#have this while I finish battling the colouring for another scene

[notelcol]

Memories, part two.☔️

Part one ^

Mildly edited, apologies for mistakes.

The Wanderer stood outside of Tighnari’s healing hut, hands squeezing the wooden bannister as he stared down at Gandharva Ville in rage. His mind was consumed with the dread of yet another person leaving him. When he had gotten you to Tighnari, you were barely breathing. His pacing had distracted the healer so he was pushed outside and left there to await news of your fate.

While you lay in the hut, oblivious to your surroundings, you enter a dreamscape. Beautiful opalescent colours cascaded around you, leading your eyes to a tree. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. It was Irminsul. As you approached, you noticed a small figure at the base of the tree and recognised her immediately.

“Nahida!” You called out. “How am I here? I don’t understand.” You questioned and The god simply smiled.

“I heard you figured out that you once knew the Wanderer. I’m sure you are very confused. I brought your spirit here to answer some of the questions you must have.” She motioned for you to ask away.

“He used Irminsul to make the world forget him didn’t he?” You started up at the shining tree as you asked.

“Yes. He tried to prove himself by becoming a God with my gnosis and when that failed, he decided the world was better off without him ever having walked it.” She explained though you got the sense she wasn’t finished.

“He too forgot himself and became someone different. He lived a simple life of wandering. That’s how he found his new name.” She continued with a giggle at he end.

“But he seems to remember everything now. Could I?” You pondered. You had always hated not knowing things and the fact that there was some of your own life you couldn’t remember seriously irked you.

“You could. But it might be tough on your mind and your physical body is in a weakened state. Are you sure you want to take such a risk?” The God diligently double checked your consent.

“Im absolutely certain.” You nodded your head, resolve clear.

“Then let’s begin.”

Your dreamscape warped and changed until you arrived the crowded tavern in Sumeru city. You watched yourself in third person view, rushing down the thin path towards the bar to order some food, only to trip over a chair leg. You saw yourself about to hit the floor and, just like on your journey to Gandharva Ville you were caught by the Wanderer. Only he looked different, angrier and darker.

“Silly mortal, watch where you’re walking.” He grumbled as he stood you upright. You stared with wide eyes as your past self walked next to him towards the bar before speaking.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re sliding your chair out, huh?” You pointed at his chest accusingly, before quickly dropping your hand. “But thanks for catching me.” You watched yourself look away, not expecting him to answer. As you watched him laugh loudly at your retort and proceed to mockingly call you cute, things started to come back to you. This was when you first met him. Scaramouche.

The scene changed again, this time the warping was even more intense. Your senses returned to the view of Scaramouche holding you close in bed.

“You don’t have to work with him. He’s bad news, I know it.” Past you begged the man and turned to face him. You watched him push you away before raising his voice slightly.

“Yes I d -“ Warping interrupted his reasoning, but you knew what he was going to say. He had said it many times. “I have to do this. It is the only way to show them all! They have to see that THEY are nothing.”

The new scene felt volatile and unstable, warping remaining at the corner of your vision once the moment began.

“PLEASE. Don’t do this.” You saw yourself crying and pleading with Scaramouche, trying to stop him walking out the door.

“Get out of the way. I have to-“ He battled with himself not to push you when you interrupted him.

“NO! I won’t let you kill Lesser Lord Kusanali!” Instead, your past self pushed him. The warping in your peripheral vision intensified as you began remembering what came next. This was when you broke up with him. You told him if he goes ahead with his plan then you wouldn’t be able to look at him again. A voice broke through the warping and your deep thought.

“Things are getting unstable. Im going to pull you out.” It was Nahida. She was probably right. Your head was starting to ache, which doubted should happen when you aren’t connected to your physical self.

You were suddenly back at Irminsul with Nahida. Your vision still shook and you felt the overwhelming need to lie down. You took a step to sit on the path but fell instantly. Your eyes rolled back as Nahida moved your head to her lap.

“You have exhausted your spirit. Try and return to your physical body or you may be lost forever.” She whispered.

The Wanderer was still rooted to his spot outside the healing hut when Tighnari finally exited.

“I have done all I can. It is up to her to wake up now.” The healer looked tired as he spoke. “Go in. Speak to her, something tells me your voice will help guide her back.” With that, Tighnari walked away leaving a ranger outside ready to call him if something happened. The Wanderer’s breath hitched when he saw you, pale and weak. You looked so frail in that bed. Sobs escaped his mouth as he took your hand in his. All his regrets came crushing down on him. Maybe now you were asleep, he could say all the things he would tell you if you hadn’t forgotten him.

“You were right. Dottore was scum. I should never have gotten involved with him. I should never have tried to murder the Dendro Archon.” He spat in disappointment. “I was a fool. A fool to throw away the one person I didn’t need to prove myself to.” He held your intertwined hands to his mouth and gently kissed yours. “You need to come back. You won’t remember me but, I will dedicate the rest of my life to being better this time around.” His tears ran in between your hands, still held to his face.

“Somehow, I don’t doubt that.” You croaked, causing him to jump and drop your conjoined hands to the bed.

“You’re awake!” He laughed in joy. “And you heard everything.” He realised. He swallowed in fear, awaiting your rage full response. You felt weaker than ever before, but nothing was more important to you than what you needed to say.

“Though a part of me will always be furious at Scaramouche, I believe that the Wanderer is a different man. You carry a wisdom that the old you could never know of.” You smiled and shakily rubbed your thumb along your still joined hands. “I think I will always love you. Whatever iteration of yourself you are.” You admitted. His eyes softened and filled with more tears.

“You remember?” His voice uncharacteristically weak. You nodded in affirmation. His head dropped onto your shoulder, carefully avoiding your wounded area. He breathed the moment in, breathed your love in.

“You remember. You’re okay and you remember.” He had never felt so lucky as he kissed your cheek. He told to you continue your rest in peace, that he would stay with you and hold you until you felt stronger. He too was finally at peace as he brushed your hair with his free hand and watched your breathing settle into a healing sleep. He whispered into your hair.

“I love you too.”

Thank you for reading ✨

@swivy123 @veekoko 🌷💓

#genshin fluff #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #light angst #x reader #writing #scaramouche x y/n #genshin scara #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #the wanderer #wanderer x y/n #wanderer x you #genshin wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer #sumeru #tighnari #nahida #teyvat

[no-face-no-shame]

"His face had an expression of calm, as though almost glad the end had come"

I've just finished watching the Netflix adaptation of "All Quiet on the Western Front" and I have some thoughts. The first one being - I haven't seen such marvelous screen adaptation in a while, despite the changes introduced to the plot. So if you're any interested in what I have to say, let me elaborate.

I'm a big fan of anti-war literature, though "fan" might be a bit of a strange way of phrasing it. But I've read enough of the "genre classics" to have some general knowledge of how those stories are usually developed (might be just me being Easter European. Specifically Polish. We know something about wars.) And AQotWF is one of my favourites, alongside "Catch 22" and "King Rat." Throughout the whole movie I was in awe of how well it translates the atmosphere of the book. How well it establishes the characters, especially Kat (I'll talk about the characters later.) You immediately submerge into their world, you feel for them and you're anxious whenever they go into battle. My big problem with modern movies is how they just don't let you connect with the characters by rushing the plot. Here it's not a thing. AQotWF says exactly what it wants and how it wants.

The visuals are spectacular. I took some screenshots I'm planning on redrawing due to how beautifully filmed this movie is. And, finally, it's not too dark!! You can see what's happening even in scenes located in bunkers or taking place at night! I freaking missed that so much. The same goes for sound - you understand what the characters say (my knowledge of German is VERY limited, still I often didn't need the subtitles because the dialogues were recorded clearly.) The lighting does miracles, it perfectly supports the mood. The usage of colour is great. I'm a big fan of close-up shots (details can add so much) and I love how this movie delivers the best of it, with focusing on the faces and especially eyes.

The music deserves its own paragraph. Scarce, used only when needed, but what an effect it gives... Again, one of the best soundtracks I've heard in a while. There wasn't a single scene where I thought to myself "can y'all cut the damn music", which happens to me more often than I wish it did. Especially the main theme uses a lot of sounds that remind of metal, of shots and explosions, perfectly matching what you see. And the music in the very last scene is just beautiful and gentle. I heard something similar in my head while finishing the book. Peace and relief.

Costumes? So damn good. Finally a movie where the costumes are well-made, with precision and care. Another reason why it's so easy to immediately get into the presented world - you just believe it's real due to what you see. Hairstyles, clothes, make-up. Everything is very realistic.

The same goes for the special effects, both in terms of explosions/shots and the corpses. The scene with tanks and flamethrowers was a shocking experience even to me, someone used to war movies, due to how real it seemed. The tanks emerge from the mist like animals, some kind of monsters. Mind you, WW1 was the first time tanks were used and they weren't as common as in WW2. The absolute hysteria of the soldiers is so real because they indeed had no idea what to do while facing a tank. The sets are very detailed, the bleak views of the battlefield and faded, winter forests are again a visual masterpiece.

Now the changes. To me the most questionable change done was Kat's death. I prefer the book version - it was more moving. On the other hand, the nonsense of his death in the movie creates his own quality. He survived a war waged by adult men just to be killed by a boy over a few eggs. Eggs that for both sides might mean either survival or death of starvation. It wasn't the stupid generals, bullets and tanks that were his end - the poor farmer boy who knew his family will starve was. Still, I'd prefer to see the book version of events. While reading I was touched by Paul's desperation and dedication to saving his friend, and by Kat who wasn't able to tell Paul that he's been hit in the head, meaning that the wound was fatal. Paul's endeavour in carrying Kat across the battlefield, at some point already a dead body, was a great summary of how during war your effort might mean nothing just because you happen to be unlucky. If it was about skill, Kat would survive. From all of them, Kat should. But he was unlucky that one damn time. When the war was basically over, he lost his own.

Another difference was the fate of Tjaden. In the book, it was Kemmerich who was shot in the leg and died because of an amputation. Here, we have Tjaden who got shot, though he doesn't let the wound kill him - he commits suicide using a fork. A pretty brutal scene I was kind of expecting at the very secnd I saw the way he looked at the fork in his hand. Interesting take on human desperation - he didn't want to live as a disabled person as it would make it impossible for him to work as a policeman (his biggest dream.) This change is quite alright with me. I know it was probably done to not introduce more characters (Kemmerich), though I'd like to see the motive of the boots being taken by Müller and then given to Paul when Müller died as well. The conflict between not wanting your friend to die and such a down-to-earth matter like wanting better boots, in the end turning out to be meaningless, is an important thing to include. Still, the change wasn't that significant and it certainly wasn't a negative one.

And then Paul's death. I really appreciate the fact that the main character of the story dies because that was the only way for his story to end. And he dies at the very end of the war, as if because he had nothing else to do. He wasn't able to return to his old life. There was nothing left of it - at that point his mother was probably already dead due to her illness and he couldn't just go back to his town and live like nothing happened. Especially surrounded by people like his father, who didn't understand the changes done to him by the war. Paul's friends were dead. He'd be able to live with that, even though there was no one left of his class. Who would he study with? But Kat was gone too and that was too much. Paul gladly accepts his death because he's died already a long time ago, during the first time on battlefield. What was left after that was a moving body that didn't have much in common with the joyful student who'd once inhabited it.

The gesture of climbing up the stairs of the bunker, into the light of the day, is a beautiful visual metaphor. We walks around the trenches and in the background we see soldiers of both sides just sitting or gathering their dead. A second ago they were killing each other. But now it's 11 o'clock. Now it's peace. And the young boy, so similar to Paul from the beginning of the movie, takes his scarf, a scarf that has once belonged to someone else, someone who had died way earlier and who was known by Paul, not by the boy. The object is carried on even though the memory died. One of my favourite things added to the movie.

To sum things up - spectacular movie. Very worth watching, even if you're not into this genre. And if you haven't read the book, do yourself a favour and read it. It's not very long and I believe it's one of the stories you just should know.

If you read all of that, here is some warm soup -> 🥘🍲 and some bread to go with it -> 🍞

#all quiet on the western front #movies #movie review #netflix #faceless #yeah remember that one peter rabbit review i wrote? i might be back on that bs even tho like 2 ppl read it #im westen nichts neues

[recurringwriter]

intimate asks 3-6, 13, 28 for ernesta

ERNIE! this reminds me i have the second chapter of the ernestfus fic to finish.

3. Favorite place to be kissed?

Hmm I think maybe her back, along her spine? She would like how delicate it feels and makes her feel. It would be intimate while not making her feel she had to respond immediately, letting her just enjoy the sensations...

4. Favorite sexual position?

this one is hard... i think that if she were to have a regular partner she would find she had a preference, but she's only really interested in brief casual sex rather than anything long-term. she's curious and would want to learn what her partner preferred and try that.

5. Favorite location to have sex?

semi-public, like the training yard, or a private little spot in a park or the woods. she'd rather they not be seen, but if they were heard or seen going to or from their rendezvous she'd get a thrill from it. she likes people Knowing. somewhere outdoors or a little rough and rugged would be her favourite.

6. When did they lose their virginity? Was it important to them?

i'm going to say it was probably after the battle of the eagle and lion when she was at the officer's academy, celebrating the win with another female classmate from the blue lions. i don't think that it was important to her other than the fact that it was attached to their victory, and memorable because of the circumstance, not it being her first.

13. How do they enforce boundaries during sex (safeword(s), color system (red, yellow, green), "No", etc.)?

I don't think she'd really get involved in any scenes where she'd need a safeword or colour system, and likely if she wasn't enjoying something she would suggest an alternative. 'Could you touch me [here] instead? Would you say [x]?' as she needed. If there was more discomfort she'd just call for stop, and ask that her partners do the same.

28. Would they ever have sex with multiple partners during the same night?

she definitely would. i think ernesta likes to party, and to show off. she would use a threesome (or more) as an opportunity to prove herself to her partners and if she were really horny-drunk at a festival or celebration she might bring a potential partner to one she'd just had sex with, for a favourable review askdjghkdfjhg

#thank you for the ask!! #oc: ernesta thierry

[valkyrieblogs]

i finally beat 13 sentinels: aegis rim the other day (100%/100%/100%) so of course i'm diving right back in to replay it because i'm having the worst brainrot and have so many fic ideas. replaying it while wanting to do more analysis and character study now that i understand what's going on. prologue & juro (0% - 11%):

prologue:

i forgot how this started off in destruction mode after the initial cutscene. i remembered being a little wary about iori immediately commenting on not having her clothing on inside the cockpit when i first started playing (not that it ever turned into anything fanservicey anyway outside of that one official wallpaper!), but after learning the justification that they're actually in growth pods, it (obviously) makes waaaay more sense to me and i've felt completely at peace with it since.

especially in watching this opening scene, it's also reminding me of one of my goals of this playthrough: getting myself to connect with some of the characters i struggled with a bit more. iori i felt largely lukewarm about, mostly because of the way her romance with sekigahara was handled. (i am so, so aroace and feel like i need a lot more development and build-up for me to get on board with a ship.) i do actually appreciate how, despite her inexperience at the beginning, she still fully intends on fighting, despite frantically trying to understand how to control the sentinel.

juro kurabe: 0% - 11%

i enjoy how, despite the fact that the destruction mode battle we just finished prior to starting juro's route is actually in the future, the context of the movie shiba lends juro already lines up with what we've seen. if not for the fact that the prologue for juro states that it's "a few days ago", i feel like it would make the player question where it lands in the timeline. even with that, it already makes the player question what is fiction and what is reality when the content lines up so neatly, which is so much of what i enjoy about this game?

shiba saying, "soon enough, you won't know the difference between fiction and reality." how he sounds like it's joking but also, with all his memory modifications!! yeah!!! god, the way i firmly refused to trust him when i first played the game, always doubting his intent.

there's also something about replaying these early juro scenes and remembering that no one else can actually see shiba, and how that colours his interactions with the people around him. like how in the prologue, he just suddenly gets distracted from talking to fuyusaka, talking to seemingly no one... before it was revealed officially, i remembered noting his absence in other routes, and how no one talked to him, and felt so validated when it was confirmed.

there's also something about shiba teasing kurabe about fuyusaka that feels different, knowing that this is actually 426? i feel like i was a little hesitant with some of the ships initially (again, mostly because of too little build-up with some of them), but at least in this instance when shiba is teasing him, it makes more sense for him to insinuate that there's something going on with juro and fuyusaka—yes because of the role he's playing as shiba, but also because he wished that was true for him and morimura.

another thing i think is interesting is the way that iterations of the characters have been re-homed. juro no longer being izumi, so he's with the kurabe family. tetsuya ida being part of the shu family. chihiro morimura being part of the fuyusaka family. while i know juro was also given a simulated personality (because of DD-426) that was milder, more tepid, more gentle, i think it's interesting how we see fuyusaka and amiguchi change based on who they grow up with?

i know one of the things i've also been mulling over—only somewhat related to this—is the permanence of AI in the simulation. like, will miwako always exist in sector 4 in every loop? will the other characters always have the same family every time? i know i keep stumbling over how the characters realize that 15 humans in their world (and across sectors!) are unique, but outside of them finding this out through interacting with the mainframe and the data they pull from that, i'm unsure. i just like the idea of some AU where characters loop repeatedly and notice how everyone else changes, but oh, i've seen this person before. why is that, i wonder?

—anyway, back to the liveblog. i really appreciate juro stumbling into the nurse's office only to find this document on himself, and how that also immediately casts doubt on morimura and whether or not she has good intentions, as well getting you to question what's really going on with juro. especially when, if you take the time to talk to her again, she'll start asking about his condition and will immediately offer up more medication—which juro hastily refuses, because of course now he doesn't trust what's going on.

i feel like i don't really have a good read on juro, partially because he was a character that didn't stand out to me as much in my first playthrough. other than him being gentler in his current incarnation, i'm not really sure what defines him at his core? especially when he has so much projected on him by other characters—426 and morimura, both tampering with his memory. also yakushiji, because she wants izumi back—but not kurabe. i feel like a lot of the characters around him treat him like a blank canvas, or just choose to see someone else entirely. the only thing that stands out to me is his love of mechs and kaiju, since i feel like a handful of characters in this are defined by their interests, and so much of that influences who they become.

finally at the last part of this prologue... this moment with miura makes so much more sense to me now, knowing how okino figured out a bugfix for DD-426 and made it so that miura passes it along to anyone who (physically?) interacts with him. and of course juro touches his forehead and inherits that modification to the code, including the auto-activation portion.

i like how shiba also gets irritated, stressing that juro needs to send the sentinel back? and then calms down, immediately realizing what okino has done, and actually seems pleased about it. (which of course he does, when he's inhabiting juro's nanomachines, too!) i feel like the english translation makes it sound like he's more annoyed about it ("okino's damn code"), when the japanese just sounds like him making a more neutral observation about what okino's code is doing. i remember it was this part that originally made me distrust shiba, too, but now... other than modifying juro’s memory to make him forget summoning the sentinel, the rest of his actions don’t concern me the way they used to. obviously this is from knowing what he was really up to, but i also feel like i’m having less of a knee-jerk reaction, especially since i slowed down to pay more attention to his tone in japanese, rather than the translation.

#valkyrie plays 13 sentinels: aegis rim #13 sentinels: aegis rim

[har-rison-s]

visitation hours

a/n: hi! another little something i thought of while rewatching eternals last night. hopes this resonates with some people. there's something i just couldn't get enough of from the domestic scenes between the eternals, when they're eating at gilgamesh's and then in ajak's house later on... i just needed to write about it, and incorporate druig into it, as well. so here it is! happy fluffy reading:)

my paypal (would be much appreciated since i’m saving up for uni next year :))

mcu masterlist

series masterlist

warnings: nothing! pure fluff because we all need it:)

A knock comes to Gilgamesh's door that rises suspicion. Thena never knocks on the door, she just comes through without warning. And no one else has visited them in a very long time. It might be Druig, Gilgamesh thinks, since he recently got in touch with Druig to help him out with Thena. And perhaps it is Druig.

When Gilgamesh walks over to the front door of his house and opens it up, he's pleasantly surprised by what he sees. It's not Thena, it's not Druig. Instead, it's Y/N. And she looks as happy and radiant as ever. “You guys sure chose a nice place to settle down.” She quips at him with that grin of hers, and sunglasses on her eyes to shield them. Gilgamesh laughs.

“Y/N!” He exclaims before pulling her into a tight hug. Y/N embraces him right back, loving the feel of her friends' arms around her, and realising she's missed it a lot. “What are you doing here?” Gilgamesh pulls back, looking over her for any sign of trouble. “It's been so long...” he regretfully admits. 

Y/N shrugs. “I wanted to check in on you guys,” she says and then playfully pushes her fist against Gilgamesh's bicep, imitating a battle sound afterwards, “had missed you.” She admits, then, her big heart and emotions always floating up to the surface. 

