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truefandemonium · 4 months ago

Note

Hi sweetheart!! Your number 1 fan here 🤗

Can I request for a fic where King and reader have a very special relationship where both of them love each other, but they never admitted their feelings. One day she gets shot and King freaks out, almost crying and finally admits his feelings for her. The rest is up to you, love! Hope you like it, hun. Sending lots of love 🤗💖

Thanks so much again for the request! Sorry this one took so long to come out 😭 I hope this one is as good as the other you requested! I struggled a little bit with some of the emotional scenes but hopefully it fits what you were wanting to see!! Much love!!

“For Every Moment”

[Dr King Schultz x Fem!Reader] (Mature)

TW: Blood, violence, strong language, innuendo

Tags: fluff, angst, love confessions, soulmates, possessiveness, tending to wounds, kissing, bed sharing

5,285 words

…

You always wondered if King felt the same way about you as you did him.

The flirting, mostly from you, so it happened, was nice. As were the gentle touches— which lingered longer in the dark of campsites and after private interactions in tavern hallways. On long rides across desert landscapes, you would find King’s eyes wandering to land on you— his gaze rarely left your face, and you wouldn’t expect anything else from such a self-proclaimed gentleman. However, there was once when you’d been down at the river washing yourself and had forgotten to warn neither King nor Django, and the men happened upon you half nude.

Django couldn’t have cared less, stripping down and taking his own corner of the undertow to bathe in, not giving you a second glance, while King turned a shade of red you’d thought was reserved only for tomatoes, and after taking a prolonged look of shock at your breasts, turned tail and fled back to the wagon. He couldn’t even look in your direction the rest of that day, keeping his chin tucked into his chest and hat pulled low over his brow to avoid your eyes.

You’d found the whole thing quite funny, if not slightly embarrassing on your behalf, but King refused to speak of it again, shying away from the mere mention of the occurrence.

Which was why it made this whole thing so damn confusing. Did he love you or didn’t he? Perhaps in Germany, the men were simply more prone to shows of romanticism. You shake your head to yourself as you lean forward and stir the beans in the pot over the fire with a wooden spoon. Maybe you’d never know what was going on in King’s head. Either way, you’d enjoy his company until your last breath, and happily.

“Something on your mind, frauline?” King’s buttery voice breaks into your thoughts as you sit back down on the log in front of the fire, and you panic for a moment, watching him out the corner of your eye as he approaches and takes a seat across from you.

“No, nothing,” you say, wondering how to breach the subject plaguing you. Debating whether or not you should at all…

“You have the look of a kicked pup, my dear,” the man purrs, his tone so convincing and gentle. “You’re certain there is nothing I can do to ease your burden?” You just want to melt when you hear him speak— like a glass of whiskey; making you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

But you shake your head again, suddenly choked at the thought of telling him your true feelings for him. “I’m fine, King— really.” The lie is obvious, and you regret it as soon as it leaves your lips, noticing the way the scorn hits King like an arrow to the chest.

He practically winces as he nods. “My apologies— I do not mean to pry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you say quickly, wrestling with yourself. You pull the pot off the fire and nod your thanks as King stands and holds out two small tin cups for you to scoop the food into cautiously. “It’s just…” You stop as Django returns from where the horses are tied several yards away, the thickness returning to your throat.

Django instantly senses your odd behavior, his eyes narrowing as he takes one of the tin cups from King’s outstretched hand. You blink at him, silently pleading for him to give you and King space, and thankfully, he picks up on your desperate expression.

Poking a spoon into his cup of beans, Django glances between you and King with a sniff, grumbling, “Need some air. I’ll be… over there.” He jerks his head sideways and starts off into the desert, and you instantly feel a twinge of guilt, alongside relief.

King, confused, opens his arms wide, gesturing to the wide open space around you. “You have all the air of Texas, dear Django!”

The ex-slave just waves one hand above his head, calling as playfully as you ever hear him, “Not with what you two got hangin’ in it.”

You flush at his words, and King’s gaze flicks back to you, his green eyes wide. “Oh?” he says, clueless, which only makes you burn further, setting the pot down after dishing your own helping. “I didn’t realize we had things to discuss,” he says slowly, sitting back down, his eyes still glued to you. As he sees your expression, suddenly teary eyes and red face, his own gaze changes; softens with realization. “Oh,” he adds in a near whisper, swallowing.

“Frauline,” he says gently, the firelight casting shadows across his worn face. “I do hope you know that you can always speak to me.” He tries to joke, adding with a stressed chuckle, “I cannot promise that my advice will be all that helpful, but—”

“No, see— King, that’s the problem,” you sigh, dropping your head into your hands. “I… I can tell you anything— everything. And I do. But you—” You look up and see the way his brow is furrowed, confusion clouding his gaze. You say gently, “You don’t tell anyone anything at all, King. Not even me.”

At that, he smiles ruefully, even the small gesture making your belly tighten. “Ach, mein lieb,” he sighs softly, “I am an old man. I do not expect a girl like yourself to be a confidant, and that is not something you should ever feel is required of you—”

“But I want to be,” you argue. King seems taken aback, even leaning up from where his forearms had been resting on his knees to look at you.

“Y/N,” he says slowly, as if explaining to a child. “I need you to know this: I love you.”

Your heart stops in this moment, and you’re sure if physics weren’t against you— you’d be floating right up into the stars above your head.

King continues, gesturing to the dark desert where his partner has just disappeared to, “Just as I love our dear Django. You two are my closest compatriots— dare I say friends.” At that, he smiles, and you feel your chest begin to constrict, sadness creeping up your throat and threatening to steal your breath away. Friends, right. Nothing more. But as quick as it had appeared, King’s smile leaves again, in lieu of his expression growing deadly serious. “And that means that you are both at a greater risk for being the targets of unhappy acquaintances of bad men I have a duty to dispatch. I enjoy your company— and always have. But I will not allow myself to be the reason either of you get hurt.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you try to reason, simply wanting to hear him admit that he likes you more than he’s letting on.

“Then what—” King’s words are cut off by Django’s sudden and panicked return from the desert; the fellow bounty hunter practically sprinting to your side, eyes huge and breathing heavy.

“Damn rattlesnake ‘bout bit my ass up,” he pants, jerking one thumb over his shoulder.

“You what?” King asks, clearly having been so focused on snapping back at you that he hardly heard his friend.

Django frowns, saying in a choppy, disdainful tone, “A rattler, King. Almost bit. My ass. The hell up.” His brown eyes flick between you and King, trying to gauge the tension there. “You two done bickerin’, then?”

King looks at you, his gaze managing to still remain confused even after your outburst. “I did not think any bickering occurred, Y/N—?”

You stand up without looking at him, pushing your half-eaten tin cup of beans into Django’s hands. “I’m not hungry. Goodnight, Django.” You turn slightly and mutter, “Night, King.”

As you make your way toward the horses to acquire your bedroll, you don’t see the way Django shrugs and sits down to begin digging into your leftovers— nor how King watches you go with a broken expression. There was so much he wanted to say… he just didn’t know how.

Little did you know, this was the first time in King’s life he’d found himself speechless.

…

“Dammit fuck, King, he’s getting away!” Django curses, his burning eyes glued to the form of the desperado booking it across the sandy desert.

King smiles, his silver beard catching the sunlight beating down from above, his green eyes shimmering as he watches the horse gallop with his bandit rider atop him.

“Django, my boy— patience is one part of bounty hunting you need to learn sooner than later,” King tells him, his tone stern but affectionate.

“Yeah? Well I’d rather pop this sumbitch a bullet right up his ass before he has time to tell all his buddies that somebodys are skulkin’ around up in the desert,” Django barks back, seething.

“That ‘somebodys’ ‘d be us, right?” you ask, sitting placidly on the wagon, playing with Fritz’s reins.

King speaks before Django can annoyedly answer you. “I was going to let you figure it out yourself but since your common sense has seemed to have deserted you at this time, I will explain.” King leans over Fritz to stare at Django and say slowly, “We are missing two of three outlaws. That one—” King points toward the disappearing shape of the man on the run without looking away from his partner. “—will lead us directly to the other two, that we are looking for.”

Django’s eyes flash with understanding and he curls his lip in a growl.

“Do you understand now, why we are going to simply follow him instead of impulsively putting a bullet in his brain?” King asks him.

The other man glowers for a moment before responding. “Yeah, you don’t gotta be so con-sendin’ ‘bout it,” Django snarls, hopping atop his horse and clicking his tongue to steady the beast.

King just smiles. “I prefer the term patronizing, but yes, condescending works, too. I will continue to use that tone until you learn to trust me,” he says, and Django nods ruefully. “You know I only have either of your best interests at heart,” King reminds you both, getting onto the wagon beside you. With a grin, he adds, “And money, of course. You really think I’d sabotage a bounty for my ego?”

Django rolls his eyes, lips twitching up into a smirk as he replies, “With you, doc— can’t never be too sure.”

King chuckles, the sound making butterflies take off in your belly, and you distract yourself from his utter perfection by handing the reins off and awaiting departure.

“Ready, my dear?” King asks you, and you swallow, nodding. You want desperately to bring up the talk last night— but you can’t. You just wish you could poke around in his mind until finding the honest truth behind his affection for you.

But before you can even try to see past his gaze to find out the intention behind his words, he’s telling Fritz to giddyup and flicking the reins commandingly. You try not to watch the side of his face as he calmly drives the stage, his brow unfurrowed and a soft smile playing on his lips.

You wonder how he can be so unbothered by everything— when you feel like your very world is crumbling without knowing how he feels about you. You force yourself not to dwell on it. Getting into a deadly situation while stuck in your own head could spell disaster, and you need to be the lookout for your two partners.

After a considerable time following the tracks of your runaway bandit, you arrive in a near-ghost town, streets empty and buildings falling apart. No wonder the trio chose this place to hideout, they’d never be suspected to be found here.

King pulls the wagon up to a tree down the street from a saloon, where he glares and points out a familiar horse to Django, accompanied by two others. The two men dismount and begin muttering to each other, guns on their hips ready to go while you look on in awe. No matter how many times you see it, you’re still in wonder of their ability to work together like a machine, producing bodies of bad men like it’s nothing, and then profiting from it.

You wait atop the wagon behind Fritz until King turns to you and orders, “Stay on the wagon, alright? If you hear two or more shots, and neither me or Django comes out— take his horse to the nearest town, about ten miles that way, and get the sheriff.”

“You’re scaring me with that kinda talk,” you tell him, hating the moments that he gets so serious about collecting bounties. Most often, Django and King make jokes and promises for grand sleeping arrangements in hotels before going to do a job. But every once in a while, King gets a twinge of anxiety, and makes you promise not to try and avenge his death in the scenario he’s killed by his own target.

King chuckles softly, now, dipping his head. “I’m sorry, frauline. I do tend to catastrophize things. I will be out in six minutes, how is that?”

You smile. “Make it five.”

“I’ll make it two if you both shut up in the next ten seconds,” Django interrupts, narrowing his eyes at the saloon down the dusty street.

