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kaszuma · 5 months ago

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Mockery | Hoshina Soshiro

Part 0 of “Certainly Yours”

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x fem!reader

summary: Mina Ashiro needed a team. But the moment she found one, she was at a loss at what to do when her Vice Captain and Lead Technician got off on the wrong foot.

warnings: Slight Kn8 B-side Manga Spoilers, Mentions of Soshiro struggling with self-worth, Mentions of slight animosity between you and Soshiro but nothing too major, First-time meeting, Mentions very few graphic depictions of slaying Kaiju.

wc: 9,712

–

note: Hello! Sorry for the long wait.

I originally planned to write Part 7 first. but decided to write Part 0 as a special chapter since I've hit a hundred followers. But by the time I finished, we hit 150. Thank you lots!!

There is less romance on this one, since it's a prequel to Part 1 of Certainly Yours. I originally wanted to incorporate a rivalry or an initial animosity between reader and Soshiro. So this was my best attempt on the subject.

There is a lot more interaction and inner pining because it's still in the initial stages in the relationship. And I had a difficult time cross referencing B-side manga with the things I've already written thus far. I’m disappointed we don't really have much information on Soichiro. And I have big plans to incorporate him in a separate part in much more excruciating detail later down the line. Involving jealousy..

Anyways. For now, I shall write Part 7 and give ya'll the comfort you need. Might be the big I love you's, you're looking for. Wink wink.

Also, please tell me if I missed any warnings. None of these are proof read and my phone lags really bad when I post 9k words worth of fanfiction.

–

The feeling of being needed was a foreign concept that Soshiro Hoshina had never experienced for himself.

The road that he paved himself had always been a lonesome one. Carved by the very callouses of his own fingertips. Where he'd dive headfirst into the nose of a cliff filled with criticisms and comparisons. The world familiar to him had always been accompanied by a sense of mockery for his craft. A sneaky way to bury his existence in the wake of the world that had been full of firearms and expert Kaiju exterminators.

In the face of it all, he had always been frustratingly average.

Not nearly as bright as the way his older brother had burned for the adrenaline of the battlefield. The use of firearms, specialized tools and weaponry that had been modernized to slay larger than life Kaiju. Had always been stacked against him. Someone who was not born with the innate ability to tackle such large threats. His use had been chained to the blade. One so sharp and pristined to the point of no return.

For as long as he remembered, it had always been like this.

Even before he had joined the Defense Force of his own volition. He had always felt inferior in the way his brother Soichiro had bested him in every sense of the word. A genius incarnation that had rarely been born into the Hoshina family's already impressive lineage. In a family who prided themselves as generational Kaiju-slayers.

By all means, Soichiro Hoshina was the perfect man born for the front lines. His presence alone dominated the field. Any Challengers he'd face would be a place where normal people would never be able to reach.

He mastered a variety of martial arts at a young age. Already flipping over instructors each time he was paired to a battle in an attrition of self-defense.

The sword techniques passed down within the generations of his ancestors, had all been perfected to improve upon his own. His sword an extension of his arm each time he wielded it. And in terms of firearms? Soshiro couldn't begin to imagine ever reaching the height of his brother's skill. The gap between them in terms of long ranged attacks had been far too large for him to delusionally think he'd ever make it. Let alone surpass.

And although their youngest was plenty good at the progress of his own swordsmanship. Soichiro was on an entirely different level than he was.

A genius, some would call him. A fact the younger Hoshina was far too aware of.

The dust he left behind when he ran forward was often a sight Soshiro was familiar with. Sweeping him off of his feet each time he'd issue a direct challenge with his older brother.

And although he hated to admit it. Soichiro Hoshina's existence was both an inspiration and a mockery to his own.

A frustrating truth that even he had no choice but to believe.

His enigmatic older brother had always been a person who was destined to become the Captain of the sixth division. And his junior of five years, who had not excelled in anything but his skill in close quarter combat. Had all but stood in his shadow, destined to live a much ordinary life as an instructor like his family suggested.

Not a single person expected him to keep fighting.

To keep swinging that blade of his which had been both a boon and bane for his existence in the defense force.

Each humorous jab, or critical comment directed his way, had always been replied with a simple smile on his cat-like features. Far too exhausting to correct the people who had never dreamed to understand what he wished for.

And even if they never did, even if no one ever believed that he'd be able to survive the chaotic life of killing a Kaiju with a blade alone. He'd fight tooth and nail if he had to, In an effort just to keep his style of combat alive.

Because swinging the sword had always been something he found extreme joy in.

He refused to let this be the written ending for his story. Refused to let fate decide on the path to his future actions. Not when his undoing had all been decided by his unlucky birth.

Had Soshiro existed in a different era, far away from Soichiro. Things may have turned out much differently, he imagined.

But alas, he was stuck fighting. Climbing the gritty stairs of progress. Dragging the heavy weights of his blades all the way to the bloody top. And It showed in the way he never stopped practicing. His personalized equipment had always remained in top condition. The sharp end of that thinly-cut mass of iron had always been razor edged and cut-throat in the way it was maintained. Not even a dent could be seen on the damn thing.

By all means the weapon he held had always been ready. Waiting in fact, for the day Soichiro would mess up and stumble.

And for some reason? Soshiro had a feeling that day would be today.

It was their usual four round duel. An agreement between brothers who'd meet up every afternoon at the end of their respective classes for the weekday. Books packed hastily in an effort to rush home so that they could clash blades in the open spaces of their house's courtyard.

It had been a daily routine at this point.

Often, Soshiro would be the first to come home. Dropping his bag onto the floor of his bedroom and rushing to wear his hakama which had been prepped on the foot of his bed. And the moment he puts it on, he shows no hesitation when he grabs an appropriately sized bamboo blade that he kept nearest his closet.

Soichiro, who was the last to come, had always returned home with his little brother already waiting for him at their usual spot. Stance wide and ready to begin their matchup.

And although he often found his determination awe inspiring.

The older brother was far too aware of his own blood's presence. His eagerness to catch him off-guard had been made clear. Always at the ready in the case he'd make a mistake so that he could close the gap in skill between them.

And Soichiro. Who was as equally as cunning as he is. Had always been one step ahead, at the ready for any of Soshiro’s practiced attacks that even he knew could catch up to him at any moment.

Genius my ass. What's the point of being called that when your younger brother was so close to surpassing you? His progress in the blade is abnormally fast.

And to Soichiro. It was utterly terrifying.

“Yer too stiff ya’ little wimp. How do you expect to swing and hit me when that stance of yours is too rigid.” Soichiro pointed out. His chin pointed at the darker haired boy's much smaller feet. The boy hadn't even hit a growth spurt yet. And at this point he had been much taller than Soshiro's current height. His little brother barely reached the waistband of his Hakama giving him an ample advantage in build.

“Tryin’ something new. Now shut yer’ trap and let me hit ya!” Soshiro replied. The same serious look plastered on his face.

And such a challenge is met by his brother's own smirk. “Quite the yapper today aren't ya?” He laughs.

“-Fine. If you managed to hit me once, I'll let you go at me for another round. That ‘a deal?”

“Don't even need to ask.” Soshiro smirks. And with quick footwork, the boy had already reached his older brother's inner circle.

His steps were precise in the way he wasted no unnecessary limbs in his movement. In three short steps he had been faced to face with him. The tip of his bamboo sword already pointed at the very sky. Ready to strike him in the shoulder in an attempt to have him drop his own weapon. A technique he had done plenty of times to Soshiro before.

But the braided haired boy had been quicker. More experienced for his age. Foreseeing the minor tells his brother would exhibit when striking his sword down. And he wastes no time, pouncing to the side. Narrowly avoiding the heavy hand that had almost hit him on the jugular. Where he knows would've hurt.

It was done in quick succession. Soshiro didn't even have time to realize that his brother had turned on his heel. His blade held with one hand, had swept the ground to hit his very ankle. Effectively throwing him off balance. Making Soshiro yelp as he landed on his rear. Sword slipping from the tight grasp of his fingertips which had not grown enough to garner a steady grip yet.

And he could hear Soichiro’s obnoxious laughter echoing from in front of him. Slapping his leg to try and calm his breathless laughter.

“Whoops, nearly thought you had me there didn't ya?” He places his free hand over his stomach whilst he slung his sword over his shoulder. Trying not to pop a vein while laughing so hard.

And the jolly expression on his face alone had made Soshiro grit his teeth.

“Hah!? One more round and I'll make ya’ eat dirt you big bonehead.” Soshiro had replied. Already scampering about to grab his sword from the sidelines. Readying his stance for another round.

But a little known fact about Soichiro is that his interests never linger on him for too long. Only allowing the younger boy a total of four rounds per day. No more, no less. Had that number exceeded. He'd spare no glance and show disinterest on entertaining the boy no more. And his laughter soon dies down.

“Nope, No way! That's the fourth loss in a row. That's ‘bout enough for today Soshiro.” The older boy shook his head nonchalantly. Fixing up the loose strands of his braid as he turned to walk away. Uninterested now that the battle had ended quickly.

“You coward–One more round! I ain’t done with you yet!!” Soshiro yelled. But he sees the way his older brother was already kicking the wooden sandals off his feet. Walking back inside where the scorch of the afternoon sun would not hit him. And mock reply he'd refuse much louder than before.

“Nope.” His mouth popped.

“Them's the rules, I'm afraid.. Now I’m starvin, let's go grab a bite to eat.”

He sees the way Soichiro had not spared a second to look back. Immediately making a beeline to the Kitchen where he knew a few snacks would be waiting for them.

But unlike the eldest, Soshiro had stubbornly stomped behind his brother. Trying his best to keep up with the older boy who had much larger strides in his steps.

“That ain't fair, you said you'd give me five rounds today!”

“I said I'd give ya an extra round IF ya’ managed to hit me. And beggars can't be choosers here seeing as how not one of your attacks managed to graze me at all.”

“-Looks like you'll need more trainin’ ya little twerp.” His hand had reached to pat him on the head. But Soshiro had slapped it away before it could ruffle the tips of his hair.

“Quit callin me twerp ya Bonehead! I'm not the one who's running away–Come back here so I can kick yer’ sorry butt!” He chased after him. A common sight for the household who often saw the siblings bicker with one another.

But Soichiro was too fast. The pleasant smile on his face remained as he grabbed a rice ball nearest the counter. All the while effectively avoiding the smaller one's tackles.

It had been a few seconds more before Soshiro would give up in his pursuit. The sound or his grumbling stomach made Soichiro want to laugh. But he figured he could spare the poor boy the embarrassment of pointing that out.

Eventually, Soshiro stopped. Grabbing a rice ball of his own, he chooses to sit at the tatami nearest the windowsill of their home. And with much delight begins munching on the rice ball with a fuming look on his face.

He hadn't given up..he’s just a little hungry. That's all. He reminds himself.

“One of these days I'll beat ya’ on the first swing. Just you wait.” And that sentiment makes his older brother smile.

“That so?” Soichiro replied. Sitting beside the younger boy who had taken large bites from his own food. And unbeknownst to Soshiro, a smile appears on the corner of his older brother's lips.

“Well, guess I should buckle up and train too. Wouldn't want my wimpy little brother here to get ahead of me. Now do I?” The younger one couldn't help but roll his eyes. Clearly unamused that his brother had taken to scorn him again.

“Train with what? You're already plenty good at everything else. Yer’ just being mean.” Soichiro couldn't help but chuckle at his brother's small pout. Already grabbing him another rice ball to hand to him, as a form of apology. And Soshiro wastes no time to accept his offer. Enjoying the fresh grains of rice wrapped in that salty seaweed sheet. A singular pickled plum had peaked from within the blankets of warm grains.

“Sure. But I ain't about to slack off and give ya an easy-win.” Soichiro chuckles. Though for some reason, his voice had been far kinder than usual. “-Besides…”

Soshiro pauses, raising a brow at his older brother who had stared at the golden rays nearest the open window. And a strange expression was etched on his very face.

“I'm willin’ to bet that someday..yer’ gonna find someone who's gonna need you. With or without that blade of yours.”

And he raises his head to meet his older brother's strange smile.

It had been a selfish, childish desire for sure. One that disliked the idea of his younger brother overlapping him one day. The sheer dedication and progress he had been making was a far cry to his own. But those words, he meant sincerely. And whether Soshiro was aware of that, he was sure that one day he'd at least think back on it as simply words of mockery to discourage him.

And he did not bother to correct him.

…

It had been a few years since then. And for some reason those words stuck to Soshiro like a moth with a lamp.

It was uncharacteristic of Soichiro.

Even after he cut ties with his older brother. He had always found that sentiment of his, strange. The enigmatic Soichiro did not usually go out of his way to comfort him. Let alone aid him in his training. In fact, he distinctly remembers all the times the braided haired boy discouraging him each time they dueled. Demotivated him to stop in his endeavors.

It wasn't uncommon for his anger to boil when it came to Soichiro’s demeaning behavior. His words, often echoing on days where he’d fail to prove his worth to the defense force.

