#anyways this fic is so stupid and self serving | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunboki · 5 months

Text

⎯ CHRISTMAS BLUES a Hwang Hyunjin fiction

🎄 : Hwang Hyunjin x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. enemies to lovers, exes to lovers, reader is a writer, one bed au, forced proximity au, hyunjin is an artist(not mentioned a ton), coincidences

WORD COUNT. 7.3k words ☆ 40 minute read

WARNINGS. cursing, angst galore, mention of sex (non desc.), breakup, hurt feelings, making up, mentions of getting drunk

AUG'S NOTES. this is a stupidly lovestruck hallmark christmas mindset talking, whatever you read below is definitely not me… definitely. anyway, happy holidays to everyone that celebrates! this has been sitting in my drafts for months now, initially planned to be a smau, then a fic!! hope this fic exceeds your expectations, feel free to leave a reblog or comment of your thoughts!

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. You thought getting a call from Hyunjin was the last thing you needed during the holidays, but when he reminds you of your non-refundable tickets to Paris you had booked seven months prior to your earth-shattering breakup, you realize that his call was the least of your problems.

or alternatively :

Just a week over Christmas with your ex in Paris, what could go wrong?

Every circumstance has a question that goes along with it.

How did I get so lucky? Why did you leave?

As for yours, it’s fairly simple.

Where did we go wrong?

December 18th – Seoul, South Korea.

Holding onto what could’ve been is stupid, you agreed upon that mindset a long time ago. However, the past, Him being the past, lingered around you like the scent of citrus still clinging beneath your fingernails even after washing your hands. Everywhere. He was everywhere. And no matter how hard you tried to erase the memories of what was, they served their memory purpose and disfigured your mind all the same.

And so, you replaced it.

Replaced the hurt, the searing burn, with someone else. Who turned into someone else, and someone else after that till the only thing sufficing any weekly relationship was a no-strings attached notion.

Until you met Seungmin.

He was your vice, the person dragging you out of your self-made hole of false sanctuary and safety. He laid all his flaws on the table, showed himself to you. Seungmin was gentle and kind, he was patient— more patient than anyone else in this world— and loving. Oh so loving.

But behind your undying affection for your boyfriend, he saw something you didn’t. Perhaps in your eyes, perhaps in your soul, bared to him on an onslaught of occasions.

Longing.

He saw longing in your treasured hues, longing for someone that wasn’t him.

Because some scars take longer to fade away, but yours hadn’t even begun to heal. Masked with his many layers of band-aids only to never staunch the cut, the one Hwang Hyunjin left on you.

“Seungmin I’m so sorry—“

“You love him, I know,” He nods his head, a sad, soft smile holding place on his lips.

Tonight was the night he officially talked about it. The unforgivable thought continuing to incessantly plague his mind.

Although, he didn’t regard you sourly for it. That connection you had with Hyunjin was something no other person could return nor deliver, and he had to accept that if he really loved you.

If Seungmin really loved you, he wanted the best for you, even if that meant the best were when you weren’t with him.

You were shocked when he brought up the matter, asked if you really missed him, asked if you still loved him. Yes, you had of course discussed your previous relationship, but never to this extent, never so blatantly.

Though the absolute kindness in both his tone and the way he looked at you, seated at the dinner table, kept you from lying.

It’s not fair. Not fair for Seungmin, your boyfriend, to have to take responsibility for your tormented feelings. But here he is, assuring you nevertheless.

Because he’s known. He knew from the start you weren’t over Hyunjin. Knew that, despite so much ache and anguish he caused, your heart can’t help but beat at his pace, fruitlessly connected.

And he knew in the end things would fall apart just like this, and his spot as a placeholder would fall apart along with it.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt though.

“He hurt you, but you love Hwang Hyunjin, I know.” He whispers, fingers tightly twined beneath the table. There’s a sort of hiccuping sound bubbling up from your throat. You stave it down.

“I’m sorry.”

He smiles, smiles when you don’t deny it, reaching forward for your trembling hands to take in his own.

“I want you to be happy, Y/N. I’m not the one you’ll be happy with though.”

A soft squeeze before he rises and curves to where you sit, free-flowing tears threatening to cascade past glossy eyes.

Without hesitation you wrap your arms around him in a hug, chest wracking with unfiltered sobs. Guilty. Guilt is devouring your soul. You don’t deserve Seungmin, nor does he deserve to be hurt so cruelly by someone he loves. But here you are, ruining him.

He’d never admit it, but the pain in his eyes—the ones you’ve stared at countless times—will always remain evident. No amount of smiling or laughing can hide that.

Pulling back while your arms stayed hooked upon his shoulders, you savor the kiss he places on your lips, the ones he delicately pressed to each of your wrists.

Sad. It’s a sad kiss. A kiss that causes your entire body to wilt against him, crashing deeper and deeper into his warmth, his comfort. He’s not false, he’s real. A real, unadulterated love you’re undeserving of.

Guilty.

“If you’re happy,” He breathes, leaning in to land gentle pecks all over your face, forehead connecting with your own. “I’ll be okay.”

December 20th – Seoul, South Korea.

Your room is still exactly as it has been. Pillows faced the same way, sheets still tousled and hanging halfway off the bed. Hell, he hasn’t even touched the blinds — staying open throughout countless nights, your perfume lingering.

Like he was afraid his touch would break apart what he had left of you.

He hopes, swallowing down the remainder of wine in his glass, you’ll be able to look back and laugh at what used to be, find the matter childish and ridiculous.

What you used to be.

Lovers.

Not kids anymore, you taught him once before. You also taught him how deep a love could be. There’d always be a space for you here, just as you left it. Although, he doubts you’d come back. In fact, you’ve probably moved on with your life. Found someone else to fill the space he did.

But maybe, if he keeps the room as it was for long enough, your room; if Hyunjin keeps those tiny paper notes you wrote for him long enough, you would come back.

What a lie.

Wishful thinking takes you far then drops you into festering despair over and over, he’s learned this the hard way.

Starting with a text.

He blinked once, then twice, then three times—picking apart his brain in order to recollect anything, any details whatsoever that could decipher this random message on a Monday morning.

Paris.

Paris?

Paris.

It hits him, evidently.

Immediately clutching his head and simultaneously slapping an aghast hand over his mouth, a sensation recognizable as utmost horror obliterates his soul into pieces, quite literally rocking his world.

Months ago, he remembered.

You’d been stupid, you’d been drunk, and impulsively booked the tickets, laughing off the “no refunds” reminder as if nothing would’ve ever happened.

It did though. And now he’s dealing with the karma in return for that idiotic decision. Soon enough you both will.

Non refundable tickets to Paris, two days from now, together.

What were the chances?

Blindly tapping his password into his phone, he (just as blindly) jams his finger to the first caller he sees, who turns out to be Minho, seeming like both a blessing and a curse in unison.

Never before had Hyunjin so clearly lost his mind and control of his words, but there’s always a first time for everything, right?

“Minho, what the hell am I supposed to do? She hates me and the flight is booked two days from now. This is just.. Fuck!” Hyunjin pours, slamming his hands against the steering wheel, burying his head into the leather as if that would magically make his endless desperation disappear.

He didn’t usually curse, so when he did, whatever had happened was serious. He carried his words elegantly, proficiently.

He'd be the last picked candidate for elegance right about now.

“If I were Chan I would’ve said you should still try talking to her about it, but in my opinion that wouldn’t change a thing. So suck it up Hwang, it can’t be that bad.”

Ah. Remind me why I ever decided to call you hoping for advice.

‘Hwang’ was the name his friend had reserved for him, coming from a long line of tissues in the mouth and other ways Minho would pick fun at the blonde. But he was at least trying to help, somewhat.

How he got himself into this situation is honestly laughable, situation being your nasty breakup and a plane to Paris.

Great. Paris is great, right? Wrong.

Because this stupid, stupid trip to Paris isn’t one he’s going on alone to enjoy the sights and delicacies there, it’s one with you, the girl who ripped his heart in half two months ago. The trip you’d planned while you were still head-over-heels, not hating his guts.

Oh, and your tickets were nonrefundable. Couldn’t forget about that part.

“.. What am I gonna do?”

“Suck it up, duh.”

“And please enlighten me on how the hell I'm supposed to ‘suck it up’ in a plane seat right next to her for thirteen hours and spend every day glued to the hip, your honor.”

The mental picture of Minho’s fraud-innocent face through the line grated his nerves like nothing else. Brows lifted, mouth slightly open. He wanted to punch that imaginary face so badly right now.

"Then follow Chan’s tutorial on making it up to your now-ex. You asked me for my opinion, and you got it. Look, all I’m saying is this is a good chance to get some level ground between you two, even if you still fly back hating each other—"

“I don’t hate her,” Hyunjin quickly quips.

Honestly, truthfully, he doesn’t hate you, he can’t hate you and he doubts he ever will. You were the one responsible for years upon years of the best moments of his life, how could he hate you for that?

Although, by the way you looked at him that night, he doubts your response would be the same.

Minho sighs.

"Even better, you could fly back with her hating you slightly less."

For once the snarky man he was spilling his problems to had provided decent reason, it was terrifying.

From a spectators point of view, his utter fit had to be quite a sight. For the record, witnessing thee calm and collected Hwang Hyunjin go insane in his car wasn’t a sight you’d see on a regular day.

But today wasn’t a regular day. Instead, it was the day he found himself trapped in a loophole of love and war with his ex.

What were the chances?

There’s no book that could wholly describe Hyunjin.

Even as a writer yourself, not even Shakespeare could depict him to the full extent. He’s flawless but so flawed, kind and yet malicious in terms of his brilliantly unfair beauty.

Every day you run into Hwang Hyunjin. The first few times, you called it coincidence, told yourself his meeting happened to be at the same time, maybe he was headed to a neighboring coffee shop.

Well, before those few days turned into every day on your commute.

And when a breakup is as nasty as yours was, it’s not too refreshing constantly seeing your ex on the daily afterward.

Today, Hwang Hyunjin is wearing a tan trench coat that reaches down to his knees. He’s wearing the same tennis shoes as always (except his usual camera is absent from the picture), and his hair is pulled up, soft, sandy strands framing either side of his face. He stands on the other side of the crosswalk, occupied with his phone while you internally ridicule him.

Staring daggers into his frame, the frigidly cold beverage in hand doesn’t aid in warming up chilling temperatures burning your fingertips, signs of winter’s impending approach.

He looks up.

You avert your gaze to your shoes. You can feel his eyes on you; feel them traveling over your body, then to your face, boring into your skull. He’s waiting, watching.

And somehow, you know you’ll eventually have to make eye contact. Because on your normal route, your turn left on Harrison street, then right on Fords. He’s there. Unbelievably, wildly, he’s there.

It’s the one factor in your (almost) perfect life without him that makes things hell.

Back then, you were like clockwork. Not a minute going by without someone being awake. You taking a nap after spending two hours searching synonyms on Thesaurus, Hyunjin just waking up, heading out with his signature Canon camera loosely hung around his neck.

Two perfect oppositions leaving their cluttered love scattered all over a cheap apartment.

For Hyunjin, it was the mug you’d gotten him last christmas labeled in bold font: “ART WHORE”, while yours was an equally degrading “SHE WOULD RATHER FUCK THE MEN IN HER BOOKS” sticker print slapped on the back of your laptop.

Little did you know you’d be desperately scraping the sticker off seven months later, that you’d leave your chapter unfinished since breaking up and that he had likely thrown away that mug.

Or maybe not. Maybe he painted over it, scribbled it out and somehow made it look good. Hyunjin has a way of making anything catastrophic look pretty.

You, on the other hand, are an erupting volcano. One that cries its lava onto the earth and doesn’t leave a pretty photograph. One that froths and rumbles, and destroys things as it goes.

Perfect opposites, exactly.

Now for the real question, the monumental “where did we go wrong” part that served as an explanation.

Three little words.

I love you.

You lied.

Those are big words, big words for somebody. Big words for yourself, words you spoke to Hwang Hyunjin, looped in his apartment, making love on the couch.

Big words he didn’t return.

Big words that kept your heart stilled in your chest, left your lips blue, drowned as you collected your discarded clothes off the floor.

And you left.

You didn’t need the awkward silence, the “let me think about it”, the bullshit they spouted Kissing-Booth-style. You needed him, his reassurance when you were your most vulnerable. His three words that told you your three years together weren’t one sided, not wordlessly confessed through actions though too scared to say aloud – a feared incantation.

Words he never said. Because you did love Hwang Hyunjin, so much it consumed you into his favorite muse, him your inspiration. Then came the doubt. The recollection of your favorite, dearest moments. Was it all a lie?

Those hour-long seconds, tangled on his sofa, kept that incessant anxiety alive.

You thought you found the one when your drunk night didn’t turn into an orgasm you can’t remember, but rather being coaxed into a warm shower despite your complaining about your pants being too tight.

Somehow, you can still feel his tender kisses like a ghost of a presence, littering the skin of your shoulder instead of the sloppy alcohol ridden ones you’d known before, and for once you had woken up beside the person responsible — not to a note saying they had to leave early.

He was the one responsible for teaching you how to paint, propping you in his lap, hand guiding your own while tracing careful strokes on the canvas. It was hardly possible sitting on his stool together, though neither of you noticed (nor cared), too busy savoring the intimacy of the moment.

That was Hyunjin. He was the glass of water placed in front of you after one too many at happy hour. He was the relaxing bath when everything hurt, the shoulder to cry on.

But you were mistaken. He wasn’t the one. Seungmin was the one, the one you had left behind only to chase after a toxic remedy.

In fact, Hyunjin never was the one.

And it fucking hurt remembering that.

December 21st - 22nd – Seoul, South Korea.

The last news you’d anticipated slammed into you like a bus.

Cozied up at your desk, a number pops up on your screen, interrupting the one moment of silence you managed to enjoy. Most people didn’t call during your work hours, except Seungmin, who, for the record, called before work.

The number you’d memorized by heart was not normal either.

Him.

“Before you curse at me,” He begins, and your hand hesitantly hovers over the call button, jaw clenched beyond reason, silence shouting loud. No strength in your bones allowed you to reply. Was it fear, hatred? Both most likely.

Taking the time to continue, his silky tone lulls along the line.

“Do you remember the tickets?”

Hatred seemed the dominant factor.

“What are you talking about?” You rhetorically snap, obviously annoyed albeit confused.

Tickets? It’s been three months, why the hell are tickets the first thing he’s mentioning?

He sighs. “The tickets to Paris. You remember, don't you?”

It takes you a moment, then, aha.

How could you forget? The tip of the iceberg of what two naive, lovestruck idiots thought would be forever. Little did they know everything would slip past their fingertips.

”Well um, did you know they’re non-refundable?”

Huh.

“WHAT?!”

You’d just managed to convince yourself free of Hyunjin, but he simply dragged you further into his labyrinth.

Or so you thought.

You had grown since he broke you (with the help of your better-ex, Seungmin). You evolved better (or so you told yourself). So out of the plentiful lessons you’d learned during your reflection, the factor that stuck with you most was that nobody is there to pick up for you. No matter how much you think they will.

You swore yourself into the belief Hyunjin would mend you, but you lived blind to the truth that he was just as broken as you were, a dog chasing its tail.

And so, you dealt with it.

In ways.

Whether that was incessantly talking to yourself, fanatically checking the date, contacting Felix on the verge of tears for him to laugh and then attempt at consoling your doom, or googling the best ways to run away from your predicament, fate had it out for you.

A disgustingly impertinent, unfairly fair fate.

Packing wasn’t all too stressful, unless you count trying on an entire entourage of outfits descending from dinner to snow-attire, then focusing on simple.

And it really shouldn’t have been so awful getting into your car, nonetheless waking up to realize today was the dreaded day, but it was, and you seriously deserved an award for the amount of times you checked your clock.

Although, you at least expected to have a little bit of time before having to face him again. Talking and interacting, not just drilling holes into his head. Little bit of time as in, a few years at least.

You were wrong.

Not the first time that’s happened.

“Hi Hyunjin.”

Answering his awaiting call with unsteady pitch, your eyes immediately gravitate to the blond-haired man. Taller in stature, leaning against a nearby pillar by your gate, staring directly at you.

Never had it felt so terrifying.

“Hey.”

You hesitate, never breaking eye contact with the man you’re speaking to a few meters away.

“Are we…Are we doing this again?”

He’s solemn. He’s not the same. Different.

“I don’t know. You decide for me.”

Never for a second does your gaze stray to his lips that barely move as he utters the line. Not the same either.

Before, you’d always been mesmerized by his lips. Then he’d notice and tease you prior to delivering the long-awaited kiss, again and again till you were breathless and your head became dizzy.

But this wasn't before; this is now, filled with grudges and sourness.

“You know I can’t make big decisions.”

That isn’t him. Isn’t the Hyunjin who would always provide endless tips and support, opinions unable to be held back without duct tape.

“Because you don’t want to get hurt knowing we chose this?” He whispers, and you tug your bottom lip between your teeth hard enough to bleed.

“Because I want better for us.”

“Y/n,” He sadly laughs, and your name rolling off his tongue sends an ache clawing your chest. It’s humorless, bitter in his throat.

“There is no us, only you and me, remember? So who do you want better for?”

There’s no twinkle in his eyes or his charming smile, it’s dry and painful, like he’d been crying.

You don’t want to think about that.

“Tell me something, okay?” Holding your phone to your ear with an iron grip, you slowly inhale through your nose, sparing a fleeting glance to the floor.

“Anything.”

“If I cry, will you hug me?”

“Do you want that?”

Question after question. He reaches in further, ripping out pieces of your soul with each inquiry. Stupid, sure. But genuine, all the way from the shrouded depths of your mind did you ask.

Of course you want that, want what’s so bad for you. No strength can make you admit it.

He knows the answer.

You hang up the call, fiddling around with your suitcase prior to wheeling the blundering thing over and ensuring you find a comfy spot out of Hyunjin’s sight.

Only five minutes of talking and you already feel as if your body is splintering into little pieces he’ll arrange into the perfect puzzle, ideal and pleasing.

He won’t. Not anymore he won’t.

And in that stead you’ll remain shattered.

What a shame.

Now boarding Group Five. All passengers in Group Five are welcome to board.

The hailing announcement earns a muffled groan through your mask, begrudgingly rising to your feet while directing your attention solely upon the bridge and your tightly held boarding pass. Luckily, Incheon International Airport isn’t half as hectic as you anticipated, but you have a gnawing feeling Paris will have a lot more to say.

Truth be told, you thank every lesson on task focus you once deemed useless as you shuffle among Paris-goers to find your seat.

One that obviously had to be right by Hwang Hyunjin.

“How’s you and Seungmin?” He fixes the length of his headphones, sparing a quick look at you while speaking. You despise how easy he treats this, how easy he’s treating everything at the moment.

Unfortunately, booking this hell-on-earth back when either of you were in your demented fantasy-land meant sitting beside each other also, in assigned seats.

Cupid really needs to give up by now.

You grunt beside him, uttering a hushed, “We broke up.”

Tilting his head, Hyunjin presses his face closer, craning. Close enough that you hold your phone up as a barrier, shrinking away nearer to the window.

“…Who broke up with who?”

Asshole.

Sighing boisterously, you shove in your own earbuds, rolling your eyes. Hyunjin, cocking a brow, dejectedly slouched back. Although he doesn’t ask any more questions, and you successfully get through your first three hours in silence.

Well, prior to the flight attendant strolling by with her cart, mandatorily beckoning orders from each row.

Wheeling her cart over where your seats are, Hyunjin takes a ginger ale and the customary pretzels they hand out. So when she gets to you and you order a Sprite, the man to your right’s head snaps to you, giving you quite an incredulous cock of his brow.

“No ginger ale?”

You wrinkle your nose.

“I don’t like it,” Biting back, you interrupt him upon accepting the canned soft drink, expression bitter and unwavering.

“You always got it when you were with me” or “Wasn’t it your favorite” was what you expected to come out of his mouth, positively obliterating any ounce of peace of mind remaining inside your rattling skull. You weren’t about to sit another seven hours sulking about something your ex said.

The ex you were very much over.

Right.

Your new goal? Avoid genuine conversation for as long as possible, at least on this flight.

So, given the chance to be deep in thought, you came to a conclusion.

You were clockwork, just like before. Except now instead of just equaling the time of day, he was the hour hand and you were the minute hand, always chasing after one another only to briefly touch and start all over again in an endless cycle of time.

Although the rockier the air gets and the more your grip squeezes the armrest does your initial goal falter, finding his considerate gesture asking if you were alright practically impossible to keep from responding to.

Especially when a huge drop has his hand racing atop yours, both too nervous to truly let go.

Just the circumstances, you blame, as if this plane was the sole cause of your slamming heartbeat.

Bullshit.

Four days and this trip was going to be one for the books for a multitude of reasons, that’s for sure.

Let’s just hope you can land first.

December 23nd – Paris, France.

His assuring hold on your hand guiding you through the bustling crowds of visitors and locals storming Charles de Gaulle Airport gives you this disgusting nostalgia, festering in your gut the longer you focus on his dark head of hair in front of you, kind, magnificent almond eyes flickering back to catch sight of you time and time again — like you’d magically sift from his grasp.

It’s a miracle you managed to hit ground in one piece, nevertheless end up with the notorious artist-jerkface named Hyunjin navigating you through an supremely overpopulated airport.

Perhaps it’s the scent of wispy pine or faint cigarette smoke that tinges the atmosphere such a rosy hue, perhaps everyone’s anticipation for the holiday’s. Either way, it certainly doesn’t help fuel your “absolutely NO touchy-feely-ness Hyunjin agenda”.

Well, you had no doubt you’d have to stick to your morals on this trip in the first place, and it’s not like the odds were supposed to work in your favor. Although, a little assistance would‘ve been nice.

Guess you’ll just have to make due.

Lovely.

“Thank you!” You shout, forcing your voice to sound chipper speaking to the Cab Driver (opposing the twenty-two hours of traveling you managed to survive through). Except now, you didn’t know what to do nor what to say standing outside the hotel entrance, especially not when Hwang Hyunjin was going to be biting your ass for the next few days.

Much to your luck though, it seemed he was just as clueless as you, both prioritizing just checking into your room first and foremost.

Thankfully, the sights are a wondrous source of distraction, and you devise a plan to go walking more often than not (and not just to avoid Hyunjin). Each building appears as if it’d been expertly carved from stone, historically aged beige, awnings titled a bottomless array of Grand Seiko and Jaeger-LeCoultre.

To add, huge paneled windows are placed in each room, allowing a breathtaking view of the city as evening dawns. Whether it’s a quaint bakery hitched right below a bookstore or the bell tower seated comfortably in the middle of a square—you could never get bored.

Seems your interest tore you away from an unwelcomed reality until Hyunjin cleared his throat, thick eyebrows raised questionably.

“..We could go ice-skating?” He offers, index pointing to the huge rink a few blocks to the left.

You don’t have to speak for him to know your response, unzipping your suitcase to gather a new change of clothes without a word.

“Look, I know you want nothing to do with me, but I doubt either of us will ever have enough money to come to Paris again, so just, do it for the experience, not for me.”

