#and then i stare at the screen feeling mild to intense discomfort | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

preeningpisces · 25 days

Note

pleaaase could we get some more choso stuff? maybe some more nsfw headcanons if you have them or if not then some drabble of him being a Little Freak (endearing)?? anything that you'd feel like tbh <33

Omfg of course!! I actually have a lil fic I’m working on for him rn, so hopefully I won’t take too much longer. Love me some freak Choso. Thank you for taking the time to send this!

Hopefully this isn't too weird, lol

Choso being a lil freak

Content: fingering, masturbation, handjob, mild dacryphilia, ear eating, saliva, use of good boy and baby

18+ content below, mdni, afab!reader, enjoy!

The TV drones in the background as you scroll through your phone, leaning into the arm of the couch. Anxious anticipation rolls off your boyfriend. You don’t have to look to know he’s fidgeting with the blanket, trying his best to focus on the show—an episode of How It’s Made, his favorite. It’s obvious what he wants, it’s what he always wants when you’re around, but he remains bashful nonetheless. Amused, you let him stew in discomfort, wanting to see how long it takes for him to crack.

He adjusts himself and scoots closer to you, in what you think was an attempt at subtly. A smirk threatens to split your mouth, and you can feel your lips wobble from the effort of resisting. What was once fiddling with the blanket becomes a bouncing leg, drumming fingers, and more frequent glances. Laughter presses against the seam of your lips when he sighs, but you keep it at bay. You’re as focused on your phone as he is on the TV; his energy is contagious and makes your desire spark. But right now, you just want to antagonize him.

Sex is a recent development in your relationship, and ever since you gave Choso the keys to the kingdom, he wants it all the time. Not that you mind. Introducing your boyfriend to sex in all its forms has been fun, to say the least. This isn’t cruelty: you’re just building his confidence to initiate, you tell yourself. Not two minutes later, he says your name in question. Innocently, you set your phone aside, giving him your full attention.

“Do you…?”

“Do I what, Choso?” It’s clear he didn’t anticipate any pushback, because looks ready to retreat.

“Can we?” His stare is intense and imploring as he rests a hand on your knee.

“Oh, I don’t know, this article is pretty interesting” — a lie. When he deflates with puppy eyes, you feel too guilty to not throw him a bone. “But I could be persuaded.” Confusion flits over his face; he really does need everything laid out for him, doesn’t he? “I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing, unless something more tempting comes along,” you say, and with no further explanation, return to your scrolling. You know this worked even though he hasn’t moved, because he’s wringing his hands and mulling over his next step.

Maybe you are cruel. Just a bit.

An unsure arm winds around your hip, and pulls you away from the armrest to sit upright. With a delicate press to your jaw, he turns your head to kiss him, but you pull back.

“Ah, ah—you can’t turn me away or block the screen.” Now understanding the game, he nods with wide eyes. “Good boy.” Excited, he sits right next to you, but doesn’t remove his hold on your hip. Hesitant kisses tickle your jaw and neck—more endearing than distracting. The complete lack of reaction prompts Choso to trail from your jaw to your chest, and cup your right breast.

A post makes you laugh, and you feel him bristle beside you. Riled up, he squeezes your breast harder than you thought he would, and goes for your nipple. Choso absolutely loves your breasts, it’s no shock he sought them out first. What is shocking is how aggressively he’s touching them. Normally, his touch is irreverent and pleading. A weak pinch makes you flinch, but you keep your focus.

“Is that okay?”

“All I said is you can’t turn me or block the screen,” you say vaguely, allowing his imagination to fill in the rest. A sharp pinch is his reply, making you gasp. Tentative kisses are forgotten as he breathes into your ear, now more focused on the weight in his hand. Wearing no bra, there’s only a thin t-shirt between you and his fondling; rolling your nipple around and tugging it occasionally. As if just remembering he has one, he mouths at your jaw, and gently nips at your ear. The sweet attention makes you hum, your eyes hooded as you lazily continue scrolling, barely paying attention to what you see.

Suddenly, the kisses stop, and his hold on you relaxes. You fight the urge to look at him. Is this his way of playing, or is something wrong? Before you can ask, his lips rest at your ear, barely touching. Anticipation stills your shoulders, and you stare at the screen blankly as you wait for him to do something. Those lips press against your ear, and stop, gauging your reaction. When there is none, he kisses your ear fully, gently.

You expect him to move on, but one kiss becomes two, then three, then doesn’t stop at all; his head angles, and his kiss becomes more passionate, fully making out with your ear now. It tingles, and despite your bewilderment, you let out a breathy whine. Emboldened, he introduces his tongue, which licks at the planes and ridges. Cheeks hot and appalled, you shriek his name—he squeezes your hip so hard it could bruise.

Normally, he would release you and frantically make sure you’re alright, but your taunting must have affected him more than expected.The odd sensation makes you squirm, but you stubbornly grip your phone, and don’t turn to him. This only cues him to pull at your nipple with a twist, making you arch and moan.

He’s quick to move on; his hand dips under the waistband of your sweats, then your panties, and wastes no time rubbing soft circles around your clit. As if touching your pussy wasn’t enough, his tongue dips into your ear’s canal, making you nearly drop your phone. It doesn’t go far, but enough that it’s oddly sensitive. Sounds cut in and out, like you’ve dived into a pool and swam back up. Embarrassingly, you feel yourself throb.

“You’re really wet,” Choso says, and immediately returns to assaulting your ear. His bluntness only makes you more mortified, and the nerves in your neck and jaw prickle. The attentive circles are consistent, and keep a steady pace, which only drives you crazy, noises spilling from you freely. With his mouth covering your ear, you can’t tell how loud you are—every sound you make blares internally, as if you’re listening to yourself through earbuds. Your sounds arouse more of his own, overwhelming your mind. You can’t even hear the TV anymore, or the sticky sounds you know your pussy is making.

So enwrapped in pleasure, you hadn’t even noticed Choso was humping the air, his moans somehow both stifled and amplified. Unable to resist, you toss your phone and cup his bulge, letting him grind into your hand. Abandoning your hip, he helps you slide his sweats and boxers down his hips, cock twitching with need once it's exposed to the cool air. You wrap you hand around his cock and stroke him making his legs tremble. The hand previously on your hip winds back around you to continue stroking your clit, while the other slides two fingers in your needy cunt.

“Oh, fuck–oh fuck,” you belt, grinding against his hands, helping him find your g-spot. When he grazes it, you shout his name, and he strokes it with every thrust of his fingers. “Yes, baby, just like that.”

The steady pace fumbles when you spit in your palm and continue stroking him. He chokes on a gasp and sucks the shell of your ear in his mouth; it’s the most you’ve been able to hear since he began, but the leftover saliva prevents you from hearing clearly. You twist slightly as you stroke upward, squeezing near his head. Even with the lingering saliva, you’re finally blessed with the wet sounds of his cock and your pussy.

“Please—ah—please cum,” his high-pitched and needy voice doesn’t match the way he roughly fingerfucks your pussy, stretching it with spread fingers and pushing your hood back to attack your clit. Overwhelmed, you shiver as you approach your release; it isn’t until he resumes his lip lock with your ear and tongues at the canal that you come with a keen. “T-that’s it, you look so pretty when you c-cum.”

Your body locks up as your stomach twists from the convulsions, and your pussy clenches around him nonstop, but he doesn’t let up until you still. He covers your limp hand with his own, and he pumps his cock furiously, chasing his end. Gripping one of his buns, you smash your lips together. Distantly, you expected a waxy taste, but were relieved to find none. Tongues graze, drool pools, and he makes debauched sounds when you pinch his tongue between your fingers.

“Are you gonna cum?” You pull his tongue tauntingly and squeeze around his cock. When he nods instead of answering, you pinch it harder, and his cheeks go redder than you’ve ever seen them.

“Yeth, I’-I-” he lets out long, continuous whimpers as he comes. Sensitive, he removes his hand, but you grip his wrist and make him stroke himself through it, thick cum leaking over your joined hands. Tears and drool roll down his face, but you keep stroking his cock with a sickening squelch.

It’s only when he stops leaking cum that you release him, soothing him with kisses to his wet cheek before fetching the nearby water. The two of you lay against each other, now winded.

“I’m just going to address the elephant in the room: why did you stick your tongue in my ear?”

“You wouldn’t let me kiss you,” he shrugs, as if it was obvious. “I’m glad you liked it, though.”

“I did not!”

“Okay, if saying that makes you feel be-” you smother him with a throw pillow.

Next time, you’ll think twice before giving Choso the reins to do whatever he wants.

#freak (endearing) got me lmfao #secret dreamer ☁︎#dreams of choso ☁︎#wet dreams ☽#choso smut #choso x reader #jjk smut #it actually feels kind of nice so dont knock it til you try it folks #hope this is what you were looking for anon!#drabbles ☽#dream interpretation ☽#dreams ☽

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delimeful · 4 years

Text

the shapes in the silence (12)

warnings: dissociation, fighting, mild blood & injury, panic, another hopefully less bad cliffhanger

Puff woke up to a gentle hand down his back ridges, his hoard chattering above him, and an odd, high pitched note on the edge of his hearing.

His ears twitched in agitation at the noise, but his hoard took priority, so he took a moment to stretch before finally tuning into the conversation.

The three of them were arguing about another one of their screen viewings, trying to decide which one of their little stories to play. Each of them seemed to treasure very specific titles with passionate reverence, but for Puff couldn’t tell the difference between most of them. The screen was always too bright for his eyes to focus on for long, and the sounds often too loud.

As such, when the decision was left up to him, he simply stared at them blankly for a moment before settling back into a curled up shape to continue dozing.

There was a pause in the chatter (making the strange noise seem all the louder) and then they continued speaking in much more muted tones, indicating discomfort and uncertainty. Puff felt a twinge of discontent run through him and sighed grumpily.

This was the problem with a human-shaped hoard. They were so difficult to maintain.

Not that Puff would trade his hoard for all the shining things in the world. Each of them on their own were more valuable than any number of treasures combined. Every dragon probably felt that way about their hoard, but in his case it was true.

He let his eyes slit open, peering at the nearest of his collection.

Roman, who carried the smell of pigments and an appreciation for the finer things himself, was like a golden gauntlet. Ornate but handcrafted, painstaking care in every detail, and dripping with rubies.

Logan, who needed his hands occupied just as well as his mind, was like an illuminated manuscript. Pages draped in silver leaf edging, needing such a delicate touch to keep the ink from wearing away.

Patton, who watched them all with keen eyes and a warm gaze, was like a polished wooden music box. Inside, rose-colored clockwork met precisely placed metal prongs, together producing the notes to a nostalgic tune.

They were so precious, all of them, but never more than when they were shining their brightest with joy and contentment.

Puff was having a hard time making them happy, lately. Without Not-Puff, it was much harder to figure out which actions would keep his hoard from becoming dull with misery. His tail thrashed irritably as he once again felt the absence in himself.

Despite his constant presence as a part of their shared being, Not-Puff was assuredly not part of the hoard. He was like a rusty, chipped butterfly knife. All double edges and caked dirt from lack of care. Barely even worth looking at.

Still, Not-Puff was better at understanding which choices would make the hoard happy, which meant he was useful to have around. Puff mentally prodded at the barrier aiding in keeping the other half of him tucked quietly away, but there was no response. As the days passed, he’d only stirred when one of the hoard did something dangerous-stupid that went against all of their shared protective instincts, and even then, only barely.

It made Puff think that he didn’t plan on coming back.

It wasn’t like Not-Puff was a dragon, so maybe he simply didn’t care as much about the hoard. And even if he was gone for good, what did Puff care? That just meant more room for him in the empty, echoing space of their mind.

… Whatever.

Puff rolled over and got to his feet, stretching his wings out until they threatened to cramp. How irritating, thoughts like this keeping him up when all he wanted to do was take a nap.

If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well investigate the source of the noise.

He leapt easily to the floor, his hoard having already picked a glow story to watch in subdued silence. Patton called out a parting caution, and then Puff was off, trotting over to the stairs.

He passed Not-Puff’s room with barely a glance down the darkened hall. It was empty, obviously, though most of his hoard didn’t seem to realize. Logan and Patton often stood at the threshold, knocking and trying to coax Not-Puff out with sweet foods or concerned words, and while Roman generally avoided it, Puff had caught him staring more than once.

No matter what they tried or didn’t try, it remained locked up, silent and dark inside. Just like its former resident.

Puff could still get in, though he refrained from using the small flap-like door when others were watching. It wouldn’t do to make his hoard feel excluded, after all.

His dagger, the obsidian one with the gilded edges and honeyed words, could get inside, too.

His dagger-- Puff couldn’t quite recall the false name he used-- spent a lot of his time locked in that room, which was a bit foolish of him. It couldn’t be pleasant. Even Puff could feel the stagnant, fearful aura that lingered there, and dragons weren’t known for being affected by such things.

Not-Puff had complex, many-edged feelings towards their dagger, but it didn’t really matter, because Not-Puff had complex feelings about all of the hoard. He was a strange one like that.

In any case, it didn’t stop Puff from occasionally tromping off to go curl up in his dagger’s lap, letting the silly creature talk at him. He always talked when Puff came to bask with him, trying to coax Not-Puff out with lies and threats and even apologies that made his voice crack.

None of it ever worked.

He wasn’t in Not-Puff’s room now, though. Puff felt around curiously, and found his dagger was out in the real world, playing pretend.

He did that more and more often these days, dressing up to masquerade as Not-Puff for their Thomas. It was a strange practice. Puff much preferred his dagger as himself, all shining scales and black velvet.

Thomas was the crown of their little hoard, of course. It only made sense.

The odd tone grew in intensity, and Puff shook off his distractions, ears flattening against his skull. He could curl up with his hoard later, once this irritating buzzing was-- as Roman would say-- vanquished.

He passed the doors in the hall one after another, listening carefully at each one. After such a thorough inspection, the answer became clear.

Puff studied the portal-like entrance to the imagination, head tilting back and forth as he listened carefully to the noise. Not-Puff’s fear of this realm had kept Puff from wandering into it alone up until now, but the painful buzzing was definitely coming from it.

It was Not-Puff’s own fault for not being around to stop him, he decided, and stepped through.

As Puff trotted down cobblestone paths and dirt roads after the sound, it only seemed to grow more and more intense, enough so that he had to stop a few times to shake his head agitatedly, trying to get rid of the ringing headache.

At least those irritating shadow projections Not-Puff spawned weren’t present. The woven thread around his neck seemed to do well enough preventing them, which was good, because Puff wasn’t in the mood to go scampering around avoiding the trifling things. Not when there were noises to attend to.

“So it worked, after all.”

The strange, lilting voice made him spin around, wings flaring defensively.

Up in the twisting boughs of an old oak, the stranger cocked their head, bird-like. “I wasn’t sure it would,” they continued. “You’re a strange one, aren’t you?”

They tossed a hollow stone in their hand, the strange noise emanating from it. The scales along their cloak rattled with every movement, and Puff’s hackles rose in response. He remembered them. The Witch that tried to turn him against his own hoard.

“Now, don’t be rude. I’ve skinned beasts much larger than you with barely a snap of the fingers, you know.” They slid down to the ground, and Puff skittered back a few steps. “Halt.”

The compulsion took root firmly in him, keeping his feet glued to the ground. He hissed viciously, furious that their magic had such a hold on him. They sauntered closer and dropped to a squat.

“So my thrall does affect you… perhaps before was a one-off? I suppose it’s still interesting enough that you somehow keep your mind.” The eyes of their mask were dark and hollow, sending a chill down Puff’s spine even as he continued to growl viciously. “Quiet, now. Keep your mouth shut.”

His teeth clacked together painfully as his mouth snapped shut, leaving an impotent glare as his only form of defense.

“Perfect,” they said, and plucked him up from the ground, calming his struggles with another pulse of magic and a hand down his spine. “His Royal Irritation has been rearing for fight after fight lately, so it’ll be nice to finally have some leverage on my side.”

A chill spread through him.

“How long do you think it will take for him to find you?” they mused, tone light and mocking as they continued to run their hand along his spine possessively. “Days? Weeks? I certainly hope I’ll have enough time to prepare for company.”

Puff felt as though the metal cuff around his leg had grown suddenly heavy. He had a sinking feeling that it wouldn't take them nearly as long as he might hope, not when his hoard had grown so used to having him constantly nearby. Not when there was a tracker to lead them right into the Witch’s trap.

“Don’t fret, little dragon,” they crooned, tapping a finger between his eyes. “Sleep. I’ll wake you for the fun.”

Unable to do anything else, he obeyed.

When he woke, it was on the floor of an ornate birdcage, with magic thick in the air.

He uncurled, limbs weak, and pushed himself up to see that not one, but three of his hoard were before him, standing there in the grand hall of an ancient castle, facing off with the Witch.

The sight sent a thrum of alarm through him. The three of them didn’t enter the Imagination together often, and the effects of their combined presence made the place feel more real, more lasting.

Seeing the way they were back to back, surrounded by vicious constructed monsters, that wasn’t a good thing. That was a very, very bad thing indeed.

Even from his position next to the Witch’s throne, he could make out the cut on Roman’s forehead that continued to drip blood into his eyes, the way Logan leaned his weight heavily on one foot as though injured, the exhausted shaking of Patton’s frame as he tossed away a monster at Roman’s back.

More than that, he could feel the strain of his mental connection to his hoard, the urge to keep them from harm nearly all-consuming. They were his, and he would not stand idly by while they suffered.

For the first time in weeks, there was a stirring inside of Puff, like a billowing of air on banked coals. A white-hot glow, expanding with nowhere to go.

A gloved hand flicked the bars of the cage, bringing all his furious attention to the Witch. Their invisible gaze rested intently on him, making his scales prickle.

“Enjoying the show, small one?”

If looks could kill, this battle would be long over. The Witch laughed lowly at him.

“You look at me so fiercely, but this wouldn’t have been possible without you, you know?” They turned their gaze back to the battle with a darkly satisfied tint to their voice. “All three of them, right here in the palm of my hand for the sake of such a tiny, helpless creature. I’d almost think there’s something genuinely special about you. Too bad you probably won’t survive the heartbreak when I kill them.”

The snarl Puff let out seemed too small, too weak to even begin to express the amount of vitriol inside of him. The Witch didn’t even glance at him before rising to their feet to join the battle themself. His body trembled oddly.

He was afraid, he realized with a startle. He was more afraid than he’d ever been before.

That internal stir rose up again at the emotion, but it still felt as though a wall of thick mental fog separated Puff from it, like reaching through a haze. Bracing himself, he pushed past it anyways, dizzy with the effort.

For the first time since they’d been separated, Not-Puff was reaching back. Puff hesitated for the barest of moments.

If they did this. There would be consequences.

If they didn’t do this…

Nothing could be worse than losing them, one of them answered, and the other agreed. Which one was which didn’t really matter, in the end.

He took the anger and the fear that bubbled up inside of him and let them grow, welling up into one singular drive to protect. And, as the empty space around him seemed to vanish, he realized that he was growing, too.

The bracelet was the first thing to go, the connecting thread snapping at the pressure of his changing form. The tracer cuff followed easily, metal crumpling, and then the bars of the birdcage bent until they snapped, and then he was free of every restraint at last.

Virgil half-expected to come back to a human shape at that very moment, but Puff was still more than present in their mind, and as much as he loved their humans, there was clearly a superior option to better keep them all safe.

He flickered up like the flame tongues of a rising bonfire, or a bolt of energy connecting the earth and heavens, until he was big enough that his wings spread and met the adjacent walls of the throne chamber.

Every eye in the room was upon him, and when he growled, it was like the rolling crashes of a thunderstorm. Some of the monsters cowered away from that alone, turning tail and fleeing.

The Witch looked up at him and cackled, exuberant where they should be terrified.

“I knew there was something there, something different! You may have changed shape, little dragon, but my thrall isn’t so weak as to be influenced by size. You’ve only made your hoard’s end that much easier for me!”

Virgil could see the three of them behind the Witch, crowded together and staring up at him with equal parts apprehension and hope. His hoard wouldn’t be hurt a single moment longer. Not by the Dragon Witch, and certainly not by him.

The Witch lifted their arm and snapped their finger at him.

“Stop all that noise, little dragon,” they commanded, and the compulsive magic washed over him and rolled right off.

