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empressgeekt · 3 months

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Trolls - Amnesia-Rock-Prince!Branch in An Arranged Marriage Au - Role Reversal Au (part 1)

SO, so earlier I read a fic where Poppy didn't go to branch for help in the first movie and the village was left abandoned with Branch as the only survivor after the revival of Trollstice. Meaning he was alone when Barb invaded...And it has inspired a different route on to how Char and Poppy would meet.

Char = Branch as it would.

We start with the events of the first movie. Poppy would run off to save her friends and she would succeed, however, when they arrived back to the village there wasn't anyone there. Or at least that's what the snackpack thinks. They find little Keith crawling out of some of the fresh rubble, he has a small frown but it was Shocking to Poppy as the boy was usually expressionless. From Keith they learn that the bergens came back while they were trying to leave, and his dad hid him in a bush. The attack was days ago...

Some members of the SnackPack want to go back to get the rest of the village, but Poppy knows that she barely got her friends out of there, an entire village was a completely different challenge, and Trollistice had already passed...They would need help. There had to be people out there who would help them.

Staying in the village is out of the question, so they gather what they can from the destruction, and move on. They walk for days, and living in the woods is harder then expected. It really opens Poppy's eyes to the true nature of the wilderness, especially since she's taking care of Keith (the Blank child clings to her since she found him). They try singing to keep their spirits up, but singing attracts predators. Large spiders and snakes, come at them from all directions. Creek (no he didn't betray them...yet) can't talk them down. Food is scarce, they don't know which berries are safe. And eventually they all get caught in a storm, getting washed away.

By some miracle they all wake up the next morning by the edge of the forest. Before them stretches vast plains, some patches of the ground darkened in ways they are un-familiar. Here they are faced with a choice go back into the forest with all it's dangers or face the unknown ones just beyond the threshold. Creek tries to argue that they should stay with what they know, convincing Biggie, Guy Diamond (who has been feeling sick), and the twins that they shouldn't take a chance. However, Poppy, Cooper, DJ, smidge and Fuzzbert think that the unknown is worth the risk. Cooper saying he was technically from the unknown, and maybe they could find where he was born. In the end Creek is out-voted.

The plains are different. There aren't as many spiders or birds, but snakes are still an issue as well as a lack of natural shelter for the sun. its hot, and it only grows hotter. the land slowly becomes more and more burnt, more and more black. The ground is turning their feet red as they walked. Then they heard a screech, and were swarmed with Leather Vipers (leather Vipers are the main predators in my version of Rock Troll territory, basically picture a mix of snake/ Dragon made of polished leather and glowing warped metal teeth, claws and horns). It looks like the end, until they hear a second screm from above.

And Anglerbus is over head, and jumping from it, are...other trolls. Coming to the SnackPack's rescue. A few power cords and the vipers are scared off. Poppy feels great relief at seening them. They weren't the last trolls, these guys were here, and even better they had ways to defend themselves. In her eyes they were saved. Creek while thankful to not be dead, isn't as welcoming of these strangers. These dully color strangers covering in scares and scowling at them. At least on the surface, he's still "polite" to get the aid their group desperately needed.

Val Thundershock is part of the group that was on the Anglerbus, she's a little surprised to find a group of Pop trolls (and one funk) out in the Rock Wastes. No one knew where the Pop trolls had gone since the split and frankly no one cared, however she did want to know why they would suddenly invade the territory.

Val: Well, Well, Well, we got us some little pop trolls, now what exactly are you doing in Rock territory?

Poppy: Hi, first off thank you so much, we would've been if it wasn't for you.

Val: yeah I know, now what are you doing here? I hope you realize that Pop trolls aren't exactly welcome here.

Creek (rudely cuts in): Pop trolls?

Val: That's what you are right? Peppy, over excited, happy music lovers?

Poppy: Well kinda...

Val: Then you might as well turn around. Your kind isn't welcome here.

Poppy: Wait please!

Val: Go home, there's nothing for you here

Poppy: We don't have a home! Our home was destroyed by the bergens! We're all that's left!

Val dismissal is finally the thing that gets Poppy to shout. Finally accepting that yes her home is gone and that they were the only survivors. They all had been ignoring the subject while the woods. It's a hard truth to swallow, but one she chokes down to get Val to listen. And listen Val does. When Poppy confirms that they were indeed the last pop trolls. Val immediately shifts gears, as even if the tribes didn't get along, Genres needed each other to remain in balance. Not since the dancing plague of the disco tribe did one go completely extinct. Still it isn't her call, to preserve the genre. Thankfully she was on the same ride, as a very close friend to her. She tells one of the Rockers to contact Prince Char.

Creek, pulls Poppy aside, and expresses his concerns over these new trolls. Saying they shouldn't trust them. Poppy asks why, and Creek starts explaining that he was warned about trolls who were dulled. Saying that when he was a child there had been a grey trolling who lived near by and that grey one had killed his own grandmother. Poppy, says that she understands that Creek is scared, but they don't really have a choice. AT that moment Guy would throw up adding to Poppy's argument, saying that at the least they need food, shelter and a doctor for Guy. Creek can't really argue, especially since one of the Rock trolls came over to help the twins ease Guy too the ground.

The Anglerbus would land, and Char would walk out. The Rockers salute him as their prince, and that kind of intimidates Poppy, as while she is a Princess, she never actually interacted with another member of Royalty beyond her Dad. And Char is by far the dullest of all the strange trolls. Creeks words getting to her. Speaking of the idiot, he steps in to be the first to speak to the Prince.

Creek: Prince Char, it is lovely to meet you, I hope to extend an arm in friendship yes?

Char (not shaking Creek's hand): You speak for this group?

Creek: Well in a way. I-I wouldn't go that far. Second in command or spiritual leader might be a better fit. I do hope we can-

Char: cut to the chase, what is your business here?

Creek (taken aback): We come for aid, please it was horrible our village is destroyed. As fellow trolls we need to stick together.

Char (laughing dryly): You come here preaching unity after your kind split us apart. it's so ironic its funny.

Creek: I believe I don't understand.

Char: Centuries ago, the six tribes lived in harmony, until the Pop trolls, you kind tried to wipe out the rest of us. Destorying out music and culture triggering the great split and forcing us from our homes. Seem's the universe has come back to bit you.

Creek: I'm not sure where you've heard that but I assure you these rumors are not true in the slightest.

Char: they're aren't rumors their history. My people wouldn't be living out in these wastelands if it weren't for the split.

Creek: Then your history is incorrect. We'd never do such a thing, all trolls are supposed to be friends.

Char: *hum*, Treat there wounds, but start the bus, you'll receive no aid from us.

Creek: What?

Char: Don't act shocked, you gave everything I need to know. That "greater then thou" act won't fly here. You're intentions are not ones I can put trust or faith in, because they are not genuine. Go back to your king or and queen and tell them if they were trying an invasion, we the people of Rock will not hesitate to rain down hell fire on your home land.

Poppy: Wait! Please! *runs towards Char, with Keith in her arms only to be blocked by the Rockers* We're telling the truth! We don't have a home to go back too! We're all that's left Please help us!

Char: And who are you?

Poppy: I'm Princess Poppy, and I'm begging you. Help us.

Char: Take them up, get them settle, doctors food water. Then bring the princess to my quarters. We need to talk privately.

______

And I'll cut this off here. There's going to be a part 2.

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hansolmates · 3 years

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cherry contact |🍒

summary: jihoon has access to all versions of you - your credit score, shopping habits, work emails, even your terrible tinder history. pairing; fbi agent!jihoon x civilian!reader (f) genre/warnings; fluff, crack, it’s really just that “your fbi agent” meme that caused everyone 8 years ago to put tape over their webcams, questionable viewing habits for an fbi agent, language, dick talk, mentions of sex, jihoon has feelings and is confused, he is a PINER, tw—sexual harassment w/c; 3.3k a/n; i can’t believe i finished this😭😭 part of meraki’s job collaboration and i’ve been dying to do a svt collab since the dawn of time and finally today’s the day! it’s been a hot moment since i’ve written for jihoon, glad i managed to get those svt writing muscles going! a huge thank you to @merakiiverse and @woozisnoots for putting this together. readers pls definitely check back on the masterlist linked above to see more of the other talented cwc writers and their rendition of the job prompt!

if you like this fic please consider giving it a like n’share!🤓🖥🤓🖥

“Kevin, 32, works at Kodak,” you scroll further to the description, “I love being tied up and need a dominatrix, have swing at home—no.” Swipe right.

“Lisa, 24, works at Infinity Dance Studio,” you definitely are weak for athletic ladies, “My hobbies include cuticle care and online shopping! Looking for a sugar daddy or mommy that can spoil me rotten—definitely can’t afford that kind of relationship.” Swipe right.

“Hansol, 26, works in an art museum,” sounds promising, you love art, “wait, why are all his pictures of him holding fish? Is he inside a fish? Who the heck finds that attractive?” Swipe right.

“Billiam, 31, works in finance. Needs a bratty baby girl who can triangle,” you grimace, “what is with these guys and stating their kinks from the get-go? Gotta take a girl out to dinner first, and the fuck is a triangle?”

You swore off Tinder since the dark ages, also known as senior year of college. However you’re in a particular slump, thirst-trapped between needing some serious dick and a committed relationship. You’d prefer the latter, but after a stressful day at work and the fact that it’s the ass crack o’dawn, you’ll take what you can get.

“Bye Billiam,” you sing-song into your phone, moving to swipe right.

Except you accidentally drop your phone between your sheets, and when you pick it up you accidentally swipe left.

“Fuck fuck fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget!” you cry out into oblivion. You’re so glad you live alone at the very least, it stops you from looking like a crazy person when you talk your potential sexipades out.

Billiam has Super-liked you!

“No. Nononono—” you bludgeon your head against your pillow, frowning when your phone opens up a chat for you and Billiam.

Billiam: hi can u check if my dick is too small

You: please, don’t send me a picture of your dick.

Billiam is typing…

You: for fuck’s sake—

“—that’s disgusting,” Jihoon curses, and immediately sends out the screenshot for sexual harassment.

“What’s disgusting?” Mingyu chimes, swiveling in his spinny chair from his side of the room.

“Don’t look,” Jihoon gags, reaching for a bottle of Coca-Cola from the mini-fridge. “You’ll throw up your fried chicken.”

“My person is a twenty-one year old nympho who also happens to be a incel,” Mingyu chastises to his screen, closing up the eighth tab of BBC porn he’s seen this week, “he doesn’t know how well he’s avoiding the FBI’s eyes,” Mingyu shakes his head, “so I’ve seen some pretty bad shit, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“No,” he echoes your name like you’ve done the most heinous thing in the world, “no, no! Why would you swipe left on Jackson? You’re way out of his league! He literally looks like he has a pea-sized brain!”

“He does look like he has half a brain cell,” your voice reverberates through his noise-cancelling headphones, unknowingly agreeing to Jihoon’s passionate throw of anger, “but I’m deprived and desperate, so!”

It’s like you can hear his sentiments exactly.

“Literally, you could have any person you want,” Jihoon chastises through his desktop, glaring heavily at your bedroom camera, “you’re wasting your time with these losers!”

Oblivious, you let yourself dangle across the bed. The camera isn’t the best quality, but Jihoon watches intently at the rise and fall of your chest as you attempt to fall into a fitful sleep.

“Some yell at screens for soccer,” Minghao says to the air from his cubicle, “some yell for Starcraft, but Jihoon yells for Tinder like it’s an Olympic sport.”

“Jihoonie,” Mingyu rolls around his chair, resting a long arm over the backrest, “do you have a crush on your civilian?”

Jihoon immediately swivels around his hair, meeting the amused eyes of Mingyu. “No,” he says sharply, whipping around to glare at his screen.

He glares harder the longer Mingyu’s simple question sinks in. He doesn’t have a crush on you, he likes you. Jihoon swallows his sigh, wondering why you would want to go as low as Tinder to look for a potential tryst. From your profile, you’re absolutely beautiful and intelligent. You have simple pleasures that match his—a hot cup of tea right after dark, snuggling under a weighted blanket while watching anime, and sleeping in on Sundays.

Unlike him, you don’t see the world through half a dozen lenses and a plethora of information right at your fingertips. No, you’re lucky.

“Hey can you grab me my water bottle?” Mingyu asks over his shoulder.

Jihoon thinks nothing of it, leaving his post for the thirty seconds it takes to get to the mini-fridge and grab Mingyu’s Hydroflask.

“You got a call,” Mingyu says when he plops the bottle on his desk, indicating to the red blinker on Jihoon’s computer.

It isn’t until he puts on his headphones does he take care to see why his blinker is going off.

He’s getting an incoming call. From you.

You’ve been waiting on the line for about two minutes. He lets two additional minutes breeze by because Jihoon is internally screaming. You’re calling again. There’s a fire blazing in his brain, his fingers hot as he twitches against the spacebar of his keyboard.

From the monitor he can see that you’ve given up on sleep, hands pawing through your drawer so you can take a final swipe at your magenta-tinted lip balm before nesting yourself in the sheets. You’re kicking around as if you don’t have work at 9AM, smacking your lips to apply the shiny salve while you wait for your call to be picked up.

“Why is my civilian calling me,” it isn’t a question, it’s a thinly veiled indication that Jihoon is ready to fight whoever compromised him like this.

Mingyu and Minghao fail to answer. That’s okay, he isn’t opposed to killing both if neither fess up.

It would be so easy for him to ignore the call, or redirect it to another part of the office. Yet he aches to talk to you, for real talk to you. As if you’re just two regular plain-old human beings with normal lives, and as if he didn’t know every nook and cranny about your daily routine and your favorite breakfast foods.

Call it pride, call it confidence, but Jihoon’s been pretty good at games and he hopes prior experience helps him get over this hurdle. Slipping on his headset, he accepts the call and answers in a controlled voice, “This is the local hotline for sexual harassment reports, are you here to report a case?”

Okay, so this is the closest thing he can get to having a full-fledged conversation with you, so he’ll take it.

“Hi,” you mumble your name into the phone, and he nearly disintegrates right then and there. It’s different when he can hear your voice directly in his ears, definitively reaching out to him as opposed to being a fly on the wall, “I received an email that a report was sent out for my previous chat as sexual harassment, but I didn’t send out a report.”

“Yes,” Jihoon replies smoothly, tapping his nails against his thighs, “it’s a new update.”

“Oh, well thank you,” you reply, and Jihoon sees from the camera that you’re staring at your phone in curiosity.

“It’s my job,” he says, and the words hold more weight than you think, “are you okay?”

“Is it also your job to ask how I’m doing?”

He smiles wryly, and he looks up at the monitor to see how you’ve considerably relaxed on your bed. Your legs dangle in the air, and you’re hugging a mango plushie with all the love in the world. “Not really, but I figured I’d ask. I don’t think I’d be able to recover from a dick that looks like an unhinged toenail.”

Your laugh flutters in his ears, and his stomach is flip-flopping with more than just his shitty ramen lunch. Your face curls and wrinkles into happiness at the lewd joke, and you rest your chin on your stuffed fruit.

“I’m okay,” you finally answer, “it’s not the first time I’ve seen subpar dick. But thank you… what’s your name?”

“Uji,” he says, a codename that he considers as precious as his actual name, “feel free to call or text this number if you’re ever feeling uncomfortable and in distress.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, good night Uji.”

“Good night.”

That wasn’t so bad, Jihoon thinks as he hangs up the phone. He dims the monitors to let you freshen up and get ready for bed, as per your schedule. After tonight, he hopes he can be sated with his curiosity of you. Maybe he needs to follow your plans and open up a dating account or something, he feels that he’s starting to get a little too engrossed in your presence.

The waning starts today.

You: help, i’m feeling uncomfortable and in distress

Uji: what is it this time?

You: i can’t decide which weighted blanket i should get. Will more weight make me feel more comforted or will i accidentally suffocate myself in my sleep?

The waning of you did not start that night, in fact it never began. Jihoon’s been on edge for weeks, simultaneously teetering between what he calls the high-school equivalent of the talking stage and an absolute catastrophe.

It started as an accident, you meant to call your friend’s number for cooking help but since the last call before your friends was his, you called Jihoon instead. To your surprise, he knew how to roll out homemade pasta without a pasta machine. You kept him on the call for the entirety of dinner preparation, and he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride when your pasta turned out perfect and you were happy and full for the entire night.

Weeks later, and you’ve been texting each other for shits and giggles. At first you chalk up your insistence that he’s basically Human Google and has the answers to seemingly anything and everything, but over time it seems that you enjoy your daily interactions with him. Whether it be a simple phone call asking how to unclog your drain or a screenshot comparing two different KitchenAids, he’s at your disposal.

The burner phone he’s been holding as of late is on silent, but he’s able to pick it up immediately. It’s almost intuition, coupled with the way he notices whenever you seem in a pickle and you need to contact him. However he does not have a chance to formulate a reply, as you’re now calling him.

“Couldn’t wait?” he speaks as if you’re familiar with each other, as if you’re friends. Jihoon longs for that so much, he would love to be upgraded to someone other than the IT guy you text for funsies.

“Yes,” you say, voice laced with determination, “I’m deciding on whether to just like or Super-Like this guy on Light a Flame.”

Jihoon deflates a little, but steels himself. You’d never want to go on a date with the IT guy, it seems that you enjoy the anonymity of your recent communications. Your conversations are definitely meme-worthy.

“Who is it?”

“His name’s Lee Jihoon, 25, works in the FBI.”

