#literally cannot draw shoes or hands for the life of me but i did it anyways and thats all that matters | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

normally-alexis · 3 years

Text

||Choked up

Pairings - Wilbur x Reader

Warnings - Heavily implied NSFW, Gore-related topics, knife kinks, spitting kink, Pain kink.

Summary - Nights before L'manburg was destroyed and Wilbur went insane you meet up with him and stay over.

Word Count: 1927

L'manburg was pretty much peaceful even though Dream and everybody else didn't want it on the server. It wasn't really bothering anybody so far even though some people, it's mainly just a place to get out of the tough rules of the smp.

You hadn't got into much trouble since you were partially on dream smp's side even though you switch sides pretty often. Whichever side would win you would switch to that side because you didn't want to pick sides you'd be a villain in either's eyes.

Hanging out with Tommy was fun even though he was three years younger than you. It wasn't weird since you both had a strong relationship with Wilbur and Philza. Philza was a father figure to all of you even though you weren't in the slightest related.

Growing up with Wilbur and Techno as best friends was pretty amazing, they taught you a few things throughout your teenage years. Philza before adopting Tommy was nicer to the three of you manly you and Techno.

Being the only female was different, you didn't have special perks as a kid, you were treated like a boy just with fewer responsibilities. Thinking back from when you were a kid towards now it was very rare for people to have kids on the smp. People just adopted children when you think about it.

Techno wasn't really in the Dream smp anymore he was with Philza somewhere out there. Tommy and Tubbo were kids and nobody really wanted them to do anything, they were still sorta young so they just joined L'manburg.

Nothing to stress about at the moment, still being one of the youngest adults of the smp gave you very few privileges. You had to take advantage of them while they lasted at the moment. Since it wasn't safe to live in L'manburg or on the Dream smp you had a bunker underground.

Why wasn't it safe? Anybody who picks sides cannot change that side, if you were on L'manburg's side you would be a big target considering you did have a private association with Dream.

You were underground sorting out some armor and some blueprints, you always have to move a lot if anybody ever saw you so why not be prepared? You kept sketching and erasing multiple times until you age up and burnt it.

The smoke was pretty bad to inhale so you move to an area where there wasn't much smoke at. It's pretty much clouding up the bunker and you start coughing, it's not that bad so you grab a potion and throw it on the burning blueprints.

It's not clouded up anymore even though you could have let it burn out. You drop your armor and weapons on the ground because you wouldn't be needing it at the moment. making your way over to your seat you sit down and look at all the notes in your notebook.

Flipping through the pages seeing if you found any notes you probably had written but most likely forgot were noted down. You stop at a page because it wasn't remembered from last time, it's a note from an anonymous person saying to come to the back of L'manburg.

You look back to see if anybody's there even though there's clearly nobody there. It must have been written early when you had left out. You push your chair out and then stand up, You take a moment and hesitate to think if you should do it or not.

It's a win and lose situation but what's life without a few risks? You leave from the seating of the area and walk over towards the ladder. Before climbing up the ladder you turn the lights off not wanting to draw any unwanted attention.

You grab onto the ladder and push yourself up placing your legs on the ladder, you climb up the ladder. Once you reach the top you push the top open and the trap door was forced open, you place one hand on the ground and place another hand on the ground.

You push yourself up and get on the top of the surface part of the ground. You take a small breathe and close the top. You push yourself up from off of the ground, you knew where L'manburg was since it was a pretty often visit.

You move throughout all the leaves and in vines, it's pretty normal to walk through it all. A few thoughts crossed your mind thinking about it, Dream wouldn't try contacting you that way he'd just catch you in the middle of the Dream smp and pull you to the side.

Thinking about meeting in L'manburg it would only be Tommy, Tubbo, Wilbur, Eret, Fundy, or Niki. It's not really Important who invited you but you really did want to know. You walk over to the area of the Dream smp and pass Tommy's house. It's pretty abandoned but you didn't bother starring at it too long.

You walk past it and walk towards the bridge that usually leads to L'manburg, you stop for a moment and hear a singing noise. It's not anywhere in sight per say but it's loud enough to hear. It's within the walls beside you and you put your ear on the wall.

It's more of a humming sound, you remove your ear from the wall and roam your hands along it. You hit a button along the wall not surprised but the wall opens up and the humming is more clear.

You enter inside of the cobblestone room not really expecting anything. The floor made a little sound when you entered inside of the room. You look on the ground and there's a few blood clots on the floor and some guts along with it.

You cover your mouth backing yourself backing into the corner. You sorta had a dislike of blood, not Hemophobia but it wasn't your favorite to be in a room filled with something dead. You look up and see Wilbur finishing cutting something up.

He already heard you since you had entered the room. He turns around and removes his gloves which were stained with blood. It's not a human thankfully but it's a dead animal, still very uncomfortable in this situation.

Wilbur looks up at you not very surprised up at the moment, " What's wrong?" The whole display itself was wrong. You uncover your mouth smelling all the disgusting rotting corpses, "You're killing animals and letting them rot," How is he not disgusted? You roam around the room seeing more dead animals.

Wilbur tries explaining himself while coming towards you, but you get very distracted by all the blood splatter on the ground and much more graphic stuff. You weren't looking at him meaning that he knew your attention wasn't on his apology.

He grabs your hair and tugs on it making you shift your attention at him. Pulling and tugging on your hair really hurt because it's like being forced by Wilbur. As tough as you seemed whenever you had armor on being without armor is a completely different story.

"What's wrong tell me, you had a lot of nerve coming from somebody who would fuck literally anybody attractive enough," It's very weak of you to get degraded by somebody who doesn't even know how to defend himself.

"Or anybody who even found you attractive," You knew your worth but whenever somebody tells you something about criticizing yourself you'd just believe it and fix yourself. Was he right? You can't answer that yourself.

You had gone pretty silent and it causes Wilbur to get more aggressive with you. He knees your in your stomach not damaging your internal organs but it just made you feel weak and you tremble on your knees.

You grip onto your stomach squeezing it together, He's treating you like complete shit. He stops kneeing you and he pinches your cheek practically teasing you. You weren't even supposed to be meeting Wilbur at the moment.

Responding would get you in trouble and not responding would get you in more trouble. He's very agitated at the moment and he grabs the pocket knife from his pocket putting it towards your thigh.

"Can I Carve our Initials on your thigh," He asks you, You weren't too fond of punishment but you did like the attention being craved. You nod your head slightly and he removes his hand from your hair.

He grabs onto your thigh and you fall down stinging your back. He slowly starts carving your initials on your thigh, you don't make the loud noises you want to because he'll just end up cursing you out.

You wanted to curse so badly even though you liked it when he inflicted the pain, But why was it only acceptable when he did it. He was only done carving the 'W' halfway, you flinch and he messes up.

It a swerved 'W' and it looks very crossed out, He's upset with you and gets up from squatting. You try communicating with him, "Wilbur?" He's not necessarily listening to blocking out the thoughts.

He puts his foot in between your legs pushing it further near your shorts, His shoes against your clit. You can't tell what his original thoughts are, before you can even react he kicks you in your side. You fall on your face gripping onto your lower half, it's like a period without the loose blood clots.

He squats down and grabs onto your hair pulling you up making you look up at him, "Such a slut aren't you darling?" He spits on your face and it drips off of your face on the ground, is this really who you were such a despite slut that you would let a man do this to you?

Most definitely, you try smiling at him but it's a half-smile since you were in pain. "You holding up good slut?" He asks while looking you in your eyes, you nod as a response and try getting off of your sides.

You weren't damaged that badly you could always heal from it... He lets go of your hair once you were stable enough to stay on your knees. He takes his belt off and takes his pants down, he places the belt around your neck and ties it.

He takes his boxers off and grabs his dick which was already erected due to sadism. "C'mon slut, suck," He tugs on the end of the belt and you put your mouth on his dick, following rules in such a bad position in your life. Never would you have thought you would be sucking off Wilbur..

You take it slow at first not wanting to rush it since you weren't experienced as much, you mainly focus on the tip of his cock and rub your tongue over and over on his slit. Whenever he feels like he would release something he tugged on the belt making you gag on him.

It was hard to take him and focus on not being choked up by his belt, He's not the strongest of keeping his moans in. He climaxes inside of your mouth and some gets on your cheek, He wipes the semen off of your face.

"Is this okay darling?" he kisses your cheek and helps you clean yourself up, at least he did aftercare..

#wilbur soot smut #dsmp smut #x reader #mcyt x reader smut #mcyt smut #dream smp smut

789 notes · View notes

deluluass · 3 years

Text

Red, like blood. Blue, like love.

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; bullying; soulmates au

Prompt: 88 & 183

There’s someone for everyone, you’d learned growing up.

"Remember, blue means happy," your mother would say. "The happiest you'll ever be.”

She liked reminding you about this fact— for it is an indisputable truth, every so often when she could still carry you. You’d be hugged from the back, as she recounted stories of first meetings, serendipitous and life changing in their nature; belonging to those who’ve lived long before you, sometimes even those who’ve only lived in tales.

Mostly, your mother loved telling those involving the people she knew. And if you’ve behaved properly, she would tell you about hers.

Tracing your palm, starting from the forked lines to the dashed ones on your fingers, she’d say, “These would start to glow like stars.”

“That’s weird!” you’d burst out, shrieking a laughter as she tickled you.

“Listen carefully,” she chastised. “Blue is for your soulmate, okay?”

And you’d repeat: Blue is for my soulmate.

“Then, mama,” you tugged at her sleeves, “What if it’s really, really bright red! Like! Bloody glow sticks! Say, mama, you see, everyone at the park was talking about the man who died because he touched someone and his hand became bright re— ”

You never brought that up again. What your mother said about it had been enough to never make you forget.

“Tell me if you get red,” she said firmly, clutching your arms as if she feared someone would snatch you away from her. “Red is bad, my heart. Red means run.”

It hadn’t nearly been as gruesome as your mother made it out to be.

Case in point, when you turned twelve the couple three houses down your street found out, shortly after their honeymoon, that their palms gleamed a fierce red once they clasped each other’s hands in front of the neighborhood aunties.

Their marriage ended with a swift and ordinary divorce, a year or so later.

Red: Not just an ominous warning for homicide, then. That was a relief, you’d thought.

Contrary to how your mother framed it, you were thankful, actually. It helped some of your friends escape from potentially hellish relationships. How lucky is it that you lived in a reality where the universe seemed exceedingly benevolent. Though, you sometimes have to question if that generosity extended to everyone.

Fat lot of good it did for you.

Because, from where you’re standing, it doesn’t have to take some arbitrary and unsolvable scientific mystery to heed that Oikawa Tooru must be avoided like the plague.

Any person in your shoes would be conditioned to do exactly that.

You’d first met in Elementary. You thought he was the prettiest kid you’d ever seen, with chestnut curls and doe eyes and lashes that swept past his cheeks, and when you’d asked for a hand shake he’d called you “the ugliest girl I’ve ever seen” and “fart face.”

Recess and lunch were when he’s most fearsome. Spiky burdocks slapped on the collar of your dress; dead lizards in your food; the boy was determined. The worst part was that it always happened when no one was looking. And if someone were, it was his best friend. So when you finally told on him to your mom, both your teacher and the principal simply judged Oikawa as the victim of an attention deprived child.

“Please discipline your daughter,” they told her. “We are all aware of your situation at home, but do ensure that she’s not getting out of control.”

You couldn’t even muster up the strength to defend yourself. In that moment all you could do was swear that you’d never allow anyone to talk to your mother in that way again.

You moved out of that school.

You didn’t wait for your palms to flash a warning signal because, somehow, you knew that boys who discover early that they could get away with anything cannot get any better.

There’d been no way to be sure of that until Aoba Johsai— after a peaceful interim of no Oikawa; no red palm lines (and no blue ones, either).

The proof hit you in the face. Literally.

“Oi, Shittykawa!”

Heat permeated from your nostrils as you patted your cheek, detached and staring back at the large gymnasium.

“You hit someone!”

How unlucky did a person have to be to bleed right on the first day of classes?

You tried to lean forward. “It’s okay,” you slurred nasally, pinching your nose and averting your embarrassed gaze from the boy kneeling next to you.

“Trashykawa! You better hurry and apologize!”

“Don’t be mad, Iwa-chan,” that disgustingly saccharine voice came from behind you, making you flinch, as if the years you’d spent apart had done nothing to purge it out of your system.

In all honesty, you hadn’t really cared for whoever was responsible for the ball that careened all the way to where you were standing, so sure that it had to be an accident. No one in their right mind would want to injure someone they barely knew, especially if said someone is a couple of feet away from you.

Morally and athletically, it should’ve been improbable. But then you saw who did it and everything made perfect sense.

Iwa-chan. The boy beside you. Iwaizumi Hajime.

If he’s here, then—

“You,” he whispered.

“Eh?! Gosh, I’m so sorry!” Oikawa Tooru gasped. “You’re bleeding.”

Time is cruel. It wears down on you, tears you and molds you into something you can’t even recognize, if it decides to. (Fate, more so). You didn’t know if you wanted to cry or laugh, looking at him. If the universe were so benevolent, then perhaps Oikawa Tooru had received all of its favor.

He was beautiful. You’d known this before, but with all the baby fat replaced with sharp yet slender angles, figure lean and imposing even when he’d lowered himself to meet your eyes, Oikawa didn’t seem real.

“I did hit someone, didn’t I?” he pouted, wiping the dried blood atop your lip. “And such a pretty girl, too.”

That volleyball existed should’ve made life better for you. It didn’t. If anything, it seemed that out of the court, when he’s not taking names and being praised like a god, you were his little pastime. Something fun to take his mind off whatever it is he thinks about it.

The mocking comments, you could handle; every time you’d recite and he’ll interject with something playful and then the entire class would laugh (because he’s Oikawa) and your professor would reprimand him but you could always tell that they, too, are holding in a giggle.

Those were easy to bear, because although his insults hit way too close to home, it’s just— it’s just so petty.

Really, it’s the aftermath that does the damage.

“They’re like Christmas lights under your skin!”

This topic pops up every month or so. Most people your age can be lucky enough to meet their soulmate this early.

“And it’s the most awesome feeling in the world,” your classmate sighed. “When we touched hands? Man. We just- we glowed.”

Then, the others would poke fun, faking a gagged expression, but they’d always ask afterwards, “What happened next?” And everytime, you’d watch from the sidelines. Like an uninvited audience.

You tried being a part of it once, wanting to share about the time your close friend met her soulmate. But all you’d gotten were side eyes and titters, as if they were laughing about a joke only you didn’t know about.

“They’re so mean to you.”

You groaned.

Oikawa was seated behind you, resting his head against his elbow. Everyone was too busy talking about blue lights and destined souls to notice what’s happening at the back of the room.

He continued, “Not including you in conversations, treating you like an outsider.”

You didn’t bite, focusing on the opened book in front of you.

“Must be lonely, having no one.”

“Oikawa,” you muttered under your breath. “I don’t have the energy for this.”

The silence that came after that was unexpected. You were sure it would be short lived; he’s just gearing up for more. He usually went at it until you’d have no choice but to physically remove yourself from his presence. You’d thought once that that may be why he does this so much. Maybe he still thought you were the “ugliest girl” he’s ever met and he wants you out of his sight. Because Oikawa’s infantile like that.

But the silence stayed, accompanied by the background noise of eager conversations; lingering some more as white, fluffy clouds passed by the glass windows.

When he broke it, all Oikawa said was, “Soulmates, huh.”

You felt a finger touch your back, drawing the barest of lines over your uniform. He removed them just before you could stand up and leave.

You disliked those moments with him.

You disliked him especially when he played.

Oikawa’s a monster, be it in volleyball or with you. There are times, though, that you’d notice some things that you think you’re not meant to see. Like after a serve— its impact booming throughout the court, he’d have this puzzling expression on his face.

It looked like....anger.

He scored a point, right? Everyone’s cheering for him, aren’t they? Wait, didn’t they win?

You thought maybe it’s the adrenaline making him nastier than usual, but sometimes you’d pass by the gym when he happens to be alone. And that anger is still there, punctuated by the sound of the ball exploding against the floor. Jump. Hit. Spike. Jump. Hit. Spike. He’d do it, again and again and again.

As if he’s trying to grasp something even he cannot reach.

Those instances should’ve taught you that the best thing to do is look away.

That’s what you should’ve done. Look away.

They lost the Interhigh tournament.

You knew this not because you’d watched, but because for one day, Oikawa Tooru wasn’t your bully.

The derision was replaced by sulking. He didn’t speak for the entire period. The funniest thing about it was that everyone kept staring at you. Like somehow you’d been the cause of this, when all of them were lamenting the loss just as much as the team itself.

What was supposed to be a reason for celebration suddenly became a crime that you had to explain for.

“Great,” you grumbled to yourself. “One time I don’t have a target on my back, now I’m the bad guy.”

Trash bag in hand, the scraps inside rattled against each other as you stomped to the recycling bin, both sleeves of your P.E jacket folded up to the elbows. You affected a tone, choosing to mock the grating way some of classmates talked:

“Oh, hey, if it’s not too much,” you began. “Can you please be his punching bag again? If you will, can you relieve our superstar’s burdens? By, I don’t know, alluring him into walking all over you? Like the good old days! Please, oh please? We rely on you, oh Great Punching Bag! We Beseech thee, oh Esteemed Doormat! We compel— dude, what the fuck?!”

Crumpled papers and steel and tin cans rolled to the ground. You didn’t pick them up, like you should’ve; you left it there, trash bag lying open, and grabbed the ball that whisked mere inches from your face.

This time you’re not making the same mistake. The asshole is more than capable of suspending what little morals he has, just to hurt someone he barely knew. As well as athletically adept (an understatement, that) at hitting a walking target; or not hitting it, in this case.

You stormed the almost empty gym. Oikawa is a ray of sunshine, greeting you with that smile. It makes you want to punch him.

“What is wrong with you?” you spat.

He chuckled. “Whoops. Sorry!”

“I’m not having this-” you shoved the ball to his stomach. He didn’t even blink. “This isn’t gonna slide anymore, Oikawa.”

Wide grin still in place, he took it from your hands with his much larger ones and said, “Wow, you’re actually mad this time. ”

Then, he added, “I didn’t mean it! Honest!”

Must be nice, you thought with a scowl, to be him. Anyone can be sincere if they look anything like Oikawa.

“Sure. Fine. No, actually,” you glowered. “You know what?”

“Hm?” He tilted his head. Oikawa tilted his pretty little head.

You seethed. “I get it. You lost. That doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. I mean, what did I ever do to you, Oikawa? I have-” you exhaled, surprised by the break in your voice.

“I haven’t done anything to you. We stopped being kids a long time ago. That shit you pull should’ve ended by now. We’ve grown.” You jabbed his chest. “But I see that maybe not all of us have.”

His pleased expression hadn’t dropped. “Ouch,” Oikawa grimaced, glancing amusedly at the place you’d touched. “How mean.”

This isn’t going anywhere.

You don’t know why it took you this long to realize this, as you shifted your gaze away from him, noticing the gashes on the floor that tear the surface like scars that never healed. That must’ve been because of him, with the amount of practice he does.

“It won’t be enough, won’t it, Oikawa?” you whispered. “Not for you.”

The smile that’s been there since you arrived tensed, straining at the corners of his lips.

“Yeah, I’ve been told,” he beamed.

He was bathing in his own sweat, seeping through his shirt and matting his hair to his face, and he looks— Oikawa looked tired. His eyes were sunken in, too. Did he even sleep?

You’re so used to seeing him not a hair out of place, with a sweet scent that you amusedly thought lures his gaggle of admirers into following him everywhere. It takes you aback, honestly. Particularly the wobble in his step as he bent and squeezed his knee with shaky fingers.

You don’t think he’s aware he’s doing it in front of you.

Then, just like that, everything seemed to have added up.

“You’ll never be happy,” you said.

You should’ve stopped there. You should’ve left. Instead, you looked him in those brown eyes, the warm hue becoming a lot colder as he moved closer.

Oikawa sneered. “And what do you know, huh?”

(Go. Leave.)

“Nothing,” you told him. “I don’t- I don’t know. Because, I don’t get it.”

(Shut up. Shut up.)

“Why you try any harder, I don’t know. Win or lose, it’s all the same. You’re still the same. You’re still awful and annoying and- and still you.” You laughed, unsure why you’re running your mouth like this.

“Win or lose. Oikawa is still Oikawa,” you breathed in. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

His teammates must’ve gone somewhere. For lunch, maybe, you thought as you eyed the abandoned bottles and used towels scattered around the court. “Besides,” you huffed, not without a twinge of envy. “They’ll all still love you, either way.”

Everything went still for a while, and you’d just realized what you’d just said.

“What about you?”

You looked back at him.

“What?”

He tipped his chin. You stepped backwards.

He brushed your wrist.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, but he only smiled and wrapped his entire hand around it.

Oikawa had been your first bully. Before you could even comprehend what that meant, Oikawa had been the source of your mother’s worries whenever she parted with you at the school gates. It is funny, thinking about it, for letting this boy affect you despite making an effort to stay away the first time.

But it is only now— now that he has a firm hold on you, gentle yet smothering— that you truly feared Oikawa Tooru.

It rattled your breath, squeezing your heart and refusing air to pass through your lungs, as you felt a shock zap through you. And apparently through him as well.

You broke away from each out with a cry.

Your hand was burning. That’s the only explanation for it. Your hand was burning and any moment now smoke will diffuse from the pores.

You waited. Any moment now. But the more you stared at it the more tiny spots of flames sparked under your skin, bursting along the palm lines— first, the forked ones; then, the dashed lines— glaring back at you, glowing brighter, blotting and spreading until they mapped your palms then your entire hands like constellations.

