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shreddedparchment · 4 years

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A Wife for Thor Pt.13

12/12/2020

The Honeymoon’s Not Over

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader Word Count: 5,309

Warnings: jealousy, slight angst, light smut, language, talks of pregnancy

A/N: I’m sorry these are taking longer. My grandparents are living with me for a few months and these are going to get a little slower now that they’re here. I hope you enjoy it! If you have a favorite part, let me know what it is! I’d love to hear. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Please DO NOT repost my stories on any other blogs or sites.

REBLOGS are always welcome!

Not knowing what to expect from a marriage to a veritable stranger is predictable. Of course, you’re not going to know what’s to come when you don’t know the man you’ve agreed to marry.

Apart from the responsibilities of the throne you’ve chosen to sit upon, and the obligations you have to provide the kingdom with an heir, the marriage you have chosen for yourself was entered into blindly.

You knew absolutely nothing about Thor when you agreed to marry him. You knew a little bit more by the time you stood directly opposite him and said your vows.

Now, after spending time with him in the company of his comrades, his friends, you know what Thor sounds like when he busts a gut. You see the twinkle in his one eye when they all sit around the living room reminiscing about battles won.

You see sadness over their losses, and the loyalty of his friendship. You see the weight they all carry on their shoulders to give this world its best chance against all forms of threat.

Most of all, you know how proud Thor is to have you by his side. At every moment possible, he’s pulled you into their games and conversations. He’s invited Tony to give you a tour of the compound and Bruce had tagged along and whispered to you smaller things that Tony conveniently left out because they weren’t things for him to boast about.

As the night went on, the Avengers told you their farewells and those that lived outside of the compound took their leave. They told you it was so nice to meet you, shook your hand—or hugged you as was the case with Wanda, Nat, and Steve—and then made you promise to stop by again and stay for longer than a day.

“We’ll make a real vacation of it, I assure you,” Thor promises Bucky who has taken a shine to you more enthusiastically than you thought he would.

Since you made your opinions on Loki clear, he’s been much more eager to speak with you and exchange ideas on more than just overlooking the troubled pasts of people desperate to make a change.

By one o’clock in the morning, Tony and Bruce are the only two left in the living room.

Bruce sits at the edge of the sofa, his glasses balanced at the end of his nose as he scrolls through large amounts of text and numbers on a sleek black tablet.

Tony has taken over the corner of the sectional, his phone pressed to his ear again as he yawns but resists sleep.

You hear him say Pepper’s name and a quick acknowledgement that he misses her when you decide that maybe it’s time to give them their privacy.

You rise slowly, Thor back in the main common room where you’d all eaten dinner, talking to Loki or Hilde on his own phone to keep up with what’s happening back home.

Bruce notices, not as invested in his reading as you’d thought.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed.” You admit, gesturing over your shoulder towards the other room.

“Oh, okay. Have a good night. I think Tony has breakfast set up for eight o’clock tomorrow morning so, the others will be back by then. I think?”

Bruce turns towards Tony who has his legs folded up on the seat, his hand combing through the back of his head as a sappy grin overtakes his face.

“Hey, breakfast at eight, right? Tomorrow morning?” Bruce asks, reaching over to place his hand on the seat of the sofa to attempt and get his attention.

“Hold on, Pep, there’s some weird old man trying to ask me something. I think if I ignore him long enough, he’ll leave me alone.” Tony mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear but muffled enough to make it clear that you’re not supposed to.

From the other end of the phone, you hear a clearly amused female voice speak back, “Be nice. He’s trying to be accommodating for Thor’s wife.”

He throws his hand back towards Bruce and waves his hand at him in clear dismissal.

Bruce sighs and gives you an apologetic smile, but you’re smiling from ear to ear.

“Sorry. Just to be safe, we’ll say eight o’clock.”

“Thanks, Bruce. For the tour and everything.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Bruce nods.

“Good night. Good night, Tony.” You call at him pointedly.

Tony makes a point to look back at you, fixing you with a buttery smile, “Goodnight, Cherub.”

You scoff, laughing a little, but give them a wave and move into the common room.

Thor’s back is tense, and it makes you worry.

Despite the conversation you’d overheard in the kitchen, you’re more confident now than before that Thor is devoted to you.

Because it’s in his touch. It’s in his gaze. It’s in the way he pulls you into his side when the others teased you about now being obligated to be an Avenger and the consequent terror that filled your eyes.

“A jest, my sweet.” Thor had whispered, then chuckled with the others.

He’d promised to tell you about this threat when the two of you were alone, but you’re so exhausted and as much as you want to go over and demand he fill you in now, you turn down the long hallway and pass two or three doorways before you reach the bedrooms.

The first door on the left is Thor’s and you slip in quietly, hoping not to interrupt Thor’s phone call.

It’s toasty warm inside. You peel off your clothes and despite wanting to just snuggle into bed, you make your way into the bathroom and the deep tub is long and wide enough for two people.

You flip on the shower instead, the water burning hot and as it glides down along your skin it summons goosebumps as the cold is chased away.

You hadn’t realized how chilly the compound is until now, and wonder if the Avengers are just hot natured. It would be weird for all of them to be like that, but if the ones with powers are like Thor, then maybe they all run a little hotter?

A tickle around your arms, just above your elbows, coaxes your eyes back open.

You hadn’t even realized you were falling asleep. Looking down you see two sets of large familiar fingers.

The hands they’re attached to turn you around and pull you close until Thor’s lips press down against yours, pushing you even further into peaceful bliss.

He opens his mouth wide, coaxing your own to respond as his tongue delves hungrily into your mouth.

You’re slow to respond, so tired but eager and pleased with the affection.

Thor’s knee nudges against the inner part of your thigh and you take a step, but he catches it as you do, and he lifts it up against his hip.

Water rains down along your naked bodies and Thor slides into you slowly.

You moan, low and sweet. Quiet and pleased but lazy.

“Thor…” You whimper, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he dips down to nibble at your throat.

He pumps in and out so deliciously slow that the stretch of him pulls an orgasm from you quickly.

You’re so sensitive at the moment. You go limp in his arms, and he adjusts to support your body as you relax while he continues to push into you.

He rests your back against the shower wall, hips pulled against his as he fucks you slow. Watching him thrust into you, hips rolling slow, is perfection.

You caress the side of his face and he pulls back to look at you before he kisses you sweetly.

It all feels like a dream, and as he speeds up, you shut your eyes and you’re sent off with another wave of pleasure.

~~~~~~~~~~

The morning is toasty. Large warmth wrapped around you.

You twist where he holds you, straining to look at his face which you know like the back of your hand by now. No eyepatch, you reach up to trace the edges of his missing eye.

He croons and curls into your touch, the space gets red and itchy sometimes from wearing the patch all day.

This feeling, this soft glow in your chest, the way it aches and makes you feel like you could fly is something you didn’t know to expect from your marriage.

This iridescence, this shine that grows from your very center to entangle itself around you and Thor.

“Sleep longer,” Thor whispers, his voice deep and gravelly with sleep.

He pulls you closer, large hands splayed against your back as he rubs it several times up and down.

It almost does lure you back to sleep but you force your eyes open.

“We have to go down for breakfast. Everyone will be waiting.”

“Mmmmmm,” Thor protests.

No, he’s straight up whining. Tightening his hold, you groan as he squeezes. Any harder and he’ll crack your back.

“Thor,” You insist, and after a bit he opens his eye and peeks at your face before shutting it again.

“I do not appreciate early mornings when I am supposed to be enjoying uninterrupted time with my new wife.”

“You’re the one that brought us here!” The chuckle that slips through your lips is unintentional, but he’s so cute all pouty.

“It doesn’t matter,” He frowns, “I am King. Things should go my way.”

“Well, excuse me Your Majesty. Should I go tell the Avengers that they need to reschedule breakfast until you’re ready to wake up?”

“Yes,” When you start to move, he shoots up, tackling you to the bed and pinning your arms over your head as you laugh. “Wait, I don’t want you to leave the bed.”

“How the hell else am I supposed to go tell them then?”

“I suppose we can’t make them wait. I am so glad that we’ve still got a few days left to spend at your home. I want to make sure we go back to the palace with my child firmly planted in your womb.” He gushes and even though the words aren’t exactly dirty, it’s got your core throbbing and aching for more of what you think happened last night.

“Did we make love last night?” You really don’t know if it was just a dream or not.

It was all so sleepy, the memory like smoke. It could very well have been a wet dream.

“Don’t you remember?”

“Kinda. I was so tired.”

The amused curve of Thor’s lips give you the confirmation you need, “Yes, you were very tired. I had to catch you after your second climax. You fell asleep just as I also reached mine.”

“I don’t remember,” You confess, trying hard to remember what happened after your eyes shut.

You vaguely remember feeling supportive hands on the back of your head and back.

The soft mattress of his bed supporting you as he placed you on it?

“I’m not allowed to get drunk or to get really tired around you anymore. I hate not remembering my nights with you.”

He settles down on top of you, keeping his weight light and balanced on his side. His hands he brings down along your arms until he has his right cupping the left side of your head while his left hand finds its usual spot on your hip.

“I quite enjoy it when you can’t keep your eyes open. You sang for me on our wedding night.”

His reminder makes you groan and you turn away from him but he catches your lips in a kiss before you can turn away fully.

Thor gives you a good morning. A very good morning.

You both shuffle out into the common room where you’d had dinner last night with wide smiles, playful chuckling, and completely satisfied.

Both of you are so into what the other is saying or doing with their hands that you don’t really hear the murmur of conversation by the long table.

“When we get back, we should break in that bench in your backyard.” Thor whispers.

“Are you joking? That thing is gonna leave so many marks on my body. No way.”

“Come on, I’ll put a blanket, and you can be on top.” He presses his lips right up against your ear as he seduces you, but you’re stronger than that...maybe.

“Mmm, that’s really tempting there, Your Majesty,” you tease, reaching up to tug on his ear until he meets your lips in a quick peck.

It’s noisy and it smacks. So loud in fact, that you two finally notice the way the murmur of voices has disappeared and turned into silence.

Both of you stop, searching ahead for what might have caused the sudden death of conversation and at first don’t see anything.

Well, you don’t see anything.

“Good morning, everyone. What’s-is everything okay?” You ask, finding Steve’s face as he stands with his arms crossed across his chest, looking at you and Thor with his chin tucked in a bit.

He looks pensive and worried.

A quick look at Natasha and Wanda tells you that they’re worried for you for some reason. Both of them sitting at the edge of their seats.

Beside you, Thor has gone stiff.

“Thor?” You look at him, not sure why and search his face to see if there might be a clue but his eye is lasered in across the room and you follow his gaze.

You’re still not quite certain what he sees until movement on the furthest seat of the table draws your attention to a small brunette, with peachy skin, rosy cheeks, and bright brown eyes.

She’s so nervous that she’s almost clumsy, pushing her long hair over her shoulder, her lips quivering into a smile and then back into a straight line several times before they settle into a teeny uncertain curve of her lips.

Pink lips. Not chapped. Perfectly proportioned so that both lips are the exact same thickness.

“Jane…” Thor says, almost like it’s a realization.

“Oh,” Your voice is more timid than you expected it to come out if you ever came face to face with this woman. “That’s Jane.”

You’re suddenly really sad you never Googled her so that you’d at least have been prepared for the absolute petite beauty that she is.

Thor’s head whips towards you and he blinks, mouth opening as he searches for the words.

“I-we-er-I mean...This-this is my wife,” He introduces you breathlessly.

Clearly seeing her has caught him by as much surprise as you. Maybe more.

“Queen of Asgard,” he gives her your full name.

In Asgardian tradition, since Thor doesn’t technically have a last name in the traditional sense like humans do, you’ve kept your own.

“Right,” Jane shuts her eyes, claps her hands gently then nods slowly. “Right, of course. You’re King now! RIght. Your Majesties.”

Her greeting is simple and she even gives a quick somewhat off balance curtsy, probably from her nerves.

“Oh, that’s-”

Thor takes your hand, pulling you just a smidge more into his side, cutting off your protest to her curtsy.

“Thank you for that,” Thor tells her, nodding once. “None of these rascals bothered to bow to my new Queen.”

There’s something odd about Thor’s voice that you’ve never heard before. An anger. Subdued rage. Surprise too. His own sprinkle of nerves thrown in there as well.

You steal a glance up at his face and find a tightness around his eyes as he then drops your hand to slip it around your shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” He asks her, and the Avengers take this as their cue to rise from their spots and move into the living room or the kitchen.

Jane comes around the table, stopping a few feet away from the two of you.

Their eyes are locked on each other, her pretty browns and Thor’s one electric blue.

The silence, though it lasts only a quick three seconds, is endless. Instantly you’re an intruder and you spot Bruce peeking from the kitchen. He makes eye contact with you and there’s a beckoning from him, a promise of safety and sanctuary in this super fucked situation you find yourself in and you pull out from Thor’s arm and nearly scamper into the kitchen but a large hand wraps around your wrist gently, pulling to stop you from moving.

“Where are you going?” Thor’s face has softened, all tension leaving his beautiful face as he steps towards you to close the distance between your bodies.

It’s still respectful, a good two feet between you as opposed to the narrow six inches he’s kept you in all week.

Something tells you that he’s also keeping you at arms’ length because Jane is right there and it’s only been at most, two weeks since he ended things with her.

“I was going to give you two some space.” You whisper, though Jane is literally right there, so she can hear you.

“Oh, you don’t have to-” She starts, but Thor cuts her off, almost as if he can’t hear her.

“You do not have to give us space, cherub. You are right where you should be, at my side.” Thor doesn’t bother to whisper, but it’s clear in the volume of his voice that his words are meant only for you.

“It feels weird…” You whisper more quietly that it makes Thor move closer and lean his head down.

“It shouldn’t,” He reaches up to stroke your cheek, and you can’t help but peek at Jane.

She’s watching the two of you, her eyes darting away and back and away again, a fleeting look of confusion on her pretty face.

You reach around Thor’s side and give his side a little pinch to bring his attention back to Jane.

“She’s waiting,” you inform him, and flick your head in her direction before turning to face her again, planting yourself beside Thor just as he wants.

“Right,” Thor agrees, then wraps his arm right back around your shoulders. “What brings you to the compound, Jane? I can’t imagine anything would get you out of the desert with what you showed me last time I was there.”

Your heart gives an upsetting lurch at the reminder to Thor’s and Tony’s conversation last night, but you simply lean into Thor’s side some more, pushing down your insecurities for now.

“Yeah, um...I was in the lab when a weird energy spike completely threw off my sensors. It fried my stabilizer. So, I checked with NASA and UNOOSA, CNSA, SUPARCO, and a whole bunch of other contacts at various space agencies around the world and all of them also had similar readings. Not as strong, but they all swear that they don’t have anything in orbit or out in that quadrant. Given the strength of the surge, I contacted Tony to let him know so that he could get word to you but then he told me that you’d be here this week for a day, so I...I decided to stop by and tell you myself.”

She smiles, just a quick awkward little thing, at you and then at Thor.

Thor’s mind processes what she just told him as quickly as it can while you steal a glance at the kitchen again where Tony is peeking out this time.

“To be fair, I didn’t know you were going to be so nice.” He tells you, unapologetic that his words will reach all ears in all three rooms.

He quickly ducks out when you frown at him, leaving Bruce peeking out behind him who then panics and also pulls himself back out of sight.

What you can infer from his words is that he’d invited her to come when he’d known that you and Thor would be on your honeymoon in an attempt to get them back together?

As you look back to Jane who stands there staring at Thor with those stupid big brown eyes, you wonder if she knew Tony’s plans and that’s why she’s here.

“What’s the trajectory of the energy you found? What’s it heading towards?” Thor wonders, taking a half step forward, dropping his arm from your shoulders.

Your mind goes into a sudden frenzy as you, like him, put two and two together quickly.

“The threat?” You guess, stepping away from him but also moving around so that you can look at him and speak a little more face-to-face with him and Jane too.

You’d completely forgotten about the damn threat! You’d been so seduced and tired last night that you passed out. Then Thor woke you up so sweetly with more seduction that you’ve put the secret threat Thor has been trying to hide from you out of your mind.

His furrowed brow, large biceps bulging as he crosses his arms across his chest, betray his guilt at having kept it from you. But the two of you know that you have no time to dwell on petty arguments, so you table the argument you’d planned on having last night for another time.

“Could that be it?” You push, looking to Jane who looks a little confused by the tension in both your and Thor’s bodies.

“It might be.”

“What threat?” Jane wonders.

“What’s the matter, Cherub? What’s got you all worried?” Tony shuffles over, probably having heard the bit about the threat.

You give him a quick glance before you look at Jane, “What kind of energy reading was it? Cosmic? Solar? Celestial?”

All of the Avengers who had begun to make their way back into the common room for breakfast along with Thor, Tony, and Jane stop to look at you, several of them with mouths open and in complete surprise.

The silence is deafening, pressing in on you from every direction. Thor takes a step towards you and seems to be the only one unphased by your question.

“I don’t know that Jane would be able to determine the type of energy at this distance.” And yet, he turns to look at her once he’s spoken. “Jane?”

She blinks, still completely in shock by your knowledge, “Uh, I might be able to find a way to determine...how do you know about-?”

“As soon as Thor formally asked me to marry him I started to make a list of things that would probably be good to know in my position. Loki helped me um…” Wait, shoot...maybe you shouldn’t be so open with them?

“The weird sister helped you what?” Tony asks, casual disdain in his voice for the younger Asgardian prince.

You frown at him.

“Nevermind.” You cross your arms across your chest and sit down on the seat right behind you.

“He didn’t mean that, cherub.” Thor cuts in, moving towards you he pulls the seat beside you out to sit down, facing you. “Isn’t that right, Stark?”

“No.” You frown, really not liking the way some of them seem to really hate Loki.

Part of you knows that you can’t blame them. Loki did a lot of bad the last time he was here for an extended period of time.

He killed a lot of people and wreaked havoc on New York. They have every right to be angry at him. Even though you know this, you can’t find yourself letting them get away with their open hatred for him in front of you.

Thor looks at Tony with a pleading, his large hands on your knees as he strokes your legs softly to try and soothe you.

You see Tony roll his eyes from the corner of your own and with a silent exasperated sigh, he throws his hands out in front of him to physically push away his words.

“Alright, you’re right. I’m sorry. He’s made amends, right? He’s spent the time since he came back doing right by those people that he hurt. You’re right.” The longer Tony speaks, the more it looks like it physically hurts him to say sorry.

“Wait, you actually like Loki?” Jane asks, her smile in slight disbelief.

“Didn’t he save your life before?” You throw at her, having heard all about her infection by the Aether and how she’d helped Thor save many worlds.

It’s intimidating and not a story you’d easily forget.

At the time, you’d wondered how you’re ever going to compare to that. She’s helped Thor save Earth twice. What can you do?

Your words have the desired effect, and she quickly deflates as you meet Thor’s eye and sigh slowly.

“They don’t mean anything by it, cherub,” Thor promises, his voice soft and gentle and soothing.

You see the way Jane’s head twists in your direction at his pet name for you but he reaches up to take hold of your chin and turn your face towards his.

“Loki is lucky to have your loyalty.” He praises, looking genuinely happy about it too, but the smile leaves quickly in favor of his curiosity. “But how did you learn about different types of energy?”

“Loki hacked into the S.H.I.E.L.D. mainframe when I told him that I wasn’t sure that I was up for the task of being Queen and wife of an Avenger since I knew almost nothing about anything. I-I did a lot of reading.” You admit, heart in arrest as you gauge everyone’s reaction to Loki’s deceit. “But he only did it because I was crying and really worried and I was almost having a straight up panic attack, and he wanted to help so he offered me a place to learn and I couldn’t-I didn’t have it in me to say no even when he told me how he was going to get me the info so if you’re going to blame anyone, blame me because I was feeling so inadequate and he was just trying to make me feel better.”

Once again, the room is left in silence, save for Thor who smiles at you and reaches around to grab the back of your neck and give it a gentle squeeze.

“It’s alright. We’re not angry. Any of us, right?” As he looks around at everyone, they all nod quickly, giving you reassuring smiles save for Tony who has his arms crossed over his chest now, hand covering his mouth as he shakes with silent laughter.

“You’re angry?” You ask him, and he startles slightly when he realizes you’re talking to him.

“Me? Oh, no. No, I’m not. I just can’t wait to tell Fury that Loki hacked into his servers.” Tony bursts into laughter and has to turn away from all of you and move back into the kitchen to get a hold of himself.

“I’m sorry.” You repeat, reaching down to take hold of Thor’s hand, “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappoint me, love. Never.” He smiles at you, then pulls you down to kiss your forehead before rising and moving to stand behind you. “Can you get to work on detecting the type of energy it was that destroyed your instruments?”

Jane straightens up out of her slouched pouting as she realizes that he’s talking to her, “Yes. I can. That’s kind of why I came here, to get some help from Bruce. It could also be gamma, so I wanted to consult with him before I made any decisions.”

Bruce lumbers forward between Nat and Bucky, waving Jane over, “We can go now? I don’t exactly have an appetite at the moment. If you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Jane shakes her head and moves for him as he turns to lead the way.

Before she can get too far, she stops and turns to look at you and Thor as he moves back to take his seat next to you, your hands pulled up to his lips.

“Uh, congrats again, both of you,” With a firm nod, she turns and leaves you all to your breakfast.

~~~~~~~~~~

“We don’t have to cut our honeymoon short?”

“Definitely not.” Thor frowns, “I would quit my job as King of Asgard if we had to end our private time.”

You smile, despite the pit in your stomach, “You can’t quit, silly.”

“I can. Loki would be more than happy to take over.”

“Well, I won’t let you quit. You’re an amazing King.”

“You’re my wife. You are clearly biased in my favor. I can’t believe a word you say.”

You chuckle at his playful banter, but after a few seconds, your worry for the people of your kingdom takes over.

“But really, Thor. If the threat coming is the same thing that destroyed Jane’s equipment, shouldn’t we go home and, I don’t know, deal with it?”

Thor breathes in deep, considering your words as he finishes pulling off his armor, tossing the last piece onto his red cape leaving him in a plain dark shirt and pants.

In a clear attempt to distract you, he rolls up the sleeves to his elbows, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a distraction.

Mmmph!

“I already have Sif and Hilde working on it. Loki is managing things with the palace, beefing up security for when we get there and until Tony and Bruce can come and make their own modifications.”

“Then we can enjoy our last four days?”

“Enjoy them?!” Thor moves to you, slipping his hand down around the waist of your skirt where it intertwines with the lower piece and with a firm tug, he rips through the fabric leaving only the bodice.

You gasp, hand pressed to your chest as you laugh in surprise.

“I’m going to impregnate you in the next four days if it’s the last thing I do.”

Oh my.

“No, turn around for me cherub, so I can finish ripping this dress off of you.” He coaxes you around and leans down to press a kiss to your back, then rips down the back of your bodice with more firm tugs that shake your body.

His lips trail open mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, hands gripping the flesh of your thighs with a possessive squeeze.

Despite your worries, it doesn’t seem like seeing Jane has affected his desire for you in any way. Somehow you’d never believed his devotion to you, until now.

