#ill post it here after i print it! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

menhera-info-archieve · 8 months

Text

in case you haven't seen it yet, here's the menhera 101 article by HoshiCandy from Kei Club Issue 3. not sure if i'll post the other menhera related articles from this issue or not, so consider checking the link in source if you're interested.

i'm also leaving a text transcription under the cut for anyone that may benefit from that

Menhera 101

Menhera fashion has quickly been gaining popularity worldwide! This fast growth has come with its fair share of misunderstandings about the community and style. Menhera artist and designer HoshiCandy is here with a lesson on menhera’s origins, history, and basics. Find more of her work on the pages before and after this article!

What is Menhera?

“Menhera” can be thought of as “a person who seeks mental wellbeing”.

The word “Menhera” was born in Japan in 2001, on the “Mental Health” board of anonymous forum 2ch, where users discussed their wellbeing. The users of this board were named “Mental Healthers” which was shortened to “Menhera”.

The Menhera community covers anything that might cause one mental suffering, such as: physical illness or disability, depression, anxiety, eating disorders, bullying, hyper-sexuality, sexism, homophobia, etc. Importantly, there is no need for a formal diagnosis, as the focus is on how you feel, and that you want to feel better.

It is difficult to talk about these topics in Japanese society without being heavily stigmatized. Menhera is a community to speak safely without that stigma. Of course, this stigma and need for community when it comes to one’s mental wellbeing is not limited to Japan, and that is why menhera has grown in the west as well.

Since the creation of the word in 2001, there have been several manga published with “Menhera” in the title, many Visual Kei songs about it, Menhera idol groups, and several menhera fashion brands.

However, an unfortunate addition to all this has been the discovery of the word in mainstream media...

Just as the topic of illness is heavily stigmatized in Japanese society, the word “Menhera” itself became quickly stigmatized and stereotyped as “an attention seeking, troublesome person” or “an overly attached girlfriend” (aka “yandere”). If you were to speak to a Japanese person about “Menhera”, this would most likely be what they would think you meant. This stereotype tends to be referred to as “Menhera Kei” in Japanese which is why we avoid the use of “kei” for Menhera in particular.

Despite all this, the true menhera community has continued to grow.

Menhera Motifs

Artists in the Menhera community created many works of “Vent Art” art that expresses their feelings and suffering. When this art was printed onto clothing, Menhera fashion was born.

These are some themes you will commonly see in Menhera:

Medication

Suicide

Self-harm

Hospitals

Sex and BDSM

Social Media Addiction

Heartbreak

Wearing Menhera art printed on clothing serves as a way of literally wearing one’s feelings on one’s sleeves. It turns invisible suffering visible, and fights against the stigma driven silence. This means that Menhera fashion is highly confrontational, with graphic depictions of illness symptoms. Although the onlooker may feel discomfort, the Menhera style says “this is my true reality, don’t pretend it doesn’t exist!”

Depending on the feelings of the wearer, Menhera fashion also says “although I am sick, I can still be ‘kawaii’” or “although I appear ‘kawaii’, on the inside I am suffering”.

Turning the invisible visible, forcing the silence to be broken, and challenging kawaii culture, these are the goals of Menhera fashion.

The Menhera Silhouette

Carefully avoiding a highly theatrical or OTT (over-the-top) look is important for maintaining the integrity of the goals of menhera. Menhera is a very casual style, with few accessories and light makeup. The key is for a coord to centre on Menhera imagery, whether vent art or text-focused designs, printed onto clothing.

Be careful not to dress up as the characters depicted in vent art, who are often costumey, gory, and OTT.

Menhera Coord checklist:

Printed Menhera art

Byojaku/Minimal makeup

Not OTT/Few accessories

Flat Shoes

[optional] Oversized top

[optional] Hime bangs

[optional] twintails

Colors can vary: a pastel yume look, or a gothic yami look, both are fine!

The makeup style is called “Byojaku” meaning “sickly/weak”. Reddish colors are applied to areas around the eyes to give the impression of crying or illness. The rest of the face is kept plain without much color.

A Note of Caution

The Menhera community is about healing, and seeking recovery and wellbeing. It advocates getting help, medication, therapy, and receiving support through your recovery journey.

True Menhera never encourages or enables harmful behaviors, and never glorifies them. Menhera fashion is an alternative way of expressing your suffering without self-harm. Menhera fashion empowers the individual through their recovery, but does not empower harmful behaviors.

There are some, sometimes labeled by the community as “Wannabe Menhera”, who mistook the meaning of “menhera” after seeing its rise in popularity, as it being trendy to fake mental illness. They engage in behaviors such as posting self-harm photos (real or faked) to social media with the tag #menhera, and other attention-seeking behaviors.

While this is the opposite of what the Menhera community stands for, is harmful to the unfortunate viewers of these photos, and creates further stigma against the community...it cannot be ignored that these “Wannabe Menhera”, too, need help and healing.

The Menhera fashion movement is to help you feel comfortable, unashamed, and kawaii in your skin, scars and all. It is NOT for encouraging people to create new scars “for the aesthetic”.

If you are struggling with mental or physical suffering, thoughts, or behaviors that cause harm to yourself or others, please seek help. If you do not believe you deserve help, you do, please seek help. If you believe you are faking it, you likely are not, your feelings are valid, please seek help.

Don’t have access to therapy?

We found a comprehensive list of suicide prevention hotlines at https://ibpf.org/resource/list-international-suicide-hotlines [link no longer working]

There are also free and affordable counseling services online like Better Help and Pride Counseling! Look online to find what option could work for you!

Alternatives to Menhera

After reading all this you may be thinking “the Menhera community sounds good but all the fashion is too restrictive for me” and if so, you’re not alone! But the good news is that you don’t have to wear Menhera fashion to be in the Menhera community.

Look up any of these alternative styles online for examples and more information:

Yamikawaii (“Sickly-cute”) is essentially the aesthetic of Menhera without the activism, a corrupted dark kawaii. Unfortunately the word was trademarked and now suffers from copyright takedowns.

Yumekawaii (“Dreamy-cute”) an aesthetic evolved from Fairy kei to describe everything pastel and kawaii, but with a slight edge, described as “fairytales with poison”.

Marekawaii (“Nightmare-cute”) created as an alternative to Yamikawaii to avoid the copyright issues, and as a counterpart to Yumekawaii. Marekawaii is specifically defined as being open to your own interpretation and style.

Medikawaii (“Medical-cute”) a pastel kawaii aesthetic focusing only on medical motifs, such as medicine and hospitals.

Gurokawaii (“Grotesque-cute”) mixes frightening and disturbing imagery with kawaii. Kyary Pamyu Pamyu helped popularize it.

Iryouu Kei (“Medical Kei”) a Visual Kei substyle with lots of gore and hospital theming, very OTT and theatrical, such as dressing like a nightmare nurse.

Living Doll artists see themselves and their bodies as a canvas to create art and express themselves, often with intricate makeup and body painting. This is a good one to look at if you’re into heavy artistic makeup.

#menhera #info #op #menhera.txt

875 notes · View notes

honnelander · 6 months

Note

I CAME AS SOON AS I SAW THE POST

can we get a little snippet of go fish!reader maybe reading Pride and Prejudice aloud to Zoro after he had been struck down by Mihawk, like how Nami did, and Sanji over hearing and just staying by the door to listen to her read or something? i think a little blurb like that would be so cute

AHHH CUUUUTE!! i modified this a bit to have it fit into the overall story's timeline. instead of Zoro being struck down by Mihawk, he's sick and bedridden. thank you for this :))

here's go fish!Sanji listening to you reading:

masterlist

"Ohhh Zoro," you quietly squealed, trying your best to keep your voice down from disturbing a very ill and bedridden Zoro from waking. "Are you ready for this? Oh my god, this is another one of my favorite parts," you gushed, sighing dreamily as you put your very loved and well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice on your lap before hurriedly picking it up again to continue reading aloud to your friend in his room.

"I'm in love with you, most ardently," you read, voice quiet enough and full of wistfulness.

As you continued to read the story, your voice going up and down in excitement as you read the scene aloud, Sanji could hear your quiet gushing from the hallway. He was carrying a small tray of food, two bowls of his special homemade chicken soup sitting right in the middle, one for Zoro and another for you since he knew you'd spent all afternoon reading to the sick swordsman and figured you must be hungry by this point as well.

With careful steps, he silently stood right behind the doorway as he listened to your soothing voice bring the words that were printed on the page of your favorite book to life with a small smile on his face. The blonde cook closed his eyes for a minute, letting the sound of your voice wash over him as he admired you without you ever knowing.

He leaned his shoulder on the doorframe right outside of Zoro's room, gently resting the side of his head against it as well, as his mind wandered for a second, getting lost in the story.

Apparently, it was the part in the story where Mr. Darcy was confessing his love to Elizabeth, but as he listened further, he realized that it wasn't the end of the story where they both confessed their feelings mutually, it was more in the beginning where Mr. Darcy's sentiments were one-sided and Sanji couldn't help but feel a sort of kinship with the fictional man.

While the situation he was in with you wasn't as dramatic as Jane Austen's creation (if there even was a 'situation', he thought dejectedly), the feelings he had for you were certainly real and very complicated.

Was he in love with you? He wasn't entirely sure, but he did like you, much more than a friend should. He had feelings that he only had for you, and no one else. Sure, he's come to love the rest of the crew and Nami too, but none of them could make him feel the things that he only seemed to experience with you.

Suddenly, he wondered how he would confess these sentiments to you one day. Would he pull a Mr. Darcy and just walk into your room one night, spilling out his heart's desires for you in a single breath because if he didn't, he might not have the courage to tell you otherwise? Telling you the thoughts that consistently plagued his mind, trying to sort them out aloud in front of you because they were driving him mad like poor Mr. Darcy? Or would he plan something out and take his time? Wait until he understood what he felt because he 'wanted to get it right'?

Sanji didn't know, it was too soon to tell... but what he did know was that if he stood out there loitering any longer, the soup would get cold and the chef in him would rather die than serve you something like that.

Coincidently, it seemed like the chapter had just ended, you letting out a lighthearted sigh as you softly commented to Zoro, "Ok Zoro, now wasn't that chapter just... extraordinary?"

"It certainly was, Missus," Sanji commented cheekily, suppressing a smile as best he could as he walked into the room.

"Oh! Sanji!" you gasped as your hand quickly covered your racing heart. "Jeez, you scared me." You watched as Sanji placed the tray of soups onto the nightstand. "Sorry. I, uh, didn't realize I was reading so loudly I attracted an audience," you said, your cheeks heating up slightly at the thought that Sanji had been listening to you for who knows how long.

"'Sorry'?" Sanji repeated, a slight frown on his face momentarily as looked down at the tray, glancing at you over his shoulder. "There's nothing to be sorry for, my love." Once the tray was secured on the nightstand, he fully turned to face you, his hands in his pockets as he put on his most charming smile. "Now," he started smoothly, "I'm starting to think that maybe I should get sick so you can come and read to me in bed all day."

Sanji's smile only grew as he watched your face become even more flushed at his words.

You laughed slightly, eyes darting away from his as you asked, "Don't you mean when you're bedridden?"

There was a long pause, the silence becoming deafening at your question. You could feel the tension in the room become thicker the longer that Sanji stayed quiet. Your hands started to feel slightly clammy as your heart rate picked up.

You swallowed. "You know, instead of 'in bed'... since you'd be sick and everything?" you asked finally, as you mustered up the courage to look back up at Sanji from your chair.

At his expression, your heart skipped a beat. Sanji was still looking at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief (and sincerity?) and another emotion you didn't understand, a soft smile on his face. You couldn't help but feel like Sanji knew what he said and that he had said it on purpose.

His crooked smile only deepened. "Sure," he agreed simply. "When I'm sick and ill, and completely bedridden." He blinked, inhaling a small breath as he looked down at his shoes for a moment before looking back up at you, a small questioning look in his eyes as he quietly asked, "And you'd do that? Come and read to me all day?"

"Of course," you answered without hesitation, frowning slightly at Sanji believing that you wouldn't do for even a moment. "I would do anything to help you feel better, Sanji."

Now, between the two of you, it was pretty obvious that Sanji was the smooth-talking flirt, with you never really outrightly flirting with him in the conventional sense, but wow, you might as well be labeled the biggest flirt in his mind because your kind, thoughtful words and gestures never failed to make his heart flutter and knees go weak.

And the way you would look at him, time and time again, whenever you would gently reassure him that yes, you did indeed care about him and that you never truly forgot him... it was enough for him to feel his heart nearly explode.

There it was again, your kind, thoughtful, and beautiful expression on full display for him as you looked up at him through your lashes.

And just like that, Sanji's fears were completely washed away.

He let out a slight laugh, turning his face to the side, his blonde bangs facing you to try and hide the very faint blush on his cheeks. "Aw, you're too kind to me, Missus." He looked back at you, his rosy glow fading slightly, however, his smile was still bright. "Thank you."

At seeing Sanji happy, you were happy. You returned his smile and with a slight teasing tone you said, "But I'll only read to you if you promise to read to me when I'm in bed, sick and completely bedridden."

The blonde chef laughed lightly again, partly because of your now little inside joke, but because the thought that you even had to ask him if he 'would ever do that for you' was completely absurd. Of course he would. He would've been reading to you from the moment you were awake and not feeling well, all the way until you were sleeping, and even then he would continue to recite the pages of the book you loved aloud while you slept, so your dreams and subconscious mind were filled with the sound of his voice well into the night.

Sanji would do anything for you. And you never even needed to ask.

But he didn't tell you all that, not wanting to freak you out with his intense train of thought, so he simply said, with a small smile and twinkle in his eye, "Consider it done."

From Sanji's right, the sound of bedsheets rustling caught both of your attention.

Zoro groaned, gingerly opening his eyes as he pulled his blanket closer to himself. "Ugh... waiter? What are you doing here?"

Sanji looked down at him, a hint of concern on his pretty features as he replied, "Ah, Mosshead, you're awake. I, uh, thought I'd do a little room service and bring some soup for you and y/n."

At hearing your name, Zoro opened his eyes again. "Y/n?" He slowly turned his head towards you. "What are you-" he started to ask but when he saw the book on your lap he groaned and covered his eyes with the crook of his elbow. "Oh don't tell me- you've been reading that garbage to me while I was sleeping this whole time?"

But you weren't offended by his question. Instead, you laughed. "If you mean masterpiece then, yes. You're right. I had just gotten to the good part too!"

Zoro shifted in his bunk, getting comfortable. "Well, by all means, keep going," he deadpanned. In a more sincere tone he said, "I haven't slept this good in a while." But then, with a ghost of a smile, he added, "Your book is so boring it puts me right to sleep."

"Hey, a win is a win," you laughed joyfully. You looked up at Sanji for a second, wanting to share your little moment of happiness of Zoro wanting to continue reading with him.

But Sanji was already looking at you, eyebrows raised in surprise and a disbelieving closed-lipped smile on his face. His smile only grew at seeing the happiness you radiated, his eyes scanning over your face. "Well, in that case," he started as he made his way towards the door. "Let me excuse myself then. I wouldn't want to get in the way of your storytime, Mr. Mosshead."

As Sanji left the room and stepped out into the hall, he could hear you giggle at his 'Mr. Darcy' joke while Zoro grumbled, a sweet sense of satisfaction coming over him.