“Red is bad, my heart,” your mother said. “Red means run.”

“I knew it,” you scoffed, shaking your head.

Well, it’s not as if this is news to you.

“What about that, Oikawa?” You put both your radiating hands in the air. “The universe is telling us, you and I? We just don’t—”

Why are you crying?

Why is Oikawa crying?

“I knew it,” he croaked.

Your mother made the red light sound so horrifying for a reason.

There has to be a reason, too, why the universe is warning you so late into your life. You’d actually ran before. And when you thought it a waste of money, you chose to stay and not fight back; thinking that his punches have become less severe, degraded into verbal taunts that induce social exclusion at most; that, certainly, red doesn’t forbode something as bad as murder, right?

Well, what now? You were wrong, after all. This time you have a feeling that you actually need to hide.

Because Oikawa’s looking at you like you’re the last two people left in this Earth.

Just you and him. Without any need for anybody else.

You didn’t breathe, attempting to bolt despite the overwhelming need to throw up right where you're standing. He stepped closer, faster than you’d liked, and touched your face, caressing your cheek up to your aching temple.

“You should really stop trying to run away,” he said, voice low as if he’s sharing a secret. “I’ll always find you, you know?”

You didn’t have to look to know. Even if you closed your eyes, as well, you know it’s still going to be there; glowing in the darkness behind your eyelids.

“Me and you—” Oikawa sighed.

Listen carefully, your mother said.

“ —we have a connection that no one else will ever understand,” he said.

The light emitting from his hand was so harsh it hurt you, pricking your sight until it drew fat tears, reflecting against your damp face and tinting the fallen streaks with bright—

Blue means happy, she told you. The happiest you’ll ever be.

And you’d repeat: Blue. Blue is for—

“My soulmate," Oikawa said, before locking you in a deep, searing kiss.

The lights didn't die even as he dragged you into the storage room.

"Hey, where'd senpai go?"

The rest of the volleyball team came in droves, occupying the hollow court with their squeaking shoes and questions about Oikawa's whereabouts.

"Must've gone somewhere," you heard a deep voice say.

You could answer that question. All you had to do was scream. They weren't so far from the room that they wouldn't pick it up over the noise of their volleyball practice. Really, if you needed to, you could even outshout their guttural yells of "Nice kill!"

Though, you'd have to remove the underwear lodged in your mouth first.

Yours, in fact; soaked now by your own saliva, drool dripping to your chin as your wrists chafed against the rope that's keeping them tied at your back.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" You felt every sickening movement of Oikawa's lips against your throat. "Feels good when you- ah, fuck- when you give in."

With the cloth muting your shrill bawling, you tried your best to recall how you ended up here: seated on his lap as he sluggishly humped himself against you, his still glowing hands cupping your ass.

The only thing left on your body was your bra, and even that he's already lowered to let your tits spill over the top. Your pants and t-shirt and jacket are lying around somewhere. You couldn't determine where in particular; the only sources of light were behind you.

He was leaving imprints of blue all over your skin; around your waist as he slithered his hands to reach your breasts, scantily brushing over the hardened nipples and making you keel over.

"So sensitive," he tutted, smooching your neck so gently that even the underwear couldn't muffle your loud yelp when he suddenly bit into the flesh. Hard.

You wanted to claw his eyes out and call for help and you wanted badly to scream don't do that Oikawa someone please save me he's gonna kill me he's gonna kill me-

But the gag remained intact and the boys outside continued their game, ignorant that their precious captain is taking everything away from you.

Sharp canines bruised your skin, provoking a fresh batch of tears as he sucked and licked every after cruel bite.

Then, when you thought the worst had passed, he removed his mouth from your neck to spit onto your bare cunt, allowing it to slide from the hair on your mound to the nub sticking out in the middle.

(It is not enough that he is killing you. Oikawa must defile you, too.)

His fingers gripped the insides of your thighs open when you tried to shut them together. "Don't be a brat," he clicked his tongue.

"Be a nice little kitten for me," Oikawa drawled, smearing the slick that's soaking your folds against the spittle coating your clit.

You didn't notice when he'd taken his cock out, you only realize that he's about to enter you when he teased your entrance with it, pushing the tip to nudge the drenched hole, only to pull it back again.

And you didn't dare look. The feel of it almost stretching you out with just the head is already driving you to insipid begging.

"What'd you say, kitten?" he pouted.

Oikawa you've already taken too much is it never going to be enough Oikawa let me go.

"I can't understand you," he chuckled. "Here—"

He pulled the underwear out of your mouth as he thrust all the way inside, your back arching, driving him deeper, as his cock throbbed against your pussy walls.

"Now, what were you saying?"

You swallowed your cries and heaved and swore you were gonna tear his heart out after this.

"Say," he whispered, sniffing your wet panties without breaking his gaze. "If everyone saw us right now, how'd you think they'd react?"

It was so reverent, the way he did it, blue light revealing that he closed his eyes as he took a whiff, as if he hung onto your scent like a lifeline.

But you thought that'd been a calculated move, because as you dumbly stared at him, he immediately gyrated his hips under you, rocking back and forth ever so slowly, and you remembered that you had to keep quiet.

His cock was so big inside you, making you bite your lip as it filled you up, the curved tip hitting a spot that has you squirming in his embrace.

"At this point they'll know how much of a whore you are," he said, tangling his muscled arms around yours and anchoring you to his body. "Made just for me."

"Oika-Oikawa…"

You don't know this person.

"Help..me.."

You don't know who's speaking out and whimpering for Oikawa, on her knees and bouncing up and down on his lap with weak, quivering thighs.

It couldn't be you.

"Help you?" You felt him nuzzle your neck. "I thought you wanted me to stay away, though?"

Someone mewled out a pathetic, "N-no."

"No? Then what d'you want, kitten?"

(Oh. Oh, he feels so fucking good.)

Your belly has never felt this hot before and it's driving you crazy that you're chasing for something you cannot see and it feels so near but there's something, something that's keeping you from it that all you can do is grind your sopping cunt closer to him.

"Wanna- I wanna cum."

Oikawa kissed you on the forehead, and then he said, "Go ahead, then."

He released your arms.

Then, he's scooping cum off your pussy, making sure to drag his fingers under the lips, before circling your large, swelling clit. Then, he's sucking your tits and swirling his tongue around a nipple and you're so so close.

"That's it," Oikawa sighed. "Ride my cock, baby."

His rough palm slapped both your ass cheeks and the cry that erupted from you only made him laugh.

"Make yourself cum on my cock," he grunted, licking his smiling lips as he leaned back against the wall, hand idly rubbing your dripping clit. "You're making a mess, darling. Leaking like that."

You're quivering all over; your cunt is spasming and your legs are complaining beneath you, but you don't stop. You lift your hips and then sink your pussy down, down until you feel his balls touching your sore ass, the sloshing sound growing louder as you move faster.

You don't think about what this'll all mean later, what you're doing giving in to him, when you scream out his name. But as soon as you did, Oikawa's growl had been your only warning.

He grabbed the back of your head and kissed you, plunging his tongue into your throat, his strong arms pressing you so close to him you can no longer tell his skin from yours, his battering heartbeat from yours.

You didn't move—weren't allowed to, when he hammered his cock into you, pounding your cunt and fucking you raw until you're breathless and nothing but a shuddering wreck, splitting at the seams in his hands as you feel thick spurts of hot cum slide out of you.

"My pretty girl," came his hoarse whisper. "My pretty, pretty girl."

The lights have dimmed, when he cradled your shaking form and moved out of you, faint traces left on just the palm lines and fingertips.

They were flooded by the sudden brightness that enveloped the storage room.

"Holy shit."

You pressed your eyes close, your entire body prickling at Oikawa’s touch.

It shouldn't be surprising, at this point, that Oikawa, as quick as he'd stripped you off of everything, has already covered you back in your jacket. The smell of it striking you ruthlessly, that old cologne that you always use to school reminding you of who you were, before all this.

Had it only been a few hours? It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Ah," Oikawa murmured. "They caught us."

"Oikawa,” someone roared. Oikawa held you, hiding your face against his chest. “Why you son of a-"

"C-coach..! Stop- Oi, someone help me hold him- no, coach! "

You heard him chuckle. “Sorry about this, everyone.” He held up his hand and you had to keep yourself from sobbing. “But, look.”

There were several gasps.

(Everybody knows now.)

“You..and her?”

The boy who said that sounded so astonished, clearly overjoyed for some reason, that it revolted you.

“Mhm,” he nodded, a smile in his voice. “Now, can you guys please give us some privacy?”

Feet shuffled out of the room, along with stuttered apologies. They all left.

Except for one.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pouted.

“What did you do, Oikawa?”

A beat. Then, he repeated, “Iwa-chan.”

Please.

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything.

Please help me.

“Sure,” he grunted.

He was gone, too, after that.

You were back in the darkness, with nothing but the faltering red and blue on your hands and his, while he untied your wrists and kneaded the abrasion away, cooing sweet nothings to your ear.

“I hate you,” you rasped.

“Don’t say that.”

“I fucking hate you-”

“Please stop yelling-”

“I won’t ever forgive you, Oikawa!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he cried, shaking his head as he brushed your tear-stained cheeks with both thumbs. You clutched them, wanting him off you, but he only latched himself firmly into you. “We’re meant to be.”

“You’re the only one for me.”

Oikawa brought your numb hand to his face, pressing a kiss to your palm, the red light basking him in its soft glow.

“And I’m the only one for you,” he said, intertwining your fingers together.

The lights flickered in and out, at first, as you stared vacantly into it, the red and blue swallowing each other. Until they finally disappeared, leaving just you and him, curled against each other in the shadows.

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #yandere oikawa #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa x female reader #dark content haikyuu #prompt

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binniedeactivated · 3 years

Text

txt reactions. || 👾👾

as dads... 👨🏻‍🍼

a/n; i’m sorryyy i’ve been in a fluffy mood lately I haven’t posted smut in a while but I promise I will! enjoy this though <3

soobin -

bro, he’s the clueless dad

doesn’t know anything about being a parent. is lazy about preparing to be a dad but he has a few tricks up his sleeve

everything would fluster the hell out of him. when the baby poops, when the baby pees, when they baby pukes, or when the baby cries he’d get surprised about it every single time as if it doesn’t happen

you know those type of dads where everything is literally a learning moment for them? yes, that’s soobin

is a dorky dad

his children will most likely own him, he won’t own his children

type of dad that gets beat up by his toddler kids for absolutely nothing

they walk in and kick him in the shin while he’s cooking

or pull his hair while he’s trying to read to them before bed

feel like his daughter would be the exact replica of him like seriously, would have his his whole entire face and matching dimples

with that being said, is an absolute sucker for his daughter

gives her anything she wants even if she’s a spoiled brat he’s scared to say no

needs his wife to teach him how to put his foot down

i feel like soobin’s son would be wild asf lmao

repeats every inappropriate thing that soobin says

“daddy? what does bullshit mean?”.

will scold his kids if they’re acting too wild but they never listen to him so it doesn’t really matter

again, he needs his wife to help discipline the kids

i know it can be quite common for parents of color (minorities) to hit their children but in my opinion I don’t really think soobin would hit his kids all that much

he would pay a lot of attention to them though and know them like the back of his hand but he can’t really control the shit that goes on in his wild household

his wife will mainly come home every night to a messy kitchen and messy living room with soobin passed out on the couch and the kids curled on top of him snoring

all in all he loves them though, they’re his babies <3

yeonjun --

honestly, yeonjun is a pretty attentive father

i think he would be veryyyyy playful and affectionate

would want to do EVERYTHING with the baby

want to cook, want to clean, want to watch tv, want to talk to him/her and hold them all the time

has separation anxiety when his children are away from him for too long

even if he’s at work he’ll face time his wife often just so he can see the baby

if he takes his kids to the park he’s literally watching their every move

will still hug and kiss them on their cheeks and forehead no matter how old they get

extremely overprotective

no really, don’t touch yeonjun’s babies unless you want to die

protects his daughter from anyone that tries to date her

i think yeonjun’s son would most likely pick up one of his talents and his daughter will pick up the other

his son can sing and his daughter could dance, vice versa

encourages them to follow their dreams

supports anything and EVERYTHING they

definitely documents everything lmao, even if it’s small he’ll record or take a picture

will make a photo album of all of his children’s achievements

is the type of dad that’s always talking about his kids

literally fr--he mentions them in every conversation

he’s just a proud dad alright? don’t judge him

i think yeonjun’s children would be extremely well behaved and well kept

mostly because yeonjun doesn’t play around LMAO

nah fr, he’s a dad that knows how to scold and punish. his kids know better than to cross him

gives his kids anything they want

takes them on vacations allllll the time

universal studios, disney world, legoland, you name it and he already booked the trip

honestly the type of dad that’s always somewhere having fun with his kids and posting photos on social media

is IN LOVE with being a dad

beomgyu --

lmao beomie is the cool dad

literally will talk to his baby like he/she is grown

“i’m tired of this show. you want to watch netflix? big mouth has a new episode”.

“can you stop crying? that’s weird. all you did was pee. you’re acting you’re a baby or something”.

“why don’t you just use words? tell me when you’re hungry. stop acting like you can’t talk”. (his baby is literally 2 months old)

loves sleeping with his babies the most. loves when they cuddle with him in bed and just fall asleep in his arms and on his chest

plays with them all the time, chasing them around the house playing laser tag or ��the floor is lava’ lmao

loves playing video games with them, doesn’t let them win just because they’re young

will literally beat them in every game with no remorse, he just tells them they have to learn how to beat him

when they’re older he’ll literally let them do whatever they want

“dad can I go to a party?”. “sure whatever”.

“dad I’m going to a club with my friends”. “alright. be safe”.

“dad I think I’m pregnant”. “damn how that happen? I hope your baby’s father isn’t ugly tbh”.

is the type of dad that will lie to his wife about their children’s bad grades to save their asses

always sugar coats the parent teacher conferences to his wife, telling her that they’re the star students (even if they’re bad as hell)

laughs when one of his kids curse

teaches them the cheat codes to getting what they want in life

his kids ADORE him lmfao

is the most understanding and caring dad there is

taehyun --

strict dad who is a good listener lmao

i think taehyun would be more prepared when he knows he’s about to be a parent. of course he knows he doesn’t know everything but this man would be so prepared lmao

literally would do research on different things just to try and get a better understanding of how children’s minds work

his kids would be baby geniuses please

his daughter would be playing mozart on the piano at the age of two

his son would be a mathematician at four

LMAO i feel like his kids would be smart and mean ASF

literally the bougie kids at school with the latest clothes and shoes and don’t want to associate with the dumber kids

spoiled ROTTEN by taehyun will literally call him for the smallest inconvenience

“dad can you put more money on my credit card? I’m feeling sad today”

“dad I need a spa day”.

and yes taehyun will do these things for them at the drop of a dime

i feel like he’s the type of dad that knows everything, literally can’t outsmart him

if one of his children lies he already knows that they’re lying and already has evidence to prove it

I don’t think any of his children would ever lie to him though lmao taehyun don’t play that shit

type of dad that will allow his spoiled ass kids to live in his house for as long as they want without requiring them to move out

absolutely weak for them

will set up bank accounts and college funds for them

literally does EVERYTHING for them i cannot stress this ENOUGH

will buy their first apartment if they want it

will buy them their first cars

taehyun’s kids : part time job? what’s that?

type of dad that his kids can talk about anything and everything with and they love him for it

can be a crackhead dad too, will do the craziest shit to make his kids laugh

his kids are his world <3

kai --

lmfao i feel like kai is the fine line between being prepared and not knowing what the fuck to do every second

literally needs his wife because he’ll get anxiety trying to make big decisions for them

i think he would be at his prime parenting during the toddler stage since he has a lot of energy. he would bring his kids to trampoline parks and bounce house places allllll the time

his kids’ fondest childhood memories would be somewhere in a bounce house jumping and having fun with their dad

would also love turning on a soft playlist and have coloring sessions with them

is the type to make his kids dress like him, oversized sweaters, baggy jeans and cute sneakers

would buy his kids matching outfits and toys

also would be big on accessories i think. would love buying them cute backpacks, lunchboxes, and pens and pencils lmao

i think kai’s children would be chaotic as helllllllllllll

extremely hyperactive and don’t know the concept of bedtime

has frequent food fights in the kitchen

whenever they take a bath they get suds all over the floor

they eat and nap in the kitchen cabinets even though kai specifically told them not to do that

kids would be EXTREMELY cute so it would always be hard for kai to scold them

his version of scolding is literally, “hey don’t do that”. will never yell or hit

can never find a babysitter for when him and his wife have date nights because his children are always on a rampage

and when they do have do have date nights his children always find a way to facetime him fifteen hundred times about nothing

i think out of all kids, kai’s kids would be the baddest ones in school just because of the contrast lmfaoo

his son draws curse words on his desk

his daughter gets into fights all the time

parent teacher conferences are the funniest because kai is smiling no matter how bad the teacher says his kids are

literally cannot control them LMAO

but they’re so funny and sweet to him he can’t help but become weak for them

when they’re older though I feel like they’ll mellow out only a little but still kinda rebellious

kai is a positive dad who tries his absolute best lmao but he loves them with all his heart <3

#txt #tomorrow by together #yeonjun #yeonjun fluff #soobin #soobin fluff #beomgyu #beomgyu fluff #taehyun #taehyun fluff #heuning kai #heuning kai fluff

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ignitification · 3 years

Text

Midoriya Izuku - Green for Hope, Red for Burning Passion

I always asked myself why exactly Horikoshi has changed Midoriya's character design so drastically.

Indeed, we go from a character called Yamikumo who looks like a feral child with the bad habit of eating his nails off, and drinks more coffee than humanly possible to an anxious bunny who smiles awkwardly and does not know how to accept compliments.

To me, the difference is absolutely insane. Izuku's hair and eyes are uniform and reflect his character and surname. However, a thing that I find peculiar is how the dark (Black/Green) and the Red theme are a constant throughout particular tellings of his character.

The legendary red shoes are one of Deku's main features. It's part of his character. However, I just got to think why exactly (especially having an idea on why was green used for him) and I think that the answer might be very very banal. However, I do think that this is not the only reason.

First of all, there is the most simple reason which I could think of: Midoriya Izuku is described as plain. In my opinion, plain does not really define Midoriya but the concept of him being bland and capable of melting into background is fundamental to express him in the most little details (however, there are few things which inwardly contradict this description: first and foremost his freckles). But as it might be, and Midoriya is indeed considered not worthy look at for more than once (at least as described in the manga - which is also one of the reason why his design has been changed so much, as Yamikumo had literally zero chance to go unnoticed), it appears clear how this suppression of character, of wanting to relegate Mido to a background role is what instead pushes Izuku forward to make a bold choice of something like wearing red shoes. They are strikingly particular, and noticeable: which means that Midoriya is not happy about being an npc, but instead wants to be noticed and in some way stand out.

The second reason, which I mulled over if was relevant enough is All Might. A recurrent color in all All Might's costumes is Red (and Blue, which kind of reminds of Superman and the American Flag. A fact that I found interesting as well if how AM wears Blue, Yellow and Red while Midoriya wears Green and Red, and of course Blue and Yellow together form Green).

And finally the third and final reason (at least, for now) is that Red, as a colour reminds Deku of Kacchan (even if arguably, we see in the first panel of the manga how Izuku wore already his shoes so this might be false and instead it might refer to the fact that Red is Izuku’s favourite colour only), who we know he associates with victory. As the mental image of Kacchan, who was red eyes, is his substitute for him being able to stand proud, strong and capable to win, Izuku might want to express this strive to be strong.

But what do these two colours mean, stand alone ?

As for Green: this colour, in different cultures, is associated with "Hope" . I think here the main gist and general going is that Midoriya represents Hope for the Heroes, Hope for the Unwanted, the Broken and the Damned (the Villains). I talked about Izuku being a Symbol of the New Society here, but in short, with Izuku Midoriya being fundamentally associated to the colour green, I think Horikoshi wants to express two things: how Izuku never loses hope (to be a hero, to have a quirk, to be a friend to Katsuki who bullied him for years or Shouto who straight up challenged him even before getting to know him, to reach and to save everyone) and how he represents and spreads hope for others (Eri, Kouta, the same Todoroki and Katsuki).

Green indicates life, renewal, harmony and safety. Which, in this sense, points out Izuku's nature as a person and how he is bound to feel restless unless he provides comfort to everyone, and that desire to save desperately anyone who he can reach. Green is a calming and soothing colour. It also stands for prosperity, freshness and progress - which point out not only the conclusion of Deku being N1 Hero, but as well at him 'changing up' the society and becoming the Symbol of Hope and Change (on which I briefly touched upon here).

However, on a negative side it also stands for Greed (wanting to be a hero and follow AM steps even when he had a hard time adapting his body to his new quirk) and Envy (Bakugō first and foremost and the generally heroes and those who has time to wield their power properly). In this negative meaning of the colour, I think Izuku’s selfless nature comes to the surface even more: how he feels bound to feel negative emotions which spur his renewal and development (after all, he did unlock Black Whip after Monoma had insulted Bakugou), but at the same time use this emotion toward a bigger goal (him being mad at Shigaraki, but at the same time wanting to save him - I wrote about this too here).

Green, is, finally, the colour of the Heart chakra: an expression of how Midoriya puts everything before him, because his heart cannot take the selfishness of thinking of himself first, which also come hand in hand with his sacrificing nature and reminds of his name meaning and the association made with the number 9. Indeed, “Opening the Heart chakra allows a person to love more, empathise, and feel compassion” - which in short, stands for an externalisation of Mido’s personality.