You and King fall silent, and changing one last (what you hope is meaningful) glance before the two hunters depart from you, and you wring the hem of your dress in your sweaty fist as you wait for them to return.

You watch with a knot in your stomach as they disappear one after the other into the saloon, your eyes finally wandering away from the door and coming to rest on the wagon seat you’re sitting on.

Your heart stutters at the sight of King’s crumpled paper sitting there, right next to your clenched fist. You scramble to pick it up and read it, recognizing it as the arrest order from the judge for the three men inside the saloon with Django and Dr King Schultz.

Shit. King needs this paper, he always takes the judge’s order with him on a job! Panic floods you, and you stand up, hurrying off the wagon and down the street, heart racing.

You’ll be quick. You’ll simply appear with the order, make sure it’s in King’s hand before racing back out— nothing more.

You reach the saloon and get close enough to hear voices. Fear grips you at the sound of arguing.

“You’ll never get all of us, you son of a bitch!” someone yells, and you hear the bang of a bullet being fired as the saloon doors burst open. A stranger races out and collides with you as scream, your head hitting the hard ground with a smack.

The world spins as more sounds ring out, and suddenly you’re being dragged to your feet by a man’s strong hand. An arm winds itself around your throat, too tightly for comfort, and when your eyes focus again, you see Django and King standing in shocked horror just outside the saloon.

The man holding you against his front calls, “Let me and Jake go and you can have the girl! Or else—” You suck in a gasp as you feel the cold barrel of a revolver dig painfully into your side, and you struggle against his hold.

You see King’s eyes fill with fury and pain at the sight of it, his fists flexing at his sides. Django, contrastingly, is calm and still as he stands before you, analyzing the situation with a careful eye. It seems like the first time that Django has ever been the collected one, compared to King.

“William—” King says slowly, but you can hear the way he’s nearing his breaking point. “Let the girl go, she is not part of this—”

“She sure as hell is, now!” the man holding you screams, and you wince as the gun prods you again. You finally notice now, another man standing only a few feet away, unarmed. He looks between all of you fearfully, malice radiating off of him.

“King, shut the fuck up,” Django hisses, not taking his eyes off the man keeping you in a tight chokehold. Panic begins to set in and you start to thrash in his grasp.

“Hold still, you bitch—!” the man grunts, his hand moving to cover your mouth. You shriek as his nails dig into the flesh of your cheek, and you strain, rearing back to elbow him hard in the stomach.

“Leave her alone!” King screams, his eyes huge and filled with terror as Django’s jaw clenches.

“King!” the other man yells, lifting his gun and letting off two rounds in quick succession. But you hear three.

The first man— Jake— drops to the earth in a moment, his corpse sprawled out and bloody.

You feel William’s hand slowly release your face, the marks his nails left already beginning to sting as blood pricks at the surface.

And then you feel the heat in your belly. Warm— no, hot. And wet— you glance down and blink a few times at the growing stain of crimson just below your ribs, on your left side. You don’t even feel the pain until you tip over.

The world must stop for a moment, or maybe you do, because when you open your eyes again, King is there, clutching you desperately to his chest as he leans over your body.

“Ach Gott, mein Gott, nein, nein,” King whispers, his green eyes traveling across your face and body, tears pricking at the edges of his vision as he takes it all in. The blood leaking from your side, the pale skin of your face, growing paler by the second. “Please, no,” he begs in a breaking tone, his hands firmly holding you.

“King—?” you manage to croak, your hand slipping upwards and finding purchase around his coat collar. You grip it like a lifeline, your pounding heart beginning to stutter. “Don’t go—!”

“I’m here, frauline,” he tells you, his eyes never leaving your face. “I’m staying right here, I swear it.”

“It— ah— it hurts,” you whimper, the pain now ripping through you like a whirlwind.

“I know,” King says, his normally smooth voice breaking a bit. “I know, and I am so sorry, mein Liebling.”’

“Don’t be,” you cry, emotion starting to choke you. “I— I should have—”

“No, schiesse, Y/N, this is not your fault,” he says, stopping you. He shifts you in his arms so your chests are nearly flush— you can feel his heart hammering his ribs as he speaks. “I should not have let you get close enough for this to happen. Curse every moment I let pass without telling you… I should have just told you last night—”

“Told me…?” For a moment, the pain is gone. All you feel is a sudden rush of hope. Of affection.

King has never cried in front of you. This time is no different. But he gets damn close. His voice shakes and his verdant eyes grow wet with unshed tears as he confesses at long last, “That I love you.”

He shuts his eyes now, the tears dropping to land in his beard. The last thing you feel like doing is crying, however. Even with your gaping wound, you feel like you could dance. You’re lighter than air.

But King isn’t finished. He shakes his head to recenter himself and chokes out, “More than love, Y/N— I adore you. I crave you. Do you have any idea how long I have waited— longed to hold you?” His hand, calloused, yet surprisingly clean, and oh-so gentle, comes up to push a strand of hair from your sweat-slicked temple.

You shiver at his soft touch and decide to throw caution to the wind. If this is to be your last moment alive, you’re going out taking what you’ve always wanted.

Still holding tightly to his collar, you pull hard, half yanking him down to your level and half lifting yourself to reach him— and slam your lips against his.

The world erupts in butterflies and sun bursts of every color and magnitude. King’s lips against your own feel so right; interlocking with yours in an explosion of warmth and taste and comfort. His tongue finds yours, and you let out a soft whimper into his mouth, startling him to pull away in concern.

He pants, his cheeks already a quiet rosy red and his eyes wide and glittery with affection as he gazes at you in silent wonder.

You wish you had more time, more energy, but your strength is waning. In lieu of another kiss, you manage, “King— I’ve always loved you, too.”

King blinks in apparent shock, an almost disbelieving chuckle pulled from his chest as a smile tugs the corner of his lip.

But he has no time to say more, because then you hear the scuffle of boots on sand and suddenly Django is there, too. He crouches low and inspects your body with a scrutinous gaze— though you can tell how desperately he doesn’t want you to know he’s scared.

“I need to see how bad it is,” the man says, almost to himself before looking up at you. You thank the heavens he isn’t mentioning the atrociously dramatic confession you just received, nor the equally impulsive kiss. “I gotta lift up your skirts, girl,” Django says sternly, his brown eyes pinning you in place as you hang in King’s arms.

King’s grasp on you tightens defensively for just a moment before he returns to his senses and nods briskly. He looks deep in your eyes before laying you down on your back in the sand and ripping off his coat to cover your soon-to-be-bare legs.

You hardly notice as Django carefully but urgently pulls the cotton layers of your dress above your hips, then a bit further to reveal your belly (thank goodness you weren’t wearing a corset), because your eyes are intently glued to the way King’s white shirt sticks to his shoulders and chest, sweat making the cloth form to his muscular body as he watches Django study your wound. You wish you could see past his vest, too, but now is really not the time to ask for a strip tease.

You blink your thanks as King lays his coat down over your legs— not scandalous, as you’re wearing bloomers that reach your mid thigh, but still more than you’ve ever been exposed to either of these men (aside from the aforementioned fateful incident at the river).

Django mutters something for you to prepare yourself before laying his hands on your side and checking the size of the shot. You cry out, and King’s hand instantly finds yours, letting you squeeze him as the pain subsides.

You open your eyes after a moment and are surprised to see Django smiling, teeth flashing and everything. He looks at you and smiles wider. “You're one lucky bitch, you know that?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulls your dress back down over your legs and uses King’s coat to wrap tightly around your injured waist.

“She’ll be just fine, we jus’ need a doc to stitch her up…” you hear Django telling King over you as you begin to drift off. The loss of blood has made you sleepy, unsurprisingly, and although it seems a bad idea, you just can’t help closing your eyes, just for a moment…

…

You wish you could remember the ride here— wherever you’ve ended up. You’re certain King held you the whole way while Django drove the wagon. Maybe you’re completely wrong, but the presence of a snoring Dr. King Schultz at your bedside confirms your suspicion that he hasn’t left your side since you were shot.

Speaking of which…

You shift with a wince and look under the covers to prod at your side curiously. It hurts, of course, but whatever drug they gave you sure has helped with the pain. Your head swims pleasurably, though perhaps that’s the after effects of your kiss with King.

You lie back down on the considerably cushy pillow and turn to gaze at the sleeping form of your beloved King Schultz. His body cocked sideways so he’s facing your bed, coat off, hat in his lap. His head rests on the back of the chair, brown furrowed deeply above his scrunched-shut eyes.

You decide to risk waking him from his gorgeous sleep and slide your hand upward to cup his bearded jaw.

As your fingers brush the stubble along his throat, King snaps awake, snorting gently as his hand snatches your wrist in an instinctive defensive response. His wide eyes pin you before recognition seeps in, and he softens his grasp on your wrist, bringing his other hand up instantly to gently cradle your palm.

“Y/N,” he breathes, sitting up and never taking his eyes from you.

You smile shyly, feeling bare beneath his gaze. Not that you'd exactly protest. King’s own lips turn upward as he stares at you.

“How do you feel?” he asks you concernedly, his hold soft and warm and strong. His grip doesn’t waver, like now that he has you, he’s not ever going to let go. And you want to bask in the safety of it forever.

You nod. “I’m alright, King. I’m doing just fine…”

King chuckles, in that way that reminds you of the way he broke down when he held you in his arms only yesterday. “My dear— you nearly stopped my heart with that little stunt of yours.”

“Stunt?” you echo, giggling at how suddenly nonchalant he sounds about the ordeal. Though you know he’s only trying to keep the conversation light.

His brows raise, and he plasters a mock-serious expression on his worn face. “Well, yes— didn’t you do that to get my attention?”

“You wish,” you snort, pumping his hands up and down once weakly with your own.

King smiles, warm and sweet, like honey. It’s contagious, it seems, because soon so are you.

“Y/N, truly— what possessed you to leave the horses yesterday, mein frauline?” King’s eyes grow genuinely serious, now, and you feel a twinge of guilt at the memory.

“I don’t know… I thought I was helping— it’s all so silly, now…” You hang your head, and King tuts gently, moving one hand to slowly lift your chin with his knuckle.

“We don’t need to discuss it if you don’t wish,” he tells you.

You argue, “No, I do! There’s— well, I’m afraid to ask you, but I need to know…”

The man before you blinks worriedly. “Anything.”

You feel a familiar sting at the back of your throat, tears threatening to choke you, but you force the words out around the lump. “Was it true?” You blink until your vision is clear again and continue, “What you said to me yesterday.”

King blinks, too, his eyes huge as he swallows thickly. You watch the bob of his throat and focus on the way he exhales softly, weighing his reply.

“It was a very tense moment and in tense moments I tend to say and do things that—”

“Was it true or wasn’t it?” you demand, pulling your hand out of his grasp, and you see the hurt enter his gaze instantly. You pin him with your burning eyes, not as furious as you’re desperate to hear him say he meant every word.