And although he knew Soichiro was only teasing him. His constant onslaught of berations had made him think he needed to improve upon his flaws even more. His words of mockery, a lingering thought on the back of his mind that would've normally made a person give up. Had only strengthened his resolve. And his actions only lead to even longer strides of hard work that only evolved each passing moment he'd swing his sword.

So why was it that those words of his didn't sound like mockery at all?

Had his brother meant it? When he told him he'd find someone who'd need him with or without the skill of his blade?

It had been almost an entire decade since he last saw his brother. Who had gone straight ahead and became a captain of his own division. And Soshiro had just about joined the defense force. Hoping to prove his worth.

But that was easier said than done.

It wasn't until Mina Ashiro had walked in. Scouting him directly from the Kansai District. Offering him a chance to join the Third Division and rise to the top to become her Vice Captain. But even then, it had still felt like a blow to his existence who had been fighting just to stay in the game.

“I need your abilities. Will you join my force, Hoshina?” Captain Ashiro of the Third Division had spoken. Unabashed upon his entrance to her office. It had been one of those rare instances where he got to visit the Tokyo District. And he wondered if the woman in front of him was being serious in her resolve.

“Me?” He gives a wry chuckle. “Not sure I follow Captain.”

“You're a blade specialist. Yes?”

“That's correct.” He spoke with a weary formality.

“We can't overlook the possibility of miniature-sized Kaiju cropping down the line.” The Captain had spoken with determination. And her eyes meet Soshiro's with much the same determination she had when she first offered him a place next to her.

“When I need to shoot a threat, can I trust that you'll clear a path for me?”

…

Soshiro was frozen on the spot.

He was practically unable to answer her. Too shocked at the mere possibility of being offered a need for his skill with the blade. He had been forced to carry a gun with him before, and that didn't end well. Yet here she was, seeking assistance in a blade specialist who had so often struggled to keep up with entire platoons who had wielded firearms instead of steel.

So why now? Why was it when he resolved to only use blades did Captain Ashiro of the Third Division scout him out? Modern Kaiju of this day and age were large. Gigantic with plated shells that even firearms had struggled to pierce through. What good would a sword do in that situation?

And yet even then, he thought about it.

The possibility of fighting his way in the midst of soldiers who carried firearms and freezing rounds. The sheer thought of rushing forward and slicing Kaiju with the perfected combat abilities he had been polishing way before he had resolved to join the Defense Force.

But before he could resolve to make an answer, the door had opened. And you had entered the fray.

“Him? Well I suppose this isn't the first time the Third's willing to recruit strange people.”

Strange?

Soshiro had looked to the side. Catching a glimpse at your figure as you slowly closed the door behind you. Hands shoved to the front pocket of your lab coat as you walked right next to him. Saluting towards Captain Ashiro to formally greet her upon meeting her gaze.

“Captain.” You addressed. Right beside Soshiro. And you could feel his stares poking through your sides.

“At ease.” The Captain looks back towards him. “Officer Hoshina. This here, is the Third's Lead Technician. She's a weapons specialist and will be here to provide your support should you choose to join our division.”

The sweet smile on your face had not faltered. Taking you back to a relaxed stance as you came face to face with Soshiro’s own scrutiny. His raised eyebrow had been an indication of his hesitancy towards you.

Your eyes had made contact with his. And although squinted, you could see the glimpse of his wine colored eyes. Observing you thoroughly from head to toe.

You weren't exactly sure what was running in his thoughts at the moment. But his skepticism was met by a similar opinion of your own. Not entirely sure if he was as good as Captain Ashiro praised him to be. Though you had to admit, he was at least somewhat nice on the eye.

“I heard about you.” He tilts his head. Fox-like in his gaze. And a smile had stretched amusingly on the corners of your lips.

“Oh? Good things I hope?” He looked unbothered. Though in a sense that his kindness was only a front that he had all but gotten used to in hiding. Likely from your comment from earlier. And you had an inkling that he had a few things to say of his own. Sly in the way he'll word it.

”I suppose..” His reply was curt.

“Heard yer’ one of the few technicians that actually make Specialized Bioweapons, that about right?”

You nod. “Only for the strange ones.”

“-Ones that can't conform to the normalcy of standard firearms. Much like you, it seems.”

This makes Soshiro’s lips quirk. Suddenly very aware that your statement had been a jab of sorts. One he had gotten used to from his own division. And such a challenge was directly and expertly countered back in tandem.

“Well yer’ not so normal yourself ya’ know?” His accent had been made much clearer. And your eyebrows raise. Slightly irate in the way he jabbed at you. Though you let him continue, just to see if he could keep up with his own feist.

“-Heard you were the Technician that was kicked out for bein’ so stubborn to work with.”

And you had to hold back a wry chuckle. It seems his smile had a few sharp claws to fight back with. “So you've heard.”

“-But I suppose you too are used to that very sentiment, yes?” Your words seem to make that easy smile of his falter slightly. It was a miniscule comment, but judging by the way he had remained silent. The tension of the room grew weary as the two sparked a similar glare for each other. And although he found the situation slightly amusing, his displeased conversation had definitely soured his thoughts of joining.

Maybe the Third Division wasn't the place for him either.

What were the chances he'd have a different point of view should he switch divisions now? Your existence proved the very mockery his brother had implied. His Father who was normally supportive had not praised him for wanting to join the Defense Force when all he had was his skill in the blade. And the thought alone is enough to convince him otherwise.

Captain Ashiro's offer had been tantalizing, but not definite. And he has half a mind to excuse himself before things could escalate.

But as luck would have it. Captain Ashiro had been observant. Her intentions were never to have them be at odds with one another. And she clears her throat in the hopes she could ease the tension in the room slightly.

Administering as the only superior officer in the room. Who needed to take much responsibility.

“Sleep on it, Hoshina. We could use a close combat specialist like you out there.”

And whether or not she meant that. There hadn't been much time before an alert went off. A pin placed on his thoughts as he had found himself participating with the Third's mission to exterminate acid spitting Kaiju on the eastern side of the Kanto region.

…

Despite his hesitance. The thought of it still remained. And as if magnetized, he found himself willingly transfering to the Third Division. Somehow surviving a Kaiju attack that he had helped fend off with Captain Ashiro's help.

His sword. One he brought with him from back home. Had all been melted to the hilt. Its black steel had an unnatural wave of color on it. A result of his reckless actions when he remembered having to cut through the insides of a Kaiju's mouth. Saving both himself and a child from being devoured and melted.

Had Captain Ashiro and Okonogi; the Third's Lead Operations gal. Not hac impeccable timing, he was sure he would've been dead meat by now. And yet here he was, alive coupled with only a few bruises on his sore body.

After a few days, he had recovered fairly well since then. Deployed from the hospital after a back and forth discussion between the Tokyo and Kansai district. And he had finally gotten permission for his official transfer. h

His things were readily packed as he made his way to the bunkers of Tachikawa's base.

And just as he had stared at the broken blade, he had debated on whether or not he should've just thrown it out to get a new one.

It took ages to convince the Kansai district to forge him a blade. Steel that could withstand the strength of Kaiju skin. Or have a high enough melting point so that the acidic burns of its saliva and stomach were not affected by it. But that type of material was hard to come by. Let alone, he doubts command would grant him access to such weaponry when he had done nothing to prove his usefulness.

So even then, when he had been given the minimum necessity, he had been careful in its uses. Unsure whether or not his platoon leader would allow him to be given a replacement blade when he had so little opportunity to showcase his skill infield.

He’d likely have to ask Platoon Leader Ebina for a replacement. He had so few extra blades to spare. But the Third had at least been kinder to him than his last division. Surely they'd grant him better access to the weaponry of his choice, right?

Though just as he loathed the thought. His footsteps halted.

And in the middle of the empty hallways, nearest the corner where the sleeping quarters should be. Your eyes had met with his once more. The first time in a while since your encounter in the confines of Captain Ashiro's office.

“It's you.” You had spoken.

Suddenly aware that he had been staring at the broken blade in his hand. Unfazed by the heavy duffle bag he had carried with his other arm. The sudden softness of your voice had been unexpected to say the least. Given the last animosity you both displayed towards each other.

You walked closer to inspect the melted steel. Having already heard the report from Captain Ashiro’s latest mission. And for a moment, he feels as if you had looked almost displeased at the weapon. Guilty for having assumed the worst of him. “Looks like the acid's melted it down. I assume you have a spare?”

He nods. Sheathing the broken shortsword back in its holster. Making it look like it hadn't been broken at all. “That's right. Though I ain’t excited that I'm gonna hafta' throw another one out.”

This makes you smile. And his eyes had widened ever so slightly at the sight of your pretty teeth

So that's what you looked like when you smiled.

“Figures. It isn't very common for people to use steel against Kaiju nowadays. Let alone swords.” You spoke slowly. And this time, you see the way his mouth visibly frowns. A stark contrast to that usual unbothered smile of his when you had first met him.

“Well I ‘spose I'm not your common folk.” He spoke tight-lipped. And you cringe inwardly at your thoughtless words.

You hadn't meant that. A force of bad habit it seems. One that came from a place of wanting to help.

A soldier’s life, especially one that dealt with monstrous Kaiju, had always tipped the balance between life and death. And you had thought it reckless to see him remain stubborn when you first heard your Captain praise Soshiro's skill in the blade. Your impression on him, had made you think he was a reckless fool who did not value his life. At least not enough to learn how to handle firearms.

Though now, after having witnessed his actions through Okonogi and a few key witnesses from that day. You knew that you had been wrong in your assumptions. Planning to make amends the only way you knew how.

Your place as a Technician who could only fight through the weapons you made. One that you hoped would help people survive. Even for just a minute longer, just to make a difference.

“I didn't-” Your words were cut short. Not entirely sure why your voice had cut from the tip of your tongue. So instead you move closer grabbing the hilt of his blade from his fingertips. And that alone makes Soshiro tilt his head in confusion. “Here, let me have a look.”

And he watches you admire the weight and feel of the weapon. Staring at the black leather hilt that he had so often found himself gripping. Enough to cause a few dents in the area. Only further proving his dedication to his craft. But he did not understand your actions. Far too vague in deciphering you when he barely knew much to tell if your actions had been one of curiosity or just sheer brazenness.

“Do you…have something against me? Or is there somethin’ I’m missing here?" He blurts out. Unsure if your earlier comments were made from a place of ignorance or as a way to insult his way of fighting.

And your eyes had so easily pried from the blade and back to his face. Surprised that the relaxed persona of his had momentarily disappeared.

And for a second, you felt the weight of added guilt in the way you had addressed him earlier.“Against you? No, I-”

You sigh. “Not really. If anything I'm interested in you.” Managing to blurt out, almost frowning at the way you stumbled to admit that. Somehow that had been hard to say in front of his face.

“That so?” He tilts his head with a smile. “And here I was, under the impression that you hated my guts.”

You had half a mind to roll your eyes. Make another comment that might've irked his feathers for a bit. But you stopped yourself. Finding the smile on his face much more pleasant than you had imagined. A far cry from the masked practiced one he had adorned when you first met him with. And this time, you had made an effort to be more sincere.

“You've gained my trust.” You simply spoke. This time in a much more pleasant tone than you had anticipated. “I was wrong. I misjudged your confidence for stupidity.”

His eyes had trained over each other. And silence swept over them before you spoke hesitantly once more.

“I thought you were unwilling to adapt to change. But I see now you are much more careful than I anticipated.” Your admission makes him look away momentarily. Suddenly unused to such sincerity after their last meeting.

“Your skill in the blade is impeccable. And instead of being stupid, I'll replace your weapon for you.”

He raises his brow. Not entirely sure what you were getting at until you held the weighted blade with one hand. Unused to the way you had spoken softly this time. Almost apologetic even.

“You mean replace my weapon of choice?” He had assumed as much. Maybe you’d hand him a gun and see just how terrible he'd be at it. But you had almost smacked yourself on the head for wording things so vaguely.

“No.” Your reply was immediate. Making it clear that you had not meant to insult his skill in swordsmanship. That much was for sure. And maybe that had been the first spark that finally got through the both of you. That you had not meant to offend each other. Not this time.

“I meant–the material your weapon is made out of. It's barely functional, let alone made for slicing thick-skinned Kaiju. I didn't mean too.. yeah.”

Your words had caught his throat dry. And Somehow the awkwardness you had displayed had made him chuckle in response. Amused in the way you too, had stumbled in your words when you had so confidently spoken to him last time. He wonders if you were even the same person who'd responded with the feist he had experienced first-hand. Jabs and all.

Normally conversations like these would lead to persuasion. A simple comment to get him to use other weapons. To give up on his hard work with the blade.

By all means, he was used to the impracticality of his craft.

He was good with the blade. A prodigy some would call him. But his weapon of choice had not been suited for practical use. Often delegated as a Martial Arts technique, required to join the Defense Force as a form of experience.

But it seems he had forgotten who he was talking to.

