and experienced fingers moving quickly and deftly, has always had this near hypnotizing-like effect on you. His apartment smells like weed, the scent never surprising and would almost be overwhelming if you weren’t so used to it by now. The sight alone is almost enough to make you wet. But you’re stronger than that- except for when you’re not. 

Sexy hands aside, but unfortunately not on you, you’re thankful for his cannabis-related expertise because a) you can’t roll one yourself to save your life and b) despite normally reserving your consumption habits for parties, you feel like you deserve a fat one after the week you’ve had. What with, you know, the stress of having every student on campus knowing about yours and Yoongi’s torrid affair, thanks to fucking Jeon Jungkook. Brat. Plus incessant goading from both Jimin and your roommate, Irene- equally angry as Jimin about your worst kept secret- has only made you sink further into your insecure and paranoid thoughts.

The weed would help, you’d told yourself when your phone pinged with that much anticipated what’re u up 2? late night text from the raven-haired devil himself. Yep, it was the weed, the comforting blanket of getting high. And had nothing to do with the boy that was offering them. Not even his fat cock or magnetic pull he seemed to have on you. 

“Alright, dove,” He says from his spot on his worn-out single-dorm couch- the names don’t tend to surprise you the way they used to. You kinda figured that the affection-starved Yoongi had just you know… gotten comfortable with the girl he had been fucking for the last couple of months. No big deal. Sure they made your heart swell and your panties dampen, but then it could be looked at as a positive. 

He looks up at you from his spot on the couch, where he’s uncomfortably hunched over the table as he works and notices how you’re looking rather spaced out- not entirely rare for you. He’s used to the hundred-mile stare you tend to adopt when deep in thought, though it’s considerably less common for a sober you.

“Dove?” Nothing. “Y/N?” It’s the use of your actual name from his lips that finally grabs your attention.  You finally turn your head to look at him, the glaze of deep thought finally leaving your eyes. An eyebrow quirks to let him know you’ve heard him, but his gaze remains piercing and unwavering on yours. “You need to stop worrying so much, dove.”

“That’s what the weed is for, Yoongs.”

“The weed? You’re just here so I can smoke you out then, huh? No ulterior motives, hm?” His tone is as dry and sarcastic as ever, qualities he had quickly become known for around campus. He shurgs “Fine. Just here to sesh. C’mere then.”

You scoot closer to his side of the couch, not even thinking twice before listening to him. His tongue is tantalizing as he licks the rolling paper, even if he doesn’t mean it to be. He’s almost always tantalizing to you.

“Don’t be grumpy. You invited me over,” Your words are softer than you meant, but your proximity to him makes you feel stilted. He was right, you really needed a smoke, more on edge than ever.

“Well, technically,” He starts, unlit, perfectly rolled joint now perched between his lips. He grabs at your legs before continued so that you were resting sideways on the black couch, legs strewn over legs, thighs touching thighs. “I invited the best pussy on campus over.” You crinkle your nose at his bluntness.

“Yoongi-” You scold indignantly and pinch at a well-toned bicep. “Don’t be an asshole, you asshole.” He grins despite the insult like he’d expected it. Or he’s revelling in it.

“You know I’m just fucking around, angel,” His arm tucks around your waist comfortably, pulling you even closer. “Tryna chill you out. I can tell when you’re all strung out. I know how you,” He pokes you in the middle of the forehead, still grinning, as you pout from being called strung out. “Tick.” 

He really does, doesn't he? The thought is mildly terrifying, and you think that Yoongi might be too smart or his own good sometimes. When he’s not smoking himself into another dimension, that is.

He leans back into his seat, uncurling from around you to finally light up. A few sparks later and the room is fogging up with overly pungent smoke- the cheap smell makes you think that he probably bought it off of Hobi, too lazy to go any further off-campus than his own block of apartments to one of the nice but relatively affordable dispensaries. You crinkle your nose at the scent, grateful he’s too distracted to notice since he’d probably just tease you for liking the fancy shit more. At least you trust Hobi, and he lives only two buildings down from Yoongi. Truly an age of convenience.

A few passes, tokes, whatevers later, and you’re feeling substantially... floaty. You’ve completely relaxed, choosing to lie down rather than put the effort into sitting up, though your legs are still thrown across your equally high counterpart’s. What’s left of the roach is left to burn in one of many strategically placed ashtrays around the apartment, this one being on the living room table.

Yoongi has barely moved in the past while, head resting lazily on the back of the couch, black hair messy and his neck- which is somehow handsome to you- stretched out, and hands resting against your bare knees. You’ve barely paid him any mind, the silence nothing but comforting and easy. 

Which is why you can’t help but jolt just a little in surprise when those hands, the hypnotizing ones you’re so obsessed with suddenly start creeping up your legs, halfway up your thighs, carefully kneading the supple flesh he finds there. He chuckles at your reaction, finally picking his up his head to watch you through heavy-lidded eyes. “Bet you’re extra sensitive right now, huh petal?” He doesn’t have to bet because he knows it’s true, knows how needy you get when you’ve smoked. And he loves it- it’s why he never makes you pay for any of the times he smokes you out.

“Fuck off,” You whine at his light-hearted teasing, but Yoongi just giggles- he fucking giggles- in response, hands still travelling the expanse of your thighs. 

“Be nice,” His words are still jovial, but there’s a gruffness behind them that sends a shiver down your spine, despite the relative stuffiness of his living room.

“I am nice, you’re just a dick,” You pout- childish, but you can’t quite come up with anything more clever at the moment. The jab may be weaker than your usual quips, but Yoongi seems to have decided it’s enough to warrant a punishment of sorts, as he sends a quick slap onto your thigh. It’s certainly not the harshest hit you’ve received from him, it’s more playful than anything, but it’s enough to make you whine, not even noticing when your own hands jump down to grab at him and your now sore flesh.

His eyes take on a new sort of darkness, beyond the dilated pupils from the high he’s in the middle of as he grabs at your wrists, any assault you had planned halting in its tracks. His large hands that you’ve drooled over- figuratively and literally- many a time are big enough that he only needs one of them to hold both of yours steady. He uses his grip on you to yank you back up to a sitting position, where your noses almost touch and you can feel his breath fan across your lips.

“I told you, I know how you tick,” He lets his tongue swipe out to wet his lips, the act distracts you and makes you mimic it with your own tongue and lips. The smirk he gives you is all at once wicked and panty dampening. “Which means I know you like it when I’m mean. I know you like when I treat you like this, like my little slut,” The word makes you draw in a breath as your face reddens in humiliation and tension. “And- and I know you’re probably soaking through your panties right now, all over my couch. Making a fucking mess.”

