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nevertheless-moving · 3 years

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Invisible Hand Chaos AU x 2

Star Wars Time Travel AU #31

Continuation from HERE

Anakin whirled to face his Master, “Did you know Yoda had a baby?” he asked incredulous and slightly betrayed.

“What? No. Also he could just be another of Yoda’s species. Obviously.” Internally Obi-Wan thought about the still unnamed larva in a hidden aquatic creche, but the Mandalorian’s associate even called him Baby Yoda...

“Unbelievable,” Dooku muttered. “That little green hypocrite.”

“Did you know about this?” Anakin asked the Sith Lord, temporarily forgetting about the fight in favor of the revelation that Yoda might also have a secret family.

“Of course not, the troll never tells anyone anything,” Dooku ranted, deliberately setting aside the fight in favor of unloading decades of suppressed irritation with his former Master.

“I feel we might be jumping to conclusions here-” Obi-Wan offered weakly.

Anakin scoffed. “He literally just called him Baby Yoda,”

“Loathe as I am to admit it, your apprentice is correct. It would seem the Grandmaster of the order has been keeping some secrets.”

“This is absurd!” Obi-Wan protested as the small child on the balcony above tilted his head curiously, watching the conversation below with interest from the safety of his Buir’s arms.

“I agree.” Anakin said self-righteously. “If Yoda can have a baby then- then everyone in the order should be allowed a family.”

“Anakin...”

“Anakin, as interesting is this all is, I’m still in somewhat of a bind over here,” the Chancellor called across the hall, irritated and somewhat alarmed by the sudden outbreak of peace in the room.

“We’ll be right with you Chancellor, don’t worry!” Obi-Wan called back.

“We just need a minute to figure some Jedi business out!” Anakin added.

“You there- Mandalorian” Dooku called up sharply.

“...Yeah?” the Besker-clad warrior answered uncertainly.

“What is the parentage of the child in your arms? How did you come to possess him?” The count's question cut through everything else in the room, and the two Jedi held their breath as they waited for the answer.

The Mandalorian pulled Grogu in closer, “He is a foundling. I know his name as my child.”

“Mandalorians,” Obi-Wan and Dooku muttered, Obi-Wan fondly, Dooku with exasperation.

“What?” Anakin asked bewildered.

“The Mandalorian adopted him- hold on a second, I’m going to try something.” Obi-Wan said.

“Mando! Forgive me- Have you already attempted to return your foundling to his people and been denied? If not, we can show you where to find an elder of his kind.”

The Mandalorian stiffened. “I already found one of his people. It took a great deal of time; neither of us knew there were any others left in the galaxy. By the time I met Luke...the child was mine and we would not be parted long. The three of us began traveling together. He acted as mentor to Grogu, though he is too young to be considered the boy’s senior. In time...we decided it would be simpler to raise him as a warrior together. We are one.”

“Oh. How wonderful.” Obi-Wan said weakly.

Anakin’s brow furrowed furiously and he lowered his voice “Master did I get that right? This guy is really good friend’s with one of Yoda’s people but the friend is not the Child’s biological father and they don’t know anyone else from the species?”

“He actually said he was married to one of one of Yoda’s people but other than that your conclusions are correct. Very good Padawan.” Obi-Wan nodded, attempting to wrap his head around the various implications.

Dooku made a triumphant hum, “Then, by simple inductive reasoning, and in the absence of an alternative candidate, we can assume that the Child is, in-fact, Yoda’s offspring.”

“Exactly!” Anakin agreed with Dooku excitedly.

“Interesting that he would give the spawn to a Mandalorian, rather than the creche. Embarrassment, perhaps.” the Count mused.

“Unbelievable.” Anakin agreed indignantly.

“Ok, now hold on. Foundling is pretty literal most of the time-” Obi-Wan interrupted. “Mando- was the child entrusted to you or did was there a rescuing involved?”

“...I was assigned to find him as part of a bounty, but found the imps who I was supposed to give him to...unpleasant.”

“Imps?” Anakin asked.

“There you go!” Obi-Wan said, with just a tinge of hysteria. “Yoda didn’t abandon the child- not that it necessarily is Yoda’s child- he was kidnapped.”

Anakin gasped, “Master! We have to save him!”

“Hold on now, Anakin- He seems perfectly safe at this point and we were here for the Chancellor remember?”

“You won’t be leaving here with the Chancellor or the child.” Dooku sneered. “I can sense the force potential- and I am in want of a new apprentice.”

“Over my dead body,” Anakin snarled.

“That can be arranged.”

“Hey Luke-” the Mandalorian said into the comm as the three swordsman began circling one another “-it looks like two of the Jedi are attacking the other- do you want me to get involved?”

“...Din, by any chance, are any of the laser swords red?”

“Yeah, the fanciest dressed one has a red lightsaber, the other guys are blue. Does it matter?”

“...Red lightsaber means not Jedi. I- hold on, I think I see you!”

The three combatants jumped apart again, looking up at the slight comm echo to the sound of footsteps and the absolutely blinding force presence of the approaching Jedi.

Had he never learned shielding? Obi-Wan thought hysterically. “Or was he just so powerful that he never bothered restraining himself?”

He tried to exchange a glance with Anakin, but his padawan was too focused on straining to see the incoming Master force user of some kind- light, but not necessarily Jedi. He instead looked over at Dooku, shrugging in confusion. Dooku grimaced back at him in solidarity.

The being finally entered. He was- significantly taller and less green than Obi-Wan was expecting, but still probably shorter than anyone else in the room.

“Din- are you two alright?” The soft-faced man asked in a remarkably gently voice, appearance somewhat at odds with the overbearing power he exuded.

“We’re fine, Luke but look! More Jedi!” He gestured below.

Luke peered over the balcony, eyes growing wide as they passed over the faces of everyone below. “hoLY KRIFF!” He shouted.

The ship shuddered and Obi-Wan glanced nervously out the view ports, suddenly remembered that the damaged ship only had so long before it fell out of orbit.

“Do you know them?” Din asked.

“Do I- for fuck’s sake Din, I love you but I have literally shown you holopics of my father before.” Luke whispered furiously. The room unfortunately was utterly quiet and remarkably acoustic, meaning his words carried easily to the listeners below.

“FATHER!” Anakin yelled, causing Luke to wince, slapping a gloved hand to his face.

“FATHER!” He repeated loudly, head ping-ponging between Obi-Wan and Dooku as if trying to find a resemblance, before gasping to stare at the Chancellor, before gasping again to squint at Obi-Wan.

“DOES EVERYONE HAVE A SECRET FAMILY!” He shouted, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Oh for force sake- I do not have a secret son. Honestly, Anakin, he’s clearly in his 20s, be reasonable. His birth would however fit into the timeline of Dooku’s withdraw from the order.” Obi-Wan said, raising a brow.

Dooku puffed out his chest, “I did not fail to meet the Code, like so many of the pathetic masses. Before I left the Order I followed the rules precisely. When my disagreements grew too great, and my attempt for structured reform were repeatedly rejected, I left for ethical reasons, not personal ones. I looked at the code and decided it was failing the Jedi.”

He smirked and lifted his chin at the chancellor, who was watching the proceedings with an inscrutable expression, “My, my Chancellor, this is an interesting surprise.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “We’re not idiots, Dooku. Obviously the boy’s parents were force sensitive, look at him.”

Dooku’s smirk grew wider.

“This is absurd! Again!” Obi-Wan threw up his arms and lifted his head to address the dark-robed young human, “Hello there, Luke, was it?”

“Uh, yes. I’m Luke.” The powerhouse responded nervously.

“My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi-”

“Yes, I know who you are.” Luke responded drily.

Anakin gasped.

“He is not my son.” Obi-Wan muttered.

“I’m not Obi-Wan’s son.” Luke called down cheerfully.

“Oh.” Anakin slouched, oddly disappointed. He liked this guy for some reason, felt- connected to him. Maybe it was the dark robes, or the force signature that nearly rivaled his own (though it was somewhat lighter), or even the gloved hand that he suspected was mechanical. If he was Obi-Wan’s son than that would make him practically his brother! The Chancellor might be neat but Dooku...ugh.

“Would you be so kind as to tell us whose son you are? I realize its none of my business but you’ve peaked our curiosity. And then afterwards, regardless of your parentage, we would not mind help in rescuing the Chancellor of the Republic from this slowly crashing ship.”

“Right. Right.” Luke nodded. “Would you give me a second?”

He pressed his head to the side of Din’s helmet and started whispering rapidly, to quiet for anyone else to hear.

The group below exchanged glances, beginning to tense up again. After a few seconds, the Mandalorian nodded and spoke, “Let’s do it. I trust your judgement.” Luke grinned and returned to the edge of the balcony.

“Ok, I can help with the first, but not the second.”

“Perfectly understandable.” Obi-Wan replied.

Anakin bristled. “So Dooku is your father.”

Luke smiled at Anakin. “No. You are my father.”

Anakin blinked as Obi-Wan’s face twisted in confusion. “No...” he said slowly. “No, that’s not true. That’s impossible.”

Luke’s smile grew wider, “Search your feelings,” he said urgently, with the full weight of his force presence screaming honesty with every word, “You know it to be true.”

Anakin gasped as he reached out into the force to find...his son. Impossible, but true. The ground trembled, either with the immensity of the realization, or catastrophic engine failure.

“No.” Obi-Wan said clearly to Luke on the balcony.

“No.” He repeated firmly, snapping a finger in Anakin’s face to try and break him out of the trance he seemed to be in. “It’s not true.” He said to the room in general, incredulous it even needed to be said.

Dooku began slowly backing away. The confrontation was rapidly spinning out of his or his Master’s control; he had only stayed this long to indulge vain curiosity. Regardless if the boy was insane, lying, or a time-traveler, he was clearly powerful. The ship’s orbit was gradually decaying and with any luck he could use his dead man’s switch to speed up the crash as he departed, neatly killing everyone who could stand against him in one stroke.

“Anakin,” the lunatic on the balcony continued, “You can destroy the emperor. He has forseen this. It is your destiny! Join me, and together-”

Din cleared his throat.

Luke stopped and smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry! Sorry. Got a little...carried away there.” He coughed awkwardly into his fist.

“Anyway- yeah. I’m Luke Skywalker. I’m from the future, I guess we... time-traveled accidentally somehow? I uh- was kind-of quoting something you said to me once and you kept going along with it and... yeah, definitely got carried away. Sorry, I really don’t know how we got here but, weird stuff happens around me- one time I was on Yavin IV and these ghosts started- anyway. Long story. Surprise!”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ok...I might believe you’re Anakin’s son.”

Dooku had nearly reached a side door when his treacherous Master called out- “Anakin! Master Kenobi! Dooku- he’s getting away.”

Skywalker’s- Anakin Skywalker’s- attention snapped over to the Count and with a outstretched arm, he crumpled the steel door, throwing a beam across it for good measure. The ship moaned alarmingly and several more red lights began blinking at the navigation panel, unnoticed by anyone.

“Luke- son- I don’t know what Emperor you’re talking about, but help us defeat Count Dooku and save Chancellor Palpatine! After that- after that I’m happy to, um, join you? And meet your... husband? And padawan? Sorry, we were kind-of in the middle of something...”

“Wow. Ok. I’m not sure if-” Luke started to respond before being interrupted by the Mandalorian.

“Wait, Dooku! I know that name!” Din said suddenly. “The covert hated him! He was the evil Sif Emperor you defeated, right?”

“...Sith Emperor. Din, darling and light of my life, as always, your grasp of history and recent current events never fails to amaze me.” Luke sighed.

“You must stop him, before he becomes Emperor,” Palpatine shouted desperately.

Luke sighed again, more heavily. “Fine. FINE! Kriff the timeline, I didn’t ask to be born anyway. Din- go help capture...Emperor Dooku. Grogu- Pod. I’ll go- free the Chancellor.” The floor beneath them gave a lurch. “Before this ship breaks apart. Go!”

Luke and Din jumped off the balcony as a shiny metal pod with a transparisteel view screen closed around Grogu, hovering between them, well off easy reach of the ground.

Din landed between Obi-Wan and Anakin, helmet turning to face each of them in turn, “...I’ll follow your lead.” He finally said, arming his weapons.

Obi-Wan grinned fiercely, “Excellent, Anakin, stay with me.”

“I was just about to say the same thing.”

“Mando, you- Is that the DARKSABER- ARE Yoouu- ugh you know what, I will ask after the fight. I will ask after the fight. How did the Mand'alor- NEVERMIND. Let’s just- FORCE I have so many questions-”

“No time, Master!”

And the battle began.

#star wars #the mandalorian #my au #invisible hand chaos au #star wars au no 31 #i had so much fun writing this you have no idea #star wars au #time travel #star wars fanfiction

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whythinktoomuch · 3 years

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stranded in memory

It’s not clear how Lex has managed to pull it off, but he did; he got into Supergirl’s head, and he did it quite literally so as to achieve it quite figuratively, and now Kara Danvers might be lost forever.

It’s after the second attack—the second time Supergirl storms into the DEO to demand, where are you keeping them?—when they first notice the ugly scar at the base of her neck.

Red and angry, poorly healed despite living on Kryptonian skin.

No one manages to get close enough to examine it though, what with Supergirl tearing through metal walls and burning down entire facilities to conduct her frenzied search.

But whatever it is, the mechanism embedded in her skull has somehow made it so that Supergirl can look Alex Danvers right in the eye and strike her down with heat vision for masquerading as her sister.

The resulting burns forcibly put Alex on bed rest despite extensive, swear-riddled protest.

“It appears that Kara’s retained all her memories, but none of ties to reality that would allow her to recognize you,” Brainy concludes to the comfort of absolutely no one.

“Well, is she even Kara anymore then? Shouldn’t we approach this like we would any other threat?” asks one lone agent, subjecting himself to Alex’s absolute unmitigated fury in the process.

Lena keeps her distance at first. She’s seen the damage:

her penthouse somehow upended,

countless conference rooms and offices at L-Corp torn apart,

the entirety of National City scrambling for cover as Supergirl makes reckless use of all her superpowers.

And she knows that Supergirl must be looking for her too. Lex wouldn’t have done any of it, without the guarantee that Lena would end up coerced into direct involvement. It wouldn’t be worth it otherwise.

And so, she locks herself away in an underground, lead-lined panic room, built for such an occasion.

Because... well, if it’s true that Supergirl almost killed her own sister, how could Lena ever hope to survive the encounter? She wasn’t even on good terms with the Supergirl that would remember her in the first place.

But then, things grow darker and even more dire. No one’s died yet, by some unbelievable stroke of luck, but there have been many close calls. So many that the city has started losing faith in their own Girl of Steel.

And Supergirl has been winding down, slowly but surely, her physical condition unable to keep pace with her inner drive. It won’t be long before some branch of the government or another successfully shoots her down, but there’s only one that will never go for the kill shot.

So, Lena finally resurfaces and joins forces with what’s left of the DEO, and gets to work on a kryptonite-powered snare. It almost works.

Supergirl flies right into the trap, immediately twined by thick cords of sickly bright green wrapping around her body. She starts thrashing against her bonds, growling out warnings in a dead language whenever anyone tries to get close.

"Okay, this isn’t working, guys,” Dreamer says, after her third attempt and subsequent failure to grab hold of the wrists tied behind Supergirl’s back. “She’s still too strong.”

But at the sound of Dreamer’s voice, the red disappears from Supergirl’s eyes. She sits up, startled, and calls out, “Nia?”

They’re all overwhelmed with relief then—Supergirl, and maybe even Kara, included—because at last, Lex’s device seems to have worn off.

But when Supergirl turns around to greet Dreamer, finally face to smiling face, a darkness sweeps back over her features. “You,” she says, her tone strangled with bitterness. “Who the hell are you, and what did you do with Nia?”

Dreamer frowns, utterly baffled. “Kara, what are you talking about? It’s me... Nia.” But she takes a step too close, and Supergirl headbutts her into the ground.

A brawl ensues, and Supergirl manages to throw everyone off her and escape by way of ungainly, lumbering flight, still bundled in kryptonite laced restraints against all impossibility.

They find the mangled contraption some miles away in pieces.

Nia’s head is very bruised and somewhat concussed, but she thankfully emerges from the medical bay relatively unscathed.

Ultimately, Lena’s the one who figures it out, by repeatedly asking for the play-by-play of the failed capture and then reviewing the body cam footage for further research. There’s no way to know for sure, of course, but time is definitely running out, with Supergirl now facing an entire fleet of military aircraft armed with kryptonite. So, Lena takes her findings and rushes onto the scene.

Supergirl is making her last stand, forced into a final corner with her back against the wall, eyes still blazing with heat vision. Until she hears a familiar voice crackling in her ear, the DEO comms whirring back to life.

“Kara?” calls the voice, and Supergirl becomes a statue, breath stuttering, almost unwilling to believe her own ears. “Kara, can you hear me...?”

“Lena...” Supergirl says her name like a prayer, a slight tremor starting up in her legs and traveling all over. “You’re okay? Oh god, you’re okay...”

Everyone starts yelling then—Alex and Brainy and Nia, nameless stiff-lipped military men trying to secure a clear shot at the fallen hero—but Lena heeds none of it as she walks onto the battlefield. Supergirl whips her head around, regarding her approach with suspicion.

“It’s still me,” Lena says through the earpiece. “Right now, I’m just in the lexo-suit for my own safety.”

“I... I can’t see your face...”

“I know, Kara. I know.”

Lena, now firmly in the way of anyone who plans on taking aim at Supergirl, stops just a few short steps away from her. “Okay, I need you to trust me now, Kara.”

And Kara, the Girl of Steel now fallen to dust, starts to cry. “Something’s wrong, Lena,” she says. “Something is so terribly wrong with me, and I don’t know what to do...”

“I know, and it’s going to be okay,” Lena says, her own emotions sealed away behind purpose. “But right now, I just need you to trust me. Do you trust me, Kara?”

Kara nods right away, one hand roughly swiping at her eyes.

“Close your eyes.”

Kara draws back, shoulders stiffening, a bright red gathering in her gaze.

“Kara, it’s still me,” Lena tells her gently. “I can come to you, but you just need to close your eyes first.”

“Why?” Kara demands.

“Do you trust me?”

Kara’s eyes run all over the sleek design of the lexo-suit, swallowing hard when her x-ray vision can’t breach the surface. “It’s you?”

“It’s me, I promise.”

Kara shuts her eyes, disappearing the threat of heat vision along with the darkened blue of her sunken gaze. Warnings come flooding through Lena’s earpiece from well-meaning almost friends, but she gets out of the suit anyway. The tell-tale hydraulic hiss of the lexo-suit opening brings a low rumble to Kara’s chest, but her eyes still remain shut tight.

“All right, Kara. I’m right here, okay?” Lena says, and Kara struggles to keep her eyes closed at the sound of her voice, now unfettered by technology or static. “No, you’re okay, Kara. Everything’s going to be okay. I’m right here.”

Lena repeats the sentiment a few times as she approaches Kara in a careful stride. The closer she gets, the harder Kara breathes, teeth gritted and grinding in frustration.

“Hey, I’m here,” Lena says once within reach, and Kara’s hand shoots out, catching Lena around the wrist. It’s a painful grasp, but Lena grimaces her way through it. “It’s me. You can tell... right?”

“... Yes,” comes the trembling, grateful answer.

“Your mind’s playing tricks on you,” Lena explains to her, still soft, still gentle. “Lex did something to your brain, and... you’re just having some trouble trusting what you see right now. But we’re going to fix it, okay?”