With meeting Jane now that you’re married out of the way, and Thor’s cock still solid as he rutts into you from behind as he strips you, you feel a lot more secure in the emotions and passion you’re able to summon from him.

Almost like he knows you need it, “Tell me you love me, cherub.”

How can he doubt it?

“I love you, puppy.” It just slips out and Thor freezes.

You panic, turning to look at him because you hadn’t meant to say it, and it was something you’d just been calling him in your head in secret because of that look he gives you when he’s begging you to give in for whatever he wants in the moment.

“I’m-” He cuts you off, smashing his mouth down onto you, open wide as he delves into you, tasting you, tongue searching and coaxing.

“Mmmph,” You whimper, wrapping your arms around him to grip the back of his shirt tight.

He suddenly tosses you back onto your bed, pulling his shirt over his head and then shoving his pants down before he grabs your ankles and pulls you towards the edge. With wide splayed out hands he pushes your thighs open and settles between them, two fingers run up along your slick slit making you quiver.

“Tell me again,” he orders, voice so deep you feel it in your toes.

“I love you, pu-AH!”

#king!thor x reader #thor x reader #arranged marriage au #royal au #a wife for thor #marvel faniction #marvel au

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glitteryhellhole · 3 years

Text

Doc being Doc 2/?

In which father-son conversation happens after the emotional rollercoaster of 10K getting anthrax, mercying Cassandra and then guest starring on the Sketchy & Skeezy Show.

Fandom: Z nation Word count: approx 890 Warnings: Discussion of death, Doc-typical drug use Nothing NSFW but my blog is 18+ so interact at your own discretion

10K is pulling faces at his own reflection in his goggles, poking at the mark on his jaw where the anthrax blisters aren't quite healed yet.

“I wouldn't worry too much.” Doc sits down on the ground beside him. “The ladies dig a guy with battle scars. The ones you haven't seen die, anyway.”

10K says nothing.

“What, did I touch a sore spot?”

This earns him an eye roll.

Doc takes a big sip from his water bottle. “For real though. I know what's on your mind. We can talk about it if you want.”

10K scrunches up his nose, scratching under his chin. “I think its starting to get stubbly under here.” He tilts the goggles. “Yeah. A little bit.”

“Beards are pretty good hiding places you know.” Doc settles himself more comfortably on the dusty ground, knowing the kid will open up when he's ready.

It doesn't take long. “I knew you'd come find me. I appreciate it.”

Doc chuckles. “Don't know why you'd need to count on me. You'll survive anything.”

“Yeah but.” 10K places the goggles back on his head, and rubs a hand through his hair which sticks up at several different angles. “You're always there. Everyone else was ready to leave me. It feels nice.”

Doc ruffles the boy's hair, managing to flatten a few strands momentarily. “You're family to me. We don't leave each other behind.”

“I didn't want to feel anything.” The words come tumbling out unrehearsed, as 10K stares resolutely at nothing. “With Cassandra. It was just like my Dad. I didn't care whether I'd ever feel happy again, nothing mattered anymore. Except having a mission.”

“We've all got feelings. I know you try to bury yours under the number but you can't force yourself to not have a good heart anymore.”

Doc watches 10K blink slowly, which he does when he's trying to process a compliment.

There's a rustling sound and an ancient, half-eaten packet Of biscuits drops onto the ground in front of them.

“Dinner is served.” Warren announces. She clocks 10K's stare and raises an eyebrow at Doc, who nods. She knows to leave them for a while, and retreats.

“Hey.” He nudges the kid's shoulder with his, and reaches for the biscuits. “You must be hungry.”

“Is it really okay?” 10K asks, his fingers twitching as he hugs his knees to his chin. “To feel again. I don't wanna be distracted, but I don't wanna shut anyone out either.”

Doc mulls this over as he chews a stale cookie. “I worked with addicts for a long time after I stopped being one. Some of 'em wanted to numb the pain any way they could. Others said that they didn't feel anything at all and they'd do anything to be happy, or even sad, just something.”

10K reaches slowly for a biscuit. “I'm not an addict. I'm not sure what I am.”

“Human.” he states simply in reply.

They eat their way down to the bottom of the packet in silence, but its companionable. Doc has picked up by now that 10K isn't always great at verbal communication- in the societal aspect at least. Actually, he always says exactly what he means to say, and that's something of a blessing. His facial expressions give away a lot too, and body language. Others might not pick up on it but Doc spent most of his pre-Z life doing this.

What would he diagnose, if this were his patient? Obviously he isn't qualified to do that as a counsellor, but in many cases a loosely-applied label would make it easier for him to give the most appropriate treatment, without the client worrying about being put in a box for the rest of their life. PTSD would be the first option. Though the “post” is a bit defunct when every single day there is a new narrow escape, a new grotesque corpse, a new horror being committed. And perhaps the word “disorder” is wrong too- as though there's a socially acceptable way of adapting to this shit stain of a world, and any other is maladaptive.

“I dunno.” He says aloud. “Keep counting. Keep working on growing that stubble. Keep kicking ass. Or stop. You won't find your answers out here, they're inside you.”

“Thanks.” 10K gives a lop-sided smile. Now that he's eaten, he's beginning to succumb to exhaustion. Big shadows under eyes too young and too kind to have seen what they've seen.

“And of course I came looking for ya I don't know what I'd do without you, kid.”

Warren's voice interrupts their moment. “Time to move! We ride for as long as we can and then continue on foot.”

Doc makes a bit of a show of struggling to stand. “Hey, any seats in the back? My back's kicking up a stink from all that rowing.”

“Sure thing, old timer. She winks. “Murphy, you go in the trailer with Vasquez. Keep your hood up.”

They haven't been on the road for long before 10K is claimed by sleep. Doc watches the little facial twitches, fluttering eyelids, that indicate troublesome dreams. Perhaps a little Z-weed would help that. But only a little. Don't want the kid whiting out when there's stuff to shoot.

“Man,” He says quietly to himself, “This parenting thing don't get easier.”

<<< I really did not mean for this to end up as an angst fest. There will likely be a follow-up where Doc gives a lesson in self-medication and shenanigans ensue

#z nation #z nation fic #z nation doc #z nation 10k #doc #10k

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hardskz · 5 years

Text

indulge.

pairing — hwang hyunjin x genderneutral! reader

genre — smut; dirty talk, masturbation, choking, praise kink, master kink, hand kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, hard dom!hyunjin

synopsis — after avoiding hyunjin for weeks because you got off whilst imagining his face, he’s making it clear that you haven’t been the most subtle one when staring at him. alternatively, 5.5k words of hyunjin being a cocky little fucker.

note — today marks the one month anniversary of this tragedy of a blog, so here’s my gift to you all thank you for supporting me <3 please enjoy this pwp monster! i tried to make the reader genderneutral since the original request used they/them pronouns and fuck it was a challenge and idk if it’ll ever do that again. (writing porn without using the words dick or clit or good boy/girl when referring to the reader is hard i dare you and i cringed writing this out kms) in any case, the reader is a bottom in this fic!

Having a crush on your friend’s bandmate is one thing. Being attracted to said bandmate to the point where your underwear grows damp just by looking at him (in real life and on the internet) is something entirely worse.

It’s in the middle of the night when you wake up with your heart pounding against your chest and sweat trickling down your back beneath the loose t-shirt. Your wet dreams have been appearing a fuck times too often and feature the same person over and over again to your dismay. You’re lucky you’re the only one in the house over the weekend because you don’t necessarily want your moaning at 3 AM to be the main topic during breakfast.

Hoping to cool down while recalling the many times Minho has complained about one of his cats pissing on the couch isn’t working this time. In retrospect, thinking about Minho’s weird cat antics in an attempt to get out of the mood has never been completely effective for the past three months. Sure, picturing your best friend ranting with his mouth full of half-chewed Cheetos and getting some crumbs on your lap is a definite turn-off, but the needy wish of getting dicked by a particular bandmate of his still lingers.

It’s been three months since you realized that the horny part of your brain has stopped projecting different guys out of your mental archive of masturbation-material faces. Instead, it casts one incredibly handsome — he’s so handsome he should be illegal at this point, you decide — person in your mind. Every. Fucking. Time.

You’ve been trying to erase him out of your head, but perhaps it wasn’t your brightest idea when you tried searching for a new figure to replace him with a clear vision in mind. It took you approximately two weeks to realize that you were looking for someone with long and nimble fingers and plump lips and just everything that Hwang Hyunjin is.

Because of knowing that fucker named Hyunjin in person, you haven’t had any sexual release for the past three months. Again, it’s one thing to have a crush on your friend’s bandmate, but it’s a completely different thing when you get off on said bandmate and then have to face him every week and pretend like nothing’s wrong. You’re bound to see him at least once a week because Minho always forces you to be the judge of the group’s new choreography because it’s, quote Minho, “crucial to getting the opinion from an outsider.” And that although he knows you’re far from a dancer. (You’ve taken one single dance class because he hauled your ass to his studio before he became a trainee and ever since, you haven’t stepped a foot into the dance studio.)

You see Hyunjin more often than compared to the remaining members of the group. Because of fucking course, he’s part of the dance line and also contributes into making the choreography, so it shouldn’t be so surprising that he’s started to act comfortably around you. To your horror, him acting comfortably also includes being touchy. That being said, he’s developed a habit of throwing an arm around your shoulder or pinching your cheeks to spite you alongside Minho. It’s only a matter of time until you have no other choice but to give in because Hyunjin is getting more casual by the day. Then again, you’re holding off because you don’t want to have a bad conscience and—

Fuck it.

You hesitantly bunch your blanket to the side and slip a hand underneath the waistband of your underwear, shuddering at the slightest pressure and opening your mouth to let out a silent gasp. Fucking hell, three months of no touching has made you so sensitive. You try to take it slow, carefully ghosting around your weak spots as you graze your other hand over the inside of your thighs, a mewl leaving your mouth.

A wet patch has formed in your underwear and you’re leaking so much that it’s enough to coat two fingers in slick. By then, your body has switched to autopilot and before you can process it, a finger prods at your entrance and that’s when you realize there’s no use in beginning slowly but surely.

You pump your finger in and out of you at a slower pace and your body’s reacting to it astoundingly sensitive to your ministrations. Your hips buck up into the air in the hopes of more friction and muffled curses fly out of your mouth without intervention. All sense of reason flies out the window when you curl your finger and graze your sweet spot. At this point, you’re already imagining it’s Hyunjin’s finger teasing you, Hyunjin watching your squirming form with hungry eyes and knowing that you’re at the brink of begging him to hit your spot.

Once you’re fixated on Hyunjin, you don’t hold back any longer. You get rid of your underwear completely and then slip a second finger in, whimpering at the stretch. It’s been so long, way too long of having last felt this way and when you start scissoring your fingers, you can’t help but bring “Hyunjin, f-fuck,” past your lips. Why the fuck did you sentence yourself to a masturbating-to-Hyunjn prohibition in the first place? It feels so much better now that Hyunjin’s name spills out of your mouth like a prayer.

With every passing second, your movements grow more frantic. The sound of skin slapping and slick squelching in you and your ragged breath resound within your four walls. The bed starts to creak a little, the blanket has somehow found its way to the cold floor and all you can think about is an imaginary Hyunjin fingering you in a moderate tempo and reminding you how wet you are for him and how well you’re doing.

Your imagination is running wild to the point of no return. You’re imagining Hyunjin’s forehead covered in sweat as he fucks you over with his hands, imagining his bangs falling above his eyes, imagining his tongue hungrily running over his plump, pink lips as he stares down at you. He’d smile amusedly at your whines, would coo about how much he loves hearing you so vocal and then mark you up in purple bruises. As much as he’d want to let everyone see the hickeys he planted on you, he’d know better and settle for your thighs, forcing you to keep them spread out for him. And even then, you wouldn’t be allowed to cum unless he gives you the green light.

“P-please, Hyunjin—” you whimper as you sense your high approaching and your fingers speed up. The sensation is becoming too much to handle, the idea of Hyunjin looking down at your with a coy smile and mumbling profanities as he rams his long, slender fingers into you and abuses your spot without a break. You’re not entirely sure what he’d say, but you’re sure that whatever it is, it’s downright filthy and sexy and affecting you more than he’d initially expect.

“Please, Hyunjin, I’m gonna… f-fu-u-uuck… I’m gonna—”

Hyunjin is a cocky little fucker who thrives on control, so he’d pull out and grin at you wickedly, continuing to leave marks on your thighs and restraining your hands from touching yourself. Your cry comes out louder than intended as you do so and you keep your legs spread apart, breath hitching as the cool air hits you bare.

Hyunjin is a kinky piece of shit who loves power. He’s also pretty damn aware of how nice and big his hands are, and you can’t help but want the feeling of his hand wrapped around your neck and his fingers in your mouth. He’d be so fucking smug, waiting for you to get teary-eyed and thrash around pathetically before he lets you indulge.

“I’ll be good for you, just— please—” your voice cracks towards the end and you turn your head to the side to bury your face into the pillow, muffling out your moans when you slowly finger yourself again, trembling legs still spread apart. “Fuck, Hyunjin, please let me cum!”

“Mmh, cum for me,” you imagine him rasping between low groans, a smug smirk etched on his face. “Since you’ve been so good for me.”

You pick up your pace, fingers drilling into you in an abusing manner and your body jolts up. You’re too far gone to control your voice, high-pitched moans and sobs and broken cries of his name bounce off the not-so soundproof walls, but holy fuck, you needed this so badly. Although Hyunjin would bathe in your sounds, his superiority kink would be fed even more once he shoves down his free fingers in your mouth and burns your tear-stained face in the back of his mind. That’s definitely something he’d do, so you shove three fingers into your mouth, imagining they were his. You whine at the thought of him tapping your tongue, a silent order to suck.

When you cum, it’s with a broken sob and Hyunjin’s satisfied grin in mind. Your body is trembling from the wave of pleasure flooding over you, mind hazy from the excessive stimulation. Three months of sexual frustration, you’re riding out three months worth of sexual frustration, so you don’t give a fuck about the drool running down your chin, tears staining your cheeks or the fact that your bedding is now sticky in cum and sweat. As you slowly come down from your high, you wipe off your hand on your shirt and try to catch your breath, eyes staring at the ceiling.

Well, you’re fucked. You finally committed the sin of masturbating to Hyunjin. You’re still basking in your moment of bliss and thus, you don’t care about the aftermath for now. But tomorrow. Yeah, tomorrow you’ll regret what you just did. You just hope the regret won’t follow you strongly for the rest of your life.

Four weeks later and you’re still regretting it.

Nothing has changed so far; Minho still spams your inbox when you’re not yet in the practice room to review a choreography even though you still have ten minutes to get there, and Hyunjin still casually throws an arm around your shoulder and buries his face into the crook of your neck when he’s exhausted and not too sweaty.

Nothing has changed so far except that so much has changed.

Obviously, you can’t avoid Hyunjin like the plague — even though that idea sounds fucking genius — but you’re trying to keep a distance from him. You’ve started avoiding his gaze, giving curt answers when he asks you if anything is wrong (“Why should it be? Everything’s peachy!” God Gracious, who the fuck uses the word peachy?) and always find an excuse to run away when you sense that he’s about to start a longer conversation (“Did you hear that? I should go help Felix!”).

You arrive at the practice room ten minutes later than usual due to the traffic jam and immediately slip out of your new shoes once the door slams shut. Fucking hell, you really should’ve worn those out first. “Minho, don’t even dare to bitch around, my feet hurt and it’s currently rush hour and the last thing I need is you breathing down my…” your voice trails off when you look up and only see Hyunjin raising a brow at you.

Oh. Fuck.

“Where are Minho and Felix?” you ask, realizing that you two are the only ones in the room. You try not to stare too much at his defined arms or plump lips or just the fact that he’s dressed in loose pants and a sleeveless shirt.

“Hello to you too,” Hyunjin scowls and walks towards your direction to put his half-empty water bottle back on the table. “Chan is treating them to hotpot. Well, he invited all of us but I really need to perfect this move, so I passed.”

“So that’s why Minho didn’t send me twenty voicemails today for being late, huh. And I can’t believe you passed on free food. Anyway—” you attempt to quickly slip your feet back into your uncomfortable sneakers. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, I’ll get going then—”

Before you know it, Hyunjin grips your wrist forcefully and cuts you off with a pout. “I still need someone to review my dance, though. Don’t you wanna keep me company?”

You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine and blink slowly. “Uh, you do know that I have no fucking clue about dancing.”

“(y/n), that’s not an answer to my question. Am I really that unbearable?”

“What? Of course not! I just don’t see how much of a help I can be here.”

His pout morphs into a smug smile. It’s as if he knows, but you can’t quite decipher what exactly. The grip on your wrist tightens to the point where you should be worried about your blood circulation but instead, you’re enjoying the long, calloused fingers on your skin.

“Then let me ask you something else. Do I ever cross your mind?” Hyunjin’s tone is light and melodic, but the underlying catch is hard to miss. You gulp, suddenly wanting Minho to appear out of nowhere and begin his speech about why the fuck cats deserve rights and are superior to the human race. The sudden mood shift grows insufferable as you slowly try to pull away. However, Hyunjin is persistent and never lets go and invades your personal bubble. That’s when you find your voice again. It’s small and shaky but it’s something.

“Hyunjin, you’re not making any sense—”

“Do you think about me? Dream about me?” you pale at the accusation. He knows. The smile on his face widens in victory. “Bingo.”

And just like that, he pushes you against the door before letting go of you. Now, you could run out of the room, the door handle is just a few inches away, but Hyunjin is strong and fast and there’s no way that you’d succeed in escaping. Not knowing what else to do without feeling as if you want the ground to swallow you whole, you just stand stiffly. Hyunjin laughs through his nose and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“C’mon, we both saw this coming.”

“Really?” you squeak, trembling at his presence. If only he leaned into you a little more, you’d feel his breath prickling your skin. “I-I mean, uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh really,” he sighs and then slams a hand against the door, right next to your face, the impact so loud that your body jolts. “Then please explain why you’ve been avoiding me as if I were carrying a contagious disease but then proceed to eye-fuck me when I turn my back to you. I’ve noticed the way you’ve been staring at me and honestly, it’s so cute but also so, so naive of you to think that I’m blind. You do know that this room is full of mirrors, right?”

Your eyes widen in fear. “W-what are you trying to say?”

“What I’m trying to say is that I’m intrigued by you. No, scrap that — I want you. I want to tear you apart. I want you to scream my name. I want you crying as you take my cock up to the hilt. I want a lot of things, so much more than you can imagine, but that’s not the point. Remember, I asked you a question: do I ever cross your mind?”

He reaches for your chin with his free hand, forcing you to meet his eyes. Albeit firm, his grip isn’t too harsh so that you can nod in response.

“Obviously,” he says casually, “I wanna know more though. Give me the gory details.”

You inhale sharply. Fucking hell. No. No. No. It’s already embarrassing enough that Hyunjin has noticed you mentally undressing him the entire time and you’re not going down the rabbit hole of “telling him all of the kinky shit you’ve imagined him do to you and potentially making your fantasies come true”.

Hyunjin makes a sad face, but his voice just drips in shameless glee. “I guess I’ll have to force you then. Didn’t peg you as a brat, but I can work with that too.”

“I’m not a—”

Before you finish wording out your complete thought, Hyunjin grabs you by the collar and pulls you in for a kiss. It’s sloppy and devoid of care or emotion, but it leaves you boiling hot and dizzy. Hyunjin knows no boundaries and slings one arm around your waist to draw you closer to him, the other hand resting at the back of your neck. He’s kissing you feverishly like a man starved, forces his tongue into your mouth and doesn’t give you any chance to pull away and breathe. Meanwhile, your hands find their way to his head and tug on strands of pitch-black hair. It’s a weak attempt to break off the kiss, but it just elicits a groan out of the back of his throat.

When you finally pull away, his eyes are hooded and his lips are red and swollen. Catching your breath, you somehow manage to stumble all the way to the back of the room. Hyunjin pushes you onto the semi-comfortable couch before he starts to kiss you again, breaking it off once to discard his shirt. At the sight of his defined abs (you’re finally seeing them in person and not in shitty LQ pictures that a fan took during a concert, thank you God), you suppress the need to run your hands over them.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying the show,” he rasps with a grin before he latches for another uncoordinated liplock. Saliva is dripping down from the corner of your lips, but neither of you seems to care.

Eventually, his hands start to roam your body, undoing the buttons of your shirt before sliding it off your shoulders and throwing it into a corner. He detaches his lips from you and before you can complain, he leans down to suck on the patch of skin below your collarbone. A shaky moan escapes your mouth and you throw your head back, whimpering when he begins to bite. Perhaps you got that partially right. Hyunjin loves to mark, just in dangerous areas to your dismay. One slip up and people are going to see the bruises.

His hands begin to wander lower and lower. They’re halfway undoing the zipper when you sob at the faintest amount of pressure and weep, “Stop stop, Hyunjin— stop!”

He stops in his tracks and looks up at you, clearly impatient. “What?”

“I’m, u-uh, I’m really sensitive, okay?” you feel the blood rush to your cheeks when you say it out loud. “I haven’t got dicked in a while and also haven’t been, uh, touching myself, so uh…”

“Why the fuck not?”

“B-because the last time I touched myself, I’ve been thinking about you!”

“So you got off on… me?”

Hyunjin looks so fucking smug, so satisfied, and you’re pretty damn sure it’s not a trick of the light and his eyes really turned a shade darker. Yeah, that superiority kink? You were right on that, he definitely loves to bask in power.

“Yes, I did. Happy? As I was saying, I’m really fucking sensitive right now, especially my thighs, so don’t—” Hyunjin quickly zips down the rest, applying pressure in all the right places and when he strips off the jeans, he makes sure that his knuckles graze your inner thighs, “d-don’t do shit like this— oh f-fuck, Hyunjin!”

“Yeah, I don’t fucking care.” he shrugs and your pants to God knows where. “By the way, I cut you off before. What did you want to say? You’re not a…?”

“I’m not a brat.”

“You sure do act like one,” he says and adds after a moment of contemplation, “Tell you this. You tell me exactly what you imagined me to do when you touched yourself and I’ll see for myself if you’re really not a brat.”

“What?”

“I wanna know what you want me to do to you. You wanna be good for me, don’t you? Then tell me.”

“You were… I— wait, someone might come in—”

“The practice room is booked for us for another hour. Now go on, I’m listening.”

You squirm when his fingers ghost over the inside of your thighs. Any attempts to move away prove themselves futile as Hyunjin plants you onto the couch with his free hand on your hip. “You had— hhhh. o-oh fuck— your fingers in my mouth, told me to suck and— a-aaa-ah— fingered me then…”

He hums appreciatively before releasing the grip on your hip and violently shoving three fingers into your mouth. His fingers are longer than you expected and you close your eyes in bliss as you earnestly suck on them. Eventually, he starts thrusting them in and out of you, tempo getting faster with every movement and you almost gag when he reaches further into your mouth than you ever could with your own. “Baby, you should see yourself. You look so pretty like this.”

When you moan around his fingers, he snickers. “Do you like it when I praise you? We haven’t even started and you’re already doing so well.”

