#its normal to start wanting a little bit more space especially at that age. to want to have space to figure out who you are
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Building off of what I wrote in my fic "Sparks," I'm really compelled by the idea of Ford genuinely no longer being interested in sailing around in a boat with Stan by the time they were seniors in high school.
I like the idea of it not being just a symptom of the resentment that had been building between them, nor it being a dream of Ford's that only paled in comparison to west coast tech, but it being a genuine loss of interest on Ford's end. I think it complicates things even further in some really juicy ways.
Like, imagine going through high school slowly losing more and more interest in the dream you've shared with your twin and only friend ever since you were little kids. How do you break it to him? How do you explain it to him without making it sound like a rejection of him? Without it making him hate you?
How do you explain it without it feeling like a spit in the face to all the hard work he's put into a plan that started out as a way of him comforting you by telling you "it doesn't matter what people say about you, you're going to be an adventurer who sails away into the sunset and never has to hear their mockery ever again, and there will be babes and treasure and heroism, and then they'll all see how cool you really are!"
And all through high school you think to yourself, "he's going to move on to more realistic dreams any day now, and then I won't have to say anything about it!" But no matter how many times you mention something else he could do with his life that he seems interested in, or bring up the challenging logistics of traveling around long-term in a boat, he sounds just as committed to the childhood dream as ever, and completely oblivious to how apprehensive you sound.
So resentment grows, little by little. Because that's easier than confronting the soul-crushing levels of guilt that are building up inside of you, every time you don't take an opportunity to tell him you don't want to do the plan anymore. You don't have a single person in your life who modeled how to have difficult conversations for you. As far as you know, having this conversation with Stan would crush him into tiny little pieces and then he would hate you forever, and you can't stand the idea of losing the only friend you've ever had.
So tensions grow. A lack of interest turns into a bitter resentment that, if you were really being honest with yourself, is directed more at yourself than it is at Stan.
And then the falling-out happens, and it seems like you were proven right. Stan hates you now, and he's never going to forgive you for giving up on his dream. But two can play that game, so you try to hate him too. Because if you hate him too, then maybe it won't hurt as much that he never came back. That he never even turned up at school, or by the boat, or in through your bedroom window in the middle of the night. He knows what dad's like, and how he says impulsive exaggerated things when he's angry, and haven't you both dealt with his harsh words countless times before and been able to dust yourselves off and joke about it later? So why isn't he back at home, joking with you about how absurd your dad acted that night, being impossible and belligerent about ruining your dream, but at least now you're even, because you've ruined his dream too.
-
And now imagine you find out he risked the lives of everyone in existence to bring you back, right after you had accepted your fate was to die killing Bill. It would be terrifying and confusing and infuriating. If he cared so much, why didn't he do something to reconnect with you sooner? Why did he ignore you in favor of trying to make it big without you? Why didn't he take the infinitely safer and simpler action of reaching out to you without you having to track down his address and send a desperate plea for help? You were convinced that he didn't care enough to bother with you unless you had an important enough reason for him to come. But even then, he thought your plans were stupid. He didn't want anything to do with you, not even with the world at stake.
Did he save your life out of guilt? Does he pity you that much? It doesn't add up with what he did in the decade leading up to shoving you into the portal. And the dissonance between the version of him in your head that hates you, and the man who held out his arms to welcome you back to your home dimension, is so strong that you feel like you're being lied to again, like you're back in the depths of gaslighting and manipulation that Bill put you through, even though there's no way that's what Stan is trying to do... right? You can't figure it out, so you run away from it. You don't want to know the answer to whether or not Stan hates you, because you don't know which answer would hurt more, so you try to make him hate you more than ever, because at least then you would know for sure how he feels.
And in the end, after he sacrifices his memories for you, and for the world, things seem clearer. The layers upon layers of confusion and anger and hurt seem to have washed away like drawings in the sand, leaving behind the simple truth: that you two had an argument, and didn't move past it for forty years, and despite everything you put each other through, you both still want to re-connect.
So you sail away in a boat together.
And at first, it's wonderful. It's exactly what you want. It feels like an apology to Stan, and a thank-you for saving the world, and a once-in-a-lifetime chance to heal the rift between you two, and it's good to be back on earth, and you wonder why you ever doubted the dream you two once had.
But then, after the first long journey you spend on the sea together, when you get back home to dry land, Stan is already talking about planning your next adventure out on the open sea. He recaps every adventure you had on the first trip, over and over again, and he wants to chat with you all through the morning and long into the night, and you don't have the words to explain to yourself that you don't have enough social battery for this, and suddenly you're slipping back into the horrifyingly familiar feeling of Stan being overbearing and needing space from him and how could you think that? How could you think that about him after everything he's done for you and everything he's forgiven you for? But the longer this goes on, the more you realize that you still don't want to spend the rest of your life sailing around with Stan. It's great fun in moderation, but the idea of your whole life revolving around Stan and going on adventures with Stan and being in a boat with Stan with no time to be by yourself thinking about your own things and figuring out your own dreams makes your skin crawl with a claustrophobic kind of panic that you still don't know how to put into words forty years after the first time this feeling grabbed you by the throat and ruined your friendship with Stanley.
But the first time this happened, it nearly ruined his life forever. You can't let yourself feel this. You don't feel this. You're happy to spend the rest of your life fulfilling Stan's lifelong dream, and making up for the time you crushed his dream, and sure, maybe he crushed your dream once too, and maybe it would be nice for him to support your dreams like you're now doing for him, but you can't say that. He saved the universe, and it would be horrible and ungrateful and cruel for you to try to voice these feelings, especially when you don't know how to voice your feelings without it making other people feel like you twisted a knife into their gut. So you try to pretend the feeling isn't there.
You go out on a boat with Stan again. You planned out another incredible journey together, and this should be fun, and you should be happy about this, but the unspoken feeling you shoved as far down in yourself as it could possibly go is eating you alive. The worst part? Stan is starting to notice. You have never been good at hiding your emotions. The trick to it has always been to convince yourself you don't feel it at all, and not think about it, and that has always worked like a charm. But whenever the emotion claws its way back up to the forefront of your mind, you can tell Stan knows something is wrong. So you can't even give him the happy ending he deserves. You can't even convince him that you want to be here on the open seas forever with him, like he deserves. And you keep trying and trying to hide it, but Stan keeps asking in roundabout ways, like "You're being awfully quiet, sixer," and "whats that look on your face?" and eventually it comes exploding out of you like a shaken-up soda bottle dropped on its cap.
And then it's like you're back at home in New Jersey again, standing in the living room while dad grabs Stanley by the shirt. It all comes pouring out of you, in the worst possible way, with the worst possible phrasing, like a pandora's box of monstrousness, and Stan tries to fight back against the sting of your words, but you're made out of acid and you're burning through him and you can see it on his face, and there's never any coming back from this, not this time, you'll just have to either jump into the ocean or become a monster forever, so Stan can hate you more easily again, and-
-and at the end of the outburst, you're still on a boat in the middle of nowhere in the ocean with your brother, in dangerous waters, and you have things to do to keep the boat running smoothly.
You can't run away from him. He can't run away from you. You're stuck here for at least a couple more weeks, even if you turned around and sailed back towards shore right away.
-
And the thing that compels me so much here, despite how unbelievably angsty it all is, is that it sets up a situation wherein the Stans might end up forced to actually address the decades of resentment and confusion and wanting-to-reconnect-throughout-it-all that they thought they could gloss over and heal with enough time spent adventuring together on a boat. They might end up forced to actually address the crux of the issue that drove them apart in the first place: Ford wanting a little more space to feel like his own person, and to feel like he's able to have his own dreams, too.
It wouldn't happen easily, nor right away, but if they were stuck together on a little boat in the middle of nowhere surrounded by magical creatures they have to protect each other from in order to make it back home alive, then after they had one fight where they brought up all the things they silently agreed to never bring up again, it would probably happen many more times, and each time it would leave them both angrier at each other than ever, until eventually something honest slipped through amidst all the saying-anything-except-what-they-mean bickering. And once enough of these honest moments slipped through, then they would have a thread to tug on to start to unravel the gargantuan knot of their decades of unresolved conflicts.
And then, eventually, maybe Stan could learn that he can have a good friendship with his brother without needing to be glued to him at the hip, and Ford needing a certain amount of alone time doesn't mean he dislikes him or wants to abandon him, and Ford could learn that he can be honest and have a meaningful connection with someone without it driving them away and making them hate him.
#succumbed to the stan twins angst visions and wrote 2000 words about this#ford pines#ford meta#this turned into a character analysis that almost reads like a fic#godswriting#<- i need to change my writing tag to this#something bothers me a little bit about the solution to their conflict being 'ford appreciates stan more now so he is now fine with-#-boat adventures with stan'. to me it leaves the initial conflict of 'he doesnt want to do that anymore' unresolved#obviously you could easily argue that ford never stopped wanting to go on boat adventures with stan and he just couldnt justify it to-#-himself when compared to the opportunity at west coast tech. but that has one less layer of conflict#compared to the possibility that he truly was not interested in boat adventures anymore. ESPECIALLY if its a manifestation of him#feeling suffocated by the whole dynamic-twins-duo thing#its normal to start wanting a little bit more space especially at that age. to want to have space to figure out who you are#the healthy thing would have been them talking about it and figuring out a compromise. like 'when ford needs space he can spend a few hours#-alone without stan being worried the whole time that it means ford hates him' and 'we still spend x amount of time working on the boat and#-we still chat on the way to and from school every day and hang out at the beach on weekends'#like of fucking course it was never about hating stan or about wanting to get away from him because of who he is as a person!#he literally just wanted to have a little bit of breathing room to be his own separate person. he just didn't know how to put it into words#I really think the crux of it all was them not knowing how to navigate that balance between independence and identity while staying close#so ford misattributing/reducing that feeling to 'I dont have the exact same dream as stan anymore. why does he still have that dream. oh no#feels like a good way of giving that conflict a tangible aspect to it thats easy for the stans to point at and talk about as a way of-#-alluding to the REAL core of the conflict between them.#and of course the show never says 'they sail around the world for the rest of their lives 24/7' so it's not like it Actually Conflicts with#-my interpretation of the conflict and how it should be resolved. but since its the last thing we see happen between them when theyre given#their happy ending. I feel compelled to say 'hey I know them living in the shack together and traveling in a boat every single year sounds-#-really fun and like a satisfying ending but I think they should have a Little Bit more space from eachother than that. Hanging out almost-#-daily but not literally being in the same house and same boat for the rest of their lives. bc if stan was ok with ford asking for that-#-little bit of space and if ford didnt panic and isolate himself from everyone whenever he needs like one hour of alone time? that would-#-feel like a big piece of the puzzle fitting into place for their conflict resolution and growth as characters. to me#and I think they deserve to have all the tied-up-loose-ends and resolved-conflicts and character-growth in the world.
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Forbidden Dream
This is all of my Adventure Time AU in chronological story order. Thanks to my friend for proof-read.
Act I: Prismo and Betty
This takes some time after the events of F&C. Prismo and Scrabby inhabit the TR(TimeRoom) and Golbetty has gotten restless with her time in space. She decides to reach out to other multiversal beings, but no one wants to associate with Golb. She finally finds someone that puts up with her ..that being the Wishmaster.
Prismo is scared of Golbetty at first, especially Scrabby since he has a little bit of history with her. He scurries off or hides behind Prismo when she is in the TR. To Scrabbys surprise, Pris and Betty hit it off and become good friends. They find they have something in common, which is their “human” past. Theyre both mortals turned to immortals.
The duo start off by drinking and making fanfics together, but then Betty proposes the idea of making these fics “real”. Prismo is hesitant at first but lately he doesn’t mind breaking the rules.
At first they visit universes that Prismo considers safe. They treat them like vacations, and a lot of these worlds do not have the typical AT characters. Theyre peaceful docile places. Prismo gets daring, telling Betty that he wants to feel alive again. The two of them agree to visit a dangerous world, the Vampire Kingdom.
Notes:
- Betty chose her physical form to look like magic Betty because she felt it would be strange to appear as she normally did in the past.
- Prismos physical form is what he looked like as a younger human. He thought it would be more fitting for the “adventure”. Also.. He hates how clothing feels on him, so the see-through garments suffice.
- Scrabby is not happy about their friendship. He feels that Prismo has gotten even lazier, foregoing his Wishmaster responsibilities and even worse, ignoring him. The scarab thought he found someone that was happy to spend time with him for the first time, But feels like he has gone back to being the “forgotten” one.
EP II: Vampire Kingdom
Once Pris and Betty teleport here, theyre immediately caught off guard by a group of vampires that whisk Prismo away and the two are separated. Betty gets surprised by a starved vampire!Simon, who at first doesnt recognize her until he gets a good look at her face.
He refuses to believe its actually Betty and rather a wizard attempting to play tricks on him. Marcy calls his name and he flys away, leaving Betty stunned.
The vampire world is an AU where Vampires take over, but Simon never died and was able to stay with Marcy. Marcy isnt evil here. Simons crown was stolen before he could make a complete transformation into IceKing, and his sanity was kept in part to Marcy turning him to save him from a group of hungry vampires. One curse was replaced with another.
Marcy was turned at a younger age by the VK, but Simon saved her by scratching at the VKs eye (his face scar). Even though the King is furious at Simon for this, he thinks it is more amusing to keep Simon alive and suffering from vampirism. Vampires are starved in this world just like “The Star” episode, but Simon proposes the idea to wrangle human (and animal) survivors and keep them on a reserve to supply the Vampires with a food source. He inevitably becomes the person in charge of the Blood farms. Keep in mind, Simon did this to save humans, otherwise they would have been hunted to extinction.
Unlike the safe worlds PrisBetty visited, this world has most of the original cast in them. Finn is a survivor of the Blood Farms, swearing to kill Simon who he believes imprisoned him in there (which.. is true). The farm is surrounded by booby traps all around the perimeter, no one can get in or out without some level of flying.
Finn always managed to get close to escaping But eventually gets caught in one of the traps. The last attempt caused him to cut his own arm off to be freed and helped by Huntress Wizard. She is one of the few wizards to help the freedom fighters, a band of humans and candy people led by Commander PB. Wizards are hated by Vampires since theyre the few beings that can overpower them. They try to stay out of each others business But huntress is an exception as she feels that the vampires are disrupting the balance of nature.
The Candy Kingdom is fortress walled with wooden spikes and garlic (I thought it would be silly Lol). PBs armor consists of wooden stakes and reminiscent of Golb who she is a follower of. She has access to the Enchiridion and sees Golb as a being that she should harness the power of if the vampires happen to overwhelm her people someday.
The end of the story would involve PrisBetty helping Simon overthrow the VK after Marcy discovers the vampires ability to “drink red” instead of blood. They team up with the help of PB and Huntress. Simon never truly reconciles with Betty as his defense mechanism is to push any feelings of his past away. But he does have a newfound respect for her and tells her to visit him again. Simon will assume the role of Vampire King and free the humans afterward.
Notes:
- Simon is the only vampire dressing in traditionally “Dracula” clothes. Because hes a nerd and thinks its fitting.
- Marcy is raised by Simon here instead of VK, so she is a lot kinder and sympathetic to the humans and candy kingdom (even if she doesnt show it for a while).
EP III: Winter Kingdom
After the Vampire world, Prismo and Betty decide their adventuring is “complete” and attempt to teleport back to the Time Room with Prismos magic. This doesnt work out. Turns out, their human forms have been draining their magic slowly, making it so that they need to find a magical item to recharge. This being the Enchiridion.
This is a totally different world than (Canon) Winter Kings as obviously he is alive here.
Ooo has been mysteriously frozen over and put into an eternal Ice Age. There is hardly any life (apart from immortal beings and those resistant to the temperatures) so hardly anyone lives on the surface. Prismo automatically assumes WK is responsible, but Betty refuses to believe Simon would be the cause of this destruction. WK has a much larger kingdom with a variety of ice people, a lot of them more human-like in appearance. It seems like he is trying to mirror a human society.
Here WK has Bettys skeleton and attempting to use the cloning machine he has in F&C to clone a “real” Betty (which is why he doesnt have an ice clone of her).
The backstory of this WK mirrors my au version of him.
Prismo and Betty are briefly separated and I wont go into too much detail on the story. Betty gets the “safe” tour of the kingdom by WK and Prismo is left to wander in search for the Enchiridion. He starts to see things that point to a darker scene (fire people fighting ice soldiers, lack of any plant life, and ice clones of people who no longer exist). At the same time, Betty is off-put by WKs controlling nature. He reveals to her that he has been in a 100-year war with the Fire Kingdom “who destroy everything” with their flames, while ice “preserves it”. Betty is shocked to see the extent of destruction the Ice Kingdom has caused to Ooo and manages to slip away to do her own investigating. She eventually ends up in the room Bettys corpse is kept, which is the only place that WK allows plant life to grow. The Enchiridion was sitting on skeleton Bettys lap.
