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ghost-proofbaby · 2 months

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It seems that he picks up on her internal battle before it’s even ended. He sees through all that self doubt, and with a heavy sigh, holds out his palms. “Hand them here.” She instinctively recoils, “I am not giving you my weapons.” “I’d hardly consider those pieces of charcoal your weapons. More like enemies, after the beheading you served to the first one.” He wants… the charcoal?

summary: aruna begins to doubt just how skilled she truly is with her daggers, and astarion proves himself useful his first night in camp by offering an act of selfless aid. but not before criticizing her map making skills, of course.

wc: 3.3k+

warnings: continued memory loss, use of daggers (but not for violence), astarion gets a little flirty, and more gameplay recounting (specifically one of the first camp scenes you can trigger with astarion)

a/n: take a shot every time i make astarion say "oh, dear" like a little shit in this fic. also, i promise at some point, this fic will stop being such a play by play of the game lol

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“You’re Astarion?”

Aruna swears she’s going to be sick as she stares at the elf with wide eyes. It’s all too much – the leftover adrenaline from having a blade held to her throat, those red eyes boring into her soul, the swirling pressure that squeezes down on her lungs tightly as the realization settles deep inside her bones.

This is Astarion.

“I- Yes?” he questions, entirely on guard as his eyes narrow. He’s quick to recover, and all his hesitation is masked behind a certain air of confidence she can see right through, “As I was saying, I was in Baldur’s Gate… when those… those awful beasts…” he loses his focus repeatedly before finally huffing out a sigh, “I’m sorry, just- Have we met before?”

She doesn’t even know how to explain herself or her outburst. She hadn’t confided in Gale or Shadowheart regarding her letter, and hadn't mentioned Astarion in the last two days. The entire spectacle looks odd to every single one of them; Shadowheart is watching her far more carefully than normal, Gale’s face is twisted up with all that awful curiosity, and Astarion is just… Well, he’s simply plain confused.

He doesn’t recognize her.

She woke up without any memories, not even so much as her own name, with him being one of the only clues to her past self, and he doesn’t even know her.

What sick game is the Universe playing on me?

“Do you two know each other?” Gale asks when Aruna doesn’t answer Astarion, but it only earns him a scoff from the pale one.

“Thank you, for repeating the obvious question I just asked…” Astarion trails off, eyeing the wizard, waiting for proper introduction.

It takes him a few moments to recognize that Astarion is waiting to learn his name before he jumps to life, “Oh! My apologies. I’m Gale, and this is Shadowheart. And that is Aruna – although, I do promise you, she’s usually far less mute.”

He doesn’t fucking know me. I have a letter in my pack right now, heavier than any looted armor, instructing me to save him – and he doesn’t even know me.

“Ah, I see,” Astarion’s voice is surprisingly low, nearly musical in cadence as he hums and turns to look at her properly again. There’s still concern behind his eyes, still searching her for some sort of explanation. “Well, I certainly don’t believe we’ve met before, have we?”

He’s asking something more than just all that he’s voicing. She can pick up on that much; she just doesn’t know what else he really wants from her.

She can’t simply casually say, “Oh, I have no idea. I actually have no memory of my life before all of this. But, hey, fret not! I actually have a letter with your name on it – a letter telling me to save you, even. Small world, eh?”

Or maybe she could. Far more odd situations have arisen in the last forty eight hours.

“I don’t think we have,” she says slowly, being sure to enunciate each word with cautious care. They feel wrong, heavy on her tongue as though she’s telling a dire lie.

But was she the one lying, or was Astarion? If that letter of hers truly was referring to him, he must know her.

Is it possible he held his blade to her throat because he knows her?

“Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” he flashes a charming smile, and she realizes just how disarming he is capable of being. If she weren’t so on guard at the moment, honed in entirely on him for every subtle change, she wouldn’t notice it was an act, “What do you know about these wretched things inside our heads?”

The rest of the conversation, Aruna only has one goal in mind: Astarion will be joining them in her travels, no matter the cost. She matches his act with one of her own, flourishing with her own set of honeyed words in an effort to garner the barest hint of trust from him. And it proves to not be overly difficult; it’s as though they share the goal as something common between them, because the moment her offer of him joining the small group leaves her mouth, he’s eager to agree. Almost too eager.

All strange circumstances aside regarding Aruna, it’s still a valid response. They have better chances of survival if they face it in numbers.

And so Astarion joins them. Brimming with flamboyant movements and an extravagant smile that she notices stays half-closed, he offers to bring up the rear of the group just as Aruna announces the need to go back to camp.

“Resting again? So soon?” Shadowheart’s face twists as if she doesn’t notice the quickly setting sun, “We haven’t even found a healer yet. Or at least found a lead for one in the area-”

“We can find one tomorrow,” Aruna interrupts, turning to face her small group of rag tags. She can’t stand it – the hope shining in each of their faces, the undeserving faith that lies behind their eyes after just two days. Astarion is the only one resembling something she can stomach, and mostly because he looks entirely bored with the current argument, “I need to update our map and we really should try and put more effort into the camp before we pick up any more…” she trails off, and Astarion finally looks at her, half-smirking as though daring her for an insult. Something fires up inside of her – as though it’s a game, as though they both know she doesn’t mean it when she finishes the thought with a sarcastic quip of, “Strays.”

“Oh, darling,” he puts a hand to his chest, taking a few steps around Shadowheart to be closer to her. When he leans forward, it’s as though he’s sharing a secret with just Aruna, “If you wanted me to purr for you, all you had to do was ask.”

It’s not a secret, though. Everyone else hears. Gale takes a sharp breath in, and Shadowheart only huffs in disamusement.

And Aruna has to bite back everything inside of her to not react, to not give him any satisfaction. It’s as though he sees right through her, as if the laugh she had swallowed down had escaped nonetheless, to grace only his ears.

Neither of their shields are working very well against one another. Their souls already seem to know one another, staring across the vast caverns between them, a whisper of I know you echoing in both sets of ears.

She doesn’t stand a chance, and she’s hardly known him for a few hours.

—

Camp is quiet.

Shadowheart is brooding, Gale is humming to himself as he lays out a rug that no doubt came from his damned bag of holding to claim his corner of the camp, and Astarion has taken to sitting near the fire pit. All lost in their own worlds, all completely silent as Aruna gathers what she needs to complete at least one of the tasks she’d insisted needed to be taken care of.

The map. She needs to attempt to update it, add to the sad squiggles and lines to indicate that area they explored today. Even if they never return to that beach, she wants to know that it’s there. It exists.

Charcoal pencils that they had looted from a chest amongst the wreckage days prior are lined up on the stone bench, the surface almost too high for her to comfortably utilize it as a table when she sits on the ground before it. But she’s stubborn, and it’s the best she can do in their current situation, so she makes it perform as a table.

She’s just started to ponder if she should retrieve one of her daggers to sharpen the sticks of charcoal when Astarion notices.

“What are you doing?” he asks, sounding more accusatory than curious as she unsheathes a knife, already fisting a pencil.

“Sharpening my pencils,” she murmurs, mentally pleading with her shaking hands to steady as she brings the edge of the blade a few centimeters from the tip of the art tool, angling it so that she can begin to shave it down to a precise point, “I’m updating the map.”

“You have a map?”

She sighs, finally lowering the dagger and charcoal. Her hands won’t stop shaking, and Astarion really isn’t helping.

“Yes, we have a map,” she nods to the piece of paper on the stone before her. Astarion wastes no time in getting up from where he had sat on one of the bedrolls rounding a fallen tree log so that he could take a seat on what was meant to serve as her table tonight, not his bench.

He looks down at her sorry excuse for a drawing of a forest, the center being camp.

“Oh, dear. Well…” he leans in closer, squinting at a grouping of dots that were meant to symbolize the beach where she had woken up, “You certainly weren’t an artist before all of this, were you?”

“Excuse me?”

He glances up at her through his lashes, lifting a brow as if he was pointing out the obvious, “Don’t get me wrong. The idea of a map is an excellent one, I’ll give you that, but this…. This leaves something to be desired.”

She doesn’t know why she’s taking offense. She knows her art skills are shit. She knows the map is pitiful.

“It’s not complete yet.”

“Clearly.”

“We just needed some way to keep track of our surroundings.”

“I agree.”

“It doesn’t have to look pretty.”

“Oh, but wouldn’t it be so much nicer to look at if it was more attractive?” he tsks at her.

She hates it. She hates that his criticism, his disapproval, gets under her skin so easily.

She picks her dagger back up and brings it back to that piece of charcoal in her left hand, more determined than before, “If you hate my rendition so much, make one for yourself. I’m sure you could do a far superior job, right?”

Snap.

Her hands were still shaking when she struck against the soft black chunk in her hands. The angle had been off, the amount of pressure she was applying was too much. She had been distracted by him and now, she was suddenly holding a broken piece of charcoal rather than a nicely sharpened one.

They both stare down at the mess she’s created across her palms and weapon for a few seconds, deathly silent. She’s trying to not throw an absolute fit, quickly reaching her breaking point; he’s trying to bite down all his laughter, almost feeling sorry for her.

“Oh, dear.”

An echo of his earlier words, this time choked up behind his silent amusement. Slightly more exaggerated, far more taunting than they had originally been.

“Don’t,” she quietly insists, eyes flickering up to already find mischief burning in his, “Don’t you dare. I-”

“You have wielded those daggers before, haven’t you?”

She opens her mouth, prepared to bite back with an of course I have, when it hits her that she’s actually not entirely sure.

Have I?

She had wielded them in the fight against the brains, hadn’t she? And she’d been able to use them quite well, albeit the fight was against a couple of brains on legs, and she had a powerful wizard and strategic cleric on her side.

It seems that he picks up on her internal battle before it’s even ended. He sees through all that self doubt, and with a heavy sigh, holds out his palms. “Hand them here.”

She instinctively recoils, “I am not giving you my weapons.”

“I’d hardly consider those pieces of charcoal your weapons. More like enemies, after the beheading you served to the first one.”

He wants… the charcoal?

She doesn’t give herself any more time to question it, grabbing for the two remaining pencils and handing them over before she can even guess what his end goal here is.

That thing inside of her is still whispering, pleading for her to trust him. She doesn’t understand why – she can’t comprehend how he’s the mysterious Astarion she’s meant to save, or how she could possibly know him without him knowing her. None of it makes a lick of sense, and yet, she’s still handing him the charcoal he requests and not even voicing a single concern outloud.

He unsheathes his own dagger quickly. His hands don’t shake as hers had. The angle of his blade is precise and his stroke is quick as in mere seconds, he’s taken the chunky stick and shaved it down to a point.

He’s sharpening them. For her, presumably.

“How did you…” she whispers in questioning as he holds out the newly sharpened charcoal, the one he had yet to turn into a point still resting beside his thigh. Curls of ashen black litter the ground around the two of them.

“Skilled hands, darling,” the nickname strikes embers inside of her, kindling of flames ready to be fanned into a wildfire if he so pleased, “And some of us know how to use our daggers.”

She plucks it from his fingers, holding it up to examine the delicate point in the dying light of the day.

Perfect. She wasn’t about to admit it to him, but his handiship was perfect.

“This is the part where any one with common manners might say thank you,” he muses, condescending as ever as he picks up the second stick and begins to twirl it, marking his knuckles in the faintest grey.

Against her better judgment, her eyes find his as she all but whispers, “Thank you.”

It’s more sincere than she had meant. And she can’t understand it herself, but it feels like she’s thanking him for far more than just the charcoal. That quiet voice inside of her teems, preening as she continues to look him in his eyes. Those waves of deja vu are beckoning at her shore again, but this time, she’s almost fearful to dip her toes back in. It had hurt badly enough when their tadpoles connected – she doesn’t know what would happen if she succumbed to that feeling of knowing him, recognizing this scene from what feels like another life.

