#meant to do the rest but my brain refused to write the others

[snuggleboots]

₊˚♡˚₊ The Akatsuki, communicating their love ₊˚♡˚₊

₊˚♡˚₊ feat. Itachi, Kisame, Kakuzu, and Hidan ₊˚♡˚₊

Tags: Fluff, mishmash of random headcanons, general cutesy relationship stuff.

♡ Kisame communicates his love in various ways, but it's always most sincere in the little things he does. If you're both walking up a flight of stairs, he'll always walk behind, just so he can steal a kiss without having to lean down a bit to reach you. Usually, he'll follow that up with a stupid little, 'How's it feel to be the tall one for once?'

♡ He's a man who likes to sleep in, but when you're sleeping with him, it's his god-given duty to wake you up with some combination of stupid, sleepy shenanigans. It typically starts with some needlessly aggressive cuddling while he's waking up, which becomes a smattering of kisses and little nips dealt wherever he can reach, and eventually develops into... either cackling over your groggy irritation or moving into a little extra lovin', if you feel up to it.

♡ Cuteness aggression is a real thing, and it's his curse. If your tongue pokes out just a little bit when you're thinking hard or focused on something, if you flex your toes like a little cat when you stretch, or purse your lips when you're frustrated - he's gonna bite you. Always does. He can't help it, he gets the impulse to squish you, bite you, pinch, or bully you a little bit when you're minding your business, doing things that he finds objectively precious. You make his teeth itch when he catches you off guard, and you flash him those big eyes, and- UGH.

♡ Now, he isn't the perfect listener by any means, but Kisame is very attentive when tiffs happen in the relationship. He listens with the full intention to learn and solve the problem, and if things get a bit heated he'll calm himself down and ask you to back up and explain why you're upset. He doesn't make a habit of taking himself too seriously, which really helps him navigate rough patches well.

♡ Your personal space is his preferred space. You're stretched out, reading a book or resting your eyes? It doesn't matter where you're hanging out, that's still just as good as an invitation in his books. When he saunters on over and nonchalantly plonks his entire body weight on top of you, he doesn't even have the courtesy to say sorry for the disturbance. Nope, he's on a mission, hooking his arms around your waist and just burying his face in your belly. You're warm, you smell so nice, and he's livin' large on cloud nine, which means you're stuck there until he's decided he's had his fill for a bit.

♡ Itachi's a man with simple wants and simple displays of love. If your days are busy and he's tucking into bed before you are, he'll cosy up on your side to keep it warm until you're ready to join him for the night. It's a little silly, a little cute, watching a man like him streeeetch right out when you meander into the bedroom, and unceremoniously shimmy back over to his side before settling in and promptly passing out. That is, however, a quiet little token of his affection.

♡ He's perceptive about things you don't enjoy doing, and especially things you tend to stress about. Without so much as mentioning it, he'll tend to the little things like that just to take them off your plate. If you're sick or in pain, Itachi is more than content to take care of you. Sorry, it's a small facet of who he is, to tend to the very few people he cares about. The man also cooks, and pretty damned well at that. His breakfasts are a cure-all when you're feeling like absolute garbage.

♡ There is such a thing as an 'Uchiha pout', and he weaponizes it for petty reasons and to ridiculous extents. He isn't always just some stone-faced caricature of a stoic, and it's brilliantly displayed when you deny his simple requests, such as relaxing after a long day, curled up on the couch with him when he's having a low-energy, no spoons left kind of day.

♡ Yes, he wants to settle his weight into your side and just be - or better yet, rest his head on your shoulder and soak up some easy, effortless affection until he's feeling a bit better. (Please card your fingers through his hair, he won't nod off again, really-) If you really have the audacity to say no - and he will call it that - you're going to see him purse his lips, pinch his brows and angle his face away from you like some kind of disappointed housecat. 'You make me lonely', he'll halfheartedly mumble, because it's a guilt trip that works and he's fully aware of that fact. No, he does not feel bad about it, either.

♡ Kakuzu's 'love language' exists in subtle acts of service and physical touch, generally shared in private. No, he's not going to say he loves you, but he can show you that your presence doesn't irritate the part of his brain that makes him want to shove his fist through someone's skull.

♡ When the seasons turn and you inevitably wind up freezing cold every goddamn night, he's content to settle beside you on the couch and tuck your chilly feet under his leg while he unwinds with a good book. There's no need to fill the silence, just let it be and enjoy the moment. You're cosy, he's relatively happy, and for all intents and purposes, you two are set to have a wonderful, quiet night.

♡ And since Kakuzu's a habitual early riser, you're typically still snoring long after he's up and ready for the day. When it's time for him to get up and get dressed, he'll flop his blanket - because he sure as hell doesn't share one - over your head before he turns on the light to get dressed. When he's done and the light's out he'll pull it down and be on his way without having disturbed your sleep.

♡ On the odd time that you're waking up with him, he'll slip by while you're getting dressed and steal a kiss to your shoulder.

♡ When his nail polish is chipped and it's time to reapply, he'll let you do it. For one, it's less for him to do, but! It's also a little token of trust on his part to toss you the polish, plop his hand in your lap, and grumble something like, 'Don't paint my damn fingers this time'. You probably still manage to flood his cuticles, which he will grumble about, but it's the thought that counts.

♡ Hidan's love can sometimes be compared to that of a fat, obnoxious housecat. If he's off-duty when you're trying to enjoy some free time, he is firmly wedged up your ass because he likes attention and you actually listen to him when he talks about... whatever's bouncing around in his head.

♡ Lounging on the couch when he's just coming in from a month on the road? Haha, sucks to be you actually, because he's instantly ripping through the living room at terminal velocity, with full intentions of divebombing your sorry ass before you have the chance to scramble up and evade him. You're still wheezing from impact, and this guy's already launching into a tirade about every little gripe he's had about his mission. 'Kakuzu was a dick, the ration bars taste like shit, the coil broke on my scythe and, and, and...'

♡ Hidan loves a good late-night hangout, so he's usually around to burn time with you when you can't sleep. Even when you don't feel like talking, he always fills the silence himself by chatting your ear off about whatever comes to mind. Sometimes it's just life stuff, other times it's his interests - and often, he'll animorph into a used cars salesman for Jashinism. You expect it, he loves that you actually listen and engage with him.

♡ 'You only get to die if you lived, no matter how great or shitty your life was, get it? Seeing the end is a privilege', he'll mutter into the lip of a half-full mug. When you're tired at the table, jolting upright after accidentally dozing off for the fifth time during his proselytizing, Hidan will slide you a cup of something that'll keep you fucking wired for the night. It's not to be a dick, obviously, but you're listening! And this is important shit! 'Diseased, crippled, or fuckin'... broke; at the end of the day, you're alive, and your pain's recognised by Lord Jashin. Suffering is a gift imparted, that only the living receive, and...' something something Jashin is great, and you should probably definitely convert.

♡ He's claimed half of your bed, and sleeping with him fucking sucks. He sleeps like a starfish and steals the blankets, and you're not waking him up unless you feel like investing some serious effort into doing so. He snores, and on the nights that he winds up sleeping half on top of you, you have to deal with the fact that he drools like a dog and sleeps with his mouth hanging open. You don't wanna deal with that? Tough shit, you're comfy, and somehow your bed is just waaaaay better than his. Okay? Okay.

#akatsuki #naruto #kakuzu #hidan #itachi #kisame #writing tag #hcs #reader insert #akatsuki x reader #kakuzu x reader #hidan x reader #itachi x reader #kisame x reader #meant to do the rest but my brain refused to write the others #they'll get their own post at some point probs

[roseverdict]

Writing Commissions Open!

Hey howdy hey, guess who's broke and whose brain has latched on to the idea of getting a bike or a trike to get places other than the one (1) coffee shop in walking distance!

YEP. I need to open commissions.

However, I do have at least one thing going for me- I'm told I'm fairly good at writing things! Fanfic things, at least. While I'm not dumb enough to outright go "hey, pay me to write fanfiction," I figure I can at least point out some fanfics I've written that seem to have gone over well as examples of my work, since that's most of what I've got for proof of my skills.

x x

x

x x x

x x

x x

I'd show more, but Tumblr won't let me add more images, and even these fought me Tooth And Nail when I was trying to format them properly. Truly a functioning website.

Hopefully these kind of give an idea of the vibes I'm strongest with, too. Pricing and rules will be under the cut. I do have a target I'm trying to reach here, but depending on how well this goes, I might end up keeping commissions open indefinitely. We'll see. :D

DM me if you're interested!

Things I'm Comfortable Writing:

Original Storylines (Brief primer on the world/characters I'll be writing with will be required)

Things like the pieces shown on my AO3 account

OCs

Y/N-style pieces (both with and without the actual usage of "Y/N")

Mild Romance

Gore/Severe Injury

Body Horror

Whump

Look, if it's in the Danny Phantom phandom and basically nowhere else, I'm probably just fine writing it, despite its intensity xD

Things I Will Not Write:

Smut. There's no shame in enjoying it, I just. Don't.

Incest. Absolutely NONE. Even leaving aside the whole debate about whether or not people should ship incest ships, I would not be able to enjoy writing it, which would make the resulting work of low quality, which would be a huge waste of time for everyone involved.

Pedophilia- specifically, ships with a minor and an adult multiple years their senior. See above. 17yo x 18yo is pushing it, but depending on the circumstances, I might allow it. They aren't exactly in completely different phases of life there. However, I'm in my 20s and don't particularly want to think about or write about kids the age of my youngest brother dating people my age or older, you feel me?

Bigotry presented to the reader as a positive thing. I'm not gonna write your favorite heroic character declaring OOC that minorities are terrible people. If you want something from the POV of a character meant to be terrible, such as someone like Fire Lord Ozai in AtLA, however, I may be willing to write it.

I reserve the right to refuse any commission and not have to explain why. Person-to-person, though, this will likely only come up if someone tries to commission something that crosses these lines and refuses to acknowledge such.

Payment: 5¢ USD per word. This works out to…

$12.50 for 250 words

$25 for 500 words

$50 for 1K words

and so on.

I'll need half the payment up front as a deposit, then the rest upon completion. If, for whatever reason, I fail to write the commission, you will be refunded in full.

If you pay me for a given number of words, I will do my best to stick to it. I will make sure you at least get your money's worth, but if I just can't quite fit the writing into the given limit, I won't charge you for the extra words. Call it 100 words or so of wiggle room.

A commission for a fic 1K or larger that runs 100 words or less over the intended length will not cost extra

A commission for a fic between 500 and 999 words that runs 50 words or less over will not cost extra

A commission for a fic 499 words or below that runs 25 words or less over will not cost extra

A commission for a fic that has enough going on to run over that limit will result in me contacting you to ask for either a scaled-down plot or payment for the extra writing.

I will not consider calling a commission complete until I can hit the target wordcount at minimum.

If it should happen that I just can't make a scene stretch to the full wordcount, but you still want to keep what is written, the words that were not written will be refunded.

#writing commissions #writing comms open #id in alt text #atla #rottmnt #tmnt #gravity falls #gf #msa #mystery skulls animated #ninjago #steven universe #steven universe: future #animator vs animation #ava/m #sticks #su #suf #trike saga

[shoutaaizawas]

↳ aizawa shouta x reader → ❝cared for❞

summary: you are sick but your husband aizawa is always there to take care of you no matter what. word count: 1.4k+  tags/warnings: fluff and comfort a/n: i'm currently sick and my brain is super out of it so i hope this isn't terrible but i wanted to write something. now that im thinking of it i've actually done nanowrimo while i was sick, november isn't a good month for me lol anyways this was supposed to be a simple sick fic but i gave it a little depth. also i lost my taglist so if you want to be on it please message me.

masterlist

You were in denial. It was flu season but you could not possibly be getting a cold. The sore throat, just allergies. The runny nose, just from the cold weather. The fatigue that made you want to lay down forever, just because you had been working a lot.

You were not sick.

Aizawa on the other hand could see it before you had even noticed the symptoms. He was a teacher after all and nothing bred more illness than a school. Hero Academy included. He would suggest you get some extra rest or take something but you refused.

Pain pulsed in your skull, your throat burned and you had a cough that once it started didn’t stop. Not to mention the haze you were in, feeling disoriented and exhausted.

A hand touched your forehead as you lay in bed suffering the moments after waking up. “No fever, that’s a good sign,” Aizawa said sitting down, the weight of him on the bed next to you. “Sore throat?”

“Yeah,” You said, your voice barely working.

“Headache?” His voice was soothing, not too abrasive for your overwhelmed senses.

“Yeah,” It hurt to speak.

“Here’s some water,” He said helping you sit up to take a sip from your large water container you always toted around. You noted that he must have cleaned it out and refilled it since the water was icy.

“Thank you,” You said.

“Why don’t you take a hot shower, and change into your favorite bed clothes while I make you breakfast, yeah?” He said, his hand gently rubbing along your arm.

“Mhm,” You hummed. “Sounds nice.”

“Do you need help getting to the bathroom?” He asked.

“No,” You said sitting up, your head spinning for a moment. “Actually, maybe.”

Aizawa gave a soft small smile at your stubbornness even now. He helped you up, you were able to walk fine you just felt dizzy. He kept his arm around your shoulders just in case you got too dizzy.

“Thank you,” You said once you reached the bathroom, he made sure you were steady before leaving. You turned the shower water on hot before getting in. The warmth of the water did help your congestion and it was soothing. You stood there for way too long enjoying the steam before washing up. By the time you got out, there was a fresh warm towel and your favorite bedclothes folded on the counter. You smiled, Aizawa really spoiled you. Even more so when he knew you weren’t feeling good.

Returning to your bed you got back in, under the fluffy black comforter. You felt better even though taking a shower had been exhausting. Aizawa always knew best even when you didn’t want to admit it.

Aizawa returns with a tray table filled with food. You sit up, making sure the pillows are perfect as he sets down the tray. There’s miso soup with tofu and a bowl of rice as well as a cup of tea and medicine.

“Eat first and then take this medicine, it will help with the symptoms.” He said.

“Thank you, it looks good. I don’t know if I can taste though,” She joked.

“It will make you feel better that’s all that matters.” He said taking a spoonful of the soup before lifting it to your mouth.

If you told a younger version of yourself about this scene, your loving husband doting on you, feeding you soup, and bringing you everything you need while you’re sick. You would be shocked, perhaps even horrified.

For so long you had taken care of yourself through good and bad, you made yourself soup while you were sick. You pushed through it and did what you had to even if it meant passing out on the couch to take a nap in between taking care of yourself. You could never imagine letting someone dote on you to the point of feeding you.

Yet here you were. The journey had been long and not particularly easy. You could still remember the first time you had gotten sick, you denied it. Even as you struggled to stand, your face hot flushed with a fever. You had passed out and Aizawa carried you to bed. Even when you woke you tried to convince him you could get your own medicine and make your own soup. Aizawa had been patient but firm with you.

It had been hard to let someone take care of you but Aizawa made it easy. He was gentle and not condescending. It was so clear that everything he did was out of love, out of concern. It finally clicked when he had gotten sick, you wanted to do everything for him. You felt so helpless, you had wished you could take his pain away, even if it was just a cold.

Aizawa had struggled with being taken care of himself but with your new perspective, you had been able to convince him.

“I can get it myself,” He had said trying to get out of bed. You had pushed him gently back, he was too weak to resist.

“Remember when I was sick and trying to take care of myself?” You had asked. “You refused and took care of me. I still argued it then but now I get it.”

“Get it?” He questioned raising an eyebrow.

“I love you so much, I love taking care of you when you aren’t sick.” You said. “I hate seeing you like this the least I can do is take care of you since I can’t take this pain away.”

Your hand held his cheek, his dark eyes a bit hazy from the exhaustion of being sick but he was listening. “We aren’t alone anymore, we get to take care of each other, and accepting that care is just as much of a show of love as giving the care.”

Aizawa had smiled that warm smile of his and pulled you into a hug that did lead to you getting sick which meant you had to follow your own words by letting him take care of you when you were sick.

It was a process, learning to let someone care for you. He did it even when you weren’t sick, sometimes little things you almost missed like putting gas in your car or getting stuff off your grocery list. He never declared what he was doing looking for praise or fanfare. That didn’t mean you didn’t make a big deal out of it every time.

You did the same for him, the small things that helped daily life but you also loved shopping for him. The last thing Aizawa did was spoil himself. In fact, you weren’t sure you had ever seen him buy himself anything that was a luxury or a novelty. So you had taken it upon yourself to guess what things he might want if he ever did get it thought. You bought him fuzzy slippers with cats on them or a fictional book you thought he would like. Sometimes it was fancier things like cologne or a watch. Eventually, you got good at figuring out things he likes.

After eating your breakfast Aizawa took away the tray, leaving your tea on the bedside table. He returned and closed up the blinds making it dark in the room which made it a lot easier on your sensitive eyes. He crawled into bed with the remote putting on a show you had wanted to start for a while.

Despite how gross you looked and felt Aizawa pulled you in close, resting your head on his chest where you could still watch the show.

"You're gonna get sick," You mumbled against him, not exactly wanting him to move.

"I work at a school, my immune system is strong as it gets." He reassured you.

“If you get tired just sleep, I’ll pause the show.” He said softly, his hand rubbing your temple trying to alleviate the pain of your headache. “You need all the rest you can get.”

“Yes sir.” You said jokingly. You took his other hand in yours squeezing it gently. “Thank you again, for everything.”

“It’s nothing.” He dismissed.

“It’s everything,” You said moving his hand to your lips to press a kiss at the back of his hand. “You might want to wash your hand."

Aizawa laughed, your head moved against his chest.

“I love you,” He said.

“Love you more.” You replied.

