#which is my worst nemesis and there was no one around to help | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

juyeonszn · 6 months

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I LOOK BETTER UNDER YOU

PAIRING choi chanhee x f!reader

WORD COUNT 2.62k

GENRES smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, TW: LEWIS STRUCTURES/CHEMISTRY TERMS 🤢🤢🤢, academic rivals to something idk, kev and jichang appearances, chanhee is a cocky little shit, vaginal fingering, edging, exhibitionism lowkey, there’s not p in v action but they are in a public space so…. take with that what u will

SUMMARY aside from excelling at literally everything else, choi chanhee was also really fucking good at getting on your last nerve.

MORE my brain hurts LOL anyway fawntober day???? 7 holy fuck that is actually insane… ANYWAY shout out reese for being my beta as always <3 and also shout out @sungbeam for the idea <3 laurv u bestie!!! pls reblog if u enjoyed :)

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri

You felt stupid. Never in your life had you ever struggled to learn a concept, usually understanding on the first go around. This was the case for a majority of your courses. However, for some reason you just couldn’t quite grasp Lewis Structures in your Chemistry class.

Everything else seemed simple enough, your professor explaining them in a way that made them sound easy. They were anything but. You found yourself stressing over whether or not you could fully comprehend the bonds between atoms in time for your midterm. With the way it was going for you, that hope appeared to get less and less realistic.

“Have you thought about going to tutoring?” Your friend, Kevin, asks as you sit across from each other in one of the library’s study rooms, your chemistry textbook opened up to the section on Lewis Structures.

“I mean, no, I haven’t. I just think they’d judge me, considering I have the second highest GPA in our department.” You huff, scribbling down even more notes on the concept, as if you didn’t already have everything you needed to know. God, being a woman in STEM was so hard.

“That’s your problem,” Kevin rolls his eyes, working on his communications homework simultaneously. “Your ego is too damn big. Maybe if you toned it down a notch and set aside your pride, you’d be able to grow the balls to actually ask for help.”

You’re offended, honestly. Because as much as he was right, he was simultaneously very wrong. It wasn’t that you didn’t have the courage to ask for assistance. It was the fact that your biggest rival was the person in charge of the science department’s tutoring lab. He had the highest GPA in your year and you couldn’t stand the thought of losing to him. Let alone showing your weak side.

Aside from excelling at literally everything else, Choi Chanhee was also really fucking good at getting on your last nerve. You were thankful that he wasn’t in your Chemistry lecture, lest he made fun of you for all the questions you asked pertaining to your struggles. He had a knack for crawling under your skin like a goddamn parasite, doing everything in his power to make sure you never felt a moment of peace as long as he was around.

You hated him. You hated him so much for all of the unnecessary competition and constant need to one-up you in every mutual category possible. You hated his overall overachievement to be better than you, to be above you at all costs. You hated his dumb pretty face.

So how could you turn to tutoring after all of that? It just wasn’t feasible. Kevin wouldn’t get it. He didn’t have an arch nemesis holding him back from success.

“That’s not it at all, Kev. But it’s whatever, I’ll figure this shit out myself.”

You could not figure that shit out by yourself. Midterms were a week and a half away, and you were still ripping your hair out over which structures were more dominant and other things of that nature. This was absolutely humiliating. Perhaps growing up as a gifted kid was the worst thing that could’ve happened to you.

With a frown permanently etched on your face, you glance over at your tablemate’s notes. He had messily scrawled examples of those damn Lewis Structures covering the sheet, eyes flickering back and forth between his notebook and the projector at the front of the lecture hall. Oh how badly you wished to be in his shoes, to decipher everything and anything to do with the dot structures presented to you.

Ji Changmin was by no means a genius. His intelligence levels were above average, but that was still below you. How could he understand this better than you? It made no sense. Then again, he was close friends with He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. That had to be the reason why. His friend was practically the Einstein reincarnate.

This meant that you couldn’t even express your difficulties with him either. Chanhee no doubtedly knew that you sat beside his friend. If you asked for his help, it would obviously circle back to him and you’d never hear the end of it. You’d never unhear the taunting voice of Choi Chanhee teasing you for asking Ji Changmin for assistance with fucking Lewis Structures. There really was no winning here.

As the lecture draws to a close and your professor reminds you to study for the fast approaching midterm, Changmin clears his throat beside you with a raised eyebrow. You look at him with thinly concealed surprise. So much for being subtle.

“I saw you looking at my notes,” he snorts. “You know, if you’re having a hard time with this chapter, you should just go to the tutoring lab. I’m assuming you haven’t because Chanhee hasn’t gloated about it yet. But if you were curious, he won’t be there today. He has to go to some meeting for the newspaper. You know that guy’s got like ten different clubs he’s a part of.”

You’re not sure why Ji Changmin would be on your side with this. In fact, it kind of makes you skeptical. You didn’t know how credible he was, so why would you trust this information? For all you knew, he could’ve been attempting to lure you right into a trap. However, despite the bit of laughter he exhibited, he didn’t appear to be lying. You were usually a pretty good judge of character.

That’s how you found yourself showing up to the tutoring lab later that evening.

It was located inside of the STEM building on the fourth floor, along with some of the offices belonging to several professors. You chose to go later at night with the knowledge that most students would be gone by that time. The lab was available for use until 9 PM on weekdays, and it was currently 8 PM.

Your grip on the strap of your bag tightens as you push open the see-through glass door of the lab, grateful for the evident emptiness. Though it also worries you, because there were no tutors around either. Maybe the slowness of a Thursday evening encouraged them to head home early. You decide to wait a few minutes anyway, just in case someone shows up.

That was, unfortunately, a very big mistake. As you’re pulling out your notes and textbook, you hear the low creak of the door opening. You think you might keel over and die when you’re suddenly face to face with The Choi Chanhee.

His lips curl up almost menacingly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well well well, look what the cat dragged in.”

“Shut the fuck up,” your teeth grit together. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting or something? Why are you here?”

“Ended early,” he shrugs. “The tutors have a habit of leaving prematurely when I’m not around, so I wanted to see if there was anyone here. Guess it’s my lucky day, huh?”

This dude was a walking headache for real. You were seriously going to walk out of the lab with a migraine if he kept talking like he was so fucking smart. He was, but he didn’t need to know that you thought that. His own ego was large enough without you inflating it even more.

“I’m going home.” You state simply, mouth drawn in a straight line. You didn’t have the patience for his aggravating ass tonight.

“Am I really that horrible that you won’t accept my aid? I heard that you’ve been having problems with Lewis Structures. I may like to joke around, but I’m not really a masochist who likes to watch people suffer,” Chanhee chuckles with a shake of his head. “You’re just so easy to rile up.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter, avoiding his piercing gaze. “But fine. If you’re actually gonna help me, I’ll let you just this once. I can’t afford to have this cost me a perfect midterm grade.”

He grins, something that looks conniving. You hate how much more attractive it makes him. You were thankful again for the fact that there were no other students present. It was embarrassing enough to be seen being civil with the worst person in the world.

Chanhee takes the seat beside you, turning it so he’s facing you. You keep your body squared to the table, flipping your textbook to the page on Lewis Structures and preparing a fresh sheet in your notebook. You feel your cheeks warm up with the attention on you, his arms still folded in front of him.

“S-So I don’t get the— um— I don’t— uh— I don’t understand the dominant— the dominant bonds,” your eyes squeeze shut, mortified by the amount of stuttering and fumbling over your words. “How do you— um— how do you determine them?”

He smiles at how cute you are, a shy side of you he’s never seen before. He was so used to you constantly arguing with him, used to you standing your ground and competing with him even when you knew he’d come out on top. He places an arm on the back of your chair, leaning in to read what was in your textbook although he didn’t need to. He just wanted an excuse to get closer to you.

“So you’re gonna want your formal charge to be as close to zero as possible. In order to calculate that, you’ll have to subtract the number of bonds divided by two and the number of electron pairs from the total number of valence electrons per individual atom,” Chanhee explains, pointing at the formula on the page. “How about I give you a couple examples to work on?”

You nod slowly, afraid your voice might betray you again. He jots down a few molecular examples on your notebook, pausing for a moment to nip at his lip and examine you. You blink, a little confused by the action.

“What are you doing?” There’s a slight crack in your tone.

“I have an idea,” he licks his lips. “To make this more rewarding for us both.”

Your brows furrow, his response further perplexing you. One of his hands situates itself on your thigh, your eyes widening. Of all days to wear a skirt, why did you have to choose today? You glance between his face and his hand, lips parted.

“Ch-Chanhee?”

“Yes, pretty?”

You don’t know why the nickname has your upper and lower heartbeats skipping, sweat forming on your palms. You’d always been too preoccupied despising him for being so much better at everything than you were. But right now, his fingers creeping beneath the denim of your skirt, all of that seemed to fly out of the window. You gasp as his fingertips reach the lace of your panties.

“I can make you feel good,” he says into your ear, thumb massaging your thigh. “I can make this worth your while if you do well for me.”

He was giving you fucking whiplash. One second he was teasing you for coming to the tutoring lab, and the next he was trying to coax you into coming quite literally. You think you’re the insane one, however, because you can’t conjure a logical reason to say no.

“Okay,” you breathe, shakily picking up your mechanical pencil. “Okay, I’ll do my best.”

You begin to work on the first molecule he wrote out, trying to ignore his slender fingers pushing aside your underwear and rubbing your clit gently. Your bottom lip quivers when his lips make contact with your neck, kissing up and down softly with each circle of his phalanges on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Chanhee presses two fingers inside of your cunt, smiling against your skin when you whimper, nearly dropping your pencil. You fight back tears threatening to spill from your eyes due to lack of reaction, his digits so skilled at working your pussy and looping that knot in your abdomen. Your legs spread wider as you attempt to finish the first example as quickly as possible, so he can knock you over that edge that seems so close now.

“D-Done,” you shiver, lids almost fluttering shut from pure bliss.

Chanhee judges your answer, fingers halting their movements when he recognizes an error. You whine, that taste of sweet release pulled right from under you like a rug. He tsks, kissing your temple as if he hadn’t just denied you an orgasm.

“That’s not the dominant structure. Try again.” He instructs, not continuing until you’ve picked up the pencil and rewrote the Lewis Structure.

You ignore his palm applying pressure to your clit as his fingers thrust in and out of your drooling cunt, lips sucking at the exposed base of your neck, where it meets your shoulder. Your focus zeroes in on completing this structure correctly, rearranging the electron bonds until they’re right. You feel your climax returning when he praises you for getting it this time.

“Such a smart girl,” he murmurs into your collarbone. “Now do the other one.”

He doesn’t stop his assault, increasing the pace of his fingers while you scribble out numbers and draw electron pairs. Your orgasm inches towards you, like a freight train going at full speed. Chanhee curls his middle finger, tripping you up and causing you to write down a wrong number on accident. Ever the perceptive, he relaxes his wrist and retracts his hand, the band in your stomach loosening along with it.

“Please, Chanhee,” you cry, tears beginning to roll down your cheeks. “Need to cum so bad.”

“Mm-mm,” he scolds. “Not until you finish the structure properly. C’mon, I know you can be a good girl for me.”

You force yourself to persevere, bottom lip between your teeth when he slips his fingers back into your pussy. Pretending like you weren’t on the cusp of euphoria was making you dizzy, but it was necessary if you wanted to reach it completely. You couldn’t handle a third denial.

Chanhee speeds up his fingers, adding his thumb on your clit for extra stimulation. It was like he did enjoy watching you suffer. Perhaps he really was a masochist. You scrawl the last electron bond of the structure, releasing the pencil from your grasp and throwing your head back with a low whine. He hums in appreciation at a job well done.

“Oh my god,” you moan softly, looking down at where his hand disappears in your skirt. “Feels s-so good.”

“Yeah?” Chanhee goads, peppering kisses on your jaw and nibbling at your pulse point. “Ready to cum for me, pretty? Gonna cum all over my fingers?”

You can’t even reply, his cocky voice filling your head as he finally permits your orgasm, walls convulsing and clenching around his digits with a wail. It hasn’t even occurred to you that you’re in a very public, very open space, where anyone could walk in at any given moment. Your brain is too foggy from your overstimulated cunt and the comprehension that Choi Chanhee just fucking fingered you to even consider the consequences of the location.

It only takes a few seconds for you to come to, your body catching up with your head. You look at Chanhee with eyes resembling those of a prey cornered by its predator.

“Why is your hand still inside my skirt?”

“‘S warm down there,” he shrugs with a sly smile. “Besides, I’m not really done with you yet.”

“What are you talking about…?” You trail off, throat dry from how winded this guy was making you.

“You still need some practice before your midterm, no? And I kinda wanna see how pretty you look under me.”

#the boyz #the boyz x reader #the boyz smut #tbz #tbz x reader #tbz smut #the boyz chanhee #the boyz new #tbz chanhee #tbz new #choi chanhee x reader #choi chanhee smut #chanhee x reader #chanhee smut #juyeonszn #fawntober.2023🎃

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youkaiyume · 9 months

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Hello, it's been a while since I did a rant. But WARNING for gross medical things:

SO it turns out my old nemesis the ovarian cysts have plagued me again. I found out about three weeks ago when a weird pain wouldn't leave my pelvis and went to urgent care and they suggested a CT scan. ONLY! for my insurance to deny me cuz they think I needed more probable cause for one so my doctor just recommended I go to the ER (which ironically is way more expensive for insurance to pay for than a simple CT scan but they did it to themselves lol).

Turns out I have cysts on BOTH of my ovaries FUN. But the left one is very concerningly big and probably needs to be removed but I can only do so by getting an approval of an OBGYN. So after finding one and waiting for my blood tests to come back so she can determine if she can surgically remove it--

YESTERDAY I had a SUDDEN AND SEVERE pain that hit me. I was at a solid 10 on that pain scale and vomiting and sweating so I drove myself to the ER again for the second time in two weeks. Frustratingly, the MALE doctor came back and was just like "well it looks like while we were doing your ultrasound you weren't consistently experiencing pain" which I was ready to bite his head off because let me tell you. While I was laying stretched out letting them do the ultrasound I was in the worst pain the ENTIRE time. And it was not a short ultrasound. It lasted over 20 mins and even after they asked me if I could survive sitting through the vaginal ultrasound after which would be another 25 mins. And those are painful just for the stick poking around in your yoohoo alone. I begged for pain relievers and when I described it they were like "oh that's labor level pains"

SO Mr. I don't have a Uterus doctor, DON'T TELL ME that your machine says I wasn't in pain. He even hit me with a "well I don't know what your pain tolerance is" as if to minimize or make me feel like I was overblowing what I was feeling. Like, fuck that guy. But because technically the imaging showed that the cysts haven't ruptured or caused my ovaries to twist it was considered "non emergent" and so the just gave me painkillers and then sent me home and reiterated that the only way I could get it removed at this point was to beg my OBGYN and convince her it was an emergency. In the meantime it was "oh you'll have to live with LABOR LIKE PAINS 24/7 until they let you have surgery." In the meantime they said I should only return to the ER after I've took all my pain meds and my pain doesn't improve OR if something worse happens. like a rupture.