The disappointment you feel when he pulls out is quickly replaced by even greater pleasure when he presses his thumb directly over the wet patch on your underwear. Hyunjin’s not even applying a lot of pressure, but you’re already at the brink of screaming. “So sensitive for me. Fuck, that’s so hot. So sensitive for me and only me,” he hisses while pulling your panties down.

The direct contact of his spit-covered finger just grazing your entrance sends you into overdrive. Even you yourself didn’t expect to be this hypersensitive to everything he does. You’re growing more vocal by the second and slap an arm in front of your mouth to muffle your sounds. However, he’s not having it and chastises, “Stop that. I want to hear your voice. Don’t hold back.”

You shiver at the authority in his tone and before your brain fully processed it, both of your hands are gripping the armrest as if it were your lifeline, the moans coming out of your mouth unfiltered. Hyunjin smirks. “That’s it, baby. Moan louder for me so that everyone in this building could hear you if the walls weren’t fucking soundproof.”

“Hyunjin, don’t tease me, please!” you shake violently, craving more than what he’s currently giving you. His little touches are too much yet not enough at the same time. Partly frustrated and partly needy, your sobs grow more uncontrolled and tears are already forming in your glassy eyes.

But no, Hyunjin is a cocky little shit who loves the sight of you struggling.

“Hm? But I like seeing you squirm like this. How long is it going to take until you start crying properly?”

“I knew it! I knew you’d be like this!” you cry accusingly, “I can’t, I can’t.”

“Why don’t you do anything against it, then? You’re holding back, it’s cute.”

“Because I— fuck, fu-u-uuck, s-stop it— wanna be good for you. I won’t misbehave, please master, allow me to cum—”

“What did you just call me?” Hyunjin is suddenly tense, stops with his ministrations and stares at you wide-eyed. You mirror his movements, just as perplexed by your words. You didn’t even mean it intentionally, it just slipped out. Sure, you knew that he had that superiority domination kink going on, but did he really enjoy being addressed as— “Say it again.”

You lick your lips and watch him closely. “Let me come, master.”

Hyunjin shudders visibly and the groan that escapes his mouth is raspy and deep and liquid sin. “Since you’re so good for me…” you yelp when he suddenly inserts two fingers into you, and fingers you in a rapid speed. It takes him roughly five thrusts until he finds your weak spot before he repeatedly pumps in and out in the same angle, emitting a sob from your side. “Is there anything else you imagined master doing to you?”

“Hands around… a-aa-ah shit— around my…” Hyunjin raises a brow when you reach out for his free hand and sloppily guide him to your throat. Stars fill your vision as he understands and wraps his fingers around your neck, the missing feeling of air making you light-headed. You weep out a silent cry when he moves his fingers even faster and applies slightly more pressure on your throat.

“Fuck, you look so good with my hand around your neck. What’s next? You want me to gag you with my fingers? Pull your hair when I’m fucking your mouth? Run my hands all over your body as you get yourself off on my thigh? You seem to be really fixated on my hands.”

Hyunjin’s words send you jolts of pleasure throughout your entire body. You don’t even register the intent behind what he says, too focused on all the other sensations. At this point you’re too far gone to keep holding onto any thread of rationality; the tears are gradually streaming down, your thighs are trembling and it hurts yet it doesn’t, and your orgasm hits you so hard you don’t even process it until your body starts to sting.

While you’re recovering from your high, Hyunjin picks up your cum on his fingers and licks it off thoughtfully, his eyes raking up and down your fingers. And then he asks in a manner way too casual for the situation, “How often can you cum, hm?”

You’re already fucked out by his fingers alone, and if he keeps it up, the answer is not a lot of times. Hell, you’re pretty sure your limit is two, but you answer tiredly with, “As many times as master wants me to.”

Hyunjin seems satisfied with the reply and then he gets up on his feet. Cluelessly, you send him mental question marks until he motions you to get up too. “What are you waiting for? Take my pants off.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You just notice now how constrained Hyunjin is underneath the jeans that hung on his hips. Wanting to free him out of his misery as fast as possible, you quickly unbuckle his belt and work on his zipper with the lightest amount of pressure you can muster. From there on, it doesn’t take long until you’ve pulled the fabric down alongside his boxers, revealing his hard length.

At the sight of his size, the precum pooling around his tip and the girth of his length, your mouth waters. “Can I suck you off?”

“I’d love that, but not today.” Hyunjin chuckles when your face drops and grabs your chin, his voice suddenly sultrier and a few intervals lower when he says, “Don’t look so disappointed. I know you’d do a great job. If I fucked your mouth without warning, you’d still take it, right? You wouldn’t deny an inch of my dick, would you? Even if you started to gag, you wouldn’t complain because you want to be good for master.”

He drops himself on the couch and the corners of his mouth crook upwards. “I just thought of something better. I bet you look so pretty bouncing on my cock.”

“Holy fuck,” you whisper. He’s right, that’s so much better than having his pulsing dick in your mouth. Fuck, you’ve been fantasizing about this for the past months after all. And just like that, he’s serving it all on a silver platter.

“C’mon, make me feel good,” he mumbles impatiently as he guides you onto his lap and pulls you in for a kiss. You melt into the kiss, let him abuse your lips up until they bleed if he fucking insists, before smearing precum all over his throbbing dick. Once he’s all slicked up, you raise yourself and sink on him, hissing uncontrollably once his head prods at your entrance.

Despite having him loosening you up a little before with his fingers, the stretch is so intense that you break the kiss and bury your face in the crook of his neck. You’re not the only one who’s affected this badly, as Hyunjin lets a particularly loud groan. “Fuck, you’re so tight. It’s like you were made for me. Be good for master and take me to the hilt, yeah?”

With that, he grips your hips so tightly that they form bruises, and slams you onto the rest of his dick. You stutter out a cry and more tears stream down your face. Hyunjin doesn’t give you time to adjust and lifts you up until only his head is still buried in you, only to push you down again immediately.

“God, you’re taking me in so well. Tell me, who’s making you feel this good?” he demands whilst continuing to manhandle you in this ruthless pace.

“You, master— a-aaa-ah, f-fuck— you’re making me feel this good, master!” you choke out, indulging the rough treatment. “You’re the only one who makes me feel so full!”

Hyunjin groans against you and begins to thrust his hips up into you like a madman. “You’re right, baby, only me huh—” he tugs on your hair with his one hand and kisses you in between your hiccups.

It’s hot, way too hot in here. The sound of skin slapping rings in your ears, as well as Hyunjin’s countless muffled praises. You’re both on edge, orgasm washing over you very soon. It’s prominent in the way Hyunjin’s movements grow more frantically, the way you cling onto him as if he were your saving grace, the way he rasps profanities in your ear.

“Cum for me, baby,” he pants, and it’s the one thrust that he delivers where he’s in you balls-deep and in the right angle that makes you come undone with a loud sob. Hyunjin helps you ride out your high before he pulls out of you completely and his release coats your stomach.

The next few moments are spent in silence, save for the harsh breathing. And then Hyunjin stands up to get a box of tissues next to the speakers and wipes off the cum on his abdomen before cleaning you up. You welcome his actions wholeheartedly, still basking in your post-orgasm bliss. Frankly, every inch of your body hurts and you’re damn sure you won’t be able to feel your legs until the end of the month.

“I’m pretty positive I won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” you say once he’s done cleaning you up as much as he can with simple tissues and is now retrieving all the clothes on the floor.

“It’s what you deserve after putting yourself through your weird sex-deprivation thing,” he jokes and falls on the couch beside you, handing you your clothes and offering his water bottle. “Want some?”

You silently take the bottle and take three generous gulps out of it. “Not today. You said not today when I wanted you to suck you off.”

“I mean, if you’re up for a next time, that is. If yes, then cool. If not, that’s also fine by me.” The way he replies is so casual as if he didn’t get hard from being called master. “Anyway, let me help you get back to your clothes.”

“No cuddles? You are the worst in aftercare.”

“I was thinking of cuddling once we both look a tad more presentable, but go off,” he snorts. Nonetheless, he’s extremely gentle and careful when he helps you slip into your button-up. No words are exchanged all the while except for his soft apologies when you wince in pain because fuck, even lifting your legs hurts.

Hyunjin keeps his word. After fixing your hair to the best extent, he wraps an arm around your waist and you rest your head on his chest, hearing his steady heartbeat.

“I can’t believe we just fucked in the practice room,” he chuckles weakly. “If this becomes a regular thing, please let’s not do it in the practice room ever again. I work here.”

Of course you want this to be a regular thing. Fucking hell. But you don’t say that just yet. Instead, you opt for: “Well, if this becomes a regular thing, the dorms seem like a pretty sweet—”

“Absolutely not.”

You laugh quietly, but deep down inside you know he really wants to do that but doesn’t want to admit it out loud because Hyunjin’s a kinky little shit. “Whatever you say.”

Still, it’s a lot to process, everything that just happened. It’s so much that it drains you more than it should. Your eyes are starting to feel heavy and you sense yourself falling into a slumber. However, you still catch Hyunjin’s half exasperated, half panicked “don’t you dare fall asleep on me now, at least stay awake until we’re in my car!”

You’re not entirely certain if this is just your mind playing games on you or actual reality, but you like to believe that shortly after his outburst, Hyunjin kisses you fondly on the forehead and softly mumbles, “Whatever. Sleep tight, baby.”

#lulu end a story properly challenge failed i'm bad at this im so sorry idek #stray kids smut #skz smut #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin smut #dom!hyunjin #sub!reader #smut.mine #hwang.txt #stray kids dark hours

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myherodreaming · 4 years

Text

Just a Cup of Tea | Kirishima Eijirou x reader

word count: 2.5k

A/N: as a first fic for my new blog, it has to be my first bnha love :’) This was inspired by the Shie Hassaikai arc in season 4, and as such does have (very) mild spoilers for it!

It happens almost every night. You wake up somewhere around 1 am with your mouth and throat so parched you can’t even swallow. Tonight is no different. With a groan, you rub your bleary eyes and kick a leg over the edge of your bed, then the other. One of these days, you’ll remember to bring a glass of water along with you to your room.

As quietly as possible, you ease your door open and tiptoe down the hallway, toward the common room and kitchen. You’re so focused on getting a glass of water that you don’t notice the shape on the couch until you’re making your way back to your room. As you pass by, the shape moves, and you try your best to muffle your shriek as your precious water sloshes over your hands and onto the floor.

“Woah, you alright?” You recognize the voice right as the face it belongs to moves into the faint light that falls through the window. Kirishima has his hands lifted like he wants to help, but isn’t quite sure how.

“Kirishima-kun!” You breathe out in relief. “You startled me. What - what are you doing here?”

“Ah, sorry.” He reaches for the back of his neck, offering you a half smile as he sinks back down onto the couch. You frown. “I just couldn’t sleep, that’s all. No big deal.” He grins, but you’re not convinced.

You look down at the water remaining in your glass before you sit down on the opposite edge of the couch. It had only been a matter of days since he and Midoriya, Ochako, and Tsu had returned from, well, from whatever they’d been involved in. To be honest, the details are still a bit foggy to you. All you know is that it was big, and he’d been hurt. When you look up, he’s watching you curiously.

“Are you alright?” You finally ask. You aren’t sure where this bravery is coming from. It probably has something to do with how late it is, and how sleepy you are. The logical part of your brain probably isn’t really awake right now.

His mouth opens and closes once before he finally answers you. “I will be. Just need some time to process, y’know?” He shrugs, and there’s that toothy grin again. Somehow, no matter the situation, it seems like he’s always smiling. Something about that fact tugs at your middle.

“Well.” You say slowly. “My friends say I’m a pretty good listener.” You finally let yourself look him fully in the eye. “If you want to talk.”

“Wow, that’s really nice of you.” He shakes his head. “But I’ll be fine, really. I don’t really know if I’m supposed to talk about it, anyway.” He laughs weakly. “Besides, you should get back to bed. Class tomorrow, and all that.”

“You’re probably right.” You say, getting to your feet as you silently kick yourself for even suggesting something so silly in the first place. Why would he want to open up to you, of all people? “Night.” You lift your hand in a slight wave as you turn to head back to your room.

“Sleep well!” He calls out after you in a half-whisper, and you can’t help but smile to yourself.

Back in your room, you find that you aren’t all that tired anymore. The weird crush from the first week of school that you thought you’d gotten over is rearing its head again. Kirishima is such a genuinely nice guy. He might be a little, well, pointy, but he has a nice face and a big smile, and he’s always been kind to you. He’s kind to everyone, though.

In your opinion, someone like him is destined to be the perfect hero. Someone like him doesn’t deserve to have the look you’d seen on his face the moment you turned to go back to your room. You almost get up to go back out there, but the logical side of your brain must have finally woken up, because instead you roll over and finally make a conscious effort to fall back asleep.

***

The next day in class, you tell yourself it’s not weird when Kirishima’s eyes are on you when you walk into the room, and your heart does not leap in your chest when he flashes you a quick smile before turning back to Sero and laughing at whatever he’d just said.

***

That night, like clockwork, you wake up and slap your hand around on your bedside table. No water, again. With a heavy sigh, you shuffle out to the kitchen. The night before is still stuck fresh in your head, so you glance toward the couch on your way, not really expecting him to be there again. This time when he looks up at you, you manage not to make a sound.

“Y/N.” He seems surprised to see you again, so you offer him a small wave.

“Me again.” You chuckle softly. “I was just thirsty.” You point in the direction of the kitchen, and he nods. “Would you, ah, like me to make tea or something?”

“Oh no, no!” He refuses quickly, waving his hands in front of him. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind.” You say honestly. “It might help you sleep. I wouldn’t mind a cup myself.” You add. You can tell he’s about to refuse again, but to your surprise, he nods.

“Okay, sure. That would be... nice.” He draws his knees beneath his chin and hugs them to his chest.

“Okay.” You say, still not quite believing he’s agreed as you move around the kitchen, heating the water and finding two mugs. When it’s ready, you carefully balance everything between your two hands, and carefully set the mugs on the table. “Honey?” You ask, lifting up the jar.

“Huh?” His neck snaps in your direction, eyes wide.

“For your tea?” You add quietly, biting down on your lower lip as you try not to smile. There is no way that he just thought you were addressing him by a pet name.

“Oh.” He is suddenly looking anywhere besides your face, but he nods. “Sure, maybe. Just a little.”

When you hand him the mug, you try not to think about the way his fingers brush yours. He lifts it to his lips, and peers at you over the rim, through the steam, before taking a sip.

“Thanks.” He murmurs. “This is good.” You nod, and after that, the two of you fall into a silence that isn’t uncomfortable, and sip your tea. You’ve become so used to it that, when he speaks again, you jump just a little.

“Every time I close my eyes, I just keep wondering what I could have done differently.” You blink, holding the mug closer to your chest as he meets your gaze. After a few moments, he continues. “You know, if there was something I could have done that might have changed things. Helped anyone.” He bites down on his lip and then takes another sip of tea.

“Kirishima...” You say slowly. “It’s not, I mean-”

“I know.” He says. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry I mentioned it. I guess I just... felt like I could talk to you.” He offers a small smile.

“You can!” You say quickly. “Talk to me, I mean. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.” You aren’t sure if you should reach out or touch his shoulder, so you keep both hands wrapped around your mug.

“It was scary.” He admits in a small voice. “Just a little.” He adds quickly, frowning to himself. You can practically hear his inner monologue muttering how unmanly it was to admit that he was even a little bit scared. You give your head a single, small shake. It’s okay.

“But at the same time... I felt like a real hero.” He grins more brightly at you. “Like, that’s the kind of thing the pros deal with all the time. And for me, it’s weird seeing the rest of the world just continue on as normal after something like that, but I suppose they must be used to it after all this time.”

“Maybe not.” You say softly. “Maybe they’re just better at hiding it, or - moving past it.”

He tilts his head in thought, and for a few moments, he’s silent, looking at something far off out the window. Then he looks back at you.

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe.” He agrees, smile growing on his face. “Ah, thank you.” He stands then, carrying his empty mug toward the kitchen. “I think the tea’s working.” He says when you get up and follow, setting your mug in the sink next to his. “You didn’t have to do that.” He adds, again.

“Maybe not.” You say, “But I wanted to, and that’s kind of the same thing.” You pause, realizing that your face is only a few inches away from his. If you’re not mistaken, a slight blush is coloring his cheeks. It’s hard to say for sure, with the pale lighting and the fact that he is, honestly, already mostly red. Your breath catches in your throat, but that quickly he steps backwards and the moment is over. You huff out a breath, and he flashes you a quick, nervous grin.

“Well, goodnight. Sorry to keep you up.” He says, hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Don’t be.” You say softly, offering him a smile of your own before you turn and make your way back to bed. Despite the tea you’d just drank and the warm feeling in your middle, it takes you quite a while to fall asleep.

***

For the next two days, Kirishima is at his work study all day. There’s a small, hollow pit of disappointment in your middle, but you push it aside. You’re glad you could be there for him when he needed someone, you tell yourself. That’s all there is to it. You don’t need it to be anything more - you were honestly just being a good person. You would’ve done the same for anyone.

By the second day, you decide that it’s probably for the best that he isn’t around, because that’s a lot easier than trying to keep yourself from staring at him when he’s in the same room.

***

That evening, you almost miss the note that’s shoved haphazardly against the door knob to your room. You glance around, but there’s no one in sight. Carefully, you unfold it to reveal tall but slightly messy handwriting. If you get thirsty tonight, I’ll be at our spot. At the bottom, there’s a tiny, spiky-haired stick figure. Despite the poor artistic skill, it isn’t hard for you to figure out who it’s meant to be. You stare down at the note for a few moments in disbelief. “Our spot.” You murmur to yourself, trying to keep a dumb smile from your face. No use reading too far into it - he probably just means to thank you for the tea. That’s what gentlemen do, after all.

Still, when you crawl into bed, you know you won’t sleep a wink until 1 am comes around. Instead, you read the short note over and over, studying the slant of the print, the tiny stick figure, and the edge of the paper that looks like it was torn from a notebook, then carefully trimmed. You’re watching the clock when it rolls over from 12:59 to 1:00, and you try not to move too quickly as you kick off the covers and slip out the door.

You try to keep the smile off your face when you spot him on the couch, tapping his fingers absently against his knee and looking down into his lap.

“Kirishima-kun?” You whisper when you’re close enough, and he looks up at you immediately, as though you’d startled him. “Sorry.” You giggle, and he smiles.

“Hi.” He says, and you finally see the two steaming mugs set on the table in front of him. “Do you want some tea?” He asks, and you nod, sinking down next to him. He hands you a mug with a grin, and you draw in the slightly sweet aroma. It’s some good stuff - he must have gotten it from Momo.

“How about some cake?” He continues, and pushes a plate in your direction. You look from the dessert to him, wanting to say something, but no words come to the surface. “I asked Sato to make it.” He continues, running a hand through his hair. “I thought it would go well with tea. Ah, I hope you like strawberry.”

You poke at the single perfect strawberry on top with your fork, and chuckle just a bit in disbelief. “Yes, I do.” You say softly. “But... you really didn’t have to do all this.”

“Maybe not, but I wanted to.” He’s echoing your words from a few nights ago, and you feel your cheeks start to burn. “You’re... really awesome. And I wanted you to know that.” He’s looking at you in complete earnest, and while there’s no smile on his face, the expression is soft.

“I-” You laugh, hoping it will break some of the tension in your middle. “I just made you some tea.” You shrug. Your gaze flickers from his face to the cake in front of you.

“It was a lot more than that.” He says firmly, and then his hand is on top of yours. You don’t pull away - even if you wanted to, you don’t know if you could convince your body to move. His hand is warm and surprisingly soft. “You’re amazing. And if I didn’t think so before, then I definitely do now.”

“Really?” You ask dumbly, searching his face and wondering if, somehow, there’s a joke hidden here that you’re missing.

“I did think so before.” He tacks on hastily. “But now you gave me the courage to do something about it.” His face is close to yours again. A few centimeters more, and your nose could be brushing his. “Um, can I?” He asks softly, and after a few moments of stunned silence you realize exactly what he’s asking.

“Mm-hmm.” You hum breathily with a nod, and that’s all it takes for him to close the remaining gap between you, pressing his lips against yours in a quick, chaste kiss. When he pulls away, there’s already a smile growing on your face. He grins back. There’s a strange newfound courage welling up in you, and it allows you to cup his face with your palm and lean in to kiss him again. It last a little longer this time, and ends when he smiles against your lips.

You are so glad that you never bring a glass of water to bed.

#bnha #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #kirishima eijirou #kirishima eijirou x reader #kirishima eijiro #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima x reader #emmm yeah #feels like tag overkill #but eh #idk what i'm doing lolz

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arknights-imagines · 4 years

Note

Hello!! I just recently discovered your blog and I'm so glad I did! Your writing is so sweet 😭💕 This was reblogged a while ago, but if it's still okay, can I get the sentence starter "Well, hello sleeping beauty. You fell asleep on me.” with Silverash? Thank you so much in advance! I look forward to reading more of your writing 💖

Since these two are the same thing, I'm replying to them both with this imagine! ✨ I'm not sure if this is the same anon or two different ones, but either way tysm for the request and your nice messages 🥺 I hope you enjoy! 🌸

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

“ well , hello sleeping beauty . you fell asleep on me . ” with SilverAsh

Imagine format; no real fixed perspectives, it switches from Doctor and SilverAsh!

Contains: SilverAsh, gender neutral Doctor, Implied established relationship, and Doctor being gentle with SilverAsh 🥺

Word count: just about 1.6k

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SilverAsh was quite the busy man; that was obvious to pretty much anybody. Between Karlan Trade Co., Rhodes Island, his affairs in Kjerag and other smaller occasions that called for his attendance, the Feline cherished any free time he had.

Usually, this free time was at night. But even so, he would use some time for leisure, but still left enough hours for enough sleep. Today was different, however.

SilverAsh, unfortunately, had business to attend to at night. Instead of reading or resting that evening, the Feline had sat in a Rhodes Island meeting room attending to conditions and contracts regarding Karlan Trade Co.; what was even less fortunate is that he wasn't able to go back to his room until past midnight.

He didn't get much sleep - his limbs ached from sitting in that dreaded meeting room for hours, and as soon as he finally began getting comfortable, the sun was up.

As much as he wanted to curl up under his covers and hide from the rest of the world, SilverAsh had responsibilities. In fact, he had business to attend to with the Doctor that morning.

At least, he figured, he'd get to see them. The Feline was sure he'd feel better once he saw them.

So, after dressing and washing up a little, SilverAsh left the comfort of his room, albeit it a little unwillingly, and began making it down to the Doctor's office. When he arrived, they beckoned him in with a smile, gathering some papers in their arms.

"Good morning SilverAsh!" Their voice energetic, they gave the Feline a small wave. Managing them a smile while biting back a yawn, SilverAsh walked over to plant a small kiss on the crown on their head, "Good morning, my dear. We have things to discuss today, if I'm not mistaken."

They nodded, "You're a bit late, but I was just on my way out. Follow me!" Grabbing one last paper from their desk, the Doctor headed past SilverAsh and toward the door. The Feline hid a small sigh, stretching out his stiff arms a little before turning around to catch up to the Doctor.

