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yesimwriting · 3 years

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All The Good Dreams

A/n this one is based on a request from @ateliefloresdaprimavera who requested a fic where General Kirigan has been dreaming of the reader for as long as he can remember and that’s one of his few reasons to smile and the reader has been having the same kinds of dreams about him and when they meet they just know.

This one is being written in third person bc it’s the only way I can see this fic being done but I’m a little insecure about writing in third person so be gentle lol

Also a little personal update I’ve been working on my original novel and it’s coming together y’all!!

ALEKSANDER.

The morning sunlight seems to only come to take her from him, peaking through the curtains and stirring him awake and away from his dreams. Aleksander keeps his eyes closed for a moment longer, trying to will her features to remain in his mind. She had looked more angelic in last night’s dream, dressed in all white and watching him with an adoration he doubted real life could duplicate.

The girl has haunted his dreams like a ghost of promise since before he began to change the world. Since before anything in his life was solidified. He lets out a sigh, something similar to a smile playing at his lips. Thinking of her would not bring her to him, if he could manifest her, she’d be by his side right now. He has things to do, duties and obligations that will bring his final goal closer. Each day is a step closer to victory, and each night brings the promise of dreams. The promise of her.

Y/N.

“Y/n.” The voice is gentle and distant. “Y/n,” a little harsher. “Wake up, you’ll be late.”

Fighting against grogginess, y/n wakes up, eyes squinting open. “What time is it, Danna?”

“Late.” Danna’s reply is curt as she steps away from y/n’s cot. “I thought you were awake already and then I came in to look for my boots and you were still asleep with that ridiculously peaceful look.” Danna paces around the room. “You must have been dreaming of your prince again?”

Y/n feels her skin warm. “He’s not a prince!” It’s a weak defense. “I regret telling you that almost every time I dream I see the same man.”

Danna drops down, grabbing her worn boots and pulling them on quickly. “You’re making me believe in soulmates, l/n.”

Y/n rolls her eyes, sitting up and placing her feet on the ground at her own leisure. “It’s nothing like that--I’m not even sure he exists.”

Lacing her shoes, Danna narrows her eyes at y/n. “Sure.” Y/n opens her mouth to protest, but Danna beats her to it, “If you need to argue with me, do it while getting dressed, we can’t be late today--General Kirigan’s visiting this camp for the first time and I doubt he’d appreciate being interrupted by a non-Grisha medic.”

At that, y/n wrinkles her nose, but she stands anyway. “Ugh...Grisha.” She walks towards her uniform. “They can get away with anything and I hear Kirigan’s the worst of all of them because he’s in the same order as the Black Heretic that began all of this.” Y/n pauses, crossing her arms. “And it’s ridiculous that the army even needs non-Grisha medics. Healers exist and they should not be primarily reserved for other Grisha who rarely get injured, especially to the extent that the rest of us do.”

“I know, y/n, but don’t speak like that until the General is gone.” Danna draws her lips into a thin line. “And hurry up before you get us both in trouble.”

Y/n lets out a sigh. “Go ahead without me, I’ll catch up.”

Danna eyes her friend wearily. “Alright, worse comes to worse I’ll try to cover for you.”

“You won’t need to.” Y/n isn’t sure she believes herself. “I’ll be there.”

Danna pulls on her second boot, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t really believe you.” She stands easily. “But knowing you, you’ll talk yourself out of any trouble the way you always do.”

“I do not always talk myself out of trouble.”

Turning to leave, Danna pauses, “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

Y/n rolls her eyes. If she had more time to argue with Danna she would take it. But she doesn’t. She’s quick to get dressed, thoughts of the mysterious stranger from her dreams keeping her company. Last night he seemed more tired than normal, a crease between his dark eyebrows as he sat by her side. A part of her she keeps buried worries about him. It’s ridiculous, to concern yourself over a figment of comfort your mind created for you.

By the time y/n’s changed, she knows she doesn’t have much time to get to her station. She’s rushing out of her tent, one boot still untied. The medic bag she slings over her shoulder swings as she jogs towards the medical tent. Today the camp is hectic, everyone desiring to appear efficient and reliable for General Kirigan. It’s all ridiculous to Y/n. General Kirigan will never be impressed by them. If he’s revered even among Grisha, Y/n can’t imagine the superiority complex that man must possess.

Her eyes scan the soldiers and workers she knows so well, each of them behaving so differently than normal. There is no friendly chatter this morning, no casual banter. There is only the business of war.

Y/n watches the people she knows, so focused on their nerves that she barely registers the person she crashes into. “Sorry!” The apology leaves Y/n on instinct. Her bag falls off her shoulder, gauze and antiseptic falling onto the ground on impact. Y/n bends down instantly, beginning to pick up her supplies. She mentally curses herself for being so easily distracted and not properly shutting her bag this morning. “Everything’s so hectic today and I was running late and I just--I have no idea how I didn’t see you.” She drops her supplies back into her bag. “I guess it’s a good thing they keep me off the battlefield and in the medical tents.”

Reaching for the last of her supplies, Y/n’s eyes land on the shoes of the person she just crashed into. They’re leather. The fine kind of leather meant for marble halls, not trekking through the unknown. Y/n’s mouth goes dry as the possibility of the graveness of her mistake sets in her mind. She exhales slowly, daring to look upwards as she closes her bag.

When her eyes meet those of the stranger, she is left with no choice but to gape. She’s not staring because she’s now at the mercy of General Kirigan. She’s not staring because nothing could have prepared her for his beauty. She’s staring because she knows that face. She knows those sharp features and steady eyes.

His lips are slightly parted. Y/n is struck with the odd thought that perhaps he too has words wedged into his throat.

“It’s you.” The whisper leaves her faintly.

The words seem to unfreeze Kirigan, his expression moving from shocked to stoic. “Excuse me?”

Awkward regret floods through Y/n. She drops her head downwards, desperate to escape the power of his gaze. “General Kirigan.” She uses her words as a way to dismiss the emotions her chest seems to be brimming with as she stands. He’s not the man from her dreams. That’s impossible. “I apologize for my inappropriate behavior an--”

“No, no,” he shakes his head once. Y/n bites her tongue at his dismissal. “You said ‘it’s you.’”

Embarrassment knots her stomach. “I just hadn’t realized that I ran into you, General. I--I knew you were coming today, but I wasn’t expecting to see you much less like this.”

Kirigan’s eyes seem to be nothing more than inviting pools of kindling emotion. So familiar yet so distinct. He can’t be the man from her dreams. The man from her dreams must be nothing more than a composition of traits she finds generally attractive. General Kirigan just happens to possess those features. That explanation is the only thing that keeps Y/n’s feet rooted to the ground, but the longer she looks at him the more that explanation loses its strength. There’s just something so knowing behind his expression, so specific to the face that she’s only seen while asleep.

Tearing his gaze away to scan the area, Kirigan reaches forward, placing a hand on Y/n’s arm. The touch leaves Y/n warmer than it should. Maybe that’s why she lets him lead her forward, ducking into an empty medical tent. She keeps hold of her bag as he turns, his eyes full of something dark and unknown. But not angry, Y/n notes, no, not angry. The look is too peaceful for rage, perhaps even hopeful.

“When you looked at me…” He exhales, voice low and sacred, “You said ‘it’s you’.” Y/n can only blink, still mesmerized by something so foreign and familiar all at once. “Do you know me?”

In his urgency, Kirigan’s hold on Y/n’s arm becomes more assured. Something in Y/n wants to pry herself free in order to prove to herself that she’s capable of resisting his drawl. But his touch is not to trap her, the look in his eyes tells her that. His touch is pleading--desperate and hopeful.

“Everyone knows you,” when Y/n finally finds her voice, she is not convinced it is her own.

The corners of Kirigan’s mouth fall downwards, something in him threatening to deflate. “I meant--have you seen me before?” The question is not one Y/n is too willing to answer. How could she tell this strange man, this general she was convinced she’d dislike on some fundamental level while never speaking to him, that she knows him? She knows him like she knows her own beginning. “Because I’ve seen you.”

Y/n can’t help the way her eyes widen. This doesn’t mean anything, she warns herself, he could have seen her walking. “I didn’t see you, that--that’s why I ran into you--”

“No, you’re avoiding the question.” Her face is warmer than it was when Danna was teasing her this morning. It’s warmer than it’s ever been. “Because you’ve experienced it as well.”

The swelling in her chest is overwhelming. “Experienced what?”

Kirigan eyes the entrance to the tent once more, confirming that no one is approaching. “All of the good dreams,” he exhales, “They have been of you.”

Y/n can’t help the way everything in her melts. She’s not insane. She’s not projecting something dangerous onto the Shadow Summoner. “I see you in my dreams always.”

Slowly, he releases his grip on her arm. Watching her like she might be a mirage, Kirigan raises his hand, brushing his knuckles along Y/n’s cheek. She lets him, holding her breath until his hand falls back to his side. A part of Kirigan expected the girl to be a trick of the light, something that his touch would reveal to be a fallacy. But she remains true, watching him with eyes the size of saucers.

“How long I’ve been waiting for you, you’ll never know.” His voice is as heavy as a lament.

Y/n feels her back straighten slightly on instinct, desperate to pass whatever scrutiny is being passed over her. “How--how does this happen? How do two strangers dream of each other for so long and...”

Something knowing colors his smile a shade of ambitious green. “What is your name?”

“Y/n.”

Kirigan’s minds flit through lifetimes worth of faint memories. The girl laughing, the girl teary eyed, the girl embodying all the stars he’ll never have, the girl representing all he needs. Y/n. There’s finally a name to her.

“Y/n,” the name is a gift. Kirigan pulls a ring from his fingers before grabbing Y/n’s arm. Too lost in a strange euphoria, she lets him pull her arm forward before pressing his ring into her skin. Her brow furrows as he begins to guide the metal down her skin. That slight confusion quickly turns to total shock as a thread of light begins to spindle down her skin, following the path he’s creating with the ring. “You and I are going to change the world.”

General Taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper @grishaverse7 @lonelystarship @mentally-in-northern-italy @uhanddreag @kaitlyn2907

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theotheroccassionalfanficwriter · 3 years

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gonna be a weird request but--octopus boi childe fucking the reader with his tentacles and making them suck from another tentacle please

Anon there is no such thing as a weird request, just one no one has ever thought of yet. Anyways! just like the previous request, please apply the adage "If there's a hole, there's a way!" three tentacles in one hole might be too much but with the power of love and lust nothing is impossible!

Wrapped in Love

Summary: In the aftermath of Liyue, in the cold and merciless everwinter of the Tsaritsa, Tartaglia learns how to fuck you with his new appendages.

There were few things in life that you regretted, most of it involving Tartaglia in one way or another, your infatuation of him was an open secret among the Fatui. Not even the Tsaritsa was above using it to tease you on occasions where a meeting just ran far too long for her liking. Right now on top of your list of regrets, directly above the time you had loudly mentioned that Tartaglia was the most desired bachelor within the social circle of Snezhnaya’s noble ladies due to his family man side, was the consequence of you showing your tentacle kink to Tartaglia that one time he had specifically requested your skills to unseal Osial.

The consequence being subjected to help him test out Dottore's insane projects. A rare moment of cooperation between the two considering the immense dislike that was present among the rest of the Harbingers and Tartaglia, with the exception of you. It had taken you less than a month to accept the fact that compared to the other Harbingers, your talents didn’t include scheming or fighting.

If anything your talent was your dogshit luck at getting along well with the other harbingers, a glorified messenger that knew how to fight well enough when necessary but had no innate skill for it in the same way as Tartaglia. You were better off giving them ideas, a human rubber duck to bounce off thoughts for the Tsaritsa.

Which led to your current situation, in Tartaglia’s bathtub, massaging his new appendages. Of all the situations you dreamt of why you’d end up sharing a bath with him, this wasn’t one of them. Sure his thick tentacles were soft and squishy but when he curled them up, you could feel the core muscles, his new appendages were strong and you had no doubt Tartaglia would have no problem strangling 8 people at the same time.

Which then led to your current horny thoughts praying to your Archon to have mercy and not let Tartaglia comment on your thoughts that was entertaining the idea of tentacle sex.

‘I bet this would feel good inside me’ You thought as you gently observed the suckers on Tartaglia’s tentacle, the one you knew was his detachable dick.

Tartaglia’s tentacle wriggled gently on your hand, alternating between feeling out the gaps of your fingers with its thick tip that barely fitted through, and leaving marks on your hand with its suckers. The tentacle was darkish blue in hue, turning violet when the light hits it at a certain angle, if asked you would not be able to identify what sort of octopus he was beyond a specie that was most likely a bottom dweller.

While you were busy sitting on the rest of Tartaglia’s wriggling tentacles in your swimsuit, Tartaglia lounged about on the other end of the tub, facing your back with a displeased look on his face. His face rested on the knuckle of his hand, turbulent thoughts apparent on his face.

Tartaglia worried about your obliviousness once you became absorbed in your task. He wondered how you could still observe his tentacle when another one was wriggling directly below your crotch. He was quite aware that if it went on for another minute, he could definitely slip it in. His stare on your ass, whose crack was slightly visible from the way you crouched, burned through you but you ignored it. Countless missions spent with Tartaglia had made you immune, slowly but surely, to his bouts of displeasure on some of your work ethic.

Being younger than him had the equally fortunate and unfortunate effect of him being almost caring towards you. You bore with it because 1. You liked him, and 2. Letting him do as he pleased was more energy efficient. Such actions of course led to him liking you a whole lot more compared to the other harbingers, which meant that more often than not you were sent along with him to distant lands, which meant you dealt with whatever fall out occurred from his penchant of following trouble.

Not that you mind, sure you weren’t the best fighter among your colleagues, nor were you the best schemer among them but you were certainly the best negotiator they had when it came to compensation. So it stood to reason that it was best that you were paired with Tartaglia most of the time, which was fortunate considering the events in Liyue. Economic relations had only taken a slight dive after the whole Osial fiasco, with Tartaglia almost duking it out with Signora once they were away from prying eyes.

Your assurance that you had evacuated the entirety of Liyue Harbor with the spare Fatui soldiers you had and the rest of the Millelith, was the only reason Tartaglia easily backed down.

The result was that Tartaglia had warmed up to you considerably, and was without a doubt considered you as his “friend” if it meant sparring sessions every day that went from fighting each other all out to him teaching you how to use every weapon he knew. And Tartaglia as a catalyst user was just a sight to behold as much as he was a dual blade wielder.

“How long are you planning to ignore me?” He asked as he pulled you close to his chest, tentacles wrapping around your waist and legs, slyly splitting your legs wide apart.

“I’m not?” You answered, confusion lacing your tone.

You reached for the tentacle that you were studying, “Can you pass the recorder to me? Dottore was demanding an oral report.”

“Didn’t he hate those?”

“Yes. But for some reason he wanted one...ugh I’m getting back at him for this” You complained as you made yourself comfortable on his chest, slouching slightly as Tartaglia cuddled you in the tub.

He hummed at the sight of you being completely relaxed around him despite his temporary state as a weird octopus thing. His tentacles were exploring your skin, the small scars that you got from moments of carelessness in exploration made some parts of your skin different. His arms played with your hair, absentmindedly kissing you every now and then on the back of your head as two of his tentacles stealthily slithered up your chest resting below the area of your chest.

He watched you for a moment as you fiddled with the recorder, figuring out how to use it.

“There we go~!” You muttered, pleased at your actions that you remained unaware of imminent realization of your lewd thoughts.

Tartaglia smiled fondly before it turned into a lascivious smirk as he simultaneously gripped your waist as his tentacles slipped into your hole and sucked.

“Hnn~!” You moaned in surprise, back-arching at the intrusion only to end up pushing it further inside, the tentacles near your chest immediately latched on your nipples, sucking it until you let out another moan, “Ah~!”

“Wha-” The thick tentacle inside your hole sucked on your wall, gelatinous hydro coating its thick tip until it felt like your hole was filled to the brim, “No! Ahn! Don’t twist inside-”

Your words were interrupted by the intrusion of a particularly thick tentacle in your mouth. “Mmmpff!!!”

Drool dripped down on the sides of your mouth as you felt the appendage roaming inside, thick and slick as it fucked your mouth. You wriggled your body, doing your best to break free from the tight hold of Tartaglia’s tentacles but only made it tighten its hold on your limbs and drove it deeper inside you.

“You feel really good,” Tartaglia praised, making you pleased for a moment which was enough for his appendage that was stimulating your insides to go further, “How many of my tentacles do you think you can take?”

His words sent you to a bout of panic, the lone appendage that was sucking on the walls of your hole, wriggling about and hitting your spot was already too much for you. You signaled to him that any more would break you but all it did was make his grin wider just as you felt the two tentacles on your nipples grope your chest and then twist your over-stimulated nipples.

You cummed just as you felt the hard thrust inside your wall, sending you to another orgasm that had your body bending from the pleasure only to turn limp once the high was done. Even as you laid on his chest with your tired body and hazy mind, Tartaglia’s tentacles didn’t stop moving, you felt and saw your legs spread wide, two tentacles holding you up until your ass was lifted. The soft prod of another tentacle on your asshole made you sit up in alarm but it was useless as you felt your asscheek being spread and then the cold intrusion of the tip.

