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jeonjeonggukenergy · 5 years

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Anti-Hero

summary ~ in search of wine at a party that’s so not your scene, you run into jungkook, the weeb from your film class, and become determined to learn just how much he lives up to his big reputation.

pairing ~ jungkook x reader

genre ~ fluff, light smut w/ more to come - college!au

wordcount ~ 1.7k

warnings ~ light smut, drinking/partying, mentions of dick?, basically just making out, feat. long hair jk :)))))

a/n ~ this is my first time posting a fic!!! costume idea inspired by @ddaenggtan‘s iconic weeb-ass jk in chasing butterflies lol, and I got the idea to write this in general from wondering what a scenario like @joonbird‘s literally flawless fic passionfruit would be like from the opposite perspective bc I kept reading it (and rereading it...and rereading it...) and loving the connection but I’m much more like joon in that au than the reader oooop. anyway thank you to all the writers on here whose work i have loved and my friends who have encouraged me and made me bold enough to embrace such a fun new creative outlet xxx u know who u are :’)

next: chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 (coming soon!)

~ read on ao3 ~

CHAPTER 1 ~ dress up

You never intended to end up at this Halloween party. You didn't even know who to expect to see here, other than your roommate's friend from high school, the host, who had invited y'all as a package deal even though she knew you didn't really do parties. At least not ones like hers, where every bedroom ended up occupied by the end of the night and nearly no one went home alone. Thrilled to break out of your lame group of friends for a taste of flirtation and fun, you tried to relax into the scene but the unspoken expectation of casual sex intimidated you the tiniest bit.

Speaking of casual sex, there was Jungkook.

Used to admiring him from afar in your "14 Films To See Before You Graduate" class, you paused to take in the sight of him in what you supposed was a more natural habitat. Everyone knew Jungkook got girls, thanks to the rumor his first freshman-year hookup had started about his seriously impressive dick. He had a beautiful body too, carefully crafted muscles obvious even beneath his usual baggy black clothes, so as the more intimate rumors spread and various co-signers confirmed every detail from length to curve to (you had always hated this word, but...) girth, getting a piece of all that became a badge of honor among the girls in your grade. You had never really understood how the awkward boy who hid manga under his desk in class could supposedly be such a sex symbol, but you almost felt bad for him. That kind of reputation following you around everywhere couldn't be all fun and games. If anything, though, it had intrigued you even more about the rest of him, all his little weeb quirks and the way he debated your points in the discussion boards like he actually cared. He wasn't exactly studious in general, but he clearly loved film and you enjoyed speaking up in class just to see how he would jump off of your observations. You hadn't really talked to him other than that, but he didn't seem to be talking to anyone else tonight either. From the corner, you let yourself appreciate the way his nervous hands tugged at the skinny black tie of his costume, freeing more of his throat from a thin yellow button-down shirt.

At least you no longer felt overdressed in your Nancy Drew outfit. The retro headband, brown loafers, and bookish plaid knee-length skirt set a much more sophisticated tone than most other ensembles you'd seen, but Jungkook's weeb ass had basically worn a full suit to channel Spike Spiegel from Cowboy Bebop. With his grown-out hair tousled and a navy pinstripe jacket cinched tight with two strips of electrical tape over his tiny waist, you couldn't deny that he rocked it. He leaned against a long plastic table left in the hallway, bobbing his head to the music in the next room and adjusting the too-slim suit pants around his thick thighs. His translucent cup stayed hidden behind a hip until he raised it quickly to his face for another sip of...red wine? Probably Franzia, knowing tonight's crowd, but anything was better than beer. You made a beeline for the one boy with taste at this party, your sole mission now to get wine drunk, sneak some Usher throwbacks on this playlist, and drop it low enough to leave some dude hard on the dance floor. #wastehistime2019, yknow.

"Hey!" You got his attention, grabbing the hand with the cup before he could lower it out of view again. His eyes grew comically wide and his mouth formed an "o" in shock before you demanded "Where is the wine?" and he pressed his lips back into a line, stuttering.

"I-I-I'm sorry, I just brought a bottle because the beer here sucks but I think it's all gone by now, I tried to hide it but yeah anyway you can have the rest of this one if you want though." Wincing at his own ramble, he ruffled the retro pouf of his hair with one hand and proffered the plastic cup in another. Both actions highlighted how pretty his hands were and you were just slightly tipsy enough to thread your fingers over his in the also-pretty black waves falling over his yep-still-just-as-pretty cheekbones.

"Aw, it's okay, I don't want to take your wine. No more liquid courage for me," you grinned, dotting the lightest kiss on his nose. It was an innocent gesture, but as your face naturally lowered so your noses touched, leaving your lips centimeters away from each other, something snapped—in him.

His wine discarded on the table, a hand curled around to clutch your ass and you practically felt his tongue before you felt his lips. Slamming your body abruptly into his, he nudged a thigh between your legs to grind it up on your center and as your arm got caught between your bodies, the tension you sensed filling his frame gave you pause. You pushed him away gently but firmly with the hand already flattened against his rock-solid abs. Looking down at the slight space restored between y'all, you removed his hands from his hair and your ass and laced them in yours to guide him back against the wall.

"I...what was that?" you almost giggled. You definitely weren't trying to laugh at him, but you couldn't hide your surprise at this first potential proof of his fuckboy reputation.

"I'm—" his whole face crumpled, both from the simple sting of your seeming rejection and the possibility that he had broken a boundary or forced himself on you against your wishes, which made him so sick he could barely face you. Squirming under your light hold but not quite resisting, he rambled again: "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to force myself on you or anything, don't worry I would never try anything if you didn't want to, I just figured we might as well get to the point if you did because, uh...when girls touch me like that or even talk to me at these things it's pretty much always just because they...want to."

"Jungkook," you breathed, pulsing your hands over his in reassurance. He squeezed his eyes shut, still distraught, and when they opened, you had craned your neck to meet his averted gaze.

"I never said I didn't want to."

His eyes widened again. "Uh...uh...then..." he trailed off, never having needed to directly proposition a girl like this before. He really had been inexperienced before the rapid escalation of college, and was at a loss for how to get to the good stuff from here via anything more eloquent than a rushed "Wanna fuck?" You shook your head silently, nose grazing his again, and let go of one hand to cup his face with care, like he was something precious you were scared of breaking.

"What? You want to get right to fucking me?" you murmured into his ear. He shivered at hearing you curse for the first time, freed from the constraints of class discussions and closer than he ever guessed you'd get to him. "Is that really what you want? Or is it what you think I do? Because if it's alright, I think I want something better. For you."

You pressed a new kiss to his nose, only slightly stronger than the one that had started all this. He held his breath and his untouched, open mouth trembled as you scattered soft introductions of your lips across his forehead, to his temples, over the scar that sliced his cheekbone. Finally inhaling a skittery heave of your shared air as you passed closer to his lips, he forced it back out in frustration when you ducked away to nudge under his jaw instead. Returning your hand to his hair, you grinned, enjoying the spike in his pulse under your thumb and skipping the tip of your tongue lightly over his neck right up to the earlobe. You lifted the choppy ends of his waves away from the dangly silver hoop they hid, tensing the strands just slightly between your fingers in an inability to hide your glee. Something told you this was going to drive him crazy.

Taking a slight detour to suck his pierced lobe between your lips, you responded to Jungkook’s low moan of surprise by wedging your tongue through the first oversized hole and letting your teeth clatter over multiple rings of metal. He was trying so hard to stay pliant under you, but the tease of slight pain in a new and unusual spot made him want your mouth more, anywhere he could get it. No one had ever spent this much time tracing so few inches of skin.

And so many girls had buried his face in their necks, craving evidence of an encounter with the Jeon Jungkook, that a strange kind of empathy caught him off guard when you showed him how good it could feel to receive. You connected your lips to the hollow right under his ear, feeling the tendons stretch as his head lolled away from you. Working him through a cascade of light gasps, you stepped away satisfied once you had sucked a dark bloom to the surface. He watched you leave with his mouth agape and chest heaving, unable to believe you could just walk away with a wave and a "See you in class!"

But you did, and he would.

"Shit!" he swore, a shaky hand darting straight to the spot. Now he had to keep his hair long for at least another two or three days. If he showed up to discussion on Monday and had to watch you admiring your work on his skin, he would probably just die on the spot. And that would not be very Spike Spiegel of him.

next chapter

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #bts fic #college!jungkook #college au!jungkook #bts college au #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #my writing #anti-hero #anti hero

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crazythatcounts · 4 years

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Cleaning Stuffed Animals: A Tutorial

So I have become, among my friends group, the Stuffie Cleaner. When people find their stuffed animals have gotten nasty or dirty, and the washer looks like a scary death machine for their friend, they come to me, and I’ve realized that this is happening enough that maybe there’s people out in the world also going “my poor stuffie!!” with no way of cleaning it and no one to turn to. In that vein, I’ve decided to write up this method for the internet to enjoy. Below is my method for cleaning any stuffed, fabric thing (animals, pillows, etc) that for one reason or another cannot, or probably cannot, go in the washer/dryer. If you’re worried about it falling apart, ruining the fabric, or getting mildew inside because it won’t dry, this method is your friend.

YOU WILL NEED

- A small tub, bucket, or other basin for water. It doesn’t need to be particularly deep or large, but it does need a wide mouth. Bathtubs can work just fine if that’s all you have. It just needs to hold water and be something you can reach into.

- Baby shampoo. This is also very good for washing wigs, if you need to do so.

- A jug of some kind. Empty milk cartons, water gallon jugs, or large pitchers are fine. It just needs to be able to hold warm water and be somewhat portable.

- A towel. Two if you don’t have any space that you can just get absolutely soaked, for underneath the bucket. If you’re worried about the space getting wet, you can honestly have any number around, but at least 1 is needed for the stuffie.

- Optional: a toothbrush, for set in stains. I have a small travel electric one that’s I love for this. Please do NOT use any toothbrush you plan on returning to your mouthhole, that’s nasty. Also do not use any toothbrush that’s got nasty stuff in it or has recently been used with harsh cleaners or bleach. If you’re worried give it a wash first to remove any chemical nastiness.

- Optional: A swimsuit. If you do this like I do you’re going to get very damp. You might want to dress for it.

- Optional: A hair dryer. Note that if you do use one, make sure it has a setting below Death Hot, as heat tends to be Reason 1 why stuffies should not go in the wash. You can melt fur or fabric with high heat, but as long as you aren’t using a heat gun, my method, used with ample caution, should not harm your fabric (though YMMV). If the dryer is too hot for your head it may be too hot for the fabric.

STEP 0: THE PRE WASH

The first thing to do is remove any gunk, debris, or physical yuck from the outside of the stuffie. You can do this with whatever you want - paper towels, regular towels, etc - but the important thing is that you get your stuffie down to just the bits that have soaked into the fabric. If, say, you dropped pasta on your friend, this is the part where you need to get the noodles off the stuffie. This is not always applicable, but when it is, it’s not something you can skip.

STEP 1: THE SET UP

Now that your friend is ready to be cleaned, it’s time to get your shit set up. Find a space that can get... reasonably damp. We have a basement with a concrete floor that works fine, but bathroom floors, tiled kitchen floors, or spaces like that are also fine. There’s just going to be a lot of water involved and if you’re trying to clean the water off a rug after you’re done it’s not going to be fun. If you’re going to change into a swimsuit, I’d do that here.

Next, fill your vessel - bucket, tub, whatever - with a small amount of warm water. I usually don’t fill it over an inch, which is roughly the distance from the tip of your thumb to the first line in your knuckle (yes, this is a tried and true method, trust me). I usually warm the water up to be just slightly warmer than what I want to touch, as our basement is cold and the water cools very quickly, but ultimately you want the water to be just touchable when you start.

While you’re filling, fill your jug, too. This should be warmer than the tub, because it’s going to sit for longer and will have longer to cool down. It should still be warm when you use it towards the end of the process, so use your own discretion in how warm you have it.

Once stuff is filled, get everything else you need together. Make sure your towel is nearby, lay any other protective ones down, have the rest of the stuff within arms reach. If you have a hair dryer I’d keep it away from the tub.

Lastly, once it’s all ready to go, add a very small amount of baby shampoo to the water, and mix it up very gently with your fingers. It should be just starting to create suds, but not enough to become a bubble bath. Soap lingers and leaves a residue if it’s not rinsed off, so while you’ll want a little for the water, less is better. You can always add a little more.

STEP 2: THE WASH

Once you’re set up, grab your friend, and assess the stain. Old, set in stains from being in boxes or storage may require the toothbrush, but newer things may not. Either way, the process will remain more or less the same: take a small amount of water in your hand and gently apply it to the stain. Think of it like when you are trying to remove dropped sauce from a shirt - you don’t want to get the stuffie soaked, but you want the area to be damp.

DO NOT DUNK THE STUFFIE.

I say this, because the reason washers can be bad for stuffed things is that most of these things are filled with what we call Poly-fill (it’s a brand that’s gone generic, like Kleenex). Poly-fill is a polyester bundle of threads that remain fluffy as to give your friend a shape, and if it gets wet and does not get dry, it can mold. And inside a friend, it doesn’t dry super well or quickly, so the less you get the poly-fill inside the stuffie wet, the better.

Once damp, you can either use your fingers, or the toothbrush, to gently scrub the area. If needed, you can add a little more soapy water to the area to get a little more suds and break up the stains. This is where I love my toothbrush, because being electric, it vibrates just a little, but being a travel brush it’s got the power of a child’s toy, and that means its very gentle. The important thing here is that you don’t want to get too aggressive. You should be massaging the fur or fibers, but you don’t want to put too much stress on the threads, as that can create holes. It’s better to spend 20 minutes being gentle than 5 being rough.

This should remove the nasty stain. I’ve so far had this method take out stains that were 10+ years old and dry. It just takes some time, and repetition.

If you’re just trying to sanitize your friend, you can just gently work a damp hand through the fur. There’s no need to really scrub or get the stuffie super damp, as it’s just about getting a little soap on the surface to remove germs.

STEP 3: THE RINSE

You have by this point conquered the stain, yay! The area may seem darker than average, but that’s because it’s wet, though some very nasty stains can leave the spot slightly darker, which will always be more noticeable when its wet than dry. Now it is time to get the soap off.

Grab your jug. It should still be warm, but hopefully not hot. If you can’t touch the water it’s way too hot still and you might need to cool it down somehow. Gently pour a little of the water into a cupped palm, and then pour that over the sudsy area(s). The goal is to rinse off the suds and soap while soaking the stuffie as little as possible. It’s still definitely going to get very wet, of course, but containing the wet spot and/or how wet it is will be helpful regardless. You may need to follow behind and wipe some suds away in between pours, and if so you can very gently use some fingers to do this. A wet hand is also very good at removing suds if you’re worried about pouring water. You can also pour with the jug if it’s rather small, but the idea is to keep the amount of water being poured as little as possible at a time, so use your discretion. Again, we’re trying to not soak the insides too much.

Don’t use the tub water to rinse it or your hands. It’s still soapy. This is why you got the jug full of clean water.

STEP 4: DRYING

Your stuffie is rinsed and (hopefully) clean! Now it’s time to get the water off. First, grab that towel, and towel dry your friend off. Try and agitate any fur as you do, as that’ll make sure it gets fluffed back up and doesn’t get stuck all pushed down in weird directions. As long as your friend isn’t falling apart you should be able to get a little rough with this portion. You want to aim to get them as dry as possible with the towel in the same way that you try and get yourself dry after a shower or the pool. You’ll likely wind up with a stuffie that’s just a little damp to the touch.

Once you’ve done that, there are two paths.

Path 1: you can, if you want, use a hair dryer to finish the job. If you do so, be very careful. Do not ever keep the heat from the dryer on one space for more than a few seconds. I tend to find passing the nose of the dryer back and forth almost like you’re trying to paint in broad strokes to be useful in terms of keeping the heat distributed. I do this for my hair, too, but I really don’t otherwise know how to describe it. Also, keep the nose of the dryer back about the length of your hand, so the heat has more space to spread out. I know it’s tempting to press the nose right up against the wet spot, and if you think you gotta do that, don’t keep it there for more than a couple of seconds at a time. Heat can murder a stuffie, so using the dryer is about making sure the heat is applied indirectly and making sure it has enough space to distribute across the area.

IF YOU: Smell anything weird, feel like the fabric is changing color or texture, or otherwise get a bad vibe, STOP and assess. Melted fabric tends to have a very hard texture, almost like plastic. You can always go back to it if your instincts were incorrect, but I have no idea how to unmelt fur, so it’s better to keep attentive. Trust yourself.

Path 2 is letting the stuffie air dry. You should put them in a warm space, away from the water, and check on them occasionally. If they’re still damp when you check, you can towel them off again and fluff the fur with it. Keep checking until they’re dry to the touch. This may take some time, depending on how wet they got, but if you’re worried about heat, letting them air dry can’t damage the fur. The less wet you got them during the wash, the less time this will take for them to be fully dry.

STEP 5: YOU’RE DONE

By this point, your friend should be fully dry. Give them a hug, run your hands through their fur, fluff them up a bit, and apologize for your transgressions. (I can tell you that, as a Professional Stuffie Doctor, they still love you regardless).

The only thing now is to just assess the area with the stain. Some very dark stains may leave behind a slightly darker patch, but 9/10 it’s not going to be noticeable without really looking for it. If there’s still some nasty, you may need to repeat the process again, using the toothbrush if you didn’t before. Double check that the area doesn’t smell funny - it should smell like shampoo, but if it smells sour, you may need to give it another wash.

If done right, it should smell fine, feel fine, and look fine in your hands now that it’s dry. If so, it’s time to celebrate! Also clean up because you’re probably very damp and so is the area.

And that’s it! I have used this method for just about everything. I’ve removed old stains, new stains, stains I caused and stains that just showed up. I’ve also used this method to sanitize friends I rescued from places like Goodwill, as the warm water and suds should kill any nasty bacteria from things like colds or COVID. (You have no idea if the people that donated the friend washed it ever, so I recommend a bath to remove snotty germs 100% of the time with rescued friends). I’ve also used this on everything from Mallowfriends to Beaniebabies to traditional jointed bears and everything else. There is no fur type this shouldn’t work on, no size too big or small, and no filling that is off limits.

When in doubt - be gentle, keep the water and suds to a minimum as much as you can, and be patient. This method is an act of love, and you can’t rush tender love and care.

If people have questions, my ask is open. Otherwise, go wash your stuffies!

#stuffed animals #tutorial #wash #cleaning #stuffies #how to make your stinky friends less stinky and your sticky friends less sticky #sometimes I do my own work

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solarpunkcryptid · 4 years

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Sewing 101: Making A Sewing Kit

Hey guys! This post will be going over putting together a sewing kit: what essentials you will need, things that are a good idea to have on hand, and storage ideas!

1. Basic Supplies

The most basic supplies you will need for a sewing kit are thread, at least one sharp needle, and a good, sharp pair of scissors. Nearly all other supplies can be substituted for in some way or another, but these three staples are important. While scissors could technically be substituted with any sharp object, making sure you have sharp scissors (embroidery scissors are perfect for sewing kits) is the easiest way to ensure that you will get a clean cut of your thread, which makes tying knots and threading needles a million times easier.

2.Extended Basic Supplies

Now, the three items listed above are essential to have as a base for a sewing kit, but there is room to expand; your sewing kit can be as big or as little as you want it to be. Some ideas for extended supplies: -Various needles. I hate to say that needle quality doesn’t matter, because it does influence how fast they will dull and how easily they will bend when faced with tough fabrics, but if you are only looking to have things on hand for basic mending, a cheap variety pack of needles is as good as the pricier ones. Having a variety of needle sizes is good for maximizing what you can use them for; tiny needles are going to be better suited to working in tight spaces, whereas that same needle will be an absolute pain for larger projects; likewise, having a tapestry needle is great for making things like plastic canvas projects, but impossible to mend clothes with. Something like this is your best friend here.

-A needle threader. I know everyone always says they can thread needles just fine, or they take this suggestion to mean that they have poor eyesight; for some reason, using a needle threader is somehow seen as “cheating” or “shameful”. GET ONE. I don’t care if you can thread needles just fine with no help. It will come in handy at some point. Worst case scenario, you run for your sewing kit to stitch up a wound in someone for some reason, and for whatever reason all you have left are your needles with the tiniest eyes--that threader will come in handy while your hands shake. Get a threader to have on hand. -Beeswax. This is not necessary, but it is helpful; run the end of your thread across it to stick the strands and make threading easier. Spit works just as well, but some people just prefer beeswax. -Pincushion. One of those tomato ones with the little strawberry or something similar, specifically. Needles like to hide when you stick them into a random surface, like the arm of your chair or your comforter, and it is not fun when you go to push off of a surface, only to have the eye of a needle jab your palm. The reason i specify this, however, is the strawberry; filled with sand, it cleans and sharpens pins and needles that are run through it, and will keep a cheap needle set working for a long, long time. Both parts of this can be sewn as a DIY, but I listed it because it is useful. -Pins. To go with the cushion of the same name. This is helpful if you are sewing multiple layers together, or need to make sure your work stays folded at a specific point. Straight pins are best, safety pins are okay, and corsage pins are over the top for this use. Don’t forget a container; mint tins work great, or pin boxes can be bought at craft stores. -Small sharpener. Scissor/knife sharpeners are great for touching up embroidery scissors. It takes them a long time to get dull, but when they do, that sharpener will come in handy. -Fabric Pens. One for light and one for dark fabrics. They are infinitely useful and will be your friends. If you cannot find or get them, a pencil and a piece of chalk work just fine; the pencil just takes a little while to wash out. -Seam ripper. Goes much faster than clipping every single stitch if you mess up or need to take the stitches out of something. -Measuring tape. The floppy cloth kind, not the metal sort (I’ve tried those in a pinch and it’s a pain). Great for, well, measuring! -Buttons/snaps. You never know when you’ll need to replace one on something that has no spares. -Variety of thread. Having a variety of thread in both color and material are good, allowing you to have a versatile choice of thread for different mending projects.