The two of them engage in a fight where he details his plan for her and Ooo.
Prismo manages to save her at the end of it. Up until this point hes been a pacifist in the story. They use the Enchiridion to teleport home and they end up.. not there.
Notes:
- I had a bonus page where Scrabby is reacting to PrisBetty not arriving back in the Time Room. He thinks they didnt teleport back on purpose.
- This page also has WK grabbing Bettys ankle right as she teleports. I was going to have WK teleport with them so there was some kind of threat. I am not sure yet.
- The fight scene was supposed to be a lot longer with Betty having the upperhand at first, But I didnt want to draw all of it.
- Winters appearance slowly turns back into Simon when separated from the magic crown.
EP IV: Back Home
They end up in Ooo where the magic teleported them into the sky, making them fall a great distance. They are a little injured, but Betty is mostly shaken by her experience in the Winter world. She redirects this into frustration at Prismo for not teleporting them to the correct place and that they would need to search another “sucky universe”.
Prismo is frustrated and goes off on his own to find another magical object. Betty stays put in the forest. When looking up, Prismo realizes the universe they teleported to was actually the main Ooo upon seeing the floating human city. He rushes back to where Betty was sitting, telling her to go find her Simon here in Ooo, that he knew that he had the Enchiridion in his closet. Betty refuses, knowing that she already said goodbye to Simon years ago and him seeing her again will only hurt him.
Prismo is annoyed at this but walks off, and Betty wanders around the forest until she encounters one of the transport boats that take people up to the city. In her reluctance, she hitches a ride. Meanwhile Prismo reaches a graveyard on the outskirts of the woods, he hides in the bushes and sees a familiar person, Finn, walking up and leaving a bouquet of flowers at the grave.
When Betty makes it up to the city, she explores for a bit before approaching Simon (who is signing a childs book). Before she could say anything, she covers her face with her hat and speeds off. He is at first confused by this but is immediately distracted by the kid again.
Betty is in shock and retreats onto the boat leading her back down to land. She eventually catches up to Prismo, who is kneeling over Jakes grave. She attempts to comfort him, but the words fall short. He asks her if she visited Simon, but Betty says she couldnt do it. At this point Prismo feels like he wasted his time in the Time Room when he could have been spending it in his human form visiting Jake. He remained trapped in the TR unable to spend time with the mortals he built connections with. He feels that Betty is going to suffer the same regret he feels after Simon inevitably dies.
In a turn of events, Prismo places his hand on the grave and it teleports them back into the Time Room. They are amazed by this, Jakes grave acted like a magical object would have. They temporarily celebrate before Betty is impaled by an angry Scrabby.
Bettys human form is heavily injured as Prismo and the Scarab fight in several rooms. Scrabby tells him that he alerted the auditors about their misdeeds. That they will both be locked away for thousands of years or perhaps forever just like he was trapped in the Time Room.
Prismo temporarily subdues Scrabby and goes back to the main room where Betty is. This is where he turns her into a fox to keep her hidden, and promises that her memories are all stored in her body dormant in Golb (Like how Prismos form is dormant in the Time Room).
Fox!Betty wakes up in Ooo, no memories, a feeling of disconnect from her body, and hungry.
End of Act 1
Act II is all about Bettys life as a fox in Ooo. Its a lot calmer and slow burn in comparison to Act I. Upon landing in Ooo, fox!Betty encounters posters advertising Simons* sci-fi series Casper and Nova. She is convinced he is knowledgeable about space because a talking dog told her he was.
*EDIT: Someone pointed out that C&N was written by Astrid (it is implied heavily). Pretend the posters are the two of them working together, maybe Simon helping Astrid write them since she is just a kid.
She starts pestering Simon at one of his book signings and he already dislikes foxes because earlier in the week, a band of them stole his draft for an upcoming book. Betty proposes that she will find the notes and return them to him if she can have a place to stay (Even though he says no, she crashes at his place anyway).
I thought about Simon giving Betty a nickname so that she isnt just referred to as “fox”, so she is “Sunny” since she really likes when he makes sunny-side up eggs. She really likes eggs as a fox that is her quirk.
Update 1/21/24: Sunny encounters Simon after breaking into his home and snooping around for clues. Simon ambushes her in the Golb ritual room, assuming she has come to steal the Enchiridion. Sunny explains herself and claims that she can get Simons draft back from the fox thieves. They go on an “adventure”. It is revealed that fox!Betty can transform into Betty only when unconscious/sleeping. Simon wakes up next to her but assumes he is hallucinating..
Post about Simon and fox!Bettys dynamic.
I couldnt fit all images into this post as there is a 10 photo limit. I decided to link additional photos to underlined text. If you want further context, check those out. I love reading others AUs and was inspired to do my own. Any questions can be left in comment. Thanks for read..!
#Forbidden Dream AU#Edit: 1/21/24#adventure time#fionna and cake#betty grof#prismo#simon petrikov#au#headcanon#fanart#guide post#vampire simon#winter king#prismo the wishmaster#the scarab#petrigrof#golbetty#golb#princess bubblegum#marceline the vampire queen
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hello everyone. do you want to hear about my roleslaying with roman time loop au. you will. you will hear about my roleslaying with roman time loop au. (this is a long post, so its under the read more link)
there are three loops. the first two are relatively normal and coherent (although the second one is a bit stranger than the first), but then in the third one, nothing makes sense, and the time-space continuum is falling apart.
the first loop is the canon story-line, as it is.
the second loop is set in a futuristic and highly technological world, drawing inspiration from the early stages of US/EU imperialism and the WW1/ WW2 era.
the bard kingdom is a militaristic imperialist empire that has created a sphere of influence worldwide. because this draws on the age of modern warfare, the guards have access to things such as guns, bombs, poisonous gases, and other forms of chemical warfare.
the bard college is a gigantic structure located in the middle of a highly futuristic and technologically advanced neon. this is where the fey used to live.
the bard king is a lot like imperialist politicians of the 19th and 20th century, meaning that hes very obviously a money-obsessed warmongering prejudiced fuck.
in this loop, youngblood never left the college, and doesn't have any memories from his life before he was enlisted. prior to the events of the plot, he accidentally burned noise (like in canon), but so severely that it killed him. youngblood's guilt over the incident keeps him anchored to the bard college.
youngblood is also traumatized by the horrific warfare he had to participate in, and especially by how dire the consequences of modern war technology are.
this is inspired by "Dulce et Decorum Est" by Wilfred Owen, a poem written by a former WWI soldier about the traumatic experience of seeing a fellow soldier suffocated by mustard gas. the poem is also very critical of the nationalism that encouraged people to enlist.
prior to noise's death, noise was the only thing that kept youngblood from despising the bard college entirely and leaving. noise was completely loyal to the empire, but youngblood loved him anyway.
roman does not remember how or why hes in the bard college, but at the start of the story, its his first day there. he has a vague idea of his family legacy, but doesn't remember his past and has little recollection of his family. still, upholding the legacy motivates many of his decisions.
(i have the idea that reston is a mining / steel town, purely because of how important steel and fossil fuels were in the era that i'm drawing inspiration from)
youngblood and roman eventually meet, and have the vague memory of meeting each other before. youngblood is much more volatile and straight-laced. roman's anxiety is much more prominent, and so is his need to be the hero in the situation.
roman still wants to be friends with youngblood, and still wants to get to know him better. eventually, roman helps youngblood work through his guilt and shows him that hes worthy of being cared for and that he does not have to suffer through the bard king's abuse, despite the horrible things he's done in the past. eventually, they escape the bard college together.
until the loop restarts again…
the third loop is inspired by classic fairytales, drawing from the medieval period and also the neoclassical era, with some inspiration from the renaissance era as well. It also has some inspiration from surrealist art.
the third loop is. very strange. incredibly weird. its falling apart, but still running because that's what the loop is supposed to do. the bard college is still built on fey land, but now its an insanely massive superstructure. there are a lot of things in the structure that just don't make sense: windows in the floors and ceilings, doors that lead nowhere, halls that seemingly go on endlessly without any destination, stairs that lead to walls, and unnecessary architectural elements that end abruptly and have no purpose. it's seemingly never-ending, and just expands on and on. everywhere you go, there are flowers sprouting where they shouldn't be. it is impossible to get in or get out without the bard king's guidance, because it is built like a maze. the bard king can also change the entire structure of the bard college at will, making it even more incomprehensible.
there aren't any teachers / authority figures in the school except for the bard king. there also aren't any students / guards other than the known cast of bard characters. there are seemingly other people at the college, but they aren't real, because they're all indistinguishable and faceless.
like in the second loop, youngblood hasn't left the college, and still doesn't have his memories from before he was there. he is much quieter and withdrawn; he presents himself as a perfect prince but has a boiling temper underneath.
prior to the events of the plot, youngblood's relationship with noise is extremely rocky. he loved noise during his childhood, but started to resent him over time due to his ignorance of how horrible their situation was, and how unflinchingly loyal he was to the college. eventually he deliberately kills noise out of this resentment.
youngblood is incredibly lonely after this and starts to regret his decision. the bard king intentionally fuels his guilt about the situation to manipulate him into being loyal and thinking he deserves to be abused.
roman enters the plot as the perfect image of a knight in shining armor. he doesn't remember anything about how he got to the bard college or why hes there, but like the second loop, the plot starts on his first day there. he has no recollection of his family legacy, but he has a faint, vague, muddled memory of a prince with light hair and dark skin who inspired him to keep living. this memory guides a lot of his actions. he's still the kind and compassionate person that he was in the canon timeline, but his need to be the hero in the situation is very strong, and he does tend to come off as domineering because of this. he's constantly anxious about his lack of memory.
(the prince saving roman's life is supposed to be what is left of his memory of youngblood before this time loop. roman tends to see youngblood as this perfect idealized prince figure, but eventually learns to see youngblood as the nuanced person that he is, and accept him flaws and all)
the end of this loop follows the same structure as the second one. of course, in this loop it would unfold in a different fashion. when roman and youngblood escape the college, there is an attempt to restart the loop again. however, the third loop is falling apart so incomprehensibly that it's nearly impossible for the timeline to be recovered. they're sent to the start of the loop with their memories intact, and their surroundings are practically nonexistent.
#roleslaying with roman#rswr roman#rswr youngblood#roman of reston#youngblood ra#apex eclipse#time loop au
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(prompt response) "You're right, we are peaceful." He said, slowly standing up and lifting an axe that dwarfed him in size. "For you're only 'peaceful' if you're capable of great violence. Otherwise, the word is 'Harmless'."
We were jumpy in the days after we trapped Iola in the Plane of Elemental Calm. Even with Sansen sacrificing his hope and mental health to scan futures—coming up clean every time—and Meloai staying up all night on watch, I still had nightmares of the bubble-skinned thing Iola had become melting a hole in the fabric of space and doing... well, the nightmares were never clear on what, exactly, but it probably wasn't pleasant, judging by the way I shot awake in a cold sweat.
Tension in the party was at an all-time high, especially since none of us had, er, talked about what we'd glimpsed in the Plane of Elemental Possibility. Lucet had deliberately made a note of making her sleeping bag as far away from mine as humanly possible, and I took the hint that she didn't want to chat about it now. Or maybe ever.
So we needed a bit of old-fashioned banter to unwind every now and then, and old-fashioned banter was exactly what we got.
"I say the elves should be the most peaceful species, at least on paper," Meloai grated out as she clambered down the mountain. Our ragtag little adventuring party wasn't at its best right now, but we still had the energy to talk while we climbed. Meloai in particular seemed to have been hurt in the Plane of Elemental Cold, although I... wasn't really sure how mimic biology worked, and neither was she. Still, she managed to keep up a lighthearted expression as we inched down the Silent Peaks.
Lucet scoffed, hammering a rope into a cliff face and casting it down with ease of long practice. A native-born Peaks child probably forgot more than I'd ever know about rock climbing. "An elf? Are you crazy? Right after Iola just tried to light-magic us out of existence, too?"
"I don't think that was traditional light magic," Meloai said. "The last person he used that spell on started bleeding and vomiting, and that was before he became an eldritch abomination."
"See? Does that sound peaceful to you?"
"All I'm saying is that elves are supposed to feel joy. I don't think Iola's a very good example of what elves are normally like. They sound like they'd be... I dunno, better people, on average. Better than Iola, at least."
"Well, that one elf in particular is pretty peaceful now," I said, piping up, "because we violence'd his ass into a place where he won't be hurting anyone."
Meloai and Lucet chuckled, while Sansen merely grunted. The wrinkled old man was the most experienced of the four of us when it came to adventures like this, and I had a feeling he was about to put our banter to shame. "If you want a real answer? I think the Fey are the most peaceful of all the human-derived species. They just live in their forests and grow their crops and bugger off whenever someone threatens them."
"No, see, that's not peaceful." I tested the rope Lucet had nailed down, then started absailing down the sheer cliff face. I had to speak up to be heard over the wind. "That's just passive. I'm pretty sure the fey are, like, mentally incapable of not immediately forgiving anyone they meet. It's part of their biology. Magicology?"
"You're looking for 'mythology'," Meloai absently said.
"Yeah, that." Ugh, I'd even taken a class called Mythology of Magical Beings, way back in what seemed to be an age and a half ago. "Forgiveness is Regrowth and all that. The fey physically cannot do anything but forgive tresspassers in their forests. I don't think that's peaceful so much as helpless."
"So... what, in order to be peaceful, you have to be capable of immense violence, just... choosing to hold back for the time being?" Meloai mused, rubbing her chin. The shapeshifter currently in the form of a young girl grinned. "Because I can do that." Quick as a flash, her left arm morphed into an axe taller than she was—partly because she grew shorter to compensate for the lost mass.
"Well, rifts, by that measure, we're probably the most peaceful adventuring party in the whole of the Silent Peaks!" Lucet chimed in.
I couldn't see Sansen from my position climbing down the cliff face, but I could imagine the gruff grimace in the old man's face. "I don't think that's what peaceful means," he mused, and I could almost imagine him back at home with a cup of brandy, eyes twinkling as he philosophized, instead of running around with three violent teenagers who called themselves an adventuring party. "I think that being peaceful is... something for people who've managed to forget violence. For children whose greatest concern is how they will go to school, or what their friends will think of their new clothes. I think that being peaceful is something that we fight for, not for ourselves, but for the next generation. We die in violence so they can live in peace."
The only sound to follow that was the whistling of the desolate winter winds around the empty Silent Peaks.
Then Meloai hefted her axe. "So, uh, no incredible violence for me, then?"
And just like that, we were back to laughing and chuckling and climbing down the next section of rope. "I just said we'd die in violence," Sansen said, expertly navigating the rocky cliff with the help of the rope.
"Rifts, that is not what you want to hear from the party oracle," I muttered.
"But we die for a purpose." I could hear the smile in Lucet's voice. "I like that. So the most peaceful people in the world... is not the people of today."
"It's the children of tomorrow," Sansen agreed. "That's what we fight for."
Burning with determination, our ragtag adventuring party continued crawling down the side of the Silent Peaks, to whatever death awaited us and whatever peace we would find after.
A.N.
Soulmage is a serial written in response to writing prompts. Stick around for more episodes, or join my Discord to chat about it!
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#writing#writing prompt#writers on tumblr#writers of tumblr#writblr#serial fiction#fiction#series#web serial#oc#soulmage#dark academia#fantasy#high fantasy#magic#worldbuilding
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I was delusional to think this year would be different. TW:SH/ED
why are moms so toxic? i cant remember one birthday in which everything went smoothly ansd i truly felt loved by her. she has always made it clear to me that im not enough, she has sacrificed too much for me, im a waste of space, im a lazy sack of shit and she wished she never had me or my sister.
I just woke up a couple hours ago really excited because she stayed out late last night so I didn't get a chance to talk with her (we were starting to get along weirdly) and my birthday is tomorrow so I wanted to hear what her plans were and instead she yelled at me for not getting up earlier, for not having a job yet, (even though I had to quit my last one because of her and I've been applying for jobs ever since) she said I should stop using being autistic as an excuse because I'm "not really autistic", I'm "completely normal, I'm just a giant asshole"
why would she say that??! and then to make matters worse, a family friend is planning to make me food for tomorrow and so my mom said the least I could do to earn such a gift that I don't deserve, I should go swimming with her in her pool, although I cannot because I recently relapsed heavily and have sh scars all over my arms and legs and I would rather politely decline a swim rather than worrying everyone I know and love. so anyway, I couldn't tell my mom why I couldn't swim so I just said I'm really not feeling up to it and she replied with "okay well then, you're dead to me" and strangely as punishment forbid me from using her shower ever again?? I have a shower, but it's infested with mold, and we didn't find that out until I passed out after a shower, so I think that means I really am dead to her?? ouch!
