#f: doom at your service | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hufflegruff · 1 year ago

Note

girl the way i RAN when i saw you asking for requests as a break from a knowing look!!! if youre down to maybe do something like hurt comfort vibes? with sebastian x MC? like mayhaps they’re fighting and MC gets hurt and protective Sebastian comes out? literally in love with everything you’ve written!!! you’re amazing! <3

I was meant to write a drabble but somehow this became a NOVEL?! Good lord. I really wanted to do it justice!!! I hope you guys still enjoy it!!!

It takes a disaster

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader Word Count: 5k Contains: Fluff, angst, making out!!! Requested: The lovely @ithinkweallsing and @musicbecky had similar requests about protective Seb x hurt MC so I combined both :)

Summary:

“And why didn’t you think to tell me that you were struck by a bloody unforgivable curse before you fell lifelessly onto the fucking floor!” He yelled. She winced at the loudness of his voice. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch the love of your life almost die in your fucking arms?” His deafening voice echoed through the chambers of the hospital wing. She stared at him, mouth agape. Sorry, was she dreaming? What was that he just said?

It takes a disaster

When she first resigned to the pitiful fact that she was very likely in love with Sebastian Sallow, she accepted her fate. Doomed to suffer in an unrequited love she held for her best friend.

Merlin, it was such a cliché.

Honestly, she would have laughed at herself if it didn’t also feel so pathetically miserable.

Somewhere along the way, amid catacombs and restricted sections and ancient relics, she found herself becoming dissatisfied with just friendship. And before she could even catch herself, she had already fallen. Buried ten feet underground by the weight of her own despicable, cavernous feelings.

Because they’d been best friends for long enough for her to know that Sebastian Sallow flirted like his livelihood depended on it. If courting witches was a sport, he’d be a professional. It came to him as naturally as breathing.

That was why Cressida Blume battered her eyelashes so feverishly everytime he was near. And why Samantha Dale had been so Goddamn adamant on being her potions partner, so she could siphon hints on how best to charm the Slytherin for herself.

And why she would never entertain the idea that any of Sebastian’s pretty words could be anything more than lip service.

So she went out of her way to find reasons to keep herself busy. Taking jobs and doing favours for townsfolk in the vicinity, so that she wouldn’t have to sit with her own feelings. Or Sebastian himself. Hoping that by the time it came for them to leave Hogwarts, that she would find peace and leave her feelings for him in the deepest depths of the castle.

The distance would help. It just had to.

Unfortunately for her, when she had said that she was heading to the poacher camp up in the Poidsear coast by her lonesome, Sebastian insisted that he absolutely had to come along.

“Don’t be daft. Of course I have to come with you. Who else is going to swoop in when your sorry arse needs saving?” He teased.

She was almost offended, “I don’t need a babysitter, Sebastian.”

“Not a babysitter,” he clarified, “A knight in shining armor,” with a dashingly flirtatious smile.

She felt her heart flutter, and cursed his annoyingly perfect fluffy hair for it. What business did it have looking so attractive? Honestly, the cheek of these Slytherin boys to say such rousing things.

Ominis, Sebastian and herself had been lazing in the grass in front of the main school grounds. But with a deft wave of his hand Seastian beckoned over his broom, and it zipped obediently over.

“Come on. Let’s go.” Sebastian said easily.

“What? Right now?” She replied in disbelief.

“Well, I don’t see anything better to do. Do you?”

From beside him, Ominis piped up annoyed, “Um, excuse me. Did we not agree that we needed to finish our group project today so as to not suffer the wrath of Sharp’s horrid temper?”

Silently, she thanked Ominis for the diversion and prayed Sebastian would take it.

“Like I said. Nothing better to do.” Sebastian reiterated shamelessly.

Ominis rolled his eyes, “Absolute moron you are. Whatever. Take him off my hands for all I care.”

Well that didn’t go at all the way she hoped.

“But I’ve… not even stocked up on my potions.” She said weakly.

Sebastian wasn’t having it.

“Come on, it’s just a routine poacher clear out! I’ve got a couple of Wiggenwelds on me. You know it’s going to be a cakewalk for the both of us.”

She could never say no to him. Not when he looked at her like that. She imagined that most girls couldn’t either. An ugly, decrepit feeling bubbled up in the pit of her stomach. But she willed herself to push the unhelpful thought down and out of sight.

“Fine.” She caved with a haughty flip of her hair, “But try to keep up. I don’t want to have to take care of you out there.”

In a ridiculously exaggerated display of chivalry, he offered her his hand and led her onto the broom with a coy smile.

“Ladies first.”

This boy was going to be the death of her. The ride to Poidsear would all but confirm that.

Sebastian had insisted that she sit in front of him to steer — and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand how she had willingly agreed to put herself in this position. His breath was right in the crook of her neck, and his warm hands were wrapped all too tightly around her waist. Did he really think that she could steer like this? She was appalled at how totally inconsiderate he was by being so oblivious to her feelings.

She could hardly hear her own thoughts — not even the intrusive ones — let alone focus on the fly.

Was he doing this on purpose? Because it was annoying.

The singularly, most vexing thing he could do in fact. She had a mission to concentrate on. She didn’t need to be sidetracked. She hadn’t even wanted him and his distracting face to come along in the first place.

“Merlin. Hold me any tighter and I might burst, Sebastian.” She tried her best to make it sound casual. With the light cadence of a joke, and not the high stakes affair it felt like.

“Well, I can’t risk having you falling to an untimely death under my watch. I’d never hear the end of it from Ominis. Or Samantha. For killing her potions partner at such a crucial time in the academic year,” He joked.

His tone was teasing, but she hated that his words sounded so… carefree. Completely unbothered. It bruised her heart more than she liked to admit, but it hurt her to know that he probably thought that this was the same as being in close proximity to Anne.

And why the bloody hell did he have to mention Samantha Dale at a time like this? Unprompted and all. Teenage boys really had no tact. If that had been a glimpse into Sebastian’s mind, she didn’t want to see it. Lock it up and throw away the keys and unleash it into the depths of the black sea to never be found.

If she just ignored it, and never faced it head on, maybe her heart would break a little bit softer.

“Right.” She replied curtly, willing the dejection she felt to go away.

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

“No.”

He paused in contemplation, before declaring, “You’re upset.”

He had said it so matter of factly she almost couldn’t disagree with him. Almost. She cursed herself for not being able to hide the bitterness in her voice better. She cursed him for noticing this of all things.

“Don’t be silly. I’m not.” She retorted harshly.

When the words left her mouth, she quickly regretted them. She felt guilty for how unnecessarily rude it sounded. But she couldn’t talk about this. There was objectively no good way to explain why she seemed so irrationally bothered without emotionally vomiting her feelings onto him.

But before she could apologise, he chose to let it go.

And she didn’t know if she felt relieved or even more devastated.

The rest of their journey to Poidsear was endured in silence. When they finally arrived, they landed just at the precipice of the poacher camp. It was time to get serious, she mentally chided herself. There was simply no time to torment herself with such frivolous nonsense.

They kept out of sight behind a mountain of crates next to a tent. Making sure to stay hidden, she briskly surveyed the scene. She could see from the corner of her eye, a family of hippogriffs chained in cages by the Eastern front. But getting to them would be no easy feat; the area was littered with Ashwinders at every corner.

“God. There’s more of them than I thought.” She whispered to herself.

“Worried? How very unlike you.” Sebastian raised a brow in response.

“Not at all. It’s just you would think that these degenerates would have more productive things to do with themselves than taking magical creatures as prisoners.” She whispered with a scoff.

She had not even one ounce of respect for the Ashwinders, especially those of the poaching variety. Those who made a nefarious career out of hunting innocent, majestic creatures for blood sport were the worst of them.

To her surprise, when she turned to look at Sebastian, he was looking straight at her with an enigmatic smile.

And then suddenly, she felt self-conscious.

“What?” She whispered nervously.

Sebastian murmured warmly, “This is a little nostalgic is it not?”

“How so?”

“You. Me. The exhilarating thrill of getting caught at any moment. Feels like fifth year doesn’t it?” His voice was lower than usual, quieter, with a hint of something dastardly alluring.

It made her heart skip an alarming amount of beats and her skin shiver at the sound of it. She felt an outrageously girlish impulse to snog him and hex him and run far, far away from him all at once. What she would give for him to have a taste of his own medicine. Even if he wasn’t in love with her, maybe she still could grab him by the collar and kiss him silly until his lips were bruised.

Maybe that would finally fluster him.

Because by God, he deserved to be put in his place for all the bloody grief he unknowingly gave her.

He was looking at her so affectionately, and that was just so uncalled for. Honestly, she didn’t know how he managed to flirt so skilfully even in the face of imminent danger. In the near vicinity of bloodthirsty dark wizards. If she wasn’t so conflicted by it all she would be impressed. She imagined that Sebastian Sallow could probably flirt with Death himself and get away with it.

Perhaps that would be a rather useful quality in an Auror. Perhaps, when they were back in the safety of the castle, she would suggest it as a fitting career path for him—

“Look what we have here. A little far from Hogwarts aren’t we?”

She felt her blood freeze over at the sound of the new voice. Sebastian stiffened. A sinister chill ran up her spine.

When she turned, she was greeted by the menacing smile of an Ashwinder, cloaked in shadows. And almost as if the Hermes had struck her himself, the girl wonder retaliated at reckless speeds and pointed her wand with venomous hostility at the dark wizard in front of them.

Fuck. She cursed internally. Her guard had been irresponsibly down. She hadn’t even heard him approach them.

Sebastian probably sensed her panic, and squeezed her hand twice.

Once to comfort her, the second to ask her to follow his lead.

Raising his hands up in mock surrender, Sebastian said sardonically with a wry smile “Sir, we were just passing by the area. We didn’t know that this was private property. Terribly sorry for the intrusion. If you allow us, we’ll be on our way now.”

The Ashwinder scoffed, “Save it kid, I know exactly who you two meddlesome brats are.”

“Oh well that’s unfortunate.” Sebastian said patronisingly.

Her grip on her wand tightened. She wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with this, but she knew that she had to be ready.

“Why’s that?” The Ashwinder asked with a laugh.

“Because that means I have to do this.”

And suddenly, with a swift motion, Sebastian lunged forward with his wand. And almost as if by blind, brazen instinct, her own hands followed suit.

“Confringo!”

“Expelliarmus!”

“Protego!”

Red, green, and blue. The colours of their spells cackled at lightning speeds against the howling wind.

But soon enough their commotion caused a ruckus, and it became an army against two measly bodies.

“Shit!” Sebastian cursed under his breath.

And frankly, she had to give it to them to their credit, these Ashwinders proved to be pretty formidable adversaries. They moved faster than the others did. And their spells missed her more narrowly than they normally did. But still, actually hitting her was the aim. Close enough wasn’t good enough, and she was determined to make sure that they would never achieve it.

She’d make sure of it — they didn’t call her the girl wonder for nothing.

Spells collided and echoed around her, the acrid scent of fire filling her nostrils. If peril were a smell, this is what she imagined that it would smell like.

And in the midst of the chaos, without a surge of power erupted from one of the Ashwinders. Like a strike straight out of God’s hand — with a single, severe flash of light — a calamitous spell was unleashed, enveloping the camp grounds in a sheathe of blinding white.

