#If I’m vibing with them and they make me feel something (well except for irritation I suppose) I do like them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wisteriasxx · 3 years

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a/n: had this in the drafts since tfatws finished streaming and I forgot to post it but here haha

18+

Warnings: Weed, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex

Smoke sesh with Marvel characters 🍃

this one is for all my stoner marvel fans💕 just my thoughts on what it would be like to smoke with some of our favs✨

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Steve

Well considering Steve is a super soldier, he can’t get drunk or high..........BUT for the sake of this let’s just pretend he can ;)

It would probably take loads of convincing for him to even try the stuff

If he decides to try it, he’s only taking one hit.

High Steve is definitely just super chill, and really cuddly, he’s gonna grab you and just hold you for the rest of the night.

When it comes time for munchies he will literally eat anything, but his favorite snack when the munchies hit is Mozzarella sticks.

He’ll start talking about how things were back in the 40’s, including how crazy the youth is today with this stuff you’ve just given him.

Tony

We all know that Tony is KNOWN for being a party animal, so he’s definitely down for a lil sesh with the avengers

Tony definitely likes to drink more then he would smoking, but he’ll still smoke.

Probably owns a dab pen with indica for for his anxiety

Prefers indica but will settle for a hybrid (sativa and indica)

Gets really giggly and even more sarcastic when he’s high

Will not move from his current place of rest, someone will have to bring him food when the munchies come or he will complain the entire time

Favorite munchies food is potato chips

High tony will definitely accidentally start spilling your secrets in front of people, you might have to physically shut him up somehow

Thor

Will give you a funny look when you hand him a joint or a pen or whatever it is that your using.

He’ll understand that you smoke it, but he’ll think it’s just tobacco or something

Before you can tell him what it actually is he’s already taken a couple of big hits

Once you tell him what it is that he’s smoking and what it does, the only response you’ll get is “this tastes funny and it will have no effect on me because I am mighty”

Fast forward to ten minutes later of Thor being loud and laughing at everything and just being an absolute goofball

Will eat and drink everything in sight once the munchies hit for him

“Where can I get more of this midgaurdian herb!??!!?!!” He’ll yell from the couch

Like Steve, he’ll get grabby and just wanna hold you the entire time. If you’re standing he’s gonna stand behind you with his arms wrapped around you and his chin resting on ur head. If you’re sitting he’s putting his arm around you and pulling you close.

Definitely ends with him passed out on the floor

Natasha

When she sees everyone playing “puff puff pass”, she’ll roll her eyes.

“What are you guys in high school or something?”

She will insist that she wants nothing to do with it, but after tony makes some remark about it, she decides to prove him wrong.

After a hit or two, Nat becomes more comfortable, she becomes less uptight.

Likes to shoot out more sarcastic one liners then usual

Becomes very flirty ;)

She gets smiley but in a tired way

In fact, She doesn’t stay awake very long after she’s had a hit or two in her system, she gets too tired and calls it a night

By “calls it a night” I mean she basically droops onto you and refuses to move, you’ll have to move her if you want to.

Doesn’t get the munchies because she’s asleep before she can

Clint

Clint will take a hit or two, just because why not? He could use the relaxation

He’s super chill when he’s high, he keeps to himself

He’s quiet when he’s high, but that’s just because he’s vibing, he’s taking in the music or just simply listening to the nearest conversation.

Wears sunglasses the whole time because he doesn’t want anyone to see his red eyes

He doesn’t really get munchies, he just chills the entire time

You can’t tell if he’s asleep or if he’s just vibing

Will only give one word answers if you ask him something

Not the most fun to smoke with but he’s just chilling and minding his own business so he’s welcome.

Loki

Will look at you with irritable confusion when you offer him a hit

When you tell him what it is and what it will do to him he’ll simply ask, “why would I want to do that?”

He won’t do it in front of anyone, that would mean letting his guard down and becoming vulnerable

He will definitely try it later in private though

When he’s high, he’ll want you to join him

He’s still basically loki when he’s high, he’s just more relaxed

“This is quite nice I must say.”

There will definitely be a conversation about how he can’t believe this is what mortals do for fun

He’ll become a little more open with you because he’s more relaxed

He’ll become confused when the munchies hit, but after you tell him it’s normal he’ll go with it

His favorite munchie food is definitely popcorn

I’m gonna flat out say it, high loki has a higher sex drive

Gets lost in the moment type of guy

In his opinion, the weed helps him block out everything else except for you, and that’s why he likes it

His mischief meter also skyrockets, you thought normal loki was good at pulling tricks? Just wait till you see how creative high loki can get

Bucky

Bucky is gonna look at you like your crazy

Then he’ll remember that he is also crazy, and figures the weed might help ease his mind a little.

Bucky becomes more relaxed when he’s high, his guard has dropped a little, but he’s still aware of his surroundings.

He’s funnier when he’s high

Smiles more which makes you smile because you think he doesn’t smile enough

He still does the staring thing when he’s high, but it’s not as intimidating now, there’s a softer look in his eyes and a small smile on his face

Will open up a little more about his feelings towards you

After his first time trying weed, he’ll get some cbd gummies or something on a regular basis to help relax him

When the munchies hit for him, he’ll eat anything, but his favorite munchie food is anything Italian.

He just wants to cuddle man

Wanda

Wanda is surprisingly chill

She’s more open, more humorous, and even nicer.

her magic can resemble her current state of mind if she wants it to

So when she’s high, her magic becomes really pretty and elegant, like it’s in slow motion

In fact, she glows a little when she’s high

She’ll make her magic do pretty things for your entertainment

Due to her magic though, I feel that her high wouldn’t last very long

For her, smoking is just a quick little get away from her mind, something that just takes the edge off a little

Doesn’t get munchies

Prefers indica

Peter (quill)

He’s never had earth weed, but he’s definitely smoked and drank all kinds of substances through out the galaxy

Definitely likes sativa

He’s down for whatever, he likes to try new things

He’ll complain about the taste, but then love the way he’s feeling in 10 minutes

He becomes very stupid when he’s high

He’ll turn his favorite music on full volume and just start doing things, he won’t be able to sit still.

He’ll try to do things to keep himself entertained, but he’ll be bad at doing them because he’s high

When later or the next day comes when he’s sober, he’ll look at the evidence of him trying to do whatever it was he was trying to do and be totally confused, but not surprised

When the munchies hit, he’ll eat anything he can find on the ship that’s edible

It will end with him passed out in some weird spot on the ship or wherever he’s at

He once got high and woke up cuddling with Drax-

Gamora

Will not smoke

The designated driver

The “chaperone” of the night

Sam Wilson

When you offer him a hit, he’ll be unsure and say something like “man I haven’t done something this stupid since high school, I don’t know”

But he says “screw it” to himself and takes a couple of hits

Becomes really smiley when he’s high, like the dude won’t stop smiling. It irritates Bucky.

Definitely will start singing out of nowhere, even if there’s no music playing

He’s also gonna tell crazy stories about his past, things from high school stories to military stories

He livens up the session for sure, after a few hits in, he makes it his goal for the night to make everyone happy and vibing along with him

When the munchies hit for sam, he goes straight for pizza. This man absolutely loooovesss pizza when he’s inebriated

Dr.Strange

Is obviously familiar with the substance

Definitely used to do it all the time in college (helped with the stress of med school)

Will question if it’s the best choice for everyone to be making right now

Most likely will not do it, it wouldn’t look good if the sorcerer supreme was getting high

You’ll ask him if he knows some kind of spell that can sober you up

He’ll tell you “yes” and proceed to hand you a water bottle and roll his eyes

He’ll do the portal thing above you and a bunch of your favorite snacks will land on your lap when the munchies come

He’ll take care of you once you pass out, carrying you to your bed or your couch or whatever and setting a glass of water near you before he leaves you alone

Scott Lang

Oh yeah, he’s definitely taking a couple hits

Prefers bongs

Prefers hybrid blends (sativa and indica)

This man knows his kush okay? Would not be surprised if he had a plug, or if he was the plug

Weed makes him more productive, he’ll start doing things and multi tasking, he’ll do anything from messing around in the suit to playing rock band

Chinese take out is this mans go to munchie food, nothing brings him greater joy then inhaling wonton soup or lo mein when he’s high

He’s bringing his friends too, there’s no arguing

Like Sam, he livens the session up

Somehow become bolder, dumber and flirty at the same time when he’s high

When he comes down though, he comes down hard, and sometimes literally.

He’ll pass out or fall asleep in the weirdest places, but he’ll be enjoying it and wake up feeling well rested somehow

Bonus cuz i think it’s funny ++

John walker

Will be all cocky about taking a hit, thinking it won’t affect him or that it’ll make him cooler or something dumb

Gets scared and paranoid

Starts literally tweaking and saying stuff like “they’re coming for me”

Freaks out because he can’t handle the kush in his system

Definitely locks himself in the bathroom and cries, calls Lamar to come pick him up

Ends up becoming a hazard for everyone, so Bucky has to knock him out cold

Will probably snitch on everyone for smoking just because he had a bad time with it and he’s just jealous that he can’t vibe correctly

#marvel #marvel mcu #the avengers #tony stark #iron man #captain america #the winter solider #the winter solider x reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #black widow #tfatws #wandavision #dr. strange #loki x reader #thor #thor x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel headcanons

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lesbiansforboromir · 3 years

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Let me tell you all about a very personally satisfying HC I have that, whilst perhaps explaining some things within the books, is really just for my own enjoyment.

So, the idea originates in the concept that everyone in the Dol Amrothian line are very spooky. The close elven lineage and living near an old abandoned elven haven had particularly mysterious effects on the whole family. Sure there are Dunadain in Gondor and they can develop certain spooky traits, but the Lords of Dol Amroth start out spooky and usually stay that way. It goes up and down depending on the individual, but generally they are all uncanny at the very least.

Denethor can see into the hearts of men, yeah ok cool I guess. Imrahil goes down to the Dol Amroth harbour at dusk and whispers to the swans until midnight, he answers questions you were sure you did not say out loud, he can make you weep with genuine grief over a sadness he hasn’t even mentioned. Speaking with Finduilas sometimes makes you feel like time passes in an instant, or incredibly slowly, or not at all... except no... really... how much time has passed? Wasn’t it just morning? How is the sun setting already? Or, oh my gosh, I’m going to be late! Or... not..? it’s barely been a few moments, yet I feel like I just lived a lifetime...

Ivriniel insists this is all nonsense, doggedly, she refuses to acknowledge it, no matter how many political rivals raise her considerable ire and come down with a mysterious and debilitating illness the next day. Grandmother Duilindes is just straight up a witch. ‘It’s all for the honour of Eru’ she says placatingly, as she enters her rooms in the Palace that she forbids anyone else from entering.

Denethor had heard these rumours before meeting Finduilas and, sure, he sometimes feels like he is being hunted, only to turn and find Adrahil’s eyes on him. But Dunadain are just a little strange like that! Surely it’s been blown out of proportion. He believes this up until he comes to Dol Amroth as Finduilas’ suitor.

Denethor: Shall we take a walk after dinner? Everyone looks up from their plates in alarm Adrahil: Are you joking? Denethor: ??? Imrahil: It's the seventh day! The gardens aren't to be disturbed! Denethor, whispering to Finduilas: What does that mean?? Finduilas, chuckling: oh, Denethor!

He sees Imrahil whispering to the swans at one point and is about to call out to him before Finduilas quickly gestures him silent.

Denethor, whispered: What is he doing? Finduilas: Shh, if the swans hear us we'll surely be attacked. Denethor: But then shouldn't Imrah- Finduilas: SHH.

One evening Ivriniel sweeps in with a stormy countenance, muttering over Lord Garahel’s stupidity. The next morning Denethor hears Imrahil mention that Lord Garahel has been taken ill with some fainting sickness. The look he gives Ivriniel is enough for her to know his mind.

Ivriniel: Your imagination will run wild Denethor, I had thought you more reasonable. You think I, what? Cursed him? Don’t be ridiculous. Denethor, turning to Finduilas: Do you think... she knows she's doing it? Finduilas: Oh no, in fact she's determined to remain ignorant to it. Denethor: Can you... do that? Finduilas: I havent tried :)

At some point Finduilas had told Denethor that ‘Imrahil is the odd one of the family’ and by the end of the visit all Denethor can think is ‘by what metric??’

Denethor had to admit to himself privately that he was not at all put off by Finduilas’ nature, but he did have cause to worry what their children would be like. Finduilas came across Denethor, early after Boromir’s birth, rocking him to sleep and murmuring softly; 'I may have my failings as a father, I am sure I shall, but I swear they will be honestly meant, I love you so dearly my son... please do not curse me when you are older and I do not allow you everything you ask. I promise I only ever have your wellness in mind.' And she thought it was very sweet and proper, but she didn’t tell him he was wrong! And for very good reason!

Boromir was an unnerving child. He learned to speak just a little too quickly, and when he did he would often say uncanny things, too knowing things, indecipherable things that became daunting the longer you thought about them. He had such a powerful grasp of complex feeling that he would often solve arguments between adults, explain emotions back at his parents or offer reasons for another child’s behaviour that were so accurate it became uncomfortable.

3yo Boromir: (explains the reason Denethor’s secretary was distracted that day unprompted) Finduilas: (laughs) yes that's right! Denethor: It's.... TOO right. Finduilas: Oh well children are intuitive aren't they? Denethor, picking Boromir up: ... I feel under qualified to teach you things. Boromir: (baby-giggles but in a like way too knowing way)

And then sometimes Denethor would be sitting reading on a bench on a balcony in the early evening with Boromir contentedly playing with a fiddle-toy beside him, and suddenly his son’s voice would break the silence with; 'When I wasn't here I was colder, so I think I like it here, I'll stay. The air isn't as delicious but there's more to see.'

And then he’d go back to playing as though nothing was wrong whilst Denethor had an existential crisis.

Denethor: W.. where were you, before? Boromir: Well I didn't know, because I couldn't know, but now I can know things, just not that. I haven't decided if I like it.

He asks Finduilas about it as soon as he can find her and she just laughs, ‘don't worry he'll forget he knows that in a few years’ she says, as though that helps at all.

But in general this is as far as Boromir ventures into the ‘spooky Dol Amroth’ territory. Sometimes he mentions things he CHOSE NOT to do that suggests he is capable of more, but other than randomly forcing Denethor to consider his position in the universe and reading him for shit, the first five years of being a parent is fine for Denethor.

At one point, when Boromir was about two, someone asked Finduilas if they were planning for another baby soon. Finduilas laughed ruefully, as though everyone would know that was a foolish question. ‘Oh no, much too soon for that’ she said. Denethor knew he had to follow up on what the hell that meant later. But when asked, all Finduilas said was ‘Oh you know! If siblings are born too close then they align their powers. Haven’t you heard my father talk about my uncles?’ She says it with the same tone as reading something out of a parenting manual. Denethor doesn’t want to hear about Finduilas’ uncles, but accepts this is important and stops thinking about it.

And it’s a good thing they did wait because, whilst Boromir was unnerving, Faramir is straight up terrifying.

What Denethor realised was that Boromir had been showing restraint. Faramir however was very comfortable with his powers and saw no reason not to use them. Denethor would find himself lost in baby Faramir’s eyes, feeling unable to move simply because of the weight of his stare. Finduilas and Boromir would have to save him from Faramir’s grasp, an act that would make Faramir look very put out.

If people irritated Denethor when he was holding his youngest son, then just a glance from this child would make them drop whatever they were holding, Faramir grinning victoriously all the while. If Faramir did not want to take a bath then Finduilas would have to be present in case the baby decided to make Denethor relive his entire childhood.

Sometimes Denethor would come outside to see his toddler just surrounded by the street cats of Minas Tirith, conducting some kind of incomprehensible tribunal that all the cats appeared to abide by. At one point Boromir was holding Faramir when Faramir grasped his brother’s face and pulled so that their eyes locked. Boromir passively held Faramir’s intense gaze for a while in this charged and tense moment, before calmly looking away as Faramir pouted. Denethor once again begged Finduilas to explain, but all she had to give was a fond sigh and a ‘Aw, Faramir just wants to get to know him, but our Boromir is too canny, Ivriniel and I used to do that.’ Denethor is used to helpless bemusement and concern by now.

Now the SECOND part to this HC- YES I’M STILL GOING, THIS IS ALL IMPORTANT- the second part is that Dol Amrothians ALSO get a kind of ‘choice’. (This is likely not at all canon friendly tbh but uwu I can have a leetle canon noncompliance if it doesn’t effect the vast expansive canon... as a treat) It is far more unconscious and happens in childhood, but there is a point where a child will ‘decide’ to continue being spooky or to be more mundane. This never overrides ALL the spookiness, hence Ivriniel’s intermittent cursing and Finduilas’ occasional time dilation, but Imrahil still out spooks the lot of them. Amongst the family this is known as ‘settling’.

Boromir settles when he is eight. One day he comes to breakfast and Denethor looks into his son’s face and feels like he is suddenly more in the world, more in the moment. Boromir seems as himself as ever, but he makes friends easier afterwards. Whereas he had always been liked, now he is popular and has close relationships with children, rather than always seeming too distant. This also coincides with one of Gandalf’s rare visits. He had been trying to connect with Boromir, trying to engage him on very specific topics. Boromir had not been amused.

Denethor would never say that Boromir hating Gandalf’s vibes was the reason he settled for mundanity. Boromir had many good reasons, he is sure. But the fact that he chose that moment to settle, so that Denethor was allowed to watch Gandalf also realise that Boromir was no longer ‘apt to his hand’, well he might have gleaned some little pleasure from it.

The only aspect Boromir retains is his general resistance to such spookiness. Hence his frustration in both Rivendell and Lothlorien, the time distortion of those places not effecting him and the imposed rest not touching him, meaning he feels every passing day keenly. It also explains his resistance towards the Balrog’s doomful presence, as well as his heightened distress at Galadriel’s ability to see into his mind, where he had always been able to defend himself before.

Faramir on the other hand is seven when he settles, thoroughly content with his spooky powers and wanting even more command over them. It is with this settling that he becomes able to sometimes cause people pain for lying to him. Denethor... struggles as a single father for many reasons.

#erran vs tolkien #denethor #finduilas #imrahil #boromir #faramir #tolkien #lotr #urrr this isn't meta um...#it'll go into #soap operas in mannish sindarin #anyway #because it's fun #text post #long post

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voidcat · 3 years

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— fangs dipped in wine

characters: chuuya nakahara, you

info: vampire au, lowkey suggestive, 2.3k

a/n: let's all pretend for a hot second bram stoker was an actual author in bsd and that instead of abilities, there are vampires<3 I'll probably do a p2 to this in a timeskip way so itll b more fun yay,,

Several days ago, it was just an idea. A laughing matter. A ‘what-if’ to build scenarios on and giggle.

Several days ago, it was night time too, the taste of alcohol fresh, her laugh right beneath your ear, it was warm, and bubbly and there was a sense of direction, a certainty.

Several days ago your friend hadn’t suddenly announced dropping out and moving out of the shared apartment you two had yet. Maybe she had been considering for a while now but in that very moment, it hadn’t happened yet, your world wasn’t upside down.

“Just imagine!-“ her breath fawned over your ear, glasses clinking against one another. “So I’m talking to this guy, right? Like music stuff, and movies, and all. No feelings whatsoever,” you found it hard not to roll your eyes and was met with a shove. “Not like that!” she protested. “He tells me about his boyfriend, I even helped him plan a surprise party once.”

“You cannot know if he’s faking…” you remember saying, in that knowing tone, smooth like silk and lecturing. “Yea whatever. Anyways! Get this:” placing the glass down in concentration that was foreign to her, you were intrigued.

“They don’t have vampires.”

“No way.” Slowing taking another sip from your drink, it sounded like a fantasy almost. Sure, there were rumors of not every country having vampires but it was numbered, there were so little, and the vampires? They were ever present.

“So he says: ‘Hey, aren’t they all rich peeps always wanting fresh blood? What if you have lots of blood already, and make a deal? You can trick them to pay you loads for it and you’d not even have to have them near your neck!’-“ she paused to let out a bark, you’re sure she’s been doing it since she first saw the message.

“And-“ another pause, to shed a tear, “and he says, ‘and if the vampire is hot? Bonus points! They got those fancy houses, you’d no longer pay rent either.’” The mocking of the voice comes to an end. “Can you believe? A deal, with a Vampire of all people! And he says rent fixed!”

You had to admit, for someone who claims to not met any vampires, it sounded charming on paper, but in Yokahoma?, not so much. At a moment of weakness, you looked at one another, daring, and next, breaking into a fit of laughter and downing the glass in one gulp.

How many days has it been since that night? Five? Maybe seven? It was long enough to miss her presence now, but too short to be threatened by the landlord.

One night you’re at your favorite pub with your dearest friend downing drink after drink. You can remember the stars in the sky that night, you thought it was just your brain imagining it, as well as the crescent moon hanging so delicately.

And next thing you know, you’ve just left this bar, despite the temperature it was cold on your bones, and here stands the redhead, his breath fawning over your neck, mouth open, but not to tell a story for the laughs.

He didn’t bother to hide the fangs and you didn’t bother to leave the place.

An idea you called stupid few nights ago just happened to make sense in that sad sulking state. And then he had to appear, with a glass of expensive wine, locks covering his face just fine, a vest that fits his body perfectly and fangs shining under the dim lights of the bar.

“Oh-kay, that’s enough.” You push his face off with your palm in one go. The ‘thump’ of his hat falling on the floor and the yelp coming from his lips fill the air.

“You’re no fun.” he pouts as he picks up his hat.

“So, how we’re doing this? And no, you cannot drink straight from my neck!” you finish before he can raise a finger.