“Awh, I've missed you too, big girl,” he says and then motions for her to step inside his house, “come on, come in, I'm just finishing up on lunch.” Gilgamesh smiles. Upon stepping through the door and closing it afterwards, Y/N immediately hears a radio playing tunes from the 50s in one of the far corners of the beautiful little house. “I made this new stove for myself--well, an oven--where I can cook bread, pies, pizzas--anything I want. Pfastos would be proud, don't you think? I'm making a kitsch and desert right now. You'll want some?” Gilgamesh looks to Y/N. 

And he finds her marvelling in the sight of his house. She doesn't need to ask to know that he built every inch of it himself, and she loves it. The house has the sense and way of Gilgamesh, it's so warm (even without the heat from the sun) and cozy. Full of love. Walking into the house, however small it may be, feels just like receiving a hug from Gilgamesh himself. 

“This is so nice,” she tells him, finally back to reality, “I'd love some.” She nods to his question.

“Great! How long are you staying?” Gilgamesh questions as he continues preparing the kitsch, like he was before she came. He's just putting the finishing touches on the top part of the dough, and then it's ready to bake. 

Y/N shrugs. “However long you'll have me.” She responds. She takes off her jacket, revealing a colourful linen blouse with a beautifully embroidered neck line that is very stylish nowadays, Gilgamesh knows that. “I'll set the table. Will Thena be joining us?” 

Gilgamesh turns to Y/N slowly. “She's been very unfriendly lately,” he admits in a quieter voice, “won't eat, won't... won't even talk to me.” He sighs. Y/N can feel the anguish inside Gilgamesh and flashes her eyes silver to make part of the hurt go away for him. 

“You can talk to me about that, Gil,” she says and the two lock eyes, “just us two for now.” She gives him a smile. Gilgamesh nods with a smile of his own and leaves the kitchen with the ready kitsch and desert in his hands, heading for his diy-ed oven. Y/N smiles sadly to herself and gets to searching for plates and cutlery around Gilgamesh's kitchen.

Gilgamesh turns out to be a masterful chef, and it's a surprise to Y/N that he hadn't cooked for the whole team beforehand and demonstrated these skills. The kitsch has everything in it that one could want, and all the ingredients make an incredible combination. The desert, which is a berry pie, is just as good. Y/N nearly bites off her fingers while eating.

“You eat this every day?” She asks in disbelief, her stomach full already as she keeps nibbling on the pie and its stuffing. 

“Uh-huh,” Gilgamesh responds, “kinda got around to cooking ever since me and Thena moved here together.” He shrugs. “I mean, it's always something to do, something new to explore and find--combine different flavours and such.” 

“Well, you make a great chef, Gil,” Y/N compliments, patting the chef's hand, “you should get one of those apron thingies, though, all your clothes will be ruined otherwise. See?” She pats a red patch on his shirt. “You've already got jam on you.” Gilgamesh looks down.

“Eh,” he moves his hand in a careless way, “I can always get more.” He shrugs. “But an apron would be nice, that's true. Would fit me, I think.”

“It would.” Y/N agrees. “But with something funny or cheeky on it.” She suggests with a chuckle. Gilgamesh laughs, too, and gets up from the table. He takes his and Y/N's plate to clean them, and wants to take the pie away, too, but Y/N whines. “No, no, leave it. I'll finish it.”

“Whatever you say, big girl,” Gilgamesh shakes his head, leaving the pie and Y/N be, and walks over to the sink. Y/N chuckles and rests her head on her arm, resting it sideways on it, and continues picking the pie apart piece by piece with her fork. 

“Since when do you call her 'big girl'?” Comes a voice Y/N certainly wouldn't have expected to hear for a long time. Her eyes look up to its owner, her head still laying sideways, causing everything in her vision to appear much the same. She squints her eyes.

“Hey, Dru,” she greets him softly, but with suspicion as she eats two berries off her work masterfully. Druig gives her a slight grin, one of expectancy, and nods.

“Always have, always will,” Gilgamesh responds to Druig's question, “nice to see you, Druig. Have some pie while I clean up.” 

“Don't mind if I do.” Druig responds and takes a seat directly across from Y/N at the table. He picks up a fork and looks at the girl before diving into the other side of the pie. 

“What are you doing here, Dru?” Y/N asks him languidly, knowing by Gilgamesh's behaviour that Druig's arrival was expected. She just wonders why. Y/N watches Druig as he devours the very tasty pie, and she waits for his answer.

“Gilgamesh asked me to help out with Thena,” Druig mumbles, “put her to sleep while he takes some time off.” He answers. 

“Oh, you're going on vacation, Gil?” Y/N looks to the chef, and he nods. “Where?”

“Fiji.” Gilgamesh answers with a smile. “I've always wanted to go there. Humans compare it to one of the Seven Wonders of the world.” He laughs. 

“Oh, do they now?” Y/N laughs with him. Her and Druig's pie eating from each side has unconsciously turned into a race--who can eat more, and who can eat faster. 

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” Druig asks and tilts his head so it'd be in one line with her tilted head. Y/N smiles softly at her fellow Eternal. “Aren't you supposed to be therapizing people in France?”

“Therapists can take vacations, you know, Dru,” Y/N retorts in the kindest of manners, all the while smiling softly, “I'd missed Gil,” she admits, “wanted to see how he was doing. And Thena.” A sad look crosses into her eyes. “Gil tells me she's not been so well.” 

“That's what I'm here for,” Druig nods, “so this is almost like a reunion. We're one missing from half of us being here.” He says in a louder voice so Gilgamesh could hear, too. Druig grins while he speaks. Y/N smiles herself as she hears Gilgamesh chuckle. 

“How's the cult going, Dru?” She teases, licking her fork clean with a grin still on her face. Druig shakes his head. 

“It's not a cult, Y/N, and you know that,” he responds.

“Do I?” She raises an eyebrow. Druig raises one of his, too in response. 

“It's quite alright.” Druig answers. “There've been no intrusions, everything's going smoothly.” Y/N listens to the tone of his voice as he speaks, and she squints her eyes slightly. She never did fully agree with Druig's taking over the whole babylonian civilisation and keeping them locked away from the rest of the world. But it seems as though it's what he really wanted, and still does want, therefore he looks pleased with himself. But she knows he can be better than this. “I'm ready when you are, Gilgamesh.” Druig says, turning to look at his friend. 

Gilgamesh sighs. “In a second, Druig,” he responds as he's still busy with dishes. 

“Let me help you, Gil,” Y/N reaches out, standing up for aid immediately. Gilgamesh looks to her, his eyes asking if she means it wholeheartedly, “come on, I'm not entirely a guest. And you already made the food, so just let me clean everything up.” Druig watches her as she stands next to Gilgamesh now, smiling kindly at him. Gilgamesh nods and dries off his hands, giving the dish-cleaning mantle over to Y/N. He goes to sit down next to Druig. Y/N keeps the water running slowly so that she can join the conversation, if necessary. 

“I don't know how your whole mind thing works, but,” Gilgamesh starts to say to Druig, whose eyes are flickering between Gil and Y/N, much to her unknowing, “you'll still have to keep an eye on her. I don't want her here alone.” 

Druig rests a comforting hand on Gilgamesh's shoulder, “don't worry about that. I'll be here as long as you need it.” Druig assures, and is happy to see Gilgamesh smiling at his words. 

“How long will you be in Fiji, Gil?” Y/N asks him. 

“Three to four weeks,” Gilgamesh answers, turning in his chair to look at Y/N, “why do you ask?” Druig has the same question in his mind as he looks to Y/N again. 

She shrugs. “I can stay here with Dru, help keep Thena safe,” she suggests and then turns off the sink water as she's done with cleaning. She dries her hands in a near-by towel and turns around to face both men, her hips leaning against the sink, “you never were one good with boredom, anyway, Dru.” Y/N says, crossing her arms over her chest and grinning at Druig. He smiles faintly, knowing that it's true. 

“You sure you can have that much time off?” Gilgamesh makes sure, and Y/N nods. 

“I'm sure,” she responds. Her month of vacation off work will be rightly spent if Gilgamesh agrees to her staying here with Druig. She didn't have a solid plan for what to do during this month, anyway. She just wanted to see Gil and Thena, and do whatever she wants afterwards. Except, there's not really anything she wants to do. Her work is her life, and so is her Eternals family. But that family has fallen apart. 

“Okay, then you're both staying,” Gil decides, “just don't burn my house down when you're making food.” He advises as he rises from his chair. Y/N laughs, pats Gil's shoulder and the man leaves for the other room. To pack his bags for Fiji, Y/N guesses. 

She and Druig lock eyes. They both also grin almost simultaneously. “This is gonna get interesting,” Druig says, rubbing his hands against one another in anticipation. Y/N licks her lips and chuckles.

permanent tag-list: @hallecarey1​ @gabiatthedisco​@v0idbella​@destiel-stucky4ever-loki-queen @ur-gunna-h8-ths​​@betweenloveandfire​ @but-legendsneverdie​ @rottenstyx​@deardeacy​​ @mavieesttriste16​​ @intrrverted​​ @the-freak-cassie-131​​  @beverlyparkerr​​ @gasbomb69​​

part two????

#druig x reader #druig eternals #druig drabble #druig fluff #druig imagine #eternals imagine #eternals oneshot #eternals x reader #gilgamesh x reader #mcu imagine

[aravas-writing]

(Secret Star AU)

Title: "Ravenous Rave Romp!"

Cinder had been desperate for money, her normal "allowance" delayed for some reason (Watts!) Which means she needed a job. Emerald, who she had just recruited, said this place would be perfect, but Cinder had second thoughts the minute she walked into the porn studio. But before she could protest, Emerald had already signed her up for a Rave scene, wearing a multi coloured wig, hiding her identity. Cinder reluctantly went along with it, it wasn't like this smiling blonde could be rough with her, which she would have known, had she read the script...

She hated this whole situation with all of her heart. Cinder Fall was not a prostitute! She dangled the dream of sex with her in front of others to do her bidding, not give away her body!

She was done with that ever since she left the Silver Unicorn...once had been well enough.

Alas, that brazen arrogant fool Watts told her that there was some form of difficulty to move her required funds, so she would have to get a job.

Who the hell did he think she was?!

Calm...Calm...deep breaths... Emerald tried her best to get something that would get money easy while being somewhat dignified and matching Cinder's CV.

Somehow, her help had come up with an adult film company looking for new talent. Cinder had almost fried the chocolate-skinned street rat for it, but she had to concede that the terms of the contract she brought back were acceptable. It was a small consolation, alongside Emerald also being given a form.

Of course the greenette would have to fill her copy out as well.

The script was easy enough. Dance in a rave party alongside carefully chosen actors, all of whom actually seemed to relish being able to party on company clock. Then she was to carefully seduce her co-star into dancing with her, before getting dirty right on the dance floor.

Cinder had to admit, public sex had a thrill to it, which was possibly why she accepted these tacky-looking extensions in her hair. Sure, no one outside could tell that those weren't actually part of her hair, but still! Green and blue?!

Right, she was supposed to be a raver...

Miniskirt ready for easy access, skimpy top, makeup done and she was ready to rock the world of whatever guy was going to be sent her way.

...wait, how would one dance rave?

Too late, the crowd was ready and music was getting blasted through the speakers. It was a rather unsophisticated tune, but it certainly was easy enough to dance to. All one had to do was follow the beat.

Easy enough. The bodies around her were dancing fairly close to her, but not close enough to disrupt either Cinder or the cameras. The ravenette put on a bit of a show for them. A shimmy turned into a luscious roll of her hips, before excitedly jump around and letting her ass jiggle beneath her skirt.

And, of course, she only wore a thin thong.

As she danced, she noticed a figure approaching her spot on the dance floor. Judging him to be her co-star, Cinder threw a sneaky glance his way. Blonde hair adorned a head sitting on a tall body as blue eyes sparkled with mischief and adoration in equal parts.

'Oh no, he's hot.' That was most definitely not Cinder Fall's immediate thought upon seeing the guy, who himself was dressed in a shirt and shorts which both featured splatters of neon paint.

She used all her skill as a receiver to pretend to notice him just as he started appearing close to her own space on the dance floor. A howl of excitement ran through the crowd as the song changed. Fittingly enough, it was called "Satisfaction".

A coy smile his way and an extended hand, this silly boy took one huge step towards the Fall Maiden turned raver and danced to the beat. His hands met her hips immediately as he got close, a smile on his own lips as the two actually had fun.

Cinder could scarcely believe it herself. She was having fun to gaudy music and dancing with this ridiculously handsome- this adequately attractive stranger. Her smile became a little more genuine, certainly more so since she became what she was today.

But alas, this lighthearted atmosphere had to be shattered and replaced with a more sexual one. Taking his arm and lifting it slightly, the seductress used the opening to dance right into his arms, rubbing her shapely ass against his crotch. To finish this, she lifted her head to smile at the blonde boy.

He looked surprised at her forwardness, but soon relented and let his hands roam her perfect body. One caressed her thigh, inching close to her crotch while lifting her skirt as another roamed her flat stomach while searching a way towards her boobs.

Another jiggle of her ass, some pressing of her hips against his, and Cinder knew that her co-star was packing. Certainly something to look forward to as one of his hands finally made it up to her clothed boob to cup it gently. His thumb started to circle her nipple through the fabric, making Cinder bite her lip and shimmy around in his arms some more. Her flat stomach undulating was perfectly caught on camera.

Through the droning beat, Cinder wished he could hear her breathing heavily under his touch as he whispered all the dirty things he would do to her in her ear. Alas, there was no sound beyond the music.

Not that words were really necessary. The blonde's hand finally crept beneath her skirt, teasing and caressing her clad mound. She moaned, not that anyone could hear, as she realized that she had gotten wet under him. As his hand kept caressing her, she looked back up to him, craning her neck as she did, and smiled at him using her best fuck-me eyes.

He would have to oblige her, since they still starred in a porn video. He needed to fuck her, he just had to! Oum knows she wanted it.

Nice, well-shaped fingers pulled her thong away, baring what little it concealed to a curious camera lens as the music changed again to a different sound, this one like something was approaching. Cinder smiled at the timing of it as her handsome co-star probed her pussy, exploring it carefully instead of jamming it in like a possessive brute.

So many steps up from what she had to endure...He was focused on her pleasure, his finger scraping against her in the nicest way, pistoning in and out of her tight and ready pussy.

Cinder patience left as her libido rose, and she had to pull his wrist away from her pussy and towards her ass as she turned around, facing him now.

A female voice could be heard in this track, seemingly addressing the listener with an endearing and horny "Hey Baby", asking them increasingly lustful questions. Cinder herself fumbled at her blonde stud's- her friendly blonde's pants to fish out his painfully hard cock. Amber eyes not leaving blue, nimble hands wandered all over his length as her smile grew. Finally, she pulled close, slinging a leg around his hip and directing his cock close to her waiting muff. She could feel his tip close to her lips, so close that her hips moved against it in her own.

Finally, her blonde grabbed the ravenette by the hips and the leg slung around him, balancing her, and guided himself inside her. He didn't even use his hands, making her eyes widen as he entered her just like that.

To anyone looking on, the two were dancing very provocatively. To Cinder Fall, this was an experience unlike any other. He fit her excellently, dare she say perfectly; his cock filled her pussy completely! All the sexy minx wanted was for him to move immediately, perhaps giving her her first orgasm!

Dammit, she was so turned on!

His one hand cupping her ass cheek, he pressed deep and rhythmically inside her, then pulling out, then repeat three times before he followed with several shallow thrusts.

Cinder was certain that her juices were glistening in the lights as the speaking part of the song turned overtly sexual and her man fucked her good. Waves of pleasure ran through her, coursing through her veins as he held her close, amber eyes gazing at him with something so close to adoration that she herself wondered...

"Oh my God!" The girl in the song moaned in pretend lust as Cinder gasped it in actual lust as he simply picked her up, arms beneath her kneepits, and fucked her hard and good while standing.

She was getting close as he made his lust for her relentlessly known. Blue eyes and a mouth slightly opened to moan softly mirrored her own expression as she approached her own high; the very first anyone ever gave her!

A head snapped forward in the decisive moment and hungry lips met, tongues battling against one another as their climax rocked their bodies, a deluge if fun filling Cinder as her partner shivered, moaning into her mouth as her own sounds vibrated, letting them both feel it.

Finally, they separated, and Cinder was gently set down on wobbly legs. Not wasting a second, right after his still-hard dick was back in his pants, she pointed off the dance floor, in the vague direction of "private", and took his hand to lead him away...

"Cut!" The director yelled through the sound. "Excellent shoot, you two! Magnificent performance! You led her well, Jamie!"

As the ravenette blinked owlishly, torn out of her horny mode, her partner basically scratched the back of his head. "Thank you, but I'm pretty sure my partner here is the real star," he screamed back over the din of the ongoing party and pointing to the ravenette.

"Ah, certainly!" The director nodded to her. "We'll wire you your payment for this gig ASAP! You can go to the showers now; just-"

As soon as Cinder heard the word "showers" and saw the hand pointing in the direction, her trek continued, pulling this "Jamie" along undeterredly.

As soon as they arrived, her clothes practically flew off of her while she hungrily glared at the blonde. "I want a second round, Jamie," she clarified.

"Jaune, actually; Jamie is my stage-"

"Jaune, then." He was almost adorably nervous. "Get those extensions out if my hair and I'll make it worth it," Cinder commanded in her best seductress voice, beckoning him to follow as she headed to the shower.

She would definitely sign up to exclusively work with him...

#rwby #secret star au #cinder fall #jaune arc #rwby smut #rwby knightfall

[teletraan-meets-jarvis]

A Girl Like You

AO3 Link

Pairing: Little bit of Wolffe x fem!Jedi Reader

Summary: You end up having a lightsaber sparring match with Anakin and the clones watch on from the sidelines. Wolffe admires the view.

Warnings: 13+, Wolffe eyeing up the reader.

Word Count: 2k

Author's Notes: This is my first attempt at writing some sort of battle scene, I hope I pulled it off alright. This is mostly a fic about the Dathomiri/Mandalorian reader in order to help me practice writing battles, but I have thrown in Wolffe being cheeky because I couldn't resist. Any feedback is always appreciated, as are reblogs! Fic is below the cutoff, thanks very much for reading x

You’re not entirely sure how you got yourself into this situation. You’d been sitting among a few members of your battalion, the 104th, along with General Skywalker, Commander Tano, the usual suspects from the 501st and a few of the Coruscant Guard commanders, getting yourselves ready to head out for a night out among the lower levels of Coruscant. While you’d been waiting for the last few stragglers to get some fresh armour on before heading out, Anakin had somehow dragged you into some pissing contest about lightsaber designs and which were the most effective in combat. You carried a double bladed weapon, and Anakin had been poking you about how ineffective he’d found them to be in battle. You know he was just trying to get a rise out of you and you hated that it worked.

So that’s how you ended up here, with the challenge of a sparring match presented to you by Anakin. He wanted to test his theory as to what weapon was superior in battle.

“Loser buys the first round at 79’s for everyone” The General suggested. You looked around, there must be at least twenty of you heading out tonight, would your credits even cover that?

“You’re on.” Guess you could always get a few waters and lie to the men. Fox could probably do with a slow start to the drinking anyways.

The three Jedis present used the force to clear some tables out the way, creating a space for the fight. Ahsoka outlined some rules before the event began, which were; no force use on each other, no dirty tricks and please don’t actually hurt each other. Should the latter happen, at least they had Kix there ready to fix them up, even if he was supposed to be off duty.

Once the space was cleared, you got up from your spot amongst the Wolfpack who were hyping you up like you were some pay-per-view sports person about to head into the ring. The 501st boys were cheering for Anakin as Rex gave him a pep talk before sending him off into their makeshift battle arena.

The two of you took your spots opposite each other. You were both still wearing your usual battle clothes, just clean alternatives. Anakin’s fresh, dark coloured robes were neatly wrapped around him, his growing hair hanging just above his eyes as he readied himself for the fight.

You yourself were in a form fitting grey and white jumpsuit which flared slightly at the leg. The sleeves were short, showing off the grey Dathomiri markings on your arms which were dotted across your fair Mandalorian skin. Your whole ensemble was finished off with a single, battle-worn shoulder piece which carried the Wolfpack insignia. Your short blonde hair was in it’s signature half up, half down look, keeping it out of your way.

You both readied yourselves and your eyes met. You could feel the confidence radiating off of him and you knew exactly why. Despite being the same age as Anakin, you were still a Padawan under Master Plo. However, from your Master’s recent suggestions, that wouldn’t be the case for long.