What had he done for her in past lives that warranted thanking him so sincerely? What whispers of forgotten memories between them warranted the firm instruction of saving him?

As she pulls herself away from the useless pondering, she takes note of Astarion’s reaction. He very clearly hadn’t expected her to actually thank him. The shock ripples across his features, he leans back as though she might have smacked him with her genuine words. For just a moment, hard garnet softens and she’s once more reminded of friendship. She could be friends with him; she could be friends with all of them, but especially him.

Just as she’s leaning into the idea, he’s clearly running from it.

“So, we’re resting here for the night?” he asks in faux nonchalance, effectively changing the subject, “Officially turning in?”

I could be your friend, but only if you let me in, it seems.

She’s not blind. She knows pressing the topic any further would probably end badly for the two of them. “Yes. And if all goes to plan, this will be our permanent camp. For however long our journey requires, of course.”

He’s quiet as he focuses his attention back on the charcoal pencil he had been fiddling with, and with quick movements, he takes to whittling it down just as he had the first one. This time, however, he’s slower. As though he’s begging for the action to fill the awkward silence so he won’t have to.

“Why do you ask?” This, she decides, she can press on. She can push him on this topic, “Never slept in the woods before?”

She doesn’t know why she expects him to keep up a callous act. Expects to be met with resistance and a snarky attitude. But no such thing is on display as he swipes at the charcoal one final time with his blade before he looks up at her, and he’s still softened. Churning ever so faintly, like the calmest of oceans. She knows there’s dangerous depths beyond, a certain darkness she only sees the shadow of behind the look he gives her, but the surface appears so inviting for the time being. Cool, refreshing, reflecting speckles of moonlight in his eyes.

“It’s all a little... New to me, I admit,” his voice is something softer than usual. Soft, soft, soft. Why does she recognize that softness inside of him so easily? She picks up the brief shrug of his shoulders before he continues, offering her more than she could have asked for, “The night usually means bustling streets, bursting taverns. Curling up in the dirt and resting is, uh…. A little novel.”

She’s completely bewitched through the explanation. Drinking in every movement, the way he speaks with his hands, the fluctuations in his tone. He dives back into that usual charming voice when he mentions the taverns – his tone brims with youth as his face softens and he says his final three words. The lift of his brows, the nerves of the small smile he pushes forward; she clings to every bit of it, in a damning effort to piece together who exactly the man in front of her was.

He’s pretty. If she’s learned nothing else, it’s that he’s pretty. The kind of pretty that would ruin her if she wasn’t more careful.

The kind of pretty that might have already ruined her, if that mysterious letter was any sort of clue.

“You should try,” she doesn’t know why she’s whispering, but she is. Mostly everyone has retreated to their own spaces, their own bedrolls. They’re the only two left within the vicinity of the fire dying out in the middle of the camp, “Rest, I mean. We’ll need it for whatever tomorrow may bring.”

He’s quick to shake his head, holding out that second pencil to her finally. It’s as well carved as the first one, perfect for the purpose she had for them, “Oh, no. I’m in no place to rest yet. Today has been a lot. I need some time to think things through, to process this.”

As she takes the pencil, adding it beside the first on the stone, she knows there's a catch yet to be revealed in his words. “Are you sure? I don’t mind taking the first watch.”

It had been an unspoken agreement – there would always be someone awake, keeping safe eyes on the camp as others rested.

“I’m positive. Actually, I insist that you rest. I’ll keep watch instead.”

She shouldn’t trust him. She shouldn’t so willingly put her faith in some random pale elf to keep her safe in her sleep.

And yet, she does.

Her logical thinking and her instinctive reactions don’t align. They never seem to do so thus far in her journey, especially with him. It’s more than just the letter reminding her to save him; there’s a twisting in his gut, a burning in the back of her mind, as if she’s known him far longer than the day has been. As if their time together transgresses far beyond the mere hours they’ve been acquainted. She trusts him ardently – to a dangerous level. She can recognize it, but she can do nothing about it. The feeling surely can’t be mutual. Her gut is surely leading her wrong.

“Thank you. I’ll sleep better for it.”

There are those two little words again, slipping off her tongue with an earnesty that rattles them both to their cores. At least this time, she hardly looks him in his eyes as she says it.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he covers up any shock with theatrics, offering a small bow to her, “Sweet dreams.”

Her dreams are anything but sweet that night. But they do distract her just enough that she never notices the shadow strangely similar to his stature, sneaking out the edges of camp, slinking off into the woods without a sound.

#my writing #ghost's stories #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #astarion romance #astarion bg3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #' have we met before' the note i put on the google doc on that line good lord #he has no idea #she has no idea #WAH #no but in all seriousness we will be entering less rewriting game scenes very soon because that's just plain boring #i wanna focus on them in between those events more #but i also do enjoy how i can twist and turn the circumstances of his triggered scenes into them developing trust #once we hit a very important camp scene i'll start with the time jumps

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strigital · 3 months

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so a new yearly adventure 'bout to drop and half of the players are already simping for ithelia while another half is grieving her boring design. me? i'm more interested in the fact that zenimax gave us a lore-friendly way to make our own dardric prince ocs and uuuh lemme just grab a sketchbook real quick and cook up an opposite to mepahala and probably/possibly her twin whose sphere are energies of the afterlife, death and being the shepherd of the undead and the restless dead 👀 and maybe a babygirl of a dardric prince who is the opposite of hircine and oversees the wild beauty of natural world, shapeshifers, sentient trees and talking animals, and mysteries of wild magic and secrets of the untouched wilderness, who has the bottom half of a deer whereas hircine has a head of an elk🦌 ooh! maybe even some opposite to namira whose domain is beauty, poetry and all that is aesthetically pleasing and dreamy and nice who may look like one of those fairies with butterfly wings all over them 🧚‍♀️

anyways, feck the lore, i'm here to 100% milk herma mora's ability to just "conveniently hide" entire dardric princes outside of reality thus making any and all stupid little dardric blorbo ocs we make "technically lore-friendly"

#*scribbles down a sexyman and a babygirl*#hehe #but tbh i think this changes my own skyrim lore!!!#see the mentor of the last dragonborn was the last ayleid scholar whose entire immortal life was spent recording events on tamriel #and collecting a whole Librarium of books of his own writing that herma mora would reaaaally love to have #and so he just spent his whole existance chilling in a pocket realm of oblivion being hidden from herma mora #thats where he kept yollokmir too while they awaited for alduin to pop back into existence #since hurling the bitch forward in time was not a normal course of events he decided to intervene and help the last dragonborn #i SUPPOSED that him being under the wing of meridia made sence since before this damn cinematic dropped SHE was a supposed nemesis of herma #NOW it would seem that putting the boy into ithelia's side of the hood would make more sence since her domain os basically hidden stuff #mayhaps old man was at the moment of the spell being cast within her realm and thus avoided the amnesia?#I'll have to do some rewriting...#oh well...#*dreamily thinks about all the daedra prince ocs i can make now*#elder scrolls online #eso #zenimax #bethesda #daedra #daedric prince #the elder scrolls #tes v #tes 5 #skyrim #fanfic related #writing related #fanfic: Fronkriid #oc related #alasil the watcher

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bumblingbabooshka · 2 years

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Tuvok cuts Seven’s hair

#Seven would also trust Janeway to cut her hair but she thinks it'd be inappropriate to ask her #She'd also trust EMH to be around her with scissors but NOT to cut her hair well #B'Elanna....in my mind this is before she and B'Elanna are together (in my mind they DO get together) and she doesn't want #B'Elanna to see her 'like this' even though she doesn't fully know what 'like this' is #'like this' is scared v_v after Kovin's attack she becomes more afraid of people trying to hurt her #Tuvok has experience doing hair - would not hurt her - and also has experienced something similar with Teero #idc about the canon timeline I arrange events with whatever vibes best with how I feel in the moment - time is what I make it #Seven of nine #Seven of Nine art #star trek voyager #st voyager art #st voyager #You can rip trauma survivor Seven of Nine from whoever wrote Retrospect's cold dead hands #bc I killed them for writing that awful shitty terrible episode - enough hating episodes that are fun romps and more hating epiosdes that #are actually awful in their message v_v all my homies hate Retrospect #and all my homies rewrite Retrospect in their heads #Idk where the headcanon that Tuvok helps Janeway with her hair came from but I also roped Seven into it

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yuridovewing · 10 months

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doesnt matter much bc idk how much content ill make for it anyways but i am so conflicted on whether i want the hawkleaf au to be in my hypothetical rewrite or not. because like i like the idea for that au because the melodrama gets pumped up even more and i love the whole "oh theyre firestar and tigerstars grandchildren.... but not the ones you think" thing, and how it makes the secret even more devastating, but also like. where the hell does that leave the windclan soap opera

#i mean feathertail lives in my au but i never liked feathercrow and even tho im aging up most of the cast #i still dont feel like pairing them up #so much of the interesting stuff you can do with crowfeather by leaning into him being a shitty guy is only possible if you keep #feathercrow and leafcrow #i want to keep breezepelt as a potential antagonist that eventually gets better but like again. SO much of that is rooted in leafcrow #i dont mind not seeing the windclan stuff as much bc hawkleaf would focus on the thunderclan consequences #as the only one in riverclan who'd care is mothwing who. honestly would probably already know #leopardstar and mistystar would probably hate that but leopard kicks the bucket soon after anyways #and tbh mistystar is so inconsistently written i just have no clue how to write her #maybe she hates it but shuts up when the brothers get exiled #ooooo maybe for an extra bit of nastiness riverclan grabs this whole thing and goes ''and this is why you cant take in loners''#and clan xenophobia only grows all that more powerful #anyways back to crow. i feel like since hes still going on the journey he should still be more involved afterwards #i like my initial idea i rambled about on main where hes still a shitty person but its less motivated by manpain #and more motivated by windclans civil war and perhaps that whole event made him turn against thunderclan #i soooorta want to do a thing similar to the po12 au where the other clans have prophecy cats?#but probably not bc the three's powers are seen as curses from the dark forest after the secret gets out #altho if i did do that then hmmm how would the other prophecy cats besides thunderclan react to all this #rewrite

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thetaoofbetty · 2 years

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Do you still think the show will go back to a certain season 5 episodes cause 👀

my vote is never say never, doll!

do i see a way they could do it? absolutely. it's really right there hanging out and kicking its feet up. is there a way to do it without it? for sure. the writers have only ever written themselves into a corner a couple of times (and even then, do they care about that?) so they leave lots of pathways open a lot of the time.

i think this event is the weirdest track to have taken for the show overall but the best way to take it for these current ships. if you feel me.

if it were me and i was thinking about it and the bomb under the bed isn't a fixed point, i would find when time becomes that point. fixed points are the ones that change everything, right? you can't change what happens in that moment but you can change what happens from there.

or, you know, hey, it's all some sort of coma dream and none of it meant anything, ha.

for real tho, riverdale loves easy explanations that hand wave the weird away. and they're willing to do a lot more with stuff when they know it won't matter in the end.

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hazardsoflove · 2 years

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dgs currently is just spiraling abt steve and his relationship with the kids and if i think abt how important his relationships are with dustin and max specifically i’m gonna have a meltdown

#like dustin doesnt have a paternal/father figure to look up to but he has steve to look up to and teach him about things like girls #and drive him places and just be there for him. also why he presumably got really close to eddie as well #and then max. oh my god. hes literally the big brother she deserves to have and their dynamic is everything. he treats her like a brother #should and she deserves to have that relationship. when she gave him a letter i started crying i just know it talks abt how much him #standing up to b*lly for her in s2 meant to her theyre just. theyre everything to me im spiraling m #ignore the m in that last tag i dont feel like rewriting it DHKSHSJS #but like. im peppering a lot of this stuff into my series and then julies writing and fic abt steve and max and its like. thats her brother #not even thinking abt the canon events of s4 but im convinced steve wouldnt leave hawkins or the kids until theyve all graduated and moved #on so he knows that theyre safe. bc he loves those kids so much even tho he acts like he doesnt he cares for them so much and would rather #see himself hurt (going up against billy always putting himself last so the kids can get to safety first etc) than see anything happen to #those kids. he is my best friend in the world and i love him so much he is so special and loves so much #r.txt

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aparticularbandit · 3 months

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me, researching burn injuries for kyoko, realizing that her gloves are probably compression gloves - they help with itching (because yeah, her hands would still be dry and still itch), among other things.

i think she probably also has some nerve damage - but by this point, she's gotten to where she doesn't...i think it would be easier for it to be numbness than it is to be pain from touch sensitivity, but i think it's possible that she does sometimes feel pain in her hands from, again, nerve damage.