WHICH btw are the exact same symptoms I have today so I was like how will I know cuz I can't imagine a worse pain than this one to which they were like "shrug"

I was in tears. Oh but it gets EVEN BETTER. Called my OBGYN this morning and she said my blood tests came back and that unfortunately they detected higher than usual levels of cancer markers in the cyst so that means she can't surgically remove them for me, she has to foist me to an Oncologist so THEY can remove it. She tries to say it doesn't necessarily MEAN cancer but hnnnnnggg that does not help with my anxiety at the moment.

Now calling the Oncologist to make an appointment today was a whole ordeal itself cuz their system kept going to voicemail so I had to call all the departments until they finally let me through but I had to run back to the hospital to try to get my Ultrasound discs for them. But even then they were like "your appointment isn't until next Wednesday" because THATS when the doctor meanders into work. So I'm like OH so like, in the meantime what if something happens??? And they're like well you gotta call back your OBGYN to see if you have other options. Which turns out she is also out. Until Tuesday. So I'm like. Guess I'll die then!

I don't even want kids!!! These ovaries have caused me nothing but trouble!!! Please rip them from my body!!

#And you know when you have nothing to do but curl up and google ovarian cancer #AND it tells you that the longest living patients on average live up to five years #it does make you spiral a bit #I feel like these entire two weeks the entire medical system won't believe me when I say it's an emergency #you sit here with this pain then #you do it #text post #rant #gross medical things

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hangesophtalmologist · 4 months

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Mind Games

finnick odair x original female character

tropes: rivals to lovers

synopsis: once the 75th Hunger Games are announced, Finnick only finds one solution to save his mentor and friend: barge into his long-life rival's house and find a way to convince this irritating, egoistic victor to volunteer. Only, he might be the one person she hates the most after the Capitol.

Part: 1 or a prologue of an anticipated story. Lowkey could be a stand-alone even though I have their entire love story planned out in my head. I just can't form it in words yet.

Warnings: swear words. Basically just insults. Mentions of Alzheimer.

Wordcount: 2,6k.

Finnick was practically running in the streets of District Four – more precisely, in the privileged area of the district known as the Victor’s Village. This was not the time to maintain his unbothered, cool persona. Blood was pumping in his veins, chest heaving in the effort of calming the deafening panic that was creeping up in him. This could not be happening, not again. After everything they had been through. He thought, foolishly, that he was safe. Relatively safe. That it was over since he won the Hunger Games – but they never really win. Becoming the shiny toys of the Capitol promised them wealth and comfort. But all the disgusting, overplayed luxury was only meant to hide the sad truth about victors - they remained toys, and at any time could the people of Panem realize they wanted to play with them again.

The announcement of the 75th Hunger Games came crashing down on him like a bomb, crushing his frail illusion of stability. For him, it didn’t matter. He was strong enough to survive at least for most days. No, the suffocating feeling of fear that had paralyzed each of his muscles, only letting his brain run the infinite possibilities of death, sorrow and suffering, had come from his concern for Mags and Annie. None of them would make it past the first day left alone, and even with his help the Hunger Game was a downright death sentence.

But there was a tiny, silly bit of hope that made him jump on his feet, storm out of his house with one name in mind. The one person he spent a lifetime despising, annoying and arguing with, the very person that hated his guts and made him know every day, was actually his last hope. This was the worst idea he ever had, but he had not choice. He’d go to her, do anything she could ask him for – he’d even recognize she was better than him, he’d beg her on his knees if that was what it took. But even with all that, Finnick couldn’t tame down the desperation that clawed at his heart when he pictured her violently telling him off - like he could swear she’d do.

“Naia!” he called, basically shoving the door of a rusty house open and frantically searching the rooms with his eyes. “Naia!”

His feet moved on their own accord, stomping in the home that felt completely empty. His eyes scanned the squeaky-clean floor and the few furniture there was. For a moment, he feared no one was here until he heard a faint voice coming from a closed room. Calming his breath, he approached and went to slightly open the door before he thought better and faintly knocked on the wood.

Hearing no response, his fingers glazed over the handle, but before he even twisted it, his hand was violently ripped away from the door, and he was met with a furious charcoal gaze.

“Where the fuck do you think you are, Odair?”

There stood Naia Calder in all her glory, in the middle of her living room, as tall as him, muscular arms crossed over her chest who was quickly rising and falling, sweaty skin that glistened under the yellowish light and hands wrapped around a blood-stained tissue that left no doubts on which sport she was practicing before Finnick stormed into her house. Hopefully, she would not be tempted to switch to a livelier punching-ball when he states why he came down here.

“Calder”, the man started, his eyes firmly locked on the challenging eyes of his nemesis. “I need to talk to you.”

With a snap, she undid her bands and threw them at his feet, chuckling humourlessly. Finnick clenched his jaw, refrained from rolling his eyes at the action. Instead, his gaze stayed firm on her face. Thick brows that furrowed automatically in his presence, straight nose on which fell during summer a constellation of freckles contrasting with her tan skin, big almond eyes that could set the world on fire with one glare, plump, soft lips that would form the dirtiest insults to throw in the air. It was the same face he has known all his life, and never once was it not painted with absolute disdain when they were face to face.

“Want a cup of tea? A few biscuits while we talk about the weather and tide, perhaps?” Naia mocked as she removed the tie holding her bronze-like hair, her biceps slightly flexing from the movement.

Finnick followed with his eyes the movement of her wavy hair falling graciously on her bulky shoulders. He swallowed thickly, focusing to not let his gaze linger on her bruised, muscular, sweaty body. He did not answer to her sarcasm. There could only be one subject the victor wanted to discuss right after the announcement. They both knew it.

“Please enlighten me on what’s your strategy to politely ask me to go die in their Hunger Games all-stars,” she insisted with a fake pleasant tone. “Almost destroying my front door was a dramatic first step, I’ll give you that. I can’t wait to see what you have in stock next.”

Irritation quickly grew inside Finnick, but he swallowed all the snarky answers his lips were about to let slip out of his mouth. Why was she playing dumb? She knew just like him that this was the right thing to do.

“I shouldn’t even have to ask you to volunteer, Naia. You know they can’t go through this again,” he said through gritted teeth, following her as she walked through her house, picking up clothes and objects he couldn’t care less about.

“Keep going. My life is less valuable than theirs blah blah. Maybe add in a few tears.”

“Fuck Naia! This is not funny,” he shouted angrily, desperate to knock some sense into her. “You’re young, you’re obviously stronger and for fuck’s sake you’re the goddamn golden victor of the Capitol. You know you have a thousand more chance to win than they have to survive the first few hours, so can you stop being selfish for once in your life? How can you send them off to their deaths?”

“Mmh, flattery. Not bad. Don’t like the guilt-trip that much, though. Try again. Maybe I’ll consider it if you get on your knees.”

The lack of interest in her voice made him want to rip his hair out of his head. It was like talking to a wall. It used to be her on the receiving end of his sarcasm, but now was not the time for their rivalry and she should know it. He knew Naia, he knew her bad attitude and her personality, he knew the trauma her Games brought her. But he knew her, and it seemed unbelievable that she would be so set on not volunteering. Was she doing it out of spite, just to annoy him? How could she seem so careless? How could she just fold so neatly each one of her clothes, stack them up on a shelf like she had no other problems in her life? how could she just calmly tidy up her room while he was asking her to-

Suddenly as realization hit him, the world seemed to quiet down and to reduce to the small room he had followed her in. His anger and frustration slowly melt, his frown relaxing and his mouth closing in a thin line. The curse he had thrown floated in the air, then was carried away by the wind. A veil of silence fell all over the little space they shared.

The adrenaline and stress disappeared, leaving him with the excruciating wish he could swallow back every word he just spat as he watched Naia clean her room, slowly, carefully tucking away her belongings in dusty boxes already aligned next to her bed. The man had been too blinded by his despair and frustration to take a real look at her house. It did not just feel empty – it was. She was packing away. She must have started tidying up the second she heard the announcement. God, she even started training the moment she heard it. Naia always intended to volunteer. She didn’t even consider staying back as an option.

“You know Odair, Mags was my mentor too. Annie is also my friend. You’re not the only one who’d sacrifice things to protect them,” she finally spoke after a long moment of deafening silence, dropping the sarcasm but radiating animosity. “Only you can have the audacity to assume I wouldn’t volunteer for them, but I would if you oh-so-rightfully order me to.”

When she turned around to meet his face, the vivacity of the anger and repulsion in her eyes froze him on his spot. Her fingers were tightly wrapped around the wooden frame of a picture. A family picture. Four silhouettes. Now that he could see all her personal belongings, even the torn, washed-out picture seemed to scream at him, especially the small, masculine silhouette he could almost see scolding him for coming here to ask her to leave them behind like he had any right to make that decision for her.

“I don’t know why it seems so unconceivable for you that I would be capable of a selfless act, but I’d advise you to stop thinking of yourself as the fucking hero of this district,” Naia seethed, her voice raising with each word that slipped out of her lips so quickly that it seemed her anger was forming sentences instead of her brain. “Stop getting drunk on every single praise the Capitol gives you, and maybe you will see you’re not that special. Breaking news, Finnick Odair isn’t the only goddamn man on Earth with morals! Will his ego shatter to pieces or will he be able to recover from the devastating realization that he is not thecenter of the world?”

Each sentence felt like a punch to his guts, but Finnick stayed quiet, lips sealed by shame, facing the storm his long-time rival had become. He was only starting to realize now how much the announcement affected her, because even if she had probably called him a thousand time worse names in the past, she would always hide any emotion behind a mask of cold indifference. However, now he could see it. He could see everything. The resentment and frustration dripping from her voice. He could almost see the pieces of her broken heart who had fallen in each box she had filled up. And even as she turned on her heels and slammed the door of her chamber in his face, his gaze caught the way her hands uncontrollably, yet unperceivably shook against the handle.

Guilt squeezed his guts. Finnick realized that he spent so much time seeing Naia as his competition that sometimes, he almost forgot she was human. She was not only his strong, arrogant and deceitful rival, the victor he was always compared to when it came to determining the best golden victor of District Four. She was not just the girl that challenged him, that claimed she was better than him and that showered him with mockeries on his skills and his Capitol-persona. She was not just the girl he spared with every once in a while, to settle who is better. She was not just the girl who had a witty come-back for each of this teasing remarks. She was also just a girl. His old friend's sister. The girl from his district whom he grew up with. And behind the arrogance, the indifference, the rivalry, there was the ghost of the person who went through the same horrors he did, and whose soul died a little in that cursed arena.

And if he could forget that so easily, that told him more about the influence the Capitol had on himself than what he wanted to admit.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Finnick left the room, uncoherent thoughts trying to form words that would be a good enough apology without causing her to explode, but before any sound could come out of his open mouth, his voice died down in his throat as his eyes landed on Naia. The victor felt like a wave just hit him straight in the face – and maybe it did, only it was a wave of agony, radiating from the scene in front of him.

Sadness was painted all over the tiny room he tried to enter earlier, yet Naia smiled with the tenderness she reserved to only one person. Even his presence couldn’t disturb the peaceful expression on her face.

“Mom, do you recognize me? It’s Naia, remember? I’m your daughter.”

Finnick held his breath, waiting for the old lady sat on a rocking chair to answer. He knew her, of course. Naia’s mother’s house had been a safe haven for all the kids who once needed an escape from home, a hot meal or a wonderful story to let their mind wander in the amazing worlds the creative woman shared with them, all more peaceful than the world the Capitol ruled.

But the eloquent and lifeful discourses of the woman seemed long gone as Finnick watched her babble an unintelligible, uncoherent answer while her empty eyes stared in the void. He knew she had fallen sick, but he didn’t know about her condition. Any physical sickness seemed more merciful than forgetting everything and everyone until an entire lifetime is wiped out from a memory.

Naia caressed her cheek with delicacy. She was not expecting an answer. A moment passed. Finnick knew he should leave, that this was too intimate, but somehow, the memory of the warm and friendly woman who spared him tons of slices of cake when he was young kept his feet fixated on the ground.

When he finally moved, the movement caught the mother’s attention, and a flash of recognition illuminated her eyes. He froze, while Naia’s mouth dropped open in a hopeful gasp.

“Mom? He’s Finnick Odair, the fisherman’s son. Do you remember? He fought with Dan one day,” she said as she signed him to come crouching to her level. “You used to invite him over to eat even though I always asked you not to.”

Well, now he didn’t know if he should be more shocked to be recognized by someone who is losing their memory or to be introduced by Naia in such a gentle, harmless way. He’ll be damned if he ever hears Naia talk about him in such a sweet tone again.

“Hello Mrs Calder,” he hesitated a second, before confidently putting on his most charming smile, the one he knew could win him any mom over. “You fed me well when my dad was at sea. I hope I always thanked you for it because I remember your cooking as the best in the district.”

He held her emerald gaze as the old woman tried to speak, but her lips seemed to be moving too slowly, too harshly to actually mold the sound coming out of her mouth. The expectancy, the yearning himself felt made him realize how much more devastating that feeling must be for her daughter. Suddenly, Mrs Calder clapped her hands, startling him, before bursting into a quiet laugh.

“My daughter can’t stand the Odair kid!” she shouted in a joyful tone, punctuating it with another string of unintelligible sounds.

Even though the old lady quickly fell back into a state of incoherence, when the blond man looked at her daughter, her eyes glistened – he didn’t know if it was with tears or with joy. Naia had the biggest smile plastered on her face, holding her mother’s hands and planting a firm kiss on one of them.

“Damn right I do!” Naia exclaimed, laughing a true, relieved, liberating laugh.

Finnick stared at her, drinking in the sight and the sound. It was the first time in months, if not years, that he had seen her laugh so freely. Simply the improbability of the moment ripped a chuckle out of him too. For all she was annoying and irritating, his rival didn’t deserve the cruelty of this situation. So when she asked him to take care of her mother if he ever wins the games (which she still insisted would be highly improbable), the fisherman’s son did not hesitate. And somehow, he knew that behind all their rivalry and their mutual disliking, there was enough respect between them that they’d trust each other’s word.