He chokes on his coffee, precious beans from Argentina, and the liquid is flying across his keyboard.

Pulling up your phone view, it confirms the worst. In a moment of Weakness with a capital W, Jihoon had caved and made a Light a Flame profile the other night. It’s an app reserved for more serious relationships, which means you’ve finally graduated from Tinder.

“Are you okay?” he wants to cry when he hears you on the other line, genuinely panicked. “Do you need me to send you his profile?”

“N-no,” he sputters, rubbing a rough napkin from McDonalds over his dripping chin. He thought he privated his profile last week after he realized there was nothing he could do to let loose of you. Turns out that isn’t the case, because you’re currently pursuing his profile and actually kinda-sorta considering him for a potentially serious relationship.

“C’mon, Uji,” you tease lightly, “you always seem to know what to do. This is your area of expertise after all, since you work for that kind of department.”

What should he do, scratch that, what can he do? It’s a complete violation of policy to be fraternizing with his civilian life. Sure, there has been episodes of civilians and agents meeting each other, but only minor violations that both parties forgot about shortly after. He’s so far deep at this point, he can risk being relocated or losing his civilian—losing you.

“Do you think he really works in the FBI?” you say when he doesn’t reply immediately, “he’s really cute, though. Totally looks like my style, and he likes My Hero as well! C’mon, I just need for you to check as to whether he’s a homicidal maniac or a compulsive liar.”

Liar. He’s a liar.

That self-accusation prompts him to slump in defeat, and he mumbles in the phone, “I don’t think he’s worth it. I’d say pass.”

“Hey, Coups has seniority,” Soonyoung pats Jihoon thoughtfully on the back with one hand, and grilling meat with the other. Barbeque always lifted up Jihoon’s spirits. “Why don’t you give it a chance and meet her for real? And then he can give me your super cute civilian and then he can give my shitty civilian to some newbie.”

“And if it doesn’t work out, I just lose her,” Jihoon’s eyes are watering, most likely from the excess smoke around their grill, but it does align with his current state of sadness. It was the right thing to do, he thinks over and over as he replays that phonecall from last night. “Hoshi, if you were in my situation, would you have done the same?”

“Like I said–” Soonyoung—codename Hoshi, waves his tongs around like a magic wand, “your civilian is super cute, so I would be making a beeline to her house and—”

“Okay, don’t finish that sentence,” you’re his civilian, not Soonyoung’s.

“Cheer up, c’mon,” Soonyoung’s filling his bowl with all sorts of delicious things, charred vegetables, mixed rice, and pork belly. Jihoon’s favorite is pork belly, so eventually he relents with a timid smile, taking out his chopsticks to appease his friend, “there it is, Uji. Food always makes things better—”

“Uji?”

Both off-duty agents freeze, hearing the familiar ting of your voice as it glares holes into Jihoon’s back. It’s you. Since they’re off the clock, he would have no idea you’d be here. Usually that’s fine, it’s early morning and it’s pretty unlikely that you’d run into your civilian considering you’re supposed to know every second of their schedule. It seems that tonight you’ve varied from the norm.

“Uh, hey?”

His back is still facing you, and he’s side eying Soonyoung in a panic. He’s wearing a cap and a nondescript hoodie, feeling like a shlub as your familiar voice pings back at him with excitement.

“I knew I recognized your voice!” you’re unfazed, definitely not realizing the distress the two men are currently going through. “What a small world, I didn’t think we’d ever actually run into each other!”

“Talk to her, you ass!” Soonyoung hisses, and immediately swivels his chair so he has no choice but to face you.

You’re so, so pretty. Prettier in person, prettier than any crappy 480p screen can give him. You’re definitely not dressed for barbeque, in fact you look like you’re just passing by to pick up a to-go order after a night out. You’re dressed in a silky looking velvet off-the-shoulder top, the cherry red color practically melting onto your skin. The black skirt paired with it has Jihoon salivating for more than just barbeque, and he has no idea how to look away.

The smile is wiped clean off your face however, and you recognize him almost immediately. “Jihoon?”

This should be a moment of joy for him, after all it’s far too late to go back at this point. You look a little hurt, your face twisted in confusion as you put two and two together.

Soonyoung excuses himself to go to the bathroom, although neither party seems to care. The lame, over-distended EDM music that plays over the cacophony of the barbeque place seems to melt in the atmosphere, much like how the smoke hits the fan, and it’s just you two in the room. Jihoon gestures a pale hand to Soonyoung’s seat, and you take a beat to reluctantly sit yourself down.

You clutch your skirt with both hands, thumbs ringing against the pleats and ironing them out. “So, you’re also Jihoon?” your voice is tiny, small and sad. Jihoon feels liquid guilt inject in his veins, and he wishes he could reach out and pat your shoulder, hold your hand, something. However no matter how much he knows you, he’s a stranger to you. “Why did you lie to me?”

“It’s… complicated,” you shake your head at his pathetic reply, and Jihoon hates this. He feels like he’s drowning in smoke and mirrors and the cloying scent of pork belly is now sticking to all his senses, immobilizing him.

With a cross of your arms, you scoff, “It’s always complicated.”

“Please don’t think I said those things the other night because I don’t want to date you,” Jihoon tumbles the words out like a hamster wheel, wanting to speed up to your pace as fast as he can, “I want to, I really do, but it’s—”

“Complicated.”

“Yeah.”

The two of you sit in silence, letting the noise back into your little bubble. Jihoon feels his stare on you, akin to how a teacher looks over your shoulder during an exam. He robotically eats rice, grain after grain as he lets you have your look.

The slope of his nose, the cotton smooth skin, the lean yet strong stature. You can’t believe he matches the Light a Flame profile perfectly. Other than the frumpy clothes, he matches the man on your phone, a simple picture in a black suit that reminds you strangely of the movie Kingsman. You mentally roll through what you remember from his profile, his hobbies, his likes and dislikes, his occupation—

“Wait,” you pause, your brows knitting together, “so the FBI thing on your profile… is not a joke?”

Jihoon forgets to chew his last bite, and he swallows a whole two centimeters of meat down his throat. Ouch.

“It’s—”

“Complicated.”

The adjective has a whole new meaning now. It’s crazy how in so little words, so much is exchanged between you two. You might not be realizing it, but Jihoon’s so attuned to you he feels like the pick to your guitar, strumming and humming along your chords like it’s second nature. It really isn’t fair, but anticipating your reactions helps greatly.

“There’s things you’re not telling me.”

“Right.”

“And things you can’t tell me,” you add.

“Yes.”

“Then what are some things you can tell me?”

“I’d… rather not here,” Jihoon’s eyes dart around the room, looking for all the pinholes and micro cams attached to the restaurant. By the bonsai, under the table, in the koi tank, “I need to work out some paperwork before anything.”

“Paperwork?”

Jihoon nods mutely, but he looks at you with a litany of emotions in his eyes you’re reeling back in your stool. Why do you feel like this man knows you from a simple five-minute interaction? And why do you feel like you can trust this man with your life?

“Okay,” you finally say.

“Really? Okay?” you think he’s cute, the way his eyes perk up and his back straightens.

“Really.”

Silence fills the space once more. This time however, it feels more at ease.

“The only reason why I’m saying yes,” you pretend to nonchalantly play with your fingertips, a manicure reserved for a date you’ve long abandoned for this evening in favor of a new flame, “is because I think FBI agents are kinda hot.”

A flush blooms on Jihoon’s cheeks, and you can’t help but giggle.

#jihoon x reader #woozi x reader #caratwritersclub #kwritersworldnet #svtcreations #jihoon fic #woozi fic #seventeen fic #seventeen fanfic #seventeen scenarios #jihoon scenarios #woozi scenarios

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nothinggold13 · 5 years

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Beautiful vs Beloved: An Essay on Lucy Pevensie

Okay, folks, today I'm going to talk about Lucy in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, because this is another one of those topics that keeps coming up in posts that have evidently missed the point.

Whether you’re more involved with the book or the movie, one of Lucy’s most prominent struggles in this story is wishing she was more beautiful. In the movie this point is pushed harder, as from the very beginning we see her mimicking another girl & studying her own reflection in the mirror. In the book, this is more subtle until the actual scene with the Magician’s book, but we do read in the first chapter that Susan is considered “the pretty one of the family,” and we can consider that as part of the lead up to that later scene.

Because of this struggle, I sometimes see posts like, “Why would Lucy wonder if she’s going to be pretty when she grows up, when she already saw herself grown up in the Golden Age?” or “Why does she care so much about being pretty when she’s already so awesome?” Well, I’m here to answer those questions.

The fact of the matter is that this struggle is actually not as simple as it appears, but the really cool thing is that we actually get to witness Lucy’s growth in two different ways because of this. Let’s start with the root of Lucy’s struggle:

First of all, haven’t most of us struggled with our self-esteem? I’ll be the first to admit that I have been there, and I have definitely thought I wasn’t pretty enough. And the weird thing is I’ve been working hard at maintaining my self-esteem, and most days it’s pretty good. There are times I love the way I look - and yet, I can still hit those days where I think, “Why do I look like this?” and “I wish I looked like her,” and “If I was prettier, maybe he would’ve liked me back.” Self-esteem is not that simple to conquer. I can love myself one day, and hate myself the next, and it is not at all unrealistic for our Valiant, beloved Queen Lucy to feel like she’s not good enough in one way or another. Especially when her sister is considered “the pretty one,” which is something that would weigh on a young girl heavily.

However, as much as I think that bothers Lucy, the root of her problem is something else entirely. Like I said a moment ago; Lucy was the “valiant, beloved queen.” Why isn’t it good enough for a 10-year-old Lucy (or 15, if we’re going by the movie,) to know exactly what she’ll look like when she’s older? Because her appearance isn’t what was important in Narnia, and England doesn’t see her the same way. In Narnia she was a queen. They called her The Valiant, and they loved her, and they saw her. Princes were vying for her affections, because as a Queen her virtues and beauty were easily noticed. Life was different, and she was different, and the world was different, and what made her so special in Narnia was no longer clear in England.

This is one of the few ways we actually see Lucy struggle with adapting to life in England. Her desire to be beautiful doesn’t stem from simply not thinking herself pretty, but rather, wanting to be more liked; more admired; more desired; more wanted; more beloved. In the movie this is shown in a more romantic sense, as we see her practicing flirting, while in the book it’s more general, (although there is still mention of being romantically pursued, though I’ll talk about that more later.) People don’t flock to her in England like they did in Narnia. Though I could be wrong, I think many of us share that image of the golden Queen Lucy; bright and friendly and loved by all her people. And don’t get me wrong, I think Lucy made friends easily enough in England, too. But she didn’t attract people as easily or immediately as she did in Narnia. In England, she was very much an ordinary little girl.

As such, I believe Lucy’s actual struggle in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader is not that she wants to be pretty, but that she wants to be beloved once again, and in her eyes the most obvious way to do that would be to be beautiful enough to be noticed.

There are some differences between the movie adaptation and the original book version of the scene “The Magician’s Book.” Specifically, in the movie Lucy wishes to be beautiful “like Susan,” and as such, the spell grants her that desire by making her literally Susan. However in the book the spell Lucy comes across is not one to make her “the beauty [she’s] always wanted to be,” but rather, “to make [her] beautiful [...] beyond the lot of mortals.” The images, in turn, don’t make her look like Susan, but rather make her more beautiful than Susan - so beautiful that the “beauty of the family” looks plain in comparison.

It is also in this scene where the romantic angle of book!Lucy is shown. While Lucy is 10 at the time, I think it may be possible that the image she sees inside the book is of herself but older, at least in the scenes set in Narnia, as she is “throned on high at a great tournament” as “all the Kings of the world [...] fought for her favour.” I’m not certain why 10-year-old Lucy would be so interested in Kings fighting for her hand, but if what she sees in those moments is herself grown up again, then perhaps it’s because she is remembering how it felt to be an adult who was pursued, but never as strongly as her sister. (This may seem foolish of her, and indeed it would be. And to be fair, I’m only guessing at this bit. But despite everything, I know I have also had low-self-esteem days where negative attention sounded better than no attention whatsoever. A Lucy who is feeling down on herself and unwanted might very well be attracted to a scenario where she is fought for so desperately.) However, it is also in this scene where we see that it is not only romantic affection Lucy craves. Upon moving on from that spell, she comes to one which will let her know what her friends really think of her. And unlike the first spell, she actually says this one.

Lucy wants, or even craves positive attention & affection. All she wants is to be as loved as she was in Narnia, but she is so odd in England and even her own friends seemingly turn against her. But she thinks if only she could be more, she might be noticed again. If she were more beautiful, maybe they’d all want to be her friend. If she were more beautiful, maybe boys would notice her again. If she were more beautiful, maybe the adults would respect her more. If she were more beautiful...

It’s interesting to note that the very next thing that happens in this scene is that she reads the spell “for the refreshment of the spirit.” After that, Lucy finds the spell to make hidden things visible, and Aslan appears. In this moment the narrator says, “then her face lit up till, for a moment [...] she looked almost as beautiful as the other Lucy in the picture.” While he never speaks to her about being tempted by the beauty spell, he does mention the eavesdropping, and informs her that she has misjudged her friend, and that she truly loves Lucy. These three things begin the cure. First she is given refreshment from her anger and bitterness. Second she meets Aslan, and in that moment, though she doesn’t know it, she is as beautiful as she wanted to be. And third she is given assurance that she is not unwanted or unloved in England, even though she often feels it.

Now I’ll move on to the evidence of this growth.

The first piece of evidence is in regards to the beauty side of Lucy’s struggle. Remember that the spell Lucy wants to say, the one she’s so tempted by, would have made her beautiful “beyond the lot of mortals.” Then later in the same book, the characters meet a lady which may very well fit that description already. When they first see Ramandu’s Daughter (or Lilliandil, if we go by the film,) she is described as being so beautiful that “when they looked at her they thought they had never before known what beauty meant.” But Lucy - who has been in Susan’s shadow the entire story, even while Susan was not there - and who has been clinging to some ideal of beauty she can never be - and who just wants to be beautiful, and wanted, and loved again - does not meet this girl with envy. Lilliandil is everything Lucy has wanted to be; beautiful and respected and desired. But Lucy is not bothered. She doesn’t envy this girl. After everything, Lucy is no longer thinking about that at all. And that’s beautiful.

The second piece of evidence of her growth goes back to the root of the problem. My interpretation of Lucy’s struggle stated that the reason she wanted to be beautiful is because she wanted to be as loved as she was in Narnia. This shows that she holds on quite tightly to her identity in Narnia. She loves Narnia, and she loves being Queen Lucy, and for a long time we believe that that’s what she wants most. Indeed, she has made that her identity. But finally, at the end of the book, we see her place her identity back where it truly belongs: in Aslan. “It isn’t Narnia, you know. It’s you,” she sobs. In the final chapter, Lucy is no longer clinging to the life she once had and the person she once was. She’s clinging to Aslan. And now, for the first time, she is ready and able to take the lessons she learned in Narnia and apply them to her life in England. The Valiant Queen will always be a part of her, but she is no longer fighting to be her; she’s building Lucy Pevensie, now. And what Lucy Pevensie needs most - in fact, the only thing she truly needs - is Aslan.

I’m not very good at summaries, but if you’re hoping for a tl;dr, I’ll say this: Lucy’s problem isn’t rooted in beauty, its rooted in her desire to be beloved once again. And the good news is she learns from it, and grows because of it, and is able to find who she is truly meant to be. Also I love Lucy and I’m so proud of her. And finally, I never put this much thought into this before today, but it has sparked a deeper love for The Voyage of the Dawn Treader within me, and I think Lucy’s journey is deeply underrated.

#lucy pevensie #the voyage of the dawn treader #narnia #the chronicles of narnia

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fibula-rasa · 5 years

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Cosplay Under the Stars: Dorothy McGuire

The Enchanted Cottage (1945) was adapted from a 1921 play (of the same name) written by British playwright Arthur Wing Pinero. The story of a homely girl and a disabled veteran (maybe) transformed by love was intended as a hope-filled romance for the survivors of World War I. In the 1945 adaptation, the filmmakers tried to update the story to a WWII setting to what I will forgivingly call mixed success.

Dorothy McGuire plays Laura, a plain woman who takes a housekeeping job at a former honeymoon cottage in New England. Robert Young plays Oliver, an upper cruster who enlists in the Air Force and comes home with a disability and disfigurement in the form of an unusable right arm and facial scarring. Herbert Marshall is John, a concert pianist and a veteran of the First World War, in which he was blinded. When he returns from war disfigured, Oliver’s fiancee breaks off their engagement and he decides to seclude himself at the cottage. Oliver and Laura spend more time together, grapple with their respective perceived shortcomings, and fall in love in the process. From this synopsis alone you might see one of the weirder implications this movie makes. Not being conventionally attractive is not comparable to being disabled and/or disfigured. Even considering that Cottage is from a more conservative time and was made in a beauty-obsessed place like Hollywood, I find the parallel a stretch at best.

It’s an old tradition for actors to take on roles where they ugly up as a signifier of their skill and commitment and it’s often rewarded with critical plaudits and award nominations. Unfortunately, the trend is still going strong. Also unfortunately, Cottage leans into the practice harder than it needs to. McGuire’s performance has so much more dimension to it than flat hair, no makeup, and unflattering lighting.