But before he went back to the kitchen to start on tonight's dinner prep, he loitered outside of Zoro's room again, leaning against the doorframe like he did moments earlier, out of view, so could listen to you read once more for a bit, a small, wistful smile on his face.

taglist: @smolracoon25 @shadydeanmuffin @cherrypie5 @sauceonmyshorts @hhighkey @gimmebackmyskeeball @he4vens-ang3l @selcouthaesthetics @chexmixtrys @princettecharlie @amitydoodlez @abracarabbit @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @mischiefmanaged71 @asianfrustration13 @shuujin @nimtano @your-platonic-gay-lover @lovelymrvl @browneyedhufflepuff @stevenknightmarc @deserticwren @detectivelucy07 @yarnnerdally @timeladyrikaofgallifrey @miloonmetis @fa1rybubbl3z @feelinmatcha @ivonarfsh @facelessfionna @rosemaplefairy90 @littlefishswimmer @vinskyspuff @truebluesanji @antrenna @raythecomputerart @ohsilk @galaxy-pirates @christinaatyourservice92 @svnwcn @olliesoxenfree @taro-gabi @daydreamer-in-training @uncomfortableshoelace @yuriwk @buggy0827 @laviiv @notasgard @sallydelys @genlovesdcb

#sanji x reader #opla!sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #sanji x you #opla!sanji x y/n #opla!sanji x you #one piece x reader #one piece #one piece fanfiction #go fish! au #black leg sanji x reader #black leg sanji x you #one peice live action

365 notes · View notes

rassicas · 25 days

Text

hi guys! im back. i went tokyo for a few days. got back at 7 this morning after taking an overnight 7 hour bus ride.... that i did not sleep on bc i cant sleep in moving vehicles. this will be something closer to a proper blog post i guess. splatoon related convention? experience below

i've kept my mouth shut about my plans to go because its not as well known on the english side of the fanbase and i didnt wanna make people too jealous sorry LOL , but i went to splaket 22! it's an unofficial, splatoon-only doujinshi market/artists alley. this was my first convention-sort-of event ive been to since i was... in high school. i also dont really get to meet many other hardcore splatoon fans irl. i was nervous about it because i don't know a whole lot of people on the JP side nor do i have a lot of confidence in my japanese speaking/listening, but in the end it was SUPER fun. i wish i couldve talked a bit more to the artists i did encounter to comment on what i liked about their works but. Skill Issue very few non-japanese people at this event of course but one of the only english speakers i saw i called out to bc they were wearing a shirt with this exact image printed on it no video and no photos outside of designated areas were allowed so i got like. zero pics of my own. but there was a lot of cosplayers i saw! oh and here's the Loot Haul. a few doujin, a clear file, stickers, microfiber cloth and a keychain. im surprised at how little i got, i think i shouldve gone a bit crazier with it

the one with Tao Blu and oonie in the top left (by sachikazerick) I came across by chance and bought because it was cute, featured splatband characters, and also because it all in some familiar inkling language (the last point of which i told the artist as i was buying) when i finally got home and saw the back credits...

SMALL FUCKIN WORLD LOL (i tweeted at the artist afterwards to let him know i came by the table and to thank him for using me and my friend's inkling language fonts!) though truly, i think ardnin deserved the credit more rather than me since he made most of those fonts! ah well, still cool to see more and more fan works using deciphered inkling language. top middle book is a story with some salmonid characters that i havent read yet but im looking forward to it, the art is lovely. top right one was the first thing i bought. the artist is rk_splaworks, whose art i love, and we've been mutuals for a few years and have talked a bit here and there! i was so fucking nervous to meet them in person since my japanese sucks LMAO but they were happy to meet me too and we got a selfie together yippy <3 also havent read their doujin Yet since ill have to rub all my brain cells together and huddle over the dictionary, but i want their oc lore

ok that's all i'll say, next splaket is...june 22. very soon....im already thinking ill. go again. yknow. while im still in japan and all that. i guess ill have to study harder on my jp in the meantime teehee ...i doubt it, but in the off chance anyone following me is going to the next splaket in june lemme know!

#much of this is me cross posting my tweets from the past few days and then some #rassicas speaks #ive forgotten to make a tag for my non-ask original posts so i guess thatll be it #anyway ill get to work on translating that famitsu interview teehee

150 notes · View notes

blindbeta · 2 months

Note

Hello! I have two questions, so I'll send two asks in case you want to answer them separately. First, a lot of your posts suggest writing multiple blind characters into your story to help avoid tokenism. However, when I try to write multiple blind characters, they always stand out or feel shoehorned in. Do you have any advice for writing multiple blind characters more "casually" so they don't feel as out of place?

Examples of How to Write Multiple Blind Characters Using The Owl House

Hello. Thank you for your questions! I actually started on this months ago and returned to it answering this question here.

I suspect this is what stops many writers, although they aren’t aware of it. This feeling of forcing representation is the result of society’s ableism and it can be difficult to recognize or deal with.

It might help to think about the reverse- isn’t it strange that so many characters in books and shows are abled? Isn’t it strange that so many disabled characters have no community?

When you write multiple blind characters, you are giving your blind character a community.

Another thing that might help is to show different characters having different conditions and different ways of dealing with their blindness. This is a technique I use all the time. You can even list all the blind characters and their characteristics so you can consider them all at once. For fun, we’ll use The Owl House. I feel that using all-ages examples might help writers feel comfortable engaging with the material.

The following will contain discussions of external and internalized ableism. It will also contain heavy spoilers for The Owl House up to the show’s finale.

Here is an example I came up with:

Main character, Luz, has a low vision in both eyes. She uses a cane for nighttime, mostly, but she feels like more of an outcast when she uses it at school, compared to the enthusiasm with which she used it and showed it to her classmates when she was a child. She stopped using a cane before entering high school. She packs it for camp just in case and uses it all the time on The Boiling Isles. There, she feels more comfortable using it every day. She is eventually able to use her cane and other assistive devices, whether magical or non-magical, whenever she needs to. Growing up, she struggled in school due to neurodivergence and not always getting her accommodations or maybe even struggling to ask for accommodations. She is happy to find that Eda and Hexside are able to accommodate her without making her feel othered. Although she has felt rejected in the past, she is able to fully embrace her blindness once more, celebrating a part of her in a way she was able to as a child. Also, she has several copies of The Good Witch Azura books in regular print, large print, and audiobook forms.

Eda, her mentor, had total enucleation in one eye and wears a prosthetic. How did she lose her eye? She doesn’t remember, now stop bugging her. Due to macular degeneration, her vision isn’t so good in the other eye and is decreasing over time. She doesn’t use a cane after struggling against her mother in childhood. She can use her Palisman or King as guides if she needs help. (King appointed himself her unofficial guide demon.) Her visually impaired partner, Raine, has gently and jokingly encouraged her to do what helps, including using assistive devices. After they started dating again, Eda feels comfortable using Raine as a guide, which also gives her an excuse to cozy up to them. Eda eventually comes to terms with her blindness much like her chronic illness. When she and Raine go on walks, she jokingly makes them carry things, stating if they want her to use a guide demon or a cane so bad, they can lend her a hand considering she only has one. She switches between the cane and guide depending on what suits her that day. Raine also supports her in her times of vulnerability. She can also have her phone or use spells to read, but reading is for nerds so she would rather have someone else read to her, such as her sister, Luz, Raine, or King.

Principal Bump is blind with residual vision and uses a guide Paliman to help him navigate and magnify things if he needs it. When he had Eda as a student, he was excited to help a student with similar experiences, but he quickly learned she was a troublemaker.

Willow is totally blind and uses a fluffy guide demon. She also has a cane decorated with flowering vines, which she enjoys using because she can have interesting tactile feedback. She was born blind and doesn’t struggle with her blindness beyond the occasional frustration with ableism or lack of accessibility. Her dads are very supportive and helpful. They sent her to Hexside hoping having a blind principal would assure she would get accommodations. She enjoys using magic with physical and textural elements, which is why she tried the magical school tracks she chose.

Gus is also blind with a bit of remaining vision. He enjoys looking at colors and lights. Gus chose to focus on illusions because they make interesting shapes and colors, providing his brain with a lot of sweet, sweet stimulation. Gus also enjoys that a track that is very visual is something he can excel at. He met Willow when complimenting her on how pretty her plants looked, describing to her what looked like a colorful blossom on a vine. He uses a cane to navigate, finding it more helpful for stairs and general independence even if canes aren’t quite as popular on the Boiling Isles as magically assisted options such as Palismans and guide demons. He also enjoys using something more similar to what humans use, as he is very interested in humans. He feels very comfortable with his blindness, finding a similar outlook in his friend Willow. Together, the two feel more understood. Willow and Gus pass Braille notes to each other in class. Gus prefers to have his spelled books or illusions read to him, though.

Amity deals with internalized ableism stemming from a need to be perfect, as well as many terrible implications from her parents that she doesn’t let on hurt her. She concentrates on not letting her disability stop her, as that’s what a Blight does. She has low vision, similar to Luz, and progressive vision loss. Unlike the other characters, she does not have much positive support. Principal Bump tries to encourage her to use the many aids and accommodations provided by the school, surprised that she knows the Boiling Isles equivalent of Braille, but only because her parents thought it would give their child an edge and because she attended the same early childhood classes as Willow. Amity politely rejects his help and goes on the be the top student just to prove a point to everyone (a.k.a her parents). She grows up being friends with other kids who say ableist things, leading to Amity feeling even more pressured to rely on her remaining vision. Eventually, her relationships with Luz and Willow help her to accept herself. She is able to act more authentically. This includes confronting her former friends, apologizing to the people she bullied, and attempting to use a cane at school. She is surprised to find that nothing really changes and a few people, including her siblings, even comment on her cane use positively. Willow also shows her how to get her phone to read to her, as well as use the spelled books you can buy that read out loud, which helps reduce eye strain. The similarities between her and Luz helps to strengthen their bond, but otherwise their relationship is unchanged from canon. Amity also has another troublesome barrier to asking Luz to Grom, such as how to make the note accessible. She ends up going with large print and high contrast ink. If she can read it, she knows Luz will be able to.

Hunter has an inherited retinal disorder, such as LCA or Stargardt disease. All of his predecessors have had a similar experience and Hunter takes pride in being part of that line. Each Golden Guard has decreased vision compared to the last, it seems. Hunter views his blindness as a part of him. His blindness allows him to adapt in ways others may not have a chance to explore. He becomes aware of advantages he has over the many sighted people he works with. He is known for his talent, adaptability, and resourcefulness. Hunter struggles with photophobia, which his mask helps with. For navigation, he has a cane, as well as his staff, which he prefers to adapt for navigating. It is about chest height and acts similarly to a WeWalk cane. He can use it to teleport and use magic, but it is mostly for identification and navigating if needed. Eventually, he considers switching to a guide demon like Willow’s, which can also offer companionship along with his new Palisman. Hunter can read the Boiling Isles equivalent of Braille, which he uses for labeling, personal note-keeping, and reading when his eyes are tired. He can keep working longer this way, although he does occasionally read or write for fun if he has a spare few minutes. Hunter also makes tactile maps.

There we go. I provided examples of several blind characters in the same place. Many of them know each other and maybe even meet because of their blindness. They all have different types of blindness and different experiences with their blindness, even when compared to characters who are on similar places on the blindness spectrum. I explored how they navigate, how they view their blindness, and ways in which they relate to others. Some struggle with internalized ableism, but not all of them. They have their own arcs related to their blindness, although they have the same arcs and interests as in canon.

Rather than seeing multiple blind characters as an obstacle, view it as an opportunity for characterization. For example, Amity’s experience with ableism is heavily rooted in how she was raised, in how her parents treated her blindness as a defect or something to be ignored. Meanwhile, Luz’s experience with ableism originated in childhood rejection. Compared to them, Willow, Gus, Principle Bump, and Hunter are all thriving. Even Eda is mostly cool with everything, only having a confusing and uncertain relationship with mobility aids. Additionally, Luz is able to let go of and unlearn her internalized ableism as soon as she finds people who accept her. Amity, in comparison, takes much longer to accept herself.

I know that some writers who aren’t blind may feel unequipped to write internalized ableism. It isn’t necessary, but instead something I thought fit Amity’s original character arc. Internalized ableism can be a lot more subtle than this or not feature in your story at all. Luz and Eda might struggle with this as well, but to a lesser degree. It would also be similar to their arcs in canon.

Here are additional character breakdowns because I thought they were fun:

Who uses Braille?

Willow, Hunter, and to some extent, Gus

Braille literacy is declining, so not everyone knows it in this A.U, which is similar to real life. However, I prefer to have at least some of my characters use Braille to push back against that.

Who uses audio to read, primarily or some of the time?

Gus, Amity, Luz, Eda

Who uses regular or large print?

Luz, Amity, Principal Bump

Who uses magnification?

Principal Bump and probably Luz in childhood

Who uses a cane?

Luz, Amity, Hunter, Willow, Eda

However, Luz, Amity, and Eda all struggled to get there to some degree. In real life, few blind people actually use canes despite possibly benefiting from them.

Who uses an animal guide?

Eda, Willow, and, later, Hunter

On the Boiling Isles, creatures participate in training schools and are matched with potential handlers. They are mostly given to adults, although some schools allow kids to apply, such as those in their upper teens. I have a post on guide animals here.

Who has some residual vision?

Luz, Eda, Bump, Gus, Amity, Hunter

Who is totally blind?

Willow

In real life, 85 to 90% of people who are blind have some residual vision, depending on what source you draw from. Most of the cast can still see something, even if only colors, light, and shadow.

I hope this helps. This is my first time sharing something like this. Readers, feel free to use this however you like, for stories or fan art.

-BlindBeta

#blind characters #writing blind characters #the owl house #writing more than one blind character #blind #ableism #disability #ask #scheduled post

177 notes · View notes

antariies · 2 months

Text

how to build a chair........... director's cut ∠( ᐛ 」∠)__ this is about to be a very long very self-indulgent post where i just talk about my own writing. i also doodled on all the pages i think it makes the whole thing more fun to go thru. welcome to my ted talk

SIKE before i begin. credit where credit is due, this post was the start of it all. it changed my brain chemistry my jaw was dropped i was in awe i was obsessed and before i even finished it i knew that i would eventually have to make something similar for the commander or else i would be cursed to think about it for the rest of my life. and i Was cursed for like two years every day i would just be like........ is today the day i sit down and draft the commander chair fic of my dreams....... maybe tomorrow......

and then i got accepted as a writer for the gw2 zine ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ the chair idea was actually my backup option in case my first idea didn't pan out, and thank god it didn't, bc this one worked so much better. (still working on my initial idea, just turning it into a full fic! it was wayyy too long to be a zine submission.)

this is the chair i used. i downloaded the assembly instructions and tried out a bunch of different free pdf editors until i found one i liked, which ended up being sedja. if anyone's interested in doing something like this, i recommend printing out the pdf and writing directly on it! it was a lot easier for me to just figure out everything on paper first and then digitalize it after :P here's a picture of my physical copy

okay actually getting into it for real this time !!!!!

1. yeah i could've just erased the ikea logo and left a blank space but then i realized i could turn it into an in-universe joke. and then i ran with it.

2. i ripped this straight from the product description on the website. thanks ikea

3. i'm not sure if anyone went and looked it up, but it's a real item code!

hehe :3c

4. if your commander willingly goes to therapy i'm happy for them but TO ME? you'd have to drag the commander kicking and screaming. it's not that they don't know that something is wrong with them, they know, and they know YOU know. you're just never supposed to talk about it. they don't look at their own psych eval results bc that's none of their business.

5. i normally avoid specifying the commander's race when i write them bc i enjoy the challenge, but for the zine i was assigned to write about a norn commander! as a human main i was uhhhh very ill-equipped. but that just meant i had to study up on my norn lore (•̀ᴗ•́)و i spent hours on the wiki, then went around interviewing norn mains for their opinions, which was great fun :D it all helped me narrow the focus of my piece: joining the war on commander objectification on the side of commander objectification (ㅅ´ ˘ `)♡ and no one self-aggrandizes quite like the norn commander!

and to balance that i knew my narrator had to be patronizing as shitttt. they've clearly been following the commander since the beginning and seem to know a lot of intimate details about their life, despite not thinking very highly of them. wonder who that could be :3c

6. i can't stop making references. so the original part number is actually #122620 in the manual but i've changed it here (and on the previous page!) to #082812, as in 08/28/12, the date gw2 was released! no real reason for it, @dalennaugw suggested it for funsies and i liked it. if you're my pal and i show you a wip and you have a cool idea for it, chances are i Will put that shit in. hi dale if you're reading this

7. another thing about me. i loveeee repetition. here the word "over" is repeated four times to match the picture. honestly a lot of the creative process for this piece was just staring at the pages and figuring out how to tie the pictures to the commander in ways that weren't extremely corny or trite. idk why i enjoy writing like this when i could be frolicking in the beautiful prosaic meadows of a word doc instead but. it's like i see a tiny little restrictive box and i'm like OH BOY can't wait to think inside of that thing!!! i like when the format matters just as much as the content and in some cases informs the content. am i making any sense here. well all you need to know is that i'm a virgo and my favorite book is house of leaves

7. aw fuck just realized i wrote 7 twice. whatever i'm not changing it this is 7 part two now. the theme of my piece is glory, what it means to the norn commander, and how far they're willing to go for it.