And when the light became less blinding, she found herself separated from Sebastian.

Panic welled up within her as she searched the battlefield, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Sebastian!" She called out.

Where was Sebastian?

Fuck. That wasn’t good. She needed to find Sebastian.

Like insidious tendril vines, fear crept into her veins. Yet she willed the anxiousness in her brain to focus; willed it to calm down. Sebastian was a capable wizard. He could handle a few pesky Ashwinders.

Just as capable as she was.

Because with a flick of her wrist, shields shattered and hexes were deflected. With every spell she cast, the wind sang as her curses hit bodies, like a force of nature answering her call. One by one Ashwinders fell under the weight of her unyielding assault.

But then a piercing hex sliced right through her defences.

Her protego shattered, and she was thrown backward into a mess of limbs onto the ground.

“Crucio!”

The sound of the spell sent chills down her spine. It brought her back to the scriptorium. It brought her back to a shadow of Sebastian that she had been trying to forget.

But before she could run, scream, dive or react — it reached her.

And just as torturously as it had the very first time she endured it, pain erupted through her body as she was thrown backward, limbs contorting as she crumbled in agony onto gritty soil. Back then, it had felt as if lightning had struck every single nerve ending in her body. This time it felt like she was burning under a flame that was twice as brutal.

The pain was relentless. Her mind screamed for respite, for any brief release from this torture. She clawed at the ground, gripping her nails deep into the dirt, as if seeking solace in the earth itself. But there was no escape. No reprieve.

Through the haze of pain, she caught glimpses of the Ashwinder that had casted the curse. Even through her blurry vision, she could see that they were gloating. Content at how they had reduced her to nothing more than a writhing, broken vessel.

And God, that pissed her off immensely.

If they could sense the literal thunder in her veins, she wondered if they would be so cavalier?

She didn’t think so.

Through gritted teeth; through sheer determination, she struggled onto her feet with her body shaking in defiance. Summoned the last remnants of her ancient magic, her wand trembling in her shaky hand. A surge of energy flowed through her veins. The air above the tips of her fingers crackled with raw power as she channeled her magic, focusing it into a singularly devastating spell.

And when it hit the Ashwinder, it eviscerated them in waves.

In between all the fighting and screaming and surviving, she didn’t remember much of the details.

But all of a sudden, it was silent.

And all of the sudden, it was just her standing alone in plumes of dust.

When the air finally settled down, she felt herself start to cave. The adrenaline had done its job and was quickly leaking out of her blood stream. As if she had exerted and drained every last ounce of her spirit and was on the verge of collapse.

Was it just her, or were the skies starting to fade?

The pain in her chest was still excruciating. This cruciatus curse felt different from the one that Sebastian had casted on her before.

This one was lingering.

Like it was clawing onto her heart and gripping onto it in a chokehold with a resentful vengeance. Despite having just won, she didn’t have a spare moment to feel relieved. The pain was quickly growing and air couldn’t seem to reach her lungs fast enough.

But Sebastian… Where was Sebastian? The panic began to rumble within her. She had foolishly let her own guard down, and let him out of her sight. She mustered what little energy she had left and moved her head frantically in search of him.

How could she ever forgive herself if she let him die?

But when she saw a figure barreling head first towards her, even through blurry eyes and the crackle in the depths of her tired limbs, she knew that it was him. And like an oasis in the blistering desert, the comfort she felt from seeing his face was a brief solace to the pain.

If this was where she was destined to meet her end, she hazily deliberated, at least she could draw her last breath in peace knowing that he was safe.

(Not to be dramatic or anything.)

When Sebastian finally caught up to her, he laughed and bursted out breathily, “Merlin… Whatever you and your ancient magic did back there was insane.”

He was safe, and that was all that mattered. She didn’t have the energy anymore. Not for a conversation, let alone banter. She needed to preserve her last scraps of her battered stamina to make it back to the castle and patch herself up in solitude.

And one thing was for certain: Sebastian could not know.

“I think we managed pretty well.” He said with a tired smile.

“Yeah,” she replied breathily, “W-we did good.”

She sounded a mess. She hoped that he wouldn’t notice.

To her dismay, the look on his face immediately switched into that of deep concern.

He interrogated hurriedly, “What wrong? You sound a little off. Are you hurt?”

Everything was wrong. The discomfort that gripped her chest was getting worse with every passing second. Standing was starting to become too taxing of an undertaking for her.

But needless to say, she didn’t want another thing to worry about, and Sebastian would always make an unnecessarily big fuss anytime she was hurt. Even if it was just a minuscule scratch. He was always too distraught; too tender. It was one of the things she adored most about him.

And she absolutely loathed him for it.

So her stubbornness was persuaded that suffering in silence was the easier of two fates.

Indignantly, she retorted, “How rude. I’ll have you k-know I’m perfectly f-fine.”

Her words were starting to slur, not that she noticed. But Sebastian clearly had. Assertively, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her towards him.

“You’re not fine.” He declared demandingly.

As he frantically searched her eyes, arms, back, legs for signs of what was wrong, she found herself nuzzled in the nook of his chest. She felt her willpower wither slightly in his flustered hands.

In the shallow breaths that she took, she could smell him. The musk of pinewood and sputtering fireplaces and late nights drifting in the restricted section. An aromatic cocktail that was overwhelmingly intoxicating.

Now she was getting angry. And drowsy. And dizzy. Why couldn’t Sebastian tell that he was being so selfish by being so considerate? He needed to stop touching her so carelessly. She was lightheaded enough as it is, she didn’t need his excessive gentleness to add fuel to the flames of her absurd delusions.

But maybe if she just closed her eyes and rested for this brief moment. Sebastian would take the hint and just leave her be. Maybe all she needed was a quick lie down and he would see that she was perfectly fine.

“Oh fuck, there’s so much blood— hey, hey!”

She could see Sebastian calling out her name, but she couldn't hear it. And soon enough she realised, she wasn’t fighting it anymore. And soon enough, Sebastian was no longer in sight. Soon enough, she found herself alone in a quiet, soothing darkness.

Something was twisting at her to give into slumber. Into solitude. Into emptiness. She vaguely remembered from one of Sharp’s more riveting lectures that when poisoned - one should always fight the urge.

But she could still feel the warmth of Sebastian’s hands on the small of her back, and the comfort of it lulled her to relinquish control. After a few ambivalent moments, drifting in and out of awareness, she surrendered to sleep.

When she woke, she was greeted by a horrendously pounding headache. She had no sense of place, but a low groaning ache in her bones. Her eyes struggled to open, but she could feel the warm sun on the tip of her nose, and the tips of her cheeks. The softness of the sun quelled a little bit of the soreness in her body.

She deduced that wherever she was, it was warm and safe. Despite the ache in her bones, there was also a weightlessness to her body. Therefore, she somehow rationalised with herself that this was very likely heaven.

Or any other religious equivalent afterlife.

She wasn’t picky. Any one would do, really.

When her bleary eyes finally pulled themselves open, the fragmented parts of her vision pieced together a faint picture. Of pristine white linen and crisply casted grey brick. A peculiar blend of sickly artificial peonies and concentrated chemicals flooded her nostrils.

Which was odd. Because she hadn’t imagined that the afterlife would feel quite so sterile.

“Fucking hell,” spoke a voice she could never not recognise, and she was shocked.

Did heaven include conjuring up a phantom Sebastian from the figment of her deepest imaginations to keep her company for the rest of eternity?

“Sebastian?”

“You’re awake.” His voice was hoarse.

When her eyes finally focused, she saw him properly. It was definitely Sebastian Sallow, the boy that had her heart leaping acres across the Hebridean seas. But in all her years of knowing and pining for him, she’d never seen him look so terrible. His hair was disheveled as if it had endured a torrid storm. His eyes were heavy and solemn, as if they had tolerated an eternity of grief.

This seemed all too real. Too visceral.

Maybe this wasn’t heaven.

“Am I dead?” She thought to confirm.

He laughed a humourless laugh.

“No. You’re in the hospital wing.”

So this was real. She was in pain because her body had been bruised like a peach.

When she finally looked around, she found herself neatly tucked into the covers of an infirmary bed. She couldn’t recall how she got here, and only remembered a few little scraps of the event that led up to Poidsear. But if she had to be certain of anything, Sebastian must’ve brought her back to the castle.

“I guess that makes sense,” She said with as much mirth as she could muster, “Heaven couldn’t be this quaint.”

Clearly Sebastian hadn’t found it funny at all, which is why she was met with silence.

As she cleared her throat, she asked, “What happened?”

For some reason, Sebastian was doing everything in his power to avoid her eye.

“An Ashwinder hit you with a modified version of the cruciatus curse. She tampered the spell and combined it with a blood poisoning hex. You… could’ve died.” He said through gritted teeth. It seemed as if he struggled to even get the words out.

In an attempt to diffuse the graveness of his tone, she made a joke.

“Unlucky. Maybe next time they try to kill me they’ll actually get it right.”

But once again, Sebastian didn’t laugh. If anything, he only got more aggrieved. She felt his grip on the edge of her bed frame tighten so fiercely, she could see his veins pop and his knuckles turn red. He was being so serious — and she was not at all used to serious Sebastian. She had only seen this side of him once or twice, and only ever because of Anne.

“Are you … upset?” She asked cautiously.

“I’m fucking furious.” He said.

She was gobsmacked.

“Why?”

Finally, he looked at her straight on and her stomach flipped at the sight of it. He looked absolutely distraught. Like the splintered shell of a boy who had been cracked open and drained dry of his will to live. Behind the hard look in his eyes, radiated something cloudy, tempestuous and devastating.

“It was my fault that we were even there.” He said

She hadn’t known that a voice could carry such grief and anger simultaneously. But Sebastian’s voice was laced with insurmountable despair. And it broke her heart irrevocably to think that she could’ve caused him so much pain.

Did he think that he was to blame?

That was ridiculous.

“I thought-” he started to say again, but his voice cracked.

I thought I lost you? I thought I’d left you for dead? She wondered if that was what he was going to say.

“Sebastian…” She finally began “It’s not-”

“And why didn’t you think to tell me that you were struck by a bloody unforgivable curse before you fell lifelessly onto the fucking floor!” He yelled.

She winced at the loudness of his voice.

“I didn’t think-”

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch the love of your life almost die in your fucking arms?”

His deafening voice echoed through the chambers of the hospital wing.

She stared at him, mouth agape.

Sebastian himself looked shocked by the words out of his own mouth.

Sorry, what was that he just said?

Was she dreaming? Was she hallucinating? Had Sebastian Sallow really said that he loved her? Her? Complicated, chaotic, haphazard her? Even if her brain couldn’t quite process what she was saying, her heart had certainly understood. It was battering against her ribcage so firmly that she swore it would no sooner burst out of her chest.

“You… love me?” Even as the words sat in her mouth, even as she tasted it meticulously on the edge of her tongue — she still couldn’t believe them.

With his head buried in his hands, Sebastian groaned.

Obviously that wasn’t what he had wanted to say, and that terrified the living shit out of her. He looked as if he considered going back on it. Saying that it had just been an emotional slip of the tongue.

But to her surprise, he stood firm.

“Fuck.” He cursed, “Isn’t it fucking obvious?”