He never thought he'd find just walking so tiring, but by the time they got to the room they needed to be in, SilverAsh just felt more drained than he already was. He put that aside however; he needed to help the Doctor.

The Doctor needed the Feline for his input on a battle formation, which was nothing out of the ordinary. What was odd, however, was the fact that SilverAsh seemed noticeably tired; the Doctor needed both hands to count how many times he had yawned or stretched in the last 15 minutes. It wasn't their business, however - everyone got tired every now and then, especially the Doctor themselves, but it was a little odd to see SilverAsh act so drowsy. They were a little worried about his well being was all.

The pair was sat on the small lounge couch in the meeting room, papers and folders on the small table before them. Throwing around ideas and adjustments to the formations they were looking over, the air was comfortable as usual. When it was just them, like it was then, there was no need for formalities or an uptight attitude.

The Doctor stopped asking their questions for a second, blinking a little at the Feline sitting beside them. Watching as he stifled another small yawn, they hesitantly placed a hand to his shoulder, shaking just slightly. Their voice came concerned, "Are you alright?", but SilverAsh replied with a shake of his head, "Of course, don't worry about myself. Now, regarding this formation…"

He was quick to steer their conversation back to the formations, but the Doctor didn't miss the slight slump of his shoulders or how he'd close his eyes for a few seconds. They discussed plans and looked over papers for a little while longer; after some time, the Doctor cleared their throat, standing up. "I'm going to get something to drink. Would you like anything?" Rubbing at his eyes discreetly, the Feline nodded, "I suppose I will have a cup of whatever you are having to drink, my dear."

Smiling at him and stopping to pat his shoulder, they left the room to retrieve the drinks in question. Once they did, the room was quiet, much too quiet. Without the Doctor: their voice, their shuffling of the papers on the table, them mumbling to themselves under their breath - there wasn't any noise for him to focus on.

As expected, tiredness came over SilverAsh, like a heavy, warm blanket that he couldn't refuse. The Feline scrunched his nose up a little, rubbing at his eyes again in an attempt to wake himself up. There wasn't much use, however. The longer he sat in the quiet room on the comfortable lounge couch, the more heavy his eyelids felt.

What was the point in fighting an enemy he couldn't even grab hold of? His tiredness could only be solved one way - SilverAsh figured a few moments of shut eye wouldn't hurt. So, that's what he did; the Feline sank into the cushions of the couch, trying to get as comfortable as possible in his seated position, before closing his eyes for what he assured himself would only be a few minutes.

However, when the Doctor returned, he didn't wake up. In fact, when they had returned to the room with two cups in hand, they headed towards SilverAsh only to find him completely asleep.

The Doctor blinked at him for a second; he was out like a light: his head was tilted down and his shoulders were slumped over slightly. His arms laid crossed over his chest, and his fluffy tail was curled up with its tip under his nose, covering the lower half of his face.

"....Enciodas?" Using his real name, the Doctor whispered quietly, placing the cups down on the coffee table before peering down to get a better look at his face.

The Feline didn't reply, all that was coming from him was soft snores and calm, steady breaths. The Doctor sighed, smiling lightly at his peaceful facial expression. "You should've said you were tired…" They mumbled, carefully tucking some hair from SilverAsh's eyes.

Carefully as not to wake him, the Doctor sat themselves beside the Feline. Drinks completely forgotten, they carefully moved his head to their lap, lying him down slowly. Once he was laid down, they smiled, allowing him to shift for a few seconds, their grin growing at the small mumbles that came from him before he relaxed.

One of the Doctor's hands rested in his hair, combing the strands gently, while the other gathered the papers on the table in front of them, stacking them and placing them aside. They had done enough work for that day, the most they could do was clean up while SilverAsh slept.

Finished with the papers, the Doctor turned all their attention to the Feline who had his head laid in their lap. They had always been told that SilverAsh was a man with shrewd intentions that would go to any lengths to get what he wanted, but they couldn't understand such a perspective when the man in question was fast asleep using their lap as a pillow.

One could say that SilverAsh had ulterior motives driving his care and affection toward the Doctor, but they knew that wasn't true.

'...how can everyone make you out to be someone like that?', They always thought about that. Evil intentions - they never saw anything even close when looking at SilverAsh. He wasn't perfect, but he wasn't a cold hearted malicious mastermind either.

"Hmm…" A small noise caused the Doctor to snap from their thoughts, and they looked to their lap to find SilverAsh opening his eyes slowly. They greeted him with a small smile, eyes meeting his as they blinked with a bit of surprise.

Unable to contain themselves, the Doctor spoke in a light, teasing tone, "Well, hello sleeping beauty. You fell asleep on me." SilverAsh's eyebrows lifted - he hadn't meant to fall completely asleep. Sighing lightly, he tilted his head to look up at them, "My apologies, my dear…I'm more tired than I thought." His voice was indeed still a little groggy, and his eyes looked like they were threatening to close.

The Doctor smiled, "Don't worry, Enciodas. We can continue working some other time, I think you've done enough for today." Petting his hair softly, their heart swelled when SilverAsh leaned into their touch, "Would you please…let me rest for just a while?"

They chimed with a light laugh, nodding at him, "Go back to sleep. I'll be here whenever you need me." The Feline gave them a lopsided smile, yawning, "Hah…acknowledged…" With that, he was fast asleep again, eyes shut peacefully.

The Doctor was unable to hold back their smile. They knew the right thing to do was to send SilverAsh to his room and complete the work they needed to attend to with someone else, but such actions were out of the question with the Feline sleeping in their lap so calmly.

No, they never saw shrewd intent in him. From the day they met, the Doctor could only ever recall him allowing them to lean on him for support when needed; he wasn't the warmest, but he was always sincere around them - there were no evil motives in the warm he showed them.

Leaning down to leave a light kiss on his forehead, the Doctor spoke one last whisper, "You can always rest on me, Enciodas."

In their world, there were so few things to show warmth to, and SilverAsh was a man who had lost many things, and was bound to lose more. But, even if he had nothing else, the Doctor hoped he knew that he would always have them.

#silverash is growing on me lots lolll #arknights #arknights imagines #arknights writing #arknights fanfics #arknights silverash #silverash arknights #arknights imagine #imagine #imagines #writing #arknights doctor

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antihero-writings · 4 years

Text

Inverted Recurrence

Fandom: Castlevania Symphony of the Night (but with the Netflix series characterizations)

Summary: It's been three hundred years since Alucard saw Trevor and Sypha. When he sees a version of them in the inverted coliseum...he just can't seem to win the fight against them.

So he loses. Over and over.

(The inverted coliseum boss fight from Symphony of the Night, but with the Netflix series characters)

Notes: First of all, warning!! There will be swearing in this fic!!

This is a fic for the game Symphony of the Night. However I used the characterizations of the characters from the Netflix series. This is also why Grant is not present, even though he's present in the actual fight. (I wanted to include him, especially because they took him out of the show...but because they took him out of the show, and because I have yet to play Dracula's Curse, I didn't feel like I could properly characterize him to have him in the scene.)

If you enjoyed this I'd really appreciate it if you could leave a comment! They make my week, and really help motive me to keep writing multi-chapter fics like this one!

I’ll also post this on my Castlevania blog @symphonyofthewrite if you want to check it out there!!

Chapter 1:

Alucard hit the ground of the save room…which happened to be the ceiling, breath and heartbeat crawling through his chest like fire ants.

“Well…fuck.”

******

Fire consumed the werewolves’ snarls, echoing through the stone hall, and he continued up the corridor without a glance back.

Alucard paused to think; count the rooms.

He wiped the blood off his sword—well, not his sword, that is to say, he still didn’t have his mother’s sword back from that dickhead, Death, so he was using one he had borrowed from one of those green skeletons upon its second death.

“Are you prepared?” he asked his fairy familiar. “If my thinking is correct we’re coming upon the main part of the coliseum. This could get”—he adjusted his grip on the sword and inclined his head to the side. “Interesting.”

She folded her arms and bowed. “I am prepared for whatever comes our way, Master Alucard.”

He grinned back. “Good.”

He marched forward, and, sure enough, the upside-down version of the coliseum center revealed itself. The same room where he had fought the Shaft-possessed-Richter in the right-side-up castle. The sconces spilled blue fire endlessly to the ground, fixed to columns that didn’t reach the ‘floor’, in a circle around an overthrown throne. A throne which held no one now, as if he were a gladiator in an upturned universe, a slave of the games, watched by an invisible sadistic god, hosting this for their own pleasure.

The doors shut themselves behind, and in front, of him with a loud thump, closing off his exits.

Yup. Interesting.

He stood on guard, aiming the sword at the pentagonal spinning coffins in the center of the room, his mind cycling through what might step out;

Let’s see, skeletons? Zombies? Ghosts? No it’d be something more advanced than that. Maybe dragon would walk out? Or maybe he’d fight the embodiment of of emperor Nero himself? That might be fun.

When their lids creaked forward, and the first enemy stepped out it did not, in fact, have rotting skin, or a malevolent grin…It looked like a man.

A man with brown hair, blue eyes—one of which a scar fell across—sauntered over to Alucard, the Belmont crest gleaming on his chest.

Alucard froze, eyes widening.

The man groaned when he saw Alucard—but not in an undead way, more like a man who was annoyed—and, unlike many of the monsters, he spoke:

“Well if it isn’t the cockwart, Alucard.”

Alucard fought werewolves and demons, things that spit fire, things that turned him to stone, things that would eat his soul out if given the chance, and he didn’t even break a sweat. Not much could make his heart hammer these days.

But this—

“Trevor! What have I told you about speaking your mind?!” Alucard had been so focused on Trevor he hadn’t noticed the other enemy: a woman in blue smacked Trevor on the back of the head.

“Uhh that it’s what everyone should do it all the time?” he rubbed his head.

She pulled on his ear.

“Okay, okay! Easy on the moneymaker!”

Alucard’s eyes stayed open wide, as if he was afraid if he closed them they’d disappear and he’d remember he was dreaming. The golden irises oscillating beneath waves of memory, the sword at his side twitching.

“Master Alucard?” the fairy’s voice was muffled behind the sound of his heartbeat.

He fought reanimated flesh, and first-animated metal, he fought things straight out of books, things he wished were mere fantasy, and never once did he stand paralyzed.

But this…this made his blood thump cold and relentless in his ears. This made his heart start churning with questions, his head ache with memory. This made his throat tighten with sentimentality long forgotten.

The fairy couldn’t hear the words he breathed.

Three hundred years is a long time. Even if he spent most of it asleep, time has a way of weighing heavy on the chest.

They were arguing amongst themselves, while the fairy was asking him questions, but he couldn’t hear any of them. As if he was beneath many tons of water, the pressure slowly crushing him.

Being immortal has never been the blessing humanity thought. Watching your friends, your family, die is hard enough, but when you know you won’t be joining them wherever they’re going for a long time, if at all, things get more complicated. The pain, then, isn’t just loss…it’s the knowledge of what you’ll never lose. Watching your friends die, while you, standing at their death bed, look the same as you did when you met them sixty years ago, like you’re taunting them, like you’re some cosmic joke… Watching them die, while you have millennia left to spend grieving, making new friends and watching them die too, just living… it isn’t exactly something you’d spend one of your three wishes on.

Sometimes he wished he was mortal. Human. That the blade and arrow would sting more, that words would mean more, that he’d remember the things his friends told long ago, under moonlit skies. He wished he could feel something, that he could feel fear and horror and hope. That the fight would pump in his veins. That he could grow old, and die, and wouldn’t have to live a thousand more lifetimes before death took him away. Sometimes he forgot how to appreciate life; they say death is what gives life meaning, after all.

Seeing his friends from centuries ago, his friends who he had argued with, played games with, laughed, cried with. Friends who he had watched die, who he had mourned, grieved long ago back again…

“What’s the matter?” Trevor put his hands on his hips, noticing that he was standing their dumbstruck. “Cat got your tongue?”

Alucard backed up on shaky legs, biting his lip until it bled.

He was twenty years old again. Twenty years old and they were in a snowy woods speaking of God, mothers, old books, and how lonely they all were, on their way to defeat Dracula for what they didn’t realize then was only the first time.

“Master Alucard!” the fairy fluttered in front of his face—how long had she been calling him? “What’s going on?!”

His lips were sealed shut; he couldn’t answer her even if he wanted to. His eyes gravitated past her toward the two behind her.

It had been so long. So long since those lonely nights. So long since those sunny days. So long since he’d seen their faces. So long since he’d heard their voices. Seeing, hearing, them now was like medicine, like sobriety. Like reminding himself he hadn’t made them up after all—(because sometimes it felt like he had). So long…So long since he’d been with his friends. So long since he’d had friends.

“I did want to resolve our differences.” Sypha shrugged. “But, we’re going to have to show you what we really think of you now.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. It was nice—well uh…it was something knowing you.”

“…What?” Alucard’s breath made clouds in these snowy woods.

Trevor glanced up at him, unspooling the morning star whip—the one that he had once used to fight the night hordes with together…or at least a version of it…it didn’t look quite right.

“It’s a real shame”—he said like it wasn’t much of a shame at all—“but…we do have to kill you now.”

“We have a reputation to keep.”

“You know, vampire slayers and all. Can’t have the son of Dracula walking around.”

Alucard had to keep his breath from catching on itself and tripping.

He backed up, turning to see Sypha holding out her hands in a combat posture.

He shut his eyes and shook his head quickly, clearing the snow from his eyes, reminding himself the woods were nothing but memory; he was here, in Dracula’s upside-down castle fighting phantoms of his friends.

They’re not real, he told himself. They’re not your friends. Trevor and Sypha are gone. They’re just one of Dracula’s tricks. He’s using them to get to you.

He felt something wrap around his leg.

“Master Alucard!”

“It’s nothing personal.” Trevor spoke, “Except if you count the fact that we’d only do this to you because you’re the worst.” He yanked on the whip and swung Alucard by his leg into the far wall at full force.

Sypha held up her arms beads of light before her fingers, then brought them together, making spikes of ice jut out from beneath the walls, stomping towards him.

He pried himself from the wall and jumped out of their way.

Trevor threw a cross at him—one made of bones—but it came back without finding its mark.

Before Sypha could send her jet of flame at him, Alucard burst forward knocking her down.

“Attacking poor, innocent girls now? So that’s how you want to play it, huh?”

“Who are you calling ‘poor’ and ‘innocent’?!” Sypha crossed her arms, “I can handle myself thank you very much!”

“Oh—I—uh—I didn’t mean it like that!”

Sypha scowled at him.

It was like they walked straight out of his memory. …Were they really not real?

Trevor jumped up, raising his whip.

You don’t have to do this, Alucard wanted to reason with them.

But he knew. He knew this wasn’t them. They were only a shell. A reanimated memory. Empty. There was nothing in there to reason with.

Alucard blocked his attack with his shield, and crouched down, slicing his leg, knocking down. But before he could send the sword through his chest, Sypha raised her arm and incased him in a block of ice.

The fairy broke him out, but this had given Trevor enough time to get up, throwing another bone cross. This time it knocked Alucard to the ground.

Sypha floated before him, ready to blast him with fire. This time Alucard teleported, slashing Trevor in the back.

“You filthy vampire bastard.”

Why them?! He wanted to demand of Dracula, but that was all-too obvious.

Alucard disappeared in a column of gold, then reappeared, opening his cloak and sending fireballs towards Trevor, who extinguished them by swinging his whip.

He dodged Sypha’s ice spears, but Trevor took this opportunity to power up, and once Alucard was out of their way he began throwing continuous knives at him.

Alucard turned into a bat to avoid them.

Sypha incased him in ice for the second time, returning him to human form. The fairy broke him out.

Before Sypha could cast her next spell Alucard turned into a wolf and bowled Trevor over, leaping into the air to bite Sypha’s leg—

But before his teeth clamped down on her leg something caught in his throat—something too close to sentiment—and he fell to the floor, himself again.

In the moment’s hesitation Trevor wrapped the whip around his neck.

His eyes glinted, and his mouth quirked up. “See you in hell.”

******

“Well if it isn’t the cockwart Alucard,” Trevor grunted as he sauntered down from the wagon, smirking.

“If it isn’t the…bastard Trevor.”

Sypha ran up to the dhampir and put her arms around him.

“It’s so good to see you again Alucard!” She released him, putting a hand on his cheek and smiling. “You haven’t changed a bit!”

“Well being half-vampire does have its benefits.”

They turned to look at Trevor, who was hanging back, rubbing the back of his head.

Sypha put her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow at him. Trevor sighed.

“Good god, I never thought I’d say this but…” he looked at his feet. “I missed you. …You and your stupid, ugly face.”

"I have something to say to you as well.”

Alucard promptly flipped him off.

Trevor made a face, groaning, “I try to say one nice—”

Before they could blink Alucard had wrapped his arms around them.

“I missed you too. …You don’t even know how much.”

******

Alucard hit the floor of the save room—which happened to be the ceiling—at full force, the world returning like a punch to the face. Once he regained his senses, he coughed, balling his hands into fists before him, breath harsh in his throat, heavy on his chest.

“Well…fuck.”

“…Master Alucard?”

He didn’t want to talk to her. He didn’t want to talk to much of anyone. He didn’t even want to think. To be here at all, in this castle. He half wished this save room didn’t exist so he wouldn’t have to go back there and do it all over again.

She fluttered up knelt in front of him, brushing the hair from his eyes.

Those eyes flicked to her. Eyes which were often soft and warm…now they were full of cold fire.

“I hope it’s not rude of me to ask…Who were those people?”

He didn’t reply at first, dropping his gaze, letting his breath rise and fall like ocean waves ripping through him, filling his eyes with saltwater.

“…Nobody.” He murmured low.

“They…” She paused a moment, trying to figure out how to delicately phrase things, “didn’t seem like nobody.”

He sat up. “…They’re not real.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to quell the burgeoning headache. “Dracula’s just trying to fuck with me.”

“Oh, indeed, I understand that.”—He shot her a reproving glance, so she continued more delicately—“…But most of Dracula’s minions don’t look human…not to mention they don’t know you…It appears to me whoever they represent were important to you.”

He didn’t respond.

“And…they did know you, right?”

He looked down to see her wringing her hands.

“What exactly are you getting at?”

“It’s just…”

It dawned on him he smiled, shifting onto his knees. “That I’m the son of Dracula.”

She opened her mouth to say something, her wings beating and stopping nervously, looking down.

“Well it is a rather strange thing for them to say isn’t it? I mean, it can’t possibly be true.”

He smirked. “What if it is?”

She fluttered up to him, examining his features closely, her mouth open the whole time.

“You are?!”

He lowered his face closer to hers so she could feel his breath, his fangs glinting, “You scared?”

“Not scared, more…confused. I mean how can Dracula have a son? And—”

He raised an eyebrow. “Would you like me to go into the details?”

“I don’t mean that!” She smacked him lightly. “I mean…How can you be his son?”

“Why can’t I be?”

“Well first of all you don’t look like him—”

“Oh? And how do you know what Dracula looks like? Have you met him?”

“Well…I…” Her eyes darted between him and the ground, apparently grappling with the idea that he knew quite well what Dracula looked like. “This castle is full of Dracula’s supporters… he seems quite persuasive.”

“I’m not sure I’d say that—over half of them are creatures without reason or free will enough to know, or care, who they’re following.”

“Still…he has no shortage of allies.”

“What’s your question?”

“…How are you not one of them?”

He smiled. “I like to think I have a little more sense of right and wrong than mindless beasts.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that! I just mean…you’re so kind. I wouldn’t think Dracula’s son—”

“I’m not only the son of Dracula.”

She paused, thinking, before looking up. “Your mother.” Her wings fluttered as she gained understanding, floating up to his face. “It was your mother, wasn’t it? That memory we saw. The Succubus. You said that your mother never said those things.”

“Yes, she said quite the opposite, in fact.”

She fluttered back and forth—the fairy version of pacing—trying to wrap her head around it all.

“Was she married to Dracula?”

“Yes.”

“Who was she?”

“Her name was Lisa… and she was mortal.”

“Did he love her?”

He smirked at the innocent and naïve question.

“Very much. Enough that he’d destroy the world for her her.”

She paused, looking at the ground. “Is that why we must defeat him?”

He gave a small nod.

“It seems such a sad reason to have to kill him…for love.”

He looked off to the side, not saying anything.

“Come on.” He stood up. “It’s time for round two.”

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symphonyofthewrite · 4 years

Text

Inverted Recurrence

Fandom: Castlevania Symphony of the Night (but with the Netflix series characterizations)

Summary: It's been three hundred years since Alucard saw Trevor and Sypha. When he sees a version of them in the inverted coliseum...he just can't seem to win the fight against them.

So he loses. Over and over.

(The inverted coliseum boss fight from Symphony of the Night, but with the Netflix series characters)

Notes: First of all, warning! (As evidenced by the summary) there will be swearing in this fic!

This is a fic for the game Symphony of the Night. However I used the characterizations of the characters from the Netflix series. (This is also why Grant is not present, even though he's present in the actual fight. I wanted to include him, especially because they took him out of the show...but because they took him out of the show, and because I have yet to play Dracula's Curse, I didn't feel like I could properly characterize him to have him in the scene.)

In case you've only watched the show, but are still interested in reading, I'll put a little summary of the things you need to know about the game in order to read in the replies!!

If you enjoyed this I'd really appreciate it if you could leave a comment and/or reblog! They make my week, and really help motive me to keep writing multi-chapter fics like this one!

I’ve also posted this on my general writing blog @antihero-writings if you want to check it out there!!

Chapter 1:

Alucard hit the ground of the save room…which happened to be the ceiling, breath and heartbeat crawling through his chest like fire ants.

“Well…fuck.”

******

Fire consumed the werewolves’ snarls, echoing through the stone hall, and he continued up the corridor without a glance back.

Alucard paused to think; count the rooms.

He wiped the blood off his sword—well, not his sword, that is to say, he still didn’t have his mother’s sword back from that dickhead, Death. Due to this, he was using one he had borrowed from one of those green skeletons upon its second death.

She folded her arms and bowed. “I am prepared for whatever comes our way, Master Alucard.”

He grinned back. “Good.”

The doors shut themselves behind, and in front, of him with a loud thump, closing off his exits.

Yup. Interesting.

He stood on guard, aiming the sword at the pentagonal spinning coffins in the center of the room, his mind cycling through what might step out;

Let’s see, skeletons? Zombies? Ghosts? No it’d be something more advanced than that. Maybe a dragon would walk out? Or maybe he’d fight the embodiment of emperor Nero himself? That might be fun.

When their lids creaked forward and the first enemy stepped out it did not, in fact, have rotting skin, or a malevolent grin…It looked like a man.

A man with brown hair, blue eyes—one of which a scar fell across—sauntered over to Alucard, the Belmont crest gleaming on his chest.

Alucard froze, eyes widening.

The man groaned when he saw Alucard—but not in an undead way, more like a man who was annoyed—and, unlike many of the monsters, he spoke:

“Well if it isn’t the cockwart, Alucard.”

But this—

“Trevor! What have I told you about speaking your mind?!” Alucard had been so focused on Trevor he hadn’t noticed the other enemy: a woman in blue smacked Trevor on the back of the head.

“Uhh that it’s what everyone should do it all the time?” he rubbed his head.

