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ghirahimbo · 2 years

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Fictober 2022 Day 6: "Adaptable. I like that."

Family's back out of town, so here's another prompt! This one's still rough around the edges, so I might polish it up a bit if I decide to post to AO3.

Pairing: Link/Revali

Pre-Calamity, pre-relationship. Revali is louder than he thinks he is.

Despite having the strength to uproot whole trees and slam the earth with tremendous force, most Hinoxes were still not all that hard to take down. As stupid as they were slow, their single, wide eye made for one easy target, and their unprotected shins another. In fact, the greatest danger in fighting them was getting accidentally trampled beneath their enormous feet—a danger that Revali, at least, had no trouble avoiding.

Unfortunately for Link and Revali both, this was not their average Hinox.

"I can't get a good shot in," Revali called out, sounding frustrated as he swooped in low to hover over Link. The two of them had been partnered up for missions more and more often these days, he'd noticed, despite Revali's professed distaste for the situation. At first Link had suspected Princess Zelda's involvement, though he was starting to wonder... "Any bright ideas? No bomb arrows left," he added with a grimace, acknowledging the explosive gesture Link made with his hands.

Eyes narrowed, Link considered the situation, keeping up a steady retreat as the Hinox advanced. Charcoal black rather than the usual red, this one had been much more diligent about protecting its eye than most Link had fought, blocking Revali's arrows at every turn. It even had crudely fashioned plate armor strapped to its legs, something that Link had never seen in his life. At least there weren't any trees nearby to form a makeshift weapon.

The princess was right. There was something different about the monsters now—ominously so.

"All beauty, no brains," Revali sighed under his breath when Link didn’t answer, rising up again on a gust of air. "Such a pity."

Gathering another trio of arrows from his quiver—shock arrows this time—Revali aimed again at the Hinox's eye, not noticing Link staring after him. The green energy fizzled harmlessly against the thickened hide of its hand.

Link hadn't been meant to hear that, he was sure. Revali had developed a frequent habit of muttering things under his breath, apparently unaware of just how sharp Hylian hearing was—something Link had no real desire to enlighten him on. Nothing he said about Link was ever half as caustic as what he said to Link's face. Some of it was even complimentary, in a roundabout sort of way.

That had been damn near flirtatious.

"Is that sword of yours really nothing more than a stick after all?" Revali snapped from above. "The truth of the legends sorely disappoints."

With a start, Link returned to the fight at hand. Whether it sealed the darkness or not, his sword couldn't do much against three solid inches of metal armor, and the monster's legs were the highest part of it Link could reach. Maybe he could sneak around the back with Revali distracting it? The Hinox had already singled Revali out as the One With the Arrows, and paid him the most attention in turn.

Or better yet...

Whistling for Revali’s attention, Link pointed first at himself and then the Hinox, making a circling gesture.

"You're going around?" Revali said, again interpreting the gesture with ease—something he'd grown almost suspiciously good at lately. "And I suppose you want me to cover you, eh? Oh, very well..."

Darting in and out around the Hinox's head, Revali proceeded to make himself a nuisance for the beast, shooting arrow after arrow at its shielded eye—one by one, Link noticed, no doubt to preserve stock. With its attention so thoroughly captured, Link had no trouble slinking away, angling carefully back behind it so as not to be seen.

Mindful of its feet, he timed it out carefully in his mind before jumping, just managing to grasp the rough rope of its crude belt. With a soft grunt, he pulled himself up.

"Reckless..." Link thought he heard Revali sigh, though it seemed to be working. Distracted as it was, the Hinox didn't even notice Link scaling its hunched back, finding grips on its tattered vest to keep from falling. He'd thought it might not, seeing how even the electric bite of a shock arrow had failed to register against its thickened skin. Soon enough, he was crouched unsteadily atop its back, looking down at its greasy head.

Link started to draw his sword—and changed his mind, sheathing it again. He'd had another idea.

"What do you want?" Revali hissed incredulously as Link gestured urgently for him to come. "Just stab it already!"

But he darted in closer, dodging the swipe of an overlarge hand. Link was forced to crouch down as the Hinox stumbled from misplaced momentum to maintain his own balance.

"What on earth are you—"

Link thrust a hand inside Revali’s quiver, not bothering to ask for permission. Ignoring the Rito's indignant squawk, he yanked out a handful of arrows that crackled with green energy at the end, and couldn't suppress a faint grin. Perfect.

"How dare you—"

Sliding down the short slope of the Hinox's neck, Link steadied himself on its horn for only a second before swinging his arm around, thrusting the bundle of shock arrows into the monster's eye with as much force as he could manage.

A few things happened at once. Link yelped, thrown head over heels as a cloud of electric energy erupted from the Hinox's eye. The Hinox bellowed, slapping both hands over its eye where Link had stood only half a moment before—and Revali cursed loudly. Bracing himself for impact with the ground, Link instead felt talons wrap around his shoulders, bringing his downward momentum to a jerking halt.

"Idiot!" Revali snapped, setting him none-too-gently in the ground. "Think things through next time!" Under his breath he added, "Adaptable, though... I like that."

Link felt something altogether different surge through him.

The Hinox swayed on its feet, fazed at last by the jolts of electric energy still racing through its body. Its hand twitched wildly as Revali raised his bow one last time, a trio of arrows set against the string.

Round after round of shots finally found their home in the Hinox's eye, the beast letting out a pathetic moaning cry with each one until it finally tipped backwards, slamming against the ground with an earth-shaking thud. Link ran forward, sword in hand, and found that there was no need. The Hinox blackened further, shrinking in on itself until it vanished in a burst of violet smoke. One Hinox less to terrorize travelers—but how many more like it would they find?

The question faded strangely in importance as Revali landed right beside him, surveying Link over his beak. Head tilted expectantly, Link waited for his assessment.

"Took you long enough," Revali said, raising his head in that slightly condescending way of his. "And of course I had to do all the work there at the end. By the way, if you even think about reaching your hand down my quiver again, I'll—"

Later, Link would wonder whether it was the lingering rush of adrenaline that did it or something else. Acting on sudden impulse, he dropped to the ground, sweeping one leg out as he fell. Revali yelped, cutting off mid-sentence as his legs were knocked out from beneath him.

To Revali's credit, he went down swinging—his bow, at least. Thrusting it out wildly as he fell, he managed to catch Link in its arc, knocking him off his own feet to land practically on top of Revali.

Shaking his head to clear it, Link found the sparking green tip of an arrow aimed shakily at his throat, and felt the hair raise along his arms in a shiver. Revali glared wide-eyed up at him, equal parts confusion and outrage.

"You—what?" Revali blustered. "Why would you—what is the meaning of—"

"Adaptable," Link whispered, and Revali's spluttering died out like a doused candle. "I like that."

Green eyes went somehow wider, pupils narrowing to slits.

Link pushed back up to standing, dusting himself off before offering Revali a hand. Revali forgot himself enough to take it slowly, his feathery grip enveloping the entirety of Link's arm.

Neither said a word as he stood, taking his wing back at once under the pretence of searching it meticulously for dust or misplaced feathers. Only once Revali had brushed himself off to his own satisfaction, straightening his pauldrons and smoothing his skirted armor down, did he again speak.

"I... will fly on ahead to inform the princess of our success," he said at last, with maybe half his usual amount of haughtiness. "Someone ought to inform her sooner rather than later, don't you think? You'll simply have to look after yourself for—for once.

Link nodded silently, blank-faced. Drawing himself up, Revali gathered the wind in a quick spiral around him and shot into the air, darting off towards the castle with unusual speed even for him.

Watching him go, Link felt his blank expression crack. He even hummed to himself a bit, turning to start his own trek back to the castle with plenty of time to wonder where things might go from here.

He thought he'd miss those whispered remarks... but then again, it had been worth it to see Revali at last go utterly speechless.

#revalink #fictober 2022 #my writing #meant to finish this up last night but i kept falling asleep and typing gibberish #so you know

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madroxed · 2 years

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This is an olddd fandom, but Saphael & first bite? :D Interpret however you want!

FIRST BITE [simon/raphael. set post though the truth may vary. @ao3.]

There’s a hole in his chest.

There’s a hole in his chest, and all Simon can think is that he shouldn’t have spent so much on this jacket because it’s definitely beyond saving, and then he’s laughing sat alone with his back against a dumpster that’s probably passing on several communicable diseases every minute.

It wasn’t even a fight. Wrong place, wrong time, and now he’s sat against a disease dumpster with a bullet in his chest whilst a mugger swans off into the night to shoot innocent civilians another day. It’s stupid and pointless and maybe ironic — thanks Alanis Morisette for confusing him about that one — and all he’d wanted to do was take a short cut home for games night with his family.

His family.

Fuck.

Raphael’s going to kill him.

He’s supposed to be home, tucked up on the couch in a hoodie Raphael’s tried to throw out at least three times, laughing every time Maggie accidentally beats them all at something she’s never played and Jagger looks sad and confused, and pretending they don’t see Aarav trying to cheat under Raphael’s approving eye.

Instead he’s going to catch, like, syphilis or something.

If he doesn’t bleed out first. The gunshot missed his heart, he’s pretty sure, otherwise he’d be dust right about now, but that doesn’t mean he’s in the clear. The blood loss to healing time ration does not seem to be in his favor.

Yeah.

He’s screwed.

He should shout out, but if a random Mundane walks into this alley right now, he’s gonna bite them. He’s gonna bite them and drain their blood and maybe kill them, and it doesn’t matter how much he tries not to, the survival instinct is too ingrained. He doesn’t want to kill some poor person who’s just trying to help.

He could call someone, but he’s not sure where his phone is. On the floor somewhere, probably, because he’d been playing Tetris whilst walking like an idiot, and then, boom, gunshot, and, yeah.

There’s probably a few life lessons in here.

It’s kinda ridiculous how he’s died for real but this feels worse. The first time it was some big, dramatic event; players all spread out across the board to win someone else’s game, and Simon had his part and performed it perfectly despite no one asking for his permission. He died and he woke up, and then life kept moving on and on until he took control and carved out a space for himself and the people he’d chosen.

The people he loves.

The people he should be with right now, fuck—

He can practically hear Raphael’s voice, annoyed and impatient and boxed up with worry that Simon’s learnt to unpack and hold close, and God, he feels so shitty for doing this to him, they’d had so many plans, made so many promises—

Simon’s not ready to leave him. He’s not ever going to be ready.

“Simon!” Raphael shouts, and Simon blinks, looks up and, wow, if he’s hallucinating then he’s further gone than he’d thought…

“Hi,” he says, and smiles even though everything hurts because it’s Raphael, even if he is only in his head.

Of course then Raphael’s there, pressing down on the bullet wound, and oh, okay, sure, yeah, not a hallucination if it’s hurts that fucking much, wow.

“How—” he just about manages, because now the delirium’s given way to agony his brain’s a little less capable of processing words, but Raphael understands all the same because of course he does. He always has.

“GPS,” he says. “I’ve had us linked on Find My Phone for months for this exact reason,” he says, which should probably sound a bit stalkerish but mostly just makes Simon love him even more.

God does he love him.

He thinks he should probably say something, give Raphael a rundown of injuries or whatever, but he’s struggling to stay conscious, and besides, Raphael’s already putting pressure on the wound, taking charge the way only a natural born leader can, and Simon wishes he could appreciate it more but mostly he’s trying desperately to just keep what little control he has left and not give in to the dark completely.

“Okay,” Raphael says, and Simon opens his eyes to find him tugging off his own jacket and pulling at the collar of his shirt. “Ready?”

Simon blinks at him.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Raphael says, and pulls Simon’s head to his neck in one sudden movement.

Simon freezes.

There’s a part of him — the part born in the Du Mort, born of fear and hunger and action — that knows precisely what to do. The same part that’s singing at the very thought, his veins itching for it, and the haze of animal instinct insistent in its drive for survival. It wouldn’t be the first time. It won’t be the last.

But—

It’s Raphael.

“No,” he says, and tries to push away. He can’t, which says a lot about his health right now, and Raphael holds him tight.

“Yes,” he says, like it’s easy. Like this isn’t rocking Simon’s world to the core. “Baby, I know. I know. But if you don’t feed in the next two minutes I’m going to be taking you home in an urn, and I won’t be the one to tell Aarav you died because you were too sentimental to just fucking drink.”

He’s shaking, Simon realizes. The fingers at the back of his neck are running through his hair, and oh, his heart’s beating so fast. He’s scared, but not of Simon, for Simon.

If everything else wasn’t going to shit, Simon thinks he’d be overwhelmed by that level of trust.

“What if I can’t—”

“You will,” Raphael says, total certainty in his voice, and Simon wants to hold him and kiss him and tell him it’ll be okay.

He also wants to taste him. Needs to.

His self-control can only last so long.

“Now,” Raphael says, and Simon does as he’s told.

The skin gives under his fangs, the slightest push, so careful not to tear, and then there’s blood on his tongue, running down his throat, and he’s drinking as fast as he can, feeling his body respond as his chest begins to thread itself back together. He drinks and he drinks and he drinks, and through it all he can hear Raphael’s slowing heartbeat, feel him like fire under desperate, clinging hands.

He thinks this might be what heaven feels like.

Or hell.

He’s not sure it matters either way.

When his strength returns just enough, he swallows one last time, savours the taste of blood, of life, of Raphael, and forces himself to put his fangs away. Laps at the split skin and then presses his mouth there instead, under his ear and up his jaw, searching until he finds Raphael’s lips, slack and a little blue, and Simon kisses him over and over until Raphael’s breathing’s back to normal, his heart steady and loud and every lullaby Simon’s learnt to love, and he kisses Simon back, digging his nails into Simon’s scalp and holding on as tightly as he can, like he’s scared to let Simon go.

“Food,” he says eventually, leaning away, and Simon chases him for one more, two more, three more kisses. “I need food and water and warmth.”

“Yeah,” Simon says, and lifts Raphael to his feet, wraps his arm around his shoulders so they can hold each other up. “I’ve got you."

“Home,” Raphael says, leaning his head on Simon’s shoulder.

Raphael’s blood is still on the back of his tongue and in his veins, like coffee and magic and life.

Home, he thinks, and knows he’s finally tasted it.

#saphael #saphael fic #shadowhunters #shadowhunters fic #simon x raphael #replies #my fic #look at me out here finally filling prompts from a million years ago oops #anyway i still absolutely am going to write the actual sequel to tttmv at some point promise

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

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Wild Thing

This is a second part, find part one here

Pairing | James Cook x reader

Summary | the aftermath of that night not only has Cook feeling immensely heartbroken, but also furious. And you, the one that caused all that pain, are the whom he is intent of directing his feelings towards. This time however, he is not to make himself so vulnerable.

Warnings | angst, swearing, mentions of sex, shaming for sex (everyone is free to do what they want sexually and to their bodies), sex addiction.

Requested ☑️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

A fire burned in his chest, the flames reaching his face and causing a red hue to interpret the presentation of his milky skin. It was anger; he had been furious with you that night. broken by the shattering of his heart. It made him feel worthless, the way that you had just left with another bloke, abandoning him to satisfy the pity of his friends.

But you had returned to college, after your little suspension, and that amused and mischievous smile on your face riled him completely. Before if you wore it, he would want nothing more than to follow you into the nearest dark corner, and do unspeakable, yet brag worthy things with you.

However, he found himself not willing to give himself so easily away to you again. For you would do nothing more than discard him, and bend him to fulfil your insatiable lust during school hours. He knew that it wasn’t your best moment; there was shit tons of alcohol involved in your bloodstream, as there was his, but nevertheless, he saw your true colours, and had decided from then on out, that he had decided that he did not like them.

“Don’t worry about it mate, just ignore her.” Freddie was admittedly worried about his friend, albeit if he could easily annoy him and get under his skin. But nobody deserved such ignorant and hurtful treatment, after all, Freddie knew far too well of how that all felt. His relationship wit Effy was promptly messy, but he could not help but be enticed by the danger that she radiated.

“Yeah.” Cook shook his head, trying to convince himself to cool down, and listen to Freddie. “I, uh - I’ll meet you after class. Gonna go out and have a smoke, then, who fucking knows.” And thus, he walked away from his friend, heading towards the back doors that permitted him some fresh air.

Inside made him feel trapped, as though he were in a room again, surveying how you threw yourself at that stranger, willingly allowing him to grope you as you returned the favour. And then you left him, after he had made himself vulnerable to all eyes after opening up his heart.

That had been a grave mistake on his part, it was dumb idea for him to have thought of himself as anything more than another one of your toys, that you happened to throw away after one game, like a spoilt, and vindictive brat.

Everyone knew what you were like, Cook thought he had seen past the exterior that you flashed off, envisioning something deeper within you. But in the end, the only deep insight that a part of him ever had in you, was when his cock had been pounding in your pussy, that had swallowed god knows how many other dicks.

He breathed a breathy sigh, holding back his tears as he grew determined to stay strong through all that was happening. To his friends, he was the man. There was no soft side to him, and there sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be a girl that was able to break down his walls so easily.

You had made him feel weak, something he never wanted to experience again. And so he pulled out his box of cigarettes, wrapping his palm around the front so that he could light it without the wind dismissing his wishes, as you previously had done. He watched the fire balance on the end of the bud, but with a gust of wind, it disappeared, making him huff.

Nervously, you watched James from behind him, biting your lips as you silently closed the door. “Fucks sake!” He half yelled into the autumn day, throwing his useless lighter to the ground, finding it to be out of fuel, and no longer igniting the end of his fag.

“You need a light?” Your voice rang through his head like a painful echo, his shoulders wincing. He refused to turn, for he knew that taking one glimpse at your inducing face would break him all over again, and so he remained directing his eyes the opposite way, gulping before opening his gob.

“The fuck d’you want?” He spat out, shooting a droplet of saliva upon the concrete as he mindlessly dragged his shoes along the gravel. His tone made you shrink, though you continued closer, until you handed him the black encased lighter, unsurprised by how he roughly snatched it out of your hand.

He took a puff once he had brought fire to the end of his cigarette, refraining from turning from the side. “I’m a bitch.” You sighed, tugging your jacket closer around yourself, as the wind swept through your hair. Admitting you felt terrible would be a mistake, it would only set Cook off again, and that was the last thing you wanted. To make amends was your goal.

“Yeah, you are.” He agreed, carelessly throwing the s lighter sideways towards you, smirking as he heard you fumble to catch it. “Can’t even be polite about someone telling you that they care about you, all because you don’t care about yourself. You think of yourself as a rag doll that can be thrown around until the person playing with you makes you cum.”

Staring at the ground, you breathed through your nose as you really allowed the words to sink in. He wasn’t entirely wrong, pleasure was a distraction, an escape from the reality that you were forced to live in.

“I deserve that.” You nodded, finally feeling your heart stop as he turned to look at you. To say you looked different was an understatement, he hadn’t realised earlier since he was trying his utmost to avoid you, but you were dressed in baggy articles, and void of any traces of makeup. And you looked partially hungover, karma was a right bitch.

“You don’t deserve nothing.” He took another inhale of the toxins within the cigarette, trying to keep Freddie’s sense in his mind, though it was difficult to ignore you when you had sought him out to talk rather than a quick and mind fucking shag.

“Maybe.” You breathed steadily, shoving your hands in your pockets as your hidden fingers played with the lighter that he had returned. “But I messed up, and I know you understand that, because you push people away too Cook. It wasn’t my intention to hurt you, I mean, I woke up in that guy’s bed, ‘n all i could think about was you. I’ve never been so stupid.”

“Speaking to me right now is pretty stupid of you.” He retorted, releasing a tension filled scoff. “Tell me y/n did you fuck that guy? Did you allow him to run his nasty hands all over your body, did you shove his cock inside of you, using him like you use everyone?”