You took a moment to calm yourself. Remembering your training, you let the audience disappear until it was just the two of you. You opened your eyes and readied your lightsaber. You took the handle and held it out in front of you, the space for the two blades coming out either side of your grip. You clicked the weapon on and it buzzed to life. Two green blades in perfect unison. You twirled the weapon around your fingers, pulling it to your side as you got into your initial stance. Leaning back on your right bent leg, your left outstretched in front of you, one half of your weapon inches away from the right side of your head, ready to go.

Anakin had done the same and with some flare, had gotten into his stance. You were both ready.

“After you, Skyguy” and with that, Anakin took the first lunge. You brought your lightsaber up just below your chin, holding it sideways to block his straight swipe down across your head. Your faces inches apart before you both pushed off of each other and started stalking around in a circle, waiting for who would make the next move.

An unspoken understanding in the air between you both, the knowledge that you could push each other to your limits, in a way the Jedi wouldn’t normally encourage in training. The thought sent a slight thrill through your body, you always went into every battle with utmost control, always trying to be a model Commander. You always had to prove to the council that you weren’t a threat, that you could the resist the dark side that came so naturally to your kind. But right now, for the first time, you could really let loose and trial your power with Anakin as you knew he’d be doing the exact same.

The tension in the room was thick, the focused stares between the Jedi entrancing everyone present as they danced around one another.

You both rushed to the centre of the space, sabres clashing right in front of your faces. A cyan glow lit up your features, both sporting wicked grins. The power you both held evident among the spectators. You thought you heard a few gasps from the crowd, but all your focus was directed at the Knight in front of you. His feral smirk held as he spoke from behind the clash of your weapons. “Don’t get too flustered now, I know I look great under blue light”

“Don’t flatter yourself, General” You chuckled as you pushed off each other. Stalking once more.

When you clashed again, it was all a blur. Hit after hit. He was relentless. Your weapons created a bright light show as you kept up with Anakin’s offensive. He pushed you further back, the wall behind you growing closer. You blocked his next hit and took a moment to plan. He was getting confident, too confident. You could use that to your advantage.

You ducked below his next swing and went for his legs, causing him to do a backflip back to the centre. Finally, some breathing room. Now it was your turn to go on the offensive. You charged forward and restarted the fast pace. Delivering blow after blow to Anakin’s defence. Your double blades keeping him on his toes as you made sure to never favour one side of your weapon.

You were both high from the strength you put on display, you don’t remember the last time you let loose like this. You were both sweating slightly, grinning at the enjoyment of such a challenging fight. One strike from Anakin had you swinging your lightsaber over you shoulder to guard your back, as you blocked a particularly dirty move from the General. From the sidelines, you heard Ahsoka reprimanding her Master and reminding him that this was only a sparring match. You raised your eyebrow at the General who just shrugged, still sporting a confident smirk on his face. It was on.

—————

The clones were mesmerised. Of course they’d seen their Jedis fight hundreds of times in battle, but they never had the time to just watch and appreciate. The pair were so different, where Anakin was like a controlled tornado, skill and strength on the brink of being unleashed. Your approach was measured, plotting, more like a slow song building up. Every move you made was calculated, as if you were playing a game of chess.

Wolffe couldn’t help but appreciate the view as you lunged an attack at Anakin. You and Wolffe had been fighting alongside each other for years now but he’d never really seen you like this. Your orange eyes sharp, body tense, feet light as you danced with Anakin. Green and blue clashing. Your moves so smooth and flowing into one another yet contrasted by displays of dangerous power, reminding him of the waters back on Kamino. You looked incredible and he couldn’t help getting pulled into the atmosphere, cheering alongside the rest of his brothers. There was a new feeling in his chest as he watched you battle. Their Jedi. His Jedi.

He continued to stare as the fight raged on. He bloomed with pride when his eyes found your Wolfpack insignia on your shoulder, which perfectly matched your battalion colour-scheme outfit. Speaking of, his eyes couldn’t help themselves as they drifted along your body, finding all the places where that jumpsuit hugged your small curves just right. The way your toned arms strained as you swung your weapon. The way your skin markings lead beneath the v-neckline you’d left at the front of your jumpsuit from the zipper, teasing almost. You were a vision. Maker get ahold of yourself. He shook his head, as if it would clear the racy thoughts from his mind. It didn’t.

Back at the event, there were lulls and peaks in the fight, moments where you were studying each other and others where your lightsabers were in near constant contact as you fought to keep up with the other’s moves.

“You’ve got this General, take her down” Jesse shouted from his position in the sidelines.

“Commander, kick his ass!” Boost piped up in your support.

———————

The crowd getting involved seemed to spur Anakin on further, your next clash resulted in him being able to swing your lightsaber from your grasp. Kriff. Suddenly you felt the tell-tale heat radiating off his weapon onto your throat, only a few millimetres separating them. The 501st were cheering in support of their General while Anakin looked over to his adoring fans, soaking up the praise. You just smirked from your defenceless position.

“You shouldn’t get so cocky, General” you stated casually, pulling him out of his moment.

“What?” Before he could react, you knocked his weapon away from your chin as your right leg hooked around the back of his and sent him sprawling onto his back. You used the force to grab his weapon as you went to kneel on his chest, his own lightsaber now readied towards his throat.

The crowd watched on in shock for a few seconds before the Wolfpack jumped out their seats and started cheering. You’d officially just defeated The Chosen One in a sparring match.

You chuckled at their reactions and Anakin’s pout before helping the General up. You returned his weapon and watched as he stalked back over to his battalion, his pride in tatters. Looking over at your own squad, Comet and Boost were winding up Jesse and Fives over how their Jedi was superior.

As you made your way back over the 104th troopers jumped on you chanting “Wolfpack! Wolfpack! Wolfpack!” some of them even started howling. You just laughed and pushed them off you.

“You’re such dorks” you chuckled, ruffling Sinker’s hair as he walked back to his seat.

“I believe you dropped this sir” Wolffe came over and extended your weapon out to you. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to retrieve your weapon from wherever it’d be thrown in a fight.

“Thank you, Commander” you said with a smile. You were both standing slightly away from the others who were still teasing the 501st, with help from Commander Thorn. Wolffe had a strange look on his face, like he was contemplating something.

“You looked good out there” he piped up, his usual bravado replaced with something more unsure. However, his walls were back up before you could tell what it was.

“You telling me I look good, Wolffe?” You teased, hoping to wind him up a little bit.

“Maybe I am” he replied with a smirk, his eyes giving you a once over boldly in front of you. You blushed at the sudden attention. Well this was new.

“You two Commanders done flirting or can we go now? There’s a free round waiting for us!” Ahsoka shouted from across the way.

You and Wolffe looked at each other for a moment longer before you chuckled and nodded your head in the direction of the exit. “We should head off”.

As you walked side by side with the clone Commander, you thought back to the way he looked at you. There was something in his eyes, admiration, maybe even want? You couldn’t tell, but you definitely wanted to find out. Maybe a few drinks would loosen him up enough to see what was going on in that handsome head of his.

Back to Masterlist

#clone wars #star wars #commander wolffe x reader #clone wars fic #star wars fic #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #commander fox #commander thorn #comet #boost #sinker #master plo koon #501st #jesse #fives

[tumbling-darkling]

Miraculous Ghosts

Danny and friends visit Paris and come across trouble, as well as the cities local superheroes.

Lately, Hawkmoth has been recycling villains. There are only so many people in Paris and not everyone gets emotionally vulnerable strongly enough or long enough to be akumatized. Those that do, and commonly like Mr. Pidgeon, usually had a certain fixation that was easy to exploit. The thing was, both Marienette and Chat Noir already knew their weakness, the items that would most likely get akumatized, the whole schtick. So the battles were really fast and easy.

A new face always had to be met with caution, the lack of knowledge regarding the person was dangerous and if the pair wasn’t careful, they could end up losing the battle. And their Miraculous.

With the start of summer came tourist season, and tourists could be victims of akumatization. Which seemed to be the case within the first week. 3 villains, all new faces, but the pair had gotten lucky with the similar powers that the heroes had faced before and the three were all defeated in a timely manner.

There was a short week of nothing happening.

And then all hell broke loose.

—————————————————————

Marienette knew the start of the tourist season had begun just based on the filled streets of strange faces, sunglasses, cameras, and the use of foreign languages. This also was noticed based on how busy her parents' shop had become, and how rarely she was managing to escape outside to enjoy some of summer's freedom. The good thing was she was able to brush up on some of her English, since the tourists usually spoke the common American language and the experience was always welcome to help boost her grades in the upcoming year. Even if it was a few months away.

She’d figured out the best way to sneak off during any attacks was to ‘use the bathroom’ or ‘accidently’ make a mess and excuse herself to clean up. It had worked during the first week and she didn’t have to do anything the past week since Hawkmoth seemed to take a break. She finished serving a young pair of Americans, a tall girl with orange hair, and a lanky boy nearly the same height with raven black hair.

She had to admit, some Americans had a certain charm, but the bustle of the kitchen quickly caught her attention as she was back to serving the next person in line.

Just as Chloe waltzed in, basically knocking the american boy over as she strutted to the front of the line, causing people to cast glares in her direction. The boy hissed when he fell, the American girl offering to help him up in English as he shook his head and stood up, dusting himself off as Marienette went to deal with the walking form of pure rich privilege. “Urg, Dupain-Cheng’s dingy little cafe? Of course she works here, it just smells like burnt bread.” She huffed.

Marienette bristled, but put on her customer service smile, noticing the poor Americans victim to Chloe leaving the shop. She was hoping to offer them a replacement after dealing with Chloe but it was a little late now. “Ma’am, unless you are here to pick up an order, you will have to wait in line like everyone else.” She strained.

“Ma’am? I am Chloe Dubois! I don’t need to wait in line like some sort of peasant! Just give me whatever you didn’t make.”

Marienette had to swallow down any returning insults and put down one of their most expensive items, handing it over with a clearly strained smile, “have a nice day.”

Chloe huffed with her baked goods in hand but left as soon as she appeared, allowing Marienette some relief. Very little damage. A little annoyance but nothing worthy of an akuma-.

An explosion was heard from outside, and Marienette groaned internally.

She just had to jinx it.

—————————————————————

Ladybug dove off to the side as the villain shot out a ray of white, plasma-like energy. Adrien, fighting as Chat Noir, and his partner were having a hell of a time with this dude. He spotted the chaos on the news, the villain calling himself ‘Black Hole’ and giving his poor Lady a hard time. When he finally arrived on the scene, he wasn’t able to do much either.

The villain was basically a godly powerhouse, floating in the air, shooting burning rays of heated plasma, or even ice! Ice and plasma! Sometimes he MIXED the two beams to create an even WORSE beam! Whenever either of the heroes got close enough to land a hit, their punches and kicks would go right through him. Then he would DISAPPEAR. REAPPEARING AND LANDING ANOTHER HEAVY BLOW. He would fly around like gravity was non-existent, and these abilities didn’t stop there. Every so often, he would yank out this thermos looking thing and shoot out these wormholes. Or… possibly black holes. Calling them black holes felt wrong though… since they glowed green and swirled before disappearing after a few moments.

The villain's outfit was a change of pace too. It was impossible to figure out his age since he was completely covered in a thick fabric material that reminded him of space suits. Yet looked a lot less bulky than actual space suits, thin yet sturdy metal covered his forearms, and formed a backpack that was attached by a wide metal collar that spread to his collarbone and slightly covered his shoulders, as well as a metal strap that wrapped around right under his chest. A plated, metal belt circled his waist with a clip for the green black hole thermos, and thigh high boots with a similar fabric to his suit covered most of his legs, thick plastic looking platform soles attached at the feet. Black bands wrapped around the ankles of the boots. A helmet covered his entire face, a metal frame covering the bottom half like a muzzle while the top was a tinted glass dome following the shape of his head, the inside of it entirely black except for the eerie glow of a single, left eye. The helmet had a tube on the back of the helmet that connected to his backpack, but neither he or Ladybug could figure out if it was essential or for decoration. His entire colouring was monotone, much bleaker than their previous villains. His suit was black, the boots, forearm cuffs, belt, backpack and collar were all a middle shade of grey, the only flash of colour being the glow of the single toxic green eye amongst the darkness of the helmet.

The dude was disturbing. He didn’t make any sound, in fact he seemed to ABSORB the sound around him. Like they were in space.

Paris was getting destroyed more and more by the second and the two didn’t know what to do. The Lady’s lucky charm turned into a thermos, which she didn’t have a clue how to use in the situation in front of them. Maybe it was a hint? A clue about soup? Or getting the villains thermos?

The problem with the last idea was that neither he or Ladybug could TOUCH this villain. And each of them were getting worse and worse for wear by the second. He could tell Ladybug was getting ready to get some sort of help, but who could make something untouchable… touchable? Chat even tried to use cataclysm on the villain's thermos while Ladybug had distracted him, but he twisted at the last moments and grabbed Chat's hand, draining cataclysm before he tossed him aside like it was nothing.

Another blast of plasma sent the two tumbling away from each other, and then a blast of ice caught Chat off guard. Cold shot up his arm as his muscles convulsed, a scream caught in his throat as the ice trapped his arm in such a tight and sturdy prison. He twisted to try and use his free arm to claw the other out of the ice, a shadow in the corner of his vision causing him to twist and jolt in surprise as the villain stood right in front of him. The glowing green eye was cold as it bore into him, and the villain grew closer and closer, drifting off the ground and absorbing every noise around him, the air around them dropping to freezing temperatures. Chats breath formed in front of him as gasps, panic clear in the quick breaths, fear intensifying as the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat and blood roaring through his veins.

The villain's hand shot out and grabbed his free one- the one with his miraculous.

Chat heard Ladybug cry out as the villain gripped onto the ring, a quick glance showing she too was trapped.

That she was next.

Chat tried to keep his fingers curled, but he was battered and weak, and the villain hadn’t even broken a sweat during their fight. Prying open his fingers was easy, the ring vulnerable. This was it. He used cataclysm too soon and now he was powerless. He couldn’t escape. He couldn’t save anyone. He was a failure. This was the end of Paris.

They lost.

—————————————————————

Fucking. Vlad.

This entire trip had Danny on edge and it was all because of Vlad.

At first, he thought maybe, for once, Vlad wasn’t being a piece of shit when offering the family a fully paid trip to France for two weeks. He was suspicious. He probably just wanted the family out of town to do some shady shit. But a two week trip to France wasn’t the WORST thing a man could do. Especially in comparison to kidnapping and cloning.

But then his parents got sick. A common flu. Right before the trip. And they wanted Jazz and him to experience Paris. Then Vlad offered to be a chaperone.

It was all a play to get Danny alone for two weeks and try and manipulate him.

He did manage to get Tucker and Sam to tag along, something about friends being his family and the two unused tickets his parents left behind. But Vlad knew how to separate the group. How to corner Danny at the worst moments and whisper annoying remarks in his ear as he tried to get away.

He survived a week. He only had one more week to go. Tucker and Sam were off checking out some places for lunch while Jazz and Danny went to pick up sweets for everyone to share after their meal.

Vlad was off doing who knew what so Danny had put him to the back of his mind.

The cafe they found was… well it smelled incredible. There were so many baked goods on display and the air was filled with the warm and sweet smell of the goodies. He let Jazz do most of the talking, she wanted to practice her French and Danny had recently discovered that being dubbed the ghost king meant that now he had a natural grasp on all verbal languages, including the dead ones. This meant his speech in French was almost flawless, and his understanding was like he was listening to someone speak English. He couldn’t read other languages though, just speak them. He was told though by a few locals he had an odd accent. It wasn’t an american one, just… odd.

So Jazz ordered the treats and the pair was headed out to meet Danny’s friends.

Then some blonde girl with way too much make-up basically knocked him to the ground, not even sending him a glance that indicated she knew what she did. It was annoying, but he dealt with bullies on a daily basis back at Amity Park. Well… used to. But he knew better than to waste any thought on some jerk like her. He sadly looked at the ruined cat paw shaped cookies, the icing ruined and the cookies crushed under his weight when he fell.

Standing up with the help of Jazz, they left the shop as Danny insisted on finding somewhere to wash off the icing stuck to his shirt. He liked this shirt too… he hoped it wouldn’t stain too badly. It was better than ectoplasm at least, that stuff needed to be burned out, there was no such thing as washing out ectoplasm.

Jazz asked to help, but Danny brushed her off, telling her he could easily clean himself off by himself.

And then Vlad chose that moment to corner him.

—————————————————————

“Hello Daniel.”

Danny splashed water wildly as he spun around to glare at the older Halfa, hissing out an ‘Ancients!’ in surprise. “What the hell, Vlad?” He spat, “sneaking up on a kid in the bathroom? I should just call the police and tell them about all that stalking you like to do.”

“Aren’t you tired of this childish game?” He hummed.

“Not really, seeing as I’m a child and I love games,” Danny sneered.

“I’m older, more experienced, and stronger. I am also patient, little badger. And it’s easy to wear you down. By the end of this trip, you are going to be begging to be my-.”

“Son? Pet? Little slave that does everything you ask? Sorry, Vladdy, but I ain’t the type to listen to crazy fruit loops. How about you go enjoy the company of your French rich friends like that Agreste dude instead of stalking me and trying to get with my mom and kill my dad. Might do you some good to make more friends than just your cat.”

“Oh Daniel, you throw your petty insults but I know ways to break you even further. You know, a lot of accidents happen in Paris. Terrible things.”

Danny felt his eyes flash as he spun on his heel, “listen to me, if you even consider-!”

“Not to mention your brand new ghostly responsibilities as… the ghost king? Imagine that. A child as the king. You don’t even know everything about ghosts.”

“Neither do you!” Danny spat.

“Oh but I know so much more. And I could easily teach you-.”

“Just shut up!”

“When you mess up, when the ghost zone begins to fall apart, you will wish you took my offer, but I may not be as forgiving when that happens.”

“I said shut up!”

“And we both know the moment the ghost zone falls apart, so will this world. All because a boy became king and didn’t take help he was so graciously offered.”

“SHUT THE HELL UP!”

Something inside him shifted, and Danny suddenly felt his mind cloud, a deep voice echoed his mind.

“A cruel man harassing a young teen that wants nothing to do with him. A shame when someone can’t take a hint.

Black Hole. I am Hawkmoth. I can give you the power to show this old man that he never should consider looking in your direction ever again.

All I ask is for Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous. Do this for me, and Vlad Masters will never be an issue for you ever again.”

Danny’s clouded mind and building rage smirked at the offer, his voice echoing as he glanced up at Vlad who was giving him a confused look. “Yes, Hawkmoth.”

Darkness engulfed him and then his memory began to fail him.

—————————————————————

A boomerang slammed into Black Hole’s head, causing it to jerk to the side and a small crack formed on the glass that was hit. The metal boomerang dropped to the ground and Black Hole slowly looked down at it as a robotic voice cried out from it, “ghost detected!” And then a recorded voice spouted out, “take that, spook!”

Black Hole’s head slightly tilted at the noise it made, a hand subconsciously rubbing the crack it left behind. Then he twisted his gaze back to Chat Noir, going back to taking the hero’s miraculous.

Then a shout came from behind Black Hole and Chat caught the eyes of a teenage girl yelling and holding a bat over her head. Black Hole twisted, his body turning that transparent look whenever Chat or Ladybug had tried to hit him before, and Chat knew that it was useless. “No! Stop! Get out of here-!” He screamed at the citizen, but stopped when the bat connected with the villain's head and sent him flying into a wall.

Chat was at a loss for words for once in his life, watching the villain slowly pry himself from the wall from being hit by a baseball bat when he and Lady couldn’t land a single hit. He looked back at the citizen and shrieked as she raised the bat above her head and swung down at him, flinching and squeezing his eyes shut. She hit something, causing it to shatter and then- his hand was free!

He opened his eyes and looked at his hand in awe and then back at the girl, “who the heck are you?”

She huffed, dropping the bat casually on her shoulder, “Sam Manson. Friend of the idiot that didn’t do his research before taking a trip here. I’m surprised this didn’t happen earlier.”

Chat blinked, “you- you know that’s your friend? And knew this would happen?”

Sam shrugged, “the booo-merang is never wrong. And yeah, my friend there is not exactly the most emotionally stable person on the planet. Sorry it took us a while to get here. You guys really do move fast.”

Chat just opened and closed his mouth a few times, then yelled as she suddenly swung the bat again and smacked the villain in the gut as he got close during their exchange, knocking him sideways but not down like the first time. Black Hole turned again, making a snarling sound before he was blasted by some sort of green ray and sent flying sideways, rolling along the pavement before smashing into a car. Another teen jogged over with Ladybug behind him, dropping his hands to his knees as he wheezed, “I have ran… way too much for this to be considered a vacation.”

“M’Lady-, what is going on?” Chat asked.