She pulled on his ear.

“Okay, okay! Easy on the moneymaker!”

“Master Alucard?” the fairy’s voice was muffled behind the sound of his heartbeat.

He fought reanimated flesh, and first-animated metal, he fought things straight out of books, things he wished were mere fantasy, and never once did he stand paralyzed.

The fairy couldn’t hear the words he breathed.

Three hundred years is a long time. Even if he spent most of it asleep, time has a way of weighing heavy on the chest.

They were arguing amongst themselves, while the fairy was asking him questions, but he couldn’t make out any of the words. As if he was beneath many tons of water, the pressure slowly crushing him.

Seeing his friends from centuries ago, his friends who he had argued with, played games with, laughed, cried with. Friends who he had watched die, who he had mourned, grieved long ago back again…

“What’s the matter?” Trevor put his hands on his hips, noticing that he was standing there dumbstruck. “Cat got your tongue?”

Alucard backed up on shaky legs, biting his lip until it bled.

“Master Alucard!” the fairy fluttered in front of his face—how long had she been calling him? “What’s going on?!”

His lips were sealed shut; he couldn’t answer even if he wanted to. His eyes gravitated past her to the two behind her.

It had been so long. So long since those lonely nights. Since those sunny days. So long since he’d seen their faces. Heard their voices. Seeing, hearing, them now was like medicine after years of sickness, like sobriety after spending years drunk. Like reminding himself he hadn’t made them up after all—(because sometimes it felt like he had). So long…So long since he’d been with his friends. So long since he’d had friends.

“I did want to resolve our differences.” Sypha shrugged. “But, we’re going to have to show you what we really think of you now.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. It was nice—well uh…it was something knowing you.”

“…What?” Alucard’s breath made clouds in these snowy woods.

Trevor glanced up at him, unspooling the morning star whip—the one that he had once used to fight the night hordes with together…or at least a version of it…it didn’t look quite right.

“It’s a real shame”—he said like it wasn’t much of a shame at all—“but…we do have to kill you now.”

“We have a reputation to keep.”

“You know, vampire slayers and all. Can’t have the son of Dracula walking around.”

Alucard had to keep his breath from catching on itself and tripping.

He backed up, turning to see Sypha holding out her hands in a combat posture.

He shut his eyes and shook his head quickly, clearing the snow from his eyes, reminding himself the woods were nothing but memory; he was here, in Dracula’s upside-down castle, fighting phantoms of his friends.

They’re not real, he told himself. They’re not your friends. Trevor and Sypha are gone. They’re just one of Dracula’s tricks. He’s using them to get to you.

He felt something wrap around his leg.

“Master Alucard!”

“It’s nothing personal.” Trevor spoke, “Except if you count the fact that we’d only do this to you...because you’re the worst.” He yanked on the whip and swung Alucard by his leg into the far wall at full force.

Sypha held up her arms beads of light before her fingers, then brought them together, making spikes of ice jut out from beneath the walls, stomping towards him.

He pried himself from the wall and jumped out of their way.

Trevor threw a cross at him—one made of bones—but it came back without finding its mark.

Before Sypha could send her jet of flame at him, Alucard burst forward, knocking her down.

“Attacking poor, innocent girls now? So that’s how you want to play it, huh?”

“Who are you calling ‘poor’ and ‘innocent’?!” Sypha crossed her arms, “I can handle myself thank you very much!”

“Oh—I—uh—I didn’t mean it like that!”

Sypha scowled at him.

It was like they walked straight out of his memory. …Were they really not real?

Trevor jumped up, raising his whip.

You don’t have to do this, Alucard wanted to reason with them.

But he knew. He knew this wasn’t them. They were only a shell. A reanimated memory. Empty. There was nothing in there to reason with.

Alucard blocked his attack with his shield, and crouched down, slicing his leg, knocking him down. But before he could send the sword through his chest, Sypha raised her arm and incased him in a block of ice.

The fairy broke him out, but this had given Trevor enough time to get up, throwing another bone cross. This time it knocked Alucard down.

Sypha floated before him, ready to blast him with fire. This time Alucard teleported, slashing Trevor in the back.

“You filthy vampire bastard.”

Why them?! He wanted to demand of Dracula, but that was all-too obvious.

Alucard disappeared in a column of gold, then reappeared, opening his cloak and sending fireballs towards Trevor, who extinguished them by swinging his whip.

He dodged Sypha’s ice spears, but Trevor took this opportunity to power up, and once Alucard was out of their way he began throwing continuous knives at him--which Alucard turned into a bat to avoid.

Sypha incased him in ice for the second time, returning him to human form. The fairy broke him out.

Before Sypha could cast her next spell Alucard turned into a wolf and bowled Trevor over, leaping into the air to bite Sypha’s leg—

But before his teeth clamped down on her leg something caught in his throat—something too close to sentiment—and he fell to the floor, himself again.

In the moment’s hesitation Trevor wrapped the whip around Alucard's neck.

His eyes glinted, and his mouth quirked up. “See you in hell.”

******

“Well if it isn’t the cockwart, Alucard,” Trevor grunted as he sauntered down from the wagon, smirking.

“If it isn’t the bastard, Trevor.”

Sypha ran up to the dhampir and put her arms around him.

“It’s so good to see you again Alucard!” She released him, putting a hand on his cheek and smiling. “You haven’t changed a bit!”

“Well being half-vampire does have its benefits.”

They turned to look at Trevor, who was hanging back, rubbing the back of his head.

Sypha put her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow at him. Trevor sighed.

“Good god, I never thought I’d say this but…” He looked at his feet. “I missed you. …You and your stupid, ugly face.”

"I have something to say to you as well.”

Alucard promptly flipped him off.

Trevor made a face, groaning, “I try to say one nice—”

Before they could blink Alucard had wrapped his arms around them, holding them so fast and so tight it nearly made them fall over.

“I missed you too. …You don’t even know how much.”

******

“Well…fuck.”

“…Master Alucard?”

She fluttered up knelt in front of him, brushing the hair from his eyes.

Those eyes flicked to her. Eyes often soft and warm…now full of cold fire.

“I hope it’s not rude of me to ask…Who were those people?”

He didn’t reply at first, dropping his gaze, letting his breath rise and fall like ocean waves ripping through him, filling his eyes with saltwater.

“…Nobody.” He murmured low.

“They…” She paused a moment, trying to figure out how to delicately phrase things, “didn’t seem like nobody.”

He sat up. “…They’re not real.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to quell the burgeoning headache. “Dracula’s just trying to fuck with me.”

He looked away. He didn't want to talk about this. Not now. Not with a creature who--however well meaning--could barely begin to understand the horrors of immortality.

“And…they did know you...right?”

He looked down to see her wringing her hands.

“What exactly are you getting at?”

“It’s just…”

It dawned on him and he smiled, shifting to his knees. “That I’m the son of Dracula.”

She opened her mouth to say something, her wings beating and stopping nervously, looking down.

“Well it is a rather strange thing for them to say isn’t it? I mean, it can’t possibly be true.”

He smirked. “What if it is?”

She fluttered up to him, examining his features closely, her mouth open the whole time.

“You are?!”

He lowered his face closer to hers so she could feel his breath, his fangs glinting, “You scared?”

“...Not scared, more confused. I mean how can Dracula have a son? And—”

He raised an eyebrow. “Would you like me to go into the details?”

“I don’t mean that!” She smacked him lightly. “I mean…How can you be his son?”

“Why can’t I be?”

“Well first of all you don’t look like him—”

“Oh? And how do you know what Dracula looks like? Have you met him?”

“I’m not sure I’d say that—over half of them are creatures without reason, or free will, enough to know, or care, who they’re following.”

“Still…he has no shortage of allies.”

“What’s your question?”

“…How are you not one of them?”

He smiled. “I like to think I have a little more sense of right and wrong than mindless beasts.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that! I just mean…you’re so kind. I wouldn’t think Dracula’s son—”

“I’m not only the son of Dracula.”

“Yes, she said quite the opposite, in fact.”

She gave a sad smile. "...It sounds like you loved her very much."

He gave an almost imperceptible nod as he looked away.

"I'm...sorry that happened to her. That's ...awful. Humans can be brutes at times."

"Yes." He agreed softly, before adding, "But not always. And not all of them."

She paused herself, then began fluttering back and forth—the fairy version of pacing—trying to wrap her head around it all.

“Was she married to Dracula?”

“Yes.”

“Who was she?”

“Her name was Lisa… and she was mortal.”

“Did he love her?”

He smirked at the innocent and naïve question.

“Very much. ...Enough that he’d destroy the world for her.”

She paused, looking at the ground. “Is that why we must defeat him?”

He gave a small nod.

“It seems such a sad reason to have to kill him…for love.”

He looked off to the side, not saying anything.

“Come on.” He stood up. “It’s time for round two.”

******

Notes Cont.:

For the cartoon, I actually wrote this fic before I watched S3, so when I was trying to come up with memories for after S2 with Trevor and Sypha all I could think of was simply them arriving back at the castle. Then reading it after watching S3 I realized their reunion would probably go differently :'( ...I decided to keep it as-is because I really have no clue how that's gonna go in later seasons, and because I felt people might like reading about a nice version of them coming back to him anyways.

11 notes · View notes

hysteriium · 5 years

Text

The Irony of Fate [1]

Gif not mine folks!

(A/N): HEY okay so I know this is kind of taboo considering the whole controversy surrounding this film and while I don’t agree with the labelling, I don’t wanna get political on my blog. I think Joaquin is an amazing actor, he’s a lovely person and I’ve completely fallen head over heels for his portrayal. I’ve loved the Joker ever since I was a kid (guess I’ve had coulrophillia for as long as I can remember lol), I’ve watched him evolve on screen, and in the comics, for as long as I can remember and I guess, as dumb as it sounds, it’s a character that’s been part of a large chunk of my life. So, in sum of my very long, convoluted message, I hope the people who may have a problem with me writing a fic/series on Arthur Fleck/Joker, are able to respect my position as I am with theirs; everyone’s entitled to hold their individual positions, and I won’t fight that, what you believe is totally okay and I’m not here to shoot it down. Thank you :) - Kat

M A J O R S P O I L E R W A R N I N G S!!! (IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IT ALREADY PLEASE DO NOT READ).

Summary: Arthur hated his life. That was no secret. He could pull out a list of the reasons why if someone had to ask. Perhaps he had pissed off fate really badly, a time he couldn't seem to recall. Or perhaps, not that he believed in it, in a past life he had behaved so reprehensively that he was cursed for the entirety of his reincarnated existence. At this point, anything would make more sense than his continual bad luck - make more sense than his life. Was he doomed to be miserable for the rest of his time on earth? Or would the woman he spotted from his window instigate a rapid spiral of change?

Word count: 2134

Warnings: none; let me know if you think there should be any.

It was cold.

The meandering, tickle of wind brushed against Arthur’s half-bare form, caressing the soft skin of his chest, while weary arms wrapped around his fragile body, riddled with goosebumps. The front of his neck, which was exposed as it rested against the top of his sofa had his head dangling off the rear of it. He ignored the chill that spread across his body, a shiver that travelled as swift as a racing river; icy and immersive. Encapsulating.

It was the only thing he had felt in days.

Perhaps weeks.

His hair was long and untamed, the fluffy strands which occasionally brushed up against the structure of his cheek, due to the wind, acted like a concerned friend.

Or at least that was what he thought.��

In all honesty, he wasn’t certain what friends felt like.

The flashing of the tv screen before him was disregarded, as well as the noise it discharged; with its aim nothing more than to provide background noise to Arthur, he lost himself in the static it transmitted. Though the thought spirals, which occurred day after day, were far harsher, and unlike the little device in front of him, couldn’t be switched off.

As he eyed the ceiling, he became conscious of the paint chipping away at the corners of the roof as well as the water damage caused by small leaks from the apartments above him. It had led to the discovery of discoloured small sections in the ceiling; sunken, and dark were the bubbles that formed. Most worrying of all, was the mould which peeked out from the fragmented paint, festering and collated. It strangely didn’t bother him, however, he couldn’t bring himself to care as his blue eyes raked across the surface of the cream, shabby ceiling. Vacant and void of emotion. Cold and uncaring.

Another breeze crammed itself through the window, dancing its way to him.

The cycle repeated.

Shivers.

Goosebumps.

Thought spiral.

Wind.

Everything was the same.

That was, until he heard something.

Something new.

It was melodic, yet stifled as his thoughts suffocated him. It trickled inside from the alleys of Gotham, crossing his open, dilapidated window.

Singing.

And it wasn’t the type of singing you heard every day - no it was touching; unique. And it came from deep within. From the heart. It was something rare, something Arthur had only heard a few times in his life. While he was often surrounded by music - his mother's influence - he rarely connected with any.

This though...this was different.

The tune wrapped around his form like a firm lead of rope, binding around his chest with a great, complex knot, one impossible to escape, and further, one impossible to unravel. The spell had been cast, and he had been enchanted.

He lifted his head from its lazy hanging position, abruptly sitting upright, supporting his back against the couch while his fingers fiddled in his lap. Instantly, he found himself drawn to the window, hypnotised like a man in love as he stumbled towards it, scurrying.

Another gust of wind.

His hands were shaking. Whether it was from the sudden feeling of liveliness or nervousness he couldn’t distinguish, though they gripped the window frame tightly and he thrust his head out, first hitting the top of his head against the extendable part of the frame, before shaking the pain away and righting his position. Wild eyes darted across the filthy, littered Gotham streets, the busy, gloomy city sinking into his now sparkling, curious eyes, searching for a source.

It took a few moments before he finally found it - a woman - just across the road from his apartment, meters away. She stood in front of a store, an acoustic guitar in her grasp, one hand sliding up and down the neck to find the perfect notes, while the other strummed. Her guitar case was fixed below her, open as bills, pennies and dimes were scattered inside it, tossed in by those absently walking by. In a way, the thought of those strolling past, who had yet to stop and appreciate her sheer talent, made the bushy brows at the top of his head crease into a frown. His blood boiled. No one appreciated art these days.

She wore a red dress, elegant and fitting, extremely well dressed for the streets of Gotham. Almost strangely formal. She was beautiful though, graceful even, as her form swayed with the music, completely invested in the lyrical masterpiece that passed her lips.

Arthur had to pinch herself to make sure she was real.

To him, she was otherworldly. Angelic.

He was frozen and rendered speechless as his breathing caught in his throat. Even though he was observing her from his dingy window like a common creep, he felt compelled to talk to her, to get to know her, to know every little detail about her. Was she kind? Was she as sweet as she looked? What was her favourite colour? Did she like comedy?

As he continued to mentally question her from above, he felt reality slipping from him. It was escaping from his grasp, melting like candle wax, or perhaps like putty in his hands, the goop raining down from the gaps of his fingers. He could feel the daydream occurring, the blurring of his vision as he zoned out on her form - and only her form.

The only important thing illuminating the dull, insignificant seconds that plagued his life like a cancer.

He’d walk up to her, a hand nervously fixing his hair, tugging at the strands if he encountered a knot. First, he’d wait for her to finish the rest of her song, standing nearby with an encouraging smile, one she’d promptly return. She’d continue the sway of her hips, a move he’d find hard to restrain his eyes from drinking in. Somehow he’d manage.

He’d practically be bursting with excitement when she finally reached the climax of her song, clapping frantically. She’d bow, a large grin plastered on her face as she does so.

“What’s your name?” She’d say.

“A-Arthur. M-my-my name is Arthur.” He’d stutter out, the fidgeting of his fingers while noticeable, he’s thankful she ignores.

“Nice to meet you, Arthur!”

He’d perform a little dip of his head, an idiosyncrasy he couldn’t help as he laughed nervously, replying with a soft, “you too.”

Next, he’d compliment her - on her singing. He’d be honest too, trying his best to articulate the feelings they evoked within him. It was a difficult task. Arthur learnt that the hard way as they carried on talking for a while.

It remained this way, soft, sweet and casual - until he made her laugh.

It was the most beautiful, infectious sound he’d ever heard. It was something to add to his ever-growing list of likes. He was well and truly hooked, an addiction he wasn’t willing to shake off.

Like a curse, something he could never stray too far from, he’d think about the dreaded, intrusive laughter that tended to emerge at the worst times. He’d obsess over its emergence, wondering just when exactly it would spontaneously occur. Would she accept the card he’d force into her hand? A simplistic explanation of his condition? Would she understand? Would she think him a freak?

Even in his mind, he couldn’t escape ridicule.

The negative thought threw him off track. No longer was he able to picture her smiling eyes boring into his own, the large stretch of her grin, and the teeth that briefly bit into the bottom of her lip as she laughed, a small involuntary action. No longer was he able to picture himself smiling back, his lips pursed into his lips, the soft crinkle of his eyes and the subtle rise of his brows. It faded away like a fog, the happiness that bubbled in his stomach popping along with it as he snapped back to reality. Harsh and brutal. The upturn of his mouth deflated like a tire, slow and agonising once he was confronted with the truth.

He hadn’t actually gone up to her. He was still centred at the window in his mother’s grossly, illegally defective apartment; trapped in a home he firmly believed had never met the standards, even in its inception. Along with the new outbreak of ‘super rats’, a phenomenon he was well acquainted with, things were only set to go further downhill.

Because of this, he’d have to settle for the next best thing.

He disappeared from the window, retreating into one of the other rooms. Hands gripped the wood of the chair - one precisely chosen for its comfort; a chair pleasant enough to sit down on without his backside turning numb. After he dragged it to the window, the continual, ear-piercing groan of wood against wood was a sound that had piqued his mother’s interest from the other room, an attraction Arthur quickly and almost desperately shot down. Once he found himself semi-relaxed in the chair, he rested his head against the window frame. The air which blew against his face, filtered through the lifeless room, lifting the curtains beside him.

He didn’t know how long he sat by his window, absorbing the stunning tune which serenaded his ears. The setting sun had coloured Gotham by then, and the beautiful girl before him. Its orange glow sunk into her skin, somehow making her more dazzling in his eyes. All he knew was that he couldn’t peel himself away, nor his eyes, or attention. He was well and truly charmed.

All good things must come to an end though, a concept Arthur hated. When she finished her last song, his heart leapt out of his chest, and his gut churned with dread. Was he ever going to see her again?

This thought was promptly put aside when she finally looked up at him, their eyes locking. Although she was some distance away, he could still see the slow smile forming on her face and the small wave she gave him.

He quickly, and rather nervously returned the acknowledgement, the mini-debate in his head promptly cut short as his mind blanked and he darted for the door. Turning the doorknob with extreme force, he threw the door open and slammed it behind him, running for the stairs. The elevator in his building had a bad track record, and had done nothing in the past but inconvenience him. He was sure to miss her if he took it - hell, he wasn’t even sure he’d catch her taking the stairs.

Nevertheless, he persisted, shoving the thought away.

His feet moved on their own accord, his hurried descent echoing throughout the empty stairwell. It was multiple, exhausting flights before he got to the bottom. His heart was racing and his breathing was ragged as sweat formed on his forehead; not only due to the strenuous workout he had endured but also because of the fear of her departure. In a burst of confidence only then had he decided to talk to her, a confidence that seemed to completely leave his disappointed form once he reached outside, slamming into the fire escape exit and into the littered streets. She had left, and he had been too slow.

He sighed.

Off Arthur went, performing the walk of shame back to his apartment after searching for her red dress for the 100th time. He ascended the stairs, hair hanging low, along with his head fixed towards the ground.

Oh, the irony of fate.

-----

It was a few days later when he saw her again. She popped up into his mind a lot, more than he’d like to admit. Her beauty, which was not something to sneeze at was often the first thing he thought of, followed by the songs she sang. It was this he remembered most and he often found himself replaying them, a calming mantra as he relished in her delivery. He found he did this when he was having an especially bad time.

The effect she had on him was yet to dissipate.

Considering the imprint she had left in his life, despite Arthur observing the woman for what had probably only been a few hours, he could recognise her voice anywhere.

So, it was quite a shock to Arthur when he heard her voice on the television. At first, he hadn’t been able to pinpoint it, believing she was outside again. The thought had the blood rushing to his cheeks and the sweat glands in his palms working into overdrive. It took a few more seconds for Arthur to realise that the beautiful, unique voice that had once, for a short period, softly soothed his woes was in fact, right in front of him on the cubic form of entertainment.

On the Murray Franklin show.

#arthur fleck x reader #joker x reader #dc x reader #batman villains x reader #kind worried for this fic ngl #clowns #clown x reader #slow burn #i think #pls no hate #not trying to start shit #joaquin phoenix joker #joker 2019

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cole-grey-writes · 5 years

Text

Into Dudes

Universe: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Timeline: Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier

Character(s): Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Male Reader

Warning(s): none

Request: Hi :D Idk if this is how to request things but do you think you could write a story about Steve just finding out about his feelings for the male reader and is really scared about being gay but still asks him out for a date? That would be awesome.

A/n: my first request!! so sorry it took so long to get out. My finals are coming up in the next week that I have to study for and all my teachers think it’s a good time to start assigning projects every other day. Anyway, thank you to anon, I really enjoyed writing this for you : )

Growing up, Steve always thought there was something wrong with him. He’s always wondered why his gaze lingered on fellas the same way it lingered on dames. It wasn’t until Steve was eighteen that he figured out why.

It was fall of 1936. Steve’s ma had just recently passed away, which left Steve on his own most of the time, if Bucky wasn’t there because Steve shoved him away when he wanted to be left alone. Steve tried to distract himself from the pain and often went to bars in all the wrong parts of town. Steve met a real nice fella one night that seemed to like spoiling him with compliments and as many drinks as he could take. At the end of their night, the guy laid one on him, telling Steve it was a farewell gift before leaving. Steve’s feelings towards other fellas made so much sense as soon as his lips touched Steve’s.

Steve had never feared much in his life, but he wasn’t able to forget the feeling of another man’s lips on his. The memory was stuck with Steve for almost a week, swirling around inside his head. Steve liked kissing fellas a lot. Too much for his time, in fact, so much so that it scared Steve so far back into the closet that he never allowed himself to feel anything for anyone until the 21st century; until you.

“Why don’t you just go talk to him?” Natasha wonders as she sits beside Steve, not looking up from her phone screen. Steve blushes and looks away from where you sit at your desk, writing reports for Director Fury.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Natasha scoffs. “Right,” she says sarcastically, “and I haven’t been watching you make heart eyes at Agent L/n for an hour.”

Steve sighs and goes back to looking at you.

Steve remembers the first time he met you, after the Battle of New York when he came to work for SHIELD, per Natasha’s suggestion. You were sweet, offering him any help he may need around headquarters even if it was just directions in case he got lost or something. Eventually, you and Steve spent lunch together whenever you were both free from missions.

Honestly, Steve never stood a chance.

Steve had discovered his feelings for you only a few weeks prior to his current lunch break with Natasha. He’d come home from a long and exhausting mission with the Avengers in Europe to find you asleep at your desk, drooling all over your papers. The fear of falling for another fella came hurtling back into Steve all over again, and it caused him to start avoiding you. You haven’t spoken to each other since that night.

“If, hypothetically, I did like him,” Steve says cautiously, “how, hypothetically, would I… go about telling him that?”