“Mpff!” Your alarm turned into a moan, mouth opening wide for one of his slightly thinner tentacles to slip in.

“Look at you, wriggling in pleasure” Tartaglia said as he licked your neck, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice how you would rub your slutty crotch on my tentacle? Did you like the feeling of my suckers rubbing your slutty hole?”

You were helpless as his tentacles lifted your legs up, the soft prod to your hole was all the warning you got before another tentacle roughly pushed its way in. You cried out in pleasure, hole clamping down in reflex but it was all for naught as you saw your legs being spread wide in the air and then felt your hole being fucked again and again until you came once more.

“Nnn!” You moaned as you laid on Tartaglia’s chest, your hands reached the nearest tentacle and began sucking it with your mouth.

Tartaglia laughed in delight, “What a cute slut you are!”

His laughter rang in your ears as you felt your mouth being forced open, his tentacle slipped out, your saliva coating it and stretching until a thin strand was left connecting the tip of his tentacle to your tongue. And then he kissed you, passionately as he twisted your body to sit facing towards him.

His tentacles harshly slipped out of your abused hole, making you moan and cum once more. The water on the tub sloshed and spilled from the harsh and vigorous movements of Tartaglia. His hands held you by the waist, treating your hole like a fleshlight as he repeatedly slammed you to his tentacles, occasionally rubbing your crotch against his suckers until you found yourself doing it personally.

You held onto his shoulders as you repeatedly used his tentacles to seek out your own orgasm. Dottore’s recorder was already long forgotten as it continued recording on the wet tiles of the bathroom floor.

“Tartaglia!” You cried out his name, when you felt another tentacle thrust inside you as his teeth clamped on your nipples. You came loudly, your hole twitching as it clamped on the tentacles.

“Fuck!” He cursed before pushing you down the tub, the waters drastically reduced, and moved to cover your entire lower half. You felt his beak and then the familiar push of the head of his cock on your entrance.

His hands played with your chest as he easily plunged his cock inside you. Your moans was silenced with his kiss, and then he began moving. He fucked you ardently, like a starved man, it was an odd sensation for your lower half, his suckers leaving bruises while his cock repeatedly and easily fucked your hole.

The water turned murky with each orgasm the two of you had, Tartaglia’s back was filled with your scratches and the crescent marks of your nails from digging deep in his skin. Your neck was littered with bruises and bite marks from his mouth. The two of you fucked as if both of you had been doused with aphrodisiac, as if neither of you had sex in a long while.

And though it was farthest from the truth, Tartaglia wouldn’t deny that he had missed you terribly. The entire time on Liyue had been spent either preparing for taking the gnosis or fixing up trade relations, there wasn’t a single time he was able to spend a day with you without it being work related.

Not even his weekly challenges with the traveler were able to stave off his longing for you. So for him, this was the closest he had been to you for a long time. When both of your lust had been satiated, you laid on the now almost empty tub, simply basking in the afterglow as you gave him absentminded kisses on his chest.

“Oh shit!” You cursed as you frantically left his loving embrace and searched for the lost recorder.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, tentacles pulling you back to his side.

“Dottore’s fucking recorder! I’d like it if our sex life wouldn’t be part of the official record of Dottore’s whatever!” You answered, as you swatted a particularly lecherous tentacle that was rubbing your still sensitive hole.

Tartaglia helped you look for it, arms hugging you as his eyes searched about before he spotted it near the claw foot of the tub. His tentacle reached for it, bringing it to you like a prize, ignoring the blinking red light that was still recording.

“What prize do I get?” He asked as he kissed your cheek, squeezing you tighter in his arms.

You hummed as you fiddled with the recorder, stopping it and hoping in vain as you replayed it’s contents.

“AHN~! NO!--IT WON’T FIT AT ALL!”

As soon as you heard your dirty talk, you immediately stopped the playback. Imaginary tears falling down your eyes as you cursed your past self for always being swept up on Tartaglia’s charm and antics.

“Ah~ as expected of my beloved comrade~ even though you said it wouldn’t fit, in the end you had three tentacles inside you in one hole right?”

You blushed at his teasing, “With how big your cock is, it would be a wonder if three didn’t fit.”

“Ahahaha!” He laughed, pure and genuine, “Comrade! That isn’t a winning argument for you at all~”

“Who cares! Anyways, what kind of pet name is comrade!?!” You tried to steer the conversation away from your loss, “Change it! Or are you dating the Traveler on top of me?!”

Tartaglia’s eyes softened at your kitten-like jealousy. He smiled at you, soft and loving that had you melting from the inside. It was in moments like this that made you wonder what life would be like for the two of you outside the Fatui, a normal life free from politik and schemes and the ever-looming threat of Celestia’s wrath.

“Then what about супруг(spouse)?”

An unsaid question, for a future that may never come. You paused, heart beating fast as you thought hard and deeply, not weighing the pros and cons but thinking of the possibility that this might not end in happiness. That this promise might end up the first one he’d break.

“Are you sure?” You asked him, meeting his eyes head on, willing him to understand what he was asking.

Out of all the Harbingers he was the closest to death. The one most likely to die first. He was their Vanguard, a sacrifice, when push comes to shove he would have to lay down his life for the rest of you. It was a thought both of you knew, a reason why he wanted to become stronger and stronger because no matter how many times he claims that world domination was his goal, you knew that protecting the ones he held dear was also the reason why.

Tartaglia may long for a glorious death from a battle, but you knew that he also longed for a life outside the Fatui.

“Yes” He answered as he drew close to you, forehead touching with yours.

You kissed him, gently and lovingly, and for the first time filled with hope instead of resignation at the harsh future that would come. An unsaid answer for a future that both of you would fight for.

‘I will be with you always, from this day until not even death may part us.’

#tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #genshin impact childe x reader #genshin impact x reader #octo!tartaglia

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clearlynotjanus · 3 years

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Loceit Appreciation Week: Day Two, Crook/Aftermath

READ ON AO3

Chapter Summary: As the aftermath of choosing to attend Lee & Mary-Lee's wedding over Thomas' big acting break approaches, Janus extends Logan an unprecedented olive branch that results in the pair inadvertently working together.

CW: Drinking mention, very brief religion mention, philosophy Word Count: 3703 Genre: Gen, Hurt/comfort Rating: Gen Ships: Slowburn Loceit, pre-established Dukeceit, pre-established Intrulogical, slowburn intruloceit

taglist: @sanderssidesangsttrash @catalinaacosta @whatishappeningrightnow @anxiousbean4404 @vexelore @the-dead-and-the-decaying @serpentinesomebody @poptartsaysurloved @robertdownerjr @dangitsbrightinhere @iamuncomffy @sanderdarksides @evertriedsoywithyourpopcorn @dragonfander @virgilstarantula @a-rudethude @indubitably-emo @gay-artist-626 @cosplayhanna @edupunkn00b @wouldntyou-liketoknow @awesomerandomgirl1 @rizzyluke @loceitweek2021

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April 13th was rapidly approaching and with each passing hour, Thomas sank deeper into denial. Indecision welled as he went back and forth on the subject matter; callback or wedding, callback or wedding, the opportunity of a lifetime or a petty social engagement -- ugh. There was nothing resolute about his choice, about Roman’s choice. It was impulsive, fueled by the short lived desire to be seen as a good person. The kicker was that, even though Thomas was beginning to see this much, it didn’t matter. He would continue burying the realization under mounds of repression while justifying his discontent every way he could manage, grasping at every straw and still coming up short.

And Janus was supposed to help him, obviously. Repression may have been Patton’s speciality at times, but lying was his jurisdiction; even and especially when those lies were told to himself -- Thomas’ self. He was expected to disregard the resentment in his heart and perform his function. Well, if Thomas could make questionable decisions, then so could Janus, and he decided that they would all find it very difficult to cope when Thomas suddenly found himself incapable of lying on the wretched day. Maybe then Janus’ argument would be taken seriously -- but that was assuming Thomas would even notice.

Stewing in these thoughts, Janus shifted in his seat. Remus, used to his malcontented fidgeting, never spared a glance, however Logan seemed to finally have had enough.

“Are you alright, Janus?” Logan asked from his position, diagonal from the other. His tone was more annoyed and straightforward than concerned. He had genuinely been interested in the show Remus had put on but found it impossible to concentrate with Janus’ excessive sighing and movement.

“I suppose,” Janus lamented, resuming his contemplative silence. Perturbed, Logan adjusted his glasses and resigned himself to sitting back.

“Well, if there’s anything to be done,” Logan offered mindlessly, allowing his sentence to trail off as his focus resumed on the television.

“Well there is one thing,” Janus seized the opportunity after a brief pause, leaning forward with a hushed tone. Logan blinked at the sudden intensity of Janus’ charm.

“And that would be?” He responded dubiously, glancing almost nervously at Remus who seemed utterly absorbed by the show, sparing no attention to either of them. Similarly, Janus opened his mouth to begin speaking, but then inhaled as he registered the fact of Remus in the room still.

“Join me in the kitchen for a moment?” Janus stood fluidly, “I think we could use a drink,” he excused the thinly veiled shift before turning and exiting for the kitchen.

Confused, Logan sat up, only then realizing how much he had leaned towards Janus in the moment. The back of his neck itched with a familiar heat and he cleared his throat.

“I guess I’ll be--” Logan started to explain but Remus quickly waved a hand and shhhh’d him aggressively. With a small smile, Logan pressed a brief kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek, earning a soft sound of appreciation before standing and following after Janus.

Logan entered as Janus finished pouring a second glass of wine. Assuming the other already filled was for him, Logan accepted and rested a hip against the counter. He crossed an arm under his elbow and watched Janus cap the wine with expectation in his raised chin, but Janus didn’t start speaking until he brought the glass to his lips.

“Something’s coming, you do realize,” he said while meeting Logan’s eyes carefully, his voice low and smooth like a secret. Janus followed his sentence with a slow sip. Logan took the pause to formulate his answer.

“That depends entirely on what you mean by ‘something,’” Logan replied hesitantly, but with a loosely concealed air of knowing.

The date of Lee and Mary-Lee’s wedding was of little importance to him, though the ramifications on Thomas’ stress levels were vexing. The two were connected, obviously, Logan wasn’t so ignorant as to pretend otherwise; however, he couldn’t empathize nor sympathize with Thomas’ decision -- or Roman’s decision, rather. If providing support for his friends was truly paramount, then why was Thomas stressed? He was unable to sleep soundly despite understanding Remus’ behavior now. Similarly unable to concentrate on work, thoughtlessly picking at his food, distracted by persistent and troubling thoughts of guilt, remorse, and failure.

“But yes,” Logan shook his head, conceding. “Something is coming and we’re all bound to talk in circles again.” He sighed and took a sip that quickly turned into a gulp from his glass.

“They never do listen to you,” Janus pointed out sympathetically and Logan frowned, looking away. “That isn’t your fault, of course,” he quickly soothed the burning truth but Logan remained silent for several long moments. Before he spoke again, he brought his glass up for another long drink.

“It is true though,” Logan admitted with a sigh. It was Janus’ turn to frown. They were all so ignorant to ignore Logic of all sides. How Logan had kept his patience for this long was beyond him.

“I don’t know how to make them listen,” Logan whispered, stare unfocused across the room. “Sometimes they do but,” his shoulders deflated and he rolled his eyes back up to Janus’ face, his lips lined in resigned disappointment. “More frequently they take my lessons in the opposite direction and come up with some alternative and pointless meaning,” Exasperation leaked into his tone. Janus exhaled in the following silence.

“Well, my favor,” he started after a moment and Logan blinked up, suddenly remembering what this conversation was supposed to be about, “with that in mind, is less for me than it is for you.”

Logan’s brows creased as his eyes narrowed, not in suspicion but in confusion. He opened his mouth, intending to ask how that could possibly be, but his breath was quickly stolen by Janus’ delicate hand on his shoulder as he began to leave.

“When the time comes,” Janus whispered almost directly into Logan’s ear as he leaned in. Goosebumps raised along his arms and his stomach knotted in a way he was beginning to associate with Janus specifically. “Rely on me.”

- - - - -

Another debate spent as an observer, reduced to an annoying popup ad not even most of the audience bothered to pause for; too enthralled with the meaningless, cyclical conversation enduring above. At least Logan could console himself with the idea that some people were reading what he had to say. Thomas, at the very least, already knew everything he was saying. Logic wasn’t a feeling after all but something deeply embedded. A fact that only added fuel to the fire of frustration but that wasn’t something he was concentrating on currently.

Then Patton finally asked for his input directly. Logan already knew that Patton wouldn’t like what he had to say, but it was what Thomas needed to hear; the reality that’s been lying underneath every decision they’ve ever made. It was something Patton actively avoided thinking about. The fact was that his view and use of empathy was far more akin to pity, a feeling that only thinly veiled the nihilistic complex Morality had gotten entangled with in Thomas’ youth. “God,” “fate,” and “nothingness;” were all just terms for relinquishing control of one’s life. A habit that was clearly getting Thomas into situations that weighed on him heavily.

Logan began with reciting the source material: pity runs counter to the instincts that preserve and enhance the value of life. Friedrich Nietzche’s The Anti-Christ. A fantastic read about Nietzsche's claim that Christianity is a poisoner of western culture with its inherent apathy central to westernization. That wasn’t the first sentence nor was it the opening statement of the section he was referring to, but it was a perfectly adequate summary. However Logan didn’t even finish half of his following sentence explaining Nietzche’s philosophy before a yellow and black button appeared on his textbox. Skip all -- click. No hesitation.

No second thought.

Well, Logan did say that he was making his facts optional this time.

Something hard suddenly wrapped around his throat and the next thing Logan knew, he was being violently torn away from the scene.

Upright on his feet, he landed in a familiar place. Blinking around the shadowy corners of the Dark Side living room, Logan cleared his throat and adjusted his tie with tense hands. How unnecessarily brutal, he thought.

“Oh hey, Lolo!” Remus greeted from the couch, suddenly realizing his forced entrance. “De -- I mean Jan just left!” A pause. “Wait,” he said slowly like he suspected them of something, but when he continued, he sounded humored again. “Did he send you to babysit me while he went and fucked with the Light Sides?”

Logan sighed, shoulders deflating. “It seems that way,” He conceded, piecing different puzzle pieces together but still getting the same result as Remus. “What are you doing, then,” Logan asked in a rather flat and tired tone as he sat down next to his boyfriend, who proceeded to gush about the diagram he had been sketching for a new building in his Duchy.

Logan guessed Janus had sent him here, in proximity and obligation to Remus, rather than stewing by himself in his room in case he found himself disagreeing with how this had been handled. Which he did, but only with the execution, and not enough to stop Janus at this point. Rely on me, Janus had said a few days ago now and at the time Logan had clammed up from the situation. Janus’ lips pressed against his ear, a hand on his shoulder, wine coursing through his blood; his mind had raced with possibilities and it wasn’t until now that Logan realized what a brilliant set up it had been.

Hopefully Janus got through to the others easier than him. Historically that hadn’t been the case yet but there was a severe lack of data to infer from. Logan had many chances to convince the others of various rationale at this point. Janus had only the opportunity twice. It was only fair that Logan would rely on him then, and try not to be bitter about it. They had been getting nowhere when he was involved and the only Side Logan could blame was Patton.

Minutes ticked by before Logan detected an opening for further input. Janus struggled with his metaphor, faltered and Logic appeared. Not that any of you care, he began speaking only really to Patton and Roman, but I am unharmed. Janus reacted negatively, perhaps assuming Logan was upset with him for the intrusion -- And I don’t want to talk about it. He wasn’t upset. At least not with Janus.

His explanation ensued and in a rare occurrence, everyone listened. Whether that was due to Janus having gotten their attention focused on the issue at hand or Logan finally having a convincing argument, in the moment he wasn’t sure. However nothing really spoke to the fact that Janus was an emotionally inclined Side more than the way he reacted to Logan putting a legitimate name to his stance; Effective Altruism. His expression was full of clear fascination at being taught something, intrigue to know more, attentive listening; it was Janus’ debut discussion on the stage all over again. The first time Logan had been so explicitly asked for frequent contributions in what had felt like forever. Logan easily fell back into the comforting feeling of being heard -- before sinking out and preventing himself from witnessing anymore absurd contradictions.

After leaving of his own volition to his room, Logan fell back on his bed with a sigh and removed his glasses. Everything was very difficult, he thought, pinching the bridge of his nose; and it would always be difficult as long as Patton continued to be so frustratingly obtuse. Well, at least Janus got it, but seeing that he had an easier time getting through to the others felt bitter. It really did boil down to some … fallacy of Logic, didn’t it.

Logan lost track of time in the mire of his thoughts, at some point having opened his eyes to stare blindly at the ceiling. Everything had calmed down in the living room it seemed. Thomas was now preoccupied with his friends and the Sides were released to continue with their day. Only Logan wasn’t sure what it was he should be doing. A familiar question floated through his mind like an astringently sweet memory; was he even necessary?