“You already know that answer to that.” You replied, for sure not proud of yourself. “I have a problem, I think. There’s something fucked up inside of me Cookie, and I can never say no to someone that wants to do me.” Your hands grasped the air, as tears spilled from your eyes. “I think I need help.”

“What problem y/n/n?” Cook dug in deeper, needing more of an answer. It wasn’t enjoyable to see you cry, it made his veins turn to acid, burning him from the inside out, but this was the first instance that you had been so open with him.

“I think I’m a sex addict.” The words weighed heavy on your tongue, making them feel more real as you spoke them. “The doctor said he needs to do a couple more assessments then we’ll know for sure, but I really am fucked; in both ways. I can’t stop fucking, and I’m fucked up. I’m unable to commit to anybody because of this, but that doesn’t mean that in this sickness in my mind doesn’t leave room for me to leave room about it...”

“Fuck.” James dropped his cigarette, allowing you to fall into pieces within his arms. “We’ll get through this, I’ll help you, yeah?” He stroked your hair, making you bite your lip, inwardly pushing away the dirty thoughts that sparked within your head.

“I can’t ask that of you.” Your whimpered, finally feeling safe yet pained in the worst way whilst in his embrace.

“You don’t have to ask me. I’m here.” You gulped at his words, deep down knowing that you would get again fuck up, and he would not remain by your side for the long run. If he did, then he’d be insane.

#james cook imagine #james cook x reader #james cook #skins cook #skins x reader #skins imagine #jack o'connell #imagines #imagine #xreader

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kisekinodrabbles · 3 years

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Can we get detective Aomine, who gets assigned a female partner but from the start they're always at each other's throats. During an undercover case, reader has to be super flirty and Aomine gets all jealous and mutual confessions ensues. Maybe some sexy times at the end? :') Sorry if this is too specific, feel free to come up with your own interpretation! I'm such a huge fan of your work Sam and I'm so excited that you're opening your askbox even just for a little while!

ngl idk what im doing here but this is the last request in my inbox so i wanted to finish it haha pls enjoy (not proofread so excuse mistakes) - also my first time writing smut in like years so forgive me!!

Sometimes, Aomine thinks that if he isn’t a law and order professional, he thinks he might actually commit murder and hide your body away in some undisclosed, obscure location. Most of the time, you feel the same way about him.

The two work in different divisions—Aomine in homicide and you in robbery. The two divisions have always been highly competitive especially given how much overlap you both encounter. Things can get territorial, but their teams are used to your snide remarks and Aomine’s verbal assault. It’s just the way the world works.

After all, the two of you were in the same graduating class. You, a valedictorian by books. Aomine, top of the class by combat. It’s natural that the two of you are so competitive with your conflicting personalities.

The two of you may have also fucked at some point.

–

“I’m not fucking working with her, are you kidding me?” Aomine spits out at his boss. Any other person would’ve been kicked out of the room or probably fired, but Aomine is the best detective in his division so Akashi would never do such a thing. For now. Aomine’s been wearing his patience thin.

The red-haired man sighs, folding his hands together atop his desk. “Aomine, I understand you both have had your immaturity in the past. This, however, isn’t the time for such trivial matters. There’s a double homicide downtown during a robbery. She’s the lead for the case on the robbery end because they’ve been tracking a series of these.” Aomine opens his mouth to argue again. “No more buts. She’s already down there getting witness statements. Unless you want to be behind again, I suggest you get in your car and start driving.”

He grits his teeth. Breathe. Don’t strangle your boss, he’ll probably kill you first. “I’ll take Wakamatsu.”

By the time he arrives on the scene, a crowd has gathered behind the police line, snapping pictures in the hopes of getting something Twitter worthy. He growls past all of them and ducks underneath the tape. “Where’s the officer that called it in?”

“Inside talking to the detective.”

“I’m the detective,” he snaps right back, knowing full well you’re already three steps ahead of him. And you definitely won’t let him forget that.

He marches past the thick front doors, Wakamatsu in tow. From a distance, he spots you talking to another officer. When he finally approaches you, he realizes that you’re in a skin tight dress covered by an oversized police jacket.

Your name slips past his lips. “Did we interrupt a hot date?” He smirks.

You whirl around, knowing full well the irritating voice that grates on your nerves. Aomine Daiki. “Unlike you, I have actual friends and actual plans on a Friday night. Did you decide to give your wrist a break for the night?”

Aomine bites back, “Well, it’s not getting much rest either when I had my fingers knuckle deep in something tight and wet tonight.” Complete lie but he’s not about to lose this battle. “Not sure you know how that feels though.”

“If you’re talking about the pudding in your fridge, you might want to ease up on that. Doesn’t look like it’s doing you any favors,” you smile right back at him, knowing full well you’ve won this argument.

Aomine growls low under his breath, jabbing Wakamatsu hard with his elbow when he hears the snort escape him. “Brief me on the situation,” he tells the police officer.

“Well, uh, I already told this detective here—”

“I’m the other detective in charge for homicide. Now, you better fucking brief me before I tell your captain.”

The guy glances at you warily and you just laugh. “Told you he hasn’t gotten any in a long time. Come on, sugar, I’ll brief you on the way down to the vault.” You curl your finger in a gesture to get him to follow you and he sucks up his pride for the first time and do as he’s told. If he solves this case, he still gets the credit and you can go back to that sewer where you came from.

There are two bodies at the vault and forensics are already working to collect evidence when they arrive. “Your area of expertise, double homicide. Both are surprisingly the robbers. Four of them broke in, only two were seen exiting with money bags. No other casualties.”

“Fucking weird,” Aomine mutters. It’s not new for robberies to go wrong, but for two of them to die with no civilian casualty? That’s fucking weird.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” You grin, seeming way too pleased considering there are two dead people in front them. “The ammo is the same as the previous bank robberies in the area. We’re going to assume they’re linked to the Red Dragon clan.”

“Fuck,” he groans, “I fucking hate those guys. Bitches to deal with. Hard to infiltrate.”

You flick your hair over your shoulder, grinning at him. He can’t help but draw his gaze to your neck, a very attractive neck. Now that he notices how tight that dress is, he can’t help but admit that it has been a while since he’s gotten any action. The curves of your breast defined so clearly by the fabric that stretches across the mounds, the flow of your hips, every dip and rise. Your exposed legs further emphasized by your heels. God fucking damn. He feels his pants tighten as he licks his teeth. Get it together, Aomine.

Of course, the clothes do nothing to remove the memory of your nude body from his mind. He’s seen all parts of you some time ago. A drunken mistake that ended in a brief, but extremely satisfying night of passion. Your tight pussy wrapped around his cock, your nails digging into his biceps. He can still picture the sheen layer of sweat on your skin as he rams into you, your broken moans falling from your lips.

“Well, lucky for you,” you start again, pulling him out of the hazy cloud of lust. “I already have someone on the inside. They’ve set up a meeting for me tomorrow night meet with the head’s son. I’ll try to get some information done.”

“Lucky for you, I’m free tomorrow to be your backup. You’re welcome,” Aomine smiles, “Don’t fuck this up. I don’t feel like cleaning up after your ass.”

“I should say that about you, asshole.”

–

Aomine is sat in a dingy van just across the street from the bar you’re having your meeting. You’ve hidden your mic in the perfect spot, a location which you do not disclose to Aomine. However, he has a feeling it’s somewhere promiscuous that he wants to be aware of. They can see the restaurant clearly, their brat hacker Sakurai having plugged into the restaurant’s security cameras.

“Shut the fuck up, Aomine. I can hear you munching on your stupid sour cream and onion chips.” You mutter into your mic before the guy arrives. You sip your wine and take a deep breath. This isn’t the first time you’ve gone undercover but it is the first time to have Aomine behind you while you do so.

The detective looks down at the can in his hands. Sour cream and onion. How did you know? He sets it aside, bringing the mic up to his lips. “Maybe you should do your job better and focus on your meeting instead of listening to me. Why are you so obsessed with me, hm?”

However, a man’s voice on the other side of the headphones has him straightening. “Good evening, I didn’t expect to be meeting a lovely lady like you tonight,” the sleaze says and Aomine can just imagine him kissing your hand. “When Tanaka said I’d be meeting with the right hand of White Claw, I didn’t expect it to be a woman.”

“Well, we are moving up in life, Mr. Ito.”

“Your good looks are certainly quite persuasive. I’m sure there are ways you can convince me to strike a deal.”

Fucking. Sleaze.

“Oh,” you laugh lightly, “what a flatterer. You’re not so bad yourself. I can imagine people fall at their feet for you.”

“Well, I am quite knowledgeable in more ways than one. Perhaps I can show you tonight after dinner.”

The two banter back and forth, trading flirty comments that puts Aomine on edge. You’re supposed to be doing your job and he knows that. He knows this is all an act but you’re a damn good actress.

“Aomine, where are you going?” Wakamatsu’s concerned voice carries through the speaker.

You freeze. This fucker better not screw this whole operation up. “Well,” you say, “this has been a lovely dinner. I’m sure we both can come to an agreement without doing anything reckless.”

The double meaning, a sentence meant for the man across from you and the man listening to you rings clear. Aomine growls, sitting back down petulantly in his seat. He was about to rage in there and start a war, but holds himself back. Be professional, Aomine. Job first, dick needs later.

“The same to you. It’s been a pleasure meeting you,” the man smiles. “Are you sure you won’t join me for the night?”

Aomine snarls low into his mic. Wakamatsu shoots him a weird look. You let out a little giggle and he knows it’s meant for him. “No, thank you, Mr. Ito. I’m afraid I have other commitments to tend to.”

When he knows it’s safe, he storms into the restaurant where you still sit, sipping your drink. Sliding into the seat across from you, he rolls his eyes. “Enjoy yourself?”

He didn’t see when you were set up with the mic earlier so he also hadn’t seen what you were wearing. He’s almost grateful because he knows he might’ve lost it if he did. Tight ass dress, deep neckline that shows ample cleavage (he’s always a sucker for this), sultry eyes, red lips. God, all his favorite things packaged into one.

Your lips quirk up. “The breadsticks here are quite nice.”

“Fucking hilarious. Let’s go.”

“Why the hurry?”

“Unless you want Wakamatsu to hear me fuck you, you better dump that mic and get your ass up.”

You lean back, narrowing your eyes at him. “I’m not sure I like your tone.”

“Trust me, you don’t have to like my tone to enjoy what I’m going to do to you.”

Licking your lips, you consider your options as you bring the wine back to your lips. “Fine,” you mutter, unclipping the mic from the strap of your dress. Aomine moves faster though, snatching it from your hands and dumping it into the wine. Before you can protest, he already has a hand wrapped around yours, tugging you up from your seat and into the back room.

You’re stumbling in his manic rush, heels barely keeping up with your movements. “Aomine!” You chide as he pushes all the way to the employee break room. The space is fortunately empty and Aomine locks it to make sure it stays that way. “Can you please stop?! You’re such a caveman, I—”

He’s quick to shut you up, swallowing your words with his lips as they slot over yours. He doesn’t waste time, shrugging off his leather jacket as he licks your bottom lip for permission. You gasp a complaint, but he takes advantage of the situation to stick his tongue in, pressing it up against yours.

All your worries fall away into a moan as he separates from you only to gasp for breath and pull his t-shirt over his head. With nimble fingers, he’s unzipping the back of your dress and yanking it down, leaving your top half exposed. Shivering, you’re about to voice your disapproval but your brain seems to stop functioning the second your gaze lands on his tanned body.

Aomine’s always been attractive. No one can deny. There’s a reason why he’s simultaneously the precinct’s most eligible bachelorette and most insufferable jackass. His confidence matches his skills. His looks live up to his brags. Hard lines and shadows are painted on him like a masterpiece in a museum. His broad shoulders make him look even bigger with his height. His jeans that hang just low enough to be tantalizing with the hint of a v that leads to the space between his legs.

Your mouth dries up at the sight and Aomine smirks knowingly. You’ve fallen into his bed before, he can make it happen again. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Fifth grade humor doesn’t become you, Aomine.” You scowl as he backs you up against the table in the middle of the room. He effortlessly grabs you by the ass to lift you up and onto the surface, the metal cool against your exposed thighs.

“Did you dress up for me, doll? Knowing full well that this was going to happen,” he grins devilishly, bringing his hands up to shamelessly cup your breasts.

It’s not as if you’re embarrassed for being so bare before him. You’re proud of your body and he damn well knows that. You let him fondle you through your bra for a little bit. “No, you animal. I dress for the job.”

“You tell me you wear this flimsy thing—” he teases the light coverage of your lingerie. The lace is sheer and barely covers your nipples, the material holding onto your breasts for dear life. “—for the job?”

“I do my job right, asshole,” you spat right back. “So are you just going to stand there or are you going to fuck me?”

A wide grin stretches across his face. The heat in his eyes carry to his hands as he works to unclasp your bra and let it fall to the ground. Aomine doesn’t waste time as you lean back on your palms, granting him full access to fondle and suckle on your tits. His tongue swirls around the sensitive nubs that have grown stiff in the contrast between the cold air and his warm breath. His teeth graze the sensitive skin hard enough to have you groaning in pleasure. His lips close in around them and suck. He uses his hand to tease and tug your other breast, pinching it to elicit that delicious whimper out of you. Aomine alternates between the two, making sure you stay warm.

Meanwhile, you let your hand fall to the bulge between his legs. He lets out a small grunt at the initial touch but seems to respond favorably to the way you stroke the tent, nudging his hips forward for more friction. “Is that a gun in your pants or are you just excited to see me?”

“You’re so fucking ridiculous,” Aomine mutters, both humored and unamused by your comment.

“Fuck,” you let slip as your fingers struggle to unbutton his jeans. “Your fucking pants. Don’t you live in sweats? You choose today of all days to wear your stupid tight jeans?”

Aomine chuckles, “Patience, baby. You know you like my ass in these.”

You do, but you’re not about to admit that. He quickly works off his pants, letting them drop to his ankles as he moves towards you again. While he continues to stimulate your tits, your hand begins groping his cock which is rock hard and peeking from the top of his boxers.

“God, I miss having this inside me,” you whine, pulling the flimsy fabric off and letting it pool on top of his jeans. “Condom?”

“You don’t want me raw? You know you want to feel all of my cock,” he grins. You throw him a glare and he just chuckles as he reaches for his wallet on the floor, pulling out a packet and tossing it onto the table. “But first,” he pauses, letting his hands slide down to cup your pussy, which is admittedly already drenched at that point.

He hisses when he feels your juices drip and coat his fingers. “You’re so fucking wet, goddamn. How long have you been waiting for this?”

“When that robbery happened, I was about to get laid for the first time in months. So fucking sue me,” you snarl at him.

“Well, I am here to please,” he wets his lips. He slips one finger in, sliding in all too easily. So he adds another finger and feels your walls pulse around him. He begins pulling it out before shoving it back in, repeating the measure to stroke your walls. He curls his fingers inside as he watches your face closely.

Your expression morphs from irritation to blinding pleasure in an instant. Your eyes slide shut, your lips part to exhale shaky breaths. Aomine seems to know exactly how to angle and twist his fingers to induce a heart attack. The sounds falling from your mouth are ephemeral, Aomine wishes he can film this moment so he can replay it over and over again.

He pumps his fingers into you and ducks his head to take your nipple into his mouth again, tongue circling the tip. “God, you taste so fucking good. I forgot how wet you can get. Don’t even need lube to slide into you, huh? You’re already dripping for me.”

“Asshole,” you murmur weakly, clearly in no place to retort.

“Remember the first time I fucked you? God, you were so easy,” he grins, “you were so wet, so turned on already. Remember when I stuck my tongue in your pussy? Licking up your juices. You tasted so sweet.”

Your breath stutters in your chest, hitching in your throat. “Fuck you, let’s not forget how quickly you came when I sucked you off.”

“I mean, the sight of you on your knees is enough to get anyone off, sweetheart.”

“Fuck me,” you groan. Any rational thought has fizzled from your brain. The feeling of his fingers inside you is enough to consume you whole, overwhelming you in waves of rapture.

“What was that?”

“Dickwad.”

He chuckles darkly, licking his lips again. “Beg me.”

“I’m not going to—”

Aomine yanks his fingers out, looking down at you, taunting you. He waits as you internally struggle with your moral convictions. Are you willing to give up your pride for one night just to get fucked out of your mind?

Easy.

Yes.

“Please,” you huff, “please fuck me.”

“Please fuck me who?”

Your eyes find the ceiling, wondering what in the hell you did in your lifetime to have met the devil that is Aomine. Biting your lip, you lean closer to whisper, “Please fuck me, Da-i-ki.”

The man is a sucker for you calling him by his first name. And to get what you want, you’re willing to play into his hands. Aomine lets out a low growl before ripping open the condom packet and rolling the thin rubber along his length. Your pussy squeezes at the sight. Just imagining what it’s like to have that thickness inside of you, fucking you full, has you on edge.

He doesn’t waste a single second, pulling you forward and slowly positioning himself in front of you. He holds onto his cock, letting the tip trace your pussy lips, circling it and letting your juices drip onto his cock. Stroking the wetness along his dick, he uses it as a lubricant before he slides himself inside you.

When he’s buried to the hilt, Aomine leans forward and lets his forehead rest on your shoulder. Your pussy is so fucking tight. It’s squeezing and throbbing around him with the engulfing heat. He feels as if he’s going to explode right then.

“Fuck, you really haven’t been screwed in a while,” Aomine rasps.

“Told you.”

Aomine starts off slow, pulling out and pushing back in. With how thin the condom is, he can feel every ridge, every bump in your heat rub up against his cock. The sensations is enough to have his thighs quivering, but he’s not one to back down. He begins to pick up the pace, thrusting deep inside of you repeatedly. HIs mouth latches onto your neck, tongue lapping and teeth nipping to paint purple blooms upon your skin.

His movements are building a bubbling pressure in the pit of your stomach. You feel your heart tightening with every move, your insides squeezing. The absolute pleasure that crashes over you has you breathless, your hands finding purchase on his arms.

He mutters filthy words in your ear, one of his hands reaching up to tangle in your hair. He yanks back lightly, just enough to have you moaning. You like it rough, he’s well aware of that. He pounds into you relentlessly, hands keeping you in place as whimpers tumble from your mouth.

“Fuck, right there, oh god,” you gasp, “fuck me harder. God, your dick feels so good. Filling me up so full with your thick cock.”

“Keep talking like that and I’ll be tempted to come in you, baby,” Aomine grazes his teeth along your ear, hot breath kissing your skin. “God, I want to just fucking cream inside you.”

“Better watch yourself, Daiki.”

Aomine grins lasciviously, sweat beginning to bead his forehead as he attempts to keep himself in check. He feels you tighten your pussy, walls closing in around him. “Bitch,” he growls. You know what you’re doing but he’s not about to let you gain dominance of the situation.

So his hands dig deeper into your hips as he fucks you harder and deeper, his cock pulsating inside of you on the brink of his self-control. “I’m about to come,” he says with eyes squeezed shut. If he sees your tits bouncing as he fucks you again, he might actually combust in that second.

“Me too,” you panted, fingers scraping down his arms.

With a few more pumps, Aomine spills into the rubber with a grunt. He feels you convulse around him, your entire body trembling in the aftermath of your orgasm. He can feel his come continue to leak from his cock. God, he hasn’t come this hard in a fucking long time.

His heart is thundering in his chest from the impact of his climax. He slumped forward, leaning against you for support—also partially to feel your tits press up against his chest. “Fuck,” he huffs.

“That was good,” you admit to yourself, still breathing heavily as you begin fixing your hair. “We should do that again sometime.”

Aomine just laughs, huffing against your skin. “You’re the fucking she-devil.”

“Says the guy who’s fucking me in the back room in the middle of an undercover operation.”

“Dick first, job second.”