(also - because going with hypertrophic burn scars - they can be hypersensitive so like. combining hypersensitive with occasional pain seems. legit. for kyoko.)

#musings #bandit writes fic #dr1 end rewrite fic #the canon says they are burn scars i'm going with burn scars #i know that danganronpa kirigiri apparently gets into the event that causes them #probably in vol. 6 because she has the gloves in vol. 7 #but idk if i want to read those....

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chronickey-luka · 11 months

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i love writing but im burdened by a chronic state of "He Would Not Fucking Say That" where i need to keep things as close to character as possible and it makes pre-canon content so difficult sometimes. especially when a character's only been around for like. a small part of the series to begin with like i need to build an entire case file on him first.

#im almost 4k into my Goromi fic and im suddenly rethinking almost everything I've written bc i just *had* to make a Goromi origins fic #and for me that's ~1 year before the events of y0. so I've got Goromi and Sagawa interactions going on and im constantly rewriting parts #because as much as i like the idea of Sagawa's smug ass being in it i cannot write him to save my life for some reason.#ive played y0 like 3 times; ive read other people's fics with Sagawa in them; but i cannot get this old man to cooperate with me #the smart option would be to cut him out and replace him with another character but i like the underlying drama of him Knowing #like. Goromi is freedom for Majima but she's still trapped in the same cage as he is and Sagawa won't let her forget it.#which then will get contrasted by the immense freedom she has to flourish and do whatever she wants in the 2000s.#does that make sense? do you see my vision?#i just cant get this smarmy old fuck to sound natural. mainly because even *im* like how tf would he react in these scenarios??#sigh. oh well #maybe i should keep slowcooking this fic in my brain for a bit and work on my kazumaji one instead #came up with the dialogue for another chapter of it yesterday anyways. i should just ride out that inspiration #rgg #luka rambles

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shibaraki · 5 months

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THE VANISHING MOON ┊ TSUKISHIMA KEI

tags: GN reader, post timeskip, exes to lovers, fluff, emotional hurt + comfort, reader is a writer, alcohol consumption, mutual pining, getting back together, kisses, weddings, previous ‘mutual’ breakup, happy ending

wc: 4.2K

For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved love stories.

The first time you picked up a pen with the intention to write you’d been looking for a specific someone. To pour love into and be loved by. Conjured from the recesses of your mind, a soft smile from the boy you liked, one prepared to whisk you away from the converging angst that came with your adolescence.

In later years you looked inward, searching for yourself. To satiate your loneliness through self introspection. Ink blotted fingers working arduously at the knots that make up the soul. Knots that were once straight rope, simple and without weak points. And when you failed to love yourself you turned outward, exploring the web that made up the world.

You saw that other people loved stories, too. That there would always be at least one which speaks to them in some way and stays with them. You coveted that reality; to be something another person could love, and look back on with fondness. For your words to strike such a chord that they’d become part of another’s tapestry. To live on. Never again be forgotten, even if it means being an echo of something.

That yearning accompanies you up the cobbled footpath. The crisp air pinching the tips of your ears. Soft, muted chirps rippled throughout the treeline. “Wow,” you murmur, breathless. Arms sticky with perspiration, leg muscles tingling in exertion after walking the steep hill.

The reception venue sits on the end of a private road, concealed by threadbare canopy. Under an open sky there lay every shade and stroke of colour. Dappled sunlight casts shadows across the grass and your eyes are drawn to them.

“Wow is right. They’ve done an incredible job,” Sugawara airs his appreciation as he walks at your side. His voice is awed, and his cheeks are red. “I can’t believe they managed it. Karumai Gardens are notoriously stingy for booking events”.

The wedding invitation shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Remaining some of your closest friends, Kiyoko and Tanaka had already confirmed your attendance long before the formal invites were sent out. You even found yourself on the end of multiple phone calls over the months assisting a panicked Tanaka with writing and rewriting his vows.

Despite that, your stomach roiled at the invitation on your kitchen counter, and your heart crawled up into your throat. Because suddenly it was too real.

Everybody would be there.

Tsukishima would be there.

You’ve been a high strung for most of the day, hyper vigilant to the point of fraying. The ceremony was beautiful. Kiyoko looked ethereal draped in her white lace gown, a delicate veil cascading down her back and rippling down the aisle as she walked. Tanaka was striking in his dark blue suit and embroidered waistcoat. Sitting at the forefront, you remained steadfast in your ignorance of Tsukishima’s scrunity and dabbed at your face as you cried.

You missed having his attention. Missed the subtle stroke of his sharp gold eyes across every part of you as though it were Tsukishima’s hands themselves. A scant, cowardly part of you considered not attending the reception, grateful that he hadn’t approached you yet. If he would at all. Kei could be unbearably prideful about these things. But what do you know?

Nothing. After all this time you probably know nothing at all.

“I think he wants to talk to you,” Sugawara says, drawing your focus to the present. “It’s obvious he’s missed you”.

You edge past the increasingly dense foliage with intent, your fingertips outstretched to brush the near-blooming plants. “Who?” you ask. Sugawara’s grin turns wry and he threads his arm through yours.

“So petty,” he murmurs, patting your bicep. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But he’s single, and has been staring at you all day. I thought I should mention it”.

“Well you’ve mentioned it,” you return without true malice, squeezing him back. Sugawara’s lips parted in a sigh, and for a brief second, you saw a wistful expression beneath the lighthearted veneer. It stirs unease in your chest and you add, “I just don’t want to make a scene”.

“You really think that’s what it’ll come to?”

Memories unearthed from the deep recesses of your mind. Packed away into tight spaces and left to collect dust where they can’t hurt you. They awaken easily, triggered by a simple question, and with such clarity that you wonder if you ever forgot them at all.

Soft, deliberate touches. Long, warm embraces, swallowed up by his large frame. Graceless laughter—the ugly kind that makes your stomach hurt. Languorous kisses, biting kisses, chaste kisses, clumsy kisses. Good morning and good night kisses. Bickering over breakfast. Bickering over dinner. Wandering, calloused hands. Pressure behind two fingers, splitting you like soft fruit. A sharp tongue and sharper words. Holding hands in bed, anchoring yourself to him like you were afraid he might float away in the night.

Life became busier than either of you expected. Kei landed an opportunity to play for a division two team in the V league alongside his work at the Sendai city museum. Your publisher's demands increased. Kei’s priorities shifted. Resentment crept in. He started to forget things. Small promises and favours, like getting the grocery’s or making it home for date night. They felt so significant at the time—things you deemed indicative of his commitment to you, without communicating as such.

Fractures formed in your relationship. You ignored them in favour of keeping the peace, hoping to address them when the timing was better. Only with hindsight can you say that was the wrong choice. The fractures contracted, expanded until it grew into a yawning cavity with one of you standing either side of it. A slow decay.

“No. No, it wouldn’t,” you tell Sugawara. Tsukishima has never been a shining paragon of virtue but he wouldn't do anything to disrupt Tanaka’s wedding. “I’m just nervous. I haven’t seen him since…”

Sugawara hums his acknowledgment. You’re adrift as he guides you into the venue holding the wedding reception, welcomed into a kaleidoscope of colour. Carefully crafted floral arrangements line the hall. Half of the building is a greenhouse conversion, and natural light filters in through the high, arching ceilings, illuminating the dance floor. You take in the surroundings as your senses are enveloped by the pleasant din.

“Look, there’s Yachi and Nishinoya,” Sugawara tugs on your arm and calls out, “Yachi! Noya!”

Nishinoya crowed, leaping forward to gather you and Sugawara into a blistering hug. Barely two extra inches on him yet larger than you remember, skin kissed by the sun and his hair handsomely coiffed. His waistcoat creases awkwardly with the stretch of his body while you sink into his warmth and feel your cheeks ache.

“Man, I feel like I could scale a mountain! It’s so good to see you guys again,” Nishinoya reclines to get a look at you both and firmly takes you by the shoulders. “You have a lot to answer for,” he says with mock seriousness.

“I do?” you laugh, skull knocking side to side as he shakes you.

“I read your book on the plane”.

Your laughter putters out. You grimace and clear your throat, “Oh—really?”

“Most of us have. We wanted to support you properly,” Yachi admits as she steps forward to hug you. She’s smiling when she pulls away, faint laughter lines deepening.

Sugawara nods and pokes at your waist, “Don’t look so embarrassed. It was amazing”.

“It made me cry!” Nishinoya effuses. He sniffs, and to your mortification he looks like he might burst into tears again. “There was this one line—gah, no! I can’t talk about it. Get over here, I need to hug you again”.

“Thank you, Noya-san,” you wheeze at the arms constricting around your midsection, eyes clenched shut to repress the impending sting. You turn your head, nose knocking against his temple as you peer at the others. “Thank you all. I mean it”.

Yachi squirms, her smile quivering. “I’m really happy you made it today,” she says once you’ve been released. The unyielding pressure of Nishinoya’s embrace lingers like two phantom limbs. “You too, Nishinoya-san”.

“It’s amazing you’re upright. I thought for sure the jet lag would get to you,” Sugawara laughs. He utters a quick apology to the server passing with a tray of drinks. “Didn’t you fly in from Barcelona?”

“Yeah. Should’a been heading to Andorra but I wouldn’t miss my bro’s wedding for the world,” Nishinoya’s voice drifts as his eyes follow the alcohol. He plucks a glass in one swift motion and holds it high, “Salut I força al canut!”

Yachi watches him throw back the drink with poorly veiled anxiety. “Ah, speaking of, we should find our seats. It looks like the cake cutting is starting soon”.

“Good call. We’re getting in the way of the preparations. And I think you’ve left Asahi alone for too long,” Sugawara claps Nishinoya on the shoulder. “Looks like he’s been accosted by Saeko-san”.

Nishinoya pivots on his heel, whip-like and buzzing. You’re not sure which name he reacted to more. Asahi or Saeko. “Where?” his gaze locks in on the pair across the room. “I’ll talk to you guys in a bit!”

Gone in a blink. “He never slows down,” Sugawara sighs, shaking his head fondly. “Guess that’s my cue,” he says before parting ways. Yachi waves after them.

An idea strikes you then. “Say, Yacchan. You’re next to me, right?” you glance toward the long tables set up around the dance floor and meet her gaze with a suggestive smile. “Would you want to sit next to Yamaguchi instead? I don’t mind swapping”.

Their relationship had blossomed over the past few months. A long, slow burn finally come to fruition, new enough that mention of it usually makes her turn pink. But the light in her eyes dims at your suggestion, and rather than flustered, Yachi looks uncertain.

Her fingers form a loose clasp around your forearm. “Tadashi is seated next to Tsukishima,” she explains gingerly. You feel yourself freeze and the kind motion of her thumb strokes circles along the inside of your wrist.

You let out a shaky exhale. “That’s okay. I don’t mind,” you tell her before the consequences of what you’re offering can really be cemented. Yachi’s eyes widen, her grip tighter on your hand as you squeeze back in an attempt at reassurance, knowing your smile looks brittle. “It’s probably for the best. We haven’t… talked yet”.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure”.