“Well don’t you look comfy.”

“Janus,” Logan sat up and rushed to shove his glasses on.

“Oh sorry,” Janus whispered, gesturing with a limp wrist. “Was I interrupting? Were you experiencing an emotion? Should I leave?” Janus teased with drama in his soft voice. Logan cleared his throat.

“Considering you’re already here, no,” He stood and adjusted his tie. “Why are you here? I thought everything was taken care of.”

“It is,” Janus reassured smugly but then slowly crossed the room towards Logan, his eyes and fingertips indulgently dragging along the books lining the wall. “Are you saying I can’t visit?” He paused in front of Logan with pouting lips and a hurt expression. Standing a few inches too close, he reached a gloved hand to smooth the back of Logan’s mussed bed hair. “Check up on you?”

“I didn’t say that.” Heat overtook his face as he quickly looked away, dislodging the hand in his hair with the movement. “You can. I just wasn’t expecting you.” Janus frowned.

“I don’t know why,” he replied, quietly astounded. Didn’t they have an agreement? Why wouldn’t he come to...debrief or whatever after all that? Janus’ lips pursed in a wounded expression as he watched Logan take steps away, looking everywhere but up at him. “That’s beside the point however.” He huffed a soft sigh and tilted his head, attempting to meet Logan’s eyes. “You’re very angry, aren’t you?” He guessed. For once Logan wasn’t denying any of his emotions which was both progress and rather troublesome. The misguided assumption prompted Logan to finally acknowledge his gaze again at least. Janus thought his face was rather unreadable.

“No,” Logan shook his head, giving his own heavy sigh. “Frustrated,” he admitted like Janus was pulling his teeth.

Janus hummed with understanding, raising his chin with a nod. “Well I apologize,” He offered seriously, lifting half of his mouth in a genuine expression. “Perhaps I should’ve been a tad more explicit beforehand,” Janus shrugged shallowly, willing to admit his fault. “It did work however, so I thank you for relying on me. As ... difficult as that may have been.” Janus finished, all too aware of how manipulated Logan might feel; how artificial the moments of closeness they had together lately must suddenly seem -- and while Janus wouldn’t put that sort of thing past himself, it wasn’t true in this case.

“No,” Logan shook his head, blinking at Janus’ seriousness. “I’m not frustrated with you,” he explained slowly, diverted from his frustration for a moment in the misunderstanding.

“You’re not?” Confusion mixed with intrigue on Janus’ face. “Well, what are you frustrated with then?”

Logan rapped knuckles against his desk in thought, looking away from Janus again and down at the action. It was with pride that he regarded himself as Thomas’ language center. Words came easily to him, most of the time. Struggling to phrase things wasn’t an obstacle he faced frequently. However, more often than not, Janus made this part of his job difficult. At the same time, it wasn’t something he’d blame Janus for. It wasn’t Janus’ fault Logan thought he was captivating, distracting. Beautiful.

Logan’s knuckles went still on the desk. “As usual, I find myself frustrated with emotions.” Janus’ brow twitched; was it not just frustration he was feeling? Was there something more he couldn’t articulate? “More specifically,” Logan continued and rolled his eyes back up at Janus, “I’m frustrated with Patton, which is nothing new.”

“Ahh,” Janus breathed, the sound turning into a gentle chuckle. If he had been worried, the concern began to melt away. “Yes,” he nodded slowly, “I can easily imagine that.” Janus thought on their own interaction before his arrival here, in Logan’s room. It was ... very awkward. Patton seemed unwilling to discuss the matter further, or perhaps Janus had just been trying to beat a dead horse. “He’s very naive and difficult to communicate with.” Janus scrunched his nose.

Historically, he had an easy enough time understanding Patton. He was soft, liked to see the best in people even when he had very clear evidence not to. Patton was emotional and stubborn. There wasn’t anything too complicated about him that Janus didn’t get. It was when he attempted to employ the reverse of Patton understanding him where tragedy struck. For someone who boasted about empathy, Morality had an awful time seeing where Janus came from.

“Yes, precisely. He’s so stubborn,” Logan agreed enthusiastically. As he continued, he began to gesture wildly, speaking with his hands as much as his words to convey his growing level of frustration. “It’s incredible that you’re able to get through to him so effectively when I have been trying to do the same for years now. I mean, stubborn is a kind word for him at this point and he continues to prove that at every moral junction we come to. No, not even just moral junctions; daily undertakings and productivity suffer constantly because of his unreliability! It’s just,” Logan sputtered a humorless laugh, his hands falling hard against his thighs. “Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.”

Janus paused after Logan’s rant came to an end, cocking his head thoughtfully. In the silence Logan caught his breath with a heavy sigh.

“Sorry, I … didn’t mean to blow up on you like that,” Logan apologized, dismissively shaking his head as embarrassment knotted his stomach.

“Oh no, it’s quite alright. Actually I appreciate it,” Janus quickly snuffed out Logan’s self consciousness. The words felt genuine enough and Logan took a deep breath in an attempt to quell the rising self resentment that predictably followed his emotional expression. “I was just contemplating your words, is all,” Janus continued reassuringly, and the sentiment took Logan by surprise. Why had he assumed Janus’ silence meant dismissal of his admission? “I suppose it simply comes down to a matter of communication methods,” Janus glanced to the side in a reflective pause. “You’re a teacher,” He continued after a moment, a gentle smile on his lips as he met Logan’s eyes again. “But Patton doesn’t take very well to being told things.” Logan snorted a knowing and arid laugh, but then thought on how Janus had communicated with Patton in the past.

“You also tell him things,” Logan’s brows furrowed. “He just seems to readily listen to you.”

“Ah, there’s a difference though,” Janus wagged a flimsy finger. “I don’t tell him anything he doesn’t already know at that point in the conversation. Patton’s like … a horse that desperately needs to drink, but refuses to, even when you bring the water to him directly. In such a case, you need to lead the horse to the water. But how do you get him there? Well, in Patton’s case, asking him questions that in turn make him question his own motives tends to work.”

“Ah, the Socratic method,” Logan interrupted as Janus paused.

“Exactly,” He nodded before continuing, “But more importantly, I hear his justifications. I try to see where he’s coming from so I can...clear a path, so to say, from his point A to wherever my point is.” Logan hummed thoughtfully and marveled at the amount of consideration Janus put into his communication with Patton.

It was admirable and Logan found himself agreeing, once again, with the many flattering adjectives Remus has used for his partner in the past. Graceful, patient, and ridiculously smart. His current explanation made a lot of sense, and Logan felt a bit stupid. He chuckled dryly and looked down, adjusting his glasses. Janus cocked his head, expression perplexed with raised brows.

“Did I say something funny?”

“No,” Logan sighed, “The opposite. You made a great point and I was wondering how I had never thought of that myself.” He admitted with an impressive amount of vulnerability. While the compliment felt nice, mostly Janus was now smiling with pride in Logan’s new found understanding and the handful of walls he had dropped in the process.

“Sometimes,” Janus sighed with a smile, approaching Logan as he had earlier; with steps that placed him just a little too close. “You just need some perspective.” He reached up with both hands and flattened Logan’s collar affectionately, the unexpected gesture making him inhale briskly. “I mean, we all do,” Janus continued, resting his fingers gently against Logan’s collar bones. “Not just you, of course.”

“Of course,” Logan repeated in a whisper that was more breath than words. Having Janus this close, he suddenly felt whatever intelligible response he may have had evaporate on his tongue as a heat quickly consumed his neck all the way to his cheeks.

Janus’ smile twitched wider as he lingered, mischievous amusement sparkling in his eyes. Logan was so easy to rile up; even with a foot between them right now, Janus could feel the attraction rolling off him like heat off concrete in the summer. If he continued to stand here, what would Logan do?

“How are you feeling now?” Janus asked after a silent moment. Under his hands, he could feel Logan’s heart rate pick up.

“Fine,” Logan answered automatically, the word cracking indecently. He cleared his throat which marginally brought his senses back. “Fine,” He repeated, shaking his head with a small smile. Janus thought the expression seemed a little forced.

“Good,” Janus nodded shallowly and paused for another beat before turning away, leaving the air around Logan significantly easier to breathe. “Well, if you need anything else,” Janus’ voice trailed off as he twisted the doorknob with one hand and raised another to delicately wave his fingers goodbye.

When his door clicked shut, Logan fell heavily back on his bed again with a groan that ended in a sigh.

Chapter One || Chapter Three

#loceit appreciation week #loceit week #loceitweek2021 #loceit #janus x logan #sanders sides fanfiction

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nierly-amazing · 3 years

Text

NieR: Theatrical Orchestra 12020--Automata dramatic reading transcript

Alt title: THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO FUCKING MUCH IT HURTS

Art and transcript provided by @shirl_geem on twitter! Follow her, her art’s great!

NieR:Theatrical Orchestra 12020

NieR:Automata

Investigative Operation Overview

New machine-lifeform signatures detected in a previously neutralized enemy base. Said base is a large-scale facility located in the Pacific Ocean.

Communication from the squad stationed there was ceased, making the situation impossible to ascertain. Satellite photography is also impossible due to the base's location on the sea floor.

The Council of Humanity is making preparations to retake the base, but understands it may be a trap created with a new type of enemy weapon.

For this reason, the Council of Humanity has decided to send a small team as an advance scout force.

The task of investigating the base and ascertaining the safety of its personnel has been assigned to YoRHa units 2B and 9S.

--Operation Name: Uranus

Advance Force Registered:

YoRHa units 2B and 9S

Specifications:

Modified flight units (underwater-use)

Close-combat assault armor

Type-3 swords, pressure-resistant suits, anti-icing coating

12 modified canaries, salvageable backup memory storage, reactive barriers

--Escort Unit Details:

Lead escort duties to be carried out by Hunter units K1 and K2

K1 unit overview: 8 flight units, 1 transport unit

K2 unit overview: 4 flight units, 1 Hummingbird aircraft carrier

Defensive radius: From 8,000 meters above the objective to the ocean's surface.

--Status of the Target Area:

Depth: 1,200 meters

Water temperature: 3 degrees centigrade

Machine lifeform energy: 3,200 units

Estimated machine lifeform count: 32 individuals

Communication status: Unknown

--Supplementary Information:

Target is 32 km north of the hostile submerged facility that was destroyed on August 13th. According to the deep-sea patrol unit, there is no relation between that facility and the target.

However, as there remains the possibility of attack by escaped machine lifeforms or rogue androids, all information pertaining to Operation Atlantis is to be disclosed beforehand.

Time to Arrival at Objective: *10 second timer appears on the screen*

This operation has been placed under direct control of the Council of Humanity. Any recording or other archival action is strictly forbidden.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

2B: So this is the machine lifeforms' advance base...

9S (narrating): The base we infiltrated was an expansive underground space with countless, intertwining support pillars.

2B: Temperatures are low... Pod, scan the periphery.

Pod 042: No machine lifeforms detected. No signals found on sensors or canary system.

2B: Is that... a dead android? Pod!

Pod 042: Affiliation unknown. Possibly a member of the unit stationed here. Fusion reactor non-functional. Heat analysis indicates it was destroyed more than 48 hours ago. No external wounding detected.

2B: No external wounding? Could it have been an EMP blast?

Pod 042: Negative. No characteristics of EMP damage detected in circuits.

9S (narrating): As we looked around, we found more androids strewn across the room like a child's forgotten toys.

2B: What on earth happened here...?

9S (narrating): The machine lifeforms that supposedly destroyed these units were nowhere to be found. All that remained was a chill, an eerie silence, and an android mass grave.

2B: Access the Bunker database.

Pod 042: Negative. Bunker communication is not possible.

2B: Keep scanning the periphery and let me know if you find any irregularities.

Pod 042: Affirmative.

9S (narrating): It was a gloomy place, untouched by the sun. The ceiling was a mass of cables tangled around interlocking steel. It was like being inside some kind of massive creature...

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Record Archivist: Pod 153

Analysis: Stationed friendly squad consisted of 36 individuals. Only eight individuals were confirmed in the target area.

Hypotheses for the other 28 individuals: Abduction. Predation. Desertion. Rebellion.

Proposal: Commence preparations for close combat.

Record Archivist: Pod 153

Analysis: Target base consists of four strata

Current location: First stratum

Area: 32,000 square meters

Temperature: 2 degrees centigrade

Humidity: 88%

Scans indicate a high probability that this area is a hangar for machine lifeforms.

Record Archivist: Pod 153

Alert: Examination of target's first stratum complete. Cause of androids' cease in function remains unclear. There is a high probability that neglecting to investigate this factor may cause impediments to the main force that follows us.

Proposal: Investigate the target's second stratum.

Alert: Target's second stratum reached.

Alert: Android bodily fluids detected on nearby wall. The residual shape appears to form sequences of letters.

Hypothesis: They are warning messages left by androids while still alive.

Analysis: The messages are as follows:

"The Bunker will fall"

"Destroy Command"

"Run"

"They must be killed"

"Help" "Help" "Help"

"Help"

Hypothesis: Thought circuitry of corresponding androids underwent some manner of attack.

Analysis: There exists a weapon in the base that can cause a logic infection.

Proposal: Hack the central cortex of the base.

Alert: Enemy thought center reached.

Analysis: Protection of YoRHa unit 9S is top priority.

Alert: Deploying virtual canary.

Proposal: Encrypt channels to long-term memory areas.

Proposal: Increase speed of thought-analysis region.

Alert: Central memory space located. 82 hostile defense layers and 1,343 attack-type security systems detected.

Alert: Virus employed by enemy defense layers. Executing sustained vaccine deployment.

Commencing Assault

Analysis: Defensive layers of central memory space infiltrated.

Data recovery and decoding complete.

Initializing visualization and extraction of records.

Visualization: 20%

Visualization: 40%

Visualization: 80%

Visualization complete.

Extracting...

Stratagem Information 111029E

Analysis of intercepted communications from the human army over a period of time has yielded the following data:

The majority of cargo bound for the human server on the moon consists of empty containers camouflaged as supplies.

Specific sequence patterns have been identified in video communications from the Council of Humanity.

Stratagem Information 111029E

Multiple models of supposition have been created based on the results of the above analysis.

Of these, the most probably conclusions are as follows:

The existence of the Council of Humanity is a pretense.

Humans are already extinct.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

9S: The Council of Humanity on the moon... So mankind... doesn't exist? No, this is a trap. The enemy is trying to make us second-guess ourselves. Pod, use laser measuring to reveal the structure of the enemy base.

Pod 153: Affirmative.

9S: 2B, I think there's a good chance this base is some kind of tra... 2B? Huh? Where'd she go?

Pod 153: Analysis complete. Displaying base structure.

9S: First we should figure out where 2B... Wait, this base is weird. There's one massive core at the center with a network of pathways for energy conveyance. It's almost like it's one big machine lifeform...

Pod 153: Alert: High-frequency vibrations detected in lower levels.

9S: High fre-- Agh!

2B (narrating): As 9S's vision fades out, a mysterious sound grows around him. crunch... Crunch... CRUNCH... The sound gets louder every time.

9S turns toward the sound to see an android's corpse.

A dark shadow sits atop it, its hands clamped around the android's thin, white neck.

9S: No...

2B (narrating): The shadow is 9S, and the corpse he's strangling-- with its slender fingers, black eye covering, all-too-familiar dress, and white hair-- is none other than...

9S: 2B...

2B (narrating): The sight playing out before 9S was one of his own twisted desires.

9S's deepest desires are laid bare. He wanted to kill her. Destroy her. Mutilate her.

9S: No! That's not true! I don't want that at all! Wait, I get it... It's the infection. This is what the enemy's infection does.

2B (narrating): Using thoughts of denial as an opening, the curse spreads. He knew. He was aware she was trying to kill him. He concealed. He hid away his intimate, innermost desires. And there, in the never-ending spiral of massacre... filled with false hopes and prayers... was the pleasure of despair.

9S (screams and cries): Please stop... 2B, I... I...

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Record Archivist: Pod 153 Alert: Vital signs declining for YoRHa unit 9S.

Alert: Reverse-hacking by enemy machine lifeform detected.

Alert: Defect detected in memory area.

Alert: Shifting to consciousness-protection mode.

Analysis: Increase in offensive enemy activity confirmed.

Analysis: Maintaining consciousness-defense form is impossible.

Due to the instability of YoRHa unit 9S's consciousness, executing the recommended counterattack is impossible.

Report: The decisions that follow constitute unauthorized support.

Declaration: Commencing rescue of YoRHa unit 9S.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"January 30, 11,942 (4:25 AM) YoRHa unit 9S enters service.

Analysis: This pod initiated recording of pre-determined monitoring subjects 9S and 2B.

Analysis: In the midst of collecting great volumes of data, this Pod ascertained that 9S is repeatedly destroyed by 2B.

Analysis: These acts were not delineated in any Project YoRHa implementation plans this Pod was informed of.

Analysis: Intervention in above acts is impossible for this Pod, as they are delineated processes for the core program of Project YoRHa.

However, this unit, in its continued recording of the activities of YoRHa unit 9S through a repeated cycle of combat and death, ultimately gained a sort of knowledge.

