#I see the vision with these two. i love them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

occamstfs · 2 days ago

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Talismen V: World Peace

And so the world ends with a wish unless Alex and Nicky are able to abate men changing in every corner of the world. CEO's get their hands dirty, academics find their wild side, journalists go local, pianists get angry. And you, well who can say what happens to you.

Happy new year! Hope you enjoy the grand finale of my little 2.5k special :) As ever, Yours! -Occam

The air around the trio is almost vibrating from the energy emanating off Nicky’s Talisman. Simon’s eyes flicker around the cafe as reality almost begins to fracture. Some intern’s tray of drinks becomes a fifty pound free weight as his arms grow with grotesque haste to keep it balanced in the air, sleeves tattering before dissolving into the static mists. In the corner a struggling sci-fi author’s hands become inseparable from his keyboard and green binary scrolls across his pupils, skin shifting sicky metallic up his arms. Behind the bar a barista twitches as his face grows furry, sharper nails quickly tear through a cheap apron.

Still struggling to reconcile the transformation witnessed at the gym, Simon shakes off his curiosity and turns his attention back to his love just as Alex reaches out a hand to steady his friend who is struggling to breathe under the weight of reality. Alex, more with it than either man and far more aware of what may, will, and cannot happen puts a gentle hand on Nicky’s shoulder and tries to help the magus understand. Reassured by the simple human act. With the helping hand Nicky finds himself to see the metaphysical tendrils stretching from the Talisman on his neck.

Pulsing, stretching, growing. Alex and Nicky both watch as, bereft of any input from the man wearing the necklace, the power within is simply shooting indiscriminately to every mind and body it can reach. At once, both men realize that regardless of how little they know about the malevolent charm around his neck, Nicky needs to direct its power somewhere or it will work of its own volition.

Realizing its bearer is about to issue ground orders, shockingly, all the disparate ribbons and strands of energy return at once. The cyborg gasps for breath with new half synthetic lungs, two men who had never met awkwardly stammer as they find themselves half-nude making out over their americanos, the barista apologizes for getting his hair(fur?) in a drink.

None of the named characters get half a chance to notice the halted changes as Nicky is suddenly being suffocating outright, filled with power returned. Like a constrictor he is choked by the sheer presence of this energy flying back into the amulet, every vein is visible and pumping brighter with each passing moment, his skin feels tight and he almost seems about to burst with the eldritch potential within him. Tendrils squeeze his mind like a vice, eager to run with any haphazard half-baked wish that makes itself known.

Alex sees fear behind his friend’s eyes of red as Nicky chokes out, “I- I don’t know what t- to say” He turns to see his boyfriend, and reality fractures just a tad. Nicky sees him as the powerful man he is and always has been, but behind that there’s a wry bookish nerd who never hit the gym. He remembers a conversation long ago with this different, can’t be past, version of Simon. He’s clearly annoyed, they’ve been debating this for a while, “you can’t- you can’t just wish for anything, a genie’s whole thing is twisting your wish babe. Be-” In the memory Nicky interrupts, “I know. I know. It’s just- in my mind I can’t justify not trying. It- Three wishes, one of them has to be like, world peace. Or uh, solving hunger or something?”

And just like that, just as soon as it began, the vision fades, edges tinge red as the meek other Simon rolls his eyes before returning to the man Nicky knows him to be. The man with the world on his shoulders chokes out a sigh. The wish does need to be grand enough to dissipate all this energy after all. Scarlet tears thicker than blood drip down his face, maybe it’ll all be okay, “I wish, grgh- W- World Peace.” Time and reality stutter as the amulet processes the command input, red energy shoots from the Talisman like solar flares, venturing far enough to scrape patrons in the cafe, molding outfits sculpting new muscle before returning back to the now vibrating amulet.

Nicky grasps it and closes his eyes. From the central gem of the Talisman red shoots like a beam, straight through Alex. The deliverer’s face is grim as it hits him, demanding he return to the harbinging work he finished moments ago. Steeling himself for the part he is to play he notices a glimmer behind the matte red eyes of his friend and an idea strikes both at once, perhaps there remains hope yet. Looking at his new callused hands he is potently aware that there is impossible power within this artefact, but can it truly affect the whole world? Alex grits his teeth and plans to embody the wish Nicky bestowed, distilled into him, Haste.

Alex feels himself being carried away by the beam, nodding at Simon and Nicky he shoots off, turning to try and race ahead of the storm of will as it tears through city blocks, and countryside, through cabins and campus libraries, morphing men into their wildest dreams and steamiest nightmares. No time for Alex to watch every one despite an itch at the back of his mind to do just that. He needs to get ahead of this, he needs to accelerate, he needs to overload it. Unstuck from time or space he finds himself in a New York City penthouse, standing beside some grimacing man looking out over the city. He did it, he beat it here, now he’s setting the pace.

Fractals of the beam reflect in the polished windows of the skyscraper, surely shooting off to grace the lives of those sitting in suites across the city. But as it nears the top, as it nears Alex, it almost seems to slow. Giving him time to take in this office, and observe what is to become of the smug man, Mr. McCarthy, scowling as he looks out over the city, looking down both figuratively and literally upon the population he sees as beneath him. Clad in a pristine, tailored suit he almost laughs as he imagines the lives led by the pour sods he grinds underfoot.

Despite himself and his mission, Alex’s eyes glimmer with rage, perhaps there are indeed changes that ought to happen. Just as the thought occurs the manifestation of Nicky’s words shoot into the room like wind, rushing past Alex before slamming into the haughty businessman and curling around him. The witness can almost see on the rich man’s fabric where the tendrils squeeze in tight.

Eyes widening with fear, he drops the glass of exorbitantly priced whiskey he was drinking to claw and something he cannot see. Every inch of exposed skin is filled with warmth that quickly races under his clothes as well. Muscle boils under his skin and he falls to the floor, cutting his cashmere trousers on the shards of glass. Only concerned with his own appearance, this shocks him out of his pain. McCarthy forgets whatever stroke or seizing just struck him and scoffs at what sloppy misfortune has sullied his wardrobe.

Grumbling to himself he stands and finally does he see the man standing in the room watching him, “Ughh you must be the help. Clean up this mess, now.” He scowls and straightens his tie before realizing how weary he feels, his arms heavier than they should feel and brow covered in sweat. Is it this little degenerate’s fault, was I drugged? He grabs his handkerchief and wipes his sweaty face, ignoring as it scratches against stubble that he would never allow to grow.

The thought’s almost laughable, sweaty and unshaven- like some common laborer! McCarthy indeed laughs once more at the image, his hand raised to hide any emotion on his face from Alex as the impudent lout seems to neglect the order given. He opens his mouth to chastise the shoddy employee, but then both men hear the sound of fabric tearing resounds through the room.

McCarthy’s eyes look down and he falls to the floor once more as he sees his hand. Barely changed as of yet but clearly thicker, rougher, and still changing. Hairs begin to creep up his wrist and poke out of fingers that grow fat and unelegant. He grabs at his arm and finds his dress shirt has torn as his hidden bicep grows bulkier.

Alex smiles as he sees the man scrambling on the floor grow frantic. His other arm soon enough bulges larger as well, this time tearing both his dress shirt and suit. “Shit!” The titan of industry tries to stand but falls forward as his chest bursts into existence. Weighty pecs begin to pop buttons off into the spilled whiskey. The 200 dollar bland haircut on his head begins to retract and shift messy as stubble stains his doctored jawline. “Help me you- you- Grah!”The sound of his suit ripping and tearing grows louder and more frequent as he tries to remove it as his back widens and his arms continue to bulk to a point that the garment’s survival is impossible. Alex’s expression matches the smug one of McCarthy not moments ago as he sees hair poking through the torn fabric and a thicker brow juts out to shade his eyes. His eyes grow a darker almost blood red as something in his stomach quivers at the sight, “I think I’m helping you just fine Mr. McCarthy. Or hm, I suppose you’d prefer to go by Duke now hm?”

The corporate fiend writhes and rather than attempt to salvage his luxury clothes, simply begins to tear them off his new sculpted form. Free of its silken trappings, the muscle begins to pack on at an explosive rate. Thick curls cover his harried pecs before racing over spherical shoulders and bulging traps to cover his sculpted back. Bursting free from matching pants his thighs pattern with bulging veins starkly similar to the same tendrils that launched him into this new life.

As a beard covers the financial officer’s face Alex sees the man’s eyes glaze over and he stands to a height a few heads taller than what he enjoyed in a life now gone. Scratching at his stomach Duke groans and squeezes at his head with his free hand. The witness averts his eyes from the thick new cock pointing directly at him as he instead looks past Duke to see his new life laid out like a book. No longer some rich asshole who prides himself on pushing others down to get ahead but a man whose hands are scarred by countless days of strenuous work for others.

Smiling as he pages through the story of Duke Carter’s new life he hungrily sees all that Nicky’s will has changed for the better in just this one case. Filled with contentment that perhaps this is not so bad an event after all. He finds himself drawn into the vision, seeing the young man grow into the hunk that stands before him now. Speaking of, Duke seems to be coming to his senses, “Hey there uh, young fella? Yew know what I’m doin’ all the way up here?”

Alex tilts his head and only then realizes that only a faint trail of the Talisman’s magic remains here. It continues to work throughout the largest city in the states, but the head of the surge has shot on while Alex was distracted. Gritting his teeth he stumbles through a farewell to the confused, changed man and races out the window. Duke is of course concerned at the man jumping from the top floor of a skyscraper but once done, the sweaty laborer can scarcely remember meeting him at all. Looking around the suite as the whole building creaks and begins to change into the HQ of a nonprofit, his phone rings and he smiles as it seems the chance to lend a helping hand is on the horizon.

For his part Alex is soaring over the sea. Struggling to catch up he decidedly ignores his desire to stop at the few cruise ships and scattered Atlantic islands that the beam shoots through, surely fulfilling desires and morphing men along the way. Flashes of tourists losing their native tongues as they find themselves at home in the Azores and cruise ship pools becoming foam parties sear into his vision but he keeps pace with the racing wish. Looking forward, Alex sees the spell almost torn between two potentialities. To preserve itself it’s going to split in two to hit each continent they were rapidly approaching.

In one world he sees the larger going to Africa and becoming unstoppable just from the sheer numbers game. Clenching his jaw he reaches out and tries to control the path as if it were lassoed. Keeping a grip on it he forces the split to occur early and steers the larger proportion North while trying to keep an eye on the latter speeding off towards West Africa. He almost splits his awareness in two as he tries to focus on both before realizing that he’s already being dragged through the capitals all across Europe. Dublin, London, Madrid, and Lisbon fly past, all to varying degrees overcome by the storm of change.

Alex struggles to breath under the pressing weight, the existential need, to go observe what is becoming of dirtbag chavs as their little crews shed their jumpsuits and their haunts convert to gayborhoods. He fights the urge to see Spanish academics venture into the countryside and become burly bearded farmers. Ignoring bodybuilding Italians shredding their beards and built bodies to become twinks more than happy to bottom. As Nicky’s will continues to affect more people it becomes harder for Alex to resist his compulsion to witness and spread the change himself. Feeling a need to nip it in the bud, he strains himself to pull ahead of the surge once more.

Maintaining his grip on the storm, he has an idea to stop it and steers it to a rural Bavarian peak where a lone tourist looks out over a lake. In an impossible stroke of luck the man wistfully utters a wish, “Man. I wish- I wish that I could spend more time in nature.” The tendril swiftly averts course to the man and Alex uses its momentum to steer it directly through him and into the center of the lake, far from any life besides the backpacker and himself. While the tourist, Finn, begins to change Alex allows himself indulge and witness. Using the gratification gained to hold the throbbing tendril in place. No idea if this would achieve anything nor time to wonder what even it would do. For now he must simply hold and watch.

Finnegan was probably less than prepared for this day trip. His roommate at uni was driving him up a wall enough to force him South on this uncharacteristic escapade into the Alps. He’d never really appreciated the wild but as soon as he began this trek he wondered how he could possibly overlook the serenity. The cold air stung his lungs as he wandered through the serene trails and stumbled upon this massive lake where he takes a load off. Hands scratch into dark earth as he adores the sight before him, an otherworldly force screams through the air above him as he speaks his humble wish and is filled with transmutative energy to become a man who will spend more time in nature.

The coat which has been struggling to do anything against the elements is suddenly working overtime as steam begins to rise from the man now panting on the overlook. Hands numb from the cold burst the seams of mittens as he quickly disrobes and frees his thin upper body to the mountain air. Finnegan’s hips flex against his tight thermals as his package immediately understands what it means to become one with nature, quickly hardening into a cock that would be nigh impossible to hide. And a strange thought flickers through his changing mind, why would he ever need to hide his cock anyway?

His lithe arms begin to balloon with weight as his hands can't help but shove into his pants and explore a more sensitive dick and quivering balls that begin to send hormones coursing through him. Finn grimaces as he struggles to kick off hiking boots far too small for his new wide soles, rough from trending on dirt and stone. Never too much of an eater, the young man’s torso begins to bloat and strain his shirt as the rigors of the outdoors demand he get some more meat on his bones.

Arms that have likely lifted nothing heavier than a textbook bulge larger as his stomach continues to put on mass, bloating into a strong, manly torso. Pre covered hands begin to scratch at his meatier chest and barrelling gut as a garden of body hair begins to grow. His sticky fingers pull at the curls lengthening on his bulkier stomach and he delights in the sensation, the scratch, the drag of darker hair now patterning his heavier form.

His neat hair pulls shorter, darkening and growing greasy as it shoots down his cheeks, creating a stubbled chin strap before it becomes an outright beard. Finn grunts as he feels his newly hairy back on the earth behind him. His hands find his cock once more as his nose finds his tangled pits and the trove of musk within. Bucking into the cold air he languishes in his first load spilled on his journey to be a man of the wild. Hearing similar grunting in the nearby lake he looks to find Alex struggling barely above the water. Sniffing and finding the floating man alluring, he furrows his brow and hops in a canoe to go meet him.

Running the numbers Alex is sure that countless men and women have already been irrevocably sculpted by wishes haywire. As Finn approaches he too continues to change. Beard thickening and sticking out from his face as body hair spreads like wildfire. At the same time, the energy Alex is wrestling with almost begins to crystallize. Finn grows burlier and bulkier, every disparate patch of hair from his meaty fingers to his longer toes races to meat in one mighty jungle of fur as he continues to pack on muscle. The watcher’s hands burn with effort as he forces the storm of energy to stay still, to forfeit being an aspect of metamorphosis and lock it in this state, in this locale.