“Are you sure you’re sure?”

“Hitoka,” you laugh, bumping your shoulders together. “I promise I’ll survive”.

You regret it not two minutes later.

Anticipation fizzes under your skin as you spot him. On approach you give him a cursory look over, the harsh beat of your heart ricocheting in your chest. Tsukishima looks good—he always does, but today, dressed in his dark, double breasted suit, with the golden hour light carding fingers through his neatly styled hair, you think he’s never looked better.

It is disconcerting to see him again and realise that your feelings haven’t changed much in the slightest.

You sit in the chair beside him. You see his spine draw taut in the corner of your eye and feel an oscillating loneliness; so alike those final few weeks together that cold dread seeps between the spaces in your ribs and steals your breath.

“Tsukishima,” you incline your head, impersonal and cautious, hating how foreign his surname is on your tongue.

A beat passes before he repeats your name in greeting, soft as a psalm despite the dour expression on his face. You’re overcome with the urge to poke the uncomfortable crease in his brow. To smooth it out and kiss the skin there, the way you used to do.

You shift in your seat. The arms curve around your midsection and knock against your elbows as you fiddle with the table cloth, “I told Yacchan that Yamaguchi could have my seat so they can sit together. I hope that’s alright”.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” and you know the clipped answer is reflexive by the way his jaw locks in frustration at himself. Bracing for what you’ll say next.

Only, your mouth curls up a little, and you exhale a short laugh through your nose. You haven’t seen him this skittish since your first year of highschool. You consider that maybe you aren’t the only one who’s scared. That things are the same and they are not the same. The thought is bittersweet, but it’s nice, the way his trepidation gives way to muted awe, how he sends you sidelong glances when he thinks you’re not looking.

The music picks up in a grand crescendo as the newlyweds enter the hall and the reception begins with a raucous applause. A rich aroma unfurls as the food is served, the depth of the flavour layering over the already present notes of wildflower and honey. Drinks are handed to the guests. Generously. You swirl the liquid gold around the rim of your glass, luxuriating in the syrupy inebriation of a gently oaked chardonnay.

“So, uh. How’ve you been?”

Tsukishima, to his credit, does not startle at the question. “Fine,” he says, and you think he might leave it at that when he adds, “The museum received another new Crinoid collection last month, so I’ve been preoccupied”.

You grasp at the conversational thread, not wanting him to stop, “Crinoids?”

“Marine animals. They still exist today, though not as common. You might’ve heard of sea lilies and feather stars,” he shrugs halfheartedly, not daring to look away from his deep fried tofu, though it’s clear he can’t help talking about his work with pride. “Ours are from the Triassic period”.

“Just like the, uh—” you click your fingers to conjure the name from thin air “—Gojirasaurus! Your favourite, right?”

Tsukishima pauses. It’s a fleeting thing, but you notice. The corner of his lips curves into a barely-there smile. He seems pleased that you remembered. You busy your hands with repositioning the cutlery a fourth time so maybe, hopefully, you can distract yourself enough not to say something stupid like: “If I visit, will you show it to me?” or “Do you miss me, like I miss you?”

You clear your throat. “I hear the Sendai Frogs have been doing well, too. Congratulations on moving up to division one”.

Those aureate eyes are sliding to you again, bright and searching. Tsukishima arches his brow in a delicate mocking gesture that was unbearable when he was sixteen and even more so now. “Keeping tabs on me, are you?”

There’s mirth trickling into his voice, giving it a familiar smarmy lilt. A wave of emotion washes over you. Embarrassment and heart-twisting-happiness. You shove some rice into your mouth and chew it down to fine paste, vying for time to formulate a coherent sentence. “No. I read about it in the latest Volleyworld issue,” you reply unconvincingly.

“You don’t read Volleyworld”.

“How would you know that?”

Tsukishima takes a shallow breath and nods. The warm gloam of late afternoon mellows his taut features. “I’ve been reading too,” he says after another sip of wine. “I saw you finally published your book”.

Dread seized the inner workings of your mind and the apology on the tip of your tongue curdles. Time ticks by, one sickening second after another. Your eyes dip low to avoid his gaze—which for some reason, he refused to direct anywhere else.

Your recollection of the break up itself was hazy at best. There had been no raised voices, no desperate movie-esque kiss, no slammed doors. Only grief filling your body like lead, and jumbled, half-hysterical thoughts of ‘Is this it? Are we giving everything up, just like that?’

You remember everything that followed, though. The inability to accept reality. It is said if a writer falls in love, that love can never die. And so you kept writing, and writing, and writing; perceiving love through different lenses, creating different endings; relying on metaphors of natural forces and disasters, of cannibalism and gluttony, of journeys and patience to make sense of it all. Six months after everything fell apart you completed the final draft of ‘The Vanishing Moon’, dedicating a final testimony to him in small print on the first page.

Given the choice, I would’ve rather had you at my side than any one of these words.

Has he seen it? Is that what he’s getting at? Did he read through all eighteen chapters and meticulously pick out the remnants of him you pressed between the pages?

“Noya said it made him cry,” you eventually reply.

Tsukishima signals for another drink. He takes two flutes from the server, handing one to you. You accept it with a soft ‘thanks’, hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in your fingers. “Nishinoya-san cried when he found out swans can be gay,” he points out.

“You cried at The Land Before Time”.

“What kind of cold hearted bastard doesn’t cry at The Land Before Time?”

Laughter bubbles up in your chest as the initial dread ebbs away and the tension seeps from your shoulders. Tsukishima dips his chin, a small smile as he mutters, “That’s better”.

In the centre of the hall Tanaka cradles Kiyoko in his arms, now surrounded by clusters of their loved ones whirling with their own partners, a hurricane of colour and laughter and love. Tsukishima observes them with a solemn gleam in his eye. That could’ve been us, his heart says in chorus with your own.

“Do you remember that time we danced together in third year, at the summer festival? I tried to kiss you and gave you a nosebleed”.

“I remember”.

Your gaze drops to the bottom of your glass. At the time you had been mortified. Now it’s a story you would share at your own wedding table. The thought cleaves your heart in half.

“Do you remember the song that was playing?”

“Why are you bringing this up?” Tsukishima snaps. “Yes, I remember everything. I couldn’t forget even if I wanted to. Happy?”

There’s a surge of something devastating in your chest, like love and heartbreak all at once, strong enough that you feel as if your ribs might splinter just to make room for it. But they don’t—and you don’t, because you’ve felt this before, and your body remembers.

You remember.

Suddenly the room is too hot, and the music is too loud. “Sorry. I’ll be back in a minute,” you murmur, pushing your chair back and getting to your feet.

“Wait,” in one short breath there are long, calloused fingers circling your wrist. You do wait. Tsukishima hesitates, the pressure elevates, and as you lean away your palm slips into his, skin kissing skin. Then he’s standing, towering over you. “I’ll come with you. I know a place that’s quiet”.

Tsukishima does not let go of your hand, and you don’t let go of his. He walks a few steps ahead guiding you through the throngs of people. Some familiar heads turn, their attention drawn immediately to the place where your bodies meet, and shooting you various looks of encouragement or confusion. Yamaguchi sees you pass and his mouth splits into a grin so wide that his eyes crinkle.

You’re not sure where it is he’s taking you, only that his promise of finding quiet is true. The cacophony simmers and soon enough the festivities are muffled entirely. Just when you think you’ve wound up at the end of a corridor it curves, leading to a pair of french doors. “Come on,” Tsukishima ushers you out onto a balcony.

What you’re greeted by makes your breath catch. The world as it is around you comes to a standstill, the fabric of reality peeling away. An orange yolk dips below the horizon and the sunset hour drapes across the ostensibly endless meadow hidden behind the Karumai Gardens. Rolls of grass sway in the wind, peppered with wildflowers of every shade.

You move to stand at the balcony’s edge. Tsukishima drops his hand, and your fingers curl into your palm. The shadows grow longer, the air cooler. The evening insects begin to sing. You’re warmed still by the wine thrumming in your bloodstream.

“Hey, Tsukki?”

He comes to stand beside you, folding his arms atop the wall. “Don’t call me that”.

“Oh,” you swallow against the swell in your throat. “Sorry, Tsukishima”.

Tsukishima’s expression twists into a scowl. There’s a blush creeping toward his ears. “I didn’t mean that,” he says. You blink and wait for him to elaborate, which only flusters him further. He stares stubbornly at the border. “Just—call me as you normally would. Anything else sounds wrong in your mouth”.

The name leaves you in an instant. Hushed—not whispered, “…Kei”.

He makes an inquisitive noise, strangled as it is.

“You didn’t say what you thought of it,” you continued. “My book”.

You feel a rush of adrenaline when Kei doesn't answer immediately, unable to read his expression. “Good,” he says, veiled indifference belied by the restless twisting of a cufflink between his forefinger and thumb. “It was good”.

“Well, that’s practically a Pulitzer recommendation coming from you”.

“Shut up,” he huffed, gaze flitting across your face and dropping to your tentative, uncertain beginning of a smile. He wets his lips and glances away. Heartened, both by the alcohol and his reciprocation, you press closer in small increments, and Kei flowers under your gentle persuasion, like he always used to.

“This okay?”

In lieu of a reply you are ensconced by a warm, firm chest and two strong arms around your back that show no sign of withdrawing. The low timbre of his voice vibrates under your cheek, “Who was it for?”

“Hm?”

“The book. You dedicated it to someone”.

You exhale, squeezing your eyes shut. You’re glad, in part, that he can’t see the emotion written plainly on your face. “Nobody,” you answer lightly, angling to position your ear right over his beating heart. “Just an ex. You don’t know him”.

“Right,” Kei says, drawing out the ‘l’ the way he does when conceding a point he knows he’s correct about. It sounds so fond that you want to curl up where you’re resting, like some benevolent cat. “Guy must’ve been a dick”.

“I was too. We made a lot of mistakes, I think,” you say. If nothing came of this you would at least be able to revisit it; to pick at the scab and stop the wound from closing over too soon. There’s comfort in that. You crane your head and meet his gaze, nervous but unwavering. “But even if he was kind of a dick, I miss him a lot”.

“Yeah?” his eyes soften, half lidded and dark. “He misses you too”.

“He told you that, did he?” your mouth trembles. Kei dips to bring your foreheads together, and the hard frame of his glasses bumps your eyebrow. You share a shaky exhale of laughter.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, brow pinched with regret. Again, “I’m sorry. I know I fucked up”.

You feel your jaw quiver. The familiar burn behind your eyes. Tears so close you can taste them. “We both did. Don’t shoulder the blame on your own”.

“But I made you feel lonely,” he says.

You tuck your chin and whisper, “Yes”.

His fingers splayed across your cheek, pinky tucked beneath your jaw as he cradled your face in his hand, tilting until you’re staring back at the reflection in his pupils. Puffy and damp, eyelashes clumped with tears. What a sight.

Kei strokes his thumb in an arc beneath your eye. A tear beads on his nail, slipping into the crook of his hand. The inexpressible tenderness is overwhelming yet you are underwhelmed by the inaction. You can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed by the whine in your voice as you ask, “Are you going to kiss me?”

“Demanding as ever. What happened to ‘please’?” he murmurs. And then he kisses you.

It is slow at first, hesitant, leaving room for you to pull away. But with every languid movement of Kei’s lips came a sweet affirmation, that which you took and took until you no longer felt unworthy of receiving it. His hand flutters at your waist. You take a shuddered breath, pressing closer into his embrace and deepening the kiss. In his distraction you take him by the wrist, encouraging him to touch. There’s an immediate, reverent grip at your hip, kneading over your clothes.

This is what you’d been longing for. The feeling you couldn’t transpose; that which people have long tried to capture. The esoteric, giddy anticipation and joy that bubbled between two people on the precipice of something bigger than themselves. Even with an affinity for stringing words together you are scarcely able to describe it. Immense and overwhelming, light and dark, tender and everything in between.