It is an internal command akin to emotion, far beyond any support assignment. The closest human analog would be the feeling called "maternity."

As such, reporting unit Pod 153 will abandon self-defense protocols and shift to launching an offensive against the enemy.

...I am glad to have met you, YoRHa unit 9S.

Farewell."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

9S: Ugh... Okay... I set the trap in the central system, and the camouflage repair on the enemy barrier is complete.

Pod 153 (narrating): The remains of Pod 153-- its circuits thoroughly fried- lie at his feet.

9S: My pod... saved me, huh?

Pod 153 (narrating): 9S hears a sound. He looks up to see 2B standing before him with a calm expression.

9S: Oh, 2B! Glad you're safe. I was just putting a logic virus in the enemy's central--

Pod 153 (narrating): 9S realizes something.

2B: Say, 9S...

Pod 153 (narrating): Her eye covering is gone.

2B: It's cold here, so...

Pod 153 (narrating): She holds a weapon in her hand.

2B: I want you to warm me.

Pod 153 (narrating): And her eyes... are crimson.

9S: She's infected!?

Pod 153 (narrating): Her white blade crashes down on 9S with the swiftness of lightning. 9S blocks the blow with his scabbard.

9S: Damn it! How could this happen?

2B: YoRHa's existence in this world has no meaning.

9S: Requesting access to 2B's motor system! Administer emergency vaccine!

Pod 153 (narrating): His request is denied. 2B swings her sword again, continuing her frenzied dance.

2B: We must stop the tragedy that recurs without end in this meaningless world.

9S: 2B, stop!

2B: Tell me, 9S...

Pod 153 (narrating): With the smallest of openings, 2B's blade finds its mark.

2B: Wouldn't it be wonderful to fade away together?

Pod 153 (narrating): The blade cuts into 9S's armor. A bright red message appears in 9S's vision:

Proposal: Destroy YoRHa unit 2B.

9S: I could never do that!

Pod 153 (narrating): 2B's sword swiftly pierces through the left side of 9S's chest. 2B's blood-red eyes draw close to his face. With defeat so close, 9S plays his final gambit... He places his right hand on 2B's cheek.

9S: ...Commencing hack.

Analysis: Commencing salvage of 2B's consciousness data from the infected area.

"The memories I have left aren't all bad. Wind rolling through ruins. Light flickering on water. The sound of swaying trees. I cherish everything we saw together. This isn't a curse. I... decided to be with her. I made a choice."

2B's infection had spread to the deepest portions of her memory unit. It's a troublesome virus-- and an elegant trap.

For if the infected section is removed, the individual becomes unable to maintain a consciousness.

As 2B's consciousness grows more infected, 9S readies his final, desperate plan.

...It was the only way she could be saved.

9S: Hey, 2B? The time we spent together holds eternal value for me. Heh. I'm serious, you know. I'm swapping your infected area with my memory storage.

"In a sea of collapsing emotions, I saw 2B's light. Even if I've lost everything, I have no regrets. Because I chose to live... for her sake."

--Texts on the screen appear--

9S: You're 2B, right? 9S: My name's 9S. I'm here to provide support.

2B: 9S... the time I was able to spend with you... 2B: It was like memories of pure light... 2B: Thank you... Nine...s.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

2B: ...Gya!

Pod 153: YoRHa unit 2B activation verified. Good morning, 2B.

2B: Pod... Where's 9S!?

9S: Nnngh...

2B: 9S! Are you all right?

9S: 2B... I'm glad you're okay.

2B: We're withdrawing. Pod, administer emergency maintenance to 9S and tell the Bunker--

9S: No. I can't go back. If the infection spreads, I may end up attacking you.

2B: Stop talking nonsense, 9S!

9S: Commencing... self-reformatting...

2B: Stop!

--2B and Pod 153 at the same time as their voices start fading away.--

2B: Please! Please don't die on me! I'm the one who should die! What's the point of my staying in this world? Please don't save me, 9S...

Pod 153: Alert: Infection critical in YoRHa unit 9S. Sensor signals lost. Black box defensive standby-mode activation failed. Temperature rising. Proposal: Cool body and cerebral unit immediately.

9S: Auditory sensors... down.

My temperature regulators are at their limit...

It's so quiet...

So this is how it all ends...

It's sad that I'll lose everything, but...

the curse of my sins will disappear as well...

The time I spent with 2B was precious to me.

There isn't a single detail I don't remember.

...Heh. I bet I sound so stupid right now.

You know... I'd really like to...

go back there with you again... 2B...

2B: Our prayers were never heard.

9S: Our future was closed off.

2B: Despite it all, the fact we'd fought together...

9S: ...was a miracle that shined brightly.

9S: You were always with me...

--9S and 2B at the same time.--

2B: Thank you, Nines.

9S: Thank you, 2B.

#nier #nier automata #nier concert #9s2b #2b9s #supplementary materials #-2B voice- I want you to warm me

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di-kutla · 3 years

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Ahhh! I've been reading your tags on Tech specific posts and I agree!

He is the emotional rock and anchor for the boys and, as much as it would hurt, I do want to see him break. That would be such a sharp contrast to everything we have seen from him, and I want to know how his brothers would react to their most emotionally reserved (distant?) brother.

And I fully agree with your idea of him being an insomniac. I've headcanoned that his brain is almost too active for his own good, and it won't rest - so sleep is either fleeting or near impossible for Tech.

And I FULLY agree with the desire to see Wrecker reconcile with his brothers over what happened in Battle Scars. He choked Tech, and almost killed Hunter, but we only see him apologize to Omega? I was a little frustrated that we didn't see him get to talk to his brothers about that situation, as the brothers relationship is the most important part of the show to me. I don't know but... ah, I think I'm frustrated that we only really got to see how Omega reacted to that whole situation? The episode focused on her, when I was desperate to see how Tech would respond to his big brother choking him - especially since I see Tech as almost unable to process one of his brothers hurting him? And to see how Hunter was feeling after Wrecker almost killed him, but ugh, that's :/

Anyways, just wanted to say that I love seeing your tags about Tech!

honestly i think at this point its a necessity for Tech to finally just. break, and i just hope its in this overly exaggerated way! i want there to be emphasis that Tech has never reached this point before, he has always been able to keep himself under control no matter how exhausted or stressed hes been before. I want the emotional breakdown to crash through him so hard and fast that it leaves him so devastatingly exhausted that he cant even stand on his own and Hunter and Wrecker have to run to catch him from falling. I want Tech's breaking to break them. and really i think more than anything i want Tech's final breaking point to be just. something, ANYTHING relating to Crosshair.

i completely understand why they would keep all the focus on Omega, and show the importance of Wrecker apologizing to her and explaining that he tried. she's not a soldier, this was never the life that she was meant for. she was never trained for this and is so unaccustomed to the terror and the violence that could possibly follow. though she was raised around soldiers, she was kept pretty sheltered, i think. whereas, this is the life that the batch is used to, what they were born for and trained for. so i get the distinction and the importance of Wrecker apologizing to her

but still the FRUSTRATION of not getting the same with Hunter and Tech bc, like you said, these are his brothers, these are two people who he was raised with, trained with, theyve been through everything together. they are his team, his family. Wrecker would never hurt them, and they would never in their life think that Wrecker could hurt them, but now its happened! even if it was bc of the inhibitor chip a line has still been crossed. even if it wasnt Wrecker's fault, there still had to have been a shift in trust and awareness on Hunter and Tech's side of things

and that needs to be addressed! it needs to be rectified! there needs to be a clear understanding of "you didn't mean to do this, and i don't blame you, but it still happened and we still need to work through the aftermath. things have changed, but we can get past it and come out on top" and frankly if i am not given this then i will have to do it my damn self!!

#carif answers #wwheeljack #tech #wrecker #the bad batch #i just. AGH #let me see the consequences for actions taken #let me see the reconciliation!!#give me the horror and the shame and the emotional conversations that are almost too hard to have but NEED to be had!!!#give me the not broken but fractured trust and then show me that despite the difficult things and the hardships that trust is still there!!#and at its very foundations is unshakable no matter what happens!!!#except apparently if you are crosshair bc then one (1) specific bespectacled brother just throws everything out the window then #i just. god. GOD #honestly ive been debating it and i think i might start a fic series that just. addresses these sort of things i guess??#like i have a few ideas like wrecker apologizing to tech #and also rex and echo actually talking about fives #just stuff happening between scenes or between eps that i wish would have gotten addressed or talked about deeper #cause theres just. THERES A LOT #ANYWAY god sorry i went on a rant dksjf;a #thank you for the ask and im really happy youve been enjoying my tech tags i just. i love him very much and i have a lot of thoughts!!#also sorry this took me a hot minute to get to ive been slammed with work and prepping to move #and wait okay one more thought really i think it would really be more hunter and tech trying to brush off what happened #even echo would probably shrug it off bc wrecker did say that he tried to fight it #but still just the amount of shame wrecker would be feeling for it regardless #i think there really would be this interesting distinction to be explored of like....... knowing there is a line #between who you are and what the chip is making you do #but in that moment that line is just so blurred and everything just kind of bleeds together the longer the chip stays activated #and even after the chip deactivates or is removed its still just. hard to distinguish if who you were before and after the chip #were really two separate people at all #i. this may be a scene and conversation that i want to write between tech and cross bc i just. i have a lot of thoughts about them frankly

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bigskydreaming · 3 years

Text

@fuyunoakegata

#reblogging now that I've actually had time to sit down and give this proper attention and take it all in#and damn i love that you managed to get through all of this and never veer off topic into Deathwing#:)

*snorts* You give me too much credit. Deathwing was absolutely on the to do list for that post, he was just in the part I never got to because I hit my ‘oh right, physiological needs are a thing’ threshold and was like fuck it, I’ll do that later.

Kalen’s Razor: Never attribute to willpower what can be better explained by him just running out of steam.

But I mean tbh, he was in the part I delayed for another time because I didn’t want to like.....shortchange the importance of that part and how much attention and thought I gave it. Because like, I don’t actually think he’s off topic at all. I think he’s absolutely central to the topic, and in fact, he’s part of the thing I TRULY despise about this whole mess of a story and DC’s actions in regards to it. Faaaaaar more than their failure to call it rape or the victim-blaming, and you KNOW how much I love me a good ‘how dare they’ victim-blaming rant. So.

Still don’t quite have the time or spoons to dig into all that just yet, but I mean.....I think it definitely also needs to be acknowledged that Mirage was raped by Dick’s future timeline evil doppelganger like, right after she did it and before the wedding issue even.....with the timing being really sketchy. Like, its literally just a handful of issues after her rape of him.....in fact, given the timeline publishing works according to and taking into account the lagtime between scripting/art and then to printers and then actual publication....its pretty damn clear they had to have started writing THAT storyline basically the month AFTER Mirage’s reveal that it was her Dick slept with hit stands. Ie, the month they would have started hearing reactions to that story.

So like.....there’s pretty much no way in hell that the Deathwing story WASN’T written specifically in response to that earlier story, or more specifically to REACTIONS to that....which leaves literally only two real options for WHY they would have felt the need for that. One would be as a ‘just desserts’ type thing, like if it was meant as a punishment - which ugh, no, that would not be any better for a whole host of reasons I don’t have time for right now.....but tbh, that doesn’t really track because if that was the reason for that direction you would assume they WOULD bring up what she did to Dick again as relevant. Like that direction literally only makes sense IF you WANT to focus on what she did and why it was fucked up. Which....they clearly didn’t, since they never did that.

Which leaves the only other real likely option....that it was done in an attempt to drum up sympathy for her character and distract from what she’d done, as for whatever reason DC was still interested in keeping her as a hero and eventually a full time Titan, and they’d only realized after the fact that where they had previously had taken her was now making that damn near impossible without ‘damage control.’ And I deeply resent the fuck out of that, and using rape as a ploy to drum up sympathy for a character, particularly one who only needs sympathy drummed up because of doing basically the same damn thing, like....ugh. Fuck you DC. Its cheap, and manipulative, and compounds the refusal to address Dick’s rape as rape now juxtaposed to the rape of his rapist, which in contrast they have ZERO problem addressing as rape.

But unfortunately, its really hard to see any other possible reason they would have gone that direction since it marked the point at which they REVISITED the others’ reactions to what happened with her and Dick and had Kory, who had previously expressed forgiveness and more of a focus on her anger at Mirage....THIS was the point where Kory reversed course and characters en masse started only addressing what Dick ‘had done’ as an active act of cheating. As well as being the point past which no character again brought up to Mirage any mention of her role in that, and the focus around her switched entirely to the ongoing storyline of her pregnancy due to Deathwing’s rape and his ensuing fixation on her and the baby, with a TON of focus on his obsession with HIS unborn child....all of which is basically tailor made to keep the narrative context around her actively sympathetic and further and further distant from what had happened with Dick. Culminating of course in the point where Julienne was born, Deathwing was in a coma and never talked about again, and Mirage left the team and the book to go raise Julienne.

Except there’s one thing that has driven me fucking bonkers for years, because its the part that never made ANY sense and seems entirely contradictory with their seeming desire to never actually address what happened with her and Dick and keep her at least as firmly separate and distanced in readers’ minds....from him and her actions there as possible.

Like, if that was the goal, I would THINK that they would go out of their way to leave as little wiggle room as possible as to who Julienne’s father actually was. I mean, right? If you don’t want people ever thinking or focusing on what she did to Dick and her connection to HIM rather than Deathwing.....I would think the LAST thing you would want is for people - characters OR readers - to have any reason to doubt that Deathwing was the baby’s father. Instead, its like they went out of their way TO make wiggle room for that very thing? Which makes NO sense.

But that’s exactly what they did. What happened with Dick and then what happened with Deathwing were mere issues apart and given the context of everything else happening, was at MOST a few weeks apart. Which isn’t a big deal, logistically, until you factor in that when they did reveal Mirage’s pregnancy a good twenty (maybe more) issues or so after THAT point.....they made a point to reveal that Mirage had used her powers to hide her pregnancy for some time. With it specifically pointed out that she went out of her way to hide it from her teammates as well as Deathwing. Like.....the ONLY thing that particular plot point really accomplished OR was ever brought up in context of.....was in terms of how it literally made it impossible to ever know for sure how long Mirage actually spent pregnant....ie, when exactly she got pregnant.

And THEN, on TOP of that......after Deathwing being firmly established as Dick’s future timeline counterpart for actual YEARS at that point, real world time....at the very end of his appearances, once in his coma and right about when Mirage gave birth.....they for whatever reason decided to reveal that actually, Deathwing had never been any version of Dick Grayson at all. That he was only brainwashed to THINK he had the backstory he had...by whomever had selected him for how similar he appeared to the real Dick Grayson and then surgically altered him to further the impression.

And this was pretty much the last time the pre-Flashpoint version of Deathwing ever appeared or was even referenced, just kept at S.T.A.R. Labs in his coma from that point on and never revisited.....which again makes it like....WHY? Why go to that trouble? Like especially because if you DIDN’T actually want anyone ever really being like ‘hey has anyone ever considered Julienne might be Dick’s? Like do we know for sure, like, the two events DID happen awfully close together”.....like, if that’s what you DON’T want ever happening, then it actually works BETTER if Deathwing is Dick’s evil alternate counterpart? Because then there’s literally no element that can ever be brought up or introduced to suggest that Julienne is actually Dick Grayson’s daughter.....that CAN’T be dismissed with “well yes, and Deathwing WAS, technically, Dick Grayson, that explains that.” It effectively makes the question of who is Julienne’s true father impossible to ever conclusively answer.....which in turn basically makes it an irrelevant question. There’s no reason to ask that question instead of just accepting the narrative that its Deathwing....because what’s the point when the only answer that can ever be found is still always going to be “Dick Grayson” either way?

But making a point to reveal that Deathwing ISN’T a version of Dick and never was....is what actually ALLOWS for doubt and creates a reason to make the real Dick Grayson relevant to the subject of Mirage and Julienne again....AFTER the comics just spent the last thirty or so issues doing every other thing possible to make Dick IRRELEVANT to their storyline. Because only NOW, after that specific reveal, is there an actual reason characters might some day revisit the matter and actually raise the question of Julienne’s parentage....because only NOW does it become a question that would require a conclusive answer of one or the other, Dick Grayson or Deathwing...where a definitive answer that is NOT Deathwing, is actually a viable prospect.

I just....*pulls hair and eats it* I don’t understand what they were going for. Its entirely counter intuitive, and both elements - the pregnancy timeline and Deathwing specifically not being a genetic double of the real Nightwing - are entirely SUPERFICIAL to the entire storyline they created for Mirage and Julienne. There is absolutely ZERO reason to bring those things up or focus on them at all, nothing is added to the story BY bringing those up. And literally every other thing they did with both Dick and Mirage over the course of like, the entire last couple years of Mirage’s regular appearances before she left the team to raise Julienne....every other thing they did follows a clear pattern of deliberately putting as much distance between the two and their shared storyline as possible....