“Okay.” Kara squeezes her eyes shut even harder, and finally lets her hand slip off Lena’s tender, bruised wrist.

As Lena starts unwinding the scarf from her neck, she lets her eyes roam all over Kara’s face; she’s never been quite this close before. It looks a little different at the moment, somewhat worse for the wear. Deep creases in her strong brow, lips worried and worn, ash and blood of innocent bystanders smudged across one cheek, and her eyes... fluttering, but firmly shut.

All it would take is one blink, Lena realizes. One look, and she could very well lose her life in Kara’s arms.

Kara’s breath hiccoughs when she feels soft cotton wrapping around her head, smelling of Lena’s sweat and perfume, and covering her eyes. And all at once, she’s surrounded by the people she loves.

Alex embracing her and tugging her to safety, whispering words of regret and forgiveness into her hair.

Brainy and Nia patting at her shoulders, squeezing her hands, as they offer all sorts of affirmations.

But Kara reaches out, blindly and yet somehow all too aware, and manages to snag the hem of Lena’s shirt. She gently, desperately tugs Lena closer. “You’ll stay with me?”

A warm hand carefully undoes Kara’s grip on the shirt, inviting it instead in a tangled grasp, both firm and comforting.

“Always,” Lena says.

(next part here)

#yes i've started appropriating plot points from CM for my own intents and purposes #haHA! AHAhaAHAH!!!!#my words.

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spacewizardtrek · 3 years

Photo

WARNING: This post will ruin you. Like Medusa; look at your peril.

But here is is. It’s the one you’ve all been waiting for.

Kirk bod appreciation #7: The RIDICULOUSLY BEAUTIFUL FACE. A highly technical and academic review.

This is a rather nebulous one. And not, on the face of it (pardon the pun) very philosophical, as it’s essentially about Kirk being stupidly pretty. This post probably will (it will) descend into just screaming and sobbing, but there will be, I promise, *some* meaningful insight into the meaning of ‘beauty’ and textual analysis of its role herein.

Beauty is subjective. But look at him. It’s not just being aesthetic, but it’s the *way* he’s aesthetic. Here I might repeat myself a bit, but stay with me. I may have mentioned before once hearing him described as ‘beautiful in the way women are often described as beautiful’. He is PRETTY. He is indeed often conveyed in the way the women stereotypically (not necessarily rightly) are on screen: perfect, smooth skin; soft, big eyes; luscious lips (his body is sensually curvaceous and furthermore it’s emphasised). He’s not androgynous though. He’s masculine. And yet I still sense what was meant in describing him as ‘beautiful in the way women are often described as beautiful’. He is a rather uncommon form of gender fuckery. He is a form of stereotype-subversion not commonly acknowledged. He seems to be everything at once, ALL THE GENDER; combines whichever traits he desires from those categories, and yet is undeniably a man and masculine whatever the ingredients. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE, one might wonder. The fact of the matter is, that it IS. And it teaches us something.

The FUCK. nO. You are not allowed to be that pretty, and you are NOT allowed to look at her like that. We’re trying to have a SENSIBLE DISCUSSION here.

Sorry, that was a non-sequitur / nothing to do with what we learn by Kirk’s embodiment; I was just ambushed by my own gif. Only the control of a Vulcan. ONLY that could possibly withstand this onslaught. And even that won’t hold up forever AS WE WELL KNOW

God.

This is going well, as you can tell.

OK. So, it’s claimed he has Eyes and Stupidly Long Weakness-Inducing Eyelashes. You know, from all that fanfic that goes on about ‘big, sparkling eyes’ and him fanning his ‘long, copper eyelashes’. I mean, yeah right, tropey mc tropeface -

IT’S TRUE. HE IS LITERALLY AN ANIME PRINCESS.

There are some moments where he just BLINKS and, how to describe it...how does a BLINK have that effect. It’s NOT ALLOWED.

...I’m sorry. It IS allowed. All of it. I am not shaming you your beauty. Never change, Jim. Never.

OK. I’m ok. 3 pics down, we can get through this -

Oh you are joking. Stop.

I don’t understand how anyone can be so beautiful. Life is a lie. Reality is fake -

- you did NOT just turn your big anime eyes on Spock. You do know this is why he ran away to PURGE ALL HIS EMOTIONS?

And for that matter, you know when Kirk looks his most beautiful? Literally WHEN HE’S LOOKING AT SPOCK. Spock talks some bollocks and Kirk just sparkles like a fucking angel:

Unbelievable. But utterly undeniable.

Sigh. Moving on.

Oh - someone once suggested I talk about The Lips. Lips are so wonderful aren’t they. So many wonderful things they can do.

And Kirk’s. They’re there in every picture: perfect, rosy, soft and madness-inducing. My advice is just...don’t think about them. But since I’ve been asked to draw attention to them, well, you’ve just sealed your fate. Scroll down at your peril.

I WARNED YOU.

I am pulling NO punches.

I’ve seen this great meme going around:

Excuse me though....CUTE?

That’s the understatement of the 23rd century.

Try impossibly beautiful, mind and body: heart of solid gold, soul deep in love with you. Those eyes and all their passion burned into your memories a thousand times over, along with - maybe, suggestibly, idk I’m extrapolating from all the goddamn tension - even the one unforgettable time he laid between lily-white sheets and gave himself to you; every gift of the mind, body and soul - and your ostensibly-forced Vulcan conditioning, that completely ignored how incompatible one part of you was with it, caused so much dissonance that you thought the only possible course of action for you both to survive was to BREAK UP, tear yourself from this beauty and love and sweetness to PURGE ALL EMOTIONS because nothing, nothing equipped you for this; you were set up specifically to fail, and fail hard in the face of transcendental love and beauty by those who rejected such things and didn’t understand you and could never imagine this for you and who instead of helping your beautiful neurodivergent brain flourish taught you to repress and caused you pain and shame and Gol was so hard and Kirk was so sad, so very sad and depressed and hurt and yet he couldn’t stop loving you with a bond so strong he called to you across the stars and Gol was all for naught yet you still didn’t know how to live like this, it was torture, torture until the mind meld with the living machine flashed your BIOS and you knew, love.exe was suddenly running with no errors and he came after you and held you and you held hands and, and -

*sobbing*

just...give me a moment

YOU WONDER WHAT THE SUBTEXT (FRIKKIN’ MAIN TEXT) OF STAR TREK: THE MOTION PICTURE WAS ALL ABOUT???

The pain?? The angst?? The two logical entities seeking contact, love, THIS SIMPLE FEELING? That fucking moment when spock walks on the bridge and the only way he can control himself is to be SUPER Vulcan, while his love gazes at him with those EYES, fucking huge and glittering and hurt and loving?? Is it so much a mystery what memories these two are carrying, what’s behind the searing tension???????

Love him. Love him Spock. Take him in your arms and love him. He’s for you. All for you. Fucking hell guys. The fuck. This movie.

ok.

ok I can do this

CAN U NOT

those damn eyes I swear

It’s obviously not all just superficial physical beauty. What IS beauty? Narratively we do sometimes find this ‘prettiness’ enhanced and emphasized like the old vaseline lens to set the tone of a scene (he’s vulnerable and delicate, or someone’s indeed in love with him so we see their ‘lens’ on him); but it is somewhat intangible and nebulous and changeable. I don’t think aesthetic beauty, if one deems it so, on its own, would be enough for the likes of Spock (indeed, no woman could charm him thusly); it's about something deeper. It’s about who he is. Who he is inside: the beautiful AND the imperfect. How his good and bad - how his ‘all’ - chimes with Spock’s 'all’. The Enemy Within deals with this, and shows how Spock loves all of Kirk, wants him complete, with both his light and shadow. The beauty of all of us is this totality and variance, not one intangible quality.

I’ll bet Spock’s parents knew immediately. Can you imagine Sarek trying to be a total bitch over Kirk, having heard the rumours and just wanting to have one more thing to reject Spock over, immediately projecting onto Kirk as some blow-up pretty-boy and how Incredibly More Disappointing My Son Is for being Obviously In Love With Stupid Illogical Human Doll Face Bubble Butt Bimbo Captain, and Amanda’s like, stfu, let me remind you Kirk is actually a Fucking Amazing Highly Decorated Starship Captain who Saves Your Life and don’t you DARE resent him just because he’s got tits/ass/tum/lips that won’t quit and is obviously the freakin’ sun Spock orbits. Mr ‘I married a human but that was special because it was logical’ or some bullshit. How is Kirk an illogical choice? I mean literally, Spock is a Science Genius™ on the federation’s FLAGSHIP whose well-matched Genius Captain™ understands him, accepts him, brings the best out of him, helps him fulfil his whole potential and is in love with him in the deepest and purest way and will be his bonded soulmate for ALL OF TIME and that fucking sour-faced bih at the start of that ep, ffs.

Of course Amanda stays in touch with Kirk, adores the fuck out of him, sends him old Vulcan lit on t’hy’la bonds (yes sarek, a T’HY’LA bond, so revered freakin’ poets write about it) etc because frankly her son could do FAR FUCKING WORSE.

FAR. FUCKING. WORSE.

Don’t...just don’t slip the bod into the equation, the face is enough for one post. We’re all in therapy for this already, let’s not relapse.

Oh, what’s the use. I’m gonna die. This is it. This is like the Monty Python joke that is so funny it kills you. This man is lethal. I need to stop this thread and purge all my emotions

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

That’s it. I’m dead. You’re dead. We’re all dead.

I hope, however, seeing this post was worth it. See you at Gol everyone.

The Forbidden Texts, DO NOT READ:

Kirk bod appreciation #6: The Curves. The Front. The...chest. AND THE AMAZING GREEN WRAP

Kirk bod appreciation #5: The Paws

Kirk bod appreciation #4: The Curves. The Back. Poetry in motion.

Kirk bod appreciation #3: Season 3 (Part 1)

Kirk bod appreciation #2b: The Gluteus Maximus

Kirk bod appreciation #2a: The Gluteus Maximus

Kirk bod appreciation #1: The Tum

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superfanficnatural · 3 years

Text

To Build A Home

Pairing: Cullen Rutherford x Gender Neutral!Reader

Summary: With the mark on your hand growing out of control and Corypheus needing to be stopped, there was no shortage of problems for the Inquisitor. However, once your hand is forced, what will it mean for you and Cullen?

A/N: Hey guys! I’ve recently joined the Dragon Age fandom because oh my GOD their games are ridiculously good. Because of that, I have fallen head over heels for Cullen Rutherford (aka resident daddy) and I wanted to write something for him. I don’t currently have a masterlist for DAI so this post won’t be linked anywhere until I set it up. As always, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Fluff, Angst.

Word Count: 3,119

Ever since the Inquisition was first formed, you could have never guessed that it would have led to you leading it and falling in love with your general, Cullen. You were the only one who could close the rifts with the anchor but you couldn’t do it alone, recruiting all types of comrades to help you in your fight. You had built the Inquisition from the ground up; taking over different forts and strongholds in the name of the Inquisition, closed numerous rifts across Ferelden and Orlais, recruited the best of the best to join you, and spread the influence of your organization. Throughout this, you and Cullen had been drawn to each other from the very beginning. There was something about him that drove you crazy. His confident and authoritative aura, paired with his kind hearted nature was something that melted your heart every time. Even during War meetings, he would offer you a small smile, avoiding the gaze of Josephine but never Leliana, for she was invested in your relationship. You couldn’t help the giddy feeling that rose in your chest whenever it had happened. That man had made you feel things you never thought you ever would, and you confided in him. With the heavy amount of responsibility that was on your shoulders, Cullen had offered himself as a shoulder to lean on and you were infinitely grateful to him for that. In return, you had done the same for him, wanting to show him just how much you cared for him. You remembered when the two of you had finally decided to stop dancing around it and finally admit your feelings for one another.

It was after you had gotten back from retaking the stronghold in Crestwood with the help of Hawke, stopping a ritual that was sacrificing Grey Wardens to summon more demons. You had walked up to his quarters with determination fueling you, repeating the same words in your head like a mantra, “Admit that you have feelings for him, admit you have feelings for him.” Though nothing went according to plan.

Opening the door to Cullen’s quarters, you walked in, Cullen’s gaze rising from the map on the desk to meet your own, a smile small spreading across his face.

“Inquisitor! How may I assist you?” he greeted, formal as ever which made you roll your eyes.

“Cullen, what did I tell you about calling me that?”

He smiled, a bit embarrassed, “S-sorry, Y/N. Is there something that you... wanted to talk about?” his left arm reached back behind his head to nervously scratch at the scalp.

He looked ridiculously adorable and you couldn’t help but blush a bit seeing the influence you had on him. You walked up to him, stopping only about a foot away and looked directly into his eyes.

“Cullen, I...” you had the words but you couldn’t say them, the look of anticipation in his eyes rendering you unable to form words. “I uh... I gotta go!” you mentally beat yourself to a pulp and sprinted out of the room. Not ran, sprinted.

You left a very flustered and confused Cullen behind and ran to your quarters, ignoring everyone looking at you in confusion. Though, when you got to your room, wanting nothing more than to hide under the covers and never speak to anyone again, you walked into Iron Bull laying back nearly naked on your bed like he owned the damn thing.

“B-bull!?” you nearly shouted.

“Look, Boss, I get it. You want to ride the bull, but I don’t think you know what you’re-”

“WHAT?!” you shouted at the top of your lungs, stopping him mid-sentence.

He hid his surprise at your reaction fairly well, continuing on hesitantly, “You see, us Qunari have rather large... weapons. I don’t believe that you could take it.”

The door suddenly slammed open, “The only ‘weapon’ that Y/N is going to be taking is mine!”

You had slowly turned around to face the door to see a red faced Cullen with his hand slapped over his mouth, to then hear Bull begin laughing behind you.

“Ohhhh, I see what’s going on here, I’ll just leave you two be,” he said, walking past you and Cullen to leave the room, closing the door behind him.

“Uhm, Inquisitor! Uhhh...” Cullen was a blubbering mess, unable to even form a single sentence, his face as red as a tomato.

As embarrassed, weirded out, and nervous as you were, you took your chance, “Cullen, what was it that you said when you walked in?”

His eyes widened, “N-n-nothing! I didn’t say anything at all!”

You hid your smile and forced your feet forward towards him, knowing that it was now or never, “Because if I heard you correctly, I would have to agree with you.”

He looked completely and utterly shocked, “O-oh... is that so?” he asked nervously.

You wringed your hands out by your sides, unbelievably nervous, “Cullen I-�� you were at the precipice and you were still hesitating, but instead, you slapped yourself.

Literally slapping yourself, Cullen blinked in confusion, but the pain snapped you out of it. You surged forward and connected your lips to his, Cullen going stiff for a second before he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him.

You’ll never forget how happy you were on that day. While it was rather embarrassing half of the time, it led to you leading the most wonderful love story with Cullen you could ever imagine. Though, it was difficult, having to leave Skyhold so often to fight against hundreds of enemies. You knew the effect that it had on Cullen, he would plead with you, pray to the Maker that you would fight and return to him safely. One of the things that made you fall for Cullen so hard was how loving he was, he loved with all of his heart and he wasn’t afraid to tell you how he felt. Though, most of the time it included him blushing but that simply made it even better.

Now, you were simply days away from confronting Corypheus in the Arbor Wilds. You led the bulk of the Inquisition forces, Cullen coming with you this time. You both knew that it was the end of the line. If you didn’t defeat Corypheus today, you would die, and so would the rest of the world. There was a heavy blanket over the two of you that day, you didn’t want to say goodbye, the both of you refused to even accept dying as a possible outcome, but you also didn’t want to revel in each other, the fear of losing that overbearing. As you reached Corypheus’ stronghold, you knew that this was something only you could do alone. Turning to Cullen, Corypheus could be heard in the back, taunting you, daring you to run to your death. You ignored him, focusing solely on Cullen. You could tell that he was using all of the will in his body to not break and stay strong, but you knew him well enough to see through his facade easily.

You walked up to him and smiled lovingly, “Cullen Rutherford, I love you.”

A tear fell down his cheek as he responded, “And I love you, Y/N Y/L/N. Come back to me.”

The two of you shared one last kiss before you pulled away and smiled, turning to leave and meet your fate. For days, your mark had been growing and pulsing on your arm, it had never hurt before but now, it felt like your arm was being ripped off. You hid it from Cullen though, not wanting him to worry and not wanting to break his heart. You knew that you weren’t going to make it no matter what happened today, but you knew that no matter what, you were going to save Cullen.

“Foolish mortal, have you come to die?” Corypheous sneered at you, orb in hand as you reached the top of the tower.

You ignored him and instead looked down to the valley, seeing Cullen looking back at you. You couldn’t hold eye contact for long for he had sent a pulse of magic at you, forcing you to roll out of the way before recovering.

“This has gone on for too long, Corypheus! It’s time for your reign of terror to come to an end!” you shouted at him, building up the energy in your mark.

He laughed, “After I kill you, I shall lay waste to this world, starting with those mongrels down there.”

You could feel the mark radiating pure energy, sparks flying off of your hand and drawing Corypheus' attention.

“No, what are you doing?” he shouted, blasting a surge of magic at you.

It was too late, it reflected right off of you and suddenly you felt your body being lifted. Ever since you had first gotten the mark, you had spent every ounce of energy in your body making sure that you would never lose control. But now... you let go. Raw energy was coursing through your veins as you were lifted into the air, a ball of rift energy swirling around you. You opened your eyes to see Corypheus in fear, and Cullen looking on in worry.

Before you released all of the energy you had accumulated, you looked towards Cullen, mouthing, “I’m sorry, my love,” and released everything that you were holding.

Boom

Don’t have a divider for this fandom sorry - scene change.

It was a beautiful afternoon day when you and Cullen had decided to take a walk around Skyhold. You had found some free time after being gone for almost an entire month sealing rifts, making alliances, and spreading the Inquisitions influence. Frankly, you didn’t think you had the energy to do anything else for a while, you were completely wiped and wanted to do nothing but just be with the love of your life. Holding his hand as the two of you walked down the gentle breeze into the garden was soothing, it was exactly what you needed.

“You’re amazing, you know that right?” Cullen broke the peaceful silence.

You turned to look at him to see the pure adoration and awe in his orbs as he gazed upon you, “What?”

“This Inquisition wouldn’t be what it is today if it weren’t for you, and neither would I,” he added with a small blush forming on his rosy cheeks.

You blushed slightly as well with a smile, “You give me too much credit, you, Cassandra, and Leliana do all of the work, I just go out and fight and close rifts.”

He gave you an annoyed look, “And you dare pretend that your job isn’t a thousand times more dangerous than ours?”

You smiled at his protectiveness, “Cullen, I’m fine, and no one is as strong as me,” you flexed your arm with a goofy smile.

This broke him as he bent over laughing at your ridiculousness, the two of you sharing a chuckle before he straightened with a serious expression, “Y/N...”

You pulled him into a hug, resting your head on his warm chest, feeling his arms embrace you, “You have nothing to worry about, I will always fight to come back to you, no matter what.”

You could feel his relieved sigh, “You mean more to me than anything or anyone I’ve ever encountered. Even the slightest thought of losing you-”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look him in the eye, “I’m not going anywhere. I promise, I will always come back to you, my love.”

Don’t have a divider for this fandom sorry - scene change.

The ground quaked with the magnitude of the explosion but Cullen didn’t even register it, shouting out at the top of his lungs for his entire world to still be alive. He ran directly towards the rubble, the sounds of people shouting his name behind him tuned out. He dug and dug for hours, Inquisition agents helping with the efforts.

