#i draw melodramatic angst sometimes

[fluffalpenguin]

@arcvmonth day 24: the manga

oh man oh MAN it's vj day!!!!!

it's pretty funny how all my gifs are mostly yuri-centered huh

Under the cut:

revisiting my review of the manga from last year

Headcanons and fic/comic ideas

rambling about an old WIP

small playlist! (with write-ups!)

First of all, here's the 3,000 words analysis/blog thing I wrote last year when I first finished it.

One and a half years later, I still largely agree with it! There's some headcanons I wrote in there that I completely forgot about, lol, so I'm glad past me posted it somewhere for current me to relieve it again! (The rants were also kind of funny to re-read too)

***

Next, headcanons!

Lately, I found myself wondering about Yuto and Yuri's outfits; specifically-

...Why are they walking around Maiami with dramatic red/black capes?

After some time in the kitchen, I decided that when Yuya was younger, he was really into good versus evil roles when rehearsing his dueltainment lines. And who else better to serve as his practice opponents than his two brothers who aren't off busy making rounds at the stadium on a D-Wheel?

Tying his own fluffy, white towel around his shoulders, Yuya throws a nearby black blanket to Yuto. The oldest is initially a little embarrassed about the notion, but no one can ever say no to the baby of the Sakaki family, can they? (He'll just have to live the shame down from the twins later on... They barely even respect him as they are right now, anyway) In the middle of the duel, Yuri walks in onto the two of them after having finished his homework (or tweaking his deck). He raises an eyebrow at Yuto's appearance, but gets the gist of the situation when he sees their duel disks activated and Yuya standing on top of the sofa in a similar attire. As Yuto steals Yuya's schtick and becomes a tomato, Yuri pouts about being left out and quickly leaves to hunt for something that will allow him to join the fun. When the duel ends, Yuto passes the baton to Yuri. As he watches the two rattle off silly, goofy lines like, I will destroy the planet, the universe, all the worlds! and, Never! I'll stop you, fiend!, Yuto sighs in relief. At least Yuya now has Yuri to LARP with. Maybe Yugo would volunteer too, once he returned from driving practice and hears about it. Though, he'd likely ask to play the part of the hero himself. Anyway, Yuto's already almost in middle school; he's getting a little too old to play with costumes now. Then afterwards, at dinner, with an angelic smile Yuya says, "Yuuto, can we play like that again sometime? You look so cool with a cape!"

Yuri on the other hand, always had a tendency for the melodramatic, his own personal spin of the theatrics he's seen from his dad! Deep down he really loves playing the villain.

(This was meant to be a short description but I couldn't help putting some fic-like sentences in there tehe also yes that's a reference to the conversation between Yuya and G.O.D./Eve)

***

(warning: angst ahead)

Another headcanon I have that I want to write/draw something for is that in the postcanon where Reiji, Yuya, Isaac and Ren travel through space and time together, Yuya has moments where he falters to his grief.

He's used to his brothers commenting and nagging him on almost anything and everything (A midnight snack? Think about your complexion, Yuya!) and his world is suddenly a lot more quiet. In his hurt, he starts to avoid Ren, not wanting to be reminded of what he's lost (He doesn't feel good about it).

Eventually Reiji intervenes and Yuya opens up a little. He's been unable to properly let himself grief for his brothers. All he wants to say is that he misses them.

But he doesn't feel like he has the right to do so, having being the one to seal their fates by personally destroying the one method of bringing them back to life. He doesn't regret his decision of course, but he's unable to stop himself from feeling this way too.

It has a happy ending; Reiji convinces Yuya to talk to Ren. Yuya shares stories about Yugo at Ren's request, making the both of them laugh. Yuya realises that there are other methods of bringing back people to life, too, even if only momentarily.

But it is enough.

***

Misc hcs:

Yuya's charisma and attitude is a combination of his three brothers fawning over his cuteness from birth and Yuya being so star-struck with Yusho's performances he attempted to replicate the movements ever since he could walk.

Being the oldest, Yuto feels a sense of responsibility for his brothers and pledged to take care of them in place of his always-missing parents. However, he oft times finds himself not having to do much because Yugo and Yuri are so determined to win over Yuya's heart (and be proclaimed 'favourite brother') that they also make sure to set a good example for the youngest when possible. This causes Yuto a little bit of an identity crisis (/j it's just for fun) until he settles into his role as the househusband cook.

"All of us... are connected by... the arc of destiny!"

Reiji and Yuya are supposed to be silhouetted by their fathers, so Yuzu is meant to seem like she's looking at Yuya, but is in fact looking at Yusho. I also think VJ Yuto should be allowed to smile more!

This drawing is meant to be my love letter to the manga as a whole, and ESPECIALLY the last duel between Reiji and Yuya. I talked about it a whole ton in the review linked above already, so go check that out if you haven't!!

I was really happy with the composition when I first made this, especially with Sora/Ren/Isaac Versus the Yus mirroring their duels! (Well, okay, I know Isaac didn't duel Yuto but.... just give this to me)

Anyway I really wanted a fun and positive energy for it! Every month I think about returning to this but I get slightly demotivated when I realise I have *zero* colour references for both Ren and Isaac... Please send in your headcanons...

***

Last but not least, last month I got brain worms for another animatic/hand-drawn MV for Eve's Fight Song! I'll never ever have to time to go back to it, but I wanted to take the chance to talk about other songs that make me ill when I think about them with the manga.

1. Myth & Roid - TRAGEDY:ETERNITY

Don’t give me an eternity Even if that’s all I can believe Press pause on the flow of time In the shadow of the blink of an eye I don’t wanna fall into a sleep ‘Cause now you are my remedy Now knocking on, knocking on, knocking on my brain Even for the temptation of a nightmare Fate demands a costly reparation for its fare

Translated lyrics mostly from lyrical-nonsense, but I made some changes for better rhyming and flow yahoo!! This song is what I imagine the OP would be in my dreams when it received an anime adaptation, I've always dreamed of making my own animatic to it!!

Not just the chorus, but the ENTIRE SONG (pleeeease go take a look at the lyrics) feels like it's made for the manga please please go take a look

2. MYTH & ROID - -to the future days

I cast my wishes to the future days If we can meet on the other side of eternity… I cast my wishes to the future days What should we talk about first? Sadness and even joy will, eventually Will sleep together That's the way life is If such a world could be granted Would nobody feel hurt anymore?

Yeah I like M&R quite a bit, how'd you know

If T:E was the hypothetical OP, this is my pick for the ED theme, like AAAAAAAA for me it encompasses the yu's story so so so so so so so well, though

And:

Both despair and also life come to end eventually Take this future into your hands and let it run its course Spin it ’round…… The hands on the clock spin around Like flowers, petals falling and fluttering Once we blossom, we dissipate in the moment THE BRIDGE THE BRIDGE THE LYRICS ARGHHHHHHHH This is definitely for me, the moment when the three yus start to fade during Yuya's battle with Eve, their last conversation they have with yuya..... *lies onto the ground in a pile of misery*

Rest of the lyrics HERE shoves it into your face

3. MAISONdes - Tokyo Shandy Rendezvous

It's no joke, no it's not! Tokyo Shandy Rendezvous Even when the time comes nothing will come of it Vague truths only become melancholy Come on and snatch me away now, take on me!

This is a fun one, when I watched the PV and in the chorus Lum was spinning I instantly went wow what if that was Phantom.. and then the lyrics bared their claws and sunk them into my brain and hasn't really let go since

Unlike the above two songs, not all of the lyrics are a perfect match, of course, but I adore how in general the whimsical yet lonely nature of the song feels like it fits Phantom so well!

4. Eve - Fight Song

As the night still refuses to end, let’s dream

Last but not least the song I posted the above storyboard for! CSM fans (as well as Eve fans, lol) are probably already familiar with the song, and full lyrics here, though like the song above, only parts of the song (particularly the chorus) really resonated with the vj brainworms in my head lol Even for me, y’know Let’s make a break for the future Towards the verge of death like we pray for A boy that gave his word Today, just like back then As if there’s no more future ahead

Sigh.... Yuto, Yugo, Yuri................ Just let out your voice Let’s take it easy We don’t even know common sense, so we know the world through wise eyes These overflowing feelings, behold Greet me with an applause

I love the first half a lot, I can easily imagine Yuya saying it to the other three... and of course, the latter, from him to the world! (or perhaps even G.O.D...)

As always thanks for reading GOODBYE I GOTTA GO DRAW SOME ARC-V OCS

#arc-v #arcvmonth2023 #arcvmonth #arc-v manga #pasu does not shut up

[ludjaci]

one of those ooc thingies

———  BASICS  !

(PEN)NAME:  kylu PRONOUNS:  whatever ZODIAC  SIGN: sagittarius TAKEN  OR  SINGLE:  happily taken

———  THREE  FACTS  !

- i’ve been drawing a lot lately with the intention of one day possibly getting into tattooing and/or designing my own tattoos and tattooing them onto myself by myself

- talking to myself helps me stay focused and i would encourage everyone to do it if they, like me, forget what they were about to do every five seconds or so

- i think music is EXTREMELY IMPORTANT when trying to tell a story/portray something/play a ttrpg etc because i feel like the proper atmosphere can turn everything upside down inside out in the best way 

———  EXPERIENCE  !

PLATFORMS USED: tumblr, obscure niche forums that i go to once every two years, e-mails, discord, whatever i’m feeling at certain moments ———  MUSE  PREFERENCE  ! GENDER: i have a strong preference for writing/playing male characters LEAST FAVOURITE FACE(S): any mainstream uninteresting faces like JB or 1D or superhero actors or like seIena gnomez or whatever, i just don’t care for those at all MULTI OR SINGLE: i have no idea

———  FLUFF  /  ANGST  /  SMUT  !  ♡     FLUFF: Fluff is good because if it’s good then it makes for potential good drama when things get though muahaha ANGST: i love angst and being melodramatic but too much angst honestly makes me depressed SMUT: i love developing a character’s smeggsuality and thinking about what attracts them and how they do the dobut i’d only actually write smut with people who i’m on the same page with PLOT  /  MEMES: i have no idea, sometimes one works well and sometimes another works much better, depends on a lot of factors, i think a good plot writes itself naturally as it happens, i don’t like to plan too much ahead because characters have a way of developing themselves in wildly different ways once you get them going and i don’t like to contain them in like predetermined little boxes when it comes to either their personalities or how they’re gonna interact/mesh with others.. it’s all very intuitive honestly

tagged by: @cursedfortune this lovely person tagging: yall idk who is into filling out these things and who is active anymore and i’d be interested to read anyone willing to fill this out so if you wanna fill this out go ahead and tag me as tagged by

#ooc

[blephars]

Danse Macabre

#gotham #fanart #ed nygma #oswald cobblepot #the riddler #the penguin #blood #digital art #clip studio paint #my art #i draw melodramatic angst sometimes #maybe I’ll share it more often #we’ll see

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 301: All My Todorokis

Previously on BnHA: We learned that when a bunch of superpowered villains are suddenly set loose with nobody around to stop them, things get fucked pretty quickly. Old Man Samurai and a bunch of other useless people decided to make “I pretend I do not see it” their new mantra, and resigned. Endeavor had a moment of despair on account of being crushed by the guilt of having ruined the lives of himself, his family, and basically everyone else in the entire world. For various reasons the heretical notion of “person who has done bad things feels sorry for doing them” sent fandom spiraling into a meltdown, so that was fun. The chapter ended with the entire Todoroki clan descending upon Enji’s hospital room to have a dramatic chat about Touya and All That General Fuckery.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “here’s the story of how Baby Touya slowly went insane trying to win his father’s love.” It’s a tale full of subverted expectations and heartbreaking inevitability, and also like twenty panels of the cutest fucking kids who ever existed on planet earth, who are so fucking cute that I can’t stop thinking about their cuteness even with all of the horrifying family tragedy unfolding around them. It is absolutely ridiculous how cute they are. Touya is out here pushing his tiny body past its limits because he inherited the same obsession as his dad and neither of them can put it aside even though it’s destroying them, and yet all I can think about is Baby Shouto’s (。･o･｡) face. Anyways what a chapter.

so I have to confess that even though I managed to avoid being caught off-guard by the early leaks, the number of people reblogging my Endeavor posts from earlier this week and using the tag “bnha 301” kind of gave me an inkling that this chapter will include more Tododrama lol. that said, I don’t know anything else about it, so we’re still good spoiler-wise

AHHHHH FLAHSBAKC AHHHH. omg I know I typoed the shit out of that, but I’m just going to leave it lol I think it’s fitting

holy shit holy fuck. so this is Rei and Enji’s first meeting, then??

yepppp, oh shit

so wait, I know this is not even the slightest bit important, but are they meeting at Enji’s home or Rei’s? because I always figured that Enji was the one with the super-Japanese aesthetic, but maybe that was Rei’s side of the family all along

(ETA: from what I found during my very brief google search, omiai meetings are often held at fancy hotels or restaurants, so maybe that’s what this is.)

there’s such a period drama feel to this setting. like it’s so outrageously formal fff how can anyone stand this kind of atmosphere though seriously

OH THANK GOD

I mean they’re still stiff af but at least they’re not rigidly sitting in seiza and staring at each other unblinkingly anymore lol. Enji’s actually got his hands in his pockets now. why is this somehow almost cute

oh damn it’s the flowers

Rei seems so subdued and it’s so hard to get any idea of what she’s actually thinking. I want to see her side of this dammit

but anyway, so at least from Enji’s perspective it seems like even though the marriage was arranged and he picked her because of her quirk, he still loved his wife and wanted to do right by her. the fact that he was watching her and noticed that she liked the flowers, and remembered that detail for all these years -- there’s a reason why Horikoshi’s showing us this. we know what’s going to happen later on; we know how much fear and violence and breaking of trust is coming up ahead, and while it may seem like this scene is serving to soften Enji’s character further -- which to be fair it is -- it also helps drive home the full impact of his abuse. that it’s so terrible not only because of the trauma of the abuse itself, but also because of the way it retroactively destroys all of the good things as well. this could have potentially been such a sweet scene, but it’s inescapably tainted by the knowledge of what’s to come, at least for me. and that’s just brutal

anyways, shit. is the whole chapter going to be like this?? feel free to toss in something I can actually make a joke about sometime, Horikoshi

oop, back to the present

omfg lol

“are you all right” “NO I’M NOT ALL RIGHT WHAT THE FUCK.” “oh, right, because of all the stuff that’s happened with me abusing you and you having a mental breakdown and being hospitalized for ten years and then our son coming back to life and killing thirty people, right, right. I almost forgot.” whoops

omfg you guys I’m loving this new and improved steely-eyed Rei. I’m loving her a lot

and what do you mean “part one” fkjds how long is this going to be. TOO MUCH DRAMA FOR ONE CHAPTER TO HANDLE

oh, hello

yeah I’ll say you did. didn’t seem to bother you much at the time, though

HMMMMMMMMMMMM

Dabi Is A Noumu intensifies even further. anyways though would you fucking look at this boy lounging on this moth-eaten couch doing his best DRAW ME LIKE YOUR FRENCH GIRLS impression wtf

Dabi what if you actually had killed him??? what would you feel?? satisfaction?? regret?? anything at all?? tell me your secrets goddammit

who are you talking to buddy

Fuyumi-chan, Natsu-kun (is it common for brothers to address each other as -kun?? can’t recall seeing that in many other anime, but hey), and “dot dot dot,,,,,, SHOUTO” lol thank you so much for this bountiful heaping of Tododrama Horikoshi we are blessed

AH, WHAT DID I SAY THE OTHER DAY

ULTIMATE MELODRAMATIC THEATER CHILD. “I’M JUST GOING TO LIE ON THIS COUCH SHIRTLESS AND ALONE AND MAKE SPEECHES TO MY FAMILY MEMBERS WHO AREN’T THERE AND SAY THINGS LIKE ‘WATCH ME IN THE PITS OF HELL’ WITH A STRAIGHT FACE BECAUSE NO ONE’S THERE TO JUDGE ME.” WELL JOKE’S ON YOU MISTER CHATTERBOX BECAUSE I AM IN FACT JUDGING THE SHIT OUT OF YOU LOL

(ETA: and on a more serious note, it’s interesting to see that “look at me”/”watch me” theme being used again though, because we see that same sentiment uttered repeatedly by the younger Touya in the flashback. well kid, you definitely got your wish at last. don’t know what else to say.)

OKAY HORIKOSHI HAS DECIDED THAT’S ENOUGH FUN, TIME FOR MORE FLASHBACKS

oh my sweet precious lord

just as cute as we left him. giving us a child this cute when we all know full well what’s going to happen to him is just unspeakably cruel though

HOMG

I’m fucking speechless. you broke me, congratulations. what am I even supposed to do with this

I can’t get over this. moving forward my life will be split into two distinct parts, B.P. (Before the Pout) and A.P. (After the Pout)

and meanwhile there’s ALL THIS BACKGROUND ANGST BUILDING UP, AND I CAN’T EVEN FOCUS ON IT. Touya’s arm and cheek are covered in bandages (I’m guessing this is shortly after that “ouch!” panel we got some chapters back), and Enji is deliberately avoiding training with him because he doesn’t want him to hurt himself further. I can’t fucking get over the irony that all this time everyone thought Touya had died because Enji pushed him too far in his training, and it turns out that it’s the opposite -- the tragedy ultimately happened because he didn’t want to push him. but I’m jumping ahead of myself though I guess

by the way,

remember this?? just wanted to remind you that it exists just in case you forgot

so now someone is talking and basically saying that Touya is the exact opposite of what Enji was hoping for when he decided to start playing with quirk genetics

-- okay hold up

...lol no, never mind. for a second I thought “holy shit he looks kind of familiar WHAT IF IT’S UJIKO OMG” before I remembered that Enji would have recognized him during the hospital capture mission if that was the case. so NEVER MIND, PROCEED

IMAGINE THAT, ENJI DOESN’T QUITE SEEM SATISFIED WITH THIS SUGGESTION OF QUITTING NOW

(ETA: how the fuck did this man go around saving 62 towns in a single day what even is All Might.)

[clicks tongue several times] trouble a’brewin’

MEANWHILE BABY TOUYA HAS UNFORTUNATELY INHERITED HIS DAD’S STUBBORN STREAK

KLDIHWOEIJFL:KSDJ

!!!!!!!!!!!

oh my god. oh my god. what is this chapter. WHAT IS IT

so now Touya is all “YOU JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND MY MANLY DESIRE TO BURN MYSELF ALIVE” well you got her there champ

THEY’RE TOO CUTE. OH MY GOD. HIS FURIOUS LITTLE TEARS. HER CHUBBY LIL FACE. HIS STUBBY LIL FISTS. SOMEONE HELP ME

also are they just home alone lol or what. “hey Touya, you’re what, like six now?? do us a favor and look after your baby sister for a couple hours for us would you? make sure not to set yourself on fire or anything.” WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG!!

now it’s nighttime and Enji and Rei are arguing, presumably about his decision not to train Touya anymore

whew. okay. so, a couple of things here

1. first of all I think this conclusively shows that Enji really was trying to do the best he could for Touya. he stopped training him as soon as he realized it was hurting him, but Touya was still determined so he tried to make it work anyway, and even visited doctors to try and figure out if there was anything they could do. then, once they were absolutely sure that it wasn’t going to work, he tried multiple times to explain to Touya why they had to stop. he didn’t just abandon him out of the blue, which is really important to note. “no matter how much I tried telling him...”

so yeah, that debunks another common fandom accusation. so by the time he finally makes this decision, which we all know is going to turn out horribly, it’s basically because he’s already tried everything else he could think of. which, by the way, still doesn’t mean he handled this right. but at the very least he was taking Touya’s feelings into account and he was trying, and he didn’t just abruptly toss his son aside (at least not yet)

2. buuuut, then there’s this panel right below all that

which is the other side of it. if he’d just quit like the doctor person advised him to, that would have been the end of it. Touya would still have been upset, but he would have eventually gotten over it and the family would have moved on and possibly even been happy. but what happens next happens because Enji can’t let go. he still has this maddening urge to surpass All Might, and so he and Rei keep having more children, and then Shouto is born, and Enji finally has a kid he can start projecting all of his hysterical ambitions onto once again, and everything starts spiraling out of control soon after

though p.s. none of that is Shouto’s fault though!! he’s one of the few good things to come out of this whole mess and I’m very happy that he exists. the tragedy is that his dad fucking lost his mind over his quirk and fucked everything up. but that’s on him, not Touya or Shouto

anyways, SLKFJLSHGLKJL

I CAN’T FUCKING TAKE THIS YOU GUYS??? LOOK AT THAT LIL BUTTON OF A NOSE??? I’M LOSING IT HERE???