Kei pulls away for breath with a low, vibrating hum, wearing a smile that you thought you’d never see outside of your memories. Almost boyish when he looks at you. The distance is an inch too many but it is just that—an inch. “Eager,” he teases, only to kiss you again, twice as eager.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved love stories.

But love doesn’t only exist in stories.

You remember that, now.

#hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #haikyu x reader

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meayefet · 5 months

Text

Here's another thing I feel like we need to talk about regarding the current war between Israel and Hamas. Minor as it may be, I've been losing my mind over this.

As a person who grew up in the early 2010s, I grew up mostly on the internet and fandom culture, and have written quite a lot of fanficition in my early teens.

Something I've realized this past week is that people are seeing Palestine as a fandom. And not only does it belittle the actual problem, it dehumanizes Palestinians and Israelis alike and allows the rewriting of facts and truths as if it were an AU fanfic.

After realizing that I jokingly told a friend that I wouldn't be surprised to see RPF about the events of October 7th. I had in mind something like slash fiction of Hamas members, but today I found out people are writing fanfiction about A HOSTAGE AND HER CAPTOR.

I also found out it didn't happen in a vaccum - apparently tiktok is exploding with this stuff, saying Maya Regev - the hostage in question - had "left her heart in Gaza", because she smiled and said "shukran, bye" to her captors.

In case you have forgotten - Maya Regev was SHOT IN THE LEG AND TAKEN HOSTAGE INTO GAZA along with her brother, who was released FOUR DAYS AFTER HER. She was released with a shattered leg and without her brother - but if she smiled, her captors must have treated her so well, amirite? (Even though there are already plenty of horror stories from Hamas captivity, and children came back pale and whispering with their heads full of lice.)

Even in the early 2010s there was a debate whether RPF is legit or not (and at 26 I can safely say it's a no from me), but in this case it's even worse. These are not public figures we are talking about. This isn't One Direction or The Beatles. The Hamas terrorists are, well, terrorists, and Maya Regev is a private person made public because she was TAKEN HOSTAGE INTO GAZA. Writing a FANFIC about actual people who were actually injured during October 7th is beyond sickening, and it's probably the most immoral thing you can do on social media for the Palestinian cause (and if you guys claim to be on the side of morality you might want to be consistent).

Another thing that's driving me crazy is the difference between Israelis and Non-Israelis who grew up on the same things at the same time. my friends and I learned a lot about justice, critical thinking, and the power of art and creativity on the internet. I met a lot of my online friends in socialist youth movements and rallies, and many of them later became my classmates in Bezalel - BECAUSE we applied what we had learned into our adult life.

Non Israelis who grew up on the same platforms as I did who took part in the same fandoms, read the same fanfiction works, learned the same truths of social justice and the power of art- are now viewing the conflict as a fandom. You're either a fan or you're wrong - there is no middle. No room for critical thinking, for "Palestinians have every right to self-determination and an independent state BUT Hamas who actively prevents them said rights has comitted crimes against humanity on 7.10 and must be held accountable", or for "the occupation must end BUT the Jewish people are indigenous to the region" - there is only room for "by all means" and "from the river to the sea". It doesn't matter if they don't know which river and what sea - because if the conflict is a fandom, then they can write an AU to deal with every truth that doesn't settle with their narrative, and rewrite reality to fit their next fanfic.

#personal #ישראל #ישראבלר #וופס תרגמתי #אישי #i will post that on my story #antisemitism

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lynaferns · 10 months

Text

FNAF Steampunk AU

That I never finished because I couldn't figure out what was going to be the story and character dynamics, and the role of each character, and yeah… I also spend many days writing, rewriting and changing thing, I didn't even get to finish the first draft and I got artblock.

I think my problem in the first place was that I wanted to make this AU stick to canon. A mistake, I know lmao. Later I thought of just making up most of the things but having to rewrite what I had already done dismotivated me.

So I thought of at least showing this character height chart I made a year ago. And maybe, idk, some of the wips that I never finished.

Maybe some notes and interactions I wrote under a cut.

If you ever want to ask me about what I had planned for this AU go ahead! Some main things about this story are:

All of the events of the story happens in a week (or so).

Gregory acts a little more scared than what is shown in the game.

DCAs arms can stretch up to 100 ft (30 m). He bends them to write or make shapes in the air.

Sun has some nowlege in animatronic repairs and maintenance due to being abandonent, having to repair himself.

Vanessa/Vanny have a biger role than in the game.

Burntrap also apeared more.

All animatronics are equiped with dart guns (for safety!). There are some places that require to leave the dart guns behind to continu.

Pizza is scuare (this is not important, I just felt like adding it).

Also, first idea and some doodles.

Gregory gets to escape to the locker rooms leaving Chica behind him. While searching for an exit Gregory gets surprised by Sun who was searching for him, and out of fright takes out the camera and flashes his bad eye damaging him for a few seconds.

Sun- "you were carring an object capable of blinding animatronics with you and you didn't use it against Chica to escape?!"

Gregory- "I didn't remember! I was more focused on running than taking a camera out of my pocket!"

Sun-pointing at himself with his hands- "And you had to remember when you saw ME?!"

Monty grabs Moon by the neck and throws him like a stick doing a spinning motion on the air, Roxy chases after him. She comes back carrying Moon with her mouth.

Freddy has an existential crisis by seeing endos. Moon is there awkwardly watching him. He gives him a pat on the back.

The auxiliary arm of the protective cylinder is broken, Gregory has to repair Sun manually. Trying to put his face plate back the nose falls off and Gregory nervously catches it juggling. They look between each others and the nose.

Sun-"..." "Gregory"

Gregory-"..."

Sun-"come on, say it"

Gregory-"..." "Got your nose~"

Vanessa is explaining something to the group. Moon is behind her copying her movements. The others are trying not to laugh. She notices and throws a flashlight at Moon.

They divide in groups. Moon gets on Monty's backs like a gremlin.

Moon-"go gator boy"

Monty-"I hate you"

One last, this is a whole scene that needs a bit of context. The current team members are Gregory, Freddy, Sun/Moon. They have figured out that the safe mode prevents animatronics from acting weird/hostile (found out the hard way in an encounter with moon and a fuse box). Though Moon seems not to attack Gregory anymore they wanted to test it with the rest of the band and found Chica, some things happened, they left her in her room in sleep mode and went to roxy raceway. This begins when they head to the west arcade to repair the service bot's head and on their way they encounter Chica out of the sleep mode but more normal.

(Forgive my poor writing, this was more of a script)

The four of them stare at each other until one decides to react.

Sun–”HELLLLO” Chica– holding her left arm–”A- Hiii, umm” Freddy– “He-hello Chica! What got you here??” Chica– “I-uh…patrol? I- think?? There… There is a child lost in the pizzaplex and we were, like- told to go find him, remember?” “Actually, wait, why are you out of your room? I thought maintenance put you on lock down- And what is the Daycare attendant doing out of the Daycare? it’s not the end of the hour yet- Oh!”–she just saw Gregory behind Freedys legs–”hey! you got the kid-”–flashback of the garbage compactor–”GET HIM”–she points at him with a dart gun– Sun–gets in the way–”WOAH WOAH WOW easy there!” Freddy–”Chica- wait! It’s ok he’s with us” Chica–”T-that-that kid is a menace! He- we should-HAVE to take him to the officer Vanessa–” Gregory–*gasp * Freddy & Sun– “NO!” Chica–”????wha-?

Freddy– “We must not take him to her.” Chica- “You guys kidding?” “These are literal-plain-instructions that you are- just-” “That kid threw me through the garbage compactor!” Gregory–”You tried to kill me!” Chica–”what?! No! I couldn’t do that, that’s against my programming!” Sun–”Uuumm, about that miss-” Chica–”YOU”–points at Sun with the gun– Sun–”?!” Chica–”You were there too!” “You have been with this kid all this time!” Sun–hands up-”Iwastryingtostophim” Freddy–”Chica, calm down, I know what this looks like but-” Sun–”OHMYGOSHWAITGUYS, she’s not hostile!” Chica–”wha-?” Freddy–”what…?” Gregory–”what??” “She’s literally pointing at us with a gun” Sun–standing next to Chica, pointing at her while looking at Freddy and Gregory–”I just noticed! her behavior changed-!” Chica–redirects the gun to re-target him–”you’re getting too close” Sun–ignores that–”She’s back to normal! That means the safe mode worked, we can use this!”

Chica–”What are you talking about?” Freddy–”You’re right! That’s a relief” “right Gregory?” Gregory–”...Yyyyyeah? I guess, yeah” Chica–”seriously, what do you all mean?” Freddy–”Well, It’s a little long story-” Sun–”And we will explain it to you!” “BUT not now, we are in a rush!” “To repair this bot-head so Gregory can ride the racecar” Chica–”...” “‘you serious?” Sun–”yep!” “Say, Gregory! You still want to ride?” Gregory–”uh-yeah” Sun–”Then let’s go!” “TO THE WEST ARCADE!”–grabs Freddy and Gregory and takes them there–”You can come if you want~!” Chica–”...” “OH- GOLLY, WELL” “I guess I’ll just go with you even though I don’t understand what is happening! And no one is going to give me an explanation!” Freddy–”-I promise that I’ll give you a wide explanation once we are done with all this… But in a more private place”

There are actually a couple more of scenes before this one (and after) but I'm not very confident of showing those (or any actually but I don't want this to be buried in my documents and forgoten because I really want to at least make a decent story)

Also, I know that the canon heights for the animatronics are like 6 ft but I prefered my height variety headcanons. Maaaaaybe they are a little too tall looking at it now that I look at it again but, eh.

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ushiromiya · 8 months

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(madoka magica / rebellion spoilers below. TW: suicide and controlling behavior)

I don't know the direction in which walpurgisnacht rising will take homura's character but I can say with confidence that from at least where rebellion left off that I truly believe that homura made the decision that she felt was the most correct one even if it meant she had to become a monster in the eyes of every person that loved her. she felt that if things were left in the way the law of the cycle was currently running things that it was inevitable that kyubey would eventually capture madoka in her goddess form, study her, and use her to as a source for mass amounts of energy at the suffering of herself, the others within the law of the cycle, and magical girls at large again. this is something he explains very clearly when talking to homura before her transformation into homulilly.

I get so exhausted when I see people try characterize homura as an actually evil person with completely selfish desires and no regard for others. all of her actions, while not explicitly explained outright, when looked at closely always indicate that she does things out of her care for the other girls but feels like she bears the burden of having to do it alone because she believes she's the only one who doesn't let her emotions get in the way of protecting madoka and the others from kyubey and sometimes each other.

I will always use the scenes of her interactions with mami and sayaka in rebellion as huge examples of this. she has no reason not to kill them if she's a completely selfish and unemphatic person that only cares about madoka and no one else when given many opportunities to do so. I also don't personally think she keeps them around JUST because of madoka's happiness either. she very easily could have suppressed their roles in madoka's life with the world rewrite and clearly choose not to. I believe her mocking sayaka and acting in a clearly "evil" manner is deliberate acting on her part to frame herself as a villain. she might believe this would her actions more palatable and will create distance between herself and everyone else to protect them as well as allow her to assert more control in this situation. it is further emphasized how she truly feels with imagery displayed in homura's new world around herself (shoes abandoned on the side of a building to potentially indicate suicidal ideation, a half moon alluding to homura feeling unfulfilled and unhappy with this decision, her dancing around happily before stopping and slowly falling off the cliff side with a similar implication as the shoes).

homura's relationship with the others is incredibly complicated but she cares for them deeply too as they are also people she considers friends, she just had a particularly strong attachment to madoka. we don't get to see as many instances of her interacting with them as we do them interacting with each other as we are unfortunately only really privy to homura's life after she began looping for the most part but we can see it in the way she has expresses concern and distress for them in moments where she believes they are in real, tangible danger of being hurt (she's winces and tries to turn away when aiming for mami's leg and screams out when she believes mami is about to be truly harmed after their gun fight, which neither ever had the real intention of hitting one another with any of those bullets in the first place). her entire witch's labyrinth is one where everyone is happy and gets the lives they desire. why would her labyrinth, which is meant to reflect in-part her inner feelings and desires, appear that way if she didn't truly want that for everyone?

rebellion is so compelling to me for all of this and so much more!! (I could write a whole other post on the way it presents it's freedom with danger vs control with safety question at the end of the film) she is a girl who has repeatedly suffered incredibly traumatizing events and longs for a world where the person she loves and the friends she considers dear are safe. homura is not really the devil, but she wants to appear to be because being the devil would be easier than being a human being in these circumstances.