That’s it.

“For you? You think I’m doing this for you? Are you really that conceited to think I’m still catering to you, Hyunjin? I’ve changed whether you like it or not, and I’m not the girl that’s willing anymore,” You toss your clothing to the side, giving him a downright venomous stare. Loathing. “I’m not yours anymore.”

“In fact,” Spitting poison, you stab your index to his chest, causing him to back up the more you advance forward. “You don’t know shit about me.”

He appears torn. His nose scrunches, and his lips form a squabbled line upon his face, evidently troubled.

Somehow, those actions that normally earned your sympathy only reared your deftly oiled gears more, angrily roaring without fail.

“Because if you did, we wouldn’t be like this.”

Gesturing around, you retreat back a few steps, arms slapping your sides irritably. Meanwhile, the tall man remains silent, attention magnetically directed down at his shoes. And for a swift moment, mere seconds, you feel sorry — apologetic even.

It makes you sick to your stomach.

You exhale. “I’ll go, and not for you. Understood?”

Hyunjin doesn’t reply, biting his cheek as he watches you disappear into another room.

You thank the refreshing scent of peppermint for its momentary relief upon entering the bathroom, practically drenching your face in ice cold water over and over as if it’d clear your head.

For you; you’re doing this for you, nobody else, you remind yourself, prepping a washcloth and your toiletries whilst praying the warm shower water eases your blaring jet-lag.

Yet, you didn’t expect a visitor to suddenly pop in while you were mid-shampoo, and it seemed he didn’t expect it either.

You swore the prolonged eye-contact went on for centuries, absolute terror embracing every aspect of your face through the clear shower door.

“Fuck! Get out!”

Scurrying like a character off a cartoon, Hyunjin manages – through spilling apologies – to blindly ram himself into the door, hands gripping his skull.

Suddenly, he pauses, hesitating.

“Wait but I’ve seen you naked befo–”

“GET OUT!” You scream.

“Okay! Okay.” He hurriedly slips out, leaving you to rethink every decision made with his name involved. A recurring thought at this point.

And with that, you quickly accept that your jet lag isn’t even close to gone and likely won’t be as long as the artist sharing your hotel room is within a six-foot radius.

Oh, and you don’t know shit about ice-skating.

Of course, Hyunjin is a natural on ice. He glides like a snow spirit, freer than ever. Meanwhile, your nails are embedded into your vice of a railing, knees shakily attempting at balancing with little success.

He’s the princess, and you’re the frog. It’s decided. Walking while you crawled, running while you walked. A step ahead that was at some point motivating, now plain humiliating.

The ice rink is jam-packed, citizens and tourists alike savoring the crisp winter, the faded twinkling of lights glittering in the distance.

“C’mon, just one?”

You, clawing the icy edge, confusedly avert your focus to where the voice came from.

It’s Hyunjin, gesturing to his camera while you piece together his request before childishly whining your despair. He lifts his toboggan upward, a few endearing tufts of golden peering out to hang over crescent moon eyes, evidently smiling.

Leave it to this man to test your sanity. How could anybody say no when he looked that cute.

“Fine, one.”

Not like I could run off anyway, you mentally consider, finding the fact your legs are quite literally flailing as a good enough sign to give in.

“Yes!” He chirped happily, hurriedly fiddling with his camera.

Watching him with that kind of expression, you witness your Hyunjin again, fumbling around, so excited about the smallest of things.

It hurts.

“I..” He trails off, voice barely audible whilst winking to see through the lense. “Don’t want to miss a moment of you.”

“What was that?”

The camera flashes, and you wonder if you heard him correctly.

“Oh nothing.” His lips curl into a sheepish grin, easing toward you and unexpectedly prying your hand into his own, involuntarily pulling you along.

Panickedly, you clutch onto any article of clothing available (another goodbye to your no-touchy-feely-ness Hyunjin agenda) similar to the handrails, squeezing your eyes shut while painfully awaiting a harsh slam against rock-hard ice.

A harsh slam that never happens.

You cautiously open an eye.

“One, two, one, two.” He counts steadily, soaring across the ice, unable to contain the huge beam the longer he watches you. Captivating.

You fight the urge to smile, the sensation of wind whipping your hair and his warm, reminiscent touch setting your nerves into a dopamine frenzy, making the routinely frown much harder than need be.

Nevertheless, perhaps staying in Hyunjin’s grasp would’ve been the safer option. Because with confidence comes failure (at least in your book of life), and your knees would’ve definitely appreciated not getting ruined.

“Are you alright?” Hyunjin murmurs, sympathetically regarding your black and blue frame, looking worse for wear, skates in hand.

“Amputation has never sounded more tempting,” Grumbling, you hobble to return your skates, the man tailing behind you choking back his giggle, kindly waiting in case you stumble.

From the way things are going, the probability is high. Except, Hyunjin walks on eggshells, worried you might rip his head off in the case he asked the question sitting tentatively on the tip of his tongue.

Keeping himself contained had never been as unbearable as when with you, constantly having to refrain from wrapping your precious self into his arms, witness those warm, beautiful hues blinking at him like globes.

Five minutes into the walk back and your near-face-plant-turned-catastrophe was his last straw.

“Can I at least carry you?”

Your head snapping back was almost comical, ogling at Hyunjin as if he told you he’d been neutered or something.

Insane. He’s officially gone insane.

So have you, apparently. Because after getting all too familiar with the icy side walk for a fifth time, you give in, stifling your thoughts from erupting out of your skull—feeling like your entire earth was slowing down on its axis when he easily swept you off your feet.

Cute, hell, romantic too, until you arrive back at the hotel and the curious looks sent your way have your cheeks burning.

“This is so embarrassing.” You whine, burying your face in your hands. Of course, Hyunjin just laughs.

You missed his laugh.

And he cares for you that night, transporting you from room to room in his arms despite your complaints you could do so yourself (although you secretly preferred it, and no, not because it was Hyunjin, only because of how bruised your legs were).

Plus, the mental exhaustion was practically debilitating, sleep beckoning you into its cozy embrace as the clock ticked on the wall. The man before you knelt in front of where you sat on the side of the bed, gently applying antiseptic to your cuts while you blanked in and out of consciousness.

Any common sense had completely abandoned you. Certainly, since you hadn’t noticed only one bed sat dead center in the room. Nor had you noticed through your half-asleep eyes how sweetly he maneuvered you around, pulling the comforter snug over your body.

His hand strays, wistfully smoothing some hair from off your eyebrow.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, gathering spare pillows and blankets.

He’ll sleep on the floor.

December 24th – Paris, France.

Apparently, there was much more to this Paris dilemma than just the “going to Paris” part (excluding, y’know, the havoc that’s occurred over the past three days).

This fantastic surprise came in the form of a booked Louvre Museum date, now a bit more like a punishment with your current state of soreness merely rising up from bed. And, in turn, seeing Hyunjin sawing logs on the floor below, an action you were inaudibly grateful for.

You two are a different kind of romantic if that’s what you want to call it, especially when Hyunjin practically barricades the bathroom door, nonsensically shouting that he won’t make the same mistake of walking in ever again.

Sweet gesture, but it gets a tad bit irritating when you have to basically charge the door in order to move the chair situated behind it, making you doubt if it was to keep Hyunjin himself out or keeping you in instead.

Yeah. Different kind of romantic. Exes kind of romantic.

Once 5pm rolls around, you’re already dressed and ready to leave, trying your darndest to pretend you’re doing something on your phone to evade conversation. A middle school move, though your ego is on the brink of becoming extinct anyway.

Seems the final act is when Hyunjin steps out of the bathroom, wearing that tan trench coat he always did.

He notices you analyzing, stifling a very tempting smirk.

“I thought you’d like this jacket. Y’know, since you stared at it all the time.”

With a sentence you watched your endangered ego obliterate in real time, embarrassment swallowing you whole. The cycle is neverending.

Thankfully, at least one factor in your unsolvable equation proves itself useful, the factor being your already purchased tickets, granting an earlier entrance into what felt to be a new world.

A new world you recognized as Hyunjin’s world. Vast, expansive. A place you can get lost in and be okay with. Stories hidden behind gold-rimmed frames, so much to tell if only you’d listen.

He lingers by the Psyche and Cupid sculpture longer than usual. Briefly, he told you about them many moons ago. Their love awakening from something much more tragic, apocalyptical.

What a coincidence.

You spend what feels to be days in there, daylight from the lengthy windows overhead falling dark by the time you’re finished. The temperature dropped exponentially while you explored, ignorant to the frigid conditions till realizing you still had your trek back.

Curse the taxi service for not running twenty-four hours.

“You grew your hair out.” You comment, but it’s not really a comment, more like an observation you already knew and felt the need to point out for some odd reason. The awkward silence is suffocating enough.

Granted, you’d known his hair had grown. You saw him every day coming to and fro from work, so any adjustments he made you saw, some of which you remember loving oh so much.

This adjustment was his hair.

Hyunjin’s lips quirk ever so slightly, fingers straying up to tousle a strand.

“You used to love it when I grew it out.”

He continues to walk ahead, ignoring how you had stalled behind, numb grip desperately clutching your puffer jacket as if it’d magically allow you inhalations.

“You would tie it up for me, and stick my paintbrushes in the bun.”

This time, he spins around, seemingly unaffected by your (both literally and figuratively) frozen finger that simply blinks at him — robotic-like.

Like Hyunjin is a stranger. Like your Hyunjin, the old one you were mad for, is now a stranger.

“And I,” He sniffs in, his exhale causing a cloud of air to comprise in its stead. “Really wanted to marry you.”

There’s your breaking point.

He’s pulled you thread by thread closer to an unthinkable free fall, a freezing free fall. Unfurling your strings of yarn to no point of repair. So as you teeter on the edge, your defense mechanisms kick in. And before you can logically consider your options, you smack him.

Right. Across. The face.

He’s stunned, you don’t blame him for that, but there’s also a crinkle in his brows, a look of utmost hurt beginning to stain any somber expression left.

“You have no right to say that when you’re the one that caused all of this.” Your volume increases, unaffected by the glances from passerby.

You have no doubt the two of you are quite a scene, though common sense had long abandoned you, and no thought but fiery rage curls around you, tendrils alight.

“Why the hell did you want to marry me if you can’t even love me? Quit hurting and confusing me Hyunjin, I can’t keep doing this.” Practically pleading, he pulls his palm from where it babied his cheek, instead retreating to your wrists, keeping you in front of him.

“Listen.”

“No!” You screech, trying your hardest to escape.

“Listen.”

You pause, gingerly allowing him to adjust the scarf over your pink nose and ensure your gloves trap warmth for your fingers.

He bites his lip, gaze dancing across your features.

“I love you.”

You shakily exhale, wishing everything would just stop. Time would simply diminish into nothing but stillness, easiness.

Your anguish and anger was easy, and staying mad was a whole lot easier than this—confronting the pains of meeting him again, nonetheless this trip.

He’s finding the pieces to your puzzle.

You want to hide.

Worst of all? Especially hearing him say the words that ended you two months prior.

Cruel.

“I loved you,” His voice wavers. “More than anything, Y/n. And I still do. But when you said that, I got scared.”

He shakily inhales, the grip on you lessening a bit.

“Because when I say I love you back, that means I have someone to lose.”

It’s hypocritical, you know.

Hell, you know what it’s like to be a hypocrite more than anything right now. From hearing the godforsaken news to sitting in an airplane together after wholeheartedly promising yourself you’d never let him have you once more.

Yet here you were, dragging him by his collar into a kiss.

He kisses you back, like an idiot, childishly grasping his clothing-cladden frame against your face and savoring the small bit of heat huddled between where your lips meet.

His trench-coat, you remember, despite so many adjustments, is the same as usual, and it’s almost comforting to find he smells the same as well—floral, with hints of jasmine (mainly thanks to his favorite perfume). You remember that too.

Guess some things never change.

Perhaps he kept that mug after all, drank from it every day like he used to.

And perhaps, right now, he’s wishing back all the time you’ve spent apart, just like you are. Wishing you would’ve just talked like mature, capable adults. Figured things out.

Newsflash, you’re not mature adults. You’re two broken lovebirds fighting to find their song after being caged together, searching high and low for the perfect pitch when all you needed was a single note, a single start.

Positioning you where an arm wraps around your back, the other holding your cheek, he dips you as if in a ballroom dance, not kissing beneath a street light.

Everything is pretty in Hyunjin’s presence.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” You whisper, nostrils burning the longer you’re surrounded by snow, falling in hefty sheets at this rate.

He hums into your lips, maneuvering his head to kiss away the chilled tears beginning to froth upon your waterline. And in those moments, you feel so fragile, so weak in his touch.

Almost instinctively, his grip tightens oh so slightly.

“I really don’t want to lose you.”

And he laughs, a muffled laugh that nonetheless causes his shoulders to shake before delving further into your kiss, melting away every bit of anguish you felt, all the hurt and ache. Dissolved into nothingness by his lips.

Figures briefly illuminated by the light of the street lamp, you remain ignorant to the encroaching nightfall, the way the stars seamlessly blend with white snowflakes. Something out of a fairytale.

You’re certain you could’ve stood there forever, all numb and freezing cold.

But in love. So very in love.

For him you would’ve stood there. And the you still in denial without understanding this entire story would’ve died before admitting that.

This time, you’re okay with letting him finish the puzzle, create a song as lovebirds.

“You won’t, I promise,” He traces your cheek with his thumb. “Now let’s get someplace warm, shall we?”

Landing an affectionate peck to your burning red nose, he takes your hand, guiding you through climbing snow toward your hotel, sign reading “Hôtel de Vendôme” glittering in the distance.

In your opinion, however, it was too fleeting. A kiss you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting for until it actually happened, till you pathetically craved it again and again.

Although, that didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy gaining feeling back in your fingers and toes, treasuring the flicker of the fire crackling beneath a brick mantel. A few guests litter the lobby, dishing paper cups of hot chocolate left and right, taking the opportunity the mistletoe hanging above a long forgotten stairwell provides.

Christmas Eve and you’re beside the ex you swore you’d never spend it with, spend any time with generally. So surreal you simply cannot stop thinking about it, enough that you become too distracted to notice the mischievous glint in Hyunjin’s vision.

Well, before he points upward and you notice the dangling mistletoe.

And he kisses you again just like you wanted. Deeper, slower, like separating would cause you to break apart, carving your kiss into his memory for a second time.

Standing there, too lost in him to ever consider anything better than this, you begin to think maybe you’ll be able to finish that stagnant book of yours. Maybe it’ll be about two lovers turned two exes, whose trip to Paris might just have been the cherry on top to hurt feelings and broken love. Because, at the end of their tribulations, Cupid falls in love with Psyche.

And you begin to think—as the clock’s ringing announces midnight has arrived—maybe this Christmas will pass by on a good note.

No, you’re certain of it.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

FIC TAGLIST. @slut4colinbridgerton @armystay89 @shujohajohaminnie @minhosbitterriver @callmedarlingsstuff

590 notes · View notes

onceonafullmoon · 11 days

Text

Meet Cute

Micheal Kaiser x GN! Reader

No warnings, just pure fluff! Reader is in college and from America. Reader is an anxious mess and a football fan. Apologies if the german is shit, I did my best. This fic is kinda scuffed but I wanted it to be done lol

“S–Sind Sie Michael Kaiser?” You blurt out, before mentally face palming at the stupidity of your own question. He laughs again, a slightly smug look on his face at being recognized before responding. “Ja, ich bin Michael Kaiser.”

A shiver runs down your spine as you peruse the selection of the ice cream tucked away in the freezer section, but you can’t help but smile to yourself at the welcome sight.

Yes, it was that time again, that familiar time in every college student’s life, the time to eat away your feelings after struggling your way through midterms.

Fuck midterms.

And fuck proper societal conventions as well.

Because here you are, in your pajamas, doing a late night grocery run and regretting it with every strange look served your way.

Sometimes you forget that you aren’t in America anymore, and your people-of-Walmart activities will inevitably lead to your downfall, but at least that day isn’t today.

Well, it was a small mercy that no matter where you were in the world, whether in Germany or America, that at least ice cream was a true constant that remained in your life.

You analyze the see-through fridges with slight disappointment as you realize the selection you have to work with is slightly smaller than what you’re used to, although maybe upon further inspection you’d find it refreshing not being swung at visually by 15 brands in one shelf, all desperately vying for your attention.

Either way, you find yourself drawn to the same flavor you always pick, a true creature of habit, and you pull open the fridge door to grasp at the item of your choosing.

At least you are until you find your hand colliding with another, a silent gasp parting your lips before you pull your hand back in surprise.

“Sorry!” You blurt out before realizing your mistake. “...err, I mean– entschuldigung!”

(Your German is hardly passable to be frank, but you figure you should at least try speaking the language of the country hosting you for the semester.)

Anyway, the sound of your stilted dialect is enough to bring out a light chuckle from the person, the man judging by the timbre of the voice, next to you and you finally look over to see…

Holy shit.

Is that Micheal fucking Kaiser?

You stare shell shocked at the blond superstar soccer (football, you correct in your head) player next to you, as he begins to speak.

“Kein Problem.” He says smoothly, and you have to make a conscious effort to shut your slightly parted mouth as you continue to stare at him with widened eyes.

At this point, the best thing you could do for yourself would be to grab your ice cream, pay and leave before you embarrassed yourself, but unfortunately for you, your mouth didn’t catch the memo.

“S–Sind Sie Michael Kaiser?” You blurt out, before mentally face palming at the stupidity of your own question.

He laughs again, a slightly smug look on his face at being recognized before responding. “Ja, ich bin Michael Kaiser.”

You feel your cheeks start to burn in embarrassment as the realization dawns on you that you’re standing in front of a world class athlete in the middle of a grocery store in a wrinkly, old, oversized t-shirt and shorts.

“Sie möchte ein Autogramm?” He asks amusedly, giving you a subtle once over that you normally would have missed had you not been so self conscious.

“Ja, bitte.” You say, fishing for a pen and paper in your bag.

“...I don’t normally look like this, I swear.” You can’t help but add as you find your paper and pen, switching over to English out of a combination of embarrassment and lack of language knowledge.

“You don’t?” He asks lightly, humoring you and switching over to English before taking the pen and paper out of your hands. “I would have thought you looked like this everyday.”

“What, messy?” You ask in a light tone despite being slightly offended as he scribbles his name on the paper.

“No.” He says with a smirk as he finishes, handing you the paper. “Gorgeous.”

You blink at him for a moment before you feel your cheeks warm up again, averting your eyes to the side to avoid his gaze as you try to process the fact that a celebrity, more importantly, an attractive celebrity is flirting with you.

“Ah– um, well I– uh, thank you.” You eventually get out before willing yourself to look back at him, your stomach doing a flip as you see the same smirk on his lips that you’re used to seeing on TV.

“Kein Problem.” He repeats again, that same amused lilt in his voice.

“I mean–” You start again and you feel yourself regretting the fact that you decided to speak again. “For both uhm, the autograph and the compliment.”

You pause for a bit, unbelievably flustered, before you blurt out. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’m so awkward, I’m just gonna leave now.”

He laughs at this, his eyes seeming to soften a bit before he speaks in a quieter tone, almost as if he’s afraid to scare you off. “No you’re fine… it’s cute.”

Your heart thumps in your chest rapidly, like you’ve just gotten done running a marathon, and you feel the heat rush to your face along with a fluttering feeling in your stomach. All these sensations combine to force a rather undignified sound from deep within yourself, sounding equivalent to a mouse caught in a glue trap.

You feel your face heat up further from the strangled sound that emitted from your very being and scrunch your eyes shut for just a moment away from Kaiser’s prying gaze.

When he laughs, you feel the embarrassment return tenfold, although the fluttering feeling in your heart might just be also because of the rich timbre of his chuckle.

“Hey, look at me.” He says after a few seconds, and despite your longing to keep your eyes closed you can’t help but obey his command.

So, slowly you open your eyes, taking in the sight of his handsome visage, his lips quirked up in a smile and it almost feels painful how your heart thuds.

“...what?” You question weakly.

“Just needed your eyes on me for a second while I do this.” He says before leaning over ever so slightly to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, his hand lingering at the apex of where your ear meets your cheek before finally pulling away.

“...” You can’t help the way you gape at him, momentarily speechless as he takes in your facial expression with his signature smirk.

“Sorry Liebling, your hair was bothering me.” He offers up as an explanation, but you can tell from the delighted gleam in his eye that he’s lying.

“Y–yeah, right.” You stutter out despite your best efforts to remain unphased and straighten up. “Anyways, it was nice meeting you, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“No, it was a pleasure.” He says smoothly, and you can’t help the twinge of jealousy that runs through you at his composed demeanor. “Take care, would you?”

“Of course, y-you too.” You manage to get out, and he smirks at you one last time before confidently striding away from you, leaving you slightly shell shocked in the ice cream aisle.

It would be a while before you fully collected your thoughts after you paid and exited the store, and that’s why perhaps you didn’t notice three things in particular.

One, that you forgot to pick up the goddamn ice cream that you were so looking forward to getting.

Two, that your beloved celebrity had also forgotten to get his ice cream that he was reaching for because he was also that flustered despite his confident demeanor.

And three, the little number written next to your autograph with the small written letters next to it “Ruf mich an <3”.

---

Taglist: @gigiiiiislife

#bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock #blue lock fluff #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x you #hopefully this is culturally accurate as well #I did my best I swear

305 notes · View notes

bitin-and-barkin · 5 months

Text

Haunting Me

A Donnie Angst fic

Tw, possibly distressing content

--------------------------------------------------------------

Donnie couldn’t remember anything the first night it began.

He couldn’t remember anything about it, and if you asked him he wouldn’t be able to tell you about it.

He wouldn’t be able to tell you about the mission that came before the argument, or how he was the one to screw it up once again.

About how his self righteous, self serving ass and his stupid tech fucked up.

How the ride home was quieter than it ever had been in ages.

And he wouldn’t be able to tell you about what his brothers said to him when he got home.

He couldn’t remember how Leo looked at him with pity.

He couldn’t tell you about how Mikey wouldn't even talk to him.

And he wouldn’t be able to tell you how Raph lashed out.

How he yelled and screamed. How he called him emotionless. How he spoke so fast to the point where Donnie couldn't even focus on what he was saying. He couldn’t tell you how that fight pushed him over the edge. He couldn’t tell you how his blood ran cold when he heard that they were going on another mission, when for one day he just wanted to stay home. He couldn’t tell you how for once, he let someone else drive his beloved turtle tank. He couldn’t tell you how once he got there, the yelling and the action and the sounds of scraping and screeching and demands being given sounded like nail on a turn table. He couldn’t tell you how it all felt like so much, too much, that he could barely even focus on anything. He couldn’t tell you how he fell off, or went over the deep end.

He couldn't tell you that he rushed forward during the fight, unable to find himself caring about anything.

Just wanting to end it. End something, either the fight or himself.

About an attack coming straight for him, the creatures leg piercing his back.

Piercing his shell, flesh, and his lungs.

He couldn't tell you how he kept moving anyways.

And he couldn't tell you about how he bashed that screaming bitches skull.