Near enough to shout out, Finn opens to speak to Alex, as he does a grunt falls from his mouth. What need has he of complex thought or language, why is he out on the lake anyway, fishing? Finn scratches his pit and smells his hand as Alex strains for just a moment longer and then there’s a flash as the strange beam solidifies outright. Manifesting as a spire in the center of the lake, surely still holding the transformative power of the talisman but, for now, immobile. In the back of the once delivery man’s mind he can sense the other half shooting through Oman, preparing to launch itself towards the Indian subcontinent. He needs to go now.

Finn doesn’t really listen as the man shadowed in crimson asks something important of him. Memories of his architecture lectures and school projects begin to fade and he doesn’t quite mind, seems better to get his hands dirty and protect this little smidge of paradise anyway. Protect, pursing his lips and looking at the spire he floats near to, protect? His eyes narrow at the malevolent spike, not of the world. He scratches his still lengthening beard, he’ll watch this too, make sure nothing funny happens.

Alex once more shoots across continents, soaring over slavic streamers finding themselves doing a little more than gay-baiting and Maghrebi men finding new ways to appreciate the male ideal. He’s not quite sure how long this has been going on, but as he catches up to what remains of Nicky’s will that at least some parts of the world have become aware of what’s going on. The Indian military is mobilizing to some degree to prepare an emergency response and while hemorrhaging tendrils continue to create shooting stars of transformation down towards metropolises and hamlets, when it sees such lofty forces gathered it has no recourse but to beeline right towards them.

When he signed up to be a foreign correspondent Logan Hopsworth never wanted to end up in India, let alone doing military coverage. And yet here he was. The team back home has been radio silent for a few hours but when his unfortunate host nation declares a national emergency he hits the field to report on- ? Logan doesn't quite know, he’s refused to learn the language and plans his time here to be a stepping stone soon forgotten.

He forces a fake at the cameraman as he’s sure the local hire is always trying to film his bad angle. Suddenly there’s a red flash and Logan scoffs as the camera operator gasps and turns his lens on the crowd of uniformed men behind him, “Uhmm!? Hello? Your marks right here Nikhil?” When he keeps his lens focused on something other than himself, the ‘reporter’ crosses arms and turns to see what’s so important. He couldn’t believe what he saw. The performatively macho men of the nation that has time and time again declared themselves the most powerful in the world are suddenly stripping and finding their nearest platoon mate to fuck.

“Jesus Christ! It’s like a fucking pornographic flashmob!” Logan drops his microphone and tries to make sense of what’s happening, “Nikhil are you getting this shit!?” Turning back he sees the flash of red soar past again, this time hitting his assigned cameraman who drops his equipment and begins groaning. Clutching at his headset the cam operator pulls at his clothes as to Logan’s less than discerning eye he seems to suddenly be wearing something a few sizes too small.

Never concerned for anything more than his own hide Logan screams his usual sign off and turns to run, “THIS HAS BEEN HOBSWORTH REPORTI-” Though before he can finish Alex’s wrangling of the wish does one more round, going squarely through the reporter before the harbinger shouts in success and the force veers off towards China.

Logan coughs and clutches at his chest as he feels like he was just hit by a train filled with glimpses of everything he could have been. Presenting at the NYE drop, doing court reporting in Australia, recording slice of life stories in Tokyo. Instead he’s here. His spirits deflate as he smells spice on the air and his chest fills with warmth, and then his chest fills his shirt.

Well of course he’s here? Where would he rather be? Ignoring the sounds of rapturous lustful disregard a few dozen feet away he gasps at the thought. Lakhan’s hands shake as he looks down to the dark hair that begins cresting across his forearms. Like countless men across the world, and the army behind him, the reporter quickly takes off his shirt to see what is becoming of him. Ever thin and hairless he is aghast as his thin shaved pubes begin racing up his torso and darkening into a black treasure trail he would never be rid of.

He tries to tear at his growing hair before noticing that its growth is not the only change occurring. Across his exposed torso splotches of his skin begin to darken, turning a shade of brown just like the cameraman still growing behind him. He begins to hyperventilate and hold to the identity he knows he should have before realizing he can’t even tell if he’s turning into Lakshan or if Lakshan’s turning into some pasty white asshole.

With each frantic breath the changes continue to race, he clenches his eyes shut as the irises shift to a brown and his coiffed blonde locks darken and shift into a look he’s seen on countless Bollywood stars throughout the years. While his skin continues to tan he realizes that he’s also beginning to grow, blanketed under a healthy coat of chest hair, pecs begin to fill out his upper body while powerful biceps flex. He’s always been quite a bit more inclined to work on vanity muscles after all.

His pits fill out with dark black curls enough for deodorant to never quite reach the skin beneath, not that he cares of course. All that time at the gym is to make sure he never escapes a man’s notice, his musk is simply another way to make sure everyone knows he’s the boss. “Fuck!” He shouts with a deep Pradesh accent, it’s where he grew up and went to university after all, “मैं बहुत सेक्सी हूँ! (I’m so hot!)”

Starting to turn himself on just from thinking about his own tightly packed muscle, Lakshan pulls at his pubes and moans as the movement makes his far larger, veiny cock bounce in the air. His eyes turn to the cameraman who similarly has finished changing into a powerful bharati man of stature. The two men approach each other and just like the horde to the west find more pleasure in a good fuck than they’ve experienced in some time, perhaps ever.

Above China, Alex wrestles to keep the wily manifestation of Nicky’s wish under control, also does he realize that he hasn’t had a second to plan what exactly he is to do after keeping it on course through China. Thinking it safe enough to take a breather for half a second, he loosens the reins to come to the conclusion that he should just steer it back to Nicky. With even the slightest deviation however the wish forcefully bolts downward towards Shanghai.

En route, the tendril discards as many strands as it can across another cradle of civilization, perhaps making it easier for Alex to manhandle but what does it care, it’s not sentient. It is power manifest, it simply must do. Why should it mind as it is taken through a concert hall at the Shanghai Conservatory of Music. It is not out of malice as it passes through Shen Hao that he flubs a key press and fails to recover. Though would that it had the awareness to know it brought about more than an auditorium of change it would certainly feel delight.

Hao’s face burns as red as the static that shoots through him. His eyes stare at his keys knowing how many long hours have been spent perfecting this etude. It was a mistake he’s never made, not one out of juvenile haste or shoddy hand placement, one that simply should not have happened. If he were trying to make the mistake again he would surely be unable to, such a flagrant err is anathema to the virtuoso.

And yet, he’s a professional, he takes a deep breath and returns to the piece. He will do it right this time. But then, his hands cramp. He shoots long and bites his tongue enough to draw blood as his pinky plays an E rather than an F. That- That shouldn't be possible. Hao looks down in shock to find that it is indeed impossible, or it would have been, had his fingers not stretched longer. His palms wider, his fingers fatter. This must be a nightmare.

The pianist shifts back and the bench creaks under his weight, he turns to nod an apology at his audience and is unable to see how many are watching him stumble through this should-be cake walk. Pulling at his collar as he sweats under the spotlights, Hao finds himself unable to get a finger under the tight neckpiece. God he can barely breathe. He clears his throat and pulls hard, the sound of him tearing through the buttons echoes through the auditorium just like his misplayed notes resound through his own head.

He feels his chest growing, straining his tuxedo, but refuses to look. His arms sting as meaty biceps begin to fill the sleeves and make it difficult for him to even ambulate enough to play the piano. It’s no matter, he’s a professional. He’s suffered for his art before and he will force himself to do this. He stretches his fingers and even this movement sends a few tears down his arms. Good, that will only help his range of motion.

Getting in position to play, he finds his hands thrown off as his wrists stretch further out from strained sleeves hugging his new forearms and biceps like a second skin. He just needs to be aware, that’s all. His arms are longer, that’s fine. Just do it right. Sweat trickles down his thicker neck and joins the litany of wet patches clearly visible on his white button up. He just needs to get through this. He just needs to be perfect.

Hao takes another deep breath and buttons burst from the sheer width of his pecs. Grimacing, he ignores them plinking against the piano and resolves to begin and- Uhh. He doesn’t remember the notes. That can’t be. The sound of blood rushing through his ears is overwhelming, his suit too tight, his mind too slow-

His meaty fists slam into the keyboard, sending a dissonant cacophony throughout the hall. Silent despite the impossible horror of the man clearly growing into some steroid filled monster on stage, this act of rage elicits gasps. Hao tears off his tuxedo revealing a tattoo covered chest and a body that would make anyone drool. Turning to the audience he sees nothing but red. They saw his mistake, they saw him grow into this oafish form. He- he knows what he must do. A new song fills his mind.

Turning to the keyboard the ivories stain crimson as he begins to play a new song, one that demands the attention of every student and professor present for his recital. One that echoes through the lobbies and halls of the building. With every mellifluous note the tune fills them and begs they continue to mindlessly adore him, and as it continues they too begin to change. An erhu musician snaps his bow as Hao’s melody creeps into his practice room, staring confused at sheet music he’s barely able to read. Behind the curtains his assistant professor finds her himself wanting, needing more of his artistry as a problem he’s never had before begins to strain and lift his skirt. His judge in the audience forgets the notion that he should ever critique the stud’s work as it’s simply so clear there is nothing more to life than enjoying Hao’s presence and performance.

Flying above the Pacific Alex is already soaring past Hawaii by the time Hao takes his bow and bathes in the adoration of an audience truly handcrafted to laud him. Nearing the cafe that Nicky has hopefully not left, Alex finds himself with more than enough will to ignore the presumably final waves of transformation he flies above. An older man on Oahu dons a stetson and years just fall away as he becomes the white hat he always dreamed to be, some squirrely student in Baja California lights a syllabus ablaze as his uniform stretches to become tight leather gear as he begins a bear club where the university co-op once stood.

And then he’s flying over countryside he knows all too well, shooting past the city he circles back and spirals back down to earth for the final time. In his mind he sees the cafe as it sits now, mostly empty, Simon having dealt with whatever cyborgs, werewolves, and overly horny stock traders in the vague time passed. So too has he barred entry from any of the wandering patrons of Jirou Heroes and any of the other clearly wanting hordes lost to their lusts.

This of course does nothing to stop Alex as he pilots the energy back to the Talisman that cast it out. Ramming it straight through the chest of a catatonic Nicky, the glimmering Talisman clatters to the floor across the cafe, leaving a sound of laughter echoing through the heads of the three men present. World Peace. Foolish. Foolish. You think this over? Your will will continue to be enacted whether you change your sad little mind or not! You demand the world have peace and so it will! When every soul sings praise and plays fool to their most basal lusts and primal urges then, then there will be peace you whelps-

Nicky stirs, groaning. While Alex will certainly have words for sending him upon an odyssey across the world however this shakes out, the caster has clearly had his work cut out for him here. Simon looks at his boyfriend and nods, helping Nicky to wobbly feet as the so far unchanged man stumbles over to grab the talisman yet again. The blazing voice in their minds is muted as his hand covers the gem and Nicky ushers forth one more wish, a demand. “Give me the strength to destroy this.”

Until this moment his previous work has continued almost unabated despite the efforts of Alex and Nicky chasing and controlling from afar. Men and once women have continued to have their senses heightened and minds dulled to the end that they all may end up puppets of what or whomever pushed this artefact, this power unto Nicky. That they all might become Talismen themselves.

In fact perhaps even you were in the process of changing. Your mind numbing as you typed away at a spreadsheet, as you scrolled through social media, as you waited in line for lunch. Like a buzz the alien hunger began within you, slowly displacing your priorities, cancelling meetings, skipping class, hitting up clubs despite having work the next day. All the while your form begins to corrupt.

Perhaps you as you sat in a park noticed a strange itch under your collar as hair began to inch above your neckline and up the small of your back. Shorts straining as thighs bloat and a cock that isn’t even erect fills the crotch of your pants enough to burst then and there. Anxiety fills you, or it would, were shame a preoccupation of your lust filled mind. The same story goes for every person around as they too struggle to control the new beasts hanging from their waists.

You who midgame shivers as your screen flashes red before moments later tossing your setup across the room in a rage as your clothes no longer fit and your interests realign to fighting and fucking. As your shredded outfit reforms to the trademarked uniform of your favorite character, becoming a second skin to yourself just as much as them.

You students racing to complete last minute assignments in the library as books on shelves melt into liquor bottles and carpets stained with decades of spilled beer. Sidling up as you grow larger to get in with jocks who dizzily stumble as their muscular bodies compress to become those of hairless twinks, hungry to sample your new rod.

Is there something wrong with giving people what they so desire, turning them into something greater than what they are, what they could be? So what if they lose their minds, their genders, species, sentience? Are not some people made to be used already? What difference does it make if they do so as a person or object, plasticine skin is sure to last longer.

Nicky struggles to hold this all in his mind and ignore it, returning to the point of it all. He needs to stop this. He sees the world changing and stays the course. Changing himself into something, someone powerful enough to destroy the Talisman. His hand widens to completely hide the amulet in his palm, red beams of light struggling to pour through the cracks in his fingers.

Almost muted to even his own mind the Talisman cries out Nownownownow let’s just wait a minute! Surely you don’t want to give all this up, I mean c’mon now kid! There’s a flash as the first crack appears in the talisman’s gem, not strong enough yet Nicky grits his teeth and continues to grow, forcing all his might and attention towards silencing this voice that sounds increasingly like the shoddy wizard that foisted this accessory upon him. Dontcha wanna make the world better what happennnnd to thaaAAt!?

He grimaces and shoots up almost a foot in height as he forces his two fists together, he vibrates with the dispelling of this seemingly all-powerful object. NONONO! You don’t know what your doing just one more wiiiiIIII- And red dust falls from Nicky’s now brutish hands. He looks down with a sigh and takes in his new form, torn clothes scattered at feet bursted from his favorite shoes. Though even as he notices they begin to knit themselves back together and he realizes this clearly isn’t over.

Though not consciously his fault, as the man who began this impossible new world order, and one who clearly still exercises some limited control on reality he has quite the mess to clean up. There remain other, newly created artefacts scattered throughout the world that less than scrupulous people will be drooling to get their hands on, and no one knows how to fix this better than the two people who saw the world change. Simon’s moral support will also be gravely needed.

It takes quite some time for the world to even try to begin rebuilding. Though freed from the imposed shackles of lust thrust upon them by the Talisman, many who changed simply find themselves truly taken with the hedonistic lifestyles their new forms encourage. Despite whatever mustache twirling plot the amulet had in the end, many were indeed changed for the better after all. For now the trio simply travel the city, nation, and world to help clean up the most pressing loose ends and prevent another outbreak of transformative disaster. As to how successful they are to this end? Well, that is simply a story for another day.

