#typing stum

[yo-gummy-sharks]

Chiaki nanami stimboard for @yogummycatsxd :3

🎮 🌷 🎮 🌷 🎮 🌷 🎮 🌷 🎮

#stimboard #stim #chiaki nanami #chiaki #chiaki nanami stimboard #danganronpa #danganronpa stimboard #figure stim #game stim #minecraft stim #typing stum #headphones stim #pink stim #green stim #drink stim #ramune stim #gaming stim #portal stim #grey stim

[pedrito-friskito]

cassian andor + smut prompt #10

i am a whore <3

nonnie if you're a whore I'm a whore 🤍

you called - cassian andor x fem!reader

word count: 3.1k (this one got away from me can you tell?)

warnings: unprotected p-in-v, brief oral (f receiving), jealous/possessive!cassian

“Two shots of Corellian whiskey, please,” you ask, stepping up to the bar beside Cassian. The sound of your voice almost makes him jump, but he hides the movement smoothly, adjusting in his seat. From the corner of his eye, he watches you lean back against the bar, propping your elbows on it. You wait for a few other patrons to pass before you drop your voice low. “You’re late.”

“I am not late,” he grumbles, polishing off the rest of his own drink. “I’ve been here waiting for you for hours now.”

You scoff a laugh, shaking your head. “After all this time and you still think you can lie to me, Cassian? You don’t think I had a lock on your ship the moment it entered the atmosphere?”

He balks, tries to hide it and fails. You’re good. Too good. He doesn’t say a word, shakes his head as the bartender returns with two shot glasses, placing them on the bar between you and him.

“That Fondor looks like it’s more mod than original,” you comment, reaching for one of the shots. “Where’d you steal it?”

“I didn’t steal it,” he shoots back, watching your brow raise. “It’s on loan, from a friend.”

“You don’t have friends, Cassian,” you quip, tossing back your shot. You slide the second one over to him. “Just people you owe money to.”

“I don’t owe you any money,” he mutters, unable to stop himself from giving you a cheeky grin. “What does that make us? Friends?”

“You know exactly what we are,” you return, giving him a sideways glance before setting your glass back down. “The mark just walked in. Keep an eye out, will you?”

“I always do,” he replies, and then you’re gone.

This is an old habit for Cassian. He’s known you a long time; you grew up on Ferrix same as him, but you managed to get off-world far before he could bring himself to. By the time he first met up with you on Coruscant, you had already started to make a name for yourself in the Capital’s underworld, and Cassian was in awe. He longed to get the hell off of Ferrix, to go somewhere warm and easy and carefree. He knew Coruscant wasn’t that place, but judging by the amount of credits you were raking in, it was a step in the right direction.

You sent for him often, over the years. He was the only one you trusted to watch your back, to keep a careful eye while you gathered intel, traded information with some of the shadier types in the galaxy. Most jobs went off without a hitch, but there were more than a handful of times where Cassian had started bar brawls to get you the hell out of dodge. He hadn’t had to kill anyone yet, but after everything that’s happened to him, he wouldn’t be surprised.

This is the first time he’s seen you, since everything happened on Ferrix. Maarva, Bix, B2. Luthen and his newborn rebellion. Cassian doesn’t totally know where he stands, what he’s doing, what his next move might be. But when he picked up your signal, Luthen loaned him the ship with little protest, and he was jumping through hyperspace an hour later.

You call, and he comes. It’s how it’s always been.

There had always been something between you, Cassian knew that much. His reputation might not have been the most pristine, but you never seemed to mind, having a bit of a rep yourself. 

But tonight…He could hear the unspoken in your voice, the strain of the events of the last time you met up. The job hadn’t been the issue - it had gone perfectly, in fact - but after, you asked him to walk you back to the apartment you had on the other side of the district.

He’d done as you asked, going so far as to bring you right to your front door. You’d asked him if he wanted to come inside, and before he could get the word yes past his teeth, you’d grabbed him by the front of his collar, and kissed him.

Clothes scattered on the floor, you’d stumbled your way to your bedroom. It was…blissful, in a word. It was everything he felt like he was missing, and that unspoken thing rumbled through you both, but there in your bed, he didn’t think it needed to be spoken aloud. It just…was.

Morning had come too quickly, and when he woke, you were gone. No note, nothing, just his clothes folded and stacked on the table beside the bed. He’d dressed quickly, and got on the next ship to Ferrix.

He wants to ask. He wants to know why you didn’t stay, why you didn’t leave him any sign that you wanted him to stay. But after everything that’s happened, it feels inconsequential, almost.

Cassian drinks down the shot, setting the glass down on the bar with a little too much force. You’re easy to spot, weaving your way through the bar to a man lurking in the dark corner. Brow furrowing, his hand brushes over his coat, where his blaster sits, tucked against his hip. He’s gotten quick on the draw, since he last saw you.

The man spots you as you draw closer, and Cassian bristles at the recognition on his face. He’s glad to see you, and it only becomes more and more evident as the two of you move closer and closer together, heads bowed as you speak, the man’s hand moving to rest on your hip. Then it moves up your back, pressing into the dip of your spine, and Cassian grits his teeth.

Something like jealousy flares in his gut. No, not something like it, but the thing itself.

He wants to touch you like that again, like he had that night. Seeing someone else with their hands on you…his fingers twitch over the blaster again.

No, something else warns him, a clearer voice in his head. That won’t go well, and you know it.

So instead, he watches. He leans back as casually as he can, one elbow leaned on the bar, tapping his other hand against his thigh. The conversation doesn’t last much longer, and before he knows it, you’re returning to his side, a contented grin on your face.You toss your hair over your shoulder as you wave down the bartender again. “Another round.”

“Got everything you needed?”

“And then some,” you reply, looking at him over your shoulder. “Thank you for coming, Cassian.”

He just nods. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

“We’re not friends,” you say, shaking your head as the bartender brings you another two shots. You toss them both back quickly. “I thought we made that clear the last time you were here.”

“The last time?” he repeats, lifting a brow. “You mean when you dragged me to bed and disappeared the next morning? That last time?”

He doesn’t mean for it to come out with such venom, but it does. Jealousy has taken hold of him and refuses to let go. His blood boils with it.

You narrow your eyes at him, your tongue poking between your lips to wet them. He watches the movement and ignores the way it makes his trousers tighten. He’s mad at you, he’s so glad to see you, he’s infuriated at you for leaving him alone last time, he’s so in love with you he might burst into flames.

“You’re jealous,” you determine, and though everything in him screams YES!, he rolls his eyes, turning half away from you. But you don’t let him go far, grabbing his shoulder and spinning his stool back in your direction. “Tell me I’m wrong, Cassian.”

Your hand moves from his shoulder to his thigh, and Cassian’s jaw goes tight. “We are not friends.”

“No,” you agree. “We’re more than that.”

“And your way of telling me that was disappearing the next morning, waiting three months, and then calling me to be your sidekick again?”

Your face falls, and you step back, removing your hand from his leg. “Come with me.”

Without another word, you turn on your heel and stalk out of the bar. Cassian only finds it in him to move when you reach the doorway, and then he’s all but chasing you, walking the almost familiar path to your apartment. You take the stairs, seeming to float up them as Cassian almost struggles to keep up. He loses you for a moment, but when he reaches your door, it’s open, only closing when he steps inside.

He calls your name, hears your quiet in here come from the direction of your bedroom. The place looks the same as he remembers and as he rounds the corner of the hallway, stepping into your room, he finds you perched at the edge of your bed.

“I left in the morning to get us breakfast,” you admit, looking up at Cassian, your eyes shining in the dark. “I’m not here a lot, and there wasn’t any food, so I went to get us something. When I came back, you were gone, and I realized I’d made a mistake.”

He says your name again, softer, and you shake your head.

“And then I started hearing the rumours, about Ferrix, about you. I heard about Aldhani, about Narkina-5, all of it. I even called Brasso, and that was when he told me about Maarva. I’ve been trying to call you ever since then, but nothing was going through. Then I met Vel, and she gave me the right frequency to contact you.”

Cassian sighs, leaning against the doorway. He never even questioned how you’d gotten his contact info after he was off Ferrix…he just…

You called, he came.

“You met Vel,” he says, unsure of what else to say.

You nod. “Hell of a woman.”

Cassian nods. “So you know, then. About the Rebellion.”

“I do. Figured I should put my talents to good use. Better than ripping off ex-senators and making credits I don’t need. And, if it keeps me closer to you, then it’s a win on all sides, as far as I can tell.”

His stomach drops into his toes. “You’re joining?”

You nod again. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes. I tried to resist it, I really did. But now…everything else seems…”

“Meaningless?” you supply. You pull your eyes from his. “For what it’s worth, Cassian, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner. I’m sorry about Maarva, Ferrix, all of it. ”

“You didn’t cause it,” he replies, propping his hands on his hips. “I did that all by myself.”

“Come here,” you say, your voice going soft and your eyes meeting his once more. “Please?”

Slowly, he closes the distance. He watches you reach for him, your hands moving to the belt that holds his blaster, undoing it quickly and letting it slip to the floor. He tries not to groan when your hands move under his loose shirt, fingers curling around his hips. 

Silently, he shakes his coat off, letting it drop to the ground before he hooks two fingers in the back of his shirt, pulling it forward off his torso. It joins the pile on the floor and then he hisses, your teeth sinking into the skin over his hip bone. He lets one hand dive into your hair, holding you against him, feeling your tongue soothe the mark you’ve left behind.

“Promise me something,” he whispers, and you tilt your head back, pulling your mouth from his skin long enough to meet his eyes.

“Anything.”

“Promise you’ll still be here in the morning.”

“I promise.”

You kiss your way across his waist, fingers working the button on his trousers while you distract him with your mouth. He’s got both hands in your hair now, silk between his knuckles, and it almost pulls his focus completely, enough that you have to repeat the next words out of your mouth.

“You never answered me.”

“Huh?”

“Back at the bar, I said you were jealous. You never answered me.”

You pull his zipper down, snap the elastic of his boxers against his skin. Cassian hisses. “I thought it was obvious.”

“It was,” you agree, nipping at his hip again. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

He tightens his grip on your hair and pulls, just hard enough that your head tilts back and he bends slightly, pulling his body away from yours, but putting his face close enough that he can feel your breath on his cheek.

“You have any idea how much I hated seeing someone else touch you? Someone else put their hands on you?”

You inhale sharply, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, and Cassian prods it with his thumb, pulling it free, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the plush of your lip. “Show me.”

And he does.

He makes quick work of your clothes, shucking his trouses off once you’re naked on the bed. You don’t let him go far, surging up to kiss him when he steps back to undress completely. Your hands are in his hair, same as his are in yours, and Cassian groans when you tug, both of you finding similar pleasure in the movement.

The first night was different. You’d stumbled your way through the dark, finding your peaks quickly. You’d fallen asleep after, and Cassian had watched you for a while before drifting off. That unspoken thing lulled him to sleep.

But now, he turns the bedside light on. The room illuminates with a soft orange glow, and he leans over you, until you fall back against the pillows and blankets, laid out for him, reaching for him. He molds himself into your palms, covers your body with his own. 

The first night, he hadn’t had the chance to taste you. Refusing to miss out a second time, he arranges you on the bed, pushing your knees apart to make room for his shoulders, tracing his mouth along the inside of your thigh, eyes darting between your glistening cunt and your face, the way your eyes roll back in your skull when he buries his head between your legs and sucks your clit between his teeth.

He wants to feel you cum on his face, to feel your thighs tremble around his ears, but you have other ideas. You haul him up with a gasp, fitting your mouth to his and licking your taste out of his mouth. “I wanted to-” he starts, but you cut him off, reaching between your bodies and squeezing your fingers around his cock.

“Plenty of time for that later,” you murmur, lips at his jaw, words spoken into his skin. “Right now I need you inside me, Cass.”

He groans as you stroke him, curling your wrist just right, but then he pulls your hand away, pinning your wrists either side of your head. Using his knees, he spreads your legs wide and drops his hips, the tip of his cock dragging through your wetness.

“Please,” you beg, your own hips lifting, chasing him, trying to notch his cock at your entrance. He teases you a moment longer, waits for the angle to be just right, and then he pushes into you. Your fingers flex against the bedsheets, mouth dropping open with a moan as his hips press into yours. Your legs twitch, one calf wrapping around his thigh. “Cassian, fuck, oh my-”

He covers your mouth with his, swallowing down your words and moans. You tighten around him, impossibly so, and he starts to move, finding his rhythm, filling you to the hilt with each thrust only to pull out almost all the way and do it all over again. Over and over and over, and you’re babbling into his mouth, straining against his hold. He leans up just that much more, pulling his lips from yours, both of you staring down at the spot where you’re joined, where he’s disappearing into you with every move.

“I’m the only one who gets to touch you like this, yes?” he grunts, hearing you gasp as he gives you one particularly hard thrust. He feels your head wobble with a nod, but he wants to hear it. “Say it.”

“Only you, Cass,” you breathe out, throwing your head back as you go even tighter around him. “Oh gods, fuck, only you.”

Pleasure coils like a serpent at the base of his spine, and he drops, trying not to smother you with his weight, pressing his face into the arch of your throat. You moan loudly as he releases your hands, curling his own around your shoulders while yours find purchase in his hair again. The bed shakes with your movement, both legs lifting to wrap around his waist now, your ankles hooked together at the small of his back. “Please, please, please, please, please,” you beg and Cassian bites at your pulse, groaning into your skin as his release threatens to overtake him.

“Cum for me,” he says, and you obey.

Your back arches and you make the sweetest sounds. He wants to bottle them, keep them for himself. He rides out your orgasm, keeping his own pleasure at bay until you’ve caught your breath, sighing at the press of him inside you, pulling him close. “Now you,” you whisper, nipping at his ear, lifting your hips so he gets that much deeper inside you, the warmth enough to swallow him whole. “Let me feel you.”

You call, and he comes.

He growls into your throat, fingers digging deep into your shoulders. You press kisses along his cheek, the space below his ear, his temple. Murmurs of how good it feels, how you missed him, how you’ll never let him go again, it’s the backdrop to the pleasure roaring through his body. It makes every muscle in him tense up before he relaxes completely, sinking into your embrace.

His eyes drop shut as he softens inside you, completely spent. Your fingers comb through his hair, soft kisses still scattered across whatever skin you can reach. After a few minutes, he finds the strength to roll off of you, falling onto the bed at your side.

You kiss his mouth before you get up, disappearing into the fresher for a moment, coming back with a glass of water for you both to share. Cassian gulps down the liquid as you slide back into bed with him, pulling the blankets over you both. You go to turn out the light, but he stops you.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

#my fics #sleepover sundae #cassian andor #cassian andor fic #cassian andor smut #cassian andor angst #cassian andor x reader #cassian andor x you #you called

[abiiors]

haunt // bed - pt. 2

a note about the banner: the photo in it is only meant to describe the dress, not the race, body type, hair colour, etc of the reader <3

a/n: truly out here manifesting the g and charli wedding with this one

minors dni!! part 1, part 3

wc: 3.3k

matty gently clinks a fork against his champagne flute, demanding the attention of the room. 

you are standing in a corner, leaning against one of the pillars and surveying the room as you casually sip on some champagne yourself. it’s good stuff, bubbly but not too sweet. it fills up your head with fuzzy goodness. enough to make you smile at the insufferable man in the ridiculously nice suit over the rim of your glass. 

“speech!” someone yells at the back of the room and a few weak laughs echo before everyone focuses their attention on the best man.

“george, charli,” he raises the glass at the couple who have their arms around each other, leaning into each other. “six months ago, you asked me if i would write something for the first dance. i was terrified, at first,” he laughs, “of fucking up, naturally. i wanted my best friends to have the perfect wedding that i did.”

you’re suddenly aware of his eyes on you; a kind of soft intensity that’s hard to look away from. his wedding—your wedding—was indeed perfect. you just didn’t think he would still have that opinion. a warmth spreads through your chest; it’s the alcohol, you tell your brain. stop drinking like a fish if you don’t want heartburn by the end of the night. but this warmth is tingly…it lingers too long in your stomach, perhaps in your whole body. 

“i did write something for you,” he continues, looking away after a second, “and i hope you love it as much as i love you.” he smiles and a cheer goes up. 

you straighten in your spot, no longer leaning leisurely against the column. someone brings out an acoustic guitar, making you very aware of the fact that this is the first time in almost a year that you will hear him sing. a small tremor goes through your hands and the liquid sloshes dangerously in the flute. 

someone brings out a stool for him to sit on, and fixes a mic in front of him. people clear the dance floor, making room for the newlyweds. you stay transfixed in your spot; unable to move and desperate to flee. 

what’s worse is that his date is already behind him, running a hand over his arm. she stumbles slightly and it’s not a surprise, you’ve already seen her down two glasses of wine. maybe that’s the key to this evening. 

you look at george and charli on the dancefloor, already swaying softly in each other’s arms before he’s even begun strumming the guitar, completely lost in each other. is this what you and matty had looked like all those years ago? 

your sour mood is not fair to them. this is their day, not yours. you should be honoured that charli’s asked you to be in the wedding party, not sulk in the corner like a seven year old being denied her favourite toy. 

you stare at the champagne, at the bubbles rising up to the surface rapidly. time to suck it up and stop being a little bitch. with a surge of newfound annoyance, you knock the glass back, drinking the entirety of it in one go. you stagger, lightheaded for one solid moment, but it passes and matty strikes the first chord on his guitar. 

his voice is all around you, echoing so clearly that for a second you wonder if it’s just the two of you in the room. his fingers move effortlessly on the frets while his other hand stums away at the strings, slows down to pluck them individually during slower moments and then speeds up again. 

it’s not surprising that he sings of love and happiness. his words are full of emotions and when they fall short, the sweet tune compensates for it. what surprises you is how it makes you well up with tears. 

matty has his eyes closed, smiling softly as he sings the lyrics. “so splash me with water / when we do the dishes together / i’ll take it over kisses in the rain”

one perfect curl falls on his forehead and just like that you’re back in a warm kitchen, past nine in the evening, hands slippery from the dish soap, singing along to the best of queen. matty’s hips bumping into yours as he gets too immersed into a song and forgets to rinse the plate properly. you reaching up to immediately flick him on the wrist. him tickling you as revenge, wet hands leaving damp spots on your old t-shirt. 

there were happy days. in your heart, you knew it wasn’t all lonely nights and a cold bed. 

his voice is replaced by loud claps and cheers as soon as the song ends. you open your eyes to a room full of people in some state of tearing up. charli has her head on george’s chest, blissfully unaware of the others. you’re glad the tears running down your face are not out of place. 