A moment of silence follows the two of you, it’s a nice place. Expensive looking furniture though it’s more like a house from a catalogue than a home. Still, impressive –he, ‘what was his name again?’, definitely has a taste. The empty crystal glasses sit on the table, next to the bottle, a candle close to burning out completely flickers its flame lazily as your eyes wander.

Your gaze moves onto his sapphire eyes then, watching your every move and breath carefully, but not patiently. You can hear him vibrate with every molecule in his body, trying so hard not to lunge forward or speak up, maybe grab your arm and pull you back towards his chest.

“So? Hello?..” you drag the the ‘o’ and wave a hand in front of his face, “Anyone home?”

Like someone hypnotized stepping out of a trance at a snap of fingers, he jolts, pupils narrow, then widen and focus on your face. “Ah, sorry-“ he starts walking away.

Then he fakes a cough, as if you didn’t catch him staring already… Just how the hell did you find this guy in a city filled with vampires?

He stops, turns back, reaches for your hand and you let him. “Did you drink the wine?” he walks a step ahead, still hand in hand.

“If you ask me one more time, I’ll start suspecting you added some sort of drug.” This seems to get to him, obvious from the way he almost trips on his foot and turns back in a hurry, both hands up in defense and shaking his head like crazy.

“Wh- No- No, no no! It’s nothing like that- I-“ if he didn’t look so embarrassed, you’d even say he looks flustered. His rambling stops when you snort and decide to take pity on the guy.

“Relax I was just joking.” His shoulder drop in relief. “Besides, if you put anything, it’d have kicked in by now.”

“Ah, yeah, right…” he looks down, to his right, and that’s when you see the velvet couch there. He extends his hand, in an offering manner and follows you right after.

Reaching for a pocket in his vest, he whispers to himself, you barely hear. “I just like the taste of wine in blood...”

“Weird, not what I expected, but could be worse. I’ll take it.”

Another silence follows, he avoids your gaze while your eyes never leave his eyes fumbling with his vest and cape. Maybe it’s like one of those cape like jackets, certainly matches the vibe he carries.

Under the shivering candle light, he looks so different from the bold smug suave guy who brimmed with confidence, flashed his teeth like nothing, as if the world belongs to him and anything that does not care for him simply does not exist.

And now with the same face, sits besides you someone else, eyes cast down, hands fumbling, there’s comfort in knowing this is as awkward for you as for him.

(You wonder for a second if there’s something you can do to clear the atmosphere.)

“Maybe you should be having another glass instead of asking me.” You try to say nonchalantly and it takes him a second to get what you mean. Then he smiles, and the hint of a small giggle comes out and his body seems to calm down.

“Give me your hand.” He holds out his, the palm facing the ceiling. “Well? This is the easiest way to do it without leaving permanent marks.” He sounds irritated.

“Or noticeable.” You say and he repeats, a little impatient.

Giving him your less dominant hand, you eye the dagger for as long as you can. When the cold blade meets your palm, you can barely feel its weight.

“Okay, I’ll be honest here.” He stops midway, the dagger in the air. You raise an eyebrow, signaling him to continue. “I’ve never done… this before.”

“So- uh- whatever’s the standart payment, or the whole, you know,” he waves the hand holding the dagger in the air “etiquette for this.” He sounds to be relaxing with each word. And with him, so do you. Then comes back that familiar confidence from the earlier, decorated with a hint of threat and a dare. “Just- Don’t ever try to scam or fool me.”

And goes away the determined face, replaced with surprise, as you start laughing loud, one hand over your stomach.

“Look, listen-“ you stop as you’ve begun. “Chuuya.” He fills the gap for you.

“Listen, Chuuya.” You test his name on your lips. “I’m a broke college student who can get kicked out of their flat any day now. Crossing a vampire is the last thing on my list, trust me.”

Eyes soften, a genuine smile blooms and the silence to follow isn’t heavy anymore.

When he slashes the dagger over your hand, it doesn’t sting. The blood soon reaches the surface, red thick liquid glistening in the candle’s flame, ‘life’ it says.

This is what they want, why they want it, drink it, kill for it.

Hidden in the blood, is life, with all it has seen and will see, warm, moving, trusting.

You watch in a daze as he brings your hand to his mouth. Cold lips make content with your skin, how cold and lifeless they feel against you, you see in clear contrast. The sinking of teeth doesn’t come, you don’t flinch. You can tell he’s making an effort not to bite too hard into your giving hand. Drinking the blood slowly, trying to contain himself from getting greedy, there’s no sound in the air except for your loud heartbeat, echoing in your ear and fastening with each move of his back.

The glimpse of a smile you catch in this scene before you tells, he can hear it too, and probably relish in it.

With each flicker of the flame, his lips start to feel warmer and soon he straightens up. Not a single speck of blood on his frame, he offers you the same smug smile from earlier.

Blood makes place for itself on his face, like roses blooming under the sun. His skin gains color, you didn’t notice just how dull and gray he was up until now. Life spreads so fast in his limbs, soon you can feel his warmth near you, in the air, in your hand, on the spot your knees touch. Once the base color is done, pink decorates his cheeks faintly, most likely an after effect of all that wine.

Maybe if he intervened his fingers with yours, it’d feel warmer, and in a weird way, safer.

Watching your eyes on him with amusement in his crystal ones, he seems to enjoy this, that is until his eyes focus on a spot of yours and cannot stop examining every other spot, every single pore, mark, hair and color you have, memories you carry.

The flicker of the light blends in, the warmth pulls the two of you in, time feels gone, like it never existed, maybe nothing every existed except for the two of you sitting before each other.

A sudden crash, from the outside and the magic is gone with a snap.

Noticing your hands, you pull it back to your chest fast.

His goes back to his head and he looks away, anther shy smile on his face.

“What- How should we proceed next?” he breaks the silence first, attempting to gather back a sense of seriousness to his voice. In a way, he should too, this is technically business, isn’t it?

Glancing at your palm, you open and close it few times. Not a speck of pain is there.

“Once every week maybe? If that’s alright. Although we may cancel few weeks, you never know what comes up last minute.”

The dagger nowhere in sight, probably returned to a pocket of his already, he looks pleased with your reply. “Sounds good to me.”

Without further ado, you get up to look for the door you first walked in.

“Wait!-“ he follows in a hurry, almost slipping, again, and trying to find something in his jacket.

Go you! For forgetting why you agreed to a vampire’s house in the first place. “Is- uh- is this alright? Or is it so little? We never discussed payment, y’know.” He holds out a lot more than you expected, but then again, vampires live for thousands of years. He must have quite the amount lying around somewhere after all.

Unsure what to do with the money he slips into your hand, you meet his eyes. “That’s… more than enough actually. Thanks.”

He rests one hand on hip, taking in your surprised face. “Don’t mention it. I’ve got plenty.” Touching your elbow lightly, he guides you to the door, dragging his feet. By the time you reach the door, he makes no move to open it, not that it was ever locked in the first place.

Turning of the knob, you take a step ahead, motions limited on both sides; dragging, waiting for something to happen, something to be said, for the air to be broken.

By the time you’re one foot outside, he clears his throat with a fake cough, covering his mouth. “Same time, same place, next week?” his gaze cast on the floor, stealing glances to see what you will do next.

You turn to him with a smile. “Works for me.” And tilt your head “but what if one of us cannot find the other?”

“Oh I’ll find you alright.” He chuckles with a grin. Truly a sight to sell the whole vampire image he got going, even if he hadn’t been one.

Feet standing next to each other, you’re out now, furrowing your eyebrows with a look of disapproval to match his grin, unimpressed.

“You sound like a creep. Don’t do it again.”

And with it, you turn your back to him, already on your way. The ginger left behind, an unfinished “okay” hanging on his lips, eyes focused on your form, swallowed by the shadows, waiting for the next night to be spent with you, already impatient.

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xerxia31 · 3 years

Text

the Big Bang - an Everlark ficlet

Inspired by a story I read on CNN, that I couldn’t get out of my head. A warning - there are shades of dub-con here that may be disturbing to some readers. Rated M.

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Peeta Mellark was fit to be tied.

“I don’t know what you want me to say here, boy,” Haymitch drawled. “You knew where these characters were heading when you signed on.”

“Come on, Haymitch,” Peeta growled. He was standing in Haymitch Abernathy’s office, holding the week’s script while Haymitch, head writer and executive producer of the hit series The Arena, in which Peeta starred, stared at him from under a mop of greasy, overlong hair. Until now, Peeta had loved working on the show, loved the ensemble cast, loved the interesting storylines and well-written scripts.

But not today.

“They’ve been growing together slowly for three damned seasons and now, this week, bam!” Peeta clapped his hands for emphasis, “out of nowhere you have three fucking sex scenes in the script.” For three seasons the show had been teasing a relationship between the character Peeta played, macho FBI agent Barley St James, and his shy, brainy colleague, Allium Winterland. It was a fantastic story, well paced, the dialogue between them always fun. Nearly three years they’d been teasing the audience with it.

And now this week’s script turned everything on it’s head. “You’re just screwing with us.” There was no way the timing was coincidental. Because the actress who played Allium, the actress he’d be stripping down to his skivvies and dry-humping with on national television? She was none other than his now-ex-girlfriend.

Haymitch glanced away. Peeta thought it was in shame until Haymitch spoke.

“You might as well come in, Sweetheart,” Haymitch said, and Peeta spun to look behind him. “We were talking about you.”

Katniss Everdeen was standing just outside Haymitch’s open door. It was the first time Peeta had laid eyes on her in the flesh in two weeks. Two fucking weeks! He hadn’t seen her since the night she walked out of their house.

He knew where she’d gone though, the whole fucking world did. All of the gossip rags, and even the more reputable news sites, were reporting how her on again off again affair with one Gale Hawthorne, star of multiple movie franchises and People magazine’s sexiest man alive 2018, was definitely on again.

“Story of my life,” Katniss muttered as she walked the rest of the way through the door, schooling her expression into a dispassionate scowl as she did. Peeta had no idea why she went into acting, he could read her every emotion through the impassive mask. He always could. Today was no exception, her mask might be in place, but her eyes were flashing with fury, and something that looked suspiciously like hurt.

She didn’t acknowledge Peeta at all, striding into the room on silent feet and stopping a solid six feet away. Her arms were crossed protectively over her chest, but her copy of the script was clenched in one fist. No doubt she’d been planning on storming in here to blast Haymitch. But Peeta beat her to it.

“Save your breath, Sweetheart,” Haymitch said. “Like I told the boy, you knew this was coming.”

“It’s fine,” she said, shooting a cool look in Peeta’s direction. “I’m a professional.” Then she turned, and strutted back out the door, back straight, long, black braid swinging. He could only watch, jaw clenched.

“Brrr,” Haymitch said. “You two have got a lot of warming up to do before showtime.” He was right, of course, and Peeta knew it. The audience would be expecting a pair of lovebirds. Not two people who could barely look each other in the eye.

“Whatever,” Peeta grunted. She wanted to play it that way? He could be cold too.

o-o-o

The table read went smooth as silk. Katniss sat on one side of the room, chatting lightly with their costar Delly Cartwright between scenes, Peeta sat on the other, joking with Cressida Faulkner, who was directing that week’s episode. Most of the cast had no clue Peeta and Katniss had broken up, because most of them never knew they’d been an item at all. Haymitch had figured it out somehow, clearly, but none of the other cast noticed anything was amiss.

The following day’s rehearsal, not so much. Rehearsals were always in costume and filmed, so that the production team could splice in any good bits that came out of them. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in TV, especially in a weekly series where time was tight. Peeta was used to it.

His first few scenes were fine, his lines came easily, he hit every mark. Then came the first scene he and Katniss shared that week, the one that led up to the first of the three fucking sex scenes.

She walked onto the set, and Peeta’s heart did a slow tumble in his chest. She was utterly beautiful, her hair loose and flowing, and wearing a dress patterned with autumn leaves. Soft orange, his favourite colour.

The colour of heartbreak.

They both stumbled through their lines, avoiding each other's eyes, interacting stiffing and unnaturally. Cressida halted the scene over and over again. It was a huge drag on the rest of the cast, slowing down everything.

Peeta’s only solace was that Katniss looked as miserable as he felt.

Peeta left as soon as rehearsal ended and headed for the gym. The call sheet had them both in an evening meeting at the studio, and he was going to need to work off some steam before he faced her again.

He should have asked, though, what the meeting was about. Because when he got back to the studio he found Katniss, dressed in leggings and a tiny little tank top, her face bare and so pretty, sitting cross-legged on a gym mat and chatting with a willowy brunette who gave off crunchy granola vibes. “Did I miss the memo about mandatory yoga?” he drawled.

Katniss scowled, but the brunette smiled beatifically. “Hello Mr. Mellark,” she said softly, her voice like windchimes, musical and irritating. “I’m Annie Cresta, your intimacy coordinator.”

Peeta was too confused to make a joke. “My what now?”

Annie laughed. “Intimacy coordinator,” she repeated. “It’s my job to choreograph simulated sex scenes for actors.”

“I think we know how sex works,” Peeta grumbled, and Katniss flushed, obvious without the stage makeup caked on her skin, then looked down at her lap. But Annie was undeterred.

“Of course,” she said gently. “But it’s about more than just choreography. It’s about helping you both to be comfortable, about navigating respect and consent and keeping the set safe.”

Peeta had heard about this, once before maybe, in the wake of the #metoo movement. But he’d never worked with one before. Katniss must have requested it. Figured she couldn’t even trust him to be a professional on the set. “With all due respect, Ms. Cresta,” Peeta said. “I don’t think we need this. We’ve both filmed scenes like this before.” Not with each other, but that was a minor point.

Katniss, to his surprise, looked inclined to agree. Annie just smiled.

“Not negotiable, I’m afraid,” she said. “All of Panem Entertainment’s productions must have an intimacy coordinator on set.” Peeta frowned, they were in the third season of filming, he’d never seen Annie before. As if reading his mind, she nodded. “I worked with Thresh Watts and Rue Lamonte last year.” That scene had been filmed on a closed set, Peeta had seen the finished product, but not any of the lead-up, and it hadn’t occurred to him at the time to ask about it.

Peeta sighed, and resigned himself to having a stranger teach him how to have fake sex with his real ex-girlfriend.

“Have a seat,” Annie said, indicating the mat beside Katniss. Peeta gritted his teeth, but he sat, his knee brushing hers.

She didn’t react.

��Now,” Annie said. “Communication is key.” Peeta snorted, and Katniss scowled at him. Communication. With the woman who had spoken a single word to him in the past 15 days. Sure. "The most important thing is that the people involved feel safe.”

“Why would we feel unsafe?” Peeta interrupted. There was a Cubs game on TV tonight, he’d rather be watching that.

Annie was unperturbed. “You're revealing a lot in a scene, you're going to places where you're vulnerable, and that requires an awful lot of trust," she said, looking pointedly between Peeta and Katniss. He wondered with some annoyance just how much Katniss had revealed to Annie about their situation before he’d walked in. “I have the script, and an outline of how your director wants it to look. But you two will need to talk with each other and with me and say, 'What are you comfortable with? What are you not comfortable with?'”

“I don’t want kissing,” Katniss blurted, then flushed again. “I mean,” she amended, “I’m not sure I can concentrate on both that and lines and choreography.” Peeta knew that was bullshit, in three seasons he could count on one hand the number of times Katniss had forgotten a line or missed a mark.

She just didn’t want to kiss him. And it stung.

Annie nodded. “We can work around that,” she said. “There will need to be some close up shots of you kissing, but they can be filmed separately from the simulated sex.”

Great, Peeta thought. Their characters had kissed a lot over the past three seasons, but that had been easy. They were both professionals, and kissing Katniss for the camera had been no big deal. Fun, even, in a comfortable, familiar way. Never sexual, there was always too much lipstick and stage makeup to worry about for there ever to be more than a peck. But steady, and comforting.

He doubted it’d be like that now. Or ever again.

“Let’s start with directorial expectations,” Annie began. “I’ve been given a timeline for the scenes and an outline of the specific angles that are expected. The most challenging part, from an intimacy perspective, is likely to be the third, which will be shot side angle with you, Peeta, on top of Katniss and no sheets to shield anything. We’ll have to block arms and leg placements carefully, and it’s likely you’ll both feel very vulnerable.”

Peeta didn’t see how that would be difficult, yet when Annie positioned him kneeling between Katniss’s thighs, a ridiculous little brocade cushion between their bodies, it was incredibly awkward. Katniss couldn’t hide in this position, with their faces only inches apart, and he couldn’t ignore, looking into her silver eyes, just how much he’d lost.

Two hours of rolling around on the floor, blocking arm and hand and leg movements sucked any sexy out of the scene. It felt robotic and contrived and awkward as hell. Katniss, for her part, looked fucking miserable. “Well,” Annie said finally. “I’m sensing some discomfort, so I think we should close for the evening.”

Peeta rolled onto his back on the mat and stared at the ceiling. Why was this so fucking hard? He was an actor, for god’s sake. He’d filmed sex scenes before, and none of them felt this shitty.

“I think we could do with a couple more rehearsals,” Annie said. “I’ll ask Cressida to schedule some.” Just fucking great, Peeta thought.

Annie floated away like an ethereal being. Katniss hung back, maybe to talk with him, maybe just to avoid Annie. But he wasn’t in the mood. He’d been subjected to her stony silences for two days, his heart hurt and his pride was dented and he just needed to get out and lick his wounds.

“Peeta,” Katniss said softly. Peeta held up his hand.

“Not now,” was all he said.

She scowled. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Peeta almost leapt to his feet, his exhaustion morphing into rage. “Look, you haven’t said a damned word to me in weeks, you haven’t even come home for your things, and now you want to talk?” Peeta spat, cringing internally at his use of the word home to describe the house where they’d been living together until two weeks ago.

Katniss looked puzzled, under all of that anger. “Jo said you threw everything away.” Johanna Mason was a mutual… well... not quite friend. Peeta had often accompanied her to awards shows, in the early days of her career when she was concerned that if it got out that she preferred women, it would stop her from getting leading lady roles. She didn’t need to worry about that anymore, she was a bonafide A-lister these days, and her relationship with an adorably bubbly talk show host was in every magazine. But Jo generally had her own unknowable agenda and sometimes she liked to stir up shit just for fun.

“You think I’d do that?” he asked, voice deceptively soft. He might have thought about it, fantasized about it really, when he found out who she was staying with. But he had more dignity than that, and she damned well should know it.

In fact, everything was exactly as she’d left it when she stomped out of their home, out of his life, 15 days ago. Her toothbrush was beside the bathroom sink, her favourite sweater on her favourite chair. A shabby silver-framed picture of her parents nestled between their awards. All of the homey pieces of her life, all of her simple treasures, abandoned.

Katniss shrugged, like she didn’t care, like his worth, his honour, the life they’d built together, was inconsequential, and it just pissed Peeta off more. He hated her ice princess routine, hated how fucking above it all she was. She’d always been good at freezing him out, at making him chase her, but no more. He didn’t have to put up with her stone cold shit.

“Get you crap or I will toss it,” he seethed, walking away. She didn’t call after him, but then she never did.

o-o-o

Haymitch dropped two of the three sex scenes from the script. Peeta should have been relieved, he was relieved. But he also felt sick about it. Like he was destroying his career.

The tension on set was obvious and palpable now, and he knew it looked like he was the cause. Katniss, always quiet, remained quiet. But Peeta couldn’t fake it, once the cameras stopped. Cold didn’t come naturally to him, and too often he veered into mean and snappish.

He had to figure out a way to get past this, to get past his anger, his hurt, and work with Katniss again. But he had no idea how.

Peeta leaned back in his favourite club chair, in the cozy den at the back of his house, and allowed himself to relive that day, the day it had all come crashing down. Until then, he’d thought he had it all, had the world in the palm of his hand. A great job, a comfortable home and the most radiant woman in the world in his bed every night.

Katniss Everdeen had been a child star on a hugely popular sitcom. He knew her only by name when she showed up to screen test with him. He’d been expecting a cute little moppet. Instead, she was a silver-eyed stunner. And right off the bat, he was a goner.

They clicked, in almost every way. Working together was a joy, chatting together between takes a delight. He loved her intelligence and wry sense of humour. They moved from friends to more at breakneck speed, but it never felt too fast.

She was insistent that they keep a lid on their relationship, even when they eventually moved in together. He understood it, her previous relationship, also with a costar, had been documented to death, she’d been hounded and harassed by the paparazzi constantly, even now they followed her everywhere. He didn’t love keeping them a secret, but he loved Katniss, so he acquiesced.

And that day, the day it all fell apart? It was supposed to be a good day, a great day. The first day of their two-week mid-season filming break. They had grand plans to do nothing but each other. Peeta had run a few errands, then stopped by his agent’s office to sign a couple of endorsement contracts.

That’s when the shit started.

“I figured you’d want to hear it from me first,” Finnick Odair, the best agent in the business, said with a grimace. He handed Peeta a tablet. Loaded up was the National Enquirer, his mother’s smirking face beside a promotional shot of Peeta and Katniss, and the headline, ‘It’s Real’. His fucking mother had struck again. It wasn’t the first time she’d sold Peeta out to the tabloids.

“Shit,” Peeta murmured. Not because the headline wasn’t true, it was. But Katniss guarded her privacy with clenched fists, and for two years, they’d barely let anyone in on their secret. Finn knew, but he was very discreet and like he’d said when Peeta had first hired him, he couldn’t protect Peeta unless he knew all of his secrets.

“She’s going to be pissed, huh?” Finn said sympathetically.

He didn’t know the half of it.