His words still weren’t fully sinking in. Her brain was running so fast that it was on the verge of failing her entirely. There were so many things she wanted to ask him. Was it obvious? To who exactly? By what egregious definition? And did he expect her to just take his word and say that this little detail was always hidden in plain sight for her to find?

Then there were other more intrusive thoughts she couldn’t shake. Like what about all the girls that fawned over his every word. What about all the other girls that were softer, prettier, more endearing than her? She just hoped that whatever she chose to say, that she wouldn’t let out the intrusive ones first.

“...What about Samantha?” She blurted practically incoherently.

Oh Merlin. Why did she say that? Why was that the first thing she said to him after she had just been on the verge of death? After he had just confessed his love for her.

Never had she felt so exasperated with herself for being so dumb.

Unsurprisingly, Sebastian looked at her as if she’d just grown three heads. She also considered that maybe she had enunciated so poorly that he hadn’t understood a single thing she said. Either way, just as she was about to laugh it away - change the subject - he responded.

“... What about Samantha?”

Suddenly, she felt too shy to ask. But she knew she had to follow through.

“... You’re not in love with Samantha?” She asked meekly.

Sebastian stared at her in absolute disbelief.

“Are you crazy?” he began incredulously, “You think I fancy Samantha Dale?”

It wasn’t that crazy of a thought, she wanted to retort.

But before she could even get a word in, Sebastian bulldozed on.

“Fucking hell. I think I’ve mentioned her name all but three times in the last six years I’ve been in this castle. All I talk about is you all day everyday, which makes Ominis go absolutely livid! All you have to do is say my name and I’d stop everything at the drop of a fucking hat to do literally anything you ask for me—”

Did he know what he was saying? She wanted to scream. The feelings in her chest were so intense she feared that she might just throw up.

Could he hear the absolutely ludicrous and inconceivable things coming out of his silly mouth? Did he know what in Salazar’s name he was saying to her?

And he wasn’t even done yet.

“—I look for you in every hallway, every classroom, every corner in this bloody castle! For Merlin’s sake, I can’t even begin to fathom how you could not know that I’m stupidly love with you—”

Despite herself. Despite the stabbing pain in her chest. Despite the stitches in her lungs. She lunged her body forward and pushed her own chapped, split and desperate lips onto his.

And when their lips met — good God.

She had no idea how she had waited so long to do this.

And she hoped for his sake that Sebastian hadn’t said any of that lightly, because now that she had finally had him, she was never ever letting him out of her shaky, unpracticed hands.

At first, Sebastian had been taken aback. His mouth unmoving, eyes open in disbelief. It was as if he was observing the scene from outside of himself.

But then soon enough — he was all in, and he had his hands cupping the curve of her cheek to pull her closer to him. Soon enough, Sebastian was kissing her like he was looking for something. Pushing, pulling, scouring the shape of her mouth like she was a puzzle to be deciphered. Gripping tightly onto the sides of her waist and the small of her back like she was a prized to be possessed.

And she obliged.

Whatever he wanted to know she’d tell him. If she were a prize, she'd use every cheat every ruse in her arsenal to make sure he'd win.

She just hoped that her needy moans conveyed her willingness to be compliant in his competent hands.

Her limbs ached, her bones groaned. This kiss was too wild, too strenuous, too demanding for her worn out body. But she didn’t care. The floodgates had opened now, whether either of them knew it, and this feeling was unquenchable.

He tasted like home and aftershave and salt and all those silly peppermint candies he ate all the time. If she could fasten herself to him with an irreversible stitch, she would. If she could seal herself into a perfect mould of his arms, she would. If the shivers that raced down her spine could etch themselves permanently into her nerve endings in her skin, she’d gladly bear the mark.

In between peppered, sloppy kisses, she managed to gasp, "I'm in love with you too."

There was no time for pauses. She had no use for breathing; no use for air. She had no use for anything that didn’t include his lips.

His laugh was gravelly and tired and breathy. But it was filled with relief and tenderness all the same.

“Thank fucking god,” Sebastian murmured.

Her hands instinctively found their way to his hair, fingers tangling into the strands of his. She revelled in the texture of him. In her daydreams and her undisclosed fantasies, she had always wondered what it would feel like. Would he be as gentle as his charms implied? Or was he as abrasive as his words could be?

But despite his devouring intensity, despite how ardently he consumed her — everything about Sebastian was soft. His lips were soft. His body was soft. His hands were soft.

She leaned in to kiss him again, but he pulled back. Which immensely disappointed her. And she wasn’t shy to let it show on her face.

"Be careful. You're still recovering." He managed to get out, but it was weak.

Yes, that was true. It was very lovely and sensible of him to say.

But frankly, she couldn't give two fucks.

"I wouldn't mind dying today," she replied breathlessly, her voice laced heavily with longing.

He groaned into the edge of her mouth, "Way too soon."

She smiled wryly. Was it wicked of her to take delight in how protective he was being?

Silence hung in the air.

"Please just... just be careful next time?" he said, his voice wavering slightly.

She looked into his eyes, "I will."

With a gentle squeeze of his hand, she hoped that he knew that she truly meant it. That by definition, her feelings for him meant that her assurance was very much real. Because if not with words, she needed him to know through this gesture that she too looked for him in every inch of this castle. That she too would drop everything at his beck and call.

He squeezed her hand back in return.

Message understood?

“And as much as I’d love to keep kissing you," he whispered with a playful glint in his eye, "I would hate for Nurse Blainey to shun me from the infirmary for so shamelessly accosting one of her patients."

A soft chuckle escaped her lips, the tension easing between them. "You're right. We wouldn't want that," she replied, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

—

A/N: This is deffo a little different from the normal soft/simpy Seb that I write. I tried to go for overly flirtatious and wildly charming Seb and a pining MC this time to shake things up!! I still think they're cuties.

Gosh, I hope you guys liked it!! I'M STILL WORKING ON OTHER REQUESTS and of course my bb A Knowing Look! They will be taking a while but I promise I will be putting my heart and soul into them.

xoxo gruff

#sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow imagines #sebastian sallow fic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy #requests

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sebsbarnes · 1 year ago

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apologizes || tangerine

tangerine x f!reader

summary: you voice your concerns about tangerine's profession, to which he doesn't take kindly

warnings: mentions of injury, swearing, drinking, nothing bad at all

word count: 1.5k+ ; angst(?), comfort(?)

tangerine masterlist

"c'mon c'mon," you harshly whispered gesturing them inside.

tangerine and lemon bustled inside, accidently bumping into your shoulder, breathing out heavily holding themselves against the beige wall.

"we owe you big time," lemon huffed sliding off his stained coat and folding it haphazardly on his arm.

"it's fine. you both know i don't mind."

"well, that can be the problem, love. it's not exactly safe," tangerine tutted wiping blood off his forehead with his palm.

"then i'll pay the price eventually but until then i don't care as long as you two are safe," you peered out the door before bolting it and herding them to the living room.

about twenty minutes ago you got a text from lemon saying him and tangerine were on a job nearby that went bad and they needed somewhere to hide. it was supposed to be a simple in-and-out at a software company but unfortunately, they were ambushed and they were running through the city trying to lose the men trailing behind them. lemon texted that they were close enough to make it to your house while also making sure the men would be gone before they got there. you didn't even hesitate when you texted lemon to come straight here. you wandered back into the living room with two glasses of water in hand and a bottle of whiskey tucked under your arm. tangerine leaned over to the bottle and winced in pain which he tried to hide, horribly.

"you're hurt," you stated.

"it's nothing, just a scratch," he waved off opting to chug the whiskey. when he lifted his arm you noticed the large blood patch on his shirt.

"you're bleeding you idiot. get up," you demanded giving him a knowing look.

tangerine grumbled under his breath like a child but still followed you to the bathroom. he sat down on the sink and you pulled out the first aid kit. he unbuttoned his shirt tossing it to the side. desperately you tried stopping the heat flooding your face. tangerine leaned back on the mirror to expose his bare torso more. you refused to look him in the eyes while he was half-naked in front of you, all you could do was chew at your lip until you tasted metallic. tangerine dabbed hydrogen peroxide on the wound while you disinfected a small needle.

"why do you do it," you asked softly.

"what this job? makes good money. only thing i'm good at," tangerine said looking down his nose at you cleaning the area below his chest.

you sighed, "well i'm sure there's other things you are good at tangerine. besides, you can make good money at a different job."

"i like what i do. why would i leave it?"

"it's not safe," briefly looking up at him, "aren't you afraid at all. like tonight, things could have gone differently."

this is something you've been thinking a lot lately. there's been an influx in how often the twins get sent on, more than usual, dangerous jobs. today they were lucky with only minor injuries but recently they've sustained quite serious injuries, some even resulting in them going to emergency rooms. you couldn't help the feeling of impending doom each time they told you they were setting off somewhere new. since bolivia and the bullet train in tokyo, the twins have piqued many international eyes for their services. of course, you were proud of them, this is what they wanted but it didn't stop your reservations about their career.

tangerine's tone shifted to irritation and his eyebrows pulled together, "obviously i know the risk. if i had an issue with it i couldn't be in this line of work now would i?"

you shrugged, "i don't know. it just seems like sometimes it's not worth it."

"i don't think lemon and i really asked for your opinion, love. besides, can you really talk when you're associated with two killers?"

before your face was flushed due to tangerine's exposed torso, now your face was flushed in anger. your nostrils were flared out and your once gentle hand stitching him together was now tugging roughly at the skin. you weren't sure exactly what to say to tangerine. yes, you helped the twins out when they needed it because you were their friend. what, were you supposed to let them bleed out every night or let them walk miles and miles to their desired location? no. and the fact tangerine was trying to paint you as a hypocrite made your blood boil. yes you were associated but you never knew any important info besides where they are in the world, they kept everything a secret from you for safety reasons and because it's confidential.

you let out a small laugh in disbelief, "personally, i think there is actually a big difference between ending a person's life and helping those injured. but you didn't ask for my fucking opinion did you?"

the last stitch was shoved roughly into his skin. you shoved a small gauze pad and tape onto his thigh before ripping the door open and leaving the bathroom fuming. you stalked down the hallway and into the living room where you snatched the bottle of whiskey off the table and exited the front door. lemon watched with confusion from the moment you left the bathroom to the moment you left the house. he sighed standing up from the couch and headed towards the bathroom where tangerine was still on the sink leaning back onto the mirror with closed eyes.

"i don't want to hear it," tangerine grumbled.

"well you're gunna fuckin' hear it you idiot. what did you do?"

"i made her mad. said i didn't need her opinion on how dangerous the job is and that we should get new ones," he said peering over at lemon who was stood against the frame of the door with a disapproving look.

"sometimes you really are dense aren't ya?" lemon said matter-of-factly.

tangerine sighed sitting up before covering the stitches, "i'm just tired."

"so that gives you an excuse to be a dickhead?" lemon said pointedly.

all tangerine could do was shake his head.

"you realize not once has she ever cast judgment on us right? the day she found out what we did she could've turned us in yanno? she's there for us all the time, when we need help, when we need a place to stay, when we need money, and on top of all that she's a good friend but you're too arrogant to acknowledge any of it. also, maybe if you opened your fuckin' eyes you'd notice that she's practically in love with your stupid ass," lemon ranted, wacking tangerine on the head.