–

Wakamatsu looks at him when he walks into the precinct that morning. “You do realize the captain is going to kill you for fucking up that expensive mic, right?”

Fuck.

#kuroko no basket #knb #kuroko no basuke #aomine daiki #aomine smut #knb smut #knb drabbles #knb scenarios #anonymous #popz

271 notes · View notes

xiaomomowrites · 3 years

Text

homecoming

Genshin Impact | TartaLi/ZhongChi

Summary: “You must not give up now, alright? I, too, wish for Childe to come home. I wish to see him again, and frankly, it scares me how much I want him by my side once more,” Zhongli acquiesces, “I miss him dearly, and all I want is to be able to hear his laugh again. You feel the same about your sister, do you not? But Aether, this kind of loss is something we both must grieve. But what is grief, if not love persevering?”

Aether opens his mouth to begin responding, but his jaw quickly snaps shut as the fate between his palms disappears.

Keqing and Mona gasp loudly from where they sit back at camp. Aether startles, and pulls back to look at him with wide golden eyes.

All four of them look up to the sky, and are astonished to see a single golden star hurtling toward the ground they sit on. Aether gasps, barely containing his scream.

“Oh my god,” Traveler inhales sharply, “oh my god, you-”

“Get out of there!” Mona yells, and suddenly she’s standing up on her chair. Keqing places a steadying hand on the small of her back. “It’s going to crash right into you! Move!”

Or, Zhongli and Aether just want Childe to come home. Their wishes come true.

Find it on Ao3!

A/N: Oh my goodness I wrote this in one sitting before throwing it at my editors and wishing them the best lol. I wrote this in honor of finally pulling Childe, and wow was this a treat to write! And yes, I wrote my own team reacting to Childe coming home. Aether isn't on my team anymore (I benched him back when I was WL3), but I wanted to include him because it isn't Genshin Impact without our favorite traveler. My main team consists of Zhongli, Mona, Chongyun, and Keqing! But now that Childe is with me, he'll be slowly making his way into my main party :)

Just a heads up, Keqing and Mona were written as best friends here, but you can interpret their relationship however you'd like haha

And once again, this fic was inspired by some twitter fanart that I will link in the end notes! Enjoyyyy <3

Aether is especially jittery this morning.

The blond is bouncing off the walls so early in the morning that even Zhongli was taken aback by his energy. The ex-Archon watches him with wary eyes as the traveler paces back and forth in front of the breakfast table, muttering to himself about ‘fates’ and ‘primogems’. Vaguely, Zhongli hears Aether mutter the numbers ‘one hundred and sixty’ and ‘thirty-two-eighty’ as he paces, and the deity ultimately decides he wants nothing to do with what Aether is scheming. The sun is rising and Zhongli has always loved watching the star rise with every inhale. The day starts when the sun wakes up, and it ends when the sun begins to rest. Zhongli closes his eyes, ignoring Aether’s anxious pacing in favor of the serenity of the wilderness they chose to camp out in for the night.

Mona and Keqing clamber out of their shared tent together, pinkies linked as usual. Keqing still dons her elegant silk sleeping robe and her lavender hair spills past her shoulders in cute, candid waves. Her eyes are still slightly hooded with sleep but she’s quick to blink her drowsiness away in favor of the day to come. Mona, on the other hand, is in the oversized tee shirt she bought from Majorie and her usual black tights. Her dark locks are out of their usual twin pigtails and flow down her back, tangled, and significantly less put together than Keqing. She yawns obnoxiously as she shuffles closer to the group.

The astrologist sniffles. “G’morning.”

“Good morning, friends,” Keqing greets with a small smile of her own and drags Mona to sit across from Zhongli. He offers her a smile. Mona blinks in response.

“Good morning, ladies. Did you sleep well?” Zhongli responds, and takes Mona’s glare as an answer in itself. “Still not a morning person, I see.”

“Never will be, Mr. Rex Lapis,” Mona sighs, thanking him quietly for the cup of tea he hands her in passing. Keqing makes a beeline for their makeshift kitchen to make the unruly bunch some breakfast. Zhongli always handles the tea, as picky as he is about his morning tea, and Keqing always handles breakfast.

“I assume young Chongyun will not be awake for awhile,” Zhongli chuckles, bringing his cup to his lips.

Keqing scoffs from the kitchen, “You can expect him around noon, Zhongli-xiansheng.”

Xiansheng.

Try as he might, he’s associated the suffix to a certain ginger. A ginger who he misses dearly, but hasn’t seen since he left for Snezhnaya in a hurry. Zhongli’s heart swoops. He left without so much as a goodbye, leaving Zhongli to pick up the pieces he left Liyue in and the unfortunate state of his heart. The thought of not seeing Childe ever again ate at him continuously until he felt hollow inside, and all he had left was a familiar ache every time the ginger came back to haunt his dreams. All Zhongli wanted was to know if the latter was okay, but with the way he had deceived him, he wasn’t sure if he deserved to know. As someone who greets death as if it were an old friend, never seeing Childe again simply because the circumstances do not allow it upsets him far more than he’d like to admit. Life, human life, was too short for Zhongli to be sitting around wasting time. But no matter how many times he’s preached this to himself, the ex-Archon still struggles with taking the steps to make contact.

How would he even begin, anyway?

The Harbinger was stuck with his Harbinger duties. Childe had a family to tend to and treasure hoarders to chase. It wasn’t like Zhongli could warp to Snezhnaya and sweep him off his feet; that would be inappropriate and selfish of him. And yet the idea of seeing him again, of hearing his laugh, watching him smile, pay for his food with that adorable expression of his, it almost makes him want to leave to see him right now. But he can’t. The situation simply does not allow it.

Right?

“Two minutes!” Aether suddenly yelps, making Mona jump in her chair. She whips around to glare at the overzealous traveler. Keqing’s head snaps in his direction and almost drops the pan she’s frying fish on. She clicks her tongue in mild annoyance. Zhongli frowns, his curiosity getting the best of him.

“What are you so anxious about, Aether?”

“You don’t understand, Zhongli!” Aether whips around, his crazy eyes locking onto Zhongli’s amber irises. “This team needs an archer. We need an archer. This is non-negotiable! I can’t keep bothering Keqing to shoot those stupid water birds if she can’t throw her hair pin that far! We need arrows, Zhongli, arrows!”

Keqing makes a small noise of offense.

His arms flail in the air, desperate to make everyone in the room feel the panic he is currently sinking under.

“Alright, alright,” Zhongli hushes him, unsure of why his friend was so disgruntled in the first place. As far as he knew, it was another normal day full of daily commissions and mindless material farming. “We need someone adept at long range fighting. But what does that have to do with your current state of distress?”

“Mona said that today, his chances are increased by two-hundred percent. Right, Mona?” Aether’s gaze suddenly locks onto hers. She blinks.

“Yeah,” she responds, “but we had this discussion already, Aether, Childe’s rates are increased but that doesn’t guarantee you the fifty-fifty-”

“Childe?” Zhongli interrupts, interest suddenly piqued. “What does this have to do with Childe?”

Fifty-fifty? The more the conversation went on, the more confused Zhongli grew.

“Agh!” Aether scrambles, “I have to go! It’s happening!”

Zhongli watches with twice the amount of curiosity he had two minutes earlier. The mention of Childe has his heart racing faster than he’d like to admit.

Aether frantically pulls out a bag full of intertwined fates and rushes out to the open field ahead of them. The bag is absolutely loaded, filled to the brim and overflowing with these small, circular things that, in his six thousand years of living, he has never seen before. They are colored blue and pink, and they mix together and sparkle so divinely that Zhongli finds himself entranced by their color alone. He has read about them and their uses in the past, but he has never seen someone actually wish upon them.

Mona sighs around her teacup. “He gets like this every time I tell him someone new is coming,” she shakes her head wistfully, “I always tell him to stop spending so much of his mora on these fates! They’re not good for the economy-”

“And what do you know about the economy, Mona?” Keqing chuckles, coming around with plated food for the trio, “you spend the entirety of your paychecks immediately on the newest hot astrology item. Not that they’re not important to you but I’ve told you before that you ought to be careful with how you spend your mora.”

Mona’s jaw drops. “What!” she fumbles, “I am plenty responsible with my mora! And the things I buy are completely valid and of high rarity, thank you!”

“Hmm, is that why you almost starved and ate nothing but mushrooms for three months?” Keqing teases, nudging Mona’s mouth open with chopsticks holding fish. The astrologist pouts, but opens her mouth to eat, anyway. She’s right, but Mona would never say that to her face.

Zhongli doesn’t pay attention to their bickering.

Instead, he fixates on the way Aether scurries out and dumps the bag of fates out on the open field before picking them up, one by one, until ten of them are bunched up in his arms. Aether flops down on the grass beneath him and folds his legs underneath himself. The traveler hunches over the fates, huddling them close to his chest, and Zhongli can barely see his mouth moving as Aether begins to wish upon ten stars. With every word spoken, each fate slowly starts to disappear. The more his mouth moves, the more the fates begin to disintegrate from his arms.

A loud whirring noise above their heads suddenly takes place. It gets louder as it gets closer, and Zhongli cranes his neck to see stars hurtling toward Teyvat. He feels panic bubbling up in his chest as he sees the bunch go straight for his friend.

“Aether!” he yells, “Get over here, it’s dangerous out in the open!”

“I’m fine!” he hollers back like a stubborn child. “Ugh, dammit!”

Zhongli looks back up, and is baffled to see that one of the stars has turned purple. What in Celestia’s name-

Barbara appears before them, and Zhongli’s eyes all but bulge out of his head. Celestia, he’s too old for this. The young nurse is not the only thing to appear, though. Zhongli observes the various weapons that litter the ground and surround Aether’s feet. The blond observes them with a scrutinizing gaze, nudging the three star weapons with his foot and pushing the four star weapons aside for later. How peculiar.

Mona, on the other hand, smiles and waves a hand at her fellow water catalyst. “Barbara!” She hollers, “It’s good to see you!”

“Mona!” the young idol responds with a blinding smile, before focusing her attention back on Aether. The traveler sighs, gives her a quick hug in greeting, and sends her on her merry way back to Mondstadt after apologizing profusely for the inconvenience.

Keqing snickers. “It’s always so funny watching him get so intense about wishing.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Mona adds, “Remember how much he screamed when he finally got us?”

“Oh yes,” Keqing smiles around her cup, “I remember him throwing these strange artifacts at me and shoving a sword in my face, demanding that I use it, as if I don’t already have my own weapon!” She waves her hand dismissively, reminiscing her days when she was first introduced to the team.

Mona tips her head back and laughs heartily. “Oh, yes. He took my book away from me and gave me my lovely eye of perception. I must say, it’s a bit of a downgrade from my five star weapon, but I do feel as if I deal more damage this way.”

Keqing hums in agreement. “Likewise.”

Zhongli is quiet.

All he remembers from joining Aether’s team is being pulled at the last minute and being tackled into a hug as soon as he appeared. The traveler had all but pushed the skyward spine into his hands, and told him to hold onto what looked to be archaic petra artifacts. Zhongli had cocked his head, confused, but followed along anyway. What Aether was doing seemed important, regardless, and he decided to support his endeavours from there on out.

Now he watches with bated breath as Aether curls around another set of ten fates. Zhongli is beginning to understand what he is doing, but he fails to decipher what Childe has to do with any of this. His rates are increased? What in Celestia’s name does that even mean?

Aether begins wishing upon ten more fates and the abrupt whooshing above their heads starts up once more. One of the stars morph midair into purple once again.

Keqing and Mona sigh.

Zhongli just wants to understand.

Aether punches the grass beneath him.

A young woman appears before them along with another unnecessary plethora of weapons. She’s blonde, just like the last one, but she dons two pigtails and an eyepatch. A strange electric bird hovers around her, too, and Zhongli can’t help but wonder why she is dressed the way she is; she’s covered in purple and black, cocking one hip as if she owned the world. Zhongli is unsure about the energy she exudes. But in fairness, it is far too early to judge one’s character on nothing but appearance. Still, he watches carefully.

“Fischl,” Aether breathes, slumping against the floor, “hello.”

“Traveler,” she greets. “What exactly am I doing here? I will have you know, as Prinzessin-”

“Der Verteilung, you have many duties at home you must attend to, lest the kingdom you rule with grace and elegance burn to the ground without your remarkable leadership,” Aether finishes for her, “I know, I know. Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to grab you. You can go home.”

Fischl harrumphs. “I’m relieved to know you are aware of my importance. Good day to you, strange traveler.”

And then she’s gone.

Zhongli sighs, pushing himself up from the table and ignoring the way his knees disagree with the sudden movement.

“Where are you going?” Keqing asks, helping herself to another cup of tea.

“I’m going to talk to Aether,” Zhongli declares, “He seems...rather troubled, and I wish to help.”

“He gets like this every time,” Mona reminds him, voice softer than it was two minutes ago, “it’s really nothing new.”

Zhongli shakes his head. “It does not make it right to let him sit in his anxiety like this. Perhaps he could use a friend.”

Mona shrugs and lets him go. As he walks away, he hears the girls behind him begin to talk.

“Does Zhongli have a thing for Childe?” Mona asks in a hushed breath. Keqing’s eyes widened comically.

“Not that I know of? Why, did you sense something?” She leans in closer, ever the gossip. Mona shuffles so they’re speaking in hushed tones, even though Zhongli can definitely still hear them. He chuckles, shaking his head disapprovingly.

The ex-Archon pads over to where Aether sits, frantically bunching together ten more fates. Zhongli sighs, and bends to sit next to him. His back screams in protest. Goodness, mortal life is getting to him.

“Aether,” he begins, “I worry for your health.”

“I’m fine, Zhongli. I’ll be fine as soon as he gets here,” Aether answers without even sparing the elder a glance. He picks up fates and observes them carefully to inspect their quality, as if he were picking ripe apples out from the grocery.

“And who exactly are you waiting for?” Zhongli asks, indulging the blond for a moment.

“Childe!” he yells, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. The latter sighs. He, too, wishes for Childe to appear, but it simply did not work like that. One cannot summon another’s presence upon demand. Childe was too busy for that, anyway.

“Aether,” he begins, “you are anxious, friend, and I implore you to take a break from this please-”

“Zhongli,” traveler shuffles on his knees to look at him, “I have spent the last three months working my ass off for these fates, I’ve spent more mora than I’d like to admit, and I’ve spent far too long in that godforsaken spiral abyss scraping for three hundred primogems each time I freeze my ass off in floors nine and ten and it sucked, Zhongli, but I’ve worked hard and I need this, okay? I need Childe to come home. Because I need to get stronger, and I need a stronger team because I need to find my sister because I know she’s out there and, and-”

Zhongli raises a hand to quiet him. Oh, there was much to unpack here. His heart breaks for his friend’s state of distress. He places a comforting palm on Aether’s shoulder, lowering himself even more to look his friend in the eyes. The traveler looks a bit haggard, obviously from waking up early in anticipation. Zhongli wishes he could take his pain; he wishes he could take away the longing he desperately felt for his sister. But unfortunately, there was nothing he could do, so he offers his best comfort, instead.

“It’s alright,” Zhongli mutters, “I understand. You have worked hard, and you deserve a win. But Aether, whatever comes will come. Whether or not you ‘win the fifty-fifty’, you will be pushed in the right direction toward your sister, I promise you that. No amount of artifacts or talent books or weapon upgrades can compare to the strength you already harbor, looking for your sister every day despite knowing where she is. You face a battle against the unknown, and that in itself is commendable. Acknowledge your strength, Aether. You have come very far.”

Aether sags against him, letting himself lean forward until his forehead thumps against Zhongli’s chest. The contact is comforting. Everything about Zhongli is so warm and homey, and he smells of sleep and sandalwood. The calming effect is immediate, but his brain is still plagued with anxiety. Oh, Aether can’t bear the thought of Childe not coming this morning. It makes the blond sick to his stomach. Zhongli pats the top of his head soothingly.

“I know you miss her, but you will find her,” Zhongli continues. Aether squeezes the single fate in his hand anxiously. The blond fidgets with the single intertwined fate, pressing it up against Zhongli’s stomach as he squeezes his eyes shut, willing the tears to go away. He’s so, so tired.

“You must not give up now, alright? I, too, wish for Childe to come home. I wish to see him again, and frankly, it scares me how much I want him by my side once more,” Zhongli acquiesces, “I miss him dearly, and all I want is to be able to hear his laugh again. You feel the same about your sister, do you not? But Aether, this kind of loss is something we both must grieve. But what is grief, if not love persevering?”

Aether opens his mouth to begin responding, but his jaw quickly snaps shut as the fate between his palms disappears.

Keqing and Mona gasp loudly from where they sit back at camp. Aether startles, and pulls back to look at him with wide golden eyes.

All four of them look up to the sky, and are astonished to see a single golden star hurtling toward the ground they sit on. Aether gasps, barely containing his scream.

“Oh my god,” Traveler inhales sharply, “oh my god, you-”

“Get out of there!” Mona yells, and suddenly she’s standing up on her chair. Keqing places a steadying hand on the small of her back. “It’s going to crash right into you! Move!”

Aether scrambles backward as soon as he sees the pseudo asteroid plummeting directly toward where they’re both situated. “Zhongli!” he yells, “Move!”

The man in question shakes his head, unable to look away from the shooting star.

“It’s alright,” he responds, a sudden calm washing over him at the sight. Something about it feels so undeniably right. His heart tugs impatiently, desperately wishing to make contact with the ethereal being threatening to crash right into him, like a magnet reaching for its other half. “It’s alright, Aether.”

Seconds before it lands, Childe materializes right in front of him, arms flung wide open and a smile so bright that Zhongli almost winces.

The wind is knocked straight out his lungs upon seeing Childe’s gleeful face in front of him. It’s no longer a dream, Zhongli realizes. Ajax is here and he is very real and he is definitely plunging toward him at breakneck speed. This is no longer a figment of his imagination, and he has all but less than two seconds to comprehend that before the ginger barrels right into him.

Zhongi regains himself and digs his feet into the ground, summoning geo shackles from the ground to wrap around his ankles and lock him into place. He braces himself for impact.

Keqing screams. Mona looks away. Aether watches with wide, disbelieving eyes as Tartaglia comes plummeting out of the sky. He lets out an ugly mix between a sigh and a broken sob of relief. Finally. Celestia knows how much Aether needed this. He’s never been so happy to see an obnoxious red head of hair in his life.

Childe, Tartaglia, Ajax, slams into Zhongli at full force and immediately latches onto him like a lifeline. He wraps his arms around Zhongli’s neck, legs winding around his waist, and clings to him like a koala around a tree. Zhongli responds in kind, pressing Childe to his chest with strong arms that hold him impossibly close. The weights around his ankles drop as soon as he stabilizes the both of them, and the ex-Archon swings him around gleefully.

Tartaglia laughs, the noise slightly muffled from where his face is pressed into Zhongli’s collar. Tartaglia squeezes him tighter, and Zhongli eventually has to put him down because his back simply does not want to cooperate today. Tartaglia looks at him then, a little winded from his trek through the sky of all things. Cerulean eyes meet gold, and the sight of his freckled cheeks in front of him makes Zhongli feel as if he can do anything, gnosis or not. He is so filled with joy, heart so full of glee that he feels like he might burst. Celestia could redact his position as a god in its entirety and in this moment, he wouldn’t care. He couldn’t care, because immortality has been nothing but a curse to him so far, and growing old with the love of his life is all he ever desired.

“I can’t believe it,” Zhongli breathes, “you’re here?” he cups Ajax’s face gently, holding him as if he were made of glass.

“You called,” Childe responds, hands grasping at Zhongli’s waist. The Harbinger leans forward until their foreheads knock together. “I heard you, xiansheng. So I came.”

“Huh,” Zhongli says dumbly, “that’s all I had to do?”