AND TOUYA JUST SEEMS DEVASTATED OMG

because children aren’t stupid, after all. he understands that his dad is still looking to surpass All Might. and so he feels like a failure, and feels like his dad is trying to replace him because he wasn’t good enough. and even now, isn’t that what the adult Touya is trying to prove?? that he was good enough after all?? “I’ll show you what happens when you give up on me, dad”?? “I’ll show you what I can do”?? fuck my life fuck everything

AND YOU CAN SEE THE TOLL THAT IT’S ALL TAKING ON REI GETTING WORSE AND WORSE AS WELL OH GOD

really nice touch here with the panel outlines becoming all shimmery from the heat of Endeavor’s flames (and/or becoming more unstable as the family gets closer and closer to their breaking point). but man, Horikoshi I can’t handle this, please show us more cute kids or something I can’t

GKELKWFJLDKSHFLKL

WITTLE BABE. BEEB. BUBS. SMOL. lkj; oh ouch a piece of my heart just detached and latched onto him huh look at that

TODOROKI “I’M SO SMALL AND I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT’S GOING ON AND I DIDN’T ASK TO BE HERE” SHOUTO AHHHHH

crazy how they all just seem to know right off the bat lol. kid doesn’t even have object permanence yet, let alone a quirk. but do they care?? IT’S THE HAIR, RIGHT. WE’RE ALL THINKING IT, I’M JUST GONNA COME OUT AND SAY IT. they knew the minute they looked at him lol

AND MEANWHILE TOUYA IS OFF HAVING UNSUPERVISED TRAINING/CRYING SESSIONS IN THE MOUNTAINS OR WHATEVER, AND, UH OH

are those blue flames yet?? they seem pretty close

(ETA: this is one of the few cases where the manga being in black and white is infuriating lol.)

OH MY GOD AND STILL

so it’s not like he was so disinterested that he didn’t notice what was happening, and he was still trying to stop it and get through to him. trying to reassure him that it wasn’t the end of the world and there were other things he could do with his life, but this one particular thing just wasn’t going to happen

fucking hell. it’s agonizing seeing how close they actually were to fixing it. if he’d only said the right words, or if he’d realized at this point how destructive his obsession could be to his kids, and backed off from putting that same pressure on Shouto. we came so close to possibly having a happy ending

AND ALSO THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ANYTHING BUT PLEASE LOOK AT HOW TOUYA IS LIKE THREE AND A HALF FEET TALL AND HIS DAD IS LIKE NINE AND A HALF FEET. Touya barely comes past his knees flkjlkg. the Todoroki household must have been so filled with like plastic stepstools to reach the bathroom sink and all the little baby toothbrushes, and baby gates to keep the kiddos out of the important grown-up rooms and stuff. and also days-old half-empty cups of water and stale crackers and hot wheels and my little ponies strewn everywhere

“BUT EVERYONE AT SCHOOL SAYS THEY’RE GONNA BE HEROES” a wild Deku parallel appears?? how bout that

I know this is like a pivotal moment in the Todo Tragedy and all, but fucking look at this lil dumpling

“sup bro, it’s me, the manifestation of your fears of inadequacy and lack of fatherly affections. a GAAA. ba-baAA-baa [gurgling baby sounds]”

OHHHHH IT’S THE SOUND OF MY HEART BREAKING OH NO

HE WANTS TO BE LIKE YOU ENJI. good lord somebody please just get this family some therapy

“DAD YOU IGNITED IT IN ME” flkjslkj nope, nope. not ready for this pain here

baby Shouto, would you like to weigh in on this affair? “DA!! ba-ga-daaa, [pacifier chewing noises]” oh my, you don’t say. so insightful for one so young

OH MY GODDDDDD

IT’S SO DRAMATIC BUT ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT ARE THE SHOUNEN WOOSH LINES SURROUNDING FOUR-MONTH-OLD SHOUTO LOL HE WAS LIKE THIS FROM BIRTH OH MY GOD I AM DYING HELP

SHOUTO YOU’RE RUINING THIS ENTIRE CHAPTER!?!?!

“yo, the fuck kind of family was I fucking born into” oh, son. if you only knew. IF YOU ONLY KNEW!!

(ETA: lmao I got so distracted by the ridiculous cuteness that I glossed over the fact that Baby Touya seems to possibly be aiming at him?? it’s hard to tell because he’s also super out of it from heatstroke and may just be losing control in his attempt to show off his upgrade.)

ANYWAY THAT’S THE END EXCEPT WHAT’S THIS LAST LINE OMG

ffffff. and we’re in for ANOTHER chapter of this next week?? MORE drama?? MORE BABIES?? MORE OF EIGHT-YEAR-OLD TOUYA’S SLOW DESCENT INTO MADNESS. MY HEART CAN’T TAKE IT, BUT ALSO YES PLEASE SIGN ME UP

#bnha 301 #dabi #todoroki touya #endeavor #todoroki enji #todoroki rei #todoroki shouto #todoroki fuyumi #todoroki natsuo #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

[calaofnoldor]

Drug of Choice

Characters: Dean x Reader (gender neutral)

Words: 3,790

Summary: A night of drunken rambling leads to an unexpected change in your relationship status.

Warnings: angst, language, alcohol, feelings of inadequacy, very slight allusions of alcoholism/talk of drug addiction, reader likes the sound of their voice a bit too much when drunk, fluff, implied smut

A/N: written for @deanwanddamons 1st blogiversary and 2k follower celebration challenge! my prompt was “I wish I knew how to quit you“ which is bolded in the fic. congrats on the incredible milestone, sorry this is late! also for @spnfluffbingo and it fills the mood board square for @girl-next-door-writes‘ Make Me Feel Bingo challenge!

Square Filled: Kissed to Keep Quiet

MASTERLIST

It was four in the morning when Dean finally came home, and the bottle of Jack Daniels that sat before you atop the library table was over a quarter of the way through.

The heavy thud of his boots against the bunker floor drew your dark-adjusted eyes toward his shadowy figure, while the alcohol in your bloodstream loosened your lips, "How was she?"

"Jesus- Fuck!" There was a slight commotion before the lights flickered on, forcing your eyes to shut against the onslaught of sudden brightness. "Y/N??” Dean’s gruff, alarmed voice shattered the previously eerie silence, “What the hell are you doing sitting in the dark by yourself?"

Your eyelids lifted an experimental sliver but you kept your gaze directed down at the glass of whiskey in your hands. "It wasn't dark when I started."

Dean narrowed his eyes when he noticed the slur behind your words. "Started what? Are you drunk?"

His second question prompted a dismissive snort from you, "Hunters can't get drunk; you should know that by now, Dean."

"Yeah alright, we need to get you to bed." The man of your dreams began to make his way over to you until your gravelly words ceased his steps.

"I can't sleep... you haven't answered my question yet."

"What question?"

"How was she?"

"Who?"

You looked at him like he was crazy, "You know, the girl from the bar, the one with the curly hair… the one that was climbing onto your lap when I left?"

"I don't- there was no girl," Dean stumbled. His lips were parted and his eyebrows pulled together in an ever-gorgeous expression of bewilderment, but you were too busy examining the way the newfound light danced along the lustrous amber liquid between your fingers to notice.

"Oh," you grumbled in response, sounding a bit disappointed, which only served to deepen those adorable lines of confusion between Dean’s brows. "She sure was pretty though.” There was a pause as you pondered his declaration before blurting out in disbelief, “You really didn't fuck her in the back of Baby?"

"What- No! Y/N, there was never a girl and nothing happened, OK?" He sounded genuinely serious, so you conceded.

"I'm sorry."

"Why- why are you sorry?"

"I know you needed to blow off some steam after today, after I pissed you off by fucking up the hunt." You ventured a glance up at him through your lashes and the unadulterated pain in your eyes almost had Dean reeling back in surprise.

"What are you talking about? You didn't 'fuck up' the hunt," he argued, shaking his head as if to accentuate his point.

"Course I did. I got you hurt and I nearly let that dickbag get away."

A weighted sigh escaped Dean, "Y/N, you have to know that wasn’t your fault, and it’s not like you haven’t done the same thing for me. Besides, I wasn’t pissed off, I was... I was scared, OK?”

You were about to take another sip of your drug of the night when you lowered your glass to let the irrepressible giggle leave your system, “Scared? Since when does the big bad Dean Winchester get scared? And if he did, he definitely wouldn’t be talking about it out loud. Are you sure you’re not the one who’s been drinking?”

“I mean, I have been drinking but that’s beside the point. Look, Y/N, why don’t we talk about this tomorrow, alright? You’ve just gotta sleep this off.”

"Pft. This isn't something I can just sleep off. Trust me, I've tried." There was a tickle in your throat that alerted you of the oncoming word vomit, but your friend Mr. Daniels seemed to be gaining complete control of your tongue; it was all he was ever good for really, “I’ve also tried drinking it away, but clearly that doesn’t work either. There’s just- so much- of it, of you… and now, now you’re in me-“ Dean’s eyes went wide but you were no longer at liberty to stop, “and I can’t get you out. Sometimes I don’t even think I want to. But I don’t think I can keep going like this any longer either… all this waiting, and wondering, and watching.” Some fragment of sobriety within you recognized how ridiculous and melodramatic you sounded and it gave you enough sense to avoid eye contact with the subject of you’re alcohol-induced speech, as if that could help you elude further embarrassment.

“OK, you’ve gotta slow down, Y/N/N. What the hell are you talking about?” At this point, Dean had moved to take the seat across from you, subtly sliding the bottle of Jack out of your reach as he sat down.

A mirthless laugh was your reply, "Of course you don’t know. Why would you?“

“What does that mean? Why wouldn’t I? Y/N, what’s going on?”

But you ignored his questions and answered with one of your own, “Why am I never enough? You know what, don't answer that; that was a rhetor- rhetor…”

“Rhetorical?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, flailing your index finger in his direction, “Yes, that’s the word. See, even your brain is too good for me.”

“What- why would you say that? Y/N, you know that’s not true. And why do you think you’re never enough? You’re plenty enough.” Concern now painted Dean’s features. He hated seeing you this way, broken and depressed, trying to drown your feelings in whiskey; he’d figured that was his trademark amongst the bunker residents. And he couldn’t understand how someone as incredible as you would think themselves unworthy of anything. Whichever son of a bitch made you feel this way would pay, Dean swore it.

“Then how come you never pick me?” you countered simply, deciding it was finally time to call out his hypocrisy.

The accusation floored Dean. He scooted back in his seat as he stared at you with a slack jaw, utter perplexity swirling within his emerald eyes. Over the years, Dean had garnered an inkling that you felt some kinda way about him, but he never really let himself believe, and not once did he think he could be hurting you. On the contrary, he always figured it was his own hopeful heart playing tricks on him. Even now, he wasn’t entirely sure he was hearing you correctly, or that your drunken state could be trusted, though he remembered you once told him that you were always the most honest version of yourself when you drank, whiskey in particular.

“I watch you go out with waitress after bartender after waitress, but I’ve been here the whole time, and you never consider me. It’s like I don’t even exist, like I’m not even an option, like I could never even help you scratch that itch, at least not as good as any barfly across the Midwest could.” You were aware that this was getting out of hand, but you couldn’t seem to find the brakes. “But that’s not even the real problem – I mean, sure, a roll around the hay with you would probably be mind-blowing as fuck – but it would never solve the root of it, never be enough for me.”

Dean had been studying you meticulously as you spoke, your words starting a fire to the embers of his soul, breathing life into a long-forgotten hope that brought him both joy and fear. “What would? Be enough for you, I mean?” His tone took on a raw sultriness that matched the intense, borderline predatory glaze of his eyes. Needless to say, Dean hadn’t expected your sardonic laughter to fill the air, and your sudden frenzied, carefree state certainly took him off guard.

“Nothing!” you laughed, “I don’t think anything will ever be enough for me! C-cause you’re like this drug that I’m hooked on and it’s just so fucking hard to get off… I mean, it’s also hard to get off without you now, or thoughts of you anyway...” Your tangent was quickly overcome when you remembered the topic of your initial spiel, “But it’s like everything about you draws me in! From the way you reference classic literature even though I’ve never seen you pick up a book that’s not about lore, to the way you rebuild Baby from scratch like it’s no big deal, to the way you’re so good with kids even though you never got to be one yourself, to the dumb way you bottle up all your feelings and never let them see the light of day yet still manage to do so much good in the world, t-to the way you get excited over classic rock and crappy horror movies and pie, and don’t even get me started on the way you love Sam! I mean, it’s just all of it! It’s your strength and perseverance through literal hell, it’s your huge fucking heart despite the mask of swagger and charm, it’s that stupid grin you get when you make a dumb joke and Sam rolls his eyes at you, it’s just those god damn lips in general! And then you walk around looking like that!?” you gestured wildly at all of him, “I mean, who gave you the right?!”

Dean looked like he was about to respond, but you cut him off. There really was no stopping your tirade now, “I’m like an addict who can never get enough, and when you leave, I get feelings of withdrawal, and I don’t know how to fucking deal with those either… You’re so deeply ingrained in me; I don’t think I’ll ever be able to flush you out of my system. And I just-“ you took a rare pause to heave a large breath before admitting quietly, “I wish I knew how to quit you. I really do, because as much as I love you, and trust me, it’s a whole fucking lot – God, does it feel good to finally say that out loud – but for every ounce of love that I have for you, for every bit of you that I’ve inhaled, it hurts just as much. Because you don’t feel the same, and you never will, and I don’t blame you, because you’re Dean fucking Winchester and you could have whoever you want with just a wink and half a smile, and you deserve to have whoever you want-”

“Are you done?” Dean was quick to latch onto the brief respite in your monologue, “Fuck, Y/N, you really have no idea what you do to me, do you? What you are to me?” His head shook in disbelief while his troubled green eyes searched yours.

“What I am to you? I’m your hunting buddy, Dean. The one you call when you need an extra hand with a vamp nest or an extra set of eyes to scour the books, the one who stays up with you when you have nightmares about the souls you tortured in hell, the one you sing rock songs out of tune in the car with, just never the one you go to for a booty call,” you finished with a bitter laugh.

Dean’s head had never ceased it’s shaking, even as he got up and walked around the table towards you. “Only because you’re worth so much more than that. Y/N, you deserve so much more than me.”

It was your turn to shake your head. How typical, you thought as you rolled your eyes and stood up to meet his eye line, “Don’t give me that bullshit, Dean. I know you’re trying to let me down easy and that’s nice of you and all, but you can’t fool me. I know you too well, Dean Winchester, and I know there’s no way in hell that- Mmf!“ The rest of your words were intercepted by Dean’s lips on yours.

The feeling was unexpected but not at all unwelcome. There was an urgent force behind the kiss as he pushed his mouth against yours with gentle yet firm ferocity, bracing your head with large hands cupping both sides. It felt as if he was desperately trying to convey a message to you, to disprove your woeful words of self-pity, or perhaps he just wanted you to shut up. You, of course, responded with tremendous enthusiasm regardless of his intent, grasping blindly at his forearms while slotting your tongue and lips around his in an increasingly frantic manner. You didn’t care if the kiss wasn’t good for him; this might be your only chance to take what you need from Dean Winchester, if only a tiny fraction of it.

When he finally pulled back, you were both panting for air. Dean still held your head in both hands as he leaned forward to rest his forehead upon yours. “Dammit, I shouldn’t have done that; you’re drunk... Do you at least believe me now?”

A slight grimace contorted Dean’s features as his mind was suddenly bombarded by a multitude of conflicted thoughts and feelings, feelings of desire and regret and bliss and unease, but when he caught the dazed look in your eyes, Dean made up his mind, “Ah, what the hell, you’re probably not gonna remember much of this anyway. Look, Y/N, you’re wrong. I do feel the same way about you; I have pretty much ever since I saw that magnificent ass of yours.” Pausing to chuckle at his own words, Dean licked his lips, still able to taste the whiskey from yours.

“The only reason I fucked around with those other people was because I couldn’t stand not being able to have you,” he continued through closed eyes and gritted teeth before filling his chest with a deep breath, “Like today, when I saw that fucking werewolf come at you, I nearly lost it. The thought of anything happening to you scares me shitless, and I didn’t know how to process that feeling, so I let that girl at the bar get close. I was trying to fill the hole you created but it was pointless cause in the end, just like every other time, I couldn’t go through with it. Every time I try to forget about you, your face shows up in my head,” he growled in that low, throaty tone that always seemed to reverberate down to your nether regions.

“But I- I wasn’t lying when I said you deserve more than me. Y/N, you know me. I’m a broken, twisted, shell of a man. I’m-“

“Poison, I know,” you finally lifted your head away from his so that you could look directly into his dazzling eyes. Dean’s hands slid down along your neck and landed on your shoulders while yours remained on his forearms, not willing to lose all contact. “I know what you’re gonna say. You think you’re poison, that being with you puts a target on my back, that loving you is a death sentence… Did I get that right?”

Dean gave you a miniscule nod and a look of resignation as he reluctantly released you from his hold, forcing you to let go as well when he took a large step back. You suddenly felt extremely sober, the effects of the alcohol and that kiss all wearing off instantaneously, “And you hate yourself. No one hates you more than you, Dean.” Your voice was hardly a whisper now, “But that’s OK, cause I hate myself too, for never being able to make you realize that you are so much more than you give yourself credit for, that you deserve all the things you think you can’t have, that you can have them all and still be Dean Winchester.”

You watched as Dean’s eyes began to water and when a single tear rolled down his cheek, you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. Approaching him as slowly as you would a nervous animal out of its natural habitat, you stopped directly before him before cautiously raising your arm to wipe the offending tear away with your thumb. Your eyes seemed to be locked in a silent exchange of colossal magnitude, expressing everything mere words could not, from harrowing regret to agonizing self-inflicted torment to desperate desire. It was the yearning in his shimmering eyes that gave you the courage to speak your next words, a runaway tear of your own joining the whispered plea, “Please, let me show you.”

When your eyes fluttered open the next day, they were greeted with the most beautiful sight you'd ever awoken to. Dean’s face was barely a foot away from yours, and the man himself was already awake, staring directly at you. He was lying on his back with his head turned towards you, while your body was twisted to face his. A bedside lamp was on, allowing you to marvel at the breathtaking perfection in front of you, and despite the booze having long since evacuated from your veins, your mouth still imparted the first thing that came to your mind, “You know, I've always wanted to count your freckles,” you murmured honestly, “Maybe map them out like tiny constellations so I can memorize them better, so that one day I could trace them even with my eyes closed.” Your fingertips moved of their own accord as you spoke, gliding softly over his cheeks and across the ridge of his perfect nose.

Dean caught your hand in his and kissed it repeatedly as his magical olive eyes continued to bore into yours, never once leaving your face. His pouty lips curved into the slightest smile as if he were afraid to rear hope yet couldn't fight the peaceful thrill you were bringing him by simply lying next to him. “You’re not still drunk, are you?”

“Not unless it counts to be drunk on you… Sorry, that sounded a lot less cheesy in my head.” You cringed but Dean’s smile broadened.

“And no hangover?”

“No, I told you, hunters can’t-“

“Get drunk. Yeah, I heard. So does that mean you remember everything?”

“I don’t think I could forget that kiss if I wanted to; my brain wouldn’t let me.” You glanced down at his gorgeous mouth before meeting his gaze again, “I meant it all, you know? Everything I said was the truth. Every word.” You moved your thumb to graze his lower lip and he puckered his lips to kiss it.

“So did I, every word… Especially the part about that sweet ass of yours.” The hand that wasn’t holding yours roamed down to grab at your butt cheek with a hefty yet tender squeeze, causing you to squeal in delight. When you settled down, he moved your hand to place it above his heart, “You know I’m no good at chick flick moments, but you can trust me when I say I’m addicted to you too.”