#male tf #mental change #male transformation #hair growth #reality change #personality change #racial change #muscle tf #straight to gay #masculinization

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preiyers · 2 days ago

Text

♱ TAKE A CHANCE — LUIGI MANGIONE X READER

SUMMARY: your friend group takes a trip to the beach during summer break and one night, luigi just takes the chance to tell you how he feels.

WARNINGS: friends to lovers, making out, humping in the hot tub

A/N: i'll be using random names for their friends and a part of this is inspired by a scene in to all the boys i've loved before and this post

show a little loving, shine a little light on me

you and your friends have been staying at the beach for almost a week now. you'd be leaving in two days.

the six of you were currently finishing dinner and then planning on walking around the beach and getting ice cream, but things changed when the group insisted on resting and staying in the hotel instead.

as the group walked back, luigi was getting teased by the guys as you walked with the girls of the group, looking around the beach and talking.

"come on man, just take the chance while we're still here and tell her how you feel." marcus tells him and he just shrugs.

"i don't know, it might change things." luigi says with a hand rubbing the back of his neck. he was interested in you the moment you asked him for help on a computation — the way your eyes lit up when he said he'd help you and how happy you got when he gave you an example and you got it right.

he still remembered.

little did he know, the girls were also giving you the same talk.

"you never know y/n, it could be a good type of change!" they all agreed as one of the girls nudged you.

as you guys walked, you came across a souvenir shop. you stayed outside, looking up at the sky as the wind blew your hair. marcus gives luigi a look to hang back and stay with you which he was already going to do.

“hey,” luigi said from behind, startling you a bit which makes you jump. “i didn’t mean to scare you.” you both chuckle.

it was quiet between you two for a moment. you didn’t know what to say, how to start the conversation and so did he. the sound of the waves crashing and the rustling of leaves filled your ears.

until he spoke again. “are you okay?” he turns his head to look at you, inching a bit closer.

you could see from your peripheral vision that he was looking at you so you turned to completely face him. you just smile in response and nod.

“just thinking about how we have to go back to uni after all this,” you sighed, looking back up at the sky and crossing your arms. “i don’t know, i’m gonna miss it,” you glance back at him and he was still looking at you. the look he was giving you was something you’ve never seen before, it was unreadable but it made you feel something at the pit of your stomach. “i’m gonna miss everything.”

it felt like there was a magnet pulling the two of you closer and closer or if the tiredness was just getting to you and you were imagining things.

“i get that, nights where we’d just spend having fun together and not stressing over assignments,” he said softly, placing an arm on your shoulder, pulling you even closer. “i wish we could stay here forever.” he looks down at you and your heads are closer now.

tracy, one of your friends looked out for you guys and told your friends about it which got them to all smile at the pair of you, giving each other knowing looks. “it’s so happening,” marcus mouthed at the group.

you smile up at him, you notice he’s looking between your eyes and your lips. your stomach churns and immediately break away, afraid of what could possibly happen and your friends could be watching.

“we… we should head back, they’re probably looking for us.” you force out a laugh, rubbing your hand on your forearm.

after the group was done checking out the souvenir shop, all of you went back to the hotel. you and luigi not speaking a word at all. they all noticed and tried to get one of you two to talk but just got smiles from the two of you.

“i’m gonna stay in the jacuzzi for a while, you guys can go.” luigi tells the group once you’ve reached the hotel.

his gaze finds you, but your head was down, not wanting to look into his eyes. you could feel the awkwardness in the group and some of your friends glancing between you and luigi.

he sighs and parts ways with the group.

no one spoke during the elevator ride and when you guys were walking to your rooms. until tracy reached for your arm. “what happened?” she pulled you back from entering your room.

you shrug, “i don’t know. we were talking, it was good and then i felt like something was going to happen,” you looked down, playing with your fingers. “i got scared.”

she places a hand on your shoulder as a way to comfort you. “aw hun, it’s alright.“ she pulls you into a hug and then continues speaking. “but you do know, that boy does like you, and i don’t know exactly when it started, but i know he’s liked you for a while now.” the two of you pull away and she couldn’t read the expression on your face.

“i should go to him,” she nods at you. “you think he’s still there” you ask and she instantly nods, removing her hands from your body.

“yes go right now, you got this!” she says, gently pushing you to leave.

you rush to the elevator, press the button quickly, looking up which elevator is closest to your floor level. once an elevator opened, you immediately went in and pressed the button to the floor. you mentally prepared yourself for what you’d say to him.

luigi, i like you. no. that was too forward. luigi, remember when we-

the elevator doors open which cuts your inner monologue off. you focused on your breathing as you walked to the area where the pool and jacuzzi were.

and there he was. his arms up on the tub’s rim, back facing you. as you walked, it was like your heart was gonna beat out of your chest any moment.

“hey,” you said softly, him now being the one startled.

he turns his neck to look at your figure, going closer to the tub.

“hi.” he responds with a small smile on his face.

you walk to where the ladder was, climbing and sitting on the edge of the tub, taking off your shorts to put your legs in.

“i’m surprised you’re here,” he says, looking down at the pool then up at you. “thought i made you upset or something.”

you look away as he said the last part, watching the bubbles come up.

“no i’m okay. why would i be upset at you?” you looked up, his eyes still avoiding you which makes you just want to tell him how you felt already.

he bites his lip, then turns his head to face you. you can’t seem to read the look on his face, the same as earlier’s. he just shrugs. “i don’t know y/n, i just thought,” he shakes his head and closes his eyes.

and you already knew.

you took your tank top off and got in the tub completely now. the two of you sat at opposite sides of the hot tub.

“do you remember how we first met?” he asks you, opening his eyes to look at you.

you nod, waiting for him to continue.

“you asked me for help on the chemistry computation and you were so happy when i said yes,”

“and you even offered to tutor me for free,” you smile at the memory. “it was freshman year; i knew no one in class cause i enrolled late and everyone seemed to like you for some reason.” you teased, and he shakes his head with a smile on his face.

“yeah, well, what can i say, i’m a nice dude.” he joked, which made you roll your eyes and scoff jokingly. “uh, well, on that same day, i told marcus you were really pretty.” he avoided your eyes once again, and you just blinked at him.

“since then, i’ve liked you. i liked you when we were partnered up for projects, i liked you even when you made comments about my frat, i liked you when you’d give me massages when i’d get back pains, liked you even when you dated your ex and cried a whole week over the break-up,” he listed down which made you blush. it felt like he could go on and on the whole night with the list.

your gaze softened as he smiled at you.

“what i’m trying to say is, it’s always been you.” his breath hitches in his throat, the weight on his shoulders now gone after telling you what he truly felt.

the two of you looked at each other for a moment before you moved to where he was seated until you were in between his legs. the tension between the two of you could be cut by a knife. you take a breath before speaking up.

“i like you too lu.” you place a hand on his cheek and carress it. he smiles at you before grabbing your leg and wrapping it around his torso, now you were face to face with each other. the light from the pool, shining on your faces.

“there’s no one like you, y/n.” he whispers before crashing his lips onto yours.

the kiss started off slow and steady, his hands slowly moving up from your legs to your waist while you wrapped an arm around his shoulders, trying to get him closer to your body if that was even possible at your current position.

your lips were moving in sync, tilting your head a bit as you start to feel his tongue trying to slip in. once he does, he glides one of his hands to your ass, squeezing it a bit before placing it on top of his straining bulge.

he moves your hips as his tongue explores your mouth. you moan into the kiss, fingers finding its way to his curly hair and tugging on it softly.

never would you have expected this to happen during your trip, but at the same time, this is all you've wanted.

he's the first to pull away, leaning his head on your forehead, still keeping your bodies close to each other. the both of you try to catch your breath.

you giggle a little as you place your hands on each side of his face, caressing his cheeks before placing pecks on his moles and then his lips.

"come on, let's continue this in my room."

lmk if u wanna be added to the taglist!!

#luigi mangione #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione smut

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thef1diary · 2 days ago

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Dirtbag!Daniel overstimulating you just because he heard you say he can’t make a woman cum

— hurting a man’s ego? Eh. Hurting dirtbag!danny’s ego? yeah… you’re in for a wild ride. 18+ content below

You didn’t even see it coming. One offhand comment, said half-jokingly to a friend while Daniel was within earshot, and now here you were—spread out on his bed, thighs trembling, body utterly wrecked as he hovered over you with a smug, infuriating grin.

“You said what now?” he taunted, dragging two fingers lazily through your soaked folds before pressing them back inside you, curling just right to make you gasp. “Can’t make a woman cum? Baby, you’ve lost count.”

“Danny—oh, God—” Your protest turned into a breathless moan as his thumb found your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. He kept his eyes locked on yours, the heat in his gaze making your stomach twist deliciously.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” he asked mockingly, leaning in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Can’t even keep still, can you? And you had the nerve to run your mouth. That’s, what… four now? Five?”

You whimpered, your head falling back against the pillows, fingers clutching at the sheets. Your body was hypersensitive, every touch unbearable yet addicting. He didn’t stop—not when your thighs tried to close around his hand, not when tears spilled down your cheeks.

He worked you over with ruthless efficiency, each stroke of his fingers pushing you closer to the edge. The sound of your wetness filled the room, obscene and utterly mortifying, but the way he looked at you—so smug, so sure of himself—only made it worse.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured, his breath ghosted over your neck. “Let me hear it. Let me hear you beg.”

You whimpered, your body trembling as his movements sped up. “Danny, please—”

“You want to cum?” he taunted, biting down on your shoulder just hard enough to leave a mark. “Say it. Say you need me to make you cum.”

“I need you,” you gasped, your head falling back as your walls clenched around his fingers. “Danny, I need you to make me cum.”

“There we go, that’s my good girl,” he murmured, voice dripping with mock praise as he kissed along your jawline. “So pretty when you’re a mess. Bet your friend would love to see you like this,” he added, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Soaked and shaking, crying my name. Think she’d still believe you after this?”

You could barely form words, your nails digging into his shoulders as your sixth orgasm barreled through you.

“Fuck, pleasepleaseplease—”

“Please what? Don’t stop?”

Before you could catch your breath, he was sliding his cock inside you, thrusting deep, his pace instantly becoming relentless. Your back arched as the overstimulation hit its peak, your nails dragging down his back. “I don’t plan on stopping, sweetheart.”

“Daniel, I can’t—”

“Oh, you can,” he interrupted, his teeth grazing your jaw as he pounded into you. “And you will. You’re gonna cum for me again, and you’re gonna thank me for proving you wrong.”

Your body immediately gave in to his relentless pace, your vision going white as your orgasm ripped through you. He stilled for a moment, his cock buried deep inside you, before pulling out at the last second. He wrapped his hand around himself, stroking lazily as his cum splattered across your skin. “Look at you, all wrecked and trembling. Next time you want to talk shit, remember this.”

You could barely move, your body boneless and spent, but his smugness didn’t waver. He reached for his pants, pulling out his phone and snapping a quick picture of your ruined, flushed form.

“Proof,” he said with a wink, before tucking it away.

want more dirtbag!danny? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 3 days ago

Text

Start Again (Honkai: Star Rail Short Fic)

Tingyun (Fugue) x Reader

It's 2am as of writing, I get up at 7 for work, but I refuse to sleep until this brainworm has left. Burn by FLOW and many Gundam Unicorn songs inspired this piece. Post edit note: IT'S 3:44 AM BUT THAT WAS TOTALLY WORTH IT Content: Angst to Comfort(Considering the circumstances, anyway) Word Count: 1.6k Apologies if this is OOC, the brainrot was VICIOUS

Fugue's dreams have led her here again. Sitting at a familiar setting, with a familiar face by her side.

It takes her a moment or two to recall where exactly she is. The...Earl?

The exact name escapes her, but she knows the feelings it brings her. Comfort, yet sadness. She knows returning there on the Loufou will not be as it once was.

But the person next to her smiling? The one holding her hand, failing to contain a laughter that instantly makes her at ease? She could never forget your name.

And yet in this instance, your lips move, but no sound comes out. The only noise that she can hear is her own breathing, one that grows ragged with every second she looks at you.

Her hands squeeze yours back without her input, feeling her own lips move. But just like you, she says yet another line lost to time, and still your eyes glimmer with such excitement.

What promises had she made to you back then?

What promises will she not be able to keep?

Just as Fugue had gotten bearings of her surroundings, the dream seems to fragment yet again, as her vision fades into darkness.

...

Fugue's eyes rapidly blink, forcing her daze out and focusing back on the present. She can see the reflection of herself on the glass, half expecting to see her past appearance.

She was aboard the Astral Express, staring out into the stars again. Fugue continued only for a few seconds longer before realizing that she wasn't alone in the car, with the Trailblazer standing behind her.

(Fugue) "Oh, Benefactor! My apologies, I didn't know you were standing there."

Fugue smiled with a hand over her chest, though the pain from the memory had yet to fade. Something that was all too evident, apparently.

(Caelus) "Are you okay? You're crying."

Fugue's hand immediately reached for the corner of her eyes, finally feeling the trickle that was building up, and with a sigh she let her hand drop back down to her waist.

(Fugue) "...Would you mind indulging in a question of mine?"

The Trailblazer leaned against the glass next to her, crossing his arms as he gave a thoughtful nod.

(Caelus) "Ask away."

Fugue turned back around to face the stars, trying to compose herself and find the proper way to ask Caelus a nagging thought of hers. Before, she could have easily found away to articulate her thoughts, but alas that was yet another part of her taken.

Her eyes drifted along the rim of the windows, eventually staring out into space again.

(Fugue) "What would be the first thing you would say to someone who thought you were gone forever? Someone who loved you more than anything else?"

Fugue didn't hear a response from him, not for a little while. When it was clear that was her only question, Caelus eventually sighed and gave her an answer.

(Caelus) "I guess...Hey."

...Hey?

That was it?!

Fugue immediately turned her attention back to Caelus, who was now awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck at her sudden frown.

(Fugue) "That is wildly inappropriate! How can the first thing I say to them just be a simple greeting?!"

Caelus's lips curled into a smile, moments away from saying something either witty or irritating, only to stop at the last second as his expression became serious again.

(Caelus) "You remember (Y/N)?"

(Fugue) "...So you've met them too."

Caelus nodded, motioning towards the nearby couch for them to sit down. After they had gotten comfortable, he leaned forward with both his hands clasped together.