Slowly, deliberately, he took a step forward, and his growl rose in volume, echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

There was a heady feeling of satisfaction at the way the Witch stumbled back, the mask barely hiding their shock. “I said stop, right now.”

The magic passed, easier and easier to ignore. The Witch would never control this body again, no matter what form it took.

With a howl of wordless anger, they vanished from sight, and all the monsters that remained turned to him with aggression writ in every line of their bodies. An unfamiliar sensation welled up in his chest, waiting to be released.

Might as well see what this familiar-unfamiliar form could manage.

Working off Puff’s instincts, Virgil opened his mouth and let something click in the back of his throat before exhaling what looked like thick, rolling smoke. It filled the air, clumping together dense and heavy, and Virgil blinked, recognizing the form of it.

Huh. Storm clouds.

In the next moment, lightning sparked, shooting down and lancing straight through every attacking creature. Virgil darted a few steps closer, somewhat alarmed that friendly fire might hit the others, but even as they hunched down in surprise, any electricity that neared them seemed to simply veer away.

Of course it did, the more draconic part of him crowed smugly. No magic of his would hurt his hoard.

He went to his humans anyhow, moving slow so as to not startle them. He was the oversized one, now.

He needn’t have worried. As soon as he lowered his head into range, Patton lunged forward, wrapping his snout in the best hug he could manage. He was clearly sniffing back tears. “Oh, kiddo, we were so worried!”

Roman was attempting to casually lean on his sword, but there was clear relief in his gaze, too. “We should have known better than to believe the Dragon Witch would get the better of you, huh, Puff?”

Virgil huffed a cloud of colorless vapor into Roman’s face. Affectionately.

“We should celebrate our reunion later, once we’re safely out of here,” Logan pointed out over Roman’s faux-indignant complaints.

Despite his own words, Logan took a moment to reach out, gently placing a hand on the side of Virgil’s head as though to reassure himself that he was real. Virgil leaned into the touch slightly, an odd pleased chur bubbling up from his chest.

As his eyes slitted nearly shut in happiness, he caught movement from the corner of his vision.

The Witch, holding one hand aloft and casting something that made his skin prickle, aiming not at him, but at the other Sides.

Quicker than he could think, his body was moving, curling around his precious people with only a second to brace himself before the attack struck him solidly in the back.

It seemed a simple strike at first, barely breaking skin, and he regained his footing as the others rose to his defense with a ferocity that made his chest feel strangely pressurized. Between the three of them, the Witch was more than outmatched, and they were finally forced to flee.

It was only then that Virgil noticed the feeling of rot and fever spreading along his skin.

He stumbled, and then lay down heavily as his energy dipped well below what was sustainable. The others fluttered around him like moths, trying to figure out what was wrong.

Virgil let out a sigh, almost too exhausted to be panicked. He’d really thought for a moment that he’d pull it off, that he could deal with the backlash of the huge, energy-draining form on his own in private and maintain this fragile balance. So much for that.

On his next exhale, there was a flash-crack as the transformation came crashing back down on him, leaving him snapped back into the form he’d abandoned. Anxiety.

Around him, there was a stunned silence to replace the earlier clamor. He forced himself to blink his eyes open, resisting the urge to squint and see them more clearly. He didn’t really want to see what kinds of expressions they were wearing.

Whatever the Witch had cursed him with was still active, burning him up from the inside-out like the awful fever Thomas had gotten when he was ten. If the others weren’t going to take the opportunity to discorporate him, the poisoned injury would manage just fine on its own. And he’d just gotten back, too.

At least the others weren’t in danger anymore. Hopefully, Thomas would be okay until he reformed.

… Who was he kidding? Thomas had managed fine all these days with him gone. He would probably be better off without Anxiety, just like everyone had always said.

Still, he was leaving the others without being punished for the deception he’d been subjecting them all to for so long. He was leaving them without any real answers at all.

“Sorry,” he managed to grit out, barely able to think past the blood rushing in his ears. It seemed to break the fragile silence, because the others all began speaking at once, creating an indecipherable tangle of noise.

Soundlessly, Virgil passed out.

#sanders sides #ts virgil #ts roman #ts patton #ts logan #tsits #tiny dragon virgil #the shapes in the silence #writing #my writing #i have been informed that this is not a better cliffhanger #oops.#:)#g/t

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lailyn · 3 years

Note

Can I have another loki fic with stomach ache? Any pairing is good. Also, the fic you wrote for me earlier was amazing! Now I want more....

These Chains Around Our Hearts

Pairing: Loki/Steve Rogers

"Another war movie?"

"This one’s said to be...not bad."

“Not bad,” Loki echoed. “Not one for overselling, are you?”

“I haven’t had much luck trying to impress you with my movie choices,” Steve said. “But it did win around seven Oscars or something so...not that that’s a true indication of what makes a movie great but it’s on my bucket list and I thought we could - ”

With a tease of a smile, Loki plucked the DVD cover out of Steve’s hand; for some reason, the good captain looked flustered. "Tut-tut, Captain. I was not questioning your taste in movies nor your diligence in compiling your list of buckets.”

“'Bridge On The River Kwai'," he read. "Sounds promising. Was this your war?”

“I’ve fought many,” Steve said, smiling faintly. “But you could say this was my first, yes. Only it was fought on a different front.”

“Then let’s watch it, shall we?” Loki asked brightly.

“I’ll be right with you. I just need to grab a few snacks from the kitchen - ”

“But we just ate,” Loki grumbled to himself as he picked a corner to get comfortable in, making sure there was ample room on the couch for Steve when he returned.

The pot pie Steve made for dinner had been a tad too rich and Loki felt uncomfortably full despite not having eaten very much. He listened to the sounds of Steve pottering about in the kitchen and wondered if he had any space left to fit whatever bonne bouche his host had prepared for their movie night.

Loki had suspected from the start, back when they first started seeing each other, that Steve was one nervous entertainer. True enough, when the super soldier emerged from the kitchen, his already impressive arms were burgeoning with bags of crispy, salty things, jars of dips and cans of drinks.

“Oh my.” Loki eyed the smorgasbord laid before him critically. “Is that all?"

"It's not enough? I could get some more - " But before Steve could make a beeline for the kitchen once more, a hand touched his wrist.

"I was teasing."

They settled into their usual seating arrangement, not too close but at a companiable distance from each other. Steve and his appetite dived face-first into the tortilla chips and dips, but Loki refused to partake, what with his stomach feeling as unsettled as it was.

For a film made in the fifties, Loki found it quite impressive, almost believable even, if one had not lived through the dark times first-hand.

“Did you win it?” Loki asked. “Your first war?”

Loki’s vast knowledge of the cosmos and all it contained was legendary and Steve for one knew it included Midgardian history, so there was no way this was not a trick question. “In a manner of speaking.”

“You were fighting the same war, you said. Did it look like this?” Loki pointed at the screen with his regal chin.

“No,” Steve shuddered. After the surrender of Germany in 1945, the Allied forces’ attention shifted east, and this was a film depicting the horrors of the time.

How many of his comrades-in-arms had been taken prisoner? Forced to live in squalid conditions, ravaged by disease and starved slowly to death as they slaved away in the harsh tropical sun piecing the Railway of Death track by track?

"The Auschwitz of the East." The thousand-yard stare bruised Steve's baby blues to a dark, angry cobalt. "I don't know if I could have survived it."

"Of course you would," Loki said firmly. "If any man could, it's you."

Steve's mind turned, uncertain if he was deserving of such high praise, especially when it came from none other than Loki, the God of Chaos himself.

"I am familiar with the concept of war. I was Odin's war trophy after all," Loki said casually.

Steve turned his head slowly.

"Story for another day, Captain," Loki forced a smile; he was no longer in the mood for a romantic evening, let alone a heartfelt tete-a-tete. The vague discomfort in his belly was commanding more and more of his attention by the minute.

He laid a hand on his stomach. When it twinged again, Loki knew he was in for a long, long night.

Steve caught Loki's sigh. "Loki?"

"I'm fine," he said gruffly.

Now showing was a scene depicting insubordination among the ranks, and by the time the Japanese sergeant had finished giving the prisoners a dressing-down and placed them in a punishment hut, the twinging in Loki's stomach had blossomed into a full-blown ache that no amount of rubbing was helping.

Steve caught Loki's hand grabbing his waist again. "You okay?"

"I am fine, Captain."

"Are you sure?"

"I seem to have what you Midgardians call a stitch," Loki said as he kneaded his side gently, his smile wan. "It is nothing."

At being denied its existence, Loki's stomach voiced its protest in the form of a loud, whining rumble.

"That doesn't sound like a stitch."

"You are not going to let this go, are you?"

Steve groped for the remote control that had slipped somewhere down the side of the couch. "Yeah, no. We can continue watching some other time."

Ignoring Loki's mewl of protest, he stabbed the pause button before he stood up, gathering the uneaten snacks and drinks to clear the table.

Loki rose to help, but as soon as he did, a sudden pain lanced through his abdomen, sharper than anything he had felt tonight, and he sank back onto the couch with a gasp.

Steve dropped everything with a crash. "Loki, what's going on?"

A tense few seconds later, the pained expression on Loki's face eased and his whole body relaxed. "Something I ate is not sitting right with me, that is all."

"Do you want some water?"

Loki shook his head.

"Do you feel sick?" Steve pressed.

A wince. "A little. There is a slight ache, it is more uncomfortable than painful really."

"Somehow I don't think slight means quite the same with you guys," Steve sighed. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Only Steve could say something like that without sounding chastising or judgemental, only worried if not a little bit sad.

"It was not my intention to keep anything from you, Captain," Loki said placatingly. "And I speak true, it is only a mild discomfort. Perhaps I merely overindulged."

It was evident from the look on Steve's face that he did not believe a single word Loki said.

With a sigh, Steve patted his thigh. "Come lie down."

A flush of colour suffused Loki's cheeks. "I can't possibly."

He felt Steve lay a hand on his back, contemplated leaning into it, but the thought was obliterated by a fresh round of cramps so intense they folded him in half.

These things happen at the worst possible time, Loki cursed silently, groaning into his knees in sheer frustration.

Steve must have mistaken his moan for one of pain for suddenly, a strong arm enveloped Loki from behind and pull him down.

Resist, don't give in, resi -

"Loki."

Like magic, the gentleness with which Steve said his name drained all the tension from Loki's body and sapped him of the energy to remain upright. He sagged sideways in a slump.

Utterly mortified by his inelegant tumble into Steve's lap, Loki hid his face against a taut, well-muscled thigh. To his credit, the captain said absolutely nothing, only running a hand up and down the side of Loki's arm.

If his stomach wasn't hurting so much, Loki would have appreciated the comfort of Steve's lap much more vocally instead of trying not to be sick in it.

"Are you sure you don't want me to get someone? Banner? Dr Cho?"

"There is no need. I will be fine."

"What if this is something serious?" Steve patted his jacket for his mobile phone. “I should get your brother.”

“No!” Loki peered through strands of hair, which Steve tentatively brushed away. "If it were, it would have killed me already." At the aghast expression on Steve's face, he added in a hurry, "Or conversely, my healing spell would have cured it completely."

"What do you think it was?" Steve asked anxiously. "It wasn't my pie, was it?"

Loki shook his head. "No, Captain. This is just a run-of-the-mill stomachache, albeit a very irritating one. Exploring the vast diversity of Midgardian cuisine has truly been an adventure."

"Thor can eat anything."

"There is nothing my Brother can't and won't eat. I have seen Thor devour five wild boars in one sitting and that was after a light training station, imagine what he could polish off after a day's battle or two." A sullen mutter. "I am not like Thor."

"No." Steve smiled. "No, you're not. You're different."

Loki knew better than anyone all the ways in which he was different. He wondered if they matched Steve's list. "How so?"

Steve shrugged. "You were right. I like war movies. And you're the only person who'd watch them with me."

"I suppose I too am nostalgic for the olden days. Even if they were someone else's," Loki said, mirroring his companion's smile; it felt just as awkward on his face as it had looked on Steve.

He tried to make himself comfortable but lying on his back hurt too much. With his head still in Steve's lap, Loki turned onto his side and curled into a tight ball.

Meanwhile, Steve was beginning to fret. “What can I do?”

“Retire for the night, I suppose. I’m afraid I am not very good company at the moment.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to happen.”

“Captain.”

“No man left behind, Loki. I’m staying.” Steve let Loki squirm against him as he tried to find the most comfortable position. “What do you need?”

“Sleep.” Loki was almost too embarrassed to admit it. “I could try walking it off, but - ”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Steve growled. “We’re watching a goddamn movie, not kicking some alien's ass in battle."

"I'm sorry you couldn't finish the movie," said the only alien in the room.

"It's okay. I couldn't concentrate anyway."

"Something on your mind, Captain?"

Steve shook his head. "Someone," he corrected.

"Anyone I know?" Loki asked, wanting to jest, but his intestines chose that moment to coil into knots inside him, each tighter than the one before; he could barely keep from crying out, he was in so much pain.

"I'm looking at him," Loki heard Steve say in a voice so soft it could only be a product of his muddled imagination.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the grounding warmth of Steve's body heat against his face.

The beast clawing away in his belly was not real. Steve was. Good, kind, sensitive Steve.

Steve watched in sympathy as Loki massaged his stomach gingerly. "You really don't feel good, huh."

"There was a time when I would rather face the axe than admit to something so pitiful." Loki opened his eyes a mere fraction, lest he revealed too much his pain. "But no, I do not."

"I'm not used to seeing you like this," Steve said quietly. "You always get stomachaches this bad?"

Loki had to laugh; Steve looked so serious it was adorable. "I have survived horrors far worse than this, Captain."

"Yeah, but you kept it to yourself this long, so it must be pretty bad."

"Oh, you know me too well," Loki said sarcastically. "I must have been too engrossed in the film to notice my stomach eating itself."

Steve appeared offended. "Hey, it's based on a true story!"

"They did not blow it up in the end, you know."

"What are you talking about?" Steve asked, baffled.

"The Bridge. There were many bridges like it along River Kwai, but the rest of it? The uprising and the sabotage? That is all fiction," Loki said flatly. "Glorious fiction."

His eyes fluttered shut with a solemness analogous to that of one burdened with bearing bad news.

It was hardly news, was it? These people had been dead for almost a century -

"Your friends did not escape the jungles. They were all packed onto ships that took them across the sea to the Land of the Rising Sun, but your own warships mistook them for the enemy and blew them out of the water. All ten thousand of them."

"Tell me one thing. Why does telling stories come so easily to you but not this?" Steve swatted Loki's hand away and replaced it with his own, ignoring Loki's surprised gasp. "Yes, war sucked. Watching your friends die in front of you sucked. But right now I don't care about any of that. I care about you!"

Loki swallowed hard. "Captain…"

But Steve was not done giving Loki a piece of his mind.

"I want you to tell me these things," he berated, his fingers curling around the taut flesh of Loki's stomach. "I'm not good at reading you."

A sharpness cut through Loki's words, a warning in disguise. "I do not want you to."

"I couldn't if I tried," Steve said quietly. "I have brought down walls thicker than you've ever seen. But I can't see through yours."

Loki fell into a silence so deep it left Steve wondering if he had ruined the moment beyond repair.

"A war hero like you has no business consorting with someone like me." Loki turned his face. "I am but a prisoner, begging for scraps from you, and from everyone else in the universe."

Steve's hand stilled. Loki's thin abdomen throbbed under his palm, the pulsations picking up pace in time with the racing of the ancient heart.

"I have been in chains since the day I was born. I will not chain you to me." Loki interlaced his fingers with the ones still clasped to his stomach. "This is a momentary comfort."

"We are all prisoners here, Loki," Steve said gently.

As all anger left him, his other hand searched for Loki's. "We don't belong to this time, but there is no escaping it."

His thumb danced across the bony row of Loki's knuckles. "There is only living."

"Perhaps I have lived too long."

"That is a decision only you can make," Steve said, the sadness returning to his eyes. "But I have just found you. And I want you to know that I care."

With the confession finally out of the way, Steve inhaled deeply and leaned his head back against the couch, his hand resuming its gentle kneading. It was comforting, the sensation of Loki's tight, concave abdomen giving little by little to his ministrations.

It was not overindulgence, the cause of Loki's pain. He knew that now.

"Captain."

"Yes, Loki?"

"What exactly do you want from me?"

Steve went quiet. The answer could not be any clearer, but Loki was notoriously oblivious to any notion of sentiment, even the most obvious one.

"You said I was your comfort. I want you to allow yourself to be mine."

Loki remained quiet for longer. When he finally spoke, his voice quaked with a timbre of hope and unbridled joy.

"If I say yes, would you do me a courtesy and let me choose what to watch for movie night?"

Steve laughed. "Sure. On one condition."

“This negotiation has strayed too far off course, Capta -”

“Steve,” he interrupted, cradling Loki's face in his hands. “Call me Steve.”

It was an offer Loki could not refuse. "Steve."

The name tasted good on his tongue. And so did those lips.

#frostshield #sick loki #loki whump #ask #fic #steve rogers #loki

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autistic-beshelar · 4 years

Text

Neurodivergent Link Headcanons (BOTW)

Here are... my headcanons for ND Link! I’ve tried to put them in fairly concise bullet points so hopefully they make sense. A lot of the autistic/adhd traits overlap, but I’ve put them in separate sections just to try and make this easier to read

Headcanons under the cut!

Autism:

- sensory seeking! Link needs constant stimulation and his preferred sensory input is touch, whether it’s rubbing his palms over tree bark or smushing his face in soft pillows. Auditory and visual stimulation are good too, but he’s very, very tactile. Of course taste is another big thing for him, he loves cooking and trying out new food and exploring different tastes, whether it’s sweet or spicy or sour, the stronger the better.

- he stims. SO MUCH. he has so many stims that I’m going to make a separate post to include all of them, but the main ones are rocking and flapping his hands.

- very good with gross motor skills, generally good with fine motor skills but there are a select few he struggles with - he has very poor handwriting, has to focus tying shoelaces, struggles washing his hair, overestimates how hard he’s brushing his teeth and makes his gums bleed

- poor interoception. Has a hard time telling when he’s hungry, or tired, or in pain. Sometimes he will walk around with an injury and not realise until he sees blood. Finds it hard to recognise negative sensations and his body tends to just interpret them as discomfort.

- very good at recognising and deciphering expressions and body language, but not particularly good at (or interested in) emulating it. He’s very astute and can pick up on microexpressions and hidden glances and the like, and can work out people’s true feelings or motivations, but in a social context he’s not necessarily good at responding to it.

- easily picks up on small details and notices things others don’t - this can be related to the former point, but also just in general. Also very good at pattern recognition which lends itself well to solving shrines.

- nonverbal. Mostly uses sign to communicate, or noises (usually with animals or people he’s comfortable with). Can occasionally manage to speak in short bursts when he has to, but it’s few words and usually stuttered, and if he gets at all stressed (which he often does if he’s forced to talk) he won’t be able to say much of anything. He can talk a little around Sidon and Zelda, they’re pretty much the only he feels comfortable enough to be verbal with, and they understand the way he talks and are patient when he’s slow or gets words mixed up.

- difficulty with eye contact. Either too little or too much, though usually it’s the former. He only tends to stare at people if he likes them, or if he’s angry with them or trying to make them uncomfortable

- echo echo lalia. Loves to repeat fun noises, especially animal noises, but sometimes words (sees a dog and just goes doggy doggy doggy doggy doggy for the next hour). He does this with sign as well, but tends to prefer making fun mouth sounds

- special interests in food and horses! Those twins at the stable were right. That’s all that’s on his mind. Food and horses. He really loves trying out new ingredient combinations and exploring different tastes. And he knows a great many horse facts.

- forms connections with animals more easily than with people. This is partly because when he first left the Shrine of Resurrection he was alone in the wilderness, and partly because he doesn’t really talk, but it’s also just an autism thing. People are friendly to him, but he doesn’t tend to form deep connections with them like he does with animals.

- can tell the time by the position of the sun in the sky but can’t read a clock. What are those numbers on the slate. It’s a mystery!

- has mild visual processing issues, mostly struggles to focus on things like screens or pages, things look blurry or strangely coloured, or have a weird overlay.

ADHD:

- inattentive AND hyperactive AND impulsive, a triple threat

- gets the Zoomies. Often ends up conking out afterwards. Will run around chasing frogs all day and then just fall asleep in the middle of a field

- Can’t Stay Still. Has To Bounce Leg.