“It’s all you had to do, idiot,” Childe scolds him, “I could feel you overthinking all the way from Snezhnaya!” he thumps a fist against Zhongli’s chest playfully. And to his delight, the sound that echoes is no longer hollow. Zhongli’s smile reaches his eyes for the first time in an abysmally long time.

“Childe!” Aether screams. They let go of each other in favor of looking at the one who made their reconciliation possible. “You son of a bitch!”

Childe’s eyes widen at the unprovoked insult. “What did I do?!”

“What did you do?” Aether is quick to rip his shoe off and fling it at Childe’s head. It misses, but only narrowly. “What took you so long, asshole!”

Tartaglia cocks his head to the side. “You were wishing for me, too? I only heard Zhongli’s voice, comrade!”

Aether squawks a noise of indignation. “You-!”

“Aether,” Zhongli interrupts their squabble. His hand never leaves the small of Childe’s back. “Thank you.”

The traveler lets himself slump forward, exhausted from draining all his emotional energy so early in the morning. “You’re welcome. Couldn’t have done it without you, Mr. Zhongli.”

“Is everything okay?” Keqing hollers from where she’s helping Mona down from her chair. “I hear a lot of yelling!”

“Everything is fine!” Aether yells back. Zhongli takes that as their cue to make their way back to camp.

When they arrive, the sun has risen well up into the sky and looms over all of their heads. Chongyun finally clambers out of his tent after he’s completed his ten hours of sleep. His light blue hair is ruffled adorably and he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He stretches, yawns, and coughs when he takes too deep of an inhale. The exorcist summons one of his famous popsicles and sucks on it absentmindedly in place of a proper breakfast. He’s exquisite.

“Morning everyone,” he greets, nodding at the girls at the table. “I heard a lot of screaming. Who’s the new guy?”

Chongyun watches Childe blearily through sleepy eyes. He blinks, before taking in the newcomer. The first thing the young exorcist notices is the obnoxious head of red hair that barely looks styled. Next, is the mask he wears askew. And finally, the abnormal length of his femurs. Chongyun’s eyebrows furrow. He scratches his head. Why are his legs so long?

Childe leans into Zhongli’s side and grins wickedly upon noticing his vision.

“A cryo wielder, huh?” he snickers, “this is going to be fun.”

Mona is horrified to see the way the two never leave each other’s side.

Where there is Childe, there is Zhongli. Where there is Zhongli, there is Childe. Frankly, it is quite concerning. Do the two ever separate? Do they ever have an individual thought? Do they share those, too? Honestly, Mona thought she and Keqing were attached at the hip. But the fact that they can at least go to the bathroom separately says a lot more than what she can say for Zhongli and Childe. Seriously, these two act as if they’re never going to see each other again.

Regardless, Mona can’t bring herself to be surprised. From the moment she met the wild card that is Tartaglia, she knew that he and Zhongli were a good match. It was undeniable that the two had chemistry. Mona may not have been there for Aether’s adventures in Liyue, but she has seen enough of these two to know that they have quite the history. Although, that’s not the only thing about them that catches her attention. What was especially strange, however, was the way their pinkies would twitch anytime one would stray too far from the other.

It has been happening for a little over a week. Take, for example, this morning when the two had taken over the kitchen to allow Keqing to sleep in. Tartaglia moved to the far left side of camp to gather some ingredients, and Zhongli’s pinky had twitched and stretched out to where Childe was, not too far from him. At first, Mona had thought it was a Liyuan custom that she had no knowledge of, like the way Zhongli always told her to raise her pinky whenever she would drink. But this felt different. It looked effortless and candid, almost like Zhongli had no idea that it was happening.

The second occurrence was later in the afternoon when Aether had given them a new list of commissions for the day. Tartaglia was practically vibrating with excitement at the mention of four separate battles, and even offered to handle two of them on his own while the other four (Keqing requested a day off) separated and completed the other two. Aether had looked at him pointedly and shook his head no. They either did this as a team, or not at all.

Mid battle, while Childe was up against a blazing axe mitachurl, the jade shield that Zhongli had put up for him withered and dropped as soon as the mitachurl raised its weapon to swing violently at Childe. The wild look in its eyes made it very clear that the creature was out for blood, ready to defend the land that belonged to it. If Childe were to fumble for even a second and meet the brandished blade of the axe, it would have been the end for him.

His eyes widened.

Almost immediately, both of their pinkies twitched in place and stretched out as if reaching for the other. Mona watched the duo from the sidelines with curiosity as she and Chongyun froze a group of hilichurls together. She had sent out an illusory Phantom to continuously deal hydro damage and allowed Chongyun to go crazy with his claymore. The astrologist had sat back and observed the two on the opposite side of the battle field.

It had gone like this: the jade shield drops, their pinkies flutter, and Zhongli whips around with a level of ferocity and speed she’s never seen before to frantically summon a geo pillar right in between Childe and the mitachurl.

The Harbinger moves backwards just in time for the pillar to bear the brunt force of the swing, and his head snaps to where Zhongli stood. He stares at him, pointedly unamused with Childe’s recklessness, while he holds two hilichurls away from him with the butt end of his polearm. Childe grin and nods his thanks, and Zhongli rolls his eyes at the overzealous soldier. With a flick of his wrist, the geo wielder summons another shield to encompass Tartaglia as he lets loose on the battlefield. Though this time, Mona can see how the ex-Archon doesn’t let him out of his sight.

Childe switches to his melee style then. He forgoes his bow in favor of his hydro blades and launches forward while the mitachurl’s axe is stuck in Zhongli’s pillar.

Mona gasps, and a hand flies up to cover her mouth. Chongyun’s attention snaps to where she stands and gives her a once over to check for injuries. She waves him away, telling him to shut up even if he hadn’t said a word.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but the water Childe summons bends the sun’s rays a certain way until a very obvious, very crimson, very rare string of fate is revealed between Zhongli and Childe. It hangs between them languidly, but anytime either of them moves away too far, it’ll be pulled taut. They’re linked together by an invisible thread that Mona has only ever heard stories of; they were stories that spoke of a whimsical and eternal love that lasted liftimes and exceeded generations. The first time Mona had heard about it, she scoffed at the idea of having your partner chosen for you. But as she stands now, looking at Zhongli and Childe as they treat the battlefield as if it were a dance floor reserved for them, it felt almost illegal for either of them to be with anyone other than each other.

Her mind comes to a screeching halt when she realizes just how long Zhongli must have waited to meet him. Six thousand years, Mona ponders. But doesn’t the wait make the reconciliation all the more delicious?

Would you look at that, the astrologist thinks smugly, they’re tied by the pinkies.

It was never an accident, after all. These two souls, regardless of the six thousand year old gap between them, were meant to be together.

Oh, she has so much to tell Keqing when she gets back.

Lovely fanart!

My twitter!

#zhongchi #tartali #targlex chapis #Genshin Impact fanfiction #genshin impact #zhongli #childe #zhongli x childe #tartaglia #rex lapis #they're in loveeee #soulmates #red string of fate

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missvifdor · 3 years

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Alright, I share a quick thought like this, but imagine Bucky having the DID (be careful, I want to make it clear that I'm not an expert and any mistakes on my part are unintentional and I'm sorry for being so stupid The DID is not a joke, it is a real trouble and I would never allow myself to laugh or joke about it).

So I was saying, Bucky having DID:

Thinking back to all the traumatic moments in his life, it would be easy enough to think that he could have had it. Imagine that at one point his brain and mind say "STOP" and no longer able to cope with all these events, decide that in order to survive, he must create a "shield" (I don't know if I am speaking correctly, sorry if that doesn't make sense).

Because if I'm not saying bullshit, that's what the host's DID is for, to protect it and that's where the Alters come in. The basis of the DID is that the host not supposed to know he has it.

But all the time, there will be signs: amnesia, dissociative disorder, depersonalization, derealization,. Imagine, one day, everything is going well, you get ready to go to sleep and then when you wake up, the date, the time have completely changed, you are now dressed and you have no memory of having lived this. that happened after you last remembered.

Now imagine Bucky going through the same thing, he'd be pretty scared I think.

Bucky would have these symptoms, but not just that. For example, he might feel like he has feelings, thoughts, moods, or anything else that is not ... his but belongs to someone else. Or he would hear voices talking to him (Wait, this has nothing to do with schizophrenia, the voices heard cannot be suppressed with medication and to the host this is really heard as a person's voice real voice or an interlocutor. These are real voices).

You know when we think and hear a voice but it is that of our subconscious, and well that is still different.

(I won't procrastinate any longer, but if you are interested, I advise you to inform yourself to find out more. For example, there is a youtube channel that talks about it because the designer has DID, she and other affected people talk about it here: https://youtu.be/ek7JK6pattE ).

Back to our Super Soldier:

Bucky, like anyone with DID will have both good and bad triggers.

The good ones would be: Music from the 40s, his favorite food, something that reminds him of his sister or mother, etc.

The bad ones: Something or someone who could bring back bad memories, maybe the language Russian, the pain linked to his metal arm, the situations where he cannot feel comfortable or very anxious, a dangerous mission that has gone off the rails a bit.

Let's talk about his Alters: The Winter Soldier will have taken a big place in his life and I think he probably never left him because he is part of him.

So I would lean towards the fact that Winter (let's call him that) has become one of his Alters. It would have become this:

Alter Trauma Holder and Persecutor: some of his tasks are to hold traumatic memories ... especially so that other Alters are not not disturbed by these memories and that the system works more or less. And often, well, trauma holders do not voluntarily choose this role, they are there because the brain did it like that and it can seem very unfair!

It is common that in addition to h: And, even when they do, sometimes they just aren't able to pass it on to the rest of the system and, unfortunately, to the outside either. This is one of the reasons why it is very difficult for a system to find and manage trauma or to talk to a therapist, for example. This is one of the reasons why it is very difficult for a system to find and manage trauma or to talk to a therapist, for example.

Trauma holders are also It called “Secret Keepers / Secret Holders”.

Her Part Persecutor: To put it mildly, the "Persecutor" is an alter who is hostile to the system or the outside world . Well, obviously, it’s nowhere near that simple.

In general, persecutors are alters who have internalized hatred or rejection, either towards themselves, towards other members of the system, or towards the outside world. It is a traumatic response that follows physical abuse, toxic relationships and assaults experienced by the system. Like the protectors, the persecutors seek to prevent further attacks, attack in defense or suffer for the rest of the system. But they ... don't always do it the right way.

There are different kinds of persecutors, some tend to reject any outside person, others may have internal words and feelings of worthlessness, still others may sabotage a possible therapy for fear of the medical profession, then of others can re-experience their traumas, injure themselves, etc… They are very often hyperviligant and easily activated.

They are sometimes very withdrawn and influenced by feelings causing for example a strong anxiety or suicidal thoughts. But they can also be authoritarian and seek to impose behavior on the rest of the system, considering that the others are incapable of protecting themselves and are responsible for the abuses suffered. Finally, some persecutors are a representation of aggressors and persecute the system like these. The persecutors are above all persecuted by trauma and in particular they need to be secure. It is very common that, once appeased, they become essential protectors of the system.

Here's another Alter, James: It would be quite similar to the Bucky of the 40s but different at the same time.

He would be an Alter Internal Self Helper: The "Internal Self Helper" is an alter that helps the system internally. It is not uncommon for ISHs to serve as some sort of mediator to the rest of the system, as if they were "the voice of reason."

They often have a good knowledge of Alters and how the system works (but this does not mean that they easily share this information). They are also often discreet, facing little or not at all or only side by side with another alter.

Internal self helpers are often associated with the creation and management of the innerworld, especially when it was conceived unconsciously.

ISH is a frequent supporting role among gatekeepers, protectors and sometimes among trauma holders.

And Bucky would be the host: Host "refers to the alter who fronts most of the time ... when all is well. And this nuance is important!

Indeed, the “Host” is a bit like the basic Alter, the one who is there when there is no need for any other Alter, no triggers, and no Alter is needed wanted to face. In principle, he manages the day-to-day life, so you would think that it is indeed the alter that uses the body most often, yes. But no.

A system is frequently affected by all the little things in life, whether or not it requires the presence of another Alter at the front. And, especially when it is not conscious, it can be common for another alter (social or protective, for example) to be more present than the host. It all depends on the environment of the system and the awareness of its multiplicity as well as the choices and possibilities of each of its members.

For this reason, there are systems without a host (or with a sleeping host) as well as systems with multiple hosts (which are then called co-hosts), which handle different aspects of the day-to-day. good. Of course, the hosts can also have another role, such as caretaker or alter social.e for example. It may also happen that a new host appears and the system changes hosts.

The host is a role that can be difficult to take in at times, as it is often the first alter to become consciously aware (yes, consciously aware) of his multiplicity. And it's already not easy to realize that we "are not alone in your head", but it is also difficult to realize that you have shared your whole life with "these others people in his head ”. It is very common for the host to doubt his legitimacy, to be afraid of lying, etc. They are often influenced by the feelings, thoughts and feelings of other Alters.

On the other hand, the host can usually be an alter who allows for better communication, as he or she serves as a bit of a mediator, conciliatory and benevolent towards the system and the outside world, while being held to it 'deviation from the consequences (emotional for example) of traumas. A stable host is an important basis for functional multiplicity.

Be careful, it must be said: the host is not the original! Many systems don't have an original, and while you might think the host is some kind of original, it isn't. Of course, if there is an original in the system, it can be a host. But, whether host and / or original, all Alters should be considered equally. (Really, for this to work, it's important to understand this)

Otherwise, a person with DID may have other Alters, the number can vary and they are all different!

Now, how would it be if Bucky had a Y / N ? Would other people in the system agree with that? Would Y / N manage and understand this situation? That is the whole question.

But let's imagine that in the best-case scenario, Winter and James are ok with this relationship and even have feelings for Y / N, it will still be a job all the time.

The best would be someone who can differentiate the three and act with the three as if they were three different individuals (Who they are and this is very important because each Alter deserves to be recognized).

Being in a relationship with Bucky is a bit like being with a big teddy bear who could easily shoot you in the head with near-deadly precision. And a gentleman under all circumstances, of course.

Being with Winter is complicated enough, but not impossible. You just have to know how to do it and above all succeed in interpreting his looks, his silences. The man is not the biggest talker but know that he would be ready to kill for you and protect you.

As for James his Fronts are very rare but when he will be there, believe me when I tell you that he will not leave you alone with his affections! He is surely the one who is the most sociable of the three and who will take the greatest pleasure in teasing you or improvising a dance with you in the middle of your living room.

Well I have finished! Do not hesitate to tell me what you think of it in the comments, or if you want a part two to find out more in general or to know more about the romantic relationship side + ... SNFW.

#bucky barnes preferences #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #alters #did you know #system #bucky imagine #bucky headcanon #bucky hcs #Tw

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k-llama-llama · 4 years

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Dynamite

BTS AU: 8th member

Sumi x BTS

Some Sumi & Namjoon chats behind the scenes of Dynamite.

Check out my PATREON (patreon.com/kllamallama) for exclusive content. This post was available a month ago for those on my patreon.

Requests are OPEN.

Masterlist and other Follow Me links in bio!

“So light it up, like Dynamite!” Sumi mouthed along to the words for what felt like the one hundredth time that day.

It had been a very long shoot, and they still had several hours to go. She’d thought she’d be excited for her solo shots, because at least she wouldn’t be standing around bored anymore, but there was only so many different ways she could pose with a beaded curtain.

“And cut!” The director shouted.

“All done?” Sumi asked.

“We just want to get some pictures for promos.” He said, “so just, start posing.”

Sumi waited until they switched cameras, and then fell into the familiar rhythm of posing. She held up a string of beads, holding it above her lip as she pouted. She turned, showing off her figure in her flared jeans. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Namjoon walking over, obviously having been liberated from his own solo shoot.

She lifted her leg into a playful kick, before blowing a kiss in Namjoon’s direction. He smiled and crossed his arms, watching as she finished the photoshoot.

“You’re good to go.” The director said after what felt like hours.

Sumi slumped, sighing in relief as she walked off of the set and right towards her leader.

“You’re as tall as I am.” He laughed as she approached.

She pretended to kick him, modelling the massive platform heels that she was wearing. They weren’t the most practical footwear, but she was kind of loving them.

“I always knew I’d hit my growth spurt.” She grinned, holding out a hand.

He took it, moving it to his elbow and acting as a support for her as they walked away. “I can’t believe you can walk in those.”

“I’m not good at much, but I’m good at fashion.” She winked up at him.

“You’re good at lots of things.” He reassured, before she saw what she referred to as his ‘leader face’ take over. “But you aren’t dancing in those, right? They’re ridiculous.”

Sumi shook her head. “No, I think I like my ankles intact. Shame though, because they are gorgeous. Look how long my legs look.”

“You look like a giraffe.” Namjoon teased, dropping his arm to wrap around her waist.

“I’ll pretend you’re just saying that because you’re being a good leader. It’s either that or you’re jealous.” They walked towards the next set, where Jungkook was doing some sort of interpretive dance in a bedroom set up.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, watching him dance and trying not to disturb anyone.

“At the risk of being a predictable leader…” Namjoon started, leaning over so his mouth was close to her ear. “Have you talked to him since our group meeting?”

Sumi sighed, staring straight ahead at the maknae. “A bit.”

“And?”

Sumi considered her next words carefully. They’d talked, and she felt like they’d both extended a tentative olive branch, but she still didn’t know where they would go from there. She still felt off about his dishonesty, and more than that, she worried about the idea that she’d somehow fostered an unhealthy relationship between the two of them. And she knew, from her limited talks with YinYin and frequent discussions with Jimin and Tae, that he felt bad about how he handled things. But she wasn’t just going to roll over and pretend like it had never happened.

“And…we were civil.” She said finally. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“Partially.” Namjoon sighed. “It’s just…so weird, having you two….like this.”

“It’s weird. But I think it’s probably for the best.” Sumi said quietly.

“But Soo…I mean,” Namjoon swallowed. “The kid followed you around for years. You spoiled him rotten. Everyone knew he was in love with you and now, just seeing you guys not together is so strange.”

“He’s with YinYin now, Joon.” Sumi turned to look at him. “I’m with Changkyun. I never felt that way about Jungkook and I never good. And I was stupid for never realizing how he felt and putting a stop to it. But it’s a good thing that he’s moved on, and if that means I have to take a step back, then I’m okay with it. I think it’s the best thing for me, too.”

“I know it is.” He smiled. “I don’t know if you noticed, but you’ve kind of turned into a boss.”

Sumi smirked. “I know.”

“I mean, the jewelry line and your own company was one thing. But getting his girlfriend to move in with you? That was total power move.”

“Careful.” Sumi warned. “Now you sound like you’re taking sides.”

“I’m not taking sides.” He promised. “I just think that you’re killing it, and I’m happy for you.”

“There’s that leader that I love.” Sumi leaned into his side, wrapping her arms around him.

He rubbed her waist. “Proud of you, Soo.”

“I’m proud of you too, Joon.” She smiled.

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introvertguide · 3 years

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Star Wars (1977); AFI #13

In honor of May 4th and the original movie that started it all, the group reviewed Star Wars (1977). Nominated for 10 Academy Awards and winning 6 with one extra special achievement award for Sound, this is perhaps the most highly decorated science fiction movie of all time. The special effects and the music were especially moving making the Star Wars experience something amazing to behold. I was lucky enough to see one of the re-releases in the theatre back in the mid 80s. In fact, I might well have seen the film 100 times over my life. The music might be the most well known soundtrack globally. With inflation, this is the 4th highest grossing film of all time. It is truly a fantastic work and I would like to now spoil it for anyone who hasn't seen it. Let me start with the usual:

SPOILER WARNING!!! I DON'T THINK THERE ARE MANY WHO HAVE NOT SEEN THE FILM, BUT FOR THOSE FEW THAT DON'T KNOW, I AM GOING TO RUIN THE PLOT!!! STOP NOW AND GO WATCH IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY!!!