On a shorter note, in Japan, the colour green represents youth, eternity, vitality and energy - which, in its own way is both a confirmation and a denial to other references made in Izuku’s character, such as his dangerous nature, him not being concentrated to live on for more than he is allowed to fulfil his duty (him being tied to number 9 and so on), and at the same time it reminds us of OfA, as it gains more power and energy and at his cheery, youthful persona.

As for Red, as the colour of Blood, it also stands to indicate '' Danger, Sacrifice, Courage" (which reconnects to his name's theory and numerology, of which I talked about here, in short).

In addition, red is usually used to professionally gain attention (it's hard to miss something so bright) and convey confidence. We know for a fact that Deku has been wearing red shoes since he was a kid (or at least, since he met Bakugō, which coincides with Izuku being four) and that despite being Quirkless, he always showed courage in standing out to people even when they thought of him as 'inferior' because on his unusual condition.

Among other negative meaning, there is an overflow of temper, anger, agitation, and overbearing, demanding and oppressive behaviours. As clear as day, these characteristics relate more to fiery Katsuki than Deku, but as stated before, Deku puts Katsuki as model and adapts his combat style to resemble Katsuki’s. So, this overflow of energy and action is a double-edged sword which affects both Katsuki and Izuku in different ways (and is mellowed out in Izuku’s character by his other soothing characteristics , but more on that later).

Also, Red, in Asia is a lucky colour which might (or not) hint at how, despite everything Izuku got his 'lucky' chance to inherit AM's power and follow his dream of becoming a hero. Particularly, in Japan this colour is associated and denotes strength, passion, self-sacrifice. A transmission of feeling as complex and empowering as the ones Deku fills while he is living his everyday life as a future hero, summed to his nature and inherited quirk.

Red is also a magical and religious color. It symbolized super-human heroism to the Greeks and is the color of the Christian crucifixion, which might be as meaningless as other things, but in this case it might greatly relate to the type of enormous power Izuku tries to reign in, and to the self sacrificing spirit which he proves again and again.

So far, the meanings of the colours which have been associated with Deku are in line with his name, his personality and even the storyline which has been drawed out.

Among other meanings red represents power, courage, energy, passion, and creates physical effects such as enhanced metabolism, enthusiasm, higher level of energy (which comes back to the initial reasons on why Deku chooses Red as a distinct colour for himself and his shoes).

The color red is linked to the most primitive physical, emotional, and financial needs of survival and self-preservation.

Finally is also the colour of leadership, determination and courage. So in short, the colours red, where it indicates energy, action and strong emotion-filled desires and aspirations, is also weak to overbearing aspects which transform empowerment into negative traits (which is what, in the end, is represented by Bakugou). It is also strong-willed and can give confidence to those who are shy or lacking in will power (the shoes in Deku’s case).

Red is the colour of the First (or Spine) Chakra and usually allows a person to be grounded and connect to universal energies, while Green is the link between spiritual and material.

What do these two colours mean in association with each other?

Onto how these two colours are related to each other, especially considering the premises made, we see that Red (life-giving properties, trust, belonging and violence) and Green (health, eternity, youth and greed) are not only opposites, but they complete and balance each other out. Indeed, to reign over emotions and actions, to red is usually added green which indeed is a pain-relieving patch for red’s intensity (the theory of Bakugou and Deku being two sides of the same coin are thriving).

Midoriya Izuku is an intense person. His personality allows him to balance out his power with a selfless nature, and while he himself is sweet and caring, his fiery eyes (and shoes) express for him his utmost sincere feelings, which deep down are very telling. As mentioned before, Izuku responds to Monoma when he insults Bakugou and makes a jab at how actually Bakugou is the one who ultimately terminated AM, by unlocking a new dangerous and powerful quirk, which is so powerful and fiery, and red in his intensity, that they need Shinsou’s intervention to actually calm him down.

Izuku is a overly protective person: he has forgiveness as a foremost characteristic and even if he does mention how he will not forgive Shigaraki for what he has done, on second though he realises that even a ‘monster’ like Shigaraki deserves to be saved, and therefore his other nature takes over.

Therefore, the coexistence of these factors, and his personality are probably at the origin of why Midoriya has had such a drastic make-over before becoming Midoriya Izuku, and why the colours of Red and Green are fundamental in the description which lets us have a full picture of Midoriya as an individual: something who is full of hope and energy, striving to express whisk power and passion while trying to concern only himself with the danger that comes with his mission to save everyone.

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ringmyheart · 3 years

Note

Can I request Vin Jin boyfriend headcanons and some fluff? (You don't have to force yourself)

(This and the other vin jin rq were merged!)

Honestly the way I see it, it doesn’t matter if you’re a very calm person or outgoing person. No matter what this relationship is gonna end up being considerably chaotic

He ropes you into everything he does. Doesn’t matter if u r a design student or an architecture student or if ur on the opposite side of the school from him, u r practically in his class. Dating him is like signing a contract sealing away ur own life bc he makes it a point to be ALWAYS w u

In class he doesn’t gaf if the teacher has ur seat on the other end of class, he is somehow finding a way to sit next to u against ur will or not. And when the teacher moves u two away from eachother INTENTIONALLY bc of this, he is threatening whoever happened to sit next to u to trade seats w him. He will go as far as to dress up as them to make it look like they’re them to be next to u and he’s so dramatic ab it.... being away from u felt like u were star crossed lovers whom the world was fiercely against

And if UR against this cuz ur tired of getting in trouble in class, or if you reject any of his advances, he’s gonna be really, really, really offended. He will at first sputter and be kinda shy and embarrassed about it, before he goes “fine! Have fun on your own without me, the greatest thing in your fucking life!”

He move seats back and will glare at you periodically every five minutes to pavlov dog you so that every five minutes every day, even when he’s not there, you feel the burning stare of vin jin

If you’re his s/o, he’ll buy you a matching pair of sunglasses so ur the freshest looking couple around Seoul (they’re hideous and thick but he thinks u look fly)

The glasses don’t have nearly as many layers as his does for himself so u can see, and u wonder how he managed to make them just as bulky and if he did it on purpose to sabotage u. Like “did u make my glasses purposefully ugly so no one else will want me?”

U have to dodge a punch after saying anything like that ab his fashion decisions LMAOAO

He’s rlly proud of u two matching. With the glasses and anything in general. He’ll make you wear a jacket matching his, or the same shoes and he will stop people in the hall and be like “wait. Notice anything cool ab us today?? Cooler than normal??”

And when they don’t respond he boasts “that’s right!! Me and my other half r matching. Look at us and weep, losers.” He thinks u two look so good....... if ur enthusiastic ab wearing matching things too he is elated u have to pray that tomorrow he won’t show up w another “if lost return to Vin Jin” “I’m Vin Jin” pair of jackets or anything of the like bc it happens SO OFTEN

And on the topic of sharing when it’s cold he likes to share jackets and blankets w u. Ur desks r moved by eachother by vin jin himself and u two share one blanket over u and shiver bc he just likes it, sharing w u plus he’s slightly warmer. And yes if you guys had indivizual blankets you would be warmer, but u guys have to struggle together he doesn’t care what anyone says (yes even ur protests ur sharing that one blanket wether he has to wrap it around u himself and tear up the one u brought on ur own or what”

He is so blind in love that he cannot tell when u guys suck at stuff. Like if ur in the wrong he doesnt care ur RIGHT and he’s taking that to the grave. He can belittle u and call u out but if someone else says ur in the wrong it’s on sight

Will die protecting ur name even when ur the one who was genuinely wrong

He forces u to make a beat for him to rap to. He loves rapping and wants to enjoy it w u, so ur forcefed YouTube videos of how to beatbox so u can be his bgm and eventually u probably just start to enjoy it to

And u always start a beat and he starts busting out rhymes and it’s SO BAD. It doesn’t matter if ur good at beatboxing if vin Jin is on the track w u it’s gonna sound terrible he brings the quality down immensely but u two just cannot tell

Like after a two session ur like “omg... that was so good. We should go pro?” “Fuck yea we should we’re better than those posers” “we could rlly make it in the industry fr” no u absolutely could not

During the school festival, u sang with him and it was SO bad. Half the crowd is gonna have 2 be hospitalized but u two had FUN up on the stage

Like I said, he has absolute faith in u. All u do is right. If ur driving a car for the first time, he is going to be ur little hype man doesn’t matter if u suck. U hit a curb and he went “YES babe!! Ur killing it cant wait till u hit the road bby” Ur not allowed to touch a car for the next two years now bc he kept cheering u on when u we’re doing CLEARLY wrong things

On a plane u r looking for the bathroom like pensively and u see a handle and look back and r like “is this it???” And vin jin thinking u r all righteous will go “yea babe go for it” and u open it and u depressurizate the cabin immediately

Now both on like 5 no fly lists

He loves to do things with u, like I mentioned earlier, and things he wouldn’t do alone he’ll do w u. Like drawing alone?? Boring. Drawing w Y/N??!!! Who knows what could happen..... so much fun could ensue. Maybe he will draw u cutely. Maybe he will draw u so ugly u will be forced to engage in a fight.

He likes to play just dance w u and compete for the “greats/all star!” Little titles above, and it becomes like a Friday night ritual for u two to turn just dance on and just go at it. But sometimes he’ll get too intense and suddenly he’s actually fighting for the chance to beat u. Will trip u so u lose on purpose

He makes u listen to him sing and rap to u. And u try to leave and he hugs tightly and is like LISTEN IFS FOR U, DONT BE UNGRATEFUL and now u have to listen

He makes u a mixtape of songs he made himself and they are all considerably worse than “remember the times we had”. It’s uploaded on SoundCloud and all the comments r hate and u listen to it a lot bc u know he loves u sm he made u a mixtape ya ur gonna play that but everyone else hates it w a passion

Like the comments r like:

Daniel: well.... it’s definitely a song 😅 I’m glad you love (y/n) so much!

Duke: he’s not making it out the hood 😐

Zach: never let this man in a studio AGAIN

Mary: this should’ve stayed in the CD

(Y/N): love it! 😍

Zoe: kill your producer 💀

Mira: ...

He’s overprotective too

If someone looks at u for more than a second he’ll go “what?? U think she is hot, huh? I’ll kick ur ass fucking perv.... cmon babe let’s go”

Will throw his arm around u and streer u the opposite way of any potentially good looking ppl to keep ur eyes on him

Oh Daniel is coming?? What a coincidence u and vin Jin suddenly have to turn the corner to the other way of ur classroom for some reason

Eli is near?!!! Oh no u just got milk spilt in ur eye!! Oh no now he has to wipe ur eyes and u two have to leave the cafeteria whatever will he do

It’s not that he doesn’t have faith in u, he doesn’t have faith in other men. Like he thinks they r all competition, and doesn’t doubt ur loyalty rather doubts how good he can b for u

WILL beat someone up for u. If someone smokes while ur around suddenly his fists r swinging at them cuz even if u smoke or vape urself no one else can get that stuff in ur lungs but YOU or HIM!!

If ur crossing the street and a car almost hits u, it’s the cars fault and he’s kicking the license plate and cursing it out for almost touching u “stupid fucking piece of metal”

Is the type of boyfriend to call u when he knows ur in an Uber and be like “babe u got ur gun w u right?? Oh don’t forget ur BOMB and ur MACHETE!! Yeah just left the house I killed some ppl nbd haha anyways HRU what’s ur Uber driver like” so the driver of ur car won’t even think ab kidnapping u. He has got ur back even when u do not want it

He doesn’t want u to see his eyes, so he’ll tell you to look away so he can take his glasses off and look at u in full color in all ur glory but he never tells u WHY he’s telling u to look away u think it’s a weird thing of his, or he’s insecure ab his face which is partially true but really he’s taking his glasses off and just looking at u. Adoringly.....

He hates PDA. He loves PDA. Do u see his dilemma

Like he loves PDA but doesn’t want anyone seeing him vulnerable even u.... so he’ll hold ur hand and be like “EWWW WHAT R U DOING GET YR HAND OFF MINE”

If u take the lead THATS best bc he can blame it on u and it’s ur fault he HAS to lock fingers w u cuz u did it to him first and he has an excuse to touch u and v like u started this im just sending u ur own energy back 😤

The type to be just like blind, overwhelmed in love. Always thinks ab u, always wants to be w u, worries ab u a lot and frets over u without showing it.... he hates it and loves it to death. Despises it but wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world

Eats lunch w u in the cafeteria and if u sit w someone else u r the ultimate traitor and he will trash talk u to hide his hurt to Mary the entire lunchtime. Kinda possessive.... wants u to also only think about him

WOULDNT EVER fight u for real. Play fights occur VERY often, like pillow fights, tripping ur foot when u say a joke insulting him, grabbing ur collar but he would sooner die than lay a finger on u

Verbal fights happen a lot and if he ever like LOSES it he may lash out and almost hit u and follow thru. I don’t think he’d be able to catch himself that quickly, and if he ever did he’d regret it for the rest of his life. Literally until the day dies he will take it to his grave

He may not sputter out apologieswill just look at u incredulously and then at his hands because what had he done? What did he just do? To you???????? (Y/n))))?????? His (y/n)??? Light of his life?

Will apologize probably over text or through a note or call, and if u don’t respond he is consumed by regret and tries to find u instantly like runs back to ur place

If u forgive him he feels bad still, because does he deserve it? And he might just isolate himself for a bit bc he can’t face u and if it left a scar he is dead inside. It kills him, literally

I could go on w this but I’ll probably save it for another separate pair of hcs later 😭

If u guys ever break up he will fight for u again and won’t stop till ur back together like flowers in ur locker every day, chocolate give during lunch, etc. He wont ever give up hope that he can win u over again and be w u again. He would keep trying, when he wakes up his first thought is ur name in a cold panic bc he can’t rest easy till ur his again and he will try and show off and poorly serenade u and trash his price and be corny and cheesy to get u back

Will set up a performance w the school to let him rap w a mic during lunch for u and he’s saying bars like “(read in bad rapping voice w inconsistent beat) (y/n), love of my life, uh, without you I’d die, uh. Please won’t you take me back? Yuh, without you ima have a heart attack. (Wha!). (Y/n), love of my life, yeah, without you I’m in strife, yup! Please be mine again, (babe), I can never rest till then.”

If the embarrassment doesn’t make u take him back so he’ll pls stop, and when he stands up on the lunch tables to do a little performance doesn’t do it either, then the odd sincerity of his voice and pain in his look (even tho while rapping he sticks out his lower lip in a weird pout) definitely, hopefully will

U make everything worth it !! Truly the light of his life

I hope these were what u wanted, I just had fun w them and wrote stuff that came off the top of my head when I thought of VJ!! ❤️

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transguyedgeworth · 3 years

Note

HALLO i hope all has gone well with bugs and such ur probably dealing w that as i type this but i have more headcanons >:) so! i hope these are helping deal with evil evil bugs

-maya still has a bunch of mias clothes she gave some to lana and some to pearl but sometimes she’ll wear a sweater or something that was mias

-phoenix doesn’t really like hospitals

- reminds him too much of bttt and falling

- yes i think capcom should have realized that falling off a damn bridge should give a man a good bit of upset and trauma capcom i am outside your door

- miles bottles up his feelings A LOT because there wasn’t any place for feelings in the von karma house. he’s trying to get better though

- he mostly bottles up his anger because he sees mvk in himself whenever he gets angry because mvk would be angry a lot

- fran also does the same but with any happiness or personal pride she may feel

- they both try to work on it, maya and phoenix are good influences on them

- miles has visited mvk in jail once. he won’t again

- franziska will never visit him

-miles likes to knit

-maya is sooo superstitious not like ohh if i break a mirror i’m dead but like Bigfoot Is Real and I Saw Him At Gourd Lake

-edgeworth and phoenix go often to a little coffee shop and always get a pot of tea

-sometimes phoenix brings flowers

-LMAO edgeworth asks what they are sometimes and unless they’re the two types of flowers phoenix knows he has No Idea

- the bathroom at wright and co is haunted

- maya attracts ghosts like nobodies business

-fran is afraid of spiders and maya is Violent towards spiders

- fran will shriek from the other room and maya will run in flip flop in hand, take one look around the room, and chuck her shoe at the spider. she never misses.

-maya LOVES that bakery they investigated in that one case i cannot remember the name of the one with the like. french dude? and tigre?

-pearls and maya make a scrap book for wright and co

-phoenix still draws (he was an art student and i am projecting onto him) sometimes but always drags edgeworth to art museums and talks about the art

-building on game night with the wrights they also have video game nights. phoenix is so bad and maya is still competitive but fran and edgeworth when paired against each other are Scary

-fran also sometimes lets her little brother win and gets dramatic about losing but it makes her happy to see edgeworth excited

- edgeworth has a journal bc someone once suggested it and he writes in it so often

- he also carries a certain picture of him larry and phoenix when they were kids and his signal samurai keychain in his inner pocket and fiddles with the keychain

-maya loves decorating the office for holidays

-the only thing phoenix can make well is soup and hot chocolate and he makes them at least twice a month when it’s cold

-edgeworth won’t admit it but he’d rather eat phoenixs almost burnt soup and melted bar hot chocolate than the stuff from the fanciest restaurants

- when edgeworth and phoenix propose they both propose at the same time and it’s so awkward but so so funny they both say yes of course but phoenix will tell that story to anyone who listens

ok that’s all for now! idk if i have any more (that’s a lie i have so many thoughts about them but idk how many of them are coherent) anyway i wish you best of luck with all the hubbub!!!

everything is going well thank you for the concern!! housing sent someone out to fix up the hole in my wall that they were coming through and the pest control guy just left and is now treating the outside of the building. these are absolutely helping me deal with the stress so thank you for sending them in!

starting strong with the clothing thing, i love love LOVE your interpretation of the fey clan so much. it is canon in my brain now. capcom wishes they could think of this shit. also giving some to lana? precious, sentimental, amazing. lanamia nation rise up. thank you for my life. the detail about maya believing in cryptids and the bathroom being haunted? accurate and hilarious. and yes big agree that she still likes tres bien (i’m pretty sure that’s the name), she worked there briefly so of course she’d have a soft spot for it. i literally adore the idea of maya being hella Into Stuff, like cryptids and holiday decorations and winning at game night, and the scrapbook idea slayed me on sight. i am in tears.

LITERALLY WHY DOES CAPCOM IGNORE THAT PHOENIX HAS BEEN THROUGH SOME SHIT??? like what the hell. man almost died and then like two days later he’s like “lol i’m Completely Fine :)”. unrealistic. capcom let him be Affected by experiences please.

kinda building off of that, AGAIN WITH THE WRIGHTWORTH STUFF MAKING ME TENDER??? i love them goin on little dates and being domestic... art museums and coffee shops and phoenix being Dumb about flower breeds and miles loving his cooking.... i am Soft i am Yearning. AND THE PROPOSAL THING!!!!! I HAD THIS SAME FUCKING IDEA GET OUT OF MY BRAIN!!!!! IT’S JUST SUCH A THEM THING TO DO...

and oooh edgeworth. good for you king, journaling and knitting and stimming and learning healthy ways to cope with your emotions. also the anger thing i totally get. like not to Overshare or anything but i used to have a lot of issues expressing my anger because when i did it reminded me too much of my dad so i feel that.

the vk sibling stuff also spot-on tbh. good that they didn’t visit manfred except for miles’ one time. fuck that guy. let him rot. they are Learning and Growing together.... fran letting miles win at a game also perfect. she cares about her little brother even if she has trouble showing it sometimes. also love that her one weakness is spiders. that seems very fitting to me and i LOVE the image of maya just. chuckin a shoe across the room to defend her Wife from the eight-legged terror.

also you are free to send me incoherent thoughts if you want that’s the form most of my thoughts take anyway fjnfjsf i’d still love to hear them if you’re willing to share!

#i promise i will share some of my own headcanons at some point #i just. have like a whole lit project/paper to finish and i have finals next week so OOF #in the meantime thank you headcanon anon for my life #maya fey #mia fey #pearl fey #lana skye #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #manfred von karma #franziska von karma #larry butz #lanamia #von karma siblings #wrightworth #franmaya #t&t spoilers #miles answers #headcanon anon

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emotionalsupportaudino · 2 years

Text

Why I didn't want to go in my field after graduating with honors.

Sometimes ur in the shower and you just relive the most frustrating two months of your life. And you gotta put it somewhere, so on Tumblr it goes.

So to start, I was at the top of my class before transferring to my four year college. I was a fine art major and I had gotten fairly decent at watercolor, acrylic, and sculpting. My favorite medium was conte crayon. I loved creating miniature sets. I had a 4.0. I was not a slouch, I was not lazy, I was the kind of person who worked until I fell asleep at my desk. I worked my ass off to make everything from baby shoe wire sculptures to four foot tall wearable Big Bird Heads out of chicken wire, paper mache, and feather boas. I liked to innovate and go above and beyond.

I wanted to be an animator more than anything. And then I got into my four year school. My first ever class was 2D Character and Environment design.

Week 1: The first assignment.

It was literally my first class. Fridays 8-4. I was so excited. I had burned through as much character design knowledge as I could, and I wanted to get learning. I cannot describe the excitement I had as I sat in the front row of the class, notebook, sketchbook and pencil ready (it was a digital class and I had not yet gotten the chance to rent a tablet pen for the class). My professor opens up with a four hour introduction.

I should've known it was bad at that very moment.

