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#you can clearly tell that i put much less effort into this one than i did the last one

luveline · 5 months

Note

hi jade! :) i wanted to potentially request anything with poly!marauders x reader? maybe winter themed since its december now?

you write remus, james, & sirius x reader so well that i started reading fanfic for them because of you! i love your style, keep it up lovely! <3 sending you all my love

thank you, ily!! ♡ fem!reader

James’ car idles outside of your work.

You rush down the frosted steps despite the danger, and open the passenger door with a, “Hello,” that can't be dimmed. You could not be happier to see him in his dark-haired, light-eyed glory. Your hands shake at the sight of him alone.

“Hello,” he says keenly.

You climb across the handbrake to kiss him. He takes your face into two big hands, expectant, waiting for you and twice as eager. “Oh, shit, I missed you,” you say, smashed into his lips and leaning further still, “Did you have a good time? Did–”

James rubs your cheek with his thumb, silently asking for you to slow down, and kisses you again. His lips are soft as anything, his hands a little less so, rough of his palms sliding up your cheeks to just behind your ears. He's quick and rather aggressive about it considering you're only a couple of yards from your place of work, but you don't care.

Clearly, he missed you too.

James breaks the kiss to hug you to him, nosing at the side of your head as he says, “I missed you too. And I had a great time. Next year, you'll come with me.”

Your heart skips at the thought. Going home with James to visit his parents would be a dream, if only so you don't have to miss him for three weeks at a time.

He gives you a last quick kiss and drives you home. With his suitcase still in the car and his rucksack in the footwell, you realise he's picked you up before going home, and you rub it in Sirius’ face as soon as you can.

“He picked me,” you say, climbing out of the car, cheeks flush with the heat of having James’ hand on your thighs the entire way home.

Sirius doesn't seem too bothered. Remus worms around him, doesn't even wait for James to get out of the car, ducking in for an awkwardly skewed but achingly affectionate hug. It's not like Remus to show his emotions in any way that could be held against him, but it's clear he trusts the three of you to never do such a thing. You wouldn't.

“You okay?” James asks him quietly. You nearly miss it, apprehended and forced into a headlock by Sirius Black and his bad attitude.

“No more holidays,” Remus says.

“You look handsome anyways,” James says, “what's that about? Thriving in my absence or something?”

Remus flushes at the suggestion —you can see it, having breathlessly escaped Sirius' cruel grasp to stand watching their reunion. He mumbles a denial and burrows deeper into James’ arms.

Sirius is much less emotional than you or Remus, but he's in a good mood. You can tell, tucked under his happy touch. (You weren't rubbing it in that James picked you up first to be cruel, the opposite —you and Sirius love to argue. And the cool, mildly intimidating stare down thing he does gives you chills, so that's a bonus.)

“Alright!” James says, hand on Remus’ shoulder, rucksack on his arm as he shuts and locks the driver's side door. “Let's see how you idiots have done with the decorations.”

“Not nice,” you say.

“But accurate,” Sirius says.

The truth is that without James’ direction, the Christmas decorations have barely been put up. You had the common sense to erect the Christmas tree and it’s adorned with carefully draped tinsel and polished baubles, but the rest of the home is lacklustre, to say the least. You've no stockings for the electric fire, no banners, no foiled hangings or silver trappings.

“Jesus,” James says, dropping his rucksack on the sofa. “This is sad. Where's the wooden bits? My white wooden Christmas tree? Absolutely minimal effort. I'm appalled.”

You and Remus look at one another and shrug. “We searched. Pulled out the airing cupboard and everything, it took ages, and we still didn't find them.”

“That's because it's up in the attic,” James says, chuckling to himself. “Idiots. Where's the stepladder?”

And this is where Sirius’ love rears its head, his arms wrapped around James’ legs as he climbs the ladder positioned dangerously on the landing by the open stairwell. “You can't be real,” James says, swaying dangerously as he pokes around up there with a torch. “You're worried about me? You were on the roof of the shed a month ago—”

“To get a fucking football for next door–”

“Oh, fuck this,” James says with a sigh. Before any of you can stop him, he's leveraging himself into the attic using his upper body strength.

You cross your arms over your chest with a smile. “That was fit.”

“Right?” Remus murmurs.

“Where's the fucking– Ah-hah! Alright, sweethearts, one of you come and grab this from me.”

Sirius looks up at the creaking attic above, frowning, his eyes narrowed. “I don't trust the floor.”

“Siri, just come and get them.”

You build a procession line and slowly unearth the three boxes of Christmas decorations, and a box of festive linens. Sirius helps James safely down onto stable footing, while you and Remus ferry the decorations downstairs. James is the Christmas nut of the lot of you, but Remus likes what James likes, especially now he's been missing him, and so they set about decorating your home while you and Sirius argue over who's making what for dinner. James’ favourite, since he's been away so long, you argue. Pizza, Sirius decides. “Look at the state of him. You know he goes home and Euphemia spoils him half to death.”

“Fully to death,” James says, dotting a kiss into your cheek as he passes with a sheet of snowflake window stickers. “But I was revived.”

Sirius kisses your other cheek, and Remus shouts for you to come and see the lights, lovely!

It's nice to have everyone home.

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bubble-dream-inc · 1 year

Text

one kiss (is all it takes)

At first, you regretted agreeing to going to the game with the boys. Turns out a hockey game can be a lot more interesting than you thought.

Or; You and Price get caught on a Kiss Cam.

Pairing: Captain John Price x Reader

rbs greatly appreciated!

WC: 1.5K

a/n: i have no idea how a hockey game - or the military - works. anyways. this was written in an hour, is barely edited and not beta read lmao

tags: just pure fluff and Soap being a smug lil bastard :))

Sighing, you looked at yourself in the mirror one more time, accepting that yes, you did look as tired as you felt, but at that point you had no choice but to make your peace with it and try your hardest to rock those dark eye circles. At least you supposed your outfit looked presentable enough, since even if you were incredibly tired, you still felt like putting some effort into your appearance, telling yourself it was for no particular reason - or person - at all.

It had happened a couple of hours before. Sitting inside the bar across the street from the dingy hotel you and your teammates were staying after a successful recon mission, Soap and Gaz had disappeared for some time, returning later with a couple of tickets to a local hockey game. You found it best not to question how they got those, and, to be honest, you never pegged either of them to be into hockey, much like yourself, but Soap seemed so excited that you didn’t have the heart to tell him you were not looking forward to it one bit. Admittedly, you suspected the same thing happened with Price, who accepted the invitation somewhat hesitantly - you knew north american sports weren’t really his thing - and you admired Ghost for just saying ‘no’ to Soap’s face before returning to his cup of bourbon without another word. So that led you to where you stood at the moment, regretting falling into Soap’s trap and longing for your hotel bed that looked oh so comfortable. A knock on your door took you out of your reverie. Opening it, you found the devil himself standing outside with a smirk on his face.

“Hey, L.t. Ready to go?” You rolled your eyes playfully at Soap’s nickname for your rank, humming in response while you fetched whatever you needed to go out from your room - making sure to grab a coat.

Gaz and Price were already at the end of the corridor, waiting for the elevator, and, after greeting them both with a wave of your hand and a smile, you had to pretend to be very interested in the instructions written on the fire extinguisher by the wall to avoid gawking at your superior. It wasn’t often you got to see Price out of tactical gear and without his beloved boonie hat, and the sight of him in a basic and slightly too tight t-shirt under his jacket was doing things to you. Being pushed close to him in the impossibly small elevator once it arrived, too cramped for four soldiers to fit comfortably into, did not help you in the slightest.

A short car ride later - and somewhat silent, since Soap had lost his aux cord privileges after the last time - you stood in front of the arena, swerving your way between the other attendees, except clearly less excited to be there. As the four of you looked for your seats, you wondered how long it would take for them to notice if you bolted to go back to the hotel and sleep, but decided against it. Soap and Gaz took the first two seats side by side, leaving you to sit at the other end, with Price on your left, and you found it both a blessing and a curse. As he removed his coat, clearly feeling too warm with the amount of people around, and left his bulky (and hairy) arms visible to the world, you decided it was more of a blessing. Not feeling like committing an HR violation, you scolded yourself to stop ogling at your unaware superior, too lost in your musings to realize he was side eyeing you with a knowing smirk.

The first period flew by. You had no idea what were the teams names, you just know they were currently sitting at 1x0 when the first intermission rolled around, and, surprisingly, you were having a lot of fun. The crowd’s high energy and Soap’s enthusiastic cheering - even though he had said in the car he had no idea who was playing - was enough to make you momentarily forget how tired you were from the mission, and the fact it happened altogether. It was very rarely you got to enjoy some down time with your teammates, and that alone made you feel glad you accepted Johnny’s invitation.

Checking the time on your phone, you started scrolling through the various notifications, getting so immersed in the screen that you didn’t notice the way people around you were suddenly staring in your direction. Feeling observed, you looked up to the sight of people hollering and cheering around you, and, for some reason, Soap was angling his body out of his seat to look smugly at you, to which you only replied with a quizzical arch of your brow, receiving a nod upwards in response. Looking at the direction he nodded, you realized the huge screen in the middle of the stadium now displayed a banner written “Kiss cam.”

Directly under a live feed of you and Price.

That definitely could not be happening.

Your blood froze, and you felt like you were both on fire and ice cold at the same time, trying to process what was going on in seconds. Instantly your brain conjured images of you watching with a side eye as Price rejected you publicly to the camera, probably sneering and making a “cut it out” motion with his hand, as if kissing you was something incredibly unimaginable. However, none of those visions came true, since, when you gathered the courage to actually look over to him - with what you imagined was a very wide eyed and flustered expression - he was actually calmly chuckling and smiling with that damn good looking smile of his. Looking this closely you could swear you saw a faint hint of red on his face as he turned to you with a very gentle gaze, clearly considering the idea and giving you a silent chance to back away if you didn’t feel comfortable with it. Of course, you knew that you would never even dream of shying away from an opportunity to kiss your very attractive Captain who you absolutely did not have a huge crush on, but he didn’t need to know that just yet.

So, seeing no resistance from you, he leaned in closer and brought one of his huge hands to rest delicately holding your face, as if you were made of glass, and you felt like your heart stopped beating. Up close like this he smelled faintly of the cigar he liked to smoke and cologne he must have put on when you returned from the bar to get ready to leave for the game, and his blue eyes never looked so intense. You saw him smirk when you leaned in to meet him halfway before letting your eyes flutter close and your lips finally meet.

Kissing Captain Price was even better than you imagined. His mustache tickled your top lip and, in the background, you could hear the cheering of the crowd - particularly Soap’s hollers and someone, who you imagined was Gaz, wolf whistling - but you drowned it all to focus on the feeling of John’s lips moving against yours in a kiss that lasted a second, but felt like an hour inside your head. As you expected it, he did taste exactly like the cigar he smelled as, and a hint of mouthwash, and you found yourself embarrassingly sighing into the kiss.

You decided you could spend a good few hours just kissing your Captain, but any second longer would be positively awkward for your audience, so, regrettably, you broke the kiss, almost going insane by the way he chuckled lowly against you before leaning back as well, giving the camera an uncharacteristic almost bashful smile. So much for not committing that HR violation. You didn’t find the courage to look anywhere, much less the damn camera, so you pathetically stared at your shoes instead, very aware of the way your face felt like a thousand degrees and you must have looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Distantly, you felt Soap’s eyes on you, burning holes in your face with what you imagined must have been the smuggest smile ever, but you didn’t turn to confirm your suspicions.

Within seconds, the kiss cam had moved on, as well as the entire crowd, and you were the only one still dwelling on it as everyone cheered on another couple put on display. Trying to convince yourself it meant nothing, you shook your head and tried to pay attention to what was going on in the arena, something cut short when John Price himself discreetly leaned over for your ear, not turning his body or taking his eyes off the screen above you.

“You know,” He started above a whisper with his deep, gruffy voice. “If I knew you were such a good kisser, I’d have done this a lot sooner.”

With that, he leaned back into his seat, hand crossed above his stomach and a satisfied smirk on his face as he pretended not to notice the way you stared at him with wide eyes and your mouth gaping open like a fish.

That was going to be one long hockey game.

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such-expensive-mistakes · 7 months

Text

Superpham AU (part 4)

Original prompt + parts 1-3

Masterpost

-----

It's not the most awkward dinner Lois has ever had, but only because she's dined with literal supervillains before.

Danny is poking at his Mongolian beef with his fork more than he's actually eating it. Lois can hardly blame him; it’s been a difficult few days for her and she’s not the one who just landed in a different dimension from the one she grew up in. But Danny certainly isn’t up to keeping conversation going.

Jon is making a valiant effort, but he seems distracted. He keeps shooting looks at Lois and Clark when he thinks they’re not looking, and while he recounts everything he and Damian got up to (not too much trouble, thankfully, although that wasn’t saying much), he’s less enthusiastic than he would normally be.

Clark keeps shooting Jon worried looks when he thinks Jon isn’t looking. Lois will have to ask him how that conversation went; it seems like it was rough on both of them.

Eventually, even Jon runs out of things to say, and the four of them sit around the table, eating their Chinese takeout in silence.

“So, Danny,” Lois finally says. “I don’t know how the dimension you grew up in differs from this one, but if you have any questions about anything, please ask one of us.”

“It’s not that different,” Danny says. “I mean, it is in some ways, but it’s still Earth, you know?”

Lois isn’t entirely certain she does, but this doesn’t seem to be the time to ask. Maybe when things are less fresh.

Jon has no such compunctions. “What’s the biggest difference?”

Danny looks thoughtful. “You guys have a lot of superheroes here,” he finally says.

“What kind of superheroes did your other world have?” Jon asks eagerly.

“We mostly didn’t,” Danny says. “I mean, I guess Phantom kind of counts. But that’s it.”