Peeta was in a foul temper and all he wanted was his quiet house and a couple of fingers of scotch before he had to deal with Katniss, who was sure to be furious. But no, he wouldn’t even get that. Because Rye was standing at his front door when he arrived home. Peeta groaned, and parked in front of the house, instead of pulling into the garage, where the door he generally entered by was. They’d chosen this place because the gated community was supposed to offer them more privacy and security. He was going to have to talk with the guard at the gate again. Just because Rye looked like his brother didn’t mean Peeta wanted him here.

“Peet,” Rye said genially as Peeta unlocked the seldom-used front door.

“What do you want, Rye?” Peeta really had no time for his brother’s bullshit, not that day of all days, and he hadn’t bothered hiding his annoyance.

“I can’t just pop by to see my little brother?” Rye never came by unless he wanted something. Often it was money. Rye seldom worked, preferring to live off his association with Peeta There were a lot of people in LA who would wine and dine the families of celebrities, looking for an in. Rye had brought him a few abominable scripts over the years from people who’d promised him a big finders fee if he could get Peeta to sign on.

“Cut to the chase, Rye,” Peeta said impatiently. There was a small liquor cabinet in the living room closest to the front door. Not that they ever lived in this room. It was only for show, the place where outsiders were held, away from the parts of the house where they actually did their living.

“Fine,” Rye laughed. “Tell me it isn’t true, little brother,” he said. There was no point pretending Peeta didn’t know what he was talking about. Rye was a terrible gossip hound. Peeta shook his head. “Thank god,” Rye said. “You can do so much better than that. She’s not very big, and definitely not hot.”

Peeta sighed. Rye’s taste in women only included girls who fawned all over him. Katniss would never make that list.

“Where did Mom come up with that idea anyway?” Rye asked, eyeing the single glass Peeta poured with interest. Peeta was not going to offer him a drink. He wasn’t going to do anything that suggested Rye was welcome to stay. “It’s pretty fucking crazy, even for her.”

“I don’t know,” Peeta grumbled. He knew exactly where. She must have listened in on one of Peeta’s calls with his father. His dad was his best friend, Peeta just couldn’t keep secrets from him. But the old man wasn’t always careful when he talked to Peeta.

“Katniss Everdeen. As fucking if. You have much better taste than that,” Rye laughed. “Remember that chick you were with a couple of years ago? The one who was in Playboy?”

“Cashmere Solomon,” Peeta muttered half under his breath. He’s gone out with her twice, and she’d been a nightmare, only interested in what he could do for her celebrity.

“She was hot,” Rye nodded. “I hooked up with her, after.” That was more than Peeta needed to know.

“Look,” Peeta started, an attempt to get rid of Rye, to get back to his plans for a few quiet minutes before Katniss got home and he’d have to have another, very different conversation on this topic.

“Mom’s a mental case,” Rye interrupted. “Like you’d ever stoop low enough to fuck that Everdeen chick. Stuck up little bitch like that? You’ve got more pride.”

“Are we done?” Peeta was bone weary, and not at all in the mood to listen to one of his brother’s diatribes. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do tonight.”

“Right, right,” Rye said. Peeta didn’t give a damn whether his brother believed him or not. He started to guide Rye back to the entryway. “I don’t know how Hawthorne puts up with her, “ Rye said. “Rumour has it she’s completely frigid.”

Peeta laughed, he couldn’t help it. Katniss was the furthest thing in the world from frigid, she was a live wire in bed, far and away the best sex of his life. And she had broken up with Gale Hawthorne some four years earlier, but the media still wrote about them as if they were just taking a break.

“Listen,” Rye said, though Peeta was already shepherding him towards the door. “I know this girl, Glimmer her name is. Tits for miles! She’s working on a pilot.” Working on a pilot was LA code for unemployed. “She’s so hot,” Rye continued, oblivious to Peeta’s irritation, “spend a little time with her, I’ll get my pap friend to follow you. That’ll make the Enquirer story go away. Kill any hint of association with that little piece of work.”

“Bye, Rye, Peeta said, pushing his brother through the door.

“Call me,” Rye said, and Peeta slammed the door in his face, flipping the bolt. Idiot. He exhaled slowly, then turned.

Katniss was standing behind him. Shit. How much of Rye’s crap had she heard?

“How could you let him talk about me that way,” she asked, her voice low and dangerous.

Peeta cringed. Evidently most of it. “What was I supposed to say? You don’t want him to know we’re together.”

“We have to be together for you to defend me?” Katniss asked, incredulous. “Women are only worth defending if you’re fucking them?”

Peeta rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me that bullshit,” he said. “You know I’m not like that.”

“Do I?” Katniss was pacing, little mincing steps that would fit on a pie plate. “Sure as hell didn’t sound like it.”

“What was I supposed to say?” Peeta was yelling. He flung his arms wide, expensive scotch sloshed over the edge of his glass, splashed his watch. Just great.

“How about ‘Katniss isn’t a stuck up little bitch’ for starters?”

“Jesus, Katniss, why do you even care? You know he’s an asshole.”

“He said awful things about me, in my own home, and you just stood there and nodded, like you agreed,” Katniss snapped. “That was a total dick move.”

“Well excuse-fucking-me,” Peeta said, “but it’s not even your house.” She lived there, but the lease was in his name. Her official address was an empty condo in Van Nuys, so that people wouldn’t figure out they were shacked up together. He hated the cloak and dagger bullshit, but she’d insisted.

Katniss froze, face twisted in disgust. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “It’s not.”

Before Peeta even had a chance to respond, the door was slamming behind her.

Peeta knew, even before she’d gotten to her car, that he was wrong. But he was angry, angry with his mother, angry with his brother, and pissed as hell that Katniss insisted on hiding, like he was some dirty secret instead of the man she’d been dating for two years.

She didn’t come home that evening. Peeta wasn’t completely surprised. It wasn’t the first time she’d frozen him out. He’d give her the night, then apologize in the morning.

But when morning came, his phone had blown up with texts. TMZ was running a spread of pictures, grainy and obviously through a long lens. Katniss, standing on a balcony, and not alone. With her was Gale-fucking-Hawthorne, her ex. She was locked in his embrace wearing only a robe, while he was in boxers. The gossip sites were having a field day, former lovers reunited.

Peeta, still in bed, dialed his phone. She answered on the second ring, voice hoarse. “Are you with Gale?” Peeta asked with no preamble.

There was the slightest of pauses. “Yes,” Katniss said.

“You couldn’t fucking wait to go rushing back to his bed?” Peeta yelled. “Or maybe you never really left?”

The line died in his hand. It was the last time they’d spoken, until now.

o-o-o

Katniss made no further attempt to talk to Peeta, outside of what they said on the soundstage. She’d doubled down on the ice princess routine, speaking to him in cold, overly formal tones when the cameras weren’t rolling.

Working with Annie Cresta hadn’t gotten any better either, but at least they’d managed to memorise a routine—hand here, thigh there, twist this way, arch like that. Annie insisted it would look a lot more natural than it felt. Peeta wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t care. He just wanted the thing done.

The scene was set for late afternoon, after the rest of principal photography was done for the episode and the lion’s share of cast and crew had left. “Saving the best for last,” Cressida chirped, but no one really believed that.

Katniss had a rider in her contract specifying no nudity, Peeta knew that. He hadn’t bothered with one himself, he didn’t care who saw him, but Katniss had always been uncomfortable baring everything. In other scenes, the production sometimes used a body double for Katniss. But this scene, the scene, would be her and him, on a bed, doing choreographed dry humping. It had to be her, there wasn’t any other choice.

Haymitch wasn’t on set, something Peeta suspected was Katniss’s doing, but he appreciated it. The crew was at a bare minimum, to make it easier for the actors, but it was still a lot of people. Cressida was directing, busily setting up the scene. Two female grips he’d never met before were behind the stationary cameras, two of his favourite camera guys—Castor and Pollox—had the handhelds. Two more grips had the boom mics, a gaffer adjusted the lights, and a set designer, Octavia, was fussing over the bedding, rumpling it in an artistic way that Peeta knew from rehearsal would last about twelve seconds before they destroyed it. Annie, strangely, was nowhere to be seen. He’d thought that, as their intimacy coordinator, she’d be there to coach when they actually filmed. Apparently not.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Cressida called out, affecting a carefree tone. Peeta knew it was an act, an attempt to get all of them to relax. The antagonism and animosity between the two leads wasn’t exactly a secret, not anymore, and the mood on the small soundstage was tense. No one was looking forward to this.

Katniss had seen him naked a thousand times, had touched and stroked and tasted every inch of his body. Still, it was strange, even on a closed set, to be standing in front of her wearing nothing but a sock tied to his dick. She was clutching the edges of her pink silk robe so tightly her knuckles were white, and looking everywhere but at him.

Cinna approached and helped Katniss out of her robe, careful not to disrupt the cascade of windblown curls Peeta knew had likely taken an hour and several cans of product to achieve. Katniss’s hair was naturally pin straight, yet they were always curling it in the show, and she hated it. So focussed was Peeta on her hair that he didn’t notice what she was wearing until Cinna stepped away, leaving Katniss standing beside the bed in a pair of pasties and an adhesive pad that covered her pubic hair and not much else. Peeta couldn’t help but stare. It was far less than he was expecting, Annie had told him Katniss would be wearing a pair of flesh coloured panties and a little tube top over her boobs. “The sides of her underwear showed in the test shots,” Castor muttered in his ear. “Haymitch insisted on that instead.”

For half a minute, Peeta felt really bad for Katniss, knowing her discomfort, knowing what it was costing her to stand under the lights and in front of so many people wearing little more than three bandaids. But then she sighed, and barked, “can we just get this over with?” and any sympathy Peeta felt for her evaporated like spring snow.

The scene opened with them both on the bed. They’d practiced the routine, both on floor mats and on a set bed. But in rehearsal, they’d been clothed, pillows between them to minimise contact.

No longer.

Now, they were essentially naked, skin pressed to skin, staring wide-eyed at each other. She was so soft under him, fit him so perfectly. Her breath—sharp, nervous little pants—caressed his jaw, his throat. Her hands, small but so much stronger than they looked, clutched at this back.

His dick twitched and hardened, he couldn’t fucking help it. They’d fucked a thousand times over the previous two years, he’d always been insanely attracted to her. His dick didn’t know that this time it wasn’t real. He clenched his teeth and kept going. There was no way, positioned as they were, to prevent her from feeling it.

Katniss smirked at him, just a fleeting little hint of amusement, but coupled with his embarrassment at getting turned on when the ice fucking queen clearly felt nothing it was too much. Rage flooded his veins like venom. He sneered down at Katniss, uncaring if the handycam caught his expression. Then he deliberately rocked against her, rubbing his hard cock against her core, only a little strip of fabric and a glorified sock between them.

Her breath caught, a choked little sound.

“Like that, princess?” he spat, lowering his mouth to her ear. “You like knowing that you can still get me hot?”

She moaned softly. It just made him angrier. Was she acting, or actually responding? Was she thinking about Gale while he was grinding against her? Had she always been thinking about him?

The few lines he was supposed to say flew out of his head. “Does your boyfriend get you hot like this?” he groaned instead, anger and lust combining. “Do you moan for him like you did for me?” Her hands, which had been moving through the choreography much more fluidly than in rehearsal suddenly froze. “Does he fill you up as good as I did?”

“Peeta,” Katniss whispered, a hint of warning in her tone. But he was too mad. Mad and heartsick and wildly turned on, it was a potent brew. He couldn’t stop. He ground harder against her, his chest rasping against her breasts, bare but for a pair of stickers. He nipped at her earlobe with sharp teeth, and her gasp was loud over his harsh breaths.

“Do you melt for him, ice princess?” She said nothing, but he didn’t care. He angled his hips and thrust hard, the way he knew she liked. He rocked over and over again, forgetting about the others in the room, lost in Katniss, however fake it might be.

“Do you want to give them a show,” he growled against her throat. “Take off the guard? One last fuck, for old times sake?”

“Stop,” she said, so faintly it was barely a breath. “Please.” Peeta pulled back. Beneath him, Katniss’s eyes were screwed tightly shut, tears leaking from the corners. The anger rushed away, leaving him horrified and utterly ashamed.

He rolled away and climbed off the bed. “Need a break,” he grunted. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Katniss had curled onto her side, facing away, naked and vulnerable. The need to comfort her battled with the sick feeling in his gut over how cruel he’d been. How completely unlike himself.

Cressida called out to him, but he didn’t want to hear whatever she was going to say. Couldn’t stay another minute on that set.

He pushed past Castor who was staring open-mouthed, the camera on his shoulder still blinking as it ran, and stomped to his dressing room. There, he sank into a chair, the leather sticking to his bare ass. He pulled the modesty bag off his now-deflated cock and dropped his head into his hands.

How had it gotten to this?

How had he gotten to the point where he was tormenting the woman he loved more than life with fake sex on their job site? Bullying her to tears in front of their crew.

He was disgusted with himself. That wasn’t who he was.

He needed to go to Katniss and apologise, for more than just the scene.

Fifteen minutes later, he’d calmed down and thrown on sweats. Katniss’s dressing room door was closed, but he knew she wasn’t in there. He walked past the small set and the little office Annie had used, but he knew she wouldn’t be there either.

Down the hall, past craft services stood the door to the electrical room. It was never locked. Peeta pushed inside. Past all of the clutter and detritus of broken light stands and boxes of cables was another door, narrow and unmarked. A steep set of metal stairs lay beyond it, and at the top a door he had to duck to walk through.

Then he was standing on the roof, a soft Burbank breeze ruffling his hair.

It wasn’t anything special, this part of the roof, gravel-topped and housing the building’s HVAC system. But it was their spot, a place no one else ever went. A place they could find some measure of solitude in the midst of a busy studio. No one ever disturbed them up here.

Katniss was sitting on the low ledge that bisected the roof, wrapped in a robe, her pink silk clad back to him. He knew she must have heard his approach, the gravel beneath him crunched with every step. But she didn’t move, didn’t react as he straddled the cement to lower himself beside her.

She didn’t turn towards him, but she didn’t need to. Her profile said everything: smudged makeup, red nose, puffy eyes. The breeze caught loose tendrils of her hair, blowing them around her face but she was still and silent save for her uneven breaths. An island in a tempest. Her eyes remained fixed on the horizon, past the endless parking lots and low studio buildings to where the sun was sinking low, bathing the sky in soft orange. Her silence wasn’t icy tonight. Pain radiated from every line, every curve.

“I’m sorry,” Peeta started. Katniss nodded, her posture otherwise unchanged. “I was a complete dick in there, and you didn’t deserve any of that. It was inexcusable.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I don’t want to go on like this. Making out for the cameras, then ignoring each other when they’re off. I was hoping that if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at being friends?” It would certainly make their jobs a lot easier.

“I’ve never slept with Gale,” she said softly, and Peeta startled. That wasn’t even possible. She’d run right back to him, was living with him again.

As if reading his mind, Katniss continued. “He’s been a good friend to me, a brother in some ways. But we’ve never had a physical relationship.”

“Bullshit,” Peeta sputtered, conciliatory tone gone. “You were with him for years.”

Katniss glanced at him then, a half smirk twisting her lips. “You were with Johanna for years too,” she said.

“You know that wasn’t real. And Gale isn’t gay.”

Katniss shrugged, and turned back to the horizon.

Peeta continued to watch her. He knew all of her expressions, her every tell. She wasn’t lying.

“Why,” he started, then stopped. That wasn’t the question he really needed an answer to. “You let me think you were together.”

“Maybe I wanted to hurt you,” she whispered. “Like you hurt me.”

Mission accomplished, he thought. He’d been in fucking agony since he saw the TMZ pictures, and the ones that followed; Katniss and Gale riding in his convertible, Katniss and Gale leaving a trendy LA cafe, Katniss and Gale sipping wine on the balcony of his oceanfront estate. It had been a form of masochism, adding her name to his news alerts and reading the day's gossip about her blossoming relationship with Gale Hawthorne.

Could it really have all been fake?

Katniss and Gale had been on the same sitcom as children, had played cousins. So when, years later, they moved in together, of course everyone assumed they were together. They’d certainly never done anything to contradict it.

“You never mentioned that before,” Peeta said quietly. Not that Gale’s name had come up often in their time together, but they’d talked about past relationships, and she’d never said that Gale had been nothing more than a friend. She’d really never said anything about her years with Gale, and that had always made Peeta insecure, wondering if she’d still harboured feelings for him. If she kept their relationship a secret not from the world, but from Gale Hawthorne. Katniss shrugged.

“I didn’t think it would matter. You’re in the business, you know how often dating is just for show.”

He did. But he’d been upfront with Katniss about Jo, he’d never let her think there was anything there. That she hadn’t given him the same respect, hadn’t trusted him, was gutting.

“He kissed me, once,” Katniss said, and Peeta’s stomach clenched in inappropriate jealousy. “I was seventeen. It was the summer after we’d both finished filming Seam Street, but before he got his big break on that superhero movie. Back when we thought we might still be normal.” She was smiling sadly, lost in the moment. “We both gagged,” she continued, and Peeta’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. Katniss laughed softly, but it wasn’t at Peeta. It was at whatever she was remembering. “All of those childhood friends to lovers tropes, it definitely wasn’t like that for me and Gale. Kissing him was…” Katniss trailed off, shuddering. “I love Gale, he’s mine, I’m his. But not like that.

“But it didn’t matter. Once the media decided we were together, they invented stories. Every time we went anywhere together, they took pictures and manipulated them to fit whatever story they’d decided to write about us that week.” Katniss sighed, and rubbed her eyes. “We couldn’t have a life, outside of each other. Anytime either of us was seen with another person, the tabloids went crazy. I got my own place, tried to put some distance there. But it didn’t stop.

“And after he started dating Claudia, it all got worse,” she said. “The media, and fans who decided that he and I belonged together, they couldn’t let it go. They hounded her incessantly, called her a homewrecker and things far worse. Trolled her on social media, harassed her family, and anything either of us tried to get them to back off only made things worse. When she finally broke things off with him, he blamed me, at least a bit.” She paused, and sniffled. “It’s why we’ve barely talked over the past few years. First because it bothered Claudia, and then because Gale was so pissed off. It came close to destroying our friendship.”

Peeta sat in stunned silence as realisation washed over him. “That’s why you wanted to keep us a secret,” he said. “You were protecting me.”

“Private,” she said. “Not secret. And that’s what you and I do, protect each other. Or did,” she added softly.

But he hadn’t protected her. Not on the set, and not from his brother’s vitriol.

“I’m sorry,” Peeta said. “I shouldn’t have let Rye talk shit about you. And I shouldn’t have been all defensive when you rightly called me on it.”

She nodded again, but didn’t turn towards him. And he didn’t know how to bridge the gulf. He’d been wrong, on so many levels. But she hadn’t trusted him, and still didn’t. She could have eased so many of his insecurities just by being honest. But she hadn’t.

He wanted to fix things. He wanted to be with her again, this time with more openness and honesty. To build a better relationship, one they both deserved. He wasn’t sure if it was possible with so much hurt between them. But he wanted to try. He just needed to get Katniss on the same page, and he knew from experience that wasn’t likely to be easy.

“We should go back,” Peeta said what felt like an hour later. The sun was almost gone, and though the air still held the perpetual California heat, Katniss was shivering in the breeze. “I’m done being a wounded prick, I promise.”

Katniss turned to him, finally. She still looked so sad, with her red eyes and ruined makeup. His heart clenched. “Cressida called shooting for the day,” she said. “Didn’t think either of us was in a good place to continue.” Haymitch would doubtless be pissed, any disruption in the schedule was tens of thousands of dollars wasted. Peeta sighed, but he knew it was the right call.

“Probably for the best,” Peeta said. “We’re a mess.”

Katniss laughed, just slightly, and Peeta grinned at her. When he extended his hand to help her up, she took it, and it felt so good to feel her fingers entwined with his again, not for show but in actual friendship.

They walked back to the dressing rooms together. “Do you maybe want to get dinner together?” Peeta asked, and he knew he sounded small and uncertain. But to his surprise, Katniss nodded.

“I’d like that,” she said.

They walked out to the lot thirty minutes later, and Peeta led her to his car. She was wearing jeans and a little tank top, her hair pulled back in a no-fuss braid and a pair of sunglasses shielding eyes that still bore traces of the evening’s emotions. She was in every way Katniss, the woman he loved. But he could feel her holding back, feel the stiffness and uncertainty in the way she looked at him, spoke to him. Not intentional, simply reflexive, like she was trying to keep her heart safe. From him. The wall between them loomed large. It was going to take a Herculean effort to break it down.

There was a restaurant, Sae’s, not too far from the house they’d shared. It catered to people like them. The front was nothing so much as a shabby little diner, but in the back were private, windowless rooms where they could have a meal without prying eyes.

Peeta ordered pasta and Katniss got her favourite goat cheese and apple panini. But the way she pushed the food around on her plate spoke to how distressed she still was. Katniss typically ate with gusto, like she was afraid she’d never see food again.

He left her be, keeping conversation light, trying to ease her back into being comfortable with him. Joking with her, the way he always had. She smiled, but it felt hollow. If anything, she seemed to get more sad as the meal wore on. Peeta’s spirits flagged.

He paid the bill, and they headed out the back door. There, he stopped, and pulled Katniss to stand in front of him.

“Talk to me,” Peeta said, voice gruff with guilt.

“About what?” She wasn’t being flippant, if anything, she sounded defeated.

“Katniss,” he sighed. She looked up at him, eyes unfathomable, dark pools in the lamplight. He could tell she was trying to psych herself up to talk. So he leaned against the restaurant wall and waited.

“I’m sorry, okay,” she said finally, and it wasn’t what he was expecting. “I’m sorry that keeping us a secret hurt you. It was never my intention to hurt you.”

Peeta opened his mouth, to say he understood better now, but she pushed on.