The sincerity in his voice sent butterflies through your stomach and your smile felt invincible. “I hope you know that when I called you a ‘drug’ I didn’t mean it in a derogatory way. Some drugs are good for you. Some drugs can save your life,” you whispered as you fisted lightly at the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

“I wouldn’t go that far, sweetheart.”

“Isn’t that what you did yesterday?” Dean was about to retort but you sent him a raised brow and a look that said ‘don’t test me, I’ve got loads more evidence where that came from’ so he simply looked down with a small grin. “Does it still hurt?” You motioned to the white bandage on his shoulder where the werewolf had scratched him up yesterday when he jumped in front of you.

Dean shook his head, “Right now I can hardly feel it. Actually, it hasn’t hurt at all since I kissed you.”

The corners of your mouth lifted some more at his words. “See, that’s what I mean. To me, you’re like coffee on an early morning, morphine when I’m hurting, tranquilizers when I’m freaking out, Zoloft when the world’s got me down, mixed with a shot of ecstasy, and quite possibly the most potent form of Viagra known to mankind.” You might have lingered a moment to chuckle at your own joke, thinking ‘it’s funny cause it’s true’. Dean belted a guffaw himself and you were quite pleased as you continued, “You’re everything I’ve ever needed, all wrapped up in one beautiful, self-loathing man.” You stroked his stubbled jaw and caressed his cheek, letting your words waft softly across the distance between you, hoping he could sense the veracity within them, “And I just want you to let me love you, let me get high on you, so I can show you how good you are. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

A wave a sadness flowed through Dean and he lowered his gaze from yours. “This could end bloody.”

“I know,” you nodded, “But it’s so much better than the alternative... It was getting a bit too hard to bear, even if you were only eye fucking all those other suitors. Besides, if it means I get to kiss you whenever I want, it’ll be worth it. And if it means I get a chance to prove to you how worthy you are, then it’ll be more than worth it.”

“I was only staying away because I wanted to protect you from me, but I didn’t realize it was hurting you. I never wanted to cause you pain; Y/N, I need you to know that.” Dean’s warm, calloused palm ran up your arm, it’s gentleness in stark contrast to his fierce tone, while yours continued to cup his cheek.

Astounded by the passion behind his words and the utter beauty of his face, you whispered in awe, “How are you so perfect?” Seeing the cogs begin to turn in his brain, you quickly moved your index finger to press against his plush lips, “Shh, just let me say it. Baby steps, Dean.”

He took your finger and guided your arm to wrap around his wide shoulders, careful of his injury, then reached out to pull you snugly towards him until your bodies were completely flush, your chest heaving against his. “Well do we have to take baby steps with everything? Cause now that I’ve finally got you in my bed, I was kinda hoping you’d let me take you for a spin in it. Maybe find out if it’s really – how did you put it again? – ‘mind blowing as fuck’ I believe were your words?” That signature smirk of his that always brought you to your knees came out to play.

Your laughter fanned across his face, and the smile on your face was effervescent, “You really are one hell of a drug, Dean Winchester.”

thank you for reading! as always, feedback is marvelously appreciated!

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[yelenasdog]

heavy is the head that wears the crown (mob!arvin russell x fem! pastor’s daughter! reader)

genre: angst+fluff

summary: arvin had always heard the saying “heavy is the head that wears the crown” but never truly understood what it meant. not until now

words: 4.06k

warnings: since this is based off of a tdatt, family death, mentions of death, mentions of mobs, kissing, marriage, murder, smoking, suicide, cancer and i think that’s it. it’s also kinda melodramatic, and i haven’t watched tdalt in a while so a lot could be plot inaccurate also idk anything abt the mob or mafia so like dont k*ll me thx i just like joe pesci

a/n: first, i owe the amazing concept of mob!arv to @kelieah ! so go follow her for more mob!arvin goodness!! basically i’m obsessed w 90s mob movies and watched goodfellas and casino and few too many times lately and oops here we r! i tried to write this from the narrator in tdatt’s view, so if u wanna read it like that then cool! btw the pic w the dress is just an idea of the dress reader is wearing not what she looks like! ok enjoy i’ll stop rambling

·。·。·。

“So, Arvin. I was told you paint houses? That true?”

Arvin hesitated, opening his mouth and closing it again. He wasn’t a painter, no, he killed people. For a price, that is.

But rather than saying no, the jab in his side from his uncle told him to answer otherwise.

“Yes, sir. It is.”

The Pastor nodded, taking a drag from his cigar, imported all the way from Cuba. He then placed what was left of the long stick in the crystal tray in front of him, the tapping of it on the reflective surface seeming almost deafening.

“Can all your family be traced down to one place, son?”

Arvin gulped, avoiding his eyes, darting his own around the heavily decorated room. Another jab to his side. He winced, meeting the older man’s eyes. He may not know much about the life he was about to enter, but he knew enough about what that meant.

“Yes, sir. They can be, minus my father and my mother. They’re gone.”

Not even a full beat of silence later, the Pastor spoke.

“How’d he die?”

Arvin was taken aback, though he knew that question was coming. His jaw clenched, as did his fist by his side. If the Pastor noticed, he didn’t speak on it, barely lifting his eyes from the document resting on his desk.

“Suicide, after the war.”

“And your mother?”

He took his lip in between his teeth, feeling the skin break, the tears well in his eyes for reasons he would excuse as the pain he was inflicting.

“Cancer. It happened when I was young, I didn’t barely even know her.”

The pastor looked up, slimming his eyes. This time he did notice the glimmering droplets, welling up in his chestnut colored eyes, threatening to fall. He appreciated the boy’s attempt to keep his emotions in check in front of his would be superior, leaning back into his chair.

“It’s alright, boy. You’re allowed to cry, it was your mother.” His southern accent was thick like molasses, his words drawing out. Arvin still felt that it wasn’t acceptable, though, so he only sniffled and directed his chin further up towards the ceiling. He stood there for a while, nerves running through his every cell. It was electric, like white lighting making its way through his veins at a painstakingly slow pace.

“Right then.”

The pastor stood, walking towards Arvin and his uncle. His expensive loafers tapped along the cold floor as he went, the sound pestering to the ears of Arvin, taunting him. He reached a soft hand out, which the boy standing opposite to him gladly took. He observed how the Pastor’s hand was without scars, calluses. Anything that would point to evidence of him being a killer, doing his own dirty work (or “the Lord’s work” as he liked to put it).

“Welcome to the family, son.”

And as Arvin smiled widely and shook his hand with an iron grip, he began to wonder what his new life would entail doing the “Lord’s work”.

He thought he had a pretty good idea, but boy, was he wrong.

“So, how’d it go?”

It was later, and Arvin was sitting with one his most favorite people, Y/n. The pair were resting in an open field, the wildflowers around her just almost competing with the beauty she held. He bashfully looked to the dirt under his shoes, noticing how only inches away, her hands picked at the damp grass.

“Went well, I think. He told me I’m ‘part of the family now’.”

She smiled at him, and in that moment with her hair so widely astray, and wearing that pale blue dress he adored so much, Arvin’s heart felt a certain emotion he hadn’t necessarily felt for someone at this multitude before. He had felt it for Lenora, his mother, his aunt and uncle. But it was different, then. Because now as he sat with her by his side, his love for her was realized at its full potential.

She began to ramble on, congratulating him on becoming a member of her father’s so called “family”, telling him how proud she was. He couldn’t keep focused on the sweet words that were falling from her lips like honey, though, as he was too caught up in his own head, his own thoughts.

“Arv?” She asked, voice laced with slight concern, but mostly with curiosity.

“Sorry, darlin’. Just thinking.”

She blushes, it’s the first time he’s called her that before. She tries to carry on conversation, though with her heart beating through that pretty dress of her’s, it was a bit difficult.

“About what?” She questioned, doing her very best not to pry too far, to be invasive in the very reserved Arvin’s mind.

Truthfully? He was promising himself that he would marry her one day, make her his wife. But telling her that he was only thinking “‘bout the future” would have to do. I mean, truthfully, he really was!

So he answered her, and she was content with said answer, abandoning the subject and returning to many praises for Arv. The standards for the “family” were high, and though she believed in him fiercely, she knew that at his core Arvin was the sweetest soul she’d ever met, and she was skeptical he could put that aside to do whatever the job would require.

“Arvin?”

He looked up, and she nearly lost her breath. It was Arvin’s sunkissed skin, tanned from working under the hot sun, the beams beating down on him. Or perhaps it was the freckles that lightly dusted his crooked nose, like a constellation from the cosmos above. Maybe even it was the mop that sat on his head, the color all the same of those sweet brown eyes of his. Whatever it was, she felt it could only mean one thing.

Y/n Y/l/n was confident she loved Arvin Russell.

“Hmm?” He asked, tilting his head like a confused canine. Adorably endearing, she thought.

And though she had much to say, she was afraid that if he were the dog in question, then the puppy had got her tongue, so to say.

“Y/n/n?” The boy said, nudging her with his elbow, making a melodious giggle erupt from her chest. “What, cat got your tongue?” Arvin teased, and she only shook her head and smiled, as he had no idea how correct he really was.

“You could say that.”

The two shared laughs over the exchange, and at some point (neither of them are quite sure when, how, or who leaned in first), their lips connected in a short and sweet kiss. It seemed that it only lasted for a moment, and as soon as they pulled apart, Arvin and Y/n both were dying for more.

But they resisted, Arvin reaching out a cautious hand to entangle with hers. She bashfully grinned, as did he (though he did his best to resist).

“Y/n, I really like you.” He had said, his thumb running small circles upon her skin. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you like me too.”  He laughed, nervous notes to the sound.

“And well, I was wondering if you’d like to be my girlfr-”

And with a light groan, Y/n had wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing both of them to the ground. She connected their lips, the kiss so oddly blunt, an attack on his lips that he had no plan of fighting off. His hands found her hair, and her’s moved to the sides of his face, holding him so tightly, as if she was afraid he would let go.

“Yes.” She pulled away panting, her lips swollen, his flushed. “Yes, I’d love to be your girlfriend, Arvin.”

They smiled as bright as the setting sun above them, and Arvin pulled her close as she buried her face in the warm crook of his neck. They stayed like that ‘till the sun went down and the stars came out of hiding, the cool summer breeze blowing around them. They both still felt it, then, the love they had only just began to realize was there. And they would continue to feel it for years to come.

Like when Arvin would get back from a job, sometimes with blood splattered on his crisp white shirts, his dirty work getting, well, dirty. She would slowly peel it from his body, taking care to make sure he wasn’t hurt. She would do her best to wash the crimson stains from the fabric, sighing if it was seeming to be of no use. Arvin would come up behind her where she was working at the sink, wrapping his strong arms around her middle and resting his head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Arv,” she would start, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face, “damn thing won’t budge.” Arvin would just chuckle, reaching up a gentle hand, gentle only for her, to tuck the hair behind her ear, quietly speaking.

“Well I think it looks pretty good, darlin’. It’ll do just fine.” He would spin her around to face him, and pepper small kisses on her skin, smiling at her reaction. And if he was hurt, she would take care to use a warm washcloth, wiping the scarlet splatters from his creamy complexion. 

The juxtaposition of the shades was always bewildering for her, oddly beautiful in a way. She never said so, though, only muttering praises of how proud she was, how strong he is, things like that. And Arvin would watch her, honey colored eyes following her as she moved about to fix him right up. No pain would have any real effect on him, not when she was there to reassure him, make him whole again.

As Arvin moved up in their small town world, in the “family”, he remained just as kind, just as gentle. Nothing really changed, no, only the lines on his forehead deepening and the crows feet becoming darker when he smiled; And Y/n’s role, as well. She stopped cleaning him up, stopped trying to rid his shirts of bloody reminders of his living. Arvin seemed to no longer be “painting walls’, but rather making sure jobs were done, everyone was staying in their places.

And things led to another, and all of a sudden Y/n and Arvin were moving into a big house, bigger than Arvin had ever even been in before. Deals and arrangements were made, settlements too.

One regular Tuesday, Arvin came home from what Y/n could tell had been a long, long, day. He was exhausted, but had this unmistakable look of excitement and joy plastered to his face. He had come in bursting through the door, not even taking off his hat or overcoat before making his way over to Y/n and kissing her silly.

“Well hello to you, too, Arv.” She laughed, amusement and curiosity both equally swirling around in her brain, wondering what could possibly have inspired this behavior.

“Things are happening, sweetheart, good, good things.” He took her hands in his, briefly shaking them before planting a kiss to them and walking away, a big smile on his face. And truth be told, not that she would admit it, it scared the Hell outta her. She wasn’t quite sure as to why, but something was itching at her brain, warning her that whatever was brewing wasn't a good thing. But nevertheless, she maintained her grin, painted lips never faltering.

The next day, when the “good things” were supposed to be happening, Arvin was seriously wondering why on God’s green Earth he had expected this to be easy.

“Come again, son?”

Arvin swallowed, shifting on his feet. He mentally scolded himself for ending up in this position again, standing in front of the Pastor’s desk, all kinds of confused. But it had to be this way, it was for the best, he knew. The sun shone through the window above the desk in front of him, right into his eyes, nearly blinding him. The Pastor didn’t really care, though.

“I’m asking for your blessing to ask Y/n’s hand in marriage, sir.”

The older man slowly nodded in understanding, taking a long drag from the expensive cigar between his fat fingers, the gold ring on his pinky also shining brightly under the harsh sun’s light.

“I just thought that after our arrangement-”

“Arvin, I don’t regret making you an heir, I don’t.” He stated, blowing out a long stream of smoke. “Hell, I can feel something big and bad coming, boy, you understand? I know God’s will is holding out on us, on this family. But it’s running thin.”

The young man clenched his jaw, internally cringing on what that might mean to the family, for the family, what it meant for Y/n. He bit his tongue, feeling the iron seep onto his taste buds.

“And I know those damn Teagardins are plotting, they’re plotting for our downfall. Making you next in line is something they won’t see coming, and I trust it’ll stay that way. But I don’t quite understand

“Well I love your daughter, I love her so much that it hurts. And if worst comes to worst…” he stopped, his bottom lip wavering for a moment, trying to carefully dance around the different outcomes of this conversation. “I feel I’ll be better able to protect her if we’re married, if she’s truly mine.” That part might have been a lie. Y/n has never been his, never would be. She was her own person, outside Arvin, outside the family. It was what he loved about her above all else.

The Pastor was quiet for a moment contemplating his response, calculating it.

“Would you die for her?”

“Yes.” The answer came without thought, it was automatic for Arvin.

The Pastor smiled widely, lifting his arms.

“So, when’s the wedding, Arv?

Turns out, it was exactly a year, a month, and 6 days until Y/n and Arvin would tie the knot. Arvin had spent time, waiting to find the perfect moment to ask her the big question. He had decided on a night where the moon was bright and the sky was clear. They sat together in what they had donned “their” field, the greenery around them rustling in the wind. Though he was nervous, he had delivered a stunning speech that had taken poor Y/n’s heart by force. It ended up with both of them crying like babies and a shiny ring on Y/n’s finger.

The wedding itself had taken place on a beautiful summer’s day, and Y/n had worn a pretty white dress that had made Arvin almost faint when he saw her, standing there on her father’s arm. She was all decked out in the most expensive diamonds and pearls, courtesy of her father, making her shine like a crystal of sorts.

It was the best night of her life, Arv’s too. But the joy they had felt must have an inevitable end, as the worst night (Arvin’s too) was soon to follow.

It had been an ambush, the death of the Y/l/n family. The death toll had managed to wrack up every member immediate member of the esteemed mob family, including the Pastor, his wife, and their two sons. A bomb planted in the trunk of their Cadillac that had gone off, placed there by who knows. 

When Arvin had heard, his immediate reaction was to thank God that Y/n had decided to stay with him that day, to go lay in the fields just the two of them. Immediately after she had been told, she had fallen into Arvin, her entire body weight being put into his arms. Sobs wracked through her frame, her tears dampening Arvin’s yellow button up.

Once she had “come to”, Y/n had grown to be furious rather than sad. As when you look at the lineage of her family, look at the ranks of the mob and who’s to rise to power when the one in front of them dies, well Arvin was right after Y/n’s big brother, Jamie.

And Y/n had loved her big brother, she had loved him very much and would like to believe that Arvin, her sweet, sweet Arvin, would never do anything of that multitude just to satiate his hunger and appetite for power. The hunger for power she wasn’t even aware he possessed. But how in the Hell was she even supposed to be sure?

“I want to believe you, Arv, I do. But I can’t! It don’t make any damn sense, Arvin!”

“You really think that low of me, Y/n/n?”

Y/n had been shouting, trying to confront him for a crime he hadn’t committed. But Arvin was calm as he spoke, his eyes only watering and his voice only bordering on wavering. Y/n reached a trembling hand to her scalp, pulling lightly on her roots. The tears slipping down her face were hot and salty and she hated it so much.

“What else am I supposed to think?” She lifted an arm, sniffling before putting her other one on her waist, the blue of her dress, the same dress Arvin adored so much, just barely matching what was to become of her mood. She was started to regress, the red hot anger from before transforming to a stormy blue of unsure waters.

“My whole family is dead, and it just so happened that you asked me to stay with you the day they died! My whole family is dead!” She screamed, her voice a crescendo of sorts. “And everyone is clean, Arv, except you. You got the motive, you got the alibi, I’ll give you that much.” She paused, briefly wiping her nose and looking to the blank wall to the left of her father’s office. “It’s funny;” she dryly chuckled, and Arvin looked up.

“You went from doing my daddy’s dirty work to gettin’ some poor bastard to do your own. Ironic isn’t it?”  

Arvin stepped towards her, pain twisting his insides up to see his best girl afraid of him, cowering away from his touch.

“You still have me, Y/n. I’m your family.”

She looked to her feet and back to him, shaking her head.

“No, Arv. You’re not. And you will be sorry for what you did to him, to all of them. You will be.” She said, walking away with her heels clicking heavily on the wooden floors. Arvin stood still for a while, not quite sure where to go next. But it dawned on him as the stained glass shone down on his feet in the most poetic manner, that he was already there.

So he dragged his feet along with him, breaths ragged and short, his head slowly tilting up towards the glorious light. He only had to go a few feet, before he sat down in the old leather chair, the only emotions he felt being those of an imposter. He thought back to all the nervous conversations he’d had with the pastor while he was sitting in that chair, a trembling Arvin usually standing opposite, awaiting instruction.

He darted his eyes across the mahogany surface in front of him, looking at all the various things that he only could associate with Y/n’s father. His valued cigar box, the crystalline tray that rested next to it. (He swore he could still smell the fresh smoke, wafting from the little dish.) He opened it, the latch clinking before his hand reached in and his fingers clasped around one of the thick rolls of tobacco. Before he could light it, he felt overwhelmed all of a sudden, and dropped it back into the box, slamming the lid.

He laid back, resting his weary head. Arvin took a deep breath through his nose, exhaling through his mouth, before falling into a not so peaceful slumber.

He was only woken minutes later, Joseph, Y/n’s uncle, wanting to know if Arvin had seen her lately. He shook his head, muttering an annoyed “No”. Joseph got the idea relatively quickly, exiting the room. He heard the chapel’s doors close, taking that as his queue to leave once he saw the time. So he grabbed his hat and his coat, leaving the office and making his way through the dimly lit space. His attention was caught, though, by the cross by the front pews, so beautifully shining. Arvin put down his things, and walked over to the pew, sitting down on the uncomfortable hardwood. He bowed his head, putting his interlocked fingers utop the surface in front of him.

He hadn’t done this in awhile, this whole praying thing. It seemed naive in his way of life, with the things that happened around him, the people lost. But nonetheless, if ever, now was a good time to try.

“Heavenly Father, I, I, uh, I need to talk to you. To, uh, set the record straight.” His hands were sweaty, tears welling in his eyes.

“Y/n, she’s- well she’s the love of my life, God, and I don’t think she loves me anymore. Hell, she wants me dead. But I don’t blame her, I couldn’t ever. Not after...” he paused, his bottom lip shaking, “Not if she thinks I killed her family. But I didn’t, Father, I didn’t and I could never. But she don’t see that. I need her to see that.” He raised his voice, the bitter droplets rolling down his reddened cheeks, hitting his shoes.