- nonexistent sleep schedule. Granted, he doesn’t sleep well or regularly what with travelling all over Hyrule, but even without that his sleep would be terrible

- sometimes zones out in the middle of a conversation. Good luck guessing whether he’s having a seizure or if he’s just thinking really hard about jellyfish

- alternatively, he will hyperfocus. Very good at hyperfocusing on shrines, or anything that involves challenges. Also good at hyperfocusing on physical activities.

- executive functioning… what’s that. Link doesn’t know. Link can’t organise to save his life and honestly thank god for the sheikah slate because without it he’d be screwed. Cannot schedule, cannot plan, cannot organise.

- thrillseeking!!! He gets easily understimulated and needs adrenaline to survive. Will do anything remotely dangerous for fun and profit.

- often thinks very quickly, usually jumping quickly from one thing to the next, but only about certain subjects (usually related to animals, nature, food, chaotic activities) and usually when he’s full of adrenaline. Although other times, especially when he’s tired, it’s just. Dial up noises. Head empty

- focus juice… for mentally taxing activites? Nonexistent.

Expressive language disorder:

(It used to be separated into receptive language disorder, expressive language disorder, or mixed, but these days it’s lumped together into developmental language disorder. However I use expressive language disorder for link because he specifically only has problems with expressive language (forming his own words) and not receptive language (understanding other people’s words)).

- gets words in the wrong order

- sometimes replaces a word with something else, especially if the signs are similar

- has difficulty with tenses (more so in verbal speech)

- often misses out words completely

- has quite a large vocabulary, but struggles with word recall. Will sometimes remember the word he meant to use hours later

- often flaps his hands in an attempt to remember a word, if he can’t think of it he will try to find an alternative

- c a n n o t s p e l l. Sometimes when he doesn’t know the sign for something, he’ll try to fingerspell it, but if the word is hard to spell he’ll try and find an alternative

- finds sign much easier than spoken language, because its grammatical structure (particularly how it uses tenses and combines language with muscle memory) is simpler to use for him, and because it’s so expressive he finds it easier to get his point across

- his language disorder is a part of why he’s nonverbal (as well as that he has a bit of a stutter), so signing in general is just much easier, though not everyone knows sign, and he isn’t fluent himself.

Epilepsy:

- has temporal lobe epilepsy

- mostly gets absence seizures and focal seizures

- absence seizures (essentially his brain ‘switching off’) are his more common ones. They usually only last a couple of seconds, and tend to look like he’s just distracted or zoning out (which he also does because of ADHD), though sometimes his eyelids will flicker, or if he’s walking or doing something he’ll suddenly stop, and go back to it like nothing happened. He isn’t aware of them at all. If they happen during something like a conversation with someone, he’ll just dismiss it as being distracted, though he does start to notice when he has longer absences and misses whole sentences, or has clusters of absences.

- focal aware seizures (auras) usually present as deja-vu, intense fear, or out of body feelings. He doesn’t realise they’re seizures for a while, since he experiences these anyway, and attributes the deja-vu to the memory loss, but eventually learns to tell them apart because his auras tend to come on very suddenly, though they can last a while

- he also gets focal impaired awareness ones, which tend to happen more when he’s very tired, especially when waking up/going to sleep. When he gets auras he’s still completely aware of his surroundings (and usually doesn’t have trouble moving, unless it’s a particularly bad one), but with impaired awareness he gets drowsy and confused, and won’t understand what people are saying

- usually his focal seizures stay just that, but sometimes they will become tonic-clonic seizures. This is usually only when he’s exhausted/injured/extremely stressed/otherwise worn down. Most of the time his auras come on soon enough to warn him he might have a worse seizure, so he can go somewhere safe (at least, once he realises he’s epileptic

- they’re arguably the mildest, but his absence seizures at the most dangerous, even though they’re usually short, because he gets no warning for them. He usually gets them a couple of times a day (especially waking up/going to sleep), but he gets them more frequently if he’s very tired, and if he gets absence clusters it makes it really hard to do anything.

- his main triggers are sleep deprivation, missing meals, extreme stress, and extreme heat. Which is unfortunate considering he spends his time running around Hyrule on no sleep and forgets to eat all the time.

in conclusion link is neurodivergent and i love him. thank u for ur time pls feel free to comment ur opinions and headcanons etc

#link #breath of the wild #the legend of zelda #also for context i am autistic + adhd #if u have epilepsy or a language disorder and i got anything wrong/said anything problematic here pls lmk!#mmm this took a long time to write bc i dont have brain cellsss #is rebloggable!#simply do not clown if u are not ND thank u #kokiri chatter

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ofieugogyshz · 3 years

Text

Drabble; Time Trials

Title: Time Trials

Word count: 2100

Summary: The time trials were announced on Pasio! Sarah debates participating, when eir husband Lance and his cousin Clair find em staring up at the leaderboards, unsure of eir decision.

Notes/Content warnings: No cw comes to mind. This isn’t a serious piece, mostly an experiment/practice to work on writing with ey/em pronouns, and to show what the relationship between me and Clair is like. No limited-pov narrator. Not yet proofread, so as to avoid fleshing it out into something more. Potential consistency issues.

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

Sarah was standing outside the building that the time trial events were taking place. The scores were being shown on electric screens outside, as well as the best times on another set of screens. Some of the current and previous timed battles were being displayed on the rest of the screens, as though to entice trainers to try their hands at it.

Ey watched the screens, glancing over every so often at the ones for times and the other for scores. Leon, the Champion from Galar, was listed as the top score; right below him was Raihan, a Gym Leader from the same region as well. Below that were a mix of names ey did and didn't recognize; trainers and gym leaders and champions from other regions.

It looked like some trainers were going in groups of up to three people. The screen with the best times would change to show the best times among the single, double, and triples. Very few of the group times ranked above the best singles, and it wasn't hard to guess why. More opponents was harder to take down. More opponents meant there was a higher chance of an offense-defense pairing, and or a pure defense team, and the more of those you ran into, the lower your times would be.

Although...

Ey looked up at the screens again. It didn't list the sync pair's Pokemon that were used in the best times, so unless you were familiar with them, or knew who their signature Pokemon was, you couldn't plan around them.

Sarah's Pikachu was getting bored with her trainer standing there. She knew ey was trying to decide on if ey wanted to join in or not, but the decision process was taking longer than usual—longer than it used to. If ey saw an event of any kind, ey would normally jump at the chance to try it. But now, here on Pasio, ey was hardly interested in participating in a lot of things. It was frustrating for Pika, because the more she saw the humans and Pokemon battle on screen, the more she was itching to jump in. Pasio was a place full of battles, and it was reigniting a spark in both trainer and Pokemon-- it just seemed to be taking longer for her trainer's spark to kindle.

“Hmm...” Ey had eir arms crossed, fingers tapping at an elbow, trying to decide. It would be a good way to get back into the swing of things, ey thought. But ey knew there was no way ey could get anywhere close to the best times, much less the top 100, with how many trainers Pasio had. There wasn't much point in competing if ey wasn't going to get close. But there was that tiny, determined voice that was always eager to try, even if it knew it was impossible. But then again... I'm not even interested in trying for the tournament. I'm just here because I wanted to see my husband.

As though on cue, Lance was walking with his cousin Clair towards the building that Sarah stood in front of. Ey hadn't noticed him; but his cousin had noticed eir, for he could feel her disposition change. A disgruntled noise, followed by a scoff under her breath. He knew about his cousin's dislike for his wife, but why that animosity was still there, even if mild, was beyond him. Still... An idea struck him.

“Sarah?”

Ey turned around to see Lance and his cousin. “Oh! Hi honey. And Clair.” Ey nodded towards eir in-law, who only made the barest acknowledgment of the greeting. Eir Pikachu perked up and waved towards the two dragon-type masters.

“Were you thinking about participating in the time trials?”

“Ah...” Ey glanced back up to look at the electronic leader boards. “...I don't know. Maybe? You know I'm not that competitive anymore,” ey said, trying to wave off eir discomfort. “I was curious to see what the times were like, 'cuz I heard that Leon's time was insane, and... well...” ey gestured to the board, where Leon's name was followed by the time of a minute and a half. “That definitely seems like a crazy impossible time. I don't think I've had battles that quick since I was traveling.”

Clair's eyes glanced up at the electronic boards. When she saw the time, she felt something in the pit of her stomach drop, but she scoffed and feigned confidence.

“A minute and a half? Please. I've beaten trainers in less than half a minute!” It was a boast, something that left a frown on her cousin's face, and an uncertain expression on his wife's. She quickly tried to smooth it over. “O-of course, those were all challengers that weren't ready for my gym! It's not something I'm particularly proud of, beating those people so easily!” she grumped, turning away so she didn't have to see their faces.

“Be that as it may,” Lance began, turning his attention back to his wife. “Would you like to join us? I'd be more than happy to have you on our team.”

“E-eh?” His wife faltered, unsure if ey should accept.

“WHAT?!” Clair quickly turned back to the conversation, all her frustration on display. She tried to quickly pick back up a proper disposition, but all she could do was huff her disagreement.

Lance turned towards Clair, a stern expression on his face.

“Is there a problem?” It was a challenge, daring his cousin to say anything unwell about his wife.

Clair finally recovered herself, and crossed her arms, breaking eye contact with Lance after a moment, deflecting the glare her reaction had earned her.

“Tch, I don't have a problem with adding a third person to our team. But it's a time trial. Shouldn't we pick someone who's still actively doing Pokemon battles? I don't want em to slow us down!”

Clair peeked a glance at her cousin and in-law to gauge their reactions from her words. She knew she couldn't get Lance to change his mind when it came to em, but she was hoping that her words might convince Sarah to not join them. Not that it would have been hard; her in-law and her had come to avoid interacting with each other whenever they could. And whenever Lance had asked Clair for a favor that involved her helping Sarah, the two in-laws tried to minimize the time spent around each other as much as possible.

Besides, she was trying to show her cousin how much she had improved. How could she do that if his wife was hanging around?

Alas, her words seemed to have only agitated her cousin more; he scowled at her, angry with her. Why was it so difficult to get the two of them to get along, he often wondered. At least it was no longer like the two of them clashing; Sarah had grown out of that when it came to his cousin, accepting that there was no changing her mind. And while Clair had accepted that Sarah was going to be part of the family tree, she still disliked em. The raging jealously over eir getting approval much easier than she ever did had waned to only a simmering dislike, but she couldn't fault em too much. Her cousin had spoken to her about it before the two married, and begrudgingly accepted the reasons for the differences. But that still didn't mean that she like em for it. It was unfair to her. Maybe if they had met before ey had met Lance, they could have been friends, or at least on a little better terms.

Still... the answer Clair had been a poor one, earning the wrath of her cousin; something that she could feel emanating off of him. He took a step towards his cousin, who carefully took a step back, trying not to show weakness but caution and past experience taught her otherwise.

“Sarah is more than capable of proving emselves in battle.” His voice was level, but Clair could pick up on the anger it held in check. “Ey is a quick thinker, and I believe ey will be able to keep up. If you think that might be a problem, then I suggest you to find a new team.”

Clair gulped.

Sarah grabbed eir husband's arm, embarrassed. “Sweetheart, please, it's fine. I can cheer you and Clair on. It's not a big deal--”

“It is a big deal,” he interrupted, looking back at em, his expression softening at eir. “It matters to me when someone talks ill of my wife. And I will not allow it.”

Ey stopped, eir face flushing softly as eir memory flashed back to eir youth. Terrible things ey said about emself, hurt and crying and frustrated. And how he wouldn't let em talk about eirself like that. Sarah's eyes watered now, the memory briefly awakened by his words. Ey fell silent, eir hand slowly falling until it rested next to his. Ey looked down at the ground, but a soft smile was on eir face. Ey nodded; there wasn't anything ey could say in response.

Right. That sickeningly sweet romance between them was part of why Clair didn't like em, but she kept that eww to herself. Even as a woman in her early thirties, that sort of weak spirit that came from getting too soft when one's partner was around had bothered her. And maybe that was why she hadn't kept one around for too long.

That thought was all but a flash reminder to her of her dislike and jealously towards Sarah, as Lance addressed her again.

“Well, Clair? Is it going to be an issue?”

Clair looked away, the pressure from his glare feeling as intense as any dragon's. It was more than enough to make her question herself—only for her to catch those thoughts and stop them. She shook her head to get rid of them; and it provided her answer too. She took a calming breath to give Lance a verbal answer.

“...No, it shouldn't be an issue,” she said. Resentment started to build, and she kept her cool this time, pushing it down... for now. “I'd be happy to have your wife on our team.”

“You don't have to lie about it,” Sarah muttered.

“Fine, sorry,” Clair grumbled.

Lance looked down at Sarah, then at Clair. Ey was right, but addressing the animosity Clair had never left a good taste in his mouth. He'd rather get this done and over with, so the three of them could work together and train for the time trials. It had been a long time since all three of them had trained together; he and Sarah were still dating at the time. Clair had said some harsh things, and Sarah had stormed off, angry and hurt. He didn't want a repeat of that; and hoped that they could behave themselves so as to avoid that.

Lance sighed. The tension he held slowly went away, and he addressed his cousin again.

“Are you really going to be cooperative on a team with my wife?”

“Tch, I can handle being around em for a few hours! It's not like you're asking us to be best friends.”

“Are you sure you're okay with that?” Sarah asked, looking at eir cousin-in-law. “I'd rather not get involved if you two were going at this seriously.”

Clair gave Sarah a hard stare. How could her cousin marry someone so weak-willed? Or, she didn't remember em being so weak-willed.

It annoyed her.

“Well, pick or choose if you're going to join us or not! We're going all in, so if you're not interested in that, then I suggest you back out now.”

“Clair!” Lance snapped.

Sarah could feel Lance squeeze eir hand. Ey knew how important it was to him, to both cousins, that one make a decision and commit to it. It didn't seem like he wanted em to leave, at least not because of his cousin's words. Sarah looked up at the electronic boards again, watching it scroll down the best times for a three-person group. Somehow, the times listed now seemed too slow. Battling alongside the two of them, and eir desire to do eir best, stirred up that little voice from earlier, that told em it could be possible. To give it a chance. Maybe ey might surprise emself, if ey tried.

“...You know what? Sure, I'll give it a try. It might be fun to battle like that.”

“'A try'?” Clair repeated. “I'm not interested in trying, I'm interested in winning!”

“Well, good thing I like to win, too. Let's do this!”

Lance found himself thinking that it would go better this time.

#writing #i'm not tagging official tags cuz it's just a dinky little drabble to experiment with #i haven't even read it back so there are probably errors #pasio au #my champion #tsundere cousin #fun fact: this is my 8001 post

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bigowlenergy · 4 years

Text

heat + horror

next chapter of How to Raise the Dead!

Maddie stands at the door to the basement, hazmat tied down around her waist, staring into the green dark. To her left, the cicada scream en mass. The refrigerator hums at her back. The portal buzzes below. The cold air that swirls up the steps is incredible against the summer heatwave. Maddie. Wants to go down. Hesitates, still.

Danny is down there.

Maddie loves her son, but she loves her daughter, too, and knows better than to bother Jazz when she’s trying to finish a paper and watch the finale to her latest K-drama at the same time (again) and expect anything but getting snapped at and increasing her stress. The experience is just new, with Danny. He was always the relaxed one, but once it hit 80 degrees in the house, the basement became his domain, with the same low tolerance for interruption. With an extra edge of physical discomfort and medical concern. Maddie just doesn’t want to upset him further. It feels like she does that all too often, but Danny just won’t say anything when she does. It’s hard to understand him. She wants to, but he’s pulled so far away from them already...

“Hey, mom.” Jazz stands in the entryway, kicking her flip flops off, two bags of gas station ice slung over her shoulders. “He moved yet?” She asks.

“No, I don’t think so. I was just about to check,” Maddie offers, stepping in to take the second bag from Jazz. She’d stepped out to get some water. Hadn’t gone back. Condensation from the ice leaks down her shoulders, sticks her hair to her neck. Instant relief.

“Alright.” She says. “You coming down? It’s cold.”

And Maddie hesitates at the mouth of the threshold, for just a moment.

“Sounds nice,” She tells the stairs, hidden under the clanging of Jazz’s steps.

At the bottom, all she can see is the ring of lawnchairs and the little blow up kiddie pool that Jazz is dumping her bag of ice in. The clear vinyl tubing of the cheap outdoor furniture catches every refraction of green light from the open portal. An oversized alien dollhouse in Maddie’s lab. The smell of squeaky fresh plastic overwhelms the ectoplasm. The basement has always been climate controlled, and underground besides, so the downright frosty air that the open portal adds to the mix creates the strange atmosphere of a sauna in winter. Inverted.

But the chilliest thing by far is Danny.

Maddie finally gets a good look at him when Jazz collapses back into her own chair, sticking her feet into the pool with a great heaving sigh. Maddie appreciates her running to the store for them. It’s nearly 110 out. She goes to dump her part of the ice in and nearly fumbles to keep from pouring it straight over Danny’s head. He’s buried up to his chest, now. What she thought were odd shadows from the portal are actually his folded knees, the only other part not under ice. His eyes are glazed and dull, staring sightlessly into the green vortex, his head pillowed on the wet plastic rim of the pool. Soaked hair drawn back by one of Jazz’s headbands drips slowly onto the concrete floor. Maddie frowns at that. They specifically asked the kids to make sure nothing in the lab was exposed to water. Should have put a towel down.

She probably can’t blame Danny for lack of foresight. He doesn’t look good.

“Hi, sweetie,” Maddie whispers, tucking the ice in around his legs instead.

His blank expression doesn’t change as he belatedly mouths ‘hi’ back to her.

“Drink your slush,” Scolds Jazz, kicking at the ice idly. Danny’s buried hands slowly tip the half melted slushie toward his face. The straw rests in his mouth for a while, but Maddie’s fairly sure he doesn’t drink any. Her poor baby. Jazz had picked it up for him the first time she went to the store, nearly three hours ago.

Maddie pulls her hands from the ice and wipes them on her shirt. Goes to the monitoring station set up on the side of the portal. The nodes taped to Danny’s neck are probably the only things keeping him from fully submerging himself. His oxygen levels are lower than his usual terrifying baseline of 87%, hovering in the 84-86% range, and his heartrate is just short of clinical death. Most worryingly, his temperate is reading at nearly 80 - a deadly fever, considering his normal 71.3.

Maddie wishes they knew how to really help him. This feels strangely like a - not like a test, not really, but like something is being withheld from them. Like Danny knows what to do, but is still too scared to tell them. Like it’s something he doesn’t want them to know, another little secret on the pile. A tiny declaration of loss of trust.

Or he’s afraid of them knowing.

Not that he could tell them, right now. He’s been basically unresponsive to even the most drastic of stimuli since his internal temp hit 75 an hour ago. Jack had driven out for the lawn furniture around that time, helped wrangle Danny out of the bathtub and into the lab for better monitoring, then disappeared again a few minutes ago. Maddie has an inkling of what he’s up to, so she’ll just hold down the fort and see what happens.

But Danny. Looking at this array, she has the clinging idea that this would be easier for him if he was a ghost. But even now, he’s so hesitant about letting them see him. Has never, in word or deed, trusted them with that. It’s an open secret. What he is.

Who he is.

Jazz knows; Maddie knows she known for some time now. Maddie knows. Does Jack? Maddie knows. She tries to imagine that alien presence in this little family tableau. More green in the air. An extra buzz of static under the portal. White hair, dripping. Maddie knows, but it feels like she knows less than she did three weeks ago.

She’s seen Phantom with her own eyes. Seen him fly and fight and snarl like an animal. Seen him bounce and smile and joke. How does he do it? Maybe Maddie just isn’t ready for the perfect intersection of those things yet. Does - does Danny’s ghost leave his body?

Is Maddie really ready to face her sons’ corpse and his ghost at the same time?

Jazz splashes suddenly, feet shifting, head tipped back dramatically off the edge of her seat, hair in a huge bun, wearing her only pair of shorts. Little embroidered ghosts on the hem. Would he electrify the pool, if he changed?

Maddie sucks in a breath and drags her eyes back to the monitor. Maybe it would be better if he did. Actually. The shock might be what he needs to stabilize his heart. He’s obviously reliant on cold temperatures to facilitate stronger conductivity of his electrical impulse based neurology. Like any other ghost. He’s losing stability of consciousness. Unable to rely on the physical, chemical reaction based impulses of the li - of humans. Maddie’s trying not to think about it. She doesn’t want to think about it. The monitor won’t tell her anything else.