It infuriates you to no end how right he is as your breaths come out shaky and uneven as you feel your pussy flutter around nothing beneath your shorts and panties. 

“Aren’t you?” His tone doesn’t leave room for playfulness anymore, and you’re nodding dumbly before you can give it a second thought. “Good girl.”

He doesn’t give you any time to bask in the praise before he’s leaning in to capture your lips in a searing and sloppy kiss. He’s domineering even in the way he kisses you, teeth biting and tongue sweeping into your own mouth as he revels in the small sounds that escape you. His hands leave your wrists, freeing them so you can grip onto raven locks with a newly freed hand as his own wrap around your waist. 

Every sense is filled with him, and it is all at once comforting and exhilarating.

He tugs and roughly manhandles you so that you’re properly astride his denim-covered thighs, your lips never untangling in the process. When your lips finally do come apart, it’s with a lewd sound and a gasp from your mouth. He’s still smirking.

“Gonna fuck you so good petal,” Yoongi has always been so blunt and unforgiving, whether in bed or out and it had been one of the things that first attracted you to him, besides his obvious good looks. 

Before the two of you had even gotten together, when you were friends who didn’t fuck on the regular, you had even mustered up the courage to touch yourself to the thought of him speaking to you like this- your own fingers circling your clit and delving into yourself without abandon. You had only been able to imagine up a fraction of his sexual prowess. 

Like the time only a few weeks ago you admitted to him in a foggy haze, high than you think you’d ever been. how you’d brought yourself to climax with images and soundbites of him flitting through your head. He’d immediately made you put on a show for him- recreating those nights, but this time with him sitting feet away from you and ignoring your pleas for him to touch you.

Right now, however, the only things keeping you grounded in reality is the feeling of the muscles in his thighs flexing beneath you, though nowhere near where you truly ache to be touched, and one of his hands brutishly tangled in your hair, pulling harshly so he can have easy access to your neck. Plush lips start soft, kissing and licking at the skin there, before his teeth join in, biting and sucking like he loves the taste of you (because he does).

“Y-yoongi-” You’re trying to keep the whimpers at bay, like maybe if you stop yourself from seeming so turned on so fast it’ll get him to fuck you faster. “C’mon, just fuck me already.”

“So demanding for such a needy bitch,” He has you squirming on his lap and you don’t know why you thought you had any power over him left. “Have you forgotten your place? Can’t think of anything else but getting fucked, huh?”

You nod in agreement, but find out he must want a verbal response when you’re met with a sharp spank to your ass that has you squealing and bucking into his lap. “Yeah, yeah Yoongi ‘m sorry, just need it.”

“I know, baby, I know, you can’t even help it when you get all messy like this, I know,” You can’t decide whether his words are sweet or patronizing when he coos at you like that, but either way he’s got you another pair of panties.

“Need you to fix it, Yoongs,” All pride is out the window when he’s got you like this, and you love pleading with him to give you what you want almost as much as likes making you beg.

“I will,” He gives you one more harsh bite to the junction of your neck and your shoulder that you know will blossom into a bruise just in time for your 10 AM class tomorrow and you hiss at the mingling of pain and pleasure. “Now fucking get up,” He pats lightly at your thigh twice at the order.

You’re in no position to disobey, and you know from experience that not listening to him will end up with a sore ass and no release in sight. You stand up on shaky, doe-like legs and he grins at the sight of you. He stands up with you, his lean form and strong stance making him look taller than he really is. Then his long fingers are pulling at what little clothing you have, stripping you of both your tank top and your shorts and your bra isn’t far behind. Soon you’re clad only in your panties while he’s still fully clothed in black form-fitting jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Thankfully he leaves his cliche, but devastatingly sexy leather jacket at the door.

He doesn’t make any move to undress at all and you hope to god he will eventually- you love seeing his honey-coloured skin covered in a thin layer of sweat as he fucks you into oblivion. But for now, he stays fully clothed and he roughly pulls you by your upper arm until he can bend you over the arm of the couch, panty-covered ass high and perfectly on display for him.

“God, you’re fucking dripping,” He taunts, fingers running over your pussy through the thin cotton, making you whine into the rough cushion your face is resting on. “All this from almost nothing, huh? You’re such a fucking slut for me, shit.” He sounds genuinely amazed by you and when you uncomfortably crane your neck back to get a good look at him you let out a proper moan. He must have stripped his shirt off when you weren’t facing him, because his chest is bare for you to gaze at, or you would gaze at it if you weren’t distracted by the hand that isn’t on you, which is lazily working over his cock, rock hard and aching through his jeans.

He smirks when he notices what’s grabbed your attention, knowing you’re only moments away from quite literally drooling on his pillows. “Is this what you want? Hm?”

“Ye-yeah your cock, Yoongi, need your cock,” Your face burns red and blood burns hot as the crude words leave your mouth.

“And you’ll fucking get it, dove,” The cute name contrasts the second harsh spank he lands on your ass and you moan at the delicious sting. 

You think that he must be about to tear your panties off and sink into you, but that would be too predictable and Yoongi loves to keep you on your toes. Instead, he disappears from your line of sight, a dull thump coming from the hardwood as he drops to his knees, feline gaze now level with your cunt. 

“Yoongi-” You’re whining again, and you even have to hold yourself back from stomping your foot childishly because, god, you just need him to do something.

And then he finally does- he licks a thick stripe, right from your clit to your entrance, still over your panties, and you gasp in surprise. He does it again, twice, three, four times until your hips are bucking and you’re whining because you need more, you need him to actually touch you and not be a giant fucking tease for once in his life.

“Be fucking patient,” He hisses out, but at least he’s finally rolling your underwear down your legs to toss them somewhere across the room. “Or I swear to god, I’ll hold you down just like this so you can’t even squirm while I get myself off all over your messy cunt,” His hand is running up and down your bare pussy as he speaks, spreading the wetness around, to your clit and your thighs and your ass and then back again. “And then I’ll send you home without touching you or cleaning you up, so you’ll have to take the subway home covered in my come and fucking trembling. So be fucking good.” At the last word, he lands a mean slap against your gushing cunt and you let out an embarrassing squeak.

“Shit-fuck- Yoongi, please, just-” You stutter through your words, needing to get them out, though you don’t know why. “I’ll be good, okay? ‘M your good girl, I am, promise, I’ll be good.”

