#slap some saturation on those guys please

[corpsoir]

definitely not the most romantic sailing trip they've been on

[moxfirefly]

Hey I kinda wanna make a request (don't know if I have already)

13:I’m not wearing anything under this

26:Don’t make me pull over - that’s it

29:Scream for me. I want everyone to know how good I make you feel

Praise Kink

Over-stimulation kink

With the loveable nerd donnie?

If this isn't possible I understand, love all your work by the way

I have never seen a more perfect set up. Friend you’ve got it!

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

He exactly knew what you were trying to do from the moment you climbed into the truck in that frilly little sun dress. In fact he would bet a kidney that the choice of wardrobe on the hot summers night was catered to distract him to the point of muttering to himself.

Donnie was and is, a safe driver.

But that stupid dress had mysteriously ridden up your thighs when he hit a pothole somewhere into his drive through Manhattan. It was a fun little activity the two of you did all the time, a means of getting away, AC on high and privacy you both didn’t get often.

But you had intentions.

Intentions that hopefully would lead to the a very good outcome. So when Donnie saw your hands smooth over the tops of your thighs, his eye would twitch. Never mind when you crossed your legs and that defiant flimsy fabric just allowed more skin to show.

“-could you believe the nerve of that guy? Anyways my boss fired him, good riddance honestly. What about you babe? How was your day?” Donnie had absorbed cero information for the first time in his life, he was at a red light, big brown eyes blinking at you.

You smirked, uncrossing your legs, crossing them the opposite way you had previously.

“What’s your game plan here?” He asked, you almost snorted.

“Whatever are you saying my dearest? Can a gal know how her man’s day has been?” Oh you were a clever sneak but your eyes always betrayed you and when the corners of your mouth shot up in a fit of laughter, Donnie frowned. “My day is great! Just somewhat distracted by a certain someone, you know if we crash it’s totally your fault” He honked when the guy in front of him didn’t move at the green light.

Wanting to make things even more savory, you played with the hem of your dress. “I love when I distract you, it’s a favorite past time of mine” You lifted it and reveled in Donnie almost cracking his neck to see what you were doing and then back to the road ahead.

“I’m not wearing anything under this” You spoke, a sultry hint to your words. You were in fact bare, with every intention of teasing him into having to do something about it.

He bit his lip and shook his head, this was so not happening right now and you sure as hell weren’t...

“Y/n...” Your name sounded like a demand the moment he saw your palm run over the hood of your sex. He kept a good handle of driving and sneaking glances at your lap. Your legs spread enough for you to slide a finger in between your folds and to Donnie’s pure teasing realization he heard how wet you were. You relaxed back, soft touches working you up and Donnie soft little churrs picking up volume. When you pushed that digit inside of yourself, he gripped the steering wheel. “Don’t make me pull over” It was that stern voice he used on occasion.

With another turn on a less trafficked street, you turned to him, digit slowly pumping in and out of you and said, “Or what?” You grinned mischievously. “-That’s it”

Donnie parked the car by the sidewalk, not really caring that even if it was relatively late pedestrians were still passing by here and there. He reclined your chair, enjoying the little yelp that exited your mouth. Pushing your hand away he popped his own digit into his mouth before teasing it at your entrance. “Have you been walking around this city with no underwear? Answer me” You stifled a giggle by biting your lip but that quickly melted into a moan when he pushed his much larger digit inside of you. Your thighs shook with the delightfully stuffed sensation it brought.

“You haven’t answered my question” He thrusted his finger, moving just the way he knew that could illicit the best response.

“So what if I did?” Defiant words for somebody in a precarious position. Donnie had that little twinkle in his eye, the one you knew all too well.

“Nobody, and I do mean nobody, has or will have the right to see this” He emphasized the last word with a harsher thrust of his finger that made you choke. “I guess that only leaves one other option, reminding you exactly who you belong to” That sentence was enough to make you want to scream internally, pushing the usually chill terrapin to these extents wasn’t the easiest. Sometimes one had to play dirty, which you we never opposed to doing so.

Somewhere between a moan and a full body shiver you felt Donnie crook his finger. That first release whenever sought out like this, always made you just a little dizzy, made your joints protest from tensing so much. Your hands flew to his chest, the firmness of his plates grounding you back from your high.

“Say ‘thank you, Donnie’, come on baby, use your words” He swelled with pride seeing your mouth start to move but nothing resembling the words coming out.

So naturally, he started up again.

You squished your thighs together, trapping his hand when the oversensitivity hit but he only ‘tsk’d’ his disapprovement and gave your thighs a soft slap. “Don’t squeeze, don’t squeeze” Trembling thighs obeyed and separated enough for him to continue his strokes, thumb circling over your clit with enough pressure to make your hand fly up to your mouth.

Just like that he pulled another orgasm out of you, but did not stop his motions over your clit.

You started to squirm, breath hitching into embarrassing squeaks and all the more he glued those precious brown orbs of his to you.

“Well?” He barely sounded strained, he was hardly even breaking a sweat.

“Thank you! Thank you!” You shut your eyes when he didn’t stop, every nerve in your body felt over exposed, saturated with the constant onslaught to your sensitive nub.

One more, yanked from your body, hard enough you felt a rush of something in your brain and that jelly like feeling hit your limbs. He fucked his finger slowly in and out, bringing you down into a somewhat false sense of security. Your hazy vision found the window on your side, a few pedestrians passing and the idea that somebody could’ve heard...

Pulling out his digit, Donnie popped it into his mouth. “I had a very nice date planned out, but then again this isn’t far off from the original plan” He pulled you up into a sitting position but maneuvered you onto your knees to face the car window. He bunched up your dress and nudged you forward to rest your hands on the glass. “You like making a spectacle? Walking around with nothing under your dress?” Donnie spoke those words against the back of your head, he enjoyed the scent of your hair. Gripping your hips he pushed you against the prominent bulge.

Oh how your thighs shook. Your breath fogged up the glass as you heard him unzip. “Dee-ohfuck” He ran the length of his cock through your folds, squeezing your thighs for the right pressure for the teasing friction. “Aren’t I a nice guy? See how good I treat you?” He hunched over you, chin resting on your shoulder. A large three fingered hand landed on the glass next to yours, it gutted him to see the contrast in size, to see your pinky wrap around his much thicker digit. “Tell me how it feels, when I push into you” He whispered against your shoulder, slowly sliding in and stretching you out.

It was tricky, the space wasn’t too small but between both seats he found a good spot to stand (or more so bend) and give you the first thrust that left your mouth hanging open. “So so so good,” You muttered with a shaky voice. “And? What else?” He loved the way you swallowed letters the moment he thrusted just a little harder. “You’re so fucking big, you do this so good, god Donnie nobody’s fucked me like you before” There was deep rumbling churr against your neck, he tasted salt and your perfume when he licked it.

“You’re the best, you’re the fucking best!” You moaned out, loud enough you felt embarrassment as somebody passed by. Naturally Donnie noticed, smirking against your neck. “Now we’re shy? Now you want to be a good girl?” He hooked an arm around your waist and absolutely threw caution to the god damn wind.

He sped up, deep thrusts that were fully determine to make you scream your head off. Right there with his hips smacking against your rear he spoke the words you knew would be your undoing.

“Scream for me, I want everyone to know how good I make you feel” He drove into you with that very purpose in mind. That long cock of his hitting exactly the spots you needed in order to do so. In order to scream your head off when your release came suddenly and so devastatingly strong, you felt something gush out of you. It’s intensity made your eyes shut tight as you rode the high. Feeling teeth at your shoulder and a muffled string of curses and your name you felt warmth shoot into you.

You don’t remember Donnie shuffling the two of you onto the couch but at some point you’re there. Body slumped, dress still scrunched up as Donnie rummages through a small bin for some wet wipes. “Did you cum on the chair again?” You asked him sleepily and with a smile, you still had enough gas in the tank for a few jabs. He had bag between his teeth as he stumbled to push up his pants. Dropping the wipes near you he smirked.

“No, but you did” He declared quite triumphantly.

Your foggy dopamine ridden brain took a bit to load.

“I squirted!?” You wanted to sit up but that wasn’t gonna happen any time soon. You covered your face, embarrassment clear. Donnie snorted and rubbed your rear affectionately. “Please, if it were up to me I’d leave it there like a badge of honor” He stifled another laugh when you peaked through hands and glared.

“By the way...” He kissed your arm.

“Hm?” The sensation lulled you.

“I love you” His words were soft yet serious.

“I love you more” You whispered back.

[sxdmoonchxld]

Operation: Pop The Cherry | JJK

Jungkook x Virgin!Reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: rough bathroom sex, college au, unprotected sex, teasing, fingering, Jungkook has a virgin kink if you couldn’t tell by he title, lowkey sadistic JK, Gay BFF Jimin, mentions of alcohol and weed, brief mention of homophobia. bIG diCK Jungkook, more belly bulging, and I forgot what else

Word Count: 6.1k

Summary: Against you better judgement and thank to your best friend Jimin. You somehow agreed to let a stranger on campus known as the Cherry Popper, too well..pop your cherry.

Alternatively: You're a virgin. Jungkook has a fetish/kink for fucking virgins.

A/N: I guess i’ll keep putting this note until i stop reposting my old stories. I use to be lizardsocial, and this fic was previously called Game. You may still be able to find it somewhere on tumblr. I edited this fic heavily and it’s honestly a new story, but there are still some elements from the fic it used to be still in there. Unedited so please let me know of any mistakes or typos. Like, comment, reblog, let me know what you think. Enjoy!

_________________________________________

Bass boosted pop music seeped through the dense walls of the energetic room. Strobing bright colored beams danced to the rhythm of the music in mesmerizing synchrony. The musty odor of marijuana, booze, and sex-saturated air shrouded the room in a turbid veil, covering the sea of drunken undulating bodies packed in the cramped living room.  Empty beer cans and other various booze bottles mixed with burnt-out blunts accompanied the young adults. You groaned with irritation and disgust. You didn't want to be here, but to your chagrin, you had a promise to keep.

It wasn't a secret that the college nightlife was unquestionably not your type of 'scene.' You quite frequently elected to willingly engage most of your time in your freshman dorm, wrapped in your weighted burrito blanket. A nightstand stockpiled with all your favorite snacks, lights dimmed low, and lavender incense burning, filling your room with the aroma of relaxation. The perfect setting to binge-watch your favorite show for the umpteenth time, the shifting distorted brightness of your computer screen, projecting the scenes against your face. 

It's kind of funny how you got yourself into this mess in the first place. The one time you decide to take the chance and branch away from the alternate antisocial hermit, your personality had adopted as its own had come back to bite you in the ass. You admit, lately, you've been neglecting your best friend. Your reasonings generally varying from the classic 'oh I was sleep' to deliberately silencing your phone, not wanting to hear the constant shrill ringing of the default ringtone. You loved Jimin, you truly did, but you could only take so much of his eccentric mashup of bubblegum and rainbow sparkles that was his personality. Eventually, guilt began eating away at you piece by piece until you ultimately caved in and invited your friend over for an impromptu movie night in your dorm room. 

Not even 30 minutes into the movie, one that you had been dying to see, might you add, Jimin commenced his drunk and high chattering. He had already started 'pre-gaming' before he came over; Six shots of straight Vodka and 2 blunts. Every day you prayed for this man's liver and brain function; with how much he drank and smoke, you would think he needed it to function. 

"Oh! Oh! Bitttch. Did I tell you about that football player, I fucckked last week!" Jimin started slurring on certain words. You noticed his eyes were glossy and glazed over. 

"No, you didn't, Chim." You sighed, completely giving up trying to watch the movie. You would have to watch it on your alone time. 

"Reeaally?" Jimin slurred, a goofy grin uplifting his lips.

"Yes, really. You haven't told me." Amusement lightly coated your voice. 

"Welll, his name is T-tae, Tae-tae something. Hold on, it's coming to me." Jimin said, rubbing the sides of his temples, trying to remember the guys' name. 

"Taehyung! That's it!" Jimin shrieked, snapping his fingers in victory.

You looked at him startled. You remember Taehyung from high school. You didn't recall him being at this college, though. Well, it wasn't like you paid attention to many things outside your bubble anyway.

"Wasn't he homophobic as fuck in high school?" You asked, genuinely interested.

"Yeah, he was. Buttt I guess he was trying to cover up, that he was actually on the DL." Jimin smiled, whispering the last part.

"DL? What's that mean?" You inquired

Jimin looked at you with a look of betrayal. "It means he's on the down-low, meaning he didn't want anyone to know he's gay. Girrl, I'm too crossfaded to be explaining this to you."

You chuckled, " My bad, Chim. So was it good?"

"Fuck, no! Dick was straight trash. The only thing that saved him a little was that his dick was huge." Jimin said, wiping away a pretend tear from the corner of his eye. 

You laughed boisterously at that. If Jimin wasn't so adamant about becoming a professional dancer. He could seriously take up a career in comedy.

"Speaking of dick. When are you gonna get some?" Jimin asked, turning his body to face you completely. As you looked at him, you noticed his eyes seemed a bit clearer, and his face wasn't as red as earlier. Not only did Jimin drink like a fish and smoke like a chimney. He was somehow able to sober just as fast.

"Oh my god, Jimin. Please don't sta-"

"Mmm, no missy," Jimin said, wagging his finger in your face.

"Don't you hear it?" He said, cupping his hand around his ear as if he was straining to hear something.

"Hear what?" You replied, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms against your chest.

"The cobwebs and tumbleweed living in your cunt."

"Jimin!" You shrieked, slapping the arm closest to you.

"Don't Jimin me! You know it's true, I swear you're gonna be a 40-year-old virgin, and by the time you finally make the decision to have sex, it'll be too late!" Jimin yelled, stumbling to stand up from the couch.

"First off, ouch. I won't be a 40-year-old virgin. That's very insulting. Second, I do plan to lose it soon. I just haven't found the time or the right guy." You said, looking down at your feet shyly. You did want to lose your virginity, but with being an introvert with a mix of social anxiety and just a dash of seasonal depression for added flavor. It was hard even to get out of bed sometimes. Much less going out and trying to find someone to do the do with.

"Oh! Well, if that's all, then I got you covered, babe. Time? Next week Friday at Jihyo's dorm. As for the right guy, I know a dude. He has like a kink for that kind of thing." Jimin answered nonchalantly, now scrolling through his phone, probably on his social media page.

You looked at Jimin, head tilted to the side, confused. "What kind of thing?"

"Oh, you know fucking virgins and shit. Popping their cherries." He said, popping his "P's."

You sputtered, exasperated. What the fuck. You didn't kink shame, that was for losers, but he can't seriously expect you to do something like that.

"What the actual fuck. Jimin, are you serious?"  

"Deadly." He said, looking you square in your eyes. His tone of voice haven dropped an octave lower.

"Jimin no. I-i can't."

"Jimin, yes! Err, I mean _____ yes, you can! Come on, it's a once in a lifetime experience. Plus, it's not like he's a total stranger. I've known him since he was 8 years old. I use to babysit the little shit head." Jimin said, waving his hand in the air, trying to swat away a rogue fly.

"Wow, Chim. You know, now that you put it like it makes me feel a lot better about the situation." You said tone dripped in sarcasm

"Really?" Jimin squealed, a delighted twinkling in his eye.

"Of course not! Don't be stupid!" Offended, you gawked at Jimin. You swear sometimes he could be so dimwitted.

"Come on, please? At least meet him, and if the vibe is not right, then you can leave no harm done." Jimin pleaded, his attention back on you. Was it crazy that you were actually thinking about agreeing to this? Jimin did have a point. It was sort of a once in a lifetime opportunity. He did know the guy, and if you didn't like the vibe, then you could just bounce, right? Right?

Sighing in defeat, your hands dragged down your face and turned towards a pouting Jimin. Grabbing at his deflated shoulders, you shook her lightly, and with urgency in your voice, you spoke, "Alright goddammit! I'll do it, but you have to stay by my side the whole time, no running off, you understand!" 

You watched Jimin's face quirk into a sly smirk. You swore you could see the cogs in his brain churning. Damn, you were going to regret this. You had the tendency to make deals when pressured. Most of the time, those agreements ended up backfiring on you, confining you in the proverbial rock and a hard place. 

"Yay! Operation: Pop _____ Cherry has commenced. Okay, so will meet at the auditorium on the art campus. From there we will walk to Jihyo's dorm, it's only five minutes. Promise me you'll actually show up and won't flake on me." A complacent expression rested arrogantly on Jimin's features, a single pinky finger extended towards you. 

"Don't give this situation a not-so-secret code name. And I can't believe I'm saying this but, I promise." You agreed, interlocking pinky fingers, yours thumbs coming up to press against one another.

"So I'll meet you at the location Friday, don't be late, and wear something sexy. No granny clothes." he chirped, making his way to your front door.

"Wait! You're leaving already?" you frowned, looking at the clock on your wall. He's only been here for an hour, and 30 mins of it were spent persuading you to hurry up and lose your virginity. You didn't even get to finish the movie together.

"Sorry babe, but I have a dick appointment." he shrugged, putting his arms through the sleeves of his jacket.

"Can you at least tell me the name of the guy who's supposed to fuck me?" you huffed, honestly you were done for tonight. As soon as Jimin left, you were heading straight for bed.

"Oh yeah, how could I forget." Jimin slaps the center of his forehead. "He's a real cutie. I would fuck him if he wasn't as straight as an arrow." Jimin looks off to a far wall, eyeing it with jealousy.

"Just tell me his name, please." You pleaded. Oh yeah, that's definitely a headache forming. You could feel it already. Jimin snaps out of his daydreaming and spins his body towards you.

"Jungkook."

Time skip to a week later, and precisely as you suspected, what a mistake that whole conversation was. Now here you were at this fucking dorm party with people you didn't know or care to get to know. Jimin had left you as soon as he saw his next piece of ass. Restlessly you hauled down the short black dress that insisted on riding up your ass, the soles of your feet protesting in the slim heeled shoes. Floundering your way into the packed building, you couldn't help but query where Jungkook was. Jimin was supposed to get around to send you a picture of the mystery man, but that never happened. Funny how now was the best time you decided to question why exactly Jimin was your best friend.

"Well damn, the pictures Jimin sent me doesn't do you justice at all. You're fucking hot." You recoiled from the closeness of the voice, the heated breath sending chills skittering down your spine, and the hairs on the back of your neck ramrod straight. Heat spurred to your face when you whisked around to meet an absolutely gorgeous guy. Like unfairly gorgeous guy. You stared wide-eyed, taking in his chiseled facial features, paired with wide doe eyes and bunny smile decorating his face. Somehow, someway he's mastered looked soft and sexy at the same damn time. And fuck was that a dangerous combination for your pussy. Your heart too, but more so your cunt.

"U-uh, thanks? Who are you exactly?" You watch as he recoils back from your with a look of apprehension on his face.

"A-are you not ____?" he stutters cutely. You think you can see the beginnings of a blush burning his cheeks. You nod your head once to confirm his question. He stared at you a minute longer before you see the recognition spark in his chocolate orbs.

"Jimin didn't send you my picture did he?" Shaking his head with his eyes close, you get the courage the scan his face a bit more. Yeah. He's definitely blushing.

"Sorry. I guess seeing you here, I thought Jimin would have...prepared you better." Shaking your head from side to side because your words refused to come out. You watched as he backed up a bit further from your personal space and thrust his right hand out to you. 

"The name's Jungkook, or J.K. Whatever suits your taste."

With clammy hands, you taking his outstretched hand marveled at how it almost covers your hand. Now that he's moved back from you, you now had to chance to see how tall he really was. Maybe about 6 to 7 inches taller. You look down at his feet and eye his combat boot, perhaps a little shorter but still taller. And big, yeah, definitely bigger. His oversized black jacket did little to hide the broadness of his shoulders and chest. You let your eyes travel down the length of his body. You bet he's hiding some killer abs under his shirt. And holy fuck, his thighs.

"You like what you see, baby girl?" Teasing, he's teasing but God, if his voice didn't make you pussy throbbing pathetically. Whimpering slightly, you let out a meek "Yes." God, you hope he didn't hear that.

Much to your dismay, he did, hear you. How he heard you with the music as loud as it was, was a mystery to you. But you watched his pupils dilate, and his nostrils flare slightly. Jungkook tucks his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes rake up and down your scantily clad body. His heated stare scrutinized across your body, intrigue exerting over him, as he analyzed the way the snug-fitting dress molded to the curves of your shape. He could tell you didn't do this often. His dick twitched in his jeans with enthusiasm. 