You sigh in relief as he stands from his chair to loom over your prone body, bringing his once-bloodstained hands up to cup your face. His eyes bore into yours as he mutters with a tone so deadly it makes your bones chill and alight simultaneously, “My dear, it was all true and more.” King’s green eyes flick across your face, studying every inch of you as he whispers, “If you were not so recently injured— and of course as long as thou doth not protest—” He momentarily smirked at his own quip before returning straight-lipped. “—I would take you apart in this bed right here and now. You deserve to be adored, mein leibe, every moment of every day.” Your breath stutters at his words, soaking up the sudden tears teasing the edges of his vision as he croaks out, “I was a fool for waiting this long to speak my truth, and for that— I offer my deepest apologies.” Without waiting for you to reply, King presses in to lock his lips onto yours. You gasp just before his teeth click against yours, his kiss firm and passionate, and speaking volumes. This kiss says you’re his, now. This kiss says he wants you, too.

You melt into it, arms wrapping around his shoulders and inadvertently toppling him off balance, dragging him down toward your body. He slams one hand down on the side of your head to keep himself from landing his weight on your injury, and you smirk playfully up at him through your lashes.

You take in the sight of his cheeks pink, his breathing heavy, hair falling in soft waves into his eyes as he hovers above you. You whisper, “I could get used to this.”

King sucks in a breath, embarrassment obvious in the way his face turns even redder, and he scolds gently, “Not until you are better, frauline.”

“I’d feel better if I wasn’t all alone in here,” you admit, and King’s brows raise again. You demonstrate your point by scooting to accommodate him and he pushes himself up and off of you, noticing the new space at your side in the bed. You lift the covers and pat the mattress, even, driving it home.

“Ah,” King realizes, his mannerisms screaming barely contained want as he wrings his hands. “I don’t think the nurses would be so keen—”

You shrug. “You kill thieves and murderers for a living,” you remind him, “and you’re scared of a few nurses?”

“I suppose you’re right.” King grins at your cheekiness and opens his arms wide. “Well, who can resist those charms of yours, you gorgeous devil?”

You giggle in victory as King kicks off his boots and pulls his suspenders down to hang at his sides as he takes the space next to you.

You sigh happily as you feel his body come flush to yours, and you’re quick to pin him with one arm draped over his belly, which softly heaves with each breath. “You’re perfect,” you whisper as you study his profile, fondling his beard with your curious hand.

King laughs softly. “My love, I don’t think you know what perfect means.” He turns and does his own fondling of your face, once again trailing his palm along your jaw. “Unless you have been studying your reflection in the mirror.”

“Don’t ever leave me,” you beg, suddenly, and King's eyes flicker with compassion and longing.

“Y/N,” he promises, leaning his head gently against your own. “I will do no such thing as long as I live.”

“And you’ll love me forever?” you ask hopefully.

Your heart thrums as a wicked, beautiful smile spreads across King’s face, nothing in his eyes but desperate devotion to you. “I swear, I’ll make up for every single second I ever let you doubt my affection for you, Liebling.”

With that, he kisses you once more, unlike the other times. This time it’s soft and tender and full of hope. It’s a promise. A promise that nothing will ever keep him from you again.

…

#fandom #fanfic writing #writing prompt #dr king schultz x reader #dr king schultz #king schultz x reader #king schultz #django #django unchained #christoph waltz #my man <3

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softguarnere · 8 months ago

Text

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 39 - Epilogue: Donadagohvi

Summary: She studies her husband’s face. It’s lined with age, but still as beautiful and as bright as the day she met him. A/N: Alright, y'all - we've made it! But before we get started, I've got some things I have to say. This fic was started during a very strange era. I hated what was going on in my life but didn't know how to fix any of it. Long story short, but I decided to run away one day, and ended up in Toccoa. While standing in the military museum there, I started thinking about Deborah Sampson (a childhood hero of mine), and wondered what would happen if a story like hers happened during WW2 - specifically, if she was a paratrooper. Thus, Zenie appeared in my brain, and this epilogue wrote itself in my mind as I went through the museum. I was never sure if I would share this fic until the second that I hit "post." Zenie was just a way for me to blow off steam, to escape - to fulfill my desire to be someone else for a bit. (Coincidentally, all themes throughout the fic.) I didn't know how people would respond to this story, or to this character, and I only ever had the courage to start uploading chapters because of friends like @latibvles and @liebgotts-lovergirl who showed enthusiasm for it. So I couldn't upload this chapter without a massive sgi (thank you) to them, as well as to everyone else who has read this fic and been so kind to it, and to me. Thank you for welcoming me into this fandom. Thank you for allowing me to share the Cherokee language with you. Thank you for all the support you've given me for both my writing, and as friends. Whether you knew it or not, all that kindness came at a time when I really needed it, and I appreciate you all. Without further ado, here's the last laglam update, in which the fic's title finally makes sense. Much love 💖 Warnings: language, alcohol Taglist: @latibvles @liebgotts-lovergirl @lady-cheeky @dcyllom @mads-weasley @ithinkabouttzu @mrs-murder-daddy @lieutenant-speirs

Eugene looks just the same as he did when Zenie first met him. So do all the other men on this side of the reunion. For her part, she also looks the way she did when she first met all of them – albeit like a girl rather than like a man. For now, her hair is long, and her chest unbound.

No one seems to have figured out why they all look young again, and it has only been mentioned in passing during the reunions. There are better things to do, like visit with those they can, and pass between the ones they left behind, feeling their hearts swell with love as they watch them laugh, watch them remember – watch them live.

Another thing that no one has figured out is why they seem able to come back to this world at certain times. David Webster says he once read that the veil between their worlds thins during certain times of the year, and that maybe this is true of the Easy Company reunions. Zenie, however, likes to believe that it’s the love of the people still living who allow them to come back. All that love with nowhere to go. Love so strong that remembering the people you felt it for brings them back.

No time to wonder now, though. Gene is already smiling at her in greeting.

“Hello again,” he greets as she joins him.

“Gene,” she teases him with an affectionate poke to his ribs. “You haven’t aged a day since I met you in forty-two!”

“Eh, I don’t know about that, Tommy Boy,” Luz’s confident drawl digresses as the radioman swaggers up beside her. “You look a little taller. What, did you finally hit puberty or something?”

Zenie rolls her eyes, but there’s no malice to it. She did, after all, keep him in the dark about her secret until her very last day in Europe. Instead of leading him on, she asks, “How does everyone look?”

“Us? The same as ever. Them? – “ Luz gestures towards the reunion that can’t see them. “ – Well, I guess they’re aging with grace.”

“Have you seen – “

“Bill and Babe are at the bar, as per usual. And your darling husband is somewhere around the middle.”

Zenie takes a step forward before turning quickly to face her friends. “Do y’all mind if I . . . ?”

Gene smiles. “Go ahead. That’s why we’re here.”

Grateful, Zenie takes off through the crowd. Visiting her friends like this is something she always looks forward to, but visiting those she left behind is a rarer treat, and she would like to check up on them. Especially Shifty.

Bill and Babe – to no one’s surprise – are the easiest to find. They’ve got the bartender in stitches with their jokes, and their own accented guffaws are like a lighthouse cutting through the crowd that makes them easy to navigate towards.

“Siyo, boys!” Though they can’t see or hear her, Zenie takes a seat beside them at the bar. “What’s new with y’all?”

“They’re drinking everyone under the table, as usual,” a familiar voice beside her announces as none other than Joe Toye takes a seat beside her. His expression is just as relaxed and confident as when they were young, but as he watches their living friends, something like longing flickers behind his eyes. “Too bad that we can’t show them who the real champs are anymore.”

“At least we can visit them.”

Joe nods, smiling sadly. “You made your rounds yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, we got time,” her friend assures her. They have nothing but time, actually. And they use it to sit with their friends, laughing along with their jokes and making their own, even though Bill and Babe can’t hear them.

As their jokes turn to remembrances, Zenie finds herself swept up in Babe’s retelling of the time she chucked an apple at Cobb’s head back in Holland. She barely remembers the scene, able to recall only a flash of anger and a split-second decision. Babe’s version is far better – he paints her out to be some sort of knight in shining armor coming to defend the honor of her friends.

Bill shakes his head and chuckles into his drink. “Goddamn. Zee sure could make a scene.”

“You weren’t even there when her secret got out,” Babe notes. “Now that was a scene!”

“No one ever brings it up,” Bill marvels, his eyes roaming over the crowd, searching for something. “You would think everyone would talk about it all the time. I mean – shit! A woman disguised herself as a man and made it from Toccoa to the bitter end before she got found out, and no one at the reunions brings it up.”

Zenie can’t help but smile at that. It’s true – her secret got out, she had to leave in a state of semi-disgrace, but at the Easy reunions, she was usually only acknowledged as Shifty’s wife. Sure, every now and then someone would tell a funny story about Sergeant Driver before throwing a knowing wink in her direction, but after all this time, it’s like they’re still keeping her secret for her. For her own part, she never brings up her service, except to mention in passing that she met her husband during the war. Even her own children seem to be under the impression that she must have been a nurse or a WAC, using that explanation to fill in the story’s blanks. Zenie never confirmed or denied their suspicions.

“Wish she were here,” Babe sighs. He orders another round of drinks, three this time, before placing one in front of the seemingly empty bar stool beside him – unknowingly, right in front of Zenie. He raises his own glass as he offers the last one to Bill. “To Zenie.”

Bill clinks his glass against Babe’s in a toast. “To Zenie.”

“To the best friends I ever had,” Zenie adds. During her last reunion – and even during the last year or so of her life – she could sometimes swear that she could feel a presence that she couldn’t explain. An unshakable feeling that those she loved who were already gone were somehow watching her would wash over her, though she could never explain why she felt that way. Now, she wonders if her friends feel that way about her. Just in case they do, she channels all her love into those words, hoping and praying that they can feel it.

As if on cue, the bittersweet moment ends when a woman with sleek, dark hair approaches the bar, smiling. “Uncle Babe! Are you ready?”

“Luna.” Zenie watches as her daughter throws an arm around each of the men at the bar, her smile just as bright as her father’s, outshining the sun itself.

“The real question is, are you?” Bill teases his goddaughter, cocking an eyebrow. “Don’t forget, kid, that your uncle is a champion jitterbug dancer.”

Luna sizes up the man in question. “Well, I’ve been practicing.”

“Don’t worry about her.” Babe takes one last sip of his drink and waves off Bill’s concerns. “Her mom could have been a champ, too. It’s in her genes; she’ll be fine.”

“The DJ said it’ll be the next song . . .” Luna begins explaining as she hooks her arm through her uncle’s and leads him towards the small dance floor.

Bill watches them go, chuckling to himself. “Real firecracker.” He glances at the drink set out in honor of Zenie. “God, I wish you were here, little brother. It’s not the same without you.”

“I am,” Zenie assures him. She’s only been gone for two years, but things have changed. That might have scared her once. Not anymore. “I have to go find Shifty. You don’t mind, do you?”

Bill doesn’t answer, of course, but it’s polite to ask all the same. Granny didn’t teach her to mind her manners for nothing.