Except for these two specific details that they never needed to put in and ONLY serve one singular purpose: to throw the otherwise clear picture and timeline into question, and bring the possibility of Dick being the true father BACK into the equation that they’d just spent umpteen issues writing him OUT of.

Ugh. Its one of those things that’s always gonna bug me even though its never going to matter at this point. Hell, even with the Mirage story obliquely mentioned recently in the Batman B&W story and continuity being open season, like, I’ll be pretty surprised if they ever actually bring Mirage back into the picture, but I’d be stunned if they ever even reference Julienne again. Like, as far as canon goes at least, its literally never gonna matter, but its such a weird unnecessary little discrepancy that I’ve always just wanted to track down one of the writers involved and be like....”can you walk me through that? I really just want to understand what your logic was there” lolol.

#rape tw #yes that was me still not actually digging into it yet #shut up #you know I can dig deeper than that dont act surprised

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sparklingchan · 4 years

Text

Dancing with a Stranger || Lee Minho (Stray Kids)

Pairing : Reader (fem.) x Lee Know

Word count: 6k+

Warnings: Cuss words, mentions of alcohol, mentions of a break up, slight violence and blood (its nothing intense, I swear) ,suggestive towards the end, not proof read.

Genre: Angst , fluff, boyfriend AU , break up - make up AU.

Description : Lee Minho is the best boyfriend you could have ever asked for but when you end up doing the only thing he had begged you not to do, things start going downhill.

Author’s Note: I KNOW I SAID I’LL POST THIS ON MY BIRTHDAY but I am an impatient person and I really wanted everyone to read this asap :( This imagine is one of my personal favorites and like Boyfriend!Minho really hits different, won’t you agree? (Reposting because tumblr decided to be a bitch and not show up my fic in the tags? It’s 2 AM and I’m legit crying?? I was so excited about this) Yeh le @chogiwow !

Please do reblog, like and send in your views about this fic. I’m always happy to receive DMs and asks!

Enjoy!

It is really funny how a crowded, happening place like your college corridor turns into a cold ,eerie location of some prospective gruesome crimes by sun down. But then again , if you really think about it , maybe it’s not much of a ‘prospect’ at all.

Your knuckles start stinging first ,spreading then to your palm and the rest of your arm.

And the horrifying yet unavoidable realization finally dawns on you - you shouldn’t have punched your professor’s daughter.

“Y-you! You bitch! How dare you touch me?” She has this annoyingly loud voice that pierces through the tense air like a bullet. The prettiest girl on campus , the nicest of them all, the most desirable , but anyone who sees her right now, would be convinced she is neither of those things. Excluding you , of course , because you always knew how double faced and rude she was behind the mask of a pure princess.

“You should have kept your mouth shut then, Anya.” You say , hoping that the girl in front of you doesn’t notice the sudden fear in your voice that has replaced your authoritative tone from before.

But you can’t back off now.

Anya stumbles back with her mouth wide open , clutching her jaw as she curses under her breath , “My mother will hear about this ! I will get you expelled !”

“Oh yeah? Try me and the only thing your mother will hear about is what you and our lovely class president John do in the basement when she isn’t home.” You shoot back. You mentally want to slap yourself for that sharp tongue of yours that refuses to stop any time sooner. You had always wished that you’d gotten your father’s gentleness but sadly , you were the fateful heir of your mother’s roughness.

Anya doesn’t reply , instead , she throws herself at you , pushing you harshly against the lockers .And it is not long before her balled fists find a way to your nose , punching so hard that you literally feel the blood dripping down your face. You are so glad that all the students and staff have already gone home , you’d have hated for anyone to witness this.

“You will never lay your filthy hands on me again, y/l/n. ” she wraps her left hand around your throat while the other one pulls your hair with the strength of a bull. You scream in pain. Your body goes limp for a second - not from pain but from fear , but you realise it’s too late now. You should have thought about your fears before punching Anya.

Now all you can do is save yourself and escape.

The numbing pain from your scalp spreads through your head , going down your face and then attacking your throat. It gets harder to breathe.

“I’ll tell you what , Anya , you deserved it. You deserved all of it. ” you croak , “I told you to stop spreading filthy rumours about my cousin but you didn’t stop , I told you to stop bothering me but you didn’t listen. And now you’ve gone as far as spreading bullshit about my boyfriend who you’ve never even met ! I hate to break this to you but all of this is not going to make your trash personality any cooler. ”

Anya yelps with anger , increasing the grip on your throat and hair as you kick your legs helplessly, coughing .

“Shut up, y/l/n .” She growls , “ and as a matter of fact, Your boyfriend is just a mere dancer , how funny. An A-grade college student dating a poor street dancer. What happened , y/n, ran out of good guys for yourself?”

You want to yell at her and tell her that Minho is anything but a mere street dancer . He’s an amazingly talented artist who loves expressing himself through dancing , he’s a hardworking and honest person who is part of the country’s biggest dancing crew , and he’s your safe place , your home , your everything and god save anyone who dare hurt him.

But you bite your tongue this time.

“What now? Afraid ?” Anya raises her eyebrow, her lips curving into an ugly, sadistic smile.

You hate that smile.

You use one of your free hands to grab her hair while the other one slams hard against her jaw.

“Shit.” She mutters , falling back into the hallway.

But you’re not done yet.

You walk toward her with furious eyes and balled fists , and it isn’t long before she lands on the floor on her butt with a bloody nose and a black eye.

“Keep your mouth shut or you’ll end up on a hospital bed next time. In a coma. ” you spit out those words while she holds her tears back, face caked with humiliation.

Then you turn on your heels and walk out of the stupid college campus which would yet again be filled with more bullies by tomorrow morning, just like it has for centuries.

The dorm in which Minho lives almost always smells like freshly baked cookies ( courtesy: Lee Felix) and on rare occasions, it smells like burnt pancakes ( also courtesy: Lee Felix). Today , it smells like the former and you sigh in relief.

“Oh , my god ,y/n. What happened?” Changbin opens the door after you knock thrice , “Minho, dude, Come out , y/n is here!”

You shuffle into their big living room , head hanging low and eyes avoiding all sorts of confrontation , afraid of having to explain your stupid behavior.

“Y/n?” Minho sucks in a deep breath at your sorry sight , his eyes glazed with dread and fear as he walks toward you, ”Oh god, what happened?”

He swiftly takes out a handkerchief from his pockets , pressing it against your bleeding nose. His eyes are glossy with fear.

“I-it’s nothing. I fell down the stairs.” You lie. Can he please shut up and hug you already? You hate his questions so much , especially when you just can’t answer him.

“Y/n , that is not what a fall looks like. I’m not stupid. Whom did you beat up this time?” He asks , crossing his arms across his chest. And you really do almost blurt out the truth because it’s that easy for you to open up to him and because he knows you like no one else does. You’ve dated him long enough for him to know you like the back of his own hand. And that sometimes gets you in so much trouble. Lying to him is a near impossible task.

“Y/n, look at me!” He says , slightly annoyed now. He touches your chin gently, coaxing you to look at him but you’re too afraid to face him right now. Too guilty. So you shrug him off and walk into his shared room with Hyunjin, a homely feeling enveloping you almost instantly.

“Y/n, don’t you dare ignore me.”

Ugh. He can be so nosy at times.

“I came here for comfort , not for an interrogation. ” you pout , plopping down on the bed.

Minho scoffs , closing the door behind him. He wears a loose black t-shirt with a pair of shorts , and he smells like the expensive shampoo you had bought for him a few months ago ,which he initially refused to take but now loves it. He looks so good and smells so good and suddenly all you want to do is cuddle him and talk about his day, with his Winnie The Pooh blanket draped around your bodies.

“You aren’t getting any comfort till you tell me what happened.” He says . He stands with his back against the door , and stares at you as if you were a criminal. Maybe you were one ,but that doesn’t mean he’ll hate you or something ,right?

“Did you hit the professor’s daughter?” He asks when you don’t answer even after two whole minutes. Your stomach does a somersault, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You regret telling him about Anya a few weeks ago and you specifically saying that you’d one day ’ punch her brains out ’. You wish you’d shut up sometimes.

You play with your fingers, staring at your feet. You can’t look him in the eye anymore , not when you did the exact (and only) thing he had asked you not to do. You feel horribly guilty.

“Well in my defense, she was being a bitch ,okay? She was calling you a good for nothing dancer and ugly and underqualified and - ” you sigh , “ My point is, I couldn’t bear listening to all that, okay?” You admit , cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Minho doesn’t answer, very unusual of him by the way, and you snap your head to look at him.

The eyes that had once held concern and fear for your well being now are clouded with disappointment . He’s mad at you.

“She’s not wrong though. I am a good for nothing dancer, I go to a stupid cyber college. Nothing worth fighting over. Why the fuck did you put yourself in danger like that!” And he’s yelling now , his relaxed posture from before now replaced with a tensed one. You notice his clenched fists and teeth ,and you shudder with fear. He is furious. But at what? You don’t really know.

“Are you seriously justifying her actions? Minho, she can’t talk shit about you. I will not let her do that! ” You yell back ,getting up from the bed , “She doesn’t even know you!”

“Which is exactly why her opinions on my lifestyle do not matter ! And you don’t have to just go around acting like my bodyguard all the time!” He says.

Your heart drops, brows furrowed in confusion at his words that feel like a dagger is plunged into your heart.

You walk up to him, trying to take his hand in yours but he extracts it right back. “I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t thinking. You know how crazy I get when I’m angry.”

“A ’ sorry ’ doesn’t suffice it. The damage is already done. And if tomorrow, you are thrown out of the university, who’s fault would it be? ” he presses his hand to his face, trying to calm himself down , “I can’t believe I am dating such an immature woman ,y /n. Grow the fuck up, will you?” He says , his anger filled eyes staring right into your soul . Your heart breaks into millions of small pieces , as your breath hitches in your throat. He had never said something so harsh to you in the many years that you’ve dated him and you really wish he hadn’t done it today either because you realise you’re not very good at handling hurtful words, especially from Minho. At all.

“Minho , I know you’re angry - ”

“Leave.” The world stops spinning for a second , your eyes widening with shock, “Go home. Don’t come back again.”

You want to cry but tears seemed to have given up on you too , his words striking you harder than any of Anya’s punches ever did. All your feelings seem to have converted into a much worse state of numbness when those words leave his mouth.

“Y-you are not breaking up with me, right?” Your usually loud voice comes out as a whisper.

“I am. Go, please. I don’t want to see you right now.” He opens the room door for you to exit, his eyes never meeting yours. His lower lip is caught between his teeth, a sign that he’s about to tear up yet you don’t know if he wants too be comforted by you right now, or ever. So picking up the remaining pieces of your damaged heart , you walk out of the room , stopping only to glance over at him one last time , in hopes that he’d change his mind. But no, his angry demeanor is still there , strong and tough and unbreakable.

And when you finally leave , Minho is grateful that Hyunjin wasn’t home - for he would have hated to cry in front of his roommate.

The bright neon sign with ’ Kim’s Restaurant ’ written on it shines in the distance , blurred only by the tears in your eyes and not by the tiny droplets of water slowly falling from the sky.

You feel a soft blanket of comfort draping over you when you walk toward the familiar building.

Your aunt and uncle have worked hard to build a proper business from a small shop that had once just sold fried chicken and cold drinks ; and it makes you so happy to see their new restaurant still packed with people this late in the evening.

“Oh , y/n. I was just about to call you. Did you not go to your dorm yet? ” your aunt asks from the reception desk , chewing her favorite gum and typing aggressively into the computer.

“I stayed back today. Project work.” You lie. Your aunt lifts up her head , her eyebrows knitted together and a suspicious scowl gracing her face , almost mimicking your mother. Your mom and your aunt are twin sisters , born just three minutes apart , and since then it has become your mom’s life mission to remind your aunt of the whooping three minute gap every chance she gets. It’s hilarious, really.

“Don’t make that face at me. You look exactly like mom.” You mutter , leaning against the wooden desk.

“I do look exactly like your mom , y/n. ” she replies with a chuckle, “Anyway, what’s going on? You look tired.”

Honestly, you’d love to talk about Minho and the impulsive breakup and the aching in your heart with your aunt because there’s no better person to seek advice from, but you don’t feel it right to burden her when she’s working plus a part of you doesn’t really trust your aunt to keep all the secrets to herself.

“No, I’m okay. Just mid college crisis.” you say.

Your aunt hums in response, probably not buying it but you’re happy she doesn’t push it anymore, “ Are you hungry? Want something to eat?”

A bag of fries with a bucket full of chicken wings sounds terribly tempting right now but you’ve lost all your appetite for the day the moment Minho closed the door behind you. Now all you feel is drained, tired, sad. Moreover, that is not what you were here for, “Nah, I’m good. Is Yugyeom home though?”

The door to your aunt’s house opens only after you ring the stupid bell at least three times , as you stand on the porch, judging the loud music that blasts from within the walls. “Wow , you look like shit.” Yugyeom always has some snarky comments up his sleeve but you are in no mood to be playing word games with him right now. You barge into the house , pushing past your cousin who you smells like donuts and Axe.

“Shut up.” You say, plopping down on his bed . You really want to cry right now but Yugyeom has never been big on consoling so you try to hold it in .

“What’s wrong? I’m not joking.” He sits beside you, putting down his gaming console on the table by the bed.

You play with your fingers , breathing in and out to calm your nerves. Yugyeom, out of all the people in the world , is the easiest to talk to but today , you find yourself on the edge , trying to be very careful with your choice of words. Maybe you were afraid of angering him as well.

“I..I kind of beat Anya up.” You confess ,swallowing the lump in your throat.

Yugyeom becomes still for a moment , staring at you with his mouth gaping and then his face breaks into the widest grin in the world.

“You really beat that bitch up? Like for real?” He asks , excitedly bro fisting the air like an athlete after winning an important match.

You nod , “And then I went to see Minho. He obviously didn’t react the way you did. He was very angry and then he broke up with me. ”

Yugyeom’s celebrations are short lived as you continue to tell him the details of what had happened earlier, his smile slowly dissolving into a frown.

“Y/n, first of all you really need to learn how to break news to other people. It’s always the bad one first and then the good one. Noob.” Yugyeom bumps his shoulder softly to yours. You would otherwise have argued with him and told him why the happy news should always be first and why the bad news should be last but you feel too exhausted to speak anymore. Your shoulders slump as you put your hands on either side of your head.

“How could he just break up with me like that? He had no logical reason to! He’s so selfish.” You mutter , tears gathering up in your eyes. You try to blink them away before your cousin notices them.

“I don’t think he did it for himself , y/n. You told him that you hit Anya because she was speaking trash about him. Of course he’d distance himself from you so you wouldn’t want to fight his fights for him.” Yugyeom says.

“I wasn’t fighting his fights! She trash talks about you and me and him and everyone else. It was the last straw for me. I didn’t do anything wrong. ” you explain , your heart hammering against your chest.

“I didn’t say what you did was wrong ,y/n. You have a right to be angry with her. But what we’re talking about is Minho. Think about this from his point of view,” Yugyeom replies, his hands on your shoulders , “You beat Anya up , got hurt and possibly put yourself in trouble with her mother all because of him. He feels guilty.” Yugyeom is speaking to you like he’s speaking in one of those debates that he does at college. You love seeing him speak, mostly because he is so manipulative yet subtle , smart yet observant and he can convince you so easily. He could easily pass as the best debater in your college - too bad you’d already taken that place.

“Or it could be because he doesn’t want more trouble in his account. Maybe he’s ashamed of me. ” you whisper, “ And I told you, I didn’t do it just for him. I did it for me and you too and all those people she bullies and makes fun of. Why is he the only one reacting like this? ”

Yugyeom sighs, “Yes , I appreciate your concern for my well being, y/n. But he might not be thinking the same way as I am. I was happy that you beat Anya up , but he was worried about you. He obviously doesn’t want you to get badly hurt.”

You rub the tears that flow down your face with the heel of your hand then place your head on Yugyeom ’s shoulder.

“He might have fallen out of love with me. Maybe he just needed an excuse to call it off.” You mutter.

“You know Minho’s better than that, y/n.”

He’s right . Minho really is better than that.

Break ups suck. In the truest sense. But what you now realize is that break ups don’t hurt that much immediately, but slowly , as the days go by and the memories start flashing in front of your eyes every waking moment , you feel like nothing more than a sack of meat and bones, drained of all emotions.

“For this unit of organic chemistry, I need all of you to memorise the reaction mechanisms over the weekend.” Your professor’s voice feels distant to you , as if there were a wall in between the two of you , even though he stands just a few steps away.

Your classmates start murmuring among themselves, fixing study dates that almost always are unsuccessful and gathering notes they hadn’t bothered to complete until now. But you remain seated in your chair , staring out the window, not bothering to talk to anyone.

It is a bright sunny afternoon and you see all the happy faces out on the field - couples, friends , classmates. You feel jealous. You clearly remember planning a weekend trip with Minho a few days ago and If you hadn’t decided to mess things up so bad, he’d have already been at your college gate by now , waiting in his father’s old car. You clearly remember how excited he was about the trip.