“And it didn’t mean I loved you any less.”

“Loved?” Her use of past tense gutted him. “Not anymore?”

In the deep shadows of the single street light, he could see her face crumple. She wrapped her arms around her body, as if shielding herself from another blow. “Does it matter?” Her words were choked, he could hear she was fighting tears again. “I know what you think of me.”

“Katniss,” he said, the word regret-soaked.

“Frigid little ice princess,” she parroted, but there was no anger. Only pain.

“I didn’t mean it,” Peeta said. “I know that’s not you.” She played at being cold sometimes. But underneath, she was a flame, burning bright.

“Everyone thinks that about me. They always have.”

“I don’t,” Peeta said, and he let the pleading come through in his voice, let her hear his own pain. “I know you’re not cold. You’re the girl on fire.” Katniss’s lips twitched at the old nickname, one she’d gotten as a teenager in an action movie. But her heartbroken expression didn’t change. “I was angry, and wounded, and I lashed out. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” she said, then she was wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. Peeta pulled her in close and buried his face in her hair. It was the first time he’d felt whole in more than two weeks, like the broken piece of his soul had returned.

Her little body shook against him, he knew she was crying. “Shhh,” he said, stroking her back. “Shhh. It’s going to be okay.” It was. He’d make sure of it.

“Just missed you so much,” she muttered. His heart soared.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Please come home.”

She didn’t say anything. But he felt her nod against his chest. And it was enough.

He took her back to his place, to their place. They were both exhausted, emotions raw, and had an early morning call, to redo the evening’s ruined scene. But she climbed into bed beside him, and he held her all night.

They were quiet the next morning, tentative and uncertain around each other, but they were together, and Peeta was committed to making things better, for both of them. He’d be patient. He’d communicate better. He’d lost the love of his life once, he wouldn’t let it happen again.

They climbed back into his car, since hers was at the studio, but as soon as the garage door opened Peeta saw Rye there, waving his phone. Beside him, Katniss tensed, and shrank down into her seat. He could almost smell her pain. Just fucking great. The moron had to show up now, when they had barely started patching things together.

“I’ve been calling you all morning,” Rye said as soon as Peeta stepped out of the car. It was just past eight, Rye didn’t typically get up before noon. Peeta suspected he hadn’t yet been to bed.

“Go home, Rye,” Peeta said. “This isn’t the time.”

“They’re saying this is you and that Everdeen chick,” Rye insisted, shaking his phone in Peeta’s face. Sure enough, on the screen was a dark and blurry shot of him, holding Katniss in his arms. Her face wasn’t visible, but her long black braid and sweet little ass were perfectly recognisable. Fuck. He thought they’d be safe at Sae’s. But he’d been wrong. Again. “I already told the Hollywood Reporter it was fake, that you wouldn’t slum with the likes of that—”

“Shut up!” Peeta roared, and for once, Rye stopped talking. “Katniss is the woman I love, and I won’t listen to you disparage her anymore,” Peeta said. “Now get the fuck out of here and stop fucking talking to the media about me.” Peeta was seething. He was going to make sure that security guard was fired. Maybe his boss too. And his boss’s boss.

Rye backed away, hands held up in supplication. “Sure, yeah,” he said quickly. “I’ll just get out of your hair. We’ll talk more later, yeah?”

Peeta didn’t dignify that with an answer. He spun on his heel, to head back to the car. But Katniss was there already, standing just behind him. She must have heard everything they’d said, and worse, Rye would have seen her there. He flinched, but she just smiled at him, then walked straight into his arms.

“Thank you,” she said.

Fuck. She didn’t need to thank him for defending her, it’s what any decent person would do. “I should have said that last time,” he admitted, tightening his hold on her.

“You said it this time,” she said. Then she stretched up onto her toes, and kissed him.

Relief and disbelief and so much love flooded Peeta. He cupped her ass in his hands and hoisted her into his arms, his lips never leaving hers.

He knew Rye was watching. Knew that some of their neighbours could see them too. “We should go back to the garage,” he whispered between kisses that were growing too hot for the street. “People are watching.”

“Let them,” she gasped. “I don't want to hide how I feel about you. Not anymore.”

He laughed against her lips, and kissed her more.

o-o-o

She was sitting in her favourite chair, a mug of camomile tea forgotten beside her, when Peeta got home. He glanced at the television glowing on the wall and groaned. “Access Hollywood? Really?” Katniss, his Katniss, was watching the creme de la creme of shitty tabloid TV.

Their relationship had been dissected endlessly by the gossip shows in the four months since they’d been outed, first by his attention-seeking mother, then by a slightly risqué public display of affection in front of their house that had been captured on cellphone video by multiple sources. Peeta understood so much better now why Katniss had tried so hard to avoid unwanted exposure. He was sick to death of the coverage.

But they were handling it together.

“Shhh,” she said, grinning. “They’re discussing whether we really did the deed while shooting Allium and Barley’s big scene.” Peeta glanced back at the television. The banner read 15 Times 'Love' Scenes On Screen Were Real.

“Oh my god,” Peeta groaned, and sank into the chair beside Katniss’s, covering his face with his hands.

The day after their disastrous first attempt at filming, they’d gone back to the set and found Haymitch waiting for them. The crusty old bastard had actually apologised for putting them in such a shitty position, and told them he’d take the scene out, make it a fade to black.

“No,” Katniss had said, silver eyes brighter than they’d been all week. “The script needs the scene. Our fans need it. And we’re ready this time.”

The second attempt had been so much better. It was still awkward, the choreography still felt strange. One of her pasties came unstuck and ended up caught in his chest hair. Twice they had to cut filming when Katniss started giggling.

Peeta had been loath to watch it, once it’d been edited. Afraid to reopen the barely healing wounds. But the end result, just as Annie promised, looked real. The cameras caught their very real joy at being reunited, their very real love for one another. And those things made the very fake sex look like something more.

They’d filmed several more sex scenes over the course of finishing the season, each easier than the last. Communication, it turned out, did make the scenes less awkward. And it helped with their real relationship too.

But the first scene, the one that Peeta still cringed thinking about, that episode had aired just days ago.

The television sound cut off abruptly and Katniss burst into laughter. Peeta peeked out from between his fingers. Frozen on the big screen was a shot of Peeta’s ass in all of its hi-def glory, and Mario Lopez was pointing to a spot just between his thighs where apparently a hint of nutsack had been caught by the camera.

Well that brought unwanted exposure to a whole new level.

Peeta groaned. “I’m putting a nudity rider in my next contract,” he mumbled.

#everlark #bang #xerxia writes #this one is a little out there #but what can I say?#and I make no apologies for naming him Barley

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onecanonlife · 3 years

Text

In which Tommy travels back in time and tries to prevent a nightmare from happening to everyone he knows. Everyone else, meanwhile, is highly concerned.

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first part) (previous part) (next part)

(word count: 3,079)

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Part Six: Karl

This server is kind of weird. He’s only been here a few days, but he can already tell that much.

He likes it, of course. He wouldn’t stick around if he didn’t. He does like it, and there’s a few old friends here already—Sapnap, just to name one—and a few people that he thinks he’s going to become friends with very, very quickly. He’s even already working on building a pizza place, which is pretty neat. A lot of the land around here seems to be kind of a free-for-all. Except for the stuff in—what was it, L’Manberg? Which he has not been allowed to join, but it’s no real skin off his back. Other than that, though, there aren’t a whole lot of rules here. No stealing, no griefing, no going to the End. He’s cool with those.

But still. The place is kind of weird. He can’t describe it any way more specific than a vibe. A general, handwavey type of weirdness. Maybe it’s the people. A lot of the people he’s met have been a little weird. A good kind of weird, maybe, but still weird. Like that Wilbur guy, the president of L’Manberg. Very intense. A good talker, and fairly friendly, even if he didn’t let him join his country, but very intense. Or like Eret, who speaks with an odd kind of gravitas, phrasing things just so slightly more formal than the usual. Or like that guy who was pretty much naked. Quackity, he thinks. He seems like an interesting guy to get to know.

And then there’s this kid. TommyInnit.

“I need a favor,” Tommy says, apropos of absolutely nothing.

Karl’s just messing around with the pizza place for the moment. They’ve only got the foundations built so far, but Eret and Punz have both offered their help, and he’s looking forward to getting the place off the ground. Every server ought to have a pizza place, because pizza is the superior food choice. But he wasn’t expecting Tommy to come over to him, much less start off the conversation like that, and he’s feeling a little bit caught off guard.

What he knows about the kid doesn’t amount to all that much. From what he’s gathered, he’s loud, a little irritating, and a bit of a con artist. Not too weird on the exterior, but this? Right now? Is definitely a little weird, if only because the guy’s just marched up to him and asked him for a favor despite the fact that he’s only known him for about three days, tops. Which, he’s happy to see what he can do. The kid seems fine enough. But it’s weird that he’s asking him, specifically, for something, right? Instead of one of his friends? Of which he seems to have many?

“Um, that probably depends on what it is, but sure, I guess,” he says.

Tommy nods. He’s staring at him with some of that same intensity that Wilbur hit him with when they met. Which he supposes makes sense if they’re brothers, like he’s heard, even though Tommy didn’t present any of this attitude when they first talked. But then, first impressions aren’t always accurate.

“It shouldn’t be a big deal, I don’t think,” Tommy says. “I just need you to ask someone something for me. Simple, yeah?”

Again, he wonders why Tommy is coming to him with this. But he shrugs, leaning against the partial wall he’s gotten built. “It still depends on who and what, but I can do that. What do you want me to ask?”

Tommy stands straighter. “You know BadBoyHalo and Skeppy, yeah?” he asks, and Karl—still can’t see where he’s going with this.

“I know Bad and Skeppy,” he confirms, raising his eyebrows. Tommy takes that as a cue to continue.

“I need you to persuade them not to build somewhere,” he says. “Can you do that?”

“Probably,” he says. He’s hedging a little, but he thinks he’s justified. Tommy seems to be dancing around something here, and he’s not sure he likes that. “What exactly do you want me to say?”

“There’s a little bit of land over near” —Tommy scrunches his nose— “near Punz’s, I think—or, wait, is that—I don’t know if he’s—actually, it might be closer to Fundy’s? I can’t remember if—” He breaks off for a second, narrowing his eyes, looking away. But then, he looks back. “Nevermind. It’s not in L’Manberg. There’s a few little lakes and shit. Past where Purpled’s UFO is. You know where I’m talking about?”

“Um.” He tries to picture the area and comes up with a hazy approximation. “Maybe?”

“Alright, fine. Look, I’ll show you on a map if I have to. But the point is, I need you to talk to Bad and Skeppy, and I need you to get them to promise that they won’t build in that area. No building, no digging, no nothing. Skeppy’s gonna want to build a house to the north, and that—that’s fine. They can build wherever else they like, but that spot up there, that’s a no-go, alright? No one can dig around there, but mostly them.”

This is definitely weird.

“Can I ask why?” he says. “You’re not out to get them, are you? Or is L’Manberg planning to expand up there or something?”

“What?” Tommy says. “What the fuck are you on about? No, I’m not—I’m not out to get them. That’s fucking stupid.”

He holds up his hands. “Well, I had to be sure,” he says. “I’ve only been here a few days, I don’t know who likes who around here.” He pauses. “So, the expansion—”

Not that he really cares what L’Manberg does or where they spread the borders of their land. He may not be allowed to join them, but he supposes he’s not officially with the Greater SMP either. He hasn’t been here nearly long enough to commit himself to a side, especially when there doesn’t appear to be any kind of pressing conflict going on anymore. But if he’s going to argue Tommy’s case to some of his friends—and why Tommy has picked him for this task, he still has no idea—then he’d like to know exactly what he’s arguing for, and why.

But Tommy shakes his head. “No expansion,” he says. “Nothing like that. It’s just—look, man, it’s just bad land. Terrible land. It’s got—it’s got radiation, it has. So no one should go there, literally ever.” He waves his hands as he speaks, gesticulating emphatically.

Karl’s not sure he believes a word of this. But at the same time, he seems so earnest about it, or at least, about the part where it’s bad land, that it could hurt people. Maybe not the radiation bit.

“That sounds really dangerous,” he says, and watches for what the reaction will be, trying to get a feel for what exactly the catch is, here. “Shouldn’t we tell more people about this?”

Tommy jerks, and his eyes go wide. “No!” he says, definitely with far more force than should be necessary for a fairly innocent question. But it’s not really the force of someone caught in a lie and trying to cover his tracks. Nothing like that—he just sort of seems scared. “No, definitely not. It’s not—it’s not dangerous to walk on or anything. Just if you dig down. The—the radiation’s coming from under the ground. So as long as no one digs, or builds their home right there, it should be alright, yeah? Just, just tell them not to go poking around there, man.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, and raises his hands again, placating. “Sure, I can tell them. I honestly don’t know if they were planning to go up there in the first place. Uh, can I ask why them specifically?”

“No,” Tommy says, and does not elaborate at all, despite the obvious invitation to do so. The expectation, even. Which feels a little weird in and of itself, considering that from what he can tell, Tommy does enjoy talking. But nothing else is forthcoming, so he shifts his feet, clearing his throat.

“Okay then,” he says. “Okay. Look, I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll try my best. I’ll even go with a different story than the radiation, if you want. I mean, Skeppy might want to check something like that out, you know? But as long as this isn’t some sort of plot to hurt them, I’m cool with it.”

“There’s no story,” Tommy mutters, and kicks his shoe against the ground. “‘S radiation.” He doesn’t even look like he believes himself, at this point, but he does look a little pathetic, and he’s got some big, sad cow eyes going on. Karl’s not sure whether they’re natural or just him putting on an act. But he figures it couldn’t hurt to throw the kid a bone, whatever he’s trying to accomplish with this. And even besides, maybe it would be beneficial to be in the guy’s good graces. He already has friends here, but a few more couldn’t hurt, since this server is so incredibly weird.

Weirdness can be dangerous, sometimes. He hasn’t decided yet whether this server is or not. Dangerous, that is.

“Whatever you say,” he agrees, and Tommy’s face melts into open relief when he doesn’t press further. There’s still something about this he wants to know, though, so he presses forward. “Um, but if you don’t mind my asking, why are you getting me to do this? Why not someone like Sapnap?”

He thinks it’s a good question. Sapnap is, after all, their literal son. So even though he knows them pretty well, considers them friends, if anyone’s going to convince them to do something, it’s Sapnap.

But Tommy just shakes his head, narrowing his eyes like it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard.

“Karl, pal, I know you’re new on this server,” he says, “but us over there in L’Manberg just fought a whole war against Dream and his groupies. Groupies that just so happen to include a certain pet-killing, fire-starting arsehole. No offense,” he adds belatedly, to which Karl just stares. “So you know, if I were to go to Sapnap myself, or even straight to Bad and Skeppy, they’d assume, and they’d be incorrect, mind you, but they’d assume that I have some sort of scheme in mind. A little plot, if you will. And I don’t. I’ve told you that, and I’m being honest with you. But if they don’t believe me, then that kind of defeats the whole purpose of warning them off, now, doesn’t it? So I thought to myself, well, maybe my buddy Karl could succeed where I wouldn’t be able to.”

He finds his lips twitching into a smile. The kid’s definitely a con artist in the making.

“Okay, you’ve sold me,” he says. “I’ll do my best to keep them away.” He pauses. “I’ve got a condition, though.”

Tommy goes still. “Yeah?” he asks, and it’s back to the tension, back to the intensity, and Karl almost regrets it. It’s strange, how quickly the kid goes back and forth between appearing to be exactly what he is on the surface—a kid—and seeming far, far older than that. “What’s that?”

“When you’re finished with whatever you’re working on up there, I wanna see it,” he says, sticking his hands in his pockets.

It’s the only explanation that makes sense. Tommy has some sort of secret project, one that he doesn’t want anyone else to stumble upon. Sounds like it could be a good time.

Tommy blinks. For a long moment, he is silent. And then his mouth twists into a grin, one that drags like a sharp line across his face and doesn’t really look like a smile at all.

“Sure,” he says. “The whole server might know by then, I don’t know. But yeah, when I’m done, you can come see, Karl.”

For some reason, the kid sounds like he’s pronouncing a death sentence. Which Karl is not going to examine too closely.

“Cool,” he says, and isn’t sure where else to go with this. “Uh, do you wanna hang out for a little while? Or—?” He trails off. The invitation is honest; he certainly wouldn’t mind spending time with him. But the vibes continue to be weird, and honestly, he would be surprised if Tommy took him up on it. He’s fidgeting like he’s got places to be.

And sure enough, Tommy shakes his head again.

“Nah,” he says. “Got places to go, women to see. You know how it is. See you around, Karl.”

And he turns to go. Karl decides to watch him until he’s out of sight, just in case, which makes it a little awkward when Tommy stops after about three paces.

“Actually,” he says, “do you mind if I ask you something else?”

“Go for it,” he replies.

Tommy hesitates. His hands clench and unclench, and his mouth opens and closes a couple of times. Struggling with himself, with whatever he’s about to say, and Karl waits. Patiently, he thinks, even though patience is not one of his strong suits. If ever there was a time to apply a bit of patience, it’s probably now; he has the sneaking suspicion that if he says anything to prompt him, Tommy will simply turn and leave without saying anything else at all.

“How do you do it?” Tommy asks, and his voice is different. Flatter, more tired. Does this kid sleep? “The whole—” He makes a broad gesture, which doesn’t clarify anything at all.

“The whole—?” he says, once it becomes obvious that Tommy is actually expecting some kind of answer to that.

Tommy makes a frustrated sound. “I mean, I don’t wanna spell it out,” he says, even though Karl is of the opinion that is what this situation needs, actually. “But the whole, the whole—look, I know, alright? We had—we found one of your books.” His voice cracks, and Karl feels increasingly out of his depth here. It’s almost like they’re having two entirely different conversations, because he has absolutely no clue what’s going on now. “So I know. And I get it if you—if you don’t want to talk about it. But it’s so—it’s just so fucking much, and I feel like there’s too much to keep straight, and there’s so much to do to make things right but half the time I’ve got no idea what my next move needs to be, and it’s—it’s just hard, man. So how do you—how do you keep it all together? I’ve tried writing some shit down, but it’s not helping all that much.”

“Uh,” he says. He doesn’t know what to do with that. This feels like an incredibly personal question, and he’s not even sure what the question is, he thinks. Is he even the one the kid wants to ask? Is he confused? Because Karl sure feels confused, so that would make two of them. “Huh?”

He tries to think of what book Tommy could be referencing and comes up empty. He likes to write things down, admittedly, places he’s been and people he’s met and stories he’s learned and collected, but he doesn’t have anything on him at the moment. He’d been planning to start afresh here. Maybe build a little library or something. Nothing too fancy.

“You know,” Tommy says, insistent, and he shakes his head.

“I really don’t,” he says. “I’m—look, I’m really sorry, but maybe you’ve got me mixed up with somebody. I’ve only been here a few days, and I haven’t really gotten to write anything down yet. Sorry, man, I don’t think I can help you.”

“But you—” Tommy starts, and then stops. He takes a few steps closer, and Karl has to resist the sudden urge to match him step for step, to move backward. There is a light in this kid’s eyes that he can’t place, one that’s almost like—something. Something that shouldn’t be, and he doesn’t have the words to describe it in any other way than that. But then, Tommy leans in, scanning his face, and makes a startled sound. “Oh, shit. You’ve got no fucking clue what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t,” he agrees, and wonders why that makes Tommy look like he wants to vomit. The light is gone, and he finds himself relaxing marginally.

“Oh fuck,” Tommy says, and steps back again, running his hand through his hair. His eyes are wide. “Ohhhh fuck. Fuck, shit, I—I’m too early.” He says the last in a whisper, as if to himself, and then repeats it: “I’m too early.” And Karl watches in horrified fascination as the kid visibly gathers himself, taking all of his emotions and stuffing them away somewhere in what is the most impressive display of repression he’s ever seen from someone under the age of eighteen.

“Are you—good?” he asks, because he’s confused, but he’s not a monster. Tommy’s obviously dealing with something here, and maybe that something is far out of his wheelhouse, but if he’s equipped to help, he will.

But Tommy backs up another few steps, pasting on a smile that shakes and wavers.

“No, no, I’m good,” he says. “Just, just forget about all of that, yeah? You’re right, I got you mixed up with someone. Happens all the time, since I’m so incredibly popular. So I’ll just—I’m just going to go, now. Sorry to bother you, Karl.” And then, he waves, a sad, pathetic motion, and stalks off, his steps quick and rushed. It’s a retreat. Karl would go so far as to say that he’s fleeing.

“You’re not a bother,” he says, but the kid’s already out of earshot. So he goes with his original plan and stares after him until the splash of red and white is nothing more than a dot in the distance.

He looks back to the foundation of his building. His first mark on the server. For a second, he feels so discomfited that he considers calling it a day and going home. But then, he shrugs it off. In the end, it’s a whole lot of not-his-business.

Though he hopes that whatever Tommy’s grappling with, he manages to get through it. He seems like a good kid.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #karl jacobs #tommyinnit #/rp #cw swearing #cw vomit mention #cat writes fic #long post #time travel au #c!tommy's trying his best #and that's all i'll say about that

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Note

Thank you "Worthwhile Trade". The idea of Baxia turning into an guai is so interesting. I liked imagining the part where she hit NMJ for his idiocy. My brain is projecting "married couple" vibes, omg. I admit despite how weird WWX spoke about the events, the time travel part flew over my head until the tags spelled it out for me. (TBC)

(Cont'd) Also... did NMJ mean it in THAT dual-thing way when talking WRH's prefs? And the last part, where WWX used resentful energy to sub NMJ's qi. I assume he can still cultivate since his core's still there, if emptied? But I wonder what'll happen to his energy once restored Can't help but think his renewed qi will inevitably be affected by the traces of the previous energy that once circulated. He's not going to become a walking stygian tiger or something, is he? Off the wall guess, sorry!