3. Containers

So, now you have a sewing kit together, no matter what it may include. Here are some ideas for containers:

-Mint tin. Great for the tiniest of travel sewing kits. -Jar. Unless you are super particular about your supplies being organized, a jar works just fine. Dump out your supplies and go! -Old match box. Slides open and closed for ease of access! -Trinket box. Especially if it latches. Hide your sewing kit in plain sight! -Old purse/clutch. Whether it’s an old one of yours or one you found at a sale! -Cookie tin. The classic grandmother favorite! Now it’s just weird if you open it and there are actually cookies inside. -Old tupperware. Have stained containers you don’t use? Transitioning to a plasticless life in the kitchen? That old tupperware will work great to hold your sewing stuff. Basically any container large enough to hold all your supplies will do; it doesn’t have to be a “sewing kit bag” or anything marketed similarly. Avoid things with large holes or gaps, like knitted things and berry containers, and you’ll be good to go! You can even go so far as to stitch up a little bag for your supplies with your new kit. The possibilities are endless!

Go forth on your sewing adventures! Thank you for your time!

Have anything to add or suggest? Drop an ask or a message!

#sewing 101 #sewing kit #basics #self sufficient living #self sufficiency #needlework

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crybabytoy59 · 4 years

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My begging letter Pt3.

Now Mistress Mummy did tell you she was going to use your Fuck Toy hole worse than Master Daddy So Let’s Get started Crybaby”

She lifted a steel specula covered in lubricant then pushed my cheeks apart slowly but relentlessly pushing on them as the steel disappeared into my anal cavity she smiled softly clicking them open further & further as my anus expanded I started whimpering in the hope she would stop but that was not to be the Clicking continued till I squealed into the feeder dummy biting down on it due to the pain “Hush hush now Crybaby we have much to do before Master Daddy gets back Cutie”

Next she lifted a long strange looking rubber tube it looked around six foot long but was ribbed along its surface at its end was a steel cock around the size of my thumb holding the cock end she pushed it into my back passage mor and more she fed In until she encountered resistance “Now Babyslave just relax let Mistress Mummy All the way In Cutie !”

She was now pushing past my upper colon, the tube making its way further into my lower bowels pushing to my upper intestine ! Mistress Mummy spanked me hard on my butt as I squirmed in the frame trying to relive myself of the uncomfortable feeling it gave me...

“Naughty girlie Crybaby Keep still Or I Will Make You Stay still !” Her tone was Very sincere so I stopped squirming. Next she put what looked like a small rubber rugby ball to the end of the tube ?

“Big Deep Breath For Me Crybaby..Clever girlie In we go !” I cried out in pain as it forced my anal walls outward & pushed me uncomfortably inside, she held its base As she pulled out the specula then gave it a twist ! In was now lodged firmly up inside me only the red end valve pointing obscenely out my rear !

Lifting a rubber flogger in one hand & the tube from one of the bags in the other clipping it to the valve, I now felt hot liquid starting it’s journey inside me...

“Ok Crybaby this is a Very special filling it’s going to be inside you for 6hrs then if Our girlie is good and has behaved Mistress Mummy will let you pass it out, it’s a mix of oils and drugs that are going to make our girlie Very sensitive to everything we have Planned for you Cutie, am Afraid It will be quite painful as it works it’s magic inside You Crybaby So Cutie Cry as much as you like....Ok Cutie? (Wess Mistress Mummy) Clever Baby....Now am Going to whip your Botty till am happy you will be sore in Master Daddys special Diaper, but remember to Hold still !”

The first flog had Me yelp as she whipped me Very Hard by 50 I was indeed crying for her openly & Very Loud As I pleaded for her to stop...but she lifted the other tube & fed it to the dummy suddenly I had to. Swallow at an alarming rate, Mistress Mummy said nothing simply continued my flogging !!

When Master Daddy came back into the room I was howling like a two year old that had just been Spanked severely !

Tears & snot ran down my face, but still. She only stopped to kiss Master Daddy then resuming my beating ! At that point Master Daddy lifted a belt handing it to Mistress Mummy he put the flogger back up then went to my side I heard a clicking as my chest tightened ! He spoke “You were told not to move Crybaby here we thought our new girlie was going to be Obedient !” The tension from the three straps was incredible I had to take short breaths to just get air ! I was now getting truly scared of this pair what had I gotten myself into, then a strange thing happened Master Daddy started playing with my nipples through the pvc dress, he was Very good at it teasing & pulling as he spoke with me “Clever girlie Crybaby settle down Hush now Hush......that’s it Breath slow & Deep did you not mean to be Naughty?(No Master Daddy) Aawww good Babyslave did our Crybaby girlie just forget & do wiggles?(Wess Master Daddy) Ok Crybaby Cutie Let’s give you a chance then to be Obedient am Going To say some nice words & I want You Crybaby to repeat them Ok? (Wess Master Daddy) Clever girlie Babyslave here we go...Thank you Mistress Mummy Please can I have Another.....(Thank you Mistress Mummy Please can Crybaby have another) Clever girlie You remembered to use Your Name...Ok every time Mistress Mummy spanks you with the belt we want to hear you say that nice & clear past your gag, Master Daddy put the flow off for now as Your getting formula everywhere Cutie”

Mistress Mummy raised her arm then I heard a crack as I screamed into the dummy gag....they simply stood there...(Thank you Mistress Mummy Please can I have another) Thwack....(Thank you Mistress Mummy Please can I have another) Thwack.....by the time Mistress Mummy was done my rear was covered in Deep Red welts from the belting..welts that would soon bruise up.

Mistress Mummy ran her fingers over my rear, Master Daddy stopped the nipple playing & joined her as she spoke to him.

“That will be ok for tonight or would you like it further down the thighs so the strapping hurts when She performs?” He kissed his wife “No Sweetheart that’s fine for now let’s just see to her top half then You can Play with her filling”

They both seemed Very excited over something that was about to happen, this made me cry more again.

Mistress Mummy knelt by my side “Clever girlie Crybaby that’s it you Cry all you want am Very pleased with your tears so far Cutie” this took me by surprise as I thought they were angry with my disobedience over moving ? She lifted a single strand whip this one was quite short “Now Babyslave am Going To whip your chest till You have lots & lots of lovely red welts to match your Botty As tomorrow we have a lovely dress for you to ware for your party ! & Mistress Mummy wants her girlie to look her best picture of abuse ! Deep Breath Crybaby !” Swish...Thwack !...she whipped from my tummy to chest !

I was howling when she finally stopped, running her hands over my pvc maids dress the welts could be felt under it.

Mistress Mummy started playing with my nipples “Hush Hush Now Crybaby slowdown with your breathing....that’s a Clever girlie..there there Hush now.....much better You like this don’t You Crybaby? (Wess Mistress Mummy) Clever Baby I like making you sob....so As Master Daddy gives you instructions Crybaby I want you sobbing the whole time nice sobbing..sobbing like you Want us to be WKD to our new Crybaby Do You...Do You Want Master & Mistress Mummy To Be WKD to you Crybaby girlie?”

I took a huge stuttering breath past my Crying (Wess Please Mistress Mummy)...Crybaby did we forget someone? (Pweese Master Daddy Be WKD to Your Crybaby)..Clever girlie Cute...Seeing As You asked so Very Obedient...Master Daddy!”

He knelt at my side removing the dummy feeding gag from the mask frame, a long string of saliva hung from it this Mistress Mummy wiped into my face with her fingers. As Master Daddy Spoke to me sternly “Open Wide Crybaby & Stay open until we say so. Pain Toy !”

He had a long rubber lace ? Holding it in his hand I could see it was covered in lubricant. “Look at Mistress Mummy Crybaby” he pushed it up my right nostril more & more then with a pair of long surgical clamps pulled it from the back of my throat as I wrenched, he pulled it out around ten inches. As I looked at Mistress Mummy she was smiling down at me “Crybaby Your doing ever so well Cutie” Master Daddy lifted the other end of the rubber lace pushing it up my other nostril !

Again pulling it out of my mouth, this time he tide both ends to the face frame.

“All ready Mistress Mummy” they swapped places & I was told to look at Master Daddy. Mistress Mummy put on a black rubber glove then started running her fingers around my open mouth, I started salivating at her attention she would then use this to wipe over my face coating my entire face in my own saliva!

Then it happened she poke to me sternly as Master Daddy had “Crybaby Don’t struggle Cute!” She pushed her fingers to the back of my throat as I wrenched, the third push made me gag so badly the content of my stomach that they had fed me was now running over my face, For the first time with them I started to panic ! But Mistress Mummy pushed her fingers to the back of my throat again making my gag followed by a warm rush over my face, I was now trying to blink it from my eyes to see..Mistress Mummy entered my mouth again, this time I did try pleading but there was only gargling sound as the last of my stomach contents made there way over my face...

Mistress Mummy spoke to me “Clever girlie Crybaby is that you all done ? (I nodded as I was crying again) Good Babyslave Stay Open Wide..As am Afraid we’re Not Finnished here Yet ..Almost But not Quite Cutie”

Master Daddy appeared with a New gag made of two O-rings one around 25mm connected to a second by two steel tubes 3” long to the second ring this was around 40mm.

Lifting the two black rubber laces Mistress Mummy had untied from the face frame he threaded one into each tube slowly sliding the first ring into my mouth up the rubber laces towards the back of my throat ! Popping the second ring behind my teeth inside my mouth to a squealing from me ! He tied off the laces.

Now even if I could have worked the gag past my teeth the rubber laces would not let me remove it !! Also my tongue was held back at the first ring so I could no longer talk !

Mistress Mummy smiled at me..”That’s much better Crybaby as Cutie you won’t need to talk for the rest of the time with us, so let’s practice You Baby talk...Now Ga’Ga is for Yes......& Goo’Goo is for No.....let’s try that Crybaby say yes” They Both burst out laughing as I went Ga’Ga past the new steel gag !

Master Daddy went for a long thick clear tube it had a funnel at its end, as he did Mistress Mummy pulled my Diaper back over taping it on then did up my plastic pants.

Master Daddy & Mistress Mummy took a side each of the frame pulling it upright,I was now in a kneeling position. The tube Master Daddy had picked up had a leather strap with a metal ring circling the tube End this wide strap had what looked like a foam ring around the 2” tube projecting from it,This he pushed firmly into my mouth as Mistress Mummy pulled hard on the two straps behind my head As Master Daddy pushed my lips over the foam ring forcing it into my cheeks.

Mistress Mummy stood in front of me now grinning like the cat that had the cream ! “Clever girlie Crybaby that’s You All Ready....Now while I was whipping the Cute Botty of yours in preparation for your night Diaper Master Daddy has in store for You, he was also preparing our Girlie her lunch ...Yes Crybaby the filling you brought back up was just a preparation drink, one that you have made quite the mess of yourself with Madam ! So this we want kept down as Mistress Dee went out of her way to drop it off....Master Daddy begin Please”

He appeared with a large jug full of liquid...I burst out Crying deep soulful Crying......Goo’Goo....Goo’Goo GOO’GOO...GOugugugug...”Clever girlie Crybaby Swallow it all. Down Your such a Clever girlie Crybaby...Make us Proud to OWN You Crybaby....That’s it be Obedient”

Master Daddy poured the entire contents of the jug into the tube right to the top of the funnel ! Mistress Mummy took my nipples “Mistress Mummy help you Crybaby....aawww Look Master Daddy So SO many Tears for us....Give her a reward Darling”

Master Daddy took his engorged member out pulling my plastic pants open then Diaper he let loose pissing into my Diapers !!

What had I gotten into ....as I swallowed..slowly my sobbing turned to moaning Deep slow. Moaning.....”Crybaby Cutie your a Dirty Filthy Thing ....Yes A Dirty Potty Toy.....we Cutie I think it’s time for your Punishment Now....Aawww Crybaby girlie did you think this was a Punishment ? No Cutie....this was just preparation Pain Toy !”

Master Daddy was wheeling over a Cart.....No they couldn’t be serious? Could they ?.....

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atlantastumps · 3 years

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Most Trusted Stump Grinding Services Near Atlanta

Stump grinding is a vital procedure in that your tree stump is removed completely from the earth. Lots of pro tree surgeons provide stump grinding, but they usually do not necessarily provide stump removal as a portion of their services. Other benefits of stump grinding comprise: you may likely rid your property of unwanted pests and insects, which often hide in tree stumps after they've rotted out. Stump grinding additionally helps clear away dead plant roots that might be lying in the soil below the surface. Once the stump has been eliminated, the soil can be ready for staining, mulching, or even farming. Additionally, this offers a safer workplace for all who perform this ceremony. Additional resources available at atlantastumps.com.

Before performing any kind of stump grinding services, you will find many actions that you want to take in the preparation of your upcoming project. The very first action is to eliminate as much dirt as possible from the region where you plan to clear away the tree stump. If the stump is sitting in the water or over a footpath, it is much simpler to do. Even a backhoe can make the process easier, and you'll find several kinds of backhoes to be found in the marketplace for this purpose. The gear you choose must be certified by the Better Business Bureau before you get it.

As soon as you've removed as much material as you can, it's time to check what needs to be done with the tree stump. When the roots aren't too extensive, all that is necessary is some sort of surface dressing, such as a coating of sand or crushed stone. In the event the tree stump introduces a hazard to an own lawn, it can be crucial to remove elements of it. This will require digging up portions of your yard, or threading beneath the tree. You might also opt to simply relocate the tree somewhere else in your lawn when this is necessary.

Most stump grinding services include tree removal, in addition to the digging of holes for tree removal, too. Sometimes this includes the digging of a trench, however, sometimes only the grinding of a hole. In this case, the business will provide the equipment essential for this work also. Ordinarily, a tree stump may weigh several hundred pounds, so it is essential that the agency you select uses equipment that can deal with the pounds. Even in the event, you hire just a small tree removal organization, it is still crucial that you make sure that the equipment they use can handle that endeavor.

Before the tree elimination and stumps have been transferred, a protective cover has to be applied to the region. This will help keep insects and animals out of the region where the tree stump will be removed. Sometimes, a tree stump might end up exposed to sunlight or end, which could lead to damage. To prevent this, many stump grinding services employ a pay that's manufactured out of heavy-duty plastic or mesh.

As a part of stump grinding services, the area around the stump needs to be excavated. Typically, this area will be enlarged by an extra foot or two, however, it certainly is based upon the status of the stump. The grinding process will proceed with the stump in the surface, so it'll become removed. There are some tree removal companies that focus solely on this portion of the job, while some are going to move the stump by themselves.

When employing a tree service to manage the stump grinding services, then it's also wise to ask for some extra info regarding stump grinding. Some companies offer free quotes for this type of occupation, and so you are going to know whether they can deal with the extra work. You may additionally want to ask if they will choose the stump off if it breaks, as this will be able to help you to save money on needing to buy new equipment. The last issue that you would like to do is to commit to some tree removal companies to focus on a piece of equipment that you aren't likely to gain from following the initial buy. Moreover, some tree service companies provide stump pickup solutions, which can be yet another method of making cash if you own a tree stump that should be moved.

If you want to know more about stump grinding services, then be certain to locate a more respectable expert tree removal firm. A good company will provide competitive pricing on tree removal and other tree-related products and solutions. They ought to have a superb standing in the business and have taken care of many customers through time, ensuring you will find the top high-quality tree service that you expect.

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scribblesofanaricat · 4 years

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Kaleidoscope Icarus

(big thank you to Toni for helping me with parts of this)

Alone in bed. Covers twitch. Clock hands rattle around their beaten path and I count it backwards. A meander towards oblivion.

I see my reflection blink. It must like watching me thrash in blue sleep.

Narrow staircase, no socks, tea bag fossils pinned to the wall, I count them up, all six, any colour I like as long as that colour is yellowish grey.

I inhale indifferent coffee broth with a side order of whichever death cult the screen hunched in the corner is serving up today. Bidding its junkies a good afternoon and then meting out a lethal dose of contradictions. It beats down on me as a sun would: simple, forcible, inevitable, ordained.

I’m not Icarus.

Even so, quick fears still tread on my heels after I kill the show and instead pay a call to the frosted-glass moon low in that blank page of a sky. Shoes dangling over a railway bridge, one a lovely Twitter-blue, lemon laces trailing like a severed leash, the other was once violet. Jaundiced glances from pedestrians and passengers cursing the back of my neck.

They plant themselves beside me because where else would they go? We don’t say much, never do, “our glass roots were love when lilac liquids flowed invisible” and “my powdered soul occurs from sun sight with figure flames and smoke” and “if we lose time by staring freely and counting sound, you’re told about it accidentally”, that sort of thing. And we do submerge our long short hours in staring freely and we do count sound since we’re not the type to move mountains, although young by our own reckoning. We know it - or we think we know.

Amongst foggy vows to meet again tomorrow, they clear off and I’m left with the grains of my own soul, the static in my skull, wearing it like a flannel shirt. House prices. Affairs. Break-ins, breakouts. Blares of ‘protect our free speech, protect our children!’ born from whatever illusory agenda they’re being warned against by the king agenda-pushers this time...another monologue from another plastic jack-in-office here to fuck us around...

Sometimes I could carve it all into my skin with a dirty needle and not flinch.

We end up huddled like penguins in the fug heaving around my room. We’d have thought the dawn of the end times would look different, something that’d be splattered over our calendars and marked in history. Instead we’re met with a whitewashed wall from the screens and newshounds even as we watch it happen in 3D. Nothing to do now but wait.

‘I don’t give a damn.’ They’re flung down on their stomach, right arm stowed under an Everest of pillows and left arm glancing off the carpet. ‘I don’t care, I couldn’t...we’re gonna flatline someday soon and we’ll nosedive into Hell and I’d still take that over this shit…I’ve got to see that ocean again, though...just one last time…’

‘Mhm.’ I’m stiff. Stiff yet floaty. The screen crouches there, rattling off a story from America about some toupeed sore loser being forcibly dragged out of the White House with the boot of millions tattooed on his arse. Let them have their pipe dream, let them have their ocean, their fickle friend with its brackish spray, rolling pulse, delusive serenity, useless but to go to your watery grave in… if I scorn it hard enough, I can almost smell it.

I outstretch my rusty arms, gathering the ceiling in a remote embrace, and begin to narrate. ‘After the downfall from the empty pages of a multitude, myths started to creep back through the gaps in the world we saw. They’d been driven feet-first out of society by the threat of extinction long ago and so they’d had to hide themselves away over the rooms of sighs they found.’ The haze seethes and swirls, fashioning hieroglyphs from my breath.

They shift beside me, breathe it in. Counting sound. I survey it all as they draw it down into their lungs and bloodstream - giants and Lilliputians, fae and demons, sister ships sleeping in spoken hiding places, uman babies feeding off a wolf who bares her teeth at us. And Icarus. Taking to the air, lured by the glare that swallowed all else and eagerly drinking it down, until he fell so far and so fast that nobody could save him.

Not like us. We won’t be led astray. We are not the imperfect sight, crimped, bought with ballads.

‘But their memories were long and their bloodlust ran deep as trembling nails. And whatever scraps of human society were left had their turn to hide, or to pose as something different - pretend to be one thing when they were really another, in case they were in line for the wrath of their former fantasies.’

I recline on my mountaintop carpet in the soupy silence after my short tale gives out, waiting. Waiting perhaps for a flashbulb of understanding or for guesses at regions of dry ideas. The clock shudders into its next aspect. Bonded pattern, distorted mosaic.

‘C’n we go to th’ocean?’ is what they exhale at length. I lie there. Head sagging into my chest. Dead rain of a crowd. And then I patter on about spume and pulse and deceit, and about rock shadows standing full at Phoenician attestations, and by God, it’s like reading a bedtime story (or maybe an aloof comedy) to a toddler and almost as easy.

So we sprout in the bleary armchair of the ocean. Coast and universe falling away like a house of cards beneath our shoeless steps. They ask pinch-eyed if I brought a laptop along with me (of course I didn’t; the world watches us out of the corner of its panoramic eye enough as it is) and seem satisfied with my answer. I droop backwards so the rocks can catch me, mendacious as the water - that slumbering giant - but in the opposite direction, downside up. I have to wonder if the sky could be the same way, or if it’s merely everything and nothing. The aridity of all.