That’s why I chose to cosplay both versions of her character Laura, the one everyone else sees and the one Oliver sees–to highlight that these simple cosmetic changes are a hokey veil over a commendable performance. McGuire portrays Laura’s blossoming over the two years she’s at the cottage and eventual personal fulfillment in small ways. It’s in her posture, her eye contact, her gestures, and even the volume of her speaking voice. Laura is established as a kind and amiable woman from the very start and by the end, she’s still that kind amiable woman, simply with more self-possession.

READ ON below the jump!

Robert Young’s Oliver is a whole other matter. The updated story doesn’t settle all its accounts when it comes to the different social structures around and attitudes toward disabled/disfigured veterans following WWII in contrast to WWI. Apparently, this was a point of contention for contemporary moviegoers as well. That Oliver would cut and run and isolate himself didn’t seem like a believable course of action for audiences in 1945, given the expansion of services offered by the VA at the time. Compounding the issue is that the original story took place in England not New England.

The potential I see that wasn’t fully executed is that Oliver’s most pressing problem could be an internal struggle and reshaping his self image. It’s clear that Oliver won’t want for money or resources because of his disability. Yet, his fiancee rejects him and his already overbearing parents immediately shift to infantilizing him. So, needing space to deal with his trauma and his own ableism before then having to cope with society’s ableism (as reflected in his parents and fiancee) would be reasonable and understandable. Aspects of this are present in the film, with Oliver debating if his initiating a romantic relationship with Laura is selfish because he thinks he’s undesirable and knows that she will accept him (hi there, internalized ableism).

(Oliver would be even better with authentic casting, although that wouldn’t have been feasible for this role at the time. It would be today of course. And, as an FYI, authentic casting would not have been a new concept by 1945.)

All told, what really puts me off here is how Oliver’s disfigurement is presented across the film. His face is often lit and photographed to emphasize a monstrous quality about it. And, if The Enchanted Cottage is a story that’s meant to hearten people in his situation, making a spectacle of Oliver’s scarring undermines that majorly. This contributes to a message that the character is still human and worthy of love *in spite* of his scars. What this ends up achieving is a show of benevolent prejudice that feeds the predispositions of benevolently prejudiced viewers. If your goal is truly sympathetic representation, the statement should be that the character is a human being and their marginalizations are part of who they are and *may* be something they have to contend with, if that’s the nature of the story.

Last but not least, we have Herbert Marshall. Marshall was a real-life disabled veteran who lost his leg in WWI–though here he plays a veteran who was blinded in the war. (Note: Marshall predominantly played abled characters in his films.) On one hand, Marshall’s John has a successful career and a loving family (a sister and nephew), but he’s a desexualized saintly figure used to guide the more abled characters in their love story with schmaltzy sagacity–another already tired stereotype in fiction by 1945. Oddly, I misremembered this aspect of the film and thought that John also developed romantic feelings for Laura. In addition, the introduction of this character in the WWII update lacks some depth because there’s so little effort put into showing the differences of being a disabled vet of WWI, vs WWII.

I know I just spent a whole lot of time talking about how The Enchanted Cottage could be better, but it really is worth checking out. All this is to say that there are so many threads of a better movie that don’t all tie together. It has plenty of saving graces, including a great supporting cast of characters–especially Spring Byington as Oliver’s mother and Mildred Natwick as Mrs. Minnett, the cottage owner. There’s more heart to The Enchanted Cottage than a lot of modern romance movies that feature disabled characters despite its overwrought execution. Adequate disability representation is still something the movie industry struggles with, but progress hasn’t happened in a straight line.

Of course, this story can’t really avoid one major representation problem: the suggestion that like belongs with like. I’m hoping I don’t have to explain in full why that’s a troubling implication, especially regarding disability and disfigurement. Regardless, The Enchanted Cottage is worth watching for its place in the history of disability representation on film and especially for Dorothy McGuire’s performance. I can’t exactly say I like the movie, but it’s one that I keep returning to because, frankly, it’s an odd one that’s endlessly interesting to think and talk about.

The Enchanted Cottage is on demand now through TCM’s app!

#dorothy mcguire #Cosplay Under the Stars #Summer Under the Stars #suts #tcm #turner classic movies #classic film #classic movies #cosplay #cosplayers of tumblr #closet cosplay #1940s #The Enchanted Cottage #disability on film #disability representation #vintage inspiration #vintage beauty #romance

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kirachama · 6 years

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escape artist (707 x reader)

rating + warning: 15+ (foul language and mild sexual situations, read making out)

notes: more at the end since lengthy. but if it seems familiar it’s because it’s the original version of hide and seek. normally i don’t explain setting but, mc and saeran part of a phantom thief faction and the RFA are their rivals (and also trying to catch them to turn them into the authorities).

>>read it on ao3 <<

You need to be quiet.

And yet the ragged breaths heave in and out of your chest at a volume slightly louder than silent. In any other situation that probably would have been fine, but not here. If you’re just a little too loud he’ll find you and then it’s game over. You slump back against the wall in the small hallway you’ve hidden yourself in. It’s pretty far from where you came in and isn’t too close to any potential exit points so you’re hoping you’ll be safe here. At least for a little bit.

You should have listened to Saeran. He told you that this stunt was too dangerous, too risky. If you did it there was a high chance you’d get caught, and if you did that he ‘wouldn’t be saving your ass.’

Of course that made it all the more tempting. After all, who doesn’t like a challenge?

Then again, there’s a difference between challenging yourself and being just plain cocky. And this time it’s possible that you may have done the latter. You can’t let yourself give up though. It’s not over until he catches you and the cuffs are snug around your wrists.

And even then, there’s still the chance that Saeran, despite what he had said, would come save you. He’d never let you live it down if he had to bail you out, but he’s supposed to be keeping an eye on the security cameras so it doesn’t come to that.

If anything, you need to calm down. Deep breaths. In… and out. You can get out of this mess, after all, you’ve been playing this game of cat and mouse with 707 for the past year. It’s certainly not the first time he’s cornered you, and you’re determined to make sure that it’s not the last. You figure if you can lay low for a while he might think you slipped through his fingers once again.

“I found you~”

Shit.

You whip your head in the direction of the voice and see 707 standing there proudly with his hands on his hips. There’s really nowhere you could possibly hide in this hallway, but Saeran should have seen him coming on the cameras. There’s no way he wouldn’t have warned you, right? You reach up to touch the receiver in your ear, but Seven notices and just wags a finger at you, expression smug.

“I did a pretty good job jamming your friend’s signal~ Gotta give them props though~”

You can practically see Saeran fuming at Seven besting him like this. He’s probably screaming his head off in the van.

“Well, anyway~ Any last words before I bring you in?”

You place a hand on the pouch at your hip where your smoke grenades are. It's not your first time using them against Seven so you know that he's probably expecting it at some point. That means you have one chance, so long as he doesn't incapacitate you first.

He takes a step closer and you yank out a grenade, skillfully pulling the pin as you toss it toward him. Smoke pours out almost instantly as the grenade lands a few feet from him. Your plan is to run through the smoke as soon as it's filled a good portion of the hallway since Seven’s vision will be impaired. Unfortunately, there’s only one way out, so you won’t really be able to throw him off your tail, but hopefully you’ll be able to get a head start. In preparation for this heist, you’d memorized the entire building’s layout, so even if the smoke blocks your vision, you should be able to get around. With that in mind, you pull out another grenade and prepare to throw it.

However, you don’t get that far.

You feel a hand wrap firmly around your wrist and it’s feels as if someone’s tossed a bucket of ice cold water over you. “I caught you~”

At the same time, you wince from a loud burst of static ringing in your ear. Saeran must have taken care of whatever was jamming his signal.

“--act… him…”

It seems like there’s still some interference. He’s appears to be aware of that though, so he repeats himself, “Distract him!”

“H-?!” You start to protest, but Saeran beats you to the punch.

“I don’t give a shit how you do it! But I need you to buy me at least a couple minutes!”

Sounds like he’s got a plan, so you need to trust him and get him the time he needs. The question remains though: how? Should you try to break free from Seven’s grip? But wouldn’t it be more ‘distracting’ to remain captive until Saeran is done? If anything, you need Seven to lower his guard before you can even think of breaking free.

A tug on your arm pulls you from your thoughts and you realize that Seven is dragging you somewhere, presumably, to the rest of his team. You know that aside from him there are five others. You’ve only personally encountered three of them on previous ventures. Seven’s group has been trying to stop you and Saeran for a little over a year and Seven’s been personally trying to beat and catch you for most of that time. Originally, your rival, if he could even be called that, was some blond boy, but you can run circles around him in your sleep.

“...Wow, you’re more obedient than I thought you’d be…” Seven muses quietly as he leads you down the hall.

“Hmph.” You won’t admit to him that you’d been caught up in your own thoughts. “Aren’t you gonna cuff me?”

Though, when you really think about it, that’s probably a bad idea. You hear an angry grumble from your receiver that seems to reinforce that thought. You’re supposed to be stalling for Saeran, and even following Seven like you’re doing right now is anything but that.

“You want me to~?” He glances back at you with a mischievous grin. “I wasn’t sure if it was necessary since you’re following me like a good girl.”

“Don’t underestimate me.”

He laughs and the melodic sound rings pleasantly in your ears, “Don’t you think it’d be better to give up?”

“You wish,” you reply automatically. Saeran starts to scream in your ear, telling you that you’re doing a shitty job at distracting Seven since you keep moving. He might be trying to grab you from the nearest exit point if he’s keeping an eye on your GPS tracker.

You wrack your brain, trying to think up a plan. The first thing you need to do is stop moving, so you plant your feet down. Seven, not realizing that you’d stopped, stumbles back a little when he tries to keep moving. He turns back to look at you, lips upturned in an easy smile.

“Oh~? Did you change your mind?”

“What are you talking about?”

Seven backtracks a bit so he’s standing closer to you. He flashes another friendly smile, but you can see the dangerous undertones. His grip on your wrist tightens a little as he says, “Do you really think you’ll be able to get away from me this time?”

He leans even closer, as if you mock you. His face is right up against yours and your heart is drumming a wild beat in your chest. When he’s up close like this you remember, to your disdain, how attractive he is, and…

An idea pops in your head.

It’s crazy as hell.

But it just might work.

With your free hand, you reach out and wrap it around the side of his face, then, in one fluid motion, you close the distance between you, crashing your mouth against his. The second your lips connect, you feel an electric shock shoot through your veins.

Unfortunately, though, Seven’s grip on you only tightens.

You need to try harder. You need to convince Seven that this is a genuine kiss, not a distraction. So, with as much as force as you can get away with for a kiss, you push toward him. The action seems to surprise him, and he stumbles backwards until his back hits the window behind him. Seven manages to pull away and stares down at you, clearly confused. “Wh-what are you…”

“I…” What do you say? There’s really no time to think so you end up blurting out the first words that come to mind. “I… I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Seven’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t say anything. Does he believe you? There’s no denying that there have been a few times that you’ve thought his face looked really kissable. And yes, maybe you have played with the thought of actually kissing him, but those are off the clock thoughts and right now, you’re clocked in.

Before he can say anything else, you press your lips against his once more, partly because you still need to distract him and partly because you want to.

Although you’re not sure which part is stronger.

He breaks away from you again, and stares down at you, his gaze unreadable. Your stomach nearly drops. Did you fail? Were you not convincing enough? Your lip quivers as your mind races to think up a back-up plan.

“Really?” Seven breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. “Is that… true?”

Perhaps all hope isn’t lost. Your head bobs up and down in a slow and hesitant nod. He continues to stare at you with wide eyes. Obviously, he’s unsure what to do with this new tidbit of information. You squirm nervously as he watches you. Is he… actually in shock? If that’s the case, you really should try and see if you can at least break free of his grip.

“You know…” he drawls, his voice louder and evidently more amused. Seven appears to regain himself, since his lips curve upwards into that mischievous grin you know so well. Each time you see it, your heart starts to pitter-patter at a faster rate, and this time is no exception. “What if… I felt the same way…?”

You don’t even have the time to reach before his lips are on yours again. His free hand wraps tightly around your waist. Seven’s far more intense than you would have pegged him for and your mind empties out as he kisses you hungrily.

Finally, finally, he lets go of your wrist, only to use both hands to whirl you around so now you’re the one pressed up against the window. You gasp a tiny bit from the impact and Seven takes this opportunity to slip his tongue in and explore your mouth. A tiny moan slips out as his hands begin to wander up and down your body. Seven’s lips travel away from yours to press quick and sloppy kisses to your jaw and neck.

It occurs to you that maybe you should be keeping track of the time. Saeran only told you ‘a couple of minutes’ which could be anywhere from two to ten minutes in his book. You’re a bit embarrassed to admit that you got so caught up figuring out how to distract Seven and that kiss that you don’t know how long it’s been. It can’t have been that long though, right? Maybe a few minutes?

Seven nibbles at your neck before he moves back up and his lips meet yours once more. He goes at you with even more ferocity than he did before and it takes all the willpower you have not get lost in him and keep track of the passing time.

It’s not going very well though. Each time he pulls away, even for just a second, your entire thought process resets. Your fingers tangle and tug at his hair, yanking him back toward you each time he breaks the kiss. One of his hands travels down your hips and pulls it up, hooking it around his waist, pressing you even harder against the window. Your faintly aware of a voice ringing in your ear, but you’re far too preoccupied with Seven to give any thought to focusing on what its saying.

Seven pulls back once again and stares down at you with a strange look in his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by an explosion down the hall.

“You have twenty seconds, otherwise I’m ditching you.” Saeran’s voice echos flatly in your ear.

That’s right! You were buying time for Saeran so he could help you get the hell out of here. You’d been more caught up in that kiss than you had intended. You immediately shove Seven off of you with all the strength you can muster. He tries to grab you, but you somehow manage to dodge him and start running toward the explosion. If your memory serves you correctly, there’s a road on the other side of the wall. Saeran must have brought the van over to create an escape route here. But moving the van means that Saeran’s no longer hidden, which puts him at risk of being caught too. You need to hurry. You can’t let him get caught.

Glancing back, you see that Seven is not too far behind. If you slow down, even for a second, he’s sure to catch you. There’s part of you that’s actually fine with that, so long as you get to continue what you were doing before.

Which is wrong.

Even if he’s a good kisser, he’s still the enemy.

You reach the source of the explosion. Saeran did indeed blast a hole in the wall. He’s waiting just outside in the van with the passenger door wide open. You turn back toward Seven, who’s a few feet away and blow him a kiss, “Looks like out time’s up! It was fun~!”

Then you hurdle through the hole in the wall. Seven makes a lunge for you, but barely misses. You throw yourself into the passenger seat next to Saeran. Before you can even shut the door or even make sure you’re secure in the van, Saeran slams his foot on the accelerator. Part of you wants to look back again, but between the open door and Saeran’s reckless driving, you can’t.

After a few minutes, Saeran slows the van down enough so you can shut the door and right yourself. Once you’re settled you look at him and he shoots you a dirty look. “... you have fun sucking face?”

“You were watching?!”

“No, but I saw!” he spits, sounding completely disgusted.

“What?!”

“You were by a window! The whole damn world could see!”

Your face flushes red, both from embarrassment and from the memory of how intense that kiss had been. You really had no intention of getting carried away like that… It just kind of happened.

Saeran lets out an exasperated sigh. “You’re fucking gross, you know that?”

“...you said distract him…” You finally mumble, in an attempt to defend yourself.

It doesn’t work though, because he grumbles, “...I should have set up the bomb by that window instead.”

notes continued:

so. as mentioned this is the original version of hide and seek. i rewrote it because despite the fact that i really liked this version, it was too out of context to work as a stand-alone piece. actually, after i finished writing hide and seek i deleted the doc with this fic and the story only existed in the screenshots i took of the doc to share it with people.

flash forward to a few months ago. i found two screen shots and posted them to my main where @jozstanko-art found them, and i managed dig up the rest of the screens to show them since they were curious. and so here we are! if you enjoy this fic, please thank them since i don’t think i would have posted it otherwise. >////<

#mystic messenger #saeyoung choi #mysme fic #707 x reader #mysme 707 #niku fic #ahhh #if anyone wants a better explanation of the setting feel free to ask #i had big plans for this #was gonna do a collab with someone #since i don't think the plans i had would be possible alone LOL #cyoa fics are hella intense my friends #since this is old i did some reworking of some of the sentences

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jewelrystoreinbaltimore · 5 years

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How to Select the Right Wedding Event Band

You've heard the "4 Cs" of clever ruby purchasing. But what concerning the wedding celebration band? Wedding celebration bands are not the most pricey wedding event purchase you will certainly make, not like investing between $1,000-$ 10,000 on that particular attractive sparkling diamond rock. You may not invest a great deal of time looking into the wedding celebration band acquisition, yet many people wind up wearing their wedding event band more often as well as on a day to day basis compared to their involvement ring.

Make an educated choice when acquiring your wedding event band.

Do you choose a traditional ordinary wedding celebration band or a design wedding band?

Do you wish to budget plan in for a designer name brand or do you like to give up the trademark name as well as pull out for basically the exact same ring without the "name", consequently considerably lowering expenses?

Pricing Your Wedding celebration Band.

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Design Band

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kpopfanfictrash · 7 years

Text

Farcia

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jimin

Rating: 18+ (explicit sex, first time)

Word Count: 5,980

Summary: In the dystopian world of Farcia, people wear glasses which allow them to filter reality. These glasses change perception; they allow people to only see only what you want to show. What happens then, when you decide to take them off?

There is a boy who always sits at the back of the classroom.