“I can’t live without her, I won’t. So I guess I’m askin’ you a favor, Lord. Just… let her know I didn’t do it, that I would never hurt her.” His voice cracked, his words barely audible, not that whoever was listening cared.

“That I love her so much.”

Arvin muttered something of an “Amen”, and then just sat there for he wasn’t sure how long. His silence was interrupted by a mellow and raw voice, cutting through the silence like the sharpest dagger.

“It was the Teagardin family. I just found out.”

Arvin stood and turned so fast he dizzied himself, having to hold onto the back of the pew for stability. His bottom lip quivered, his flushed features gaining a confused look.

“Y/n/n? How long you been there?” He questioned, not bothering to wipe his eyes. She shifted from one foot to the other, fumbling with her hands.

“Long enough.”

There was a mutual understanding at her few words from the two of them, and an apology within them all the same. Her eyes were bloodshot, her nose runny and her overall appearance disheveled. Despite that, just the fact that she was there, to him, made her the most beautiful girl in the world. 

Arvin could tell she was holding herself back, her emotions, too, as she started to speak, barely able to get through a sentence as she rambled about how she shouldn’t have assumed things, and that it wasn’t right of her to accuse her beloved of something so dire. But none of it mattered to Arvin as he strode towards her, her words only ceasing when he finally wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m so sorry, Arv.” She sobbed, gripping onto him for dear life. That was all she said, repeating it over and over again with the exception of “I love you” also being reiterated. 

Her husband spoke over her hushed tone, saying “It’s alright, doll, I know. You were right to think that, it’s not your fault. It was never your fault.” They continued that way for some time until they both regained their bearings, Arvin wrapping an arm around her shoulders and walking down the front stairs of the chapel. 

“Let’s go home, sweet girl.” He had said, so they did. Arvin kissed the side of her head, regarding once more how he loved her, before starting the ride home, his hand on her thigh the whole time, not wanting to let her go for even a second.

His mind was plagued with thoughts of the past, and he remembered an old saying he had heard long ago. What was it? Ah, you know what they say.

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

·。·。·。

how we feeling folks did we like? gimme feedback if u wanna! mwah love u, take care of urself

 xx hj

#arvin russell #arvin russell x reader #mob!arvin russell #arvin russel x y/n #arvin russel x reader #tdatt fanfiction #tdatt imagine #the devil all the time #the devil all the time fic #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #mob!tom #mob!tom holland #we will rock queue #watch this flop LOL #tw suicide #tw suicide mention #tw cancer #tw family #tw death #tw smoking

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Touch Me, Tease Me | Part 3

Genre: Smut, slight angst

Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: It’s time to make the hard decision: which of the three boys will you choose?

Warnings: femdom, mommy kink, soft dom, but also a bit of hard dom, praise, overstim, chastity, pegging, choking, degradation.

A/N: So I said I’ll make this into 3 chapter but I decide to write just the one lol this is divided into three parts for each of the boys. once again not edited yolo

You hear faint strumming as you near his bedroom door. It stops once you push the door open and your sight falls on him sitting on the couch with his guitar in hand. As soon as your eyes meet, he looks away, jaw clenching as he starts to play on the guitar again.

You sigh, closing the door behind you and making your way to him. "How long are you gonna sulk?"

"Depends. How long are you gonna ignore me and spend time with them instead?" He mutters softly, “I thought they were the ones getting punished.”

"Don't be so melodramatic, baby." You sit down next to him and lean towards him to give him a kiss but he turns his head forwards and your kiss lands on his cheek instead. You feel a sting in your heart as you pull back, and ask sadly, "You don't even want to kiss me anymore?"

"Of course, I do." He answers readily, "It’s just… Am I not enough for you?"

"What are you talking about? Of course you are, angel."

"Am I? Because I genuinely don't understand why I have to share you with two other guys unless I’m not good enough for you on my own."

“Don’t do this, Xiaojun.”

He puts the guitar to the side and stands up, looking down at you with frustration, his intense gaze pining you to your seat. “Why the hell not?”

“I’m not ready yet.” You hesitate.

"Well, get ready. I can't handle them touching you anymore."

"Xiaojun... if I have to choose between the three of you,” You start, already dreading your next words, feeling your heartbeat at the bottom of your throat, “It might not be you."

His face hardens at your words. It was a little scary. You’ve never seen your angel so stone-faced. "What?"

"Don't you remember that before this all started, me and Hendery were almost a thing?"

"So you’re choosing Hendery?" His voice rises.

“That’s not what I’m saying. I don’t know who I’ll choose.”

He scoffs, "Unbelievable."

"It’s not fair to the other boys if I don’t give them a chance."

He glares at you, gaze burning you up. Stepping forward, he tugs you off the couch and pulls you in a kiss that was as intense as he is, wrapping you in a fiery desire as his lips devour yours and his tongue presses into your mouth.

"I refuse to lose you to them." He murmurs against your lips, eyes opening only slightly to stare into your own but even that feels like it’s enough to incinerate your soul.

You push him onto the bed and start taking off your clothes, feeling the heat of his eyes touching every part of your body that gets exposed, making your flesh smolder under them. You feel too hot in your skin. He ignites a fire in you that he won’t quench, only feeding the flames more and more until they scorch you down to your bones and leave you bare for the taking. You needed to save yourself from those eyes.

Strutting towards his closet, with the weight of his eyes burning onto your back, you pick out a thin scarf and come back. When you go to wrap the cloth around his eyes, he falters, his eyes simmering down into a cooler appeal.

“I don’t want to.”

You hush him with your lips, not saying anything as you tie the scarf around his eyes and he resigns with a sigh into the soft kiss.  

You strip him next, breathing a little easier now that his eyes are covered and you can appreciate the rest of his body without feeling like you’re in danger.

He was always on the thinner side, but lately he’s been bulking up a bit, feeling concerned about his frail frame. He wished to be more like Lucas, big and strong and manly--all qualities he thought people found admirable. But you couldn’t care less. You loved Xiaojun in whatever shape he came in. It’s the fire in him that pulls you in and all you wish for is for it to keep burning for as long as he lives.

Once he’s completely naked, you push him to lay down on the bed and climb on top of him,   taking his cock in your hand. You hardly need to stroke him, but you do just to make him feel some of the burns he’s inflicted on you. And he does, his hands jumping up as if to grab you before they sink into the sheets, his lips falling open in hushed little moans that sound all the more precious for how quiet they are.

When you lick your hand and move it down to rub the wetness over the sensitive head of his cock, he can’t hold in the gasp that escapes his lung.

“Please.” He was so wrecked already, having been deprived of your touch for too long in his opinion, ready for you to take all of him.

“You hurt me, angel.” You lean down to kiss his lips and he doesn’t shy away his time, merely pouting at your accusation. “How can you doubt how precious you are to me?”

You kiss along his jawline, slow and deliberate, drawing the flames from his body. He gets hotter the further down you go. You feel more than hear his moans as your lips meet his throat, the vibrations tingling your lips as they suck down on his skin. You mark his chest in red, hot bruises, and as you reach his dick, you find it just as red and hot.

Wrapping your lips around it, you hear him let out the loudest moan he has tonight. It’s as sweet as any sound he’s ever made, and you move your mouth up and down his length eagerly, seeking to draw even more noises from him. Swallowing him down, you tear out a moan of your name from his lips.

“Yes, angel,” You praise, jerking him slowly, “ I want you to hear how good I make you feel.”

You feel his hands in your hair as you go down on him again, his fingers digging into your scalp as you take more and more of him down your throat. Forever your good boy, he obeys, letting out the sweetest melody of your name laced with his beautiful moans.

“I need you so much.” He croons, writhing under you. “I need you. Please. Please.”

You are the one in control here but you can never deny him whatever he wants. It’s like he has an inexplicable pull on you that entices you to need to take care of him. So you pull back and sit up, situating his slicked up dick against your entrance.

“Is this what you want, Xiaojun?”

“Yes.” He looks downs at you without seeing, “Please, take me.”

You slide down his dick, letting him fill you up slowly, enjoying every inch of him until he’s all the way inside you. “Can you feel me around you, angel?”

He nods, hands fluttering over your thighs as his breathing gets harder.

“I want to hear it. Say it with those same lips that hurt me so much before.”

“I’m sorry, mommy. I just need you so bad…” He confesses, gulping as you start moving over his length. “and I want you to need me too.”

“Oh, angel,” You sigh, riding him faster, his dick filling you up so good. “You have no idea how much I need you.”

You do. You really do, but the problem was, you could say the same about them all. The three of them were all so differently amazing. They were so unlike each other but so similar in their genuineness. You wish you hadn’t started this and had just gone along with Hendery. It was easy back then, but now that you got to know the three of them so intimately, you were stuck. And whatever you choose, someone is gonna get hurt, least of all you.

Xiaojun’s hands trail up to your waist and he pulls you down towards him, wrapping you in his arms closely as his hips push up against yours. With your face so close to his, you can’t help but admire how the emotions seemed to flow purely over his beautiful features. He was like an open book and that scared you a bit. He had so much goodness in him that you sometimes felt overwhelmed with the need to protect him, even from yourself. You were terrified of hurting him and ending up being the reason he loses that something that is so pure about him.

“Please, kiss me.” He whispers, and your lips are on him, smothering him with the feelings you were too afraid to speak out loud. Resting your forehead against his, you let him control the pace as he thrusts up into you, and you're content to just watch the pleasure adorning his face.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" You whisper reverently, lacing your hands in his when he seeks them out. "You're the most beautiful human being I've ever laid eyes on."

"I-I…" He stumbles, lost for words, and you hush him. "You don't need to say anything. I just wanted you to know."

You pin his hands to the bed and use them as leverage to sit up and start bouncing on his cock, determined to make him feel as good as he makes you feel.

"Ah--you're gonna make me cum, mommy."

"Do it."

He shakes his head, "No, want you to cum first."

You smile softly at him even though he can't see it, and let go of one of his hands. He immediately pushes it between your bodies to get to your pussy, his fingers stroking your clit urgently.

"Please, cum for me." He pleads as if begging for his own release, and you can't deny him, your pussy clamping down on his cock as you head falls in the crook of his neck, and you moan into his ear, "You too, baby. Cum with me."

He didn't need you to tell him, he was already cumming from the feeling of your pussy contracting around him, coaxing him to release his seed inside you with a loud groan.

He’s nervous, you can tell even if you couldn’t practically feel his heartbeat pounding through your back and thundering in the chambers of your own heart. You crane your head back to kiss his neck but that only makes him more nervous, sucking a sharp breath in as his large hands grip your thighs. So you rest your head back on his shoulder and look at his face. He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes, gulps, and looks back at the movie playing on the screen.

“What’s wrong, my prince?”

“I just want you to enjoy this. Are you enjoying it?” He looks back at you with eyes even wider than they normally are, his voice rising in worry at the last part.

“I am.” You reassure him, pressing another kiss to the angle of his jaw then nudging your nose along the small strip of skin towards his ear. “But I would enjoy it more if you just relax, okay?”

“Ok.” He nods slightly, sucking in a deep breath that hardly goes in before it rushes out. “I can’t. I’m too nervous.”

You chuckle lightly and turn around his lap, facing him and cupping his cheeks in your hands. “Let me take your mind off it then.”

You kiss him slowly, your lips molding to his as you coax him to relax. He responds, opening his mouth to capture your top lip between his and pulling it between his own, his breathing starting to slow down as his hands wander up your body.

“You’re so pretty.” He confesses, pulling back to take your shirt off, happy to see you bare underneath. He wastes no time in palming your breasts, breath coming out in a rush as he plays with them.

“And you’re so handsome.” You gasp as you feel his thumbs rolling over your hardened nipples. Tangling a hand into the hair at the nape of his neck, you pull ever so slightly on them to grab his attention. “Be a good boy and put your mouth on me, okay?”

He nods eagerly, hardly needing you to push his head forward before he’s engulfing one of your nipples in his mouth, kissing it like he would your mouth. You feel yourself growing wetter as his mouth works, sucking and licking your breast, and you start grinding down onto his thigh. He looks up at you, a glint sparkling in his big eyes as you feel one of his hands slither down the small of your back to grab your ass, using his grip on you to help move you along his thigh.

“What a good little prince.” You moan, brushing his long hair away from his face so you can stare into his eyes. He pulls back from your breast with a light pop, replacing his mouth with his other hand to rub the slick saliva in circles around your nipple while he tenses his thigh and grinds you harder against it.

“Shit, you’ll make me cum if you keep doing that.” You throw your head back, your hips swiveling over his thigh, chasing your release.

Eager to have you cum, he puts his mouth back on your other breasts while he keeps massaging the now neglected one. With your combined efforts, it doesn’t take long for you to cum on his thigh, soaking through the thin layers of your panties and shorts.

You push his head back onto the back of the couch and stroke his face with your hand. “Such a good boy.”

“I want to be your best boy.” He proclaims, kissing the inside of your hand. You kiss his mouth, hoping you could hide the sadness in your eyes from him.

“Stand up.” You order, getting off him so he can get up, and sit yourself down where he just was. Ridding yourself of the rest of your clothes, you order him to do the same. Once his shirt is off and his shorts and boxers are at his feet, you take his cock in your hand.

"You’re so big, baby."

The corner of your lips curl up when he moans at the compliment, “Yeah, you like hearing me say that?” You ask, your hand teasing up and down his length. “You like how you fill me up so good I can hardly take it?”

He bites his lips and nods, whimpering when your fist circles his head. You smile wickedly, “Lets see how many times you can cum today.”

He groans, “No, please. Haven’t you punished me enough?”

You scowl at him and he immediately regrets his words. “So you think I’m being unfair?”

“No, it’s just--”

“You think you could just disobey and disrespect me and get away with it?”

“No.”

“I thought you wanted to be good for me.”

“I do. I am!” He insists, “You can do whatever you want to me.”

You grin, “That’s what I want to hear.”

It is a ritual at this point--since Hendery disobeyed you because he thought you weren’t giving him enough, you decided to just give him everything and see how well he can take it. By now, you had found out all the little things that drive him insane and make his toes curl and you took advantage of that knowledge every day, exhausting the poor boy.

He likes when you lick the tip of his cock lightly while you maintain eye contact with him. He likes when you swirl your tongue around it like it was a lollipop, and when it is slick enough, how you pump it shallowly while your tongue makes its way down the rest of his dick. He likes when you take his balls into your mouth while your pumps grow longer and firmer until you’re stroking his entire length while sucking on his tight balls.

And just like that, slowly and teasingly, you work him until he erupts over your fingers. Hendery struggles to hold his weight up on his shaky knees. You don’t help when you bring your sullied hand to your mouth to lick off the cum dripping over your fingers.

“You’re so easy.” You laugh as his cock twitches back to life. You help him along, stroking it to full hardness, amused at his little whimpers of pain at the overstimulation. He’d gotten so much better at taking it. He used to thrash and whine when you overstimulated him before, but now he just grimaces and takes it like a good boy.

When he’s hard again, you pull him back onto the couch so that you’re laying on your back and he’s hovering over you. That’s another thing he liked, being on top and having you between his arms even if he’s not the one in control.

You open your legs wide for him to get between them and grab him by the hair. “Come on, my prince, make me cum on that big cock of yours.”

He groans, “You don’t play fair.”

You laugh lightly at the familiar phrase, taking in a bigger breath as he slides himself into your pussy. Now it was your turn to wince; it always takes a little while for you to get used to how long his cock was, and Hendery always showers you in kisses in the meanwhile, moving his hips ever so slowly, practically torturing himself as he barely moves inside you trying to get you used to his cock.

You distract yourself by focusing on kissing his neck, but that just makes him whine. “Stop. You’re making me want to fuck you harder and you won’t like that.”

His words and deep voice make your insides burn up and you feel your pussy clench around him, impatient to take him. “Who says I won’t? Come on, fuck me hard, handsome.”

“Oh, thank you.” He spills out, grabbing your ass and pounding into you. You’re not ready for him to be so rough but you gave him the go ahead and you love watching him lose himself in you. It doesn’t mean you can’t get something out of it though. “Remember, you must make me cum on your cock.”

His face falls as he realizes what your words mean exactly. Jaw set, he angles his thrusts in a way to hit as deeply inside you as he can without hurting you, knowing that’s the way you like it most. It’s a smart strategy to get you to cum before he does, but ultimately, it’s hopeless as your moans of pleasure and praise for him only serve to work him up.

“Yes, just like that, baby. You’re so good for me, aren’t you?” You pull him into a kiss, smirking as he lets out a long moan into your mouth when your pussy clenches around him. “You won’t cum before me, right?”

He shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut as he focuses on hitting that spot inside of you that never fails to make you cum.

“Oh, fuck.” You grunt, feeling yourself getting close. Wanting him to cum first, you wrap your legs around his waist and trail your hands up his chest, your fingers working on rubbing and pinching his nipples while your legs force his hips into deeper, slower thrusts that have your pussy squeezing around every inch of his cock.

“You’re doing so, so good, my prince. Making me feel so good.” You moan out exaggeratedly, knowing it drives him crazy. “Bet you wanna cum, don’t you? I know you can’t take it anymore. You just wanna blow your load so deep inside my pussy, it would knock me up.”

“You’re mean.” He whines, his hips picking up speed as he starts cumming, and he looks so cute pouting through his orgasm.

“You know you can’t stop yet.” You tease when his hips start slowing down and he lets out an even louder whine. “You’re a mean, mean lady.” He groans, his pace growing faster again as he tries to make you cum before his dick turns limp.

“Just like that. Good boy.” You coo, using your feet that were still locked around the small of his back to help him fuck you. “You can do it, baby. I’m so close.”

He nods, doubling down on his efforts and pounding into you like crazy until you’re spasming around his cock. To your surprise, you hear him groan as his cock twitches inside you one last time, a small spurt of cum coming out.

“Wow, you came again? Good boy.” You stroke his back as he collapses on top of you, demanding you make it up to him.

“Of course, my prince. I’ll take such good care of you.” You kiss the top of his head, already planning a night of pampering for him.

Out of the three of them, you find yourself spending the most time with Yangyang. Not only because he was incessantly following you around and begging for your attention, but because spending time with him was so effortlessly mindless in a way being with the other two boys wasn’t. You didn’t have to think much or worry about being the kind of person who deserves his love. Yangyang didn't expect anything of you, and in a way, you found him more assertive than the two older boys. He didn't wait around for you to find the time to include him in your life; he included you in his.

He would sit beside you while you worked and narrate the game he was playing like it was some kind of sports match. He would talk your ear off about his latest fixation until you had no choice but to respond to him. He would demand you stop and watch some anime or another with him if he thinks you'd been working for too long. He would show you all the news dances and raps he'd learned and coerce you into giving him compliments. And if all else fails, he would just lay his head on your lap and play with his phone while you worked.

You'd think you'd be annoyed by it but it was actually kind of relieving in a way. Yangyang didn't wait for you to contemplate if you wanted to be with him or not; he came to you and if you didn't want him he would just leave and come back later. It was much easier than having to reach out to him yourself.

And the youngest was insatiable, growing even more so after you’d locked his dick up in a chastity cage as a punishment for what he did. So now he was always all over you, his mouth on your neck or his hand under your shirt, anything to get you hot and bothered enough so you'd maybe take the cage off him and fuck him. And that’s precisely what he was trying to do right now.

“Mommy…” He moans out, voice muffled around the fabric of his hoodie stuffed in his mouth as he ruts against the pillow situated between his legs.

“You can fuck that pillow all you want, baby. It’s not gonna make you cum.” You say nonchalantly, knowing the cage around his cock will prevent him from getting enough stimulation, but also knowing he wasn’t doing it to cum; he was trying to seduce you and he was doing a fucking good job of it.

Yangyang knew how to make you weak. He’s like the bratty child that always gets away with shit just because he’s so cute, and you can’t deny how good he looks with his hoodie pulled up to his mouth and his hips humping that pillow, all while he looks at you with the cutest puppy-dog eyes and makes the prettiest little sounds for you.

“So fuck me, mommy.” He retorts, the hoodie falling from his mouth and covering part of his chest. You move down the bed towards him and pick up the hem of the hoodie, pushing it in his mouth again. “Yeah? How much do you want it?”

He tries to spit out the fabric so he can speak but you grab his jaw, keeping his mouth shut around it. “I didn’t say you could drop it.”