“matty, that was wonderful!” his date chimes in loudly, breaking the spell. 

this is the first time you’re hearing her voice. it’s high-pitched and american so when she says his name, it sounds more like ‘maddie’. and you’re once again fighting a losing battle with your brain not to stereotype her further. 

“thanks, babe,” he turns to her and gives her a warm smile. the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners, the kind that makes him look twenty-two again. 

the kind that feels like a gut punch to you. 

“careful, darling,” denise’s voice startles you. she’s been standing close to you this whole time—just a bit ahead, watching matty just like you had been. 

“careful,” she says again, “the glass might break.”

“what?” you follow her line of sight, right down to the glass in your hands and your death grip on it. your knuckles are white, clutching the delicate stem so tightly. she’s right, the glass might break any minute. 

“oh…uh, sorry.” heat rises up the back of your neck and up your cheeks. “i didn’t realise.”

“‘s alright,” she smiles, studying your face for a moment. “i just don’t want you to get hurt.”

the party is in full swing around you, and you have found one more thing your ex-husband was wrong about. whiskey does start to taste exceptionally amazing; especially when you’re trying not to throttle not one but two people in front of you. 

“dance with me!” charli calls for you from somewhere on the dancefloor. 

she’s already discarded her heels somewhere in the corner in favour of comfy shoes and sweated off her makeup. but she still looks stunning and radiates with joy at the centre of the dancefloor. “come onnnnn,” she calls for you again, almost slurring her words, and makes a run to drag you to the dance floor. 

“i can’t dance in heels,” you laugh, trying to get out of the dancing without offending her. the heels do hurt, not as much as you’re making it out to be but your feet are starting to get sore now. 

standing and sulking in one spot all evening will do that. 

“so take them off!” she’s in front of you now, holding onto your wrist and pouting like a kid. she knows you can’t resist that face. “please!! you can’t say no to me today, come on!”

it takes absolutely two seconds for you to give in. she’s right, you can’t—you shouldn’t—say no to her. not today of all days. 

“only for ten minutes,” you grumble and set the glass aside. then, on second thought, you pick it back up and down the last two sips. it burns as it goes down but this fuzz is good. this fuzz will help you ignore the man and the blonde in his arms.

as long as it makes charli happy. and by the looks of it, she’s ecstatic; loudly singing along to a brittany spears hit. you shake your head at her, laughing at first and then joining in. this is fun—normal wedding fun. this is what you’re supposed to be doing at a close friend’s wedding. you are meant to get wasted and dance like a dork on the dance floor. 

you even get twirled around by ross as soon as he sees you dancing. it’s almost like the old times, all your friends having fun together again. and for a brief, blissful moment the presence of the date doesn’t even bother you. 

until you feel yourself trip over your dress and stumble. right into a pair of familiar arms.

he grunts, first from being so unexpectedly knocked into and then when your elbow hits him in the stomach. a small amount of satisfaction sparks in your brain but quickly gets overshadowed by a flood of mortification. 

your entire back is pressed up to matty’s chest, almost a lovers embrace as he steadies you on your feet. 

“careful, darling” he warns, bending to whisper it right in your ear. funny how he repeats the same words his mother had said twenty minutes ago, yet you doubt the thumping of your heart has anything to do with the dancing you’ve been doing. 

the retort is on the tip of your tongue, don’t call me that, four small words that simply refuse to come out. 

“thank you,” you reply breathlessly, clearing your throat against the sudden lump that’s lodged there. 

“steady?” he asks.

his scent is all around you, the same fucking cologne he has worn for the last decade. the same perfume that you can still smell on your pillows sometimes, no matter how many times you wash them. 

“mm-hmm,” you nod, “you can let go now.” you make it a point to stare straight ahead at a bland spot on the wall. fuck your body for hyper-focusing on his heartbeat, fuck your head for spinning at one whiff of his cologne. and absolutely fuck your heart for breaking the second he lets go of you. 

you stay still, only just touching him, still staring ahead until charli comes in your line of vision again. from this close you can smell the alcohol on her breath. she’s almost wasted at this point. 

which is why it’s not really a shock when she gasps loudly. 

“oh my god!” she slaps a hand on her mouth, eyes wide and excited. “you, me, george, and matty. like the old times!” she squeals, slurring half the words. 

“char, no. no—”

“we should dance!” she declares.

“no, pl—”

“george, come here,” she yells over you, unbothered by your protests. and you know you’re doomed when an equally inebriated george comes into view. 

there’s no way of getting out of this. the brittany song is on the last of its notes, about to change into something else. a sense of dread gnaws at your stomach. 

“no, cha—”

“let’s get it over with.” it’s matty, placing a hand on your elbow and spinning you around to face him. he is so close, close enough for you to note the light stubble on his face; not clean-shaven like you’d thought at first. you know exactly what the stubble would feel like if you ran a hand over his face. 

his pink lips are parted slightly, his chest rises and falls with each breath he takes, and his curls fall on his forehead. your hand twitches, desperate to brush them away because you know by the end of the night, they will be falling into his eyes. your stomach turns at the thought of how easily the urge comes. every feeling, every old habit rushing back to hit you full force. 

“shall we?” he asks again, hand extended and waiting for you to take it. but all you can do is stare at it dumbly.

“right,” he says, placing his hand on yours for emphasis, “i don’t want to do it either. but i want to make my friends happy.” 

his friends? indignation flares in your chest, burning hotter than the alcohol. suddenly any and all resurging feelings you’d felt for him just minutes ago evaporate into thin air. if he wants to act like he’s doing you a favour, then fine! if he wants to be an asshole then you can be a bitch right back. the song begins, something sweet and romantic but you narrow your eyes at him, ready for the battle to begin. 

and if you are to win it, then you can’t be focusing too hard on the way his hand comes to rest on the small of your back; warm and reassuring and so so familiar. you can’t be relishing the feel of his warm breath on your shoulder, sending small, delicious tingles down your spine; can’t deliberately feel the way his hips press into yours, creating friction and something much more urgent. 

no! so you square your shoulders and stand tall. 

let’s get this over with then. 

he steps to one side as the music begins to pick up; ever accustomed to taking the lead, and you step to the other side; equally determined to make this difficult for him. he knows of course, because he knows you and how your mind works. more importantly, he knows how your grudges work. 

“are you really going to be difficult again?” he asks, just low enough for you to hear it over the music. “you can’t keep your pettiness aside for five minutes?”

his voice skitters over your bones, taunting and gravelly; matty from years and years ago who would raise goosebumps on your skin and make your blood heat up just by looking at you. 

“my pettiness,” you grit out, “is none of your fucking concern.”

“it is when it’s my best friend’s wedding,” he cuts you off sharply.

“your best friend? as if they are no one to me?”

he tuts, condescending little shit, “can’t have the attention taken away from you for one second can you?”

your voices are rising; no longer the harsh whispers from before. and the distance between your bodies is almost negligible. his hand clutches tightly, is it his intention to hurt or to hold on? you don’t know. you don’t think he knows either. 

“says the man who constantly whines for validation like a little baby,” you spit out, noses almost touching each other’s. 

his eyes, warm and hazel once, are cold hard chips of brown. the anger in them turns his veins red. you imagine he’s seeing red right now, especially as his gaze dips to your mouth—painted red and curled in a sneer. 

“you really have reached a new low, haven’t you, matthew?” you laugh in his face, brutally and sharp enough to cut. a sick and twisted part of you relishes in the fact that his date can see you in his arms. “oh, what must your arm candy think of you for twirling your ex around like this.”

“arm candy?” he scoffs, clearly taken aback. he must have imagined the wedding to be a fancy affair where he would get waisted and twirl his date around until they go back home and fuck in a drunken, sloppy rhythm. he would grope at her breasts like a starved man and she would hook her legs around his waist; much like how you once used to. then she would fall to her knees and satisfy all his needs. “don’t bring grace into—”

“grace?” you snap out of your disturbing train of thoughts about your ex-husband’s bedroom habits. instead, you choose to find happiness in the fact that it won’t be as smooth sailing for him as he thought. “oh, you’ve got to be fucking with me, yeah? your toy is called grace?”

you regret the words as soon as they’re out of your mouth. and not even for the right reasons. 

“that sounds an awful lot like jealousy, darling” matty croons, finding his footing once again. 

your breath hitches. the word is meant to be a weapon, hell, you two are right in the middle of an almost screaming match (again) yet he precisely knows how to wound you with his words (like always).

“don’t,” you warn. you’re falling for the bait by doing so, you know it, he knows it. but you’ll take the small bit of defeat over this. for emphasis, you yank your hand out of his and place it on his chest, as if to push him away. 

his chest heaves slightly and suddenly you’re very aware of the muscles under the fitting white shirt. you should move away, fuck, you should stop touching his chest but your blood turns to lead, heats up your entire body as rage courses freely. 

“don’t pin this on me.” you push him back just slightly, “it’s your need to overcompensate,” another push, “that’s why we’re here,” a third push. 

and then his massive hand is wrapping over yours. you have no time to involuntarily mourn the loss of it on your waist; those tingles have already moved to your hand. 

“losing your cool?” he tuts. 

the infuriating bastard!

there’s a sudden urge to stomp on his feet with your four-inch heels, or better yet, to just knee him in the crotch. but you happen to catch the look on charli’s face. her eyes are wide, worried. this shouldn’t be happening. none of this should be happening. you’re not supposed to be creating a scene at one of your best friends’ wedding. 

“would you look at that…” you peel yourself off him. the lump in your throat is almost overwhelming now and you’d be damned before you cry in front of him again. “you’re ruining your best friend’s wedding.”

before matty can reply, you turn on your heel, keeping your eyes sharply on the exit. this is too much. this evening was a mistake. saying yes to the dance was a mistake. coming here…

a lone tear escapes, tiny and pathetic. it makes you want to slap yourself that you would put your disdain for matty over your love for charli. after everything she’s done for you in the last ten months, after every night you’d spent crying in her bed and in her arms, this is the least you could have done. and yet you’ve failed; as a friend, as a wife, even as a person at this point. 

footsteps slap on the marble floor behind you, getting closer as you step out into the corridor. of course, he’d follow. of course, he wouldn’t know when to leave it alone, picking at all your wounds that are only just scabbing over. 

“stop!” he calls out, “you fucking coward.”

the shock of it alone is enough to freeze you in your place. 

“what did you just say to me?” you blink at him slowly, taking in his cold eyes and lips pressed in a thin line. 

“you fucking coward,” he repeats, “running away from every situation when it gets tough.”

“fuck you, matty,” you spit out, taking a step forward. “fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” you punctuate each of them with a jab to his chest, stabbing your nails repeatedly into the soft spot over his heart. let him feel it. let him experience a million small deaths. 

“what? nothing witty to say now?” his hand wraps around your wrist, holding it still in place. no matter how much you struggle, he won’t let go. 

his face is inches away. he moves forward, backing you against the wall, holding onto your wrist tightly, mouth open and almost panting as if he can’t get enough air. 

you can’t either. your head spins; so close to him, too close. your faces are inches away and involuntarily you stare at his lips, trembling with rage. this whole evening was a mistake but that doesn’t stop you from fisting your hands in his shirt and crashing your mouth onto his.

lemme know what you think pls <33 🤭

#matthew healy #matty healy #matthew healy x reader #matty healy x reader #matty healy angst #just angst #angst fic #matty healy fanfiction #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #george daniel #ross macdonald #adam hann #matty the 1975 #matty healy imagine #matty x reader #angst writing #the 1975 fic #matty x you #the 1975 angst

[inadaydream99]

Between Our Souls

NCT Mark x female reader, university au, soulmate au, angst and fluff, slow burn, oneshot, featuring Jeno, Jaemin and Jisung

A/N - I got carried away again and this took so long to write! I’m also not over (and probably never will be) SpiderMark and NCIT

Disclaimer: this does not represent any of the members in real life, it is purely for entertainment purposes. Explicit language used at times!

Soulmates. The word makes your shoulders tense and your lips falter into an uneasy grimace. Not because you don’t like the idea of soulmates or anything, but because you dread the day you meet yours.

Your parents have always told you that from birth your soul is intertwined with another’s, your hearts beating in sync and your minds alike; it’s a connection like no other. And you believed them wholeheartedly, spending most of your childhood dreaming of spending your life with someone who truly understands you.

Your parents were soulmates, so you’d only ever heard good things about the divine union between them, hoping that yours would one day be the same. That is until you turned 18.

On your 18th birthday you get your first mark from your soulmate. It’s usually in the form of a birthmark, scar or pre-existing bruise they have somewhere on their body. It’s a symbol of hope, a mark that your soulmate is somewhere out there in the world. And, most importantly, the initial blemish is painless regardless of how your soulmate acquired it.

From then onwards though, it’s not such a serene or exciting ordeal. No, every bruise or scrape is just as painful for you as it is for the one receiving it. You wince and whine in pain, shuddering as you feel a kick to the gut or a bash to the head. And that’s the very reason you’ve come to dread finding out who your soulmate is.

By the age of 21, you’ve spent the past three years studying at university and you’re now in your final year. During your time studying for your degree, you’ve become incredibly gifted at covering up the bruises your soulmate has so lovingly gifted you. Occasionally returning the favour by walking into a corner of a table or stubbing your toe, as a thank you of course.

But right now you’re livid. With your head in your hands, elbows leaning on the table to keep you steady, you let out little whimpers. A shooting pain spikes through your leg from the base of your foot and your only thought is a beg for it to stop. All you’d wanted to do was spend some time studying in the library with your friends, but no, you’re soulmate can’t give you that can he?

“Maybe you’re soulmate stepped on a Lego?” Jaemin snickers, a pout replacing his amused grin with seconds as Renjun whacks his arm.

“Shut up. Can’t you see she’s in pain?” Renjun sarcastically retorts.

“No, it’s ok.” You manage out through a clenched jaw, raising your head enough for them to see your face.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to hunt down whoever this dickhead is?” Renjun leans towards you, watching you in concern as you begin to try and shake away the pain.

“He’s just clumsy.” You excuse, the same answer you give every time. But reality is you’re just trying to convince yourself of that fact. Rather him be clumsy than anything else, because it’s endearing, right?

“If you say so.” Renjun gives in to your reasoning for what feels like the millionth time. Although, his sigh reveals how he truly feels. You send him a thankful smile in hopes that it’s enough to settle his worry.

“Oh my god! Come see this!” Jaemin bursts, turning his phone screen so you and Renjun are able to see the video that his soulmate Jeno had sent to him.

You’ve always admired Jaemin and Jeno’s connection, they just compliment eachother so well; Jaemin being the loveable fluff ball, a caring soul right to the core and his perfect other half Jeno, the athletic jock type, but with a heart of gold.

Then there’s Renjun who, like you, hasn’t met his soulmate yet. You met Renjun on your first week of university, at some welcome week event you’d stumbled upon. He’d approached you to ask if you knew where the restrooms were, which you didn’t, but the second you laid eyes on him and had taken notice of the strawberry smoothie that had been spilt down his front, you offered to help him. Renjun still won’t admit it to this day, but he’s one of the clumsiest people you’ve come across - which surprises most people because he just has such a put together look about him, like he is too focused and sensible.

Renjun nudges your elbow, giving you a side glance as you cringe, watching the events unfold. It shows a fellow student from your university, you presume on his way to class. His head is bowed low, watching the path beneath him as he steadily walks and his hands clutch onto the straps of his backpack. He’s wearing a navy blue cap, obscuring his identity from being revealed in the video so far and you wait in suspense with the knowledge that something is going to be happening to this unsuspecting guy.

Out of no where a ball flies into frame, hitting him on the head with a harsh bounce. Startled, he looses his balance, tripping up over his unsteady feet and catching on his shoelace which sends him flying down to the ground with a thud. It’s a mean video, the camera panning to capture the culprit, wearing a red cap, laughing away with his group of friends.

Although, your distaste for the video and sympathy for the victim vanishes when he reappears. Everyone’s laughing falters as the guy approaches the one that threw the ball at him, shoving him forcefully back by the shoulders. Red cap, stumbles back a little but retaliates just as hard once he’s regained his footing.

Next thing you know, blue cap has been backed into the wooden picnic tables in the centre of the grass verge. You can’t properly see what happens, but your eyes widen as you see blue cap fall to the floor. He wails in pain, silent onlookers frozen as they watch him clutch his foot. Red cap and his friends begin tormenting him by kicking his wound before walking away in laughter.

Then the video cuts off.

“Oof I wouldn’t want to be his soulmate.” Renjun shakes his head, tight-lipped smile on his face.

“Same, luckily Jeno doesn’t get into fights like that.” Jaemin jokes back, and the two of them share a laugh as they reminisce on the many times Jeno has bashed or hurt himself while playing football with your Universities team.