----

sequel to Worthwhile Trade (ao3), also on tumblr

Wei Wuxian didn’t understand Nie Mingjue.

He didn’t understand the way he thought, the way he acted – the way he smiled when he woke up, the way he opened his arms when Nie Huaisang threw himself into them with a wail and said, “It was worth it for you, didi; it always is if it’s for you. Don’t you know that?” the way Wei Wuxian had always shamefully thought of saying, as if something like that could just be said like that, out in the open.

The way Nie Mingjue shrugged when the doctors said his cultivation would likely never recover, that he should have died, that they didn’t understand why he hadn’t; the way he said, seeming even satisfied, that it was a worthwhile trade.

It’s not a trade, Wei Wuxian wanted to scream at him. It’s a sacrifice! It hurts and you’re sad, no, worse, you’re resentful about it and you shouldn’t be because it was your choice, your decision, but you see someone else with everything that you worked so hard for and you’re angry when you shouldn’t be angry and you feel bad and you turn away; it hurts them when you do and you’re glad, you miserable thing, you’re happy that they’re hurt because why should you be the only one whose hurt –

Perhaps the problem wasn’t that he didn’t understand Nie Mingjue.

Perhaps it was only that he saw in Nie Mingjue his own faults, his own deficiencies, the ones he’d tried so hard to hide in the sea of his poor memory.

“You’ll die if you don’t find a way to cultivate,” he said instead, hovering by the door. He’d say that he didn’t mean to ruin the mood, but he kind of did, and Baxia’s eyes on him were cold as if she knew.

As if she knew everything.

How he’d gone back to the past, how he’d changed things, how it was his fault that Nie Mingjue – who’d never done a single thing to hurt him, who’d been upright and righteous and good and whose brother loved him enough to –

Wei Wuxian had made a point of avoiding Baxia.

Not that she was that easy to avoid. She was tall for a woman – not as tall as Nie Mingjue, but proportionate to him in the sense that she was as much taller than the average woman as he was taller than the average man – and she walked as though people should flee before her, a tread that only felt heavy because of the almost visceral rage that surrounded her like a cloud.

Nie Huaisang had found robes for her, somehow, and they were the least feminine robes Wei Wuxian had ever seen a woman wear, though he supposed he still hadn’t seen that given that Baxia wasn’t exactly a woman. Cut in a martial style, a dark shimmering grey that seemed in some lights to be almost red – she had been born as a human in a mantle of blood and she would not let anyone forget it.

“I should have died already,” Nie Mingjue said, as if the world’s scariest guai didn’t have her hand on his shoulder right next to his vulnerable neck. “You came up with a solution, Wei-gongzi, and for that I thank you. Even if we are not able to solve the next stage, being able to see my loved ones is worthwhile.”

Wei Wuxian could learn to hate that word.

“I have a solution, of a sort,” he said, irritated and not entirely because his reveal had been preempted. He’d hoped to sort of ease into it, somehow. “You lack the capacity for regular cultivation, but that doesn’t mean you can’t use demonic cultivation.”

“What? No, we can’t do that,” Nie Huaisang said, biting his fingers anxiously. “Anyway, doesn’t demonic cultivation harm the temperament?”

“You mean my temperament can get worse?” Nie Mingjue teased, and Nie Huaisang smacked him so lightly that it didn’t even displace his clothing. “I don’t know any means of demonic cultivation, Wei-gongzi –”

“Call me Wei Wuxian,” Wei Wuxian said. “Please.”

“Wei Wuxian, then,” Nie Mingjue said. “All the methods I’ve ever heard of were forbidden for very good reasons – but perhaps those conditions are not the same in the method you know.”

Wei Wuxian tensed. “How do you know that I know one?”

“You saved me, didn’t you?” Nie Mingjue said practically, and well, yes, Wei Wuxian supposed he had a point – “And anyway, Baxia can tell.”

Wei Wuxian shivered. “I don’t use it,” he argued. “How can she tell?”

At Nie Huaisang’s instigation, Baxia had recently started experimenting with smiles. She put one on her face now.

It was terrifying.

“Tell me about it,” Nie Mingjue requested. “The powers and the price, all of it.”

“You’re actually considering this?” Nie Huaisang exclaimed. “But da-ge…!”

“Wei Wuxian was not wrong when he said that I would die if I didn’t find a way to cultivate despite having given up what I have,” Nie Mingjue said. “If I die, what will you do?”

Oh, not much, just become a mastermind capable of puppeting the entire cultivation world to enact revenge for your death. Nothing big.

“But – da-ge has always put such a priority on remaining on the righteous path…”

“That’s why I asked about the costs,” Nie Mingjue said patiently. “I will not abandon righteousness simply because I adopt a new method of cultivating.”

“Everyone will revile you even if you are righteous,” Wei Wuxian warned him.

Nie Mingjue shrugged. “Who is everyone? What do I care for them? You do the right thing because it is right, not for the sake of fame.”

Wei Wuxian had once thought the same.

“If everyone in the cultivation world thinks you are evil, they will paint you as evil no matter what you do,” he insisted. “No matter how righteous your motives –”

“Let them think he’s evil, then!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed. “He could be the most black-hearted cultivator in the land, but he’s still my da-ge; my Nie sect and I will protect him!”

“Huaisang! No! That is not how righteousness works – if I ever truly become evil, you are to cut me off at once, kill me if necessary –”

“No way!”

“Huaisang – Baxia, tell him; evil cannot be endured –”

Baxia was looking at her fingernails. She’d picked that gesture up from Sect Leader Ouyang, when he was trying to be pointed about ignoring someone; it was extremely irritating to absolutely everyone who wanted to know who she was and what she was doing here and Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian had teamed up to convince her to keep doing it.

Possibly a mistake, in retrospect.

“Baxia. I know you agree with me on this. Evil is evil, and must be eradicated no matter who it may be.”

She gave him an unimpressed look.

“I know I’m not evil yet,” Nie Mingjue argued, apparently understanding her without any difficulty whatsoever. He’d just woken up from a month-long coma and he could already speak fluent human-saber, it was really unfair. And this man had succumbed to Jin Guangyao’s wiles? Lan Xichen had more to answer for than he knew. “But if I ever become evil – what? No, we will not burn that bridge when we come to it, that’s not even the right idiom, who is teaching you these things –”

Nie Huaisang coughed and hid his face behind a fan.

Wei Wuxian was not going to laugh.

Nie Mingjue growled at them all and turned back to Wei Wuxian. “Explain,” he demanded. “The rest of you, out.”

“But –”

“Out. One of us has to cultivate the righteous path, and if it can’t be me, it has to be you. Baxia?”

She picked Nie Huaisang up by his collar, for all the world like a mother dog picking up her pup by the scruff of its neck, and walked out.

Nie Mingjue picked up demonic cultivation faster than anyone else Wei Wuxian had ever met or even heard of. He wasn’t sure if that demonstrated an unnerving aptitude or if it was simply that Nie Mingjue was surpassingly talented – Wei Wuxian had never met anyone like himself before, someone for whom all things came easy, and it was an unexpected delight to meet a kindred soul somewhere where he’d long ago given up hope. He’d never planned to unveil demonic cultivation in this life unless he truly needed it – he didn’t want to hurt his Lan Zhan the way he had in his first life, and anyway Jiang Cheng and Uncle Jiang and Madame Yu were all alive, with hundreds of Jiang sect members to boot, there was no need for his sacrifice – but the part of him that was more researcher and inventor than cultivator luxuriated in their discussions.

Nie Mingjue was a lot more concerned than Wei Wuxian had ever been with consequences, and how to mitigate them, but he supposed that made sense: losing his cultivation hadn’t impacted that Nie temper one bit, and demonic cultivation was likely to make things worse. Moreover, Nie Mingjue was simply who he was, stiff and unbending, as much steel in his spine as in Baxia’s; he could almost be described as being rigid in his thinking except for the fact that he was in fact seriously considering becoming a demonic cultivator.

“We’re saber cultivators,” Nie Mingjue said when Wei Wuxian tentatively brought it up. “Like a saber, our nature is to be firm and unyielding, not flexible like the sword, but we cannot allow ourselves to become too rigid – a too-rigid saber will break upon encountering an obstacle. It’s a difficult balance to keep, and one made more difficult by our cultivation style.”

“The demonic cultivation aspects, you mean? Using yao to refine your saber spirit?”

“One day, though not today, I’m going to ask you how you know about that,” Nie Mingjue remarked, and although his tone was causal Wei Wuxian’s back went cold. “And I’ll expect you to tell me the truth when I do. But not today. Anyway, yes, that’s what I mean. Do you know what they mean when they say that demonic cultivation harms the temperament?”

Wei Wuxian hesitated. “I assume you’re going to tell me something other than ‘it drives you crazy and makes you kill people’?”

Nie Mingjue snorted. “Sometimes I wonder how someone as smart as you got sent home before you finished your lessons at the Cloud Recesses, but other times it’s fairly obvious.”

Wei Wuxian shrugged, embarrassed.

“Do you really not know?”

“No one taught this to me,” Wei Wuxian said, stung. “I came up with it on my own. How would I know?”

“All demonic cultivation has the same root,” Nie Mingjue said. “Obsession.”

“With killing, yeah, I know, I’ve heard it a million times –”

“Shut up and listen, you impertinent brat. The killing comes later. It starts with obsession. Obsession with righteousness, obsession with love, obsession with the pleasures of this world, with power – a human becomes a demon when they cannot overcome the obsessions within their heart, and the obsession consumes them. In time, a demonic cultivator who is obsessed with power will do whatever it takes to obtain that power, and not mind the blood shed to do it; a demonic cultivator who is obsessed with love will kill everyone who they perceive stands between them and their love, a demonic cultivator who is obsessed with righteousness will turn to murder when in their judgment something that ought to be condemned goes unpunished…”

“What about one who only wants what’s best for his family?” Wei Wuxian said, and he did not know if the challenge in his voice was about Nie Mingjue’s future or his own past.

Nie Mingjue shrugged. “Two roads that I can see: first, their family turns away from them for what they have become and they become vicious with the abandonment, becoming quick to lash out against the world and eventually doing something that causes the world to turn against them. Second, their family stands by them, and eventually the world causes some harm to them – and the demonic cultivator turns to madness in revenge.”

“Not exactly an optimistic outlook.”

“Not especially, no.”

“You don’t seem as concerned by that as I would have thought.”

Nie Mingjue’s lips twitched. “I have a solution.”

“Would you like to share?”

“Using resentful energy to cultivate our sabers makes them prone to obsession, driving them ceaselessly to fight evil, destroy it, without discrimination. It makes them stronger, but also more dangerous – and that is why they must be carefully controlled.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “So, what? You’re going to be the saber now? Under whose control?”

“Huaisang’s, of course,” Nie Mingjue said, as if it were obvious. “For better or for worse, he is sect leader now. Who else would it be?”

“But – what if you disagree? What if he wants to do things one way, and you another –”

“Then I argue and probably yell a lot, and if in the end he still insists on doing things his way, I listen,” Nie Mingjue said dryly. “That’s how hierarchy works. Isn’t it the same for you? When your shidi, Jiang Cheng, becomes sect leader, you’ll need to listen to him – or leave the sect. There’s no middle ground.”

Wei Wuxian scowled.

“A sect leader that can’t control his disciples is worse than a demonic cultivator,” Nie Mingjue said. “He’s weak. A target, ripe to be ripped apart and devoured by other sects – resources raided, disciples poached, responsibilities taken away...It’s not a fate I would wish on anyone. If you can’t commit to obeying, commit to leaving so that you don’t end up promising more than you can give.”

Ouch.

Just – ouch.

Great advice, fantastic advice, world-class advice, and totally useless because Jiang Cheng had travelled back in time with him and was therefore convinced that Wei Wuxian was just looking for the first way out of the Jiang sect he could find, no matter what Wei Wuxian said or did about it.

(Even Madame Yu was concerned by the new coldness in their relationship and had tried to talk to him about it, which – Wei Wuxian didn’t know what to do with that. It didn’t match any of what he had thought he’d understood.)

He decided to focus back in on the demonic cultivation lessons, shifting from theoretical discussions to the practical, and that, unfortunately, was when they encountered an issue.

“What do you mean you can’t play an instrument?” Wei Wuxian demanded, appalled. “It’s one of the Six Arts! Everyone can play some sort of instrument – even Nie Huaisang plays an instrument!”

“Everyone agreed it was better that I stop learning,” Nie Mingjue said defensively. “It’s all just plucking on strings or blowing air in pipes, and yet no matter that I did exactly what the teacher said to do, it never worked, that’s all.”

“Didn’t Zewu-jun offer to teach you…?”

“He did. And then he said it would be better if we stopped, too.”

The reason, Wei Wuxian soon learned, was that Nie Mingjue was almost completely tone deaf, and the only reason it was almost was that he was still capable of differentiating speech.

“I agree with the majority,” he said after an extremely frustrating day. “Stop. Never pick up an instrument ever again. And don’t let anyone but Zewu-jun play something especially for you, either, okay? Even if they’re highly recommended.”

“An interesting request,” Nie Mingjue said, eyebrows arched skeptically. “May I ask why?”

“Because you’ll have no idea if they’ve changed the music on you,” Wei Wuxian said bluntly. A great deal about the man’s murder in a different life made sense now, and Jin Guangyao’s brilliance in hiding the score of Turmoil inside of Clarity was a little less impressive when played to a man who thought all music, without exception, was just plucking strings or blowing air. “Musical cultivation is deadly in the right hands, especially if you lower your defenses against it. Just consider it a precaution.”

Nie Mingjue’s eyebrows remained arched, but he hummed in agreement.

“I guess we’ll have to think of a new way for you to cultivate demonic cultivation,” Wei Wuxian said, rubbing his face. He had not been planning on having to invent demonic cultivation at all in this life, and now he needed to not only ‘invent’ the original but actually come up with something new. Why was his life so hard? “How did you previously manipulate external energy?”

“With Baxia.”

“Well, that’s not helpful, is it? You can’t wield a human being. Perhaps another saber…?”

That didn’t work, primarily because it turned out that Baxia had strong feelings about Nie Mingjue even thinking about using another saber and well, as far as Wei Wuxian was concerned, whatever Baxia wanted, Baxia got.

(Nie Huaisang had had to go to Heijan once, with Wei Wuxian and Baxia accompanying him since Nie Mingjue wasn’t ready yet, and some unlucky Wen captain had tried to ambush them. That captain, and his squad, were not granted the courtesy of an intact corpse, and Baxia hadn’t even gotten a speck of blood on her nice new robes – no, Wei Wuxian would not be crossing Baxia any time soon.)

“There’s got to be something,” Wei Wuxian said, and Nie Mingjue agreed, and in the end they found something.

Nie Mingjue had been absent-mindedly playing around with one of Nie Huaisang’s fans when one of the fierce corpses Wei Wuxian had raised as practice targets had gotten loose; instinct had taken over and Nie Mingjue had lashed out with the weapon at hand as if it were a saber, and the resentful energy had surged in response –

Baxia was apparently not threatened by the notion of her master using a fan as a weapon, not even one inlaid with steel and heavy cloth with enough layers to catch a sword in.

(If Wei Wuxian needed to go have some time to himself at the sight of Nie Huaisang, dressed as a sect leader with his saber always at his side, standing next to Nie Mingjue holding a fan – well, that was his problem, and also one he intended to show to Jiang Cheng at the next possible opportunity. Someone else deserved to have their mind wrecked by the incongruity as much as he had.)

Even without the weirdness of Nie Mingjue, it was more than a little odd to see Nie Huaisang in the robes of a sect leader without him acting like the Head-shaker. The shock of having to become sect leader had fallen heavily on him: he had become a little more serious, a little more earnest (though still a bit frivolous); he was more inclined to listen and think things over, less inclined to run away.

“If da-ge is going to become a demonic cultivator, someone needs to stand behind him,” Nie Huaisang said simply when Wei Wuxian had tried probing. “He’s always held the world up for me – it’s the least I can do for him. I may not be able to do much, I might be terrible at it, but I owe it to him to at least try.”

Wei Wuxian wondered, sometimes, if Jiang Cheng would have stood up for him if only he had trusted in him, believed in him, the way Nie Mingjue believed in his notoriously useless little brother.

Maybe he’d ask, when he went back to the Jiang sect.

Maybe he’d –

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” Jiang Cheng said as a greeting, and for once Uncle Jiang didn’t disagree. “All those letters and you never once mentioned the terrors?”

“The what,” Wei Wuxian said, and that was how he learned that while he was on his way back to Yunmeng neither Baxia nor Nie Mingjue had wasted any time utilizing their newfound skills out on the battlefield.

Nie Huaisang was never going to be a particularly respected sect leader, especially by those that had met him beforehand, but evidently that wasn’t really important given that he was constantly flanked by what was being called the two terrors of Qinghe.

Nie Mingjue preferred darker colors now that he was no longer sect leader, the same dark grey shading towards black that Baxia had selected for herself, and the selection somehow made him seem even taller, verging on inhuman, and Baxia standing beside him, her human features patterned roughly after his, made the two of them appear a matched set. Nie Mingjue wielded the fan that Wei Wuxian had helped him design, which he had forged with his own hands out of the metal from the Xuanwu’s cave that Wei Wuxian had foolishly figured someone ought to get some use out of, painted over with a cinnabar array in Nie Huaisang’s careful brushstrokes, and in his hands it was both weapon and conduit for the raising of armies of corpses. Baxia, for her part, held nothing but required nothing, a sweeping gesture of her hand more devastating than a dozen blows with the saber.

They were terrifying, a nightmare writ large and unmistakably dangerous, undeniably demonic cultivators in a way that was entirely different from Wei Wuxian’s own dramatics, and it unnerved the rest of the cultivation world the way Wei Wuxian had feared it would.

“It won’t be a problem,” Jiang Cheng said impatiently. “The Nie sect are ascending in strength, and this only adds to their mystique – who would challenge them?”

“Uh, Jin Guangshan,” Wei Wuxian said. “Like last time?”

Jiang Cheng huffed. “At this rate, I don’t even think Jin Guangyao will bother defecting to the Jin sect,” he said. “Not if he knows how to play his cards right. The Nie sect’s strength in the original version was never about Chifeng-zun’s skill with the blade alone. It was the whole sect’s strength, with Chifeng-zun’s ability to wield them as skillfully as he did his saber; he’s an outstanding general. And now they have him as a general, him as a demonic cultivator, and whatever the fuck is going on with Lady Baxia –”

“I already told you. She’s a guai.”

“Like I already told you, it doesn’t matter how many times you say that, I will immediately expel the knowledge from my mind and you should too. ‘Immortal cultivator cousin that my brother named his saber after’, like what Nie Huaisang has been putting about, is a perfectly acceptable cover story.”

“And the fact that his saber disappeared at the same time?”

“Coincidence,” Jiang Cheng said firmly. “And we’re sticking with that. Anyway, the point is that if you’re an ambitious man, the Nie sect is the place to be right now and probably will continue to be in the future. This is going to be evident to both Jin Guangshan and the future Jin Guangyao, and we’ll need to deal with that.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Wei Wuxian promised. “After rescuing Chifeng-zun and helping with the demonic cultivation, I’ve gotten pretty close to them.”

“Mm. And how about your other mission?”

Wei Wuxian scowled at the smirk on Jiang Cheng’s face. “You know perfectly well that I haven’t had any time to seduce Lan Wangji, what with how busy I’ve been. I don’t even know for sure if he likes me yet -!”

“You’re an idiot, he does, and you’re not allowed to keep us all in suspense for two decades this time. Figure it out.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I’m sticking you with the job of being an information courier and you leave for the Lan sect front line tomorrow.”

“You are the best shidi ever,” Wei Wuxian said, and meant it.

Jiang Cheng huffed. “Yeah, well,” he said as if his cheeks weren’t red. “Remember that in the future. In this life we’re the Twin Heroes, you hear me? No take-backs.”

Nie Mingjue was right: Wei Wuxian would need to either learn to obey or tell Jiang Cheng early on that he was leaving, and walking a path in the middle would only cause heartbreak all over again.

“Okay,” he said, deciding to ask Lan Wangji for advice on obedience. Surely that was something that could be learned? “Deal. You do know that that means Lan Wangji’s going to have to marry in, right?”

“Oh no,” Jiang Cheng said, voice entirely flat. “How terrible. I’ll find a way to manage dealing with that ice block somehow…listen, I don’t care if you end up calling him Wei Sizhui in this life, but don’t ruin his character. He was perfectly nice.”

“I don’t know if he’s even been born yet,” Wei Wuxian said glumly. “I’ve been looking, but…”

“I’ve asked some of Mother’s spies to keep track of Wen Ning and Wen Qing,” Jiang Cheng said. “Collecting evidence we’ll need for their inevitable post-war trial, assuming we want them to live better lives than just refugees. Give it time, we’ll find him.”

“Now I just need to see if Lan Wangji will want to raise children with me…”

“Wei Wuxian. I don’t care. Go.”

#mdzs #nie mingjue #wei wuxian #nie huaisang #baxia #jiang cheng #my fic #my fics #academic discussion of demonic cultivation #this isn't an answer to your question but I hope you like it anyway #tkpartisan

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taeslovehandles · 3 years

Note

I never meant to target you and I'm sorry you felt that way. You properly tag everything and adhere to the "don't like, don't read" rule. I don't follow you nor you follow, because we simply don't vibe together and that's okay.