His posture remains casual, staring out the beige-colored window from his slouched position. I am exactly his opposite. My spine could be mistaken for a poker; that is how stiffly it stands and my emotions while watching him are a mix of confusion and jealousy.

Jealousy, for the boy obviously does not have a father who hammers into him constantly the importance of appearances. He must not, for even though I look at him through the glasses, he does not bother to change his appearance.

I cannot help but wonder what he sees. He cannot stare at the Real, since whatever scenery once existed has long ago faded. The Real disappeared in wisps of industry and smog, evaporating from crumbling buildings and rising seatides. Besides, he still wears his glasses.

While you wear the glasses, you cannot see the Real. VR (Virtual Reality) goggles fit snug to the head. If he were not wearing them – tantamount to social suicide, honestly – I would not be able to read his vitals.

And yet, I can. They float beside his face, plain as day.

Hair color: Blonde

Eye color: Brown

Resting Heart Rate: 65.

Blood Pressure: green (normal)

White Blood Cell Count: green (normal)

I do not know why I would ever need to know all this information. It exists though, ripe for the taking. When I blink, the words seem to waver before him.

Before today, I had not noticed him in my classes. Before today, I had not noticed him at all. It is a lazy, oddly hot day for September and there were delays in the trains (again). Something about heated metal expanded.

When I finally exited the hovertrain, I rushed up the narrow path to the classrooms. I was not paying attention due to my lateness, and this was the moment I saw him. He was flying, riding a hoverboard and did not see me either. When I yelped, he jerked sideways and his left shoulder slammed into mine. The result was he kept on flying and I tumbled fast towards the pavement.

“Hey!” I yelped in surprise.

My butt hit the ground hard, knocking wind from my lungs. Dazed, I looked up from the grass. My glasses had not budged, which was lucky, since those who removed them in public tended to receive fines and expulsion. It was dangerous to remove oneself from the constant stream of information.

Roughly, the boy dismounted his flyboard. It was the latest model, one several guys in my dorm had added to their virtual wish list. He handled it with ease, stepping gracefully onto the lawn. Shaking his head, the boy zeroed in on my face.

I scowled, the reason for my fall blinking from the corner of my screen.

Cause of accident: Park Jimin, 22. Reckless Driving.

I glared harder, fingers splayed on the fake, spongy lawn. My glasses were functioning; that was not the problem. I could still see the grass, feel the marbled flowers beneath me. I smelt peonies wafting through air – peonies; a scent chosen by the school to signify learning.

Seeing my ire, the boy hesitated a moment – before grinning, reaching out a hand. “Sorry,” he said, although he did not seem to mean it. “Got caught up in the moment, I guess. No harm done?”

“I,” you exhaled, staring at his hand held before you. “There most certainly was harm done! You knocked me over!”

Jimin’s gaze quickly scanned your body. “Yeah, but your vitals are fine. Blood pressure a bit high, but that’s likely due to shock and anger. Ah,” he nodded. “A medsite confirmed it.”

Batting his hand aside, I pushed myself to my feet. “Who are you?” I demanded, somewhat imperiously. As the sole daughter of the governor, I was accustomed to having my questions answered.

"Jimin,” he said, cocking a brow. “But couldn’t you have just read that?”

“I,” I hesitated, confused. “I did.”

He offered nothing more and while he said nothing, I continued to stare. Somehow, I found I could not look away. He was rather lovely, with creased eyes and full lips. Before I could think twice, I said something rather silly and stupid.

"I like your visual,” I said.

Wincing, I looked away. A visual was the image a person chose to show to the world. It was a version of themselves, fit over their Real image and displayed through their goggles. I basically just said Jimin was hot.

For as antagonizing as he seemed to be, Jimin’s returning smile was soft. His flyboard hummed, zipping up alongside him. “Thanks,” Jimin said, patting his flyboard to hop on. “It’s not a visual, but thanks. I’ll see you around.”

With a shrug and a smile, he zoomed into campus.

I stared after him.

That was earlier in the morning.

Now, I keep glancing sideways to him. I find myself unable to stop, wondering what on earth – or off – Jimin keeps looking at. That is one of the beauty of VR goggles; he could be looking at anything, really. The recent Mars colony, the reforestation of the Amazon, or a collection or dirty movies leaked onto a backsite of the Internet.

His expression remains dreamy, though, lost in thought and I find myself wondering why he chose that look. Typically, my default expression is set to gentle smile. Or, while in class, as I am now, a thoughtful frown. Jimin seems to be actively emoting though, wistfully staring out the beige-colored window.

He stares at the world and I stare at him.

Realizing this, I look hastily away. It is not that Jimin is the most attractive person I have ever seen – far from it. Some of the visuals found in Farcia are astounding. People spend years, decades and millions of dollars on each of them. There are hair colors of each shade imaginable, the fullest of lips, the dewiest eyes and sharpest cheekbones.

Without thought, I subtly adjust my coloring. My father made a comment as I left dinner last night that I was looking somewhat peaked. It would not do, for his rivals to suspect his daughter is ill.

Jimin turns. He moves before I can and when he sees me staring, he smiles. Before I can retreat, a message appears in the corner of my screen.

Park Jimin: Why are you looking at me?

Flinching hard, I try to retain my expression. It has always been a struggle for me to control my emotions, but I thought I had that under control years ago. The problem seems to be returning, and I cannot understand why.

When Jimin sees me struggle, his smile broadens.

Park Jimin: Is that your Real visual, too?

I blink at his message. It is considered rude to ask about someone’s Real visual. Only husbands and wives know that and typically, only because of the complete trust between them. To reveal who you are is no small feat. Especially in a society like Farcia, where VR allows you to become whomever you want.

It allows you to portray whatever image you want to portray. You never have to be yourself again, if that is what you want.

Jimin cocks an eyebrow, shocking me into answering truthfully.

Y/N: Kind of. I made a few improvements.

The magnitude of his wording then hits me.

Y/N: Wait – my Real visual, too?

Thoughts scrambling, I do not look away as my words flick across the screen.

Y/N: Is that your Real visual?

Jimin seems thoughtful. He resumes staring out the window – a long moment passes before a new message blinks in the corner of my screen.

Park Jimin: Want to hang out after school? 1506 Lyle Road.

I stare at this for a moment, knowing it is a terrible idea. I do not know much about Park Jimin but that is exactly why he should be a red flag. Everyone my father would approve of is already known.

And yet, I cannot deny that I am intrigued. I have never known someone to wear their Real visual before. Sneaking another glance at him from the corner of my eye, I trace the small moles on his neck.

Nodding once, I realize he cannot see the gesture.

Or perhaps he can, since Jimin smiles in response while looking out at the world.

It is 16:10 and I stand by the side of the highpass. There is nothing which exists here. Nothing visible, anyways. Only a clear field peppered with daisies and buttercups. With a frown, I switch the filter on my glasses. The balmy temperature is fooling my sensors. It is very nearly fall; the landscape around me should be reflective of that. As soon as I change lenses, the leaves change from bright green to scarlet, dripping from branches above.

“Pretty.”

Jimin’s voice startles me, forcing me to whirl around. The leaves crunch beneath his feet as he walks. His flyboard rests at his side, humming with an almost human-like tone.

“Oh,” I exhale, blinking at him. “I didn’t realize you were here yet.”

Coming to a stop before me, Jimin shrugs. “I just got here. Nice day,” he says, shoving both hands into his pockets. His flyboard hums as well.

My brow furrows. “I suppose.”

Jimin smiles. “Yes.”

Your frown only deepens. “Yes?”

Jimin’s eyes crinkle. “In answer to your earlier question. Yes, this is my Real visual.”

Mouth drying, I stare, surprised by his honesty. Most people would go for the small talk first. Real subjects are to be avoided at all costs, until they no longer can.

“How do I know you’re not lying?” I ask, unable to stop myself.

Jimin arches a brow. “Well. You could just remove your glasses and look.”

The suggestion appalls me. To remove one’s glasses in public is chancing a formal reprimand and a fine. Not to mention the bad publicity my father would receive were his daughter to ever be seen without her Visual.

“I – what? Never,” I gasp, shaking my head. “There are about a thousand reasons why that would be inappropriate. Not to mention it would be rude for me to see you like that.”

Jimin considers this, thoughtful. “Why would it be rude to see who I am?”

“Well,” I say, struggling to piece my thoughts together. I have never had to answer such a basic question. One might think him a child; even the youngest of Farcian citizens knows it is not polite to ask. “Maybe you don’t want to be seen,” you offer. “That’s the beauty of the goggles, right? You only show what you want to. It would be rude to ask for more.”

Jimin laughs softly. “But this is my Real Visual, yes? I have already shown you. It would not be rude to ask. Besides; who am I, if not myself? I could pretend to be someone else and after a while, maybe that would be Real. Would that be better, though? I don’t know,” he adds, almost to himself.

Eyes wide, I find myself unsure what to make of this strange monologue. “Are you... high?” I ask bluntly. “Did you buy illegal drugs from Hoseok, or something?”

Jimin’s upper lip twitches. “I don’t know. Am I?”

"I... don’t know,” I say.

Unconcerned, he shrugs. “Same.”

The blithe way he answers this, coupled with the events of today – suddenly, I find it all so ridiculous. Why do we consider anything Real to be rude? And besides, if one pretends to be something else for long enough, would that thing not be more real than the Real thing?

My mind spins, considering this before a weak strain of laughter bursts from my lips. It begins as a chuckle, growing into the real kind of laughter; the sort which makes my vision blur and sides ache. The kind which induces tears; I turn hastily away.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologize, reaching up to adjust my glasses.

This is a large failing of VR. Despite all its incredible capabilities – the glasses cannot account for human actions, like crying. Eyes closed, I push my glasses up and into my hair.

A breeze touches my face as I pause. The acrid smell of water hits my nostrils – sharp, tangy and different from VR. VR water is pebbly, like a mountain brook or stream. When I feel wind on my cheek, I turn without thinking – only to inhale sharply, seeing Jimin look back.

Jimin does not wear his glasses.

He watches me frozen, goggles held tight in his fist. His blonde hair is blown about his face, the scenery grey all around him. Beige industrial buildings rise on one side. There is a faded, falling-apart playground on the other. Even the field we stand upon is gray; wilted flowers crushed beneath feet, with a damp sky overhead.

Jimin, though – Jimin is radiant. He stares with his lips slightly parted. When he takes a step forward, I step backwards. It is not on purpose, nor even is it what I desire. It simply seems the right thing to do; it is a response conditioned in me as intimately as others.

When faced with the unknown, I run.

Something stronger fights this instinct, though. Something which keeps me rooted as Jimin moves another step closer. I know I should not look at him like I do. Still, I stare. I watch him, transfixed as he walks forward.

Jimin was not lying – this is his Real visual.

He looks nearly the same as in the classroom. Perhaps the lighting is dingier; certainly, the scroll of information over his face is gone. I can no longer see his heartbeat, his vitals, his statistics. All of it has disappeared – I am left with only the sound of his breathing, gentle and purposeful.

Recoiling, I realize he can see me as well.

I did not put on Real makeup this morning. I did not bother to do my hair, as well. The strands of it hang loose and wild about my shoulders. My eyes are smaller in Real life, my nose more crooked than the societal standard. Jimin does not seem to notice any of this; he just continues to walk.

“How,” I start, only to stop. Wetting my lips, I find them suddenly dry. “How long... have your glasses been off?”

“Only for a few moments,” Jimin whispers.

His gaze keeps jumping – first to my eyes, then lips, then exposed shoulder blade. The right strap of my shirt is low – this realization comes belatedly, since I was wearing a dress in the VR. I was not wearing a flimsy camisole which does little to cover my skin.

Awkwardly, I tug the strap higher. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Jimin finally comes to a stop a foot away. “I’m sorry, too. I just... can’t think of words to say to you right now. None seem to do this moment any justice.”

Real heat creeps up the back of my face, rendering me speechless.

Noticing the change in my expression, Jimin smiles. “Beautiful.”

Forcing my gaze away, I examine our surroundings. The Real world is disappointing; as it so often is. “Do you do this often?” I ask him quietly. “Remove your glasses?”

“Sometimes.” Jimin cranes his neck to look up at the clouds. “VR does a good job of things, but it isn’t perfect. Real clouds are wilder, Real water is more chaotic, Real pain hurts more. Real joy... is more exhilarating,” he finishes, returning to looking at me.

I stare back at him for a moment. “Show me,” I say, less imperiously than before.

Jimin’s lips part, holding out his hand.

At his side, his flyboard dips to the ground. The color is a drab green in reality; it blends into the graying grass underneath it.

Stepping onto its surface, Jimin looks at me. “Well,” he says, blonde hair ruffled. “Are you coming?”

I only hesitate a moment before grabbing his hand.

Jimin does not let me go.

For the following weeks, we are inseparable. We zoom across the river with his hands tight on my waist, Jimin whispering in my ear of treasures he finds beneath the city. He tells me of cracks in the pavement, with flowers blooming within them. We ride beneath the old aqueducts, with Jimin pointing out places people continue to graffiti. There are others like him, he explains, although he speaks no more than this.

I do not meet others like him, but I are not upset about this. For now, I are happy to be selfish and have Jimin all to myself.

We even visit the mountains; a terrain left mostly untouched. It makes sense, when you think about it. Of course, people would not make the physical trip to the mountains when they can see them right from their glasses.

That is what I thought, at least, before meeting Jimin. Before I stepped foot onto the edge of a Real mountain. This is what I felt before Jimin’s hands were in mine, his front warm to my back while I beheld the edge of a precipice.

In VR, things are scary – but only in the same way that writing an essay is scary. Even if you mess up, you know you can always erase, can always re-do. If you fall in VR, you exhibit symptoms of fear, but do not die. If you fall here, though – you die. It is as simple as that. Jimin holds me tight at the ledge, clutching me as his lifeline. I discover he is more scared of this place than I – he is terrified of heights.

When Jimin yanks me back, I laugh – teasing him relentlessly the entire flyboard trip home. Jimin pouts at my jibes, declaring he will happily push me into the riber – only to grin, pulling me closer.

I point out the hypocrisy of him being scared of heights, only to zoom about on a flyboard all day. He glances at me and reddens, saying that some fears are good fears.

Kissing is also different, in the Real.

The first time Jimin kisses me is outside my dorm. He presses me firmly against the wall, the surface rough while his body digs into mine. Jimin’s hands slide into my hair, his right knee wedged between mine as my mouth brushes his. I moan, only to feel him stiffen against me.

The other boys I have kissed were nothing like this. I remember them only vaguely. Distant spikes of pleasure, coupled with awkward pauses so we could adjust the VR. Even the one who kissed me on the lip of a volcano did not come close to Park Jimin kissing me in the dingy gray of my dorm.

His kisses are eager, unable to stop even if he wanted to. Jimin hates letting go, though he loves leaving me wanting. He loves pressing light kisses to my upper lip, then lower. He loves smiling into my mouth, red and swollen before bringing his lips back to mine.

Today, we lie in the field – our field, though I am not sure when it became this – as Jimin mumbles my name into my neck. “Y/N,” he whispers. “I haven’t felt like this before.”

“I should hope not,” I exhale, rolling on top of him. We are nestled beneath the branches of our tree, dead leaves carpeting the ground beneath us. It is now early November, the air between us chilly and crisp. Our glasses lie to the side, eagerly discarded.

“No.” Jimin nips my ear, pushing his hips upwards. “That’s not what I meant. Y/N – I love you.”

Unsure how to respond, I freeze. Jimin’s hair fans about him, lowering his head to the ground. His gaze turns nervous, unsure – until I smile. “I love you, too,” I whisper, bending to capture his lips with mine. “All of you.”

Jimin hums happily, flipping me underneath him. Dropping me onto my back, he ignores my protests and straddles my thighs. “Good,” he says, thumbs brushing my wrists. “Because I’m not leaving.”

“But why would you try?” I grin, pulling him downwards.

It is now almost Christmas.

In the VR, the trees outside are iced with snow and fairy lights. The weather remains freezing, although flurries fall every few hours. In the Real, I learn that snow often melts to become slush. It does not sit there, frozen and white. It mixes with runoff from the skies, becomes something else in its entirely.

I learn that when people breathe in the Real, the air becomes ice. It freezes before their mouths, something I did not know was possible. Jimin cannot stop laughing, trying to catch my frozen breath with his hands. Sitting up on my bed, he tugs down my window and watches his laughter turn into fog.

“Jimin,” I groan. Scooting closer, I slam down the window. “That’s enough! We’ll both catch colds.”

Wriggling his eyebrows, Jimin grins. “I can think of a few ways to warm up.”

Squealing, I try and push him away. When I move to stand, Jimin catches me swiftly around the waist. “A-ha!” he laughs, throwing me back. Bending over me, he pins my wrists to the mattress. “I am the victor!” he grins. “I am the wrestling champion of the world! Or in this room, at least. May the conquered pay me in kisses and compliments,” he says, puckering his lips.

I giggle happily at his words. There is sweat upon Jimin’s brow, something I would not be allowed to see in VR. His cheeks are flushed, eyes bright – and the weight of his hips feels so right upon mine. Slowly, the moment transforms from something light to something heavy and meaningful.

“You... you’re so beautiful,” I whisper.

The smile on his face fades.

Jimin stares at me for a moment. “Do you know... when I first saw you,” he inhales, closing his eyes. “When you first removed your glasses and looked my way, I – I was terrified.”