Both turn to you when you fail to add anything, their brows furrowing when they see your wide-eyed, mouth slightly agape expression etched onto your face.

“(Y/N), you ok?” Jaemin lightly shakes your shoulder, making you blink out of your daze.

“Huh- oh yeah. I’m fine.” You mumble, instantly turning to pull some books out of your bag while Renjun and Jaemin continue to watch you silently.

“How long ago did that happen?” You blurt out after a few minutes of silence. You’d tried to distract yourself from replaying the video in your head by reading but it was no use.

“About 10 minutes ago, Jeno recorded it and sent it through right away.” Jaemin informs, unknowingly confirming a thought that had settled into your mind.

“That’s outside the East building right?” You scramble your books away, standing up from the table in a rush. Jaemin nods, sending a quick, unsure gaze over to Renjun, who seems to be just as confused as him by your hurry to leave. “Great, see you later!” You quickly smile before rushing out of the library.

You arrive in front of the East building’s entrance a few minutes later, completely out of breath from running across campus as fast as you could. Scanning the area of picnic tables, you let out a defeated sigh when you find them completely empty.

“Damn it.” You mutter under your breath before turning back on yourself and beginning to walk the way you’d just come from.

You were stupid to have thought that blue cap would still be here, and even more so for running when you’d had terrible shooting pains in your foot not long before.

A bash to your shoulder snaps you out of your thoughts, your hand flying up to hold onto the spot that’s just been hit into.

“Watch where you’re going.” The agitated voice spits towards you. And you’re about to fire a comment back at your rude encounter when you look up and see the aggressive eyes glaring at you and the dishevelled, messy hair of the guy; he’s clearly not having a good day. “Well? Aren’t you going to apologise?” He stares you down expectantly.

You narrow your eyes at him in distain. Normally, yes, you would apologise, even if it wasn’t your fault; which in this instance it isn’t. But there’s something about the way he looks at you, something in his demanding stature; an arrogance that infuriates you.

“No.” You simply reply before turning and walking away from him. You don’t dare to look back to see his reaction because if you did you’d seen the scour that you can feel burning into your back.

The guy watches as you walk away from him, enraged further by how stuck up you seem to be, but he smirks to himself when he notices you limping, snickering under his breath at the spiteful remarks that float around his head as he reaches into his bag to pull out his blue cap.

Karma is a bitch after all.

~

It’s Monday, the worst day of the week. Well, for you it is. But as Renjun likes to remind you every time, it’s your fault for choosing a 9am class, so don’t complain about it.

You arrive just in time for your regular seat to still be free and smile to yourself as you approach the back of the lecture room. Maybe today won’t be as bad as you thought.

When your lecturer arrives everyone settles down, ready to take notes and you begin typing away on your laptop, feeling organised and ready to get the class over and done with.

10 minutes in the doors obnoxiously swing open and everyone’s focus is drawn onto the latecomer. You pause your typing to watch as he swiftly enters and, with his head bowed low, begins walking towards the back of the class. The closer he gets to where you are sat, the more nervousness bubbles in your stomach and you don’t know why. It feels instinctive, like your gut is trying to tell you something. And you realise exactly what that is when its already too late.

It had taken you a little longer to notice the way he walks, his arm casually gripping onto his backpack which is slung over his shoulder. It’s the guy you’d bumped into when you’d gone looking for blue cap.

He slides into the empty seat beside you without acknowledging your presence. Normally you’d think it was rude, but basing off how bitter he was towards you, you assume it’s probably normal for him. In fact, you’re relieved he hasn’t acknowledged you. And you resume your typing away in order to shift your focus back onto your lecturer instead of thinking about how good he looks with his messy hair.

“Hey, have you got a pen I can borrow?” You feel his elbow lightly nudge your arm before you hear him whisper. It irritates you slightly that he’s disturbing you when it’s clear that you want to work.

You don’t respond to him verbally, instead choosing to simply scoot your pen towards him without even glancing in his direction. You’re typing anyway, the pink glittery pen and matching notebook you’d gotten out wasn’t really necessary. You hear him whisper a “thanks.” through a snicker, but you purposefully make a point of typing faster to show that you’re not interested.

“I’m Mark, by the way.” You huff when you hear him whisper to you again, finally tearing your eyes away from your laptop screen to look at him. Maybe an unimpressed stare will send him the message. But when your eyes meet his gaze, it makes all of the annoyance drain from you.

“(Y/N).” You mumble, your expression more less blank of any expression.

It’s hard to explain what comes over you, the rude guy that bumped into you seemingly a different person from the one that is sat next to you now. It’s undeniably him though, you’d recognise his voice anywhere. Although, you definitely like it a lot more when he’s not being arrogant. You wonder if he recognises you too?

“Thanks for the pen (Y/N).” You return Mark’s soft smile with one of your own before once again resuming your work.

Maybe he’s not so bad…

~

“Ah shit!” You bite down on your bottom lip, trying to control the pain in your shoulder. What has your soulmate done now, deliberately run into a brick wall or something?

“It’s ok. Take a seat.” Renjun coerces you, his hand on your back as he guides you into the safety of the worn leather of the café’s chair. He only relaxes once he can see that you’re safe, but he still watches in worry as you wince.

“I’m ok, I’m ok.” You chant to yourself, relaxing your shoulders as you recline back into your chair.

“This has seriously got to stop, your soulmate is gonna kill you before you meet at this rate.” You lightly snicker at Renjun’s statement.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” You flippantly roll your eyes. It’s just typical overdramatic Renjun. Sometimes you’re sure he worries just for the sake of worrying.

“Hey!” He scolds, his tone conveying his lightheartedness.

“Besides, you’re one to talk when you get a migraine every other day thanks to your soulmate.” You teasingly raise an accusatory brow towards him.

“Yeah well, that’s different.” Renjun defensively crosses his arms.

“How so?”

“Because migraines can’t be helped so easily, getting into fights, however, can.” Renjun sasses. Although, he does make a good point. One of which you hadn’t properly thought through before.

Yes, you’re fully aware that your soulmate is selfish in how they treat their body, and subsequently, you. But it hadn’t really crossed your mind that they most likely make the active choice to put themselves through that sort of pain, in comparison to Renjun and his soulmates issues with terrible headaches…

“Sorry.” Renjun sends you a tight lipped smile, feeling guilt shoot through him the second he sees the frown grow more prominent on your face.

“No. You’re right.” Your sorrow filled eyes lock with his.

“Hey guys!” Jeno, too in a hurry to notice what he’s just interrupted, rushes over to your table. “(Y/N), you got a pen I can borrow real quick?” He turns to you. You lean down to your bag by your feet, rummaging through.

“Damn it.” You mutter when you are unable to find one. “I gave my last one to Mark this morning.” You apologetically glance up at Jeno.

“Here, take mine.” Renjun hands over a pen to Jeno who quickly thanks Renjun before rushing back out of the café.

You laugh to yourself in amusement at that completely random encounter. Jeno never ceases to amaze you.

“Who’s Mark?” Renjun’s question brings you back into the present, his furrowed brows and slight tilt to his head giving him a very soft, endearing look.

“Just some friend from my class this morning.” You shrug.

You’re not sure why you called Mark your friend. Acquaintance or annoying pen stealing guy would have been more appropriate, but friend seemed like the least complicated term out of them all somehow.

“And why have you never mentioned Mark before?” A teasing smirk spreads across Renjun’s face and you just know what he’s thinking, he’s likes to tease you over every guy you’re friends with (outside of Jeno, Jaemin and himself of course).

“He turned up late to class this morning and ended up sitting next to me. That’s about it.” You shrug your shoulders, hoping to come across as nonchalant. You don’t want to tell Renjun about your rude encounter with Mark on the same day of the video for the very reason that you’ve resolved in your mind that you’d caught Mark in a bad moment, on a bad day, when you’d first bumped into each other. It seems irrelevant for now.

~

Mark holds his shoulder as a dull pain shoots through him, gritting his teeth as he moves to find a comfortable way to lay back and rest against the headboard of his bed.

“Are you sure you don’t want any ice?” Jisung offers for the third time, to which Mark shakes his head.

Why’d he have to get caught up in another fight? It’s not like he had any intentions to, he just always seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Sometimes, when things like this happen, he finds himself thinking about his soulmate, wondering if they can feel his pain too. He knows for sure they must do to some extent because he’s been subjected to the occasional bruise on the knee or elbow from them bashing into something. He assumes they probably think he doesn’t care about them, or, in a best case scenario, that he’s just incredibly clumsy. And most of the time he assumes that his soulmate must hate him by now. Even he hates himself sometimes…

Mark allows his eyes to flutter shut as he rests on his bed, the pain in his shoulder very slowly becoming less and less. He tries to think about anything to take his mind off of it and finds himself thinking about you. He’s not sure why you pop into his mind, but he can’t stop picturing your subtle smile and the way your eyes seemed to have a little sparkle to them. It made him feel a little breathless the first time you’d locked gazes with him. It was familiar and yet completely unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.

“Crap.” Mark whispers the second realisation strikes him; he’d forgotten to return your pen to you earlier. Jisung lifts his gaze from his phone when he hears his friend randomly curse. He thought Mark was asleep already. “I forgot to give (Y/N)’s pen back.” Mark informs when he notices Jisung’s confusion.

“So? It’s just a pen.” Jisung shrugs, completely oblivious to the reasons Mark has for finding it such a big deal in his head.

It’s bigger than just a pen to him, it’s about having a reason to speak to you again.

~

It’s a few days later when you next see Mark. It was a funny coincidence bumping into him again as you’re walking past the East building; although thankfully this time you don’t physically bump into each other.

“(Y/N)!” You hear the familiar voice call your name, turning to look in the direction behind you to spot Mark perched at one of the picnic tables, his hand waving in the air to you.

You smile, giggling a little at how he doesn’t seem to have any embarrassment from his actions, nor does he care about the other students passing by that seem to give him a judgemental look.

“Hey Mark, studying outside?” You warmly greet him, noticing the open books laid out on the table in front of him.

“I’m procrastinating actually.” He unashamedly admits. “What about you?”

You’re not sure why it’s so easy to talk to Mark when you barely know him. But there seems to be this comforting feeling that he gives you, one that makes you want to sit with him and get to know him more.

“I’m heading off to class.” You show a reluctant smile. “Not that I want to go really…”

“Skip it then.” Mark suggests like it not a big deal. Maybe it isn’t to him, but to you it definitely is. You’ve never purposefully skipped a class in your life and the thought alone makes you feel anxious. “You can join me…”

The way Mark quirks a brow at you, his lazy smirk making your stomach twist a little at his offer. You know this is what you want to do, you’ve been hoping to spend more time with the scruffy haired guy you’d met only a few days ago.

So you nod your head in acceptance, placing your bag down onto the table as you take a seat. You can see the delight in his eyes as he watches you and that’s enough to know that the decision you’ve made it worth it.

~

Walking through the campus with Mark beside you is like a daydream. The conversation hasn’t once stopped, it’s easy and light with him. And everything seems to be going so well as you form this new friendship. You’d spent the last few hours hanging out together, but now the sun is beginning to set and the air turns to have a slight evening chill, you decide that it’s time to head home.

But life never likes to make things too easy and you feel stupid for letting yourself indulge in this dream-like afternoon with Mark.

It all happens so fast. From the group of guys walking your way, to one of them making a crude offhand comment about you. You don’t quite catch his words exactly, but Mark does. Next you’re stumbling backwards to get out of the way as the guy takes a lunge towards Mark. And then you can no longer see them, a crowd of students circling around them as they throw punches at each other.

A voice shouts over the noise to alert of campus security and everyone quickly disperses, a breathlessly beaten blue Mark left laying on the hard concrete of the pathway.

“Mark, can you hear me?” You rush over to him, kneeling down beside him as his half lidded eyes tiredly try to focus on you. You sigh in relief when a hazy smile stretches across his lips. He doesn’t seem like he’s in much pain, just dazed more than anything. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

Not knowing where Mark lives, and him being too out of it to give coherent directions, you somehow manage to drag him back to your dorm. It takes a couple hours for you to patch him up before he finally drifts to sleep, but you sit at your desk patiently for him to wake.

To say you’re still in shock is an understatement, you can’t get the ordeal out of your head. You wreck your brain to try and make sense of what happened. But, in the end, you realise that there’s too many gaps in the narrative that you’re unaware of. Clearly there’s some history between Mark and the guy. You just hope he’s willing to explain it to you.

“How long have I been asleep?” Marks voice snaps you out of your daze and you spring up from your chair to approach the side of your bed.

“A couple hours. How’re you feeling?” You softly speak. Mark watches you intently, staring at you so deeply it makes you a little nervous.

“I’ve been far worse, don’t worry.” He chuckles.

“So you get into fights a lot then.” You state rather than question, his answer having more so confirmed your suspicions.

Instinctively, you find yourself reaching your hand out to gently rub the pad of your thumb across the darkening bruise that’s on his jaw.

“Not intentionally.” Mark eyes screw shut as your hand brushes near his eye and you instantly retract your hand, mumbling a light apology.

When Mark opens his eyes once again, you notice how they seem to fixate onto your face, morphing through multiple emotions before widening in shock. He sits up abruptly, heavy breaths escaping him as he messily slips on his shoes.

“I-I uh, need to go.”

You’re confused at best, feeling a little hurt at his sudden need to leave. Without a thank you too. Had you done something wrong?

~

Before you know it, Monday has rolled back around, and you find yourself struggling to get out of bed. You’ve been desperately trying to find Mark, hoping that you’d bump into him, because you really need to talk.

You’d figured out what sent him running away a little too late. But when you did, you understood exactly why he responded the way he did; he’s your soulmate.

You have the exact bruises on your body to the ones Mark acquired from the fight, you know because you had been the one to tend to his wounds. It gave you quite a shock when you first caught a glance of them in the mirror. But once you’d taken a little time to process the realisation, you knew more than ever that you needed to find Mark as soon as possible. You have so many questions.

One thing that confused you the most was why none of the bruises hurt you, they always did before. The more you thought about it, the more you realised that Mark didn’t seem to be in as much pain as what you would have expected him to be in either.

Over the past week, despite not actually having seen him, you feel like he’s been present without physically being there and it’s so irritating, like fate has just been purposefully trying to torment you. For example, on Saturday you had been hanging out with Jeno and you were joined by one of his football teammates, Jisung.

Jisung seemed like a really sweet guy, a little quiet at first but once he’d gotten to know you a little he began to reveal little hints of the crazy and fun person his is underneath.

As it turns out, Jisung is really close friends with Mark, which you’d found out through him asking about how you’d acquired the dark purple bruise along your jaw; even putting on extra makeup couldn’t cover it…

“Hey, (Y/N)?” Jisung was a little timid in his approach. “How did you hurt your jaw like that?”

“Oh don’t even get her started!” Jeno throws his head back in laughter, knowing the impending rant from you that Jisung had just unknowingly started. What he doesn’t know, however, is that you now know who your soulmate is and that you no longer feel so angry about the bruises because you know that this one in particular was because he was standing up for you.

“My soulmate.” Is all you respond with, hoping to get the point across to your new friend without the need to go into details. And it seems that Jisung understands, nodding his head upon your answer.

“It’s funny, my friend Mark has one just like that.”

Your eyes had gone so wide they could have almost popped out of your head, the sheer mention of the name Mark had your heart beating just that little bit faster and a rush of adrenaline pumping through you.

You remember joking with Jisung about it, saying something about how his friend must know how tiring it is to have a clumsy soulmate.

But ever since that moment, you’ve not been able to shake the thought that what if Jisung’s friend Mark is your soulmate Mark. The only way to find out is to see him again.

So you find yourself waiting anxiously in class, sat in the same seat you were in the previous week, hoping that Mark will turn up.

When the lecture begins and there’s no sign of him, you try not to make a big deal out of it in your head. He was late last time, and you know he isn’t bothered about missing class, you just hope he isn’t skipping today. By the half way point, however, your hope is quickly diminishing. Until, finally, class is over and there was never any sign of him.

~

When Jisung had next seen Mark, he’d relayed all the information about how he thought he had just met Mark’s soulmate. It made him nervous to hear his friend say your name. Had you told him what happened between you? How did you seem about it? Were you doing ok? They are just a few of the questions that fill Mark’s head.

“Jeno joked that it’s not a good idea to bring up her soulmate, but (Y/N) seemed fine with it really.” Jisung reassures.

Mark didn’t know you were friends with Jeno. And he assumes that means you’re also friends with Jaemin. The fact that you both have close mutual friends surprises him.

It’s ironic really, Mark wants nothing more than to see you, but he doesn’t know how after rushing away with no explanation. But it’s his rushing away that made him freak out even more because it confirmed the very thing he’d been panicking about.

You see, never before has he been able to move so painlessly after getting into a fight like that. The fact that he was able to spring up from your bed and rush all the way back to his, with only minor aches from his muscles, was proof that you are his soulmate.

When two souls are separated, the pain they feel is intensified. But when they are together, no matter how horrible the pain, they barely feel a thing. Mark has this echoing around like a mantra in his head all week.

He’s not sure if you know this or not, or even if you’re aware of the fact that you are destined to be with him. But he wouldn’t be surprised if you hated him even if you did know. He feels terrible for leaving you the way he did, especially after all you did to help him.

Maybe Jeno would be able to help him out, because, right now, all Mark wants is to see you.

~

“Sorry, but no.” Jeno shrugs his shoulders at Mark. He’d heard all about what had happened from you a few days ago and he wasn’t very pleased with Mark when he found out; he still isn’t. Why should he help him when all he did was hurt you, one of his closest friends.