She asks us our favorite games. I answer that I'm a big fan of We Know the Devil, Hatoful Boyfriend, and Persona 3. I am very aware this is a strange combination. I mentioned I loved the themes of WKtD because I felt it was a beautiful queer story about rebellion and rejecting societal norms and it was very important to me as a queer person. I was ready to be laughed at about how much I genuinely love Hatoful Boyfriend. What I was not prepared for was that my professor would tell me she knew the artist of We Know the Devil and that she hated the game. Whatever. Hurtful after I explained how important it was to me but whatever. She also goes on to say that she thinks people who play games about teenagers are immature. Like. Bitch wtf. But whatever.

That takes up about two hours. She spends the next two talking about her own work and giving the very basics of silhouette information, and then handing out a rubric for the first assignment. It is due the next week. Designing silhouettes of a fairy tale, at least four characters, with at least 5 pages of sketches. We cannot draw these, we have to use a weird vector program to make blobs that we then shape. The point of the assignment is to create recognizable character types. She goes over 4/5 rubric categories, but not the fourth. I, being me, ask her what the fifth one is. She says she will not be grading on it.

This is important.

This assignment isn't so bad on its own because none of my other classes have assigned homework, but I am working 3 different jobs for more than 20 hours of work per week to pay tuition. I recognize this is going to take up my weekend. My friends from community college invite me to a Metal Music Festival for free since they have extra tickets. I cannot attend. It sucks.

But Friday rolls around, and I'm very proud. I've done 5 silhouettes for the fairy tale Brother and Sister. It's not like PROFESSIONAL but I think for a first ever class in character design it's solid! I showed classmates, upperclassmen, and other professors and they thought it was at least B work if not A.

She grades me for a C. Now, most of the rubric I have done very well on! She thought I needed more sketches, but whatever. It's clean, the instructions were followed, the characters are recognizable as what they should be It's the 5th category where I received a 1 out of 4. The category she did not explain. I ask her "what the fuck." She tells me that two of my characters are "too textbook." The point of the assignment was to MAKE THEM RECOGNIZABLE. But they are too recognizable. I'm frustrated but move on.

Week 2-3: The Panic Trigger

That day (before we get the grades which are entered later in the week), I tell her that I have fairly severe PTSD from religious trauma. This is not your basic religious trauma. But if we're going to talk religion in class ever to please just let me know. This is the second ever class and she says she absolutely will. She also says she does not expect to ever talk religion and it had never come up before.

I walk into class the next Friday and she begins talking about our assignment (there will be more information on that later). She begins to talk about setting. We are working on a historical piece. She then goes on for what seems like an eternity about religion, the afterlife, religious hierarchy, religious buildings and practices. I feel tears come to my eyes and my face go red. After the lecture I go to the bathroom, hyperventilate, and cry for half an hour. I visit the accommodations office immediately afterward. This is the first time I have ever needed accommodations.

Weeks 2, 3, 4, 5: The Project from Hell

Second week of class, we are introduced to our first "real" project. We are supposed to research a specific time period and place and create a story based on the era with historically accurate characterizations, costumes, settings. We have until September 30th. This is my birthday.

We are expected to do:

-2 fully designed character sheets and turnarounds.

-Three period accurate costumes for each.

-Shape breakdowns for each character.

-A pose sheet of at least 5 poses each using shape breakdowns.

-Two full expressions sheets of at least 5 finished expressions.

-30 interior/exterior environment sketches

-2 fully rendered interior environments (one for each character)

-1 fully rendered exterior environment

-Multiple sketches and ideas for each character.

And we have four weeks to do this in. We have to have first drafts of characters turned in by week 3. This gives us exactly one week to research. This week we also have due for our other classes: one 5-minute color animation and 1 completed text-based adventure game

I have 20 hours of work every week. I buckle down. I want to originally base the designs off of historical Korea. But I learn VERY quickly that that is going to take at the very least WEEKS of research to accurately and respectfully depict the culture. I'm not going to be a weeb and do Japan. I decide to fall back on a period I am very comfortable with due to doing a lot of research on it because I really liked Baccano!--prohibition era Chicago. The story I am writing about is a married couple who are cursed to be apart. In the 1930s in Chicago. I have a week to research this and give character designs in.

I turn in a stout, pale, round man living in poverty, who is the personification of the moon. I turn in a wild red haired socialite, who is the personification of the moon. The story is that they cannot be together, or the world will fall into turmoil, which is why I felt prohibition era Chicago was a good choice, the world was FALLING APART lmao.

My professor proceeds to imply that I am racist because both the characters are white (I did not feel comfortable depicting a person of color's life in 1930s America with just a week of research, so like, wtf). She tells me that she would give the characters a C because, and I am not joking, "you don't have linework." Linework has NEVER been mentioned before.

The following weeks do not get better. She cannot find one nice thing to say about me or my work. She catches me listening to Love Live! music, and decides to insult Love Live!. She catches me doing warmup work (at the time I liked the style of paper cutout work, where I'd paint an area and then "cut out" a piece of it to create the character). She asked what I was doing and I explained "Oh I'm working with shapes, my professors at my old school said it was really one of my strengths!" And she responds "well it doesn't look like it." I am crushed and again spend some time crying in the bathroom.

During this project she reminds us that if we're not pulling all-nighters to finish her projects, we're doing it wrong. IF ANY PROFESSOR EVER TELLS YOU THIS THEY'RE FUCKING WRONG AND YOU NEED TO DROP THE CLASS IMMEDIATELY.

The weeks go by and finally we turn in the project. I am up until 5AM on the 29th finishing it and plugging it into a powerpoint. My laptop bit the bucket the fourth week of school and I'm fucking exhausted.

Week 6: Pay for a Zoo Ticket or Fail aka: my greatest creation: the Craig

The next day she has NOTHING nice to say about my work. I don't remember most of that class, I just remember crying and going "oh thank god, at least next week is fall break and we don't have class." I am working over fall break to make a couple extra bucks, as an art education conference is being held at our school. This week she tells us, "the next project requires you to go to the zoo and present a ticket stub or you will lose 20% of your grade. You can't watch videos of animals online, or livestreams. You have to physically go to the zoo."

After paying my tuition I have very little money left. I explain I don't have the $30 to go to the zoo, plus the fare to get there since it's at least 3 transfers, or an uber.

She tells me I will lose 20% of my grade and likely fail. She says my previous project will not get higher than a B, and so I will have a C average and with a failing grade for project 3, I will likely fail the class.

Here is the project:

-At least 8 pages of animal sketches from live animals.

-A turnaround of a chimera made of at least 3 animals.

-An image of the characters' environment and their young.

-A sketch of how the animal eats.

It is due the week after fall break, which I am working all of lmao.

I seek help from another professor for not only myself, but the rest of my class, who is spiraling into depression. He explains that the year prior the professor only gave about half the work and she thought the students did too well so she increased the workload and was harsher on crits. He saw no issue with it. My classmates are suicidal. I beg for help. I explain the financial situation I'm in. I tell him about the PTSD trigger. He does nothing. I am marked as a trouble maker. He does not like me for the rest of my 3 years in the program.

My friend and I split the cost of the uber and find a way to make it to the zoo. We spend the day sketching. I come home and make probably the only thing I like that I did that entire semester: a squirrel/crane/white tail deer hybrid animal. It is named the Craig, after the lab assistant of the guy who discovered it. The Craig is a notorious pest.

The night before the project is due, the professor emails us that she forgot to add a piece of the project:

-Draw how your character interacts with humans.

I am very lucky. The environment piece serves as both where they live and how they interact with humans. I consider doing another but we don't get out of class on Thursday until like 9PM and I am fucking exhausted.

I turn in the project and we have to present. Every person who has presented so far has gotten very similar characters: Why was it named this, what region is it from, how does it raise its young, what does it primarily eat? All of these questions I have come prepared for! I get up to present.

She asks me what the Scientific/Latin name of the Craig is. NEVER did she tell us we'd have to have a Latin name. No one else had a Latin name. No one else was asked a Latin name. She took points off for my not knowing Latin on the spot.

Week 7: I Have a Breakdown at Work

The next project is a group project where we have to design a mockup for a game. I am exhausted. She pairs me with two seniors taking the class for an elective (I am a sophomore). I am the only person she does this with. We are assigned a steampunk match 3 game to make a mockup for. I do sketches and the seniors really like them!

I go to a tutor for the first time this week who looks at all my work and my professor's critique and tells me, fairly plainly, that the crit is bullshit. I'm doing well, I have a decent style that is just something that needs to be developed and that she doesn't understand why the professor is being so harsh. She has no tips to give me, she says my work is as good or better than the work her classmates did at that stage and they were getting As.

I go to work in the admissions office. We do not have a tour. I have a full on breakdown in the office. Sobbing. A first year, foundation professor sits down with me and talks to me about what's going on. I tell her everything. She sits me down and we talk about options. I explain how much I learned I don't fit in with my classmates, how belittled I feel.

She helps me withdraw from the class so I can take it next semester.

This professor had never met me in my entire life. She was 150% kinder to me than any of the professors I actually had in my major.

Epilogue: Turns My Professors are Friends

This is not as bad as it sounds. I wind up having a conversation with my history professor for my major's history class. She and the Character Design professor have been friends a long time. I explain what happened in the class and why I dropped it in a personal conversation, and she sighs.

She explains to me that the Character Design professor is jealous of any skill. As a grad from the Art Institute, she feels we have a leg up on her. History Professor thinks part of it is that she doesn't want as much competition from women in the field.

"But she's our professor!" I am baffled. "At a traditionally women's school!"

"Yeah, but you'll be her competition if you graduate."

I retook the class with a professor I started off on a bad foot on. I wound up with a B in the class. I then had him again for a couple of game design classes. I scored the best grade in the class in the final class I took with him. He also helped me in my professional development class, and boy did that man have the spirit when it came to queer rep, he was trying lmao. He became my mentor for my thesis project. He now makes a pretty successful AR comic series.

I loved working with him and I loved doing the work, but I still had severe anxiety from the first class. I did my internship as an educator for libraries and loved it. I am considering a masters in Library Science. I work sales during the day right now, and goof off at night with fun art and writing.

As for the first 2D design professor. She quit without notice after getting hired to work on a project in Slovakia. My school was left scrambling to find a Character/Environment design professor and finally landed on the guy I mentioned above. The project wound up getting cancelled but she was blacklisted and never hired back at my school. She has not gotten work in the field since. I think she does one of those ESL online programs now.

Anyway, yeah, this class completely ruined my major for me! It fucking sucked! I don't want to work in a field like that!

TL;DR: Art school sucks.

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ofmanytxngues · 2 years

Text

They broke her skin with knives and whips and then peeled away the flesh deemed unclean. Like breaking the Earth’s crust to get to what laid within. They believed themselves in the right to flay alive a teenager and pour literal salt into her wounds. As if the water from their small coastal town was any cleaner than the people that lived there.

She loves people but she hates when they reach out to her - it used to be so hard to not flinch away from each and every touch. Some days she still retreats from the arms of her mother, of her best (and only) friend. It hurts. The way people look at her. The way she now looks at people. It burns her like the salt water they bathed her in - the wounds may have closed but she can still feel it to this day.

The girl could be a monster if she wanted to. Her hands, though on the smaller side, could do such damage and yet she offers her own neck instead. Take from me, she tells the world, leave them be. The waters churn mockingly. A ripe lamb that was ready for the slaughter. How easily those disillusioned by compassion would lay down their head upon the chopping block.

Even with all her fight she would still be there - bound and bleeding.

“-but the difference is I’m aware, unlike an animal.” The sacrifice would say as she pressed the side of the bowie knife against the man’s face - the warmth from her eyes fading quickly. “And for the life of me I can’t decide if that’s better or worse.”

So she thought to herself while she had him there, bound and bleeding and a leg broken in more than one place - so long as she was Fated to be sacrificed, she may as well take down as many terrible people as she could. That they act as her sacrifices for the path Destiny had woven.

The girl could love the gods. She did. She could respect them, accept them, she could believe in them. What she could not stand was Fate and Destiny. The choice to love or hate a god was free will at its finest - there was no choice in what she endured. There was expectancy, force, a demand she kneel and break her back for a path she never sought to walk. And they wanted her grateful for it. THANKFUL.

As if she hadn’t just been a child who only knew thankful in the form of ice cream on a hot summer’s day.

The sirens echoed in the distance, drawing closer as she waited there in a house that wasn’t hers. A shoe atop the man’s leg, bearing down just enough weight to keep him writhing and incoherent. The warmth of her, like ocean water kissed by the sun, had long since drained that evening. She was the depths of the sea now, chilled and empty. A place where love was crushed beneath its own weight and no one knew which way was up. Where no pleasure could be derived from. Only a silence, save for the sound of distant whales - or what one would hope would be them.

In this abyss she cannot remember peoples faces despite how clearly they present themselves. She is a compassionate soul, she loves people beyond words and yet some days it’s not her that wishes to not be - it’s the world. It’s the humans that caused her hands to tremble, that stole away any semblance of a life that didn’t come with a constant ache. People ask her how it was she could not fear ghosts and in all honesty it was always because the living plagued her in worse ways.

Spectres, gods and all the things between would always be better than the species she was born into - and such a thing was positively heartbreaking. She could drown the world in her tears if she so wanted to.

#drabbles #marie obvs has some heavy depresso stuff that is meant to conflict with her unyielding compassion #especially since she's meant to serve as an alt path to one of the main protags of the story who spirals #even at marie's worse she still has so much life in her kicking still that she'll always end up reaching for it instead

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samwrights · 4 years

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Baby Fever

I’ve said it once, I’ll say it 600 times. I need Hanamaki Takahiro to put a baby in me. Y’all are going to be so tired of me after this one. Fluff and slight NSFW. @dreamyjaems not totally daddy related, but pretty darn close ;)

Hanamaki;

The first time he notices it is when you’re both out with another pair of couple friends.

They’d been married for six years, while the two of you were entering three years together, and they’d just had their first baby less than a year ago.

Despite never mentioning a future desire for them, Makki watched the way you interacted with that little girl and he knew straight away.

Haha, I’m in danger.

The way your eyes soften when you hold her or the way you’ve created a new, soft persona that only spoke in high pitched gibberish

The way you were constantly buying the baby’s clothes for no reason. At all.

It becomes more apparent when the two of you are out shopping and you somehow end up in the kids clothing section.

Baby vans is where Makki draws the line. Do y’all know expensive baby vans are? I’d draw the line too.

“Sweetie...sweetheart...love of my life...” Makki has a grin on his face, his eyes aren’t open, and he’s holding your guys’ statement for your joint bank account. “Mind telling me why the fuck you spent $138 at the vans store when you didn’t buy any new vans?”

“How do you know that I didn’t?”

“Because you would have shown me them.” His grin drops into an entirely unamused look. “What did you do?”

Sighing in defeat, you walked over to a nearby shoe closet, pulling out three boxes of baby vans in varying colors and sizes. “They were just so cute 🥺”

Makki takes a seat beside you on the couch, hunching over his knees while covering his face with one hand. “I wish you’d just talk to me about this first before you went splurging on a kid we don’t even have yet.”

Yet?? Y E T??

“I was under the impression you didn’t want any.” And that wasn’t necessarily wrong, per se. The two of you were still young, trying to work through college debt, and weren’t as stable as you could be. But Makki was in this for the long haul, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t want you to be the mother of his future children.

“I mean I’m not opposed to the idea of trying.”

“...wanna start trying right now?”

“You son of a bitch, I’m in.”

Iwaizumi;

Iwaizumi was going to tear his hair out if he heard you coo at a baby one more time.

At first, it was fine. Yeah, the baby you spotted while the two of you were in line at Starbucks was cute. Even cuter when the baby waved to you, he wasn’t denying that.

But nearly every chance you got when the two of you were out in public, you’d smack him on the arm when you’d see a baby.

Legit, it was like you had a fucking radar on you.

“Haji, Haji, look! Look at how cute the wittle baby is!”

It was endearing, really, because he’d see the pout form on your lips as you tried to catch the infants attention. But again, that damned radar you had was driving him wild because it seemed to happen everywhere you went.

If there were toddler siblings or, heaven forbid, twins, you absolutely lost your shit. You fawning over one was bad enough but two? Or more? Good god.

Iwaizumi has banished all walks to the park. Walking your dog together? He made a new route away from the nearest children gathering place.

He couldn’t even bring you to McDonald’s anymore because you’d just stare at the fucking play place.

“D-do you really just not want kids, Hajime?” You’d asked him one time after seeing how red he turned with near anger? Maybe anger wasn’t the right word.

“That’s not it...”

???

He groans out of embarrassment cause he really doesn’t wanna admit this out loud. “Every time you talk about kids, I literally just wanna go home and fuck a baby into you.”

“Okay, so what the fuck are we waiting for?”

“College graduation???” Damn him and his logical rationalizations.

“We’re almost done with school—if we start now we’ll have already graduated before the baby’s even born.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Oikawa;

Oikawa actually entertains your baby fever—which is no help at all.

I see him totally being the dude that indulges watching 16&Pregnant, Teen Mom, etc. with you.

Half the time, you guys make bets over which couple’s going to break up, who loses custody of their child, so on and so forth.

But one thing remains consistent with the two of you—who the cutest babies are.

A constant topic of conversation between the two of you during these times is how idiotic some of the parents were. Have y’all ever seen Unexpected? Diego was the worst, and both of you had a unanimous opinion on that.

Unfortunately for you, these shows really start piquing your curiosity as to how yours and Oikawa’s little one would actually be.

And how the two of you would be as parents. It does upset you a little bit, considering he’s heavily focused on his pro career.

Oikawa notices the lack of desire to watch any of the aforementioned shows, despite that being a typical Friday night thing for the two of you. Friday night (baby) Fever.

“Alright, what’s wrong, love?”

“Nothing? I just feel like we should do something else.”

“Uh, no. I know you’re dying to see what the hell Max was doing while Chloe was giving birth.” 💀💀💀 he’s not wrong.

You gnaw on your lip while you make dinner—as per usual for your Friday nights. You always made something that required a bit more love while Tooru kept you up to date with his career.

“Do you think we would be better parents?”

“Duh,” he responds without skipping a beat. “both of us know how to make a bottle and change diapers.” He adds, referencing to the multitude of times you’d babysat friends’ kids or his newly born niece.

“Tooru, I’m serious.” A dry yet light laugh leaves his lips before he’s standing behind you, wrapping his arms just under your breasts and resting his chin on your head.

“I am too. I’ve just been waiting for you to give me permission.”

Oya? Wait, shit wrong person sorry

Needless to say, y’all don’t need to watch anymore pregnancy shows after this—too occupied with your own journey into parenthood.

Matsukawa;

Oh Mattsun, my clueless bunny.

He probably wouldn’t even notice, tbh, that you literally are in near tears when you see a cute baby.

Cause I imagine his s/o would be one that cries over all the cute things. Puppies? Cry. Kittens? Cry. Otter pups? Double cry.

But he seems to be missing the key theme here—b a b i e s, Issei.

He kinda dense.

You’ve always been good with kids without really trying, he learned, when you started watching your best friend’s five year old son once a week.

The little bean was your best friend, besides his mom and Issei of course. Every Thursday, you got up early so you could welcome the boy, make him breakfast, and hang out with him all day.

At first, it did funny things to Mattsun to see the way you’d glow while making slime or watching your favorite kid’s movies with him.

He learned quickly you could quote the entirety of Hercules and Mulan, and often acted out the singing parts with great theatrics.

When your best friend would come for her son, you’d get a little sad, enough for Mattsun to notice. He’s not that dense.

But dense enough not to notice the way you longingly stare at mothers holding the hands of their toddlers or carrying their babies while the two of you are out grocery shopping.

You’ve never wanted anything more than to have a kid with Issei. Even if he is kinda 💀💀

He’s so good to you, and it kinda hurts your heart the way he brushes off hanging out with you and the kiddo. Like he doesn’t want children period.

So, like any other healthy relationship, you actually decide to sit down and have a talk with him about this. Low key, it kinda scared him cause he thought you were about to dump him. “Do you see yourself having kids in the future?”

“Babe, I physically cannot.”

“I fucking hate you, Issei. I’m being serious.” Despite your words, you try not to laugh. You failed.

“What brought this on?”

“You just never seem to want to hang out with me and the rugrat when he’s over.”

“Not gonna lie, it’s just really hot watching you play mom.”

“You know, I don’t have to play mom.”

“Bedroom. Now.”

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poormeowmeowcollector · 3 years

Text

Two Gals Sitting On An Elevator Because They're Not Gay

Pairing: Lady Loki/Female Reader

Warnings: claustrophobia, panic attacks

Summary: with the power cut off, you get trapped in an elevator with Loki.

Notes: after being tempted by a certain lady *coughcough* @lucywrites02 *coughcough*, my bisexual thirsty ass needed Lady Loki, okay?

Read On AO3

You're pacing down the corridor, the shoes slamming rhythmically on the tile floor. It's just your first meeting and you're already late.

You slide into the elevator right before it closes, pressing the button and staying put in a corner.

"Good day," a posh voice greets. You turn to face a woman around your age, black locks of hair framing her sharp and pale face, her green eyes scanning you. She's also dressed nicely, a black leather jacket and jeans with old boots and a green tee, some gold jewelry here and there. And she is holding four cups of coffee, the biggest ones the shop inside the Tower has to offer.

"Good day," you smile and nod, eyes still on her. You can swear she looks familiar, apart from illegally attractive. "Excuse me, but have we met again? You look familiar," you mutter, already regretting it. Gosh, you sound like a freak.

"Perhaps from the TV, when the attack took place," she answers, voice low and deep. You stop and think for a bit. The only women on the TV from back then were Agent Hill and Agent Romanov, and this woman is much taller and paler than both of them. You're ready to ask for more information, in hope of recognising her.

"Apologies, I looked different then. I'm Loki," she explains, a tint of anxiety in her eyes.