8. does norn culture place emphasis on seeking individual glory Yes are norn also very community-oriented Also Yes. i think it's common to see norn kids napping together in a big pile, usually after they've worn themselves out playing games outside. it makes sense practically (apes together warm) and socially (pack bonding good) but that's just my hc. growing up i used to share a bed with my cousins all the time so it's normal to me.

a young, naive not-yet-commander, with no real combat experience, has no point of reference to compare a "blaze of glory" to. but the way everyone talks about it, it must be a good thing. a wonderful thing. a reward fit for a life well-fought and a legend hard-earned. so they imagine it must feel like falling asleep surrounded by the people they love, who love them in turn.

9. .........i was playing a lot of ace attorney when i wrote this page. i wish i was joking 👍🏼

10. ohhh shit the truth come OUT this whole chair thing was all a ploy just so i could write about the departing. again.

will i ever stop thinking about her. reply hazy, try again later.

11. out of all the pages, this one has the most emphasis on text placement, like comparing the enlarged picture of the screw to a sword, the numbers counting the screws, and "up up up" being arranged to mimic a wisp of smoke.

i also wanted to lean into the viking/norse mythology influences with my word choice.

12. more nods to norn culture. i didn't know they referred to the six human gods as "spirits of action" until i was doing the research for this piece :O

and the domain of the lost is called a hall of ghosts....... cause valhalla.....

13.

i'm sorry this so funnyyy. SAYS the guy who literally clawed their way back to life for a rematch.

me when i'm in a sore loser competition and my opponent is the COMMANDER!!!

14. arms as in "limbs" and also arms as in "armaments" :•]

15. haha get it because the picture makes it look like there are two mirrored speech bubbles while the text paints two opposing interpretations of the norn commander. one that's selfless and humble versus one that's selfish and vainglorious.

16. and the best part is IT DOESN'T MATTER which one is true bc at the end of the day no matter what their motivation, balthazar is dead by their hand. ofc i'm of the opinion that the most compelling interpretation of the commander is both, simultaneously. contradictions are good for the soul.

17. i could've name-dropped kas, the only person present that would do something like that, but i felt it was better to leave it ambiguous.

18. low-hanging fruit. the metaphor was so obvious here but i had to do it. for the culture

19. the alternate title for this piece was "THIS COULD BE GLORY". "how to build a chair" was only supposed to be a placeholder title til i figured out a better one, but the innocuousness of it grew on me. also i came up with the other one too late and had already advertised under the chair title lol

20. my first instinct was to end it with something more reassuring, like "what you have built so far is enough" but that would've been an ooc switch-up for a narrator who has been nothing but snide and detached this whole time. gotta stick to my guns

21.

obligatory chair joke as the last line. for realsies though it’s meant to be an earnest appeal to the commander to take a break, to have a seat, but it’s also a challenge. are they willing to lean on their friends? are the bonds they’ve forged strong enough to hold their weight? are they willing to put their faith in someone else’s hands? are they brave enough to try? well. only one way to find out.

also guess what that wasn’t even the real last page of the manual. it's THIS

but no way i was letting this be the image we ended on. IT LOOKS LIKE A DICK AND BALLS!!!

and on that note, THANK YOU if you made it this far!! a very special shout-out to @hawkepockets, my lovely boyfriend and beta reader, without whom this piece would not be nearly as polished. i would bring him pages to look over and he would say Scrap half of those lines you can do better than that. kill your darlings. i would complain and argue for a few minutes then we would revise. rinse and repeat until we had honed this thing to perfection. i can't stress enough the importance of having a second pair of eyes on your work throughout your creative process, even better if it's someone who challenges you. i don't even pay him 🫶🏼

and if there was anything i didn't cover that you still have questions about, please feel free to shoot me an ask! (ㅅ´ ˘ `)♡ thanks for reading! see u later dudes ;P

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #my writing #for once i have nothing to say in the tags bc i already talked so much in the body of the post.#ummmmmmmm meows cutely !

135 notes · View notes

the-traveling-poet · 24 days

Text

Coffee Shop

The day had finally arrived; in which you would meet your idol for a late lunch at a local cafè. And what a head rush just the idea of such a thing gave you.

Amidst the not so subtle interrogation and polite pleasantries passed back and forth between the two of you over tea, the spark that had started this whole ordeal grew into that of a flame.

A flame he seemed to take and run with…

Pairing: Actor!Levi x Fan!reader

Warnings: modern!au, language, fluff

Taglist: @21aurora @deepzombieyouth @braunsbabe @pelicanpizza (if you’d like added to the taglist for Levi Fic updates, just DM me!)

A/N: The long (somewhat maybe?) awaited pt. 3, finally posted!

I took much, much longer in completing this than I wanted to. But life happens; losses, injuries, illnesses, grievances…the list goes on. But since my motivation came back, I’ve returned to my most passionate hobby; writing Levi fanfiction. I would have finished this sooner but the added feature of the BOOP got me distracted for a full 24hrs lmao.

In this fic, I added in my own mix of hc’s for the sake of modern!au, and Levi’s a little OOC but…It’s a modern AU and I can do what I want :p

So without further ado, enjoy!~

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2

The day had come….

Steeling your nerves, you took in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. The door stood closed before you, and only a gentle tug would open it up to the cafè inside; yet you paused with your hand hovering over the silver handle.

You’d already peered through the shop’s windows to see if he was here yet, and concluded he wasn’t. And with the lack of some shiny, expensive looking car parked near the curb out front, you figured you’d beat him here. You were early, after all. So why couldn’t you just make yourself go in and have a seat?

Relax, you thought to yourself as you finally grasped the handle in the palm of your hand. You’ve gotten this far already, you can’t mess this up…

Walking into the rather aesthetic looking cafè, you looked around with bated breath. The cafè was small, but very pleasing to the eye; menu boards written in cursive print above polished countertops, floors spotless and organized, windows without a single speck upon them.

Even the scarce customers sat strewn about the tables seemed poised and of a higher class than you were used to seeing on a daily basis.

Suddenly, you felt just a tad under dressed.

Shaking the thoughts away, your eyes continued to study the room around you, until you were met with the steady gaze of a man sat a table at the back wall of the cafè. And oh, how those silver eyes always managed to captivate your entire attention; in person even more so than from through a screen.

Stiffening your posture where you stood, you shook yourself out of your daze with a mental slap in the face.

“Shit…” you whispered, shuffling your feet forward to approach his table. Of course he would be early and beat you…to being early.

Once you stood only a foot away from his table, Levi took a stand. After subtly looking you up and down, he reached out and pushed back the chair opposite him and gave you room to take a seat, after silently motioning to hang your coat up on the back of your chair for you.

With a whispered thank you, you shrugged off your coat and let him place it on the back of your chair before scooting you forward and then returning to his own seat.

“You’re early,” you blurted out after he sat, still in a bit of a daze.

“I’m always early; though, I’m surprised to see you’re twenty minutes early. I’m impressed.” He commented softly, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on your ever shifting eyes.

Once you managed to hold eye contact with him, you noticed the worn leather jacket hanging off the back of his chair, contrasting the grey turtleneck shirt he wore. The look was quite dashing on him, and you had to refrain yourself from blurting out this observation.

“You’re extra early,” you pointed out, taking a moment to look out the window to your right.

“I didn’t see any overly expensive cars outside, so I had assumed I’d beaten you here.”

“I always am. And, didn’t drive my car,” he answered plainly as he too looked out the window. Before you could ask, he was already pointing to a sight just near the curb. Perched on its stand near the window was a bike; sleek black and shining in the dull spring sunlight.

“That’s the bike you drive?” You nearly gasped, ogling over the bike. Sure, you’d learned enough about him from your obsessive research to know he rode. But never once had you seen the actual bike he owned.

“No, stole it from a man a couple blocks back.” Levi scoffed, but not aggressively so. When you looked back over at him, he seemed more curious than sarcastic when he looked over at you from the corner of his eye as he continued to face the window.

“Though, I never told you I rode.”

Realizing you’d soon be found out about your obsession into his personal life, you decided to downplay the fact you knew with an absent smile.

“Oh…well, you mentioned it once or twice in interviews. I’d never seen the bike itself, though.”

“I seldom post to my socials, unless one of the guys naggs me to,” he shrugged, picking up a menu off the table previously stacked by the rack of simple condiments lining a thin rack at one edge of the table.

“You seem more informed about me than I had assumed you’d be. Are you one of those fans who obsessed over and took to heart every interview and discarded show clip they can get their hands on?”

Gulping down you nerves, you hastily waved your hand in a dismissive manner.

“Oh pftt, no. I just…liked the show a lot, and had some free time to binge its content.”

He regarded you with a deadpan expression, as though not fully buying your half truth. But after raising a brow, he seemed content to let the matter sit.

“Well, either way, it’s nice to be out of the spotlight for a bit and unwind. I’m still surprised with myself that I gave my number out to a fan, but…I can’t say I regret it after this past week. You’re entertaining.”

“Is…is that a compliment? Or should I take offense to being generalized?” You smiled, also picking up a menu to look through.

“Which would you prefer?” He hummed, already seeming to have decided what he wanted, as he folded his menu back up and set it aside.

“I’ll take it as a compliment. A compliment from my favorite actor seems nice,” you hummed, beginning to loosen up a little more now that conversation had moved along.

Levi only hummed thoughtfully, peering over the top of your menu to see your crinkled eyes as you scanned along the cursive print. Unbeknownst to you, he made sure.

By the time you decided and set the menu aside, a waitress came along to jot down your orders. Listing off the tea and pastry you desired, you glanced back at Levi, who had yet to speak.

“I’ll take the black tea. No sweeteners, please. Thank you,” he said softly, briefly looking up at the waitress with a nod.

The waitress sent him a dazzling smile, loitering by the table a moment longer than was needed, before scurrying off towards the kitchens behind the front counter. With a snort, Levi resumed his attention towards you.

“I have a funny feeling there’s not much about me you don’t know. Am I right? You seem the type to do your research.”

He murmured, propping his chin onto his hand as he leaned ever so slightly closer across the table towards you, with his elbow supporting him on the table top.

Blushing, you opted to stare down at the napkin holder to your right.

“That-that may not be true-“

“How old am I?” He interrupted, with a brow ever so slightly raised in amusement.

“Twenty five…but that’s common knowledge to anyone who has access to Wikipedia.”

You huffed, crossing your arms as you defended yourself.

“I suppose so. That was a silly thing to ask…alright then, I’ll test you further; what was my favorite shoot?”

“The ‘Royal Government arc’,” you answered immediately. Too fast, you realized, only a moment too late.

“Alright then, something not related to the show…What’s my cat’s name?”

“Eros,” you sighed, already knowing you’d lost. “But to be fair, you’ve brought up your cat numerous times in interviews-“

“Keep digging sweetheart, you’re just burying yourself further here,” he hummed, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Alright, alright…So I may have gotten a little obsessed.” You murmured, feeling your cheeks burn a tad hotter than before as you finally admitted to his claims.

“To the show, or my character? Better yet, perhaps me?” He lifted his elbow off of the table and leaned back in his chair with crossed arms. And for a moment, you could have sworn he was teasing you. It worked in flustering you, if that had been his angle. But before you could finish stuttering out a response to his cocky claims, he flashed a minuet smile your way.

“I suppose you do know quite a lot about me, so I’ll ask my own questions. Ones I didn’t ask over the phone already.” He stated calmly as his boot nudged your foot under the table.

Ceasing your poor attempt to stutter out any form of defense, you nodded with an embarrassed sigh.

"Alright, that sounds fair." You murmured, mentally bracing yourself for any kind of question he might throw your way.

Seeing your compliance, he started firing off his own questions.

It nearly felt like an interrogation; like last weeks interview role’s had been switched on you. Only, he wasn’t so shy in asking what he pleased.

Your place of employment, your college major, your pastimes, family, social life. Hell, he even asked for your favorite arcs in the show and which of the scenes he starred in you liked the most.

By the end of it, you’d relaxed significantly and opened up more than you had expected to. And in turn, he became a tad more expressive himself.

“Ever rode a bike?” He asked after finishing his cup of tea, with his unoccupied arm resting over the back of his chair as he raised a brow. His sudden curiosity threw you off a bit.

After calming down from a fit of giggles from his previous question, you raised a brow his way.

“No, I cant say I have.”

With a tilt of his head he regarded you curiously, as though coming to a a silent decision with himself. After a brief span of silence he sighed and placed his hands in his lap.

“Well…Perhaps I could make an exception and allow you to ride with me. I could use a backpack.”

“An exception? To what rule?” Furrowing your brows, you regarded him curiously.

A backpack? What rules?

Hiding his slight smirk with a tilt of his head, he replied; “The rule I have against anyone touching my bike. I’d hate for it to get dirtied or scratched, but I’m sure you’ll be carful.”

“You’re asking me if I’d like a ride?” You murmured, suddenly feeling as allert as you had the moment you wanking into the cafè. With a nod, he confirmed your suspicions.

“On your bike?” You asked, incredulously.

“Unless there’s something else of mine you’d like to ride?” He replied with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Though after just a moment, he cleared his throat and looked away.

“I’m sorry, that was a bit…abrasive.”

“No! I-Id love to!” You grinned, unable to help but stare once more out the window towards his bike as you discreetly hid your blush.

“I’d be down for any kind of ride.”

Now it was his turn to appear surprised and maybe a tad flustered, for the first time this afternoon. He opened his mouth, then abruptly closed it; eyes darting about the table between you. Suddenly, two feet of table never felt so far of a distance before.

With a grunt he stood, taking his jacket in hand as he reached into his left pocket.

“Well then, unless you have plans this afternoon…My bike and I are free.”

Biting at your lip, you also stood.

“No, I’m free. If…If you’re offering.”

“I was under the impression I was doing more than that?” He grumbled back in responce as he fumbled out his wallet. Catching his movement, you went to do the same. That is, until his slender fingers wrapped around your wrist at your waist to stop you.

“Ah ah, I proposed this meet up. The least I could do is pay.” He scoffed, a click of his tongue to follow. Though you attempted to disagree, he placed your hand holding your wallet back into your back pocket; much to your stunned surprise.

“I’ve got it,” he whispered, placing down a check on the table top. Only seconds later, you found yourself standing outside near the curb, watching him mount his bike. And oh, what a sight that was.

Unexpectedly he pulled out a secondary helmet, similar in appearance to his own. Taking is hesitantly, you fumbled with the chin straps as you took a step closer to the bike as it roared to life.

“You just carry around a second helmet?” You questioned uncertainly as he reached out his hand to you.

“No…Stopped by a store before arriving here,” He mumbled, his voice becoming more muffled as he adjusted his own helmet. Swallowing down your growing nerves and hiding a grin behind the helmet, you allowed his hand to guide you into the spot just behind him.

Suddenly, he revved the engine, causing you to startle, only slightly. One look around the smaller bike showed you there were no handle bars to hold onto, causing your eyes to flick to his expectantly.

Oh shit…

“Well? Hold on, else you’ll go flying off the back.” He rolled his eyes before pulling down the visor of his helmet and slipping on a pair of leather gloves. Doing the same, you gave a nervous nod.