A boat worms along the horizon, eats it up inch by inch. That old static begins to pulsate against the core of my head, guessing at who or what could be in there. The newest pet of the media, pockets padded with the benefits from yesterday’s public-spirited stunt, familiarising themself with the bits of fruit floating in the middle of an etched glass and awaiting the casting call for yet another lone hero who’s the only force insulating their precious homeland from the evils of truth and the nefarious threat of equality.

Maybe a consortium of sallow flesh and bloated eyes, red as tongues of flame yet seeing only in black and white, skin honeycombed with pinprick holes. They give and take manufactured fairy tales that accelerate their enslavement, fire their last magic bullet together in a binding act of mercy.

Or a smoke-bearded fisherman and his helpmate with salt water in their veins, in their stirring times; they haul up their meshwork and inspect its captives. Look at these beauties, they marvel every time, a record dashing against its broken needle like a baby bird against a window. Or something - I don’t fucking know what fishermen talk about. Are there fishermen anymore? I guess there must be.

As I study the vessel, purling with the wind, it metamorphoses fitfully into a whale. Its heaving back is encrusted with arthropods. Plunging its way into nowhere. Watch through unchartered eyes as its tail heaves up into the air, blotting out the sun, before it too plunges beneath the depths, beneath the waves, into the dark, dark blue-grey murmurs and untapped power of the abyss. I wonder what sort of watery graves still dwell there, trapped, locked in and locked out. The corpse of a ship. The corpse of a whale.

The sun dissolves into the horizon, spilling its aureate blood over the sea-shaped cemetery. I drink it in; it comes out in puffs of icy white. The smouldering glare lances across my eyes, burning, gnawing. I close them. I breathe cold.

My wax wings splinter. But will not melt.

Their pixelated face reappears above my own, sun’s gore cleaving to their hair with a shimmer, and jab me with a bone. And we trudge back over clumps of sand, the world brightening and darkening, brightening and darkening. The light parts liquefy like butter in a pan, overflowing, flowing, flowing until there’s no more left to flow. Until it evaporates and its burnished blush is briskly replaced by glitter and dazzle and tiny flickers of rainbow bouncing off little jewels.

I breathe warmth. The radio goes on at me, goes on, goes on, a webspinner sniping its threads.

Time hangs suspended for the lion’s share of the night. Screens paralysed in an eternal moment. The masked puppets on one side, me on the other. They dance, bow, spin on wire strings. They get tangled. They do not move any longer. Asides from the occasional twitch and twist, as weak as that of a dying deer caught in the scheming beauty of the headlights. They do not get free. Eventually they too are still.

I move onwards.

We separate then, me and them. Their fingers dance in the air as the light of the sky slips through the cracks of the earth. ‘We’re completely and irreversibly fucked.’ It’s somewhere between question and statement. I watch them droop away, hands tucked in pockets of woven clouds and leather, until the night embraces them and their shadow melts much like the light had. Tipped-over oil, trickling away.

I watch. I wait. I breathe.

I move onwards.

The wet earth slumps when I step upon it, its cold breathing into the soles of my worn shoes. I look towards the sky, up and up and up, so far that I cannot see. The sun has sunk, withered away. Gone. Gone and perhaps never to return. You never know. Never know.

The moon is rising now, the stars winking like oh so much spilled glitter. I see the sun's reflection here, its beaming glow bouncing off the pale white surface of the small planet as though it were an alien mirror. This is how you know it's there, even when it’s faded away. Gone but never quite so.

But its blazing heat is no longer here to thwart me, even if its glimmer is still present. I spread my wax wings. I breathe, I live, I rise, I die. That wet earth hums its lullaby of little critters, chirping crickets and twittering bats and the frozen old breath of ghosts long dead. Disdainful wind freezes my nose and lips and ears. I soar…

I am not Icarus.

The dark sky cradles me like black ocean water. The shimmers of light are fish, sparkling beneath the waves, the moon their only beacon. My only beacon. I breathe warmth in the cold night air. Prickles of goosebumps along the skin of my arms and legs. I am the warmth, but the cold consumes me slowly.

I float lazily, there and not there, alive and dead, warm and cold. An angel on wax wings, a ghost long dead and gone, a corpse at the bottom of the ocean. Fuck. I breathe a disclaimer of disaster, a rage against the remorseless. I breathe warmth, then cold, then nothing. Just to double check.

The golden-white glimmers of school fish trail past, streaks of astigmatic light. The moon smiles down at me, a comforting glow. A lantern hung by gods of old on invisible chains. The mirror of the sun. The dancing partner of the earth. The lighthouse of the sea.

My beacon in the sky.

It does not melt my wings. I am not Icarus.

I soar. On and on, the sparkling sky, the gentle sea. The land leaves me far behind, the twinkle of city lights fading into nothing but open waters, open skies. Nothing but starlights. Nothing but moonlight.

There is nothing waiting for me. Fuck. They have melted into the shadows, slipped like dry sand between fingers, like dry sand in an hourglass, like water in a hole-littered bucket. It is only me and the star speckled sky. Me and the moon.

I'm not sure how long I stay, floating between schools of sparkling starfish. Slowly, the moon rises…falls…and the sun creeps up behind me like a monster in a cave, turning the sky from black to blue…green…then spilling yellow, melted butter, sunstreaked blood across the horizon, its burning light warming my frozen cheeks…soothing my goosebumps…the black sea once more becomes its sparkling blue-ish green. Fuck. The stars fade like fleeing fish and vanishing ghosts. I breathe cold into the warmth.

My wax wings drip in the light. The sunlight burns my eyes, searing my retina, boiling my cornea. I squeeze them shut. I wobble and sway, a dance in the sunrise. I dance, bow, spin on wire strings and liquid wings. I become tangled. I tumble down a narrow staircase, no socks, teabag fossils pinned to the wall.

Wind sighs in my ears. I see my reflection blink in the waves far below. It must like watching me thrash in yellow dreams. The world beats down on me as the sun is now; simple, forcible, inevitable, ordained. The world crumbles around me, earth cracking, water roaring, sky tearing and tearing like shreds of paper in the hands of scissor-happy children. I am a puppet on broken strings and I am falling with nothing but the frigid embrace of the ocean to catch me, where the whale-ship corpse sleeps. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I breathe and it is cold. The sun blazes like a beacon. It is life. It is the death cult and that fear tingles down my spine.

A shoe of lovely Twitter-blue falls free, lemon laces flapping wildly. I outstretch my rusty arms, as though to catch it like a ball during playtime in the schoolyard, swamped in the too-big uniform of bright purple, a blazer that fell well past my knees. But I cannot catch myself.

I’m falling.

Falling, falling, falling like Icarus.

#my scribbles #mine #tw language #tw drug mention #tw self harm mention #tw existential crisis #tw death mention #long scribble #original writing #writeblr #wow that's a lot of tags

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meganshinsou-tm · 5 years

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Crimson|Ink. (m)

↳ chapter four: vermilion pt. 2

❧ genre: tattoo-shop/hitmen au | tattoo artist/hitman kirishima

❧ fic warning: major character(s) death; happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: blood, nightmares, stab/bullet wounds

❧ chapter song: Vermilion Pt. 2 by Slipknot

♬crimson|ink playlist | ♧ character profiles | artist credit

[multi-chap masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

(E/c) eyes sparkled and blinked down at Kirishima, his heart skipped a beat when a gleaming smile grew on your face. His cheek felt warm making his red eyes glance down to see you cradled in his arms, the growing smile on his face quickly faded when his entire body felt warm yet his blood ran cold.

Red, everything was crimson red, both your bare bodies drenched in blood - who it belonged to, he didn't know. There were no wounds on your skin, your breathing wasn't labored, in fact you were still smiling at him as if you both weren't soaked in warm red liquid.

"(Y/N), what's happening?"

Your other hand went to cup Kirishima's opposite cheek, the pad of your bloody thumb brushing his skin and painting it with the metallic smelling fluid.

"What are you talking about Kiri?"

"All this blo –" he stopped when he went to motion at the scene, there wasn't anymore blood, no where in sight.

Your skin was clean and flawless, pressed against his. Kirishima's jaw dropped struggling for words. Your body shifted in his hold until you were sitting in his lap, straddling his muscular hips with your thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck. He felt hands rubbing his nape, one trekking up into his relaxed red hair. Fingers lightly massaged and calmed him, making a sigh leave his lips as you pressed your forehead to his.

Kirishima breathed in your all too familiar chocolaty rich scent, his nerves easing and endorphins rushing. Your lips kissed the bridge of his nose and your hands slowly cupped his face. Strong tattooed and protective arms encased your frame and pulled you closer.

"Let me in Kiri," you breathed out softly.

A dark brow rose and red eyes glanced up at you, Kirishima shook his head, not understanding.

"What was that little one?"

Suddenly you vanished, completely disappeared from the males arms into thin air. His heart raced and his eyes scanned the darkness around him, palms slapping the cold floor beneath him and making a disgusting wet sound.

Kirishima brought his hands before his red eyes, heart sinking when blood drenched down them. Looking at the floor he suddenly felt dizzy at the macabre sight before him. Weakly he crawled on all fours reaching out, your body was facing away from him littered with bullet holes, a knife impaling the scar on your shoulder blade that was now freshly open and gushing blood.

"(Y/N)!"

Kirishima screamed, body jolting awake from his nightmare, chest heaving and skin slick with sweat. The blood pumping organ in his chest worked overtime, adrenaline surged though his veins. He scanned his surroundings and quickly realized that he was in the comfort of his own bed. Kirishima panted and tried to catch his breath while he pulled his knees up, elbows resting on them and head hanging low. A cool breeze blew on his hot skin, making him look and see that the blanket was torn to shreds.

"Fucking great."

Kirishima jerked the tattered threads from his body and onto the floor before rising out of the bed and walking to the bathroom in his bare form. His eyes looked at the clock, 5:00 AM.

Dexterous fingers flicked on the light of the bathroom, a buzzing filling his ears from the bulbs. Kiri turned on the sink and splashed his face with cold water, causing his senses to quickly wake. Turning off the water, his hands gripped the edges of the sink, letting cold droplets run down his face.

"It isn't real ... she's okay."

Kirishima talked himself down from the images of his reoccurring nightmare until his cell started to ring on the bedside table. Taking a deep breath and shaking out the thought. he grabbed a hand towel and dried his face while walking back to the bed and answered the phone.

"Yeah? Alright let me get dressed and I'll meet you at the warehouse."

The short call ended and Kirishima wasted no time in getting dressed; dark-ripped skinny jeans hung low on his hips and a charcoal grey flannel clung to his thick and muscular chest. Dragging his feet, Kirishima went to his dresser drawers, he found some socks and slipped them on then dug out his black leather gun holster. After slipping his arms through the loops he walked to the closet and crouched down, one knee bracing the floor, and pressed on a panel of hardwood.

The panel clicked and popped up slightly, allowing Kirishima to slide it sideways and reveal an arsenal of slick oiled guns. He grabbed two handguns and secured them in each holster pocket under his arms. Next he gathered a few rounds of ammunition and a blade before moving the false panel back into place. Kiri stood back up and dug out some boots and stepped into them.

Kirishima exited his room and grabbed a bag from the floor by his front door and stuffed the ammunition and knife into it. Before grabbing a bottle of water out of his fridge, Kirishima put on a thick black coat to conceal his weapons and hung a loop of a black surgical mask from his ear. Once he made sure he had everything he needed, the red-head grabbed the bag from the floor and tossed it over his shoulder as he opened and walked out his front door.

"Well don't you look exceptionally cute today!"

You turned from the coffee maker to see a smiling Denki leaning against the entrance of the kitchen that was in the back of the shop. You scoffed and shook your head.

"Where's my lunch Kaminari?"

"Ooh, you only use my last name when your hangry," he chuckled and skipped over to your side and placed a market bag on the counter, "Good thing I brought ingredients for my special grilled cheese!"

"Uh – we don't have a stove-top or burner in here," you replied before bringing your warm mug to your lips and cooling off the pipping hot coffee inside of it.

Denki pecked your cheek making you giggle and clicked his tongue.

"Have no fear my sweet, for we have a handy dandy toaster!"

With squinted eyes you laughed, "Denki, you cannot make a grilled cheese in a fucking toaster!"

"I can and I have, just let the master show you how to get it done!"

The shop telephone started to ring and you rolled your eyes at the golden-haired male as he started to put together a sandwich.

"Whatever, I'll be right back."

Denki nodded and got to work on prepping the sandwiches. He pushed the lever down on the toaster without putting anything in it to pre-heat its coils. After buttering four slices of bread he laid them out in a line and started to add cheese.

Sliced then shredded, sliced then shredded.

You walked back in and jumped at the insane amount of cheese on the slices of bread.

"Denki, that's a lot of cheese!"

"You're damn right it is," he sprinkled more shredded cheese on the bread, "Akon and Young Geezy, tryna make make grilled cheezy!"

You laughed playfully and shoved Denki's head, moving to lean back against the small kitchen table behind him and drank your coffee. The golden boy shoved both really thick sandwiches into the toaster slots and pushed the lever down, setting it to four minutes. Almost immediately a burning smell started to permeate and you scrunched your nose.

"Are you sure about this Denki, it feels really unsafe."

Denki waved you off with a 'nah' and tapped his fingers on the counter surface, a leg crossed over the other and a hand on his hip.

Not even a minute later smoke was starting to constantly waft from the toaster in a steady stream like a cigarette. Your eyes widened and you slurped your coffee faster, Denki didn't act like anything was alarming at all while he whistled and bopped his head side to side.

The machine then started to make a crackling and popping sound, causing you to jump at each one.

"Uh Denki, we should be concerned about that yeah?"

"It happens all the time boo, don't worry," he replied with a smile and thumbs up.

Suddenly a red flame started to rise making you let out a yell. It was small and controlled at first before it grew. You shook your head fast and pointed at the machine. Denki turned to look and started to stutter, he turned back around and chuckled sheepishly.

"Uh – that's normal?" He questioned.

"Are you asking me? You're the one that's done this before!"

A 'poof' sounded off making you both shout and jump. The flames inside the toaster were growing bigger at a fast rate. Panicking, Denki grabbed a towel and started to fan the flames, only making them ignite more.

You placed your coffee cup on the table and hurried to snatch the towel from Denki's hand and proceeded to hit him with it.

"You moron, that only makes it worse! Unplug it for fucks sake!"

It was like a light-bulb went off behind his golden eyes, he turned and went to reach for the plug until the flames literally engulfed the entire toaster, causing you both to scream frantically and jump into each other's arms. You screamed and wailed for your lives as the plastic of the toaster was starting to melt and pool onto the counter, neither of you moving to control it.

"This has never happened before! Oh my god, I’m so sorry, oh my god we’re gonna die!"

You whined and cried with Denki.

"Why isn’t the alarm going off? I don’t want to die here, dear fucking god!"

Denki squished his cheek to yours and caressed your face as the toaster fire blazed on and honestly didn't even spread any further.

"(Y/N) ... before we die ... let us share a final kiss!"

Before you could slap some sense into Denki he looked behind you and gasped before holding you closer to him and ducking to the floor.

You groaned out when he landed on top of you, gritting your teeth and rubbing your head after his shoulder knocked into it. The sound of ice cracking filled your ears and made your eyes shoot open to look at the toaster on the counter. It was encased in an ice prison, no more flames or smoke. You went to ask what happened until Denki touched the spot on your forehead that had hit his shoulder, making you whine and slap at his hand.

You looked to see him hovering over you on his hands and knees and slightly blushed when he gently rubbed the spot and apologized.

"What the hell was that?"

Your ears perked when a deep monotone voice spoke from behind you, your head craned so you could look up and your jaw dropped. Standing before you and Denki was a gorgeous fair skinned male, wearing a grey turtle neck sweater and maroon pants fitted pants that shaped his long legs.

What had you speechless was his face, it was perfect and stunning. His eyes were breathtaking, one grey and the other turquoise. White and red hair split right down the middle of his head, the red side of his bangs combed over and intermixed with the snow-white tresses revealing burned flesh around his turquoise eye.

Others may have found his tarnished skin unsightly but to you he was still utterly gorgeous. Blemishes and scars never deterred your attraction to a person, in fact your past lover was covered in them.

"Denki, did we die?"

Denki quirked a brow and chuckled, "Uh – no?"

"Then who is this literal angel looking down on me!"

Denki laughed, mentioning you bumping your head too hard and moved back to stand to his feet, leaning over he took your hand and helped you stand up. You straightened your clothes and looked at Denki who was smiling. Your eyes narrowed and immediately your hands were on his shoulders, frantically shaking him and causing his head to jerk back and forth.

"You almost fucking burned this place down you moron! You're banned from the kitchen forever!"

"Is everyone okay, I heard yelling."

You stopped shaking the moronic man before you and turned to look at the source of the new voice.

Now a tall muscular green-haired male was in the room and you gasped. Freckles adorned his cheeks and his eyes were like emeralds! Your hands released Denki and you dragged your feet walking towards the green cutie. His brow rose as you got closer, your hands reaching out for him.

Face cringing, his eyes screwed shut before you got to him before they quickly shot back open when he felt fingers grabbing his cheeks. He looked to see you holding his face extremely close to yours, your (e/c) eyes shimmered and a wide stunning smile crossed your face making him smile in return.

You awed and pinched his cheeks roughly, moving his head side to side and rubbing the tip of your nose to his, "Denki, he's so cute!"

Suddenly your hands were all over the new man's face, poking each of his freckles, tangling in his green locks. Then your arms wrapped around his neck and pulled his face straight into your chest. You hummed and pressed your cheek to his hair, hugging him tight and nuzzling him closer.

Out of nowhere Bakugou and Kirishima rounded the corner talking, their talk stopped when they looked at you. Your eyes opened to see them and you smiled.

"Baku, Kiri, can we keep him," you pulled the now violently blushing male away from your chest and grabbed his face again, showing it to the blonde and red-head as you pressed your cheek to his. "Look at him! He's like a little puppy! A smol green puppy, my smol green puppy! I'll name you green bean and you shall be my green bean!"

While you stood there baby talking and muttering words of nonsense to this blushing and now giggling man, Denki slowly walked over holding his hands up as if trying to let you know he wasn't going to harm you.

"(Y/N), give me the Deku and I'll get you some food, okay?"

You glared at Denki and pulled Deku's face back into your chest. "No, he's mine!"

You and Denki went back and forth, he desperately compromised with you and tried to pry your grip from Deku, you weren't letting up as you'd press his face to yours again, rubbed your noses together and snapped your teeth at his, mentioning how much you wanted to eat him up. Kirishima groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose, his head hung low in embarrassment. Bakugou chuckled as he watched you and Denki play tug of war with Deku. The two-toned male quirked a brow and looked at the blonde.

"This is the girl?"

Bakugou nodded with a smirk and walked towards you and playfully smacked your ass. You yelped and instantly let go of Deku. With a growl, your fist flew towards the handsy blonde but he caught your punch and wrapped his arms around your waist and quickly pulled you from the blushing male before you could get your hands back on him.

"Chill out princess that fucking nerd isn't going anywhere, he works here," Bakugou spoke on the shell of your ear as he dragged you over to Kirishima and the angelic looking male.

"He does?" You questioned, looking from Bakugou and to the man who stopped the toaster fire. "Does he work here too? He fits the whole unbelievably attractive profile that seems to be a thing between all of you!"

Kirishima smirked and leaned forward, placing his face close to yours as he flicked your forehead making you snap at him. "I guess you can say that little one, he is the boss in fact."

You glared at Kirishima and his cocky smile, full of gleaming sharp teeth.

A tingle ran through your body and your heart did a flip. Even after a month of endless bullshit from the red-head you never got over how beautiful his smile was, cocky or not. You wanted to kick him, until your eyes scanned across a deep gash that ran down his neck. Narrowing your eyes and looking closer, it looked fresh and like it was painful.

All the other men around you were suddenly forgotten as you weaseled your way out of Bakugou's arms and closer to Kirishima. He grunted when your hand gripped his chin and pushed it up, the fingers of your other hand gently trailing the edges of his exposed wound. The muscle in his throat bobbed when he swallowed harshly, the feeling of your fingers on his flesh felt like fire and made his heart race.

"Oh Kiri," you breathed out with concern and empathy making his heart squeeze, "What happened to you?"

Kirishima clenched a fist and grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand from his chin, holding it up as he looked down on you with a scowl. (E/c) eyes looked up at him with genuine worry and question though, immediately causing his scowl to soften. He wanted to be brash and tell you to mind your own business but that face you wore, like many of your other faces had this hold over him and he couldn't do it. So Kiri loosened his grip on your wrist, unconsciously letting his thumb brush your skin.

"It's nothing you need to concern yourself with little one, I'm fine, it's not the worst I've had."

The panic in you visibly settled and you softened your eyes and bit your lip looking back at his ruby eyes. It didn't matter if Kirishima was a dick to you most days, the two of you could be at each other's throat and still you'd stop and put your disagreements to the side when it came to him being injured, you were that way with anyone. Having the quirk you do, you always want to help someone heal, whether they're friend or foe. You knew real pain almost more than anyone and no matter who it was, you couldn't bear to see someone you knew hurt the way that Kirishima was.