#bnha x reader #aizawa x reader #shouta x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #mha x reader #bnha #mha #my writing #shout aizawa #aizawa shouta

[thefanficmonster]

please please please write something for Mickey altieri I love him sm

You know I love Mr. Altieri and I'm always happy to write for him 😉 Hope you enjoy this set of headcanons darling 💕

~ Lots of love, Vy 💌

Mickey Altieri having a crush on you in college would include:

You told yourself you wouldn't date in college - for many reasons

Obviously, piles of schoolwork and many hours of studying awaited you and you couldn't imagine yourself forfeiting your future and neglecting all that work for a significant other

But also the upcoming four years are exactly the years meant for being wild and you couldn't afford missing out on any of that due to a commitment to another person

But at this point life had rudely taught you that things rarely go as you hope and plan them to

One of the variables you didn't factor into your planning was Mickey fucking Altieri

The sleek bastard

You'd caught his eye from day one - orientation day, to be exact

He was very fond to see you in his film class and with a bit of asking around he found out you too are a film major

He wasted no time pulling out every flirting trick he can ever remember working on you

All to be dismissed and rejected each and every time

But he's a persistent man, well aware of his charm and charisma

"I'm not your type, I get it. How about we start over? Friends?"

"In your dreams, Altieri." You roll your eyes at his poorly disguised attempt at poking through your guard

"How come you know my last name?"

Your eyes widen before you can stop them

You've just exposed your own snooping agenda

You'd be lying if you said you didn't conduct your own research on this man

Sure, he's attractive, fun to be around, charismatic - magnetic, almost

And, contrary to his claim, just your type

But you refuse to give in

That is until you realize that giving him a chance doesn't automatically mean establishing a relationship

Rather a dynamic

One with the potential to be quite fun and exciting at best

Interesting and eventful at worst

So, when he tries one more time, offering you nothing more than his company to a sorority party

You shock him by agreeing, retorting with a time at which you required him to pick you up from your dorm building

And pick you up he does

You roll your eyes at the corny gesture of a bouquet - or the sorry excuse for one he'd picked up on his way across campus

Still, you can't help but find it endearing

"I knew you'd like me eventually" he is getting cocky, reaching even, but as long as he's able to get a laugh out of you he's satisfied

"Don't hold your breath. I just wanted to go to a party."

"Yeah but you could've gone with anyone else. Just admit you like me, hell won't freeze over."

You narrow your eyes at him a part of you regretting the decision to accept his offer while another corner of your brain is looking forward to the evening the two of you are about to have

"Over my dead body"

Little do you know, he could easily get that arranged

But he'd never do that, not to you anyway

"Ten bucks says they disappear to make out an hour into the party." Hallie says, peering over at Sidney as the two observe their friend meet up for something they adamantly claimed wasn't a date

"You're on." Sid agrees, both girls giggling as they get back to getting ready for the party

A party you and Mickey disappear from about forty-five minutes in, earning Hallie ten dollars

The rest is history - history filled with Mickey poking fun at how quickly your resolve crumbled

Because now, four months later, you're celebrating three months of officially dating

This is one of those rare occasions when life works out a lot better than you'd originally planned it

Some things are better off unplanned

The best things in life come as a surprise, after all

#scream movies #scream #scream 2 #scream mickey #mickey altieri #mickey altieri x reader #mickey altieri x you #mickey altieri fanfic #mickey altieri fanfiction #mickey altieri imagine #mickey altieri smut #mickey altieri headcanons #scream movie #scream franchise

[mystic-writings]

remember the nights | chapter six — stargazing

WORD COUNT — 1,772

WARNINGS — none

NOTES — ah yes, the iconic skeletal formula fic, which i taught myself how to write a skeletal formula and promptly deleted the info from my brain a week later

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

School was quickly becoming the bane of your existence. Between the economics test you and the others had all studied for last week — which you were extremely thankful for, as it helped your grade immensely — and the teachers grilling everyone about midterms, you were under more pressure than you’d ever felt, and were assigned more homework than you knew what to do with. 

Along with that came the fact that college admissions had finally opened up, and you were entirely unsure as to where you wanted to go. There were good schools in New York City, and for a very long time you had planned to go to one of them with all of your friends so that you wouldn’t have to pay as much for a dorm or an apartment. Now, though, you’d have to do that wherever you went, and you hadn’t been talking to your city friends as much, and you just weren’t sure what to do anymore. No matter how far you went, you’d have to get a dorm or an apartment, and if you chose to go out of state, that meant even more of a cost. 

Today, though, you were focusing on something that, overall, seemed small, but to you, was anything but. You invited Newt over to the house to help you attempt to understand the one subject that seemed to be out to kill your GPA — chemistry. He should be arriving at any minute, wielding his seemingly miraculous understanding of the science in order to help you with the ten homework questions that you’d been putting off since Thursday. 

Dinner had long been eaten and cleaned up, Thomas and Chuck had retreated to Chuck’s room to play video games for the rest of Chuck’s night, and your dad and Maggie were watching a movie in the living room. You were with them, sitting in the armchair and barely processing the movie as you waited patiently for Newt to show up. 

When the doorbell rang, you practically sprung from your chair, ignoring the chuckle your father let out as you did so. Newt greeted Maggie and your dad as you invited him inside, his school bag slung over one shoulder. He received a quick, warm welcome back from the couple as they kept their eyes on the movie.

Newt followed you upstairs as you led him into your room, keeping the door open — a rule firmly set by your dad when you told him about Newt’s coming over this afternoon, though you knew nothing that your dad was implying was going to happen between you and Newt. 

“I still don’t get how you don’t understand chemistry,” Newt said, dropping his bag by your bed and taking a seat on it. 

You scoffed, grabbing your textbook and homework supplies, sitting cross legged near the head of your bed. “Says the guy who was literally named after Isaac Newton.” 

“One, remind me to punch Gally when I see him tomorrow for telling you that,” Newt rolled his eyes, “and two, Isaac Newton was a mathematician, not a chemist. You’re thinking of Marie Curie.”

“Oh, like that makes such a big difference,” you dismissed him, grabbing your pencils. “You’re still named after a freaking genius.” 

Newt laughed, shaking his head before mirroring your position on the bed and diving into the material. 

Half an hour passed by as Newt explained the homework and everything that related to it, but it seemed as though your brain simply refused to process it. You’d only gotten three questions done, and you were twice as frustrated as you were when you first started. 

“How do skeletal formulas even work? I don’t get it.” You groaned, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. “Just write out the damn formula, give me a periodic table, and let me figure it out from there.” 

Newt couldn’t stifle his laughter. “It doesn’t quite work like that, Y/n,” he said, writing something out on his piece of paper and showing it to you. “Writing out a skeletal formula is just taking an outstretched version of a molecule and breaking it down into its functional groups and carbon.” 

He turned the paper back to him, writing something out, and underlining ‘2-butanol’ before getting back to work, explaining and showing it to you as he went along. “So, you see how I wrote out all the atoms connected to one another with these lines? C is carbon, H is hydrogen, and O is oxygen. The lines that connect the carbon together is the carbon skeleton, and OH — the oxygen and hydrogen — are the functional group, so they can stay, and so can the carbon.” 

Newt erased some things on the paper before the lead hit the paper, drawing out something new. “Take out all of the letters except for the OH, connect all the lines, and viola,” he showed you the paper with a smile. “A skeletal formula.” 

“Oh,” you nodded, “I still don’t get it.” 

Newt sighed, dropping his pencil onto his paper. “Honestly, I’m starting to think you’re a lost bloody cause.”

“Maybe I am.” You shrugged, glancing around your room before an idea came to your mind. “How about we take a break, do something else, and come back to this with fresh minds.” 

“Like what?”

You smiled, almost mischievously, nodding your head to the window across the room. “Wanna go look at the stars?”

Within minutes, you and Newt had pulled a blanket onto the roof of the garage, laying it out across the shingles in order to be comfortable. Newt had grabbed his jacket from where he put it on the back of your chair, and you brought out your comfiest sweater from your closet. 

Newt was already laying down comfortably by the time you’d gotten onto the roof again, his hands tucked under his head. You laid down in the spot to his right, eyes trailing up to the sky, mesmerized by the view. The quiet of a town already gone to sleep settled over the two of you, washing away the stress of high school chemistry and replacing it with the tranquility of a quiet town and a beautiful sky. 

“It’s so beautiful,” 

“Yeah, it is,” Newt’s voice nearly caught you off guard, as though you’d forgotten he was even there. 

When you turned to look at him, his eyes were already on you. 

Newt sucked in a breath, turning his gaze back to the stars. “I used to do stuff like this all the time when I was younger.” 

“I don’t think I’ve seen stars like this… well, ever.” You admitted. “Living in a big city, all that light pollution… The sky didn’t even get that dark at night. It just got sort of… reddish. It wasn’t even like it was really dark outside sometimes.” 

“Really?” Newt frowned. “I can’t even imagine something like that. When I was young, I had this obsession with the stars and constellations and stuff. Every chance I got, I’d ask my mum to buy me books about them. I even learned how to point out the bloody constellations from my bedroom window.” 

And, for the next little while, that’s what Newt did. For the better part of an hour, though it didn’t feel anything close to that long, Newt pointed up at the stars, rattling off star names, the names of the constellations that connected them, and some of the stories that people connected to them long ago. You watched him happily, soaking up everything he told you. You glanced at him more than you did the sky, though, as the look on his face was what had you truly enamored. The passion and joy gleaming in his eyes was worth the cold chilling you to the bone. 

The chill of the autumn air mixed well with the cadence in Newt’s voice, soothing you until, before you knew it, you were teetering in and out of sleep, balancing very carefully on that dangerous tightrope. 

When you finally found the strength to open your eyes, Newt had fallen silent, eyes locking with yours as a playful smile stretched onto his lips. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You fell asleep,” he laughed. 

“I did?”

“Yeah, about twenty minutes ago, I think,” he shrugged, sitting up. “We might wanna go inside now, though. I’ve gotta go soon, and we still have work to do.”

You groaned, dreading going back to the discarded chemistry textbooks on your bed, watching Newt push himself to his feet and extending two hands to help you stand. You accepted the help and quickly got to your feet, ignoring how warm his hands were in your ice-like ones. 

Still, you folded up the blanket and trudged inside after Newt, returning to your homework and doing your best to complete it within the half hour window you were left with until Newt had to go back home. Most of that time, however, had been spent joking around, mostly about how you were most definitely going to fail the class, until you decided to copy Newt’s homework, which is mainly what you’d been doing for most of the semester, anyway. 

You walked Newt to the door at ten minutes to ten o’clock. Most of the lights in the house were off, and your main guiding light was the TV as your father lay on the couch, passed out with some history docuseries playing absently in front of him. 

You opened the door for Newt, leaning against the frame with one hand on the doorknob after he passed through it and stepped onto the front porch. Just as he began to leave, you said, “Thanks, by the way,”

Newt turned, a playful smile on his face. “For what? Letting you copy my homework for the hundredth time?”

“No,” you scoffed a laugh, “for teaching me something, at least. I might not understand the shrouding mystery behind a skeletal formula, but I do know about the Greek mythology of Orion’s belt, and that’s gotta count for something.” 

Newt shrugged, his smile growing softer with each second. “No biggie. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.” You nodded, watching him descend your few stairs and head to his car, pulling away from the curb and heading home. 

Long after his headlights were gone from your sight, you headed inside with a sigh, resting your forehead against the wood of the door as you closed it. And even though the day ahead of you was just going to be another boring, monotonous day, you couldn’t help but be excited for it to begin.

series masterlist: @heliads @ghostofscarley @badbatch-simp24 @virginia-peters @third-broparcelicito @lamolaine (open!)

#remember the nights #newt x reader #newt tmr x reader #newt x you #newt x y/n #newt series #newt tmr series #newt fluff #the maze runner fanfiction #the maze runner x reader #au fic #high school au

[homerjacksons]

Fluffy February - @fluffyfebruary Day 25: Kiss Word count: 2,637 Fandom: Ripper Street Pairing: Homer Jackson/Edmund Reid AO3

A/N: This is a 5+1 fic!

All 5 "almost kiss" moments are inspired by actual canon events, little missing scenes I've decided to write in. However, I'm only up to the end of s1 in my rewatch and this starts at the end of s1 so...any inaccuracies are due to my goldfish brain, apologies.

The +1 at the end is a direct follow-up to day 3 in this collection, with the first line being the last line from that ficlet.

i

Jackson didn’t know what to do. His whole body was vibrating with pent up energy. The last 24 hours had been absolute hell, hell he’d been sure he wasn’t going to come back from. If he were being honest, he still wasn’t sure. If he were found guilty of being the Ripper, he would hang, no doubt about it.

“I’ll get you out of this,” Reid muttered, still leaning against the bars as though he refused to leave Jackson’s side. After all he’d done, he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

He sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair, pacing the length of his cell once more. He felt sick with it, with all he’d done, with all that was yet to come. He just wanted to rest, to fall into Susan’s arms and sleep, be at peace at last. He wasn’t sure if Susan would even have him, not really. They hadn’t had time to discuss what the day’s events meant for them. All he knew was he wanted–needed–to rest, preferably in the arms of someone he loved.

“Stop pacing, you’re giving me a headache,” Reid bit out.

“You don’t have to be here,” Jackson snapped back, pausing in front of him, just the bars between them and precious little air. “In fact, shouldn’t you be out there clearing my name?”

“Fine.” Reid sounded angry, put out, almost hurt as he pushed away from the bars and made to walk away. But Jackson caught him by the wrist before he could.

“Wait.” Reid stopped, turned to look at him, expression hard. “Are you hurt?”

“You arrived in time.”

“Let me take a proper look,” Jackson insisted, knowing he had to do something.

Reid hesitated a moment before reaching into his pocket for the keys to Jackson’s cell, and he released his hold on Reid’s wrist to allow him to unlock it and enter.

“Sit down.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Reid said, though he complied.

Jackson knelt before him, peeling back his collar to view the bruises at Reid’s neck, the slight cut where the cuffs had bit into flesh, fingertips trailing gently, reverently, over both. Reid sucked in a sharp breath as Jackson’s fingertips ventured to the edges of the scar at his shoulder and he pulled back, resting his hand over Reid’s chest, fingertips settling at the hollow of his neck.

Reid swallowed thickly, eyes downcast, and when he finally looked at Jackson, through his eyelashes rather than head on, Jackson’s breath caught in his throat. He knew why, knew his mind and his body well enough, he just wasn’t sure why now, why this moment, when so many others had passed before them, more charged and less emotionally fraught.

“I told you I am fine,” Reid said, voice a little huskier than before.

“Just had to see for myself.”

It would be so easy to lean in, to close the distance. What was one more crime tacked onto the long list added to his name today. If Reid didn’t want to kiss him, if Jackson was reading the moment all wrong, it wouldn’t fuck his life up any more than it already was. He thought about it, licked his lips, felt Reid lean in infinitesimally against his hand, that pressure almost like permission, but he pulled back at the last moment, patting Reid’s shirt down before standing once more.

“I am sorry, Reid,” he muttered, voice hoarse enough he had to clear it before continuing. “For all of it.”

For Hobbs, for running, for Goodnight, for Swift, for aiming a gun at him, at Drake, for his past, for what was likely to become of his future.

Reid didn’t respond. He just stood, making his way wordlessly to the door of the cell, casting one last, inscrutable look Jackson’s way before locking it behind him and striding off.

ii

For a brief moment, hope had lived inside his heart, hope that he'd see his little girl again, hold her in his arms, take her home where she belonged. For a brief moment, he'd felt so alive again. Then all his hopes had been dashed in an instant, everything he'd been clinging to had crumbled, and he was left floundering, left to pick up the pieces of his broken heart, his broken life, once more. 

Reid’s whole body shuddered as he suppressed a sob, leaning forward against his desk, letting it take most of his weight. His head hung low, breath hitching as he attempted to pull himself together.

He straightened as he heard the door behind him open, clearing his throat, though he couldn’t dash the damning wetness from his eyes before Jackson was beside him, one hand on his shoulder, the other covering his where it still gripped the desk.

“I am so sorry, Reid,” Jackson whispered, giving Reid’s hand a small squeeze.

It struck Reid as odd and yet fitting at the same time that it would be Jackson here comforting him, Jackson trying to help, and not his wife nor his best friend. He tried to offer Jackson a smile but it crumbled and he looked away, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Jackson eased him into a chair, never once fully removing his touch, whether it was a hand on his arm, his shoulder, his back. He shivered as Jackson took his hand again, kneeling before him.

“I dunno what to say, Reid,” Jackson whispered, offering a sad smile.

He watched as Jackson reached up, hand hovering by Reid’s face as though he were going to cup Reid’s cheek. And oh, how Reid wished he would in that moment. How he wished Jackson would touch him like that, how he wished he could lean into that touch, let Jackson soothe his pain, let Jackson press a gentle, comforting kiss to his lips. He craved it so suddenly his breath caught in his throat, but then Jackson's hand fell to his shoulder.

“Tell me what you need.”

Reid couldn’t, not really. His heart hammered against his ribs as he looked into Jackson’s eyes. Sometimes he was sure Jackson felt this too, this pull between them. But he also knew how Jackson felt about Susan, how he would choose her above all else, always. And quite rightly, too—Reid had no claim over him.

“Nothing, Jackson,” he said quietly, voice tight as it squeezed past the lump in his throat. “Go home, be with your wife.”

iii

“Jackson.”

Jackson hummed in response, forcing his head up enough to look at Reid. “Thought you were gone.”

“I, uh…” Reid trailed off, looking almost embarrassed, and that was interesting enough for him to lift his head properly and look Reid in the eye despite the way the room spun nauseatingly around him.

“I’m on it,” Jackson muttered, realising Reid wasn’t embarrassed at all, that he just looked impatient as always. “Was just restin’ my eyes so I don’t mess up the dose.”