It's the increase in pressure of your hand that makes you realize you're still holding his hand. You go to retract your hand from his. However, yelp shrilly as he tugs you closer to his body. Both hands now resting on his chest, and his wrapped around your waist. Fuck, you could feel the warmth and coarseness of his hands through your thin dress. A spontaneous tremor racked your body. The heat-transmitting from his frame mixed with the floral yet musky undertone of his cologne made you somewhat featherbrained.

"Fuck, you're so soft." You squeak as he squeezes your waistline, pulling you even closer against his body. You were now putty in his hands.

"Jimin told you my....preferences, right?" his voice caressed your ear. Just a slight movement or subtle twitch, and his lips would be on your skin.

"Y-yeah, he did." It should be an embarrassment how frail and breathless you sounded, but that didn't matter.

Jungkook hid his smile behind your ear. This was just too easy. Just how he liked it. He almost felt bad- almost. He was gonna ruin you utterly and completely, mold the shape of cock in the walls of your pussy. His name spilling from your lips, voice going hoarse by how loud he would make you scream. Fuck he couldn't wait. He's had virgin's before, a lot of them. That's his whole M.O. The cherry popper, virgin fucker, whatever. Jungkook's heard all the names in the book. But there's just something about you, you just had an air of genuine innocence, and he couldn't wait to defile it. 

Jungkook pulls his head back, enough to where his eyes can trail over the bared skin of your neck, and the sprinkling of perspiration sparkling off the bright strobing lights, no doubt from nervousness. His tongue traced over his thin upper lip, watching the droplets of sweat spiral down the curve of your neck. He wanted to taste you. 

"Alright, then." He jerks his body away from you. You're no longer touching his chest, but his hands are still on your waist. 

"Let's enjoy the party before the fun really begins. Every done body shots before?" Jungkook spoke casually, undeterred by the way you recoiled back or the look of stupor on your face.

"W-what? B-body shots, why?" you squeaked, failing to keep from stuttering over your words. Is this how it's supposed to go? Is this normal? You're bewildered, and just a bit perturbed. Were you just imagining that sexual tension that was going on just moments ago? For sure, you thought Jungkook was gonna throw you over his shoulders and haul you off to the nearest unoccupied bedroom or bathroom. At that instant, you didn't care. 

Jungkook regarded the war of emotions wage across your features, merriment and strobing lights twinkling in his eyes. Fuck, you were cute, so desperate staring up at him with a pout on your face a puppy dog eyes. He could honestly just take you back to the closest room and fuck the shit out of you. But he wanted to play with his prey, a bit more. The wait made it that much more satisfying.

"Don't pout too much, baby girl or I may not be able to contain myself. Follow me. The table is this way."

Jungkook didn't indulge in answering any of your questions you rambled off at him, delighted to see you trailing on his heels like a lost pup. Jungkook directed you further into the dorm, and like a dog on a leash, you followed. In the center of a sparse room sat a scraped up black table. You observed the area. It was devoid of many people. The several that were present made no recognition of your proximity in their intoxicated state.

"So who's first?" Jungkook asked, setting the bottle of tequila, rim salt, and limes down on the table.

"U-uh, I don't know. I guess it doesn't matter." You shrugged hesitantly. You were way out of your element here.

"Perfect then, you first." Jungkook should be ashamed by how excited he was at getting to sample your skin. It looked smooth, felt soft when he had you in his arms, and would no doubt probably taste as sweet as it seemed. You nodded in docility, wandering over to crawl on top of the table, being attentive to your dress. You lay flattened against the table, shiverings racking your body as he began pouring a trail of salt between your cleavage. 

He poured himself a shot in the depression of your throat and tore the lime in half with his bare hands. Smirking at how you flinched when he thumped the liquor bottle down beside your head. Jungkook pushed the other half of the unevenly split lime towards your lips, a silent gesture to take the lime in your mouth. Jungkook watched as your lips curled gently around the hull of the green citrus. A flare of lust stirred in his loins at the action. He couldn't wait to see your lips stretched around the head of his cock. He observed your eyes clamped closed as he began dropping his head forward to your chest. It was adorable and innocent. He noted the way your lips slackened around the citrus in your mouth, your chest heaving in speed, the closer his tongue trailed to your neck.

You tasted splendid, just as sweet as he thought. The salt on your skin did nothing to deter your natural flavor. If anything, it enhanced your sweetness, rendering your skin damn near mouth-watering. Jungkook's ears perked at the breathless moans slipping past the fruit perched against your lips, drawn out by the repeated pass of the wet, pink appendage lapping at the salt line between the valley of your breast. Committing your muffled moans to memory, he lapped persistently at the collection of salt and tequila in the hollow at the base of your neck.

You face flammed in embarrassment as panting moans effortlessly tumbled from your mouth. Who knew your chest and neck was such an erogenous spot. Despite your shame, you couldn't stop wriggling, shifting your thighs together for some form of friction to sate the rising arousal dampening your panties. You yelped at the sensation of blunt teeth nibbling at your skin before soft lips came to suck at the shallow indentations. Fluffy hair with an undercut came into your line of vision as Jungkook lifted his head up to your lips. Your heart stammered tortuously against your ribs, flirtatious eyes stared lidded with searing lust, his head advanced closer to your lips. Your eyes fluttered closed, lips puckering against the bitter hull of the lime.

Jungkook closed the distance, slanting his mouth over the lime, blocking his contact with yours. He sucked against the sour fruit, acidity puckering his lips, residual tartness flowing to your cracked lips. Jungkook withdrew from your mouth, taking the drained lime hull with it. Your saccharine moans were heaven to his ears. It had awoken something inside him, fueled his fire in knowing that possibly no one had ever heard such a sweet sound. He wanted more, craved more. 

"Have you ever been kissed before, sweetheart?" Your eyes followed the movement of his tongue, poking out to moistening his lips. 

"Yeah, once in like 3rd grade." Who hasn't snuck behind a tree or hid underneath the dark coverings of playground equipment to lock lips with a childhood crush?

He grinned salaciously, body moving to rest between your spread legs. Oh, now he was really excited. Your lips were practically untouched. Just another part of your body to claim first. You jumped when palms pressed flat against the revealed skin of your thigh. Gently, Jungkook rubbed lazy circles on your skin, never lowering or furthering than the hem of your dress. He felt you wiggle beneath his hands, observed your eyes, glimpsing―darting about, should you concentrate on his face, or his hand, uncertainty was etched on your face.

"Amazing." He groaned, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, before grinning again. His face inched closer to yours, his lips but a breath apart, warmth flickered against your lips as he talked, level and smooth. " Well, how about I become your second?

And then his lips were on you, the soft muscle mangled itself to your lips, tentative and sluggish to give you a chance to register his mouth slanted upon yours. Jungkook chuckled against your lips at your unresponsiveness. He guesses you were a little shell shocked. It only takes a few more stagnant seconds before you're shyly reciprocating his kiss. Delicate, shaky movements highlighted your inexperience. Increasingly, Jungkook increased the pressure behind lips, his hands spreading to enclose around your waist, dragging you closer against him. One of Jungkook's hands removed from your waist to bury itself in your hair, gently his fingernails scratched against your scalp, an airy moan was his reward. 

Hands completely abandoning your midsection, one gripped the meat of your thigh, pulling you to the edge of the table, flush against the tent of his denim jean encased manhood, the other embedded in your strands pulled sharply on your roots, a loud gasp tearing from you. Jungkook took that opportunity to advance his tongue into your gaped mouth. His tongue wrapped itself around yours, briefly wrestling for dominance before easily pinning your tongue in submission. His hips ground against yours, the heat of your covered core teased him through his jeans. 

He thoroughly explored your mouth, swallowing the now copious cries leaving your mouth. Reluctantly, Jungkook tore himself from your kiss-swollen lips. The ravished looked suited you perfectly. You looked beautiful, thighs brazenly spread, eyes glazed over in lust, your sticky chest heaving from the length of the shared kiss. Even in the dim lights, he could make out the taunt pebbling of your nipples. 

Your mouth gaped wide, flapping about like a fish out of water, trying despairingly to draw air into your lungs. Your first kiss definitely didn't compare to this much. Your wide eyes flicked between Jungkook and the floor, your bottom lip tucked firmly between your teeth, feeling shy as he just stares at you. Releasing your teeth from your lips, you timidly touched your mouth, admiring how plump they've gotten from the intense liplock.

Wordlessly Jungkook hitched you over his shoulder, winded with a grunt as his defined shoulder blades dug into your stomach and what sounded like a growled vibrate up into you. You squirmed lightly in his hold, scared he was going to drop you, and secondly, your panty-clad ass on display for the party-goers, not that anyone was looking. 

You watched the continuous panels of hardwood floor move beneath you as Jungkook carried you to an unknown destination. You couldn't believe you were really doing this. Were you actually going to have sex with a complete stranger? Someone who was known for explicitly fucking virgins. Realistically, you should be ashamed, yet, you conceded full control to him without a second thought. What did that say about you? About your character? Would you now be labeled as 'easy' or a 'hoe' after all this was done? What was going to happen between you and Jungkook? 

The flick of a switch stirred from your thoughts. You shield your eyes with your hand at the bright lights pouring into the room, or rather a bathroom. Jungkook loved the confusion marring your features. He wouldn't fuck you in his bedroom just yet. That was a privilege you would have to earn, no matter how intrigued he had become with you. There's always humiliation to be had in the corruption of innocence, and fucking you in the bathroom was a good start. He planned on making you watch him as he destroyed your body, popping your cherry, stretching your tight virginal hole to accommodate his length, and claimed it as his own. Jungkook shuddered at the thought, his possessive nature taking a turn for the worst. 

Impatiently Jungkook sat you on top of the bathroom sink counter, his lips smashed against yours, the previous tenderness was gone, vanished into a puff of smoke. Teeth banged, and tongues flailed recklessly against each other in the heat of passion, with you struggling to keep up with the demands of his dominating kiss. Thick fingers trailed beneath the hem of your dress, tickling the expanse of your thighs. Jungkook wasted no time in shifting your slick soaked panties to the side, a warm digit gliding effortlessly through your damn folds.

"Fuck, you're already so wet. You're enjoying this a little too much, baby girl." Jungkook growled, panting against your lips. His finger breached your sex, you tensed deftly around the foreigner intrusion, stretching your weeping walls. 

"Ah, Jungkook." You cried listlessly, rocking your hips against his stilled finger. He felt so good inside you, and it was just his finger. Maybe this experience wouldn't be as bad as you heard. Now you couldn't wait to see what his cock felt like embedded deep within your pussy. Jungkook pumped slowly, eventually introducing a second finger to help loosen you up more. You were gonna be a tight fit, very tight, but that just made it even better. You hissed at the slight burn as he began scissoring his fingers apart with each withdrawal. Your hands wrapped around his neck as you buried your head against his broad chest, your mellifluous moans suppressed by the fabric of his shirt. 

"G-go faster, please." You begged, your body adjusting and quickly becoming frustrated by the snail's pace his fingers were pumping. You bucked your hips against his hands, hoping he would ease the growing discomfort boiling in your stomach. 

"Have you ever had an orgasm before, babe?" You nodded eagerly at his question, whining as you bucked against his hand again.

"Oh, really? Who gave it to you." Slow, he was going too slow you wanted, no you needed more friction, more stimulation from him.

"M-me. I-i did." Jungkook loved how you stuttered, it stroked his ego and filled him with arrogance to know it was him, and only that was capable of making you stumble over your words.

"Mmm, and how did you do it? Did you rub this little clit of yours raw?" You cried louder when his thumb flicked at your clit, the stimulation further drawing the appendage from its hood.

"Or did you fuck this tight hole, with these tiny fingers of yours?" At those words, a loud, choked moan, even muffled by your face in his chest, echoed throughout the white bathroom. Jungkook had gone deeper inside, almost to the third knuckle. Another moan left your lips as he twisted his fingers inside you, his palm now facing upwards.

"Though you and I bought know they couldn't possibly reach deep enough to touch the spot you really want." It's euphoric, no better yet orgasmic, the sheer shock of electric pleasure that zaps through your body when he finds the spongy bundle of nerves. Your body jerked heavily, legs go to snap close, only to be stopped by his broad body between your thighs.

He chuckles softly, stroking your thigh with his other hand. Jungkook shifts his head down, bringing his mouth closer to your ear. He exhales quietly, warm air tinged with tequila and lime caresses the light hairs on you around your ear. " I found it, huh?"

You whimper, rubbing your head up and down against his chest.

"You want me to speed up the pace, sweetheart?" Jungkook's voice is delicate now, so gentle. But you're confused, overwhelmed, and scared. It's never felt like this when you did it yourself. Your not sure if you could handle the feeling, so you don't provide an answer to Jungkook's question.

"Don't ignore me ____, that's not nice manners. I'll ask again." You clench around his fingers as Jungkook inches just a bit deeper. 

"Do you. Want me. To go faster?" With each pause, he arches his fingers in a 'come here' motion, pressing deeply against your bundle of nerves, the sensation of having to pee accompanied with each thrust.

 "Y-yes, faster, more. Pl-lease." Fuck, you sounded so pretty begging for him if he wasn't addicted before. You had him sprung now. Jungkook buried his face in the crook of your neck, the sharp smell of tequila and salt still lingering on your skin. He sucked at the junction where your shoulder and neck met. You bucked harder against his fingers, your juices now dripping to coat his palm is sticky cream.

"If you wanted more. Why didn't you just ask?" Jungkook said deviously. Confused, you felt withdraw his sticky digits, walls gripping to stop their departure. Without warning, Jungkook flipped you over onto the counter, your knees buckled at the sudden change in position. Your faced burning at your displayed state, droplets of your essence dribbled from your pussy, slicking up your inner thighs. You yelped as Jungkook grasped at the length of your hair, pulling back pointedly, your neck craned back to observe him addressing you in the mirror.

"You've been wondrous for me ____. Such a sweet girl." He expressed, his empty hand disappearing behind your perked ass to fiddle with the groin of his pants. 

"Truly, you have. Your response and reactions to my touch have really gotten me riled up. It's been a while since I've tittered on the edge of losing control." You wheezed, starting to panic as you felt the thick head of his cock slap teasingly against your slicked throbbing hole. Oh, God, he's huge. Jungkook's cock might just tear you apart. You shifted your hips forward, pressing against the cold marble of the bathroom counters door.

"I-i don't think, I can t-take it Jungkook, you're too b-big. It's my first-time, r-remember?” Your stuttering worse now, but you're scared.

Jungkook pulls your hips back with the hand the was grasping his length, the side of your hip now coated in his pre-cum. His hand lays flat in the crease of your back, forcing you into a perfect arch. 

"You can take it, all of it. And don't worry, of course, I remembered your fragility. I'll go slow, I promise." You plead silently with your eye contact through the mirror. 

"You ready?" You nod once an advert your eyes down to the sink.

Your mouth shakily falls agape as he slowly began pushing the head of his cock into you. It burns, but not as bad as you had anticipated. You take the chance to look back up into the mirror, adamant about giving Jungkook a thankful smile for his gentleness. That vision that greets looks like it jumped right off the page of your favorite erotic story. 

Jungkook's got his head thrown back, the edge of his t-shirt clenched tightly between his teeth, your eyes trail the drip of sweat that follows the curve of his jawline. You have a clear view of his abs all the way down to the v-cut of his hip, to the happy trail that leads to a neatly trimmed bush of pubic hair. You clench tightly around him, efficiently aroused by the view. You feel his cock throbbed heavily inside you, even getting bigger if possible.

"You like that, sweet girl? You like seeing me struggling to contain myself because you're so tightly around me. This little pussy trying to milk me for all I can give you." You love it. You feel powerful in a way. Do you really feel that good around him?

"Yes." Jungkook draws out the 'S.' 

"You feel amazing, so warm and wet. I wished you could see how coated in white you've got me, and I'm not even all the way in yet."

You scream soundless as he bucks into you, shoving in half of his length. It doesn't hurt anymore. You just feel stuffed full. Lifting a trembling hand, you take the chance a feel the lower part. You noticed swelling that wasn't there before, intrigued; you push down against it, moaning in shock you realize it's Jungkook's cock. 

"Yeah, baby girl, that's all me, well, most of me. You ready to take the rest?"

"Yes! Please!" That's the clearest you've been all night. You don't get an answer as Jungkook immediately picks up his pacing, thrusting into you faster. He wastes no time pumping deeply into your tight pussy, his tip smashing against the entrance to your cervix as you pant and grit your teeth in slight discomfort, overshadowed by pleasure. The burning sensation is back as he fucks in deeper with each brutal and swift stroke. But you don't care cause it still feels amazing. You can hear yourself, sloppy and soaking wet, echoing throughout the bathroom. You're drooling down his pistoning cock. You can feel it dripping down your inner thighs. Your head jerks violently against your shoulders, to weak support your head from his menacing thrust. 

Tightened vocal cords released strained shrieks of praise; from your mouth, drool dripping from your lips, into the sticky cleavage of your breast, and sweat coated your skin. The coil in your stomach was quickly tightening, never had you felt anything so deep inside you. If you ever had sex with anyone else, they would never compare to Jungkook.  You were fucked both figuratively and literally.

Jungkook pulled you further from off the sink, the new position allowing him even deeper. You clawed at the marble tops underneath your fingers, your eyes rolling in the back of your head. That sensation of having to pee is back again.

"J-K, I-m. I have to-," You don't get to finish as the band in your stomach snapped. Silently you announced your release; if it wasn't for the new wave of cum coating his cock, or the fluttering tightness of your walls, Jungkook might have missed your orgasm. He wasn't far behind you. The constant clenching of your ridged walls around his cock, had him reaching his limit sooner than he would like. Jungkook had half a mind to pull out but decided to gamble his odds. You're the first person he's fucked raw in a while, and with three deep thrusts later, he was shooting his hot seed right against your cervix. 

Breathing heavily, Jungkook lets you fall against the sink, observing as you crumpled against the sink countertop. Pride swelled his chest as he watched his seed bubble out of your well-used hole. He's never contemplated going farther with the virgins he fucked. He wouldn't make any hasty decisions now though there were still a lot of things he wanted to do with you. He would sleep on it and revisit the idea in the morning.

"So would you say, Operation: Pop Your Cherry was a success?"

You giggled, winded, still having difficulty catching your breath. You straighten up against the bathroom counter, the majority of your weight still resting on the object as you had yet to regain the feeling in your legs.

"Jimin and his stupid code names. I swear when I get a hold ass, he's dead." You warned already preparing your revenge on your best friend. You stare at Jungkook in the eyes through the mirror, smile a bit goofy, you say.

"Operation: Pop My Cherry. Mission complete."

[luxwritesfanfic]

Definitely Not Your Color

In true Sherlock fashion, he shows you exactly why green isn’t his color. Or, the one where reader can read auras and Sherlock is going through it at the sight of her new friend. AU!Bucky makes an appearance because I can’t live without him. Enjoy!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You were stood off to the side of the crime scene recounting your conversation with the last witness of the night. There had been yet another murder and Lestrade had requested Sherlock’s help for what seemed to be a serial killer in the making. Two murders in less than a week and Sherlock was thrilled and it was easy to tell. An array of yellows and subtle oranges surrounded him, engulfed him, as he explained how vacant Scotland Yard truly could be and how quickly he had figured out the killer’s M.O. He shined like the sun, and you swore you saw tendrils of sunlight shoot off of his fingers as he analyzed every aspect of the scene before him. All confidence, he paraded around the crime scene in a way you knew so well, pointing out things that even after working with him for months that you wouldn’t of picked up on. He was happy to be working again, to be playing, no, winning the game once more. 

You were thankful no one else saw his colors like you did. Because as sure as you were that he was what they meant when they said, “let there be light!”, you were sure that others would gravitate towards him even more until it got to a point that there was so much in between the two of you that you would only be able to see his shine from between the cracks of other people.

Pulling you out of your thoughts of Sherlock and things that you couldn’t control, you turned your head at the sound of someone’s throat clearing.

“He’s seriously brilliant.” An officer who you hadn’t recognized before stood behind you, holding his cap in his hands and drumming his fingers along the rim. He looked past you to where Sherlock and John were, a laugh slipped out from under his breath. “Makes it look so easy.”