“Over here!” someone had shouted.

Cullen ran as fast as his legs could carry him to a beaten and broken version of the person that owned his heart and his soul.

“No,” he whispered brokenly, dropping to his knees next to your body.

He reached his shaking hand out to cup your bloodied cheek, “You promised... you promised that you would come back.”

The only thing that the remaining soldiers could hear were the cries of their general, wishing that he had been taken instead.

Don’t have a divider for this fandom sorry - scene change.

Cullen was slunken over his desk at Skyhold, mugs of drunken beer scattered around, papers crinkled up and tossed haphazardly around the room. After the death of the Inquisitor, the mission of the Inquisition was completed, but Cullen had lost his will to live.

“You promised me,” he mumbled, the tears rolling down his cheeks, “you promised you would come back.”

He held the necklace you had made for him tightly in his fist, pressing it against his heart in an attempt to ease the ache that was spreading out of it.

“Cullen, do you have a moment-” Leliana was stopped in her tracks as she saw Cullen curled up in the corner of the dark room.

She also immediately began to tear up but kept it hidden, walking towards Cullen and kneeling in front of him, “Cullen, I have something that might interest you.” He brought his gaze up to meet hers, “And what could possibly interest me, nothing does anymore.”

She sighed softly, “After the Inquisitor...” she felt a lump rise in her throat, “after the battle with Corypheous, I began to take care of all the loose ends the Inquisitor left behind. And in doing so, I came across this,” she took a piece of parchment out of her pocket and extended it to him.

Cullen wiped his tears and hesitantly grabbed it from her hands, “Hinterlands, in the Dead Ram Grove, the project is finally finished. Cullen will love it.”

He gasped, “This is in the Inquisitor’s handwriting!” He sprawled up immediately, “What was this project of his?”

Leliana looked crestfallen, “As a spymaster, I should know the information for what you ask, but the Inquisitor kept this project a well kept secret. You must go and find out for yourself.”

Not even thirty minutes after Leliana had presented Cullen with the parchment, he had set out for Dead Ram Grove.

“Where is it?!” Cullen shouted out, saddled on his horse as he looked around the area.

He wandered around on horseback, covering almost every last inch of the area until he came upon a house.

“Impossible,” he spoke in a breathless whisper.

In front of him was almost an exact replica of a house he had wished for his entire life, the house he had only told you about. It was the spitting image of his childhood home but with a few modifications and it brought a fresh wave of tears. He snapped the reigns on the horse slightly to move closer to the home, dismounting and walking up the stone carved path. As he reached the door, his hand began to shake along with his entire body, the tears now dripping from his cheeks onto the ground.

Don’t have a divider for this fandom sorry - scene change.

“Then that’s where we’ll live!”

Cullen laughed, “The materials needed to make a house like that do not even exist anymore, they were lost in the last Blight.”

“Doesn’t matter, if it makes you happy, then I’ll find them, even if I have to dig miles into the ground,” you said with determination.

Cullen looked at you with adoration in his eyes, “You make me the happiest man on this planet, Y/N.”

Don’t have a divider for this fandom sorry - scene change.

“Damn it,” Cullen whispered, his voice cracking as his entire body shivered with the weight of his emotions.

After a few minutes, Cullen mustered up the strength he needed to open the door, walking into the foyer and immediately catching the faint smell of you. As he took the house in, he walked into the living room to see a piece of paper on the dining table. Rushing over, he picked it up and wiped the blurriness from his eyes to read properly.

“I told you I would build this house for you. Now, the only way you’re reading this note is if I didn’t throw it away before bringing you here myself so it must mean that I’m dead. I’m so sorry, Cullen, I know I told you that I would always come back to you, but this time, I lied. I love you with all of my heart and know that I will never stop loving you. Please, don’t be sad, live your life in this house, make a family. Knowing that I can leave this behind for you to be happy is all that I need. Goodbye, my love.”

The paper began to droop in his hands as his tears made the material soft, his hands were quaking and he couldn’t hold in his sobs. His back hit the wall and he slid down with the paper lodged in his hands, the necklace you gave him around his neck as he renounced you.

“I don’t want to live a life without you,” he wailed into the empty room, “I don’t want to have a family if you aren’t here by my side.” He felt like he was being ripped in half, his love for you and his grief overbearing while his anger at you breaking your promise had his lip curling up, “A world without you is a dark and cold one, my heart.”

“Don’t cry my love, know that I will always be here with you.”

Cullen’s eyes widened as he shot up from the ground, “Y/N?! Is that you? Where are you?”

“Turn around.”

His body instinctively turned before he could even think to, seeing the faint image of the love of his life staring at him, “H-how?”

You smiled, “Are you forgetting that I had the anchor? While my power dwindles, I only have a few moments on this side of the fade.”

“No, no, please don’t leave me again!” Cullen pleaded, moving closer to you.

“My love, please, take this house as my last gift to you, and use it to live out the rest of your life. Find someone to share your life with-”

“NO!” Cullen shouted. “I cannot be with anyone else!” the tears from his eyes seemed endless as he pleaded with you.

You sighed, defeated and heartbroken, “I cannot tell you how sorry I am that I broke my promise to you. I love you, my heart.”

Cullen was helpless as he watched you fade away, the room once again empty.

“I love you too, my love,” was the last thing heard in the room before Cullen had once again fallen to the ground.

Forevers Tag List: @magssteenkamp @shadowsinger11 @donnaintx @flamencodiva @impalawrites @talesmaniac89 @malfoysqueen14 @wonder-cole @downanddirtydean @flashxspn @zooaliaa @huffle-pissed

#dai #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #cullen #cullen rutherford #dragon age fanfiction #cullen rutherford x reader #gender neutral #reader #reader insert #cullen x reader #fluff #angst #cullen fanfiction #oneshot

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kuroos-moon · 3 years

Text

「vi. Deal pt. 2」

warning/s: angst (just a lil bit)

a/note: for this smau, like my previous one, there will be numerous chapters wherein they aren’t text chains or necessarily smaus just like this chapter and the prologue. If that’s not to ur liking, or for any reason at all, pls feel free to tell me u wanna be removed from the taglist 🖤

He skeptically looks out through his window, and just like you had texted him a minute ago, there were no more reporters outside. Finally, he thought, not really expecting you to be telling the truth. Honestly, why do you mess with him so much?

Also, he’s been wondering ever since your reunion if you deliberately went to the gym for him or if that was pure coincidence and you’re spontaneously messing up his life right now. The moment he opens his door, he’s adamant on avoiding you because he just knew the person you were now is adamant on driving him insane by doing things like popping out of nowhere to pester him.

Speaking of which, what the hell are you doing in front of his doorstep? “Sakusa Kiyoomi!” You brightly smile, eyes lighting up at the very sight of him. “Nope.” He pulls the door close but you put a hand to stop him. He tugs on it, making you chuckle, but you stubbornly refuse to let him shut you out.

“Get out.” He snaps. “I’m not even inside, Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

Seriously? Saying his full name like that only ticks him off. “Don’t call me that.” He tugs harsher on his doorknob but you successfully grip the door with both hands now.

“Shall I call you love then?” You tease despite finding it extremely hard to keep the door open. It may now have dawned on to him that this was pointless as he lets go, though he’ll never admit that he’s actually afraid of accidentally shutting the door on your fingers—he knows he easily could.

“What do you want?” He sighs. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” How you left me? How you had the audacity to walk back in my life like you didn’t trample all over me before?

“Our relationship,” you grin. He chokes. “Our what now?” Laughter erupts from your throat, and it was bittersweet. You’re so carefree and mesmerizing—your eyes angelic and genuinely alight. But more than that, you’re ruthless and despicable, he knows that all too well.

“Won’t you invite me in? It’s cold y’know,” you place your hands inside your pockets. “Then freeze,” he narrows his eyes. He absolutely hates you, here he was slightly worrying he’ll go soft and easy on you because one could never control the heart yet you so easily reminded him of why you were the bane to his existence.

“Yup, figured walking in your home wasn’t gonna happen,” you mutter to yourself with a small smile. He hates it. Don’t act like you know him, because at some point you did, but you don’t deserve to have him etched in your memory.

“Tell me what you want so we could get this over with.”

“Right. Yes sir. Yes love,” you chuckle, not even minding that he remains unamused. “My manager has already arranged a live interview this afternoon.”

“You should’ve started with that. So, you’re here to ask me what you should say?” He asks, unintentionally looking down on your hands you’ve rubbed together for friction. It was indeed cold, you brought this upon yourself though.

“No, I’m here to make a deal with you. My statement for my interview later on depends on your response.”

He rolls his eyes, leaning his shoulder on the doorframe because talking to you definitely tired him out; sucked his soul out of him. “And by this lovely deal, what exactly are you proposing? Not that you have a leverage over me now or anything.”

You smile, stepping closer to him but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Instead, his feet remained planted to the ground, self-aware of how much his heart was racing right now and the only thing—albeit pathetic—he could do was glare at you.

“Befriend me for a month, that’s it.” That didn’t sound half as bad compared to how devilish you’ve been these past few days. “Go on,” he mutters, stepping back and away from you. “You can’t block my number and you have to reply to my texts.”

“Aren’t you ashamed of how pathetic and selfish you are right now?” He lowly says. You look up at him in surprise, there was faint hurt and vulnerability in his voice that wasn’t there before and you can’t help but feel guilty for it.

“I like you, I don’t know why, I just do.” Pain visits him like an old friend. Casual, embracing, and mind-numbingly heartbreaking. You look up at his eyes and could tell right away the discomfort in them, but it wasn’t just discomfort, there was agony too—perhaps. You could never be too sure, you think, looking down on both your shoes.

“I don’t know why you’re so hellbent on avoiding me, it felt like you hated me the first day we met, and I didn’t like the way you hated me for no apparent reason, much so because I happen to like you.” You’re rarely ever serious or this openly truthful with anyone other than your friends, it was only normal that it embarrassed you. But this didn’t feel exactly foreign either. It felt like he understood you somehow—your words and the thoughts you haven’t exactly expressed.

“I hated you the first time we met?” He repeats and you look at him, surprised at the surreal softness in his voice. “When… was the first time we met, y/n?”

That’s the first time he’s said your name. It made your cheeks flush warm and your eyes widen a fraction. This moment was temporary and fleeting, it was easy to see, because he certainly doesn’t call your name like that so naturally and so right—he certainly doesn’t look at you with the absence of resentment as he normally would.

“Three days ago, outside your gym,” you respond unsurely. As if you’ve reminded him of something utterly annoying, he had closed off himself once more, his eyes unreadable and brooding as they stared back at you.

“And this is why I hate you,” he chuckles humorlessly. You’re still pretending you didn’t know him, as if those years together were something you could so easily erase. “I don’t care what you say in that damned interview. Saying yes to that excessively self-centered deal of yours would lose me my self-respect, you know that.”

He finally steps out the door, closing it behind him as he walks past you and all the way to his car. He hopes this would be the last time he sees you; he desperately hopes so. The last thing he needs is a repeat of the emotional wreck he’s been when he was at the lowest point of his life after you so selfishly left him behind.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi!” You call off, and he stops in his tracks, clenching his teeth. You’re clearly overestimating his patience. “I don’t know how befriending me would lose you your self-respect. Hell, I am so irritated at you right now, hard-to-understand-breathtaking-stupid volleyball player!” You grit your teeth, he scoffs, finding your impudence unbelievably out of this world.

He wanted to bring up your past, to shove it right in your face that you had no right to be angry with his hostility considering everything you’ve done. But he can’t, it’s foolish to bring up history you insist you’ve forgotten. “You better watch my interview later on.”

“Oh?” He mockingly says, turning to look at you, “just what are you going to say?” He admits it is out of character for him to banter off with you like this, if you were someone else, he’s long gone inside his car. Maybe this was his way of saying goodbye to you for good, allowing himself to talk to you like this before moving forward with his life that’s anti-you.

“I’m telling them we’re the bestest of friends but we might marry!” You stick your tongue out at him before running off, you don’t even notice him freeze up. His heart fell to his stomach, he unconsciously held in a breath. No, he didn’t just hold in a breath, it’s getting harder and harder for him to breathe.

There it is again, his old, life-long friend. Crippling pain, anxiety, and resentment bundling up and turning into one heavy-ass anchor, pulling him deeper down than he’s been before. The stability he’s built and worked on by religiously avoiding you for years all went down the drain with those silly words of yours.

Just what kind of ridicule or twisted teasing are you pulling off?

“Wow, I’m surprised you guys put up with Oomi.” He hears your voice, lips tugging upward a little before he realizes what you had just said. Finally entering the gym, he sees you sitting in a circle along with his teammates.

He narrows his eyes at the back of your head. You should be in your winter uniform by now, he bets you forgot. One thing he hated about being a year older than you is that he goes to a different school now that he’s in highschool while you’re still on your last year of middle school, you just can’t seem to take care of yourself enough.

“Yup, Oomi’s really great, he’s the best, I guess that’s why you accept how cold he is sometimes huh,” you snicker, your enjoyment short-lived when you’re engulfed in a jacket and Sakusa’s scent. “Stop giving me backhanded compliments just because you think I’m not around,” he bitterly tells you though there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Oomi!” You rise up to your feet immediately and flung yourself at him. He catches you with no hesitation of course, guessing that you’re here again because you missed him. The rest of his teammates except Komori are surprised.

“Sakusa-kun, didn’t know you had a middle school girlfriend.”

“Ew, she’s not my girlfriend.” He bites back a smile though when you punch his shoulder. “What’s with the ew? Not that I like Oomi that much—he’s an ass,” you send him a pointed look, “but we’re the bestest of friends,” you grin.

“And we might marry someday, right Oomi?”

His face falls. “Can you not make me cringe like for a week or two, thanks.”

You scowl, “oh, so what, you don’t wanna marry me?” At this point, he blushes, you’re always so blunt and shameless, you could at least tweak it down a bit. He only scoffs, walking past you to pick up a ball from the ground, “didn’t say anything like that.”

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Taglist [Open]: @juno-multifandom @dope-squish @moonlightaangel @ladymartiini @kac-chowsballs @amareloecrime @bokutosuwus @animatedrapture @dianablushblush @seikamuzu @luvssuna @thepuffybubby @thomas-brodie-sangster-newt @cutiekawa @prcttylittlcthing @impromptuxprompts @lulu3mon @pockytokyo @arianatorgrand3 @coconut-dreamz @tskeiki @superstarsw18 @kaito-thedumbass @astrealia @paripedia @kasandrafaye @kac-chowsballs @bokuakadaily @doggonudez @seokjinnieandthesixbabies @princess-angel-sweetheart @d-efend @sun-daddy-yoriichi @euphorihan @moncymonce @elianetsantana @gaychemicalwater @miitchii @channiechanchan @chaelysian @weebartistinc @bonkyandloki @dinablossom @adriivette @uwu-baby-boi @broccoliandwheeze @sunflowerirl @yeahhemmings- @violetarks @craftyfawns @haikyunicorn @tinymidgetsstuff

#haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! smau #haikyuu!! social media au #sakusa x reader #haikyuu social media au #haikyuu smau #haikyuu x reader #sakusa kiyoomi

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crimeronan · 3 years

Note

Can you explain the appeal of Julian Blackthorn? This is a genuine question because I read the books and came away utterly bored by him and unconvinced of his moral greyness as opposed to like, Adam Parrish’s. He seemed so one dimensional to me but I want to know if I’m Wrong TM considering I tend to be very very biased toward my favourite characters and bored by the rest, and my favourites were Mark and Kieran. So maybe I just didn’t pay him enough attention??

it’s been a while since i wrote any earnest tsc meta but cringe culture is dead and the chance to infodump about my julian thoughts has me vibrating where i’m sitting so. yes okay.

technical stuff

(aka: things pertaining to How The Story Is Constructed)

cassandra clare’s characterization has become much stronger just in general since she first began writing the series like twenty years ago

perhaps most importantly: the more recent stuff i’ve read from her has involved characters who actually grow, change, and learn from their past mistakes

rather than repeating the same stupid decisions over and over again

and over and over and over some more

seriously take a shot every time someone in tmi miscommunicates or self-destructs in ways They Have Learned Not To Do for no real reason. u will die of alcohol poisoning

in tda this shines ESPECIALLY with the evolution of mark, kieran, and cristina’s relationship, but that’s a separate post

clare’s trademark is also the angsty traumatized jerkass love interest with a secret heart of gold

the woman is almost singlehandedly responsible for draco in leather pants and the proliferation of this kind of character type in fandom and teen lit. this isn’t a criticism it’s me marveling at how if you commit hard enough to a single trope you truly can change the world. follow your dreams

sad jackass with a heart of gold isn’t an Inherently Problematic Character Type

but poorly done it can lead to relationship dynamics in which one partner is constantly being hurt by and then forgiving the other despite them making no real effort to change, because they are narratively absolved due to being sad

(there’s a lot of this with earlier jace content. in some ways i think will was later created specifically to be a same-archetype protagonist who actually does get called on his shit and grow. that’s also another post)

also if all of your sexy male love interests are tortured jackasses with a heart of gold then people start calling you a one-trick pony

enter julian blackthorn!

from the very start everything about him is designed to be the INVERSE of the heart of gold jackass. which immediately makes him interesting just from a meta perspective

(mark and kieran are also both alternate angles on this time-honored archetype. mark gets the heart of gold and kieran gets the jackass and then they’re both much more deeply messy than that. yet another post)

julian is kind, self-sacrificing, empathetic, artistic, emotionally supportive, responsible, and favored by old grannies everywhere

so a completely nonthreatening milquetoast guy, right

immediately forgettable if you’re only here for the dramatic conflicts and shithead antics of clare’s other protags

except that he is A Mess

and that he has structured his priorities very carefully, and they are as selfless as you expect from The Hero (TM) but they are also Not Heroic (TM) and they do not align with the moral framework The Hero (TM) is supposed to use

moral ambiguity in characters always exists in relation to their narratives imo. you mention adam parrish - trc’s narrative already mucks around in different ethical shades of gray, and adam falls on the canon scale about where julian does on his canon scale. both more willing than the average pov character to do the ruthless thing or make the fucked-up choice if the ends justify the means; both with an intensely strong sense of internal priorities that they adhere to at all costs, both so unbelievably fucking down for murder; etc

i do think there are ways julian’s choices could have been pushed even further, but considering the number of readers who hate his guts already, i can see why clare opted not to go for the most controversial possible conflicts

so we’re flipping the narrative

instead of seeing this angsty bad boy and peeling back the layers of his trauma to find his heart of gold, we’re seeing the put-together selfless family man and peeling back the layers of his Responsibility Mask to expose the rotting husk underneath