For you had not been a very practical person either. A technician who made specialized weapons for the odd who would not dare conform to the standard way of fighting a modern Kaiju. And this time, he understood the words you had struggled to say out loud. Your apologies were clear, and you wanted to help. Even if you did look adorably helpless in trying to offer that option to him. “So, what I'm getting at is that, yer’ offering to help me. Yeah?”

“Yeah. Cause I have no idea how you survived for this long with such a flimsy weapon.”

“‘Scuse me?” He couldn't help but laugh a little more. Finding your bluntness a charm. Your aura had been quite different from his initial assumptions. And it seems you were just a bold individual who was unafraid of speaking the truth if need be.

And the thought alone made him smile. Much more genuine in the way he realized he'd be faced with.

“Normally people just tell me that I'm bein’ stubborn by sticking to the front lines. But never that..” He chortled again. Finding the amusement almost breathtaking to stand upright.

And the sound of his laughter had been similar to the pretty bells you once heard during the peak hours of a windchimes's ring. Nice and genuinely pretty.

If he had laughed like that everyday, it might make things a little harder for you to deal with. But you ignore the quick pace in your heart strings. Rolling your eyes as if nothing changed in your demeanor.

“Oh please. I've seen it from the Operations Room. You're more than capable. But the weapons they've given you are…subpar to say the least.”

“-If you actually want to do more, you're gonna need a stronger steel base than this.” You had flicked your finger against the holster of the blade. And the sound of contact had echoed to his ear. And suddenly he is all too aware of that soft smile plastered on your face.

A confidence brimming in you that told him all he needed to know. A thought that you'd help him. To stick by his side and pave a way for him. Starting with a better weapon.

“And I can help you. If you let me.”

“Oh. So you're offering to fix my blade for me?”

“Even better. I'm offering you specialized blades. Ones that won't break so easily.” You beamed. And the sight of your eagerness had made him almost giddy. It almost sounded like a pipe dream in the way you had offered no hesitance in supporting him. It was a breath of fresh air amidst the many who had given up on him.

“Though of course, you'd have to rise through the ranks. Command will only authorize special made weapons for the strongest Officers after all.”

“Like Captain Ashiro?” He had spoken out of turn. A tilt on his head at the memory of her rather peculiar specialty. “I assume you'd want someone who can dish out firepower as strong as hers.”

It was no secret that the Captain of the Third Division had an unusual affinity for firearms. Her large weapon was akin to a cannon, fit to destroy larger than life Kaiju should they appear before them. But you had all but shook your head at his comment. Already one step ahead to stop his doubts from formulating. And somehow, despite the difficulty in reading him. You found yourself able to at least grasp a feeling of his inferiority. One that had been beaten down on his very body that had made you feel guilty at the words he endured.

The very same words you've mocked him with.

“No. The rest of the command can have Mina Ashiro for all I care. It's you I want.” You pointed to him. your finger squarely on his chest. And he hopes you couldn't feel the vapid way his heart was hammering upon its contact with the fabric of his standard uniform jacket. Eyes fixated at your determination and unexpected confidence in him.

“But why? Wouldn't ya’ prefer someone more capable in both long and close range weapons?”

“Like who?” You had inquired. And suddenly his thoughts shift to that amazing but annoying recruit he's encountered during his entry exams. One that he had formed a small rivalry with since they had entered the force right around the same time.

“Maybe someone like Gen Narumi?” He shrugs. Though you could tell he was hesitant in his choice of words. Which makes you chuckle. “The soldier who requested a ridiculously large bayonet? No.”

Somehow that made Soshiro visibly relaxed.

“He’s good but there's nothing I can do that can help him further. But you on the other hand?”

He raises his brows. Seeing the way you tilt your head forward towards him. And his breath is caught on his lungs, unencumbered in the way you speak your mind openly and in confidence towards him. Comparison did not exist in your mind. And from the look on your eyes, there had not been an edge of doubt in the way you responded almost immediately to his doubts.

“I'd be a pretty bad Technician if I didn't see your uses beyond that sword of yours.”

“So ya need me?” He spoke incredulously. And although it embarrasses you, you give him a curt nod. That makes a chuckle escape from his lips. “And suddenly I'm beginin’ to feel special since I joined the Third Division.”

“Well, it's true. The rest may not be able to see it. But I know it.” You paused. Looking at him in sincerity. One that he was not used to seeing. And he flinches upon your hand grabbing his own. Feeling the way his skin had rich blisters that had been replaced with heavy calluses over the time he spent training.

“You'll save more lives than I can count, and the only way you'll do that is if you're given a proper blade.”

“-Created by yours truly of course.” You let go of his hand. Hopefully he hadn't noticed the red tint on your cheeks as you looked away. And his laugh is the first thing you hear that makes you want to admire his pretty face.

“Yer crazy..” He shook his head.

Though more of a vapid insult. The smile remaining on his pretty lips had indicated it was done on jest. And for a moment, you were suddenly all too aware of how husky his voice had been, or how much taller he had shadowed over you. Or how much better he looked when he smiled.

And you find yourself taking a few steps back. The broken blade already slotted on your shoulder. Ready to take it to your lab and get a head start on designing a suitable prototype for him.

“So I've heard. But the Third Division is already full of that, don't you think?” And he couldn't help but nod. Watching the way you had slowly walked passed him. Already unused to the given space you had provided. For a moment, he wished you had held his hand longer. It had made him miss the warmth of your closeness from earlier.

“I suppose so. It's a lot different from the Kansai district, I'll give ya’ that.” He turned. Watching as you retreated slowly. And with a single glance, you had all but piqued the very last of his interest.

Suddenly, it was like getting caught on a hook. And he’s afraid he'd be seeking you out everyday. If he can help it.

If you’d allow it.

“If they couldn't make you shine then I'll make sure to pave that way for you. No kaiju is gonna break that sword of yours.” You turn around. Already taking a step forward. Hiding your pink face from his sight. Which he was admiring rather languidly had you not turned your head.

“You have my word.” You had finished off. And before he could even reply, Soshiro was left in the empty hallways of Tachikawa base.

The sudden absence made him slacken, who had gotten so used to your comforting presence. But in spite of his disappointment, he somehow found himself smiling on his own.

It sure is strange hearing someone say that to him.

Mina Ashiro may have been the first to ask of him. To request an offer for his help in the field. His assistance would prove helpful in the face of her attacks, which was made for long ranged weaponry. And he had finally gotten a chance to prove his worth to the defense force. By means of paving a path to slay the Kaiju that got in her way.

But you had been the first to offer that yourself. To pave a path for HIM should any Kaiju get in HIS way.

You offered him a chance to shine.

And he'd be damned if he doesn't reach that expectation of yours.

The one who had challenged him to go beyond a greater height than he had ever envisioned himself climbing. To be needed.

It wasn't after half a month later had he come back boasting the highest melee kill count from small to midsize threats of Kaiju. His actions ebbing a spark in the third's outlook on Bladed users. Inspiring a few onslaught of officers to join a few joint training sessions held swordsmanship. The Kendo match between districts has become a much more popular feat than before.

Now, learning the blade wasn't a simple formality anymore. It had been another path forward. And although only a fool would continue to wield a blade instead of the practicality of long ranged weaponry. Hoshina Soshiro had been that very same fool. He who pushed forward like a madman and insisted on using his signature shorthanded blades, despite the odds stacked against him

And Mina Ashiro had placed a great deal of faith in him. Enough to promote him to a platoon leader. And eventually a Vice Captain of the third Division.

And your eyes had never lingered elsewhere in his pursuit.

Often following his line of sight when you'd seen him train on the very confines of the training room. And even now, you had stared directly at him. Unable to look away.

Not when he had entered your lab with the unusual formality of his standard uniform. His star studded pin hooked on the left side of his jacket's chest. An insignia that had been a symbol of his inauguration as the new Vice Captain of Third Division's upper ranks. His title attained by the mere fraction of his efforts and hardwork.

And you dare not face him with such petty grievances like you had in the past. A smile etched on your pretty lips as you greeted him in a mock salute. As if to tell him you had been expecting this day to come.

“Took you a while, Vice Captain. I almost thought you'd given up on me.” Your joke had made him let out a chuckle. Closing the door behind him as he walked up to your place nearest the desk.

“And miss out on yer’ startled face? Never.” He had spoken more informally than you had imagined. Which made you drop the mock salute you had given him. Rolling your eyes as you moved to stand. Heading to the next desk over as he followed you suit.

“I think you're the one that should be startled.” You had hinted with a giddy giggle.

The correction made Soshiro tilt his head. A sort of curiosity washing over him. And you watch as he closes the gap between his and the proximity of your bubble. Braving to graze his shoulders against you as he crosses your side. Eyes magnetized in the way it had seen your pretty smile. “Oh. Didya' have a surprise for me? Didn't peg you as someone who gave gifts often.”

And you lean forward, nearest his chest. As if to whisper your little secret that you've been meaning to show him for a while now. “In case you forgot, let me remind you.”

Upon landing his gaze on the small glass case on the desk, you had moved your hands to slowly remove the top cover. Revealing the two refined swords around the same length of his arms.

The outer casing, its holster. Was tinted purple like his dark hair. The hints of military green had no doubt matched that of their Combat Suit's design. And it veered to life the moment his eyes fell upon the familiar insignia of the Third Division's logo atop of its hilt. A sign that this weapon had been his.

Well at least, he assumed as much. Judging from the proud and almost excited look on your face. “I finished your swords.” You spoke factually. “Just need your verdict on the matter.”

His eyes had widened. This had been a stark difference from his previous blade. The way it was made was measured perfectly to the length of his arms. The sword bent in a grip for just the way he preferred it to. And its tip? The one where a pivot was placed had been an indication that it was designed so that he could connect the two blades. Form it into one long sword, if he truly wished to.

That alone was an indication that this was likely not a normal melee. Made of simple bronze or steel.

No.

This was a bioweapon. Made from Kiaju to kill Kaiju. One that was only granted to the strongest in the Force. One that had been ready for his use. Built in custom to his preferences. And their eyes met, only confirming his suspicions when she had given him an awkward shrug of her shoulders. Acting as if invisible ink had occupied the space between their feet.

“I said I'd make you a weapon that won't break easily, didn't I?” In an instant, a hot flush billowed in his cheeks. Much the same when your normally hidden shyness had finally resurfaced.

The rare times it did, he couldn't help but stare. Far too enraptured in the gap that had swung between your feist and your awkward responses. And he nods in turn. Suddenly aware that you had been doing such a task so diligently to perfection. “I don't know what to say. I didn't think you'd actually make it.”

You hear him chuckle. And your shoulder had pushed him forward. Towards the weaponry you had made for him.“Go on, it's not like anybody else can use it.”

Soshiro had looked at you, hesitant in the way you had so readily offered him such a gift. Your words had been proven in the way your assurances hit his heart. And his hand had a mind of its own as it grabbed the hilt of the blade. Sliding its cover right off so he'd have a chance to see the refined structure of the thinly cut mass of iron.

One he had been accustomed to weilding since he had been born.

Though instead. He was met with the dark shade of a similar material. Stronger than Iron, nor any steel for that matter. It was a blade far too distinct to forget. Luminous in orange hues as if it burned with the same heat that had allowed him to move in the enhancement of his suit.

And it had been clear this weapon was far stronger than the rest of his blade. Bound to cut a Kaiju's outer shell much easier than his previous ones would let him.

And the light one that breathed with an eery calm had reflected his own wine red eyes on the blade. The very movement caused a sound cutting through air when he'd expertly move it with his fingertips.

A sight of which had glued your eyes onto him. Finding his stupor rather mesmerizing than usual. His concentration had not been a rare sight for you, especially when you had caught glimpses of the many nights he'd spend alone in the training room.

But being this close. Seeing the joy nipping at his face. Somehow it makes your heart flutter strangely. And you had to shake your head to snap yourself out of admiration for the man. Suddenly focusing your attention back to blade one which vyed for his approval.

“So, do you like it?”

Soshiro had hummed. The usual grin on his lips remained unphased despite the giddiness in his chest. “Mmm...I ‘spose it's subpar at best.”

“Excuse me? Rude.” He laughs at your comment. And he puts the blade back in its holder. Already placing it on the back of his waist, right where it belonged.

“I'm kidding.” He spoke immediately after. A laugh bellowing from his abs. Though your scrunched nose had made it difficult for you to believe his immediate reply.

“No, I'm serious. You've outdone yourself sweetheart. Never seen a sword this sharp before..” He looks you over, admiring the easy smile on your face. That and the nickname seems to have made your cheeks flare up in surprise.

And he had to remind himself to engrave that very image of you on the back of his mind. Fearing that he may never get to see such a sight again.

“Well say that first! It's kind of difficult reading your facial expressions, you know?” You huffed. Though the easy laughter of his had remained. And a smile soon replaces your hefty frown.

“Sorry, sorry. Is there a price I hafta pay ya’? You know, for making me such a nice weapon and all that.”

You shrug, scooting your way right in front of him where he could just as easily close the gap between the two of you.