"i'm a shit person aren't i?" tangerine said aloud but he already knew the answer.

tangerine exhaled heavily, ripping at the gauze and covering his wound. lemon had left the bathroom after his rhetorical question leaving tangerine to his thoughts. he knew he was in the wrong. he took his frustration out at the one person who never deserved it. tangerine walked to the closet in your house where left spare clothes for the twins. pulling on a grey sweater and headed to the front door. you were sitting on the stone steps leading up to the door, arms wrapped tightly around you, the bottle of whiskey now abandoned by your side. tangerine replaced the bottle with himself, eyes shifting to your unmoving figure. he took a swig out of the bottle, the liquor burning at his throat.

"something i've been learning recently," tangerine cleared his throat, "is that i'm a prick a lot of the time."

you hummed and grabbed the bottle that was dangling in his left hand.

"i shouldn't have spoken to you like that darlin'."

"oh you think so?" you joked in agitation.

tangerine scrunched his nose, "look i- i really am sorry. i had no right to speak to you like that especially when you were sat there stitching me up. i know i can be a dick but that doesn't make it okay to be a dick to the one person who has always been there for me. for everything you have done, i don't think i'd ever be able to repay you in this lifetime, but i'll try my best."

in a poor attempt you tried hiding the glossiness of your eyes looking at tangerine. you placed your hand on his knee giving it a light squeeze, "it's okay."

there was moments of silence between you two. the air was slightly chilly, the sky now a midnight blue with flecks of light, the occasional car drove past the house, the people in the front seats singing gleefully to the radio, there was an aroma dancing it's way through the doorframe of your house, lemon must be cooking dinner, all the while your hand continues to bring a sense of comfort to tangerine.

"i am afraid," tangerine finally whispered almost as if it wasn't meant to leave his mouth, a true confession to the question from earlier.

"you know no matter what i am here for you, no matter how much of a dickhead you can be," you joked softly at the end.

tangerine cracked the tiniest of smiles and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you in to lean on him. the thick sweater he wore bringing you comfort against the chill of the night. your fingertips dancing across his knee. it all felt right. and it felt good knowing tangerine was slowly breaking down his walls.

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 4 months ago

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The Daily Mail has helpfully listed all the times Meghan’s rebrands and relaunches have failed.

Archived Link

Here, FEMAIL reveals the Duke and Duchess' projects that, for all the carefully constructed razzmatazz of their launch, have so far come to little.

ARO/Roop:

[L]ittle more has been officially revealed about the brand, with no Instagram posts on the firm's official account since March and the website simply offering fans the chance to join a waitlist. But what exactly are potential customers waiting for? Jam and dog biscuits? A source told The Daily Mail in June that the priority is instead the launch of a rosé wine. It's unclear when exactly American Riviera Orchard products will be available.

Archetypes:

The Duchess, who produced only one series of her podcast Archetypes for Spotify before parting ways with the company, had signed with Lemonada to develop and host a new series. However, a source told Eden that there is not expected to be any work broadcast this year. 'The relaunch of Meghan's Archetypes podcast got pushed back to 2025,' the California-based source says….Lemonada is said to be concerned that there would also be 'scheduling conflicts' between the launch of its podcasts and that of Meghan's lifestyle brand, American Riviera Orchard.

40x40:

It was unclear at the time as to exactly how the project would work, or whether there would be any way to measure its success. But according to The Sun, less than 10 months on, there was no follow-up on the campaign and royal expert Angela Levin said she thought the 40x40 project had been 'cancelled'. She said: 'I think it's very quietly gone into the dustbin,' added that it was an idea of the royal's that 'didn't come off'. There also doesn't seem to be any mention of the 40x40 project on the Duke and Duchess' Archewell website.

Spotify:

Last January, [Bill Simmons, Spotify’s head head of podcast innovation and monetization] blasted Prince Harry, saying it was 'embarrassing' to be affiliated with the same company. 'Shoot this guy to the sun,' he said, according to sports website The Big Lead. 'I'm so tired of this guy. What does he bring to the table? He just whines about s*** and keeps giving interviews. Who gives a s***? Who cares about your life? You weren't even the favourite son. You live in f****** Montecito and you just sell documentaries and podcasts and nobody cares what you have to say about anything unless you talk about the royal family and you just complain about them.'

The couple produced less than 13 hours of content during the three-year partnership: 12 episodes of Meghan's Archetypes show, and a 30-minute Christmas special featuring both the Duke and Duchess.

Pearl/Netflix:

Harry and Meghan signed a five-year agreement with Netflix* in 2020 worth an estimated $100million (£80million) but earlier this year there was speculation that their contract renewal was under threat.

The couple's first launch on the streaming giant was their six-part documentary 'Harry and Meghan' which was released in 2022 and caused controversy with its series of swipes at the Royal Family. … But in May, Netflix dropped Meghan's planned animated series Pearl as part of a wave of cutbacks prompted by the streaming service's drop in subscribers. All references to her doomed animation were wiped from her Archewell website after the series was axed by the streaming giant. A prior description of the series under the Archewell Productions subsection was nowhere to be found after it was cancelled.

*There’s been a lot of speculation over the years about their Netflix deal, but this is the first official confirmation in writing (that I’ve been able to find) that it’s a 5-year deal. This supports my theory that the new push for content (Meghan’s lifestyle show, her cooking show, and Harry’s polo documentary) is a final “do or die” effort to be able to renegotiate their contract and renew their deal.

#sussexes

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echo-rambles · 1 year ago

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yours to keep

words: 1,728 tags: bang chan x f!reader, established relationship, fluff, kissing, attempt at humor. mentions of marriage. vague adhd!reader. notes: this is filled with nothing but fluff. tooth rotting fluff almost. I was feeling so incredibly soft for chan and I just had to get this out of my system. also the movie playing in the bg is absolutely kiki's delivery service.

-o0o-

You’ve refreshed the same three social media apps at least four different times each, falling into an incredibly boring spiral of doom scrolling, before you remember that if you’re bored enough you always have a boyfriend you can bother. It’s one of your favorite activities actually. Because he’s such a good sport about it.

Shifting closer to him on the couch, you perch your chin on his shoulder, pressing close. He immediately leans into your touch, making a small little noise at your proximity. It makes your heart melt a little.

For a few moments you silently watch him work. Clicking about on his laptop, pulling up various recording and editing programs, adding in and taking out bits of audio. You wonder what the track sounds like, but Chan has his big headphones secured to his head, so all you can do right now is imagine.

It’s not completely silent. There’s a Studio Ghibli movie playing in the background that neither of you are watching, volume low enough to be nothing but white noise because you kind of extremely hate when there’s long stretches of absolutely no noise. It’s this weird thing your brain does; where it sort of feels all fuzzy and prickly if things are quiet for too long.

Gently, you push one side of his headphones away from the ear closest to you. “Baby.”

Chan hums in acknowledgement, but his attention is still focused entirely on his laptop.

You’d be more annoyed if you weren’t so used to it by now. It’s kind of his job to be attached to it any second of the day that he’s not either preparing to perform or actively performing. Besides, you’re both sitting together and quietly enjoying each other's company while doing your own things and it’s kind of perfect. Except the thing you were working on has steadily lost your attention and now you want to ask your boyfriend a very important question.

“On a scale of 1-10, how busy are you?” That’s not the question. It’s one of many lead up questions to accurately gauge how invested Chan is in his current project and how easy it will be to distract him.

Another hum, and you watch his cursor rifle around in several different lists and menus. “Maybe a 6.7? Even 6 if I can find the specific snare I’m looking for in the next few minutes.”

Below a 7 is promising. “So you can totally pause what you’re doing and give me like, five minutes?”

Chan clicks around some more, and you recognize a little bit of what he’s doing. Going through the process of saving his progress before shutting his laptop entirely. “Actually, I can give you ten minutes.”

“You’re so generous.” You absolutely take that as your cue to crawl into his lap, taking the place of his computer as he places it somewhere safe off to the side.

“I think I’ve been staring at the screen too long, my eyes are starting to rebel.” He groans, tipping his head back and scrubbing his palms over his face.

Of course you still have that very important question to ask him, but he looks so soft and touchable and you really can’t help yourself. Moving his hands away, you lean in, pressing kisses to both of his cheeks, under each eye. To the tip of his nose, and even kissing his dimple when you feel him smile under your mouth. Using your hands to tilt his face, you kiss each side of his jaw. You move back up, placing a kiss to the curve of his forehead.

Finally, finally, you kiss his mouth. He’s still smiling, but he kisses back happily.

“Feel better?”

He nods, eyes still closed. “I think your kisses might be magic.”

“Oh, they absolutely are.” You kiss him again simply because you can. It’s the sort of kiss that makes your bones all liquid and warm. A kiss you can feel in the roots of your teeth and the hinges of your jaw. It makes your stomach flutter, filled to the brim with colorful wings.

It’s the type of kiss that almost makes you forget the question you wanted to ask him.

“I actually have a very important question for you.” You declare, placing your hands firmly on his shoulders to try and keep him at arm's length. Lest you be drawn back into that mouth of his.

Blinking up at you, breathing heavily and gaze a little dizzy, Chan nods. He mirrors the gesture, anchoring his hands at your hips. “Lay it on me, boss.”

Settling into his lap, you try to ignore how stupidly wrecked he looks. You want to dive back in so badly, but you must stay strong, soldier.

“If, for some unknown reason, you had to leave me to be with someone else, who would you choose?”

That, at least, seems to sober him. Instead of looking soft and kiss-drunk, he comes back to himself, the gears behind his eyes starting to turn and grind together as he processes your insane question.

You like to ask him things like this from time to time. Completely unprompted but thought provoking questions, because they really do feel important. You like to know these things. Not in a paranoid jealous sort of way. It’s all genuine curiosity. You just like to know.

“What kind of question is that? I don’t know. I can’t say I’ve ever thought about leaving you, or being with anyone else.”

“That is the sweetest sentiment and I need you to know I’m feeling very warm and mushy over it, but it’s also incredibly boring.”

“Wow, ok. I don’t know! Who would you choose?” He tries to throw the question back at you, but you’re ready. Of course you are; why would you even ask the question without having an answer of your own?

“Changbin.”

It makes Chan laugh. It knocks its way out of him, causing him to lean to the side just a little bit with the force of it. “No hesitation!”

“No hesitation needed. He’s Seo Changbin.”

Chan is still laughing. Little giggles as he nods along to your declaration. His fingers press into your waist, slipping between the hem of your shirt and your sweatpants, skin seeking skin.

He didn’t ask for an explanation, but you have one. Because of course you do. “He’s the type of guy who would probably introduce himself as my boyfriend. Like, he’s the famous one, but I’m not his girlfriend. He’s my boyfriend. Does that make sense?”

“I hate to agree, but it absolutely does.”

“Right! Unfortunately I’m stuck with you.” You ignore his breathy wow, drawn out as he tries his best to not laugh again. “Because you’re the only person who plays into my jokes in the exact way that I enjoy.”

You make sure to punctuate your explanation with a pout and shrug, truly playing into being overdramatic. Teasing him because it’s fun and easy and all he really does is smile so wide at you. The things you would do for that smile.

He leans forward, close enough to place a quick kiss to the tip of your nose before he’s settling back into his seat. “Aw, I love you too.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m stupidly in love with you. It’s whatever.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Though,” You start, thoughtfully. “If I had to choose someone to get drunk married to in Vegas, I’d 100% no questions asked, pick Lino.”