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

THAT IS FUN AS FUCK

then when julian DOES lash out in hurtful, uncontrolled ways, he has significantly more narrative justification for it than most of clare’s protagonists (will elaborate in characterization thoughts)

julian is also interesting as fuck because of how his struggles allow for a more in-depth look at the failings of shadowhunter society, something that’s also sorely lacking in clare’s earlier work

his apparent amorality is simply the result of him making pragmatic and impossible choices because he has been faced with fucked-up ethical dilemmas since age 12 Because Society Has Failed Him

which opens the door for narrative exploration of how and why he’s been failed so badly & what needs to change

i also love that he has such a coldly calculated way of analyzing situations and allowing harm to occur when need be, bc a lot of clare’s early protagonists have such a bad case of Rush In And Get Myself Killed Because I’ve Got Feelings About Impulsive Heroism syndrome that i wanna push them in front of a truck

probably there’s other meta narrative stuff i could say but i’m stopping myself and moving on to character analysis

characterization stuff

(aka: reasons why i’m also attached to him in a vacuum)

i don’t read him as one-dimensional at all tbh

u may feel the narrative pushes “ruthless julian blackthorn” too much without delivering enough actual ruthless julian But i don’t think that’s the same as having only one dimension

from the get-go, the big question centered on julian is always “how far are you willing to go?” and the narrative pushes the stakes slowly higher and higher to continuously test julian’s “the price is always justified” mindset

he has a far more layered and realistic response to trauma than clare’s early protagonists - trauma affects every single aspect of his personality and how he conducts himself, and the effects vary depending on the circumstances

his conviction that he has to be the perfect parent to his siblings because they will fall apart if they see him show weakness?? rooted in how he feels like he’s fallen apart since losing the stable adult support he once relied upon

his willingness to hurt semi-innocent people, commit coldblooded murder, manipulate people using political leverage, allow harm to befall any stranger if it protects his family?? rooted in how he has already had to ask himself how much he’s willing to sacrifice, and how his family is his only source of stability when the world has never done Shit for him

his conviction that he has a darker heart than anyone else because he killed his possessed father, even though intellectually he knows he was saving his brother’s life?? rooted in having no means of processing this trauma and being unable to voice his feelings for fear of backlash from a deeply non-understanding society

the way he represses every single negative emotion he ever has, to the point where emma - his actual literal magic soulmate who can feel his emotions - is startled to find him hurting or angry?? once again all about how he has to be the perfect father or he’s failed completely

the way his anger is so totally disproportionate to different situations and the way his negative emotions can only come out in completely uncontrolled breaks?? all that repression baybey. this kid has not processed a single bad feeling in five years. every single real grievance and petty annoyance has been festering indefinitely inside him like a slowly spreading infection

julian’s arc involves him needing to get thru being his worst self to actually start to heal

as in, he has to actually learn to acknowledge his feelings, take care of himself, lean on his family, and let other people take some responsibility

he also has to learn that in his quest to be the perfect emotionally controlled authority figure, he has not actually learned how to control or deal with his emotions. like. At Fucking All. good god

the narrative setup is also about asking “how far are you willing to go?” until the answer is finally “not this far. not this far”

and once he reaches that point, he has to reevaluate everything about how he weighs his priorities and morals and plans, etc

(i also like that emma has a perpendicular arc in which she’s always the one tempering julian and telling him “no we can’t go that far” until she’s willing to do something horrific that he absolutely won’t and HE has to stop HER. very sexy)

it’s also just really nice to have a character who’s learned to relate so well to literally every single member of his family while still having a very detached ruthless interior consciousness. i have similar feelings about how adam teaches himself to love people, but with julian it’s spelled out more explicitly in canon & it’s a more central character theme

i’m sure i’m also forgetting stuff here but this post is long enough so i’m gonna say good enough

and like i said in the tags on my other post, there are things i’d personally write differently if it were my story - plot points i’d shift, character contrasts i’d up, themes i’d explore differently, pacing i’d adjust, etc. i have plenty of ways i could be nitpicky and editorial about the effectiveness of julian’s arc. but i also don’t feel like writing them out at the moment & none of my critiques on effectiveness have an impact on the core appeal of his character 2 me. he’s so fucking good

#replies #tsc #tda #julian blackthorn #meta #long post #ungodly long post.#shadowhunters #Anonymous

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bloody-bee-tea · 3 years

Text

JC Love Month 2020 Day 4

Amusement

This is entirely dedicated to @sarah-yyy because she left these tags on my BeeTober 2020 Day 31 fic: #also i would die to see that conversation between nmj and jc!!! #was jc really not as dense as he proclaimed?? how hard did nmj have to hint at the date ahhh

The answer is that he had to hint so hard.

Jiang Cheng is pinching the bridge of his nose before he even dials Nie Huaisang’s phone.

He just knows this phone call is going to be unpleasant, simply because Nie Huaisang cannot understand that Jiang Cheng still did not ask his brother out.

Well, Nie Huaisang can suck it, because right now there’s a dozen different things Jiang Cheng has to worry about, and his crush on Nie Mingjue is like the very least of it.

“Jiang Cheng, what a pleasure!” Nie Huaisang greets him with much more cheer than Jiang Cheng can take at that moment.

“Not today,” Jiang Cheng bites out and Nie Huaisang falls silent on the other end of the line. “Sorry, Huaisang, but not today,” Jiang Cheng repeats, much softer this time and Nie Huaisang sighs.

“What happened?”

“I need a meeting with your brother,” Jiang Cheng says and there’s a very long silence from Nie Huaisang.

“A meeting,” he finally repeats. “A business meeting?”

“A job interview,” Jiang Cheng admits and he knows that got Nie Huaisang’s attention.

“You did it,” Nie Huaisang breathes and he sounds totally excited. “Did you do it? Did it really happen?” Nie Huaisang goes on and Jiang Cheng sighs.

“Yes, yes, I did it,” Jiang Cheng tells him and then takes the phone from his ear when Nie Huaisang starts to cheer. “Would you calm down, fuck,” Jiang Cheng hisses out but it barely does anything to calm Nie Huaisang down.

“I cannot believe you really did it. Tell me everything. How did it happen? What did Wei Wuxian say? What did your father say?” he asks and Jiang Cheng feels very, very tired.

“I don’t know,” he honestly says. “I handed in my notice, but he didn’t have the time to accept it personally so I gave it to his assistant. I doubt my father already read it.”

“Oh, boo, that’s so lame,” Nie Huaisang whines. “What about Wei Wuxian?”

“Doesn’t yet know about it,” Jiang Cheng gives back. “I’ll tell him when he comes home. Father is bound to gush to him about today, about what amazing work he did and with how it’s been going recently, Wei Wuxian is not going to take it well.”

“Good,” Nie Huaisang says with vehemence and Jiang Cheng can almost see him nod vigorously, his hair flying around.

“So, a meeting with your brother?” Jiang Cheng asks again and Nie Huaisang snaps back to attention.

“You really want to work for him?” he wants to know and Jiang Cheng shrugs even though Nie Huaisang can’t see it.

“It’s not like I have much choice,” Jiang Cheng says, even though that’s not the reason at all. “Lan Qiren will sell me out to my father the second I ask him for help and I would rather kill myself than work for Jin Guangshan,” he says.

“And?” Nie Huaisang prompts.

“And I really admire the work you all do at Nie Corps and it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to work for your brother.”

“Mh, sure,” Nie Huaisang says, clearly not believing Jiang Cheng at all. “Give me five minutes,” he then says and hangs up on Jiang Cheng without waiting for a reply.

“Unbelievable,” Jiang Cheng mutters but he keeps his phone close.

If Nie Huaisang says he needs five minutes then he’ll probably call back in four.

And just like Jiang Cheng predicted, his phone rings again exactly four minutes later.

“So?” Jiang Cheng asks without greeting, and Nie Huaisang lets out a put out huff.

“You could at least greet me like a normal person,” Nie Huaisang whines, but when he’s only met with silence, he goes on. “I talked to da-ge, he can squeeze you in for a meeting in an hour.”

There’s a special emphasis on squeeze, and Jiang Cheng wants to strangle Nie Huaisang, because he just knows he’s wriggling his eyebrows.

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng snaps out, but before Nie Huaisang can complain he goes on. “And thank you. Seriously.”

“No need to thank me,” Nie Huaisang says. “Just finally put da-ge and yourself out of your misery.”

“There is no—” Jiang Cheng starts, but he’s only met with the beeping tone, telling him that Nie Huaisang has yet again hung up on him.

Fine, whatever. He’s not going to pass an opportunity like this up, that much is clear, and so he gets ready to meet with Nie Mingjue.

Jiang Cheng can’t deny that he’s nervous, because he didn’t have to go to a job interview so far—it was always clear he’d get an intern position at Jiang Corps—and he curses that fact now.

And he very resolutely refuses to think about the fact that half of his nervousness is coming from seeing Nie Mingjue.

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng mutters, because maybe Nie Huaisang is right and there is some pining and misery—at least on his side—and it’s the worst time now to think of this. He needs to be calm and serious and he needs to blow Nie Mingjue away if he wants to have a chance in his company.

Jiang Cheng takes a few deeps breaths before he enters through the main entrance of Nie Corps. It seems like he’s been expected, because he is immediately led to an office.

“If you would wait here for a moment,” Nie Zonghui tells him and Jiang Cheng can only nod before Nie Zonghui disappears in the office, where no doubt Nie Mingjue is sitting.

It’s not long before Nie Zonghui comes back out again, and he motions for Jiang Cheng to enter, which he does.

He’s glad no one can see that his knees are slightly shaking because for all that Nie Mingjue is a friend, he’s also the guy who gets to decide if Jiang Cheng is out of a job or not.

“Jiang Cheng,” Nie Mingjue greets him and points at the chair right in front of him.

“Nie Mingjue” Jiang Cheng politely gives back and he wishes this was over already.

For all that he can wrangle the most difficult deals out of anyone, he’s not good at being charming and selling his own strengths.

“I hear you are out of a job,” Nie Mingjue says and Jiang Cheng shrugs as nonchalantly as he can.

“I handed in my resignation just today,” he gives back. “But I have proof I did it, and since I’m just an intern, it’s effective immediately.”

“Please tell me how your father reacted,” Nie Mingjue says and he leans forward in clear anticipation.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Jiang Cheng answers. “I doubt he realized it yet. I handed it in to my father’s assistant, since he didn’t have time to see me.”

“But you would have given it to him personally?” Nie Mingjue wants to know and Jiang Cheng nods.

“Oh yeah,” he breathes out, because he really would have.

He was actually looking forward to it, and he was strangely disappointed when he didn’t get that chance.

“What happened?” Nie Mingjue questions and Jiang Cheng is reminded yet again, that Nie Huaisang might not make a secret out of the fact that he loves gossip, but Nie Mingjue is hardly any better.

He just hides it better.

“We are launching the new phone,” Jiang Cheng tells him and he sees the frown on Nie Mingjue’s face, and it makes him wince.

It’s a heavy blow against the competition, that they get the phone out there, and now Jiang Cheng almost regrets bringing it on its way.

“So I have heard,” Nie Mingjue grumbles and Jiang Cheng gives him his most winning smile.

“If I had known it would turn out like this, I wouldn’t have pressed so hard,” he promises him and is surprised when Nie Mingjue shakes his head.

“But then you wouldn’t have quit and we wouldn’t get to employ you. So it’s alright,” he says and Jiang Cheng is honestly surprised to see that he means it.

“Ah, okay,” he breathes out and then he forces himself to shake the surprise off. “Anyway, Wei Wuxian did all of the crazy inventing, but it’s a rather ambitious project. And it wouldn’t have worked, if I didn’t manage to get as many good deals as I did, if I dare say so myself,” Jiang Cheng says and Nie Mingjue nods.

“You absolutely should dare,” he tells him. “I heard about a few of the deals, they were work of wonders,” Nie Mingjue praises him and Jiang Cheng flushes lightly.

“But my father only saw Wei Wuxian’s work. Again. And I am just tired of it. I know that I am capable and I think I deserve some recognition for my work.”

“Absolutely,” Nie Mingjue agrees yet again, and Jiang Cheng’s flush only deepens at that. “And now you’re here,” Nie Mingjue says with a very meaningful look and Jiang Cheng can’t hold his gaze a second longer.

“And now I’m here,” he agrees, but he mumbles it towards his hands, rather than at Nie Mingjue, and when Nie Mingjue chuckles, Jiang Cheng’s stomach flips.

“And you want to work for me,” Nie Mingjue goes on and Jiang Cheng nods.

“If you could find it in yourself to take me in,” he says, because he knows that it might bring some repercussions with it if Nie Mingjue employs him.

When his father finds out that Nie Corps stole him away—and that will no doubt be how Jiang Fengmian will see it—then it could possibly damage their work relationship.

“Oh, I would have taken you in ages ago, if only you would have been ready to leave Jiang Corps,” Nie Mingjue says and Jiang Cheng looks up again.

Nie Mingjue seems entirely serious about this even though Jiang Cheng finds it hard to believe that anyone should want to employ him.

But he recognizes that it’s the mindset his father instilled in him, and that it’s utterly and completely wrong.

“So I don’t have to go beg Lan Qiren to give me a chance?” Jiang Cheng dares to ask and he’s entirely unprepared to see the serious look on Nie Mingjue’s face.

“Jiang Cheng, if you think you have to beg Lan Qiren for that, you’re mistaken. He would gladly take you in.”

Jiang Cheng frowns at that, because he seriously doubts it, but then Nie Mingjue goes on.

“There’s a position in the branch that Nie Zonghui handles that has a position for you,” he tells him and now Jiang Cheng frowns for real.

He had hoped to work under Nie Mingjue directly, if only so that he would see more of the other man.

“I see,” he hesitantly says, not happy at all with his, but he doesn’t know if he can ask for another position.

“That would mean that Zonghui is your direct superior,” Nie Mingjue goes on, just driving the point home by now, but it doesn’t make Jiang Cheng any happier.

“Understood.”

“You would not be working with me in any capacity and I actually don’t have any bearing on your success here,” Nie Mingjue finally says and this time Jiang Cheng kind of snaps.

“Okay, I get you, you don’t want me to work directly for you or have me associated to your name, understood!”

He expected Nie Mingjue to get angry at that, but instead he can only see amusement on his face and Jiang Cheng flushes bright red when a smile finally shows up on Nie Mingjue’s face and his dimples come out.

“Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue says and that makes Jiang Cheng feel hot for entirely different reasons. “I am just saying that if you start here and you and I were to go out for, let’s say dinner, no one would be able to accuse you of anything.”

“Dinner,” Jiang Cheng repeats, because his brain is a little bit slow right now. “Business dinner?” he asks, just to make sure, but he can already tell by the soft look on Nie Mingjue’s face that business dinner is definitely not what he meant.

“Date dinner,” Nie Mingjue immediately corrects him and Jiang Cheng’s eyes go big.

“Oh,” he breathes out. “So your brother wasn’t wrong when he implied some mutual pining and misery?” he blurts out and is rewarded when Nie Mingjue laughs out loud.

“Oh no, he definitely wasn’t wrong with that,” Nie Mingjue says and he looks so amused Jiang Cheng wants to kiss the smile right off his face.

“When?” he dares to ask and Nie Mingjue doesn’t even pretend to check his no doubt busy schedule.

“Tomorrow. Let me take you out on a date,” Nie Mingjue says, probably just to make it absolutely clear that that is what it is and Jiang Cheng nods eagerly.

“Please,” he gives back and has to sit on his hands so that he doesn’t do something stupid.

“You’ll start in the company on Monday,” Nie Mingjue informs him. “All the paperwork will be done then as well.”

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng nods.

“That means you can kiss me today, if you want,” Nie Mingjue tells him after a beat, because clearly Jiang Cheng is not taking up well on all of his hints.

“Fuck, yes,” Jiang Cheng breathes out and immediately stands up.

He leans over the table, absolutely gratified when Nie Mingjue meets him halfway, and the kiss goes on for longer than it probably should, given that they didn’t have their first proper date, yet.

“I am so looking forward to tomorrow,” Jiang Cheng mutters when they part and freezes when Nie Mingjue presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and then his cheek before he finally sits back down.

“Not as much as I am,” Nie Mingjue promises him, and going by the heat in his eyes, Jiang Cheng even believes him.

When he leaves Nie Mingjue’s office after that, still a little but unsteady on his feet, but this time for entirely different reasons, Jiang Cheng decides that Wei Wuxian can never know about how dense Jiang Cheng was.

That is just for Nie Mingjue to know. And hopefully cherish for a long, long time.

Next part

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

#bt writes #jclovemonth2020 #the untamed #mdzs #modern au #mingcheng #getting together #jc is kind of dense #but thankfully nmj has the straightforwardness covered #first kiss #fluff

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theamberwriter · 4 years

Text

Nesting Fever [Alpha!Pro!Katsuki Bakugo]

[Sequel]

Pairing: Alpha!ProHero!Katsuki Bakugo x Omega!Reader

Word Count: 2694

Warnings: Cursing, lil angst

A/N: Bruv, I don’t even know. But I hope you enjoy

When you lived on your own, it was different. The entire experience was different. Normally, you didn't want to make a big nest. You kept it small and cozy, just enough room for you to curl inside with some hoarded snacks and bottled water. And you'd count your lucky stars your alpha was busy on hero business. But ever since moving in with Katsuki, the urge to make the biggest, coziest, plushest nest ever had taken over.

This was going to be your first nest since moving in together. You'd been trying all week to take pillows, clothes, and bedsheets. You had a mattress on the floor of the spare room that was a perfect base. Everything was perfect - except for Katsuki. All week he'd been putting away the pillows and blankets you'd piled on the mattress. You liked to gather before you built. You'd always done it that way. But this was driving you crazy.

Did he not care that you were prepping your nest? One that you'd build so it'd be perfect for when you had pups? Did he not understand how important this was? Or just how absolutely insane he was driving you?! Honestly, what was he thinking?!

By the end of the week, you were one cranky omega. One that no alpha could even begin to hope to soothe. It was the same feeling as when your parents grounded you. When they took everything away. Or when you were fresh out of crayons to color with when that was all you wanted to do.

Katsuki was working so much he didn't notice. Not to mention he was stressed himself. And with all the pillows and blankets disappearing, it just made it worse. All he wanted to do was go home and hang in the soothing embrace of his omega while he scented them. He didn't want to do anything else, especially clean.

Come the weekend, you were basically off your rocker with the worst cabin fever. But Katsuki was having some friends over. He spent the morning tidying up. Making sure nothing had disappeared to the spare room. When he was satisfied, he set up snacks and pulled out the games and movies they'd planned out.

It was noon when there was a knock on the door. You were slouched down in an armchair. One wrong word and you swore you were putting someone through a wall. Wasn't an alpha supposed to understand nesting? Or at least notice when his omega was cranky? Yours sure didn't, and that irked you more.

"Bakugo, dude!" Kirishima cheered when Katsuki opened the door.

Behind him was a hack. You smelled Kaminari. "Oh my God, that's what you were talking about. Dude, is [Name] okay?"

"Why the hell wouldn't they be?" Katsuki snapped.

"Seriously?" Kaminari gagged. "Can't you smell that?! They're not even my Omega, and I can tell something is wrong!"

Katsuki growled. "Damn right they're not yours. So butt out! - [Name] is fine. Are you coming in or not?"

You didn't mean to, but glared as Kaminari and Kirishima came around the couch. They knew. They could smell it. Kirishima mouthed sorry as he covered his nose and mouth with his shirt sleeve. You nodded at him.

"What do you extras want to drink?" Katsuki barked. They both muttered out water and your alpha went to the kitchen.

"[Name] what is wrong with you? You're burning my nose!" Kaminari exclaimed quietly.

Kirishima nodded. "I could smell you from the street."

You glared towards the kitchen, wriggling slightly in the chair. "He keeps taking the things for my nest! I kept trying to build it, but he tore it all down. He doesn't even seem to notice my scent changed!"

"Should we call Uraraka to talk some sense into him?" Kirishima offered, his voice muffled by his sleeve.

Kaminari nodded. "Or Kyoka?"

You shook your head. "Denki, leave your Omega out of this. And Deku's poor mate as well."