Everything. It felt gross, it all felt wrong. He wasn't sure if it was overstimulation, heightened by blood in his lungs from the attack. He wasn’t sure if it was the feeling of the blood of his enemy staining his hands and Bo. He wasn't sure if it was the uncomfortable leather texture of the chair they sat him down in when he got home. He wasn't sure if it was him lying again and again, pretending the injuries were only surface wounds when in reality he could feel it moving inside him with every breath he took. He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t remember.

And he couldn’t remember how Raph said he was benched.

But he could tell you how his shell felt bear, without the pressure of his battle shell that morning. He could tell you the way his skin felt on his pants, and the way his muscle felt on his bone. He could tell you how that morning when he woke up all he could hear was the sound of the air conditioning, and the clock, and the fan, and the refrigerator all buzzing loud, louder than ever before. He could tell you how that day even his safe foods felt wrong, and how even toothpaste felt like shards of glass against his tongue. He could tell you how every texture against his skin made him want to rip it off like peeling wax.

He could tell you how it reached out that morning.

It reached out.

That first initial connection had haunted him, haunted him like nothing else.

The feeling of it entangling with him, it seeping into his pores, his wounds, his body.

HIS body.

After that it never felt like his anymore.

It was always there, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. Its tentacles, the boundaries of life and death, it and him, their identites blurred and merged together. He couldn’t get rid of it, but he NEEDED it to be gone.

It was simply a problem, an issue, but the sound of its heartbeat thumped in his head like his own, and it’s movement became his as it latched on like a leech, like a parasite, and refused to let go.

It was terrifying. The few minutes he was connected he felt it like he felt himself. It consumed him. Its emotions if you could even say it had any, were now theirs. It’s memories, he experienced thousands of them just in a second. Thousands of universes reduced to ash, millions of souls crushed under the weight of the monstrous machine. The engulfment and the struggling of the billions, it consumed as they, like him, tried to take control.

Tried to control something. The ship, themselves as they felt their humanity being ripped away from them as the biomass wrapped around their flesh and brain, as it infested their skin and bones.

He did that. It did that, all of that. And now that was a part of him.

The grief of thousands, engraved into his mind.

The burden of knowledge per say, haunted him. And this knowledge seeped into his mind, and his soul, and to every aspect of his self.

Now? He was different. Irreparable and unchangebly different.

Disgusting. And broken, and plagued, and diseased and tainted and infected and invaded and-

Impure.

He would never be the same.

He would never be dirt free.

And these thoughts plagued him as he laid in his room, in his bed, alone.

Unable to, not allowed to get up, to get his mind off of it.

He was stuck. Trapped and paralyzed.

He rocked back and forth in his bed and scratched his neck, almost as if to try and claw the skin off.

God, what was he doing?

Was he insane or something?

He stared at his computer screen on his desk, looking at the code he had yet to finish.

Why did it haunt him?

It was nothing, he had experienced the least out of all of them.

And yet, they all seemed to be recovering.

So why?

Something was wrong with him.

Fundamentally and irreparable wrong, even before the Krang

And even before he learned how to fight and create, even though he had been creating for as long as he could remember.

Just don’t think about it.

It’s simple. Just don’t think about it.

Ignore it.

He’s not thinking about it.

I’m not thinking about it.

It infected him, latched on deep, down to his bones

He felt it.

Felt it all.

He had felt it as Raph disinfected his wounds, as he talked about how according to the scans, it almost hit Donnies lung.

He had felt it with Mikey as he helped him to his room, as with each breath he took it got harder to breathe.

Felt his twin be crushed between unfamiliar limbs, limbs that weren’t his but felt as if his own.

Felt the rot wrapping around Raph, spoke the words of the lies whispered in his head. The lies that were used to control him.

Felt the vines that tangled and entangled his youngest brother, restraining, snaring, and destroying.

He wasn’t supposed to be moving around, as his injuries supposedly bedbound him, but laying any longer in these sheets and allowing him to rot away in his room (and let the rot infest in his wounds) would kill him.

Or at least make him kill himself.

He swore he could feel it, feel them deeper than he had before.

As now, he was sure it wasn’t in his head.

Now? It was in his wounds.

He could feel it wrap around his lungs, restricting his breath and constricting him alive.

A parasite, digging into his wounds like an infection. He swore he could feel it, like maggots infesting his wounds.

And he could taste it, in the back of his throat. Like bile or blood, the metallic taste of his scorching his throat with each breath he took.

And he could smell it, the disgusting scent of blood and flesh. The smell of it, the oddly clean aroma, almost like bleach and alcohol mixed with the blood and flesh of thousands.

And he could hear it.

Whispering in his ears, thousands of thoughts flying through like a symphony.

The harmony of the machine, each metaphorical gear turning and churning.

And he hated it.

Hated that during those few moments of connection, he felt more alive than he had ever been.

And after, when he was changed and now a ghost of his former self, he had been more alive then anybody had ever been.

And he hated that when entangled with it, he felt a connection.

A connection that he had never felt with anybody else, not Splinter, not April, and not his brothers.

Donie scratched at the back of his neck.

He didn’t need, he didn’t even want it.

It was a nuisance, a problem, something to be solved and fixed and begone of.

None of it was valued. No honorable deeds would ever be done by it. It, what was left of it was repulsive and disgusting.

But he couldn’t get rid of it, he couldn’t!

No matter how much it’s thoughts plagued his mind and no matter how it destroyed him, it CAPTIVATED him.

It needed him, he couldn’t just abandon it. It was a part of him.

He didn’t need it or want it or love it, it repulsed him, but it was the only thing keeping him alive.

He could feel it;s heartbeat as he swore his stopped.

If it didn’t enchant him, he would dig it out of his wounds where he stood.

The softshell stood up and began pacing around his room, muttering to himself, almost as if to talk to it.

He couldn’t do this right now, he couldn’t do this ever-

Ever. never ever.

He needed to get his mind off things.

To run, to flee, to escape. From it, from his own body and mind.

He needed to.

He needed to-

Donnie looked to his digital clock.

2am.

Nobody was up right now.

He was alone.

He looked to the sewer grate, resided just outside his room.

He needed to get some fresh air.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Okay, that wasn't so bad. Sure as hell wasn't good, but not bad.

This is not a one part fic, there will be more to come. Side note though, next parts will likely involve drug addiction and grooming (likely non sexual)

I haven't posted in a while because I've been losing my will to live. Anyways, more Donnie centric content to come. We love making him suffer.

55 notes · View notes

threadbaresweater · 1 year

Text

Smile

This was supposed to be an enemies to lovers fic, but it turned out to be a fun, flirty exploration of what might happen if you were the rookie in Public Safety and Yoshida Hirofumi had a thing for you...and you just might have a thing for him. See also: Yoshida asks you on a date that's poorly disguised as a devil hunt, and your ambitious self falls for it. 2.7k words. Cw: alcohol

You hate his stupid smile. He's always grinning, even in the face of danger and uncertainty. He looks like an idiot, or maybe he's stoned. Either way, you can barely fight the urge to slap that stupid grin off his face everytime you catch sight of it. It makes you unreasonably angry.

He’s insufferable. The self-proclaimed third-rate devil hunter, contracted with the octopus devil, smiler of stupid smiles, only taking risks that benefit him in the long run. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was born of Kishibe– self-serving and self-sufficient, he always seems to show up when things are hurtling toward total disaster.

You don’t think he has a savior complex, though he does always seem to be around when Denji’s about to get himself into trouble (again). Maybe he’s got a thing for Denji. Maybe he’s gay. Maybe he’s just not that into you, but his aloof attitude and total disregard for personal safety do something to you that you’d really like to deny until you’re blue in the face.

“What’s up, rookie?”

You’re jerked from your thoughts as Yoshida appears before you, sliding into one of the chairs that face your little desk at public safety headquarters. You drop the pen you’d been toying with and scowl at him before bending to pick it up. There’s paperwork fanned out all over your desk; before you’d started daydreaming, you’d been nursing a growing headache over the sheer amount of detail you needed to provide regarding your latest devil hunt. Aki had helped you a little with the first few, but he did warn you that you’d be on your own for the next round. You hadn’t taken him seriously, and now you were stuck.

“Paperwork,” you reply, gesturing to the mess before you.

Yoshida shrugs and slouches in his chair. “Don’t do it if you don’t want to.”

“But Aki told me–”

“Hayakawa is an ass kisser. Don’t do it if you don’t wanna.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t you do yours?”

“When I remember, yeah. But there are some reports I leave for my partner. Some I just…kinda forget about.” He grins, and you look away, equal parts frustrated and incredulous at how nonchalant his attitude is. “Makima knows all the details, anyway. Our personal accounts are just for show in case there’s ever any trouble.”

His words give you pause, but you decide that it’s best to fill out the documents to the best of your ability. It’s only your second week with Public Safety Division Four, and you want to make a good impression. So you continue with your task, jotting down a few notes before reading the next set of questions. Yoshida watches you with curiosity, and when you look up, his entire face is alight in a mischievous smile.

You frown. “Did you need something?”

Yoshida leans forward as if he’s about to tell you a big secret. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”

“It’s my job, Yoshida. I get paid for this.”

He gasps and clutches his chest. “You get paid?”

“Don’t be cute.”

He’s satisfied; you see it in his eyes as he leans back again. “Too late for that.”

Sighing heavily, you fold your arms in front of you and give him a look. He’s long overstayed his welcome at this point, and you need him to get to the point or shove off. “Seriously. What do you want? Why did you come in here?”

“I need your help. There’s been reports of a devil hanging around down by the movie theater on Ninth Avenue, and I think you can kill it.”

“Me?” You scoff, but you can’t deny the swell of pride that blossoms full in your chest. You’re still a rookie, it’s true, but you’ve had nothing but good reports from your superiors since you joined the ranks.

“Yeah. Apparently the devil forces everyone to watch rom-coms and eat popcorn with their favorite coworkers. It’s a real bad situation. We’ll have to be careful not to get caught up in the mind games it’s playing.”

It takes you a moment, but when you get what he’s doing, you roll your eyes. “Are you asking me out, Yoshida?”

“Do you want me to ask you out?” He smiles again, adding a wink for good measure.

You don’t know what to say, and he takes advantage of your stunned silence to stand and stretch, yawning loudly.

"Take it or leave it, I guess. Could be a fun fight."

”

“Is there really a devil?”

If his smile grows any wider it will stretch to his ears. “Only one way to find out.”

The local theater is a relic. With two screens, a lonely snack bar, and floors sticky with soda, it feels like a ghost town when you walk in. You consider for a brief moment that maybe there really is a devil here, because the only signs of life are the bored looking girl at the ticket counter and a janitor sweeping up bits of popcorn in the front lobby. Checking your watch, you shift from foot to foot, hoping Yoshida isn’t late for this mission like he’s late to the office every other morning.

“You actually came,” he says as he approaches. You turn, and he’s sidling up behind you, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. It feels strange seeing him outside of headquarters, dressed more casually than usual.

“Sure I did,” you say. “DId you think I wouldn’t for some reason?”

Yoshida shrugs. “Dunno. I don’t know you well enough yet to know if you’d be the type to stand me up.” He approaches the ticket counter, and the girl raises her eyes to him, her expression stale. “Two, please.”

“I thought we were here on a mission,” you say quietly through your teeth.

He pays the girl and accepts the tickets, then turns to you. “Yeah. A mission of movies! We’re gonna catch a double feature. You like popcorn?”

Oh, he’s insufferable. You can’t believe you actually thought he’d want to work outside of normal hours. You stumble over your words, your pulse quickening. “Yeah– I– sure.”

You follow him to the snack bar, where a greasy-looking teen boy serves you popcorn and a couple of sodas. “I think you’re really gonna like these movies. One of them is up for a bunch of awards. Film of the year or something like that.”

“Great,” you mutter as he hands you a soda, thinking of all the other things you could have accomplished on your day off besides sitting in a movie theater with the one person you never expected to spend time with on a personal level. He’s immature, he’s impulsive, he’s sloppy and he’s cunning and he’s careless. He’s everything you avoid when you’re in the market for a date, and now you’re officially on one with him.

“Hey, don’t get the wrong idea,” he says, as if he could read your mind. Could he? Does he have a contract with some kind of psychic devil or something? “This doesn’t have to be a date…” He grins, and your heart skips a beat. Oh no. “Unless you want it to be.”

You steel yourself and hope that your discomfort isn’t obvious. “Let’s just watch the movies.”

He pushes his hair away from his forehead and gives you a little side eye, lips quirked into a knowing grin. “Riiiight. Well, come on, then.”

It’s hard to get to know someone when your first date is at a movie theater. This isn’t a date, you keep telling yourself, but when Yoshida sits down next to you and his shoulder rubs against yours, and you smell his cologne, your resolve begins to falter. You know nothing about him beyond his abilities as a devil hunter, but halfway through the first film, you think you might want to know a little more. He’s attractive in a cocky kind of way. He’s witty. He’s a decent hunter with quick reflexes, if only slightly reckless when it comes to his personal life. You decide that when the first movie is over, you’ll ask him some questions and get to know him a little better.

The end credits roll; Yoshida stretches his arms with a loud groan, then lays one of them across the back of your seat in a poorly disguised attempt to touch you. You stand quickly and stammer something about having to use the restroom and shuffle out of the theater as fast as you can. You hear his laughter all the way to the door.

Calm, you tell yourself, staring at your reflection in the dirty mirror. You wash your hands and pat a little cool water on your face, blowing out a shaky sigh. He already knows how flustered you are, and he’s totally going to capitalize on it. After a few more deep breaths, you feel a little more centered and leave the bathroom to find him.

“There you are! I was worried you fell in.” Of course, he’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking casual and relaxed.

You roll your eyes. “Can we go outside? I think I need to get some daylight before the next movie starts.”

The sun is almost blinding compared to the dim lighting inside the theater, and you have to shield your eyes when you step outside, just around the corner. The next movie starts in 10 minutes, but you need a stretch and a change of scenery.

“You’re not bored, are you?” Yoshida asks, stepping a little closer to you than you’re comfortable with. He’s shielding the brightness of the sun from you though, so you can’t complain too much.

“Nah. It was a good movie. I just…had a lot of other stuff I was going to do today.”

He nods. “Gotcha. So, do you wanna skip out on the second one?”

It’s tempting to take him up on the offer, but it’s equally as enticing to spend a little more time in his presence. Thing is, it’s really hard to have a conversation during a movie.

“But you’ve already paid for the tickets,” you say, feeling a little guilty for that. “I could pay you back if you want.”

“And insult me? I am wounded, madam! I paid for those tickets with my hard-earned money. No way am I going to let you give it back to me.”

You think for a moment. Then a moment more. “I could…buy you a coffee?”

He pretends to think for a second, cupping his chin and narrowing his eyes. “Hmm…tempting.”

“Boba?”

“Closer…” he teases.

You wish you’d kept your mouth shut. “Beer?” you offer.

“Now you’re talking.”

“I really do have stuff to do today,” you reiterate.

"Great. Do stuff later. The day isn't over yet."

Exasperated, you sigh, though you cup your hand over your mouth to hide your smile. No way is he going to find out that you’re becoming enamored with him and his quick wit, his flirty banter.

There’s a bar around the corner and there’s a little bit of daylight left, so you pick a high-top table in front of a window and lift yourself onto a seat while Yoshida goes to grab some drinks. As you’re watching people walk to and fro, you catch sight of a familiar face– Denji, then Power not far behind. They’re bouncing along the sidewalk, Power’s horns making people move out of her way, Denji’s loud voice audible to you even from where you sit. He leans to say something to Power, then lifts his eyes, making contact with you. It takes him a moment, but he grins widely and lifts his hand in a joyful wave.

“Hey…heeeeey! What’re you doing here? I thought you were working?” he shouts, approaching the window. Power skips up behind him and presses her face to the glass, looking at you as Yoshida comes back to the table with two beers.

Denji’s eyes dart from you, to Yoshida, to the beers and back again. You can see him doing the mental gymnastics, trying to piece together what kind of mission you’d have to be on to be drinking beer with Yoshida. Your face suddenly feels hot, though you haven’t had a drop to drink, and you laugh nervously as Power licks the window.

Though he’s pressed up against the glass now, Denji shouts: “Are you on a date!?”

“No!” you deny, before Yoshida has a chance to confirm. “Just taking a break!” A few nearby patrons get curious when you shout, and you mumble an apology.

“Better not let Aki catch you!” Denji warns. You know there’s nothing to worry about, but you nod and smile in response, shooing him off. He grabs Power by the elbow and hauls her away, and they disappear into the crowd.

Yoshida watches as they go. “There’s a pair if I ever saw one,” he muses. “Lotta power with those two.”

“Fiends usually do have more power, don’t they?”

“Not necessarily,” he says. “Usually they’re just more, ah– unhinged. And they usually don’t fight alongside devil hunters. Power’s a special case,” he explains.

“What about you?” you ask.

“What about me?” he counters with a lopsided grin. “Do you think I’m a fiend?” He cards his fingers through his hair and feels around a little. “I thought I hid my horns better,” he teases with a wink.

You give him a laugh. He’s earned it. “No, I mean–” What do you mean? “How did you get into devil hunting?”

“Oh, that’s easy. I joined the club.”

You lift a brow and your beer mug. “The club?”

He nods. “At school. We had a club that would train us to become devil hunters. Not everyone sticks around for the long haul, but I thought it was cool.”

“That’s all?”

His laughter is infectious. You giggle too, picking up on his energy. “What else do you want me to tell you? It’s the truth. And here I am now. Hunting devils and drinking beer with my nosy coworkers.”

“I’m just trying to get to know you, Yoshida.”

“Why? ‘Cause you like me?” His expression challenges you, and you busy yourself with a drink while trying to figure out what to say. His dark eyes seem to sparkle now that the sun is going down and the light inside as well as out grows dim. You can’t deny there’s something irresistible about him, as infuriating as he is, sitting there across from you, looking smug, self-satisfied, like he’s finally gotten far enough under your skin that you can’t help but admire him.

Something comes over you in that moment while he waits for you to respond. You can’t blame it on the beer, but you lean forward anyway, crooking your finger to beckon him closer. There’s a flash of something mischievous in his eyes as he obliges, as if you’re about to tell him a secret meant for his ears alone. You lower your eyes, sweeping your gaze across the bridge of his nose and down to his lips that wait, slightly agape, quirked into his signature expression.

You kiss him. You blame it on his smile.

It isn’t a long kiss, nor a very good one. But when you pull back, he chases you and gives you another peck before you lift your beer mug between you to take a long drink.

“That’s insubordination,” he says, and you howl with laughter. He looks confused.

“Do you even know what that word means?” you ask, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye.

“Yeah. You kissed me. Isn’t that like, conflict of interest or something?”

“I think you need to brush up on your HR terminology,” you laugh. You peek at him out of the corner of your eye to catch the faintest tinge of pink on his cheekbones. You flustered him. You beat him at his own game, and now you sit, triumphant, while he nurses his beer and tries to come up with a witty comeback.

“You like me.”

“So?”

He laughs. “So? Soooo….what are we gonna do about it?”

You kiss him again, all logic thrown out the window where the sun is setting and the world is spinning and life is hurtling past.

You’ll figure out the rest later.

#csm x reader #hirofumi yoshida #yoshida x reader #csm fanfic #yoshida x you

298 notes · View notes

scaredpigeons · 4 months

Text

More than you can chew III: three is company

Previous // Next // First

Elirah (genshin impact OC) x Alhaitham x Kaveh

Word Count: 6K

WARNING: NSFW 18+ MDNI. This fic contains smut between all three characters, and includes very heavy kaveh x alhaitham. All characters have consumed small amounts of alcohol, but not enough to impair judgement.

CW: m/m/f threesome, sex, penetrative sex (m and f receiving) heavy BDSM dynamics. Dom!alhaitham, sub/slight switch!Elirah, sub/slight switch!Kaveh. Cussing, Oral, squirting, teasing, fingering, consent is sexy, dirty talk, use of nicknames: little slut, pretty girl, little flower, baby. Anal sex (m receiving) creampie, cumming on ass, mild cum eating, Kaveh gets sex🚂’d (alhaitham inside him while he inside elirah)

————

Kaveh’s gaze burned a hole into the side of Elirahs skull, and she couldn’t focus on what she was doing.

Granted, she couldn’t really focus anyways, Alhaitham was consuming her like she would disappear at any moment, his hands grabbing at the flesh of her hips like she was going to run away from him.

She very much planned to stay exactly where she was, but Kaveh watching her made her feel… squirmy.

Eli was no stranger to sex. In fact, she’d say that apart from her duties to her archon, casual sex was one of the things in life that she truly enjoyed without reservations. Well, without some reservations.

Did she go around sleeping with everyone? Certainly not. She was very picky, only sleeping with trusted friends, or people whom she knew were capable of being a lover without the expectation of tying her down to them.

That’s one thing she couldn’t have, a relationship that trapped her. Her freedom to come and go and do as she pleases while serving Lord Kusanali’s wishes was the most important thing to her.

The akademiya tried to pin her down, and she rebelled, causing a lot of problems for her archon, which was the only reason she decided to be nice and play ambassador for her god in Fontaine.

That had ended spectacularly for her self esteem, which is why she hadn’t had sex in the many months since the revolution that happened while she was off playing house with a harbinger. Well, a harbingers half-baked lackey.

Yeah. She was still a little sore about that one.

Alhaitham’s hands were the first hands that had touched her in many moons, his lips were the first she’d kissed in a long time that had made her feel so breathless, and yet her best friends heavy gaze was distracting her from what was shaping up to be one of the hottest encounters of her life.

She pulled away from Alhaitham, the acting grand sage chasing her lips in a needy way that made her grin. She leaned back, looking off to the side at Kaveh, who was perched on the same couch, watching the two of them like they were the finest entertainment money could buy.

“Kaveh,” she said, eyes fluttering as Alhaitham kissed up her throat, leaving little nibbles as he went. “I know you suggested that we don’t stop just because you got home, but I didn’t think you’d be sitting and watching us.”

Elirah felt Alhaitham grin against her skin, his nips growing harsher as she held back noises, watching Kavehs red eyes glimmer in the candlelight.

“Why wouldn’t I watch?” Kaveh said, leaning an arm against the back of the couch and resting his head there, tilting it playfully. “This little scene has been a long time coming, though I thought it would take you both much longer, being as stubborn as you are. I owe Tighnari money now.”

“Excuse me?” Elirah tried to sound offended, but it was so like the architect and the forest ranger to make bets on stupid, petty things like this.

Tighnari had once suggested a betting pool on when Alhaitham and Kaveh were finally going to break and become an item, but Elirah refused to take part in it, if not for anything but the sheer fact that the archer was way too greedy about his starting wagers.

Speaking of the two of them…

“Are you sure you’re not just jealous, Kaveh?” She tried to hide the whimper at the end of her question as Alhaitham licked and sucked on the sensitive skin beneath her ear, but her eyes fluttered back whether she wanted them to or not, and her question lacked the teasing tone she’d intended.

“Me, jealous?” Kaveh leaned forward, and she could smell the faint scent of wine on his breath. Not enough to make him drunk, but apparently enough to make him honest. “No, I can have him whenever I please, but seeing you like this is a rare treat, little flower.”