#I “joke” that i'm a homura apologist but like for real I am LOL #homura's actions aren't holy and good #but I don't believe they are evil either and that's kind of the point #anyway can you tell i've watched this movie like 10+ times #madoka magica #homura akemi #madoka magica rebellion #walpurgisnacht rising #homu #letters from rokkenjima

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seireiteihellbutterfly · 2 months

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omg i love ur page. can u do clueless virgin reader stops in the middle of sex w/ nanami bc she thinks she has to pee? (when its actually her orgasm)

(actual writing under the divider)

Aww thank you!. ^_^

So I had actually worked on something that sort of fit this request but for another character, different fandom. Anyway, long story short, I hated that character for this scenario and ended up deleting it. So after some changes and rewriting, lo and behold! Perfect for Nanami!

Nanami masterlist

“That’s it…relax…you’ll definitely enjoy this…”

His words are whispered in your ear, his voice low and husky. It’s been a while since you started dating Nanami but you didn’t expect him to have this kind of enthusiasm when you finally admitted you were a virgin. It’s not like you didn’t have chances, but you were just a late bloomer on this front.

There was a lot of nervousness when you first started dating him. At 21, you felt so young and unsure, being with a man of his age and obvious experience. There were some days you couldn’t believe he was dating you but he was so charming, sweet, and respectful of your boundaries. Your inexperience with sex didn’t seem to bother him, and he never teased you or made you feel pressured to do anything with him.

And he plainly stated he wasn’t actually having sex with you until you figured out what you enjoyed. So right now, he was on a personal mission to explore your body and give you a safe space to explore your sexuality.

Because you kept closing your knees whenever his hands started wandering a little too high, you’re now sitting between his legs, back against his chest, knees over his, your feet planted on the outer sides of his thighs. This way he could keep your legs open with his when he felt you trying to close off.

His fingers have found your clit, and he’s gently rubbing it in circles with his middle finger, slick from your arousal dripping from your entrance.

“How does this feel darling?”

All you can do is whimper at the sensation that’s building inside you. He chuckles, resting his head on top of yours.

“A fine response. But I need actual words. Now, tell me. Do you like this better-“

He gently increases the pressure of the circles he’s making.

“Or this?”

His thumb and middle fingers come together to gently pinch the hardened bud, rolling it in between, and your whimper becomes a strangled shriek as you try to close your legs, held firmly apart by his thighs.

“Too much,” you whimper. “Too hard. Too sensitive.”

“Ssh. It’s ok. Thank you for telling me.” His entire hand lays flat on your slit, calming your nerves, using all his fingers to resume the gentle circle strokes again.

“Better?”

“Y-yeah…so much…” Those little circles are making you crazy, but it’s the way he’s doing it. So much patience, no rush to get to the main event, just focusing on your comfort.

“Hm…let’s see how you’re doing inside…”

His thumb takes over the circling motions as his middle finger slips down and gently flirts with the wetness at your core. You’re wholly unprepared as the tip of his finger gently pushes in, making you take in a sharp breath. He pauses, and gently speaks in your ear.

“Relax. Take a breath. It’ll make it easier for what I have planned. I promise it won’t hurt.”

You take in a deep breath and let it out, surprised when you feel the muscles down there release naturally, aided by the stimulation on your clit. His finger pushes in further, curling as it enters, and you marvel at the feeling of it stretching you out. His fingers were so long and thick, and you moan softly at the pressure. A dexterous fingertip makes come hither motions on your inner wall and find that little patch inside you that makes your walls squeeze on his finger with pleasure. He continues to angle his finger that way until your moans fill the room.

“That’s it lovely…keep going…we’ll get you there…” he plants kisses on your neck and shoulder, his free hand coming up to cup your breast, twisting your hardened nipple. All the stimulation causes your hips to buck, mewling at the feeling. You’re helpless to stop it, when you try to struggle, Nanami parts his legs farther, taking yours with him. The exposure and vulnerability adds to your arousal. Your core is dripping, the slickness coating his finger and dripping down to his wrist.

“Do you think you can take another one?” His hot breath is on your ear. He can’t believe how sexy you look like this, falling apart in his hands, mouth open and making such lewd noises of pleasure. With the remaining brain cells you have you nod, your dripping core begging for a little more.

Nanami is gentle with his finger as he inserts another one, amazed at how smoothly it goes in, your hole leaking slick as he does so. He feels his cock harden in his pants, straining against the fabric, and he grits his teeth. Someday he tells himself. Not before you’re done learning about your body.

As he continues, your belly fills with heat, energy gathering tightly in your thighs and core. Despite how good his movements feel, you suddenly sense pressure in your abdomen. Your brain jerks you away from the pleasure of his fingers, making you panic slightly.

“Nanami.” You urgently tap his knee to catch his attention. Hearing the tone in your voice, he stops.

“Everything ok?” His voice is deep, laced with concern. You feel your face burn with embarrassment.

“I…I think I need to pee.” You say in a small voice. God, why couldn’t the floor open up and swallow you whole?

He hasn’t removed his fingers and chuckles softly. “No you don’t.”

You can’t believe the confidence that he said that with. It was so out of character for him to not listen to you. “No, trust me I do. I feel the pressure in my belly.”

There’s a pause before he softly asks, “Have you ever touched yourself before?”

Oh God why! Blood rushes to your face as you try to not stutter. The honest answer was no, you hadn’t, for various reasons. “No.” you mumble the word, thankful he can’t see your face. “Does it matter?”

“Ah. I see.” He resumes his ministrations on you. Your whole body was unprepared for him to start up again so suddenly and your body almost arches off the mattress.

“But Nanami…”

“Trust me…and my experience here y/n…” he says to you gently. Need takes over as he picks up his movements, driving the intrusive thought out of your head. He said to trust him…What did he know that you didn’t?

As your abdominal muscles clench, winding down tightly like a spring, that feeling of pressure coming back but instead you take a deep breath and then…

Your pleasure peaks and your fist the bedsheets, toes curling into the mattress as spasm after spasm rocks you, sobbing his name. His fingers don’t stop, gently pushing you through your orgasm, making sure you feel every last dreg of pleasure before the high starts to fade.

“Oohh…” You sigh out breathily, in realization.

Nanami chuckles with satisfaction near your head.

“Welcome to your first orgasm my dear.”

dividers by @/cafekitsune

#nanami kento smut #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento fluff #jjk nanami #nanami fluff #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami x reader smut #nanami x you #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #answered asks #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #vee answers #vee writes

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fallingstqrss · 5 months

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what about us?

summary: you had always assumed coriolanus was your future. that was until a certain tribute from district came around.

a/n: i'm not sure how much i like this so i might rewrite it or edit it later but i felt like writing and i wanted to post something. so i hope you guys like it! <3

warnings: idk really if i forget any please tell me. just coriolanus like actually being nice?

Around the Academy, many knew Coriolanus Snow as someone driven purely by ambition, someone who inspired insecurity and tension among many of his classmates. Yet, to you, he had always just been Coriolanus, a boy you'd known since you both were children, someone who you'd give anything for.

Ever since the end of the war you and Coriolanus had been inseparable. He was your best friend. However, that blossomed into something more when the two of you started the Academy. As soon as you and Coriolanus started dating you knew he was the one for you, you couldn't picture yourself being with anyone else.

With the Plinth Prize announcement looming rumors of his stern demeanor circulated. However, in your eyes, Coriolanus remained the ever-constant presence of kindness to support you throughout all your highs and lows.

You could almost sense the tension that grew in the air the with announcement of the Plinth Prize looming. Coriolanus, usually the picture of composure, seemed on the verge of unraveling under the weight of his expectations for himself. You could tell his nights were spent sleepless and days were consumed by worries about his grades, the Plinth Prize hanging over him like an oppressive cloud.

You understood this event's significance and the importance of the prize to Coriolanus. The sacrifice of time spent together was one of your last concerns compared to the challenges presented to him.

However, the day had finally come. It was now the day they announced who had won the Plinth Prize.

As you walked into the hall you found Coriolanus, amidst a sea of your peers. Coriolanus couldn't see you, his back turned. However, as you approached, taking his hand into yours, you were greeted by him with a smile, him squeezing your hand in silent gratitude. Your presence offers a momentary respite from the relentless pressures that bore down on him.

But, the two of you didn't have time to say much, as music sounded throughout the hall, signaling the beginning of the reaping. You took your place a couple of seats behind Coriolanus, placing a kiss on his cheek before separating from him.

The Dean's voice echoed throughout the hall, outlining the new conditions for the Plinth Prize. You watched Coriolanus, sensing his tension from the announcement. Sensing his realization, the realization that his future was dependent upon the outcome of the Hunger Games.

Tensions reached their peak as the reaping continued, district after district being assigned. Coriolanus' name remained uncalled until the 12th district. You felt bad for Coriolanus watching as an emaciated girl in a rainbow dress walked onto the stage.

You shared in Coriolanus' disappointment, you felt how big of a burden this was to him. However, the atmosphere drastically shifted when this girl dropped a snake down one of the girls in the audience. Coriolanus shot up from his seat, eyes fixated on the screen.

You watched him, your own emotions in a whirlwind. The twist left everyone in shock but Coriolanus' reaction hinted at something else, something deeper. Noticing this sent a pang through your heart, the way he smiled at the girl, watching her with a sort of amazement as she began singing. You felt something that could only be described as jealousy.

This was a new feeling for you. There had been times when other girls had hit on Coriolanus. But, you had never had a reason to be jealous, Coriolanus had always remained loyal to you. However, for some reason, this felt different to you.

Following the end of the ceremony, your classmates began to speak amongst themselves but you knew you had to get out of there, these emotions being too much to bear in the midst of you classmates. You needed space, making a hasty exit through the back door.

Coriolanus, of course, noticed your departure, pausing his conversation with those around him to follow after you. Your shift in demeanor was obvious to him.

Outside, the breeze offered a momentary break from the tense atmosphere in the hall. You took quick steps, the need for solitude guiding you. Coriolanus, determined not to lost sight of you, caught up to you and closed the distance.

His hand closed around your wrist, gently turning you to face him. Concern was etched onto his features as he pushed a stray strand of hair out of your face. "Hey, what's wrong?" He asked, his voice laced with genuine concern.

You stood there, suddenly being faced with an internal debate. The silence stretched between the two of you, Coriolanus' furrowed eyebrows revealed his growing concern. Ultimately, you decided to shield Coriolanus from the petty feelings of jealousy that gnawed at you.

"Nothing, I just don't feel well. I'm just gonna head home," You assured him, summoning a smile to mask the turmoil within you. Coriolanus, however, wasn't very easily convinced.

"Are you sure? Do you want me to come with you?" He pressed, the concern in his voice undeniable.

"No, I'll be okay. Just go work on your mentoring abilities," you insisted, offering a quick, reassuring peck on his lips before turning away. As you walked away, the faint echo of concern lingered in Coriolanus's eyes, but you couldn't bring yourself to burden him with the trivial pangs of jealousy that wrestled within you.