Your lips twitched at the statement, a warmth you knew too well for your liking spreading around you. If anyone else could see you, really see you, you’d surely be figured out. Sherlock Holmes was a great man, you were sure of it. He was as intelligent as they came and as handsome as the devil, and sure— sometimes he could be rude, and maybe a little ignorant, and sometimes you really wanted to slap the smirk off of his face when playing Cluedo (Because, Sherlock, it can’t be the victim!) but you wouldn’t change him. 

They told you not to stare at the sun but you couldn’t help it. You needed to see what was really there because you refused to believe that a man who couldn’t feel a thing made the world look that vivid. You were the moth and he was the flame and if that meant dying a painful death just to bask in everything that he was, so be it. Evidently, there were worse ways to die.

Stealing one last glance like you couldn’t help yourself, you shoved your notebook and pen in your purse and made your way back to your conversation.

“He really is. You’re new, right? Lestrade mentioned he had some new guys joining the force. Can’t say you didn’t have an interesting first week.” You wanted to lighten the mood as much as you could because you knew this wasn’t an easy crime to see. You still couldn’t look at the body too long yourself without feeling the black sit heavy in your stomach.

“Don’t worry ma’am, I can handle it.” As if he read your mind, he gave you a warm smile and nodded. “My father, he, uh, he was an officer as well. Started me with the bad stuff early. Said it would give me a little more character and a lot more advantage. There’s not too much that can scare me away, I don’t think.”

You returned his smile. He was a cool blue, and it matched his eyes perfectly. It looked good on him, you decided. “Good. London needs all the help that we can get. Oh- I’m Y/N, by the way! I work with Sherlock and John sometimes. I’m not a genius or a doctor but I can take damn good notes.” And at that you both laughed, as he reassured you that the boys would have nothing to study from if it wasn’t for you. In turn it made you laugh even harder when you realized he hadn’t got the chance to see Sherlock visit his Mind Palace yet, where everything you could offer him he already had.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m James, but I hardly ever use my government if I don’t have to. Please, call me Bucky.” He reached his hand out to you and shook yours, that boyish smile never leaving his lips. From behind you, you could tell subconsciously that it had gotten significantly darker. Like a light had went out. You didn’t think enough of it to turn around and investigate it.

---

You found it was easy to talk to Bucky and you had more things in common than you could have expected. He was polite and seemed to have seriously believed that you were an integral part of the team that he needed to get to know. You appreciated his kindness and how friendly he was, and it seemed like more than anything he was grateful you were giving him a chance to belong. You couldn’t figure out why.

It just so happens that from the angle you were looking, you saw Sherlock’s shoes before you saw his face. It looked like moss had grown through the concrete and saturated him so thoroughly that you thought he wouldn’t soon be able to move. It made you uneasy how sickly the green made him look. You had never seen this color on him before.

“If I knew all you were going to do was stand around and disregard everything I say, I would have brought Molly instead. She listens. Intently.” Sherlock spat and cut his eyes at you before looking to Bucky and giving him a once over before digging in. 

“Generally, they say to try again and again if you fail. I would think that wouldn’t apply to something like the police academy. Third, no... fourth times the charm as they say?” The green fog spilled out of Sherlock’s mouth and continued to cover him, wrapping so tightly around his body that you thought he might have trouble breathing. Even though you were standing a few good feet away from him, you could feel how heavy the fog had made you, and you worried for Sherlock as it encompassed him. You almost made to reach for him because you were afraid you’d lose him under all the smoke.  

“You’re a favored drop out who still lives with his mother, no, father. That’s where the drinking problem comes from I assume? One failed relationship too many and now suddenly your calling is keeping the streets clean of the people you used to run them with. Now, I know Lestrade has horrible taste when it comes to putting together a team but tell me, how did he get so lucky as to stumble across you? It can’t be the... no wait, it is because of-“

“Sherlock!” You say exasperatedly, looking at him like he’s he’s got three heads when you can’t even see the one he’s got as it is. He is solid and dark and lost in this feeling that you can’t name and he’s not him. Well, he is him, but weighed down so much by whatever he’s trying to carry through that you can’t imagine he’s acting this hateful for no reason. You refuse to believe it.

Bucky sighed and somehow still managed to twitch his lips upwards, a ghost of the grin he wore before. “Well, Mr. Holmes, you are what they say you are. Brilliant for sure. Hell, you haven’t even spoken a word to me prior and you know my life.” You were shocked to see Bucky’s reaction, most people would of blacked out on Sherlock for an outburst like that and this one definitely warranted it. “You’re right, about all of those things. I guess I’m just trying to play the best game I can with the hand I was dealt. I’m not one for feeling sorry for myself.” He straightened up and fastened his cap back on as he caught eyes with Lestrade and returned a knowing nod. 

Turning to you, Bucky grinned as if it never phased him, like he had grown used to being talked down on. The blue never left him and that made you happy. You didn’t want him to feel bad.

“Goodnight, Y/N. I look forward to speaking with you again. Mr. Holmes.” With that, he bid you both a good night and headed towards his team.

“Sherlock,” you murmured when you turned back to face him. The fog was so dark that you couldn’t make out his features anymore. You felt the fear creeping up your neck while you were trying to figure out what was so wrong with him. “What’s wrong with you? I figured you’d be happy that you practically solved the case...?” 

You saw it, he had been happy. And then you remembered his earlier comment about Molly. Maybe he wished she was here instead to celebrate his win with him.

“Listen... if this is about Molly, you know you can always ask her to tag along instead. I don’t want you to feel... obligated to invite me. She’s probably more useful in a situation like this anyway.” 

You felt yourself internally deflate as you spoke, but you were able to make out Sherlock’s face once more under the city lights. The green began to thin out. He must’ve been relieved at your confession, you thought.

Sherlock visibly tensed for a second before quickly masking it under an air of nonchalance.

“I could care less about Molly or what she’s good for. All I care about is the work and that it gets done. You know that.”

You watched as time passed and you could start seeing more of him. You realized you’d been holding your breath for some time waiting for the green to dissipate and set your detective free. Sherlock was back with you, and whatever feeling tried to take him away from you was lost now. That’s all that mattered.

And, of course, because there were still pressing matters to finish attending to, your moment with Sherlock didn’t last long. You swore something had changed within him. Something you couldn’t name just yet.

You weren’t totally quite convinced that whatever had happened between you two back there wasn’t about Molly, or some strange feeling that Sherlock was having that he’d surely never talk about. Even still you continued to follow after him wherever he asked you to go, as he still always asked you to go. 

And if he happened to stand a little closer to you the next time you worked alongside Scotland Yard, you were none the wiser.

[lyallblacklupin]

Prompt: Wolfstar - Sirius opens up to Remus about his thoughts on dating a werewolf. Any rating you want.

I truly apologize for such a late response. Your prompt was quite the unique one and I hope you like how I wrote it. Thank you for an amazing suggestion! Happy Reading! <3

Rating: Mature (Implied Sexual Content.)

Sirius bursts into the common room with the deepest frown on his face and the biggest pout on his lips which is enough to cast everyone’s attention in the room. Marlene squints from her magazine, James sits up from Lily’s lap, and Peter sets down his chocolate (which rarely happens, that means some disaster awaits the Marauders and others around them.) However, the only person who is straining his nerves to look nonchalant—but the nostrils don’t help much but flare hopelessly—is none other than Remus Lupin.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Sirius says curtly. James looks around to see who is he addressing with such aggression, and it is again none other than Remus Lupin sitting with a book hiding his face. The tension in the air is so thick that can only be cut with a knife.

“I am talking to you, Remus.” He speaks again, his voice is emphatic on each of his words. Remus changes the direction of the book from his face as if it is a mask, but it is still in between his index finger and thumb. His eyebrows are cocked up higher enough to disappear in his golden fringe.

“I’m sorry but I don’t have time to discuss anything as useless and pointless as your drama.” He says.

Peter gasps, Lily flinches, and Marlene snorts. Sirius shoots her a glare.

“Sorry.” She recovers and hides back her face in the magazine.

“You think I am being dramatic about this?” Sirius turns back and asks indignantly.

“I don’t think you are being dramatic,” Remus makes an innocent face suddenly, waving his hands to his sides. His facial expressions are always priceless, “but I think you are dramatic.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Lupin!” Sirius looks extremely mortified as he scoffs at him and the next thing everyone knows that he is climbing the dormitory stairs, and then which follows with a loud slam of the door.

The silence in the room is filled with the crackling sound of the fire before their sitting spot until James clears her throat as his eyes—in fact, everyone’s eyes land on Remus who is sitting like a terrified cat, scared but too prideful to admit his harshness.

“So…umm, you guys having a row?” James finally says.

“You think?” Marlene makes a bored face before she turns to Remus, “So tell me, darling, what is your problem?”

“My problem?” He asks as if he can’t believe he has been asked that question.

“Yes, Rem,” Lily says suddenly, looking stern and concerned at the same time, “Your problem.”

“How can you say that without knowing what’s going on between us!”

“We don’t know what’s going on between you two, but what we know is that you insulted him in front of everyone and now you don’t feel bad about it?” Lily scolds Remus, who looks like he has been slapped. He looks down at his hands. His books are still between his hands. He has been feeling bad the second he said those mean words to Sirius, and now he feels a lot worse than a few seconds ago. He is looking down at his book while his mind racing on how should apologize to his boyfriend before a shadow grows on which makes him look up to see James Potter snatching the book from his hands. He doesn’t even get a chance to protest because James is already settling his head on Lily’s lap, and acting to read that book.

“Fine, Potter!” He threw his hands up in surrender and stands up to make his way to the dormitory. He sees the smirk breaking on James’ lips but his eyes never leaving the book page which he is definitely not reading at all.

He opens the door of the dorm, and the air smells stale and something is on fire. The urgency suddenly takes place in his body as he walks around to find four perfectly tucked beds, the bathroom door is opened which means Sirius is not inside.

He sees the window opened and sees the wisps of faint smoke in his view. He comes close to lean out. His side glance catches Sirius sitting on the extremely narrow ledge with his legs dangling in nothing but a groundless view of Hogwarts beneath his feet, and for a second Remus has decided that his heart has stopped beating. He staggers back in to process the view in his head.

“Fucking shit! Fuck! Merlin!” Remus curses when his brain completely registers the terrifying idiocy of his boyfriend. He leans out again to call him, “Sirius, are you out of your fucking mind!?”

He doesn’t reply because he is smoking his cigarette in the most seductive way, or maybe he is smoking just fine but Remus can’t help but feel something funny in his lower abdomen.

“Sirius?” He says again with his clenched teeth.

“I will not listen to you unless you put your anger aside,” Sirius says with a deadpanned face which is, by the way, glimmering in the moonlight as if it is something sacred. His beauty is ethereal and yet so sharp to cut someone’s heart into two. Remus swallows because it is a mouth-watering sight. But then he remembers. This is exactly what they have been fighting about; Werewolf instincts. The moon is close, and the wolf is flowing into him.

“This is not some joke, Sirius! This is extremely dangerous! Come back in this instant!”

“See, no gentleness,” Sirius sighs and takes a drag from his cigarette, “Not coming right now.”

This is infuriating, Sirius is in fact infuriating. However, yelling at him is just like setting more fire on the raging flames. Remus inhales, and then reaches out his hand from the window for Sirius, “Please. Come inside, Sirius.”

“Nopes.” Remus clenches his mouth but then relaxes.

“Look, Sirius, I’m getting really worried for you. Please, come back? I promise I’m not angry.”

“I can see you grinding your teeth.” Remus grimaces but then eventually smiles in surrender. Sirius can be very convincing without any animalistic forms.

“Yes, because you are annoying,” His voice is utterly soft, “but I love you just like that. Will you come to me?”

Sirius narrows his eyes and cocks an eyebrow which instantly causes Remus to chuckle, along with a feeling of gushing love inside him.

“Okay, I’m coming.” He takes his hand and jumps inside to wrap his arms around Remus who immediately holds him in his embrace. Due to the height difference, Sirius stands on his tiptoes to hug him so the latter boy scoops his legs up to wrap around his waist and Sirius wastes no time to comply.

“I’m sorry, love…” Remus nuzzles his head in his hair.

“It’s okay, I know you’re not feeling good. The moon…” Sirius' voice is tired and low. It is always surprising to see his bottomless patience for Remus’ condition, considering how much edgy he can be otherwise.

“Hey…” Remus makes them sit on the nearest bed. Sirius completely sits on his lap with his legs tied around him, and his hands laced around his neck. He looks so small, and Remus doesn’t want to see his sadness. After a long drag of silence and relishing each other with feather-light touches and kisses, Sirius whispers in his skin.

“Why can’t you let me have you?”

“I’m right here. You have me.” Remus whispers back with his lips still lingering on his cheeks.

“Completely…Moony…” The voice breaks his heart, and he looks up at Sirius' hurting eyes.

“Sirius, this is not a joke.”

“Moony, I don’t take you as a joke in my life. Not even in the slightest.”

“You don’t realize how dangerous it is.”

“Then make me!” And Remus winces but doesn’t leave his grip on Sirius’ waist, “I want you all. I…I like it that way…” The last words hang awkwardly in the air with Sirius blushing like he has tomatoes beneath his cheeks.

“You are not serious, are you?” Remus lets out a hollow laugh.

“Yes, Moony, I’m serious about this.” He is frozen because Sirius’ eyes scream nothing but the truth, and most importantly he has completely missed the pun.

“You are…” He stutters but Sirius cuts him off.

“Yes. I want to be with you in every part, Remus. You lose control? I don’t care! I want you to be the most honest version of yourself. I want to love you more. I fell in love with your rawness, your scars, and your real self. I want you to lose control.” Sirius rocks him and tightens his grip on his neck, and Remus closes his eyes, “I want to have you in the most Remus way. Your way. Just you. All of you.”

Remus inhales the scent of Sirius that is beginning to saturate around him, enveloping him in the haze of his soul and body. He feels lightheaded with the softest sensation of certain lips brushing his neck and jaw. A shiver runs down his body, and a whimper comes out of his mouth.

“Sirius, you…can’t…you are…please, no…” Because Sirius cannot understand this.

“Moony, it’s okay.” Lips still roaming dangerously at the back of his ear.

“No, it’s not!” Remus snaps, causing Sirius to flinch, and instantly he feels terrible. He immediately rests in hand back on Sirius’, “Please, don’t be disappointed in me…Merlin, I can’t hurt you, Sirius.” His free hand travels up to hold the other boy’s face which looks as gloomy as death, “I just love you too much for that…you can’t ask me to ruin you! You can’t ask me to fuck you like an animal! I know I’m not enough for you—“

“No! You are more than enough, Remus!” Sirius pleads with eyes that were at the brink of spilling tears.

“Sirius…” Remus sighs, not leaving his grip on Sirius’ hand. The silence fills them up again. His eyes wander around the dimly emitted dorm, then to the opened window where an almost full moon peeks out like a thundering reminder. Sirius looks down at their hands but stays quiet…pretty much tired. He looks exhausted. Remus shakes their hands for him to look up and he forces a smile on his tightly pressed lips.

“I’m not asking you to break me,” Sirius speaks lowly after a while, “I’m asking you to be yourself. Is that too much to ask?”

“Myself is not pretty to encounter, Sirius.”

“You think I need you to be pretty? You think I would want you fancy and sparkly? I don’t expect perfection from you because I know you have millions of flaws and imperfections, and fuck I fell in love with all of those! Call me sick or downright stupid, but it is the truth. You being a werewolf is something that the Marauders know, and that makes us feel honored and so so special to know that part of you. That you allowed us to know that part of yourself. Is it a beautiful part to you? No. But is it a beautiful part to me? Yes! I cannot disgust you because this was never in your hands. You were given this! Worse or best, but it is you. And I love you. I love that part of you. I’m so sorry that you got what no one would ever even wish upon their enemy, but that doesn’t make me want to hate that part of you. I love you whole.”

He reaches forward to put both of his hands on Remus’ face to wipe away the flooding tears, which is when Remus realizes that he is crying. The realization hits him like an iceberg and sobs erupt from him. Sirius wastes no time to quickly hold him against his chest as he keeps rubbing his back.

“Listen, you are not ready, and it’s okay my love,” Sirius brings in mouth closer to Remus’ ear, “I just want you to know that you don’t have to hold back your urges. You don’t have to hold back anything. I want to let you know completely and soundly that I’d do anything for you to make you feel yourself. This is what I feel about you. I hope you understand this, truly, but tell me if you still don’t I’ll try my best to open up more to you. But at the same time, open up to me, too. Be with me, for real.” He emphasizes each of his words, and Remus nods in his chest.

He pulls himself back to look at Sirius’s face. His hands trace his perfect face with careful eyes and he realizes that he fell in love with the real Sirius Black. He knows that his boyfriend has different images for other people which mainly rules by arrogance and reserved personality. However, with Remus, he is a totally different person, the happiest and calmest he has ever seen.

“I love you, too.” It comes out in a wavering voice, and Sirius smiles genuinely, “You already opened up to me, you, perfect git.” He nudges his elbow in his ribs, making him laugh, “You wouldn’t…care…if I…you know…”

“Lose control?” Sirius suggests with tenderness in his voice which causes Remus to shudder. He nods at him tentatively.

“No, Moony. My love for you will never lessen because of that. I want you this way. I want to see you this way. Your way. Just don’t hold back. I am here. Always will be.” He turns his face just a fraction to plant a kiss on Remus’ hand that was holding his face.

“Okay…okay…” He swallows and feels damp with cold sweating. His palms are sweating too against Sirius’ face but he brushes off the thought and braces himself to take that mask off. It feels like tearing down his skins. It is like more than being naked. He leans in and kisses him hesitantly but Sirius complies with firm lips and eager hands. And Remus relaxes, deepening the kiss. His head feels fuzzy, his fingers are altering to the warmth of Sirius’ bareback, and his legs are wrapping round his waist as if they are returning to the place they belong. He is melting in his body.

It doesn’t take long when the swooning is over, and the urge to get the upper hand on their intimate connection grows on Remus. His hands slide down from their intertwined hands to hold Sirius’ wrist. He uses his weight as leverage to push him on the bed, and dive in to kiss his neck. He also realizes that Sirius is loud as he groans and moans on the tiniest touches. Remus doubts that they will get through this. He gets on all fours with a flushed Sirius beneath him. He sees his face is glowing like pearls that speak nothing but reassurance.

“It’s okay, love. It’s alright, Moony.” He whispers and gets up to reach Remus’ mouth. When they share a languid kiss, Remus decides that it is going to be okay. It is going to be alright.

[scxrlettwxtches]

[10:47p.m.] kiss for a bet + hurt feelings | hwang hyunjin

warnings: light making out, hyunjin’s kinda a douche here :(

requested: yes!

a/n: pt. 2 has arrived!

There was a reason why you hated parties.

Actually, there were a lot more than one. First of all, they were technically illegal, but that never stopped your friend group from going, and as a result, that never stopped them from dragging you along for the ride. You also hated loud noises, and parties were all screaming, saturated music playing from poor quality speakers, and more screaming. 

Things also tended to get complicated at parties. 

It was hardly a special occasion, a typical Friday in which your extroverted friends decided to drag your introverted ass out of your bedroom so you could ‘live a little.’ This time, Felix and Seungmin had decided to crash a nearby frat party, and you honestly didn’t care enough to say no. 

When the three of you arrived, it became crystal clear that Seungmin and Felix were not the only ones with the idea to sneak into this party, because at the cup pong table stood the familiar faces of Changbin, Hyunjin and Jisung, all of whom also happened to attend your high school. The six of you had grown up together in the same neighborhood, so you spared them brief waves before disappearing to grab some drinks and sit in a corner of the house. 

“That was a very curt greeting, Y/N,” Felix commented as he gulped down his beer, “Trouble in paradise with your Hyunjinie?”

“There can’t be any trouble if there wasn’t a paradise to begin with,” you scoffed without missing a beat, already accustomed to their incessant teasing, especially regarding a certain Hwang Hyunjin, who looked far too dashing standing over at the cup pong table with his long hair tied up and with him wearing those sinful black jeans that--

“Oh god, please stop ogling him,” Seungmin moaned in frustration, looking as if he wanted trade in his beer with straight vodka, “I’m going to throw up at this rate watching you look at him with those bedroom eyes.”

“I don’t look at him with bedroom eyes,” you denied with an affronted expression, sitting at one of the lower steps of the staircase as you sipped at your beer, being careful not to push at your very low alcohol tolerance.

Seungmin didn’t look the least bit convinced, “Sure, and Felix isn’t totally in love with Changbin,” he retorted as Felix gave a nonchalant shrug, “You guys aren’t even on bad terms, so why don’t you just get your head out of the clouds and ask him out on a date?”