“This is Tucker, and his friend Sam, and they know how to help,” Ladybug quickly explained, glancing back at Black Hole. “We need to draw his attention and get that thermos off of him, then Sam and Tucker can use this,” she held up the thermos from her lucky charm, “and we can get his akuma.”

“Akuma is in the thermos, knock it off,” Chat summarized. He heard his miraculous beeping, a sign he was close to his limit.

“Let’s end this fast.”

—————————————————————

Ladybug held the booo-merang in one hand as the two teens and Chat drew Black Hole’s attention, the teens equipped with weapons that seemed to get past some of Black Holes abilities.

She narrowed her gaze, waiting for the perfect moment, then threw the weapon, watching it arch in the air then knock the thermos off of the villain's waist. The thermos clattered to the ground and drew his attention, he quickly twisted and dove to try and retrieve it, which was when a bright beam erupted from the polka dot thermos Ladybug had given the teens. The beam caught the villain's legs and he was tugged back, his form pulling towards it like taffy as he twisted and a horrid scream of anger burst from him. He tried to escape it, flailing and reaching for anything to hang on to, but in a matter of seconds he was pulled into the canister and Sam slammed the lid shut. The screaming stopped and Ladybug made her way over to Black Hole’s thermos, stomping on it and crushing it, releasing the Akuma hidden inside. With a flick of her wrist her lucky charm turned back into its original form, dumping Black Hole onto the street, then the butterfly was caught and purified, and another click of her miraculous, she let the little bug flutter away harmlessly. With a shout, ‘Miraculous Ladybug!’, everything around them was engulfed in black and red as the damages were undone around them.

At last, the villain's form was released of Hawkmoth's influence and it left a lanky teen laying on the street. He slowly sat up with a groan and a hand to his head and she then realized it was the same teen as from the shop. So once again, this was Chloe’s fault. She turned her attention to the two teens that helped her, noticing Chat let out a hasty farewell and thanks and disappeared around a corner. “Thank you, both of you. Without your help… well, without your help we may have lost that battle. But how in the world did you do that?”

“What the fuck just happened?” The teen groaned, “I feel like the booo-merang smacked me in the head like… fifty times.”

“That’s because I may have smacked you a few times with the fenton creep stick,” Sam shrugged as she helped her friend up who gave her wide eyes in return.

“You fucking what?”

Tucker took a step forward to answer Ladybug’s question, “let's just say back in our town, we have very specific supervillains that have abilities that make it hard for regular attacks to land. So we have specialized gear. Sam and I did a bit of research before heading here and figured if any of us got Akumatized, we may reflect some of those traits.”

“I… see…” Ladybug hummed, “and where did you say you were all from?” The three cast a few glances between each other, but before any of them could answer, her miraculous beeped angrily as she quickly realized she was out of time. “Thank you again for your help, if we could meet again to exchange some of that tech to make sure this never happens again-,” she quickly tried to set up a meet up before Sam held up a hand.

“This won’t happen again. A lot of what happened here is very unique to Amity, so once we finish our vacation, you won’t see this kind of thing ever again.”

Ladybug only had more questions but the angry beeping only forced her to nod and bid a quick farewell before getting out of sight to let Tiki take a rest. Marienette held out a few macaroons for Tiki as her thoughts swirled in her head. The questions about the odd American trio and how they knew how to deal with a villain as unique as Black Hole.

She may be able to corner them later. They did say they had to ‘finish their vacation.’

And in the meantime, it was time to do some research on this place called ‘Amity’.

—————————————————————

Danny didn’t remember a lot of what happened while he was the villain, Black Hole. It was like a dream, he kinda remembered the feeling, vague details, but nothing specific.

What he wished he remembered was whatever he did to Vlad. He must have done something because his memories cut out right after Vlad harassed him in the bathroom and after the event, the froot loop avoided him during the entire trip. Even refused to make eye contact!

What he would give just for a few seconds of that memory! Or for someone to have recorded it!

For now though he got to reap the rewards, flashing his eyes green when Vlad would glance over and causing the man to flinch. Oh man, he was going to abuse this newfound intimidation ability till the bitter end.

#Dp #danny phantom #danny #fenton #phantom #Danny fenton #miraculous ladybug #crossover #one shot #marienette #adrien agreste #marienette dupain cheng #ladybug #chat noir #sam manson #tucker foley #jazz fenton #vlad masters #danny gets akumatized #Ghost speak danny #This kid is a powerhouse #Be glad his friends are smart #Because without them hawk moth would’ve won #Hawkmoth afterwards: wtf just happened #Idiot didn’t realize he just got the fucking ghost king #Danny of course is a space themed supervillain #With ghost powers to add on #Hawkmoth gave him powers thinking he was a scrawny kid and just made Danny way more overpowered

[firewoodfigs]

for the only one bed prompts......... "and only one pillow so a used b's chest or stomach" 🥺

EMMA, MY LOVE. FOR YOU I WOULD GIVE THE WORLD AND MORE <3 I hope you enjoy, friend!!! <3

also on ao3 - i like it when you sleep (for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it)

                                      ++++++

She falls asleep on the car ride back.

It’s unusual, such behaviour. Ordinarily, she’d be keeping watch or the one driving, but throwing herself at wolves and flirting with married men (and tolerating her commanding officer’s unwarranted jealousy) is indescribably wearying. It’s even worse than military training, having to put up all these fake niceties and pretenses. She wonders how Roy does this every day. Maybe that’s why he’s so tired all the time, Riza thinks. Now she knows why.

She startles awake briefly when the car jerks. Riza mutters, unintelligibly, something about safety and watching the road. She dimly registers the sound of a murmured apology from the driver’s seat.

Riza nods, and drifts back uneasily to sleep.

(In her sleep, Riza dreams of a dimly-lit courtroom and of Lady Justice, so white and pure and glorious even in the shadows. It is a recurring dream of hers, but it still leaves her palms clammy and her heart racing, like she’s just pulled the trigger on someone for the very first time.)

—

“We’re here,” Roy announces.

Riza groans as she rouses from her nap. There’s an ache that’s starting to crawl into her head, and she wonders if she’s just had too much to drink earlier (she thinks she’s done a pretty good job of turning down the offers of free, expensive wine though). She rubs at her temples wearily, blinking hard in an attempt to dispel some of the lingering fatigue.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant?”

“Yes,” she answers, without hesitation. Riza straightens in her seat, smoothing out the creases in her outfit. It’s a fitting, champagne-coloured number that is as meddlesome as it is pretty. (Riza hasn’t worn something like this in a while, simply because there hadn’t been any occasion to. She thinks she’ll probably have a hard time getting out of it later.) She opens the door and stretches her legs out. “Let’s go, sir.”

“Alright.”

The motel is just like any other motel, Riza thinks. It’s old and musty and right in the middle of nowhere, managed by a receptionist who’s clearly half-asleep at their workstation. They check in under the guise of a civilian, childless couple, as usual. Elizabeth and Andrew Ditlev, yes, a room for two. We won’t be needing anything else, thank you. There’s the sound of keys jangling and paper notes rustling, and then she’s dragging her feet up the creaking stairs towards their room on the second floor, Roy’s hand hovering uncertainly over her back.

Riza nudges it away and reassures him that she’s just fine. (He continues fretting, anyway.)

—

It’s only after she’s taken a shower that Riza notes the irregularity in their room.

“Sorry,” Roy says. There’s a sheepish edge to his voice, but the way he’s grinning tells her that he’s not altogether unhappy about their current predicament. “I tried asking for another pillow, but reception said they’ve none left.”

Riza frowns. She moves to sit on the edge of the queen-sized bed, drying her hair with a thin towel. It’s not uncommon for them to share a bed; going on these undercover operations as a loving, married couple meant that it was only logical for them to do so. It’s not like she has anything against it, either, but she’s always maintained a distance from him, even while on the same bed. They usually sleep with their backs turned (although Roy has a peculiar habit of snaking his arm around her waist just before daybreak).

“Sorry,” Roy repeats, stifling a yawn. He’s already taken the liberty of going shirtless, while she was bathing. “You can take the pillow, if you’d like. I can go without.”

Riza shakes her head and gestures towards the shower.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”

He yawns again, dragging himself to the shower.

“Really, Lieutenant. It’s no hassle at all.”

Water starts running again, from the shower. Riza shifts towards the nightstand and picks up the phone. There’s a little note beside — press ‘0’ for reception and/or room service.

She does exactly that.

“What?”

“Hello,” Riza greets in response. “I’m calling from Room 204. We were wondering if you happened to have a spare pillow —”

“I already told you we have no more pillows,” the receptionist interrupts, groggily. Riza picks up on the poorly-concealed hint of annoyance and, somewhat annoyed herself, apologises insincerely for the apparent inconvenience caused. “Goodnight.”

The phone line goes dead.

Riza huffs. She puts the phone down and mutters something to herself about cheap motels and their stinginess. Resignedly, she fluffs the lone pillow and moves to lie down once her hair’s dry. (She thinks she’ll continue to keep her hair in a manageable bob like this, just for convenience’s sake — even if Roy prefers it otherwise.)

“Lieutenant,” he calls, sounding scandalised. Riza cracks an eyelid open and stares at him, as if to say, what? (She still has no idea how men do this so quickly, even after all these years in the military. It barely takes more than a minute for them to finish their ablutions, even though their bodies are nearly twice the size of hers. Thrice, if she’s including people like Major Armstrong in the count.) “What are you doing?”

“Sleeping. Or trying to.”

Roy makes a sound of disapproval as he dries himself (Riza turns away respectfully at this) and puts on his pajamas. She feels his weight on the mattress once he’s done, and when she refuses to budge from a spot he starts poking her from behind, like a needy child badgering their parents for an impossible gift (she doesn’t even remember behaving like this as a young girl).

Riza groans and rolls her shoulders. “What?”

“I told you to take the pillow, Lieutenant.”

“I told you it was fine.”

He clucks his tongue. Roy rolls her around to face him, and she bites her lips to stifle another groan.

“Stubborn as always, aren’t you?”

“Pot, kettle,” Riza murmurs wearily. She can barely keep her eyes open at this point, much less keep up with his nonsensical, baseless arguments. “Go to sleep, sir.”

Roy tries, vainly, to slip the pillow under her head a few minutes later, but Riza elbows him in the ribs and pulls the blanket over them, effectively ceasing the argument. He huffs petulantly and closes his eyes.

—

“Trouble sleeping?”

“No,” Riza mumbles, but it’s a lie. She knows that he knows it’s one. (It’s no secret that both of them have had trouble sleeping since the war.)

“You’re lying,” he says, though not accusingly.

Riza ignores him and clutches a handful of the motel’s standard-issue white blanket. She covers her eyes with them and tries to sleep, again, but she fails spectacularly at this otherwise simple task. There’s just something about motels and their pastel walls and background music that tends to set her on edge. Maybe it’s because it’s so unlike what she’s used to. (She’s fallen asleep to the sound of gunshots and explosions, more times than she has to Debussy.) Or maybe it’s the fact that she’s no longer sleeping on a single-sized bed, by herself.

“Are you sure you don’t want the pillow?”

“No.”

“Stubborn as ever,” he mutters. She thinks he’s given up on fighting a losing battle, when she feels his arms pulling her close.

“With all due respect —”

“Nothing inappropriate, Lieutenant. I promise you.” She struggles to free herself from his grip, but clearly, all the work he’s been putting at the gym lately has paid off. Riza glares at him, murderously. He simply grins. “Since they ran out of pillows, we’ll simply have to make one.”

“What, with alchemy?”

“Actually, that doesn’t sound entirely implausible.” Riza is about to push herself off his chest, when he tightens his grip around her. “But it’s late, and I’m tired, and besides, we’re supposed to be an ordinary couple, nothing else.”

The word rolls off his tongue infuriatingly. Riza gets the peculiar feeling that he’s enjoying this far more than he should be. She frowns, glancing at him from beneath her lashes.

“I do tend to move around a lot in my sleep, sir.”

“I know.” He shrugs against her, positioning her head so that it’s resting comfortably on his chest. Then Roy wraps his arms around her again, almost gleefully, uncaringly, as if there’s nothing inappropriate about their shared embrace. Riza huffs. “But it’s fine. Anything to help my favourite subordinate sleep.”

“How very kind of you, sir,” Riza mutters drily. She attempts, somewhat furtively, to tickle him - she knows all his weak spots by now - but Roy dodges it with surprising agility, like he would a bullet.

“Of course. Please make sure to give me a good performance review when the time comes,” he says, smirking in a way she can only describe as insufferable.

“Only if you stop drooling all over your desk.”

“For the record, I do not,” he says, with an injured sniff.

Riza rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t protest further. She won’t admit it aloud, but it’s nice, being held like this. Roy is unusually sweet in a way that he isn’t anywhere else. He hasn’t been this way since they were kids.

“Yes, you do,” Riza retorts softly, ignoring the lump in her throat.

(This scene is achingly familiar, like a vignetted memory, like an excerpt of a film she already knows the ending to. The ending is always the same in her dreams.)

Laughter rumbles from his chest. It is a lovely sound to hear, after a long day of work, but it rubs against her cheek ingratiatingly, and Riza makes a mental note to write a letter to the hotel when they’re back in the city — a not-too-gentle reminder to stock up on pillows and other necessities.

“We can save this argument for another time, Lieutenant. It’s two in the morning.”

Riza relents, because it is two in the morning. She thinks sleep should claim her now, rather than later; she’s been trying to cut down on her caffeine intake lately. But Roy starts stroking her hair, and then her back, like he’s trying to lull a child to sleep, and Riza has to swallow the satisfied hum lurking in her throat (she refuses to give him any satisfaction of knowing that she is, in fact, enjoying this, far more than she has any right to).

Riza clears her throat. She pushes his arm away.

“I’m not a cat, you know.”

Laughter, again. The caressing stops. She feels him pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and then he’s hugging her again, one arm resting languidly on her side like she’s some sort of a replacement bolster.

“I know. Goodnight, Riza,” he says, softly.

She doesn’t have the heart to remind him that they’re still on a mission.

“Goodnight,” Riza whispers. There’s a part of her that aches, yearns for this moment to be something more than a(nother) fleeting, stippled memory, but her bliss is abruptly broken by the commotion coming from upstairs — something about an adulterous affair and impecuniosity.

Riza shifts uneasily and tries to drown it all out by focusing on his heartbeat instead. It’s audible beneath her cheek — not quite like a lullaby, but close enough — just a gentle hum of life, enough to quell her frazzled nerves and lull her back into peace.

When she falls asleep at last, Riza dreams of something different, something that stems from her deepest desires.

(In her dreams, she’s in a white dress, and Roy is radiantly alive in a sunlit attic.)

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #I am once again posting a fic on company time LMAO #Emma my love I hope this brightens up your week a little <3 I tried my best to keep things fluffy and soft for u heheHEHE MWAH #ilysm friend!!! hang in there *hugs* <3 #reblogs and comments are always appreciated :")

[libradusk]

Morning Embers | Rex

Word Count: 4.6k

Pairing: Captain Rex x Reader

Summary: The morning after your unexpected ‘activities’ on Felucia leads both you and Rex towards a string of confessions you should have stumbled down long ago.

Warnings/Content: AFAB reader (though no gender is explicitly mentioned), smutty soft sex, admission of feeeeeelings and morning-after anxieties, a much more subby Rex than in the previous chapter (I mean...)

a/n: This is set during the events of “Bounty Hunters” from season 2 of TCW, except instead of fighting pirates the reader and Rex end up boning down.

Follow up chapter to this

It's the morning sun that first leads you to stir. It slips its finger-like rays through the cave’s mouth to rake across your marked skin, and play across your face until your lashes flutter open and force you to squint against the light. The rest of your body soon follows in whirring to life in a cascade of sensation, starting with the ache rooted across your muscles and ending with the solid warmth and weight of the second body currently entwined and draped across your own.

The trooper curled around you groans at the light’s intrusion, the sound vibrating down the slope of your shoulder from where his face nestles in the crook of your neck. You shiver at the feeling, it's a welcome distraction to the cramp brewing in your legs and the tenderness throbbing at the apex of your thighs.

You grimace slightly as you attempt to stretch out your limbs as best you can from where they remain trapped beneath the entanglement of Rex’s body. There’s a sizeable pool of slickness smeared across your inner thighs that has long-since gathered and cooled there following your ‘activities’ the evening before. It serves as another reminder of the line you had finally crossed alongside the Captain beside you, a prelude to the mark he had branded onto your heart that would neither fade nor be washed away, unlike the more physical reminders he had littered your body with.

But despite the discomfort and the aching and the little comfort your flimsy nest of clothing provided, you’re content, happy if not completely wrecked in a wonderful way.

You can’t help but smile to yourself as you turn to glance at Rex snoring lightly against your shoulder. For the first time since your impromptu landing, and possibly even before that, he seems peaceful, comfortable even despite sharing the same unforgivably hard surface of the cave floor, and no doubt sporting an arm that is devoid of feeling from where you’ve been laying on it all night. You risk the chance to ghost your fingers over the slope of his back, marvelling in the warmth of his skin even in the chill of the morning air. He’s no longer as furnace-hot as he had been at the peak of his lust-induced delirium, and you wonder if you had succeeded in fucking out the last of whatever toxin it was that had made a temporary home in his body.

The outside world begins to stir alongside you now, though you find it difficult to focus on the chimes of birdsong whistling through the morning air as your fingertips idly trace the indents your nails left behind on his shoulder blades, and the constellations of faint scars that you had failed to focus on before.

Your mind begins to drift and spiral before you can stop it.

Things were bound to change between you now.

Despite how much you had enjoyed your night with the trooper, it hadn’t exactly been with the Rex you had known for so long now. Granted you could look at it as a necessity for helping someone you cared for so deeply, as well as it scratching the itch that desperately needed sating between you both, but you still stung with the knowledge that when he awakened, you would no doubt be forced into an uncomfortable conversation, one that could only end with the two of you figuring out how to function as colleagues for long enough to survive the journey back to the others without getting yourselves dismissed for inappropriately fraternising before finally severing whatever it was that had built up ever since you had met him.

And that realisation hurt. You would happily spend the rest of your days trapped against the cold floor if it meant that reality would never unfold at your feet.

At least you could enjoy these last few stolen moments for a little while longer before they were locked away from you forever.

But as Rex subconsciously tightens himself around you once you place a soft kiss to his sleep-furrowed brow, you realise that it's never going to be that simple. Your chest aches with a newfound guilt that you know his own will mirror when he awakens.

You’re not entirely sure how long you lay there counting the steady rise and fall of his chest and daring to run your hand down the length of Rex’s back before he finally stirs awake, but it seems much too short all the same once his sleepy gaze locks with your own and causes the lump in your throat to constrict further. His vision appears honeyed and blurry as he releases an arm from you to paw at his eyes with the back of his fist, a yawn tapering off into a disgruntled grunt as he scowls at the morning light now spilling around the shield of your body and pouring through the entirety of the cave. Rex wears an expression that would be more befitting of a man hungover from a night at 79’s, rather than one who had just engaged in a night of toxin-induced fucking. The scene is almost too domestic in its nature, the contrasting softness of his expression and the painful emotions staining your thoughts only twisting your heartache further until it wrings your stomach between its claws with a sickening force.

Before you can spiral further into your misery however, he’s blinking the remainders of sleep from his eyes and focusing them directly on you.

You swear you can pinpoint the exact moment the realisation hits him as his pupils contract.

“Good morning, Captain.”

You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to say it. Even when you’re all but wilting under his gaze, your brain apparently can’t resist the urge to tease him, though your voice quivers despite its lightness, betraying what little attempt to save face your mind has scrambled for.

Rex remains frozen, and in any other setting you would find his expression comical. His eyes dart between your face and the way you absentmindedly worry your lip between your teeth, to down to where the two of you are tangled like lovers and sticky with a mixture of fluids. Another beat passes before his entire body catches up with his mind and attempts to curl in on itself in clear mortification. This time a bitter laugh tears itself from your throat as you shuffle away from him and catch the way he subtly attempts to flex the blood back into his dead arm.

“Oh, fuck.”

His expression is hidden as the expletive leaves him in a strained sigh, the shame coating his words like a clear, thick poison despite the hands smothering his face.

You bite down harder on your lip at the way his cursing muffles into frustrated gibberish as his body attempts to sink back into the unforgiving surface of the floor. His face remains hidden by the shutter of his fingers, though the flush colouring the tips of his ears red is a clear indication of what he looks like behind his hands. He lets out what you think is a cross between a sigh and a shout of frustration into his palms, tone raising in what you rationalise to be the finale of his self-deprecation. There’s a smidgen of comfort to be found in the way he has completely forsaken the stoic demeanour befitting for a Captain in the simple hope that the ground beneath him would mercifully open up to claim him.