Elirah flushed despite herself. Kaveh called her little flower when she was younger, many years his junior and trailing after him with Padisarahs in her pockets, in her hair, clutched in her hands, only stuck together because their mothers were close once.

“S-so he finally admits to sleeping with the scribe?” Alhaitham continued to lick and kiss and paw at her as she tried to keep her cool. “I thought the light of Kshahrewar was so far above sleeping with his juniors?”

Kaveh lifted a lithe hand to her face, tucking a strand of her disheveled hair behind her ear as he smiled dreamily, though there was a heaviness behind it, a sort of mischief that Elirah rarely saw.

“There are a few exceptions, it would seem.”

Eli shuddered at the implication. She’d always found Kaveh very beautiful, very attractive, but she had never really entertained the idea that he would be interested in her in that way.

Alhaitham scoffed a bit, pulling away from Elirahs red and flushed skin, leaving little spots that she was sure were purpling as he spoke.

“Are you going to kiss her, or am I going to have to shut you up myself?” He looked at the architect pointedly, and Elirah squirmed in his lap at the thought.

“You should shut him up, I want to see that.” She whispered.

Alhaitham’s eyes thinned in mirth, and he promptly deposited Elirah beside him, rolling quickly onto Kaveh, pinning him against the back of the couch.

“Wha— hey!” Kaveh exclaimed. “I was enjoying the show!”

Alhaitham hummed against Kaveh’s lips. “Well now she can enjoy a little show as well.”

Alhaitham devoured Kaveh with the same ferocity she’d met when their own lips combined just moments ago. Kaveh seemed helpless, lost, completely unable to break free from the spell that Alhaithams tongue had on him, and with the moans and whimpers he released as the scribe carried on— it seemed like he was very much content with staying put.

The buzzing spot between Eli’s legs throbbed as she watched the two in front of her moan and kiss and grope at each other, her eyes trailing to where Alhaithams hand palmed over Kaveh’s groin and he squeezed, making Kaveh buck his hips and whine pitifully.

“Eli, come here.” Her eyes fluttered to where Alhaitham had broken the kiss, his eyes dark and expression teasing.

She obeyed, the gratification of seeing Kaveh get flustered when Alhaitham picked her up and sat her in the architect's lap was well worth obeying something Alhaitham told her to do. He persisted in his demanding role, pushing her head towards Kavehs’s as the scribe kneeled on the floor in front of them.

“You two can enjoy yourselves up there, I’ll be down here for a moment.”

Eli watched as Kaveh’s expression shifted, and she could feel movement behind her, but it wasn’t until she felt Alhaitham’s hair brushing against the backs of her thighs that she realized what the scribe was up to.

“Do you get the acting grand sage on his knees for you often, Kaveh?” She whispered, grinning as Kaveh moaned, his eyes squeezing shut as if he was trying to concentrate.

Kaveh just grabbed her by the back of her head, his long fingers tangling in her hair. He yanked her closer, so close that their noses touched, their breaths mingled.

“Just wait until he starts on you, you little minx.” Kaveh was breathless, his retort sounding far less menacing than she’s sure he meant, but it caught Alhaithams attention. He reached his hands up to palm at her bodysuit, fingers brushing along her breasts in search of her zipper.

He paused his mouthing of Kaveh’s cock to sit up and shuck her clothes down and off her once he pulled the zipper free. Kaveh’s eyes flickered to her chest as his face flushed, but he quickly averted them to the ceiling as Alhaitham managed the awkward task of removing her clothing while she was still on his lap.

“If you want this to continue in the direction it's going Kaveh, it's okay for you to look at me.” Eli smirked.

Alhaitham snaked his arms around Elirahs waist, warm hands grabbing at the skin there as he eyed Kaveh over her shoulder.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked, seeking out Kavehs gaze.

The architect’s eyes flickered from Eli’s chest to Alhaitham’s eyes and back, his fluster growing more evident.

“No, no, I want this, this is….” Kavehs hands rested just above Alhaithams, his eyes warmly tracing her bare skin, bared just for the two of them.

“This is perfect. I want to continue. I’m just…” Kaveh paused, his expression growing sheepish.

“Are you nervous because you’ve not been with a woman before, Kaveh?”

The blond tensed beneath her.

“You really don’t know the art of subtlety do you?!” Kaveh snapped, his brows furrowing.

“Hey,” Elirah cupped Kavehs cheeks in her small hands, tilting his face up to meet her gaze head on. “Everything’s okay. Do you want to take things slow? I’m okay with slow.”

His eyes shifted between hers, and for a moment, he looked a bit startled. But he must’ve realized who he was with, because he then hung his head a bit in shame, making her bear the weight of it in her hands.

“No, I’m… I’m amiable to the pace Alhaitham is setting. I just don’t want this to ruin anything between us. Like, what if I—“

“Kaveh.” She cut him off.

He looked up at her.

“Kiss me.”

He looked confused, but hesitantly wrapped his other hand around her head, pulling her just that much closer as their lips connected. He kissed her gently, but with passion, tongues lacking hesitancy as the heat of the moment overcame them.

It felt lovely, kissing Kaveh. Her chest warmed— he was so beautiful, his lips were so soft. She felt Alhaithams hands tighten on her waist, he must have thought them beautiful together as well.

She pulled back gently, feeling him lean and chase the feeling of her lips. She smiled. Looking at him with all the love and care she had held for him all these years.

“You’re still my best friend Kaveh, nothing will ever take that away. It might change, it might grow, but I’ll never stop caring for you.”

His face grew incredibly red then, and he moved his hands to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her close and out of Alhaithams grasp to hold her in his arms.

He hugged her, holding her naked body close for quite some time before he spoke.

“Okay. Then let’s keep going. I want to keep going if you both want to.”

“I was perfectly fine without the theatrics, but as long as we’re all understanding of what’s going on here, I’d like to continue.” Alhaithams voice sounded like he was rolling his eyes, so Elirah gave him a playful smack on the arm behind her.

“Don’t you be like that, some of us need to talk things out before we pounce on each other, there’s nothing wrong with that, you brute.”

Alhaitham just hummed, pushing her upper body back down towards Kaveh, hoisting her ass a bit further into the air before mouthing across the round flesh. He nibbled as he came closer to her thighs, making her squeak and blush as Kaveh chuckled at her wide eyes.

Alhaitham then dove directly between her legs, licking up her core without warning, making her moan and squirm.

“Oh, fuck!” Her eyes clenched, and she gripped onto Kaveh’s sides, tugging on his shirt.

“I told you. That damned tongue is good for more than just talking shit, you know.” Kaveh snickered, eyeing her expressions with lust.

“I— I can see w-why you keep him around now.” Elijah stuttered out. Earning herself a playful smack on the ass from the scribe.

She jumped, whimpering at the sharp sting that accompanied the pleasure oozing from her core as Alhaitham licked and suckled at her clit.

He pulled away, and suddenly Kaveh tensed again, letting Eli know that he was right back to sucking him off.

Now that she could focus a bit more, she leaned in and mouthed her way across Kaveh’s jawline, suckling on the skin of his throat and leaving little love bites as she went.

The blond continued to squirm as she pulled at his shirt, and she could feel Alhaithams head bobbing just beneath her ass— his hair brushing against her thighs in quick motions. She could hear the slurping noises as she pulled Kaveh’s shirt up and off of him, her hands roaming his chest as he tossed his head back on the couch.

“Fuck!” Kaveh whined as Elirah raked her blunt nails down his chest, just hard enough to leave faint red lines in their wake.

She bent down to give his nipple a little kitten lick, delighted that he seemed particularly sensitive there, and she proceeded to lick and suck all across his chest until he was whimpering and pushing at her shoulders like he was about to burst.

“You— you both… I’m gonna—!” She stilled, watching him pant and whine as Alhaitham stopped as well, pulling away to rest his chin on Elirah’s shoulder.

Kaveh’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and he squirmed, bucking himself up so hard that his dripping cock brushed against Elirahs bare ass, and she grinned a bit, enjoying his shameless desperation.

“Don’t tell me you were expecting to cum so soon?” Alhaitham said, bringing his hands around to Eli’s chest, squeezing her breasts for the blond’s viewing pleasure. “And with such a beautiful woman in your lap, receiving absolutely zero attention. How selfish of you, Kaveh.”

Kaveh sputtered, his face red and hands gripping her hips as he continued shifting and bucking beneath her.

“Fffuck, please!” He whined. “You don’t always have to be so fucking mean, Alhaitham!”

“Hah.” Alhaitham huffed. “Mean? You don’t even know the definition of the word.”

The acting grand sage grabbed Elirah as if she weighed absolutely nothing to him, flipping her around and pushing her back against Kaveh’s chest, trapping his cock against her plush ass.

Kaveh hesitantly wrapped his arms around Elirah, avoiding her breasts but squeezing the flesh around her waist appreciatively.

Alhaitham lifted his hand, thrusting his fingers at Kaveh’s mouth with a firm demand to suck, and Kaveh obliged, licking and sucking at them rather provocatively, making Elirah’s core throb with the sight of it in her peripherals.

“Haitham,” she said, smaller than intended. “I don’t think that’s necessary, I’m plenty worked up, you shouldn’t need to…”

Her eyes trailed to where Alhaithams hand was fisting his cock, she hadn’t noticed before, but now that she was turned around it was evident that he’d been pleasuring himself this whole time.

“Oh.”

His cock was huge. Bigger than any she’d seen, bigger than any she’d taken. It was long and thick, the tip the prettiest shade of pink, oozing filthy amounts of precum as he fisted along his length.

“I’m not going anywhere near you until you’re thoroughly prepped, Elirah.” He said as he pulled his fingers free from Kaveh’s mouth.

“Yeah,” she stammered as she eyed the weapon between his legs. “Yeah, that’s… probably best.”

He started with one finger, hesitantly pushing it in, pulling back when he met no resistance and adding another, slowly pushing forward and crooking his fingers gently, making her keen.

His fingers were so long, she’d secretly admired his hands in the past, before she thought she hated him, and now they were inside her, poking and prodding deeper than her own could ever hope to reach.

He picked up the pace, crooking them so deliciously when he found the spot that made her squeak, made her thighs tense where they were spread, her feet planted on the couch on the outside of Kaveh’s legs.

She could feel Kaveh’s cock twitching against her backside, the length of it jumping, smearing wetness across her skin.

It was all so filthy, so hot, so incredibly gratifying that when Alhaitham crooked his fingers once more, she broke, and an extremely satisfying orgasm rocked through her.

Wave after wave, Alhaitham worked her through it, his fingers keeping a steady pace.

“Haitham,” she gasped, “haitham— please!”

He was relentless, pushing her past a pleasurable point into glorious overstimulation, and she keened, writhing in Kaveh’s grip.

Finally, finally, after what felt like ages of pleading with him, he pulled his fingers from within her, stroking his cock with the juices that still coated his fingers.

“Kaveh,” Alhaitham paused, pressing the heat of his cockhead just at her entrance, teasing her. “Remember when you told me I was being mean?”

She could feel Kaveh swallow behind her, shifting her weight a bit in his lap.

“You’re going to hold her while I fuck her, and if you can manage to not touch yourself, to not cum— then I’ll take good care of you afterwards,” he leaned, reaching past her to squeeze at his waist, looking over her shoulder with a stare that bordered on menacing, but oh so hungry. “Does that sound mean enough for you?”

“No,” Kaveh muttered. “That’s… that’s fair.”

“Good boy.” Alhaitham said simply.

His focus trained back to her, and he pushed forward, watching her eyes as he pressed the head of his cock within her tight walls.

She swore she could feel her eyes nearly pop out of her skull.

Her core throbbed, clamping down around him like a vice, just as relentless as his pursuit into the depths of her.

Inch after inch he pushed in, until about the halfway point, when he must have realized she was holding her breath to prevent any noises from escaping.

He watched her face return to a somewhat normal colour as she took a deep breath when he paused, her face scrunching up in what she was sure looked like discomfort, which was half the truth.

The other half was that she felt, to the deepest extent of the word: full. She felt like her stomach was bulging, like he was about to split her in half.

“Are you alright?” He said, and she let a weak laugh of disbelief punch through her chest.

“You— you’re kidding right?” She said, eyes wide, staring up at him. “You’re so…. So fucking huge. How is this even possible?”

“You're doing so good, ‘Lirah.” Kaveh’s soothing voice was an octave lower, whispering gently in her ear as his hands ran up and down her waist in soothing motions.

In her pleasurable distress, she’d almost forgotten he was there, but was suddenly very grateful for his grounding presence.

Alhaitham moved in another inch, slow, before pausing for her again.

“Fuck!” She shouted into the charged air around them. “How— how do you even take this, Kaveh?”

“Should I be offended that you assumed I’m a bottom?” His lilting voice teased her ear as he nibbled on the lobe, hot breath making her shiver.

“She’s not entirely wrong, so there's no need for a fuss.” Alhaitham grabbed one of Kaveh’s hands, bringing his fingertips to her aching core.

“You see this right here? Feel it?” He swirls Kaveh’s fingertips over her clit, making her cunt clench and pulse around him, and she sees for a moment that it’s affecting him more than he’d like to let on. He composes himself and continues though, much to her displeasure.

“That is her clitoris. You should be able to infer what to do from here. Pay very close attention to her reactions, observe and readjust as needed. It will help her to take all of this.”

Kaveh nodded, for once, having no quips to Alhaitham ordering him around. She squirmed as he swirled his fingers around her pulsing bud, and Alhaitham was right, it did help ease the slight twinge of discomfort she was feeling.

She moaned, arching her back as Alhaitham pulled out ever so slightly to push back in, Kaveh’s fingers swirling around her clit diligently, so softly.

“Doesn’t that feel better, pretty girl?” Alhaitham murmured in her ear, sinking in a bit deeper, almost to the hilt now.

She felt like she was going to burst, but the ache in her clit was nearly mind numbing, making her body feel warm and fuzzy all over as Alhaitham pulled out and pushed back in, nearly there.

“Do you wanna take it all?” Kaveh whispered to her, his fingers swirling and swiping as she writhed in his grip. “Wanna take it all for us? It’ll be so good, I know you’ll love it, baby.”

Elirah keened, nodding as her back arched. “Please! Please Haitham—“ she gasped. “I can take it!”

“You can take it, huh?” He smirked. “You sure about that?”

She nodded, nearly delirious. “Uh huh, uh huh! Please!”

“You're so filthy, Elirah,” he teased, inching out of her slowly. “But maybe I should’ve expected that from you.”

She whined, but the noise was ripped from her throat as he pressed all the way inside of her, melding into a scream as the tip of his cock pressed into the deepest points of her body.

“Fuck!” Her back arched, her eyes nearly popped out of her skull as she came, Kaveh’s fingers pressing into her clit combined with the feeling of being so fucking full sending her completely over the edge, unexpected.

There wasn’t even that much of a buildup, it just wracked through her like an explosion, making her legs twitch and spasm as she came and came and came, Kaveh’s fingers keeping her going as he watched in awe.

Alhaitham took that moment to begin fucking her, working his monstrosity of a cock in and out of her core with an embarrassing wet sound that would have set her on fire if it weren’t for the immeasurable pleasure coursing its way through her body with each thrust.

She’d never felt so good in her life. Nothing compared to how overwhelmed she was in this moment, with Kaveh murmuring sweet nothings in her ear, his hands finally, finally toying hesitantly with her breasts, fingers twirling around her nipples.

Alhaithams grip on her hips was relentless, his thrusts brutal as he pounded against what she figured was her cervix. She’d never felt anything so deep, it tore broken little “ah,” noises from her throat with every thrust.

“Fuck,” Alhaitham hisses, his hands readjusting on her hips. “You’re going to come again, already?”

She was unsure what he meant, but then she realized she could feel herself clenching, twitching, her moans growing more desperate as the pleasure welled within her like a tidal wave. How he knew before she did— well Elirah figured that was just proof of how fucked dumb she was becoming, because when she came, it overtook her senses, her body contracting as she gasped in surprise, wailing as the pressure of her orgasm pushed Alhaitham completely out of her body with a torrential gush.

”Fuuuuck,” Kaveh groaned as he watched her squirt all over Alhaitham’s lower half, soaking their couch and Kaveh’s pants in her arousal.

Alhaitham stroked himself as he watched her core pulse and twitch as she came down from it, her chest heaving with each breath. Kaveh’s arms held her close, stroking over her sides and kissing along her cheek and neck in an attempt at comforting her.

“That was beautiful,” Kaveh whispered. “I’ve never seen something so fucking hot in my life.”

“I’ve never…” she panted, eyes fluttering up at the ceiling as she tried to catch her breath. “I’ve never done that before…”

She can feel Kaveh’s length twitching and leaking against her back, and she can hear the wet sounds of Alhaitham stroking himself to her image. She lolls her head to the side, resting on Kavehs shoulder, and her stomach flips at how lustful his gaze is.

His eyes are dark, gaze heavy, a bead of sweat runs down his face to the column of his throat and she feels the deepest desire to lick it off him.

“Oh yeah?” The scribe says. “Let’s see if you can do it again, on Kaveh this time.”

As if she weighed little more than a sack of rice, he picked her up and flipped her around, making her face Kaveh once more. She felt him shuck Kaveh’s pants off, throwing them into whatever void took her clothes as well.

“Are you still alright, Kaveh?” Alhaitham asked behind her, and she shimmied her hips, looking at Kaveh’s flushed cheeks.

“Y-yes!” He stammered, his hands hesitantly holding her hips. “But shouldn’t you be asking Eli as well?”

A firm smack cracked against the cheek of her ass, and Elirah moaned, long and filthy, her eyes nearly rolling back as she pushed her hips further back towards Alhaitham.

She could feel him spreading her, baring her to his heavy gaze. “If you could see the way this sluttly little hole is weeping and clenching, just begging to be filled up again, you would realize that the question would be obsolete.”

His voice was sending her, making her spine quake with shivers as she held onto Kaveh’s shoulders. Who knew the scribe would have such a filthy mouth? But she should have suspected, considering his darshan, that the man would have such a way with words within the bedroom as without.

Kaveh’s brows scrunched up with concern as he looked between the two in front of him, and Elirah couldn’t help but pant at the way his hands held her tighter. Protective. Possessive.

“H-haitham, you know as well as I do that verbal consent is extremely important.”

Eli was in such a haze, slipping further into a deep headspace she’d not encountered in a very long time, a headspace that she’d not slipped so easily into in the past.

For all his faults, all their past conflict and turmoil, she trusted Alhaitham in this moment, and wanted more.

“Well, little slut?” Alhaitham breathed, grasping her hair and pulling her back with a tug to speak directly into her ear, his breaths heating up the flesh. ”Are you still alright with the pace I'm setting? You want to keep going? Take Kaveh’s cock for me like a good girl?”

“Yes— yes, yes! By the archons, don’t stop.” She was rambling, wanting more and more of this addicting feeling. “Keep going, just like this, I love this, it's so good— ‘Haitham, don’t stop.” He hadn’t even done anything, was just holding her, but after those earth shattering orgasms, she was pliant and willing in his hands, wanting anything and everything he could give her.

A pleased hum rumbled from Alhaitham’s chest and into her spine, warming her even further.

“See?” He said to Kaveh, thrusting her back into his chest. “I can be nice.”

Kaveh grabbed her face, smoothing down her hair as she looked at him with heavy, hazy eyes. She squirmed in their hold, and whined when she felt Kaveh’s cock brush against her aching hole.

“Gods, Alhaitham. She’s so far gone,” Kaveh murmured, pressing gentle kisses to her lips. “She slips into it so fast, like she was made for it.”

“Mmhmm,” Elirah nods, heavy and dumb, wanting to be good. So, so good for them.

“She still lasted longer than you did the first time,” Alhaitham says, palming over her ass. The easy way they’re conversing about her as if she isn’t even there has her keening into his touch, wordlessly begging him for more.

“You were— ah!” Kaveh gasps as the head of his cock is pushed into her waiting cunt, sucking him in with no resistance as her juices roll down his shaft.

“K-Kaveh!” Eli cried out, her sensitive walls fluttering around his length. He wasn’t as big as Alhaitham, but he still had glorious length and a curve that had her curling her toes up as it pushed against her g-spot.

“Oh my gods,” Kaveh moaned, his hands squeezing her hips as he slowly but surely thrust himself within her, nestling himself deep inside until her throbbing little clit was pressed against the trimmed hairs at the base of his shaft. “H-How are you still so tight after he hollowed you out like that?”

“Filthy.” Alhaitham simply said as he ground her down onto Kaveh. The two beneath the scribe moaned as their bodies writhed together, losing themselves slowly in his guidance.

“Why don’t you ask Kaveh how his first pussy feels, hm?” Alhaitham whispers in her ear. “Don’t you feel so special being his first?”

Something in her quivered as she groaned, leaning her head back against Alhaitham’s shoulder as she continued to grind her hips down onto the blond beneath her.

“Yes, yes! Is it— is it g-good Kaveh?” She panted. “Do I feel good? Am I good for you?”

Her mind was in shambles as she looked down at him. He was so flushed, panting weakly as his eyes flitted across her body, across the beads of sweat she could faintly feel rolling down her skin.

“Yes, baby.” He whined, hands gripping her hips hard enough for his nails to leave little crescent moon indents in her plush skin. “You f-feel so good… better than anything— better than… fuck!”

Alhaitham had leaned forward to wrap a large hand around Kaveh’s throat, looking at him predatorily over Elirah’s shoulder.

“Should I be offended by that?” He said, fingers squeezing the sides of Kavehs throat. “I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve broken you into pieces while sitting on your cock. And you’re still going to say that in front of me?”

Even with his eyes rolling back with pleasure, Kaveh was still weakly rutting his hips into Elirah, matching the pace of her stuttering movements on his cock.

“You’re… you’re gonna deny the way she— she feels?” Kaveh choked out, his voice wavering with the overwhelming pleasure. “I wouldn’t… wouldn’t be upset if you said that she’s— fuck!— that she feels b-better than me. I’d believe it.”

Alhaitham seemed satisfied with that answer, loosening his hold on Kaveh in favor of guiding Elirah’s hips into a more punishing pace.

“It’s like comparing zaytun peaches to harra fruit.” He said, licking along the column of Eli’s throat. “Different, yet delicious. I’ll happily devour them both the same.”

That made the both of them shudder, and Eli felt herself clenching around Kaveh, making the architect cry out and squirm.

Suddenly, Alhaitham’s hot breath was in her ear. “Would you like to see him lose himself completely?”

She nodded, whining at the thought of seeing him even more wrecked than he already was.

Alhaitham dipped his fingers in between her folds as she rode, drenching them in her sticky arousal. A moment later Kaveh’s eyes bulged wide, and he keened, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises.

He stopped meeting her pace, breathing heavily as if he was trying to focus.

“What’s wrong?” Eli rolled her hips, hungrily wanting him to keep going.

“He’s got… he’s got his—“ he gasped, eyes rolling for a second. “His fingers… in…”

Elirah groaned, her mind drenched in the most obscene delight as she realized what Alhaitham was about to do. She stilled her hips, leaning forward to kiss Kaveh as Alhaitham worked him open.