Taking a deep breath and calming yourself you brushed the skin of Kirishima’s neck again.

"Well – let me heal you at least. It's my job, right?"

Kiri smirked and nodded, tilting his head. You nodded back and flattened your hand over the wound, focusing and closing your eyes before a soft light illuminated under you palm. Kirishima's eyes widened when he felt a warm and tingly sensation where your hand touched.

He had never been healed by you before and didn't know how it felt or what to expect. The process actually felt really nice, almost like a million warm kisses littered his skin, his muscles also relaxed and the tension in his face melted like butter. A relieved sigh left Kiri's lips when an overwhelmingly calm aura washed over him. You smiled at the reaction and removed your palm, brushing your knuckles against the wound-free skin.

"There you go Kiri, now you owe me one!"

"Hah, whatever you say brat," Kirishima replied with a smirk.

He looked up to see Bakugou giving him a shit eating grin with a raised brow. The red-head rolled his eyes and released your wrist that was still in his grasp and removed your other hand from his neck.

"I gotta go get ready for an appointment coming in."

Backing up, you let Kirishima walk by, watching him make his way down the hall. Your eyes met again while he opened the door to his studio and for once he gifted you a smile before disappearing into the room.

"See Shouto, I told you she'd come in handy," Bakugou praised and wrapped an arm around your shoulder pulling you close to his side.

You looked at the blonde and gave him a toothless smile and looked at the man he called Shouto. He looked so serious and intimidating but you weren't going to let that scare you, after working next to four of the toughest looking guys for a month you weren't exactly easily scared by anyone anymore.

Taking a leap of faith and good fortune you reached a hand out towards the bi-colored male.

"It's nice to meet you Shouto, I'm (Y/N)," you chimed with a smile, "I'm uh – really sorry about the mess and chaos you had to walk in on. I can go out and get us a new toaster no problem."

Shouto looked at you for a second before taking your hand gently and shaking it with a very subtle smile. "Don't worry about it, I'm sure whatever caused such a catastrophe wasn't your idea," he replied and narrowed his eyes at Denki who was talking to Deku.

Shouto looked at Bakugou as he released your hand, his eyes motioned to the side and you felt your friend nodding next to you. Bakugou ruffled your hair and placed a quick peck to your temple, a type of affection that was extremely normal now between you and all the men of the shop, except for Kirishima of course.

You watched as he left your side and strode over to Denki, grabbing him by the hood of his hoodie and dragging him across the kitchen floor.

"Bro what are you doing?"

"You owe us another fucking toaster dipshit and some lunch!"

Denki whined and groaned as Bakugou hauled him out and mentioned that they should be back later, toaster and food for everyone. You chuckled at Denki pleading for you to save him, only waving and smiling as he vanished from sight. Now you were left alone with Shouto and Deku, the kitchen falling silent and the three of you stood there. You couldn't help but glance at the green-haired male when he came to stand closer to you and Shouto.

"Well, I can see why Kacchan was so eager to hire you, you're extremely friendly," Deku chuckled and rubbed the side of his neck.

"Who’s Kacchan?"

"Oh, that's just what I call Bakugou by, we've known each other since we were kids."

You awed and tilted your head, now you had something to tease the obnoxiously flirtatious blonde with.

Smiling, you held your hand out to Deku to shake it and rubbed the side of your own neck. "I'm (Y/N) by the way, sorry for really jumping in your bubble like that. Obviously I have no sense of personal space and you're just so cute! In fact, you're all insanely attractive. Please tell me there aren't anymore of you, I don't think my heart can take it."

Deku laughed and took your hand to shake, "No, we're it. And it's okay, really. It was a little shocking at first but I could get used to it."

You blushed when Deku gave you a handsome smile. Shouto cleared his throat and you both turned to look at him. "(Y/N), do you mind if we all talk in my studio?"

Your heart stopped for a second and your stomach knotted, "Sure."

The tall fair skinned man could tell his question probably came off as if you were in trouble for something by the way the color in your cheeks disappeared. He walked over to you and placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Don't worry (Y/N), you're not in trouble. I just want the three of us to catch up and get to know each other, maybe answer any questions you might have or we might have."

Instantly your body relaxed and you nodded with a smile, Shouto motioned down the hall of doors and pointed out which one was his. The three of you walked down the hall together, you and Deku bumping shoulders and giggling.

As you walked into the studio together you let out a deep breath and ran a hand through your hair.

"So if you don't mind me asking, just where have you two been?"

#crimson ink #kirishima eijirou x reader #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #reader x everyone #bakusquad #tattoo shop au #hitmen au #slow burn #enemies to lovers

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years

Text

Like the Rat You Are

Rows upon rows of metal carcasses towered on both sides of the narrow valley of steel. Piles of trashed automobile wrecks, silent and dead, stacked to the high heavens. Metal and plastic scrap parts littered the dirty ground in between these monoliths of trash. Broken glass crunched underneath Kevin’s boot.

The sound of it echoed through these artificial canyons of industrial refuse, causing him to pause and look around with a sensation bordering on a panic. Under the cover of night, in the dead silence, that sound sliced through the sky like a knife. His heart raced, accelerating to ever greater heights as he held his breath and listened for any audible clue of reactions to the noise he had inadvertently caused.

After nearly a minute passed, he continued creeping through the junkyard. Closer and closer to the head office at its center, sneaking underneath the looming shadow of the claw that the crane and magnet-arms cast in the moonlight. He tried peering through windows to see inside the dark office, but grime and filth caked its panes, obscuring everything within.

The rusty metal of the door’s handle felt cold in his hand as he gripped it. And twisted. The door was open. Unlocked. Made sense, given that most of Dusty’s security focused on the entering the premises, rather than what was on the messy grounds.

For a moment, Kevin thought that he might succeed at this without anybody dying, after all.

He stepped inside and looked around. It smelled of metal dust and rust. And of the cold itself. It was deeply cold in here, almost more so than outside. So cold that his breath condensed into little clouds just in front of his mouth. That all disappeared when he closed the door behind himself.

The faint remnants of light that managed to seep in through the dirt on the office windows rendered everything in vague, dark silhouettes. There were probably shelves stacked with things, and chairs, and a desk. And yet other things, bunched up against the wall.

To shed some light, he removed a stainless steel lighter from his leather jacket’s pocket, flicked it open, and snapped the flint so it produced its tiny flame. With luck, tiny enough to not be too conspicuous, but enough to see anything in there.

Without any sign of life in the junkyard except for himself, and a more deafening silence inside the office, his heartbeat calmed from the pace it had picked up during his stealthy approach. He swallowed and took in his surroundings.

Most of what he expected to find in Dusty McVeigh’s office was there. The place was a terrible mess, but not any worse than some of the trailer trash homes, dingy motels, abandoned derelicts filled with squatters, and other run-down places Kevin had been in and out of over the course of the past year. Sometimes, that’s just where our mystical journeys take us. This was Kevin’s path.

A pile of random junk cluttered Dusty’s desk, but none of it caught Kevin’s eye. The things that stood out the most were the big solid black safe next to the water cooler—presumably what he had come here for—and an easel with a painting on it, standing all lonely in middle of the room.

The impressionist painting really drew and kept Kevin’s attention. It depicted this same room, with a view through the window onto the junkyard on a bright sunny day.

It was a damn good painting, too, he thought to himself. If Dusty had made this, then he had some serious talent. Maybe he should make a living in art instead of stealing from occult collectors?

The irony of his own thoughts was not lost on him, fully well aware that he was going to steal something from Dusty now.

The artifact had to be inside that safe. It would be the perfect place to keep it secure.

Kevin sidled up to the small vault and looked it over, inspecting its size and make. It looked extremely heavy, like a tow truck would have to drag it out of there, and it had been bolted down onto the floor. So taking the whole shebang was out of the question.

Combination lock. No way of guessing the numbers—Dusty was clever. The bastard would never use any easy combination that anybody could guess. The junkyard owner was missing half his teeth due to a crippling meth addiction and constantly smeared in dirt and motor oil all over, but Dusty McVeigh probably had the IQ of a super-genius. No other way he could work the juju he worked.

Kevin knew better than to just blindly try out different combinations on the lock. Instead, he pressed the tip of his index and middle fingers up against the number wheel of the lock and whispered while inhaling, “Diopes dism, emnothesis iento vingnorm. Mag crein.”

As he focused and the painful words escaped his lips, jumbles of mundane words and numbers coalesced in his mind. He started seeing, hearing, and tasting broken thoughts—thoughts stolen from the void to which Dusty’s thoughts had trailed off to in previous days.

Gazing into the sky while high as a kite, lying on the hood of an old muscle car. Furiously jacking off to photos of half-naked women in magazine advertisements. The cool calm nerves that came with smoking a cigarette after a long day of hard work. An argument with his friend and the pain his knuckles from throwing and landing a punch that connected to bone. Words that did not connect to sentences, numbers that did not belong together. Strings of arcane symbols that Dusty thought about a lot in his occult studies. Lots of books, most of them fiction.

Instead of drawing a sequence of numbers that opened the safe, something else took shape in Kevin’s mind. A pair of eyes. Glaring. Furious. Staring at him through the veil.

Not a memory. But the here and now. Elsewhere, but connected over a bridge of all things ethereal. Dusty had woken up—jolted awake because he had secured this safe with a spell of his own. Something that flared up the moment Kevin had tried to suss out the combination from the environs of the lock itself. Magick bound to the entire safe, clashing with Kevin’s spell, alerting Dusty to an intruder’s presence tampering with the safe in any way—including the intangible ways of magick.

There it was again: the racing heartbeat. Cold sweat erupting from Kevin’s pores. The feeling that bordered on panic, however, had returned with a vengeance. Full-blooded panic now, causing his glands to pump mind-numbing adrenaline throughout his body.

He had to act quickly now. Get creative.

A German shepherd’s barking in the distance underlined that growing sense of urgency balling up into a tight pit in Kevin’s stomach. Floodlights switched on outside, one by one. Bathing the towering piles of car husks in a glaring bright white shine. Turning the whole junkyard into a sea of light.

Before Kevin severed his spell—and thus the connection to that burning image of Dusty’s eyes, he last glimpsed bony hands with dirt under the fingernails gripping a shotgun. Loading slugs into its chamber. Pumping some mechanism, pumping little black-powder-powered agents of death.

Kevin stuffed the lighter back into his pocket, as the floodlights outside did their part in illuminating the office well enough for him to see everything clearly.

He scanned the desk with haste, looking for anything he could use.

Junk—just a lot of junk. He looked around the shelves, finding only tools, scrap parts, and more trash. Nothing useful. Not even a damned thing he could improvise as a useful weapon.

The barking neared. Someone shouted something. Dusty probably would be bringing company, both canine and human. Likely armed to the teeth. Everybody had guns in this neck of the woods, and the six-shooter weighing a ton in Kevin’s pocket would never have enough bullets for all of them. Not like he was much of a fighter anyway; the thing was usually more for show and coercion than anything else.

Then the painting caught his eye again. Dusty was clever, but so was Kevin. A desperate idea formed in his brain; something that might even work out.

The safe was depicted on the painting, too. Dusty’s meticulous attention to detail was going to be useful.

Kevin’s hands trembled as they dug through the assortment of junk on Dusty’s desk. Some of the useless objects clattered and clanked and fell off the surface of the desktop. Frustrated because he knew he had seen what he needed just seconds before but failed to find it now, he swept a whole load of items off the table, causing them to crash down onto the floor.

There it was: a thumbtack. It would serve well enough.

The noise outside got closer and closer. Probably less than a minute away. Creeping across that distance had taken Kevin minutes, but was a matter of seconds for the junkyard’s owner and his goon buddies.

Kevin licked his lips and stood in front of the painting.

“Wisthibrea, sestna wasterei velth, delwen sidrom,” he said, focusing on the painting with all his might. He repeated it again, blotting out the noise drawing ever closer outside.

Kevin then brought the thumbtack’s needle to the painting and began defacing it. Scratching over the safe’s depiction specifically. The scratching sounds swelled to deafening heights, swallowing all other sounds in the world to the point of turning the world around him silent.

He repeated the magick words a third time, this time just whispering them, but every syllable oozing out with clarity and purpose that resonated with the cosmos. He could practically feel the gravity of the stars all around, piercing the nightly sky and those stars seeing him simultaneously. Watching, silently judging. Pulling.

The needle tore into the canvas, chipping away dried paint and ripping up the fabric until it was just shredded threads. He couldn’t even hear his own breathing anymore.

Kevin’s head swiveled and he looked at the safe. Its front was missing, just a gaping hole with frayed edges, solid metal looking like it had been chewed away by a giant with steel teeth.

The contents of the safe were his to take.

A bunch of papers, stacks of cash, and other shit he had no use for.

All he wanted was that small alabaster statuette. Its maker in the 1800s had carved it to look like a praying Franciscan monk, maybe even the eponymous old sage himself. The history behind this thing had no bearing right now, though; Kevin dismissed any such thoughts.

All that mattered was this artifact’s secret power. Not only did he need it to find and get Kim out of that infernal town in Washington, it was now his only ticket of getting out of this jam he had gotten himself into. He grabbed the statuette, clutched it with all his might. Not going to let it go easily, now.

The barking was just outside. Intense. Angry. Hungry, maybe.

Kevin concentrated, wracking his brain to remember the precise words he needed to use to wield this artifact properly.

The shouting had become much clearer, as well.

The man yelling was none other than Dusty himself, swearing up a storm, “You dumb son of a bitch! I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you, you skinny pale-faced cross-dressing motherfucker, you! I know it’s you! Come out and I’ll make it quick, shithead!”

The windows exploded into a flurry of glass shards, the deafening echo of the gunshot followed, ringing in Kevin’s ears. Something warm trickled down his forehead, which he found to be blood from a fresh cut, from the glass that had shattered in the shot.

He ducked behind the desk, making his way towards the door.

“You’re dead! You hear me? You’re fucking dead!”

Another shot tore a gaping hole through the office’s flimsy wall. A cloud of dust continued to roil in the air in its wake, dancing in the bright light flooding in through that hole.

The pain decided to set in with delay, maybe thanks to the adrenaline. Nothing about it was good though, as it clouded Kevin’s thoughts. He reeled, stumbling and then crawling towards the office’s only door.

The sticky hot mess seeping out between his fingers from his belly region splattered out onto the floor.

He had no time nor capacity to check how bad it really was. Kevin currently couldn’t even be sure if he had been hit by anything from Dusty’s shotgun directly, or if it was just debris that the shots that had blasted through the office wall. Blood was blood. An injury an injury.

It hurt like hell, stinging, and robbing him of the strength needed to spring back up into standing. Every movement burned with an unpleasant fire in his gut. Acting on instinct, he pressed his other hand against it while dragging himself closer to the door, the alabaster statuette clutched in his other hand. Dark crimson dots marred the otherwise pure white surface of the object—his own blood.

Another hit and Kevin would be a goner. It was time to go.

He stared at the statuette in his hand and began reciting the words.

“Etheris brahecket hisret dwerio—”

A coughing fit broke out and interrupted his own speech, and each revolving contraction allowed the pain to flare up even brighter, clouding his field of vision with a darkness encroaching from the edges and bright lights glaring against it, leaving a kaleidoscope of colorful blind spots behind. His eyesight blurred but he blinked several times to dispel that growing visual impairment.

Encouraged by hearing his suffering, Dusty shouted outside, “Yeah, you like that, you lil’ bitch? Gonna string you up and eviscerate your sorry ass. Like the rat you are!”

Kevin gritted his teeth and started from the top, training his stare on the statuette while he repeated the magick words.

It looked so serene. So pure. What it looked like on the surface meant nothing, however. What truly mattered was the life force bound to it. The karma, or dharma, or essence, or mojo, or whatever the hell anybody preferred to call it.

“Etheris brahecket hisret dweriomon,” Kevin recited the magick words. His voice trembled as he focused on the incantation, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his abdomen.

“Son of a—don’t stand around, you lazy fuckers! Get inside and end that walkin’ piece of shit!”

Shuffling of feet. Tiny pieces of garbage and gravel crunching underneath the heels of people nearing the office entrance. Kevin did not need to see them, he knew they were all pointing guns at the door, prepared to kill a man without a second thought.

“Shoshiame wielnod eneroh, plagat thereo eteneadeth,” Kevin finished. Then he started repeating it.

He grunted, struggled to get up on his feet. Another shot tore another hole into the office wall nearby, shattering more glass. Something cut him as a consequence of that, but it was minor and the other pain deep down overshadowed it all.

Kevin let go of his injury and grabbed the rusty metal handle of the office door, leaving a bloody hand print on it. Cold in between his fingers, countering the hot stickiness clinging to his skin. Coarse and rusty, he could practically taste it.

But he never tore his gaze off the statuette, and projected his mind elsewhere. Directed his thoughts to another place. A dank cellar underneath a strip club belonging to a friend of his.

It would do.

He squeezed, twisted the handle, and ripped the door open. Another shot echoed through the air. The dog barked louder and angrier, and the men neared.

But behind that door was that dank cellar, not the junkyard outside the office. Kevin lurched through and slammed the door shut behind him.

The door to the boiler room, adjacent of that dank cellar. Over a thousand miles away from Dusty’s junkyard. Bridging the gap of space between South Dakota and Cleveland.

The relic had worked quite well. Unlike Kevin’s legs, now.

He stumbled forth, coming to a halt against a pillar in the dusty, damp room. He slumped against it and slid down until he remained sitting on the ground, once more gripping the injury where his stomach should be. The blood continued pumping out from there, hot and crimson and sticky. And heralding doom.

He sighed and even that hurt, causing hellfire to ripple through his body from the injury.

Eat shit, Dusty, he thought to himself.

He had retrieved the artifact. But at what price? Everything had a price.

The statuette could do the trick in finding Kim, but that hinged on him surviving this now.

Too bad, though. The blood just continued to pump, like it had waited for this very day to escape his sorry skin. The pain overwhelmed him.

He slipped out of consciousness.

Without any hope of opening his eyes to see another day.

—Submitted by Wratts

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luxlightly · 5 years

Note

(2/2) Also, what kind of fabric should I use if I don't want to get heatstroke or something? I'll most likely be wearing it in autumn and not summer, but I'll be indoors so I'm still worried, especially with how much walking a con usually entails. And how much of that fabric do you think I'll need? (I'm about 6ft tall and weigh about 185-190lbs I think, I'd want the coat to go to about halfway down my lower leg.) Thanks so much in advance and sorry for bothering you!

(Tumblr deleted the first ask when I tried to save it as a draft. Luckily I predicted this and saved a pic of it)

Experienced sewer and cosplay? Oh anon, your flattery will get you everywhere.

Luckily for you, my grey faced friend, you’ve picked about the easiest costume in the world to sew. The only way it could be simpler if it didn’t have the sleeves, but, since the outfit is so loose, it shouldn’t really a problem if those don’t turn out perfect anyway. More beneath the cut:

You have a few ways you can do it, though, depending on how you want it to look.

Snukfin’s actual outfit has no visible seams, but that’s not something really possible in real life, so you’l have to determine where the seams will be. Easiest place is two seams along the sides. You could also do it with 4 main pieces to make it rounder looking but that seems like it would be a lot more work for not a lot of payoff, so let’s stick with two. You could also use some things to puff out the bottom of the robe so it has that very circular look, like using a sort of faux tu-tu made of tulle, but again, let’s keep it simple.

As for fabric you have a few options there depending on the look, stretch, and feel you want the garment to have.

First off is cotton twill

This fabric has almost no stretch to it whatsoever which can make sewing it easier, but again, it has no stretch, so it’s less forgiving about seam accuracy and is sometimes uncomfortable to wear. It may give the sort of rustic look that you’re going for though. However, you will need to hem all open seams or they WILL unravel on you. Hemming is when you basically turn some of the fabric of an open seam up on the inside of the fabric, then sew it down, stopping the woven thread of the fabric from coming undone and making it look cleaner. Like this:

Also, since many of these fabric are thin, you may need to make a lining, which is basically just the same garment in a silky fabric, connected to the out pieces at the seams. I would recommend not getting anything so thin you need to do that.

Second fabric option is a knit fabric:

Knit fabric has a good deal of stretch to it, which can make it easier to move in, but stretchy fabrics can be a little bit of a pain to sew, since the presser foot can have trouble keeping them from sliding around. Using a “walking foot” can help a lot, but I assume you probably don’t have one if you’ve never sewn before. If you pick this, just be sure to pin thoroughly. Due to the nature of the fabric, some knits can also be harder to press the seams of properly, making them bulkier on close fitting garments, but that’s not what you’re making so it’s all good. the big thing, though, is that knit fabrics often do not need to be hemmed. Sometimes it can look kind of shiny and synthetic, depending on the kind you get.

Third is fleece:

Fleece is a thicker fabric that is very fuzzy and has a good deal of stretch to it, at least one direction. It does not necessarily need to be hemmed, as the open seams will not unravel. It’s primarily used in things like stuffed animals, but can be used in some more whimsical looking garments. It may give you the puffy look to the outfit that Snufkin has. But, as it is thick, it can be very hard to sew multiple layers of without a proper walking foot and a thicker needle, depending of the thickness of the fleece and the number of layers.