He doesn’t respond, at least not verbally. But you have to assume he’s happy with your desperate response when he finally delves into your pussy like a man starved, tongue licking into you, the muscle sending spasms up and down your legs. You have to muffle your moans by biting into a pillow, not needing another altercation with his neighbours, but you want nothing more than to yell his name as loud as you can until your voice goes hoarse when he shakes his head from side to side, tongue still buried inside of you and one of his hands now roughly circling your clit. 

It’s too much, but it’s not nearly enough. It’s when he switches positions between his hand and mouth that you think you might explode; his mouth latches onto your clit, tongue circling and playing with it and two fingers fucking into you, preparing you for the impressive girth of his own cock.

Your teeth let go of the strong grip it has so you can warn him of your impending orgasm. “Yoongi- gonna come-” You manage to choke out between barely quieted moans.

You know that he wouldn’t be able to respond if he was still suckling on your clit, but you still whine and wiggle your hips as he pulls away, earning you yet another spank to your rear, where you can only assume a nice handprint is forming. “Yeah? Want you to come all over my face, like a good messy whore- gotta come for me before I can fuck you like you need.” 

When his mouth finds your swollen clit again, you can’t help it as your orgasm barrels through you almost violently, every muscle tensing and fingers grasping at whatever they can find, neighbour’s delicate sensibilities forgotten as you moan out Yoongi’s name. He licks you through it, fingers no longer pistoning into you. When the last of the tremors have faded he finally pulls away, using his clean hand to wipe your mess off of his chin, though it hardly cleans him. 

“Good fucking girl,” The roughness with which he was grinding his still covered bulge into your now sopping wet center would be impossible to ignore even if your head weren’t a million miles away. But for now, everything is Yoongi, every single scent is filled with him and you think that that might be making your head even fuzzier than the drugs coursing through your system, but you’re too far gone to be sure. Or to even care.

Because all you can think about is his mouth-watering hands kneading at the slightly pinkened skin of your ass, his mouth-watering cock rutting against you and his mouth-watering, well, mouth pressing wet kisses and occasional bites up and down your spine. “Yoongi,” You meant to speak with at least a little more conviction, but his name comes out as little more than a mumble.

“Hm,” He hums against your skin and even those slight vibrations reverberate straight to your heart, which starts beating faster at the thought of what’s to come. “What, is my babygirl still needy?” 

The use of the word my in front of the affectionate name makes your heart jump, but you don’t even have time to scold yourself for thinking with your post-orgasmic pussy before he continues talking with that sinful mouth of him. “Such a greedy, desperate girl, won’t be happy ‘til you’re stuffed full of my fat cock,” His words have you whining and grinding back against him, where you don’t have to look to know you’re leaving a stain on his favourite jeans.  If you’re unlucky- or lucky depending on your mood- he’ll make you clean it up with your tongue as further delicious torture. 

But smoking makes Yoongi needy too, no matter how much he teases you for the effect it has on you, and he can’t wait much longer, not with his cock so hard he was a razor blades’ edge from losing his mind. He needs to be inside you as much as you need him.

Which is why you don’t doubt him for a second when he’s murmuring things about how he’s ‘gonna fuck you so good, gonna fuck you stupid,’ and you can only respond with even quieter whispers of ‘I knows’ and ‘pleases’ as he strips himself oh the rest of his clothes, hissing from oversensitivity as his cock makes contact with the air. It’s wonderfully overwhelming and he’s not even fucking you yet.

You can’t even explain how grateful you are when Yoongi turns you around because you love just seeing his cock. You’ve never been one to describe guys’ dicks as pretty before- except that TA you managed to fuck before Jimin sunk his claws into him, Kim Seokjin, because, well, you’re not blind. But Yoongi’s dick is gorgeous. It’s not the biggest thing you’ve ever seen, and it doesn’t have to be, not when it’s girthy enough to make you salivate with a curve that points to the heavens. Gorgeous.

He’s pulling you on top of him so he can sit back down and you’re back to straddling him, and you don’t complain because you know he’s tired both from the pot and crouching on his haunches for access to your center not two minutes ago. Plus he loves when you ride him, breasts bouncing in his face, wetness making a mess out of his lap and full access of your entire body for both his hands and lips.

“Need you to bounce on my fat cock before I fucking explode, baby,” And you’d have to be some sort of a madwoman to deny him.

“Need it too, Yoongs,” You don’t know why you feel the need to remind how desperate you are for him, surely he can feel it, your swollen pussy resting only centimetres above his throbbing length. “Can’t think of anything else.”

“I know,” He’s rubbing the angry red tip against your sopping folds, tinges of overstimulation making you jolt. Or you would jolt if his hands weren’t heavy on your waist, keeping you steady so you couldn’t a) get away from his cock or b) properly sink down onto it. “So pathetic and perfect for me like this, all cock drunk and fucked out and I haven’t even fucked you yet, huh?”

You nod frantically, and you can’t even find the energy to be embarrassed when a hand comes up to pet your hair with a condescending ‘awe’ as he pouts at you. You bat his hand away with a whine and furrowed eyebrows, but all that gets you is his hand tangled in your hair, yanking sharply in retaliation. “Careful, slut, or you won’t be coming for the next week-”

“Please, Yoongi-” You don’t let him finish, knowing from experience to always take his threats seriously. “I’m sorry, I’m fucking sorry, okay just please-”

You cut yourself off with a high pitched, tea kettle-like squeak as he uses his hands on you as leverage to have you sink down onto his cock in one fell swoop. “Shit, god, you’re always so fucking tight around me, fuck me.”

I am, is what you wish you were coherent enough to snark back with, but you’re sure no one would blame you if they could feel what you feel right now. And what you’re feeling right now is how well Yoongi feels inside of you, like no cock you’ve ever had. Every ridge and vein on his cock fills you up to the fucking brim, no room left for a pinky or a thought that has to do with anything other than Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi.

And then he starts with those devilish moments of his hip, fucking into you shallowly and slowly to start and it’s all Yoongi’s dick. 

“Fucking bounce on it, dove. Fuck yourself on my cock, show me how much you need it,” He speaks through gritted teeth, each word a struggle as he tries not to fuck into you without thought. And it’s with the satisfaction you get knowing he’s just as desperate for you as you are for him that you find the strength to do as he says.

With quivering thighs, you push up and off of his cock, the two of you sharing a harmonious groan at the feeling, foreheads pressed against each other, skin sweaty. And this all just in the calm before the storm. 