Hesitantly you reached out, your arms barely grazing his sides as color filled out your cheeks. With the noise of the bike revving, you missed the way he groaned to himself.

“Fuck’s sake…”

Suddenly the bike jolted forward, sending you crashing forward into his back with a muffled gasp of shock.

Behind the tinted visor, Levi allowed himself a smirk and a satisfied hum, as he used one of his gloved hands to hold yours into place at his abdomen.

“Like I said; hold on, stubborn brat,” he called out, barely turning his head to see you. Though you couldn’t make out every feature of his face through the shield, you gave a shaky chuckle and nodded back; tightening your grip around his middle. He was quick to look away, before fumbling with the kickstand and shifted gears a second time.

As he skillfully merged into the lane, you raised your chin up just slightly over his shoulder.

“Where are we going?” You called over the wind as it gradually picked up speed.

“I figured around a couple blocks; unless you have another idea?” He called back, still able to hear you surprisingly well.

You thought on this a moment, before an idea struck you. Humorously, you called back.

“Well, unless you have another photoshoot this evening, there is a nice city park a few blocks up.”

You never heard a response from him, until he pulled you both up pulled to a stop light. He raised the visor of his helmet after putting down his kickstand once more and raised a brow over his shoulder towards you.

“A park, huh? I can do that…but I’m taking the longer route.”

“The longer route?” You questioned uncertainly.

“The highway, yes. Wouldn’t you like for first ride to be memorable?” His eyes seemed to sparkle as he spoke.

“So long as you don’t kill us,” came your mumbled responce. Yet he seemed to hear it, as he only rolled his eyes.

“Don’t you fret, princess. I wouldn’t let my first ever passenger fall off or become injured. Cant let our first date become our last.”

“First date?”

He merely chuckled at your sudden squeak as he turned to face you better.

“Unless you’d rather not call it that. Would you rather this be considered a VIP backstage pass?”

Your heart twisted and flipped pleasantly in your chest as you quickly lowered the visor of your helmet once more to hide the expression of bewilderment on your face.

“You’d go on a date with a fan?” You managed to croak out just as the light turned green.

Tugging down his own visor once more and lifting the stand, he hummed thoughtfully before reviving the bike.

“I gave my number to one, didn’t I?”

Holding your hand tight to his chest, he used his free hand to push forward, rushing through traffic as you gradually increased speeds. All the while his hand stayed on top of yours, until the need to pull away became undismissible.

And you didn’t dare to let go. Not now, nor ever. Especially if he was promising a second date…

90 notes · View notes

nhl-thingz · 5 months

Text

A/N: I was back and forth on posting this tbh. The medical stuff is all things I'm currently going through and it was written as more of a self comfort/vent but I figured I can't be the only chronically ill hockey girlie out there so here it is

Warnings: Seizure;medical care. Um I think that's it

Pairing(s): Jack Hughes x y/n; platonic!Nico Hischier x y/n

It was Jack's 1st game back after his hard fall into the boards, messing up his shoulder. I wanted nothing more than to be at that first game and fuck the consequences. Jack was the absolute best boyfriend a girl could ask for. Nevermind someone like me. I have several health issues that make things incredibly difficult and unpredictable for me and Jack has been the most supporting and helpful man throughout everything. It took soo much convincing but I finally talked him into getting me into his 1st game back.

Jack pulled his car into the player lot and put the car in park before sighing and running his hands through his hair before looking over at me in the passenger seat. "OK,y/n, do you have your apple watch on? Do you have your med bag?"Jack asked as he searched my face for any evidence that I wasn't quite right. "Yes! Apple watch is on! Nico has been activated as my primary contact on my alerts and I have my med bag. Baby, I'm OK. I promise. We know what's going on. We know how to handle it. It is what it is. You just go out there and play! I know how much you've wanted to get back out there" I tell Jack as I cup his cheek across the center console and smile at him reassuringly. He let's out a deep breathe and starts gathering hid things to get out of the car. "I do feel a lot better knowing that you'll be with Nico. He knows all your stuff and how to help you." Jack admits as he steps out of the drivers side and straightens out his navy blue suit before rounding the car to open my door. "What a gentleman" I smile at him teasingly as I step out of the car and kiss his cheek.

I kept my outfit pretty causal and comfy. A oversized "Hughes" jersey covering most of my frame with black leggings and converse. Jack grabbed my hand and took my bag from me to carry himself. I squeezed his hand and smiled as we began our walk into the arena. The walk wasn't too far from the parking lot but my apple watch beeped 3 times before we even got to the player box where I'd be sitting with Nico and some of the other WAGS. Jack looked at me anxiously. "J, I'm OK. Just high heart rate. I'll grab water and rest. I promise." I assure him"Baby, please just promise me that if you feel anything, tell Nico or press your alarm so he can help you get your meds, OK? Don't wait and see. If you gotta ask yourself if you feel weird then you feel weird." Jack explains holding me close by my waist. "I promise. I'll be ok. You just go play your game,superstar." I wink at him before kissing him. He peppered kisses over my whole face and was reluctant to let me go until Nico popped up next to us in a classic black suit. "Hey Lovebirds! Nurse Nico reporting for duty" he salutes as he takes my bag from Jack and slings it over his shoulder. "I got her, Jack. Go hit the ice!" Nico encouraged, which caused a sparkle of excitement to shine in Jack's eyes. "There it is!! That hockey glimmer!! Go show 'em what you got, J!" I giggle at his excitement and kiss his lips as I jokingly shove him out of the box with the help of Nico.

Nico helped me get settled in the box and laughed as he saw a piece of cloth sticking out of my bag. "You did not bring a blanket to a game" Nico teased with a smirk. I just shook my head and laughed "Jack was worried that I'd be cold and uncomfortable so he got me this and insisted I take it with me tonight." I told Nico as I pulled the blanket out of the tote bag and threw it over myself. The blanket had pictures of Jack printed all over it. I laugh with Nico as we look at all the pictures and wonder where the heck he found something like this. I reach into my tote bag and pull out a pink make up bag and hold it up for Nico to see. " My med bag will be in my tote bag. You are now connected to my apple watch since Jack and Luke won't have their phones nor do I want them to come off that ice to come help. Nico, promise me you won't call the bench staff down their if something does happen? I don't want him to leave the game because of me. I'll be ok. We know that." I plead with the captain. He nods and looks at me shaking his head "I know your seizures will pass with time and aren't dangerous to you, y/n, but they are scary. I can promise that I'll do what I can to keep Jack on that ice even though he will definitely have my head after the fact but I can't promise I won't get medical in here if too much time goes by." Nico compromises. I nod understanding where he's coming from. "That's fair. Thank you Nico. I appreciate you sitting with me and being my baby sitter. I hate feeling like such a burden." I laugh at my baby sitter comment and so does Nico before he stands up and checks his phone. "You are never a burden,y/n. Now I'm gonna go get you some water and a pretzel! I saw the heart rate alerts." He said as he held his phone up in the air. "Thank you neeks!" I shout as he left the box breifly to get me water and a salty snack.

Nico returned with my provisions just as the New Jersey Devils zipped onto the ice for warm ups. I stood up holding onto my blanket with one hand as I scan the ice for my favorite number. 86. I found him pretty quickly. His skating style looked effortless even in warm ups. He glided across the ice and snapped pucks into the net like it was second nature because it was. This was his element. He smiled from ear to ear and the crowd raved as the camera showed him on the big screen for the 1st time since his injury. My eyes watered at the sight. It made me so happy to see the man I loved doing what he loved. To see the fans going crazy over him. He deserved all the love he got. All of it. The puck dropped and the crowd roared with excitement as the devils lines changed and Jack hoped over the boards for the first time. I cheered and jumped in excitement as he glided around the 200 foot rink back and forth like it was a walk in the park.

He was truly incredible. Some days just walking the apartment on my own was a challenge. My legs would decide not to work or foot would get stuck completely sideways for hours on end. As I watched his athleticism on the ice, all I could think about was how easy it was for him to pick me off my feet and help me from bed to the bathroom when I needed help. When he needed to help me into a bath to sooth my pissed off body by basically helping me move limbs that were stuck in different positions. His strength both physically and mental was admirable and I just adored seeing him use it for what he truly loved. Hockey. He truly deserved all of this.

As my train of thought returns to the game, I see Jack take possession of the puck and sprint towards the goal. He shot the puck and in the net it went!! I jumped up and yelled as I high five everyone around me. Nico's phone beeped and he grabbed my shoulders, placing me back in my seat. "Yep yeah he scored. Easy there, y/n" Nico said as he tucked me back into my chair with my blanket and held up his phone. High heart rate alert. "I fucking hate this Nico! I can't even watch a hockey game like I use to anymore!" I complain as I try and refocus on the game. "Your body is fighting,y/n. You are fighting. You just gotta listen to your body. You're one of the strongest people I've ever met, you know? And Jack thinks the world of you." Nico does his best to comfort me and I smile at his words. "Thanks Nico. I just get frustrated. I just want life back to how it was" Nico nods in understanding before replying "Don't worry,y/n, you'll get it back. You're too strong and too stubborn to accept any other fate" I smile at Nico and he just nods and returns his attention to the game.

The rest of the game was fairly uneventful for the devils. Jack had his goal and even got an assist but the team was still trailing. It was early in the 3rd period when I felt my head bob. My right eye scrunched almost completely closed and just like that the seizure hit. Nico was on top of it before the alarm even hit his phone. He reached into my bag and got my med pack before giving me my meds. I was able to take them before my jaw completely locked and my head fell. My eyes rolled in different directions and my face scrunched on one side. My left leg curled in and my foot wrenched inwards. My whole body was shaking. My hands were clenched so tight my nails began to leave little cresents on my skin. Niko noticed my hands clenching and did his best to open my hands and shove my blanket in them to cushion my palms. Time ticked by and I was still stuck in a seizure. Niko asked one of the other people in the box with us to get medical. The sounds of the game echoed in my war accompanied by a sharp ringing and some of the voices around me.

I felt someone put a blood pressure cuff on my arm and someone trying to ask me questions but it felt like I was stuck in my own body. Unable to speak or move how I wanted. Thank God for Nico. He told the medics everything they needed to know. He'd witnessed my seizures before and knew there wasn't much that could be done but wait them out and make me as comfortable as I could be. The next thing I know I feel people lifting me onto something like a bed. I couldn't quite place what was happening or what was going on. I felt a pinch in my arm but didn't flinch or respond to it despite the pain.

***Jack's POV***

Jack was on the ice and had just hopped over the boards to sit in the bench for a minute before his next shift. That's when he looked up and saw a commotion in the box he knew you were in. He was immediately worried and looking around trying to piece together what was going on. His next shift came too fast but he jumped over the boards and skated around the ice. There was no other way. He had to do something. He needed to know what was going on. He flung his stick out in front of him and tripped one if the other players. The ref immediately threw up an arm and blew the whistle sending him to the penalty box where he just stood looking up at the box looking for a familiar face. He plopped down on the bench and leaned towards the attendent sitting in the box with him. "Excuse me? My girl is sitting in that box up there and something is happening. Is there anyway you can find out for me? Please" he asked and the man just pulled out his radio and did what he could to figure out what was happening. Jack watched the time tick away as his penalty expired and he jumped back on the ice. How the hell was he supposed to focus? There were 4 minutes left of play and Jack took the face off. He knocked the puck back to Haula who started skating towards the net. Thus was the longest 4 minutes of his life. Every icing call felt like a stab to the heart. The final buzzer finally sounded and Jack was the first guy off the ice as he raced back to the looker room. He pulled off his jersey and pads and tossed on a hoodies he had hanging in his stall. He then swiftly unlaced his skates and took off his leg padding leaving him in just compression leggings before he threw a pair of slides on his feet and barreled out of the locker room doors. He ran right into Nico. "Dude! What's going on? What happend?" Jack asked as Nico just grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the exit. "She had a seizure. Her meds wouldn't break it. Medical came in to keep an eye on her and they gave her more meds to break the seizure but she just kept seizing. They took her to the hospital." Nico explained as he dragged Jack to the parking lot and into his car in record time before Nico jumped into the drivers seat and reversed out of the parking lot.

"Shit. She hates hospitals." Jack said running his fingers through his hair. "Was she acknowledging anything at all?" Jack asked as Nico drove. "No she was completely out not communicating. They injected meds into her arm and she didn't even flinch. She was really out of it" Nico explained. Jack rubbed his eyes as he thought about her needing him and him not being there. "She made me promise not to tell you during the game. She didn't want you off that ice,man" Nico said already knowing that Jack was thinking about why no one came and got him. The rest of the ride was quiet as Jack stared straight ahead at the road and shook his leg. Niko pulled up to the emergency entrance of the hospital and Jack jumped out, running through the doors to the front desk. "Hello my girlfriend was taken here earlier. Her name is y/n. She had a seizure" Jack rambled as he ran his fingers through his hair while he waited for the nurses response. "Mr. Hughes. This way" the nurse said as she led him through a big set of double door and down a hallway to a door and opened the door for him.

He entered the room and saw y/n in a bed asleep with the blanket he gave her and a bunch of monitors attached to her. "Is she OK?" Jack asked as he neared the bed and sat in a chair right next to her. "She was given seizure medication twice. Once when medical first arrived and again while she was in the ambulance. Her blood pressure dropped really low and she was still seizing so they gave her that second dose. She was awake and talking but she's exhausted. We drew blood to figure out what's going on and are waiting on those results." The nurse explained. Jack just shook his head and held y/n's hand "She has an autoimmune disorder that causes brain inflammation which we think causes the seizures and a ton of other symptoms and we just found out she has Lyme disease which can trigger the autoimmune issue so it's just been a mess. Her seizures were so much better tho! She started treatment for Lyme disease and she hadn't had one in about 3 weeks until today. That's the only explanation we've got about the seizures." Jack explained to the nurse who wrote down what he said. "Sounds like there's a lot going on. I'll fill the doctor in" the nurse smiled politely before exiting the room.

***

I gently squeezed the hand I felt on mine as my eyes fluttered open and landed on the beautiful blue eyes of Jack. "Well, that didn't go as planned." I joked smiling at him as he stood from the chair and kissed my forehead. "Baby! Are you OK? How do you feel?" Jack asked as he held my face with his hands. "I'm OK,J. I promise. Just came on really fast and long. Wasn't expecting it" I said as I scooted over in the small bed and picked up my blankets for Jack to get under with me. Jack smushed into the bed with me and pulled me close to him as I buried my head in his chest and he held me close and kissed my head. "It's the unexpected part that scares me the most. They can just come out of no where. And you made Nico keep it from me til the game ended! That's not happening again,OK? If you need me, I'm there. I don't care where I am or what I'm doing." Jack said as he played with my hair. "I didn't want you to leave your game,J. I'm OK. If it was anything serious, it would of been different but this is just another day. Another seizure." I explained, tearing up at the frustration of everything that's happend and that continues to happen and go wrong. Jack softly kisses my forehead. "We'll figure this out,sweet girl. We will get through this together. You are so fucking strong"

#hockey #nhl #hockey tumblr #new jersey devils #jack hughes #nico hischier #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes imagines #jack hughes x reader #writing #chronic illness #seizures

161 notes · View notes

so-long-soldier-writes · 1 month

Text

Study Buddies

isaac lahey x reader

summary: isaac asks you for help in chemistry. you agree on one condition.

tags: high school, studying / tutoring, mutual crushes, awkward flirting, caught in a lie, shyness, embarrassment, play fighting / tickling, bad puns, confessions, first kiss, teasing, fluff, pre-wolf isaac; his dad still sucks; autistic-coded reader

word count: 4.5k

a/n: this is my first time writing for teen wolf. I feel like I'm encroaching on claimed territory. 😅 also i've had this tab up for almost a week but have been afraid to post it, so here goes

Mr. Harris slides your progress report down onto your desk before you have a chance to react, and it catches wind and falls to the ground a moment later. You sigh and roll your eyes, but he’s already halfway across the room, impatiently handing out the rest of his stack. Your own little slip of paper is nowhere by your feet, and you resist the urge to make a remark about it.