Zenie weaves her way through the crowd of both the living and the dead. She greets several people, stops to exchange a handshake and a kind word, and sends a nod to those who she catches lurking at the edges of the room – people like Liebgott and Captain Speirs, who only show up in the margins of the reunions, watching, but never joining in. She needs to thank those two specifically at some point. But it’s like Joe said – they’ve got time.

As Luz promised, Shifty is seated at a table in the middle of the room. Their sons, Wayne and Willie, sit on either side of him, laughing along with some story that he, McClung, and Popeye are in the middle of telling. Zenie finds a space to stand behind her husband, being as present as she can. She places one hand on Wayne’s shoulder, and the other on Shifty’s.

At the moment of contact, Shifty’s posture stiffens, and his head turns slightly. Zenie freezes, like she’s just disrupted something. Has she? Can he feel her here?

Shifty only listens to the story being told halfheartedly now. He smiles and laughs in all the right places, but it’s obvious that he’s distracted. These reunions are supposed to be fun. Sure, they can get a little emotional at times, but she doesn’t want her husband missing out on her account. He’s still got a life to live. He needs to be in the present moment and enjoy it.

Zenie bends slightly so that she’s close to Shifty’s ear. She doubts anyone else at the table knows that she’s here, but she wants this to be a private moment for the two of them.

“Shifty,” she whispers. “I’m here. I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay.” She has to pause for a moment to think about what she wants to say. It’s one thing to plan what you’re going to tell somebody, and another thing entirely to deliver the message. Sometimes things get lost in translation. She learned that during their break back in the war.

She studies her husband’s face. It’s lined with age, but still as beautiful and as bright as the day she met him. God, she misses him. She misses all of them.

“The boys look well,” she continues, looking between their sons. “I hope they’re taking care of you for me. They’ve always adored you.” She pats Shifty’s shoulder. She shouldn’t take up his attention too much longer. “Take your time. Enjoy it. I’ll be waiting for you, okay? I’ll see you soon, Shifty.”

Not sure if it will work, she plants a kiss on his cheek. When she pulls away, she watches as Shifty’s hand comes up to touch the place where they made contact. Maybe he really can feel her here.

“Gvgeyui,” Zenie says. I love you.

Gene is waiting at the edge of the crowd when she finds him again.

“How’d it go?” He asks.

Zenie nods. “Good. You?”

“Good.” Gene’s dark eyes flick over the crowd. “It’s nice we get to do this.”

It is nice. Bittersweet, mostly, but it’s good to see their loved ones again, even for a short time before they have to go back. But returning isn’t bad, either. The weather is always warm. And there are people she loves waiting for her there.

In fact, she should get going for exactly that reason. Granny wants to dig ramps soon, and Mama informed her that there would be a pie waiting upon her return. No matter which side of the gauzy veil she’s on, there is always someone waiting for her, and always a place that she belongs.

For strength, Zenie takes Gene’s hand and gives it a squeeze. He returns the gesture, and they begin to walk away from the crowd. But before they go, Zenie can’t help but glance back at Easy Company one last time. Her eyes, as always, land on Shifty. She’ll see him again. She’ll see them all again, in one way or another.

“Until we meet again,” Zenie informs them all, whether they can hear her or not. “Donadagohvi.”

#crying over my keyboard someone plz give me a hug #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers oc #band of brothers #shifty powers #shifty powers x ofc #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #oc zenie mcglamery #my writing #like a girl (like a man)

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lana7779 · 3 months ago

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They look extra gay because I have no chill.

Ot3 rambles under the cut for those interested!

Ever just love three characters so much you decide to make them work despite two of them explicitly canonically hating each other, the other two are biological brothers, and the third pairing has a 15 year age gap?(Wow, that sounded a lot less problematic in my head...)

Anyways!

They're in love, your honour.

All three of them. Between each other. I refuse to see it any other way. (If you don't agree, that's perfectly fine, these are just my personal Ot3 thoughts.)

Break made little Vince's wish come true by reuniting him with his long lost brother. I wonder how much of Vince's wish influenced Break's decision to make Gil his left eye within the Nightray manor. Would he have asked the same of any poor sap he found out in the rain, or did he conveniently do it because he knew the Nightrays held his brother there and it was his way of giving back to this child he was somehow connected with through the Abyss? His ill omened little brother.

Did Vince put two and two together that it was Break who brought him Gil? Did that ever come up in conversation between them? Like "how convenient that I asked you to send anyone matching Gil's description to the Nightray manor and one day Gil just showed up wrapped up in a bow for adoption."

With that said, Vince's childhood was so messed up... so bloody messed up, my heart weeps for him. No wonder he started showing these incestuous tendencies towards his own brother, who was the only good thing in his life. It's his coping mechanism in a sense, to love his brother above anything else so... passionately.

Frankly, Gil is no less messed up because of his own childhood, but he wants to feel needed, and he is certainly needed by both Vince and Break. Reluctantly, and after a lot of soul searching, he accepts Vince for who he is, and of course he accepts Break, which comes with a lot of teasing and pushing him to his limits. Without Break, he wouldn't be half of the person he could be if the other wouldn't be pushing him beyond his limit constantly (as any good mentor should).

And yes, though Break teases Gil a lot about being mopey and useless, he'd never let anything actually happen to Gil and actually only ever has his best interests in mind, at least on a psychological level. So whether they like it or not, they need each other and rely on each other to be at their best. Gil, via cooking for and maintaining Break's health, and Break, via literally pulling Gil out of brainwashed psychosis.

Similarly, because of Break's caring nature, he can't let Vince commit the irreversible, and that finally slaps some sense into dear ol' Vince to recognize that Break isn't the bad guy, and perhaps he never was.

And thus, with this mutual trust, shared by some deep seated trauma between each other, I see them all bonding with each other and forming deeper connections over time that would lead into a healthy relationship.

At first I thought Gil would be the sole key keeping them together and happy, but after finding all the crumbs that support that Vince and Break could very much work with each other as well, yeah, I think that each pair can exist happily independent of each other, but by God is it so much better to just imagine them polyamourously working together.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk, this is my first ot3, and I have entirely too many thoughts about them. 💖

#pandora hearts #pandora hearts fanart #xerxes break #gilbert nightray #vincent nightray #xerxes break x gilbert nightray x vincent nightray #GilBreakVince #ot3 #my thoughts #fanart #my art #digital art #art #artists on tumblr #no they dont look like their canon selves #theyre in love your honor #i love them

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tempural · 5 days ago

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HEYYYY okay so firstly I love how exaggerated and vile (complimentary) your art is, and the sheer amount of what you create and how true you are to what interests you is really inspiring. And I ADORE your spyscout stuff and your spy design in general. And I wanted to offer Cherry Blue Intentions by Special Interest as a spy song just because I feel it fits on his playlist you made 😩

Whether or not its to your tastes, I hope you're having a good one!!! And thank you for sharing what you make!!!

It is a great song and fits very well!!!

Great self-destructive lyrics, really fun driving melody and pounding drums, feels right at home in that convertible that my Spy's driving off a bridge. I'm not up-to-date with a lot of music from like the last 20 years, it's really great to hear new music I like 😃

Thank you very much for the kind message, and music suggestion. Hope your day has been going well 💖

#asks #music

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hotcheetohatredwastaken · 5 months ago

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I am curious, what made you choose your name (if you don't mind sharing)

Is it Occam's Razor and you just really hate hot cheetos (and ofc it was taken)? Do you love hot cheetos and thought to yourself "hey you know what would be really funny?"

(Personally I've never tried them but then again I'm a wimp bc pepperoni of all things burns my mouth too much so maybe don't trust my opinion on this lol)

(This question is in place of sending you an anon ask game telling you you make someone happy bc you have anon off but i wanted to include you anyway💖)

The name is a reference to the infamous tumblr deer, Hot Cheeto Hatred, who is orange, probably a sort of fairy, and chased the original poster through the forest. I really didn't think a lot about the name before I chose it---I really expected it to be a burner name for my writing account for BDOR that I'd post, shoot off into the void forever, and then disappear myself. Glad I'm still here and interacting despite my original plans XD

I was told by someone else Hot Cheetos taste like metal and a bit like celery. I have no desire to figure out whether that is true or not.

(Aww thanks!)

#cheetotalks #cheetoanswers #perfect pluto

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the-golden-comet · 6 months ago

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✨🏴‍☠️OC interview🏴‍☠️✨

Thank you so much for the tag, @theaistired ! 💖

I will answer for Peter from Peter Hart

Were you named after anyone?

Not as far as I’m aware. My middle name’s taken after my father, Johnathan.

When was the last time you cried?

I was holding my husband closely to my trembling heart, as my first mate rowed us back to The Golden Phoenix on a dinghy. I’d almost lost him…I—no. Not again. Never again. The waves will never keep us apart.

Do you have any kids?

Gods no! Would YOU trust me with children? Hahaha…I’d teach em to pickpocket from those snobbish royals. They could sell their loot for all the toys their young hearts desire. Ah…I probably shouldn’t be a mentor :)

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Does a whale shite in the ocean?

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

Whether they are from royalty, or if their pockets are loaded. Then…how attentive they are, especially if they notice themselves losing some weight…

What’s your eye color?

A piercing, shocking blue. Just about scared poor Benjamin right out of his breeches when I first abducted him, haha~

Scary movies or happy endings?

I love some happy endings. The thrill of adventure is nothing without loved ones to share it with.

Any special talents?

I can shoot my flintlock. Oh, and free climbing. I’m fairly good at scaling a cliff face without belays or carabiners, despite Davey giving me a harsh lambastin’ whenever I climb without safeties.

Where were you born?

Great Britain, mate. What, you want a province? Well, I could tell you, but then I’d have to shoot you so word doesn’t get around :)

What was your favorite subject in school?

HA. That requires going to school. I had an officer back then who would frequently catch me on truancy. Never really liked the structure and stuffiness of those classrooms. And the teachers had their rulers shoved up their arses with how uptight they were. No no, I didn’t fancy school.

What is your dream job?

I’m living the dream, mate. Sailing the seas as a free man, loot to last for generations, plundering and thieving to my heart’s content. Best of all? No snobbish rules of the parliament that I must follow. It’s a dream come true, truly.

Tagging (no pressure): @theverumproject , @drchenquill , @frostedlemonwriter , @wyked-ao3 , @sunglasses-in-the-bentley , +open tag! ✨

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palestineforlife · 2 months ago

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Hello there 👋,

I hope this message finds you well. My brother Osama and our family are facing incredibly difficult times due to the ongoing war in Gaza. Osama's livelihood and dreams have been shattered, but he's determined to rebuild his life and continue supporting us.

To help in this effort, Osama has launched a GoFundMe campaign titled "Helping Osama Rebuild His Dream." Any support you can offer—whether through sharing the campaign or making a donation—would mean the world to him and to all of us.

Here’s the link to learn more and contribute: https://gofund.me/100da7db

Even a small donation can make a significant difference. Thank you so much for your kindness and support 💖

With gratitude,

Ayman

Vetted by @90-ghost

Verified by @gazagfmboostp

..............................................................................................................................