(Caelus) "Only a few times, when they were with...-"

Fugue suddenly felt it hard to breathe, imagining the pain you must have felt realizing the person you loved was actually a monster wearing their skin, thinking that you would never see them again.

Caelus's next response immediately snapped Fugue out of her reverie.

(Caelus) "-...They still love you, Fugue."

She said nothing, taking a moment for his words to settle in.

(Caelus) "If I saw someone again after a long time, anything they'd say would be of some comfort. At least, that's the way I see it."

Fugue looked again towards the stars, but this time her reflection in the glass seemed all the harder to ignore.

(Caelus) "That's why I think a greeting is a way to start again. The best way? Probably not but...It's better than nothing, or just leaving them alone."

Fugue's gaze eventually trailed down to her own hand, her tail slowly swishing to her side.

(Fugue) "...Even when the person they loved is no longer the same?"

Caelus leaned back into the seat, staring out into the stars with his friend.

(Caelus) "Even then."

...

You decided that it'd be a good time to take a small break, and relax on a nearby bench, hearing the distant hum of starskiffs from above.

This was a quieter part of the Loufou, though it could never become entirely silent. Regardless, it always helped calm you down, at least somewhat, when your mind began to race again.

Truth be told, you wish you could be busy to keep your mind off things. Even though almost an entire year had passed since the funeral, your mind still couldn't help but think about Tingyun.

Sighing, you began to move off the bench when a familiar voice called out to you.

(???) "H-Hello, (Y/N)..."

Your swore your heart stopped for a moment or two as your body quickly swiveled to the person you swore was-

(Y/N) "Tingyun...?"

The woman in front of you looked almost exactly like your now dead girlfriend. Though her hair was longer, the clothing darker-The details differed ever so slightly, but you were sure.

That's Tingyun in front of you right now.

You wanted to reach out and hug her, to start crying on the spot and begin shouting to the skies how much you missed her. And yet...

Her eyes. Her eyes that once held such warmth for you alone, no longer sparkled in that same way. As if...she were talking to a stranger.

What seemed like a small eternity had passed before she sighed, sitting at the bench beside you, though not quite close enough, leaving a noticeable space between you two.

(Y/N) "...Are you really?-"

(Fugue) "Yes and...No."

Calling herself 'Fugue', she began explaining what exactly had led to her return, and although she was the woman you loved, at the same time it wasn't.

Her memories were fragmented, and although the finer details were lost forever, certain people and things that held significance to her seemed to be the only things intact.

Meaning that you were one of the anchors allowing her to even survive.

(Fugue) "...And now, I have a second chance at life, perilous as it is still."

(Y/N) "...What exactly do you remember of me, if I can ask."

Fugue pursed her lower lip, brows furrowing as her expression alone told you how little actually came to mind. Every second that passed was like a dagger twisting further into your heart, only stopping momentarily when she collected her thoughts.

(Fugue) "Besides your name...your smile...How warm your hands are, and how nice they feel when I hold them..."

Fugue tried with all her might to recall that dream. Even though it was so damn vivid every night, why did she struggle to recall it the moment she needed it the most?

(Fugue) "I...I think we had tea in front of the...Earl...?-"

(Y/N) "The Sleepless Earl, hah..."

You closed your eyes as tears threatened to spill out. Hearing her speak again was agonizing, yet relieving all at the same time. It was her, yet not her...Despite that, you finally knew in some capacity, she was safe and breathing next to you again.

Though, you must have done a poor job of masking your emotions since you felt a familiar touch you've missed brush against your cheek, feeling a thumb wipe away a tear that fell out.

(Fugue) "I...I didn't mean to hurt you. I shouldn't have come to you. I'm so-"

(Y/N) "Don't!"

Your body moved faster than your mind, immediately grabbing her hand when it tried slipping away. Fugue was somewhat startled, yet she quickly relaxed, seemingly soothed by your touch as well.

(Y/N) "...Sorry."

Clasping her hand again, you struggled to let go before gently putting her hands on her lap and maintaining that respectful distance.

(Y/N) "Knowing that you're alive again is more than enough for me. E-Even if you are on a razor's edge right now."

Truthfully, you didn't know if that was actually any better. You weren't sure if your heart could handle seeing her die again, but the illogical part of your brain was just happy to see her, to hear her speak, to hear her call out your name-

(Fugue) "(Y/N)."

You turned back to Fugue, who now had tears prickling the corners of her eyes too, her hand sitting in the middle of the space between you two.

(Fugue) "Do you know what my name means?"

You nod. You weren't oblivious to the symbolism of her new name.

(Y/N) "A loss of self."

(Fugue) "...And someone who's starting again."

She shifts her hand, her palm now facing outward. Now, she's giving you the smile you adored for all these years, one that never failed to make your heart race and cheeks flush.

This time, her smile is making tears rush down your face freely.

(Fugue) "I think it will take some time, but...I'd like to start again with you. And...to fall in love with you once more."

The smile you give back seems to have the same effect, even if Fugue doesn't entirely know the reason why she feels connected to you.

Not that particular bit stopped you from wiping away her tears this time, and letting your foreheads rest against each other.

Starting again didn't sound too bad.

#honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail headcanons #honkai star rail x reader #tingyun x reader #tingyun #tingyun honkai star rail #tingyun x y/n #tingyun x you #honkai star rail spoilers

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keehomania · 3 days ago

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like him — rcm (drabble)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ i’m everything that i’ve strived to be. so, do i look like him? do i look like him? i don’t look like him

he saw it every time he looked in the mirror. he knew it was there, following him, clinging to him like a second skin. even when he tried to move on, something was always there to remind him. he was reminded of it when he saw the look in his sister’s eye, the look of fear, disdain. he saw it every time he walked by her friends, their glares boring into his skull. sometimes he’d glare back, because he was supposed to. that was him. but not today.

today, he was tired. tired of the constant weight bearing down on his shoulders, tired of pretending it didn’t exist. he leaned forward, his palms pressing against the cold marble of the bathroom sink, the sharp edge biting into his hands as if to anchor him. his reflection stared back, hollowed and harrowed, a shadow of the man he was expected to be. the room was dim, the fluorescent light overhead flickering, casting uneven shadows across his face. it wasn’t the face of a son. it was the face of a ghost.

blood was thicker than water. he wanted to change, but how could he? how could he take a wrecking ball to the dominoes he had been placing since he was a little boy? every step, every choice, every piece of who he was had been meticulously constructed to fit the image ward cameron demanded of him. and if he tore it all down, what would be left? nothing. nothing but the boy who was never enough.

“ever since you were a little boy,” rose’s words echoed in his mind, sharp and cutting, delivered with the same coldness that had made her such a perfect match for ward. “even then, you were there, sucking up to him.”

it wasn’t the words themselves that stung. no, it was the venom, the quiet disdain in her voice, the way she said it like it was a fact, a cruel joke at his expense. because she knew. everyone knew. rafe cameron, desperate for his father’s approval, clinging to the scraps of affection ward had dangled before him like bait.

he didn’t know when it had started. maybe it had always been that way. maybe he had never been his daddy’s little boy, not really. maybe he had just been a means to an end, a pawn in the game ward was always playing. but he’d wanted it to be real. god, how he’d wanted it to be real. he dreamt about it sometimes. about him.

sometimes they’d talk, just the two of them, no tension, no expectations. his father would sit across from him, his expression soft, his words kind. other times, they’d hug, ward’s arms wrapping around him in a way that felt safe, steady, the way a father’s embrace should. those dreams were the worst. because he couldn’t remember which parts were real and which weren’t. did his father ever hold him like that? did he ever look at him with pride, with love? or was it all a fabrication, a desperate attempt by his mind to fill in the gaping holes his father had left behind?

rafe swallowed hard, his throat tight, his chest heavier with every breath. the mirror in front of him blurred as his vision clouded, tears threatening to spill. he clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms, grounding himself in the pain. rose had been wrong about one thing. he hadn’t stopped being his daddy’s little boy. not really. because even now, with ward gone, with the weight of his father’s sins pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket, rafe still wanted to make him proud. even now, he still wanted to be enough.

he looked like him. he’d seen it first when he ward had died, standing in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom, the weight of his father’s suit draped over his shoulders. it didn’t fit him—not then, not now—but he’d thought, this is what it means to be the man of the house. to carry the weight, to wear the armor. the fabric swallowed him whole, but he’d stood there anyway, staring at himself, trying to see what his father saw. trying to see the man he was supposed to become.

but all he saw were his father’s eyes. cold. empty. they stared back at him, unrelenting, the kind of eyes that gave nothing and took everything. he didn’t have the beard yet, or the wrinkles etched deep into his face like scars from a life lived with too much pride and too little joy. not yet, at least. but the eyes were there, as unmistakable as the blood that tied them together. he looked like him. and it haunted him.

it haunted him every time he caught his reflection in the mirror, every time he passed a window and saw the faintest shadow of himself. it haunted him in the moments of quiet, when there was no one around to pretend for, no one to blame but himself. because no matter how much he hated it—hated him—he couldn’t escape it. ward had known it too.

rafe saw it in the way his father’s eyes would linger on him, not with love, but with a strange, detached fascination, like he was looking into a distorted version of himself. like he was trying to figure out how he’d gone so wrong. ward would see himself in his boy’s eyes, his own reflection staring back at him. and even that wasn’t enough. it wasn’t enough to love him. not the way rafe needed to be loved.

he had spent his whole life chasing it, that love, that approval. he’d followed his father like a shadow, desperate to be noticed, desperate to be something to him. he wanted to be seen, not as a reflection, but as a son. a boy who had tried so hard, who had given everything he had.

but ward had only ever seen the flaws. the cracks. the places where rafe didn’t measure up. and rafe knew that because every glance, every word, every disappointed sigh had cut him deeper than he’d ever let on. and now ward was gone, and all that was left was the reflection. the man in the mirror, staring back at him with cold, empty eyes. the man he had spent his entire life trying not to become. the man he couldn’t stop becoming.

he wasn’t the hero he wanted to be. not in sarah’s eyes, and certainly not in ward’s. he wanted to be. god, he wanted to be. but heroes weren’t made of cracked mirrors and borrowed shadows, and that’s all rafe cameron had ever been. he wasn’t the strong, steady protector sarah needed. he wasn’t the prodigal son ward had demanded. he was something else entirely—something broken.

he went to sleep at night carrying the weight of sins he didn’t know how to put down. they clung to him like chains, heavy and unyielding, each link forged in blood he couldn’t wash away. his hands were stained, his soul tarnished, and it was all for his father. every mistake, every crime, every dark corner he’d backed himself into—it was all for ward. and yet, it was never enough.

he knew something was wrong with him. he could feel it, an ache deep in his chest, a hollowed-out space where something vital should have been. he’d told ward that once, on a cold night by the docks, his breath visible in the frigid air, his eyes wet with fresh tears.

“something’s wrong with me,” he’d said, his voice breaking as he looked at the man he was trying so hard to become.

ward had barely looked at him. he’d brushed it off with the same indifference he reserved for inconveniences, telling him to man up like it was that simple. like it was a choice. like rafe hadn’t been trying to man up every single day of his life, pulling on that damn suit and praying it would fit. it still didn’t fit.

he lashed out. he fought, screamed, tore through the world like a hurricane, desperate to prove that he was enough. desperate to hear the words he needed, the words he would never hear. he watched ward’s love go to sarah, to rose, to anyone but him. it didn’t matter what he did or how hard he tried. it was never going to be him. but it was supposed to be. he needed it to be. he was angry at ward, at sarah, at the pogues, at the whole damn world. but most of all, he was angry at himself. because deep down, he blamed himself.

he blamed himself for not trying hard enough, for not being good enough, for not being enough. if he’d been stronger, smarter, better, maybe things would have been different. maybe ward would have loved him the way he loved sarah. maybe rafe would have felt like a son instead of a failure. but he wasn’t. and he didn’t. and so he stayed angry. It was easier that way. easier to burn than to crumble. easier to fight than to fall apart. easier to hate himself than to admit he’d never been given a fair chance to begin with.

the house was too quiet, the kind of quiet that felt wrong, like it was waiting for something to shatter. you stood in the doorway, watching him pace the room, the expensive rug muffling the sound of his footsteps. he was wearing the suit again, the one that didn’t fit right. too big in the shoulders, too long in the sleeves. it hung off him like it didn’t belong, like he didn’t belong in it.

you were the only one who saw through the mask he wore, the carefully constructed armor of arrogance and cruelty that he carried like a second skin. to everyone else, rafe cameron was the villain in his own story—reckless, unhinged, the cautionary tale whispered in the quiet corners of polite conversation. but not to you.

to you, he wasn’t the monster they said he was. he was the boy behind the mask, raw and bleeding, his soul fraying at the edges. they called him unredeemable, a lost cause, but you wondered when the last time was that any of them had asked him how he was really doing. when had they looked at the storm raging behind his eyes and dared to reach out a hand instead of casting judgment?

rafe didn’t wear his pain on his sleeve; he buried it deep, where no one could touch it. but you saw it. in the way his hands trembled when he thought no one was looking. in the way his voice would crack, barely audible, when he spoke of things he wished he could change but never did. you knew he wasn’t the bad guy people made him out to be. he was just a boy who wanted to be loved. that was the tragedy of it all, wasn’t it? he wanted love so desperately, but love had never been gentle with him. the heart, after all, came with blood. and his heart had bled for so long, it felt like there was nothing left.

“rafe,” you called softly, but he didn’t hear you. or maybe he did, and he just couldn’t stop.

his movements were erratic, sharp, like he was trying to outrun something that wasn’t there. his hands twitched at his sides, curling into fists before unclenching again. he muttered under his breath, words you couldn’t make out, his voice low and strained, like he was arguing with himself. you stepped closer, hesitating when his shoulders stiffened.

“rafe,” you tried again, louder this time. he stopped.

for a moment, you thought he might turn to you, might let you in. but then his fist shot out, slamming into the wall with a sickening crack that made you flinch. he hit the wall again, and again, each impact reverberating through the room, through you. his knuckles split open, blood smearing against the pristine white paint, but he didn’t stop. his breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, his chest heaving like he couldn’t get enough air.