I'm really sad though, more so because we just bought groceries and now, I may be wasting food because I'm fasting. how can I be a good anorexic though when my fear of wasting food overpowers my fear of gaining?? idk maybe I'll just cook for everyone else on my bday, that is, if I knew anyone to cook for. I also feel bad for not swimming with our friend especially because she is cooking a whole feast for me! something my mother would never be caught dead doing. a lot of my issues with food come from having no structure nor comfort in my household growing up, i went from eating too much to never eating enough. i love it though when i see family friends and they are always telling me that ive gotten too skinny and i need to eat more, and as a result always cook food for me and lecture my mom for not paying attention to me, not that shes obligated to, as im almost 20, but as long as im stuck with her due to finances and just a tad bit of codependency, she should be a little nicer to me right??
am I crazy for thinking that regardless of my age or life situation, when I'm home it should feel like home?? if I were going to college no one would question me for still being here, I'm just trying to save up some money but every time I do, my mom demands to borrow it and then threatens me that she won't pay me back if I don't do this or that for her. did I mention that she always plays the victim too?
she genuinely believes that the world owes her something. she thinks because of her disability, people should bow down to her and cater to her every need! that is so immature! its every man for themselves, if you can't hold yourself accountable, how do you expect your life to improve? doing the same thing over and over with no result gets you nowhere! that's insanity, its naive. I don't want to waste my life catering to her when I spent the first 19 years of my life being the adult and her being the child. I deserved better.
now I just want her to see how terrible of a job she did by rotting away. I don't care anymore, I know that's selfish but I just don't care about anything anymore, I want to starve, I don't want to eat anymore. I know better than to starve myself, but it feels so damn validating when I'm losing weight.
#ed bllog#ed relapse#tw ana diary#tw ana shit#tw ed diet#ed vent#i only harm myself and no one else#i wanna be weightless#starv1ng#starv3#tw ana fast#ana trigger#ana and mia#emotional abuse#mommy issues#tw sh related#i wanna be perfect
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Recently in ‘Lines I Loved Writing’:
True to form, the first thing Cor said after he’d cried himself out was, “Sorry the eggs got cold.”
It was enough to get Scotty laughing, despite the fact that he’d ended up a bit cracked himself there; Corry hadn’t picked his head up to say it, but even though the words were kind of choked, and muffled into a wet shirt, there was a wry humor to them that was almost certainly for Scotty’s benefit.
There was mercy in some rituals, including the occasional use of the absurd to bring them back to an even keel. Especially when they’d been knocked over. It wasn’t really avoidance, just-- space, maybe, to get some air back again.
“Well, I just don’t know how I’m gonna live with this tragedy,” he quipped back, rubbing the edge of his jaw against the side of Cor’s head, chest a little ragged but-- everything still functional.
“Probably by going and finding ten other jobs to do in the surrounding area, until more local professionals beg you to stop. I’m waiting for you to start on the chefs and short-order cooks, once you wipe out the lawn equipment.” Corry picked his head up, drawing away to wipe at his face with his other sleeve. “How about you use some of your moonlighting funds to buy me breakfast?” he asked, after heaving out a shaky breath.
“I could heat those eggs back up,” Scotty said, though it wasn’t so much a protest as an offer; it wasn’t any kind of issue to compost ‘em, if Cor really did prefer to go out somewhere. He leaned over until their shoulders were pressed together, a moment’s more contact. “I mean, unless ye need to get outta here for a bit.”
Corry rubbed over his face, shaking his head for the first part and then nodding for the second. “The latter.” He smirked from behind his hand. “I’ll even let you drive.”
As if he didn’t already let Scotty drive whenever he asked for the keys. Scotty snorted, but he still got up to grab their jackets out of the hallway, giving Corry’s head a little shove as he did. “Least ye can do, given how much I save ye on maintenance costs.”
Corry snorted right back at him as he moved to clear away their failed attempt at breakfast. “Like I didn’t spend four years in Engineering School. I can do my own maintenance, I just don’t want to bother.”
“Spoken like a blue-shirt.” Scotty layered as much woe into his voice as he possibly could, leaning on the melodrama to add, “Ye coulda gone on to become a famous engineer, but then the siren’s song o’ bio-sciences snared ye--” He wiggled his fingers on his free hand in Corry’s direction, aiming to get a laugh. “--and once the boredom had its claws in, it was all over.”
Even as he took his jacket, Cor did laugh. “Are you implying that I was ever a good enough mechanical engineer to become famous? Mister ‘I Made History at Age Sixteen'?”
“Welllllll-- I was maybe bein’ a mite generous--” Scotty shrugged, turning and heading for the front door, smiling to himself once he was sure he wasn’t gonna get caught in the act.
Corry could project his eyeroll just fine with his voice anyway. “Of course you were.”
From Give and Take, Chapter 2.
Why I loved it: These two guys have spent a larger part of the past year absolutely struggling. Scotty’s mother died in January, he almost followed her twenty days later in February, saving his ship and crew but getting nearly fatally wounded in the process, then he spent a whole month unconscious only to wake up in a situation that hits every single last trauma trigger that he’s got and sends him into a panicked flight away from the people who should be finishing putting him back together. And man, that’s just a fraction of the major psychological tailspin he’s in.
And Corry -- who would have a perfectly normal and gentle life if he hadn’t decided to adopt Scotty for a brother -- sticks his whole neck onto a chopping block just trying to protect Scotty, making incredibly hard and painful and consequential choices not on any logic, but purely out of love.
And then, even after they’re both back on the island, Scotty’s still a disaster of executive dysfunction and vulnerability hangover and continuing trauma, so there’s another month he just suffers because he can’t move and his brother can’t help him and.
But one of the biggest running threads through this is just-- the absolute depth of devotion these two have to each other. And I mean, you get to see their friendship/brotherhood on display before this. You don’t doubt by now that they love each other, you don’t doubt they’d fight for each other.
Before now, though, it was never tested like this. They never got pushed so far. They never got hurt that deeply. And doggedly, they pick up the pieces, both individually and as brothers. But even here, months later, they’re not completely healed yet, even though they’re a hell of a lot closer to it.
So-- I love it because it shows all that work. Not only before this year, 2248, but during it. Because before all this, it wasn’t in Scotty’s emotional repertoire to reach out and hold on like he did in the scene before this. He had to learn this. And because even though Corry has just pretty much sobbed his soul out -- and god, did he need to -- he still pulls out something of a joke because that’s one of their oldest methods of communication, too, that kind of bantering and absurdist humor.
And even though he got not-a-little misty-eyed, Scotty kicks the ball along, too, with his dry lamenting about not knowing how he’ll live with the tragedy of the eggs going cold, and Cor handing it back poking fun at his moonlighting and--
It’s just-- them. It’s some of the most them dialogue there can be; it’s funny and serious and kind and I love you.
And I definitely loved writing it.
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Soldier and Scientist
Another bit of semi-nonsense, following on from these fics. Inspiration credit, as ever, to @justawannabearchaeologist's series "TFP Wheeljack in TFA", which is still highly recommended.
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“Hey, kid. What’cha got there?”
Glitch was too deep in the task in front of her even to be annoyed by Wheeljack’s greeting. Normally, she hated being called “kid”, but at that moment she had bigger circuits to fry – or, rather, modify. Besides, next to the battle-scarred veteran Wrecker the newest member of Team Prime did look like a sparkling, despite being of age by her home universe’s standards. “Wiring diagram for my magnets. I’m trying to figure out how to increase their power without sacrificing too much sensitivity. Might be on a hiding to nothing, but it’s worth a shot.”
“Want a hand?” Wheeljack was already studying the schematic with a look Glitch hadn’t seen on him before, not exactly, anyway. But then, she didn’t know him well, though she had been part of the team for a few weeks by then, and had gone fossil-hunting with most of its members. He kept himself to himself – which was at least preferable to Smokescreen’s frequent, hopefully-joking attempts to flirt with her. She liked her fellow semi-rookie, but wished he’d grow up a bit and calm down more.
“I wouldn’t say no.” Glitch moved aside a little so that Wheeljack could join her at the workbench they both now shared with Ratchet and Raf. The table was a spectrum of order, from the senior medibot’s and human’s carefully arranged tools through the field-tech’s creative chaos (which made sense to her, but not to anyone else) to the Wrecker’s mess of half-built grenades and other, mostly explosive, devices. Somehow, nothing had blown up and nobody had lost their temper. Yet.
“Interesting…” Wheeljack said, more to himself than to her. “Haven’t seen anything like this in a while, but have you considered adding a high-power setting, rather than increasing the power of the setting you’ve got? That might give you what you’re after.”
“A bimodal system? I hadn’t thought of that, but now you mention it…” Glitch started making tentative changes to the virtual circuits in front of her, Wheeljack watching and occasionally making suggestions or correcting her mistakes.
“You don’t seem surprised,” he remarked after a while, “that I know ‘bout this kind of thing. Most people just think of me as a Wrecker.”
“People are complicated. Nobody’s just one thing; look at my Bulkhead. Heavy-labour model, space-bridge genius and artist.” She had mentioned that before, so Wheeljack wasn’t too shocked. “’Sides, I’ve seen the way you analyse situations sometimes – more scientist than soldier. And your alternate is high up in the Science Guild. Brilliant engineer, tends to experiment on and modify himself rather than anybot or anything else, and quite possibly responsible for putting some of High Command’s more… dubious… projects on a better ethical footing.”
“I like the sound of him – but not of those projects. What kindsa things does he work on?”
“Most famously, Project Omega.” The wartime programme had been what she now knew humans called a “special interest” of hers since she was a sparkling. As she grew up, and especially after meeting one of the last Sentinels and his mentor, she had become more aware of the ethical issues around it, but all the data were still in her memory banks, and she’d have to be careful not to bombard Wheeljack with too much information. “Living weapons, Autobots with battleship alt-modes, created towards the end of the Great War. Designed to have very simple processors to avoid inconvenient attacks of conscience, so each one was assigned a mentor to teach them how to be soldiers, or in at least one case how to be Autobots. The first mentor was supposed to be an intel-bot who’d been a schoolteacher – my universe’s Arcee, as it happens – but to cut a long story short, my Ratchet had to take her place. The end result was the same – Omega Supreme was taught to be an Autobot hero, not just a killing machine.”
“Omega Supreme?” The name seemed to stir up memories for Wheeljack – ones he clearly wanted to keep buried, as he quickly redirected the conversation. “And my counterpart chose the other Arcee?”
“Ratchet thinks so. I can’t find any relevant files, and, believe me, I tried. Most of the others were assigned military officers, but given the draft and the utter sweetsparks at least two Primes I know back home can be, they could still have been chosen for the same reasons. The Omega Sentinels did everything from guarding convoys to fighting on the front lines – or, in Zeta Supreme’s case, beyond them as the Wreckers’ mobile base.”
“The Wreckers exist in your reality?” The look of excitement on Wheeljack’s face made Glitch’s spark flicker as she cursed her motor-voicebox.
“They did.” She wished she could lie, but she couldn’t, and there was no bending that truth. “The war claimed them. They did take all but one of the Decepticon Heavy Brigade with them, though.”
“That’s something, at least. What happened to the survivor?”
“Still in service, unfortunately. Offlined another three Sentinels over the course of the war, Delta, Beta and Eta, which one has to admit is impressive. Last seen acting as Team Chaar’s heavy hitter.” Very heavy, according to Glitch’s friend Ironhide, whose team had fought Blackout’s not long previously – relative to her, that was. This transdimensional stuff was complicated, even for a sci-fi fan.
“Are any of the Omega Sentinels still alive?” Wheeljack tried again to put the discussion on an upward trajectory.
“Two.” Out of twelve. “Omega and Sigma. Both had to be put in emergency stasis after the Battle of Iacon. Sigma’s still in stasis-lock, serving as the Elite Guard flagship Steelhaven, but Ratchet and Sari managed to revive Omega a couple of stellar-cycles ago.” Only for him to fall under the control of Megatron and Starscream. “He spends most of his time in Detroit, away from anyone who’d try to use him as a weapon again, and in ship mode still. Each to their own, though if I’d been stuck in my alt-mode that long I’d spend as much time as a biped as I could.”
“I know what you mean – though Earth does make some good cars.” Wheeljack’s alt was a rather nice custom sports car, almost as fast as Bumblebee’s. “What about Sigma? How’d he end up as a flagship?”
“His mentor is Ultra Magnus. What he thinks of having Sentinel bossing him around now, I wouldn’t care to speculate. I have my problems with Ultra, and the system he allowed to continue, but Sentinel’s just an out-and-out jerk. Yes, he’s been through a lot, but so has my Optimus and he’s still one of the nicest ‘bots one could hope to meet, as long as one doesn’t cross him.”
“You don’t seem to get along with our Ultra Magnus, either,” Wheeljack commented. Blast him. Oh well; maybe talking about that problem would help her resolve it.
“Not really, and I’m not sure why. He just – gets under my plating, and I seem to grind his gears as well. Being given structures and instructions is one thing, but I’ve never coped well with being ordered around.” Or treated like a soldier, rather than a field-tech. “Used to mess with Sentinel when he was my drill sergeant, partly for that reason, mostly because he was picking on my friends as well. There might be some carry-over from my reality, as well. As I say, I’m not a fan of my version.” She managed to mute her audio-processor at that point, before she could really start to rant. Though she hoped her issues with that universe’s Ultra Magnus were fixable. She didn’t like not liking people.
“I’ve never got on with ours, either.” Glitch had gathered that. “But enough of that. Looks like we’re just about done here.”
Glitch re-analysed the new wiring diagram. “I concur. But would you be offended if I were to ask Ratchet to triple-check this?”
“Not at all. Though I don’t think you need to. You’re pretty good at this, once pointed in the right direction.” Glitch blushed and avoided Wheeljack’s optics more than usual. “I’m surprised he hasn’t recruited you to help with the groundbridge, or his Synth-En project.”
“I’d be no use as regards the groundbridge. Whenever Bulk tries to explain space-bridges to me, it just goes whoosh,” she mimed something flying over her head, “and not because he’s about twice my height. I wouldn’t say no to the Synth-En work, though. I’ve done some research on my version.” Not enough that she could synthesise it – yet. She was making do with oil, aware that Team Prime’s Energon resources were very limited. “Although – let’s just say there’s a reason my lab’s well away from the living quarters back at the Plant. And that I’m very glad we have fire extinguishers that aren’t attached to Optimus now.”
“I knew I liked ya,” Wheeljack laughed. Glitch had no idea how to respond to that comment, so ignored it and carried on. “Recently, I’ve been working more on organic chemistry and biochemistry. My friend Elita’s half-‘bot, half Archa-7 spider, which makes things tricky when she needs medical treatment. She and I had to reverse-engineer a lot of their biology just to design basics like painkillers and sedatives. I think we were close to a breakthrough when I ended up here.” She sighed. “Hopefully, Ratchet can take my place on the medical front, and Optimus will carry on helping her accept her organic half and stop hating it and trying to get rid of it. He’ll probably do a better job, actually. My main concern is what might happen if Sentinel finds out that she’s at our base while I’m here.”
“Why’s that?”
“He hates and fears organics, ironically because of the accident that turned her into a techno-organic. The last time he saw her, she tried to kill him after he rejected her. And she used to be a Decepticon. If he discovers we’ve been sheltering her and keeping secrets from him… it won’t be good.”
“Well, from what you’ve said about your Optimus and your Ratchet, I think they’ll have it covered. Though I wouldn’t mind if you made it back before that happened, ‘cause I’d quite like to be there. For… moral support.” Intimidation, more likely. Wheeljack, despite being one of the smaller ‘bots in Team Prime, was taller than Sentinel and carried an impressive pair of katanas. And took no scandium from his own superiors, let alone someone like Sentinel “Magnus”.
“Now that’d be something to see.” Perhaps from a safe distance. But it wouldn’t happen if Glitch didn’t survive long enough to go home, and to that end she returned her attention to the new design for her mods, checking it over one last time before asking Ratchet for his approval. A joint effort by a soldier and a scientist – or, perhaps, by two people who were both a little of each.