“You were?” My voice drops to a whisper, as though someone might hear. I am in the dorms, after all. I do not want my RA to know – I have not yet gathered the courage to introduce Jimin to my parents.

As I said, my father has already introduced me to everyone it would be acceptable for me to marry. My mother would not intervene. She never does.

Jimin slowly nods. “I used VR to alter small things,” he confesses. “My voice. My height. I was scared you wouldn’t like me. The real me,” he adds. “I wanted to show you who I was, but... I was terrified to do it.”

Lifting a hand to his face, I wonder how anyone could think him imperfect. There are people spending millions of dollars, countless hours to create the perfect Visual and it already exists.

“I don’t just like you,” I murmur. “I love you. When I first saw you... I thought I had never seen someone so beautiful.”

Jimin’s eyes darken. “Oh?”

I nod. “Yes.”

Jimin brushes a kiss to my lips. “Y/N,” he murmurs, voice catching on my name. He hesitates, at war with himself. “If something should ever happen to me – don’t go back, okay?”

I frown, unsure what he means. “Don’t go back? Where?”

Nodding, his hands intertwine with mine. “Don’t go back to the way things were. Use the glasses as little as possible. Promise me that,” he exhales, nudging my lips aside with his own.

Though I still feel confused, I nod. I do not want to go back to that either. “I promise,” I say.

He smiles. “Good.”

When Jimin kisses me, I feel myself start to harden. What began as sweet turns into something else entirely. I find myself eager, reaching up to steal kiss after kiss. My hands slide down the length of his body, cradling his hips. I trace over the fabric of his jeans and when Jimin presses himself into my hand, a hiss escapes his lips. My eyes flutter open.

“Was that bad?” I blurt, eyes wide.

Jimin shakes his head, tight. “No,” he mutters, sounding strained. “Exactly the opposite.”

“Oh.” I find myself oddly pleased by this response. “In that case,” I say, boldly cupping his length.

Jimin groans, not letting me stay there for long. The straps of my dress are quickly discarded as I shimmy free, fabric dropping hastily onto the floor. Jimin’s t-shirt is next, followed by his pants. When he remains dressed in nothing but boxers, I press myself against him.

“Jimin,” I whisper.

“Mm.” Jimin kisses lazily down the slope of my neck. “What do you want?” he murmurs. “I’ll give you anything.”

When I smile, his entire body vibrates with withheld laughter. “What if I wanted your heart?” I tease him.

“You have it,” Jimin insists, hands sliding down to my breasts.

“And if I wanted your soul?” I ask, voice catching when his hands move even lower.

Jimin props himself upwards, staring at me while his hand traces the front of my panties. “You have it,” he says, gaze longing.

“Oh.” I groan, distracted when he slides a finger up and down my sex. “And... what if I said I wanted you inside me?”

Jimin stares. His finger pushes slowly past my opening, prompting a whimper to fall from my lips. “Inside you like this?” he asks, cocking his head.

Falling backwards, my eyes drift shut when his thumb strokes my sex. “No,” I moan, pushing upwards. “I want you to be my first, Jimin.” My eyes open to find Jimin staring back, thoroughly shocked. “I want you,” I insist, having never felt so certain of anything. “All of you.”

Jimin’s breath catches. “And what if I’m wrong for you?”

“What if I’m wrong for you?” I counter, barely more than a whisper.

His expression turns serious. “Impossible. I have never wanted anything as much as I want you,” Jimin confesses, voice raw. “I want you to be my first.”

I had thought this might be the case, but was not sure. Hearing his confirmation only reinforces the fact that this is right. Both of us, losing ourselves to the other. It cannot be called losing anything, at that point. Scooting myself backwards, I allow Jimin to pull my panties down my legs. These join my dress and his clothes on the floor.

“Sh,” I whisper, pushing Jimin’s boxers down. “We have to be quiet.”

Jimin nods, watching his last remaining piece of clothing disappear. “I’ll try.”

At the start of the year, I received a condom from some group on campus. I find myself silently thanking them, grabbing this from my purse. As I break it open, I roll the rubber onto Jimin with trembling fingers – he stops me halfway, smoothing our hands down him together. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, positioning himself between my thighs.

When he enters me, it is slow – tantalizingly so, and then all at once. I gasp at the intrusion, biting down on his shoulder to stifle the noise. It hurts. It hurts to have him inside me, and my eyes well with tears in response. Jimin pulls back immediately, hand smoothing my hair. "Baby?" he whispers, scared by my expression. "I can stop. We can stop. We don't have to – "

"No." I stop him, vehemently shaking my head. "I want this with you."

Jimin’s expression softens, though he still seems nervous. "What would make this better for you," he whispers, brushing his lips against my temple.

His hips start to withdraw, stilling when I whimper.

Bending his head, Jimin kisses my neck. His lips trail to my breast, teasing the nipple into a peak. He rolls again and again with his tongue, sucking until my breast becomes hard. I whimper again, though this time it is not in pain. Moving my hips, I recall the urge which brought us here. Jimin's hands slide down my body, coaxing my wetness until I groan, his cock slipping further inside me. It is not as painful as before, and I slowly lift my hips against his.

Jimin’s breath hitches, hands fisting in sheets. "Baby," he mutters. "Warn me before you do that. This is," his eyelids flutter, "just as unprecedented for me, as for you."

I nod – only to lift my hips again, and Jimin fills me entirely. He moans and when his eyes snap open, his expression is breathtaking. His eyes lighten, filled with such wonder while bending his head. Without saying word, Jimin’s lips find mine.

He pushes forward, mouths molding together. Jimin’s lips become hot, messy while he thrusts in and out. What was painful becomes pleasure, my body thrumming to life all around him. The muscles in Jimin’s back are held taut, his carefully arched over mine.

I have read that there is a difference between fucking and making love, but did not have enough experience to know if it was true. I still do not and yet, decide this is somehow both. Jimin's hips become sloppy, though his eyes continue to shine up above me. His hands are everywhere, touching anywhere I need him. His lips drag moans from my throat, capturing them between teeth and tongue.

When Jimin sits up to drape my legs over his shoulders, I nearly break. "Jimin," I moan, feeling his cock slide in and out. His hands pull me forward, pushing into my body.

"Fuck," Jimin groans, chest brushing mine. "I can't get over how good you feel. How tight you are. How wet," he inhales, breaking off and kissing me hungrily. His hips move faster, thrust even harder.

All pain is forgotten, replaced only with a needy, bruising sensation to have him. Jimin enters me, again and again while I wrap my arms tightly around him. Surrendering myself to him entirely, I reform around him. The sounds of wet, sinful pleasure fill my bedroom. Jimin continues to whisper, telling me how beautiful, how perfect I am. He whispers he loves me, and I know that he means it.

This is Real, after all.

His fingers slide between my legs to stroke over my sex. At first, I do not know what is happening. I only know that I am coming apart bit by bit. Suddenly, I am wound too fast, too tight and it is too much. I cannot hold it in – cannot hold him in – and I suddenly break. I break apart into nothing, feeling him continue inside me. Jimin continues to complete me in a way I did not know I needed.

He moans, coming undone and when he collapses against me, he simply stares. Chest rising and falling, his fingers slowly trace over the shell of my back. Jimin moves himself closer, pressing against me.

"I love you," he whispers until we both fall asleep. "All of you."

There is a loud crack.

I do not understand what is happening; only that my room is suddenly full of blurry, indistinct shapes. Someone yells as a noise bangs near my head. I cannot understand, my hand passing right through the right side of my bed. Then my eyes fly open – the bed is empty.

Jimin is not there.

Everything becomes clear as I shoot suddenly upwards, half-skidding on my floor and throwing sheets from my body. Thankfully, I had the presence of mind to don Jimin's T-shirt before falling asleep. It is good that he wore his boxers as well, because when I finally am able to see – I freeze.

My father.

His presence is not the strangest thing in the room, although it should be. The fact that my father would be in my dorm room at 7:00 on a Saturday morning before the holidays should be near-incomprehensible.

And yet, it is not the strangest thing. The strangest thing is that he is not alone. There are two officers with him, locking Jimin’s hands behind his back and not bothering to be gentle. Jimin does not give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Indeed, he barely winces when they twist an arm in his socket.

I am the one who reacts. I am the one who trembles, shaking and pleading with my father. "Please," I gasp, lurching froward. My shin hits the bedpost as I grab for my father. "What are you doing? Let him go," I demand, still not understanding. “What did he do?”

My father ignores this, pulling out of my grip. "Take him away," he commands the guards. "Put him with the others."

When my father speaks, I straighten. Some of my natural instincts return; I am not just anyone, after all. I am the woman he raised me to be.

"The others?" I say, still not understanding. He will answer my questions. He will not treat me like he does everyone else. “What others?”

Before anyone can speak, Jimin is pulled towards he door. He still does not protest, but stubbornly meets my gaze. "I'll find you," he promises, low and fierce. "I swear that I'll find you."

My father rolls his eyes, grabbing my forearms. When I try to break free, he holds me against him. I cry out, unable to move as Jimin is pulled from my room. When he is dragged, I notice Jimin’s gaze dart towards my bed. He looks at this, then at me – a wordless insistence.

I do not understand what he asks, though – before he can clarify, before I can push, Jimin is dragged out the door.

My father's arms tighten, before abruptly releasing. I am thrown forward, hastily grasping the bed. My gaze flicks across the covers, but I still see nothing.

"What did I do?" my father repeats, barely containing his disgust. When I turn to face him, he scowls. "He was a Rebel, that’s what you’ve done. That man is a part of the Coalition. Now, he is in jail. Where he belongs.”

My blood runs cold, staring at him and I slowly sit on my bed. The sheets are still warm, smelling of Jimin. Stomach sinking, I realize the truth of the matter. The Rebels have existed within our society for years, struggling to tear apart the reality of VR and I never understood why.

Now though, I have begun to see. As I try to comprehend this new reality – I see what Jimin was looking at. There is a note, scrawled in Jimin’s handwriting, thrust beneath my sheets. It is folded in such a way that only I can see it.

Even if my father could, he is no longer paying attention. One of the officers has returned for a low discussion held among men at the door.

Slowly, I reach out to better adjust the note. Jimin’s thick scrawl is barely legible but I barley manage to see.

Find answers under our tree. Remember what I told you xx

Heartbeat slowing, I struggle not to react. As I force myself to stay calm, to look up at my father, I wait for him to disengage.

As I do so, I find my thoughts hardening. I find them sharpening around what I know, what I have seen and what I must do now. Jimin lied to me. This is true and yet, I cannot doubt the truth of what I have seen.

When my father turns back, awaiting my response, I adopt a look of remorse.

“I - thank you,” I manage, scooting forward to place my hand over the note. “I am so sorry, father. You did the right thing. Thank you for saving me.”

He falters, confused and then relaxes his posture. “I am so glad you see it that way, daughter,” he sighs, shaking his head. “I was afraid for a moment. Afraid we would have to...”

He continues speaking, but I have already tuned him out. I am already planning, already plotting what I must do. I will go to our tree. I will find whatever clues Jimin laid out for me.

I will not wear the glasses. I will not go back.

Author’s Note: This is a one shot. I don’t plan on writing more at this time. Thank you for reading! <3

#noonanet #kwriterskollection #kpoptrashtag #jimin smut #bts smut #jimin au #jimin fantasy #jimin sci fi #bts au #bts fantasy #bts fanfiction #jimin fanfiction #jimin #park jimin #bts jimin #bts #bangtan

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signatureartsblug · 6 years

Text

Life with her

My life with her is.. strange, to say the least.

Just suddenly bringing myself into existence, to see her getting attacked, I attack her attacker and she’s been nothing but kind to me.

When he left, she checked on me, seen there was apparently a bruise on my back.

She had me lay down on her bed, which I assumed was hers, shirtless while she went to get ice.

All of this was weird. Was what I thought back then.

I knew nothing of this world I appeared in. Nothing. All I knew was to protect, to attack the one messing with her..

I remembered her voice plain as day, but I never knew what she looked like..

I called her my Ma without even thinking.

Just.. Through however long I was in my ring, I feel like I’ve grown attached to her. Not in a attraction sort of sense obviously.

She talked to me, taught me about things, spoke to me like I was a child.

I like her. I like her a lot. She is so nice, so full of love and care.

But through listening to her, I can tell she can get so timid. She sounds like she’s afraid to do a lot, like she was going to mess up.

It was like that when she came back with that ice and placed it on my back. She was praying and hoping under her breath that she was doing the right thing..

When she sat next to me, I noticed her hands were shaking. Her entire body was shaking. She looked so scared and anxious, her breathing was heavy, tears in the corner of her eyes.

“ What’s wrong?” I asked her.. I didn’t know at the time why she was so scared.

“ Nothing, Anti.. Nothing’s wrong.”

She answered. But, It’s obvious that she was lying to me. I didn’t think anything of it at the time but I know now that she feared what Dark had done to her, that she yelled at him, guilt hitting her harder than a punch to the stomach.

I didn’t say anything and I reached over and grabbed one of her hands.

She jolted to my touch but she returned the gesture and held onto my hand before she began to bawl her eyes out.

I didn’t know until later that Dark was someone special to her, he was more than a protector. He loved her and not in the way that I did.

I don’t like it when she cried like this.. I don’t like it when Ma cries.

That’s when I thought to myself that i’d make it my mission to protect her.

A promise that I couldn’t always keep.

When things settled down, she began to tell me bits and pieces of information about me that he had told her about.

Apparently I was something like a siren. A mythical being with a fish tail that sings a song to lure in prey, power to put them to sleep if I so desired. I was something called a Ring Demon, kind of like Dark.

I don’t fully understand what I am.. But that’s okay. I’m sure i’ll learn along the way. But until then, I’ll learn what the world has to offer.

What she has to offer.

I’m going to do my absolute best!

. . .

It’s been a few weeks.

Ma still hasn’t been feeling better from when she told him to leave but I’ve been doing well to distract her. We’ve been playing videos games together, telling me more about them, talking about her favorite games, introduced me to games she’d like I might like!

I really like these series of games called The Legend of Zelda. All of them vary in play style, different story but.. usually The Hero named Link saves the day.

I admire that. I still do.

She taught me a lot.. So many things. I wanted to learn more. More, more, more.

Whenever she goes to sleep, she let’s me play around with her laptop. I’ve learned a lot more. ( Maybe more than I should.)

Google, her facebook, her tumblr, skype.. Whatever.

The world is full of toxicity, information, along side with wonderful individuals.

She has.. Quite a history on online. I learned a lot about her. Well, the more recent version of her.

At the time, she talked on and off with some friends, write these stories called fanfictions. She never went out of her way to do too much but she did have spikes of venting art. That she appreciates her friends..

... I understand why she gets so sad... But sometimes I don’t

I can go on about her.. Tell you all about my Ma. But I have more to share. More of my story. Plus I have a feeling you all know about her.

But after I do research, I find myself cuddling to her and falling asleep. It seemed to help her a lot.

This sort of thing happened for a while.

. . .

Few more weeks go by, She’s been doing way better! I’ve been helping her with house keeping, cooking. It’s been really tame.

Dark hasn’t came back yet.. It’s been a little over a month.

Maybe it’s for the best.

But at around this time, this guy that kind of looks like me that also lived with her came back. He didn’t tell us where he’d go whenever he did leave. Well, not that it was any of our business but I just don’t trust the guy..

Neither did she..

She told me about how he just randomly comes and goes, stays a while or more than a while. He’d get so mean with her, violent even. The both of us never knew why. She tends to do her best not to bother him..

Usually he’d leave her alone, but.. Because Dark isn’t here to protect her...

This guy doesn’t see me as a threat. He thinks of me as weak.

But I will do my damnedest to keep her safe!

No matter what, I caught his tentacles, I blocked his attacks. I throw myself in front of her to keep her from getting hit.

I took every single hit but he’d never take mine.

That’s fine.

He’d get so pissed off with me. The slimy fuck would turn her attention to me, unleashing his unbridled rage upon me.

But once it was all over and he left to sit in the living room where he seemed to live, she always came to my aid..

I wish I could protect her better.. Because she told me that I didn’t have to do this. She hates seeing me getting hurt.

There are times I slip up or I just can’t move when he still has some violence in him and he takes it out on her.

This isn’t fair. It’s not. Calling the police would be pointless.. There’s nothing really we can do. I just have to do my best.

Part of me was hoping that Dark would come back, just so he could help me. But I don’t want her to hurt more than she already has been.

We’ve dealt with it for a long time. Close to a year. I think i’m not sure..

Things have been really crazy, It’s hard to keep track.

But Ma has been writing and drawing a lot. And I mean a lot to keep her mind off of the bullshite..

It was made up stories called Fanfictions. She decided to put me in one of them! well, kind of.. sort of. It was a little confusing because I didn’t understand the concept at the time. But it’s alright, whatever makes her happy!

Then I seen she became more and more involved with the internet life. I was curious as to why.

I asked her. She was pretty straight forward. Apparently she had made a new friend. Someone that had been reading her stories and ‘reblogging’ them with nice comments. This is the happiest I’ve seen her..

She met more friends as the year went on..

We got some fan art of us. Even the abusive slime got some too, he too being curious.. His torture dwindling down..

These three women have been really curious about me and him.. It.. was honestly really exciting and it made me extremely happy.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized.. These two were interested in the characters. Not the actual demons. For all we know, they don’t even know that we exist. Sad..

On the other hand, Ma would have me sit down next to her while she was talking to her new new friends whenever they asked about ‘me’. Some of it was made it because we don’t fully understand my origins but a lot of my powers and interests were fact.