Have your chest pressed up against his, hand gripping the plush of your lower back. Admiring the gentle way you'd likely stare up at him with flamed cheeks. But he stops, already feeling too guilty to indulge himself further. And your reply had been quick enough to distract him from any incoming thoughts that had pushed his mind to try and get closer to you.

“Only your help, when it comes to a few suit upgrades.”

Help huh? He supposes this would be a good excuse to go see you more often. Though the simplicity of such a task was a little more suspicious on your part. And he had an inkling you had a few things in mind that involved more than just that.

But then again. He couldn't exactly read you either. Not completely at least.

Not yet.

“Quite demanding, aren't we?” He nods.

You had rolled your eyes at his teasing.

“You're the one that offered. But fine, be like that.” You had crossed your arms. Already backing away, and you had felt the way he had firmly pulled you back. Hand against your elbow. Making you face him whilst he tilted his head in your direction.

“Now, now..I never said anything about refusing you didn't I?” He chuckles. And the deep rumble makes your stomach churn in small caterpillars. Ready to form butterflies should he continue.

“Wasn't that already implied?” You spoke. Aware of the way his palms had steadied you by the elbows. The hint of warmth against his skin was almost tantalizing to make you lean forward. But before you had the chance to, he let you go. Leaving only an inch of space between the both of you.

“Shh..” His finger had raised itself against your lips. Shushing you before you could make another smart quip at him that was sure to insight another bout of witty banter. One that he knew he'd grown accustomed to in the future.

“I was just messing with ya'” He laughs. Only confirming that he had been hooked indefinitely by you. And he moves his free hand to tug your hair behind your ear.

“Do you, or do you not want to help me?” You had asked incredulously. Already finding his musings rather annoying. But the way he looked at you had your breath caught in your throat.

His gaze, although clouded by the silent promise to himself. Had not seen the way you too had a similar look on your face. And whether or not you had been aware of this promise. It doesn't fail to make your heart pick up its pace. His voice was almost reminiscent of prayer when he spoke your name in a whisper.

“I do want to help.” He spoke slowly. And your eyes flutter closed wondering if his touch would linger for a bit longer. But his fingertips remained curt. Pulling back just as soon as it grazed your skin.

“And how do I know you're being serious?”

“All ya’ have to do is call me. And I’ll Certainly be Yours, if you want me to.”

And he meant it. He was sincere in his intention to get close to you. To help you like you had sworn to him. Use his skill to protect you, should you ever need it.

And somehow, he is reminded of the time his brother had spoken to him long ago. Back when they were kids, dueling with simple bamboo swords back in the peace of their own home. Eating those childhood rice balls in the afterhours of their respective schools.

Soichiro be damned. Because somehow he was correct in his predictions. His words were every bit of a mockery to his craft. And although it was a rare sight to have him be soft in his presence.

Somehow, that was the one time he did so dissolutely.

And now, it looks like he's found someone who needs him. With or without that blade of his.

And this time, there was genuinely no sense of mockery in the way he had met you.

He only hoped he wasn't too late.

#anime #kn8 #kaiju no. 8 #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina #hoshina soshiro #kaiju no 8 x reader #kn8 x reader #hoshina soichiro #mina ashiro #konomi okonogi #kaiju number 8 #kaiju #Kaiju no 8 B Side Manga #hoshina x reader #Vice Captain Hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader

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lukolabrainrot · 2 months ago

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Long ask anon with an even longer ask (I truly don’t know how to make long story short, but I can do the reverse), sorry. I am dividing this in two parts in case you decide to post this, so it would not be such an essay.

Part 1. Intro

Something has been eating up at me for a while but I only recently gathered the courage to do anything more than lurking. I actually am quite new to this, mostly because I was not allowing myself to even get into this in the first place. I am a very chill person when it comes to celebrities, I truly couldn’t care less about their lives, don’t even follow them on SM (L and N included) (not that I use SM all that much to begin with), I don’t know why but it always seems strange for me to be invested in strangers’ lives. I am not big of a fan girl either, especially media wise, I am much more interested in books and have no patience for tv shows most of the time. All of this to say, this is unusual behavior for me, watching all of the interviews with repetitive questions (those poor actors having to repeat themselves over and over again), paying attention to actors (beyond just knowing their names).

Polin is one of the rare ships that captured my interest, so I was very excited to learn about s3 being them, and when the wait for even the slightest info seem to be dragging on endlessly those interviews served as a great entertainment. Until they were not, until I started noticing things I wished not to. What started as “oh, they are so cute, and charming, and their friendship is so endearing!” very quickly turned into “babes, WHAT THE F*CK DID I JUST SAW/HEARD?” At one point I was honestly thinking “did I miss something? Are they together? What is going on?” So I checked, out of curiosity nothing more, but found nothing OFFICIAL suggesting that (as in N nor L never claimed anything). So I moved on, watched the show, other interviews (my brows still rising at some points), and then post Part 2 premiere I saw the picture on IG.

Everyone on internet seemed to be screaming about Ls’ GF, and being absolutely vile to him, which I found so disgusting I immediately checked out of the situation and turned my attention back on fiction again. It would be insincere of me not to admit to a certain disappoint on such a development, but that was as far as it would go. Though I can also truthfully say that that girl was not giving me the best impression based on the picture, something just seemed off. I only saw one at that point, where it appeared as if they were holding hands, why did it seem off? Because L looked displeased, almost angry, his eyes averted from cameras, while she was boldly looking right on them smiling as if she was walking her red carpet. As I said that was that, just continued watching the show, reading Polin fanfiction, hung out on a Polin reddit account and some Polin Tumblr blogs. And then I stumbled upon your blog (it was already past papgate 2.0), and now I’m on this bloody ship, and can not seem to force myself overboard, because those two are so soulmate coded (and yes, I realize how cheesy that sounds).

What has been bugging me, is that most, if not all, in this fandom seem to be of the opinion that L is the primary reason why N/L are yet to develop into lovers phase of this friends to lovers arc. From outright blaming him to passive aggressively calling him a dummy for not going after N. And I comprehend that most of it comes from the presence of a certain adjacent. But putting aside the OBVIOUS, LOGICAL point that we, non of us, are privy to their real lives, and bts truth, I still don’t see where that point of view comes from. I know that everyone says L is most like his character, so perhaps part of it is projection of that, but for me it always seems that L is actually a Penelope of this situation. To me, he himself gives it away.

Same Anon... same!

I have never thought L was the hang up in this situation. I think N has been burned in love, is pretty closed off with this stuff, and a TOTAL workaholic. L DEFINITELY fell first (no one can convince me otherwise). L also seems to kind of be a hopeless romantic and public lover boy, which I don't think N is use to. But I feel like that is why they kind of balance each other out ❤️️

#lukola theories #just some thoughts

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olderthannetfic · 4 months ago

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I'm a big mpreg and A/B/O fan who is wondering if anyone else has noticed the weird anti-abortion attitudes in a lot of mpreg and a/b/o? Like where you're "2000s Hollywood movies" levels of characters not even CONSIDERING abortion as an option for unwanted pregnancies (in a universe where this is possible and safe, and where it doesn't make sense with the character's characterization). I get why for plot reasons, abortion isn't as satisfying an end to a certain kind of pregnancy story as having the baby, same as it is in movies that do it. But you can write a character considering abortion and deciding not to get one in a way that doesn't make the option seem horrible and unthinkable or otherwise stigmatize it.

Or the number of people who seem to think abortion is such an inherently "traumatizing" topic that they need to content-warn for even a vague, offhand mention of it. It's one thing if it's graphic surgery or something - I'd probably want a head's up for that no matter what it was, at least in a story where I didn't see it coming - but just mentioning it at all? Abortion is a routine, safe medical procedure in places where it's legal. If you're doing warnings with abortion and no other medical procedures, you're reinforcing the anti-choice idea that abortion is inherently upsetting and sad. It's reinforcing abortion stigma. I've met many, many more people who've had abortions who felt happy about it and wish they could say that without having people treat them like a murderer, than I have people who had the "post-abortion regret" that anti-choice organizations talk about, and my experiences are supported by basically all the statistics about this that aren't from anti-choice political lobbying groups. It's especially egregious when people do this over an early, fully-elective (and legal and safe) abortion - a thing where patients having triggering kind of trauma is so low as to be statistically insignificant - but don't do it over related topics that genuinely contribute to a lot of PTSD, like miscarriage, infertility, adoption, and even fucking child death!!!!! I saw a fic that mentioned ALL of those things in someone's inner monologue considering what he should do about an unexpected pregnancy, but only the abortion part got warned for! Maybe some of that sounds nitpicky, but I personally know people who read fanfiction who like warnings for discussion of infertility/miscarriage because they have a lot of stress and trauma over unsuccessfully trying to have a child, and don't want to be reminded of that in their happy place.

It feels like a thing that's oddly underdiscussed when people talk about things in mpreg and a/b/o that would be kind of questionable to these same authors if they were to encounter it in stories about pregnancy where the character is a woman (like the stories where simply having a working uterus means you are inherently more nurturing or less ambitious or sweeter, or where getting pregnant suddenly makes you like that no matter how you were before). But if anything it's more common. I have to assume a lot of it's because a lot of people writing these were raised with more conservative ideas about abortion and then changed their minds, but didn't really question everything their upbringing taught them about abortions being always tragic or something that you should only do in extreme circumstances or whatever. Something you often see on Tumblr discourse about abortion, too, where people who claim to be "pro-choice" will come u with a list of reasons (disability, gender, just not feeling it, etc.) why it's "not okay" to get an abortion - not getting the point that forcing someone to carry a pregnancy they don't want is a violation of their body autonomy regardless of their "reasoning." The ableist woman who doesn't want a disabled baby still doesn't deserve have to a pregnancy forced upon her by the state!

I have to wonder if it's more noticeable to me because i wasn't raised that way at all, I had pro-choice leftist feminist parents.

Anyway long story short, I've never agreed with the anti take that mpreg or a/b/o are inherently sexist or anything like that. A lot of it is nothing like this! But it's common and I have to wonder if something working within a medium that's considered to be queerer and more progressive sometimes leads people to expose more of these attitudes than they might otherwise. Kind of like how you see a lot of weird sex-negativity in queer and fandom communities because people think merely being queer and in fandom means they can't be conservative, but they haven't actually questioned underlying sex-negative attitudes they have.... and so you get them being susceptible to anti and "kinks don't belong at pride" and such.

It's not inherently sexist, but I'm not sure it's inherently progressive, either? Not that it has to be. But I think my patience for anti-abortion stigma is, given recent big world events, at its absolute nadir lol

(sorry this is so long! guess i had more to say about this than i thought)

Too much American culture, maybe? IDK.

My mother considered abortions to be about like having the doctor remove a tick. I too find a lot of people's pearl clutching bemusing.

I always find it embarrassing in that bad writing OOC way when people don't include abortion where it makes sense or treat it as a Big Deal where it wouldn't be to that character.

However, I do usually expect mpreg fic to be kinking on "Ohhh nooo, now we have to stay together for the baby!" nonsense fantasies. It's one reason I dislike most of it. Given that, I wouldn't read too much into the plague of conservative anti-abortion vibes.

The fandoms that do more with A/B/O world building (giving the betas an actual role, etc.) tend to have more fic where they consider or even get abortions though.

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lxvvie · 10 months ago

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y'all, I made the mistake of revealing that I write fanfiction as a hobby, and when asked about the fandoms I write for, I broke it down as I know best: into cliques. I realize I might be shaking the table but it is what it is.

This is what I said for CoD (I've since add some more stuff):

You got the forever war between Gaz Nation and Gaz Deniers. May or may not be rooted in his attractiveness as a person of color, opinions vary (read: it most definitely is). Bonus points if the racism comes out in full force. DOUBLE/TRIPLE those points if it's expressed using butchered ass AAVE. 🥴

You got the Masked Men Lovers Brigade of which König, Ghost, and Keegan are the patron saints and arguably the holy trinity.

You got the Peepaw Price Lovers who absolutely adore his chonky cheeks, peepaw mannerisms, lumberjack body complete with the slutty waist, and relative long-suffering thanks to the shenanigans of the rest of the crew.

You got the Soap Suds who, I think, have found that relative balance between Johnny being a destructive-as-all-hell force to be reckoned with and the quintessential golden retriever boyfriend. His VA doesn't make it any better apparently lmao.

You got the Ghost lovers who've pretty much diversified him so he can run the gamut of Daddy Dom Extraordinaire™, Babygurl™, Sassy Simon™, and the list is endless. What IS consistent is that someone parked a dump truck on that ass and he has some big ole titties. There's also the subset of people who REALLY, REALLY love Ghost but also think his VA is ugly (which he isn't) while simultaneously thinking that he (Ghost) is supposed to be David Gandy levels of immaculate despite being in active combat. Make it make sense.

There's the Gravediggers who, for the most part, acknowledge their love-hate relationship with Graves and I think that is both hilarious and endearing.

You have the Kult of Köthulhu, König's devoted followers who have allowed him to transcend his gremlin nature to become the long-lost progeny of Cthulhu. Move the fuck over, Cthylla. I kid but he, like Ghost, has also been diversified in terms of his portrayal. And no, he's not a part of 141. Some followers of His Gremliness are also embroiled in a forever war with Gaz Nation so please be safe out there, y'all.