It’s not long before the both of you are moving frantically, mere seconds, really. It’s intense and all-encompassing, as you grind and roll your hips, cock deeper than you knew to be possible, and his bucking his own hips into you roughly, no doubt as deeply in some sort of euphoria as you are. His hands are everywhere and so are his lips. He sucks marks into your tits and gropes your ass, controlling your movements to the best of his abilities.

All of that, plus your clit grinding against his pelvic bone every other second and your head just might be in another universe. 

Yoongi’s words are swirling around in your head, though you’re not properly taking any of it in- his velvety voice goes on about how wet you are, how tight you are, how you’re a good girl and it’s all another instrument in your downfall. You’ve never been much for heights but being with Yoongi feels like something akin to what you assume bungee jumping is like, and you’re just about at that point where your cord runs out of length and your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach.

“Tell me you’re fucking close, baby, c’mon,” This is as close to pleading as you can ever get Yoongi but you’re still swimming in pride. He brings a hand off of your ass to cup your cheek, brushing away your now mussed hair and a single stray tear and you drink in the look in his eyes, dark red-rimmed and needing. “Gonna fill you up with my come, just like I know you like, my perfect little cumslut, fuck, just need you to come first, yeah? All over my fucking cock.”

And with a particularly hard grasp at your ass, bringing you to grind your clit against him again, you’re gone. It’s considerably less intense than the previous one, as many second orgasms are, but your head is still spinning and you think you might have drooled a little, but you don’t mind and you know Yoongi doesn’t. Your attempts to stifle your moans are unsuccessful as the name of the man attached to your favourite cock falls from your lips like a mantra.

And where your orgasm is, Yoongi is rarely far behind- he loves seeing you fall apart around him, because of him and you always clench so fucking hard around him in the peak of your pleasure how could he fucking not. He’s grunting, moaning, damn near growling as he spurts his own release as deep into you as he possibly can, coating every inch of your delectable pussy, vague mumbles of how he’s filling you up, just like you’re meant to be that you can just barely hear.

Shakey breaths hit each of your faces as you come down, now still and worn out. Your chests move up and down and you don’t know when you’ve buried your face into the crook of his neck, but the warmth and smell are more comforting than any hit you’ve ever taken off of one of his blunts.

“Shit, buttercup,” He chuckles, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and where you’ve tucked yourself He runs a hand through his sweaty black locks, the other hand locked around your waist. “I don’t know how we’re gonna move without making this couch fucking disgusting.” Mood killer.

“Don’t give a shit.”

“Yeah, but I do. Especially if Joon or Hobi someone finds it and makes a big fucking deal out of it, like no other guy in his twenties has some come stained furniture.”

You pull back from the spot you wish he’d just let you fall asleep in so he can see your pout. He can’t find the sight of you… adorable? Your hair matted, bruises, courtesy of yours truly littering your tits and chest, a thin sheen of sweat making your skin glow and bottom lip jutted out exactly enough to be overexaggerated and so fucking adorable. 

At that moment he’s glad that about three weeks ago the two of you had started to break the unspoken no sleeping over after sex rule because he just wants to clean you up and feel you curl yourself around him like you like to.

You don’t know what time it is, just that it’s late and that it doesn't matter, because this was certainly time well spent. You wonder how much sleep you’ve given up in lieu of Yoongi’s pretty dick. Of course, it does matter... because you have a 9 am class tomorrow morning that you can’t miss, but that’s for future you to worry about. For now, it’s time to try to get up without defiling this Ikea couch (you failed miserably and giggled about it while Yoongi groaned in mock pain), burn out just one more joint, steal some clothes for bed and some snacks from his fridge, and pass the fuck out on his bed, which you think is way better than yours, but that has nothing to do with the boy in it or his comforting warmth and smell.

                     ..............................................................................

Past you is a dumb bitch. Also maybe current you. Point being, you hate you, because you’re sore and stiff and ten minutes late to your dumb 9 am class and it’s all Yoongi’s fucking fault. You texted him this much, calling him a ‘little bitch boy’ for not even waking you up to make you a cup of coffee with his fancy instant coffee machine before you left. He hasn’t responded yet because holy fuck does that guy sleep like a rock. A really cute, cuddly, sex-god rock.

But, as usual, Jimin came in clutch, handing you off a coffee as your paths crossed on campus, each of you heading to your respective classes. He gave you a one-armed-too-tight hug and a comment on how you have that very glamourous ‘I got fucked by Min Fucking Yoongi last night and you didn’t so I’m better than you look.’ You tried to take it as a compliment as you thanked him for the coffee. He gave you a cute kiss to your forehead that reminded you you could never even be annoyed at him for too long.

And now you’re in class. Headache from not getting enough sleep getting worse by the second while you tried not to think about what judgements people must be passing on you, with your sunglasses inside and hickeys you didn’t have time to cover up.

When your phone pings you assume it’s Jimin, with something slutty or sarcastic or both. But it’s not. It’s Yoongi- well, it’s what you have Yoongi’s number saved under, aka the drooling emoji three times over… You’re surprised he’s awake, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t have shit to do until the afternoon. 

You have a fleeting thought that it could be a dick pic- yeah it’s a little early for that kind of dumb fuckboy behaviour, and you’d previously thought that too, but Kim Taehyung proved you wrong last year. 

Yoongi isn’t a dick pic kind of guy anyway. No, he’s the guy that sends pictures of his hand around your throat that one night you let him take artsy photos of you two fucking on his film camera. The kind of guy that sends you audios of him jerking off and moaning your name that you listen to through your earphones in between classes because he knew you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. He’s the guy that drives you crazy because you can never quite predict what he’s gonna do next.

[9:23 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: you could have woken me you know dummy

[9:24 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: subways are gross in the morning

[9:25 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: i could have u know, driven u…

[9:26 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: cant really say no to u buttercup.

You don’t know why you’re heart’s beating so fast so you reprimand yourself for thinking with your pussy. Min motherfucking Yoongi is gonna be the death of you.

[moon-riverandme]

And in the Beginning There was... Light, Film Rolls, and Controversy.

Watching old movies has always been one of my favorite pastimes. I love the cracks in the film, the oddly tinted placements of color, the quick, scattered movements of the actors, and the slice of an intertitle. It all just makes sense when I think of those first filmmakers who were trying to make sense of their new medium. In my journey through film, I will start at the beginning. Well, sort of the beginning. Our main topic of discussion takes place in 1903. So we’ve skipped over a few years… 15 to be exact. I’ll sum them up now because if I miss a beat I’ll ruin the scene.