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Amid a galactic civil war, Rebel Alliance spies have stolen plans to the Galactic Empire's Death Star, a massive space station capable of destroying an entire planet. Imperial Senator Princess Leia of Alderaan (Carrie Fisher), secretly one of the Rebellion's leaders, has obtained its schematics (this entire effort was originally a throwaway concept but was completely fleshed out in Rogue One almost 40 years later) , but her starship is intercepted by an Imperial Star Destroyer under the command of the ruthless Darth Vader (acted by David Prowse and voiced by James Earl Jones). The movie is just starting and the odds against the rebels are shown by the scale of the two ships. Before she is captured, Leia hides the plans in the memory of an astromech droid called R2-D2 (Kenny Baker), who flees in an escape pod to the desert planet Tatooine accompanied by protocol droid C-3PO (Anthony Daniels).

The droids are captured by Jawa traders (little shiny eyed beings who are now meme legends), who sell them to moisture farmers Owen and Beru Lars and their nephew Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill). While Luke is cleaning R2-D2, part of a holographic recording of Leia starts playing a message for Obi-Wan Kenobi where she requests his help ("Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope!"). Later, after Luke finds R2-D2 missing, he is attacked by scavenging Sand People while searching for him, but is rescued by elderly hermit "Old Ben" Kenobi (Sir Alec Guinness), an acquaintance of Luke's, who reveals that "Obi-Wan" is his true name. Obi-Wan tells Luke of his days as one of the Jedi Knights, the former peacekeepers of the Galactic Republic who drew mystical abilities from a metaphysical energy field known as "the Force", but were ultimately hunted to near-extinction by the Empire. Luke learns that his father fought alongside Obi-Wan as a Jedi Knight during the Clone Wars (another throwaway concept that was eventually fleshed out) until Vader, Obi-Wan's former pupil, turned to the dark side of the Force and murdered him. Obi-Wan presents Luke with his father's old lightsaber, the signature weapon of Jedi Knights. The connection between Darth Vader and Luke's father is explored in depth during the next eight films.

R2-D2 plays Leia's full message, in which she begs Obi-Wan to take the Death Star plans to her home planet of Alderaan and give them to her father, a fellow veteran, for analysis. Although Luke initially declines Obi-Wan's offer to accompany him to Alderaan and learn the ways of the Force, he is left with no choice after discovering that Imperial stormtroopers have killed his aunt and uncle and destroyed their farm in their search for the droids (cue the Academy and Grammy Award winning theme music composed by John Williams). Traveling to a cantina in Mos Eisley to search for transport, Luke and Obi-Wan hire Han Solo (Harrison Ford), a smuggler with a price on his head due to his debt to local mobster Jabba the Hutt. Pursued by stormtroopers, Obi-Wan, Luke, R2-D2 and C-3PO flee Tatooine with Han and his Wookiee co-pilot Chewbacca (Peter Mayhew) on their ship the Millennium Falcon. As they reach the planet's orbit, two Star Destroyers try to intercept them, but Han is able to jump to hyperspace by reaching lightspeed.

Before the Falcon can reach Alderaan, Death Star commander Grand Moff Tarkin (Peter Cushing) interrogates Leia about the location of the Rebels's secret base, with the threat of destroying her home planet, and, when she answers that the base is on Dantooine, he orders Alderaan destroyed simply as a show of force. As the group arrives in the asteroid field that now stands in place of Alderaan, Han spots an Imperial TIE fighter and is taunted into chasing it and shooting it down, allowing the Falcon to be captured by the space station's tractor beam. Inside the Death Star, Obi-Wan attempts to disable the tractor beam, and Luke persuades Han and Chewbacca to help him rescue Leia after discovering that she is scheduled to be executed. After disabling the tractor beam, Obi-Wan sacrifices his life in an epic lightsaber duel with Vader, allowing the rest of the group to escape the Death Star with Leia. Using a tracking device, the Empire tracks the Falcon to the hidden Rebel base.

Leia's schematics reveal a hidden weakness in the Death Star's thermal exhaust port, which could allow the Rebels to trigger a chain reaction in its main reactor with a precise torpedo strike. While Han abandons the Rebels after collecting his reward for rescuing Leia, Luke joins their starfighter squadron in a desperate attack against the approaching Death Star. In the ensuing battle, the Rebels suffer heavy losses as Vader leads a squadron of TIE fighters against them, but Han unexpectedly returns to aid them in the Falcon, narrowly managing to save Luke before Vader can shoot him down. Guided by the disembodied voice of Obi-Wan's spirit, Luke turns off his targeting computer and uses the Force to aim his torpedoes into the exhaust port, destroying the Death Star moments before it fires on the Rebel base. In a triumphant ceremony at the base, Leia awards Luke and Han medals for their heroism.

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I want to explain the connection between this movie and the Joseph Campbell version of the hero's journey that so many people have pointed out. This journey starts out with a call to adventure that is refused and then forced (Luke is given an opportunity to leave, he declines, the death of his family pushes him forward, he leaves with his team). Campbell then predicts an initiation that involves meeting a woman and gaining weapons, a meeting with an incredible power, and an achievement of the hero's power (goes to star destroyer, meets Vader and loses Obi-Wan, gains power over force). The story ends with a refusal, a magic flight, a rescue from without, and a hero's return (Luke goes to attack the Death Star, Han refuses and then eventually saves him, and the day is saved so the heroes are rewarded). It is a story that is called the Monomyth and has been recognized in Greek myths that are thousands of years old. It is a good story that has been proven to work and it makes for one of the most enjoyable movies of all time.

There was some negative opinions of the film because it is such a simple old story that became extremely popular and film goers would no longer be interested in intelligent thinking movies. It is kind of the truth because blockbuster summer films are full of explosions. The highest grossing films since then have tended to be highly explosive action films. Films like Star Wars, Jaws, and Indiana Jones are a lot of fun, but they are not super deep. They are easy to understand at surface level, but they can also be interpreted to mean much more significant things. The choice of the viewer about whether the story has deep inner meaning or is just the Odyssey in space is personal and likely colors opinions about how good it is. Some people think it is stupid fun while others have actually formed religions around the idea of the force.

One thing is for certain, the formula worked amazingly well for a large group of people and this made movie producers want to copy it. This is what is generally called a watershed moment because the look of movies changed significantly. There were so many more space operas and they all had that worn post-apocalyptic look to them. Star Wars and Mad Max combined to give a different look of what futuristic was. There was advanced tech in some cases, but there was a scorched Earth that had run out of resources and people suffered. Think about how many movies and television shows there are that have come out since the 80s and combine industrial tech for space and distressed almost Western appearances for the planets. The movie changed the way many people see the future.

One thing that is inarguably great was the score. I am not going to try and describe it with words, I am just going to put links to the different themes here so you can hear for yourself:

Star Wars Main Theme (Full) - YouTube

Star Wars- The Imperial March (Darth Vader's Theme) - YouTube

Princess Leia's Theme - YouTube

Star Wars Episode IV A New Hope (1977) Soundtrack 11 Cantina Band - YouTube

This is somewhat strange for the AFI so I went back and checked, but I believe that this is the only film with a ranked villain (Darth Vader), hero (Han Solo), and theme song (Main Theme). Even if it is somewhat simplistic from some perspectives, the story and the songs and the sounds and the characters speak to those who watch it. Seeing the movie is an incredible experience and I envy those who get to see it for the first time.

I am a big fan of the original Star Wars trilogy and I could completely nerd out going over all of the little things throughout the movie, but this is not a deep dive but instead an overall review. So does it belong on the AFI top 100? Maybe more than any other movie. It is an epic tale that changed the way movies were made across multiple genres. We could probably look at all science fiction films and put them as before or after this one. It is an important piece of American film and (no matter what anyone thinks of the other Star Wars films or George Lucas) it is a masterpiece. Would I recommend it? I cannot say yes enough. It is part of my culture as a California movie nerd and understanding this film is understanding some of the basic knowledge I grew up with. All sticks are swung around like light sabers. If I say "Princess Leia hair," everyone around here knows exactly what I mean. If something is impossible but still needs to be done, we tell people to use the force. I have lived in the Bay Area for 20 years and I can still reference a location by how close it is to Skywalker Ranch were George Lucas worked on movies. Please check out this film and you will know why I am such a fan of movies.

#star wars #a new hope #use the force #john williams #film score #introvert #introverts #movie review #award winning films #special effects

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glorious-spoon · 4 years

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Tactical Makeouts [The Old Guard]

Title: Tactical Makeouts Fandom: The Old Guard Pairing: Andy/Nile Warnings: None Other Tags: First kiss, Fake makeouts Summary: “You’re gonna say we should shoot our way out, aren’t you?”

“Unless you got a better idea.”

On AO3

Nile realizes her mistake about thirty seconds after they turn left to scramble down the back hallway toward the door that should open on the alley, and by then, it’s already about fifteen seconds too late. She rattles at the chains holding it shut, the heavy padlock. “Well… shit. I don’t suppose you have lockpicks on you?”

“Why the hell would I have lockpicks?” Andy drops the mag to check it, though it can’t be more than half-full if they’re lucky, and any shooting will definitely bring more guards, who will definitely shoot both of them a lot of times.

Nile will walk it off. But Andy won’t, not anymore. “It was just a question, damn. So that’s a no, I guess.”

“It’s a no.” Andy looks up with that gleaming and slightly feral look that’s been featuring in Nile’s dreams since that first fight on the plane, in ways that are starting to make her seriously doubt her own judgement.

Not her taste, because fuck, look at Andy. But definitely her judgement. She sighs as the footsteps clatter down the stairs at the end of the hallway that was supposed to be their exit. “You’re gonna say we should shoot our way out, aren’t you?”

“Unless you got a better idea.”

Andy’s all but bouncing on the balls of her feet, grinning like she’s still bulletproof, which they both know damn well that she is not. There’s violence written into every line of her body. It definitely shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

And just like that, Nile has an idea. A terrible idea, but still one that’s better than taking half a dozen rounds to the chest and hoping that none of them go through her and into Andy.

The footsteps are closing in. She’s out of time, and that’s the only thing that gets her moving. One hand grips Andy’s gun hand, pushing it out of the incoming guards’ line of sight, and beyond a startled twitch, Andy lets her do it.

“Just go with it, huh,” Nile says in a quick desperate whisper, crowding close. She has just enough time to hear Andy’s intake of breath before she’s crushing their mouths together in a kiss.

Andy gets with the program quick, Nile will give her that. She mostly means to keep it chaste--well, as chaste as she can when she’s basically molesting her boss/friend/mentor/hopeless bisexual crush in the hopes that the guards won’t find anything suspicious about a couple of women dressed for clubbing making out in the basement of their boss’s money laundering operation. Nile can still hear the heavy bass line from upstairs vibrating through the wall that she’s got Andy pinned up against. Then Andy’s hands are sliding down her back and her thigh is sliding between Nile’s legs and she’s having trouble focusing on anything else.

This is a terrible, terrible idea, except for the part where it’s maybe the best idea Nile has ever had.

Andy nips at her lower lip, then dips her head to kiss along Nile’s jaw, open-mouthed and lewd, and Nile swallows a moan in the back of her throat, kisses the answering chuckle out of Andy’s mouth, and—

And heavy booted footsteps are approaching. They come to a stop. The part of Nile that isn’t currently drowning in baffled lust is calculating numbers and angles from the sound. Before she can move, Andy is shoving at her, giggling in a high sharp tone that sounds drunk and harmless and nothing at all like her.

“Oh my god,” she says, and then drags Nile into another messy kiss before beaming at the men with AR-15’s and full body armor like they’re fucking mall cops. Nile tucks her face into Andy’s shoulder, because she doesn’t think she can keep her expression under control, and also because this way she’s between Andy and any bullets that might be incoming. She can see Andy’s gun hand from here, blocked by their bodies; her knuckles are white on the grip. Her body is warm against Nile, all hard angles of muscle and bone. “I am so sorry. We’re not supposed to be here, are we?”

The moment seems to stretch out for a taut and breathless eternity. Then there’s shifting feet, and one man laughs, not entirely kindly. “No, ma’am. How about you let us walk you two out.”

“You’re so sweet,” Andy says, reaching casually back to tuck the gun into the holster at the base of her spine, where it’s hidden under the gauzy layered top she’s wearing. She shoves at Nile slightly, and Nile makes herself move back. Makes her face go soft and dumb as she turns back toward the guards.

“Sorry,” she offers.

“Aw, don’t worry about it, honey,” one of them says, grinning. His eyes drag over her body with a lingering slowness that feels like a physical touch. “Worth it for the show.”

“I bet,” Andy murmurs through gritted teeth, but she doesn’t spin around and break the guy’s neck, so Nile is going to call that a win.

The guards leave them on the sidewalk out front, and Andy links arms with Nile with a light burst of laughter, guiding her stumbling down the street until they’re around the corner. The moment they’re in the shadows, the loose, languid club-girl demeanor evaporates like water. Nile takes a step back as Andy gives her a long look. She’s really hoping she’s not about to get her nose broken. It would heal, but it would still be humiliating.

Instead, one corner of Andy’s mouth tips up into a smile that looks entirely like her. “That was some quick thinking.”

“Sorry,” Nile offers.

“What for?”

“You know.” Nile looks at the pavement, the street, where she can see the sleek dark shape of their getaway car pulling up the street, Nicky at the wheel and Joe riding shotgun. “Molesting you back there.”

“Like I said. Quick thinking. Besides.” Andy’s grinning now, a softer echo of her feral battle-smile. Nile isn’t quite sure how to interpret it, but she has a sudden guess. A hope, maybe. “I wasn’t exactly stopping you.”

“Because of the job.” It comes out more of a question than she wants it to. Her face is burning.

“If that’s where you want to leave it, sure.”

Nile takes a deep breath. “What if it’s not?”

“Well,” Andy says. “In that case, maybe we can revisit this later.”

“Yeah?” She’s smiling too now, wide and stupid, and she doesn’t even care.

“Yeah.”

The car pulls up to a stop alongside them. The passenger window rolls down, and Nicky leans out, brows raised. “Everything okay?”

“Yep,” Andy says, blandly innocent, and Nile laughs out loud.

“Yeah, we’re good. We got the intel. Let’s go destroy these assholes. I got plans for later.”

#the old guard #andy x nile #andromache the scythian #nile freeman #my fic

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helloprettybb · 4 years

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clear-headed

Every time I write a fic after a long break, I say I might come back and I don’. So I’m not making any promises. I found this in my drafts and decided to finish it. I also have an idea for a whole storyline centering around this fic, so if you want more parts, then great, I’ll finish it. If not, I may still finish it, who knows.

Word count- 1.5k

Warnings- alcohol

Your one and only objective tonight is to get drunk. Vodka, wine, beer, it doesn’t matter. Whatever it takes to reach your end goal, you’ll gladly welcome. So when the bartender asked you how many drinks you’ve had, you have to think long and hard, recounting the night. You reply with a number that is clearly too high since he decides to cut you off. Pouting, you hop off the barstool and realize just how well you succeeded. Wobbling back and forth in the semi-empty pub, you try to walk normally but fail terribly. Grabbing onto any wall or pole that’s within reach, you stumble towards the door when you bump into a very tall stranger. Wanting to learn the stranger’s identity, you begin to tilt your head up, while your legs give out, causing you to hit the ground with a thud. The man says something to the bartender before turning back to you. Grabbing your hands, he helps you up onto your feet.

“Y/n, what are you doing here?” the man asks, concern laced in his voice. He leads you toward the door before anything else could happen.

“How do you know my name?” you loopily question. Letting go of his hands, you try to walk by yourself but fail miserably when your feet send you walking in a zig-zag.

“It’s Spencer,” he replies patiently, stepping to your side, so he can catch you if you fall again. Holding the door open, he watches as you try to walk through by yourself but use the door frame as a crutch to stay upright. He links your arm in his and walks you out of the pub.

“Oh, Spencer!” you giggle, finally realizing who it is. You shake him off so you can walk on your own. “I don’t need your help. I’m completely sober!” you exclaim loudly.

“I’m not so sure about that,” he responds, trying to grab your arm again.

“No!” you whine, determined to walk on your own. Spencer can’t help but think how adorable you are, still stubborn as shit, even when you're hammered. “Watch, I can walk in a straight line,” you claim boldly.

“Technically all lines are straight,” Spencer informs you. He silently scolds himself, realizing that now isn’t the time for basic geometry.

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes and begin walking heel to toe but feel yourself wobble. You collapse into Spencer, who suddenly appeared in front of you. Unknowingly burying your face into his chest, you mumble, “How did you get there so fast?”

“I’m not fast; you’re just drunk.” Spencer chuckles. Spencer gently removes you from him and links your arm again. Finally conceding, you allowed him to assist you. Giggling randomly, Spencer wonders what happened when you exclaim, “I’m so drunk!” He gladly laughs along as you’re overcome with a laugh attack.

Once you both settle down, he asks, “Why did you get so drunk?” Spencer’s never seen you hammered since you always opted to stay sober when going out with the team. He didn’t protest since the two of you had some very deep conversations while watching your coworkers become shit-faced.

“Well, it’s because of you,” you reply candidly, not considering any of the ramifications of your response.

“Me? Why me?” Spencer asks, taken aback by your answer. Assuming you wouldn’t tell him since you’re heavily guarded when it comes to anything personal, he prepares for a change of subject.

“Because you have a girlfriend,” you complain and add a fake gag from dramatic effect. Apparently, drunk y/n has no barriers and says anything on her mind. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you fake apologize, then say in a mocking tone, “Your fiancée.”

“Why does Maeve bother you?” Spencer asks calmly, wanting to get to the bottom of this. He secretly knows why but wants you to confirm it.

“Because I want to be your fiancée!” you exclaim in a tone that’s both serious and ridiculous. Intentional or not, you tighten your grip on Spencer’s arm and drawing nearer to him.

“You want to be with me?” he questions, noticing the increased closeness between you. Although he won’t admit it himself, he doesn’t hate your close proximity.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I want to be with you? I’ve been your best friend for four years and you’ve only known her for 10 months.” You begin to flail your arms dramatically, making it harder to guide you down the street. Spencer stops and you both sit on a park bench. For the first time since you’ve been walking, he looks into your eyes. They’re wild and dazed, all signs of intoxication, yet still have their usual intensity.

“But she’s my soulmate.” he protests lightly, knowing how weak his argument is.

“Bullshit, does she know that you used statistics to help your high school basketball team win, or that you’re a poor shot and failed your firearm qualification?” you ask, getting almost as angry as you are drunk.

Taken aback at how much you remember of him while you are still drunk as ever, he tries to respond but can’t seem to find the words. He figured that you had small feelings for him, but didn’t realize they were this intense. There was a time where he felt the same and would have jumped for joy at this confession. But right now, it only saddens him and makes his heart hurt just a bit.

He could hear your heavy breathing slow as an awkward silence settles between the two of you. In a tiny voice, you confess, “I really like you, Spencer.”

“Y/n, I...” Spencer trails off, not knowing what to say. You cut him off with a sigh, already knowing the gist of what he would say.

“Don’t say anything. I may be drunk, but I’m not stupid. You love her so my declaration of love isn’t going to do anything.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” Spencer apologizes genuinely. You look up at him and see the soft sincerity in his eyes. You sigh again and give a small, tight-lipped smile.

“What are you sorry for? The fact that you found the love of your life.” you chuckle dryly, unlike the drunken giggles a couple minutes ago. “I know I’m really drunk right now, but I like you. Maybe even love you.”