I wasn’t sure who this person was that she was talking to but.. They seemed so nice..

They called themselves an alien, had a profile picture and everything. They were also an artist and writer!

Then there was another one, they too were a writer and artist with the same interest of an alter ego of a youtuber.

Also another girl that had drawn a LOT of me and Tenti.. But mostly him. I think she has a favorite. But she too has characters of her own, fan characters for a popular show. An artist..

They’re all so incredibly talented.. All four of these lasses.

But I’m more interested to know more about this girl that has my Ma smiling non stop and been asking about me.

I wanted to meet her.. That feeling was so strong..

Helio..

Pulse

#Anti speaks #Antiseptic #Ring demons #Story #Ring demon story #Antiseptic story

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smilinstar · 7 years

Text

Fic: all those roads, they lead you here

Fandom: Legends of Tomorrow

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Rip Hunter/Sara Lance; Sara Lance/Ava Sharpe

Summary:

“I’m not in love,” she retorts, setting the trap.

He walks into it willingly.

“Oh trust me, Agent Sharpe,” he says with a sad smile, “you most definitely are.”

Author’s Note: This is a Time Canary fic, but there’s a fair bit of Sara/Ava in it, because clearly the show’s setting up for it. I haven’t written in so long, so I’m not sure how this has turned out. Hopefully it doesn’t suck too bad.

Can also be read here on AO3

:::::

He’s the first to spot it.

The Beginning.

There’s a flicker of a smile, both fond and amused, on her typically humourless face as she watches the Legends walk away. The background of the moment is picturesque – the Waverider filling most of the horizon, glowing amber as the sun sets over Star City.

But his focus is not on them. And neither is hers.

No. It’s on the back of blonde waves against familiar khaki green, and the determined, almost angry, most definitely defiant, strut of a gait. Recognisable even with the lengthening distance.

It’s a metaphor for something, Rip’s sure, but this version of himself isn’t one for poetry.

The expression on her face sits uncomfortably in his gut. It’s a distinct sense of foreboding lined by an understanding of what’s happening and filled with the knowledge that he certainly has no right to pass judgement.

After all, it takes one to know one.

She finally feels the prickle of his gaze, and turns to looks at him. A fleeting glimmer of guilt and confusion passes over her, and he thinks to himself oh I know that feeling. Very well, indeed.

“Sir?” she asks, straightening up her spine, all laser focussed and pushing away the remnants of the spell Sara Lance has cast on them both. “What’s your order? Should we go after them?”

He breathes out, looks back into the distance as the Waverider cloaks itself away and answers, “no. Not this time Agent Sharpe. Not this time.”

:::::

She’s getting a sick sense of enjoyment out of this.

It surprised the hell out of her when it first happened.

The blush that had risen on Agent Sharpe’s cheeks at the casual compliment had definitely been her intention, she just hadn’t expected it to work.

So, she’d stowed that little snippet away, and had used the months that followed to start chipping away at her stone exterior one compliment at a time.

And the result is this:

An arm pressed against her neck, as deadly as a knife (which would have been her first choice of weapon if the roles were reversed), crowded against the wall of the Waverider corridor, and a burst of hot breath in her face as Ava snarls, “stop it.”

“Stop what?” Sara asks, the smirk on her lips tainting any innocence that question could have held.

“You know exactly what!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, letting her eyes finish the rest of the lie as they fall to her lips and tell her everything she needs to know.

“Rip was right when he said you were trouble.”

The smile that tugs on Sara’s face then is genuine. It comes freely and without thought, but it doesn’t have time to breathe as Agent Sharpe finally surrenders, pressing her into the wall and chasing away her thoughts of the man with a blazing gaze and bleeding heart.

The moment is a culmination of all the tension soaked arguments and unwanted attraction building for months.

A ticking time-bomb that Sara has no qualms in detonating.

She’ll deal with the aftermath later, she decides.

(If at all.)

:::::

It’s hard not to see it.

The glances and smirks, and the utter lack of discretion that becomes more and more apparent over time.

It surprises him, because it’s Agent Sharpe. He’s worked with her for five years now – one of the very first agents he’d hired when the Time Bureau had come to life, an idea born from the ashes of the disgraced Time Masters – and he’s never met a more strait-laced agent. She’s a stickler for rules with a pristine service record, just as immaculate as her uniform and with not a hair out of place.

But this? This has Sara Lance written all over it.

He thinks he should be mad.

He’s not.

He thinks it’s perhaps another word that wouldn’t be amiss in a rhyming couplet.

But he’s not a poet.

And he is most definitely not sad.

He doesn’t watch Agent Sharpe leave as he dismisses her with the details of today’s mission, a Level 4 anachronism that shouldn’t cause her too much trouble, and instead finds himself watching Sara.

The soft curve of her lips is a dagger in his chest and the hand he presses to his tie is just an excuse to rub at the phantom ache.

Of course, she notices him staring. Turns to meet his gaze and he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blush at being caught.

“What?” she asks.

He clears his throat, and holds her gaze, “I want my Agent left in one piece after this, Miss Lance.”

She jerks her head back, mouth opening in surprise. There’s a flicker of confusion and amusement, almost as if she doesn’t know whether to be offended or pleased at the insinuation. She opens her mouth to retort, but he cuts her short.

“I’m not blind. Nor am I stupid.”

Her lips curve into a smirk, “debateable.”

He ignores her. “This isn’t a game. Not to her.”

This time her expression is a little harder to decipher, but there’s a hint of something else glinting in her eyes that fans at dying flames of hope.

“You care about her.” It’s a statement, and he doesn’t deny it.

“I care about you both.”

Her sharp edges soften. “Well you have a funny way of showing it.”

“I had terrible teachers.”

She laughs, and it lights up around him. The stark white walls of the Bureau somehow tinted in warm yellows and oranges now that she’s standing here with a smile on her face. “That you did.”

He shifts on his feet, because he’s not sure he’s made his point, and it’s important. So important that he hears her. “Sara-”

“Relax. I hear you. Though,” she adds, the smile turning sad, “I think it’s me you should be worrying about here.”

She turns around and leaves him with those words. Doesn’t wait around to hear his murmured reply.

“I always do.”

:::::

“This doesn’t change anything.”

“I never assumed it did,” Sara lies.

She’d hoped, of course, but then the self-loathing that twists Ava’s lips is painfully familiar, piercing that cursed emotion through the heart every single time they do this.

And so she watches. Watches the back of her, bra straps disappearing from view as she slips her previously crisp white shirt back on. Watches as arms reach up and wind long strands of hair into a quick, non-fussy, regulation bun. Watches as she spins on the spot, eyes scouring her room for the jacket she so carelessly pushed off her shoulders last night and kicked across the floor.

“Are you going to tell him?”

The question leaves her mouth without thought. As if it had been lingering there on the tip of her tongue, hiding in plain sight, just waiting for a moment to make a run for it. She doesn’t tell her that Rip already knows, and yet Sara can’t decide what she wants to hear.

“Yes,” is Ava’s answer, the same as always, and she barely needs a second to think it over. “It’s protocol.”

Sara nods, “of course it is.”

Her glib answer prompts a scathing reply. “Not all of us display an almost pathological need to disregard the rules at every turn.”

“Hmm, and yet you’ve had all those chances and you’ve still not said a word.”

Ava says nothing to that, focuses instead on finding her shoes.

“What exactly is this?” Sara presses.

She takes a breath, doesn’t meet her eyes, and answers. “A mistake. This is a mistake. And it won’t happen again, Miss Lance.”

She grins back, and it’s not altogether too kind, “you said that the last time.”

“And I won’t say it again.”

Promises, promises.

:::::

There’s remorse on her face.

Guilt and self-loathing, but if he takes the moment to delve a little deeper, he thinks he catches a glimpse of a vulnerable heart, teetering the edge of a ravine and the oblivion that awaits below, reflecting back at him.

Rip’s not surprised.

He saw it coming, of course.

“I’m sorry,” Ava says.

“Why?”

She shifts on the spot, the answer is obvious at least to her mind, and so of course she’s unsettled by the unexpected digging but there’s a point he’s trying to make and he hopes she plays ball. He knows she will, and she doesn’t disappoint. “Because I should have told you sooner.”

“I already knew,” he admits.

And at that, she looks flummoxed to say the least.

“Sir? Why didn’t you-”

“Say anything? It’s not my place.”

Now he thinks she just looks irritated, as if there’s something obvious staring her in the face and she can’t quite grasp it.

“But you’re . . . but what about the Time Bureau-”

“Are not the Time Masters. You don’t need my permission to fall in love.”

And perhaps it’s the way his voice falters at the words despite his best efforts that turns Ava’s gaze sharp and assessing.

“I’m not in love,” she retorts, setting the trap.

He walks into it willingly.

“Oh trust me, Agent Sharpe,” he says with a sad smile, “you most definitely are.”

:::::

Sara’s not surprised to find herself back here, and yet she can’t help herself. In between gasps for air as she presses her forehead against hers, she has to ask.

“I thought you said this wouldn’t happen again?”

Ava smiles back at her and it’s so rare a sight that Sara doesn’t know what to do with it. “I told Rip. He knows. He doesn’t care.”

He doesn’t care.

The words hammer inside her chest, and as if that isn’t enough, they squeeze around her ribs painfully and she wonders if there’s any air left in her lungs.

He’s a liar, a snide voice reminds her. Always has been.

“Sara?” Ava asks, tilting her head back a fraction, watching her closely. She mistakes her silence for doubt, disbelief, stunned euphoria.

It isn’t any of those.

“It’s okay,” she reassures, curling a stray strand of hair away from her face. “He said it’s okay.”

“Well that’s great,” Sara says, and tries to smile and make it look effortless.

It isn’t.

She hopes Ava doesn’t notice.

She does.

:::::

It’s one of those rare occasions where the Legends and Bureau work together and save the day. Admittedly, the success of it hinged on Mick and his rather God-given knack for thievery but he’d be damned if he gives him more than a “good work, Mr Rory” in acknowledgement.

The grin on his face and his grunted reply as he walks by placing a hefty slap to his shoulder tells him that perhaps the man is finally learning to read between the lines.

With Mr Rory’s departure, he’s left standing alone on the Waverider.

Alone apart from Sara, who remains determined to give him the cold shoulder.

She hasn’t spoken a word to him all day.

A breath leaves his lips on a sigh as she watches her wordlessly turn on her feet and retreat into the office. His old office, which hasn’t really changed a whole lot. Apart from a few knick-knacks that are Sara’s, added almost seamlessly to his own collection of trinkets, the place is the same and still feels like home.

He hesitates only a moment and follows after.

In hindsight, his terrible attempt at banter to break the ice hadn’t been the wisest of ideas.

No sooner does he utter the words, “I like what you’ve done with the place,” he’s greeted by a flying dagger, hurtling through the still air, landing not three inches away, firmly embedding itself in the antique globe brushing against the sleeve of his jacket. The tip of the dagger finds its home in the heart of the Atlantic Ocean, and he’s too distracted by the hammering of his own, the whistle of sharp metal cutting through the air still ringing in his ears and the offended squeak of the globe as it spins on its axis, to appreciate the symbolism.

Smartly, Rip decides not to remark with a ‘you missed’ given he knows well enough that she hadn’t. He swallows the words down, and takes a tentative step forward.

“Sara . . .”

“Where do you get off?!”

The vehemence behind the words are almost enough to make him stumble back a few steps, but he holds steadfast.

“I’m sorry, I have no idea what you-”

“Permission?” she spits out. “We don’t need your permission!”

Oh, he thinks.

“I never gave you permission.”

She bristles with the anger. “You have no right-”

He cuts her off with a step forward and a shake of the head as he bursts out, “no, that’s not what I meant! I meant that I told Agent Sharpe exactly that. It’s none of my business.”

There’s a split-second where he thinks she visibly recoils at the words, and it only serves to confuse him. There’s more to this that he’s not understanding, and he thinks there’s no time like the present to tackle the gaping chasm between them. And so he asks.

“The real question, Miss Lance, is why are you so upset?”

She simply stares at him, and he wonders if she’ll say anything at all. But then she does. Two words, that tell him nothing at all.

“You lied.”

“About what?”

She bites down on her lower lip and he can see her warring with what’s weighing her down. He realises then that it’s not just any one thing, but she takes her pick from his multitude of sins and simply says, “when you left,” and stops. He puts the rest of the sentence together himself. They never really did talk about this, and it seems now is the time.

“Sara-” he breathes out, the only thing he can since the air around him is nothing but her. Sara. Sara. Sara. “I never meant-”

“Never meant what?” she spits out, and finally lets it all out. All that she’s been holding back from the shoddily patched up relationship he was a fool to think was on the mend. “Never meant it when you said I was a better captain, or when you insinuated that I was capable of leading this team without you; that our roles in protecting the world, this universe, time; that our team, meant something?”

He shakes his head, words rushing out on a frustrated breath as he steps closer. “They do, you do, I meant all of that.”

“You’re a liar, Rip. You always have been.”

He rubs a tired hand across his face, looks away and up at the ceiling, searching for the words, searching for something to make this right.

“Sara, forming the Bureau was never about passing judgement on you or the team. When I disbanded the Legends, I was trying to give you your lives back. Give you your choices back. So you didn’t have to do this anymore. Policing time should never have been your responsibility. It was always mine. Between losing,” he stops and sighs, and tries again. “Between losing Miranda and Jonas, and being betrayed by the Time Masters, I’d forgotten that.”

She stares back at him, and he thinks for a second he’s managed to get through to her, but then she’s taking a step forward, stopping mere inches from him, tilting her head back to meet his gaze head on, and he knows he’s wrong.

“And you did it again, Rip. Assumed you knew best for everyone. What we wanted. What we needed. You want to know why you were a terrible captain?” she literally snarls in his face, “because you never listen. You never ask us what we want.”

The words hurt more than any knife of hers ever could. Because he has listened. He’s listened to her, to them, so many times before.

Echoes of a past bounce off the metal and glass walls of the Waverider, conjuring up the images as if flipping through a leather-bound memory book. So many moments, and one steps out in sharp relief.

Because I couldn’t have my crew thinking I cared more for myself now could I?

And it’s not just that. No, because he has faith in them. Always has. Maybe, too much. Maybe Agent Sharpe is right, and his belief in Sara, in this team, is ridiculous. Simply misplaced fondness and an unwillingness to let go.

(He’s never been very good at that.)

“And what is it that you want Sara?” he asks, holding his breath.

Her face is exactly as he remembers. He marvels at how easily his mind has managed to summon up exact replicas of her at the most random of moments, how he still gets struck by the crystal clarity of her eyes, the little dimple in her chin. the infinite freckles for infinite stars. Nothing has changed he realises. Not really. Not this room. Not this ship. Not her. Not him. And not how he feels.

“I don’t know,” she whispers.

Something tells him the truth to his first question lies in those words.

He clears his throat and takes a step back. “Well, Miss Lance. You know where to find me when you figure it out.”

:::::

She’s been holding her breath for this exact moment the second it all started.

There’s always an End. Sara’s familiar enough with them to recognise when they’ve arrived.

“It’s for the best,” Ava tells her, locking away the sadness and hiding it away behind the stone-cold monument Sara had thought she’d broken her way through.

But it seems Agent Sharpe is an expert at picking up her crumbling pieces and putting herself back together again.

It’s not surprising.

Sara had been good at it too, once upon a time.

But this team. Rip. They’ve made her soft.

“For who?”

“For both of us.”

She shakes her head, leaning back against her desk, arms folding across her chest as a bitter snort of laughter leaves her lips. “Yeah. Right.”

“I’ll still be an Agent of the Bureau, I just won’t be a part of the team liaising with the Legends any longer.”

“You mean Rip’s reassigned you.” Her pulse spikes with anger, misplaced she knows even before Ava opens her mouth and corrects her.

“He had nothing to do with this. This was all my choice. I asked for the reassignment.”

“Why?”

“Because,” she laughs, and there’s not a trace of humour in it, “we both know I hate coming in last. So, I’m ending this before you do.”

Sara knows there’s a truth to the words. Her eyes flicker from Ava’s face, a face that has become unexpectedly important to her, and land on the antique globe in the corner. Her dagger still sits there in the heart of the ocean and it’s the rebelling beat of her own that asks, “who says I would have ended it?”

Ava doesn’t answer her, just rolls up the sleeve of her jacket and presses at the familiar device attached to her wrist.

“Maybe I did get this wrong,” she says then as the portal opens up behind her – a gaping doorway in the middle of the Waverider office leading to a non-descript horizon of trees and grass, a time and place she can’t put a finger to, and thus can’t follow. “Maybe he has everything to do with this.”

Sara opens her mouth to argue, but with a single step backwards she’s gone. Her last words echoing around the empty room is all she’s left with.

“You’ll figure it out.”

:::::

Rip falls into patterns, habits.

He’s done it before. It’s hard to break.

After Miranda and Jonas, it had been a self-destructive, one-minded pursuit for vengeance. It had left food and sleep a distant second thought.

It’s nowhere near as bad as that now. Though that isn’t to say he’s mastered the art of self-care by any means.

No. His responsibilities always take priority and so he spends most of his time at the Bureau – late into the evenings, and he’ll still be sitting there checking over daily reports, scouring the databases to make sure every anachronism that’s been dealt with hasn’t left any lasting scars to an already fractured and vulnerable timeline, only to then eventually fall asleep at his desk.