Let's start in October of 1888 when Louis Le Prince has just recorded the very first film. It’s short yet scenic; his family gathers in a garden and for the first time ever - they move. A man walks across the screen, the rigid bustles and day dress of two women sway as they turn away from the camera - ergo we have a moving image years before Edison would invent the kinetoscope. Of course, most don’t know of Le Prince and in school I never heard his name mentioned. In fact, I only heard of him through a Buzzfeed Unsolved video. So what happened? Why did history remember the names Edison and Lumière but not Le Prince?

There were many entries in the race to create the first film. And of course, there are arguments as to what cinema is in comparison to a bunch of still photographs played one after another. Strange, I think is this argument. For film is a series of stills or frames played one right after the other. Nevertheless, in 1878, we have the famous images of a galloping horse caught by twelve cameras set up by Muybridge to capture motion and to study animal locomotion. Motion but not a movie. What we needed was a camera that had a single lens capable of capturing a point of view. That’s what Le Prince did. Unfortunately, as history would see it, he mysteriously disappeared on a train to Paris in September 1890 right before his first public screening in New York carrying luggage that contained all of his work. Neither Le Prince or the luggage has ever been found. Quite the coincidence.

There are a few theories: Le Prince committing suicide, Le Prince’s own brother killing him, Le Prince fleeing due to his sexuality being outed but none have stuck... except one. Le Prince’s widow, Lizzie, believed Edison, his biggest competitor in the race, had him assassinated. The evidence? The discovery of Edison’s journal containing the following entry, which has been proven authentic. It read:

“Eric called me today from Dijon. It has been done. Prince is no more. This is good news but I flinched when he told me. Murder is not my thing. I'm an inventor and my inventions for moving images can now move forward.”

Take of that what you will.

Today, we are taught that Edison’s kinetoscope launched the novel medium of moving pictures into our familiar. When it was invented in 1891 by Edison and Dickson, the kinetoscope was a peepshow-like device with a "sight opening" on top that one viewer at a time could look into and watch a moving picture. Think about it like looking into a microscope - very different from how we view films now both in method and price, it was 50 cents for access to all films at a given venue.

In 1897, an improvement on Edison's device arose. Invented by the Lumière brothers, the cinematograph contained both a camera, projector, and hand crank. Now, audiences could sit and screen films. I'll circle back to Edison as he connects to our 1903 topic. But first, let's take a stop with the Lumière brothers.

Auguste and Louis Lumière are credited as the first filmmakers. Their documentary-esque films Workers Leaving The Lumière Factory and Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat are milestones in cinema. Known as travelogues or actualités, they showed the casual and working life of people in the mid to late 1890's. These shorts were even screened to audiences who jumped out of their seats at a train onscreen because they thought it would actually hit them. The Lumière Brothers took their screening all over the world, from Paris, to India, and China.

Watching these films, it's hard not to put yourself in the shoes of a passerby, a random person whose name we don't know, who exists in a few frames before disappearing to time. Like a fossil, it's interesting to examine what life was like back then. I love seeing the clothing. Everyone is so formal, at least compared to the laid back air of today. Even so, in the 1890’s people were moving away from the Victorian Era and into the “New Woman” Era. High necklines and longer sleeves were replaced by the open neck and short sleeves as morning turned to dusk. High chiffons under feathered hats were popular as was the shirtwaist style for work. All of these visible in the Lumière films.

Where we jump from reportage to fiction is where we jump from Lumière to Porter. And back to Edison, who had Porter working for him. Projectionist and electrician turned director, Edwin S. Porter was the brains behind many of the mechanics and techniques that have become so highly engrained in the making of films that the idea of them being novel seems almost impossible. In 1899, Porter became head of moving picture production at the Edison Manufacturing Company and throughout his career, which spanned about 15 years, he made more than 70 short films. So lets look at a few of them in detail.

Jack and the Beanstalk (1902)

You'll see that a lot of the narrative ideas for these early films spun directly out of fairytales. For an audience, fairytales were a familiarity. Thus, they were able to stitch together what they already knew about the characters and stories and better understand these new moving pictures. And Porter knew this from his work as a projectionist. He knew what engaged the audience most. And that wasn't just story, it was technique. Porter's films were revolutionary for what would become known as editing, at that time just cutting film. Simplistic and impactful, he knew how to compact time and create magic. Objects and people appear and disappear in a single cut. The camera remains still, a wide shot, and on a tripod but what's in front of it changes slightly, making for magical realism. For example, once Jack makes it back down to earth after descending the beanstalk, he grabs an ax and starts chopping it down. He's got to do this or the giant chasing him will make it down too. So he swings the ax a few times with all his might. From a large beanstalk, ripe with leaves, reaching up to the sky, we immediately cut to a destroyed one. The fact that we end one cut with Jack in the same position as we start the next, keeps from disrupting the audience even though everything else onscreen has changed. We've condensed time, Jack has saved the day, and the Giant has fallen to his death. Porter would expand on this editing style, perfecting it, discovering cross-cutting.

Life of an American Fireman (1903)

Cross-cutting or parallel action is so integral to editing that it happens in just about every film. Simply, two separate events are occurring - say, a woman trying to escape a fire inside of her house and firefighters rushing in a horse carriage to save her. These two events, perceived to be happening at the same time, are stitched together through editing so that the audience experiences both. Cut to the woman in her house as the fire inches closer to her. Cut to the firefighters rushing up the stairs. Will they get there? Will they save her? Cross-cutting serves to create tension and set the rhythm of a scene. Eventually, the two spatial points of view merge and the conflict should be resolved. This originates in Porter's films and Life of An American Fireman is the first one that shows it off.

Let's cut back to the first shot of this film, it's a trick shot. A sleepy fireman dreams of a mother putting her daughter to bed. Abruptly, the fire alarm is set off and he wakes up. Instead of cutting from the fireman dozing off in his chair to a separate shot of the mother, which would create confusion on whether the fireman was dreaming, Porter uses double exposure to frame the dream above the fireman shoulder. Double exposure had been employed by photographers since the 1860's to produce dreamy situations in otherwise ordinary places but in film, it first appears in Georges Méliès Four Heads are Better Than One. When we see the house aflame for the first time in Life of an American Fireman, the same mother and daughter from the dream pair reappear. The fireman's premonition connects back to the main drama of the story.