The dismissal bell rings not long after and as you walk out of the college gate, surrounded by thousands of students, you feel lonelier as ever. And your mind imagines his car below the tall banyan tree , his lean frame leaning against the door with a silly grin. You could almost see him there. Even though its just in your mind.

You miss him so much that it gets hard for you to even breathe properly.

“Okay , how long are we going to stay here? I have better things to do than stalk your girlfriend, Lee.” Changbin’s whiny voice breaks the silence in Minho’s car, much to his annoyance.

“Just a few more minutes. Till she reaches the dorm.” Minho replies , his hand limp on the steering wheel and his lips pressed in a tense line.

His eyes are focused on you , your slump shoulders and your unusually slow walk and the dark circles under your eyes. It is obvious that Minho wasn’t the only one having sleepless nights .

“Dude , why don’t you just talk to her? I’m sure she would listen.” Hyunjin says from the backseat , munching on peanuts, “ Plus I think she saw us.”

Minho watches as you turn around a corner and walk toward your dorm building , away from him. He almost wishes you’d seen him.

“It’s not that easy.” Minho mutters, turning the engine on.

At least he knows you’re okay, and safe. That’s enough reassurance for him to try and move on but he somehow always ends up driving to your college gates during dismissal, the brief view of your face still making the worst of his days better.

“It’s not that easy.” He repeats to reassure himself .

“Guess what.” Yugyeom chimes in early one morning, leaning against the locker door beside yours.

“What?” You ask , not sparing him a glance. Your hands busy themselves in flipping over the pages of your notebook ; last minute revisions before tests are more important than the actual studying.

“I saw Anya this morning. She was running late , I think, and she bumped into a junior near the gate. I was sure all hell was about to break loose but she just apologized and left!” Yugyeom says , laughing.

You turn to look at him, a look of surprise plastered on your face. Anya actually did that? Instead of being her usual, defensive, violent self she actually chose to apologize? It’s hard to digest but you’re sure Yugyeom wouldn’t be making all that up. He’s not that creative.

“The sun must have risen from West today.” You reply with a chuckle.

The morning bell rings throughout the corridor, indicating the commencement of your classes. Throwing in your notebook ,you close your locker and heave a sigh. Its just a small quiz but you find yourself stressing over every single thing these days.

“Oh and by the way , it’s Jackson Wang’s birthday party tomorrow.” Yugyeom adds as the two of you start making your way towards the chemistry lab , coats hanging by your arms.

“And we’re going?” You question ,cocking your eyebrow.

Yugyeom is not really into parties , especially the over-the-top , spectacular , rich-kid parties that Jackson Wang often finds himself throwing, yet Yugyeom always goes because a) Jackson is his best friend and b) Who doesn’t like to feel like a rich man even if it’s just for one night?

“Yes. Both of us.” He says. You shrug your shoulders. You have always liked going to Jackson ’s parties and fawning over his huge mansion and the various cuisines placed in front of you that you can’t even name properly and watching other rich kids like himself play golf in the living room. It was pretty entertaining . Even with your post break up gloominess, you wouldn’t want to miss all of that.

“Okay.”

“And one more thing,” he starts ,“I saw Lee Minho outside our college gate yesterday. You might want to do something about that.”

No, unlike what was expected of you, you didn’t really do anything about it but Yugyeom’s words stick to you like a piece of gum throughout the whole day ,consuming every thought and pulling out all those thoughts that you’d stacked up and thrown away into the top most drawers of your mind. You were convinced that the day he broke up with you , he was done. He didn’t want to look back or reconsider. He wasn’t coming back to you. And you’ve been trying to move on as best as you could ,keeping your mind occupied and busy all the time. Yet you had to accept that in the wee hours of the night , staring at the ceiling ,you would often find yourself reminiscing him and whatever you two had. The gentle touches , the late night walks, shy smiles and endless talks ; you missed them.

But his presence outside the college changes the whole game, doesn’t it?

Later that day, you kind of regret agreeing to go to Jackson’s party because you soon realised that both Minho and Jackson went to the same dancing school at one point of time , and Minho probably (like a 99.9% probability because Jackson Wang never leaves anyone uninvited) was invited too.

You dread every second in Yugyeom’s stupid car that brings you one more step closer to seeing Lee Minho again. And although you would never dare say it out loud , a part of you was a little excited too.

“Dude , y/n , I have never felt so underdressed in my entire life.” Yugyeom breathes in as the car stops in front of the huge metal gates of Jackson’s mansion.

“Me neither.” You agree, your eyes glued to the people walking in and out of the doors, wearing tuxedos and dresses and sparkly jewelry. You feel horribly out of place all of a sudden, like a fish flying in the sky and a bird swimming deep under the water- you feel like you don’t belong here.

You look down at your black converse , tightly laced and washed for this very party and your loose ,dark green tshirt and ripped jeans .

“Why didn’t you tell me this was a fucking masquerade ball or soemthing?"you hiss at your cousin.

"Shut up, y/n , you’re not the only one feeling odd. ” Yugyeom shoots back

But all of that discomfort is gone the moment you see Jackson Wang sitting on the huge sofa in the living room , wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and a white tank top , drunk and wasted and blabbering.

“Let’s go before he sees us.” Yugyeom says , pushing you through the crowds of people clad in silks and pure cotton , “Drunk Jackson is difficult to handle.”

“Oh , I beg to differ , All Jacksons are difficult to handle.”

The garden behind the mansion is filled with even more people than your brain was accustomed to seeing while the DJ stands at the top of a platform , headphones on and screaming into the mic every once in a while to hype up the crowd in front of him , but you realise it’s hardly needed. People are already way too hyped up in here.

“Y/n?” You hear a voice say and you immediately turn around to face Hwang Hyunjin standing under the wonderful night sky, looking as gorgeous as ever. But then again ,when does he not look pretty?

“Hey, Hyunjin. How have you been?” You ask with a smile. Your awkward hand movements do not go unnoticed by him but he thankfully doesn’t comment on it.

“I’ve been good. How have you been ?” He replies , inching closer to you. From the corner of your eye, you see Yugyeom slowing disappearing into the crowds, leaving you all alone to deal with your ex boyfriend’s best friend. You make a mental note to never lend your Netflix account to him again.

“I’m okay, too.” You say.

Hyunjin nods, his eyes staring at you curiously, “Tell me , y/n , how have you really been? I know what happened between you and Minho.”

You gulp , heat creeping up to your cheeks.

“I’m fine, really. Don’t worry about it.” You say, biting the inside of your cheeks nervously.

“If you say so.” he grins , putting an arm around you , “But I’ll be real honest with you , Minho - ”

The words are cut off when the DJ suddenly blasts a new song through the speakers , simultaneously yelling into the mic. The sweaty, wasted , hopeless crowd around you yell a few ’ Let’s GO! ’s and ’ Fuck It Up ’s in response.

“What were you saying?” You yell over the music , pinching Hyunjin’s t-shirt to get his attention. He glances at back you then points toward his left , “That.”

You turn your head in that direction , your heart skipping a beat the moment your eyes meet Minho’s nervous ones. You see him walk towards you in long strides ,his handsome features painted with anxiousness and worry and a foreign sense of guilt. You were angry at him ,yes ,but as he makes his way to you , his silky hair bouncing softly ,his pink lips slightly parted, his starry eyes locked on you ,he looks…Brilliant? Breathtaking? Gorgeous? Stunning? All of these?

He wears a blue tshirt with black pants and has a jacket tied around his waist. He looks beautiful- even though you are mad at him. He looks way too beautiful to not acknowledge it.

And just a few seconds before he reaches you , you break away from Hyunjin’s hold and run away into the crowd.

“Y/n, wait!” You hear the both of them yell at the same time. But only one of them follows behind you and you don’t even have to look back to know who it is.

Fear and anger creep into your body , slow but painful like poison. You remember the last few days and how horrible it had been for you , all because of Minho and his lack of understanding in a moment when it was needed the most. Over the past few weeks, your ex boyfriend had made no attempts to contact you whatsoever and if he thinks he could just pop out of nowhere and start talking to you again, then he’s gravely mistaken. You might still love him and want nothing more than to hold him close , but that doesn’t mean you aren’t angry anymore . You are not ready to face him. At all.

Your feet burn as you run further away from Minho, jogging up the stairs inside the mansion with your hand tightly gripping the cold metal railing.

“Y/n, please, just listen to me once.” He yells, still not giving up.

You scoff , “Why should I? You didn’t listen to me that day either!”

You find a door at the end of the staircase, your hands pushing it to reach the empty terrace that you’d heard Jackson bragging about during your English classes when everyone was too bored to listen to the professor. The terrace really was beautiful, with all kinds of flowers blooming and a fountain with lights , you would have almost been breath taken if not for the man closing up behind you.

“Y/n, damnit, ” Minho huffs, reaching his hand out toward you, panting, “Stop, okay? Just listen to me , please.”

Not like you have an option anyway. You sigh in defeat , walking toward the fountain, the carpet grass rustling under your feet. “What?” You demand, your voice bitter with anger.

Minho stands in front of you , his brown unkempt hair and firey eyes reminding you of the night you guys had kissed for the first time. He stands at an arm’s distance, giving you enough space to think things through. He would never want to force you to do something you wouldn’t want to. And even if everything turned out to be not in his favor tonight, he’d gladly accept it because he deserved it after treating you so badly.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers after a few seconds.

You roll your eyes, “For what? What did you do? As far as I know, THE Lee Minho never makes mistakes!”

He hangs his head low with shame ; he didn’t mean a single word he’d said that night. He was worried, yes, he was very worried about your bashful attitude but he was also very grateful to you for always having his back. It physically hurt him to see you bleeding and completely worn out that day.

“Well, I did make a mistake this time. I said some words that I didn’t mean at all and I’m afraid the girl I intended those words at hates me.” He says , pressing his lips in a line.

“Damn right , she does.” You can’t even look into his eyes anymore because you’re too afraid of laying your true feelings bare in front of him.

“I’m really, really sorry, baby. I know I’m an asshole and I hurt you. I have no excuses to offer but I just want you to know that a single second more away from you will drive me crazy. ”

You process his sentences slowly - letter by letter, inking those words permanently into your memories. “Why?” You ask. What a silly question ,y/n, do you really want to torment this man so much ?

Minho gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement, “Because you’re quite literally my everything.”

Minho only dares to grin a little when you no longer throw virtual daggers from your eyes at him. “I hate you , you know?” You say.

“I know ,y/n. I don’t even blame you. I shouldn’t have said all that. I was just so, so mad. But that really wasn’t an excuse to be so rude to you or break up. I should have talked it out instead . I deserve the hate.” He admits.

The frown on your lips dissipates slowly ,making way for a sad, small smile.

“It was so hard, Minho. You don’t even know. I had never felt so lonely in my entire life.” You say.

“Believe me, y/n, I know.” He whispers as your hands find their way to his cheeks, rubbing them ever so gently.

You scan his face, absorbing in the fact that he was actually in front of you and this wasn’t one of your unrealistic imaginations.

Minho takes not more than a half step towards you and you automatically wrap your arms around his neck , like the millions of times you’d already done before. Everything about him is so familiar yet so new. Like layers and layers to discover and only one goddamn lifetime.

He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck , mumbling soft apologies against your skin, his arms tightening around your waist with every passing second.

“I missed you so much.” You admit, playing with his beautiful brown locks, taking in the smell of his (your) favorite body wash.

“I missed you too.” He replies , “So goddamn much. I almost wanted to cuddle Hwang Hyunjin at night.”

You laugh ,as he admires the way your noes scrunches up when you giggle and the way your eyes bend into crescent moons. In that moment, Minho realises how much he loves seeing you laugh ,especially when he’s the reason behind it. It fills him up with so much pride.

You hear the DJ change the song into a slow , romantic one as his voice booms through the speakers once again , “Ladies and gentlemen, grab the person next to you, with consent of course, and hold them close for this one because tonight is all about dancing with strangers!”

The crowd goes feral.

Minho raises an eyebrow at the DJ’s words , a sly smile playing on his lips , “Shall we?”

He pulls away from the embrace, gently bowing toward you and offering you his hand like some gentleman right out of a fairytale.

“He said dancing with a stranger, not girlfriend.” You deadpan but you take his hand anyway.

He chuckles, leaning closer to rest his forehead on yours, “Technically, we’re still broken up. That makes us strangers.”

You have to give in - not because of his weird reasoning but because of how terribly cute he looks when he smiles like that at you. He holds you close, swaying slowly to the music and grinning like there’s no tomorrow.

“What’s so funny, Lee Minho?” You ask , raising your eyebrow.

He shakes his head, still grinning, “I just realised how rare it is to find a woman who would quite literally declare war for you.”

“Now, you’re exaggerating a little bit with the war thing but yes, that’s the essence of it.” You reply with a proud smile.

He laughs, as you put your hand on his cheek once again and press your lips softly to his. You’d missed this so much - not just kissing him but also this feeling of intimacy you share with him everytime you’re in a closed space, sharing the same air. You missed his teasing, his stupidly sweet laughter, the warmth of his embrace. You missed Lee Minho - your safe place, your best friend, your world.

And even after everything, you both know for sure that you would fight the world for Minho if need be, and he’d do the exact same thing for you. Every single time.

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blankdblank · 3 years

Text

Does He Like Cake?

“Hey Loki?” The head asked. Popping into the doorway of the library corner of his apartment he was currently seated in with one of his latest books he’d picked up while shopping in his current habit of buying and reading each book on oc’s shelves and nightstands, which could easily reach the hundreds by his few peeks inside their apartment and pictures his double had snuck in to take to achieve the task.

Looking up from his book he closed over his thumb deeply he inhaled taking in the briefest hints of the favored scents of his guest, while on eye contact alone oc asked, “Do you like cake?”

“Why would I not like cake?” He asked with brows furrowing a moment in confusion on the broad topic of the dessert category over a specific breed.

“So if I made some cake you would want some?”

“Yes,” he stated a bit curtly, leaving a trace of bitterness in his tongue for the tone he hoped to alleviate by adding, “Should you make cake I would want a tasting at least.”

“Good,” that was it, the door shut and he sighed wondering why that mysteriously infuriating member to the team he was bound to had barely spent more than two minutes speaking to him at a time and seemed to slip from his company as soon as possible. It wasn’t fear he could tell that difference and proved with the random jests tossed his way, not at his expense, but out of observations or random giggle inducing thoughts popping into that puzzling head of yours. Sharing was an abundant theme, always with a plethora of scarves, hats, blankets, pillows, anything fuzzy, soft or fort worthy materials you were the go to woman to consult. Always answering with an endless amount of knowledge even the most distinguished on the team had tried to stump for how deep the depths of the sea of knowledge you had to draw from. You had millions of words at your mercy and yet for him they had gone scarce in turn for hundreds of hours of kindness and selfless shadings of property and even space as you’d helped to renovate a room of yours so that he might have a more suitable layout to his apartment to fit the Asgardian standard without so much as a flinch. You, him and Peter shared the same floor, and while the youngest member was off taking courses in his university he’d burst information from classes to whomever seemed to trigger that booby trap the kitchen was all yours.

Another form of magic for him as a child was cooking, the billions of combinations of ingredients, temperatures, cooking styles and means of even plating the meals fascinated him to no end and while he couldn’t seem to master the process of rising dough quiet yet he did enjoy stealing a loaf and block of cheese to slice and nibble on to his heart’s desire while diving away into his next read.

That was how your acquaintance began, he never even knew anyone else lived on this floor until the scent of freshly baked bread practically levitated his book clinging self to the kitchen where a simple ‘hello’ came with an offering of a tray of a whole warm loaf joined by pre sliced block of cheese and the drink of his naming and he was back to his corner to dive back in again with his nibbling spread. Sounds and smells of whatever magic you were brewing up seemed to keep him on edge, he couldn’t catch you cooking or baking, always when you were ready to serve him up a spare helping, and now ‘Did he like cake?’ The absurd notion as if he hadn’t been besotted with everything you had graced him with possession of.

Again the same tray was brought in and left out in his own sunlit dining room. The adorably frail ‘bon a petit’ alerted him that his food was here and to the side his book was laid face down not having been looked at since your head had first left his doorway. Centered on a small plate was a mirror glazed perfectly squared single serving cake in black with galaxy splatters all over it in silvers, greens and blues. Daintily on the top were white chocolate dipped strawberry slices arranged in the shape of a crown halting him a moment to smirk at the perfect dessert. Not one to wish to cherish freezing moments from this planet out his phone was drawn and he snapped several pictures from several angles then set aside at the lift of his fork on the flat napkin opposite the crown shaped napkin below the crystal glass half filled with chilled milk. One slice and his jaw dropped eyeing the twelve layers in this oddity of a cake. And in he dove humming and smiling like a child sneaking into some secret treasured place only they knew and claimed as their own tasting each layer both on its own after a full bite of all layers he had to pause in a break of wonder for how this combination had come to you until the tear inducing sight of the empty plate was left in front of him.

You weren’t home but with a raving review typed on his typewriter, another gift from you at his irritation for the laser projected tablet and printer Tony had suggested only made him storm away clenching his jaw for not having a physical copy of his thoughts, left on your doorknob in a bag reused from another gift giving time the traditional presentation of desserts had been given the green light to continue.