Danny, the ghost, Danny, her son, is suffering from mild destabilization and his human body is too close to brain dead to keep him from -

God, Maddie is glad she doesn’t know.

Jack, bless that man, saves her from her thoughts by clambering down the stairs.

“Icecream!” He calls, voice pitched less exuberantly loud than usual. In deference of the small lab space, empty of the usual noise of running machines, or in deference to Danny. Or her own nerves. Jack hands Jazz a pint of strawberry pistachio and a spoon, sets a bag near the pool and then appears at Maddie’s side. Kisses her cheek. Glances at the monitor.

“How’s he doing?” He asks, handing her her own pint and a fork. Pecan Caramel soymilk.

“Not much worse. But we don’t know beyond his baselines, so it could mean anything. Temperature’s been stable for the last twenty minutes.” Maddie digs out the first pecan she sees and keeps it in her mouth to cool her sensitive teeth. Offers nothing else. Jack can read the screen. If he arrives to the same conclusion, then they’ll talk about it upstairs. Away from the kids. Hopefully, Danny’s too busy barely existing to overhear, if it comes down to it.

Jack nods, bullshooter blue eyes sweeping over the monitor. One huge, extremely hot hand rests on her back, goes to rub soothingly, but Maddie shoos him with her fork.

“You’re cold!” He says delightedly, sticking his hands on the folds of her turned down hazmat. He spares her a smile, then snaps his attention back to the screen. Lingers on Danny’s oxygen levels. “Well,” Jack says, straightening up, “Let’s try to get his internal temperature down a bit, then. Come on, Danno!”

He unties the cloth bag and pulls out a full gallon of icecream. There is no room in the freezer for that.

“Okay, buddy, I got us a real treat, straight from the farmer’s market creamery, you know, the people with the ecto-infected cows we helped out last spring? Got us a discount! Anyway, it’s custom. Chocolate icecream, fudge pieces, cacao nibs, coconut shavings, sprinkles, cookie bits, and those little soft dough chunks -” He cuts off, leans in closer to the pool, watches Danny intensely for a few seconds. “Yep! Extra cookie pieces. Wanna try some?”

Jack sticks two spoons in the open gallon and sets it aside. Gently eases the mostly ignored red slushie out of Danny’s hands and passes it off to Jazz. She doesn’t hesitate to pour some of it over her icecream. Maddie shudders. Bites her pecan. Takes a seat.

Jack pulls a shop towel out of his shorts pocket and soaks it in the pool, then wipes his face with it before slinging it around his neck. Takes a tiny spoonful of the icecream and starts to set it in Danny’s direction.

“Just try a bit, Danno. I’ll let you drink dry ice again,” He cajoles. Maddie whips her head up to glare at him. Jazz shrieks with her mouth closed, prevented from yelling properly by a well timed frozen strawberry. Jack ignores them both. He’d better have a damn good reason and some damn good results.

He gets Danny to eat a little, at least. He’d refused dinner last night, and it’s almost 7 PM, now. After a while, Jack leans in again. All Maddie can hear from a bare few feet away is a quiet, wet little rasp.

Jack beams his most reassuring grin at their son. “Of course it’s got ectoplasm in it; it’s for you, Danny-boy!” He says. And. That might be the first time any of them have put it to words. Admitted it out loud. It should feel like a taboo broken, but somehow, it eases a little relief into the atmosphere. A confession they all share.

Then Jack frowns a bit. Eyebrows drawn down in concern when he says “Is it not enough?”

Danny shakes his head, a light tremble of motion. The wet plastic squeaks under his neck. Lies still. Jack sits back, looks up to Maddie. Jazz is leaned back in her seat, staring down at Danny with a sharp frown of disapproval on her face. A fierce set to her eyes that tells Maddie everything she needs to know.

“We’ll get you more, sweetie,” Maddie tests the waters carefully, kneeling down across from Jack, sets a hand on Danny’s drying hair, keeps Jazz in her sights. Danny closes his eyes and shakes his head again, turning further into her palm and sighing quietly. A low, tired sound of dismissal. Not for Maddie. Jazz looks away, guilt and worry plain on her face. Bites her lip. Lids her icecream and mumbles an excuse of a goodbye, looking a bit mutinous as she leaves.

Maddie has to wonder if she should step back from this. Let Jazz do whatever needs to be done that Danny is hiding from them. But she can’t. These are her children; they shouldn’t need to be providing something for themselves. It’s her duty to care for them.

But. She is also an ectobiologist. Knows damn well what ghosts need. Has done in-field observations on this sort of thing for at least a decade.

It’s not the amount of ectoplasm that matters. It’s the source.

They can’t provide what Danny needs from the lab.

Sure, they’ve never seen Phantom feeding, but he’s so rarely seen at all. Elusive. Non-normative behavior. Maybe -

An incomplete hypothesis has never sat well with her. Her son being miserably sick while she has the power to help him is not sitting any better.

“Danny,” She says firmly, gently taking his cold face in her hands and wincing at the mincing slowness of his pulse under his jaw. “Please, just tell us what’s wrong, honey.”

Something thumps upstairs. What is Jazz doing? Maddie had assumed she left the house. To get. Something. Bring something back? Get a ghost they know to help?

Maddie’s seen ghosts negotiate and willingly feed from each other. The statistically significant ratio of mutual encounter to violent attack was one of the things that tipped the scales for Maddie and Jack on whether ghosts have the capacity for civilized society or not.

If Danny has some sort of pact or agreement with a local ghost, then Maddie is intensely interested in learning every detail of it. As both his mother, and as an ectobiologist. Jazz probably has extensive notes.

Upstairs, something drags across the floor. Maddie jumps at the noise.

“I’ll go check,” Jack offers, glancing guiltily back to Danny before heading up the stairs.

Maddie turns her attention back to Danny and actually feels her heart skip a beat when she finds him staring up at her with dull, glazed eyes. His face too-still and eerie in the green light of the buzzing portal. It dyes him colors he shouldn’t be. She takes in a breath, and calms herself, confused by her own reaction. She’s been exposed to high levels of ectoplasm for nearly two decades. Maddie lost her innate terror-reaction to ectoentities years ago. This is completely unfamiliar to her.

But the way Danny’s too blank face flashes into guilt as he flinches and tries to pull away is not. It’s the same reaction as Jazz earlier.

Guilt. Something withheld. Upstairs, something drags against the wood floors again. Slow, deliberate.

“Danny -” She starts, concerned. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and turns away from her. Mouths something that she reads as sorry. A creak on the stairs. The lights flicker. Maddie jolts back in a crouch immediately, hand falling to where her weapons should be. One hand on Danny. Assuring his location. Her other hand closes on nothing. Of course not. Maddie doesn’t wear her weapons around Danny. Not any more. There’s nothing there. She forces herself into a more relaxed stance with some difficulty.

What could they have upstairs for this? Surely there’s not another ghost living in their house? Maddie would like to think that a second instance would be ridiculous. Maybe a hidden freezer of ectoplasmic samples? She looks down at the human ghost in her lab. Maybe he needs a rare type of ectoplasm, due to his unusual biology? His half human biology.

Half human. Needing ectoplasm and emotion, but also needing food. Maddie’s heart picks up uncomfortably, sits high in her throat. At the other end of the room is the wall safe with the Nightingale journals. The myths and accounts and legends of violent ghosts. Hunted for their danger to humanity. Their hunger. Maddie and Jack have long discounted or disproved those old folk tales.

But then again, they’d also disproved the existence of something like Danny.

“Danny -” She tries again, watching the way he’s turned away from her intently. Mouth pressed in a thin, unhappy line. Every ounce of him tense, entombed in ice.

Jack bounds down the stairs. Maddie jolts to her feet. He’s got the bulky old TV from the sitting room in his arms. Maddie’s heart is pounding, her mind blank.

“We’ve got the cure, Mads!” He cries. Jazz follows, carrying the DVD player and a stack of DVDs.

In the pool, Danny shudders strongly enough to stir the ice. Moans out “No,” loudly enough to be heard.

“Shut up, Danny.” Jazz says firmly. “You need this.”

Jack finishes plugging the makeshift entertainment center together. Jazz sets the DVDs down and sticks one in the player. Maddie’s seen every title on the pile, but doesn’t recognize them from anywhere in the house. All horror films, many classic. Monster movies. Slasher flicks. It’s so disingenuous from where her mind had been that she’s left frozen.

“They’re from Sam,” Jazz explains. “For when somebody runs out of juice.” She spares Danny an annoyed glare and hits play.

Oh. Oh. Maddie looks down at the miserable little ghost in the pool, her shadow cast long over his morose, guilty expression. He’s so pale. The colors from the TV flicker against the vinyl and ice and ectoplasm in surreal flashes. Some loud sound blares from the old speakers with more static than usual and Maddie jolts again. All her senses on high alert, an undercurrent of unnatural fear flooding her cerebellum. An artificially induced state of terror. The buzzing she’s been ignoring with all the ease of overexposure is Danny’s aura, set to 18 hz.

There hasn’t been a ghost attack in nearly a week. All the local specters retreating to the other side of the portal as the heat wave rages on theirs. Danny hasn’t been able to emphathically power himself in a week. Maybe longer.

Ghosts feed on fear.

He’s been overwhelmed with the heatwave, unable to patrol his territory, probably not physically fed in a while, and emotionally weakened. Of course he’s destabilizing.

Maddie lets out a breath of relief. This is something easily remedied, at least. She leans in and kisses Danny’s forehead. In apology. In absolution. Feels guilty for her distrust of him with such an irrational idea. Feels the rekindled instinctual hyperawareness of a ghost near to her vulnerable human throat. Ignores it. Helps Jack finish moving the chairs closer to the pool. Sets her icecream back on her lap. Settles in and lets herself overthink the timing of the next jumpscare. Watches her little ghost relax slowly as he draws strength from their shared, controlled fear. Wonders if he has a vomeronasal organ, with the way his mouth is a little open. If it helps with emphathic filtering, or if it’s psychosomatic. Wonders if he feels better. Fishes his hand out of the ice and holds it tight until he squeezes her back.

It’s been a while since they’ve had a family movie night.

#dannymay2020 #danny phantom #heat #fenton family fun times #maddie fenton #jack fenton #jazz fenton #danny fenton #heat and horror #fanfiction

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words-writ-in-starlight · 4 years

Text

Some Trans!Danny Thoughts

When this hit its second page, I moved it to a new post. In no particular order of importance.

When Danny was a year old and learning to talk, he spent two hours getting in a power struggle with his then-three-year-old sister where she pointed to him and said “Danielle” and he said “Dannel” back, and then she told him “Jasmine” and he answered “Jassem”, and it ended with two kids in tears and Maddie having straight-up given up. This was not so much a gender thing as a “kids getting into a screaming match about nothing of import” thing. Instead of trying to fight the point, Maddie decided that her kids were now named Dani and Jazz, and that mostly resolved the issue. It was also extremely convenient later.

Maddie and Jack are not, shall we say, the most attentive parents in the world. Danny was in the third grade before he was required to attend a formal event of any kind (it was Jazz’s elementary school graduation), and while Maddie did manage to wrangle him into a dress, he scowled through the whole thing. Then Jazz bounced down to them, grinning and bright-eyed, and dropped her robe onto his head, because it was June and too warm for it. He spent the next hour running around like a wizard and destroyed the lower third of his dress and that was pretty much the ballgame on Danny and formal attire. He wore jeans to his elementary school graduation.

Jazz started being mostly in charge of making sure Danny had clothes that weren’t, A, full of holes, or B, contaminated around when she was twelve. She decided to do the big sister thing right and took him to Target, whereupon Jazz immediately got decision paralysis. This turned into Danny, ten, and Jazz, twelve, staring at each other in the baby clothes section like they had walked into a parallel dimension, until finally Danny very slowly lifted up a blue newborn onesie covered in elephants and said “I think we’re in the wrong section,” and then they had to sit down on the floor so as not to knock anything over while they lost it. It was a weird day for the Target employees. Jazz pulled it together enough to turn Danny loose and tell him that he needed three t-shirts, a jacket, a pair of pants, and underwear, but not enough to actually dictate anything about the clothes he found. If her sister wanted to run around in block colored t-shirts and a boy’s hoodie, that was between Danny and God.

The ONE dysphoria headcanon I will be including is that Danny was one of those people who went from completely flat chested to a C-cup more or less overnight when he was eleven and suddenly all the mild discomfort he’d ignored through most of his life crystallized. Jazz offhand said that they should go buy a couple bras, because she needed some more too, and Danny fully blue-screened out for five minutes before Jazz snapped her fingers in his face and went “Hey, Earth to Fenton, are you okay?”

“I don’t want to do that,” Danny said.

“What, go shopping? Listen, we haven’t gotten lost in a store since--”

“I don’t want to get--” Danny stopped there, because he was suddenly really not prepared to say any of the words that might go at the end of that sentence. “Can’t I just not?”

“Not—buy a bra?” Jazz asked carefully.

“Yeah.” And Jazz’s baby sister blinked at her from under the shaggy overgrown pixie cut she’d been getting since she was old enough to have preferences, and Jazz thought, a little idly, well, Dani won’t be able to look like a boy anymore, if she looks anything like me and Mom.

And then Jazz, budding psychologist, opened her mouth, shut it, and said, “Tell you what, how about we don’t worry about it right now.” So they didn’t, and watched a movie, and then after Dani went to bed, Jazz hauled one of her secondhand psychology textbooks off a bookshelf and started doing reading.

Three days of intensive research later, she sidled up to Danny and said, “Hey, I have a weird question. Do you even want to be a girl, or what?”

“Sure,” Danny said, distracted by frowning over his summer homework, in the universal tone of I’m really not listening but okay, yeah. “I—hang on, what?”

“Would you be a girl if you had the option?”

Danny blinked at her, again, and said, like Jazz was an idiot, “Would you?”

“Yeah,” Jazz said. “I like being a girl. But I was thinking that maybe you might want to start school as Daniel?”

And then it was Dani’s turn, Danny’s turn, to open his mouth, shut it, and say, “Is that—a thing?”

“Sure,” Jazz said with completely unwarranted confidence. “I’m sure I can figure it out.”

Danny went over to Tucker’s the same afternoon and said, in a tone of total shock, “Hey, did you know I was a boy?” And that was pretty much the end of that conversation. The conversation with Sam also featured Sam’s very earnest attempt to convert Danny to being goth, but that was because Sam was going through a Phase and tried to convert anyone who asked her anything about clothing.

Jazz helps Danny figure out how to explain to their parents. Since it doesn’t involve ghosts, Maddie and Jack could really give a fuck what pronouns their kid uses, and since it doesn’t really change anything except that Jack starts calling him “Danny-boy” instead of “Dani-girl,” it’s not…remarkable.

Later, Jazz is going to think about that conversation, and about the way their dad boomed a laugh and said, “From your face, I thought you were going to tell us something awful—like you were a ghost! Sure thing, Danny-boy, sounds good.” And she’s going to understand why Danny told them one secret and not the other.

Danny’s pediatrician is just relieved that, at Danny’s pre-school yearly physical, Jazz’s only weird question is “can you prescribe hormone blockers” rather than something like “hey if you eat something contaminated with ectoplasm do you think that’ll have effects or…?” (Someone please put this woman out of her misery.)

Danny’s wearing his binder during the accident, which is very convenient, don’t get him wrong, but also that was his favorite binder and he’s annoyed about it getting permanently removed from his wardrobe. It didn’t do that rolly thing at the base of the elastic, it’s hard to find binders that don’t do the rolly thing. Sam listens to him complain about it twice and then she tries to smother him with a pillow and accidentally slam dunks him through his bed.

Also, he initially has some concerns about whether he can take his binder…off as Phantom? You’re not supposed to wear a binder while you exercise, Jazz has drilled this into his head, and it’s not until after his first major dustup with a ghost that he remembers, huh, fighting ghosts probably counts. Some experimenting proves that, while Phantom is a lot more…structured than your average ghost and his suit does come off, it can’t really sustain itself without him for long. If he leaves a glove or torn clothing behind, eventually it’ll start to crumble, or, more alarmingly, melt. On the upside, the suit seems to repair itself, and can straight up regrow any pieces that he loses. A little more experimenting proves that Phantom doesn’t breathe except to talk, and even that seems to be mostly habit, so Operation: Fight Ghosts In A Binder is a go.

Real conversation:

“So…this is Dani,” Danny says, doing kind of a ta-da gesture at the long-haired ghost who, undeniably, looks exactly like him, if a little younger. “She’s my clone.”

“Hi,” Jazz says gamely, and the ghost waves back. “What are you two going to do about the name thing? If you’re both named Daniel it’ll get confusing.”

“My name is Danielle,” the girl says, bemused. “It’s Dani, with an I.”

“She’s not trans,” Danny says with a shrug. Jazz feels about four hundred questions hurl themselves at the back of her teeth, and she takes a deep breath, and Danny is already smirking by the time she wrestles down the impulse to never stop talking. “I told you it would kill her not to be able to write a paper on us,” Danny tells Dani. Then he turns back to Jazz and says, “So, Vlad gave me a free sister and she literally does not own clothes. I figured you could take her to Target and have a meltdown in the baby section.”

“Danny! God, you’re such a brat, that was one time,” Jazz says, flushing, and she grabs Dani by the hand and drags her off while Danny cackles at their back. “Congratulations on your jerk brother,” Jazz tells Dani. “He’s giving me grey hair.”

“Don’t worry about it too much,” Dani says. “You’ll match.” Jazz narrows her eyes and Dani grins, unapologetic.

It makes Danny grin like an idiot the first time the Amity Times publishes a (nominally complimentary, before shit hits the fan) headline about the ghost boy, and he keeps a copy of the article.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #danny fenton is TRANS and you cannot STOP ME #jazz fenton #these are almost as much about jazz if i'm being honest i REALLY love jazz #anyway these are borne on the tide of my dissatisfaction with how every single trans danny thing is about dysphoria #i knoooooow okay i know i get it i know i GOT THE CONCEPT #can we PLEASE get some jokes up in here. some affirming stuff about jazz using her hyperfixation to figure out how to support her brother.#some stuff about how sam's entire conversation with danny was 'so if you're a dude are you going to change your look?'#'because i think maybe an eyebrow piercing or some gauges--' 'i'm not changing my look i like my shirts sam' 'danNY YOUR SHIRTS ARE BORING'#PLEASE give me sam (a bisexual goth drama queen) dunking on her boyfriend for dressing like every boring straight boy ever #(in any universe tbh come on folks)#danny was always going to end up tall but since he goes on t when he's 16 he's VERY tall #and since he's doing ghost hunting 40 hrs/week when he goes on t he also ends up PRETTY BUFF #(remind me to write some stuff about the following: how relieved danny is when he turns 25 and really doesn't look much like dan at all)#(and how profoundly uncomfortable danny is when his voice drops and turns into something WAY too close to dan's for comfort)#also listen i know that not many trans folks actually do the whole 'this is basically just my name but gendered differently' thing #but i (a person with a feminine first name and a masculine middle name) did so just let me project in peace #at some point some kid makes a joke in phantom's earshot about 'do ghosts even come in trans or what' and he's like 'i'm RIGHT here'#i have...more of these #a queue we will keep and our honor someday avenge

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muzachio · 4 years

Text

Last task

Short and sweet fanfic about the #TaskHusbands.

Greg Davies/Alex Horne ; Taskmaster UK ; PG-13

One should never mistake the correct order when preparing a proper cup of tea. To Greg, pouring milk in the empty mug was the closest to a war crime as a non-violent act can be. But he laughed at himself every time this silly thought crossed his mind. However imposing and respectable he looked to everyone else, Greg made it so he would never take himself too seriously. Sometimes acting on impulse, all he truly wanted was to enjoy life to the fullest. A fundamental part of it was to cherish his relationships and truly understand their depth in different moments. For that reason, the natural progression of events and how they affected how close – or distant – he got to his friends and colleges was something that Greg would find himself contemplating almost daily. Especially when very busy, long days ended in particularly quiet nights.