“No,” Reid said softly, moving to kneel before Jackson, hand hesitating before settling on his shoulder. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Jackson snorted, vision swimming a little as he cocked his head to the side. “You've changed your tune.”

Jackson’s head lolled to the side and he was surprised when Reid’s hands came up to cup his cheeks, holding his head upright. Jackson blinked against the vertigo and met Reid’s intense gaze. He looked on the verge of something, eyes flitting across Jackson’s face, from his eyes to his lips and back again like he was struggling with something, though Jackson’s mind was too fuzzy to work out what.

“How can I help?” Reid asked quietly.

His thumb brushed against Jackson’s cheek, distractingly tender, and for a moment, all he could see was Reid’s lips as his heart hammered against his ribs. He tilted forward, unintentionally though he wouldn't be surprised if his drug-hazed brain had tried and failed to make a decision. Reid removed one hand from his face to settle on his chest, keeping him upright.

“‘M fine, Reid,” he murmured, realising it was best to remove himself from this situation before he did something he couldn’t take back. “Just need a coffee and a cigarette and I’ll be good to go.”

He patted Reid’s cheek clumsily before standing, staggering a little as he made his way to the door in search of both, leaving Reid bewildered in his wake.

iv

Jackson had never done this before, never shown up at Reid’s place. He only knew where the man lived on paper, had never even set eyes on the building though he’d thought about it often, thought about how it might feel to be welcome there any time.

He swallowed the lump in his throat before knocking.

He’d imagined showing up here, all casual nonchalance, a cigarette between his lips and a bottle of whiskey in hand. He’d imagined arriving with his arm about Reid’s shoulder, the two of them drunk and stumbling home, invited to spend the night on Reid’s couch, the thought of more teasing him behind closed doors. He’d imagined showing up here with false bravado and declarations he couldn’t take back. He’d imagined this so many ways, but none of them had involved him feeling broken with nowhere else to turn but the bottom of a bottle and a gutter down some dark alley.

The bottle had been tempting, he couldn’t lie, but the temptation of Reid was stronger, the ache in his heart yearning to be soothed in some way no matter how hard it was to picture Reid caring for him.

“Jackson?” Reid asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He straightened, swallowed, aimed for a smile then sighed, realising he couldn’t be assed, and braced himself against the door frame instead. “Susan threw me out.”

Jackson was sure he saw a smile tugging at Reid’s lips for just a moment before it was gone in a flash, concern pulling his brow together as he wordlessly led Jackson inside.

“Drink?”

“Please,” Jackson replied, voice catching on that one, simple word, making him sound utterly desperate.

Reid poured them both a drink while Jackson hovered, uncertain and entirely out of his depth. He handed Jackson his glass and led him to the couch, sitting down, gesturing for Jackson to do the same.

He downed a large mouthful of the drink, relishing the burn, hoping it would stop his hands from shaking, but he had no such luck. He gripped the glass tighter, frustration bubbling inside him, and just as he was beginning to wish he’d not come here, not sought comfort where he’d never find any, Reid gently pried the glass from his hands, placing it aside before taking both Jackson’s hands in his own.

“I’m sorry,” Jackson whispered before Reid could say anything, shame bubbling up inside him.

“You’ve nothing to apologise for,” Reid said softly, giving his hands a small squeeze.

Jackson chanced a glance at Reid and his heart stuttered at the look of open affection and compassion he saw there, something he so rarely saw on Reid’s face, certainly not aimed at him.

It wasn’t the first time he was overcome with the urge to close the distance between them and press his lips to Reid’s, but this somehow felt the most dangerous, the most emotionally charged.

He swallowed, leaning in a little, hesitating as he tried to gauge Reid’s reaction. He thought Reid was going to lean in too, meet him halfway. He was sure as he watched Reid lick his lips, watched as his eyes darted to Jackson’s mouth before darting away again. He hovered, about to close the distance, when Reid sat back, letting go of Jackson’s hands with a quick pat.

“I’ll make up a bed for you,” Reid said, and he’d left the room before Jackson’s thoughts had even caught up.

v

Reid bristled, but he thrilled all the same to hear Jackson tease him once again, a response that was insanity, he was sure, but one he was so tired of fighting. So he dared to ask the question, dared to, in a roundabout way, attempt to get to the point, to finally stop, once and for all, their endless dancing around one another.

He found himself leaning in, unable to help it, as Jackson’s hand settled on his back, as Jackson leaned into his space. He breathed in deeply, eyes only leaving Jackson’s briefly to dart to his lips before locking eyes with him once more.

And then Jackson moved away, left Reid hovering in his wake, lips tingling with anticipation, with something that had yet to pass.

“We needle, we goad, because if we did not we would be forced to speak the truth.”

Reid swallowed at Jackson’s words, heart hammering against his ribs, barely daring to hope they may be on the same page.

He trailed Jackson, almost unconsciously. “Suppose for just one moment that was not–” He was brought to a sudden stop as Jackson thrust a drink between them and into Reid’s hands, causing his heart to stutter as their fingertips brushed. He forced himself to continue, barely holding his composure. “Suppose for one minute that was not the case. What would the truth say?”

He looked into Jackson’s eyes, willing him to understand, to play along, to finally put an end to the tension that seemed to be bubbling between them since the day they met. He was not quite brave enough to take that leap on his own, was not brave enough to kiss the man before him or confess to any feelings without the assurance that it was safe to do so, that Jackson felt the same, or at the very least, would not turn away from him.

“The truth?” Jackson started, and Reid had to remember to breathe. “That the good councillor fits with you. That the two of you look right together. And that I am sorry that your life is not less…complex.”

Reid’s heart dropped to his stomach, a chill crossing over him as a lump formed in his throat. He had been sure, so sure, that Jackson would infer his meaning. But perhaps he had. Perhaps he knew exactly what Reid was trying to say and was letting him down gently, safely, a way that they could both come back from, could continue on as though nothing had happened.

Because nothing had happened.

He swallowed down his disappointment, glancing at Jackson’s lips for just a brief moment before downing his drink in one, letting it wash away the hurt.

+

“C’mere, then,” Jackson said, laughter still in his voice as he crooked a finger at Reid. “I can find better ways to entertain you.”

Jackson laughed at the stunned look on Reid’s face, unable to hold it in, pure joy rising inside him. He’d spent so long second guessing himself, spent so long convincing himself that loving Reid was a fool’s errand, doomed from the start, could never come to anything.

But there Reid was, his love so clearly etched into every feature, every inch of his face brimming with affection, and Jackson couldn’t believe he’d convinced himself otherwise. There had to have been moments where Reid had looked at him like that, as though he’d hung the moon, as though his existence was something magical, but it had never been there long enough for him to convince himself he hadn’t imagined it.

Then here Reid was, watching him work, adoration so clear on his face that Jackson almost, almost, felt a fool for having never had the courage to act before.

He cupped Reid’s face in hands, sliding one hand back into his hair. He brushed his thumb across Reid’s lips, faces inches apart.

“I thought—I thought—you rebuffed me and—“

“Shut up, Reid,” Jackson whispered, cutting him off with a kiss.

#ripper street #edmund reid #homer jackson #jackmund #my writing #fanfiction #fluffy february

[soapskneebrace]

Finally finished the damn thing. I kept some notes but they all boil down to one point: the turnaround for this game must have been no more than six months. Nine maximum. And it shows.

I don't even know where to start. The scripting, the pacing, and the entire plot were slapshod. And it's almost as if the game refuses to make sense for the sake of contrarianism; it feels like it would accuse me of being stupid for not getting why everyone likes Rick and Morty. I could evaluate it plot beat for plot beat but I'm on four hours of sleep and frankly? I'd like to move on with my life. This is a demon I've meant to exorcise for months and the damn thing is nearly out of me. So here are my main points.

The script is heavy handed. It's like every line the actors spit out around a mouthful of gravel were written first to be trailer soundbytes and second to be dialogue. No one talks the way these characters talk, not in real life and certainly not in the games they've starred in previously. It's all workable enough, if you're thirteen and playing this game with one hand on the controller and the other around your penis, but for the rest of the population it's pure schlock.

Makarov is a nothing burger of a villain. We are constantly—CONSTANTLY—told how dangerous he is, how competent he, is how brilliant he is, and yet every scene he's in I fail to be compelled. He is the most generic of megalomaniacal idealogues; every villain speech he gives sounds like tumblr dom dirty talk, or maybe reddit whining. I can't help but compare him to Valeria of Modern Warfare 2. In very few scenes, Valeria compels us with the force of her personality; she owns every interaction she inhabits, shows us that she is every bit the bloodthirsty narco we've been told she is. It's easy to believe the she could have accomplished everything she did. Makarov, meanwhile? The most he does is tell everyone how stupid they are and how he's going to win in the end.

Nothing new happens. Makarov is engaging in chemical warfare like MW2019's Barkov. Every gameplay map is lifted from MW2's multiplayer. The ULF is being scapegoated again for terrorism committed by Russian forces. Even Graves and his fucking missiles are in this game. I have the strongest feeling that this game was developed entirely in crunch, with so little time to write it that treading old ground was the only way the writing team could meet their deadlines. The only exception to this is Soap's death, which honestly gave the impression that the writers needed to make SOMETHING dramatic happen, if only to defibrillate an audience that had not been marketed to enough to even be all that interested in this game.

In all I shouted "FUCK OFF" at this game multiple times. I can count on one hand the number of things I liked about this campaign and I really, truly could not tell you what those things are right now because my brain is fried. The result of less than a year of development is an amateurish second draft of a game that I've thought of more than once as a lost orgasm. Briefly, before I spent these five hours watching and reacting (and pausing to take ibuprofen), I considered trying my hand at doing a basic plot rewrite, but it is not. Worth. It.

I stand by what I suggested earlier this year/late last year—the game should have ended with Price's death—but now on the other end of this experience I don't care enough about MW3 to give it that kind of dignity. I'll sign off this review with what I've been saying since the start:

DON'T BUY THESE FUCKING GAMES.

#mw3 live reaction #my only consolation is that soap truly looks amazing in some scenes

[ohwynne]

When Wynne asked if she had anything to give to Regan, Jade considered passing. After all, they parted ways forever, right? No hard feelings. Regan was adamant there would be no other way to reach her, refusing to disclose the address where banshees got their correspondence. This was breaking the rules, so to speak. And Jade loved breaking dumb rules, but she always respected Regan’s decision over everything.

But there was still conflict in Jade’s heart, so she consulted with her cats over the following days. Concluding, thanks to Lullaby’s wise input, that she couldn’t pass up on the opportunity to reach out. Except, she had nothing to give Regan, nothing she hadn’t already taken with her. More consulting was needed for Jade to have her lightbulb moment. See, there wasn’t a thing Regan needed from her currently, not with Wynne and Elias going after her. But in the future, maybe, possibly, if something came up and minds suddenly changed (as unlikely as that was to ever happen), she wanted Regan to know where she stood. 

Jade figured a change of mind wouldn’t be enough for Regan’s stubborn ass to leave Ireland and what she believed to be her duty behind. No, Jade knew she’d try to make it work, somehow. No matter how miserable she felt. So Jade wanted to give Regan a hand, all the way from Wicked’s Rest, on the chance that Regan felt like her own desires didn’t matter enough to tip the scales. Regan had always been a little weak for Jade’s big-brained logic, hadn’t she? So she ended up handing Wynne a small envelope before they left for Ireland. The outside read: “Break in case of emergency”, and then below, “DO NOT break. OPEN” for Regan and Wynne’s more literal brains.

If Regan were to ever open the envelope, she’d find… a letter. It starts with a dramatic opening, “Regan. Hey…if you are reading this it means [del: I‘m]… things are not looking good”.

“Things might be super mega bad, right now, actually. And I know you wanna stick to your guns, I know you think there’s a way to turn this around and make it work. A last-second 3-pointer that’s gonna fix it all and make your granny cheer (I watched Space Jam, I think that’s how basketball works). I almost wanna believe in you, cause that’s all I do. But please… hear me out. Ireland isn’t the end of it. You can do what you must do here. I should’ve said it. You should’ve stayed. I wanted you to. But that’s not why I’m writing to you. I want you to stop thinking about everyone else but yourself. You are a person too. [del:You’re my] But if you can’t think about you, think about me, okay? You enjoy doing that a lot too.” 

The message is followed by a list titled: “69 reasons why we should be together (number 69 will make your jaw drop)”. Jade started the list months before Ireland was even on the horizon, back when Regan was still pretending there was nothing going on between them. She never planned on finishing it, cause she got the girl, but desperate times called for desperate measures. 

The list… is a bit of a mess. Parts heartfelt, part inside jokes, the numbers are not in order, cause, why would they, it’s Jade? Number 12 talks about both of them being nosy, which totally means they would have all the tea about the town, followed by Number 36, a simple “We can share clothes”. Number 20 is “You need someone to watch whales decompose with, I happen to have my Google alerts on”. Number 69 is just a winky face, but number 66 says, “bog sex might happen”. Number 17 mentions how opposites attract, while Number 18 points out that they’re more similar than either wants to admit. Number 52 is “We’d never run out of things to talk about”. Number 47 is “Porcupines deserve to be held too, in fact, they might need it more than others”. Number 10 reads, “Chemistry that should be studied in a lab, actually”, and Number 2, “I’d give up on hearing music for the rest of my life if that meant hearing your voice whisper my name again”.

At the bottom of the list, there’s Number 1, and it says: “I love you, and you love me. That’s not changing in this lifetime. So not doing something about it? Super irresponsible”

The letter ends with,

“Prove me right”. 

Wynne has taken the envelope to Ireland and has not opened or broken it, even if there were some emergencies. The letter is left in Regan’s clinic, as mentioned in Dead End.

#submission. #jade. #dead end. #ireland.

[haledamage]

Past, Present, Future

I was planning to write something a little more seasonally-appropriate, but stumbled across a WIP that my brain decided to latch onto instead. So, uh… Happy Life Day?

@queen-scribbles gave me this prompt in a conversation we had well over a year ago, and I’ve finally finished it 😅 the specific request was something along the lines of “LET THEM SMOOCH ALREADY DAMMIT” for Qora/Arcann, and the prompts were:

“don’t leave, illusion, too loud, or harsh whisper”

I’m not sure where exactly this fits on the timeline, but definitely later on in-game. probably post-Echoes of Vengeance, but I… haven’t actually finished that questline yet, so there should be little to no spoilers 😆 ~2.5k words, trigger warning for abuse/violence against children, because this is Qora and Arcann we’re talking about

---

“Again.”

The overseer’s stern voice echoed through the chamber, seeming to come from everywhere at once.

The training room was dark beyond the platform Qora stood in the center of, giving her the illusion that she was alone. But she wasn’t. She knew she had an audience, but who they were or how many, she had no idea. The whole Academy could’ve been watching, and she wouldn’t know the difference.

The sweet-metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, along with the acrid odor of sweat and the ever-present ozone tang of lightning.

There was blood in her mouth, too. Her lip was bleeding sluggishly, split by a lucky blow… five fights ago? Six? She’d lost count.

Four acolytes stepped out of the shadows to join her on the platform. They were all older than her - most of the other acolytes were - and they were all armed.

Qora tightened the grip on her own practice blades, the handles digging into her palms. Her combat stance was steady, even if the rest of her didn’t feel it.

“Begin.”

The first acolyte lunged too quickly, too eager for the kill, and didn’t have the safety of numbers to protect him. One hard strike to the jaw, and he was on the floor before the others had even started moving.

The second and third were smart enough to attack together, both rushing her in tandem. Their swords were a blur of motion, almost too fast to follow, but she managed to keep them at bay. When the larger of the two raised his blade for what was meant to be an incapacitating blow, Qora reached out with the Force and dragged the smaller one between them. The blow took her opponent out instead. After that, the other one was dispatched easily.

The fourth snuck up behind her as soon as Two and Three were down. The pommel of his sword slammed into the back of her skull.

Her vision went white. She lashed out on instinct, swinging her blade in the direction the blow had come from.

She heard her opponent hit the mat, and followed right after him.

It was over almost as soon as it began.

“Again.”

The overseer’s voice sounded farther away, hard to hear over her own too loud heartbeat. Static hissed at the edges of Qora’s vision, and her eyes refused to focus. She could feel her consciousness slipping, and clung to it with everything she had.

“Again.”

The repeated order was a threat. A concussion would be the least of her worries if she didn’t stand up soon, but her legs refused to obey her orders.

A hand appeared in what remained of her field of vision, and Qora snapped her head up. Forcing herself to focus past the pain, she followed the arm up to… a boy. 

A boy she knew--though she wasn’t sure how she knew him. 

He looked to be around twelve or thirteen, the same age as her, with the same buzzed hair that she and all the other younger acolytes had, and gentle, pale blue eyes. The fine white robes he wore were much different than the grays and blacks the rest of them had, and contrasted so sharply against their dark surroundings that he almost seemed to glow.

“On your feet, Qora,” he said in a soft, raspy voice, his words firm but not demanding. “The next wave won’t wait for you to recover.”

“They never do,” she replied dryly. Her own voice sounded unfamiliar to her ears, a Corellian drawl instead of the crisp edges of Dromund Kaas. Like someone had filed all the corners off of her accent. She hadn't sounded like that in a long time.

She shook off the thought and took the offered hand, letting him help her to her feet. He didn’t flinch away from the cold metal of her prosthetic, or from the way she stumbled as her bruised and battered limbs protested the change in position. He just held on and let her take her time steadying herself.

He only let her go once he was sure she could stand on her own. “Are you alright?”

Part of her wanted to laugh at the question, no matter how sincere it was, but she bit it back. Instead, she said, “You shouldn’t have come here, Arcann. It’s not--not safe to be around me. Especially not here.”