For once in the last hour, Natasha looks away from her phone. She smiles and sets it facedown on the table. She looks Steve in the eyes and tells him, “Maybe you should think about coming out first.”

Steve sighs immediately and begins picking at his nails. Just the idea of coming out to anyone is so unbelievably terrifying, it gets adrenaline pumping through his body.

Natasha suddenly puts her hand over Steve’s. “I’m not going to force you to come out, no one will, and you shouldn’t feel pressured to,” Natasha lets go of Steve and sits back in her seat, but doesn’t pick up her phone. “It just might be the first step to asking Agent L/n on a date,” she smirks, and then adds, “if that’s really what you want to do,” Steve nods.

“But, you shouldn’t rush it,” Natasha says, suggesting, “Maybe taking some time to prepare yourself would be a good idea,” and then she picks up her phone and is back to swiping left and right on whatever app she’s on.

Steve does end up following Natasha’s advice. He takes some time to ready himself for his confessions, mostly spending the weekend in bed, on his phone, watching as many coming out videos as he possibly can, in between several stress naps, of course. Steve wakes up monday morning finally feeling slightly ready to come out to you (and hopefully manage to get a date with you, but, you know, one step at a time).

Steve waits nervously outside your cubicle, fiddling with the edges of his suit gloves. He’d wanted to do this in his civilian clothes, but he has a mission briefing with his team in thirty minutes that he can’t be late for.

You get off the elevator and make your way over to your cubicle, texting leisurely. You catch Steve’s attention when you get closer, laughing softly at something on your screen before looking up and noticing Steve standing there. You manage a smile, as small and strained as it may be.

“Long time, no see,” you say, muttered for just your and Steve’s ears. “Haven’t seen you around in a while, Captain,” Steve frowns, taken aback by the name.

You almost never call Steve ‘Captain’ like everyone else does because you thought it was rude to only see Steve as Captain America and not Steve Rogers. Steve would know, because you told him yourself. The only time you do call Steve by his title is when you’re around other agents or your superiors. But, when it was just you two, it was always ‘Steve’ or even ‘Steven’ when you reprimand him for stealing your food.

“Hey, Y/n,” Steve greets back, now completely unsure of what he’s about to do.

Steve watches as you settle into your office, sliding into your chair and giving all of your attention to your computer screen as you log in. “Well, what do you want?” your cool tone causes Steve to stutter, which causes you to look over and furrow your brows at him.

“Um,” Steve tries again and fails, “I, uh, wanted to talk to you.”

“Yeah? And what do you wanna talk about?”

Steve’s face flushes with adrenaline. “It’s, um, really hard for me to say…” this grabs your attention and you face him fully. “Well, first, I wanna apologize for avoiding you for two weeks.”

“I get it,” You shrug, playing it cool even though it did really hurt and confuse you, “sometimes people just need some space.”

Steve grumbles. “... still.”

“Apology accepted, then.”

Steve feels better after that, but still stumbles into his next sentence. You give him his time, but it doesn’t stop the curiosity from wondering what’s turned Steve Rogers into a mess of unintelligible mumbles.

Finally, Steve sighs, frustrated, and steps fully into your office. He starts playing with his hands again.

Its surprising, seeing Steve pouting at his feet like this. You’ve always seen either Captain America, the living legend, or Steve Rogers, the little shit from brooklyn that has no problem stealing from your lunch tray. You’ve never seen him so vulnerable before, and it hits you especially hard with him sporting his Cap uniform.

Steve takes a deep breath, and begins stuttering out, “So, uh… I’m sorta, maybe… into…” Steve makes some vague hand gestures and continues, “... dudes…”

“Mmm,” you hum, understanding all of a sudden. You lean forward so your elbows are on the desk, resting your head in your hands, and taking in Steve not for the first time.

He looks incredibly young, with his eyes as big as saucers and his face completely flushed. And it dawns on you that he really is young, barely twenty six when he came out of the ice and not even thirty now. And his eyes are a very blue… You can’t hold back your smile anymore. You say slowly, “That is really amazing, Steve.”

Steve lets out a heavy breath, almost sounding wet. “Really?”

“Really,” you tell him. “And, I am also... really into dudes.”

Steve seems relieved as he asks, “You really are?” and you hum, nodding while still smiling. Steve’s hearts does the little fluttering thing when he hears you confirm it, the same way it did back in ‘36 when that fella gave him his first kiss.

“Um, so,” Steve stutters some more, “I also might… be into.. one particular dude.” You nod, encouraging him to continue. “Yeah,” Steve says, gaining more confidence, “and this particular dude has been real sweet to me ever since I came to work for SHIELD.”

“Oh yeah?” you wonder, feigning innocence while you continue to smile. “And who might this particular dude be, I wonder?” you might already suspect which direction Steve is headed in, but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions and end up being disappointed, even if the chances of that happening at this point are rather low.

“It’s you,” Steve blurts adorably, a hopeful smile ghosting his lips as he looks down at you smiling like a maniac. It’s a huge weight lifted off of steve’s shoulders, saying it out loud. He hadn’t known it would feel this good to let it all out.

It’s your turn to blush, it seems. Your face darkens with blood rushing through your cheeks. You don’t stop smiling.

“And, uh, I was wondering,” Steve wonders optimistically, with a slight bounce in his step as he moves closer to you. “since, you know, we’re both into dudes… if, maybe, you’d like to go on a date with me?”

You giggle. “Well… since we’re both into dudes,” you say coyly, “I would love to go on a date with you, Steve.”

Steve smiles, really proud of himself.

(NOT MY GIF)

Main Blog // Other Side Blog

((NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WORK ANYWHERE EVEN WITH CREDIT))

#steve rogers x male reader #steve rogers x reader #reader insert #marvel cinematic universe

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pangtasias-atelier · 5 years

Text

Master Turned Pet

So this C/u Alt/er idea just came out of nowhere and I really wanted to act upon it before my motivation went away. So here’s a 3k fic that doesn’t necessarily pertain the most to wg but it also was nice not having that be the main thing.

This was meant to be kinda dark but all these ideas I have all vanish once I try to type them and then I get grossed out anjdsifn. So the only really dark thing is physical harm/abuse though it’s not graphic since I can’t handle blood lol

While I do like copying F/G/O’s style by having the master not really speak, it kinda became meh as this went on to the wg portion but still enjoyed it lol

Talking about F/G/O with a friend who doesn’t know about this blog, and the homophobia of Da/vid’s Valentine scene being different for male masters, so maybe expect that in the next week or 2? Even though I’m pretty sure like none of you play F/G/O

I wish C/u Al/ter got a rate up, but he never does.... At least En/ki/du came to my Ch/al/dea

________________

"What?" Eyes narrowed, Cu nearly recoils from his master's body leaning against his arm. A pathetic, useless 'thank you' barely uttered before his master's tired breaths sound out, Cu lets him rest against him, his master's bloodied bandages slightly maring his own clothes.

A small, wacky singularity cleared before it could grow into anything concerning, his master had been dragged into it. His master too kind, a tired smile on his face as he steps into each consuming battle asked of him, bit by bit of himself getting consumed, Cu was at least willing to ensure to stay by his side. No other servant wishing to undergo such idiotic nonsense for a singularity, Cu grumbled and complained, but followed nonetheless. His master's reassurances that he could indeed stay, Cu ignored them under the pretense of getting to fight and kill.

And he enjoyed just that. Before any more childish activity could drag on, he had murdered all other servants. His master's wishes to at least reason with the others despite the nonsense ignored, the singularity was proving a breeze with brute force. Until he had reached the true culprit. No one to aid him, he had been foolish, caught off guard. Nearly killed himself, his master had to use a command spell to heal him.

His last command spell. The other two already wasted on sentimentality, his master not wishing for him to disappear in other singularities despite several other servants by his side.

Lifting his master into his arms, the task easy when he doesn't resist, too exhausted to nutter anything past an annoyed groan, Cu stares at his face. Face reaching its serene state as it always does once a singularity reaches its end, Cu stares at the way his master smiles at him, his eyes closing. His master's breathing slowly calms down. The sight enjoyable, all of his master's expressions delightful in some way, he can't help but wish to see his face strain, his master's worried face as he yells in concern for his servants always a sight to laugh at. His pathetic whimpers whenever blood gets drawn, the humans in each singularity so incredibly delicate against servants and threats to humanity. The way his face strains with exhaustion at the end of each day, more burdening work seemingly piling up each day despite his prior commending work. The shy, embarrassed way his master blushes, his laughter attempting to pass it off. His tears that seem to occur at random outbursts, everything too much.

Each expression so wonderful to him, he can't wish but to see more. The blood of a warrior pulsing through his veins, he can't help but yearn for less savory tactics, even fighting and killing appearing boring with his master beside him.

Cu stares at the way his sweat seems to line his face, his hair stuck to his forehead. Brushing a bit away, his master even leans into the embrace. Perhaps he's overstepping his role as a weapon, but perhaps it's worth it.

It's worth it when his master is an absolute idiot.

The singularity near its collapse, his master had just obtained the holy grail. Clenching it in his hand, fingers wrapped tightly around it, Cu smiles as his master whimpers. Ignoring his lance, the weapon dropped the floor, he wraps his own fingers around the holy Grail stealing it out of his hands.

Voices coming from the communicator, that shield servant who he still hasn't bothered learning her name concerned over his master, Cu ignores her, instead leaning over his master. Some more pathetic whimpering coming out of him as he struggles in Cu's grip, Cu holds him down, the effort minimal.

"Guess I was a fool for counting on one of these. But now," Seizing it in his hands, he laughs, his whole body reveling in the motion. His current desires being known, the singularity remains. Chaldea losing contact, their obnoxious concerns die out. Cu basks in the near silence, the pleasant strained breaths from his exhausted master sounding divine to his ears. No sense in being gentle, he lugs him over his shoulder, his master letting out an 'oof' as his stomach meets Cu's rough shoulder.

"I'm sure you'll grow to love our time together, master" Hands pushing against him, Cu ignores them, simply making his way to the enemy's castle, the entire area empty with all of them now dead.

Calmly making his way, Cu not willing to visibly show his enjoyment at his plan coming to fruition, he runs his tongue over his teeth, the sharp instruments nearly drawing blood. His master's pathetic struggles ceasing, he ignores it. A couple of minutes passing by, the looming castle draws nearer. The fauna unchanging, passing by tree after tree, the entire place is repetitive, no real distinctive locations.

The peace ends up disturbed, his master letting out a large sigh. Legs and arms thrashing about, his bandages slowly come undone. The act unable to harm him, Cu laughs at him, the sight pleasurable. Hauling his master further, Cu's smile dwindles as the thrashing lowers in intensity but continues. Some blood seeping onto his shoulder, Cu stops in his tracks.

Lifting his master up and placing him on his feet, Cu stares at him. His master barely able to even stand on his own two feet, he stumbles.

"Away from me," Cu glumly thinks,his hand tightening over his spear. Placing both hands on his master's shoulders, keeping him in place, Cu stares at him. Then at the blood seeping through his bandages. Some pleas and questions escaping his master's hoarse throat, Cu's hands land on his master's cheek. Grinning down at him, his hands roam over his master, both traveling down. His master refusing the entire time, Cu's right hand rests at his torso; his left hand places itself between his collarbone. Left hand traveling up, Cu expectantly watches his master's face.

And then he squeezes, his fingers easily wrapping around his throat.

The weight insignificant, he lifts his master in the air, his master's feet dangling and kicking in the air. His master's hands wrap around his arm. Nails digging into him, he clenches tighter. Small chokes escaping as he attempts to breath, Cu brings his master closer.

"Don't make me have to hurt you," Lapping up the few tears that come out, dehydration taking a hold of his master as well, Cu eases his grip.

An inch given, his master attempts to take a foot, kicking Cu square in the stomach.

A human unable to harm a servant, Cu laughs at the attempt, his master's attempts at living so wonderful.

"I've missed this side of you," Enough air allowed, Cu tightens his grip once more. Oh to just squeeze even a bit tighter, to see his even more pleaful eyes, probably begging him and telling him where went all of his humanity. But that would just forfeit his master's life, and why waste all the time they have together to just end it so abruptly? So instead, he shoves him against a tree, some crack sounding from somewhere.

The tree unharmed, then that means he probably broke something of his master's. Cu shrugs, his master is still alive; that's better than what Medb would have done. She'd have killed anyone by now.

"I miss America; back when you'd struggled so much just to even run away from me," Cu whispers in his ear. "And I would have killed you, but even that damn mage knew you were going to be nothing but another body on my lance," Dropping him, his master raggedly falling to the floor, Cu crouches down. Coughing as he attempts to breath, his master keeps his head down. Hands reaching towards the bandages, he rewraps them, the trickle of blood stopping. "You can't even fight, you're not a warrior, yet you always rushed in to help. And I wanted nothing more to see you gutted," Silently drawing his spear, Cu places the tip on his master's stomach. No more words offered, he stares at his master, his face downturned. Struggling to even lift his head, dirtied sweat mats his pale face. Barely able to breath, to even hold consciousness, he still stares back at Cu. Despite his bravado, Cu can still see the fear. Everyone's fear of their death arriving. Always too soon, always wondering why me. Cupping his master's chin, Cu lightly applies some pressure. A whimper belying his bravery, Cu smiles as he tosses his lance.

"Good," His master like a cockroach, so damn resilient and ever struggling, that struggling led to him saving humanity. And that struggling would let him live again, not that he was actually in danger.

Making sure that the bandages are properly tightened, the activity foreign yet not unwelcome, Cu grabs his master's wrist.

"Now walk," Letting go, he laughs as his master's feet crumble underneath him, a face full of dirt meeting his face. Reaching down and yanking him up by the wrist, Cu drags him behind him, his master heavily breathing to even stand, let alone walk.

Occasionally tugging at him to hurry up, Cu kicks at the door to open it, the door easily giving way.

Perhaps having his fill for the day, Cu lifts him up. Thoughts of acting like Medb quickly thrown out of his head, Cu stares down at his master. If he is, then so be it, at least it's with one human, and he'll make sure to just break them enough to where it's fun.

Exhaustion tearing away at his master, it outweighs the pain, falling asleep in Cu's arms. Heading towards the King's Chambers, Cu places his master at the bed. Double checking his bandages, he readjusts them again.

A grumble escaping his master's stomach, hunger gnawing at him from the tiring day, Cu tsks. Heading off, his tail drags on the floor.

The place bathed in silence, the sound of his slow, heavy footsteps fill the area. Trudging along, he makes short time to his destination, a village.

Everyone wary of him before, his master barely enough to placate them all, the sight of a bloody Cu alone is enough to cause most of them to vacate the premises, doors to homes slammed shut.

Stalls and carts left unattended, he simply swipes at them, grabbing it and lugging it.

Those brave enough to remain outside do so, staring at him even. He ignores it, all pathetic civilians, the bloodshed would be nothing more than a quick activity. One with little enjoyment derived from it. He'll get plenty of enjoyment once Chaldea begins to make their move, masters from different areas possibly coming to repair this singularity. Or perhaps the counter force will act again. Not like it matters, he'll kill all of them, grail or no Grail in hand. He had nearly done so back in America, no master to aid him, calling Medb anything more than a nuisance would be too kind for her he feels. And with his master perfect for supplying mana, he has nothing to fear.

No one bothering to stop him, all too busy cowering, Cu makes it back to the castle with zero issues. The human body so damn frail, Cu grumbles as he brings the food to the kitchen. Rushing through it, the meat close to raw on the inside and burnt on the outside, he shrugs as he continues cooking some more. No seasoning offered besides grabbing what's there at random, Cu calls it. Frowning from the effort of cooking it, the chore unlike him anymore, he carries it up.

His master still asleep, shallow breaths struggling past him as his chest barely rises into the air, Cu wastes no time. Another crunch sounding as he lifts him up and slams his back against the headboard, the technique wakes him up perfectly. A coughing fit ensuing, his master clutches his stomach with his other hand. Body aching, he rests against the headboard, any stability appreciated.

"Eat," Standing to the side, arms crossed against his chest, Cu glares at his master. Cautious, his master picks at the nearly charred food. Hesitation taking hold of his body, Cu takes a hold of his head.

"You will do as I say," Yanking his hair, Cu grabs the food with his bare hands. Shoving it into his master's mouth, he holds his hand over his mouth, the food slowly getting chewed. "I can't have you dying on me yet," Cu teases, another handful getting shoved straight to his master's mouth.

Only allotting just enough time for his master to swallow the last bit, Cu always shoves in another piece, the pained muffled struggles reaching his ears, the sounds egging him on. His master trying to move his face away, Cu tugs harder. His master's breathing labored, Cu licks his lips; the pain nothing compared to just beating him senseless, seeing the discomfort and heavy breaths is a different joy. A much appreciated joy.

His master's hands pushing at him, he twists them. So close to just snapping them off, the desire burning in his heart, he resists. Point crossed, his master remains motionless, Cu resuming.

Each next handful is met with more resistance than the last, his master slowly chewing. Hands moving to rub his stuffed stomach, Cu moves them out of the way, not wishing for any relief.

The food eventually crammed down his master's gullet, his face is strained as he shakily rubs his stomach. Juices rest on his lips, the trickles dribbling down. Cu pokes at the small distended bump for a stomach. Adding a touch of pressure, he glances at his master's whimper, eyes shut tight. Dragging him into his lap, Cu holds him tight in his embrace, both sitting at the edge of the bed.

Both hands on his master's stomach, Cu pushes down on it. His master nearly hurling, he brings his hands to his mouth, swallowing the bile that threatens to spill.

"So precious," Cu lets out, lifting his master's hands and pressing down on his stomach again. The sight no longer obscured, he smiles at the scene, his master always so close to losing the contents of his meal.

Finding a different way to enjoy his master's expressions, the wheels in Cu's brain begin to turn.

His master falling asleep soon after, his gurgling stomach nothing compared to his exhaustion, Cu places him back down on the bed. Chaldean uniform snug on his master, Cu tears the shirt. Pale skin rising with each breath, Cu rubs it, the soft yet taut skin pleasant.

His master squirming under the touch, sleep still taking him captive, Cu removes his hand.

Warriors going to flock to him eventually, he might as well enjoy this as much as he can. Not like his master can stop him anymore.

Standing up, he hesitates by the door. Glancing back, he smiles at his master's frown, a nightmare seemingly taking place.

Already preparing his master's next meal, Cu swiftly grabs all the ingredients. The process as hurried as earlier, he quickly begins cooking again, eager to stuff him.

And stuff him he does.

The counter force taking a while to respond, Cu focuses his efforts on his master. No way to fight back, the task is easy. A little bruising here and there to control him, limbs bent dangerously close to ways they should never bend, that's all he needs, the tactic keeping his master under control. Food always plentiful, Cu always forces it down his mouth. Mouth crammed with food, Cu snickers at the way his master struggles to even speak or complain. Stomach continuously taut, simple jabs nearly does him in, his master's eyes shut.

Cu disregards any notion of ending or quitting, the fun granted to him far too pleasurable. Overfed like cattle, his master nothing more than such a thing, Cu pokes and tugs at each new curve that adorns his master as the weight sticks to his frame. Stomach gaining a small sliver, the insignificant weight barely noticeable before it grows even further with constant stuffings. A round potbelly great for shaking after a binge, his master nauseous. Barely developed love handles, both budding armrests a violet hue from Cu's incessant pinches. Moobs that are nothing more than markers signifying the beginning of something much greater. Chunky arms with hanging flab, the areas much more enjoyable to yank and pull to shut his master up. Widened thighs cushioned from adipose.

The effects on his master's body memorizing, he had no choice but to see it through. With all the time in the world, he was happy to see it through.

The world's counter force inevitably summoning some servants to stop him, the task was simple. Masterless servants stood no task against him. the fun only truly began once Chaldea managed to send in his master's own servants.

Despite being outnumbered and outwitted numerous times, they were still outmatched, all falling by his hands.

Another batch just slain, Cu smiles as he rushes back to his room. The grueling fight only invigorated him, his body screaming for more fighting, for more blood. The singularity, containing only himself, his master, and frightened civilians, punishing his master would have to suffice. Another servant caught in the act of aiding his master's, Cu throws his spear. Abdomen gutted through, the spear lodges them in the wall, unable to act as they fade away.

His master staring at his defeated servant, Cu cups his chin. Some resistant met, Cu glares before using his other hand. Both now needed, his master's attention snaps to him as he feels both hands on his neck.

"Good," Lesson learned, Cu goes easy, his hands wringing his master's neck for only a few seconds this time. His master coughing, Cu becomes entranced with the way his fat shakes from it. His master ballooning perfectly, Cu made sure to make him massive.

A gut sagging onto his thighs and the bed, the fleshy mound is the perfect punching bag. Love handles overflowing, they droop down as well, the piles of blubber merging with his master's multiple rolls. Breasts plentiful, they rest upon the mountain that is his stomach. Arms and thighs nearly unused at this point, Cu forbidding it, the appendages are swaddled with fat, the large cylindrical limbs containing no definition like they used to.

His master forced to sit on his legs the past hour, his crushing weight making it hard to do so, Cu urges him up. Fat shifting as the bed groans, Cu stands aside. His master struggles, breaks needed to regain energy. Arms quivering as they push against the bed, his master's whimpers delight his ears.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, his master rests his hands on his stomach, breathing loudly for air. Feet touching the ground, he remains seated.

"Stand up," Cu commands. Unobeyed, Cu grabs his master and stands him up himself.

Legs asleep, his master crumples to the floor. Fat squished against the tiling, he pushes himself. A boot stops his attempt.

Head kicked back down to the floor, Cu rests his foot on his master's head. The sensation not foreign, the mental crunch of a skull cracking underneath his weight nearly brings him to do the same to his master. Removing his boot, his master doesn't move.

"This is a warm up, pet," Circling his master, Cu keeps his head high. "Soon, it'll be reality where you can't walk," Sitting on the bed, Cu grins. "Now get up,"

His master attempting just that, Cu laughs as his master's asleep legs fail him once more. Brought back down to the floor again and again, Cu simply watches.

"I'm waiting," Cu not a patient man, the warning sends his master in a frenzy. Each trial of standing up failing, he instead crawls, Cu's wrath worrying. Closer to Cu, he reaches for the bed, leverage to stand up. A hand on his head stops him.

Cu's eyes wide open, he readjusts them, both squinting at his master. "I like your idea, pet," A collar materializing, Cu wraps it around his master's neck. Standing up, he yanks it, his master falling to the floor.

"I'll enjoy this while you can still move," Collar constantly yanked, Cu leads his master to the kitchen. "I'll make sure my pet never goes hungry," Cu growls, smirking as his master struggles to keep up, already tired. The image of him stuck on the floor, stomach so massive that his arms and legs can no longer touch the tiles spurs him on; no rest for the wicked.

#non fe #fat grand order #My writing #male wg #male weight gain

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hope-for-olicity · 6 years

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Fabulous Olicity Fanfic Friday - February 22nd, 2018

Happy Friday! So this is my attempt to both thank awesome fanfic writers for their amazing work and offer my recommendations to anyone who is interested. Here are the fantastic fanfic stories I read this week! They are posted in the order I read them. This and all previous Fabulous Olicity Fanfic posts can be found on my blog.