Months this had continued and all the same there was one ingredient he couldn’t place, one he had never tasted before. And after another recipe had been added to the book he had made of your gifted desserts he again found the floor empty except for him. Now was his chance, you had just restocked the pantry and the following day was another baking day, so to sleuthing he went. Each and every ingredient he tasted, always avoiding the one fruit he was forbidden, the one only lovers exchanged in an offer of matrimony after lengthy shows of a life of comfort to provide for their partner. “She wouldn’t choose that.” He said sampling the bitter baking chocolate bar off a crumb from the corner he wrapped again magicking the wrapper together again to pull out the box of mint he claimed a tiny nibble of a leaf. “It couldn’t be,” he said moving the box of berries aside to grab a jar of caramel he knew wasn’t it.

With a sigh he relented having sampled everything in each cabinet and the pantry except for that impossible choice in that box. And after a glance around from inside he claimed one of the berries and popped it between his lips sealing the lid back on in his move to close that fridge door and sprint for his room as if to have an alibi had someone else been here to walk into the pristine kitchen. Panted warm breaths fell down his pursed lips from his nose at his place back against the locked door to his apartment and in the silent empty apartment his tongue twitched moving the berry to his back teeth to begin savoring the forbidden fruit. Down to the floor his body fell in the buckling of his legs. Weeks now you had been giving him a simple question inside a delectable box and weeks he had been giving the same resounding answer.

That was the ingredient, what he couldn’t name, what he couldn’t comprehend, that simple question tucked in this little berry.

A question that without the presentation of a gift of his own his answer had been again and again, no.

He had to fix it and knowing tonight was a lavish affair of Tony’s making you would be dressed to the nines and ready for his surprise. There was one place he knew you had wanted to go but was always stumped for a way there or reason to go all on your own and that would be the perfect spot to have time all to yourselves and just enjoy one another.

So hours he waited and dressed in tux and tails he entered the room striding right up to your side luring eyes right to the saucer sized plate in his hand with a single raspberry seated on it. Across the room a subtle scent wafted and up the eyes on Thor and Valkyrie shot up as Loki stopped at the end of the table, where all others had already taken their seats, at your side savoring the sight of you in all your splendor. “OC, might I have a moment?” That turned your head from the discussion with Vision over the variations of sea sponges he had been reading up on and that same heart fluttering curious smile was his affirmative answer. “I have a present for you, however first, will you accept?” He said easing the plate down just below your eye level that your eyes fell to. The pause leaving Thor stuck in his task of slicing a piece off the meat he had taken not willing to wait for all others to be seated no matter the occasion unrelated to his rank.

Smiling again off the plate you took the raspberry, “Yes,” popping it between your lips hoping not to offend any possible Asgardian tradition and from behind his back a booklet of tickets was presented to you furrowing your brows curiously you opened the booklet and gasped reading the destination to which you were headed. Up you looked and Loki pointed to the wall of glass saying at the helicopter coming in for a landing on the roof, “Our lift.”

Up onto your feet you shot slinging your arms around his neck planting a lipstick kiss print onto his cheek to the shot of Thor’s knife straight through his plate into the glass table that spider webbed causing it all to drop to the ground. Portals from Dr Strange helped to move the food to the kitchen again stunning the hired staff for the evening while you gathered your floor length skirt to trot to your room, “I gotta pack!”

“Ugh!” Tony open mouthed looked to Thor still holding his knife gawking at his now engaged brother and equally as bewildered Valkyrie.

Loki stood smirk spreading in the turn on his heels stating on his stroll after you, “Do not forget to bring your favored apron. We are making a stop on my planet upon our final night of our travels. I have written to Mother about your bread making skills.”

All –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore, @mariannetora, @shes-a-killer-kween, @ggbbhehe4455

X Loki - @pastelhexmaniac

X Marvel-Cast - @himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @changlingkhat

#Loki x OC #Cake #Baking #Gifts #Courting Secrets #Forbidden Fruit

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ladynyctophilia · 4 years

Text

Avoiding Red

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Mature Themes

Pairings: Vivienne Tang x MC (Rozario)

(Vivienne’s point of view.)

Tick, tick, tick…

Hours had passed, but Vivienne was stuck in time. Her long, slender hands gripped the sides of the vanity. It was the only thing that kept her tethered to the real world. She didn't know how long she'd been standing like that. Hours? Minutes? She was in a statue like trance—a statue on the break of collapsing.

Rozario.

Rozario was gone.

My Rozario.

Vivienne blinked, wide-eyed and trembling, like an animal caught in a cage, struggling to control the storm of emotion that churned inside. She glanced at the mirror but hissed as the invisible noose yanked her gaze away. She choked.

I'm a monster.

But her gaze hardened.

No. Look at yourself.

Begrudgingly, Vivienne lifted her head, heavy with demons, and locked eyes with the enemy in the mirror. Herself.

I promised her.

Vivienne declared to herself, unblinking, her heart pounded as threatening as a war drum. The Poppy escaped, but at what cost? Their newest member paid the price. It made Vivienne want to wrap herself up in a black hole and cease to exist. Without Rozario to color her life, she felt empty, numb to everything. A woman in red, walking alone in a world of black and white. No diamonds could satisfy this river of misery. How long could she swim before she drowned?

If I held on tighter...

A crack of emotion rippled across Vivienne's features as an anguished cry ripped out from her throat. She never cried, but here she was crying, screaming with the voice of a thousand sirens, shoving off all the contents on her vanity. Glass shattered, and the sound of chaos became her music: dance sad girl, dance.

Glass soared in every direction, obliterated on the floor. The perfume began to pool out and around the shattered bottles, like blood escaping the veins. Some shards of glass even managed to puncture Vivienne's skin, but she didn't notice, or maybe she didn't care. Besides her jagged breaths, the room was quiet again. The smells, however, were quite loud, tangling for dominance.

I can't do this.

Vivienne thought to herself as her hair ghosted over the glass-covered surface of the vanity. With shame, the tears were beginning to burn, so she stroked her ring in search for comfort, but it brought her none. No. With quick realization, Vivienne gasped, yanking the ring off as if it might burn her. The last person she used it on was Rozario. Her heart did a few somersaults—the bad kind.

I stabbed Rozario.

Her breath hitched.

I poisoned her.

Making a choice was one thing, but accepting it? Her body collapsed on the vanity, tears mapping down her already wet cheeks. This crippling burden made it to overwhelming to stand. Like a racehorse pushing past its limit, she wasn't physically unable to continue. Besides her rapid breaths, she didn't make a sound and completely disregarded the state of her makeup.

There was no other choice.

A voice from a past Vivienne chimed in. A last-minute attempt to justify what she had done.

Without that poison to slow down her heart, she would have bled out.

"She could already be dead," Vivienne winced. She could feel what was left of her heart sliding into the pit of her stomach. Vivienne groaned into a cough, clearing her throat. "Ugh," Vivienne silently cursed in french, rubbing her temples to soothe a growing headache.

Okay. That's enough.

She needed to get up. She needed a plan.

After that, much-needed outburst, Vivienne had once more regained control and recovered her mask, but she felt terrifyingly empty. Like everything human had been stolen with Rozario, but finally, Vivienne found her feet, dragging her gloved hands down her rapidly aging face.

Fuck.

Vivienne thought as she glanced at the mirror and took in her appearance. Emotions were never good for the skin.

Regret hung in the air, and a small part of her knew she should have just left in Venice like she originally planned. Then this day would have never happened. Rozario would have never been shot, and Vivienne wouldn't have known this avalanche of agony. She had tolerated heartbreak before, but never to this extent. It was like the entire world had swallowed her, with nowhere else to run, and when there was no escape, Vivienne would make her own escape.

Rozario was gone.

She repeated in her head. The one-hundredth declaration was not as grueling, but none of The Poppy knew where their prized artist was….or IF she was. Seeing Rozario fall off the helicopter was like something from a bad dream, but it wasn’t a dream. She winced at the memory. The gamble with the poison might have saved Rozario from bleeding out, but it didn't save Vivienne from the betrayal that masked Rozario's face. Vivienne didn't have time to explain, and now she might never get to explain, and maybe that was the best thing for Rozario. A reminder to the young artist that life with The Poppy wasn't a vacation, yes they lived a life of freedom, but at the end of the day they were criminals with a lot of money on their heads.

Very suddenly, Vivienne became acutely aware of the objects in her room that were stained with Rozario's presence. Her eyes twitched, and her mind went from everything to radio silence. Rozario's half-finished sketchbook rested on the table with a dull pencil nested nearby, and near the door were her sandals, worn from their lighthearted adventures in the major cities they've visited, and Vivienne didn't even want to begin thinking about her lover's clothes that waited to be worn in HER closet.

Oh no. Don't look.

She looked. She looked at the bed, their bed. It's where Rozario should be right now. Nowhere else. With possessiveness, the fire was relit and bulldozed over any control that Vivienne had JUST regained, and without skipping a beat, Vivienne went on a rampage. The thief was no longer in control of her own body as she ripped down the curtains, pushed over the couch, flipped over the table, and shattered every mirror insight. Red. Red. Red. RED!!! With her leather gloves torn, blood now dripped from Vivienne's clenched fists, a matching addition to her cape, but Vivienne remained unfazed as she turned her gaze towards her next victim.

The bed.

Bundling up the expensive sheets in her arms, Vivienne marched over to the open window and flung the sheets out, watching as they were stolen by the wind and never seen again.

Huffing and puffing, Vivienne was breathing like she had just finished a marathon and lost. Even the air was begging for mercy, but a spark of morning temporarily blinded her.

How DARE you.

Vivienne's gaze pierced out the window as shades of purples and pinks bled into the Paris skies. The world had no knowledge of Vivienne's grief. It merely just carried on without being swayed. It was a reminder of how insignificant their lives really were. That was a nature Vivienne desired to possess, but when it came to her precious Rozario, she couldn't. Shame. It was going to be a beautiful sunrise, if not day. She blinked out tears, a cool down from her rage as she admired the delicate colors that swam in the skies. It reminded her of Rozario.

A heavy fisted knock jerked Vivienne out of her head. Leon.

"Vivienne?" Leon called out in a gentle voice as if she might come out and bite.

Oh, Leon.

She could hear his big feet shuffling around nervously.

"Yes, darling?" She answered, but made no move to open the door, purposefully restraining any emotion in her voice that would give her away. Now, she had time to examine the full state of her room. It was a mess to say the least, and with the sun on the rise, many pieces of shattered glass glittered like a thousand tiny suns smiling at Vivienne specifically. She glared at them in return. Besides the glass, the bed was no more, if it wasn't broken, it was turned over, and the few plants that Vivienne kept were smashed on the ground. Leon couldn't see this or the state she was in. NONE of The Poppy could see this. She could feel the warmth of their concern from miles away, and she knew that Rozario held a special place in each of their hearts too...but with Rozario gone, Vivienne remained more distant than.

"Zoe tracked the people who took Rozario. She's alive, and they have her in a hospital, eight hours away from Paris." Leon did well to hide the urgency in his voice, but the low rumbles of concern gave him away. "We don't know how long we have."

There was a pause as Vivienne closed her eyes, allowing the new information to seep into her being, finding strength from it. Rosario was alive. That should have been enough to lift her injured spirit, but knowing that the government had her amor in their clutches was enough to make Vivienne see RED.

"Red…." she breathed, knowing the wave of temporary contentment the safe word would bring. "C-can you get us there in five?" Vivienne spoke up, a little shakier than she wanted.

"Easily," Leon declared without an ounce of hesitation. He was always the hero. Vivienne could have smiled at that, but she didn't.

Now shaking, Vivienne let out a tired sigh, "wonderful," she almost laughed, "I will be out in five." Leon didn't respond, and Vivienne could hear the jingle of keys as his heavy steps faded away. They had an understanding. No words were necessary. Rozario was in a hospital, and they were going to get her out. It wouldn't be the first time Vivienne had broken someone out of jail. Leon and Nadia were proof. How could a hospital be different, if not easier?

After Leon left to start the car, Vivienne excused herself to the bathroom. There wasn't any time to reapply a full face of makeup, but she recovered what she could, and exactly five minutes later, Vivienne marched out of her room with her red cape in tow and red lipstick threatening. Vivienne Tang was a woman in love, and the universe feared for whoever dared to stand in Vivienne Tang's way. They were going to get Rozario back because she was a Poppy and The Poppy were masters of doing the impossible.

To be continued....

#vivienne tang #vivienne x mc #queen of thieves lovestruck #leon kwan #lovestruck #fanfiction #HEIST GONE WRONG #angst #being gay and doing crimes

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vynnyal · 4 years

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Throwing random thoughts, headcanons, and a variety of pasta at the wall (but only those having to do with vessels and/or their biology this time): The Thrilling Third Installment™

...aka pretending i can be dark and dramatic jskhdfd

Thk's larger form is not the standard, but the exception. Thk was cited as being "raised and trained to prime form", which people take to mean pk assisted in the vessel's natural growth. However, that conclusion leaves a lot of unanswered questions, most important of which being “then what about Ghost?” In short, I think that train of thought is backwards. Vessels can't grow- they are ageless, and immortal. We know this due to Ghost, despite living as long if not longer than thk, being completely unchanged over the years. The only thing pk trained into "prime form" was thk’s mind and fighting prowess. Their body... well, I think it was mutated. Most likely either directly by pk, or ordered by him- and with the shenanigans happening over in the sanctum, I wouldn't be surprised if Soul was involved, too. In any case, it was in no means natural. Vessels are corpses reanimated by void; neither corpses nor void tend to make drastic changes on their own all that often. Whether pk predicted the vessel’s “issues” and intended to manually “upgrade” them from the beginning, it's hard to say. But... yeah. Unless Ghost goes out of their way to make themselves grow- if its even possible, now that pk is gone- its fairly safe to say, they never will.

...with that in mind, we are promptly gonna ignore that for the rest of this post lmaooo

Grown-up vessels wouldn't look like thk; while they are described as being raised into "prime form"... prime form, to whom? Rather than looking like an idealized pk soldier, it sounds much more fitting that they’d have an entirely different, natural adult form. Consider: their cloaks being longer and fuller, perhaps filling out into something with a more practical use to their “species”. Better yet, they could even grow up to be more beast-like. Feral vessels, YEhaW

The black egg temple is cited as being "built to sustain [vessels]", yet it can't be their lifespan that is sustained. Rather, it seems the egg is specifically designed to keep the radiance from tearing thk apart, physically and/or mentally. Ngl its p obvious, but worth noting.

Sorta-au where Ghost’s shade has 8 eyes, and/or is generally all-around more cryptid-looking.

@ the sharpshadow charm and the strange, 6-eyed creature their shade turns into: kudos to this post, they bring up something super interesting- the creature not only resembles the Shade Lord, but the lord outright becomes it during the Embrace the Void cutscene.

makes me respect the ol’ civilization a whole lot more if a single charm can turn a baby shade into a baby lord.

The concept of finding ghosts unconscious body, laying next to a corpse, while they battle in their dreams. Alt: when ghost enters the dream realm, their shade leaves their shell... And protects their body from harm.

If steel soul mode is taken as canon, just how did ghost and the shade meet? Alt: Ghost may never have “met” it at all, as it technically doesn’t exist in that mode- instead, its more of a metaphor than an actual entity.

What the vessels looked like- or were supposed to look like- before the void. Alt: a story following a child, alive and untouched, that somehow managed to be spared. They could even have a gender. Alt alt: the void intentionally spared them for some purpose, or even out of simple kindness- or at least, something that resembles kindness.

Re: the shade inexplicably having a nail: all the vessel's swords are crafted from “will-bearing rock”- of which i’ve come to lovingly call living stone- and as such, are of void themselves. That's how the shade seems to conjure up its own copy; it merely shapes it, from the ground, using void. And, while more of a stretch, Ghost’s nail being some sort of living stone/pale ore alloy could explain just how Ghost can do seemingly pretty crazy things with an otherwise ordinary nail. Better, while 100% a baseless hc, its material might actually enable Ghost to build it up and modify it to suite their size as they grow older. finally, a logical reason adult Ghost has an adult-sized nail-claymore. hdsfghjfghdsjf

On that same thought: Ghost outright invented the "art" of manipulating- or creating- living stone to make their nail. ...gimme a sec. The other escaped vessels have nails, too, right? Either meaning they also discovered this ability... or that theres some legitimate ground for the “vessel gang” hc. Or, yanno, i’m reading too much into Ari’s sprites but sHHhh

How did all the vessels know to race to the top? They seemed to be falling merely because they had just been born and had literal, actual baby strength; yet not only did they inexplicably risk everything competing to the top, they somehow knew death was waiting if they lost. Alt: pk just, bringing a fucking megaphone and telling them like a sports announcer.

What if Ghost made it, and instead of falling, they managed to joined thk at the lip? What would pk do? Push them off the edge??? Or just adopt them both?? Oh fuck au where they're raised as twin sacrifices. Or worse yet, they’re raised unequally, and one is trained only as an afterthought. As a backup.