It’s really up to you, depending on what you find that fits the look you want and your budget. Wander the aisles of a fabric store and maybe ask an employee for a recommendation. I would definitely avoid anything shiny, plastic, or very very stretchy as those are hard to sew and also will probably not look right for Snufkin. I probably recommend a more natural looking knit fabric. For both comfort and ease. Just be sure to pin that stuff and hold it very steady when sewing it because it WILL try to escape from under the presser foot.

First step after deciding on a kind of fabric (but NOT before buying the fabric!) is taking measurements. For this outfit, I’d take a measurement of the circumference your neck, from your collar to the length you want to the robe to go to on your leg, the width you want the bottom of the robe to be, the length from your collar to your shoulder, your bust, your waist, and around the thickest part of your arm. Since Snuf’s outfit is simple, some of these will just be to ensure you don’t accidentally make the angle of the side cut too steep and end up where it doesn’t fit you around the waist or chest.

The pattern for the main part of the robe will look a bit like this. For each cut, be sure to add half and inch to an inch to it for seam allowance (the amount you’ll lose when you sew two pieces together. The part that becomes the seam) along with an extra inch or two since you want this to be pretty loose and baggy:

You’ll need two of these. The basic sleeve will look like this:

You will need two of these. That’s ONE for each sleeve. That’s why the width is the whole measurement around your arm, not half.

That bump at the top is basically just to have it fit better over the shoulder. There’s measurements and calculations and rulers to get that curve perfect but honestly, in your case…..just kinda…put a bit of a bump there that right. Like “yeah that looks like something a shoulder curve might look like!” This method is something that has served me well in cosplay. Same for the neck hole and arm holes. If your head and arms fit comfortable through them and it looks right to you, it will look right to other people, for the most part. Closer fitting, more complicated pieces require more accurate and precise measurements. You are, for all intents and purposes, making a potato sack.

Drafting patterns and testing them on cheap fabric before buying your final fabric is time consuming, but will ultimately save you time and money remaking it later and having to buy more of the final, usually more expensive, fabric. So make a test out of some cheap muslin fabric or whatever you have around, adjusting measurements as you see fit. Once you do that, determine the amount of fabric you’ll need to get. It’s often not a bad idea to wash the fabric in cold water with a bit of fabric softener before starting. It will make it easier to work with, and shrink it if it’s going to shrink. Some fabrics are dry clean or hand wash only, though so be careful. So do these next things at least twice, at least once in test, then once with the real fabric.

Using the patterns/tests you made earlier, cut out each piece. Now the actual sewing. I’m assuming you’re using a machine but either way it’s the same idea.

1: Place the two main pieces on top of each other so the red marked sides line up and the “right side” of the fabric (the sides you want on the outside) are touching each other. Pin the fabric along the red seams. Sew the seams together, leaving a ¼ to ½ inch space between the seam and the edge of the fabric, so you will have enough seam allowance to press the seam. DO NOT sew the black marked edges of the arm holes or head holes. Leave these open!

2: Setting your iron to the setting appropriate for your fabric, press the seams “open”. Like this:

The two pieces of seam fabric should be folded back over the piece they’re from and flattened down. This will help the seam lie flat. This isn’t super important for your very loose costume but a good habit to get into and it will help the seam stay steady.

If you used a fabric that needs to be hemmed, curl the bottom edge of the fabric up about a half inch, then sew it down. You can do that with the neck too, but curve can be harder to hem, and Snufkin’s neck is always covered by a scarf so you can forgo it if you like, or just use a “liquid hem” product.

3: Pin and sew the yellow labeled edge of the sleeves to the other yellow labeled edge OF THE SAME SLEEVE. That means each sleeve will have only one seam, running along the bottom of the sleeve. That will give it a more rounded look (and also means fewer seams to sew and fewer pieces to cut). Remember that the “right sides” of the fabric should be touching so that the sleeve will be inside out when you sew the seam. Same as with the body piece.

4: Press those seams open as well. Then turn your sleeves inside out(technically right side out) so that the right side is facing outwards.

5: Pin and sew the blue marked edges of the sleeves to the blue marked edges of the main body. This step will be trickier and may require more than one try because you will need to be sewing in a loop. Sewing machines like to sew in straight lines and can only sew on flat surfaces, but you also don’t want to sew your sleeves closed.

What you need to do is pin all around the loop of the hole, lining up the sleeve seam with the bottom of the arm hole of the main body. The sleeve will be RIGHT SIDE out and inside of the main body which needs to still be INSIDE OUT. Again, right sides of the fabric need to always be the ones touching. This is counter intuitive and trips me up a lot because of it.

Then, sew all around that loop. This can be hard to conceptualize and that little shoulder bump will definitely try to cause you some trouble too. If the opening is big enough, it helps a lot to slip it over the sewing machine’s sewing platform like this:

Most machines will have a little shelf or part that can be removed to make this easier.

6: Since these seams are curved, you need to “clip” them so that they lie right. Take your sewing shears and clip the excess seam fabric up to but NOT THROUGH the seam all around the sleeve seam. Like so:

7: Press the seams so that both pieces of seam fabric are folded towards the sleeve, not the main body.

8: Turn the whole thing right-side out and check that there are no holes in any of the seams. Small holes can be patched with a hand needle and thread, bigger ones you may need to go back over them with the machine. Remember if anything really goes bad, you can always carefully remove the seam with a seam ripper and redo it.

9: BECOME THE BOY. That is to say, try it on and make sure everything fits ok.

10: You done it.

#oops I tutorialed #sewing #snufkin #tutorial #moomin #cosplay tutorial #cosplay #Anonymous #earning my seam allowance

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bubmyg · 6 years

Text

i’ll be home - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: lawyer!yoongi, fluff

word count: 1,851

summary: he was supposed to work late for your first christmas together, married, so he asks that you go to your parents because it’d make him feel better that you weren’t home alone or where you come home to find out that yoongi hasn’t forgot about the cat sweater you bought him or the artificial tree in the attic

a/n: the final part of aicaib!!! thank u for sticking w me through this series (this is the first time i’ve written a one shot for every member woah) as always, if u need the series masterlist, ask me. this is also part of my lawyer!yoongi series, so if you’d like that masterlist, also let me know :’-)

“Please go to your parents’ tonight,” Yoongi squeezed your hands, pleading, “I’m not asking you to spend the night there. Just go. Eat dinner with them. I don’t like the thought of you being alone.”

“I’m not alone,” You argued, chin dropping to your chest to eye the wiry haired poodle lapping at your ankles, “I have Holly.”

He sighed, dropping your hands to curl long fingers around your cheeks, pressing his lips just above the corner of your mouth. “Angel.” Dark eyes flicked down to you, pursed lips hovering a feathery space away from your skin. “Go,” He chided, “and take Holly. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

You grumbled as Yoongi’s lips trailed down to your jaw.

“Is that a threat?”

Yoongi shrugged off his blocky dress shoes after the third time he’d tripped on the lip of wood from the garage to the foyer, balancing long cardboard boxes and grey tinted plastic bins on his shoulders to pile on the rug in the living room. His shoulders sagged when he peeled the slick black off his heels, puffing out a breath as he stared at the spot where the tree would go.

It was sad really, cleared of the lamp and the corner table and the tiny porcelain pig that normally took purchase there. It’d been cleaned like that for weeks, all intents and purposes to put the tree up for three consecutive weekends and never quite getting there due to scheduling conflict. Now, it was Christmas Eve and all your presents sat underneath what you’d deemed the makeshift tree, or rather, the lavish dining table that a family of two and a dog had no use for.

You’d placed a metal star standee in the center of a knit tablecloth to the oak top of the table, just for good measure.

He forgot the tree broke into three separate pieces, sending the top tumbling into the coffee table and jostling a holder of stone coasters. Pine needles coated the length of his wool sweater by the time he managed to wiggle the tree’s center into the tripod stand, leaving an entirely inconspicuous trail from the damaged cardboard box in the corner of the room to the place where two-thirds of the tree now resided.

The plastic green covered the grinning grey cat plastered to the front of Yoongi’s sweater, outlining the Santa hat perched on top of the character’s head and masking the string of multicolored lights that collage the surface of the top. It was a gift from you, one he’d promised to wear and had artfully avoided until he found yours that matched, tag still on, buried in a ridiculous crevice of your closet. Maybe it was the guilt of taking a case this close to Christmas and continually delaying the construction of the tree to where he had to send you to your parents under the pretense that he wouldn’t be home until late on Christmas Eve, of all things, just so he could sneak in and do it all himself.

But now he couldn’t stop seeing the amused light in your eyes when he’d opened the sweater, your elbow nudging his stomach and cheering, “I have one too! We can match, if you want…”

Yoongi did want to. Now and always. Last names, glittering metal bands, cat sweaters, and all.

He replaced the star on the dining table with your folded sweater, a bit crumpled from being smashed behind a box of his boots, but the grey kitten smiled nonetheless as he plopped a shiny red bow on the corner of the fabric.

The shards of the artificial tree once snagged on Yoongi’s sweater pooled around his socks when he stretched to place the top third of the tree in place. His torso scratched against the limbs, rolled as far as the arches in his feet would allow. With a grunt and a semi dangerous totter of the entire structure, the top was on the tree while a fine layer of sweat beaded across his brow.

“Lights,” He muttered to himself, swiping at his forehead with the cuff of his sweater. “I need lights—” Yoongi paused, index finger lifted, as if pondering the weather or at the very least speaking to someone, “—or music. I need music first.”

He managed to connect the wireless speakers stationed between the rungs of the balcony upstairs, cascading a playlist he found titled Holiday Tunes down into the glowing warmth of the living room. Yoongi clapped, triumphant.

“Okay. Now lights.”

He found them buried underneath a quilted stocking, an unopened package of shatterproof ornaments, and three different stems of mistletoe. He considered the short stalks of green clutched in his palm, the red bow hand tied at the end with ends tickling at the underside of his wrist.

“Couldn’t hurt…” Yoongi squinted, the towering doorway in the threshold from the garage to the hallway arched and daunting for someone who could barely reach his favorite coffee cup in the kitchen cabinet. “Right? Right.”

For once, he wished he were tripping over Holly so that his nonsensical ramblings could at least be heard by someone.

He managed to tape the mistletoe with a half tacky piece he found pasted on top of the (empty) dispenser you kept in a drawer filled with grill lighters and a half opened box of plastic spoons and the spare key to the car you traded in two months ago. Only the bottom link of his spine seemed to be pulled from how high he’d had to stretch after dragging over the leather upholstered footstool and balanced socked feet in the center.

Yoongi found himself tangled in three strands of lights, all connected, two that were half on, tiny twinkling lights burning hot through his black slacks as he pulled out kinks in the braided wire, leaving them in an equally messy pile on the floor. One strand, the one that worked completely, barely covered the circumference of the hulking bottom of the tree and he was halfway through dragging a new strand out from the blue tinted tub (one he thought was red rather than “bright white” but he was willing to take the gamble) when he swore the garage door was opening.

Holly found him first, toenails clacking down the length of the hall and skidding sideways into the door frame before letting out a delighted yip! and stumbling straight into his shins. The wire of the lights was still secured in Yoongi’s front teeth as he crouched, roughing gentle palms across the puppy’s muzzle until you rounded the corner, propping your shoulder against the door frame.

He met your accusing gaze with wide eyes and rounded lips, the perfect circle of his mouth causing the lights to tumble out and drape across Holly’s neck. “Hi!” He chirped, brushing the lights of his wriggling puppy with a nervous smile, “How was dinner—”

“We drove by your office,” You pushed yourself up, taking a scuffing step closer, “and you weren’t there.”

Yoongi worried the inside of his cheek into his molars, “I was. I came home early.”

You hummed, “I can see that—”

You were cut off by the brunt of his torso smacking into you, arm circumventing your waist, hand clutching yours as he swayed you in a dramatic circle. Something festive but softer floated down from the speakers but his guiding footsteps barely followed the beat anyway, socked feet nudging at your slightly chilled ones.

“You really thought I’d leave you home alone on Christmas?” Yoongi’s gums blinded your heart a bit, arm squeezing you tighter against him as he corrected, “Our first Christmas together, might I add.”

“This isn’t our first—”

His thumb and index finger twisting at the band on your second finger from the left had your heart stuttering into the base of your throat. “This ring was a little different last Christmas,” He mused, centering the diamond to lace your fingers again.

“You spent too much…”

“I’ll buy you three more,” Yoongi squeezed your palm, “We can renew our vows twice a year, if you want.”

“I don’t,” You grinned when he feigned offense, pressing your face against his chest, “Can’t top the best day of my life.”

His chest rumbled with a scratchy laugh, chin on top of your head as he directed your blind figure out of the living room to the tune of some song featuring the tinkle of bells and Holly’s high stepping claws against the hardwood. “I got you an early present,” He mused, dropping your hand to reach for your half wrinkled sweater on the dining table.

Your eyebrows furled for barely a second, fond annoyance meeting the roll of your eyes as you opened and let the hem of the sweater fall. “I bought this,” You jabbed an index finger into his stomach, “and this one.”

“Just put it on.”

“I didn’t go to my parents, by the way,” You cocked an eyebrow at him after shoving your head through the slightly too small hole, threads snapping in the process. You centered the sleeves of your sweater over your watch and bracelets while picking your hair out of places it shouldn’t be, watching him with a tiny, knowing smile.

“Why?”

You hummed, plucking absently at some leftover pine needles still taking residency on his chest, “Didn’t want to hear my mom tell me how you’re too busy for me.”

Yoongi curled his index finger underneath your chin, pressing his lips gently to yours. “Hmm, I am,” He rolled his eyes in time with you, pecking down your chin to the pulse point on your neck, “I have a tree to decorate.”

You snorted, letting him pull you in messy, looping circles back into the living room. “Do you?”

“I’ve been busy, miss,” The tree appeared to weep when his wincing gaze sliced over to it, taking in the lopsided top that he hadn’t quite secured and the singular strand of lights that was buried much too far into the artificial limbs, plug in to add the next strand nowhere to be seen and the lights he’d half untangled still red. Not white. “I mean, I didn’t think you’d come home just yet so I—”

You placed a gentle palm on Yoongi’s cheek, leaving a tender kiss to him lips.

“It’s perfect.”

His nose wrinkled, chin cocking just enough to brush the tip against yours, “Is it?”

“No,” You pecked his mouth again, “but we can fix it.”

“I got it inside, at least?” Yoongi’s eyes twinkled a bit as he cheered, “and I put up mistletoe!”

You followed the path of his pointing finger, only to find the spot he was referring to void of any green foliage. Instead, that piece laid in a sad lump on the floor, Holly’s nose buried against the stem as he danced on top of the leaves at his newest discovery.

“We can fix that, too but…” You shrugged, “You better kiss me, reverse the bad luck of letting it touch the floor.”

“Oh, is that the rule?”

“You’re the lawyer, Yoon.”

#min yoongi #bts #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts scenario #bts imagine #yoongi imagine #min yoongi imagine #yoongi imagines #yoongi scenario #yoongi scenarios #yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #bts x reader #yoongi fluff #:'-)#i cant believe i finished all of these kind of on time #tbh #lawyer yoongi

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escapefromarchoncastle · 5 years

Text

Chapter One – Archon Castle Is Not What It Seems

Terry trudged up the gravel path, already dreading Archon Castle was not going to live up to the promotional material. The ravens and vultures, perched like Halloween ornaments on a sprawling oak tree, looked embarrassingly fake. Bald patches of black plastic gleamed between the glued-on feathers. He should have figured. His parents had warned him. At fifteen, he was no longer a child. It was stupid to believe magic existed outside of camera tricks and CGI. Yet he held onto a fraying thread of hope, the same way he had with Santa Claus each Christmas until he was nearly in middle school.

A caw loud as a falcon’s screech startled him. He stopped at the edge of the trail and gawked up. The blackbirds had come alive. They fluttered their wings, still looking a bit mangy. They stared down at him as if they were sizing up their next meal. Terry continued walking, more slowly now, and glancing over his shoulder at each odd sound in the woods. None of the other hundred-odd kids traipsing along the same trail appeared at all spooked. They all had eager expressions on their faces, eyes wide as if they’d never seen trees in their wild habitat before.

The stone walls of the castle came into view above the canopy of evergreen trees. Terry felt his breath sucking deep into his lungs at the imposing sight. Archon Castle sat atop a black, craggy cliff, menacing and ancient. Clouds had gathered overhead. Mist swirled around. He came around a bend and trail ended at a drawbridge flanked by a pair of watchtowers. The top of a turret beyond had crumbled as if a bad-tempered giant had kicked at it. Even after studying countless pictures online, Terry still found it hard to believe such a castle existed in West Virginia of all places. It looked as though it belonged off the coast of Ireland or had come from another realm.

A large boy bumped against Terry. Terry did his best to ignore him as he bumped against him a second time. Probably Chad. Terry’d noticed him in the parking lot earlier, picking a fight with an Asian boy until his dad called him away. Again he found himself staring at the castle, filled with an uncanny sensation he was being drawn into another time and place. The walls looked so ancient. Rock had crumbled away from the narrow arrow slits. Most of the tiles on top of the watchtowers were cracked or missing. The wooden timbers used for the drawbridge must be over a thousand years old. The trail turned sharply and descended again. The castle was no longer in their view.

“Hey. You.”

Sweat trickled down Terry’s spine as he braved a glance. Chad’s eyes were locked on someone else thankfully, a small blond boy with a bad haircut. Terry froze, unsure what to do. He wasn’t one to take on bullies, but this kid was half Chad's size. Terry's hands curled into fists. His fingers flexed. He used to be the little guy everyone had picked on but he’d grown quite a bit since the seventh grade. Chad wasn’t that big; he could take him. Terry had fantasized, repeatedly, of exactly this scenario where he’d seize the bully by his shoulder, force him around, and land a hard boxer’s punch to knock him out cold.

Paralyzed with indecision, he watched Chad grab onto the boy’s yellow tennis shirt and pull it over his head. The boy went to head-butt him, missed, and plowed into a red-haired girl. Enraged, she let out a shriek and tore at both of them, her fingers like bared claws. Terry ducked away from the melee and stood on the grass verge. He was about to pull Chad off the boy when a man in long black robes fluttered up to them.

“ENOUGH!” the man roared, grabbing Chad by the scruff of his hoodie. “Any more of this and you won’t be wondering whether this castle has a dungeon.”

Chad went pale. His body quivered. Eyes bugged out, he stammered, “Y-y-yeah. S-suh-sir.”

The blond boy pulled his yellow shirt back down, smoothed his hair, and gulped as if he were staring into the face of Death. “I’m sorry mister.”

The scuffle was over. Terry’s chance at a moment of glory had passed. Disappointed and yet also relieved, he secured the strap of his backpack against his shoulder and got back on the gravel trail. The man in black was gone as quickly as he’d appeared. Chad and some of the others craned their heads around, brows furrowed, until someone pointed out a shadow slinking through the trees. The tall dark figure was moving way too fast and smoothly for it to be a person running. Terry's skin flushed with excitement––the man was flying! He was only a foot or two off the ground, but still, he was skimming into the woods like a hovercraft.

The trail veered upward again. Terry wondered if they were ever going to reach the gates. The last he’d glimpsed, the castle had looked so close and now he could see nothing again but pine and fir trees.

“Oh my God, this is Archon Castle?” a girl’s dismayed voice cried somewhere up ahead. “What a dump!”

Terry caught up with her at the top of the hill and stared ahead, dismayed. She wasn’t kidding. To say this castle was in disrepair was like saying a bombed-out ruin just needed a little fixing up. The entire western wall had crumbled to rubble. The castle still looked as if it had been built much earlier than the mid-1800s, and had been under siege for most of it.

He gulped and eyed the sagging roof of the keep. He’d seen abandoned farmhouses in better condition. The gatehouse was even more dilapidated. The tower on the left had partially collapsed. The timbers keeping the tower on the right propped up looked about as sturdy as twigs for a hermit shack. A sewer-like stench wafted into his nostrils. The stink was coming from the swampy, algae-filled moat.

“May I have your attention!” a surly voice called. Different from the one who’d broken up that fight. Everyone huddled together, keeping their distance from the figure in front of the gatehouse. He also wore a black cloak, his face hidden in the shadows of his hood. His arms were raised up high so that he formed the shape of a cross. He looked more like the figure of Death than a wizard. All he was missing was a scythe. “Once you have passed onto the grounds of Archon castle, you will be unable to leave before summer end. I strongly advise anyone wishing to turn back, to do so now.”

A boy on Terry’s left raised his hand.

“Yes?”

The boy gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Do we get a refund, sir?”

“NO.”

Terry was torn. All his life he’d dreamt of becoming a wizard. Yet his parents were practical people, who stressed the importance of having a backup plan no matter what dreams you aspired to. Although not quite ready to let go of his childish fantasies, he did have an alternative career in mind. He’d be a journalist. That way if he failed at becoming a wizard this summer, he’d have a good story to write about. His Uncle Pete said the boilerplate non-disclosure form Terry’d had to sign was bull-puckey. If he turned back now, he’d have nothing. He watched Chad whisper to the one asking about the refund.