Chan leans forward once again, into your space. The tilt of his brow and the line of his mouth spell out genuine concern, and it makes your insides twist up for the briefest of seconds. “Wait, what? Not me? But babe, I want to drunk marry you in Vegas so bad.”

Ok, that makes you laugh. The weird little guilty knot immediately dissolves at his incredulous tone. “Absolutely not! We’re never getting drunk married in Vegas by some celebrity impersonator. Are you crazy?”

Well now he’s frowning. It makes you want to wrap him up in your arms and never let him go. Tuck him away safely in a spot behind your ribs, where no one can get to him and nothing can hurt him.

You’re smaller than him, not only because you’re shorter by a good few inches, but also in sheer mass and bulk. But you’d try your best. It’s probably a little morbid, and he’d absolutely give you a look if you ever mentioned it out loud. But it’s true nonetheless.

You’d crack yourself open and rearrange everything if it meant you could fit him perfectly in the space next to your heart.

Cradling his face in your hands, you make sure that he’s listening, tipping your head to meet his eyes and smoothing your thumb along the swell of his bottom lip. “We’d get sober married, on a beach or something, by one of our very good friends that got their license online!”

Without missing a beat, Chan is nodding. “Seungmin.”

“No question. He’d show up with a print out certificate from Ordained.com that he managed to get the night before.”

Chan’s eyes disappear as he laughs, and you press both of your thumbs into the apples of his cheeks as his smile transforms his face. There’s always something about the way Chan smiles that is contagious. Without fail you can’t help but smile too, scrunching up your nose and feeling your heart overflow with love.

The things you would do for that smile.

“Hold on. Did you just propose to me?” Chan asks, once his laughter has trickled off into intermittent giggling. You’re still holding his face, and his fingers have fully migrated up under your top to spread out along our back.

You scoff, shaking your head. “No. We’re too young and you’re too busy for us to be married. Hell no. If anything I pre-proposed to you.”

“Aw, well I accept.”

“Good. We’d have a problem if you didn’t.”

It’s his turn to pull you into a kiss. Both of your smiles pressing against each other.

The credits of the movie neither of you were watching have started rolling, the familiar music washing over the both of you, and you could really spend the rest of the night here with him. The rest of the weekend. Maybe even the rest of your lives, some day.

#stray kids #skz #bang chan #bang chan x reader #stray kids x reader #echo writes #most of the dialog started out as an idea for a text conversation #title is from some song I heard on spotify but forgot to save #adhd!reader mentions are Incredibly sparse #and only really noticeable if you squint #but I thought I'd add it in the tags just in case

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sourpatchys · 9 months ago

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Title: Life in Carnet

Word count: 2.2k

Rating: PG-13, fluff. F!reader

Time: after Overhaul, before PLF

Summary: An issue has developed. Though, you can’t say you mind much. The future is yours.

A/n: This was supposed to be much longer and I may still add a second part later on, but it’s been sitting in my drafts for much too long and I decided it was finally time to just post it and let it out into the world!

Masterlist guidelines

—

The terrors of the underworld were almost too much for you at times. Watching over your shoulder just to be sure a knight in shining armor wouldn't pop out and slice you under the guise of misplaced justice.

There was no justice in a world so cruel. The arms of the masses kept those unfavorable in a tube. Never to be loved, never to be seen or heard. Though that tube would grow, freaks of nature holding hands inside the vessel, ready to break the glass.

It was almost poetic, knowing that loneliness could never touch you, it could only stand by and watch as you desecrated its makeshift grave.

You were not lonely— and you never would be again.

The deadly hands of the misunderstood held you close, a warm embrace that shunned all the coldness and misfortune in the world. You were like royalty, standing above those who were nothing but pawns ready to die for the cause.

You were not ready to die, you had finally spread your wings— you were ready to live.

And who better to stand by your side than the King of demise, Tomura Shigaraki.

In his own way, he had become the very thing he hated most— a symbol of peace. He gave hope to those the world had shamed, giving a reason to live to the ones left to rot in the gutters.

Hero's couldn't save everyone— Hero's didn't want to save everyone. Anyone who goes against their morals is doomed to suffer.

It pained you to see the children left to die on the streets, the addicts that had been deemed lost causes, and the broken who were left to crumble. You could see a piece of yourself in all of them, their rose tented glasses had been shattered and they were left to cut themselves on the glass.

Tomura didn't care much for any of them, and yet he had still managed to replace that in which had been broken.

He cared for the league, for the posey he had created with his own two hands. And he cared for you. The woman he saw cursing the world with blood stained hands.

Your introduction to the league wasn't pretty. You were dirty and untamed— having just taken the life of someone you held dear— there was darkness in your eyes.

No one asked you questions, no one made you feel like a freak. You became their healer— using your quirk to its fullest potential, never once holding back.

Your ability was known as the 'Touch of life'. Originally, you had hated your quirk. Being pawned off from person to person, forced to heal strangers who saw you as an object more than a person. Growing up you weren't allowed to attend school, forced to stay home and work— not a dime going into your pocket.

People were supposed to want to help people. That's what you had been told over and over again. You couldn't complain, you couldn't fight back or refuse to help.

You didn't want to help anymore.

The league never made you heal their scrapes and bruises, only asking for your services when it was absolutely necessary. You finally felt free— free to be a real human being.

And then Shigaraki, a man usually so careful with his hands, had sliced his palm. You couldn't even remember how— the memory had long since faded away. You grabbed him without thinking, taking his entire hand into your own, stitching the skin back together with a ray of light.

That's how you learned you were immune to decay. Your body fighting against his quirk so quickly it was at if he didn't have one at all.

And that's how you learned you loved your quirk after all.

Once it became apparent, he couldn't keep his hands off of you. He was like a wild animal hunting its prey— a touch starved villain feeling for the first time.

He was gentle with you, holding you close, running his calloused hands up and down your sides, forever in awe at the feel of your skin on his own. Awkward and untamed, vibrating with uncertainty and longing for more.

His kisses felt like fireworks, they seared into your skin, dangerous and yet oh so wonderful. He was addicted to you, and soon enough you were just as addicted to him.

Your relationship had no title— though with the way his scared lips would trail up your throat, nipping and pleading— you were sure it was love just the same.

Regardless of the tender kisses and soft touches, Shigaraki was still a deadly man. The king of the underworld, the high ruler of chaos.

So when you saw those glaring, unforgiving, bright pink lines, you found yourself being swallowed whole.

Your body was shaking, from fear or joy you couldn't be sure. It was unrealistic to bring a child into the world, especially when that world was crumbling— when the father was the one crumbling it.

You couldn't hold back a smile though, your anxieties fading quickly at the thought of a future. Placing your life giving hands over your abdomen— it felt right. You finally— undeniably— felt whole.

Dabi was the first one to notice you after you'd left the makeshift restroom, his piercing blue eyes looking you up in down with a frenzy.

"You look creepier than usual."

The rest of the leagues eyes met your own, their own curious glances boring into your soul.

"I have no idea what you mean by that— but I feel like I should be offended." You mocked a scoff, cocking your eyebrow in amusement.

Toga laughed, sitting up straight and tapping the cold cement floor beside her, urging you to sit with her. "You do look a little brighter than usual!"

You took the invitation, a small smile still grazing your lips. It was impossible to fully contain yourself— you were sure you'd explode if you had to reel in all of your facial expressions.

"I just got some good news is all— I wouldn't worry about it."

"Did that 12 handed freak finally propose or something?"

A small snort left your lips, "No, not to my knowledge. Speaking of— where is he?"

"Ohhh, so it does have to do with him!" Toga wiggled her eyebrows, giggling to herself.

Your relationship with Shigaraki wasn't a secret. Neither of you had said anything to anyone, but you weren't actively hiding it either— it just was.

Giving the teen a gentle shove you allowed yourself to let out a soft laugh of your own, "doesn't everything have to do with him?"

You got a strong mumble of agreement from the group, their annoyed expressions almost making you laugh fully.

"He said he'd be back before nightfall." Dabi finally metered, "Then again, who knows?"

Humming in response you decided to sit tight, pulling a heavily water damaged book out of your backpack.

— — —

Somewhere along the pages of Prince Charming finally realizing the girl of his dreams was only a few feet away— you had dozed off.

It wasn't often you got the privilege of sleep, the constant traveling and change of pace was hard on your body and mind. So being shaken awake wasn't exactly something you'd normally let slide— but seeing those carmine eyes so full of worry, you decided it wasn't a hill worth dying on today.

"Good morning." You sighed, slowly blinking the harsh tingling of your sleep deprived eyelids away.

Tomura wasn't amused by your lackluster approach, his body basically caging you in from where you sat, his eyes growing darker by the second.

"How are you feeling?"

At first his question confused you— your dreams still drifting away as reality tried to take over. Oh yes, that's right— he'd known you hadn't been feeling well.

If you weren't so sleepy you'd probably be more embarrassed over the fact that you had in fact— only grabbed a handful of pregnancy tests and booked it out of the closest convenience store. You hadn't even tried to get anything else.

A giggle left your lips as you leaned forward and gave your captor a kiss on the cheek, "it's fine don't worry about it."

Sighing he shifted so he was sitting beside you, his hand immediately grabbing yours. He loved holding your hand— you weren't sure if it was just to remind himself that he could or if it was lasting deprivation from being touched starved for so many years— but you couldn't find it in yourself to care, so long as he never let go.

"You haven't been eating right."

It was a statement meant to guilt you, to force you to tell him every single thing that's been bothering you— to outline your sickness in a bullet point list so he could take care of you.

"Is that so?" You turned to him with a raised brow, daring him to continue on with his spiel.

He, ever so observant, took the bait and ran with it.

"You can't keep anything down, you're light headed, and you're way too exhausted for everything to be fine." His voice broke a bit at the end, and with good reason. Not being in good health while simultaneously living on the streets isn't exactly a good combo.

He cared about you too much to let anything bad happen. After dealing with the yakuza he'd slowed down entirely, refusing to move too fast or too far until he knew exactly what needed to be done— all because you weren't feeling good. He'd never say it out loud— but it was easy to tell.

"It's not something I'll die from, modern medicine will make sure of that."

Turning his head and looking you up and down, he had a borderline disgusted look on his face.

"You've been sick for how long now? And you've shown no signs of getting better."

You hummed, putting your hand on your chin and pretending to think. "Yeah I'd say it's been a good two months now."

"This isn't a joke."

Giving him a serious expression, you replied "I know it isn't, you definitely aren't going to think it's funny—the league might though."

He smacked his head against the back of the crate the two of you were leaning on, looking up at the broken ceiling. "So you are dying."

"I already told you I won't die." You punched his arm, "I'll just be out of commission for a little while."

"And what, exactly, does that mean?"

You let out a nervous laugh, leaning your head on his shoulder, "it means next time we go out we're gonna have to steal some prenatal vitamins."

You felt his body stiffen under you after a few minutes, his mind putting the dots together painfully slowly. This isn't exactly how you thought this conversation would go— though knowing Tomura, he'd never expected this conversation at all.

"Oh."

Afraid to see his expression, you kept your eyes towards the floor, squeezing his hand that was still wrapped in yours.

"Is that okay..?"

It was silent for a while, the sound of the other members snoring being the only noises keeping you sane. You knew this may not go over well, even as excited as you were, Tomura had an entire world to destroy, he had people to kill and a kingdom to build. How would a baby fit into that life?