“Wait, are we not going to address the fact that Felix just admitted to being in love with Changbin?”

“That’s old news, sweetie,” Felix cooed at you with a sickeningly saccharine smile, “And we’re talking about you right now. Don’t try to change the subject.”

You sighed, pointedly avoiding your friends’ expectant gazes, “Look at him,” you mumbled, taking a bigger chug of beer as you turned your attention to the beer pong table, “There’s just no point in confessing to someone who’s more interested in--well, that.” 

The three of you looked towards the direction of the cheers and loud yelling. Sure enough, Hyunjin was standing at the end of the beer pong table, a triumphant smirk gracing his ethereal face as he held a random college girl by the waist, lapping up the attention and the popularity like a dog. His long hair had slipped out of his messy ponytail, strands falling down and framing his face in a godlike image of imperfect perfection. 

“You’ve got a point there,” Seungmin admitted, bringing your attention back to the conversation at hand and forcing you to tear your eyes away from your crush, “But you know it’s just a persona. He wasn’t at all like this before.”

“It doesn’t matter who he was before,” you hissed, your face dropping into a scowl as you remembered the wool sweaters, the sweet, button up shirts that he would wear, and the way he would talk to everyone like the kindest boy in the school, “All that matters is that he’s like this now and I’m not going to get myself involved--”

“Hey, Y/N! Could you do something for me?” 

There wasn’t a moment to breathe as you looked up, your eyes growing wide as you saw Hyunjin walking to you, one hand in his jean pocket. Before you could even process his words, Hyunjin cupped your cheek with a delicate touch, tilting your head up and pressing his soft, perfect lips against yours.

Your brain short circuited, your entire body tensing as Hyunjin paid you no mind, moving his lips against yours as his tongue slipped into your mouth. It was your first kiss, it would be--without a doubt--the best kiss you’d ever have. You suddenly understood why all those girls were hanging onto Hyunjin like moths to a flame; he was a mind-blowing kisser.

Slowly, he began to suck on your lower lip, biting and licking until you finally gave in, reciprocating his kiss hesitantly, your hand moving to rest at the nape of his neck. You could feel Hyunjin smile against your lips as he grabbed your hand, moving it for you, which also worked to pull you straight into his embrace. 

His tongue danced with your less experienced one, guiding you and goading you, pushing and pulling until your desire felt like a fiery pit in your lower abdomen. With one hand around his neck and the other tightly gripping the front of his shirt, you didn’t care about the hollering or the cat calling around you or the dumbfounded looks on your friends’ faces. All you cared about were the shivers you felt every time he nibbled your lower lip and the soft mewls he was able to pull out of you as he squeezed your waist a little tighter.

After what felt like simultaneously the shortest and longest minute of your entire life, Hyunjin pulled away from you with a satisfied look on his face, admiring the thin trail of saliva connecting his lips to your swollen and bruised ones. He spared a moment to gaze into your eyes, and for the first time in your life, you were truly able to look at his captivating brown eyes up close instead of looking at him from a distance with your head dipped down. 

You were so swept away by the intoxicating feeling of his lips against yours, his tongue exploring every corner of your mouth, his hand squeezing at the soft skin of your waist, that you almost didn’t notice the way Changbin walked over, slapping a twenty dollar bill in Hyunjin’s free and outstretched hand.

Wait, what?

Hyunjin’s grip on your waist slipped away, and it was almost as if it were never even there as he wiped his mouth with a nonchalant expression. You backed away from him, staring at him with wide eyes, watching as he ran a hand through his dashingly wind-swept hair before glancing at you with a friendly smile.

“Thanks for that. If I had to give Changbin twenty bucks, I would be totally broke,” he laughed, completely unaware of the way your heart was collapsing in on itself. He gave you a playful look, grabbing your hand with such a disgustingly earnest expression that you couldn’t even find it in yourself to slap or push him away.

“No hard feelings, right?”

No hard feelings. Laughter bubbled out of your chest, your heart squeezing and twisting in the most painful way as you continued to laugh, smiling at Hyunjin even as your eyes glossed over with unseen tears, “Of course,” you said with a good natured smile, “None at all.”

Hyunjin laughed, gently pushing at your arm, “I knew you’d understand,” he giggled, and you had to pointedly ignore the way Seungmin and Felix’s expressions had gone ice cold, being especially directed towards Hyunjin, “You wanna play beer pong with us?”

“Oh, no thank you,” you smiled through your teeth, your jaw clenching and unclenching, “I have stuff to do, so I’ll be off.”

Without so much as a look back to your friends, you made your way out of the house. The smile you’d nailed onto your face earlier now crumbling the farther you walked from his presence. You ducked and weaved around people to make a beeline for the door. It was suffocating, you felt like you couldn’t breathe, your vision was spinning, you just needed to get out--

You pushed out of the house, your tears now freely rolling down your cheeks, smearing your makeup as you wrapped your bare arms around your body, as if doing so would protect you from the world, from the embarrassment, from him. 

And as you walked down the dimly lit street, the loud music and the shouting fading off in the background, you knew there were many reasons why you hated parties.

You just never thought a broken heart would be one of them.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: Have you watched Lupin? What did you think? (And are you a fan of the books or other adaptations of the character?)

The short answer is yes, I have seen Lupin on Netflix. Overall I enjoyed it so long as I suspended my disbelief at certain things.

Unfortunately it took being struck down by Covid and being bedridden for me to actually to binge watch the whole series. So I was behind the curve when my friends, French and those outside of France, started to talk about it around me. I had to beg them not to give away spoilers until I had seen it all.

It did surprise me that it won rave widespread reviews outside France because usually French drama series don’t travel very well outside of France. I’m sure even Netflix had no idea how successful it would be for them. I’m sure being in Covid lockdown had something to do with it. In any case I don’t begrudge its success as it’s well earned.

However I wasn’t too surprised that within France itself the French reviews were decidely mixed and divisive. The critic at Le Point painfully hit the nail on the head when he wrote, “Le plus gros défaut de l'ensemble reste la pauvreté des personnages, tous unidimensionnels, caricaturaux et aussi épais que du papier à cigarette.“ - loosely translated as, ‘the biggest flaw of the whole thing remains the poverty of the characters, all one-dimensional, cartoonish and as thick as cigarette paper’.

There’s a growing amount of good French stuff on TV and streaming services but a non-French audience will not have had the chance to have seen all of it yet. I can think of any number of French television drama/dramedy/cmedy series that are much better than Lupin with better plots, characters, and even a truer perspective of French society and even modern day France (Dix pour cent (Call My Agent!), Le Bureau des Légendes, Engrenages, Baron Noir, and Paris Police 1900). But you would be hard pressed to find anything that comes close to Lupin just for the sake of something fun to watch during the Covid lockdown.

What makes the current generation of home made French television series so interesting is how much of it is a reflection of France’s own anxieities about itself and its role in a increasingly English speaking dominating world. In a funny way it sees itself as defiant plucky Asterix fighting off the Roman American cultural hordes from totally invading their Francophone culture.

For sure, it has societal and racial issues stemming from its colonial legacy and issues of immigration and integration (France has the largest Muslim population in Europe). However it seems to want to ‘resolve’ these issues through the almost sacramental adherence to French secularist ideals rather than American inspired ideas of social justice and equity. There’s always been something very admirable about the French - from the time of General de Gaulle and perhaps before - always swinging from snooty ambivalence to outright antipathy towards the influence of American culture ‘americanising’ French culture (no to Walmarts or fast food chains for example).

Is it any wonder then that Netflix’s ill-conceived American series ‘Emily in Paris’ was widely hated and mocked within France for just perpetuating those lazy American tropes of Paris and French culture?

Personally I know Francophile Americans, long resident in Paris, who were frankly embarrassed and spent a lot of time apologising to their French friends. I have one American friend who has told me that she was so mad that she would have blind folded Emily and shoved her hard in the car boot and drive her all the way to the poorest of the banlieues in the grimey crime saturated suburbs of Paris - Seine-Saint-Denis came to mind - and dump her preening arse there. She would slap her and tell the spoilt entitied brat to make her own way back home - you know, to her spacious apartment in one of the most expensive arrondissements of Paris that of course(!) any American intern working for French marketing firms can afford.

I digress. My apologies. Watching this God awful show gives me PTSD.

Onto Lupin.

Thankfully Lupin doesn’t try to play to non-French tropes of what Paris is or isn’t. It does skim the surface of current discontents within French culture and society (race, class, power, and money) but ever so lightly so as to not get in the way of just spinning a good crowd pleasing yarn. It invites you to have fun and not to think too much. I have to be honest and say I enjoyed it as long as I suspended my disbelief here and there.

Lupin refers of course to the character Arsène Lupin, the French gentleman thief who stole jewellery from Parisian haute bourgeois and aristocracy at the turn of the century. Lupin, as written in the novels and short stories by Maurice Leblanc between 1905 and his death in 1941, was the archetypical anti-hero, a Robin Hood who stole from those who deserved it but kept the loot himself. He was often portrayed often a force for good, while operating on the wrong side of the law.

Lupin never really made much of an impact outside of France as he had within France where is revered with many French film and television adaptations. In England, we already had a Lupin type character in the form of A.J. Raffles, a cricket playing gentleman thief with his aristocratic side kick, Bunny. E.W. Horning’s stories of Raffles’ daring heists proved to be quite popular with the British public when Raffles first appeared on the scene in 1898. And even later Leslie Charteris’ The Saint took over the mantle from Raffles as the gentleman thief/adventuring Robin Hood.

I think Hollywood tried to introduce him to an English speaking audience (legendary actor John Barrymore even played him) but he didn’t really take off and eventually they found their gentleman thief archetype in Sir Charles Lytton aka The Phantom (played by David Niven and Christopher Plummer) in the Pink Panther movies. So Lupin never got the English audience he deserved.

I first got wind of who Arsène Lupin was when I was growing up in Japan as a child. As strange as it sounds Lupin was big in Japan especially after World War Two. The Japanese did their own take on the Lupin character using Japanese actors and plot lines but it was Lupin.

I don’t know how exactly but I remember watching these scratchy DVDs of these Lupin inspired films. I think it was one of my parents’ Japanese friends who was mad for all things Lupin and he had studied French literature in France. Jogging my memory I now recall these black & white films were done in the 1950s. One starred Keiji Sada and the other version I remember was with Eija Okada (he was in Resnais’ classic film, Hiroshima Mon Amour) as Arsene Lupin called (I think) Kao-no Nai Otoko. I didn’t understand most of it at the time because it was all in Japanese and my Japanese (at the time) was pitiful, but it looked fun.

There was even a Japanese manga version of Lupin which was called Lupin III, - so named because he was the grandson of the real Arsène Lupin.

The 1960s manga series spawned generations of TV series which I do remember watching and finding it terribly exciting if somewhat confusing.

It was French expatriate friends whom my family knew that introduced me to the real Arsène Lupin. They had a few of the books authored by Maurice Leblanc. It was in French so I read them to improve my French but enjoyed the story along the way.

I also remember them showing me scratchy episodes of the 1970s Franco-German TV series ���Arsène Lupin’ with the monocle wearing Georges Descrières in the lead role. It was a classical re-telling of the adventures of the aristocratic gentleman-burglar and very family friendly viewing. I don’t really remember much of it to be honest.

It was some years before I actually started to read more of the Maurice Leblanc’s novels and short stories collection. I have them all now. I was a teen and I remember being stuck in a snowed in a Swiss Alpine chalet and with nothing else to do but pull out a few dog eared books from the bookshelves belonging to our French host and read to pass the time.

I read Les Dents du tigre, Arsène Lupin vs Herlock Sholmes, and Les Huit Coups de l'horloge and thoroughly enjoyed them in the original French. I was already reading classic detective and mystery novels (Sherlock Holmes, Poirot etc) so it was natural to read the adventures of Arsène Lupin.

I haven’t got around to reading all the novels and short stories but I have read most of them and I enjoyed them all immensely. In the same way Conan Doyle, through Holmes and Watson, manages to conjure a convincing picture of late Victorian and early Edwardian England, so Leblanc manages to give us a taste of Belle Epoque France through the eyes of his suave gentleman-thief, Arsène Lupin.

Indeed it's a lot like reading Sherlock Holmes in that you're always trying to figure out how he did it, but the difference is that you are rooting for the bad guy. You can’t help but be drawn to this gentleman thief who is charming, comic, playful, and romantic and generous. Lupin is not an intellectual puzzle-solver but first a master criminal, later a detective helper, who maintains his curious ethics throughout his adventures. In this regard he is very much the anti-Sherlock Holmes; and I wasn’t disappointed when I actually read the story where Lupin faces off with Holmes himself. Brilliant!

I’ve also seen the 2004 French movie with Romain Duris in the Lupin lead role and it also starred the majestic Kristin Scott Thomas and the sexy Eva Green.

It was a decent adventure flick and it was a clear confluence of different Lupin novels (The Queen's Necklace (introducing Lupin's childhood), The Hollow Needle (where the treasure is the macguffin of the story), The Arrest of Arsène Lupin (the gala on the ship as a backdrop) and Josephine Balsamo, (one of Lupin’s most memorable opponents in the The Countess Of Cagliostro).

Romaine Duris, a fine classical actor, was I felt miscast because he didn’t have Lupin’s levity of wit and be at ease within himself. I love Duris in his other films but in Arsène Lupin and even in his other film, Moliere, he seemed ill at ease with the role. Perhaps that’s just me.

The latest Netflix adaptation (or reimagining to be more precise) is a welcome addition to the world of Arsène Lupin.If you don’t over-think it, it’s bags of fun.

Omar Sy is immensely likeable. Sy is a deservedly a big star in France - he won the best actor César for “The Intouchables,” an international hit - and has played forgettable secondary characters in big-budget American special effects movies (he was Chris Pratt’s assistant in “Jurassic World” and a minor mutant in “X-Men: Days of Future Past”). It was reportedly his desire to play Arsène Lupin, whom he’s compared to James Bond (“fun, funny, elegant”), that led to the series, created by British writer George Kay. And it is on his charm that the series largely, though not entirely, rests.

So the basic story revolves around a jewellery heist. Sy plays Assane Diop, a first-generation French-Senegalese man in contemporary Paris. A collection of Lupin stories, a gift from his father - whose undeserved fate Assane set himself to avenge in long-delayed, Count of Monte Cristo style upon a criminal tycoon - has made the actual Lupin books a foundation of his life and profitably illicit career. This fan-ship goes as far as borrowing practical ideas from the stories and constructing aliases out of anagrams of “Arsene Lupin,” a habit that will attract the interest of a low-level police detective (Soufiane Guerrab as Youssef Guedira) who shares Assane’s love of the books. (That the detective also shares an initial with Lupin’s own adversary, Inspector Ganimard, is possibly not a coincidence.)

Among the many comic delights of Lupin, is an unspoken one. Time and again, the show’s hero, master thief Assane Diop is able to slip into a place unnoticed, or by assuming a minor disguise that prevents witnesses from providing an accurate description of him to law enforcement.

Why is this funny?

Because Omar Sy is six feet three (and, since most actors are short, seems even taller), is roughly as wide as soccer pitch, and is memorable even before he flashes his infectious million-Euro smile. This is not a man for whom anonymity should be possible - even allowing for racial bias in a majority-white country, Assane would be memorable and distinctive - and Lupin seems cheekily aware of this. Like the various incredible sleights of hand Assane deploys to pull off his thefts and escapes, his ability to be anyone, anywhere, is treated more as a superpower than as something even the world’s greatest criminal would be able to pull off.

At one point, when he’s slated for a cable news appearance as a much older man, we learn that Assane is also a master of disguise. The revelation of this skill arrives with a wink in the show, and it feels pointless to ask where he learned it, or how he affords movie-quality latex and makeup. Or rather, asking the question feels wrong.

We know this is impossible, the show seems to be asking its viewers again and again, but isn’t it so much fun?

The performances and the production - it has that particularly European filmic quality of feeling natural even when it gets stylish - keep the series warm even as the plot is made up of incredulous contraptions that require everything to go right at just the right time and for human psychology to be 100% predictable. Its physics are classical rather than quantum, one might say, and like the world itself, which becomes more curious the deeper you peer into things, it is best handled along the surface. You do not want to take too much time working out the likelihood of any of this happening. Just go along for the ride.

Somehow, though, it all works because Sy is so magnetic and charming that questioning plot logic feels wildly besides the point. Though he never looks appreciably different in his various aliases (including one ill-conceived live-TV appearance done under old-man makeup and a thick beard), he changes his posture and voice ( if you watch it in French that is) enough to allow for the willing suspension of disbelief, in the same way that any lead actor as Superman has to do when playing Clark Kent. But Sy and the show are at their strongest when Assane is just being his own Superman self, utterly relaxed and confident in his own skin, and so captivating that his ex-partner, Claire, can’t really resist him despite ample reason to.

If Assane seems practically perfect in every way, he is not perfectly perfect. His most obvious failing is that his criminal shenanigans and revenging make him less than reliable in his daily life, affecting his relationships with ex-partner Claire (Ludivine Sagnier, whom non-French audiences might recognise from “The Young Pope” and “The New Pope”), who despairs of his inability to show up on time to see his son Raoul (Etan Simon). Like Sy, Sagnier brings a lot of soul to her part - though onscreen far less, she’s as important as Sy to the series’ success - and the two actors have great chemistry. Also impressive and key to creating sympathy are the actors who play their flashback teenage selves, Mamadou Haidara and Ludmilla Makowski. Really, you could do away with action elements and build a series around them.

This is a pity because Lupin often fumbles its emotional reveals in other parts - the story of Diop being torn between his job and his family feels like wheel-spinning, rather than genuine emotional intrigue.

Soufiane Guerrab is wasted in the Young Detective Consumed by the Case role and spends most of this season pinning colour printouts of book covers to cork boards and getting waved off by his colleagues, who are all blinded or otherwise hampered by careerism.

But to my mind the weakest link is the villain himself and his daughter. Veteran actor Hervé Pierre hams it up as Hubert Pellegrini, a business tycoon who is the patriarch of the Pellegrini family. He just comes across as animated cartoon villain with no character depth (think moustache twirling Russian villain, Boris Badenov, in the Rocky & Bullwinkle cartoon shows). He just emotes anger a lot without any nuance or hint of complexity.

Even Clotilde Hesme who plays the daughter who is unaware of her father’s criminal tendencies is miscast. For the record I adore Clotilde Hesme as she one of France’s most talented classical actresses (that non-French outsiders will not have heard of). She is a classically theatre trained actress and is one of the best stage actresses of her generation that I have ever seen. I’ve seen her in plays where she is just mesmerising. She has said before that she’s more comfortable on the stage than she is on the screen. And when she has been on screen she still has been a powerful presence. She’s actually won a César too. Here in Lupin, she seems to have no agency and looks bored with nothing really to do.I really hope they give her more scenes in the next part of Lupin.

The series is at its best when following Diop enacting his plans, and when revealing each one from a different vantage, making us privy to every moving part like a magician revealing his secrets. The show captures the momentum of a clockwork heist, the tension of sudden obstacles and the ingenuity of improvised responses, with thrilling precision (especially in “Chapter 1 - Le Collier de la reine,” directed by Now You See Me’s Louis Leterrier).

Lupin is also politically incisive when it wants to be; it brings to mind Ladj Ly’s Oscar-nominated 2019 film Les Misérables, which adapted the broad strokes of Victor Hugo’s novel about the 1832 Paris Rebellion, and modernised the story by focusing on the police brutality faced by non-white Parisians.

Lupin opens with Diop disguised as cleaning staff and entering the Louvre after-hours, alongside dozens of forgotten, anonymous non-white workers as they pass by “La Liberté guidant le people,” Eugène Delacroix’s famous painting of the July Revolution of 1830 which replaced France’s hereditary rule with popular sovereignty.

Before any semblance of plot or character, Lupin centres broken ideals and promises unkept (without giving too much away, the show’s primary villain has much more nationalistic view of French culture and history which merely adds to a cartoonish caricature than a complex character). The rest of the episode is about valuable jewels once owned by Marie Antionette - one of the most recognisable symbols of wealth and extravagance in times of extreme poverty - which are put up for auction by the Pelligrini family, and bid on by other wealthy collectors with bottomless purses and no sense of irony.