“That’s it?” Jon is clearly flabbergasted by this. Lois fights a smile, and she can see Clark doing the same thing. Jon has never known a world without the Justice League, but she and Clark can both remember when superheroes were much, much rarer.

“Most people probably wouldn’t even count Phantom,” Danny says. “The kids mostly did, but a lot of adults didn’t trust him because he was… because he wasn’t exactly human.”

Combined with what Danny said before about that interdimensional portal, this is painting a picture Lois really doesn’t like.

“There are folks like that everywhere, unfortunately,” Clark says. “And you can’t always change their minds. But I believe most people are better than that."

Judging by Danny's expression, he wasn't entirely convinced of that. Lois couldn't blame him; she has enough trouble seeing the good in people the way Clark did, and the other dimension sounds worse than hers in this regard.

Danny doesn’t seem inclined to talk about it any further. Silence lingers for just a beat too long before he speaks. “Oh, the sun’s yellow here. That’s different, too.”

-----

The front door slams, shaking the house, and Jon scrambles into the kitchen.

“Where’s Ma and Pa?” he demands.

Kon mentally says goodbye to his tentative plans for the day. Not that he minds hanging out with Jon, but he’s clearly upset about something. Kon’s good at a lot of things, but emotional conversations is not one of them.

“They’re in town for the day,” Kon says. “You’re lucky they didn’t hear you slam the door like that.”

“Did you know about Danny?” Jon demands.

“Who?”

“Dan-El.”

Clark texted a couple of days ago, telling Kon to call when he had time. Kon has been putting it off, knowing that Clark has better ways of getting in touch with him if there’s a real emergency. That’s starting to seem like a mistake.

He doesn’t answer Jon right away, which Jon seems to take as its own answer.

“Did everyone know but me?” Jon demands.

The thing is, Kon is pretty sure he's not supposed to know about Dan-El. Lois and Clark have never breathed a word about him in Kon's hearing.

He only knows because he spent an afternoon helping Ma go through some old boxes up in the attic and found a box of photos-- mostly of Clark as a kid, but some of Ma and Pa when they were younger.

"Oh goodness," Ma had said, when she'd notices what Kon was looking at. "I keep telling myself I'm going to organize those and put them in an album, but I never get around to it."

She'd sat down next to Kon and looked through the pictures with him, pointing out her favorites and telling stories to accompany them. ("And that one was from just after Clark's tenth birthday-- we had to get a new door because his strength was just coming in and he broke the old one.")

Then Kon had pulled out a photo of a toddler, sitting on the front porch with Pa. He'd thought it was a picture of Clark at first, but Pa's hair was considerably more gray than it was in the pictures from Clark's childhood, and Ma had just told him that the porch had been rebuilt and expanded after Clark broke the old one in tenth grade.

"Oh, that's Daniel," Ma said. She'd gently taken the photo from Kon's hand and ran a finger over not-Clark's face. "He was our first grandson-- Lois and Clark's oldest." She'd gone on to tell him the whole sad story.

There's a small headstone for Daniel Kent in the Smallville cemetery, right next to Pa's parents. Kon thinks it must have been Ma or Pa's idea; there was no body to bury and as far as he knows, Lois and Clark never visit it.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Kon says. “I think it’s just not something they talk about.” Jon doesn’t look convinced, so he adds, “They told you now, right?”

“Only after he showed up!”

“Wait, what?” Kon is starting to think he really should have replied to that message from Clark.

-----

Not for the first time, Clark wishes there was a handbook for this sort of thing. But oddly enough, parenting manuals generally don’t cover how to talk to your long-lost son about his alien heritage. He’s put this off long enough already; Danny had spent most of the previous day out with Lois, picking up all the necessities he didn’t have.

“So…” Danny says, kicking his feet a little. He’s sitting next to Clark on this skyscraper, his feet dangling over the edge. It makes Clark a little nervous, seeing how Danny can’t fly yet, but he also knows he’s fast enough to catch Danny if he were to fall.

"Lois said you're an alien?" The words are softened by the blatant curiosity in Danny's tone, and Clark remembers Lois recounting how excited Danny was to meet J'onn and to see space from the Watchtower.

It's a sentiment Clark can understand. He's traveled through space and met aliens both hostile and friendly. He regularly meets with his colleagues on an orbiting space station. And yet, seeing his adopted planet from space still fills him with awe.

"When I was born, my parents— my birth parents— already knew our planet, Krypton, was dying," Clark begins. It's not an easy story to tell, but the grief is old. Not gone, but distant. It's a place and a people he will never know except through stories and the archives in the Fortress— but those, at least, he can share. He tells Danny this, too, and promises to take him to the Fortress soon. It would be easier if Danny could fly, but he'll make it work.

"You should talk to Kara, too," Clark adds.

"Who's Kara?"

"My cousin. Right now she's in space, on a Justice League mission, but you'll meet her when she gets back. She was a teenager when Krypton was destroyed; she has firsthand memories." He’ll save explaining the part where she got caught in suspended animation for later; he’s dumped a lot of information on Danny already.

“You said something the other night about yellow sun radiation?” Danny asks.

“It’s what gives Kryptonians our power, here on Earth,” Clark says.

“And what powers are those, exactly?” Danny seems more hesitant than Clark would usually expect of a teenager finding out he’s going to develop superpowers— but then, they already know Danny grew up in a world where that sort of thing was feared and looked down upon.

“Enhanced sense, enhanced strength and speed, flight, invulnerability— there are others, but those are the main ones to expect.”

Danny nods thoughtfully.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #superpham au #fanfic #dc x dp fic #the continuity for the supers gives me a headache so I'm sticking with the origins I know best #slightly less angst this time #slightly more setup for Shenanigans

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notroosterbradshaw · 2 years

Text

The Boyfriend Experience - Part 2 /2

7k words of Rooster being your super wonderful, pretend plus one! A few swears, but it’s the Navy, goddammit! The fluffiness should make up for it.

The Boyfriend Experience 1 / 2

“Thank God you didn’t catch the bouquet,” Rooster rolled his eyes as you wandered back, bored. "Could you look any less interested?" he bit back a smile.

“I could, yes," you told him, patting his cheek with a gentle thwack as he chuckled.

”Well, you made sure I didn't have a run there to fake propose in front of all these witnesses. Left my fake engagement ring in my dresser drawer back at base,” he snapped his fingers. "Fuck."

"You'd have really ruined this wedding if you proposed. Even you must know the lack of decorum of proposing at someone else's wedding. You probably wouldn't need to go to those extremes," you laughed quietly.

He nodded and grinned. "I'd guarantee you a life of no more wedding BS though."

"You're probably right. How long you been sitting on that?”

"Just came to me," he admitted. "But you can't tell me it's not an amazing idea to get everyone off your ass."

"Thank you for not going to those lengths," you said as his head fell back and he kept giggling. Yes, Rooster was a giggler after a few drinks. And it was adorable.

Looking back at you, he said, "I guess we're almost done though. Since I have this," Rooster grinned widely, flinging the bride’s baby blue garter at your face. You flicked it right back and he caught it easily. He'd mortified you that he'd made such a spectacle to get his mitts on it earlier in the evening - he literally speared a dude to get to the front and leapt over the Best Man to catch it. "My Little League coach would be so proud today."

"You're the worst," you reached for his whiskey as he looked on proudly.

"You disappointed us as a couple and missed the bouquet to boot but I forgive you because you've graduated to a very sexy drink. That's my girl," he raised his eyebrow, waiting patiently for your sip, which you did gladly.

"You're such a dick," you could only respond, handing the glass back as he chuckled, putting the garter back in his breast pocket, patting it safely.

"Taken you 30 years to figure it out - that's more on you than me though," he teased.

"Last song of the night, friends," the MC of the band announced as Rooster offered you his hand. "Your bride and groom are ready to kick into matrimonial bliss part of the night and we all have to head home at some point!"

"You're not getting out of this. It's our last dance as fake lovers," he said, giving you the creepiest bedroom eyes, or you supposed, that you’d ever seen. How had he managed to bed so many women if that was his game, you'd never know (you assumed it was probably a lot less effort than batting his lashes, to be completely honest), and you shook your head with a smile. He stood to his full height and offered you his calloused palm. You naturally accepted, lacing your fingers through his. You loved the warmth his hands gave yours.

"Can you never say 'lovers' again?" you asked, spirited, as he spun you under his arm, leading you to the dancefloor, laughing loudly.

"Never," he promised as the song began. The band started Elvis' "I'm All Shook Up", most people in the room made their way to the dancefloor and Rooster praised the gods. You liked the song but loved the joy it clearly stirred in Rooster more. You adored how much he loved music, though he admitted he was never taught piano, guitar, or even drums but was pretty good at each of them, or he liked to think so. He played by ear and enjoyed experimenting with sounds. You'd romanticised Rooster playing at home in the quiet, just for himself, tinkering with keys, strumming strings. It made you kind of weak to think of him creatively like that. He was certainly full of surprises and you were yearning to know more.

He was unlike anyone you knew - you'd learned so much tonight and appreciated the human he was more than just the talented pilot most assumed of him, you thought maybe he appreciated people thought he was fairly one-dimensional, he liked his space and privacy. "New one to learn for the bar?" you offered as he pondered the question.

"Shit, maybe," he contemplated with a nod and he pulled you close. While not an incredibly slow song, Rooster actually moved quite well. Yet another thing you had learned about him tonight and he pulled your back to his chest, keeping you pressed to him, his hands spreading across your belly, keeping a respectful amount of space between your bodies. He took your hand and spun you back to him, facing the other again and he smiled slow, a smile you'd certainly never seen before but enjoyed thoroughly as his hands moved to the back of your ribs, dragging you closer to him.

He loosened a hand and put your arms around his neck, the height difference between you bringing your body crushed against him and it felt kind of... perfect.

"Thank you for tonight," you said, just between the two of you. He smiled faintly, his hands caressing your back. Once he'd found access to skin, his hand kept a close touch all night and your back felt cold without it.

"It's really me that should be thanking you," he admitted, lips dangerously close to your ear and you'd deny it, but it shook you to the core. Looking at him, your feet stopped moving and the world may have stopped too. Here he was, right in front of you, just like he always had been... but he was completely new to you now. "I haven't had a night like this in a really long time," he continued earnestly. "Almost felt like a real date."

You had lost the ability to talk, because thinking about it later, you'd realise, this was the first of many nights like this. But it wouldn't pretend anymore. He would be yours, and you would be his right back. And the pretence would be gone; traded for romance that didn't need to be held back, touches on skin that meant something because it was their skin you'd touched so many times before, still able to draw the same spark as it had tonight.

Rooster's lips met your forehead, leaving a lingering kiss against your skin and you held him just a little bit tighter. "I got you, kid," he told you softly but wasn't quite sure why he added, "You're safe with me."

And you may have believed him.

"Do you two want a lift?" Annie asked as the festivities started to come to a close. The bride and groom had left, guests were starting to organise themselves to do the same, the band was packing up and the music was over for the generic 'get the fuck out of our venue now' muzak. After your last duties for the evening to help Sarah's parents collect the gifts and load their car, you went back to the table to collect your belongings, thankful it was all finally over... as well as the evening.

It was a long day, and saying you were exhausted, physically, mentally... emotionally, was an understatement. Things were a bit muddled to you now and you were feeling a little unhinged at the growing flutters in your tummy while so close to Rooster. He was currently holding your bouquet and your clutch like it was absolutely no big thing.

"Rooster, I don't think you should drive. I can get you both back. I'm the designated driver for another three weeks and one day," she looked at her belly, accusingly. "Unless you'd like to come sooner, please?"

"Shit," he muttered. He had probably had one or two drinks too many, he realised. Palming his keys in his pants pocket, he replied he would just walk back to base. Wasn't at all far, he had his credentials. Fresh air would sober him up anyway.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, absolutely. Thank you though. I'm sure your little sister will get me back safely," he joked entirely for Annie's benefit. But your feet, your poor feet were shredded. You gave yourself kudos, you'd done the right thing and kept your heels on the duration of the day, but all you could imagine was peeling them off and preparing for the onslaught of blisters and discomfort as soon as humanly possible.

"Okay," she grinned. "Take care, Rooster," she hugged him and he hugged her back, trying to avoid her baby bump politely. "So good to see you."

"You too, Annie," he replied fondly. "I had a great night."

"Don't be a stranger when you're in town. Let's do this again soon. Come over for dinner, bring her," she nodded to you.

"I might," Rooster gave her a shy smile and Annie hugged him again. "I'm thinking of moving back so you may be seeing a bit more of me anyway," he said and your ears pricked up, this was brand new information and your palms may have clammed up a little.

"You should, everyone would be so happy you're home," she told him.

"Definitely thinking about it," he promised.

"Good, Please get my sister home safely?" she warned him.

"Of course, she's precious cargo," he smiled as Annie kissed you and waddled over to Arron, her extremely drunk hubby.

"I could have gone with that lift," you told him as you watched them leave. Your poor feet.

"Nah, you're okay," he said. "Let's go for a walk."

"Rooster," you protested. "I might cry."

Rooster pouted. "Then I'll piggyback you," he broke into a smile as a few of the single bridesmaids said goodnight to you both. "Come with me. Got an idea," he urged, nodding towards the door, not waiting for you and taking off in his strides in that direction. Moving as quick and gracefully as the heels would allow, you caught him at the door where he took your hand and you followed him to the beach. It was pitch black minus the moon's reflection on the water, nearing midnight when he stopped at the edge of the grass to sand and watched him unbutton his jacket to sit. You did the same. "Feet, please?" he asked quietly.

Confused, you weren't sure why you offered him your left foot, but his fingers made haste unbuckling the silver heel you had been wearing for hours and hours.