You almost have the urge to pat him on the shoulder in a sign of solidarity until you catch yourself and cringe at the thought. Instead, you focus your attention on picking at a loose thread poking out of the seam of the uniform crumpled beneath you and attempting to formulate an excuse you could supply to the others to explain the various stains tarnishing the fabric.

Rex takes another moment to himself before clearing his throat and folding his hands atop his chest as he turns to address you properly.

“I’m sorry.” His words are simple and exhaled within a sigh, yet the crease etched deep in his brow speaks volumes in place of them. “I shouldn’t have - I wasn’t… kriff, I’m so sorry for everything.”

His face is painted in layers of shame and you have to fight back the urge to kiss away the guilt lining his forehead and mouth.

“I’m as much at fault in this as you are, maybe even more so.” Your voice comes out much smaller than you intend it to, almost getting lost in the shadows of the cave itself. Rex’s eyes wander from yours after you finish speaking, expression shifting into something unreadable, and for a horrible moment you fear you’ve said the wrong thing.

His fingers flex instinctively against each other, nervously - you note. You had seen them do this countless times before battle and meetings alike, though you weren't sure if he ever noticed this habit himself. The pair of brown eyes before you remain glossed over in thought even as you attempt to desperately search them for some semblance of a response.

“...No. I never meant for it to, you know, happen like… this, between us I mean.” The last word leaves him in another exasperated sigh that has him gripping the bridge of his nose in frustration. His tone holds a familiar discipline now, but his thoughts seem to spill out in a jumbled heap that reflect the state of his current head-space.

It takes a moment for the words to fully sink in, but as soon as they do, your pulse is back to hammering in your ears the same way it had yesterday when you had returned to stumble upon his naked form.

“What exactly are you trying to say?” The words jump from your mouth before you have a chance of reeling your thoughts back, and you hope to the stars that he doesn’t pick up on the swell of hopefulness buttering your shock.

You aren’t stupid, you can guess what it is he’s attempting to voice, anxious as he is, but you can’t trust that you’re not dreaming until the words fall from his lips themselves.

Rex breathes out deeply from his nose. For a brief moment, his eyes threaten to wander down to where the sunlight settles warmly over your naked chest before they firmly lock on to your own. An involuntary shiver passes through you at their intensity. The way he stares at you makes you feel more naked than what even your own bare body can reflect - though the urge to run away and hide has long since died. There was no point in attempting to hide yourself away at this point, especially considering you had all but implored him to expose the layers of his own vulnerability in front of you.

“I’ve wanted this, wanted more than just this I mean, for a long time now.”

A smile somehow manages to tug at the corner of your mouth despite the way your pulse has skyrocketed in your ears at his confession, the noise whiting out to a pleasantly shocked buzz as you let the words sink in and wrap around your heart. In the very back of your mind, you register the faint sting of a pinch against your upper arm. It's one that you don’t even realise you have bestowed upon yourself until your shoulder shifts uncomfortably with the pressure, but also reassures you all the same that, no - this is not a dream.

In a heartbeat, Rex has melted from a disgraced, morose soldier to a flustered mess of a man. He rubs at the back of his neck in a way that's almost cliché, but also so endearing that you can’t look away from the sight of him.

“‘Suppose there's no use in hiding it now is there? Not now I’ve gone and made a royal kriffing mess of everything, that is. Guess I’m the same old di’kut I’ve always been” He punctuates the statement with a bitter chuckle and a faux smirk that doesn’t meet his eyes. You frown, an uncomfortable weight settling itself in your gut once more.

“...Rex, I’ve wanted this too, you know. I just didn’t hedge my bets on it taking the effects of an alien toxin to force me to confront it.” Not the most eloquent way of putting it, but you attempt to match his embarrassed smirk with a smile of your own, hoping that the intention behind your statement reaches him all the same. “The only di’kut you’re guilty of being is an oblivious di’kut.”

That gets a grin out of him, one that stretches until the corners of his eyes are crinkling with mirth. Happiness blooms within you at the sight, and your body finally allows itself to relax for the first time since awakening that morning.

Where before there had been a burning heat stretched between you, now there is a comfortable marigold warmth twinkling across your skin as Rex leans forward to catch your lips with his own. This kiss is gentle, almost hesitant in how soft it is. You can feel the tickle of laughter bubble in your throat as your smiles meld together.

“I’ve made a real mess of you.” Rex murmurs the words half-apologetically against your lips as he ghosts a touch over the love-bites decorating your neck. The trail of his fingertips threads goosebumps across your flesh as he dips them towards your collarbone - itself painted with bruised hues that could rival the vividness of a night sky.

He sounds almost proud, feigning an apology through the way he dances butterfly kisses over your marked skin before drifting them back towards your face. You roll your eyes at him before sweeping him into a deep kiss that steals the breath from his lungs and has him keening into the hand you have cupped around his jaw, effectively silencing him with the sound of his own groan.

You remain like this for a while longer, lazily locked in an embrace that has you glowing from the inside out with a steadily creeping heat, both breaking apart only momentarily each time to mouth over the expanse of the other’s skin, hands caressing and exploring as though you hadn’t spent the better part of yesterday grasping onto each others bodies as though they were the only things that grounded you both. Rex’s broad hands rub apologetic little circles across the bruising peppering your hips and wrists, brow twitching each time your reflexive squirming forces his eyes to crack open to face up to his misdoings. You swallow his concerns behind kisses before they can leap from his lips, curling around him a little tighter each time.

He doesn’t fight you - finally content to give in to the affection dripping from every single one of your touches and allow it to wash over him.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum”

I love you.

The words slip off his tongue easily, as though they were always meant to be spoken against your lips. You find yourself smiling into the kiss once again, teeth scraping slightly against the plush velvet of his mouth just enough so that he knows you’ve translated it - you’ve spent adequate time around him and his brothers to pick up an inkling of mando’a, it proves to be enough to allow you to stumble through his words with a dizzy heart.

He freezes suddenly, and it dawns on you then that these words were not meant to reach your ears just yet. But he no longer needs to speak them for their intention to be known, to be felt by you in the way he holds you close as though you are the most valuable treasure across all the moons and stars. Your body sings as you press back against him with more fever than before, determined to have him feel the depth of your own adoration through the press of your lips alone.

I love you, I love you, I love you. I fear I have always loved you.

You kiss the mantra across his jawline, delighting in the way his heartbeat hammers in a crescendo with your ministrations as you flatten your tongue against his pulse. That all too familiar flicker of warmth begins to bloom deep in your stomach, snapping into something stickier once again as a particular scrape of your teeth sends a rumble echoing through his chest. The urge to pull him even closer prevails, and you resort to throwing your thigh over one of his own to tug him harder against you. The heat of his cock grazes against you as you straddle him. It weeps and twitches with the contact and succeeds in pulling a groan from you both even as your lips and tongues continue to mesh together.

Despite the ever rising fever of the situation, there is no animalistic urge driving the force of both of you this time. Instead you find yourself lazily dragging your hips over his, the movement slow and resonating with teasing affection and a desire to truly feel every part of him underneath you. Though you can feel his thighs shaking as they remain caged beneath the weight of your body, Rex remains largely still, the small cues his body whispers to you being the only indicators of his aching desire to be joined with you once more.

He’s being so good, but you can’t help but want to tease him a little more, to stretch this moment out even further behind each smile that twists into your kisses. A frown pulls halfheartedly at his brow and you trace it lightly with the tip of a fingertip in mock-comfort. Yet still he submits to your wiles, continuing to surrender himself to your mercy even as your core grinds wetly down against his arousal. It's only when the tip of it grazes over the slick seam of your opening that his hips finally betray his composure. They canter upwards with a jolt that has him hissing through his teeth and has you feeling the wettest you’re positive you’ve ever been in your life.

It's an impossible task to not revel in the sight of him twisting beneath you, blown ochre peering up through his lashes to stare up at you pleadingly as his hands sit patiently atop your hips. Your smile threatens to wobble into a smirk as Rex lets out a whine that edges on being pathetic. He’s so responsive to every touch, even the ghosting of your nails as you run them down and over the expanse of his chest with a feather-light caress. 

You map out the crossfire of scars stitched across the skin there in the way you had longed to do the night before, circling each one lovingly as you sit back against the cushion of his abs. He moans openly now, emotion thick in his throat as you continue to lavish attention over the marks decorating his body, the sound betraying what little discipline he had left to hide behind. His hands drag themselves in an electrifying path down your thighs, fingers just barely brushing over the bone of your knees. Despite the lust swimming in his stare, his entire focus is trained on you as he silently begs for you to emancipate him with some form of relief.

Your touch wanders down towards the dip of his hips behind you, coming to rest just short of the base of his throbbing cock, and you delight in the way he twitches and writhes even further as you deny him once again. At last, the trooper throws his head back in defeat, practically growling with frustrated arousal yet never breaking eye contact with you, his face twisted with a tortured anguish of the most delicious degree.

“Please.” He mouths the words to you, voice stolen by a shuddering breath that falls from him in ragged pants. You cock an eyebrow, heart pounding all the while as you lean forward to tower over the quivering mess of a man you had sculpted with your teasing. Your palms press smoothly into the ground beneath Rex’s head as you support yourself to glance over him. The sensation is almost icy against the clamminess of your palms, but it's easy to ignore the cutting feeling as your lips brush just barely against his own with the proximity of your faces.

“What is it you want from me, cyare?”

Rex groans at the sound of his mother tongue on your lips, panting harder as his resolve crumbles to dust at last and forces him to jerk upwards to cup your face with a clammy palm. Your lower half sits slick and eager against the muscles of his abdomen and you know he can tell that you’re just as desperate for him as he is for you. But even still, you refuse to back down, not until you’ve succeeded in winding him just that last little inch further.

His thumb swipes over the apple of your cheek and you tilt your head to steal the tip of it past the part of your lips, tongue dashing across the pad of it just slightly, but enough to leave him reeling once more and tighten the fist his spare hand now has fisted in the mess of uniform beneath his hips.

“Please-” his voice is strained and gravelly as his words finally find purchase in the hazy air between you. “Need you, need you so badly.”

The way his groans wrap so delightfully around his whine of your name is all it takes for you to put an abrupt end to your foreplay. You grant him one last fleeting kiss before pulling backwards from his face, savouring the way his eyes snap open wide with shock and the way his upper body all but catapults upwards on his forearms when your hand reaches behind to finally grasp hold of his weeping cock. He barely has time to choke down on his words as you rise to angle your hips before you sink down and split yourself open across his lap.

Your eyes roll backwards behind closed lids at the stretch of him. He’s impossibly hot and pulsating within you as your hips settle flush together, his pelvis pushed directly against your clit with the angle. It dawns on you then, amidst the haze of sensuality clouding your thoughts, that you’ll likely never quite get used to the incredible size and strength of him, and that thought excites you more than you thought it possibly could.

You sigh deeply as you give an experimental buck of your hips, the sound tapering off into a moan at the creeping pleasure that licks up your spine from the shallow movement alone. The calloused palm of a hand laces itself with your own, and your eyes crack open to see Rex staring up at you with utter reverence. The borderline slack-jawed expression he sports as gazes over your body promises to turn you bashful with the sincerity of its emotion, of all things.

“You’re beautiful.” His voice is the softest you’ve ever heard it and it threatens to sap the final dregs of your bravado from your bones, your dominance faltering to fold in on itself. You counter his praise with another roll of your pelvis, only to whimper as he hits up inside you so perfectly that stars flash behind your vision. Your hands splay out against his chest as you work yourself into a sloppy rhythm, pleasure dictating the pace of your hips. Rex’s free hand slips down your body until the pad of his thumb can swipe against your clit in firm strokes, his ministrations still managing to drag a sob from your throat despite the slight quiver in his wrist.

“Fuck, Rex!” Your words are as broken as the shuddering movement of your hips and Rex’s other hand unfurls itself from your own to support your body as you bounce on his cock. “If you keep - if you keep doing that…”

He’s thrusting up into you now in return, grinding against your cunt so perfectly that you can feel your toes curl. His thighs slap against your own in a way that’s almost obscene, but it's difficult to focus on the sound amidst the way his hands work you in tandem: rubbing tight little circles against your clit with one while the other firmly pulls you down in time with his thrusts.

“It’s ok.” He whispers hoarsely to you, concentration strangling around the pent up affection in his tone. “Let me take care of you - take care of you the way I want to forever.”

The force of your orgasm knocks your head back and drops your mouth open into a silent scream. It ripples through you, catching the breath in your lungs and causing you to flutter around Rex even as you still above him. The increased sensation has him gasping and lunging forwards off of the ground. He pulls you against his chest and holds you tight as his hips stutter up into you harder. The newfound angle catches the both of you off guard and has you warbling his name with a sob, wound tight and shaking through the waves of white-hot pleasure bottoming out within your belly, completely and utterly overstimulated as you chase the light few drops of your release.

Rex follows soon after, yelling out as your walls milk him for everything he has until you slump forward against him. A plea of your name fades into a groan that you echo in time as he releases inside you, his abdomen flexing as you bury your face into the crook of his neck and delight in the way his breath fans across your skin and tingles over your frazzled nerves.

Your limbs buzz with fatigue as you drop your full weight against him, completely sated but exhausted once more. A mewl of a moan shivers from you as Rex shifts beneath you to support your boneless weight and pull you closer within his arms. His breathing has evened out much faster than you thought it capable of, yet he’s currently still clinging to you as though you’ll disappear if he relaxes in full for even a moment. His head rests lightly against your own as you hazily latch on to the exposed stretch of skin next to where your face is situated, slowly but possessively marking his collarbone in a way that has him shivering and tightening his hold on you even further. Your lips and teeth pair to stain him with a wordless contract that mirrors the one that decorates your own décolleté.

You are mine and I am yours.

The sun casts warmly into the entity of the cave now and you know that soon you’ll need to begin your journey back to Obi-Wan and the others, or at the very least contact them with the reassurance that you are both still alive. But alas, your mind is foggy with the lull of your afterglow, and as Rex begins to massage the aching expanse of your back and hips you find your thoughts occupied solely on the Captain once again. You smile, love-sick and dopey and so grateful that he can’t see your expression from where you’ve melted against his neck.

Though the rumbling chuckle that sounds throughout his chest and the twitch of his jaw against the crown of your head makes you realise that he most certainly felt it.

Surely the Jedi could bear to wait a few extra hours at least.

You certainly needed the time to formulate a stream of excuses for the state of you both, if nothing else.

#captain rex x reader #captain rex x you #captain rex #rex x reader #clone wars reader insert #OK I will let this man rest now #mine #rex

[one-boring-person]

The Good Old Days.

John Rambo (Post-Rambo III) x reader

Warnings: implied death, implied injury, heavily implied sexual themes, possible swearing? Alcohol consumption (moderate)

Context: inside John's head.

A/n: so recently, I saw @slystallone 's post (Here) about a deleted scene from Rambo, and this idea (or at least the first part) came to mind, so I have them to thank for the inspiration! (Also, if you're as obsessed as I am with Sylvester Stallone content, check out their blog, it's amazing!)

Masterlist

His eyes scan idly around the room, taking in the cheerful faces of young people letting loose, watching as many of them move together on the dancefloor, keeping in time with the sappy music playing overhead. Throughout the room, glasses are clinked together, liquids in a multitude of different colours sloshing in their containers as the owners of said drinks swallow down their beverages, the strong odour of alcohol rife in the air. Sweat mingles with this, as well as heady cologne and perfumes, creating the perfect odour of youthful spirit, something he has long since forgotten. Around him, he can see a fair few couples together: one in a booth in the corner, one right in the centre of the dancefloor, and one to his left, each of them enjoying each other's company far more explicitly than the rest of the pairings in the bar.

It should, in theory, be an enjoyable environment, being around hordes of people who are having a good time, but John can't help the discomfort playing in his mind. Something about the strong smells, the heaving throng of people, the lack of clear vision of anywhere fixed in the room and the cacophony of raucous noise doesn't sit right with him, his finely tuned senses prickling at everything. Dimly, he's aware of fighting back flashes of memory that spring, unbidden, to mind, trying to ignore the familiar faces branding his conscience. A lack of control in an environment, particularly one like this, has long since made itself known as a trigger of the thoughts he'd rather forget.

Just as he goes to dwell on these, he's interrupted by a familiar voice, one that grounds him, reassures him.

"John! Sorry I took so long, some kids were taking their time." (Y/n) apologises as she drops into the bar stool beside him, taking her drink back from him.

"Don't worry about it." He murmurs back, twisting the neck of his soda bottle in his hand (he finds alcohol takes away from his sense of control), flicking some hair from his face.

Smiling at him, (Y/n) takes a sip of her drink, turning to face the dancers as she sits with him, the two quite used to sitting in companionable silence. 

After a little while, she finishes her drink and sits back against the counter, only to spring up again when she hears the music overhead change, a wide grin on her face. Bouncing to her feet, she turns to John, expression imploring him.

"I love this song! Remember it? From way back when?" She smiles at the memory, a good one through all the bad ones, "We used to dance to this."

John can't help the small smile playing at his own lips as he is reminded of how they'd danced a couple of times, back on his father's ranch.

"I remember." He agrees, watching her.

"Come on, dance with me now!" (Y/n) chuckles, moving her body in the bare impression of a dance move.

"No, I'm good." John declines initially, waving her off politely.

"Aw, come on! It'll be fun! Just like the good old days!" She pleads with him, reaching out to take one of his hands, very lightly jerking on it as he tries to ignore the butterflies rising at her touch.

"I'm not sure…" 

"Please? Just one song?" She gives him a look, one he has memorized. It tells him she wants him to join her, but that she won't be upset if he doesn't, that she'll understand. She always does.

Eventually, it's what causes him to cave in.

Sighing, he climbs to his feet, allowing her to pull him into the crowd, the veteran pushing down the distrust brewing inside him from the closeness of the people around him, instead focusing on the feeling of her hand on his, grounding himself. As she finds a good spot on the dancefloor, (Y/n) turns back around to face him, face light and happy as she starts to dance, just how they used to. Copying her, John tries to forget the awkward feeling, finding it hard to make contact with the childhood memories that would've helped him, his expression tightening as he moves. 

After a moment, (Y/n) seems to notice this, stepping forwards into his space as she looks up at him with a curious look, silently asking for permission as her hands hover over his shoulders. Nodding, he bites back the sigh threatening to leave him as her hands close ever so gently around him, his own coming up to lightly grip her waist, enjoying the feeling of her body in his grasp. Leaning into his touch, (Y/n) sways them in time to the music, her expression softening as the tempo of the music does, the two of them drifting closer as they move together. Her scent is in his nostrils, somehow discernible through the sweat and alcohol around him, calming him as he leans in further, wrapping his arms more firmly around her body. Carefully, he pulls her into him, feeling her softer curves against his hard muscles, his hands splaying at her back, his nose soon finding her hair as he buries his face in it. She wraps her own arms around his neck, delicately threading her fingers into his hair, stroking through the strands soothingly as she presses her head into his chest. 

As they hold each other, it's as if the world around them has disappeared, leaving them in a bubble of security, just holding each other as they used to, before touch meant more than an idle gesture. It means so much more now, particularly for them.

After a moment, she pulls her head back a little, looking up into his face, eyes searching his, her lips parted as she regards him. They're close, so close he can feel her every breath against his heated skin, his gaze flicking down to stray over her lips as he fights the urge to simply bend down and close the gap between them, and give in to every desire he's repressed for years now. Naturally, she notices this and smiles, reassuringly this time, before she leans up and presses her lips to his. 

Instantly, they find a rhythm, lips smoothing against each other with soft fervour as hands start to pull each other closer together. John runs one hand down to her lower back, splaying his fingers over the curve of her ass, using the grip to pull her more tightly into him, enjoying the feeling of her body against his, the noises she lets out only serving to intensify his feeling for her. (Y/n) gently tugs on his hair, her other hand moving to push up under his shirt, feeling over his tense muscles, arching her body into him as he lightly licks at her lips. Obediently, she allows him access, and his tongue freely explores her mouth, sliding wetly alongside her's, her moans swallowed by him as he rocks his hips against her. Idly, the hand she had pushed up his shirt starts to trail downwards, settling over his crotch.

With a jerk, he breaks free from the kiss, his eyes finally flying open as he snaps upright in the rickety bed. 

Breathing hard, he scans the room, instantly remembering where he is, the knowledge calming him slightly as he wipes sweat from his forehead. Desire and longing course through him, his eyes straying over to find the figure lying beside him, her body left exposed by the thin sheet. 

In the dim light from the moon outside, (Y/n)'s sleeping form appears peaceful, her muscles totally relaxed, allowing for a less guarded look to cross her face, the hard line of her brow and lips softened until she appears more angelic. In the many times they'd slept on the same room, or same bed, John can not remember ever seeing her quite so relaxed, not after they got into the military anyway.