Alone and sorting colorful mugs to choose which one to use, Greg felt the accumulation of hours of work over his shoulders. He was worn out, but satisfied. He didn’t want to go home yet. It seemed like a better idea to stay at the studio a little longer while he could look at things empty and silent. The lack of excitement helped him appreciate how much full of energy they managed to make that same space just a few hours prior. He was fairly sure that only one other person was around, so he finished fiddling with tea boxes and went to find them while the water was heating up. The theater had only soft service lights turned on. Walking through the rows of chairs he could hear distant sounds of a vacuum cleaner. Covered by the darkness, Greg found that the someone he had been looking for dared to be sitting in his Taskmaster throne. Alex was holding the unfailing tablet, legs crossed, clearly immersed in thought. Greg approached carefully, trying not to be noticed until it was too late for Alex to deny what he was doing. Lost in his worries, Horne didn't see the tall shadow betray Greg's attempt to keep hidden.

"What do you think you're doing?", the booming voice startled Alex, who let out an embarrassed chuckle at the sight of Greg with both hands on his hips, standing a few feet away from the throne. "Come on, mate. That's not yours to sit on." He said, faking outrage. Then took two steps closer and reached out one hand to Alex. "Plus it's not comfortable and I have tea for us upstairs..." His voice was now soft and inviting.

"Oh, that's lovely. Could you please take this for me? I'll shut the lights off and be right there in a minute", Alex asked after handing his tablet to Greg. A small nod and the taskmaster was walking back to the office. That was it, just the two of them. It was perfect actually because he had been meaning to spend some time with Alex to discuss the season so far, how pleased he was with it, and how thankful he felt for the entire team. Being a big grumpy man was all an act, the real Greg only knew to be kind.

The kettle awaited impatiently for his return, spilling boiling water over the counters. They should have replaced that old piece of crap months ago, but here it was, acting up if it lacked attention for two seconds. By the time Greg remembered the mistake, it was too late. He ran from the stairs straight to the kitchen and stopped at the doorway deciding not to risk Alex’s most important work tool in that watery mess. So then Greg took a few steps back to put the tablet down on the coffee table in front of the couch. Upon reaching the kitchen the sight was not pretty. There was water everywhere around the kettle. Some tea boxes were soggy, the mugs were standing on shallow puddles. Greg slapped it shut – promptly questioning if that was the reason why the poor thing started malfunctioning in the first place –, to then try to salvage two decent cups of tea. He made an effort to remember how Alex liked his tea, considering that the kindness of fetching tea was usually a task performed in his benefit. After the counters were dry again and most of the chaos was dealt with, he decided he had done enough. Carefully, Greg finished his simple task in the most straightforward way possible, no need to get creative. The office area was so quiet now that Greg could hear Alex shifting around to make himself more comfortable on the couch next to the stairs. He smiled again, spoon touching the edge of the porcelain. It was a good evening. He just wanted to keep enjoying it with his friend.

It seemed like the almost motionless image of Alex was asking Greg a variety of very deep, difficult questions. He just couldn’t understand the myriad of emotions surfacing during those quick steps to get closer and closer to the man who had been with him through some of the best times of his recent years. Perhaps it was his complete puzzlement that made Alex stare back as if he was expecting an explanation, but Greg had no words, just a fresh, warm cup of tea. He put down one mug in front of Alex, over the coffee table, and walked around it to the other side of the L shaped couch holding his own mug.

“Thank you, Greg”, said Alex, still splitting his attention between the work screen and his friend. He was sitting closer to the edge, right next to the stairs. While Greg found a good spot to settle down, he just kept moving things with his fingertips on the tablet. The smell of hot beverages made him sigh in relief to realize the day was finally over. Greg was now nestled by his right side, sipping tea and spying over his shoulder to get a glimpse of what he was still doing. Each time Greg adjusted his legs over the seat, Alex felt their arms brushing lightly. Regardless of how strong the air conditioning was set, Greg would always change into a short-sleeved shirt as soon as he was off the clock. Alex, on the other hand, preferred his cozy dark blue jumper.

Finally, Alex gave up on looking at screens and let go of the tablet. They stared at each other in silence, simply acknowledging their presence. Greg lazily savored his tea without breaking eye contact. Nobody could win against him in a staring contest, ever. Even keeping his mouth shut Greg would still dominate any conversation. Alex wasn’t intimidated at all by it but honestly fascinated about it. Nonetheless, the unspoken game between them was a lot more fun if he played the part.

Alex uncrossed his legs and leaned back on the couch, hands over his knees. This was how he gave up the victory, this was how he’d let Greg be Greg.

“You did great today. As usual”, said the Taskmaster between short sips.

“Well, you did too. Very good show…” Alex hesitated, clearing his throat. He would look at his clasped hands when he wasn’t really sure of what to say, glancing at his companion now and then. “Very good season. The crew is doing a fantastic job…”

“Of course. Everyone is doing great…” Greg leaned closer to rest his mug on the table. “But you just deserve a bit more appreciation than you have been given lately, I feel.”

A self-professed natural sidekick, Alex had a hard time accepting compliments. He averted his eyes away from Greg’s ever so intense gaze, lightly rubbing his hands on his pants. All he could do was to nod silently, finding some comfort on a warm gulp of tea. Then, Greg scooted even closer, legs touching, one arm stretched out behind Alex’s back. When Horne was done with his drink, he threw his body back all the way to end up lying his head on Greg’s arm. They moved slowly and gently. Despite being so used to each other, there was a slight awkwardness to overcome with every new touch. No need to rush, both enjoyed the seconds of closeness.

“How are you, little Alex Horne?” Greg said playfully, caressing his hair and looking at his face intently.

“Tired.” He replied in his characteristic matter-of-fact tone. “I feel good, yeah, good. Just a mild headache.” One hand raised to gesture the size of his discomfort, very small. Then he lifted his head and looked at Greg, pouting like he was hurt for real. Greg chuckled but soon fell quiet. Just as fast, Alex relaxed his face.

They seemed to weight each other for a moment, until Greg held the back of Alex’s head, moving forward to place a kiss in the middle of his forehead. They smiled at the gesture, Alex still not sure of how to thank him for the kindness. But before he could do or say anything, Greg went for a second bow, now with a wicked look on his face. Having just enough time to close his eyes, Horne received a mischievous kiss on the tip of the nose. That made them laugh softly, bobbing their shoulders and unintentionally sliding a little closer.

Greg once more stared at Alex’s face, who was taking his time opening his eyes back again. Davies felt the need to search for Horne’s hand like he had done so many times before. It was almost a reflex to Alex now to nest Greg’s hands between his whenever the Taskmaster reached for them. While his right hand was hugged by his favorite sidekick, the left one slipped down from the achy head to the neck of Alex. Greg gently tugged on the flesh, nearly pleading with Alex to look at him. Still unsure, but slowly giving in, Alex gathered the courage to look into Davies’ eyes.

He knew Greg had something to say. He could feel the anticipation in his breath. Otherwise so sure of himself, the mean Greg Davies was having trouble saying this one silly thing he wanted to say just because he felt like it. The moment had brought up a strange opportunity that neither was particularly seeking, but it suddenly seemed just right. He never felt so at ease with Alex. He had his impulses, and all the joy in the world to appreciate.

Greg took a deep breath, opened a wide smile, and took a chance.

“I genuinely want to kiss you right now.”

“Do you? Come on, then.”

They were smiling and hesitating. Before uttering those words, Greg had absolutely no plan on how to act in case Alex agreed. He assumed he would get flat-out laughed at and that would be it. In the same sense, Alex wasn’t expecting to call Greg on his bluff. The game suddenly became real and neither of them was ready to back out. It had happened before, but not that way, when they had no punch line to use as an excuse. Now, they just honestly wish to discover how it would feel. Maybe it was the constant provocative suggestions they would toy with, or everyone else joking about the relationship that made the idea not so foreign. But the fact remained that they barely needed to negotiate it inside their minds. And for some reason, they leaned into the antic.

Almost in sync, Greg and Alex merged their smiles in a timid kiss. Contrary to their initial expectations, there was no intention of breaking contact on either side. Instead of hastily ending it, Greg let his face relax from the smirk and sensed their warm lips together. Alex followed suit, not allowing any space for judgment in his mind. The moment solely asked for genuine physical touch. Alex took advantage of his confidence rush to pull Greg’s hand and hold it against his chest. It was like he wished to say something but through pure silence. He was trying to complete the action somehow, to make it so Greg could know not to let go just yet. And let go Greg would not because all the sensations he didn’t even know to crave were taking him by surprise. His thoughts were focused on detailing every single inch of them that was touching, from the hand on Alex’s neck to the leg he folded over and rested on his lap. He gently pulled on the skin with his fingers while sliding it down even more until he pressed the middle of Horne’s back. Perhaps this was the closest they would ever be.

Greg held Alex’s face, tenderly stroking his cheek with the thumb. They fought their way back to when this was not happening and merely kept their faces close, but not in contact. Alex knew he had to release Greg’s hand, but didn’t want to. He pulled it down and kept the grip with only one of his hands. He had never told Greg how much he appreciated every time he would randomly join hands with him during recordings of the show. It would always catch him by surprise. Now he felt like maintaining the connection for longer, even if not sure about what Greg was thinking. To his luck, the Taskmaster had no different desire and simply embraced him again, coaxing Alex to rest against his body.

It took them a moment to take full stock of the event. Greg was rubbing Alex’s arm while he looked at their fingers interlocked sitting on top of his thigh. Suddenly, both begin laughing at absolutely nothing. Cackling like madmen, Alex freed Greg’s hand, who then awkwardly hugged him. The laughter died down naturally, Davies still tapping on Horne’s leg. It was so silly, but here it was, did and done. Their courage to leave – or move – was on an all-time low. It was hard to know what to say, if they should discuss it somehow or just let things be. Also, both were very tired and not making the best judgment of any situation.

“Always a pleasure spending time with you, mate. But I guess it’s late and we should go.” Greg offered the treaty.

“You’re right. You help me just make sure everything is closed here, please?” Alex seemed to be lighter, relieved somehow. He tried to get up, but Greg resisted, forcing him to stay. He waited. He knew that look on Greg’s face, the imaginary deep breath before speaking his mind.

“Thank you.” It was Greg’s turn to avoid looking into Alex’s eyes. “I needed that, I suppose. So thank you for putting up with my silliness…”

Alex had never experienced Greg in that kind of exposed position, so candid and vulnerable. He finally understood the level of trust that was developed between the two. A sense of pride and fulfillment poured over him.

“We both needed that, Greg.” He stated, standing up right after. Greg stared at him almost confused, obviously surprised, but wearing a giddy smile.

Five minutes later, they were standing outside the studio and Greg heard the phrase that had become his favorite in recent times. Alex waved once and said, “See you tomorrow, Taskmaster.”

#fanfic #taskmaster #greg davies #alex horne #taskhusbands #little alex horne

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mccnyoongi · 5 years

Note

the yoongi thigh riding drabble 😫😫😫 sis ur tryna kill me alsooo i know u said ur trying not to go for the “riding yoongi in his studio chair” trope however i FULLY support indulging in this trope 😉 i rlly love ur writing tho omg 🥰

+ anon said: hi im uh read your latest work and rEALLY LIKED IT so can i please request riding yoongi in his studio chair??? thanks if you would posts it!

+ another anon said: yoongi drabble, were where y / n and he have sex in his studio, pls?

hsfjksfh TWIST MY ARm why dont u !! (i told yall id do nasty soon) now i wanna write a multi-chaptered undergroundrapper!yoongi sjkfjsdf

⇢ word count: 2K+ (lmao)

⇢ warnings: unprotected sex, dom!yoongi, starts SUPER soft then devolves into filth, undergroundrapper!yoongi bc ion like writing idol!au skdfjsdfk, degradation, yoongi’s hands

Yoongi’s passion has always been one of your favourite things about him- if he cares about something, he’ll give his all to it. Thankfully you fall under that category. The only question is whether you’re first or second on the list, constantly competing with his music.

With Yoongi garnering a fair amount of success from his life as an underground rapper, you understand why it’s starting to take over more and more of his life, you really do. You loved Yoongi, you loved his music. But you couldn’t help but start to… miss your boyfriend. A sad irony that you could miss the man who’s been, as of late, spending the majority of his time in his ‘studio,’ aka the spare room of your shared apartment that he said was about a quarter the size of a proper studio.

How could you miss someone that was less than fifteen feet away from you, two doors away? You weren’t sure that it was possible until now, lying in bed, Yoongi’s side cold and the offensive red light of your bedside alarm clock telling you it’s far past the time your boyfriend promised he’d be in bed by. You sigh, sitting up, knowing that you wouldn’t get any sleep if you just sat there and stewed in your negativity. So instead you’d seek him out.

Thankfully there isn’t a lock on the door, he hasn’t gotten around to putting one in yet. You know the day will come soon, since last time your friends were over, Jungkook and Jimin had managed to sneak their way in, looking like guilty puppies when Yoongi had caught them.

Lock or not, Yoongi didn’t even hear you, ears covered by his almost comically oversized headphones, his dyed blonde head bobbing to whatever beat he’s working on at the moment. You can’t help but smile fondly at the sight of your sweet boy so immersed in the thing he’s dedicated his life to.

He’s only made aware of your presence when you wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind. He finally takes those ridiculous headphones off, pausing the track and letting you rest your chin on the top of his head.

You look at the two monitors in front of him as though you have any idea what’s going on on the screens. “Hard at work, huh genius?”

You feel him cock his head under you and he hums gently, one of his large hands- something about him you first fell in love with when you saw it, pale and slender, gripping a microphone on stage- grabbing at yours. “Sorry,” He mumbles, and you can tell by the timber and the gruffness of his voice that he hasn’t spoken a word since he came into this room a couple of hours ago. “Lose track of time in this room. No windows.”

“S’okay Yoon. Just missed you is all.”

Your words are innocent but they tug at his heart and make him shut his eyes for a moment. He never wants to make you feel like second best, but the way he falls into things sometimes makes him forget that anything else exists in the world. But now he wants to be close to you, to touch you, to make it all up to you.

“C’mere,” He’s tugging at the hand he has in his grip, and he keeps tugging until you’ve circled around his chair to stand in front of him. “Up on my lap, babe.” An offer you couldn’t refuse. So you don’t.

You’re straddling him now, well-toned but not overtly muscular thighs under you- a familiar and welcoming seat of yours. His warmth is comforting to you and vice versa. “I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?” You don’t want to say yes, afraid of hurting his feelings but the pout that graces your features gives it all away.

“I know, baby, I’m sorry,” One of his large hands comes up to cup your face, and he coos softly when you lean and nuzzle into his palm, as if he isn’t thinking of all the filthy and depraved things he’s been missing out on with you while he’s been cooped up in his studio. “‘M gonna make it up to you.”

And then his mouth is on yours, and you’re reminded why you love kissing Min Yoongi so much. He’s careful and intense, every movement backed by the same confidence and dominance he exudes when he’s on stage. It’s when you deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, skilled and tactful, that you realize you weren’t just here for a quick visit.

“Yoongi,” You murmur as soon as he’s pulling back, detaching your mouths. You’re momentarily hypnotized by the string of spit that still connects the two of you, staring at it until it breaks. Yoongi notices this fascination of yours, and give you a smirk you regret ever confessing to him you find sexy.

“Are you getting all desperate for me, silly girl? Hm?” You can’t help but rut your hips against his own at the words, loving the way they fall out of his mouth so lazily but with as much purpose as a presidential speech. “So needy ‘nd squirmy for me… Love seeing you so fucking desperate, you know.” His hands are travelling up your sleep shirt- aka an old band shirt of his that you had staked your claim over before the two of you had even moved in together.

His hands don’t go where more inexperienced ones might immediately go but instead traverse up and down your back, leaving delicious goosebumps in their wake. You shiver both from the feeling, and from the anticipation of what’s to come. You go to take your shirt off but are stopped by two hands circled around your wrists. “Patience,” Yoongi’s voice is next to your ear now, as he’s pulled you down using the grip he has on you.

He’s made it clear that while you may be on top of him, he’s the one with control. And he’s fucking revelling in it, you can see it in the sparkle in his eyes as he lets go of your wrists. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you, I promise,” You trust him wholeheartedly, and communicate this with a nod. You know he understands when his hands slide down, under your shirt once more, this time staying far lower.

“Soaking wet and I’ve barely even done anything,” He’s so cocky and you should be annoyed but you can’t find it in you, instead you feel yourself get even hotter at his words. “Panties off, little girl.”

His tone leaves no room for arguing, so you scramble to stand up and follow his demands, panties lost somewhere behind him. You go to get back onto your spot on his lap, missing it already, but are stopped once more by his hands. One is on your waist, holding you steady, only using a portion of its strength and the other is on your face, squishing your cheeks, opening your mouth and pushing your lips out obscenely.

He looks like he’s still deciding what the hell to do with you, how hard to go. Then he’s cocking his head, brazen smirk back on his face as he pushes you down to your knees. The carpeting immediately makes the position uncomfortable as you feel it grating against the skin of your knees. But any discomfort is immediately quelled, or, at least, forgotten, at the sight and sound of Yoongi undoing his belt in front of you- any thoughts of your knees and carpet burn are replaced with the thoughts of Yoongi’s cock. He had that effect on you.

He chuckled at the look in your eyes, finally releasing himself from the confines of his jeans. He sighs at the release, cold air hitting his skin a shock to his rock hard dick. “Practically fucking drooling for this cock, aren’t you?” You nod earnestly and lean forward, towards his cock where his hand works over it lazily. He grabs a fistful of your hair with his other hand, withholding you from what you really want. “So fucking desperate, you slut. You wanna suck my cock so bad? You better do a good fucking job of it, convince me you deserve it in that slutty cunt of yours.”

You barely have time to think about how quickly he shifted from the sweet, loving Yoongi you normally know to this darker version of Yoongi, the one that comes out whenever he’s properly turned on before his hand that’s fisted in your hair is dragging you toward his achingly hard cock. You open your mouth, ready and willing, and mouth at his tip, letting your spit, your drool, collect and fall over it, dripping down the rest of his impressive length. You pull back to give the tip a gentle kiss, barely holding back a giggle when it jumps angrily at you

He breathes out heavily from his spot above you and yanks you back off his cock. “You wanna be a messy fucking tease? Fine. Open your mouth. Now,” You do as he says, not wanting to anger him further.

He collects spit in his own mouth, and you're made to sit and wait patiently, hair a mess and mouth wide open. You don’t have to wait long until he spits into your mouth, the act so filthy, so dirty, you can only close your eyes and whimper, so turned on from it all that you can feel your own wetness starting to drip down your thighs. Messy. “Don’t swallow,” He doesn’t need to explain more as he leads you back to his cock.

You let the combination of your and his spit fall onto his cock, the act obscene but astoundingly erotic. You finally start to swallow down his length like you know he wants, your hands coming up to help. Both of his hands are in your hair now, entirely controlling your actions, the speed of which your sucking his cock.

He finally pushes you down as far as he can, your hands falling to his thighs. Your nose is against his stomach, tickled by the sparse amount of hair there. You can barely breathe from this position, but you take it if only for the groans you hear tumble out of his mouth. “Such a good girl, my best fucking slut,” You moan at the praise, the vibrations making his head fall back on his chair. There’s drool covering both him and your face now, tears welling at the corners of your eyes from the intensity, and every second you can feel yourself getting wetter.

His hands fall slack on your hair, but you don’t pull back just yet, instead, taking the opportunity to swallow around him once, twice, three times. He yanks you off of his cock, his breathing ragged and heavy. He looks at you with a half-lidded gaze. “Up.”

It’s only one word, but he doesn’t need anymore, not with a commanding tone like that. You get back on his lap, immediately calmed and comforted by the spot. He finally tears off the shirt, now wrinkled and covered in drool and precum.

“Now fucking sit on it,” And you can hardly hold yourself back, eagerly lifting yourself up and positioning the head of his cock against your slick entrance. You let yourself fall, the whole of him filling you up perfectly, and so so good.

Yours and Yoongi’s groans mingle together in an unrivalled harmony, the two of you still for a moment as you bask in the feeling. “Being such a good fucking girl,” His hands work up and down your sides. “Now fuck yourself on my cock, and don’t you dare stop. Don’t stop until you full of my fucking cum, ‘till you’re my perfect, messy bitch.”

You start slowly, lifting yourself up until barely an inch is left in your pussy, and drop all the way back down. You continue like this, deep, strong strokes, slowly speeding up until your bouncing on his lap, the obscene sounds of the two of you filling the room, your very own symphony when combined with your groans.