Hi dear donors ! ❤️

I would like to extend my thank and gratitude for the support you have been offering over the last eleven months. ❤️☺️

My family and I have been suffering and going through the hardest days we have ever experienced in our life . Things are very hard to get and and sometimes unattainable.😭😓

Our sufferings and hardship started on the first day of the war when all our possessions were completely destroyed and burned. We have become displaced and homeless , finding ourselves in a small tent in streets with no means of life. We lack every single necessary thing of life; food, water, hygiene essentials, and other necessities have become scarce and rare.

Our life has been tough and harsh all the last time. No cooking gas , nor cooking tools exist . We struggle to prepare a small meal of food.

No bakeries are available. Everything seems hard and unbelievable.😭

This is a part of burying the dead. We also face some problems in the process of burying our dead people as no place is there for the family. Tombs aren't for the number of people living on a small spot of land.

All what we need is to survive the war and be safe. We are trying to secure the daily basic living necessities and this can come true with your contribution and support. Please don't spare this moment of supporting the people in need in Gaza in this tough and dire time. You can help us by either donating however small it is or sharing my posts. Your support makes a big difference for families in need.https://gofund.me/7e428359

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Hello My dearest friends,🌟

My name is Mahmoud Jihad, from Gaza. My home, my university, everything has been destroyed. I now live in a flimsy tent with my family after losing everything. I was studying Information Technology while caring for my family, and now we have nothing. 😔

We are living amidst indescribable destruction and desperately need your help to survive. 😭 Even a small donation can make a huge difference. Every contribution is a spark of hope in the darkness of this war. ✨

My campaign is verified by: @beesandwatermelons ✅ #190 and @gazavetters ✅ #63.

My GoFundMe link: https://gofund.me/463cbf01

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts. Let's rebuild our lives together. 🙏❤️

#israel #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #free gaza #gaza #gaza genocide #boycott israel #free palestine #gaza strip #palestine #current events #donate

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bsgpiece · 1 year ago

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I love your artwork and ideas of Sanami! That evening date one feels like inspiration for a good fanfic. 😄

If there was a love confession between the two of them how do you think it will go? I love to hear your thoughts!

First of all, sorry for taking so long for answering! I really wanted to make an art for this, but I didn't like any of my attempts, so I guess I still have to get better for this!

Well, second... THANK YOUUUU 😭😭💕 That makes so happy, being able to share my art and thoughts and knowing there are people who appreciates them is so heartwarming.

Feel free to write a fanfic about it if you want! Hahaha I'd love to read any SaNami fics 🫶🏻

About love confessions.. Oh, that really gets me. I have this HUGE headcanon (almost an hyperfixation lol) they confessed their love to each other after Whole Cake Island. Yes, I know it's almost a cliché for them, but I still have some details in mind I haven't found in any fanfictions I read until now.

I love the idea of Nami feeling really guilty about not realizing Sanji's true intentions, but still feeling angry for all that happened. Sanji even though was really happy to be back, didn't know how to act around Nami.

They would be weird around each other for a day or two, until one night Nami decides to go after him to talk. Well, there is when my imagination goes wild lol

I wish I have the skill to write a fanfiction about this, but to summarize.. Nami would find Sanji looking like he just cried recently, or maybe still crying. She would feel even more guilty and angrier when he denies it, which will lead to a huge discussion. And I mean huge.

Nami would say everything in her mind. All the good and bad things she thinks about him, about herself (she'll just avoid the use of the "love" word, of course. She's not really ready for admitting such feelings). Things could get physical, breaking stuff, Nami really getting over Sanji, pulling and pushing him over, not knowing whether to get away or closer to him.

We know Sanji, right? He'd be very confused. But he is no fool. A small flame of hope would grow inside his heart. Could Nami actually have romantic feelings for him?

He is more honest to his feelings when it comes to love, specially to Nami. He wasn't sure how she would react, but he tought she already was so mad at him, what did he have to loose? So yes, I believe he would be the first to actually say it. But say it without heart eyes or nosebleeds. Holding her firmly, yet gently, so she wouldn't run from him. Say the "I love you, Nami-san" that really send shivers down her spine, made her legs feel weak and her heart racing.

Nami wouldn't react at first. She would just look at him for a few seconds, not realizing she actually start crying even more than she already was during their fight. When Sanji was starting to think he might shouldn't have done it, she grabs him by his collar and BAM, HOLLYWOOD KISS! 🤣 Really really intense kiss, yes.

Why? Because they would lose theirselves in each other's touch, not really having to think all those feelings through. Just feel them!

After several minutes, they'll have to stop at some point and face each other again. This time feeling a lot lighter than before, she'll finally say "I love you too, Sanji-kun".

Well, you can imagine it however you'd like from now on. I still have more headcanons over this, a few really NSFW 🫣 however, it already became such a long post, I'm sorry.. I get so excited about those two! Hope it made any sense for you guys 🤣🤣

Thank you so much if you read until here! Love to answer your questions 💖

#sanami #sanji x nami #sannami #nami x sanji #sanji #nami #whole cake island #headcanon #long post

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telomeke · 11 months ago

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15 people, 15 questions

I got tagged by @colourme-feral (at this link here), @pandasmagorica (at this link here), @wen-kexing-apologist (at this link here), @dribs-and-drabbles (at this link here), @belladonna-and-the-sweetpeas (at this link here) and @airenyah (at this link here). Thanks for tagging me guys! 🥰 Hope you're all having a wonderful holiday season. 💖🎄

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1. Are you named after anyone?

Not anyone in particular; Mom's dad set out the names for the children of his sons but not his daughters. So Mom gave me a name that incorporates the concepts bright and strong. I sometimes like to think I was named after a laundry detergent. 🤣

2. When was the last time you cried?

I can't remember exactly… I never used to cry, not at stories or movies, unless they involved dogs dying (because that was my first exposure to grief, when my little furry boy died on me during my teen years). After more family members passed away though, I felt my core shift and now know what it is like to be moved to tears by a more human-centric grief and loss (I think I wasn't allowing myself to feel that before, as part of that armor you put on when out in the world as an adult).

And ever since I learnt my lessons I've cried a lot more often, sharing heartfelt moments with characters on the page or on the screen because I'm less afraid of showing emotion (as in, I no longer think of it as some kind of weakness). I think the last time I cried may have been watching Last Twilight? When I watched tough guy Mhok shedding his hard protective shell to love Day unconditionally, with the motivations behind his acts of love going mostly unnoticed and unseen by the object of his affections – e.g., the sunflower just before August turns up late, setting up Day's surprise birthday party and basically giving him away to others when you know his heart is telling him to keep Day for himself. 😢 (I've not watched Ep.7 yet, so I don't know if the meaning of any of this will change moving forward, or if there are more tears in store though.) And yes, I think the last tear I shed was when Mhok grabbed Day to kiss him at the end of Ep.6, to prove that he was loving him truly for his own sake, not plying him with secondhand emotion out of pity as Day had been led to expect from the world.

I may write more about Last Twilight in the future… It's easy to think of romantic love as a gift to be received, but Mhok really does exemplify that the human nature of love is rather more tied to wanting to give of oneself, and (for romantic love at least) that experience only achieves its fullest completion when it is met with the recipient giving you their love in return (or crushing your heart with rejection or indifference instead). And I do see the parallels between love rejected and grief; "grief is just love with no place to go" rings so very true.

3. Do you have kids?

No I don't, and it is maybe the one regret in life I will allow myself. "No regrets" is a great motto to live by, but if I could do things over again I might choose to have kids (whether my own biological kids or my own adopted ones; I'm a little too far gone and set in my ways to consider this now though). Never wanted kids before (noisy, troublesome, a dampener holding you back I told my younger self) – but when my nephew came along it was like somebody flicked a switch and I realized it was OK to feel that kind of unconditional love for another human being, for no other reason than the privilege of loving them. And I think being a parent (unlike a romantic partner) allows you to love truly unconditionally, without expecting anything in return.

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

Used to like playing soccer/basketball/badminton as a kid, but only unseriously and very badly. Nowadays I swim a lot and the gym is my second home (but I'm not at all some bulked-up gorilla; I don't have the genetics nor the inclination to abuse my body with steroids, which is the only way to look like the bodybuilders and fitness models IMO). But exercise does wonders for your mental health in addition to your physical fitness; it's been my refuge whenever things got horrifyingly stressful in life by providing an outlet for stress, plus endorphins to make you feel better. It just doesn't feel like it would be any good when you're going through it, but you can sense it after. Which is also part of why it's so hard to get yourself up and exercising when you're down; the hardest part is overcoming the inertia that is doubly weighted whenever life is stressing you out. I always have to remind myself that the more I don't want to go to the gym, the more it is I probably need to go.

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Sarcasm? What, ✨MOI✨? (Yes I'm being sarcastic here. I can be a bit too barbed with people I know, so I've learnt to pare it back, but my propensity for sarcasm has done me no favors in the workplace. It's also why I understand people putting up hard-shell defenses – shoutout to Pran in Bad Buddy and Mhok in Last Twilight.)

6. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

I think their general demeanour and what their overall body language is conveying.

7. What’s your eye color?

Darkest, darkest brown; so dark it looks black in all but the brightest light. You can't see where my pupils end and my irises begin.

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings all the way. Don't like horror movies and I won't pay to watch them.

9. Any talents?

I have a number of interests, but whether or not I have any talent in them is for others to judge because – even though I'm proud of some of the things I've done – my ever-critical perfectionist's eye can never fail to see flaws and things I could've done better. Everything is always falling short in some way. So my interests are: languages and linguistics (I can handle a few languages, but only a couple have acceptable fluency while the rest are still in pretty rough shape, IMO). Love to write (in English only, more focused on fact than fiction, but even then the inspiration doesn't always flow). I have an ear (but not an abiding love) for music, so I will often be singing if I'm alone and need more than silence around me. I'm interested in biological sciences (wanted to be a palaentologist as a little boy; isn’t that every kid's dream at some point?) – animals, plants, and nature fascinate me. I used to like dabbling in visual arts, but that's been deadened a bit by having to work with some of that in my job (maybe that's why the visual aspects of BL will always fascinate me though). And I think I do have a knack for research, looking things up and putting facts together so that they can convey some kind of message or bigger truth.

10. Where were you born?

In the delivery room of a maternity ward. My roots are in Asia though, if that's what this question is getting at. 😆

11. What are your hobbies?

Scrolling through Tumblr takes up way too much of my time, but yes that is one of my hobbies. I watch BLs now and then, and from that I go on to do the odd write-up about aspects that interest me (especially culture, linguistics and BL visuals). Another current obsession is baking up fruitcake variations (part of the culinary landscape of the season) and this will continue as a hobby until I've baked it out of my system. I love to watch cooking shows, but I do this more to pick up tips on how to make my meals quicker, easier and tasty enough for me (I don't love cooking, but I cook a lot, to get around dietary intolerances more than anything else). Also – gym and swimming a few times a week.