“Just try and stop me.” Despite her warning and his challenge in response, Arcann carefully cupped the back of her head. The pain eased immediately in a warm yellow glow and a muted hum of the Force. “Unless you’d rather face them on your own?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“That is not what I asked.”

“...No.” Qora felt guilty as soon as the word was out. It was stupid and selfish and Arcann was going to get hurt because of her, but it was too late to take it back. “Please don’t leave me here alone.”

“Never.” His hand slid from the back of her head along her jaw, until his thumb brushed her bottom lip. Another whisper of Force healing, and there was no evidence of the split lip besides the blood in her mouth. “There is nowhere I would rather be than by your side.”

There was a sound of boots scuffing against stone as someone else approached, and Qora and Arcann turned in tandem, shifting until they stood back to back. Blindly, she reached back and pressed one of her swords into his hand.

He squeezed her hand before taking the offered weapon. “You know this is a dream, right?” he murmured, as six new acolytes stepped into the light with them.

“Yes.” She knew it the same way she knew Arcann’s name, knew the difference in her own accent. “Doesn’t make it less real.”

Further conversation was halted as the overseer’s voice snapped “Begin,” and the acolytes closed in.

Qora and Arcann moved as one, staying back to back in the center of the platform. When one of their assailants rushed toward Arcann’s left, Qora spun to intercept, knowing his vision was limited on that side--or would be, someday, in a future far from this place--and caught the oncoming vibrosword with her own before it could make contact. She took that one down with a sharp elbow strike to the jaw.

A second acolyte took advantage of her momentary distraction and threw their sword, sending it in a Force-aimed arc toward her now-unguarded side.

Arcann snatched it out of the air without even looking, still holding back another two opponents with his other hand. He presented Qora the hilt with a small, playful flourish. “Your weapon, my lord.”

She laughed, exultant and a touch manic, as she swept the sword out in front of her, sending another opponent scrambling backwards to avoid it. It was the first time the Academy walls had ever heard her laughter, even in dreams.

The remaining assailants didn’t stand a chance. They were on the floor before they had time to react.

“How many more are there?” Arcann asked, when they were alone again. He hadn’t even broken a sweat yet, that first round barely enough to make him breathe faster.

“However many it takes.”

“Again,” the overseer called out, but neither of them heeded the implied threat this time. Qora was no longer afraid, now that Arcann was by her side.

“Takes for what?”

“For me to learn my lesson.” She stepped away from him toward the edge of the platform. From there, she could just barely see past the heavy darkness to the dozens of faceless, nameless acolytes that still waited for their turn. Far more of them than there’d ever been while she was a student (a prisoner, a gladiator, a slave) at the Academy.

She felt when Arcann stepped up beside her, though his footsteps made no sound. “Is this training, or a punishment?”

She laughed again, empty, humorless, bitter. “You’d be surprised how often the two coincide.”

“No. I would not.” The anger in his voice was a distant thing, an echo of past rage rather than something fresh. His hand gently covered hers, easing the white-knuckled grip she still had on the vibroblade. “This isn’t your life anymore, Qora. You don’t have to keep fighting.”

The sword fell from her hand, and she reached out to cling to him instead. “This is who I am. What I was made for.”

“Not anymore.” He tugged on her hand, coaxing her to turn around. When she did, his other hand settled over her cheek, the warmth of his touch comforting in the chill of the training arena. “It’s time to wake up.”

Qora awoke with a gasp to find herself in the familiar confines of her quarters on Odessen. The blankets were hopelessly tangled around her legs. The cluttered shelves and tables nearest the bed were in disarray from the Force reacting to her emotions, some of their contents spilling onto the floor.

Arcann’s arm tightened around her waist, and just his presence was enough to clear her mind and slow the panicked flurry of her heart. Without a word, she rolled over and pressed her face into his shoulder.

His hand traveled up and down the length of her spine, gentle and soothing but firm enough to anchor her. With every caress, the Academy fell farther away.

Eventually, she felt calm enough to pull back, if only just far enough to see his face. The look she found there was patient and understanding, embers of anger shining in his eyes but very clearly not directed at her.

“Sometimes it feels like no matter how far I travel, part of me will always be twelve years old, alone in that pit,” she confessed quietly. Arcann’s anger flared a little brighter, but he didn’t interrupt. “It was supposed to break me. So they could reforge me into something more useful. I guess in some ways, it did.”

She certainly didn’t bear any resemblance to the child she’d been before the Sith took her, that little girl who crawled through Corellian junkyards for scraps she could turn into art. Sweet little Qora, who could fix anything you brought her, be it a speeder or a teddy bear or a broken arm. She liked to think that girl might have become a healer, if she’d been able to join the Jedi like she was meant to.

Qora let her hands wander, fingertips tracing the lines of scars on Arcann’s shoulder and chest, following the edge of where warm skin and firm muscle gave way to the cool metal of his cybernetics.

“This happened on Korriban, too, didn’t it? Not long before we met.” It wasn’t really a question, and she didn’t really expect an answer, but she got one anyway.

“Yes.” He caught her hand and stopped its further exploration, pressing it flat over his heart. “And they paid dearly for it. My brother and I made sure of that.”

“Good. I hope you burned it all down,” she said in a harsh whisper. She hoped Arcann and Thexan had reduced the entire planet to ash, every tomb, every temple, every overseer, every blasted k’lor’slug crushed under the might of the Eternal Empire. “Not even the memory of that place deserves to be left standing.”

Rage burned so hot in her chest that it hurt to breathe, and she shook with the effort to push it down. Tears blurred her vision and stung the corners of her eyes, but Qora refused to let them fall. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of her tears, even when they weren’t here to see it.

Arcann didn't reply, but instead rolled them over so that she was on her back, his body caging her in and pressing her down into the mattress. It grounded her, forcing her out of the past and back into her own body, driving away all thoughts of Korriban and the Academy and the shadows of the training room.

He kissed her then, slow and deep, demanding her attention to be on him and him alone. That was a command she was more than happy to follow. The fire in her chest receded, replaced by a much more pleasant warmth that built and spread through her under his skillful guidance, and the tremor in her hands abated when she cupped his face between them.

It was only when the mood started to shift from comfort to desire, kisses turning heated and hands starting to roam, that Arcann broke away. He was breathing harder just from kissing her than he had been at any point in the nightmare they’d just escaped.

“They will never touch you again. I swear it,” he vowed, deep voice solemn and utterly sincere.

“I believe you.” She exhaled a long breath, releasing the last lingering tension with it, and drew him back down enough for their foreheads to touch. “Thank you, Arcann. I needed to hear that.”

No matter what the Sith Council thought, or the machinations of whoever they’d decided to blindly follow this week, she was beyond their reach now. She had no doubt that if they tried to subjugate her again, they would learn their lesson the hard way. And Arcann would be among the first in line to teach it to them.

She was grateful that he was so willing to remind her of that, when she needed it.

Qora let out another sigh and slid her hands up to the back of his neck, playing idly with the hair at his nape. It was only barely long enough to run her fingers through, but she adored it. Both for what it represented for Arcann’s healing and growth and because it was just… pretty. His hair was silky soft to the touch, and the warm caramel color made his eyes appear an even brighter blue. It warmed her heart every time she looked at him, to see this visible proof of how far they’d come.

They should probably talk about what had just happened, she knew that, but she wasn’t in any hurry to broach the subject and reopen those wounds for the second time in one night. It’s not like this was their first time sharing dreams, anyway, even if none of the others had been quite so… authentic. Dwelling on it wouldn’t solve anything.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” There wouldn’t be any more rest for her tonight, but that didn’t mean Arcann had to suffer on her account. “There are still a few hours until--”

“No.” How he could put so much intention into a single syllable, she’d never know, but when combined with the heated look he gave her, it was enough to make her shiver. 

“Oh?” she said in feigned innocence, even as she lightly scraped her nails against his scalp. It earned her a low rumble that she felt more than heard, something between a warning growl and a contented purr. “Did you have something else in mind?”

His smile was soft, and so was the kiss that followed it; neither did anything to dim the desire burning in his eyes.

“The past will always haunt us, in one form or another.” He took one of her hands in his and slowly led it down from his neck and over his shoulder, his chest, his ribs, lingering on a scar there.

It was one Qora knew very well. And she should--after all, she’d put it there herself. During their last fight, when she’d “defeated” him. She brushed her thumb over the thin, raised line; such a small souvenir from something that had been so important.

Arcann only let her linger for a few seconds before moving on, guiding her deliberately lower. His lips grazed her cheek before finding firmer purchase on the sensitive spot under her ear. “There is no need for us to give it more power than it already has. I would rather… appreciate what’s right in front of me.”

“By all means. Appreciate away.” Her breath hitched when he kissed the hollow of her throat, ruining any attempt at keeping her tone light and teasing. She gave it up as a lost cause, and surrendered completely to him, and to whatever came next.

#swtor #arcann #qora/arcann #qora rhiannon #rhi writes #everyone reading these tags go thank cait for giving me these prompts #even though she did so in *checks notes* march 2022 and it took me this long to finish it #long-haired!arcann lives rent free in my mind after seeing art of it once so now I’m inflicting that on everyone else #(his hair isn’t long YET here but it will be eventually :3 maybe when he returns during old wounds I like that) #there may be a version of this that uh. doesn’t end there 😳 maybe I'll post that separately but this had already wandered off-plot enough #there's also half-finished variations with other memories. qora's and arcann's. but some of those are MUCH more painful #I guess that's what sequels are for :3 #(yes *technically* qora rejoined the empire during jedi under siege but she doesn't consider it actually returning to the sith #since she was a double-agent and all) #okay that's enough tag essays if you're still reading I love you and happy life day <3

[squarebracketsmileyface]

A Pearl by Mitski is kinda post Jaylex into Jam territory if you think about it.

Hello? Mind reader?? You are so correct???

This is even better mind reading because of what I was writing like right before I remembered i had this ask and wanted to answer it and shit. Like???? This is very much post Jaylex and into Jam, BUT it is also post Jaylex the first time they "broke up" oh my god.

Hang on, I'll explain it with the lyrics lol

Lyric analysis time because for some reason this is like my favourite thing to do when I wanna think about sorry its locked but can't actually write it for whatever reason.

You're growing tired of me You love me so hard and I still can't sleep You're growing tired of me And all the things I don't talk about

SO ABOUT THAT POST JAYLEX'S FIRST 'BREAK UP' ehehhehehehehehheheh. Right, so, after Alex started dating Amy in college, Jay did (eventually) start trying to, like, date and have sex with other people. He never really managed to date anyone, it was always just not-quite-actually-casual casual sex. And they always ended up getting tired of Jay, because they were trying their best and he was hung up on Alex still (and would be for the next rest-of-his-life) And Jay never actually talked to them about why he was the way he way, just learned to warn them ahead of time to try and scare them away so that he wouldn't end up getting hurt when they inevitably got too upset with him over something and broke it off with him.

And, obviously. Yeah, Jam. Jay's so worried that the same thing that happened with Alex and all the other people is gonna happen with Tim, and if it did it'd probably break him even worse than Alex did, honestly. Purely because the stuff with Tim would stack on top of the stuff with Alex and they'd become one thing and Jay would just not know how to deal with that literally at all.

Sorry, I don't want your touch It's not that I don't want you Sorry, I can't take your touch

Pre first Jaylex break up. Yeah. One of the reasons Jay got broken up with by at least one person was that they were meant to behaving casual sex, and Jay went through a period of time where he just, really really couldn't. Which like, fair, and fair i guess for the person being like, yeah i'll go find someone else to have sex with. but also they did it in a nasty way so never mind, fuck them lmao. (I just love putting Jay through shit lmao, I'm so sorry to that poor guy, I need to write a lil fluffy oneshot of him and Tim just being okay)

It's just that I fell in love with a war Nobody told me it ended And it left a pearl in my head And I roll it around every night Just to watch it glow Every night, baby, that's where I go

Ow. Just. Ow.

Cos, yeah, Jay did. He really, really did fall in love with a war didn't he? That whole relationship with Alex was just this constant series of battles with himself and his feelings for Alex, and battles with Alex himself because of how he treated Jay and how Jay wanted to be treated. And his brain can't fully comprehend that Tim's not going to just be the exact same as everyone else, the exact same as Alex. And the thing is that Tim IS going to be different, but they're not going to have enough time for Jay's head to actually wrap itself around that so that he can believe it.

And obviously, they never could get enough time, because of all the shit with the operator, but Tim at least is holding out hope that they'll both survive is and they'll get the time afterwards.

Sorry, I don't want your touch It's not that I don't want you Sorry, I can't take your touch

Jay's so scared that having issues with intimacy is gonna fuck up his chances with Tim, but it wont. Logically he knows it wont (and I refuse to make them angsty enough that Jay wouldn't bother to say no if he didn't wanna do something) but there is still this little part of his head that says that if he goes too long not wanting to have sex, it'll somehow fuck something up.

There's a hole that you fill You fill, you fill

Also I fully intend for Jay to be very unhealthy about Tim :] Just like he was very unhealthy about Alex (especially back in college)

Poor guy's gonna fucking idolize Tim once he realizes Tim really really actually likes him. Which, y'know. Not good. Thankfully Jay's lil eventual obsession or whatever it is (idk, a hyperfixation on a person? that's what I called it. Basically, pretty much every waking thought Jay has is somehow about Tim/reminds him of Tim, if Tim is even slightly in a bad mood Jay assumes it's because of him and gets viciously terrified that Tim's going to leave him and hate him forever, he'd accept any kind of 'penance' or punishment from Tim for whatever he did wrong, if anything bad happens to Tim Jay get's violently enraged and wants to 'fix it' the quickest way possible, etc. He basically feels like Tim is perfect and he can't live without him. idk if that makes sense? I'm tired and never figured out what the fuck this thingy is, but i'm giving it to Jay)

Tim is Jay's missing piece, and Jay's going to hack at his own edges to make sure that Tim fits him, just like he did back in college to try and make Alex fit him.

He's just made up of pieces of himself and other people that he sawed off and cobbled together to make sure that the person he was in love with would perfectly 'complete' and 'fix' him.

But it's just that I fell in love with a war And nobody told me it ended And it left a pearl in my head And I roll it around every night Just to watch it glow Every night, baby, that's where I go Just to watch it glow

goddamnit now i wanna plan a fic to dive into Tim and Jay's relationship after sorry its locked and before Jay dies, just so I can make Jay not okay and Tim not okay, but their brand of not okay works well enough for the short amount of time they have together. If Jay lived they'd have the worlds messiest break up oh my god lmao.

why do i torture them like this?

#Also like oh my god i've been looking for this song for so fucking long because meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee lmao #honestly tho. this is such a perfect song for Jaylex as a whole. and the start of Jam #Mostly it's about Jay just being very unhealthy about all the people he falls in love with #he can't be fixed in the amount of time he has left. but if he lived and didn't end up running the fuck away from Tim i think he could heal #and still stay in a relationship with Tim. but itd be really hard and a LOT of work #they could do it. but also sorry its locked has everyone who dies in canon die in it. because i love the angst of: #“Jay dies in Alex's arms because he can't deny himself the chance to be held by Alex one last time” and: #Alex goes to Tim for help dying because he literally can't kill himself and he's so broken over having to kill Jay that he doesn't care #anymore. And he knows Tim has managed to live with the Operator sickness. so if anyone is left alive. yeah it should be Tim #That's too much words in the tags woops #marble hornets #marble hornets fanfic #alex kralie #tim wright #marble hornets fanfiction #jay merrick #jaylex #mh jam #MH sorry its locked

[shamera]

NaNo day 21

...i took the day off writing yesterday and used my free time to read, whoops. it seems my brain doesn't want to do the writing thing anymore, so i moved back to the time loop story!

short update, but i think i just missed dfs even if he sure didn't miss me and the frustration i like to put him through.

“Here,” Di Feisheng indicated on the map Wuyan brought. “Cross out all the places above. And one more thing.”

Wuyan didn’t dare object, and bowed before he left.

— 

“Where is everyone?” Fang Duobing asked as they walked through the village. He was peering around, craning his neck around corners as if the townsfolk were merely playing a game that he might win should he find them. It was strange mostly because there were stalls already out, and some food gone cold yet no people to eat or man the area. 

On an otherwise brisk but beautiful day, the entire village was silent. 

“Who knows?” Di Feisheng offered casually, looking away specifically. He didn’t have to look back to know that Li Lianhua was giving him a suspicious stare, but by the time he glanced back at the others, the physician was already studying one of the empty tables with interest. 

Li Lianhua ran a finger down the wooden grain of the table, and then lifted it up to check, rubbing his fingers together. 

“There’s ash,” he said with surprise, bringing his hand up to sniff delicately. “Trace amounts, but something was burnt here earlier. Not too long ago. The people might have evacuated thinking there was a fire.”

“Very effective.” Di Feisheng observed. 

Li Lianhua gave him another look, but didn’t comment further on the words. “I suppose we’ll have to investigate the area for today and wait until the people come back to ask about the missing travellers.”

“Tomorrow?” Fang Duobing’s voice was dismayed, but he merely scowled as he crossed his arms. “I’d rather take care of it today.”

Li Lianhua flicked his fingers. “There’s no rush.”

They searched through the village with far less hassle this time around, but also coming up with far less clues as to what happened to the travellers. 

“Let’s head down this path,” Di Feisheng suggested after the other two refused to rummage through the abandoned homes of the villagers. It meant they hadn’t found key items, but at the same time it meant they weren’t hassled by aggressive strangers. 

“Why?” Li Lianhua asked suspiciously from where he was resting next to a lopsided wooden fence. “You’ve been behaving strange all day, A-Fei.”