Things between you and Coriolanus had been okay since the reaping. You had been continually growing more and more jealous of his tribute, who you came to know as Lucy Gray, the Songbird. However, you put your feelings on the back-burner, reminding yourself that this was for Coriolanus. However, your feelings came to a head when you heard about a particularly nasty rumor from on of your classmates Festus.

It was the day of the Hunger Games, the day that the tributes went into the arena. Festus had approached you before the games started, pulling you into a quiet corner.

"Y/n, there's something I have to tell you." Festus spoke, his seriousness concerned you, nervousness growing within you as you questioned him.

"What is it, Festus? What happened?"

"It's about Coriolanus," Festus spoke, you felt your heart drop. You had a feeling that news like this was coming but you couldn't bear to accept it as truth. "I saw him and Lucy Gray last night, at the zoo. They kissed," Festus spoke quickly, hoping to deliver the knews as fast as possible.

The blow hit you like a sledgehammer, shattering the fragile façade of composure you had clung to. The news of Coriolanus and Lucy Gray, the Songbird, sharing an intimate moment at the zoo cut through you with a sharpness that left you breathless.

You fought against the denial that arose in you. This was your Coriolanus, he would never betray you. However, things have been different lately. He'd been spending more and more time with Lucy Gray. The shock immobilized you for a moment, leaving you in a disorienting fog. The world around you seemed to warp and twist as you grappled with the harsh reality that Festus presented.

"He wouldn't do that to me," you whispered to yourself, a feeble attempt to convince yourself that this was a misunderstanding. Yet, Festus's words lingered, a relentless truth that threatened to unravel the foundation of trust you had built with Coriolanus.

Your steps faltered as you re-entered the main area, a numbness settling over you. The buzz of conversations around you became an indistinct hum, drowned out by the storm of emotions brewing within. The other seniors, talk amongst themselves in the stands.

You found a seat among them, sinking into it as if the weight of the revelation bore down on your shoulders. Tears welled up, blurring your vision as you fought to hold them back, even as your emotions threatened to break through. The haze of disbelief and betrayal clouded your thoughts, leaving you adrift in a sea of confusion and heartache.

However, the sight of Coriolanus in the front of the room, standing among the mentors, was a fresh stab to your wounded heart. The pain intensified as you realized you couldn't bear to watch him mentor Lucy Gray from his computer, knowing the betrayal that had transpired between them.

As you hurried up the stairs and out of the door, Coriolanus noticed your swift departure. He called after you, a note of desperation in his voice. Ignoring his pleas, you didn't allow the tears to fall until you were safely outside, the cool air providing a stark contrast to the turmoil within.

"Y/n! Y/n, what happened?" Coriolanus's voice echoed behind you, the urgency in his steps matching the acceleration of your own. He caught up to you quickly, positioning himself in front of you to halt your retreat. The tears that stained your cheeks didn't escape his notice, and a pang of remorse struck his heart at the sight of your pain.

"You know, Coriolanus. You know what you did," you managed to say, your words carrying a weight of hurt and betrayal. In your distressed state, you threw a punch at his chest, a futile attempt to channel the frustration and anguish within you. However, Coriolanus, standing firm, felt the impact but remained unyielding.

"No, Y/n, tell me, please. What did I do?" Coriolanus pleaded, genuine confusion etched across his face. The realization that something had gone terribly wrong dawned on him, but the specifics eluded him. The raw vulnerability in your tear-filled eyes, the pain reflected in your every gesture, sparked a pang of guilt within him. He desperately sought answers, trying to make sense of the sudden shift in your emotions.

"You and Lucy Gray, at the zoo last night." You responded. The hurt in your eyes was palpable as you confronted Coriolanus with the words of Festus. Coriolanus' confusion mirrored your own as he took a step forward, a gesture of comfort that you skillfully evaded. The revelation hung heavy in the air, a tense pause that finally broke as you accused him of kissing Lucy Gray.

"What? What about me and Lucy Gray?" he questioned, he seemed genuinely confused, which threw you off, but you were staying true to the information provided by Festus.

"You two kissed, Festus told me." You responded.

"Y/n," he sighed, "Lucy Gray and I were just talking about strategies. I'll admit we were close, but it was just because I didn't want the other tributes to hear. She leaned in but I pulled away, Festus might have left before I did. Trust me I told her there was only one woman in my life." Coriolanus explained, his heart pained at the fact that you believed he would ever cheat on you.

"So you and Lucy Gray didn't kiss?" you inquired, a yearning for reassurance in your voice. Coriolanus's response was swift and sincere, a promise that cut through the doubt and uncertainty.

"No, and I never would. I'd never do that to you. I love you, Y/n, you're the only one I want to be with," he affirmed, closing the distance and bringing a hand to cup your cheek. The touch wiped away the lingering traces of tears, and his words began to mend the fractures of trust.

As realization dawned, you spoke words weighed with guilt and remorse. "I'm sorry, Corio. I shouldn't have believed Festus. I should've just talked to you," you admitted, your gaze falling to the ground. Coriolanus gently lifted your chin, ensuring your eyes met his.

"No, I've been so distant recently with the games I've given you few reasons to trust me. But, believe me, as soon as these games are over, and I win the Plinth Prize, I'm going to spend the rest of our lives making it up to you," Coriolanus declared, attempting to lighten the atmosphere with a touch of humor. Your laughter, a melody that resonated with forgiveness, filled the space. Your hear swelled as Coriolanus mentioned the potential for a life together.

Seizing the moment, Coriolanus leaned down, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. The warmth of reconciliation enveloped you, and the weight of doubt lifted. In that kiss, you felt the promise of a renewed connection, a shared future that transcended the shadows of misunderstanding. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the unspoken vow to navigate the challenges ahead together.

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deanbrainrotwritings · 3 months

Text

— HERO OF THE HALF-TRUTH

SUMMARY : “I'm a hoe for Soldier Boy (I'm past hiding it😅) so I thought maybe you write one smut fic where he seemingly picks up reader from a bar, where he is at some promo event or something like that, and they go for a quickie behind a bar and after when she wants to go home, he forces her to sit through rest of the evening with his cum dripping down her legs, and if you're comfortable with it- there could be some degrading, hair pulling, roughness, choking?” — @k-slla

PAIRING : soldier boy (ben) x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

TAGS/WARNINGS : explicit(18+), tiny canon divergence, depression, trauma, ptsd, degradation, i made soldier boy a sad little puppy, hair pulling, roughness, choking, unprotected p in v, cum kink

WORD COUNT : 3.7k

A/N : title from an august burns red song. this fills the secret relationship square on my @jacklesversebingo card. I almost forgot to post this lmao

Soldier Boy, he can’t seem to escape Vought.

Even breaking every rule Stan Edgar enforced didn’t get him released of the steel strings keeping him from doing whatever the fuck he wanted.

After being tortured for forty fucking years, it was the least he thought he deserved. He was old as fuck, he could feel the heaviness of it every morning when his eyes opened up to the bright sunlight. He was exhausted and everything looked dead.

On top of everything, there was a dull ache that remained attached to him like a parasite from the betrayal of his teammates. Even though they’re all dead, even though they didn’t matter to him as he ended their lives—or even before that—his life layers around the hurt and pain left behind by the Crimson Countess.

There was an emptiness that pressed into his soul like a black hole that no amount of drugs, sex, and alcohol could fill. It got sucked up like it was nothing, unseen, forgotten. It’s how he felt, too. Like nothing, forgotten, thrown away like a useless piece of trash by the very company that struggled to keep him under their thumb now, once again.

He had dreams and hopes before everything that happened. He could have had it all, but all of that evaporated in the same way he had eviscerated his old lover, the Crimson Countess.

More often than he liked, Ben woke up to nothing, to no one—completely alone, unloved, unimportant. Forgotten.

Still, here he was, at a ridiculously expensive bar for a promo event. Rich assholes surrounded him, faking smiles and faking laughter, shaking hands and making stupid small talk. They wore expensive suits and held glasses of alcohol that they hardly drank from the whole night.

Don’t even get him started on the Supes that were on their best behaviour for the night. Pretending to be the good guys. Ben thought they were worse than him. Every single one of them were pathetic, useless, and weak. He didn’t like a single one, but he smiled, too, faking for the night knowing all the annoying cameras that were snapping shots of everyone at any given moment, and that irritating journalists were eavesdropping on every conversation to get the juiciest stories.

He rolled his eyes as soon as he was able to get away from a journalist who refused to take his ‘no comment’ for an answer. Instead, she was hounded by the Deep who was told which people to talk to in order to continue rewriting his image.

Ben grunted when he sat on the barstool and the bartender greeted him with a flirtatious, red-lipped grin. He wasn’t in the mood for anything tonight, but he mustered a smile when he ordered a whiskey. But otherwise, he stared into the golden liquid after taking a small sip, ignoring the woman when she brushed her fingers with his.

Life went by around him; pop music played in the background, people’s voices made a hundred symphonies from laughing and conversation. And the bartender took Ben’s rejection with pride and continued to speak to patrons, reporters, and other Supes.

His attention drifted away from the glass containing golden liquor when his skin prickled, a shiver running up his spine. He looked to the one side and then the other, there’s only one person who could make him feel that.

And there she was, sitting on a barstool at the edge of the bar top laughing it up with A-Train, rather awkwardly. It’s like she called to him, somehow, without words. Not a single look had been exchanged just yet. His body felt her before he even laid eyes on her beauty, or touched the softness of her, or caught a whiff of her floral scent.

Ben stood up to make his way to her. A-Train left instantly when Ben stood behind her with a scowl on his face. He watched her shiver with a tiny smirk, her sentence halfway complete by the time A-Train made it halfway across the room.

Casually, she spun around in the stool to face him. Her expression was guarded—to everyone else, they were strangers.

“Hey,” he grunted, deciding to take a seat next to her.

“What are you doing?” She asked quietly, looking away from him to drink the sweet Cosmo she ordered for herself.

“I should be asking you that,” he shook his head and gave her a sideways glance. He caught the tiny smile on her face for being caught and bit his lip to stop himself from mirroring it.

She paused and took a slow, short sip of her drink. He resisted the urge to look at her for taking so long to respond. He could feel her hesitation and her quiet sigh made his smile drop slightly.

“I haven’t seen you all week,” she murmured, finally admitting what had driven her to see him in a place filled with people he was hoping to keep from entering her life. They had no privacy now with all the Supes and Stan Edgar around, and he wanted to be angry at her for risking their… relationship, but most importantly her safety.

He kept her from Vought, from Supes, from anyone who could hurt her or use her to get to him.

He felt bad. Even though he had good intentions. He couldn’t deny that he was neglecting her. Making her wait for him as Vought dragged him here and there either to play hero or to do shit like this. Promo events. Fucking movies, songs, advertisements.

It was exhausting to pretend so much.

He wished he could see her more often.

If he could, he’d like to return home to her. To lay in bed with her while she runs her fingers through his hair and while they watch another important movie he missed while he was… yeah.

He just wanted to settle down with her, but Vought was a danger to his dream with her.

Ben drowned the whiskey in one gulp and pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, inhaling softly. He could feel her watching him, and he eyes subtly followed as he stood up and stomped away from the bar to get outside.

He hoped no one would follow him, except her.

The night was dark, and cool enough that the sky was clear and the stars fought to shine against dark blue-violet skies despite the bright city lights. There was no breeze, the air didn’t bite at his skin and made his cheeks and nose turn red.

It was perfect.

As perfect as the back of a bar could look during the evening. Cars zoomed by at the very end of the alley and colourful graffiti covered posters of Supes in the wall. Slander and hatred were sprayed against the walls, against Vought, a majority of the Supes. Others wanted Maeve back or defended Starlight, or Homelander.