You got the Valeria girlies who want her to sit on their faces. I don't blame them. Please do.

You have the Los Vaqueros crew who need more love shown to them and Pony by Ginuwine is their official theme song thanks to Alejandro Thee Stallion. The less said about the butchered Spanish I've read in some fics, the better.

There's also the Farah Fanatics who rightfully adore her and deserve their flowers just like the rest of the cliques.

There's the Keller Kollective who, I think, tends to intersect with the Farah Fanatics. This lot also deserves their flowers because Keller is a sub absolutely underrated as a character. You'd also be forgiven for thinking he and Price are elated.

You also got the Horangi Horde who, just like Gaz Nation, will RISE TF UP. I think. Hopefully. lmao

And then there's the self-righteous crew who, for whatever reason, seem to think they're above it all and love to police writers on what they write and how they write the characters (we're talking in terms of rather innocuous subjects in the grand scheme of things; the sus shit absolutely needs to be and should be called out). Interestingly enough, this group also seems to forget that they're in the same damn boat by being in the fandom, consuming, and writing about the same characters. The ones who have all the energy but none of the courage even if they say or think they do. Bonus points if they also move like fans. Double/Triple those points if they, too, also use butchered-ass AAVE to make their points. 🥴

The girlies who can't separate fiction from reality and insist on harassing the VAs and their significant others and families because how DARE they have a regular degular life outside of *checks notes* their job. Baby, it was never gonna be you. It will never. be. you.

did I get them all? lmao

#2queued4u.#cod fandom #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 3 #call of duty ghosts #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #task force 141 #los vaqueros #kortac #it reads much better as a post because I sounded a hot mess and was flustered as I was explaining it but this was the gist of it lmao.

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doodle-pops · 2 months ago

Text

「 ✦Discovering You Writing Fanfiction About Them✦ 」

Headcanon: Curufin, Turgon, Finarfin, Egalmoth, Beleg, Gwindor

A/N: I had a ball of a time writing this one. Please enjoy the crack and humour I’ve written.

「 ✦Curufin✦ 」

Always curious about the little notebook you kept so closely guarded, and how you manically laughed as you acribbled across the page, Curufin had his mind set on being a little mouse. You had never been secretive, exactly, but you were always quick to close it whenever he walked into the room. So one day, when you were out gathering herbs, Curufin’s curiosity got the better of him. He picked up the notebook, casually flipping through the pages. At first, he was intrigued. Then his eyes widened, and his jaw dropped.

“By the Valar…” he muttered, unable to tear his eyes away from the words on the page. The story depicted him—Curufin the Cunning, the master of craft, the sharp-witted son of Fëanor—as a bumbling, lovesick fool who couldn’t tell a forge from a farm. And was he really wearing a flower crown while spouting poetry about how beautiful your eyes were compared to the “gleaming stars of Elbereth”?

When you returned, finding him sitting at the table with your notebook open in front of him, his expression was a mixture of horror and disbelief, not far off from yours at his discovery. “Care to explain this?” he asked, his voice strained as he tapped a finger on the offending passage.

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter at his expression. “You weren’t supposed to see that!”

Curufin pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to gather his thoughts. “You’ve turned me into some kind of…lovestruck poet! And what is this nonsense about me trying to bake bread for you and burning down half the kitchen? I’m a master craftsman, not some…incompetent oaf!”

“Have you ever seen yourself in the kitchen making the simplest of things,” you teased, leaning over to read the part that had him so outraged. “I thought you’d enjoy it!”

“Enjoy it? You have a cruel sense of humour. Change this, please!" Curufin pleaded, his voice almost panicked. The thought of anyone—especially his brothers—reading such a portrayal was too much to bear. “I have a reputation, you know. This—this will ruin me!”

You shook your head, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. "Well…I can always write about you being a brooding, melodramatic anti-hero who monologues about his dark, tragic past while throwing in some utterly cringe-worthy lines like, “No one understands the deep abyss of my soul, not even my beloved.”

“Absolutely not! Furthermore, that suspiciously sounds like you’ve already written it,” he accused as his fingers flipped the pages, searching for the story.

Setting your basket of herbs down, you chuckled, “Maybe, however, this one stays. Besides, no one else is going to read it…unless you keep making such a fuss about it."

Curufin groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “This is not right!”

“If you continue to complain, I’ll write you more tragic than you already are,” you replied, planting a kiss on his cheek.

He gave you a withering look but couldn’t stay angry. “At least give me a heroic death or something…not this ridiculous baking disaster. I have standards!”

You laughed again, knowing full well that no amount of pleading would make you change a word. Curufin could only shake his head, muttering to himself as he walked away, “A flower crown… really?”

「 ✦Turgon✦ 」

When he discovered that you had been writing stories about him, his curiosity was piqued. He imagined grand epics or tales of his wisdom, but when he found the actual content, his reaction was...less than pleased.

He sat across from you in your shared chambers, holding the offending parchment as if it were some dark relic. “You wrote this about me?” he asked, his voice incredulous. You could see his composure faltering as he glanced down at the text once more. “I’m a tyrant who imprisons wayward poets and forces them to compose odes to my magnificence? And what is this about me turning into a dragon at night?”

You tried to stifle your laughter but failed miserably. “It’s just a story, Turgon. You’re the tragic anti-hero who loses his mind and his kingdom.”

He gave you a look that was equal parts exasperation and disbelief. “Tragic anti-hero? I’m a lunatic in this! And why on earth would I turn into a dragon? My ancestors never had anything to do with dragons!”

You shrugged, an innocent smile playing on your lips. “Artistic license?”

Turgon groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “This is not how people should see me! I’m not some unhinged ruler obsessed with power and—wait, do I really speak in third person in every single chapter?” He flipped through the pages, his eyes widening with every line. “Turgon commands! Turgon decrees! Turgon is displeased!”

“It adds to the drama,” you teased, leaning back and crossing your arms. “And the readers seem to enjoy it. If you want, I can merge it with another idea where you have a penchant for over-the-top declarations and an obsession with your own reflection.”

“I do not swoon at my reflections!” he whined.

“‘And lo, Turgon, the fairest of all Eldar, gazed upon his reflection, and the very heavens wept at his beauty…’” you mocked, lifting a hand to your forehead, pretending to swoon.

“No! I am not that vain! And who are these readers, and why do they enjoy such madness?” he demanded, looking genuinely baffled.

You chuckled. “Um…your Lords, especially Penlod. He’s impressed by my creativity,” you sheepishly muttered, “They find you entertaining. It’s just fiction, Turgon. People love a good villain.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “You read to my Lords that I’m a villain. I don’t even have a nefarious plan! And this duel with Fingolfin—why would I challenge my own father?!”

You reached over and patted his hand, still unable to wipe the smile off your face. “Maybe you need to lighten up a bit. It’s all in good fun.”

Turgon sighed, staring at the parchment like it was a betrayal of everything he stood for. “Can’t you at least make me less…absurd? A little more dignified?”

“Nope,” you said cheerfully, plucking the story from his hands. “That would ruin the whole point.”

He slumped in his chair, utterly defeated. “This is torture.”

“Of course it is,” you replied, grinning. “And the more you protest, the more inclined I’d be to release an even more ridiculous story.”

Turgon gave you a long, suffering look before burying his face in his hands. “As if this wasn’t already absurd…”

「 ✦Finarfin✦ 」

He had assumed you were writing poetry or perhaps a letter. Even the way you would double over your papers, laughing and snickering as your quill scribbled across the page, still never led him to imagine that you were penning elaborate tales about him. One evening, curiosity got the better of him, and he peeked over your shoulder as you wrote. Instantly, him eyes fell from his sockets as he read the words on the page.

“What… what is this?” he stammered, barely able to believe what he was seeing. In your story, Finarfin—noble and wise King of the Noldor—was portrayed as a dark, brooding figure who lived in a shadowy tower, plotting mysterious schemes and cursing his foes with ancient, forbidden magic.

You looked up at him with a grin, clearly unrepentant. “Oh, just a little something I’ve been working on.”

“Little? ”he repeated, aghast. “You’ve turned me into some kind of…evil sorcerer! And this dialogue! ‘The night shall swallow your soul, and darkness shall be your only companion’? I would never say that!”

You burst out laughing at the sheer horror in his voice. “But it’s fun! Besides, you’re kind of cool as a dark lord.”

Finarfin gave you a long, hard look, his hands on his hips. “I cannot allow this to stand. Change it! What if someone reads this? They’ll think I’ve gone mad!”

“You worry too much,” you said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s just fantasy. And besides, who’s going to read it? It’s not like I’m publishing it, or maybe I should. Think of the fortune I’d make….” You whispered more to yourself than him while rubbing your chin.

He sighed, clearly distressed. “This is so far from who I am! You’ve made me sound like some villain out of a children’s tale! Please, my love, I implore you…write something more…accurate.”

“Accurate?” you teased, arching an eyebrow. “Like what? The time you got lost in the gardens and refused to ask for directions?”

Finarfin’s face turned a delightful shade of pink, and he shook his head fervently. “No! Something dignified��perhaps a tale of wisdom or…or bravery?”

You smiled sweetly, patting his arm. “Ugh, too boring. No one would read that. I’m quite fond of Dark Lord Finarfin.”

Finarfin sighed in resignation, realising he wasn’t going to win this battle. “If this ever gets out…”

“You wouldn’t die,” you assured him, though the twinkle in your eye suggested you were thoroughly enjoying his discomfort.

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips despite himself. “You truly are incorrigible.”

“At least I’m talented, right?,” you said, kissing his cheek.

Finarfin laughed softly, wrapping an arm around you. “Indeed, for bizarre tales.”

「 ✦Egalmoth✦ 」

Known for his epitome of elegance and grace, a Lord whose charm and wit were unmatched, he was secretly thrilled when he found out that you had taken up the pen to write stories about him. That is, until he actually read what you had written.

He stormed into the room, holding the pages as if they were an orcish weapon. “Is this your idea of a joke?” he asked, his usually calm and melodic voice now tinged with outrage.

You looked up from your work, biting back a smile. “What’s wrong, darling?”

Egalmoth’s eyes narrowed as he read aloud. “The Dark Lord Egalmoth, with his army of cursed skeletons, ruled Gondolin with an iron fist, forcing his subjects to worship him or face the wrath of his pet sphinx.” He looked up, his expression a mixture of horror and disbelief. “A sphinx, really?”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “I thought it was a nice touch. You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic.”

“This is not dramatic! This is ridiculous! You’ve made me into a laughingstock! A…a parody of myself.” He waved the parchment at you. “Oh, woe is me, for I am but a poor, misunderstood Lord, doomed to be misrepresented for all eternity… I’m one of the most beloved lords in Gondolin!”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re proving my point. Plus, people love a good villain. And it’s not like you’re entirely like that, the evil part I meant.”

He groaned, dropping the parchment onto the table. “And what’s with the cursed skeletons? Where did they even come from? I’ve never dealt with necromancy in my life!”

“Artistic license,” you said with a wink.

Egalmoth threw his hands up in the air before pointing them at you. “There’s artistic license, and then there’s…whatever this is!” He picked up the pages again, flipping through them. “And what is this about me challenging Glorfindel to a duel over a hat?”

You grinned. “It’s an epic battle for the most fabulous headwear in all of Gondolin. Glorfindel’s hat has feathers, and yours is made of a kaleidoscope of gemstones. The stakes couldn’t be higher.”

Egalmoth stared at you, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find words. “This…this is madness. Utter madness. I would never duel someone over a hat!”

“But think of the drama!” you insisted, laughing as you reached for the parchment. “It’s all in good fun. You can be the dark, brooding anti-hero.”

“I don’t want to be a dark, brooding anti-hero,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “And what about this scene where I banish Tuor for using the wrong fork at dinner? I would never do that!”

You shrugged, grinning mischievously. “You might, if it was your favourite fork.”

He stared at you in disbelief. “Please, for the love of Eru, change this. I beg you.”

“Fine then,” you said cheerfully, tucking the parchment away. “I’ll write a story where you you’re portrayed as a flamboyant and melodramatic Lord, prone to fainting at the slightest inconvenience and speaking in overly poetic riddles. But know that the more you protest, the more outrageous it will become.”

Egalmoth groaned dramatically, leaning against the wall as if his life’s burdens had suddenly become too heavy. “You’re going to ruin my reputation, you know that?”

“Don’t worry,” you teased. “Your reputation in the fanfic world is already legendary.”

He looked at you, defeated but with a twinkle of humor in his eye. “Hmm, sure.”

「 ✦Beleg✦ 」

Being a curious elf had its perks, which meant getting into more trouble than he liked to admit. Like the day you were out gathering herbs and fruits and he stumbled upon a leather-bound journal tucked under your pillow. His natural curiosity got the better of him, and before he knew it, he was leafing through the pages, his eyes widening with each word he read.