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Not to “vent” on main, but i want to speak about pride and autism for a bit
I’m currently in a weird place in my life where im trying to accept many aspects of my identity that i considered ugly for a long long time. one of those being my autism, which i was diagnosed with a little earlier on this year. having that diagnosis fundamentally changed how i viewed myself in ways i struggle to describe to you. i had a brief phase where in desperation to dissociate myself from the stigmatized perception of autistic people that had unconsciously polluted my brain, i swore to use terms like “aspie” and “high functioning” “level one” as if allistic society seeing me as not human but in a slightly more appealing way (that being that instead of being seen as a four year old incapable of original thought i would be a weird carbon copy of albert einstein destined to cure cancer) would somehow make my life easier.
it doesnt, all it does is reinforce the same pseudo scientific eugenic hierarchy of what a clever worthy person is and what a broken unintelligible undeserving one is. realizing that was tough, because i grew up coping with my autistic traits by being whatever people wanted. i was like cheap air dried clay where the more i tried to mould myself into something i wasnt the more i started to crack, smooth over it meticulously with spit and desperation. im still in this spot of fragmented identity, in a liminal space between what i always wished i could be and the disappointing reality of what i actually am.
is it disappointing? is it only disappointing because i’m who i was taught was wrong?
i got what is known as an “unofficial” diagnosis. in other words, we went to a psychiatrist, did an evaluation, and was told hey yeah you’re right. this was because my mother wanted me to be diagnosed with asbergers, which is no longer recognized. i know she meant well. she didnt want me to feel like i was carrying a label too heavy for me. but theres a major part of me - especially after finding out exactly why the label “asbergers” exists - which is in violent opposition to it.
and. upon finding validation in the online autistic community i discovered just how unfounded my shame is. Being autistic is beautiful in so many ways. it makes me so sad that i would ever dismiss it as a part of me. I dont know how i managed to evade diagnosis for so long.
(when i look back on my childhood, i find it riddled with memories of rooms with yoga balls and swings; middle aged ladies with pixie cuts and the same lipstick spending hours trying to teach me how to write the letter C; pulled out of class “where am i going?“ “i think you need to calm down” “i am calm”; my father eyeing my ankles and calling “flat feet” as a reminder to let my heels touch the cold grainy tiles of our stoep, drawing faces on my erasers and sobbing for days when a girl threw penelope in the bin of the afrikaans class; reciting “just think about something else just think about something else just think about something else just-“ while attempting to get myself to eat egg and toast that was too toasted and anything with more than two identifiable textures; seeing someone in my spot in my spot in my spot in my spot in my spot thats my spot thats my spot thats my spot feeling something boil in my stomach; what are you doing i dont like it i dont understand are friends supposed to do this to me?)
Yeah. I have to study for my history exam now. But the point is that im autistic. And thats not only okay thats fucking awesome. Its a huge part of my life and if your idea of normal is what has caused me so much pain and dissociation throughout the years then deal with it when i actually embrace my own brain.
allistics who are cool, this is not intended to shit on you. just some thoughts ive had lately.
#i speak#ableism tw#tw#autism#asbergers#ugh#asd#neurodiversity#autistic#disability#i have mixed feelings about using the phrase disabled to describe myself#i feel like i havent really like#struggled to the extent that i can call myself that#but heck#learning disabilities#vent#identity#I was technically diagnosed first when I was 9#but my mother decided I didn’t need to know that lmao
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"I first fell in love with the wilderness when I was a kid. In a bid to impress my mom, her boyfriend at the time took us on what would be my very first camping trip, just a bit of a drive north to what was then called the Lowry Family Campground. Maybe it didn't leave a mark on her, but it sure as hell left its impression on me. I had my first taste of real adventure there on the connected hiking trails, my guardians dragging behind me and fighting to keep me from just wandering off into the woods to explore further. I loved the sight of all that green, of the animals glimpsed through the trees, I loved the huge open space and the chance to really pay attention to nature in a way I never had before. Every summer after that would be spent begging my mom for another trip, or another hike, or a new wild place to visit.
Daniel- the aforementioned boyfriend- shouldn't get all the credit for my newfound love, though. Most of that belongs to someone else. We weren't the only family camping that weekend, and on the second day of our stay I ran right into a little boy around my age with a personality twice as big as he was. My mom recalls him being a little strange and quiet, but if he was, I didn't notice. We were fast friends, connected in an instant in a way only children can be. He had dirt on his face and a beetle caught in his hands, and I was happy to call him my new best friend.
While everyone else was content with just the sight of nature, he wanted to be involved, right in the middle of it all, and he dragged me into it with him. We spent that day getting into everything we could; we chased frogs and dragonflies, we dared each other to look under logs at what bugs might be beneath, we spent a whole hour just being fascinated by water striders on the surface of the nearby creek. We waded into the creek too, much to our parents' dismay. By the time night came about I had mud caked into my hair and enough mosquito bites to last me a lifetime.
We shared a campfire that night, while our parents got up to their own interests or worried about dinner. I'm not sure what we talked about, but we stayed up until we had to be pulled off to bed. I'd wanted to stay in those woods forever. I think he would've agreed.
We said our goodbyes the next morning, when my mom wanted to start the drive home. But if I had to credit anyone in the world with sparking my love for the natural world, it was that strange, friendly little boy."
- From an early chapter of Prey Animal, titled "Firsts"
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"About six months after the trial, I went to stay with my mom for a few weeks. She'd had a knee surgery and needed someone to help her out with the normal things while she healed, but I also suspected that she wanted me home so that we might finally talk about Jack Rabbit. More specifically, the fact that I'd been a victim. She was worried out of her mind and I don't think I ever quite convinced her during that time that I was fine, that I'd moved on. Of course, if she's reading this now, she'll know that that was still a lie, just for different reasons. Sorry, mom.
The stay was mostly uneventful, and a well-needed break from my life at home. Even though most of the media frenzy had died down by then, the events they'd centered on hadn't been forgotten. Memorials for some of Jack's real victims hadn't been taken down yet, especially not at the campgrounds, and the campgrounds themselves were still operating on restricted hours and access. Most importantly, my coworkers were starting to decide that it'd been long enough, and maybe they could ask me for an official statement or interview. I needed some particularly boring time away.
One interesting thing did happen, though. Mom and I decided we might as well go through some of our old stuff in the attic, see if there was anything I wanted or things we should get rid of. We came across some old photo albums from my childhood that neither of us had seen in years. There were about three pages of photos from the first time we went camping together, of the two of us and others at the Lowry Family Campground back in the 60's. One particular photo was of me and a young boy: the picture quality wasn't fantastic, of course, but you could see his dark hair and bright eyes, the gap from a missing tooth when he grinned. The both of us were covered in mud and looked quite proud of it. That was my boy, my best friend for a day who had pulled me into loving the outside world.
And he looked awfully familiar. After I saw it, I took it out of the page it'd been tucked into for the past several years, marched upstairs, and found my things. At that point I still had a folder full of research on Jack from when I'd first learned who he was, including a newspaper clipping from the original murder of his family. One of the photos of the family therein, provided by a more extended member, was from a few years before the deaths. It showed a younger Jack, not yet bearing his scars, posed with his new foster family at a family campground somewhere outside the city.
Looking at it then, I realized that my fondly remembered boy had been Jonathan Stone.
I'll spare you the full details of how this revelation managed my turn my already burning world on it's head. It changed nothing, of course, but it changed everything. Staring at those photos, I sat down on my bedroom floor and cried for a good, long while."
- from a later chapter, titled "Guilty Verdict." The described photos are printed on the following pages.
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Can u make mc is the actual owner of Cerberus when he was a pup but villagers killed him because they thought that he was a monster and what how would the brothers and the undateable react to that when mc started to cry when she saw Cerberus headcanons
Oh Beans! I totally spaced when reading this and only have the brothers.
I'll post what I have here right now, but this will also be on AO3, so if you keep checking/subscribe there, you'll get a notification when I've added the undateables! It might not be for a while though, since I'm about to start school again ^-^;;
Who's a Good Boy?
The Guard Dog of the House of Hades. A vicious, three-headed hellhound that only the fallen Morningstar himself could command. Unfathomably massive. Devourer of demons, angels, and humans alike. Notoriously difficult to groom.
That is Cerberus, Lucifer’s extremely volatile pet named after a figure from Greek mythology for reasons no one truly understands. The creature has struck fear into the hearts of its housemates, and the Devildom at large, for what feels like ages.
So when MC cries upon seeing the wolf-dog for the first time, none of the brothers are especially surprised. How could a human cross such a monster’s path and live, after all?
Except those who weep in fear usually don’t then barrel full-tilt into one of the monster’s furry legs, babbling incoherently about how they thought they’d never see him again.
One of Cerberus’ heads leans down to the human, and the brothers panic, fearing the worst. It opens its mouth, revealing razor sharp fangs—
And licks MC’s entire body in a saliva-filled canine kiss. Now covered in tears and drool, MC laughs as they shake themself off, teasing the hellhound by saying that they already showered today, thank you very much.
“So, did you miss me as much as I missed you?” they ask, giving Cerberus’ central head some under the chin scritches (the only part of its head they can currently reach).
Cerberus boofs loudly, enormous tail waving back and forth at an increasingly hazardous pace.
Lucifer
What.
Lucifer is dealing with a Lot right now. He almost lost the exchange student to his own dog, except apparently Cerberus used to belong to MC?! How?!
He orders Cerberus to back away from the human, part of him still convinced that this is somehow a combination of MC being mistaken and Cerberus playing with its food, but the hellhound actually growls at him and picks MC up by the back of their shirt, tossing them onto its back.
MC, in response, finds new places to scritch.
He stares at the scene for a few minutes, unable to process what his life has become.
Later, once Cerberus finally agrees to let MC leave, they explain to him that Cerberus used to be a puppy in the human world.
Obviously, he was immediately noted as strange due to his three heads, and the people of MC’s village believed him to be an omen of death. MC themself didn’t care, and just saw “lil’ Cerb” as a puppy like any other, albeit an exceptionally drooly one.
He used to be more or less normal dog-sized, but it quickly became obvious that Cerberus was growing fast, and would be much larger than even a wolf by the time he was done. He also became harder and harder to hide.
Unfortunately, one night they awoke to poor Cerberus being chased out into the night by a mob, never to return.
They assumed the worst, mourned, and got on with their life as best as they could. But seeing Cerberus— they knew it was the same dog as soon as they saw him — brought all those emotions right back to the surface.
It’s not hard to adapt to these strange circumstances. Lucifer is actually quite relieved to have someone who is both willing and able to safely help him in caring for Cerberus, and both MC and the hellhound delight in each other’s company.
Lucifer also won’t deny the pride he feels upon seeing MC, the one he loves, getting along so well with his son dog.
Mammon
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
The P A N I C of seeing MC within bite-chomp-murder-kill distance of Cerberus nearly killed Mammon.
What the hell is he supposed to do against that furball?! MC’s dead meat, a chew toy, he can’t save them again—
WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY D O I N G ? !
Torn between passing out from fear and yelling about how brave and cool HIS human is!
So he kinda just… stands there, slack-jawed, as MC finds a spot on the creature that makes it thump its leg so hard the ground shakes.
Already he’s cooking up ways to use MC’s Cerberus-taming powers to get into all kinds of Shenanigans
Except he quickly learns that while Cerb is much more gentle with MC, it won’t let them distract it from its duties.
Has this resulted in MC semi-unwillingly riding Cerberus as it chases a terrified Mammon throughout the Devildom? Possibly~
Though when MC explains to Mammon how Cerberus used to be their dog, and what had happened to him… He can’t help but feel a touch more sympathetic to the hellhound.
Only a little bit though. It still does try and tear him apart whenever he gets too close, after all.
Leviathan
Levi’s fear metamorphoses into awe much faster than the others’. MC LOOKS SO COOL!! Riding the mighty Cerberus like a steed!
He desperately wishes he had the art skills to capture this iconic moment forever. But alas, a camera will have to do.
It’s a pretty good picture, the comparatively small human sitting on Cerberus’ back like something straight out of a fantasy novel. Levi even has a shot of them accidentally scritching a spot that makes Cerberus breathe fire (like a furry dragon!)
100% gets super emotional when MC tells him how they originally had— and lost— Cerberus as a puppy. It reminds him of his precious Henry 1.0 in some ways…
Begs MC to let him post the photos he took, along with their story as the caption. It’s just too good! It’s exactly like that arc in My Adventurer Boyfriend Keeps Adopting the Monsters He Beats in Combat and Now We’re Running Out of Space to Keep Them!
Like Mammon, Levi also quickly learns that just because he unlocked Cerberus’ tragic backstory, doesn’t mean that the hellhound will treat him any differently.
But sometimes, after a long “walk” with MC, the massive creature will be mostly asleep. And then, his hand shaking, MC will guide Levi to pet Cerberus’ flank. Its tail swishes softly, Levi’s own swaying in response.
Satan
He shakes his head and laughs, torn between relief, awe, shock, and lingering horror for MC’s safety. Of course they can tame even the ferocious Cerberus…
Guess all sorts of angry monsters like MC, huh?
He definitely wants to hear the story of MC owning Cerberus in the past, but first he’s going to drink in the absolutely dumbfounded expression on Lucifer’s face.
Toooootally doesn’t cry upon hearing MC’s story with Cerberus. No way, he’s still a cat person, he swears!
...No one is allowed to comment on Satan’s various burn injuries that occur over the next few weeks.
Not if they don’t want to be left with worse.
Asmodeus
OH SHIT!! Also, ewwwww
Once the fear for MC’s safety subsides, Asmo can appreciate the cuteness and hilarity that is MC with Cerberus. Truly no one is immune to their charms it seems, and their affections know no bounds.
...Is it that same quality that allows MC to continue to care for him and his brothers despite their past actions?
Asmo claims that the smoke from Cerberus’ fire breath is getting into his eyes, prompting him to leave. He has a good long stare-at-a-wall crisis for a bit.
Learning MC and Cerberus’ story only makes him mushier. Their tragedy got a happy ending after all!
As much as he loves MC’s charms, he still insists that they de-drool themself before touching him or any of his things. It stinks like brimstone!
Now if they need any help getting clean… That he can oblige~
Beelzebub
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH part 2
As one of the physically stronger brothers, when Lucifer’s not available it’s Beel’s job to groom Cerberus. He knows how dangerous that mutt is.
But apparently not for MC “Knows No Fear” over there!
As Cerberus continues to remain docile in MC’s presence, Beel starts to appreciate the cuteness of a human and their giant hellhound.
Unabashedly mushy upon hearing MC’s story about Cerberus. The themes of losing a loved one, only to find them much later in a new form… it kinda hits a little close to home for him.
(It’s not a perfect analogy: Beel knows MC isn’t Lilith, but having them as part of her legacy is undeniably cathartic. It’s why he doesn’t share these exact feelings with them, since he knows they’re uncomfortable with being compared to her excessively. Still, he can’t help but note the comparison.)
Naturally, he’s also very happy to have a very useful partner for grooming Cerberus. That living nightmare turns into an overgrown puppy whenever MC’s around. It’s much easier, and much safer, to work with this way.
Plus, it means he gets some quality time with MC! And there’s nothing quite like the fond smiles they share with him during these moments.
Belphegor
He has got to be dreaming. No way is this actually happening— nope, Mammon just stepped on his foot, and that hurt, he’s awake.
WHAT THE FUCK?!
Does MC not fear death? Is that it? Did that part of their brain just completely shut down when he killed them?!
Unlike the others, he can’t really shut down his panic. Sure, right now Cerberus is acting all cuddly, but that could change on a dime. That dog only listens to Lucifer, and right now all Lucifer is doing is staring gormlessly at it!!!
He nearly loses his hand trying to pull MC away from the creature (which it naturally did Not appreciate).
“Belphie, wait! It’s okay,” MC reassures him even as smoke blows out of Cerberus’ nostrils.
They explain their history with the hellhound, how they rescued it as a puppy and then lost it to the angry and frightened people of their village.
Belphegor can’t help but recall their expression when he told them about his imprisonment, the outrage there mingling with a much older emotion. Is that why they were so quick to help him?
He’s still wary of Cerberus. He refuses to be fooled by any facades the creature may be putting up.
But one day, MC invites him to one of their “playdates”. Cerberus watches him like a hawk, growling when he first approaches, but MC just shushes and soothes the monster until it allows him closer.
And maybe, after a few tense minutes, the pair begin to relax around each other.
And maybe, Lucifer has a picture of MC and Belphegor curled up in Cerberus’ fur as the three take a mid-afternoon nap.
And maybe, Belphegor lets him keep it.
#obey me#obey me headcanons#obey me imagines#obey me cerberus#obey me scenarios#mine#my writing#lucifer#mammon#leviathan#satan#asmodeus#beelzebub#belphegor#mc
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OMG CAN I REQUEST CC!PHILZA INTRODUCING HIS ADOPTED EMO CHILD TO THE REST OF THE SBI/DSMP
Gender neutral pls they/them
Of course! I've been having a bit of shortages on ideas. So this is so fucking welcomed.