"It's fine, don't bother with it. Oh, by the way, what're your pronouns?" you ask, secretly glad to see that anxiety dying out.

"Thank you, she/they for now," she smiles, still small and distant. You nod and stay silent, feeling that there's nothing more to add to the convention. Loki agrees with it.

There is a silent agreement among humanity, one that says that we cannot stare when inside an elevator. But your eyes can't stop trying to steal glances. It's not the superhero fact, you knew very well that you needed to acknowledge the fact that you're on the tower and respect those people's boundaries the moment you got the job. It's how damn beautiful they are, even though she's just standing there.

Then, you can't stare altogether, because the lights are out and the elevator comes to a halt.

"What just happened?" There's an obvious panic on Loki's voice, accompanied by a small breeze.

"Probably the power was cut off. A second generator or the reactor will turn on again soon, don't worry. We just need a light so we don't bump into each other…" you mutter, trying to find your phone.

Which you, apparently, forgot at home when you rushed here. Great!

"Do you happen to have something that can light up the place?" You ask, trying not to groan. A small lantern appears on the centres of the small box, lighting it up with a green light.

"Nice, relaxing," you smile at Loki, watching as they nod from their tiny corner. You sigh and go to the door, trying to open it.

"Allow me," Loki appears from behind you and digs her fingers into the small split, the metal bending around them. With one flex of their hands, the doors are torn apart, only to reveal a wall. There's no light or air coming from below or above, you're trapped exactly between the floors.

"JARVIS, tell Stark that we're here," she sighs and turns towards the black screen that is supposed to be the board. Nothing happens.

"Maybe the AI needs power to work. They'll find us. Until then, we should get comfortable," you suggest as you sit down, facing the green lantern. Loki hums but doesn't sit. Instead, they walk around in circles like a caged animal and mess with their fingers (the coffees are on a corner), an obvious nervous gesture.

Without thinking about it, you grab your fidget toy from your bag and wait until Loki walks in front of you so you can kick her gently. "What?" They ask, glaring at you. You smile and offer the toy, watching her expression becoming softer as she takes it and starts messing with it instead of her fingers.

"I apologise, but I don't have the best experience with closed rooms, they're like cages," they laugh, the nervous kind of it.

"No need to apologize," you shrug, mentally trying to think of a way to make it more bearable. Damn, you should have searched for it while you had the chance…

The elevator gets colder, distracting you for the mental barade on how ignorant you are. "Could we run out of air?" Loki asks, stopping the walk and staring at you.

"There's a vent on the ceiling and air coming from the holes in the door so, no," you take it literally. It probably won't help but she still nods and tries to smile.

They sit down, opposite to you, and keep playing with the toy, eyes lost. Her lips are muttering things in a language that comes to your ears as a combination of trills, groans and gagging sounds. Their skin becomes clammy and pale and their eyes glassy, shoulders jumping up and down faster than before.

You're not an expert, but this is not a good sign.

Your breath comes out visible from the cold as you call Loki's name. She doesn't respond. Instead, they throw the toy down and curl into a ball, head hidden and something between wheezing and sobbing coming out of them. Her hands, tight around her curled feet, have a green glow on the fingers, like fire threatening to burn everything down.

You move closer and call their name again, hoping you won't starle them and make it worse. She doesn't flinch, but doesn't respond either. "Hey, it's okay. It's okay. You're safe. You will be fine, alright? You'll be fine," you whisper, again to no avail.

You try to run your hand against the green flames, still repeating those words and warning her. It covers your fingers too, giving you a numbing sensation of a sleeping limp.

Then, Loki literally grabs you like you're a teddy bear and squeezes you, but gives you enough freedom to do the same. You're afraid to apply pressure but they squeeze you back, almost asking you to mimic them.

So, you hug each other for dear life, your hands drawing patterns on her back. Against your body, their heart pounds like it's going to break out and their lungs move faster than light, their whole body shaking and feeling clammy and cold. She's resting her head against your shoulder, tears streaming down as she fights for air.

"Shhhh, it's okay, it's okay. You'll be okay. It will pass, I promise. Just try to breathe and wait, okay? You're not alone in this one, you're not. Everything will be okay," you whisper again and again against their ear, hoping to help somehow.

It takes time and effort for Loki to finally draw a full breath, even though a shaky one. You smile and praise her for it, happy to hear the next ones being more full of air and feel her body steady.

But there's a cold wave again.

"Sh- I'm so sorry… I-I… I had no control…" they mutter and break the hug, head hanging down with shame.

"Since you're better, it doesn't matter," you smile, trying to find her hand again. She's quick to cup yours with hers, squeezing and tracing lines with her thumb.

"Then, thank you," they raise their head and give you a weak smile, eyes still glassy from the tears.

"Don't mention it. Em… do you want me to step back, give you space?"

She nods a no. "Actually, I would ask for the exact opposite," they whisper, trying to maintain the smile. You turn around and sit beside her, your upper body resting against the metal wall.

"You're free to go ahead, you know," you let them know. Without a warning, not that you needed one, she tangles her hand against your and lays on your shoulder, breathing heavily. You move your own hand against their waist, bringing them closer.

"Can I ask, why do you feel so safe with me? You're literally a goddess," you ask.

"You aren't a threat. When you," she stops to take a breath, "when you touched my seiðr, it felt safe," they explain, voice wheezing just so.

"The green fire thing?" You furrow your brows. Loki gives you a hum.

Neither speaks for a long time, you stay put where you are. But it's not awkward at all. In fact, it's quite comfortable. She stays there, the small and occasional squeezing on your side by her hand is the only proof that she hasn't fallen asleep, but it's obvious how the attack drained her.

Then, they start humming a tune, completely foreign to your ears.

"What's that song?" You ask out of the blue, praying you won't starle her.

"An old lullabye Frigga used to sing to me and Thor when we were small. She said it has a protection spell to keep creatures of the night away," they sigh. Only from the myths, you recognise the name.

"It probably is inappropriate to ask, but do you mind singing it out loud? The melody sounds sweet," you suggest, voice small. Loki chuckles.

"My singing is terrible in this form, I was unfortunately trained to sing only with the male voice and there's no way I'm turning into him anytime soon,"

"Oh, okay then," you nod at her response, convinced that that's the end of the discussion. Loki stays silent for some long moments, and then they straighten themselves against the wall.

"Come, lay here. If I am to do it, better do it the way she did," she argues, petting her thigh. Whatever bisexual alarms exist in your brain start beeping like bomb sirens from the WWII, so loudly that you swear they can hear them.

"We're strangers…" it's all you manage to say. Loki responds with a shrug.

"Yes, and?"

You nod and do as she commanded, your eyes put on hers. They smile and take some deep breaths, you don't know if it's to gather courage or air.

Then, she starts singing. The sounds are still rough and hard, like their mumbling earlier, and the melody is completely foreign to your ear. It doesn't stop it from being magical. You soon close your eyes and find yourself relaxing in her lap, drunk in her voice.

Their foot jerks, hitting your head and making you groan as you land face–first on reality. "You could at least pay some attention," she scolds, icy eyes glaring at you.

"I'm sorry, I got lost in the song. But your singing is stunning," you try to explain yourself, but their face doesn't seem to soften.

"You could use a better lie, I sound like a dying goose," she maintains her serious face, or façade, even though you start grinning.

"Now who's lying?" you tease, rising up and going back to your previous position beside them. Her cheeks go pink and then red, the blush spreading to her ears and her lips turning into a thin line.

And gosh, they're so adorable!

"I-" she stammers, seconds before hiding her burning face between her fingers and muttering in Old Norse.

"Hey, are you alright?" you ask, worried you might have triggered another attack. They nod and sigh, revealing their now pinkish face.

"I apologize, it just started to hurt," she whispers, eyes looking down at her hands. You shrug one shoulder.

"You have nothing to apologize for." They smile at the answer, laying back at your shoulder and digging their nose in your neck, long cold fingers grabbing your hand and playing with it as tickling fire comes and goes. She digs her head out, watching carefully your hand's reaction to the fidgeting.

"You have a beautiful hand, you know that?" they mutter, almost you themselves.

"Thank you," you don't know if you giggle from the comment or the tickling coming from her seiðr. They hum, consecrated on your hand and maintaining a second wave of comfortable silence for several minutes.

"What do you plan to do when we get out?" she asks out of the blue, leaving your hand alone and hiding back to your neck.

"Make sure I'm not fired, apologize to my boss, probably get something to eat since I didn't have time for breakfast…" you whisper, scared of breaking the silence.

"If Stark fires you, he dies, slowly," they don't break the calm with the threat, but you still giggle at it.

"Thank you, sweetie. What're you planning to do?" you beam and move some hair away from her face as she turns around.

"Move to a balcony, smoke the whole tobacco industry, never use an elevator again, and kill Stark," they shrug, gazing at the metal wall in front of you.

"Sounds like a plan," you grimace and fail to hold back a shiver. When did it get so cold again?

Loki starts to quiver too, but you bet it's not from the cold.

"Loki?" you keep quiet, hoping you won't scare her. They don't respond.

Instead, she just sits there, like a statue, vacant eyes on the wall.

"Loki, you're safe now. Okay? You'll be alright. I promise, you'll be just fine," you start whispering again, raising a hand to hold them.

Your head gets slammed against the wall. Loki stands in front of you, her eyes glowing green and filled with rage and a flaming punch being ready to launch in your face. You raise your hands in surrender, praying that they'll see them instead of the way you shiver from fear.

Her eyes soften, and then water up. "You're not- Oh Norns, I'm so- Oh Gods!" they stammer and walk back, their whole body shaking. She stops on the neatest wall, her feet collapsing and making her fall down.

They need space, you know that, but you still walk closer. "It's okay, you didn't mean to," you whisper, now careful not to touch without permission.

"I almost…" she mutters, hiding her face behind her hands.

"Almost. You didn't do it," you debunk, hoping it will somehow help.

Plus that punch couldn't be so bad. Expect that they're able to bend metal… minus the magic… Nevermind, you'd break your skull.

"Hey, did you listen? You didn't do it. It was close, yes, but it didn't happen," you repeat, sure that her thinking was louder than your speaking.

"Could you… could you stop talking? Please?" they whisper, removing their hands from their face to glare at you.

You nod, waiting for another way to help. She pats the metal beside her, and you move there, letting her lay on your shoulder again.

"You know, I never thought of you as a cuddler…" you comment.

"If you tell anyone, I will kill you," they growl. You nod, sure she didn't feel like joking.

You stay still as they move around to get more comfortable, ending again on your shoulder but this time their body is relying on yours and their nose brushing your neck. For someone as thin, you didn't expect her to be that heavy, but you're not getting crushed, literally, so you don't complain.

"What happened? Did the snake eat your tongue?" they purr, and you get to feel their sinuses vibrating as they speak.

"You asked for silence," you shrug your free shoulder, turning to face her. They hum and go silent again, pressing their face harder on your neck.

"Oh, apologies," she whispers, after a yawn so soft you thought it's just a sigh, her voice dragged and half asleep.

"It's fine, you can even sleep," you whisper back, smiling as they smile at you and dive further down.

And maybe five minutes later, her breath evens out and deepens. You stay even more still, they had maybe three panic attacks, they must be exhausted. So, in order to entertain yourself, you decide to daydream and maybe count the deep sighs she releases against your neck.

At about ten sighs, the elevator starts moving down, which is enough to wake them up. "They're getting us out?" she asks and yawns, eyes on the wall that reveals the door of the lower floor.

Someone digs their fingers on the other metal wall and opens it. The sunlight makes you cover your eyes.

"Sister, are you well?" Thor's voice literally bombs as he runs inside.

"Be quiet, you idiot…" they respond, basically jumping up before Thor can realise that you were cuddling. You follow her path.

"Oh, a Mortal. Are you well?" Thor turns his eyes on you.

"Yes, yes. Is Mr Stark here, by any chance?" you mutter. The characteristic sound of the suit walking towards you is enough of an answer.

"Yes, miss. Don't worry, you're not fired. In fact, since you are now needed more spontaneously, you'll move here. And before you ask, yes, that's a promotion," he moves the metal mask out of his face to deliver the good news.

"Also, how did Loki not kill you?" Captain America pops up and asks.

"They were hugging when I opened the door," Thor answers before you can muster a lie. Your first reaction is to bite your lip and turn to Loki, whose face has gone all pink from the shame.

"No, no! She was scared and asked for it. I committed out of pity!" they make up a lie. All three heroes turn to you.

"Yes, yes, exactly. It was terrifying. Now, if I could… pack up my things? Yes… Gotta go, sorry…" you stammer and walk back, towards the staircase.

"Wait, I… I can help you. With the seiðr and superstrength and all…" Loki also stammers and follows you.

You walk down a level in complete silence, waiting to be 100% sure no one is listening. "They will never let that die out…" Loki sighs, her hand brushing her bright red cheeks.

"Definitely… in order to make up for the embarrassment, may I tempt you to dinner? On Friday? I know a nice place," you smirk, hoping to appear less messy.

They offer you a mischievous grin, her eyes shimmering in the dark staircase. "Temptation managed,"

#lady loki #loki/reader #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki marvel #loki #tw claustrophobia #tw panicking #elevator #bisexuality #chaotic bi energy #pre relationship #loki fluff #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #trapped in an elevator

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yawnjunie · 3 years

Text

so you’re the artsy type, huh ❦ cbg (1)

Genre: fluff, university au, crack (get ready for a bad take on comedy)

Pairing: broke artist!reader x art sponsor!beomgyu

Word count: 7k

Summary: After spending way too much time chasing after an impossible dream, you weren’t too sure you wanted to continue with your lifelong passion— art. One eventful day at the museum steered you onto a road full of twists and turns, and you unexpectedly found yourself wading deeper into murky water with your new employer.

A/N: a huge thank you to @noiaeu and @halohyuka for being my beta readers! anyways here is a long overdue fic that was a 20k+ word monstrosity but is now a series. happy reading!

— blu and struz

You tapped your feet absentmindedly against the grimy tiles of the cheap burger chain as you waited. The atmosphere that usually felt bustling and welcoming now felt stuffy as your stomach churned each passing second. The waitress walked past your seat as she served the customers behind you, the fragrant aroma of the burgers on her tray prompting a vicious growl from your stomach. Sighing, you checked the time on your phone: 8:52pm. Scrolling past the inactive conversations with your “friends” (you didn’t really know what to call them because you tried to ask them out and got rejected; you’d kept those conversations anyway because you were too attached to them), you sent a quick message to a number you wish you didn’t need to text today. Without a second thought, you picked up your belongings and left the small burger shop.

Thank goodness, you knew just the perfect place to drown your sorrows in.

You called for the nearest taxi to the small food shop by the name of Mrs. Lee’s Mandu House.

“What happened this time?” A stout lady with an apron asked, peeking her head out of the kitchen, setting down a large bowl of dumplings in front of you. She made her way to the condiments shelf. “Kimchi?”

“Yes, please. I got stood up again.” You grumbled, stuffing a large dumpling into your mouth ravenously. Then, speaking through mouthfuls of food, you continued. “Maybe I should just stop trying altogether. Change my major to agricultural studies and move to the countryside while I’m at it.”

Food had never tasted so good! The savory filling of the dumplings literally melted in your mouth, and soon the blaring sound of the old AC and the sound of the kdrama from the TV had just blended into the background. It was nice not having to listen to anything.

“Aw, don’t say that.” The woman replied as she set down a pot of kimchi and a plate of kimbap on your table. The friendly ahjumma took her seat across from you and set down a bag of melon seeds. “Trust me, it’s going to be hard. You’re just in your first year of college! You’ll get there someday.” Then, she continued on to tell you about other people she knew who had it harder than you, but all that faded into the background noise, along with the AC and the TV. That sentence was the only thing you heard, and although there weren’t any lemons in the soup, everything that you ate suddenly started tasting sour. Sometimes, even the best food cannot drown out the bitterest words.

You’ll get there someday.

Foomp. You flopped onto your bed with a small grunt as your back met the soft mattress. Throwing off your glasses to the side, you massaged your eyeballs and then looked at the ceiling. It was grey. The same grey that you saw before going to sleep at night, the very same grey that greeted you when you awoke in the morning to another unexciting day. The more you stared at it, the more the popcorn ceiling looked just like a grey mass with a few monotone specks here and there.

You were always told to look to the future and stop dwelling on the past. And that was a long shot, given that all you saw in front of you was a blurry ceiling.

What is this feeling? You let yourself sink a little deeper into your mattress, lazily shifting your gaze to the left, where you saw your huge Gabriel Garcia Marquez poster taped to the wall. Solitude. Looking back, you supposed that was how you’d been living your life thus far.

Doing jobs here and there, never really achieving anything big.

Single as hell.

It was days like this that made you feel not quite sad, but just really demotivated. A reminiscent smile flickered on your face as you turned your head to stare at the wall, unto which the light that peeked through the overcast sky cast a faint shadow. Words like “lonely” and “outcast” didn’t mean a thing to you. The fact of the matter was, you didn’t have anyone, and the universe sure didn’t put an effort to sugarcoat that fact.

Rolling lazily to the edge of the bed, you finally sat yourself up. You walked over to your desk, pulled out the wooden chair, and turned on the lamp. Then, you took a moment to tie up your hair before looking down at what was lying under the spotlight of the lamp.

Amidst the blizzard of eraser shavings and the familiar scent of freshly shaved wood stood the lead outline of a girl. Shoulder-length hair up in a high ponytail, a soft, rounded nose, chapped lips, and blank, unsuspecting eyes with dark circles hanging below them. Looks like she’s never seen a day of joy in her life. Looking into the mirror standing to the left on your desk, a very tired girl with a dark face stared right back. Dusting off the eraser shavings into the trash bin next to the desk, you commended yourself for the superb self-portrait.

At the insistence of the tightness in your right wrist and the crick in your neck, you set the pencil down and extended your arms to stretch your back. When your eyes fell upon the drawing once more, a wave of disappointment washed you back onto the shore of frustration. Yet another addition to the ever-growing pile of wasted white paper. A part of you argued that art was not a waste, which was true enough. Art made by you, however, was a different story.

What happened to me? All that time, effort, and energy never really amounted to much. After all, you’d only seen the world in black and white. It was as if someone took a giant paint tube and squirted an awful lot of grey paint everywhere.

After all, who’d ever heard of an artist who couldn’t tell orange from blue?

–––

Even the song playing in the background mocked you with every word.

♪ I see trees of green,

red roses too ♪

♪ I see them bloom,

for me and you ♪

♪ and I think to myself

what a wonderful world ♪

You glanced around tiredly as you saw your classmate’s boyfriend carry a stack of canvases for them. For someone who, one: saw the world in grey, and two: had never gone on a date, the world was anything but wonderful. You felt your eyelids drooping despite the hard, wooden stool jutting into your buttcheeks. Drowsily, you turned your gaze to your art pieces. Noticing the other students coming in to set up their pieces, you straightened up your back and set your bag down on the stool. You took a deep breath and swung your arms nervously in an attempt to garner a sense of purpose and hope. You got this! You whispered encouraging phrases to yourself under your breath, smiling at the students who bothered to greet you first.

Today was your first time participating in a student exhibition. Although it was quite unconventional for first year students to be showcasing their work in the advanced exhibition, your teacher had been nice enough to make a spot for you. Well, it was more like you practically begging her to consider you, because of your current family situation. You terribly did not want to sound like that broke college student™, but sometimes, a little bit of courage to fight against the stone cold reality was useful. And of course, Ms. Kim, being the benevolent soul she was, granted you special rights to participate.

This year, the exhibition was being held in the empty room at the Museum of Modern Art. Attendance of the students was optional, but a good handful of them came, hoping to get a professional review, or even a sponsor for their art. The moment you walked in, you held your breath—the entire room was empty, all six surfaces painted white. It was the brightest room you’d ever been in, yet the temperature seemed to drop 100 degrees.

It’s fine. This time, things will be different, you told yourself in an attempt to shake off the dread that settled in the pit of your stomach. Fifth time’s the charm, after all.

It may have been your first time participating in a college exhibition, but you’d participated in countless art competitions as a kid. You were like a wildfire, and there was no award for a competition you entered that you didn’t win. Now, it felt like you were back to base one. After all, who has that easy of a life? Those days of your easy childhood life were long gone.

You tried not to think much as you sat uncomfortably next to your paintings. For the first hour or so, you made a point to look each passing person in the eye, a wide smile plastered on your face. The second hour, the corners of your mouth started to twitch beyond your control. By the third hour, you found yourself staring at people’s shoes more often than their faces. As the minutes ticked by, you kept your eyes trained intently on the floor, mouth pressed firmly closed. Glancing around the room, you tried to take your mind off of your worries. But you couldn’t help but be envious of your classmates, who were getting noticed by the professional guests.

That’s okay, there’s always next time. Guess today just wasn’t my day.

It was beginning to feel like no day was your day. A warm sensation pricked at the corners of your eyes when a voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Ma’am, excuse me.” A woman in a worn out blue outfit approached your stand.

Being as desperate as you were, you hastily wiped away your tears from all the yawning and slapped a smile on your face, mustering up the peppiest voice you could manage. “Hey! How can I help you? As you can see, I work exclusively in grayscale, and I mostly do portrai–” “Miss–” the lady interrupted, “it’s closing time. Could you please pack your things?”

Upon processing the sight of the tattered mop in her hand, realization hit you like a truck, and not just any ordinary truck— it was a Belaz 75710 filled with 496 tons of rocks and sharp glass. That was a fun fact you stumbled upon while scrolling on Instagram; the fact that you somehow retained this useless information made you silently curse yourself. Your smile was frozen in place as you gave a series of curt nods. “Oh. Okay, I’ll start packing.”