“Come on Jeno. You know what it’s like to find your soulmate and almost lose them.” Jeno pauses upon hearing Mark’s words. He’s right, Jeno knows that feeling all too well, and he wishes he didn’t.

He’d made the football team and met Jaemin at pretty much the same time. Being part of the university football team bought with it a level of fame. Everyone knew who he was, not just from your university, but from rivalling ones too.

Jeno hadn’t known Jaemin for long, but he’d asked him to watch the final game of the semester for support; which Jaemin of course accepted.

The evening started off strong, with the game going in Jeno’s favour. That was until he got targeted by the opposing team and tackled to the ground. While he was knocked out, Jaemin had rushed onto the pitch to make sure he was ok, and the second he saw Jeno’s state, he lost it, picking a fight with the player that had caused his soulmate to fall unconscious.

It pains Jeno to think about even now, so many years later. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get the picture out of his head of waking in the locker room to find Jaemin’s battered body, limp as he was attended to by paramedics. Thinking about Mark getting himself into fights so often worried him. So your situation is sometimes a little too close to his for comfort.

“That’s exactly why I’m not gonna help you.” Jeno is able to control his emotions enough to answer Mark before he has to walk away.

If Mark really cares about you then he’ll keep away from you. He’s already caused enough damage as it is.

“Maybe you should have helped.” Jaemin, ever the sympathetic, hopeless romantic states. “There’s always a risk with true love, but the safety you find in each other will always outweigh that.” He takes Jeno’s hand, sending him the most convincing pleading look he can. Damn Jaemin and his ability to be so persuasive.

“I just don’t want (Y/N) to be hurt anymore. She’s been through enough.” Jeno sulkily mumbles.

“Jaemin’s right though.” Renjun sighs. “And, either way, it’s not our choice to make.”

~

You feel hopeless, defeated and drained. Yes Mark was a bit of an asshole and, yes, he shouldn’t have hurt you the way he has. But, without him, you feel like there’s a part of you missing.

You woke up this morning with no new bruises. In fact, it’s been so long, you can’t remember the last time you saw a fresh bruise appear. It’s honestly a little worrying because, despite hating the condition of feeling your soulmates pain and attaining their battle scars, it provided an assurance that they are still out there, waiting for you. Of all those times in the past when you’d wished for the pain to stop, why did Mark have to fall silent on you now!

The bruise on your jaw is almost completely faded, your hand reaching up to delicately trail along the faint purple on your skin as you look in the mirror. It’s the last one you received…

Before you have time to finish tracing it, however, a knock on your door sounds.

You open your bedroom door to and empty hallway, confused as you look around for any sign of movement. It’s probably just one of your dorm mates playing a trick. You take a step to lean a little further and freeze as you hear a crunch and look down to see you’d stepped on a pen. Your eyes go wide. That’s not any pen, it’s the pink glittery one you’d given to Mark all that time ago.

You pick up the pen to examine it, before retracting back into your room and shutting your door.

You need to find Mark.

~

After rushing around campus unable to find Mark, you begin to admit defeat and search for somewhere to take a seat. Central campus feels like it’s busier than normal, students crammed into every free space, rushing to and from classes or gathering in the cafés. It’s manic.

But then you spot a free seat over by the fountain, situated on the green space between the centre and the pathway that leads to the East part of campus.

You shut your eyes and let out a contented sigh in relief, your legs happy to be able to rest for a little. The sounds of the water are soothing as you try to clear your mind and simply allow yourself to be present in this moment.

“(Y/N)?” The voice that sounds from beside you is unmistakably him, your eyes shooting open to find Mark sat beside you.

“Mark?” You gasp. You hadn’t recognised him at first, the navy blue cap he has on shielding his face. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” You playfully scold him, your heart skipping a beat, elated from hearing his laugh again.

“You have?” He smiles brightly. There it is, your hope coming back. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me after everything…”

The seriousness that replaces his smile makes you feel a tightness in your chest. You can tell the distance between you has been just as difficult for him as it has for you.

“Of course. You’re my soulmate.” Your voice comes out as more of a whisper now, leaning closer into him as you speak. “Although, I was mad at first. I realised just how lost I felt without you around.”

“I feel the same.” Mark reciprocates your smile. “The thought of loosing you made me want to be a better person. I haven’t been getting in any fights recently.”

“I thought it was strange when I wasn’t waking up with new bruises every day.” You tease, laughing harder when Mark rolls his eyes. His cheesy grin gives away that he’s not really mad though.

“Well I think the last one we got was enough to last a lifetime.” Mark sends you a guilty smile and you return one of sympathy back, watching as he raises his hand to caress you cheek as his thumb lightly brushes over the almost faded one on your jaw.

His action makes everything more intimate, the way he stares at you with such concentration taking your breath away. He slowly leans in, closing off some more space between you.

“But I promise to never put you through anything like that again.” His breath fans across your face, lips practically brushing against each other’s as he pauses. For what exactly you’re not sure. But it has your patience growing thin alarmingly quick.

Just as you’re about to give in, Mark smirks and presses his lips to yours.

It’s a feeling like no other, his kiss gentle and tender, conveying his every emotion as his lips repeatedly capture yours in a gentle caress. After a few minutes you reluctantly pull away, but if it wasn’t for the need to breathe you would have insisted on kissing him forever.

No more words are needed to be exchanged between you to know how you really feel and it’s liberating to know you’ve finally met the one for you. This is the first time you been with Mark since you realised he was your soulmate, and it feels even better than you’d imagined to finally be able to take it all in properly.

You guess you’re parents were right all along. The waiting and painful bruises were worth every second because it led your soul to Mark’s. And you’d always choose him over everyone.

#nct fluff #nct angst #nct oneshot #nct x reader #nct drabbles #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fanfiction #nct fanfic #nct mark lee #nct mark #nct 127 fluff #nct dream fluff #kpop fluff #kpop angst #kpop fanfiction #kpop oneshots #kpop drabbles #kpop imagines

[comfort-comfort-comfort]

Kankuro

Comfort Headcannons

Hey, I am Rae! Written below is a couple comfort headcanons I wrote. The two links below are the songs I listened to while writing along with the trigger warnings, please read them carefully. Appreciate you!

🚫Reader is experiencing an extended emotional low, gender of reader is not specified, boob/peck mentioned(non`sexualy), and Kankuro has a potty mouth.

Let me know if you think any Trigger Warnings should be added, if it could benefit you or anyone you know, I would love to add them.

💽Dark Read(Slowed) by: Steve Lacy

💽Time Moves Slow by:BadBadNotGood

🛠Kankuro is constantly telling you where he is going to be; Just incase. "Babe, I am going down stairs,- stomp if you need me." He doesn't know what emergency could possibly happen in the minutes or hours he is gone; but if he leaves it to his morbid imagination, it would be terrible. "I'm gonna take a shit, then a nap. Yell if you need me, I could be here in like 3 seconds. Well, make it like 5 and a quarter seconds if I'm still on the pot.-"

🛠His youth was hectic and as a result he is on edge, not in fear of his safety but for your well being. "You going to be alright, or nah?" He whole heartedly thinks he has a sixth sense when it comes to you. You can assure him, you'll be fine, but he think he knows better. You'll catch him making excuses not to go places or do certain things or hang out with certain people. But only his close circle will hear the truth.

🛠"Nope, gonna go home early today, Gaara." He sighs and stuffs his hands in his pockets and leans back on his heals, "No, nothings wrong or anything, just think my Babe is having a bad day." He likes that Gaara and Temari are so invested in your well being and asking questions, "No, they didn't mention anything this morning, but I fuckin know it, somethings wrong, I just got that feeling while we were in the negotiations this morning."

🛠Temari doesn't have the heart to tell him that the feeling is just anxiety and Gaara doesn't know any better.

🛠When he sees you emotional he not surprised but still terrified. Stopping over to where you are, "What's wrong with you?" Grabbing your arms in a gentle but firm grip, lifting them up and over your head so he can inspect them. Rolling down your sleeves, or pulling up the back of your shirt so he can see your spine and shoulder blades. Pulling you along and checking you over the way you would a china doll or a puppet. If you don't respond right away or deny it, he is literally grabbing your leg, bending your knee, and checking your ankles, doing the most.

🛠"Why are you upset?"holding your chin with one hand and feeling the temp of your forehead with the other, before turning your face side to side to look for bruises or cuts. He is whiping your face clean and looking around the house, moving quick."Why the hell didn't you send for me? I could have been here!" Walks around opening random doors and looking around as if a burglar is chilling in your broom closet, or sadness hiding on the top shelf of your pantry.

🛠when you tell him he gets super into it; his reactions are animated and expressive. Every sentence is a cliff hanger for him and he has to react because he wants you to know he is invested in you.

🛠"So, like, what are we gonna do about it?"

🛠He is the type to get upset if the answer is "nothing." Cause there is always a plan in his head, always an obvious answer. 'If this happens we do this' or 'if that happened than we won't do that,' if the head is blown off one of his puppets, he makes the head into a rocket loncher. Boom planed and executed. He is frustrated when he can fix whatever has you down, he is used the being in control and pulling the strings. It scares him to think that your health, happiness, and life's problems can't be solved by a tug of a string.

🛠His childhood was only about bettering his craft and planning ahead so things that aren't logic based always stump him, he doesn't know how to comfort you in every situation. He has close family he can rely on though.

🛠When things are especially difficult for him to understand or respond to he will tell Temari or Gaara, they understand his struggles and could give helpful advise, sometimes.

🛠It can get you in strange situations though, Gaara told him that you releasing frustration could help, and Tamari told him he doesn't spend enough time with you, his sensei said you were being moody and needed more sleep. He didn't agree with any of them, but he tries for you.

🛠He comes home with new plates, picture frames, and pottery. Then strategically works it into conversation that you have too many of A, B, and C; what should you do? He then is like, "Wouldn't it be cool if we, like, smashed all of the old plates? Sounds like fun to me... Who knows, it could help relieve some... frustration... maybe?"

🛠He wants you to know that he still likes you, even when you are unhappy, he and Gaara where shafted as children when they weren't perfectly agreeable. He wants you to know that his love isn't conditional, that is what he is trying to get across to you. Especially when acting out Temari's advice. Instead, what you get is Kankuro suddenly remembering that he hasn't see you in 15minutes, so he is putting down a puppet, sprinting upstairs, and standing in the doorway, all weird like. "Hey, I still love you." He nods to himself, "and I'd still love you if you were a little bit more of an asshole to, just a heads up." He then turns around and goes back down stairs.

🛠He even follows his sensei's advice even though he thought it was stupid. That night and every night for a while he asks, "What's good?" And he wants to hear about every thought you had that day, important ot not. No one was there to listen to him when he was a kid. His father was shit, his sister was struggling herself, and Gaara had the emotional understanding of an infant. He wants to understand you and you understand his thoughts and responses. After the long talk he will ask, "Am I doing this right?"

🛠"Am I doing this how you want?" Should he be nicer? Should he stop trying so hard? Should he stop smothering you? Should he really trust his own instincs? Would it be wrong to hold you now? He has never been close to others the way he is and wants to be with you. He honestly doesn't know, "Is this what you wanted, could you tell me if you needed something else?" Your comfort is his comfort and he wants you to feel better so he can be better.

🛠He takes comfort differently than most but still knows what it should feel like. He will be the big spoon and wrap his arm around you to grab your peck/boob, it is warm, soft to the touch, and he can feel your heartbeat. And if he can do something to take your mind off of the trouble, even for a second, he will. This is something only he can do, something special he earned the right to, something intimate and comfortable. His hand kneads and massages is you in his sleep, as if hes pulling strings.

🛠He complains to his siblings and sensei about how dumb he feels for trusting their strange advice, and they blame him for applying it incorrectly but apologize anyway.

🛠 Gaara sends flowers, Temari sends letters and a meal, Baki sends a half assed apology, but best of all- Kankuro's two nephews send hand made cards. They say strange things like: "Uncle Kank stinks but I hope your happy." Or "Get well soon even if you're not sick"

🛠Kankuro nearly cries over the messages his loved ones send with him, "Listen, I know I'm all shity with feelings but you're loved." He says it quietly, holding you close, whispering it into the shell of your ear, like it is a dirty secret. "yeah, you're loved by a bunch of weirdos, but like, take what you can get."- It isn't a secret, he tells everyone he meets you're his one special person and all of his homicidal family loves you to, and if he didn't say it, people would still know.

🛠probably by the purple face paint slightly smeared off his lips from when he kissed you last, or the practically permanent purple stain on the back of your neck from him cuddling you before his shower.

by: Comfort-comfort-comfort

Thank you for reading, stay safe, and I'd love to hear from you.

#comfort-comfort-comfort #naruto comfort #naruto imagines #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #kankurō #kankuro x reader #kankuro x y/n #kankuro smut #kankuro comfort #gaara x you #gaara of the desert #gaara of the sand #gaara x reader #gaara x y/n #kankuro headcanons #kakuro imagine #kankuro of the sand

[antwine69]

If beetlejuice and his S/o got into an argument what would he do (and vice versa) to make it up to them or even apologize to them?

Oohoohoo!! Angst opportunity! Thank you, Friend!

Gender Neutral reader!

Fic type deal here!

Kinda angsty, but fluffy at the end, cos I'm a big softie uwu

-----

If your gaze could kill, Beetlejuice would be dead two times over. You glared right into his eyes, standing your ground, even though tears were welling up in your eyes. ``Well, at least I don't go around flirting with everyone I see!`` Beetlejuice roared back, his hair a crimson red, his lips curled up in what could only be described as a snarl. You weren't intimidated, though, still just glaring. ``Showing basic human kindness is not flirting, Lawrence, how many times do I have to tell you that?`` you barked back, crossing your arms. The name "Lawrence" was laced with ice-cold poison, you knowing he would take you seriously if you used it. His posture seemed to shift a bit, but his anger still stayed. ``This is the last time I'll tell you this. Kindness. Isn't. Flirting. Lawrence.`` you repeated. ``I'm going to go to my room until you've calmed down. Don't follow me.`` you added, turning away and walking up the stairs to your shared room. Through the door you could hear a ``Oh walking away, real mature!`` slung after you, followed by an enraged roar and then silence. He must've poofed off to the Neitherworld for a bit. Good.

You leaned on the door, sliding down, the feelings hitting you like a truck full of elephants. What if he left forever? What if the life you built was gone just because of this? You hadn't realised how much you were shaking before you raised a hand to wipe a stray tear. God damn it. You took a deep breath, sniffeling lightly, trying to keep a hold of the anger just long enough to know you wouldn't break into tears when you saw him again. That is... If you saw him again. And there it was again. Warm drops of heavy sadness ran down your cheeks, you trying desperately to hold back, but ending up just letting out a quiet, choked sob. You missed him. You missed him and you hated it.

Suddenly there was a quiet, almost soft knock at the door. You instantly got up, wiping away a tear, your chest hurting from trying to hold back. A quiet ``Babes?`` was heard from behind the door. Beetlejuice. ``What do you want?`` you replied, trying to sound angry, but sadness ran thick through your voice, and your angry front was as flimsy as a tower made out of feathers. ``I uhhh..... Okay, ya know I hate doing this. Just... Come out? Okay?`` he asked, clearly pressed up against the door. He could phase through, and you knew it, but he was respecting that you had to forgive him in your own way by coming out of the room, not him coming in and begging you. You sighed, turning to the door. ``And why would I do that?`` you asked, challenging him at his most vulnerable. A light growl mixed with a sigh was heard through the door, and then a sigh of defeat. ``Fine. Fine! I'll go all mushy... Okay. Because.... You are like... A firefly. You light up the night sky like a star and... You're the only bug I don't wanna hurt cos you're so... pretty and lively and warm. Everyone who sees you is enchanted by you and that's why I get like this. What if they steal you away? What of they put you in a glass jar and trap you forever while you slowly suffocate and your light goes out? I can't let em do that to my firefly...`` He said, his voice going from soft, to lightly angry when talking about other people taking you, back to soft and almost somber. Then there was silence. You blinked, stummed he could even muster up something so.... sweet. A tear landed on the floor, then another, and another. He knew he really fucked up this time, but he fixed it. He fixed it real good. In an instant you flung the door open, running into him, wrapping your arms around him, pressing a kiss onto his lips. You were probably sobbing into the kiss, but you didn't care. Beetlejuice stumbled back a bit, hitting the hall wall. He quickly got the idea, though, happily kissing back. Suffice to say, he was forgiven.

You broke the kiss, your arms wrapped around eachother. He gave a light smile, his hair an emerald green with light streaks of pastel pink. ``So my little Firefly, you wanna go see a movie? I heard the Exorcist was good... I also heard that somebody popped popcorn and might have made some tea.`` he said after a little while of just gazing into your eyes. ``I'd love to, Beej.`` you replied, him easily carrying you down the stairs all bridal style. The rest of the night was spendt watching The Exorcist, as well as other horror flicks, each worse than the last. Soon, you both fell asleep, tired from everything that happened today. Whatever tomorrow brought didn't matter, whether it be another fight or something better, you two were gonna tackle it together.

-----

Oh boy! It's been a while since I've done a fic/oneshot thing! It was pretty fun! I don't usually write angst, but feel free to keep it comin!

See y'all wonderful creations in the Neitherworld! Stay hydrated! Love y'all!