Anyways
Father CC!Philza x Emo! Reader
Pronouns:they/them
Summary:your old parents gave you up as a teen, overflowing you with emotions, causing depression, mood swings, and quite a bit of anxiety. When you got adopted by a man and a lady,both seemingly very kind and understanding. You felt happy. They didnt expect the sleepy bois to come and visit so soon.
Tw:anxiety attacks, mention of depression, loving clothes (not a tw but damn I sometimes miss my old fashion sense.), mention of trauma, swearing!
A huge new family
They dont blame their biological family. They knew that they were being overwhelming. Slowly shifting into a state of mind where fluffy black and colored hair was their favorite. Their outfits became more extravagant and their makeup took a turn for the darker. But they didnt have to put them up for adoption.
About a year in and out of foster families, a few months in an orphanage, then one more foster family. It was official. They were the new child of philza.
Your life got better. Both of them accepted your choice of clothes and makeup, even supported it!
They helped with everything in the first few weeks. Giving you space, letting you know that they were there. But you nor phil knew that three boys were heading down to visit.
So when you answered the door to see three faces demanding philza minecraft and one just looking awkward. They were also changing about him coming and join them you felt panic flood through you. Slamming the door on their face you held near your chest.
Your uneven breathing was heard by your father and he was quick to scoop you away from the door and have kristin answer the door.
He was sitting next to you hand lightly rubbing your shoulder and he guided you through the panic attack. "That's it. In through the nose. Hold it for a few second. Breathe out." His voice was calm.
It took less time to calm you down then you've ever had. "There ya go mate. Just keep breathing." He kept coaching you through you panic attack.
Kristen let the four in with their promise of keeping calm. Your shaking form brought major concern to the two older ones and confusion to the two younger ones. "(Y/n) I want to introduce you to the four behind us. Technoblade, wilbur, tommy, and tubbo. They are really good friends of mine." Nodding lightly you sat there, not wanting to turn because if you did the panic would strike harder. Remembering what happened before you parents left you.
A huge group of people basically shunned your for your choices and didnt want to take you in because 'trash like you' wasnt accepted in the family. But these two were different. Supporting you with your choices. How different were their friends? "Hey I think you shirt is cool! Who's on it?" A slightly hyper voice broke through the silence. " black veil brides." It was quite but a start. "Cool! So their a band right? What kind of songs?" The brown haired teen was trying to communicate with you. "Uhm. Rock." It had started small but you opened up to the teens. They were about you age and they didnt bash what you decided to like. The two older ones hung out with phil and Kristen. You three hung out in your room which was kind of softer then your appearance. It was to reflect a bit deeper into you. Bookshelves, a desk, reading corner, and a bed. Not fully knowing what to put in there.
But you, tommy, and tubbo were almost the best of friends when they had to leave. Techno and Wilbur it took a bit. After the two teens left you had came out of your room, no makeup, hair had all products removed, and your clothes changed from Jean's and a black veiled brides shirt to a black tee shirt, grey sweat pants, with a book in hand.
Before sleeping you just chilled in the living room, reading while basking in the presence of your adoptive parents. You did not expect wilbur and techno to still be there.
Plopping down on the couch next to phil you opened your book and tried to zone out, to get engulfed into the book. Nope. Two sets of eyes just watching you.
"So you like poems?" The book you were reading was a massive collection of poems. Looking up to the two on the couch you nodded lightly.
Looking back down you felt nervous. "Small talk is awkward." Looking up to the brown haired guy with an American accent you nodded. "Same." Once more you looked down at your book. You already had issues focusing but you tried to work though it. "What kind of poems are you favorite?" You sat there for a second. Trying to think of something that catches your attention.
"Mainly ones about trauma. It reminds me I'm not the only one in the word that went through something I have. It just makes it more interesting when I can relate." It was true. Sometimes the poems you liked ring a little to close to home.
"Good choice. It does really intrigue the audience when they can relate." Nodding you closed your book. "Especially when you relate. It's a must for me. Other wise I get turned away from it and just cant focus. But if I like it then I am just dead set on that poem."
You and techno bonded over poems and wilbur brought up some songs. "So what is you song preference?" "Hollywood undead, black veil brides, other then that its random. If I like the song it's in my playlist." With no other preferences with music other then it had to sound good to you there was honestly no judgement for other people's taste in music. There were little treasures from almost all genres.
For a while you talked about poems and songs. It honestly helped you feel safer with them. They didnt care about what you found intriguing. Or why. You even went on a rant and there was no care. They just listened.
But sadly they had to leave. Bit they promised that they would visit more. They were like the brothers you never had.
"So I see that you were able to talk to all of them." Nodding to your father figure you smiled "they were nice. Honestly. I cant wait to see them again."
He found joy in you wanting to hang out with his friends/technically children too.
Now meet the rest of the dream smp. It was very fast. Meeting almost all of them at the same time.
Phil was streaming and no one except for the sleepy bois knew about you. So you walked into his stream, book in hand and sat on the couch behind his set up. You liked having another person on the room. You just hated being alone. It gave you really bad thoughts. "Who's that behind you phil?" A random donation read out. Phil looking behind himself saw you in the corner reading and you normally did. "Ah that's my child. They like to have company. So sometimes they come in here to read." "Wait you have a child?! Since when?" The voice made you jump. Your book fell out of your hands and you looked at your father's screen. A green man with a weird white blob for a skin on minecraft. "Yeah. I took a break to pick them up from the orphanage." All hell broke loose. You ran while phil answered questions. You were not dealing with that. No way. Nuh uh. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Not today satan. It took phil bribing you with a trip to hot topic to get you to come back in. I mean hey you get to score a few shirts and hats. Might as well.
Meeting the server wasbt too bad. But the questions were weird. You didnt answer the ones you were uncomfortable about and they didnt care. Your boundries were up. And when tommy, tubbo, willbur, and techno revealed they knew of you they were yelled at. It was funny. Watching people say they should of said something. But it resulted in alot of compliments and Phil's chat loving you.
You were now the older sibling of the chat. Why? Cause chat said so.
When you come in from now on the chat is chanting for you. Just "(y/n)!" Over and over.
Your life? Crazy. But it became a bit better after you were living with your new parents. It was heaven.
I'm sorry if its awkward I'm not good at introductions. And I am tis but a sleep deprived human. I need sleep and so do you have a nice day and once more I'm sorry if this isnt up to what you wanted.
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Home
The building that housed Fentonworks had never been normal, no matter what neighbors and real estate agents might profess.
Things had happened there. Deaths. Wild twists of fate and shocking coincidences. People who lived there heard noises, saw things, felt things. Experienced sicknesses with no cause. Were cured of sicknesses without cause. Survived things that should have killed them.
It was a thin spot between worlds. Reality was a rippling membrane, frayed enough for things to shine through.
The construction of the neighborhood itself had been… strange. It happened much faster than it should have, as if there was a whole extra shift of workers on the project.
The townhouse that would one day become Fentonworks had stood out even in that mystery. Extra rooms, a basement deep enough to cause a nasty fight with regulators, features not approved by the architect.
It was a wonder they hadn’t hit any of the water lines or the sewage systems. A wonder- and an impossibility. So, the matter was ignored and dropped.
Then the next owners expanded that impossible basement, building another, secret basement and putting things in the walls- They were criminals, of course. It was expected for them to do illegal things. (Although exactly what they had done was… oddly uncertain.)
(Drugs, perhaps.)
Then, the lunatics. Then, the tiny cult that collapsed in on itself. Then the empty years, dozens of transient ghosts trying and failing to pass through, and the ghost hunters. So many ghost hunters, none of them particularly successful.
Then, the Fentons.
Then, little Jazz.
Then, little Danny.
Danny with wide eyes that saw too much.
And all the horrors that the Fentons could dream up, from living hotdogs to weapons that burned like stars and doors to places that should not be visited.
And this was Danny Fenton’s home.
.
The Manson estate was an odd case, even for Amity Park. Save for the basement, the entire building they lived in had been transplanted, brick and beam, from Germany.
Rich people were bizarre.
Even the Mansons couldn’t explain it. The man who had done it hadn’t been a Manson. The Mansons, who were relatively new money, all things considered, had purchased it from one of the man’s children. Anything to boost their prestige.
It was fancy, and it was old, a gothic and statuesque mansion worthy of its name. Still, it wasn’t quite fancy or old enough to merit the kind of expenditure moving it had to take.
Hence the rumors, squelched by the Mansons, that the place was haunted.
It wasn’t.
The rumors, however, were enough to get one Samantha Manson interested in the occult. Especially given how hard she saw her parents working to hide the rumors from her.
No. The mansion wasn’t haunted. For all it’s oddities and quirks – which only multiplied as the Mansons added more and more features to it – the building itself was mundane.
(The land it was built on might have been another story.)
And this was Sam Manson’s home.
.
The Foleys didn’t want to know what Tucker got up to in the attic, but liked to think that, with that one exception, their home was a nice one. It was on a nice street, in a nice neighborhood, just far enough away from Fentonworks to keep both sightings of the Ghost Assault Vehicle and resultant property damage and property taxes to a minimum. Within walking distance of the high school, a supermarket, and a park.
They kept the fridge and pantry stocked. Their food might not have always been healthy – red meat was an element of almost every meal – but it was always available and filling. They made an effort for the dietary restrictions of Tucker’s friends of course.
All the rooms were kept clean and neat. Even Tucker’s, by way of bribes. Everything was organized, everything had its place. Except, perhaps, for the stray shoe or piece of schoolwork.
But that attic.
It really hadn’t been anything, before Tucker asked if he could move his computer stuff up there. Just a storage space, one too difficult for either Angela or Maurice to climb up there often. They didn’t consider themselves old, but they couldn’t call themselves young either. Not with a son Tucker’s age.
Once Tucker had realized the attic was there, he had been fascinated. And, well, once he was old enough for them to not worry about him falling off the ladder, they let him go up.
Some days, it seemed, he didn’t come down.
Better than his faintly disturbing Ancient Egypt phase, where he kept bringing pictures of mummified corpses to the table. Or, worse, the werewolf phase.
And this was Tucker Foley’s home.
.
Amity Park had claimed the distinction of ‘most haunted town in America’ long before the Fentons opened their portal. In fact, that was the reason the Fentons had set up shop there, in the first place.
No haunted town was complete without at least one haunted house. Amity Park had several. Not to mention a haunted hospital, a selection of haunted schools, a haunted museum, a haunted pool, a haunted crosswalk, a haunted mall, a haunted football field… The list went on, essentially ad nauseum.
Of course, that list mostly consisted of places that became haunted after the Fentons built their portal. But even before then, some places offered their dubious charms to tourists.
Mostly gullible ones. More than half of the claims of hauntings before the portal opened were fraudulent in their entirety. These places quickly went broke and got abandoned when real ghosts started showing up.
One of these was the ominously named Raven House, which stood in the hills on the west edge of town.
The story the tourists of years gone by had been told was that a widower had lived out here, all by himself and that one day, he stopped coming to town, or paying his bills, or even getting his mail. When the mailbox at the end of the long driveway was full, the mailman decided to go check on the widower. What he found was a flock of ravens and a skeleton, entirely picked clean of flesh.
No such death had occurred there, nor in any part of Amity. No such person had ever lived in the house, either. The last owners, before the company that decided to market the house as haunted, were a couple with two children.
It wasn’t until months after the portal started up that it became haunted in truth.
.
“This place isn’t haunted,” said Danny, panning his flashlight over cobwebbed corners on the ceiling. “I don’t think it ever was.”
“That’s what, strike five?” asked Sam.
Danny shrugged. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Four, actually,” said Tucker. “We counted the hospital as inconclusive, since we don’t know if anyone was there before Spectra.”
Danny nodded. “It’s weird, though, isn’t it? That no one lives here, I mean. It looks like a perfectly nice house.”
“Décor’s a bit… eh. Trying to hard to be haunted,” said Tucker, poking a raven decal on the wallpaper.
“I like it,” said Sam. “Needs cleaning, though.”
“Hey,” said Tucker, “you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you? Because I’m pretty sure that’d be illegal.”
“It isn’t as if anyone else is using the place,” argued Sam. “It could be a great backup hideout, if we ever had to… you know.” She glanced at Danny. “Plus, we’d be doing them a favor, really, keeping things clean and lived in.”
“I think it’s an okay idea,” said Danny.
“Yeah, but you think lots of dumb things are good ideas. Like showing up at a party hosted by people who publicly humiliate you on a regular basis.”
Danny grumbled something about trauma responses that sounded like a direct quote from Jazz and something else about that incident being ages (aka weeks) ago. Then, he brightened.
“We could get one of the little ectoplasm generators to power everything,” he said. “Remember all that stuff we lifted from Skulker and Technus? We could actually use it. Study and test things without worrying about whether our parents will walk in. I mean, your attic is great, but still.”
“Plus, we can have actual lab safety protocols. No offense, Danny.”
“I am the one that half-died in a lab accident, so… None taken.”
Tucker rubbed his chin. “Alright. I suppose I can see the appeal… But if we have stuff that can trace back to us, we could get in serious trouble."
“We’ll be careful, then,” said Sam.
“Anything I take from Mom and Dad has plausible deniability. They’ll assume ghosts stole it.”
“We also need to clean if we’re being serious about this. And get a fridge. And figure out the pluming situation.”
“Fridge is on the list. We have to be careful about the outside, too. If this place is suddenly well maintained, people will notice.”
“Sure, but that isn’t something they’d call the cops over,” said Danny. “They’ll just assume new people are moving in. If anyone sees it at all. We’re pretty far away from anything. But pluming won’t be too hard. We just need to bring our own water. Like, toilets flush using physics. If you dump more water in, they’ll go, no electricity required.”
“How do you know that?”
“I can’t even tell you how many time Mom and Dad blew out all our breakers with stuff in the lab,” said Danny. “You pick up a few things.”
“Well,” said Tucker, swinging his flashlight over to examine a discolored spot on the ceiling. “Then… Home sweet home, I suppose.”
.
There was a house in the hills in the west hills of Amity Park.
And this was the home of two and a half humans and half a ghost.
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Tired Feet and Nimble Fingers
Sooo.....
I wrote more Ravio fics. This is one of two, the second one still needs to be reread and checked for errors, but rest assured to whomever requested a fic for Ravio getting some fussing, I nearly killed the kid for you :)
Mr. Hero had nice hands.
Oh sure, they were rather thin, and a bit knobby at the knuckles, aged in a way most people their age would not understand for decades yet, but they were nimble, quick, and forever flitting from one thing to another with the easy grace of a person who’s done everything with their life except sit still and rest.
Mr. Hero’s hands were worn and aged but feather light in their touch and still impossibly firm when he’d grab Ravio by the scarf and pull him down the one inch that was between the two of them so he could glare at him for one thing or another. Honestly, he rarely really did anything questionable, but the ever irritated “Why?” that Mr. Hero always shot at him when he raised the price of an item or tacked on another fee, be it emotional repercussions charges for tending his wounds, or a petty increase when he’d been made to actually worry for someone else, or even in the rare instance when Mr. Hero managed to actually make him angry. Either way, soft or firm, Mr. Hero had nice hands, and on the rare instance Ravio had actually seen him remove his rings (Mr. Hero had complained of swelling, and had nearly had to pry them off) he always smiled at the sight of them.
Was that weird? Probably. But there was a lot you could tell about a person by their hands, and Mr. Hero’s told the story of someone who gave and fought for others since he’d been able, and even if the caring person hid behind the shadows of his bangs or the icy pain in his eyes, Ravio knew that person was still in there.
And at times like this, he got to actually see it.
“What are you doing?” The merchant shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at the other end of the couch where Mr. Hero had been sitting since he’d stumbled through the door with a tired groan. He’d collapsed onto the couch not long after, drenched and covered in mud, and it had been all Ravio could do to convince him to shed his extra layers and change into something clean, at least. Sure, he’d had to actually dig through the scant wardrobe in the bedroom to find something, but once the over-sized tunic had been shoved in the veteran hero’s face, he’d agreed to strip off his wet things, and Ravio had given him the space to do so while he’d made some warm cocoa for the two of them.
He would have preferred cider, but Mr. Hero still refused to share the recipe with him.
Now, however, he’d flopped onto the couch himself, uncaring for the fact that he’d had to settle his legs in the lap of his friend. After all, if Mr. Hero minded, he would have pushed him off. As was though, the pink-haired teen was staring at his feet with no small amount of displeasure, and Ravio was half considering pulling them back to himself and resigning himself to just curling up on the couch into one corner so he could give the other boy his space.