But there are posts that are on the more "innocent" side that do represent fat people as a joke and it's like they don't even realize it because it's something so well ingrained in our fatphobic society.

For example, all the characters are having fun except the fat one or referring to someone as "twice his size" (like... If they want to say he's huge, they should just say it, not imply that there's a "right size" for someone to be).

I don't think authors should censor themselves, just acknowledge the role they play in how fat characters are perceived by the community they write for.

-🍓

First of all, since you obviously haven’t blocked me, you could have come to me via direct message. This is not a topic that needs to be brought out into the public eye even more than it already is. I have worked with anons before, I would have been the last person to reveal who you are. You could have made a trash account to message me in dm’s, but since you didn’t, I will reply to you here.

I want to make one thing clear. This will be my last response on the topic. If you do not like me as a member of the community please use the block button and filter me out, because I will stay. I have many friends here, and know that many people enjoy my content. Just because a small handful of people don’t appreciate dark themes in fiction, the contents of which they can easily protect themselves from, won’t make me falter.

Now, I want to debunk this ask because your ‘apology’ actually made me very upset.

I know you don’t mean it when you say you are sorry because you’re backpedaling on what you’ve told your friends and it really rubs me the wrong way. You could have owned up to your mistakes and apologized sincerely like others had but you continue to play victim and excuse your behaviour with tales of your own trauma, projecting your own insecurities onto my blog and thus hating me.

I know for a fact that you despise my blog, especially my writing, because you do not like how “obviously skinny people write about weight gain.”

Honey.

I couldn’t be any further from skinny.

I don’t mind sharing my actual weight, which has actually gotten worse due to COVID. I weigh 490lbs. I am morbidly obese. I have always been morbidly obese. For you to come and be “nitpicky” about a genre you don’t even enjoy? Why are you even reading my fics then?

The way I write about obese people, their struggles with literally everything… that comes from real life experience. I write this to share embarrassing and exhausting daily life tasks I personally struggle with.

A skinny person would never write some of the stuff I do, because they simply don’t know. They don’t know how scary it is to hear the line “we are going to a restaurant.” They don’t know how scary it is to go into that new restaurant, scan the chairs and think “Shit, am I gonna fit? Is the chair gonna creak? Is there enough space for the next table? What if I won’t fit?” A thin person doesn’t have to think this way.

And, let me tell you something else. Yes, I agree. The world is fatphobic.

In one of my recent posts I talked about movies and shows where they make fun of fat people because I hate it. Because it is REAL LIFE. And I am all for the body positivity movement and I do believe that all bodies are beautiful, because they are.

You do not know me personally.

And that leads to my next point. If you personally have issues with the phrase “twice my size”, then that is on you. And guess what? I cannot count how often I’ve heard lines like that my whole life.

“Oh wow two people would fit in one of your pant legs.”

“Wow, you are so fat, I could use your pants as a tent.”

So trust me, I know. I KNOW. But anon, this is the important part for me. Everyone processes trauma differently.

Inked ch3? Or literally any story I have written with a fat character being forced, insulted and talked down to like they’re dumb? That’s what I have been living with my entire life. Most of these stories, some obviously more extreme than how I had experienced them since it’s fiction, have been recordings of trauma I have went through.

My own dad force fed me. Forced me to eat food and gain weight. My first boyfriend was a feeder that manipulated me into gaining more weight and took measurements. Called me pig names and abused me. Hit me, manipulated me into having s** with him and then let all of his fantasies out on me.

I don’t make this shit up. I hate my brain for being so twisted now, that I actually find it hot and arousing. It’s weird. I know, but that’s how it is.

I’ve also never had friends in school. Not even kindergarten. Why? Because my “fat incased body could spread like a virus.” I was being bullied like JK was in Pondus.

I had hot water thrown at me, got glue put on my seats and hair, had my hair ripped out and even got a cigarette burn mark on my arm. Just because I was fat. Just because of how my body was shaped.

I was strangled and locked into a small locker for a night. I was almost killed for running away from my abusive dad from his car and had to listen to things like, “You are going to die when you are 30. No one will ever love you and your body.” That I have trust issues now and am paranoid about everything and everyone.

Those dark stories. I use those dark stories to try to work through my trauma. And yes, it may be absurd to you. It may disgust you, what I write. But sadly, most of it? Most of it really happened to me. To me and other people I’ve talked to as a friend or seen online. Most of what I write will be dark because the human species is made up of terrible creatures.

Fatphobia is an important topic, and I am happy the media has been slowly getting better about it, that people accept us more. But my writing is how I work with my trauma. If I can make fictional characters feel the same things I had to feel, that makes me feel better.

And I’m not hurting anyone with it. So how is it wrong?

I do not support any of this behaviour in real life. I never bullied anyone, I always try to speak up for my friends and tell people if they are being assholes. Because I hate them too and it makes me angry when good people get shit when they do nothing but breathe.

And how @pudgecuddles already said. I don't need you to advocate for body positivity and all that shit when you go out of your way to bully someone that may have experienced the same shit you have. I do not know you or what you went through in your life, but I am sorry. I’m sorry you feel like my stories aren’t okay to write, but this is how I work on my trauma and I need you to respect that.

I’ve said this before. We don’t have to be friends, or even talk to each other.

Just be neutral.

Block me. Filter me out. Pretend I don't exist. But, whatever you do, don’t make posts that call me out while making it obvious you’re talking about me, with the cover that you are advocating against fatphobia. That’s got a name. Cyber-bullying.

Have you hurt me with those posts? Yes you have, but I’ve never wanted bad blood. As you may have noticed, it wasn’t me that made a post. It was my good friend. Because I told her how exhausting it was and she knew about the posts back then.

I have a good idea of who you are.

I remember you.

But I kept my mouth shut. Because this community is my home and the last thing I wanted was for the people who like both of our types of content to feel like they have to choose sides.

In the end, we all rub one out to fat gay boys in a band. No user is better than the rest, and if there are topics you do not enjoy, there is a button for it. No need to drag everyone into it with posts. It’s exhausting and irritating.

Now, I do not accept your apology because you lied to me and I also do not feel like you meant it sincerely knowing what I know now after reading some dm’s. But I also won’t sit here and start shit.

This is my last post about this.

Please block me and enjoy the content you do like.

Nonetheless, I hope you have a nice day and a lovely weekend. Whatever you are experiencing or going through, I hope it gets better. Because even if you hate me personally for creating content you do not support, I’d say that I am a really friendly and nice person.

I do not believe that anyone deserves to be bullied like that and talked down in official posts. It happened before with a friend of mine and you probably remember that I did speak up about it.... But apparently no one learned from it. I really hope this time you do.

Insult me and shit talk me all you want in dm’s, but don’t do it publicly. No one deserves that kind of hate or passive aggressiveness. No one. Since you sound like someone that went through a lot of shit too, you should know better. You should know how it feels to be bullied and what damage it can cause.

I’m already depressed enough and I have bad lows. Let me write my erotica and just enjoy it? That’s all I want? I am a part of this community just like you were. You leaving because you did not like my content, is not my problem. If you cannot block me or ignore it and go so far as to read them and then rant about them negatively, what do you want me to do? I won’t leave the scene just because you don’t like me.

So, you either trash talk me in dm’s from now on so that I do not see it, or you block me. The latter of which would be the more mature thing to do. The more humane thing to do. Because talking behind someone’s back is just as bad.

Again, I don’t know why you felt like it was necessary to send me an ask with lies in it when I got screenshot proof of something else you have said/issues with, so don’t backpedal on me. I know Hun. I know already.

At least stick to what you said and actually apologize or, if you can’t, just block me.

But this ask? This ask just upset me.

Have a nice day.

p.s: The fact that this even needs to be talked about is so absurd and ridiculous to me. The whole thing is a petty party in my eyes that isn't even worth anyone's time? Do people on here really not have any other issues right now or am I in the wrong movie?

#taeslovehandle asks #do not use this post to cause your own drama #this is me answering honestly.#the topic about this ends here.#please respect this <3

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silenteyes · 3 years

Text

My Obey Me HCs (Luke-centric because he’s baby and my favourite character)

- He always goes to Barbatos when Simeon is busy because I feel like Barbs is the only one that doesn’t make fun of him. (*ahem* parental figure check)

- Asmo actually gets along well with Luke seeing as Asmo is canonically good with children (if Little D #2 counted) and knows when to tone it down with his horniness. He also makes small jewelry for Luke (bc I hc Asmo can actualy make it) like a simple necklace or a cute bracelet!

- Scratch that all the demon brothers actually care for Luke despite what they’d say

- Once a demon was picking on Luke and things were getting physical then *boom* Luci’s appears and just gives the demon one nasty glare and if the demon values their- life(? Do demons have lives?) they run away. Luke would probably be mystified and Lucifer just stares at him and walks away. (Luke was terrified and was just frozen until Solomon found him)

- MC introduced Luke to human music and Luke accidentally stumbled upon MCR. (The Purgatory Hall got one hell of a wake up when “Teenagers” was blasted and it came from Luke’s room)

- When Luke is baking, Beel would always sneak in when Luke isn’t looking and steal some of the pastries he makes which leave Luke flabbergasted. After many incidents, Luke would learn to make or leave extra for Beel and if he was feeling good enough, he would decorate them differently from the rest of the batch even though Beel probably wouldn’t care. (He does)

- Surprisingly (and concerningly, Simeon almost had a heart attack) Luke loves reading Dark Literature and fantasy books (where he got it is a mystery). Satan would be a little put-off because what in Diavolo’s name this 10-year old looking angel likes Gothic Fiction but after a while he would actually recommend some books to Luke (the less graphic and dark ones) and sometimes he would even go to Luke for recs

- Levi introduced Luke to gaming and anime and everything he loves. Luke got his attitude there when he was gaming with Levi and this one guy in the game was very OBVIOUSLY cheating. (Levi couldn’t breathe after watching the guy getting absolutely burnt by a kid).

- Luke is from the Celestial Realm and I would think life there is comfy so when it was the twin’s bday Luke gave Belphie a very soft and fluffy blanket and Belphie takes care of it, and for some weird reason it smells familiar (Luke was once told of the story of Lilith and he went digging for info). Belphie in turn gives Luke some very calming music recs (because no this kid isn’t going to listen to alt!music everyday).

- Mammon isn’t allowed to babysit Luke because once he brought the kid gambling. Also Mammon once bought him a dog plushie as a joke but Luke became attached to it (not that he’d admit it)

- Luke’s care also isn’t to be handed to Levi alone because once Luke came across quite explicit (animated) things when he was looking through Levi’s device (Simeon had to deal with a traumatized Luke and he was absolutely LIVID)

- Diavolo is Barb’s delivery man when it comes to giving Luke his pastries I take no critism.

- Older brother Solomon? Yes.

- Since he’s made a pact with Asmo, I’d believe whenever they go shopping Luke would sometimes tag along and it’s basically two big bros with their little bro. (There was a time when a demon tried kidnapping Luke and failed when the two showed up. Asmo dragged Luke away to go see a pastry shop or a bookstore/a store that sells really cute plushies while Solomon forces the demon a potion or casts a spell on them)

- Whenever one of the Demon Brothers / Undateables do something wrong and make Luke upset or irritated or just plain sad Simeon would sit them down and give a speech that could rival Mommy Luci except the speech is much more threatening

- Luke listens to those sad playlists but just for the vibe because he wants to know how it feels like to be really, really sad so he can understand when someone is feeling the same way.

- On the other hand, he listens to Soldier, Poet, King religiously because he finds it comforting and he also thinks of it as a fairytale

-When MC introduced him to human games Luke fell in love with Pony Town

No this isn’t copied if you see this again it’s because it’s from my old account I’m still pissed. Anyways hope you like this!

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apriorisea · 4 years

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What do you think each of the boys top “love languages” are? (Acts of service, words of affirmation, etc)? You write so well, love ur blog 💛

-- Hi!! Thank you so much for your sweet words^^ That’s so nice of you. Also, wow, this is such a great question!!! I love thinking about how to categorize personalities, so I really enjoyed pondering this for a while 🤔😅Eventually I just went with what made the most sense to me, but undoubtedly these opinions could change over time. And, of course, these are just *my* thoughts, so I’d really love to hear from everyone whether they agree or disagree and why~ Thanks again and I hope you are having a great day/night 💜💕

BANGTAN LOVE LANGUAGES

Seokjin: Quality Time -I think you could make a strong argument that he is also “words of affirmation,” especially given how much he courts praise (worldwide handsome, my handsome face, yes I’m handsome, etc etc), but.....I would also say that exact reason is why it’s not his love language. I think his personality is such that if it were his true love language, he wouldn’t be so bold about asking for it or encouraging it. So....for me, the thing that really makes sense for Mr. Worldwide Handsome himself is quality time. Of the 7 of them, Jin had the most opportunity to experience a “normal life.” He was already a college student by the time he was recruited, so I have always felt that, for him, the magnitude of their fame and the ways it changed his life has been a little bittersweet. No matter how grateful he is for his life and proud of his work and happy to be what he is, I can’t help but feel that he mourns the loss of that normalcy in a deeper way than the others. Therefore, I think it truly means the most to him when he is able to spend free, unbothered, private, and significant time with people he cares about. The ability to set down the title of “BTS’ Jin” for just a moment and be relaxed in company where he feels completely comfortable and cared for and normal is a dream situation for him.

Yoongi: Physical Touch -So Yoongi is, in my opinion, the most empathetic member of the group---the one who is always silently watching, listening, observing, and then handling whatever comes up. He is painfully aware of the needs of every person around him and doesn’t hesitate to step up and fill those needs where he can, and if he can’t do it alone, he helps the person find the solution elsewhere. Because of this, I think he’s very well versed in giving love in the form of words of affirmation, acts of service, quality time, and even occasionally giving gifts. However, I think the way he craves affection is through physical touch. Words of affirmation is a close second to me, but I think, genuinely, when he is as in-tune to the emotions and needs of others sometimes he just needs someone to hold his hand. I also think that, for him, physical touch and quality time kind of come hand-in-hand (no pun intended): his idea of being loved is sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with someone who loves him for a long period of time. Someone who will cuddle him and hold his hand and hug him when he’s tired and stressed, when he can’t sleep at night, when he is too overwhelmed to even work. Being in a loving, comfortable environment to him means being in one where puppy-piles on the couch aren’t unheard of, where it’s not strange to bustle around the kitchen bumping into each other, and where a touch on the arm is as commonplace as a smile.

Hoseok: Acts of Service -J-Hope is the toughest one for me, for reasons that I can’t quite explain. I think he plays such an important role in the group that has so many nuances I can’t really pin any one love language on him---except, for some reason, the one that sticks out the most to me is acts of service. For someone who has, by his own admission, worked very hard to cultivate and embody a particular persona (one that is happy and carefree and positive), I can see him being really moved by having someone quietly do things for him that make his life easier. Making him a meal after a hard rehearsal, unpacking his things for him after a long tour, doing the dishes or taking out the trash so he doesn’t have to worry about it, etc etc. Doing the hard or tedious or daunting things for him so he has a chance to just relax, to put down the persona for just a moment and be babied a little.

Namjoon: Words of Affirmation -Words mean the most to Namjoon. He has intentionally surrounded himself with words his whole life: lyrics, languages, poetry, literature. He probably also enjoys an act of service or an odd hour or two doing something Namjoony (museums, nature, etc) with someone he loves, but I think, when it comes right down to it, Namjoon communicates most and best with words. However, while others need words to praise them or acknowledge them, sometimes I think Namjoon simply craves conversation that stimulates his incredibly high level of intelligence. Sometimes, he just needs someone with whom he can discuss his deepest thoughts, opinions, philosophies, ideas, fears---and who will then affirm everything he has said; not necessarily agree, but just affirm that his thoughts are valid and interesting and provoking, to vibe with him on a similar level. Also, I think he really appreciates being told that his music, his actions, his life has had a positive impact on others. And, of course, I think he, who was mocked early on for his appearance, really thrills at being complimented for things beyond just his intellect and talent.

Jimin: Receiving Gifts -I know, I know: the cuddle monster of BTS is surely a “physical touch” person, right?? And if not that, then certainly the highly self-critical, sensitive, classically trained performer would surely crave “words of affirmation” the most, right?? ..........I won’t actually argue much against either of those, because I think Jimin, more than the rest of them, could probably easily fall into multiple categories. Does he love cuddling/hugging/physical closeness? Absolutely. Does he adore receiving praise or affirmation? Definitely. But here’s what I think about Jimin: he is one of the most empathetic people in the group. He’s caring, he’s observant---he’s completely willing to do whatever it takes to make the people around him KNOW they are loved. He’s intuitive and highly aware of the needs of others and acts on that intuition in a pretty selfless way. Because of this, I think it means a LOT to him when someone takes the time to buy or acquire something that he either needs or wants. It’s a sign that someone else has been listening or watching him as closely as he listens to and watches others. I think he is the sort of person who appreciates gifts (especially random ones) because it shows that the other person saw something that reminded them of him, totally at random or totally unprompted. (but yes, also physical touch and words of affirmation)

Taehyung: Words of Affirmation -Honestly, he is the only one I feel most certain about. Taehyung needs to be told that he is doing well; more than that, he needs to be listened to. Some could argue that being listened to is more “quality time” (and I wouldn’t necessarily disagree) but I feel like hearing the right words and being able to comfortably say the right words to someone who is paying close attention are extremely similar. Taehyung seems to live off the praise of those who mean the most to him. Whenever he learns a new skill (painting, composing, ‘playing’ the violin) he wants to show the world: he wants to be told he has done well. He also very much dislikes being ignored or forgotten or spoken over---all very normal things to be irritated about, but they really seem to dig at him. I could get into a whole discourse about why I think this is (his position in the group, his history within the group, his particular personality etc etc), but for now I’ll just leave it with this: Taehyung is the sort of person who loves to cuddle, loves to receive thoughtful gifts, and enjoys spending time with those he loves---but what he needs most is to hear good things about himself and his accomplishments, to be reassured, to be recognized, and to be heard.

Jungkook: Quality Time -Here’s my thinking: as the baby of the group, as the precious maknae that was raised by these 6 other men, Jungkook received (and still receives and will continue to receive) all the physical touch (cuddling, hugs, hand-holding, playing with his hair, etc etc) and words of affirmation ( “golden maknae”, he’s the coolest, everything he does is great, so handsome, talented, etc etc) a person could ever possibly want. He’s literally never lacked those things; he has ALWAYS had at least 6 other people to snuggle him and praise him (nevermind the millions of ARMY that would kill to do the same 😂). At the opposite end of the same stick, since he is the youngest I don’t think receiving gifts is anything new or special to him; plus he seems very much the sort of person who RELISHES his ability to provide for himself (see: his fancy car, apartment, etc). He’s also been raised in an environment where things are done for him as a matter of course, so acts of service doesn’t seem to fit either. Therefore, I think one thing that means the most to him is quality time. Actually, quite similar to his hyung-nim and best buddy Jin, I think he also genuinely craves any opportunity to spend quiet, private, meaningful time with those he cares about (although for an opposite reason: Jin aches for a life he used to have, Jungkook yearns for a life he never had a chance to experience). This is also why I think he’s always very vocal about how much he loves and misses ARMY: the time spent at concerts/performances is quality time to him, an opportunity to spend time with some of the people he loves the most.

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mywonuderful · 3 years

Text

Close Strangers

Summary: You recently move in to a new condo complex, finding that a very attractive neighbor lived beside you. You’ve encountered each other multiple times, exchanging shy glances blushes and conversation and before you know it, you’ve fallen head over heels for your next door tenant. The new years is coming up, which you’ve spend either video calling your parents or alone for the most part, but the ending of this year and the beginning of the next is sure a surprise.

Pairing: Optional Male Bias (H/N) X Female!Reader

Genre: Fluff, and poorly attempt of humor

Warnings: Drinking

A/N: Happy new year everyone! 2020 has been a year filled with the unexpected, upside downs and rollercoaster rides but with the start of 2021, let’s all stay positive, healthy and make lots of memorable memories. I hope everyone has a wonderful start of the new year!

main masterlist

You knew he did the big three (squats, deadlifts and bench press) by the way he walked passed the front gate security, nodding a ‘hello’ before flashing his charming smile to whoever passed him as he walked back to his unit. It’s been almost a year since you moved into your new home, and also almost a year since you’ve fell for him; your extremely attractive next door neighbor. You were leaning against your balcony railing, sipping on your hot drink while following his small figure from your floor. Despite living on a higher level, the veins on his arms and hands popping out were still visible through his thick sweater where his sleeves were pulled up, holding the packed bags of groceries.

You’d be lying if all those times you coincidently bump into him in the halls or the elevator weren't planned, trying the start a conversation with him to only chicken out, stuttering majority of the time as you sound like a blabbering mess. Sometimes you’ll see his blurred figure on the balcony beside yours through the frosted glass screen as you find yourself unconsciously heading out, sitting on your patio couch, reading your novel, looking at the sky or people watching with his presence of him typing on his laptop which you found oddly relaxing. It was new year’s eve, a normal day for you where the most you did on this day was video call your parents. But this year, you decided to add a little spark to the last day of the year, which was attempting to cook yourself dinner, something you don’t find your most confident. You decided to do some shopping before supermarket closed early. You threw on a sweater and some pants before putting on a jacket, closing the door behind you. As you turned around, you saw the elevator doors open, like the gates to heaven were opening, as he walked out, eyes raising to meet yours before his lips curved up into a smile, his eyes crinkled making your heart flutter. You smiled, walking towards the elevator.

“Good afternoon.” His slowed down his steps as the two of you approached each other.

“Good afternoon.” You replied, eyes tracing down on his white knuckles from clutching onto the bags. “Do you need some help?”