When you returned, you found Beleg sitting cross-legged on the bed, your journal open in his lap, a look of pure disbelief on his usually composed face. "Is this…me?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and amusement. You froze, immediately recognising the situation.

“Uh, maybe?” you replied, trying to gauge his reaction.

Beleg cleared his throat, reading aloud in an exaggerated tone, “‘Beleg Strongbow, the mighty and majestic warrior, paused mid-battle to admire his reflection in the river, his hair flowing like a golden waterfall as he struck a pose worthy of the Valar.’”

You cringed internally as he continued, “A pose worthy of the Valar, really? Do you truly think I spend my time in battle preening like a peacock?”

You couldn't help but laugh at his horrified expression. “It’s just for fun, Beleg. People enjoy reading about a more…dramatic version of you.”

He shot you a look that was both exasperated and pleading. “But this isn’t me! I don’t pose mid-battle! I certainly don’t spend hours grooming my hair—golden waterfall? My hair isn’t even golden!” He looked genuinely distressed as he skimmed through more of your work.

“Here’s another one!” he exclaimed, reading aloud, “‘Beleg, the bravest of all, leaped from the treetops, only to get tangled in the vines, dangling upside down as he tried to maintain his dignity.’” He paused, raising an eyebrow at you. “Tangled in vines? I’ve never been tangled in vines in my life!”

You tried to stifle your giggles, but they escaped anyway. “Come on, Beleg, it’s just a story! It’s supposed to be exaggerated.”

Beleg looked at you with wide, earnest eyes. “Please, change it. Just a little? Make me…less ridiculous?”

You shook your head, grinning. “Would you prefer if I wrote you off in a battle?”

His sighed halted as he stared at you in utter disbelief at your choice of changing the story. “How is that any better that before? And why would you kill me?”

“Because I’m the author and I can do whatever I want to the characters, and fhey can’t do a single thing about it,” you replied cheerfully, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “But look on the bright side, at least now people know you have a sense of humor!”

He groaned, covering his face with his hands. “A sense of humour! That’s the last thing people would recognise in these stories. But please don’t make me die—I’m too heroic to die. Write about me saving you like I always do.”

For the rest of the day, Beleg chastised you mercilessly, to not kill off his character in any of your stories you planned on writing about him in the near future. Begging to have an input the tales about him, so they would have to be as painfully awkward as you pen them.

「 ✦Gwindor✦ 」

Never the type to pry, but the sight of you giggling to yourself as you wrote in your journal piqued his curiosity. While you were out of the room, he couldn’t resist, opening your journal to a random page and beginning to read. What he found had him staring at the pages in utter disbelief.

According to your writings, Gwindor was some kind of brooding, tortured soul who wandered the forests at night, muttering dark prophecies to himself and scaring off woodland creatures with his gloomy presence. And the love letters! They were all sappy, over-the-top declarations that had Gwindor cringing. If he had any idea how you were portraying him, he might have refused to ever speak again.

When you came back, you found Gwindor standing there, journal in hand, looking at you with wide eyes. “What…is this?” he asked, holding up the open book, looking like he was reasy to cry.

You immediately knew what he was talking about and burst into laughter. “Oh, that? It’s just a little fanfiction,” you replied, trying to downplay it.

Gwindor’s jaw dropped. “A little fanfiction? You’ve turned me into a wandering spirit of doom! I don’t wander around muttering dark prophecies! And this love letter—” he pointed to a particularly sappy passage, “—isn’t this a bit much?”

You couldn’t stop laughing as Gwindor continued to stare at the journal, utterly appalled. “It’s for fun!” you said between giggles. “Besides, it’s not that far from reality.”

“Not that far?” Gwindor repeated, aghast. “I’ve never even written a love letter in my life that sounded like this!” He mimicked the overly poetic lines with an exaggerated, tragic tone, making you laugh even harder.

Gwindor groaned, closing the journal and giving you a pleading look. “Please, please change it. You’ve made me sound like a character from a bad romance novel!”

“So you think my writing and creativity are bad then?” you asked with a straight face, watching as he fumbled around for the right words.

“Not for me,” he said, giving you a look that was almost comically serious. “At least let me have some dignity in your stories.”

“But it’s so entertaining!” you teased, reaching for the journal, but Gwindor held it back. You shook your head, grinning. “Plus, that’s too boring! Gwindor, the brooding, tortured soul stays.”

Gwindor sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “You’re going to ruin my reputation!”

You walked over and kissed his cheek, laughing at his mock misery. “Don’t worry, love. Your secret’s safe with me—and whoever reads the fanfiction.”

Gwindor gave you a long-suffering look, but his lips were twitching with the effort not to laugh. “You owe me for this, you know.”

“Oh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Threatening the author who can turn your character into anything they want it to be, now?”

Sheepishly grinning, he pulled you close. “Yes. I’m threatening you to write me not broody and dark. I’m a nice elf who doesn’t wander the forest at night.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No promises, Gwindor. No promises.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @ladyenchanted @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster @elficially-done-with-life @eunoiaastralwings @hermaeuswhora

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sunflowersandsapphires · 6 months ago

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I saw something in the fandom that made me upset and I need to rant about it. It’ll be below the cut so I don’t clog up people’s dashes!

I cropped the name off of this post because I am not trying to start drama, but I found this under the “Matt Murdock x Reader” tag and found it INCREDIBLY disheartening to go through to comments/reblogs and see how many people agreed.

I am in no way trying to dispute the fact that fandom spaces and self-insert fanfiction is heavily white washed/influenced by white writers. As a white woman myself, I catch many little slip ups in my own work that make my writing less accessible than I want it to be. I understand being frustrated that there aren’t many stories where you feel your appearance has been considered.

However: fanfiction, fanart, gif making and coloring, edits, and other forms of fan-made-content are usually completely free to access. No one is entitled to them—they are a privilege, not a right. Which means that people are allowed to write whatever characters they want, even if it’s not completely unique or what you want to read.

My issue is with OP’s critiques of weak/feminine/sweet/innocent readers and the way they voiced their opinion (again, not disputing the appearance stuff). I know that many readers are sweet or innocent, but as someone who is rarely given the space to be the “damsel in distress” so to speak, I enjoy writing characters who are taken care of and protected. Regardless of my or any other writer’s reasoning for writing the characters this way, we are allowed to do that. It’s our fucking work.

If you don’t like something, no one is forcing you to read it. If you notice a lack of fics that appeal to you, write some yourself. It is inconsiderate to chastise people spending hours of their free time to give you content that you can enjoy just because it’s not exactly what you want to see.

Also, don’t threaten to block me if you don’t like how I write. Just block me. It is your responsibility to curate an enjoyable experience on this app, not everyone else’s.

In summary: I am not trying to say that fandom is perfect or inclusive or that critiques of my writing aren’t welcome. This person can have whatever opinions they like and are welcome to post them on their blog. I would just like to point out that the delivery could’ve been more polite and that authors don’t need to change the plots/characters’ personalities they write just because others aren’t happy with the outcome.

#matt murdock x reader #my thoughts #fanfiction #writing #writer #x reader #self insert

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nardo-headcanons · 5 months ago

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Hi, I never get tired of saying how creative and talented you are ♡♡♡ I wanted to know if you would write about the Senju Clan. I know it's strange, since I haven't seen you writing anything like that and usually I don't see anything like that. I like the way you write, you're the best

Sigh. I have let this sit in my inbox way too long. I am so sorry. Thank you so much for your kind words, nonnie. I have some thoughts about the Hyuga as well, let me know if you would be interested in hearing that.

Also please note that I will change around some canon things and all of this is fanfiction/headcanon.

tagging some people i think will like reading this post: @narutobrainrotstuff , @the-real-sasuke-uchiha , @spookyphilosophertaco , @danceofthexdragons

cw for mention of genetics, racism, religion, genocide and human experiments

The Senju Clan

People

Compared to the Uchiha clan, who are phenotypically rather monotonous, the Senju clan had a very diverse population with a wider range of skin tones, eye and hair colors. There were generally very little restrictions when it came to marrying into the clan and becoming a part of it. The only traits most of the Senju shared were that of fine, straight hair whilst the Uchiha had thick and dark hair with curls not being uncommon.

The reason the Senju died out were two sides of the same coin - with many of the clan's members birthing less and less children, and those who did marrying outside of the clan to the point where there are many Konoha ninjas nowadays who are part Senju but may not even know it.

Traits and Abilities

The Senju were rather unspecified, wanting to hone their skills in all three fighting styles, though I like to think that Taijutsu was one they particularly excelled in. Once one's movements were fast enough to be evaded by the base sharingan (Mangekyou sharingan was, depending on the source material, either extremely rare or nonexistent), the Senju had an easier time fighting the Uchiha. Many of them became weapons and taijutsu specialists, making me think that Tenten might be part Senju and her idolization of Tsunade was a way to connect with her roots and get to know a fellow Senju.

Another skill of the Senju was wood style, which was a skill many Senju before Hashirama posessed, but they rarely ever utilized it in battle. Said ability was caused by a point mutation in the exome, prompting Orochimaru to later carry out experiment's on embryonic DNA to artificially induce said point mutation, killing dozens of newborns in the process.

Religion

While the Uchiha followed the way of Shintōism, most of the Senju were buddhists, like their distant relatives, the Uzumaki. Initially, the people living in the country of fire were engaging in both buddhist and shintōist practices, but with the continued rise of war between the shintō-believing Uchiha and the buddhist Senju, these two religions were more or less divided.

The Senju and the Uzumaki

The establishment of Uzushiogakure in the whirlpool country was received with mixed feelings from its inhabitants. Most Uzumaki, although practiced in the arts of combat, preferred their pacifistic lifestyle of teaching their ways on paper, and not on the battlefield. This instability made it easier for the hidden mist village to send colonialist forces, killing most of the Uzumaki in fear of their congenital abilities. And with the Senju living more and more decentralized and being too occupied with themselves, Uzushiogakure lacked the manpower compared to Kiri's extermination force.

The Senju's Legacy

Nowadays, after Konoha was founded, the Senju started living more and more decentralized, therefore there wasn't such a thing as the "Senju compound". The language of the Senju was adapted as Konoha's official language, causing the other hidden villages to adapt it as well. (You can read more about my thoughts on language in the Shinobi world here.)

There were shrines for both buddhist and shintō believers in the village, but once Hashirama became the first hokage, more and more citizens adapted the Senju's religion of buddhism, with the shintō believers dwindling in numbers. Tobirama's segregation policy did not help in the slightest; although the Uchiha, who believed in family unity and support, lived closely together, being redlined and pushed into the same profession felt patronizing. But even though the Senju as a clan is no more, their legacy continues on, in good ways, and in bad.

#naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto headcanons #naruto imagines #naruto scenarios #naruto fanfiction #naruto worldbuilding #hashirama senju #tsunade senju #tobirama senju #senju clan #uchiha #uchiha clan #uzumaki clan #uzushiogakure #konohagakure #konoha #shinobi system #tenten

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moonblastbitch · 4 months ago

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Yellow card update

Hi ya'll! So I barely use tumblr nowadays, but considering some stuff going on I thought it would be good to do a quick little come back.

So hi! I'm Kit, I write the griddlehark fic Yellow Card with my friend Starr. It's a very silly fanfiction about age difference Harrow and Gideon having an affair and raising a child together. It's pretty well known in TLT fan spaces which I'm super grateful for! It's not an understatement to call this little fic my pride and joy. I've spent the last two years working on it as my little labor of love and it's kinda grown a cult of followers! Really, it's a fun excuse for me and my friend to work on something we care about together. But lately I haven't felt inclined to work on it and I want to talk about why.

Over the last several months I've had some health stuff going on that's resulted in needing two surgeries. Along with that, I moved into a new place and my gf and I are managing some new financial stress. Plus, you know, the general state of democracy in decay all around the world. It doesn't leave me a lot of time or energy to write silly smut fic. Everyone has been very supportive of me taking the time I need to recover and I'm really grateful.

But... this is where I have to address some not great stuff. Today my friend approached me with a fanfiction making fun of my writing. And several posts from someone making fun of the tropes I use in the writing. Now, I want to make this abundantly clear. Absolutely no one is required to like my writing style or fics. I don't write for praise or wealth, just for my own personal happiness. I think everyone is within their right to complain to their friends if they dislike something they read. What I really can't tolerate however is this intense hostility toward myself or my fellow writers. Nor do I appreciate having an entire fic written mocking me or my stylistic choices.

Back when I first joined the TLT fandom in 2020 it was teeny tiny. Now it's a lot less so. It's been so satisfying to see everyone grow and change over the years, and I think I've grown a lot as a writer. Sadly though, I've seen a lot of stupid bullshit. I've seen personal friends of mine targeted in harassment campaigns because they ship the wrong ship. I've been added to public bookmarks complaining about my writing, I've been subtweeted, I've been made fun of. And I think I'm done.

I write for my own pleasure. I write to bond with my friends. I am not writing for homophobic assholes who use my work to mock me, nor make me or my co-writer the target of harassment. So, as a result, Yellow Card and all my other TLT fics are on an immidate hiatus, with the exception of one upcoming commission for the TLT for Palestine charity.