Granted, beyond this auction subplot, explorations of race and class are largely limited to individual interactions, but the show continues to refer back to (and implicitly comment on) its source material in ways that wink at the audience. An elderly, unassuming target of Diop’s schemes seems like an unlikely victim at first - Diop, though he acts in his own self-interest, usually displays a moral compass - until this victim reveals the colonial origins of her wealth, immediately re-contextualising the ethics of the situation, in a manner that Leblanc’s stories did not. (The show is yet to apply this lens to Arsène Lupin himself, who Diop treats with reverence, but that’s a secondary concern since Lupin is entirely fictional in-world).

Barring some nagging structural problems - like cutting to flashbacks when things are getting exciting, or epilogues that feel ten minutes too long - Lupin mostly works. It plants a few personal seeds early on, which it keeps hinting at without fully addressing, but by the time its scattered elements come into focus, the show finally figures out how to weave them together, and delivers a mid-season cliffhanger that renders many of these flaws irrelevant.

Lupin manages to have fun even with an antiquated premise - the story of a suave con-man who charms his way through high-profile robberies - while adding just enough new spin on the concept to feel refreshing. Omar Sy may not have much to work with, but his alluring presence makes Assane Diop feel like a worthy successor to Arsène Lupin.

Lupin isn’t going to win César, BAFTA, or Emmy awards, or even turn heads for its ability to develop tertiary or even secondary plots or characters - that doesn’t really matter. You’re there to see a difficult hero be difficult and heroic - everyone else is there to be charmed, vexed, or eluded by them. Sy’s performance bounds off the screen, and is almost musical. He floats through scenes like he glides over the roofs and through the back alleys of Paris; he outmanoeuvres his foes with superior literary references and sheer athleticism. He is irresistible and also good at everything he tries, even kidnapping.

I would encourage anyone to watch Lupin for a fun care free ride. But the only caveat I would make is watch it in the original French.

If you don’t know French then put on the subtitles to understand (that’s what they are there for). The real crime is to watch this (or any film or television series) dubbed in a foreign language. It’s disrespectful to the actors and film makers and it’s silly because it’s comical to watch something dubbed over.

Please watch it in the original French.

Then go and read the books. You won’t regret it.

Thanks for your question.

[sweetestlamb]

You Are The Best Thing That's Ever Been Mine

Summary: Cha Hyeon and Ji-hwan after their emotional reunion.

Author's note: Recently watched Search WWW and wow. I've never loved a secondary couple this much, I looked forward to all their scenes and squealed at their smallest interactions, all in all I'm obsessed with them and I just wanted to write some smut. Light Dom/sub action because I love soft boi strong girl action it's my weakness. This show wasn't wildly popular so you guys might not know it but I had to write this lol

She giggles freely, cheeks aching from her wide smile, bursting at the seams of her rosy lips. Relief and excitement battling for dominance in her body, disbelief also making a guest appearance.

He's here.

He's really here.

His handsome face lingers in her peripheral, camouflage fatigues only enhancing his movie star good looks. Women ogle him boldly as they walk down the street, turning a blind eye to their tightly clasped hands. If he wasn't holding her hand and unknowingly calming her anger she would beat them all to a pulp, how dare they lust after her actor?

But she also wasn't just a fan, the way he'd kissed her and held her, knocking her off her feet just as violently as she had to him when they first met made that apparent.

Her boyfriend. Her lover. Hers.

She has felt jealousy and possessiveness before, had been enraged to learn about that punk cheating on her but that feeling was completely eclipsed by what she felt for Seol Ji-hwan, the thought of another having him and being the subject of his love made her blood boil and curdle into ugly black lines.

But they were all merely fans, they hadn't seen him crying about his inability to stare at his dog or seen the look of pure glee and wonder as he looked at his billboard, they hadn't seen through him and want to hold on with all their might.

"Hyeon ah, are you okay? You haven't said anything since we started walking." His sweet deep voice makes her head swim, how could she not fall for this man? He has enraptured her in his spell, his happiness quickly becoming her reason for joy.

Love flooding her eyes, she squeezes his hand, fingertips dragging against his soft skin, before looking up at him, "I'm just so happy you're back. I missed everything about you."

He stops at the raw honesty of her words, gazing at her face with tender irises, deep brown gaze wrapping around her before drawing her into a gentle kiss. She moans at the sensation of his fingers in her hair, scratching at her scalp in delicious drag. When they languidly pull apart his eyes are darker than she's ever seen them.

"Please, take me home."

She can't do anything but obey his pleading command.

His eyes seem to track her every movement as she enters her own living room, dressed comfortably in an oversize shirt that hangs off her smooth pale shoulders and shorts that expose a berth of silky skin. Her hair is carelessly pulled up in a messy bun with loose strands kissing her nape with each step she takes towards him.

"I'm sorry I don't have anything for you to wear." She apologizes, sitting beside him their bodies melting into each other.

"It's okay. I should have went home first, I just couldn't think about anything except you."

Her heart flutters, blissful smile spreading across her face. She's only witnessed adoration like this in her dramas, the kind of devotion that drives people to move mountains and pour their hearts out in the rain. Never had this love directed at her, she's lost at how to react or even begin to accept it.

She's doesn't tell him any of her thoughts, instead she squeals and playfully slaps him on his chest which she notices is much harder and more defined than it was before his mandatory service.

Her fingers lazily draw loops before she pulls her hands back in embarrassment.

"Sorry." A wild blush burns across the pale flesh of her cheeks.

"Don't be. I liked it, I like everything you do."

He shouldn't say things like that to her, not while she's fighting every fiber of her being not to maul him and eat him alive. They haven't done that yet, they have kissed and kissed until their lips were sore but each time it would stray to something deeper he would cool their flames, caressing her head until they fell into slumber.

She was content to wait as long as he wanted, she would happily suppress her own desires for him. But comments like that threatened her thin thread of control.

With a deep sigh, she stands up grabbing her own face to cool her cheeks before pleading, "Please don't say things like that, I can't take it."

As she makes to go to the kitchen, throat desert dry from just sitting beside him, he latches onto her wrist halting her escape with a firm hold.

Their eyes meet in a gaze that threatens to rip her control from her grip, his eyes devouring her face bravely staring at her lips.

"Where are you going?"

"I just need....a moment to collect myself."

"Don't. Don't collect yourself, stay like this. I want it."

He tugs her forward until she's standing between the open vee of his long legs, hair falling devastatingly on his forehead as he dismantles her with a gaze.

"Do you know what I want to do to you?" She threatens stepping further into him, hands coming to frame his perfect face.

"Do you know how badly I want you to do it to me?" He counters catching her hips and closing his eyes in acquiesce, humming at her fingers on his chiseled jaw line.

"Ji-hwan ah what are you doing to me?"

"I dreamt of you every night."

She gasps in surprise, eyes blown wide as he stares off to the side, seemingly lost in a vivid memory.

"You visited me in my dreams every night." He repeats, "We would go on dates, I could smell your perfume and feel your silky hair. We went to the beach and....Seol was there too. We walked him together, we took a walk on the beach. I was so happy."

She stares at him, speechless, he is the only one that is capable of stealing her breath and thoughts in his fashion. The only one who makes her shy, it's unsettling and terrifying.

"But there were.... other dreams." Those dark eyes reappear, arousal swirls in her loins. "You were gorgeous in those dreams, taking everything and giving me all of you. I didn't want to rush you before but after being away from you....I need you."

Rush her.

It wasn't because he didn't want her that he'd stopped all the times before. She'd asserted several times that they didn't have the privilege to take things slow, only for him to slow them down routinely. Confusion had turned to rejection and shame.

But, sweet as ever he'd been trying to respect her.

Silly boy.

Climbing into his lap while wrapping her arms around his neck she giggles, seductively, licking her lips in delight as he watches entranced by the wet swipe across pouty flesh.

"I want to eat you alive." She promises, watching as his pupils quiver and a hard line pokes into her soft bottom.

She grinds down, rolling sensually in his lap enthralled as he tips his head back in pleasure, his lips falling open.

Leaning forward she captures his mouth, kissing the moans off his tongue as he grabs her head massaging her head as she does exactly as she said: eats him alive.

He tastes sweet and fresh, like he just ate watermelon and she laps at each corner of his mouth, tugging his full bottom lip into her starved mouth.

Their wet muscles dance as she continues to roll in his lap, bouncing to press him against her pulsating center and groaning at the immense pleasure.

Her skin is flushed from his body heat and with a final nip she draws away from him, smitten watching him blindly chase her mouth like a kitten.

He's so sweet and hot. She's never going to let him go.

He begs her to return with his eyes, she shakes her head, fingers catching the edge of her loose shirt instead, it's only then that he notices the tight peak of her breasts poking through the material.

As she pulls the cloth up and over her skin, cool air runs across her naked skin, her full breasts on display, petal pink nipples stark against her milky white skin. His eyes lock onto her heaving chest and she waits for him to make a move, anticipation rendering her helpless.

After a few minutes, he gently runs his hands across her soft plush mounds, too gently a barely there caress.

Impatiently she places her hands atop his own, meeting his shocked gaze with her own challenging look before squeezing his hands, hard. The pain shooting through her skin in euphoric bubbles, his palm dragging against her sensitive nipples.

"I like it when it hurts a little."

This time there is no pause, his response is instant.

Taking full ownership, he palms her large breasts, squeezing them and pulling harshly at her tight peaks, she throws her head back when suddenly a wet suction surrounds her. He tongues into the furl of her skin, sucking hard and groaning against her skin.

His erection grows harder as he continues his ministrations, going back and forth between both breasts giving them equal treatment.

Her little gasps and moans stain the air in a dirty streak.

"I thought about this a lot. You have the perfect... they're perfect just like you."

His confession makes her skin burn, it's exhilarating to think that he wanted her all this time, had dirty dreams about her and thought about her body. He's the only one she'll allow.

"What else did you think about?" She pants, nipples released from his lips with a filthy wet pop.

He grinds up into her heat. Answer enough.

Courage fills her blood, "I thought about you too. Every night. I....I touched myself thinking about you."

Admitting aloud is scary but the awe that saturates all his features makes it worth it. He looks like pure unadulterated love.

"Show me."

She can't do anything but obey his pleading command.

Tugging the waistband of her sleep shorts down her hip until her pussy is bare to his eyes, she runs her fingers down the smooth mound, teasing herself barely before plunging into her own silky wetness.

"Ahhhhh, fuck." She cries, thankful that she recently cut her nails, her short cuticles allowing her to thrust deeply into her center.

Her heavy breasts are grasped again, tighter now as he bounces them forcing her to drive harder onto her sticky wet fingers.

Prying through her wet folds she fucks into herself, eyes rolling back from the dual sensation.

His eyes are almost fully blown when she glances at him, locked on the movement of her finger into her moist center. His cock bumps into her finger, rubbing against her throbbing clit and it's too much and not enough, pulling her fingers out she struggles to open his pants. Smearing her juices across the material.

He reaches down to assist her and in a move reminiscent of her younger years, she throws his back onto the couch, catching his hands over his head, immobilizing him.

"I like to be in charge too. " She emphasizes her claim by tightening her hold on his wrists, eyes darting frantically over his face.

His face is so sweet it hurts, he looks helpless under her weight and that makes her even hotter, she wants to wreck him.

"Mine."

She snaps her mouth shut as soon as the word hit the air, fearing his reaction to her possessive declaration.

His hands go limp in her hold, no resistance whatsoever. Then he shatters her mind with his words.

"I'm all yours. Do whatever you want, I want it too."

Passion erupts like lava at his simple acceptance, nobody has ever handed themselves to her so wholeheartedly. No man has ever accepted her dominance without a fight, cries of feeling emasculated.

Yet here he is looking strong and submissive under her domination. The Omega to her Alpha.

Squeezing his wrists she takes the reins he so freely hands to her.

"Don't move them."

He lets out a deep breath before nodding.

She slowly takes her hand away, smiling as his fingers twitch but his hands remain stagnant.

"Good boy, my perfect actor."

Dark red flares on his face from her praises and she feels the hard muscle jump underneath her thigh. Interesting.

Sliding down his body, she finally gets a chance to appreciate him. She unbuttons his shirt yanking it open and gasping at the beautiful sight, smooth pale skin stretched across lightly defined muscles. The army has changed him in tantalizing ways.

"You can't ever do any shirtless scenes, I'll go crazy."

He gazes at her before letting out a deep chuckle, the rolling laughter doing wonders for his abdomen.

Curious about how that skin will taste in her mouth she licks across the etched skin, tongue sliding through the slopes of his muscle.

He whimpers above her, the vibration tickling her tongue.

She continues her journey trailing to the edge of his camo pants, his erection begging for her attention.

"Please, please, please."

She preens at his submission, pulling the zipper down and freeing his aching cock eagerly lapping at the clear fluid pebbled at the tip. He groans loudly while surging into her mouth.

Mouth stretched wide around his length, she opens her mouth wide to take him in, plunging down drawing him deeper into her wet oasis.

Unashamed she moans around his hard cock, lost in his heady taste desperate for more, wrapping a hand around his base and tugging him further into her throat, drool running down his length.

He thrashes on the couch, arms still locked above his head as he's destroyed by her clever tongue and coaxing mouth.

As she caresses his dangling sac he jumps, shoving his cock impossibly deep in her throat, close to falling off the edge.

She pulls away, releasing him.

"Hyeon ah....please."

She soothes him, calming him with soft rubs to his flank.

"I got you, you're mine."

He shivers, "Yours."

She undresses them both, twin nude forms. As she finishes he obediently places his hands back over his head.

She rubs his head in praise and pride.

"You're such a good boy, you deserve a reward."

His eyes light up at her suggestion, she sits upright taking hold of his aching meat, stroking it once, twice before tilting up and placing it against her heat.

Driving down, eyes locked on his, she spears herself apart on his cock, choking as his thickness spreads her wall.

"Feels so good." She praises, brushing his sweat dampened hair out of his eyes, drawing back before cocooning him once more his cock deep into her depths.

Suddenly it isn't enough, she needs more. Rough. Hard. Now.

She rides him wildly, her breasts jiggling from the power of her thrusts as her hips swivel and roll against him.

In the corner of her eyes she sees this hands move and immediately she catches them, keeping them still above his head.

"I want to touch you." He begs prettily and she almost gives in.

"No, just take what I give you."

His eyes flash and she slams down, ass cheeks slapping against his thighs sound obscene in the quiet room, their harsh pants deafening in the room.

Leaning forward she widens her stance, dragging him deeper and his cock rubs against her clit and her walls tighten around him, milking him and coaxing him to finish, burst apart in her arms. His eyes close as he fights to pull himself back from his inevitable demise.

She releases his wrist to hold his face, fingers drawing his eyes back open.

Shaking her head she hisses at him, "No, no I want to watch you. Everything about you is mine."

Never having anyone want him so truly and all encompassing, a single tear leaks from his eyes as he plunges up into her and his release is stolen from him, thick streams of white passion coating her walls.

Watching him break apart, she teeters into the abyss his heat scorching her inside out as pleasure dwarfs her senses.

Minutes tick by before she comes back to earth, her eyes are blessed by his serene smile as she opens her heavy lids.

So pretty.

He blushes, "Thank you."

She hadn't meant to say that out loud. 

Sliding off his now flaccid member, she stretches her arms high above her head sighing at the pop and crack that it elicits.

His eyes dart between her face and her chest, conflicted on where to look so attempting to do both.

How cute.

She lets him ogle her, even crossing her arms to put her chest on even more display, amused by his shy glances.

Finally standing she walks to the kitchen, shameless in her nudity, she can feel his eyes on her. She feels alive.

"Rest up. We're going to do that at least four more times before I let you go to sleep. We don't have time to take it slow."

Her actor gulps, nodding vigorously as he gives her a thumbs up.

She laughs, throwing her head back, long hair touching her bare back, she's going to completely wreck him.

She calls out for the rest of the week, ignoring Ta Mi's indignant cries as she suckles on Ji-hwan's cock, she has a lot of time to make up for.

[mintbees]

Hey, please don't let that person bully you into shutting up. It's obvious they completely warped your words and absolutely do not habe good intent at all. It's NOT RACIST to want people to draw the egos as accurate to Mark's race! It's fucked and racist up to whitewash them. That person used a really washed out picture of Mark in harsh light to emphasise his whiteness. Not okay.

disclaimer: im white so if people of color have a different stance on this than me, please take their word over mine, im basing this off of what ive heard from other people from asia 

i wasnt originally gonna respond to this ask but since then several other people came and pointed this out so i did some research on my own and figured out marks general mid tone 

found out i was wrong! marks skin isnt really more dark compared to others than i thought it was, his skin is just more saturated (look at those peachy undertonessss) and the shadow areas are generally way darker than with other ppl which i think makes his general skin look darker. so thats a slipup on my end

and when i slapped on this mid tone on a quick doodle i did of him last week of him crying after getting his wisdom teeth removed it looked fine

but when i slapped on the usual mid tone i use for white people

theres a very noticeable difference, and this is generally how i see mark drawn which is what i aimed to point out in my original post. mark can look very pale in harsher lighting yes, but in normal lighting he isnt THIS pale you guys, stop doing this. its uncanny

theres also the issue of people constantly drawing him with double lids which

he doesnt have those you guys. and drawing monolids also isnt that hard to learn no matter your artstyle

bottom line Im not saying ur bad for not drawing these things cuz lbr what art book ever tought us how to draw POC features but like

[kekekentyuh]

Try and Try

I wrote this short story-type thing as a way of ushering my twentieth birthday in quarantine, since I have none but the company of words by my side as I reach this new milestone. But, as always, it managed to Margot Roth Spiegelman its way in my drafts (please get this reference) and I’ve only had the nerve to finish it, if not uninspringly, today. I hope you’re a little bit more gentle with this, as it’s not really a big post; it’s just to celebrate my own day. Thanks and have fun reading!

“I like your boots.”

I looked at him no longer than a second before looking down at my own feet, at the pair of black leather boots I was wearing. I didn’t know if there was something to them that made him like them, since they weren’t particularly new, with their peeling tips, worn-out soles and lackluster surfaces due to months of not bothering to shine them, nor whether or not he was bluffing, since I wasn’t so sure if seven year-olds already had motives to bluff, but the gleam in his eyes as he was staring at them like they were the fanciest thing he’d seen in a catalog was enough to prove me significantly wrong, and it made me smile.

“Thanks,” I replied, looking at him again. “I like yours, too.”

He turned his wide-eyed gaze at the pair of brown, faux-suede boots at his own two feet, which had alternating black and yellow shoelaces too perfectly tied – Mom could have very well tied them for his own sake – and decorated with small tiger patches sewn at the back. He made the same smile, only goofier, and looked at me, his eyes twinkling.

“Thanks!” And I could not bring myself not to smile back.

He was sitting beside me as the sun was setting at the playground we were in, warming the bright pastel hues of the play area to a saturated orange, muting them to a perfect tinge of monochrome, making me look around in awe and open my eyes wider than they actually went, but I figured, at that moment, there was nothing more of a spectacle than the small boy beside me, just a few inches away. He was barely past my stomach, wearing a plaid button down neatly tucked in his bright blue denim jeans, with his boots, and a Power Ranger watch slapped against his tiny left wrist. He looked so much better than me, I figured, with my plain white shirt and not-so-skinny jeans (which were what I liked to think my staple for a day at the university) looking like I had all the color in me sucked out, leaving myself gray and defeated.

I heard an “Are you okay?” before I turned to him and nodded again, even though I was entirely unsure of that answer, this time taking the time to look at him properly for the first time since we saw each other.

His smile had melted, replaced with a look I couldn’t easily read, prompting me to look back at him, and it felt so much like what it actually was: a mirror through time, like I was looking back into the reflection I forgot I had thirteen years ago. I saw him clearly for the first time: he had the same scruffy eyebrows that pointed at the end, and the same thick, dark hair, sticking out in different directions, with a bit in the center stuck together (which, I knew, was an adorable attempt at a fake Mohawk with gel bought from the corner store), had the same dark, chocolate skin and the same dark eyes that shimmered brown in the sunlight, but brooded dark and black as he closed them to blink. The expression on his face was almost neutral, as opposed to the wide smile he had merely moments ago, like he didn’t know what to feel about this strange adult in front of him, but it was almost curious, as if he wanted to know why he was there – and I knew for sure that he was curious, because I was him, thirteen years ago.