The kind woman nodded back and started to walk away, but stopped and turned just a few steps away. “Don’t feel too down. Sometimes, life just doesn’t go the way you want it to. It’ll get better, trust me.”

“Yeah.” You replied coldly, not bothering to mask your sadness. Attempting to muster a small smile in gratitude for her kind words, you gave her a thumbs up before she left the room. It kind of hurt, getting pity from the janitor. But in a way, you felt a little comforted. At least you knew you weren’t the only person struggling. Robotically, you placed the canvases onto your utility cart one by one, then started folding up the easels. When the janitor’s footsteps had faded away, the only thing disrupting the silence was the rain.

Plip. Plop. With the accompaniment of the beating of the raindrops on the rooftop that rang in your ear like a dull symphony, it only seemed natural for your tears to fall. And this time, there was nobody to interfere with your sob session.

And on that afternoon, in the empty art hall, you cried your heart out. There was only one question that gnawed at the back of your mind relentlessly, like a famished dog on a bone twice its size. Should I just give up on art? The thought of it just made you cry even harder. Art was your everything.

From the moment you’d grasped the thin body of the paintbrush on your doljabi, you’d fallen in love with art. Throughout your childhood, you’d spent your days drawing. From drawing on plain computer paper to painting entire murals on your bedroom walls - you did it all. Everyone was sure you’d become an artist when you grew up. You’d even kept a money jar by your bed, which you’d used to store money for new art supplies and eventually, art school. You were happy. You had a good eye for color.

Thunder crashed outside as that memory resurfaced in your mind. Back then, you drew like there was no tomorrow when you could see colors. Until the world became dark when your colors, your precious colors were taken away. And the world remained dark ever since. They all pitied you, sending a sigh your way in condolence for your loss. You didn’t need or want their pity, of course. All you’d ever wanted was an answer, a reason to why they left your eyes.

You wanted to blame it on something, but what could you do? Every night you prayed, praying desperately for your colors back. But every morning, the ceiling remained grey. So did the sky when you walked to work. Pushing your shabby cart with a loose wheel down the hallway full of eccentric art pieces, you didn’t even spare a glance at them. Well, other than to avoid being noticed by the few people who were still in the museum, to which you hid your swollen face in the opposite direction and choked back your sobs. Well, what can you do now, y/n? It’s not your first time participating in an exhibition anyway. There’s probably someone out there having it harder than you, so suck it up! Everything will be better once you get back home…

Just when you were nearing the entrance of the museum, you heard a different pair of footsteps from your own behind you.

“Hey.” You jumped out of your skin at the tap on your left shoulder. Caught by surprise, you found yourself stumbling backwards into your cart. You lost your footing and down crashed your rear end. By attempting to hold onto the cart handle for balance, your art pieces now seemed to fall in slow motion, the cart suspended in the air as your mouth hung open in horror. You reached out to grab it, but unfortunately, you were an aching 2 centimeters short of saving your artwork. The cart toppled on top of your canvases with a comical crack, wooden splinters flying everywhere. The empty utility cart squealed defeatedly as it toppled to its side, a loose wheel still spinning.

You felt your head spin even faster, as you grew increasingly frustrated by your inability to comprehend what had just happened. Holy shit.

Strewn across the floor, battered and broken, lay hours upon hours of your time, your hard-earned money, along with the last strains of your hope of becoming an artist. F*ck!

Eyes wide and mouth agape, you turned to face the perpetrator of the tragedy.

This is the part where he apologizes and promises to make it up to me, then gives me his contact info and we go on a date and he falls for me and we live happily ever after. Or so you hoped, you thought. The thought was so ridiculous that you could have burst out into laughter if it hadn’t been for the fact that the fruit of your blood, sweat, and tears was now a bunch of broken wood and torn cotton on the floor. F you and your last brain cell, y/n. Get yourself together and snap out of it. You were convinced that you were so sleep deprived from your K-drama binging session this morning at 4am that you’d convinced yourself that you were living the next episode.

Chances were low that the two of you would get together and live happily ever from an offense like this, but even so, he would have to compensate for the damages somehow. Now that you came back to reality, you realized that you couldn’t even make out what the guy in front of you looked like. “Okay, but what if he’s like, your next patron or something.” You don’t know if you muttered that out loud, but your odd behavior was really annoying you today. Shut up, it's not like he's Song Kang! Stop it! Nevertheless, you bet on the Balenciaga slides that he was wearing that he would pull out a business card the next moment.

You stared into the boy’s eyes expectantly and he met your gaze. You felt your pulse quicken as he opened his mouth to speak, eagerly awaiting your compensation. Hello hello, my next patron. This is the moment that marks my upgrade to a better life.

“I am so, so sorry about this.”

“You should be.”

As he spoke, the boy pulled his cap lower and threw on his hood. “Not just about me breaking your paintings, but also this.” Dammit, what have I gotten myself into?

And then he bolted.

🏃 💨

“Wha– hey! Where do you think you’re going?!”

He slammed his body against the glass door and ran into the rain while you followed in close pursuit. However, after a few wobbly steps, it occurred to you that you weren’t exactly dressed for the occasion, so you took off your heels and continued the hunt barefoot.

Still, even under normal circumstances, you weren’t much of a track star. Wearing a blazer with suit pants and no shoes wasn’t helping your chances either, and the weather didn’t seem to plan on making things any easier.

The two of you ran through the heavy rain like cat and mouse. Clenching your teeth and your fists, you chased after the boy. He ran about two blocks before you caught up to him. As your calves grew sore, you considered hurling one of your heels at him.

The boy slowed down for a couple of seconds, looking around frantically. Mr. Kim.....! I told you to wait for me out here—!

Heaving a sigh, he turned around and began to run in another direction. And although he'd hate to admit it, today was one of the days where he had no choice but to admit that his choice of footwear today was a fatal flaw.

Somehow, despite the odds against you, you weren’t the one who ate the pavement. The boy tripped over the curb and slammed into the sidewalk, bellyflopping straight into a gargantuan puddle. Those Balenciagas did not help him run through the rain very well. You laughed in triumph and squatted next to his almost-lifeless body.

“Gotchu now, you jer–”

Boom! The world went white for a second, illuminated by the blinding clap of lightning. In an instant, the downpour increased tenfold, the raindrops now feeling like bullets against your skin.

“Okay, maybe this isn’t the best place to have a conversation.”

–––

The two of you trudged through the rain—or, more accurately— you dragged the boy through the rain, your grip on his hoodie sleeve iron-tight. When you finally reached your car, you opened the passenger door and he went in obediently. From an outsider’s point of view, you might’ve been mistaken as an undercover cop. In fact, you were sure feeling like one as you apprehended the criminal.

You went around to the back and opened up the trunk, where after rifling through months' worth of empty bottles, fabric bags for shopping, and a variety of other car junk, you finally found your stash of somewhat clean clothes. After careful consideration, you chucked a worn hoodie and the swimming shorts you’d worn to the beach last year over the seat. Just in case, you also tossed your first-aid kit over. You threw your heels in and swapped them for a pair of nylon flip flops before slamming the trunk closed.

You went back to the passenger’s side and opened the door. Taking in the figure of the drenched and bleeding boy, you kind of felt sorry for him. Which was stupid, considering he had just wrecked your life’s work and made a run for it. You tilted your head back and sighed, trying to sort your thoughts out.

With all of your best art pieces now reduced to splinters, it was a cold, hard fact that you weren’t going to get a sponsor. Besides, even before they’d been smashed into smithereens, nobody had been willing to give you a chance. The probability of you finding a sponsorship was like the graph of the height of a ball thrown from a cliff at sea level, or the number √-1. It was not just in the negatives, but it was also imaginary.

Taking a sharp inhale, you talked as quickly as you could. “Listen. I’m going to go get what’s left of my art from the gallery. Just change your clothes and patch yourself up, then you can leave.” You paused to dig out a few crumpled dollars from your wallet, which you promptly threw at him.

“Here, take this to get a taxi. I don’t know how far you live, but that’s all I have. Don’t get me wrong– I still think you’re a massive schmuck. And there’s nothing you can do to fix the damage you’ve caused.” Despite your best effort to remain composed, your voice cracked a little at the end. You stopped talking before you were to break out into tears again.

Without waiting to hear what the douchebag had to say, you slammed the door closed and strode through the rain back to the gallery, where your pieces still lay broken on the ground where you’d left them. A part of you was hoping that maybe, by some magic or miracle, the whole thing had been a dream, and nothing really happened.

But reality was as cold as stone, and you were powerless to change it. So, as you always did when confronted with the unchangeable, you picked yourself up and carried on, struggling against the current.

By the time you wheeled the broken canvases back to your car, the boy was long gone, all traces of his presence vanished except for the dampness of the left side passenger seat. You buckled on your seatbelt and tuned into your favorite radio station, then sped off into the summer storm. The storm, your artwork, it was all so out of the blue– well, in your case, grey.

The situation on the freeway was like a stuffy nose: irritated and congested. In fact, it would’ve been faster to moonwalk down the road. To make matters even worse, instead of music, the radio station was streaming ad after ad. Is this even legal? Exasperatedly, you tuned into a different station, then another one, but to no avail; all of them were on ad break.

It was frustrating enough that the gallery was a complete flop, not to mention that your best art was demolished in a hit and run and that you were sitting soaking wet on a leather seat stuck in the middle of traffic. Now, even the radio had turned against you. You shut it off and sat in silence.

Thump. You sighed and leaned your head back against the seat, willing the migraine that was building up in your head to f*ck off. After craning your head to check the backseat one more time, to your vexation, you found that the asshat hadn’t even bothered to close the first aid kit.

Muttering obscenities under your breath, you reached for the kit, cracking your inflexible spine 4 times in the process. You rummaged through its contents, straightening them out, counting how many were left, and you were about to slam the lid closed when you saw the note.

XXX-XXX-XXXX

“Well, gee, that’s REAL helpful.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the ten numbers scrawled on the note. Your half a brain cell told you to quit being stupid and toss that note out the window.

The rest of your stupid self told you to call it. I mean, why not? You cursed yourself for how your brain worked– or rather, didn’t work– sometimes.

You licked your lips in brief contemplation before punching in the numbers in. The person on the other end picked up immediately.

“Hello, welcome to Papa John’s Pi–”

You hurled your phone into the backseats and ripped the note up, throwing the scraps into the air like confetti before continuing the wearisome ride down through the rain.

–––

It took an eternity, but you made it back to your apartment, where you promptly crashed onto the couch. As per usual, you spent the rest of your waking hours scrolling through baking videos, even though you had neither the ingredients nor the time to be making any of the confections. At around 8pm, exhausted from crying and the events of the day, you dozed off without having a bite of the frozen pizza that’d just finished baking in the oven.

Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Your dreamless slumber was disturbed by the vibration of a string of text notifications and the glow that lit up the dark ceiling. Still half-asleep, you blindly felt around for your phone and attempted to read the message through bleary eyes.

It was from an unknown number.

Rubbing your eyes to clear out the nasty gunk, you sat up and read the message again, this time with clearer vision.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] Hello, sorry for ruining your paintings today. I will make it up to you.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] Thanks for bothering to call, let’s meet at this address to talk about your compensation. My parents can’t know that I did this so it would be great if you could keep this a secret :(

What the f*ck. You muttered under your breath, eyes half shut. Did I call anyone? In your half-asleep state, you didn’t bother to recall. For a second, you considered blocking the number. But just in case this was just one of your dumbass friends who changed their number, you decided to give that person a reply.

[You] hello? is this papa john’s?? i would like a cheese pizza

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] oh sorry the voicemail was a prank for someone else

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] i’m the guy from the art museum earlier, remember

[You] okay why do you have my number

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] because you called me

[You] right. okay, what do you want

[You] unless you want to pay me back for all those damages back there, no i am not interested in anything else sry i’m a very busy person you know

You hesitated a second before pressing the send button. You’d just sent a lie; in fact, you weren’t really that busy. Apart from your part time job at the boba shop, you were actually quite free most of the time. During the summer, at least. In fact, your screen time had gone up by 42%, your daily average now totaling to a whopping 12 hours. After a minute or so of silence, you threw your head back onto your pillow and let out a loud sigh of relief. Peace at last! It also made you quite happy that the person who texted you was in the least, not some weird scammer.

Ping! You celebrated too soon. Reaching for your phone groggily, you read the new message.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] okay then i was going to ask if you were free tomorrow

Am I being asked out? You squinted at your bright phone screen in the dark. You might have been nearsighted, but you weren’t illiterate in pick-up lines.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] i want to return the clothes you lent me

[You] it’s fine, you can keep that

Oh good, he was talking about the clothes, not anything else. Your millisecond of relief ended quickly when he sent another message.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] oh also it would be great if we could meet up anyway? i want to talk to you about something that i had been meaning to say for a while

Oh, god. I knew it wasn’t just about the clothes. Lonely as you were, you would shoot yourself in the foot if you got into any relationship without landing a stable job or having any money. Scoffing amusedly, you stared at the screen as he continued to type. But dating someone like this? Never in a million years. Turning over to your other side, you thought about the many ways you could reject him.

[You] no sorry :(

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] we should set a date at the cannoli restaurant to talk about your compensation costs. i’m extremely sorry for ruining your beautiful artwork, and i know that my apologies will do nothing to change your current situation. since this is my fault, i’m willing to pay any amount you request (and i’ll pay to the best of my capabilities)... i’m assuming $50,000 would be enough to cover the costs for most of the damage? if monetary compensation doesn’t work for you, we can discuss other forms of compensation as well.

[You] i know it may not seem like it but i’m actually caught up in too much work to have time for dating anyone. you see, it’s just that i have lots of work on the side so i can’t really spare time at the moment. please don’t take this personally haha i’m sure you’ll find someone,,, like i don’t know how to say this but yeah…..you don’t wanna be w someone like me, it’s me not you

Huh? Just as you sent your message, another message popped up before yours. And if your life had a background narration, this very moment would have been “and in that moment he knew. He fvcked up.”

Fml.

With just one single message, you perhaps have ruined the only god-given opportunity to turn your life around ever. He’d just offered you money to cover the costs of your broken paintings... now that you thought about it, he could even be your patron! You couldn’t even get a patron even if you went out of your way to look for one on Craigslist, pestered Ms. Kim for any news from the Art Teacher’s Association, or even begged random people on the street in hopes one out of the million people would be willing to promote your art. Now, someone was asking to compensate you with tons of money, and you’d just rejected him in the most embarrassing way possible.

[You] oh shoot

[You] i mean wrong chat, uh can you please stay on hold, i will get back to your compensation offer, yeah i will see you at the restaurant sometime thanks

XXX-XXX-XXXX is typing…

You did not bother to see what he had to say. Hurtling your phone onto your carpet, you let out a guttural scream of “I AM SUCH A DUMB@$$$” before pulling the strings on your hoodie tightly. And for the second time that day, you cried.

———

Leaving behind the upsetting events from a couple of days ago, you listlessly shuffled through the entrance. It was Saturday morning, and that meant groceries. The local Asian market was one of your favorite places to be; breathing in the familiar blend of spices that hung in the air was a cathartic feeling. The corners of your lips were turned slightly upwards as you bent to grab a basket.

First stop was the meat section, where the bugged-out eyes of dead fish followed you as you walked down the aisle. Cooking raw animal flesh wasn't really your thing, so you simply picked up a package of pre-cooked chicken and went on your way.

Next came the produce section where you felt up all the tomatoes, only bagging the ones that felt the right amount of firm and soft. You also added a pack of bok choy and mushrooms, perfect for cooking up a lazy soup.

Now that you were nearing the end of your expedition, it was time to head into the best part of the store: the snack aisle. Sometimes, when you were feeling more down than usual, you would blow the whole sum of your weekly grocery savings on off-brand shrimp chips and chocolate banana Pocky. One by one, you were doing all the things your mom had told you not to do when you moved out, from coating the entirety of your insides with nothing but sodium and sugar to shifting your sleep schedule by 15 hours.

What was next, the-no-dating-boys-until-you’ve-gotten-your-Master’s-and-have-a-7-figure-job rule? You scoffed and rolled your eyes. Even if your stomach was totally trashed and your sleep schedule was nonexistent, you would never let yourself fall that far.

As you stepped foot into the chips aisle, you beheld the holy grail. From Hello Panda to rice crackers, wasabi peas to Yan Yan sticks complete with a chocolate dip, cream wafers to dried seaweed, you were in a sea of temptation. Being that broke college student™, you just gulped and kept walking. I can just feast on these goodies with my eyes.

Your initial plan had been to just walk through the aisles to admire and drool over snacks you knew you couldn’t afford, but you were stopped in your tracks when you reached the instant noodles section.

At the end of the aisle, the shelf was bare except for a single lone pack. Even from a distance, you recognized it, all right; there was no mistaking the outline of your favorite instant ramen brand. 신라면. More like 神라면 (it’s more than just spicy noodles— it’s noodles made by the gods) you thought, eyes already tightly clutching at the packaging from 5 feet away.

From many a sleepless night of binge-watching third-rate rom-com dramas (though you cringed thinking back on it, this was an integral phase of your dark “past”), you knew where this was going–– but you weren’t going to sit around and let yourself fall into some overused trope. You gripped your basket tight as you swiftly made your way over to the shelf, just about setting a world record for speedwalking with a basket.

Sure enough, if you had been one second slower, you would’ve been ensnared in a sticky situation. Just as you were snatching up your prey like the pterodactyl you were, another figure was rounding the corner. Another broke college student™, it seemed, judging by the state of their hoodie, which was pulled over their messy hair, the strings tied in a bow to make sure the hood wouldn’t fall. Even though their face was concealed by their hood, you could see their reaction as they connected the dots from the bare shelf to the ramen pack in your hand.

“Hey–” they started, reaching towards you, but you promptly dropped the pack into your basket, spun on your heel, and noped out of the aisle before you could be confronted. You felt sorry because you could sympathize with their situation, but you were in no place to be kind to others. Not in this dog-eat-dog world. To survive, you’d have to stay on top of the food chain.

You were about to fall in line when you remembered that you were all out of Sriracha sauce. You could deal with giving up your Pocky and shrimp chips as long as you had your favorite condiment in stock; no matter how down you were, scrambled eggs with a heaping squirt of Sriracha always took you up to Cloud Nine. If you were going to leave something behind, it would never be the Sriracha sauce.

After grabbing a bottle from the condiment aisle, you scanned the checkout desks for the shortest line. Luckily, a new checkout desk had just opened on the left, so you scampered over and placed your basket onto the counter. The clerk was a kind-looking old woman, but was surprisingly agile for her age. As you waited for her to bag the large span of items that belonged to the grandpa in front of you, you opened up your phone to check your budget. You eyed the message app with two unread messages temptingly before going into your bank app. This was a lucky trip~ thankfully ramen isn’t too expensive. Even if it wasn’t on my grocery list, a few cents won’t make too much a difference. I think I can spare enough to get a Pocky next time.

At long last, the grandpa shuffled away with his cart filled with some veggies, a thick stack of newspapers, and an unusually large stash of rice crackers. While the clerk scanned and bagged your items, you continued to fiddle with your phone until she cleared her throat.

“Would you like a single receipt, or two separate ones? Because there’s a divider between your items.”

“Excuse me?” “You and your boyfriend. By the way, you guys look really cute together, especially with your hoodies~ are you on a date?”

You spun around only to come face to face with the broke college kid from the ramen aisle. Well, that’s awkward. The cashier must have been blind or deaf (or both) because you didn’t even interact with that boy. You stole glances of the customer through your peripheral vision, trying to see what he looked like. Hmm, do I know him? He looked uncannily familiar. Just then, another realization dawned on you. A terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad one. Your expression quickly changed from one of confusion to one of pure shock.

Surprise, surprise. It was the douche from the art gallery. And he was wearing your old hoodie.

“I-I don’t know him.” Before he could open his mouth to say anything, you quickly looked away, feigning ignorance. Unfortunately for you, the old clerk had seen much in her day and your little ruse wasn’t going to slip past her that easily.

“From the flushed look on your face and the stammer in your voice, I’m pretty sure you do. And I’m sure he would agree, wouldn’t you, lover boy~?”

And… cue to the horrified look on lover boy’s face. The conflict that was playing out in his mind showed on his face; he knew that if he answered this wrong, he would be facing your wrath.

“Uh, well, the thing is…” He shot you a nervous glance, but your features were stone cold. At a total loss for what to say, the boy just trailed off and turned his eyes to his basket. Following his gaze, you looked over his items and immediately recoiled in disgust.

Not a single leafy green (grey) in sight, no meat, no rice, not even one of the food groups necessary to sustain life. Strawberry ice cream mochi, Taiyaki, strawberry Melona bars, Choco Pies, strawberry Hi-Chew, strawberry Chocorooms, strawberry Pocky–– it seemed that strawberry was a recurring theme among his groceries.

Even though the sheer amount of sugar made you gag, a pang of jealousy flashed across your face. That was the life you’d longed for ever since you finished high school: living off of nothing but sugar and carbs, looking like a bum and not giving a damn about it, just chilling.

Unfortunately, with the number of failures and setbacks that stained your past, a carefree life was something you could no longer afford.

“Yeah, okay, we’ve met,” you cut in, saving the boy from the tricky situation. Skeptic, the clerk stared into your unblinking eyes for what seemed to be a solid 15 seconds before shrugging and handing you your groceries. You snatched up your fabric bag and went on your way, walking fast. The color in your cheeks was probably the same as a tomato. Your least favorite fruit.

Why him, of all the places? Why, universe? Where did I go wrong? You were about to drop dead from embarrassment. As you closed your eyes, you could see your tombstone: “Rest in Peace y/n, died alone and patron-less.”