“I love you, too y/n. If you said this ten months ago, hell, even one month ago, I probably would scoop you in my arms and kiss you.” Spencer turns from you a puts his head in his hands. “But I’m with Maeve now. I couldn’t just break off my engagement over a possibility.” Spencer declares, uncertainty creeping into his voice. Could he end his engagement for you? When he doesn’t hear a response, he looks up and sees you passed out on the bench. Mouth slightly open, you look blissful. Spencer picks you up bridal style and carries you to your apartment.

Waking up in a bed, you look around and realize you are in your room. Thinking back to last night, you are glad to find that most of your memories are intact, save for some minor details. “How could you say all that to Spencer?” you groan, full of embarrassment and regret.

“Hey, you’re awake.” You look up to see Spencer at the doorway with a glass of water and painkillers. He walks towards your bed.

“Not to be rude, but what are you doing here?” you ask curiously, wondering why he didn’t just go home.

“I stayed in case something happened to you. It was also late and thought it was safer to sleep here. He replies reasonably and you hum in response. He sets the water and medicine on the nightstand. You mutter a quick ‘thanks’ and down the medicine.

”Hey, sorry for last night,” you begin to apologize. You catch a quick twinge of sadness that you don’t know how to interpret so you choose a different route to take, “I must have been a pretty annoying drunk person.” You decide that pretending to forget everything is the safest bet.

“You don’t remember anything?” he asks, with a tone balancing between hopeful and disappointed. Did he want you to remember your embarrassing confession?

“Yeah,” you laugh lightly. “All I remember are the drinks and you grabbing me from the bar. I must have blacked out after that.” Luckily you’re an expert liar or else Spencer would have been able to see right through that.

“Oh, okay,” Spencer replies, shooting a quick smile before turning to leave. For some reason, it seems like he’s trying to escape your apartment as quickly as possible.

“Wait, Spencer,” you say. He turns back around and you ask, “Did I say anything weird while I was drunk?”

“No, just standard drunk person stuff.” he lies convincingly. “Bye, Y/n,” he says briefly before leaving.

He closes your apartment door and slumps against the wall. Taking his phone out, he opens it to confront what he’s been avoiding for the past hour.

What do you mean we’re breaking up? -Maeve

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid imagines

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onceabluemoonwrites · 4 years

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Cursed Kiss - Chapter 3: The Cursed Love

Title: Cursed Kiss Chapter 3: The Cursed Love

Author: OnceABlueMoon

Rating: T

Pairing: Bianchi/Chrome Dokuro

Tags/Warnings: There is some violence

Prompt: Cloud day: royal au for @khrrarepairweek

Summary: The tale of Kuromu Dokuro is an old one, perhaps preceding even the existence of the monster hunters. To think the woman in the tale- the monster she became- is here, in front of her? Bianchi shudders to think of it.

Still, she has no choice. Her grip tightens on the knife in her hand, but before she can start to make her move, Kuromu- Chrome?- raises her hand, shaking her head. ‘’No need to fight your way out, darling, if you want to buy your brother’s freedom. All you need to do is take the geas on in his place.’’

Monster hunter Bianchi bargains her freedom for her brother’s and has to stay in the vampire Chrome’s castle. But the horrors within are not the shadows that whisper and follow Bianchi wherever she goes- no, to the contrary, the horrors are inside the mind of her captor.

AO3 link

Chapter 3: The Cursed Love

It wasn’t, Bianchi thinks later, when her mind is clearer, that she did not want Chrome to take her hand. She had desperately wanted to take her hand, to feel what it would be like to squeeze it, or to simply take it, softly hand in hand, skin to skin.

Somehow, the thought of it makes her ears and cheeks go red and warm. She doesn’t really know how to interpret that. Her entire relationship with Chrome is already complicated enough without the warm feelings in her belly interrupting, let alone the butterflies whenever she thinks of the lovely woman, vampire or no.

It's why she’s staying, now, even when she doesn’t have to anymore. The geas is gone, and it confuses her so much, because if geas wasn’t what was holding her here anymore, then what was? It’s clear as the sun breaking through the clouds. It’s Chrome. Chrome, all by herself.

Bianchi likes Chrome. She really does. She likes their little games of property destruction that are actually just them training side by side in inappropriate places. She likes the way a drop of wine so often clings to the corner of her mouth at dinner. It makes Bianchi want to go up to her and lick it off her face. She likes the way her eyes follow birds like she’s hunting prey. She likes shooting at them with her.

She’d just wish she’d be able to reconcile the hunt of birds of prey with the way Chrome’s obviously hunted humans before too. But that’s the thing too- before. Bianchi’s not sure if the preying on humans is actually a thing of the past, but she hasn’t seen Chrome do anything of the sort in the past few months she’s lived with her, and she doesn’t quite know what to do with that. Does she not hunt humans anymore? And is there even a way to ask Chrome that without immediately ruining Bianchi’s romantic prospects with her?

It makes Bianchi laugh at herself, high and mean. Romantic prospects? Who is she kidding? She knows she hurt Chrome a lot, that night when she told Bianchi about her past. Bianchi would be lucky if she’d be able to salvage their friendship at this point.

As much as she’d like to say the opposite, while Bianchi likes Chrome, she’s not sure she likes her monstrous nature. And that isn’t fair to Chrome, not fair at all, because it’s simply who Chrome is. That’s not something you ought to judge a person for, except what Chrome is eats humans and Bianchi… Bianchi is frustrated and angry and a little sad to because she just doesn’t get what she’s feeling right now.

It helps, that Hayato writes to her. Every week, a hawk arrives at her window. She reads his letters dutifully, like an older sister ought to, and writes back. He writes of his friends, all vividly described long before it comes out just what they are. Yamamoto, she already knew of. The witch, who enchants right and left. Hibari, the taciturn vampire who protects his little town with fevour. Tsunayoshi, who Hayato is so, so weak for. Bianchi startles when she finds out he’s a goddamn mountain lion shifter. Ryohei, loud, so loud, his caterwauling often described before she is told he is a siren, though one that’s rather bad at his job. Mukuro, who Hayato dislikes, but can’t help but respect, a mage that has mastered the art of the illusion.

His tales soften her heart towards them, make her life vicariously through him. Her life isn’t bad. Far from it, even. She enjoyed her peaceful days here, together with Chrome before Bianchi let her down, but sometimes she did wish for a little more excitement.

It doesn’t matter, she tells herself. It doesn’t matter, because she’s alright here with the stupid mess she made of her own feelings, and Hayato is free and happy. She might not trust all monsters, but she has accepted that not all of them are bad, and if his friends are as good and true to him as Hayato describes them, then surely he is well protected. He’s fifteen, by now. She has missed his birthday. He’s an adult now and he has the right to roam wherever he wishes.

She misses him, though. She misses him terribly.

Thankfully, Chrome is very good at distracting her. There’s been a wall between them since the incident, but when Bianchi pulls her to the kitchen one evening before dinner, Chrome doesn’t protest. Bianchi starts handing her ingredients to chop before she gets the fire going. There are no words between them, not about why Bianchi’s still there, despite the geas being gone, nor why she’s doing this.

Bianchi doesn’t explain.

Chrome doesn’t ask.

The cold regality in both her demeanour and posture reminds Bianchi of Chrome’s past as princess. That hurts. But it shouldn’t. It really, really shouldn’t.

Chrome is a person so lonely that she placed a geas on the entrance of her castle, as if catching herself a companion with a geas was the best option she had. It worked, of course, but that’s another issue all together.

When they bring their dinner to the table, it’s been perfectly set by the shadows already. Bianchi pets them when they leave them be, her quiet love for Chrome’s strange servants warming her inside out and lending her courage.

Eating the food they’ve made together, Bianchi’s dawdled enough. She needs to put her big girl panties on and talk to Chrome.

After dinner, for the first time that week, she takes Chrome by the hand and leads her to the huge stuffed chairs in front of the hearth. ‘’Get us some wine, please,’’ she asks the shadows. They comply immediately, getting the hint.

Chrome is looking at her. Her eyes are no longer wary, like they were before, but they’re… Soft, almost mellow in the low light. Possibly because she knows Bianchi is still here even though she doesn’t have to be. Because that means something, even if Bianchi has a hard time saying it.

She swallows as she receives the wine glass from the shadows, Chrome getting one as well and the bottle being deposited on the table. Bianchi clears her throat. Chrome watches her calmly, which isn’t good for Bianchi’s nerves at all. ‘’So,’’ she starts, ‘’I know I’m not the best at being… emotionally available at times.’’

Chrome snorts.

‘’Ouch. But I can’t deny I deserve it after our last talk about feelings and our pasts. You told me about your issues and I reacted badly. I’m sorry about that.’’

Chrome doesn’t make any excuses for Bianchi, and Bianchi loves her more for it. She doesn’t need others to excuse her actions. She needs to learn from them.

‘’Go on,’’ Chrome says, ‘’I suppose you’re going somewhere with this?’’

Bianchi nods. ‘’You told me about your issues, now I’m going to tell you about mine.’’

Chrome takes a sip of her wine and peers at Bianchi over her wine glass. Bianchi takes that for a go ahead.

‘’So the first thing you’ve got to know is that I became a hunter because I’ve dealt with monsters before. That includes the monster that killed my family, but also the human monster that was my family.’’ Oh god, this is hard to talk about. But she has to, if she wants Chrome to understand.

‘’When I was seventeen, I found my mother floating in our well the night after a were attacked our village. He’d killed countless amongst our neighbours. My mother most likely just searched for a place to hide as the were went to town on them. She drowned after not being able to swim more after hours and hours of hearing the onslaught above her go on.’’ Her chest hurts and her voice is thick, but she soldiers on. Chrome reaches for her hand and Bianchi squeezes it, thankful for the warmth the skin-to-skin contact brings her.

‘’Here’s the thing: I hate my mother. Hayato’s my half-brother, you know. She hated him. And I can’t understand how anyone could want to hurt Hayato, let alone kill him, drown him in that very same goddamned well. I wondered whether it was karma when I discovered her corpse in it. I remember that so clearly. So vividly. It was bloated, her body. So bloated, as she was floating on top of the water.’’ She stares into the fire, the only thing grounding her the pressure of Chrome’s hand in hers.

‘’I hate the woman who did that to Hayato. I do. But I also love the person who sang me the very same lullabies I sang for Hayato later, who tucked me into bed, who rocked me through my every nightmare. The woman who kept my milk teeth in a box because every part of me was precious to her. I love the person I remember her being before Hayato.

But then again, I loved Lavina, Hayato’s mother, too. Thinking of her is painful. I was too young at the time to really understand what was happening, but I remember the look of betrayal on mt mother’s face the day my father came home with a bastard and the news that my baby sitter- Hayato’s mother- had died.

Sometimes I wonder, you know,’’ Bianchi stares into her wine glass before taking a gulp. ‘’Sometimes I wonder if Hayato’s conception was even something Lavina consented to. I mean, I’m not a nine year old snot anymore. I’m older, hopefully a little wiser and definitely a whole lot more jaded. Lavina became a bit of a social outcast among the adults when she got pregnant. Nobody knew who the father was. There used to be lots of children at her house during the day when their parents worked, but there were a lot less after that. She never really seemed like the kind of person who would sleep with a married man to me. At least not if she knew he was married- and Lavina knew, without a doubt, as the one who minded me.

The last memory I have of her is actually of the very same day Hayato was born and she died. I and the other children had no concept of the scandal she was, seeing our age, so we loved listening to her stomach, pressing our ears against it trying to hear the child’s heartbeat. We loved touching her stomach too, if she let us, trying to feel the kick of the baby’s little feet. Of Hayato’s little feet.’’ She gulps down the rest of her wine, before turning her head and looking straight into Chrome’s eyes, watching the strange shadows the flames in the hearth cast upon her face and her curious purple eyes.

‘’Chrome, I loved my little brother before I even knew he was part of my family. But that was a weak love. But that day, seeing my awful father thrust my baby brother on my mother so callously, drove something home to her if no one else would love this little ugly creature that my mother hated so, then I would.’’

Bianchi is tearing up, the tears starting to roll down her face, but she can’t stop now. She has to ask, otherwise it will always remain in between them, an invisible wall of unasked questions and hurt that cannot be spoken of. ‘’I can’t condemn you for your nature, but I also can’t let me tear myself apart further with not knowing. Please tell me: do you still hunt humans?’’

Chrome looks up. ‘’Not innocent ones.’’ And then, because Chrome is cruel, as much as she is beautiful, she says: ‘’You can’t say that about your hunting of my kind.’’

And that hurts, but Bianchi swallows the lump in her throat and says: ‘’Yeah. Yeah. That’s more than I can say.’’ Her voice cracks on the last word.

Then she cries into Chrome’s shoulders until she falls asleep, warm against her side. Chrome lets her, snot and tears be damned, handing her a handkerchief to clean herself up.

It feels like an absolution.

She wakes up in a rather uncomfortable position, with her neck in a crick. She groans, massaging her neck as her eyes slowly blink open. Violet eyes are staring at her directly. She blinks again. No, Chrome’s still there, pressed up against her in the very same chair. They’re lucky the furniture was large enough to allow for it. Bianchi’s slid down to Chrome’s lap at some point, feet over the side of the chair, Chrome staring down at her. She has the most longing expression Bianchi’s ever seen on anyone’s face and her breath catches in her throat.

The small hitch in her breathing seems to shake Chrome out of her reverie. The expression leaves, once again gone behind her mask, but it doesn’t change that it had been there. Doesn’t change that Bianchi has seen.

With her heart beating in her throat, Bianchi reaches up, wraps her arms around Chrome’s neck and pulls her down to kiss her.

It is soft. It is warm. It is beautiful.

It’s all Bianchi ever needed

The cooking together becomes a regular thing, but with a lot less coldness, more talking and a lot more kisses sneaked in between passing each other cooking utensils. There is laughter and love in the halls of Chrome’s dark castle, and even the bare stone doesn’t seem as cold as before. Bianchi catches Chrome humming a cheery tune in the hallways when she thinks no one is there, and the whole thing is so sweet she has to kiss her for it.

Bianchi has started growing flowers, both of the poisonous and the non-poisonous varieties, and they brighten up the gloom of the castle. Were the shadow’s whispers used to be haunting, they are now almost never found without their giggling. This is both wildly annoying and pretty endearing, the exact same category as Bianchi knows from experience little siblings fall into.

She’s thinking of inviting Hayato to the castle. She writes a letter, with a proper map and all to the castle, sending it his way. Do NOT enter through the main entry has been underlined twice, despite the fact she knows Chrome removed the geas sometime ago. There are undoubtedly still spells on it, though, so she doesn’t want to take the risk.

Another new addition to her and Chrome’s daily routine are the walks. The moonlit walks, where they leave the gate and roam the land. One of these days, Bianchi wants to take towels with them and go skinny dipping, though she hasn’t quite told Chrome that yet. Perhaps it will be a surprise.

How far can she tempt Chrome before Chrome devours her alive? A year ago she would not even have thought of such a thing, especially not in combination with a vampire. But Chrome is her vampire, and that makes her giddy and happy and oh-so reckless.

Just how reckless is clear when they are ready to depart on their walk for the night and the beating against the castle gate starts.

Bianchi startles. ‘’What- What’s going on?’’ But she hears the voices outside the gate and she knows. ‘’Oh my god, they’re here. My former colleagues- the hunters, they’re here. How?!’’

Chrome stares up at the gate. ‘’I smell the blood of your hawk.’’

Bianchi presses her hand against her mouth as if to keep herself from vomiting as her stomach begins to roil. ‘’Oh my god, I sent Hayato instructions as to how to get back here to visit. They shot Queen down and found the fucking map. This is my fault!’’

The banging upon the gate is like a heartbeat. It’s so consistent, the battering ram colliding with the wood and steel, the precision almost inhuman. It would make Bianchi laugh, if the fear didn’t close up her throat. She reaches down, taking Chrome’s hand, not taking her eyes off the courtyard before them. ‘’They won’t take you.’’ She says it with desperation colouring her words. ‘’They won’t take you, I won’t let them!’’

She promises it with all that she has in her. It has been so long since she’s felt actual happiness. Now she has it, she won’t let go of it so easily. She’ll fight to the death to defend it, to defend Chrome, if she must.

Chrome laughs and it startles Bianchi. She’s so much older in soul, and yet her body seemingly younger than Bianchi’s. Her gothic dress swishes around her feet, showing her pale, naked feet as she lets go of Bianchi’s hand and begins to circle her, as if taking her in.

Bianchi feels naked. She hasn’t worn her armour in almost a year now. It hadn’t exactly been meant for anything more than hunter raids, far too stiff for the necessities of daily life. It had to be, in order to be strong enough to defend against the monsters of the night. The dresses that Chrome had stored in the castle weren’t exactly the kind that could be worn to battle, but they’d been good enough for a quiet life here. Good enough for spars with Chrome and writing letters to her brother.

God, Hayato. What is she going to tell him if she dies here tonight? He won’t understand. He never did.

Or, perhaps, he is the only one who can understand. Nobody loves monsters as much as her brother, after all, and even if it landed her here, in this moment, she can’t resent him for it. She loves him. She loves him, just as she loves Chrome. Tears well up in her eyes. She hates herself a little for that. This is no time to cry. This is the time to fight.

Chrome quits circling around her, to stand on her tippy toes to reach up to her. ‘’The thing you keep forgetting, Bianchi,’’ Chrome breathes into her ear, a hand creeping up her sides, caressing her chest, ‘’Is that before there can be hunters, there must be prey.’’

And with the soul of a hunter far older than any kind of human hunter, she pounces as the gate breaks apart in pieces.

Their enemies never even make it past the threshold.

There are, Bianchi muses later that evening, definitely perks to having a vampire girlfriend. One of them is her tearing apart your enemies, which is way too hot and probably also illegal because of the murder. Not like anyone’s going to be able to tell, though. The castle is hidden far too well for that.

Chrome returns to her, dripping in guts and all kind of gory bits, but Bianchi doesn’t mind. She leans down and kisses her, deeply and with tongue.

Chrome laughs when she lets go. ‘’What did I deserve that for?’’

‘’Being amazing!’’ Bianchi smiles back.

‘’We’ll need to get the location of the castle to your brother,’’ Chrome says, leaning her forehead against Bianchi’s. Bianchi sighs and leans into it, closing her eyes. ‘’After all, I can hardly marry you properly if I don’t even know your family.’’

Bianchi’s eyes fly open, meeting mischievous eyes. ‘’You!’’ she slaps her arm, but the pleasure in it is evident.

‘’This time,’’ Chrome states, ‘’We’re bringing him the letter ourselves, though.’’

Bianchi fully agrees with that.

Hayato and all his monster friends come to the castle for the wedding.

#khr #khrrarepairweek2020 #day 6 #cloud day #royal au #fanfiction #bianchi/dokuro chrome #bianchi #dokuro chrome #onceabluemoonwrites fic

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repulsivepangolin7 · 4 years

Text

Fic: 31 days of whump (23/31)

And of course I needed to make a chapter regarding some of the general challenges we’re going through. And who’s the main whumpee in my universe? You guessed, it. Luca.

Word count: 2 516

“You know, it would’ve been a lot easier if everyone just followed the quarantine rules.” Hondo sighed as Black Betty roared through the streets of downtown LA.

“So true, so true.” Deacon nodded as he strapped his helmet on.

“Evil never sleeps.” Tan shrugged as he made sure the laces of his boots were tucked in.

“Well, neither do we!” Luca grinned from behind the wheel.

“Ain’t that right!” Hondo chuckled as they turned into the block they were headed to, “Alright, you know the deal. Stay liquid!”

SWATSWATSWAT

It’s a heart-stopping moment when you suddenly know everything’s going to go wrong. When you know you’re screwed over. When you’re looking down the barrel of a loaded gun.

It wasn’t the first time in his career, and in a weird way he hoped it wouldn’t be the last one either. Last one sounded too, final.