12. Do you have any pets?

None at the moment. We had dogs growing up and I am an avowed dog lover. But when you're a working adult it wouldn't be fair to leave a dog alone for most of the day while you're out at the office, so I never got one after I began working. Plus dogs don't last long (15 years is already geriatric for a pooch) and I'm not ready to face the shattering grief when they have to leave you. But never say never... Maybe I'll get a kitty for a change? 🤔💖

13. How tall are you?

I'm tallish; tall in some countries, average in others. Taller than Singto, shorter than Ohm. 😆

14. Favorite subject in school?

Art and art history? We had a dream lecturer who made the subject come alive. Also a psychology elective that I took, for all its insights into the human mind. In school school it was a mix depending on my mood and the topic of the day: English, geography, biology, chemistry, mathematics, or art. Didn't like physics or economics at all.

15. Dream job

Something in research and analysis backing up the boys in The Sign. 😆 Or maybe volunteering at a charity to help with food/housing (but I can probably only think about doing this after securing my own retirement).

Onward tagging (I can't count so don't expect this to be 15): @7nessasaryevils, @crzshaly437, @faillen, @dimplesandfierceeyes, @neuroticbookworm, @greenreflections, @recentadultburnout, @thecleopatrawannabe, @nihilisticcondensedmilk, @allthegoodusernamesaretakenhuh, @lamonnaie, @non-binarypal7, @twig-tea, @williamrikers, @gillianthecat, @hughungrybear, @solitaryandwandering, @starryalpacasstuff, @rane-ab, @serafyne, @silvercrystal1, @tsukitsuki077, @5raccoonsinatrenchcoat, @vegasandhishedgehog, @reformedcharacter, @writerwithoutsound, @bengiyo, @gelofhellyeah, @shortpplfedup, @dc-alves, @zhaagdewin, @chickenstrangers, @ranchthoughts and anybody else who wants to play! As always no pressure if you don't wish to play either.

If you've already played do tag me with a link so I can read your 15 answers too! 🥰 (And I left out some mutuals because I see you've already been tagged; let me know too if you've already played so I can head on out to read your post as well! 😍)

‌

#tag game #15 people‚ 15 questions #always fun to play 🥰

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zepskies · 4 months ago

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Hi Zep! Buckle up because I have a number of picks for your ask game! How about 2, 10, 17, 40, 48, 55 and 70?

Hey Michelle! Hope you're having a lovely Sunday. ☀️💜

Omg these are amazing questions!!

Lmfao this is hilarious to me, but I actually had to think hard about this one. My pre-writing/outlining process is pretty methodical. However, I think the biggest time the narrative hijacked my hands was in Smoke Eater (firefighter!Dean x reader).

I had several scenes in the original outline that just weren't fitting right when I got to the drafting stage, to the point where I had to chuck them out entirely. Also, the whole murder mystery that's central to the narrative was complex to tease out, but that also took me by surprise when I was outlining!

I wasn't intending to go that route at first, but when I thought of including John Winchester and Cas as homicide detectives (drawing from my childhood obsession with Law & Order), it kind of just started coming to me.

So I usually have the premise of the idea before the title. It's gotten easier as I've become more experienced as a writer, but sometimes I just put a placeholder title that kind of encapsulates the idea before I come up with something better, then I start outlining/researching.

Often I get placeholder titles from songs/lyrics of what will likely give me inspiration for the story, and sometimes those titles stick!

Ooh another great question. 😂 Funnily enough, the ones that come to me off the top of my head are mostly from Break Me Down:

M.M. scoffed, with a subtle shake of his head. “Nah, man,” he said ruefully. “That’s true motherfuckin’ love.”

And a fun one:

“Alert the media,” you said. “We’ve got the ultimate weapon against Soldier Boy: a slow ride on his dick.”

😂 This one also sticks out in my mind from the Midnight Espresso-verse - Devour Me (Part 2), as a playful one I was weirdly proud of lol:

“Question: do you consider yourself more of a tits or ass man?” you ask him. You’re half teasing, but still curious. Dean snorts at the question. “More of a connoisseur,” he replies, smirking. “Ah.” You nod sagely, and you point between him and yourself. “So this is like a ‘sample the menu’ situation.” Dean’s smirk deepens. “Sweetheart, you’re a goddamn buffet.”

Finally, this one from the imagine "You are Dean's one exception":

Oh man, that's very tough. I've been blessed to get some amazing feedback from you and others, and believe it or not, I do go back and reread comments and reblogs. It puts a smile on my face whether I'm having a bad day, or want to continue smiling on a good one. 💖

I think one of the best compliments I can receive, however, is that a story touched someone on an emotional level and somehow got them through a difficult time in their life, or is one of their "comfort stories." That's happened a few times, and it almost makes me cry every time. 🥲

I can also say that you, @chernayawidow, and @waynes-multiverse have given me some of the best feedback I've ever gotten on stories. Not just because the other two have made me cheese grin/nearly cry of laughter, but also because all of you are writers and have been able to tell me narratively (or on a character development level) what you liked about what I was doing in a story. As a writer, that kind of feedback is amazing as well. 💖💖

Also, some of my favorite feedback of all time has been on Midnight Espresso -- whether it's been people thanking me for the representation of the Hispanic/Latin culture, or sharing experiences with being plus-sized and how that's viewed in society. 💗

😬😬 Ahh guilty, lol. At the risk of sounding prideful, I think if you're doing it right, you should be writing the stories you want to write. So it stands to reason that you should be able to enjoy reading your own work. 💜

None on Tumblr, but unfortunately I do have a few on FF.net, which I don't even post on anymore, and maybe one or two on Ao3. Sometimes you just lose the drive to write for that fandom, especially if engagement is down. Sometimes you just move on to other things.

I'm a voracious editor. I believe good writing is also good editing -- that's just part of the process. So yes I guess I can be self-critical. lol

Sometimes I'll be rereading something, and I'll go in and edit it after it's already been posted for months, whether it's a typo, or a line that doesn't sound quite right for the character, or part of a scene that I think needs smoothing out. I guess I'm a bit of a perfectionist that way. 😅

Again, thank you so much for these questions, my friend!! I'm going to be sending you some too very soon. 😘

#ask me stuff #lovely mutuals #ask game #on writing #dean winchester #soldier boy #favorite lines #best feedback I've been given #writing process #dean winchester fanfiction #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys #zepskies answers

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theflyingfeeling · 1 year ago

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💖 it's here, it's pink, it's sparkly, and full of fluff 💖

Hiiiiii and welcome to witness my attempt at an Olli/Allu Advent Calendar, in which I'll give you ~a cute little something~ about these two idiots in love almost every day until December 24! My plan is to use prompts from this list to either write a fic based on the prompt or just some good ol' delulu thoughts if all else fails. I cannot guarantee there'll be a post literally every day, but I'm really excited to try this out and I thank you for your support along the way in advance 💝

The biggest thanks and a million hugs go to one of my favourite human beings @kraeuterhexchen for making the adorable banner!! I mean helloooooo?? 😭 Go show them some love ❣️

For December 1, the prompt list is titled One True Pairing Moments, and the prompt I chose was 'calling just to hear their voice' 🥺 You can read the fic below, I hope you like it <3

PS. Even though this is an advent calendar of sorts, I'm not planning on making this particularly Christmassy. I hope no one minds terribly!

Falling for Aleksi had, in a way, sneaked up on Olli, at least if he fooled himself a little. He could pretend he didn’t feel any different about the man than he did about, say, Joonas or Tommi, but that strategy only worked for so long – that is to say, approximately until Aleksi as much as smiled softly at him from across a room or bumped his shoulder into his jovially when walking down the street and Olli would feel his breath getting caught in his throat or stumble in his words, his tongue tangled like shoelaces, which was so unlike him as well and frustrated him to no end. It really took a special kind of fool to not only develop some level of feelings for a friend, a colleague, a bandmate for Christ’s sake, but also become so hopelessly enamored with him that you rolled awake in bed in the dead of night, grabbing your phone and tossing it back on the nightstand again and again because you couldn’t decide whether or not you should, on some erratic 2 o’clock impulse, call him to let him know he was the very reason for your insomnia.

Turning on his back, Olli groaned (only a little desperately) as he remembered losing himself in the lingering hug they had shared just before the arrivals lobby at the airport, inhaling Aleksi’s scent and wishing they wouldn’t have to go home just yet, even if Olli was more than ready to finally sleep in his own bed again. Ironically, ever since they had returned home from tour, Olli had spent night after sleepless night missing Aleksi terribly: his stupid jokes and playful banter that bordered on being flirtatious if Olli allowed himself the benefit of delusion; his quick, subtle smiles that probably meant nothing; his little touches Olli hoped meant something; his smell and his touch and the softness of his hair at the back of his neck, compared to which the blanket Olli was grasping in his fist was like sandpaper. (How he had come to know of the qualities of Aleksi’s hair in such detail, he preferred not to dwell on too much to save himself from the heartache, so let’s just leave it at ‘stressful, emotional week far away from home’ and ‘a little too much to drink’).

Above all, Olli missed Aleksi’s voice. He hadn’t even thought that was possible, until the other morning when Olli had woken up to a voice message Aleksi had left just hours earlier, rambling about a song idea he had gotten in the middle of the night – something he did from time to time – and Olli had spent the next several minutes replaying it over and over again as he had lied in bed procrastinating getting up and and instead closing his eyes to better imagine Aleksi lying there beside him, turned on his side to face Olli, talking to him sleepily like they often did when they shared a room on tour and were just too lazy to join others at breakfast. Much like the hug at the airport, Olli wished those moments would have lasted way longer than they did, often ending abruptly when either of their phones would go off with Santeri’s name on the screen, a passive-aggressive interruption to the soft, low tone of Aleksi’s early-morning thoughts. (Sometimes, when Olli was lucky enough, he had been blessed with the bliss of feeling the light touch of a fingertip tracing along his collarbone, cut short just as frustratingly by their well-meaning tour manager politely enquiring whether the two of them had plans of dragging themselves downstairs for some toast and coffee, or if they’d rather starve until lunchtime, for which he wasn’t at all sure they’d even have time that day.)

The lovesick idiot that he was, his thumb hovered over the ‘play’ button of Aleksi’s voice message, probably for the millionth time that week. The chest-carving hesitation turned into a heart flip when he noticed Aleksi was online.

Then Aleksi began to type, and Olli held his breath the entire time until a new message appeared in the thread, anticipation holding him by his throat.

You awake?

Olli exhaled and typed his affirmative reply, leaving out the reason why.

He blinked at the screen, waiting for Aleksi to ask him a random question that clearly couldn’t wait until morning, or perhaps talk about something related to another late-night Twitch stream (from what Olli had gathered, Aleksi had been doing a lot of those recently, and with his last remaining braincell Olli had managed to resist the temptation to watch every single one of them, because he knew that if he did, it would only dig his grave of pining and longing deeper, seeing Aleksi smile and giggle about but not being able to do that with him or snuggle up next to him when he was wearing that flannel Olli often used as a blanket in the tour bus). But instead of another text appearing on the screen, Olli’s phone began to vibrate in his hand, and it took him an embarrassingly long while to understand it was because Aleksi was calling him.