The Great Train Robbery (1903)

In this film we take the leap from a theatrical approach to cinematography, where the camera simply watches the action at a long-shot or observing eye, to being involved in the action. One way that Porter does this is by integrating the pan.

Panning is a technique that moves a camera side to side in a fixed location. We haven't taken the camera off of a tripod or stepped forward in anyway, we are simply turning left or right on the horizontal axis. If we took a step forward and followed a character or action we'd have a tracking shot. But we aren't there yet so plant your feet in the ground for now. Porter uses pans to reveal. The first pan is executed about six minutes into the film. The robbers jump off the caboose with their stolen goods and make a run for it. But where are they going? Queue the pan and we find out it's down some steep hills and into a forest. The subsequent shot is them in the thicket of a forest. Running passed the camera until all but one have exited camera left. But how will they get out? Queue the second pan to reveal horses - their getaway plan. This pan is masterfully done. I love the way Porter keeps his camera static and just observes the tumbling, running robbers until only one is left onscreen. Then and only then does he pan left to reveal the horses. By leaving only one person onscreen, not only does the audience have less to track but so does the camera. Simplifying the frame down to only the necessities of the action, one robber running away in a forest, amplifies the pan and makes the reveal feel complete - we reunite with the group of robbers and horses.

Depending on which version of the film you watch, you might be surprised by waves of color among a sea of black and white. Tinting whole films blue, amber, or sepia has been around since the origins of moving pictures, but in The Great Train Robbery, Porter selects specific actions or objects to tint. This was all done by hand.

Color is one big manipulator. Think of light blue and you'll likely picture endless summer skies; an air of calm. How about Green? I picture the tangled tree webs of a jungle - adventure, growth, the smell of dew on fresh leaves, nature. Now red. Explosions, fire, burst of emotion. Yellow? A bright, morning sun, a blooming sunflower, happiness, positivity, a new start. Early filmmakers used color to bring attention to specific objects, people, and actions. They used it to draw out an emotion from the viewer. They used it to connect themes of violence, love, and happiness. And they used it to spice up their frame.

Porter hand paints the explosion of a train lockbox bright orange and a deep red. The smokey pops from gunshots are also a fiery red. The dress of a dancing woman is bright yellow. The coat of another girl is a rich purple. The addition of color cultivates realism but also gives the film a flair of the imaginary.

So, we have the creative process of tinting to enhance the visual characteristics of a story and we have panning to push forward the important aspects of a narrative. Let's add a few more ingredients to our recipe.

Because the story cuts back and forth between the robbers, the operator, and the posse of men who will eventually hunt down the robbers, it has parallel action. Three separate storylines, integrated through the edit, that coverage at the end. Now that we have the way in which the story is cut and delivered, how about some specific effects?

In shots where the action occurs inside the prop train, which is not moving but the audience is meant to believe it is, Porter uses double exposure to ground his location in reality. He filmed exterior, moving shots and layered them onto the static train shots. In the '30s this would become known as "rear projection".

Additionally, Porter creatively placed his camera in new ways to produce frames that diverged from the typical wide shot; bringing the viewer closer into the action. For example, at about 2 minutes and 50 seconds in, the camera is propped on top of the engine car roof while a sneaking robber crawls passed and kills a fireman.

At last we arrive at the final shot. Diverging from the narrative, Porter set this up to look like a wanted poster. It is filmed in a medium close-up, which serves to focus all attention on the subject by filming them waist-up, having them fill up most of the frame, and blocking out the surrounding environment. The robber points his revolver right at the camera and shoots six times. If you've ever seen Goodfellas, Martin Scorsese recreates this at the end with Joe Pesci. Seemingly, the purpose was to shoot the audience. To tell them even though all of these robbers were killed in the end, their spirit doesn't die. It says "I'm warning you- it's still dangerous out there." Funny enough, this wasn't even the original intention. The shot was promotional and where it ended up in the film was entirely up to the projectionist. It could've just as well been placed at the beginning if they wanted. Even so, the break in the fourth wall and punch of dramatics that ended the film still prevail through cinema history today. Completing the recipe for one the first Westerns, ripe with shootouts, chase sequences, bandits, and suspense.

The Kleptomaniac (1905)

When moving pictures are void of sound and spoken dialogue it's a bit difficult to understand what characters are doing onscreen. Heightened emotional and physicalized acting made up for this. Through facial expressions and over the top, exaggerated body movements, audiences could connect the dots to figure out what was going on in a scene. But in 1903, Porter directed Uncle Tom's Cabin and introduced intertitles, words that would appear printed onscreen. Early iterations of intertitles read like book chapters. They described the main action that was about to take place in the scene. In Uncle Tom's Cabin some examples include: "The Escape of Eliza", "Rescue of Eva", and "Tom and Eva in the Garden. In The Kleptomaniac, intertitles state location and give context to where we are, which is helpful because without them, I don't think I could follow what was going on - at all.

Location is such a main element in this film that intertitles are practically non negotiable. "Leaving Home", "Arriving at the Store", "Home of Thief", and "Court Room Scene", prepare us with the information that is necessary to fully understand the purpose of each scene. The department store shot isn't clear-cut. It could've been a mail room or an office. If we miss that it's a department store that our main character is visiting (and stealing from), we miss the connection to the thief stealing food later on in the film and thus miss the whole theme of class disparities. The intertitles supplement for lack of onscreen information and sound. They would be used regularly in the silent era, branching into dialogue intertitles and expositionary intertitles before dying out with the advent of sound.

[troop-scoop]

Mistakes & Regrets XVIII

Summary: When a trip to your Dad’s hometown of Hawkins goes wrong, you end up in the year 1983, and have to learn how to cope with being stuck in the past.

Pairing: Steve Harrington / Future!Reader (like, a really slow burn)

Warnings: Swearing probably, memory (In italics), a firearm.

• • •

“Dad, I’ve got it!” You told him, making him step back. For someone who was almost always dependent on your parents for everything, you could be stubborn and self assured. 

Will only shook his head, the protective earphones over his head, while the instructor showed you how to hold the gun in your hands. “I still don’t like this.” He told Thomas when he walked into the next room where he and Daniel were sitting by the bulletproof glass to watch you.

Daniel hopped down from the chair he was standing on, going to the restroom while WIll took his spot in the wooden chair. “You want her to be scared of guns? This is a good way to be scared of them.” 

Will scoffed a bit, taking off the earwear. “She’s never scared of anything. She can watch horror movies at night and not need all the lights on.”