Firm hands latched around his boot, tugging with a small grunt and surprising the merchant greatly. “Mr. Hero, I just-”
“No shoes.” The pink-haired hero huffed. “Not on the couch.”
“Says the one who trudges dirt all over my freshly cleaned floors!” Ravio huffed, trying not to wiggle too much as Mr. Hero not only pulled off his shoes but, after making a disgusted face at the smell of his feet, had also yanked his socks off, throwing them over to the pile of sopping laundry on the floor. Ravio made a note to pick that up and help wash it later.
“My floors.” Mr. Hero corrected him, tugging the towel Ravio had given him earlier off of his shoulders and wiping its wet ends over the merchant’s feet, making him stiffen. “It’s my house I’ll have you know.”
“Mr. Hero, are you- are you cleaning my feet?”
“It’s not like you ever do it, when’s the last time you bathed, you filthy bunny?”
“Two days ago.” Ravio huffed into his cocoa, savoring the taste and the thrum of warmth that bloomed in his chest both at the drink and the sensation of Mr. Hero’s nimble fingers helping to clean the grime from his, admittedly, filthy feet. “More recently than you, I daresay, Mr. Hero.”
“I just showered.” Violet eyes flitted up to meet his as Mr. Hero motioned to the door ad likely the stormy weather outside.
“That doesn’t count!”
“It does for me.”
“When did you last bathe? With soap?”
Mr. Hero didn’t answer, instead continuing to rub the dirt and dust off the bottoms of his house-mate's feet with the wet towel. Ravio hmphed. A fight for another day then, it isn’t as if he had the energy to draw a bath and push his friend into it anyways.
A delightful, rough sensation rubbed over the base of his foot, firm and still somehow incredibly relaxing, and the bunny merchant found himself torn between sinking into the cushions with a sigh as some of the pain in his limbs faded and staring down at Mr. Hero to see what had been done. In the end, he’d sunk into the cushions of the couch, lids fluttering as a heavy sigh pulled itself from his lungs. “What-”
“You’re as tight-string as my gran’s horses.” Mr. Hero drawled, and the sensation repeated itself, warm pressure sliding across the ridge of his foot. “This used to work on my uncle, relax.”
It took longer than necessary to actually realize that his friend was rubbing his feet, but Ravio was too warm and comfortable to really care, especially with how sore the appendages in question had been with scurrying here and there over the last few days tending to the shop.
Mr. Hero’s hands were miracle workers, and Ravio was hardly even awake when the veteran hero had finally stopped with his self-assigned task, pushing himself up and leaving Ravio to stretch out over the length of the couch. All the merchant could register was the increase of weight on top of him, the clinking of two empty mugs being placed in the kitchen sink, and the door creaking open.
He never felt the draft when Mr. Hero left back into the outside world to continue his quest, but when he woke the next morning, it was to find the hero’s favorite blanket spread out over the top of him and a fresh pair of fuzzy socks slipped over his clean and no longer painfully tense feet.
“Ravio, sit.” Mr. Hero groaned, leaning back on the couch and pinned in place by the sailor using his legs as a back rest. “If you don’t, I swear I’m going to have Twilight throw you at the couch!”
The merchant in question pouted, he’d been trying his best to tidy the living room, after all, Mr. Hero and his family had been quite unexpected that evening and the place was, unfortunately, a mess. One had to take inventory now and again, and the sad fact of it was that that required pulling everything off the shelves and out of storage and from around the house to count it up and figure out if he should risk attempting to return to Lorule or attempting to work Mr. Hero’s small smithy out back in order to restock his items.
He’d only counted up everything and had been working on cleaning and polishing his various items when the heroes had come knocking at the front door, and then he’d been so busy helping them warm up from the chill (they were all wearing the scarves he’d given them and it pleased him to no end) and making a meal with Mr. Hero that he’d been left unable to finish gathering the things that had been scattered across the floor. Of course, after dinner was finished, he’d set right to it, but now that everyone was settled around the fire with warm mugs in hand and fluffy scarves around their necks, Mr. Hero seemed to only be agitated by his puttering about and moving everything again.
To be fair, he hadn’t stopped moving for the last thirty minutes since the others had helped gather his things back up so they could sit, but there was so much to put away!
“Mr. Hero, I still-”
“Sit.” Mr. Hero squeaked grouchily, earning a few giggles as Mr. Rancher and Mr. Chosen Hero exchanged glances, smiles wide. “My feet hurt just from looking at you.”
Like it or not, Ravio’s ears were already pricking up at those words.
Since that first time, Mr. Hero had done him the favor of massaging his feet after a hard day many times, and as much as Ravio didn’t want to expect it of him, it was incredibly nice to have someone fuss over him, if only for a little bit, and if there was even a chance that it would happen again, well...
It was entirely intentional that he flopped onto the couch, feet resting easily in Mr. Hero’s lap as he stretched out. He could have sat down, he really could, but the fact of it was that he simply didn’t want to. Fortunately, Mr. Hero didn’t seem to mind, and too the merchants delight his friend immediately started pulling off his shoes with the same old familiar huff and wrinkling of his button nose, tossing the shoes as far away as possible to avoid having to remain in contact with them for long.
It was a practiced and much appreciated ritual that was Mr. Hero helping him relax after a long day. Just as cocoa or cider was prepared when either was having a particularly long or difficult day, or how Ravio always made sure Mr. Hero ate three meals a day and slept for at least four hours, taking care that his friend wasn’t positioned too uncomfortably wherever it was that he finally passed out. Mr. Hero touching his feet was normal, just like him playing with Mr. Hero’s hair once the other boy had settled down at last.
Perhaps though, it wasn’t all that common for the others.
“Vet?”
Mr. Hero blinked up from his work, violet eyes meeting the midnight blue of Mr. Rancher impassively.
“What in Ordonia are ya doin’?”
The veteran hero cocked a brow. “Foot massage, he won’t relax otherwise, and foot pains a-” Captain Hero Sir Jr. shot a look their way and Mr. Hero quickly amended what he’d been about to say. “Foot pain sucks.”
“You are touching feet.” Mr. Rancher wrinkled his nose. “Isn’t that a bit... gross?”
“Says the man who eats bee larva.” Came the quipped reply. “I wash them first, pities sakes.”
“By my head!?!?!?” Tune started jumping up and away and shooting Mr. Hero a hurt look. “Like, yeah, sure, I help Granny on bad days too, but warn a fellow if you’re gonna be having feet by his head.”
“Don’t sit on my legs.”
Ravio chuckled, letting the noise and chatter wash over him.
Mr. Hero’s hands never failed to sooth the pains of the day.
The heroes had stumbled in time and again over the months, and Ravio had grown quite used to their presence. Time passed differently on both ends of things, but he’d since learned when abouts to expect that they'd appear, and the house was, thankfully, stocked fully for each visit.
Autumn had brought about harvest, and the heroes had darted in and out, occasionally offering help and other times only crashing wearily in the living room and Mr. Hero’s bedroom for the night before they had to return to chasing the monsters. Today was one of the longer stays, especially if how Mr. Captain Hero Sir was moving so stiffly was any indication.
“Do you need me to step on you again?” Mr. Smithy asked worriedly as Mr. Captain Hero Sir eased his way down onto the couch, earning a few looks both from the merchant and the other heroes while Sheerow flitted about the man's head, chirruping worriedly and earning a gentle word or so from the captain.
Mr. Captain Hero Sir was in quite the state, stiff as a board and moving as poorly as the old pump in the village. It made him worried, and try as he might, he couldn’t think of any of his items that would help.
Mr. Hero appeared to already have an answer though. “Tunic off, Cap, and on the couch.”
Sharp blue blinked over in confusion to where Mr. Hero was already shedding his boots and rolling up his sleeves with a purpose. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Massage. Works wonders for back pain. Hop to it or I’m rescinding my offer.”
It was one thing to be on the receiving end of matters, but another entirely to be one of those who watched. Mr. Hero put his full weight into his hands as he worked, kneading out the knots in his friend's muscles while Mr. Captain Hero Sir melted into the couch with little relieved noises.
Maybe it took the others realizing that the vet didn’t just help him, but after that it wasn’t at all uncommon for him to carry in his attempts at cider or his wonderful cocoa and see Mr. Hero standing over one of the others and putting his clever hands to work in soothing tensed muscles back into place, the heroes under his hands melting under his touch.
The first time he heard Mr. Hero humming under his breath while he worked, the other heroes had all looked incredibly surprised, but not upset in the slightest. It was a lovely tune after all, and Tune himself started playing with his baton in time the gentle music, swaying in his seat and waving the instrument while the others continued working on repairing and tending their various items and clothing articles.
There was a pattern. For Mr. Captain Hero Sir it was his back, although rather rarely, and the same went for Mr. Chosen Hero.
For Captain Hero Sir Jr. It was his neck and shoulders.
Mr. Smithy got stress headaches that seemed to ease when someone helped message his temples.
Mr. Rancher had problems with his left wrist specifically.
Ravio of course had poor feet, and while Tune and Wild seemed to be mostly left unscathed from the repetitive pains that the others did, they took every opportunity to cling to Mr. Hero with their whole bodies when they felt that they wanted pets or attention when their mentor’s/brothers were too busy.
He’d attempted to return the favor all of one time. The black eye and bloody nose he got out of it weren’t even made better with the nearly tearful apologies of his best friend as Mr. Hero had jumped to his feet and dashed outside to get some ice for the injury.
Once the blood was cleaned up, the vet had sat in shame as Ravio had joined the others in teasing him for his “killer reflexes”.
“I can’t help it! People touching my feet- It-” Mr. Hero tugged at his hair frustratedly, eyes turning to the sky hopelessly. “I’m sorry, Ravio. It was an accident, I swear.”
“I know, Mr. Hero, I know.” He’d giggled out the reassurance, but from that day on he avoided touching Mr. Hero’s feet in any way possible.
(Oddly enough though, that didn’t stop a few of the others from trying, and Mr. Hero’s sleep was interrupted many times by heroes that had been kicked in the nose or even the mouth because they’d dared each other to touch the teen’s feet while he slept. Mr. Captain Hero Sir had complained for days until his own black eye healed, and Mr. Hero hadn’t even bother apologizing, stating that the others shouldn’t have tempted fat so foolishly.)
He felt a bit guilty for not returning the favor, but he knew better than to try again where so many others had failed.
And then winter had sprung up. Winter with its harsh gales that blew in half frozen heroes that tracked ice and snow across the floor as they bundled in front of the fire, wrapped head to toe for the weather. Winter when he’d brew hot cocoa to warm them all up, letting Mr. Hero tug down blankets to wrap around their on-and-off house-mates (guests no longer applied at this point). The mugs offered were warm, and Ravio smiled as each hero offered him a word of thanks as his tray grew lighter and lighter until he only had the two mugs left.
Mr. Hero had pulled together his usual nest before the fire. His huge blanket and a few spare pillows all bundled together into a comfortable place to sit for the younger heroes in order to make up for the lack of a second couch, and the vet sat in its center, still working to arrange the cushions with stiff fingers and chattering teeth until Ravio had pulled on his friend’s tunic and urged him to sit down.
When he offered the mug though, Mr. Hero had fumbled it and nearly dropped it, a hiss of irritation whishing from between his teeth and he glared down at his stiff digits. “Blast! Din’s sake, why does the freaking cold always freaking-”
Warm hands, worn from housekeeping and smithy work, wrapped around the vet’s as Ravio gently rubbed some warmth back into the stiff fingers. Mr. Hero started slightly at the touch, but didn’t complain as the merchant continued to press his into the rises and against the bones of his friend’s gnarled hands, offering warmth and relief against the pain and the cold both for a few short minutes, and Mr. Hero melted into the touch, as he always inevitably did, letting Ravio have his way for the moment and leaning to sit back-to-back with Wild while the merchant worked.
When he’d released his housemate, it’d only been to press a mug into the vet’s hands, but then he’d been settling across from him on the blanket nest, stockinged feet coming to rest in his friend’s lap as he’d pulled his own mug close for a sip. Violet eyes offered a begrudging smile that was returned in rupee green, but no words were spoken between the two as they enjoyed their cocoa.
Mr. Captain Hero Sir however wasn’t about to let it pass. “So, hand holding now, uh? Should I be talking to Fable about a wedding day?”
Ravio was certain that the only thing keeping some very rude signs from being exchanged as the fact that Mr. Hero wasn’t willing to stress his hands further or release the warmth that he held in them. The pink-haired hero did shoot a very disappointed look towards the captain though.
#do not tag as ravio/i#linkeduniverse#linked universe#lu legend#lu ravio#fluffics#ketto's cottagecore collection#idiot writes fluff#idiot writes cottagecore
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BILLY — Kim Taehyung (1)
》 News of a Sadistic Serial Killer nicknamed “Jigsaw” is spreading around town like wildfire… the nickname stemming from the puzzle piece he cuts from every victim’s body. No one knows who he’ll trap next but in a town full of delinquents and criminals, it could never be you. Right? 《
pairings: john kramer!taehyung x female reader
warnings: dark themes, angst, yandere, murder, torture, self harm, suicide, stalking etc.... (will add more when i know lol) although it is rather innocent in the first couple chapters(?) so idk it could be slow burn but i guess we’ll find out as i write it >< ,, it’s my version of saw if saw was a fucked up love story lol. Please don’t read if any of the topics mentioned trigger you!! 18+
this fic is exactly that, fiction!!!! the au does not represent the characters mentioned irl......
synopsis: you end up lost on the other side of town, where you cross paths with a handsome stranger, kim taehyung, only.... are you a stranger to him?
[a/n: daffodils represent; love me, sympathy, desire and affection returned...]
word count: 3k
series masterlist
part two
——————————————————————————
Hiding behind a mask was something you were accustomed to. Your friend group and family were clueless to the torment you endured from simply existing. You were confident your masking had convinced the world you were happy with yourself. Unbeknown to you, one other person saw straight through your façade.
You wanted to end your life.
He needed you to cherish your life.
Nothing looked familiar. The café you frequented was nowhere to be found. Your usual hangout was most definitely not on the side of town you found yourself in. You felt anxiety slowly curl its way around your body, you were frigid. You tried and tried but couldn’t find it in yourself to run.
You lived in the more friendly part of town (so to speak) – where houses were colourful, gardens pristine, warm-hearted neighbours who would treat you like family and white picket fences are what surrounded you. That was your norm, sure, you weren’t exactly loaded but you weren’t exactly poor either. It was a healthy balance in the middle. That’s not to say you hadn’t lived or seen this side of town before.
Your Mother and Father had grown up on this side of the fence. Two young people brought up in the rougher, more unfortunate areas. Your Mother was tough; she looked like a naïve, weak girl, albeit that was not the case. She was strong willed, used to life on the streets and doing anything she could to get money to make sure there was at least some food on the table. While your Mum was the leader, your Dad was more of a sheep. He was easily influenced and was dragged into the wrong crowd (had his fair share with drugs and street racing). That was their life for a few years till they crossed paths and your Mum helped your Dad get back on the right track.
They didn’t tell you much about their childhood and adolescence but they told you enough to make you appreciate what you have and to always work hard for it. To stick with the right people, be wise and conscious of your decisions. Be kind to those around you.
Your family owned a garage; your Dad was the head mechanic. This was the sole reason you were here. You knew it wouldn’t be simple when you agreed to go to this side of town to get a few bits for your Father’s shop. However, you didn’t expect it to be this difficult. How could you be so stupid? Why didn’t you just ask Hoseok and Yoongi to come with you like your father told you to? Or at least tell them where you were… yet you decided today of all days to be stubborn and venture on yourself, knowing full well how unsafe the area was. There were rundown businesses on either side of the road, beggars at every doorstep; drug dealings happening in broad daylight, no one even trying to hide it.
You felt your phone buzz in your pocket, you took it out and sighed a breath of relief once you’d read the texts.
14:37— From Papa: U ok munchkin ??? Did u get the stuff ?
14:39— From Papa: its ok if u didnt. Yoongs rang said hes got majority this morning lol so be safe n get home soon . Love u
14:40— To Papa: ohhh ok pops, i couldn’t find the shop anyway lol i’ll head back soon, love u too x
*LOW BATTERY*
“Fuck, trust me to forget to charge the bastard.” You rolled your eyes as you stuffed the phone back in your pocket.