"Gentle," he told himself as he pulled the off, and held his palm out for your other foot that you gratefully offered, the relief almost instantaneous. Putting your heels together, he lightly pressed into the arches of your feet, your ankles, your calves, the pain worth it for a few moments, looking at you with a gentle frown to make sure he wasn't hurting you, but it was definitely worth it. "Okay?" you nodded as he slipped off his jacket and left it in a pile with your shoes, purse and bouquet. He unlaced his loafers, took his socks with them and cuffed his slacks up to his lower calf although there was little give to them. "Shit," he muttered, pulling at the wrong piece of his bowtie and knotting it tighter.

"Here, Roost," you said softly, sitting up to kneel, he watched you in keen interest as your fingers worked to loosen the tie. Knowing he'd made it worse before it unravelled under your touch, you smiled as he happily unbuttoned the first few holes on his shirt, showing a little of his strong, golden chest and a light smattering of dark hair.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "Up," he got up slowly, finding the buttons on the cuffs of his shirt and rolling both to his muscular forearms. He smiled, offering his hand. He pulled you up, your sore feet sending you careening into him softly. He nodded towards the water and followed you through the sand.

The night was cool, but in the height of summer, not unbearable by any stretch of the imagination. Stopping right before the waves, you looked back at him.

"I promise you, those feet will feel a million bucks in about 15 seconds," and he hitched you into his arms, taking you out to his knees, lowering you amid squeals of cold and a now damp skirt around your thighs. He didn't give you space, he stood behind you, his hands resting on your belly, chin on your hair. You felt him sigh behind you.

"Dammit, Rooster," you cursed him although grinning in the madness, trying not to shiver as the waves splashed around you. It was a little chillier in the water than you would have liked, but Rooster was close and he was almost radiator hot. "It's f-f-freezing," you chattered.

"It's the ocean at midnight," he said in your ear. "What were you expecting?" he posed a good question. "But your feet don't hurt now, do they?"

"Actually, I can't feel them... because they're numb," you replied, your toes thumbing in the sand beneath you, it grounded you and felt so familiar. You loved it, craved it. The grains felt good and if you squinted, you could almost avoid the slight needling of your feet as they started to relax and unwind.

"You're the water," he murmured to you quietly, his voice lower than the ocean's bustle around you. "I know I'm the clouds. But you're the ocean. You need it. I've always known that about you. I see you some mornings down here, in the waves if I run late. I never see a crease or concern on your features, you're just one with the water. It's pretty sexy, actually."

You wished he'd stop talking because as he adjusted his hold on you, leaving one hand on your hip, the other arm wrapping around your shoulders, you only reaffirmed how good you fit against him. "I love that," you admitted, taking his hand and he sighed again. He was right, though cold, this was your happy place. This is where you desired to be, in the water and the freedom and terror that came with it, how it could make you teeter so easily and push you out of your comfort zone. And he knew all about it.

Above you, Rooster smiled to himself. He was starting to really enjoy holding you close, learning the curves of your body, how you could find the perfect place to find calm in his arms. "Hey?"

"Hmm?"

"I had a really good time tonight. It... didn't feel forced or contrived. Why haven't you and I done this before?"

Because we didn't see each other this way before Natasha threw us together, you wanted to say. We can laugh, we can play and have fun, team against anyone and not think anything of it... but tonight has categorically changed our friendship because I can't go back to just being your friend, Rooster. I think it would be easier to lose you than find out you didn't want to be with me this way again.

You stayed silent, you had just tortured yourself with your inner monologue as it was. "You are absolutely shaking," Rooster said, softly, maybe now regretting his idea and his fat fucking mouth just a little. "I think it's time to get you out of the water."

"I'm okay," you lied as he rubbed your arms where he could see the goose pimples rise. He couldn't stop the shuddering even in his stranglehold.

"Out you get, kid."

You nodded thankfully. The adrenaline coursing through your veins was not enough to keep you warm and only caused you to tremble more. "Sorry," you said as he released you from his clutches and moved before he could say anything else.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Rooster sighed, watching you make your way to the beach. He knew he'd scared you. You knew he was opening his heart to you, and just like Natasha joked about your commitment fear, maybe it wasn't too far off the mark and that made him sad for all that you had missed and what you could miss out on. He began to follow you as you sat back near all the gear you'd removed, closing in on yourself. Rooster ran the last little while up the beach and retrieved his jacket, putting it over your shoulders. "You okay, kid? You're blue."

"Can't stop shaking," you could only reply and he swore he heard your teeth chatter. "But I'm okay."

"Come on, let's get you home," he tossed all the gear except the flowers into his jacket and tucked it under his arm then offered you his hand to help you up. He used a little more force, driving you into him and he wrapped you into his arms - he was very good at bringing you close and he knew, not once had you fought it. "I didn't want to scare you before. I'm sorry I was so forward."

You gave a little shrug. "Don't worry about it, Rooster. I'm just a big girl with big problems," you said simply.

"Do you think you know... why you don't want to get close to me?" he asked, almost not wanting to know the answer.

You looked up at him and he knew the kicker was coming. "You have I have very different daddy issues," you told him. "When my dad left, I thought he'd come back. For years I thought I could try and make him want us again... but my sister and I weren't enough and if he could leave us, who he was supposed to love so fucking easily, it doesn't give you much confidence as an adult. He picked another family over us, I have other siblings I don't even know. The shit sticks."

Holy shit, Rooster thought, his knuckles rubbing against your back. He paused and held you tightly. He didn't know that... hell, he did but certainly not to that deep an extent and maybe your issues were a little more deeply rooted than Natasha had alluded to. He certainly couldn't blame you for that.

"You mean something to me, and ruining anything with you would destroy me," you continued. "I appreciate our friendship and that comfort that brings me."

He nodded. It felt like a kiss-off, that was for sure. "I wasn't asking for the rest of our lives," he said quietly.

"I know," you pulled back, needing to be completely out of his reach. "But I just don't know what to tell you right now."

"And that is the end of our first fake date," Rooster said, hating to admit he was kind of relieved as you got back to your apartment. He followed you to the front door and wanted you to feel as safe as you could in his presence because you hadn't said it... but everything had changed, and he knew it too. He didn't expect the night to go like this, but he knew, like you... things couldn't be the same again now.

You gave him a gentle smile and his heart fluttered, he'd always loved your smile, but shit... it was his now. He left your heels neatly at the stoop. "I hope today wasn't a total bust for you. Now you know how good I am at ruining good things," you poked fun at yourself. "It's a wicked character trait."

He sighed, dropping his eyes. "Why would you think that being honest with me would ruin anything?" he had to ask, putting his hands in his pockets. "Don't you think I appreciate that more?"

"I dunno," you leaned back against the door as he looked back at you, chewing your lip and God, he wanted to be the one chewing that lip. Vulnerability to most people could be seen as a red flag but to him? You were telling him things that you'd never told anyone, and that was almost sacred and it would always mean more. He knew you trusted him, but made him uneasy that it wasn't with your heart. "Do you?"

He rolled his eyes, a faint grin on his face. "Yes. I do appreciate that more. I've learned more about you tonight than I have in the last 30 years, which is kind of awesome... and terrifying."

"Terrifying?" you repeated, a little disappointed as he stepped closer.

"If you think for one second that you scaring me is a bad thing, you are kidding yourself," of this he was certain. He wasn't scared to be out of his comfort zone with you.

You finally smiled and shook your head gently. "I had a wonderful time tonight. Thank you, Rooster. I owe you, big time."

"Don't be crazy. I drank top-shelf booze, ate more cake than I have eaten for years, and I got to spend my night with you. We'll call it even."

"Well, thank you. It really meant a lot. And it won't happen again, there are no weddings or other OTT celebrations in the foreseeable future."

"That's a shame," he laughed quietly.

There was a slight beat before your rationality kicked in. "Well, I should go in," you told him, pushing back off the door and reaching for your keys in your clutch. "I'm sure you've got an early morning."

"Class," he acknowledged.

You nodded. There would always be something. "Goodnight, Rooster," you said as you unlocked the door and took a step in before pausing. Rationality be damned. "Unless you wanna come in?" you called softly in the dead quiet of the night. You could see his brain working a million miles a moment.

This wasn't something you and Rooster did, you didn't hang out together this way, it was always in a group, always someone else to play the distraction. "Yeah, I really do," he admitted, standing before you. The air around you had changed and you swore it wasn't just you that noticed it. For the first time tonight, his nervousness was evident and he put his palm on your cool cheek. Licking his lips, he admitted, "I really wanna come in," he said quietly, resting his forehead against yours.

His eyes searched yours as you pushed the door open and your hand found his. He followed willingly, quietly kicking the front door closed as you led him down the small hallway to your living room. Low lit from the lamp you'd left on for your late arrival, Rooster was interested to check out your place. Quaint, but it was quintessentially you. Linen in neutral and blue, a stash of books on the coffee table. A home. "Do you want a drink?" you asked.

Erring on the side of caution, he responded 'water'. He was starting to cut it fine of being in a proper state for the following morning and while he could take his liquor, the last thing he wanted was a hangover in an F-18. You came back to him with a cool glass and he gave you a small smile of thanks. He tossed his suit jacket on the end of the couch, finally happy to be rid of the silly thing.

"Do you mind if I get changed? This dress is clogged with sand, it's wet and damp."

"Course not. Go make yourself comfy," he said with a small smile as he watched you walk away before he preoccupied himself with the endless photos on your wall. A tasteful aesthetic of beautiful white frames with a mix of colour and black and white photos stored in them, he felt the love and consideration you'd put into the curation of images. And holy shit, if it wasn't you on his Mom's hip. You were crying and she was trying to appease you in any way she could. He took the photo from the wall and you wandered back a few minutes later, hair down, oversized Lakers t-shirt and you saw what he stared at.

"Mom said I had just been told I couldn't get an ice cream from the ice cream truck," you filled him in. Rooster actually laughed.

"That's the cutest fucking thing I ever heard."

"And Carole was trying to tell me she could get me ice cream from your place even though my mom was saying no, but I didn't want it anyway because it didn't come from the ice cream man. Naturally."

"That's amazing. This is about the last photo I would have ever expected to have seen, you know?"

"You can have it if you want. I mean, I'm a screaming three-year-old, but your mom looks absolutely beautiful."

"Always," he said softly and put the photo back carefully on the wall. "You keep it, it gives me something to see when I am here."

You shrugged easily and took a seat on the couch. He took a hint and went to join you, taking a cool sip of water to regulate. This was just not how he saw the night going. Sure, he was a man, he had eyes in perfect working order. He wouldn't lie and say he hadn't memorised every curve of your body, your smile and that absolutely devastating self-deprecating wit but there were plenty of other distractions in his wake. But here you were, right before him. And you, at that moment, were perfect but he didn't know what you wanted from him and it ate him alive.

"What time is class tomorrow?"

"Eight," he replied.

You gently reached for his hand, avoiding his eyes and tracing over the callouses and his lifelines. "I'm sorry about before," you said finally. "I am really good at finding ways to make a night nosedive."

He shook his head, laying an arm against the length of the couch in hopes you'd shift just a little closer again. "No, fuck no. Please don't apologise."

"You know more about me tonight than most people know in a lifetime. I'm really not the sharing kind."

"That... I knew," he with a smile. "I kind of figured we were a bit alike that way anyway. But it gives me a little bit of hope. I'll weasel my way in," he said confidently. "You'll regret opening yourself up to me," he teased as you laughed heartily.

"Using my trauma against me," you fist-pumped and he was so relieved you could see the funny side to it as he scooted a little closer since you didn't. "Awesome."

"I promise I never would do that," he said sincerely. "I have enough baggage to take everyone in this damn town out."

"That's true," you agreed. "What a mess we are."

"You're not a mess. You have your reasons, just like I do," he let go of your hand and reached into his shirt, pulling out his dog tags. "These have been driving me mad all night. Think they're imprinted into my chest..."

"Can I see?" you asked as he shrugged and slipped it over his head, gently putting it over yours and letting the tags jangle across your heart. You picked it up and looked at the imprints of his name. "Bradley N. Bradshaw," you spoke. "What do you think your parents were thinking when they gave you more or less the same first and last names?"

He laughed loudly. "Bradley was my mom's dad's name," he explained. "And it was the 80's. I guess they thought it just sounded cool. They didn't think of what it might be like for me at 34."

You grinned, tracing the bumps of his ID. "I forgot what these felt like. Dad's, Grandpa's. Having them in my hands like they were a toy, and what they really stand for."

Rooster didn't speak. He understood what you meant without having to go into it.

"Roost?"

He hummed in reply.

"Have you thought about settling down?"

"I've thought about it," he shrugged simply. "I haven't really found anyone who I want to settle down with. Last thing I want is something that doesn't last. I want to feel like my parents did - I can hardly remember it... but the way Mom spoke about Dad after he died? That's something to strive for, you know? I know she was sick... but she really died of a broken heart in the end," he said quietly.

Holy shit... you thought.

"When I find the one, I'll know," he added, taking your hand back into his and this time, he avoided your gaze as he drew circles around the pads of your palm. "I'm sure of it." He was sure of it.

"And here I was thinking you loved being a bachelor and the notoriety of the Navy," you said, and he appreciated the teasing as he laughed, scratching his neck.

"I mean, yeah. There are some benefits to not settling," lifting his gaze back to you, he pondered again. "I'm not really that guy that falls quickly."

You nodded, you knew what that felt like and you knew he was growing weary of sharing hour, so you decided to make things more interesting. "I've asked Natasha this and was not remotely surprised with her response. But I'll ask you too because I know you wouldn't lie to me... What's the greater thrill: flying... or fucking, Rooster?"