“She didn’t get that from me.” Thomas jokingly defended. 

“Yeah. . . me neither.” 

When you’d been born, Will cried for an hour while you slept in his arms. Because while he knew he wanted kids, he didn’t know just how much until you held his finger in your hand. But at the same time, he’d never been more scared, even with what he’d been through as a kid. 

“Will,” 

“Tom?”

Will looked up at Thomas while he took his seat next to him, a hand on his shoulder. “Do you need to start talking to the therapist again?” 

Will shook his head. “No, I’m fine.”

“This isn’t fine, Will. The plan wasn’t to have you working from home the rest of our lives because you’re worried.” 

The moment you’d been handed to Will, as a crying, pale, and small little mess wrapped in a blanket, he’d had this feeling that he needed to protect you at all costs, like something terrible was going to happen if he didn’t. It was why he had rules for both you and your brother to follow. 

A muffled shot went off from the other side of the wall, and it made Will jump a bit. Barely a second later you came out, brows furrowed and a crease in the bridge of your nose. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I don’t like it.” You said, walking over and sitting by Will's legs. 

“Was it scary?”

“No. I just didn’t like it.”

• • •

You sat across from Steve, looking down at the gun you’d brought. The chrome reflecting your appearance, even though it was dark and shaped oddly because of the different indents in the metal, as well as the finger prints you’d left on it. 

“Why are you even here if you don’t believe us?” Dustin demanded in a harsh tone, directing it to Max. 

Or Maxine. Which is the name you grew up calling her. And if you were being completely honest, knowing that these people, who had been family and who had big roles in your childhood, went through things like this. And that maybe, the entire time, you’d been there, freaked you out.

So then the question arose of, who taught who? 

Daniel talked about a time paradox theory once, didn’t he? About if you traveled back in time with a lightbulb, and gave it to Thomas Edison, who really invented it? You, who brought it to the past? Or Thomas Edison? Would it be a forever long loop? 

Were you always supposed to end up here? Feeling like all you had was your grandmother, uncle and Steve? All of the phrases and lessons your uncles and aunts taught you that you’d then said back to them now, is this year away from home, part of some big, fucked up loop? God you hoped not. But then maybe you could stop blaming yourself. 

“Just go home.” Dustin added. 

“Dustin,” You said softly, not liking how he was being rude. Max had every reason to question them about what was happening. Nothing about it was believable. 

Max blinked at him for a second before pushing off of the seat she was in “Geesh. Someone’s cranky. Past your bedtime?” She climbed up the ladder disappearing on top of the bus. 

“That’s good. Just show her you don’t-”

“Steve.” You interrupted, catching his attention and shaking your head. “Care.” He finished, playing with his lighter and looking at the younger boy. 

“I don’t.” Dustin stated. “Why are you winking, Steve? Stop.” 

You grinned a little, making eye contact as Steve looked at you with a bit of a smile on his face as well. “Don’t be weird, Harrington.” You told him softly, only getting a nod from him. 

You were never one for big groups of friends, but you knew that your parents would be worried if you told them you only had one, who was graduating soon and would probably be off doing his own thing come August, too busy to hang out with a sixteen year old. 

Steve wanted to go to college, but whenever he spoke about it, it always sounded like he wanted to go not because he genuinely wanted to, but out of obligation. Because someone was expecting him to. He applied to a college back in September, with an essay you helped him on. 

“You hear back from the college in Chicago?” 

Looking up to you again, Steve shook his head, a bit of hair falling in his face as he continued to play with his lighter. 

Sighing, you placed the gun down next to you before reaching your hands out to him, he gave you a look of confusion, before smiling and grabbing your hands, pulling you closer to him. You ended up with your hip against Steve’s thigh, while you rested an arm on his knee that was bent and pointed to the ceiling. 

“What about the one in California?” 

Steve sighed a bit. “I should know by Christmas.”

“Ya know, if it helps, even just a little, California’s expensive. You’ll have to pay to do your laundry, rent is really expensive, and college is already expensive enough, I don't think you’d need all of that piled on top.” 

“Laundry costs money?” 

You didn’t mean to, but you laughed, nodding a bit. “Yeah.” You told him. “You would be able to just drive down to mommy and daddy’s to do your laundry if you went to the one in Indianapolis.” 

Steve smiled at you, handing you his lighter for a moment, and your first realization was that it was much heavier than the Bic lighters you used to be able to get at the liquor store down the street from the condo you and your family once lived in. 

“Or I could do it at your place.” He pointed out, and it made a genuine and lazy smile come to your face. 

“Or you could come to my place.” You agreed, and even though it was stupid, it made your heart almost flutter. The idea that Steve would go to your place to do laundry rather than his house seemed silly, but you were for sure more fun than his almost 65 year old father and mother in her early 40’s. 

You shared a small smile with him, before looking away and down at the  lighter he’d handed you, flicking it open and making an ‘o’ sound when the small flame ignited. “Let there be light.” You joked, looking back at Steve. 

But he was already looking at you instead of the small flame you held, an absent-minded smile on his face, almost a goofy looking one. 

“What?”

“You don’t have issues.” He observed. “Family issues, anyway. You talk about them like you still love them, and that they loved you. And I mean. . . Carol’s mom never even let her leave the house unless she knew that I’d be the one driving. So from what I know, parents who love you, and care, wouldn’t ever let you move to a completely different town in the middle of nowhere at the age of fifteen, and never even call at the very least. So what happened?” 

You could tell he’d thought about it before. Much like how you’d thought about his own familial life. And while you were sure his was complicated, you were sure your own was even more so. 

Shrugging you looked at your knee, holding the lighter still, letting the small flame illuminate what little it could. Before you could say anything he put his hand on your knee, mimicking you. “Back when all of this was starting, back when I had that stupid party? We had beer, and cigarettes there, and when I told the cops the truth, my dad wasn’t upset that I was getting drunk or smoking, but because I was ruining the ‘family name’” He used his fingers as air quotes. “

He was trying to make you feel comfortable enough to tell him even the smallest amount about what happened to you and your family, and it worked, because looking at the lighter again, you began to speak. “It was the week after freshman year started. . . They decided to pack up and go on a road trip. Like an impulse that my dad had, he’d never been impulsive before. But we went. And Pa- someone got mad at me, so I ran off.” Looking back at Steve you saw the soft gaze he gave you. “I basically ran away because my family was mad at me. And I haven’t gone back. And I can’t.”