Muffled shouting was heard around you. People ran across the street, bumping into you as they ran past. You gathered yourself and moved further down the path. “Great!” you exasperated, “honestly I’m so fucking stupid! Yoongi’s gonna kill me for this, I knew, I knew I should’ve told him I was coming over here but no,” your head was hung low as you dragged your feet across the pavement, “maybe I could tell Hobi, he wouldn’t be as angry right? I’m sure he’ll come,“ A sudden scream ripped you out of your chuntering. You whipped your head to the right, you could make out some figures bustling about in front of you, a group of men were quite clearly fighting… your anxiety struck you and you held your breath as you saw a man pull a knife from the waistband of his sweatpants. All thoughts and common sense seemed to leave all at once. Statue like, feet stuck to the ground. You watched on as the group rushed towards the brown haired man, you scanned his figure: tall, broad, confident… he exuded an intimidating aura even when you were this far away from him.
How could someone be so sure of themselves? It was one against five, surely the loner had no chance?
The glistening of the knife brought you back to your senses. Fucking hell. How do you always end up in these situations when you’re alone? Why me? Why? Good Lord, I need to run. Just as you were about to leave, the group who were arguing charged past you; one gripped his side as another supported his weight. Holy fuck, did he stab him? you stood frozen, yet again, your mind raced a mile a minute. Panic bubbled in your chest.
“You okay there Doll?” His voice was deep, velvet-like. It flowed so smoothly you doubted it was real, it was so soothing like it had wrapped itself around you, embracing your body. You heard his footsteps before he planted himself beside you. His shoulder reached the top of your head, his hand brushed yours. Swallowing your nerves you dared a glance up. He was fucking breath-taking, like a fallen angel. The stranger shot you a small smile that you would’ve easily missed had you not been staring at his features… a blush crept up your neck as you nodded. His smile slowly twisted into a smirk.
Cute, Taehyung thought to himself. Couldn’t help but adore the way you slightly trembled under his gaze, the way your hands gripped and twisted your sweater paws. Almost like a puppy. He cleared his throat and reached his hand to yours, “Sorry, I should’ve introduced myself. I’m Taehyung.” you took his hand into yours, apprehensively you greeted him, “I’m Y/N.”
“Ah, Y/N. I haven’t seen you round here before, you new or something?” Taehyung cocked his head to the side, his eyes seemed to stare right through you.
“Uhm, I don’t live here. I live over the other part of Town… I was just grabbing some stuff for my Dad but, my phones about to die. I have no idea where I am or how to get home, I’m sorry, I promise I didn’t see anything!” a deep chuckle cut you off, Taehyung smiled and beckoned you to follow him.
“Come on Y/N, you’re not suited for this side of Town, I’ll walk you back. A pretty little thing like you, you’re easy prey to these guys.” your feet fell into a cautious pace behind him, he glanced over his shoulder, “hurry up Buttercup, I don’t bite.” Taehyung flashed a boxy grin in your direction, which caused you to speed up ever so slightly.
You were unsure how you felt about letting a complete stranger walk you home, Yoongi would definitely kill you for this. Especially with the recent news of some serial killer named ‘Jigsaw’, Yoongi and Hoseok had been very stern and their usual, overprotective selves when the news had broken out. “It’s on every headline Y/Nie! No more leaving the house on yourself, you need to go anywhere you ring either of us. Got it? Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know either. There’s some dodgy fucks about recently.” Although, you loved them dearly, sometimes their protectiveness was a...little overbearing. You already felt suffocated from your parents (you didn’t need it from your best friends as well). They were happy and believed you to be too; but that was exhausting, faking happiness. You had a constant façade, acted like a happy normal teenager with a happy family; when that was far from the truth.
Drowning. That’s how you’d explain the way you felt. Breathing was difficult and brought you more pain than it was worth. Growing up was tedious, you had grown differently to your peers which only brought ridicule and embarrassment for you. You had struggled with your speech (sometimes you still do), you often stuttered, mispronounced words, the list was endless. That was one of the first reasons you were a castaway. As you grew, the ridicule worsened. Verbal abuse turned physical from your classmates. They made you feel like you were a waste of space. The names they called you, you soon started to believe them. Ugly. Weird. Freak. Stupid. They took root in your brain, slowly they grew and grew till your head was overgrown with twisted, rotten weeds.
Eventually, you sought comfort in blood. You didn’t care that it hurt you; you were almost happy to feel pain. Like you deserved to.
By age 14, you had started to skip school. Only ever there for exams and a couple of art classes you had with Jeongguk. He was what you would’ve called a best friend, he supported you and was by your side till you left school. He went away to college and like always with school friends, you drifted apart. Nevertheless, he still texts you now and then to check in.
Although you were (once) close with Jeongguk. He never knew of your inner demons, the same with Yoongi and Hoseok. You didn’t want to feel like a burden and worry your friends when they had shit to worry about themselves.
Why devastate flowers that flourish beautifully with weeds that manage to twist their way around every crack?
You had walked for a few minutes now, having chatted absentmindedly about anything and everything. The roads still didn’t look familiar to you and you just wished they did, you didn’t want to be away from your home any longer, your feet were starting to ache, your phone was on 10% battery and it was fucking cold. You just wanted to be back in bed tucked up watching Lady and the Tramp or 101 Dalmatians for the millionth time. You felt safe and content when you indulged in your comfort films. Far away from the real world and wrapped up in the false reality. They easily distracted you and that's when you truly felt at peace. Your mind was always too busy thinking about how cute it was when Tramp calls Lady, Pidge or how in love Pongo and Perdy were.
Majority of the time you fantasised about having a love similar, but then again, why would you wanna make yourself vulnerable like that? Is the risk of being hurt (more than you are now) any good? Of course it’s not. Fuck that, life isn’t nothing like those shitty romance films or novels… It’s real and painful.
As you and Taehyung rounded the corner, a little cafe caught your eye, a dainty blue and pink building. Fairy Lights strung up around the windows, you could see a handful of people inside, busy sipping their drinks and chatting away to one another. ‘Aroma Mocha’ hung above the doors. It looked so cute and simple. Your previous thoughts left your mind as quick as they had come. You wanted to go inside, it had an enticing atmosphere.
Taehyung hadn’t realised you’d stopped walking until he couldn’t hear the soft thud of your footsteps behind him, he turned as he called out to you, your eyes still fixed on the cafe. He chuckled to himself, “Fucking adorable, like a kid at christmas,” he walked back over to you. “Hey Doll, you wanna go in?” He felt his heart quicken when you looked at him with those pretty eyes, “We’ve plenty of time to get you back before it’s dark angel.” You answered him with a nod as you turned your head from Taehyung to look back at the alluring little cafe.
Not a second had passed before Taehyung grabbed your hand and pulled you across the road to the entrance; you ignored the warmth of his hand as it intertwined with yours; you ignored the way your tummy erupted with butterflies. Taehyung had stopped to hold the door for you, you murmured a small, “thank you,” looking up at him, the heat that crept up your cheeks making your face resemble that of a doll’s he thought to himself. Once he ushered you fully inside, he placed his hand to rest on the curve of your waist as he guided you to the back corner of the room, where a quaint table for two was unoccupied, a little pot of Daffodils sat atop. How fitting...
Taehyung was quick to pull the chair out for you to take a seat, you pulled it in as you sat down and sent a shy smile his way, “I’m sorry, I know we just met Taehyung but this place is so fucking precious! I hope I’m not bothering you, if I am we can just carry on walking or, I could ring a Taxi? Is this weird? Oh god, I can’t believe--”, Taehyung threw his head back as he laughed, a sound that seemed to wrap its way around your soul, twisting around your heart in the nicest of ways, it was almost like a killer to the weeds taking over your body. A temporary release. You felt like you could really breathe in those short seconds of his laughter.
“Angel, if you were bothering me, I’d have kept on walking. That, or I would’ve called you a Taxi myself, it’s no problem honestly.” You ducked your head as he sent a wink your way, fuck sake Y/N get it together! Why are you acting like a fucking schoolgirl?
“Well I uh, appreciate it so, yeah thank you?” You don’t know what to do, you’re here with the most gorgeous person you’ve ever laid your eyes on… yet you have no clue if what you saw was real, did Taehyung stab someone? Could someone have had the knife who wasn’t Taehyung? Was he even the person you saw in that altercation? Did you imagine everything that had gone off?
Before you had chance to overthink it, a light bubbly voice greeted your ears, “Hi! Welcome to Aroma Mocha, I’m Jimin and I’ll be your server today. Is there anything I can get you?” Jimin held his gaze on you as he flashed you a friendly smile, Taehyung turned around at the sound of his best friend, “Oh, Tae! I wasn’t expecting to see you today, what are you doing here? And who’s this pretty little lady?”
“This is Y/Nie, she was in the neighbourhood so we thought we’d nip in for something to drink before I take her back to hers.” you sent a warm smile to Jimin which he gladly returned, “I’ll have my usual and can you get Y/Nie a Strawberry Iced Tea? Thanks man.”
Once Jimin had disappeared to make your drinks, you shot your eyes to Taehyung, “Uhm, how’d you know I like Strawberry Iced Tea?” Taehyung didn’t even look in your direction as he scrolled through his phone, eyes glued to the screen. A minute passed by and he’d still not acknowledged your question so you let it slide, it wasn’t that big of a deal right? Your mind drifted. Your fingers rested atop of your lap, hidden from the sight of onlookers, picking around your nails as anxiety flooded your body. You felt like you were about to suffocate. You shouldn’t be talking to anyone, you shouldn’t let anyone close. You were only going to fuck everything up in a heartbeat. It’s only natural. Self deprecating thoughts devoured and made their way through your veins, poisoning yourself further; your whole body felt as though it was alight.
Jimin brought you your drinks, placed them carefully in front of the pair of you as you both said your thanks.
The click of Taehyung’s phone being locked and the clearing of his throat brought you back to your senses. “The drink I ordered for you is popular here so, I assumed you’d like to try it. You wanna talk about what’s bothering you?” your eyes shot up to meet his, your head tilted a little to the left as your tongue wet your lip, so puppy like...
You stared incredulously, “I don’t know what you’re talking about Taehyung.” You leant forward slightly as you wrapped your lips around the straw and took a sip.
Taehyung saw the way you sucked your drink up through your straw, his eyes darkened. Thankful to have worn sweatpants that day, he shifted himself discreetly, “I’m not stupid Angel, I know what you’re doing under the table. I’m here, so talk to me. I’ll listen to whatever you gotta say.”
You stuttered as you wracked your brain for something to say, “I-I only met you like forty minutes ago, I don’t even tell my friends what’s wrong. Not that there is, everything’s fine.”
You met me just short of an hour ago, he thought to himself, “You don’t have to lie to me Y/Nie…” he grabbed your hands that were laid near the cup of your Iced Tea. His thumb rubbing circles onto the back of your hand. You looked small and fragile, like the Daffodils on the table; one little pluck and you’d be ruined. He wouldn’t admit it to you just yet but, Taehyung fucking loved how delicate you seemed as you sat across from him.
How easy it would be to take your life away. How easy it’d be to pull those weeds up that are poisoning you, torturing you every single day. He shook his head, as he cleared those thoughts. No, only Y/N can make that decision. I’m just going to help her choose.
Live or Die.
You visibly winced, “You don’t know me. Think whatever the fuck you want about me, it doesn’t matter.” your eyes flashed hurt as you went back to picking your skin. You knew it, this whole encounter was too good to be true. A complete stranger (well acquaintance technically) had just presumed shit about you, the fact he was right is what hurt more. You didn’t want anyone to know how you were feeling. Or how you were dealing with it.
You couldn’t exactly tell him to piss off, you still needed his help home and so you tried to distract yourself from the unsettling gaze that watched your every move. You let out a breath as Taehyung went back to his phone. Your eyes drifted as you picked up the local Newspaper, your eyes skimmed over the headline, ‘Jigsaw Traps Continue’. Taehyung noticed you staring at the front page, and chuckled, “you scared of Jigsaw Angel?”
You shook your head, why would you be scared of some nutjob who’s targeted criminals and drug dealers? You’re a nobody. “Of some psychopathic puppet?” if anyone did anything to you that would threaten your life, it would be you. Taehyung just laughed in return as you skipped the article and skim-read the other pointless stories.
You were fucking clueless as to who he was while he knew every little thing about you. He had watched you for months… His precious little Y/Nie… Oh how silly you were, taking your life for granted.
You hated yourself that much, you were willingly marking yourself up. Tainting your skin… oh your skin, how fucking beautiful and soft it looked, even with all the scars it still looked perfect… Taehyung wanted nothing more than to whisk you away and lock you inside with him. Forever. He didn’t want anyone touching what was his.
He knew you wore a mask when in public, too afraid to show your real self. Little did you know, he wore a mask himself...only he wore it to better other people.
He had a plan.
And you’d soon find out.
Let the games begin.
#horror bts#dark bts#yandere bts#yandere taehyung#mafia bts#kim taehyung au#kim taehyung fic#taehyung x reader#taehyung angst#bts angst#bts fluff#taehyung fluff#taehyung scenarios#kim taehyung x reader#taehyung x you#yandere jungkook#yandere namjoon#yandere yoongi#yandere bts x reader#yandere jin#yandere hoseok#yandere jimin#bts army#bts fic#bts saw au#billy jigsaw!taehyung#johnkramer!taehyung#BILLY kth au#un2verse#bts mafia au
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omg i’m so glad u have a tumblr!! ur literally my fav mgg fic author ❤️ i’m a hoe for that man can u do sleeping together for the first time with like an age gap or something spicy lmao
hi omg thank you 😊 that literally means the world to me! also thank you for requesting one of my fave things to write haha i love first-time-having-sex-together tropes. happy reading!
summary: reader is an artist who needs some inspiration, preferably from her new boyfriend.
content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, age gap, creampie, a little breeding kink, oral (male receiving), kind of Dom!Matthew vibes, dirty talk, praise kink with a hint of degradation as well (not super prominent).
word count: 4.4k
relationship: Fem!Reader/Matthew
masterlist
I straighten up and bend backward a bit to relieve the pressure on my spine. my hair is falling out of the knot on my head and I push a stray piece behind my ear, placing the wooden paintbrush between my teeth. aside from the warm, mellifluous tones pouring from the speakers, the apartment is silent.
I've hit a creative wall, it seems. every time I've tried to paint this week, I find myself standing above a stretched canvas with nothing but a frown and crossed arms. even little details feel wrong to add; the empty space is taunting me. it doesn't help that my thoughts have been flooded with memories and fantasies of Matthew. we've been on a couple dates now, sweet outings that leave me fluttery inside. I remember the words he says, the shape of his smile and the curve of his jaw, like they've been been in my mind forever. he's elusive, however, and hasn't initiated anything sexual with me. I think he's afraid of coming on too strong. there's a considerable age gap between us, but I don't care. I want him all the time-- whenever I'm at work, or trying to paint, all I can think of is how good it would feel to have those strong, veined hands on me.
christ.
before I can lose my courage, I text him. if anything can inspire me, it's his presence. likely, he's at work and won't be able to respond or come over, but it's worth a shot.
I'm just sliding my phone into my back pocket when the response comes in. a smile spreads over my face; he'll be over in half an hour. in the meantime, I'll sweep the background with shades that remind me of him: rich, emerald greens, honeyed tones that reminisce of his eyes. he'll pop against any backdrop.
I'm bent furiously over my work when he tells me he's arrived, and my heart thuds in my chest. even after hanging out several times, the butterflies are as alive as ever. they flood my stomach while I buzz him into the building.
"hi." he greets me when I open the door, curls messy. he must have just come from work.
"hi, Matthew." I smile up at him. his gaze travels over my face, my body, taking in my appearance for a moment.
"you look lovely." he says it genuinely, despite the fact that I'm literally wearing a paint t-shirt under a pair of rummaged overalls. I forgot to fix my hair, too.
"thanks." I blush, about to turn away when he bends down and presses a gentle kiss to my lips. it's the first time he's said hello that way, and part of me flushes with the knowledge that he's attracted to me right now.
"now," he looks around my apartment as I step back to let him in. "what can I help you with?"
"I have a small favor to ask." I spin the paintbrush between my index and third fingers, reaching out to take his wrist and pull him towards the couch.
"anything," he replies, then sees my setup. "is this your studio?"
"slash living room." I chuckle. Matthew sits on the soft cushions before staring up at me. I don't miss his pupils dilating as they travel over the shape of my body. instead of allowing myself get distracted, I gesture to the wet paint on my canvas. "I need you to model for me."
"like, be your muse?" he beams at the notion, incredibly pleased with himself. I like this about Matthew; although he can be self-deprecating and doesn't take himself too seriously, he appreciates my admiration.
"oh, hush." I giggle. he laughs, reclining on the couch now that he knows why I invited him over.
"how do you want me to pose, Picasso?"
"well, let me re-orient myself." I hold up a hand, grab the abandoned easel, and try to get everything set up. he never takes his eyes off me.
"why were you painting on the floor?" he asks, slightly amused. I jerk my head toward him, narrow my eyes.