Kaminari groaned. "But you smell like rubbing alcohol -"

"Well apparently Katsuki likes the smell of rubbing alcohol more than vanilla!" you snarled, nails extending to dig into the chair arms. "Maybe I should just find another alpha -"

"The hell did you just say?" barked Katsuki. The wooden tray the waters were on groaned and cracked in his hands. "You're thinking about another mate?!"

You stood, glaring him down. He was pissed. The burnt caramel scent was sickeningly sweet. It didn't mix well with your alcohol scent. You glared at him as you went and sat on Kirishima's lap, rubbing your scent on him. You could tell you were pushing it. His scent started to smell smokey, and you could hear emitting from him.

You'd never scented Katsuki in the year you'd been together. He was too embarrassed to admit he wanted you to. But he also pushed you off whenever you tried. Instead, deciding to cover you head to toe in his scent. Which always mixed nicely with your natural vanilla.

"Do you even care about me, Katsuki? 'Cause Kirishima and Kaminari noticed, but you haven't said anything! Maybe I should have Eijiro here as my new alpha," you threatened. Kirishima was trying to stop you from scenting him. Though they were weak attempts.

Your aura and scent were utterly intoxicating, especially that close. Naturally Kirishima, as an alpha, couldn't resist. He wanted to drown in your scent. But Katsuki was his friend. You were Bakugo's, not his. And he definitely didn't want to get caught in the middle of this.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Katsuki roared, dropping everything to rip you off Kirishima. "You're my omega -"

"You sure as hell haven't been acting like it!" You exposed your scent gland more, scratching at it. "Can you smell that??! Do you care that I don't smell right?!"

For the first time all week, Katsuki really bothered to take a whiff. A deep one. He gagged, clapping a hand over his nose. His eyes watered as it burned. His body immediately pumping out comfort pheromones. But you were too worked up for them to be effective.

"What the fuck? What is wrong with you?!" Then something clicked. "It's been you taking all the blankets!"

You rolled your eyes. "Well they didn't fucking grow legs!"

"Why the hell - do you know how annoying that's been?!" Katsuki groaned. "Why are you so mad about some shitty blankets?!"

The entire room went silent. The only thing heard was Katsuki's heavy breathing. Kirishima's musky scent started to swirl threateningly in the air. Katsuki fought back with his own pheromones as soon as he smelled it. It was unmistakable.

Your heart skipped a beat. It lurched painfully in your chest, your stomach swirling. He really didn't know. You felt your mouth go dry, a lump clogged up your throat. You felt devastated. "Do you...do you not want to have pups with me?"

Katsuki was taken aback by the soft accusation. "What does that have to do with -"

Finally, Kirishima groaned and stood. He looked frazzled and angry. "[Name] has been nesting, you absolute dumbass!"

"Nesting?" Katsuki repeated quietly. Completely disregarding the name he'd been called. He realized he deserved it. Then his eyes turned to you. "You've been nesting? Why didn't you tell me, idiot?"

You pulled your arm out of his grip. His pheromones finally starting to take effect. "Because I wanted it to be a surprise! Not to mention I just assumed you knew what I was doing! I was going to let you in. But definitely! Not! Now! You're unbelievable!"

You brushed by Kirishima as you turned, rubbing your mellower scent on him. You saw his pupils dilate and his body go rigid. And caught the undeniable growl of your angry mate behind you. You went to your bedroom, slammed the door, and bundled up under your comforter with the pillows on your bed stacked around you.

You could hear the guys arguing through the door. Which definitely didn't help your mood. Katsuki didn't understand. He didn't know. Your mate was supposed to know. But he hadn't even bothered to smell you.

You pulled the blanket over your head and slumped over on your side. "Maybe Kirishima would be a better mate...but I don't want to leave Katsuki...I love him…"

You listened until it was silent. The door to your room squeaked open then. You heard footsteps coming to you. You were just going to pretend you weren't there. You were mad at all of them now. Kirishima and Kaminari for no real reason. Only because they picked up on it. And the one person who mattered most hadn't bothered.

"Hey, uh." That was Katsuki's voice, a hand was gently placed on your shoulder. "Can I come in?

You flopped over, out of his touch. "Nope, sorry. This is a one-person nest. There's no room for you."

"[Name], c'mon…" he sounded tired, but annoyed.

You sat up and uncovered your face. You could feel the tears as you turned to him. "No! - You were supposed to notice! You were supposed to know! But you didn't! Mates are supposed to know when you're nesting, when you're pissed off, or just not in a good mood! But you didn't! Eijiro did, immediately! Even Denki smelled it, and he's a beta! Do you just not care about me?!"

Katsuki's distress was evident in the air as he gripped your shoulders and shook you lightly. "Of course I care you, idiot!"

"Then what the fuck -" you sobbed. You couldn't help it. You choked out garish, moaning sobs. You didn't want to, but the omega in you was begging for attention from your alpha. More than just physical attention.

Katsuki sighed. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I shouldn't have to!" you stressed. "Didn't you smell me? Didn't it bother you I wasn't normal?"

"You smell like you do when you're in heat! I figured that was it. I've never seen you fucking nest! How was I supposed to know?!"

"Don't lie to me, Katsuki! You would know if I was in heat! You know before I do that it's coming! Also, I thought it was obvious that I was nesting!" You flopped back onto the mattress. "You haven't paid attention at all. Do you just not want me as your Omega anymore?"

Katsuki couldn't take any more of your sharp, bitter scent. But he didn't know how to apologize. He'd never seen you so upset. And Kirishima had even threatened to take you from him if he didn't treat you right. There was no way he was allowing you to be anyone else's, even his friend's.

Katsuki pulled himself to lie beside you. Gently, he shifted your back to his chest. His chin on the top of your head, he gently rubbed against you. You didn't shove him off, but you didn't make a sound either.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he grunted in your ear. But you stayed quiet. He rubbed on you more. You could hear the TV in the living room, it was nearly muted it was so low. They were listening. "[Name], I know I've been a shitty alpha, I get it."

You grunted in agreement and he tensed. That signal he got. He was trying everything he could to try and comfort you. But, even though your scent was losing its sharp edge, it remained damp smelling. Like the earth just before it rained. He couldn't deny the sadness in it.

Katsuki sighed. "I'd get it if you wanted to mate with shitty hair, instead of me. - He'd be better for you. He noticed you were upset right away. He knew were nesting."

"I may be mad at you," you muttered finally. "But that doesn't mean I don't want you to be my alpha. I'm sorry about acting like that and for scenting Kirishima. Those two only know because I told them."

"You didn't let me finish -" Katsuki pulled you down to lay on your back, and then hovered over to look into your teary eyes. It broke his heart. "He may be better - but I'm going to work to be even greater than that. Got it? I'm going to be the best fucking alpha. I'm gonna prove it to everyone. They're gonna fucking wish they were you. But I do love you, idiot. I'm not just your alpha. I'm your mate. - And I know you only did it because you were mad...I - I want you to scent me, too."

"Katsuki," you breathed. He noticed as your scent dulled. Lulling back to into a warm, sugary vanilla. He lowered himself down, laying his head on your chest. You began to rub on him, covering him over with your scent.

He breathed in the sweet tone deeply. Enjoying the feeling of you marking him, if only by smell. "And I wasn't lying about you smelling like heat, but you're right - it wasn't as pungent. You didn't smell like you wanted it. Maybe that's just what you smell like when you're nesting. You never let me come over when you would do it before."

"It technically an ongoing thing." You shrugged, pausing briefly. Katsuki let out an involuntary whine. You smiled, kissed his hair, and began to scent him again. "But I do have weeks where that's all I fuss over. I'm sorry I stole your clothes. And your pillows. And all the blankets. I just wanted everything that smelled like you."

Katsuki's heart fluttered at those words. He'd heard about omega nests. What they meant. And the fact that his scent brought you the feeling of safety? - Nothing could swell his ego more.

Katsuki leaned up and gently kissed you. Then he leaned his forehead against yours. "Do you still want to?"

You beamed. "I've wanted nothing more all week."

"Then do it. I'll scent anything you want, sweetheart." His tone verged on arrogant. As soon as he pulled away, you sprung up and began collecting things. You stumbled as you dragged a large armful of blankets down to the spare room.

Katsuki went back out to hang with the guys. Now that everything was settled, everything smelled sweet again. Except for a slight tinge of jealousy coming off Kirishima. But Katsuki knew it would either pass or he'd have to brawl over it. The two would decide when the time came. In the end, they'd still be friends.

It wasn't until much later when you finally announced your nest was done. You'd run out a few dozen times to where they sat, silently holding objects out to Katsuki. Or rubbing them on him if he wasn't going fast enough. You were so busy running around the house and trying to make it perfect, you didn't realize it was pushing midnight. Kirishima and Kaminari were still there. Though you had the feeling you were going to have to call Kyoka about Denki, he was passed out.

"You may look, but you cannot touch," you said, guiding Kirishima and Katsuki down the hall. "Tada!"

You opened the door, allowing them full view of your masterpiece. There was hardly a spot of floor to be seen. You'd moved around some furniture, draping blankets over them. The mattress in the center was the focal point. It was piled high with pillows and clothes. Stuffed animals of all kinds. Little trinkets Katsuki had given for your birthday and the holidays was was stacked on a shelf.

"This is amazing, [Name]," Kirishima said, grinning. "You're lucky, Baku-bro."

You chuckled. "Oh no, Katsuki will not be sleeping in here with me yet."

"What?!" your alpha snapped.

"I'm still mad at you," you sniffed. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

Kirishima pulled a ranting Bakugo down the hall. You shut the door behind them, finally falling into your finished nest. This was definitely the biggest and coziest one you'd built. And you hoped to just keep adding to it. You curled up, burying your face into Katsuki's pillow.

Your heart swelled with happiness. Comfort and warmth immediately spreading over you. One day you'd let him in. One day, you'd share this with Katsuki. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow - but soon.

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futurewriter2000 · 4 years

Text

Love Hurts - pt. 6

A/N: I wrote the first version of this like days ago but I hated it so much that I felt like I needed to re-write it and I did so here yall go. Hope you like it.

Fred woke up with a massive headache. He tried to pull his sleep further on but the headache was too strong to fall back asleep. He groaned into the pillow and kept his head buried in it, weirdly finding something unfamiliar going up his nostrils. It wasn’t the usual smell of the fabric softener his pillow case has but it was different and didn’t take a lot of time and contemplating to figure out to who it belong to.

You.

Memories rushed into his head without any warning. He cringed as he remembered his pathetic-self, throwing up over the bathroom seat and feeling you rubbing his back.

It was all so foggy to him. He couldn’t remember more than you and him hugging. For him begging you to wait until he fell asleep.

“You bloody git.” he mumbled into the pillow case before dragging himself to the bathroom and taking a showed.

---

Oddly enough, he did make to breakfast in last minutes and odder than that, you were seated next to Angelina and his friends. Your hair was a bit messy from last night’s hairstyle and some traces of makeup were still there. Nevertheless, you were extremely happy and your eyes- your gorgeous eyes were sparkling like never before when they locked with his.

“Moooorning.” George said as he saw his brother approaching, grinning at him.

“Morning.” Fred rubbed his eyes and sat down, reaching for his breakfast.

“You slept well? Because I surely did not, hearing you pull in massive snores like a piglet on crack.” his eyes narrowed but everybody else laughed.

Fred took a bite in his toast, glanced at you with a smile, then turned to George. “I was itty bitty tired.”

“You left early.” Angelina interrupted and everybody looked at her. “And George said you were already fast asleep when he came back.”

“And when did George come back?” you leaned forward, looking at George.

“When did you?” he narrowed your eyes back at you.

‘--- Fred fell asleep and you were tiptoeing back to your dorm. The image of him still lingering in your mind, you had a lovely smile plastered on your lips but when you came down from the boys dormitories, George came down from the girls dormitories.

The two of you stood like stones, staring at each other as both of you were caught.

It was three in the morning.

“I won’t tell if you won’t tell.” he said and you smiled.

“Deal.” the two of you shook hands and walked by as nobody ever saw anything. ---’

“Not telling.” you grinned cheekily and George did the same, both mirroring each others body language; crossing your arms over your chest and looking away.

“How about you, (y/n)?” Angelina nudged you a bit and smiled.

“What about me?”

“I mean- I saw what happened between you and your fit date. He ran after you and never came back. I assumed he apologised and made it work?” she grinned with a wink but you only gave a quick glance to Fred’s confused expression and laughed.

“He only apologised to me this morning, before I came over here.” you smiled. “I forgave him, of course. I do know him since I was a kid, baby even.”

“Oh, so you didn’t spend the night with him?” her face was a bit flushed and you couldn’t analyze fast enough to figure out why.

“No.” was all you replied with before Fred cut the silence and asked.

“Why would he apologise?” he tried to play it cool but his eyes were soley focused on you.

“Nothing big really. He got a bit too grabby and I just slapped him and stormed off.”

“Grabby?” Fred stopped chewing, swallowing hard and clenching his jaw.

“I thought you fancied him?” Angelina said more sternly, angrily too.

“I’ve known him since we were five. He was my cousin’s best friend. We used to drag each other through the mud for my cousin’s attention.” you laughed. “Cute fella but I just- no.” you shook your head, blushing.

“But aren’t you Muggleborn?” George asked.

“Yeah, ironic that we both are.” you looked over your shoulder to find him laughing with his friends. “He’s a good guy.”

“But he’s... grabby.” Fred’s eyes were staring into yours with jealous flames and he couldn’t help himself but to feel anger bubble in his stomach.

“Yeah...” you trailed off and grabbed your books. “I- uh- I need to get these books to the library before it closes. It’s Sunday after all.” you smiled at everybody and waved them a goodbye.

“But it closes in an hour.” Fred said all of a sudden, taking his glare away from your date on the other side and to you.

“I know, Freddie. That’s why I’m going now.” you smiled and wandered off.

Freddie. You said Freddie. Not Fredrick, not Fred and for Merlin’s sake not George or Ron but Freddie.

And that was all it was needed for him to get his giddy smile back.

---

“So you’re not cross with me anymore, are you?” he poked his head through the other side of the shelf and grinned.

“What makes you think that?” you smiled back, pushing his head on the other side and walking down the aisle.

“You called me Freddie.” he said as he walked along side you, until the two of you reached the end and he was backing you against the bookshelves. “You call me Fredrick, when you are pissed at me, George when you want to push my buttons and piss me off and Ron when you’re feeling pretty vindictive.” he kept smiling, looking down on you as you rolled your eyes. “ But you only call me Freddie when you are utterly, ubelievably in love with me.” he spoke low, in a seductive manner.

“Then why ask the question when you already know the answer.” you replied, narrowing your eyes. “And I think that is an exaggeration. Utterly, unbelievably in love with you?” you scoffed, pushing him away and walking to Madam Pince. “Like you said, Fred-”

“Freddie.” he corrected you, lifting up his finger and keeping his cocky grin on.

“- I am not a mean person.” you laughed, looking at him before turning to Madam Pince and giving her the books to check out. “And holding on to anger is pointless.”

“But I never apologised.” Fred’s grin fell and his eyes saddened.

You were already at the door when you heard his voice and turned around. “What?”

“For... you know... saying what I said.”he lowered his head in shame but you only smiled.

“Oh, you apologised alright.” you continued smiling at him, grabbing his hand and pulling him behind you.

“When?” he furrowed his eyebrows in perplexion but kept looking at your hands holding each other.

“Last night.” you pulled him to the bench and plopped down.

He followed. “Well, darling, last night is a bit foggy to me if you must know.”

“Oh, I believe so.” your eyes sparkled. “You asked me to be with you until you fell asleep-”

“Oh Merlin-” he sunk in his seat and blushed but you only giggled and nudged his shoulder a bit.

“It’s okay for a guy to be vulnerable, Freddie.” you laughed again and just that laugh unlocked a little memory in his head; you were laying in front of him with your eyes watching his and your hand on his cheek, caressing it gently. You wore his sweater over your dress and you weren’t covered like he was. He mumbled something and you let out the same laugh as you did right now.

‘--- The glitter from your eyeshadow was all over your cheeks and your mascara was a bit smudged from rubbing your eyes when you were tired.

“You called me Freddie.” he said, smiling and finding your smile grow as well. “I missed that.”

“You missed me calling your name?” you laughed, tucking your hands under your pillow.

“It’s special when you say it.” he mumbled sleepily.

“I’ll pin that down.” you spoke softly as he closed his eyes and pulled in a light snore.

“I’m really sorry.” he said just before he opened his eyes again and put his hand on your cheek, tucking behind one of the curls that fell from your bun. “For calling you a word I promised myself I would never use... and for calling you barmy in the head.”

You laughed and put your hand on top of his, rubbing your thumb across the back of his. “It’s okay.”

“Is it?” he asked, staring into your eyes. “Will you forgive me?”

“Of course, I forgive you Freddie.” you said and he smiled again at that word.

“I missed that.” he repeated himself and you laughed again.

“Me calling you Freddie? You said.”

“It’s special when you say it.” he repeated again and closed his eyes, trying to keep them open for you.

His hand fell from your cheek as he dozed off and slowly you reached for his cheek, rubbing it gently. “Goodnight, Freddie.” you slowly got up and made your way to the door. “Sleep well.” ---’

Fred watched you tell the story as if you hadn’t felt any emotions in it but he felt you feeling them just as much as he did. And you may have finished quickly but he knew what happened. He remembered.

His heart was fluttering and he knew what that meant. It meant he was the one utterly, unbelievable in love with you.

He fell in love the day of the second practice, not the first but the second, when the two of you danced together. His hands would lock with yours, his feet move alongside your tip toes because he was extremely taller than you... and in that moment, exactly that moment when he spun you around, your hair clip fell down your hair and got stuck on the edges, letting those front hair fall in front of your face. He twirled you back to him and you were panting with your cheeks red and your eyes scared... and bright. They were so bright and looking up at his like a full moon on a cloudy night. He had you in his hands, in his hold and it was all so magical until the two of you parted ways and he knew he didn’t want to.

That day. That moment. He knew but he did not want to admit it.

“Thank you for staying.” he put his hand on top of yours and you turned your eyes to him, smiling.

“Of course.” you nodded with a smile, then pulled your hand away and stood up. “It’s what friends are for.” you continued and his smile immediately fell.

“A what?”

“Friends?” you smiled with a quirk of your eyebrow. “I’m not that dense, Freddie. I know you have the hots for Angelina and I say go for it. I’ll survive. I’m a big girl.”

But Fred felt as if his brain was scrambled by that one word. He wanted to speak but his mouth were sown shut.

“See you tomorrow in class.” you put your hand on his cheek and left- left him behind, confused and dazed, both from your words and your touch.

“Friends?” he leaned forward, feeling frustration kick in. “Bloody friends-?!” he stood up and watch you turn around the corner and disappear. He put his hands on the back of his head and ran them through his hair. “I’ll show you friends.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader

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hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

Can I get something where Newt barges in on Hermann doing some yoga in the most scantily clad yoga gear ever...

ok this is for like 3 people and wholly inspired by the hermann tank top renaissance on side twitter this past week. 18+ under cut!!!

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

The good thing about living on what used to a pretty bustling base—Newt considers—is that the average athletic hopeful has their pick of at least three different gyms at any given time. And the good thing about that—Newt further considers, as he half-jogs down to the gym closest to the k-science lab—is that the rangers don’t bother with any gym besides the one directly off of their quarters, because it’s got the sparring mats and the nice equipment and all that shit. Look, Newt’s not exactly the most ripped guy in the world. Or even really very fit. When he feels the rare urge to hit the gym, he doesn’t want to be struggling over some push-ups while rangers with muscles as big as his head lift 300 pound barbells and bust open punching bags or whatever. It’s...degrading.