“rafe, please,” you begged, stepping closer, your voice trembling. “you’re scaring me.”

he froze, his fist hovering mid-air, his whole body trembling as though he were holding himself together by sheer force of will. slowly, he turned his head, and for the first time, you saw his eyes. it wasn’t you he was fighting. it wasn’t even the world. it was himself. your heart ached as you watched him, standing there in that ill-fitting suit, his knuckles dripping blood onto the marble floor. he looked like a child playing dress-up, trying so desperately to be something he wasn’t.

you reached out, your hand hovering near his arm, but he felt so far away. you didn’t know how to reach him, didn’t know how to pull him back from wherever he’d gone. so you stayed. you stayed and watched as he shook, as he muttered, as he fell apart piece by piece. and then, suddenly, it was like all the fight drained out of him.

he collapsed to the ground, his knees hitting the marble with a dull thud. his bloody hands hung limp at his sides, his head bowed, his breath hitching in his throat. you didn’t think. you just moved. sinking to your knees beside him, you wrapped your arms around his head, pulling him into your chest. he didn’t resist, didn’t say a word, didn’t even cry. he just let you hold him, his body trembling against yours.

he didn’t cry right away. at first, there was just the silence—the kind that suffocates, heavy and oppressive, wrapping itself around you like a shroud. his chest heaved against you, his breaths uneven and ragged, but the tears didn’t come. they were caught somewhere deep inside him, trapped beneath years of anger and shame, beneath the weight of a name that had always felt like a curse.

you didn’t say anything. not yet. you didn’t dare look down at him, not when you could feel the tremor in his body, the way his hands shook as they hovered near your sides like he didn’t know if he was allowed to hold on. so you held on for him.

your arms stayed locked around him, pulling him closer, your fingers threading through his hair in slow, soothing strokes. you didn’t care that his blood was on the floor, that it was smearing against your clothes. all you cared about was him.

“rafe,” you whispered, your voice trembling but steady. “you’re okay.”

the words weren’t just for him; they were for you too. a lifeline for the both of you as the room seemed to close in, as the echoes of his fists meeting the wall still lingered in the air. it was exactly what ward had said to him, but when you said it, you said it like a promise. not a platitude. not a lie. you weren't convicing him, you weren't convicing yourself. you said it like you believed it, and no one had believed in him. and that was when it happened.

the first tear slipped down his face, silent and almost imperceptible, blending into the sweat on his brow. but then came another, and another, until they were streaming freely, carving paths down his cheeks, dripping onto the marble floor beneath him.

his sobs were quiet at first, muffled against your chest, but they grew louder, rawer, until they were shaking his entire body. he was falling apart in your arms, piece by jagged piece, and all you could do was hold him together as best you could.

“i’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice breaking on the words. “i’m sorry, i’m so—”

“don’t,” you cut him off, your hand still stroking his hair, your other arm pulling him impossibly closer. “let it out, come on. you're doing so good.”

and he did, because he was. he cried for everything he’d lost, for everything he’d done, for everything he’d never been. he cried for the little boy who had worn his father’s suit, desperate to be something he could never be. he cried for the man he had become, the man who terrified even himself. but most of all, he cried because you didn’t look at him the way everyone else did, the way he did.

you didn’t look at him with fear or disdain or judgment. you didn’t tell him to man up or walk away when he unraveled. you stayed.

“you’re okay,” you murmured again, your voice soft but sure. “you’re not him.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

a/n: s1-s3 rafe they could never understand u like i do

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screamlet · 2 days ago

Text

fic: blow up that chopper epilogue (118 daily drabble)

pairing: bucktommy rating: mature word count: 1.8k epilogue (3.4k total); status: complete tags: breakup/makeup; fix-it fic; buck pov; future fic; near death experience; helicopter crash! notes: you can read all the drabbles and epilogue at the ao3 link, and in their original post-by-post form in the #blow up that chopper (118dailydrabble) tag.

Series Summary:

Buck reads to himself: If my grief is violent enough, perhaps he will come back to life again. It sits uncomfortably on his tongue until the sirens blare. They jump into action, but Buck freezes at the bottom of the stairs. "Mayday, mayday, mayday, companies respond to an explosion at Harbor Station."

---

1 YEAR LATER (DECEMBER 2025)

It's only been a month, so Buck's going to forgive himself for still feeling giddy about this: kissing Tommy in the parking lot of their favorite breakfast place before heading home together (to their house) after a shift.

"Love you, I'll see you at home," Tommy says, just before he kisses Buck.

Buck smiles into it, every time. "Where else would I be?"

Tommy still doesn't have a standard quip in response, so he kisses Buck again. He's smiling, too, and smiles brighter as Buck whispers I love you into their kiss.

---

All things considered, Tommy had survived the accident at Harbor by moments. There wasn't much to uncover about what happened: there was a call for a medevac and one of the other A-shift pilots, Gregson, took it. Almost two thousand feet in the air, he had a fatal heart attack and the helicopter crashed on the station. Seven people died, including Gregson, Captain Norton, and their probie Serrano, who was a month away from finishing their probationary year.

The explosion had thrown Tommy free and clear of the worst of it. He could have died immediately, like Gregson and others in the station, but the way he landed had broken his arm and shoulder, cracked his ribs, and ruptured his spleen. If Buck and Chimney hadn't immediately spotted him on the ground in their line of vision, he would have died on the ground (instead of only three or four times in the ambulance).

("That's two," Chimney had said when Tommy woke up in the hospital. "You're just messing with me at this point.")

While Harbor was out of commission, the remaining crew had been split up across the city. Once Tommy had recovered, he was assigned to another Air Ops station to manage and train newer pilots. At his friend Sal's urging, he completed the training and testing so that Harbor Station would reopen with Interim Captain Kinard at the helm.

Some but not all of the original Harbor crew wanted to come back. It was a relief to Tommy (and Buck, too), that Lucy was one of them—she had been on the most fortuitously scheduled vacation to Italy anyone had ever taken, and came back to the literal ruins of her professional life. She promised to keep Interim Captain Kinard in line, and knock around anyone who doubted him (though Buck couldn't imagine who would).

And Buck stayed. He stayed and he fought for Tommy, and with Tommy, because meeting Robert Kinard had taught him one important thing: Tommy was stubborn and myopic and trapped in his own head, and Buck had to stop holding back if they wanted to stay together.

After they had broken up, Buck knew that he had rushed ahead too quickly. He thought that if they ever got back together, he would have to slow down and handle Tommy with kid gloves, incredibly gentle. That wasn't going to work, not when Buck had seen the heavy hand that had molded Tommy more than either of them wanted to admit.

Tommy had spent his entire adult life struggling against the man Robert wanted him to be, and Buck would have to drag him out of Robert's shadow by fucking force. Sometimes that meant telling Tommy he was wrong, just plain wrong.

It meant that both of them had to trust they were in this together: Tommy wasn't leading Buck into a life he didn't understand, and Buck wasn't trapping Tommy in a relationship that Tommy didn't want. It meant that sometimes Tommy had to walk away from a fight, go on a walk or a drive, and they both trusted that he would come back. What they had was worth fighting for, and neither of them would give into the fear of leaving and being left behind.

All things considered, almost dying made Tommy want to actually live, and ask for things, and make space for the things he wanted: I want to train pilots. I want to rebuild Harbor so our friends who are gone don't think we abandoned them. I want to become a firehouse captain. I want to stay on the ground and rebuild a station, and let others take to the sky and find themselves, like I did.

I want to be with you, Evan, even though sometimes I look at you and don't know how you got into my life and why you'd want to stay. I want you to stay at my house more often, as much as you think I want and then as much as you actually want. I want you to stop being afraid to leave things here. I want you to move in with me. I want us to trust that this isn't too much for us. I want us to make our future. I want it now.

So Buck stayed and made it theirs.

---

Tommy beats him home, but not by much. This might be one of Buck's favorite secret Tommy rituals, the ones that Buck didn't see until he moved in.

Every time Tommy gets home from a shift, he's going to stand at the mailbox and flip through every single piece of mail, sigh loudly, then head inside. Buck grabs his bag and heads over so he can hook his chin over Tommy's shoulder and participate, too.

"I'm dreading the day all the junk mailers discover you've moved," Tommy murmurs. "Never thought I'd need a bigger mailbox."

"Homeowner worries," Buck adds seriously, then grins when Tommy makes a face at him. "Anything good?"

Tommy hands over the three Christmas cards he's found so far: one of Tommy's friends from the Army, the Wilsons (and they are always The Wilsons on their envelopes), and the whole Ramirez family (one of Tommy's friends from Harbor).

"It's been long enough that I even miss his snoring." Tommy sighs. "May 2026, the return of Harbor Station." He pauses, but doesn't try to turn and look at Buck. "I keep thinking about how weird it'll feel. I'll be happy to be back because I love that place. That's my firehouse, my station, but."

"Yeah," Buck says. "Yeah, I get it."

"It'll never be the same." Tommy pauses, then says, "They're doing a private dedication in April. I put it on the calendar."

"I saw." Buck gently kisses the side of his neck. "I'll be there. And you'll be there, Captain Kinard."

"Interim captain," Tommy corrects.

"Interim with high probability of being made permanent after six months," Buck corrects further. "Because you're the best and no one loves that place like you do. And hey, what about my snoring? I thought I was special."

That finally gets Tommy to turn and kiss Buck, right at the corner of his mouth. "Dork. Brat. Whatever you're playing at today."

"Brat, definitely," Buck says as he bites at his lower lip. "Come on, there's still more mail."

"There's still more mail, god forbid it ever stops. Huh."

There's a red envelope, so it must be another Christmas card. The handwriting is very careful and old-fashioned, tight lines and loops at the very center of the envelope. It's the kind of precision and attention to the most minute details that he sees every day, but now it's postmarked from Ventura, CA.

Mr. Thomas Kinard Mr. Evan Buckley

"Now how in the hell did he get my address? And how did he track you here?" Tommy asks. Buck finally notices the R. Kinard in the top left corner. No return address, just the city, state, and zip code.

"Internet, probably," Buck says. "And my Instagram isn't private. I didn't post your face but I did post, you know, moving boxes and stuff. I'm sorry if that was too much."

"Nothing to apologize for," Tommy replies. "And I doubt my father uses Instagram. Some nosy cousin must have snitched."

He props his chin on Tommy's shoulder again. He doesn't want Tommy to see his face, as curious as he is to see Tommy's. There's a lump in his throat that Robert Kinard doesn't deserve, but Buck still feels something. There's no bridge to build here, but there's this crumb: I see you.

And maybe on some level it terrifies Tommy to be seen, but... maybe it doesn't.

It's one good thing. One good thing. One good thing this man can do.

Buck steps back and takes the rest of the mail as Tommy holds the envelope and considers it. He finally opens it and, to Buck's surprise, laughs.

"Didn't expect this sappy shit from him," Tommy says as he shows Buck the card. It's pretty typical drug store Christmas fare with a big white dove holding a ribbon, some silver glitter, red accents, and in huge cursive script the words: Peace, Love, and Joy to Your Family.

Buck wonders if he's imagining the way time stretches out as he and Tommy look at the card.

To Your Family

It's one good thing.

Buck coughs and asks, "Anything inside? Like a message, not—"

"He owes me a lot more than a $5 bill in a gas station Christmas card if he wants to make up with me." Inside the card it says: Merry Christmas. -Robert

"He didn't sign it Dad?" Buck asks.

"Yeah," Tommy says slowly. "Yeah, that's weird, but he's never sent me a Christmas card before so he's probably never had to think about it." Tommy looks at it for a beat, then closes it. "I don't hate it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Tommy sounds a little surprised by himself. "I don't want it with the others open on the mantle, but maybe like… still in the envelope, off to the side. Just so it's there." There's a beat before Tommy says, "I just like seeing our names like this."

Buck smiles to himself. "Me too."

Tommy catches his eye and laughs as he tucks the card back into the envelope. "Alright, let's get inside. I need a nap and then we've got our Howie and Maddie double date tonight: dinner and vintage Christmas hijinks. Christmas in Connecticut, baby. Deeply underappreciated classic. I think you're gonna love it."

"If you love it, I love it."

"And it's under two hours."

"I love it," Buck laughs. "Love it more than anything."

They only make it a few steps to the front door before Tommy pulls Buck into his arms, hands on his waist and movie-star-dreamy eyes fixed on Buck's. "More than me?"

Buck pretends to think about it. "If it's under 90 minutes before the credits."

Tommy doesn't even bother rolling his eyes. He kisses Buck and deepens the kiss when Buck wraps his arms around his neck. There's no forgetting where they are as they kiss: in front of their home, on their street, in their neighborhood, right out in the open for anyone and everyone to see. There's nowhere they'd rather be.

#911 fic #bucktommy fic #bucktommy #tevan #tevan fic #kinley fic #tommy kinard #evan buckley #my fic #my writing #fix it fic #bucktommy fix it fic #blow up that chopper (118dailydrabble)#118dailydrabble

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husbandhoshi · 2 days ago

Note

all these asks are so cute omg wait i just saw this !! if you're still doing them i'd love to hear about jun please :3

mdni underneath the cut!

it's nights like these where you're thankful soundproof walls exist. ("soundproof", heavy on the air quotes. you're 90% sure the hotel concierge mentioned something like that when junhui had checked in. the other 10% of your poor brain was figuring out how to deal with the vibrator in your cunt.)

the silk sheets of the bed feel endless, cool like water against your skin. you lie on your back, feeling the bite of your fingernails in your thighs as you hold them open. between them, junhui's kneeling figure.

earlier, your fiancé had given you your first birthday gift of the day. double holiday, he had called it. double the gifts. naively, you had thought it was makeup, maybe a new perfume. instead, you had undone the big bow, unwrapped the sparkly paper, and found, instead, the vibrator. quickly, you had felt all the blood rush to your cheeks, then, downstairs. even more quickly, junhui had you bent over his knee, watching you take every inch of your new gift. (the second gift: the most beautiful necklace you had ever seen. the price, even more outrageous.)

"c-can't," you breathe. your voice crawls its way from your chest, curls in your throat. "wanna cum...feels too good."

he responds with a cruel tilt of his head, a smile playing on his lips. "you're almost there, darling. show me how good you are."

delirious, you nod. almost there, you repeat, your mind treading over those two words despite the pleasure. you had already endured a phone call with your best friend (in which junhui had decided to try out all the intensity settings on his phone) and your birthday dinner (in which you wore a dress with no panties, and he couldn't seem to get his hands off your thighs). you could do this, a few minutes more.

through your frosted vision, you watch junhui palm himself over his jeans, rough, desperate. without thinking, you whimper, feeling yourself tighten around the toy. compared to feeling him, this was nothing. this didn't hug your sweet spot, didn't fill you til you couldn't breathe, didn't rock against your clit just how you needed, not like junhui did.

fuck. now you're thinking about junhui fucking you, which is not helping your situation. if you're lucky, he'd do it tonight, with your ankles over his shoulders.