Alternatively, pk keeps all the vessels au, only a few years later when they're grown. Pk now has a literal army of pure knights. Radiance is fucked.

Hm. If vessels were fully coherent entities from the moment of birth, why was there a crib in the white palace? Did... did they use it? I have a feeling team cherry made that asset before the abyss scene lmaooo alt: they did, uh, use the crib. Cue a very awkward scene of thk, clearly not a normal baby, staring at wl with like... idk, the poofy baby hat and pacifier. I can’t tell if the image is more funny or more sad rn shdfgfjsdgg

The og notes that inspired this post, in case my rambling makes more sense (and w/o the awful comic hjsfgjsdfhj): Oh oh OH i GET it now. The void is all about "will" and whatnot, right? And shades are "fragments of a lingering will"- will, like the one you leave after your death, but instead of inheritance its the vessels' desires...last regrets.... DAMN team cherry, that symbolism is clever as heck. That took me a while. Kinda funny how a will is, technically, a person's last regrets Like I knew they were last regrets but I didn't understand WHY. Duh, it's because they're literally Made Of Will. They are the vessel's "wills". I'm so stupid.

Ghost, walking thru the abyss, getting increasingly fed up / freaked out, ducking into a crack in the wall. They follow the crack into the Scream Chamber, pause, then exhale in relief that this was EXACTLY what they needed.

Ghost's shade rolling up its void-sleeves like “fuck it, ima defeat thk myself”

Why was thk's sword there? Was its pedestal decayed? Did it fall from their body? Was it place there as an afterthought, or hurriedly? alt: taking thk's sword before freeing them, but doing the mom thing like you're grounding them hdhfjchjch

I can’t believe it just occured to me now, but... as objectivley stupid as the vessel’s test was, Ghost... technically came in second place. What if that whole scene was a metaphor? Because really, it’s just too silly to take seriously. To do so isn’t too far fetched, either; many other elements in the game’s story are better taken as symbolic or metaphorical, anyways. Take the PoP cutscene- while it could’ve been a literal moment, where they just happened to find themselves standing around and took the moment to appreciate each other... imo it makes much more sense to read it as the concept of their faint ~forbidden love~ and parental pride itself. Or, better yet, the scene at the end of the 4th pantheon. Sorry, but I severely doubt that was an actual event. What I’m trying to get at is the significance of “second place” in the cutscene. My brain is too fried to chase down any other possible connections to this theme rn (if thats even what the theme is), but even without proof, the theory smooths out a few interesting tidbits related to just how Ghost could tough it out when all others failed. All except for #1, anyway. Either way I’m just happy to take this as an excuse to pretend that cutscene didn’t literally happen because like, l m a o

The story of a small group of vessels as they work together to escape hallownest. (aka the aforementioned vessel gang hc... im sure theres a more formal name but you get the idea). Its impossible to tell how long it took them to discover that near-invisible hole, the last exit remaining after the king ordered the abyss to be sealed up. Once they did, however, the remaining vessels were quick to make a desperate scramble to escape- only for the entrance to suddenly crumble shut, far, far too soon. The remaining 8 slowly made their way through deepnest, their numbers quickly dwindling as the jouney started to take its toll. The group was nearly wiped out by those terrible, spiney-legged creatures that used their own kinship against them. Only three finally escaped the deep, yet only two made it through the basin- the third, largest sibling, left to fight alone againt a hopeless battle, just to buy the others time. It was in greenpath, so close yet so far to their goal, that the second succumbed to the infection. It was a mercy killing, that nail through the heart. The last, after all of that, finally made their way to the very precipice of howling cliffs, hesitating for just a moment to gaze out upon the still-fresh ruins of hallownest. But only for a moment, before Ghost jumps down to begin their journey beyond this wretched place.

A vessel running from its shade as it tirelessly pursues them, the vessel refusing to put it to rest.

tw: suicide, + personal on main

Ugh ugh ugh ugh Either thk was fully conscious and in terrible pain for all those years... or they couldn’t feel anything at all. The former is horrible, but imagining thk waking up, chained, unable to do anything but wait for Ghost to heed their call? Did they turn their nail on themselves to help Ghost, end the pain, or some awful mix of both? For someone who has personally dealt with close friends and family that struggled with suicide themselves, hollowknight is one of the worst horror stories I've ever seen. And the fact that the story is so personal, so open to interpretation? The fact that each character is so genuine yet vague enough to be read completely differently to someone else’s biases? Its why hollow knight- the game, and the character- will forever be one of the most powerful stories to me.

in short, good LORD THIS GAME IS SO FUCKING SAD

#hollow knight #Thonking abt hollowknight #blabbing.txt #i should probably proof-read this.... uuuaaaah #anyways #@ that last one: i had to take a week-long break after tiso died. so like. you can imagine my reaction to thk #other than that some of these are VERY OLD #and dsfhhfdj the test one literally just occurred to me #sweet catharsis.... fuck you pk....#also.... yeah. vessels have a p bad time all considered #ghost is like 'i know i look 7 but im actually 1000 years old!'#then hornet punts them into the sun #OH WHAUFHDFKJ

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 4 years

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Aurora James prompt: ‘You’re the best thing that ever happened to me’ ♣️♥️♠️

Written by @evoedbd

Aurora James usually paced when she was stressed. Specifically, she paced in the dark corner where her mini bar had sat since her first night in the Mansion. Normally, she was as tightly wound as a leopard, prowling from wall to wall with her feline sharp amber eyes glowing and metaphoric tail twitching. Normally, her sheer shirts barely clung to her tight muscles, enhancing the delicious curve of her shoulders and finely muscled biceps. Which was perhaps what made it so surprising to find the air still when Lucy entered the sapphic lion’s den. She didn’t see the prowling predator, nor the sharp alertness Aurora often had when overwhelmed. Instead, the Hustler was still, her back resting against the wall and knees lifted to her chest. The Hustler cuddled her knees, keeping her eyes squeezed wilfully shut, as if denying herself sight might allow her to resist her biggest vice.

Alcohol. Even from across the room, Lucy could smell it in the air. The open bottle mocked her, lingering out of Aurora’s reach. Despite the fact it rested out of reach, Lucy could see the way Aurora’s body leaned towards the bottle, even if only subtly. There was always that pull, an allure which mocked all of Aurora’s progress. One week. The Hustler had not touched alcohol for over a week now, and the effects were so painfully clear. She trembled often, even on the hottest days. She was irritable, a starved beast snapping at anything that dared to come close. Lucy had no such fears. Aurora could bite, she could claw and scream, yet she was incapable of driving Lucy away. Not when the Californian born girl had no intention of allowing Aurora to suffer through this alone. Lucy made no effort to disguise her intentions as she strode across the room, moving until she was sitting next to Aurora, between her and the bottle.

Aurora simply sighed and let the shadows embrace her, let the artistic naked women along the walls lead her down memory lane, trying to find those rare few moments which made her feel alive, instead of just mindless pleasure. Sometimes, if she felt generous, she would try to recall their faces. Who was the first? Who really shook her world for that delicate first time? Had she trusted them? Had she begged as she made so many do since? Or, had it been Franco’s idea? Had that last shred of innocence been traded just as the rest of her was? Had he used his tool beyond the purposes Aurora understood?

Aurora was no fool, nor was she mindless. Her memory was razor sharp, at least when it needed to be. An opponent from ten years prior could return and Aurora would remember their style. How much she had taken. How to push and play the game until she had them on the edge of their sanity. A quick glance could have her memorizing and calculating in ways that left many to shame… except the Valentine Gangs Little Lamb. That gorgeous blonde with doe eyes the colour of storm clouds, and a wit that struck like lightning. The Little Lamb had a memory like a camera. She could flick through her history like a catalog, then calculate complex sums off the top of her head. Lucy Kim was the perfection Aurora had always strove to be, yet that had its downsides too. Lucy did not have the blessing of forgetting the faces of those who hurt her, even after those men were in the grave. She recalled her moments of fear with such clarity it gave Aurora shivers. When Lucy finally spoke of her nightmares, it was cold and clinical, something so far from her usual sunny personality that is still left Aurora chilled to the core.

Her head throbbed insistently, reminding her that salvation was within reach. All she had to do was overpower the lock of her muscles, or was it release them? All she needed to do was reach for that bottle and her suffering would be abated… and Lucy would let her. Oh, she knew Lucy would let her grab that bottle, would sit there as she downed the lot. Lucy would bathe her if she puked all over herself, just as she’d tenderly tuck her into the impossibly large bed. Lucy would hold her through another round of withdrawals and denial; support her as she fell back into toxic habits. But that would absolutely break the blonde. Lucy was too kind-hearted to leave, even if Aurora’s behaviours began to destroy her. She’d never abandon the older woman, never leave, not even if she was destroyed in the process. That thought hurt Aurora more than any of her physical symptoms. How could she do that? How could she break this beautiful young woman? How could she face that disappointment? It was true, Aurora had introduced Lucy to the criminal world. She had allowed the girl to shoot guns and drive fast cars. She’d taught Lucy how to count cards and cheat almost anybody at Texas Hold ‘Em. But, in all of that, Aurora had never, ever attempted to make Lucy turn evil. She’d never wanted to destroy that light within the younger woman. No matter how much simpler it would be if she had, if she’d not been lured into actually caring.

Ugh. This was a mess.

Aurora James was the Valentine’s Hustler. She drank. She fucked. She went breaking hearts who dared wish for more. She didn’t sit around talking about her feelings. Not to her family. Not to herself. And especially not to doe eyed younger women with a smile so pure it made her believe in goodness again. Then again, she had watched so many fall victim to that smile. Chance had slowly caved, unable to keep his full glare on the adorable Little Lamb. Yoshimitsu had been instantly smitten, going out of his way to ensure her comfort. Irving had opened his intelligent mind and heart, embracing the girl as his little sister. Ash offered gentle smiles and playful gestures, appreciating her almost as much as he loved her dog. Even Mateo found it within himself to soften for her. Was it such a shock that Aurora James fell victim to the Valentine kryptonite too?

Alcohol was a comfortable familiar. An orgasm was an orgasm, and she’d fucked her way through half of LA by this point. On the one hand, she wasn’t so sure that untold number was something to brag about anymore. But on the other, over half of LA had found her attractive. No, not her, what she offered. That was a confidence booster and then some. However not a single person had graced her bed since they had taken in the Little Lamb… darn it all! Aurora hadn’t even WANTED anybody in her bed. It wasn’t like offers weren’t there, it was simply that there weren’t anymore people she could reach out to for casual sex without giving them expectations despite her clear words. Without breaking their fragile hearts. She was tired of it. Tired of pretending that she didn’t enjoy curling around her lover, inhaling the scent of their hair before she even opened her eyes. Or that she had no desires for intimacy… That she didn’t need! It had absolutely nothing to do with her being tamed. Damn it all! Was the Little Lamb taking away her sex drive? Not only her desire for drink, but her addiction to sex as well?

What the actual fuck was wrong with her?

The Little Lamb was too good, to pure for the Gangster’s hands to ruin. Aurora knew this, even as she clung that little bit tighter. Was it so wrong that she wanted something good for once? That she wanted to see that smile grow that little bit more with pride? Or see those beautiful eyes soften in that unique way? Dangerous? Absolutely. Letting somebody in this close was absolutely reckless. It was allowing someone ways to destroy her, and the Valentines. It was allowing someone the power to crush her, destroy everything she was… but was it wrong?

“I need a drink.” Aurora whispered, finally letting those devastating words through her fine lips. Every word tasted foul, worse than soured wine and off juice bubbling over her dexterous tongue. The tang was unavoidable, no matter how she moved her tongue or clamped her amber eyes shut to imagine something better. Something sweeter.

“You said need. Don’t you want to drink?” Lucy’s quiet voice was so gentle, so soothing in Aurora’s ears. The Mexican couldn’t help but sigh, allowing herself to fall into the warm, waiting body offering comfort. A hug. Who could have known that a hug could cure all ailments, even if temporarily? Falling into Lucy’s arms was almost like surrendering to the warmth of a delightful bath; allowing every muscle to relax and simply enjoy the sensation. Aurora found herself drowning in the scents of expensive lotions and shampoos. They were her products, yet somehow they just smelt better on Lucy. Sweeter. Purer. Scents Aurora used to inspire seduction gave off comfort when applied to Lucy’s pale skin… how? How could the exact same scent be so different on her? It was as if none of the scents wanted to corrupt the goodness of Lucy Kim. A sentiment Aurora indulged in.

“Not anymore. It’s just…” Aurora couldn’t finish her sentence. It was just… what? Habit? Security? A way to have the years pass in a pleasant blur? Something to soothe the agony of her sordid past? Her abandonment issues? When it came down to it, why did alcohol soothe her so? For so many years it had been the balm, the remedy. It chased traumas away and kept her feeling warm and fuzzy. It added that edge of danger to her gambling, softening her just enough that her opponents provided an entertaining challenge… or at least slightly more challenge than just handing her their cash.

“Just…” Aurora struggled to find the words. Why was its burn so ineffective now? Why did the thought of it turn her tastebuds to ash? The answer was all around her, gazing at her with those loving grey eyes that stole her breath. They were twinkling, filled with so many emotions that they made Aurora’s world spin. Surely it wasn’t her head… ok, it was definitely her head. The world hadn’t looked this clear for years, yet all she wanted to admire was Lucy. Funny how that worked. The first time in years she was stone cold sober and the only beauty she wanted to admire was that of a breathtaking woman… not everything to change.

“Take your time, Rory. I’m here with you.” Lucy mumbled, bending down to press her lips to the crown of Aurora’s head. Honestly, it hurt, seeing Rory reduced to this. A shaking mess, a shadow of her usual self. So small and broken in the face of a crippling addiction. Aurora was so strong, lithe muscle and feminine curves which left so many in awe, yet that strength melted the instant Lucy pulled the Mexican into her lap. This wasn’t AJ, the Valentine Hustler who had bankrupted Casinos in her boredom. This wasn’t the woman who was comfortable with weapons and martial arts. This was not AJ, the woman who broke romantic hearts with her honesty and made legends with her prowess. This was Aurora. Rory. Lucy’s Rory. This was the little girl who’d been abandoned when her family was deported. This was the woman who was broken when her father figure rejected her sentiment. Broke the illusion of affection to inform Aurora she was nothing but a tool. This was the woman who was continuously discarded and beaten down whenever she dared open her heart. Yet here she was, braving heartbreak yet again, placing herself in Lucy’s unworthy hands. For once, Aurora wasn’t the one holding her wounds together. She allowed herself to bleed in the most deviating of ways. Tears of broken frustration silently trailed down her cheeks, each more potent than a bullet to Lucy’s heart.

“I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” Lucy affirmed, as she slowly began to run her delicate fingers through Aurora’s chocolate hair, her trimmed nails scratching ever so gently at Aurora’s scalp. She cradled the Hustler’s head to her chest, allowing Aurora to nestle between her breasts. There was something so inexplicably sweet about the gesture, despite how it may appear to the outside world. Some might expect Aurora to be lewd, to nip or lick at the cleavage offered so freely. To allow the filthiest things to drop from her lips in that sinfully honeyed tone. Instead, Aurora made a soft sound, one Lucy could only classify an exhausted mewl, and snuggled closer.

“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, Little Lamb, and I don’t want to lose any more of my life.” The muffled words came so easily once Aurora stopped fighting herself. It felt entirely too good to surrender, to close her eyes and nuzzle into the warm darkness. To feel the gentle movements against her skull. Those soft hands delicately lured Aurora from her hiding place, guiding her to gaze upwards into stormy skies. Looking into Lucy’s eyes was more blinding than gazing into the sun, even though Aurora’s vision stayed clear. She lost herself in the swirling storm of pride, filled with affection and understanding. This beautiful soul had looked into the darkness and chose to remain, illuminating shadows with a smile so gentle that Aurora felt her own eyes prickle with more unshed tears.

Lucy had been there with her through it all. The sleepless nights, the unimaginable stomach pains and racing heart. How fevered she’d felt, along with her increased confusion and irritability. The terrifying hallucinations that’d had her screaming. In that moment, Aurora swore to herself she’d never become reliant on alcohol again. No matter how many times she slipped and had to suffer through the painful process of detoxing, she planned to fight it. Without thought, she extended her foot, allowing her toes to tap the top of the bottle. For one terrifying moment, it tittered, almost acting as a representation of Aurora’s difficult life. Then, it fell, crashing to the floor and spewing its poisonous contents all over the carpet. It was freeing, even though it reeked. She’d done it. When faced with temptation she had found the strength to deny herself. To turn it away. It was a weight off her chest, even as her heart seemed to grow three sizes at the delighted laugh that escaped Lucy. The blonde leaned down, pressing her lips to Aurora’s tear stained cheek in a loving gesture before whispering.

“I am so proud of you.”

#Anonymous #lovestruck #women of lovestruck #aurora james #aurora x mc #gil aurora #gangsters in love #gangsters in love aurora #fluff #sporadic sunday #answered #lovestruck headcanons

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