(Don't) Let Me Go multi-chapter WIP by @emmilynestill - Felicity told him to let her go, but even when Oliver tried, it didn’t seem to be something he was capable of. In the end, there would be nothing in the world Felicity was more grateful for. Weaving in and out of the final four episodes of Season 5 and beyond, follow Oliver and Felicity’s emotional journey back to one another, one step at a time. http://archiveofourown.org/works/11591223/chapters/26051715

With the Speed of an Arrow multi-chapter WIP by @academyofshipping - Oliver Queen’s elite and silver-spoon life has taken some blows in the past few years, but he is still the carefree billionaire everyone knows of and loves. When his role in the family business is in jeopardy and he is introduced to a motley of new people, his status quo is threatened. With a changed perspective, Oliver realizes his feeling for his best friend and anchor-in-life, Felicity Smoak, may be more than just platonic. OR A modern adaption of Jane Austen’s Emma with a gender swap* and no island. *Knowing that gender is not binary https://archiveofourown.org/works/16559846/chapters/38799857

Home To You multi-chapter WIP by @the-shy-and-anxious-fangirl - Oliver Queen has never done what his family expected of him. He took a gap year after high school instead of going to college right away. He quit his fraternity sophomore year to join the student newspaper, switching his major from business to journalism. He became a photojournalist for a wire service instead of taking a place at Queen Consolidated. He went missing after six months instead of coming home for his sister’s twenty-first birthday. He survived five years of captivity in a war zone when everyone thought he was dead. He came home. But home didn’t have a place for him in it anymore. His parents were both dead, casualties of their own mistakes and a city they had turned against them. His sister was all grown up, the CEO of Queen Consolidated with a fiancé and a dog and a life of her own. Oliver didn’t belong in his old life, but there was nowhere else for him to go. He was a man without a home, without any way of finding one, until he stopped by the IT department of his sister’s company to get files off an old, battered memory card, and found a woman with curly blonde hair and bright, intelligent eyes chewing on a bright red pen and swearing at a computer screen. https://archiveofourown.org/works/12613188/chapters/28734552

Run to the Water multi-chapter Complete by @someonesaidcake - The year is 1912, Oliver was 9 and far too old to be babysitting that nonsensical girl Felicity whose parents owned the cattle ranch where his parents worked and lived, but she won him over with oat and raisin biscuits and soon became his little blonde sidekick...with a completely unrequited crush on him. Years later she returns from boarding school and more than bush fires ignite in the changing times.... https://archiveofourown.org/works/7455738/chapters/16942293

Overwatch multi-chapter WIP by @it-was-a-red-heeler - A burglary attempt convinces the Mayor of Starling City to hire Smoak Technologies to strengthen his security. But between the sassy AI watching him 24/7 and the personal trainer with his own reasons to kill him, Oliver may wish he’d stuck with his baseball bat for protection. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17500640/chapters/41221793

Frangible by CharlotteCordelier - "You're going to have to kill them." https://archiveofourown.org/works/13447815

The Fan multi-chapter WIP by @leuska - For the past couple of months, Felicity Smoak, previous child star known to the world through her alter ego Lisy the Tech Whiz, who ended her career and her growing popularity at the age of thirteen rather abruptly, has sporadically received disturbing notes and gifts in her mail. Police believe the notes to be just little tokens of appreciation by a former fan. Despite having left the spotlight over a decade ago and living in anonymity since, the fan mail keeps coming, increasing in frequency as well as intensity. The last drop is when Felicity receives another letter with a love note. A scary, ominous note. A note written in human blood.FBI director Amanda Waller tasks her best Agent to the case. Oliver Queen, a criminal profiler, is currently working on a special task force formed between SCPD and FBI to catch a man dubbed the Start City Slasher, who has murdered at least three young women in the past nine months. Agent Queen is not thrilled with the prospect of holding a former princess’ hand through her problem with a simple stalker while a serial killer is still at large. However, once meeting her, Oliver finds there is nothing easy or simple about Felicity Smoak as their worlds start to intertwine. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17726573/chapters/41820368

Burning Souffles multi-chapter WIP by @allimariexf - Felicity really needs to have a talk with Oliver. Which they will really, definitely do just as soon as she stops being kidnapped. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17827772/chapters/42064055

Surprise Children by @icannotbelieveiamhere - Oliver has just let William leave with his grandparents. He wants to protect William and keep an eye on his son but he needs help from an old friend in Central City. Felicity is acting strangely after her phone call. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17836988

Will Fate Allow? multi-chapter WIP by @mindramblingsfics - Seeing her parent's marriage dissolve at a young age made Felicity yearn for a healthy marriage of her own. She thought she'd finally found what she was looking for when Billy Malone showed up offering her what her heart desired. She thought she was happy and had everything she could want, but things began to unravel. Slowly she turned to someone who had become an unparalleled constant in her life...Oliver Queen. Oliver and Felicity are the definition of polar opposites. He is the mob boss that strikes fear in the hearts many, while she is seen as the sweet girl next door, but there is more to both of them underneath the surface. Along the way, they become connected to one another leading to their lives being intertwined forever. https://archiveofourown.org/works/16521596/chapters/38699951

Pieces of Always multi-chapter WIP by @so-caffeinated and @dust2dust34 - Life continues after Forever is Composed of Nows. Ongoing non-linear collection of family moments for the Queens. http://archiveofourown.org/works/8220479/chapters/18840356

Do You Remember multi-chapter WIP by @smkkbert - Eight years after Oliver and Felicity became teenage parents, they have everything they could have ever hoped for and more. They have a good life in a nice house. Their marriage is happy, and a second baby is on its way. The calm they have settled in is interrupted abruptly when a stalker starts terrorizing Felicity. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17409059/chapters/40978307

P.S. Hong Kong: Was it Real?!? multi-chapter WIP by @cruzrogue for Olicity trope-tastic award: Fake Marriage - This is off season 3 Flashbacks. When Tommy goes to Hong Kong he doesn’t go alone he takes his friend Felicity as the best information system being to help him locate Oliver Queen. Tommy may leave empty handed but Felicity gets to be a bride… https://archiveofourown.org/works/15025697/chapters/34832747

Arrow Out of Context: It's Not That Simple multi-chapter WIP by @smoaking-greenarrow - Prompt "It's not that simple." and "No. Felicity, if anything is simple, it's this." https://archiveofourown.org/works/14957309/chapters/42106316

There's a Hole in My Soul multi-chapter WIP by @felicityollies - Felicity Smoak is the daughter of a powerful and dangerous mob boss. Oliver Queen, who had been an associate until recently being promoted to bodyguard, was given the job of protecting Felicity. Neither of them are very happy about the arrangement. https://archiveofourown.org/works/5827837/chapters/13431532

Four Walls (Of Law Firms and Honey) multi-chapter WIP by @dust2dust34 - A collection of ficlets in the same 'verse, called Of Law Firms and Honey, NSFW. Highly recommend http://archiveofourown.org/works/3982066/chapters/21868070

Time for a Story multi-chapter WIP by @smkkbert - This fic shows Olicity and their life as a (married) couple with family. Although Olicity (and their kids) are the protagonists, other characters of Arrow and Flash make appearances. YOU NEED THIS STORY IN YOUR LIFE. https://archiveofourown.org/works/3912157/chapters/8757172

One Step Ahead multi-chapter WIP by @stephswims - Felicity Acerbi is married to esteemed Italian mob boss. Married after a failed business deal with her father, she is forced into a life decided for her. That is until a new bodyguard is hired. https://archiveofourown.org/works/16959333/chapters/39855036

// @emmaamelia95 // @mel-loves-all // @oliverfel4 // @green-arrows-of-karamel // @coal000 // @miriam1779 // @memcjo// @captainolicitysbedroom // @tdgal1 // @spaztronautwriter // @lalawo1// @quiveringbunny // @wrongshipper // @thebookjumper // @vaelisamaza // @myhauntedblacksoul // @lovelycssefan // @laurabelle2930 //

#FabulousOlicityFanficFriday #olicity fanfiction #fic recs

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19possums-blog · 5 years

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On tianshan relationship and their fandom, i guess ?

hello there @nightfayre !! Im the 5asks anon lol (the one abt the last chapter of tianshan). I wanted to thank you for your answer and continue to rant in your askbox but i figured it was so long that mb it would crash ur box lmao, so I... kind of created a blog..... hm. well theres no bad reasons to create an account is there lol ?? (also is there no way to send a long ask ?? why is it so limited :(( )

So once again thank you for anwser, and what an answer ! You raised many points i didnt think about and that was very interesting. I knew i would be glad to hear your thoughts ! the rest under a read more coz i think its going to be looong lol

(( To do a sort of disclaimer : I despise fandom discourse and im more of the mentality “let ppl enjoy what they want as long as it dont hurt real life ppl”, and “dont like dont interact”. So everything im going to say is not an attack against anyone, but just a way of prolonging a manhwa that i like. Most of all, i want to emphasize that at the end of the day, its just a manhwa : it doesnt justify being mean or aggressive towards other real life ppl. If you find yourself raging while reading fandom wank, just stop reading, block, and go outside a little. My way of enjoying the manhwa is to be analytical, to criticize (positively and negatively) and to look at the material source as well as the fandom in itself ; if its (understandably lol) not your definition of fun, this post may not be for you !))

Ur totally right in saying that the hardest thing is separate morality, reality and fiction. I hope my asks didn't come across as a 'u shouldnt like tianshan bc its not morally good'. There is a lot of puritan push back on tumblr lately, and im totally against it. Everyone is free to like/ship what they want ; reading only ‘morally good’ literature wont prevent you to become a nasty person - i would argue itd be the exact opposite, as your spirit wont be trained to think critically or to evaluate a situation (and every situations is always grey) by your own means. Also, its important to separate fantasies/what you like to read and who you are/what you do. To be embarrassingly honest, and like many people, one of my sexual fantasy is rape ; but in my real life, im in a queer anarchist collective that actively fights against rape culture and defends rape victims. That is why i dont have a problem with SheLI/Mo shippers (or even HeCheng/SheLi shippers) even if its not my cup of tea, but i would have a problem if in real life (irl) ppl would say to irl Mo that irl SL is good for him (or if they wouldnt find it wrong that a irl 30yo Cheng is involved wt an irl 15yo Li). I digress.

But then again this confusion about fiction/reality/morality is at the core of the tianshan fandom -and many fandoms. I dont know about you, but i grossly see 3 types of ‘trends’ depending on how ppl interact with the source material :

1.The ones who think you cant like something while being critical of it. I love 19 days but I think there are flaws in it, beyond tianshan dynamic (like how OX handles the transition between funny and dramatic moments –I think its badly done). It doesn’t mean I personally hate OX and wish harm to their family oc. Worse than this, the ones who, because they dont like certain things in 19 days, feel free to harass OX on their social media. Here its a confusion between fiction and reality and a lack of critical thinking.

2. the ones that loves Tianshan because they think it fits the trope “Dark, handsome, tortured violent boy who is violent towards fragile, sweet, pure cute boy because he loves him” and the typically associated trope “the pure boy will change the violent boy by the pureness of his heart”. Aka the most common yaoi trope. Again, if it pleases people to see Tianshan like this, good for them and i hope they have a nice time reading 19 days. Lets face it, I love really bad yaoi and books. Its just not how i see tianshan at all, but to each their own. I just have a problem when these ppl insist that its an ok behavior to have in real life and say things like “possessiveness is a proof of love” uncritically (hint : it isnt). For me, its the difference between enjoying fast food (thats okay), and wanting to force everyone to eat fast food and to find it pleasurable (not okay).

3. the ones that think what you like in literature defines who you are, and so in order to be a “good person” you have to only like “morally good litterature” -there are the ones I personally find the more interesting bc they can ask good questions. But alas, in most cases its just puritanism badly disguised and currently they are in all fandoms. Lets not delve into the issue of this statement : what is ‘morally good’ ? who are in the authority to proclaim what is good ? how can you recognize what is ‘morally good’ if you dont see what is ‘morally not good’ ? is it literature’s responsibility to educate its audience ? do literature have to point out “watch out audience what just happened is not okay” as if we were brainless children ? whats more important : what you like reading or what you do irl ? .... Okay i totally delve into this lmao. Here its a confusion between fiction and morality and a rejection of critical thinking : we could say its like when the Catholics prohibited women from reading bc it would pervert them and think of the children).

Returning to the specifics of what we've been talking about : so in this last case, you (generic ‘you’) think that you are a good person ; so you have to read morally good literature. So in this case, fandom isnt just a harmless hobby, but a proof of how you are morally good, imagine the stakes ! But alas, you happen to like 19 days and most specifically tianshan. You said (@nightfayre ) that you judge Tianshan unhealthy as they are now, and i wholeheartedly agree with you, so im not going to discuss why since you already explained it so well. So, what happens when you like a morally not good ship, but you think liking morally dubious things makes you a bad person ? You bent over backwards to explain that, in fact, this ship is morally good, to protect your integrity. And thats why, in 19days fandom since the last chapter (and its the same thing with every chapter where flaws of HT are revealed!), there are many posts going around “hm, in fact, what He Tian did is good ! i know it can seems like hes a violent asshole who dont respect MGS because he punches him, threatens him, and dont listen to him, but hm.... in fact its because he’s nice...” and then they do mental gymnastics to justify what is, obviously, not morally justifiable. And i find its a pity because, my guy, my buddy, nobody is going to throw you tomatoes if you like a morally dubious character, and also bc nothin is morally good ! everybody does what they think is the best in ‘problematic situations’ ! and thats what make life interesting ! and so, 19 days interesting ! The flaws of HT (and MGS) are what drawn ppl to his character, bc it makes him real, its makes him contradictory, we can project ourselves in him, and we can see a complicated character with awesome latent potential. And yes, treating someone like a territory bc you care about them is a flaw lol. (on this subject : i saw ppl saying that its protectiveness and not possession : if you protect someone like you would protect a territory, then its not a healthy protection. you deal with a human whose agency you must respect, contrary to a territory).

MGS and HT are the product of what happen to them in their early childhood and then their adolescence. Like you said, they grow up in a violent, twisted world, where being emotionally distant is the norm. I would even say that they are expected to conform to the standards of (toxic) masculinity : channel all your emotions into anger, caring is being weak and feminine, prove your worth by your physical strength, be in control in all ur relationship, etc. I would say thats why Mo is so hostile towards HT : HT challenges his masculinity, by seducing him (everyone know that the biggest fear of macho men like HT and Mo is being considered gay -_-) and being stronger than him. Lets face it, Mo has kind of a homophobic issue, like all the boys. Between JY who tells HT its disgusting being told hes handsome by a man (at the beginning of the manhwa, i hope by now he had grown out of it), or Mo who tells HT he isnt happy that a guy is on his bed or who desperately wants to prove his heterosexuality by saying he likes all cute girls to his baldy friend... HT is more nuanced, but at the end, when he ‘seduces’ Mo, its always predatory. He doesnt let himself being vulnerable and he aggressively touches Mo even without his consent. For me, its a way of proving his domination, not his interest (and when i say that, i dont mean that HT is not genuinely interested in Mo -just that his actions dont translate this). ZZX is the only one who seems to have a healthy relationship with his masculinity lol, but then hes the healthy one in all aspects (thats why i dont like his character and am not invested in zhanyi, even if irl i would love to be his friend).

With all that being said, oc HT wont know how to adequately express genuine concern and interest in Mo ! This sort of social interactions is not something you just know, its smth you learn. And in HT and Mo’s cases, nobody was there to teach them -we could even say that ppl in their life made them unlearn caring behaviors. So HT does what he does best : he fights and forces, and is surprised when Mo thinks (obviously) HT is evil. And also, like you said, Mo will never be (at least how he is now) a driving force in their relationships bc he will always run away from bonding with ppl. So here we are, HT being the only driving force in their relationship, the same HT who only knows violence. No wonder that their relationship is like this...

As it is, i feel like tianshan is kind of in an impasse right now. One or the other is going to have to evolve if we want to see their relationships changing. Either HT learns how to care without being violent (seems complicated if Mo doesnt challenges him, bc HT isnt going to realize this without feedback since its how he has always functioned), or, more likely, Mo is going to be honest with him and tell him that his behavior is hurting him. Though more probable, I dont see it happening anytime soon : for one, Mo isnt capable of seeing when he is hurting emotionally and what is hurting him ; and also, bc Mo doesnt know any other language than violence, not unlike HT. I think its smth most of the fandom ignore, how violence is smth that HT and MGS both have in common, and how if HT wasnt violent, MGS certainly wouldnt consider him at all.

Anw im excited to see where OX is going with all this ! Like you said, the forced kiss was pivotal to their relationship, so im kind of hoping it would be the same here ! I just hope they wont... do like usual and just put a funny chapter and ignore this latest development.....

OMG i wrote soo much and there is so much i still want to say.... i think im going to do a second post... sorry about the spam lmao

( @nightfayre : i dont know how this site works yet, is @ you alright ? will it show you my post in your notif or should i send an ask ? bc i want you to see my answer, but i dont want you to feel pressurized to respond or interact or anything !! above all dont feel pressurized, i was sad last night when you wrote ‘im sorry to not answer more quicly’ bc you should answer at your own rhythm or not answer ! your blog is a hobby, not an obligation, so dont feel bad to not do more when yo already do much !! )

#19days #19 days #tianshan

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the-colony-roleplay · 6 years

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COLONY 22′S 2ND ANNUAL APPRECIATION AWARDS

Oh, how much could change in a year.

Alex Donovan remembered last year, as disinclined as he’d been to agree to be one of the three hosts for the night, how he’d watched the frantic decorating committee’ and thought: well at least I’m not one of those unfortunate fools.

And this year, well—he was very nearly one of those unfortunate fools. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he was one of a ‘committee’, but he’d been helping bring out boxes to the decorating team all ever-loving day, and several hours ago they’d begun asking his opinion on things and he’d declined to answer at first. But somehow, come 4pm, he’d found himself up to his neck in garlands and twinkle lights and about to be late for his afternoon training session.

When he walked into the auditorium after dinner (sporting black trousers, a white T-shirt and a deep blue blazer) he had to admit he was impressed. And maybe just a little proud. Because looking around, the room had truly been transformed. A lot of hard work and love had gone into it, clearly, and if nothing else, it would surely make Mitch beam. And Heaven bless that ever-optimistic, selfless man—he deserved at least that this season. It made any suffering on Alex’s part worth it, knowing the event was that much more likely to be the success that the original Calyset Head of House dreamed it would be.

What set this year apart from the last—aside from the Reformist-shaped elephant in the room—is that they’d gone full out traditional Christmas this year. Not wintery blues and silvers (a good thing, too, because it may have just been a throw back to the Modius’ Brink Tower reopening—not a failure by any means, but just a sore spot on the roof of the mouths of too many here), but instead, warm and boasting golds and reds and forest greens. Rich colours hung from the walls and pillars in thick tapestries and glowing lights. Ribbons and wreaths and candles sprinkled the room with a bursting festiveness, and not one, but three Christmas trees brightened up the room—even the damaged areas, rubble and broken seats simply became the contrasting foundation of effervescent decorations.

There was even mistletoe. In one or two surreptitious places, waiting patiently for unsuspecting victims.

Okay... so it did look a little like Christmas had thrown up all over the old theatre. But hell—if that was its worst flaw, they had nothing to complain about in their post-apocalyptic today.

People filtered in slowly, chatting and laughing and mingling about, making comments about their outfits, the decor... and Alex supposed that even those who thought the night a waste of time, at the very least, it couldn’t be said that it hadn’t already brought a certain atmosphere of light-hearted relief over the modest, island Colony. Even if just for a night.

At about a quarter after seven, the house lights faded in and out three times, a voice coming over the loud speaker to ask that people take their seats, as the ceremonies were about to start. Taking that as his queue (and Christ, he still couldn’t believe Mitch had asked him to do the opening speech this year—though somehow the fact that Alex had been convinced was less of a surprise, considering his track record with being unable to tell that man no, for just about anything) Alex politely excused himself from his conversation with Cambie, and threw Caelan a grin and a wink when he spotted him striding by with Isha and Clay. Left a smile and a light touch on Clayton’s elbow as they crossed each other’s paths.

And then he was trotting up stage steps, with people still settling into their seats. The lights dimmed, a spotlight panned over to him, and applause grew from the crowd. Chuckling, eyes cast down as he shook his head, he found his place at the podium:

“Good evening, Colony 22. I’d like to start off by saying thank you, to everyone who worked so hard to make this night happen—and that includes all of you who have participated just by being in attendance tonight. Truly, we appreciate it. Because it’s not just about the decorations or the preparation, the drinks or the snacks—though I’m sure the food and drink is the main reason most of you even bothered to show up,” he paused, grinning. “But it’s impossible to nurture a sense of community without all of you—the community. So thank you.” Another pause, and he pointed a wagging finger at Mitch in the second row. “And if nothing else, you can all go home knowing that you’ve put a shit-eating grin on that man’s face—which is apparently how I got suckered into opening tonight’s ceremonies. So while we’re at it, if any of you figure out how to say no to Mr. Douglas, please be sure to come by my office later and loop me in. Preferably before he asks me about doing this again next year.”

A warm, light chuckle from the audience, and with a smile, Alex continued. “Now, as you’re all aware, I’m not Mitch. I have no poetic to weave you about the trials and tribulations we face on a daily basis and how they bring us together in strength and unity. But that isn’t to say what he has said, and what this night now represents is not of value. In fact, I very much believe it to be true. In times such as these, in the face of change and conflict and rebellion, now more than ever it’s important to remember how we got this far. How we have survived, and how we continue to survive. Because we have not done it through selfishness, or greed. We have not accomplished as much as we have by functioning only as every person for themselves. We have gotten this far through cooperation and support. Through contribution and sacrifice, comfort and strength.

“I have been here next to three years now, and I have watched so many of you grow, and I am so proud of each and every one of you. What I think is too easy to forget in all of this, is that after what we’ve all faced, every day done is an accomplishment. Every day, we could choose to give up, to turn back, or throw in the towel. Rebuilding is hard. Starting over in the face of loss can feel impossible. So remember to take the time to recognize that.” He paused, threw a grin at the audience. “Well, look at that, I guess I did have some poetic to weave. Kindly blame Douglas for that too, would you?”

As the audience laughed again, Alex straightened, his tone lightening. “Alright, I’m not going to tell you too much about the awards themselves—I’ll leave that to our lovely hosts, whom I’m very excited to call to the stage and not just because then I can get the hell out of here. But before I do that, I’ll remind you that after the ceremonies there is a reception down at Catch 22, where they’ll be serving food and drinks, and I believe I heard a rumour or two about dancing and karaoke. For which I plan on making myself very scarce. But nevertheless, have an excellent time tonight, happy holidays, and congratulations on wrapping up another fantastic year.

“And now without further adieu—may I present your hosts for this evening: Orson Hurst, Elsa Copland and Mouse Quinley.”

A/N: AND SO IT BEGINS!!!

Well folks... Welcome to the last event of 2018! It has not just been a good year at Colony 22, but a spectacular one. I feel like we too, (much like our characters in verse,) have special cause for celebration—not only do we have our fifth year anniversary coming up, but this year has gifted us so many excellent, long-term members joining the family and exciting new plots, characters and development.