“Hey.” A voice interrupts your intruding thoughts at the same time a tap lands on your shoulder. Gentle, as if the tapper hates to disturb you, yet needs your attention.

You turn, and temporarily forget about your lost report as your eyes meet Isaac’s, the boy who sits behind you, and has the cutest smile imaginable. You drop your gaze instantly, only for it to fall on his dimpled smile, and then, finally, on the paper held between two fingers.

“I think this is yours,” he says, holding it out to you.

Your name is clearly printed on the front, followed by your most recent grades in the class. You blush, immediately remembering it had dropped in the first place.

“Oh. Thank you.”

“No problem. He seems like he’s in a mood today.”

You nod, then take your paper from his hand. By this time, Harris has made his way back to the front, and is clearing his throat in a demand for the class’ silence. Quiet mutterings amongst friends cease at once, and you turn back to face the ill-tempered chemistry teacher.

“Take a good look at your progress reports. The midterm is coming up, and some of you have more studying to do than others. Today, we will be learning new material, but next class period, we will have a review day. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask. You can ask at the appropriate time in class, or come see me after school, or shoot me an email. Regardless of your grade, everyone should be studying, however, some of you have to move up a whole letter or two. That is on you to be aware of, and for you to put in the effort to do. Now, pull out your notes so that we can cover this section. It isn’t the hardest thing we’ll cover, but I expect it will be a struggle for some.”

And after that condescending introduction, he begins to teach.

When the bell finally rings, your head is swarming with so much chemistry, your eyes are beginning to glaze over and put you to sleep. You’re relatively good at the subject, but that topic was more challenging than he warned it would be, making even you confused at times. You shake your head when you reach your lockers, trying to relieve yourself of the numbers swirling about in your mind. It takes a moment. A very stressful moment.

A tap on your shoulder, more urgent than the last, pulls you out of your mental headspace. The chemistry bounces out of your mind entirely, bringing you back to reality, but making you jump in place at the sudden contact.

“Sorry,” a familiar voice apologies, “didn’t mean to scare you.”

Turning, you come face-to-face with Isaac again. His normally bright blue eyes are slightly cloudy, which worries you more than you’d like to admit. “No worries. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I have a question, actually, to ask you.”

“What’s that?”

“Okay, I wasn’t looking at your report, I didn’t mean to see your grades. I accidentally saw them when I picked up your paper, but I promise I wasn’t looking on purpose.” He stalls, continuously apologizing for something not at any fault of his own.

“It’s okay,” you interrupt as politely as you can.

He pauses, “um. I was wondering if you could help me? Like, in chemistry. Help me study, kinda like a tutor, I guess?”

You pale immediately. Just because you’re doing okay in the class doesn’t mean you have a clue how to help him understand. “Um-”

“Just… I just need a little help, if you can. I understand if you don’t want to, or can’t, or… I don’t know… are busy.” He runs his tongue along his lips nervously. You snap your eyes to the floor, avoiding eye contact.

“I don’t know… I’m not a good teacher.”

“But you’re really good in the class. Probably a better teacher than Harris has been lately.”

You chuckle, but you’re still not sure. Being that close to the boy you’ve liked for ages? On top of not being able to teach well? He’ll reduce you to a stupid, stuttering mess, just look at yourself now, unable to look him in the eye. No, don’t look at him, that was rhetorical.

“I just,” he continues, “when he was talking about people who needed to go up a whole letter, he was talking about me. I know you’re good, you sit in front of me. If you can even just explain it to me as you study, it would help a lot.”

Half of your mind races to find an excuse, looking for an out, while the other begs you to agree. Isaac shoves a hand in his pocket and waits for a response. You debate with yourself for a moment, but then the urging part of your mind wins the argument with a question of its own.

“What about this,” you start, “I’ll help you in chemistry, if you help me in French?”

“What?” He asks, taken off guard. “I’m not good at French.”

“You’re better than me. You have the answers to most of Ms. Morrell’s questions, and I can hear you when she asks us to recite words out loud.” His eyes narrow at that, to which you reply, “you sit behind me in French, too.”

“Right.” He smiles, but doesn’t meet your gaze. Instead, he rests his head against the locker beside yours.

“So?”

“How do you know I’m not just guessing?”

“What’s your grade?”

“A,” he sheepishly answers.

“See? You can tutor me.”

“What’s your grade?”

You purse your lips and avoid his eyes again. “Too embarrassed to say.”

“Really?”

“Languages aren’t my strong suit. We all have our strengths.”

“Alright, deal. Help me in chem, and I’ll help you with French.”

“Sounds good. Library, or at one of our houses?”

“I can probably go to the library sometimes. Maybe during lunch or free period. But after school, I have lacrosse, and you probably don’t want to wait around school for that to be over.”

“Okay, so then your house or mine?”

“Where do you live?”

“Like ten minutes from here. You?”

“A bit closer than that. Parents?”

“Don’t really care what I do.”

“My dad is a little controlling,” he admits.

“Would he care if I were to come over?”

“Not if you’re helping me study.”

“Okay. You want to meet a couple times a week at your house, and sometimes during lunch?”

“Sure. Practice ends around five. Is seven too late?”

“Not for me.”

“Cool. So, um, I’ll text you, and we can plan dates.” He shakes his head. “I mean, like, what days work best.”

You blush at his embarrassment. “Have to give you my number first, doofus.”

“Oh.”

You scribble it onto a sticky note and hand it to him. “Let me know.”

“I will. And thank you.”

“Thank you, too.” You hurry your way to your next class, leaving him red in the face and hands at having a girl’s number. Granted, it’s just for studying, but it’s the fact he was able to talk to you at all that has him shaken. Isaac forces himself to breathe, before entering it in his phone and tucking the sticky safely in his backpack. As the bell rings, he hurries to his next class.

~~~~

The next evening is the first time you meet up to study. You drive to the address he’s given and knock on the door as gently as possible. Isaac had mentioned his dad is controlling, so the first thing you want to do is to avoid pissing him off in any way you could. Controlling could mean a lot of things, and the boy wasn’t specific at all. For both of your sakes, you tread lightly.

Isaac opens the door a moment later, dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweats. You try really hard not to blush as he invites you inside, but then his dad’s strict voice snaps you back into reality. You can see Isaac take a visible deep breath before rounding the corner in the kitchen, you in tow. You put on your best look of professionalism while trying to anticipate how the next couple of minutes might go.

“And? Who was it?”

“Y/N, the girl I told you I was studying with… with whom I am going to study,” he corrects at the last minute.

His father’s posture tenses a bit less when his son corrects his own grammar without prompt, but it doesn’t stop his cold eyes from floating over to you. “And you’re studying what?”

“Chemistry, sir. I’m helping Isaac, and he’s helping me with French.”

“And you know French well enough to help her?”

“I believe I do,” he says, trying to sound confident.

“I think he does, too. In class, he always has the answers, and Mrs. Morrell’s often impressed, and she’s hard to impress more than once.”

“Hm.” His dad takes a sip from a glass, then carefully sets it down on the table. His eyes are locked on Isaac the whole time. The boy stares at the ground, any confidence shaken by the interaction. You study the scene, confused. “Well… Go study. Bring up those grades.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply at the same time.

Isaac nods for you to follow him to his room, which you oblige. His dad remains seated as you make your way up the stairs. You bite back a comment about the man, even in the safety of Isaac’s bedroom, and he doesn’t say anything, either. The same remark is in both your heads, yet while you want to ask it in a question, he wants to use it as a reassurance. Yes, he’s a bit more controlling than Isaac originally said. No, he won’t do anything stupid while you're there. He tries to convey this in an expression, which you half-understand, but eventually drop it. If anything happens, you’ll leave. Simple as that.

As it turns out, the first night of you studying together ends up nothing like the initial interaction you had in his house. Isaac is gentle, patient, and willing to learn and teach the best that he can. He’s admittedly worse in chemistry than you are in French, but you’re able to convince him that you only need to work on a few things; an hour of time doesn’t have to be devoted to your studies, maybe only twenty minutes. On the contrary, the other sixty are put towards chemistry. And, of course, the first five are for settling in, and the last five are for uncontrollable laughter at a mispronunciation.

Thirty minutes to nine, you realize how late it’s gotten and start to pack your things. Isaac looks exhausted, and frankly, as much as you’re enjoying his company, you’re getting tired from talking.

“Voulez-vous qu’on se rencontre vendredi?” He asks, rather quickly.

You stare for a moment, then, “what?”

“Vendredi.”

“Thursday?”

“Non.”

“Friday?”

“Oui, rencontrer?”

“Meet then?”

“Yeah, would you like to?”

“Sure.” You nod. “Say it again?”

“Voulez-vous qu’on se rencontre vendredi?” He says it slower this time. It has the same effect on you, but you can comprehend each word better.

“Cool,” you say, not at all thinking about his accent that paints the words so beautifully. “I’ll bring my H2O, since I forgot it this time.”

The boy snorts with more laughter. “Bad joke.”

“Absolutely horrible,” you agree. “See you in school tomorrow.”

“Drive safe.”

“Be safe,” you reply before you can stop yourself, referring to his dad downstairs.

Isaac only nods. He walks you to his front door, then hurries back up to his room.

~~~~

Each day you study together follows a similar routine to the first: five minutes to settle in, sixty of chemistry, twenty of French, then five of joking around with each other. Sometimes Isaac pushes for thirty of French instead, worried that you’re sacrificing your own studies for his, and never understands when you push back that you’re good with only twenty.

His chemistry improves immensely with your help. In three weeks, he manages to pull it up to a ‘C’. Not only is his father a bit more lenient to him after the next progress report, but he’s also more pleasant to you the next time you come around to study. He even cracks a smile.

Today, you go over just the same as you have been. Seven on the dot, you’re greeted by his dimpled smile and half-friendly father. The man has now graduated to welcoming you, and has once clapped you on the shoulder as you’ve passed. You’re polite to him, though you can tell Isaac’s uncomfortable with his unusual behavior, so you always try to retreat upstairs as soon as possible. This time, he’s busy with something in the kitchen and doesn’t talk for long. He makes one comment about grades; you promise him you’re both doing well, then he lets you go.

Finally away, it doesn’t take long for you to settle down anymore. You make yourself comfortable on Isaac’s bed, pulling out your notes and pens, and smiling when he joins you. You’ve come to be good friends in the last couple weeks, and although there’s something definitely in the air, too, you’re good with being friends if that’s all you can convince yourselves you are.

You start, per usual, with chemistry, reading over notes and figuring out problems. He moves closer and closer to you each day you teach, simultaneously making you nervous and excited. Either way, your water bottle remains beside you to calm your ever-growing heart rate. When it comes time to switch subjects, you excuse yourself a minute to recover and prepare for the next half hour. In the beginning, it was easier to hide your blush, promising you’re still getting the hang of the co-teaching thing. Now, your excuse dwindles. The shy smile you wear as he recites words of the love language has never faded. You have to compose yourself entirely, elsewhere, to be able to control your reaction and face him.

“Can I use your bathroom real quick?”

“Yeah, just over there.”

“Thanks.”

As soon as the door shuts, Isaac jumps off the bed to check his hair in the mirror. In the process, your French binder falls to the ground and loses its page. The boy sighs, mutters an ‘oh shit,’ then pulls it back up to find the page again. He opens the flap and immediately finds a stash of old progress reports. You seem to keep all of your old ones in the front flap of your binder; he’s noticed you have all your chemistry reports, too. Curious, Isaac steals a peek. Despite confessing about his ‘D’ in chemistry, you’ve always cheekily refused to share your French grade. He doubts it’s that bad, but he’s never gotten you to admit it.

He glances at the bathroom door, then checks the date on the report before scanning the grades. Guilt eats at him the longer he looks, but nosiness, then confusion keeps his eyes glued. Is he really reading that right? There’s no way you have a-

“Sorry about that,” you say, closing the door.

Startled, he drops your binder and looks up at you. “It’s no worry.”

“What’s wrong?” You notice his change in behavior, like a young boy being caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing.

“Nothing. Your binder fell off the bed, I was picking it up.”

“Oh. Thanks.” He smiles when you join him back on the bed. You’re not sure if you still have a right to be suspicious, or if he’s just embarrassed because he’s so shy. “So, um-”

Isaac, on the other hand, is brimming with questions. As anxious as he is that you caught him peeking, he can’t help but wonder about what he saw. You start to speak, maybe to change the subject, but he cuts you off, guilt and curiosity both winning. “You have an ‘A’ in French?”

“What?”

“You’ve had an ‘A’ since the start of the year. Why do you need me to tutor you if you already know it?”

You shut your open mouth immediately, face paling at the realization you’ve been caught. “I-... I don’t know. Your grades are better than mine.”

“By one point.”

“Two points. You have a 94. I have a 92.”

“Doesn’t explain the need for a tutor,” he argues.

You study him, choosing to base your reaction off his own. He’s smiling; seemingly happy, curious, and not at all upset. His tone implies no accusation, just confusion, and his body posture is straight, shoulders relaxed. A twinkle shines in his baby blue eyes; his level of eye contact is neither constant nor avoidant. He’s safe.

“I, um,” you decide to tell him the truth. Or, rather, stutter out the truth. “I don’t need a French tutor.”

“So I’ve gathered.” Decisive tone, yet still friendly. Still safe.

“I figured, since I would help you with chemistry, even though I’m not that good of a teacher, if you had to teach me something too, it would put less pressure on me to be a good teacher.”

His eyes narrow. “Okay… but why French?” He’s still a little confused on that reasoning, but doesn’t question it. He knows you’re shy. If that’s what you had to do to make it work that you could help him, he doesn’t mind.

“I, er, well, the French provided a win-win scenario.”

“Which is?”

You shrug, body warming quickly as you near your deeply guarded secret. “I- I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Mhm, really?”

“You’re best in French,” you offer instead, on a whim.

“True,” he agrees, “though I feel that’s not the real reason, judging by your lack of eye contact.”

“I’m always bad at eye contact.”

“You’ve been getting better with me these last few weeks.”

“Yes, but…”

“I’m not going to judge, Y/N. Whatever you say, it’s safe with me. You trust me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then how is me teaching you French a, as you call it, win-win scenario?”

Finally, you fess, “because I get to hear you speak it every time you teach me.”

Isaac’s quiet for a moment. Then, you realize it seems to have gone over his head as he says, “you hear me speak all the time in class.”

“Yeah, but… with twenty other voices mixed in, too. I like hearing just your voice. The way you know just how to sound it out perfectly, and the way your accent flourishes each sentence. Most people in class sound like they’re gurgling saltwater, but you make it sound hot, like the way French is supposed to sound.” Your mouth utters words before your brain can catch up and prevent you from embarrassment. As soon as you realize what you’ve said, a dizziness swarms your head and it feels like the temperature’s gone up ten degrees.

Isaac is speechless in front of you. He’s first stuck on the fact that you like his voice, then on his pronunciation being described as perfect, but then he short-circuits as the word ‘hot’ falls from your lips. He doesn’t even realize when you plant your face into your binder, shocked by your own confession.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. It’s muffled, but he hears it enough to pull him from his trance.

“You like my voice?” He asks, cursing himself for the stupidity of the question. It’s all he can think of to say, though, still trying to cool his own rising body temperature.

“I shouldn’t have said all that, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I wasn’t thinking.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he blurts out quickly. “I’m actually quite charmed by that.”

You resist the urge to look up at him, desperate to see if he’s smiling or not. Isaac seems to have a similar thought, and tries to hook a finger under your chin to lift your head. He succeeds, but then you instantly embarrass again, and dive for the pillows, burying your face amongst them.

“Oh no, get back here,” he jokes. You feel him before you look out to see him. His hands shake your shoulder, but when you don’t respond, he playfully starts to tickle your neck. You scrunch and try to scramble away, but he only continues. “C’mon.”

“I can’t!” The words have finally sunken into his head; the weight of them falls on your chest.