Luckily, it seemed Fang Duobing was a little too preoccupied poking through a fire pit a little too large and close to the village centre. Di Feisheng had seen the pit enough times to know that it was there normally and therefore not the source of whatever fire Fang Duobing was looking for. 

“A hunch,” Di Feisheng responded, and turned to leave, knowing the other two would eventually follow him. 

He leads them (suspiciously) to the well and the cavern where the dungeon was, and then (suspiciously) refuses to say how he knew that would be there. For all the times Di Feisheng had quietly attempted to get them to believe that he was repeating the same day over and over, he didn’t want to have that conversation today. 

He generally didn’t want to be called upon to explain how the previous iteration of ‘today’ ended. He just wanted to finish searching through the dungeon to see if they could find something particular or strange, and then perhaps take the next several iterations of ‘today’ away from this place. 

He wasn’t even looking to end the repeats. There were still things he wanted to accomplish if given the extra time. The distant sense of urgency to find a solution to the repeats from the previous day had already faded, but Di Feisheng’s irritation concerning this village had yet to do so. 

“Don’t,” he warned as they searched, “go into the cells. There’s an incendiary trap in there.”

Now it was Fang Duobing frowning at him. “How do you know that?”

Di Feisheng thought for a moment, and then replied, “Ask me this tomorrow.”

They found nothing of use, and when they returned to Lotus Tower for the night, Wuyan reported in the negative and Di Feisheng crossed out another section of the map. 

He spent the late evening practising his sword forms, an uneasy feeling building within as he took his frustrations and uncertainty out on the trees surrounding him. Even as the candle light of Lotus Tower was blown out, he stayed out under the moonlight until he fell asleep resting against the roots of a tree.

— 

Di Feisheng opened his eyes to an unoccupied bed the next day, and frowned. The birds were still chirping, but there was the smell of rice cooking and the distinct sounds of murmuring and footsteps below him. 

He wasn’t… he was still staring up at the roof of Lotus Tower, but was it the next day?

He lifted an arm. He was back in his sleep clothes, although he was certain he fell asleep outdoors in full wear the previous night. He brought the sleeve to his arm and sniffed. No. Unless someone managed to wash him of the sweat accumulated from his training last night, it was just another loop. 

Yet this time, he overslept. 

Judging from the sounds, the two downstairs were trying not to wake him up in a surprisingly thoughtful turn. Di Feisheng moved out of bed slowly, taking stock of his own body as he moved. Nothing seemed amiss, and he certainly wasn’t feeling the exertion from the day previous. He felt as he had each morning for each repeat, and as the bed creaked and his feet hit the floor, he could hear the noises below him change. 

After dressing and strapping his sword to his back, Di Feisheng made his way down the stairs to Fang Duobing attempting to not so subtly push Li Lianhua away from the kitchen area with a spatula as he held onto the pan over the flames and Li Lianhua stirring a pot on a burner with a frown.

“A-Fei!” Fang Duobing called out cheerfully as he pushed through the door. “You sure slept in this morning. Just in time for breakfast, though.”

With bowls of watery congee and a plate of stir-fried vegetables, they sat and discussed the disappearances of several travellers in the village they were heading toward. Di Feisheng stayed quiet during their discussion, watching them for cues. Luckily, that was not unusual of him, although they gave him confused glances from time to time. 

“We probably could have been on our way already,” Fang Duobing bluffed (they never left this early, not in all the iterations) with a sly smile, leaning over the table. “If someone hadn’t overslept!”

Di Feisheng gave him a flat look and set down his empty bowl. 

“I’ll join you tomorrow.” He said. “Something came up today.”

Immediately, Fang Duobing’s smug expression melted into concern instead. It was unfortunate that his emotions were always so clear on his face, as Di Feisheng couldn’t understand how the young man could be a detective when he couldn’t bluff his way out of a wet paper bag. 

Li Lianhua, sitting opposite him, merely took the statement in stride. 

“Good luck on your endeavours,” the man told him, his bowl still more than half full. Half because he ate so slowly, and half because Fang Duobing kept piling more vegetables into it. 

“Wait, wait,” Fang Duobing waved his arms as Di Feisheng stood from the bench, catching their attention. He looked between Li Lianhua and Di Feisheng with concern. “Did something happen? I thought we agreed yesterday to do this together? We spent a week getting here!”

“Something came up,” Di Feisheng repeated, but then amended with a thought, “Go tomorrow. I’ll join you. Do something else today.”

“Like what?” Fang Duobing asked, bewildered.

“There’s a leak in the corner upstairs. Fix that.”

At that, Fang Duobing’s concern slid toward irritation. “Why me? It’s your room, too! You should help!”

“A-Fei,” Li Lianhua interjected smoothly, and Di Feisheng looked down toward him as he set his bowl down to pick up a cup of tea. “You’ll be back tomorrow, then?”

Underneath the cool nonchalance were sharp eyes turned his direction, and Di Feisheng didn’t bother to acknowledge or deny it. 

“Or today.” He said, because it was true. Should the day pass over to the next, he would be back. Should it not pass to the next day, then he would wake in Lotus Tower regardless. 

He called for Wuyan once he was a good distance away, and when the man appeared, Di Feisheng told him, “Today, I will join the search.”

That day, he directed his people around and up a stream, and that night he slept in an unfamiliar inn at an unfamiliar town, surrounded by those of the Jinyuan Alliance in the adjacent rooms, yet his heart continued to be uneasy over the difference in how he woke that day. 

— 

Di Feisheng wakes in Lotus Tower to the sound of early morning birds chirping and sunlight just starting to peek through the horizon through the blinds of the room. Fang Duobing’s elbow was jabbing him in the side, and the sense of relief he felt was so acute it was nearly a physical sensation. 

He goes downstairs in his night clothes and once more stares until Li Lianhua drags himself out of bed with sleepy complaints. 

“I have been living this day again and again.” Di Feisheng told him quietly as they waited for the water to boil for tea. “I have found different ways to predict events, and different secrets you have told me to help me in the next repeat, but I don’t believe you need to know any of that to believe me.”

“So you’re not going to tell me if a lightning strike suddenly breaks through the clouds?” Li Lianhua asked, a hand holding his sleeve back as he scooped tea leaves. The gesture was elegant, sure, and Di Feisheng watched as he carefully poured the near boiling water into the teapot, and then lifted the teapot to swirl the liquid around before emptying the first pour into a bowl to be dumped later. 

As he refilled the teapot, Di Feisheng responded, “That doesn’t happen. I thought I would need proof for you to believe me, but now I realise you’ve never disbelieved me.”

“You’re not the type to lie,” Li Lianhua said. “Especially not about strange events.”

It was true, but not merely in the sense that Di Feisheng didn’t waste time bothering with petty lies and made up stories. Every single time he revealed the repeat of days, Li Lianhua and Fang Duobing went along with whatever he said. If he claimed he was living the same day over and over and they needed to go elsewhere, then the three of them went elsewhere. If he claimed to know what happened and that they should delay a day, then they delayed a day.

It was a heady feeling, knowing that he could say something and they would go along with it, no matter how strange. 

Or perhaps, because of how strange his explanation was. 

Li Lianhua directed the second pour into two small teacups, and then set the teapot back down, releasing his sleeve and flicking his wrists to smooth out the cloth, actions so perfunctory he likely never noticed just how fussy he looked. 

Di Feisheng smiled at the action, picking up a teacup to savour the warmth and smell of it.

Li Lianhua narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.” Di Feisheng told him, still smiling. He imitated Li Lianhua’s movement to draw attention to the superfluousness of it. It looked even more ridiculous when he did it, with his sleeves coiled up under his bracers. “You’re exceptionally vain.”

The other man looked affronted. “Is it vain to keep a clean appearance? I think you’re not using that word correctly, Lao Di.”

Di Feisheng downed the tea in one swallow like wine, savouring the burn on this tongue. It was a warmth that spread down his throat and through his chest, and he savoured it. 

Setting the cup back on the table with a click, he said, “Come with me today. We’ll untether the horses and ride out.”

Li Lianhua raised a brow, hands cradling the warmth of his own teacup without drinking it. “You want me to leave my house?”

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Di Feisheng stated. One way or another, it would be true. We’ll go now.”

“We should wake Xiaobao up if—”

“He’ll find us.” Di Feisheng interjected. He hadn’t planned on keeping their tracks secret, and if Fang Duobing couldn’t find them, then… well, that would be a lesson to the young man to learn better tracking skills. Already, he pushed himself up from the bench and reached out a hand. “Another thing to teach that disciple of yours.”

Li Lianhua gave him a strange look at the extended hand, but then allowed Di Feisheng to pull him up off the seat. 

Di Feisheng was smiling again, with the cool, calloused hand within his own. 

Li Lianhua sighed. “At least let me leave a message before he accuses us of leaving him behind again.”

#NaNoWriMo #mlc nano 2023 #less than 6k words left before i cross the finish line #I'll try to go as far as I can beyond that of course #but everything's growing busy end of November so we'll see #also I kinda wanna sit and vege watching shows for a while lol #but i also want to at least finish THIS story #the time loop one wasn't even supposed to be long!!

[euphoricfilter]

To Build A Home (Part Nine)

Part nine: Copious Kisses

Pairing: Ot7 x 9 tailed fox Hybrid! Reader

Fox Hybrid! Jin, Human! Namjoon, Human! Yoongi, Wolf Hybrid! Hoseok, Cat Hybrid! Jimin, Wolf Hybrid! Taehyung, Fox Hybrid! Jungkook

Genre: Hybrid AU || Fluff || Angst || Smut/ implied smut || Strangers to lovers AU || Best friends to lovers AU

Summary: All Jin can think to do is try and kiss it all better.

Word count: 7.6k

Tags/ warnings: blood is mentioned a lot, lots of crying, angst/ comfort (it's more comfort), fluffy-ish, violence (but its deserved), the pain if finally over, hybrid mistreatment, me thinks that is all

Notes: second to last chapter lets gooooo. i also planned for like super soft smut in the next chapter, like a cute way to end the series but oh my god the cringe, jail time, will never see the light of day. so idk if there will be which im pissed about and i'm too scared to ask someone for help :'( and i'm shy but i'm open to suggestions! i've also been stressed because i have to write a graduation speech and my brain has fully stopped working so this chapter is a lil late and i'm a tiny bit unhappy with it because i feel like something is missing but my brain is fried.

my masterlist

series masterlist

part 10

+++

At some point throughout the late morning, you’d staggered to the other side of the cell.

The squelching of the mattress was uncomfortable, and you hated how each time you’d move a reminder of how much blood had spewed from your wound had seeped into the old fabric. Even though your tail was gone, there were moments you could feel the ghost of where it used to lay, aching even though it was no longer there. A dull pain from a limb that was no longer connected to your body. 

The old man had migrated from his own worn and torn bed, instead coming to sit beside you, lithe fingers slipping through the gaps in the bars to gently hold your own. A silent comfort, because the silence was enough. No words truly bringing either of you comfort, of the reassurance that you would be alive tomorrow or that you be able to laze in the sun or smell the sweet morning air on a spring day. Touch or hold those that meant the world to you, see them grow alongside yourself.

He understood how hard it must be for you, he himself had experienced the hell that the hybrid sector put people like himself through. He’d watched countless bodies being dragged through the door at the end of the hallway, occasionally the hybrid never making a return. And he never bothered to ask. Because sometimes it’s better to stay oblivious and not pry for an answer you know you won’t like, an answer you already know but refuse to acknowledge.

He doesn’t know how long they’d kept him here, but he supposes it didn’t really matter anymore. He guessed the rest of his days would be spent cooped up in a dingy cell in the basement of the hybrid sector. Each time they’d pulled his body from the safe confines of his cell he would wonder if that day would be his last. But it never had been.

And he thinks maybe the reason was this moment.

To watch the burning flames behind your eyes, a determination he hadn’t seen from the others that resided in the basement. You’d been treated inhumanely, stripped of something so precious and yet you still had that flicker of hope burning in your eyes.

He understood it was a little hard for you to stand, hands shaky and body in pain, weakened from the blood loss and lack of food. But he could see you trying to fight it. He watched as your chest rose and fell his heavy bursts, eyes trained on the grimy floor of his own cell. Locked up in your own small world.

He wonders what you think about, but never asks. The selfish part of him not wanting to know too much about you or your life. Not wanting to become too attached when both of your futures aren’t guaranteed. One day you could be dragged through the door, and he could never see you again. He’d lost one family he didn’t need to lose another.

“You should eat” he eventually speaks up, easily slipping his hand from your own as he hobbles over to the bowl beside his mattress. His breakfast left untouched.

You watch as he drops down in front of you again, skeletal hands slipping through the bars to nudge a spoonful of cold porridge to your lips. Your own bowl was left by the door to your cell, you hadn’t made the detour to pick it up when you’d moved earlier in the day and getting up seemed like an impossible task as you lay there. The very thought of standing too tiring.

Your lips part, the old man chuckling as you cringe at the stodgy mixture, texture a little too slimy for your liking.

“Mister” you tilt your head, eyes catching the old man’s who smiles down at you, a smile on his face.

He nods, letting you know he’s listening as he gathers up another hefty spoonful.

You clear your throat, “We’ll get out of here. I promise we’ll get out of here”

You watch his smile falter, and if you were a little more naïve then maybe you would have been fooled by the look in his eyes. One that wanted to appease you but knew secretly deep down that there was no escape. Kind eyes that didn’t want to discourage you, and strip you of the small sliver of hope you were clinging onto like a lifeline.

But you had hope.

Jungkook had said he would come for you, so you believe him.

Jin promised he would always be there for you, and you believed him. A small part of your mind knew that Jin would never leave you. He’d picked you up off the side of the road as a small child, grimy and starving. You wanted to believe he wouldn’t just leave you to rot alone inside a cage.

You’d done all you could, you’d made sure that their future was secured. And maybe in those fleeting moments during the prior nights when you’d first been thrown into the cell, or the day where they’d cut off your tail, your mind had been plagued with those same thoughts you’d had months ago, when thing weren’t as bright as they had been in recent weeks.

But you believed. You believed that the security your family now has will be enough of a push for them to come and save you.

The longer your thoughts were left to marinate, the more you’d come to realise that maybe this was karma. Karma from the day you’d threatened to cut Jimin’s tail off if he ever stabbed you in the back again.

You were joking obviously. A somewhat harmless threat to scare Jimin a bit. But clearly the universe had thought differently about your empty threat and now you were facing the consequences.

You wonder if Jimin remembers that day as vividly as you do. You remember being angry, but a little further down you felt a little bad you had gone as far as you had. You suppose Jimin wouldn’t still be with you if you had just let him roam free and take some of your things. Some nights you’d consider going to his room and asking if the life he had is one he really wanted, but the small selfish part of you never asked. Because you didn’t want to lose your best friend.

You’d have to convince yourself this is definitely what he wanted. You’d given him the offer to leave that night and he hadn’t taken it.

+++

You’d dozed off at some point, your body trying its best not to regurgitate your slimy brunch.

You weren’t sure if it was specifically the porridge that had upset your stomach or just eating in general, your body having to digest the food taking up too much energy.

Breathing had become harder, and from the faint feeling of a cold hand being pressed across your forehead you suspected you had a fever. The old man muttering under his breath as he tries to figure out a way to reduce it. Annoyance laced in his features because he had nothing more than the clothes on his back and a bed. They hadn’t bothered to fill the dog bowl with water that morning, so he had no way of helping you.

Your eyes open groggily when the clank of the door at the other end of the hall opens, and you silently pray they stay on the far end of the room away from your cell. You weren’t sure you’d be able to take another round of testing right now, let alone being dragged down endless hallways. Your body was slowly reaching its limit and you weren’t sure how much longer you’d be able to hold on. 

Although the thought was selfish, you hope that if they were coming to your end of the basement, it was because they were shoving another innocent soul into the cell adjacent from yours which had been empty since you’d arrived. Almost all the other cells filled with other hybrids.

You hear the old man shuffle beside you, and your hybrid ears twitch when a chorus of voices echo into the basement. Your fox ears press flat against your head to try and muffle the noise, eyes closing.

You want to laugh at how similar one of the voices sounds to Namjoon’s, your lips quirking as you try to imagine what he would say in a situation like this one.

You think he would panic a little, trying his best to keep it together for your sake because he wants to hold everyone together. But you’d see the way his brows quirk a little in worry. Or how his voice would drop an octave, a smooth lullaby that you’d come to love because Namjoon really did have a pretty voice. It was easy to listen to him read a book or just talk about his day of an evening, your muscles slowly turning to jelly as he gently scratches behind your hybrid ears, or his fingers card through your tails.

When the familiar sound of footsteps descend into the basement, you bite your lip as your hands move to cover your human ears. Breathing shallow as you curl in on yourself. Because the most logical thought in your brain was that; if you were smaller and quieter maybe they would walk right by you and leave you alone.

Your nose doesn’t pick up on the cologne you’d started to associate home with. Your sense of smell having been dulled down over the few days from the musty cell and the smell of bleach.

Namjoon doesn’t fully see your face, you’d tucked into yourself, but he knew it was you. He would always know it was you. He could lose multiple of his senses and he would still know it was you.

His eyes glaze over your body, curled up on the concrete floor. His eyes catch onto the pool of red, a smaller puddle under your tails where you’re laid. He swallows thickly at the state of the rest of the floor, mattress soaked in red, a small trail from the make-shift bed to where you were on the floor.

He fumbles with the keys, hands shaking as he curses. Because you were hurt and suddenly, he can’t remember which key unlock the door to your cell. Mind frazzled because you’re hurt.

You’re bleeding.

He uses the fact that he can see your chest raising and falling in jittery interval as enough proof that you were still alive, maybe just passed out, but still alive and somewhat okay. And if his hands and brain would co-operate then maybe he could get you out of this place sooner.