They'd met as teenagers, when she'd come to work for his father on his ranch. During their time working together the two had become fast friends, eventually managing to do most things together, until they both decided to join the military. She'd gone into the airforce, before eventually getting into another branch of the Special Forces, where she faced a similar abrupt finish to her career as he did, losing all of her team to a poorly planned stealth mission, which some corrupt colonel in the higher positions had instructed them to do. After this point, they miraculously found each other again on the long road to a small town called Hope, where things went awry. Neither wanted to leave the other, and so they stuck by each other, helping each other out on the bloody road that came after the events of Hope, leading them to this point. 

Unsurprisingly, John had soon realised that his feelings for the hardened veteran were no longer as innocent as he would've liked to keep them. Somewhere along the way, through gunfights fought back-to-back, mindless races through the sweltering jungle to avoid pursuers behind them, bandaging each other's wounds at the dead of night with only a dull campfire to light their work, and the calmer, soft moments between them, where they both overcame (to a certain extent) the mindless grief hounding them together, John had found that he and fallen for his partner. She'd always been there, back when things had gone to hell in Hope, when Co had been shot, and when Trautman had needed rescuing, (Y/n) had been by his side, fighting his battle with him, because "his battle is her battle now, they are partners after all". She meant everything to him, and he'd kill for her. He HAS killed for her.

At times, he'd played with the idea of telling her his feelings, of confessing to her and hoping things would be ok, but he had never gone through with it. Something always stops him, and that both irritates and relieves him. He has never quite been able to put a finger on what it is, but now, watching her sleep so peacefully, he realizes what it is.

He never wants to lose her friendship, ever, and he's afraid he'll ruin what they've got if he says anything. So he stays silent, keeping his thoughts to himself, lifting a hand to lightly ghost it over her side, thankful that she's so tired her instinctive alertness has dimmed down enough for him to gently touch her without her realising. He never places his hand down, only tracing his fingers over her, keeping the touch gentle and friendly, should she wake. It would be so easy just to pull her body into his, to hold her tightly against his chest and bury his face in her soft hair,  but he restrains himself, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

Groaning, he rolls onto his back, knowing now that sleep won't come again tonight, especially not with his thoughts so high-strung and confused, unless he manages to relax properly again.

Oddly enough, his reprieve comes to him in a surprising, but not at all unwelcome manner: mumbling in her sleep, (Y/n) turns over, her hands reaching out to find something, anything, latching onto him as they find him. Gently, she pulls herself into him, her head pressing into the side of his chest as her hand rests over his heart, his pulse pounding under her touch. 

Eyes wide, John gingerly wraps his arm around her, finding comfort in the solid feeling of her body in his grip, sleep coming back to him now as he buries his face in her hair, breathing in her familiar scent. He could get used to this, but he knows that he never will, not as long as he wants his friendship to last.

Just as he goes to drift off, he hears (Y/n) sigh one thing, her voice a bare whisper, if slightly more coherent than it should be for someone fast asleep:

""Wish you knew how I feel about you." 

Part Two

#rambo x reader #rambo imagine #rambo iii #rambo #john rambo x reader #john Rambo #sylvester stallone

[kiyoshi-02]

Betrayal

Chapter 1

Blood seeped from her body, streams of crimson that flowed freely from her limbs were quickly swallowed up by the wooden surface below her. The relentless thrashing waves continued to carry her battle worn dingy boat away from the sinking galleon behind her. Her breath came out short, her vision blurred as her mind danced a fine line between consciousness and succumbing to her extensive wounds.

Her creased brow deepened as she focused on the shadows gliding above her, high in the sky, as they finally focused on the birds that circled around and around. Their calls haunting, accompanied by the heavy rain and howling winds, as thunder and lightning boomed, the storm completely engulfing her in its chaos.

With one final shuddering breath, she shakily clutched the pendant once strapped around her neck, gritting her teeth and calling to the sliver of blue she could see begin to break through the swirling grey clouds. “I…I won’t die, you hear me!?”

Mere seconds later she lost consciousness and was soon swept away, the grip around her pendant never loosening.

-A Few Days Later-

The sun beamed down on the deck on the Going Merry. Clear blue sky accompanied by the cool sea breeze effectively kept the crew from suffering in the heat. Most of the Strawhat Pirates were enjoying the cold drinks Sanji had whipped up, while Luffy was already begging for seconds.

Nami rolled her eyes but smiled fondly at her captain's antics. She returned to her reading, flipping a page in the newspaper as Robin chuckled beside her when Sanji finally begrudgingly agreed to give him seconds, to which Luffy responded giddily by jumping on the cook’s back.

Sanji then spun around with hearts in his eyes, calling to the two women on board, that he would be sure to make them seconds as well. No doubt hoping to receive some sort of appreciation from the girls. This however only resulted in grabbing the attention of Usopp and Chopper, who both started complaining about the cook’s obvious favouritism, all the while Luffy remained hanging onto the cook, laughing away.

The final blow to Sanji’s patience was the muttering of the swordsman who was currently leaning against the side of the Merry. The second the word “Moron” reached the cook’s ears his mood did a one-eighty and he sent a kick flying towards the swordsman, who blocked said kick with ease and sent the cook back a few steps. Luffy at that point had hopped off of Sanji’s back to join Usopp and Chopper.

With a clenched jaw and pissed off expression the whole scene ended with a swift kick from Sanji to silence the three other crew members that were still complaining, leaving them lined up on deck with large bumps on their heads. Sanji lit his cigarette, taking a frustrated puff. “Shut the hell up already! I’ll go make your damn drinks, geez.” He finished before turning around and making his way back to the galley. Luffy cheered after him, smiling wide as Usopp and Chopper joined him in his clapping and cheering.

Things calmed down after that as the crew returned to their own activities. Robin had since stood up to go and retrieve a different book to read while Nami had almost finished reading the newspaper. Zoro remained where he was but settled down against the Merry and had started to doze off as Usopp was showing Luffy some of the new additions to his ammunition.

Chopper had gone below deck and reappeared with his bag full to the brim of medical supplies. He settled himself down on the opposite side of the Merry to where Zoro was now fast asleep. He got to work on stocking up on Rumble Balls before Sanji finally returned out on deck with the promised second round of drinks.

A short while had passed with not much to report on before suddenly Zoro rose from his slumber with a slight start, grabbing Wado as Chopper’s nose twitched at a familiar scent. The soft ‘thunk’ that had woken Zoro before, repeated a few times as Chopper voiced his thoughts.

“I smell blood.”

That had caught the attention of everyone on board the Merry, aside from Sanji who was currently making dinner preparations. “Blood?” Usopp asked, sniffing the air, “I don’t smell anything,”, followed by Luffy, who took a comical inhale, his nostrils stretching inhumanly large. “I smell it too!” Luffy announced as he stood up, his nostrils in the same position as he followed the smell, heading towards where Chopper was seated.

Chopper followed along with Luffy’s actions, but made a lot more progress in finding the source of the blood. Jumping up, Chopper leaded over the side of the Merry and within the span of three seconds let out a shrill scream. Everyone jumped at the sound, Sanji kicking the door of the galley open, yelling out, “What’s going on?!”

“There’s someone down there!” Chopper called, grabbing his bag and jumping over the side of the Merry. “Chopper wait!” Nami called after the Doctor, a few of the others echoing her calls. The rest of the crew crowded around the side of the Merry, looking overboard to what Chopper was so frantic about.

Stuck to the side of the Going Merry was a small row boat, battered and half submerged in the water. The crashing waves kept it against the larger ship, a young girl it’s only occupant along with a single bag. She was beaten and bloody, skin pale and cheeks sunken, her lips dry and cracked.

Chopper made quick work of checking her over, making a quick assessment of her condition before calling up to the rest of the crew. “She’s hurt really bad guys! Luffy, help me get her up on deck!” Luffy was about to comply, rolling his shoulder and getting ready to stretch his arm down when Zoro’s voice suddenly boomed, “Chopper! Watch out!”

Suddenly there was a blade against the doctor’s neck, he froze in that instant, his back still to the girl who had sat up without warning. “Who are you?” The girl spat out harshly, her voice strained and weak, a murderous glare on her face as she addressed the doctor. Zoro shifted forward, drawing his sword, ready to dive down to Chopper’s aid before being stopped by Luffy.

Wordlessly Zoro leaned back and watched with the rest of the crew as they waited to see how the situation would unfold.

Chopper flinched at her words, gulping before answering, “I-I’m a doctor. You’re hurt and I want to treat your wounds.” His voice grew more serious as he spoke, her determination to treat the others wounds far overpowering his fear of her. The girl simply stared at him, evaluating his words as her breath came out in harsh puffs. Her gaze shifted up towards the others, one look at them and it wasn’t hard to deduce that they were pirates.

Her eyes met with a set of ferocious ones, a clear message of warning and a promise of death vocalised in those striking grey eyes. It was then she noticed the sword that was at the ready by his side. They both narrowed their eyes at each other before the girl noticed another intense stare bore into her. Her gaze shifted to a boy in a straw-hat. His expression was blank and unreadable but calculating.

It wasn’t hard to conclude that she was outnumbered. She looked back to the self proclaimed doctor and took into account the sincerity in his eyes. He clearly did want to help her, she thought to herself before letting out a deep sigh while putting down her weapon.

“Sorry about that then,” she said to the doctor, “I’m just a little on edge, didn’t mean to scare you.” Her expression changed to a much softer one and she sent him a small apologetic smile towards Chopper. The Doctor visibly relaxed at her words, even more so with the absence of a giant knife against his neck.

“So you’ll let me treat you?” He asked hopefully. The girl simply nodded, letting out a short chuckle, “If you really want to, I suppose I wouldn’t mind.” She joked, her shoulders relaxing as Chopper laughed happily. “Great! Let’s get up on board the ship and I’ll treat you right away! That okay with you Luffy?” He said before looking back up towards the ship’s occupants.

After a beat Luffy smiled down at his ship’s Doctor before smiling and letting out a short chuckle. “If that’s what you wanna do Chopper, I’m fine with it!” He spoke before stretching an arm down to help the two on board.

The girl sent an apologetic bow of her head, with a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that!” She called up before being helped up onto the ship, bag and all following behind her. Once her feet met the deck of the Merry, her knees buckled, resulting in her needing to lean back against the railing behind her.

Her vision was a little foggy, the adrenaline that had fuelled her previous actions slowly leaving her body. She looked back up to the group of people that had agreed to help her but all she saw was blotches of colour and fuzzy outlines of what she assumed were people. Only then did she notice that the little Doctor from before was asking her something. That however was soon drowned out by a ringing in her ears.

It didn’t take long before she once again lost consciousness and tumbled forward, expecting to hit the deck hard, the last thing she registered was a welcoming warmth and a firm secure hold around her body as she finally blacked out.

Hello hello, hope you enjoyed so far, please feel free to share any feedback you have and thank you for reading! <3

I will be continuing the Gaara fanfic I started but I just wanted to start something new after coming back to writing after a few months lol

#zoro x reader #zoro x oc #roronoa zoro #one piece #one piece fanfiction #slow burn

[bang-fantansies]

Sasaeng BTS Profiles: Yoongi Edition

Warning: Heavy mentions/implications of suicide, mentions/implications of overdosing on medication, insomnia, unhealthy behaviour, obsessive behaviour, poor mental health, self-denefse killing, homelessness, nightmares, mention/implications of side-character being drunk, death, blood, gore, destruction of evidence, crime, profanity.

I did my best to include any triggering topics mentioned in this post, but if you see any more potentially sensitive topics I may have missed, please let me know!

This does not represent Bangtan as people or a business, nor does it represent anyone/anything associated with them. This is purely fictional and was made for entertainment purposes only; not to slander anyone or any company.

Mental Stability: 3/10

2:50 AM.

As was the same battle every night, Yoongi lay in bed, the whole world sleeping apart from him. He couldn’t help it, of course - believe me, he would if he could - and this was what made the thoughts in his head run wild.

Each thought had a voice, all unique to their varying degrees of uselessness, yet the message they chanted was identical.

“Sleep! Sleep!” they cried. They’d grown louder over the years as Yoongi’s insomnia worsened, and in spite of their efforts to help their master, they did the complete opposite.

That dream - red and monstrous - drowned out any measure of volume the voices could hope to muster. 

The sound of a man gargling with his own blood made Yoongi feel as if he was suffocating, and more often than not he’d jolt up in bed, forced to replay the events of his early adult years.

Before finding his current residence, Yoongi had been forced onto the streets by unjust circumstances, leading to a great deal of situations he’d rather keep buried beneath the layers of his memory.

One such situation involved another homeless man - drunk, Yoongi had assumed - competing with Yoongi for a bottle of liquor he had scored.

Yoongi’s only use for such a thing was to sell it off and use the money to find a cheap room and a meal. But his opponent had refused to accept such nonsense.

“Such fine wine shouldn’t go to waste!” Yoongi could still hear him say, voice ringing in his ears.

“And it won’t if you just let me pass, you stupid old prick.”

In short, the drunkard had taken Yoongi’s tone very personally and caused his own demise by making a haphazard attempt on the younger’s life, resulting in having the bottle of wine he oh-so desired slammed into the side of his head, shattering and giving Yoongi a sharp enough tool to puncture his throat with. 

Yoongi fled the scene not long after, keeping the remains of the bottle to hand until he could destroy the evidence later on.

Nowadays, while he was far from sleeping rough, he hardly slept at all for fear of his actions whispering cruel and dark remarks into his ear.

As it would for most, this took its toll on Yoongi’s health; physical, emotional, and mental.

The pressure had proven to be too much for him to handle, and on this night, he had decided he’d had enough.

On his computer desk stood a bottle, a proud shade of orange with its contents revealed in a cluster of black ink, made to resemble actual handwriting, written across a label stuck to its front - the only semblance of privacy Yoongi was allowed. Its white cap was ajar, and though no scent came from within, Yoongi could practically smell the prescription enticing him to a snack.

And under normal circumstances, he would have declined as he had many a time before. 

But these were no longer normal circumstances.

Yoongi rose from beneath the bed sheets, any semblance of humanity he’s once held having burnt out alongside his will to continue.

He knew what it meant to live - to love the act of being human - but he was no longer human. He most similarly resembled a shell; cold, hollow, and filled with the shadows of his own mind.

And so he had made his decision. Despite his lethargy shackling him to the bed, he made a reach for the bottle, popping off the cap and peering inside.

A glass of water sat on his bedside table, bubbles sticking to the water-covered walls as a result of disuse.

Yoongi counted the pills, assuming that the amount he was left with would be enough.

At this point, he figured that if he was to find no rest in life, he would surely find it in whatever lay beyond his broken, mortal body.

In these last moments, Yoongi granted himself his last comfort.

He brought his laptop beside him and searched his favourite artist on YouTube.

He only had a few artists in his arsenal that he could dispense at family dinners or reunions he’d been invited to.

he never was an adept conversationalist: even at friends’ parties where a guest he didn’t know would be obligated to talk to him on account of appeasing the birthday girl or boy.

For a second, Yoongi faltered.

His mind backtracked to the joy he’d felt with his friends, and in turn the joy he had granted them.

Was he really going through with this...?

A stab of doubt was all it would take to make Yoongi withdraw from his initial intentions, and he cut the tie with said doubt immediately, pushing his friends to the back of his mind.

He was exhausted - tired of helping and appealing to others; now it was time to take care of himself.

From the tiny speaker in his laptop came the sound of solace: his favourite track from his idol.

He lay back, pill bottle and water placed on his bedside table as he basked in his last melody.

Through the duration of the song, Yoongi’s unease had worn away - eroded by the tides of his own resolution.

The song eventually clambered to a fading finish. Yoongi knew what came next.

He sat up and tipped the contents of the bottle onto the table, a hill of oddly-coloured tablets forming.

He threw the bottle somewhere behind him, hearing it land in a hidden corner of the room.

Pale hands scooped the pills up like candy, bringing them to Yoongi’s lips.

And like a saving grace emerging through a storm, a miracle unfolded.

A soft sound played beside him; the sound of angel wings and promises of a better future.

Yoongi didn’t so much as falter as he did pause, lending his ear to the tune.

It played notes from an instrument Yoongi didn’t even think existed - a soft twinkling stalked by a voice he had yet to have heard on his musical voyages through Soundcloud and YouTube.

For a second - just a second - the doubt that had made such a ruckus to enter had now slithered through the back door of Yoongi’s mind.

What was this music?

Reluctant, he lowered his hand to his side, though held tightly on to the pills.

Turning the screen to face him, he came face-to-face with someone other than his idol.

Her eyes looked a soft shade of (e/c) in the no-doubt filtered lighting of the video, though the sincerity she held within them was far from fabricated.

The background was crystalline - faux crystal props - oversized and oversaturated. They were littered around the studio in which the woman sang, and beneath a purple hue she sat on a stool, an air of comfort radiating from her.

As to what she was singing, Yoongi had no idea.

He let the music play for a moment, considering his options.

What harm would it do him to listen to something new? It wasn’t as if he’d be able to after he was gone, anyway.

Lying back down, Yoongi stared at the ceiling, the lack of light or patterns making it easier for him to focus solely on the music.

His fatigue embraced him like a long-lost mother, shrouding him in a warmth unmatched by that of any real person.

The singer’s soft humming filled the desolate room. And if Yoongi wasn’t mistaken, he could feel his eyelids growing heavy.

He forced a bitter smile, doubtful that his mind would actually allow him any such solace as sleep.

To humour his weary self one last time, Yoongi shut his eyes, sighing deeply and sinking into the mattress.

*

The next time Yoongi opened his eyes, his room was still dark. And as if it had never left to begin with, his bitter smile returned.

I knew it, he thought. Though the victory of beating his already hell-level expectations filled his overflowing spirit with grief, disguised and diluted by the anger that had slipped into the mix so long ago.

Sitting up, Yoongi lent his ear to the room once more.

He could hear the soft hum of the woman’s song no longer, and it was in this second that he realised he didn’t remember actually hearing the song end.

It was on one minute, and off the next.

Suspicious, Yoongi glanced at his half-lidded laptop, faced with a blackened screen as the device had switched itself off.

With a push of the power button, the power returned, and in a blast of light the screen sprung to life.

Through the tips of his fringe, Yoongi checked the time.

11:15 AM.

He recoiled.

That couldn’t be right - surely.

Logging in, he noted how his battery was running low, despite having been fully charged before he lay down.

The screen gave way to the last application he’s been using, and clear as day the same starry-eyed woman with the voice of velvet was on-screen, though the video she was in had long since ended.

Yoongi checked the time again, pulling his fringe back so as not to trick himself a second time.

11:16 stared back at him, steadfast and unwavering in its absolution.

Yoongi’s eyebrows raised in a sense of alarm.

He rose from the bed, tearing his curtains open.

A cityscape greeted him, and the sun waved from its fixture in the sky. It was daytime.

Yoongi stumbled back, carding a hand through his hair.

There was absolutely no way he’d-

...Had he actually managed to get to sleep?

Yoongi checked his phone, watch, and alarm clock; no-one dared deceive him of date nor time.

He was willing (and already considering) to accept the idea that he’d time-traveled; the concept of having a decent night’s sleep was as foreign as a language to him.

Nevertheless, he hadn’t the time to dawdle in such a concept, though he made absolute certain to when he was at work.

*

His colleagues seemed to notice a change in Yoongi’s behaviour.

Though he was often dazed into bouts of silence by his exhaustion, this quietude was new. Different.

A few co-workers commented on how he looked much livelier. And more alive, he felt.

In spite of this, the constant what-ifs of the morning had followed him - clung to him like a cologne.

What if...what if he was actually dead?

He considered this, deciding against his theory.

If he was dead and this was indeed Heaven, he should be receiving a lot more good fortune for all the shit he had to deal with in his life.

No, this was neither Hesven nor Hell. Or Purgatory.

Yoongi also considered that he was in a coma, but that didn’t add up, either.

He tested to see if he was comatose. Nothing.

He was still trapped in his same-old reality. But at least he could think clearly now.

*

By the time he got home, his body yearned for the sweet release of music, and he sought the comfort of his favourite artist - as he usually did on days as long as this.

Shoving his bedroom door open, he grumbled at the brightness the room held for a change.

He’d forgotten to shut his curtains before he left.

In the dwindling light of the afternoon sun, he saw the pills scattered across his duvet, the sole remnants of his almost-actions.

He cringed, forcing them to the back of his mind.

He could acknowledge the gravity of his decision later. Right now, his head was filled with the phantom melodies longing for a vessel.

Yoongi has attained the good sense to charge his laptop, and as he switched it on, he was greeted with the same lady who had pulled him to sleep the night before.

Or, Yoongi supposed, who had just happened to be playing on the night he was finally able to sleep without the nightmare scaring him awake.

Such wonderment remained at the back of his mind as he went about his business.