But he also knew she probably will make him pay for coming to her house to guilt-trip her into sacrificing herself. Which she had already decided to do despite the unthinkable price she had to pay for it.

#finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #finnick #rivals to lovers #ennemies to lovers #the hunger games #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x oc #thg series

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epiclamer · 9 months

Note

HELLOO

villain caretaker and a sheepish hero whumpee ????????????????(!;!(&((!(!(' go

for you and your wife : 🌸🌺🌼🍄

Her favourite flower is lavender actually, but thank you.

Soup for the Soul

The scene in front of them was definitely not reflective of their hero. A shivering, shaking, sweating mess of their former self, buried under a mountain of blankets and tissues that fell to the floor after only a minute or so had passed in between the hero’s fingers.

Masking the slight worry in their mind with a smirk as the villain approached the other sprawled out on the couch. “What are you wearing?”

With only a slight delay, the hero’s head perked up from its spot on the armrest, only to fall back down after they had caught a glimpse of their nemesis in the corner of the room. The villain pushed themselves away from the wall and slowly centred around the hero, standing over them at last.

“I mean seriously, what is that?”

The hero sighed, dropping another tissue to the floor in defeat, pulling one more from their increasingly thinning box. “It’s all I have left. Everything else is covered in vomit or snot or some other sick germ.”

Their voice was sick—if their body didn’t portray that enough already—it was a deep sick, like one’s classic cold times eight. Mucus must’ve been coating their entire respiratory system, not to mention it probably fogged their brain up too.

“So you chose to go with the hot pink princess outfit? Made for twelve year old girls?”

“My mom bought it for me.” They snapped, too upset to not set off flags in the villain’s mind.

Idly the villain began reorganizing and fiddling with the medications and dishes on the coffee table at the hero’s feet. “My mom buys me things too, but it sure as hell isn’t from the women’s youth section.” They muttered, both hands filled with dirty dishes as they headed to deposit them in the kitchen. “And even if they were, you wouldn’t catch me wearing them if it meant I had to go to the dry cleaners naked.”

That got a chuckle out of the hero at least, a little bit of life still salvageable. The villain continued their tidying as the hero closed their eyes, shaking their head a little as they grinned.

“My advice? Call your mother and get your receipt to return it for something way more revealing.”

There was a pause, then the hero sighed again. “I don’t talk to her anymore.”

“Maybe your father has it?”

The villain watched as the hero shrugged, eyes still closed. “Don’t talk with him either.”

As much as the conversation had taken a somber turn, the villain had barely any experience with heavy subjects as such. Their main resort was humour, but they doubted that would help in a moment like this. Instead they tried their best to keep busy with their hands, purposefully clanking pots against each other and utensils together to fill the void-like silence.

Food always helped in tense situations like these, especially hot soup for the soul. So they let the silence stretch on until the only thing left to do was wait for a boil.

“If you don’t mind me asking; why?” Quietly as ever, the villain dug through the cabinets in the hero’s kitchen until the pads of their fingers struck gold.

The first aid kit.

The hero hummed, never looking up, focused entirely on relaxing their sore muscles as the villain approached. “We have a history of not seeing eye to eye.”

Dropping the first aid kit to the floor the villain followed suit as they sat. Gentle hands prying over the other’s arm as they got started, mumbling in agreement while they got out ointments, bandaids and gauze.

“But particularly we never agreed on me. My life, my choices, who I am.” Their skin flushed slightly at the touch of their nemesis, goosebumps coating them in a matter of seconds, which in their head they blamed on the cool sensation of the ointment being rubbed into their raw skin. But they knew it wasn’t the truth.

“Those ones are the worst.” The criminal whispered as they kept massaging the ointment into any scabs, scrapes or areas of flaky, dry skin. Their arms both looked a mess of eczema that was left far too long untreated.

The hero couldn’t stop the blush from reaching their cheeks as they watched the villain work diligently on their sorest spots. Noticing their issues and helping them fix it. The same type of care the hero would’ve killed for as a child. “Yeah…”

Embarrassed as they were, the hero was sure that the villain could hear them swallow nervously or at least feel their pounding heart. But if they did, they didn’t mention anything about it.

“Funnily enough, they still message me. Trying to get me to ‘change my mind’ or ‘take a different path’ as if this shit is my choice.”

The villain crooked an eyebrow, eyes flicking up for a millisecond to latch onto the hero’s before returning to their work. “I’m guessing they send you gifts too. Playing off the fact that these clothes look new and not like they were passed through your childhood.”

They nodded, shutting their eyes again as their face got redder. Avoiding any type of glance at themselves and their humiliating get up, the more they thought about it, the more the hero wanted to cry.

A bubbling hiss sounded from the kitchen and the villain shot up and ran to the stove. Immediately shutting off the burner and pulling the pot of soup off to try and stop it’s over-boiling, the villain breathed in content as it calmed down quickly. Taking out two bowls and two spoons as they poured equal parts before carrying it to the couch side where they last were.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” They handed their enemy a bowl and a spoon, relishing in the cute dusting of pink on the tips of the other’s ears. “Eat up and then just relax. I’ll handle laundry and we’ll get you out of that get up, then I’ll treat the rest of you, sound good?”

The hero smiled, nodding their head once more as they struggled up to a seated position and shovelled the hot meal down their throat in seconds. Their parents wouldn’t have approved of the villain either, but they didn’t control the hero anymore.

The villain made them feel free, and that was all they needed.

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arkiwii · 6 months

Text

ME WHEN I'M FINALLY DONE WITH MY ARKNIGHTS OC

my god it took too long for literally just a fullbody. usually i do them so fast but i guess here i was lazy. anyway information and stuff and story and whatever below!!

Real name Fortuna, code name Kochosen, is a Liberi (azure-winged magpie) born in Laterano. She had been growing up and thriving to become a doctor. However, after contracting Oripathy in an accident, she has been forced to leave Laterano. Surviving in the wastelands on her own, she discovered her Originium Arts, to manipulate water, which greatly helped her in her journey. She finally joined Yan, where she was able to find some help for her cause, then later, joined Higashi, after helping a whole village from a Catastrophe.

She later accepted to help Rhodes Island as a Medic operator, precisely an Incantation Medic.

Fortuna is what can be said a bad omen... And also a good omen. Back in Laterano, due to her clumsiness, she quickly won the reputation of bringing bad luck around. Her Infection is what truly made her the nemesis of the Leterans, and due to the rules in the city, has been seen as an occasion to get rid of a bad luck bringer. This convinced her that she was indeed one who only cause suffering around, bringing her morale and self confidence to the lowest as she barely managed to survive in the wilderness.

However, when she arrived in Higashi, after catching the first signs of an incoming Catastrophe and having alerted the nearby village, she has been seen as a savior and a good omen. Her help and contribution to the village as a doctor also contribued to this good reputation, and the villagers quickly started to appreciate her presence. After this event, and seeing that her powers and own hands were able to save lives and not hurt them, she questioned herself.

But she doesn't remain less clumsy. It seems all the worst happen to her, like a bad luck magnet. But it seems like it happens to her and only her, and nobody around, quite the opposite even - people around her seem to live rather fortunate events. Maybe by attracting the bad luck to her, the other persons around are left with only good luck...

It's because of her clumsiness that her body is rather... In a bad state. Under the layers of clothes she wears is a wounded, bandaged body, covered in minor scars, bruises, and of Originum crystals. She seems to be used to this however, her only complains are about how her sleep is uncomfortable.

Despite her serious and calm personality, she's not one to be on the smarter side. She still struggles a lot with Yanese for example, and the culture of Higashi. After all, as a Lateran, she finds the food of Higashi "dull", and would much prefer their sweetest snacks instead.

As well, it seems that her Oripathy has caused kleptomania, as she was often caught taking on objects of her interest for no other reason that she felt the urge to take them.

___________

i love birds, i love magpies, i love arknights, boom

here she is

The main ideas for her design and story is... Well, about how Magpies are absolutely dual?? in occidental cultures, they are seen as bringer of death, bad luck, nasty, quite like crows. but in oriental cultures, it's the total opposite, they're seen as a symbol of luck, of love, of balance and such! that's why i wanted to make her being so contradictory. she seems serious but is dumb. she came laterano where she was seen as bad luck, she moved to higashi where she is seen as good luck. her outfit is quite literally a mix of lateran and higashi culture

as for water arts, it's a reference to how luck and fate are like a river, but also to how water arts are both very dangerous and benefic, and also it's a reference to the magpie bridge in chinese culture

anyway, she tries her best, and that she's clumsy and a bit strange doesn't change that she has a very kind heart

#arknights #stalkiwiart #stalkiwi oc #i like bimrbds

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good-beanswrites · 5 months

Note

THE MIKOTO FALLING DOWN THE STAIRS FIC WAS SO SILLY thats literally how i discovered you, never seen a better fic on my dash..... is there any way you could write something similar where fuuta gets water poured on him like a wet cat. now that i know the prisoners will go to ungoldy lengths to cure their boredome i need more content

LMAO thank you so much!! I so glad you liked it -- and I can assure you I would love nothing more than to pour a bucket of water on everyone's saddest wettest cat -- thank you for the request! 😂

“Everyone knows the greatest way to combat boredom is psychological warfare.”

Yuno said it very matter-of-fact. Fuuta nodded in agreement.

Es was left to stare blankly at the two prisoners summed before them. “Is that supposed to explain why my panopticon floor is soaked, or why Fuuta is dripping water all over my office…?”

“It started a few weeks ago,” Yuno added, as if that would help.

“What started a few weeks ago?”

Fuuta shrugged. “Like she said. We got bored.”

“You got… bored.”

At last, Yuno explained. It didn’t take long, she told them, for the usual methods of entertainment to lose their charm. Conversations and games could only hold them over for so long. As soon as they lost interest in those things, she knew it was time to give the mental torture route a try.

“Of course,” Es deadpanned.

“Of course!”

She was an expert at pranks, and from very early on she was able to see that Fuuta would be the perfect nemesis.

You see, everyone else took some time to figure out. She realized Mikoto took the fastest showers and used the most products, so it was easy to swap out one of his bottles just before a rapid wash. His hair was pink for two glorious weeks. She saw that Shidou was as organized as he was independent, so once she started moving and hiding his possessions, it took a long time of searching around in silent, stubborn confusion before he finally caught on. She noticed Muu was particular enough about the way she took her coffee that it only took one tiny tampering and a huge sip was spit directly into Haruka’s face.

But Fuuta? Oh, Fuuta. There wasn't anything to figure out. He was like Mahiru in that way – what you see is what you get. He was unlike Mahiru in other ways – no one would ever dream of pranking her so often. But Fuuta could walk into a joke like no other. His reactions were just as big and outrageous every time. He was practically asking Yuno to prank him. And when had she ever refused a man?

“Hey!” Fuuta’s ears had gone bright red. “It’s not like I’m some pathetic loser!” He stuck his chin up. “I fought back just fine, don’t you worry.”

(That was, in fact, exactly what Es had been worried about.)

Both he and Yuno found themselves on the receiving end of some scares and fake bugs. They both had to struggle through a mouthful of something disgusting at one time or another. Important possessions went missing right at the very worst time. It was awful, they said. It was infuriating. Unbearable. So, naturally, they kept going.

Which brought them to today’s stunt. With a little boost from Mikoto to get everything in place, and a captive audience gathered in the panopticon, Yuno pulled it off easily.

They all peered around the corner at cell 003. Loud snoring echoed from inside, despite the late hour of the morning; Fuuta was the heaviest sleeper of the bunch. Yuno checked that everyone was in place. Then she cupped her hands around her mouth.

“Fuuta!” She called urgently. “Come quick! Get dressed, it's Es!” There was clattering around within the cell. It took everything in her to hold in a giggle as she added, “hurry!!”

The bars swung open, tipping the carefully placed bucket of water above.

Yuno bid Es to picture the beauty of the moment: the ice-cold water falling in a perfect, glimmering arc as it hit its target with a wonderful splat.

Fuuta froze in the entryway. He was missing a shoe. The half of his uniform he’d managed to get on wasn’t even fastened correctly. It, and the pajamas underneath, were entirely soaked through. His hair clung to his face, darkened and dripping. He swept it aside to reveal, in place of his characteristic fierce gaze, the saddest, most bleary eyes the prisoners had ever seen. His mouth gaped open in confusion. He shivered, flinging little droplets into the massive puddle below.

“I should have requested a camera…” she mused. His grogginess had worn off quickly, but there still existed a single moment where she could have snapped the funniest photo in existence.

“Fuck off, it wasn’t that funny,” Fuuta clarified.

“Oh, it really was,” Yuno assured them.

Es delivered their scolding. They said this behavior was immature. They would not stand for nonsense like this in their prison. All further pranks and practical jokes were strictly banned. After dismissing the pair, they crossed their arms.

Damn, they wish they could’ve been there…

#milgram #fuuta kajiyama #yuno kashiki #thank you so much asdfsdf this made me so happy to receive! i had so much fun with this one omg #last time i kept it mysterious but i wanted a clear culprit this time and who better than yuno #i can just picture it 😌#theres nothing quite as satisfying as dumping a bucket of water on your faves #i pictured it in t1 but he would look even sadder and wetter with the eyepatch ;---;#drabbles

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spontaneousglitterbees · 3 months

Text

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The paper has it spelled out like sunrise over a lake; she can’t help but look at it until she has to make herself look away. Her first ‘client’, the fellow student she’s meant to be shadowing for the week, the person she is tasked with protecting if she wants to pass this class after transferring in partway through the semester is none other than–

“Ooh, bad luck.”

(Part of the TAPP AU, also on Ao3)

Ouma’s voice squeaks out from beside her upper arm so suddenly she flinches.

“Oh please, Harukawa, don’t tell me I caught you off guard. That’s like, your entire thing, now!” he sounds so jovial, without a care in the world, but his chest heaves as though he also just shuddered down to the core.

“You did this.” She states it without room for uncertainty.

“Why the hell would I do that?” he flicks his hand toward the sheet of printer paper pinned to the corkboard, the one that has condemned them for the next one-hundred-sixty-eight hours. It’s up there for the whole school to see. “It’s not even my MO to hack this school’s ancient copy machine, or whatever, I’m out for a good time. Besides, I’d like to live, thanks much.”

Maki is entirely unimpressed. “It is precisely your MO to stomp on my nerves in every way you can,” she enunciates with each step forward.