“Oh, yes you can!” He teases more, moving pillows away from you, just for you to grab another and bury back under it. When Isaac realizes there’s no use in trying to win the pillow war, he swings a leg over yours and begins to tickle your stomach. Your shirt has begun to ride up from your movement, and temporarily, he forgets you’re classmates, not longtime best friends. “C’mon, give it up!”

“I-I can’t!” You’re running out of breath, and pillows. He pulls another away from you, then puts his hands back on your sides. Your eyes are squeezed shut, but only do you open them because of the unfamiliar feeling of him touching you. A beat skips in your heart at the sudden, unexpected realization that he’s not only touching your skin, but he’s also straddling your waist. You swallow hard. He pinches your side lightly, shocking you back into reality, and making you grab another pillow to hide your face again. Before you can grasp it, Isaac grabs your hands and pins them above your head. You pant, heart racing a mile a minute. His too, as you can hear in the moment you both grow quiet.

“You think it’s hot when I speak French?”

“No, I think you’re hot when you speak French. There’s a difference.”

“Is there now?”

“The temperature of the room doesn’t get hot, it’s you that gets hot.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Not that you’re not always hot… I mean, sometimes, you’re more like a cute little puppy than a hot, French-speaking…” your words fade as your brain catches up, faster this time, yet still not fast enough.

“Am I now?”

What’s done is done, you figure. Can’t take it back now, can only admit it. “Yeah.”

“Huh. So all this time, you’ve been teaching me chemistry, and I’ve been talking pointlessly while you listen and learn nothing?”

“When you word it like that, it sounds bad.” A pout graces your lips as guilt floods you. “But I have learned some things. I was struggling with direct objects, and now I’m not.”

“Ah. So I’m not totally useless?”

“Never. You wouldn’t be useless even if I knew perfect French.” Before he can reply, you continue. “I’m sorry I wasted your time. I shouldn’t have. Can you forgive me?”

“Forgive you for what? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I wasted your time when we could’ve been doing more chemistry.”

“Darling, too much chemistry and my brain woulda exploded. The French lessons are a nice intermission. Besides, I wouldn’t consider any time with you as time wasted.”

“Really?”

He drops your hands and they fall back down to your waist. He seems, then, to realize he’s still on top of you, and begins to climb off. “Sorry, I-”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Can I confess something else?”

He pauses. “Sure, anything.”

“I would’ve been okay with just tutoring you chemistry, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye long enough to do it well.”

“You’ve been doing great with the eye contact thing. I know it’s not your strong suit, but you’ve made a lot of progress these last couple weeks.”

“Thank you,” you smile. “It’s not only that.” A heartbeat passes. “I like you.”

“You like me?” His eyes narrow before he assumes only, “you like my voice.”

“No, I like you. I mean, yes, I like your voice, but I like it because I like you.”

“Like me, as in…”

“Like I have a crush on you.”

He tilts his head like a confused dog. “On me?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

“I’ve never had anyone have a crush on me before,” he admits.

Now you’re confused. “What?! How?!”

“I don’t know!”

“That’s stupid. Never had anyone admit it, maybe.”

“I’d never know.”

“Well I’ve had a crush on you since the seventh grade.”

“You moved to Beacon Hills in the seventh grade.”

“Exactly.”

“And you’ve had a crush on me this whole time?”

“Very secretly.”

“Huh. Well I’ve liked you since the first day of school,” he confesses.

“I’ve liked you since orientation, so I win.”

He smiles, then shakes his head playfully. “So I sit behind you in classes for years and only finally get the courage to talk to you when I’m borderline failing chemistry, and you only get the courage to talk to me for more than one minute if you can convince me to talk half of the time that we’d be studying together.”

“Sounds about right.”

“And my portion of the talking is in French, because you think my accent is hot?”

“Your accent is always hot; your French is hot on its own.”

“Ah, I’m following now.” He chuckles, letting his fingertips grace your hips.

“So,” you ask, “as two people with several year long mutual crushes on each other, what do we do next?”

“Well you’re the one that’s been tutoring me chemistry, love, I’m hoping you have the answer.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “Wrong kind of chemistry, dork.” You reach your hands up to the sides of his face anyway, and pull him down for a kiss. Isaac complies immediately, setting one hand down beside you, while the other caresses your chin. Your legs hook around his waist, keeping him close until he starts to pull away, needing air. You let go, then hide your face as his own turns a rosy pink.

“That was worth the wait,” he says, smiling, and touching a finger to his recently-kissed lips. “Êtes-vous d'accord?”

“Shut up,” you tease, pushing him slightly. “Chemistry time.”

“We just had chemistry time. It’s French time now.”

“No, we can skip a round,” you insist, unsure you can hear anymore French fall from his lips without folding and kissing them again.

“On the contrary, I think you need to sharpen your vocabulary.”

“I think I’ll need a water break first.”

“That we can do,” he agrees. “I’ll make sure to get yours with extra ice.”

“Shush!”

#i feel like i'm cheating on kai #but i promise kai isn't going anywhere!!#nor are the mikaelsons - those for which i'm trying to write more #i have simply ✨ added ✨ another man to my collection #y'all i spelt his name wrong so many times writing this #have i ever mentioned i had a crush on a boy named isaac in my junior year of hs?#he was a twin #anyway #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey x y/n #teen wolf fanfiction

89 notes · View notes

kel-lance · 1 day

Text

JJK Mafia Au (JJK x Reader) PART 2

Part 1

Warnings:- TW: Dead dove dont read (DDDR) Minors do not interact (MDNI): SA, Physical Assault, DubCon, NonCon, Mindbreak, Public Humiliation, Breeding, Ownership, Gaslighting, Multiple manipulation, RWORD, PTSD, a lot more toxic sh.

Premise: Reader lives in a city where the two biggest gangs keep things line until the third gang showed up. That had nothing to do with you though, until dumb luck just happened to favor you one day. Basically You’re picked up and used by every dangerous criminal within the clans due to some alliances they had to create due to some members messing up the previous alliances. ((Almost everyone’s gonna have a turn 🤗)) ( i have 11 more chapters planned out right now meaning after i write those ill still be writing more.)

“We’re done for today.” The large man reaches for his robes. You don’t bother to move. Just breathing hurt. It was his off day and he was deciding to break you in, deciding to keep you for however long you were durable. He was amused with your reactions. He liked it. He found it interesting how you were also trying to survive. He’d play along as your god now.

You lay in the bed and his finger prints stained your skin, each strike created blots of purple and blue and green. You liked bruises before, it showed how you fought for it.

You apparently woke up two days later, and he lets you rest. Your body finally turns off survival mode for a second, just a second to adjust to the warm room. Four walls, the nice smell, it was just another thing you weren’t used to. Stillness. It was boring. But under these circumstances you were glad to have your own padded room to deal with this.

The time you were left alone, you didn’t know how long that would be. Another hour or so you’d think he’d come back in, hearing as you’re up. Time for more torture, though do torture victims get a bed and tended to? It felt more like you were a sacrifice, meant to appease him, though no one handed you over.

You were brushed, scrubbed raw, and even felt a bit of shame for the way you were living compared to the two ladies who were taking care of you. But you didn’t know how long they’ve been in this line of work. Hell they honestly looked like they were born into it with the cold looks in their eyes. They could care less about your well-being, though they found and scrubbed every inch of you. Of course you didn’t want strangers to look at you, especially after such a moment that brought you here. To be real, these twins are probably the only people who knew you more than anyone you currently knew.

Friends? You had a few, some to help you out sometimes, some to let you crash at their place. It was all fair game to the people you knew. Life was never easy for them and they knew of you being a free spirit. You didn’t leech off of them for you’d always show up with something in exchange, usually something you stole but it would never get traced back, it was either too common (but useful) or just something that would never be brought out of shown off.

You weren’t a bad friend for it, if anything you were the perfect guest, though this time you didn’t mean to give yourself away for a few nights stay.

“I gotta get out of here, but where would I go? These people have already seen my face and I can’t tell how many more there would be. I can’t request anything to learn the layout of this place and no one will talk to me. If I leave I’ll have to run further and faster than I already have been…” You ponder more, sitting at the table placed in front of the window.

They’re smart enough to know what I’d do if I wanted to pick a fight with their lord, of course there are guards at more doors, even under the window out your room, and it’s safe to say that there’s even a guard at each vent that’s connected to your room.

“Why does it seem like I’m so special?” You sit and open the window, the guard below moves from his post to observe you on the same side has the other posted to view you. You look down at then and offer a wave, saying you’re not doing anything stupid, but you just wanted some air. One of them leaves, probably to get Sukuna.

“I bet he’s just a lonely loser and I just happen to fall into his lap, or maybe I was one of many and was the newest. The girls here looked like they could be in the same position as you, though why weren’t they? They didn’t look like they were his blood, and there was no way that he could be their dad. That would make things even worse since you’re close in age as the twins.

You see the guard go back to his post, nonchalantly. “Weirdo.” You thought. Not even a second later your room door whips open. Jumping from your place at the table, you turn and see who other than the man with the unpredictable entrances. “Finally up?” He leans on the door frame. “Honestly, you’re so dramatic for that.” He teased, being strangely familiar to you.

“Dude…” You caught yourself about to tell off this stranger. All you’ve known from him is that he’s having fun taking you and making you a toy, that his name was Sukuna and how everyone seemed under his control. Not that they enjoy it, but it didn’t look like anyone, even in their numbers, would stand up to someone like him.

It still wasn’t apparent for you. He only told you his first name, his last could tell you that you were in even more danger than any “normal” man doing this to you. It could be such a metaphor but you’re literally trapped in the best place you’ve ever been. Was that just life? all the bad comes up when you’re supposed to be happy, and realizing how good you’ve had it as it gets ripped apart in front of you? The balance of it all only comes with ignorance, which was also why you wouldn’t get attached. You didn’t run to one person for everything you didn’t need more than what you’d ask for and that wasn’t much. If they were lucky you’d be there for 3 days at most.

You lost your voice, his presence set in, bringing you out of your (if you can all it that) relaxed state. He notices you tense up, the look in your eyes begging him to give your body a break. He huffs and saunters into the room, taking a seat at the end of the bed, the side that’s facing you. “You had some time to clear your head, now tell me what was your intention. Playing dumb suits that pretty face of yours… But that’s not why I’m here.”

You sure knew nothing about this guy. Other than his name and how his body looked. How he felt was different, it just happened so fast that you could only remember how it lingered in your belly after he left you the second time. It wasn’t something you can forget, those were the best orgasms of your life. “Sukuna… I’m serious.”

“You expect me to believe that? Did I hit you too hard?” You almost wanted to laugh, you saw stars and colors you couldn’t before his knuckles contacted your skull. Lifting his hand from his side to place under his chin made you flinch, a bit too hard for his liking apparently. It took a lot for you to muster standing up on your own, much less realize you had to get to the table by needing support from the wall. It was like you were in an ice skating rink and had to hold onto the walls for dear life, except there was no ice, it was just pain in your body not letting you level yourself out.

“When you’re ready to talk, I might hear you out. My patience is thin you already know.” He stands and closes your door, sent a shiver down your spine. Him not being close to you, or hurting you, having this quick visit was so unsettling.

It haunted you for hours. He didn’t touch you. The edge of the bed where he sat still held an energy, like he left a part of him right there to keep watch over you.

He definitely hit you too hard, you were thinking more outlandish things to go with this scenario. Like why didn’t the touch you? You thought he was going to keep a pattern, that maybe after this he would come in periodically to taunt you. That maybe his patience has worn out and he was going to get rid of you any minute now, or to use you again.

The trauma you got from this certainly messed with your self soothing methods. Every time you catch yourself hitting your peak of your self imposed orgasms, you were almost wishing you had more than just your fingers. You didn’t want him, but seriously its already been 2 weeks. You were gonna go crazy in here. The girls kept bringing you your meals, and a bathroom is attached, though you couldn’t do much by yourself.

You were to let the others feed and bathe you, and you honestly hated it. It was way too weird, you never talked to them, and they never tried with you so it felt like there was an agreement to just not speak about it. That none of you were here willingly. That gave you some insight. Your body healed itself enough that you didn’t need the wall to walk anymore, making your trips to the table in front of the window more frequent.

You notice some sort of schedule Sukuna follows, as well as a few other noticeable men in this kind of gated community. Whatever he has gong on here, it felt like you were almost a stolen princess locked away in a tower or something. “You have GOT TO get a hold of yourself.” You didn’t need to see a doctor or someone, you were fully aware that these thoughts were just you daydreaming to escape reality, yet again. Though this time it was getting boring, you couldn’t help yourself, literally.

At this point you wanted to even ask one of the guards if they wanted to come in and help you out, but you didn’t have to do that, because a day later you decided to act. Rolling around night time, you decided to open your window a noticeable amount. By then the guards usually leave one guard to patrol the grounds in each quarter.

The ones outside your door either end up sleeping or one leaves the other for a bathroom break, some nights they both go, probably to blow each other you thought. It wasn’t any of your concern, they did it before when you could barely move, but now you were agile again, enough to move around without hissing at each moment.

Placing your ear to the door, you heard light snoring through it. “Okay, just find his room you thought. You knew that it took about 60 steps to reach a stair case, then that would be about 24 steps down. You could hear his footsteps through the pairs of others who followed him, as his echoed with pace, and the others almost scuttled behind them like bugs..

You find your way slipping past heavy wooden doors, making sure it wouldn’t creak, you saw the walkway in the garden. You looked up and saw your room, you knew it was yours as it was the only one with the window open. you knew that the guard just left this fourth of his grounds. You were searching the area for his room. Peering through the windows, it would have been hard to tell if it was him, but his tattoos were honestly unique.

None of them were him, you go back to the walkway, going down the opposite end, just blindly working your way through. You couldn’t just walk through any door, it could be your last mistake, it being Sukuna or not. But it just had to be him, you wanted so badly to find his familiar face and just, you don’t know.

You decide to be more ballsy, there’s surely no way he’s be in the same quarters that has this many people,” you decide to take your chance with the left corridor. “I wouldn’t take him for a cuddly guy anyway.”

Listen, you know it sounds crazy, but if you even got to escape, you’d be hunted like a fox, unnecessarily, and as a spectacle for others to watch. But if you could find him, and do it yourself, “I mean, at least I’d die with something, and what a funny way to go.” You loved to joke about these kinds of things. Anytime it seemed dark, you’d find yourself cracking a joke or going off an other tangents from the barrage of thoughts coming your way.

You hold your breath as you set your fingers around the doorknob, you pull it back slowly, and turn it, to silence any squeaks it may have. After turning it fully, you let it go back and unclenched your fingers to let it go a second time, making sure there was no noise from the metal trap, and decided to go in.

What fucking luck you had as if you broke into another room you’d think your breathing would start to give you away. As you head towards the bed, the raising figure laying there was him. Your eyes had adjusted to the dark, so much so that you could just stand in front of him.

Looking down at him you wondered what you should do. You’re not going to kill him, that’s one thing, though you had nothing to lose, you still liked your life and you enjoyed whatever adventurous you got yourself into. It was always just one thing after the next and you’d rest when needed, but you loved it.

This was totally different though. Before it was like you were born into this work and have to abide by its rules. As of right now you could do /anything/. What else would you do?

You look down at him, kneeling at the edge of the bed to face him. Looking at his face like this, completely defenseless, his harsh eyes weren’t poking at you or telling you exactly what he was thinking. No he was just, he looked human. Like if you were to have met him at any other place it would possibly be on a magazine cover or an army recruitment booth posted wherever.

“Damn bastard is beautiful.” You thought. “I didn’t get this far to stop now. Fucking 2 weeks you keep me here and don’t do anything? Do you know how boring that is? You can’t just keep me here and forget.” All that time alone had gone to your head, did you forget how he treated you the time you met?

Tbh it fades in and out, your memory’s cut up pieces of film that randomly plays an old memory, and since you can’t recognize it, you call it a dream.