“Please…” he attempted, “Don’t shoot, please.”

“Put your gun down!” the masked guy yelled.

Luca nodded and the gun tracked his movements.

He could feel his heart beating at his max limit. His mouth was dry as plaster wall, his hands were starting to get shaky.

Everything’s going to be alright, Luca… Everything’s going to be alright.

And everything was going alright.

-Until a car outside backfired, and the scared shitless masked guy who probably wasn’t used to holding weapons to people put a bit too much pressure on the trigger and fired.

At first it felt like someone hit him in the thigh with a baseball bat. And he had a couple of glorious seconds filled with that weird feeling when you know you’ve been hit hard by something, but it doesn’t hurt yet. Where everything is just stupidly numb.

He slammed to the floor, it was like his right leg just disappeared from below him.

“SHIT!” Luca almost barked a laugh when he heard the masked guy freak out, “Shit man! SHIT! I didn’t mean to!”

Then his brain started interpreting the signals his leg was sending him correctly, and lord it hurt. The pain was almost paralyzing.

Then his brain started decoding the severity of it all.

“F***!” he muttered to himself before pressing down on the radio button, “Officer down. GSW, right thigh. Making a tourniquet.”

Then he loosened his belt, and prepared to wrap that around high up on his thigh.

The masked kid was still freaking out five yards away. He had laid his gun down on the counter.

Luca looked down at the wound after he had tightened the makeshift tourniquet as much as he possibly could. It still bled too much.

He muttered another word of profanity.

“Kid! Hey kid!” it was a last ditch effort, he knew, but the others had gone upstairs because that was the information they had gotten. Fifth floor, two shooters. “Kid, I need help!”

The masked kid froze.

“Kid, can you find anything I can use as either a tourniquet or to press down on this wound?”

The kid looked at him. “What?”

“You know any first aid?”

The kid’s mouth fell open under the mask, then he nodded. “A little.”

“I need to put pressure on this.” Luca winced, “And-or something that works better as a tourniquet than my belt. Can you find that?”

The kid nodded and picked up his gun again, which Luca first took to be a very bad sign, before he saw the kid unhooking the strap from the assault rifle and placing the gun back where he had placed it earlier.

Then he jogged over to somewhere Luca couldn’t see, before he came back a few seconds later with a rolled up piece of fabric.

“I’m so sorry! I never meant to!” the kid apologized as he handed Luca the stuff, “I didn’t mean to shoot you!”

“Then why were you pointing a freaking gun at me?” Luca growled back, the pain setting him a bit more on edge than he liked.

“I’m sorry, I’m stupid.”

“Forget it, just help me with this…” Luca grimaced, pointing at his leg.

Rapid footsteps hurried down the stairs, Luca knew the team well enough to know that it was Hondo and Deacon.

“Luca, how bad is it?” Deacon asked.

Luca killed off a groan, before he called out for his two teammates, “Don’t shoot, we’re good here!”

Then he looked at the wound on his leg, it was still bleeding steadily. “Harder.”

The kid pressed down harder on the wound, causing Luca to collapse backwards with a long growl.

Deacon and Hondo ran over, taking in the scene.

“That’s not enough pressure.” Hondo noted, kneeling down beside the kid, who now had lifted his mask from his face. “Let me, alright?”

The kid nodded, but held pressure until Hondo was ready to take over.

Deacon secured the kid in handcuffs. Then he attempted finding better suited materials for a proper tourniquet.

SWATSWATSWAT

The next couple of days were a blur of pain, low hemoglobin, pain and his mind playing PTSD-like tricks on him. Oh, and pain.

The x-rays had showed that the bullet had broken his femur a bit above his knee, and as a result of his leg collapsing in a weird way, he had managed to break his tibia as well. And along with that, a lot of soft tissue damage followed.

Thanks to the way the world was going to hell in a hurry, this wasn’t like any other of his previous hospital stays.

For one, he hadn’t had any visitors. They weren’t allowed in. Which he took as a good sign, right now visitors would probably mean that he was on the fast track to leaving in a body bag.

The other main thing was that his pain was nowhere near managed. He was basically getting Tylenol for a gunshot wound.

He had gotten a couple of bags worth of fullblood and some saline or whatever drips to keep the effects of blood loss down.

And the nurses tried their best to keep up with whatever shitshow was going on outside of his room, and avoid infecting other patients. That kind of setup limited the number of different nurses who came in to him during a shift. Usually it was just one per shift, with another one stepping in if the main nurse was called to one of the isolation rooms for something urgent.

He had already been the assistant in one of his own dressing changes. Which had not been his favorite part of the day. Luckily lifting by the metal rod going between the four sets of pins was a practical way to move his leg without too much pain or hassle. It hurt less holding the bar than his actual leg. That being said, with the minimum amount of pain killers he was on due to the now national shortage, it hurt more than it should anyway.

SWATSWATSWAT

Luckily the internet still worked, and for the moment that would have to be his social lifeline to the rest of the world.

He was just about finished with his lunch when his phone started buzzing.

He picked it up and looked at it, seeing an incoming FaceTime call from Tuana.

He accepted the call with a grin.

“Hey there…” Tuana and Kelly grinned in unison.

“Hey girls!” he grinned back, “How’s quarantine life going?”

“It’s BORING!” Kelly frowned, “I can’t hang outside with my friends.”

Luca chuckled, “Well, this won’t last forever. Everyone just has to do their part until it passes.”

Kelly sighed, but nodded. “How are you doing Luca?”

He shrugged, he didn’t feel like admitting how bad it actually felt to her. He didn’t want this kid to see his weak side. “I’m holding up. It’s pretty boring here as well…”

“I wish we could come visit you…” she pouted.

“That would have been nice, but rules are rules…” he sighed, “I can barely wait for my leg to be good enough to get out of here and see you again.”

Kelly and Tuana nodded.

“Hey, Kelly… Could you give me and Luca some time alone?”

Kelly shrugged, “Oh, I could probably finish reading my book today!”

“That’s a GREAT idea!” Luca grinned, happy that Kelly had started finding joy in reading, “Talk to you later!”

“Yeah, later!” Kelly waved before she vanished from the screen.

Tuana followed her with her eyes, before she looked back at the screen, “Alright, she’s in her room.”

“Man, I miss you…” he sighed, “Both of you.”

“We miss you too…” Tuana replied.

“So, how’s self quarantine going?”

“Well, I’m bored as well. But…” she shrugged, “I think that’s mostly because I miss you.”

His chest felt warmer hearing that.

“So, how’s the hospital? How’s your leg?”

“Leg… My leg feels like it’s been shot.” Luca rolled his eyes, “It hurts.”

Tuana shot him an empathetic look.

“The hospital feels different. A bit middle-apocalyptic…”

She couldn’t help but chuckle.

“But are you good?” she asked, “Except the injured leg?”

“Yeah.” Luca nodded, “Except for the leg, I’m all good.”

“Can you show it to me?”

“The leg?”

Tuana nodded, “My mind kept providing me with all these worst case images ever since I heard you got shot.”

Luca nodded.

“I just need to see it so that my head doesn’t play it up worse than it is.”

Luca nodded, “I get it.”

“So, can you show me?”

“I can.” he nodded, “I’ve got some metal pins poking out of my leg and a bar or two linking them. And of course there’s bandage in between.”

She nodded.

“Just want you to be prepared, alright? And it’s pretty bruised. -And the bandage is partially soaked through.”

Tuana nodded.

“Alright, switching camera now.”

Tuana nodded, and Luca hit the icon to use the camera behind the phone instead of the front facing one.

“Ouch.” was all she said at first.

“Yeah, it… It looks how it looks.”

“Does they know if you’ll be back to normal?”

Luca shook his head a bit, but remembered that the camera was facing the wrong way. “No, they don’t.”

“What do they know?”

“That I won’t be putting weight on that leg for at least three months, or longer.” Luca switched the camera setting back, “And there’s no way of telling if I’ll be able to get back to work this time around, but they expect that if I make it… It’ll be at least a year before that happens.”

“And how long before you’re out of the hospital?”

“Not until my leg has stopped bleeding.” Luca sighed, “Might be anywhere from a few more days to a few more weeks.”

“You’re coming home to us then?” obvious hope in her eyes.

“Yeah, as long as you’ll have me.” Luca smirked.

“Always.” Tuana nodded.

SWATSWATSWAT

It took two and a half weeks before he was released from the hospital, with Tylenol and crutches.

He could barely move, barely manage to stand up with help of his crutches. But seeing Tuana come to pick him up outside the hospital made his will bigger than anything.

Tuana was standing outside the hospital when the nurse who had been looking after him that day rolled him down to the lobby in a wheelchair to make things easier for him.

“Well, look at you, handsome!” Tuana grinned as Luca and the nurse came outside the main entrance.

“Hey!” Luca beamed back, “You won’t believe how good it is to finally see you again!”

“I think I have an idea…” Tuana chuckled, “I’ve missed you too, you know.”

Luca grinned. Then he looked at his truck, which Tuana was picking him up in. His expression fell a little.

“Err, I might need some help.” He paused, pointing at the truck, “I don’t think it’ll be easy to get into the passenger seat.”

“Well, I figured your truck would be easier than my tiny car…” Tuana shrugged.

“Oh, you’re definitely right about that.” Luca nodded, “But… My leg…”

Tuana nodded, she knew what he was trying to say. It was painful. Every fractional movement hurt, didn’t matter if it was planned or unplanned. She had learned that through their daily FaceTime calls.

SWATSWATSWAT

They made it home to the apartment complex Tuana lived in, and up to the right floor. Luca was beading with sweat by the time she was about to unlock the door.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“A little lightheaded.” Luca answered honestly, “And that right there is the longest walk I’ve had in more than two weeks.”

“So, sit down?”

“Yeah. I need to sit down.” Luca swallowed, concentrating hard on keeping his balance.

“Can you make it inside to the couch?”

“Think so.”

“Try not to pass out on me, alright?”

“Yes Ma’am.” Luca nodded, keeping a death grip on his crutches.

She unlocked, and he made it in safely.

He hopped directly over to the couch, and started lowering himself onto the couch. Then he lifted his leg onto the couch with a grimace.

“Pillows? Do you need more pillows?”

“Nah. I’m good.” Luca grit out, looking nowhere near the vicinity of okay even.

“I’m finding more pillows.” She declared, “And a glass of water.”

“Thanks.”

As Tuana looked for pillows and a glass of water, the door to Kelly’s room clicked open, and she practically ran out to the living room. “Luca!”

He managed a brave smile, “Hey kiddo!”

She skidded to a stop a few feet away from the couch, her mouth agape. “Your leg…”

Luca nodded, “It looks… It doesn’t look good, does it?”

Kelly shook her head.

“It’s going to be alright.” He promised.

“Promise?”

“It’s going to take time, but my leg is going to get better.” Luca shrugged, “And I’ll be more fun again. I’m not very fun right now.”

Kelly looked between Luca’s face and his leg. “Why don’t you have a cast?”

“Because the doctors thought fixing my leg like this would be the best option.” Luca shrugged as he contemplated moving his leg a little. Those pillows Tuana was looking for would be very welcomed after all.

Kelly was silent for a few seconds extra, then she took a deep breath. “Can I give you a hug? We’re not supposed to hug now, because the virus, but… I want to give you a hug.”

Luca smiled, “Sure. A careful hug, alright?”

Kelly nodded and stepped over to hug him.

“Hey, I want to get in on that one…” Tuana chuckled as she came back in the living room.

Luca grinned, “It’s been way too long since we had a proper group hug, right?”

“Yeah.” Kelly nodded on his shoulder and he held out an arm for Tuana to join.

“I missed the two of you a lot.”

“We missed you too.” Kelly said, squeezing a bit harder, “Promise you won’t get shot again.”

“I’ll do my very best.” Luca nodded, “Alright?”

Kelly shrugged a bit, “I guess.”

Okay, remember, this was written early on in this pandemic, and we had no clue how it was going to end up being (not on a national basis for my home country, or internationally). At the hospital I was a student at, we had some shortages early on. I no longer remember exactly what it was we were running short on because it got straightened out pretty quickly, but it was some kind of antibiotic. And we didn’t know how the supply for all the meds were going to work if things went real caca, so my brain made up a scenario which might have turned out realistic, but it didn’t end up that way over here at least. And nationwide there was a shortage of paracetamol and ibuprofen because people bought it like they were getting ready for the apocalypse, and they planned on having a constant headache. Kinda like T.P.

#Swat fanfiction #whump #roll swat #hondo #hondo harrelson #luca #dominic luca #dominique luca #Street #jim street #chris #chris alonso #david kay #deacon #tan #victor tan #fanfiction #swat #s.w.a.t

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perspective-series · 5 years

Text

Meta Perspective (4)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Fear, past injury, not listening

(Check the reblog for the links to any future chapters)

————————————————————————————————–

Patton woke up the next morning with a smile as he stretched his arms and legs. He hopped out of bed and headed out of his room and towards the kitchen. He paused, however, when he saw Virgil, asleep on the couch. Looking a little closer he saw Amanda asleep as well. The TV was on the menu screen of netflix.

Patton sighed and shook his head but he had a fond smile on his face. He figured he’d let them sleep a bit longer and went to get started on breakfast for everyone.

Amanda sniffed the air, the familiar smell of the humans cooking breakfast bringing her back into the waking world. She groaned, pulling in on herself and trying to get a few more minutes of sleep. Why was it so bright, anyways?

Slowly Amanda blinked her eyes open, jolting up as she realized she was out in the open. Of course, this caused her injuries to flare up again, making Amanda bite back a scream. Looking over at Virgil -the sleeping human was so close-, the events of the night before came flooding back into her mind.

Virgil groaned as the smell of food filled his nostrils as well. Half his body hurt and as he opened his eyes he realized it was because he had fallen asleep on the couch. And at a weird angle too. He sat up and stretched his body, wincing as he felt several places pop. His eyes went to the on TV and then slowly to the arm of the couch.

He saw Amanda sitting there, awake and looking at him. “Uh...good morning.”

Amanda shifted in place. “...Morning.”

Virgil didn’t know what to say after that but thankfully Patton came in to the room. “Oh! You two are awake! Perfect, breakfast just got finished.”

Virgil nodded and then offered a hand to Amanda as Patton went back to set the table.

“Oh, right.” Amanda looked at the palm offered to her, steeling herself. She tried to get up and stand, intent on walking over, but her legs buckled beneath her weight. Amanda fell to her hands and knees, caught off guard by her own body working against her. It seemed the lack of sleep last night had done her no favors.

Virgil’s eyes widened. “Whoa!” His hands came a little closer, cupping around her but not yet touching her. “...You okay?”

“I’m fine!” Amanda insisted, putting a hand up. Despite how frequently she said it, the statement seemed to be getting less and less true. After all, what part of this was fine? She was in human captivity and she couldn’t even walk. What a useless excuse for a borrower.

“You definitely don’t look fine.” Virgil muttered. “I’m gonna pick you up now, okay?” He didn’t wait for a response and he brought his hands closer and gently scooped her up into his hands.

Amanda tensed at the feeling of hands coming underneath her and surrounding her body, but what could she do? Amanda couldn’t fight Virgil, and she couldn’t cooperate correctly either. At least he had given her a warning.

“Thanks.” Amanda muttered, trying to get comfortable.

Virgil hummed and brought her into the kitchen. Patton was there and looked at Amanda with concern. “Is everything okay?”

Virgil shrugged and gently set Amanda down on the table, before taking his seat. Patton soon followed. “I don’t know. I think she might have gotten worse.” Patton’s eyes widened.

“Oh no!”

“I just needed to rest my legs for a moment.” Amanda paused, then defaulted to her favorite lie. “...I’m fine.”

Patton’s eyes still shown with concern but he nodded. “Alright but don’t be afraid to tell us if you aren’t, okay?” Patton gave Amanda a gentle smile before giving her a small plate of eggs and hashbrowns.

Amanda was planning on doing nothing at the sort, but she nodded anyways. Her expression lit up as she recognized the hash browns on her plate, taking a large bite out of the warm cooked potato shreds.

Patton smiled as he saw her excitement at the hashbrowns. It was why he made them again, after all. He dug into his own food, glancing at the time. “Oh, shoot. I have an 8am class today.” The clock currently read 7:20. “I’m going to have to leave soon.”

Virgil glanced at the clock as well. He still had a bit more time, thankfully.

Amanda almost said ‘I know’ before realizing that might not be the best thing to admit. Instead she kept her head down, focusing more fully on eating her food.

Patton ate the rest of his breakfast fairly quickly, putting it in the sink before heading to his room to get changed. “Just put your dishes in the sink and I’ll clean them when I get home!” He called before they heard his bedroom door shut.

Virgil continued to eat at a slower pace, since he had the time. He turned to Amanda. “So, how did you like the show last night?” He asked. He hated small talk but he also hated awkward silences more.

Despite herself, Amanda perked up at this new conversation topic. “It was cool.” Amanda smiled. “I mean, it was different than what I remember from the books, but it was intriguing to see a different interpretation.”

Virgil nodded and smiled. “Yeah. Honestly, I’ve never read the book but the show is good.” Maybe he should...but then again, reading large books like that wasn’t really his thing. That was more Logan’s thing.

Patton came back out after that, fully dressed with his backpack. “Alright guys, I gotta head out, but I’ll see you two later!”

“Bye Pat!” Virgil called out as Patton closed the front door. “Welp, just the two of us for another hour or so.”

“Oh yeah, you have class too, don’t you?” Amanda remembered.

“I do, unfortunately.” He’d much rather just skip class but he knew he’d get an earful from Patton if he did so.

Perhaps there really would be a chance for Amanda to get out of this situation after all. If Virgil was leaving, then Amanda would have the apartment all to herself again. All she’d have to do is make it to a wall entrance and she’d be home free. Amanda grinned slightly to herself, eating some of her eggs.

Virgil stood up and placed his empty dish in the sink before turning to Amanda. “Are you done?” He asked her.

“Oh, yeah.” Despite saying this, Amanda grabbed a few last strands of hash browns and piled them into her lap, intent on saving them for later.

Virgil raised an eyebrow at her. “What are you doing?” He asked as he took the plate.

“Saving these for later.” Amanda opened her bag, only to immediately groan at the contents. “Oh great, I forgot.” Her bag was still loaded with the broken cookie, the chocolate having melted and coating just about everything. After all the excitement of the day yesterday most of the actual ‘cookie’ was just a pile of dusty crumbs.

With a huff, Amanda turned her bag upside-down, shaking it to dispel the contents onto the table and try to begin clearing the mess.

Virgil just continued to watch her and began to wonder where she had gotten...what was that? A cookie? Was that from Patton? He put the plate in the sink and turned back to her. “You don’t have to do that. Patton would be more than happy to make some more for you later.”

“Hmm?” Amanda paused briefly, wondering what he was talking about before realizing he meant her borrowings. “Oh, well I’d rather have it just in case. Of course, stupid thing wasn’t worth it.” Amanda returned to her grumbling, giving the bag another shake. Now most of the cookie chunks were dispelled, and the tools that resided at the bottom of her bag came tumbling out. Many of these were covered in sticky chocolate stains.

“Oh, come on!” Amanda groaned. This was going to take forever to get clean.

Virgil winced at the small items covered in chocolate. That didn’t look good. “Do you need some...help?” He offered, though, as soon as he said it, he was wondering how he actually could help.

“Yeah, grab me some paper towels.” Amanda instructed, beginning to sort out her items and move the important pieces away from the cookie pile.

Virgil nodded, glad to have some instructions on how to help and grabbed a paper towel, putting it next to Amanda to use.

“Thanks.” Amanda got to work, using the paper towel to diligently scrub at her tools.

Virgil watched Amanda scrub her tools. “...Did you need some water or something? Would that help?” He asked.