Through his own music, the whisper of the lady’s tune plagued him. So much so that, after a good three hours of composing, Yoongi found himself eyeing the tab he’d left open from before.

Having returned home from work later, his body was weighted with the day’s contrivances and stresses, as well as its successes and joys.

Emotionally, Yoongi had given all he had to offer, which, if he was to admit it to himself, was far more than he usually did.

He considered that it was more than likely it wasn’t just the song that had sent him to sleep.

On the contrary, he believed that a multitude of factors had to have been at play in such a miracle.

He wished to replicate the conditions of the night before: he kept his room dark and a glass of water on his bedside. He packed his pills away and placed them on his bedside, too, taking care not to lose any in case their service was required again.

He set the woman’s song up, lying in bed and playing it.

The creeping horror of the notion of never obtaining such a quality of sleep again was the only odd variable in this equation, and though it quietly consumed Yoongi’s thoughts, the hum of the song muffled it.

The song was no longer than 4 minutes, though the eternity that stretched between Yoongi and his voyage to the fabled land of dreams made it impossible to tell how long it had been.

He was not yet familiar enough with the song to place a time on the segment he was experiencing.

His concerns faded as he simply let himself be.

If it works, it works, he told himself.

The next thing Yoongi remembered was hearing a bird chirping nearby his window.

He cracked an eye open.

Much like the night before, his room remained in a state of quiet disarray, though only noticeable to the trained eye.

His laptop lay near his side, screen dark and lifeless.

Yoongi checked through a crack in the curtains. And sure as anything, the sun had risen once again.

*

Over the next couple of weeks, Yoongi researched the song, its creator, and whether it was really the secret to staving off his insomnia.

He had discovered that the creator’s name was (Y/N) - a popular artist who had fans far and wide, as well as domestically.

He found more of her particular songs - the ones that she hummed.

He tested both the original and these humming bird songs (as he called them), and to his delight, the humming birds worked.

Yoongi would go to sleep and wake up at reasonable times, rather than the odd dips in and out of consciousness he would try to induce on his own terms.

It was just your music that soothed him so, and from the day he uncovered this, he vowed to be your loyal follower.

Though, with any influential fan can blossom obsession, and as Yoongi became ever more eneamoured with your gossamer vocals, he feared the day that your songs would no longer support his sleep.

Or, God forbid, you stopped singing.

He often fretted over such a premature worry, though he couldn’t deny how it had all but devoured his thoughts.

Months into his expedition into your music, he decided to finally take action to ensure that your voice would never die - never fade with age, accident or abuse.

No, he would preserve it like the fine wine he had failed to so many years ago - to be sipped and savoured for eternities to come.

Sasaeng Masterlist

#yandere bts #bts #yandere bts x reader #bts x reader #Yoongi #min yoongi #suga #yandere yoongi #yandere yoongi x reader

[linxuelian]

I found a Chinese BL Warring States Game of Thrones, three years older than The Untamed

And I just had to write a review about it! It’s 60 episodes long so I haven’t finished it yet at the time I’m writing this - but I decided to just go ahead and recommend it anyway.

Why, you ask?

For one, it’s Romance of the Three Kingdoms with all the Hollywood action and adult HBO things. It’s got explosions:

Horses falling down:

People getting flogged:

Sweaty soldiers getting mauled to death:

Children used as hostages:

Dead bodies presented in court:

Stylish dye jobs:

Loving father figures:

A Jon Snow lookalike:

And very gay innuendo:

That’s right, unlike The Untamed, which was first written as a straight series featuring Wen Qing as the main female lead and then rewritten again after fans of the novel decided to boycott it, this series was written to be gay from the very beginning. It got taken down by the Chinese Censorship Board after twelve episodes and river-crabbed to death, but a good number of scenes survived censorship. Those that did not made it to BiliBili in the form of “hidden” videos and disguised as “music videos”.

That’s not all. For a warring period Wuxia series, it’s got very beautiful actors, backdrops and clothing. It’s dressed like a fairy tale, with different kingdoms sporting different colours and styles in fashion and tastes.

In terms of art direction, it’s pretty low-budget for a series but the team makes good use of existing props, locations and brighter-coloured fabric to make up for the quality. The costume design is more fantasy-based than period, and the vivid takes and angles in the first season add to its charm.

There’s also its complex story line, which brings us to...

Men with Swords is not a title for the faint-hearted. There is an acute absence of black-and-white morality depicted in it.

If you think a BL series with such beautiful backdrops and fairytale-like clothes is for the simple-minded, one-track-good-vs-evil sort, think again. The series is a tale about Murong Li, a vengeful prince disguised as a musician and his rise to power, leaving behind a trail of death and destruction in its wake.

Where The Untamed fails at delivering gray morality unlike the novel it’s adapted from, choosing to alter its script to fit a more general audience (a commercially-wise decision which got it into Netflix), Men with Swords succeeds in faithfully telling a tale where there is no good or evil, only humanity, jealousy, grudges, rebellion, loyalty, life, death, greed and love.

Everyone has both good and bad sides, just different camps and motives. Men with Swords tells the story from not just one person’s perspective, but from the perspective of many different people, all of whom become entangled in a battle for their figurative Iron Throne - to become the king of the world.

There are no “what ifs” in this story, only decisions, reactions and repercussions

A prevailing theme in this series is that there are no “what ifs” and no turning back in life, only things that have happened and will happen. Murong Li starts his journey as a prince who has lost everything and a victim of war, wandering around for three years while being put down and getting sexually harassed, eventually losing it, taking his chances and hardening his heart as he walks down his conniving, badass path of destruction towards the top.

Men with Swords is not a series for the faint-hearted. It’s a game of chess where the main character, Murong Li, is cunning and decisive, cold and ruthless and many recurring characters die horrible, sudden deaths, friend and foe alike, a la Attack on Titan.

The series is filled with political strife and warfare, peppered with some sweet, comedic and romantic undertones. There is a stark contrast between fluffy and dark in its narrative, which is pretty refreshing overall.

With that all aside, I know what you’re probably scrolling down for:

The main characters and their boyfriends

This is it. This is what you’re here for. Most “BL” series are actually bromances, but the real upside for a BL fan is that this show is not a bromance - it’s a BL title, and even with censorship, the love stories prevail.

I’m going to put this under a cut because it’s LONG AF, but what that means is that there is a LOT of BL content available, and not the type that you have to hunt for. They’re very open about it.

While the show itself has a lot of ships, there’s a larger focus on three main ones, namely the beautiful Murong Li and two powerful kings, the fairy-like Ling Guang and his servants, and King Jian Bin with his general.

Murong Li: Da Ji 2.0 and his rich and powerful kings

If you’re a Jin Guangyao fan, you’ll probably enjoy Murong Li and his elegant, charming viles and ruthless scheming. He’s a surprisingly good fighter too, and unlike most elegant and waif-like beauties in dramas and novels alike, he’s a beauty with brains who uses his physical weakness as his strength, bending and seducing his way up to power.

Murong Li only really goes after rich and powerful people, worming his way into the kingdom and taking them down from the inside. Two main love interests are King Zhi Ming, the childish but rich king of Tianquan:

And Yu Xiao, a powerful barbarian king with a soft heart:

Murong Li, while wandering around as a musician, picks up many tricks along the way to hone himself. He’s adept at dressing up, making himself look helpless and alluring to bewitch powerful men, for one:

See that small smile right there? Yes, our boy knows what he’s doing.

Aside from that, Murong Li’s also pretty good at manipulating people by using their jealousies and insecurities, getting them to fight with each other over him.

Murong Li, although modeled after the cruel and beautiful Murong Chong, the Emperor of Wei, is likened to Da Ji, the favorite consort of the King Zhou of Shang. Da Ji was said to be a malevolent fox spirit who started the art of foot-binding to hide her fox feet. Everyone else looking in can see it, but the King was blinded, just like Murong Li’s powerful love interests. In fact, the series draws a direct parallel to it:

The Guo Shi here uses the term “yao”, which alludes to a malevolent spirit.

It’s not that Murong Li doesn’t have a weakness, though. Just like every Jin Guangyao has a Lan Xichen around to cause him to slip now and then, Murong Li surprisingly is weak towards the most naive and childish character in the series, the truant King Zhi Ming, whose only qualities are having purple bangs and being rich and playful.

No matter how calculative and ruthless Murong Li is in the series, he does end up almost slipping up and giving everything away when it comes to this bumbling fellow:

He’s saved only at the nick of time by one of his followers. Murong Li tells a lot of lies, but the one thing he can’t lie about are his feelings towards King Zhi Ming, who is ultimately the one thing he can’t give up next to his kingdom.

There’s a lot more one can write about a complex character such as Murong Li, but the second ship is just as good. It features:

Ling Guang: The Ex-Arrogant Depressed Hamster hung up over a dead ex

Ling Guang, the mortal enemy and foil to Murong Li, is a baby-faced, very-much-older-than-he-looks character whose sole purpose in this series is to wear frilly magenta clothing, destroy the kingdom of Yaoguang, set Murong Li down a path of vengeful destruction and piss off eligible, probably younger bachelors by comparing them to his very handsome, very loyal and very dead boyfriend, his personal guard, Qiu Zhen, who died sometime over thirteen years ago.

The bachelors’ pissed off takes to this are particularly priceless:

Here’s another one from season 2:

That HMPH face is to die for.

Ling Guang’s delusions are met head-on by these eligible bachelors, his ministers and his allies alike:

Only to be met by a, “haha, NO.”

Frustrating, right? It only gets worse as the series progresses. Due to Wuxia’s fantastical existence of sword souls, he begins to actively test his subjects out to see if they’re his dead boyfriend, whose sword soul is still alive:

Gu Shi’an: WTF.

So why do these eligible, handsome bachelors, particularly this guy from season two, jump at his lap every chance they get?

First off, he’s very, very pretty. He’s arguably the prettiest and fanciest king in the series, with a cute rounded face, favoring fluffy organza, frills and feathers in his garb, and sporting fabulous curls like that of a swan princess on a good day.

Secondly, and more importantly, it’s likely because he’s the type loyal dogs adore.

He’s stupidly and openly attached to his bodyguards and servants, unable to hide his feelings or control them. Ling Guang’s relationships are technically the opposite of Murong Li’s. While Murong Li hides his feelings and goes after men of power and tends to use them before leaving them, Ling Guang’s willing to sacrifice everything, including his kingdom, his health and his own life for men who are merely servants.

He's a king who doesn’t know proper protocol. He’s the type who’ll demand to eat with you at the same table:

Creeps outside the palace to see you off:

Hugs your sword around like a pillow while he waddles around listlessly and sleeps with it by his side after you’re long dead (grand total: 13 years):

Coddles you when you’re sick:

Takes arrows for you:

Isn’t afraid to cry and tell you how it is:

Faints violently and won’t rest until he can get your stolen body back:

The results?

If he’s not what loyal bodyguards like, I don’t know what he is. If Murong Li’s love interests have to pit themselves against each other to show how useful they are for his sake, Ling Guang’s love interests need to wrestle with a dead man he can’t let go of... which is hopeless, because you can’t kill a guy who’s already dead.

As a foil to Murong Li, what’s also interesting to note is that it’s alluded to and foreshadowed that he’s exactly the sort the loyal Yu Xiao, the current barbarian king, would have loved to have as a lover - honest, loyal and doting - unlike Murong Li himself. Gongsun Qian, a deputy minister with great foresight, had wanted Ling Guang to go to see the new barbarian kingdom, but he had refused to go outside the palace, shutting himself inside like an otaku. This decision ultimately gave Murong Li a step forward with his plans, at the great cost of four kingdoms, including his own.

Jian Bin: My boyfriend can (REALLY) fight

Next up is Jian Bin and his general. Jian Bin’s the king of Tian Ji, a new kingdom founded by astrologers. The catch here is that Jian Bin and his boyfriend, Qi Zhi Kan, are both men of science, and this tank of a boyfriend is a genius on the battlefield who doesn’t give a single shit about star signs, astrology and superstitions.

A story between a serious, loving king and his handsome general who was once a simple sword-maker in the woods, King Jian Bin meets his handsome ex-lumberjack boyfriend when he’s attacked, falls down from his horse and is rescued by the man himself.

Jian Bin then brings the guy back to his palace and dresses him in armor:

This puts the king’s general on the war path of several ministers and the superstitious people in their kingdom. As lovers, the two go through various trials together in an attempt to run their kingdom their way.

Qi Zhi Kan may seem like a herbivore in front of the king, but he’s really not one at all. He’s terrifying to a degree when it comes to warfare, and very, very difficult to take down. Unlike the other ministers, Qi Zhi Kan knows that he can expand the kingdom quickly and solve problems by waging war.

Even his allies are scared of him:

Ultimately, it’s a ship meant for those who like watching the king teasing his loyal subject and caressing armor whenever he’s around AND not around. Jian Bin even admits to it on-scene:

This loving and devoted couple were originally blessed as the ones with the most piggyback scenes, tender bandaging-your-chest and armor fondling, but they got censored unfortunately.

Scenes like these made the cut, though:

And that’s it! There are actually other minor ships, but these are the main ones for now.

If you’re sold and interested in the show, the series is available online on Rakuten Viki. https://www.viki.com/tv/35524c?locale=zh

#bl series #chinese bl #series recommendations #c-drama #men with sword #chinese period drama

[goldenkamuyhunting]

Ramblings and crazy theory time about GK chap 272 “Ipopte”

New chapter and I didn’t think I would feel so bad for what happens here but I do so sorry if I won’t deliver everything well but this chapter... it was really painful.

The sentence is a reference to Giovanni Falcone’s quote “Gli uomini passano, le idee restano. Restano le loro tensioni morali e continueranno a camminare sulle gambe di altri uomini.” (“Men pass, ideas remain. Their moral tensions live on and will continue walking on other men's legs.”).

Kiro, Boutarou and Ariko’s deaths weren’t useless, they sacrificed themselves to protect other lives. The shame is on those who killed them, not on them.

Anyway...

We start with a colour chapter that basically sums up Sugimoto and Asirpa’s first meeting as it’s the scene in which Asirpa helped Sugimoto to get up after they killed the bear.

In a way it tells us that things are coming to full circle.

We’ve started this way, now we’re really close to see how we’ll end.

The worst part is maybe to see how cute this image that started the chapter is, now that I know how tragic the chapter itself is. And the story might be going on the same track. Everything started so nice and optimistic… and now…

Anyway we begin with a flashback, the flashback of how, during the battle of Mukden, Kikuta and Ariko’s trench was bombed and they had to spend the whole night there before being found, talking each other to make sure they were alive, only a sliver of moon visible (chap 207).

For Kikuta that moment was a really important moment of bonding with Ariko, but we weren’t explained why. Now we’re about to be told about it.

We start the scene with Kikuta checking if Ariko is still alive, which Ariko confirms. They had bandaged their wounds and, apparently can’t move. Kikuta tells Ariko to talk so they’ll know they’re alive. Everything is fine. Trapped there, seriously wounded and forgotten or assumed death, in almost complete darkness with only a tiny sliver of moon visible… their situation is clearly scary.

Kikuta, the officer, realizes they need to talk. To tell each other they’re alive, to distract themselves, to comfort themselves by reminding each other they aren’t alone.

And, since he’s an officer, he asks Ariko to talk because that’s the best way he has to make sure the latter is alive and properly distracted. He’s willing to listen him whatever Ariko wants to say, even if he points out something upbeat would be nice (superior officers normally didn’t listen to soldiers talking about what they wanted).

Ariko says once back home he would like to practice making a Makiri. Kikuta knows what a Makiri is, an Ainu knife. He probably learnt it when they met Ariko’s father, Siromakur, who told them he was making a Makiri for his son.

Ariko explains for Ainu they’re important because girls will accept them as husband according to the craftsmanship of the one they give to them as a present. Kikuta thinks this is because Ariko is afraid to be turned down by a girl he likes.

Ariko explains that’s not the case, the Makiri will be for himself.

He explains some parents might teach in details how to make Makiri to their sons, but his own father thought Ariko could learn doing one just by watching him doing one. Ariko though admits he wasn’t interested in watching him.

The way this scene is structured is good. There are three panels. In one there’s Ariko, in the other there’s Kikuta, in the middle there’s Siromakur.

Unknown to Ariko both of them are thinking to Siromakur as he carved the Makiri. Noda places them in symmetrical position but Ariko’s eyes are looking away from the central panel, as if unable to look at his father as he admits he wasn’t interested in what he was trying to teach him. Kikuta instead seems to look straight at him, straight at the guilt he feels for that man’s death.

Ariko goes on explaining at that time he basically didn’t see any difference between Wajin and Ainu. He would fight who were to make fun of him even if he were an Ainu and he would help who were to need him even if he were a Wajin.

Ariko believed worrying about the Ainu's future is a burden, something he doesn’t care about. Basically he’s saying to him they’re all humans, there’s no Ainu and Wajin, but also that he believes he has no special ties with his traditions and culture and he’s not interested in carrying them in the future.

He probably would prefer to be just a ‘nihon-jin’ a Japanese, without divisions between Ainu and Wajin.

It would be beautiful if everyone could be just like Ariko, if we could respect each other without having to defend our identity and without seeing it being trampled upon or misrepresented, or appropriated, or condemned.

The world though, is not so nice, and sometimes you’ve to fight just for the right to... exist.

Yeah, the world is actually a terrible place.

Ariko doesn’t wish for a conflict between Wajin and Ainu… but the conflict exists and he can’t sit out or turn his eyes away from it… which doesn’t mean to take an extremist position, but just being aware and take a stance.

Still, maybe because when he talks with Kikuta he is a little older than how he looks in the flashback when he watches at his Ainu clothes and thinks the Ainu business is a pain, he is starting to understand the importance of his own tradition, of his own culture, of how sad it would be if it were to go completely lost.

Each culture is precious, when it gets erased is a loss for the whole humanity. We know this now, we clumsily try to protect them, but GK takes place in the past and few had this awareness.

Ariko still manages to realize how his father’s Makiri had a design passed down for generation. It’s a design that ties him to the past generations, to the history of his family. It’s part of his history but, in more simpler terms, it’s also part of what ties Ariko to his father. A line that travel from Ariko to the past of his ancestors, or from them to Ariko as Ariko believes his father wanted to pass it down to him as well... in the hope Ariko would pass it down too, tying past and future together.

Ariko’s father has probably realized Ariko at the time had little interest in Makiri making… but that the interest might come in the future. Siromakur accepts Ariko is young and wants to fit in the world he’s in, instead than just being concerned with the Ainu problems, but he seems to think by growing up Ariko might also grow to understand the importance of his past, of their past and traditions.

That’s why he was making for him a Makiri when Ariko became a soldier, because even if Ariko at the moment had no wish to learn how to make a Makiri, as long as he had a Makiri with himself, he would be always able to duplicate it should he wish to do so.

And, although I think he handled the whole gold thing very poorly, a side of me loves Siromakur as a father.

He accepts and respects his son’s wishes but, at the same time considers Ariko might grow to change his mind and doesn’t want for it to happen when it’s too late.

Ariko doesn’t want to learn to carve a knife now?

Fine, he’ll give him the means to learn to carve one when he will feel ready to do so. I think he genuinely wanted Ariko to learn. I think although he too didn’t want a conflict with the Wajin, he loved his culture and wanted to pass it down to Ariko… but still, he respected Ariko’s will and gave him space.

However Ariko admits his father didn’t make in time to end the Makiri but died while carving it. Siromakur was hoping Ariko would have time to learn through the Makiri he would make for him… but fate is a cruel master and died before finishing the knife.

His Makiri went missing too, so Ariko can’t replicate it and regrets it, regrets what he now has lost and can’t recover. With tears in his eyes he admits he should have watched his father more closely and it’s clear it’s not just about the Makiri that he won’t be able to duplicate.

That Makiri, the memories of him watching his father making one and teaching him, could have been something to whom he could latch now that his father wasn’t alive anymore. Ariko though wasted that time and now his father is dead and he’s left with nothing in his hands.

And his wish to learn to make a Makiri is an attempt to recover what he has lost, to reconnect with his father now that his father is no more. In chap 247 Ariko reminds him as a gentle man who never spoke much.

He can’t believe he was planning to buy weapons and he’s right. Siromakur wasn’t. He wanted to mediate. Maybe the fact Siromakur was silent made Ariko feel like his father was distant… but the fact he was gentle clearly told Ariko he cared.

And so we see this grown man crying because he lost his father… and his pain is real and easy to empathize.

As Kikuta doesn’t comment, Ariko asks him if he’s alive. Kikuta confirms he is and apologizes. Ariko reminds him to make a response once in a while if he’s alive. In answer Kikuta rests his hands on Ariko’s shoulder and apologizes.