"it's my process."
"no judgement." he holds up his hands in surrender. I place the canvas carefully on the easel so that he can't see my work, then gather up my paints, palette, and brushes. there's a moment of pure silence when I frown as I glance between his face and the chasm of space awaiting its representation.
"you look tired." I observe. he lets out a sound that resembles a laugh.
"I am."
"how long did you sleep last night?" I ask as I start painting, focusing on the shape and planes of his face. if I don't get the composition exactly correct, I'll have to throw the whole thing out.
"three hours." he says this like it's normal. my eyebrows shoot up.
"three hours? why?"
"I had to work on lines." he shrugs.
"don't move." I order. he suppresses a grin.
"my sincerest apologies."
"uh huh," I dip my brush into a pale skin shade that I've mixed to match his pigment. "you need to get more sleep."
we continue on like this for a while, making light conversation while I get down the basics of my portrait. I can't handle anything that requires more than a fraction of my attention while doing this, and he seems to appreciate my concentration.
that said, it's beyond difficult to focus when he stares at me like every movement is magical, something he wants to memorize. I feel pliable under his watch, a little bit like a doll. he could bend me every which way, ask me to do anything, and I would give in. and who could blame me?
my thoughts slip into darkened territories, and the hue of my cheeks must do the same, because he gets this mischievous smile on his face that I can't ignore.
"what are you thinking about?" he asks softly.
"hm?" I turn to him. "oh, nothing."
"really?" his brows lift in that intimidating, delightfully entertained way that sets my skin on fire.
"I..." I trail off, wondering if I should give into the chaos in my mind. the thoughts that slash through my psyche whenever I see the width of his shoulders, the fit of his shirt. "I should have asked you to pose nude."
Matthew blushes-- actually blushes-- when I say this, his head dropping momentarily as a grin takes over his features. when he lifts his gaze to mine again, there's a different look in his eyes.
"yeah?"
"mhmm." no taking it back now. "I think that would be too distracting, though."
"how so?" the corner of his mouth tugs up.
"you know why." I avert my attention, only once flitting back to him. his tongue darts out over his lips and he holds contact.
"say it." he dares me. the tone of it, slightly dominant, makes my stomach flip. quietly, I swallow the lump in my throat.
"I have trouble keeping my hands to myself."
we stare at each other, words finding and dying on tongues in the silence.
at this point, my painting has been somewhat abandoned. brushstrokes sit unaccompanied by actual structure, except for the general godly shape of his face, and I'm clenching the utensil between my fingers as if to channel the sexual tension elsewhere.
"is that right?" he notes my absolute stillness and stands up, walking toward me in a relaxed, confident gait. all I can do is look up at him when he stands before me. the top button of his shirt is undone, and I can see the smooth skin beneath, each of the other buttons awaiting my fingertips.
"yes." the word is messy. he runs his index finger over the shell of my ear, bends down, whispers so low that the phrase almost gets lost in the air.
"me too."
he plants a gentle kiss on my jaw, hand reaching tentatively to rest on my waist. I can feel the caution in his actions, the worry he has about pressuring me. I'm cognizant of every breath he takes, especially the hitch when I give into myself and kiss him.
his mouth is warm and soft. the tension twists and knots between our bodies, roiling in the empty space as we resist the energy still. but I don't want to resist. I know that I want this, and he seems to want it just as much.
"Matthew." I pull away, his teeth tugging gently on my bottom lip.
"what is it?" his eyes, dark, search mine. my pulse quickens beneath my skin.
"I want to be with you."
"you are with me." he chuckles lightly, glancing at my features. the full circles of my eyes, the bloom of pink spreading over my cheekbones.
"no," I shake my head. "I mean... I want to be with you."
"you want to have sex?" he asks, clarifying. I nod eagerly, though he frowns a bit. "are you sure?"
"do you not want to?" I try to keep the disappointment out of my face. maybe I misread the situation. the most we've done is make out on his couch and once in an Uber on the way back from our first date. but there's a sweet, burning sensation whenever I see him, something I want to dive into. I want him; I've wanted him since the moment we met.
"of course I want to," he says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. relief loosens my chest. "I just don't want you to regret anything."
"I couldn't ever regret this." my eyes travel over his frame, over the little scar beneath his chin. he angles my face up to examine my features. there's a smirk on his face.
"then what are we waiting for?" his hands move to encircle my waist, tugging me to him like I'm something long-awaited, like he needs my weight against his. our lips meet again, my head tilting as we kiss deeply, my fingers twining in his soft hair. I'm standing on my tiptoes as I do it, and one of his hands reaches down to squeeze my ass. he grunts as my pelvis moves against the quickly-forming hard-on in his pants. I can feel it against my stomach as he ruts against me just slightly. I smirk.
"sit on the couch again." I whisper when I pull away. he's holding my face with one hand, staring into my eyes with the kind of dominance that tells me he knows exactly what to do. but I appreciate that he follows my request, pulling my hips toward him as he backs up and sinks onto the cushions. he sits, awaiting my next move. when I sink onto my knees and settle between his legs, he bites hard on his lip. I don't move at first, willing to draw out this beautiful moment when he's watching with undivided attention.
"what are you doing down there, sweetheart?" he feigns innocence when I give him my doe eyes. I run slender fingers over the erection in his pants, his quickened breath an indicator of just how needy he secretly is. I revel in it.
my free hand wraps around his upper thigh, digging my nails in slightly. he's so gorgeous, and the tension of his muscles beneath me is enough to break my resistance. I start to palm him through the fabric, torturing slowly while he runs fingers through my hair and tries not to buck up against my touch. I finally get around to undoing the button on his pants. he waits impatiently. I tug them down his legs, lingering on the waistband of his boxers. when they come down as well, another kind of knot forms in my tummy. he's perfect.
"oh my god." he throws his head back when his dick hits his stomach, the pleasure of releasing it its own sensation.
"hm?" I wonder aloud, wrapping my hand around the base and starting to slowly pump him. he raises his head to look at me.
"you're just... doing so well." he breathes. I grin at how easily I've got him; I was worried about being too shy or him being more experienced, but he's greedy for me. I love the power I have right now.
I surprise him by flattening my tongue against the underside of his cock, dragging it up over the throbbing vein and pausing at the top. I let him stare at me with my mouth hovering over him, the head resting on the tip of my tongue. he moans when I begin to kitten lick the precum that leaks out, grip tightening in my hair as it comes out of the ponytail I made earlier. the veins in his arm clench as I sink slowly onto him. my cheeks hollow. his jaw drops open, dewy skin catching the light, as I start to suck on him.
"fuck..." he trails off. I begin to bob up and down, doing tricks with my tongue and swirling around the head, savoring every single second. his desperate touch, the way he bucks his hips up involuntarily when I try to take him to the hilt, all of it causes me to moan. vibrations draw out sinful noises from him as well, those heavenly sounds that he litters with my name. my hands rest on his thighs at first, then move up to rest on the warm, taut skin of his abdomen. I crave every centimeter of his skin, his contact, especially when I can feel the rushed rise and fall of his panting. I give him full use of my throat, sliding over him and moaning with every tug of my hair. he mutters profanities, praises me, struggles to keep his eyes open just to see me peek up at him from beneath my lashes. his expression tells me he's got plans for me.
"if you don't stop, I'm gonna cum, baby." he groans, smoothly tugging me off of him. there's a slight popping sound and I settle onto my knees, staring up at him. the smile on my face is unmistakable. I love that I can do this to him. I grip his legs and pull myself up into his lap, drawing myself across him just before his erection, glancing down at it. his hands rub over the tops of my thighs, tracing over the curve of my hips and resting on my ass. I start to roll my body down, my lips finding his throat as I suck and bite. my tongue licks over his Adam's apple and he shudders, drawing me closer so that my stomach brushes his cock.
"stop teasing." he starts to undo the straps of my overalls, chuckling a bit to himself as they fall easily. I blush.
"pretty sexy." I joke. Matthew suddenly grabs my chin, holds me in place so that I look him dead in the eyes.
"you're perfect." he smiles admiringly, then toys with the hem of my t-shirt. I reach down, pull it off and toss it somewhere in the room. I'm not wearing a bra, and Matthew slides his hands up my waist, ribcage, pausing just below my tits. when I grab his fingers and place them over me, his dick twitches.
"excited?" I smirk. his fingertips seem to have a mind of their own as they begin to toy with my nipples, the pad of his thumbs teasing me. I sigh, chest pushing out towards him desperately. he holds my body like he's worried I'll crumble, but also in a way that connotes a deep longing. something spilling over.
"can I take you to the bedroom?" he asks me breathlessly, one of his hands leaving my chest to stroke his own cock. the sight makes me groan helplessly while I grip his shoulders and grind against his lap. he picks up the pace for himself. "I can't wait any longer."
I nod eagerly, gasping when he stops touching himself to pull up his pants, hoist me up into his arms, and stand, carrying me with surprising ease down the hallway of my apartment. I point him to the correct room and he laughs when we get inside.
"you're messy." he laughs, although I'm not sure if he means the scattered papers around my bedroom or the whine that issues from my throat as I reach for his clothed dick while I'm pressed to him. it's sitting against my navel and I want to see his undone expressions.
I ignore the playful comment; he lays me down gingerly on the bed, straightening up to gaze at my figure before I push the rest of the overalls down my legs and cast them off. he lets out a giggle as I pout at the work I have to put into getting naked.
"stop laughing..." I blush, smiling. but I'm giggling too. he grazes the inside of my thigh, unable to keep from touching me while I discard my panties.
"I'm sorry." he laughs in a way that shows he isn't sorry at all, but the soft kiss he plants on my lips tells me it's all endearing to him. I wrinkle my nose slightly. for the first time being naked around him, I feel surprisingly comfortable. he watches me with a quiet adoration, like I've spun sugar and gold between my fingers. unable to contain myself anymore, I grab fistfuls of his shirt and undo the rest of the buttons. every second that his skin isn't against mine is a new kind of torture. it comes off easily and then the pants come off, too, until we're just staring at each other.
"do you still wanna do this?" he speaks carefully with me. I don't know where to look-- at his perfect chest, stomach, the purplish bruises already forming across his throat, or his enraptured face. it's almost overwhelming, and the waves of desire crash over me, hindering my words.
"yes," I nod. "yes, yes, yes." the word keeps falling from my lips even as he crawls on top of me, burying his nose into my collarbone and kissing feverishly. one hand supports his arm beside my head while the other reaches down to part my legs. I sigh at the cool air that's interrupted by his dick rubbing over my folds. he starts to grind down, drawing out every second of foreplay while I try to catch my breath. my eyes tilt to the ceiling, fluttering shut. I bask in every sensation. his warmth, his weight, all of it presses down.
"do we need a condom?" he asks softly, his cock throbbing against my center.
"birth control." I shake my head. he nods against my skin, allows me to tangle my fingers in his curls. "I'm clean."
"me too." I reply. he grabs my hip and yanks it towards him, pulling his chest away to straighten while he lines himself up at my entrance. he's concentrating on the place where our bodies meet, eyes full of lust when they peek up at mine.
"tell me if you need me to stop." he says softly.
"okay." I can't think of anything else. every cell of my existence is consumed with thoughts of impatience, and when he slides into me, my thighs tense and my mouth drops open.
"Matthew... oh my god." my voice is more like a mewl, in shock as my walls squeeze around him like they're trying to reject the sudden pressure between my legs. his jaw clenches, sinking into me until he reaches about halfway.
he lets out a surprising groan, leans down to kiss my shoulder as he finds a sweet spot. our chests are pressed together and, judging by the way he wraps an arm around my waist and lifts my torso to his, he likes the feeling.
we stay there a moment, him trying not to hurt me. but then I lift my pelvis up, trying to take more, and he inhales sharply.
"do something," I beg him quietly. "please."
I feel his lips curl into a smile and he pulls his face up to see my expressions. his hips push forward, my body sliding up the bed with the force. he watches my eyes roll back, my ribcage expand, my face overcome by pleasure. his gaze is unrelenting with lips slightly parted as he begins to thrust in and out of me.
I'm already a panting, moaning mess beneath him. he touches his nose to mine, swallowing each other's breaths while he moves.
"is this how you want it, baby?" he smirks, getting lost in his own lust. I nod and he gently turns my face to his. "tell me what you want."
"more." I sigh, hips again raising to meet the thrusts that are growing more forceful each time. my nails drag up his back, the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair and tugging at the ends. he sinks his teeth into my neck lightly and moans. I wrap my legs around his torso.
"such a pretty girl..." he growls in my ear. his grip on the sheets tightens when I clench myself around him, drawing him impossibly closer to my core. I can't help the helpless moans spilling out of me. I'm insatiable right now, scratching at his shoulders until I'm sure I'll leave red marks. he groans lasciviously at the clawing, ramming into me with an unrelenting voracity.
"oh my god," I yelp, back arching as he hits my g-spot. "right there, Matthew." my pleas fall on receptive ears: he holds me tighter to his chest and pounds into me.
"you like getting fucked by older men?" he whispers dirty things in my ear and I nod quickly, hardly able to speak through the ungodly sounds escaping my mouth. I cling to him and he lets me, treating every limb like it belongs to him.
"yes-- fuck, yes." I moan, almost sliding out of his grip from how hard he goes.
"you can take it," he breathes out, fingertips digging into my ribs while he holds me up. he's leaving marks that won't go away for a while, remnants of the full power of his desire. I want more, writhing and using my limited mobility to grind against him. he chuckles darkly over my skin. "look at you."
"Matthew, I'm gonna--" I gasp when he slams into me particularly hard. "I'm gonna cum."
"good." he shudders slightly, that attitude showing again. he reaches his hand up a moment to run through my hair. "cum on me, princess."
my lips part and I try to gulp down air, but it's impossible with the way he's holding my attention. the thing about Matthew is that he's so sweet and gentle that whenever he looks at me like I'm a plaything, it shocks my insides. they turn to jelly, eager to please and quick to satisfy. he switches so easily with me, and he doesn't even need to request my submission. I give it more than willingly.
"fuck me..." I pant out, feeling my pussy start to clench over and over around him. my orgasm fuzzies the edges of my vision, creeping up my spine until it's arched. "oh fuck-- Matthew!" I practically scream while my frame gives out. I'm shuddering, crying out at the absolute euphoria wracking my body.
"scream my name, baby." he groans, his own orgasms approaching quickly. the fluttering of my cunt around him is causing the vein in his forehead to throb. he rocks into me, the headboard knocking into the wall while he nears the edge. "such a good girl for me."
I nod and meet his thrusts with my hips while I ride out my orgasm, inadvertently finding myself wound up again. the pleasure of his fingers when they reach between our bodies to rub my clit causes me to buck into him, whining mercifully while he gets me off again.
"oh--" he sucks in a breath when I squeeze, keeping him here with me. "you feel so good."
he starts to lose control, hips juddering to get as deep as he can get.
"can I fill you up, baby?"
"yes." I reply immediately. he smiles a little, lifting me up more so that he can hold me under my ass while he pounds into me so deeply, I can feel his dick brushing my cervix.
"oh my god," he moans, the sound desperate as I feel him twitch and spill inside of me. he keeps pushing as though to keep his cum within me, panting over my skin. "such a tight little cunt."
the circles on my clit, combined with the sinful things he continues to say, cause me to whimper and climax all over again. I moan his name, absorbed in the warmth of his seed in my stomach.
"you want more?" he slows his thrusts but pleasures me through my orgasm while I nod helplessly.
"I'll cum in you again tonight." he promises, taking my shaking, weak form as a sign to withdraw. both of us wince at the sensitivity until he lays me back down on the bed so gently, it makes me question if what we just did was real.
neither of us speaks for a moment, trying to regain our composure as he rolls down onto the mattress beside me. I stare up at the ceiling, feeling him drip between my thighs.
"that was..." he turns his head to gauge my reaction. I don't even bother to hide the satisfied grin on my face.
"amazing."
"yeah?" he rolls over onto his side and places one large hand on my stomach. his touch makes me bloom.
"mhmm." I hum. his face is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, a beautiful sight that makes me want to kiss him all over again. I didn't know it was possible to feel this way for someone so quickly.
"can I get you anything?" he smiles. I don't say anything at first, only reach out to cup his face in my hands and pull him to me for a chaste peck.
"no, thank you." I rub my nose with his. "I'm gonna take a shower and make something to eat if you want to join me."
"definitely." he examines my features once more as if to assess damage. but there's only pure joy painted across my face. "are you sure I didn't go too hard on you?"
"you can go harder tonight." I tease.
"what about your painting?" he suddenly recalls the project lying in the living room.
"rain check." I shrug. he laughs, wraps an arm around my waist.
"alright, then."
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