"you're soaked," he murmurs, voice quiet, reverent. he parts your legs a touch wider, his touch searing into you, so that you are fully on display. "so cute."

like this, you can feel everything, the cold air of the room you're in, the way his gaze seems to haunt your skin. a few gasping breaths, oh, even just a breath too deep would send you over, but you're determined to be good, no, better than good. you squeeze your eyes shut, letting your lips fall open in another noise somewhere between a moan and a pathetic hiccup--no longer can you tell the difference.

it's then that junhui sees this gasping window of opportunity and places two long fingers in your mouth, right against your tongue, and watches as you gag. "you know what to do, pretty girl," he tells you, and you do. like a dog, you suck, dreaming about him doing the same with his cock. traitorously, your hips rock up at the mere thought, oh, all the pressure in your belly might just make you explode.

but junhui is never cruel, never unloving to his favorite girl, the only one he's loved like this. so with these fingers, covered in your desperation, he trails them down your trembling neck, the curve of your tits, swollen from his mouth, over your stomach, and presses them to your puffy clit.

no words come to you, instead just a cry, shuddering, one that rips through your body. a white-hot feeling erupts inside you, one like fireworks, and you cum around the vibrator, again and again and again, as junhui works you with two fingers alone.

you're gone, somewhere unspeakable, too high to tell him again, again, i want more. luckily, he's always been able to read your mind. a long gasp, a reaching hand, a hot mouth over yours; before you know it, the vibrator is god knows where, replaced by junhui's cock, heavy on your abdomen.

"ready for round two?"

#happy bday june i will never let you escape me #ask #mutuals #june #junhui smut #seventeen smut #mine

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eph3merall · 1 day ago

Note

could you please write some fluff about Chris having sleep paralysis or a crazy nightmare and reader comforts him and like rubs his back and what not love you so much mwah xx

fluff request !! i dont write mainly fluff much !!! very different type of request, but i think this turned out okay :) love u love u

chris' room is quiet, deathly silent besides a few whistles of wind from outside. fluffy blankets are thrown over your body, and you arent entirely sure what wakes you from your slumber. maybe a shift and a rustle besides you, followed by panting, shaky breaths. you blink your eyes open slowly, rubbing at them and stretching your limbs out.

rolling your hear to the side, you see chris is sat up with a hand in his hair and his chest rising and falling far too fast to be normal. blinking away the remnants of exhaustion in your vision, you shift to sit up—letting the blankets fall off your body as you look to the brunett besides you.

"hey... y'okay?" your voice is tentatively soft in the quiet space, worried eyes scanning over him. you duck your head to try and peer into chris' eyes and get a glimpse of his face, before he's hurriedly flipping the strands of brown hair in front of his forehead just for them to fall back into place. his smile is shaky and he nods a few times.

"yeah, yeah yeah, yeah.."

it doesn't stop your arm from looping around his shoulders, pulling his body towards yours as both of you sigh. your hand loosens its hold and shifts to rub at his back, pressing soothing circles as you let your head tilt to rest on his shoulder. your eyes close, waiting to feel chris' breathing even out.

slowly but surely, with the help of holding his hand in yours and pressing it to your own chest, chris calms down. the beat of your own heart helped him regain control of his own breaths and you feel a sense of pride wash over you. you tilt your head to give him a soft smile, as he lets you drop his hand only to intertwine your fingers in between the two of your bodies.

your thumb rubs across his knuckles and he squeezes your hand as if saying 'thank you'. the faint sound of a clock ticking can be heard through the howling wind coming from outside, banging at windows and doors as you take a few deep breaths yourself.

"so.. y'have a nightmare or something?"

chris nods and you can faintly see him roll his eyes—like he doesn't really need to be comforted like this. but you know he enjoys the touch and the reassuring words anyways, so you dont bother pulling away from him as a light chuckle fleets past your lips.

"it's okay, y'know. not like im gonna make fun of you or something," and your heart warms when chris laughs. hes scoffing and giggling at your words, brushing the hair out of his face and groaning all dramatically.

"nah it's.. it's okay. i'm literally fine, babe, promise. was just some stupid nightmare 'bout stupid shit," you cant help but look at him weirdly when he says 'stupid' twice in that sentence, giggling and leaning closer. you let your fingers untangle with his and you spread your fingers our, watching as chris does the same. you let your thumb trace across the length of his digits, over the veins you can kind of see in the dark and just around the silhouette of his hand.

"dreamt about you, y'know? but like, it was scary," you cant help but laugh at what he says, and chris sighs dramatically like you've hurt his feelings, only continuing when you mumble a little 'sorry sorry, continue' under your breath. "like, you were all mean and shit. and then, for some reason, you ended up fucking dead? like.."

your head shakes at the words chris is mumbling into the darkness, eyes trained on the bleary sight of his hand under yours. his shoulder knocks against yours briefly, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as you lock your fingers again and then turn to look at his face.

"but its okay. im okay, im not dead," you giggle for a second, only talking again through stifled snickers when chris punches your shoulder playfully, "and you are okay too. it was exactly that, just a nightmare. im okay, im here.. you're here too. its alright."

and when chris nods, you know he feels much better, his breathing has evened out, and from what you can see of the expression on his face he just looks exhausted now. you can assume it's around 2 am or something, having gotten into bed just at 12.

"hey.."

your voice is mellow as a hand reaches up to cup his cheek, fingers brushing against the stubble dotting his jawline and skin. you turn your head to look at chris closely, then lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips. just a quick little peck, then moving to press a few more to his cheeks and at the corner of his lip.

you dont miss the way he seems to deflate, content and relaxed now. his own hands end up cupping your face and leaning in to press a few of his kisses to your face. except he lets them linger, lets you feel them. which is a little ironic, because it really should be you being the one kissing him like this—all romantic and sweet. but you dont protest, sighing into his mouth when he locks your lips with his own.

its just for a few seconds before chris pulls away, and even in the darkness you can see he smile on his face. it warms you up inside, shifting on his bed to get back under the covers and pulling him with you. your head ends up on his chest, your own lips curling into a grin.

"go to bed, chris. you'll be okay," the words hold reassurance in them, and you're sure he will be okay. this is chris we're talking about, after all.

"i love you, baby."

"i love you too."

@conspiracy-ash @sturniolosfavkayleigh @lvrsturniolo @st7rnioioss @meatballlover10 @ashlishes @ferdzom @55sturn @chriseatingmeoutin4k @unknvhx @mattslolita @chaossturns @slut4brunettes @starclinexo @slvtf0rchr1s @itsmaddielouis @slut4chris888

—

©eph3merall 2024

#ᶻz eph3merall #ᶻz asks #ᶻz anons #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo blurb #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fluff #sturniolo triplets fluff

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remedyturtles · 2 days ago

Note

Hey!! For the angst dialogue prompt, mayhaps 30? Perchance? Not sure if you wanted charas at well but I'd love to see disaster twins... I'm still recovering from the firefight addition (it was amazing and I'm shaking you /pos)

perchance

halloo!! thank you @kodogaron for the prompt! i hope u enjoy :D

wordcount ~1k, bad future, tw for amputation

30. "You're okay. You've got to be okay. You've got to be. You're okay. Please. Please be okay."

“Master Donatello? Are you alright?”

It was hazy and distant, coming from far away, as the world was humming urgently in his ear. He was vaguely aware that he’d gasped when the sensation hit, but couldn’t recall for a moment what he was doing or where he was.

All the air was stolen from his lungs. His body was trembling with the feeling, flash-pain that didn’t last longer than a moment but the memory of it was haunting him. All along his right side, but especially his arm. His fingertips were swimming in tv static — numb, in a moving way. And that momentary agony…

“I’m fine.” Donnie said blindly, blinking the stars out of his eyes. As he remembered where he was and what he was doing – battlefield, Kraang, end of the world – he forcibly shook off the horrible feeling inside him. To survive was to push on. Even as dread needled him, persistent and sharp.

He couldn't feel his right side fingertips, as he set up his sniper nest. Providing cover, breathing smoke, pulling all the tricks he knew to slow his heartbeat when it kept leaping out of his chest when he remembered that flashbang of pain. Something was wrong. Until he cleared this area, he couldn't leave anyway, so it was better to buckle down and work. The call-and-respond of the team he was supporting moving forwards. And his fingers were numb. They were numb. Dread, hot, boiling dread. Finish the task. Go back to base.

His communicator chirped. Donnie pressed to receive and said, "Donatello."

"Don?" Raph's voice told him everything he didn't want to hear.

"What happened?" Donnie snapped. Heart going double-time.

"I don't know yet." Raph sounded weary. "Just a message from his away team that they have wounded and they're en route back to base. I haven't heard who, but. It wasn't Leo who called."

And Leo wouldn't do that to them, leave them wondering. If he didn't report back, then he couldn't.

Fuck it. Donnie packed up his sniper and decided stealth was for the lucky. They weren't lucky. "Ten minutes."

"Don –"

"Ten minutes." Donnie snapped back, a little wild, panic clenching a tight fist around his throat. Eyes sparking dangerously. "See you then."

Raph paused for a thoughtful second, and spoke even softer, "Don't make it two, bud."

"I'll be fine." Donnie roughly stood, summoning flight tech that had the air smelling of ozone. "They, however, will not be."

Ten minutes later Donnie strode back to base to find chaos. He'd arrived just in time to meet the away team as they came in, and the roaring static in his mind grew louder and louder as he shouldered his way through the disorganized calamity. Blood and cries. Donnie's fingertips were numb, numb, numb.

“Master Donatello!” A young soldier who’d been on Leo’s team gasped, eyes wide and pupils small. “I’m — I’m sorry, he’s —“

“Where is he?” Donnie didn’t acknowledge the apology. He didn’t know if he could. The fingertips on his right hand were numb.

The kid pointed with a shaking hands, towards the nucleus of the chaos, where medics flourished and yelled, and there was a distinct lack of a familiar voice protesting the treatment. Claiming he could do it himself. Making some stupid joke.

Donnie cut through the crowd as if it wasn’t even there. Vision narrow and grey, focused on a flash of blue through the wall of bodies, interspersed with red, red, red —

Someone caught his arm. Knocked with that tv static feeling, like the limb was asleep, and Donnie turned to blindly snarl at who dared to stop him — only to find the intense worry chasm of his biggest brother.

“They’re doing what they can. Let them work.” Raph said. “You don’t wanna see him like that.”

Donnie angrily yanked his arm out of Raph’s grip, because how dare he tell Donnie he couldn’t see his own twin. There was no state of being where he wouldn’t want to be there for Leo, especially when the alternative was to leave him alone to suffer.

And. Donnie faltered at the reality. The blood soaked floor, Leo’s pale face, and the frayed edges of flesh where his right arm used to be. The sight of gore was already an issue for Donnie’s weak stomach, but on someone he loved so dearly it was a level of horror that pierced skin deep. Leo’s eyes were closed, and Donnie — he held Leo's head and got in the way of the people trying to save him.

"You're okay.” Donnie whispered in his ear, desperate. “You've got to be okay. You've got to be. You're okay. Please. Please be okay."

Manic, almost wild. Raph appeared behind him and held his shoulders. “Donnie.”

“I’ll fix it.” Donnie tipped his head back to look at Raph with red rimmed eyes. “I’ll—I’ll fix it, I can, I’ll make him a new arm. He’s gonna be fine. He will. Please. Please — please.”

Raph sighed. He gently tugged Donnie back.

The medics swarmed Leo, stabilizing him enough to move. Donnie fought Raph's hold, pleading, "He has to be okay, he has to, I can't –"

Raph ignored his struggle and cradled him close, softly kissing the top of his head and rumbling sadly, "They're gonna do everything they can."

Donnie heaved for air. His fingertips were numb. They never stopped being numb.

#rem askbox #ask game #rem fic

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kazusys · 2 days ago

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— him with you.

you and xiao argue. the aftermath mixed with some jealousy, near death, and a talk helps fix things. / hurt to comfort / cw: arguing, near death (not detailed), mentions of headaches and stuff / other: you’re dating, it’s implied that xiao spends a lot of time with lumine. obviously, you are not the traveler. (❕) a/n: wrote this after reading a lotta xiao angst :( i love lumine dw but i needed someone for the object of jealousy 😔 not proofread

pair(s): xiao x reader

wc: ~1.1k words

the wind whistled past your ears as the lantern in your hands seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment, as was your heart waiting for your beloved to arrive.

you even selected a secluded spot— almost perfect— knowing that xiao didn’t like the crowds.

if only the night two days ago never happened.

it was an argument, a small spark that flared into a raging blaze of words never taken back, unable to and blocked off by pride.

you felt your hands shiver. was this it?

your eyes trailed over to the people readying their lanterns, over to the hills and over to a specific faraway duo standing together, two lanterns held between them.

for some reason, your vision starts blurring and you have the urge to go closer, not in sight, but closer— prove yourself wrong.

but deep down, you knew who they were.

they fit next to each other nicely, more so than you could ever see with you and xiao. xiao and lumine. it’s her, it’s always been her, hasn’t it?

“hasn’t it?”

“what are you talking about?”

“it’s her. it’s always been her.”

“this is why mortals are so aggravating. you’re straying from our original topic of conversation.”

and the sudden thought leaves you almost paralyzed. “i’m not good enough. but she is. she can make him happier than i ever could.”

and you leave. all the accusations on both ends, all the daggers left in a sharper state than ever, every single thing he downgraded you on and every insecurity you spilled out with malice in your voice, all left unresolved as you both ignored the problems and each other.

as he stands with the renowned traveler, the beauty and gem of a person, who wasn’t you.

it wasn’t the first time.

retreating away from their figures as quietly as you can, you return to the spot you were at before.

as you watch all the lanterns float up into the air, especially those two’s, you send yours up too as the rest of you goes down.

and the only sound you process is the sound of your sobs and the tears watering the grass beneath you.

the next few days are dulled and robotic. painful sunny days going on and on despite the turmoil you feel, like the world shifted but no one notices except you and those who share the same feelings you harbor. you don’t feel like much. you don’t call xiao a single time. why would you? he’s probably busy…

…with…

…lumine.

and she deserves it. you can’t hate her.

you view the beings in the distance that you were tasked with on killing. you know that this’ll be harder than usual. everything is. with everything going on and your lack of sleep mulling over the said events, maybe fighting and continuing on with your line of work isn’t the best choice.

but it’s the only thing that can take your mind off of everything. at least, that’s what you think, until that everything invades your mind as you take down one of the abyss mages. you stumble at the thoughts, your legs trembling as you threaten to sink to the ground.

you don’t want to do this anymore. you can’t move.

and with your frozen stance, one of them strikes you away, and yet you can’t find yourself doing anything.

you don’t have the energy. you don’t have the motivation. nothing seems to matter anymore, and all that can fill your head are the thoughts that if someone else had replaced you on this job, she would’ve never had this problem.

she.

the last thing you can recall is a gust of wind and him in front of you.

you wake up in your shared room with xiao with a throbbing headache. everything rushes in, making the pulsing of your head turn into a mallet bashing it in.

there’s a note beside you in xiao’s handwriting with some sort of mint smelling substance, to help with the pain in your head. he wrote, “we’ll talk when you feel better. i love you. i’m sorry. -xiao”

you feel a part of you mend together with those simple words.

a few minutes later, he appears. you greet him with a small smile, only to be greeted back with a, “why didn’t you call me?”

you avert your eyes and look down at your blankets. “i just… figured…” your original reasoning sounded petty in your head, now that you were rested and less clouded.