People were twisted. Cruel. Pathetic. Hypocritical. As they always were. They never changed, from what he remembers. Not really. They always think they are right, that they know better-

“What?” He heard the heavy door slam against the wall. The door shut slowly behind her when Ben turned around to see colourful pink and blue lights from inside form a shape around her body.

She crossed her arms over her chest, her face was sadder, but still careful. She knew better than to drop her guard. That fearful glint in her eyes told him that she knew better than to think she was safe. Or that he wasn’t being watched.

That didn’t stop Ben from wanting to hold her. To kiss away her doubts, to smooth the worry lines on her forehead with his fingers, to melt away the tension from her muscles.

“Sorry,” he whispered instead, his fingers twitching before clenching into a fist. He stepped towards her once the door clicked shut behind her, but she stood where she was as if her feet had grown roots, preventing her from reaching him. “You know I’d like to go everywhere with you in my arms, but-”

“You don’t need to explain it to me again,” she interrupted him softly, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to make herself warm. She looked down at the intricate designs on his suit rather than looking into his big, pleading, green eyes. “Did you miss me… At least?” She blurted out, embarrassment blazing up her face for needing that reassurance, for asking it out loud.

Ben took the final steps to close the distance between them and cupped her cheek. He pressed his lips to her forehead and brushed her cheekbone with his thumb. “I did, you know I did,” he mumbled softly against her.

Ben could feel her relax in his arms. She breathed out slowly and he wrapped his arm around her waist to bring her as close as possible. She clung to the buckles on his vest and closed her eyes as the sounds of the city at night faded into nothing around the two of them.

Part of Ben still felt guilty. Probably more now that he was holding her than before.

Here she was, all dolled up and glamorous for him. Because she missed him. Sure, he thought of her way too much the entire week, but she doesn’t know that. He was so overwhelmed with his job and doing what was expected of him, reshoots and interviews, so many things that came with his contract with Vought.

If he trusted the damned company, he’d include her and her safety when it gets renewed. He’d request a meeting tomorrow, or tonight, to have it changed. So he wouldn’t have to sneak around with her. He’d like to quit to have all that without being under Vought, but he wouldn’t feel safe, and therefore, she wouldn’t be safe either.

If he could, he’d fake his death and run away with her. But unlike him, a man who simply doesn’t belong in this time, she was the tree at the centre of a garden that everyone loved to gaze at and be around. He couldn’t just uproot her and leave an empty space where she once was in everyone’s lives. She was loved for who she was—genuine, kind, feisty. But Ben was just liked for his looks, for what he was good for—except for her, he loved him as he was, for all that he was.

Every ugly part. Every bad part. And there was a lot of that. He was an asshole and he was insecure, he already knew that. Who was he kidding besides the people who seemingly adored him? Fans?

“Come on,” she whispered, pulling away to kiss him on his bearded jaw, “let’s get back inside so I don’t freeze out here.” Ben’s fingers dug firmly into her hips to keep her in place.

“What makes you think I’m letting you leave so quickly?” His rough voice caused a shiver to run up her spine. She smiled softly against his mouth and pushed up on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck. “I missed you and you look gorgeous. And now that I have you here… I’m going to make a mess of you with the time I have.”

She inhaled sharply, excitement speeding up her heartbeat. Ben walked her backwards until her back hit the cold wall and she gasped softly once she was pressed against the painted bricks. Her flushed skin made her more sensitive to the cold surrounding her and almost instantly, before his luscious mouth even landed on hers, she felt a tingle of excitement followed by a flood of wetness between her legs.

“Are we really gonna fuck here?” She whispered against his lips. His beard tickled the soft skin of her chin when he hummed a ‘yes’ against her lips, pressing softly at first. “What if someone sees us?” She asked, burying her fingers into his soft, brown hair.

Ben smirked, his tongue teasing the seam of her lipstick-painted lips. The dull flavour of lipstick hit his taste buds, but his mouth still watered. Her lips parted just slightly, her shaky breath made his lips tingle. “You should know better than to think that would stop me.”

“Fuck,” she exhaled, his voice alone was enough to make her moan. His fingers clenched her dress, slowly dragging it up her legs, slowly pressing his knee between her legs. To tease, his knee grazed her clit, their mingled breaths made his mind hazy with arousal.

“Now, be a good little slut and give me your panties,” he ordered, releasing her dress to smack her ass with both of his hands. She moaned softly and brought his lips down to hers for a deeper, sensual kiss.

His fingers tangled in her hair and he tilted her head to slide his tongue into her mouth, licking, sucking, desperately looking for a way to fuse himself with her. Her fingers blindly pulled and tugged at the buckles around his hips and then she whined uselessly when she couldn’t get a single one undone.

He stopped kissing her to laugh softly, “I told you to focus on you.”

“Please,” she laughed shyly, pecking his lips. She cupped his cock over his trousers and he gasped, rolling his hips against her hand.

“We have to make this quick,” he told her, stepping back to work quickly on the buckles. He was faster, pulling out straps expertly, habitually, from years of practice. He didn’t even have to glance away from her flustered face, but unlike him, she clumsily dragged her seamless panties down her legs.

He hadn’t removed anything, not enough for her to see how hard he was, and he wasn’t giving her a chance to. “I’m keeping these, doll,” he grinned, snatching her underwear and shoving them inside his armour vest, right where his heart thundered against thick metal.

“Can I keep anything of yours?” She pouted.

“You can keep my cum?” He offered with a smug smirk, his hands moved from where they were to grasp her hips and spin her around faster than she could process.

“Okay,” she replied with a smile, hesitantly setting her hands and cheek against the wall. He laughed against her shoulder and hiked up her dress again, his fingers trailing up her sides.

“You just love being a fucking cum-dump for me, dontcha?” He teased, his voice dripping over her like honey, deep and hot. She moaned softly in response and wiggled her hips impatiently.

“Fuck.. anything for you, Ben.” He sank his teeth into her neck and guided his cock to her dripping entrance. The tip of his cock circled her entrance and slid through her wet folds slowly. The feeling of her bare heat against his skin made his grip tighten painfully around her hip.

“Christ, you’re so fucking wet already,” he groaned, the length of his dick teasing her clit with every back and forth, “and I’ve barely even touched you.” He slowly pushed himself into her, shuddering at her delicious warmth wrapped around him. Her walls fluttered around him and she pushed her hips back into him, adjusting to the size of him. “That’s my needy little whore,” he praised degradingly, dragging his calloused hands up the front of her dress to palm her breasts.

She moaned softly and reached back to thread her fingers through his hair, pulling at the strands until he groaned deeply against her back. The sound shook through her body like an earthquake and sent ripples of pleasure to her clit and pulsing walls.

“Beg for my cock, needy little slut, show me how much you missed me,” he whispered into her neck with a smirk. He was all smug and sexy, hard and firm, and each touch woke something in her that she would have otherwise been too embarrassed to show anyone else.

“Please, fuck me,” she begged pathetically, pulling harder at his hair if she couldn’t convince him with her pleas. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pressed his fingers into her palm until she relaxed her grip. “God, please, Ben… I need you so bad,” she whispered needily, extending her hands back to grip onto any part of him that she could easily reach when he let her hand fall.

“Come on, let me hear you,” he panted, slowly thrusting into her. He bit his lip, digging his fingertips harder into her hips. She gasped at the pain and squirmed, but a tingle of pleasure began to bloom as he bruised her skin and dragged his cock slowly through her walls. “My pretty little slut,” he growled, smoothing his hands up her sides to bend her forward slightly.

“Please, Ben! I need you!” She whined, allowing him to roughly pull her up again against his chest. He pressed a hard kiss to her jaw, snapping his hips forward once as he groped her chest. Ben pulled the top of her dress down and didn’t hold back with the painful pinch of her nipples between his fingers. He ground his cock into her, driving himself deeper as she moaned and squeezed him.

Her toes curled inside her heels and her breath hitched, but Ben continued to mouth at her cheek and her shoulder, his breath as uneven as hers. She could feel the grin on his face, the tickle of his beard fueled her arousal and she was dripping around his cock like a desperate whore.

“Please! I-I can’t take it!” She cried, pulling hard on Ben’s hair to make him move faster. He growled against her flushed skin and delivered another rough thrust in response.

Ben’s teeth grazed her jawline and he grunted softly with each unhurried, deep, hard thrust. Her soft pleas and loud moans echoed against concrete walls, carried into the dark nothingness of the city. Her pussy clenched tighter around him and he was almost out of breath from how amazing she felt.

She clung to him as best as she could and his large hand ended up wrapped around her throat. He was waiting for her to finally fall apart and beg him to make her come. All she could do was ride along the tiny edge of her orgasm, so close to toppling over, but never having that pleasure wash over her.

“Faster, Ben! Let me come... Please… make me come!” She cried out, trying to move her hips to desperately meet his deep, slow pace. He squeezed her throat, pressing his fingers around her throat until her vision turned nearly all the way black.

“Christ, you’re perfect when you beg for my cock,” he chuckled. Be relaxed his grip and she inhaled sharply, her brain getting fuzzier, like static. A moan slipped from between her lips and Ben finally began thrusting into her faster, sharper, precisely. Short quick gasps made their way past her swollen lips and his name hung in the air when it was stuttered lovingly.

She found it easier to hold onto the wall, bending herself over once again as her knees became weak and her heels became difficult to stand in. Her mind evaporated from her skull, all she could feel was him, Ben. His suit brushed against her sensitive skin, hard armour pressing into her soft body. His beard scraped against her flushed neck, causing her to shudder and clench around him.

His lips were wet and warm against her skin, his breath adding to the heat to combat the cold that engulfed them. His hands touched and grabbed at what he could reach before tangling in her hair. He gripped her hair in one hand to breathe clearly into her ear, and he pulled at the strands so she stood up straight and couldn’t move away from him again.

Her scalp stung at occasional harsh tugs but his fingers on her clit distracted her enough to find more pleasure than pain. “You always do the stupidest fucking things for my cock,” he grunted in her ear, and despite how irritated she was from being edged she couldn’t help being amused.

Maybe it was all the pleasure that put her in a good mood or maybe it’s that she was finally where she wanted to be, with Ben. The man behind Soldier Boy.

Her body had a pin-point focus on all the pleasure induced by everything he did to her. Taking her ability to breath with his grip tight around her throat, holding her to him with her hair wrapped around his fist. She felt like an overfilled balloon, overwhelmed with pleasure, love. She missed him more than anything and he was intoxicating.

She felt her orgasm wash over her, a scream of Ben’s name that he was partially able to muffle with his hand squeezing the side of her neck. She gasped, strained and strangled sounds that could barely move past his tight grip and then he let go before he could finish.

She was cold and empty for a few moments, her pussy clenched sound nothing and then a breath was punched out of her chest when he pressed her back into the wall. She was up in his arms, back to moaning and shaking when he slammed back into her.

A few quick thrusts with rough kisses pressed against her lips before warmth bloomed inside her from spurts of his release. Warm cum trickled down between her thighs and Ben laughed huskily against her shoulder when she held him tighter.

“I missed you,” she whispered breathlessly, slightly disappointed when he pulled his cock out of her and set her back down. She leaned against the wall to catch her breath and recompose herself. She closed her eyes when he dipped down to kiss her cheek.

“Me too,” he murmured, his lips ghosting across her flushed cheeks. She fixed her clothes and tried to keep her focus on him, but she felt exhausted. Weak. “Tell you what,” he began, pulling her back in to keep her warm, “Sit like this through the night and I’ll take you home with me,” he proposed, smirking at the laughter that shook her body. “That’s what you’re good for, keeping my cum safe inside that needy little cunt of yours,” he brushed his lips against hers, collecting sticky strings of their release with his fingers to smear them across her painted lips. He bit his lip and watched her lick her mouth clean.

“Yes, sir, Soldier Boy,” she smiled, entranced by the lascivious way he sucked on his fingers.

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