“It’s okay. I’m almost there anyways.” His eyes followed yours. You looked back up, seeing his smile which definitely had a different affect up close.

“Are you sure?” You tried asking once more, seeing that one of the bags were on the edge of ripping. Right as he was about to open his mouth and decline, the bag ripped as vegetables bounced onto the floor, rolling off into different directions. “Well, it seems like there’s no deny for needing help now.” You chuckled as he followed.

“Let me drop off these bags first.” He quickly walked to his door, entering in his passcode before dropping them in the doorway, helping to pick up the fallen veggies.

“Are you throwing a party or something? This is enough to for a feast.” You questioned as you picked up what seemed to be a never ending motion of standing up and kneeling down. He laughed at your comment, kneeling down beside you to pick up the last bits. You turned to the last one as both of you reach out for it, his hand landing on top off yours before you retreated, feeling blood rushing to your cheeks.

“Thanks.” He said, standing back up. You placed the vegetables in the bag he opened up for you. “I just bought extras since the supermarkets won't be opening until a few days after new years.” He explained. “Are you headed out to a gathering?” He questioned, seeing you ready to head out.

“Oh no. I’m just headed out to get some groceries before they close.” His mouth parts as he lets out a silent ‘ah,’ nodding along. “Well...”

“Well...” You mirrored, finding yourself in an awkward silence, staring at the floor as he looked around the hall as if it was his first time being here. “I’ll be going then.”

“Be careful.” He watched you click the elevator button before heading back into his home. Once you heard his door lock, you couldn’t help but to break out into a smile, from his words that probably didn’t much. Your steps were light to the grocery store, feeling cheery as you hummed while shopping.

---

“Okay... This can’t be too hard.” You mumbled as you placed your laptop with the recipe on the kitchen counter, putting on an apron before tying your hair up. You settled on making a 'one sheet pan dinner' recipe that highlighted 'fail-proof, lazy, quick and easy' which sold you away, feeling hopeful that it'll turn out well. You walked over to the living room, opening the curtains to the beautiful sight of the sun setting. One of the things you've loved about your condo unit aside from the fact that your dream man whom you barely know lives beside you and the fact that you have a breathtaking view of the sky, being able to see the sunset or rise was one of the main reason you sit out on your balcony so much. You opened the door to your balcony for some fresh air when your nose was filled with a delicious scent of meat and baked potatoes. You couldn't tell where it was from but the scent was sure strong enough that you almost wanted to drown yourself in that smell. Returning back to your kitchen, you started prepping your ingredients, off to a good start. You seasoned the meat, veggies and seafood when you froze, coming to realize that you forgot the potatoes. You could’ve just moved on, substituting it with another option but you had a sudden crave for it. You pondered for a few minutes before recalling that your neighbor, H/N bought a whole bag of potatoes.

‘He won’t be using all of the potatoes today right?’ You thought to yourself. You placed the pan into the oven first, so the food could start roasting while you fought between your two choices: ask Mr. Handsome or go craving for your sudden want of potatoes. You washed your hands before putting on your shoes, walking over next door before lightly knocking on his door. You heard faint holiday music behind his door before he opened it, a wave of flavorful aroma hitting your noise. “Is there something wrong?” You stared at his features. “Oh, sorry. My music must’ve been too loud.” You blinked yourself back to reality. “No no!” You said rather too loudly. “I couldn’t hear it. Don’t worry.” You reassured as he smiled, letting out a relieved laugh. “Um... I was wondering if you have any extra potatoes I could use.” “For sure. How many do you need?” “2, if it isn’t too much to as for.” He nodded, heading into his kitchen as you took a peek into his apartment. It had a minimalistic vibe with a pop of colours here and there. As you eyes were about to wandering in more, his figure appeared before your eyes, passing you a bag. “Here you go. I washed a few extras so they’re already clean.” You took the bag, fingers brushing against each other for a split second as both glanced at each other before he let out a chuckle as his cheeks started tinted red. Yours following because of how adorable he looked. “Thank you.” You managed to speak through your pounding heart. “Do you have guests over?” “Guests? No, I just thought I’d make myself a nice dinner.” He spoke, you nodding. ‘Ask him over for dinner!’ a part of your mind spoke. You shook your head, getting rid of the weird thoughts as your eyes met his, eyes confused on why you were shaking your head. “And what about you?” “Same here. Except, I’m attempting to make myself dinner.” The both of you broke out into laughter. “Sounds like fun. Maybe the both- is something burning?” He stopped mid way of his question when both your noses lingered the scent of odor of burnt food. You eyes widen, remembering that you were roasting your dinner. You quickly ran back into your apartment and kitchen, to see that there was heavy clouds of smoke coming out of the oven. “Oh no!” You yelled, opening the oven door before involuntarily sticking your hand towards the pan to pull it out without wearing gloves before a shock of pain travelled to your hand as you pulled it back, shaking it frantically. You turned on the tap of cold water before running your hand under it, hissing as the pain still remained. There was motion of someone fanning something in the corner of you eyes when you turned your head, to see that H/N was not only in your home but also very sexily fanning the smoke alarm so that it doesn’t go off, alarming the whole condo complex. He dropped the rolled up magazine before running over to you. “Are you alright?” His hand wrapped around your wrist as he took a look at your redden hand. The pain started increasing as you scrunched your face, telling to hold in everything that you can to scream in pain. “This doesn’t look too good.”

---

You found yourself in a situation that happened all in a flash. One minute you were outside H/N’s door and the next moment, he’s sudden in your home, sitting on your couch with his first aid kit as he started putting on ointment on your injury. Your eyes went up to his face, which was dangerously close to yours as he dabbing some medication on your palm before you moaned, feeling the burning and irritating on your burned skin. “Sorry. Does it hurt?” His head shot up to yours. His voice was soft and his eyes filled with worried made you almost wanted to cause a dramatic scene. “Just a little bit.” You whispered. His touch was gentle as he wrapped a bandage around your hand. “Thanks.” “No worries. It might take a while to heal. It looked pretty bad.” He said, eyes lingered on your covered hand before up to you. “Sorry to bother you like this.” You felt guilty for taking up some of his time in the evening when he could be enjoying his fancy dinner. “If there’s anything I can do in retur-” “It’s no worry. I was the one who wanted to help you.” He avoided your eyes as your heart started skipping again. The two of you remained quiet, staring away from each other as his eyes looked around your simple and cozy home. “Do you.... By any chance want to have dinner with me?” Surprised, you turned to look at him. “I mean... You can’t really cook with your hand looking like that and my co-worker cancelled on my last minute so I made enough servings for 2 people...” He started rambling along, you finding it cute as you let out a laugh without thinking. “I can probably just order some take out.” You said, half wanting to accept his offer. “I’m technically already finished with cooking and all. Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” He voice was soft, with a hint of desperation. “Well... I guess I can’t turn down a delicious meal.” You said after ‘thinking’ about it. His eyes sparkled from you answer as he stood up. “Would you like to come over to my place or would you want me to bring the dishes here?” “Either is fine with me. Whatever works better for you.” You smiled, looking up to him. “I’ll bring the dishes over then.” He left. You sat there, in confusion on why he wouldn’t just invite you over to his place since that’ll save so much more of the hassle and all. But then again, you were extremely thrilled that you were about to have dinner with your long-term crush. He laid out a line full of dishes before your eyes. He sat on the seat across from you as you both exchanged awkward glances before breaking out into shy laughs and smiles. “Would you like some wine?” You offered, seeing that the only drink on the table was water. He smiled, nodding as you stood up, heading over your wine cooler. “Wow. I didn’t except you to be a wine drinker.” He commented as you pulled out the trays of wine. “I know a thing or two about it. Is there anything you’ll like in particular?” Your hands hovered over the rows of wine, seeing what catches your eye. You did study wine in the past, as a hobby since you loved winding down to some good wine.

“How about Pinot Noir?” He suggested, as your eyebrow rose as the perfect wine came to your mind. You looked up, seeing that the bottle was at the very top. You tippy toed, trying to reach for it before a hand overlaps yours. You backed out, out of panic, hitting your back on his very toned and firm chest. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you there. Thought you needed some help.” He took the wine down. Your cheeks burning red as you touched them, hoping it’ll do any good to cool them down. “This is one of my favorite brands. I guess we have some things in common.” He chuckled. You brought over the wine glasses before he popped it open, pour you a glass before himself. “Cheers.” He held up his glass, the both of you toasting before digging in.

“This is amazing. Your co-worker is missing out on this.” You complimented as you sliced the meat, seeing how tender and perfectly cooked it was. “It’s nothing special.” He laughed as he took a sip from his glass. “I might need to start taking lessons from you.” You teased as you shared a light laugh, feeling a sense on comfort. “Anytime.” You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling at his offer as you thought to yourself how lucky you were. “Do you normally spend new year’s eve with your co-workers or friends?” You questioned, seeing if he would bring up his significant other, if he had one. “No, I usually spend new year’s alone. My co-worker and I planned on having dinner together but he canceled last minute, saying that his wife was coming back from overseas.” Your ears tingled as you heard ‘he.’ “You don’t have a girlfriend?” You daringly asked as he eyes glanced at you before looking away. You couldn’t tell if he was blushing or if it was the wine. But nonetheless, it sure did something to your feels. “O-Oh.... No, no I don’t.” He confessed as a wave of relief washed over you. “What about you? About spending new years that is.” “I usually spend them alone as well.” You answered with him looking at you. “No, I don’t have a boyfriend.” You laughed as you felt him asking that question through his eyes. He leaned back on the chair with a small nod and a “I see.”

The both of you finished dinner, fighting over who cleans the dishes. You won over him, as he sat on your couch, watching you as you washed the dishes. You felt his stare as you tried to remain focus, looking down on the sink to finish up rinsing the dishes. You sliced some fruits and bought out some dessert, placing them on a tray before bringing them out to the coffee table. “I normally have a sweet tooth after dinner so...” You trailed off his his eyes scanned the tray of desserts. “I love sweets.” The rest of the night, you both started sharing common interest, way more than you thought. “It’s been a year since you’ve moved in? I thought it was longer.” He refilled his glass of wine. “Right? I guess time flies when you’re in a comfortable place.” You smiled, looking around your home. “I still recall the first day you moved in.” He sudden spoke, as your eyes widen, the embarrassing memories coming back to you. On the first day you moved in, you tried to open the door of your home when it wouldn’t turn unlock, making you juggle, shake and whack around the key hole violently out of frustration. You turned around, seeing a man standing there staring at you as you realized that you were putting your keys into the room unit. Later on that day, you were handing out gifts to your new neighbors as you knocked on the door next to your, where you also tore down. The door opened as you were faced with the man from earlier, your eyes filled with horror and confusion because your landlord told you that a female lived next door. You handed him the gift, telling him to pass it on to the female tenant when he told you that he was the tenant living there, as he opened the present, pulling out a laced blouse.

“Hey, I was informed by the landlord that the person who was living next door was a lady who apparently shared many common interest with me! I thought you were her boyfriend or something.” You confessed as he started laughing. You stared at him for a second before laughing along, retracing the memories. “Well, she’s only right for the second half.” “Why do you still even remember it? I wish I could erase it from my memory forever.” “I mean you left quite the impression.” Your eyes fluttered up, feeling guilty. “That wasn’t meant to be an insult. I have seen anyone like you so it was quite refreshing and adorable.” Your mind couldn’t settle as his voice saying ‘adorable’ repeated in your head a thousand times. After the two of you settled down, you turned on the TV, displaying that there was about 10 minutes left until the new year. There was a crowd of people in front of the town hall, where faces of couples, children and people happily smiling were shown on the screen. “I had a wonderful time today.” He turned to face you as you place down your half eaten cookie. “Me too. I realized how boring it can be being alone on new year’s eve... Or just any occasion honestly.” His eyes met yours before smiling. “But having dinner with you today was sure one of the highlights of my year.” “Likewise. I’m always a door away. So you’re welcome to stop by and chat no matter what time or day it is.... Just as long as I’m home and awake.” He laughed at the last part, you taking a mental note of it.

“Your company on the balcony is what make me feel like I have someone with me, even though they don’t see or realize it.” You suddenly confessed, regretting it after the words left your mouth. “Sorry I didn’t mean to make it sound like that.” “No, it’s alright. I see you out in the balcony reading sometimes so I work outside too. I mean, the company is nice.” Your ears couldn’t believe what they heard as the both of you fell into a deep shade of red. You stared at the TV, not knowing where to look as the both of you would catch each other giving each other shy glances.

“10! 9! 8!” People were screaming on the TV screen, counting down the remaining seconds of the year. “Shall we share a toast?” He stood up as you followed, holding up your glasses. “7! 6! 5!” “To a brightful start of the new year.” He said and you copied. “4! 3! 2!” “And a hopeful, promising future for the both of us,” He smiled, your heart was pounding like crazy as you followed his words. “1! Happy new year!” Couples kissing where shown on the screen as you and H/N stared at each other, holding up your glasses. He was looking at you as you looked at him, in shock and confusion with your heart almost jumping out of your chest. “together.” He said with a gentle smile, lifting his glass towards yours. “together.” You smiled in return, as your glasses clinked together.

And you knew for a fact that the new year was sure going one filled with heart fluttering surprises, events and memories with your next door tenant.

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authenticdesperation · 3 years

Text

A Review of Every Single Episode of Inside No. 9 [1/2]

Disclaimer: my opinions are not definitive but they are bloody good. There may be spoilers so read at your own risk. This will probably have to be a two-parter for the sake of my sanity and your scrolling.

Series 1

1. Sardines

A killer way to kick off a series with an absolutely top notch cast. This episode probably wins the award for the episode I’ve spent the most time thinking about after watching, putting all the little things that went over my head at first into place. I love the set design in this episode as well with everything seeming delightfully old fashioned.

2. A Quiet Night In

This episode is something of a masterclass in farce and it is a Bold Move to have the second episode of a new series almost completely free of dialogue. It’s dirty, it’s fully of silly slapstick and it’s a nice change of pace after the rather harrowing ending to the first episode.

3. Tom and Gerri

This is an episode I enjoyed more when I thought about it more. It beautifully shows the decline of Tom’s mental health (acted impeccably, lovely work from Reece) due to grief. Also it was quite nice to see Reece and Steve acting opposite each other more, they have great chemistry together and Steve as Migg is perfectly unsettling.

4. Last Gasp

Now, I have to be honest with you: I do not exclusively have glowing praise for this episode. I enjoyed it far more after watching it more than once as I liked the humour of it. One of my favourite things was the video camera perspective at the start, as well as some lovely moments with the music. However, I’m not overly keen on the ending, I just found it slightly underwhelming.

5. The Understudy

Back on the praise train kids! I am a big old Shakespeare nerd (as are Reece and Steve, apparently) and I studied Macbeth for my GCSEs so I was particularly excited when I watched it. I will also have to give a little nod to the directing of this episode, it was an absolute feast for the eyes.

6. The Harrowing

Oh hell yes (no pun intended). I think this episode is a great one to cap off the first series, really demonstrating the versatility of Steve and Reece. Also, I’m a big horror fan and the entire atmosphere of it really appealed to me. Though I would say that the second I saw that house I would have run about fifteen miles in the opposite direction.

Series 2

1. La Couchette

This episode is very similar to Sardines in the sense that it feels rather claustrophobic, but this time it leans far more towards the comedy side of things rather than drama. Bonus points for Steve demonstrating his German skills.

2. The 12 Days of Christine

Ah yes, the episode I’ve cried at every time I’ve watched it. This one is a strong demonstration of how to wrong foot an audience: you never quite know what’s going on until towards the end and all of the horror-esque moments just add to the confusion making the ending one hell of an emotional gut-punch. I wouldn’t watch it if you need something to cheer you up, though.

3. The Trial of Elizabeth Gadge

My second favourite episode of series two, The Trial of Elizabeth Gadge is packed to the brim with silly puns and smutty jokes. I personally predicted the twist but in this case I don’t think it really mattered as I was too busy enjoying the Horrible Histories for adults thing that was going on. Bonus points for another killer cast.

4. Cold Comfort

The first of two episodes directed by Steve and Reece and really quite a bold one at that. The whole thing is filmed in the style of a CCTV feed, which I’m pretty sure an experienced director would warn you off trying, but it really pays off in the narrative. Since the camera doesn’t switch focus at any point, it really relies on the acting performances to keep your focus which, in my opinion, the cast fucking nailed.

5. Nana’s Party

If I had to describe the episode in two words they would be ‘domestic drama’. It’s a fairly classic setup of a family with their fair share of secrets, namely adultery and alcoholism, but happily doesn’t give the game away too early and a layer of humour is added by the slightly irritating prankster character of Pat. It’s the second episode of the series directed by Steve and Reece and has a sort of understated quality to it, showing Claire Skinner’s character’s exacting nature above a layer of familial drama.

6. Séance Time

My favourite episode of series two, at first you think you’re walking into another haunted house scenario until you find out it’s a prank show that went off the air due to a scandal. There’s a great sense of humour throughout, and I don’t know whether I’m easily freaked out or the final jumpscare was genuinely terrifying but I flew about fifteen feet into the air when I saw it. Once I’d peeled myself off the ceiling, I really appreciated that it felt like a slow burn horror despite still only being half an hour.

Series 3

1. The Devil of Christmas

I live for schlocky horror films that are so cheesy they give you nightmares if you watch them before bed. So the 1970s film within the episode, accompanied by a director’s commentary-cum-police interview performed by Derek Jacobi, was an absolute treat. The story of Krampus is one that has been done a lot, but never as a snuff film (as far as I know) so it was a nice little twist.

2. The Bill

Every time I rewatch Inside No. 9 this is the episode I always have to watch no matter what. It is such a simple premise and it feels slightly reminiscent of the Geoff, Mike and Brian sketches from The League of Gentlemen. Now is probably the moment where I should sing the praises of director Guillem Morales who has, quite frankly, become my personal hero having seen the many, many episodes of this series he’s directed. The framing in this episode is absolutely genius, but it’s only really obvious after you’ve watched it a few times and I have to give kudos for making a dialogue-heavy episode visually interesting. There are jokes that I think about at least twice a week and I am obsessed with Jason Watkins’ acting...I think this will be my longest review of this whole post.

3. The Riddle of the Sphinx

This is the best episode I will never watch again. I love horror, and I’ve watched some bone-chilling films but something about this episode made me feel so uncomfortable. It is also a real testament to Steve Pemberton, who I’m led to believe is the cryptic crossword fan who took the lead writing this episode, that he wrote something involving cryptic crosswords that didn’t give me a migraine.

4. Empty Orchestra

Ah, what a nice change of pace after the last episode with something far lighter. The karaoke booth concept is so fun and I’ve never understood the criticism of the episode. That being said, of every single antagonist in every single episode of Inside No. 9, Connie is the character I love to hate the most. All of the characters feel more like people you’ve met before and the vibe of a group of work colleagues in a karaoke booth going through the usual petty drama feels familiar. I think series three is one that has some of the darkest concepts and this is a great exception to that.

5. Diddle Diddle Dumpling

When I looked in the background more while rewatching this episode, I noticed a lot of things were in twos. I can only assume that was a deliberate choice made somewhere along the line, and one that pays off when you notice it. Both Mat Baynton and Keeley Hawes played their parts to perfection, with Mat really doing quite a lot with a fairly small part. The whole episode reads as an interesting analysis of grief, in a similar sense to Tom and Gerri. Also, Reece’s character did not murder the remaining twin and apparently I’m the weirdo for thinking that was what was being implied. In my defence, there was cannibalism earlier in the series; filicide did not seem like that big of a leap.

6. Private View

Agatha Christie eat your heart out (that wasn’t meant to be a reference to the ending, it’s just a happy accident). Murder mysteries are my absolute jam so I am obsessed with this episode. The modern art show is such a great setting for a whodunnit as demonstrated by the reaction to the discovery of Peter Kay’s character’s body. All the characters have their brilliant little quirks, and the killer is revealed at the perfect time and it was a good idea to not make that reveal the twist.

#mine #review #inside no. 9 #inside no 9 #reece shearsmith #steve pemberton #the league of gentlemen #league of gentlemen #television

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dangerouscommiesubversive · 3 years

Note

Gai/Juggler/Naomi, 1

1. "Do you want me to stop?"

This story contains the line, “Juggler, I didn’t know you were into dads,” which was satisfying to write on an emotional level.

Naomi’s apartment hasn’t gotten any larger--the SSP’s making more money, but not that much more. It isn’t often a problem, since Gai and Juggler are rarely in town at the same time, except that sometimes they are in town at the same time, and not only is her apartment too small for both of them, so is her bed. Frankly, when she’s feeling especially restless it’s barely big enough for her.

They’ve got a hotel room. A suite, actually, which Naomi suspects might be bigger than her entire apartment. And Naomi’s phone is off, and there’s leftovers from their takeout dinner on the coffee table in the other room, and it’s all really nice.

Except.

Naomi frowns down at Juggler. “Do you want me to stop?”

Juggler makes a sort of choking noise. “No, I don’t--why would I--no. Why are you even asking that?”

“Well, you seem really...distant? Distracted? And not to be full of myself, but I’d rather you pay attention to me when we’re having sex.”

“She has a point, you know,” Gai mumbles from where he’s drowsing next to Juggler’s shoulder. “Rude not to pay attention to someone when you’re having sex with them.”

“I’m--you--we haven’t even gotten to--what makes you think I’m not paying attention?”

“No idea.” Naomi shrugs. “It’s just a vibe. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I want to stop, but if you’re not into it then I’m definitely not going to keep going.”

Juggler stares up at her in mute agony for a moment before letting out a deeply frustrated groan and banging his head back into the pillow. “All right, yes, I admit it, I’m distracted.”