However, what you didn’t know was that your day was about to get worse. A whole lot worse. It all started when you felt a familiar tap on your left shoulder. I swear– You took a deep breath in and let it out slowly to compose yourself and answered without turning around.

“What in God’s good name do you want. And why are you wearing hobo clothes.” My clothes, you realized, a tiny bit weirded out.

“They’re comfy,” he pouted, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his newfound hoodie as if to show off. “Anyways, how come you didn’t check your phone earlier?

“Oh, uh,” you felt the pressure in your head rising as you recalled how you threw your phone down in embarrassment and cried. “Sorry, I was feeling kinda down because a certain someone sorta trashed my life’s work and my only chance of being successful in the industry, sooooo yeah. My bad.”

Sniff. You looked up, startled, only to find that the boy in front of you had tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. His mouth was clamped closed, but his bottom lip was quivering and his eyebrows were turned up, resembling a small child trying to keep himself from bursting into tears after falling and scraping his knee on the pavement. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

Well shit. There were two ways you could go about this: one, let your superego do the talking like a good person and prevent the boy from having a total meltdown in the middle of the sidewalk. The second was letting your id run rampant, taking full advantage of his feelings of remorse and overall just being a jerk. Maybe you could be distant and lacking in empathy, but you weren’t an asshole because you wanted to be one.

“Listen, I’m sorry for calling you a schmuck. A schmuck would not have bothered to keep in contact and a schmuck would not be on the verge of tears out of guilt. ...I accept your apology.” You were going to say that what he did was unforgivable, but you decided no to say that. After a pang of guilt jabbed into you, you bit your lip and softened your tone.

“I know you feel bad, but you don’t need to cry; there’s no way to turn back time. So instead, let’s move forward and keep looking up. I’ll start.” Smiling slightly with a tilted head, you held out your hand. “Hi, my name is y/n. I know that we’ve technically met, but this is the first time we’ve met met. So, nice to meet you.”

He wiped his tears away with the butt of his palm and tried to return the smile, though his was more watery. “Nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Beomgyu.” You noticed the corners of his lips curl upwards in a small smile as he took your hand, shaking it firmly.

There was a pause of awkward silence as you let go of his hand, wiping your sweaty palm on your sweatpants. Well that was the most awkward introduction I’ve ever had in my life. Clearing your throat, you spoke again to clear the tense atmosphere.

“About my compensation.”

#moacabin #txtarcadianet #txt fanfiction #txt scenarios #txt fluff #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #beomgyu fanfiction #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu fluff #okay this is ... awkward #it's been an eternity since i first started writing this #i don't even think this is that good of a fic LOL it's just lots of crack #but anyways i hope you enjoy this story so far !!#it would be great if i could get some feedback about how it's going so far haha

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alpacaparkaseok · 4 years

Text

7 Secrets <pt. 5>

GENRE: Soulmate!au BTS!

WARNINGS: none woohoo

WORD COUNT: 5594 lol sorry there was a lot to get through here but at the same time I'm not sorry

Part 5!!!! You guys I had so much fun writing this part. We are getting down to it. I’m literally so excited. Let me know what you guys think! Thanks for all the support! Also, if you guys have any requests for future stories regarding our boys, hit me up! <3

Minsuh is already waiting for me by the time I exit the building, and I slide into the passenger seat as quickly as possible.

“What’s going on? I have a missed call from Mr. Bang. Should I call him back right now?”

Minsuh looks over at me, and I pause at the look in her eyes. My stomach drops as I expect the worst. Even in the dim interior lighting of her car, I can see just how pale her face is.

“Beth…”

We’re still idling in front of the building, but I feel the whole world spinning around me too quickly.

“Minsuh, what’s going on? Did something happen?” I take a shaky breath. “Are the boys alright?”

Minsuh is quick to reach out and grab my hand, and I notice the tremor in her hand as I cling tightly to her.

“They’re fine, I’m so sorry, I should have clarified sooner.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. If something were to happen to the boys...I can’t finish that thought.

“Then what’s going on?”

Minsuh shakes her head, turning to face forward again before beginning to drive. Even though I feel immense relief knowing that the boys are alright, now I’m beginning to imagine other scenarios. Why would Mr. Bang call me? He never does unless it’s a schedule call to update me on something.

“Bang wanted to call us tonight, but it was a last minute thing. So he did, and we talked.” I wait for her to continue, and she looks like she’s struggling to even speak right now. “We wanted to wait for you, so he didn’t say much…”

“Well, what did he say? Does he want me to call him?”

“No, he’s still on Facetime with everybody. That’s why I came to get you, though. He said it’s really important and that everybody needs to be present.”

I run a hand through my hair, ignoring how it shakes. This morning when I felt so calm and happy seems like years ago.

“Wait, what did he say though?” I realize that Minsuh has done an excellent job at avoiding the question, which does nothing to quell my fears.

She simply shakes her head, focusing on the road. “I don’t think it’s my place to say, but I swear it’s good news. I’m just shaken up. That’s all.”

Good news? I highly doubt it’s that good if Minsuh looks like she’s about to pass out. In fact, she probably shouldn’t even be driving.

What on earth could Mr. Bang want? And so suddenly?

Of course, my mind wants to scream out at me it’s time it’s finally time, but I shove that voice down. I’ve been through too many close calls thinking that I was finally going to come face to face with my soulmate only to be shut down. That kind of thinking only ends up in heartache.

The drive that should have taken much longer than it did (Minsuh is definitely speeding), is suddenly coming to an end as I recognize the Udon place we ate at last night just a couple of blocks away from the apartment. With every passing second I feel like I’m speeding closer and closer to fate. My right foot reacts instinctively as it pumps the brakes only to realize that I can’t.

I realize for the second time in my life that I cannot control fate when it comes knocking. The only thing that I can control is myself.

By the time we park I’ve been practicing my breathing exercises, trying to get my rapid heart rate under control. The street is peaceful, the evening stars just peeking through the bright lights of the city.

Standing there just outside my apartment, I gaze up at the night sky and breathe. In and out, deeply. I cling to the sliver of peace that settles upon me, promising myself that no matter what happens tonight, the stars will still be there. Tonight, tomorrow, and beyond. Fate may toss whatever it wants at me, but the stars will not fail me.

A soft touch at my elbow alerts me to Minsuh’s presence, and she looks at me for a moment before wrapping her arms around me in a hug. I return the embrace, absorbing the unspoken love and support.

“Shall we?” I ask. Minsuh nods, linking her arm through mine as we enter the apartment.

I’m not sure what I expect to see when I go inside, but I know it wasn’t Bang PD’s face staring out at me from our television. Somebody must have connected their phone to the tv to make it easier for all seven of us to take the call.

“Ah, Bethany, how kind of you to stop by.” Mr. Bang’s warm tone carries the innocent-sounding sarcasm we often use with each other. I smirk up at him and I take off my shoes and hurry over to the couch, taking a place between Minsuh and Himari.

“I saw you called me. Sorry I missed it, some of us have work to do.” Mr. Bang grins down at me, and I hear Seohyun give out a strained chuckle. A quick observation shows everybody to be in a similar state to Minsuh. In fact, it looks like Minsuh is better off than most of them. Probably the reason why they sent her to pick me up in the first place.

Mr. Bang clears his throat, drawing my attention back to him. He’s looking beyond his screen, and my heart stutters as I wonder who else is in the room with him.

Please not Namjoon, please not Namjoon.

“So what’s going on? You don’t tend to call without scheduling it first.”

Himari slowly moves her arm until it’s linked through mine, her hand gently squeezing my forearm. I glance at her but her eyes remain glued to the tv.

“Well, remember that conversation we had a little while back, when you requested that I give you a 48 hour notice before meeting your soulmate so you could have enough time to catch a flight to Antarctica?”

I swear I hear a surprised laugh in the background of the call, but the pounding of my heart in my ears overpowers any other sound at the moment.

Breathe, now is not the time to pass out. Remember, that’s Aera’s job.

“Uh-huh,” I mumble out, then remind myself to not look like a zombie. “Yeah, I remember. Why do I get the feeling that I’m once again the last person to know about something important?”

When a few of the girls come out of their trances enough to chuckle knowingly, I suddenly lose the ability to move. Instead I sit there completely still, awaiting Mr. Bang.

Awaiting fate.

Which, in most cases, Mr. Bang and fate are pretty synonymous for me.

“Yeah, sorry about that. You’re just hard to get a hold of sometimes.” When I have no snarky reply for him, he continues. “Ok, Bethany. Consider this your 48 hour notice.”

It takes about five seconds for the weight of that sentence to really sink in.

I always thought that when I was given the long awaited news that I would shortly meet my soulmate, the world would slip away from under me and I would feel like I was floating among the stars. I would be happy, shocked, I don’t know. I would just float there and Namjoon would be the only one to bring me back to earth. Him, and only him. It would be beautiful, and that would be the beginning of everything.

Instead, the world suddenly comes into focus.

I’m blatantly aware of everything surrounding me. It’s like I’m seeing the living room for the first time, seeing the girls for the first time as they turn to assess my reaction. Everything is so tangible, so real.

I can’t tell if it makes me feel small or empowered or just extremely human. Whatever it is, I pull through the shock settling into my bones just enough to slip back into that sarcastic charm I’ve relied so heavily upon all my life.

“Alrighty then,” I mumble, frowning slightly when it comes out in English. Mr. Bang simply grins again. I get up from the couch, the sudden urge to move and feel the ground beneath me impossible to resist. “48 hours? I could probably pull some strings, make it to Antarctica in time. You don’t happen to have any pilot friends, do you?”

Tension that I didn’t know what there before fades from Mr. Bang’s face as he laughs at my ridiculous question. Again, his eyes trail away to look beyond his screen. Who is he looking at? I can’t muster up the courage to ask. Instead, I slip into professional mode. It’s easy enough, seeing as I was just in my meeting this afternoon, slipping into the same persona.

Right. This is just a meeting. We need to hash out the date and time, location. Just like any other meeting. Make it through this meeting, Beth, and then you can do whatever you need to do.

“Ok, I’m assuming that you already told everybody else all of this before I got here?”

“Yes, I did. Sorry, I couldn’t wait.”

“That’s fine. Did you already go over what time? Where?”

Mr. Bang straightens up at my tone, a flicker of an emotion similar to respect in his eyes. “No, I haven’t yet. Would you like to now?”

I nod, then scurry off to where I dropped my bag when I entered. Grabbing my phone from my purse and pulling up the notes app, I settle back down on the couch beside Himari.

“How are you not losing your mind right now?” Himari whispers beside me, so quietly that I almost don’t hear her.

I shoot her an amused look. “Because I think I already died.” I whisper back, and it’s enough to get her to laugh, some of the icy nerves retreating a bit. (and then returning as I remember that we’ve still got our microphones on for the documentary and they caught every word)

I shrug it off, bringing my attention back to the matter at hand.“Alright, let’s hear it.”

↔

The rest of the call passes by in a blur, with Mr. Bang sending us an email with all the needed details. He carefully goes through each point, giving an outline of what awaits the seven of us the day after tomorrow.

Which, as I notice that it’s already nearly 11 pm, is going to be here sooner than I think I want.

“So just go ahead and come up to my office on Thursday, and I’ll be there to help you out with everything else. Sounds good?”

Everybody numbly nods, the emotional exhaustion setting in. I can’t help but grin as I realize with a start that I was given the news about having a soulmate on a Thursday three years ago, and now I’ll finally meet him on a Thursday.

It would appear that fate has a thing for Thursdays.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to just drive there? It’s not that far from here.” I ask the question for the second time. It’s nice that he wants to send a van from the BigHit building, but it just makes me feel a little silly. Like we’re famous or something. Which, when I see Ichika sitting at her usual spot on the floor with a bowl of cereal at her feet, I note that we are anything but famous. I don’t even know when she got up to get cereal.

At least she’s eating. I’m not sure I can stomach anything right now.

“Don’t worry about it, please. I know that it’s going to be a stressful day for everybody, the last thing you need to worry about is driving. The van will be there at 5 pm sharp, just be ready.”

I nod, letting it go. It will be nice to not have to worry about driving, even though it’s only a half hour drive from here. I’ll just have to find something productive to do all day so I’m not losing my mind.

“Ok. That’s fine. Is there anything else?” I hide behind a yawn that quickly passes to Himari at my side.

“That should be everything. Double check the email in the morning after you’ve all rested, and let me know if you need anything.” Mr. Bang sighs, clearly as worn out as we are. “We’re all excited to see you.”

We. “By we you mean you and the staff, right?” I jokingly ask, earning a laugh.

“Obviously. And maybe a few other people as well. See you Thursday?”

“See you Thursday.”

He cuts the call, leaving the seven of us alone in the dimly lit room. I stand up, prepared to pace, but find that I’m too tired to even try. I end up laying down on the ground, staring up at the ceiling.

“Ok,” I start, running my hands through my hair for the fourteenth time tonight. “Can someone please explain to me what just happened?”

The others grunt in agreement, each of us just as much in shock as the other.

It’s silent for a couple of minutes as each of us try to process our thoughts. I close my eyes, mind going a million miles a minute as I try to fathom that after all this waiting, I’m finally going to meet my soulmate.

A sniffle breaks the silence, and my head shoots up as I see Minsuh with her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she quietly sobs.

Everybody is quick to move, all of us surrounding her in a matter of seconds. Aera gently massages her shoulders before leaning forward and nuzzling her face into her neck.

“What’s wrong, Min?” Aera questions, and we exchange knowing glances.

“It’s just,” Minsuh continues crying into her sweater paws, the sight making my heart ache. “What if h-he’s disappointed? I just don-don’t want to disappoint him. I thought I would h-have more time…” Her sobs cut off the rest of her sentence, and my heart cracks on her behalf.

“Oh, Minsuh.”

“You’re not going to disappoint him, I promise.”

“Minsuh, you’re the best of us,” Ichika softly whispers, brushing the hair out of her face. “There’s no way Jungkook could be disappointed. Why do you think Bang PD called so suddenly? I bet Jungkook found out about you and couldn’t wait a second longer to have you in his life.”

Minsuh slowly looks up at Ichika, her eyes red and puffy. “You think so? I don’t think so. Do you think they even know about us yet? Maybe Mr. Bang hasn’t told them yet, a-and we’re just going to be an unwelcome surprise.”

I wince at her words, her fears similar to my own.

Ichika shakes her head firmly, her hand resting just beneath Minsuh’s chin as she looks into her eyes.

“Absolutely not. Minsuh, that’s not going to happen. You know what’s going to happen?” Minsuh shakes her head ‘no’, her eyes wide. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. We’re going to meet our boys,” Ichika’s voice wavers with emotion, but she continues on. “And it’s going to be the best, most memorable day of our lives. We are going to go together, because we’re sisters and we have each other’s backs through thick and thin. We’re going to walk in there and see them and you know what’s going to happen? Aera’s going to pass out, Soon is going to lose the ability to speak,” Soon chuckles, nodding her head in agreement. “Himari is probably going to trip over her own feet, I’m going to spill something on Taehyung, I’m certain about that. I’m not sure what Beth is going to do, but I can guarantee it’s going to be something embarrassing. Very, very embarrassing.” I gasp, pinching her. “Ow! And Seohyun is going to burst into song or something and not be able to stop.” Minsuh bites her lip, a little smile gracing her features. “But you know what? You’re probably going to waltz in there like a freaking princess, and Jungkook is going to be in absolute shock. You’ll make up for all of our clumsiness, and you’ll be so amazing because you already are.”

The seven of us stay like that for a long time, Minsuh’s quiet sobs finally subsiding some time later. At some point she falls asleep, and Aera curls up on the couch next to her, quickly following suit.

Seohyun gets up to go make some tea, Ichika offering to help.

“I’m making chamomile, to help me sleep. Anybody else want some?” The rest of us request it, knowing that we won’t be able to fall asleep as easily as Minsuh and Aera. Not when I keep startling myself every five seconds as I suddenly remember that I’m meeting my soulmate in less than two days.

Himari pats the cushion next to her, and I settle down with a grunt. She flops her head onto my shoulder, and we both stare out the far window into the street. Kyung-soon takes up a spot on the floor at our feet.

“I don’t think I’ll really be able to believe it’s happening until we’re there, actually meeting them,” Himari says.

“Me neither,” Kyung-soon fiddles with her blanket. “Do you think they’re freaking out as much as we are?”

“Oh definitely,” Himari chuckles.

The thought of the boys sitting together and talking like we are now warms me up like hot chocolate.

“Oh, no. What am I going to wear?” I wonder aloud. Everybody else groans in agreement. “Anybody down to go shopping tomorrow?” I ask, already mentally planning an outfit. Everybody is quick to agree.

By the time Ichika and Seohyun arrive with the tea, Aera has roused from her sleep, rubbing her neck.

“Were you guys talking about going shopping?”

Slowly but surely, the heavy shock begins to lift and a lighter feeling replaces it. As I look around the room at my soul sisters, a little pang of nostalgia strikes me. This is one of the last times we’ll be like this. Just the seven of us, with so much uncertainty hanging over us. I wonder how many times I’ll revisit this memory of us sitting together in the middle of the night, entertaining ideas about the boys, outfits, and all the possibilities life has yet to offer us. Future nostalgia indeed.

By the time we actually do decide to go to bed, it’s already 4:30 in the morning. The conversation had taken many different turns throughout the night, including all of us eventually talking about our concerns. We’re excited, yet so afraid.

Aera and I sneak up the stairs as quietly as possible, careful to not wake Minsuh who’s still sleeping on the couch.

“Hey,” Aera whispers before I slip into the darkness of my room. “You didn’t really say a lot about how you’re feeling with everything. Are you sure you’re ok?”

I nod slowly, exhaustion painting itself over my features. “I’m fine, I think. To be honest I think I’m so tired and shocked still that I don’t even know what to feel at this point.” Aera nods along, understanding perfectly. “Maybe I’ll know after I sleep. I think I’m happy, though. And terrified.”

“A great combination.”

“Yep. See you at breakfast.”

Aera raises her eyebrows at me. “Breakfast? I don’t think so. I’ll see you at lunch.”

↔

For the second day in a row I wake up after 10. I blearily open my eyes, checking the time and grunting in indifference. I roll over again, trying to talk myself into sleeping in a little longer. I deserve it. Jet-lag, emotional exhaustion, and staying up until nearly 5 in the morning have done quite the number on me.

I’m nearly asleep again when I sit up straight in my bed, my brain remembering the reason why I was up so late last night.

“Holy freak, holy freak.”

Was that real? I’m still so tired that it feels like a dream.

I scramble to my bedside table again, pulling up my emails on my phone. Sure enough, the email Bang PD sent last night is still there. My eyes drink in the information as quickly as possible, triple checking the date before I finally allow myself to breathe again.

Oh yeah, it’s real. And it’s tomorrow.

The need to get up and move around is suffocating me, my heart already pounding like I’m running a marathon. I slip into the nearest clothes I can get my hands on, the blouse and jeans making me look way more put together than I feel, and I rush to the bathroom to throw my hair back into a ponytail and slap the bare minimum of makeup on my face.

I'm in such a rush that I nearly forget to brush my teeth, and before I know it I’m tiptoeing down the stairs and past Minsuh’s sleeping form still on the couch. I have no idea how she’s been able to sleep this long, I definitely envy her.

Before my brain even catches up with my body, I’ve grabbed my purse and shoes by the front door and slipped out into the morning. The second the door clicks shut behind me, I breathe in deep, closing my eyes as the sun warms me up.

It’s much easier to process everything once I’m outside of the apartment and back in the real world. My feet make their way about three blocks away, to a street vendor that I frequent on the days I have morning meetings.

There are a couple of free benches on the sidewalk, and I sit there as I eat my breakfast. I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, and my stomach is probably what really took control this morning. However, it’s still not enough to make me finish all of my food. I eat about half before I stop, my brain grinding its gears again now that I have some food in me.

As I watch the hustle and bustle of the city all around me, I feel like I’m in some sort of limbo. Everybody is going about their normal business, oblivious to the fact that my life is at a hinge-point and I’m not sure which way it's about to swing.

Try as I might, I’m still restless. There’s not much I can do to help that, I’m sure I’ll be like this until I’ve met my soulmate and put my worries to rest. I wonder if Namjoon is up and as restless and me right now.

Minsuh’s words from last night come back to haunt me. What if they don’t even know about us yet? I can’t decide which one is worse, them knowing and anticipating us, or a surprise visit.

I eventually muster up the strength to order six more meals before beginning the trek back to the apartment. The burn in my arms as I carry a heavy bag on each side brings me a sense of satisfaction, the energy I’m using acting as an excellent distraction.

It’s already noon when I walk through the door, and I see Seohyun talking quietly with a half-asleep Minsuh. “I’m back, and I brought food!”

Seohyun smiles readily at me, her smile contagious. “You left? I swear, we need to put a bell on you or something.”

“Do you want my food or not?”

It doesn’t take long before Seohyun is in the kitchen, divvying up the food to Minsuh and Kyung-soon, who’s still got a towel on her head from the shower.

“Is anybody else up?” I ask, and everybody shrugs in response.

“I thought I heard Himari get up not that long ago,” Kyung-soon offers, and I set off in search of my friend.

I follow my hunch, climbing the stairs as I make my way to the top floor of the apartment. I ponder waking Aera as I pass our floor, but go against it and continue up the stairs. There’s two bedrooms up here, which belong to Ichika and Himari. I knock on Ichika’s door and tell her that there’s food downstairs. Her response is a groan and a thud that sounds suspiciously like her body hitting the floor. I suppress a giggle and continue on my journey to the upper balcony.