“i told you to say my name whenever you are in trouble. so why didn’t you?” he said after a few moments of silence.

“i thought you wouldn’t come.”

he knelt down to your level. “that’s foolish. why wouldn’t i?”

you inhale, feeling tears build in your eyes as your lungs start to burn. “i… it’s everything— the argument, the way we didn’t talk for days after, how i saw you with lumine at the festival— i didn’t think you’d come because i thought you didn’t care anymore… i-i thought…”

you catch your breath as you measly try to wipe away your falling tears.

“i thought you fell out of love.”

you risk a glance at him, seeing his bewildered expression before hugging you tight.

your eyes widened as you felt his own tears fall with yours.

“i’m so sorry. i never should’ve… i never…” you hear him sniff, “i love you. i should’ve realized, i— i should’ve given you more of my time and fixed everything during the lantern rite, i shouldn’t have gone and— and made it worse.” his small sobs in between his words breaks your heart after it mends from what he’s spilling. but it’s a different break. a break that makes you want to hold him forever and never be the cause of his sad tears, ever again.

“xiao…”

“i’m a horrible lover. why did i say all those things? i… i’m sorry, i’m sorry… i love you so, so much, please don’t… please don’t end things with me, i still need you.” his voice breaks with his last few words as you sob together.

“i-i love you too, we both— we both said some things and i should’ve trusted you more— and— can i kiss you, please?”

he immediately presses his lips against yours, realizing just how much he missed the feeling and fit of you with him.

you two would talk more later when you both are more in your right headspace and can be more comprehensible, but for now…you both hold the other, crying and throwing “i love you”’s at each other as you relish in the vulnerability and the person you both missed most.

#[ 📄 pages . . . ]#xiao genshin x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #arguing #argument #jealousy #hugging #kissing #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #xiao #hurt to comfort #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #dating #genshin x reader

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14th-century-verona-queer · 2 days ago

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i’ve been watching dandadan and let’s talk about it.

first of all, no i’m not gonna talk about the plot or any of that stuff. i mean i probably will later but that’s not why im here

i’m here to talk about the glory that is momokarun.

when i tell you. that these are THE CUTEST MOTHERFUCKERS IN THE PLANET. I MEAN IM KICKING CRYING SCREAMING GIGGLING THROWING UP WAILING SOBBING SHIVERING SHITTING VIBRATING.

if you thought i loved deadpool and wolverine i love these two even more.

THEYRE SO FUCKING CUTE. PLEASE SEARCH THE FANART UP ON PINTREST IM JJST AHEHZJQHDBWBDBABD

look at what you’ve done, dandadan. now i want a cute little shy nerdy boyfriend. what the fuck.

not to mention that they’re dynamic? chefs kiss absolutely incredible.

⚠️SPOILER WARNING ⚠️

like they start off just exploring different shitty ass ruins (momo at somewhere aliens are rumored to be and okarun at somewhere a spirit is said to hang out) as a bet to be petty and because the don’t believe the other person and then it turns out to be TRUE and okarun just becomes undeniably fucked cause his entire dick is literally snatched and eaten by a grandma who can run 100 kilometers and hour (idk wtf that means in miles but it’s fast) (random but headcannon he’s ace so you can rip that from my cold dead hands (unrelated but pls remember for the love of god that he’s a freshman in high school. i do NOT wanna see any weird ass shit of him having sex HES A CHILD.)) so momo has to save his ass and it turns out she’s really pretty so he has a silly little crush on her and momo. i know that once he let his hair grow out wavy you see the vision. i see the vision. we ALL see the vision. ALSO HE TOOK THE TURNO GRANNY CURSE AND SAVES YOUR ASS MULTIPLE TIMES WHILST SAYING SHIT THAT MAKES YOU BLUSH AND HAVING THE SAME NAME AS YOUR CELEBRTY CRUSH. and now she spends the entirety of her time trying to get his balls back. what is life. please for the love of god. kiss and fall in love IM BEGGING YOU.

they’re so fucking cute. i can’t. i actually can’t. i’m so feral for them

#cori’s thoughts✨#dandadan #dan da dan #momo ayase #ken takakura #momokarun #okarun #momo x okarun #i love them so much #ahhhhhhh #look at them #i love them #cuties #so precious

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thequeenofthewinter · 2 days ago

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Work-in-Progress Wednesday

Happy 2025 to all of you lovely and talented individuals out there. I have already seen SO many beautiful works out there, so I know that creative energy is flowing.

Throwing my Idiots (tm) out there. There is some slightly suggestive content here as our boy (tm) starts to get a bit handsy, but nothing too explicit. (Also adding some bonus art WIP of these two that I am working on which is still in the lining stage.)

Tagging the talented: @oblivions-dawn @dirty-bosmer @skyrim-forever @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @hircines-hunter

@sulphuricgrin @umbracirrus @pocket-vvardvark @firefly-factory @theoneandonlysemla

@vivifriend @hannah-heartstrings @inkysqueed and...ANYONE ELSE WHO WANTS TO PARTY! <3 No pressure however.

The ground gives forth again with a quake, and Ulfric reels as his legs buckle underneath him until he is kneeling. Great clouds of ash and dust obscure his vision, the fog of many souls covering the landscape around him making it impossible for him to see what is causing this noise. Alone and completely in the dark, he raises his axe again as a dark shadow makes its way to him.

“Ulfric?” A voice calls out to him, and for a moment he is certain his mind is playing tricks on him. It cannot be.

The shadow moves again as two inky black splotches unfurl to reach towards the sky.

“Ulfric? Come closer…”

It has to be some strange magic, a new manner of psychological torture, and he will not fall for it. He shifts his weight to the balls of his feet and slowly moves forward, his axe ready to sing through the air at a moment’s notice.

“Ulfric, it’s you.” This time the voice is right next to his ear, wrapping around his ear warmly like a lover’s caress.

He doesn’t wait any longer. Hesitate and you die. Blink and you fail. His body moves on its own accord, springing into action as his axe cuts through the air.

Zun Haal Viik

Ulfric’s arms drop to his waist in disbelief, weapon landing with a dull thud into the ground.

“Dahlia.” He barely get the syllables out as his wife’s hands throw themselves around him, and he picks her up, spinning her around. He can breathe again. A bright smile slides its way onto his face, joy flowing through his veins.

“What ever are you doing all the way out here? You should be at home! I told you specifically not to—”

Dahlia’s words are hushed by a frantic kiss, Ulfric’s lips crashing against her own and nipping demandingly at them.

It has been at least seven months since he has seen her—since he has tasted her, and he will not wait one second more now that she is within reach.

One of his hands slips up and through the tangled strands of her unraveling braid as he pull her down, demanding more, and it is all she can do to gasp for a quick breath as his tongue buries its way into her mouth.

Flashes of heat pool and then rise, winding searing tongues burning through her as they wind their way up her body. She can feel the warmth of his knuckles as they come down to trace her cheeks before they dip down to slide to the curve of her breast. Another gasp which turns into a strangled whine when one of his fingers flick over a nipple. Only he would be so bold to forget himself in the middle of a battlefield in an attempt to ravage her.

“Ulfric,” her hands come up to cup his face on both sides to pull him back from her, her eyes searching his. How she had missed their color being the first thing she sees in the mornings.

However, her husband has other ideas regarding her brief departure from what he was doing, a frustrated groan leaving him as he tries to surge forward again only for her to stop him once more.

Dahlia chuckles as she presses her forehead to his. Safety. The first time she has felt the familiar comfort of its embrace in far too long. “I missed you.”

#skyrim fanfiction #ulfric stormcloak #ulfric x dragonborn #dahlia wintersnow #winter write #winter does art?#wip wednesday

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mymarifae · 1 day ago

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can i continue introducing the world to my vision. regarding ratio's parents. because i'm so deadset on him having two mothers that i forget it's not canon and i get confused when i see otherwise

look. listen. this is a man who was raised by two very beautiful very elegant femme lesbians. he was son boy allowed. you either understand me or you don't there is no further coherent justification for this i just KNOW. that this is TRUE

(also as i blabbed on twitter: i think his moms are very, VERY loving and accepting. they nurtured his innate curiosity and laid the foundations for his insane future educational career but they never pushed the idea of the genius society of him; they just wanted him to see him grow up well, flourish, and lead a happy life. that whole mess was actually the byproduct of his teachers, tutors, and professors - all of whom he started seeing more often than his mothers by the time he was starting to poke at his first phd. he's fallen out of touch with them over the years, only calling them sporadically and seeing them at various award ceremonies he doesn't want to go to. not out of resentment or anything - more like he's just so, SO busy he barely has time to take care of himself [one of the many good lessons they imparted on him, and one he actually won't be letting go of any time soon], much less maintain old relationships and foster new ones. also, even though they never expected anything of him beyond "be good and do good," the shame and disappointment and guilt he felt when he realized nous would never turn THEIR gaze upon him still made it so hard to face them.

they aren't angry. they still love him dearly, and he is their son. they know his eccentricities and process for dealing with things better than anyone. they know he'll drift back to them, slowly, in his own way. they're patient. they're very proud of him. when the day comes that he finally does return home for a proper visit [maybe with a certain sly little blonde fox in tow], it's like he never left.)

#sorry the ratiorine monster snuck up on me at the end there #i really like this hc and i Really like the idea of aventurine meeting them one day. oh my god they would be so excited #veritas now gets a phone call from them every day asking when he's going to propose. he's made a grave mistake.#anyway #honkai star rail #veritas ratio #dr ratio

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aimedis · 2 days ago

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WORST KIND OF FLIRT (A TEASE) | WIP WEDNESDAY !!

vincent x lovely actors!au | happy new year everybody! i hope 2025 treats you all well. as my gift to you i shall present you with none other than the unedited version of chapter one of this idea that i talked about ages ago. i've had this chapter written for like about a month and a half but don't get your hopes up for the remaining chapters 😭 i'm gonna try but i honestly can't write for shit and i have no motivation. but if you guys like it, i'll try harder ig lmao

cw - actor au obvi, directors!angel and david, love at first sight but it's literally just lovely and vincent flirting immediately (they don't actually fall in love until later), lovely being a bit insecure, mainly lovely's pov (it switches to angel and david for a second), korean!vincent and lovely, mentions of vincent being adopted by william at ten years old for unspecified reasons, we're ignoring the drama going on between them rn okay, darlin shows up for half a second and sam for even less, says 'laughs' way too much, i know nothing about acting and auditions and whatnot okay 😭

wc - 3.6k

hope you enjoy!

“You’re going to be a star.”

Lovely’s been told that close to a billion times in their life. It used to make them really happy when they were a kid. They’d grin up at their mom when she would tell them about all the awesome movies and TV shows they would act in once they were older. They’d practice in front of a mirror for hours at a time, reciting the few lines they were expected to memorise as a little eight-year-old. Even at that age, they wanted more. More lines, more chances to prove themselves worthy of the big screen, more of the spotlight. They only wanted to shine as bright as possible, to make their family proud.

“You’re a star.”

It feels egotistical to them, to say that they’re a star. But it would be completely ignorant of them to pretend they hadn’t made it far. Getting recognized every time they stepped foot outside, having people stand in line for autographs, people using their name and face for school projects, and not to mention, getting thousands of dollars just to say the name of a brand. As much as it warmed their heart, it got to be quite disorienting at times. To think that they went from being a complete nobody outside of their school plays and small commercials to being so… well known.

It was also really privacy-invading. Paparazzi was going to be the death of them.

But that’s the price I pay, Lovely muses to themselves as they try their best to breeze past the flashing lights and cameras being shoved in their face while they try to walk into the studio.

“..they could be a little less obnoxious about it though. Can’t believe this shit’s legal.”

Lovely looks up and squints to regain steady vision from nearly being blinded. Belatedly, they snort when they see Darlin glaring at the door they had just walked through.

“Yeah,” They say breathlessly, slipping their jacket off.

Darlin pats them on the head, “You need anything before they call you in? They said in about half an hour.”

Lovely leans into their hand, “‘M okay. I’ll just play games on my phone. Did Sam go in already for Daniel?”

The (slightly) taller of the two nods and gently leads Lovely over to a few seats in a slightly secluded area, “He should be done a little while though. I already went so do you want us to wait with you before you go in? We can take you home.”

Lovely was tempted to say no, say that they don’t need to look after them. They wanted to say that they weren’t a baby (even though they were significantly younger than both Darlin and Sam) who needed to be coddled.

But when Darlin guides them to sit down, fixing their hair, they only exhale softly. As long as they don’t need to call an Uber.

“Yes please. If it’s not too much trouble.”

Darlin grins, “Never for you, spark.”

Lovely huffs and pouts up at them, “Don’t call me that, weirdo.”

They only laugh and sit next to Lovely, sliding their phone out of their back pocket.

They rest their head on Darlin’s shoulder, going to scroll on their own phone to kill time.

✩★✩★✩

Lovely inhales sharply when their name is called out along with someone else. They clear their throat, and stand up, “Wish me luck, I guess.”

It shouldn’t still make them so nervous to do auditions after doing so many of them in their life. And it usually doesn’t. However, not only was this film one of the bigger ones they were called in to audition for, their agent said this one was right up their alley. And after they read the summary and script, they agreed. This one was perfect for them. The character Kaia was perfect for them. They wanted this role more than they’ve wanted any role in their life.

The male lead Lucas also happened to be their ideal type but that was neither here nor there.

“Good luck,” Sam flashes them a smile, “This is easy work for you.”