#beetlejuiexreader #beetlejuice fluff #beetlejuice x reader #beetlegeuse #beetlejuice #x reader #x gender neutral reader #angst #fluff #beetlejuice angst

[mystblbk]

Chavela Valdes-Chapter 8(part1)

JULIANA POV

What started as a thrill-filled day ended up knocking me back to the ground after agreeing to go with Valentina for lunch. After a long walk down the stairs of Grupo Carvajal’s main staircase, Val convinced me to be the one to treat us to lunch. This is how we ended up at a rooftop restaurant that she and her family would frequent at an upscale hotel near one of Mexico City's parks: Parque España. Condesa DF was a lovely place. It had the vibe of San Antonio’s very own upscale hotels: urban, modern, and overpriced in every way. The second we went into the building and up the elevator to the fourth-floor restaurant.

Valentina had been a girl that, no matter how many expensive things she surrounded herself with, acted down to earth and was as kind as a saint. It wasn’t until I saw directly the type of environment that she lived in that the worry and inadequacy that i should have been feeling from day one set in. Luckily for me, Valentina read me correctly, again, and calmed me down with promises that due to their discreet staff and proximity to her school it was the best option to choose from. I sighed and acknowledged her need, allowing her to ask for a table on the terrace to the woman seating people. It seems like the woman recognized her as a waiter appears from thin air and calls Val’s name.

“This way, ladies,” the well-dressed waiter said, leading us to through open space.

My eyes take in the greenery of the nearby park along with the tree-lined streets and houses. There were always so many trees that it looked like a safari from one of my childhood biology books. What pulled me away from the skyline around me was the feeling of being stared at. My eyes glance at the people around us as we pass and I’m assured my place in society when my eyes meet well dressed narrow-eyed businessmen and Stepford wives with tipped up noses.

I look down to my Chucks and pull my jacket a bit closer around my body. My shuffling is stopped when a soft hand takes mine away from the lapels of my jacket. I look up and see turquoise eyes gently staring at me. I blush and look away only to have another hand pull my chin back to her. I look at Val and she smiles softly to me.

“I don’t care what they say,” she reminds me, “Let’s not let them ruin our lunch. Okay?”

I look into her eyes and only see sincerity. With a smile, I pull her by our intertwined hands to keep following the waiter near us. The man smiles to us as we reach a table at the corner of the terrace with the best view of the two intercrossing streets. He reaches for a chair to pull out but I raise a hand.

“Allow me,” I offer as an answer.

The man watches in shock as I pull the chair out and signal for Valentina to sit. She kisses my cheek as she sits and I push the chair in the appropriate space. The man snaps out of his shock and allows me to sit before handing us our menus. I try to ignore the stares and gawking as we order and the man leaves us be.

“So, what are you doing later today,” Val asks, taking my hand again.

I look down at our hands and smile, “The library.”

“Library?”

“Yeah. I was going to look up places to take you for our date.”

Twinkling eyes beam at me, “Oh really? Haven’t had time to look around the city yet?”

I shake my head with a laugh, “No. Work. Eat. Sleep. That’s the schedule.”

Val smiles at me, “Well, I have faith in you.”

“I won’t let you down.”

The woman pulls our entwined hands up. I watch, speechless, as she kisses my knuckles.

“I know you won’t.”

Icy-blue eyes meet my own and we stay staring at each other. An urge pulls at my chest as I take in the blue, white and surprisingly gold flecks in her eyes.

“Don’t move,” I whisper to her.

Val furrows her brows but stays silently watching as I pull out one of my sketchbooks from my bag. I open the worn blue book to an open page and pull out a sharp HB pencil. I look up at the heiress and wink at her. A curious smile is given to me as I place the book on the table and start drawing. I glance up at my subject every few seconds as I draw her profile. Val’s energy becomes excited and in awe, as I keep working at a fast pace. The minutes pass and we don’t talk. The sound of pencil on acid-free paper is the only noise our table makes. Before long the waiter returns with our drinks. I sigh and move to close the book but soft hands stop me.

“Let me see,” blue eyes plead to me, “Por favor, Juls?”

My eyes freeze as I take in her pout and wide eyes. My heart stutters as the shade of blue seduces me to I unconsciously nod to her. Val grins and takes the book from my loose fingers. The movement of pages wakes me up from my stupor and I make a move to take the book back.

“Wait-”

“Juls…”

I wince as Val stops at a few pages in. I look out to the safari around us in an attempt to feign disinterest and fear. I hear Val gasp as pages are turned. My thumbnail makes its way to my mouth as my nervous energy heightens to extremes at the noises she makes.

“Que hermoso.”

WHAT?!

My head whips to Val in a panic. The woman is staring down at my sketches, hopefully not too embarrassing ones, and softly tracing the shapes she sees on the page.

“How-,” she whispers, “How did you draw me so well?”

I gulp when she looks up, patiently waiting for my answer.

Sal’s words hit my heart again and I answer truthfully, “I told you, Val. I’m crazy about you. I can’t say that I don’t think because when I don’t think my mind turns to you. That book is a testament to how much that happens.”

Pale cheeks turn rosy and bright blue eyes seem to turn neon with energy. The woman looks down and I feel a hum in my soul as I watch as she grins down to the page.

“You’re such a charmer,” she whispers.

“You bring it out of me.”

She sighs dreamily and I accept her praises for once. I grab all my courage and turn to the page I was working on. Val gasp as she looks to the drawing.

“It’s not done…”

“It’s beautiful.”

I watch for a moment then speak my thoughts our aloud, “My art teacher said that there once was a woman who wished to have an artist fall in love with her.”

The woman in front of me looks up, “Que?”

“She was convinced that he would see her and love every part of her,” I continue, meeting her gaze, “All of her. Every curve. Every line. He would love her as she was because he would be able to understand that her uniqueness is what made her truly beautiful.”

The air in her lungs leaves her. My eyes watch as blue eye morph into something soft. Something that I have yet to see on her face. I breathe out raggedly and lick my lips to speak--

“Aqui esta, señoritas.”

I blink and the spell is broken. I begrudgingly turn to the waiter as he places the food in front of us.

“Perdon,” he says looking between us, “Did I interrupt?”

“No.”

“Sí.”

The man looks apologetic and smiles kindly to me before leaving. I sigh and turn back to Val. Her annoyed look turns a bit sad when she turns back to me.

“What timing,” she huffs.

A small smile tugs at my lips, “We have Saturday.”

Her eyes light up then, “All of Saturday?”

“Does that sound like something you would--”

“Yes!”

A laugh leaves me and I shake my head, “Okay, then. Let’s eat. You have to go to school and I don’t want your step-mom or your sister to yell at me for keeping you from going.”

This makes her huff but after I kiss her knuckles and she grins. I half-heartedly eat, content on watching the gorgeous woman in front of me. Ideas of sketches file themselves in my mind as time passes. Before long, Val is done and I proclaim I’m ready as well. She looks uncertain, mostly from seeing my half-eaten plate, but lets it go on one condition.

“I want this.”

My eyes turn to see the page she has turned to. It’s a picture of the park bench we met at. I look up at her in confusion but she simply smiles.

“I want a reminder.”

I grin at her, understanding her reason, and take the book. With a quick tug, the page is free and I hand it to her. Val stares at it and I see the same unknown emotion as before. She then looks up and it's gone.

“Let’s go.”

I manage to convince the older woman to allow me to walk home from her university once we arrive there. Though reluctant, the girl hugs me and kisses my cheek before walking up the stairs to the school. My eyes follow her silhouette until she’s gone through the entrance. I sigh happily and start walking to El Jardín. I walk slowly to a nearby bus stop and pull out my phone only to find a small white card in my hand with it. I look down at the card and furrow my brows. I turn it over and my eyes widen as I read what’s written

“What the?”

How are you going to pick me up if you don’t know my number, Romeo?

--Valentina

The note is written under Valentina's name and the new position in her family’s company. Just above the handwriting are three numbers. One number was circled with a little heart drawn next to it: her cell phone number. Valentina’s writing is loopy and large, girly and bold all at once and makes me grin as I read it then re-read it.

“Cleaver girl."

I tap the card on my hand and unconsciously pull up the card next to my nose. The same scent from the previous owner hits my nose.

“What are you doing to me, Valentina?” I whisper to myself.

I have no time to linger in thoughts as the bus arrives and I jump into it. The ride to the restaurant is slow enough for me to pull my book out and sketch her a few times. The bumps and sudden stops do nothing to harm my work, I’ve gotten used to the dreadful driving of the city bus drivers.

A few stops before reaching the restaurant my hand starts writing word near a pair of well-drawn eyes. I start hearing stums and beats while I keep writing. I start tapping with my other hand to the imaginary beat as I continue. The bus stops and I look up from my page.

Here.

I pull on my small backpack and grab my things. I hand the bus driver the eight pesos of fair and jump off the steps with ease. I huff and walk forward until I feel pain from my right hand. I look down and see the open page next to my cut skin. Furrowing my brows I read what I wrote.

Y aunque la vida, tal vez

Nos haya llevado por distintos caminos

No somos súper humanos

Para controlar o cambiar el destino

The words seem incoherent but for some reason, I hear the singing of guitars and beats of drums as I read them. I shake my head and continue walking into the resultant. As I enter I hear music playing from the stage area. I grin as I see some of my brothers jamming with smiles. I greet the staff that I pass and even get a smile from Carla. Sal looks up from his seat nearby and sees me. He waves me forward and I shrug the backpack off my shoulders and put my notebook on top of it.

“How did it go,” he asks when I sit next to him.

I sigh happily in response and he laughs.

“Good to hear,” he nods, “So...did you ask her?”

“Yes but now I need to come up with a date for Saturday.”

Salvador grins, “I have a few ideas.”

“Oh?”

“Do you trust me,” he smirks.

I nod slowly and he grins back.

“Alright. So, do you remember that on Saturday…”

#amar a muerte #juliantina #juliana valdes #valentina carvajal #fanfic

[c4prici4-v0nlux]

So I was thinking about the tuning of instruments, guitars to be exact, and doing so has always eluded me because when I was playing I couldn’t ping the correct pings. (forgive me, it’s been a while since I’ve written anything, and this is literal verbal vommit). Anyway, I remember my brother trying to teach me EBGDAE on the guitar, however, come to realize the strings act as EADGBE, so really there are only 2 strings transposed... But then I realized that perhaps what my brother was teaching me was how a guitar is tuned, as apposed to how it simply exists, and that got me thinking. Ok, so a thing exists. Back country people, or people, whatever, have created instruments, particularly the stumming type, out of whatever they can get their hands on: bed pans, and sticks and shit: (i.e. the antithesis of hand-carved mohagany). My query is in the tuning. Suffiice it to say, any given instrument must be tuned to be accepted by the ear of the recipiant.  I pause, and feel this is all a ‘’duh’’... but then it’s not.  Query: how many aspects of your life are tuned to be accepted by the ear of the recipiant? And who is the recipiant? How often does it vary? And further more, why are there so many people not open to variation?  

Ok, so I am going to attempt to answer my own questions.  1) The Recipiant: can be anyone ranging from a person one loves and ulitimately cohabitates with, to one that one is employed by. 2)Variation: cohatitation could be argued as semantics, and friendsip could exist in this pod. An employeer should exist in it’s own realm, however some times  Never mind. Fuck this shit. What I really aim to discuss is conditioning.  The big sigh, is that this inevitable. Makes me think of adaptation.  And that makes me think of survival. So the reason one would sucumb to tuning would be to survive, And survival is animation, and the bulk of us desire to be anitmated.  I guess it is just the ever-prevailing WHY?

[llamaswrites]

Spiral

Fandom: Overwatch

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu/Lúcio Correia dos Santos

Summary: 

Hana said it took twenty-one days to form a habit.

It should have been simple to do.

The universe only gave him four days before everything went wrong.

Read on AO3 here.

It was yet another of Hana’s spontaneous theories and, like most ideas she came up with unrelated to battle tactics (either in Starcraft or actual combat), it was completely awful.

“It’s really simple in theory,” she told Lúcio through a mouthful of chips and ice cream. It was a combination that he always found awful, but it made appearance any time either of them had something go down that required ‘bestie time’, as Hana put it. “You just need to stay so busy that you can’t think about him. Eventually, you’ll just forget to think about him. They say it takes twenty-one days to form a habit. Think you can do it?”

Hana didn’t know much about Akande, other than he was exactly Lúcio’s type and managed to severely bruise his fragile heart. She didn’t even know his name, because he’d never told her and she’d never asked. It was the unspoken rule when they got together that the other person didn’t pry, to just let everything flow out naturally.

This time, Hana perched on the ratty old couch she’d found in the depths of Watchpoint: Gibraltar, after having put on something awful (anime, probably) on the holoscreen at the front of the room. Lúcio sat on the floor with his back against the couch, letting Hana comb her fingers through his recently cleaned hair. After a lot of practice, he was comfortable with her helping twist his hair back into locs.  

It was hard, sometimes, to reconcile this Hana with the one he went on missions with. When she was out of the MEKA, she was bright and happy and spontaneous. In it, she was cold, calculating, and brutal, everything she trained to be as essentially a child soldier.

“I’m going to bet that’s worked for exactly no one ,” he told her, eyes trained on the screen in front of him but not really watching. “How do you come up with this stuff?”

“I don’t,” she said, but then backtracked. “At least, I didn’t come up with this. It’s something 76 mentioned to me once.”

“You should leave that poor guy alone,” Lúcio mumbled, and then asked “What did he have to say? I didn’t think he really had anything or anyone outside of just being an old soldier past his time.”

“You tell me to leave him alone and still want to scoop? I don’t think that’s fair!” She tugged on a completed loc playfully.

“It’s not like you’re going to leave him alone anyway. Just spill!”

He expected Hana to spill immediately, like whenever she had a juicy piece of gossip about someone on base, but she hesitated. “I’m not really sure if it’s my story or whatever to tell, but...I found him one night when I was exploring, out near the big beacon that acts like a lighthouse over the straight. His visor was off and he was slamming back this cheap ass beer. I asked him if he wanted to have some company, to share some war stories and beer because I had some too and god knows none of us are getting therapy anytime soon and he told me, ‘That’s not why I’m out here’.

“He let me join him though, and few beers later he started talking. Said that back when he was the head of this whole shindig, he had a person that he was really close to, that he fell in love with. He never told them though and they died when that base blew up. He told me that piece of advice, though. Said that’s how he got over it. Maybe it’ll work for you.”

“Did he ever say who they were?” Lúcio asked, curious.

“Nah,” she said, flipping a finished loc over his shoulder. “But hey, his advice has to be worth something. He’s got way more age and wisdom and senior discounts than we’ll ever have. He probably knows what he’s talking about.”

He hummed softly in agreement, but couldn’t help imagining 76 up on that lighthouse tower. Hana probably didn’t realize that if he was up there mourning by himself that his tactics for forgetting hadn’t worked after all. Maybe his advice had worked once upon a time, but obviously something or someone recently dragged every bit of thought and obsession and grief back to the forefront of his mind. Lúcio didn’t plan on taking Hana’s advice, at least not originally. As was the case with everything in his life, but especially concerning Overwatch, trouble soon followed.

He told himself at first that he wanted to know more about Akande because he needed to thank him for the research and schematics left behind on the holo tablet. Not because, he scolded himself, he was still enamoured with the man despite not seeing him in over two weeks and despite the lack of any further promise. Searching for him on the web hadn’t been his immediate course of actions because it felt weird to search for someone he’d been so...personal...with in such an impersonal way. Lúcio was afraid of what he’d find, afraid that his experience that night would be far from unique, even if nothing was promised to make it that way. He soon found that with Akande, that should have been the least of his worries.

Instead, he checked the message Akande left for him on the datapad, hoping for some overt contact information he missed on his first glance through or clues in the metadata. The message itself was as unhelpful at it had been before. Checking the metadata was no better; it was as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, leaving it utterly unsalvageable and utterly useless. It was too much like recovered data from old watchpoints and Talon bases, deliberately obscured and damaged to hide the fingerprints of individuals long gone, or long damned in their pursuits.

Lúcio chose to look past the oddity. Surely Akande had his reasons for masking his digital trail. From his knowledge to his (too) expensive suit to the small red plates on his head announcing the fine intraneural nerve wiring to his prosthetic, it was clear he was someone , someone who dearly didn’t want to be found trivially. It should have scared Lúcio more than it did. He wasn’t prepared for how hard the fear and realization would hit him.

It had been entirely too easy to find out about Akande on the web. Lúcio thought that he misspelled his name at first because surely this couldn’t be the intimidating but gentle man he met. A quick check of the message of the datapad confirmed he had it right and a hard, cold lump of anxiety settled deep in his gut. He steeled himself and clicked on the first biography page that popped up. His eyes lighted on the picture and the lump immediately shot up into his stomach, nausea rising quickly. He threw the datapad (the same one from Akande) violently away from him and dashed to the bathroom to lose his lunch. The datapad landed on the bed’s comforter and was fine. Lúcio’s emotional state, however, was not.

Lúcio could honestly say before he saw Akande’s picture that there was not much he regretted in life or, at least, nothing he regretted deeply. He mourned deeply those lost in the revolution he’d started, wished there had been a better way, but he knew his regret would do nothing to change the past and only dishonor their memory. He didn’t really regret the actions that led him to lose his lower legs; after all, he wouldn’t be the same person or have all the same friends today with them.

After emptying his stomach, he rested his head back against the wall. He realized, panting slightly, that this was his first true regret. The only person that could reasonably be worse in this situation might be Gabriel Reyes, if he ever really was a person when he was still in Blackwatch (there was still so much he didn’t know or wasn’t privileged to). Or maybe Widowmaker. Still, Akande -- Doomfist -- was terrible in his own right. He killed so many in his rise to power through Talon; more still would be lost Talon’s warmongering efforts succeeded. He was the antithesis to everything Lúcio stood for in his life and Lúcio had let him see the most vulnerable part of him, both personally and with his tech.