His grip tightens around the handle of his cane, still smiling. His knuckles threaten to rip themselves to shreds.

“Actually,” a voice chimes in, stern but not unkind. “It makes perfect sense, does it not? You are both in Class 79, which ought to alleviate some of the initial awkwardness.”

Silver hair catching the artificial overhead light, teaching assistant and upperclassman Peko Pekoyama overshadows the pair from behind. “Besides, as the Ultimate…” her eyes narrow, incredulous. “... Supreme Leader, Ouma is going to need a security detail someday.”

Maki glares up at her for all of a split second before dutifully lowering her gaze. It's less that the Ultimate Swordsman is intimidating than that she's so... coldly supportive. The kind of person whose praise is lined with mist and whose fury is a downpour. It'd be a shame to disappoint her, especially over Kokichi, of all people.

"Oh, but Peko-peko-chan, don't you know? Maki and I have been sworn enemies since we were kids! You'd really let that mean ol' teacher pair me up with my nemesis?! That's so cruel!" Kokichi leans in on his cane for leverage, arms crossed in front of him as he acts out the phrase in big, encompassing gestures. That's a lie. But...

Unfortunately for both of them, it only seems to reassure Peko that the path forward is clear. "It'll be a fine challenge for the both of you, then. You’ll be able to focus on two objectives at once: gaining experience staying alert, and equal experience working with difficult clients.”

Kokichi scoffs in the background, of course, but it's hardly worth arguing. He tries to get in your head and stay there, after all. If anything, being ‘difficult’ is a point of pride for him. His eye still seems to twitch a little at the admission. It’s probably just the dry autumn air.

Maki, inventing new curses in her head and keeping them there, nods sagely. "Of course, Ms. Pekoyama. I won't let you down."

She looks over to her current mark.

It's going to be a long week.

------------------

The week starts off innocuous enough. The worst of it comes at the beginning of each day as Kokichi pulls his books out of his locker. Literature, World History, ... Calculus II? Each slams into the floor with a resounding thud, one after another. Some of them won't even see use until near the end of the school day, but he insists she carry them now. Spiteful little shit.

Many of their general education classes are shared to begin with, fortunately, meaning the two of them simply have to walk between classes together for a while. It isn’t quite embarrassing as much as it is frustrating for Maki. Does he even really need a cane, or is it just a ploy to get the teacher’s sympathy? They saunter down the hallway in either case, uncaring of the actual time they arrive. Five minutes late, ten minutes, even; neither incurs a penalty, a bit of an affront to her own persistent punctuality. ‘This school is his’ indeed.

No. The real trouble starts brewing during their free periods.

"The autumn leaves are home to a variety of bug species," lectures Gonta, sitting cross-legged in the courtyard. Kokichi sits beside him, dredging through a pile of leaves; pick up, flip, sort, over and over. Maki remains stock-still and focused on defense. Peko could be hiding around any given corner, assisting a teacher lying in wait for an ambush just to make a point about vigilance.

But it’s a bit hard to stay on edge when things are so… unremarkable. So normal.

"As an example, early-emerging populations of Actias luna in North America lay eggs on the undersides of leaves to keep larvae and pupas safe during winter until the adults appear in March." Despite Gonta’s better efforts choosing a more palatable bug for discussion, neither Kokichi nor Maki seems to be paying actual attention.

"Which has to be why the leaf piles make such a good crunch when you jump in'em, riiiiight?" Kokichi teases, crushing the pile of leaves he's sorted beneath the base of his palm. He throws his back into the motion with a sadistic smile. It breaks into the same mischievous laugh as usual soon after, nishishi~!

Gonta, however, seems unalarmed; perhaps he sees the un-smashed pile, the ones with even just the potential to have 'stuff on'em'. Instead, he smiles. "That might be the beetles, they love hiding in leaves."

"Ewwww!" Kokichi wipes his hand on his pants, despite the distinct lack of bug entrails on them. "Great! Gonta, you can't just ruin fall like that! Now I'm gonna be thinking about nasty beetles when I just wanted to have some fun..." he makes a point to frown, but seeing no real reaction the expression disappears as quickly as it came.

"I not– I'm not ruining fall, it's too hot out to be real fall. It's messing with the bugs’ hibernation cycles...."

Maki finds she's won a fourth consecutive mental game of tic-tac-toe with herself before she finally sighs. Would it be out of line to suggest going inside? Perhaps a more enclosed space will help her readjust to the objective.

Before she can suggest such a thing, Kokichi beats her to it.

“Yeah, it’s waaaay too hot out for September, I’m beat. Harukawa-chan, can we go back inside now?” he doesn’t bother to pout, eyes going from half-lidded to three-quarters wide seeing the barely-contained irritation on Maki’s face.

“Gladly.” She stands without hesitation, turning to Gonta. “Thank you for having us.”

“Of course, is only polite thing to do,” smiles Gonta. Kokichi is a touch intrigued.

“What are you thanking him for, I bet you weren’t even listening! You haven’t taken that scowl off your face all day.” He leans a bit to his left, accentuating the roll of his eyes.

“I knew that you wouldn’t.” Maki says simply, opening the cold glass door.

Kokichi is shocked, appalled he’d tell you, with a loud gasp! Then he shrugs a little. “Eh. I wasn’t bored, anyway.”

Gonta waves, cheerful as ever, as the door swings shut.

The foot of his cane practically skids across the terrazzo tile as Kokichi takes off down the hall.

“What’s got you in such a hurry?” Maki asks before she can think better of it; Ouma is still faster than she’d given him credit for.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Ultimate Assassin.” The reply comes quick and sharp, bitterness rising in his voice that hasn’t seen the light of day since well before the game ended.

Before she can ask ‘why now?’ or some such thing, as though there’s any logic behind what Ouma does in the first place, he’s looking at her expectantly from his perch just at the threshold of the main library doorway.

“Dunno about you, but I, for one, have homework. I’m looking for a book, silly, don’t you guys use those?” he shakes his head lightly, keeping the door open by leaning on it and waiting for her to go through. It takes a moment of the two staring at one another to determine who is going to relent; Maki walks a step inside as Kokichi beelines for the reading chairs.

Ah, the reading chairs. Only marginally more acceptable than the stiff, borderline crunchy upholstery of most of the furniture on campus. At least there’s no punishment for sitting on these. Surrounded by deep forest green carpets and a dim, subdued atmosphere one risks sinking into should they stay still for too long, the library is quiet. Starkly quiet. The sound of breathing itself seems to echo, not at all damped by the depth of archways and sub-sections of books and books upon books.

Kokichi looks idly up at the rafters, looking for something he must not find.

“What’s wrong?” Maki reluctantly asks, curiosity overpowering her better sense.

“It’s hot in here,” Ouma replies, his voice… uncharacteristically soft. It’s impossible to tell what emotion comes attached, if there is one at all.

“The air conditioning has been broken in this building all day, I hear.”

There is an awkward silence between them, an absolute vacuum of small-talk.

He takes a deep breath, only to look back over at Maki. “Welp. This place is huge, so. Might as well get crackin’, book’s not gonna find itself!” He smiles a little too wide for his face as he launches upright, looking over his shoulder and taking off into the canopy of books. “Be back in a bit!”

“Alright,” says Maki, striding over to meet him. “Where are we going first?”

Kokichi shakes his head. He’s sorely mistaken if he thinks it’ll be that easy to get rid of you. “Hmm, iunno. I’ll know it when I see it,” he chirps as he changes directions, taking a few dizzying turns before coming to a brief pause.

What is his problem? What does he get out of making this difficult for the both of you? Surely boredom can’t overtake the selfish want to do less work… yet, sure enough, he’s speed-walking away again.

Maki doesn’t need to look up to explain the sudden chill down her spine.

“Kiyo-chan! Fancy meetin’ you here,” Ouma laughs, stepping to the shelf opposite Korekiyo as Maki walks up to the two of them.

“Not exactly, Ouma, you know quite well I’ve been tasked with the maintenance of some of the anthropology department’s rarer books,” Kiyo shakes his head, adjusting his mask. “... No, I won’t be taking you to them. I was actually looking for a project on Minoan mythos in relation to pre-Hellenic…” he cuts himself off.

Really, Maki thinks to herself, it’s hard to believe this awkward kid could have been the monster he once was. That’s the thing about monsters, though, isn’t it? In real life they don’t have horns or tails like the minotaur….

“Say. What are you visiting the library for? Your field is not precisely predicated on a large literary basis, is it?”

“Kiyo-chaaaaan! No fair! Are you telling me I don’t look like I read? ‘Cuz I can read plenty, as long as it’s not BORING me to death!!” Kokichi leans on his cane, slightly swaying. “I like libraries. They’re like obstacle courses, and half the time nobody is even in them to get in the way!” he smiles. “But that’s a lie.”

“He’s looking for a book,” Maki chimes in, startling both Korekiyo and Kokichi back a few steps.

“Oh, is that all? What kind of book are you looking for, Ouma? Certainly I could be of assistance.” Kiyo nods, possibly(?) smiling, and at the very least visibly trying to maintain a less standoffish posture.

“That won’t be–”

“Binary star formation,” the two phrases come in at the same time. Kokichi continues, “and the history of their discovery.”

Kiyo stares at Kokichi for a moment, in (confusion? Disbelief? It’s difficult to tell, with so much of his face obscured and those piercing eyes ready to strike at any time…) before nodding. “Of course. I believe I recall where that one is, it was returned quite recently.”

Ouma stares idly into the distance for a split-second, an automaton re-calibrating on the fly. “Right. Duh, but I need it now, so.”

Sure enough, Korekiyo is only away for a matter of minutes before returning with a single large tome. The book seems more focused on general astronomical phenomena, but must have a chapter or two dedicated to binary stars. Should have picked something more obscure, Maki huffs at the thought, if you really just wanted to cause trouble. Let me guess, that isn’t–

“That’s exactly it!” says Kokichi, who excitedly starts flipping through the pages. Korekiyo looks like he wants to scold him, be more careful, but restrains himself from doing so. Nonetheless, the two share a look; Kokichi suddenly feels like maybe he should slow down, lest unsavory things happen to his nerves.

Just a feeling.

Things look, for once, to be going well again. Ouma is reading (or, at least, glaring at a page), freeing up Maki’s attention to better scope out the area.

… At least, until “Kiyo-chan? The text is so small, I can barely read a thing!”

Don’t get involved, don’t worry about it, Maki, you have a mission!

“Then why don’t you take it back to one of the reading areas? It’s certain to be brighter there.” Korekiyo shrugs, back to looking at the shelf ahead.

“Can’t you read it to me, Kiyo-chan? Pleeeease, you have such a nice reading voice!”

Korekiyo stops, for a moment, glaring at Kokichi. “And that’s a lie, certainly.”

“What! You’re calling me a liar! Kiyo-chan, that’s so, s-so,,” the tears start to well up, if only slightly. Is he losing his touch with the waterworks? “Accurate, yeah, but not this time! If I didn’t tell the truth some of the time, it’d make the lies too obvious! And that’s no fun at all.”

“... Ah,” says Kiyo, uncertain of how to take a compliment.

“So?”

“Oh yes, right. Hmm. It can’t be that large of a diversion, surely…”

Such is how Korekiyo winds up over by the reading chairs, telling a dubiously-interested Kokichi about disk and turbulent fragmentations. “Where the instability and arbitrary motion cause a core to split off into multiple masses of gas and dust that collapse into independent protostars,” so the reading goes, “that are close enough to one another they become entangled in mutual orbit.”

Maki can hardly say she’s particularly invested, even if it would be nice to have a better idea of what Kaito’s blathering on about half the time now that classes are in full swing. Still, something in her can’t help but hang on to this itch of unease, as though at any moment something will go wrong. She’s supposed to be watching Kokichi, but finds herself looking more at Kiyo than the surroundings. There is no danger there, anymore, though you’d have been more likely to get hurt than Ouma. But this feeling you can’t… no. That you refuse to name, this resentment, it takes residence in your bones and won’t let go. Is it because he’s been programmed as having been a killer? Aren’t you the very same? And when it really mattered, didn’t both of you decide to k–

The slightest sound makes Maki jump into action, fists at the ready to block an incoming blow, only. Huh. It seems it was just the weight of the book closing.

Kokichi sits up a little straighter, speaking a little louder (before, begrudgingly, quieting down, because this is a library). “Thank you, Kiyo-chan~ That would’ve been soooo boring to get through alone, you know? Nishishi, I’ll still be expecting your application for DICE one of these days! Best not disappoint,” he leans back in the chair, only to swing up to standing.

Korekiyo simply rolls his eyes, but there’s something undoubtedly fond in the gesture. If there weren’t, the fact would make itself known near-immediately; instead, Kiyo simply picks up the book to put it back on the shelf. “Is that all you needed, then?”

Kokichi exaggerates a sigh. “Not by a longshot, but I think I left the rest in Miu’s lab,” he rolls his head back, momentarily looking at the spot where Maki has planted herself, arms crossed. “So I gotta run. Laters!”

As Kokichi is picking his cane back up (and staring at the foot for a moment, making sure he’s placed it on the correct side for now. Working on making the ruse more realistic, perhaps, Maki posits, though she dares not say such a thing aloud), Maki nods in acknowledgement of Kiyo.

After an awkward pause, Kiyo nods back. “Miss Harukawa.”

But the pair are off again, out of the library and en-route to Miu’s lab.

The silence between the two of them is thick. Neither is perturbed by the light traffic traveling in either direction down the hall, staying steps apart but not quite identifiable as a ‘group’. Much remains unsaid between the two. Neither dares disrupt the precarious balance maintaining a stoic facade, and the awkward silence stays.

At least, while only in the company of one another.

“Hey!” Kokichi yells, swinging open the door to Miu’s lab with reckless abandon, startling a very focused Chihiro and Kazuichi sitting at the far end of a long table. “Where’s that boisterous blonde–”

“That is the best most bodacious boisterous blonde bitch to you, ‘ya shitstain.” Miu looks up from her workbench, approaching the opposite side of the long table with a haughty laugh.

“Mm, nope. Too wordy. Might mistake you for a nerd,” he teases, pointing up and down at a Miu dressed in her lab coat and covered from goggles to toe in smears of motor oil.

“Oh please, haven’t you figured out yet that I’m beauty and a brain?”

“And a nerd, yeah, I got that.”

The pair bicker like old friends, though it’s only recently they’ve had a chance to talk over their time in the killing game. Perhaps it’s easier for them to act like it never happened; it’d be hypocritical of Maki to judge.