Sure enough, Himari is lounging in a chair with her face turned up toward the sun. Her eyes jump open as soon as she hears me opening up the sliding door and sidling out.

“Hey Himi,” I greet.

“Hey. Is everybody else up?” Her voice sounds like she just woke up.

“Yeah, except for Aera. Who knows when she’ll get up. Probably not for another hour or so.” Himari nods, closing her eyes again. She has dark circles under her eyes. “Did you get any sleep?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“No, not for more than sixty seconds at a time. You?”

I nod a little, grateful for the good five hours I got. “Yeah, a bit. I went out and bought food for everyone if you’re hungry.”

Himari hums in acknowledgement, not making any move to get up. Instead I settle down on the chair beside her, propping my feet up on the railing.

We stay like that for a while, basking in the companionable silence. There’s so much to say, and yet I’m at a loss for words. What does one say in these kinds of situations? ‘Hey, don’t screw up meeting your soulmate tomorrow! Go, fight, win!’

It’s Himari who breaks the silence nearly ten minutes later, and I wonder if she dozed off for some of that time.

“I...I don’t know what to feel.”

I wait, knowing that more is coming. When she doesn’t speak for a while I prompt her. “What are you feeling right now?”

Himari sighs, sitting up and stretching. I notice that she’s wearing the same clothes as last night. She must have just came straight out here last night.

“I feel so tired that I can’t hardly think straight, but I’m so wired right now that I can’t sleep. I feel like I’m drowning, and like I won’t stop until tomorrow. And tomorrow feels so far away but at the same time it’s way too soon. I keep thinking that Hoseok must be feeling something similar, but what if he doesn’t even care? I think, more than anything…” she turns to look at me, and I wince at the fear I see in her eyes. “I keep imagining what he’s going to say when he finds out that his soulmate isn’t even Korean. Not that I think he would hold that against me, but I can’t help but think that he might be a little let down or uncomfortable knowing that his soulmate is from Japan.”

She settles back down with a huff, and I do too. It’s something we’ve talked about a lot, the fact that we’re not from here. Neither one of us care that our soulmates don’t share our nationality, but it’s something that I’ve worried about a lot, imagining what Namjoon will feel when it turns out his soulmate is very much an American.

Sitting here, looking at one of my best friends in the world, I can’t imagine Hoseok being anything less than elated. Himari is amazing. Loyal, hilarious, smart as a whip and one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen in real life.

I’ve told her as much every time we’ve had this conversation. There’s not a lot left to say. It’s a hopeless feeling, knowing that even the most honest statement will do little to mend another. So I choose a different approach.

“Well, if Hoseok is sad that you’re Japanese and not Korean, I’ll just tell everybody that Trump is my uncle or something and he’ll be so grateful to have you that it won’t even matter anymore.”

Himari looks at me like I have horns coming out of my head before she bursts out into laughter.

“Oh my gosh that’s the best idea you’ve ever had!” Her cackles fill up the street, and I find myself laughing alongside her. “Sounds good. Deal.”

↔

Nearly three hours later finds the seven of us piling out of two cars as we arrive at the shop Aera picked out. She finally stumbled down the stairs around 1, exhausted but ready to go shopping. It took some convincing to get her to eat first, but it paid off in the end.

I can’t help but gawk at the as we enter the store apparently owned by one of Aera’s friends within the designer circle.

“Holy cow,” I mutter under my breath. My friends chuckle at the English phrase, it always makes them laugh. “Are we even allowed to be in here?”

Aera laughs at my bewilderment even as Minsuh drags her away into the depths of the store. “Of course!”

Time seems to stand still as we spend hours in the shop, trying on different outfits and each of us vying for the attention of Aera as we trust her opinion the most. We bicker back and forth about how casual or formal we should dress, until Aera finally texts Bang PD to ask. He responds with “wear whatever you want” which does little to help.

“Ok,” Aera rounds us up like a preschool class. I munch on a churro that I snuck out and bought a few minutes ago, Himari eyeing me suspiciously. “Let’s just follow Mr. Bang’s advice and go for something we each feel comfortable in. I would advise a casual-nice outfit, we’re trying to make a good first impression after all. At the end of the day, though, I want you guys to stay true to what you like. I know you all very, very well, so I will know if you’re lying.”

Ichika salutes her before heading back into the mess of clothes she’s picked out. The clock above her has me dropping my chin to the floor.

“Um, what time does the store close?”

A worker pipes up from the cash register. “Don’t worry, we’re open until midnight.”

I sigh in relief, glad that we won’t be in too much of a rush even though we’ve already been in here for hours. My stomach protests staying in here without proper food for much longer, and I promise it that I’ll be done within the hour.

↔

An hour and a half later five of us waddle out of the store clutching our bags as we make our way to the nearest restaurant. Minsuh opted to stay behind with Aera, who had been so busy helping everybody else that she hadn’t even hardly begun looking for herself. She assured us with a wink that she wouldn’t take long. Apparently her professional eye had already picked out a few outfits throughout the day.

The five of us order food, settling our things into a corner booth as we complain about our feet hurting and discuss our outfits.

“We’re going to look so good.” Himari smiles, and I’m glad to see that her confidence has taken a boost since this morning.

“We need to make sure we get enough sleep tonight, though.” I add, giving her a knowing look.

“Ay ay, captain.”

The rest of the night passes in a blur, Aera staying true to her word and showing up with Minsuh only thirty minutes later. When she shows us her outfit, we all agree on it.

“How are you so good at these kinds of things?” Seohyun asks, bewildered. Seohyun has a reputation for being indecisive when it comes to her clothes, she relies heavily upon Aera’s expertise.

“Practice, practice, practice.”

“Speaking of practice,” Ichika interjects, “We need to practice not losing our minds tomorrow.”

People glance at us from their booths, clearly wondering what we’re talking about as we bounce ridiculous ideas off of each other. At one point Kyung-soon says she’s going to run laps around the BigHit building in order to burn off some steam before going in.

“Jin’s going to look outside the window and see you in your new outfit running laps around the building.”

“Yeah, and he’ll probably just say, ‘screw it, I’m joining her.’”

“Actually, that would totally happen.”

“Meanwhile the rest of us are hiding in the van.”

“Eating churros.”

“Oh, definitely eating churros.”

“Do they sell churros here? Now I’ve got a craving.”

By the time we make it back home we’ve eaten our fair share of churros (my second one of the day), Seohyun bought earrings, and we’ve come up with a code word for Aera when she feels like she’s about to pass out. (the code word is ‘holy cow’. Yes, in English. I’m dying for her to use it.)

We all go our separate ways, Ichika behind me as I climb the stairs to my room. She pauses to hug me goodnight before continuing up to the next level. It’s late enough for me to not even bother checking the time before I slip into my pajamas and fall into my bed. Who knew shopping could be so draining.

Fate is kind to me tonight, as I fall asleep in no time. The final thought on my mind is the fact that tomorrow is Thursday, and my life is going to change forever.

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Ok! I’m so excited for our girls to finally meet the boys! I’ll upload pictures of the outfits I was thinking of for everybody. I hope you enjoy! If you want to join the taglist, let me know! :)

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5lazarus · 3 years

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Labyrinth

Chapter Two: Kirkwall Read on AO3 here. Read Chapter One: The Circle here. Summary: Anders tries to enjoy a life roving without a care, but destiny--and justice, and letters from Karl--draw him to the City of Chains. A better world is possible, and though Kirkwall's a shithole, Anders is convinced that once he breaks Karl out of there, they can do anything. If you want the full story of how Justice and Anders take on a despair demon that's clogging people's lungs in the Foundry, check out my story Phosphorescence! (and read on, to find out why that's referenced!)

Anders wakes up in a dirty bed in the Gnawed Noble to Isabela tying a kerchief to keep back her hair. He watches her a moment, enjoying the suppleness of her back. She is lovely, nude but for the blue in her hair.

She glances over her shoulder carelessly. “Oh. You’re still here. I liked that thing you did with the lightning.” She picks up a letter, bound with a lyrium sigil pressed into the wax seal. “This came for you.”

“From who?” he asks, rolling out of bed. He stretches, enjoying taking up space with his nudity. He loves the lankiness of his body, he loves letting it feel good, the magic running through his veins, the pleasure this all brings to him and to others, the woman who took him to bed.

“Some mage in a silly hat,” Isabela says. “I don’t ask questions. Are you going to leave, or what?”

He snorts and gathers his clothes. Dressed now, Anders grabs his satchel and ambles down to the inn. The innkeeper places a fryup in front of him, generous because he fixed her back and hand tremor. Ferelden has never cared that much about mages, either locking them up or letting them go, and Denerim everyone always looks the other way. Anders eats until he’s full, luxuriating in the looseness of his body, and contemplates the letter in front of him. Who would reach out to him at this point?

Justice says, You left a lot of people behind. Karl? Mahariel let you go but she wasn’t happy about it.

I don’t want to think about that.

He slips the letter into his pocket, downs his ale, and leaves with a clatter of dishes. He should leave Ferelden soon, but cutting through Orlais seems a nightmare. There’s only so much amnesty the Wardens provide.

Anders finds himself at the city gates, slightly befuddled, and blinks. He draws in breath suddenly and coughs on the sweetly rotting smell of gutter garbage. Justice says, You should read that letter. I bet you it’s important. Taste that lyrium. It’s familiar, isn’t it?

“Shut up,” he murmurs.

The guards eye him warily. He hitches his satchel on his shoulder and passes through the gate without incident. The roads are busy now that spring is here and the slushy mud has dried again. Anders passes families returning to Denerim and merchants heading up the King’s road. At a crossroads he sits under the old wooden signs and pulls out his satchel. He’s got some hardtack left, and he nibbles at the corner of a piece while he contemplates what to do next. There is always the Anderfels. The Mages’ Collective needs more messengers, too, if he wants to be useful.

Justice says, You need to read that letter. You owe it to whomever wrote it.

Anders snorts. What are you now, my conscience?

If you need it. Justice is unplaceable. If it is right.

Sighing, Anders pulls out the letter. He presses his thumbnail onto the wax seal and surges a quick snap of lightning. Faintly, the lyrium sigil glows. The wax releases the paper. He opens the letter and begins to read. To his surprise, it’s not written in Common, but in Anders instead--clunky, constructed like it were Common, but understandable nonetheless.

“They’ve sent me to Kirkwall and I don’t even know why. Every few months someone goes missing and I can hear the Gallows screaming, no one knows where they’re going but it’s clear they’re trying to kill us. There are no old mages in the Gallows. The First Enchanter is the oldest and every day he is looking more pinched, more worn, he talks to himself or something, I don’t want to know. That’s how this place gets you. There is so much I don’t want to know but every night the dead rise teeming in my dreams, and they tell me this city was built on blood.

“I’ve heard rumors the Divine sent the Seekers to investigate and no one knows whether it’s to annul us or reconsider the Chantry’s puppet, Meredith. She killed the last Viscount and sent the new one his bloodied ring, as a reminder. This is where they send the liberati to die, if Uldred couldn’t ground them down first. Every month there’s a new disappearance and I do not know if it’s despair--you know me, I have never had patience for despair--but I wonder, when will I be next?

“Do not let me be next. Let the Mages’ Collective know--Kirkwall cannot be forgotten. We need help. Orsino is trying his best but the nobility is terrified of the Knight-Commander and clearly the Divine finds her useful. Get me out of here. Get us out of here. Or there will not be a Circle left.”

He heads back to Denerim and convinces Isabela to take him as far as Highever. He could get himself a bunk at the castle if he felt like it, Teyrn Cousland is generous to stray wardens since his sibling ran off with the Crows, but he wants to say unnoticed. He finds the Collective’s safehouse. A mage, fled from the White Spire, is sheltering there. When he tells her he’s heading to Kirkwall, she laughs.

“I promise I’ll get a drink for you, when I see your name of the missing list of the collective newsletter,” she says. “Me, I’m heading towards Denerim. I heard the Wardens are taking anyone, nowadays.”

“The Deep Roads suck,” Anders says flatly. “And they wouldn’t let me take my cat.”

“Why the fuck would you take a cat to the Deep Roads?” she says. “What sort of darkspawn cruelty is that?”

Needless to say, he does not make a new friend.

He leaves a letter at the Collective, for them to forward faster than he can get there: “I’m coming. I love you. Stay strong.”

It takes him another two weeks to get across the Waking Sea and into Kirkwall proper. Though it’s summer, the seas roil. The Wardens say that all the seasons fall out of joint after a Blight. It snows in Seheron, it rains upon the Hissing Wastes. He doesn’t get seasick; Justice keeps him strong, helping him ease into the gravity of the waves.

Sometimes you gotta lean into it, he says. Sometimes you gotta be swept away.

Rainsplattered and queasy the ship drags itself into the City of Chains. The bronze of the statues of screaming slaves shines dully in the low morning light. Anders feels suddenly the great despair of acceptance the millions who have passed through these gates grasp at his heart and tug lightly. Above the Gallows Hightown shines, clad in marble, on the literal backs of these statues. Karl had never sailed before. Stumbling down the plank, pushed by the eager crowd at his back, did he contemplate falling into the waters instead? Did he know how to swim? He had never been in a body of water larger than a bath.

Anders draws his hood over his face and disembarks, shaking. Justice says, steady, steady. This is where you’re meant to be. There’s work to be done yet.

“I need to get him out of here,” Anders murmurs. “All of them.”

Some nobleman’s Tevinter wife bribes the guards to let him through unquestioned. He gets a piece of paper that certifies he is sent by the Wardens to provide holy aid for the lost souls of Darktown, after the Blight. That isn’t forged, Mahariel sent it ahead of time; she keeps tabs on him, to remind him whose, exactly, he is. Karl’s, the Circle’s, the Anderfels’, Kirkwall’s--he is beaten and robbed on his way to meet the messenger from the Mage Underground. They take his shoes. Kirkwall’s cobbles are hard under his feet, and positively grotesque in the rain. He drags himself there regardless.

Justice says, Karl. The mages. There’s rot here, can you feel it? Millions dead. I came here too late. Or soon enough. There’s a grimness to his thoughts. Get yourself some clothes. Beg. Fuck. There are things in motion and we must be part of it.

Eventually he finds the right tenement and someone washes the grime off of him and gives himself to drink and ill-fitting boots, bought with Tevinter money. Sure, magic is made to serve man and not to rule over him, but the First Enchanter sends all records of the money the Formari bring in to the Chantry, so they take what hidden cache that can be ever-so-conveniently found. Someone explains to him that Tevinter has interests in the city.

“No shit,” Anders says. “I saw the statues. Got anything stronger to drink?”

He jots down a note in Anders, drunk and tired, as the rain floods the streets below: “I’m here. Where/when can we meet? I love you.” He tucks the note into a hollow gold coin. The next morning, as the neighbors bail out the basement apartments, Anders slops through the gutters to the Gallows. He heads to the Formari stand and slips it to the buyer. Then he hurries back to Darktown and makes himself useful. He patches houses and welds leaky pipes shut. He fights a Despair demon that mired itself in the muck of the Foundry. He develops the classic Kirkwall cough, and learns how to heal it.

He watches a lot of people die--starved refugees from the Blight, miners possessed by those who were sacrificed to the quarries centuries before their time, too many babies who seem to have been born listless, without the will to survive. Lirene calls it the Kirkwall disease.

“Mages don’t do well here,” she says, late one night in her shop, eating the last scraps of stew after a long beggars’ line. “You should try your luck elsewhere.”

Anders says, “Where? Tevinter? I’m not a slaver. No. This is where I have to be. You know.”

Lirene frowns over her bowl. “Yes,” she says. 1. Her spoon clinks as she places it down. “You know, while you wait for your boyfriend to contact you, you might as well make yourself useful. We can scrape together the bribes for the templars, if you want to do more than mix poultices.” Anders does not immediately answer. He does not want to return to the Circle, to die another slow death, humbling his temper and mastering desire, accepting that he must be watched. But you gotta, Justice says. Aren’t you sick of watching children die? Anders says, “Don’t worry about the bribes. I’ll talk to--” He stops. Lirene smiles at him. “I have a lover,” she says frankly. “He’s a templar. Oh, don’t give me that look. He’s a good one.” Anders scoffs. “Yes, yes, I know--the only good templar is a dead templar, or ones like Samson, who make themselves useful. He’ll pay the bribes, and he’ll deliver your letters too. If you make yourself useful.” “I want the right to fuck around,” Anders says, leaning back in his chair. The chair creaks warningly. “I’ll help out, sure. If your good templar can cover for me, then yeah. I’m sick of seeing babies die of depression. This city’s fucking miserable. I’m down to clean it up.” Lirene says, “Good. How good are you at fighting? There’s a set of rooms in Darktown the Seven Sisters have been using, but with my people and your mage connections, I’m certain we can talk them on.” Anders writes Karl: “L.’s helped me set up a clinic. I know, you remember how I’d always complain during those anatomy lessons. But it’s paid off, literally. I don’t make my patients pay, of course, but other people are happy to see me taking care of the detritus of Darktown. The shipworkers’ guild and the dockworkers’ guild pay me to treat their workers well. Which you know is getting me drawn into labor disputes which is fascinating but not really the point. What I want to say is that there’s a life outside the Gallows and even though it’s all literally underground, in a quarry where you can still see the clawmarks left by elves falling to their deaths, you can hear the screams at night and in the Fade, and the moss glows phosphorescence, even after Justice and Purpose and I took on that demon in the Foundry--I can feel something building. Something growing in this dank. Something’s gotta give, and it won’t be me. If that makes sense. I love you. Reply soon. Tell me, how are we going to meet?” Karl writes, “I would suck Ser Alrik’s dick for the chance to see phosphorescent moss. Well. Perhaps not Ser Alrik. He leaves me well alone. A mercy. Others aren’t so lucky. Our friend’s wife says the Seekers were last seen sniffing around the Viscount’s office, which is a good sign. Dumar’s M.’s puppet, and behind her is Elth and behind her is of course our great DVine. But I think it’s a good sign that she’s conducting an independent investigation of what makes Kirkwall hell. The entire apprentice class failed their Harrowing this week. It is so hard to keep the Tranquil safe, my love. We cannot risk leaving them alone but they stare and they stare and these ones, they’re barely more than children. Kinloch Hold was a slow death but this, I sometimes wonder how Jowan is doing in the Aeonar. Because I think it’s better than here. I’ve volunteered to watch the Tranquil in the market next week. We’ll be under heavy guard, we won’t be able to talk. But maybe you and L. can walk by. Even stand on the stairs. A glimpse, that’s all I need, to get through this. I love you.” Anders writes, “Your hair’s gone gray and you’ve let your beard eat your face. That’s how I know you’re suffering, my love. And you’ve lost weight. I don’t know how you can stand to be surrounded by Tranquil. They enrage me, they drive me past any control, and I don’t know if it’s Justice or grief or this fucking city, but I can’t stand seeing them, it makes me feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin. And there’ll be Anders-gore plastered all around the fucking Gallows courtyard, like when Kirkwall had its first of many uprisings. Well, it’ll happen

eventually. My tribute to the sacrificed of the city. Except we’ll win, too. Every day I’m more and more convinced that not only a better world is possible, but it’s happening. So much that I can’t write here but the M.U. and the collective has eyes and ears everywhere and you’re right that it’s a good sign, what you told me. There’s more sympathy in high places than I thought, and all of the low. In my clinic I’ve met all sorts of people. Too many Fereldens, and they all think I’m Ferelden. Lots of elvhen nationalists. That’s how they spell it in Common, with the extra-H. Makes me wish I paid more attention to how Leorah used to write. There’s a Dalish clan nearby but they’re not from the area, they’re from the Korcari Wilds, and they don’t deal with the alienage. But I’ve been hearing a lot from the elves who work down on the docks, that’s not what they’re all like, and they’re so different about magic. They take it for granted, almost. None of the shame we get fucked with. They’re proud when little Ellana or Mahanon starts shooting sparks from their fingertips, and they’ll move their kids from alienage to alienage and clan to clan to keep them safe. I met a woman who’s been running a long time, to keep her son safe. He has bad nightmares, Kirkwall makes it worse, but she doesn’t have the money to move on. I gave her more than I can spare. If you could leave where would you want to go? I’m sorry. It’ll take longer but I swear I’ll get you out of there.” Karl writes, “My love, don’t worry. We can wait. We have time. You did the right thing. Maybe she can talk to the Dalish? Orsino’s complained about how Clan Sabrae has made dealing with M. more difficult. Huon was recently captured, he’d been living quietly in Kirkwall for years. He’s not taking the Circle well, but do any of us? I thought I could survive Kinloch Hold but now I see what you mean. I will kill to feel the grass under my ass. I mean it, Anders. I will. So, I suppose I want somewhere with grass. Do you remember the high grass on the steppes, how the frost would linger on the wheat? I remember my last harvest. It was beautiful, even if it meant that some of us were going to die. It came as a relief that the templars came. One less mouth to feed that hard winter. I wonder if any of my family survived. My mother was never good at rationing. I’d like to check. I haven’t ridden a horse since I was a child but perhaps we could steal horses and ride hard across across the Imperial Highway, through the wastelands of the Blight to the Wandering Hills. Do you remember crossing the Hunterhorn Mountains, when they dragged you to Ferelden? I want to see the sun rise on the mountaintop, above the frozen wastes, and tuck my hands under your tunic to keep them warm. I want to fuck you slowly as the bird wake up in the valley, in some forgotten corner of the mountains where no one will ever see us, and it will take centuries for anyone to stumble across our campsite. Promise me that. That you’ll keep me warm.” Then Anders does not hear from him for weeks.

#dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #kanders #karl thekla #anders #anders/karl #karl/anders #kirkwall #labyrinth #da2 #lirene #justice #dao #awakening

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