We sat there, in complete silence, as he turned away to look at down at his boots once more, swinging his feet back and forth, nothing but the whispering gentle breeze brushing through the tips of our hair, just staring at each other, not knowing what to say. I never was one to start a conversation with anyone, but to start a conversation with my seven year old self is something I never imagined I would even be doing, and I sure as hell did not know how to deal with that.

But given the circumstances I never knew would bring me here, I wouldn’t know if I’ll ever get to a chance to meet him again, or see him again. This wasn’t just something that happens to a person at some point in their lives – if anything, this may be the only chance I could get to spend time with him, and the only way time I had to utter a word to him that will last in this lifetime. I knew in myself – my current self – that I had to make this count.

“So,” I said, dragging it in probably the most hushed voice I didn’t know I had, in an attempt to pierce the deafening silence, “how’s everything at home?”

He turned to me doe-eyed before answering, “Home’s okay.” His voice lingered in my head like a mirage, the silent tapping of the tips of his feet on the pavement making up for the distinct hush of our surroundings. “Home is still...home.” 

“Home is home,” I agreed, nodding along. “It’s the best place in the world, isn’t it?” He nodded again, this time in a more rapid pace, making me smile again as I stifled a small, genuine laugh.

I blinked and noticed how I never cut my gaze from him, seemingly fixated on the way he sat and swung his legs endlessly, the tips of his boots brushing against the pavement. “How about Mama? How is she doing? And Papa?” He looked at me doe-eyed, his attention seemingly caught, as he locked his eyes in mine. "They're still picking you up from school, right?"

"Mama picks me up from school," he replied. "She always comes late after we finish, but it's okay, I have time to play."

“You guys still take the commute home?”

He nodded again. “Papa needs the motorcycle so we can’t ride in it. He comes home at night.” He kept staring at his two feet, as if he were willing them to sway with his mind. “He comes home much later than we do.” And I vividly remember it, because it was a sound I had become accustomed to, I sound I grew to learn and be familiar with: the gates opening, the motorcycle engine dying, the sound of keys jingling and the door closing from behind.

“Is he doing okay?”

“He’s always tired, he just scratches my head when he gets home and tells me good night,” he replied. “But Papa is okay.”

I don’t know how my parents did it – both working regular eight hour days, my mom being a full-time caretaker for two children just beginning to grasp the concept of school, my dad taking classes immediately as he leaves his job in the morning in order to pursue a law degree, coming home just as tired as the moon was. But somehow, they did it, and they did a magnificent job at it, and I couldn’t help but remember what must have gone through my mind at that time, because it was probably all there was to it: Mama and Papa are very busy. And they’re tired, so they need to rest.

“How about Lolo? And Lola? ” I felt my voice tremble at the question I barely had the strength to speak out; it felt like it’d been a while since I’ve said those words, and it felt so distant, so alienated, even though they had once been so familiar, that I never thought I would have brought myself to say it again. “They’re doing good too?”

And I saw the same unprecedented shimmer in his eyes, the way a child usually does when they are prompted to talk about something that they love. And for moment, I envied him; I’ve never felt like that for so long. “They’re doing okay, too.” He started nodding to himself again, probably because he knew for a fact that they were. I did too, even though I also knew how much had changed. 

“What have they been up to?”

“Lolo’s still walking a lot, he wakes up when it’s still dark and walk and walk until the sun comes up.” The image became so strikingly clear in my mind – a built 60 year-old in a red sweatshirt and blue sweatpants, walking in strong strides in the cold morning breeze, cane in one hand and a a clenched fist in the other. “He always brings us bread to eat for breakfast when we wake up.” So he did, until the day he couldn’t bring himself to walk anymore.

“And Lola still comes over a lot. But she likes to talk to the neighbors and water her plants.” That’s right – the barren, moss-green walls of the terrace used to be filled with striking purples and pinks, orchids hanging from above and tons of hibiscus blooming from below. My Lola saw life like she saw her flowers: ethereal, majestic, and worth the work. But they stopped blooming the moment her heart stopped beating.

“Does she still borrow your books?” I asked, in an attempt to mask the sadness in my expression, although ultimately proclaiming it through my voice. “And make you meryenda every single afternoon?”

“Yeah, she always comes to borrow my books so I can’t read much anymore,” he replied. The way he attempted to make it look like he was annoyed but was really happy, I knew, that she would come over to visit, even if it were just for the books, made me smile yet again. “And she always makes me sandwiches. I love her sandwiches.”

I heard another “Are you okay?” before noticing that he was looking at me again with his big doe eyes. I didn’t even realize the tears had already begun falling down the sides of my face, for I was too immersed in the images that had already been playing in my head, all of them feeling like distant memories unlocked unwillingly, but so much more real and concrete because of the little boy in front of me, yet here they were – warm and unstoppable, painful with every blink of the eye like daggers through the heart.

“I’m okay,” I replied, without nodding, wiping my wet cheeks with the palms of my hands, then with the collar of my shirt, looking worse than I ought to have let myself seem. I’ve always been sensitive at the thought of my grandparents coming over to skip in my mind, but I never felt anything more intense than what I was feeling at that moment. I couldn’t fully describe what it was, but I knew what I was feeling; I wanted to be him so badly. I wanted to be a child again, to have nothing else to worry about but the day ending and smiling again when another one begins, to run around freely into the arms of my Lolo and my Lola, kiss them like it was the last time I would ever do so, and keep them closer in my heart and lock them there forever, where they won’t be able to leave me again.

“Are you sure?” He asked, turning his body to me, focused at the small droplets landing on the front of my shirt, forming beads of emotion on the surface. “Did I say something bad?” My head snapped in his direction at those words. Something in me never wanted to hear a child say that out loud. 

A faint “No” was all I could muster, followed by a “I just wish I could stay like you forever. Or, you know, maybe even just for a little while longer.” 

“Why?”

“Dreams are free when you’re still a child,” I said. “It’s so much easier than when you’re an adult like me.”

His face scrunched up as he tilted his head towards his shoulder in a confused expression. “Well, I want to be like you,” he said in a matter-of-fact-ly manner after a split moment of silence, dropping his gaze to his feet once more. I turned to him as he replied, feeling the heavy spheres of teardrops covering my eyelashes as I blinked at him. “I want to grow up.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“I don’t like being a kid,” he said, pouting his lips as he talked. “I don’t really like myself.”

“And why’s that?”

“I’m not like the other kids,” he replied, tilting his head to the side. “I’m short, dark, and they all think I’m weird because I speak like the cartoons on TV.” He grimaced at himself, and I understood why; the neighborhood kids had always found it strange that one could have more knowledge of English than Filipino, and I couldn’t change that completely about myself, even if I wanted to. The voice inside my head was in English.

“I don’t like playing sports, and I don’t like to fight the other kids. And they all get mad at me when I point out that something’s wrong with what we’re playing,” he added, a thin texture of sadness engulfing his voice. “I’m just, different.”

“I see.” And I did; somehow, blending in, being part of a group or adhering to something has always been kind of a struggle for me. In a way, I’ve always known that I was different, that I looked different, and that I liked different things. I was more content with a book in my hands than riding a bike outside and more content with telling stories rather than catching bugs or climbing trees. But what was difficult was accepting that I was the yellow pea in the pod, that fitting in was always going to be an issue for me. And in a way, the feeling never really went away.

“I wish I was like you,” he managed to blurt out as I fixated my gaze on him once more, more surprised at his words than anything else. “You’re smarter, you do more awesome things than me, and you’re stronger than me.” Except I wish I was. “The kids here would love you.” I’m not so sure about that, either.

“What? Really?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “You’re a scientist, studying in a university now, right? You’re studying animals and plants and why the chemicals change color when they are mixed together. You’re making great discoveries everyday!” He didn’t even pause to look at the confused expression on my face. “And you’re a writer! You write stories and people around the world have read them, right? Books with tons of words and magic like Harry Potter and the Hardy Boys?”

A few more words shot out of his mouth before I could even open my lips to respond, “And you’re doing work to help the people around you! You’re helping the farmers and making big decisions that will help the kids at the schools who need books, just like Mama tells me.” He looked at me again with his big, doe eyes in small crescents, smiling. “You’re a hero. They’d love you.”

It never really dawned to me that tomorrow was such a big thing for me; I have so many things I want to achieve, so many things I want to come my way that I’ve built up the highest expectations for myself because I saw no other option but to see myself cross those goals out. That’s why I always felt like my time was running out – I have so many things in my life that I want to pursue that sitting down is such a luxury in my head.

“I’m not so sure about that,” I replied, without a single bit of hesitation in my voice. No point in lying to myself, I figured.

“Why do you say that?”

“I’m not really any of those things just yet,” I confessed, trying to usher in a smile to make it look like I wasn’t any more sad than I actually was. “I’m just a regular university student.” I wasn't a brilliant student-scientist, I was dragging myself in between classes bullying myself over topics I have yet to study. I wasn't a well-known writer, I was a hobby artist forcing myself to write despite the lack of inspiration. And I couldn’t stand up for my people – I could barely stand up for myself. “I try so hard, but I’m not any of those things. I’m not a hero.”

And we sat there in still silence, letting the slight breeze whip across us gently once again. I had so many things running through my mind that I couldn’t bring myself to look at him even if I wanted to, because it would only kill me to see the disappointed look on his small face the moment I did. I wasn’t anywhere near anything I wanted myself to be when I was young, nowhere near grasping any of the achievements I used to dream I would have at this point in my life. I wasn’t doing great things like I told myself I would. And it wasn’t because I was too short of chances to do those great things, either, because I’ve spent so much time looking for myself, figuring things out even if they didn’t need figuring out, and neglecting what I thought was best, that I didn’t have much attention for the things that truly mattered in the end. I’ve wasted so much time being someone I wasn’t, and I wasn’t proving myself any more capable of doing all those things either, because in all honesty, I wasn’t all that great. I was just regular, old me, and I was too afraid of what he’d think of me now.

I felt him shift across the bench to just a few inches beside me, too shy to look at me directly but sensitive enough, I felt, to want to make sure that I still felt him around me. “That’s okay,” he managed, swinging his legs again, this time looking at the playground in front of us. 

“It is?” I croaked, looking at him in dumb disbelief. 

He nodded. “Sometimes, we don’t really get the best of what we want. You know, like you don’t get to ride the nicer swings most of the time or play with the toys you want since the bigger kids always get them first. And sometimes, you’re too afraid to climb up the slide and go down because you’ll fall on your knees, and your knees will hurt.” He looked up at me, and looked at my eyes for the first time since he first spoke. “But that is not important, because the hurting will stop. What matters is you try your best to get there, no matter how many times you scrape your knees.”

I smiled genuinely, the mixed feeling of relief, happiness, and content washing over me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t expect him to say something else, or ignore me completely. “I guess so.”

“You’re still studying to become a great scientist, right?” I nodded. “And you’re still writing stories and saving them for everyone to read?” I nodded again. “And you’re still working to help others?” I nodded once more, and he smiled at me. “Then you are a hero. Heroes try and try until they succeed. And if they fall on their butts, they keep fighting, don’t they?”

I smiled at him. I didn’t ever think that I’d be proud of myself for lacking so much, but then again, it turns out someone was proud of me. I couldn’t help but chuckle at him as I ruffled his hair and put an arm around his shoulders. “You know, the thing about us is we weren’t made to be heroes. We’re not built like them, and we don’t want to act like them.” He nodded at me, agreeing completely. “But we try and try until we get what we want, because we don’t like seeing our dreams remain dreams.” I looked at the playground, with the burning hues intensified by the sun, and smiled at the sight. “And that’s probably more than what the Spidey Senses can offer.”

He smiled as he swung his legs again, wrapping an arm around my waist, shifting even closer than he had a few moments ago.”

“Heroes don’t tell themselves they’re heroes, because we don’t do what truly matters because we want to be recognized by them. We do things that matter because they matter, regardless of how great it will make us.” I looked down at him as he looked up to me, both of us smiling until the end of our ears. “And that makes us even greater than we could ever imagine, won’t it?”

“It sure will!” he replied enthusiastically, making me laugh as another single tear dripped down the side of my cheek. I’ve never felt any happier than with any other living human being in this planet; I didn’t want this to end any time soon.

“Tell you what,” I said, releasing him from our semi-embrace, looking at him with a soft gaze, “You keep reading, and writing, and doing the things that make you happy. Do them all and don’t think of what others will look at you or even laugh at you for. I keep trying if you keep trying. No stopping, and no giving up. Crying is allowed, but we keep strong after that.” I smiled. “What do you say?”

He smiled again at me, and this time, I knew he was even more happy than he was before. “Deal.”

He took my hand and shook it vigorously, which felt like nothing more than a jiggly wave in my arm as he turned towards the playground, before looking at me with that same mischievous smile.

“Race you to the slide?”

“I’m going to win.”

“Try and catch up, old man.”

[autisticmight]

hey remember that time a couple of weeks ago when i translated some bnha leaks

because i found some today from @trashformha​ and i’m going to Make Another Attempt

edited bc i messed up one bit!!! i mean, i’ve messed up many, but still

so, basically, they’re all fucked. there’s a threat too big, even for all of these heroes.

bubble 1: nani teki wa hitori! kore wo uteneba

i don’t really get the first bit, because i’m nowhere near fluent. “nani” is, as we all know “what?” and “teki” is “opponent”

therefore i’m thinking it’s basically “which opponents are alone,” or something along those lines, for now

there’s a familiar “u” for “utsu,” in “uteneba,” and “ute” is an imperative of that. “ba” is kind of an “if, and” particle, i think. before i get a headache, i’m just going to try and summarise that bubble, like. fuck it i’m making logic bounces. “the opponent is alone! attack that way”

bubble 2: nanno tame no HERO houwajidai ka

“nanno” is, like, “what kind,” and “tame” is, as usual, basically “sake.” the “no” makes that possessive, too

you’re not gonna believe what “hero” means

whenever i look up “houwajidai,” it. OH. this is basically “what good is the age of the saturation of heroes!”

“a single opponent attacking this way! what use is this age of hero saturation?”

-

oh, cool!!! we’ve got rock lock, aizawa, and manual? Dad Squad!!!!!!!!!

bubble 1: “masshou” wa kaijyou shite nai...!

“masshou” is “erasure” so that’s pretty simple. “kaijyou” is “cancelling,” though jfc it’s so hard to make out the kanji that i had to use waifu2x, which made it worse, bc it’s not designed for words. and, “shite nai,” that’s just the te-form of “suru” with a negative attached, which basically means “being unable to”

so! “erasure isn’t working...!”

bubble 2: kanpeki na ... noumu tte wake ka...!

“kanpeki na,” is just adjectiving “perfect” for the noun, which is “noumu.” so, like, “the perfect noumu”

“tte,” is like “to say; as for,” you know, like all that. “wake” is like, a reasonable conclusion, or just “circumstances,” which is really kind of vague, dude

“my “erasure” isn’t working...! the perfect... noumu is...!”

i can conclude that, while aizawa can erase every quirk that belongs to a normal noumu (when he’s aware that he has to erase more than one quirk; he could not do so in the initial usj encounter until he’d been told that the noumu had multiple quirks), he cannot erase the quirks of a high-end noumu

we saw earlier in this arc, even, when it was still a hospital raid, that the narrative didn’t let aizawa use his quirk on them before

-

here’s the long-awaited Gran Slam. he just. slaps izuku and kacchan to the ground

bubble 1: kokora de iika

“kokora” is “hereabout” and “iika” is “listen.” he’s saying “listen here.” unless it’s “ii ka,” in which case, he’s saying “is here fine?”

bubble 2: ima shita ni aizawa-sensei ga!!

i don’t need to note this out at all. “aizawa-sensei’s down there now!!”

bubble 3: aa, shigaraki no “kosei” wo fuujitoru

the first bit is, “ah, shigaraki’s quirk” but “quirk” is in quotation marks, because that’s how it’s indicated in japanese, i guess, while we capitalise it to indicate that It’s A Special Thing; Not The Normal Word

“fuujiru” is a verb that means, like, “seal” or “block.” this is unlike “azarashi,” which is a Good Seal. you know, a selkie friend

i’d hazard that this is, like, “ah, shigaraki’s quirk is blocking everything”

bubble 4: shii-san motto hanareta hou ga iidaro!!

“hanareta” is past tense of “hanareru,” which is, “to leave; to get further away; to lose connection,” and “hou” is, in this case, i think, “direction.” “daro” seems like a shortening of “darou,” which is indicating a question, like “don’t you think?”

so, “shii-san’s got even further away, don’t you think!?”

bubble 4: jii-san motto hanareta hou ga ii daro!!

“how the fuck did this old guy get us so far away!!?”

bubble 4.5: “gran torino, kacchan wa...” which is basically “gran torino and kacchan are...” (or “huh...”) he’s introducing his other mentor to his... to his rabid pomeranian

bubble 5: OFA no kyouyuusha jyaro toshinori kara kiitoru

just so you know, the mention of “toshinori” has my brain going “!!! :D !!!”

“kyouyuusha” is “joint owners,” essentially. “jya” is just “da” in regional dialect, making “jyaro” “daro.” “kiku” can be “listen” or “ask” which sucks, but “kara” is “from,” which i know

“didn’t toshinori tell you about joint owners of one for all?” or, “didn’t you ask toshinori about joint holders of one for all?”

bubble 5 but the other half: koko ga gendo jya bakugou

“here,” a particle that indicates a specific subject, “limits,” particle indicating existence, “bakugou”

"here, you are limited, bakugou”

so!!! gran torino dumps them somewhere. he says, “around here should be fine.”

“sensei’s down there, now!” says izuku.

i think it’s kacchan who says he then says, “ugh, shigaraki’s quirk is blocking everything.”

to that, izuku says, “he’s gotten even further away, hasn’t he? gran torino, kacchan, i...”

to that, kacchan says, “how the fuck did that old dude get us so far away!!?”

then, gran torino says, “didn’t you hear from toshinori about joint owners of one for all? here, you’re limited, bakugou.”

and, while izuku tries to introduce kacchan to gran torino, gran torino says, “i’m the co-owner of one for all, basically. didn’t toshinori tell you? you’re limited here, bakugou.”

tbh i initially thought we’d switched to the league, because “shii-san” is. so weird. i could only imagine toga calling him that

-

oh no. he’s talking about aizawa

bubble 1: washi wa ERASER no ashi ni nari ni modoru

“washi” is just an old man personal pronoun. “ashi” is foot, and, with the particle added, i think it’s “by foot,” as a mode of transportation. “nari ni” is, like, doing things your own way. “modoru” is, in essence “to return”

in this case, i think “wa” is used as a comparison, rather than a topic marker. so, it’s like

“eraser and i both take our own paths.”

bubble 2: kakurete rotte ...... koto desu ka!?

“kakureru” is a verb meaning “to hide,” combined with a bunch of te-forms

“we’re being hidden... is that it?”

bubble 3: yatsu wa ALL FOR ONE no “kosei” wo ijyoku sareta rashii

“yatsu” is just. “him. that guy. blergh.” but “ijyoku,” is. it’s like. it’s “working from your house.” i don’t get it. and “sareru” is the passive form of “suru,” “to do.” so it’s “to be done.” and “rashii” is like. like. ish. seeming

“it’s like all for one’s quirk is working through him”

as in, like, it’s the quirk that’s really doing it, or all for one is puppeteering him from tartarus

little bubble-less text next to gran torino: DJ HERO ga ittotta

“it’s like the dj hero was saying,”

i think so, anyway

bubble 4: man ga ichi ONE FOR ALL ga ubawarete mo shitara...

“man ga ichi,” “if by any chance,” or so the jisho collocation says. it also says “ten-thousand to one,” which is more what i was thinking

“ubawareru,” or, “to steal.” i keep forgetting this, though it’s growing more familiar, and “mo,” is like, “in addition to.” like “inu mo neko mo minna suki” as “i love every one of them; dogs and cats!”

“shitara” seems to be past tense of “suru” and also a supposition, so:

“if there’s a chance, no matter how small, that one for all could be stolen...”

and, subsequently: “saiaku” wo kangaero

and i don’t think i need help translating this. i know “aku” and i know “kangae”

“if there’s any chance that one for all could be stolen, the villains will have won.”

-

a lot of the kanji and such are blurred, so i’m doing my best, but it’s going to be super vague and not very notey

panel 1 top: “kosei” jya nai...!! su no... chikara...!!?

“it’s not a quirk...!! that power... is his own!!?”

panel 1 bottom 1: ano chouyaku(?) mo sou datta no ka!?