The memory of being touched gently by Akande, by the same hands that killed so many, flitted by in his brain and Lúcio smashed his head back against the tile wall, quashing down the nausea that rose violently in him with pain. He took a few deeps breaths and tried to center himself. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as he was making it out to be. After all, Aka-- Doomfist certainly hadn’t mentioned to anyone what had happened between them and if he did, it hadn’t gotten out. Maybe this was just another passing thing for Doomfist or at most, some manipulation on Talon’s part. He couldn’t let it get to him. He wouldn’t.

The keypad beeping faintly in the distance was all the warning he got before Hana barged into his room, 76 in tow with a tray of food. Apparently in his internal angsting, he missed dinner. Hana joined him on the floor of the bathroom without hesitation, smoothing his locs away form his face. 76 positioned himself in the doorway between the bathroom and bedroom with the tray balanced on a single hand, obviously irritated by being dragged along but still not leaving.

“You never miss dinner, are you sick?” asked Hana. Lúcio shook his head and smiled weakly at her.

“Nah, I’m not sick,” he said and tried to stand up. Hana pulled him back down to the cool floor.

“What’s wrong? I know something’s wrong. Is it him?” she asked once more. Lúcio glanced up quickly at 76. The old soldier seemed to be unimpressed by what the youngsters before him were talking about and studying the room around him. An arched eyebrow above his visor, though, cued Lúcio into the fact that 76 was actually listening to their conversation.

“Um, kinda,” Lúcio admitted quietly, trying to prevent 76 from listening in. It probably didn’t work; super soldier hearing made having private conversations near impossible. “Just...I think I need to take your advice, for once. I’m driving myself nuts.”

Hana helped him to his feet and together, they stumbled back into the bedroom. His prosthetics feld like dead weight as he settled back onto the bed. Hana relocated the tablet to his bedside table, where 76 also placed the tray of food. 76 averted his gaze when Lúcio undid the locks on the prosthetics but Hana just leaned on his shoulder, entirely used to seeing his legs off and knowing it just made everything more awkward if she ignored the elephant in the room.

76 took up post by the door, clearly waiting for Hana as she whispered to Lúcio, “Love sucks. It gets better though. I promise.”

“It’s not, uh, love and thanks. For the advice. And for dinner.”

She pushed herself off his shoulder and off bed. “No problem! Text me if you need anything else. And hey, maybe you should start taking my advice more often.”

“You had a good idea for once?” rumbled 76’s voice finally. “The world must be ending.”

Hana pouted at him with crossed arms as he poked roughly at the keypad to open the door. 76 waited outside in the hall as she hugged Lúcio.

“Can it, mister,” she told the old soldier as she joined him in the hallway. “Besides, this bit of wisdom wasn’t one-hundred-percent Hana Song Certified. If it goes topsy turvy, it’s your fault.”

The door closed, but Lúcio could still hear the indignant, “My fault?” from the other side as he flopped back down the bed. For some reason, he had a feeling that sleep would not come easy.

Everything that could go wrong, did so like this:

Hana said it took twenty-one days to form a habit. Simple enough, Lúcio thought. Overwatch always had a plethora of missions available, ranging from escort situations to active combat situations. He signed himself up for the most mind numbing missions he can find after he fails to not think of the night in Rio for a week straight. This will work, he told himself.

And it did, for about four days. Four days of pushing himself to the limit and falling in his bed or a cot every night, absolutely exhausted. Four days of getting up, showering, and throwing himself back into his work, healing and guiding and fighting with blood making his skin tacky.

His life hadn’t been this intense since living back in the favela under Vishkar. These missions were the most extreme Overwatch had to offer, the ones that were always waiting for one last brave soul to make them a reality. Lúcio found himself crawling through vent ducts and scorching under the heat of the Cairo sun, all in the name of justice (and keeping his mind off of Akande). He didn’t even realize his plan was working.

Everything went wrong, starting like this:

They’re up in a satellite state of Russia and the air was cold enough to make breathing physically hurt. The sun, just starting to set below the horizon, did not help the temperature at all. The mission is in an area that could be described as a slum. Each shack was built out spare parts, whether from the siding of trains or the hulls of Volskaya mechs and rats, more impervious to the cold than Lúcio was, ran underfoot.The streets were narrow and wound through it in an almost non-Euclidean manner, making it all the more impossible to avoid the sharp icicles hanging from the tin ramshackle roofs. If not for the cold, it would make Lúcio miss his favela fiercely.

There was a definite sense of poverty, yes, but also a feeling of community and belonging. Everyone here knew each other and each other’s business, which made the Overwatch team’s presence all the more glaringly obvious. Their objective was a specific omnic living in one of these shacks, particularly escorting them to safety from the harshly anti-omnic groups circling like sharks around the neighborhood. Omnics were exceedingly rare in Russia, though this omnic had managed to survive long enough to see many others of their kind to safety. Now, only they remained, trapped by those wanting to prosecute them for the crime of protecting others. The community didn’t know or trust their intentions to help, though, and so hidden the omnic remained.

Today’s squad was smaller than their usual six man. He was accompanied by Soldier 76 and McCree, of all people and was dismayed when neither man seemed very bothered by the cold. They split up early on, to gain more ground, and Lúcio found himself quietly skating through icy alleys, followed only by the quiet hum of his sonic amplifier and the stares of the slum’s residents. There was at least a clue to where this omnic might be in the form of some sort of symbol painted on the upper left of their door, but that was according to the worried omnics this one helped. Still, working on old information was better than none at all.

He barely turned a corner when an explosion nearby rocked the slums, causing some of the icicles to fall from the eaves, shattering on the ground melodiously. Lúcio quickly backtracked to the alley he came from in search of better cover, hand reaching up to the comm in his ear to consult his team about what just happened.

76 only had time to growl out, “Talon, Reaper,” before the rest of the icicles crashed down in a cacophony as something heavy landed behind him. Lúcio froze, heart in his throat and his skin prickling up from something other than the cold. He had a feeling that, if he were to turn around, he would know exactly who was behind him.

Everything went wrong because Hana’s plan couldn’t possibly account for Doomfist finding him in the middle of a mission.

Once, he read that the now extinct wolves in America proper would refuse to look at or acknowledge humans when they were caught in a trap. Sometimes, a wolf would twist itself around in a trap if that meant not looking at a human nearby. It was as though they thought trouble didn’t exist or would go away if it wasn’t acknowledged. He didn’t understand it then, but he did now.

“We meet again, Lúcio Correia dos Santos,” rumbled a voice behind him. Lúcio willed his knees to not give out and turned around finally, knowing that not facing an enemy was probably the stupidest thing he could do, next to being intimate with the same enemy.

The next stupidest thing came out of his mouth a moment later and he wanted to slap himself. “Just Lúcio is fine, but you know that.”

The corner of Akande’s mouth twitched up into a smirk as he approached Lúcio. The way he moved reminded Lúcio of some sort of big cat stalking its prey. Any other time it might have been a flattering comparison, but in this case…

The prey was a rather idiotic frog.

Lúcio skated smoothly backwards, intent on putting some space between himself and Akande--Doomfist---he really needed to stop conflating this man with anything but enemy . He hoped Doomfist wouldn’t force him to wallride to escape, as he knew there was another wall fast approaching behind his back. Escaping that giant gauntlet while having little control on a wall other than forward was not Lúcio’s idea of a good time. Really, Lúcio ought to just flee but some stupid part of him wanted to know why he was sought out specifically.

Thankfully, Doomfist stopped. Still, his huge frame filled up the narrow alley to the point where Lúcio could barely see past him. In contrast to the images he saw in his earlier search of the Talon, the mountain of a man actually wore a shirt, with one long sleeve that nearly extended past his free hand and the other tied up above his gleaming gauntlet.

“I am glad to see you once more. You were not on any of the usual missions you take for Overwatch.”

Lúcio’s first thought was that, duh, he wasn’t on any of those missions because he was trying to avoid the man, whether it was actually encountering him or simply thinking about him. His second was to question if Akande was actually looking for him . Was the man actively stalking Overwatch just to talk to him? Subtly, he muted the comm in his ear, listening with only half attention as 76 screeched commands into their line like a hoarse, old crow .

“I have to say that, uh, I’m not really that glad,” Lúcio as he shifted his weight back and forth on his skates and studied the eaves. They were just tall enough that wallriding might be possible to get past Doomfist, but there would be a problem if he wanted to launch himself on top of the building due to the eaves.

The smirk dropped instantly and Lúcio felt his veins turned to ice. Happy Akande was terrifying and intimidating but this was on a whole other level. He wasn’t sure if he would be more intimidated of Reaper if the ghast decided to show his face right then and there (it was doubtful though, if the traded gunfire between a pulse rifle and shotguns in the distance was anything to go by).

“I must admit, I thought you might be slightly more cordial, especially after how our first meeting ended.”

Nope. Nope. What man experienced in modern combat would ever say that in the possible presence of comms that either side could hear ?

“Yeah, no, not after what a quick search of you brought up. No way.” Peeking down the other alley revealed a McCree rolling by like a tumbleweed, quickly followed by gunfire. That was a definite no.

“You did not realize who I was.” It was not a question. Lúcio glanced back and met Akande’s gaze levelly. There was no referring to him as Doomfist anymore, not with his insistence of talking about that night.

“No,” he said. Akande huffed out a laugh and shook his head incredulously. The slight movement caused his giant gauntlet to gleam with the weak rays of the dying sun.

“I see. So you make it a habit then, to let total strangers make modifications that could leave you helpless? To let them bring you to the end and--”

“Could you not?” Lúcio interrupted. “Go there, I mean. To answer your question so you will stop coming back to that, no, I don’t. Now if you could stop mentioning that night, I’d be super happy because I know we both have active comms and I don’t particularly want an international syndicate knowing the details of what I do in my free time.”

“My comm is muted,” Akande said. “I assume yours is the same.”

The gears turned in Lúcio’s head, though he was quickly brought out of his reverie by another explosion, this one closer than last time. Helix rockets, maybe?

“Your team doesn’t know either,” he said slowly.

“Yes,” said Akande.

“You’re not here for Talon reasons,” Lúcio clarified and then asked, “Why are you following me?”

This gave Akande pause.

“This is not entirely Talon related, no,” he said. “I saw a kindred spirit in you that night. One who knew what it was like to fight and rise above, to overcome and be better for it.”

“So, what? You think I’m just going to follow you back to Talon because you helped me out that night? Because I fought in a war and came out on the winning side of it?”

“I did not think it would be so simple as that, but in essence yes.”

A harsh laugh rang through the air and Lúcio realized it was his own. Even Akande looked surprised.

“You really must think I’m some sort of idiot.” Akande tried to object, but Lúcio continued speaking over him, fueled by a level of anger he didn’t know that he possessed. “No, seriously. Did you really think I would be, what, seduced by you into joining Talon? Just because I fit into some part of your weird philosophy? Let me tell you a few things.

“I’m not better because of what happened with Vishkar in Rio. Just because I don’t regret my actions doesn’t mean I want to go through it all again, that I can say I’m better for everything that happened. I don’t know how you could think anyone could be better from losing their legs, their family, everything in their life, from watching children and their parents die from the labor they were forced to do or the beatings from being out past curfew. Even worse is seeing people die in the name of a cause you yourself have spearheaded, before they could ever know a better life.

“You think I’m better for that? That they’re better for that? You can seriously fuck right off with that ideology and take your rich boy self elsewhere because I’m done here.”

Lúcio rushed towards Akande and started to crouch to begin his jump. Akande, seeing the change in posture, lunged for him but missed him by inches, hurtling towards the other end of the alley with the gauntlet. Homefree, Lúcio continued to wallride and flipped around to watch as Akande pulled up short of crashing at the end of the alley before backflipping off a wall to land in the larger street.

“Lúcio, wait!”

The first shot, he reasoned later, didn’t make its mark because Widowmaker wasn’t anticipating the manner of his exit from the alley. Still, it shattered the green plexiglass of his goggles and caused him to land off kilter, not entirely balanced on his skates.

The second hit him, but also not in its intended place. Akande, having realizing the gravity of the situation far before Lúcio did, lunged out of the alley and tackled him into the ground. Still the sniper’s bullet found its way into his right lung, entirely too close to his heart. He wouldn’t know that until later, though.

Lúcio’s world seemed to grind to a halt. Some part of him dimly registered how nice and warm Akande was over him, especially compared to how cold it was. Another part registered Akande yelling into his now unmuted com, ordering Widowmaker to stand down as he was pulled into the man’s lap, while his own comm screamed in his ear.

Akande ripped off part of his sleeve and balled it up. When he pressed it against the wound on Lúcio’s chest, the pain finally cut through the haze in his mind.

Fuck.

He’d been shot.

Pain crawled through his chest like fire and he couldn’t suppress a whimper that came out even more pathetic than it should with a pierced lung. It had been so long since he was last shot -- usually his blades were quick enough to keep him out of the line of fire. It was a familiar enough of a sensation to know that something was very, very wrong with the way pain flowed through his body.

Akande murmured apologies as he cradled Lúcio’s body and kept the cloth pressed to the wound, though it was quickly apparent it was doing nothing to help. Lúcio smiled and tried to laugh, even as he failed catching his breath. There were worse ways to go than been looked after by a really attractive guy he thought and he must have vocalized it because Akande ruefully chuckled as he raised a hand to cradle Lúcio’s face. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open and the hand that was cradling his face soon turned to striking it lightly, probably in an attempt to keep him awake.

He heard footsteps quickly approaching and suddenly, the pain cut to a fraction of what it had been. Lúcio found the strength to crack open his eyes and he saw Akande still looming over him, tense and lit by a warm yellow light. Lúcio let his head loll over to the side and saw 76 crouched by them. That explained the light, most likely from one of the soldier’s portable biotic fields.

“I’m not going to kill you,” 76 said quietly. “I’m not even going to tell anyone about this. I’ve been through this same thing. Just please, give him to me. We can still save him from the venom.”

Venom? Was that what was making this so painful?

Akande hesitated, before gently lifting Lúcio up from his lap and letting 76 take him into his arms. The cold leather of 76’s jacket was significantly different from Akande’s own natural warmth and Lúcio shivered violently. Akande’s hand stroked the side of his face gently and Lúcio leaned into the warm touch thankfully.

“Take care of him,” Akande told 76, who inclined his head slightly in response. The soldier shoved the biotic emitter in his pocket and took off running. Lúcio didn’t make to the ship before losing the fight to unconsciousness, but he was awake long enough to hear the tell-tale boom that announced Akande’s takeoff with the gauntlet.

It took three days for Lúcio to wake up completely.

In the meanwhile, he woke up for seconds or minutes at time.

Once, he woke up to Hana tying his hair back in a scarf, considerate of the way it went absolutely bonkers whenever he slept or neglected to take care of it. Her face was puffy and red, probably from crying and she stroked his face gently when she saw that his eyes were open.

Another time, he saw Zenyatta meditating in the corner of the room, lit only by the afternoon light filtering in through the blinds. The chiming of the orbs around the omnic quickly lulled Lúcio back into unconsciousness.

When he finally awoke, the room was empty save for 76. The old man sat in a chair in the corner where Zenyatta previously was, snoring beneath a magazine that lay on his face. The room was darkened and from the lack of light outside, Lúcio could guess it was well past the time any decent person should be awake. Sore and conscious of the too-tight bandages that swaddled his abdomen, Lúcio carefully sat up. He was surprised when nurses didn’t immediately swarm in with the pick up in heart rate, but it was night after all. He noticed that someone had taken his legs off and it irked him slightly that they weren’t in sight.

He tucked a stray lock of hair back into the scarf and dipped his head to his chest to inspect the wound, or what little he could see of it. Purple blood vessels, so dark they were nearly black, crawled out from under the bandage, clearly damaged by whatever the bullet was laced with. It would be a long while before he was completely recovered. With the wound so close to his heart, he was lucky to even be alive at all. Sighing, Lúcio pulled the covers back up over his chest just as someone entered the room.

The omnic clearly wasn’t a nurse. His (because this was probably the most masculine omnic Lúcio had ever seen) expensive suit looked extremely out of place in the hospital and he wasn’t the standard build that any of the nurses probably were. In contrast to most omnics he knew, including Zenyatta, this one had custom sculpting done on his frame to give him a more human-like appearance, belying that he was something outside of the range of the common omnic. Lúcio also noted with some disquiet that all of the omnic’s vital lights were red.

Could this be the omnic they tried to rescue in the slum? God, he hoped so. His luck lately would have this mystery bot be entirely bad news.

“Ah good, you’re awake,” he intoned, mechanical voice belying an accent that was, again, entirely by choice and out of the common range for most omnics. The omnic placed a wrapped box, presumably a gift of some sorts, at the foot of his bed with many more Lúcio hadn’t noticed before.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize you,” said Lúcio. The omnic chuckled darkly.

“That is good,” he said, “for both you and me, but irrelevant nevertheless. I am here on behalf of a mutual friend to check on you and deliver a gift.”

Lúcio eyed the omnic carefully. He was starting to have a few guesses to who this omnic might be and quite a few of them led back to the hole in his chest.

“How...exactly did you get in here?” Lúcio asked and glanced at 76, who still appeared to be quite passed out but still breathing. “Overwatch’s security is pretty good and if I don’t know you…”

“Their security can be the best in the world but it’s not going to stop the owner of this hospital from walking in whenever he pleases.” The omnic tapped at the datapad on the wall, pulling up Lúcio’s charts and examining them. “And don’t go looking for my identity either, you won’t find anything worthwhile there.”

Another glance at 76. Another snore.

“Did you, uh, do something to him?”

“Just a mild sedative in the coffee creamer. Don’t worry, he’ll wake up eventually.”