Finally, you felt a large inhale from under you— taking that as permission you looked up to his face, surprised when you saw the fond look in his eyes and the soft smile on his lips.

"Yeah, that's more than okay."

You sat up, lifting your head off of his shoulder to look him directly in the eyes, awe, ever apparent, on your face.

"Really? You aren't mad?"

A dastardly grin made its way onto his face, his pearly white teeth glistening in the moonlight. Truly— it was a sight to behold.

"I don't see anything wrong with carrying on my lineage— especially not with you." He chuckled, a dark frenzy coming into his eyes, "besides, you hang back anyways, nothings going to hurt you."

You thought on his words. It was technically true, being a healer meant you weren't fighting so much as laying low and taking care of the aftermath— the only change you could see happening is you not being on the battlefield at all, staying at the base until they returned.

But that came with some risks on its own.

"You're taking this better than I thought you would."

That same gleam was in his eyes as he looked you over, his hands making their way around your waist as he pulled you into a tight embrace, inhaling the scent of your not-so-freshly washed hair.

"I suppose I should be nervous. But I always knew this was a risk." He took in a breath, a laugh passing through as he thought it over, "I'm ready for anything. I'm going to destroy this world, but that doesn't mean I can't make my own in the process."

The Tomura before you was different than the one you had fallen in love with. He was different than the one that pulled you off the street and gave you a reason to live— this Tomura was confident, this Tomura had a plan.

This Tomura knew what he wanted.

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withlove-xixi · 3 months ago

Note

I came running to your requests the second I finished reading the chilchuck writing!! You have such an incredible grasp of his character I was so impressed! Can I request a fem reader x marcielle where they both are pining for each other but don’t know if each other are queer and pathetically try and dip their feet in the water only to quickly take them out before even knowing if the waters hot or not?? I know you like doomed Yuri but please give this a happy ending where they end up together!! Marcy suffers enough 🙏🙏

If you don’t do female readers or this request doesn’t interest you feel free to ignore it! Thank you for your service in dungeon meshing fanfics lmao

— THE SUN AND THE MOON: marcille x f!reader

ᥫ cw: burn mention (used metaphorically) ᥫ wc: 3226 ★ OH ANON, SWEET ANON. I AM MORE THAN DELIGHTED TO DELIVER YOU YURI (LESBIANISM IN MY VEINS .. MY CALLING .. MY DUTY)!! anyway, i fear i might've gotten a bit carried away .. but i hope you enjoy it regardless! cross posted on ao3

— IT MUST’VE BEEN DIFFICULT BEING THE SUN.

[♡]: that was the only thought running through marcille’s mind as she watches you gingerly patch up a tear in one of her dresses. she watches fondly as your fingers nimbly thread the needle through deep blue fabric with such care and gentleness, she almost envied it. well, what choice did she have but to envy it? what choice does the moon have but to want the sun’s warmth?

RISING SUN.

That’s what you were. Something bright, something inviting, almost tempting. Marcille felt drawn to you, she always had. There was just always some quality about you that drew her in, a radiance that seemed to guide her steps to draw closer and closer to you. It was nearly instant, the inviting sunshine that pulled at her, caused her to come closer until she extended her arm out towards you and introduced herself. It did not help that you smiled so brightly and sweetly. You grabbed her hand, warmth spreading from your body to hers, shook it firmly. Marcille had to try really hard not to think too much about you after that.

For a while she really wouldn’t tell why, she couldn’t tell what specifically about you kept tempting her. She felt it, nearly every moment of your time together in the dungeon, a small part of her that would always keep you close. Marcille would walk next to you, she would try and make small talk with you, she would offer to help you. The more she let herself bask in your light and warmth, the more she felt drawn to stay, until she was comfortably resting by your side, a sunny friendship that made her heart feel fuzzy.

High noon.

That’s what you were, hot and looming. You were always close with Marcille, something she would never fully figure out the reason for. But you were there, at the corner of her eye, staying by her side at a comfortable distance, watching her tie braids in her hair, putting your bedroom adjacent to hers. The tug she had initially felt when you two first met only grew, flames that only consumed her inside, filling her with sunshiny warmth. It was hot, nearly dangerously so, hot, blazing noon heat. Marcille began to overheat, cheeks would flush when your fingers would brush against hers when you walked together, brain would malfunction when you would worriedly bandage her minor injuries, stomach would twist in knots when you would smile at her. A smile so bright and sweet.

Marcille was half-scared she would explode. Or melt into a puddle.

Heat, dangerously hot heat. With the warmth came hesitation, the fear of being burnt if she stood too close, if she lingered under sunlight too long. The idea felt more like a promise than a threat, a guarantee that getting closer to you would end in failure, leave her brunt bright red, leave her howling in pain into empty space.

She liked you, there was part of her that screamed that obvious fact to her face as much as she wanted to suppress and deny the idea, let it die down to a passing thought. In her heart Marcille knew she still longed for the sun, she still craved for your hot touch, your bright smile, your warm company. She willed it in such a way, it was no longer simple friendship. It was something deeper, heavier. It was something that went past her niceties, that stemmed from the pits of her heart.

It was an aching sort of craving, a hunger that left her immobilized. It was the temptation of a forbidden fruit, of a light that would burn.

She saw the way you were with other people. People like the men in your party. Marcille had nothing against them, but still there was a small part of her that boiled green at the way you were around them because it was the same way you were with her but different. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it but there was a difference. Something small she could feel on the tips of her senses.

Marcille saw the way you were. She saw the way you giggled at Laios’ antics as he clumsily poked at some strange plant in the dungeon. She saw the way you praised Chilchuck’s handiwork, a compliment that proved only how observant you could be. She saw the way you teased Shuro for his awkwardness in the party during meal times. It might’ve begun to piss her off had it not been you. Marcille, as jealous as she might get around the boys, could never truly bring herself to feel so terribly when it's something about you. How could she when your laugh was like the warm summer breeze, your care like fireplace warmth, your smile like starshine.

Gods! Marcille wanted to tear her hair out. It was such a pain to be hungry, to so desperately crave for light, for warmth. It was a pain to be hungry for something you know you can never have, you could never even begin to imagine the taste of.

She kept her distance, an orbit just at arms reach. The same politeness and gentleness as the beginning, with the new caution for heat. She allowed herself to bask only in the reflection of your light.

Setting sun.

That’s what you were as you gingerly patch up a tear in one of Marcille’s dresses. Strangely it felt so domestic despite the other party members that crowded around your small campsite, despite the terribly difficult fight everyone was still recovering from, despite her keeping her usual far away distance. Her gaze lingered on you, studying the way your fingered moved with such grace and tenderness, she might’ve gotten jealous of the way you treated the needle had she not remembered you had personally offered to come and patch it up for her (a fix she definitely could’ve done — or normally would’ve gotten Chilchuck to fix for her — but could she really pass up the opportunity?).

Marcille watched quietly and carefully, musing at the way you chatted with Namari as you worked, the small smile that evolved into a snort and a chuckle at something Namari said that Marcille didn’t quite care enough to hear. She smiled fondly at your direction, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

Chilchuck nudges her as he moves to sit by her side near the campfire. She paid him little attention, not bothering to glance his way as she spoke. “What do you want?” Something a bit more curt than usual, but Chilchuck doesn’t care enough to be bothered.

“It’d be easier to just talk to her, you know,” he said plainly as he opened up his waterskin to take a sip.

Marcille snorts, finally turning to him with her brows furrowed in skepticism. “Right, because you’re so suddenly an expert at forming bonds?” She jests, causing the muscle under Chil’s eye to twitch slightly.

He sighs in satisfaction once he’s finished taking his drink. He points an accusatory finger at Marcille, it catches her off guard. “I’m just saying you should talk to her at least. I’m sick of hearing you sigh and giggle when you're just… staring… at her— it’s creepy!” Chilchuck says in a scolding manner.

Marcille’s cheeks turn red at the comment. “Wh—” She begins but your soft laugh cuts through the air and her ears pick up on the sound immediately.

No doubt Chilchuck has too, but he chooses to sigh at the elven girl. “All I’m saying is communication is important.” He stands and dusts off the back of his pants. “So get it together, Marcille. Do something about… this,” He gestures a hand vaguely at Marcille, “because I’m really, really getting sick of this nonsense.”

As he walks away, Marcille watches and grumbles something about how he should mind his own business, but she feels a presence appear next to her. She senses warmth.

Rising moon.

That’s what she was. Something alluring, something enigmatic, nearly mysterious. You had never met an elf before, not saying it was a bad thing but it definitely helped shine an interest on Marcille. Of course, it didn’t help that she was pretty. You were nervous, of course you were. You were fresh meat in a new environment, your next few days would be spent underground, enclosed by damp stone walls and all sorts of beasts. She had stepped closer to you, extended a friendly hand for you to shake. She had told you her name, a sweet sounding lullaby that gracefully left her lips.

You smiled warmly at her, feeling instantly at ease with her kindness, her softness. There was something that drew you to her, a force that tugged at you to come a bit closer to take a better look at her. She was soft, gentle. It was like the breath of autumn wind, something cool, something calming. You couldn’t quite place it, but you could tell something about her tempted you, lulled you into a drowsy state. So you smiled warmly at her, shook her hand and told her your name in return, a small hope kindling inside you that this acquaintanceship would lead to something more.

Midnight.

That’s what she was, dim and looming. You quickly grew close with Marcille, after all, she was the first friend you made among the Touden party, what reason did you have not to be close to her? Besides, she was admirable. In your eyes, she shone brightly, a soft light amidst the void of night. Marcille was a reliable member of the party, always looking for things to help out with (though sometimes she would complain first despite doing it regardless), which was admirable. She was smart too, well-versed in all sorts of spells and knowledgeable in different academic topics, which was admirable too. She also was very careful in her own way, taking time to make sure she was neat and tidy, putting the effort into adorning her silken blond locks with braids and bows, ridding her beautiful features of any spec or dirt, which was admirable… in a way… Well, in the way you were able to just admire her grace, her softness. Truly she had this air of softness to her, like she was constantly followed by a halo of light, a soft glow that was calming in its own way.

Marcille was truly admirable like, that you supposed.

But still, it felt like all you could do was admire her. Despite the closeness that developed between you two, there was always this invisible force that kept you apart, a tension that seemed to hinder you from stepping forward. That, or it was distance. She felt far away to you, something you could only be stuck admiring, like painting in a museum or light on the horizon. The allure of her would always draw you near, you'd sit next to her during meal times or secretly place your bedroll closer to hers, you'd walk side by side and chat when exploring, you'd help her brush the back of her hair, but there was this feeling from the pits of your guts, a self-instilled omen of misfortune for you if you continued to allow yourself to be drawn to her.

Well, after all, you saw how she was with Falin. You had nothing against Falin, you could never even be truly mad at either of them, but whenever they were together you felt… sad. It was quite acidic as envy, but it was cold, and dark, and quiet. Of course you knew the pair had been friends since they were young, years far before your addition to the Touden party, a story Marcille always smiled about when she'd tell you; her years at the magic academy were some of her favorite stories to tell you, you're favorites only because Marcille was the one telling them. Suppose it was some form of jealousy, but really it felt more akinned to despair.