I spent a long time tonight debating if I should even write this post. It seems like by writing this I'd be giving the people making fun of me more ammo. But honestly? I don't care. My feelings are hurt. I am upset. I shouldn't have to hide that because some bullies will take bits of this statement to use in their next bitchy text post.

I want to reiterate something important. I am open to critque on my work. Anyone who has an issue with my writing style is more than welcome to come into my comments and let me know if something isn't flowing right, if there are unfortunate implications of a line I may not have considered, if there is something they personally find a bit distasteful. Sadly, the people doing this skipped right to mockery and ridicule, and that is unacceptable.

What drew me to this fandom in the first place was Muir's openness to her background in fanworks. She clearly takes such pride knowing her book series has spawned into a wild, happy fandom writing crack silliness and serious character study alike. Because that is what fandom is for. Having fun in a big beautiful sandbox, creating art with friends. And I treasure that deeply, even as I am forced to walk away from a space I love.

TLDR: TLT fandom is full of dicks. And not the kind I write about.

Thank you to everyone whose offered me kindness and support over the years! I truly appreciate you all. If you wanna stay in contact, it's easiest to find me over on twitter @moonblastbitch or discord (same name)

#tlt #the locked tomb #griddlehark #moonblastbitch #fanfiction #fandom wank

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oh-koenig-my-koenig · 1 year ago

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Fit for a King - WIP - "You are tiny"

Fit for a King - Masterlist

König fanfiction scenes and chapters that do not yet have a coherent plot

planned content/TW: rivals to lovers, König x fem!character (not too descriptive to make it accessible for more readers), social anxiety killing machine König, badass friendly FMC, dual POV, secret relationship, switch energy, NSFW, adult themes, strong language, violence (more details are still unclear, gonna update as I go), authentic austrian german

a/n: well, my brain isn't letting go of this newest obsession of mine, so I will appease it and write some scenes/chapters that come to mind. i have written more original work and less fanfictions and our boy (and KorTac) is hard to research, but I'll try my best to stay some-what cannon to the lore. it'll also probably get darker down the road.

if your character doesn't have a tragic backstory, why not give him one?

A not so meetcute

(CW: some mature language)

I strut along the hallway, I'm already late to report for duty and turn the corner abruptly. I collide with somebody else at full walking force and almost get pushed to the floor, if the big figure blocking the light shining from above wouldn't have caught me. "Ouch.", I yelp, more surprised than hurt, even though I feel like ran over by a truck.

I steady myself to look at the "truck". I look up and I keep looking up and up. At first there's just this chest, a huge chest, in a simple compression shirt, but oh boy. The weapon holster is what I see next, sitting snug at the side of his torso. Shoulders, big broad shoulders, and normally you would expect to have a head sitting on top of them and a face looking back at you. I guess, he has one as well, even though I don't see one bit of it. I strain my neck to finally meet his eyes.

But all I see is the dark black of a… sniperhood? A T-shirt? I mean, it looks like a t-shirt, that somebody cut holes in to fashion themselves a kind of mask. The front is stained with bleach, two streaks coming down from the eyeholes... My eyes widen as it sinks in who this is. König. KorTac operator, field combatant and one of my superiors. Shit. I've heard some rumors about him. And it seems like at least some of them ring true.

"You are tiny.", he states matter-of-factly, his Austrian accents shining through the uttered words. It's the first thing he says to me. "And you are... not.", I retort. I can't make out his expression as it so obviously is hidden by his mask. He nods, turns around and heads down the hallway where he came from. I shake my head. What the hell was that?

I stretch myself, feeling the impact of the collision already. My god, that was like being hit by a battering ram. I heard that his specialty is breaking down doors with brute force. I thought this to be ridiculous, but now as I watch the gigantic muscled man strut down the hallway, quickly disappearing, I do believe it. 6'10" killing machine. Ridiculous.

I shake my head again and make my way to the meeting room. Ridgeback is already waiting for me.

______________________________________________________________

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Verdammt. Ah, des hast du ganz super g'macht.* I tell myself sarcastically in my head as I basically run down the hallway. She must be one of the new hires. Must be. And you almost turned her to mush. Mus. Brei. Human remains splattered against the wall. I curse myself again. I didn't even apologize. "You are tiny." No shit, Sherlock, everybody is tiny compared to you. I continue to mock myself. Fuck, Shit, Fuck.

"Ridge, since when do we hire children?", I ask him as soon as I enter the room. He doesn't even look up. "We don't." He keeps reading. "Then why did I just almost run over a recruit that didn't even reach my waist?" – “Because compared to you, everybody seems tiny.” He sighs and looks up at me. “None of our personnel are under 6’, not even the women.”

“Even the new recruits?”, I ask him again. He furrows his brow. “What did you do, König?”, he wants to now. “I may or may not have almost trampled one of them.”, I say, kleinlaut***. He sighs again. “I think that was Müller, she’s actually on her way here.”, Ridgeback says. “Müller? Is she german?”, I ask in surprise. I didn’t hear such an accent on her, but to be fair, she only said like three words… and I wasn’t really paying attention to her words anyway.

On cue, the door opens and I fall silent. “Permission to enter, Sir?”, she says with a clear voice. Not at all seeming like I almost turned her into pulp. I take two steps back to stand in the back, trying to blend into the wall behind me – which I already know from experience is not going to work. “Come in.”, Ridge says. “Müller, right?” She nods and approaches. My focus is fully on her, all the small bits I noticed about her before are still there. She’s not wearing a mask because it’s not necessary off mission. You know, like you normally would. She has laugh lines. Around her eyes and mouth. Fucking laugh lines. She doesn’t look like she belongs here.

The two of them are talking, but I catch every single time when her gaze lands on me, even if it’s just from the corner of her eyes. I fight against the urge to turn away every time she looks at me, when I hear Ridgeback drop the old s-word. Sniper.

My ears perk up and I finally pay attention to what they’re saying again. “Your track record is almost immaculate, Müller. You’re gonna be an asset to the team on the next missions.”, he says to her. I can see that she tries to hold back a proud expression or smile on her face, but she doesn't really succeed at that. God damn it, a sniper. I groan and make my way to the door which doesn’t go unnoticed. “König.”, Ridgeback pipes up. “You wanna show Müller the way to the dorms?” as I already have my hand on the doorknob.

I still for just a moment and the roaring sensation of anxiety seeps at my feet and crawls up my body until it’s nested at the back of my head. I can’t talk to her. Not after embarrassing myself before. “Nein.”, is all I say before I’m out the door.

*God damnit. You did a really bang up job. ** two different words for pulp/mash *** meekly (word for word: 'smallloud')

#könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #könig x fmc #könig fanfiction #dual pov #cod mw2 smut #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut

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sjsmith56 · 2 months ago

Text

Bucky Barnes, Deadpool and the TVA (or How I ended up inside the fourth wall)

Summary: A Bucky Barnes fanfiction writer finds herself in the same universe as the Thunderbolts* Bucky when she wakes up in his bed.

Length: 4.1 K

Characters: Unnamed and undescribed OFC, Bucky Barnes, Dr. Strange, Wong, B-15, variant of OFC, OMC (OFC’s husband)

Warnings: some sexual innuendo, naked horny Bucky, no smut (sorry)

Author notes: Just a silly story that I pulled from somewhere in my mind. The part about the OFC and her husband seeing the new Deadpool movie at a matinee was based on real life.

💻 🦾 🛵

The blank page stared at me. It wasn't blank five minutes ago, but I read what I wrote, and didn't like it, so I deleted it and then I was looking at the page again. We met before, you, the reader and me, the writer. I sought help from the very reason I write, Bucky Barnes. The writing gods first sent me World War II Bucky, a sweet flirty guy who was still interested in the stories I wrote. The version that appeared to me was from before Azzano and before the train; that dreadful transport of death that changed his whole life in a moment. Then they sent me the Winter Soldier, the dark brooding villain ... I know, he was more than that, but that was HYDRAs use of him. He was their Fist, brutally carrying out assassinations on targets they assigned him. Relentless and frightening in his attention to his task he was still a sight to see; that tall, dark-haired muscular menace and the way he strutted towards his target. No hesitation, no regrets and totally the object of many fantasies. I still got warm thinking about the ones I read about, never mind wrote. On that day, it was Falcon and the Winter Soldier (FATWS) Bucky who came to my rescue. It was him as he was portrayed at the end of the series, seemingly in a place where he felt at home in Delacroix, becoming part of Sam Wilson's family as their adopted uncle. That Bucky sat with me, helped me through my writer's block, and even gave me an idea for a Black Widow smut piece that was a gift to my husband. Before he left, he said he would always be there for me. At the time, he probably meant it. Then there was a disturbance in the Force.

Wrong franchise, I know, but how else to explain how things seemed to go a bit sideways? There were the What If? episodes, that displayed Bucky as the sidekick to Captain Carter. Those was okay, then he was more of the dark brooding long-hair version of Wakanda Bucky in a zombie wasteland. At least we got to see a cartoon version of him in the shower, from the waist up. Wasn't quite enough to quench the fandom's thirst for him but it was a start. Don't even get me started on the Guardians of the Galaxy Christmas special where Nebula appeared with Bucky's vibranium arm, opening a whole can of worms over whether it was funny (not to me), cute (seriously stealing Bucky's arm is cute?) and canon (no, James Gunn, it wasn't canon to me). Yes, I'm changing the tense in the middle of a paragraph by telling you to don't @ me if you're a believer in any of the three above. To me, all three of those scenarios were just wrong. I got emotional then and I still do.

I wrote since then, some AUs, lots of one shots as I explored that format, several short fiction pieces of less than 50,000 words, and a couple of long ones. It was going well, then they brought out the Captain America 4 announcement that Bucky wouldn't be in it (what?) and the Thunderbolts* announcement that Sam Wilson wouldn't be in that (seriously?). Why did they get us to invest our time and interest in a six-part series about these two men forging a deep friendship if they had no intention of continuing it in their movies? The rumours about Bucky in this upcoming movie littered the pages of tumblr and Twitter (sorry / not sorry X); things like Bucky regressed mentally and emotionally, he and Sam had a falling out, he became a congressman, or he went to work for Val de Fontaine so that he didn't lose his pardon.

Why would they do that to Bucky? Let the man have a fucking life. As you could see I got emotional about it. On that particular day I decided to have a nap and clear my mind, then it all changed.

💤

"Hey, sweetheart." I could hear the voice, then I felt a cold hand around my waist, reaching up under my T-shirt. Jerking away and turning around I found myself in bed with Bucky Barnes, beefy Bucky, with the bad haircut shown in the leaked preview of the Thunderbolts*. "There she is."

He had no shirt on, and I found it hard to look at him, then opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. I noticed the smirk on his face, which made me feel warm, like really warm, the way the writers of Bucky smut describe it; a warm pool forming in my core, between my thighs, deep in my .... What happened to me? Where was I?

"You okay, doll? You have a nightmare?" His hand cupped my jaw, as he rubbed his thumb on my cheek.

"You're Bucky," I said, still frozen in place, because let's face it, it's not everyday you find yourself in bed with your romantic fantasy.

"Last I checked," he answered, licking his lips then running his hand over the beard he grew since he was in FATWS. "You're my wife."

I pulled away from him, aware that he might not have anything on at all. He looked at me funny.

"You seem different. Tell me you're not a multiverse version of you that's been dropped here."

"I don't know," I answered, pulling the sheet up to cover my front since I realized I wasn't wearing a bra, and my nipples were doing something that was a little disconcerting. "Am I a writer? Are we married? Are you working for Val de Fontaine?"

He laughed, showing those beautiful white teeth, then he leaned close, gently pulling down the sheet and began to nuzzle my neck, making me feel all sorts of things.

"No, yes, and no," he answered. "Come here."

I pulled away so far that I fell out of bed and sat there on the floor with him looking over the edge at me with a decidedly perturbed expression on his face. With only panties on underneath that T-shirt I pulled on the sheet, so I was covered again.

"What's got into you?"

"What's my name, Bucky?"

"Sweetheart, sunshine, baby girl, darlin' and my personal favourite, doll." He was resting his head on his hands, looking at me in a way that was definitely more friendly than I was comfortable with.

"Those aren't names, they're terms of endearment," I answered. "I am married but not to you and you're supposed to be an Avenger, with Sam Wilson."

"Really, just who are you married to and what is your name?" he asked, in a flirting manner. "Gotta say, sunshine, this role-playing thing could be fun."

I told him my husband's name and my name. "I shouldn't be part of the multiverse because it's not real. It's fiction."

He laughed, then saw I wasn't laughing and frowned. Angry Bucky alert. "You have to be from the multiverse. If you're not, where's my wife? Why do you look and sound like her?"

I raised my hands up. "I don't know where she is. I look like her because I write fanfiction of you, and I picture myself in the original female character's role. She usually becomes your love interest. But I had writer's block because Marvel has been messing around with your portrayal and not giving out much information of how they've changed your character. It was bugging me, so I took a nap, then woke up next to you."