“So, if your...friend....needed to know how I was doing, why not just check my records through the access you already have?” Lúcio asked and the omnic turned away from the datapad with a sigh.

“Do your questions never cease? And you never ask the right one...Humans, even the more intelligent ones, are astoundingly illogical sometimes. Seeing the records was not enough to assure his heavy heart, though I’m not sure what my presence here will do in regards to that. I will say though, you are looking remarkably well for being on the receiving end of Amelie’s gun.”

Everything clicked at once.

“You’re from Talon. Akande sent you.”

“Finally, some sign of intelligence. Yes, he did. For some reason I’m failing to comprehend at the moment, he has stake in your continued existence. Now that I’ve seen sign of life in all your lacking faculties, I shall take my leave.”

And like that, the omnic strutted out of the room just as suddenly as he had arrived. Dumbfounded, Lúcio could only stare at the small present, wrapped in red paper, sitting out of his reach at the foot of the bed. Everything was spiralling out of control. The night with Akande should have never left the hotel, but now it landed him in the hospital. Overwatch probably thought that he was compromised, Talon was probably looking at him like he was a piece of meat, and now everyone would know how much he messed up.

A short time later, 76 startled himself awake with a snore and then proceeded to act like he’d never been asleep in the first place. Lúcio didn’t enlighten him as to their curious visitor and soon enough, 76 was replaced by a weepy, but happy, Hana. With her, she brought the datapad from where he had abandoned it beside his bed. He left it closed and let her chatter away about what was happening back at the Watchpoint. Being the friend she was, she immediately picked up on his quietness though he initially tried to wave it off as a reaction to recovery and the drugs they had him on.

“76 told me what happened, you know,” she said quietly. “As far as I know, he didn’t tell anyone else. You can talk about it if you need to.”

He shook his head and his gaze caught on the box at the end of the bed for what was probably the thousandth time. Tracing his gaze, Hana grabbed it.

“You keep looking at it,” she explained as she dumped it in his lap. It was heavier than he thought it would be. “Just open it. I think I know who it’s from.”

Sighing, Lúcio carefully untied the silk ribbon binding the box and lifted the lid. Inside was a poncho of some sort, made from tan lengths of woven cloth with green stripes running parallel to its length. Upon closer inspection, there seemed to be little stylized frogs embroidered upon the cloth, hopping the length of the stripes on the front of the fabric leading up to what Lúcio presumed was the neck hole. The reverse side was lined with a heavier cloth, softer than the top fabric by far.

“It’s neat,” said Hana as she reached out to run her fingers over the texture, “but what is it?”

“I’m not really sure either,” Lúcio said. “Look, you can take off the lining.”

“It looks really warm,” Hana murmured as she smoothed her hand over the soft lining. “Which is good, you’re always shivering unless you’re south of the equator! He probably noticed too.”

Lúcio said nothing and traced the outline of a frog. Hana watched him mope for a moment before she snatched the gift from his hands.

“You should wear it!” she announced and fed her hands through the fabric, presumably trying to find the neck opening to shove it over Lúcio’s head.

“Hana, no,” he objected. “I’m fine. Also I have no idea how to wear it.”

“Hana yes,” she said, “and we’ll figure it out together. Hold still!”

Luckily for Lúcio, Soldier: 76 chose that moment to wander back in the room with Efi, a hand on her shoulder. Probably to keep her from excitedly bouncing on the balls of her feet, something she almost alway did when she came to see him.

The hand failed to keep her from tackling him.

“Lúcio!” she cried as she barreled into his chest. Lúcio nearly bit through his lip to keep from crying out as her head smashed into the bandages on his chest. “I was so worried but everyone else at Overwatch said you were going to be okay but the mission details said that both Widow and Doomfist were there and oh my gosh I can’t even begin to imagine what happened, you should have taken Orisa with you--”

“Efi, it’s alright,” he reassured, prying the small girl from her tight hug around his chest. Efi didn’t seem to notice him gritting his teeth. “It all worked out okay. We’ll try to take Orisa next time, okay?”

She nodded solemnly and added, “She would have been able to kick Doomfist’s butt. Then he wouldn’t be able to hurt you or anyone else.”

Lúcio looked up guiltily to meet Hana’s pained gaze (and 76 too, if he’d actually been able to see past the visor).

It was funny how the most innocent phrase could just punch through him like a bullet.

Thankfully, Efi was distracted by the gift in Hana’s hands.

“Oh! An agbada! Can I see it?”

“Is that what this is?” Hana asked. She handed over the folded fabric to Efi, who sat back at the end of the bed and unfolded it. She traced the pattern and giggled when her fingers found the frogs.

“Yup,” she said. “It’s a super common thing for men to wear in Numbani. Or really, any Yoruba guy anywhere. Where did you get this? It’s really cute!”

“Um, a friend gave it to me,” Lúcio admitted.

“A guy friend?” asked Efi with a sly smile and Lúcio felt his face start to burn. She laughed. “It’s okay, I can tell. With the way that this was woven, I can almost guarantee a guy made it. Here, let me help you put it on.”

Lúcio leaned forward as much as his bandages allowed him to let Efi slip the agbada over his head. He was only able to get one arm through a sleeve for fear of snagging his IV, so he elected to keep it slightly wrapped around his abdomen under the cloth. Efi tugged the agbada into place, consequently dislodging the breathing tubes from his nose.

“Oops, sorry!” she said as he fixed them. “But really, you look pretty good. You’re not quite tall enough to be called agunt'asoolo, but it suits you anyway. Whoever made this for you really put a lot of care into it.”

“Yeah...he did.” Lúcio mumbled as he ran his free hand down the front of the agbada. This was physical proof of either how smitten Akande was with him, or how desperate Talon was for him to join them.

He wasn’t sure what was worse.

“I’d still wear something underneath it in the future,” said Efi, oblivious to his turmoil. “It’s really meant to be an overcoat of sorts. Maybe Orisa and I will make you some beads for your hair to match with little speakers in them. Don’t you think that would be awesome, miss Hana?”

Hana nodded with a tight smile on her face. The look she shot Lúcio plainly said we need to talk about this soon and Lúcio averted his gaze back down to the agbada. 76 was not immune to the tension in the room and checked an imaginary watch on his wrist.

“Five more minutes, kiddo,” he growled out. “He’s not going to get any better with you playing on him like a jungle gym.”

Efi plainly struck up a pout. When her parents let her visit Orisa back at whatever watchpoint she currently based out of, the pout was the demise of nearly anyone around her and she was consequently able to get away with murder.

Nearly everyone, except for Ana and 76.

Soldier: 76 stared down the small girl and when it became apparent that he wasn’t bowing, Efi turned her attention back to Lúcio, chattering about some of her newer plans and his concert schedule. When finally 76 determined her time was up, she hugged Lúcio tightly (and no, he wasn’t going to admit exactly how much it hurt, it was humiliating that the strength of an eleven-year-old’s hug made him want to cry) and hopped off the bed. It was Hana who escorted her from the room this time, leaving 76 and Lúcio alone in the small room.

Lúcio shrugged off the agbada and folded it carefully as his nurse finally came into the room. 76 took it from him and set it by the holopad at the side of the bed while his nurse ran through his vitals and started a new drip of medicine going.

“You’re going to be out like a light here in a few,” said his nurse, “so you may want to do whatever you need to before you’re dead to the world again.”

His nurse helped him walk stiffly to the bathroom and after settling him back down in bed, left. 76 settled down in the chair beside the bed and Lúcio prepared himself for a lecture. The old man said nothing, though, as Lúcio fussed with the scarf around his hair (hopefully Hana was up for helping him redo all of his locs once more). Finally, the soldier let out a sigh.

“You’re not the first to do this, you know,” he said, “and you’re definitely not going to be the last.”

“I’m not exactly doing anything,” Lúcio told him, trying to keep the snapping edge out of his voice. “Really, I’m trying not to do anything. But...but…”

He shook his head and immediately regretted it as dizziness sucker punched him from the movement. Obviously, the meds were kicking in.

“But he won’t let go,” 76 said. “And really, I don’t think you’re ready to let go either. Kid, you look like a love sick idiot anytime you so much as see that thing he got you.”

Lúcio flopped back on the bed and huffed.

“So?” he finally snapped, feeling more than a little immature. “So what? Are you going to take me off mission rosters because I’m compromised? Remove my agent status?”

“I’d be a hypocrite if I did,” said 76 and Lúcio stared at him. “Again, you’re not the first to do this. You have a good head on your shoulders and I don’t think you’re going to be leaping to join Talon anytime soon, or give them too much information.”

“So why bring this up, then?” Lúcio’s words came out slurred and his mind struggled to gain traction. He wondered if he’d remember this discussion the next time he woke up.

“I just…” 76 sighed again. “I just don’t want to see you making the same mistakes I did. There’s two sides to this, there always is. Don’t do anything stupid but…”

76 reached up to the visor as if to pinch his nose but settled for running his fingers through his white hair.

“Just know that there’s more to life than fighting, okay? If there comes a time that you’re starting to doubt if you’re in the right place, don’t ignore those doubts. Listen to them. It’ll serve you well.”

76 stood up and reached out to lightly ruffle what he could reach of Lúcio’s hair.

“Take care of yourself, kid. Get some sleep.”

Lúcio watched with drooping eyes as the old soldier marched out of the room and thought back to his encounter with Akande. The face Akande had given him when Lúcio ripped into him was one of a man who, for the first time in his life, doubted the ground on which he’d built his life. 76’s words echoed in his head as he gave into the medication and spiralled into unconsciousness.

He sincerely doubted that he was the one having second thoughts about where he was in life.

#overwatch #doomcio #doomfist #lucio #fanfiction

[tweefunk]

2017 Local & EP Roundup

Title says it all. Here are my favorite local MN area releases and various other EPs of 2017. List is in alphabetical order. Sorry I can’t write an essay about everything, but all y’all’s stuff is sicc.

Blacc.KLagoon x w e s t k o r e a: Baby Boy EP This collab EP showcases one of the more interesting new projects to come from the MN DIY scene. This EP owes its influence rrespectively to the jazz-rap of the early 90′s, the vibed-out party jams of early Outkast, and the staunchly political lyricism of Kendrick Lamar. I’m very interested to see where this duo goes from here, especially as they continue to hone their sound and become true innovators upon the precedent of those who came before them. This is one to watch.

Boy Pablo: Roy Pablo EP This sub-20-minute indie pop masterpiece is one of the most slept-on of the year. Boy Pablo is an 18-year old from Norway with sense of melody and composition that would the envy of people half his age. Roy Pablo finds the sweet spot between Mac DeMarco and The War on Drugs, losing the affected apathy of the former, and the inescapable pretension of the latter. Don’t sleep.

Double Grave: New Year’s Daydream Formerly known as Ego Death, Double Grave put out an excellent mini-album this year which seamlessly meshes the amplifier worship of Starflyer 59 with the prettier moments of post-punk, resulting in a noisy, but nonetheless beautiful project. 

Since learning of this band, Jeremy Warden has become one of my favorite guitarists in the scene, and his melodic lines steal the show here. In many cases, his warped, glide-stummed leads provide the real hooks. It’s easy to lose yourself in the sonic wormhole, but it’s a trip well-worth taking. Shoegaze meets immediacy.

Hippo Campus: Warm Glow EP Minnesota’s favorite exports followed up this year’s full-length Landmark with a far more progressive digital-only release. Their boyish pop charm remains intact, but this time they put their considerable instrumental chops to use and create something really special. If a twinkle band went pop, this is what you might get, and I’m all about it.

Inconsistent: Acting Cool EP This one has had a permanent place in my CD changer (shut up, I’m old) since its release. I probably jam it at least once a week in the morning when I’m getting dressed for work. 

Isaac Luedtke gives a lyrical masterclass in radical honesty in his graphic tales of depression and anxiety. As I said before, I’m old, but not so old that I don’t remember vividly what felt like to be 17 and have no idea where you belong or what you’re going to do with your life. It’s a specific type of suburban angst, but one that never really leaves. The causes of existential consternation may change, but the effects always linger. Acting Cool is frankly the most concentrated dose of whup-ass I’ve seen from a local band in a while. If this were a full-length effort, it would likely have made my AOTY list.

Look for these cats to blow up in 2018.

Less Than Jake: Sound The Alarm EP Ska rules and I’ll fight you on that. LTJ has always had strong EP releases and this one is no exception. You might not expect a third-wave ska band in its 25th year of existence to have any particularly profound thoughts on aging, but here we are.

“Welcome to my Life” seems like a direct response to their 2003 hit “The Science of Selling Yourself Short,” right down to its white-boy reggae lilt. Roger Lima’s decade-older narrator finds himself in far more apologetic mood. Years of binging, worrying too much about the future, and taking the people who love you for granted can leave you with a lifetime of missed memories, failed relationships, and self-inflicted loneliness. Instead of defiance and an acceptance of mediocrity, we’re trying to save whatever’s left.

Another song that seems unfortunately timely is “Bomb Drop.” While the band likely meant it as an allegory for the inevitability of age and irrelevance, in Trump’s America it seems all too literal. We’re just watching the clock, waiting for the bomb to drop. 

Naive Sense: [Self-Titled] EP RIP. They were too good for this world. Hands down the best hardcore band I’ve ever seen in my life. Their shows will be the stuff of legend. I shit-talk hardcore as a genre quite a bit, but Naive Sense proved that the medium can still be powerfully sublime when combined with a timely, vital message and musicians with a desire to push sonic boundaries.

I have no words. Listen for yourself and weep if you never got to witness it. They were more than a band, they were the pure voice of light and hope in human form. 

Oftener: Lavender EP The solo project of Nate Gurrola, vocalist of the now-defunct Ridgewood, Lavender marks a return after nearly two years of silence. What we have here is a collection acoustic ballads that feature some of his strongest vocal work and arrangements that refuse to be pigeonholed. Describing Lavender as acoustic shoegaze seems like a cop-out, and labeling it emo seems like an insult. There’s a lot more going on here than sad-boy whining.

Oftener has recently expanded to a full band, and will be releasing another EP as such next month. Having seen this configuration live, I’m confident that this will bring another layer to the sound and make them a band to watch moving forward.

Township: Impact Bliss Another band leaving us too soon, Township announced their impending breakup this spring, so make sure you catch a show if they make it to your area one more time.

Impact Bliss is a beautiful, textured homage to shoegaze. While Double Grave resides in the poppier, more accessible end of the spectrum, Township aren’t afraid to take their audience down long swirling rabbit holes with massive dynamic shifts to throw the listener off-balance. 

This record is best enjoyed in a dark room, slightly high at 2am, and loud. Township have shot for the ethereal majesty of Souvlaki and Loveless, and come damn close to their mark. It’s that good.

VIN: S/T EP Debut release by a new band with former member of Infinite Me and Familiar Theme features some of the most deceptively straight forward rock you’ll find in the local DIY scene. But make no mistake, this is prog all the way.

Bassist Nicholas Culliton and drummer Jacob Scully are particular standouts here. Culliton creates arpeggiated, harmonized lines where a lesser musician would just be happy to drone a root note, or just mirror the bass drum. By playing like a third guitarist, he gives the band a far thicker sound without overpowering the primary melodic elements. Scully on the other hand is a rudimental monster with the musical sense to use his chops as a complement to the music, rather than an excuse to show off.

Weathered: Misnomer EP These guys have made massive improvements to both their production and compositions since their last time out. Arrangements are fussed over and far more intricate than the emo genre is usually blessed with. In particular, the rhythm section of Christian Rassmussen and Alec Panchyshyn are a two-man wrecking crew from the moment “Better For Me” kicks into second gear, and the latter subtle touch with the sticks and some lovely color to the proceedings.

The production is also a big star here in that it imbues the music with enough clarity to be a pleasant listen, but leaves the edges just rough enough to leave some nervous intensity around the band. This newfound clarity and crispness suits Weathered well.

With another album on the way in 2018, Weathered is poised to be the Minnesota DIY scene’s next big export. Misnomer isn’t just good for a local band, it’s good for anybody.

Wretch: BANGERZ  It’s kinda like if DFA1979 weren’t edgelords and ripped way harder. This is another great local that we lost in their prime. RIP.

If you couldn’t infer from the quip above, Wretch is (was?) a drum and bass combo but with a wicked front-person whose lyrics manage to speak incisive truth to the scourge of modern beauty standards (among other subjects) while still being darkly hilarious. It doesn’t read like a sermon, but rather a brilliantly dance-able stand-up routine that would George Carlin proud. 

No, none of that is intended as a backhanded compliment. Comedy is one of the most powerful tools we have for expression. BANGERZ is one the most fun releases of the year, and also one of the most thought-provoking.

[primalpuss]

Everything is Political: Desire

I often have this conversation with my friends, detailing the accounts of our sexual exploits.  We all love to talk about sex.  About the downfalls, the victories, and that one time Y’s boyfriend accidentally came in his face.  We developed a language for the unique sexual maladies we encountered-- “cum-stum” was lingo for that horrible stomach ache I always got whenever I swallowed a load on an empty stomach.  We were all so close and so communicative, that it was almost as if the lot of us were experiencing each other’s encounters as a whole.  It was wonderful to have a group of females with whom I could confide in so wholly.  

It wasn’t long before mention of physicality during sex came about.  Of course sex is an act in which physicality is the crux of experience, but by this I mean hitting, pulling, scratching, biting, etc.  X loved having her hair pulled, Y always wanted her boyfriend to be “more assertive” with her ass in bed, and Z was already using a crop during clandestine encounters with her ex-boyfriend, bought at a bonafide sex store.  It’s not like the idea of kinky sex was so new and shiny to us, the nature of talking about it was.  I loved being slapped in the face, fucked in the ass, spanked, choked, et al.  It was exhilarating, and pushed me to a place in which the unattainable Orgasm became just a little closer.  Much to my dismay, usually not close enough.  