Falin and Marcille were close, far closer than you could even imagine you and Marcille could become. When Marcille wasn't with you, she was undoubtedly with Falin — or rather, when Marcille wasn't with Falin, she was with you. It felt that way at least.

But, regardless, you were no evil witch, no lunatic magician. You wouldn't even dare explicitly drive a stake between the friends, as much as you desperately wanted to be in Falin's shoes. All you did was what you had already been doing, keeping yourself at arms reach, keeping a safe distance from you and her softness, her light, her mystery. You watched from afar, as she'd laugh alongside Falin, as she'd grab her hand, as she'd leave you in searing cold.

Setting moon.

That’s what she was as you sense her gaze linger on you as you patch up one of her dresses, an act you did with such care and love, you were practically kissing better the rips in the deep blue fabric. You feel it, practically burning gently on your skin like firefly kisses, how her emerald eyes stay fixed on you, preying on how your fingers move, studying how you brush hair out of your face. You catch her gaze from the corner of your eye, the hazy look on her porcelain skin, the way the firelight illuminated her features. You try your best not to think of it too much, knowing you’d turn bright red at just the thought of her, instead focusing your attention at carefully sewing her dress, focusing on threading the needle to create perfect invisible stitches to make it look brand new, focusing on how Marcille would smile when you handed her the finished product, focusing on the thought of how she’d go on to wear the dress with your needlework on it, a secret love letter etched into the blue fabric—

“You ‘kay?” A deeper female voice calls from beside you, fortunately and quickly breaking you free from your thoughts.

“Wh- Hm?” You hum, still trying to scramble out of the lingering remnant thoughts of Marcille.

“Yer.. turnin’ red.” Namari notes as she bends a bit closer, looking at the pink dust on your cheeks.

“It’s nothing..” You softly say, instinctively sneaking a glance at Marcille before you turn back to your work.

Narami is unimpressed. She catches the shift of your eyes towards the party’s battle mage and she sighs, taking a seat next to you. “Ya thinkin’ ‘bout her again?”

Instantly a small smile breaks on your face at the mention of Marcille, you chuckle, snorting a bit before you turn to meet Namari’s face. “Am I really that obvious?” You ask but there’s no sense of embarrassment or fear, Marcille did always make you feel at ease.

She mirrors your chuckle. “‘Course.” She says plainly. “Though, I doubt anyone else noticed.” She looks up. “Chil might’ve though.”

You follow her gaze to see the half-foot next to Marcille, she seems annoyed and a bit flustered too. You let out a small laugh and resume your work on the dress. “Of course, Chilchuck’s noticed. What doesn’t he?”

Namari snorts. “Bet he was the first to notice… whatever the both of ya got goin’ on with each other.”

Your brows furrow and your hands freeze. “What’s that meant to mean?”

Namari blinks at you, almost shocked at your confusion. “Like how Marcille and ya are… Ya know…” She makes a gesture, her fingers interlocking with each other. “Ya know?”

“What?” You ask, voice a pitch higher, the initial blush on your face quickly returning. “Wh-what is that even meant to mean, Mari?”

The dwarf shrugs. “I mean- well, if ya don’t know then there’s maybe nothin’— I don’t know!” She says defensively. “I’ve just heard Chil complain ‘bout ya two, is all.”

“Complain about what?”

“Says he’s tired’a seein’ ya two keep google’ at each other an—”

You sit up straight, causing her to pause abruptly. You look at her incredulously, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, brows furrowed. “Two of us?” You ask in a loud whisper. “Two of us?”

Marcille feels your warmth next to her, she feels her world begin to shine in radiant light. She turns to you, a little awestruck as she usually is when she looks at you, especially when you smile the way you’re smiling at her right now.

“Finished your dress,” you say sweetly, softly, like the sweet kiss of morning sunlight through the curtain.

She smiles at you like moonbeams across the ocean. “Thank you,” she replies. Your fingers touch when you pass the clothing to her, a featherlight brush against her like fate was teasing you with a small taste of what you craved.

You sit next to each other in silence, the same comfortable silence weighed on by that thick tension. Marcille smooths over the area where you stitched, fingers gingerly tracing over the invisible lines where your thread passed through her dress. You swallow thickly as you watch her, eyes following each gentle stroke of your fingers. You envy the fabric.

“Marcille,” your voice causes her to look up at you, your face catches the firelight like the honeyed rays of the sun.

“Hm?” She hums in response, head tilting to the side in curiosity. “What is it?”

You lean towards her, brows twitching and you try and muster your courage. “Do you… Do you… like me?” you ask timidly.

Oh, Marcille feels like she would die right now.

Her face instantly flushes red and she jolts upright. “What?” She nearly yells.

You blink, trying terribly hard not to let your heart feel heavy. “Have I… gotten the wrong impression?”

“N-no! That— It’s—” She sighs. Suppose there isn’t really a way to talk out of it now. She opens her mouth to speak but you beat her to it.

“N-Namari told me to ask. She says it’s been pretty obvious.” You explain timidly, your gaze drifting away from her as wring your hands together. “She said… I was pretty obvious about it too…”

“About…?”

“I…” You take a deep breath, “I like you, Marcy.”

And it was like the world had suddenly shattered. That invisible force that held you two apart finally vanished with the air, leaving you two to allow each other to be pulled into one another like magnets.

Marcille’s eyes shine brightly, hopefully even. She leans closer, one hand gripping tightly against her dress, the same one you had so carefully taken the time to fix for her, the same one she had envied. The other hand lingers in the air, fingers twitching as she hesitates one final time, the final remnants of the tension between you two still trying desperately to cling on.

“Th… I— I like you too…”

You smile, the same smile when you first met, so brightly and sweetly. Relief washes over you, like you had just suddenly been doused in ice cold water. She reaches out to you with her free hand, very slowly making its way to cup your cheek.

“I think… I’ve liked you for a long time now,” Marcille says, punctuates it by saying your name so sweetly, like it was devised for her and only her to speak.

Her thumb smooths over your cheek, caressing your face in such a tender manner. You lean into the touch, moving your own hand to go over hers. You two stare at each other for a bit, tunnel visioning only into each other, allowing everything else around you to blur into distant colors.

You lean forwards, closer to her, and you hear a small gasp leave her lips when she realizes what would happen next. You smile fondly at the noise.

Then the sun and the moon finally meet in total eclipse.

#ꔛ xixi writes #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #marcille donato #marcille dunmeshi #marcille dungeon meshi #marcille x reader #dunmeshi #i love yuri #dividers by cafekitsune

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fictionadventurer · 1 year ago

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First Letter from Julia I. Sand to Chester A. Arthur

[1881 Aug 27]

To the Hon Chester A. Arthur.

The hours of Garfield's life are numbered--before this meets your eye, you may be President. The people are bowed in grief; but--do you realize it?--not so much because he is dying, as because you are his successor. What President ever entered office under circumstances so sad! The day he was shot, the thought rose in a thousand minds that you might be the instigator of the foul act. Is not that a humiliation which cuts deeper than any bullet can pierce? Your best friends said: "Arthur must resign--he cannot accept office, with such a suspicion resting upon him." And now your kindest opponents say: "Arthur will try to do right"--adding gloomily--"He won't succeed, though--making a man President cannot change him."

But making a man President can change him! At a time like this, if anything can, that can. Great emergencies awaken generous traits which have lain dormant half a life. If there is a spark of true nobility in you, now is the occasion to let it shine. Faith in your better nature forces me to write to you--but not to beg you to resign. Do what is more difficult and more brave. Reform! It is not the proof of highest goodness never to have done wrong--but it is a proof of it, sometime in one's career, to pause and ponder, to recognize the evil, to turn resolutely against it and devote the remainder of ones life to that only which is pure and exalted. Such revolutions of the soul are not common. No step towards them is easy. In the humdrum drift of daily life, they are impossible. But once in a while there comes a crisis which renders miracles feasible. The great tidal wave of sorrow which has rolled over the country, has swept you loose from your old moorings and set you on a mountain-top, alone. As President of the United States--made such by no election, but by a national calamity--you have no old associations, no personal friends, no political ties, you have only your duty to the people at large. You are free--free to be as able and as honorable as any man who ever filled the presidential chair.

Your past--you know best what it has been. You have lived for worldly things. Fairly or unfairly, you have won them. You are rich, powerful--tomorrow, perhaps, you will be President. And what is it all worth? Are you peaceful--are you happy? What if a few days hence the hand of the next unsatisfied ruffian should lay you low, and you should drag through months of weary suffering, in the White House, knowing that all over the land not a prayer was uttered in your behalf, not a tear shed, that the great American people was glad to be rid of you--would not worldly honors seem rather empty then?

Make such things impossible. Rise to the emergency. Disappoint our fears. Force the nation to have faith in you. Show from the first that you have none but the purest aims. It may be difficult at once to inspire confidence, but persevere. In time--when you have given reason for it--the country will love and trust you. If any man says, "With Arthur for President, Civil Service Reform is doomed," prove that Arthur can be its firmest champion. Do not thrust on the people politicians who have forfeited their respect--no matter how near they may be to you as personal friends. Do not remove any man from office unnecessarily. Appoint those only of marked ability and of sterling character. Such may not be abundant, but you will find them, if you seek them. You are far too clever to be easily deceived. In all your policy, have none but the highest motives. With the lamp of patriotism in your hand, your feet will not be likely to stumble.

Do you care for applause? Of course, you have had it, after a fashion. Perhaps from the dregs of the populace, inspired by the lowest of politicians. Possibly it pleased you at the time--it may have served some purpose that you solved then. But in the depths of your soul, do you not despise it? Would not one heart-felt "God bless you!" from the honest and true among your countrymen, be worth ten thousand times more? You can win such blessing, if you will.

Your name now is on the annals of history. You cannot slink back into obscurity, if you would. A hundred years hence, school boys will recite your name in the list of Presidents and tell of your administration. And what shall posterity say? It is for you to choose whether your record shall be written in black or in gold. For the sake of your country, for your own sake and for the sakes of all who have ever loved you, let it be pure and bright.

As one of the people over whom you are to be President, I make you this appeal. Perhaps you have received many similar. If not, still believe that this expresses the thoughts in many hearts, today--and do not give those who have had faith in you, cause for regret.

Yours Respectfully,

Julia I. Sand.

46 E. 74th st. New York.

Aug 27th 1881.

#history is awesome #presidential talk #last week if you'd known me in real life there's a 50% chance i'd have tackled you and forced you to read this #isn't this letter just astounding?#imagine sending this to a soon-to-be president!#and him *saving* it!#there are such lovely turns of phrase #even while she is *so* brutal and unflinching #my favorite line might be 'you are far too clever to be easily deceived'#just appealing straight to his vanity #brilliant!#i haven't loved a letter this much since 84 charing cross road #the moral of the story is that the best letters are written by slightly cracked politically-minded literary spinsters

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sstormyskyess · 11 months ago

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Pitch Black - Prologue

author's note: hello hello everyone!! welcome to my first long form series on this blog! i'm excited to share this story i've been cooking up since summer last year and i hope everyone likes it as much as i've had fun brainstorming it 😊 this is gonna be a little short prologue to set the mood and give a little context for reader so things make sense later on! please enjoy 💜

cw: descriptions of injury, mentions of vomiting

word count: 1400+

Everyone and their mother knows that Russian winters were ruthless. It was a widely accepted fact, even for those who hadn’t personally experienced one of said agonizing winters. Snowfall was common for six months out of the year, and the temperatures could reach —44 degrees fahrenheit.