“Hi,” he sighed when he finally collected himself enough to speak. He prayed he’d be able to hear what Aleksi was going to say from the thumping heartbeat echoing in his ears.

“Hi,” a soft voice said. “Sorry, I know it’s late…”

“No, not at all,” Olli hurried to say, “I mean, I wasn’t sleeping. Not even close, actually.” Part of him hoped Aleksi wouldn’t ask about it, but in some foolhardy way the possibility intrigued him.

Nothing much, he would have likely said anyway, but what would happen if he told Aleksi how it really was? That he squeezed his pillow imagining it was him instead, or wailed into it because something had reminded him of a moment-that-was-probably-not-a-Moment™ they had shared? What would Aleksi say if he knew Olli sometimes touched himself the way Aleksi had touched him That One Night they never talked about? The only obstacle between Olli and that knowledge was a bottomless ocean of cold sweat and cowardice, and Olli had never been a great swimmer.

“So, ummm…,” Olli said when Aleksi’s end stayed silent. “What’s up?”

A short breath of laughter sounded through the phone line.

“Honestly? I don’t know, I… It’s just been a… weird week, I guess.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, like… my head’s just been so full of… everything and… I’ve been so busy and kinda tense and… fuck, this is going to sound crazy,” Aleksi laughed that brief laugh again, although to Olli it didn’t sound particularly cheerful. Tired, more like. Strained, somehow. Not sad, but definitely a little troubled, and Olli intended to find out why.

“I’m all for crazy, you know.” Olli hoped his sorry attempt to lighten Aleksi’s mood would work, and so he smiled in relief when he heard Aleksi chuckle at his comment.

“I know,” Aleksi said softly, in that tone of voice that had Olli melt against his bedsheets. “So yeah, it’s been a rough week, but… in between all that stupid shit, I’ve been thinking a lot about… umm… well, the tour and– and… about you, for some reason,” (the troubled laugh made its return) “and… yeah. That’s sort of helped me a lot recently.”

Olli listened to the words carefully, not fully believing what he was hearing, yet clinging on to them until they were all but swirling around in his otherwise empty head like dry leaves in October wind.

“And tonight I just couldn’t fucking sleep for some reason and nothing I did seemed to help and so I thought I’d call you. And I’m–” If it hadn’t been dead silent otherwise, Olli wouldn’t have heard the shaky breath Aleksi paused to take, “I’m sorry I’m calling you at this hour and bothering you with this all but I guess I just… wanted to hear your voice. To see if that would help.”

“Does it?” Olli asked. Aleksi’s confession had made him clasp his blanket close to his chest, as if that would do anything about his rapidly beating heart.

“Yeah. It does. So maybe just… keep talking?”

Despite his mind living a life of its own, completely unfit to form a single coherent thought, for Aleksi’s sake Olli tried his best to think of something to say, but everything he came up with was something he was not ready to tell him quite yet.

“Uuummmm…” he said to buy himself some time, but while he waited for his useless brain and mouth to form any actual words, Aleksi spoke again.

“Fuck, I’m– I’m sorry, this is too weird, I shouldn’t have– I’ll let you go back to–”

“I miss you,” Olli blurted before Aleksi would hang up on him. He squeezed his eyes shut when Aleksi went silent, too silent for too long for it to mean any good.

The line stayed open, however, which Olli took as a positive sign, even if the seconds during which all Olli could hear was Aleksi's quiet breathing seemed endless.

“And I you,” Aleksi finally replied. “A little too much, probably, or at least that’s what it feels like,” he chuckled. Olli almost missed the quiet sniff that followed.

He had to steel himself for his next question.

“What do you mean?”

“Just… forget it.” Aleksi said quietly. Contrary to Aleksi’s request, Olli knew he was going to all but ‘forget it’ for the next 3-5 business days; mentally he booked all his evenings as well as most of his mornings and noons for pondering what exactly had been in Aleksi’s mind in that moment or why he had sounded so sombre, almost disappointed. He’d probably never come to any satisfactory conclusion about it though, at least not without a little help from Aleksi himself.

A ridiculous idea popped into his head, and before he could stop himself, the words flooded out of his mouth.

“Do you wanna come over some time? To hang out? When your schedule’s a little less tight, I mean.” He sucked on his lips and closed his eyes as he waited for Aleksi’s answer, ready to hang up the moment he’d decline the offer on some obvious and logical reason for why Aleksi couldn’t possibly make nor want to take a trip to the north to see him, such as ‘didn’t we just spend over two months on the road together?’ or ‘damn, buddy, I miss you alright but not quite that much, I’ve done enough sitting in public transportation for one year, thank you very much lol’ or ‘what about Rilla?’

“You could take Rilla with you, you know.” Olli hurried to say, just in case, the deranged part of his brain thinking there might be a chance Aleksi might be at least considering it.

“Oh! Well, umm… I actually might have time next week? If– if you’re actually being serious about this.”

Funny you should ask, Aleksi; I’ve actually never been more serious about anything in my entire life than I am about having you here with me so that I can hold you and be held by you and see your face when I wake up in the morning and say goodnight to your annoyingly cute face instead of via text message and maybe, if the stars are in position and the northern wind won’t discourage me too much, I might actually be brave enough to torment you with the knowledge of just how miserable I’ve been since we last saw each other.

“I think it would be cool,” he said, because he had a feeling what he wanted to say would’ve been a tad too much and sudden. “I mean, if you’re up for it, of course. I understand if you can’t make it though, I know you have all those side projects.”

“No, I think it might actually do me some good to get out of the capital area for change.” Then there was a muffled ‘ouch’, followed by a laugh that sounded much brighter than any of the other ones Olli had heard from Aleksi that night. “Sorry, correction, it might do us some good. Rilla just told me she’s most definitely coming too. Rilla, stop nibbling on my toes!”

Olli smiled tiredly at the mental image that was painted in his mind of Aleksi and Rilla cuddling in bed, both minding their own business from what it seemed while still minding each other as well, very much indeed.

“I’ll be sure to set up a bed for her in the guest room.”

“The guest room? Do you not know her at all? If she’s not getting the master bedroom, she’ll ruin all your rugs and most of your shoes. Probably also gossip about you to all the neighbourhood dogs. And she’s brutal.”

Olli held his stomach as he laughed, tears almost forming in the corners of his eyes. In his defence, it was late and he was finally becoming tired, thus too far gone to help himself, let alone feel embarrassed about being in stitches about something Aleksi had said that was only mildly amusing. (It wasn’t the first time that had happened either, and likely not the last time.)

“So yeah, ummm, I can take a look at some flight options for next week and let you know, alright? I’m gonna let you sleep now and… I should get some myself too.”

Olli wanted to tell Aleksi he’d love to stay up chatting until dawn, but the yawn he let out when he opened his mouth to speak implied Aleksi had a point.

“Yeah, let me know. And… thanks for calling, I… you have no idea how much I needed this tonight.”

That was as close to a confession as Olli was able to get as of now.

“Probably not half as much as I did.”

Olli chuckled at Aleksi’s response, mostly to hide his own agony.

If only you knew. If only I knew how to tell you.

It didn’t take long for Olli to doze off after they hung up, and when he woke up to the kids from next door having a snowball fight under his window in the morning, he noticed new messages from Aleksi, sent half an hour after their phone call had ended, complete with screen captions of airplane schedules.

Would these days work for you? I might be free all week actually 😇

Olli cuddled into his pillow while typing his reply, hoping it wouldn’t wake up Aleksi.

yeah I’m free as well. I’ll pick you two up from the airport 🖤

From then on, Olli started counting the days until he’d see Aleksi again.

#blind channel fanfiction #blind channel rpf #ollixallu #24 days of gift-giving by theflyingfeeling #<- that's the tag i'll be using for these btw #everyone stop and look at the banner!! 🥺💖#it's not QUITE like the original one ju made first but maybe one day you'll get to see that masterpiece as well 😏#but ooff the way i've gone from having 'a plan' to having 'a better plan' to having 'no plan whatsoever' with this? 😂#so yeah idk what kinda fics/posts there'll be in this series... stay tuned and see for yourself! 🤭#some of them might be in the same universe/plot. others may not. who knows? not i 😌#(...but as you can see from this fic the door for a multiple-part story is definitely open 👀)#some of the fics may not even be based on a prompt though if i'm not feeling like it. honestly i'm curious to see how this will turn out!#(and if this ends up being the only post i ever make that's alright too! i refuse to bully myself with a hobby i'm doing for free <3)#however: i'm not taking requests per say BUT feel free to snoop on the prompts for each day and send me your ideas or hopeful wishes 👀#there are certain ones i'm more drawn to but i haven't really set anything in stone #one could say i'm just going with the flow. fuck around and find out if you will ✨#also: not sure if/when i'll be bothered to post any of these on ao3 #probably i'll just see how many fics i manage to actually finish and dump them all at once on ao3 on christmas day lol #anyway! enjoy & let me hear from you <3

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giggly-squiggily · 1 year ago

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*me double checking that Fire Force is still on your fandoms list bc it's been a minute and a half*

YEEET REQUESTS!! I'm so excited to see them open again! Also I really hope you're hanging in there. I've been thinking of you as you go through this difficult time, my friend. 💖

*drumroll* OK OK so I've been having serious Fire Force brainrot this past week (I really gotta rewatch it, I love that show 🔥), so I come to you with a humble request for lee!shinra and ler!tamaki (the lucky lecher lure gal, bc I always get her and maki mixed up 😅)

I don't have a ton of specifics but the general idea is that Shinra absolutely cannot function when she tickles him; he gets so flustered he doesn't know whether to fight back or just let it happen 😂 (though I do hc that he would at least be coherent enough to cover his eyes in case her lure kicks in to protect her modesty, which only makes him more vulnerable to tickles and - you get the idea 😈)

Only if you want, as always, my friend! Can't wait to see what you do with this prompt if you decide to take it!! AND HAPPY FALLLLL I'M SO EXCITED FOR COOLER WEATHER!! 🍂🍂🍂

AHH NYM! *running jump hug* I'm so glad to hear from you! :D And with a Fire Force request HELLO? *squeals* God I haven't written for these guys in so long; this was so refreshing and lovely! (And girl SAME!!! It's their hair I swear- they both have the same dark put up look and face akljrekarjkejrj)

Oh my god Lee!Shinra my BELOVED! I've gotcha covered, girl! (got a little shippy at the end whoops! My hopeless romantic side; it gets the best of me lols) This was so fun to write, and I hope you like it! :D (AND YES LETS GO FALL!!!!)

In Shinra’s defense- it was a total accident.

“AH!” Tamaki screamed, arms shooting up to cover herself as she was splashed with water. She had been leaving her prayer session with Iris when she crashed into Shinra carrying a water pitcher.

“I’m so sorry! Here!” Facing away, Shinra yanked off his shirt, offering it to Tamaki.

“Why are you stripping?” She squealed, flushing as red as he did.