After a few torturous minutes, Alhaitham used his other hand to dip in between her legs again, and she could hear the sounds of him slicking up his cock with more of her juices. She leaned back, meeting his chest once more as they both looked down at Kaveh, who was blinking up at them both in nervous anticipation.

“I told you I’d take care of you, didn't I?” Alhaitham murmured down at him. “And you were such a good boy for us, wasn’t he Eli?”

Even though Elirah herself was still deep in the throes of subspace, the prospect of seeing Kaveh reach those heights as well was quickly sobering her up, making her grin maniacally down at the blond.

“Yes, such a good boy.” She said, light and breathy as she felt his cock twitch inside her. “So fucking perfect.”

Kaveh keened as Alhaitham pushed forward, and the architect's mind seemed to short circuit as the scribe simply pushed in all the way with a single, slow thrust.

Kaveh looked broken, his jaw hanging open but not a single sound leaving it as his wide eyes lay locked on the ceiling, his hands white knuckling in their hold over Eli’s hips.

She hissed, rolling them over his as she tried to fuck him out of his shock, and it pulled a very broken whine from his slender throat.

His cock throbbed inside her, and some movement from Alhaitham seemed to stir him up, making him cry out loud, full and needy from his chest.

“Please, please please please—“ he sobbed beneath them. “I’m not gonna— I’m not gonna last, please!”

Elirah moaned, letting Alhaitham move her hips once more as he rocked into Kaveh.

It was hot, sticky, incredibly messy. But oh so gratifying to watch as Kaveh truly lost himself.

He whined, pleading to Alhaitham to let him cum— he was so close, please, please let me cum!

After another torturous moment simply just to tease him, Alhaitham simply told him that he was asking the wrong person for permission.

“Eli!” He cried out, watery eyes pleading with her. “Can I cum, can I cum, please please please let me cum!”

Her pleasure was mounting, right on the precipice as well, but she drew it out just a moment longer to savor this moment.

“Where do you wanna cum, Kaveh?”

He whined, biting his lip as his face flushed even deeper, his brow pinching together as he held himself back before he released a deep breath, answering her.

“Inside— please inside, please let me cum inside!”

She smiled, feeling her orgasm reach its limit, choosing the last moment to gasp out a breathy “cum, Kaveh.”

And he did. It was oh so warm, and he writhed beneath her as he gasped, feeling his cock twitch and throb as he pumped her full. She rode out her own orgasm with the satisfying feeling of it oh so deep inside her.

Behind her, she heard Alhaitham curse out, pulling himself back until she felt hot ropes of his spend splatter all over her ass, dripping down her cheeks to land on Kaveh’s spread thighs.

Their hot and heavy breaths mingled in the charged air of the living room, the couch most likely ruined, but none of them made any moves to get up, to clean their mess.

“That was…” Kaveh huffed, his hands smoothing down Elirah’s hips in a soothing motion, whether to soothe her or himself, she wasn’t sure.

“Incredible.” Elirah breathed, letting herself fall forwards into Kaveh’s chest with a little groan. She felt his softening cock slip free, feeling his cum start to drip from her still clenching hole, but neither of them seemed bothered, so neither of them moved.

Alhaitham moved though, he simply spread her ass once more as if to get a better look at the mess, giving a satisfied hum.

“You’re on birth control, yes?” The scribe asked. “If not, I can run over and get some post-coital contraceptives, no problem.”

“I’m on birth control,” she said, turning her head to nuzzle in the crook of Kaveh’s neck affectionately. “And if you ever say the phrase post-coital ever again, I will stab you without hesitation.”

Kaveh snorted, weakly raising a hand in affirmation. “I second that.”

Alhaitham made a small contemplative noise, his hands squeezing Elirah’s ass once more. “And here I was going to offer to clean you both up, but it seems like you’d both rather do it yourselves, yes?”

Eli jumped, tensing a bit. “Well well, don’t be too hasty now, you’re the orchestrater of said mess, so I think it’s only fair if you clean it up!”

Alhaitham hummed once more, before Eli felt his hot tongue snaking across her folds, licking some of Kaveh’s cum from her in a firm stroke.

“What are you doing?!” Elirah exclaimed, feeling her cunt give a sensitive throb at the motion.

“Cleaning up the mess.” He simply said, licking across her ass.

Though she was thoroughly satiated, she had a sneaking suspicion the night was far from over, and when Kaveh’s cock gave an interested twitch beneath her, she realized she was well and truly screwed.

———————————————————————————————

AN: whatcha think? I really love dom haitham, its literally my favourite thing ever lol

#genshin impact smut #alhaitham smut #kaveh smut #alhaitham x oc #alhaitham x fem oc #kaveh x oc #poly!kavehtham #poly haikaveh #poly kavetham #poly!haikaveh #poly haikaveh smut #poly kavetham smut #poly kavehtham #kaveh x fem oc #dom alhaitham #genshin impact oc

51 notes · View notes

weaper-reaper · 1 year

Text

Eventuality Pt.1

2, 3+4, 5, 6

Hey shawties its me again, back with my FIRST Konig fic. Very terrible German shenanigans will ensue so be warned. I’m here to feed the small community that is the Konig baby girls. New format, this fic is written with an MC (I know huge surprise, but just consider it a reader-insert.) MC uses She/Her pronouns, I’m sorry. Feminine anatomy and all that.

CW: Medical Inaccuracies, German translation Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, you get the point, Fluff, Plot heavy, Eventual smut, Established background, Updating tags with each chapter, Konig x Reader, Konig x OFC, Maybe Johnny “Soap” Mctavish x reader, unless?, COD Franchise, MWII, Call of Duty characters, Captian Pierce, loosely mentioned

“Fucking stupid… piece of shit.. god-“ the sticker label fell through my fingers and I knocked an entire stack of papers over trying to grab it. “Damnit.” I sighed. How I ever made it as a nurse, much less working as an ICU nurse in military bases is lost on me. A chuckle at the doorway pulled me from my self loathing.

“Captain!” I quickly stood from my crouched position over the floor, and brought my arm up in a salute.

“Please no need,” he started, “I’ve just come with your next assignment.”

I could feel my face twist together with confusion. Next assignment?

“I’m stationed here until the sixteenth, sir.”

“I’m afraid we can’t send anyone else.”

I almost scoffed- and motioned my arms out. Here I am, surrounded by my own mess, and I’m the best person for the job?

He read me easily and tipped his head towards me in recognition, “Do you have any dependents waiting for you back home, soldier?”

I shook my head. No, I didn’t. And everyone knew it too.

Since I turned twenty, my entire life had been dedicated to school and military life. Even before then, as a child my dad uprooted us from place to place. Mission to mission. That’s how we always lived, so I tried my best to not get too hung up on any one particular place. Ultimately following in his footsteps and enlisting the moment I became of age. It’s like everywhere I went I had a label on my back that said ‘My dad was KIA, and I’ll serve until I am too.’

I’d made no real friends since I landed here anyway, so packing up and leaving now or in a week wouldn’t really make much of a difference in the end.

“Right sir, I’ll be packed within the hour.” I turned my back to him with a nod and scooped the rest of the spoiled papers in my arms.

“Good on you nurse,” He praised and it did little to settle the nerves that always followed being sent to a new unknown place. “Heli leaves at eighteen hundred.”

By helicopter? That’s a new one at least.

An hour later I stood at the edge of the heli pad packed to the brim- watching the black mass fade in from the far west of the sky, the sun glaring almost mockingly above it. As if the helicopter was a manifestation of my unescaped impending doom. A missile honed directly to me.

The duffle bag I shouldered grew heavier as it landed, attempting to root me to the spot. I was handed a pair of gray headphones and shoved up onto the machine. I pressed the hanging mic up to my lip and strapped in behind the pilot, facing outwards towards the doors of the tiny metal thing. A large window curved from my side directly overhead. There was only really enough room for the three of us and what little equipment I was allowed to bring. Although I was promised I could take inventory and order any additional nessecities, honestly I wouldn’t know where to really start.

“Evening boys.” I greeted, and was met with only nods in response. Great.

The blades hadn’t even been given a moment to slow down before we hauled off the ground and into the air- dust cropped up and swirled around us until we were almost level with the low hanging clouds. They were as dark and gray as the machine we flew. The metal blades thumped about as loud as my heart, and I did my best to settle into my seat, deciding to focus on the shrinking base below.

I eyed my bags tied tightly against the net on the walls, hoping I didn’t forget anything. My entire life was practically stuffed into those two bags- one being 80% emergency medical equipment said a lot I think. The photo bound tightly in the breast pocket of my vest burned hot- I itched to take it out but didn’t trust my fingers enough not to drop it right out into the air.

I sighed and threw my head back, maybe I could get some rest in at least.

____________

“T-3 Minutes until landing.” Chatter in my ears over the radio roused me from my head. I hadn’t been able to sleep- given I just spent the last two hours strapped in a fucking helicopter, but I was able to daydream and rest a bit.

The sky had turned a pretty gradient of orange and pink as we neared the new base. Light beamed through the breaks in the clouds. We were in the desert from what I could tell, dunes resided on either side of the starch brown compound below, almost letting it blend in completely with the scenery. If we weren’t directly above it, I don’t think it’d be too noticeable from anywhere on the ground.

Save the fact that I knew we were facing east, I had no clear idea where we even were. Hopefully I’ll be briefed upon landing.

I tore off the straps of my harness when the heli touched ground, and tossed the headset on the seat as I left- making sure to grab both of my bags before jumping down. My cropped hair bit against my face as the blades continued to whir above me.

Two men approached the edge of the pad, the tip of their boots not having even touched the yellow caution paint before the helicopter lifted itself up into the air again. I watched for a moment as it buzzed over us and into the darkening clouds.

“Private nurse Mack?” One of the men shouted and I turned to face them, pushing a hard look onto my face, the grip I had on my straps tightened significantly. I could see my knuckles turn white from the pressure. Okay new base, don’t fuck up, don’t fuck up. My own personal mantra replayed in my head as we took long strides towards each other.

“Evening gentlemen.” I raised my voice, as if it made me sound anymore sure. “Heard you boys needed some help.” I motioned to the large red medic badge on my shoulder.

“Aye, I’ll be the first to admit it, that we do.” The shorter one with the Scottish accent rang out, though they both stood impeding over my own frame.

“We’ve got ourselves into a bit of a predicament.” The other man began, he was slightly larger then the first, with scruffy facial hair and a worn cap that’s definitely seen better days.

“Captain Price,” He motioned to the other man beside him- the one that addressed me first. “That’s Soap.”

I nodded and fell into step between them when they turned, following as they headed into the large sandy building. We stepped through a series of doors before we ended up in what looked like a makeshift infirmary- a handful of cots lined the walls with no real space between any of them. More importantly men atop the dirty and stained beds, some even sat on the floor nearest the entrance.

“Forgive us if we skip the formalities, lass.” The scot voiced, Soap. “‘Y’have yer kit with ya?”

I swung my unessacey shit off first- the bag filled with uniform briefs and clothes mostly, lost in whatever corner of the room that was unaccompanied. Unstrapping my suture kit I approached the closest bed to me.

“What the hell happened here?” I almost shouted over the groaning and muttering that filled the room. A quick glance told me around ten or so men filled out the little space. The man sprawled across the bed in front of me clutched at his bicep. Blood seeping through the wet rag he held against the wound as dripped down his fingers.

Soap approached my side and watched as I snapped on some rubber gloves from the bag attached to my waistband belt.

“Joint mission, we were regrouping with members of KORTAC when they were ambushed.” Price stated- a practiced calm behind his words. He said it as if it were any normal Wednesday night.

I gave him a curt nod and tried not to panic much, but being thrown into a room full of wounded men within only minutes of landing at a new base I didn’t even know existed this morning- it’s safe to say my nerves were beginning to get fried. I took a deep breath, the details aren’t really that important. I was here to help, so I’d focus on doing just that.

“Thankfully there were no casualties, just a small group of bloody nobodies.” Soap pulled over a trash bin from behind him and set it near me, I gave him a quick smile as thanks. He had a kind look on his face, a small scar rested below his bottom lip and his shaved Mohawk didn’t really do him much justice, but he didn’t seem that intimidating in this light. Should fate grant me a longer stay here- I don’t think I’d mind getting to know him a bit more.

Shifting my focus from Soap, I pulled back the bloody rag from the man on the cot’s shoulder and tossed it into the bin. Then wiped his arm down with a sterile alcohol pad. A gangly gash sat red and bright against his pale skin, a bullet must have torn straight through his uniform. “Just an ugly graze soldier, you’ll be alright.”

He grunted and rolled onto his side so I could treat him better, so I pulled out a disposable suture kit from my bag and got to work. Doing my best to remember to prioritize, I glanced between Price- who moved back to the entrance of the room, seemingly not wanting to get involved, and Soap still at my side.

“Life-altering patients first,” I shouted to the room, “If you can move- help the injured onto beds, and if you’re not bleeding to death go start a line in the hall.”

It took a good minute and a hard glare from Soap for the men to start moving, but soon there were only three others in the room with us. Though he stayed longer than Price, and did his best to assist me with two particularly nasty stab wounds; he decided to call it.

“That’s all I got in me nurse, hell’s bells, I can’t imagine how you’d do this all day.” He said as he left. I thanked him for his help but ultimately was more grateful that he left me alone with my work- his general presence was intimidating enough, I didn’t want to screw up on the first day under his supervision. So with another deep breath I eventually saw everyone who was involved in the ambush, and crashed against the steel table in the back of the room. Eyes closed the moment my head hit my arms, gloves still on and everything.

It wasn’t until a good minute or so that I rose back up and took a look around the room again. A mess greeted me, as per usual. My fingers ached and my shoulders screamed at me, but I spent the next hour piling dirty linens and rags into one corner, and moping up what I could of dried blood and mud into another. What I wouldn’t give for a warm bath right about now. Though I’ve had worse days in the ICU for sure, this one definitely got close to topping the cake. I was even more thankful for Soap’s help after the fact. Maybe I could sneak him an extra MRE next time we came across each other as thanks.

If he was the only one who’d stayed to assist, I wondered if they had anyone here at base who was properly medically trained. Given I’m not a licensed doctor or anything, but who was the last person in charge of their medical needs? Or rather.. what happened to them if they did have one?

The entrance to the door creaked open behind me, and I pulled myself from my thoughts, leaning on the mop handle for extra support. My eyes were drooping from exhaustion, and it took them a moment to focus.

“You are cleaning?” A soft voice spoke, something I did not expect to hear from the man who graced the doorway. His frame was hunched over slightly, a hand under the hood that hung over his face, two piercing blue eyes stuck out starch against the torn holes that stared directly through me.

It took a second for me to realize the voice belonged to him, and not some other stranger hidden behind his large figure.

“Uh, yeah.” I sighed, “Someone’s got to, right?”

He had no response and instead stared blankly at me through his mask like a statue- unmoving.

“Uhm.” I began again, “Do you need medical assistance?” I tried to say as calmly and invitingly as I could. Though I couldn’t see his face, by his body language alone it seemed as if he would turn and leave with any wrong movement.

He stayed as he was and watched me while drained the dirty bucket and put the mop back into the closet I originally found them from.

“I thought perhaps I could do it myself, but..” he trailed off and guestured up to his face with a point from his elbow.

I put on a fresh pair of gloves and sat on the edge of an empty cot.

“Do what yourself?”

He took a step forward and glanced from me back to the door. Letting a little ‘uhh’ cross his lips. Ultimately settling on twisting the deadlock shut on the door. My heart leaped in my chest and I instinctively stood and inched my way back to the steel desk.

He caught on quickly and immediately held both of his hands up in front of him, slightly crouching as to appear less intimidating.

“Ah please, I just do not want anyone to see.” He waved a hand in front of his face and tangled his fingers at the bottom of the cloth that hung over his entire head- held up only by the helmet he wore. With another wary look towards the door- as if someone would burst in at any moment- he lifted the mask just enough for me to see a long stripe of red from the tip of his jaw down to his collarbone, disappearing under the collar of his shirt.

My mouth went dry as our eyes met again.

Okay, Mr.Mountian of a man just needs some help. That’s all. I let a wary glance of my own settle over the lock on the door before turning to grab a first aid kit and some more sanitary wipes. My back was to him, but I nodded my head over to a cot- “Have a seat.”

After grabbing what I needed onto a tray and rolling it over, I stood infront of him. Even as he sat we were practically eye to eye still. I cleared my throat, trying to calm my nerves from under the uneasiness of his stare. It felt like he noticed every twitch of my fingers and any little movement I made, any inch of exustion I had disappearing with a rush of adrenaline from being locked in a room with a six-foot-something man.

He lifted his mask again just enough so I could clearly see the wound we were working with. It wasn’t very deep- and It looked like he tried to superglue it shut himself, but there were still spots where I could see the blood bead up through. His jaw had some stubble on it, like he hadn’t shaved in a week or so.

“It’s cleaner then some of the cuts I’ve seen today.” I spoke, doing my best to ease the tension that settled thickly over the two of us. The tiny room felt somehow smaller under his gaze. His body and presence took up so much space that it was nearly suffocating.

He only hummed in response. I dabbed some alcohol on a cotton pad and wiped it against his face as gently as I could, if it hurt he did a good job of hiding the pain. Only the back of his jaw clenched when he grinded his teeth together, eyes now anywhere but mine.

I placed my other hand against the other cheek, angling his head towards me a bit more and he stiffened underneath me. His body going as rigid as the cold metal gear he wore.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled and I could see his eyes twitch over to my face.

“If it hurts I mean.”

“I- I am alright.” His lips were chapped and his teeth clacked harshly against each other when he snapped his mouth shut again, as if he regretted speaking.

There was a beat of silence before I spoke again, “What’s your name? I’m Mack, though everyone seems to just call me Nurse.” I chuckled dryly.

His eyes didn’t leave my face this time, and I began to sweat under his watch. I sounded like an idiot to even myself. He just came here to get patched up, why do I ever bother with the small talk. I’d most likely be gone or replaced within the month anyway. He hissed under a particularly sensitive spot at the base of his neck and I immediately apologized, reaching for a clean cotton swab.

“König. That is what they call me.” His accent was thicker this time he spoke, gently cursing in some German dialect when the cut started to bleed again from all my prodding.

“Well König,” I repeated, “you did a good job of cleaning this up yourself.” The grip on his mask loosened and fell below his lips as he settled on the cot a bit more comfortably, and I praised myself for my smooth patient talk. It didn’t take me very long to finish wiping him down and stop any bleeding, I made quick work of setting a bandage over the deeper parts of his cut. Only a slight bit stayed exposed on the parts where the skin moved too much for me to cover it properly.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to take another look when we change the bandages again. Just to make sure it doesn’t reopen, but I don’t think you’ll need any stitches.” He dropped the cloth and let it settle down over his face and neck fully again, eyes boring directly through mine as I spoke.

He nodded with me, “Yes. Then I will see you tomorrow morning.”

He rose up into his towering form again and made his way over to the door- snapping it unlocked once more.

“Sure.” I agreed, tossing the bloody cotton pads into the bin. “Tomorrow morning könig.” And the door clicked shut behind him before I could even turn to watch him leave.

The uneasy feeling continued to sit at the bottom of my stomach as I picked up my bags again. Their weight was ten times heavier as I left the small room and wandered back out into the main hallway. In all honesty I didn’t even know if I would be here in the morning, though it was apparent after today that this little band of soldiers needed some official medical assistance. Wether or not I was the best person for that job.. well who’s to really say.

Soap was in the hall as I left, leaning lazily against the opposite wall from the door. I turned to pull it close and met his eyes. He had more color to his face now then he did a few hours ago, maybe he was squeamish around blood? No, there’s no way.

“Hey.” He greeted.

“Hey yourself.” I joined his side, “Thanks for your help earlier, by the way.”

“‘Course newbie.” He turned to face the end of the hallway and waved for me to follow.

“Newbie? What happened to Private nurse Mack.”

“Too long. Plus everyone’s the new guy at one point.”

I hummed in response, and he lead me back out through the main entrance.

“Cafeteria’s through there- always stocked so feel free to eat whenever. Sleeping barracks are this way.” It was dark outside now, and the clouds still hung so thickly over the sky I couldn’t see any stars. Out only light from the few floodlights that were scattered randomly around the compound.

“So when do I get a cool nickname? Or will it be lame too.”

“Lame?”

“Soap?” I countered.

“Johnny.” He corrected.

“No you’re right, Soap sounds cooler.” He scoffed and I bit my lip to force the smile down. At least someone here could make good banter.

“You’ll fit in well here newbie.” He redirected us towards another sand colored building. I recognized a couple of the men I treated earlier hanging around the front entrance. It looked like there was only one door in. Their eyes watched us as we passed through, a couple whispers making their way around in groups.

“Don’t mind ‘em.” Soap had leaned over to mutter in my ear, his warm breath cascaded down my neck and I hadn’t realized how cold it’d gotten in the dark. I hummed again- not trusting my voice to speak any coherent words.

“This is you.” He pointed to a steel door sat at the very back of a long hallway. The numbers ‘21’ written in bold white letters above it. He could read the uneasiness that found it’s way over my face, and I hated how simple a read I was. Maybe I should don a balaclava like everyone else around here. “Something the matter, bonnie?”

“Oh, no.” I turned to him and hadn’t realized how close he really was in the dark and cramped hall. I could almost smell his aftershave, he probably dipped on me earlier to shower, though I couldn’t really blame him. I must’ve looked like a mess currently, so after a shower myself I was headed straight to bed.

“Honestly it’s just been a while since I’d stayed in coed housing.” The door opened with a creak, but I was relieved to see only one twin sized cot. At the least I wouldn’t be rooming with anybody.

He nodded in understanding, “Well if you run into any issues, I’m just over there.” He jutted his thumb back to a door labeled ‘19’.

“20 up are mostly empty anyway, those are the overflow rooms.” He paused and glanced around the hallway at all the doors. “Though with the men from KORTAC dirtying our plates, I’m afraid ‘tis fuller than usual.”

I let out what must’ve been my hundredth sigh for the day and nodded.

“Thanks Soap, again I appreciate it.” The bright dorky smile that adorned his face helped ease my nerves. I stepped over the threshold of the room and turned back to him, one hand on the edge of the door. He leaned against the frame casually, hands in his pockets.

“It’s nothing. Sleep well, lass.” He turned to leave.

“Oh hey,” he stopped me once more just before I shut the door. “If you’re feeling up to it a couple of the lads and I are going for a run in the morning- ‘round 0400 or so.”

He shrugged, “Could be a good bonding experience, or y’know maybe we’ll think up a cooler nickname then Nurse.”

“Cooler than Soap?”

“Extremely.”

I chuckled and let the door close as he turned again, watching him disappear down the hall.

Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad finding a reason to stay in one spot for a bit longer after all.

_________

AYOO look I know what this looks like… but It’s NOT a Soap fic I SWEAR. I just adore my babygirl so much you know I had to do it to em. Unless you guys are into a multi-ship fanfic centered around the same MC? Lemme know what you think.