Nothing could take you away from where you were now. Looking over him, still not a care in the world. Nothing could wake him if he’d allow it. You cocked your head to align your eyes with his, and reach out and brush your fingertips across his jawline.

How much of this could you enjoy before he kills you for breaking out? Just that thought had you slowly leaning in, your hand before tracing his face was leaning onto the bed to support your intrusion.

First, you kissed his forehead. The poor fuck probably hadn’t felt the touch of a real lover in ages, he just finds and uses whatever and whoever he wants, whenever. Of course you didn’t pity him, but does he even know what being loved properly was like? You’re really one to be asking.

You peck the smooth, hot skin, and kissed a line across his cheek, getting more sensual with the next. His touch, even sleeping was still so manly. His body was so, honestly the words seem odd, but he looked so edible. Like you almost couldn’t keep your lips off of him. He was so yummy when you get a good look at him.

Cupping his face, your lips reach his, beginning to lightly stimulate the connection. You lean in further, applying yourself onto him, guiding open his mouth with yours as you lick his lips. This shit was getting you so excited, considering all that he’s done to you, having this moment, where you’re in control and he was at your mercy, and only you know this.

Continuing to make out with your kidnapper, you moved yourself to get on top of him. His lazy reaction of kissing back had you think he was a deep sleeper, god you really wished.

You opened your eyes just to make sure he was still asleep, but his eyes were staring back at you, with the same look he always has. You didn’t have time to even make a sound before he had you under him. His hand grabbed your waist and turned kept you parallel to him as his leg pushed his body to get on top.

You could feel his erection, he was basically stabbing your thighs with his head. His hands pushed your wrists into opposite sides of your head, and he has you immobilized as he sat on your legs. Most you could move was your toes and neck, but he had pressed his face up against yours.

“I don’t even know where to start with you. If you wanted to kill me, you would’ve already. Maybe I can believe you’re just some random, …but you wouldn’t have come to my room.” He lets a wrist go to reel back and strikes your face as a warning. Seriously, no sane person would just come straight back to him in your situation.

“The guard fell asleep?” Nothing gets by him. You can’t tell if he was just prepared for everything or if he planned this out. The excitement you were feeling before was being clashed with the sudden shock to your face. “Depending how the rest of the night will go will determine his punishment.”

Keeping everything in place, he moves your chin up by his nose, giving him space to start attacking your neck. “We’ll just start with yours.” His grasp tightened around each wrist, so much so that he was pulling on the tendons in your forearms, making your fingers involuntary curl.

Your luck may have run out, but you weren’t as scared. Trying to enjoy the moment as much as possible, knowing fully well that you’re about to be eaten alive, and god, youve been waiting. His teeth grazed your collar bone, making their way back up, making themselves a known threat to your neck.

“Speak.” He orders. “Who sent you?”

“You still think I’m a spy?” The spot where he hit you was pounding, but it didn’t hurt. Other parts of your body were just pulsating along with your heartbeat, you knew he was going to take that as a sign of fear.

“Hurry up, we have a meeting tomorrow so I’m trying to be considerate for everyone else.”

He’s still not listening. You weren’t either at this point, finding his roughing up sort of endearing. Maybe he didn’t want to get blood on his bed, or maybe he did care about that stupid meeting. All you could feel was vigorous pulsating from your wrists, your face, your heart, and more than anything else, your pussy.

This was literally what you came here to do, this was why he even took you with him wasn’t it? Seriously whatever big shot he thinks he is… this shit wasn’t legal; You were serious on going out with a bang, raising your hips to create some friction on his hard on.

Sukuna seemed to notice the look in your eyes and gave you another firm slap. “Focus, doll.” He adjusts his hips a few inches too far down your liking, his hands being the only thing touching you.

“Put it back.” You got this far, now he wants to start questioning you immediately after waking up? He picked you up after meeting and ignored you for two weeks, you’re about to do what most others would. Especially if they’re in the same situation with the same circumstances.

“You’re not the one to be giving orders, much less to me.”

You raise your hips back up to his head, having it dip into you, crossing your clit but unable to enter fully. His tip could find its way in no problem, it was just his call, and that almost drove him over the edge. You’ve stopped fighting back, for something like your freedom and what’s better for you.

What you were after now was just one more orgasm brought by that monstrous mf. He doesn’t drop his guard, or change his face at all as he accepted “your bait/distraction”. In this position, you’re still straight legged, laying in his bed as he has you held down, arms pinned, palms up, and legs trapped as he sat on your thighs.

He could easily kill you now, but it would honestly leave a bad taste as no one’s been killed in his room before, much less even entered without permission. You both didn’t know what to think really.

To you he’s some strange and strong asshole who’s been unclear if you were his sex toy or if you were “invited” and he was just being a terrible host. Honestly, it felt worse to you to have everything you needed; Without your freedom, you were honestly thinking it’d be better to be dead.

To him, you were dangerous. You got it all right. From the room, to the person to bump into, to the alley. You could have been a spy laying low, from whichever gang he thought you were from, he thought it would be good to hold you off to send a message to see who would come collect you first. They wouldn’t send someone if they didn’t have something to say.

At first he did just want to keep you until one of them sent them back another message. It didn’t matter what happened to you, honestly he got bored. He’s a busy man, there was really nothing else to say.

So imagine his surprise how you came crawling all over him tonight. He knew an assassin would’ve done it before he even knew the door opened, they were to make sure it was quick. The attack would have had to been fatal, whether they succeed in one shot or have them die as they’re leaving. And how quick they leave is how desperately they want to live.

You, just came in to stare at him and decided you wanted something else. And it didn’t seem like revenge. That was a first, especially for him. Right now he was allowing it, letting you go. There was no way you could harm him, he concluded.

Looking down at you squirm and pout, upset on how close you were to getting what you’ve been aching from and for. He won’t drop his guard, but he sure as hell was silver platter served. Really how badly did you want it?

He connects your wrists at the top of your head with one hand, the other has its index finger and thumb at the base, controlling himself with those two fingers. He raises his erection and knocked it against your clit, the strikes sent waves of pleasure from your core to the top of your head and palm of your feet, having you whimper out.

Your aching hole needed him, it was taking him so long. Seriously you wish he’d kill you now because this so actually torture. The only thing you could do was start to cry, tears leaving their corners and running into your hair. You were more than frustrated. Angry, horny, needy, powerless, you wanted it so bad you were losing control, it didn’t matter, no one else could judge you, and who would be worse than Sukuna?

“You came in here, climb all over me, just to cry now? You’re so pathetic.”

“Please,” You whine. “I want you to put it in.”

His face changed, from laughing at you beg, to sharpening his focus. Even after all this, getting caught, threatened, insulted, you’ve started to beg for it. He takes his legs up from pinning yours, putting them to your sides as he aligns himself to your front hole. “Say it again.”

“Please Sukuna, put it in-“ He lowers his hips and dives deep into you. He watches as your head writhes. Instantly youre spread apart, the sudden plunge casted a warm blush across your face and electricity towards the tips of your fingers. “Oooh,”

“Fuuuuuck.” He finished for you. He continues to grind deeply into you, quickly using his now free hand to gag you from waking everyone up. Good thing too as you were messy, fucked silly couldn’t cover it. You gave up control a long time ago. He wouldn’t kill you, not right now anyway, you especially wouldn’t let him without trying to get one last nut. It was diabolical how down bad he had you. It was more of your unhealed trauma and he just happened to be the best person to help you out, willing or not.

——————————————————————————

You lay there as the base of your back ached. Every part of your body was bruised again, you could only imagine to move again as you tried catching your breath. You had lost count on just how many times he’s forced an orgasm out of you, mind numbingly rich euphoria every time. Nothing else mattered, you were more than thrilled the first 2 times but started to wonder if he ever got tired.

It wasn’t until after your fifth orgasm that he managed to get his first one in. You were honestly almost regretting climbing into his room but his second had him pinning you on your back as he lay on your lower torso and legs. You couldn’t feel anything but your pulsating cervix, half feeling good from the pain and lingering pleasure, the other half making you know that this was a mistake and the nausea was on you.

Raising your free arm, you weakly start to pat his head. It was over, you insatiable perverted needs were fulfilled, so what were you going to do now? It’s not like you’re in love with the guy, you don’t even know if you’ll get to wake up tomorrow with this stunt. “It was worth it.” You thought. Running your fingers thorough his hair, and tracing his back, you fall asleep holding him, accepting that this is it.

57 notes · View notes

cherri-balms · 2 months

Text

♡﹕𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓, 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓! — CH.1 — Normal Girl

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။ ၊|• 0:01

↻ PREV ◁ || ▷ NEXT ↺

A/N ﹕Chapter 1 is finally out!! I apologize if this took a little while, I have an idea for an Alastor fic brewing and if all things go well, the prologue/pilot chapter will be the next thing I post!

As always if you would like to be added to the taglist, shoot me a DM and ill get back to you asap!! <3

This chapter is primarily exposition and fluff, so there are no content warnings for this chapter aside from a brief description of making oneself vomit.

𝐄 × 𝐌/𝐅 × 𝟓.𝟐𝐤 × 𝐎𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 × 𝐀𝐎𝟑

♡﹕Bring-your-reader to work day as one of the most famous idols in hell! Or, what it's really like working as one of the most famous idols in hell under the thumb of the VEES.

6:00 PM

Your alarm begins your morning with its typical assault to the ears and dragging you out of what was once a beautiful slumber, for a while your subconscious was even able to create a darling little wonderland blend of hell and personal heaven, but all good dreams had to come to an end at sometime soon.

Sitting up, you begin your typical morning work routine of getting dressed, brushing your teeth and whatever other morning activities that needed to be done. Surrounding you are dozens of printed posters and scrolls of yourself watching you get changed, most of which being limited edition merchandise from your concerts, and almost all of them had in bold letters “MONΛRCH” somewhere on the prints. After your meeting with Vox that day, he insisted that if you were going to work with the brand of the Vees that you were to take on a stage name to said brand. Before you could go through your mental filing cabinet to find something that would fit, Vox informed you that he had already picked your name from the moment you walked in: Monarch. It took a second for you to realize, but the patterns currently adorning your body with the resemblance of a monarch butterfly made it click. Plus, you did like how powerful the name sounded.

The last step of your routine was always to consult yourself a sprint checkup on your voice synthesizer and then perform some finetuning. Your current synthesizer is nowhere close to your first one, hell the damn thing originally couldn't even get wet, nor was it surgically bolted into your neck, though the two still shared similar parts in case the need for a quick repair arose.

… Aaaand of course speak of the fallen angel, that said scenario was precisely why you keep a constant eye on the quality of your synthesizer, because the screw connecting your voice bank and vocal chords was chipped. Sure, it was minute but even the smallest imperfection could lead to rust and infection that you just couldn’t afford.

The bottom half of your dresser vanity would appear to be nothing but a foundational box with a front facing panel and some regal metalsmith carvings if not for the card-slot keyhole poking out the right side. You keep the key hidden on your person at all times, while the contents inside hold no value in money or power you’re sure the reactions to what could be construed to be a stalkerish shrine to your boss would be the end of your reputation.

And his too you guess but you’re the cute one here.

Lifting your pointer finger to the back of your neck, using the slight dent of your nail to nudge out a tiny rectangular panel of your synthesizer. Or, it would be rectangular if not for the carefully cut notches on one of the sides.

You slip the key into the slot as far as it will reach, bypassing all 4 clicks then rewarding you with a 5th at ths decompressing tightness of the spring lock hinge. The once stiff panel now slides open, though not exactly with grace with it getting friction jammed against the frame caused by lack of use.

Not quite having time to spare getting distracted by your keepsakes you reach to the glass case to the left containing your prototype voice bank collar displayed like a diamond atop a blue silk pillow. You’re absolutely certain if Vox discovered you still held the beta technology he would gag like you were saving a meal that's gone bad. Absolutely adorable, knowing if you’d present it to any sinner in hell it’d be easy to convince them it was state of the art, brand new.

One screw acquired and you’re out of there, locking everything the way it was before, box, vanity, bedroom door, apartment door. The commute to the VHQ could barely even be considered a walk, actually, most of the housing within a 3 mile radius of their building was ultimately owned by the Vees reserved for employees. Smart way to both keep their people in line and control exactly who’s around at all times, gotta give them credit when credit is due.

The dredging silence over the span of two months had you in an urge to claw beneath your skin to tear out the stabbing anticipation that seemed to grow within. Should that evolve into a spiral well of anxiety you'd been worried the business plan sealed in ink turned into a ghost, but you were informed before your leave that Rome wasn’t going to be built in a day so you were left with nothing to do but respect his unspoken wishes.

When the hour struck and you received the details for the date and time of your next meeting in a bare bones text, you wish you could say it put your short term torture to a close, but the years worth of screaming in static was finally going to be over. You couldn’t make time move any faster, only make yourself move faster to prepare for your next encounter with the overlord that could now be considered your master.

“Monarch! Good, right on time, Now come sit.” Your overlord spins around the chair to your direction, beckoning you his way. You silently do as you’re told sitting legs pressed together handbag in your lap, before you even had a chance to touch the zipper for your tablet he waves your hands away.

“Nuh-uh, you don’t need to bother yourself with that anymore. I’m sure you know why I called you?” By the way his smirk stretched across the screen while his left hand reached below his desk you’d nearly assume he was just as excited as you for this day. You feel your eyelids pull back and you swore your eyes reflected twice as much light than when you first sat down if you could catch a glimpse of yourself.

The device presented to you in his hands looked identical to its future self if not for the fresher coat of polish it bore. You must confess you weren’t too sure what you were envisioning for this gadget to come out looking like, actually you realized you were never imagining something metaphysical at all, the technological cure to your aid came in the mental form of an intangible concept closer to a myth. But what was before your eyes was.. actually pretty underwhelming.

It looked like nothing but a steel box speaker attached to a collar with a dial, bare and simple. You caught a peek at something poking out on the other side behind it, but it didn’t catch your interest long enough to retain the observation. You weren’t aware enough to try and hide your confusion but you may have done a better job than you thought at not letting it show since he didn’t react until you cocked your chin to the side.

“Well what are we waiting for! Let’s get this show on the road and try it out, yeah? Turn around.” You were practically standing and turned before he could even finish the command. Sharp blue needles brush over your cheeks and under strands of hair lifting them behind your ears. You make the sound of the buckles on the collar before it’s veiled over your vision and behind your neck. “Fair warning, this will definitely be painful!”

Mayhaps you should’ve taken a bigger note on what you saw behind the box earlier, because you instantly got to discover what it was as spear headed clamps bury dormant in your throat through your neck so sharp it could pierce bone. Pain didn’t even begin to describe what you were feeling, it was like your brain tossed you back in time to repeat your lungs combusting to ash and your body soon reacted like you were suffering such fate again, causing you to start jumping and swatting out of the arms of your savior as if he were your next next killer.

“AAAAAAHH-aaahhhh?” Was that y- there’s no way.

You tested again in case this was another instance of your psyche filling in the gaps of a voice once more.

“aaahhhhhh~AAAHH~~” You weren’t dreaming. What you were asking from him from the start felt like asking the impossible but the result you were given far exceeded any daydream you conjured to cope with your situation, but not only had the overlord given you a brand new voice by some miracle, the voice he gave you was the same you had in life, the same smooth melody you forgot you could produce.

You turned around to face him, this time with tears blurring your view. Not an ounce of anger from your embarrassing attack his way earlier, only intrigue in your reaction to the gift. For the first time in years, you could speak and say anything in the world you wanted and now your mind was white noise. All you could do was bow your head in gratitude, though you aren’t sure if he was expecting that just based on the noise he made after.

“Hey- woah, no need for that now, not that I’m necessarily complaining,” You raise your head and you aren’t surprised by the shadow of ego stretching his grin across the screen. “I did some investigating into your mortal life to find samples of your work to make sure your voice would be nothing short of yours! Getting hands on anything in the overworld is a royal pain in the ass, though. I hope you keep that in mind.”