Although…

“So you’ll concede she’s beautiful?” Maki tugs on her hair, wrapping it around her finger with a smirk. One sentence sparks a good five minutes of playful arguing, nuh-uh yuh-uh, and mild shoulder-punching. In terms of the assignment, it’s permissible, but on thin ice.

The perimeter seems clear in here, anyway, only the five of them. Chihiro and Kazuichi seem too engrossed in whatever project they’re working on to bat an eye at the two’s banter, and there’s no good angle for an ambush. Besides, it’d be irresponsible to initiate a confrontation with so many metal scraps and machines around. Still, she has to remain on alert.

… Though she can’t help but listen when she hears Miu launch into a small tirade: “What I’m always working on, dumbass, and a couple things besides. Picture this: you’re me, and you’re ‘getting a regular checkup’ because you’re ‘recovering from a traumatic experience’ and all that junk. And I’m sitting there, wasting valuable workable time between classes, just for them to call me up to do, like, the same three tests they always do? And I think to myself, man, wouldn’t it be genius if you could just step into a booth, or a pod, or something like that when you get there, and it does all of that preliminary stuff on you at once so you can just be done with it already? And this was like, two? Days ago? So you know I have a prototype.”

Kokichi looks nonplussed, to say the least.

“Haven’t you been working on anything less… totally mundane, than that? Maybe like a shrink ray, or a portal device or a body-swapper, or something exciting?”

“Well, you know I’m building an android, but we all know how you feel about that.”

“I do not need the list of features you’re giving that thing. Nobody, needs the list of features you’re giving that thing.”

“W-W, h-hey! I’m not gonna be weird about it,” Miu pouts, voice getting soft for a moment. “That’s like, totally crossing a line…” only to pick back up. “Nah, I’m not gonna load in any kinky shit until I can ask him about it!”

“Is that finally an answer to the question I’ve been asking for like three months now? We’re going with ‘robots only have dicks upon request?’”

Maybe it’s better to stop listening, actually. Not that Maki is given the choice.

“Point is, I still need a test subject! Why not you, while you’re right here? Every experiment we’ve run so far has been demonstrably fine, quit your worry-warting already ‘ya buzzkill.” Miu scoffs, rolling out a wardrobe-sized booth on a dolly.

“But Iruma-channnn,” Kokichi whines. His eye twitches, scanning the new device up and down, only more resolute that “there’s no way I’m gonna go in there unless it’s got AC!”

“That can be arranged,” says Miu, writing at the bottom of a spare paper. “Now, get over here so we can get this show on the road!”

“Nnnnn can’t make me.”

“Come on.”

“Nah.”

“It’ll be fine!”

“For you, maybe.”

“You know what? Fine. Hey Maki!” Miu calls, waving to where Maki is stationed around the corner. “C’mon, this’ll only take, like, two minutes, you in?”

Great. You’ve been Acknowledged.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Maki starts to stammer, but Kokichi has suddenly lit up.

“Ooh! Do it, do it Maki!”

“I really don’t think I should distract from–”

Suddenly, both Miu and Kokichi are peering over the table, all but pounding their fists against the wood as they chant “Do it, do it!”

If anything, their exuberance makes her want to give in less, but the coast is clear, for now… Chihiro gives Maki a withering look. Doesn’t seem like they’ll run out of steam any time soon.

“... Fine.”

Kokichi and Miu turn to one another and high-five, cheering in unison.

“Great,” Miu breezes by, opening an entrance to the box. “Come on in.”

Maki is immediately enveloped in what at first looks like a photo booth but, upon examination, has too many blinking lights and moving parts to be one. In lieu of a screen, a plexiglass barrier shows off the dim reflections of the moving mechanics, leaving the subject to back up into position. A thermometer pops out of the front panel at the same time as a blood pressure cuff restrains her left arm, a bar descending to the top of her head to record her height. Every metric is recorded on a tiny screen on the outside of the chamber.

Experiment: success. The device certainly does its job. Whether it’s been done well is questionable, but it certainly has been done.

Meanwhile, Kokichi has been lounging in quite possibly the single Good Chair in the entirety of Hope’s Peak, talking to Miu about something indistinct. By the time Maki walks out of the machine a matter of minutes has passed.

It feels like it’s been hours.

And Maki is not happy.

“Ouma? I need to talk to you.”

“Can’t it wait? I sorta–”

“Now. Ouma.”

Kokichi keeps his head down, but follows Maki’s footsteps.

“We’re leaving. Goodbye, Miu. Hope you got your data.” Maki states, perfectly deadpan. She turns, practically dragging Ouma by the wrist.

“Harukawa, I’m sorry i–”

“That’s a lie,” Maki helpfully completes the thought, marching out into the hallway. “You’ve been lying all day, making up any excuse you can to be as distracting as possible just waiting for me to screw up. But it isn’t going to work. We are going, to your room, and you will stay there, and it will be quiet. Do you understand?”

Kokichi stops walking. He does not pull away from her hand any further than the natural distance that comes as he stops, glaring up at her with an oddly-canted eye.

“You think you can ground me, Child-Caregiver? All I want is to hang out with my friends, and get to do it at a decent goddamn hour, and that’s SO bad? Aww, am I inconveniencing you? What would you rather be out doing. Huh? Would you rather be hunting me down for sport–”

Maki snaps out of her shock, shaking her head. “UGH! Not everything is always about YOU, you know!” She storms a few steps ahead.

“Well excuse me if you aren’t exactly open about your hobbies,” Kokichi scoffs, jogging up a few more stumbling steps to meet her. “If you insist on making our little forced-bonding-time absolutely miserable, I guess, be my fucking guest.”

“It’s not about fun, it’s about salvaging the entirety of this semester! Out of all of us, you should understand that!”

“Oh, so there is an ‘us’! I thought it a mere myth on the breeze, oh please, Harukawa, regale me with tales of how our miserable myriad of troubled teens that calls itself a class constitutes any kind of Unit,” he coughs on the end, running out of breath. A bit of spit drips from the corner of his mouth, hastily wiped away by a hand before he makes a big swinging gesture with his cane.

This, it turns out, is a mistake.

First, his cane clatters to the floor. In and of itself, this isn’t surprising; at least it didn’t go through a window or otherwise launch across the hall, instead dropping down at Kokichi’s side.

Then Kokichi falls down with it.

He nearly faceplants, the only buffer coming in the form of outstretched arms in front of him that immediately buckle.

Maki stifles half of a laugh. That’s what your overly-theatrical-ass gets when you try to act larger than life itself. She holds out a hand to help him back up. Frustrated as she may be, she isn’t cruel.

… But he doesn’t take it.

In fact, Kokichi doesn’t seem to be moving much at all.

Thinking fast, she immediately turns him onto his side in a recovery position. Still breathing– heavily, at that, as it’s taking up the majority of his focus just to do that much. It’s a full minute before he starts trying to talk.

“Mmaki’alls sumiki,” is about all he can say, saliva rolling down his face, eyes glassy. One eye moves slower than the other as he tries to look up at her in that disturbingly blank way of his.

He says it again.

She doesn’t know what to do.

In for four, hold for four, out for four.

You can’t react this way to a little surprise. Cool heads prevail, Maki, you know this.

She feels a hand on her shoulder.

“Maki? Thank goodness I was following you. Listen, both of you, I’ve called my classmate Mikan. She is a nurse. What I need you to do, Maki, is help me pick him up. Ouma, just keep breathing…” Peko Pekoyama commands, picking up the cane to carry with her bag as she prepares to pick up Kokichi.

There’s an upset indignant note from him, an ‘uh, no shit,’ that pierces through the existential terror. That’s a good sign. That means not every scrap of consciousness needs to be dedicated just to staying alive. “I ‘ust, ‘eed’an ninit,” he tries to speak again, getting steadily more exasperated with himself. Even so, he does not cry.

No matter how he may want to, he does not cry.

------------------

Kokichi Ouma finds himself in a hospital room yet again. Maki Harukawa, however, finally finds herself at liberty to have him out of sight as she leans against the closed door.

Now you can panic.

“Maki?” Peko asks, tilting Maki’s chin up to meet her gaze.

Nevermind.

“You did the right thing, initially. Okay? You put him in a position where he could breathe, which is probably the most important thing you could have done.”

Maki stammers, tugging on her hair with an iron grip. “I did not do the right thing, initially. That’s the problem,” she admits, shaking her head. It’s difficult to stifle the ghost of tears blocking out her vision.

“Hm? What do you mean?” Peko asks, guiding Maki over to sit in a pair of chairs beside one of the many windows on this floor.

No matter how hard she tries to stop them, once they start the words won’t stop flowing. “I mean that it’s my fault he’s like this!”

“... Maki, I saw it, it was an accide–”

“In the game, I shot him. Twice. With laced bolts, he. He just took Kaito, and was planning, s-something, and we were all so scared and I thought he was going to kill him so I covered them in strike-nine, and I shot him. Twice! And I went for a third…”

Peko is taken aback for a moment. Class 79 tends not to talk about their experiences in the simulation, so to hear things like shot and kill only confirm every terrible rumor she’s heard about the entire debacle. She blinks, once, then twice.

“Maki, I. I had no idea.”

Maki pulls on her hair, looping it around her whole hand and it still isn’t enough. “I know, I know, I’m an assassin, Ms. Pekoyama, and he’s the only mark I’ve ever actually killed myself.”

Peko is loath to let the silence spread between the two of them, yet she isn’t sure of what to say. Still, she says anyway: “I am. So sorry, that happened between you two. I assure you, I did not have an understanding of this. History, before I suggested you be paired together.”

“A-and now, now it’s my fault he collapsed, because whatever is wrong with him started because I poisoned him, because I’m a heartless, murder machine a-and,,” Maki hiccups, a hand over her face. She hasn’t even gotten this far into the story with her therapist, yet she sees enough of herself in Peko to entrust her with this secret.

“... I know what it is like to live with regret.” Peko offers. “It is never easy to choose one life over another. I don’t think that it should be, either. You should never have had to make that choice, but you did, and you made it as well as anyone could. You wanted to defend your friends, Maki, and you did. You cannot agonize about how things might have been after the fact if you want to move forward.”

Maki just stares at her hands, and cannot scrub away the illusion they are bright, bold magenta.

“... Maki?”

But Maki is far down the hall, watching Kaito close the door to that damn hospital room, because he’s betrayed me, again.

“... I hated him.” She takes a deep breath, and lets the words swish around in her mouth for a moment before spitting them back out: “I hated him. I wanted him to suffer. He was irritating, and a threat, and I didn’t– I don’t understand him, and I wanted him to get away from me and everyone I care about.” Deep breath in. “So I shot him, with a crossbow, and I laced the bolts with the slowest-acting poison I could find, so he wouldn’t know peace the same way the rest of us hadn’t.”

“Ah,” says Peko, surprised but without any tone of judgment. After all, it is Peko’s turn to think, wouldn’t that be hypocritical? “Multiple things can be true at once, you know. Just because some part of you wanted vengeance does not overwrite your intentions to defend. I’ve only ever known you to want to protect the innocent, Maki, and even if you haven’t always been that person, that is the kind of person you are becoming. Every last one of you was in significant distress at that time, and that includes you. You shouldn’t let self-hatred cloud your perception.”

Maki nods ever-so-slightly.

“What you did was. Excessive, yes, and you should not have done it. But it is in the past now, Maki. The fact that you feel remorse for it proves you aren’t ‘heartless’. You made a poor decision, with a high price. All that can be done for it now is to atone in ways you can. Sometimes, remembrance is all you can offer. But you,” Peko points at the flower on Maki’s uniform, “have a unique gift in all of this. Ouma is still alive now. In this life, you can still make amends.”

Maki sniffs, then holds her breath. In for three, hold for five, hold for four, hold forever… the tears just won’t slow. “It was cruel. I, was cruel, I don’t. I don’t want to be that way, not even to him. I-I want to. Amends, I want to,”

Peko smiles. She takes both of Maki’s hands into her own. “Then you will. You’ve already started, after all.”

The more Maki thinks of it, this whole shadowing experience has shown off facets of Ouma’s personality she hadn’t seen before. He does not like bugs, but still tolerates them out of care for his friendship with Gonta. He could have been cruel and smashed all the leaves, but he picked out any that even may have had eggs on them. Kokichi could have been legitimately cruel, yet he wasn’t. Kiyo, quiet as he is these days, is willing to accept him because Kokichi has accepted him in return. Even Miu, after she tried to bash in his skull with a hammer, has come around to not just tolerating his presence, but coming to enjoy it. Enough to make a machine for the medical wing since he, her friend, is in and out of the hospital so often… so he’s claimed.

Maki can only reconcile now that at least some, possibly all of those claims of chronic pain and complications are very real. Part of her knew this all along, but didn’t want to believe it; it’s easier, after all, to lie to yourself. Hadn’t Kokichi said something to that effect, so long ago?

Despite how irritating he is, despite his best attempts to get under her skin, despite being Kokichi Ouma, he’s… admittedly, a decent friend when it counts. And, perhaps, someday they can be friends as well.

“I still. It. It’s so stupid,” she shakes her head. “I-I better not…”

“But you want to say it, right?” Peko nods.

“I still feel. Jealous? Kaito can do what he wants, of course, but ever since the simulation it’s felt like our trio with Shuichi is… different. Like he’s choosing Kokichi over us.” Over me, she does not say. Peko can see it in her watery eyes.

“That, I’ve certainly understood,” Peko laughs. “Sometimes the person you admire can be… short-sighted, maybe. But your admiration is your own, you know. You have to own it, and, if they don’t ultimately feel the same way…” She looks off into the distance. Imagining someone, no doubt.

“... Right. Right, thank you Ms. Pekoyama.”

“Just Peko is fine, Maki.”

“Thank you, Peko.”

“Of course.”

“... But maybe they do feel the same way. You. Never know until you ask, right?”

Peko snaps back to attention. “I… suppose.”

“It’s just a matter of gathering the inner strength to ask, whether you like the answer or not. … I think you should,” Maki shrugs, drying her tears. “And maybe I should too.”

“Perhaps,” says Peko, unshaken as ever, until… she smiles, conspiratorially. “I will if you will.”

“Alright,” laughs Maki. “Deal. But I have someone I have to address first.”

------------------

Meanwhile, Kaito slowly closes the door to the hospital room. The cool air hits him almost immediately upon entering; the air conditioning must be turned up significantly higher than in the rest of the building. It’s a different room, this time; the slightly different decor is disorienting for a moment, while he allows it to be. There’s something far more important than misplaced flowers and chairs and abstract paintings at its center, though.

“Kokichi?”