Also crossposted on Ao3 under ‘WeaperReaper’

Anyway more Konig content in the next part, pinkey promise.

#könig #konig call of duty #call of duty #konig imagine #konig x reader

326 notes · View notes

dramaticvhs · 1 year

Text

7 fics with 100k+ words (Teen Wolf)

I don't make a habit of reading longer fics because I get migraines and once I'm invested I can't bring myself to put them down. even if you're like me and don't read long fics, i encourage you to give these a try if they interest you. these are the longest ones I have bookmarked and I hope you enjoy them as much as I have ❤️

read tags. some fics may contain sensitive content. check pairings, ones included on this list might not be your cup of tea.

1. Don't Savage The Messenger by exclamation

(Sterek, Explicit, Graphic Depictions of Violence, 172,379 words)

There is an uneasy truce between the werewolves in the woods and the humans who live in Beacon Hills, protected by a magical boundary that gives warning any time a werewolf crosses it. Then the sheriff is taken by the werewolves and his son offers himself in exchange.

Stiles promises to serve the werewolf pack, not knowing what horrible use they might have for him. But it turns out his most useful skill is the ability to cross the boundary line between humans and werewolves. Life with the werewolves is nothing like he feared and the werewolves themselves are nothing like the hunters' stories would have him believe.

2. Bodies Can Be Bought But the Heart Cannot Be Owned; Only Given Freely by kyrene

(Sterek, Explicit, Underage and Rape/Non-con, 102,965 words)

In a world where the human race is enslaved by the werewolf race, Derek Hale struggles to recover from the damage caused to his teenage self by the human, Kate Argent. More to the point, he doesn't believe that slavery is right. But each werewolf gets a personal slave when they become an adult and he's long overdue.

The moment he sets eyes on the filthy, naked slave in the corner of the packed warehouse, Derek knows he has to bring him home. But can he ever gets Stiles, who has never known a kind owner before, to trust that he's finally found a safe place?

3. My, What Big Shoulders You Have (The Better to Help You Carry the Weight) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(Sterek, Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply, 285,568 words)

“Talia was just telling me an interesting story,” his dad informed him. Stiles didn’t have the nerve to glance over at him, because he knew no matter how much he argued, the proof was all there. The wolves had found him, Parrish had picked him up on the side of the road, he had a fucking picture on his phone. He was screwed. No point in arguing, all it’d do is piss his father off even more.

“You don’t say,” Stiles offered slowly. “What uh—you know, I like stories. Is it a uh, good one?”

“It seems to be a matter of opinion,” Talia said with another kind smile. “I hear you had quite the night last night.”

Okay, time to cut his losses. He was already fucked, all he could do was apologize and hope she didn’t press for him to get fined and arrested. Given he was her husband’s friend’s son, he had high hopes.

“I’m really sorry,” Stiles blurted out. “It was stupid and-and irresponsible and just—I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have crossed into your territory. I should’ve known better, I do know better! It was a complete lapse in judgement and I am just—I am so sorry.”

4. Where the Real Beasts Are by kaistrex (weishen)

(Sterek, Explicit, Graphic Depictions of Violence, 109,100)

Crown Prince Stiles is gifted a direwolf on his eighteenth birthday by King Gerard I of Venatia. The only instruction? Never remove the collar.

Stiles never has been one to do as he’s told.

5. But I Know (a love like this will end in tragedy) by LadySlytherin

(Steter, Explicit, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, 175,687 words)

What happens when you combine outstanding medical bills with a werecoyote ex-something-or-other, who doesn't understand boundaries?

In Stiles' case, the answer is: Peter Hale as a sugar daddy.

Stiles knew doing this with Peter was probably a bad idea. He knew it wouldn't be easy. He knew his friends wouldn't understand. Stiles also knew he was going to do it anyway.

6. What the Hell Is This, Baywatch? by Jenetica

(Melissa McCall/Stiles Stilinski, Explicit, Graphic Depictions of Violence and Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, 101,913 words)

The summer Melissa expected: A happy reunion with Scott after his junior year of college, a slight uptick in work at the hospital, and a generally quiet couple of months.

The summer Melissa did not expect: A strangely tolerable friendship with Lydia Martin, a hellish bout of supernatural antics, and Stiles Stilinski turning into a hot lifeguard who’s decided he wants to spend his summer giving her some kind of sex-fueled conniption.

Guess which one she gets.

7. Divided Loyalties by LennaNightrunner

(Stackson, Explicit, Underage, 154,031 words)

Jackson returns home after a month spent in London trying (and failing) to start the next phase of his life there. Knowing now from experience that he’d be a fool to try to make it as a werewolf on his own, he asks Derek to take him in as a beta. Derek agrees on the condition that Jackson will do as he’s told. Jackson hopes that, despite the mess left in the wake of the Kanima, he might be able to repair his life in Beacon Hills. Of course, things haven’t really been going the way Jackson has hoped lately...

#sterek fic recs #sterek fics #sterek #steter fic rec #steter #stackson #teen wolf fic

160 notes · View notes

staceymcgillicuddy · 5 months

Text

annual writing self-evaluation

Thanks to @astorytotellyourfriends for the tag - I didn't do this last year!

1. List of works published this year (in the order that they were posted):

If She Lived in Space, Man, I'd Build A Plane crimson & clover pulling overtime model citizen; zero discipline what you give just serves me right two jack trippers and a chrissy perception check all my kinktober fills a hollow tree

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

Gosh, that's hard. I'm proud of all of them for different reasons, and I have issues with all of them for different reasons. I guess I would say "what you give just serves me right" makes me happy, and was something I had to push myself to do, but I was pleased with how it turned out in the end.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

I hate that I have two fics out that I haven't updated in ages! I am not proud of that! And there are a few things in all of them that I'd tweak.

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

Oh golly. Alright, from a hollow tree, which was my Halloween fic featuring Lilith!succubus!Chrissy:

Fog slips into the van when he opens the door. A mist so thick it’s disorienting as he drops to the ground, and the shape of a girl forms itself out of the gloom.

5. Share or describe a favorite comment you received:

Almost every single regular commenter on Soul makes my heart sing and my panties drop, and I'm so sorry my brain is being stupid right now.

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

Right goddamn now. It's like squeezing blood from a fucking stone, and I have no idea why, but everything comes out strained and blechy and I hate it, and I refuse to inflict it on anyone else so I'll just sit like a lump, churning out crap and never showing it to anyone.

7. A scene or character that you wrote that surprised you:

Genuinely did not think that I would get so into the Hopper/Chrissy/Eddie dynamic as I did when I wrote it as a crackship as part of kinktober. But, like, I could get DOWN with that shit.

Also, Hellcheerington surprised me. Oh, and writing Eddie's dad for Soul was weirdly cathartic? I was determined to make him a person and not a collection of cliches, which was easier said than done. I think I got there, in the end. Hope so, anyway!

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

I didn't, I fucking regressed. Or, no, not really. I pushed myself a bit, tried to get sharper and cleaner with some prose. Read some theory books, worked on my rhetorical devices, forced myself to kill a couple darlings along the way (but not all the darlings, god damn it).

I also published a book, so yay?

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

I'd like to get back to writing original fiction. I've been in a slump with that, too, because it doesn't have the instantaneous feedback that fanfic does. I want to split my time between fic and pro writing stuff, and I want to be very realistic about how much mental energy my real job takes up. When I used to write like a madwoman, I didn't have the role I currently do, which is a senior project manager leading a team, working mostly with executive-level staff. Don't get me wrong, my job pisses me off a lot, and stresses me out, too, but it pays well and we live in a shithole of a society where money matters in the grand scheme of things.

So, like, I guess I hope to grow as a writer in writing even when my brain doesn't want me to, or it doesn't feel great to do so.

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

Freaking Shirley Jackson, man. That bitch can write.

11. Anything in your real life show up in your writing this year:

I'm always putting kinky shit I see or experience at the bdsm club into my fic. I am as God made me.

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

Everything is made up and the points don't matter. Stop comparing yourself to other authors. Turn off stats on your AO3. Write what you fucking want and quit worrying if other people are going to like it.

13. Any new projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

I'm going to be so, so glad when Soul is done because I love it so much but it is also the millstone around my neck.

14. Tag three writers/artists whose answers you’d like to read:

@binickandros, @pipergirl17 and @phoenixwrites please!

#ask meme #writing #personal #bsc diaries #i rambled a lot up there #thank u for reading if u got this far #gentle forehead kisses for you

15 notes · View notes

fischlcatgirl · 9 months

Text

ok so im thinking about. chiluc. i- chiluc shippers come in close. i love you come in close. we can all be honest with ourselves here. there will never be anything close to chiluc content ingame.

and so for many years i feel chiluc has been relegated to aus or established relationship nobody knows how they got together. where its like. childe is not part of the orginization that killed diluc's father. or maybe he was but it wasn't quite as bad. which dont get me wrong aus are great.

HOWEVER. i have been thinking. and here is how (currently) canon compliant chiluc can STILL WIN.

ok so we know that in canon mondstadt is like. equally as politically powerful as shneznaya is right. so it would probably benefit them if they had you know. good ties to each other. like linked powerhouses in both nations. so. kind of like an arranged marriage fic......

WAIT!! because I hear you you're saying like ohhh they would never agree to that listen to me. Childe would do anything for his tsaritsa for the good of shneznaya for the good of his family ok. he's the most disposible of the harbingers they might as well marry him off. and Diluc well. you see. at first he is DEFINITELY like no way in one million billon years go fuck yourselves. and then he actually meets childe and while hes like. repressing the urge to start strangling hes like wait. this guy is actually stupid.

diluc says. i may hate the knights but you know who i hate slightly more. the fatui. and i love mondstadt. surely the husband of this dumbass would be like. getting shneznayan state secrets revealed to him all the time. i could be a really good spy and i would know if the fatui are about to attack mondstadt.

and he agrees and hes like. so prepared to be absolutely miserable he's being sooo self-sacrifing right now. hes like jean do you see me being self-sacrificing. and jean says yeah for sure. whatever. thanks.

but then..... childe is like. he's doing that thing he does with the traveller where he's like "im doing so great!! i love that there's a darkness growing within me it's so cool and epic!!! anyway do you want to hear about how i don't think i have an identity for myself??"

diluc says. wait hold on a second. what the fuck. this guy is messed up. this is the part where if this was a modern au he would be like. go to therapy stop talking to me about it. but unfortunately i dont think therapy exists in the world of teyvat. otherwise why would everyone be Like That.

Anyway Diluc is realizing while pretending he's having a really nice time getting to know childe he's actually?? having a really nice time getting to know childe???? wtf?? even if the things he says ARE messed up sometimes its ok because childe also has that softness to him

on childe's side of the story everything is literally so great he doesn't know. hes like wow im so happy that i get to serve the tsaritsa and have a cool husband who will spar me and even sometimes almost win!! I'm so excited to introduce him to my family

chiluc family dinner. on childe's side its his whole family of like. eight other people. diluc invites nobody and when childe asks him about it diluc has a Moment of Weakness and he admits that he doesn't really talk to his family anymore and like. childe is like well thats ok. because youll be part of my family and they liked you a lot

varied chiluc introductory fluff... they're getting to know each other they're starting to have like. falling in love a little bit moments. childe trying to teach diluc how to use a bow and like standing behind him with his arms fiixng his arrow position or something like that. its cute. childe at this point is like. fully in love he can see their future together and everything.

BUT THEN!!! ok so diluc has been sending semiregular letters to mondstadt right. and childe's fellow harbingers are like. hey childe you're checking his mail right. and childe goes no thats private why would i do that. and childe isn't paranoid but he is. very very curious. he checks the mail.

and you know the knights and diluc worked out like. a secret code before he left for shneznaya. but childe can kind of tell something is up and he sends it to like. idk pulcinella or pantalone or someone and they're like oh yeah dude this is a secret message.

and childe confronts diluc about it he goes hey!!! WHAT THE FUCK!! and diluc breaks childe's heart because like. he's cornered and he's like yeah its all true and i. well. um. but like he can't bring himself to say that he's not sorry because he is. he's learned about how lonely childe actually is and they've been bonding over that. and he feels bad because he knows he was the only person childe like. trusted on a human level.

so he takes it all back and says he'll cut communications because at this point. hes seen that childe is an absolute killer and he's very frankly. a little bit scared for his life. and childe forgives him but he's on thin ice.

at this point. childe goes freak mode. because see after he was told that the letters were encoded, he told his fellow harbingers that he was going to. you know. kill diluc. so he goes all proper beauty and the beast you can't leave our house. and diluc thinks its because he's a control freak and not because he's trying to stop anyone from seeing diluc. childe is trying to keep up the illusion that diluc is dead.

and diluc says you cant keep me locked in here forever. childe says. sorry dude. but its clear that diluc is absolutely miserable and childe is actually. he really is sorry about it. and diluc can tell he's sorry and so he's picking up on that it maybe isnt entirely childe's fault that he's trapped here. so he's not mad but he's defintely miserable. they're miserable together.

but hey. guess what. diluc's messages have stopped coming to the knights. so jean says kaeya. you have to send a letter over asking when the actual wedding party is. and also asking if diluc is like. good. youre his brother it makes sense.

kaeya sends the letter. childe goes. oh um. shit. wait hey can we just get you back to mondstadt somehow?? and diluc says PLEASE. so they have to. sneak out of the country (difficult) (the wedding was public news so people keep asking about it) (pulcinella runs most of the trains so it's kind of hard to buy diluc a ticket without him knowing). and they end up basically having to escape on foot going from town to town out of shneznaya and. here i just kind of assume that shneznaya is directly north of mondstadt so down into mondstadt.

and this whole process does it for diluc. he's like man. youre risking it all. for me. and childe says yes that is what i do :). and they end up at the dawn winery just kind of. talking. and diluc realizes that he is in fact in love with childe. like he's been trying to avoid it but it's unavoidable now and he says hey childe. can we say that the letter thing was kind of a big misunderstanding. wouldn't it be best if idk.

we got married. you know for the good of our nations. and childe says YIPEE!! HOORAY!!! he's like yeah.... for the good of our nations for sure

chiluc wedding party. theyre sillies <3

and that is how a theoretically canon compliant chiluc could still win

#genshin impact #chiluc #board certified my post #childe #diluc

35 notes · View notes

spontaneousglitterbees · 1 year

Note

What's a scene you'd like to work on for TAPPS, but in reality (even with a working laptop and a non-fucked shoulder) would take too much time and buildup to make work. Like, the daydream scenario?

[Talent Acquisition Pilot Program AU Masterpost]

Hmm. Fic time.

This Heart of Mine is Guilty (Not Remorseful)

---------------------

Gonta Gokuhara is not stupid.

A fool, as much as anyone willing to whittle themselves away into something ‘more palatable’ can be called one, but not stupid. His insistence to the contrary only chips at your respect for him. He is a liar, and you cannot stand liars.

Case and point: the raucous lack of resistance from your classmates. Even the most sickeningly-sweet of your mutual acquaintances find themselves “too polite” to lend their appraisals a voice; it isn’t just a lie, it is a spineless lie of omission, and it is contagious. Gonta entwines himself in a positive feedback loop of self-deprecation, and if they did not notice, it would be unfortunate, but within reason. Instead, they praise themselves for their abilities to ignore it. As though it makes them ‘good people’ to let someone else say the quiet part loud.

Disgusting.

Gonta was not an idiot. It was simultaneously true that he was not an idiot and you were a liar, so it stood to reason that if you enthusiastically indulged his self-destructive words (you were certain that was all they were, back then, and you were not a font of pity) somebody ought to connect the dots sooner or later.

The Ultimate Maid seemed promising at first. Her talent, people-pleasing taken to a logical extreme, should have given her a level of interpersonal insight few achieve. Rather than spiking that serve into becoming the Ultimate Fly-on-the-Wall, Kirumi let it consume her. The face chosen for her— "selfless devotion", down to the very core— hollowed out the rest of her. (You do not know how much, if any, of that was her ‘choice’. How much of it she literally, logistically could have resisted if she’d ‘only tried hard enough’. You do not like that thought. Thoughts you do not like are one of the few things you can still outrun.) She was willing to do anything for anyone, weighing pros and cons to do the greatest good for the most people with the information at her disposal.

The “selfless” one appointed herself judge, jury, and executioner on behalf of people she couldn’t prove existed. It was never out of the question that Monokuma was lying, either at any point or every point thus far; the world outside could have been (was) fine. The looming threat to the country’s people without leadership could have been a complete farce (it was) but she decided anyway. Even on the off chance it was completely fabricated (good odds, in your book, even back then) the then-twelve of you were expendable. Killing you all, in her mind, was justified.

And you thought she was reasonable.

(You can’t reconcile the Kirumi in your head with the Kirumi in your post-trial nightmares with the girl who also stays sitting while the rest of the class does warm-ups, catching your eye as you idly glance about the room, gently nodding in some silent sort of solidarity before you break eye-contact and ponder how you might have even gotten here, that girl, who also calls herself ‘Kirumi.’)

“Selflessness” is a lie. All altruism is, on some base level, self-aggrandizing shielding itself with other people. Kirumi couldn’t have cared that deeply for an indistinct swathe of people she never could have known, or even known of, hand-over-fist clinging to the vines skewering the nerves just under her palms. She wanted out. She wanted out, wanted so badly to indulge in a single, cruel ray of sunlight, and she wanted more than anyone else, clearly. She’d earned it. The rest of you hadn’t. The rest of you, as far as she was concerned, could die in that place, as long as she could have another moment of—

“Selflessness” was Kirumi’s lie. She did not deign the dignity to believe it.

And you hate liars.

(You hate yourself, so, so much for bowing to self-preservation. “To end the killing game,” you’d said, and believed. It was for the “greater good”. Can’t be a hypocrite if you commit to your convictions, so why do you still feel—)

But. That’s a lie.

You do it all the time. Easier than breathing, really, falsehoods sprinkled in for spice (‘...and that’s why I can’t set foot in 20 yards of a swimming pool, but only in three cities.’; ‘Oh, I beat it on the first try! It’s totally simple, just don’t get hit.’; ‘10,000 members, Momota, and you’re gonna have to manage them all when I’m gone!’) or by compulsion (‘Actually, if you factor in the time period, yellow roses are a death threat. You’re thinking of the blue ones they picked to extinction!’; ‘Yeah, I know a guy who owns a junkyard, could scrap you real good. How dare you think I’d leave DICE vulnerable to the Robot Uprising, you’re so mean!’; ‘Ooh, the anticipation’s the best part, I’m sure there’ll be a body announcement any minute!’). You will lie, even without a soul to hear you (‘this is good. This is fun. I am having fun.’) and make certain the world knows precisely when you are lying. You will lie about nearly anything, save for the act of lying itself.

Eventually.

Sometimes, your lies are carefully calibrated.

"The more that you suffer, the more I enjoy it."

The subtle differences are woven into you, logical patterns encrypted so many times over even Kii-boy couldn’t reverse-engineer them consistently. (You'd hoped he might have been 'weird' enough to try. Sometimes your projection disappointment leaks through your facetious tone toward the worthless robot, like bloodstains seeping through the tight-bound fabric of a pristine white jacket—)

It all makes sense. It always has, to you. You cultivate this mysterious air around yourself gauged only on the reactions of other people, because it all tracks for you. Whatever is confusing them is a blind spot, and one you have learned (been programmed?) to deftly navigate.

Then there was him.

The fool, Gonta Gokuhara, was a liar. His stilted turns of phrase, infectious smile, bright eyes and penchant for staying gentle and patient with even the shortest-lived scum of the earth... it was a lie. It had to be a lie. You knew he was a liar, because, in over-excitable conversation amid the Others, you saw something familiar in his eyes. Gonta had to buffer for a moment and process the words around him before he'd react.

Just like you.

You had to keep an eye on him.

The facade he'd constructed was too kind, too manicured to be half as spotless as it purported to be. You had claimed him as your henchman under the guise of his utter gullibility, just to see what he would do. How he would manage to weasel his way out of your grasp and continue on with... whatever he was scheming. Nobody scrutinizes the sweet spice of cinnamon. Maybe he wasn't Mastermind material, but he was hiding something. You would find a way to force him to give you information. The how. The why, why-why-why Gonta had to be so damn likable to everyone he met, and how it just kept WORKING for him.

He called your bluff. He agreed. So you'd guessed you had a henchman.

Gonta never looked at you with the same inherent unease of your classmates, and never insisted he look you in the eye. All the better, as far as you’re concerned, eyes are the windows to the soul after all (and it gave you a brief reprieve from That Skin-Crawling Sensation, the two of you often either comfortably looking past one another or along the ground for some variety of insect you never could find.) The more you practiced obscuring your tells, the better a position you would place yourself in to lie strategically. The total lack of feedback from Gonta, a man apparently dead-set on taking you at your word no matter what, was counterbalanced by the lack of pressure around him. You knew at the time that the moment you let your guard down, the trap would snap and your neck could with it. It was a tempting facade, even so, master-manipulator Gokuhara so engrossed in his act with conviction Kirumi lacked, it was hard to remind yourself to keep him at arm's length.

After all, it's just the way of things. He's big, you're small, and the second you'd let down your defense would be the second you'd be stabbed in the back.

(It's true. It must be true! It has to be true, and you cannot forget it, because if you do not believe this is the truth then you leave yourself open for betrayal, and you cannot handle that from someone you started to think of as—)

You would augment the cognitive dissonance by saying something vile, snapping everyone to attention including him, and revel in slotting back into your proper place as the heel in this story. (But how much of that is really on your accord, and does it actually matter if the outcome is the same?)

You stayed close by one another when the class came together. It had the desirable effect of making the Others question your motives, certainly, making your station as Supreme Leader of Evil that much more obvious, but you'd be lying if you said it was purely for the tactical advantage. Not at this point. You stood by him because you could tell he understood. Getting too close to other people sets off magnets under your skin that gently nudge you in the opposite direction; you used to rock idly on your feet before you realized it was better to have a cause like boredom to blame. Keeping contact pupil-to-pupil can be an interrogation, and they'll have better luck cramming toothpicks under your fingernails than boring straight through your eye sockets with theirs. From the moment you met him, Gonta said nothing about your chronic inability to look at who you're talking to (or your penchant for approximating a look close enough next to them to subdue suspicion, because you cannot get through even small talk without at least an un-truth). You thought it may be a total lack of observational skills, but then he went and noticed the way you flinched accepting his "gentlemanly handshake".

It's a bizarre thing, bonding with an imperfect stranger over the course of a quarter of a conversation. You could sit at the lunch table without worrying about elbows toppling over an uncapped half-bottle of Panta, or stand in the library wanting to reach out but waiting for the crowd to disperse knowing nobody is going to trample you, and he brushes his hair out of his face while you curl your fingers into the smooth layers of your scarf and nobody says anything, and it's great.

Said, anything.

Then you killed him.

Hmm.

Gonta may have been a liar, but he doesn't have the heart for DICE, either. You liked that about him. He contorts himself to slot in to a puzzle he was not made for, shaving down slivers of cardboard with a pocketknife and worrying about completing the picture later, but he at least bothers with a base coat of paint. His mask is skin-tight; it's obvious he is not Other.