Lately Newt’s been hitting the gym more frequently than usual, on account of a something that passed between him and Hermann at lunch in the mess a few weeks back. Hermann had caught eye contact with one of the muscled rangers across the room, looked down at his little bowl of soup, and said—calmly—“He’s quite handsome, isn’t he?”

Anyway, that’s why Newt has to get all buff now.

It’s disappointing to see that the gym lights are on, but maybe no one will take any notice of Newt if he sticks to a deserted, badly-lit corner or something. He’s so set on creeping inside undetected that he doesn’t even realize who it is that’s beaten him there that morning, until he hears a small, surprised “Newton?”

Newt looks up sharply. Hermann is on a yoga mat in the middle of the gym floor, his left leg stretched out far to the side, and bent halfway over to touching one socked foot. But that’s not what stops Newt dead in his tracks and sends a fiery jolt of arousal rocketing straight down to his stomach, and it’s not even the little grunting noises Hermann’s making as he goes: that’d be Hermann’s outfit. He’s forgone his usually twenty wrinkled old layers for a pair of baggy grey yoga pants and the absolute thinnest white tank top of all time, a tank top which shows off shapely, toned arms, a thin layer of sweat over each, and collarbones, and clings to a shapely set of pecs, which has ridden up just enough to show off a patch of pale stomach, with a small trail of light-colored hair leading down, and... “Newton!” Hermann repeats, shooting up in alarm.

“Wha?” Newt says, and then he trips over a weight bench.

It’s one of their more uncomfortable trips to medical.

"Don’t tip your head back,” Hermann says.

“Thanks,” Newt says, except Hermann’s handkerchief is pinched to his nose, so it sounds a great deal more nasal. “I know, dude. Not my first rodeo.” He’s gotten his ass kicked for mouthing off in bars to jackasses more times than he cares to admit. He pulls away the handkerchief and scowls at the blooming scarlet stain, as if doing so might stop the source of it. It doesn’t; another splotch of blood lands on his hand, and he quickly shoves the handkerchief back into place. “Unbelievable. I’m gonna look so fuckin’ gnarly tomorrow.”

“Well, I suppose it’s an lucky thing you haven’t broken it,” Hermann says. “Or anything else, for that matter. How on Earth did you manage to do that, anyway?”

“I was thinking about,” Newt casts about for a suitable lie, “...kaiju. You know me. Haha.”

Newt had landed pretty flat on his face. The way Hermann had sprung into action would be admirable, really, and Newt would feel grateful enough to treat Hermann to takeout coffee for at least a week, if the act that necessitated fast action hadn’t been so completely and utterly mortifying. Hermann is still in his little yoga pants and tank top; he didn’t even remember to grab his shoes from the gym before he escorted Newt out. The knotted drawstring of the yoga pants is hanging well down his thighs. Skinny motherfucker. Since when has Hermann had pecs? “Aren’t you cold?” Newt blurts out.

“Cold?” Hermann says.

With a great deal of difficulty, Newt forces his eyes up from the swinging drawstring of Hermann’s yoga pants to his torso. His half-bare torso. With his shapely arms, and his shapely pecs, and his elegant collarbones. If Newt squints hard enough, he could probably see Hermann’s nipples through the white fabric. Especially now—the Shatterdome really is always so cold, with the A/C blasting, and Hermann is usually so sensitive to it... Oh, God, someone help Newt. “Because you’re in,” he says, and then swallows a few times, “th—that. Tank top.”

Hermann looks down at himself, like he’s forgotten what he’s wearing—like it’s inconsequential what he’s wearing—and hums. “I hadn’t really noticed—I was a bit overheated, I suppose, from my exercises.”

“Your exercises,” Newt says.

“Yes, my stretches,” Hermann says. “They do wonders for keeping my leg limber.”

Limber; Hermann is limber. Hermann, in his little yoga pants and tank top, grunting away while he stretches out, is limber. “I didn’t know,” Newt says. He’s started to feel a bit light-headed again, and hopes Hermann doesn’t notice the funny way he’s walking. He’ll be grateful when they get back to the lab and he can sit down a little, or maybe run back to his bunk and take care of his...problem.

They walk under one of the larger A/C vents; Hermann gives a little shiver. Newt forces his eyes all the way down to Hermann’s socked feet to avoid catching sight of any potential physiological responses in Hermann’s pectoral region. “Maybe you should put on a sweater,” Newt says, helpfully. He watches Hermann’s cane move up and down with each step. He’s never seen Hermann not wearing a sweater before. Not even at Shatterdome parties. Up until today, Newt would’ve thought that Hermann wore sweaters to the beach, some sort of special waterproof wool. Maybe he wears tank tops to the beach.

Hermann says something.

“Uh-huh,” Newt says. He thinks about the small beads of sweat that had been dotting Hermann’s exposed collarbones.

“Were you listening?” Hermann says.

Newt looks up. “No,” he says.

“I said we ought to go to the gym together, in the mornings,” Hermann says. He gives Newt one of his rare, blinding smiles, his funny mouth going lopsided. “It’s too bloody quiet in there. I’d appreciate even your company.”

Unlimited access to Hermann’s bare arms, his bare shoulders, his collarbones. Grunting. Stretching every which way. It sounds like a fucking nightmare, or maybe a hellish wet dream. Besides—Newt doesn’t go to the gym. Not like Hermann. Apparently. “Sounds cool,” Newt says.

Hermann looks pleased. Stupid, stupid Newt.

He jerks off furiously in the empty communal showers that night, thinking—extensively—about what it would be like if he was jerking off on Hermann’s stupid tank top instead.

They make plans to meet at the gym the next morning at six, with a trip to the mess hall for breakfast at seven after. Hermann, it turns out, has an extensive workout routine, but not quite an extensive workout wardrobe, and so—as Newt attempts a few puny sit-ups in his oldest pair of MIT sweatpants—he’s treated to another view of Hermann’s weirdly gorgeous arms straining and sweating in that stupid tank-top. He watches Hermann stretch and bend each leg and lift some of the smaller weights for ten minutes before he realizes that he hasn’t actually moved a single inch since sit-up number three. Hopefully Hermann hasn’t noticed. “You’re not tired out, are you?” Hermann says, having apparently noticed. He groans as he arches his back. He has a small birthmark on his left shoulder. “I don’t mind finishing a bit—”

“No!” Newt says. “Not tired. Just, uh—” Hermann shuts his eyes and groans again, a little louder. “Just—” Hermann’s tank top has ridden up, giving Newt a glimpse of that little dusting of hair, the elegant vee of his hips... Newt bites his lip to keep himself from saying something stupid. “I. Uh.”

Hermann, bent half-over, looks up at Newt through his pretty dark eyelashes. Newt cracks.

“Holy shit, dude,” he whines.

Hermann straightens up languidly. “Mm?”

He doesn’t even look surprised when Newt reaches out a fumbling hand towards his knee, nor when—a moment later—Newt surges forward to kiss him clumsily. Hermann’s mouth merely curves up in a smirk against his, and he fists the back of Newt’s ratty old t-shirt to draw their bodies tighter. “I’ve been wondering when you would do that,” he says, and his voice hitches up in a small gasp when Newt presses his kisses onward across his jaw. “You’re the least subtle man I know.”

“Don’t even care,” Newt mumbles. He nips some of the soft skin at Hermann’s throat and lifts his hands up to squeeze his biceps. They’re nice and sturdy under his fingers. Is this moving into new territory with Hermann way too fast? Maybe. Sort of. They’ve made out a few times at parties before, and once Newt gave him a discreet (fully-clothed) handjob in a kinda nasty alleyway outside a bar on his birthday, but nothing, like, serious. Though it’s not like this is serious. Lab partner stuff. “Holy shit, dude, I didn’t know you were so strong.”

“Strong?” Hermann snorts. He goes easily when Newt urges him onto his back against his dumb little yoga mat; his pupils are wide and dark, and a pink flush has started creeping down his neck. He drapes his arms over Newt’s shoulders. “I didn’t know you cared about those sorts of things.”

“I don’t,” Newt says. “I didn’t.” He tracks more kisses down the dips of Hermann’s collarbones, following that blush. “I guess it’s just you?”

He doesn’t wait for an invitation before rucking up Hermann’s tank top. He hasn’t got a six-pack, or anything like that, but Newt doesn’t really care, because Hermann’s pecs rock even more when they’re bare. He squeezes at one just to see Hermann make a face, and—laughing—ducks down to graze his teeth across the left one, taking care to catch at his nipple. Hermann hisses sharply and grabs at his hair. He looks a little silly with his top bunched under his armpits, but it’s kind of cute too. Newt trails his tongue across Hermann’s sternum and tries his luck at the other side, too, and is pleased when Hermann gives a full-body shudder after each. “Ah, Newton,” he moans. “I’m—sensitive—there.”

Newt kisses over the spot instead as way of apology. Then he starts to trail his kisses lower, down Hermann’s slightly concave abdomen, where the skin is luminously pale. Newt amends his earlier assumption that Hermann wears tank tops to the beach; he’s not sure if Hermann has ever even stepped foot on a beach. “Newton,” Hermann moans again. He gives Newt’s hair a little tug when Newt takes the drawstring of his yoga pants between his teeth. If he goes down on Hermann good enough, maybe Hermann will let him test out last night’s fantasy... “Mm. Be quick about it. We haven’t got all—”

The door to the gym swings open; two rangers, chatting away happily, step inside, and stop in their tracks when they catch sight of Newt and Hermann. Newt flings himself off of Hermann, but it’s too little too late. It’s pretty obvious what Newt and Hermann had been doing. “Oops!” one of the rangers says, turning their back to them. Their friend turns away, too, and laughs awkwardly. “Sorry, Dr. Geiszler, Dr. Gottlieb. We didn’t realize this was—uh. Occupied.”

Hermann yanks down his tank top.

“No worries,” Newt squeaks. “We’re. Uh. Just about done.”

The door clicks back shut; Newt hears laughter. Hermann is covering his face. “Hand me my bloody sweater,” he says. “We’ll finish this later.”

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous #not sfw /////

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boxboysandotherwhump · 3 years

Text

Monsters and mushrooms

Tags: @salamancialilypad @whumpfigure @albino-whumpee @comfy-whumpee @ashintheairlikesnow @haro-whumps @moose-teeth @vickytokio @yet-another-heathen @orchidscript

A Nature fun fact: Bioluminescent mushrooms do exist actually and snails have the habit to foam when distressed in order to deter predators and protect their soft body from tiny satans like ants.

Chapter 4

CW: emotional overload, negative stimming, fear of abandonment, hints at past abusive parent

Sahar hasted up to the farm, stumbling on the crooked steps.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to cry but he’d forgotten how to stop and the world around him dissolved into a melted aquarelle painting of leaves and grass and roots as he stormed past the house.

He wedged himself between the root and the old stump they chop firewood on, eyes fixed on the axe still rammed inside, his back hitting the root over and over and over again, while he purged all the unwanted feelings from his body through movement.

There would be bruises tomorrow, Sahar thought when his violent rocking finally slowed into a gentle rhythm.

His lips trembled around one long shaky exhale and his tears finally subsided. Their tracks were only crusty streaks of salt water now, not overwhelming aches.

Sometimes, Sahar hated his body, hated it for being overwhelmed by the stupidest things, hated to have a brain full of misfiring neurons at war with themselves. A brain that made it unbelievably more difficult to exist, as what he was, in this world.

Maybe this was some kind of divine punishment.

But for what?

“Sahar?” Moira’s head peeked over the root and her worried face peered down at his cowering form. “There you are, sweetheart.”

He didn’t meet her eyes, only tugged his knees tight to his chest, ready to hide his face from whatever scolding was to come.

There had always been reprehension when he hadn’t been able to behave himself. Until all of his mother’s angry words hadn’t been enough and she’d abandoned him. At long last.

Ugly icky fear gnawed away at his insides, a sharp toothed beast he desperately wanted to banish but couldn’t. He rocked up against the root once more. Let his shoulder blades collide with it until he felt the scratch of rough bark through his grey linen shirt.

Sometimes his thoughts paused, stayed on safe routes and away from the maelstroms of his ever racing mind when he rocked or tapped or hummed enough. But now was no such time. .

Sahar’s thoughts spun and spiraled. Crashed violently into one another on their collision curses.

Please don’t throw me out. Away. I can behave. I can be disciplined. I promise. I promise. I promise. Please!

The curtain closed and left the window dark.

“Sahar?”

Wait.

There were no curtains here. And no city streets. No concrete roads or bleeding knees.

Only warm earth under his fingertips.

A long grass blade brushed his calf and Sahar closed his eyes to focus on the barely there tickle against his skin. The expansion of his ribcage, how it filled with the lavender scented air, inherent to his home, on every inhale and his eyes fluttered open.

“Yeah. I’m here.”

Here. Here. Here. And I can stay.

Moira began to heave Asmodea over the root with a loud huff that had Sahar instantly uncurl and twist around to take the snail with a firm, gentle grip from her arms. The snail immediately clung onto him as best as her soft slimy body allowed, wiggling in exasperated little waves until Sahar finally sat back down and put her over his lap.

“There, there baby. There you you you, there you go.”

He couldn’t help but smile as Asmodea draped herself flat over his legs, making no move to retreat into her shining shell. It’s brown and black stripes still shimmered from the shower Sahar had given her yesterday.

“Sahar? Can you listen to me?”

Hunching protectively over Asmodea, he gave a hesitant nod. “Yes.”

Moira didn’t like it when she had to repeat herself. It made her livid when he or Ansgar ended up absorbed in one-

Ansgar.

Something hot and heavy lodged itself in Sahar’s throat at the memory of his furious gaze. Ansgar had never looked at him like this, ever before, but Sahar realized why, now, after he had a moment to collect his racing thoughts, to calm his hammering heart. He really had been bad. Immature, thoughtless, utterly ludicrous.

But even so he knew. God how he knew.

Even after everything-

“Ansgar and Eric persuaded the… headhunter, to try his luck up in Berlin.” Moira began, lips pursed in displeasure. “Your house arrest remains nevertheless. Don’t give me that look. You’ve been irresponsible and ill-mannered, young man. No matter how good a reason you may think you had, you have to control yourself.”

A protest burned on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed the sizzle of anger down, buried it deep inside himself where all his other unsafe emotions were banished.

“I know. I I- I’m sorry.”

Moira shook her head with a sigh, grey curls swishing softly from side to side. “Just be better from now on and stay put for the next few days. No strolling through the farm woods either.”

His fingers began to tap an anxious rhythm onto Asmodea’s shell, while her body pulsed in soothing waves over his thighs. One of her eyes gently nudged his forearm.

“What, uhm what, but if if if one of the snails, if one gets lost and-“

Moira’s strict tone nipped his tender try at backtalk at the bud, rendering him silent for good.

“Ansgar and I will take care of that then. I have to go now. The others already left to check the InD-Unit’s for a possible breakthrough. I don’t trust one word out of this guy’s mouth, and I expect you to stay close to the house. Did I make myself clear?”

The scar on his arm stretched uncomfortably as he curled tighter around Asmodea, desperate for his friend’s silent support. Their soft body wiggled gently in response.

“Yes, ma’am.”

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

“We gonna go pick glowy shrooms! Glowy shrooms! Glowy shrooms!”

Mara shrieked, running in circles around Charlotte, a woven basket clutched tightly in her small brown hands. Her yellow hairband fluttered and the ‘thud thud thud’ of her prosthetic leg got drowned out by the other children’s laughter, hot on her heels in a tumultuous chase for the basket.

A small pale boy broke out into a bright grin as he caught himself from stumbling over the hem of his pants, way too long for his small, stubby legs.

“Did Julian steal Hanne’s clothes again?” Kaja emerged from one of the orphanage’s many crooked entrances with a box of flashlights under one arm. A bag full of pocket knives dangled from the other as she dodged a low hanging wooden beam with practiced ease.

Charlotte took the box from her with an irritated sigh. “I’m glad he’s wearing clothes at all, this time.”

“Are you sure you can handle them on your own?”

Kajas cocky grin vanished under Charlotte icy glare. Blue eyes frosted over as she yanked the bag from Kajas hands and shouted: “Everyone who does not want to stay home lines up here now! You don’t lose your flashlight and when I see one pocket knife flicked open for anything other than picking mushrooms you celebrate the festival in your room. Am I clear?”

The children’s excited shrieks died in an instant as they hurried to get in line, waiting obediently for Charlotte to hand every one of them their items and making a show off storing them dutifully away in their pants pockets and backpacks.

The perfect picture of orderly compliance.

Everyone knew it would last for as long as it would take them to leave the orphanages grounds.

___

The academy yard’s gravel crunched under Gideon’s boots as he snuck away from yet another disciplinary task. He had scrubbed all the bathrooms to shine in the past, had assisted in the kitchen more than once, and had sorted the trainings gear enough times to know it by heart.

Sometimes he even understood why it always ended up like this.

What he couldn’t understand, however, was having to clean up the entire two story training hall because that stupid farm boy provoked him. For once, he hadn’t even done anything. At least nothing that wouldn’t have been deserved.

Not that the little shit had been helpless.

“Where do you think you’re going?!”

Gideon nearly choked at his upperclassman’s call. His hands clutched the spear’s strap dangling from his shoulder tighter and he turned to face the young man who had hurried over from their living quarters. His dark thick brows were harsh, frowning lines in a permanently stern face.

“Berkan.” The corners of Gideon’s mouth twitched. He was really in no mood to deal with this stuck-up right now. “Just out for some late night practice.”

It wasn’t even a lie. He did want to get some extra training in, only someplace where he had some damn peace for once. Who could have thought the countryside would be even more suffocating than a life under his father’s roof.

Turning around before Berkan opened his mouth in protest Gideon hurriedly added,“Just finished the cleaning ‘n shit. Go look for yourself if you want.” before he skidded down the large staircase leading down from the academy campus.

Even if Berkan decided to check up on his task Gideon would be already gone by the time the other boy realized he hadn’t done shit.

____

Sahar rubbed slow circles over Asmodea’s head, right between her antennas. It was one of her favorite spots, right after the underside of her foot, when Sahar would gently wipe it clean with a fluffy towel whenever she’d managed to get something unpleasantly stuck to her body. Like the godforsaken acidic tree sap she had blindly glid through on their first forest excursion.

Asmodea carefully extended one eye, gently poking Sahar’s other hand while she began to softly nibble his leg. The raspy sandpaper-like sensation made him chuckle and his fingers began to tap over the warm earth.

“Hey, hey hey. I’m fine. Don’t, don’t worry.”

Another enthusiastic nibble made him smile, bright and toothy for the first time on a day unpredictable like a summer monsoon.

Sahar was just about to coax Asmodea from his lap and get some strawberry, when a gut wrenching shriek pierced the evening air.

Something rustled through the bushes.

He shouldered Asmodea and sprung to his feet in one fluid motion, eyes fixed on the timberline and heart stuck in his throat.

Don’t tell me?! Did something break through the border after all?

His pulse hammered in his ears as Sahar listened to the sound of snapping twigs, to the rapid ‘thud thud thud’ coming closer with every second ticking by. His thoughts raced. Would he be fast enough to hurl Asmodea over the root? To jump after? His eyes snapped to the axe. Could he run at all?

The bushes parted.

Sahar was about to throw his friend over the root, risking an injury to her precious shell, when he saw who had screamed. His body froze dead in its tracks and Asmodea fummed in paniked protest.