“was that jump also due to it!?”

panel 1 bottom 2: furuu dakede sora suru jiyuu ni - !

i have, like, half a clue with this one, sorry

“by simply wielding it, he’s free in the sky!”

panel 2: sonna chikara... marude

“that power... it’s just like-”

bubble 1: ALL MIGHT ni wa oyobanu teido jya gana!

the bubbles are a lot clearer, so

“oyobanu.” i have no idea. it’s, like, “oyabu” is “to reach; to measure up to,” and “nu” seems to be turning it into a negative, but i have no idea what tense it’s supposed to be.

“teido” is a suffix for a noun as in “degree, amount,” so i think the “nu” nouned the “oyabu”

“gana” is kind of airy with its meaning. is it, like “wouldn’t it be nice if...” or is it making things uncertain, or is it being empathetic? where does the “jya” fit in? is it a “jyaa” or a “da?”

“don’t you think he could reach the impossible standards set by all might?”

bubble 2: karada no kado na kaizou wa nou ni fuka ga kakaru

“kado” - “excessive. “kaizou” - “remodelling; reformatting.” “nou” - “brain.” “fuka” - “burden; strain.” “kakaru” - who the fuck has a clue

“the excessive remodelling of his body allows his brain to handle this burden”

-

bubble 1: tasukarimasu, MANUAL-san

...yeah. i checked. he’s being so polite and he is breaking my heart

“please save them, manual”

bubble 2: bunryou kajyou ni naru to kaette shimite

“bunryou” - “amount,” “kajyou” - “excess”

“ni naru to” is a bunch of particles and shit, equating to “when it becomes”

“shimete” is, like, “to touch; pierce; sting; permeate; influence; impress”

for now, i think it means something along the lines of “you have a bunch of kids to get back to and influence,” but it’s all dependent on bubble 3

edit: i saw “kae” and thought “ah, kaeru; return!” and it’s not!!! it’s “instead!!!”

bubble 3: me wo tsumutte shimaimasunde... iki awasemashou!

“me wo tsumutte” is just, “close your eyes.”

“shimaimasu” is a polite conjugation of “shimau,” or “to end; complete.” 

the “nda” means, funnily enough, “and”

“awasemashou,” i think, means, like, “let’s do it together!”

“when the excess amount you take on instead starts to sting, close your eyes, stop, and we’ll breathe together!”

[gil-notskajla]

So xerath skin confirmed how you feel

I'm conflicted.

As much as I enjoy reading about Xerath in lore and go crazy when anything happens lorewise, skins info gives me a bad feeling. It's mostly caused by circumstances: Riot announced skins for champions who didn't get a skin for a long time. It looks like they just thought: "yeah.. these guys rioting on the back are soo annoying... just throw 'em whatever and get back to lux skins"

And I don't want whatever. I don't want trash.

The worst part is that Riot doesn't do cheap skins anymore. Everything costs 1350 no matter if its good or terrible. It isn't about how well things go together, it's about how many artists and animators worked on it and for how long. That's fair, but at least pay attention to what works and what doesn't.

And I will tell you what works and what doesn't.

Battlecast, Runeborn - nothing flashy, but works

Scorched - semi-works, flashy, best skin to equip if you are in Prestige_XerathTM mood

Guardian - disgusting mess which isnt worth a single penny (i respect guy who made a concept and guy who made splash (splash is beautiful), he had a vision; animator got paid soo whatever; but nevertheless - skin is shitty and doesnt work at all, i regret paying for it, even to i paid with 80%, its not worth it at all)

Why cheap skins work? People call 'em chromas but honestly these are my faves. First, what should work for all skins: attacks are well saturated what makes them comfortable to use in game. Nothing else because those are just repainted defaults. Idle animations work and emotes work as well. Xerath's dance and "Closing Sarcophagus"(CS) emotes are a micro-culture of xerath mains. They are super important and they are an absolute must of all the things that work. These dont work - skin doesn't work. on both skins parts of sarcophagus fit each other what allows them to close into a certain form - it looks great. And dance emote works as it should.

Scorched semi-works because even tho sarcophagus cant close, it looks good - its color palette is well picked, pieces are of a fine sized parts which match each other, his body is 2D but has different texture lava-fire-like which doesnt  look way to off, and dance emote works.

Guardian...oh boy.... Guardian doesnt work in any way. Color theory was abadoned when they were coloring him. Parts dont fit eachother. Mark is way to dark and of complitely different shade of purple (blueish instead of plum). His body is in obviously, painfuly 2D what is impossible to not notice because of darker contouring of light form. Animations suck (except of B, but its only because its his only animated recall). In dance platings are too big and dont allow for full round movements of arms. And CS... lets say he turns into a qantum flower durring epilepsy episode. Absolutely hideous abomination and the worst part is that what you get on splash looks NOTHING like what you have in game. You buy it, cant wait to try it out and when you finally do, you just wanna click the return button instantly. And it costs 1350.

Soo now that we have it all clear, since Xerath skins are called chromas, we want next chroma: pink/purple/white/black or brown. Since we are fans of neglected child our standards arent high:

Dream come true skin for Xerath is this black concept by Tink29

Sarcophagus is made of fitting parts, voidlike substance gives eerie feelings and its majestic. But its never gonna happen because Riot would LITERALLY DIE if they made a good solo skin for unpopular champion. Another idea is white as elementalist (yes, i am delusional) or some nice wind related or somethin' (ive made this concept basing on raider outfit since xerath is a leader of western raiders and planed to finnish it with colors fitting raider costume with very bright, white/light-lime arcane. Its not good for CS animation but its light, and flowing with all the light elements like material straps on the mask and wing-like details)

but its not an option as well.

Brown (with for example... sugar rush theme) wont happen because its not obvious. Soo my guess is either pink or purple and it's gonna be either Voidborn (god please let it be voidborn) or space related, most likely Darkstar (ok i guess). Best way how voidborn could end up looking like is probably this fanart by BlazeMalefica

not only did the artist remmember about the seal (which is kinda a big deal, 50%-of-his-mental-issues deal for xerath) and turned it into the eye but its also capable of closing, animating properly, its not noisy what makes him more readable, has one specific color (pink) and is built on something that already exists. It's perfect for both players and Riot (and it would be also cheaper probably, just sayin'..). If they decide to make Darkstar (ive abadoned Cosmic or Hextech - not gonna happen, it would be to good)im afraid that they will do a color hoarding of purple, blue, black.. literally whatever, slap it all together on the sarcophagus, shape it into some wild shapes, ignore all the animations, do a recall, slap 2D core and call it "Black is new Gold: Guardian of the Sands 2.0 even more retarded than its predecessor" and it will look like this noisy af mess of a bitch (by Slow Damn)

or in best case scenario for which i count if its dark star

by Thorsten Erdt.

and i can bet all my 1300 Eververse silver that Riot will do everything to make it look like shit in game by cutting the funds soo lets do something less risky, easier soo they wont fuck it up.

But that's just my predictions and when it finally comes out I will rate it. Let's hope for the best (void or darkstar, no matter, just give us the purple, the pink, working sarcophagus and limbs)! If its good maybe i will even make a break from Destiny to try it out! 👀👌🏻

[eastasianfeelings]

all those other wolves: Jooheon

— based on Monsta X as jealous boyfriends

Summary: You just want your Stray Kids bias member to sign your lightstick. It’s not like you’re in love with him. But your boyfriend Jooheon doesn’t seem to get that.

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: jealousy, some angst, making out

*

It’s the first K-pop awards show you’ve been to since you started your new job as an executive assistant to Monsta X’s lead manager. Glittering ice, gleaming velvet and flashing lights saturate every corner, while screams and cheers fill the air at various intervals as the fans hype themselves up. The atmosphere is almost overwhelmingly upbeat.

So why is your boyfriend standing next to you in a quiet corner of the backstage wing with the darkest of glowers on his face?

“Jooheony.”

He doesn’t respond, just folds his arms tighter and pouts into the distance.

You give him a little prod. “Heony, I’ll just go over for a minute, okay?”

“Why bother asking me?” Jooheon sniffs and pulls away. “You already made up your mind anyway.”

“I’m not asking,” you say, torn between laughing at his childishness and knocking some sense into him. “I’m telling you because I don’t want you to think whatever you’re thinking right now.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” he retorts.

You give a little sigh, then reach up and cup his cheeks. “You’re thinking that I’m going to ignore you so I can go talk to Bang Chan, and you’re mad about it.”

Jooheon purses his lips even more. “Noona. You brought a Stray Kids lightstick for him to sign! You don’t even own a Monsta X lightstick.”

“That’s because I don’t need a lightstick. I have you.” You glance around to check if anybody in the darkened wing is paying attention, then rise on your toes and press a buss to his pouty lips. “Understand?”

His frown starts dissolving as his gaze falls to your mouth. “Mm.”

“Good.” You move your palm to his lips to keep him from going in for another kiss. “I’ll be right back, okay? Go hang with Changkyun.”

“Noona,” he whines, but you pull away and wave in parting.

You turn around and scan the sprawling backstage wing, where groups are waiting for the cue to walk to their seats before the show starts. You hadn’t actually expected to see Stray Kids today; you’d brought your lightstick because it was the only one you owned. But now that you’re standing in the same room as them, you aren’t going to miss an opportunity to have your bias sign it.

You spot Hyunjin’s head and make your way toward him through the bodies. As the Stray Kids members come into view, you take a breath to calm your heartrate and remind yourself, Just talk to them like human beings. You’re asking a small favour, not sacrificing your liver.

You carefully twist past Hyunjin and Felix to find yourself face-to-face with Bang Chan. “Ah, Bang Chan-ssi?” you blurt.

He looks at you curiously. “Yes?”

As calmly as you can, you hold out your lightstick and a permanent marker. “Could you please sign my lightstick?” you ask. “I’m a fan of yours.”

“Oh — sure.” Bang Chan accepts the marker from you and leans over to scrawl on the lightstick. You lean back, trying not to breathe on his extremely sculpted hair.

He suddenly lifts his head and meets your eyes from ten centimetres away. “Sorry, I forgot to ask, what’s your name?”

“Ah, it’s fine if you just sign it,” you say quickly. It’s not like you’ll get in trouble if you associate with other companies’ idols, but you don’t want anyone getting wind that you were panting after Stray Kids, just in case.

Chan cocks his head. “Why, are you going to sell it?” he jokes.

You let out a surprised laugh. “Of course not. I’d be fired if I did that.”

“Oh?” Chan’s smiling. “Why would you be fired?”

Uhhh… “It’s a secret,” you say, and break out your cheesiest smile.

“Ah, is that so?” Chan nods and fortunately doesn’t press for more. He scribbles on one side of the lightstick, then flips it over and writes on the other as well.

When he’s done, you take it back and squint at the writing. To my mysterious fan, says one side. The other says, Love from Bang Chan.

Well, you’re not complaining. “Thank you very much.” You bow your head and then waste no time ducking away into the crowd.

“Noona.” Jooheon rushes over to meet you. “What took so long?”

“Was it long?” You check your watch. “It was only five minutes. You guys haven’t gotten the cue yet, have you?”

“You said you’d be right back,” he grumbles, grasping you by the waist.

“Well, here I am.” You squirm in his hold; he’s slipped his hands under your oversized jacket and under your top, to your skin.

He slides a hand down your side and pries the lightstick from your hand. “‘To my mysterious fan’,” he reads aloud, “‘love from Bang Chan’?” He looks up at you with incredulity all over his face. “What’s this?”

You frown. “It’s not like I could give my name, right?”

“No, this is — why is it ‘love from Bang Chan’?” Jooheon splutters. “Why didn’t he just sign his name?”

“Hey, I don’t know,” you defend yourself, “I didn’t ask him to write that.”

“You should’ve told him to just sign his name and be done with it.”

“It’s not like I knew he was going to write that until he did it.”

“Then you just shouldn’t have asked for him to sign it in the first place!”

“Honestly, what’s the big deal?” You snatch your lightstick back. “It’s a few words on a lightstick, that’s it! Seriously, Jooheon.”

But he’s mad now, you can tell. He drops his hand from your waist, narrows his eyes and sets his jaw. “Fine,” he sniffs, “if that’s what you think.”

“Jooheony…”

He turns and walks resolutely back to the rest of Monsta X.

You sigh. Oh well, you have to do your job anyway. So you stick your lightstick back into your pocket and return to your manager’s side. Might as well enjoy your time here while you wait out your boyfriend’s sulking.

*

Two hours later, you’re running to the dressing room to grab bottles of water. Monsta X has just finished their performance for the night, and they have less than five minutes to get rid of their sound gear, change outfits and return to their seats in the audience.

By the time you’re back with the water, the next group to perform has already queued up as well. You trot down the line of Monsta X members and hand out water bottles as you go.

“Y/N-noonim, isn’t it heavy?” A sweaty Shownu accepts the bottle and looks at the bag you’re carrying.

“Don’t worry about it.” You smile at him and keep going.

“Thank you, noonim,” Minhyuk chirps as you twist open the cap for him.

Beside him, Kihyun snorts. “You can’t even open a bottle by yourself?” he pokes.

“I’ll open yours for you, too, Kihyun-ssi,” you say brightly to prevent the bickering from starting up, and push the bottle into Kihyun’s hand before he can protest.

The very last member is Jooheon. You hesitate for a second, then make eye contact and offer the bottle silently. He takes it, holding your gaze with a look you don’t quite understand.

Someone speaks up, breaking the moment. “Hey — it’s you.”

You look over to your right and literally hop backward in shock: Stray Kids’ Bang Chan is standing right there, next to Jooheon. Looks like his group is up next. Past him, you can see the rest of his members lining up as the sound staff affix mics to their costumes.

Bang Chan’s looking at you, and you instinctively side-step in case he was talking to someone behind you. No luck. Chan keeps smiling your way, and now you can see Jooheon staring at Bang Chan too. Yikes.

“Hello,” you say in as neutral a tone as possible, and dip your head politely.

“You’re my mysterious fan, right?” He quirks an adorable grin. “You ran off so fast.”

“Ah, yes,” you say with an awkward chuckle, and sidle another step away.

“Do you work here?”

Before you can answer, a hand clamps down on your hip. You look round in alarm and find Jooheon next to you, arm wrapped firmly around your waist. He’s glaring at the younger boy as though he committed a crime. It is, literally, the least discreet thing you’ve ever seen.

Now Bang Chan’s looking curiously between the two of you, so in a desperate attempt to distract him, you whip out another water bottle and offer, “Would you like some water?”

His face lights up in surprise, and then amusement. “Sure, thank you.”

But as he reaches for the bottle, Jooheon grabs it from you. “Yah, that’s for Changkyunnie,” he scolds you, and turns to stuff it in a startled Changkyun’s hands.

Both you and Bang Chan stare for a moment. “Uh, I gave Changkyun water already…?” you say.

“He’s sick, he needs to drink more. But you know what?” he says to Chan. “You can have this.”

He plunges his free hand into your jacket pocket. You shy away on instinct, but he’s already got what he wants: your Stray Kids lightstick.

He holds it out to Chan and says, “For you.”

Bang Chan stares some more, puzzled grin frozen on his face.

“Ah, hang on a moment, Jooheon-ssi,” you say with a nervous laugh. “I don’t think Chan-ssi wants his own lightstick — ”

Jooheon’s hand glides across your ass, shutting you up effectively, before reaching out to grab Bang Chan’s wrist with force. “Here you go, Bang Chan-ssi,” he says, and slaps the lightstick into Chan’s hand.

“Ah,” Chan says, one hundred percent bemused. “Right.”

Just as you’re about to die from the awkwardness, the sound engineers finally get to Bang Chan, and his attention is pulled away. One of the staff takes the lightstick from him as another begins setting up the mic.

“Monsta X, this way please,” someone else calls. And like that, Jooheon’s gone, off to do idol-ish things with the rest of his members.

You stand in the middle of the suddenly-empty hall for a good minute, bewildered, before you finally regain your senses and head back to the dressing room. Sheesh. 

*

At 1:30 am, the show’s over. The ice and velvet and lights are all gone, and the Monsta X dressing room is empty save you and one other executive assistant. The two of you are gathering the odds and ends that the crew has left behind when the door opens and Jooheon enters.

You look at each other; no one speaks. You don’t know what he’s doing back here by himself, you don’t know if he’s still mad at you, and at this point you’re a little too tired to care.

“Eonni, I’m going to move this stuff to the van,” you say to the other EA, and brush past Jooheon to carry your box of things out the door.

You get to the company car and begin wedging in the box alongside all the others. Footsteps make you look around to find Jooheon approaching. Face expressionless, he leans into the trunk and adds his strength to yours, and together you manage to stuff the box in.

Straightening, you look him over once, but hold your tongue. If he wants to get in trouble by wandering around without his manager, you’re not going to be his parachute. You nudge him away and close the trunk, then lock the car.

As soon as you turn around, Jooheon’s stepping in front of you, a little closer than necessary.

“Noona,” he says, low in his throat.

“You’re talking to me now?” Okay, not the most mature response, but he started it.

From his jacket pocket, he pulls out a Stray Kids lightstick.

You raise your eyebrows at it.

“I got you a new one,” Jooheon says, a little gruffly. “That Bang Chan kid signed it. Just his name.”

You take the lightstick from him and inspect it. Yes, there’s Bang Chan’s signature on one side of the lightstick. Nothing else.

“How did you get this?” you ask, turning it over in your hands.

He grimaces a little. “Staff were handing their lightsticks out. I asked that punk to sign one.”

“You asked him?” Your eyebrows lift higher. “I don’t suppose you managed to apologize while you were at it.”

Jooheon scowls harder. “No. Why would I apologize? I told him to keep his love to himself and never talk to you again.”

Facepalm. “Jooheon-ah, really?”

“He’s my hoobae, he better listen to me.”

What did you expect, honestly. “You know that’s so not necessary. It’s not like I’ll ever see him again — ”

“Yah, noona.” Jooheon steps forward, crowding you against the car. “All men are wolves, don’t you know that?”

You back up prudently and manage a scoff. “Including you?”

“Yeah.” He leans in, tone lowering. “Except I already caught you. So everyone else can stop trying.”

His head angles, his lips part, and you know you’re one second away from making out in the middle of a parking lot at two AM in the morning.

By sheer force of will, you tear your eyes away from his mouth and plant a hand against him to preserve some distance. “Hang on, hang on.”

Jooheon looks down slowly. You realize you’ve got the hand holding the lightstick pressed against his chest, the Stray Kids logo visible against his black shirt.

He looks back at you. 

He reaches up, yanks the lightstick from your grasp and lets it drop.

In shock, you watch it plummet to the pavement. “Joo — ”

And then your hands are pinned to the car by your head and he’s kissing and kissing and kissing you, like he wants to be inside you, like he needs you to breathe, like he’d eat you up if only he could. With a weak whimper, you succumb. How can you not? It’s Jooheon. Jooheon.

“Jooheon-ah.” His name slips from your lips breathlessly when he finally releases your mouth to nuzzle into your neck.

“Y/N-noona,” he murmurs back, and the way he says your name into your skin sends a shiver through your body until you’re shuddering. “I love you.”

Oh, Jooheon.

*

So. You did end up making out in the middle of a parking lot at two AM in the morning, after all.

[laniidae-passerine]

I mean it’s like 23:30 over here but I can’t sleep without saying this so here I go (and boy is it long I finished this at 00:09 so)

-sorry I can’t put read more in I’m only on mobile-

Why did the core four of Metal Fury have to be Kyoya, Ryuga, Gingka and Chris? And maybe other issues with Metal Fury - a vent essay by me:

1) I love these guys (okay maybe not Chris) but it feels like with every season other characters have to take a backseat to them. This season was really just about them, again, when so many other characters would have benefited from being legendary bladers, and thus would have gained more character development - making them on equal footing with our “core four” if you will.

2) It’s not even good for their character development. We never really have Gingka lose battles in Masters/Fight which continues through Fury, or see Kyoya interact with Wild Fang (my boys!) that often, or have any idea about Chris before Fury starts. The only one who truly benefits from being a Legendary Seasonal Blader is Ryuga, through his journey with Kenta, but he could have just done that as a non-core four legendary blader! Kyoya actually goes backwards in likeability and development and it just feels so unneeded.