The sooner you were out of there, the sooner he can fix all the problems that have occurred over the last few days. He’d take you to a hybrid hospital, not caring if they were expensive, that was the last thought on his mind. What if he had shown up minutes later and you were at life’s end?

He drops the keys onto the floor accidently, and he pauses when you flinch back from the loud sound. He just watches you for a moment, a second feeling like a lifetime as he watches to make sure you’re okay. He hadn’t realised that he was holding his breath until he watched you let out a shaky exhale, his own lungs releasing a large puff of air.

Your eyes squeeze a little tighter, body curling in on itself a little more and Namjoon feels his eyes well up with tears. He didn’t mean to scare you.

He knew you were sensitive to sounds, how could he be so careless?

He makes eye contact with the old man who looks at him with what Namjoon can only describe as revulsion. But Namjoon can’t get mad. The evidence that all the hybrids being locked in the basement had been mistreated was proof that humans were probably one of the most selfish, bloodthirsty creatures on the food chain. Who only cared about themselves and their own pitiful lives.

He ignores the stares he gets from a few of the other hybrids, a lot of them having wandered over to the front of their cells at the sight of an unfamiliar human. A small sense of hope that maybe they would be free, that someone had finally heard their silent prayers.

Namjoon eventually calms his shaking hands down enough to unlock the cell door. He yanks it open, uncaring that his beige pants were getting grimy as he practically slides across the floor to your side.

“Small thing” he whispers, hands hovering over your body, unsure if he should hold you or not.

He didn’t know what had happened to you and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, both physically or mentally.

Namjoon takes a moment to really look over you, and he holds a hand over his mouth when he spots the focal point of your bleeding. His body hunches forward as a low sob wracks through his body, his eyes flitting over the rest of your body to check for any more damage. He shoves the palms of his hands into his eye-sockets. Your body looking like a swirl of red behind the veil of tears.

A pruned hand reaching for your ears catches his attention. Namjoon watches as the old man reaches through the bars, his lithe fingers smoothing your hybrid ears away from your head. And Namjoon would be worried that would hurt if he didn’t spot the old man’s own hybrid ears. He tries not to stare at the odd number of ears, the realisation that the ‘failed experiments’ were the ones being kept in the basement.

He felt sick to his stomach.

“Young miss, it seems a friend of yours has arrived” he whispers, cautious that you still may be startled.

Namjoon watches your eyes slowly open, squinting slightly at the florescent lights.

“Hey small thing” Namjoon whispers, watching as your hybrid ears twitch.

Your eyes meet his own, and he can’t help but cry in relief.

You lift a hand, beckoning Namjoon to come closer. Namjoon bends over your body, smiling as you wipe his cheeks, a relived smile on your face.

“Let’s get you out of here, yeah?” he says, hands already moving to help you sit up.

However, his eyes widen when you push his hands away. The ghost of your touch stinging his hands from where you’d slapped him.

“Where’s Jin?” you ask, eyes frantically looking over the producer’s face.

“Outside, he’s waiting for us outside” he motions to the door at the end of the hallway. Voice steady but his eyes gave away the panic he was feeling.

Your nose twitches, trying to see if you could smell Jin.

Namjoon goes to help you up again but like before you just push his hands away. This time your push yourself to sit up, your tails laying limp on the floor beside you as you push your body away from Namjoon’s, head shaking frantically.

Namjoon opens his mouth, ready to argue you’re hurt, and he promises Jin was waiting upstairs for you, but you beat him to it.

“I won’t leave unless I know Jin is okay” you say, breaths becoming a little heavier from sitting up on your own. Your hands shakily moving to wipe your cheeks, skin soaking in your salty tears.

Namjoon worries you’re hyperventilating as you struggle to breath, pushing his hands away when he tries to reach out and help you.

His jaw clenches when you mutter out for Jin, begging Namjoon to see Jin. You needed to know if he was okay.

You know Namjoon wouldn’t lie.

But what if Jin wasn’t okay?

What if Jimin and Taehyung had been taken away too?

Namjoon swallows, taking a moment to look into your eyes, they flit down to your tails as well as the puddles of blood.

He nods, “Okay. I’ll bring Jin here” he slowly stands, eyes raking over your figure once more to check that you would be okay.

It’s when he sees your body shaking, barely holding yourself up that he turns, running down the hallway. Ignoring the angry shouts from the other hybrids that wanted their cages unlocked like yours.

+++

Jin almost stumbles down the stairs, muttering a quick thanks to Namjoon who grabs him by the back of the sweater before he can tumble down them.

He takes no notice of the other hybrids, his heightened sense of smell easily picking up your scent.

His eyes lock onto your figure through the bars of the old man’s cell, you legs tucked into your chest, head daintily resting on your knees.

He chokes on the thick smell of blood, freezing once he yanks open the door to the cell when he sees the state of the room.

You look up, bottom lip wobbling when you see him. Your eyes locking with his glassy ones.

Jin’s adams apple bobs when he swallows, hybrid ears picking up on your shallow breaths.

He stumbles forward, arms reaching out to hold your face as he drops to his knees in-front of you.

“Don’t cry” you whisper. Watching as his hands retreat from your cheeks to wipe his own.

When had he started crying?

Jin abandons wiping his cheeks when small pearly tears cascade down your face.

His eyes flit across your body, before taking a moment to just look into your eyes.

Namjoon watches from the other side of the cell as Jin hunches forward, his head falling to rest on your knees.

Your eyes widen when his body shakes, a loud sob wracking through his body. He reaches for your hands, resting by your sides.

Your hands squeeze his own, trying to pry his face from your legs. You’d never seen Jin so down.

Even the day your old owner had died, or the day he’d thought you’d ran away from home he’d shed a few tears in the silence of his room and them comfort you. You’d never seen Jin looking so… lost. Like he didn’t know what he was doing, unsure of his own feelings. So vulnerable that all he can do is hold onto you with all the strength he can muster. You don’t move as his hands squeeze yours, he squeezes them so tight that you worry the delicate bones in your hands would snap. Jin holding onto you like you would disappear if he let go.

You don’t register Namjoon shuffling from foot to the other on the other side of the cell, your focus trapped on Jin as he cries.

His shoulders shake, choking on his own sobs.

“I’m sorry” he cries, head lifting slightly to hold onto your upper arms, pulling you into his chest.

His head rests on top of your own, his shoulder still shaking as he runs a hand through your hair. Eyes screwed shut, trying his best to not let anymore tears fall.

He opens his eyes when he feels your own tears soak into his sweater and his breath hitches.

His eyes catch sight of your tail, and only then does he notice how your blood had started to soak into his trousers. He gently pushes you from his chest, looking down, his hand clamps over his mouth to mask his gasp at the crimson puddle.

His eyes trail back towards your tails, laying limply on the concrete.

You look up at the ceiling, hand coming to rest over your eyes as you take a long deep breath.

Jin’s fingers barely touch the bandage around the stump of your 9th tail, his mouth opening to let out his own shaky breath.

He ignores the sticky feeling of your blood on his hands as he rests his head on the concrete beside your chopped off tail. The rest of your tails-stained red laying flaccid around you.

Your eyes begin to hurt, you want to blame it on the lights on the ceiling as you stare up, but you know it’s because you’re scared. Eyes stinging as you swallow back a fresh wave of tears.

Jin doesn’t say anything, eyes squeezed shut as he sits up from the bowing position.

“Sunshine” he calls, voice wobbly, hands reaching to hold any part of you.

You look down, eyes empty as you stare at the red being smeared onto your arms. Jin’s hands frantically holding onto any part of skin he can find, a trail of red following each soft touch.

You look into his eyes as his hands finally find your cheeks. And you ignore the tacky feeling of blood being transferred onto your cheeks.

You don’t even get a proper look at his face before his lips brush against your own. And like second nature, your eyes shut, tension slowly slipping out of your body as his lips pillow your own.

Although not the most perfect kiss, a mix of salty tears, snotty noses and too much teeth neither of you pull away until you’re both gasping for air. Your eyes stay closed as he kisses over your red rimmed eyes, a soft kiss to your lips once more before he bends down.

Your eyes follow his movements, biting the inside of your cheek as you feel his plush lips press against the stump of your tail through the loose bandages. He sucks in a shaky breath before he leans down and presses a firmer kiss this time. Still wary that you were likely in pain, but firm enough that you would be able to feel his kiss.

All he can think to do is kiss it better. Just like he would do to all the small cuts and scrapes you’d have over the years.

But he knows, he knows that this is far worse. But what more can he do? He can’t bring your tail back. He wishes he could.

So, he doesn’t say anything.

Because honestly, he doesn’t know what to say. For the first time ever, he has no comforting words for you. All he can do is hope that you can feel his love for you as his lips brush over your wounded tail. He knows you were never fond of them; you’d spend nights complaining as he would dry them, nights were he would whisper to you in the dark about how perfect you were and that any flaw you saw in yourself made him love you more. That having 8 more tails just meant more of you to love. A feature that made you stand out from everyone else.

He’d never told you but the first day he’d met you, it wasn’t your abundance of tails that caught his attention. It was your eyes.

While at the restaurant he remembers wondering how similar you must have looked to the day he had first met you. And the you from today has the same fire in her eyes as the you of the past.

The you from back then had been so small, a frail child that had the determination the size of the moon. So much hope and want in such a small body that Jin had been surprised. He’d begged his owner to help you.

He thinks that now you’ve grown, and as you’ve grown so has you will to survive.

But over the years your tails had become another of his favourite things about you. He hadn’t really been taken aback the first time he noticed them, him of the past thought they were pretty, they weren’t as fluffy as they were now, but now they were one of his favourite things about you.  

You watch as he sits up, back of his hand wiping the smeared blood from his lips.

You both just look at each other, no words needed to convey your feelings. You could both see the looks of relief dancing behind each other’s irises.

You felt your body finally relax, the tension of being scared, not knowing what would happen to you finally dissipating as reality sets in.

Your body felt light, knowing the freedom you’d been fight for, for years was in arms reach. Mere centimetres from your fingertips. You wouldn’t have to worry about being taken to a facility, nor would you be separated from Jin and sent to different homes. Where you’d never be able to touch each other ever again. You wouldn’t have to go to bed or wake up in the morning, wondering how much longer you really had together, or take anxiety educing trips outside with Jin’s fake ID, the fear of being caught following the two of you like a shadow. Or worrying every moment you were awake, scared that someone would show up at your door with a new set of laws that would ruin the rest of your life.

A smile quirks onto your lips, Jin’s own expression matching your own.

And you laugh, even as a sharp pain zips up your spine from the sudden movement; you laugh.

You laugh because you’re relieved. Years of build-up finally washing away, every waking moment filled with anxiety being blown away like dust in the wind.

Jin yelps when you slump forward, body finally resting. Any adrenaline that had been keeping you awake for possibly days at this point finally wearing thin. Your bones feel like lead, weighing you down; but you feel as light as a feather. The phantom pressure that had been holding you down for so long finally at peace.

You ignore Jin shouting at Namjoon, your mind unable to fully comprehend what they could be arguing about as your eyes close, a small smile of content on your lips as you finally slip into a peaceful sleep.

There was no doubt in your mind that you would have nightmares of these few days, the rough treatment and inhumane way you’d been treated not something you’d be able to forget.

Even as your body takes its time to fully shut down, you can feel the stinging of your wrists and ankles, rubbed raw from hand cuffs and chains, the phantom feeling of your tail pulsing dully even though it was gone, and the throb from the bruises that came from being grabbed so roughly, treated as nothing more than a cut of meat. Worth nothing more than what your body could give the few people that wanted to experiment on your kind, how the humans had fucked up their tests when making you and all the other poor hybrids that were locked in their cages.

But there’s no space for bad dreams as your mind focuses on Jin’s voice, Namjoon trying to calm the fox down as they both freak out, neither of them sure if you were okay or what they should do.

+++

Jungkook shoots up from the chair in the lobby area of the hybrid sector when the large metal door pushes open.

Taehyung follows soon after once they spot you in Jin’s arms, body lax and eyes closed.

Jungkook’s fingers gently push some hair out of your face, tears brimming his eyes as he looks at the state you were in.

Taehyung looks over at Namjoon who stands beside Jin, “She’s just passed out” he tells the wolf.

“Is she okay? She’s bleeding a lot” Jungkook asks, frantically looking at Jin to fix something.

“She’s not bleeding anymore Kookie” the old of the foxes reassures.

Jimin and Hoseok had slowly made their way over, Jimin biting his lip as he gets a glimpse at you. He buries his face in Taehyung’s back who reaches his hand behind his back to hold Jimin’s.

Hoseok, never one to like the sight of blood turns around. The wolf makes eye contact with Yoongi, the producer raising an eyebrow in question. Hoseok shakes his head, watching as Yoongi pushes himself from his chair.

Taehyung scoots himself and Jimin out of the way so the older of the two producers can get a good look at you. Yoongi blinks, his hand gently brushing over your cheeks. He feels a little relived when he can see the shallow rise and fall of your chest.

Namjoon places a heavy hand on Jimin’s shoulder when he notices the cat trying to quieten down his sobs. Taehyung’s hand only doing so much comfort.

Hoseok bites down on his fist, guilt trickling through his body. Ashamed he hadn’t done more to try and help you. He doesn’t know exactly what he expected to happen, but it wasn’t this. He should have stopped you the day he had said goodbye, maybe he should have been the one to stay by your side instead of Jungkook.

You’d done so much for each of them, he wishes he could turn back time and figure out a way to fix all that had gone wrong.

The wolf looks to his side when he feels a soft pat on his shoulder. Yoongi doesn’t look at him, which he appreciates, unsure if he could hold himself together if the older male were to peer into his soul. The thought of having to open his mouth to talk almost enough for a fresh ripple of pearly tears to travel down his face.

Yoongi looks out the large floor to ceiling windows, blue sky a little patronising for such a melancholy day. It felt a little too wrong for the sun to shine so brightly, the cliché trope of the sky turning grey, rain pelting like there is no tomorrow feeling more fitting for the situation.

“There’s not much we could have done. She’s stubborn and would have put you guys over herself no matter the outcome” he says, tone low.

They both bask in each other’s silence, watching as a bird flies by outside. Hoseok wonders if you’d feel as free as that bird does once you wake up. He wonders how long it’ll take for you to wake up, if you ever will wake up. He wonders if you were scared, if you missed him as much as he missed you, if he could take away your pain as easily as you had his.

“Everything will start to get better” Yoongi whispers, and Hoseok thinks that maybe Yoongi had similar thoughts to his own and this was his way of reassuring himself that there was light at the end of the tunnel.

Taehyung’s head turns towards the other side of the lobby when another door is shoved open, four men dressed in police uniforms dragging Kim Dae-Hyun and Kim Seung by their arms through the lobby, both of them trying to pull their arms free.

Dae-Hyung was screaming something about a lawyer and Seung was trying to break free while reciting his human rights and how this was too much.

Before anyone can react, Jungkook is storming his way over towards to two of them.

Dae-Hyung snarls at him and Jungkook has to hold back a scoff at the irony of the situation. It was funny, how these two men who had little to no regard for hybrids, claiming they were feral animals, were actually the feral ones.

Jungkook ignore the snide comments the two men were making, the four policemen trying to hold them still. 

Jungkook smiles, and Seung is taken aback by how sadistic the smile is.

Hoseok flinches back at the sound of Jungkook’s fist colliding with Seung’s right cheek. The government official’s eyes widening in utter shock. The two policemen get a better grasp on him as he freezes before he’s looking at the two of them in disbelief.

“You can’t tolerate this behaviour” Seung seethes, and Jungkook can see the heat slowly raising as the man’s face reddens in a mix of embarrassment and rage, his cheek an even darker red. Jungkook thinks he can see a bruise starting to form.

“Jeon Jungkook” Jin shrieks, passing your lax body over to Namjoon who cringes as his clothes get bloody.

Jungkook looks between you and Jin, anger still bubbling through his veins as he sees the state you were in, the culprits behind this standing right before him, but Jin sounded pretty mad…

He swallows, eyes meeting the older fox’s.

A smile quirks onto Jin’s face, “There’s two of them you know” the fox motions to Dae-Hyung.

Said man’s eyes widening when he grasps the implications of Jin’s words.

Jungkook cracks his neck, turning towards Dae-Hyun with a shit-eating grin.

Jin winces when Jungkook’s fist collides with Dae-Hyun’s nose, a loud snap echoing through the lobby.

Taehyung can see the front-desk woman’s jaw drop as she watches blood gush from Dae-Hyun’s nose. Jungkook smiling proudly at Jin who gives him two big thumbs up.

Jungkook briefly turns towards the police officers, “Thank you for your service” he bows respectfully.

One of them snorts, “No problem kid, I would have done the same if these two had done what they did to the young lady, to either of my hybrids”

Jungkook smiles at him brightly, happy to know that not all humans were assholes.

Taehyung turns, looking down at you sadly, “Now I don’t feel bad we keyed their car” he sighs.

Yoongi turns towards him with a look of pure disbelief on his face, “You did what?”

Taehyung smiles sheepishly, cheek rubbing against the top of Yoongi’s head as he holds onto your hand tightly.

+++

“Hyung are you sure she’s, okay?” Jimin asks Jin, the younger’s hand squeezing Jin’s tightly as they sit in the hospital room.

Jimin knew you were alive, the beeping of the machines hooked up to your body were telling him so. The steady beating of your heart should be enough to tell him that you were okay, but he was still on edge.

When was the last time he gotten to give you a proper hug? Where you hugged him back and it wasn’t him sobbing into your chest as you lay motionless on the hospital bed. How long had it been since he’s gotten to look into your eyes, and just wander, his own thoughts mere whispers as he takes a moment to appreciate you. How long had it been since he’d cooked you a meal and you’d given him a soft kiss on the cheek in thanks? Or heard your pretty voice, or seen your bright smile?