He’s clearly not apologizing for having fallen silent but for having been what caused Ariko’s loss. Kikuta regretted Siromakur’s death and now he regrets it even more as he knows he’s responsible for Ariko’s pain. In a way I think Kikuta subconsciously grew so close to Ariko also due to this, it’s as if he wanted to ‘adopt him’ to make up for the loss he has caused him.

We’re back in the present and we’ve another page with a good panel structure.

On the top we see Kikuta, head down, likely still bothered by the situation. I’m pretty sure he can guess what Tsurumi is doing to Asirpa and he’s not liking it… but he’s not fighting it either. He regrets but doesn’t act because it wouldn’t be advantageous to him. Kikuta plays safe.

On the lower part of the page there’s Ariko, Ariko who instead is going to act, to fight. He’s more aware of his position now and he’s going to take a side, to take a risk. Now he’s letting the whole matter affect it. He has grown up and he’s aware he lives in a terrible world and he’s going to take a position and try to fight for the right cause… even if it might be disadvantageous to him. Ariko is going to take a risk.

In the middle the church where everything is taking place.

Ariko gets in the room as Tsurumi, who has heard the code from Asirpa, grabs the skins, tosses them on the ground and scans them quickly, trying to decode the code with Asirpa’s keyword.

Ariko approaches, his arrival surprising Tsukishima who’s still spying the scene.

Ariko claims he’s there to tell him the location of Hijikata’s hideout so they can attack it. Asirpa is surprised but Ariko is actually using that as an excuse to cut Asirpa’s rope with his Makiri. I wonder if that Makiri is the one who stayed unfinished or his father’s one.

Tsurumi easily sees through him and doesn’t even bother move.

Ariko crumbles, clearly afraid, he’s a honest person and a fail as an actor, points his gun at Tsurumi and demands for him to give them the tattooed skin. As Tsukishima takes his rifle, Asirpa finishes freeing herself.

Tsukishima and Koito comes in, weapons in hands, Tsukishima wounding Ariko. Asirpa frees Sofia even if Ariko hurries her to escape.

Sugimoto and Shiraishi, hearing the shoots, run toward the church with the bottle-mobile, Kikuta also runs there while Sofia grabs a bench and tosses it in Ariko and Tsukishima’s direction, causing the door to close. The bench then falls on Tsurumi but he’s so caught up he doesn’t care.

Sofia, Asirpa and Ariko runs out. Sugimoto doesn’t even stop but the trio tries to jump on the bottle-mobile as it’s running. Ariko raises Asirpa so that Shiraishi can help her to climb up, Sofia gets in Ariko… Ariko is shoot in the leg and falls.

Tsukishima and Koito are out. The bullet was clearly shoot by Tsukishima, I’m not sure if Koito also has shoot. Ariko shoots back but gets no one. Asirpa calls him but Ariko urges them to go without stopping. He knows he’s giving his life to help her, he knows he’s entrusting their future to her.

He has no hesitation as he tells her to go.

The bottle-mobile passes in front of Kikuta. Sugimoto and Kikuta see each other and confirm they’re really the vagrant boy and Kikuta-san.

As Sugimoto realizes so, his eyes seem bigger and they’re really clear and shiny. I wonder if the idea is that seeing Kikuta brings him back to a time in which he was younger and less jaded.

Kikuta then sees Ariko on the ground and moves toward him, asking him what’s going on.

Ariko is still on the ground and says his name as he sees him moving closer. Ariko knows Kikuta cares about him, he knows Kikuta wanted to save him. They had a bond in a way.

He trusts him, he doesn’t try to aim his weapon at him.

I don’t think he hopes Kikuta will save him though, I think he’s just sad... but at least he’s not alone...

... he’s not alone as Tsukishima is next to him and shoots him in the heart, killing him immediately.

I would like to think maybe Tsukishima did so because he thought Ariko would have tried shooting Kikuta... but it’s clear that wasn’t going to be the case. Ariko has made no attempt to aim at Kikuta.

Tsukishima is just mercilessly getting rid of Ariko, a man who dared to oppose to Tsurumi and his ‘oh so wonderful goal of salvation for those who bow his head to him’.

Kikuta is clearly shocked beyond belief. His eyes go all white, with no irises or pupils.

Asirpa calls Ariko’s Ainu name, the only name she has used for him, ‘Ipopte’. She’s shocked too although her pupils are really tiny dots.

We can’t see the face of who’s with her. Will Noda draw them in the volume version? Or is the idea she’s the only one who truly cared and suffers, suffers for the loss of a man, an Ainu like her, who gave his life to save her own?

I don’t know but still what Noda does is interesting because he shows Ariko, who believed Ainu and Wajin were no different, mourned terribly by both a Wajin and an Ainu.

There’s no difference in that moment between Kikuta and Asirpa. Both suffer for Ariko’s death. They’re the better world Ariko believed in where people is just people, not Wajin or Ainu but humans.

Sadly they aren’t the only ones in this world.

Tsukishima walks past Kikuta.

For the first time in the story, with the exclusion of the flashback with him and Igogusa/Harumi Chiyo, we can see there’s light in Tsukishima’s eyes.

His eyes aren’t anymore completely black, they’re shining, there’s light in them.

He has killed Ariko, but he’s no more Tsurumi’s mindless executor. He’s a believer now. He believes Tsurumi’s cause with all his heart and therefore Ariko’s death isn’t something to regret, but something he had to do in order to reach his goal.

He can go back to the church, leaving Ariko’s body under the rain.

In a past meta I wondered if Tsukishima would overcome his vice of Acedia and find salvation or not.

Well, this scene feels like an answer to it.

This new Tsukishima… now cares for his goal, but not for the people who’ll have to die for him to reach it. He won’t feel bad anymore, he’ll march on.

He likely now believes his place is with Tsurumi, not out of obligation but because he wants it.

He decided so and his decision gives him life. And, I think, this is Noda’s way to prepare us to when the Tiger’s curse will strike. Tsukishima is no more a victim of his own Acedia. He’s an active and willing participant. And I’m sad.

Because I knew the Tiger’s curse would befall on him but still I was hoping Tsukishima would… I don’t know, find a way to… get forgiven, that he would grow and manage to pull himself out of this situation and toward a better path and instead… he has grown but he also has decided this is what he wants. And this is maybe the saddest thing, that even if Tsukishima changed, even if he grew… well in the end not only it changed nothing but it made it worse.

Still, it makes sense it’s Tsukishima who kills Ariko, because both, in a way, didn’t want to take a position, Tsukishima blindly following Tsurumi even though he didn’t know if he were trustworthy, Ariko wishing he wouldn’t have to follow anyone.

In the end they both took a stance, Ariko decided he would help who’s in need of help, Asirpa, his people, Tsukishima decided to trample over those who would get in the ‘salvation’ Tsurumi claimed he would offer to those who would submit to him.

Ariko dies, but his sacrifice isn’t pointless. He died to do a good thing, to save someone, and by saving Asirpa he will allow others to live.

Tsukishima lives but I’m willing to bet nothing good will come for him or his cause by taking Ariko’s life, because really, nothing good can come from taking a life, especially if it was the life of a good man. Tsukishima can walk away with light in his eyes but, to me, it feels like with this act he has willingly killed what was good inside him. He’s killing the companions he believes Tsurumi would save who can see there’s no salvation in Tsurumi’s words. He’s self destroying his goal and he’s not even realizing him.

He comes to side with the worst of the world. Same as when he took part to the murder of Kiro but now worse. At this point… I don’t think there’s a chance of salvation for him, and while it’s sad because Tsukishima was a character I like… well, Tsukishima has done his choice. And it was the wrong one.

#Golden Kamuy #Ariko Rikimatsu #Kikuta Mokutarou #Asirpa #Sofia #Tsurumi Tokushirou #Siromakur #Koito Otonoshin #Tsukishima Hajime #Wilk #Sugimoto Saichi #Shiraishi Yoshitake #Hijikata Toshizou #Retar #Golden Kamuy Ramblings and Theories

[ginnywasafriendofmine]

So I wrote this last night while wondering if things could have turned out differently if James Potters parents had survived. It evolved in a way I didn't expect (Euphemia Potter, where have you been hiding?) It's not finished either, but here is what I have so far...

They lived

When Fleamont Potter first felt the stirrings of pain, deep in his chest-he ignored it. He was no healer, and it was to be expected in his age after all. He ignored it when he felt it flutter through his spine, passed it off as a working hazard when he felt a pang in his knees. (He shouldn’t have been fiddling with that old cauldron anyways).

But when his wife said to him, almost idly at the fireside-

“Will you remind me to owl Healer Robbins in the morning? I had a strange pain in my shoulder earlier, and it doesn’t seem to have gone away just yet.”

Fleamont looked at his wife, her hands quick and nimble as they laced glimmering threads through soft fabric. He looked at his wife, and saw his life’s love before him. He saw the dark eyes that had drawn him to her, the sharp wit of her tongue and the power and grace he knew not. He saw beyond her greying hair and the fine lines that told stories of their joy, and saw the life they had built. The garden they had cultivated, the business that had flourished beneath their feet, the son who had his mothers eyes as well as her spirit, her spark, her joy. 

Fleamont looked at his wife, his partner and knew that the world would be just that dimmer without her.

“Actually dear, I think we should owl them tonight.”

Their young son, his dark head of hair ducking under the mantle as he arrived, joined them at St. Mungos, his glowing wife at his side, her fingers weaving knots into her robes. James paled as he watched the Healers gather around the ones who had given him life, and he rushed to call his brother to his side, their dark heads bowed together as they sat in the crowded little waiting room. 

So Fleamont saved his wife, but he died that Thursday afternoon with his little family gathered at his bedside, his last act of love surviving without him. 

Lily Potter may have danced with her new father-in-law at her wedding, his beaming smile as bright as the candles flickering around them but it was to her husband's mother, alone, that she passed her newborn baby to.

Harry Fleamont Potter felt a fitting tribute, and James was sure he wasn’t imagining the tears sparkling in his mothers eyes.

Harry learned to walk through his grandmother's begonias, the ones that, in another life he may have walked towards his namesake. Or in another life, he would not know existed at all. 

When the war which had brewed around them throughout their adolescence came knocking at their door, James cloistered his young family into Godric's Hollow, leaving his mother alone at the Manor where he had frolicked and grown and on one fine summer's day wed his now targeted wife. 

James did not apologise to his mother as he kissed her goodbye. He didn't need to. 

Her second son, the one whose hair was as Black as his name, as black as the scorch mark his birth mother had left in his wake, loped through the wards every few days. Neither of them dared voice the hope, that courageous flighty thing that had found a home within their chests as they sipped their tea, watching sunsets that should have been savoured. 

But they did dare to hope, they dared to trust. And James Potter, who may have his mothers eyes and her spirit, also had his fathers unwavering loyalty. He trusted the wrong man.   

(and their protection fell, shocks of green light rang through the air, and a boy who had found love and joy in the presence of his first friend, found his worst nightmare come to life instead as he rushed through the air on a motorbike he would soon hand away). 

And the dog chased the rat, and the rat knew how to disappear when all the dog knew how to do was grieve. 

Fleamont’s last act of devotion didn’t change the fact that Euphemia woke up on November 1st with an intrinsic feeling of dread. When she opened the door she wasn’t faced with a scarred orphan as a shrieking Petunia Dursley was three counties over, but with the weary and regretful eyes of the men in red robes who had come to symbolise loss in their world. 

Euphemia managed to hold it together, her head held high until they used the words ‘Death Eater’ and ‘Sirius Black’ in the same sentence. Only then did she start to laugh, that horrible haunting laugh that only Blacks could. For Euphemia may have looked like her mother who had grown up across the world, but she was still a Black.

The two men, who had expected a feeble old woman and had gotten a glimpse of true Black madness did not think to question her when she demanded an escort to the Ministry. For her dear, kind son and his brave and bright wife would have to wait, their bodies still and cool as they would be for eternity, for it was her second son who needed her now. Her second son who sat in a stone cell and had cried himself to sleep.

For all that Remus-scarred, sweet, lonely and heartbroken-thought it was Sirius still, Euphemia knew her son. She knew he couldn’t be responsible for this. She also knew the look in a boy’s eyes when envy and greed had made its way deep into his heart, and she had seen it on Peter Pettigrew’s face one too many times to be as trusting as her dearly departed son.

With the power of her husband's name and his wealth she bullied an unsuspecting Barty Crouch into a trial the very next day, where a relieved Remus sat beside her, shaking while she was still. Later Sirius had wept apologies into her cloak, his regret tangible and as dark as his hatred for the man he had once called a brother. 

Sirius did not spend his 22nd birthday as he had planned, holed up with three Potters, being plied with cake and butterbeer, but he spent it screaming at the man he had once called a leader, at the man whose heart may have been heavy with regret, but whose hands still meddled in places he ought not to touch. 

The day after they gathered in Godric’s Hollow and watched a pair of twin coffins lowered into the fresh earth.

(While miles away, Harry cried for his mother and wondered why this woman who did not resemble anyone he knew had hands as sharp as her beady eyes).

Euphemia had saved her son from twelve years in Azkaban, but that did not mean she was going to leave the precious boy that had somehow survived, her husband's namesake, with a woman who had hated her own sister nearly as much as she had once loved her. 

Euphemia hadn’t expected Dumbledore to interfere. 

Dumbledore had expected Euphemia to acquiesce once he had explained with words like blood protection, and love sickly sweet on his tongue.

But she did not. 

Perhaps, in another world-one where Fleamont survived the night that his dear wife did, this would have played out differently. Quieter perhaps.

But Euphemia was different from Monty. She had grown up having to hold her head up, high, above the snickers and the stares and the comments. She had grown up between two worlds; not white enough, not dark enough. Having to make space for herself in a world that did not know what to do with her. 

When she first visited her family in India it wasn’t the overwhelming feeling of joy, she had expected, but rather a deep, dark loss in her soul. A wanting, a longing, a missing she would never truly understand. The colours were just as vivid, the smells just as enchanting, the sounds, the streets filled with life. But Mia had grown up across the world, where she’d had to learn to pronounce her r’s just so, how to preen, and dress and and hide so much of herself away that she’d never really found it again. Mia had grown up with a mother who was just as much a British citizen as everyone else around them, but different in a way they would never understand. 

(It was only when she met a man with eyes as deep as the ocean, and a smile that made her feel like she could soar did she feel she was coming out of the seams. Bit by painstaking bit). 

So yes, Monty, with his lineage and his old money and his class wouldn’t have dared, his fight would have taken place quietly, behind the scenes, where there was no fuss, no ruckus. 

But Monty wasn’t here anymore, and Mia had spent her life being quiet. 

So she raged, and stormed and threw herself into a battle with the most powerful man in Wizarding Britain. She argued her way through the courts, through countless politicians, secretaries and bureaucrats who she had spent her life kowtowing to when she was nothing but an immigrant's daughter with no power they could understand. 

And she won.

The snow had just begun to stick, and the lights were up in the neighbors windows when her grandson finally came home to her, with a trembling lip and a scarred forehead.

Euphemia Potter held him close - his hair smelt just like James had, when he was little, when her entire world could fit in her arms-and then passed him to her other son. The one who hadn’t been born from her, but who she loved just the same.  

They’d both had something taken from them, something ripped away with a cold curse and a flash of light, and she knew that only they could understand each other now. So Mia stayed in her opulent and empty house, and Sirius settled in the South Wing at the room that had always been his, his godson slumbering safely in his arms. 

That first Christmas was as dark as the words carved into stone back in Godric's Hollow. Two men who had to learn to trust each other again and a woman who many had expected to break by now. Only Harry’s laugh, his smile, his sparkling eyes could light up their bleak and unforgiving day. 

So Harry forgot the mean, cold woman who stared at him like something she would rather forget, and spent the spring with his grandmother as she planted flowers, her fingers quick and nimble as they had always been. He spent it with his godfathers-both of them-while one suffered each month as he always had, but whose love for Harry never wavered, and the other finally grew up.

For in this world Sirius Black did not wile away his years counting his regrets as he counted the bars on his cells. In this world he strategised, he built battle plans with the same fervour and determination he might have used to sliver between those bars as a shaggy, black dog. He focused on wiping out the forces that had taken so much of the light from their world. 

But he did not do this alone. For in losing one brother, he had gained another back. 

Regulus Black did not go to die in the cave that dark day in October of 1979. He would still be brave, and fierce, and full of righteous anger, but he did not die alone and afraid. Regulus Black had been in St. Mungos that summer, regretfully rejecting his prized and hard worked offer of a place as a Healer. 

Regulus Black had been there. He had seen his brother-the one who he missed as much as Petunia Evans missed her own sister-pale and weary with grief. He had seen him stumble in the corridor from Fleamont Potters room, the loss deeply etched in his face. 

Grief is the price we pay for love.  

Regulus had watched his brother, and wondered if perhap there were things worth living for-as much as they were worth dying for.

So despite what his mother, and the Dark Lord, and about every other Black relative wanted him to do-A Healer? How plebian. Regulus Black did what he had always yearned to, and was brave. He tore the rejection letter from the secretaries fist, and asked, with a weak attempt at his brothers bravado;

“What day do I start?”

So Regulus had taken a different path, a path that was still hard-for the road to hell was still paved with good intentions. 

Regulus stood with his head held high above the looks and snide comments-from both his Death Eater cohorts and his fellow trainees. But the Dark Lord could not touch him, could not stray him from this path, for the vow that was taken on his first day of orientation had sworn him to the Healing service, and even Tom Riddle knew some vows could not be broken.

Regulus Black had taken a different path (though the knowledge of the Horcrux and the unrelenting question of what/when/how still lingered) and was finishing up his rotation in the children’s ward when his long lost brother rushed in, a feverish child in his arms, and panic wreaking havoc in his young face.

“Please, I don’t know what’s wrong-I-I, he wouldn’t eat, and now he’s warm, too warm, and I-”

“Hand him to me.”

And Sirius had passed over the child he thought of as a son to a man he didn’t recognise and saw a boy he had once known. 

“I-Reggie-?”

But Regulus had always been good at his job. Even the other trainees, who glowered at him through the corridors as they once had in Hogwarts could not deny this. Regulus saw the brother whose approval he had always craved, but he did not think of it now. Regulus only looked at the child who lay shivering before him, and set to work.

Dragon Pox may have taken Fleamont Potter, but Regulus Black’s quick mind and steady hands ensured that his namesake did not follow in this regard. Sirius had cried tears of relief, and Remus had shaken Regulus’ hand so hard it felt bruised.

By now Harry had spent as much time without his parents as he had with them, and his loss would have taken his family to a place they could not return

Once Harry had settled, Mia Potter at his bedside and Remus Lupin fetching the blanket that Harry reached for every night, did the two brothers talk.

They spoke of nothing that had lingered deep in their minds, and their hearts in the years since the older one had departed.

“A Healer, huh?” Sirius Black tried to hide his surprise. 

Regulus bit back the 'You once told me I was good at Healing spells' and managed a smile. "Yes, coming on four years now.” 

Regulus felt young in his brother's presence (even if they were both the same height now).

“That’s… really great.” Sirius smiled, looking close to proud. 

“That's James son, isn't it?” Regulus asked, and watched the darkness flicker in his brothers eyes again.

“You can tell by the hair, huh?”

Really he could tell by the way Sirius looked at the boy-the same way he had always looked at James-but he smiled at his brother's attempt at humor anyways.

When the little family left two days later, a chagrined Sirius mumbled something out that was close to an invitation-coffee? Do you drink coffee? As he left St. Mungos, his beloved godson giggling in his arms. 

Regulus watched and wondered if perhaps he had gotten his brother back. If his brother would walk away from him again.

(He would, once he found out about the paradoxical life his brother led, a Healer who moonlights as a Death Eater. The life of one who fixes scars and curses he recognises, the life of one who is vowed to both worlds even as they threaten to pull him apart at the seams). 

But this time he would come back. And not on accident, stumbling in with a sick child, but with a determination for history not to repeat itself. 

For this Sirius Black knew about the transformative power of second chances.

Harry Potter grew up at his grandmother's elbow, learning about his culture, his heritage. What was left of it. Some had been lost to time, others to the journey made from Delhi to here. The rest to the pressure of a world who didn’t want girls with dark skin and a determined glint in her eye. 

But in this world Harry knew who he was. Where he had come from. What had been lost so he could live. And oh, did he live. 

He lived in the same trees and lakes his own father had made his kingdom at his age, he lived in the books his Moony shared with him-Moony, who watched as identical green eyes skimmed over the same pages he had seen a flame-haired girl devour. He lived in the adventures, the wild reckless stories and pursuits of his Padfoot. He lived in his grandmother's kitchen, watching her bake roti in between English cakes of lemon drizzle and his favourite treacle tart. 

Harry lived, and he knew what it was to be loved. 

(After all, a boy must live so he can learn to die. 

And even now, even here, Harry still had to be the boy who learned to walk to his death).

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