There’s a disgruntled sigh from the hospital bed, and an equally disgruntled Kokichi hooked up to not-even-a-fourth-of the equipment he was last time, to Kaito’s knowledge, he actually had to stay here.

“‘eah. Yeah, ‘s me.” He even sounds tired, still slurring words together a touch at this point.

Kaito takes his left hand, the dominant side. The uninjured one.

Kokichi can barely curl his fingers around Kaito’s, for now.

“Like the worst case’a TMJ you ever had,” he tries to smile, but finds the effort fruitless to try. Out of everyone, Kaito won’t mind if you don’t pretend for him. He already knows what you are. “‘Cept it’s everywhere. Mostly.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be talking so much–”

“Tsumiki-chan said, as long as I focus on breathing, I can do what I want. Mostly wanna not-do-things, though. Boring. What’d you do today?”

“You’re asking me?” Kaito laughs, but humors the thought. “Class, mostly. Went out to train with Shuichi, he’s actually coming along pretty well. Still has trouble keeping up with me in the real world, though, lung capacity and all. Been missing Maki, though. She’s really trying her hardest for this class, you know, she’s even talking to that Peko girl right now.”

Kokichi looks away, both eyes now in-sync as he tries to look to the tile floor. “Yeah. She’s still Harukawa, alright.”

Probably not a great time to talk about it, it dawns on Kaito just a little too late.

“What even happened, man, can I ask that? Figure I may as well instead’a dancing around it,” Kaito says, just to banish the thought. To get it out of the way.

Kokichi laughs a little under his breath. It hurts, but there’s a degree to which he can’t help it. “Ask’er yourself.”

Kaito is confused for all of a moment before looking around the–

“Ah! I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you! I-I just thought I could answer any q-questions, so Ouma doesn’t have to-o…” Mikan Tsumiki, Ultimate Nervous Wreck, holds her clipboard to her chest.

Kaito is beside himself, unsure of how to get her to calm back down. Kokichi’s hand squeezes his a little tighter. Give her a moment.

“R-Right, sorry, you were wondering about his condition, right? Ouma’s, I mean. T-There’s good news! And. Bad news, which we’ve already talked about before you arrived, or. I did most of the talking because he’s having a hard time at the moment, but you knew that– Bad news we’ve already talked about, and good news.” Mikan looks up at Kaito expectantly, straining a smile.

“... Do you want me to pick one? Because I’m sure whatever the bad news is won’t look so bad compared to the good,” Kaito nods, resolute.

“Oh yeah, s-s. Sorry. Yeah. SO the good news is this is just a flare-up, probably caused by a mix of stress and the heat outside. He’s been doing a lot better in this building since we have a backup generator for our climate control,” she continues. “But the bad news is that if he doesn’t take care of his condition, he could end up in a full-blown crisis, mister,” a darkness casts over her eyes “and if you do you won’t be able to breathe on your own, then it’s back on a ventilator for up to weeks at a time, and I know how much you hate that.” She picks her head up. “But, hopefully it won’t come to that!”

… It’s a lot to take in at once.

“What. Exactly, is his condition? How could he deteriorate so suddenly?” Kaito asks despite Kokichi’s half-hearted protest.

“It wasn’t sudden. I’ve been feeling it all day… it just got too bad to deal with. That’s all.” Mikan looks over to Kokichi before he relents and nods. “Someone else should know.”

“It seems to be an autoimmune disorder caused by the program. Not one that we’ve seen before, but one that’s kind of unique because of how it happened. The device ‘taught’ his immune system to attack danger that wasn’t physically there, so it started attacking what was there instead. It seems to include some of the signals sent between muscle groups to get them to move, leading to muscle weakness that varies in severity. This would be a moderate exacerbation, I think, so it really could be much worse!”

Mikan is still working on her bedside manner. Kokichi huffs a little, amused, while Kaito is still processing.

“Is. Is it ever going to stop?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Mikan sighs, a little shake of her head. The same thing Kaito had been told about his lungs. “It’s impossible for us to know, but don’t count on it.”

“So… So what can we do? There has to be some kind of training we can do to make it a little less severe, right?” The impossible is always possible, is it not?

“Well. Physical therapy might help as part of the treatment, but it’s most important he’s taking his meds regularly and getting enough sleep,” she says. “But it’s pretty near impossible to enforce.”

Kaito looks over at Kokichi for a moment, then back to Mikan.

“Maybe, on his own. What if he had a roommate? Then we’d share responsibility.”

“You’re kidding me,” Ouma says, doing his best to sit up a little. It’s more effort than it’s worth, but that does not stop him from trying.

“It’s that, or have you check in even more regularly than you already do. Even if I have to fish you out of the dorms,” Mikan shakes her head, tsk-tsk-tsk. “It’s not a bad idea. I’ll take it up with Administration. Unless you’d rather have an aide following you around…?”

“NO. ‘m good. It’s good. Could be way worse…”

“And I’ll see if I can get you an air conditioner in your room? It is very literally medically necessary.”

“Yessss,” Ouma seems happy enough, and settles down. It’s distinctly possible he’s too tired to put up much more protest, and takes the opportunity to start to nod off.

Kaito smiles fondly, and shakes his head.

------------------

Several hours later, Kokichi wakes up to the creaking of his door. He tenses, finding that he can, even if it’d be too much to disengage himself from ensnaring wires and monitors. He doesn’t bother. A moment later, it’s clear enough who it is.

“... Hello, Ouma.”

“Harukawa.”

Kokichi stares upward, idly counting holes in the ceiling tile.

The silence is deafening.

“I’m sorry,” Maki starts, a meandering sentence unto itself that unravels slowly from her tongue.

Too slowly, for Kokichi. “Yeah, alright. For what?”

“Take your pick.” The courage she’s built up is thrown to the wind as she strives to just say it, or at least say something.

“Sure. Forgiven. Whatever. Now, what’s it you want?”

“... That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Ooh, she catches on! Maki Harukawa, how do you do it,” he laughs. It’s a strangled sound.

“Cut it out, Kokichi, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what happened today. I’m sorry about pushing you too far–”

“You didn’t push me too far.” he says, but it sounds… hollow. Sincere, insincere, it doesn’t seem to matter; there’s no substance to it, but it’s also packed with double-triple meanings and spite.

“I’m sorry anyway,” Maki says.

This appears to appease him, if just for a minute.

“I’m sorry about pushing you around, and for blaming you for my own inability to properly focus.” she sighs. “… In my defense, you don’t make it easy, but. That’s not the point. The point is, I should not have done that. I got angry, and when I get angry sometimes I act rashly. So I’m sorry.”

There’s something bigger to that statement, of course. Something he cannot help but respond to with a brutal truth:

“I don’t know if I can forgive you. I want to stop being scared of you, but it’s not. Suddenly okay again.” He turns his head, half-muttering. “I’m not sure I’ll ever really be ‘okay’ again….”

The silence returns.

“... That’s. That’s okay. I mean, if you don’t. You don’t, have to. Respect is earned, and so… so is forgiveness, I think. I hope I can earn that in your eyes.”

“... Alright,” says Kokichi. “Fair enough.”

“See you around,” Maki shrugs, halfway to closing the door.

“And Maki?”

“Yeah?” she pauses.

“Thanks.”

32 notes · View notes

bluebudgie · 9 months

Text

Oh hi. I heard it's gifs tips'n'tricks time.

View this as a little addition to this post I made a while back.

This time I thought I'd take you through my gif making process. It'll be very specific to Photoshop CS6 but maybe some of you will find parts of it helpful regardless.

And since our biggest nemesis appears to be ~The Tumblr 10MB File Size Limit~ I decided to go for the absolute worst premise for a gif: Lots of stupid wobbly particles and gw2 bloom and transparency effects. Because huge gifs love these.

Aah, a horrifying amount of those in this single scene. Perfect!

Let's start with a little timelapse video, and I'll get into the details with screenshots below then.

So this actually went smoother than expected? Not super much fiddling needed in the end, but here's how it went in detail:

Load the raw footage into photoshop.

You can do this in two different ways: What I do is simply drag & drop the video file into the program and it'll open with a video timeline and some rudimentary video editing options.

What you can also do is File -> Import -> Videoframes to Layers and select your source video, which will give you a timeline of separate still image frames instead.

It comes down to preference, I used both methods in the past but nowadays I find the video timeline more intuitive.

Cut the footage to roughly the right length.

From experience I know that most of my gifs are around 3-4 seconds long. This can of course vary depending on different factors. Don't get too attached to the exact seconds you selected, you might have to shave off a bit depending on how evil the file size decides to act.

Optional: Change footage speed

Depending on the gif and its purpose, I slow the footage down. I usually do this for the visual effect (especially nice for showing off animation details) but it also has the practical side effect that it can help with file size. Say you want a gif that loops after 4 seconds. At 100% speed your gif will move at your original framerate (in my case 60 fps); if you slow it down but keep the same length in seconds it'll logically use less frames. That's less data to blow up the size! Yey.

Crop the image.

Now this is probably one of the most crucial parts when it comes to your final file size, and your gif looking nice on tumblr. Since the tumblr dashboard displays images at a width of 540px, you want this to be your absolute minimum image width to ensure a crisp image. If I can, I'll make the gifs larger (I like starting at a minimum of 600px and then reduce the image dimensions if needed).

With that in mind.... choose your image crop wisely.

A "widescreen" image like this will be the most merciful in terms of file size, but might not always be what you want in terms of composition.

Given tumblr's very vertical nature, this kind of approach will look great in posts (if it fits your image composition of course), but at 540px minimum width tends to be a file size monster.

For the gif I'm attempting to make here I opted for a more square approach. The subjects of the scene fill out the image's space nicely, and it's still a nice size for tumblr posts overall. Let's see what the file size will say about this.

Replay your footage after cropping to make sure you didn't accidentally cut off any motion you didn't mean to cut.

Next up: optional colour corrections

I tend to crank up the saturation for gifs way, way more than I ever would for regular screenshots since I find that often the limited web palette can make them look fairly dull. But like everything else so far, this greatly varies depending on the scene you're showing.

Note that colour correction can increase or decrease file size depending on what exactly you're doing. The more different colours you have, the larger your file size will be.

Reduce image dimensions

Since my original video footage was fairly zoomed out, the cropped area only left me 575px of width to begin with. In an earlier attempt (that I absolutely did not fail to capture and therefore had to record the whole thing a second time) I tried to leave it at these dimensions, but the 10MB size limit did not like that so now I knew better and immediately reduced the width to 560px.

Note: After you've changed the video's dimensions it won't let you edit the speed anymore (for some reason), so make sure you've got that settled.

After all the adjustments are done it's time for the moment of truth...

File > Save for Web...

This beautiful window will open and...

Aww almost.

But honestly? That's not bad at all. I've had completely different disasters to deal with in the past (starting somewhere in the mid 20MB, good luck trying to make use of every size-reducing trick you've got up your sleeve).

Before I do any adjustments to shave off the last few KB though, I preview the gif to make sure it loops correctly. I want the Chak to sway seemlessly. Turns out it didn't, so I back out of the window to remove a few frames from the footage. And when I open the "Save for Web" window again....

Well that's anticlimatic. Apparently those few frames were enough to get the file size where I need it. (Note: Sometimes Tumblr likes to be a little b* and pretends your file is too big when you're this close to the 10MB limit. It be like that.)

While my gif journey theoretically ends here, I want to at least show you a few more things that could have helped if I had needed to get the file even smaller.

So this dithering thing I keep making a big deal of...

It can make or break a gif. In my experience this is so, so crucial to the final file size and quality of the gif.

In my own very amateurish words, dithering is a way to emulate colours that aren't actually part of the images colour palette. This is especially needed for in-game transparency effects like fog, glowy stuff, or smooth gradients. And that is part of why I chose this hell scene of all the ley line glow and the typical gw2 bloom that's particularly bad in this area.

PS CS6 offers you three different kinds of dithering techniques: Diffusion, pattern and noise.

My go-to is diffusion dithering, which has adjustable quality levels.

In my opinion it's generally the type of dithering that's often the least noticeable and creates the smoothest looking images. Unfortunately, it's also the one that creates by far the largest file sizes. Another downside is that it doesn't work super well with heavy DoF/fog etc. effects and is prone to really ugly banding, especially visible the more you decrease the quality. It looks awful for this particular scene. (Look at the glow around my asura's headpiece if you don't know what I'm talking about. Or... just the entire background.)

Both noise and pattern dithering will get you smaller file sizes, luckily.

I've never used noise so far (it tends to look messy in my opinion), but pattern gets the job done! Especially for gradient heavy gifs it's a lifesaver. It's definitely more noticeable than the diffusion dithering on static parts of the gif, but it absolutely makes up for it by not having any ugly banding effects. This is also what gave me the neat little 9.99MB file size in comparison to the diffusion dithering's 15.31MB.

Last but not least, if fiddling with the dithering or image dimensions doesn't help you get below that magic 10MB mark...

Limit the colour palette

You can either manually colour edit your image to use less colours for a more artistic approach, or you can let Photoshop limit the palette to its best abilities.

Additionally you can double click each individual colour to replace it how you see fit. (I've done that in the past when Petthri's yellow eye colour got erased and I had to bring it back manually.)

In this gif's example, reducing the palette from 256 to 128 colours has brought the file size down from 9.9 MB to about 8 MB. It can have a big effect, but doesn't always in my experience.

SHOW US THE GODDAMN GIF ALREADY!!!

Not the best quality gif we've ever seen on tumblr, but given the extremely unfavourable source material I think it turned out alright. I have to admit I'm actually surprised it worked at all.

Oh well! This got long (once again). I hope this was at least a little bit helpful to someone out there. Happy gif making!

#i did not proof read this #budgie plays gw2 #gif

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lemonadedino · 3 months

Text

Have a snippet of landoscar enemies to lovers background story from the much ado about nothing au fic below the cut 🫶

I have to prove to myself that I’ve actually worked in it lol

As he walked back to his seat, amid all the polite clapping, he heard him.

“That Piastri guy had the most boring presentation ever, I swear. I was actively falling asleep. And don’t get me started on the slide choice, Carlos! Where was the color? The variety? The fun, engaging design elements? It was just all so bland, mate. Blergh.”

Oscar was pretty sure the curly-haired man currently launching a vitriolic attack on his PowerPoint was named Lando Norris. He vaguely recognized him from his presentation earlier in the day.

Oscar had heard his name floating around the office break room. Supposedly, he was the office prodigy, some sort of comp-sci genius poached straight out of Oxford. Public opinion on Lando seemed to deem him as an intensely likable and cherubic, if slightly hyperactive, team member with a strong work ethic and sharp sense of humor.