Rooster chuckled quietly. "That is going directly for the jugular," you saw his lips move, but sounds didn't follow through. "I love flying," he looked up. "My fate is sealed, but the right person? Jesus, fucking the right person could make you wanna give it all up, you know?"

"No, I don't," you pressed, your brain trying to decipher his answer. "That's why I asked."

He smiled, a small tint of red creeping up to his cheeks. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"I think I like making you squirm," you said simply as dropped his eyes, coy all of a sudden.

"Oh, I get it now," he thought about it. "If it was life and death, I would, I can't believe I'm saying this... but I'd fly."

"Oh, my God," your jaw may have hit the floor. It just was not the response you were expecting but told you a lot about Rooster's priorities.

"As I said, if it was the right person..." he tried to over-correct himself as you bit back your grin, covering your mouth with your joined hands.

"I'm speechless," you continued to needle him.

"Okay, if this is the little game we want to play - " he announced, smacking the top of your hand.

Oh, fuck.

"My turn, then," he said straightening up and you panicked, and he grinned because he could see you were clearly panicking. "Why haven't you really settled? You could have found the guy that it could have all worked with. You're smart, fucking hilarious, beautiful. Now don't get me wrong... but for most guys, that's all they need. We're not overly complex creatures."

"Honestly?"

His hand that was in yours clamped down and was trapped in his strong grasp. "Honestly."

"I don't think I'm ever going to find what I'm looking for. I haven't found someone that can keep my attention for long enough."

He stayed silent, he wasn't convinced.

You grunted and continued. "I date. A lot. I am just not broadcasting how average these dudes are I'm dating. Why do I want to spend my time with someone with who I don't spark with?"

"Do you really have a problem with commitment?" he asked pointedly.

"No, I have a problem with assholes," you replied smartly. "You haven't settled down, do you have a problem with a commitment?" you threw back.

He rubbed his moustache and he considered his answer. "No, I'm content with not being ready to settle down yet."

"So, yeah. You kind of have a problem with commitment," you laughed as he nudged you.

"I realise I'm in my prime," he shrugged, giving his ego receiving a nice self-stroking. You didn't mind Rooster talking himself up, it was incredibly sexy, truth be told. He was generally pretty modest about all that kind of stuff and kept his business to himself but really, he wasn't completely unlike his friends and co-workers. He knew he good a good-looking dude, his voice could turn you inside out (you figured), he could command a presence fairly easily, and women were putty in his hands. It wasn't a lot of effort on his behalf.

Grinning widely, you snuck closer to him, sitting on your knees and he watched his hands fall to his thighs as you released yourself from his grasp. God, you loved making him writhe and he dared you to ask what you were thinking. "I'm not stupid, Rooster. I know you get a handful of numbers when we go out."

"How many of those girls do you think I call?" he asked, thoughtfully. He knew you were getting off on this, taking the focus off you and pinning it on him. He didn't mind, he knew you were enjoying this little game of cat and mouse, and you weren't really offended by any of his questions, so he couldn't be either.

"You tell me," you whispered.

He adjusted his posture and he took your chin in his palm, his thumb imprinting on your chin. God, you were right there, so close... desperate to be kissed. "I like the chase," his voice low. "But the chase isn't all that much a challenge much anymore," he admitted and his wrist started beeping. 4am. He needed to go. He silenced it. "Saved by the bell," he announced. "That's my alarm."

"And just when we were getting to the juicy bits," you sighed as he kept your gaze, a small smile on his face.

"We can continue this if you like. At a more respectable hour."

"No thank you," you said quickly and he chuckled quietly.

"I'm not surprised by that."

You smiled shyly. "Sorry."

"Fuck, you're so beautiful, do you know that?" he couldn't stop himself from saying. It just had to be said and put out there. Great, now it was done, he reasoned. You didn't break his gaze, you were daring him to make a move. He licked his lips and had to laugh. He'd already made the move. If you wanted him, he decided... the ball was in your court. Come and claim me, he wished.

"Roost?" you said again.

He raised an eyebrow in reply.

"Stay."

"No," he said, sitting forward. Fight for me.

You got to your feet and pushed him back against the couch, a small grunt bristling as you stepped between his wide legs. He reached for your hamstrings, his hands massaging against your bare skin as he raised his eyes to you. It was powerful and intimate and he didn't know if he trusted himself to be touching you like this.

"If you've got something to say... this would be the time to say it," his voice thick with desire, daring you.

"Stay," you repeated, your fingers coiling into his sun-kissed ringlets, giving them a gentle tug as he slowly licked his lips.

"Gonna need more than that," he told you, pulling you flush against him, helping you straddle him, his arms in a vice grip around you.

"Stay for me."

He bristled a laugh as you reached for a button on his shirt, dainty fingers making light work of the straining material over his chest. "Think I'm gonna just fuck you after all this?" he removed your hands, placing them back in your lap where he silently prayed you'd keep them because his strength was waning and if you tried really hard, you'd have him exactly where you wanted him. "You really wanna make this about a quick fuck and I just up and leave?" he shook his head. "I think you know by now I want a little more than that."

"What do you want, Rooster?" you asked, your fingers tracing his scars, finding one on his jaw you were particularly fond of and tracing it, feeling him tremor beneath you. "Tell me," you said reaching for the hem of your shirt and he knew he was going for martyrdom as he held your shirt down, whispering a curse. "You don't want me?" you asked, easing back just a little, shocked and a little more than embarrassed.

"More than anything. Can't you fuckin' see that?" he took your face in his palms and he could see your resolve crumble, breaking him as your eyes shone with tears. "That's why we gotta wait."

Your gaze dropped, you hadn't felt rejected like this in a long time. You didn't feel sexy, you didn't feel desired and you absolutely did not feel like he wanted you regardless of the apparent sincerity of his words.

"Listen to me," his voice raspy from alcohol and exhaustion. "Tonight, before tonight," he confided. "I've thought about taking you in every position my mind could imagine. But every one of them was crude and in my mind, pure fantasy. Why do you think I didn't even think about saying no to any of this tonight? All these years and all we have to show for us is a cheap fuck? I got a little more respect for you than that, baby girl. I wanna turn you inside out," he whispered against your skin. "Why do you think I never made a move before? If you give me the green light, I will absolutely pray to you."

You had forgotten how to breathe and he kept your eyes locked to his.

"I want to worship you," he told you, repeating your name like a mantra. "Don't you get it?"

The blood was pumping so loud in your ears that you were finding it hard to focus. You were drawn out of your stupor as his alarm started buzzing on his wrist again. He was getting later.

"I gotta go," he murmured, his face so close. "Just think about it, okay?" he said quietly, kissing your temple.

"That will be the problem," you confided as he hummed.

"I hope so," he helped detangle yourself from him, letting you stand although your legs were absolutely jelly. He smiled at you finally, thoroughly wretched, and all due to him. "So many things I want to do to you," he breathed. "But now, I gotta go." He'd been short on time before, but nothing as bad as this made him feel.

"I'm not asking you to stay again," you threatened pathetically, and he heard the lies as clearly as you did.

He nodded. But he couldn't and he knew he didn't have to explain his duty... because of anyone who knew him, you understood this most. "See me out?" he asked.

"Okay," you murmured, following him by the hand down the hallway. You unlocked the door, and he pushed it closed again, leaving his palm and weight against it. You raised a surprised eyebrow.

"I just can't - " he closed his eyes, dropping everything he was holding and grasping your face tenderly between his calloused palms. "Please think about this."

"And if I fuck it up?" you asked, scared as reality started to kick in.

"What if I do?" he challenged. "Do we not owe it to ourselves to find out?"

You nodded, almost pained, pressing your hands to his chest because you needed the last few touches before he left you. "Yes, we do," and with that, his lips were on yours. Soft, unobtrusive, it felt like you'd been kissing him your whole life. Familiar and right, you didn't realise how long you'd been waiting for this. He was such a good kisser, and there was no going back now. The words were out there... his kiss had tainted you.

His hands left your face, tangling into your hair, it felt incredible. He smiled against your lips and lightly pulled back. "You only needed to say yes," he told you, holding your face, his warm hazel eyes dancing and he kissed you again, a little rougher this time, his large hands tangling into your hair, tugging at strands as they moved to your back, dangerously close to your ass. "I'm holding back so bad right now, because the second I give in, I will stay."

"Can't you call in?" you asked hopefully, reaching for his lips again, your hands drifting to his hips and his head fell back with a quiet sigh. He pleaded for your hands anywhere further north.

"If I don't front up today... every single person we know will know exactly where I am... and why," he said, voice laced in mirth.

You told him softly, "I will make it worth your while."

He groaned loudly, his body already ready and willing, pressed unyielding against you. "I believe you," he breathed. "The idea of being with you will be all I'll be able to think about today. God damn," he hissed, his alarm going off again. "Can I see you later?"

"I think that's a good idea."

He gave a small smile, pushing some hair from your eyes. "Good morning, fake girlfriend," he kissed you gently again, let go of you to collect his gear at your feet and forced himself into opening the door, stepping over the threshold purposefully. He leaned back and kissed you once more. "I'll call you later," he breathed, trying to gather some resolve.

"Tonight?"

He nodded. "Tonight."

"Okay. Good morning, fake boyfriend." But now... there was nothing fake about it.

"Oh, before I forget," Rooster pointed at you. You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe, the adrenaline of the evening waning as he started to wander away. "What are you doing the last Saturday of next month?"

You outwardly shrugged. At this point you didn't know how today would even pan out as he wandered back to you, lips painfully close to yours, his arms slipping around your waist again and you didn't want him to let go. "I dunno. Why?"

"I got a wedding invite through the week," he smiled kindly and you bit back a laugh. "Thought maybe you'd like to go with me..."

"Think you can keep this fake dating thing going until then?" you asked, caressing his cheek.

"I'm pretty confident we may not be fake dating then..." he said quietly, kissing you just one more time.

"Ballsy of you to assume."

He nodded. "Yep," his eyebrow quirked.

"Do you have to wear your dress uniform?"

"Yes," he sighed, recalling your first conversation.

"Damn. This suit is really good," you playfully teased him, knowing his dress uniform would likely bring you to your knees. White or blue, you didn't care. It would be utter carnage.

"I don't even think a dry cleaner would bring this back to its original glory," he admitted with a chuckle.

"Shame."

"Jesus Christ, I want to stay. Please tell me to leave," his eyes fluttered closed.

You smiled as he took a wide step back. "You'd better go."

He nodded, thankful for your push. "I'll see you later," he said and forcibly turned away, his feet taking him away from you and when he was out of your view, you felt the weight of his dog tags on your chest.

"Oh, shit."

masterlist.

A/N: Want to learn more about these crazy kids? Here we go!

The Relationship Experience - prologue

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esamastation · 6 months

Text

Shizuroth, aka, SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun, aka, sgsss... Part twenty-eight

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven,

Warning for vomiting in this one.

Sephiroth can barely keep to his feet as Angeal walks him to the elevator. Angeal has never seen him like this, and it worries him. It doesn't seem normal, even in terms of usual SOLDIER side effects. He itches to ask what did Hojo do to the man… but this is not the time.

He'd never been so aware of the fact that Sephiroth is younger than him and Genesis. He never looks or acts like it, if anything, he acts older than he is. Usually.

The SOLDIER milling about in the hallway part for them, but not happily - and Angeal is also aware what it must look like from their perspective. In order to hide the fact that Sephiroth can't keep his balance, Angeal has to keep a pretty firm grip on his right arm - and he's carrying Masamune for Sephiroth too. It must look like he has his fellow First somehow detained.

"At ease," Angeal tells them, and it puts precisely none of them at ease.

"Um, sir," one of them says. "Where are you, uh… assigned? Next?" He's looking at Sephiroth.

If Angeal didn't already suspect that Sephiroth attacked none of them, this would've put an end to that fear. Though Sephiroth is considered an intimidating figure, none of these men look at all scared of him. If anything, they look scared for him.

Sephiroth clears his throat, his arm in Angeal's grip tensing. "I'm headed to Wutai," he says then. "Apparently."

A reaction runs through the SOLDIERs, and some of them exchange pointed looks. Some look worried, hesitant - others look determined.

"Good luck, sir," one of them says bravely.

"We'll meet you there," another says, more bold than brave.

Sephiroth looks at the speaker and then lets out a quiet, "Hmph," and reaches out to pat the man's hair with his free hand. "I'll be waiting."

Angeal arches his brows, and SOLDIER Third Class being petted gapes in shock. Sephiroth chuckles and gives the man's hair a little ruffle before his hand falls.

Sephiroth… must still be out of it. They better take the short way to the airport.

"Come on," Angeal says, clearing his throat loudly. "We're going to be late."

Sephiroth hums, and with the SOLDIERs around them throwing little farewells and good luck wishes, Angeal drags his fellow First to the elevator, hitting up. They'd have to get through the office floors on foot, but thankfully the stairwell is relatively private. Much less so than the lobby. Hopefully they wouldn't see anyone.

"Sephiroth," Angeal says, adjusting his hold on Sephiroth's right elbow while the man sways against him. "What happened?"

"Mn," Sephiroth hums, hanging his head. "Before or after I destroyed the training room?"

"Ah, before?"

Sephiroth is quiet for a moment. "I trained. I - tried to - hmm," he stops, looking unhappy. "I was trying to work through something. And I was interrupted. It… threw me off."

"Badly enough that you tried to kill Professor Hojo?"

Sephiroth blinks and lifts his head. It looks like it takes effort. "I tried to kill Hojo?"

"That's what they told me."

"Oh. That was him? I don't - I wasn't thinking clearly," Sephiroth mutters and runs his free hand down his face. "What a way to empathise with Liu-shidi."

"Who?"

"... No one," Sephiroth sighs and lets his head hang again. "Ah, I feel like shit."

Angeal hums sympathetically. "You look like it too. When was the last time you drank something?"