It hadn’t been until three months after the Bureau came together that he realised he’d been sleeping there. The cold truth was that the Bureau wasn’t the Waverider. Wasn’t home.

And so he had ended up renting a tiny apartment, manageable with his modest government stipend. With a bed and a bathroom and a tiny kitchenette, it’s all he needs.

He wouldn’t call it home either, but it’ll do.

No one knows where it is.

He’s never had anyone over.

And yet, somehow, he’s not surprised that she’s managed to hunt it down.

It’s only as he climbs the last few steps that he notices her through the wooden spindles of the banister, shoulder pressed to his door, blue eyes meeting his as soon as he stops on the landing.

He hesitates a fraction of a second before stepping forwards and retrieving his keys from his pocket. “And here I thought you would have just broken in.”

“I thought I’d surprise you.”

His lips twitch but he hides it away, focussing instead on getting the door open, before standing aside to let her in.

“Yes well,” he says to her back as she steps through the door and stops to take in her surroundings, “there’s very little you can do to surprise me anymore.”

She’ll take it as a challenge, he knows.

It’s what he’s counting on.

He moves around her, comes to a stop beside the window. It’s not much of a view, but he has no use for one anyway. Folding his arms across his chest, he watches her perusal of the room. She stops beside the old oak sideboard. A single bottle of whiskey sits beside the lamp there, and suddenly he has an inkling of where this is going. He’s both terrified and thrilled. Surprisingly it feels good, but he doesn’t give it away.

“So, Miss Lance,” he says instead, with a burgeoning smile, “what is it that you want?”

It’s a risk.

But they’re ready for it.

And she makes it worth his while when she answers him.

“Join me for a drink, Mr Hunter,” she grins, “and maybe I’ll tell you.”

End.

#time canary #ripsara #rip x sara #ava x sara #legends of tomorrow #fanfiction

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tipsycad147 · 5 years

Text

7 Sure Fire Jar Spells That You Need Now

SL Bear

I used to like jar spells because of their aesthetic value. Pop one on your desk, in your car, on the altar, and bam a space is instantly more witchy. Not to mention, it was great finally finding a use for all those bottles I’d splurged on at the craft store. Spell jars were vaguely reminiscent of the sand bottle art I used to get at amusement parks (which I would inevitably uncork, dump out, and ruin), but beyond that, because they don’t do anything except sit there, I didn’t give them much thought. After all, what was different about having stones or powders in a jar versus just leaving them on my altar? In my opinion, a spell involves a lot of working parts and time, so a little jar filled with flowers and oil wasn’t going to do much.

That’s when it hit me. A jar spell isn’t just a trifle of unfocused ingredients, it’s a bottled spell. You can absolutely put the same effort into making a jar spell as a more traditional spell, and the best part? You can carry it with you anywhere. The spell transforms from something you do once, into a talisman or charm you can keep close for as long as you like. How fantastic is that!

Luck Jar

Like a lot of witches, I’ve been asked by people to do spells for them. Even the most cynical people eventually come around and ask me to whip up some magic for them “just in case.” Although I’m happy to do so, when I do spells I like to be alone. So when I tell someone, yep, it’s done, there’s no experience for them. They haven’t been through the spell with me, so it’s even harder for them to get behind the magic. For some, this isn’t a problem. For others, they need to see with their own eyes to believe it will work.

Enter the jar spell. I can still perform the spell alone, then give them this small token of the spell that they can keep with them. Since luck spells are a specialty of mine, this is the most requested jar spell and the first one I’ll share today with you!

Ideally, this spell should be performed on a Sunday while burning dragon’s blood incense.

What you will need:

A jar. I prefer smaller jars as they travel better, but size doesn’t particularly matter.

Cinnamon

Sugar

Chamomile

Aventurine chips

Amethyst chips

Jasper chips

Star anise seeds

Lemongrass oil

Bay leaf

Green candle and a fireproof work area

Lucky Duck powder, or luck-drawing powder of your choosing

So, in my life’s quest to purchase all the crystals and stones, I’ve come across stone chips. At first, these held no interest for me and I figured they must be for jewelry makers. I like big, beautiful stones I can find something new about every time I look at them. But then I started making jar spells and stone chips became very exciting. They are the perfect size for this task and you can usually find a huge lot for a reasonable price. Needless to say, I’ve overindulged.

On your bay leaf, simply write the words “I’m lucky,” or any version of that you’d like. Bay leaves are pretty waxy, so it’s not easy to write on them — keep it short and sweet. Then with your incense going, light the green candle and anoint with a little lemongrass oil. Hold the bay leaf with some tweezers and use the candle’s flame to ignite the bay leaf and send this message out into the universe. Save the ashes, and don’t blow out the candle yet!

Now it's time to layer. Start with the aventurine, then the sugar, then the chamomile, jasper, cinnamon, amethyst, the star anise seeds, the luck-drawing powder, and the ash from the bay leaf. Carefully add a few drops of the green candle’s wax, and seal the jar. Fill the jar to the top so there’s no room for anything to mix and lose the effect. If you like, you can draw a sigil or rune on the outside of the jar, but I like to leave them plain. When everything is assembled, blow out the candle.

Money Jar

For obvious reasons, having a money jar around is a good idea. This jar spell, unlike my other money spells, requires the use of an actual bill. Like attracts like, so they say, and the money in the jar will be the lure for more money in your life!

What you will need:

Pyrite chips

Moolah powder

A green candle

Honey

A dollar bill

Light your green candle (on a Thursday) and lay your bill out flat. Dress it with the Moolah powder, then roll it up as tightly as possible and stick it in the jar with the honey. Add your pyrite chips to the jar.

Holding the jar, repeat these words, and imagine what you’d do if you had the money you need:

"A magnet pulls and pushes

But throw a lure where fishes swim

Cast a line in golden waters

And reel some greenbacks in!"

Seal the jar and you’re done! You can keep the jar with you depending on size, or keep on your altar or window ledge.

Protection Jar

This is a house protection spell and can be hung by any door. I made one on a whim, and let me say, this thing works in mysterious ways. The day after I hung it up, I noticed that 3 fire alarms in my house needed new batteries and there was a frayed cord in the corner of my garage I’d never even knew existed — I was instantly more aware of little things about my home that needed immediate attention. Now there’s a jar at every door!

What you will need:

Sea salt

Cascarilla powder

Labradorite chips

A gold ribbon, wire, or chain — anything gold that can be wrapped around the jar

Mix your cascarilla powder and sea salt together, then drop your labradorite chips into the jar. Add your cascarilla powder and salt mixture, and top the jar off with more labradorite chips and seal. Wrap the gold ribbon around the jar and you’re done. If you’re using a golden chain, I suggest using a piece that once belonged to your mother if available. Mothers are the embodiment of protection and having that little extra something to represent her, and protect your home, will make this jar that much more potent. However, any form of gold you choose will still be effective. When using gold of any kind, it’s best to leave it somewhere the sun can touch it at least once a day to charge.

Attract Witches Jar

This is a fun one. Most witches don’t walk around in big black hats ] or announce themselves when out in public. This handy little jar is meant to draw good witches to you organically so you can widen your circle a little.

What you will need:

A white candle

Meadowsweet

Angelica root

Juniper berries

Passionflower

Basil

Salt

Sugar

Your favourite stone chips (to send your energy back to them)

If you wish, you can mix these herbs together or layer them, adding your stones first. While assembling the jar, light a white candle and think positive thoughts. There aren’t any words to recite, but in your mind imagine yourself as glowing slightly, radiating good vibes that other witches will be able to sense. Carry with you when you travel and be on the lookout for new acquaintances that suddenly come into your life!

Break Bad Habits Jar

Humans are creatures of routine, which makes breaking bad habits particularly difficult for us. Some habits are relatively harmless, while others can negatively impact our lives and changing them is a must. This jar will provide both motivation and a daily reminder that you’re tough enough to kick the thing holding you back from living a better life! This jar can be placed in your home where you will see it regularly, or carried with you.

What you will need:

Dragon’s blood incense

Catnip

Dried onion flakes

Purple ribbon

Light your incense while assembling this jar and focus very hard on how your life will be improved once you’ve made this positive change. Place the herbs into the jar, then tie the purple ribbon around it. When you’re feeling particularly unmotivated, drop a little of the mixture in the flame of a purple candle and perform your favourite grounding exercise.

Safe Travel Jar

Another great jar to give as a gift. My cousin is in the military and my aunt always has me make her one of these before deployments!

What you will need:

Comfrey

Feverfew

Garnet chips

Tiger’s eye chips

Yellow candle

Layer the jar in any order you’d like, but make sure it’s herb, stone, herb, stone. Light your yellow candle and recite these words while holding the jar:

"Wind, rain, fog, and snow

Will never my travel slow

Safely will I ever arrive

Wherever I choose to go!"

Seal the jar with a few drops of the yellow candle wax, and keep in your car.

Altar Box “Jar”

Not technically a jar spell, but it works in the same way. You’ll need a small metal tin with a slidable top. These can be found online or at places that sell empty bottles (I got mine at Natural Grocers). This isn’t a travelling altar because it’s not to be used for spellwork per se. Its purpose is to carry the “spirit” of your altar with you wherever you go. I can’t give you a list of ingredients because I don’t know what you have on your altar or what you use it for, but what I did was take elements from my altar and miniaturise them, then sealed them in the tin. This way, you can feel connected to your altar, not to mention its power, whenever you’re away.

Note: Not everyone will see the purpose of this, but I know a lot of witches adore their altars — myself included. Turning it into a talisman of sorts and carrying it with me has been a great comfort.

All my favourite components from my altar: Stone chips, powders, runes, bay leaves, star anise seeds, and more.

Find the best configuration.

I sealed mine with a paint and sealant because I added powder and didn’t want it spilling everywhere. You can decorate your altar box in any way you wish and carry with you (in the left pocket is best)!

https://thetravelingwitch.com/blog/2018/8/26/7sure-fire-jar-spells-that-you-need-now

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pisati · 5 years

Text

I suppose it's a product of the society we live in, but I feel messed up in some ways for not wanting my own children. Not liking babies, not even really thinking they're cute. Being terrified of pregnancy. I almost wish I could be 'normal' about it, in the same way I sometimes wish I could be 'normal' about sexual attraction and drive. It would make things so much less complicated, feels like. I looked it up. Just a few scattered articles about women who don't want children (some of which say "it's perfectly normal!"). A lot of the justifications some of these women give are... honestly really pretentious. Some of these people just think babies are plain gross. And they can be; they're little poop machines, they puke, they blow mucus everywhere... but I saw one article that was like "they're gross and inconsiderate and selfish" like... fucking duh? They're infants. They don't know how to control their bodily functions quite yet and they don't know how else to communicate their needs. "You're a baby. You have nothing to do. If you're tired, just sleep instead of crying about it" like how fucking stupid are y'all? Have you ever tried falling asleep when you're tired but your brain just won't let you? Did it occur to you that infants have to learn things as basic as the concept of object permanence, and maybe they cry when they're tired because they just don't know what else to do about it? Being tired fucking sucks. Even at 25 I sometimes get so tired I want to cry. Fuck off. And "inconsiderate"?? As if babies have even the slightest concept of "considerate"? They are wired to survive. To need their parents to provide for them. That is what they know how to do. "Considerate" is learned. God. Those things are not an issue I really have with babies. I get kind of secondhand embarrassed when babies do stupid things, but I understand they're learning. I get super grossed out by the idea of diaper blowouts and spit-up and faces covered in snot and every food they try to ingest, but... I know if that were my child it'd be a little easier to deal with. I'm fine with my pets' bodily functions, I don't see why, if I loved something enough, it should really be a problem. Some people don't get that. But they say they love their pets in a way they don’t care for children; makes me wonder how they actually treat them. Some people think babies are life-ruiners, but of course they're going to be if they're not wanted, you absolute fucking morons. They are work. Some women love being a mom but hate motherhood, and that's understandable. Some people don't want to give up their careers, because honestly, raising children is a full-time job in itself. Babies maybe won't ruin your life's work, but they certainly can derail it and be a weight you have to carry around for a lifetime. Not everyone is ready to commit to that. But that's not an issue I seem to have with them either. If I wanted them, they'd be worked into my future plans. It wouldn't be ruining my life if that was the way I wanted my life to go, you know? The people that think it's the worst thing that could happen to their career... shouldn't have them, lmao. Those kids are going to grow up knowing they're resented. Knowing that you had things you wanted to do with your life, until they came along. They're going to feel like a burden on you, and you’ll probably take out your regret on them at some point. Your feeling like you "need" to have a child because of societal expectations doesn't trump the wellbeing of the child you're bringing into this world. There's the tantrums. The crying, the screaming, the not listening to reason. That's one thing I can actually agree with. I can't deal with babies crying. Some say that the cry of a baby draws people in; it makes mothers want to go to them and comfort them. I have the opposite reaction. I hear a baby crying, I want to get far away from it. I don't think I'd be very good at perceiving a baby's needs. They wouldn't stop crying, I'd get impatient and frustrated. You can't reason with a crying infant, you have to find the off switch by guessing at which needs aren't being met. I wouldn't be able to deal with tantrums or an indignant child, but I feel like any child of mine would know better than to give me the business. Who knows, though? Who knows what I'd end up with? I was a good kid. Afraid of consequences, sensitive, obedient, for the most part, if not a little stubborn (ok, very stubborn). What if my kid was the exact opposite? What if no matter how much love I gave them, no matter how attentive I tried to be towards their needs, no matter how many lessons I tried to teach them, they ended up a little brat? A gigantic asshole? God forbid, a white supremacist or some other horrible thing? Sometimes people really do their best and still it doesn't matter.

I just. I don’t have those instincts towards babies. I really don’t. I wish I did, sometimes. But that’s just not how I was wired. They scare me too, possibly because of unfamiliarity, but more because I don’t have the energy or the money to be as good of a parent as I’d want to be for an infant. I do think I have maternal instincts though. I know I try to take good care of my rats and I love caring for them. Spoiling them, making sure they have what they need, making sure they're happy and healthy. I can't see myself ever not having pets. But by that same token... just thinking about it. I've been saying for a while now that I think my maternal instincts are misdirected towards animals instead of humans (ha ha), but I don't think that's actually true. My heart breaks for older children in the foster system-- older children being kids that aren't babies. Any child in the foster system, of course, but I’m more drawn personally to the older ones. Kids that have known abusive parents or never even knew who their parents were, kids that grew up in foster care, bouncing from place to place, knowing they don't really have a family. Children have a lot of needs growing up, and emotional needs are a big one that people sometimes overlook. Kids can get hurt, bad. They feel a lot of things, and deeply. I remember being a kid myself, and I was always one to feel things extraordinarily strongly. I remember dad got me two Polly Pocket sets for.. maybe my birthday one year. And I'd thrown out the little plastic insert that one of them was packaged with-- you know, just opening a box, discarding the packaging. And I realized later that the insert would've been perfect for keeping the little rubber doll pieces organized, and the regret over having thrown it out hurt so bad I cried. Like... kids are growing and they're complicated and I can't even imagine having that made harder by parents or lack thereof. Knowing that kids are growing up in those conditions makes me want to take them in. Like my friend’s family, who’s taken in a whole bunch of foster kids and adopted them all. I'd want to bring a child home, and let them know that this is their home and would always be their home. Give them some stability on a fundamental level. Show them love they may not have received yet. Do their hair, have little makeover days, movie nights, game nights, craft nights. Surprise them with things they like, watch their face light up knowing they're listened to and cared about. Listen to them talk about their interests, try to guide them towards things that make them happy; spark that interest and let them explore and grow; not try to mold them any way I think they should be. Help them with homework, work through problems together, because lord knows I'd probably struggle with some of them too. Hope they'd trust me enough to come to me with emotional issues-- not like how I could never talk to my mom about boys. Try to help them heal from whatever trauma they may have experienced. I don't know how I'd handle behavioral issues, if that were to happen, but I know the best course of action is educating myself and trying to be understanding. I do think I'd be a good mother. Just not to an infant, lmao When I was still in school, I'd let my rats run around my apartment during playtime. I'd leave my plastic shopping bags on the floor in the kitchen once I'd put groceries away, because I knew Jay liked to hoard them under my couch. And sometimes I'd take my phone flashlight and look around under there at the mess he made. I wouldn't touch it (until cleaning day came, usually, or unless there was a receipt I realized I needed). I'd just look at the organized chaos his little rat brain told him to create. I was witnessing the physical manifestation of his personality-- something he created himself. He put those bags right where he wanted them, and I could hear him rustling around down there sometimes, arranging them how he liked. He would grab mouthfuls of food and stash them in piles under the couch too, in specific places. I think I'd be the type of person to do the same for a child. I couldn't ever tell them what to do or how to be, necessarily. I'm sure I'd just marvel at anything they created; anything their mind produced. I'd want to know them for them, and love them just the same, even if they were nothing like me. Hell, I'd probably be happy if they were nothing like me (in some regards). Reminds me of that scene from Ladybird. I just. I wish that you liked me. Of course I love you. But do you like me? I want you to be the very best version of yourself that you can be. But what if this is the best version? Parks & Rec: I love you and I like you. One day I'll be able to say that. I hope.