Somehow (infuriatingly) he turns that into an advantage.

He was strong, he was tall, things that can't be helped; he was cloyingly sweet to counterbalance the assumptions his stature set for him. Gonta created his persona the same way you did, but his conviction in the construct, in that lie, did not waver.

You wished you could be like that, too.

Gonta was his lie, as far as anyone else was concerned. Fully masked in an ecological niche much more interesting than the ones his precious bugs ever occupied, inherently self-debasing (to deal with the lowest form of creature willingly), pre-emptively humble (to deal with the guy nobody likes willingly) and praised all the more for it. Non-threatening, on purpose. Controlled. He has the capacity to do harm and hides it, so is that not itself a kind of lie?

You waited for the other shoe to drop.

But.

How was he not sick of you, everyone gets sick of you, YOU are sick of you–

Even as you saw the lively light drain from his digitized eyes, viscerally horrified by the flashes of atrocity you'd just shown him, he remained steadfast. Upset, clearly, but resolute. He chose to help you. He wanted to help all of you.

You suppose Gonta was the closest to “real” of all of you.

-------------------------------------

Kokichi scoffs, his back to the freshly-decorated interior of Class 79's homeroom. Simply surviving for a couple months as a class hardly seems like reason to celebrate, as far as he’s concerned, but the weather already vetoed “let us have class outside” and their homeroom teacher has no interest in fielding a riot. He lightly pulls on the sleeve of a borrowed jacket, noting the way woven fabric feels over his fingertips.

"I don't know what you're doing, but I am gonna get out of dodge. This is a Category Four shitstorm waiting to happen." He half-shrugs, not even passing a glance toward the gentle giant holding out his hand.

"G– Sorry. I'm sorry, Kokichi, I know you hate–"

"No." The boy smiles, lips drawn tight in contempt. "No, actually, that's not how this goes.” He taps his index finger to his chin, in faux-thought. “I mean, yeah, it's how this was always gonna go, but I'm pretty sick of scripts! You should be too."

Gonta looks over Kokichi for a moment. The small smattering of classmates in the room with the two of them look twice as confused as Gokuhara himself. He adjusts his glasses. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he says with practiced ease despite the tension in his throat.

It seems Ouma had expected him to back down by now. He smiles just as wide, but. Softer. Impressed?

"Aww, that's no fair! Can you believe it, a whole execution and Monokuma didn't even have the decency to knock some sense into you! I'll file a complaint for'ya," his expression hardens. (Pouring into a mold, too malleable to stand on its own.) He takes a step forward, then another. Favoring his left side, today.

There's a muffled 'you little menace, you can't talk to Gonta that way,' but glares from the other three bystanders in the room quickly convince her to save it. It's not that what he's saying is okay by any stretch; it's that Kokichi has completely avoided even looking at Gonta for a solid month, and there are few forces stronger than morbid curiosity.

Gonta takes back his hand, silent on the matter. Disappointed. But a true gentleman does not let petty emotion impede his work, particularly when his cohort is counting on him. Still, he watches Kokichi go.

Go on.

Go.

Kokichi... hesitates?

"You comin' or not?"

Of course, Gonta catches up within a couple strides. Ouma lacks the spoons to distract from the way his eye twitches.

"Hey, Dipshitticus, where the hell do you think you're going? Party starts in ten minutes," bellows Miu, not looking up from the pile of gears and fittings on her desk.

"Please, I got free reign of this place, ya' stupid whore~!" he chirps, though the venom has long since drained from those words. "I'll kidnap who I want. Call it 'talent development', if you gotta. Besides, I finally figured out why girls always go to the bathroom in groups! I mean, someone’s gotta call Tsumiki-chan in case you pass out and bang your head on the way down, right?"

Click. Pop, goes the foot of his cane, rubber peeling from tile pronounced in the stunned silence of the room. He turns the corner.

Gonta elects to follow.

The pair of them walk down the emptying hall for a good half-minute as the remaining students settle in their own classrooms, stopping at a set of chairs in the hallway. It’s a bright “study space”, a corner lit by incandescent yellow light with gaudy chartreuse couches a little too stiff to qualify as proper furniture that nonetheless provide an oasis when you’ve been walking long enough. Gonta nearly trips on the coffee table in the center, too low to write on and just low enough to hit below the kneecap.

This little corner of Hope’s Peak is surrounded by long windows overlooking little other than sidewalk. The sun-catching ornaments hanging from the ceiling are depressed by the dark blue-grays of the overcast sunrise. The heavy, hazy feeling to the air glazes over the glass; the insects outside are surely taking shelter.

Gonta takes a seat, twiddling his thumbs.

“Gon— I. You were bluffing.” Gonta shakes his head, looking nervously over his shoulder. Properly. Knees together, sitting up straight, arm kept loose at his side in case Kokichi needs to lean on him. Adamantly, the boy does not. In fact, Kokichi sits across from Gonta with his feet up on the table, ankles crossed. The position will become incredibly uncomfortable in a few minutes, but it’s about looking nonchalant, not being.

“You aren’t gonna get in trouble, you’re with me. Not a lie. They kinda owe me big time,” Kokichi shrugs. “Even Ishimaru-chan knows better than to call me out at this point. I hope he swings by, the look on his face knowing he can’t turn me in is amazing.”

“It would be terribly inappropriate to get in trouble, G— I don’t want to mess up my permanent record if I don’t need to, but it’d still be worth it to help a friend! A gentleman puts his friends first,” Gonta nods, sounding more certain of this than Kokichi has ever been about anything. “Besides, Taka is Gonta’s friend! Gonta is sure if he were to explain Kokichi has a good reason to be out of place, there would be no problem.”

A ha-second later, Gonta cringes, softly berating himself under his breath.

“You don’t have to correct it every time, you know. If it’s part of whoever you are now, everybody else can deal.”

“, , Gonta… isn’t sure how to feel about it. Knowing he’s the only one talking in third-person this way make. Makes, it seem. Like he’s not trying enough to be normal? But he’s too used to it to stop without thinking about it,” Gonta sighs.

“Nah. Just another TAPP side-effect. Well. At least that's the story I'd stick to. Dunno what you think a Gentleman does, but considering you aren’t currently an aristocratic asshole lounging in his ivory tower I’d say it’s good that you’re wrong.”

It takes Gonta a moment to take that one apart and put it back together. (Kokichi, seeing so, takes a second to stare blankly ahead and do the same. He will deny it.)

“G-Gonta is wrong about being a gentleman? How so! Gonta’s classmates haven’t told him he wasn’t following the rules correctly.”

Kokichi shakes his head.

“You’re not missing anything, really. That's no lie. You know Togami-chan? The short, pouty one.”

“Gonta thought the twins were the same height… ?”

“Not the point. The one with a stick up his ass, that’s what some people think of when they hear ‘gentleman’, so you’re actually ahead of the curve, believe it or not.” Kokichi picks at his nailpolish. Then at the shredded cuticles beneath.

Gonta considers this for a moment, looking the Lying Liar Who Lies up and down. He searches through his pocket, for a moment.

Kokichi is intrigued. He sits up, elbows on his knees. “Ooh, what’cha doin’?”

Gonta comes up with a crumpled bandage or two and a small thing of vapor rub. He puts the latter away; bug bites don’t seem to be the issue, here.

“Alright, then. Keep your secrets,” Kokichi rolls his eyes, Annoyed (peeking over to Gonta with a more neutral expression awaiting his response. Nothing.)

“Kokichi is bleeding,” Gonta says, eyes wide with concern. He holds out the bandages. “Please take some care of it?”

Kokichi looks baffled for a moment, eyes flicking down to his fingers. Huh. Oh yeah….

He takes the bandages, not looking away from Gonta’s expression the entire time he dresses the small wounds with bumblebee-stripes and monarch wings.

Gonta lets his broad shoulders relax. Kokichi finds his own do too, though he hadn’t noticed he'd been tense in the first place.

“Thanks,” Ouma mutters into the galaxy-print lining of his sleeve.

“Thank you for letting Gonta know he's not too stuck-up to talk to,” Gonta half-laughs.

Silence.

“… he does wish that Kokichi could say something nice without needing to say something mean about someone else,” Gonta offers softly with his head down. He winces with anticipation.

Kokichi merely blinks.

“Yeah, well. Well. I thought you people didn’t like lies to spare your feelings, I’m getting major mixed signals!” he shrugs into the jacket.

"That okay. Gonta. Gonta get signals mixed up too, all the time," the boy smiles, much too meek for his stature. It looks as though it could shatter at the lightest touch.

Ouma tilts his head, eyeing it with a sledgehammer.

"... You wanna know the truth?"

Gonta nods. It's a rare opportunity, isn't it?

"I thought you knew."

Kokichi mumbles the inane little phrase, and his chest heaves like he's pushed a boulder off of himself.

He knows in his heart Gonta will look at him confused if he lifts his head from this spot, still staring at the gaudy nineties-office carpet between them. He knows he will not be able to handle it.

Gonta, however, merely nods again.

"Gonta should have known. If Gonta were smart, he would have known. He would have tried harder to save everyone, instead of. Let Monokuma make him 'leave.'"

"Stop that."

Kokichi's ragged nails dig into the armrest beside him. He is seething, but does not raise his voice.

"Gonta sorry–"

"You, do not apologize, to me."

Gonta nods, nods, biting his lip to hide how it quivers, pulling at the ends of long locks of hair.

Violet eyes ignite.

"You just won't get it, will you? Oh, you can, you just don't want to. You should be angry at me. I treated you like shit, and it was not okay! You keep blaming yourself, but how the hell were you supposed to know what would happen?" he throws his hands in front of him, the thoughts flooding out into the empty space. "They didn't even let you remember computers! They actively took that when they re-made you, that cannot be on you, it’s just playing dirty!”

“There’s lots other people know that Gonta does not, though…,” Gonta hiccups, struggling to keep composure.

“None of us knew what swapping the cords would do. Miu fixed the damn thing, and she didn’t know. You didn’t say to yourself ‘hmm, I think I’ll wipe my own memory of the past few hours for funsies and make life harder on myself’n everybody because I can,’ so why should you apologize for it?”

“… B-Because it still happened. It was Gonta’s fault!”

Kokichi pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. (Jeez, you suck at this whole “reassurance” thing. Some leader you’ll make.)

“Okay. You know what, okay, let’s say– just humor me here– that it was your fault, even though it wasn’t on purpose. Why the hell would anyone be mad about it?”

“Because Gonta couldn’t. Couldn’t, either defend himself or, o-r turn himself in, whichever helps classmates!” Gonta croaks out, shaking his head.

(You were going to mercy-kill them all. That’s what your Alter Ego said. You would save them from the killing game by getting it over with. You were the person who proposed that. Just thinking about it now has you sick to your stomach, wracked with grief over a crime gone un-committed, but you have the blessing of hindsight. In the moment, you know you would have done it. You would have, had you not forgotten everything coming out of the simulation, and as much as you want to deny it, pretending you never could have done something so vile is insulting. You can’t insult your friends that way. You only wanted to help. Your heart aches on.

Or maybe that’s old wounds acting up again. They feel nearly the same.)

Kokichi looks at a shell-shocked Gonta and sighs. It would be all too easy to pull one over on him now, to claim this was the reaction he wanted and walk away, to convince Gonta to stay away from him lest he get himself hurt.

But something inside him refuses. A feeling he first can recall feeling on the cold metal slab of the press, not. Remorse, but guilt. He cannot say he regrets letting Gonta take the fall if it got them closer to ending the killing game for good. That does not mean he wanted this.

Kokichi offers Gonta his checkerboard scarf to dry his tears. Wordless. He looks away, but hesitates to stand.

“… Kokichi–?” Gonta stammers, counting how long to hold his breath in little intervals. It tends to help with getting his emotions back in check.

“Call it forgiven,” Kokichi sighs. “Miu has already. You should know that. You talk to her enough. The rest of the class has too, ask any one of them. The only one who hasn’t is you.”

Gonta gently wraps the scarf around balled-up fists, running the smooth texture over rough calluses. Kokichi says nothing of it.

“Gonta killed Miu, and didn’t follow through on helping. Gonta hurt Miu for no reason.”

“You kept her from killing me,” Kokichi leans back, pulling his arms through the sleeves and covering himself in the jacket like it’s a cape. “Can you call that nothing?”

“You died anyway!”

“So did most people. Miu probably would have too, if it hadn’t been to you. And look around. Turns out, you got the two of you out early. Right?”

The stormclouds overhead crackle with streaks of lightning, arcs of electricity refracting through the raindrops on the outside of the glass in fractal patterns of organized chaos.

(The sky here still doesn’t feel real, some days.)

The pair look at each other for a long moment, each daring the other to bend first.

To look away,

or even just to blink.

The rain pitter-patters in the gutter above, rolling lazily down the window pane.

“… But that’s a lie,” Kokichi says. Without leaving room for objection, he carries on: “Because I killed you both.”

Gonta knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Kokichi had meant it when he said he was willing to be executed instead. He knows those tears had to be real because, with no audience to sway and no strategic advantage to gain, Kokichi is making the very same expression right now. Only this time, without being overwhelmed by the stakes, he’s a bit more successful at keeping the tears at bay.

“Gonta don’t think so! Gonta killed Miu, with his hands, and Monokuma k–”

“I got you killed!” Ouma’s composure snaps. He hadn’t meant to raise his voice so much, but such is life. “It was my fault for showing you the flashback light, it was all bullshit, I should have KNOWN it might be bullshit, why get you involved! To save myself? Like I’d ever make it to the end? Stupid! It was a stupid, impulsive non-plan, because I panicked, and it killed the two people that actually gave a shit about me, and how can you call yourself a leader after a fuck-up like that?”

He hiccups, shaking his head.

“I-It's okay, Ouma. See? Gonta is fine, now. Miu is fine….” Gonta tries to placate him, but getting any closer only makes Kokichi curl in on himself more.

“No. No-no-no-no I kn, I knew this would happen, that’s not even conceit I just know I have no idea how to convince you to give a damn about yourself and talk about this without making it about me, it’s about you, and Miu, and you have no reason to comfort me right now,” he points at Gonta.

Caught in the same spiral of teary-eyed, frantic breathing as Gonta was not long before.

“… In for four, hold for eight, out for four,” Gonta nods, matter-of-fact.

Kokichi wants nothing more than to wink out of existence entirely, not die, just disappear as though he’d never happened at all flip him the hell off for the audacity to give orders to his commander, but he is left with little choice than to comply if he wants any chance of saving face.

Fine. In for four, hold for eight. Out for four.

Silence.

Has the rain stopped overhead?

“Miss Marigold told Gonta to try breathing differently last he went to visit,” Gokuhara offers.

“… She’s right about a lot of things,” Kokichi nods, losing any trace of weeping. Their group therapist was, if nothing else, an interesting woman. Enough to consider in passing, even if not to her face.

“You deserve a better apology than I can give you,” Kokichi’s voice crackles. “I should be sorry. And. I am, but I’m. Not? I didn’t want you dead. But I still wanted to live. I didn’t want Miu dead, but it had to happen. I didn’t want anybody dead, I thought you knew what happened going into the trial. Okay? I fucked up, really bad, and I’m sorry it didn’t work. I’m sorry my plan B was to say a ton of shit I didn’t believe in, and have that all go down the drain too, I’m. Sorry I failed you,” he picks his head up. He looks at the bridge of Gonta’s glasses.

It hurts to smile, but it’s all he really knows how to do.

Gonta ponders this, for a moment.

As breathless seconds tick by, Kokichi finds himself trapped in an eternity of personal hell.

(Why do you care what he thinks so much? Why have you? You’ve lost the right to ask anything more of him, for certain, so why do you need to hear what comes next?)

“… Kaito punched me after. Which. Fair. Y-ou can get a shot in too, if you want,” he tries to laugh, but the sound is strangled beyond recognition.

“Is Gonta still that scary?” Gokuhara says without hesitation, a sorrowful look on his face. “Gonta sorry! Gonta doesn't want to escalate things that way! Not ever!”

“No. You aren’t, Gonta.” (And that’s a lie, but it’s not his stature that’s scaring you. Or anything about him at all, save the idea of his scorn.)

“Good! Gonta won’t hurt Kokichi. Kokichi hurts enough anyway,” he nods, still processing. Now he’s doing it out loud. “Gonta knows Kokichi won’t want him to say ‘sorry’ again, and Kokichi probably doesn’t accept forgiveness either. Yeah?”

Kokichi blinks. Over and over, as though it were somehow an answer.

“Gonta takes that as ‘yes,’” Gokuhara says, smiling. “That's okay. Gonta is… a little mad, at Kokichi. Not because he tells Gonta to be mad! But in Gonta’s feelings,” he looks down at the table. He nods to bolster his spirits, reassure himself. “Gonta wanted to talk to Kokichi a long time ago, but Kokichi always walks away. Kokichi pretends Gonta is not there, and it feels… really bad. Gonta is glad Kokichi stopped to talk to him now, even if he is still a little mad.”

This, apparently, Does Not Compute. Kokichi’s expression turns blank, utterly uncertain of what to do with itself. Kokichi is too busy puzzling things out to worry about performing the appropriate face.

“You don’t. H-Hate,,”

“Gonta don’t want hate you. Not before, not now.” Gonta looks off at the wall above Kokichi’s head for a moment. He puts on his best imitation, clumsy but sincere– “It’s true!”

Kokichi laughs harder than he has in ages. Gonta beams.

“Alright. Alright, what do you want, though? For now, for later, for the good of the order,, ?”

“Hmm,” Gonta enunciates, just so Kokichi doesn’t look quite so lost again. “Gonta wants… to be. Friends? Sometime. Not all at once, but some time. If Kokichi wants, too.” After a small deliberation, he adds: “Not henchman. Not subordinate. Gonta will listen to Kokichi sometimes, but if Gonta doesn’t want to he won’t! And if he does, he will.”

Kokichi gathers up the energy to make an Appropriately Large Display of ‘thinking this over’ before finally letting himself say “I think I can manage that. You drive a hard bargain, Gokuhara-chan! But who am I to deny a fine negotiator?”

Gonta’s expression turns sullen again, a hair’s breadth from whispering ‘oh, it’s okay, you can if you want to I don’t want to impose,’ only for him to nod with the realization. He gets a little starry-eyed with the approval. Kokichi makes a mental note.

“Well, bet you the party’s started by now. Do you feel like elbowing your way back in to a loud, crowded classroom, or do you wanna come look at worms on the sidewalk with me?” Kokichi smirks, like it’s a forgone conclusion.

Gonta is so, so tempted to go with his gut instinct, but. No. Consider what Miss Marigold has been telling you. What Kokichi told you, too, care about yourself. What is it you want?

“Earthworm is an annelid, totally separate phylum from arthropoda– ‘bugs’ go in arthropoda, separate clade too since arthropods have no evidence of spiral cleavage in the makeup of bodies during early development. Earthworm is more like mollusk than bug, more in common with octopus than bumblebee, evolutionarily. In fact, ‘true bug’ classification does not even include bees, or flies, or most colloquial ‘bugs’!”

Kokichi rests his chin on his right arm, having put his jacket back on properly. “Okay. Mm-hmm… d. Do you wanna, though?”

“Gonta would be happy to escort you,” he nods, standing up. Gonta offers his arm to Kokichi.

Kokichi takes it, but still pulls himself up. Progress.

“Such a gentleman,” Kokichi says in a teasing tone too-tainted with a twinge of sincerity. “You were saying?”

Gonta, on his own terms, is happy to oblige.

The checkered scarf stays tucked into the front pocket of Gonta’s suit, Kokichi’s fingers are covered in insect-patterned bandages, and nobody says anything of it.

74 notes · View notes

esta-elavaris · 2 months

Note

Hi!

Sooooo, I was wallowing in self pity because there was no HWFG (no pressure to write or update! I just can’t be normal about that story) so I went to check your ao3 and was surprised to see that you’re a fellow James Norrington truther! It inspired me to rewatch the first two pirates of the Caribbean movies and I kinda fell into the norrington rabbit hole again.

That made me read fallen through time and I honestly became OBSESSED so when I was done with the chapters you posted for that story I immediately turned to catch the wind and,,,,,,, [insert unhinged meme about ripping out guts]. I started reading it on Saturday and I couldn’t put it down so I read through two nights and am now tired as fuck, sitting at work, trying to appear busy while still reading your story. What have you done to me!!! I just read the wedding night chapter (I’m going insane, that had no business being so hot???) and honestly, that was so rewarding? Very well written smut aside, the slow burn was soooo good and there were moments where I had actual tears in my eyes??? Theo’s pain when she overheard Elizabeth accepting James‘ proposal? AH!!!! I adore their relationship. The banter, the soft moments, their conflict, their quiet conversations (though I must say I maybe even like it more in fallen through time? He’s just so mean, suspicious and stupid at times in that one, I live for that). I feel like theyre the definition of „she fell first, he fell harder“ and at one point i was really reminded of something I’ve read elsewhere… it was something like „you’re looking at me with purpose“ and that’s just so spot on for James? He’s so devoted to her it makes my heart melt.

On that note, it’s so impressive how much research you’ve done?! And how much thought you’ve put into everything? It’s not easy to write for that time period (I say as a person with two degrees in history lol), especially when it comes to balancing the cultural differences between norrington and Theo? That made everything even more fun to read.

And it’s so impressive how you manage to have this story follow the events of the movies but for it to never become boring or repetitive? You manage to capture the characters we all know and love so well while also making them your own. Your James, of course, is spot on, but also Elizabeth and will? And in all honesty, I maybe like your jack sparrow more than the canon one. He serves as comic relief so much that you sometimes forget he’s a seasoned pirate and much more intelligent, provident and even dangerous than one might think. He feels much more human in your story in my opinion. And that moment where he returns to Tortuga and confronts Theo about the cannibals? I laughed so loud that my bf woke up lol

Okay so I’ll stop rambling now, I just wanted to drop by to tell you how much I love your work and how glad I am that I checked out your norrington/theo stuff. Theo is amazing and I love them both so much. My boss just left the building and I sure will spend the rest of my time at work today reading, they don’t pay me enough anyway. I so hope that her attempt at changing James’ fate will work out and I’m very anxious but also excited to find out where this all goes!

Sending love and appreciation from Germany!

I know I'm on a tumblr break but this is too nice and it has me crying too much to leave it to gather dust in my inbox 🫠🫠🫠

Thank you so so so so SO much!!!

Honestly Catch the Wind will always have a special place in my heart (the people who have sat and watched me continue to talk about it ~14 months after it was finished are like "we know, babe") because I wrote it like, being somewhat fond of Norrington but mostly to get the idea for a Boromir fic out of my system, and instead I ended up sick over Norrington and still writing the Boromir fic anyway. Buuut I mean I got my favourite project so far out of it so I can't complain, I just laugh at how I played myself. Tbf tho, it was a great thing because POTC was a great stepping stone towards even more intimidating LOTR territory!