"Depends on what time it is?" Sephiroth groans and Angeal tells him. "Ah. Then it was five hours ago."

And Sephiroth had been exercising, then had a breakdown and has been doing who knows what. "We'll get you an energy drink before we set off," Angeal promises and gives him a look. "You know, you don't usually train in the virtual training room. Not unless Genesis drags you, and even then it had better be late."

Sephiroth snorts. "I wonder why," he mutters and then lets out a little urp noise and clasps his left hand over his mouth. He looks very pale, and there are beads of sweat on his temple.

"Hang on, we're almost there," Angeal says urgently and looks up at the floor numbers scrolling by. "Just a few more -"

Just as he says it, the elevator comes to a halt - on floor 66. The upper science floor.

Angeal feels a terrible sense of foreboding as the door opens - and Professor Hojo stands beyond it, flanked by two infantry troopers and shadowed by four laboratory technicians.

"Ah, Sephiroth," the professor says, hand on the elevator button, sounding somewhere between smug and pissed off. "There you are."

"Professor," Angeal says, wary, wondering if this is what the Turk meant. "Apologies - we're on our way to assignment -"

"You have arrived, congratulations," Hojo says impatiently. "Come right this way - laboratory one."

"I'm afraid we have orders, professor, it's important -"

"There is nothing more important than science!" Hojo says sharply. "Now come along. There are tests we need to run, and the more time we waste the more invaluable data we lose!"

Angeal hesitates. Hojo is a department head. Lazard is just a Director of a sub-department - Hojo's orders trump his. And - and is Angeal really supposed to fight other company employees? That's - that's treason. Shinra has its issues, of course, but…

Hojo doesn't wait for him to make his decision - the Professor steps up and grabs Sephiroth's wrist. "Come along, boy, it's time for -"

It's like the world slows down.

Angeal has a grip on Sephiroth's right elbow, holding him up. Hojo has his left wrist and is pulling. Normally it wouldn't be strong enough to even bother Sephiroth. Normally a man of Hojo's slim build wouldn't be an issue. But these aren't normal conditions.

Another tug, and Sephiroth might fall, stumble, anything. Another tug, and they'll find out how weak Sephiroth currently is. Another tug, and Angeal would have to make a choice between following orders… or getting his friend out of there.

Hojo pulls violently, Angeal braces himself - and then Sephiroth throws up on Hojo.

He throws up a lot.

He throws up mostly blood.

The aftermath is unspeakably gruesome.

"Oh, that is so much better," Sephiroth sighs, easily tugging his wrist from Hojo's loose grip and wiping the back of it against his lips. "Pardon me, professor. Bad blood, you know, had to come out sooner or later."

Hojo just stands there, stunned, covered in blood. Angeal looks between them in horrified amazement as Sephiroth stands up under his own power again. The infantry troopers have actually backed away a step in apparent horror. The technicians look like they want to run away.

There's an audible dripping sound.

Sephiroth clears his throat, looks away, and then reaches to press up on the elevator key pad.

The elevator doors slowly close on Hojo's blood-soaked visage with a sad little squeak.

.... Yeah I have no excuses except that I thought it was funny, heh.

#fanfiction #ff7 #svsss #angeal hewley #sephiroth #shen qingqiu #shen yuan

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genericpuff · 5 months

Note

to add to that last ask about highlights, can you explain how you think the colors don't work now? bc as far as I can tell the colors for the background and characters are still the same as they were in s1, but they for some reaosn don't work now. is because of the lack of values? the lack of shading and highlights? no use of textures? you can explain it better than me

A lot of it comes down to color theory and lack of proper rendering.

Concerning the colors, they definitely aren't the exact same as they were back in S1. Someone on reddit actually did a far better visual breakdown of it than I have time to put together, so full credit goes to /u/LowPHvinegar for the following images!

There's this problem with the undertones and shading used now that makes the characters look very 'plastic'. Before they looked ethereal, now they look rubbery and artificial. And there are a few reasons for this, one of which includes how Rachel shades the comic now compared to S1.

There's also the backgrounds themselves. LO's always been minimal in its backgrounds, but they used to have loads of texture, lighting effects, and glow.

(seriously, when was the last time we got an iconic panel like this? So many of the panels in S3, even the ones that TRY to feel 'iconic', don't come anywhere near the level of the S1 art that was truly memorable).

Rachel's also clearly uh... checked out of the comic in a way that shows through her lineart specifically. Rachel's old art is known for having very thick, varying, distinct lines, and there's been a lot less of that lately.

Rachel's lineart:

Who the fuck:

And what happens when the backgrounds stop pulling their weight? The colors look even worse.

The void backgrounds, unlike in S1, have been VERY muddy and dry. So it makes those hyper-saturated colors look even MORE saturated and ugly.

Now, to Rachel's credit, there have been more backgrounds as of late:

But see how the characters still look whack? It feels like Rachel's making attempts to address the criticism while still avoiding the massive elephant in the room - she's not putting in the same efforts anymore and any efforts she does make feel performative and hollow, and it shows. And this happens a lot with Rachel attempting to address criticism, she's trying to address a specific point that isn't taking into account the larger picture where the grander point is coming from. It feels very "SEE! SEE!" while turning a blind eye to everything else.

And yeah, it means even using some of the same colors from S1 can't and won't save the comic from looking like cheap reproduced garbage. Because just using those colors on their own is missing the forest for the trees, the old colors were only part of a much larger thing. Lore Olympus used to be the sum of its parts - now all those parts have been smashed up with a hammer and left in a mess on the floor, and Rachel is simply trying to pick up those individual parts and call it "fixed".

Frankly, until she understands this and is willing to play a more active part in creating the comic genuinely and with real effort that isn't purely performative or meant to "get back" at her critics, then what LO used to have will forever remain a mess on the floor.

#lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus #ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything

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reve-writes · 1 year

Text

—i didn't know where else to go; kaz brekker.

ʚ kaz brekker x reader | grishaverse | 1,6k words. ʚ kaz brekker knocks on your door after your abrupt departure from the dregs. ʚ injuries; angst. ʚ a/n i'm impatiently waiting for season 2 to air. here's a little something because everyone needs more kaz brekker in life.

You are not a healer, nor do you make a habit of opening your door to anybody who knocks, bleeding through their shirt early when the morning is just starting to crack over the horizon. The hustle bustle of Ketterdam is starting to die down. The streets are steadily getting less and less crowded and the city starts to feel less like a living, breathing thing actively trying to suffocate you.

But it's Kaz Brekker.

“Brekker, why are you here?” You're still rubbing the sleep off of your eyes as you open the door.

He looks as if he's as confused as you are. His mind went on autopilot after he was jumped on by a group of thugs disillusioned into thinking they were a match for the Dirtyhands. While he emerges victorious in the fight, it doesn't mean that he's unscathed. The confrontation was a little too close for his comfort. His legs have somehow carried him to your door.

He heaves a deep breath and he thinks there's a bruise over his ribs. He croaks out, “I didn't know where else to go.”

That is a lie. Kaz Brekker owns more safe houses than you care to know, but you open the door a little bit wider anyway for him to brush past you, into your one-room living space. It isn't much. It's hard to have much of anything when the second you have a little bit of something in the Barrell, it's already taken the next second. You have a cot in one corner of the room, separated with a small divider you've found discarded and repainted. In front of it, there are a couple of chairs and a short square table.

“Have a seat,” you tell him. He immediately plops into one of the chairs with a big sigh of relief. His cane clatters to the floor. “How bad is it?”

He leans against the back of the chair, tilting his head upwards with his eyes closed. “I'm fine.”

He is clearly not fine. You were concerned from the moment you opened your door. Kaz Brekker's face is smeared with blood. Whose blood, this part you have yet to know. When he inhales, he puts more effort than one normally does. Not to mention, there's a sheen on his black shirt and you'll bet twenty thousand Kruge that it's his blood.

“You wouldn't be here if you're fine,” you retort. Your hands are already digging into your box of medical supplies.

He is silent because he knows you are right. Before your departure from the Dredge, he used to have no problem knocking on your door at ungodly hours. You had no problems letting him in, disinfecting and dressing whatever wounds he had. Saints, those moments when Ketterdam hadn't stirred awake yet but the two of you were—they were some of the most vulnerable moments shared between you.

Then, there's after. After you decided you had enough of Kaz. He's the type of person who would say things that'll leave a bruise for a couple of days in your heart, but never acknowledges it. It's partially your fault, mistaking his visits for anything other than convenience. He needed someone to patch him up and you were readily available.

You told him your feelings. He said something that both humiliated and rejected you. You packed up and left.

“How bad is it?” You ask once again, irritation apparent in your tone. “Don't make this a habit, Brekker. I'm not a public hospital.”

“I wouldn't be able to tell the difference,” he says airily.

You don't reply. Whatever Brekker's playing at, you want no part in it. If he thinks he can walk into your home to have a little nostalgic chat over tea then he's sorely mistaken.

“Coat off. Shirt as well. Stop bleeding out on my chair,” you reply, already pulling out a moderately-sized box with medical supplies.

You swear he looks as if he's about to run his mouth and say something witty as a joke, but he decides against it. There's a rustle as he takes his incredulous layers of clothing off. He's as lean as ever with scars littering his body. There are a small gash on his side and bruising all over him.

“I'll clean up the cut,” you tell him. Before, you would ask what happened and he would tell you the details of the fight. Now, you can't seem to bring yourself to ask. There's a line that you drew when you left the Dregs. Inviting him into your home is already tiptoeing around it. You don't want to blur the line by pretending that you're alright.

“A knife grazed me or a dagger. I don't think it's poisoned,” he says anyway. His dark eyes are boring into yours while you keep your gaze solely focused on the wound. He follows your movement, as if trying to come up with a sketch of you in his mind.

“Dagger,” you tell him based on the shape of the wound. “No poison.”

You clean up the cut wordlessly before covering it with bandages. As you work, you wonder why he didn't go to Nina instead. A Heartrender can do your job ten times better with less scarring and less pain. Then, you wonder why he comes to you at all—all those nights ago when Nina is always there.

“How have you been?” He asks as you're digging through a bag of salves for his bruises.

You scoff. “Never been better.”

You would've stayed if he had said no like anyone else would. A simple no, you would understand. A whole speech about how pathetic you are that you're clinging to the only person who comes to you for aid is uncalled for. A long paragraph about how replaceable you are, how easy it would to leave you behind if something ever goes wrong on a job—or as he likes to call it, an acquisition.

Brekker could've said no and left it at that, but he's never satisfied. He is the type of person to ram a knife into you and twist it until you remember every second of the pain. You left because if he considers you so easily replaced then he can do it.

Thinking about it makes your blood boil, but you keep it together. You hand him a small container and he takes it with a gloved hand.

“For the bruises. You can take it with you.”

Then, you're packing everything back into the box. Your job is done anyway. He shrugs his clothes back on, occasionally hissing. Kaz is still wondering why he's decided to knock at your door after desperately making sure that you're going to walk out of his life three weeks ago when he finally stands up. The small container is balled up in his fists.

“Thank you.”

His presence in your room is already suffocating enough, but as he stands there, staring at you when he should've been leaving—that takes the air out of your lungs. Everything he said then floods back into your mind. Word by word. You think you want him to leave. You know you want him to stay.

“You can go now. There's nothing else I can do for you. Ask Nina to look you over,” you say, pulling the door ajar.

He watches you as he walks towards the door. He lingers by the doorway, his cane is tracking blood on your flooring. Don't come back. You want him to come back anyway.

“Nina misses you.”

You almost laugh. “I see her every other week, Brekker.”

He doesn't know why he said that. He should leave. He has things to tend to: a revenge to plan, another acquisition to conduct and a club to run. What is he trying to do exactly? He remembers every word he uttered that night. Every single word is chosen carefully to drive you as far away from him as he can muster. All of them are personally tailored to you. They're all things that push on your buttons.

So, why did he come knocking at your door, as if he wasn't the one who kicked you out in the first place?

When he pictures Pekka Rollins begging at his feet, more Kruge than he knows what to do with at his disposal and a quiet, content day when he's finally done everything he set out to do, he realizes you're always there, too and he doesn't know what to do with that.

Before he can think against it, the words spill out of him. “I want to apologize.”

Kaz Brekker never apologizes. He can poke someone's eyeball out of their skull without so much as batting an eye, but he can't apologize without feeling like he's just been punched in the gut.

You're still angry but you relent because Kaz Brekker never apologizes. “Water under the bridge. I've been told worse things. Just, go home, Kaz.”

He's looking at you. Saints, he's been staring at you since the very moment you opened your door for him. You don't know what to do with all that intensity, especially after he's made it verbally clear that it's one-sided.

“Jesper wants you back on the team.”

You know what he's doing then. First, Nina. Now, Jesper. You roll your eyes at him. “Since when do you care about what anyone else wants?"

He is silent for a moment. “I tend to care if their wants align with what I want.”

“Say it, then. What do you want?”

He doesn't reply and as per his style, he walks out of your door. You sigh, ready to close it behind him, but he tilts his head back.

“Crow Club. 8p.m. Don't be late,” he says, taking a few steps forward before he stops again. “If it's what you want as well.”

Then, as quickly as he came, he's gone, leaving you to wish that you can read Kaz Brekker's mind.

[ ]

#kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x reader #—ki writes 🍯

1K notes · View notes

keen-li · 5 months

Text

Only one | 02

Warnings: toxic relationship trauma, trauma in general, mentally broken oc, manipulation, yendere jungkook. [Still more warnings to be added]

Psychiatrist jungkook x patient reader

....

"I can't do that" you shake your head, your heart being strangled by his statement.

"I don't think I'm able to do that Mr jeon" he looks into your wide and teary eyes. He knows it's hard for you to stay here any longer but you have to for this to work.