More loudly Chad said, “Only welfare cases think ten grand is a lot of money. Let’s blow this joint!” Chad patted the boy’s shoulder and the two of them began jogging back down the trail. It figured, bullies were always the biggest wimps. Another two dozen or so followed.

“Good riddance,” a dark haired girl whispered in a singsong voice to no one in particular. “The fewer people who go inside, the higher my own chance of becoming an initiate.”

She had a point. She began striding forward and Terry followed her onto the drawbridge. A sharp, cracking sound sent stabs of terror into his chest as a plank gave way beneath his foot. He stumbled onto a sturdier plank, and stayed put until his heart was no longer pounding against his rib-cage. He looked down. Through a gap between two rotting planks, he could see rusted spikes jutting out of the algae below. He also caught sight of an odd ripple on the surface near a patch of lily pads.

“Oh my, that was close,” the girl said. She, too, was staring down at the spikes. She looked up at Terry, wide-eyed. She grinned, her face flushed with excitement. “We nearly died!”

“Um, yes,” he said for the sake of saying something. He looked up, and immediately regretted doing so. The bottom of the portcullis suspended in the archway he was passing under had spikes like iron teeth about to chomp down on them.

“What are those holes up there?” She pointed at a series of charred holes in the ceiling, each about a foot in diameter.

“Murder holes,” Terry answered. “If invaders managed to storm the gates, soldiers would pour cauldrons of boiling oil onto them.”

“What a way to go!” She made sure to avoid walking directly under any large holes the rest of the way. So did Terry. Archon Castle was definitely creepy—it felt creepy—and not in a good way like a haunted house theme park, but in a bad way like a car following at a walking pace just a few feet behind.

The girl continued along, testing her weight on each plank before stepping onto it fully. Terry followed right behind her. Being heavier, he had to be even more careful going across. He’s already had one break from under him. He glanced over his shoulder and figured they were halfway along. Several had already given and were heading back up the trail.

Terry was tempted to join them. But this might be his only chance to learn any form of magic, the only place that mysterious online message had said it existed. Real magic was supposed to be scary. In the material that had accompanied his application forms, the first line explicitly stated that this camp was not for the faint of heart. And, according to Uncle Pete, the waivers his parents had had to sign assuring Archon Castle LLC that Terry was in good health, were ironclad.

He edged forward, tensing with each step and then breathing a sigh of relief as the boards held. Rusty chains creaked. The drawbridge shuddered beneath his feet. Behind him, a voice called, “Get a move on!” They were raising the bridge already! Terry leapt along the firmest looking planks until he was safely on solid ground again. Others pressed against him as they were herded into a courtyard. The drawbridge was rising more quickly now. He watched at least two dozen kids clamber back over it with the desperation of last-minute Christmas shoppers. Fighting the urge to follow them, he reminded himself that the more people who chickened out, the fewer he’d have to compete with.

The drawbridge closed with a thud. The ground shook like a small earthquake. He even felt that same queer liquid sensation under his feet that he'd experienced back home in California a few times.

Dreading whatever he’d just gotten himself into, he turned to face the castle. And gasped. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and gawked around in amazement. The surrounding buildings now looked as though they’d been created for a theme park they were in such good condition! The massive rectangular keep stood tall and proud, weathered just enough to assure Terry it was nearly two centuries old. The whitewashed plaster on the rambling Tudor-style buildings to his left gleamed in the noonday sun. The earlier decrepitude must have been an illusion to frighten away the weak-willed. Pride swelled him at the thought he may have passed his first test, though it deflated just as quickly.

“Form a line side by side!” a deep voice barked. A hand gripped Terry’s shoulder, icy through the thick fabric of his t-shirt. The man was an Adept, dressed in a crimson silk robe with gold stars embossed along the hem. A shadow fell over Terry and cool, slippery fabric slid down over his head and arms. He was then jerked around and shoved next to a girl in a light blue robe. The same dark-haired girl who’d been in front of him as they crossed the drawbridge. Terry looked down to see he was now wearing a similar robe.

“Why does it have to be blue?” she mumbled, bunching the fabric in her fists. On her feet she wore a pair of pink and white polka dot flip flops. “Blue is a boy’s colour.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Terry said. “My sister’s favourite colour is a light—”

“QUIET!” the same Adept who’d grabbed his shoulder yelled. “Everyone form a line.”

Terry stood behind the girl. The Adept snatched his shoulders again and made him stand next to her. “A side by side line.”

“Wouldn’t that be a row?” She jerked back as if she’d been slapped across her face, yet the Adept’s hand hadn’t moved anywhere near her. She scowled, rubbed her cheek, and glowered at Terry.

“It wasn’t me.” Terry waited until the Adept was out of earshot. “I think he used his Astral hand on you.” He tried to remember what else he’d read about Astral combat. Everything he’d brushed up on the past few weeks was beginning to blur.

“This place is awfully sexist,” she whispered and Terry nodded. Whenever that word came up he’d been trained from early childhood to nod and say nothing. “I only see ten other girls here. Fifteen at most. Though you did make a good point about blue. Cerulean is a lovely shade. And so is lapis lazuli.”

Already she was getting on his nerves. Hoping she’d take a hint, Terry fixed his gaze at the row of Adepts assembling across from them. They stood at the base of a square stone tower that dwarfed everyone in the courtyard. A portly Master Adept, in a burgundy robe covered in gold and black squiggly marks, stepped forward. He pulled back his hood. He had jowls like a St. Bernard and wisps of white hair sprung from his head in a feathery crown. “Welcome to Wizard Camp,” he said. His voice sounded like a bulldozer with engine trouble. “As you may already be aware, I am Quindalore the Querulous, Learned Master Adept of the Order of Nine.”

An Adept behind Quindalore coughed lightly into his fist. According to Archon Castle’s own website, the Order of Nine was down to seven. The fate of the missing two was unknown. According to a thread on the unofficial Archon Castle forum, one of the Order had ascended into a Being of Pure Light and Energy, while another claimed he’d run off with an underage neophyte. Terry knew what underage implied, but not neophyte, though he assumed it was equally as lurid.

“Presently,” Master Adept Quindalore said, “there are a hundred and six of you joining us today, of which three will be invited to become Initiates. Initiation is the first step on the path to becoming a wizard proper. Sixty-eight of you, so far, turned back at the drawbridge.”

Everyone chuckled uncomfortably like someone had just farted during a funeral speech. Terry glanced around, dismayed. With everyone massed together, he realised how terrible his odds actually were. Roughly two percent. Then again, if everyone was able to grasp the true odds of success in any endeavour, no one would take risks.

Quindalore continued, “During the next two months you will learn basic spell casting, rune reading, dowsing and divining, and, before anyone asks, there will be no handling any wands.”

“Do we get to summon demons?” a voice piped up. A boy around ten or eleven, with a blond pudding bowl haircut, grinned eagerly. The collar of his canary-yellow t-shirt poked from under his blue robe. The boy Chad had been bullying.

“NO!” There wasn’t much force behind Quindalore’s voice, but the volume was deafening.

Terry gulped. He had questions, loads of questions, and decided it would be wiser to let other kids do the asking.

“For the time being you will each be assigned a group number. The Adept in charge of your group will show you to your sleeping quarters. We will meet back here in precisely half an hour for your orienteering session.”

Orienteering session didn’t sound frightening; it was the sort of thing his dad did for a living. But it was the way Quindalore had said it that made the hairs of his arms stand on end.

The poppy-robed Adepts split apart. They each carried an iron cauldron hanging from the crooks of their arms with the ease of an empty picnic basket. Super-human strength would be cool to learn, Terry thought. His parents had bought him a weight set, but he kept forgetting to use them.

The Adepts proceeded to take slips of paper out from their cauldrons, pinning one to each of the blue robes nearest them.

“I wonder how they select us,” the girl next to Terry said. “We’re being assigned different numbers.” She had fine brownish-black hair that went past her shoulders and a nearly perfect profile. He hated when he noticed such things in a girl. Especially ones who got on his nerves.

Leaning close enough for him to smell the strawberry scent of her hair, she rasped, “Matching vibrational energy, do you think? Or maybe they can see auras in broad daylight!”

Terry said nothing. He had no idea what vibrational energy involved and didn’t want her thinking he was stupid. Besides, he doubted there was any deliberate selection process at all. Each adept was speeding through with the efficiency of a factory production line. Once they were done, Terry and the girl looked down, then they looked at each other.

“We’ve been assigned the same number. But it had been different Adepts who had …” She stared off, as if she’d seen the first crack in what she’d always thought was solid ground beneath her feet and was afraid to check if it was widening. Terry didn’t care; he was just happy he’d been assigned a lucky number. Nothing was luckier than seven, surely.

“Number sevens, follow me!” A female adept with close-set eyes signalled to them and marched towards a set of low stone buildings beyond the square tower. A couple of reddish horses with black manes were tied to a post near the side entrance. One of them snorted and stamped its hoof as Terry filed after the other twenty-odd kids into the building. The coolness after the hot noonday sun was refreshing but inside it was damp, dark, and reeked of manure.

They were led past a maze of horse stalls into a large, rectangular room with stone walls and a peaked wood ceiling. Sunlight slanted in through high, small windows, giving the place a subterranean feel. Here the stench of manure wasn't as overpowering, more like a room where people had been smoking cigars the night before and figured opening one window a crack was enough to air the place out. The stink was bearable.

The Adept turned on a switch next to the entrance. Floodlights attached to the wooden beams above flickered as if each of them wanted to keep hitting the snooze button before finally getting up and doing their job of illuminating the room.

“Oh no,” Terry said in a hushed voice as he looked around. Surely their beds weren't going to be ... blankets on top of bales of straw? He already knew he'd be sleeping in far less comfort than he was accustomed to. It wasn’t canopied feather beds he’d been expecting. But he was positive one of the online pictures had showed rows of hammocks, and in another he’d seen cosy little cots similar to ones in his grandfather’s summer cottage. These accommodations were what tourist brochures worldwide described as rustic, looking wonderfully quaint until you got there and discovered half the walls were missing.

He blinked and rubbed his eyes. Unlike after the drawbridge had closed, nothing changed. All the beds consisted of three bales of straw secured together with thick twine. A pair of scratchy-looking burlap blankets lay folded on top of each one. At the foot of each––he was loath to call them beds––was a slab of rough wood. No pillow, no storage box, and what if it got cold at night?

"No pillows?" the girl next to him whined.

The Adept traced a vaguely figure eight symbol in the air with her index finger.

"ALL RIGHT THEN," her voice boomed, shaking the rafters. She traced something else in the air and more quietly said, "One cot per person. Later this afternoon, leftover apple crates will be arriving for you to store your things in."

The same boy who'd asked about Demon summoning went up to her. "Which one's mine?"

"Any of them—just choose one per person," she said in the same irritated tone of voice his sister would use whenever she was waiting for some boy to call her back. “You neophytes get worse every year, I swear.”

A memory sprung up in Terry’s mind like a jack-in-the-box head popping out of its compartment. Of course, a neophyte was the level below Initiate. There were several other ranks above that. Junior Adept, Adept and Senior Adept followed, then onto more complex, important-sounding titles that rivalled those of a large bank or advertising firm.

“What’s your name?” the same boy asked. The pudding bowl haircut made him immune to non-verbal cues that would terrify other kids, Terry reckoned. With hair like that, he’d probably grown a very thick skin. If the school he went to was anywhere like Rosedale High, he’d need it.

“My friends, my parents, and my mentors, call me Natasha,” the Adept said, her shadow growing into that of a giant behind her. “To you, my little worm, I am Miss Huston. Don’t. Wear. It out.”

He quivered away from her.

Everyone else stood frozen like pieces on a chessboard. Seeing his chance at securing the best spot, Terry dodged around to the bundle of straw in the farthest corner. The rest elbowed their ways towards the remaining corners. Guarding his makeshift bed, Terry watched a fight break out on the opposite side of the room. A wiry boy was trying to push a larger boy off the spot he’d staked out. Terry sat to watch. He quite enjoyed fights, so long as he wasn’t involved in one himself.

The bigger boy held the other one away with his rod-straight arm, his body well out of range of the flailing fists. “Get lost, Mark—I was here first!” He ducked, sending Mark pitching forward. Before Mark could recover his balance another boy lunged at him, scrabbling at his shoulder and trying to get him into a choke-hold. Miss Huston waved her arms and the three of them flew apart from each other like exploding shrapnel.

Miss Huston addressed the quarreling boys. Her smile had a lot of teeth for someone with such a small mouth. “There’s nothing in the rules saying the two of you can’t share a bed. We wizards are very enlightened as far as romantic preferences go.”

“It's yours, cry-baby.” Mark gave the smaller boy a shove, then went to the cot in the remaining corner and pushed that kid out from it. Miss Huston watched, but said nothing.

"Miss," the girl with pink flip-flops said, tugging Miss Huston’s sleeve.

"What is it?" She wheeled around and glared at her as if the girl had just smeared mud on her nice crimson robe.

"Where are the girls supposed to go?"

"Wherever! It says dorms are co-ed right in the brochure! We do not assume gender at Archon Castle. We're very progressive here. At sixteen surely you're old enough to have acquired immunity to boy germs."

The girl swallowed and stared around, her gaze passing Terry without a glimmer of expectation. He wasn’t relieved though; he felt sad for her. Four other girls had chosen spots next to each other on the far side of the room from him, and they glared at her in that way girls glare at anyone who Does Not Belong. Mean girls, like his sister and her friends. The place next to Terry was still empty, so he rose and gestured at the spot he’d staked out. How could he not offer it under the circumstances. "You can stay here if you want. I ... I have a sister so ... I’m already used to …"

She kept her head bowed and went to stand on the far side of the one next to his, meeting his chivalric gesture halfway. He tossed his backpack into the corner and sat again.

"I'll leave you to settle in. We will meet back in the courtyard in twenty-five minutes, where you will be given your very first lesson. In alchemy," Miss Huston said, and left.

Terry’s burning excitement at the sound of the word alchemy was doused by the sight of the girl sitting on the edge of the bed next to his, facing away from him and sobbing. Crying was always more painful to watch when all you could see was their back and shoulders shaking uncontrollably, head turned down.

"I’m Terry. What's your name?" he asked softly. Across from them the other girls were snickering and whispering, hands shielding mouths, eyes wild with malice.

She sniffled. "Katya," she said at last.

"That's a nice name," he said, again for the sake of something to say. There wasn't much a bully could do with a name like that. It didn't rhyme with anything nasty like Terry Fairy or hairy Terry. The worst they could do was Fatya, but she was too slim for that to work as an insult.

She didn't respond, not that he had expected her too. It would be rude to ask her to stop crying, so he turned his attention to spreading the thin blankets out on top the bales. He lay down and bits of straw prodded his neck and ankles. Thankfully the robe’s fabric was thick. In half an hour he’d be learning his first ever magic. Alchemy. He imagined a laboratory full of bubbling beakers and alembics, watching in awe as mysterious steaming substances flowed through networks of glass pipes into copper stills. Alchemy.

#wizard #wizardschool #chosenone #learningmagic #fantasy #fantasy fiction #fantasyfiction #fantasy novel #magical creatures #alchemy #corruption #adventure #male protagonist #underdog #wizards #adepts #schoolofmagic #inverted tropes #books

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sgnjongin · 5 years

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we live and lie by the skin of our teeth

-the past-

the first time kim jongin ever sees song yoori, she is in the library and she has no idea he even exists at all.

he’s here against his will, the aisles of books and towers of silence spreading away from him in wave after wave, like ocean currents rippling steadily outward, unable to be grasped by him or his uninterested gaze. he doesn’t understand the allure of the library, the meaning of it, the swallowing quiet of it, as though all sound gets caught by proofed walls, the forest of decapitated trees a hallowed graveyard that demands stillness and hushed concentration; two things which have never been jongin’s strong suit.

even at fifteen, jongin is a creature of noise and fury, his teeth clicking together as though he’s biting at the air, his fingers fidgeting and itching across the spines of books, his feet threading him through one shelf, then another and another aimlessly. he’s making his way towards the construction section, the small, cornered space dedicated to the perfected lines of buildings and roofing and wood products over ceramics. he’s in no hurry to reach it though, only barely paying attention, not because he likes the library but because when he leaves here, he’s been commanded to return straight home.

home, where the pillars of his father’s voice echo inside his head like a death knell, home where the walls are bloodied aorta valves, pumping the disease of his life through every crevice and foundational brick, only to regurgitate it back up at him later.

he takes his time, seeing none of the books, meandering all the way to the back and then frowning at how small the section is once he finds it, how ill-kept. the high school library is prestigious enough he supposes, but apparently not flawless. he sighs and crouches to reach some of the titles, blinking a little stupidly at a few of the korean words– it’s been so long since he’s had to read korean instead of french.

french is a superior language and he misses hearing it daily, but that’s a bridge that’s already been burned. very literally to the ground.

he starts yanking books from the shelf one at a time after he reads the titles, no intention of putting them back, letting them clomp the three centimeters to the ground, the mess growing satisfyingly, but stops suddenly as he hears a giggle. he twists to look over his shoulder and then peers through the backless racks, spotting the crumpled form of another human on the far end of the aisle, a blue hoodie and a high updo on the head of a young girl.

his frown deepens as he struggles with opposing sides of his brain– one end telling him it’s not worth it to pick a fight with some nobody right now, don’t want to drop out of another school again this early in the semester; the other end suspicious and paranoid that she’s laughing at him. he can’t stand the idea of someone mocking him, he can’t let that slide– he still has a reputation to form for himself in this country, like he did in the last one.

he abandons the chaotic stacks he’s made of the books, their pages crumpled and forgotten against each other, to slide over closer to where the girl sits, finally able to see that she’s curled up on the floor, surrounded by her own towers of books, symmetrical and far more categorical than his. she has one open on her lap, her knees bent up to support it, one hand on the page, the other absentmindedly toying with her earring.

she bites her lower lip in an effort not to laugh again at whatever she’s reading and he feels a little silly for his previous self-consciousness. of course she has nothing to do with him, the school barely knows his name yet, he’s never met this girl in his life.

at this point, he knows he should leave her alone, and to hear him tell it years later, he will admit to only the first part of this story: that he sees her in the library, reading in the back like a nerd, and then goes about his own business, dismissing her in the same breath he’s found her in. unremarkable and bland, it would be a trivial, blank interaction, one-sided and dull, and not the point of this story at large.

he will never tell of the length of time he kneels here, watching her as she ignores him, watching her as she pours herself into her own little world, into her own closed off space, all the pieces of herself fully attached and unbroken, completed and unscarred. she sits there like she is her own person, not a shade or a crack to mark her, to tear at her edges, to poison her blood. he watches her for longer than he’ll ever admit in his life, knowing that she has good dreams at night when she sleeps, knowing that she has never had to harm anything living that loved her; no guilt, no horror, no spilled blood.

she looks like peace incarnate, and it punches a hole through jongin’s chest like a yawning pit of quicksand, the differences between them despairingly evident, and for one single prolonged moment, he doesn’t want to scratch the surface of her life with his taloned fingers, he doesn’t want to destroy. she sits and reads and he thinks she is a dweeb, but he also thinks he would set the whole world on fire to have just a second, a tiny, minuscule moment, of that same sort of peace.

tw: animal death

the second time kim jongin sees song yoori, she is standing on the other side of his dining room, a distinct contrast of solid colored clothing against the garish decorations of his mother’s household. this room in particular is a lavish green and bronze and wood trimming ensemble, overly ornate with intricate carvings along the walls, a fireplace, lush chairs, and a massive, beautiful oak table at its center, pulling all the elements together. it swallows up even the liveliest of guests, and the song family are no match for its heavy, overbearing tones.

yoori stands with her mother and her father off to one end, jongin with his parents on the other, the dining set untouched between them, and before any of them have even gotten past the amicable introductions, jongin knows what this is. his mother is all grace and softly spoken words, welcoming them with a dove-like presence, like a spider to a fly, while his father bows and stays stiff yet polite off to the side, but neither of them have to explain fully what deal is about to go down here, and how little a choice jongin will have in the matter.

he should have known sooner. he should have refused when they’d told him to dress well tonight, to expect visitors tonight, to be on his best behavior tonight. he should have picked up on the small, subtle hints his mother has been dripping on him lately, about girls and stability and plans for the future; about how he ought to look further ahead to see the greater picture, despite still only being a child by most of the world’s standards.

then again, he hasn’t been allowed to be a child in many, many years.

by seven, he’d watched all his toys go into the same fireplace that crackles and sparks now off to his left, their plastic figures melting and charring away, the pretty colors fusing into something brown and black and hideously disfigured. by ten, he’d come to understand that having no nanny at all was better than having the ones who screamed and ran from the house, ran from their money, ran from his father.

he glances down at the massive table in the heart of the room, the grains spiraling down towards the middle from the outer edges and remembers sobbing as he’d scrubbed it clean of the blood, suds and salt water mixing, his hands red and raw. his father had given him a dog for his birthday and let him keep it for a whole year, before making him kill it in the same place the cooks delivered and set down trays of food for dinner that evening.