He moans, eyelids covering half his eyes as he fucks his pillow faster. He says something that you can’t quite make out but it doesn’t matter.

“You’re such a stupid slut, baby.” You smirk, loving how worked up he’s getting from your words. “How about this, I’m gonna fuck your ass and we’ll see if you’re horny enough to cum inside your little cage, how does that sound?”

He hesitates for a moment, a little scared, but his arousal quickly wins out and he nods.

“Good. Go grab mommy’s cock.”

He jumps off the bed, moving to retrieve the box where you keep the strap-on and coming back in no time.

“So eager.” You laugh, taking your clothes, Yangyang’s eyes never once stray from your figure. “Get on your back.”

He obeys right away, pulling his legs to his chest and giving you easy access to his asshole. With a smile on your face, you lather your fingers with some lube, making a show of it and watching how he gulps down in anticipation.

The first finger goes in easily, as it always does, and it doesn’t take long for you to be able to add a second finger, pumping the both of them in and out out of his ass smoothly, your thumb rubbing the patch of skin between his asshole and his balls, knowing that always gets him really worked up. He closes his eyes, getting so caught up in the pleasure, and that’s when you stop.

You ignore his whine and lie down on the bed, gesturing for him to lay beside you. With the two of you on your sides, front to back, you ease the strap-on inside of him. Once it’s all the way inside, you grab his right thigh and drape it over your waist, lying on your back and having him half-laying on top of you. This way--with his thigh in your hand and his legs spread wide, you’re able to fuck him deep and fast.

“Is this what you wanted, baby?” You question, biting down on his shoulder lightly, making him yelp.

“You could fuck me harder.” Comes his insolent reply. He squirms in your lap, working to fuck himself on your cock.

“Fucking slut.” You hiss, letting his thigh fall so you can slap his dick inside the cage. “I’m being so nice to you and you can’t even show some fucking gratitude.”

“Maybe I’ll show some gratitude if you actually make me cum.”

“I think baby needs to be shut up now.” You growl, hand moving up his body to wrap around his neck.

“Hah, you’re so weak.” He mocks, only slightly breathless. So you tighten your grip on his throat. “Don’t push me, brat.”

“You can’t even fuck me right.” He wheezes, “Maybe you should unlock the cage so I can show you how to properly fuck--”

Your hand tightens around his throat for the last time, cutting off his blood supply for a second. “You’re a danger to yourself, brat.”

You let go of his neck and he gasps to get the air in. You grab his thigh once again and pull it up, pounding your hips into him and making him keen. “Now, is this what you wanted?”

“Fuck, yes! Keep doing that--I’m g-gonna cum.” He clutches the sheets with one hand and throws the other back to tangle it in your air, bringing your face to the crook of his neck and you take advantage of it, sucking and biting harsh kisses into the sensitive skin. “Cum, brat. Cum in your cage like the hopeless slut you are.”

“Ah--ah--mommy!” He cries out, his body jerking in your hold as his orgasm racks through his body. You bring your hand to his mouth to shut him up but he’s still too loud even with your hand over his mouth. You feel wetness on your fingers and you crane your head up slightly to find out that he is crying.

Quickly, you pull out of him and take the strap-on off, rushing to scoop him up in your arms. “What? What’s wrong?”

“It hurts!” He babbles, grabbing onto you. “It still hurts so much. That didn’t help at all.”

You can’t help but laugh, your grin growing even wider as he sniffles and pouts at you. “Serves you right, brat.”

You hold his face tightly in your hands and kiss his cheeks until he stops crying. Then you take the necklace holding the key to his cage from around your neck and use it to unlock it. You remove it from his cock gently, and take off his soiled hoodie. “Come on, let’s clean you up. That’s enough punishment for you.”

He grins at you and you narrow your eyes at him, confused. “What?”

He shrugs, “You’re just so predictable.”

You scoff, offended. “Am not!”

“Yes, you are.” He says, shit-eating grin still on his face. “And you’re stupid too.”

Now it’s your turn to pout, crossing your arms over your chest and huffing. “And may I ask why?”

“Because you’re going to choose one of them, and that’s dumb.”

Your arms drop to your sides. “You don’t know that I’ll choose one of them.”

“Unlike all of you, I’m not dumb. I know Xiaojun and Hendery don’t see me as competition, and you don’t either. But let me ask you this, who are you spending most of your time with? Who do you run to when you get overwhelmed by how needy they are or how much they require from you? I may not make your stomach fill with butterflies and shit like they do, but you’re dumber than I thought if you think that’s what makes a relationship work.”

You feel your chest tightening up. Who gave him the right to be so cocky? You won’t sit here and let this brat lecture you like he has everything figured out when you don’t even know where to start.

“Fuck you. Clean yourself up, bitch.” You throw the key at him and stand up, hurrying out of the room and away from his smug expression.

______________________

A/N: choose your fighter lol the member who gets the most votes will end up with the reader

#wayv smut #nct smut #xiaojun smut #hendery smut #yangyang smut #dom!reader #sub!idol #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fanfics

[luna-rainbow]

1, 2, 5, 10?

Thanks for the ask!

1. Tell us about your current project(s)  – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

(So here I am answering Qs about my WIP instead of working on my WIPs.)

I've spent the last 2 weeks trying to wrangle a meta because I am just so unhappy with the tone and the wording.

I've also got on pause the TFATWS fix-it and the post-CATWS Bucky whump fic (even though it's not particularly whumpy).

What do I love about them? For the TFATWS fix-it, I liked how Sam and Bucky's relationship develop. I like that I wrote it from Sam's point of view, although to be fair his voice is probably the most consistent (and logical) throughout the whole series.

The whump fic is self-indulgence, TBH, so I like it without much care for the quality of it XDDD I've rarely written pining before, so I really enjoyed playing with that, and doing it from both Steve's and Bucky's POVs. It's far more melodramatic in its anger and angst and nostalgia, and sometimes that's the kind of cheap emotional fast food I crave XDDD

2. Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

For the whump fic, there is a particular scene in the climax that I've been looking forward to write since the day I conceptualised the plot. But uh...yeah will have to get there.

In terms of future projects, I'm keen to do that Loki & Bucky idea we talked about XDD I'd love to write something fluffy and cutesy but I'm not great at sustaining them, so that'll be a challenge.

5. What character that you’re writing do you most identify with?

Hmm. I can't say I identify closely with any of the characters I write in fanfiction. I find Bucky easiest to write, precisely because he's a (largely) blank slate that's had inconsistent canon characterisation, so it allows for a lot of variation, but I can't say I identify with him as such. Sam in the fix-it fic is probably more similar to my usual thought processes.

10. How would you describe your writing process?

Variable levels of planning LOL. I generally have a rough idea of where the story will lead, and a couple of scenes I know I want to include. My jam is characters (and angst) so sometimes I'd have particular exchanges written. But I think the problem is that I do like to bury foreshadowing and call-backs, so I'm not someone who tends to use placeholders, write the rest of it, then go back to iron out blocks. Essentially I'd have to write most of it as it would be in the final draft, because I tend not to make major changes after the first draft.

This is in contrast to how I draw, for example, where I'd have a really rough outline, then refine it to sketched pose, then refine it to a less messy pose, before finally doing the lining.

#writing #asks #ask game

[missinghan]

「 semper lucet ↠ bang chan 」

You’ve been a loner for as long as you can remember. 

Really, as melodramatic as it sounds, you don’t think it’s fair when every other kid in class always sits together during lunch and talks about something as silly as a new trendy toy that they saw on TV the night before or complains about how much vegetables their mom's packed into their lunchbox. And they always have a partner when the teacher tells the class to work in pairs. No one ever gets left out. Unlike you. 

Every day is the same as every other day; you get home from school only to find a single lamp in the hallway being lit up, dinner in a box of Tupperware inside the fridge that’s at least five times bigger than yourself and a cold pitch of milk on the marble counter. You also don’t think it’s fair when your classmates get to run into their parents’ arms after a long day full of monstrous lessons because, sadly, your parents have never come home before ten o’clock. 

Some outsiders might find it funny if they witness a nine-year-old preparing her own meal, getting washed up on her own, and tucking herself into bed. Others might find it dangerous and irresponsible of the parents to leave their daughter at home all alone at such ungodly hours. But you? You find it quite depressing actually, sometimes you wonder if you’ve done something terrible in your past life to deserve to die alone in this one. 

Hence, sleep doesn’t like you that much. Most of the time, you’d be turning and tossing under your comforter non-stop until your parents’ footsteps can be heard outside. Other times, you’d find yourself having a staring competition with the ceiling until sleep finally gives in and draws a hand over your eyes. Your boring life goes on like so, slowly and dreadfully.

Well, at least it keeps going like that until something crashes onto your balcony. Or someone. 

“Ow, I’d better work on my landings next time.” It’s a boy, you assume. “Sorry I was running a little late, I miscalculated and got lost on the way. I’m Bang Chan, by the way, nice to meet you!”

From then on, he crashes at your place (literally) every night, though you have to give him more credit because his landings only improve through time. It’s the giggles that are the sails upon your boat. You both find the funny in every little thing and for the first time ever, you find yourself laughing so much that there are tears in your eyes like a dam that’s about to break and your stomach hurts like no other. It’s the kind of sweetness that you need during rough times but he’s more than just someone who makes you laugh. 

Chan is probably the best thing that’s ever happened in your life and you truly don’t deserve him. And the best things don’t happen twice, they say. 

He goes through the years with a petty, teenage-angst Y/N that decides it’s a good idea to resent her parents for the rest of her life. Edgy, you know. And you go through the years enduring his baffling questions about how insignificant humans are in this universe and his weird obsession for the pile of philosophical books that your dad gave you as a Christmas gift. 

But you’re more than willing to hear him ramble about how irritating and insufferable humans can be sometimes because of his dimples, his curly locks, and the way his eyes light up like a supernova when he gets excited about something. There’s kindness in his smile, a gentleness that’s irreplaceable. It’s the smile of one who laughs with ease, a soul-connector. You suppose he’s the kind of person who lives how he believes people should, a ray of sunshine wherever he goes. Chan is the calm sea, a friend, a guardian angel. 

Yet most of all, he’s your lucky star. 

“I live on the brightest star up there,” Chan speaks softly. “Did you know that?”

“Hmm, that’s very charming, tell me more,” you toss a piece of popcorn at him, snorting involuntarily. 

It’s a lovely Saturday evening and your parents have decided to go out to their favorite restaurant after a tiring business trip, leaving you at home with a sad portion of leftover spaghetti from your dad’s birthday party. Chan’s situated next to you on the couch with a boring rom-com playing on the TV and a bowl of popcorn on his lap, your head leaned against his shoulder. Nothing new. Though normally, he’d start making fun of the cliché plot and terrible acting with you, a lot has been on his mind. It’s a shame you don’t notice how sad his starry eyes are tonight. 

“I’ll have to leave soon, I don’t have much time left,” he lets out a breath, an exasperated sigh. 

You reply with little consideration, only paying attention to how stale the popcorn is, “Okay, my parents are gonna be home soon anyway.”

“No,” Chan’s voice suddenly becomes firm and this causes you to startle. “I’m leaving for good. You’ll never get to see me again.” 

A pang of fear is evident inside your rib cage. It’s finally time. The time you know would come sooner or later but dread. You’ll have to say goodbye to the only person that you genuinely care about other than yourself, to the only person that you feel happy with. How are you supposed to bid him a farewell without feeling like you’re losing a part of yourself?

“You’re my friend, Chan, I’m not gonna let you go, not like this.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. There’s nothing I can do,” Chan pushes your hands away gently and stands up from the couch, knocking the bowl of popcorn onto the floor. “I hope life won’t be so unfair towards you anymore.”

You swallow dry, tears already pooling inside your eyes, “What happened to ‘I’ll always be with you’ then?”

“Don’t humans lie to themselves in order to feel better?” Were his last words before disintegrating into a thousand bits of stardust. You should have known better; you wanted a friend and the universe answered your calling. But with every granted wish comes a consequence — another star will lose its light.

Chan’s stepped out of your life so easily and you wish you could do the same with moving on from him. It’s not easy when wherever you go, you see his face and hear his laughter. It definitely doesn’t help when there’s a rose attached to your university acceptance letter for astronomy. And the afterwords of the letter reads ‘To every star that you’re looking for’.

During your days of working as an apprentice for professor’s Park, a strange asteroid catches your attention with little time. Its pattern of behaviors is making you highly concerned since the amount of nuclear fuel it’s exhausting is downright alarming. It’s going through the various stages of a star’s life almost as though it’s a human being. With the help of Park, you’ve concluded that due to the unstably explosive core, this has caused far too many reactions and absolutely no control over how fast it’s using up hydrogen. After a few decades, once there’s no fuel left, the star will collapse and its outer layer will explode as a ‘supernova’. 

Although your prediction seems to be too irrational and unrealistic, the research’s still nominated for an award. And while professor Park is dealing with the press all smoothly, you remain anonymous under the project’s name, only going as far as letting them know you’re the one who’s named the star ‘Semper Lucet, Bang Chan’. 

Or in English — ‘Bang Chan, Always Shining’.

#stray kids bang chan #skzwritersclub #stayshub #bang chan imagines #chan imagines #bang chan scenarios #stray kids imagines #chan fluff #chan angst #chan x reader #bang chan fanfic #bang chan blurbs #stray kids fanfic

[aaknopf]

Today we present a preview of a major new biography of Sylvia Plath, Red Comet, coming this fall. Through committed investigative scholarship, Heather Clark is able to offer the most extensively researched and nuanced view yet of a poet whose influence grows with each new generation of readers. Clark is the first biographer to draw upon all of Plath's surviving letters, including fourteen newly discovered letters Plath sent to her psychiatrist in 1961-63, and to draw extensively on her unpublished diaries, calendars, and poetry manuscripts. She is also the first to have had full, unfettered access to Ted Hughes's unpublished diaries and poetry manuscripts, allowing her to present a balanced and humane view of this remarkable creative marriage (and its unravelling) from both sides. She is able to present significant new findings about Plath's whereabouts and her state of health on the weekend leading up to her death. With these and many other "firsts," Clark's approach to Plath is to chart the course of this brilliant poet's development, highlighting her literary and intellectual growth rather than her undoing. Here, we offer a passage from Clark's prologue to the biography, followed by lines from one of Plath's celebrated "bee poems."

from Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath

The Oxford professor Hermione Lee, Virginia Woolf’s biographer, has written, “Women writers whose lives involved abuse, mental-illness, self-harm, suicide, have often been treated, biographically, as victims or psychological case-histories first and as professional writers second.” This is especially true of Sylvia Plath, who has become cultural shorthand for female hysteria. When we see a female character reading The Bell Jar in a movie, we know she will make trouble. As the critic Maggie Nelson reminds us, “to be called the Sylvia Plath of anything is a bad thing.” Nelson reminds us, too, that a woman who explores depression in her art isn’t perceived as “a shamanistic voyager to the dark side, but a ‘madwoman in the attic,’ an abject spectacle.” Perhaps this is why Woody Allen teased Diane Keaton for reading Plath’s seminal collection Ariel in Annie Hall. Or why, in the 1980s, a prominent reviewer cracked his favorite Plath joke as he reviewed Plath’s Pulitzer Prize–winning Collected Poems: “ ‘Why did SP cross the road?’ ‘To be struck by an oncoming vehicle.’ ” Male writers who kill themselves are rarely subject to such black humor: there are no dinner-party jokes about David Foster Wallace.

Since her suicide in 1963, Sylvia Plath has become a paradoxical symbol of female power and helplessness whose life has been subsumed by her afterlife. Caught in the limbo between icon and cliché, she has been mythologized and pathologized in movies, television, and biographies as a high priestess of poetry, obsessed with death. These distortions gained momentum in the 1960s when Ariel was published. Most reviewers didn’t know what to make of the burning, pulsating metaphors in poems like “Lady Lazarus” or the chilly imagery of “Edge.” Time called the book a “jet of flame from a literary dragon who in the last months of her life breathed a burning river of bale across the literary landscape.” The Washington Post dubbed Plath a “snake lady of misery” in an article entitled “The Cult of Plath.” Robert Lowell, in his introduction to Ariel, characterized Plath as Medea, hurtling toward her own destruction.

Recent scholarship has deepened our understanding of Plath as a master of performance and irony. Yet the critical work done on Plath has not sufficiently altered her popular, clichéd image as the Marilyn Monroe of the literati. Melodramatic portraits of Plath as a crazed poetic priestess are still with us. Her most recent biographer called her “a sorceress who had the power to attract men with a flash of her intense eyes, a tortured soul whose only destiny was death by her own hand.” He wrote that she “aspired to transform herself into a psychotic deity.” These caricatures have calcified over time into the popular, reductive version of Sylvia Plath we all know: the suicidal writer of The Bell Jar whose cultish devotees are black-clad young women. (“Sylvia Plath: The Muse of Teen Angst,” reads the title of a 2003 article in Psychology Today.) Plath thought herself a different kind of “sorceress”: “I am a damn good high priestess of the intellect,” she wrote her friend Mel Woody in July 1954.

Elizabeth Hardwick once wrote of Sylvia Plath, “when the curtain goes down, it is her own dead body there on the stage, sacrificed to her own plot.” Yet to suggest that Plath’s suicide was some sort of grand finale only perpetuates the Plath myth that simplifies our understanding of her work and her life. Sylvia Plath was one of the most highly educated women of her generation, an academic superstar and perennial prizewinner. Even after a suicide attempt and several months at McLean Hospital, she still managed to graduate from Smith College summa cum laude. She was accepted to graduate programs in English at Columbia, Oxford, and Radcliffe and won a Fulbright Fellowship to Cambridge, where she graduated with high honors. She was so brilliant that Smith asked her to return to teach in their English department without a PhD. Her mastery of English literature’s past and present intimidated her students and even her fellow poets. In Robert Lowell’s 1959 creative writing seminar, Plath’s peers remembered how easily she picked up on obscure literary allusions. “ ‘It reminds me of Empson,’ Sylvia would say . . . ‘It reminds me of Herbert.’ ‘Perhaps the early Marianne Moore?’ ” Later, Plath made small talk with T. S. Eliot and Stephen Spender at London cocktail parties, where she was the model of wit and decorum.

Very few friends realized that she struggled with depression, which revealed itself episodically. In college, she aced her exams, drank in moderation, dressed sharply, and dated men from Yale and Amherst. She struck most as the proverbial golden girl. But when severe depression struck, she saw no way out. In 1953, a depressive episode led to botched electroshock therapy sessions at a notorious asylum. Plath told her friend Ellie Friedman that she had been led to the shock room and “electrocuted.” “She told me that it was like being murdered, it was the most horrific thing in the world for her. She said, ‘If this should ever happen to me again, I will kill myself.’ ” Plath attempted suicide rather than endure further tortures.

In 1963, the stressors were different. A looming divorce, single motherhood, loneliness, illness, and a brutally cold winter fueled the final depression that would take her life. Plath had been a victim of psychiatric mismanagement and negligence at age twenty, and she was terrified of depression’s “cures,” as she wrote in her last letter to her psychiatrist—shock treatment, insulin injections, institutionalization, “a mental hospital, lobotomies.” It is no accident that Plath killed herself on the day she was supposed to enter a British psychiatric ward.

Sylvia Plath did not think of herself as a depressive. She considered herself strong, passionate, intelligent, determined, and brave, like a character in a D. H. Lawrence novel. She was tough-minded and filled her journal with exhortations to work harder—evidence, others have said, of her pathological, neurotic perfectionism. Another interpretation is that she was—like many male writers—simply ambitious, eager to make her mark on the world. She knew that depression was her greatest adversary, the one thing that could hold her back. She distrusted psychiatry—especially male psychiatrists—and tried to understand her own depression intellectually through the work of Fyodor Dostoevsky, Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung, Virginia Woolf, Thomas Mann, Erich Fromm, and others. Self-medication, for Plath, meant analyzing the idea of a schizoid self in her honors thesis on The Brothers Karamazov.