Darlin nods, “Don’t stress, you’ve got this in the bag.”

But what if someone better comes around?

Lovely leaves that unsaid, now was not the time to be insecure. They needed to have confidence.

But really they couldn’t help themselves, they read a couple hate comments too. Of course, they tried to tell themselves that the positive outweighs the negative and that the good comments were always so much more detailed and substantial than just “they’re not pretty”.

They take a deep breath and nod once, hardly noticing the other actor who stood up at the same time, walking back into the audition room. They smile back at Sam and Darlin before turning around.

They’re a star.

✩★✩★✩

Lovely walks slowly into the backroom where the auditions were being held, seeing only one other person standing around the door. They were so stuck in their own head about the person they would be acting with that they failed to notice the person they would be acting with.

They’re going over their lines in their head as they step into the hallway, reminding themselves to breathe when a voice knocks them out of their train of thought.

“So, you’re my Kaia.”

Lovely’s face prematurely scrunches in disgust before they even turn to look at whoever this guy was, not registering his tone and utterly annoyed they had to act with one of those guys. Again. They’ve worked with people like him before, revolting middle-aged men who only looked younger and thought it was okay to touch and sleazily flirt with their young co-star because they played love interests. Every other film they’ve acted in since they were 18. They were sick and tired and really wanted to enjoy this one so they turned to face this supposed middle-aged man so they could tell him off and set some boundaries.

However, they were met with the most handsome face they’ve ever seen in their life. He was smiling, not smirking, at them, his eyes shimmered even in the bright fluorescent lights, and his face looked sculpted by the gods. Lovely couldn’t help but let their eyes trail further down, scanning his body that they could somehow tell was just perfect underneath his hoodie and baggy jeans.

He laughs and—holy shit, Lovely thinks they’ve died and gone to heaven, he was so beautiful. Lovely snaps out of their little trance and meets his eyes properly, his beautiful brown eyes, when it clicks.

Oh my god, this is Vincent Solaire.

They also hadn’t known him personally, they acted in very different genres. They hadn’t even been a fan, per say. But he was just as well-known as they were. William Solaire, his father and agent, was a director they had worked under and that was one of their favourites.

Lovely inhales when Vincent brushes his hair out of his face.

“I would say you match Kaia’s description perfectly but.. I think you’re better.”

“Oh yeah?” Lovely laughs breathily, “Do you flatter all of your co-stars like this, or am I special?”

Vincent looks them up and down slightly and Lovely swears he looks at their lips, “You’re definitely.. special, Lovely was it?”

They nod, “Vincent?”

“In the flesh,” He grins.

Lovely smiles back, not having it in them to feel ashamed at the blush spreading across their face, only because he was blushing too.

“You don’t usually act in rom-coms,” Lovely hums, leaning back against the wall, “Why this one?”

Vincent’s grin widens, “You keep tabs on what I act in?”

Lovely shrugs, “I mean you’re not a nobody, I’ve seen you around. And where you are, Sam is. Gotta support my best friend’s man, you know?”

Vincent breathes a laugh, “Ah, that’s right. You’re Darlin’s twin flame.”

“In the flesh,” They repeat with a matching smile.

Vincent scoffs playfully, “Copy cat.”

Lovely snorts.

“Well,” Vincent continues, “I just wanted to try something new, you know? You can only act in thrillers and shit like that for so long before you need to switch it up to something more lighthearted.” He says, still smiling.

Lovely senses that wasn’t the whole truth but they nod, “I see. I’ve only acted in a handful of horror movies but I get it. They’re a little draining.”

“Oh yeah, you were in Locked Down.” He recalls, “I love that movie, you were phenomenal in it. Your acting was so realistic.”

Lovely smiles slightly, they always got a little sheepish whenever they got praised for their acting or any skill at all. You’d think they’d be used to it by now.

“Yeah well,” They clear their throat, “Screaming so much made my head hurt for days so I would hope it was good.”

Vincent laughs a bit hesitantly, “I’d say it paid off.”

Lovely laughs as well, going to say something else but the door in front of them swings open a little. They glance over only to freeze at the familiar face of Angel Shaw themselves standing in front of them.

Not familiar on a personal level, of course not. Lovely had never met them personally, but they and their husband were some of the most famous actors turned directors in North America. Lovely grew up watching Angel on TV and they were part of the reason Lovely even wanted to act in the first place. But even as they rose in popularity, Lovely always admired Angel and David and any film they directed. It was another recent dream of theirs to act under them, and this was their chance.

Angel looks at the two actors standing around the door and they smile, stepping out to show their full body, “Good morning, you two! Good to see you again, Vincent. We’ll be right with you both in a moment.” They turn to look at Lovely specifically, “Hi, there. I know we talked over the phone once and I’ve spoken with your agent but it’s nice to see you in person.”

You wouldn’t believe how happy I am right now, Lovely cried internally, trying to hide the star struck look on their face.

They clear their throat, “I-It’s nice to see you too. I’m a really big fan of your and David’s work.”

Angel laughs softly, “Why, thank you! That means a lot. We also enjoy watching you act, it’s truly beautiful.”

Lovely nearly died on the spot and they prayed to whatever god was listening that it didn’t show on their face. They barely squeak out a ‘thank you’ before Angel settles back into their professionalism.

They look at their clipboard, “So, you’ve both been called in to play the main characters and love interests Kaia and Lucas obviously. This “audition” is mainly just to see how well you two act together. Your chemistry, if you will. You’ll have like five-ish minutes to talk with each other and introduce yourselves and then we’ll start, okay?”

They both nod and Angel looks back up.

“Okay!” They smile and peer back into the room, “David? Are we good to go?”

“Yeah, send ‘em in.”

Angel nods towards the inside of the room, “Come on in then.”

Lovely dazedly steps into the room.

The room was bigger than it looked from the outside. There was a long table with six seats, four of which were occupied, the one to the right of David Shaw was empty, Lovely assumes that’s Angel's seat.

Angel points to the small table, “You guys can sit over there and get to know each other a little better and we’ll call you over, alright?”

Lovely and Vincent both nod and step in sync over to the corner. They both sit down and smile at each other.

“So Vincent, where are you from?” Lovely asks.

Vincent grins, “Well, I think it’s common knowledge that I was adopted by William when I was 10. But my birth parents were Korean and so were most of my foster parents until William adopted me.”

Lovely’s eyes light up, “Oh same!” They pause with a small laugh, “Not that- not that I was adopted but my parents are both Korean immigrants.”

Vincent laughs as well, “Really? Do you speak Korean then?”

Lovely’s nose scrunches, “I’m like- fairly fluent. I’m not as well-spoken as I am in English. My dad dogs on me for it all the time. You?”

“God, I have the speaking ability of a fourth grader.” Vincent scoffs, “Obviously, since I was adopted at 10 by a non-Korean man, my Korean just stopped ageing with me once I stopped putting in effort.”

They nod with a smile, “I get it. Have you tried learning more now that you’re an adult?”

“Not really? I think I tried a couple times when I turned 21 but I got impatient. But hey, maybe you could teach me,” Vincent tilts his head to the side, smiling at them.

Lovely stops breathing as they glance down at his lips.

“Yeah… I could.”

They blink when Vincent laughs, focusing back on his eyes.

“Mesmerized, Lovely?” He hums, beaming from ear to ear.

Lovely scoffs playfully, “You wish, pretty boy.”

“Think I’m pretty, huh?”

“Yeah well,” They smile a little more shyly, “I’m not blind.”

They delight in seeing the slight pink tint that spreads across Vincent’s cheeks.

He grins slightly, returning the small glance down at Lovely’s lips, “Yeah? I think you’re pretty too. Gorgeous, even.”

Lovely breathes a short flustered laugh, “Jeez, is this a part of the script? This is a lot of flattery for getting to know my co-star for an audition.”

Vincent laughs a little louder, “I’m only getting into character, of course. My Kaia.” He reaches over to gently hold Lovely’s hand laying on the table.

And Lovely feels their entire stomach light up brighter than a Fourth of July night. They swallow, forcing themselves to keep their breathing stable. They sigh shakily, “Yeah…”

Neither of them realize how long they’ve been looking into each other’s eyes until David’s voice calls from the other side of the room.

“We’re ready to get started, you two. Are you ready?”

Neither of them flinch. Not at all.

Vincent looks away first and gently drops Lovely’s hand, nodding at the directors. The two stand and walk over to stand in front of the table.

“Alright,” Angel looks up from the papers in front of them and smiles, “You can start whenever you’re ready.”

Vincent and Lovely both nod at the directors and then at each other, settling themselves into their roles. By the light waltz music starts playing softly in the background, they are both fully immersed into another world.

Vincent smiles completely poised in a way that is unlike earlier, holding his hand out towards Lovely, “Kaia. I’ve heard a lot about you from your father.”

Lovely grins back at him hesitantly, taking his hand, “That so? Lucas, is it?”

He hums as he pulls them into a slow dance of swaying back and forth, holding onto their waist loosely with his free hand, “That’s me. Prince of the House of Solaire.”

Lovely rests their right hand on Vincent’s shoulder, “Not the typical name for a royal, hm? I saw a picture of you and assumed James or Alexander.”

Vincent laughs.

✩★✩★✩

David leans over to whisper in Angel’s ear as the other casting directors spoke to the two, “They’re really good at this. I could hardly tell they were reading off a script.”

Angel snorts, tapping their pen against their paper, “Uh huh.”

He furrows his brows, “What, you don’t think they’re good?”

“No, no, not that. They’re wonderful,” Angel shakes their head with a laugh, “They’re just uhh- it feels like a little more than acting, no?”

David shrugs with a small smile, “I don’t know, Angel, maybe they’re just good at their job.”

“Right.” They roll their eyes, “And they were eye-fucking over there without the script for fun.”

“You shouldn’t speak about your actors like that, Angel.” David breathes a laugh, “And you know how insane actors are these days when it comes to getting into character. Remember Milo and the FBI Agent Incident?”

Angel stifles a louder laugh, “Oh god. They weren’t even using real guns for the shoot, he didn’t need to go to a shooting range everyday for a month.”

David bites his tongue with a grin, turning back to the two once Babe had finished speaking. He writes something down on his sheet of paper, “That was great guys, thank you so much. That’ll be it. We’ll get back to you in the next week.”

Angel bids the two goodbye and rests their head on David’s shoulder once they’re out of the room, looking down at his papers and snorting, “Didn’t need any time to think about it, huh?

David shakes his head, “God, no. They’ve had the job since they walked in here.”

✩★✩★✩

Vincent holds the door open for Lovely as they leave, to which they snort.

“Thanks, prince charming.” They pat his shoulder playfully.

He laughs and closes it behind him. Lovely jerks their head to the side to indicate Vincent follow them back to the main part of the building with a confidence they did not feel.

Vincent sticks his hands in his pockets, “Not to sound too proud, but I think we nailed that.”

“Obviously,” Lovely nods with a smile,”You could have looked at my lips a little less though.”

His eyes scrunch up into those little half-moons again to emphasize his amusement, “Well, who could blame me? They’re very nice to look at.”

Lovely raises an eyebrow, stopping once they reach the end-of-hallway door, “Only to look at?”

Vincent, once again, glances down at their lips as they spin around to face him whilst leaning against the door. He breathes a barely there ghost of a laugh, “Maybe more. Who knows?”

Lovely can’t contain the wide smile that overtakes their features, squeezing a fist behind their back to attempt to contain their excitement. Vincent looks back up at their eyes after a moment, shifting back into focus.

His head tilts slightly and he smiles sincerely, “You have beautiful eyes, Lovely.”

How they didn’t collapse right then and there, they’ll never know. Feeling crimson creeping onto their cheeks, Lovely laughs lightly and scratches their nose.

They had never been able to take praise of any kind without feeling like their entire body was on fire. They always laughed the compliment off or redirected it out of pure embarrassment. Recently, that is. Being in the spotlight so often since the age of 17 had indirectly forced them to be better at accepting the praise. Being ‘The Star of the Big Screen’ meant being continuously lauded all over the internet and often to their face during interviews or fan-meetings. They had spent so many hours in their bedroom, in cars, or in hotel rooms practicing their “poker face” and willing themself to never show a single person outside of their close circle how much a little praise flustered them.

The way Vincent spoke to them undid all of that. The tone of his voice, his gaze, his fucking confidence. If their body was on fire when it came to anyone else, he made them feel like they had just been thrown into a volcano.

And they could only thank whoever was listening that their days of tripping over their feet, choking, or sometimes straight up running away were over. The only thing that would be more humiliating than being complimented by the most beautiful person they’ve ever seen would be fumbling themself in front of him.

Shaking off their inner-monologue, they grin at him again, “Thank you. All the compliments today, are you sure this is still ‘getting into character’?”

“Of course, I have to really step into Lucas’ shoes.”

“Uh huh,” Lovely shakes their head with a laugh, “Sure.”

“Really! In fact, I’ll do the most Lucas thing ever and ask for your number!” He grins again, reaching into his back pocket for his phone.

They stare at him with barely concealed mirth, “The most Lucas thing ever? Really?”

“Nah,” He snorts, unlocking his phone, “It’s a Vincent thing for sure.”

Lovely doesn’t think their heart is supposed to skip that many beats but they chuckle and accept the phone offered to them, typing in their number quickly.

“Thank you kindly,” Vincent says, taking his phone back. Lovely hums and leans off the door, swinging it open and stepping in time with Vincent back to the entrance.

They both wave to Sam and Darlin’ still sitting there in the corner. Sam stops talking when he sees the two of them, waving back and the two stand up.

“Hey.” Darlin says, stretching their arms, “How’d it go?”

Lovely and Vincent exchange a short look.

“Good,” They both say at the same time, sharing a smile.

Sam raises an intrigued eyebrow but he smiles back, “That’s good. Do you know when you’ll get the call back?”

“Ah, David said within the next week,” Vincent says.

The two in front of them nod and Sam glances to the door.

“Is William picking you up, Vincent?”

Vincent nods and takes a look at his phone, “And he’s already here.” He looks up with a little smile that was mostly directed at Lovely, “Bye, guys. See you later.”

Lovely waves back at him, letting their gaze linger a little longer than normal until Darlin’ clears their throat.

And whatever confidence Lovely had vanished the second they were alone with Darlin’ and Sam.

────────

so uh, i meant to post this before 12am where i am buttttttt.... it's surely still january 1st somewhere 😄

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted darlin #redacted sam #redacted david #redacted vincent #redacted lovely #redacted william #redacted fanfic #redacted asmr headcanons #redacted solaire clan #kae's fics

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