When you woke up you were in the room alone.

It had taken minutes before you had fully comprehended that you were in hospital. The beeping machine merging with the beating of your heart, you hadn’t realised where you were until you looked down and had seen somewhat familiar hospital attire.

However, these weren’t stained in blood or vomit. They smelt clean and weren’t as rough as the ones you’d been given in the basement.

You wondered if you’d dreamt Namjoon and Jin coming to save you and that really, you’d been experimented on again and had just passed out, left alone in an infirmary because they’d fucked up an experiment again.

You breathe a sigh of relief when the door clicks open and Jimin scuttles in with a tired Jin close behind.

You’d pushed yourself out of bed, ready to leave the room when your eyes meet Jimin’s.

He blinks. Once and then twice. Before he’s barrelling towards you, Jin grabbing him by the waist before he can bulldoze into your side.

You look at him with wide eyes, worried as he starts to cry.

“Why are you crying?” you ask, smiling softly when Jin lets go of him and he makes his way over to you in a slower manner.

“Because… because” he wails, arms gently wrapping around your waist, scared you were still hurting.

Honestly you think the hospital must have pumped you full of pain killers because your body was feeling more numb than sore.

“Please don’t cry Mimi, I’m okay” you pat his back, remembering he wasn’t all that fond of his ears being scratched.

Jimin snivels as Jin tries to pry his arms from your waist, only letting go once you promise to sleep together once you’re discharged from the hospital.

He reluctantly sits down after he presses a soft kiss to your lips. Humming as he loses himself in the feeling of your lips pressed firmly against his own, a silent promise to each other that neither of you were going anywhere. A kiss so sweet and soft and so wholly you that Jimin was left in a daze as he watches you, a giddy smile on his face.  

Jin steps forwards, you notice his hesitance, how he fidgets with his fingers, eyes avoiding your own.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, anxiety clawing its way through your body.

“I’m sorry”

Your eyes widen, “Huh?”

“I’m sorry. None of this would have happened if I had just… I don’t know? Done more” he exhales, a sad smile on his face as he finally looks at you.

Your hands reach for Jin’s, using then as an anchor to pull him closer to your body.

You sit back on the bed, legs moments away from giving out on you, but you wrap your arms around Jin’s waist nonetheless, your face pushing itself into his stomach. 

“None of this is your fault Jin” you peer up at him, smiling when you feel a drop of water land on your cheek, Jin’s face turned to the side to hide his tears, “This is the least I could do to ensure our future”

+++

You’re slowly making your way through a pot of jelly when the door slams open, you flinch back, startled by the sudden action.

You watch Jeon Jungkook and Kim Taehyung stalk across the room. The wolf yanking the cup of jelly from your light grasp as he slams it down on the table.

Then both of them flop by your sides. You groan, Taehyung’s whole-body weight too much pressure on your legs as the two of them try and squeeze to fit onto the small, single bed. Neither of them saying anything, simply sighing when they figure out a comfortable position. Both cautious about your tails that rest on a pillow.

Hoseok’s head peeks around the door frame, and he sighs when he sees the pile of people on the poor old bed that looked minutes away from breaking under the weight of three people.

Yoongi follows in after the older wolf, shaking his head as he sees the situation they’d put you in.

“Hey, you two, don’t put too much pressure on her body” he swats at their behinds, Taehyung whining in defiance as Hoseok tries to pull him off of you.

Once they’d pried the two puppies from the bed, Hoseok set a paper bag on your lap.

“Thought you might be hungry, so we brought lunch” he smiles, and you thank him.

“You two go and get drinks, there’s a vending machine in the lobby” Yoongi shoos the youngest two out of the room before turning to you.

He takes a seat beside the bed, grabbing the paper bag and depositing its contents into your lap.

“Jin hyung said it’s probably best to start small but greasy food can make anyone feel better” he explains, unwrapping one of the smaller burgers from the paper and handing it to you.

“Thank you” you smile at him softly.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, handing Hoseok some food as well.

“Relived. Maybe a little scared” you admit, teeth sinking into the soft bun.

“Scared?”

You hum, taking a moment to chew before you answered, “Scared that maybe this isn’t the end and I’m being too optimistic”

“Even if it isn’t, we’ll stay by your side” Hoseok speaks up, hesitant as he holds your hand.

You smile at that, “Hoseokie” you coo, watching his hybrid ears stand alert, “gimme a kiss” you lean forwards.

Hoseok looks at Yoongi, surprise evident on his face but he obliges, nonetheless.

Hoseok expects a kiss on the cheek, face heating up when your lips land softly on his own. His eyes shut, basking in the soft feeling of your lips pressed to his own, his tongue darts out to run along your bottom lip, humming when he can taste the sauce from your burger.

“See, you can relax now. I’m okay” you smile when the two of you pull back, happy he seemed a little less tense.

You and Yoongi spare him of the embarrassment, both of you pretending his cheeks weren’t doused in rosy, red blush.

You lean towards Yoongi when his hands raise to card through your hair, and you tease him a little by leaning forward to kiss the corner of his lips. He smiles at that, hand holding your jaw gently.

“May I?” he asks, worried he was overstepping his boundaries.

You nod, eyes shutting when his lips brush your own in a feather light kiss.

Yoongi pulls back, thumb brushing your cheek, “we have more time to explore” he hums when he sees the serene look on your face.

“Hey!” you jump when Jungkook shouts from the doorway, “Did you seriously make us leave so you could kiss without us” he gawks, an exaggerated expression on his face, and you would worry he was offended if it weren’t for the way his tail was wagging behind him. And he said he wasn’t just an overgrown dog.

“Can you believe they’re sharing first kisses without us?” the fox nudges Taehyung’s shoulder.

You and Taehyung make eye contact, a sheepish smile gracing your features when Jungkook looks between the two of you.

+++

“Thank you” you smile at Hyerin, a little mad that words didn’t feel like enough to properly thank her.

She shakes her head, helping you put your shoes on, ready to be discharged from the hospital.

She’d explained everything that had happened while you were in the basement of the hybrid sector. How Sora had trouble at first because Jimin and Taehyung’s names were under Jin’s fake ID, to them camping out at the restaurant just like you had planned. She explained that Dae-Hyun and Seung had been arrested. And you felt a small part of you relax at that, the tiny piece of you that continued to worry finally at peace now that they were being punished for what they had done.

The part of you that wanted them to suffer was mad that all they got was a couple of years in prison before they would be banned from any government job, you’d have preferred if their punishment was harsher, but hybrids had no say anything like that, it was a miracle that they had been arrested in the first place.

She explained that Sora had been a member of multiple hybrid activist groups and once she’d set up a petition to place a new law; that taking a hybrid that was already registered under someone else’s name was kidnapping and would have immediate consequences, the activist community had tried their hardest to gather enough votes that the government would have to do something about it.

People had camped outside government buildings in protest, and so the new law was passed almost instantly. The hybrid sector worrying that word would get out and make them look bad.

Hyerin had explained she’d quit her job before they could officially fire her, deciding she wanted to work back at a hybrid centre instead; that way she could try and change people’s views on hybrids first-hand instead of taking on the huge task of changing the world from one of the core problems. And she hoped the two of you could keep in touch, she’d love to go out for lunch some time.

You asked what had happened to the other hybrids as well, worried they were sent back to facilities in the suburbs, but she’d smiled.

“A few of them decided to start work, a lot of business owners in the hybrid district were more than happy to take them in. Oh! That reminds me” she perks up, shoving a hand in the pocket of her jeans.

You carefully take the small business card, messy handwriting sprawled on the back. 

“I’ll treat you to a nicer bowl of porridge next time we meet!”

You smile, turning the business card over, eyes widening when you notice the familiar logo of the restaurant Hoseok works at.

“An old guy asked me to give it to you, said he knew you but didn’t have any way to contact you” she informs, and you nod, smiling because you knew exactly who this was from.

You shove the small piece of card into the front of Jungkook’s hoodie when you hear the door click open.

“Ready to go home?” Jin asks you, smiling politely at Hyerin.

You spot the rest of your family crowding the narrow hospital hallway, each of them smiling at you brightly as they squeeze into the space of the door.

“Yeah” you nod, smiling equally as bright. Thanking Namjoon once he squeezes his way into the room, effortlessly picking you up from the bed.

You poke one of his dimples, heart skipping a beat when you feel his deep chuckle reverberate from his chest. He tilts his face down, easily pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, and you feel your face heat up.

You press your ear to his heart, the steady beating reassuring you that this wasn’t a dream.

You were finally going home.

#ot7 x reader #bts fanfic #bts jungkook #bts fluff #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fluff #seokjin fic #yoongi fic #jimin x reader #bts hoseok #bts seokjin #taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #hybrid bts #namjoon imagine #seokjin fanfic #jungkook #bts smut #seokjin smut #yoongi x reader #namjoon x y/n #hoseok x reader #bts namjoon #taehyung #bts jin #jin #bangtan #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #bts x reader

[jujutsuflavoredpeach]

PART II - AS HE IS

Pairing Inumaki Toge x fem!reader Other characters Okkotsu Yuta, Zen'in Maki, Shoko Ieiri, Itadori Yuji, Fushiguro Megumi, Choso, Tsukumo Yuki, Master Tengen Content angst, hurt, longing, anger, struggle, love Warnings jjk MANGA SPOILERS, CULLING GAME SPOILERS, self-loathing, mentions of blood. Note LINK TO THIRD PART >>﹢PART III - AS HE IS﹢ ❀ ¡Hello there! Here's PART II of AS HE IS. To be honest this was never in my plans, but that's the beautiful thing with writing. If you are here because you read PART I, I thank you so so much from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read my stuff. I think this one's a little shorter, idk, I never pay attention to those things. There will be PART III, so if you are enjoying this as much as I do, I invite you to stay tuned for more. ¡Hope you like it! ❀

Maki, Yuta, Megumi, Yuji, Choso, Yuki and you were now standing in front of Master Tengen, at the Tombs Of The Star were he resided.

The repercusions of the Shibuya incident were far too great and Noritoshi Kamo had created a game out of the renmants of the catastrophe he had caused. A sacrificial ritual in pursuit of the evolution of humanity.

"The Culling Game."

The group layed a carefully made plan while going through the rules explained by Master Tengen, as you had no choice but to participate in the game.

"Well, that's the info we've got." said Maki "Now we each have a role to play."

Yuki and Choso would remain with Master Tengen, and Maki would return to the Zen'in clan to collect all the cursed tools. The group was shorthanded, so Yuji and Megumi would have to go out there and recruit some people, whilst Yuta would hurry up and join the game so as to gather more information, being on his own again.

"As for you Y/n, wha-" Yuta cut himself short seeing as you were standing a little far from the group. You had listened to everything, of course, but your eyes felt swollen and stingy from the incesant headache. "¿Are you okay?"

You didn't reply, you couldn't. It was like your brain was overexerting itself by the stimulus of something unkown that was trying to break through your thoughts. Yuta realised you were struggling, the group needed you, but you needed to go back to Shoko. It was clear that Toge's actions could severely affect you and the side effects, whatever they were, were getting worse with each passing hour. The thing is, he knew you wouldn't back down in this situation just for some headache.

"Now that I think about it, Y/n, you should stay." he said with a smile as warm as a beam of sunlight and a friendly hand on your shoulder.

"I'm sorry. ¡¿What?!" you looked at him incredulously. Everyone turned their heads to see what all the fuzz wass about. "¿Are you insane? ¡As if!"

'¡Tschk! This won't do.' Yuta sighed in defeat.

"Actually, that's not such a bad idea." said Maki from her place. "We have a major ally here at the school that needs our protection and Shoko is healing him. He needs time to recover as it's a slow process, so you'll stand guard for him."

"Maki." Yuta gave her a look. The rest didn't know what had happened between you and Toge, so in saying that, Maki would only raise questions that would resort in having to tell more lies for the sake of your mind's preservation. Fortunately, they were too busy, still talking to Master Tengen.

"It's okay, just trust me." she quickly said under her breath.

"¿What the hell is going on? ¡Ah!" you said squeezing your temple with three of your fingers, applying hard pressure to try and soothe the throbbing pain.

"¡Hey! ¿Is she okay?" Yuji asked taking a step closer to you, but Yuta rapidly turned around and started talking to him about the tactics they had planned to face the game.

Maki showed you a face that meant business this time. Even if what was going on outside was more urgent, she'd have to leave you at the school and pray that Shoko could help you. Sooner or later you'd have to declare your participation in the Culling Game, as refusing to doing so would result in death.

Toge was also on a race against time.

"Look, before I leave I'm taking you back. You heard what Master Tengen said and I can't have you out there like this. Something needs to be done."

You were looking at her attentively now.

"Our guy is a Semi-Grade 1 sorcerer that uses cursed speech technique. He is a major asset, so this is a crucial part of the plan as well. Making sure that he recovers in the least amount of time so that he can join our group, same as you."

"¿What happened to him? ¿What's the scoop?"

"He lost an arm due to Sukuna's Domain Expansion technique."

"Lucky." you said raising your eyebrows.

"Yup. Now let's go, we need to leave asap."

You nodded at her command and were leaving the tombs, way ahead of the group already. "¿You think this is okay?" Yuta approached Maki with concern written all over his face. "This needs to be sorted out. I know Toge, you know Toge, and he won't be going anywhere before he fixes this mistake. Besides, now it only looks like a migraine… ¿But what if the effects of the technique end up ruining the rest of her brain? It's being constricted against her will Yuta." "You are right. I guess we'll have to leave this to them. They'll catch up to us." he said with a reassuring smile. "Yes, they will." Maki replied with a slight nod.

Toge was in his room. It was quiet and somber. He looked ghostly, shrouded in darkness. Thinking of you. He heard noises coming from outside the building and quickly looked at the window to see the group leaving campus. Maki, Yuta, Yuji, Megumi… ¿Where were you? His brows furrowed and his face darkened, thinking that maybe you were not in a good state after the blow caused by the impact of his technique. 'She just had a headache. That's all.' That's what Shoko told him when she went to check up on him after a couple of hours. It didn't matter how many sentences and questions he wrote on his little notepad, her answer was always the same. He had no other choice but to believe her though, if something bad had happened to you he would've known by now. He went back to bed thinking about what would you be doing at that moment. He knew about the game and how everything had gone even more to shit. The guys were strong, he needed to get stronger and you were a goddess of combat, but- The wall of his abdomen tightened even more with each breath, feeling drowsy.

'I could've killed her. I could've-' He heard a couple of soft knocks on his door. As soon as he opened it, there you were. A vision. Somehow you always managed to look impeccable in your uniform, and your creative ways had his gaze nailed to every curve on your body. You always stood out, with your squared neck sleevless mini dress. You wore a shirt underneath, and the pin engraved with the school logo on your left side, right above your chest. You loved your knee-high stockings, and the look would always be finished with a pair of high combat boots. That brief section of your thighs, between your socks and the hem of your dress, were his constant reminder of one of the fleshiest, most juiciest parts of your body that he had always dreamed of grazing with the tip of his fingers. Your long wavy hair released these little electrifying, hipnotic sparkles that continued to feed his gaze. He swore he could feel these little vibrations that were coming out of you with each of your breaths, fully embracing his own blood-pumping muscle. You totally owned his heart. You were still standing there, with eyes as bright as stained glass. Flushed, arms crossed behind your back. Toge noticed your pink infused cheeks becoming much brighter. The soft, padded flesh reminded him that he was only wearing a snuggly white zipped hoddie with nothing underneath. His athletic build was on display for you. His body was solid, well defined and proportioned. His purple eyes were gleaming, and his skin looked so creamy and moist under the white lights on the corridor. He had to have you right then and there, your body against his naked, swollen chest. He needed to feel like you were not entirely out of his system, he wanted to finish before he even started. The need to put himself back into your body was driving him crazy. He wanted to be eaten up by you and never leave that little nest you had for a heart. The one who had taken such good care of him.

He needed you to take a bite from his honeyed lips.

The lights flickered all of a sudden, and your aspect had changed dramatically. You looked so worn, fragile and lost. You didn't know who he was anymore, you were a stranger, and the realisation made his eyes fill with stinging, burning tears. He needed to tell you that he loved you, first of all. So he stretched the only hand that he could towards you, laying it on your cheek with his thumb rubbing against your warm, tender flesh. 'This way, you are going to be just fine. I'm sorry, I'll keep you safe from now on. Remember me, please.'

He was so sorry and he was broken. As empty as your mind was now of his memories of you and him.

But he had to try, he had to do this so that you- "¡Toge!" You'd remember him if he just pressed your lips to yours. Then you'd see that- "¡Toge! ¡Damnit!" Everything would be fine, 'cause he was right there. "¡Inumaki!" you yelled at him right after you separated from his kiss. Blood was gushing out of your mouth while you gasped frantically. "¡INUMAKI, WAKE UP!" Toge jerked awake, with the cold sweat of a nightmare running between his shoulder blades. Your crimson image had left him scarred and full of fear. Panic spread on his face like a wildfire.

Shoko was right there holding him by the shoulder. "¡Put someting on! Y/n's not okay, we need to figure this out or I'm afraid-" Toge pushed past her and started running in the direction of her office.

#inumaki toge #toge inumaki #inumaki x y/n #jjk inumaki #jujutsu kaisen inumaki #inumaki imagines #toge #inumaki x reader #inumaki x you #inumaki scenarios #inumaki angst #toge x y/n #toge x reader #toge x you #jjk x you #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #itadori yuji #zenin maki #shoko ieiri #yuji itadori #fushiguro megumi

[spinchs-field]

in which Ashes remembers falling in love

WHAT'S up fellas. still fulfilling my god-given duty of writing about gay space pirates. this one is formatted slightly different from the other ones i've written. it's meant to be more like a collection of moments in Ashes' memories that happen across multiple months rather than one big scene. ok enough rambling. enjoy <3 warning; they get drunk at the end. that's it (:

Ashes couldn’t tell you when they first fell in love. Ask, and you wouldn't get an answer. Time passes strangely when you’re immortal. Days blur into seconds, months fade into minutes, decades are a day, passing in the blink of an eye.