Listening to the Brit’s increasingly passionate tirade, Oscar wasn’t so sure about the first part of that descriptor.

Unaware that he now had an audience, Lando kept on ranting to his companion, gesticulating wildly.

“I can’t believe he used Times New Roman, Carlos. Times New Roman! That’s literally the worst possible choice. It means you intentionally didn’t want to use the default font, Arial, but still couldn’t branch out and be more exciting! Oswald is right there!” His voice gradually climbed in volume. “Also! Who actually adds transitions to their slides? That’s some George type shit.”

“Mate, yours wasn’t much better.” The words came spitting out before Oscar even registered that his mouth had opened. Clearly, four hours of sleep had lowered his normal inhibitions surrounding conflict avoidance. Two sets of eyes snapped to look at him, one pair unnervingly reminiscent of watercolor and the other velveteen brown.

Oscar swallowed. Well. There’s no backing out now. He might as well fully commit.

“At least I didn’t use brain-meltingly bright neon colors and an overcrowded SlidesGo template. And a soundtrack? Really, Norris? Where did you even find that?” Oscar was on a roll now. There was something oddly liberating about it. “What are you, a five year old who got access to Microsoft Office for the first time?”

Lando pouted, which in theory should look absolutely ridiculous on a full grown man. It certainly didn’t help him fight the “five year old who got access to Microsoft Office for the first time” allegations. Yet somehow, on Lando, it was adorable. Oscar shut down that train of thought as soon as it sprouted.

Lando pursed his lips, primed to respond, no doubt with another jab at Oscar’s presentation.

“Oscar! Great job, dude!” Logan suddenly hollered from across the room, eagerly waving him over. Oscar had never been more grateful for his best friend. He would definitely be buying him one of those Arnold Palmers that the American so adored from the office café in thanks.Taking the opportunity to escape, Oscar waved back and slipped away.

He heard Carlos chuckle as he left.

“He’s really got you there, Lando. You know, I quite liked his presentation. He’s a good speaker. Very articulate,” the older man said.

“Shut up. That’s my new Sworn Arch-Nemesis you’re talking about.”

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think? What happened to Betty from HR being your Sworn Arch-Nemesis? You were complaining to me about her just yesterday.”

“I’m not being dramatic, Carlos. Can’t you see it? Betty’s been ousted. Oscar Piastri is an infinitely more qualified candidate for the role of my Sworn Arch-Nemesis.” Lando paused. “Plus, I’m pretty sure Betty is nearing her 70s. She talks about her grandchildren all the time. I don’t want to deal with the hassle of finding a replacement after her retirement.”

Up until that moment, Oscar had been planning to chase Lando down after the conference, buy him a coffee, and apologize effusively for his outburst. Sure, it had been rude of the Brit, but it didn’t justify Oscar insulting his presentation. He didn’t know why he had reacted so strongly to Lando’s snarky commentary. Truly, Lando’s presentation hadn’t been that bad. He’d seen way worse. Oscar actually thought that the soundtrack was a nice touch.

But if Lando was already dead set on treating him as his Sworn Arch-Nemesis, Oscar didn’t see why two couldn’t play at that game. He had to spice up his workday somehow, after all.

Since then, for the last couple of years, there had been a constant stream of traded barbs and petty jibes, more often than not sent via Microsoft Teams, because Lando transferred to a new division based across the country a year ago.

Oscar would never admit it, but he had started looking forward to opening his inbox every morning, eager to see what creative insult Lando had launched at him. Obviously, he shot one of his own right back.

#landoscar #landoscar fic

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overheard-at-camp-half-blood · 4 months

Note

How would you rank the godly parents

So here’s a tier ranking

Iris is the only one in the S tier, because she is shown to willingly be apart of their lives as well as treat them nicely.

In A tier, we have Hephaestus, Apollo, Poseidon and Dionysus, all of which have been shown to be somewhat better than the other gods. Poseidon and Hephaestus have both been shown to take somewhat of an interest in their children’s lives. Apollo had a development arc. Dionysus isn’t around his children willingly.

B tier is Aphrodite, Demeter and Hermes, these are godly parents that are not necessarily as horrible as the bottom half, but are still extremely neglectful. Hermes is there, and my mind might change with the show, but he really seems like the average amount of neglectful, it just happened to be his son that snapped.

C tier is Ares and Hades, who I just feel are assholes to their children. I know people are going to say, “Why is Hades so low? He pays attention to his kids.” Yeah… and is extremely abusive towards Nico. Or did we forget that he almost killed Nico? I do think Hades is better than Ares because he took responsibility for some shit, but not all.

D tier is Athena, Zeus & Nemesis, the worst of the worst. Athena… everyone knows my opinions on Athena at this point, but Zeus is the absolute WORST parent in history. Also, Nemesis’s son had to physically disable himself to get his mother’s help.

#percy jackson #annabeth chase #nico di angelo #leo valdez #jason grace #pjo godly parent quiz #PJO godly parents

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save-the-villainous-cat · 2 years

Note

Hey just wondering if you could do something where Villian (or Hero) is flirting with Hero (or Villian) until they are extremely flustered to the point they can't comprehend anything :) All good if you can't👍 Thankyou:)

“What are you doing here?”

The hero froze and their eyes widened. They hadn’t even seen the villain and yet, they knew it was them without a doubt. This voice was more than remarkable.

Slowly, they turned around.

“Ah! What a pleasure to see you,” they answered, trying to smile like an idiot. The hero was embarrassed, in fact, they were so embarrassed their face turned red.

Not only had their worst enemy found them, the villain was also dressed in a uniform.

A fucking uniform. Tight. It looked tight. And flexible. And good.

The villain leaned against the wall of the long hallway, ignoring the many people — villains — rushing by. It was an opportunity to look at the villain’s forearms even more.

It should’ve been illegal to look this attractive. The hero hated that they felt like this.

After staring at them for an uncomfortable time, the villain gestured the hero to come over with their index finger.

The hero complied.

“This is interesting. I know everything suits you and even better, nothing does too. But villainy? Darling, enlighten me.” The hero’s fake smile died.

“I’m here on a mission, dipshit. Let me do my job, this has nothing to do with you,” they hissed. The hero hoped being mean to them would scare off the villain.

But it seemed like the villain was into that. Their grin suggested it, at least.

Of course the villain would ruin this, though. They loved ruining the hero’s plans. Even if it had nothing to do with them.

“You’re on the wrong territory, love.” The villain leaned over to whisper in their ear. As the villain’s hot breath hit their skin, the hero felt the tiny hairs on their neck stand up. “You need someone who can take care of you.”

“I don’t need your help,” the hero said, glowering at them. “I just need you to get out of my way.”

The hero wanted to walk away but taking the second step was impossible. The villain’s hand was on their arm and pulled them closer. They did it softly, though, which perplexed the hero even more.

“Darling. I wasn’t asking. Where do you need to be?” On top of you, the hero thought. They shook their head to get those thoughts out of their head.

“I don’t need your help.”

“You do,” the villain insisted. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Unless you’re willing to let me give you a good time.”

“I…” Thinking was getting challenging quite a bit. “I just need to find…”

“Yeah?” the villain asked. Their voice was pure honey, all smooth and warm. They put their one hand on the wall, next to the hero’s ear.

“…Actually, uhm—”

“Use your words,” the villain said gently. They still smiled, clearly enjoying what a mess their nemesis was.

“Roof…I need to get to the roof.” The villain let out a short laugh.

Confused and even a bit frustrated, the hero stared at them. They really were pretty. But mean.

“This is the only wing of the building in which you’re not going to get on top. I’ll show you a safe way, though,” the villain promised. They winked at the hero before they took their wrist and pulled them with them.

“Wait…you’re helping me?” the hero asked.

“Yeah. One villain less is one rival less. Now, come on. I also know lots of private places.”

The hero only understood what the villain meant when, two weeks later, over 50 villains arrested, they were the most powerful villain in the city. Thanks to the hero.

The flirting never really stopped though, no matter the villain’s position.

#writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #request #an answer for an ask #suggestive

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lets-try-some-writing · 2 years

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Hello, I just found you and I LOVE your blog. Do you got any headcanons kicking around in that wonderful brain of yours for any of the Decepticons? Anything at all is fine

I actually do have some fun headcannons for you my dear! I have some others planned out for the future (plenty for the Decepticons, don't worry) but here is one I was already working on.

Aching Scars (Decepticon Edition)

Knockout

With how much effort Knockout puts into maintaining his frame it should be obvious that he has some issues with it.

Knockout has two main problems plaguing him, the first being a deep set self consciousness regarding his appearance, and the second being hyper sensitive plating.

He didn't exactly have a great life before the war began, he was a low caste bot who fought tooth and nail in order to become a doctor.

However in the early days when he was still fighting for his place in medical school, he was picked on, beaten, and verbally abused relentlessly for his origins and shabby appearance.

He couldn't afford anything better at the time so he just accepted the abuse silently, however the event still deeply affected him, and as soon as he had the shanix he got the best bodywork money could buy.

As for the plating issue, it is a result of severe energon deprivation during his sparkling years which caused his plating to become much more sensitive than it would have been otherwise.

He handles his self consciousness well enough by taking excellent care of his frame, but despite his efforts he still has some bad days where his plating just hurts.

On those days even slightly strong air flows can cause him discomfort, as for touch, he does everything to avoid it as the pain from such an action is often irritating at best and agonizing at worst.

Breakdown will help him apply special waxes to numb his plating and watch car races with him on the television afterwards in order to comfort him.

Breakdown

Like Bulkhead, Breakdown has been through some things and managed to come out relatively unscathed for the most part.

However unlike Bulkhead he has walked away not with joint pain, but back pain. (No, it is not because of his heavy set front)

Swinging around a giant hammer all the time and generally being stuck with heavy duty jobs has put a lot of strain on his back and he just has days where it bothers him more than usual.

Most of the time it's fine, he smiles, laughs it off, and ignores the aching protoform.

However after particularly active battles and his later confrontations with mech he has some days that just suck.

His back is painful and he can hardly walk without slumping over or leaning on a wall for support and to take a little pressure off his overextended cables.

If he can get away with it he will lay down on the floor on some relatively uninhabited part of the nemesis and just rest, sometimes pulling out a video on a dataslate to pass the time.

When Knockout eventually catches him (because of course he will find out about his best friend's situation) the first thing he does is pump some painkillers into his system.

Afterwards he will force Breakdown to wear a back brace and lay down on an actual berth for the remainder of the day, he might even bring a few snacks round for Breakdown if he is in a good mood.

Knockout covers for him by telling Megatron that Breakdown is assisting him in his work.

It's something that Breakdown greatly appreciates as he knows Knockout prefers to stay in the good graces of who ever is in charge and doesn't like doing anything that could get him in trouble.

After Breakdown's back pains ease up he always leaves Knockout a little something in thanks, generally some polish.

Arachnid

Arachnid... had a less than perfect sparklinghood.

She was not treated well by any means and was manipulated and hurt endlessly.

Her past has affected her mind in terrible ways.

Now all she knows is violence and manipulation, it is the only way for someone like her to survive. (At least that is what she believes)

Her actions emulate this, with her brutal killings and treacherous behavior whenever things start to go south.

She has no friends so to speak of and has no solid loyalties, but she still requires some socialization every now and then.

She sometimes likes to pretend that she is normal, that everything is alright and that she and Arachnid are separate entities.

On those days she will approach another bot and try her best to fit in, to be a sister or companion, a facsimile of what a family should be like.

It has never ended well, especially after the start of the war.

Since coming to earth she has stopped trying to seek out companionship in others as much as she can help.

However sometimes she still wants to see someone, anyone else, and will hunt down an Autobot or Decepticon to torment to satisfy her need for socialization.

Shockwave

Shockwave is a mess, at least mentally.

His emotions were suppressed long ago by the senate, however they still hold some sway over his actions, weather he likes it or not.

His long years alone on Cybertron took a toll on his mind, making his long dormant parental instincts activate once again in a desperate attempt to get him to seek out another bot.

He kept it controlled up until he came onboard the nemesis where he proceeded to spend as much time away from others as possible, deep in his labs in order to keep his 'illogical protocols' in check.

However, not taking care of his spark's needs left him gloomy and depressed, at least as much as he can be with his limited emotional ability.

He tries to drown it out in his work but it becomes harder and harder for him to ignore.

Thankfully (or unfortunately) after the creation of Predaking, Shockwave's erratic instincts gain something to focus on, at last granting him respite.

Predaking is the closest thing to a sparkling onboard the nemesis, as such Shockwave's parental drives imprinted on him without issue.

This has led to a strange relationship. With Shockwave an emotionless scientist, and Predaking a newborn, yet mature Predacon bound together in something akin to a Caretaker-sparkling bond.

It grants them both some healing and growth, with Shockwave learning to recognize his emotions again and Predaking gaining a somewhat loving protector and teacher until he abandons ship to reach his own goals.

Even after Predaking leaves, he and Shockwave still meet occasionally to satisfy their desire to experience family, even if it is just in each other.

Starscream

Despite his flighty and cowardly nature, Starscream has accumulated nearly as many injuries as Megatron himself over the years.

He has lost his T-cog once, the scars from its removal still causing him pain on occasion.

He has been torn to shreds multiple times, to the point of getting a complete frame reformat in order to get rid of the most nasty scars.

And to top it all off he has had his trine ripped from him by the vicious tides of war.

All in all, he has issues.

But the most noticeable one is his extreme paranoia and loneliness.

Without the comfort of his trine he feels the need to be in control all the time in order to give himself a sense of security, even if his power is only in name.

The seekers have a very clear chain of command, but they are also all still family. But on the nemesis it just isn't the same, everything can change in an instant simply because of Megatron's mood that day.

He can't handle the never ending possibility of being thrown from the only familiar place he has left, but he also hasn't forgotten how quickly loyalties can shift.

Megatron has tried to get rid of him one too many times for him to ever feel safe with him.

He doesn't want to be alone because it is not how his kind are meant to be, they are social Cybertronians, incredibly so. But he also can't risk growing to close with anyone on board the nemesis as it could very well be used against him.

He wants his family, he wants to be loved, he wants his trine back.

On the days where it hurts too much he considers going to the Autobots, he considers crushing his pride and lowering his defenses if only so that he can have a family again.

Sometimes he nearly goes through with it.

But in the end he always returns to the nemesis and sobs quietly in his berthroom where none save Soundwave can bother him, too afraid to leave and too lonely to continue putting up his façade of strength.