"You can I believe in you. You're a strong girl" your heart throbs when he says that feeling a little motivated but no feeling can beat the feeling of having to here any longer.

"But why do i have to?" You ask him and he finally stands straighten out his clothes and arranging the watch on his wrist.

"You know you're not fully well right?" His tone goes between a casual and professional tone.

You lower your head finally knowing your progress. Fiddling with your fingers you nod.

His raised brow lowers as he smirks.

"So if I discharged a girl who is clearly known around to be unwell"

"Wouldn't that suspicious?"

You understand what he means but it doesn't make the information anymore digestible.

"So if you stay a little longer and prove that you're well enough to leave. It won't be so suspicious when I tell them you can leave."

He's right but staying here for another month is too much. You thought when he brought up this offer he'd take you out of here in a day or two, but a whole month??

You sigh thinking about it for a little longer. A month shouldn't be longer than the time you'd actually have to spend here without his help. This is your best option, it's gonna be over before you know it right?

"You said you trust me right?" He walks towards you one hand in the pocket as his slow and confident steps take him to you. You breath heavily as his figure towers over you darkly. You use all the muscles in your neck to look up at the man, your hands grip the material of your clothes tighter.

He hums asking you the question again,

"I do" he smiles at that.

"Good. Then trust me, trust this process." He talks to you lightly and gently, pressing you to agree.

"Will you?" Why does it feel like you have to agree to this, like it's your best and only option inorder to leave this place. It is your best and only option to leave this place quickly.

"I will" your lips break into a smile which he silently chuckles at.

"It's gonna go by so fast I promise"

He walks away from you going back to where he left his stuff.

"And don't tell anyone about this. It's our little secret" he grins as he says secret, which you nod to smiling unsurely and awkwardly.

"I trust you can keep a secret"

He goes back to his original spot wearing his glasses and holding his notebook in his hands.

And just like that he goes back to his professional Mr jeon, as though you didn't just talk about him helping you escape this place. It's not really escaping though. You continue your session and you seem a little off but he doesn't.

.....

"I'm glad they've given us something new today" you hear one of the girls at the table, where you sit silently, say.

You eat your food, making sure to savour the surprisingly seasoned chicken. They're must be a special occasion today, cause they never put much effort into making food for you guys.

"I heard there are new sponsors" the black haired girl sitting next to you whispers.

"Really? They must have alot of money. Cause the previous sponsors didn't do shit" She whispers the last part dramatically looking around hoping no one has heard. The last thing she wants people to hear is her talking shit about sponsors though everyone knows it's true.

"Yeah. But I'm not sure if it's new sponsors" the girl next to you says not wanting to be blamed for any rumours.

"What do you think y/n" they throw the question to a dissociated you.

"Huh?" You look at them confused mind clogged with others thoughts.

"Sponsors. Do you think we have new sponsors" you honestly

Couldn't care less about who sponsors the hospital right now, your mind is just on the fact that Mr jeon is going to help you leave this place.

"I don't know" you say turning your eyes back to your food not giving much care to the topic. They notice your uninterested demeanor and give each other confused look.

"Y/n are you okay" they ask concerned. No you're not okay the fact that you're living every day here waiting for the end of the month is killing you. You know that very soon you're gonna leave the few friends you've made here makes you sad cause you can't even tell them about it. you really do wanna tell them about it but Mr jeon said its a secret, and you have to keep your promise to Mr jeon.

You may miss your friends but at the end of the day you still miss home and wanna go back.

"You've been off lately. Unlike yourself"

At her words you give a small laugh hopefully soothing her concern.

"I'm okay. I just-" You wanna say it. It would really help to tell someone about it.

"I've just been missing home lately nothing serious." You give another laugh.

"That's serious y/n. You can't let thoughts like that eat you up alone, you can always talk to us we're your friends"

"Yeah she's right. Don't suffer by yourself it's not good."

You smile at them warmly. "Thank you guys I really appreciate it but seriously I'm fine"

They give you an 'Okay' nod as you all go back to eating your food.

As you continue to eat your food and count the number of days , hours, minutes and seconds are left before the end of the month the attention of the diner is called for.

The whole diner including yourself turn to look at the familiar face of the diner guard who speaks. Looks like an announcement, you never get announcements during lunch.

"So.." the man starts "tomorrow We're gonna be having a carnival day" when he says that a series of murmurs are heard in the diner.

"You'll receive leaflets on the events that will be carried out tomorrow" and as he says this one of the nurse hands everyone at your table a leaflet. You stare at the colourfully designed leaflet, the large words and pictures displayed everywhere. This is definitely new, a carnival event.

"I was right. There are definitely new sponsors" you hear the girl still stuffing her face next to you say.

You place the paper into your pockets not staring at it for long unlike the rest of the diner.

"What? Are you not excited?" She asks noticing your dull face again. You're really acting different.

"I am saving it to read in my room." You say. You don't want your friend's last days, sounds dramatic, to be of your being gloomy and moody. You wanna enjoy this time with them, and this event is the perfect opportunity. You don't even know if you'll see them again anyway.

She nods at you and everyone goes back to finishing their food.

....

You walk around side by side with sycily, the black haired girl from the diner. You both look around with wide eyes at the brightly decorated event, you both gasp and pull at each other's arms when you see something you like. You're both behaving like children.

"What should we do first" it's a free event so you can do anything for however long you want to but its hard to choose when there are so many options. You look around hoping to have an answer for your wide grinned friend. You shrug your shoulders not able to choose.

"Maybe we can-" You're cut off mid sentence when a bearded man in a stand calls out for the two of you.

"You can start here" you look at him then turn to your also curious friend asking with your eyes if you should go. She agrees and you both make your way to the booth. As you approach you notice the perfectly arranged bottles and the rings in the man's hands. Its ring toss, you were never good at this game. The man smiles warmly at the both of you which you both return. You can see the large variety of prizes hanged around the booth, you hope you win so you can get the cute panda that you've got your eyes on.

"You looked lost, so I thought I'd give you a helping hand in choosing " he hands you the rings picking you as the first one to play. You take them into your dry hands feelings the texture of the rings and their weight.

"There are so many fun games to play, so I understand if the choice was a little difficult" he smiles glazing his eyes over the scenery behind you which you both do again admiring the beautiful place once more. These sponsors really made the plane, large and boring looking hospital ground into something in a movie, plus in less than three days. We never thought we'd be having a carnival when we saw people working on the grounds. Movements were restricted as they built this up, everybody had guesses but not this. The hospital is pretty much a boring place besides the hobbies and clubs they have.

"Okay you can have a go" they man says pointing that you should start tossing. Sycily watches you intently as you nod and turn your body to the clear bottles.

You hold one ring at the tip of your fingers as you prepare to toss it. You don't want to over think it and just toss it. Your throw is weak and doesn't go far, it doesn't even land on the bottle. You hear sycily laugh and you send her a death glare.

"The further you throw it, the larger the prize" he says, and it feels like he's laughing at you.

You run the second ring on your fingertips as you prepare to take your second throw. You only have three chances, so you gotta think it through if you wanna get that panda.

Throw.

You groan as the red little ring lands at the end of the booth, past the bottles.

"When he said further he didn't mean that far" sycily mumbles avoiding your glare.

"I'm gonna toss you over these bottles next" you threaten as she giggles at you. You can hear the man laugh at your interaction as you're trying to focus on your next and last toss.

"You guys seem to be very good friends" he says fondly and sycily nods.

"We are but she's getting on my bad side" your tone is playful but with a threat behind. You give her one last glare as she avoids your gaze once more making you smile.

Now back to the game, you need to get this right, you really want that panda.

You've always loved pandas. Or maybe it was that time when you and your parents went on a trip to China and saw those cute pandas. You even got the chance to feed one of them.

"You know you're they same age" the care taker of the panda said when you told her you're five years old, lifting your tiny little fingers to emphasise. You learnt that by yourself. And maybe that's why you felt drawn to that panda, and all the other pandas. You were both babies being held captive.

"Take your time" the man assures you snaping you back to what you're doing. You sigh as you throw the little ring. And just like the rest it doesn't land for a second you thought it landed but just like everything else in this world, it mocks you by making you think you've actually won.

"Argh" you groan frustrated.

"It's okay you can try again later." He comforts you but honestly you don't plan on coming back to try again.

You give a practiced smile "thank you" you say as sycily prepares for her turn after she gave you a warm comforting smile. Can they see how hard it is on you to lose the chance to get that panda.

The man walks to a tiny basket filled with things you can't see from where you're standing. He pulls out a green beaded bracelet as he hands it to you.

"Here have this" you look at him confused to why he's giving you a prize when you didn't win.

"Don't think of it as a prize, but think of it as a thank you for giving your all to a silly little game" you don't know if you should be offended but he smiles so warmly and you know he's just trying his best to comfort.

You stretch your wrist to him as he places the the bracelet on your wrist. You give him a small smile and thank you as he goes to stand by where he was standing when you were playing. He nods at you appreciateing your gratitude.

Sycily nails all her tries, unlike you, but you're too distracted by the bracelet to notice , you can just hear her cheers and claps.

It's actually a very beautiful bracelet the beads are pea sized and the see through crystal green allows you to see the elastic string that passes through all of them. Your attention is caught by the little silver tag, that swings when you move your hand. You pull it closer to your eyes so you can see the word engraved on the oval shaped metal.

BUSENE.

Must be the name of the sponsors cause you've seen it on almost everything here. You don't give it much thought cause there's nothing to think of. Just a company flaunting their brand during an event which they sponsored, nothing new.

You let your wrist fall as you eye a celebrating sycily who holds her white bunny in her arms.

You clap as she walks to you all smiles and giggles.

"Let's go to another booth and win you something" She pulls your arms as you walk away. When you do, a group of people approach the booth you've just left, they're all smiles and laughs too. It's nice to see people having fun and enjoying a day at the hospital.

You and sycily play some other games and luckily you did end up winning some prizes, but no panda. You guess the pandas are only at that booth. You don't want to be gloomy because you didn't get a panda atleast you had others.

You and sycily did also end up getting some food, which was so delicious and FREE.

"Ahh look at me" you hear her whine as she's trying to get rid of the ketchup stain on her hospital clothes. Yes, you all still had to wear the hospital clothes so that you didn't get mixed up with anyone who never belonged to it.

"You should go get cleaned" you see her struggle with the stain.

"Yeah you're right, the day's almost over anyway" She says letting go of the top.

"Plus we can come back tomorrow" She was right the carnival is still gonna be there for 2 more days. You both walk back to your rooms arms locked as you say hi to some of your other friends or sycily's friends. You never had much friends sycily was your closest friend. You never cared about having many friends, you were used to being alone anyway.

You and sycily became close cause you both shared similar problems; toxic family, toxic relationships. You've both experienced it all. Trauma bonding. You two trauma bond alot, and that's why you trust eachother. Knowing that you're gonna be leaving her alone in here with no one to confined in makes you feel bad especially the fact that you can't help her and you can't stay longer. "You're the only one I trust and can talk to like this." She'd say each time you'd talk about your pasts. And now thinking about it makes your heart ache.

Maybe you can ask Mr jeon to help her too.

.....

You're seated on your bed staring and playing the with green bracelet you got at the carnival. It's been three days since the carnival ended and you can't help but think about the closer the end of the month is getting but sycily can't stop talking about the carnival. You can barely hear what she's saying clearly cause she's saying alot at once. But you're distracted anyways, it's been a while since you've had something to look at.

"Are you excited for the art exhibition?" She asks you and it's clear enough for you to hear and answer to.

"When is it again?" You're genuinely curious cause alot has been on your mind.

"You can't remember?" She asks you disappointed that you couldn't remember the date. You shake your head genuinely not knowing.

"It's in like two months" Two months.

"And I know I'm too excited for something that's so far away, but I just can't wait for you to finally see it"

She hasn't allowed you to see the art work she's been working on cause it should be a 'surprise'. She's been a part of the art club from ever since you knew her, she tried getting you into it but it wasn't your style. Atleast at the moment. The only club you've been able to join and be in is the book club. You loved to read books and talk about what you've read and what your opinions are of the story.

"I can't wait for you to see it and be there." She says giving you a giddy laugh and all you can do is give her a low and sad grin, knowing you won't be there. She continues to express how excited she is.

"Can I tell you something" your serious and concerning tone cuts off her rumbling. She stops and stares at you mimicking your sad look.

"Yeah sure" She moves to seat next to you. "What's the problem"

"Promise me you won't tell anyone"

......

Taglist: @ane102

You can dm the if you wanna join the ONLY ONE taglist. No ageless blogs allowed.

#fanfic #jungkook #jeon jungguk #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #bts #jungkook au #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook #jeongguk #jeon jeongkook #jeon jeongguk #jeon jungkook #yendere jungkook

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yanderenightmare · 1 year

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Hi there, question kind of? How would you rank the Haikyuu boys (not all of them clearly you can pick) in terms of most likely to be possessive towards their partner? I'm curious of your take :)

HAIKYUU ! HEADCANONS

haikyuu boys x darling

TW: yandere, possessive, obsessive and controlling behaviour, abuse, manipulation

Most possessive haikyuu boys, you say...

Is all of them an option?

I mean... these are competitors, and personally, I think competitors are a very specific breed of somewhat toxic feelings – and that’s aside from their grandiose sense of self. We have a name for it in Norwegian; we call them competition-humans– which basically refers to that feral state some people get into during a competition, where they have complete tunnel vision and lack all sorts of a moral compass in their chase of victory.

And I think competitors as yanderes view love with that same type of tunnel vision. How they have a goal to reach, and nothing and no one is going to stop them, and nothing and no one is going to take it away from them.

That being said… I think some of the Haikyuu boys are more competitive than others.