Mara had burst out of the thick bushes, covered in scratches, her little face blotchy and tear crusted. The yellow hairband that had been seemingly fused to her head was nowhere to be found and the glittering drawings on her prosthetic leg were smeared over with dirt. Sahar was kneeling by her side in an instant.

“Hey hey hey hey what- what happened? Mara?”

Wiping at tears rolling in endless rivers down flushed chubby cheeks, Sahar scanned her shivering disheveled form for injuries that, to his immense relief, didn’t seem to exist.

“Hey hey hey, It’s fine. It’s fine now. I- I’m here. Every- everything’s fine, fine now.”

“Nonononono.” Her tiny hands fisted in his shirt as she pressed her forehead against his collarbone, shaking and rubbing her head into Sahars skin.

Her fluffy curls brushed his chin.

“Monster. A monster. Monster at the glowy clea- clealing!”

“Glowy- what what what do, what do you mean?”

His hands tapped a rapid-fire rhythm over her shaking shoulder blades as Sahar tried to make some sense of her choked-off babbling.

Sobbing, Mara dug the remnants of a squashed luminescent mushroom out of her pocket. The glowing blue pulp dripped down her fingers and painted sparkling droplets of night sky onto the muddy earth.

“Oh. Oh! The the The clearing! I know, I know, know now. That that that’s close. Were, were were you, were you- were- fuck.” Balling his hands into fist tight enough to leave crescent indentations in the soft flesh of his palm, Sahar forced a long breath in through his nose and out of his uncooperative mouth.

Slow now, sweetheart. Don’t get too worked up again.

“Were you and the others pick- pick picking- for the fest?”

Burying herself back against Sahar’s chest with a frantic nod Mara howled: “The others- the monster, the monster trapped them!”

A breakthrough. Fuck, fuck. Fuck! There must have been one.

She trembled as he held her at arm’s length, meeting dark panic hazy eyes with a determination he thought had died that fateful autumn night eight years ago.

“Listen Mara. I, I I go to the clearing and and and you run to to to the, run to the tea house. Every- everyone’s gonna be, be there warming up for for for for tomorrow.”

He hastily wiped her cheeks before hoisting her over the root. Sahar flashed her a wry smile, trying to look braver than he felt.

“Everything’s gon- gon- gonna be fine.”

Sahar willed his hands not to shake as he tore the Axe from the cutting stump and vanished into the woods.

#whump #whump writing #emotional whump #mutant whumpee #mutant whump #negative stimming #emotional overload #autistic mc close to meltdown #but his pet helps him calm down :3 #nothing better than snail snuggles #some flowers have teeth #sahar #gideon #charlotte #post apocalypse whump #post apocalypse story #post apocalypse

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queenlua · 3 years

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You're a druid and an ex-evangelical, right? What does being a druid mean to you? How did you get from evangelicalism to where you are now? And of course feel free to ignore this if it's nosy. (sincerely, a Christian who wants to leave but who doesn't know what to do)

this is going to make me sound ignorant as hell, lol, but i'm happy to share

under a cut because this got very long, sorry, lol.

my personal progression was: "vaguely christian -> VERY christian -> christian agnostic -> agnostic/atheist -> agnostic/druid -> some sorta druid-neopagan-animist thing." i guess i'll just go through what made me switch between each of those, and close out with some high-level thoughts that may be helpful for you?

okay, so when i was

VAGUELY CHRISTIAN,

i went to Sunday school every week because That's What You Do, and because my whole hometown was very southern Baptist, i never questioned the veracity of its teachings much... until they ran a whole weekly series on "why [x] is wrong," where [x] is some other group

e.g., we had a week on why Mormons are wrong, and i didn't bat an eye because i hadn't even known Mormons existed until that moment

then we had a week on why Muslims are wrong, and that... bothered me, because i had a friend who was Muslim, and she was just objectively a better person than me, and i was like "any universe where she goes to hell and i don't seems really fucked up"

then we had a week on why EVOLUTION was wrong, and that just absolutely threw me, because while i hadn't thought about evolution much (i think i was in fourth grade or so), it seemed common-sense? scientists thought highly of it? "adaptation over time" just seems logical?

so i went to the public library every day after school for like a week, read some Darwin and some science books, and came back to my Sunday school teacher with, like, an itemized list of objections to the whole "evolution is wrong" thing. and he came up with some standard Answers In Genesis rebuttals, and i did more research and came back the next week with more science, and we repeated this a few times until he was like "lua, you just gotta take some things on faith"

which. lmao. full existential crisis time, because no matter how hard i thought, i couldn't *not* believe in the science, but i also didn't want to go to hell, so i was like "maybe if i believe SUPER HARD i will SOMEDAY be able to unbelieve the condemn-me-to-hell bits"

so i decided to become

VERY CHRISTIAN

and my frantic googling for shit like "proof of god" and "god and evolution" *eventually* broke me out of the Answers In Genesis circles of the internet, and into some decent Christian apologia, like, think First Things and various Catholic bloggers. and there, i found some way to square my gut sense that evolution was right, with a spiritual worldview.

like, i remember finding some blogger who said:

"young earth creationists get tripped up when they try to explain stars that are millions of light-years away, and end up basically arguing that God's tricking us somehow, and—no! my God lets you believe in the evidence of your eyes, my God does not demand that you make yourself ignorant or stupid, my God expects you to use your brain"

and i just started crying at my computer, because no one had ever said "using your brain is Good and part of God's will," i was like *finally* here's someone who won't tell me i'm going to hell for just *thinking* about things

(st. augustine does a much better riff on a similar theme, fwiw, but i only found him later)

still, it was an uneasy fit, because, the more i learned and read about world history, the more it seemed... weird... that the One And Singular Path To Salvation was... the successor to some niche desert cult... which didn't even occur at the *beginning* of written history, like, it was all predated by that whole Mithraism thing, etc... and like, sure, i could trot out all the standard theological talking points for why Actually This Makes Perfect Sense, but gut-level-wise, the aesthetics just seemed kinda dumb! and no level of talking myself out of it made that feeling go away!

so at this point i started referring to myself as a

CHRISTIAN AGNOSTIC

i mean, not aloud. i still lived in southernbaptistopia and i didn't want, like, my hair stylist to tell me i was a horrible person. but in my *head* i called myself Christian agnostic and it felt right.

and i started church-hopping, which honestly was really fun, would recommend to anyone at any point. i visited the fire-and-brimstone baptist church, the methodist church, the episcopalians, the universal unitarians, etc.

unfortunately, while this gave me *some* new perspectives, each of the places either had the same shitty theology as my old megachurch (i remember the *acute* sense of despair i felt when i was starting to jive with a methodist church... only for the dumbass youth minister to start going on about evolution), or, they just lacked any sense of the *sacred*. like, the Church of Christ churches, with their a capella services, *definitely* had it; i felt more God there in one service than i did in a lifetime of shitty Christian rock at the megachurch. but their beliefs were even *more* batshit, so. big L on that one.

having failed to find a satisfactory church, i was basically

AGNOSTIC/ATHEIST

by the time i went to college, but honestly pretty unhappy about it; while it was harder than ever for me to actually *connect* with the divine, i didn't like thinking that my previous experiences of the divine were total lies. because my shitty evangelical church, for all its faults, could not *completely* sabotage the sense of God's presence. there were real moments in that church where i do believe i experienced something divine. mostly mediated by one particular youth minister, who in hindsight was the only spiritual teacher in that church who didn't seem a bit rotten inside, but! it was something!

so when i happened upon a bunch of writings on the now-defunct shii.org (that's the bit that makes me look WILDLY ignorant, lol), i was utterly captivated.

said author was a previous archdruid of the Reformed Druids of North America, an organization that was formed in the 1960s to troll the administration of Carleton College (there was a religious-service-attendance requirement; they made their own religion; their religion had whiskey and #chilltimes for its services). however, this shii.org dude seemed to take it pretty seriously. he was studying history of religion and blogged a lot about his studies, both academic and otherwise. while RDNA had started out as a troll, that didn't mean they hadn't *discovered* something real in the process, he said.

this, already, was going to be innately appealing to me; i've got a soft spot for wow-we-were-doing-this-ironically-but-now-it's-kinda-real? stuff in general.

in particular, shii.org’s discussions on the separation of ritual from belief was really interesting to me: most religions/spiritualities have *both*, but like, you can do a ritual without having the Exact Right Beliefs (if there even is such a thing!), and it can still be useful to you, it can have real power. (he had a really lovely essay, speculating on the origins of religion as just a form of art, but that essay is now lost to the sands of time, alas.)

(note that i wouldn't really recommend seeking out *recent* writing by the shii.org guy; he kinda went full tedious neoreactionary-blowhard-who-reads-a-lot-of-Spengler at some point? sigh.)

the shii.org guy led me to checking out a bunch of books on the history of neopaganism & also books by scholars of religion in general, and the more i read, the more excited i became. and i started doing little ritual/meditation stuff here and there.

then i was fortunate enough to attend some events with Earthspirit (this was when i lived in Boston), which cemented my hippie dalliances into something more real. the folks there, being from Boston, were all ridiculously overeducated (a sensibility that appeals to me), but also, being the kind of folks who drive out to a mountain in the middle of nowhere for a spiritual retreat, they tolerated a full range of oddities (everyone from aging-70s-feminist-wiccans to living-on-a-farm-with-your-bros-Astaru to dude-who-started-having-weird-visions-and-is-just-trying-to-figure-out-the-deal to Nordic-spiritualist-with-two-phds-from-Scandanavian-universities-on-the-subject, etc), which gave me a lot of room to explore different types of rituals, ceremonies, "magic", etc.

(polytheism in general lends itself well to this sort of easy plurality! i can believe other people are experiencing something real with their gods, and i can be talking to a totally different set of gods, and that’s just all very compatible, etc)

anyway, i started calling myself

AGNOSTIC/DRUID

around then, because i knew i'd found *something*, something that felt like all the realest moments i'd ever had in nature, and all the realest moments i'd ever had in that shitty megachurch, but i wasn't quite ready to put a theology to it.

but, idk, you do the thing for a while, and you start encountering some things that you may as well call gods, and you realize you're in pretty deep, and you ditch the "agnostic" bit and just throw hands and start describing yourself as

SOME SORTA DRUID-NEOPAGAN-ANIMIST THING

because that's the most precise thing you can muster. in particular, the druid bit resonates because nature's still very much at the center of my practice; the neopagan bit resonates because i'm not especially interested in reconstructing older traditions or being faithful to any actual pre-Christian traditions, and animist resonates because what i sometimes call gods seem to be tied pretty tightly to the land itself. it's all very experiential; all this mostly means i'm some weird chick who sometimes grabs a car and drives out someplace very lonely and hikes for a while and does some hippie shit to try and talk with the land or the god or whatever is there. and sometimes i come back from it changed, or refocused, or what-have-you, and hopefully i'm better for it. i'm aware this makes me look a little ridiculous, and is an unsatisfying answer, sorry!

WRT YOUR SITUATION

i don't know you or your situation, obviously, but if i wanted to give former-me some advice to save her some angst, i'd say

-> Christendom itself is far wilder and more diverse than many churches lead you to believe. if you still want to be Christian on some level, and it's just a shitty church that's convinced you the whole project is fucked, i'd honestly explore, i dunno, your nearest Quaker meeting. they're invoking the Holy Spirit with regularity but they're not raging douchenozzles about it.

-> if you're specifically interested in druidism, i found John Michael Greer's "A World Full of Gods" really nice. (caveat: Greer has *also* gone full right-wing nutjob these days, sigh, so like. would not recommend a great swath of his writing. but that one's good)

-> deciding that a just God wouldn't give me a brain and then ask me not to use it was hugely comforting to me. like, that was the start of the whole process, that was what made me feel ok searching for other churches and trying to find something that fit. obviously you should take this with 800 grains of salt, because obviously i'm no longer Christian, and thus maybe i'm just some poor misguided fallen soul, but... i still kinda believe that! maybe if you can make yourself believe that, it'll seem less scary?

idk, happy to answer more questions, sorry for the long ramble, hope it helped~

#druid stuff

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yeojaa · 4 years

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in the night, ii.

read part one! dedicated to my beloved wofe @periminkle because she loves assassin!kook and so do i. i honestly dunno how many parts to this non-couple couple i’ll do but ... i cannot resist them. oops.

pairing. jjk x reader. rating. ... general? tags. soft romance in the form of: pining, cuddling, playing chess like losers, using a hotel room for the lamest reasons. maybe a very lil bit of angst if you squint at the right times. it’s just them being... them? ig. wc. 1.8k. beta reader. @hobi-gif 💛

“You know, when you asked me to meet you here, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

He can’t help but laugh, the sound teetering off his tongue into the tepid lake of espresso sitting in his cup. You’re glaring down at the board, hand poised at your side. You’re so focused - more so than when you’re stitching him up.

He wonders, idly, whether that should worry him. It won’t.

“You’re not having fun?” He hums, the slyest smile passing over the rim of ceramic, a certain twinkle in his stare. It’s possible he’s overtired - he hasn’t slept in what feels like ages - but there’s something awfully amusing about the sight of you, brow knit and mouth pursed into a grimace he seldom sees. “Got something else in mind, Doc?”

You don’t humour him with a response, advancing your king to C7.

“You sure about that one?”

“Yes.” It snaps past your lips like cinnamon bubble gum.

Seeing you so riled up - not quite irritated but overly competitive - makes Jungkook snort, setting his cup down with a soft, drawn out sigh.

“Come here.” It isn’t readily clear where he means but he leaves it up to you, watching you keenly.

You’re having none of it. “Make your move.”

“Come here,” he repeats, just that bit harder. The edge doesn’t reach anywhere but his words; his eyes are still a little tired, half-lidded and dreamy. They pair nicely with the full of his cheek, how it ticks rounder and reveals a singular dimple. Your weakness - or so he’d like to think.

It’s with a surprising amount of dramatics that you remove yourself from the opposite seat, folding yourself into his lap with only a handful of movements. He welcomes your weight, curling an exhausted arm around the shape of your waist.

With your back to the arm rest, you settle with your head against his shoulder, nose cold against the column of his throat. He can even feel the steel of your glasses, gold-rimmed and delicate.

“Bored?” The tone of his voice is lilting, teasing, dressed up with laughter. It disappears into your crown of velvet, loosely braided and knotted behind your ear in your signature no-fuss fashion.

“No.” But it isn’t very believable because you certainly sound unenthused.

He tries again, with fingers that flex into the soft, bare flesh of your thigh; his other hand guides your chin, drawing your attention fully from the abandoned chess set. “Want to order room service?”

It’s the least he can do, he figures. Something to ease whatever mocking resentment seeps out of your skin - much like his had only hours earlier.

Note to himself: pick up some new clothes.

“I want every dessert on the menu,” you finally relent, with a terribly serious set of your jaw and intensity in your eyes.

He snorts, again, squeezing the yielding softness of your hip in his broad palms. “I’ll call down and order. You go take a shower or something.” It’s not as dismissive as he means; the blouse you’d worn over is stained red, the colour bleeding garishly over cream silk. It even marks your skin now, caught beneath your nails and over your wrists.

“What - it’s not a good look on me?”

Your feigned affront is addictive, coaxing in a way he’s utterly defenceless against. Still, Jungkook rolls his eyes - an exaggerated reveal of bright white sclera - and levels you with a look that might serve him better than the gun that rests on the coffee table. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Doc.”

“But you do stupid things all the time.” You’re not wrong and if there’s anyone worthy of calling him out in this same way, it’s you. Doesn’t mean he takes it any more kindly, glowering at you so heavily he thinks you might be enjoying it.

“Name one time,” he retorts, fully on the defensive. Even though he knows you’re right. Even though he could list off just five things since last night.

Getting ambushed in his own home

Cracking some not-so-poor guy’s skull on the corner of his Nakashima dining table

Asking for you to make a home (or rather, hotel) call

Asking for you at all

Asking you to stay

He hopes you won’t catch onto the last three.

“That time I told you to not overextend yourself after you cracked three ribs and you came back the next day complaining because you’d piledrived a guy through some scaffolding but, and I quote, ‘it wasn’t a big deal’?” Okay, you have him there. “Or the time I told you to take the pills in the left drawer and you took the ones from the right and ended up passed out on my floor for twelve hours?” Another solid and mildly embarrassing example. “Or—”

“Okay, okay.” A single hand held aloft in the universal sign of stop; the other remains comfortable around your waist, digits tracing figure eights over the porcelain skin beneath your top. “I get it.”

You’re undeterred, pushing forward with abandon. “Or inviting me to a hotel to not only stitch you back together but also play silly children’s games?”

“Hey - chess is fun!” And so were Gin Rummy and Speed, the other two activities he’d foisted upon you post-sewing session.

“You’re an idiot,” you state, with a surprising amount of affection. He doesn’t mind when it comes like this, dipped in honey and rolled in fairy floss. It satisfies his sugar craving, filling the spaces between his molars with cavities.

“You still came,” he challenges.

“Just adding it to the dozens of favours you already owe me.”

He grins, roguish and far too handsome for his own good. Even tired, with lurking shadows beneath his eyes, he’s unbelievably bright - like it’s radiating out of him. It’s quite funny when he’s speckled in gore, blood tainting tanned skin and reminding you that he’s not all sunshine and rainbows.

“How will I ever pay you back?”

You’re close - far too close, even sat in his lap. Jungkook can see every freckle on your face, every lash that frames the prettiest stare he’s ever seen. He has to remind himself he’s waiting for an answer; it’s hard when all he wants to do is kiss you.

He thinks you must want it too, by how the silence stretches on, catching the pair of you like a Chinese finger trap.

“Doc?” Barely a word, made in a whisper.

Can you feel how his heart beats, trips and fails to right itself when you’re so close he can smell the coffee on your breath? Is it your medical training that gives him away? Or maybe just the fact that you’re attuned to everything about him because he’s, well, him?

Your big stupid idiot, for all intents and purposes.

He wants to ask. He wants to kiss you. He wants a hundred mundane things (like playing cards and eating sweet treats) only with you.

You tear it all away with a pat to his head and a wicked smile. “With all the dessert in the world.”

He scowls then, the expression wolfish and touched with agitation. It presents in the narrowing of his stare, his sharply set jaw. “Sounds like pretty lame payback to me.” Can you hear the edge of petulance, how it colours syllables the faintest shade of goblin green?

“Got something else in mind, Jeon?”

Having his words thrown back at him only makes him laugh. It reverberates out of his bare chest, filling the quiet of the luxury suite; it bounces around just as you do, leaping to your feet with a grace he can’t mimic. He’s mesmerised, as he always is, gaze trained on you - your loosened bun, the curves of your back, how you look in the jeans that look nearly painted on they fit you so well.

“Grab a bath, Doc,” he returns - less of a suggestion and more of a demand.

“Better have those desserts once I’m out.” A threat rather than a joke, though you’re far too unassuming with your old lady glasses and wide, expressive stare. For your sake, Jungkook crosses a heart across his chest and nods solemnly, earning him a devastating grin that works far better than your intimidation.

“Have I ever let you down?”

You’re already gone, a trail of your clothes left like breadcrumbs. He still hears you. “I mean - you did bring a knife fight to my door.”

“We don’t talk about that!” He calls back before the sound of running water takes over, distorting your laughter. Neroli and cedar wood comes - your signature scent. He can’t help the way he inhales deeply, satisfied, as he plucks the room phone from its holder. It’s an addiction, a second nature action that he can’t help, whether you’re curled in his arms or tending to his broken, bleeding body.

It’s dangerous, he knows.