“I’m not! I’m trying to be a hero!” He cried back, still refusing to look. When he felt his shirt being taken and heard the sound of her pulling it on, he dared a peek. “Sorry, Tamaki…”

“It’s fine- I’m covered.” She sighed, pulling at the hem of his shirt. It was so big on her- falling mid thigh. At least the bottom of her prayer robes were dry. “Thank you. That would have been an awkward walk back.”

“Hm!” Shinra nodded, still looking rather flustered. A tense silence passed over them both, both too awkward to say anything. “Well- I better go! Um- keep the shirt! Bye!”

“Huh-Wait, Shinra-!” But he was already booking it away, leaving Tamaki standing on her own.

~~~

“And now he won’t even talk to me! It’s not like he really saw anything!” Tamaki groaned at the desk, poking at her lunch. It had been a few days since the lecher incident, and Shinra had been avoiding her like the plague. Anytime they crossed paths, he’d go bright red and give her a wide girth of space-avoiding her eyes.

It reminded her of the kids back at school. The old wound ached in painful memory.

“Hm…that is strange. Shinra never acted like that before.” Iris nodded around her spoonful of pudding, looking thoughtful. “Did he say anything else before running off?”

“Nothing I haven’t told you already.” Tamaki sank further, drooping with gloom. “I just want things to go back to normal. And to give him back his shirt.” It was tucked away in her room, folded and pressed. “He probably got tired of being polite and doesn’t want to take a chance with me anymore.”

“That’s not true! You know he’s not that kind of guy.” Maki reassured, reaching out and taking Tamaki’s hand. “You two just need to talk, that’s all. Put your guards down and just come out with how you’re feeling about each other!”

“Come out with…” Tamaki blinked, then she flushed bright pink, dropping her chopsticks. “What-wait, wait- Huh?”

“Too soon?” Maki shared a look with Iris, smiling a tad sheepishly.

“They’ll figure it out.” Iris stole Tamaki’s chopsticks before nipping a bite of her lunch.

~~~

“Feeling about each other?” Tamaki mused on her walk back to the bunks, shaking her head. Maki was in la la land again- she had to be! Why else would she ask such a question…

As if sensing her thoughts, Shinra appeared before her, eyes downcast in his own thoughts. He looked up just as she did. “Ah! Tamaki! Eh- hey!” He yelped, face red as he looked anywhere but her for an escape.

That’s it. Enough is ENOUGH.

“Oh no- you’re not running away from me!” Tamaki declared, more pissed off than flustered. Without really thinking about it, she charged at him, tackling him into the ground. “Talk to me! Why are you being so weird?”

“T-Tamaki! Let me up!” Shinra had his head turned all the way up, refusing to look back down. “I can’t-”

“What? You can’t be my friend anymore?” Anger curled into hurt, her voice cracking some halfway. “You’re done with me because of the lecher lure?”

“What? No- Not at all!” Shinra looked back at her, panic replacing his nerves. “Tamaki, that’s not it-”

“Then tell me!” She cried, returning to anger. “Tell me what the problem is!”

Shinra opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He looked like a fish out of water, the words stuck in his throat as he helplessly looked anywhere and everywhere but her. “I….I can’t say.”

“Why not?” She glared.

“Cause…cause it’s embarrassing!” He covered his face with both hands, flopping back into the ground. “You’ll hate me.”

“....” Tamaki stared at him. Then- without warning, she grabbed his sides, squeezing.

“AH! Ahehehehehhehe!” Shinra arched at the touch, giggling. “T-Tahahahamki!”

“I don’t hate you- I don’t think I could ever hate you.” She nodded, feeling rather ruffled. “And I don’t care how embarrassing it is- I want to know! It’s the least you can do after all that time ignoring me!”

“I’m sohoohooohhrry! I prohohohohmise it’s nohohohot you!” He cackled, hands covering his face as he kicked and squirmed. “Whehehehell it kihihiihihinda ihiihiihihs? Ahehahahahahha Tahahahhamahahahahki!”

“Which one is it? Is it me or is it not me?” Normally she’d be more irritated by such mixed signals, but Shinra was talking to her again- well; laughing with her anyway. She scritched her nails along his belly and waist, giggling when he squealed. “For a hero, you’re sure bad at talking about yourself. Out with it!”

“AHehahahahahhahhahaha! Noohohohooho, dohoohohohohn’t tihihihihihickle me thehehehehhere!” Shinra’s hands shot to hers, stopping midway. “Nohohoohooho fhahahhahahhair!”

“Too scared to touch me? Afraid you’re gonna get burned?” She teased, squeezing along the underside of his ribs and making him scream. “Fine by me- I get to keep tickling you! Now- TALK!”

“Iihiihihihiihi cahahahhahahn’t! He squealed, face flushed a pretty pink. “TahahhamakIHIHIHIIHII!”

“I’m waiting~” She had switched over to his legs, squeezing his knees with both hands. “You know- cats do this.” She began kneading his upper thighs, further driving him wild. “Talk to me or I’m going for your feet!”

“TAHAHHAHAMKI NOHOHOOHOHOHOOOO!” He howled, punching the ground repeatedly as he thrashed about. Tamaki wasn’t bluffing- she’d absolutely go for his worst spot. “PLEAHHAHAHHASE MEHEHEHEHRCY!”

“Are you gonna talk?” She gave him a small break, stretching out until she was pinning his legs with her body, flicking off a sandal. “Or are we gonna have to get serious?” To further her point, she shaped her hand into a cat paw with her pyrokinesis. Her trademark trick- Shinra was gonna DIE. “Last chance.”

Shinra gasped for air, hands covering his face as he tried to compose himself. The words rattled his ribs, desperate to be heard, but it was just too, too much! “Tamaki…”

“Hm.” Was all she said at his tone. Then her cat paw attacked.

“AH!” Shinra couldn’t speak- he couldn’t think. He couldn’t really do anything at that moment. The second those fiery claws touched- warm and fluffy despite what they were made of- he was racked with ticklishness all throughout his body. It was like she’d found the one bundle of nerves that activated the rest- making every tickle spot on him burst to life. “AHEHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!”

“Wow- and I thought you were bad without the claws.” Tamaki mused with an impish grin, delighted. Shinra was a mess, flailing behind her like a fish out of water as he guffawed. His face was getting redder- and his smile; normally a nervous tick- looked so real and genuine it made her stop breathing for a moment.

Stop breathing…Oh sh- “Shinra! You okay?” She stopped, remembering that air was kinda necessary to live. Upon ending her tickles, Shinra curled into himself, hiccups breaking up his giggle fits as he twitched in tickly residue.

“Ahehehehe…hehehhee…I’m ohohokay. Nothing to wohohorry about..” He reassured her, easing her worry. When he could breathe normally again, he rolled onto his back, covering his face with a hand. “Sorry…”

“Huh? Why are you apologizing? I was the one tickling you to near death.” Tamaki shook her head- then paused. “Oh wait- this is the earlier thing, right?”

“Yeah. I…” Shinra dropped his hand as he willed himself to look at her. “I’m about to tell you something…and I don’t know how you’re gonna react, but please hear me out.”

“Okay…?”

“Right. So…erm.” Shinra seemed to shake, mouth pressed into a thin line as he willed the words front and center. To her surprise, he seemed rather flushed- a new shade of pink coloring his already hot cheeks. “The reason I’ve been avoiding you…it’s erm..my shirt.”

“....huh?” That was it? “But- you lent it to me! If you just wanted it back-”

“No! No- that’s not- that’s not it.” Shinra quickly cut in, flushing even more. “God, why is this so hard to say? I…I don’t know what happened, but when I saw you standing there in it…something kinda clicked.” Shinra sat up, looking at his hands as he spoke. “I erm…I…”

Tamaki blinked at him, taking it in. Then her eyes grew wide, cheeks warming as the realization hit her. “Shinra…are you confessing?”

Shinra seemed to flush more, but then he nodded.

Put your guards down and just come out with how you’re feeling about each other!

She internally apologized to Maki for doubting her intuition.

“I guess I am…I’ve er- kinda liked you for a while now. I figured at first it was just us bonding, but then I started seeing, you know? How you light up when we decide to get something good to eat, or how you never give up on your ambitions and goals to get stronger. How you sing to yourself when you’re cleaning up or cooking, and how you always play with your hair when you’re in mid-thought. I just…” Shinra shook his head, smiling a small but real smile. “I realized when I looked at you in my T-Shirt: ‘Wow. I’m falling for this girl.’

But then I panicked and ran cause…yeah.” Shinra chuckled sheepishly, finally looking her in the eye. “I’m not…entirely sure what I’m doing here. I’m probably gonna mess up a hundred times over before I get it right, and I’m sorry if I do. But…if you’d have me, I’d like to be more than friends, Tamaki.”

More than friends…Be still, her beating heart. Looking at Shinra, hearing him speak in that soft voice- the voice he seemed only to reserve for her she realized now, her vision grew blurred. Shinra’s nervous smile grew panicked at her tears, but before he could do anything, Tamaki threw herself into his arms, knocking them both over once more.

“You’re so stupid, Shinra.” She said against his chest, no malice in her voice. “Of course I’d have you.” She sat up, gathering her own courage. “You’re the first real person that didn’t shy away or avoided me- not with the lure, and not when everything was said and done. You saved me more times than you’ve realized. You’re my hero, Shinra. If you’d have me…I’d like that too.”

Shinra seemed to stop breathing. Then he was smiling, really- truly smiling. “Tamaki…” He brushed his thumb over her cheek, cupping her face as his other fingers played with the loose strands of her hair. She leaned down to kiss him-

“Devil! Lady Tamaki- what are you two doing at this hour?” Arthur’s cry of surprise sent Tamaki stumbling, crashing into Shinra’s chest. Amazingly enough, her lure didn’t kick in. A small blessing in a mess of flustered moments.

“Arthur, could you PLEASE not shout? You’ll wake the Lieutenant!” Shinra growled, helping Tamaki up before turning to his roommate.

“Apologies- a knight king as myself must always make sure his kingdom is safe.” If he caught on, Arthur didn’t say- but there was something a bit knowing in that smile of his. “My energy bar is running low- I must recharge. Good evening.” With that, he turned on his heels, disappearing back into the room.

“Odd as ever.” Shinra laughed, shaking his head. Tamaki snorted in her hand, just as amused. “Still- we better call it a night here; who knows who we’ve woken up with our antics.” Shinra swung their hands together before leaning in, pressing a kiss against Tamaki’s cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Sounds good. Goodnight, hero.” Tamaki squeezed his hand in return before letting him go, making her way back to her own room. Shinra signed in content, leaning into the wall beside him.

“So the devil does have a weakness.” Arthur’s voice broke him out of his thoughts, startling him. “Two weaknesses. Good to know.”

“Why you- GET OVER HERE!”

Thanks for reading! :D

#Fire Force #tickle #tickle fic #shinra kusakabe #tamaki kotatsu #Whoops I fell down and now I ship it lols #I just really love lee!Shinra kajrkjaekjrajker #some ShinTama for the soul anyone?#akrkjaerkjeajkajkerjkearjklae

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