“So good, baby, so fucking good, bouncing on my cock, gonna make such a fucking mess out of you, yeah?” He’s lifting his hips to meet yours, making every downstroke that much more intense.

He lands a spank on your ass, then another, the sharp pain only serving to make you wetter and bounce on him harder. He chuckles in between moans. “You like that, huh? You’ll take anything I give you, ‘cause you’re my perfect little whore.”

You can feel the crescendo coming, building up like a tsunami. “Yoongi- Yoongi please, please, you have to let me come,” Any other time you’d have reservations about begging, but when it came to Yoongi, all pride was left at the door. “Need it.”

“I have to? I don’t have to do anything, whore,” His hand is back on your face, lips puckering out again. You nod in desperate agreement. He’s collecting spit in his mouth once more and you open your mouth wider in anticipation of what’s about to come. He spits in your mouth again, this time wanting you to swallow. It’s a dirty act, so vulgar, and you both groan at the site.

“You see that, slut? You swallow my spit, bounce on my cock and cum for me, all when I fucking tell you to? You understand?”“Yes, Yoongi I do, I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry, jus’ lemme cum.”

“Yeah, yeah, do it, fucking come for me.”

And cum you do, the feeling washing over you like nothing else, eyes closing and your head burrowing itself into Yoongi’s neck, the smell of his sweat comforting. You can hear Yoongi talking himself and you through your orgasms, but the words are too much for you to focus on. You can only feel his cum fill you up, already starting to spill out of you.

You’re both panting in the aftermath, his hands, once harsh, now softly caressing your back. The two of you are slick and sticky with sweat, but it’s the last thing on your minds.

“You still need to work on that song or are you finally gonna come to bed?”

“Please, neither of us are leaving that bed for the next 48 hours, besides to get the door for the take out we order.”

“Sounds perfect.”

#Anonymous #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #bts drabble #yoongi drabble #baby writes #ik this is over 1000 words i really couldn't help myself #this is where i've been the last 2 days #sfkjfshd yikes!

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writerbyaccident · 5 years

Text

Movie Night (Yandere KirishimaxMute Reader)

Hey everyone, I hope you’re all having a good week! So as some of you may have seen, earlier this week someone pointed out that we need more mute and nonverbal darlings. They were absolutely right, so after doing some research, I wrote this story. For clarification, I myself am not mute or nonverbal, so if I got anything wrong in this fic I sincerely apologize and hope that you all feel comfortable leaving constructive criticism so I can improve my writing. Furthermore, I just wanted to thank everyone who helped me write this piece! Also (random anecdote time), I had to watch a horror movie trailer in one of my classes this week, so consider this story something of a therapeutic exercise (I hate scary movies 😂)

The two of you were curled up together on the couch, huddled under a blanket. Laying against Kirishima’s chest, you sunk into him, for once glad for his presence. You had been good all week, doing what Kirishima told you to and not pushing him away when he showed affection. Sure, you still weren’t exactly enthusiastic about doing those things, but Kirishima was just glad that you were making progress. As a reward, he said that you two could have a quiet night in (not that he would ever let you have a night out), ordering some food and watching a movie. You had been excited when he told you, given that he previously refused to let you use the television, claiming that it wasn’t good for you. And by that, he meant that he didn’t want you watching the news for any indication that the police were looking for you. But when you saw the movie he picked out, your joy quickly turned to dread.

You shook your head violently when Kirishima brought out the DVD for a rather infamous horror movie, begging him with frightened eyes to pick something else. Horror movies had never been your thing; you found that they tended to become stuck inside your mind for far too long, as if the images and sounds of the film itself were covered in glue. You weren’t one of those people who could watch a scary movie and then just let it go. Kirishima had to have known this, he knew everything about you, but still he insisted that you watch the movie with him.

“Aw, don’t worry babe,” he tried to reassure you, “I’ll protect you.” When he had said that, things clicked for you. He was trying to kill two birds with one stone, giving you something for behaving so well while orchestrating a situation where you would depend on him even more than usual. And as you hid your face in his shoulder at the appearance of a particularly gruesome image, you had to admit that it was very effective. While moving around to shield yourself from the screen, you felt something odd buried under your arm. In an attempt to distract yourself, you pulled whatever it was out from under you, revealing a clump of smushed-up popcorn. Despite your discomfort, you smiled, remembering how Kirishima had spilled popcorn everywhere in response to a particularly intense jolt you made during an earlier part of the movie.

Wanting to get Kirishima’s attention, you nudged him gently with you elbow, but turned to find him already staring you. It wasn’t surprising really, sometimes Kirishima could hardly keep his eyes off of you. You were everything he had ever dreamed of, was it any wonder that he loved to look at you? His eyes were soft with tenderness, and you found yourself blushing under his gaze. Still, you lifted up the glob of popcorn for him to see, smiling slyly and raising you eyebrows teasingly.

“Oh no,” he chuckled, nipping your neck playfully. “You don’t get to make fun of me for that, not when you were the one who practically jumped out of your skin.” Rolling your eyes, you stuck your tongue out at him in response. Turning back to the movie, you felt significantly more relaxed. You were able to get through the rest of the movie, and while it still wasn’t your favorite by any means, you definitely felt calmer than before. During the film’s climax, you even felt yourself feeling rather secure and almost safe in Kirishima’s arms. Thinking on it, you knew that that probably wasn’t normal considering everything he had put you through, but you figured you’d take your comfort where you could get it.

As the credits rolled, you found yourself smiling slightly. Kirishima noticed as well, taking in the fact with a sense of pride. He hadn’t chosen a horror movie to scare you, really-he hadn’t. But he knew how important it was that you saw him as someone who could keep you safe, and this seemed like mild way to go out teaching you. Plus, Kirishima would be lying if he didn’t admit that you snuggling into him for protection made him feel super manly. After all, wasn’t it his job as your boyfriend to shield you from anything and everything that scared you?

Folding the blanket back up into a neat square, Kirishima watched as you picked up the remaining pieces of popcorn that were strewn across the couch. He was so happy in that moment, happier than he ever could have hoped. You may still not have known it yet, but you had brightened up his life so much. From the moment he had met you, he had known that you were the one for him, that the two of you were meant for each other. When he had first tried to introduce himself, he thought that you hated him, but he quickly learned that that wasn’t the case. It wasn’t that you refused to talk to him, but rather that you couldn’t speak aloud. Consequently, Kirishima tasked himself in becoming an expert on how to read you.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” he joked gently. “Did you have a nice night?” You nodded in answer, and although your smile was small, Kirishima could tell that it was genuine. His heart warmed at the sight, and he decided that the two of you would need to have another movie night soon. Maybe next time you could pick the movie.

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agustdef · 5 years

Text

Here & Now - Chapter 6

Pairing: Yoongi x OC

Genre: Fluff; Chill romance

Word Count: 2,198

Warning: None.

Banner Marker: @dee-ehn

As with any chaos within stan Twitter or k-pop stan Twitter, it was only truly a mess for about half a day. I'd fallen asleep to it and by the time I'd woken up for work, it was ramping up again and died down my lunch.

Speculation as to why we were together and conspiracy theories about why Yoongi would ever smile at me played through for a while. Then in came the questions about if we were working together and/or friends hit. My mentions were a mess and muting them didn't help much.

Once twenty-four hours passed talk of it was at a lull, but I was still getting questions on what we were working on. Yoongi had seen my phone when we were working and then there was another statement dropped. That one about how we'd met because of our friendships with Hals and because I'd worked with Namjoon before. They also made sure to note there would be no further comment on if we were working on anything. There was also a bit about not harassing me.

Again people were riled, but it wasn't too bad. I was getting less hate then I predicted, but of course I still saw the occasional comment about my appearance, my unworthiness to date Yoongi even though we weren't dating and the rare remark about my race.

The love or curiosity far surpassed that though. Many were excited that we could be working on something, especially if it was Agust D related. They'd enjoyed the music I'd helped Joon create and were ready to see what could be in store.

It stroked my ego.

All in all, it wasn't a total shit show, so I was pleased with that. And when it was almost nonexistent on any of my accounts I was more than happy to be over it.

Especially since it all happened on the last week Yoongi would be in the US and the last few days were crucial. We ended up cooped up in my office from midnight his second to last day well into the morning and showed no signs of stopping.

"Reverb," Yoongi mumbled, moving to remove it again.

As I downed my kind of hot tea I reached over and slapped his hand away. He turned to me, eyes narrowed with annoyance.

"Why?" he deadpanned.

Holding up a finger I finished the tea and sat the thermos down. My eyes narrowed to match him, mild irritation filling me.

"You've changed your mind about the reverb in that exact same section five times in the last ten hours. All without changing anything else in the track. It stays," I said firmly.

His arms crossed over his chest and his head tilted as he stared me down. As he'd done many times in the past month, he was challenging me. Obviously, the songs were his and he had to be happy with the final product, but I wasn't going to let him keep messing with things that were fine. So, I sat back in my chair and joined his little staring competition.

After several moments of just looking at each other he turned in the chair and removed it anyway. I raged internally.

"I'll remove it if I want to. Sounds better like that anyway," he mumbled in Korean.

"Not what you said two hours, but okay," I responded clearly.

Yoongi's head shot up and his eyes widened, as if he'd forgotten that I spoke the language and understood him very well.

Rolling my eyes I slid my chair over, knocking him off to the side so I was sitting right in front of the computer. There was a groan and he reached over to stop my hand, but I slapped it away. I wasn't in the mood to back and forth with him about whether it should stay or leave, so I just saved it and opened up another file.

Grabbing my headphones I got to put them on, but he stops my hand again. When I turn to him he's staring - glaring at me.

"Don't you have some lyrics to rewrite?" I asked.

His mouth open and closed, his glare growing in intensity. It was obvious he wasn't actually upset with me though, he almost seemed a little amused.

When a second passed and nothing happened, I removed my hand and slid on the headphones. Without a glance his way I got to work and at some point he grabbed his notebook and laptop, presumably getting to work.

He'd allowed me a great deal of control on one of the songs, which made it easier to work on without consulting him. It was the only one on the mini that was almost fully finished for a first pass through. We'd been working on the other's simultaneously to get a general sound and though chaotic it was fun.

The genre I was trying to convey with the song was less hip hop and more R&B. It would include a lot more singing on Yoongi's part and maybe back up vocals from someone else, but mostly all him. He was avoiding features, but for what I had in mind someone would have to lend their voice.

I'd last left off where I'd thought some piano would work out. Clearing the desk of random things I centered the keyboard for comfort and got to work. I wasn't trained in it, though I'd taken classes to learn how to play. I could execute pieces well, but it felt very robotic sometimes. Being able to incorporate it into songs I worked on helped me progress.

As time went on I grew more frustrated with the keyboard, having a hard time getting the sound just right. Everything to start was fine, but the ending notes left me unsatisfied.

A groan escaped me and I removed my hands from the keys frustrated. In a second they were being placed back on and guided along the keys. For a second I didn't know what to do and just let them be moved and tried to get a look at Yoongi in my peripheral.

He played the section over and over using my fingers. Each time he'd run into the same problems I had. I was sure my face was showing how dissatisfied I was about it.

Taking away one hand I pushed the headphones off, he'd unplugged them anyway so it made hearing what he was doing a little hard.

Yoongi didn't stop though, he continued using my hand and his other one to press the keys. At some point he was leaning so close I could feel his breathing on my neck; plus I was forced to lean a little farther forward.

Just as I was about to request some space he did another run through and I froze.

"Do that again," I blurted out.

"What?"

"Do what you just did again." I made sure to speak slower the next time around.

He removed my other hand and I watched intently as his fingers moved across the keys. The sound felt right, but I still wasn't sure.

"Again."

Without question he played again, remaining quiet as my brain processed.

"One more time."

Again he played for me and the moment he was done I took over. My fingers carefully moved across, keeping the keys he pressed in mind. I played it over and over again excitement growing as I heard it.

"That's it," I mumbled.

Moving my hands away I set up for the computer to intake what I was doing. I tried to do it smoothly, but my fingers just didn't flow like they should. It sounded how it should, but it still felt wrong.

Twirling my chair around I glanced up at Yoongi, who was still stood behind me. "Can you do it? I can't get it right."

His expression was neutral, but there was a quirk of the lip before he gained control again. Without a word, he pushed my chair to the side and leaned over to do it himself.

"You did it just fine," he said.

"I'd prefer near perfect before just fine. It wasn't trash, but I am a child of the strings. One with a cello, not piano. My fingers get all tripped up."

He laughed and did it a few times before he stopped and stepped away. With my spot clear, I got working on it, making sure to put it where it needed to be. I made sure to put my headphones on first though since I was giving him barely any hints to what it would sound like.

As I paused working and reached for one of the water bottles near him I noticed the deep-set frown he wore. His eyes were glued to his phone, but the screen dimmed before I could see what upset him.

Pushing off the headphones I turned my chair towards him, tapping his shoulder. "You okay?"

Yoongi glanced at me and then back down at the phone. If at all possible the frown only got deeper, which worried me more than before. I didn't want to rush him though he'd say or not say it when he wanted.

After a minute or so he cleared his throat and looked my way. He appeared to try and change the expression, but it was barely an improvement.

"My flight got moved up to tonight. Need to get back to Korea sooner and to avoid some people who already seem camped out at the airport," he whispered.

The moment the words registered my stomach felt discomfort, a minor nauseous feeling; something that only came when my emotions shifted too quickly or they were too intense.

"Oh."

I'd grown of Yoongi's company and kind of hated that he was leaving so soon. Of course, I'd known he'd only be in the states for a month and was well aware he was leaving the following day but it felt more sudden.

Why my reaction was that intense I was unsure.

The room went quiet again and neither of us looked each other in the eyes. I wasn't sure what to say or do at that point.

"Don't do that," Yoongi said.

Confused I glanced down to see if I was doing anything weird with my body. When nothing jumped out at me I returned my gaze to him.

"What?"

"That." Raising his hand he reached out and poked my bottom lip.

It took a second to realize it was jutted out and I was indeed pouting. But I was still confused.

"Why not?"

He groaned and rolled his eyes. Reaching up again he poked at it again, as if to push it pack. "Because it makes me feel bad."

"Why would you feel bad?" I asked incredulously.

For a second I thought I saw a twinge of pink fill his cheeks, but it was gone before I could question it. His eyes refused to meet mine again, but I was having none of it. I reached over and poked his stomach, making him jolt and glare at me.

Three seconds later he was groaning again, leaning back in his chair with eyes closed.

"Because I liked working with you and hanging out with you. You mesh well with me and are willing to argue with me when I'm being unreasonable work wise. Plus you have some really good ideas even if they don't end up fitting the song. And you're nice to hang out with, outgoing and reserved enough that it's not too draining. I like this friendship and I'll miss it a little."

He spoke so quickly in Korean that my brain processed the words at a delay. Once I did catch up I couldn't stop the awe that escaped my lips, which made him huff and run a hand over his face.

"Don't be embarrassed, I'll miss you to my fellow chaotic introvert."

That did nothing to please him though, just make him burrow into his shirt to get away from me. It was hilarious.

"Besides, it doesn't stop friendship or us working together. Plus I have to come there any way to work on some stuff in person with you in a while. And maybe when I come there for other things and you're not terribly busy being savage Suga of the internationally acclaimed boy band BTS we can hang out," I teased.

Yoongi's leg kicked out, but he missed my shin by a couple of inches. I burst into laughter at his reaction, which only made him more intent on accomplishing his goal. I pushed back, moving out of range though.

He glared at me and threw an empty water instead, which I wasn't able to dodge and hit me in the side of the head.

We both ended up hunched over in laughter. When we stopped the room felt less tense then it had been before.

"We good?" I asked, holding out my hand for a fist bump.

He nodded, but ignored my hand and pulled my chair closer. Before I could ask what he was doing he'd hugged me.

Yoongi had never hugged me before. And honestly, he was a great hugger.

#min yoongi #yoongi #suga #original character #oc #sugaxoc #yoongixoc #producer!oc #writer!oc #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #fanfic #fancition

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damnjooon · 6 years

Text

Don't reject me|2

Genre: Fluff, some mild angst|ManagerAu

Words: 1210

Part: 1 2

The sound of heavy breathing echoed through your ears, flustering your eyes wide open. Out of all the positions capable in such a spacious chair, you were resting on Jungkooks broad shoulder as he inhaled and exhaled through his nose. You scanned over the plane, blackness only greeting you, both glad that you woke up first and that nobody witness you and Jungkook.

You had to admit, Jungkook wasn’t shabby, at all. Sometimes you would subconsciously drown yourself in his countenance, his physical abilities and him as a person, not a idol. But the thought of business only, prevented you from expressing your emotions, persistently reminding yourself that emotions were strictly forbidden from your career. You found yourself commending Jungkooks bloated and lifeless face. Eyes following his jawline all the way to his swollen lips. When was the last time I kissed someone?

2:37AM Jimin: I see you~ ;)

You felt a chill zip down your spine, like in the rare horror movies you watched that successfully scared the living shit out of you.

2:38AM y/n: that’s not scary at all, how can u see me?

2:38AM Jimin: A. Jungkooks TVs on and B. Im sitting next to the two of u ;)

2:38AM y/n: Wat r u still doing up, plane lands in 3ish hours.

2:39AM Jimin: DON’T CHANGE THE TOPIC! I took pics of u two…

2:39AM Jimin: … They’re cute ㅋㅋㅋㅋ

Jimin spammed you with all the photos he took of the small moment you shared with Jungkook. Eyes glued to the screen, you noticed a trail of saliva forming from your mouth, onto Jungkooks shoulder. Feeling embarrassed, you removed your eyes from the screen to observe what you selflessly left behind. Your cheeks were burning, concerned what Jungkook would think. Grabbing a unused tissue from your jacket, you dabbed at the substance, praying Jungkook doesn’t feel the sudden pressure.

Jk: “Its ok y/n” -his voice husky from the nap he took.

Y/n: “I’m really sorry Jungkook” you idiot what if its noticeable.

Jk: “Y/n it’s ok, really. Honestly don’t worry nobody will see”

Jungkook softly placed his hand on his shoulder, removing your frantically moving hands. Cute. You weren’t sure if Jungkook was half asleep, but after he removed your hand from his shoulder, he was still gripping on to your hand. You couldn’t believe that such a muscular and manly hand could feel like a babys bottom, soft and velvety.

After you heard faint snores escape Jungkooks mouth, you situated your hands from his, warmth evaporating from your now isolated hand.

Without anything more important to do, you got up to explore the plane. Passing Jungkook was your next mission. After you lightly passed by Jungkook successfully, you went to find Jigaemae, wishing you could find some comfort around your closest friend on board. By squinting your eyes in the dark, you some how hoped it gave you the power to see clearly…It didn’t. After strolling up and down the aisle three times, you gave up trying to find him, heading straight to the toilet suit.

You were so used to being crammed inside a two meter cube that was mainly taken up by the toilet, but instead there was a shower and a bath, with a high tech toilet, you were hands down amazed.

Jm: “What you doing?”

Y/n: “What the hell Jimin!”

Jm: “I saw you walking up and down the plane, so I came to check if you were ok.”

Y/n: “I’m fine thanks, just amazed thas all”

Jm; “I know right, the bathroom is giant”

y/n: “Yeah~~”

Silence interrupted your conversation, slowly becoming awkward as time ticked by.

y/n: “Well, better go before people wake up to find us gone, they’ll think we did..stuff haha”

Jm: “yeah, you should learn to lock the door, imagine what would’ve happen if it weren’t me.”

You trailed behind Jimin like a lost puppy, mentally cursing yourself for failing to recall locking the door. As you returned to your seating accommodation, Jungkook was awake. Just moments ago he was a ball of fluff, fiddling with your hand. But now, he looked displeased, displeased to see you and Jimin leave the bathroom at the same time. All he did was intensely eye you from head to toe, making you somehow nervous.

Y/n: "E-excuse me"

Jungkook sat up in his chair giving you space to slide past him. You weren't sure how you managed it but you fell over your own feet landing on Jungkooks crouch. Painful moans left his mouth, making near by spectators look in the direction of the noise. You got up as soon as you landed, plotting yourself down on your chair flustered by the movement. You silently apologized to Jungkook as he bent over in agony.