This event will punctuate the year with a bit of light hearted fun that we hope will lead nicely into an exciting 2019 at the Colony, which Lottie and I already have big plans for. We thank you all for being here, for your commitment, enthusiasm and love, and we hope you all stay with us here and continue to write and grow with us for a long time to come!

Now, most of the information you need about the Event Rules themselves I have already posted in detail and you can find here. Make sure you are familiar with them before starting, if you are new to events at the Colony. And if you’re not new, well, it never hurts to have a refresher!

A friendly reminder to send any questions you have about the event to the main blog ASK as we’d prefer to answer them publicly so the knowledge can be shared with everyone, as it’s likely that if you have a question, someone else may be wondering the same thing!

Remember too that this post marks the beginning of the first part of the evening: The Ceremonies only. You are welcome to RP anything that is leading up to the ceremonies, or during, but nothing past into the reception, until you see a post on the mod blog indicated the shift to the second part of the night, which won’t be until after (our real time) Christmas!

Over the next few days, you will see nomination and award reveals on the main blog, and as mentioned in the info post already posted (and linked above), you may continue old threads, or start new ones that are event related (self paras or graphics work too! Just remember that if you make any graphics in photoshop or anything send them to the graphics blog to be posted!)

Keep in mind that activity will still be monitored over Christmas. I still expect you to meet activity, and I still expect you to contact the main if you need an extension before I have to go chasing you down. The holidays are stressful enough—please do not send me on a wild goose chase. That said, I obviously get it: Holidays can be stressful and busy! So just let us know if you need an extension or hiatus!

I will do everything in my power to make sure all the awards are queued and posted promptly and when they’ve been promised—but if something comes up, things may shift a little here and there—nothing that should have too much of an effect though. The Reception will hopefully be triggered sometime between the 27th and 29th, depending on schedules.

Alright, I believe thats all I got for now! But happy holidays everyone, and enjoy! The first awards post will likely roll out here in a few hours!

Much love,

xxPapa!Mod

#col22awards2 #col22admin #literate rp #original rp #mature rp

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architect-arcane · 7 years

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The Impact Zone (Harrison x reader)

AU: Soulmate / tattoo

Fandom: Bondi Rescue

Words: ~ 2,132

Part: 1/?

A/N: So the bondi rescue fandom is seriously lacking in, well, everything. It’s an amazing show and if you like shirtless guys, then you’d enjoy it. Season 10 and 11 are on netflix and season 13 premiered yesterday. ANYWHO, I wanted to write something due to the extreme lack in fics (especially fics here on tumblr), and Harrison fics in general. (wattpad has a bunch but they’re like 62% jesse and 35% Maxi)

Another note: I usually don’t care for the soulmates au’s but I got this idea a couple days ago and I’m kinda obsessed with it, so yeah. Here we go –

Soulmates are a weird concept to me. Despite the fact that it’s how our society works. Like, you’re supposed to meet and fall in love with a complete stranger just because they have the same tattoo as you? What kind of higher power decided that was a good idea? But, it’s a thing and I guess I just have to deal with it.

Everyone gets their tattoo at a different time in their lives. Sometimes they appear right away when you’re born, sometimes you have to wait until you’re in your 20s or 30s until it appears. They appear someplace on your body with a white ink look, and slowly turn black as you get closer to meeting your soulmate – emphasis on slowly. Even if you do meet them, it’s a gradual change to black, so it may take a couple hours up to a couple days or weeks before you even know it’s them.

My parents were lucky enough to be high school sweethearts. Ironically enough, their tattoos are hearts; my mom’s is on her hip, my dad’s on his wrist. My older brother and his wife were also high school sweethearts, though it took much longer for their tattoos to turn to black for some reason. We always joke that they had a glitch or something. My younger sister literally met her soulmate in kindergarten. Like, wtf? They’re sophomores and still too young to marry, but still. And then there’s me. I’m 22, about to start my last year of college, and still have yet to meet my soulmate. Middle child syndrome I guess? I’m starting to think he doesn’t exist.

Not only that but I was also a late bloomer in even getting my soulmate tattoo. It didn’t appear until summer last year: a wave on my ankle.

Considering it showed up so late, I can only assume that I won’t meet my soulmate until I’m like 35 or something. So I guess he does exist since I at least have a tattoo. It’s just finding him that will be the challenge now. Like I said, my final year of college is starting soon, meaning that I will be graduating in May, which means that I have to find a job and be out in the real world, making it even harder to find the guy.

Growing up on the coast has its perks. Not only is it warm a majority of the year, but if you live anywhere near a beach, you probably grew up surfing or doing something related to water. I’m pretty sure I’ve been swimming since I came out of the womb. And as soon as I could walk, my dad was taking me out and teaching me to surf. By the time I was 13, I was winning almost all the competitions I was in. I definitely wasn’t famous by any means, but a lot of people knew who I was. I did that up though high school. Focusing on my studies, I surf a lot less now, but many students and professors still recognize me and it’s kind of weird. But I wasn’t about to do four years of online college, sooo….

That all aside, I suppose I shouldn’t be complaining this much. I’m kicking off my senior year by taking a summer trip to Australia. How many people get to say that? And I’ve heard there’s amazing surf there too, so I’ll be doing that for sure. I wasn’t even really planning on taking this trip but just a few days ago I talked to my parents about it and they were okay with it, so I just booked it. Talk about spontaneity right?

I make though customs smoothly and as I enter the plane for the dreaded 15 hour flight from LAX to Sydney, I try to get comfortable. Luckily, it seems like a decently small amount of passengers, so after a few hours, I should be able to find a row of seats to lay down on. And just that happens. Once we take off and high enough to turn on electronics, I get on my computer for a while. I check social medias, watch a little Netflix and hulu, and write on the blog diary I decided to keep for this week.

After quite some time of that, my eyes start to hurt from looking at my screen, and I decide to finally sleep for hopefully the rest of the flight, but who knows? It’s dark out so that should help a little. There are a couple people in my row unfortunately, but by some odd luck, the row behind us is completely empty. I put my laptop away, shove my bag under the seat and shimmy out of the row of seats I’m currently in. Going into the overhead bins to grab some sleeping stuff, I pull out a small pillow and my sleeping mask. I then go into the row behind us and prepare myself for what is hopefully a decent sleep.

Time passes, and when I wake up I check the little tv screen on the back of the seat in front of me to see where we are and how much time is left on the flight. Surprisingly, I slept a good six hours meaning I only have about four hours left of this flight. After calling a flight attendant and ordering some food because I’m starving, I pull out my computer again and occupy myself for the remaining time on this flight. Considering we’re over the ocean – well, just flying in general – I have no point of reference to try to figure out what time it is where I’m at, but my phone says 1PM Cali time. I think that means it’s just after 7AM in Sydney. Time zones are so weird because I left home just after midnight on a Sunday, and when I land in Sydney, it’ll be 11AM Tuesday already. Wild.

The beep of the intercom brings me out of my concentration on my computer screen. “Ladies and gentleman, this is your captain speaking. We are preparing our descent to Sydney. The current time is 11:34 in the morning, Tuesday, and the current temperature is a balmy 78°. That’s 25 for you locals.” There’s a few chuckles across the plane and the fasten seatbelts sign lights up. Putting away my things and going back to my original seat, I buckle up and prepare for landing.

Landing smoothly, it takes half hour before we get to our gate. It takes another half hour after that to even get my things and get off the plane. Walking off of the air conditioned plane and into the Australia heat, the captain wasn’t lying when he said it was balmy. I almost immediately start sweating. You’d think I’d be used to this, living in SoCal, but nope. I guess not. It’s all good once I get back into the airport. I head straight to baggage claim, find my suitcase, and head out to get a taxi. Luckily, there’s a small line of taxis waiting to pick up morning arrivals. After the few families ahead of me get in their taxis and leave, I get to the front of the line and greet my driver. After getting my suitcase and carry-ons loaded in the trunk, I get in the back of the car.

“Where to?” Alex, my taxi driver asks.

“Hotel Ravesis.”

“Okay! Pretty fancy.”

I chuckle, “Is it? There was a deal when I booked it, so I’m not sure.”

“Oh yes. It’s on Campbell Parade, which is right across the road from Bondi Beach, one of Australia’s most famous beaches.”

“Ooh nice!” I say excitedly. “Can’t wait to go there.”

“Swimmer?”

“And surfer. I’ve been surfing basically since I could walk.”

“Oh wow! Well you’ll have a great time here then. Any special reason you’re visiting?”

I shake my head, “Not really. Just doing a big solo trip before I start my senior year of college.”

“Very nice. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

We continue to talk for the entire half hour of the drive. When we arrive, I pay him and he helps me get my things to the entryway of the hotel. I thank him again and head in. After checking in, I head to my room and finally relax on the bed. Next thing I know, I’m waking up and two more hours have passed. Guess I was a lot more tired that I thought I was. In my defense, the hotel bed is quite a bit more comfortable than a row of airplane seats.

Now a little after four, I decide I should probably find someplace to eat a proper meal, which I haven’t had since before I left home. I think there’s a café within or right outside this hotel, so I decide to go there.

After an amazing meal, I decide to take it easy and just walk around this famous Campbell Parade. I’m not tired yet, but the jet lag will probably catch up to me tomorrow. Walking down the street, there’s a bunch of shops and food places, just like any other big city. Definitely more surf shops though.

It takes me only about 20 minutes to walk from the hotel to end up on the far northeast side of the beach. If I remember correctly, Alex said that this was the famous Bondi Beach. Probably a dream of every surfer to be here. And here I am. Though I’m far less than prepared – I don’t have my swimsuit or even a towel – that doesn’t mean I can’t take a walk along the beach. I head down the stairs beside what looks like the kiddie pool, take off my flip flops, and slowly begin my walk.

The water is so blue, the sand isn’t too hot, and it’s just an overall beautiful day. And there’s so many people here! Many probably are not fond of the crowds, but I love it. My favorite part is that no one here knows who I am. Being in the surfing circuit back home, everyone knew who you were no matter where you were…especially me since I was winning all the time.

As I begin my walk I see children playing in the pool and the shallows of the ocean, other people swimming all along the coast, surfers further out catching waves, and more people just sunbathing on the sand. This feels like home to me. I can’t wait to be surfing here tomorrow. I walk in between the mass of people and the wall barricading the far end of the beach. I make it half way, right by the big lifeguard tower. If I hadn’t spent my whole childhood surfing competitively, I probably would have been a lifeguard in high school during the summer months. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do – save people’s lives.

Stopping for a moment, I take in the view. I may be here all week, but I’ll be spending most of it in the water, so now is a good time to just look at it all. I walk a little further and get to the steps where visitors can enter the beach. Going up a few to get a better view, I pull out my phone and take a few pictures. Not only is the attendance at the beach astounding, but so is the sunset. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Right as I begin my descent, I hear the starting of a motor. I look to my left and see an atv of some sort hooked up to a trailer with a jet ski speed to the water. My eyes follow it and its occupants. These are clearly the lifeguards, as noted by their blue pullovers which I couldn’t read, but another one came running down the stairs from the lifeguard tower carrying something and getting in another atv, and I saw that their pullover said LIFEGUARD. Now I know who to look out for.

I continue down the entrance stairs and continue my walk down the beach. Making it to the end, I walk up the ramp so I can get back on a sidewalk. It is now just after six, so I complete my circle and eat a small dinner just by the hotel at a café. After finishing, I head back to my room and sit out on my room’s balcony, looking out at the night sky. I’m still pretty awake, so I get on my laptop and update my blog diary, check my social medias again, and by the time that’s all done, I’m actually pretty tired. I take a shower to finally freshen up after traveling, braid my hair so it’s cute and wavy for tomorrow, and head to bed.

part two

#bondi rescue #lifeguard x reader #bondi harrison #Harrison reid #boys in blue

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flightyrock · 7 years

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Ectober Day 6: Ghost Hunger

I owe everyone a bit of an explanation before we dive into this fever dream. Yes, I know exactly what ghost hunger refers to, but it just isn’t my thing. It’s a neat concept, but I don’t really find it fun to write for, or even read, except in the rarest of cases. I can stand it if it advances an innovative plotline, but just for its own sake…meh.

So I didn’t have any idea what I was going to do for day 6. I considered skipping it, but that felt like admitting defeat. With this in the back of my mind, I was scrolling through tumblr, as one does, and found this lovely piece by @schnivel.

One of my favorite things about schnivel’s style is the dynamic quality all of his characters have. I don’t know how to explain it, but it draws the viewer in, and sells that these characters are real. Complex emotions are portrayed and conveyed with such ease, I get that creative itch every time. I love everything in your art tag, it makes me so happy. Thank you for sharing!

But anyway. In this particular piece, I love the angle of the external light and the ambient light radiating from the suspiciously viscous fluid clinging to his hands. I think it was the combination of the fluid consistency, color choice, and blood connection that did it.

So as my mind tends to do when I’m tired and see something emotionally charged, it took a running nosedive off the deep end into absurdist territory.

So here is a fic inspired by color choice, texture, and my traumatic experiences with product promotion as a child of the 90s and early 2000s. I am so sorry but also kind of not. Please forgive me, schnivel. Thank you so much for letting me ruin the mood. And seriously, check out schnivel’s blog!

(Sorry for all the notes. Commentary at the end.)

Summary: When a popular variety of novelty ketchup is discontinued, the ghost population of Amity Park clashes over who will claim the last box.

Warnings: Customer service feels, light innuendo

Word Count: ~1700

“You do realize that’s disgusting,” Sam deadpanned, looking on with a mixture of mild horror and disgust as Danny smothered his hotdog in a quantity of green slime that could only be defined as excessive. Somehow it was impossible to turn away. Tucker didn’t seem to share the sentiment, busying himself with his PDA.

Spurred on by the attention, Danny looked Sam dead in the eyes, staring unflinchingly into their icy, amethyst depths while cramming as much of the sandwich into his mouth as possible.

Only to aim a tad low, bumping into his lower lip. Time seemed to slow down as blue eyes widened comically in surprise, hand contracting around the bun reflexively, coaxing gobs of the novelty ketchup to ooze out the back and coat the front of his favorite t-shirt, soaking into white fabric with karmatic vengeance.

Sam and Tucker witnessed the following shift from shock to sudden horror at the state of his shirt became clear. They glanced at each other, unprompted, then lost it completely, howling with laughter as Danny dropped his ‘dog to scrub frantically at his chest with a wad of the worse-than-useless paper napkins the school provided that screamed government subsidy. His response time was impressive, but the damage was done: a prominent, verdant dribble trail clearly illustrated the tragedy that unfolded at lunch that day.

“Are you kidding me? I still have half the day to go,” Danny moaned, hands running anxiously through already messy hair.

“Just phase it off!” Tucker pointed out helpfully, returning to his PDA as chuckles died down into amused sympathy.

“Tuck, intangibility doesn’t remove stains. It’s set too far in the fabric. Otherwise laundry would be so much easier. Hmm.” Danny took a moment to consider the potential, wondering if that was how Vlad managed to keep his ghostwear so pristine. Maybe if he could concentrate his focus…

“You had it coming. I don’t understand why you insist on consuming that promotional garbage.” Sam rolled her eyes derisively.

“Because it’s the best!” Danny insisted. Sam and Tucker shared a look, resigned to their friend’s strange obsession.

Danny didn’t know what it was, but ever since that popular condiment brand out of Pittsburgh developed a line of novelty ketchup, he was hooked. It came in all sorts of unappetizing colors, like green and purple, and the cringe-worthy ad campaign made Danny wonder if the whole thing was an elaborate prank. But it eventually showed up at the discount food distributer his family frequented, and he bought it himself, despite Jazz’s teasing. Funny. He swears he’s caught her using it more than once when she thought he wasn’t around.

While Jazz was exasperated by the blatant exploitation of the mindset of the lower middle working class, Sam objected to the artificial dyes and preservatives, and Tucker insisted it was nothing less than an insult to the integrity of meat, whatever that was supposed to mean. Maybe the dye makes it taste a bit different. Maybe he just gets a kick out of eating food in weird colors and watching his friends squirm. Heck, maybe he’s just been desensitized by enough mutant, home-cooked meals that something so harmless but strange fills him with nostalgia. Whatever the case, Danny couldn’t seem to get enough of the stuff. He even started taking it to school with him as a fun way to avoid looking too closely at what was on his tray.

“Uh oh, dude,” Tucker chuckled, bringing up a specific news article on his PDA. “Looks like your days of ruining hot dogs are numbered.”

“You’re kidding. Please tell me you’re kidding,” Danny begged.

“Afraid not,” Tucker grinned, sliding his tech across the table to deliver the news firsthand.

Blue eyes widened in horror, before the teenager collapsed onto the table dramatically with a moan. “Why is it that as soon as I discover something awesome, it’s gone?”

“Honestly, that’s probably why it appeared on the shelves at Hubert’s in the first place,” Sam remarked flippantly, preferring to pick at chipping nail polish than acknowledge the lump of pouting teenager currently occupying half the table.

“Yeah, brand names are always too good to be true in places like that,” Tucker nodded sagely, patting Danny on the shoulder in mock sympathy.

Danny hauled himself upright with a sigh. “Nothing else for it. I’ll just have to go after school and stockpile all the bottles I can. They can’t be out yet.”

“How are you out?! It was just here less than a week ago!”

But the dramatics of a ketchup-crazed teenager were no match for the practiced apathy projected by the young but seasoned customer service guru manning the register, six hours into a ten hour shift.

“Look, man, I just work here. There’s plenty of purple,” she sighed, glazed eyes carelessly roaming to glace at the condiments section, poking at her monitor screen.

“It doesn’t taste the same,” Danny moaned, prompting a significant look to pass between the duo accompanying him. They had no idea why they thought it would be a good to tag along on this juvenile side quest. This was just embarrassing.

“Huh,” the cashier remarked offhandedly. “Looks like we might have one more box in the back. I’ll go check, if you want…” she trailed off unenthusiastically, distracted by the hopefully bobbing shock of black hair that wouldn’t leave her alone unless she made a show of effort. With a long-suffering sigh, the underpaid civil servant shuffled off to the back, teenagers at her heels until she ducked behind a wildly swinging door, a scuffed sheet of plastic shoved haphazardly into the gateway in a pathetic effort to separate customer-friendly space from the chaos of the warehouse.

The friends waited attentively, then with growing annoyance, Sam scuffing the chipping tile with heavy boots as the minutes ticked by. Around fifteen minutes in, Tucker decided to call it.

“I think she just blew you off, dude.”

“No way,” Danny insisted. “She’s just being thorough.”

At that moment, a familiar figure slouched out from behind the off-white mockery of a barrier. Danny drooped visibly at the lack of bottles in her arms.

“Welp, I found it.” Danny perked up. “Where is it?”

“In the back.” She continued to amble through the aisles, not even bothering to glance at the irritating customer as she returned to the front. Danny followed her, confused.

“And?” he ventured.

“What?” she asked, uncapping a company pen to doodle on a scrap of receipt paper, pointedly ignoring the nuisance in the vain hope it would leave her in peace.

Danny barely restrained himself in time to prevent throwing his arms up in exasperation. “Can I have some?” he dared to ask. The girl acted like she didn’t hear him, outlining a cartoonish face with care, allowing him to stew for a while.

She finally raised hazel orbs full of resignation to meet his. “You somehow manage to get it down, you can just have it.” The just leave me alone was implied. Heavily.

Danny lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved him away, returning to her receipt sketch.

“Thanks!” Danny called over his shoulder, already on his way to claim his prize.

“That was kind of weird,” Sam observed.

“Oh, come on Sam, why do you have to be so pessimistic all the time? She probably couldn’t reach it. All Danny has to do is float up to the shelf, and we’re out of here,” Tucker said, confidently leading the way into the dark space, the main light coming from a desk equipped with a dated microwave and littered with the remains of hurried lunches.

It was kind of weird being behind the scenes. The air felt heavy, stale. It was difficult to shake the uneasy feeling that they dismissed, at first, with being in a restricted area, but that quickly faded into the background.

A puff of cold air suddenly expanded, forcing its way up a certain ghostly throat and expelling in a bluish cloud as it forced vapor in the surrounding air to condense.

“Nice going, Tuck,” Sam punched him lightly in the shoulder.

Danny ignored the exchange, quickly “going ghost” and floating up to investigate. And was not at all surprised to find the Lunch Lady and the Box Ghost playing a less-than-friendly game of tug-of-war with the box of sauce. Okay, maybe he was surprised; he didn’t know either of them had a subtle bone in their bodies…if they had bones. Or bodies. Gah.

He was honestly kind of impressed that they had avoided detection for so long, and wondered if the cashier’s composure spoke to her merit, or to the horrors of customer service. Danny resolved to be nicer to customer service associates.

From there, it was “doom” this and “beware” that. Danny threw some ectoblasts, repelled some processed meat products, brushed off some boxes. It was amazing how much more annoying the two of them were working together. But, still, not even really a challenge, so the half ghost made short work of the duo, while trying not to think too hard about the implications of this team up. A certain young ghost from an alternate future came to mind…

Danny chased the pair off, trying not to think about the two of them sharing a thermos. He was all too glad to claim his prize and head home. It had been an interesting afternoon.

Despite the strange start, the pair of friends thought that the day was pretty successful. As a result, neither Tucker nor Sam were expecting the caricature of despair that greeted them on the front steps of Fenton Works come morning.

“Dare we ask?” Sam muttered.

Tucker sighed, shaking his head. “He’ll let us know soon enough.”

Somewhere in Wisconsin, a certain blue-skinned half ghost emerged from his portal, shiftily checking the entrance before ducking through with his prize.

What am I doing? I live alone.

Still, one could never be too careful. It wouldn’t do to have Daniel catch wind of this. He certainly would never admit it, but he couldn’t help the strange nostalgia it inspired; the off-putting color instilled him with a strange longing for cheap meals of questionable quality cooked with a certain pair of paranormal science students. He still had his dignity after all.

A/N: Anyone who’s ever worked retail knows the best way to get rid of a persistent customer and score an extra break in the process is to “check” the back. Seriously, most places know what they have in the back due to the magic of inventory, but for some reason, that middle-aged woman with too much makeup will not leave us alone, insisting we check the back because she thinks we’re idiots (you know the type). And how dare we come back without checking thoroughly. The cashier probably found the ketchup in less than a minute, determined retrieval was impossible, then spent the rest of the time on her phone. Of course, like 10% of the time, there really is extra in the back so I can’t exactly fault them, but we could do without the condescension.

So…yeah. I think my mind kind of mashed together the fact that the show took place in the 2000s with the fact that ketchup looks vaguely like blood, and the drawing used the two major colors of Heinz’s horrendous EZ Squirt line. As a child who begged for this ketchup, then refused to eat it, I can understand the initial appeal, but it got gross fast, and I didn’t finish the bottle. What can I say, it tasted off to me. I feel like I read about some human instinct regarding food safety contributing to that at some point. But I still remember this product, especially the commercials, with horror.

Thank you so much to @schnivel for the inspiration! Hope everyone enjoyed it!

#danny phantom fanfiction #flightyfiction #schnivel #danny phantom #danny fenton #ooc #maybe

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