3) The idea of a core four is still one of those tropes that rubs me slightly the wrong way, as it seems to elevate the importance of characters over others in the show, but the characters used didn’t even need elevating. They really have nothing to gain from this, other than the universe giving them a pat on the head and going “well done we all knew you were the best and here it is in a different but repetitive form”. They don’t really change or have to deal with anything conflicting within them like other characters would have if they became seasonal legendary bladers. I mean, can you imagine if Hikaru was a seasonal legendary blader? The emotional conflict she would go through? Having to reconcile her fear of returning to a sport that damaged her emotionally and physically, with the fact that the universe and everyone and thing she loves needs her to face that fear? The character development would be immense and it would give her a chance to use the potential she clearly has throughout Metal Saga. But instead we just hand it to Gingka who doesn’t really need the development or the added power that Fury gives.

4) Chris. Look. I’m really sorry if he’s one of your favourite characters, but he is completely unnecessary. Anyone! Anyone associated with winter that we already knew could have been the Winter Legendary Blader. Instead we’re given this completely new guy who isn’t properly developed (not his fault the show didn’t have enough time) and who I, personally, just don’t feel enough of a connection to. Maybe it’s just because Winter Blader Benkei is the hill I’ve decided to die on, but I just don’t really care for Chris, and it’s detrimental to show as a whole if he’s meant to be one of ones I care most about.

5) It would have been a shock to the system if these guys weren’t even legendary bladers at all. Can you imagine Gingka, the one who always steps up, the Number One (sorry Masamune) Blader in the world finding out he’s not part of the big core four group? That the universe didn’t choose him? That would be something he’d have to grow through, something that would have him mature emotionally and he could still be the Protagonist through this all as well. He’d grow better, and not be this overpowered hero who never really faces an obstacle no one else does. He’d have to accept he can’t save the world this time - and that that’s okay. He’s still important, he’s still special, hell, he’s still number one but this isn’t his fight to fight alone for once. I’d prefer that Gingka or one similar to him to the Fury version.

6) Team Wild Fang. That’s it, that’s the whole bullet point. Fury did them dirty and I won’t allow it - let Nile or Demure be a Legendary Blader you cowards!

7) Please. Let other characters be important too. So many other people could have taken one of the core four mantles it’s literally an endless opportunity: Tsubasa, Yu, Benkei, Hikaru, Hyoma, Kenta (like not through Ryuga just straight up it’s Kenta), give freaking Alexei or Lera or Klaus or Sophie or Zhou Xin or Mei-Mei or Zeo or Toby or even an old antagonist the shot, just make other characters important too! Give them the respect and development they deserve.

8) 9 year old me was ready to throw hands over this point and current me is ready to throw hands and I betcha future tax-paying me will too, because boy oh boy does it anger me. Ready? THERE! WASN’T! A! FEMALE! LEGENDARY! BLADER! Give my girls some rep you cowards cause I didn’t watch this show as a kid for only the male bladers! I loved Hikaru, and I loved Madoka, and I loved Mei-Mei, and Sophie, and Lera, and even Selen and it was an honest slap in the face not to even see a girl be a Legendary Blader. I wanted it so badly and I don’t think we talk about it enough because it ignores the girls who loved beyblade and who bought the toys, and watched the show. It wasn’t just a show for boys and girls deserved better in the show and out of it.

9) Kyoya didn’t grow properly! and it annoys me! and they nerfed Yu and what’s up with Hyoma and they did this too much to too many characters agh

10) Finally, I would have preferred a show that wasn’t overly character saturated so the ones that I knew and loved felt more developed and fleshed out. That is really it.

[goron-king-darunia]

Coffee Soulmate Drabble

Based on this, but reworked to be more articulate and also to avoid piggybacking on a post. Also realized that the prompt was meant to be about what soulmates think when they see each other, not their first words to each other, so I tweaked the premise a bit to fit the reveal I wanted. *~*~*

Emil had waited what felt like eons to finally see his soul mark. Friends from school had mostly gotten theirs already. Marta and Alice got theirs during a schoolyard tussle in middle school. Other classmates had theirs appear during grocery store trips or vacations and spring break. Many more had theirs pop up while messaging someone online for the first time, or just before receiving a response to an online comment. Emil had no such luck. He was still young, of course. Some people didn’t have their soul marks show up until their forties. But he was dying to finally see his. He didn’t want to wait that long. Ever since he was a kid, he’d wanted to find his special someone. A Knight or warrior princess to sweep him off his feet and carry him far, far away from his abusive relatives. Preferably a knight or prince charming of course, but soulmates could be unexpected and Emil wasn’t picky. Alas, here he stood in the Lezareno Coffee Shop, brewing orders and making frappes and getting harangued by customers who “just wanted a plain cup of coffee” and couldn’t bother to even listen to the explanation that there are 30 different blends and they needed to pick one because the procedure is the procedure. His colleague Colette had just finished up ringing up a man with bright red hair and Emil was in awe. The guy looked to be a college student. He was dressed in a pressed white shirt with a bolo tie and some black slacks with a laptop and messenger bag and a perpetually-caffeine-deprived look on his features. Eye-bags, pursed lips, slouched shoulders, grumpy frown. Despite all this, he was a handsome man. His shiny polished loafers were the only thing that really threw Emil off. People his age usually wore tennis shoes, even in nice clothes. They were comfy and they were meant to get dirty so they didn’t require as much upkeep. Loafers were an old-people fashion in this generation. As preppy as the look was, though, his shuffle and slouch were unmistakeably characteristic of a man whose bank of “fucks I give” had basically run empty. Dude had maybe two fucks left at best. Guy clearly just wanted to be left alone to his business. Sadly, that meant that as cute as he was, Emil was going to have to refrain from asking him for his number on break.

While working on a caramel frappuccino for a lady that had just ordered, a wild-looking blond walked in, slapped a bill down on the counter and just said. “Coffee, hot, lots of it. Surprise me with the blend. Make it blonder than me and absolutely saturate that with sugar. Add two espressos shots to it. And can I get a straw?” Colette just nodded and totaled up the amount for their daily blend with a double espresso, extra cream, caramel syrup, and replaced the bill the blond had put on the counter with change and a wrapped plastic straw. “Thanks, you’re amazing.” He added the change to the tip jar and waited by the other end of the counter to pick up his drink. Emil was a bit baffled by this new guy. The boy had very similar features to himself. The exact shades of blond in both their hairs were different but without the side-by-side, you’d never tell. The customer’s eyes were more hazel than green, too, but one would have to look close to notice. Their body builds were a bit different, and this was probably the most prominent detail. Emil had a bit more muscle on him (he spent as much time running away from his home life as possible) and the customer was a bit wiry and lithe but if you really didn’t scrutinize their faces, they’d be able to switch places no problem. A heavy coat, jeans, sunglasses and they’d basically be indistinguishable. The customer’s face was sharper, a bit older looking, more masculine, while Emil’s features were a bit softer and rounder, but at a distance? Yeah. They could be twins. Except for the customer’s fashion sense. Emil, when he wore casualwear, usually wore a nice v-neck in a neutral color, a nice vest or scarf or jacket depending on the weather, and shorts or jeans in a nice cool tone. This customer was decked out in red and black, dark jeans and thigh high boots. He had a gold chain with an angel emblem on it but also a billowing white coat. Emil couldn’t tell if he was a nerd, a counterculture punk, or a dweeb attempting to be edgy. Then again, as he was also a college kid from the looks of things, he might have just thrown on whatever was clean and comfy. Emil couldn’t tell. Emil brewed up the order as Collette finished ringing up another customer. The blond barista placed the cup on the counter just as Collete tapped him on the shoulder. “Can you cover the registers for a quick minute?” Emil nodded, doing as he was told. luckily there was no one in line so he just had to keep an eye on things while he worked on other tasks and prioritize running the register if anyone did show up.

Aster, the aforementioned blond customer with weird fashion sense, was enjoying his hot cup of pure caffeine and sugar, just about to make his way out the door when he felt a faint tingle on the inside of his right wrist. He’d heard the stories. He was excited to know what the first words his soulmate would speak to him were going to be. He’d always dreamed of something like “Hey, hot stuff! Nice ass!” just so he could eternally shame his soulmate for catcalling him or something sweet like “Wow, you look really friendly! Can you help me study this week?” Some kind of college meet-cute that would lead to some wholesome stories for the kids someday. He eagerly rolled up his sleeves. Would it be funny? Heartwarming? Quirky? Flattering? He frowned when he read the small string of words, printed in a tiny serif font along his arm. “Who the hell drinks coffee with a straw?!”

Well that was simply unacceptable! Not only was his soulmate clearly a classless heathen who hated the finer things, but now he was stuck with this stupid soulmate mark! Aster turned around, leaning against the doorframe and eyeing the other patrons suspiciously, angrily sipping his coffee through his straw. As soon as his soulmate uttered those words, he was gonna kick their ass. He glared over the crowd, daring some chuckefuck to stand up and say it to his face. He was going to wreck them so hard he’d ruin the relationship eternally and blow that soulmate mark right off his arm.

Richter twitched, eyes narrowing at the blond beginning to exit and the words began forming in his mind. He didn’t even notice the blond turn to survey the rest of the patrons before he set his own coffee aside and found himself shooting up from his seat, massively offended on behalf of the rest of the sane people in this store. “WHO THE HELL DRINKS COFFEE WITH A STRAW?!” Aster’s head whipped around. You! He thought. I’ll rip you a new one right here! But before he could get the words out he softened immediately. Oh no. He’s hot.

“It’s not even iced coffee!” Richter continued, gesturing wildly at the blond’s absurd setup. “What are you even?! Wh– These cups come with lids with mouth holes you know!? So they don’t spill everywhere and so you can drink on the go!” Richter felt his own wrist tingle and paused.  He was filled with anticipation certain that the barista was going to call him out on that statement. In fact he was praying for it. Because the barista was kinda cute. But no. The words appeared on his wrist moments before they were uttered. 

“The straw cools the coffee off on its way to my mouth hole.” 

Richter cringed. Oh no. Why him? He’s cute, too but WHY HIM?! Why not that cute barista boy?! And why did it have to be these words?! Emil’s head shot up. “Oh dear.” Suddenly both his wrists were tingling. It happened sometimes when someone had two simultaneous soulmates. Some people ended up picking one and letting the other mark fade. Some picked both if they could manage it. Emil had heard stories of as many as four simultaneous soulmates and there were legends of people who’d had even more. Emil glanced around, wondering who they could be. It hit him just as the words faded in on his arms and he locked eyes with the blond customer. Aster called out. “Yo! Barista boy! You can back me up on that, right? Drinking coffee with a straw isn’t weird, yeah?” “Oh, please! For real, you can settle this right now, my friend. Drinking coffee with a straw is barbaric right? Leaving the cup open like that while walking around in public, ready to spill on everyone! The correct way to drink a hot beverage is obviously from a travel mug or ceramic!” Aster and Richter both felt their other wrists tingle and they paused their argument, smiling faintly at the words that appear. “You’re both idiots and you need to stop yelling or my boss is gonna kick you out before I get your numbers.” “Seems like you’re going to be settling more than just this argument, huh?” Richter smiled. “You haven’t even asked him out and you’re expecting him to mediate all our arguments?” Aster sassed the redhead, elbowing him in the chest. “We don’t even know each other’s names!” The three convened at the counter as Colette came back to work the register. “I’m Richter.” The redhead offered his right hand to Emil. “Emil.” The blond flashed his nametag on his apron before shaking Richter’s hand with a smile. “Aster Laker.” The other blond reached out to Emil’s still extended hand for another handshake before reluctantly taking Richters.  Richter entered their names into his phone and they exchanged contacts. “Alright, thanks for that. I’ll text you our numbers, Emil.” His phone pinged as the text was sent. “Anyway, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. You’re working after all. But before I go harass this guy about his habits, can we get your professional barista opinion?” Richter grinned. Emil chuckled. “You’re both wrong. Iced coffee is the only good coffee so drinking a hot coffee any way you want to is wrong.” Aster cackled, nearly spilling his coffee as he doubled over laughing. “I can’t tell if you’re a contrarian or just want to dodge the question. This will be an interesting relationship for sure.” Richter smiled, sipping from the mouthpiece of his cup. “What if I drink my coffee through 25 swizzle sticks glued together?” Aster cackled. “Am I valid?” Emil and Richter just stared at him. “You’re insane.” Richter murmured, though his face was glowing with amusement. “Absolutely bonkers.” Emil laughed. “I’ll let you two know when I’m off. Don’t murder each other before I’m done with my shift, okay?” “No promises.” Richter smiled, walking Aster back to his table

[toasttz]

How to make games: RPGs

Hey! You like RPGs, right? If you don't I have to wonder how the hell you found FAN, given our two most-active subboards being vidya and tabletop RPGs, but, whatever! Let's, for the sake of argument, assume you like RPGs. If you don't, fuck off, Greg! ... I don't know anyone named Greg, I just wanted to see if I could screw with people named Greg. Anyways, RPGs, like the houses in Harry Potter, come in four distinct flavors: traditionalist, gonzo/comedy, h-game, and "Inspired by EarthBound/The Mother Trilogy". And much akin to Harry Potter, only two of these houses actually fucking matter and the other two are just hangers-on of different genres and ages. If you're going to waste the player's time by making your H-game an RPG, you are going about it entirely wrong. Please stop dumping this unabashed garbage-fire of a subgenre on Steam, the market is beyond saturation point and requires arm floaties to compensate. And for those of you who played/know of EarthBound and want to make a "spiritual successor"... just stop. Please for the love of God, stop. There never really was a demand for this kind of thing and EarthBound was not a commercial success, so just stop if you have any humanity left in you. I don't think I can stomach anymore fucking quirkiness after the last installment - anymore stuffed down my gullet and I'm gonna shit out a My Hero Academia OC next time my bowels move. So, in truth, you have two flavors of RPG: the traditionalist and the comedian routes and both can be equally terrible. Traditionalist RPGs range from the swords-n-sorcery setting found in Ultima, Dragon Quest, and good Final Fantasy installments to the sci-fi, cyberpunk, steampunk, and emo shit found in bad Final Fantasy installments - it's a wide gauntlet. The only prereq is that you take your own storytelling relatively seriously, with some level of gravity involved in the overall major story beats. Since traditionalist RPGs are made by people with crippling insecurities about change, and the game will largely succeed or fail on the quality of its characters, I'll go ahead and make your cast for you. I'll avoid giving them names so you can customize them: I mean, some people like their fantasy heroes to be named something like "Bulk McUlraeoth Sword Arm of Jupiter" and some people like their fantasy protags to be named "Jim". Who am I to judge your self-insert fanfiction? Sword McHero Man - The guy with short brown or black hair and a generic face done by a B-list manga-ka and, depending on if you want to make him a chillaxed everyman or an edgy edgelord, you can add or subtract belts, zippers, pouches, and black clothing items according to need. He'll almost always use a generic one-handed sword and have fairly short hair. If your game strongly favors an element system, he'll be either fire or light-affinity, but not have any actual strong convictions beyond the fact that he hates 'bad guys' and probably gets his head dunked in toilets by at least 3 NPCs in the starting town. Anything else about him is ultimately superfluous and interchangeable with the next Sword McHero Man over. Childhood McBestfriend - Oftentimes a female foil to the above, but not required by law to be so. Sometimes this doubles as Sword McHero Man's Suave Cool McLancer. They will usually fill a supplementary combat role in the party, either the thief or the healbot as the story requires. If they are the love interest, they are required to be Worst Waifu(TM) by law and be replaced as soon as a competent party member fills out the roster. Typically wind or water elemented in nature, they'll either help calm the hero-man down if he is the hotblooded sort, or cheer him up if he's currently got his head dunked in a toilet. Suave Cool McLancer - Either a rival or thematic foil of the hero and maybe a rival for Childhood McBestfriend's affections, depending on story necessity. He will be a more specialized unit, either the rogue, the heavy-armor knight, or the attack mage. If male, this character will be Best Hasbando and be incredibly pretty or horrifically scarred and/or disfigured with no potential in-betweens. If female, uncommon but not unheard-of, she'll be the team's big sis figure and likely the most powerful, physically speaking. Potential for Best Waifu(TM) is high, but can also potentially double as Back McStabberton. Back McStabberton - The dark, angsty, clearly-untrustworthy one who the player will see their betrayal coming from a mile off, but will completely blindside the naive heroes. Usually they'll have stats inconsistent with the party (being either over or under-powered depending on context) and clash with their bright, anime-esque color scheme by wearing blacks or dark purples. Either a thief or attack mage of some flavor. Almost universally a male or a "devilish handsome rogue" if they get redeemed at some point. If female, they will always be DOUBLE AGENTS acting with the hero's own good in mind and will promptly be forgiven. Usually dies before the game is out. Grandpa McTeacherperson - Some plot-pivotal character who exists to either give the party a special tool, weapon, or ability they wouldn't have gotten otherwise, or elsewise transfer their own talents to the party in some fashion. Virtually irrelevant as characters since these exist exclusively as jaded props to die off to make the villains' actions more personal. Please stop using this archetype or at least TRY to subvert it into something interesting, you talentless lazy fucks. Sexy McFaceTurn - Invariably one of the bad guy's hot ladies will see a boyish charm in the hero, even if the hero is supposed to be projected upon and therefore would actually have the social skills of a duck - or worse, me. What? I did that joke already? Fuck you, this joke's still more inspired than the Tales games RPGs. Anyways, upon getting wet for the hero, she will abandon her post and all its luxuries and join the party, clad in tight, black leather and probably using either knives or whips and will be your prereq dark-affinity character. She will be the sex appeal your game sells on, so be sure to slap her on all your promo materials even though she doesn't join until the mid-late game. Male versions of this idea die. I can't explain it - it's some straight-up Mr. Poofers dark magic, they just die. Annoying McMascot - Your game needs something bizarre to round the party out with. A talking dog is common. A fantasy creature with bright neon colors is also acceptable. Just make sure that players hate it with every fiber of their being. If the design alone isn't enough, give it an annoying speech habit - like a verbal tic or a lisp - and have it talk a lot and repeat the obvious a lot. It is by law that this must be implemented. However, unlike any of the above, this, coupled with the hero, cannot be killed off. And that should more or less do ya, unless you're the type who wanted to pour dozens upon dozens of dudes into your game. In which case, congrats, you understand that doing the absolute base minimum to be called a "game" isn't the bar you should be shooting for and therefore are already on your way to being better than Squeenix. Next, you need to get to codin'! So go on Steam and buy the latest RPG Maker software when it goes on sale. You won't need to wait long, between the Summer and Winter sales. Once you have that, you already have built-in art, music, and character makers. Fuck it - creativity is hard, so let the software tend to that itself. Make some characters and name some locations, jot up a map with some landmarks and treasure, then make a bad guy. Bad guy making is easy, they all wear black or dark reds and purples and tend to always call themselves "The [Whatever] Empire". You don't even need to be arsed to make a motivation for their evil schemes. Have you seen how much Fire Emblem Fates raked in just on the goodwill left over from Awakening? I'm surprised JRPGs aren't made by fucking algorithm these days! Anyways, that just about does it for the traditional RPG. Comedy RPGs aren't quite as bound to the above and are, in fact, encouraged to break the mold. If you need some ideas to get the creative juices flowin', there's a game you can try out, you might have heard about it since I haven't stopped fellating the damn thing since I did the LP back in 2013: Hourai High. Your plot doesn't need to make sense and is better off if any causality is merely coincidental. Your characters shouldn't really be trying to 'save the world', per se, but should do so by side-effect of their selfishness and/or incompetence. Your team should have robots, aliens, fucking CheetahMen, I don't fucking know, but take everything I said above this paragraph and throw it into a shredder, make it confetti, and wail on established convention! Sweet fucking mother - BE CREATIVE. I'm gonna temporarily break facade here for just a second and say this: you know how you bitched about Final Fantasy 15? How it's a fucking boyband music video with a fucking car commercial crammed in it?! How you hated the hallway simulator of FF13? How no one bought Bravely Second? How Dragon Quest keeps getting away with remaking the same fucking game?! Here's your chance. Flaunt on the establishment. Fuck what is "popular". Make something new. Don't try to be Shigesato Itoi. Do your own thing. Break the conditioning. Get out there and make a fucking game. Make it so when people say "RPG Maker Title" on Steam, they aren't saying it like it's a four-letter word. Put some God-damn soul into it, people! And now, off the soap box. Bonus points if you add a dating sim. Just saying. Rune Factory 5 just got announced. Now, get to work. Congrats. You now know how to be the most fucking boring milquetoast thing on the planet and how to avoid that ass-cancer and do something that actually expresses your individuality and possible talent. This is the one time I'm allowing these rants to be somewhat uplifting. You're welcome.