I never questioned my love for domination and my role as the subordinated.  In my waking rational life as a brown female in a university, the opposite was the case.  I took to examining the ways in which people are oppressed, and studied gender critically--I shaped the entirety of my college experience based on such notions, majoring in sociology.  I refused to take any premise given to me at face value, and I still pride myself on being a person who probes, questions, and analyzes.

Yet I kicked off this lens, shoved it away into an obscure corner, along with some crumpled underwear that would probably take me ages to find, whenever I had sex.  I suppose this is an apt time to mention that I have been attracted to men for the majority of my life, and have had sexual experiences and relationships with only men.  This is where it becomes sticky.

I discovered that it was a process to unearth the subconscious patriarchal force that was the root of my knee jerk responses when it came to approaching men and having relationships with them.  It took me ages to unlearn heaps of bullshit--there’s still bullshit I’m discovering and piling away to fertilize the growth of my femme knowledge and power to this day.  I didn’t ever consider that this might also apply to my sexual desires!

It was not uncommon for our group to watch documentaries on sex work, the porn industry, or watch porn together, and adopt a progressive stance of “anything is okay if it's your choice and you consent to it.”  I think that this is a good attitude to have, though not without reservation.  I say this because sex and violence go hand in hand under a system so patriarchal as ours.  I don’t mean to demonize kinks, porn, or the sex work industry, or attack them with holy water and a lesson on The Good Word.  What I mean to do is take the same critical lens that I’d neglected, and turn it upon my boudoir.  

There were two moments that led me to this point.

Watching the film The Love Witch by Anna Biller

When He asked me to hit him during sex

I will discuss point one first, as is custom.

This movie. Is. ESSENTIAL.  I am almost at a loss for words at how deftly this movie handles portraying the toxicity of idealized masculine and feminine types.  I could write pages about this film, but there are others who could do it much better than I; watch it and glean some wisdom.  

It was after watching this movie that I realized how so much of my psyche was programmed to function as a male pleasing system.  The way that I made myself ever so slightly smaller, inferior, so that he could feel bigger. I was not a stranger to this mode of thought, but this movie brought me to a new level of physical realization.  Before then, I had only grasped the concept, never fully knowing, truly knowing.  It was infuriating, terrifying, horrifying, and freeing.  The Love Witch showed me that I did not know nearly as much as I thought I did, but gave me the power to do some overdue excavation and regrowth.  And then it dawned on me: am I grasping and fetishizing my position as a subordinate to the masculine so much so, that its transmuted into my sexual experiences? So much so that I enjoy being physically hit, held down, and dominated?  Are my desires coming from a place of pure intent, or is the patriarchy there, ubiquitously penetrating every nook with the insidious intent to make me its own.  Can nothing be my own?  It feels like i’m victim to some warped version of Stockholm Syndrome, in which my captor is simultaneously internal and invisible, but also physically manifesting itself in every man I see.  Writing this now it feels so stupid and childish that I did not come upon this understanding earlier.

Now for the second.  He is probably the hottest man with whom I’ve ever slept.  He’s the kind of man that makes you feel like you’re on an adventure every time he’s in the room, who never hides behind a facade, and only speaks from the soul.  He’s not a guy who pretends to do all of this either--it's actually who he is, and it is incredible.  The story of our union is unconventional, as per, but the moment I want to discuss occured maybe the third time we slept together.  He got the gist that I liked to be choked and slapped, and he was very good at reading my body and doing what I liked.  There was a moment when we were facing each other and he looked me in the eye, and said

“I want you to hit me.”

A pretty simple request, given that he’d been doing the same to me fairly consistently.  I immediately choked up, got clammy and flustered and covered my mouth, nervously laughing, replying “I don’t think I can,” “oh gosh,” “I can’t do it, I can’t hurt you.”

Eventually I gave in, squealed and half shut my eyes, slapped him on the face.  There.  It was over, and we could get on with business as usual.  Days after, I couldn’t stop shaking the feeling of how unnatural it felt for myself to be put in the position of being dominating.  I called my friend Haley to discuss, and before I even brought it up, she launched into a story of how her friend had just pegged her boyfriend, and it had sent her into a major panic attack and identity crisis, after being in the position of the one who is fucking, rather than the one being fucked.  A version of my experience put to the extreme, but still, it was reassuring to know that I was not the only one who felt this way about the position I held in the bedroom.  

However, now that I have come to this new realization, I’m at a loss of what to do.  How do I reclaim myself and my desires in sex? How do I discover what my true desire is? I don’t want to be stuck, perpetually getting off on my own disenfranchisement and exploitation.  

Lots of men claim that sex starts to go bad when women seize more power in their lives.

“If you’d do the dishes more, and let me relax, we’d have a better time in the bedroom”

I still see this premise on TV today!  

Again, it is no wonder that I am programmed to receive desire in this way

Twisted supine, gasping for air with a fist clenching my throat while I am being pummeled

Feeling thrilled but not quite there.

#sex politics desire opinion

[stim-board-girl-blog]

Can you do a soft, fluffy, baby stum board? Thanks! Also, what types of slime will you be selling? Butter slime?

It’s posted, and I actually don’t know how to make that...I only know how to make one basic type of slime. It’s just the normal squishy stuff until I learn to make more

[mnastyar-blog]

Everyone should try to become a leader at school and later in society.

There are two types of people in our modern world: people who are leader and people who are dependent on leader. Everyone chooses own role and it is definite life of every person. However,some people think that everyone should try to become a leader in society,whereas other think that it is not necessary.56

First of all, I would like to consider if person is leader, other people will follow to him. It is definitely advantage. Secondly,as a rule, leaders have more benifits almost other people : they more active, more productive and more successful. Leader have a lot of acquaintances, they have not any problems with making friends. 55

But there are people who think that you do not be a leader in society because leaders attractive too much attention. People who dependent on you will not give you a rest. You always will be anxious and stressful.39

I do not agree with this argument because I personally think leaders can manage people and too much attention will not be a big problem for them.27

To stum up, I would like to state that everyone need to try become a leader because it improves your skills of communication and life in general.27

204

[adamac]

[merriammusicinc]

How to Read and Play Ukulele Chords: Soprano, Concert, and Tenor

If the ukulele is your first instrument, learning it can be overwhelming at the start. Ease into it with this guide on how to read and play ukulele chords.

There are literally hundreds of basic ukulele chords to choose from. If you're a newbie, that probably sounds overwhelming. Learning an instrument is rewarding but also comes with a fair share of frustrations. Sometimes it may even feel like you'll never get better.

Did you know it only takes 20 hours to learn anything? This won't make you a uke virtuoso but you will be able to have fun and play your favorite songs. The key is to break the complexities down into bite-sized pieces.

Keep reading to discover some pretty cool ukulele chords and how to harness their island magic. (That means "play them," for all you serious types!)

Ukulele Chord Basics

First things first.

If you're going to play the ukulele, you need to know the basics. Most information you see online will be for the soprano, concert, and tenor ukuleles. This is because they all use the same traditional tuning.

The strings are illustrated as vertical lines (from left to right standard G C E A string) and the frets are the horizontal lines.

String notes from ceiling to floor:

G string - 4th string (top string)

C string - 3rd string

E string - 2nd string

A string - 1st string (bottom string)

Notice the little "g" for the first string. Many ukuleles are in tune with what's called "re-entrant tuning." This means the fourth string isn't the lowest note. This high "g" lies between the E and A on the scale.

Some people prefer a linear tuning method. Linear tuning uses the "G" tuned an octave down. This makes it the lowest note on the uke and fills out the bass sound.

You will need special strings to tune your ukulele in this way. If you want to learn some sweet ukulele songs, proper tuning is a must.

Example songs that would be best for Ukulele are:

Adele - Someone Like You

Train - Hey, Soul Sister

Jason Mraz - I’m Yours

Vance Joy - Riptide

Frets

Frets are the spaces between the vertical lines along the neck of your ukulele. By holding down the strings near the fret bars and some strumming patterns, you produce a tone. This is called "fretting."

The number of frets your ukulele has depends on what size instrument you have.

Bad pun time: Don't you fret, learning an instrument makes you smarter!

Reading Chord Diagrams

Reading chord diagrams can be confusing for beginners.

Most chord diagrams you come across will be a display of the uke upright and held out in front of you. The "g" will be to the left and the "A" to the right.

A chord diagram displays the four strings and the first four frets of the ukulele. The fretted notes are displayed as black dots on the diagram. At the top of the diagram, you will see the chord spelling and small circles or "X's." A dot on the string means this should be fretted, or pressed down to the fretboard using a finger.

The small circles look like the letter "o." They indicate strings that aren't fretted and played "open."

Occasionally you will see little "Xs." These mean don't play (mute) that string.

Ukulele Chords

Chords are three or more notes played at the same time. They turn simple melodies into memorable songs.  Some of the most common chords in popular music are C Major, A Minor, F Major, G Major, D Major, and E Minor.

"Major" and "minor" refer to the quality of sound.

A common cliche is that major chords sound happy and minor chords sound sad. This is not always true.

Major and minor chords are simply different colors for your paintbrush. What matters is how they're used.

When playing chords, a good rule of thumb is one finger per fret. For example, use your second finger (the middle finger) on the second fret.

C Major (C or CMaj)

The C chord is probably the easiest chord to play on the ukulele.

To play the C chord, place your third/ring finger on the third fret of the first string. Play the other three strings open. Rest your finger right in front of the fret bar without touching it.

You should get a clear tone as you strum straight down.

A Minor (Am or A-)

To play the Am chord, place your second/middle finger on the second fret of the fourth string. Play the rest of the strings as open.

F Major (F or Fmaj)

To play this resonant chord, place your second finger on the second fret of the fourth string. Your first/index finger goes on the first fret of the second string.

Gmajor (G or Gmaj)

To play this chord, place your first finger on the second fret of the third string. Your second finger goes on the second fret of the first string. Your third finger goes on the third fret of the second string.

The G chord can make your fingers feel a bit squished. Roll your fingers around until all notes sound clear. Make sure you aren't accidentally muting any strings with a fretting finger.

D Major (D or Dmaj)

You can play the D chord with two methods. First, you can barre your first or second finger on the second fret of the fourth, third, and second strings.

A barre is using one finger to fret multiple strings at a time. It can be a bit challenging for complete beginners. If this is the case, stack your first, second, and third fingers on the second fret of the fourth, third, and second strings, respectively. As your fingers build strength, you'll be able to use either method effortlessly.

E Minor (Em or E-)

To play Em, start by placing your first finger on the second fret of the first string. Place your second finger on the third fret of the second string. Finally, place your third finger on the fourth fret of the third string.

Play all four strings for this haunting tone.

Strumming

Now it's time to add some rhythm.

A song is a combination of tones and rhythms. When you play your uke, the tone should be strong and resonant.

With your thumb, strum down from the fourth to the first string. Apply enough force to produce a loud tone. This is the force you should use while strumming.

Hold your fingers as if you are pinching pennies to buy your very first ukulele. With the fleshy parts touching, your thumb should be perpendicular to your index. You will strum primarily with your index finger. The thumb is for support.

Island stum:

Down-Down-Up-UpDownUp-Down-Down-Up-UpDownUp

Use the fleshy pad of your index to strum the up-strokes. They should be just as resonant as your down-strokes.

Practicing and Getting Good

Practice switching between the ukulele chords. This will build muscle memory which will make your playing easier and faster.

Pick two new chords and set a timer for one minute. Write down how many times you were able to switch between the chords in a minute. This is a fun way to get better at chord changes.

UkuTabs is part of the UkuWorld network which also offers ukulele tips & guides, ukulele scales, chord charts, a ukulele tuner, and much more! It plays along with ukulele music, discovers alternate fingerings – all of these contribute to you becoming a better ukulele player.

Learning an instrument is stress-relieving and makes you just a little cooler. The abundance of knowledge online can be overwhelming. It can also slow your progress.

If you find you've hit a wall in your playing, there are plenty of ukulele tabs for these and other songs online and an instructor can guide you down a path to success with its ukulele lessons.

Contact us today for a personalized plan for learning your instrument.

The post How to Read and Play Ukulele Chords: Soprano, Concert, and Tenor first appeared on Merriam Pianos

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[juniperpublishersophthalmology]

Schwartz Jampel Syndrome- A Case Report- Juniper Publishers

Juniper Publishers- JOJ Ophthalmology

Itroduction

Blepharophimosis is a general diminution of palpebral fissure in all its dimensions. The lids usually show ptosis, dystopia canthorum, lateral displacement of the lateral puncti, or abnormalities of the lashes such as ditichiasis or misdirected and stiff lashes. The other ocular defects associated with congenital blepharophimosis include strabismus, nystagmus, amblyopia, microphthalmus, anophthalmus, epicanthus inversus, microcornea and hypermetropia [1,2]. Schwartz-Jampel syndrome, an autosomal recessively transmitted disease, is a rare presentation of blepharophimosis.

    Case History

A 2 year old male child, having dysmorphic features was referred from the department of Pediatrics for Ophthalmic assessment. The child was the first born of healthy non- consanguineous parents after an uneventful pregnancy. His mental and motor development was normal and he acquired independent walking at 16 months. Fine pincer grasp developed by 9 months of age. At the age of 2 years the child could talk only two words with meaning. Social development of the child was poor because of his abnormal appearance and poor language development. The parents noted the abnormal facial expression at the age of 18 months.

On examination the child had a short stature. The head posture was normal. Forehead did not show excessive wrinkling. The child had blepharophimosis (Figure 1). Lid crease was present. The child also had hypertrichosis. The globe examination was normal. The extraocular movements were normal. There was no refractive error. Fundus was normal. The child demonstrated pursing of lips giving him a 'whistling face' appearance and restricting his mouth opening (Figure 2). The shape of the chest was abnormal with sternal protrusion and sub-costal retraction (Figure 3). There was stiffness of his abdominal wall. The upper and lower limbs demonstrated hypertonia. The deep tendon reflexes were exaggerated. He had a waddling gait. The child had a high pitched voice (Figure 4).

    Discussion

Schwartz-Jampel syndrome is a rare autosomal recessively transmitted disease, characterized by generalized myotonic myopathy, typical facial features, skeletal dysplasia, contracture of joints, growth retardation and bone maturation delay [3]. However a few cases showing dominant inheritance have also been reported. It is classified into 3 types based on age and severity

 Type 1A

 Type 1B

 Type 2

Type 1A

The type 1A disease is diagnosed in mid-childhood with recognition of myotonic facies with convex profile, short palpebral fissure, telecanthus, dimpling or quivering of the chin, prominent eyebrows, low hairline, low-set ears, flat base of the nose, micrognathia, microstomia, sometimes high-arched palate. The child exhibits progressive myotonia, muscle wasting and orthopaedic problems with decreased linear growth myotonia plateus by mid childhood. Additional findings reported in a few cases are myopia, hypertrichosis, and strabismus. The continuous myotonia is probably responsible for both muscular hypertrophy and peculiar facial appearance.

Type 1B

Type 1B is more severe than 1A, Bone dysplasia is present at birth. Long bones are shortened, femurs are dumbbell shaped. Bone epiphyses are large and vertebral bodies are flat.

Type 2

Type2 disease is more severe. Onset is neonatal, there is short limb dysplasia and long bones are bowed. Early death is frequent [4].

The diagnosis is predominantly on the basis of the typical dysmorphic facies [5]. EMG showing continuous discharges further supports the diagnosis. The gene defect in SJS type 1 is located in the 1p34-p36 of chromosome 1, whereas it is different in type 2 [6,7]. Perlecan the major proteoglycan of basement membranes is altered in patients with Schwartz- jampel syndrome disease [8]. However, a significant amount of molecular heterogeneity exists, genomically and proteomically, within SJS type 1. Currently no known correlation exists between the specific mutations found and the specific features of a given case However, the new mutations found by Stum et al. In 2006 have been discovered so recently that not enough time has elapsed to explore such possibilities. The new findings should be important tools to help find correlations among genetic variants, perlecan forms and levels, and clinical subtypes. Other facts yet unknown also may influence the severity and the specific characteristics of the disease [5]. The genetic tests for perlecan gene are not easily available in the commercial laboratories.

The child was diagnosed as having type 1A type of Schwartz- Jampel syndrome since the typical facial features became manifest at the age of 18 months. The old pictures of the child taken on his first birthday showed normal facial features. Medications that have been found useful in myotonic disorders such as phenytoin and carbamazipene may help to reduce the abnormal muscle activity. Warm baths are helpful in reducing stiffness. Botox injections are reportedly found useful to relieve blepharospsm.

Patients are generally treated with Carbamizipene 2030mg/kg body weight and most of them show improvement. Carbamazipene probably works by inhibiting neuronal sodium channels and may have direct effects on neurotransmitter systems. Orbicularis oculi myectomy, levator aponeurosis resection and lateral canthopexy are some surgical procedures which may be tried if the response to carbamazipene or botox is not adequate. The parents of the child were educated regarding the genetic nature of the disease and were referred to the geneticist. This particular child has not reported for follow-up as he belongs to a remote village far from our hospital and is probably reporting for follow-up at a nearby city.

    Conclusion

Schwartz-Jampelsyndromeisararecauseofblepharophimosis. The condition can be managed with medications in most of the?  cases. Surgery may be required if the condition does not improve with drugs.

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#Blepharophimosis #Schwartz-jampel; #Syndrome #Myotonia #Juniper Publishers Review