"Who's this Marvel guy? Do you think he knows where my wife is?"

He didn't know about the fourth wall, was definitely angry and all I could think of was that he looked just as angry now as he did in that leaked Thunderbolts* footage.

"Marvel's not a guy, it's a corporation that owns the copyright to your character." I winced as I explained it to him, knowing he wasn't liking it. "You're not real, Bucky. You're a fictional character from the comics and the movies they made from it. But you know this already. I've spoken to you in your World War II persona, your Winter Soldier persona and from when you and Sam fought the Flag Smashers. That's called your FATWS era."

I started to explain what the letters meant but he just glared at me, so I stopped. He pulled away from the edge of the bed and got out on the other side, naked, and I did stare, I'll admit it. God, he had a nice ass and the rest of him from the back was... wow. Then he turned to face me, and I looked everywhere but there.

"Get dressed," he ordered. "You're taking me to this Marvel place and I'm going to get my wife back."

"It's not as easy as that," I replied. He stared at me, his arms crossed defiantly in front of him while he was still showing everything the serum gave him. I focused on his face, but it was so hard ... not that, you know what I mean. "If this is a multiverse incursion then there might not be a Marvel in this universe and even if there was it wouldn't be possible to just walk in there. We have to find Dr. Strange. He's the only one who can do anything."

"Fine," he said, "but you're still coming with me. Now get dressed."

Holding the sheet around me I approached the walk-in closet, but he was still standing there, naked, in all of his glory and he smelled so good when I slid past him to see what was available for me to wear. Then he was right behind me, practically pressing himself into me and I had to focus, wondering if I had ever written this much raw physical sexuality into my versions of Bucky but it was difficult to concentrate with him so close.

"You having problems, baby girl?" he asked, his lips so close to my ear that I could feel his warm breath making me moist.

"I don't know what to wear," I mumbled, still painfully aware of his naked body this close to me and I was really only separated from him by a sheet.

"We're going on the motorcycle," he said. "Jeans, T-shirts, and leather jackets."

"Right," I answered, hastily going through the sexy dresses, the long gowns with the thigh-high slits, the almost obscene lingerie, but there were no jeans or T-shirts. "Um, where are they?"

"In the drawers," he grunted. "Don't you have drawers in your universe?"

"Yes," I snapped. "Could you stand further away from me?"

"What's the matter, darlin'? Do I make you uncomfortable?"

"This close to me while naked, yes." I rolled my eyes, which he must have heard because he huffed, but he did move away, and I was able to get out of that small space.

Quickly, I located the drawer that had jeans and pulled them on. They were tighter than anything I ever wore but somehow, I got them on. The bra selection left a lot to be desired as most of it was see through and really didn't offer much support. I must have made a noise while I was searching for something more modest because he was suddenly beside me.

"Having a problem, sweetheart? Don't see anything you like? My wife loves all the lingerie I buy for her."

"It's not my style," I answered. "Doesn't she have something that covers more?"

"Sports bra," he answered. "Bottom drawer."

I pulled it open, thankful to find an assortment of sports bras. Pulling one out I started to take the T-shirt off that I woke up in then became aware of his eyes on me. Turning around I was startled to see him reclining on the bed, propped up on one elbow, fully clothed, with his booted feet hanging off the bed.

"Do you mind?"

"No, I don't mind at all," he smirked. "Don't let me stop you. I've seen it all anyways."

"But you're married. Wouldn't watching me get dressed make your wife angry?"

He grinned in an almost wolfish manner. "We have an understanding."

"What? The Bucky's I write are monogamous. Are you polyamorous?"

The grin became a broad smile as he looked me up and down. "If the occasion arises. Gotta say I'm curious to see if you have the same appetites as my doll."

"Out!" I wasn't in the mood for this. "Right now. Go downstairs and get your motorcycle ready."

Slowly, he slid off the bed, then approached me, backing me up to the dresser, while looking at me in a way that gave me thrills at the same time as setting off all sorts of warning bells in my head.

"You sure, sunshine?" His fingertips grasped a tendril of my hair, as he twirled it slightly. "I could definitely make you ...."

"Out," I repeated. "Please stop this."

He backed up, suddenly respectful of my space. "Since you said the magic word, I'll wait downstairs for you."

Just like that, he was gone, and I quickly got the sports bra on, then a clean T-shirt. I pulled on some socks and found some boots, sliding them on. With a quick run through of my hair with my fingers I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, wondering what I had done to get into this predicament.

He was waiting on his motorcycle for me, with a helmet in hand. As I stood there, he placed it on my head, adjusting the chin strap then nodding his head in approval, before putting his on. I slid on behind him, grasping him at the waist. His voice came over a Bluetooth speaker in the helmet.

"You okay, darlin'? Have you ridden a motorcycle before?"

"I'm good. My husband has one and I've ridden with him. Where are we going?"

"The Sanctum Sanctorum," he said. "Might as well go straight to Dr. Strange."

Suddenly, we were there, pulling up to an open parking spot in front of the headquarters of the Masters of the Mythical Arts in the middle of Greenwich Village. This was definitely a unique universe, as we skipped over the long motorcycle ride from Brooklyn, then the frustration of finding any sort of parking. Striding over to the door, Bucky rang the bell, and we were ushered in by an acolyte to where Dr. Strange was drinking a cup of tea and Wong was standing there wringing his hands. Before we could even say anything the two men looked at me, then at each other, then at Bucky.

"Where did you find her?" asked Wong.

That wolfish grin briefly appeared again on Bucky's face. "In my bed. Says she's not my wife, so where is she?"

"That is a good question," said Strange, placing his teacup on the table and approaching me, assessing me in a way that was a little disturbing. "Well, this explains a lot. You're from the real world, aren't you? Beyond the fourth wall."

"Yes, I guess. I'm a fanfiction writer and was taking a nap. When I woke up it was next to him." I pointed at Bucky. "The thing is, he's nothing like the Bucky Barnes character that I write about."

"What's different about him?" Strange's one eyebrow was higher than the other. It was one thing seeing it in the movies but another thing seeing it in person. "Is there a problem with my face?"

"No, no. The biggest difference is that the Bucky's I write are monogamous and this one is polyamorous."

"And? That's a problem?"

I became aware that I was in the middle of all three men, and they were looking at me as if I were lunch, served on a platter just for them.

"Stop!" I barked. "Yeah, it's a problem, okay? Is this a polyamorous universe? Because I'm not! I'm married to one man, and I want to go back to him. Please, you must find a way to get me back to where I belong."

Wong backed away from me first. "She's right. Consent is still required in this universe. Plus, with her being from beyond the fourth wall we could really hurt her. She's actual flesh and blood ... we're fictional characters."

Dr. Strange backed away, returning to his cup of tea. Bucky, well, he just sprawled on a couch as if he had always lived there.

"Tell me about what you were doing before you slept," said Strange.

I told him about the physical changes to Bucky's appearance based on the leaked preview of Thunderbolts* and how the fandom was worrying about his portrayal, and the fact that after a six part series of him and Sam becoming friends Marvel just casually split them apart into two different movies as if the other didn't even exist.

"You care about him," said Strange, his voice neutral. "You want him to be happy."

"Well, yeah," I replied. "The man lost everything that mattered to him and was tortured for 70 years, experimented on, and forced to become a killer for a gang of authoritarian thugs. My thing, my contribution to fanfiction is that Bucky gets a happy ending."

"Sweetheart, I have that," said the super soldier, from where he sat on the couch. "I admit that I am fucked up, but my wife makes me happy and her interest in our extramarital activities is the same as mine. Yet, you treat me like I'm some sort of deviant."

"No, it's not that." I sighed. "Other writers see you in this way and that's fine; that's their thing and lots of people read them and enjoy them but I guess I just like you better when you're monogamous, kind and gentle. To someone like me, this version of you is a bit scary and overwhelming."

"That's fair," he murmured. "You look like my wife. Does your husband look like me?"

"No, not at all," I smiled. "He's shorter, balding, not as fit. But he loves me and he's faithful, kind, and gentle. He beta reads my stories, and I even wrote a Black Widow smut piece just for him. I think he imagines me as his Black Widow sometimes."

Bucky grinned, then nodded his head approvingly.

"Do they break the fourth wall in this Thunderbolts* movie?" asked Wong.

"I don't know. It hasn't come out yet and there's been very few previews of it. I think the only Marvel character that breaks the fourth wall is Deadpool. His movie with Wolverine just came out recently and is making a ton of money."

Both Dr. Strange and Wong perked up. "Deadpool? As in Wade Wilson?"

I nodded. "Yeah, he's fully aware in the movies and comic books that he's fictional. He often breaks the fourth wall."

My voice tapered off. Was I here because of Deadpool?

"Sunshine, have you seen the movie?" Bucky was also sitting upright.

I nodded my head. "My husband and I went to see the matinee just a few days ago."

A green glow emanated from the time stone as Dr. Strange went to wherever he went when he activated it. Wong watched him carefully as did Bucky. Then the Supreme Sorcerer stopped his permutations and gazed at me.

"The Time Variance Authority are in this movie," he stated. "I have a feeling they're involved in this. But why they would take someone from the real world and place them here is a mystery to me."

Suddenly a TVA portal opened in front of us, and B-15 walked out followed by me, at least a version of me, wearing only a T-shirt and panties. Bucky jumped up from the couch.

"Doll? Is it you?"

"Oh Daddy, I was so afraid," she cried, as he wrapped his arms around her. "I woke up in a cell and didn't know how I got there, and ...." She noticed me. "She's me."

"I'm sorry," said B-15, looking at me. "A terrible mistake was made. Beyond the fourth wall is usually forbidden to our hunters but when you went to see the Deadpool movie your presence was noticed in the theatre with your Bucky variant."

"Wait, my husband is a Bucky variant?"

The leader of the TVA smiled. "Well, yes. It's why you write Bucky Barnes fanfiction. You see him as Bucky and yourself as the original female character. You don't have to look alike to be a variant. It's just that you're kind of the model for the OFC in your own universe where you draw your inspiration from. It's supposed to be a private universe and off limits to the TVA. Unfortunately, one of our hunters didn't understand that. He removed Mrs. Barnes here as an illegal variant and installed you as the original in this universe. He has been sent for judgement and won't be in a position to do that again. We are also making sure all of our hunters are aware that the Bucky Barnes fanfiction that you write and read in your own private universe is just that, private, at least to us."

"So how do we get this Mrs. Barnes back to her universe beyond the fourth wall?" asked Dr. Strange. "I have the feeling it's beyond my capabilities."

B-15 smiled at him. "It is but not beyond mine. As soon as she's ready to go I'll open a portal back to her universe."

It sounded simple and like many movies, a little bit of a quick fix, but I wanted to go back so I wasn't going to question it. Wong smiled at me.

"Good luck on the next one shot," he said.

I nodded at him, then Dr. Strange looked at me in that superior way he sometimes had. "I knew there would be a logical solution."

"Right."

Bucky was next, his wife already wearing his leather jacket.

"Oh, this is yours," I said, starting to take the one I had off.

"Keep it sweetheart, as a souvenir," he smirked. "Say hi to your husband for me. Tell me something. The lady there said something about the fiction you read. Does that mean you do read the polyamorous stuff, since you ended up in my bed?"

I sighed as I hated being put in a position of agreeing. "Every so often one captures my eye," I admitted. "Doesn't mean it's something I'm interested in trying."

"If you say so." He glanced at his wife with affection. "You came through for me. I appreciate it."

I looked at B-15. "I'm ready."

She nodded at the others, then punched a few buttons on her TemPad. A portal opened and I walked through it, then felt the touch of my husband's hand on my shoulder as I was still on top of the bed.

"Honey? Wake up."

I sat up, saw my husband, and felt a rush of affection for him.

"Sorry, I took a nap, and I guess I was more tired than what I thought."

"No worries," he smiled. "Um, did you go shopping today? Is that a new jacket and jeans and boots?"

I was still in the other Mrs. Barnes' clothing.

"Yes?" I answered, tentatively.

He smiled and nodded his head appreciatively. "I like them. Makes you look hot. You should wear stuff like that more often." Offering me his hand, he helped me up. "What do you think of taking a ride on the bike and going to a diner for dinner? My treat."

"Sounds like a plan," I answered. "Just let me freshen up a little."

When I got outside my husband was already waiting on his Vespa. I know what you're thinking ... a Vespa is not a motorcycle. Maybe not in the traditional sense but it is what we have and it's a lot of fun. I still get to wrap my arms around my husband's waist and maybe he doesn't have a hard body like Bucky Barnes, but he's all mine and I don't have to share him with anyone. Besides, now that I know he's a Bucky variant I understand how he knows what I like between the sheets, if you get what I mean. When I do write smut, I'm writing about my Bucky, the one I live with in this universe, beyond the fourth wall.

One Shots Masterlist

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #bucky barnes oneshot #james buchanan barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #multiverse #TVA #bucky barnes variants #writing something silly

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