She beams at him. “See, was that so hard?” It takes a moment to shift around so that she’s curled up against his side, opposite Gai, but it’s very comfortable. “Are you going to tell me what’s distracting you, or is this one of those things that you’re just going to be weird and mysterious about until I go crazy?”

A few incoherent irritated noises, and then a sigh of acquiescence. “So I’ve been thinking about getting a job.”

This has Naomi sitting up, and Gai as well, both of them gaping down at Juggler as Naomi says, “What kind of job?” and Gai says, “A job where?”

“I’m tempted to say that it’s none of your business, if you’re both going to interrogate me.” Juggler’s eyes flick from one of them to the other. He does look slightly cornered, and Naomi bites her lip and backs off, dropping back onto the bed again. “But I thought you ought to know, since I might not be around very much for a while. Or reachable at all.”

“Wait, why not reachable?” Naomi frowns. “Is it on another planet or something?”

“Another universe.”

There’s a long pause, and then Gai says, sounding very faintly suspicious, “I hope you’re not planning on bothering that host of Zero’s.”

Naomi blinks. “Zero’s what?”

Gai flashes her a smile. “Host. A human he bonded with while he was recovering from an injury.” He raises an eyebrow at Juggler. “Leito is married, you know. He’s got a daughter to take care of.”

Juggler rolls his eyes. “And that should concern me why?”

More blinking on Naomi’s part. “Juggler, I didn’t know you were into dads. And I mean, if he was working with Zero...is he a big buff guy or something? Like, one of those really loud guys with a buzz cut who tells bad jokes all the time?”

They both stare at her, and then Juggler breaks into hysterical giggles. Gai isn’t quite smiling. “No, he’s, ah. If I recall, he’s skinny and nervous and he has some kind of job in sales. He was...sort of weirdly attached to Juggler, though.”

“What happens in Okinawa stays in Okinawa,” Juggler says with an exaggerated primness that completely fails to counteract his poorly-suppressed laughter. “And to answer your actual question, no, it’s not in Geed’s universe at all, which is sort of a pity now that I think of it, maybe I should go look Leito up. Wouldn’t that be a fun surprise for him.”

“Heyyy, ok, I definitely want to know all about this dad you're into, but you haven’t told us what job it is, I want to know.” Naomi pokes him in the ribs.

He shies away ticklishly, which of course only bumps him into Gai’s chest. “You're not giving me any incentive to tell you."

"You know she won't stop poking you until you tell her, Juggler."

"Yes, and when I do tell her, she won't believe me." And they're both staring down at him again, back to suspicion and vague alarm, so he pauses dramatically before saying, "I've found a group of obnoxiously enthusiastic humans who build giant robots for fighting kaiju and I'm going to see if I can keep them from getting themselves killed." Another dramatic pause. "Unfortunately I'm going to have to cut my hair for the position."

Naomi lets out a dismayed cry of, "Your hair--" before cutting herself off with, "You're officially a good guy now! You admit it!"

His eyes go wide. "I admit no such thing."

"I don't know, Juggler." Gai frowns thoughtfully. "That sounds pretty heroic to me."

"If you're going to bully me than I'm leaving." As punctuation, he sits up and starts moving to climb off the end of the bed, but Naomi pounces on him, knocking him onto his back again as he grunts in protest. This is followed by a complete failure to knock her off him, since Gai’s rolled over on top of him as well. He stares up at them. “All right, what’s supposed to be happening here, if it’s going to be happening on top of me then I want an explanation.”

“We’re celebrating you being an official good guy,” Naomi says, kissing him.

“What she said,” Gai says, also kissing him.

Juggler scowls. “Would you stop calling me that, I have a reputation to maintain.” A pause. “But all right, I admit that I may be considering non-evil career paths, can we stop talking about that and get to the fun part?”

#kurenai gai #jugglus juggler #yumeno naomi #fanfiction #askrikkaiandhyotei

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voidcat · 3 years

Text

— take me home

Characters: Dazai Osamu/gn!reader (+agency members)

Genre & wc: fluff — 1.9k

a/n: happy Valentine’s Day!!! Normally I was gonna make this one big thing but my writing style for all this so far and “the second part” don’t carry the same vibe. (Also it was getting v long) Anyways, enjoy. I still suck at naming fics. — part 2 !!

“You could feel the bomb going off and suddenly-“ Doctor Yosano stops looking at the clock, “Oh it’s been that long already? I shouldn’t keep you waiting for any longer” she motions with her hand to you with a smile.

“It’s alright, I enjoy hearing your stories.” You smile back. “If it’s alright with you and no new cases show up, would you like the finish the story tomorrow at my place? Maybe over a cup of tea or a glass of wine?”

The glint in her eyes tell you the answer long before. “Only if the infamous pastries Ranpo cannot get enough of are there!” Yosano says with enthusiasm and all you can do is nod and share the excitement.

As she proceeds to get her coat and bag, you decide to wait until you hear someone else speak up.

“I thought you didn’t like to have people over?” Atsushi asks standing behind you with a stack of papers and files.

Eyes closed, you hum “True, true… But I make an exception for some, dear. Where did you think we baked all those for Kyouka?”

Stopping for a second to recall that day Atsushi scratches his head. The moment of realization comes to him fast, apparent from the sudden change of expression and the wide smile on his face “Oh! You’re-“

“I thought you didn’t allow anyone in the kitchen!” Ranpo exclaims rather loudly, slamming the newspaper he was reading moments ago onto his table.

Tilting back and forth from where you’re standing and occasionally looking for Yosano to come back, you turn to where his voice came from. “That rule only applies to you, I’m afraid. No matter what an amazing detective you are, cooking and baking simply aren’t your forte.” With one hand in the air as if offering the plainest of truths, you say.

“However you’re still my most trusted taster, so please don’t make that face?” You finish with an apologetic smile and hearing a low rumble coming from him, you let out a breath thinking you’re off the hook.

You thought wrong.

As Yosano’s heels clank against the surface, you can feel a persistent gaze on your back, already sensing what’s to come next. Before you can make an attempt to the door however, Dazai announces your name, in a whine no less, coming a little too closer than you expected right behind your ear.

Slowly turning back to see his smug face, right in your personal space just as you guessed, you refrain from rolling your eyes. “What was it Dazai? Is something the matter?”

Coming all the way from wherever he was previously , he couldn’t be here now for anything other than to bother you. You just hoped Yosano would show up and drag you away before your patience was tested again.

Raising his arm and resting the back of his hand against his forehead, eyes closed and mouth open, as if a he were a character straight out of a tragedia, Dazai opts for the dramatic route. “Yes! I’ve just been informed of horrifying news!”

“Which is?..” you leave the statement unfinished, already knowing what’s to come.

“That you never invited me over to your house! And we’ve been friends for the longest time! What our live have come to, have we driven so far away from ea-“

“Enough with the antics Dazai, we’re busy, can’t you see?” Your savior, Yosano cuts in putting a hand over your shoulder. Turning to look at her, you mouth a ‘thank you.’, and you think she has never looked as beautiful as she does in this moment now, with the golden sun behind her setting, the lights illuminating her face, making her look like those heroes painted to be immortalized.

As you step out, you hear Yosano stop and say: “And for the record, I’ve known them the longest.”

The day spent with Yosano goes better than you could accept. By the end your face hurts from laughing, your stomach full from all the food and drinks you’ve consumed, times flies away like a plane and by the time Yosano makes way to the door, it’s dark and you’re both dragging your feet.

Despite the enjoyable day off, Dazai’s recent behavior starts to make you question if it was worth inviting her over so publicly.

At any chance he gets, he tries to get you to give away something about your location, who has been over before and how many times, what type of hosts you prefer and ‘oh maybe we never got the chance because of our schedules, you should invite me over some time’, ‘don’t be so shy, we’re friends after all! Oh is it your place you’re ashamed of? Worry not, I won’t judge!’, ‘hey are you free on a Thursday night?’s met with ‘No, I don’t want you over.’, ‘Yes, I have a very good reasoning.’ And almost a slip up of a ‘I’m free- Oh wait, I have a date with Sergio, sorry no can do!’.

For each cheeky smile he offers, you give back a grunt or a snarl, one time almost yelling right in front of the director and another time you stomp out of the office in fury while Atsushi watches in horror.

Fifth time of your hiding in the café and you find yourself wishing for a crisis to surface, the carefree Dazai to be replaced by the serious and logical man that manages to impress you no matter how hard the case, counter measure after counter measure, even if he takes reckless risks once in a while.

Inhaling the sweet smell of your tea before taking a sip, your wish seems to have come true partially, from the set of steps approaching you in a determined yet unrushed pace.

Taking a long sip, savoring the taste and the warmth of it, you slowly place the cup down and open your eyes to see Dazai standing in his neutral and calm state.

The two of you stay like that for a while, like a photograph, the café empty and the mixed smells of coffee and tea lingering in the air, not quite looking at one another but not dozed off either.

When he opens his mouth, it doesn’t feel like the moment has been broken, not even a clearing of throat or a quite mumbling under his breath beforehand, yet his voice flows along the smells despite the absurdity of the topic of conversation.

But you beat him to it. “If you’re going to be standing for so long, you might as well sit down.”

He settles down as you reach for your cup again.

“So, how are things with Sergio?” He says the name with a hint of hostility.

It takes everything in you not to spit out your tea laughing. “Sergio is a street cat I take care of.”

Composure and crossed arms off, Dazai’s eyes widen. “But- you said that-“ “A date with Sergio, yes, for his yearly check up at the vet.” You finish for him.

“That was just an excuse to get you to stop bothering me.” You add.

“Fair enough, I deserved that.” He chuckles “but you did mention you had a very good reasoning for not inviting me over. I know I pestered you enough about that…” he trails off, reaching for your hand with his. “And yet, would you be so kind to tell me why?” he asks, eyes locked into yours.

“My cat doesn’t like you.”

And this, you think, is the exact moment the atmosphere is ruined, the photograph ripped apart in the middle.

Dazai just stares at you, still holding your hand.

Blinking few times, rather unimpressed, you notice a waitress by the counter, probably there to rearrange something.

“Alright, I’ll be off now if that’s all!” You say a bit too cheerfully, pull your hand before Dazai can do anything, pay and leave as soon as you can.

Dazai just blinks, hands still in the air, stays frozen like that until Kunikida drags him back to work.

Bad decision after bad decision seems to follow you wherever you go because after that interaction at the café, it gets worse.

You thought Dazai was like a fruit fly before? It gets more irritating than an army of them. And on top of that, Kunikida scolds you to undo whatever you’ve done on Dazai, his already poor work ethics now on the floor, getting on Kunikida’s nerves and yours.

Hearing your name spreads terror in you now, the second your ears catch the familiar tone of Dazai’s voice, you fleet for your life.

Coming clean and explaining your statement from earlier would be the logical way to end this but fate disagrees as it laughs you in the face.

“Why wouldn’t your cat like me? I didn’t even step foot into your place before!”

“Hey Dazai, remember the day you wouldn’t get off my back? Trying to embrace at any chance and I gave up in the middle of the day at one point?” Resting his hand under his chin to think, as if his face doesn’t make it obvious he remembers the day crystal clear, he lets out a “hmm…”

With a snap of fingers and a “Ah! I remember now! You were so comfortable, I almost fell asleep.” He grins.

With a shake of your hand, trying to dismiss the memory of how he basically trapped you to the couch, you cough and continue. “That evening, when I got home, my clothes must have reeked of your smell.” He nods, good, so far he seems to follow. “My cat just sniffed the air once and stayed in the living room until I washed those clothes and took a bath.”

Hands resting on his hips, he keeps nodding and humming in understanding. “I see…”

You let out a breath, thank god it’s over.

“Nope! Still makes no sense.” Hs exclaims suddenly, turns away and leaves. You just stare at his back, now it’s your turn to blink in ‘unbelievable, is this real?’

The loud chatter and pestering doesn’t stop however and with each word, it gets more ridiculous.

“Is your cat perhaps jealous of me? That you secretly love me and they don’t want competition?”

“The cat is just another excuse, isn’t it! Admit it, you have a secret! It must be something you’re afraid I won’t like.”

“Is it Chuuya? Did you take pity and let him rent a room?”

“I don’t even know a Chuuya…”

“Maybe a weird collection…” he gasps and says your name. “Are you a hoarder? Is that why you won’t let me in? I told you already, I would never judge your lifestyle!”

“Dazai, please stop-“

“No, no, I got it this time. It’s a shrine of me! Isn’t it? Your face tells it all, it is a shrine! Ah, I must say I’m flattered, if not a little scared now.”

If anger could set a fire, you think Kunikida would be arrested of arson right now. You just rest your head in your palm, trying to ignore Dazai’s ongoing nonsense.

“Is there really a-“ Kenji begins a question as Ranpo ends it with a firm “Nope!”

Getting up from your place at last, you grab Dazai by his coat and drag him out.

“There is No shrine, no other human, no hoarding or weird collections. It’s just me and my cat who scrunches his nose when I bring home a file that sat in your desk all day!”

Before giving him a chance to reply, you walk away.

The next day, and many other days to follow, goes uneventful, Dazai’s never ending bickering about your house seems to have reached a stop. Everyone, especially Kunikida, enjoys the newly achieved peace of going back to normal. You hope this marks the end of this whole nonsense, and that the Dazai everyone knows with a little mix of annoying and impressively serious has returned back to his sense of regular.

Tags: @atsumusdomain @celosiiaa @ywanfen

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mydisasteracademia · 3 years

Text

Random Shigaraki Headcanons

This boi. This grubby boi. I love him so much but at the same time he would probably literally dust me so... (oof this one kinda dragged on and on... lol)

Literally has no idea about real-life relationship dynamics outside of what he’s observed in his own parents, in Sensei, and in Kurogiri. All he thinks in the beginning is that people who claim to love you will stand by and let you be hurt, that villains took care of him better than any damn hero, and that he can only truly rely on himself. (And Sensei.)

It takes a loooooooong time of interacting with other people to break himself out of this mindset, and even then, sometimes it comes creeping back if bad things happen.

Getting into canon territory with this one, but really, really, reeeeeeeeally hates heroes because they didn’t even bother to help him when he was going through a whole mental breakdown. Literally one of the only reasons he hates them so much. I know this is pretty much canon, but I doubt he would ever grasp Stain’s ideology of ‘maybe some are good’ because in his eyes, not even the underground pro heroes even bothered to see if he was okay. Remember the scene from the manga with the old lady when he was a child? Yeah. There were bound to be heroes he bumped into, even off-duty ones, and nobody even gave him another glance.

Has extremely bad abandonment issues. If he likes you, he’s gonna want to keep you because he didn’t really have anything nice to call his own while growing up, and Sensei kept him fairly isolated so he literally tolerates nobody else other than him and Kurogiri at first. Reacts horribly when his friends want to break off the friendship. Goes through a whole depressive episode for a while, his old insecurities pop back up, and he really thinks he’s worse than trash and not worth anyone’s time or attention for a while. Prime time for Sensei to further twist his mind.

On that same note, if you’re dating, for the love of everything still good in this world do not break his heart. He will never forgive you. Literally will go to the grave before he forgives you for doing what you did (whether it be cheating on him or completely dropping him like a hot potato). Although this might also extend to little issues that make him feel like you don’t love him enough, he’ll forgive you if you show him plenty of attention and apologize for whatever he was upset over. If you cannot remain patient through his toxic mindsets, it’s best not to get into a relationship in the first place with him if you want to still remain friends afterward, because breaking it off means instant heartbreak.

Anyway! Back to happier, funnier hcs!!

The whole embodiment of the “Wears black in summer because I look good and am willing to suffer” vine. Will not give up his comfy black shirt and sweats for anything because yes, he does look good in black, and yes, he is willing to suffer. He’ll switch to a v-neck tee though. Even he’s not that masochistic.

Really prone to dry skin. I know that’s canon, but just... this poor man can’t keep moisturized to save his own life. Constantly has to apply a special moisturizer that’s specifically made for ultra-sensitive skin and has no scents whatsoever.

Will gripe about having to spend so much money on ointment and moisturizer for both him and Dabi. It’s one of the very few things they bond over, other than having a shitty father and pushover family... and their hatred of All Might.

Shigaraki 100% would be Dabi’s alibi if he actually managed to kill Endeavor. When it comes to the shitty dad club, he’s a fuckin’ ride-or-die.

Kinda sensitive over the fact that both he and Midoriya have the same sort of red shoes, but he loves his pair too much to throw them out. Purposefully aims for Midoriya’s shoes every single time they meet each other on the off chance that they get ruined enough for him to get different shoes, unknowing that he literally can’t just... get differently-colored shoes due to him being originally Quirkless (yes, The Shoes™ theory strikes again)

Literally never forgets a single thing about people he cares about. He’s the type of person who will remember every single thing you tell him about yourself, and especially birthdays. While he doesn’t exactly show his affection very loudly, he would be the type of person who tell you “happy birthday” on the day of as soon as he first sees you, and would treat you a little nicer all day that day.

This boy just has the biggest, scarred heart for his ‘good crowd’. I cannot stress enough just how much like Midoriya he could’ve turned out if he hadn’t been abandoned by society. This mf would give the green bean a run for his motherfuckin money.

“I really just hate the world and everything in it... except for you, maybe I could make an exception for you because you’re nice to me and I appreciate your company too much”

Even though I hc quite a few League members to be like cats when it comes to affection, Shigaraki’s spirit animal is a cat. Likes to lounge about in off-moments, slow to affection and very quick to remember exactly how people treat him, yet if he likes you he shows affection quietly enough that it’s not obvious at first. Like “oh, you’re in the same room as me. It’s not like I missed you or anything, me sitting right next to you at the bar when it’s totally empty means nothing. The fact that I’m looking right at you when you’re talking doesn’t mean I like you.”

LOVES HUGS. If you hug him and he likes you, you’ve probably made his whole day. Depending on how things are going, probably his whole fucking week. Just please hug him, he needs positive affection so bad

Major tsun-tsun. The most tsun-tsun. Grumpy until you get to know him, and if he likes you he’ll show you in little ways: listening to your ideas more, letting you stay closer for longer, maybe getting you something like food.

AFRAID OF TOUCH. I REPEAT, AFRAID OF TOUCH. Not from anyone he likes, of course; this baby is so touch-starved that he deserves a thousand hugs. But if he likes you, he will not initiate physical affection because he’s so afraid of accidentally dusting you. The memories of his family dying (except for his father, because #FuckKotaro2k21) haunt him almost every time he dreams (and if that doesn’t, then other traumatizing events certainly do), and he absolutely would not forgive himself if he dusted his favorite League member/civilian.

Definitely likens the rest of the League to his MVPs after a while of knowing them. Knowing how he operates, it’s adorable.

Would begrudgingly let Toga play around with his hair. I can just see him sitting blank-faced, staring at the mirror as she talks about whatever while brushing and braiding it into a cute plait. He would be hesitant to undo her hard work afterward, no matter how much he grouches that it “ruins his boss vibe”.

The kind of person to go to McDonalds at 3 AM just because he was craving chicken nuggets and ranch. Yes, ranch. He’s an old-school mf who don’t got no time for no barbecue.

Gets really irritated over Toga mooning over Uraraka and Midoriya, but doesn’t stop her from talking about how much she wants to ‘be’ them. (Encourages homicide. Advises homicide. Spinner has to stop her from actually getting ready to commit homicide.)

Disgruntled™

G L O A T S about the time he took away Overhaul’s chance to use his Quirk. “Yeah, we would’ve been satisfied with Compress taking his left arm away to be petty, but then Overhaul had to be a sentient piece of dick cheese, and well, y’know I couldn’t let him get away with that”

It’s becoming a problem. The others have learnt to tune him out once he gets going. Compress just smiles under the mask when he remembers it. Nobody knows what he’s really thinking.

His damn crowning moment. His apex point. There’s no going further beyond that (until he finally defeats Midoriya and takes over Japan as the world’s most feared villain of all time).

“Shigaraki, I’mma let you finish, but AFO still holds the record for being the most infamous villain of all time! Of all time!” <-- let the boy dream okay, he’s been waiting for this moment his whole damn life

Can you tell that I’m still horribly salty over Overhaul being an ass? Because I’m still horribly salty over Overhaul being an ass

Chronic emo phase. Hears the G note and just sighs heavily

Has probably seen hentai. Doesn’t really get the appeal of high-pitched feminine screams. Probably more of a tiddy man than an ass man. Just... boobie

His first fictional crush was Aeris/Aerith. Legitimately lost his shit when she died.

Man Crush Monday is Sephiroth all the way. Especially his one-winged angel form. Wanted to cosplay him for Halloween but didn’t because the cosplay was too costly.

Will make “That’s what she said” jokes in the most deadpan voice. At least Mustard kinda snickers at them.

Probably would’ve been pretty patient with Eri. Her traumatic past certainly would’ve pitted her as a kindred spirit with him, and he would think her Quirk would be a powerful asset if used right. Probably would’ve practiced it by destroying something and then telling her to rewind it so that he can break it again.

Shigaraki, holding Eri by her armpits: “I’ve only had her for ten minutes but if anything happened to her I’d dust everyone in the room to make her feel better”

The rest of the League: “???????? Okay?????”

Legitimately holds a powerful grudge against parents who abuse or neglect their children, especially against abusive fathers. Almost as powerful as his hatred for All Might. Will actively go after someone he sees is abusive to their children and will not let them live.

Would probably adopt an orphan after killing their abusive parents. “Oh, that was your dad/mom/parent? Well guess you’re mine now. Let’s go get chicken nuggets, kid”

Might somehow rope Dabi into going abusive-parent-hunting with him during a raid. Takes great pleasure in seeing the guilty party’s horrified, pained look on their face as they slowly dissolve into a pile of ash.

#shigaraki headcanons

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