Oikawa Toru Possessive & Controlling

“If you’re gonna hit it, hit it ‘til it breaks.” – that’s his motto, stating his principle of never going at things half-assed – his aim to be the best, in addition to the middle finger he shows anyone who doesn’t cut it.

Victory is his way of life. And his relationships better live up to it. Anything less would just be embarrassing.

Losing his girl would be embarrassing.

Moreover, anything you do reflects on him, and he’d be damned if it reflects poorly. So you bet your ass he’s possessive of you – and controlling. You’re part of his great empire of success, and losing you would be like this huge stain, this huge defeat – failure. And Oikawa Toru doesn’t fail. Oikawa Toru doesn’t get defeated. Oikawa Toru doesn’t lose.

Kageyama Tobio Possessive & Obsessive

The perfect set can’t be completed if he drops the ball. You are his perfect set, and he’s never ever dropping the ball with you – never losing you and never ever letting you go.

He wants you screaming his name in the bleachers – be his cheerleader – keep your eyes on him and only him. Tell him how great he was. Be his victory prize, his trophy, his treat.

He wants to feel you at his fingertips – drag them over your smooth skin and just touch you – keep you all to himself. And he doesn’t want anyone doing the same. Seeing people talk to you is bad enough. He needs you to focus on him like he’s the only one on the court, and everyone else is just extras – sorry pawns in his triumph.

Kuroo Tetsuro Possessive & Smug

You’re the biggest reason behind that big fat grin of his – because he knows that he has something no one else has. His object of envy – a big 'ol fuck you to absolutely everyone.

More than a trophy, more than arm candy, more than a crown atop his head – you’re his lucky golden ticket into heaven – his cheat sheet that makes him feel like a winner – superior. And everyone else can suck it.

They can look all they want – seethe with jealousy – hate him. It’ll only make him savor it more. Seeing those frustrated looks on people’s faces, like he’s beating them – like he’s got something that everyone else wants but can’t have because it’s his.

Kenma Kozume Possessive & Fanatical

Losing you means game over – and he isn’t in the mood to restart. He’s put time and effort into your relationship – and since life’s only option is hardcore mode, he hasn’t been able to leave any checkpoints.

You’re not player two; you’re all the valuable loot he’s picked up along the way. His precious inventory. His xp and upgrades and level x – his special limited edition item. You belong to him; he’s earned you.

He’s been dedicated and worked hard and put too much effort into achieving you – so no way is he about to share you with anyone who hasn’t chipped in, and he’s most certainly not about to lose you either.

They’d have to beat him first.

Kyotani Kentaro Possessive & Dogged

He goes for the throat. People can test him – fucking try it – they’d be lucky if they could count the cuts, fractures, and breaks. He doesn’t let up easily, and once he sees a sliver of red – he isn’t stopping until that’s all he sees.

And you – try and leave; he’s like a dog with a bone – his canines will remain deep and only bite down deeper if you try and break free. The look on his face is enough to make you wince without the way he twists your hair in his fist.

People are afraid to be seen with you. Talking to you is like blood on the breeze, and maddog comes at them with fangs bared, ready to bite before barking. He doesn’t take it easy on you either – like a hound tearing his toy apart before another pup can get to it.

tip-jar: Kofi

#yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyu x reader #yandere oikawa #yandere kageyama #yandere kuroo #yandere kenma #yandere kyotani #yandere #yandere writing #haikyu x reader #haikyu smut #haikyuu

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fatuismooches · 4 months

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just thinking abt giving Zandy his good first Christmas after you woke up

like he had never experinced a loving family or any of that kind, and certainly not holidays. Zandik hadn't too, you remember that clearly, you dragged him out to get this and get that, made him watch you bake cookies and such because you didn't want him to somehow mess them up.

so... you tried to do that again but with Zandy instead, ofc you couldn´t tell him about 'Santa Claus' and stuff like that, he'll just tell you many reasons why that would be impossible and so on. but you did make an effort to make him gifts, several for each segment infact. now you might say that would be unreasonable bc they could just go and buy it instead, but you made everything yourself, and they wouldn't even try to complain or get a replacement anyway.

(you also asked threatened the other segments and even prime to get him(Zandy) a present as well, or you might just give them on less than everyone else. they, of course, easily obeyed not wanting the others getting more affection than them.)

-Luv ya

SOBBING MAKING ZANDY'S FIRST CHRISTMAS ONE TO REMEMBER... 😭 Ahh so cute,, you just want to make the precious bb happy!! You know very well how Zandik never had anything nice during his childhood, you know you can't do anything to go back fix that, you can only make him feel loved now... letting him wrap his arms around you securely as he watches your every move very carefully (and has the gall to dictate you on the decisions. "You've used too much of that frosting. I want a different flavor." Also tries to eat them before they're done, the expression on his face when you first physically slapped his hand away was priceless. At least he gets to lick the spoon clean.)

But... maybe Zandy can live out the happy experiences a child should have anyway? (Making Zandy happy and also healing Zandik's inner child at the same time... </3) Of course, he gets the baking experience with you, he gets to decorate the tree with you too, you lifted him up and let him put the star at the top! Maybe if your health is good, he can make snow angels with you and have snowball fights! And the gifts, yes the gifts, you want Zandy to have the experience of excitedly ripping them open and marveling at the gift. Doesn't matter what it is either, Zandy is the type of bb who would appreciate anything. (Maybe you even get Pantalone, Childe, and Bina on the case!! They're fond of the child segment as well :3)

Haha, I imagine Zandy being a bit confused about why the segments are being so nice to him but the feeling is overwhelmed by the joy of all the gifts and attention... maybe this is the Christmas magic you told him about!

The other segments definitely brag about their gifts to each other... they make it a competition even though it's not supposed to be.

#smooches talks #luv ya anon #dottore love notes <3 #fragile reader <3 #zandy bb <3 #YESSSS TO ALL OF THIS #if zandy smiles then everything in life is worth it #bye zandik is def the type of kid to make the others cry by telling them fictional beings like santa weren't real 😭#the 25th is almost over here but i tried my best to respond in time lmao

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thepinklink · 4 months

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@selkies-song I wrote this for you when you weren’t feeling well, and I intended it to be longer but ran into some troubles. Regardless I hope it brightens your day 🩷

"Legend, can you get the pitchfork?"

It's a simple ask, but his headache filters it through layers of honey, so that by the time he registers what's been asked of him, Malon is watching him with concern.

"Is everything alright, Veteran?"

Legend swallows, words caught in a dry, gummy throat.

“Yeah.” He rasps. “I’m fine.”

He turns to walk back to the barn, but a dizzy spell freezes him in his tracks, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

Goddesses, was it always this hot out? Where was the cloud cover? Hadn’t it been overcast this morning? The light is making his head hurt even worse.

“Veteran. You’re ill.”

It’s not a question.

“What? No, I said I’m fine.” He scowls at the ground. Farore, it’s hot.

“You’re clearly not, dear. You’ve been sluggish and silent all morning. Look at you, the only thing keeping you on your feet is the Hero’s Spirit.”

“I’m fine. Just tired, nothing I haven’t handled before.” He is tired. He’s also in pain, but Malon doesn’t have to know that, and besides. He’s always in pain, the result of years of adventuring without always being able to take the time to care for himself or heal properly.

“I’m fine.” He repeats again, and with a little more firmness.

Malon reaches out and grabs his wrist before he can. His skin is freezing.

“You’re cold.”

He frowns at her. “What? No, I’m—it’s blazing out here.”

She frowns back. “You don’t feel cold?”

“No!”

Malon places her hand against his forehead.

“Well no wonder, you’ve got a fever. And look at you, all glassy-eyed and pale.”

Legend pulls away, scowl returning, wrought with anger at being cornered.

“I’m fine.” He hisses, insistent.

“You’re sick,” Malon replies, equally unyielding. They stand for a few minutes, glaring each other down, before Malon’s gaze is drawn over Legend’s shoulder. Legend follows it, and winces as he sees Time approaching. Time will side with Malon, he has no doubt.

“…I came to inquire about dinner on the Champion’s behalf, but I see I have stumbled into an argument.”

“Of a sort,” Malon tells him tensly.

“That does not inspire much confidence.” Time takes his place beside his wife. “It’s not too heated, is it?”

“Quite, actually, it’s got a fever.” Malon looks up forlornly at her husband, and then back at Legend again. “Our Veteran is sick.”

“Oh?” Time raises an eyebrow, eye now trained on Legend, who does not meet them. Time doesn’t say anything, but somehow he pulls all the information out of Legend faster than Malon did, and with less effort.

“I’m fine,” Legend snaps defensively, feeling raw under Time’s one-eyed gaze. He’s getting sick of the phrase. “I swear, I’m just a little tired. It rained yesterday, made my joints hurt and stuff, I’m just feeling the aftereffects right now. It’s fine.”

“Legend.”

It’s just his name. Not even his name, his nickname. And yet, the way Time says it, Legend knows immediately that he’s lost the battle.

“You have put up an excellent fight up to this point, however, it is truly bordering on pathetic.”

It hurts. Probably because it’s true. It gets worse when Time steps up next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder and lowering his voice.

“I know it is not easy to remember when you’re safe. To stop pushing yourself out of habit, out of that underlying pressure to keep going because that is what you have learned. To keep going, because the fate of Hyrule is in your hands, and you cannot afford to waste so much as a second. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you had to learn that, and I’m sorry that because of it, you don’t know how to recognize and take advantage of situations like this. Situations where such pressure does harm, not good. You’re in a safe place, Link. Hyrule’s fate is not is your hands, not in a way that pushing yourself will help. You are not alone anymore. There are people who will pick up the slack while you recover. There is time to heal, so take it. There is strength in recognizing when you are weak, and stepping back to change it.”

Legend desperately wishes Time were not so wise. Suddenly, his fighting against Malon feels silly and rude. He doesn’t even really know why he was arguing with her, what it would have accomplished. He nods numbly. It was hot a second ago, but the clouds have returned and in their shade, he’s cold.

“M’sorry,” he whispers.

“Don’t be. It’s a hard lesson, one we heroes are terribly unprepared to learn.” Time squeezes his shoulder gently before releasing him. “Now, go ahead and let Malon walk you to the house. And I say that because if you don’t walk, she will carry you. I had to learn that the hard way.”

Time chuckles and Malon huffs.

“You heroes and your selfless tendencies.” She turns to Legend, expression softening. “Come on, dear. You’ll feel better with a hot cup of tea in hand.”

#plink writes #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu legend #lu malon #lu time

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synnthamonsugar · 4 months

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My issue with D2 isn't that it's bad.

Bad media can be, and frequently is, fun, strange, shocking, thought-provoking, entertaining. Bad media often has things to say (even if not said clearly), it's often heartfelt in ways that bigger and more-polished productions cannot be since it's more likely to be the brainchild of an individual or small team instead of a committee of writers working under tight managerial control.

Even through its better-crafted plot beats, I think Destiny (counting both games together here) has often felt bad to me. I say this with utmost love and respect. There are limits to its model of storytelling, and there have always been plot holes, strange bits of characterization, setups without payoffs, weird dialog, gameplay-narrative dissonance, etc. and I think it's easy to focus so much on the high points in its history that we forget that being bad isn't atypical for Destiny, and that this is fine!

The issue is, it used to be that even when it was bad it was genuine, meticulously detailed, oozing with character and heart in every line and lore tab, had bits of world-building and background that made me desperate to know more. It was a rambling story from a friend, who might not have a point but they're so into telling it that it becomes the most interesting thing in the world to listen to. I think, for much of Destiny's history, you could feel Bungie was putting their whole back into it, that the creators made it with love and care. It was impossible not to get invested in return, even when it was a little corny.

The issue is, it doesn't feel like that anymore. It feels like something that's being made because it's contractually obligated. It feels like something neither Bungie nor the creative team wants to put effort into, and I frankly cannot blame the creative team given what we know is going on behind the scenes. That doesn't make it less disappointing or frustrating - in fact it might make it worse because I can't help but see it as something being made under a level of duress. (More than the typical level, for anything made in capitalism.) But it certainly explains why.

And of course, given we know they're trying to make the bottom line there's always the question of how much executive meddling is affecting the story. I definitely have qualms with some of the narrative team, but I do wonder what Destiny would look like today without the stress of meeting sales goals and deadlines.

I think you can sort bad media into roughly two buckets. There's the good-bad media, the kind I talked about, the passion projects bristling with heart and character and vision if nothing else. Then there's the bad-bad ones, the ones that were produced to make a paycheck, be consumed and forgotten ...

My (rhetorical) question is: why should I care about something whose creators don't care about it? If something is a cynical cash grab, how can I feel anything but cynicism toward it?