Bitter experience taught her how to accommodate depression—exploit it, even—in her art. “There is an increasing market for mental-hospital stuff. I am a fool if I don’t relive, or recreate it,” she wrote in her journal. The remark sounds trite, but her writing on depression was profound. Her own immigrant family background and experience at McLean gave her insight into the lives of the outcast. Plath would fill her late work, sometimes controversially, with the disenfranchised—women, the mentally ill, refugees, political dissidents, Jews, prisoners, divorcées, mothers. As she matured, she became more determined to speak out on their behalf. In The Bell Jar, one of the greatest protest novels of the twentieth century, she probed the link between insanity and repression. Like Allen Ginsberg’s Howl, the novel exposed a repressive Cold War America that could drive even the “best minds” of a generation crazy. Are you really sick, Plath asks, or has your society made you so? She never romanticized depression and death; she did not swoon into darkness. Rather, she delineated the cold, blank atmospherics of depression, without flinching. Plath’s ability to resurface after her depressive episodes gave her courage to explore, as Ted Hughes put it, “psychological depth, very lucidly focused and lit.” The themes of rebirth and renewal are as central to her poems as depression, rage, and destruction.

“What happens to a dream deferred?” Langston Hughes asked in his poem “Harlem.” Did it “crust and sugar over—/ like a syrupy sweet?” For most women of Plath’s generation, it did. But Plath was determined to follow her literary vocation. She dreaded the condescending label of “lady poet,” and she had no intention of remaining unmarried and childless like Marianne Moore and Elizabeth Bishop. She wanted to be a wife, mother, and poet—a “triple-threat woman,” as she put it to a friend. These spheres hardly ever overlapped in the sexist era in which she was trapped, but for a time, she achieved all three goals.

They thought death was worth it, but I Have a self to recover, a queen. Is she dead, is she sleeping? Where has she been, With her lion-red body, her wings of glass?

Now she is flying More terrible than she ever was, red Scar in the sky, red comet Over the engine that killed her— The mausoleum, the wax house.

from “Stings” by Sylvia Plath

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath by Heather Clark

Learn more about Heather Clark

Share this poem and peruse other poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link

#poetry #poetry month #poem-a-day #sylvia plath #red comet #heather clark #National Poetry Month

[haru-sen]

Out of curiosity, why do you write as a hobby. What do you feel when writing? Do you see the whole plot first and details later?

You’re about to get a whole ass answer complete with childhood trauma.  Mild trigger warning for child abuse?  

So, tumblr ate the first draft of this and I’m annoyed.  Today has been very annoying.  But I digress.  The easiest thing to talk about is the process.  I start everything with a small idea.  It can be a few lines of dialogue, a character prototype, or a “what if” question.  One of the first scenes I thought of for IAL was the “Jack making bad sandwiches” and Lucky asking “Are we poor?”  And I realized I really wanted to write that relationship dynamic.  Obviously that scene came much later in the story, but it was one of the first building blocks.  And then, I have to take that idea and build it into something that can stand on its own.  Because alone, it’s just the ramblings of a maniac.  Great, some OC made a joke about Jack’s cooking skills? Who really cares?  Well, you do, by that point in IAL.  (I assume you do if you made it that far...)

Feng’s an AU version of my main character from a novel series I really need to rework.  Spoiler: the conceptual question was, “what happens when heroes/adventurers settle down and have kids?  What kind of family life do they have?”  And then it turned into an in-depth examination of unhealthy family dynamics and the difficulty of being halfway between worlds both metaphorically and sometimes literally.  Second spoiler: Just because you’re an awesome monster-killer/mercenary duo, doesn’t mean you’re going to be great parents.  

So it’s usually some kind of idea, that I just keep building on till it becomes something that could be a more concrete story.  But it takes time to foment.  I’d been two months into the Overwatch fandom before I started writing IAL.  I had all kinds of ideas, mostly for the Angst!AU and the current timeline.  I’d written a few teaser scenes for that, but on a whim, started IAL instead.  And it grew so much faster than I expected.  

So it’s taken me awhile, but I’ve gotten to the point with ideas (and drafts!) where I can be excited about the shininess of a new thing, but also know that I’m really going to have to work on it to make it better.  It’s rarely just “poof!” and “awesome.”  I have to take an extra step to ask what makes this idea/character/scene stand out from everything else that is out there.  What am I really adding? And you know, sometimes stuff isn’t better/different/greater than everything else out there.  But it’s still enjoyable.  And I’ll take that too.

When I write, it’s planning and creativity.  On good days, I’m entranced in what I’m doing, really planning/living the scene in my head, and really pleased with my progress.  (Heavily focused daydreaming?)  On bad days, it’s a slog to stay on track, nothing feels good/inspired, and I feel like a hack.  I’ve learned that how I feel while creating doesn’t actually guarantee the quality of the work.  When I go back to edit, sometimes the stuff is really good, sometimes it’s not, and the stuff I write when I feel bad can actually be really good and vice versa. But it always needs to be edited.  

On a side note,  all my internet friends groups I made because of writing.  Sometimes we shared fandoms, but it was always the writing/reading that connected us.  (Sometimes, that was bad, because writers are neurotic and sometimes egotistical.  Shocking, I know.)  Put us all together and the insecurities were numerous.  :P    

Now, onto the heavy shit.  In my case, I don’t know if I can call writing a “hobby.”  It’s a coping mechanism.  I know that sounds a little pretentious, but bear with me. I would write even if there was no one else left to read it, because I’ve grown my brain in that direction.  It’s easier for me to work out shit on paper than it is to talk about.  (Or at least, I can make it sound cooler and more coherent on paper than just putting it in stream of consciousness sort of blather.)  

I started writing when I was 12.  I have loved reading all my life, but up till then never considered myself that creative.  I did some fiction writing before that, never very seriously and never with any intention to be a writer.  It might have never caught my interest, but I have immigrant parents who had good intentions and terrible parenting skills. 

 In middle school, things were pretty terrible at home.  I didn’t have outlets. I will flat out say they were abusive and crying got the response “I’ll give you something to cry about.”  I was kind of crybaby when I was five (yes, even for a five year old).  I had an excellent poker face by eleven.    

I used to draw, but I wasn’t very good at it, and my parents didn’t encourage it, because I wasn’t very good, so what was the point? (Yes, I know that logic is wrong, but that’s what I got told.) And also, even if I was good, I wasn’t going to make any money.  So don’t bother. I wasn’t allowed to play sports.  I had no musical talent or inclination.  I wasn’t really allowed to leave the house very often.  If I wanted to go anywhere, I had to take my younger sisters (four and eight years younger than me) with me, because I was the oldest and what kind of sister was I if I went out with people and left them at home?  (Ahem.  More bad logic, I know.) No, they were hardcore serious about this.  And if they didn’t want me to go somewhere, they’d just say that they didn’t trust those people with my sisters.  And let’s not even get into the power dynamic with my sisters and how that worked.  It wasn’t pretty, for any of us.  

My parents, like the Asian stereotype goes, were obsessive on schoolwork.  So if I was doing “homework,” they left me alone.  And if I wanted to use the computer, I had better be doing homework.  I started journaling, for both therapeutic and legal reasons.  It was depressing as fuck recording the nonfiction events of my life.  One day, I wrote a little fanfiction scene from Sailor Moon in crappy script format.  It was so terrible.  But I liked it.  I reread it so many times.  It was empowering. So I wrote another one.  And then started a whole damn series.  It was baaaaad.  I filled multiple notebooks with this saga, in pencil, so it’s probably illegible now, though I have them in trunk somewhere.  I wrote a more polished (but still bad) version for a Sailor Moon fanfic archive and was thrilled when people actually read it and kind of liked it.  (...they had terrible taste, lol) But that’s how I passed the time.  At home. At school.  I just started writing when I was upset, or bored, or just because.  It was melodramatic, self-indulgent, and a coping mechanism.  My teachers encouraged it.  (English teachers usually liked me.)  And gradually, I got better at it.  I stopped writing scripts, started writing proper stories.  My characters became better, more fleshed out. I expanded into original fiction.  

Now seriously, I’m not going to say that I don’t have issues because of it.  But sharing this stuff doesn’t hurt me.  It’s uncomfortable in the sense of “oversharing with people you don’t know super well should be uncomfortable...if only the person in the cubicle beside me would learn that.”  It’s mostly just weird.  So there’s no need for obligatory comforting comments.  It’s cool.  I talk to my parents every few months in a civil fashion, once a month if I’m unlucky.  And it’s not anything to brag about, but there are boundaries in place and I’m good.  So kind of a happy outcome.  

But yeah, that’s why I started writing.  It was that or kill real people.  

*insert serial killer joke because I'm too tired*

[coffeeandyoongi]

ghostin’

Word count: 2.4k (it’s a one-shot, y’all) Summary: Hoseok was in love. You were also in love. Trigger warnings: angst, alcohol. 

Want to ask me about my work? This is my curious cat

Hoseok should have seen it coming. The first time he had seen you, he got that feeling. Something inside his head whispered it to him: “she’s going to break your heart into a million pieces and you’re gonna let her”. So he kept his distance. He listened to his friends talk about you. It was not as bad as he thought it would be. He got to touch the surface by just listening. This way, he learned about you; you painted with your fingers when you were stressed, you took pictures on your phone as if you were a professional, and one of the things that Hoseok found the most amusing; since your ex left you, you had started to go to clubs alone.

He tried to imagine you dancing alone, but it was useless. It did not matter how many times he had seen you in that coffee shop, all bright and flushed from the cruel weather, when he thought of you in the club, he just saw this lost silhouette in the crowd. He pictured you trying to dance by yourself, but finally giving up when the memories of your ex got too painful to bear.  

He did not want to ask questions. He knew that if he did, he would be entering this dangerous territory. Supposedly, it had been a rough breakup for you. As much as Hoseok ached to know, the only way would be by asking you directly. No one knew exactly what had happened between you two. You had assured to keep it under covers and your ex had never wanted to talk about it. He would change the story again and again and again. Hoseok’s friends told him all the versions: “they distanced from each other”, “he was too busy for a relationship, or wasn’t she?”, “he cheated”, “she cheated”, “they wanted to remain as friends”. Although he had no answers to why you had broken up, he knew that you were hurt. His friends would always talk about it. That was the Monday drill; you would order your coffee to go, and the second you stepped out, his friends would spill what they already knew. They would say that you were hurt, still not over him even when you promised that you were, that you would usually visit those places that meant a lot to you and your ex.

Hoseok was fast to notice that it was more than just interest in you, he had a crush on you. The more you went to the coffee shop, the more he liked you. Deep down, he knew that it was not okay to have a crush on an idealised version of you, but his friends would not shut up about you. Besides the usual chit-chat about you and your former boyfriend, they also talked about other aspects of your life. They talked about how wonderful your paintings were. They were even confused at the fact that even with just your fingers, you could create a work of art. One time, he had the pleasure to serve you your coffee. He had heard your voice, but never up this close. There was something about hearing it while watching your red tinted lips move in sync that made Hoseok reconsider his plan of keeping distance. Hoseok noticed the dry paint all over your hands. Pecks of pink, purple, blue and yellow on your wrists. That day, you stayed to drink your coffee. Hoseok would have never admitted it, but he may have messed up some orders because you looked way too pretty while drawing in your sketchbook.

So he kept on listening to everything his friends said about you. Some things he did not believe. Some things, he did.

By the fifth time he took your order, he concluded that he needed to get to know you. He was tired of just hearing from you by eavesdropping while he swept the floor. He actually wanted to hear you talking about yourself. He kind of wanted to you to talk until your mouth felt dry and you blushed and said something like “I’ve been talking about myself all afternoon. Tell me about you”. He wanted a date. He stopped to think if it was just curiosity in you or finding out which rumours were true and which were not, but he came to the conclusion that it was not what he wanted.

By the way his friends talked about you, you seemed like an almost mythical creature. Unreachable, hard to believe in your mere existence. To Hoseok’s surprise, when he approached you for the first time with a dumb excuse he had been planning for at least a week, you smiled and invited him to sit down with her. What was even more surprising was that it was so easy to talk to you. Anything was okay. Anything and everything Hoseok blurted was enough for you to start an actual and interesting conversation. It seemed like you did not run out of ideas, of topics, of words, of gesticulations.

You two became so close. Soon enough, Hoseok got to know your friends, some of your classmates from college, and even your mother.

“What superpower would you like to have?” He asked you while swallowing the last sip of beer in the bottle.

“Going back in time.”

The way Hoseok’s eyes lighted up when you said that was almost comical. He was fast to separate the bottle from his lips and smiled really big.

“Just going back in time? Make it big! You can see the future… Or even better: controlling time!”

It had been a long time since you had been with someone as positive as him. He made you feel like you could actually ask for those things, superpowers being only one of those. Questions of this kind (what kind, would you rather, what would do you if) had almost vanished a long time ago. Those famous if, the possibilities of something bigger than the reality you lived in and learned to love. It made you want to cry.

“Hey, Hoseok? Do you like someone?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Why aren’t you answering?”

Sometimes, you would slip out those little comments that made Hoseok ache. They were always blue, kind of like your paintings, and never complete. It did not take a lot of time for him to notice that the sleepier you were, the more information you would carelessly mumble.

It was near four in the morning when Hoseok decided to tuck you in bed. You had spent all night laughing and talking. Mostly laughing about nothing in particular. Even when you just drank two glasses of beer, you were so tired that you might as well have downed four bottles. He piggybacked you to your room (considering himself lucky since he didn’t come across security). Your roommate was nowhere to be seen. The only thing he could hear was your soft snorings coming from his back.

Carefully, Hoseok turned on the lamp on your nightstand and once you were in bed, with the covers hiding your small figure, he sat down next to you. He assumed you were just going to continue sleeping. He would watch over you, in case you threw up or something, but, as usual, you surprised him. Out of nowhere, you sat down, pushing the covers off of you and looked at him with hooded

“What?” Hoseok asked, chuckling.

“You’re here.”

“Yup. Not a hallucination yet.”

“You’re stayin’” you slurred.

Call him weird, call him melodramatic, but even while you were still in that state, he could see how surprised you were. It had not been the first time he did something good for you, minimally nice, and you reacted like he had brought the moon for you. Every time you did that, he was not sure how to proceed. He was surprised, of course, but it also made him feel like crying. You just made him want to cry.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Why?”

You closed your eyes. Hoseok assumed that you were too tired to even try to keep them open, but he figured that it would be easier this way. He had never been one of those persons that looked into someone else’s eyes so he could think of what to say… But with you, it was different. He could not ignore how hurt, yet touched, you sounded, you looked, whenever he did something remotely nice for you. Today, he could pretend as if the alcohol made your eyes glassy, yet he could not unsee it when you were too tired to leave your room and he would bring you some take-out without even asking your favourite because he already knew it. The look in your face was something else. He could see how grateful you were. He could hear it while you mumbled “thank you, Hoseokie” over and over again. However, he could also notice some sadness behind all that gratitude. He recognised it when you opened the door and stay there, dumbfounded, staring at the paper bags.

Had anyone, ever, done something nice for you?

That was he usually asked himself when you acted this way. He never had the heart to actually make that question, though. Considering your reactions, he believed he would not like the answer.

“I’m your friend. Gotta make sure you don’t choke on your own vomit,” Hoseok said.

It seemed to have been what you wanted to hear. As soon as those words left his mouth, you let yourself fall on the bed once more. Your body bounced slightly against the mattress, Hoseok almost gasped, thinking that you were going to hurt yourself. You seemed unbothered. You made yourself comfortable, rolling on your side and resting your hands under your face. With a long sigh, you made him understand that it was time to sleep for you.

He wanted to caress your hair. He wanted you to wake up with his fingers in your hair so that you would melt under his touch. But he did not do that. He just stared. He convinced himself that if you were not drunk, he would not feel the need to stay.

He almost believed it.

“‘m sorry.”

A warm hand caressed his cheek. It was clumsy, and it was somehow hurting him, but Hoseok did not back off.

“You’re just drunk, no biggie.”

“I’m hurting Hoseok,” you murmured. And for a second, he thought you were talking to yourself, but your eyes were looking for his. He did not notice that he had been avoiding your gaze.

When he finally gave in, he came across those eyes; the watery ones.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. “It’s– it’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?”

“You too good t-to me… toooo good,” you laughed, a sleepy smile on your lips. “I forget– I forget boys aren’t that bad.”

Suddenly, you widened your eyes, staring at your own hand in disbelief.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ohhhh.. ‘m sooo sorry!” you repeated and drew your hand away from his face as if it burned. “I keep doin’ that, again and again ‘nd… again.”

Your drunk rumbling was just too funny. You looked absolutely horrified, worried, but Hoseok could not hold back a chuckle.

“Doing what?”

“‘urting Hoseokie.”

“You’re not, I promise.”

“No!” You shouted. “You-you… You say tha-t b-but not true. Y’ love me.”

And Hoseok knew that he should not hear anything you say while drunk. No drunk made sense. However, it was the first time you had ever said that word. That four lettered word. Love. Not even once had you ever said that. He knew you cared about your friends, your family and him, you made sure to show it in every way possible, you just never said it.

“Of course I l-love you,” he whispered, “you’re my friend, remember?”

After those words, Hoseok’s throat burned. Everything burned. His chest felt too heavy. No. His heart was too heavy for his chest. And it stung. He swallowed and swallowed. It was like his heart was on fire and it would melt his ribcage any moment now.

All because the l-word was too much for him to handle when it came to you. Anything related to that was just like confessing. Whenever you talked about love, about feelings, about one-night stands, Hoseok’s heartbeat rose to the sky. He felt trapped; as if you had discovered his biggest secret.

He was in love with you. But he knew you did not feel the same way.

“‘m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

At this point, he was not sure what you were talking about. You looked ashamed, but Hoseok did not know why. You had never done anything to him, not on purpose.

“Close your eyes,” he sighed and petted your hair. “I’ll be here until you fall asleep.”

“Don’t.”

“Wha- why?”

“You’re hurting me.”

“How am I hurting you?”

“Y’re acting the way I wanted him to act,” you answered.

“Who?”

“My ex.”

Those words fell heavy on his chest. Or maybe it was the way you were looking at him; your eyes wide open, fearing that he might go away or get closer.

Countless times he had found himself thinking about your ex. He had never met him. Your former partner was barely a tall, gloomy silhouette that snaked his arms around you in Hoseok’s nightmares. Rumours say that you had not ended in such good terms as you always liked to say. But that was all you said about him.

And the worst part of all of this was that he was conflicted. Hoseok did not know if he wanted to hear you talk about your ex because there was a possibility of you still having feelings for him. Or maybe he had hurt you so much that he just did not want to hear you cry. He was not that strong, even if he wanted you to believe that.

“You remind me of ‘im.” Hoseok did not reply. “‘just wish I could love y’ the wa-ay I love ‘im. You woudn’ h’rt me, Seokie.”

And Hoseok wished he could say the same thing about you, but the truth was that you just hurt him as no one else had ever done. That was the moment when he understood what it felt to be you. To love someone that does not love you back and to stay in love, no matter how much it hurt.

#bts #bts hoseok #bts jhope #bts suga #bts yoongi #bts rm #bts namjoon #bts jungkook #bts jimin #bts taehyung #bts v #bts jin #bts seokjin #bts reactions #bts reaction #bts scenarios #bts scenario #bts one shot #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts texts #bts fake texts #bts chat #bts fake chat

[trulycertain]

Right, got a little time to be online and listening to a lot of music while drawing... I was tagged by @remember-panchaea to play Spotify roulette: https://theloulouve.tumblr.com/post/184126321998/spotify-roulette. It’s almost like he talked to for me for two minutes and figured out, “Oh, hey, Tru likes overthinking music.”

Tagging: I’ll second @casie-mod, they have good taste and I’m really curious @withthebreezesblown, because we often share a music brain Also seconding @kentaurex @thesecondseal @lavalampelfchild @latefortevinter @valeriannnn @scottishvix @fanfoolishness, because I prod her about music every so often @gerundsandcoffee, because similar and I might find some new music

Stay - Shakespear’s Sister I’m melodramatic, I wear a lot of black, and I like to write about death. Is anyone really surprised by this? I basically spent my entire childhood wanting to be Siobhan Fahey in that video.

Pilgrim - Fink This was, with the dark, driving guitar and the whole vibe, my Gal/Dorian “just get together already for god’s sake” song. Come a long way / not to ask the question that's been on your lips all the way / Spit it out / The words come out, yeah / it's already not as heavy as before

Another Man Done Gone - SOULS Melancholy lovely sample-electro that reminds me of Moby’s early stuff. I think it’s sampling Vera Hall’s version? I’ve written a lot of reflective angst to this, but it’s also just a good one to sit and take stock to.