Even though you basically crushed his member, he felt oddly satisfied. Sinful thoughts repeated in his hectic mind; unraveling you right there, without care on who witnesses. Involuntarily, your eyes glanced at his member but regretting soon after. It was clearly noticeable, bulging out of the jean material. When you peered at him, Jungkook also mirrored your action but his stare was full of lust. Out of discomfort, you whipped your phone out, avoiding Jungkooks presence.

3:04AM y/n: Mann I'm idiotic 😅😖

3:05AM Jigaemae: I know... Why?

3:05AM y/n: first i droll on Jungkook, leaving a whole pool on his shoulder. AND. Aigoo~ I honestly broke his dik cause i tripped over thin air and somehow landed on him. Help a friend 😣

3:06AM Jigaemae: lol...*walks out of room* shoulda helped me in the airport~

3:06AM y/n: SAVE ME! Seen

Being the incredible friend Jigaemae was, he left you hanging, no signs of replying to your desperate calls.

Y/n: "Fuck you, Jigaemae"-whispering to yourself.

Only Jungkook heard your small rant that you had directed to yourself. You looked out the window, the moon and clouds only in sight. Jungkook mean while, was hungry, starving. He wanted some sort of attention from you, weather it be good or bad. His desperation led to him slapping his hand onto your covered thigh. He didn't even know what he did, until he noticed your reaction. Studying his hand and your face. After a few seconds of realisation, Jungkook reclaimed his hand turning the opposite direction as he burnt up like a grill. What the fuck kook why the fuck did I touch her!

It was indeed unexpected, the flight to Europe felt as if it was a flight to the Moon. You prayed with fervour, pleading that your unusual interaction with Jungkook was kept unprecedented. To avoid the strong sense of awkwardness that hovered above the both of you, you impelled your eye lids shut, letting the music from your earphones hush your inquisitive thoughts.

Once Jungkook heard your muffled slurs and witnessed your chest inflating and deflating he let himself examine you vehemently. Finger on lips, he slid closer to your warmth, inhaling your freshly smelt perfume, lips inches away from yours. Without sign of constraint, he let his lips faintly graze yours, temptation controlling his actions causing him to add more pressure.

JG: "Yah Jungkook-ah!"

Staggered by the increase of volume, you ripped your eyes open, welcomed to the sight of Jungkooks face meer inches from yours...

A/N: Dukin hell this is so dukin chip! This is so bad im sorry for wasting your time...A girl got carried away and is now regretting everything bout this part. Plz leave me wat u think HONEST OPINION...Thank U. p.s that stupid tomato song is stuck in my head!

Like and Follow...

For even more failed attempts of trying to make a decent series

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khhunniewriting · 6 years

Text

Emergency Family (9)

[ Daamin’s POV ]

Today is Noona’s wedding. She and Christian hyung have been together for a long long time. Even before I started living with Noona. My friends have a mom and dad who take care of them and love them. I have Christian Hyung and Y/N Noona. Soon I will have a sibling too. Because Noona is pregnant, I will have a little sister to take care of and play with. Even if Mommy is gone I can be happy here with them.

Noona and Hyung said it was bad luck for them to see each other before the wedding started so I stayed with Hyung and he helped me get ready. It wasn’t until the wedding began that I saw Noona.

Her stomach is getting really big because the baby Jasmine is growing. Noona says it’s been seven months now. I don’t know how long that is but it seems really long. We have to wait longer to meet her.

I didn’t want to say anything but the wedding was boring. There was a man who kept talking the entire time and only stopped once to let Noona and Hyung talk. After I gave Hyung the rings I saw Noona was crying and smiling at the same time. When my part was over Dabin hyung carried me for a while. It took forever but we finally got to go outside and I got to ride in the big car with Hyung and Noona.

-End of Daamin’s POV-

Between being pregnant and Daamin being in school there really wasn’t a chance for you to go on a Honeymoon trip with Christian. You didn’t mind though, you didn’t feel like you needed it. The wedding was only a formality to you because you already felt like Christian’s wife a long time ago. You and Christian both decided you would much rather focus on preparing for the arrival of your daughter.

Your eyes moved from side to side as you followed the only moving object in the room. “Babe, could you please sit in the daddy chair? Watching you is making me dizzy and I already feel claustrophobic in this small room.”

He stopped to look at you. You were so calm as you sat back on the examination table while he couldn’t sit still. “Sorry,” Christian sat down in the chair that was beside you.

“You’ve seen her before so why are you acting brand new?” Christian had been to a few other doctor’s appointments. He had seen you get ultrasounds before so you didn’t understand why he still acted like it was the first time.

“I still can’t believe this is real.” Christian laughed at his own words. He didn’t know how to explain how he felt, he was just so overwhelmed by this new feeling inside of him. After finding out that you were carrying a baby girl it suddenly made everything real to him. He realized that soon he would have a baby girl in his arms. A baby girl that would depend on him for everything. He was beyond excited and just couldn’t wait for her to be born. “I just want to see her already.”

“Soon you will.” You smiled at him as he finally relaxed. It was so heartwarming to see how much Christian looked forward to being a father. Not even 24 hours after finding out you were having a girl Christian named her. Then from there, he went crazy buying every pink item he could find.

A light knock at the door gained both of your attention. The doctor came in with a smile on her face. “Are we ready to see baby Jasmine?”

“Always,” Christian responded.

After your doctor’s appointment, it was time to pick Daamin up from school. Christian and you waited at the gate as usual. Once he spotted you he ran over with a smile on his face. “Hyung! Noona!” He was excited knowing you had something for him. “Do you have the pictures?”

You nodded, “They’re in the car.”

“Let’s go” he was eager to get there and see the pictures of his little sister.

Christian helped him into the car while you got into the passenger's seat. You passed the pictures back to him, “Can you see her now?”

Daamin stared intensely at the black and white sonogram. He had difficulty identifying the baby before and would need your help in seeing what was there.

There were three pictures and one was an up close shot of her face. That’s the one Daamin was currently looking at. “Is this her nose?” he asked Christian who was still beside him.

“Yeah, do you see it all now?”

Daamin nodded enthusiastically. “I see it, Jasmine is really there.” Now he had another problem. He looked over to the pink car seat beside him and asked, “Won’t she be too small for this?” He placed the picture of her face in the car seat as he tried to imagine her being there.

Both you and Christian were in a fit of giggles. Daamin never failed to brighten up your day. “Don’t worry Daamin, she will grow some more.”

“Christian!” you yelled making a worried Christian appear in front of you.

“What!? What is it?!” He panted after having climbed the flight of stairs in record time.

Even Daamin came out of his bedroom with a look of worry. “Noona are you okay?”

You didn’t mean to be so loud but you were just so shocked that you couldn’t control your volume. There you were about to lay in bed when you suddenly felt a pool of water at your feet. “My water broke.”

His jaw dropped in slight shock. He wasn’t expecting this on a Tuesday night. Your due date wasn’t for another week but of course, he knew these things couldn’t be perfectly timed.

Daamin had no clue what you meant until Christian gave him his cellphone. “Okay Daamin, Noona needs to go to the hospital. While I help her you call Dabin and tell him we are on our way.” With that Daamin knew you were going to have the baby and quickly did as he was told.

Christian then turned his attention to you. He helped you get your things together and held your hand all the way to the car.

Daamin got into the car with his backpack and pajamas on. He was excited to spend the night with Dabin and even more excited that soon he would get to meet his little sister. The drive to Dabin’s was calm. You felt some mild discomfort but nothing else.

Dabin was waiting outside for you guys to arrive. He looked like he too had been woken up. Before getting out of the car Daamin had to be sure you wouldn’t forget about him. “Noona will you call me when Jasmine is born?”

You nodded, “Of course I will and Christian will take you to see her.” The last thing you wanted was for Daamin to feel left out. “So be good and go to sleep okay? Don’t worry about Noona, I’ll be fine.”

Daamin nodded, He climbed out of his seat and leaned forward to yours so he could give you a kiss on the cheek. “Bye Noona.”

You waved to him as he stayed behind with Dabin.

[ Daamin’s POV ]

When I woke up at Dabin Hyung’s house I remembered Noona and Hyung left me there. Hyung said he would be back for me once baby Jasmine was born. When was that going to be?

“Daamin you’re up,” Dabin was still sleepy himself.

“Hyung, did Noona call?”

Dabin shook his head as a yawn escaped him. “Not yet.” The sad look on Daamin’s face had him scrambling for answers. “But you know this thing takes time.”

“How much time?”

Dabin shrugged, “Honestly... I don’t know either but it’s different for everyone. We just have to wait for them to call.”

“Waiting is hard.”

“What if I take you to the park?”

“Okay but if Christian hyung calls we have to come back quickly.”

-End of Daamin POV-

After being checked by the doctor your daughter was brought back to your room in a clear bassinet. The nurse wheeled her over to the side of your bed and offered her to you first but you looked over at Christian. “I’ve been carrying her for nine months, I think he’s starting to get a little jealous so why don’t you let him hold her first.”

The nurse laughed, “I see.” She picked up your daughter and handed her to Christian. With her help, Christian was holding her properly and began rocking her in his arms.

“Hey baby girl, I’m your dad.” He beamed at her as she made the slightest movement of her lips. “Babe, I think she smiled at me.” After months of waiting he was finally seeing his baby girl in person instead of through a screen.

You giggled, “I guess she understood you.”

Moments later there was one more excited individual who wanted to meet Jasmine. Daamin came into your room with Christian behind him. He sort of stopped at the foot of the bed unsure if he should approach you.

“Don’t you want to meet her?”

Daamin nodded, “Is that her?” He slowly approached but wasn’t able to see her very well so Christian lifted him up and sat him on the edge of your bed.

“See Jasmine this is Daamin Oppa,” you brought her closer to him as you introduced them. “Daamin this is your little sister, Jasmine. You said you were going to take care of her like Noona and Hyung took care of you right?”

Daamin nodded with a smile, “Yes.”

-end-

A/N: I thought it would be cute to hear Daamin’s thoughts ^^ I’m sure you all know where I got baby girl’s name inspo from.

I just did a delivery scene in another scenario so I kinda skipped it here. I will be skipping forward a bit in the next part and giving you lots of fluff with Christian and his baby girl.

#khh scenarios #christian yu scenarios #dpr scenarios #khiphop scenarios #yu christian scenarios #yu barom scenarios #khh #dream perfect regime #christian yu #yu christian #yu barom #barom yu #dpr #khh imagines #khh fanfiction

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rowanstories-blog · 6 years

Text

Something New

'It's mild.' That's what they told him during his first try. Mild, adjective, definition: of less than moderate severity. Mild was a salsa without any heat. Mild was the weather when all you needed was a light jacket. Mollydrop was anything but mild.

Nico was no stranger to altered consciousness. He first started drinking at 14, and things only went on from there. He stole his brother's joints at 16, and met his dealer several months later. He had journeyed the cosmos on DMT and peeled apart every layer of his psyche on LSD. He went into his trips with a buzz and went out with a fuzzy high. On select nights he joined his friends in a round of snorting or injecting a cocktail of drugs, depending on the occasion. No matter what he chose, he loved the feeling. He loved the rush of heroin and the bliss of ecstasy, the selfishness of alcohol and the selflessness of psychedelics. After years of all these feelings, he thought he'd felt it all.

Which is why, when his friend Zach came into their den with a bottle of liquid and a request to try, Nico was all for it. "It's mild," Zach said as he poured a bit into a shotglass. "That's what Ryan told me, anyway."

Nico learned two things in the next moments: one, that Ryan was a fucking liar, and two, that the strange liquid, which he later learned to be called 'Mollydrop,' contained feelings he never felt from any other substance. Right when the liquid touched his tongue, he felt the warmth run through him, as though his mouth had been blessed with some sort of new string of reality no other drug allowed him to experience. The warm feeling flowed through every vein in his body, but he felt the most intense focus on his mouth, the ridges of his lips, the bumps of his tongue, the smooth walls of his teeth. He could feel it all, and he felt more connected to his own body than with any drug prior.

"Holy shit," Nico said, feeling the reverberations of his vocal chords send ripples through his entire being.

"I know right," Zach replied, running his finger along the wooden table in front of them, a bit of the liquid dripping off of his fingertip.

"You didn't drink it?"

Zach looked up. "You did? I just wanted to try the touch thing first." A pause. "Oh shit, I didn't tell you. Ryan said the way you take it changes what it's like, like, entirely."

"Just touching it got you high?"

Zach giggled, still fascinated by his finger, now rubbing it against the arm of his chair. "Ryan said there's a different high for where you put it. Like you put it in your mouth, and now your mouth is high. Just like my finger!" He wiggled his finger and giggled some more.

"It's a good feeling," Nico said, leaning back in his chair and feeling the saliva building up under his tongue. Each word he said felt more significant than ever before, gifted with a cosmic weight he couldn't before conceive.

A sudden buzzing made the pair jump. On the table, Zach's phone vibrated, the name Claire showing clearly on the front screen.

"Dude, Claire's calling," Nico said.

"Can you answer it? My finger can feel the composition of things and it's really distracting. A phone would be even worse."

Nico shrugged, used to the antics of the intoxicated, and answered. "Yo," he said, admiring the force of the single syllable as it left his lips.

"Hey, is Zach around?"

Nico watched Zach as he stared intently at his finger, now rubbing each button of the remote one at a time. "He's busy, call back later."

"I really need to talk to him."

"I said he's busy."

"Ugh, of course. Are you two off getting high again?"

Nico felt a twitch of anger break through the warm embrace of his high. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nico, I'm not trying to fight, I-"

"No, no," Nico demanded, the warmth fading, replaced with an uncomfortable tingle in his bones. "Tell me what that was supposed to mean. If you have a problem with me, say it to me, not your Facebook wall." With each word, the static faded, but each moment between them brought it back with greater intensity.

An uncomfortable silence followed. Nico stared at the phone in his hand, trying to get his glare through the screen as the discomforting static feeling grew, spreading from his bones to his veins, branching out through his entire being. Zach continued to admire the feeling in his finger, taking in nothing else around him.

"That's what I thought," Nico hissed, the growing static now becoming unbearable. "How about you do something more productive with your time instead of bothering Zach."

"I just want to talk to my brother."

"Go jump in traffic." Nico hung up before she could respond, wishing in that moment that modern cell phones could somehow be slammed to show anger. Right after he gave his final word, warm waves washed away the static, forcing it to retreat from everywhere it infected, and the cruising high resumed. "She knows you're high, dude," he called out to Zach, now in the other room.

"Eh, who cares. This isn't middle school; sisters don't have any power over me."

Nico nodded, lying back and focusing on the feeling of his high. He wanted to remember every moment, so he could compare it to other experiences properly. It didn't have the lack of consequences that came with alcohol; he instead felt a greater weight to his actions, a new power to his will. The world didn't warp and change around him, and yet he felt re-positioned, shifted to a new reality with new rules, a reality where his desires and choices mattered. The waves of warmth reminded him of heroin, but every time they receded, they returned stronger than before, and his body felt not tired, but completely recharged.

"Man," he said, feeling the words dripping out of him, "you said this Mollydrop has different highs, right? We're doing this shit again. Ryan's place, tomorrow."

---

Tomorrow changed into today, and Nico prepared a q-tip with dabs of Mollydrop, just as Ryan instructed. Somehow Ryan's house was less organized and tidy than his, but he did his best to ignore the stains and crumbs covering every surface. For a drug den, it was in an acceptable state. He'd experienced worse.

"So you did the mouth high yesterday," Ryan said with a chuckle. "How'd that go? Do anything fun with it?"

"Honestly, I just sat around my house. It felt incredible, though."

"But did you talk to anyone?"

Nico shrugged. "Just Zach, really. And Claire called, but that wasn't anything."

Ryan prepared a bit of the liquid in a shotglass, swishing it around. "Not going to tell me what it's like, huh? Fine, I'll see for myself."

Before Nico could respond, the pair heard the unmistakable squeak of the front door, followed by footsteps. In moments, Zach appeared and fell into the corner piece of the couch, eyes drooped and skin pale.

"Holy shit man," Nico said, leaning over to his friend. "You look like the walking dead! Did this shit do that to you?"

Zach slowly shook his head. "Claire..." he mumbled.

Nico stopped himself from groaning at the name. "She posted some bull on Facebook again, didn't she?" No response. "I'll go deal with that, buddy, I'll-" His eyes froze his mouth. His phone screen glowed with Claire's profile, showing her wall covered in posts from friends. He saw hearts, and crying emojis, and paragraphs of heartfelt emotion. His eyes latched onto a single post, reading only RIP.

"She got hit by a car yesterday," Zach said, his voice void of emotion. "Right in the street. Guy said she was just... jumping around there."

"Jumping? Why would she-" Nico's heart sank, remembering his final words to her. He shook the thoughts out of his head. It was just a badly timed insult, no way she would actually listen to him. No one would take something like that seriously.

"When's the funeral," Ryan asked apathetically, brushing some crumbs off a nearby cushion.

"Now," Zach replied, reaching for the bottle of Mollydrop.

Nico grabbed his arm and pulled it away, keeping his hand around his friend's wrist. "Then what the fuck are you doing here, man?"

"I have to do it again. Today, Ryan's place," he replied, his eyes staring forward, completely unfocused.

Nico felt Zach's hand force itself toward the bottle. He kept his grip strong, pulling it away. "I know you're grieving, but you can't just skip her funeral to get high!"

"I have to do it again. Today, Ryan's place," Zach repeated, his voice growing stronger.

Ryan tapped his shotglass against the edge of the glass table, making it ring out loudly. "The man wants to do it again, let him do it again," he declared.

"I have to do it again. Today, Ryan's place."

Nico sighed and let go of Zach's arm. He was no stranger to self-medicating; many of the people around him got into the culture through some loss or another. He was a small minority, intoxicating only to learn of the thrills of life, and had hoped that Zach would stay the same.

Immediately Zach grabbed the bottle and poured some of the contents on his hand, letting it run and drip off of his skin. Ryan nodded and poured back a shot, tossing the shotglass onto the table with a clatter. Nico, feeling dirty about letting Zach take a dose, raised the soaked q-tip and dabbed it into his ears, longing for the warmth he felt the day before to take away the guilt.

As if on cue, the warm feeling buzzed through his veins, with a slight vibration ringing in his ears. It felt good, as though something had taken his ear and massaged it, stretching it beyond its normal limits, giving it a blessing like his mouth had previously. He felt himself slip into a new reality, a new state of being where his influence extended beyond what it could reach before. The warmth flowing through him brought with it a feeling of significance, and he couldn't get enough.

"Hoo fuck, that's a good feeling," Ryan said, rubbing his lips against each other.

Nico looked over to Zach, who stared intently at his hand as he rubbed his kneecap over his jeans. "Is it feeling good for you?" He leaned in closer, trying to be as supportive as he could for his friend, no matter how poor his grieving process was.

Zach's mouth opened and closed to form the word 'yes,' but Nico heard something else entirely. "I can feel the parts of her in me. The genes that we shared."

Nico shook his head, half expecting it to shake off the high. He didn't remember any hallucinations the previous day. Did taking it a different way add that?

"Hello. Helloooo," Ryan sang out in different pitches and volumes. Nico looked over at him, watching his mouth. On the tenth 'hello,' his mouth again formed the word again, but Nico heard something else. "What can I do now? Show me what I can do now!"

Nico looked away, the difference in visual and sound disorienting his senses. He focued instead on the warm pulses surrounding his bones. The nagging tingle from yesterday had reappeared beneath the warmth, but he refused to give it power, focusing only on the waves pulsing through him.

"Ugh," Ryan sighed, falling back into his seat. "It feels amazing, but..." His mouth stopped moving, but his voice continued. "I know there's more to it than this."

"More to it?" Nico asked, unsure of whether he was answering Ryan or a hallucination.

Ryan perked up. "Did you hear that?"

"Yes?" Nico questioned, unsure of how to react.

Before Ryan could reply, Zach got up from his seat, reaching for the bottle once again.

With lightning speed, Ryan was back leaning forward on his seat, finger pointing with all the aggression he could muster into one extremity. "Hey, hey! You've used enough. That shit's not cheap, you know."

"I have to do it again. Today, Ryan's place."

Ryan groaned. "Quit saying that! You're in mourning or whatever, but forget about Claire, it's ruining my buzz."

Nico glared. "Ryan-"

"What? It's true, I know you're thinking it." The two exchanged a glare. "Zach, how about you take your mopey self into the kitchen to get us snacks, huh? And cheer up while you're at it."