His old mentor would tell him don’t get involved, Jeon. That living a life like this came with sacrifices. Things he’d never really cared for - at first. But now?

He daydreamt about them more often than he should, in all the quiet moments in between. They painted the prettiest pictures in his mind, wishful thinking in the form of everyday occurrences: coffee in the morning, you in his (unstained) clothes, drives in the countryside, a bed shared at night.

All because of you and your healing hands. He’d never thought you’d be so good at your job, stitching him up inside and out.

It’d be better if he left, packed his ruined clothing and stopped appearing on your doorstep. It’d keep you safe - and him, too. Relationships meant weakness and in his line of work, weakness was something to be exploited, like an open wound with a thumb pressed into it.

Instead, he waits until the cart of desserts appears - lemon tarts and basque cheesecake and a dozen other things that scream diabetes! - and wheels it right into the bathroom, closer to you, because he always wants to be closer to you.

“These don’t look like apples, Doc,” he hums, settling himself on the back edge of the tub, careful not to dislodge the towel that’s folded beneath your neck. The wet of your hair seeps into the material of his pants, sticking cloth to sinew and brawn.

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away but a tray of desserts will keep me here forever.”

“You planning on living here?” Quipped with an offering - a cocoa masterpiece of four layers, held gingerly between his thumb and forefinger.

“Might as well milk it,” you tease, accepting the bite with love in your eyes and a tongue that sweeps, just barely, over his suddenly electrified skin. He knows what you’re doing just as well as you do; it’s next to impossible not to lean into the desire, slide the digit home and press down into muscle until you’re drooling around it.

“Might as well,” he echoes, those same fluttering pink hearts reflected in his stare.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound

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foxykey · 3 years

Text

Unfavorable

HoshixOC

Word Count: 2.3K

Friendly Favor drabble

On second thought, maybe asking Hoshi for such a big favor wasn’t the best idea after all...

A/N: this is just a little drabble that sits between Friendly Favor and the upcoming Party Favor. I guess you could call it part 1.5. Thank you all for the amazing love and support you’ve given this series! Your feedback is wonderful and greatly appreciated as always!

------

Nahyun pushed in through her apartment door, bursting the silence beyond to pieces as she shuffled inside and began setting her things down. When she’d dropped her keys in the bowl by the door, she sighed heavily and covered her face with her hands. Then she ran her fingers up into her hair and paused a long minute, staring at the ceiling.

Nahyun was honestly at a loss. She felt drained, mentally and emotionally exhausted, but at the same time her body was restless. She needed to do something, but she wasn’t sure what. Her limbs were tingling with the need for exertion and there was a whirlwind of thoughts whipping around in the back of her head. They were heavy and overwhelming, but they were so many and they sped by at such speed that she couldn’t even try to pick one out to try and figure it out. Nahyun settled on just taking a shower and getting ready for bed. The hot water had to help calm her and she just needed to slow down and relax.

The apartment was quiet and peaceful. Despite it being past ten at night, she was home alone as it was Jeonghan’s long shift at work. He wouldn’t be back until past midnight or one in the morning so she didn’t have to worry about him whining at her to hurry.

Steam filled the bathroom, billowing from the shower head in plumes. Nahyun stood under the scalding water, relishing the heat raining down on her and soaking her hair.

The shower had done its job of relaxing her, but now the problem was that it had done too well. Now, under the soothing spray, the whirlwind in her mind was beginning to slow and with it came a stream of subconscious thought she had not intended on facing.

Oh god, she had just gone down on her friend. One of her closest friends. On Soonyoung. Soonyoung, Hoshi, Hosh… the guy she teasingly called her little star, who she hung out with almost every day and who made her laugh so hard her cheeks hurt and who went out of his way to drop off her favorite order of coffee on mornings she was running late.

And she had blown him.

Her brain was now vomiting up anxious recollections for her to stress over in vain after the act. She remembered how she’d asked him and embarrassment filled her. She must’ve seemed so pathetic and desperate and he had probably only said yes out of pity. Nahyun thought of how stupid she must’ve sounded, so inexperienced. Thinking back on everything that happened now, so far out of the heat of the moment, it all seemed shameful and unbelievable at the same time. Or… maybe it wasn’t that bad? It couldn’t have been that bad. He’d cum, she had made him cum. So, he must’ve enjoyed it at least to some degree…

Then, completely and utterly unbidden, her mind dredged up a vivid memory of the sound that had passed Soonyoung’s lips as he’d cum. He had been trying to warn her, in the middle of a sentence. His voice had pitched high, ending almost in a whimper. The thought brought with it a renewed surge of heat.

Nahyun snapped the water off and threw open the shower curtain. She forced herself to stop thinking, to just focus on getting dry, wrapping her hair in a towel, grabbing the toothpaste. As she began brushing her teeth, a small thought about what the last taste in her mouth had been needled at her, but she hurriedly slapped it away and finished rinsing.

Dressing was easily done on autopilot, throwing on her oversized sleep shirt, and while she combed out her hair she counted strokes. Then she meticulously narrated the steps in her skin care routine to herself as she applied the different creams.

At last she was tucked in her bed, staring at the ceiling, willing herself to fall asleep quickly. But that strange pent up energy had returned, crawling outwards down her arms and legs from the pit of her stomach.

Soonyoung’s final plea, ending in a whine played in her mind again. She remembered the addictive sense of power she’d held over him. It had been hot. Even now thinking back on it again it still was. Heat flashed between her legs.

Fuck it.

Nahyun’s hand slipped under the waistband of her panties to touch herself. She was impatient and needy, getting right to the point.

Now unhindered, her brain shotgunned out recollections from earlier that night at incredible speed, fueling her, feeding her desire.

That whine just as he’d exploded in her mouth sounded in her ears again. His dark, hooded gaze watching her work between his legs; she could almost see it through her lashes again. She could feel the weight of him on her tongue. Her mind replayed how his stomach muscles had twitched with restraint, how his voice had dropped into a deep, guttural moan because she was making him feel so good. Nahyun remembered how his hand had tightened in her hair, nails scraping against her skull as he unconsciously tugged. She recalled how roughly he had kissed her, almost eager to taste himself on her tongue. His thighs shaking with exertion. Asking her to look up at him. His head tilted back, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, sweat dotting his hairline. Lips parted, warning her, practically begging for two contradictory things. And then that whimper. That high-pitched whine and the splash of salty bitterness coating her mouth.

Nahyun came with a gasp, her two fingers swiping gently over her center as she came down. Her breath was stilted, body hot and overtired. Then guilt began itching at the back of her skull for what she had just done. God, if Soonyoung knew…

She turned to hide her face in the pillow with a whimper and sleep finally took mercy on her soul and consumed her.

---

The smell of coffee hit Nahyun as soon as she stepped into the hallway. She found her roommate sitting at the small kitchen table with a mug in one hand and his phone in the other.

Nahyun regretted not waiting until Jeonghan had left for his first class. Not that she disliked her roommate, in fact quite the opposite. They were very close and he was easy to be with; equally willing to party down or chill. But Jeonghan was quick and observant, to a fault, and just seeing him filled Nahyun with a strange sense of panic.

Just relax, he has no idea anything is wrong. Nothing is wrong. Just be normal.

She hummed a sleepy good morning and he nodded back. Nahyun filled a mug with coffee.

“If you’re making toast or something, make me one, too, please,” Jeonghan said, not bothering to glance up at her.

Nahyun rolled her eyes. “You’re such a leech.”

“You’re the one who told me I was forbidden from ever cooking again. Plus, I made coffee, pull your weight.”

She let the issue go and began scrambling some eggs to go with the toast. For a long peaceful few minutes there was silence and Nahyun got wrapped up in her cooking. She was just finishing the eggs when Jeonghan spoke again.

“You went to bed early last night,” he said. “You’re usually up waiting for me watching trash tv. Did you feel all right?”

Nahyun panicked for a moment, but finished serving the eggs on toast, reminding herself there was no way he could know. “Yeah, fine. I was just tired.”

It was the millisecond pause that did her in. Jeonghan at last glanced up from his phone to look at her. She busied herself with her task, pretending not to notice. Nahyun swallowed hard and willed the flush of heat down from her cheeks.

Please, please, please let it go. Just let it go, for fuck’s sake!

Jeonghan put his phone face down on the table. “Something happened.”

Goddamn it.

“Nothing happened,” Nahyun said, still not looking at him as she set the plates down and took a seat.

“Something definitely happened. What happened?” he asked, leaning forward to try and look into her face.

She avoided him, ducking her head to scoop up some eggs. “Nothing. What are you talking about? Everything’s fine.”

Wrong thing to say. Jeonghan pushed his plate aside to try and make her look up at him.

“Tell me. Come on, tell me what happened,” he insisted.

“It’s nothing.”

“If it’s nothing then just tell me.”

“Jeonghan, you’re being ridiculous. I’m fine. I came home last night, I was tired, I took a shower, and I went to bed. That’s it.”

“What happened before you got home? What were you doing?” Jeonghan inquired, digging deeper. “Was it something at work?”

“No, work is fine. It’s not a big-”

“Did you get into a fight with your mom or something? Or, oh! Did your older sister call to give you crap about something stupid?”

“It wasn’t-”

“Oh, oh! You ran into your ex.”

“Jeonghan…”

“No, wait, I know! Maybe-”

“I blew Hoshi!”

There was a beat of silence and Jeonghan sat back heavily in his chair, blinking at her. Nahyun had just blurted it out, but now she sat staring at her friend, waiting for his reaction like a deer in headlights.

“You slept with Hoshi?” Jeonghan asked.

“We didn’t have sex, it was just a blow job. It-” Nahyun cut off and waved a hand as if erasing everything and starting over. “He was doing me a favor.”

“You went down on him and he was doing you a favor?”

“I was at his apartment and we were hanging out and I had been caught up on this conversation I’d had that morning about sex with Jiwoo and Chanmi and he kept asking me what was wrong, so I told him about how I was worried that since I’d never given a blow job before that I might be bad at it and then I asked if I could, you know, practice and he could give me advice.” She took in a deep breath after the run on sentence. Jeonghan just stared at her, not saying anything. She shrugged, acting quite a bit more nonchalant than she felt. “It was just a friend doing another friend a favor. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” he repeated, cocking an eyebrow. “That’s not it.”

“That is it!” Nahyun insisted. “It wasn’t a big deal. It was just… just a-a thing! To get experience.”

Jeonghan eyed her a second longer, then lifted a finger. “First of all, you shouldn’t be worried or embarrassed about not knowing some sex stuff. It’s perfectly okay to learn as you go and whoever your partner is when that happens should be cool with it.” Nahyun gave him an appreciative smile, which he returned. Then he lifted a second finger and continued, looking scandalized, “Second, I’m personally offended that you didn’t ask me to give you blow job pointers. Very rude and inconsiderate of you, to be honest.”

“What? Jeonghan! Gross,” Nahyun said, smacking his hand down. “Why would I ask you to teach me to give a bj?”

“Um, I’m your roommate and your best friend? Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to get anywhere near your dick.”

“But you did want to get near Hoshi’s dick…” he drawled, grinning as he set his trap.

Nahyun floundered for a moment, blushing. “Don’t be ridiculous. I told you it wasn’t like that. It just… came up and he was there and we’re good friends-”

“So are we, but I’m not an option?”

“No. You would gloat and be a total ass about it. I can trust Soonyoung to be sweet and not hold it over me.”

“Okay, again, I’m heavily offended, but…” Jeonghan let the sentence dangle and watched her carefully as he drank from his coffee mug. “So how was it?”

She stood, taking her half-eaten plate up. “It was okay. He said I did good, so, no worries.”

“And after?”

“What about after?”

“Did you guys talk? Did something else happen?”

She swallowed, lingering at the garbage where she was scraping the remainder of her eggs. She remembered him grabbing her roughly and kissing her, remembered how his tongue had felt pushing along her own to get a taste of himself. She shook herself out of it.

“No, nothing,” Nahyun said, moving towards the sink. “I told you, it was just a favor.”

Jeonghan was staring at her back, she could feel his eyes on her. “Nana, come on. You’re gonna tell me everything just stayed exactly the same? You didn’t feel anything?”

She swallowed. Nahyun felt her neck heating up and she thought of what she’d done when she had gotten home last night. “It was just for practice.”

“Nana…”

“I told you, it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Didn’t you used to-”

The dishes clattered heavily into the sink and Nahyun turned on her heel to exit the kitchen. “I have to get ready for my class, I’m gonna be late.”

She left Jeonghan sitting in the kitchen, his question only half asked. Nahyun refused to think of how he was going to end it and she didn’t emerge until she had heard her roommate leave for the day, taking his questions with him.

#seventeen #hoshi #svt #soonyoung #kwon soonyoung #smut #svt smut #hoshi smut

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fernrisulfr · 3 years

Text

Unpopular FGO Opinion/Rant 2: Bio-Diesel Boogaloo

My second unpopular opinion, though I’ve seen more agreement to this, and there’s a post somewhere that I reblogged which gives a much more comprehensive explanation as to why this is, but “Lostbelt 3: Synchronized Intellectual Nation, SIN” is bad. There’s a few reasons it’s bad. I will however say this first. Everything about Spartacus? Was good. It was very good. This was a Lostbelt that showed just what Spartacus can be to the narrative. He can be more than just manically shouting about “OPPRESION!!!” in the right setting. My significant other was right when she said the reason he had to die so early in Apocrypha was because had he lived any longer than that, he absolutely would have joined Sieg in starting a Homunculus rebellion.

So why is Lostbelt 3 bad? A few things. One is that the narrative is very poorly managed. It starts very slow, and almost nothing introduced in the first half actually goes anywhere. Then when we hit the second half of the story the narrative suddenly goes “Oh shit! We’re half done! Better pick up the pace!” and jams it’s foot on the accelerator so that things escalate so quickly barely any of it has time to matter.

Focusing on the first half of the story, that Vitch was releasing beasts and giants on villages, a point which took up a large chunk of the story, actually went NOWHERE. It really had nothing to do with the story, and the quests themselves brought me back to Orleans where every node and notch was “Here’s two blocks of dialogue. Now fight some Wyverns!”. It was a massive backwards step in FGO’s storytelling. Another issue is that in every Lostbelt so far they’ve tried to give us some sidekick from the world we’re going to prune so we can feel bad about it later, but the one in Lostbelt 3, which he at least got eyes unlike the other anonymous villagers, the kid didn’t even get a NAME. How are we supposed to care about a character with no name and almost no personality to speak of? The kid was quite literally barely more than a generic NPC.

Speaking of generic NPCs. Let’s talk about how DEEPLY Lostbelt 3 mistreated it’s characters, which is the real crux of why Lostbelt 3 is bad. So Nezha and Mordred just did not matter at all, to the extent they literally got shoved out of the story part way in. Mordred was there for comparison and pairing with Spartacus, but the moment he died she became unimportant and basically didn’t do anything. Nezha started off alright, but then the moment other characters showed up she was likewise shoved to the side, and ultimately out of the story. She basically existed solely to identify that Xiang Yu was a similar existence to herself. Speaking of, Xiang Yu and Yu Mei-ren’s romance was completely unbelievable. For multiple reasons. Again there’s another tumblr post by someone who’s put more thought into this than I, that explains this better. I’ll try and find it and reblog it again. Anyway. It’s bad and unbelievable. I’ll try to summarize why. Part of the problem is that there’s no real build up to it. It’s a lot of Mei-ren fawning over or being overtly protective of Xiang, and Xiang just being confused. It’s entirely one-sided till almost the end of the story. Then he just does some magic robot calculations and he decides he loves her just like the other Xiang Yu. Which is the other thing the narrative doesn’t pay enough attention to in this “romance”. HE’S NOT THE SAME GUY. Like he’s the “same guy” but an alternate reality version. Mei-ren basically found her husband’s doppleganger and decided to cling to him hoping it’d be the same/because she couldn’t bare to watch another man with that face die. Which could have been very interesting! Really! But it wasn’t paid enough attention to or written properly to BE interesting. Honestly the relationship between Xiang and Mei-ren could have formed an emotional backbone to the story, and instead it’s just kinda off to the side and comes up occasionally, but it’s “super important really!” by the end of the story.

Related to this is also Gao Changgong, Prince of Lanling, who was UTTERLY UNIMPORTANT. Like he should have been! The Lostbelt started off super strong with that exchange between Gao and Mei-ren in the past, and then the narrative did nothing with it. Gao barely said anything the whole Lostbelt when he should have been more relevant to the plot! He should have been a confidante to Mei-ren! It should have come up that he was happy to be able to see her again in “another life” (such as being a Servant is like living again, albeit briefly). He should have been more involved with Mei-ren and Xiang Yu! Like it could have been done so many ways! He could have been her wingman! Or he could have been her confidante who she talked to about her struggle with Xiang Yu being Xiang Yu but not being HER Xiang Yu. Instead he just didn’t do much, died earlier than any Crypter servant so far in their own Lostbelt, and became utterly irrelevant.

Red Hare and Chen Gong appeared part way into the story, and served no purpose beyond being Comic Relief, which was a real disservice; especially because their summoning was supposed to be important. It follows after the death of Spartacus, where the Lostbelt suddenly becomes connected to the throne of Heroes because the people regain hope and the concept of a Hero. Their arrival is SIGNIFICANT and then the narrative goes on to do nothing with them. Literally anyone could have been summoned and it would have played out the same. That’s how much their appearance mattered.

Old Man Li was there, but he also didn’t matter. Specifically it didn’t matter that he was Old Man Li. It doesn’t even come up. It literally could have been anyone. Could have been just some dude, and narratively it would have been the same.

Which is largely the biggest problem with the narrative. Most of the Servants/Characters present could have been literally anyone and it would have been almost exactly the same. Who anyone was largely did not matter.

Now let’s address the insect in the room, Emperor Mothman himself, Shi Huang Di. He was bad. Not like “he was a bad guy”. I mean he was just bad. Poorly written and uninteresting. He was unsympathetic and poorly written. Now. Let me be clear, a villain doesn’t need to be sympathetic. My problem here is that he was unsympathetic, but at the very end of the story they tried to act like he was. I felt nothing for this character, and still do not. He was poorly written and the aspects of him that could have been interesting were under utilized. Also not a fan of his design personally, or at least not compared to images I’ve seen of what he apparently looked like before he became a super-computer, followed by his new moth bod. That’s just a matter of personal preference though and I have no real issues with his physical design. Point is he’s boring. Like everyone else in the story, and despite being there for most of it, he was under utilized, didn’t do much, and his role could have been filled by just about anyone and it would have played out the same.

And that’s my rant. There’s honestly more to criticize, like the unnecessary on screen torture of Vitch, the generic battles, everything about Liangyu, but I am starting to lose my motivation two rants in, and I fear anything I say at this point will just be me repeating myself. My point is, Lostbelt 3 is bad, and of the first three lostbelts it’s narratively the weakest. (Lostbelt 2 had a LOT of problems, but it was still better. I am at least a little biased though due to a love of Norse Mythology and Sigurd, though those things also make me about three times as judgey as a normal person.). Anyway. Lostbelt 3 bad. That’s just my opinion. Agree or Disagree, you’re entitled to feel what you do about the matter.

#FGO #FGO SIN #FGO lostbelt 3 #Yu Mei-ren #Xiang Yu #Prince of Lanling #Gao Changgong #Liangyu #Red Hare #Chen Gong #Spartacus #Mordred #Nezha #Emperor Mothman #Shi Huang Di #Lostbelt 3 is bad #Unpopular opinion #FGO Rant

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