But they can tell you about every time their hand would brush against Tim’s, and each and every time their very soul became a beautiful, burning bonfire. They remember vividly each time Tim met their eyes, and they had to look away before they did something stupid.

It was hard at first, loving that soldier. He was still recovering from the shock of countless deaths. He barely even knew how to control his new eyes. He hardly trusted the Toy Soldier, let alone anyone else on the ship. 

Ashes was the only one comfortable enough to offer their room for him to sleep in while Nastya worked on constructing one for him in the O’Neill ring. 

Tim declined until he ran into Ashes one evening, hauling a blanket and pillow to the living room. 

“Oh,” Tim said quietly. “I thought you were…”

“Oh, no,” Ashes laughed. “I’m uh… I meant it, when I said you could use my room.”

Tim was quiet for some time. He looked off to the side. “Right.”

“I mean, you don’t have to, it was j–”

“No, I’ll… take you up on that offer,” Tim interrupted. 

“Oh! Alright.” 

They stood in silence for some time. 

“Thanks,” Tim mumbled before he brushed past Ashes.

Ashes turned to watch him walk away. “Goodnight,” they called after him.

Ashes can’t remember hearing a response. 

Weeks would pass with these being their sole interactions. They meet in the hall at night, exchange short sentences, then go to bed. 

Ashes remembers clearly the night that their mind refused to let them sleep. It was the day they saw Tim smile for the first time since being on the Aurora. The image clung to their brain like fire to a matchstick. Something crackled in their chest each time they thought about it. 

After some time, Ashes nearly forgot they had a room until they overheard Nastya telling Tim that his was done. 

That night, Ashes almost jumped out of their skin at the sight of Tim asleep in their bed. They remember feeling a sort of dread at the thought of waking him up. He looked so beautiful. They wouldn’t dare ruin it. 

“You have your own room, you know,” Tim commented the next morning. “You can stop sleeping in the living room.”

“I dunno, the couch is kinda growing on me,” Ashes laughed.

Tim’s mouth twitched slightly into a smile. 

Ashes felt their soul catch ablaze. 

Eventually, Tim moved into his own room, but the scent of gunpowder never left Ashes’ sheets. 

They went through countless nights without sleep, mind racing with images of Tim. Snippets of the words they shared played over and over in their mind. The gunpowder didn’t help. 

Months would pass. The two of them grew closer. Tim smiled more, laughed more, became human again.

No longer a mechanised soldier, but a part of the crew. No longer Tim the soldier, but Tim the gunner. Tim the madman. Tim the fighter. Tim, the one that never left Ashes’ mind.

Tim, the man Ashes fell in love with.

Ashes yelled into Nastya’s pillow, the engineer rubbing circles on their back.

“It’s so stupid!” Ashes groaned.

“I know,” Nastya said. 

“Why him?! Why did I have to fall for the fucking…” Ashes made quick, vague movements with their hands in frustration. “Him?!”

“Well, you do have a lot in common.”

Ashes sighed, shoving their face deeper into the pillow, trying to suffocate the thoughts. “Is this what it felt like? When you fell in love with Aurora?” they asked, resting the side of their head on the pillow. 

“You can say that.” Nastya glanced up at the monitors of the engine room. “Actually, yes. I did not know what to do, when I found out.” She smiled gently at Ashes. 

Ashes sighed again. “This is stupid.” They pressed their face back into the pillow. “He’s so stupid.”

The weeks– or maybe it was months, they could hardly remember– after that were nothing but a blur of feelings and frustration. Ashes could barely be in the same room as him. They had to be told plans separately from Tim, because he was all they paid attention to. It was bordering on embarrassing. 

It didn’t help that Tim was so fucking outgoing. Ashes couldn’t tell you how many times they had to blatantly lie to his face about being busy each time he wanted to hang out with them. 

Eventually, they ran out of excuses, and they only fell deeper into that maddening love as Tim ranted to them about weapons, and made them watch movies, and rested his hand on their shoulder when talking, and smiled, and laughed, and spent every waking moment with them. 

One day (and Ashes could tell you the exact date, because it’s marked on every calendar from that year into the end of the universe), Ashes let it slip.

“I love you,” Ashes said. The words stumbled out of their mouth, wavy with alcohol.

Tim stared at them through bleary, beautiful metallic eyes. He smiled drunkenly. “Really?” 

Ashes smiled and nodded, a laugh bubbling out of their chest. “Really. I… fuck, I love you… so much.” They leaned back, resting their back against the wall. 

Tim shifted on the bed, a hazy laugh falling from his lips as bottles clinked and clattered to the floor. “Like… like actually… love me? Not, fuckin’, platin– fuck. Platonic shit?”

“Fuh– man, yes,” Ashes laughed, bringing a bottle to their lips and taking another swig. “Can’t… stop thinkin’ about you. All th’ time.”

Tim stared quietly at them, a hundred secrets hidden behind his eyes. He moved closer to Ashes. They didn’t even notice.

“I’s so… stupid. You’re– you’re not stupid. God, you’re so smart.” Ashes’ nerves were ablaze as Tim rested a hand on their shoulder. They mindlessly leaned into the touch. “I j’st… I dunno. Your smile… makes me dizzy.” They could barely hold back their laugh. 

Ashes looked over to their side, where they thought Tim was. Their eyes shot over to where Tim was now– lingering in front of them, a deep look of adoration in his eyes.

They stared into his eyes, heart pounding in their chest. All they could hear was their heartbeat and Tim’s slow, steady breaths. 

His lips parted gently. “Can– Ashes, can I…?” His voice trailed off as he leaned in. 

Ashes reached up, cupping Tim’s face with their hand, and kissed him.

Tim sighed, wrapping his arms around Ashes’ neck. Ashes pulled him close, never wanting to let him go. 

Eventually, they had to, so Tim could catch his breath. He laughed, airy and gentle. His breath reeked of alcohol, and Ashes loved it. 

“I… I love you too,” Tim said, gazing at Ashes through half-lidded eyes. 

Something caught fire in Ashes’ chest. For a second, they thought their lungs finally broke. 

They swallowed hard, and all of the sudden, they were no longer a slick mobster who could get anything they wanted. They were just a stunned, madly in love Ashes O’reilly. 

“Do y– does that mean you wan– wanna…” They stumbled over their words, heat rising in their face. “G– wanna da–” they could hardly speak. A laugh rumbled out of their chest.

Tim smiled and leaned in, pressing his forehead against Ashes’. “Yeah. I think… I think I do.”

“Oh my God,” Ashes breathed out the words. “Oh, holy shit.”

Ashes laughed again, tears stinging their eyes. Tim laughed with them, pulling Ashes into a hug. 

Ashes held him close, never wanting to let him go. 

At some point, they fell asleep, only to wake up, hours later, with Tim pressed up close to them. He was completely conked out, snoring gently against Ashes. 

For just a second, they considered getting up, but as they stared down at him, they saw just how beautiful he looked. 

They didn’t dare ruin it. 

#writing stuff #almost forgot. i was listening to Like Real People Do up until that last scene #during which i was jamming tf out to Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! by ABBA #the mechanisms #ashes o’reilly #gunpowder tim #nastya rasputina #<- she's there but only briefly

[yersina]

tamer au - The End please ^_^

THE END — i’ll make up an ending, or post the ending if i’ve written it (ask me abt my wip(s))

[tamer au part 1]

i meant to write a few sentences or a couple paragraphs at most and instead this came out so uh enjoy i guess?? 🙈

~

When Yoojin wakes up, woozy and in pain and wishing that he were anywhere other than the hard, gravely ground that he currently feels underneath him, the first thing he sees is white striped fur. 

“Baekho…?” he mutters, confused, and reaches out until his fingers can tangle in the fur. He doesn’t know why he does it, he fully expects Baekho to shake it off like it always does, but instead it crowds back against Yoojin—protectively? His brain still refuses to understand—and lets out a growl.

“Hyung!”

Yoojin blinks, instantly more awake at the sound of Yoohyun’s voice. “Yoohyun?”

“Hyung!” For a moment, he spots Yoohyun’s face between Baekho’s legs, craned almost upside down in the only space that they can see each other, but in the next moment, Baekho shifts to block his view. “Hyung, you need to call off your monst—creature. Pet. I’ve got a medic here, but it won’t let us pass to reach you.”

The longer Yoojin is awake, the more confused he gets. Baekho wouldn’t do that for him. Gongryongie, he might expect, but not Baekho. His grip on Baekho’s fur tightens when he’s reminded of his dinosaur’s absence, but he smooths it into a pet and gentle push. “Baekho, I need you to move,” he says as calmly as possible. Baekho growls, but begrudgingly shifts to the side when Yoojin pushes at it more insistently. 

Not even a second later, Yoohyun is at his side, hands fluttering in the air around him like he isn’t sure where or if he can touch. “Hyung, you…”

“It looks worse than it is.” Yoojin hopes that that isn’t actually true. It already hurts a lot—he can’t imagine it looking worse.

Between Yoohyun and the medic he’d dragged over, they manage to get Yoojin out of the corner where the dungeon gate had appeared and into an ambulance so he can be taken to the nearest hospital. 

“Baekho.” Yoojin struggles against two medics as he’s packaged into the back of the ambulance. His tiger rumbles threateningly, hackles beginning to rise up. “No, no,” he says, wondering what could possibly have gotten into Baekho between him falling unconscious in the dungeon and waking up outside. “Can you get home? Can you make sure it gets back okay?” he asks one of the Hunters milling around.

“Uh,” is what he gets in response, along with wide eyes. Yoojin gives him up as a lost cause.

“Go home,” he tells Baekho. Hopefully ‘home’ will have Gongryongie, nursing its wounds. And soon, hopefully, Yoojin nursing his own wounds as well. 

Before he can check to see if Baekho follows his orders, Yoohyun drags him into the back of the ambulance and closes the doors. “Rest,” he snaps, pushing Yoojin onto the stretcher, and watches impassively as the EMTs start to hook him up to various machines.

“What happened?” Yoojin asks as something gets attached to his finger, trying to ignore how bereft he feels without Gongryongie or Baekho by his side. “How did I get out of the dungeon?”

Yoohyun furrows his brow. “You don’t remember?”

“I remember the end of the dungeon,” Yoojin offers. At that point, though, he was mostly trying his best to ignore the pain. “Gongryongie was injured, so it couldn’t carry me.” He remembers trying to convince his dinosaur—who could barely support its own weight—that it shouldn’t be trying so hard to drag Yoojin as well as itself. “I was trying to make it to the gate. I don’t remember how I actually got out.”

“I didn’t actually see you until I was called to deal with your tiger.” Yoohyun crosses his arms, tapping a finger in agitation. “Your bird-dinosaur thing flew off before anyone could get to it.” Yoojin breathes a quiet sigh of relief. At least it was strong enough to do that. “Someone mentioned that your tiger carried you out on its back.”

“Baekho did?” Yoojin frowns. “Are you sure?”

“I didn’t see it myself.”

Baekho—would never. 

“You’re sure you didn’t order it to bring you out before you lost consciousness inside?” Yoohyun asks, taking in Yoojin’s confusion. “You can do that, right?”

He can, but he didn’t, and that doesn’t explain why Baekho would stand guard over him after. “I can, but that’s not in its personality,” he explains helplessly. “Baekho isn’t the same as Gongryongie.”

Out of habit, he checks his status window, skimming over most of the information. He vaguely remembers seeing an alert pop up as he was finishing the dungeon, but most of the details were lost on him as he was trying to reach the gate. Most of it is largely the same, with a few stat increases—from leveling up, he’s assuming—but his eyes catch on a particular detail halfway down the window.

[Awakened Han Yoojin has reached Level 10.

Monster Tamer (S) Title Upgrade

Additional Skills

Tame Monster (S): Use of keyword will tame any dungeon creature of S-Rank or lower.

Ride Monster (S): Any tamed creatures can be ridden regardless of creature type.]

Oh. Oh.

“Hey, Yoohyun,” he says weakly, still staring at the change to his title. “Have you reached level ten yet?”

“I’m probably close, but no. You’re in the field more than I am, hyung.” The knot between Yoohyun’s eyebrows tells Yoojin what he thinks of that, but Yoojin can hardly spare a thought beyond the implications of his status window at the moment.

This is a game, he thinks half-hysterically. He literally received a power up at level ten. Is Baekho more obedient because his title got upgraded to S-Rank? Is he going to get another one of these at level twenty? Will the title become SS-Rank?

Yoojin lies back against the stretcher and finally lets his mind go blank, utterly overwhelmed.

What the fuck is happening?

#butterfirefly #sina writes #fanfiction #sctir #s classes that i raised #tamer au

[nightmareworks]

hey so i'm gonna talk about the wargame i'm writing

its called DRAGONSMOKE: A Game of Black-Powder Fantasy Battles and is basically my attempt at making a Warhammer that I can more easily share with folks unfamiliar with why my brain clicks into place at the concept of Your Dudes and using a big setting as a springboard.

i'm talking about it rn bc i'm thinking about fantasy worldbuilding and i'm really proud of what i have in it so we're gonna call this the Worldbuilding Post in tagging systems okay? okay. insert a read more here if you remember

The setting of Dragonsmoke is the Known World, which is based on the Mediterranean and near-east of earth in terms of culture, history, and terrain

so the Known World has a bunch of stuff you'd expect from a fantasy wargame that the author has admitted is a Warhammer heartbreaker- we got your invaders serving a dark god, we got your necromancers doin evil stuff, some funny orcs, we got the empire of men, we got some elfs, some dwarfs, yaknow, all the good stuff!

so as you can see most of the map is taken up by the Sultanate of the Dragon, this is the empire of men i mentioned. i like my fantasy a little less grim than warhammer tends to be, so they're all right in general. they're my first of the Good factions as i term them in my writing. the Good Guys of the story, even if they can do wrong and war with each other or just be Dicks, at the end of the day they're gonna usually do the Moral and Honorable thing for the kinds of stories the setting wants to tell. i go through all of this cause, yaknow, empires are bad things, but also i love when the Good King on his Rightful Throne struggles against the impulses of power and does what's best for all the people of the lands. it rules.

anyway that's the basic idea for the Sultan and basically carries over into the rest of the very Ottoman vibe the whole army is meant to give off. The Sultanate is the Son of the Wyrm God, the Emperor Beneath, Last Victor of the Diamachy, Patriarch of Scalekin- a gigantic and truly ancient Dragon that slumbers beneath Truyvillium. It is with the mandate of the Dragon that the Sultan rules, and the Oath of the Sacred Hoard binds the disparate cultures and peoples of the Sultanate. In every human of the Sultanate flows the blood of Dragons, their Oaths becoming scales on their bodies. Such is the way the nobility is given the right to rule- through their scales and their promises and their binding oaths of service to protect and maintain the Sacred Hoard. For the Sacred Hoard is all the Sultanate, every piece of gold and every child born within its borders are the Hoard of the Wyrm God. The most precious treasure of one of the beings who shaped the world when it was young. And so, woe to those who break their faith with the Emperor Below and the House of Ozmani. May their scales fall out. May their ambitions rot. May the Dragon Blood within them catch flame at the Emperor's Ire.

the Sultanate of the Dragon are, in game terms, a host of well trained and equipped mortal men doing their best to protect their homes and livelihoods from the Darkness that threatens the known world, supported by heavy artillery, the dragon-blooded Janissary Corp, auxiliaries from the far reaches of the Sultanate (like the Cynophelli, the Beastmen with the heads of Dogs; and the Men of Blyemmae, the Ogres who are as tall as two men, as strong as ten, and posses a great gnashing second mouth on their stomachs), and the Dragons who answer the ancient oaths betwixt Man and Drake.

so that's the Sultanate, whom i really adore, but there's another human faction! and this one is the Evil one. i don't feel like i really have to explain the ideas behind the Evil factions quite as much as the good ones cause Evil's easy to grasp when you read it so i'm gonna launch into them with a little less preamble

from across the Great Sea, the reavers come bearing their dark miracles- A Heretic's Crusade, lead by knights astride steeds gone mad with fear and clad in enchanted armor that refuses to let them die. In the wake of their charges follow the Sinners-at-Arms and those blessed and damned by That Miracle's touch. They have come from the Blessed Lands at the order of the Holy See of That Wretched Miracle, to burn the Known World and pick through the ashes for whatever their wicked masters desire- all to bring That Miracle into this world. The Crusaders are just that- Crusaders. A roving army of murderers warped by the attention and touch of That Miracle, bound together in their Dogma and their twisted Faith.

in general the Heretic's Crusade has a bit less to say about it than the Sultanate bc, well, they're the Chaos Warriors- servants of Evil, come to despoil and burn. Its very straightforward! they're from fantasy italy (which they ruined) and focus on having heavier cavalry than everyone else. the Crusaders on their horses (or on foot sometimes) make up the core of the army, supported in the wings by the twisted porcelain angels of That Miracle, the enslaved footsoldiers they brought with them, and the occasional dark theologian capable of speaking the foul un-words of That Wretched Miracle. i love my bad guys cause they're just the worst, and sometimes you want Just The Worst. and what's The Worst more than catholic legalists who are capable of a lot of murder? not much!

so that's where we leave off for the human factions and i'm tired of typing so we're gonna call this done and post it and next time talk about the dwarfs (sexually dimorphic elementals who invented socialism recently) and orcs (a kind of youkai)

#worldbuilding #writing #ttrpg #wargames #ttrpg design