A growl echoes from outside, and within a heartbeat, you, Steve and Dustin were at the little opening between metal scrap to look out the window. The fog covered most of the ground outside, making it near impossible to see ‘Dart’ as Dustin called it if it was out there. All you could see was the pile of raw meat and beat down cars. 

Holding onto the sleeve of Steve’s jacket, your eyes darted around, looking for the thing that, more likely than not, was from the place you hated. 

“You see him?” Dustin asked, the bill of his hat brushing against your forehead due to the tight space. 

You shook your head, but Steve answered verbally “No.” 

“Lucas! What’s going on?” Dustin asked, looking to the roof of the bus while you could feel Steve move his arm in your grasp before he took your hand in his. 

“Hold on!” Lucas shouted back. “I’ve got eyes! Ten o’clock! Ten o’clock!”  Lucas’ voice stuttered halfway through, either from being unsure, or scared. 

You pointed to the window, seeing the dark figure that was about the size of a medium sized dog lurking by the edge of the junkyard. “There.” 

“What's he doing?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Instead of going after the raw meat, the thing just stood there, and you could hear the low chittering, it sent goosebumps up your spine, having your grip on Steve’s hand tighten. For a moment all you could remember or even think about, was when you hid in a treehouse, occasionally looking through a crack between two slats of wood to look down below to see one of those. 

“He’s not taking the bait.” Steve stated the obvious. “Why is he not taking the bait?” 

“Maybe he’s not hungry?” Dustin suggested. 

“Maybe he’s sick of cow.” Steve suggested right after, but it came off as more of a statement than a question like Dustin’s. He stepped back from the window, his hand still in yours as he continued to stare at the window for one last moment in thought. 

Steve looked to you, his expression unreadable as you gave his hand a light squeeze. “What are you thinking?”  You inquired, voice low. 

He looked down to where you’d previously been sitting, grabbing the gun and handing it to you, grip first. 

Letting go of your hand he stepped towards the door without saying anything. You reached out to grab him, demand what he was going to do, and probably tell him it was a stupid idea, that he’d get himself killed. But that was just Steve, right? Doing things that seemed stupid at first, until it actually worked out in his favor. 

Usually, you chalked it up to luck, dumb luck, but still luck nonetheless. But if it was just that, that simple four letter word that was always brought up on Saint Patrick’s Day, then it was going to run out eventually. 

But you trusted him, so like an idiot, you didn’t grab him. 

“Steve? Steve, what are you doing?” Dustin demanded, worry clear in his voice. “Steve?” You reached out for Dustin’s shoulder, watching as Steve grabbed the bat. 

Turning back to look at you guys, he said “Just get ready.” He turned back around and went to the door. 

You could feel your heart rate speed up, the blood in your veins go ice cold for a few seconds out of fear, and your hands were unsteady as you held the metal lighter in hand, having snapped it closed when you heard Dart outside. 

The loud creaking of aluminum was heard as he opened the door, and for a moment, you found yourself asking any god there was to make sure Steve didn’t get hurt. You were raised by two men who were told all their lives that anyone who was attracted to someone of the same sex would burn in hell, or that they were a sinner. It was no surprise that you weren’t raised with religion. Who would want to raise their child in a religion that condemned something they couldn’t control. 

The doors creaked again as Dustin closed them. Looking down at your gun, you could hear your dad’s voice asking you if it was scary, and while as a child, it wasn’t, it was now. All these years older and you’d grown afraid.

“What’s he doing?” Maxine demanded as she got to the bottom of the latter, going to the window where Dustin was watching. 

“Expanding the menu.” He answered. 

Turning the safety off of the pistol, you walked towards the door, stopping at the first seat and watching carefully from the small opening there. 

Through the fog you could see him swing the bat, getting himself ready as he planted his feet.  “Steve, watch out!” Lucas yelled from the top of the bus. 

“A little busy here!” Steve shouted back, not turning around, Dart and him would be having a staring contest if the thing had eyes. 

“Three o’clock!” 

You turned to look at Dustin and Max who were already staring at you, seemingly waiting for your next move. But there wasn’t much of one you could make. Knowing Steve, and the manner that he left the bus in, He’d be furious that you left the bus. And while you were never one to listen to a boy not much older than you, or even middle aged teachers, you didn’t know what you’d do if you left the bus and one of them got hurt. 

“Shit.” You mumbled seeing more in the direction Lucas was yelling about. You move the two feet to the door, Dustin following your lead as you pulled open the rusting doors. 

“Steve!” You shouted to get his attention as Dustin did the same.

“Steve! Abort! Abort!”  

You held up the pistol, your index finger finding the trigger and firing as one of the creatures began to sprint in Steve’s direction The bullet barely grazed it. 

Steve rolled over the hood of a car as Lucas and Max joined in on yelling at Steve to get him back inside the bus. 

You didn’t have much time to think, one second being on your feet, and the next flat on your ass, back against Dustin’s leg as Steve landed against you. Feet pushing the door closed. 

One of their arms burst through, and the kids ran to the back of the bus while Steve got back up and began to hit the thing’s limb with the bat. 

Pushing yourself up off the ground when you heard Dustin on his walkie and them all scream and get up from the ground you made your way over, as a loud thudding came from on top of the roof. 

Max looked at you, before back up at the emergency exit above her. THe fear was evident on her face before she even let out the scream which had you and Steve both running over, with you grabbing Max and Steve pushing the four of you behind him. 

“Out of the way! Out of the way!” He yelled, before directing his attention to the dog like creature that was looking down at the four of five of you. “You want some? Come get this!” 

Mid growl, the creature looked up, chittering at nothing before he turned and hopped off of the bus, shaking the broken down vehicle in the process. 

You were stunned into silence, but you quietly turned the safety of the pistol back on and tucked it away. 

Looking at the floor beneath you, you felt someone grab your hand. Looking up you saw Steve looking at you, quietly mouthing the words ‘you okay?’ to you. Nodding you gave his hand a half-hearted squeeze before he began to lead you to the front of the bus, letting go of your hand to open the door and quietly step out. 

“What happened?” Lucas questioned, as if any of you would know the answer to his question. 

“I don’t know.” Max responded

“Steve scared ‘em off?” Dustin suggested in a more inquiring tone while you stepped off the bus, looking at Steve while he looked off in the direction ‘Dart’ and his friends ran in. 

“No. No way.” Steve answered, turning to look at the middle schoolers. “They’re going somewhere.”

• • • 

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