#don't know what prompted this one #maybe tv; maybe some posts I scrolled past #I need to learn to be more honest with myself #stop drawing such hard lines #especially where none need to be drawn #it always seems like 'all or none' with this kind of thing #either you want them or you don't-- at all-- ever #but that's just not the way it is sometimes #I'm learning to acknowledge that and the fact that it's okay to feel like this #mostly just relieved that there are people that are WAY bigger assholes about it #people that think they're better than others because they don't have kids.... need to shut the fuck up lmao #cool if it's not the thing for you but maybe cool your jets about other people's choices #and the fact that-- yes-- sometimes other people's choices in that regard will encroach upon your lifestyle #like I can't wait to never be pregnant or have to deal with an infant #but I........ actually think I could one day do the mom thing #I could definitely see it as enriching and a positive addition to my life #and hopefully equally as if not more beneficial for the kid #girl's got a heart after all

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tyranttortoise · 7 years

Note

I saw the ask about the positioning thing and that x-ray talk had me wondering. How would each skeleton UT,Uf and Us react to seeing their s/o x-ray? Like the chest area or the whole body is really up to you

When you went to the doctor, you had to get chest and abdominal x-rays (the latter includes a nice view of your pelvis, of course). You decided that since you’re dating a skeleton, they would probably get a kick out of getting to actually see your bones, so you asked for a disc with the images to take home.

You call your bonefriend into the room right as the disc loads on your laptop.

“Hey, check it out– I got some x-rays today! Thought you’d like to check out what my very own skeleton looks like.”

UT!Sans:

Sans’s stroll into the room had him with his usual good-natured grin on his face, but the second you announced that it’s YOUR skeleton on the screen, well… you can see his grin slip, his eyelights becoming pin-pricks riveted to the screen. He comes to sit beside you as you flip through the three images, and you notice him tense up when your pelvis is in plain sight.

“Sans?”

“…did you know that you have 206 bones in your body?”

You actually didn’t know there was that many. You smile, thinking he’s about to start naming them, but when he turns to you, his shit-eating grin reappears.

“would you like one more?”

UT!Paps:

“Y-YOUR BONES?”

Papyrus freezes the instant he sees the x-rays, his face flushing pink. He has trouble enough dealing with the naked skeletons during Halloween, so seeing your bones laid bare on the screen flusters him even more. It feels so intimate, him seeing something hidden beneath layers of skin, muscle, and fat, and he shifts uneasily. He hasn’t even seen you without your clothes yet!

“Something wrong?” you ask, your amused smile beginning to fade. Did you overstep some kind of skeleton monster boundary?

“NO, N-NOTHING LIKE THAT! IT’S JUST THAT…” He’s blushing harder and trying not to look at the screen, even though his gaze keeps getting drawn to it. "I-I CAN SEE YOUR PELVIS! AND IT.. IT’S DISRESPECTFUL TO GAWK!“

"Paps, sweetie, it’s okay to look. I thought you’d find it cool.”

“I DO! I-IT’S VERY COOL! THE COOLEST OF THE COOL, YOU HAVING A SKELETON INSIDE YOU!” He comes over and slowly closes the laptop lid. "…ARE YOU HUNGRY?? I CAN WARM UP SOME SPAGHETTI! LET ME GO DO THAT RIGHT AWAY!“

Yeah, he dashes out of the room with his face bright pink.

UF!Sans:

"hell yeah, i do!”

Red is instantly at your side, taking the laptop and putting it on his own lap. His grin is wide, and he slips an arm around you while he scrolls through the image. The look on his face is ravenounous, as if you went to the doctor just for a sexy nude photo session. "stars, sweetheart, it’s not even my birthday~.“

You elbow him lightly in the ribs. "Are you saying you find me sexier without skin?” There’s a self-conscious lithe to your tone that you’re unable to completely bury.

“not at all,” he answers without missing a beat, his eyelights shifting back over to you. "you should know by now that i love the shit outta your skin. it’s so soft.“ He sets the laptop down and pulls you onto his lap, his phalanges gripping your hips. Red leans around you to glance at the x-rays on the laptop, where he can clearly see the bones of your pelvis. "it’s just also sexy as hell to see what’s beneath it. your pelvis looks like mine, doll, so why don’t we match ‘em up?” He winks, and all at once, the insecurity is gone as you grin.

UF!Paps:

His face is bright red the instant he spots the screen. "WHO ELSE SAW THESE OBSCENE PICTURES?!“ he demands, his eyelights glowing as bright as his face. He appears pissed off.

"Uh, the tech, the doctor, the nurses probably–or at least the nurse practioner. Maybe a radiologist?” you shrug. Papyrus seems even more incensed over your reply.

“THAT MANY PEOPLE GAWKED AT YOU?!”

“It’s just an x-ray,” you point out slowly, not understanding the big deal.

“JUST AN–YOU’RE–YOU’RE LAID THE BAREST YOU CAN BE! YOU’RE NOT EVEN WEARING YOUR SKIN IN THESE PICTURES!”

“Lemme cut you off right there,” you begin, holding up a hand. "You’re being ridiculous right now, but I’ll let it slide because apparently x-rays are a huge turn-on for you or something?“ You’re smirking as you watch him become even more flustered, his jaw opening and closing, and his arms crossing.

"I–I–DO NOT!”

“Just come over and look at them, then.”

He complies, plopping down onto the couch with his arms still crossed. He shifts in his seat as you scroll through the images. When you’re done, you turn toward him. "Well? Is it cool, or too obscene for you?“

”….. I WOULD LIKE A COPY OF THE DISC.“

US!Sans:

"TH-THOSE ARE YOU BONES?!”

Blueberry is blushing bright blue as he cautiously approaches the laptop, wringing his gloved hands together. He looks from you, to the images, and you feel like he’s undressing you with his eyelights… all the way to the bone.

“W-WOWZERS, YOUR SKELETON… LOOKS A LOT LIKE MINE!”

Despite his blush, he’s obviously quite intrigued by the notion of you both having skeletons, even if yours is a secret skeleton. As he stares at your chest x-ray, however, he begins to look confused. "BUT WHAT’S THAT INSIDE YOUR SKELETON?“ He points to a gray ball peeking from the left of your spine.

"That’s my heart,” you inform him, tracing the shape with your finger. "And the black pouches right here are my lungs.“

"YOUR HEART? BUT… I THOUGHT SOULS WERE SHAPED LIKE HEARTS.”

“They’re more like cartoon hearts, right? Like Valentine’s Day hearts? Actual human hearts don’t look like that.”

“WHAT?” His mind is blown. "THAT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE!“ He stares at your x-rays for a moment more, before he starts pointing out others things on the images, and it ends up turning into a human anatomy lesson.

US!Paps:

"you know something funny about x-rays?”

“What’s that?” you ask as Stretch rounds the couch to sit beside you. He takes the laptop and sets it on his lap, leaning back to glance from the screen, to you.

“you can’t lie to 'em. they see right through you.”

He smirks and you shove his arm while he examines the images. He’s not blushing, not flustered–in fact, he just seems to find them neat if anything. "did they find anything on these?“

"No, everything came back clear. Whatever I have is probably just viral.” You point to a few splotchy places in your lungs. "It’s just congestion, not pneumonia or anything.“

"that’s good. and the abdomen x-ray?” He’s staring at it, but you get the feeling that he’s looking for pathology instead of oogling your bones.

“No obstruction.”

“good. here ya go.” He hands you the laptop back, and you have to admit, you were expecting something different.

“Uh.. hey.”

“hmm?”

You set the laptop on the coffee table, feeling your cheeks heat up a little. "Well, I just.. I thought you’d care a little more about seeing my bones or something?“

He looks at you for a moment before a slow, knowing smirk crosses his face. "you thought i’d get turned on over the sight of your bones because i’m a skeleton monster. isn’t that being specist?”

“N-no, that’s not what I–”

“i’m just kidding, hun, relax.” He grins and wraps his arms around you, pulling your shoulder into his chest. His head leans down, his mouth directly by your ear. "i mean, they do say it’s what’s on the inside that counts, right?” You playfully push against his chest, and he chuckles, holding onto you tighter. “seeing your bones is cool, but i’m attracted to you, not a skeleton version of you.”

#undertale imagine #undertale #underswap #underfell #sans #papyrus #the skelebaes look at your x-rays

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rpedia · 7 years

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[Ask RPedia] Getting Together: How To Meet Your Characters!

Anonymous asked: Alright, I've been reading your stuff and it's all really helpful and you're awesome- I've gotta ask this though. How do I get two characters to meet and a story going? I can't seem to come up with good reasons for people to interact with my character and it's really frustrating. I've made starters, but I always end up stressing over not being able to come up with a plot good enough to keep anyone's interest for very long and never send them. Any tips or anything would be great!

Sounds like you’ve got some issues beyond the original question, which means you want to meet characters and keep them interested in each other, I’ll deal with that too, but first! Let’s discuss how to get characters to meet up, in situations ranging from ‘we work together’ to ‘we don’t even exist in the same universe canonically.’

So. There’s a bit of a spectrum here in terms of how problematic it’s going to be to even set up a scenario in which two characters might meet, let alone the chemistry of that meeting and how to keep it going. So we’ll try to consider some broad strokes here, remember that these get ‘harder’ so you can use anything from any section for the others, they’re just focused on the easiest way to do it each time. So you can make it harder for yourself if it’s... actually easier. I don’t mind. Use as tools, not as rules.

So what if they already know each other? If they’re people who are from the same canon, and may know each other things are a hell of a lot easier. You’ve already got a library of scenes and situations they regularly find themselves in, together, or have the possibility of finding themselves together in. Is there an elevator? A pool? A regular event? Something hinted at, or rooms, or anything really that has a chance to have them both in the same place at the same time? Look! They have a reason to meet up. You’re golden.

Do they not inhabit the same area really, but know each other a little bit? Well, you have a more limited, set of preconceived settings. You don’t know anywhere they both frequent, but that means you can make one up. Look at people they have in common, or situations they may be attracted to but haven’t been show in. Things that are logical, just... improbable.

Have they never met at all, yet have a reason to meet up? This one’s easy, spot their commonalities. What do they have in common? Do they both love hot dogs? They can meet at a hot dog cart. Do they both fight? Make a fighting tournament. Whatever they both like, or dislike, they can find a point in this universe where that would push them together. If not, there’s always the next option up.

Have they never met and have no reason to meet? This seems harder, but hell it’s just a matter of situations converging instead of people. A series of convenient plots. Some kid’s mom hasn’t picked them up from school. They meet an aliens from another planet whose navigation system got bumped by their co-pilot, they land on Earth, and while there realize they need to pick something up anyways. They walk across town, and bump into the kid. They’ve met. Kid shows interest in the alien being awkward. Takes an active approach to bothering them, and follows them. Tada! If it can work for boring school kid and an alien from another galaxy, something similar that’s just a bunch of excuses to get them in the same place.

Are they actually in different universes, so you have to break something to force a meeting against all laws of physics and man? Now this one is fucking fun. Because you literally get to BREAK THE UNIVERSE. This tends to be deliberate as fuck, so you might have a third party or force elaborately pushing these things to happen, or having them happen as a side effect to some major event somewhere in the universe. Or a minor one that causes major side effects. Look, something happened, and now a portal opened. You go through it, or your universes merge seamlessly, or you wake up in a city you don’t recognize and there they are. Surprise and fear and loss and hell the universes splitting in two during science and magical bullshit that defies physics is well and enough reason to latch onto the first relatively friendly or manageable person you see.

Now that they’ve finally met up, somehow, someway, they have to interact and stay interested in each other. This comes down to a lot of factors, including chemistry between the characters, and chemistry between the writers. You’re gonna need to step your game up, make shit up! Make the world come to life, give them reasons to interact. One of your characters has to be an active participant, curious about the other. They have to lead the story. They need to pester them, while the other character needs to do something else so that the first character has a goal to ‘understand’ them. Let secrets out slowly, and make sure you drop shit that makes no sense. They need to have more questions to follow up on them.

This can be as simple as giving a weird name, and having the character wanna know why they’re weird. Or your character could say something additional. “This is my name. Now scat kid, I need to ___.” Then the kid asks about the blank, and yadda. It all depends on temperaments too. Two nice character, a mean one, rebellious, a kid, an old fart who is so tired of this shit? They’re all gonna react differently as fuck to each other. So react! React big! Ask questions about them, show curiosity, share your character’s life in pieces to force them to ask questions back. Engage in curiosity, and drag them into hell with you by feeding theirs. Once you’ve met up, you need reasons to keep talking. Choose activities to do together as background noise or a sub goal while you really tie them up in each other’s lives. Force the setting to force them both to stick together. Kid doesn’t know how to get home anyways, so the alien, who forgets where they were, has to take them with them INTO SPAAAACE, or fucking whatever. Whatever makes sense.

I have a arguably terrible habit of always going for the same basic things. Sleep, eat, play, work. I love dragging characters to go get food in town, or go hunting, or cook in the kitchen. I like to be tired, and get weirdly existential, and fight to go to bed, or find somewhere comfortable, or curl up near people and just talk. I like to go do things, like see the sights, go to carnivals, events, mess around with things we’re given in canon (or have devised as canon) in such a way as to be inclusive to my partners, or just play tag or wrestle. Sometimes, I even work, a character might have to drag a tagalong to work, and they can function together finding out they work better as a team than solo. They can fight, teach, explore, whatever comes with the job with tons more fun than they can alone. Even if they just tell stories while they go out delivering packages, and laugh it up.

Try to keep a real basis of interaction underlying everything. Nothing is perfect, I’m sure you’ve talked to people and had arguments in your life. Not everyone agrees, and a heated conversation can get you guys bonded together once you come out the other side. Embarrassments, misconceptions, errors, just plain disagreements? They are, surprisingly, fantastic ways to keep a story going. If everything is just yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir... well. If you’ve been around this blog long enough you can say this with me: Crisis is Necessary. Keep things interesting by keeping goals and problems arising that you need to fix. A happy comfortable character has no motivation to change what they are doing, and therefore you write yourself into a rut and everyone gets bored.

See: cuddling for 8 hours, walking for an entire RP without talking, falling asleep and expecting your partner to respond to your sleeping posts, kissing constantly, or just being quiet together and ignoring each other. You’re better than that. Show it. Do things you haven’t before, break your rituals, change little things, or make big things happen. It doesn’t have to come from internal actions, like what your characters want either. External forces can shift the whole story. Daily coffee? They were closed for repairs. Elevator broke, you’re trapped together. Someone died, and you need to get out your emotions. They didn’t have your fucking brand. Oh, a war is going on. Look aliens invading. Jesus Christ I got a letter to Hogwarts.

Anything is better than the daily grind. It can be hard coming up with stuff because you get iffy about whether your partner will like it, or if you will. You worry yourself out of it, or maybe you’re burned out and have no idea where to go next. Just kinda... roll the dice on it. Open a dictionary website and find a random word, and go off that. Read a news report and let it fuel your imagination. Skim fanfics, and go write your own ending and concept or, how you’d do it better. Take your favorite appealing things and apply them to your character’s stories. You love pears? Your character hates them? Have them mistakenly eat a pear, and react to it. Let them call someone to talk about it and complain. Anything can be a story idea. Every little happening, magnified, and plastered into a bigger wider version cut and clipped to fit your character.

Now why would people lose interest in a storyline? Some of the common issues are, the story isn’t moving fast enough, the characters aren’t being empathetic, your partner is stonewalling you by not reacting or acting enough, your partner is giving you minced replies with no content to reply to, or you don’t feel the chemistry and you can’t summon the willpower to enjoy yourself. It’s okay if you just don’t mesh. It’s not the end of the world. If you don’t mesh many many times over, you may want to examine your approach.

Do you regularly offer information that continues the storyline, or do you tend to use precise replies? Precision is great for school work and official documents, it’s shit for creativity. Give more than you get. Do you tend to try and avoid things partners are nudging towards you without giving other options? That’s stonewalling, it stops the flow of information, and therefore the creativity and story. Do you tend to rehash the same things over and over again? That can lead to burn out and boredom and players will wander off. Some folks just can’t keep their focus on slow replies too, so you might ask yourself if you’d do better in a faster chat, or a slow journaling platform that may take a week to reply.

You need to stand up, push for story, and keep things moving. But at the same time... stories end. And continuing the same scene day in and day out is not a good bet. I personally play in an episodic style. I do a scene, then we cut out for the day (sometimes over the course of two days) and timeskip to the next “fun” part. You don’t need to play out all the boring inbetweens, you’re a writer. Writers don’t explain how someone takes a shit unless it’s important to the story, that’s why it seems like no one ever goes to the bathroom in novels unless they find something important there.

Feel free to do Episodic play, each day is a new scene, or every time you complete a scene jump ahead. You might run out of steam over time anyways. Most of my longer roleplays last a couple years max before they move on. My shorter ones last one session in public and then we never really get into it again. Roleplay is a fluid creature, don’t blame yourself if it stops occasionally. Sometimes it’s just not the right time for it. If someone complains, or you regularly lose RP for no reason... there’s a reason. Look at yourself and figure it out, don’t just whine, ‘people never RP with me, they just quit or block me for no reason!!!’ because that’s a fucking red flag that you do something horrible you don’t even realize, or you have been told and think they’re lying. Hint... they aren’t, and you’ll scare away more players that way.

In any case, action! Reaction! Story! Build more than you expect to get through and they’ll pay attention to the little details as future story hints. If you drop a phrase now, you might not get to it now, but you can bring it up again in a new context when things get slack. Just have fun, and make things as big and vivid and round for the character as possible in order to keep folk around.

Remember, it only has to make sense to you and your partners, everyone else can go fuck themselves. Have fun.

#roleplay #rph #rpc #roleplay help #rp #Ask RPedia #RPedia

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