A Night Like This - The Cure No-one’s surprised I like The Cure, let’s be real. This was another one I wrote Dorian to a lot, particularly the hedonistic/sad Imperium days. Also, it’s got saxophone, and I don’t know why that makes me think him but it does. Say goodbye on a night like this / If it's the last thing we ever do / You never looked as lost as this / Sometimes it doesn't even look like you /  It goes dark / It goes darker still / Please stay /  But I watch you like I'm made of stone / As you walk away ... Oh, I want to change it all

Intro - Alt-J (An Awesome Wave) Love the build and  sense of movement in this. Feels like stretching and working out the kinks on a good morning. (I think my favourite intro is still This Is All Yours.)

Turn Up The Faders - Nathan Asher & The Infantry A fanvid discovery. I love the bass and the building sense of discontentment and desperation for something new, the way the lyrics are delivered like a teeth-gritted barrage or like the singer’s berating himself and the world for his own hedonism. (Is it the season? Is that it? / This used to be enough for me, now it isn’t / I need some different entertainment)  I feel like the outro loses some of that desperate momentum and becomes a bit more self-indulgent, but I’m still overall very fond.

Whole Lotta Love - Hozier (Led Zeppelin cover) Like the original, love strings, enjoy Hozier’s voice. That’s about it.

The Trip - Still Corners Tender, sparkling, trippy dreampop. Feels, truly, like a night drive. This is very much a Gal/Dorian song for me, about long-distance love and how the other person is the one thing that stays steady when you’re keeping moving, but I just overall love its sense of both exploration and comfort. I love to stare at the ceiling to this one. Also, damn, that guitar. (The time has come to go / Pack your bags, hit the open road / Our hearts just won’t die / It’s the trip, keeps us alive / So many miles away / They’re following some dance of light / Tearing into the night / Watching you fall asleep / The sweetest dove in a dream)

Lift the Curse - Astronautalis I really love the sense of mood and place in his lyrics, and the poetry of them. He paints really good pictures. This is just a mood piece about late evening exhaustion and missing someone. (Everyone who's drinking is already drunk or sleeping / Everyone who isn't is just too political to talk to / Another summer evening and the city's barely breathing / It just ain't the same, just ain't the same without you)

Lonely Boy - The Black Keys Sometimes you just need a good get-moving groove.

The Lantern Flower - Scott Matthews Dreamy melancholy folk-rock. A lot of this feels like it could’ve been made in the 60s or 70s - reminds me of The Herd, and takes me back to a lot of the stuff I grew up on. And the lyrics are fascinating.

#tru talks #memes #music #trulycertain is selfindulgent about music

[aurantia-ignis]

please do pokespe, specialshipping, and gold!

This turned out way, wayyyyyy longer than expected so I’m putting it under a cut!

PokespeFavorite character: Tie up between Red and Yellow, I think!Red is a wonderful boy; courageous, kind, intuitive. He’s got a good heart, a great head for battle, and a passion to achieve his goals with his companion Pokemon. Blaine’s words about him always struck me:”Pokemon Trainer. Someone who spends his life with, trusts, and is trusted by his Pokemon. Someone like you, Red.” He may not be a perfect child (overconfidence in his earlier chapters stick out quite a bit, and of course, they showcase his character development!), but, like Blaine, Red is everything I’d aspired to be as a Pokemon Trainer. Yellow is a lovely child with a golden heart. She represents a sort of kindness that I sometimes wish I had more of. Her battle with Lance yielded this conversation:“Pokemon aren’t tools for killing! Even this battle of yours has hurt not only humans, but Pokemon as well!”“I hate fighting… I’m truly sad when any Pokemon are injured… Even my opponent’s!” “Aren’t Pokemon your friends too!?“ Despite her pacifist nature, she’s willing to fight with all she has to protect those she cares for. She feels guilt and pain whenever she has to hurt Pokemon, but goes through it anyway, to fight for what she believes in: humans and Pokemon living in harmony together. And though she may not have the same sort of battle sense that Red does, she can still pack quite a punch, and she has a few ingenious ideas of her own, too (see the Team Rocket on the ship battle).  Least Favorite character: Pryce, I think…? His entire arc was just ridiculously melodramatic, and it didn’t make a lot of sense ^^;  5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon):Red/Yellow, Green/Blue, Daisy/Bill, Gold/Silver/Crystal in a happy threesome family, Ruby/SapphireCharacter I find most attractive:It might have been N or Steven, but unfortunately, Yamamoto’s art when he was drawing those two was horrendous. ^^;; I mean, dude, noses don’t work like that! So probably Lance from the Mato era… or Red. Character I would marry:Maybe Falkner? He has a day job and he’s a good guy, and he makes gym leader! Otherwise, Steven’s very good husband material. Character I would be best friends with:Maybe Ruby? I too would like to groom my Pokemon endlessly and exclaim over how beautiful they are.A random thought:The Pokemon world is just so fantastical, there’s no way to make it realistic without having to revamp almost 70% of the entire world. ^^: Despite Pokespe seeming like a semi-realistic portrayal of it, there are way too many questions about the way things work in there that a reader still has to suspend disbelief in order to enjoy fully XD;;; An unpopular opinion:I really, really don’t much like Whitwo. :/ My canon OTP:Red/Yellow! The two of them share similar worldviews, something that I think is instrumental for building a good relationship.Red’s words in the same chapter as the Blaine one from above: “Mewtwo’s a pretty scary creature, all right. But all it knows is being held prisoner in a lab. All it knows about humans is that we’re arrogant and cruel. But what if it learns something different? What if it learns that not all humans treat other creatures badly? Find out, Blaine. Teach it.” His optimism and willingness to believe in the world is absolutely beautiful. Yellow had a similar scene in her battle with Lance. “It’s true that humans have done selfish things, taking away Pokemon’s homelands… Stripping them of their food supply… I’ve seen the results of that on my journey!”And later, with Dragonite: "Of course you feel rage toward humans. But think…. His way isn’t the answer! Humans don’t deserve death–any more than Pokemon! Humans and Pokemon can live together! I know it!”Despite knowing how terrible humans can be, both of them still believe that the rest of the world can come to understand things the way they do; that Pokemon and humans are all beings that deserve a chance to live in the same world, in peace and harmony. I love these scenes, not just for the parallels between my ship, but because they really define Red and Yellow as who they truly are. As a note, I put this under canon despite there being no official confirmations or confessions, because I think there are enough scenes (especially in the later volumes) that blatantly hint at the creators pushing them together. Although I’m not completely happy with all of them (some of the writing is way too forced, man), I’m glad that at least Kusaka seems to want them together. XD;

Non-canon OTP: Green and Blue! Although they don’t have a lot of shippy moments in canon (most of the time he’s just going TSK WHAT A NOISY WOMAN at her), I like their pair character dynamics, and the thought of their everyday life together never fails to make me laugh. XDMost bad*** character:Red! But also Ruby. The boy is very, very cool. Other than the humans, Mewtwo and Pika are pretty badass Pairing I am not a fan of:Black/White. I did enjoy the BW arc, but I felt like the two protags suffered from not enough character and relationship development. I was more inclined to ship White with N based on their writing, except of course canon moments obviously support BlackWhite more. For me, however, a few ‘romantic moments’ without any proper relationship developments don’t make me feel like shipping two characters. Bill and Daisy didn’t get any, either, but they’re supporting characters who don’t appear very much, after all. Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another):GOLD. I love the boy, he was so amazing and hilarious, but the fact is, his character arc was completely screwed. Aaaaand I’m going to elaborate on this in the last section of this ask.Favourite friendship:Red and his mons. Also Yellow and her mons. Between the humans, Gold and Silver make me particularly happy, but the Kanto Four together are great too. Specialshippingwhen or if I started shipping it: I think I thought of it as a jokeship at first, when Prof Oak was thinking “Does this child have any thought in her head that isn’t connected with Red”, but I only really started seeing them as a serious ship at the end of the Yellow arc, when Kitty/Piisuke’s String Shot was connecting them wwwmy thoughts:I uh…. I think I covered this in the OTP section above HAHAHAWhat makes me happy about them:The way they’re both happy together just talking about Pokemon and loving them What makes me sad about them:The awkward forced romantic hints that popped up here and there after Mato left :Things done in fanfic that annoys me:I can’t stand it when they’re written out of character. :/ Things I look for in fanfic:Anything in-character. HAHAHAHA. I also appreciate when, despite the humans being the main focus, the Pokemon also play an active role in the story. Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: I guess I could sort of see Red going with Blue and Yellow with Green… My happily ever after for them:Yellow opens a Pokemon Sanctuary somewhere and Red takes over the Gym of that town. GoldHow I feel about this character: As I mentioned above, Gold was completely screwed up by the writers. Up until he read that letter from Professor Oak in Vol 14, he had just been fighting on his own terms. Yet suddenly, when he received a letter that he had originally hoped to contain tips on how to win an upcoming battle, he goes into an existential crisis because Professor Oak didn’t acknowledge that he has any ‘special abilities’! “What about MY abilities? There must be something! Don’t I have an ability that places me alongside the other Pokemon trainers?! TELL MEEEEEEEE!” That melodramatic panel of his silhouette is just… melodramatic. He respected Prof Oak, but not to any extreme degree. Why would he have felt so lost and denied just because a Professor he had barely met a few times didn’t know what his abilities were?To top the ridiculous off, the scene continues with them finding an extra page of the letter and going “WAIT GUESS WHAT. PROF OAK THINKS YOU’RE A BREEDER” and Gold conveniently hatches the Pichu egg at the same moment. And they fly off to fight. And then everything’s okay again? ….DID I MISS SOMETHING! *angry Timon noises* All that angst a page before would have been easily avoided if they just took every page out to begin with! And if it was solved so easily, it obviously isn’t worth angsting over! Gold could have been a great, great character, if only they hadn’t made his point of realization “YEAH I’M A BREEDER BECAUSE PROF OAK SAYS SO”. )o)All the people I ship romantically with this character: None, reallyMy non-romantic OTP for this character: I love his interactions with Silver. wwMy unpopular opinion about this character: I don’t ship him romantically with Silver or Crystal. :/ One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:PROPER. CHARACTER. DEVELOPMENT. *SOBS*My OTP: NoneMy OT3:With Silver and Crystal as a family! I love the fact that Silver camps out at his house to watch Proteam Omega. 

#thank you for asking #pokespe #tagging because this turned into character analyses #of sorts #specialshipping

[boatspeak]

Some of my favourite dramas from the past half a year, ranked: 

1. Because This is my First Life 

k-drama, 16 episodes, each 1 hour long

So sensitively and personally written. I was sucked into the storytelling and felt as though I was seeing these scenes through the eyes of the characters. Bravo to the scriptwriter; as I was watching it I felt, ah, she must have drawn from some intensely personal and important place. It was not a story anyone could have written. Because This is My First Life follows the stories of three BFFs as they experience, and grapple with, love and marriage. It does not shy away from the complicated sides of these issues - the societal, monetary and financial pressures that love and marriage cannot be separated from, the difficulties of communicating with others honestly yet sensitively. There are some frustratingly incorrigible people in the drama (like sexually harassing superiors), but most of the time the conflicts play out between good people who care for and support each other, yet inevitably butt heads because they have different - and equally valid - views of life. Is it wrong to want to marry and start a family? Is it wrong not to? It was painful at times, I think I cried for some of the characters. Not because they were pitiable, but because sometimes in life there is no right or wrong; you have to make tough choices and it hurts but you have to keep your eyes open and keep watching; keep walking. For the literature lovers out there, especially those who might be sick of gratuitous (often cheesy) quotes inserted randomly into dramas, well, good for you! Characters in Because This is My First Life read and are impacted by (real life) books, and you can see how the books they’ve read influence the way they think, act, and communicate with each other. It’s very realistic and mirrors the way you might consume and digest books in your own life outside of the drama. Oh, the PPL is also wonderfully done and actually contributes to character building.  8-9/10.

2. Raise de wa Chanto Shimasu (I’ll be serious in my next life)

j-drama, 12 episodes, each 1/2 an hour long

One woman, five sex friends. I know. I know it sounds messy and melodramatic and angsty. I hesitated for the same reasons as well. But when I finally got over it and watched the damn thing (very bingeable, totalling at only 6 hours), I regretted not watching it sooner. Raise wa Chanto Shimasu is a breath of fresh air. Most of the characters, whether hypersexual or asexual, are pretty unabashed about it, and I love their self-love. Want to have sex? Go for it, gurl. Don’t want to have sex? Also no problem. The title is an apt one and showcases this message of acceptance. We might have bones to pick with our current lifestyles, but welp, we’ll just be serious in our next lives. As one of the characters said at the end, “we all became independent, working adults, I think we should be proud of ourselves”.  Much needed affirmation in a world of moralising, slut-shaming, virgin-mocking, and expectations to get married and settle down.

Warning: one of the characters in a bi/gay relationship is pretty vocal in denying his sexuality even in front of his partner, and a trans woman was harrassed at one point. These were discomfiting for me. 

3. The Fiery Priest 

k-drama, 40 episodes, each 1/2 an hour long (or 20 hour-long episodes)

Action. Comedy. Kim Nam Gil, who won the Baeksang for this role. Honey Lee. Badass babe. Ahn Chang Hwan, who was so realistic at playing a Thai immigrant my friend who studied Korean for three years didn’t even realise he was Korean. Father Han. One reviewer said he was a literal angel, and I concur. Most dramas leave you with at most three or four characters you really like; this drama makes you fall in love with the whole gang. Everyone has a backstory, or some hidden side that you didn’t expect that just adds so much more dimension when revealed. Where some might find it hard to balance the weight of action and the levity of comedy, dipping too deeply into angst or farce at times, The Fiery Priest manages the tone really well even as the plot deepens and our characters have to deal with deep-seated traumas. I have nothing more to say to promote this drama except, how could you pass on Kim Nam Gil doing action plus comedy MINUS tragedy and the moustache? 

A final note: Technically, The Fiery Priest is a stronger drama than Raise and should deserve the no. 2 spot. The former deals with bigger issues like corruption, morality and forgiveness, while the latter is more light-hearted and deals almost entirely with personal choices. However, some issues Raise touched on were really important to me and came at a time when I really needed affirmation to believe in my beliefs, so it edged out The Fiery Priest in my heart. 

4. 传闻中的陈芊芊 (The Romance of Tiger and Rose) 

c-drama, 22 episodes, each about 45 minutes long

甜。This drama is just Sweet with a capital S. What a refreshing watch, especially for women. I loved not having tugging battles between two men. I loved the respect given to consent. I loved having so many smart and capable women who have conversations with each other that do not revolve around men. I love how the male lead wasn’t hung up on Male Ego and gave his wife space to be herself and make her own decisions and mistakes. A rare gem. I’m sure I will revisit this when I’m tired of the usual ドキドキ tactics involving possession and pulling around 

(If you can read Chinese, I suggest watching it on the 腾讯视频 app with 弹幕 on. I found it pretty hilarious, meaning I laugh-cried so hard in the middle of the night my neighbour knocked on my door to ask if I was ok.)   

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A quick rundown of the dramas and films I’ve watched so far in 2020 so you know the pool I picked these four from: 

Penguin Highway 

good watch. super cute. I cannot over-emphasise how cute the penguins were. It got me into a penguin phase and I’m not out of it even after 7 months...

ぼくは明日、昨日のきみとデートする (My Tomorrow, Your Yesterday) 

good watch. bittersweet.

わたしに××しなさい！(Watashi ni XX Shinasai/Missions of Love) movie and drama special

would pass on the movie (which cherry-picked from the manga but unfortunately left out a lot of important character developing scenes so the relationship didn’t make as much sense as it did in the manga)

but the drama special. Whew. I watched the drama special twice. It’s trashy good. Because it’s basically a spin-off to build hype for the movie, it doesn’t have to follow the plot of the manga, instead taking on the format of a (very cheesy) otome game. So you have all these ikemen saying clichéd toe-curling lines like “I am also a man you know” and getting stuck half-naked bReAthInG HeAviLy in cabinets together but instead of playing it seriously (as the movie would do because it’s supposed to make you feel like they are falling in love), the main character goes huh??? wtf are you saying?? at her otome game screen, which is so realistic and just cracks me up. definitely would rec. 

ごめんね青春！(Gomen ne Seishun/ Saving my Stupid Youth) 

hmmm. so-so? Leading lady Hikari Mitsushima is pretty, cool, and fits the bill of gap moe. Ryo Nishikido is also pretty believable (once you suspend your disbelief that somehow all his students think he looks dorky and are not gushing over his ikemen-ness). Unfortunately, relationship development between the otp happened too late and too suddenly. 

Он – драко́н (On Drakon/ He’s a Dragon/ I Am Dragon)

a pleasure to (re-)watch as always. Lovely visuals. 

Tokyo Ghoul: S

decent! Great performance from Shota Matsuda as the Gourmet. He’s definitely a draw-point for this movie - you can see him being featured heavily in the trailers. 

Strong Girl Do Bong Soon

great drama, would rec! 7-8/10. Points docked for all the digressing they did with monks and gangsters. I loved the otp’s dynamic, how healthy their relationship was. One line that struck me was, “Do you know how you’ve found the right person? When you see yourself in their eyes, you look happy”. It was a reminder that while these are obviously fictional characters, we can and should form relationships where our partners are as supportive of us (and us of them) as our dear otp, and not to settle for less. Also loved the fact that smol Bong Soon is so strong and no one can manhandle her >:-) 10/10 also to rookie actor Jang Mi Kwan, who was absolutely terrifying as the villain. How is he only a rookie??  

Because This is my First Life

see above

The Fiery Priest

see above

선덕여왕 (Great Queen Seon Deok)

hehe I watched it (again). As great as ever. Somehow cried more than I did the previous two times I watched it? Took me a week to get over one of the characters (even though I already went through all that heartbreak the first two times I watched this..) Sayang... Definitely has a special place in my heart. Available in full on youtube with subs. 

传闻中的陈芊芊 (Romance of Tiger and Rose)

see above

来世はちゃんとします (Raise de wa Chanto Shimasu) 

see above

覆面系ノイズ (Fukumenkei Noise/Anonymous Noise)

pretty good! Adapted from a manga but very film-like with its color-corrected shots, many cut-scenes to birds and crashing waves. Shison Jun was great in his intense scene, Ayami Nakajo has the most manga-looking face I’ve seen and Koseki Yuta is my bb as always hahaha he’s appeared in, like, four dramas on this list. 

博多弁の女の子はかわいいと思いませんか？(Don’t You Think Girls Who Talk in Hakata Dialect Are Cute?) 

YES!! I DO!! Wholesome drama packed to the brim with hometown (Hakata) pride). I also loved Okada Kenshi going around looking for Ramen shops hahaha. Now I want to see him host a food discovery show. 8/10. Would rec! 

帝一の國 (Teiichi no Kuni/Teiichi’s Country)

面白い 。Interesting watch! In which a bunch of high school boys in an elite school take their student council elections very seriously and attempts at political hijinks ensue. Suda Masaki and his pals somehow make over-the-top super seem natural. I don’t know how they do it, but it’s pretty good. Peppered with interesting reveals and counter-reveals along the way. 

男子高校生の日常 (Daily Lives of High School Boys)

I liked this! It delivers on what it’s supposed to. As a film, it is very film-like. The background is given a lot of weight in this film, and the director “shows, not tells”. The conversations of our characters are situated in the chatter of their schoolmates, you hear random snippets of conversations drift around, you see the school situated in the mountains, piles of decorations around the hall. This helps in conveying the “daily” nature of what happens in the film - not some life-changing adventure, but a warm high-school memory that is pretty like a paper star in a glass bottle. The boys are also very lovable and dorky in their high-school roles. 

ピーチガール (Peach Girl)

not bad. Typical shoujo manga adaptation storyline, even if the leading quartet do well in their roles. Nagano Mei was especially memorable for me out of the typical shoujo heroine roles I had previously seen her in. Inoo Kei also really looks like a boy from a manga. He has a lot of exaggerated actions, but he pulls them off really well. 