I'm so glad the smut was decent, too! That was the first story I've ever written it for and I was so nervous about it 💀 I do completely agree with your view on Theo and James as a couple though - the falling first/harder, and the "you're looking at me with purpose" both. I just don't think he'd ever be the type to get complacent. He's not a man who lays on the charm to win the girl, before thinking "what's the point in continuing to try?" once he "has" her. I see him as being such a ride or die, insanely loyal, "that is my WIFE", Gomez Addams coded guy, I love him for it. Those sitcom coded jokes where a guy hates his wife the second he marries her would be the very opposite of his kind of thing. That's why I had so much fun giving him that back in Theo, considering Elizabeth doesn't return his feelings in the movies.

And I mean, I don't think he's owed that from her and I don't think less of her for not returning those feelings, she can't help it (although I do raise my eyebrows at anybody who'd choose Will over The Noz, but people are allowed to be wrong ig), and I think if anything it'd be worse if she did marry him in the end without having that same level of feeling, but it was just so nice to give him someone as dedicated to him as he was to her in Theodora 🥹 I also think Boromir has a lot of that in him, so I'm very excited about his future with Sybil.

I'm also so thrilled to hear the research went appreciated - a lot of it was very fun, like if I hadn't done an Eng Lit/Creative Writing degree, I would've gone into history (I actually almost did do a second degree in history but the funding didn't work out, so I stick to just reading a lot, which I'm cool with), and like most of it was fun, but there were times when I was googling a) the origin of the coffee table, and b) 18th century equivalents of a coffee table/accent table at 4am for the sake of one throwaway line where I did wonder about my path in life. I swear, I deep-dived into it in the notes usually because I at least wanted to make it clear when I had done my research vs when I was knowingly deviating (a few unknowing mistakes did slip through but I think how much research otherwise went into it kind of makes people more willing to overlook a mistake here and there?) but also because it meant I could get more out of said research binges than just one unnoticeable line in a random paragraph 🤡

And JACK. God. I could write a dissertation on Jack. What they do to his character in movies 4/5 are 90% of the reason I don't like them and have only seen them once each. The other 10% is that uhhh they're just crap. Like it's so, so clear in the first three - mainly because of JD's fab acting - that the eccentric thing masks a lot of intelligence and cunning. He'll do his whole "weirdo" shtick, and I don't even think it's entirely an act, I think he is truly eccentric to an extent, but there'll just be these really brief moments where there's just a gleam in his eye, or he'll be suddenly serious for 0.5 seconds and you see what's going on behind the mask, and you realise it is a mask. Whereas in 4/5 it turns into a thing of "idiot who bumbles around and finds his way by sheer luck", which was never what he was in the trilogy.

I also think his crew's reaction to him shows that he is more than willing to be a hardass captain when it comes to it - the moment off of the top of my head is when Cotton's parrot goes "walk the plank" in movie two and his gun is immediately out and he's not happy and they all kinda startle a bit. But even without glimpses like that, like, they're pirates. If he was weak, and he wasn't willing to be stern and not take shit, they wouldn't follow him, and he wouldn't be half as infamous as he is. They know he's odd, but it's clear they respect him, so he must have earned that respect.

He was the one I was most scared of having to write going into this thing (along with Barbossa and Beckett), because he's so easy to get wrong. I'm always so, so thrilled when I hear I did him justice!

Okay, I have written you an entire dissertation here, so I'll stop now and just say again THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH!!!! 💜💜💜 I've read this like ten times since I first received it, it had me grinning like an idiot every single time, I'm so grateful -- and I hope you like what I have in store for HWFG! The wait shouldn't be tooo long, I'm taking April off of posting but not writing, so ideally I'll have something to post in the very beginning of May!

(and I'll reply to your other ask in a bit, I just wanted to make it clear I wasn't ignoring this!!)

#asks #CTW #james/theodora #dissertation!lucy strikes again

9 notes · View notes

kolbietheaggrievedwriter · 11 months

Text

misc excerpts 7/?

Category: Katekyo Hitman Reborn/Naruto

Title: praying to whatever is in heaven, please send me a felon

Summary: Kaito had no intention of interfering with the main characters, even if he seems to have landed in this world a year or two after the canon storyline ended. So of course he hops into bed with an Arcobaleno (unknowingly!) and gains his interest, which leads him into many an uncomfortable talk with the other Arcobaleno, into Vongola’s crosshairs, and into a cross-country courtship with Skull fucking de Mort.

Notes: Title is from "Female Robbery" by The Neighbourhood.

This is an extremely self-indulgent SI/OC/Skull fanfic (that takes place after the canon storyline, so Skull and the rest of the Arcobaleno are in their adult forms.) Like y'all, I gave my SI/OC Hiraishin!! Just because I could!!!! I am absolutely never continuing this, at least not as is, because Kaito is way too OP, but I might eventually cannibalize parts of it for a fic that won't make me cringe myself out of existence. Anyway, AO3 is down, so here's something to entertain yourself for a little bit.

-o-

It starts with a dark and dingy bar, full of criminals and low lifes and the dirty underbelly of society. It’s the kind of place where brawls are nonexistent, and no one cares what your name is. It’s perfect for Kaito, coming off a botched job, one where the client lied about his motivations for the hit, and Kaito ended up fighting off a small army trying to escape after he offed the guy.

He’s pissed and disgruntled, and he nurses a single glass of whiskey in a dingy corner for a while as he works out a way to make future clients wary of double-crossing him. Just killing the fuckers apparently isn’t enough of a message, so maybe he has to be more brutal. Torture? Or some public display?

He hasn't quite decided yet when someone new enters the bar, instantly catching his attention. The guy's got brown hair and vibrant green eyes, and he looks really good in that weathered leather jacket and tight jeans. God, but he's got piercings. And those boots. Why does he have a chain hanging off pf his pants? That's so goddamn stupid and weirdly hot, and he might be the prettiest man Kaito's ever seen.

It takes all of ten seconds for Kaito to decide he's going to go for it. It wouldn't be the first time he's hit on a stranger in a bar, and it certainly won't be the last. Because he's not a complete moron, he does wait and watch for another ten minutes, looking for signs the guy is waiting on someone or for said someone to show up.

But no one shows. At the ten minute mark, Kaito goes right on over there, making sure to make some noise, even though he doubts the guy is a civilian. This bar serves a certain clientele, after all, and besides, he's met enough dangerous individuals in his line of work to recognize one, even if he can't quite tell how dangerous. As the literally only being in this dimension to possess chakra, he can hardly use that as a measure of strength, even though it would be so convenient.

Few things in this world are, for a displaced faux ninja.

He slips onto the seat next to the guy, ready with a flirtatious smile when he turns to look. "Hi, I'm Kaito, and you're really pretty. Want to get to know me?"

It's a stupid, cheesy line, but Kaito's normal prospects usually find it just this side of endearing. It's all about the delivery.

Pretty Guy startles, just a little, then he smiles back, stupidly charming and visibly flattered. "Hearing that from someone as pretty as you-" he laughs, and it's so cute, what the fuck- "I'm Yulian, and I'd love to."

This, right here, is definitely, undoubtedly, wholeheartedly, and unquestionably the moment Kaito really fucked up.

But it's not where it really started.

-o-

It starts with a dreamlike video game or perhaps a video game-like dream. Nevertheless, there is a character creation screen and a character carefully created after hours and hours (maybe an hour and a half) of deliberating and contemplating and self-indulging.

The character is a ninja in a world full of them. Short, black hair that curls over his ears. Ruby red eyes with visible rings in them. Fair skin, high cheekbones, dimples. Tall, lean, muscular, nimble.

Yuuhi Kaito, age 22, stands before him, mouth pulled into an easy smile, a hint of mischief in his eyes, a deceptive ease to his stance. He’s perfect.

After that, skill slots are quickly filled up. Gear is equipped. An elemental affinity is chosen. He hovers between two Special Skills for a while, but eventually, he goes with his heart. Also, the coolest choice with the most potential for badassery.

The generated backstory is skimmed over. Kaito is the older brother to Yuhi Kurenai, and in canon, he died during the Third War. In this world, he survives, becomes a tokubetsu jounin, joins ANBU, gets handpicked to join the Yondaime’s guard, and like the others, he is taught the Hiraishin Jutsu. Unlike them, however, he figures out how to use it on his own. As one can imagine, this changes things.

Eager to get into this strange, new world and discover those changes, he doesn’t hesitate to save and then select Game Start.

He probably should have hesitated.

-o-

He's so fucking stupid.

He almost can't believe he'd do something so idiotic, but he did, so clearly, there's some string of DNA inside of him dedicated to dumbassery and other stupid stunts, some gene that forces him to make the worst decision possible in any given situation, even when he's not aware it's possible.

How the fuck was he supposed to know Pretty Bar Guy was a canon character?? How on earth was he supposed to know that Yulian was actually Skull de fucking Mort??? How was he to know this random dude he picked up at a bar was a fucking disguised Arcobaleno???

And!!! Worse!!!! How was he to know that this dude would fall in love with him after a random fling??

20 notes · View notes

lsleofthelost · 7 months

Note

What are your honest thoughts on the book kids? Both vk and ak?

i’m gonna be so honest with you it’s been a while since i reread the books. (what’s kinda adjacent is that i wish the books, the movies and the animated stuff was more cohesive with each other but i understand that they never planned on it being such a big franchise)

let me cut it here bc it got so long, i was very into it

i most vividly remember the first one, the prequel, and i dont think we see any kids that aren't in the movies, other than mentions. though i think Audrey in it is great, like her brittle handle on being the Perfect Auradon Princess and her huge desire to just sweep all unseemly things under the rug and like almost forceful insistence that everything is fine and great and all that exists is the softness and beauty in Auradon, down to her ignoring animals that aren't cute, ones that dont coo and cuddle. but when Ben pushes her she's intense and angry and almost scary.

the second book, return to the isle of the lost, introduces fun vks and mainly just name drops some aks:

i really like Mad Maddy, i like the thought that she and Mal were besties as kids, as close as sisters, twins even. and the fact that something happened between them that made Mal dye her hair, which she still does all these years later. i also think it's fun that her and Evie immediately dislike each other upon meeting. and i like that she's never 'redeemed', she's bitter and angry and scheming. and not bitter like Uma is, who wants more and better for herself and others, but deep in 'evil over everything' bitter, she leans into it and wants worse for everyone else.

Anthony Tremaine is so cunty. like i know we never get a visual of him but i know he was serving. he was comitted to his noble aesthetic and his bored drawl. i also liked that in the books there were a lot of cousins, i think it could be fun to have like a gang of them with maybe other nobles from their country (though obvi they wouldn't refer to themselves as a gang, they're too self-important and 'above it all'). i don't remember him doing anything super important other than supporting Maddy, which makes me think he's like a passive guy re: Isle situation, just choosing whatever he thinks is going to benefit him (and by extension, Tremaines) the most. in my fics, he and the Tremaines usually are adjacent Mal's gang through Dizzy's connection to Evie, just as like gratitude for watching out for her.

Ginny Gothel is great too, i don't know why i don't use her more, i really should. she was kinda friendly with Mal in the first book, not like they run together but more like they don't really have anything against each other and in social situations they talk and drink together. i love that she stole stuff from Maleficent's apartment it's fun. she very much gives me narcissit's daughter, who internilises it all and tries to imitate her mother. i think she would probably be very competetive, especially with Evie (overall, i think they have a potential for an interesting dynamic... a lot can be said but i don't wanna get too sidetracked, send me an ask if it's interesting to u)

Yzla doesn't do much except attend the Anti-Heroes club which i took as a green light to pretty much create my oc. i still think it's kinda dumb for Yzma to have a kid but eh whatever. i think Yzma wouldn't be a stereotypically bad mother, i think she's more like neglectful in a bad mood and "my kid and i are friends, im cool" in a good mood. anyway, when i do Yzla, they're nonbinary and androgynous, and a little manic, really smart, good at engineering and chemistry, so usually i make them a part of the gang and Carlos's assistant.

genuinely don't care for Hadie. like, i think the name is stupid, i think that he's Mal's half brother is stupid (since they never do anything about it), but i think there's potential to this character.

Diego de Vil is my babygirl. i have like a whole character inside my head for him because i think the potential of Carlos having a cool older cousin is just so great. if you go to my bad apples tag, you'll see more, but i created a whole band for him (and a twin!). he has a devil may care attitude and cares for Carlos but doesn't know how to express it at all.

now for the ones i don't have much to say about: Claudine Frollo has so so much potential and i've read really cool fics with her and the religious trauma she would obviously have. Harry and Jace should probably have a cool dynamic with Carlos, what with being forced to work for the de Vil family but i honestly forget they exist a lot of the time. Big Murph is friendly and helpful that is all i have to say about him (but it's interesting that he doesn't follow Uma). Eddie Balthazar and Hermie Bing just seem like they're there to fill spaces, but i'd love if someone fleshed them out. Gaston twins, i've seen good characterisation of them as following their father's footsteps and i think they are like if himbos were evil.

for the AKs of this book:

Pin, eh, not much to say except the name's dumb. Artie is a baby, but seems hot-headed in that heroic way. Herkie (again, dumb name) should have beef with Mal. Gordon is a little jealous, but i think he opens up a possibility of like messy family drama between the kids of the dwarves lol. i don't even wanna discuss Tiger Peony because i wish they didn't touch the indigenous characters because of the implications it has in-universe and they didn't do much with her anyway.

okay, now onto the rise of the isle of the lost:

whew, i love that this is focused on uma. i know i personally don't talk about her a lot since i'm mostly absorbed with the rotten four, but i love her and the pirates dearly.

(re: the Hook sisters, i don't have strong opinions on them, just thathc that's canon to me, they're all from different mothers)

Jonas is one of the people who has a confirmed appearence and the same actor was in the rotten to the core sequence, so i choose to believe it's the same guy. in my head, he used to be a vendor at the market, bored and tired of having to protect his stand, which is why he eagerly joins Uma.

i don't remember much of the personalities of other crew members, if they were given any, but i've read great Uma-centric stuff that fleshed them out greatly and really made me care about them.

for the aks, this is the first time we meet Lonnie's older brother. i don't wanna even type out the hate crime of a name they gave him. but overall, i think it's funny that Lonnie's a little sister, explains why she want to rebel and is always in everyone's business lol. for him personally, afaik he's not that much older than the main cast and i think the fact that him and Jay are friends so fun.

for Arabella, it's never revealed who her parents are but if we base it on the live action, i'd say her mum is Perla, she's said to be charismatic and diplomatic, her kingdom values the arts, which are qualities i think we can see in Arabella. i think it has interesting implications that she can go between land and sea as she wishes, especially if we take into account that magic is practically forbidden. is she an exception? also this is the second time an ak causes a uhhh hardship? in their desperation. Jane in d1, to change herself to fit into the judgemental social world of Auradon nobility, and Arabella here to prove that she's capabel of leading. she's said to be obsessed with Evie's style and overall a huge fashion lover, which i think probably makes people call her vapid, vain, ditzy, etc and why she wants to prove herself so badly. honestly, i don't see her a lot and i don't think i've ever written her into any of my fics but she offers a good window into what it's like to be a royal.

i thiiink this is also where Aziz is mentioned again? but genuinely all i take for him from canon is just his name. i love him and Jordan (Laila's version): they're practically siblings, they're a little too carefree, Aziz is leading the sassy man apocalypse and Jordan takes every opportunity to humble him (lovingly), they're kind of party animals though media just calls them socialites lol

ok im gonna be real with you, i never read escape from the isle of the lost so i think that's all, i hope i didn't miss anyone!

#descendants #im SORRY this is soooo long #laila.txt #asks #cleverqueencommander #also sorry i know there are typos i missed lol

17 notes · View notes

mickmundy · 1 year

Text

hello everyone, happy friday! <3 i wanted to do my bushmedicine fic's chapter update a little differently this time and write up something like an analysis(?) of what's going on in sniper's head that i really can't talk about so candidly in my fics.

it's important to me that the reader knows that sniper is very much a flawed person and part of this fic is about him realizing (and understanding) his emotions and feelings, not just in relation to medic (because i think good character development must happen for the sake of The Self before The Ship if that makes sense). i wanted to talk about what i'm trying to get across as the author and important points i want the reader to take notice of! :-) so let's get to it!

so as we've known the past few chapters, medic and sniper are baking together. sniper's at the point where he starts feeling like he can be a bit more vulnerable around medic. he tells medic about how he used to bake with his mother... undoubtedly this is a bit of a bittersweet thing for sniper, given that he hasn't done something like this since his mum passed.

sniper tells medic about this time that he'd been baking with his mum and acted impulsively/selfishly on some desire he'd had. it wasn't ever his intention to displease his parents, least of all his mother. obviously we know from canon that sniper eventually does intentionally displease his parents by going off and being an assassin, but I think that was something that took a lot for him to do.

“I watched me mum toss the whole thing. I was devastated. I’d been lookin’ forward to that pie all week. [...] Stupid, that was. But I couldn’t help it.

when sniper took and ate the "ruined" pie, he knew what he did was wrong. betrayed his mum's trust, disobeyed her when she told him to throw it out, etc. the desire that overcomes sniper here can be taken literally (he's hungry and wants the dessert), but it's intended to be symbolic of this... other aspect of sniper's personality that sniper always knew was within him but never actually "put a face to"... not something that was evil, but something that simply... was. a part of himself that sniper knew but didn't understand.

"Didn’t mean to be selfish about it, but some desire just… overcame me. I’d wanted it so bad, even though I knew it was wrong."

this, in sniper's mind, while it was wrong, it wasn't evil. it didn't hurt anybody and nobody stood to lose anything. i think his mum would be someone that always did her best to be emotionally sensitive to sniper, but ultimately not in the way that sniper felt he needed. in his youth he'd fantasize (seldom ever, if ever, acting upon them) about doing (small) rebellious things that, in his mind, were forgivable enough so that his parents would know he was still sweet Mickey, but was kind of... testing the limits of their love for him. he couldn't help that part of him wanted something that was wrong... but would his family still love him anyway?

this is very important to sniper, because he felt completely outcasted by everyone except for his family (specifically his mother). they're all he has. maybe doing this harmless thing could serve as a test for how they'd treat him if he'd really messed up or done something "bad." he needed to know that his parents needed him as badly as he needed them. he's always felt a duty to his parents (as most children do) and that isn't something that sniper takes lightly. he loves his parents no matter what. but would they love him no matter what?

he's horrible at reading people, but he wants to be good at it. he wants to understand others but more importantly, he wants to be understood and accepted, not rejected. for Someone Like Me, this is just how... thinking is. and it can be tiring and frustrating and complicated and sometimes it's easier to just... feel nothing at all!

i delve into the idea of the... simultaneous smothering and rejection (and Commitment to Misunderstanding him) he feels from his parents in the fic following this one, so i don't want to say too much about it now.... hehe!

[...] “you… felt that hunger again?” Medic asked [...] Sniper wordlessly moved to help, following the doctor’s patterns. “Ye- well, I guess it never really… went away. Like it wasn’t even about the bloody pie in the first place..."

unfortunately, this "small act of rebellion" stuck with sniper for the rest of his life. these kinds of feelings don't just go away. and this isn't something that "randomly acting out" can fix. sniper's revisting this moment with the New Wisdom of what medic has (unknowingly) taught him about feelings and realizes that maybe it wasn't as literal as him wanting a pie or wanting to act out.

sniper's notoriously frustrated with his hunger, but it's beginning to grow more and more as he spends more time around medic; to medic, these kinds of feelings are part of who we are and there's nothing bad or wrong about them. they're beautiful and worth celebrating, actually! and at this point in the fic we can see that sniper is slowly learning that. this thing (thoughts, feelings, desires) you taught yourself to hate? it's not evil. it's worthy of love, actually. that voracious desire isn't something that you need to suffer at the hands of. grab it by the horns and enjoy it!

Medic adored Sniper and adored his hunger, the hunger that made him what he was. He wanted to bring that hunger out in Sniper even more, wanted to feel the starving gnash of its teeth and tell it that he hears it, sees it for its monstrousness and loves it anyway.

and here's medic, a coworker that sniper never gave a second glance to (and vice versa). we know medic is the emotional opposite of sniper: he's very "loud" with his feelings, never seeks to dilute his personality, prioritizes himself over others, etc. and these aren't negative traits to sniper. sniper admires that medic can say what he means and means what he says and does what he wants when he wants. medic doesn't have the same emotional struggles as Sniper, but he's sympathetic to them and patient with him. he's effortlessly "passing the test" of unconditional love that sniper has wanted from someone for so long.

It suddenly became absolutely necessary to put himself close to Medic.

after being vulnerable and reflecting on some random anecdote of his past with medic, the doctor doesn't reject him. doesn't coddle him and tell him he's perfect, either. nice, easy balance. that makes sniper feel safer, like he can maybe begin to truly talk to medic (and maybe get a little physically closer too!). of course, they had a pretty heavy conversation early on about sniper's revival, but sniper's still convinced that's just pity. with time though, he's beginning to see that medic really does want to emotionally invest in him, and cherishes him just the way he is... which nobody has ever done before!

medic already knows that sniper is worthy of love (and revival... hehe), and wants to be the person to give that love to sniper. he doesn't want sniper feeling shame for who he is, because medic adores who sniper is. after all of their escapades together in my fics, we see that medic is most worried about scaring sniper off or breaking this... unspoken emotional trust that sniper has in medic that he's built throughout the course of the fics. more on that will be brought up later, but we'll leave it at that for now. :)

“Always felt like I was greedy, even when I wasn’t even taking anything. Thought if I finally took something I wanted, I’d feel better. But I just felt worse. Wise to know those kinds of feelings are best left alone.”

feeling certain feelings (gay feelings. this is about gay feelings) and not knowing what they are (but knowing that they aren't necessarily celebrated or accepted by the world at large) is scary. you try to push those things down to appease people around you who have no idea what's going on in your head, and you're in an emotional stalemate: telling them and facing rejection (putting it Mildly)... or learning how to just. smother your feelings and... don't deal with it?

sure, thats a good idea, sniper. let's just not deal with it!

his entire life, sniper's been treating his hunger (a metaphor that's VERY superficial at this point in my fic but grows with later installments) like it's this creature that he feeds now and then with some silly thing (small acts of rebellion, for example) to distract himself from further trying to understand what that feeling really is. i don't think sniper is very emotionally intelligent (sorry king </3) so i think the word hunger is just the word he chose to describe it, even if it might not fit how he's feeling. this is intentional!

for me personally, i like to have A Word that i can apply to multiple feelings at once. it itches my brain just right sldkf.. so i'm picturing sniper feeling similarly! feelings are put in categories and must be Defined in order for me to Feel them (awesome awetism trait). this is something sniper struggles with in my fics. for example, the word hunger is multi-faceted. it can mean:

ambition ("professionals have standards!")

desire (for medic, romantic, sexual)

literal need for sustenance

general wanting

so i think a lot of sniper's "development" in my fics is about identifying those feelings as much as feeling them. emotions are so complicated! and sorting out how you're feeling is just as complicated for some of us as sorting out what you're feeling!

you've got this, sniper! just go for it! :-)

#thou giveth fever #dutchfoolery #dutchiehcs #WHEEEE HEHEHHEEEE #bushmedicine #medsnip

21 notes · View notes