Was he jesting? You were going to keep every bolt and circuit in mind for the rest of your afterlife. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or the subtle new feeling of electrical surges flowing down the rivers of your veins, but just standing still with the amount of energy pumping in your body currently had you revived into a frankenstein marionette.

You suppose a start could be a proper thank you, but when you attempted to mouth the words the frequency in which the simple “thank you, sir” stitched themselves together didn’t carry harmoniously, more like a broken collage of vocal pitches. Your hand cuts off your lips with a flare of pink to your cheeks, the oncoming cackling from your new boss turns that shade into deep red.

“Hahaha! I was wondering when you were gonna find that part out!” The laughter settles to a halt and he lifts a finger to wipe away a pixelated tear that doesn’t actually budge. “This model is just a beta voice bank and synthesizer, speaking will take some getting used to and once I get enough data from your use of it in the following weeks, I can begin working on improvements. I have a manual in my drawer containing the details for maintenance but for now, I have some people you need to meet.”

You were nodding your head along but you had to admit, you were not following completely. True you were unfamiliar with the recent spike in tech, but you didn’t think you were this poorly informed. You make a mental note of this as something you should start fixing asap if you were going to continue your career this way. Meanwhile, outside your thoughts, your boss is leading you to the front elevator.

Before you could prepare for a silent and awkward ride down, the TV filter breaks it again. “Oh, and can you stop with the whole “sir” talk, it’s a painfully stuffy-outdated form of addressing authority. Just address me as Vox, and everyone will know I’m your boss.” The elevator bell rings signaling the stopping floor. Your vision is brought to what looks like a madhouse production with women bustling in every direction skewing fabric across the space. It didn’t take long to put two and two together that this was some kind of clothing production, but seeing a fashion lineup in what you thought was a tech company put you in uncanny valley.

“No! No! No! Fucking disgraceful- what the hell is this shit Shae? Did you get sick all up on our silk or are you actually using vermillion and oli- VERMILLION AND FUCKING OLIVE SHAE DID YOU LEARN COLOR COORDINATION FROM THE COLOR BLIND?!” Alright that definitely drew your attention. The voice sounded like a female Gordon Ramsay for fashion instead of cooking, so it wasn’t difficult to assume she was the one in charge.

“Velvette! You’re as bitter as ever before.” The woman turns over, you had to admit her namesake fit well with her appearance and instantly the aesthetic made sense. Something about that cute white swirl she has in her hair reminded you of a sweet cheesecake frosting you could've devoured her on sight.

“Vox fuckin’ piss off mind you can’t you see I’m in the middle of somethi- who the fuck is this” Velvette squints in your direction like your appearance sucked away the rest of her eyesight. Seconds go by, and then a few more without a word being exchanged, only the next electrical surge from the nervous gulp of saliva reminding you that things didn’t have to be this way anymore.

You introduce yourself unashamed of the robotic slurred speech pattern and the face she makes could only be described as bewilderment.

“I- what in satan’s name was tha-”

“She’s mute, Velvette. Sweetheart this is the cornerstone of my little “Monarch” project I informed you of, and I actually came here to discuss that with you.”

“Wait a second the star of your new network is a mute bimbo- Vox did your motherboard circuits go fucking smooth?!” Self control was a virtue you’d mastered since life one, through thumb-tacks in your heels to schmoozing slimy pigs with deep pockets, the poker face would remain sewn to your cheeks. But here, you could feel the slightest twitch anytime this woman spoke. You couldn't give a damn how powerful she thought she was, the kinds of implications she was making towards Vox only made you want to shove bars of soap down her throat until it cleans the filth coating her mouth.

There was no fucking way you were ever going to tolerate that cunt.

The frosted blast of studio AC and diamond perfume became your standard morning welcome when clocking into work, upon so being greeted by the models and seamstresses on the floor of your first stop with your typical “good mornings” and “how are yous”. One of the newer interns approaches with multiple cardboard cup holder trays of coffee, and it didn’t take very long to find the cup with your favorite order, even if it weren’t for the bold lettering of your stage name on the outside.

You finish up your typical greetings making your way over to the dressing rooms where the rest of your stagemates are already gathered looking at the schedule. First on the docket was choreography training, no surprise since your instrumentalists were nowhere to be found, and then after lunch iss… oh wonderful! Outfit fitting! Which meant the whole afternoon with just you and Velvette.

This was going to be a perfect day, wasn’t it?

Speak of the devil and she shall not only appar, she’ll kick the front door down like it cheated on anniversary night and throw what was- probably a brand new Goeccia hand purse in the face of whomever was closest.

“EACH ONE OF YOU BETTER BE FUCKING CLOCKED AND AT YOUR POST IN THE NEXT MINUTE OR YOU’RE ALL SEWING THE ANGELIC!!KILLS LINE BY TONIGHT EVEN IF YOUR FUCKING FINGERS ARE WORN TO NUBS ARE WE CLEAR?! Now where the ever loving fuck is- There she is!!”

“Velvette!!”

The two of you run and embrace in the middle of the room like you had just returned from the great war and reuniting with your long lost lover at the end of a shitty romcom. This display, was one that also became a tradition between the two of you at the start of the work day, one you weren’t ignorant to the handful that still felt the need to eyeroll or squint.

Okay so,, your seeded disdain for Velvette was one you admittedly locked away in the vault of embarrassing memories to reap its head around only when trying to get a good night's sleep. You initially had spent the first month or so practicing every torture method known to man on the images your eyes sent you because of how she talked down to Vox like a dog, this was… before you found out she was an overlord too and suddenly the context of the relationship they shared made sense. A bitter part of the pride that landed you where you are today still wanted to leech onto any grain of malice toward her, eventually turning into a humiliating envy and possessiveness over Vox’s attention. In that span of time you made no effort to get to know Velvette or care about her work, even while she was making the outfits you wore on stage for you and she somewhat mutually felt the same about you.

Luckily for the two of you, there was a third much more obnoxious V that was too perfect of low hanging fruit in the art if feminine hazing for you both to latch onto and find common ground on.

“I think this new hair style might be my new favorite! Locs look good on you~” Compared to how you felt the first time speaking with the prototype that sat in your vanity, the newer model of your synthesizer had a way more diverse voice bank and finetuning that made speaking feel and sound much more natural. Even with the mounds of progress from your prototype to present day, it was still obviously unnatural and robotic. These became factors that slowly mattered less as your gratitude increased, and you were content that not everyone was going to see it that way.

“See? I fucking told that nasty bed bug upstairs that I’d eat butterfly locs but what the fuck would he know when I can read my damn future in his forhead,” Velvette went a total of two minutes of the conversation before she pulled her phone out to check her instagram feed, a new accomplishment. You were proud. “Just so you’re aware by the way, Verosika Mayday announced the release date of her Paint it Pink album like 35 minutes ago and people are already bringing your name into it. You got a lot to deliver with this upcoming tour.”

Lucifer bless Velvette for having the brain cells to keep up with surfing the modern social media tides you continuously wipe out on with every attempt. You could stomach social media enough for your job, but Velvette made sure to get you a top notch social media advisor to handle your accounts to make it seem like you were more active than you were. True as it was that your vocal synthesizer brought a new flair to the world of music; especially in the rise of electronica, techno and pop where your new voice couldn’t compare to any other sinner in the genres, this factor has also lead to a cluster headache of… Let’s just say controversy. Old fashioned demons in particular were the bane of everything you deemed holy just because how fucking annoying they were making their periodic hangups your god damn problem.

Before you could properly offer your gratitude your attention is taken by an obnoxious thump and “A-hem!” in the direction of the dressing room. Turning you can see the green lop bunny ears of your costar and you can assume she’s trying to tell you to move your ass. Drama was the last thing you had energy for so you blow a kiss goodbye to Velvette and made two shakes of a lamb's tail into the dressing rooms.

Today you didn’t need to worry about outfit planning, just something comfortable that you don’t mind sweating in for the better part of the day. A simple pair of running shorts, tank top and loafers should work more than fine for today, hopefully as long as Valentino didn’t decide to sit on today’s choreography exercises…

It wasn’t exactly the norm for dance practices for the remaining member of the V trifecta to sit in and give his shit commentary- kind critiques on your movements and appearances. If it were up to you or any of your coworkers, Valentino wouldn’t be anywhere near your production but alas, contractual standards came first. One of the stipulations upon starting your career as Monarch was your introduction to the Vee network and the ongoing partnership the three overlords held to upkeep their power within hell. Long and short, this meant that with each contract the Vees delt the other two business partner would also have to reap some sort of benefit; typically monetary gain.

In your case, Velvette easily got her reward by using your team as breathing mannequins to advertise her fashion line, not to mention she would ultimately be credited in every comment of the flashy costumes you wore at concerts and venues. Valentino’s side had free royalties to your music to play in his clubs and this usually came along with him having a say in the dances that go with the song. Every fucking time it was a Valentino session you all knew you were in for a long day of overtime, muscle pain, and playing sexual harassment bingo.

Two knocks on the door put your thoughts to a screeching halt.

“Monarch dear, are you descent~” Ah, it was your favorite voice in all of hell~ you run to the door with a skip in each step like a puppy listening for dangling keys outside the front door.

“Never~”

“Are you dressed?”

“Yes!”

“There’s the answer we’re looking for,” You welcome him inside with a pleasant “come in” and Vox follows as such. You maintain a safe distance and subtly restrain yourself by clasping your hands behind your back but you weren’t going to deny, days like today the tightrope beneath your feet of professionalism and your heartache was especially loose. You’re certain the love you felt for the man who saved your spirit was last year's news to everyone in the building, actually your “inappropriate devotion” has been the source of countless catfights among your bandmates.

“Monarch love! Horrific morning isn’t it~” You could listen to him talk all day, and when he approaches you and clasps a hand over your cheek leaning into the touch feels like second nature.

“Every day in the studio is a horrific morning, but I know that’s not what you came to talk to lil’ ol me about, isn’t it?”

“Why, you hurt me! Can’t I just start my morning visiting a beautiful painted lady?” You blink in a moment of silence until he finishes. True you loved soaking in his flattery, but not in feigned procrastination. “Valentino and I spoke this morning, or rather he threw a tantrum because I didn’t tell him I put Pomp and Circumstance on your schedule today..”

Aaand there it is, of course you get to not only work with STI Patient-0, but he was already off to a shit mood to start the day. If the scales of fortune decide to tip your way at all during today you hope this tips in your favor, given the… technique you developed to avoid interacting with him as much as possible.

When you lift your head to meet your reflection, you have to tilt your head a bit higher than you remembered last, and your arms were now coiled around his waist. Oh, it seems matter won over mind again. The hand that once danced feathers over your cheek now caress massages in your scalp. Scandalous, sure. But there was nothing wrong with comforting a friend after a rough morning, right?

“Come, everyone else is already in the studio. Sorry I couldn’t start your day with anything pleasant, I hate being the reason you have a frown. So,” Your vision cuts into frames of bright white and a following zap, once, then twice again. In what feels like an instant Vox disappears and reappears within the electricity, but the second time he holds a brown fast food bag and a bright green M.

“OH MY GOD I LOVE MAMMONALDS! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOUUU!!!” Stars of reflected light build in your eyes when you saw the bag. Reading the receipt taped to the front you can already tell the breakfast order is your favorite even down to your specific requests that made the receipt go down past the bag but you knew the employees wouldn’t even dare try and get Vox’s order wrong.

“Take a minute to eat and come to the studio, I didn’t get you a drink because I knew you were going to get coffee so I’ll get you a milkshake after choreography, kay?” You nod your head while already pulling out your side of hashbrowns and chowing down like a hamster nibbling a sunflower seed.

It was a sight so cute Vox wanted nothing but to squeeze you so tight your eyes pop out of your skull.

But there was no time to waste. Vox vanishes with a flicker of the lights and bolts yet again, and you take a couple last chews before you’re sure hes gone.

Standing up you make way to the connected bathroom to your dressing room and open the toilet seat. Immediately you shove two fingers into your throat and probe the back until it triggers your gag reflex enough to regurgitate every last bite you took. The slime of cheap grease and burn of overused salt always made you restrain a gag without fail anytime fast food was given to you, but god Vox just would not stop ordering that shit for you. Perhaps there was a chance you sold your “love” for Mammonalds a little too hard the first handful of times he’d gifted it to you; actually, you probably wouldn’t be in this situation at all if you just refused his offer to hand feed you a fry earlier on in your contract, and by all means you wanted to, but your body’s impulse had won that that day.

Tossing out the remaining food out of the bathroom window to the dumpster in the alley below you and flushing and cleaning any remnants of bile, you give yourself one last tidy up and make way to the next place you’re needed: the dance studio.

By some unholy miracle when you stepped out of the elevator, you weren’t met with condensed red smoke to the ceiling and a moth throwing a drink at your head. Drink or a bullet, whichever he thought would please him more.

“Fucking christ all mighty, the “Princess of the Hour!” finally arrives.” As expected, everyone had already gathered long before you while you were caught up with Velvette and Vox, the first one to greet you being the same moody green bunny from earlier, rolling her eyes and doing little jazz hands mid sentence to hammer in her sarcasm.

“Good morning to you too, Tea!! I’m glad you’re feeling well~” You made a decision to go on the dismissive today, Tea in particular always seemed to be in sour moods when it came to you being as chummy as you were with the Vees for a mere contracted soul. At the end of the day you couldn’t give less a shit about that twats petty jealousy issues if she only had the decency to keep it to damn self instead of making it your problem, and your problem at work nonetheless.

“Oh shut the fuck up Tea we aren’t in the mood for this today,” The lanky azure colored salamander man gently flicked Tea on the back of the head with a roll of the eyes and a vertical reptile blink. Out of all the members of your little group, Sirius was the closest thing you had to a voice of reason and it made him the most tolerable out of the bunch. In the corner too engrossed in their own conversations to even pay mind to any of you were two harpy girls, sisters actually. Black Marlia on the left and White Russian on the right, both of them added a much needed flare to your concerts and were the only two who could go airborne long enough to perform choreography above the stage, you liked to think they were valuable assets even if you could count the amount of times either has spoken to you on one hand.

“I hear we have to deal with Valentino’s bullshit today…” Sirius attempts to continue the conversation as the five of you start properly getting into position for when said moth comes in, it would look as if you’d all been wagging your tails for his arrival this whole time.

“You are the third to remind me of his existence today, if that number goes up I might have to fly away and leave you hanging~”

“Oh and here I thought you’d be ecstatic to be commanded by one of your masters for the better part of today.”

“Not the one who immediately calculated my ass and chest size in his head as an introduction.”

“Was he right though-”

“EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP RIGHT NOW!” And just like that, any hope of this being a well off- or even standard Valentino work day just died on arrival. You all do exactly what he says and don’t utter a peep until he says bark. Throughout the early hours of the rehearsal, it was evident that he wanted to be here the least out of any of you which was something that as much as he made your skin crawl, you had to respect. No one likes work already but you could understand how the brand you had was so softcore in comparison to what he was used to, the whole choreograph just looked like a bunch of pillows flopping around on stage to him.

Your understanding should not be confused with sympathy however, simply put knowing how your bosses think is rule #1 when it comes to maintaining a proper work/life balance, and in this case it would be minimizing the amount of halts and rechoreographing out of nitpicks. So, while your brand was one that strayed away from deviance and sex to keep the illusion of ownership, being a bit more risqué than your typical sets here and there wasn’t a crime and would give Val more to look at even if only teasingly.

“No! No! NO THIS IS ALL FUCKING WRONG!!” Yeah who the fuck were you kidding, if you all weren’t having an orgy this jack off was never going to be pleased.

“Did you all learn how to dance in a fucking church?! Are you all such angel cunt lickers that you can’t handle presenting any TNA is that it?!”

Yeah… This was going to be a long work day…

TAGLIST﹕@hurtworld401 @feral-ratatattat-king

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel smut #vox x reader #vox x you #vox x reader smut #hazbin hotel vees #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino #velvette #vox #the vees #mdni #🍓my one and only!#🕊dead dove do not eat!#next next!

73 notes · View notes