“if you don’t do it, i will,” his father had threatened, his hiss tickling jongin’s ear, “and i’ll make it a lot more painful to watch.”

a few months afterward, they’d brought another dog home, fluffier, happier, innocent. that had ended badly too, but what stays with jongin the most is the way his father had looked at him, smiled at him encouragingly, each time he’d brought a new pet into the house, each time he’d introduced it to jongin, knowing full well where these roads would lead to. what he would make jongin do. over and over; a dog, a bird, a rabbit, until they’d given him a cat and he’d secretly released it into the wild, before presenting a knife to his father covered in his own blood instead. after that, he’d spent months convincing his mother to send him off to france for middle school.

when he looks up from the table, into his father’s eyes, that look is still there, that kindly, distant smile, almost a sneer, a darkness around his irises that mirrors jongin’s own potential for evil. go on, those eyes tell him, as they had too many times before, take your gift.

jongin looks at yoori, and sees not the girl in the library with pretty pink lips and an atmosphere of calm tranquility, her soft, long fingers, her fluttering eyelashes. he doesn’t see her determination or fortitude, doesn’t see her resentment or frustrations, doesn’t see her struggle or her resignation. he stops seeing her as anything that had belonged to him for a single, brief instant in a quiet nook of the school library only weeks prior, something no one would ever need to know about, something that would never touch her the way it touched him, never scar her.

instead, he sees her the way his father sees her, the way his mother sees her, and hates her for it. charming little song yoori, bookish and feeble, presented before him like meat on a platter ready to be carved into, cut from limb to limb, stabbed and butchered and strangled and drained. this is an offering to be slaughtered, an opportunity to prove what he’s learned in his fifteen years of life in the kim family household. his father’s eyes say go on, say take it, say if you don’t do it, i will.

and i’ll make it a lot more painful to watch.

jongin has a set of rules for survival in his life. rule four is to not flinch in front of his father. rule eight is to never love what can be killed.

jongin’s stare hardens into a seething glare, his atmosphere darkening like a thunderstorm. the hole she’d opened up inside him widens and deepens ever more. he hates her, he hates her, he hates her.

“nice to meet you, kim jongin,” she says to him, her voice crystalline and clear, unafraid and untimid.

“a pleasure,” he responds back, and it sounds like a threat.

#| ♠ blasphemy welcome ( feed into the 9th circle ) |#drabble | we live and lie by the skin of our teeth #tw: animal death #a nasty little look into the kim family household #beware this is pretty long

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nomadicism · 6 years

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Any tips or things to keep in mind while writing a original mecha story? What about for original mecha stories aimed at a female audience? (Like ones that are more character focused, but have some Real Robot elements like TLGG, Gunbuster, Eva or Macross)

Hi Anon! Thank you for the Ask!

I’m more of an analytical and academic writer, but hopefully I can be of help anyway.

General Tips

1. If you haven’t already, ask yourself these questions:

What kind of mecha story? For myself (and I think this is true of a lot of mecha fans), “mecha is a genre”—but—it’s not a genre that happens in a vacuum. Both Real Robot and Super Robot can take place in hard science fiction settings as well as fantasy settings with magic.

What kind of writing? Short story, long form novel, novel series (light and long form), poetry, experimental formats, sequential illustration formats (e.g. comics, manga), plays, television/film/animation, etc.

Have you read a mecha story that was not in sequential illustration format?

And now I really want to read/listen to a mecha story in Middle English with iambic pentameter. It could have a name like: “Overwalken Searshaft: Caunterbury Legendes.”

(yes English nerds, that title is some sloppy Anglish smooshed with Middle English but you get the idea)

2. Most people are introduced to mecha via anime, manga, or film; and so are likely to not have read mecha stories in a non-visual format. When a show is scripted, there is a lot of writing that goes into describing scenes that we don’t think about because we’re seeing/hearing the visual and audial representation of that writing.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, how many words is a single frame worth? Without any context, what do you think is happening in the gif above? How would you describe this less than 3 seconds of action if you were writing it?

I recommend that you read a few novels or short stories that involve mecha or giant robots of one kind or another. They might not be the type of story you’re planning on writing, but they should help with deciding on how much detail you want to go into when writing scenes with mecha (action or otherwise).

Here’s a few to try:

The Pacific Rim film novelization by Alexander Irvine.

The Del-Ray Robotech novels by Jack McKinney. Skip the ones that are about events in the Robotech cartoon—they are all good—but I recommend reading the ones that are fully original, (books #13-17).

“The Relic” by Jonathan Green is a short story within the “Legends of the Space Marines” series from Warhammer 40K. In Warhammer 40k, a “Space Marine Dreadnought” is a powerful Real Robot mecha. One doesn’t need to know the entire mythos of Warhammer 40k to understand the story.

“Mobile Suit Gundam: Awakening, Escalation, Confrontation” by Yoshiyuki Tomino. This book is the English translation and compilation of the three light novels that Tomino wrote. It covers the MS Gundam 0079 story, but with added detail (more about New Types, politics of the Zabi family, etc), and is much darker than the anime.

All of the above are Real Robot mecha under different levels of “science-fiction hardness" and settings. I cannot think of any novels or short stories that are about Super Robots, but they probably exist.

Two Specific Things

1. World-building will need lore and rules for the mecha. Even hand-wavey science-fiction or fantasy-with-magic settings have rules about who can pilot a mecha, how it’s done, what materials the mecha is constructed from, its power source, how it moves, how the pilot(s) perceive the world around them while piloting the mecha, its weapon and defense capabilities, etc. The harder the science-fiction, the more constraints are imposed, and will likely require real world research to help describe it.

For example: Gravity is a Thing. Some Super Robots can fly in such a way that they can easily leave Earth’s atmosphere at or above escape velocity and do battle in multiple types of different gravity environments (e.g. Godmars vs Getter Robo). It’s hand-waved and not really thought about. This happens in Real Robot too, but there are many Real Robot stories that use gravity limitations, while hand-waving other things (not all giant robots can fly).

As shown above—in Gundam 00—the Gundams can do battle in space and LOE (zero gravity and Low Earth Orbit), and also in mid-air (atmosphere) and on the ground. That’s the hand-wavy part, because if we think through the physics of this, a machine optimized for aerial combat at Earth gravity (1G) is probably not going to be optimized for combat in LOE, in space, or in gravity conditions that are less than Earth’s (e.g. the Moon, Mars, etc). The Gundams can fight in all these conditions, but one of their constraints is that they cannot accelerate to escape velocity or shield themselves from high temperature friction during re-entry (atmospheric re-entry is a constraint used throughout the franchise). In Gundam 00, the Gundams have to be transported between surface to space via the space elevators.

Above: One of the things that is a “game changer” for these Gundams within that setting, is that Dynames can use the Super Substratospheric Altitude Gun, capable of hitting an orbital target from a stationery position on Earth’s surface. Use of this weapon comes with additional constraints (power, connection to a network for calculations, etc).

Super Robots can also have constraints. Both the Evas in Evangelion, and the combined form of Dairugger/Vehicle Voltron have a timed operational power limit. Evangelion has a lot of Real Robot elements, so as far as Super Robots go, they’re not very powerful. The more powerful the Super Robot, the harder it is to define a constraint. This is typically where a story hits the “His power level is over 9000!” problem, or “unleashing the full power will destroy the robot, or kill the pilot.”

Which brings us to Specific Thing #2: Why mecha? What problems do the mecha solve for the protagonist? Especially if a story with a lot of character focus is what you’re going for. How much focus do you want to put on the mecha? The answers to those questions are going to help with the lore and rules for the mecha.

Aiming for a Female Audience

I’m probably the worst female-ish person to advise on this because I rarely identify with female characters, especially as a tomboy in the 80s (of course, most of them weren’t written very well to begin with back then). I identify as gender fluid, but the gender binary that I grew up with still shapes my life. My tastes in fiction are all over the place and are probably not representative of a “female audience.”

But I do know that there were a lot of women who liked Gundam from the start. (ʘ‿ʘ✿)

Above: Amuro and Char fight with fencing foils in mid-air.

Any audience can be widely diverse, and not everyone within a demographic (broad or narrow) is going to agree on what they want to see, but it’s safe to assume that a sizable part of a female audience that would be interested in a mecha story is probably going to be Done™ with something that is commonly found in either mecha stories or mainstream science-fiction and fantasy. As to what that specifically is, that can differ quite a bit.

For me, I’m Done™ with “Tits And Camel Toe Out For Mecha” in stories with teen characters that are really just ecchi content with a veneer of a serious story slapped on top with a Gainax Ending.

I’m saying that as someone who loves Go Nagai and Satoshi “Plastic Nipple” Urushihara, and thinks that the Heavy Metal movie (gif above) is a work of art, which probably makes me a hypocrite, but hey, I have standards for my T&A.

I recommend looking at stories that are known to be popular with women, and then look at stories that are known to be popular to specific demographics of women (intersectional identities). They may not be mecha stories, but if they are in the current zeitgeist, then there is something about the narrative, characters, format, etc that might be common between these stories and quantifiable in a way that can help you aim for a female audience. It might be hard to find out what these are beyond a broad female audience, so research will be necessary.

There are much better sources for advice on this than me, so if audience appeal is something that you want to dive into, then you’ve got your work cut out for you.

Character Focused (a grain of salt)

In my biased and totally not expert opinion: the smaller the main cast, the easier it is to have a character focused story (unless you meant “character driven plot”?), and the mecha itself usually gets a lot of attention as that’s more or less the point of the genre.

However, a larger main cast provides more varied opportunities for focusing on character interactions, and more material for plot hooks to support multiple plots that can be structured/threaded in a variety of ways. TV Tropes (not my favorite source, but it’s good enough for this) has a rabbit hole of entries about different types of concurrent plots: Soap Wheel; A-B-C-Plot; Two Lines, No Waiting; Four Lines, All Waiting; etc. These entries are useful for getting outside of one’s head and considering options for how-and-when to introduce and wrap up plots. If character focus is what you want to prioritize, then start with “Soap Wheel,” as soap opera plots are all about character focus and they are a good example of staggering plots in a way that keeps the story going for 20 years or more.

Above: Wolfgang Mittermeyer and Oskar von Reuenthal from Legend of the Galactic Heroes enjoy a drink while scheming. LotGH makes the most of its hundreds of characters with scenes like this. It’s character focus of a different kind. Like Gundam, LotGH has a lot of female fans, but it’s not a show that one would immediately think of that would appeal to a female audience.

Returning to this thing about “character-driven plots”, that’s a concept that I’ve found to be generalized and abstracted to the point where it doesn’t mean anything anymore. A plot-driven story can have a lot of character focus, and most mecha stories are inherently plot-driven (b/c genre), as the mecha is the vehicle for the protagonist to get from Event A to Event B. Mystery and romance genres are an example of plot-driven stories, and in both (but especially romance), there can be a lot of character focus to the point where B and C plots could be “character-driven” if they are about the specific character’s internal change, conflict, growth, some essential part of themselves that demands action, etc.

A mecha story can be structured with a plot-driven long-running A Plot which requires the mecha (so not monster of the week as those are episodic and not long-running), and certain main characters are focused on in such a way that their own internal struggles, conflict, and growth drive B and C plots. It’s up to you if those plots are concurrent, cyclical, or rotate in-and-out of focus.

For example: Aoki Ryūsei SPT Layzner (shown in the gif above) is a Real Robot anime has two sequential long-running A Plots that are plot-driven and focused on the mecha and its pilot (the protagonist). The first A Plot drives the first half of the series, and the second A Plot drives the second half of the series (which was sadly cut short so technically it wasn’t the full second half). There is a time-skip between the A Plots. The protagonist, Eiji, has an internal struggle that is threaded throughout, the focus on him creates the “character-driven” B Plot (who he is, the mystery behind the strange things that happen to him as he pilots the prototype, his conflicting loyalties between both halves of his heritage, how he reconciles his extreme pacifism with being forced to fight and possibly kill, etc). The small main/supporting cast is used effectively as each supporting character interacts with Eiji in such a way that they are integrated into the B Plot for his growth and resolving his internal conflict. The other main/supporting characters have their own struggles and character growth as well, but not quite enough to constitute a “character-driven” plot. The story’s minor C Plot is external and puts pressure upon the A Plot.

For what it’s worth: A truly “character-driven” plot—or story that is fully character focused—is going to yield a story like Franz Kafka’s “Metamorphosis,” which would be interesting to explore within the mecha genre, but I have a feeling that you’re probably not interested in that much internalized character struggle.

Finally Anon, thanks to your Ask, I’ll have to add “Write a Canterbury Tales parody mecha story in Middle English” to my bucket list. I don’t know why my brain went there but it did. Please enjoy one of the best videos I ever found on YouTube:

youtube

(yes English nerds, the guy in the opening says “Old English” when it’s not OE, it’s ME)

#writing #mecha #probably awful writing advice #ask me anything #anonymous

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artificialqueens · 6 years

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Between Land And Sea (Biadore) - Albatross

AN: Alright Merry fucking Christmas. I have no self-control apparently and cannot wait until the new year to share this fic.

I will freely admit that I have very limited knowledge of any mythology other than Greek but an assortment of tumblr posts I found at 2 AM plus waiting over half an hour to see a doctor compelled me to write this stupid fucking story. To anyone who is actually familiar with Selkies; I am very sorry for how much I probably fucked up their mythology/lore.

Well, she’s really done it now.

She’s torn her fucking coat…again. And not just a minor tear like last time, that would have been fine, expected even. Selkies often have little nicks, worn edges, or small holes in their coats.

No, this was a huge fucking rip straight up her sleeve because once again, she fucked up during her transformation! She still had yet to find the perfect time and location to change into her human form while entering the shallows near the beach. It always turned into a guessing game for her of where the water was still deep enough that she could enter the natural harbor without being spotted yet still close enough to the shoreline to seem plausible she was just a local out for an ordinary swim. The general rule of thumb was to wait until the rocky sea bottom had disappeared beneath the sandy floor near water line and begin the transformation about 50 feet or so beyond that point. But Adore, being her usual overexcited self, was all too eager to see the beaches once more and failed to notice a few scattered rocks jutting up from the sea bed until it was much too late. Her coat scraped against and quickly caught on one of the jagged edges and ripped a hole from just below the elbow of the sleeve all the way down to the bottom hem.

Now here she was sitting alone on the secluded beach in her soaking wet coat trying to hold back a flood of tears caused by her own foolishness. She had little doubt she’d be teased and scolded mercilessly for weeks to come but that wasn’t what bothered her, she could easily deal with that. What upset her the most was the hit she had taken to her pride and of course, the damaged coat. Thanks to her carelessness, she was now going to have to live with this tear for the rest of her life as a constant reminder every time she transformed.

And transforming was something she certainly did on a regular basis…her favorite pastime was to walk along the beach and just watch the nature in full force all around her. She loved the roll of waves hitting the shoreline, the growing power of a storm as it closed in on the town and of course she loved watching all the humans scurrying about and frolicking in the sand.

She was always careful to enter the bay near the farthest end of the coast, well beyond where most would think of going near. There was a collection of clothes she hidden amongst the rocks above the waterline, mostly bathing suits like the ones she’d seen other women wear and some ‘street clothes’ as she heard them being called for when she wanted to wander into town. They’d all been either found floating amongst the waves or in some cases stolen from unguarded bags. She wasn’t particularly fond of using that last method but for a few articles like shoes, it had been necessary, especially if she wanted to walk around the humans undetected.

As much as she loved her life under the sea, humans were equally fascinating to her, their clothes in particular. They had countless styles of clothing to choose from, never stuck with just one coat unless they chose to be. They could change or alter their outfits as often as they wanted to; they could be flamboyant and flashy or casual and laid back depending on their given mood. She envied that kind of freedom sometimes…particularly right now.

This was her one, special coat. The one imbued with the power to allow her to transform from her aquatic shape into a wholly human one. There would never be another one like it for her; each Selkie only ever had one in their life and it was their responsibility to take care of it. So many had become trapped on the surface due to naivety or random accidents. Though this event wasn’t the end of the world for her, it felt pretty close to it. Yes, she could still transform but still the coat was permanently damaged and there was no way for it to be repaired. It was all she could do right now to force down the hot tears welling in her eyes as she lamented her stupid mistake. She was barely able to dress herself in the spare clothing before she focused all of her attention on examining the extent of the damage.

She was so lost in her own misery that she missed the sound of approaching footsteps coming up behind her. It wasn’t something she’d have expected, not so far from the public beach, but the appearance of a hand on her shoulder jolted her from her head space with a startled gasp.

“Hey, kid, are you okay?”

The voice wasn’t the most friendly she’d heard but it sounded genuinely concerned. Reluctantly turning her head up, she found an older woman kneeling down beside her, brows furrowed as she awaited a response. Adore felt a fresh wave of tears beginning to pool in her eyes as she lifted the arm of her coat up to expose the torn sleeve to the stranger’s line of sight.

“Oh,” seemed to be all they could say in response.

Adore knew to an outsider she probably looked ridiculous sitting there in her drenched clothing and staring tragically at the ripped sleeve as though it were an entire limb torn off instead of a piece of fabric but she didn’t care. No human could be expected to understand just how much this coat meant to her. How much it would mean to any Selkie.

She expected the older woman to leave soon after. She wasn’t hurt after all, just had a piece of ripped clothing to their mind yet instead of walking away, the woman offered her hand as soon as she had stood up. Adore stared at it dumbfounded for moment, the thoughts of how wrong this situation could go in a very short amount of time raced through her head but something deep inside her compelled her to accept the offer.

Very cautiously, she allowed the woman to lead her on a five minute walk to a parking lot up towards the opposite end of the beach. She remained hesitant and alert but the fact that she was around people eased some of her fears. She doubted the woman would try anything suspicious or unsavory in a public space.

Upon reaching the car, the mystery woman popped open the trunk and withdrew a simple canvass bag that had been pushed towards the back. Riffling through the miscellaneous contents, she seemed to be searching for something that managed to allude her grasp for quite some time. Adore was curious as to what this stranger could be looking for and peered over her shoulder hoping for some kind of clue.

As soon as she heard a pleased noise escape past the woman’s lips, she took a step back to give her some space. Holding what appeared to be a small and cheap plastic box in one hand, the older woman held out her other one expectantly. Adore blinked in confusion as to what she was asking for and nearly winced as the woman expressively rolled her eyes.

“Your coat, kid,” she said bluntly, “Hand it over.”

Instinctively she clutched the clothing close to her body and drew back from the woman. Her legs and arms were trembling as she defiantly shook her head and darted her eyes towards the beach looking for the easiest escape route. Taking note of the reaction, the stranger tried a different tactic to soothe the young woman’s growing fear.

“Hey, relax, I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m just going to fix that tear.”

Adore eyed her suspiciously as she refused to move a muscle. She’d heard similar stories of humans tricking Selkies out of their coats for one reason or another and she was determined not to become another one. Steeling herself for a mad dash to ocean, she was almost ready to begin running when the woman made one final time to calm her down.

“Look, you don’t have to take it off if you don’t want to, I can still sew up the sleeve while you’re wearing it, okay?”

The statement gave Adore a moment’s pause as she mused over what would be the right choice. More than anything she wanted her coat fixed and if this stranger was offering assistance…maybe it might be worth it? She wasn’t demanding Adore take off the coat so perhaps her secret was still safe.

Debating for a few seconds longer, Adore gave a tense swallow and extended her shaking arm. Her mind remained hyper-vigilant as she watched the woman open the small box to reveal a travel-sized sewing kit and pull out a needle and small spool of thread. The color wouldn’t exactly match her coat but she couldn’t afford to be picky at this point, not when it genuinely seemed like this woman had the ability to repair the damage.

Deftly threading the needle, the woman stepped closer to Adore and began her work of closing the gaping hole. With a hint of nervousness in her tone, she muttered, “Just don’t blame me if you get twitchy and find a needle stabbed into your arm.”

Unseen by the woman solely focused on her task, Adore gave a firm nod and watched in a fascinated state of disbelief as the hole began to disappear right in front of her eyes. By the time it was closed, Adore could hardly contain her joy. There was hardly a seam to be noticed and the mismatched thread gave nothing away unless you turned the sleeve inside out to reveal it. This woman was like some kind of miracle worker in Adore’s mind.

Feeling a tensing in her throat as her vision began to cloud, the younger woman began gratefully, “Thank you so much! You have no idea-”

“Hey, don’t worry about it, kid,” her savior interrupted, clearly embarrassed by the reaction. “It’s an easy fix.”

Adore was biting her lower lip to keep from saying anything too revealing. She was so close to spilling her secret in front of this human but she just felt so happy and relieved. Nothing could stop her wide smile from overtaking her face though. The older woman darted her eyes away as Adore thanked her one more time. Rummaging through a side pocket on the bag, the woman pulled out a small rectangle of stiff paper and handed it to the dripping Selkie.

“Listen, if this happens again…just come to this address, okay?”