Soundwave

Soundwave is not silent for dramatic effect, he physically cannot speak the way others do.

He was crafted for an explicit purpose, the process huge amounts of information from Cybertron's collective datanet.

He was not made to do anything other than monitor those he was instructed to look into and collect any and all data requested of him.

However eventually he ended up rebelling and was tossed into the gladiatorial pits in order to get rid of him in a way that would still have some benefit.

Against the odds he learned to be something other than a machine, he became a person and survived the horrors the the pits in no short part due to Megatron's kindness.

Soundwave and Megatron bonded in the pits and during their quest to gain sway among the masses. In those days he, Megatron, and Orion were brothers in arms, companions fighting for a better future.

He never wanted the war to happen, he never wanted the friendships he forged to be broken.

Everything from the war to his time in the pits has damaged him, not only leaving him with physical scars but also severe PTSD and anxiety.

He watched Megatron descend into tyranny, but he just can't bring himself to accept it, to relent and acknowledge that the friend he fought beside died long ago and now is only a husk operated by wrath and greed.

He pretends everything is normal, that everything is fine, that everything they do is for the greater good and that so long as he is loyal, everything will work out in the end.

Some days he can't ignore it, some days his spark screams at him to flee and his processors feel unsteady.

On those days he keeps to himself even more than usual and confides his Lazerbeak and Ravage, distracting himself from the reality and indulging himself in his own fantasies until everything calms down again.

Then he will return to work, pretending that everything is fine again until his spark forces him to see the reality once more.

Megatron

The great and mighty warlord Megatron suffers from many mental issues that are so numerous as there to be no point in naming them.

Despite all that he is a strategical genius and highly charismatic, even after snorting copious amounts of dark energon.

However said dark energon has not done good things for his frame in the long run.

His old injuries from the pits and the height of the war have long since healed, leaving him with only minor aches and pains every now and then.

But once dark energon was thrown into the mix the only world he came to know is one of pain when he isn't high as a kite on the stuff.

His spark chamber aches as it is assaulted by Unicron's influence, and every part of his body burns with rage made manifest, causing him to act erratically.

On days where it is really bad he will retreat to his quarters and write poetry to describe his woes.

Often he finds himself growing sentimental during those times, remembering the days he spent with Orion before everything fell to pieces.

He doesn't want to hate Orion, how could he hate Orion? So to preserve the memory of his brother he separates him and Optimus in his mind and places all his hate and anguish on the Prime, as is shown in his rather disturbing writings.

Megatron lives in a state of delusion similar to Soundwave, unable to accept that his actions may be wrong and that Orion and Optimus are one and the same, only separated by maturity and memory.

Megatron tries not the think too hard on it, lest he destroy his own world view.

I know it's not the best but I hope you like it! I tried my best at making the Decepticons interesting and unique in their issues but honestly they are all so screwed up its kinda hard not to have some overlapping. Anyway thanks for the request! It was a ton of fun to write this!

#transformers #transformers prime #tfp #fluff #angst #starscream #megatron #knockout #breakdown #shockwave #predaking #arachnid #soundwave #Injuries for all my dear Decepticons #gotta love all that suffering

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bitchlessdino · 2 years

Text

i love you the mostie (m)

Pairing: gn!reader x lee chan

Genre: smut, fluff

Word count: 2.5k

tags: established relationship, childhood friends, frienemies, witty banter, shaved ice, chair stuff, name calling, cussing, i love yous, brief spanking, unprotected sex, creampies, whiny chan, good old fashion sex

author note: how is it that a brain rot will last for days but for me to write, it takes weeks. chan rot will keep me awake for years.

You had known Chan for as long as you were sucking on juice boxes. You pulled on each other’s hair, chased each other in the backyard, and fought over toys. You both knew the exact kind of things that would annoy each and made it a point to repetitively bring it up. This did not change when you grew up alongside each other, including through periods and surprise boners. You were the worst of best friends, you were worsties.

However, some things did start to alter as you grew feelings for one another. Chan, being cocky as he was, was reassured that you reciprocate his feelings seeing as dressed more provocatively when he came around. You were practically taunting him with your body and it’s a natural development, swaying its mind-boggling shape. Not to mention that you were not so subtle in your hint dropping that you basically threw out your thoughts in a karaoke battle at one point. He then took the matter into his own hands and confessed, admitting his feelings, to which you replied,

“Let me get back to you with that.”

The words leave your lips all while that sadistic curve of your lips formed across your face. He knew how you loved teasing, and you were thriving on the fact that he admitted to his feelings first. You did eventually update your relationship from worsties to exclusively romantic arch nemesis(es), but then not much changed. The main difference was you spent more time together, maybe held hands sometimes, and had the occasionally locked-on stare. The kind of stares that make you sweat on the back of your knees, or make you blink rapidly from their intensity.

But besides those things, nothing has changed. Nothing, you thought as you straddle in Chan’s lap as he typed his draft for his anthropology thesis. You shift in your seat, picking at strands of his messy hair until it is parted to your liking as the boy sighs in frustration. He had been working on it for days now, but none of the wording was to his liking, and it didn’t help that you were practically sitting on top of his boner right now.

“Hey dork, can you take a look at my paper? Let me know if any of this sounds right.” He nudges you, handing in his laptop.

You take it away from him, hands on either of his shoulders, glancing at the screen behind Chan’s head briefly before stating, “It’s trash.”

“Thanks, Shakespeare,” sarcasm coating his tongue, “What can I do to make it better?”

You place the laptop closed on the desk behind you, quickly turning to engulf his broad back, “Dude, I don’t know. I’m not good at writing.”

You hook your chin to his neck, arms tightening around his body, inhaling the woodsy sage cologne you bought him for his birthday. How it mixed with his natural skin felt comforting, huggable, loveable. He embraced you just the same, stroking the back of your head. You could feel him smile, pressing you close to him as he slouched in his swivel chair.

“I should’ve known better to come to you for internet and advice.”

“I know you came for food too, don’t you lie to me and yourself that the Chinese take-out wasn’t on your agenda, loser.”

He scoffs, “You bought that for me and you know it, even if you ate more than half of the fried rice.”

“Shut up,” you tighten your grip, almost choking him.

“I’m still hungry,” he whispers.

“Well, sorry for being a pig, asshole,” you respond quite brutishly.

“Not for that.”

His hand follows the line of your back, tracing against your cool skin, a shiver running down your back. Your breath hitches as he palmed over the surface, taking in his fingertips memorizing every mole or scar delicately as a feather. Your lips press in a firm line anxiously, wondering where this is all going. His breath heats up your neck, lips grazing your skin.

Salvia drops quickly down your throat. “W-What then?”

Chan chuckles, drawing his lips to your ear. You didn’t think you could get closer than you already were, your heart beating like a marching band in your chest, hoping he doesn’t hear from the proximity. “Shaved…ice…I want shaved ice.”

You huff, pulling away from him. “W-we can get that, stupid.”

“What are you nervous for, dweeb?” He laughs enough for his eyes to form crescents.

“As if, you narcissist.” Your body pulls away from his touch only to have him restrained in place, interlocking with your fingers.

His eyes flicker to your pink cheeks, pacing his breathing to steady a healthy rhythm the best he could and avert to your perfect supple lips quivering as you speak. “We can get shaved ice later.”

His hand curves up towards your cheek, the heat of your skin sensitive to his palms, tenderly observing your features. His thumb swipes across the skin under your eyes, brushing against your bottom lashes. Your mouth hangs slightly agape watching his eyelids weigh down to stare back at you. There goes the back of your knees sweating again.

He guides your head forward to meet his, the curve of your lips fitting his mold quintessentially. You breathe out a breath of relief, as if you were holding it back this entire time, and flutter your eyes shut. You balance your hands on either of his shoulders, tilting your head to the side for a proximal advantage point. Your torso closes up to his toned frame, losing your mind over the pillowy texture of his lips. You shift in his lap, erupting a twitch to the development in his pants, and Chan softly gasps.

“L/n, you—”

“Stay still,” You grasp his cotton fabric with much desperation. “I’m gonna ruin you…Lee Chan.”

Names were intimate between you two. Usually, nicknames, tauntings, and straight up insults were how you acknowledge each other. It had been like that for as long as you knew one another. You only called him by his name when you got serious or needy and vice versa. Then again, it felt natural to say the name of the person that brings the euphoric sense of climax. It was the perfect way it rolls off the tongue and was the only word comprehensively pronounceable at the time.

“How are you gonna do that?” He taunts with a crooked grin.

“Watch me.”

Chan drinks in your gaze, impossible to resist your advances, and only reacts as you unbutton his blouse. One plastic piece at a time, you pulled it off of him, adoring the skin underneath. He flushes under your touch, his hands tingling in anticipation. You kiss his chin and then up to his jaw. His soft tenor voice aching as you bit into his soft flesh, relieving it by licking the bruises.

Chan’s nails dig into your sides and your frame flinches. “Hey—” “Mmh, so…good…”

You bury your face in his neck, blushing from his commentary like it was strawberry picking season, and continue pricking his skin, not forgetting to leave him something to remember you by. His hands held firmly on your hips, grooving your body against his erection. You felt his length brush against your arousal. The stained thin fabric stuck to your sopping skin, craving a sweet sense of fullness.

You throw your head back, landing your forehead against his. Your perspiration merges together and all you think about is how every time you both get intimate, you both get quiet like how you are now. It was different from the snarky remarks that you throw at one another. All those conversations go straight out in the window when Chan gets his hands on you. Your hands find his bulge, creating a dome to play with its size.

“Your cock was just made for me, was it? Perfect to play with,” you rub along its shape, Chan’s whimpers sending you close to the edge, “Perfect to hold…Perfect fit to cum around.”

“Y/n, please.” He begs.

He grips around your torso, taking shallow breaths, his nails creating white crescents along your skin. His cock twitches in your hands, causing a sly smile on your face. “I want to play with you, Chan.”

“I-I want that too.”

You begin to unravel his trousers, pulling his length out from under his briefs. Chan stands stiff in your gaze, watching you rub your thumb along the slit of the head. It secretes a thin layer on the pad of your thumb, raging a bright red. You lick the corner of your lips, the heat of his cock mouth watering at the sensation.

You lean back into the desk, pushing aside your undergarments beneath your shorts, exposing your arousal leaking out of you. Chan gulps, leveraging your body with one hand, prodding your hole with the other. “Shit...”

You allow the full length you slip in your entrance, easing down and feeling him squeeze into your walls. You involuntarily moan, relaxing against Chan. You brush against his lips and he ensues a heated kiss. His hands underneath the fabric of your shorts, he digs into your flesh and holds your ass in his hands, following the pace of your motion. You bite into his lips, quickly licking away any soreness you left behind.

“You feel so fucking good,” Chan expresses, a hand prying behind you to ensure doesn’t slip out, and jerks himself back into you slightly.

“Mmh, Chan…so hot…fuck me…good…”

“You’re so good with your words,” Chan chuckles, lifting your body up and propping you for an advantageous position.

Your ass bounces staccato rhythm in his lap, his hands bring you up and down, your skin slapping against his harmoniously. Chan was finally the one in control. You clasp your hand to his cheek, holding your gaze with his effortlessly. His glass eyes just wearily stare up at you, weak to your every quality, but otherwise, he moves with determination. His body is hot to the touch, but comforting all at once, you feel yourself get close and more audibly incomprehensive.

“Hold on.” Chan manages to pick up and place your back against the chair.

Slouched in on the swivel, he takes your legs in the air and meets them with either of his shoulders. He pops his cock back in its designated place and flicks his hips. Your mouth opened ajar, Chan firmly grips your thighs and fucks you deep, throwing his head back. You’re disheveled this time beneath him, but not any less sexy than before.

“You’re so pretty,” he exclaims breathlessly, “you’re so perfect for me.”

He smooths his hand over the side of your thigh and slaps it underside, earning a yelp from your end and a fat red patch of skin. You grip his chair arms and whine his name relentlessly, getting louder as he pushes up against you. He narrows his eyes in your vulnerable expressions, red across you cheeks, and hair flying in all directions; you were all fucked out for him.

“You gonna cum for me? You’ve always been good at that.”

You chokingly nod your head, biting your lips until they bleed, and shutting your eyes as you drown in your own pleasure. A string of obscenities leave your lips and Chan holds on to you for dear life, his hips moving faster than the beat of his own heart. The sloshing of your arousal seeps out of you, dripping down the side of his legs, but even so, he persists.

The way he buries himself into you is overwhelming, yet comforting. He wouldn’t let you go no matter what the reason, even his own climax. His burning white spills onto the nylon seat, filling you to ensure you'd be seeing for weeks, his scent on you as if it were your own. He’ll make you become his as much as you made him become yours.

“…I love you,” he softly mutters.

You smile for the first time this session, his voice relieving your irregular heart beat, “I love you too.”

“Are we gonna order shaved ice now,” he offers half jokingly.

“Sure.”

After a bit of cleaning up, you both return to your lives of bickering and insults. This time it was about what flavor and the sizes of your dessert (Chan thinking a medium was too small for the both of you and you thinking a big was too large). The whole flavor debacle was another issue, but it quickly settles when you both decide to get your own small servings.

Chan seats parallel to you on the sofa with a healthy amount of distance, melting the mango shaved ice on his tongue while paying you no second glance. You are a mirror image of your partner, giggling and lost in your own world of flavors. You both moan simultaneously, erupting in laughter after hearing each other's questionable sounds. When you meet eyes, Chan’s gaze softens, and he huddles closer to you.

“…Can I have a bite?”

You scoff, “What do I get in return?”

“Mmm, a kith?” He purses his lips.

You bop him on the mouth with your spoon. A soft ‘ah’ escapes him. He stares at you with a sincere pained expression. “Are you actually my girlfriend, or a live-in bully?”

“You wished you lived here, come on.” You gesture to come closer as you scoop a spoonful of your strawberry shaved ice, shoving it into his mouth, giving him a brain freeze.

He taps against the side of his head and looks back at you with the same irritation. “You’re actually trying to kill me!”

You throw a fit of laughter watching his pain persist until you tug his collar and plants a warm kiss, melting the ice leftover in his mouth, the sweetness of the fruit bringing you both to pure domestic bliss.

Chan’s eyes jolted awake, reaching for the small of your back and deepening your frivolous gesture. When you part, you realize how good you have it. Chan to smile at you every day even in your most childish and pettiest of antics, to love and hold, to cherish and remember, to be the one by your side always.

“I knew you wanted a kiss.”

“I can kiss you anytime I want, stupid.”

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