Before Nico could open his mouth to protest, Zach was on his feet and walking to the kitchen.

"There, that's better," Ryan said, resting back once more.

Nico shook his head. "That's fucked, man."

"Hey, he chose to get high instead of facing her body or whatever. His bullshit doesn't give him a free pass to waste our high with doom and gloom." He wriggled himself deeper into the sagging cushions. His mouth didn't move, but Nico heard his voice all the same. "Oh that's so much nicer. All of that tension was making my bones buzz, but now it's back to warm city."

Nico tried to relax himself, pushing away the familiar static under the waves of warmth inside him.

After several minutes, Zach returned, tossing a pile of chip bags and juice boxes onto the table. "Those felt amazing," he exclaimed, admiring his hand. "There were so many contents, and I could feel them all!" He bounced back into his spot in the couch, his sagging eyes back to normal with a spark of life and enjoyment.

"Damn man, feeling better already?" Nico asked carefully.

"Of course," Zach said with a giggle, his mouth stuck in a grin. "How could I not feel good like this?"

Nico forced himself to laugh along. "Yeah man, I guess. You just seemed really fucked up earlier about Claire-"

"Quit bringing her up," Ryan snapped.

"Who?" Zach stared at Nico, face blank.

Nico tried to open his mouth to repeat her name, but the word snagged in his throat. He felt the sound grow barbs and dig into his flesh, refusing to go any further. "You came here so fucked up," Nico managed to say, fighting the feeling.

"I guess," Zach shrugged, "but I can't remember why."

He tried again to say her name, but his throat closed every time he tried, and his lips refused to part.

Zach looked back at his hand, his mouth unmoving but his voice speaking all the same. "Probably some girl I pumped and dumped, she's not important."

Nico's heart began to race, and the static buzz in his bones grew stronger, revealing itself as the warm pulses faded. Something was horribly wrong. Was it him? Did the new use of Mollydrop change the high so radically that he'd lost his connection to reality?

No, that wasn't it. He thought back to the start of the high, to a very specific feeling that he hadn't felt so clearly on any drug before. The feeling of slipping into another reality, of his will being more powerful than ever before. On all his intoxicated odysseys, there was always a quiet thought behind it, acting as a disclaimer that the things he experienced came only from the drug, and not from the truth. This feeling didn't have that quiet thought.

"Ryan," Nico forced himself to say, breaking out from his thoughts, "where did you get this stuff, anyway?"

Ryan laughed, the sound echoing in Nico's skull. "You wouldn't ever believe it, mate. Someone gave it to me!" He giggled again, completely missing Nico's wide eyes. "Some guy near the tracks tossed it my way. Told me it was more than he could handle, that he wasn't ready for so much power. What a wuss, giving up good shit because it was too good."

"What did he mean by power?"

"As if I kno- Zach! Quit touching that shit, man. Go touch something else."

Zach's hand immediately jerked away from the nearby shelf and shot away, and he followed behind it, body stumbling as though being pulled.

Ryan leaned back again. His mouth didn't move, but Nico heard his voice all the same. "He called it the God's Drink, and now I feel why! I wish it were real and not some high. The shit I'd do..." The sourceless voice trailed away as Ryan smiled to himself, eyes staring off in fantasy.

Nico's heart began to race. Thoughts of Ryan's previous babblings, of his bar fights and his threats, all flooded his mind. His temper was matched only by his drive to be the top dog. If he felt even half of like Nico did, he felt like a god, on top of the world, with a significance to his will. Nico tried to fight the thought that it was more than a drug-induced feeling, but as the static grew inside of him, he couldn't. With his words, Claire went in traffic. With Ryan's words, Zach forgot her, and he couldn't remind his dear friend of who she was. His ears could hear what others didn't say, and Zach felt things beyond what they could perceive. Through Mollydrop, he heard the truth, Zach felt the truth, and Ryan... he said the truth, no matter what he said.

"Bro, you look like you've seen a ghost!" Zach leaned in close to him, grin plastered on his face. "C'mon, don't be a party downer. What're you feeling?"

"I'm great," he lied, the static consuming the inside of his being. As he stared at Zach, he realized that he had to escape. They both had to, before Ryan caused more damage. Zach already couldn't remember his own sister. With any sarcastic comment, Ryan could do much worse than that. They couldn't risk it. "I was just thinking that maybe we could take a walk, see what things are like outside."

Zach bounced up and down, smile unmoving. "That sounds like such a-"

"-horrible idea," Ryan sighed, rolling his eyes. "There's always another high for that. Quit thinking about outside."

With those words, all thoughts of the outside vanished. Nico fought the feeling, trying to retain some motivation to leave, but in his mind, the world beyond the house faded into an unending darkness, as if part of a forgotten dream.

The analog clock on the wall ticked with increased intensity. 5:45. Based on his trip the day before, they only had a half hour before the Mollydrop wore off. If they couldn't go outside the house, they would have to survive being inside of it with an ignorant, self-assured god.

"Want to watch some TV?" he suggested.

"Why would you want to not focus on the warm feeling right now? There's no way TV can compare," Ryan said with an eye roll. As he spoke, a faint buzz came from his pocket. He pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen, rolling his eyes. "Ugh, I have to take this." With visible reluctance, he wandered into the other room, starting his conversation with a harsh 'what' before the door between them slammed.

In their sudden solitude, Nico saw a chance to warn Zach of the looming danger. He didn't spare a second before launching into a hurried summary of his findings.

Zach stared at him, head leaned to the side. "Dude... the fuck?" Despite his confused voice, the grin stayed stuck on his face. "Did that shit leak to your brain or something? Why do you think Ryan can control reality with words?"

One word could prove what he said was true, but that one word lodged into his throat, constricting his breath until he gave up attempting to speak it. He decided to go another route. "You trust me, right?"

"Of course, man."

"You know I've been high, like, a lot."

Zach laughed. "You're a master at it."

"Then trust me when I say I have reason to believe this, and it's not just the high talking, okay?"

"Yeah, alright," Zach said with a shrug. His voice continued without his mouth's help. "He clearly thinks it's real, and following along won't get us hurt or arrested. Let's see where this goes."

Nico resisted the urge to correct Zach on the urgent nature of the matter. He had agreed to listen; on what pretense wasn't exactly important. "So you understand that we need to make sure Ryan doesn't say anything that'll fuck with us, right?"

Before Zach replied, Ryan kicked the door back open, laughing as he swung his phone around. "Dumbass landlord finally gets who's boss around here," he said as he snickered. "Fucker deserved it" sounded from under the laughs.

"Ha ha, yeah," Nico said, trying and failing to sound genuine. "Bet he did."

"Yeah, totally," Zach chimed in. "You should tell us about that and absolutely nothing else."

Nico glared at his friend, but Ryan had managed to miss the strangeness of Zach's statement entirely. He began rambling about missed rent and threatened violence, noting multiple times how it totally wasn't his fault that everyone around him had serious attitude problems. The two nodded in agreement whenever Ryan looked their way for confirmation on how cool and badass he was.

As the rambling continued, Nico stared at the clock. The second hand taunted him by ticking slower than he ever remembered, drawing out into minutes, forcing him to sit with the uncomfortable static and the dread of Ryan's words. He previously hated listening to Ryan talk about himself, but it was as close to the warm pulses he could get with the fear of reality being changed constricting every part of his being.

"And then I told him- wait. Yo, Nico!"

Nico snapped back into reality. "I totally agree man, what a jerk," he replied.

"You weren't listening, asshole. What, that clock's more important than my life?"

"No, I-"

"Then what were you thinking about, hmm? Tell me!"

"I'm thinking about how you can control reality with your words and I don't want you to use it on us."

The room fell completely silent for what the clock recorded as two seconds, but the three felt as hours. The silence broke as Zach began to laugh.

"Man, he-"

"Zach, punch Nico."

The static intensified to searing pain along Nico's cheek as Zach's fist slammed into his face. He stumbled down, grabbing the side of the table to prevent himself from falling over completely. From the corner of his eye, he saw Zach staring at his hand, face pale, and Ryan breaking out into laughter.

"Holy shit, dude, you hit him full force," Ryan managed to say between laughs.

"I was... humoring you," Zach said unconvincingly, still staring at his hand with wide eyes and the permanent grin.

"Oh really? Take that bat over there and hit yourself in the balls."

Nico lowered his head to avoid seeing the next few moments happening behind him, but the sound told him everything he didn't want to know. He forced himself to turn, seeing his friend crying on the ground with his hands between his legs, and Ryan standing over him, shocked face turning into a sadistic grin. Ryan's eyes moved from Zach to Nico. His mouth didn't move, but Nico's ears still heard him. "I wonder if I can make these bitches kill each other."

Panic set in. With every new thing Nico heard, the static inside of him grew, and he felt as though his body couldn't contain it any longer. If the feeling didn't kill him, Ryan's truth-speaking would. Either way, Mollydrop would be the end of him.

Mollydrop. His eyes shot to the bottle on the table. He felt a sudden spike of warmth in his chest, spurred on by a wild idea. If he drank it too, he would have truth-speaking. He could command Ryan to remain silent. He would be free. Ryan's eyes followed his as they moved, widening with a similar conclusion.

The two lunged for the bottle. Nico, having the advantage of being closer to it, managed to grab it and pull it up to his lips. Ryan grabbed it moments later, pulling it away and opening his mouth to speak. Nico slammed the bottle into his mouth before he could, then jerked it back with all his might. Ryan forced himself forward, pushing Nico off balance. Both refused to let go of the bottle as Nico fell, and it tilted, spilling its contents all over Nico's face.

Nico felt the warm liquid spill all over his face, getting into his eyes, his nose, his mouth and ears. It splashed across his body and ran down to soak his clothes. With each drop that hit him, a small vibration rippled through him, compounding and increasing in intensity, bringing waves of warmth with it. The feeling quickly surpassed anything he felt before, changing from comforting heat to blazing fire, burning through his body as though it were a dry wood, erasing all feeling as it moved. His ears heard a faint static, which began to rise in volume, starting to form voices he knew, ones from his family, from Zach, from Claire. Each one layered on the last as the volume rose, changing from a whisper to a crowd to an unintelligible soundscape. His eyes remained wide and unblinking, but the world around him warped and changed, layers peeling back and dissolving, starting with Ryan's skin and the wallpaper around them, then going further, and further. Once every layer of his reality vanished, he fell into a new one, which too was stripped away, until he could only see both everything and nothing, swirling all around what used to be him in an endless vortex. He felt himself falling through realities, dissolving them with his presence until they, too, began to fall. They fell and fell, until there was nothing left to fall to, so he fell into nothing, fading away until he, too, became nothing.

---

"Holy. Shit. That was so wild!" Zach started laughing as he forced himself up off the floor. "Wish I hadn't hit my balls, though."

"Yeah, sorry man, you know how it is when I'm high," Ryan shrugged from the couch. "A quick nap did me good, though. And it seems to have done you good, too."

"Yeah, good thinking on the benzos, things were getting a bit weird at the end." Zach turned to face Nico, lying on his back on the ground nearby. "How about you, Nico? You took quite a bit right to the face. How're you feeling?"

Nico didn't respond. His eyes stared into space, with his mouth hanging slightly open.

Ryan leaned over and put his fingers on Nico's throat. "Breathing, and got a pulse, too. He just needs to sleep it off."

"Totally," Zach agreed. He leaned in close to Nico, patting his chest. "Don't worry buddy, we have plenty left for you when you come to. You have so much more to experience!"

#horror #short story #writing #drugs #anthology

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toosicktoocare · 7 years

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Seizure Writing Guide!

****This is the seizure anon. I apologize for the wait, I was really excited to share what I knew with you, but then I realized that not only did I write way more than I expected, but I also added comments based on that story you wrote that are denoted with an asterisk at the beginning and end of each comment. I figured you could probably take them out before you actually post it because the notes are explicitly to you. If there’s any way to keep my screen name from posting with the submission that would be awesome because I’m not ready to be “outed” in the community just yet, but if it’s too difficult that’s okay (I’m only 16 and a senior in high school).

So the entire reason why I know anything about what a seizure feels like is because I have grand mal and juvenile absence epilepsy. I had my first grand mal seizure when I was 11, although my neurologist suspected that I had been having absence seizures since age 8. As I went along with my treatment, things started going awry and I developed narcolepsy with cataplexy and a slew of other problems.

Even though I’ll eventually grow out of the epilepsy, I will struggle with severe narcolepsy for the rest of my life. It has robbed me of all control over my sleep wake cycle and made my life touch and go ever since. Lately, I’ve been experiencing a flare-up, something that makes my condition much worse. They occur when I’m stressed or sick, mainly because my narcolepsy is auto immune (which is why, in my opinion, it would make good fic material, but that doesn’t concern this rn). I’ve been battling fatigue all week, and I’m sorry submitting it just slipped my mind. If you want to know more about it, talking about it helps and I can take questions. (After all, you know who I am now.)

So, once again, sorry for the wait. Guide begins below the hash mark, don’t forget to take out the asterisk paragraphs before you post. ****

This is a guide to writing seizures! If you have any knowledge/experience to add, or perhaps if I misrepresented something feel free to add your thoughts as this is for the community as a whole to use!

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General Information

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A seizure is an excess firing of the neurons in the brain. This misfiring can be generalized (affecting both sides of the brain) or focal (affects one side of the brain, a specific area of the brain, etc). Of the focal onset seizures, there are two sub categories, simple partial (person is fully/mostly aware) and complex partial (some changes in levels of consciousness).

Generalized onset seizures normally produce the more obvious/well known symptoms of a seizure, whereas focal onset seizures can have some pretty weird symptoms.

The categories and seizure types that fit into them are as follows:

Generalized- - Convulsive (myoclonic, clonic, tonic, tonic-clonic, atonic) - Non-convulsive (absence-typical/atypical) - Unclassified

Focal- Simple Partial (4 categories) - w/motor symptoms * convulsive/jerking motions, unusual head or eye movements, numbness, tingling, a crawling feeling on your skin, etc.

- w/sensory symptoms * feeling weird pressure or warmth, seeing/hearing/smelling/tasting weird things

- w/autonomic symptoms (autonomic = things that the body regulates automatically, like temperature) * usually things like sweating, stomach churning, nausea, unexplained sense of fear, etc.

- w/psychic symptoms * warped time perception, dysmnesic (deja-vu sense), strong feelings of fear, illusion, hallucinations, difficulty or discomfort swallowing

Complex Partial- - simple partial onset then impaired consciousness - impaired consciousness at onset simple partial evolving into second generalized

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Types of Seizures

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Grand Mal (Tonic-Clonic) Seizures

This is the main type, normally consisting of 4 stages; aura, tonic, clonic, and aftermath. Common triggers include the presence of epilepsy, flashing lights, fever, and head trauma. The victim needs to be monitored during each of the four stages to ensure safety. It is also important to note that any grand mal seizure lasting more than 5 minutes can result in permanent brain damage.

From the victim’s perspective, they may/may not know what is going on depending on whether or not they’ve had a seizure before. Many epileptics are able to tell when they are about to have a seizure based on how their aura phase presents itself. The most common forms are seeing/hearing/smelling/tasting/feeling things that aren’t there. For example, smelling something burning, a metallic taste in the mouth, or possibly even strong feelings of deja vu/turning of he stomach. For non-epileptics and people having their first seizure, it may present as just a feeling of uneasiness and slight drowsiness. It depends on what area(s) of the brain is/are affected.

After the aura, the tonic phase hits and the victim loses consciousness as the body stiffens, lasting 10-25 seconds for the average person. Then the clonic phase hits and the body convulses for an average of 30-50 seconds. The clonic phase is probably the most dangerous part of the seizure because of the possibility of injury. The most important thing to remember is that you have to get the person in a position where they cannot his their head on anything, and you should NEVER try to restrain them while they’re convulsing. It can cause a lot more damage if you try and restrain them than if you just let it take its course.

The aftermath can consist of anything from nausea to a fog-like confusion, and the victim should never be left alone until the stage is completed and the person has regained consciousness and functions normally. It is not uncommon for the victim to forget their name, nor is it for the victim to forget where they are.

Morning of my first seizure I felt abnormally drowsy and I had a mild headache, but I waved it off as the result of staying up late too many nights in a row. So I went to school anyway and made it two hours into my day when suddenly I began to feel extremely heavy, like a lead blanket had been placed over me. I put my head down on my desk, but I kind of knew that I wasn’t falling asleep; it was a different feel. I woke up in the hospital, thoroughly confused, disoriented, and slightly weak. I had woken up in the ambulance, but apparently I couldn’t remember my own name. It took me about 2 days to really recover, but only about a half an hour to an hour to become mostly aware.

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Petit Mal (Absence) Seizures

This is about as close to unconsciousness without actually being unconscious. Can be caused by flashing lights and hyperventilation, but they are normally unprovoked.

Characterized by a blank stare, they are well described by the phrase “time traveling” because you have no clue what goes on during them. It’s like one minute you’re there and then a second passes and you realize a minute passed and you can’t remember what you were doing before. It’s not painful, just really annoying and confusing. They last 30 seconds on average, but can last longer.

Given the elusive nature of absence seizures, it’s pretty unlikely that a quick trip to Web MD would be able to diagnose this. Petit mal seizures are extremely hard to diagnose, especially without an EEG (stands for electroencephalogram, which is a machine that measures brain waves through electrodes applied to the patient’s head). They usually cannot occur in rapid succession, but having multiple absence seizures in a day is possible.

****That is precisely why I liked your story so much! Yes, the “cloud” would be more of an aura phase because you usually can’t tell when they’re going to happen, but as the seizure are a result of possible brain damage it totally works. It was an inventive way to approach it, and I liked the idea. It just makes sense for him because he can’t control how often/intense the ‘glitching’ is.****

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Other, More Obscure Types of Seizures

Tonic Seizures

Seizure where the body goes rigid. Usually happens during sleep, but can occur when awake. Generally lasts for 20 seconds or less, minimal changes in consciousness. Can happen to any age group.

Clonic Seizures

Seizure where the body convulses in specific areas or full body. Usually only found in newborns/infants.

Atonic Seizures

Nicknamed “drop seizures”, it’s a sudden loss of muscle tone either in certain areas of the body or throughout the whole body. Normally lasts less than 15 seconds and person is conscious.

To the person experiencing the episode, it’s terrifying when to have the first one because there you are, going about your daily life and then BOOM you’re on the floor and can’t move. You want to move, but even if you will yourself to move with every fiber of your being, you can’t. Then, when you can move, you may realize you broke something on the way down, or maybe you lost consciousness because you hit the corner of a table on the way down. They are very dangerous, and many people (especially children) who experience uncontrolled atonic seizures are recommended to wear helmets to reduce the risk of injury during a sudden attack.

****I haven’t had an atonic seizure before, but I have had something very, very similar called a cataplexy attack. They SUCK. I developed severe narcolepsy w/cataplexy as a result of having abnormal neural activity (epilepsy), and my first cataplexy attack was TERRIFYING. I was standing up and laughing at something, next thing I know I’m on the ground in excruciating pain because I lost control of my muscles, landed wrong, and broke my tailbone. I was conscious the whole time but I couldn’t move for a good 20 seconds, was in extreme pain, and actually thought I broke my spine (I was 13). I wouldn’t be surprised is something like this happened during an atomic seizure. The important thing to note is that cataplexy attacks are triggered by emotions, whereas atonic seizures cannot be triggered by anything.****

Myoclonic Seizures

These are seizures that are shown through rapid jerking of the extremities. It’s like severe flinching, or like when a chill runs down your back, and it’s completely involuntary. They can occur at any stage in life.

****I can see the most potential in this for writing purposes because when I had them, I would think 'ey I’m glitching’ and I can see Jeremy and Michael freaking out over something like this. For me it usually didn’t feel like anything, but when it happened with my eyelids it was really weird (my eyelids would twitch and it Mede it hard to pay attention and sometimes got uncomfortable). It’s like muscle spasms, but without pain.****

Febrile Seizures

Not going to lie, almost forgot to add this to the list. Wasn’t sure where to put it, so naturally I just tacked it on to the end. So, febrile seizures are seizure that are triggered by fever. It mainly happens with newborns/small children, and it’s pretty much just convulsions.

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Hope you enjoyed, feel free to add things!

#this is so interesting and educational!!#ya'll check this out if you are writing seizures!#this is so detailed!#thank you sweets!#submission

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