It was almost gruff the way she said it but it was obvious that she had meant it in the nicest way possible. Adore found it to be oddly reassuring. Still overjoyed by the turn of events, she kept her bright smile firmly in place even as she returned back to the sea later that night. The mystery woman had excused herself shortly after fixing the damage but Adore waited in the parking lot until her car had disappeared from sight. Every so often her gaze would return to the sleeve and she’d run her fingers along the previous damage just to remind herself it was there. No one seemed to notice anything unusual once she returned to her family and for that she was relieved. She certainly would be more cautious moving forward but part of her was a little bit grateful the whole situation had unfolded. It was nice change of pace to meet someone so kind, even if they were a bit brusque.

She never mentioned what had happened to anyone, not even her closest friends. But every so often she found herself wishing she could see that woman again just to thank her one more time. The business card had been kept with her clothing at the beach and she took special care to make sure it remained safe and dry just in case…and besides; it was a nice memento even if she never thought she’d have to use it again.

But like fate taking a hand, Adore found herself in a similar situation just a few months later. This time blame could solely be placed on humans and the fucking trash they’ve let fall into the ocean. She wasn’t entirely sure what had caused the damage, it certainly had been made of metal, but by the time she realized what had happened she so far beyond the debris that it was unrecognizable which piece had caused the damage. And it’s not like finding out would fix it either.

No…

There wasn’t much point dwelling on it, the damage had already been done. But maybe…it could be fixed…that woman had said to stop by if she ever tore her coat again…perhaps she could repair this hole as well. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the first instance…But how to find her?

She couldn’t make out what was on the card, she had never learned how to read in their language, only to speak it but with the help of a few friendly faces on the street; she was pointed in the direction of a small shop just outside the center of the town. It was cozy, Adore had to admit. It wasn’t like the sea she was used to; the air was warm as soon as she entered and the room almost blindingly bright but it felt comfortable.

A bell sounded as soon as she stepped beyond the door frame and shortly after a voice resonated from the back room, “I’ll be out in a minute!”

She recognized the gruff tone and felt a small smile tug at the corner of her lips. A small surge of pride welled in her chest at having found the right shop on her first try. She just hoped that what she had to offer would be enough.

In just a few short seconds, the woman burst into the main shop with her eyes focused solely on the article of clothing she was currently repairing. Stopping just behind the counter, she glanced up from her work and let out a small noise of surprise. Her eyes were just a tad wide as she stated, “Oh! You again.”

Fiddling with the bottom hem of her coat, Adore mumbled nervously, “Uh, yeah. I, um…see?”

The woman’s brow arched as she gave Adore a studious once over before settling her gaze on the small tear that the young Selkie’s hands were currently playing with.

“Mm…Come around the counter,” she stated as she motioned for Adore to come closer.

The young brunette felt her heart beginning to beat faster in her chest as she complied to the request. Once she was within range, the older woman dropped to her knees in order to take a more thorough look at the damage. Pivoting herself just slightly, the woman reached her hand into one of the shelves behind the counter and fished out a small pin cushion containing several needles threaded with varying colors leftover from previous projects. Selecting the closest match, the seamstress made quick work of closing the gap with as much skill as she had exercised all those months ago. In very little time at all Adore’s coat looked just like new to her ever increasing jubilation.

“There. Should be good to go now,” the older woman declared as she pushed herself to her feet.

“Thanks…” Adore exclaimed gratefully.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a piece of paper she had often seen humans exchanging amongst themselves. Occasionally she found these objects floating in the water and made it a point to collect them. Hopefully something she had brought with her would be what she needed to pay for this woman’s services.

“Is this enough?” she asked timidly as she held out the note to the seamstress. The older woman looked at the waterlogged paper with a mixture of confusion and amusement. Realizing that might not be the right currency to use, she apologized, “Sorry, was that wrong?”

Withdrawing another slip of paper from her pocket, she offered it instead with an unsure, “Um, here? Is this-”

A quick glace to the woman’s pitying eyes as she struggled not to laugh confirmed that she still didn’t have it right. The only other item she could offer was a small gold coin she had found laying on the sea floor. Holding it out in her extended hand, she stated guiltily, “I’m sorry, that’s…That’s all I have with me.”

With the final offer, the serious demeanor the woman was desperately trying to hold together finally cracked as she laughed out, “I’m not taking your money!”

“Wha-Why?” Adore asked in confusion. Humans always seemed to want more money, that’s what she heard any way.

“It was just a simple fix…” the woman explained patiently. “No need to charge you for it. I barely spent more than three minutes on it.”

Almost frantically, Adore insisted, “There’s gotta be something I can give you!…This coat, it means a lot to me, you know?”

Taking pity on the worked up woman in front of her, the seamstress gave in with a simple, “Just tell me your name, kid. That’s all I want from you.”

“Adore,” she replied with a shy smile.

“Well, I’m Bianca…” the woman stated as she returned a teasing grin of her own. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

***************

That wasn’t the last time Adore saw Bianca, far from it. Occasionally as Adore swam in the ocean she’d see the seamstress walking along the beaches, always alone and lost in thought. She never quite dared to approach her, either in her seal form or human one. She was content just to watch the woman from afar as she travel the same route up and down the coastline.

Part of her longed to speak with the older woman again so when she found yet another small hole, this time from regular wear and tear, she took it as a sign to go see her mysterious savior again. The meeting was very brief and once more Adore tried to offer her something in exchange for the repair but Biance refused to accept any of her money. It was comforting that she didn’t seem concerned with any kind of payment but Adore felt that she more than deserved it, even if she had no clue exactly what she fixing.

But Bianca was firm; she didn’t want any money. The only thing she was interested in was making a few cautious inquiries with the girl. Adore kept her answers vague and thankfully the seamstress never seemed to ask anything too personal; just simple questions like what she did for fun, did she have family nearby, and of course what she liked to eat.

Adore answered as honestly as she could and left the shop with another happy grin. It was hardly another month before the returned with yet another small tear she may or may not have ripped just a tad wider in order to justify another visit to her human friend.

Upon entering the cozy little building, Adore found Bianca working behind the counter as per usual and asked with a shy smile, “Do you think you could maybe…?”

Bianca gave her a mild scolding look and a quick roll of the eyes as she motioned for the young woman to come closer. Though she might be acting as though she were annoyed by Adore’s clumsiness, there was still a small smile on her lips. As she worked, taking a bit more time than usual as Adore noticed, she said offhandedly, “You don’t have to keep coming by just for this…”

Adore faltered in her response, concerned she might have actually irritated the woman with her frequent visits. She bit her lower lip to hide the trembling but nothing could stop her eyes from growing wide with guilt. Quickly backtracking, Bianca corrected herself, “I mean…you don’t need this as a reason. Just stop by whenever…I don’t mind.”

Adore let out an audible sigh of relief and promised to take her up on that offer. Only two weeks later, she found herself wandering into the shop with no excuse other than simply wanting to chat with Bianca. For her part, Bianca seemed to light up when she saw the young woman stopping by without another tear that needed to be fixed. The pair chatted for over an hour as Bianca continued to work on her latest project and Adore sat close by watching the skilled fingers work their magic in bringing life and style to seemingly randomly cut pieces of fabric.

As time went on, her visits became more frequent and soon the pair was spending time outside the shop as well. Most of the time was spent at the beach or boardwalk but occasionally Bianca managed to drag her into town for either window shopping or simply just taking in the sights. It was odd, Adore found herself thinking on an ever increasing basis, she never imagined she could find a human so intriguing. Sure they were always fun to watch but she never would have guessed she become so attached to one, not enough to want to leave the ocean for days on end just to see her.

Very gradually the time she spent on land was about equal to what she spent in the water. Her family and friends noticed of course, but she’d always been a free spirit. Selkies often had a fascination with the world above so they let her be. She was always careful and always returned unharmed so what was the point in trying to tell her to stop? Even if they had, it would only fuel her more.

But a few of their comments did give her reason to wonder why she wanted to spend so much time in the town. Simply staying on the beach or nearby was nothing unusual for a Selkie but among humans? That was a little more out of the ordinary. But whenever she tried to come up with answer, it was always the same; Bianca. She loved the time she spent with this human. Others were interesting of course but Bianca was the one she went out of her way to see, to return to in order to find out more about her. She just didn’t feel that way about any other human she’d met…or any Selkie for that matter.

Bianca was different and soon enough Adore realized why…

She was falling for a human and somehow, she was very okay with that.

************ Though Bianca was always quite honest with her, trying to determine exactly how she felt about Adore was another story entirely. Yes, she seemed to genuinely enjoy the young woman’s company but Adore had to wonder if she actually returned her feelings in the same capacity. They never really talked about it but Adore got the sense that she just might. There were little things, casual inquires into what she thought about, if she was eating right, were the stitches in her coat holding up, and Adore’s favorite; was she sure she still wanted to hang around Bianca?

The first time she asked that question, Adore had taken it entirely the wrong way. She had thought it was the older woman’s roundabout way of trying to kick her out of the shop without seeming too harsh. She remembered the embarrassed flush on Bianca’s face as she quickly explained herself, “I mean, if you don’t want to stay here, you don’t to. I don’t want to you to feel like you have to come by…I like having you here but only if you want to be here.”

It wasn’t the most tactful or graceful answer but it was perfectly Bianca. She was concerned that Adore might become bored with her because after all the shop wasn’t the most exciting place in the world, especially if you compared it to the rest of the town or the ever popular local beaches. But Adore assured her that she loved the atmosphere in the shop and Bianca was the person she’d rather her time with, not a bunch of random strangers. The answer seemed to ease the concerns that had grown in the back of her mind but every so often she would reaffirm with Adore that she still felt that way.

Steadily Adore’s visits were becoming longer and longer. The first time they had ever kissed was the direct result of accidentally staying past her usual allotted time. Initially everything had gone just as any other time she visited the shop. They laughed and joked well into the late afternoon but it was only after Adore chanced to take a look outside that she realized how late she had actually stayed. Bianca would keep working for a few more hours still but Adore had meant to leave before the incoming storm hit the town. She had noticed it brewing long before she arrived and made a note to find her way back to the beach before the downpour started. It wasn’t the water itself that bothered her, it was the motion of the waves. Trying to swim in the midst of a storm was a bit difficult and generally something she tried to avoid.

Oh, well. Can’t be helped now.

She clutched her coat close to her as she prepared to exit the building but a firm hand on her shoulder stopped her dead in her tracks. Turning around in confusion, she was surprised to find Bianca staring at her in a near panic. Frantically, she almost yelled, “Girl, are you crazy? You’re not going out there!”

Blankly, Adore simply responded, “I have to go home.”

“You’re not leaving,” Bianca insisted as she dragged the resisting body away from the door and promptly shut it against the torrential downfall outside, “Not when there’s a fucking hurricane outside!”

“It’s not that bad,” Adore replied in slight confusion. This kind of weather was something she often found herself caught in, she was used to it but then again humans did have a tendency to be more sensitive to these conditions.

Very firmly, arms crossed and all, the seamstress declared, “You’re staying until the storm lets up.”

If Adore learned one thing after the time she spent with Bianca, it was that once her mind was made up, very little could be done to change it and anyone who goes against her wishes would be in for a terrible time. And the arching of her brow as she practically dared Adore to try and argue with her swiftly reaffirmed that point. Touched by the concern of the older woman, Adore agreed to stay with a very mild, “Okay.”

She still didn’t understand what the fuss was about but she would indulge her friend, particularly if it gave her an excuse to spend more time with her. By nightfall however, it was clear that if anything the storm had become worse. There was no way Bianca would willingly allow Adore to leave the building so long as she could help it so the only logical solution was for her to spend the night.

“Sorry, it’s not much,” Bianca apologized as she led Adore into the back room. Seems she had converted the back of her shop into a sort of living and work space. A fireplace roared at the opposite end of the room, a small kitchenette laid nestled in one of the far corners and various sewing materials were strew about the remainder of the space.

Adore found herself immediately wandering towards a mannequin cloaked in a half-finished dress as she absently assured her friend, “I like it…It’s…homey…Very you.”

Though Adore couldn’t see, she would bet anything that Bianca was smiling as she thanked the younger woman. While she continued to examine the various works in progress, Bianca found her way to the kitchen. Placing a kettle on the stove, she asked, “Do you drink tea?”

“Never had it before,” Adore admitted sheepishly. She had never sampled most of the food humans had created.

“Want to try it now?” the older woman offered.

Turning around to face Bianca, Adore nodded her head and joined her in the kitchen. Her eyes darted back and forth from the kettle to all of the items the older woman was pulling from the cabinets and refridgerator. It wasn’t often she got to see anyone cooking, even if it were as small as this.

In just a few short minutes, the water had come to a boil and Bianca motioned for her to join her by the counter top. Displaying numerous bottles and packages, the older woman inquired, “What would you like in your tea?”

Running a hand awkwardly over her arm, Adore deflected by asking, “How do you usually drink it?”

“I like it with just a bit of milk and honey,” Bianca supplied patiently as she began to pour the water into the cups.

“Guess I’ll try it like that then.”

Nodding her head in approval, Bianca prepared their matching drinks and led the young woman over to the couch. As they took their seats, she asked, “It’s not too warm for you with the fireplace going, right? I can-”

“It’s fine,” Adore reassured her with a slight laugh. “But thank you…for everything.”

Brushing off the comment with a small wave of her hand, Bianca took a quick sip and replied hurriedly, “It’s nothing.”

With unconvinced smile on her lips, Adore replied, “You know it’s not,” and let the subject drop for the time being. Very cautiously she raised the mug to her lips and took a shallow gulp. Hardly a second passed after she swallowed before she heard Bianca ask with a hint of mocking in her voice, “How do you like it?”

Seems Adore didn’t hide her reaction as well as she would have liked. Trying to remain kind and not say exactly what she thought of the drink, she replied, “It’s…interesting.”

Barely containing her smile, the older woman assured her, “It grows on you after awhile.”

The pair drank their tea in silence for a few more minutes but Adore felt like there was so much more she wanted to say. After debating with herself for a few seconds longer, she set her near empty mug on the coffee table and called out softly, “Bianca?”

“Mm?” the seamstress answered as she took another sip from her cup.

“Really…” Adore began sincerely, “Thank you-”

“Told you, it’s nothing,” Bianca muttered in slight embarrassment.

Shaking her head at the woman’s stubbornness, Adore decided to take a chance and lean in closer to the woman in front of her. Carefully pushing the cup away from Bianca’s face, she tilted the older woman’s chin up and brushed their lips together in the same manner she had seen many other humans do while walking along the beach. Her eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment as she increased the pressure for half a second before pulling away. She could feel her cheeks growing hot from something other than the burning fireplace but that was the last thing she was concerned about.

Bianca looked stunned by the gesture, her eyes wide in disbelief with just a hint of pink spreading across her face. She gave a tense swallow before turning to set her cup next to Adore’s and pull the younger woman in for another kiss. This time there was more of a mutual passion. Each seemed to have gotten over their hesitance very quickly as their lips met in somewhat graceless but undeniably sincere fashion.

Adore’s mind felt like it was in a fog as Bianca pulled away after a careful lick across the seam of her lips to whisper, “Been wanting to do that for awhile now.”

Nodding, Adore pressed their lips together once more and was hardly surprised as the older woman pulled her into her lap. She felt so safe there, so close to the person she cared about the most. Bianca was being so gentle with her, a sharp contrast to the frenzied passion Adore felt bubbling inside of her. A firm hand on her waist kept her steady as another brushed its fingertips along her cheek, through her hair, and finally down her neck. They trailed softly where the collar of her coat met her skin and very reluctantly, Bianca pulled away.

With no hint of pressure or insistence in her voice, she asked quietly, “Can I take this off?”

Adore heart pulsed in her chest but she knew her answer. Bianca would probably never know how much Adore was trusting her in this moment but all the same, Adore appreciated the extra care the older woman took to open her coat and slid it off to the side. For most of the night they remained just in that spot, occasionally sharing a kiss or two before sleep overtook them.

Adore awoke much earlier than Bianca and very quietly made her way back to the sea to reunite with her family. She probably would never be able to express the relief she felt when she found her coat still laying in the exact same spot as she had left it the previous night. She wanted to stay with Bianca longer but the ocean was calling for her, at least for a short while.

A full day hadn’t even passed before Adore made her way back to the shop to see Bianca once more. Though the older woman didn’t comment, the way her arms wrapped around Adore in relief the moment she walked through the door told her enough. Her smile could hardly be contained as their lips brushed against one another and each breathed out a small sigh knowing that their feelings were in fact returned.

************ For months they allowed the relationship to build at its own pace. Adore still struggled with trusting Bianca 100% but she appreciated that the older woman never seemed inclined to pressure her for more. It was a slow process but Bianca appeared content with whatever pace Adore wanted to move at. She left an open invitation for Adore to come by whenever she wanted and of course it was her choice to spend the night or not. The time Adore spent on land with her companion was steadily outweighing what she spent in the ocean. Of course her favorite place to be aside from the shop was still at the beach and Bianca made no objection to how often she chose to spend their free time together down there.

It was in fact the first place they ever had sex. The tide was just coming in as the two shared a kiss while the surf gently rose around them. Adore had placed herself over Bianca knowing just how far she had wanted to take it that night and Bianca was perfectly fine with that.

The older woman was entirely compliant in her hands, a welcome surprise from her normally domineering attitude. Adore wanted to thank her partner for every little thing she had done, either knowingly or not. Adore took special care to draw out her pleasure and remain in tune with Bianca’s desires. They had spent most of the night just caught in each other’s embrace, simply enjoying the other’s body despite the growing chill in the air and water. Adore gave very little thought to her coat tucked away between the rocks nearby. Every bit of her attention was on the beautiful woman beneath her that she was lucky enough to call 'hers’.

Time continued to pass with the pair growing ever closer. Adore came by the shop nearly every day and spent most nights with Bianca as well. After spending so much time in both parts of the building it was hard for her to miss the growing accumulation of flowers and other gifts piling up on the counters.

Glancing over the most recent bouquet that had been delivered, Adore asked where everything had come from. Somewhat awkwardly, Bianca huddled over the latest project she was finishing up as she muttered, “They, um…I always get gifts like that this time of year…From family, friends, clients, you know…not a big deal really.”

“Why this time of year?” Adore asked curiously as she stepped closer to Bianca’s side.

There was just a hint of red on her partner’s cheeks as she admitted, “It’s just my birthday in two days…”

Adore was dumbfounded. Birthdays were important to humans! Selkies never really celebrated them after a certain point but humans loved them! Why hadn’t Bianca mentioned it sooner?

She wanted to give Bianca a gift more than anything but with only two days left to prepare that didn’t leave much time. What could she find now that could possibly be worthy enough for her partner? She mused over this question for the next day and a half but only one answer ever came back to her mind. She debated if she should really trust a human as much she was tempted to but every instance returned a resounding 'Yes.’ She trusted Bianca entirely, enough to repair her coat when they were strangers and hopefully to keep her secret now that they were so much more than that.

The day of Bianca’s birthday was actually pretty normal; she never was one for celebrating anyway, just happy to have Adore there with her. While the pair sat together that night in the same positions as when they shared their first kiss, Adore held out her clumsily wrapped gift, praying to any deity that it would be accepted.

Her voice shook from anxiety as she muttered, “I don’t have much but…”

Very carefully, the older woman unwrapped the present to find Adore’s only coat folded up and being offered to her. A shallow gasp escaped her as she rapidly replied, “I don’t-I can’t accept this!”

'She doesn’t understand,’ Adore thought with a rueful grin. Perhaps she ought to have told her what it meant first before giving her the coat. Trying her best to explain the situation, Adore began nervously, “This coat, it’s not like-It’s not what you think it is. I’m not-”

Cutting her off with fond smile, Bianca interjected, “I know what you are. I’ve known for awhile now, but this? I can’t take that from you. I can’t take your freedom.”

Even as Bianca tried to return the gift to the younger woman, she refused to accept it and instead insisted, “You’re not taking it, I’m giving it to you!”

Firmly, Bianca shook her head and gave Adore a patient smile as she asserted, “No. I don’t want the coat…Just you.”

Adore was shell-shocked as Bianca finally managed to place the coat back in her arms and whisper, “Keep this. Hang it up by the door, by the bed…God, throw it on the floor if you want but I’m not taking it…It’s yours. I never want you to feel like you have to stay here, you’re free to come and go as much as you want. It’s entirely your choice…I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re trapped here, okay? If you want to go back to the ocean, I promise I won’t stop you.”

The young Selkie tried to fight back the first wave of tears she had felt since first meeting Bianca but unlike last time, these were unable to be contained. Bianca understood exactly what she was and accepted it, even though it hurt a little that Bianca would refuse to take her coat; she understood the reasoning and loved her partner all the more for it.

From that day on, Adore talked freely with Bianca about her life in the sea. She answered Bianca’s burning questions and was even able to ask her own. She no longer felt like she was living a double life or being intentionally deceitful towards her partner. She still returned to the ocean every few days, keeping in touch with friends and relatives below the surface but she knew that whenever she wanted to, she could always return back to the shop to find Bianca waiting for her with open arms and empty coat hook just for her.

#albatross #biadore #adore delano #bianca del rio #fluff #smut #mythology #selkie #rpdr fanfiction

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