#destiny #destiny critical #destiny meta

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aqours · 6 months

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ok i REAAAAAALLY need to make a dedicated sideblog for this shit now i realize bc this game is gonna fucking fully get me dragged into this discourse so i'm gonna make an active effort to stop putting these on main, but i can't see myself saying more beyond this in general but ANYWAAAAYS

so i recently made this post about the cognitive dissonance regarding this game and people using fucking CALL OF DUTY a game that is more or less a recruitment drive to make the US military look cool and try to get kids to join up and that GTA's wanted system is actually NOT rewarding you or something to try to play a dick measuring contest with coffin but this interaction really interested me and i wanna talk about it bc i just blocked them after they refused to answer the last question but this is a very specific kind of gaslighting tactic i'm very familiar with from my own days as an anti

i think p much all of us who are used to engaging with this discourse are used to like y'know, being called awful horrible disgusting things. this is not the first time some fucking weird random person came onto my content asking me if i was a kid didler or wanted to fuck my brother. ain't gonna be anywhere near the last time either folks, but i and Lord God knows that's not the case so i don't care what a rando on the internet says but here's the thing: you can't "win" this, but they want to win it. no matter what you say you are the absolute worst kind of dreg of society that should be shot behind a barn and no amount of anything would work. if i actually pulled a list of sourced all that would have happened was they would've doubled down on calling me an inc*s*ious p*d* that I would be willing to use articles probably written by "people like me." because YOU don't care about "winning" this argument, you just wanna get the facts out on your end. it's a catch-22 folks, nothing you say will get you out of it!

i started by calling them a karen, they immediately escalated the living FUCK out of it and tried to trap me in this catch-22 to keep feeling morally superior to me. me saying i don't have such desires and never will isn't enough because i like this game. nothing but me renouncing it will change it.

but here's the thing about antis- they fucking HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE it when you turn it on them. look at the difference. look at the difference between they were the one throwing the catch-22 at me vs. the other way around. what about you? you just came onto my post to harass me, so i'll say it back. how about you? are you just accusing me of these horrible things because you are projecting your thoughts on me? you told me to get a therapist: so maybe you're the one that needs help if so!

violent video games must encourage violence, riiiiight? and you support it because it's violent. Game of Thrones had in*e*t in it so everyone who likes it also is the same. and Demon Slayer, where the pfp is from is violent, so you support it. the main protag's little sister also gets a superpowered form where she gets physically older and a tits out kinda look. so clearly YOU want to see your sister in the same way, right?

and it went as expected. you can see the tone going from smug jerking off with a shit-eating grin to just annoyed while smelling their own farts like it's a rose. and the moment i started doing the same uh i got NO fucking answers and they stormed off. i waited half an hour for a response before blocking them

so why am i typing up this walltext? because i used to be an anti. i fucking guarantee you i would've called everyone who liked this game [insert horrible things] like 7-9 years ago. so let me tell you, you know what pisses off antis more than anything? more than ANYTHING? turning this catch-22 bullshit on them. this is the only way you can end this miserable conversation without blocking them.

it's all one-sided bullshit and the moment you turn it on an anti it IMMEDIATLY shuts it down. this fucker KNEW the answer and you know it. so i wanted to share that, if you ever struggle with this shit: well the best thing you can do is block them and to give a fuck about winning their imaginary argument, but this is the only way to make the headache end otherwise. just throw the catch-22 right back and that's the end. thanks for reading!

#starposts #the coffin of andy and leyley #coffin of andy and leyley #proship #comship #long post #anti anti #discourse cw #ok i REALLY do want this shit off my main blog though i'm gonna start using a sideblog probably

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cryptid-ghoulette · 22 days

Text

Here in the still

Trying my hand at some raindrop angst with a happy ending. Poor Rain is exhausted and tired of feeling like a burden. definitely not a self insert. (also i probably wouldnt have posted this without @sister-nyx being rad as heck) nothing graphic, but some negative self talk, depression, chronic illness and angst (but happy ending)

WC - 1037

The good days were beginning to be outnumbered by the bad ones, and Rain's resentment towards his broken body was growing, settling into each crack and hollow inside his brittle and increasingly unstable bones. The aches became a part of him, something so familiar that he's worried he'd miss now if it ever left. He hated that thought because he knew it was probably true.

The others were always understanding, doting on him on days he could barely stand, holding him upright long enough to move from one collapsing surface to the next. Mount always had warm tea for him, Lus always let him use her softest blanket, and Phantom was always good for some healing hugs. Still, he wished they'd stop holding him like something so fragile, something that might break if held too tightly. He could feel the mix of pity and love, and the taste lingered sickly sweet in the back of his throat each time they fawned over him.

Some days, even leaving his room felt like too much, wishing desperately that his bed sheets would swallow him like an ocean and never let go. Tired of fighting with his own body, tired of being a burden to the others, especially his precious Dewdrop. It was just all too much.

Today was one of the bad days, but he didn’t know that until he got out of bed, and his knees immediately gave way underneath him, crumpling to the floor with a dull thud, leaving him sobbing into the carpet.

Dew rushed in immediately upon hearing the sound and found Rain on the floor, curled up into a ball, knees tucked as tight against his chin as he could possibly get them. The smaller ghoul quietly leaned over to touch Rain's shoulder, but the pain was too much, and he let out a venom-less hiss, part warning, part plea, unsure what he wanted or needed at this moment, unable to focus on anything other than the pain radiating through his entire body. Startled, Dew quickly pulled his hand back, before placing it down again, making a soothing hum in some small effort to calm him down.

Dew was always patient with him, more than he could ever have expected or possibly deserved. The fire ghoul constantly tried to heal the broken parts of him with equal parts heat and love, never letting Rain push him away, no matter how many times he’s yelled at him out of frustration and exhaustion to just leave him alone, let him rot in peace. He simply holds him, letting the water ghoul yell and cry and kick and scream until he aches, and there’s nothing left to cry.

He knew there had to be a breaking point though, not just for Dew, but for the others as well. A burden can only be carried for so long until it gets too heavy and you just have to put it down, and that's exactly what he was - a burden.

His stomach twisted into knots, his thoughts loudly telling him that Dew wouldn’t want to be with someone like him; he should be with someone stronger, not a weak, achy, broken water ghoul.

Rain's frustration boiled over as he snapped at Dew, his voice shaking with a mix of pain and anger.

"Why are you still here, Dew?"

His words came out sharper than expected.

"I don’t need the pity or constant hovering from you or the others. Just leave me alone!"

His outburst hung in the air, a heavy silence settling between them. Tears stung the corners of his eyes, and he felt a pang of guilt for lashing out at Dew. He knew the fire ghoul meant well, the fire ghoul loved him, but he was too exhausted to feel remorse at the moment. Raising his voice had made him dizzy, his brain too fuzzy with pain to think clearly.

He looked up to see Dew, his eyes glassy, his face showing a mix of concern and understanding. Dew's hand was still on his shoulder, still trying to soothe him. Even after he told him to leave, even after yelling at him for just trying to help.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest impossibly tight as he let the tears finally fall. The anger finally breaking the wall, drowning him in a flood of emotions; grief, remorse, fear, as he sank fully to the ground.

"I'm sorry,"

Rain choked out between sobs, his voice barely a whisper now.

"I didn’t mean... I just..."

Dew sank down on his knees beside him, gently rubbing the space between his horns.

“It’s okay, Lilypad. Just let it out. I'm right here."

His brain was still screaming at him, he wanted to push Dew away, yell at him, throw out words with such venom that it could never be undone, make the fire ghoul hate him, finally pushing him away for good.

But Dew remained beside him, whispering softly as his thumb smoothed the rough edges of his horns, and despite what his brain was trying to tell him, he felt safe.

Eventually, Rain's sobs quieted, and he tried to push himself up from the carpet, just enough to collapse into Dew's chest, leaning heavily into him, letting his arms wrap around him tightly.

Dew gently lifted Rain's chin up, his heart sinking when he saw just how tired the water ghoul was, eyes a dull blue, red-rimmed, and sunken. He placed a soft kiss on the water ghoul's forehead, quietly asking, “Are you okay to listen?”

Rain nodded, closing his eyes, taking a moment to savor the warmth from Dew's lips.

“I need you to understand. You're not a burden, Rain," he said firmly. "You're a part of our family, and we're here for you, no matter what.” He could see the disbelief creeping over Rain's face; he knew his mind wasn't going to let him believe it, but he kept speaking,

“You will always be wanted, and loved, by all of us,” he paused, considering his words,

“especially by me.”

Rain felt a tug at the corners of his mouth—an honest smile, fragile but real. “Thank you,” he whispered, burying his face back into Dew's chest.

“Anytime, Angelfish.”

#the band ghost #ghost bc #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghoul #raindrop #cryptidrambling #my fics

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bestworstcase · 2 months

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re: talk of Burn, do you have any idea why Yang's aura clearly broke when Neo struck her in V8 (right after activating Burn)? my theory is that perhaps activating her semblance does something like Tock's where it makes her aura manifest more solidly on her body (which is how it can make her hair light on fire) and therefore also, like Tock, means that her aura is more vulnerable. to me this would also explain why Yang would use it as a finisher at first; using it when she's already going to run out of aura makes it, in a sense, less dangerous because she's already gotten most of the other uses out of her aura that she can get.

would love to know if you think this is accurate, or what you actually think is going on with yang's semblance on a mechanical level (if you're interested in that anyway)

first, a general point about aura and aura breaking. the characters’ use of meters has led to a sort of popular fanon that aura works like hit points in a video game, where you have this many and taking damage reduces your HP by a certain number until you hit zero and then your aura breaks; (dark souls splash screen voice) YOU DIED.

i do not think it works that way.

from world of remnant:

aura is a manifestation of the soul, a life force that runs through every living creature on remnant—whether they are a meager shopkeep or a renowned knight. however, what sets true warriors apart from all others is their ability to amplify and control their aura.

aura is the power of one’s soul. it’s guided by emotion, self-knowledge, and spirituality. in its purest form, it becomes a semblance.

defensive aura is not a passive effect. we know this for a fact. in V5, oscar finds it physically exhausting to engage his aura in this way and ren tells him that’s normal—it requires intense concentration at first, then becomes second nature with practice. in V7, jaune’s aura-training demonstrates that recovery, regaining aura once it has been depleted, is a conscious action that can be improved through practice. this is because the “aura level” tracked by those meters is not a measurement of how much aura you have in the tank, as it were, but something like the density of the aura-field you’re pushing outward, or speed of flow, or something along those lines.

(the way i’m handling it in TDT is there’s a hard upper bound to how much aura you can hold in your skin, like a sponge not being able to absorb more water, and what auraleric gauges attempt to measure is % of maximum saturation because everyone’s aura will break around 5-10% saturation even though the amount of aura you have at 100% varies. anything you push out above that threshold is projected as transient bursts of energy and that’s where you start getting into offensive techniques.)

hazel’s phenomenal endurance is noted to derive from his rapid recovery, not the basal amount of aura he has. (he even just shrugs off being impaled.) i believe his semblance gives him an edge here, because it requires concentration to amplify one’s aura and hazel can’t be distracted by physical pain.

which brings me to aura-breaking. it doesn’t happen when the proverbial tank is empty. auras break when you can’t sustain the mental effort of generating enough aura; this might happen because the well you’re drawing from really has run dry (<- think this is what happened to nora with the high voltage door), but it might also be because you’re too tired, or you took a really painful or unexpected hit that shattered your focus, because you’re panicking or furious.

i think tock’s semblance is in the same ‘family’ as hazel’s and ironwood’s in that it puts her into a state of intense focus by blocking out anything that might shake her—with hers being far, far more potent than theirs but so potent she can’t maintain it for longer than sixty seconds, and possibly needs the ticking clock to ‘anchor’ her focus.

(fic stuff again, because tock’s alive in TDT for butterfly wing flaps reasons: sixty seconds is not a hard limit of her semblance; she can and on one occasion did go for much longer. to project an aura field you draw aura out of your reserve, which is the aura that naturally ‘pools’ around your soul; if that runs dry and you’re desperate enough, pushing hard enough, you can wring more aura out of your soul. blood from a stone. it hurts a lot, it will mess you up, and it can do permanent damage similar to what the aura transfer machines do to pietro. sixty seconds is how long it takes for tock’s semblance to drain her aura reserve, rounded down to allow for a margin of error.)

so. yang.

i think, mechanically, when the average person with aura training gets hit, their aura burns up to disperse most of that energy. (<- when they’re swatting gunfire away, the bullets bounce; the energy is reflected.)

but yang’s semblance absorbs energy—which is to say, if you had a ball throwing machine shoot a tennis ball at yang and someone else with equivalent training from the same distance, it would hit yang harder because her aura is less reflective; more of the ball’s kinetic energy flows into her body. then, like a battery, her aura converts that energy into some other form that can be stored.

sort of like dust, in fact. dust has a lot of potential energy, which is released when the material reacts with aura. given the literally explosive firepower yang gains from burn, i think that she’s storing this absorbed energy in the same form as occurs naturally in dust, which would put burn in the same ‘family’ as coco’s hype or arrastra’s equilibrium…

…and would also mean that this statement:

some prefer to use dust in its raw form: elegant, yet destructive. those who choose to wield dust in this state must possess a certain level of discipline to ensure that their resulting powers do not break free of their control.

is true of burn, too. and that tracks with who yang is and how she uses her semblance—even in V1-3, yang takes a more head-on approach to fights and tends to soak up more damage before exploding bigger vs her increasingly nimble and even acrobatic style post-beacon, but her control over those massive volcanic eruptions is immaculate.

the way burn works in general requires that yang be very, very in control of her aura at all times because she needs to balance between absorbing energy to charge up her semblance while reflecting enough to prevent injury, and this is one reason why i think yang is probably the best out of the cast when it comes to using aura. ren might have her beat on the more spiritual, extra-sensory perception side of things, but yang has to keep her focus while getting hit harder than anyone else Because Physics.

and that brings us to neo one-shotting yang’s aura. here is what happens: cinder is gloating from atop a pillar of fire while people scream and run in a panic all around them, and out of the corner of her eye, yang sees a glint of steel and realizes that neo is about to stab her unsuspecting baby sister in the back, she’s too far away, she can’t get there fast enough—burn is, in that moment, a reflex. instinct. she panics and hurls herself in between neo and ruby without even thinking about it because the only thing in her mind is GET TO RUBY NOW.

and that’s why her aura just shatters. it requires concentration—you practice until it becomes instinctive, until you don’t need to think about it, muscle memory. but it still takes focus. intention. yang has incredible self-control and thus incredible control of her aura, but everyone has limits, and hers are “holy fuck that guy stabbed blake” and “neo is going to kill ruby go go go.”

her semblance in itself doesn’t make her defense any weaker—but when she’s terrified enough for burn to activate reflexively like this, her aura will break if she gets hit because she’s freaking out.

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