“Well, if you have some to spare.” Amanda answered, for a moment forgetting with whom she was speaking. Of course a human would have enough water, they had access to faucets all the time.

“Uh, yeah, of course?” Virgil didn’t really get it but he went over and filled and small saucer with water before bringing it over for Amanda to use. “There, hopefully that will help.”

“Thanks.” Amanda dabbed the corner of the paper towel into the dish, using it to remove the residue chocolate. Slowly her belongings became clean, and she used the other end of the paper towel to dry them off. Once she was satisfied, Amanda got to work cleaning the bag itself by turning it inside-out and scrubbing at the patchwork fabric.

Virgil looked down at her work with a smile. “Well, looks like that took care of it.” He glanced at the clock. “Shoot, I’ll be right back. I gotta get ready for class.” Virgil left for his room.

Amanda felt her fingers twitching, desperate to take advantage of her time alone, but now was not the time for an escape attempt. Her legs protested such an idea. Amanda could let them rest for just a few minutes longer. After all, soon Virgil would be gone and she’d have the entire apartment to herself.

With this thought in mind, Amanda quickly dried off the bag, repacking so she could be ready.

Virgil came out a few minutes later dressed and ready with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He looked towards Amanda and then down at himself, wondering how this was gonna work. He unzipped his hoodie, looking down at his t-shirt and realized it had a small pocket there. Yeah, that should work, right?

“All right, all set. You ready?” Virgil asked.

“...ready for what?” Amanda asked uneasily, not liking his tone.

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “For school? You’re coming with me.” He said, like it was obvious.

“I certainly am not!” Amanda’s jaw dropped, looking a mix between offended and fearful. After all, if Virgil really wanted to take her, there was nothing Amanda could do to stop him. “I’m not going anywhere with all those beans roaming around! I could get seen, or hurt. I thought you were trying to keep me safe. I’m injured, remember?”

“Yeah but you’ll be safe in my pocket. And that way I know you won’t get up to anything here.” Virgil said. He didn’t want her trying to climb anything...and half of him still thought she was going to try and get away. Which wouldn’t be good for her. Not in her current state.

“I’ve never gotten up to anything in my life.” Amanda insisted. “And there is no way a pocket is safe.” Amanda pictured it for a moment, imagining how she’d be thrown around and forced to curl up into a ball.

“You’ll be fine.” Virgil said. “And at least then I know you’re getting rest. Now come on,” he glanced at the clock. “I really gotta go.” He held his hand out for her.

“There’s no way I could rest, I’d be tense all day wondering what you’re gonna do to me.” Amanda scooted away from him, grabbing her bag. “That hardly sounds like a peaceful environment, as opposed to a quiet apartment with no close encounters and no surprises.”

Virgil sighed. “Amanda, I don’t have time for this.” With one last glance at the clock, he reached out and gently scooped her up before gently dropping her into his shirt pocket.

“H-hey!” Amanda protested as she was squashed at the bottom, banging her fist against Virgil’s chest. “Put me back! I don’t want to go with you! I’ll- I’ll tell Patton!”

Virgil actually paused at that but he zipped up his hoodie. Patton probably wouldn’t be happy with him but this was to keep Amanda safe. “I’d keep your voice down, I’m about to leave.”

Amanda felt her face pale at that. She hadn’t left the building in years. What if something happened at school? She certainly couldn’t make it back in her condition.

“...please be careful.” Amanda requested, her nervousness increasing. Like it or not (and she did not), her life would be in Virgil’s hands for the day.

“I will.” Virgil said softly before opening the door and leaving the apartment.

#meta perspective #meta #part 4 #human!virgil #human!patton #borrower!amanda #g/t #giant/tiny #sanders sides

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serendipitous-magic · 5 years

Note

Director's Cut: Real Season 3, your take on the theater scene

(For the “give commentary on a scene you’ve written” thing)

OKAY SO I’M ACTUALLY REALLY GLAD YOU MENTIONED THAT SCENE BECAUSE THERE’S SOME VERY CLEVER FORESHADOWING IN THERE THAT I’M NOT SURE IF ANYONE CAUGHT. (Ahem.) I don’t think I’ll actually point it out, so that it can still be A Surprise, but just allow me to say that I am stupidly pleased with ~something~ in that section.

That being said, I’m interpreting “the theater scene” as like all the way through the theater scene, like from the movie starting to after Will’s episode, so (rubs hands together) here we go. Buckle up, kids. I’ll put it under a “read more” line and hope that works (Tumblr has been so weird about “read more” lines, has anyone else had that problem?)

-_-_-_-

Will ranks movies based on how easily they can make him forget the outside world. A score of one means, what movie? and a score of ten means, what real world?

This one is an eight.

Will gets swept up in the story, delighted by the clocks and the Delorean and all the old-fashioned ‘50s stuff and Doc Brown’s exaggerated facial expressions - and captivated by Marty McFly’s skateboard, turned-up collar, guitar, and handsomely rumpled hair. He’s even able to mostly forget how crisp the air conditioning is, in here. The air smells like buttered popcorn; his tongue is probably stained red with artificial strawberry; and for the first time in a long day of hiking and racing across town, he’s sitting down in a comfy chair. A good end to a good day.

It’s long been a headcanon of mine that Will gets a bit of a crush on Marty McFly when BTTF comes out in summer of 1985. I mean…

C’mon. He skateboards. He plays guitar. He’s clever (“Whoa, whoa, Biff… What’s that?”), he’s funny, he’s handsome, he’s cool and he knows it, he’s confident… Tell me Will wouldn’t be blushing in his theater seat. Go on.

His mood is dampened just a tad when he glances over and happens to see Mike’s fingers linked with El’s, as per the usual.

“Whoa. Whoa, Doc, stuck here?” Marty says from the screen. “I can’t be stuck here, I got a life in 1985! I got a girl!”

“Is she pretty?”

“Ah, she’s beautiful.”

Will looks back to the screen, because he doesn’t want to see the meaningful, affectionate glance that Mike sends his girlfriend.

I just had fun kind of using the movie to bounce back and forth with what’s going on in Will’s head - like how Marty, in the movie, says, “Ah, she’s beautiful,” and Mike gives El this meaningful look and Will has to look away. That was just so much fun to write. I actually had this scene of BTTF pulled up in a different tab while I was writing this scene, to refer to, so I could get the dialogue right.

“She’s crazy about me. Look at this. Look what she wrote here, Doc, I mean, that says it all. Doc… You’re my only hope.”

Crazy about me.

Yeah, crazy -

“Crazy,” as related to being in love, has been somewhat of a motif through Stranger Things. We’ve got, of course, “Crazy together,” but also “Only love makes you that crazy, and that damn stupid,” and, “It makes you crazy,” etc. And I do believe I’ll be using that motif a bit, myself, in the rewrite. (Hueh hueh hueh.)

“Marty, I’m sorry. But the only power source capable of generating 1.21 gigawatts of electricity is a bolt of lightning.”

At first Will thinks that the sudden darkness is part of the movie. And then, when the audience groans and he sees that even the exit signs above the doors have gone dark, he realizes what happened.

“Aw, c’mon,” Lucas gripes from somewhere in the darkness.

There’s a general muttering and shuffling as the packed theater protests the blackout.

Spreading.

Where his hand rests on his thigh, Will’s fingers twitch.

It’s spreading.

The blackout.

This was kind of a half-callback to S2 where Will is trying to explain to Joyce and Hopper what he’s feeling/seeing with his Now Memories, and he says something like, “It’s growing, and spreading, and… killing.”

Sweeping across Hawkins in a powerful, silent surge. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he does. He can feel it. Hot bulbs going dark; buzzing wires falling inert, lifeless.

Everything inside of Will drops. A horrible, sick, sinking, numb-cold swoop that starts to spiral somewhere in his gut, tingling up his spine and at the base of his skull, prickling at the back of his neck until one hand twitches up to press at the skin there.

It’s moving.

The knowledge comes to him unbidden, imparted to him with a sinuous, papery, reverberating flutter - like the sound of thousands of insect wings all beating at once, and Will wants to scream, he wants to bolt out of his chair, but he’s frozen.

His fingers are shaking. Something at the pit of his throat is shaking. His whole body feels like it’s sinking through the floor, leaving itself behind, his limbs going cold and weak as if he’s about to faint. His head swims.

I wanted to be as physical as possible with the descriptions of how the Mind Flayer feels. That little bit of dialogue we got from Will in that-one-season-that-never-happened actually gave some nice details: how it feels like dropping on a roller coaster, but cold.

Sluggishly, as if in a dream, he drags his hand off of his neck and gropes for the seat next to him. His mouth is already forming the M, voice ready to croak out one single syllable, when his fingers rake through thin, cold air.

His first instinct is to turn to Mike. ‘Nuff said.

There’s no one in the seat beside him. There’s no one in the whole theater. The air-conditioned, popcorn-scented air has gone frigid and sour, and Will is on his feet. Turning in circles. Scanning the dilapidated space wildly, shoes fumbling and slipping over slick, fleshy vines.

No.

No, no, no, no, no no no -

His eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark, but the blueish gray palette of shadows is so horribly, cruelly familiar. And the fluttering - that dry, hissing, grinding flutter seems to spike through his whole body, shooting through him from neck to fingertips to toes, making him grimace, driving his feet forwards in a panicked, instinctual stumble towards the door.

It’s not real.

He tells himself that as he shoulders open the swinging door, coughs into his hands at the sting of toxins in his lungs. The coughing is as sharp as gunshots in the dead silence, echoing harshly through the darkness as he propels himself through the theater lobby. Spores drift listlessly in the stale air, bringing back a thousand memories, a thousand deeply ingrained instincts to run and hide and -

It’s not real. I’m not here. Not really.

He’s twelve years old again. Cold and alone and scared, the soles of his sneakers skidding on sludge. Jerking away with a half-swallowed sob as a fringe of dangling vines comb over his cheek.

Okay so Will is stuck between two conflicting reactions right now: a) instinctual, trauma-driven mortal terror, and b) complete denial. At this point in the story, he’s gonna be doing everything he can to convince himself that this isn’t real, it’s not really happening, it’s just a flashback, he’s just seeing things. But at the same time, being abruptly thrown back into the UD for the first time in sixth months is triggering a whole nasty slew of panic responses.

The lobby opens up into the mall, and Will comes to a halt. Starcourt is hollow. Storefronts devoid of products, of people. A few lights waver to life here and there as he passes, faint and blue-tinted, their meager glow smothered under softly rustling tendrils. He’s acclimating to the silence, the quiet pressing in against his eardrums like a high air pressure, and now his ears are picking up on the barely-detectable whispers and chitters of the Upside Down. The sound of vines growing, moving, shifting. The sound of creatures skittering into the shadows, somewhere unseen.

Like Dart, something in the back of his mind whispers.

The back of his throat opens, a call for Mike rising instinctually, but he bites down on it before it reaches his lips. He shakes his head, hard. Like he’s trying to wake himself up after nearly nodding off in class. He’s not a little kid anymore. It’s not real. It can’t be real. The Gate is closed. Nothing has happened since November. It’s just in his head. He can snap himself out of it.

And here’s that tilt towards the denial end of the spectrum.

His eyes squeeze shut. He clenches his fists at his sides, splays out his fingers until the tendons ache, breathes five long breaths. His throat scratches with the cold, acrid air, but he forces himself to breathe smoothly. The chittering grows louder, darting past him, coming close enough that he can feel something brush past his shoelace. But it’s not real. He won’t cringe away. He won’t let these memories control him. He won’t.

When he opens his eyes, he’s still there.

His skin crawls. His eyes trace up, over the shadowy silhouettes of the food court, over the vine-choked space above, past the neon STARCOURT sign that gutters and flares in sporadic bursts. And beyond the great glass skylight, there’s a shape. Dark - dark as the void of space, like a hole cut out of the universe. Looking at him. Watching him. The numb-cold swoop drains through him again, stronger this time as the Mind Flayer’s featureless head lowers towards the skylight.

A broken whimper twists in Will’s chest. Fear takes over. His mind goes blank, body reacting on animal instinct as his feet shove him back, away -

Aaaand we’ve tilted back in the direction of panic and terror. Whoo.

No -

No, please -

Hey do y’all remember how when they started burning the tunnels in S2, if you listened closely, Will said something garbled that sounded like “No, please -!”?

Pepperidge Farm remembers.

Lights flare at random, strobing, flickering across the length of the mall, static popping in Will’s clothes, and oh god he sees him, he knows Will is here, he’s looking at him -

Will can feel him beckoning. Calling to him. He’s getting closer, pressing down towards the glass, and Will can hear the whooshing, rumbling roar, muffled through the roof, and he’s still backing up, back into the theater lobby, lungs pistoning behind his ribs - Go away! Go away! Go - dread and powerlessness and panic cutting through him in sharp, icy waves, and not again, please not again, it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real, please please -

An abrupt grip on his upper arm makes him sputter, his scream getting tangled up in his mouth before it can come out, and Mike’s dark eyes go even wider with worry.

Mike.

Here I was going for the effect that they do in the show when Will suddenly snaps out of his episode and is back in the real world - yanno, where it’s all blue and gray and cold looking, in the Upside Down, and then all at once bam in the next shot the color scheme shifts and there’s Mike and he’s back in the real world?

Mike’s oh-so-familiar features, lit by the warm gold-and-pink glow of the lobby displays. The smell of buttered popcorn. A curious glance or two from the people milling around, who doubtless just witnessed Will’s erratic flight.

Relief swells so abruptly in Will’s chest that it bubbles up over his lips as a watery laugh.

Not real.

His head whips up, scanning the skylights that are just visible beyond the overhang of the second level. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. He’s not there. Will’s heart is wobbling hard between his lungs, adrenaline pounding at his temples and fingertips, and his -

His shoes. They’re wet. The soles slimy with the residue of… of…

Soda. He must have stepped in some soda. Yes - yes, there. There’s a banana-yellow caution, wet floor! sign propped up a few yards away. He just stepped in something as he crossed the lobby, that’s all. He breathes hard, consciously slowing the push-pull of his diaphragm, clearing out the phantom chill from his lungs.

He registers all at once that Mike has been saying his name. Will focuses in on the face of his best friend - the tapered cheeks, nearly devoid of the baby fat that used to round them out. The smattering of freckles over his sunburnt nose. The dark half-curling waves falling over his forehead, one strand just barely brushing the eyelashes of his left eye. He’s staring down into Will’s face with an expression of alarm, and when their eyes meet, he repeats, “Are you okay?”

Hmm. Watcha lookin’ at, Will?

Deja vu is making Mike’s head spin. It’s a sick, sinking feeling, like realizing all at once that you’ve forgotten something important. Like thinking that there’s one more stair than there is, and stepping into empty space with a disorienting jolt. Because Mike has seen Will like this before.

Will is gasping for breath, his body trembling under Mike’s palm, his eyes wild. The skin of his arm is chilled from the air conditioning, peppered with goosebumps.

Itty bitty detail, but: Mike assumes that Will’s skin is cold from air conditioning, and not… you know… the Upside Down perhaps?

“Will? Are you okay?”

But Will doesn’t seem to hear him. His chin is tilted up, eyes flickering over the ceiling like he expects to find something there.

“Will?”

His breath begins to even out. His head turns, scanning the lobby of the movie theater.

“Will?”

Finally, Mike’s voice seems to filter through whatever haze is surrounding him, and hazel eyes meet Mike’s.

“Are you okay?”

Something strange happens then. As he looks over Mike’s face, Will’s eyes lower for a moment, like he’s glancing at Mike’s mouth. And for a fraction of a second, it sets off an automatic response in the back of Mike’s brain. He shuts down the impulse as soon as it rears its head, but it was there: for a split second, Mike was about to tilt forward and… Well, no, not really. Of course he didn’t really think about kissing Will. It’s just that he’s been with El all day, so he’s still in boyfriend mode. It was automatic.

Still, the impulse startles him enough that he drops his hand from Will’s arm as Will opens his mouth to answer.

And here we have some Repressed Internalized Homophobia! Because of course Mike only thought about kissing Will because he’s been with El all day, and of course he only dropped his hand because it surprised him, and not because he’s subconsciously shying away from anything too “gay.”

“Yeah,” Will mumbles. “I’m… yeah. Fine.”

Mike can’t help it. He pushes. “Are you sure?”

He’s expecting Will to be mad at him. To roll his eyes or snap a retort or turn away, because he hates when people fuss over him, and Mike knows he hates it. But instead, Will just looks back out at the mall for a moment. He’s rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. This must have been a bad one.

“‘f course,” Will mutters eventually. He scuffs one foot along the carpet, like he’s trying to wipe something off his shoe.

It was the blackout that must have done it. Will’s panic attacks sometimes come on with no obvious rhyme or reason, but when there is a trigger - say, for example, abrupt, total darkness - they can be twice as bad. He seems better now, though. Calmer. More grounded. Mike decides against throwing an arm around Will’s shoulders, in case he gets shoved off with an annoyed bark of, I’m fine, but he risks an elbow bump.

Again: this is the first “episode,” so I needed to establish a few background details about what’s been going on in Hawkins and in the Party, in the six months since we saw them in S2. And basically what we’re learning here is that Will has been less and less cool with people fussing over him and being worried about him. We saw that starting to happen in S2, and it must have gotten so much worse after that. Remember his speech to Jonathan? How everyone treats him like he’s gonna break, like he can’t handle things on his own? And then the Mind Flayer happened. Every time Will coughed or disappeared to the bathroom for three minutes, people would have been going nuts. And it probably drives Will up the wall. To the point where he’d start to snap at them. To the point where Mike goes to do The Arm Thing, but decides against it at the last second and aborts the movement and only kind of awkwardly bumps Will’s elbow with his, because he wants to comfort Will but doesn’t wanna get snapped at, and he knows Will hates that stuff. So there’s a little bit of a wedge between them, right now (well, another wedge, since there’s already the stuff going on with Mike ignoring the Party a bit for El).

“C’mon,” he coaxes, “They’re about to get the movie running again.”

Will turns at Mike’s nudge without complaint, and they fall into step side-by-side as they make their way back to their seats. The Party greets them with anxious stares and whispers of, “Is he okay?” and “What happened?” Will waves off their concern, putting on a mask of nonchalance, and tosses off a line about fresh air.

One of my favorite HCs (and honestly it’s basically just canon) is how Mike and Will just automatically fall into step with each other as they walk, since they’ve been attached at the hip since they were five years old. They’re so used to navigating the world at each other’s side, quite literally, that it’s a deeply ingrained habit to just sync up their steps, despite the difference of leg lengths haha.

Also: the Party being concerned makes Will’s walls come up, and he “puts on a mask of nonchalance and tosses off a line about fresh air,” so we can see that he’s plenty used to pretending that everything is fine in order to wave off people’s concerns.

Before they can question him further, the film reel sputters, and the movie kicks into gear again.

“A bolt of lightning!” Doc Brown exclaims. The audience cheers as the film resumes. Will sticks a twizzler in his mouth and Mike makes himself look at the screen. “Unfortunately, you never know when or where it’s ever gonna strike!”

Marty slaps the Save the Clock Tower! flyer and thrusts it at the mad scientist, suave and handsome in his denim jacket with its popped-up collar.

“We do now.”

Mike thinks Marty is handsome too. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also, can I just point out that Mike was watching Will eat a twizzler and made himself look away. Liiiitle tiny hints of Mike subconsciously repressing his attraction to Will there. ‘Cause… uh, Mike? Why are you staring at Will’s mouth?

-_-_-_-

Aaaaaand there we have it! You probably didn’t mean that whole thing, but… Sorry not sorry lol. I’ve been accused of not knowing how to make a short post, and those accusations are 100% accurate.

#asks #anon #the real season 3 #writing commentary #byeler

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