突然ですが明日結婚します (Totsuzen desu ga ashita kekkon shimasu/ It’s Sudden But Tomorrow We’re Getting Married/ Everyone’s Getting Married)

pretty decent. It’s not mind-blowing, but it’s definitely not bad. (Or you could flip it around and say it’s definitely not bad, but it’s not mind-blowing). 

ヲタクに恋は難しい  (Wotakoi: Love is Hard for Otaku)

disappointing. I really wanted to like this film for Takahata Mitsuki and Yamazaki Kento, but there were too many useless musical scenes. 

同期の桜 (Doki no Sakura / Our Dearest Sakura)

Hmmmmmm. About colleagues who become inspired in their work and lives because of their colleague Sakura. I wanted more love but that’s not the main point of the drama so it’s not their fault. It got a bit repetitive towards the end, and I felt there wasn’t enough character development. Another drama I really wanted to like more than I did, because I was looking forward to seeing Takahata Mitsuki, Ryusei Ryo and Mackenyu work together. 

Tokyo Coin Laundry

A mishmash of lost souls meet at a coin laundry. A short drama about running away, making choices, and moving on. Katayose Ryota might have been cool in My Brother Loves Me Too Much, but this was where I first saw him and I prefer him in this. I enjoyed this a lot and even drew a postcard based on this. 7/10. 

兄に愛されすぎて困ってます (My Brother Loves Me Too Much) drama and movie

ok don’t judge; I watched this because my friend said it was pretty good. Katayose Ryota IS pretty cool in this, and Tsuchiya Tao brings to life the quintessential image of the Japanese girl, but if you’re watching this for “so cheesy it’s actually good” I would point you to the Watashi ni XX Shinasai drama special instead. If you do want to watch this though, you should watch the drama before the movie, because they are not standalone. 

Nodame Cantabile

What can I say? Classics are classics. 8/10, would rec. This is my first time seeing Ueno Juri acting, and she’s so believable as quirky Nodame I wondered if this was her actual personality. Straight out of a manga. There was potential for messy love-drama, but this drama took the high road and focused on proper character development instead. Thumbs up! They also did really well in “showing not telling” us the OTP’s relationship development. Rather than declarations of love, you can see it in the little caring gestures and almost subconscious smiles. I liked that too. Though maybe I’ll dock a point for how they treated gay expressions of love - “he’s a man you know” and icky faces - and how much casual manhandling there was against Nodame (exaggerated flying punches... maybe that’s how the manga wrote it?) 

[webcricket]

Catch a Falling Star

Characters: CastielXReader ft. Sam and Dean Winchester, and special guest, Crowley

Word Count: 3331 (Part 8)

A/N: Part 8 of a Soulmate AU mini-series. Oh my…the angst. Rest assured, I plan to stuff the fluffiest damn epilogue ever down my muse’s throat in retaliation to restore the natural balance. The epilogue will be posted on 8/29 to give you all a chance to brine in your own tears catch up on the story.

Summary: What if angels didn’t end up just anywhere when they are banished by sigils…what if sometimes they end up exactly where they need to be? Turns out you are Castiel’s grounding stone, and it’s more complicated than either of you realizes. The Winchesters locate Crowley’s elusive mystery box, and the powerful secret it contains is heartbreaking.

Completed series Masterlist:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/165166387163/catch-a-falling-star-masterlist

In the end, no words remain. There is no spoken solace to share, nor any valediction to express the unspeakable. No words exist. There is only the merciless march of time – marked by a luminous red-orange summer sun eternally devoured by the horizon – the blotchy orange and purpled hue of lost day bruising the clouds and rippling reflected in the lake in reminiscence of a passionately blazing light forever fated to fade to night.

“It’s time,” Sam murmured softly, apologetically – ever the more tactful brother. He towered, sentinel on the shore, gazing out onto the huddled forms of you and the angel watching the sunset at water’s edge. Fists jammed into his jacket pockets, he futilely sought amongst the lint therein the comfort none of you would find this night.

Sam’s voice reverberated hollowly in Castiel’s heart. To be entirely accurate given the circumstances, what the hunter should have said was, specifically, your time together is ending. The angel made no motion in the slightest to move.

“Castiel,” the name arose a quivering whisper in your throat – the utterance burdened with one last prayerful request: I can’t do this alone. Lend me your strength. Let me lean on you. Hold me up when my legs falter. Take my hand, my brave and beautiful angel, and we will carry each other.

Calloused trembling fingers laced with yours, he clung unfailingly to you.

Rising together, you numbly traversed the winding path to the cottage. Delaying for a moment in the glowing wash of lamp light beneath the porch, you ignored the looming black shades of the brothers within beckoning your haste. Stooping, you plucked a delicate stem of periwinkle, undamaged by the careless tread of demons that morning, from the ground. You secured the blossoming blue bunch of petals in the button hole of the angel’s trench coat and straightened the silken blue striped knot of his tie. Fresh tears stinging your eyes, you gazed into the misty blue ocean of his melancholy aspect.

Dark hair. Trench coat. Handsome. The saddest blue eyes...

The hospital description flitted in your memory. Yet for a time, those eyes had gleamed with shared joy and immeasurable love. Expressively curious, wide in wonderment, dotingly soft, amorously dilated, crinkled in amusement – you longed for anything but this bleak sadness now dimming his expression.

“Y/N, I…” Cas gathered your hands in his, drawing them to rest over his heart. Tears dampening his eyes, he leaned in to kiss your forehead – balanced at the very brink of heartbreak, there was nothing left for him to say.

Dean’s presence on the landing of the porch stair and the single grim nod of his head denoted the rapidly diminishing window of opportunity to complete the ritual.

Lips lingering on your brow, the angel closed his eyes, pleading with the departed sun, with his absent father, with the universe itself, with anyone out there who cared to listen for one more minute.

*   *   *   *   *

“That limey little bastard!” Dean roared furiously, slamming a balled fist on the wooden planked table with a sharp crack.

Like Cas, Sam and Dean, having been informed of the demons’ pre-attack dialogue, concluded that the description of the moody boss the demons referred to uncannily applied to a certain self-serving melodramatic King of Hell they collectively loved to hate.

“What I don’t get is why they banished Cas every time we got close?” Sam pondered aloud, brow knotted in thought. “But then at the same time Crowley kept insisting we needed Cas’ help to locate the box.”

“Maybe keeping Cas close was also a handy way of getting rid of him when push came to shove?” Dean speculated.

“That makes sense,” Cas interjected, “Crowley knows banishment is extremely taxing and a convenient way to temporarily dispose of an angel. Each group of demons we encountered was armed with the knowledge and means to subdue my angelic advantage.” Inclining his square jaw toward the failed banishment sigil drawn on the wall, he continued, “The blood they used there is mine. I don’t know how he obtained it, but to go to such extreme lengths, whatever he seeks must be extremely valuable. There is no more powerful method aside from death to dispatch of me. But then why not simply kill me? Why instruct the demons to spare my life?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time he’s exposed a soft spot for one of us,” Sam suggested, rapping his knuckles pointedly on the table.

“Yeah, right. Deep down in that shriveled black heart he’s a real teddy bear,” Dean snorted a laugh, throwing his hands up in the air. “You won’t convince me that him wanting Cas alive is for any reason other than Crowley’s own demented benefit.”

“And what makes him think the box is here anyway?” Sam quirked an inquiring eyebrow, coolly considering the mess of the kitchen. “We must be missing something.”

Padding quietly into the room, eyes red and puffy, you stopped to peer between the openly agitated bearing of Dean and the more reserved brooding of Sam. You had no trouble identifying them as the Winchesters based on Cas’ colorful descriptions. Your focus settled on the sullen form of the seraph slouching against the counter.

“Y/N, you’re awake,” his stature straightened, blue eyes regarding you with concern. Propelling off the counter’s edge, he strode forward to meet you.

Your notice followed the flapping hem of his trench coat, countenance contorting in dread as he avoided stepping in the congealed pool of blood surreally corralled within the spilled flour where hours ago you had stabbed and killed the demon.

Grasping your shoulder, Cas turned you away from the gory reminder and into his calming embrace. Smoothing your hair, palm sliding to reassuringly rub your back, he drew you firmly into his chest. His lips and unshaven chin brushed the sensitive skin of your neck as he spoke, “It’s alright, I’ve got you. The demons are gone. Sam and Dean are here now.”

You shuddered in his encircling arms, spluttering, “Cas, they looked like people. Why did they look like regular people?” You choked on the sickening lump rising in your throat, “She was so…so…human.” In the sum of his existence laid bare to you, Castiel had shown you demons in their true form, as a celestial being perceives them, and they were truly the stuff of nightmares – unmistakably twisted damnable corrupt abominations in no way resembling a human.

Clasping your arms to steady your swaying figure, Cas angled backward to stare earnestly into your anxious features, “Listen to me Y/N, it wasn’t human. Not anymore. Not for a long time.”

Sniffling, you nodded.

“What you did was very brave,” he added. Palms rising to caringly cup your face, he suppressed the desire to admonish the foolishness of your act in the same sentence. He guiltily believed his life wasn’t worth the price you paid in the form of the black mark now marring your soul. Good, evil, accidental, justified – unfortunately the motive for taking a life and the nature of the life taken don’t matter in the accounting of deeds recorded upon the soul.

A tear sprang to life from the corner of your eye to meander jaggedly down your pallid cheek. Brave – it wasn’t the word you would choose. Not brave, you thought, blinking another tear into existence, terrified. Terrified of losing you.

Cas smeared the salty drops across your skin with a sweep of his thumbs. The angel understood better than most that brave and terrified sometimes meant the same thing. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered the gravelly promise, winding his arms securely about you to squeeze you tight. He meant it.

“Well, would you look at the two little lovebirds.” Crowley cooed, stepping forth from an unobserved corner. “Doesn’t it just make you want to spend a carefree sordid afternoon peeling the unsullied flesh off a screaming virgin?” The demon congratulated himself with an extra cocky swagger in his gait at having startled the brothers with his unexpected entrance for the second time in a week. His grin arrogantly stretched even wider at evidently having also astounded the angel. “What? No one else? Humph.”

Dean audibly groaned, “I see you're still on the bird kick.”

Crowley curtly bowed at the elder Winchester – he greatly appreciated Dean’s continued annoyed interest.

Cas spun to protectively shield you with his body, angel blade materializing ready in hand.

“Sammy, I told you if you said his name three times in a row he’d show up,” Dean grumbled.

Sam reflexively reached into his jacket, fingers fondling the handle of the demon blade protruding from an inside pocket.

“Now, now, boys. No need for knives,” Crowley wagged a reproaching finger, “we’re all friends here, aren’t we?” He worryingly caught your eye and winked.

An involuntary tremor wracked your frame as you clung to Cas.

“Try again,” Dean’s lip curled into a snarl.

“Comrades in arms?” Crowley proposed, grin gradually dispersing from his mouth at the unanswered silence. “Business associates then,” he conceded. “And as such, enough with the inane formalities. I’m here to collect my prize as per our arrangement.”

“We haven’t found the box,” Sam sidled sideways, shifting his position so that Crowley was surrounded, forcing the demon to split his watchfulness in three directions. Sam’s statement was the truth. After disposing of the demons, the brothers and the angel had spent the morning combing over every inch and rifling through every nook and cranny of the house and surrounding gardens in search of anything ancient, odd, or eminently powerful – coming up empty handed.

Crowley’s mocking scowl fixed on Dean, “Your brother really is as daft as he looks, isn’t he?”

Sam scoffed at the demon’s turned back.

“There’s nothing here,” Cas growled in defense of Sam, and to draw Crowley’s concentration.

“Isn’t there?” the self-satisfied grin reemerged on Crowley’s mouth. Thrusting his hands idly into his pockets, he elaborated, pacing in a small circle, “You know those age old manuscripts can be actual hell to translate, especially when the author gets a bit self-indulgent writing the more florid narratives.”

Cas’ eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?” he adjusted the grip on his weapon with a deft flick of the wrist to maintain Crowley’s undivided attention. In his periphery, the angel observed Dean retrieve demon trap handcuffs from a pocket and hide them behind his back while Sam masked the tinny clink of the metal chain by pretending to clumsily stumble on some pots and pans strewn on the floor.

Unruffled by the noise, Crowley smirked sinisterly, “Box, container, vessel...human.” He glanced about, unashamedly savoring the range of appalled emotions in your individual reactions to the implication. Composing his gratified sneer into a prim grin, he went on, “Trifling details if you ask my opinion. They’re all created with an empty space on the inside meant to hold something.”

“Human?” Sam darted his eyes in your direction.

“I didn’t know what to expect, not at first. What with the translation troubles and the general ineptitude of my staff,” Crowley pressed his lips thin in contrived remorse, “that’s where you boys came in. Call it outsourcing.” Withdrawing his hands from his pockets, he clasped them somberly behind his back.

“What do we have to do with any of this?” Sam baited.

“You and Foghorn Leghorn over there? Next to nothing. But Chicken Little, your very own sky is falling angel, was the key to everything,” Crowley’s covetous red gaze fell upon you, “to unlocking the limits of her potential.”

Castiel raised his weapon, a surging glow of menacing grace glimmering behind his eyes.

Dean seized the distracting demonstration of power as a chance to leap forward and shackle Crowley’s wrists.

“You Winchesters,” Crowley griped, not bothering to test the restraint, “always such gentlemen.” Sam dragged a chair over and Dean shoved the demon roughly into the seat. Grunting, Crowley quipped, “At least buy a girl dinner first.”

“I don’t understand,” you pulled at Cas’ sleeve, “what does he mean? My potential?”

“Oh darling, you’re the proverbial forbidden fruit,” Crowley purred, “plump, ripe for the picking, and teeming with angelic juices by the seedy smell of it. Your paramour’s father forbade angels to have intimate relations with humans,” he winked provocatively at Cas, “but lover boy here wasn’t thinking with his halo gilded head when he met you, was he?”

“Enough!” Cas growled. Lunging at the demon, he coarsely grabbed a clump of hair in his fist, yanking backward to press the point of the angel blade into the soft pocket of flesh beneath his smugly set jaw. “You’re wrong. The forbidden fruit is a fable. There is no such object in creation.”

“I thought the forbidden fruit was an apple,” Dean kidded.

“No, I think it was a pomegranate,” Sam jibed.

“What’s with the fig leaves then?” Dean rounded an eyebrow, crudely waving in the vicinity of his crotch.

“The angel is right, it was never an object,” Crowley spat through clenched teeth, “it was merely an idea. A seed of thought planted to flourish into fruit to feed temptation and fuel a revolution of sin. But don’t worry, I’m not interested in any of her fleshy bits saturated with your angelic stink. You’re free to keep those. I only want that nurturing organ of life, her heart. The souls I can lead astray with that most forbidden of loves it contains…mmm…”

Eyes aglow, Cas dug the tip of the blade further into the demon’s neck, the piercing of skin producing a rivulet of red.

“Of course, I’m sure any passing resemblance of these lush gardens to Eden are purely coincidental,” Crowley hissed.

“Castiel,” grasping the angel by the elbow to gentle his rage, you bade him look at you, “stop. No more death.”

Cas reluctantly released the victoriously grinning demon.

“Not yet anyway,” you glared at Crowley until his grin faltered. “What makes you so certain I’m this terrible temptation?”

Crowley peered, in turn, into the glowering faces of the Winchesters and wallowed for a second in the wrath simmering within the angel’s aspect before returning his decorously cowed courtesies to you, “Well, there’s the trivial matter of the spell. And then X marks the spot. Or in this case, a tailor-made blood banishment sigil leading directly to a particular angel’s special someone. Conveniently, I knew just the unwitting angel for the job.”

“So you used Cas?” Dean asked, exhaling contemptuously through his nose.

“Hello, have we met?” the demon rolled his beady eyes, “Crowley, King of Hell.”

“Because he was convenient?” Sam reproached.

“Remind me again why you sad sacks of man meat are so surprised?” the demon jeered.

“I say we kill him now and call it a day,” Dean shrugged indifferently.

“What kind of a moron do you take me for?” Crowley barked. “Kill me, and you can expect the whole host of Heaven to come calling when the sun sets.” He smirked, “Call it a dead man’s switch.”

You met Cas’ despondent gaze, a sense of dread pitting your stomach.

“Then we run, hide you two in the bunker until we can figure something out,” Sam suggested.

“And where do you think they’ll go searching first?” Crowley sassed.

“So we make a stand, it’s not like we haven’t kicked angelic ass before,” Dean advocated.

“When they find out their favorite black sheep has been buggering Little Bo Peep, you can bet they won’t be sending in the lowly choir boys to sing his praises,” Crowley countered. “I’m not the only party interested in bending this power to my advantage.”

Gazing resolutely into your angel’s despairing blue eyes, your lips moved without feeling, tongue torpid and thick against the roof of your mouth, the fateful words echoing in your ears like a distant thunder as you spoke, “The spell, can it be reversed?”

“Ay,” Crowley sneered, “there’s the rub.”

“How?” you asked, voice cracking dryly.

Cas’ chin dropped to his chest, stature visibly sinking.

“No,” Dean interceded, his heart aching at the sight of his crestfallen friend, “we’ll find another way.”

Your timorous fingertips ghosted the white-knuckles of the angel’s clinched fist, begging his support with a humble thought. This is bigger than you and I.

Palm opening to accept yours, his desolate gaze slowly lifted to look at the leering demon. Even though he held your hand tight and felt the warmth of your skin on his, he sensed you slipping away. Brave and terrified, he raspingly repeated your question, “How?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Crowley crooned.

The solution was excruciatingly simple – the very same banishment sigil wrought from Castiel’s angelic blood which had delivered him to you would, upon being completed with the nourishing ebb of life flowing in your veins, banish him cruelly from your heart and break the power of the spell.

*   *   *   *   *

One final minute. One more loving embrace. One more tearful kiss. One more gentle healing caress of angelic grace to relieve the sting of the knife gashing the pale palm held upturned in wavering hands. One more swim in the unfathomable depths of a watery sea of celestial blue. One more bask in the radiant warmth of a beautiful soul. And one final fond smile exchanged as your bleeding palm sparks upon the sigil to flood the space with blindingly bright white light; because, once upon a time, for a brief while, you belonged to each other. And no one, not on Earth, nor in Heaven or Hell, not anyone in the whole of the universe, can take those cherished minutes from you.

Sam caught you as you slumped slowly to the floor. Ripped from the room and excised raggedly from your heart, Castiel was gone, leaving you alone to tend to your gardens and nurse the nameless aching emptiness haunting your heart that you longed to fill with something beautiful.

The angel stirred at the noisome insistence of the phone vibrating in his pocket, or perhaps it was the rank smell clinging to the general air which roused him. Either way, sitting upright in a sluice of flotsam, he found himself embedded in a steaming pile of garbage on a transport barge slinking, he surmised from the distant New York City skyline, somewhere along the Hudson River. Most likely, he supposed, en route to New Jersey for ultimate disposal. Politely bobbing his chin in apology to the suspiciously squawking sleep-disturbed seagull situated several feet to his left, he squinted at the multiple texts from Dean:

Where are you?

Why do you own a phone if you never use it?

I’m telling Sam to take you off the family plan when we get home. The concept of unlimited texts is lost on you.

ARE YOU OKAY?

Slime-covered thumbs poised over the screen, the angel considered his reply before typing. He wasn’t certain how he’d come to rest on the barge. His vessel appeared to be physically intact save for a smoldering patch or two of trench coat and riotously refuse tousled hair. His grace was depleted by such a negligible degree that any dip in power went absolutely unnoticed by him. Looking down for visual confirmation of this interpreted fineness, he plucked from his lapel a curious cluster of sweetly fragrant charred cerulean blooms. On objective examination, he deemed himself okay. Yet something indiscernible in the dull beat of his angelic heart gave him the distinctly opposite impression. Glancing around in search of an elusive answer, his regard elevated from the tiny flowers in his grasp to the gloomy rain-threatening clouds above. He caught sight of the dying glimmer of a solitary star shining through and then consumed by the thickening haze. Lightning dazzlingly engulfed the sky for an instant in a myriad splendor of violently churning azure and indigo. Fat droplets of cold rain unleashing from the heavens to pelt his upturned face, the angel could not shake the feeling something precious had been lost to him.

Epilogue:

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