Cold air seeped in from under the door of the tiny room you were confined in. You shivered while you sat on the old, flimsy cot against the back wall of the solitary prison cell. Your vision was unfocused and blurry, though it was hard to tell because it was too dark to see anything. The walls were made of dark concrete and half-rotted wood slats. It smelled musty and stale, the air circulation in the room severely lacking.

You wince when the door suddenly opens, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to block out the blinding LED lights beaming into the room out of nowhere. Your breath catches in your throat from the surprise, your chest stinging from the feeling. You peek an eye open when a metal food tray clatters to the floor. The sound was deafening as it cut through the murky silence you had been wallowing in, making you bring your hands up to cover your ears. The man that dropped the tray barks something at you in Russian before slamming the door shut once again.

Konni Group.

An up and coming Russian private military company, the target of your squad’s operation, and the people that had taken you prisoner.

The stated goal of your team was to clear out a known Konni base and to capture or kill the colonel they knew was posted up there. The POI had led a recent attack on a U.S. arms convoy and taken a number of highly lethal weaponry from the wreckage. The weapons were likely hidden somewhere in the base, and it was imperative to locate them before they were used anywhere.

The operation had gone less than optimally. It was doomed to fail from the start; the intel your squad was given was faulty, you had your cover blown by an ambush, and to cap it all off, the chaos allowed for Konni to get their hands on you and whisk you away.

The only thing you could think of was time. How long had it been since you’d been thrown in here? Days, weeks, months? You couldn’t tell. Just thinking about it made your head hurt.

The only measurement you had was how long it was between the miniscule amount of food you were granted by your captors on a seemingly random schedule. You were practically able to feel your body consuming itself, your stomach growling at you angrily. You would cry, but the waterworks had run dry ages ago. You couldn’t afford to lose any more water; you didn’t have that privilege anymore.

Years of active service in the U.S. Marines had gotten you used to grueling conditions, but nothing like this. Even out in the field, dispatched from whatever base you were stationed in, you knew you’d be able to secure some kind of sustenance. Food and water felt like a luxury now.

Despite the cold, the hunger, and the wear and tear on your body, both internal and external, the worst part was the lack of contact. You couldn’t even hear anyone moving outside, no matter how hard you strained your ears. There was no light peeking from under the door, so you couldn’t track shadows moving. The only indication that someone was behind the door was the meager rations being put into the cell. Between those meals, for all you knew, no one was present in the facility anymore.

Too much time had passed for anyone to still be looking for you or trying to rescue you. It hurt, at first. The feeling of being forgotten or being considered disposable had been crippling for a while, so painfully debilitating that it had you weeping endlessly for days, maybe even a week or more. The muscles of your stomach ached afterwards. Mixed with all the kicks and punches you suffered from interrogations, your heaving sobs had you nauseous and throwing up bile frequently.

You ruminated over what could possibly be the reason you were still being kept here instead of being executed. You weren't being interrogated anymore by now. You were just left with the wounds that you sustained from hours upon days upon weeks of interrogation. The bruises had healed, but the cuts were infected from the shoddy cauterizing job they had attempted. It felt like the bones that were broken were healing incorrectly.

You sigh shakily, your perpetually shivering body getting uncomfortable, so you try to shift a bit. The only thing you accomplished by trying to roll over on your tiny stone cold cot was falling face down onto the floor. You wince and give a weak groan, curling up and holding your stomach. You try your hardest to just close your eyes and get some sleep, no matter how restless it was.

When you woke up, you were finally back in the present. You were finally back in the little old house that you found after escaping that Konni facility, the sun just barely rising over the horizon.

It had been two years since you were abducted. The realization hit you hard. Two years you spent in that dark, cold, suffocating cell. Two years you spent withering away, slowly but surely. Two years you spent in your own special hell, alone, battered and beaten, left scarred for years and years to come.

You roll over and get out of the bed, a headache already springing forth in your head, making you rub your temples. You sigh and amble over to your rucksack full of all the essentials—well, most of them at least. You frown at the sight that greets you. Only a few MREs left and all of them were your least favorites. But, you’ve been through worse.

You pace around the room as you eat, reading some of the files you pulled off the rickety table in the corner of the tiny one room cabin. You scan the files and run a thumb over the insignia on the front of the manila folder containing everything you needed for your next job.

Al Qatala.

A terrorist organization based out of Urzikstan, the current boogeyman of the western world, and your current contractor.

The life of a freelance intel agent was an interesting one, to say the least. You had been around the world making problems for a countless number of political and military bodies, but the money was worth it. Not to mention the anonymity that came with not being tied down to any one organization.

You went off the grid after you escaped from Konni. You wanted to go back to normal life, but something in you told you to stay away from it all. Maybe it was the fear of being found and captured again. The logical side of your brain told you that there was no reason they would want you back, but it was hard to reason with a brain torn apart by the sort of trauma you went through.

You hadn’t cared to check up on any of your old teammates. There was an underlying resentment present in the back of your mind. You were betrayed by them, after all. They left you for dead and didn’t look back. Thinking back on it made you frown. You watched them leave you behind with no hesitation, run away without looking back. So much for no man left behind, right?

By the time you snap out of your frustrated thoughts, you’re already finished with your food. Your headache has gotten worse. You groan and pinch the bridge of your nose. You would really have to invest in some painkillers.

Based on how high the sun has gotten, you figure it’s about time to get moving. At least focusing on this job would keep your mind off the events that led you here. You flip through a folder and look at the location that was printed on one of the papers. Then, you take a peek at the pictures of the people you were meant to track.

Task Force 141.

A multinational task force recently founded, a team dedicated to making the world a better place, and ones that had been causing problems for your current contractor.

You take a deep breath and pack all your things away, ready yourself for the trek to the task force’s current location, and leave the cabin with the determination that kicks in whenever you set out on a mission.

𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

#tf 141 x reader #konni group #al qatala #mw2 fanfic #mw3 fanfic #mw2 #mw3 #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 3 #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #modern warfare fanfic #cod mw2 fic #cod mw3 fic #mwii #mwiii #sstormyskyess pitch black #storm's creations #sstormyskyess

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detaia · 1 year ago

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ep 3 mentopolis highlights:

- "oh my god. we gotta get Elias to touch his balls!"

- Conrad releasing one of the eagle talons on his guilt

- Anastasia remembering her key is in her freezer from the four F's which is just referencing a different thing

- Conrad's personality shift as a hotshot driver

- the whole thing about M.Bition's speech where at first he frames it like their chance to feel good and flood the city with dopamine and all the good stuff was ruined because of Imelda. but then he says "we don't get to feel good until I say we get to feel good" where its like, oh. in the same way that ambition promises happiness from your success, it also denies you happiness in other areas of your life. you don't let yourself feel good about yourself because you're not meeting your expectations so you feel like you don't deserve it.

- the image of Foot Stuff as a kaiju wading through the fog approaching mentopolis

- Hunch Curio fucking killing it what a scene with the prize fight and the first appearance of the box of doom. plus Dan Fucks committing even more and betting his whole fortune. incredible

- the reveal of SD to be Self Doubt

- the legend of Stacy Fakename grows

- Conrad saying fuck and standing up for himself :))

- the mechanical thing that Brennan did for Dom Nuntz was really cool, I love that Trapp rolled high twice and we get to see the slow progression of Dom's sharp score going up and getting closer and closer, and Trapp spending his moxie to clutch at the last second....hell yeah

- the pressure system is really cool way to up the tension of the table as the stakes get higher in a tangible way that affects gameplay

- Ivana Popov, who is another addition to my list of fav NPCs of which there are MANY

- The Fix confronting the DA and the DA dropping all niceties and being like "how does that help us" in response to The Fix. and also calling fun facts fucking useless. and can I just say. I was so fucking offended on behalf of The Fix. It makes sense for ambition to be dismissive of whimsy and interesting things but still. fuck you. The Fix said your hair looked nice. He said you looked lovely. He's such a sweet guy who the fuck do you think you are you rat bastard fuckhead shithead cunt. M.Bition more like M.Barrassment I would hate to be seen walking down the street next to your joyless dismissive pathetic ass. get outta here. I'll kill you

- Again. So much ball talk.

- Hank discussing how The Fix is still a little on the fence in Adventuring Party and he's not like the rest of the gang which makes sense. Hyperfixation, logic, these are not so much motivations as they are a means to an end. The Fix is the how. Concepts like Conrad or Dan Fucks or Hunch Curio are the why. All this while The Fix has been working in service of M.Bition but it could change. and also I love Hank for choosing to confront the DA even though him personally would 100% not do that. he's acing this roleplay jazz

#mentopolis #mentopolis spoilers #d20

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engr4veq · 2 years ago

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《Not a wink of sleep~

《 Pairing: Lady Lesso x !sick !never reader

《 I think purple and green go well together ;)

Tw: !cursing

"I didn't sleep.." You groaned turning over to meet Hester's glare on your body.

"Are you serious." Anadil sighed and turned on her lamp, brushing aside her white hair covering her red eyes. Narrowing them at your fidgeting fingers.

"Well I can get an extra 2 minutes.." Dot wearily said covering her head from Anadil's bright lamp.

"I'm serious.." You sat up, "I drank a cup of warm milk before going to sleep, but I didnt.." Letting out a silent groan your head found its way into your pillow and you internally screamed.

Hester snickered, Anadil followed suit and Dot groaned taking the covers off of her head getting out of bed.

Soon Hester laughed allowing all three of them to laugh and you to sulk. The moment was trashed by Dot ripping open the dark curtains (They have curtains >:(..) making Anadil dive under her bedsheets.

"Time for breakfast!" Dot exclaimed making you all groan.

Anadil looked at your tired form. "You look like you get by with 1 hour of sleep every night. I wont even sugar coat it." Anadil said and chuckled.

As you all walked to your side of the hall, an ever had tripped infront of you twisting her ankle.

"Oh sh_t, are you alright..?" You panicked kneeling down to throw her arm around your shoulder hearing a faint whisper of "yes, I'm fine, thank you.."

"I'll catch up with you lot, go on.." You said walking with the girl.

"But.. you know what will happen.." Dot warned and you smiled.

Making your way to the ever's side of the hall a bunch of fairies blocked your way, looking behind you.

"Hello, uhm, I have to take this girl to the infirmary.. do you know where that.." You trailed off hearing the sound of heavy footsteps and clinking armor behind you.

"You've got to be f*cking me.." You whispered and set the ever down on a nearby chair making the fairies yelp in surprise.

"Look, you take care of her, while I get taken care of.." You narrowed your eyes as your hands were restrainted around your back.

"My name is Kasia by the way!" she winced as you were thrashed to the side by the wolves.

"Pleasure to meet you!" You said presenting your best smile at her from a distance.

"Oh dear, Kasia, you alright?" Another ever ran to her aid.

"Yes, Aaliyah I'm fine.." she winced again as Aaliyah supported her limp to the infirmary.

The wolves shoved you into the icey cold chamber and and clasped the chains around your wrists, ankles and neck almost stringing you up.

"Pleasant customer service.. I rate it.. a 1 out of 5 stars.." You laughed as the wolves growled making sure you were secured.

They then left without a word, you sweatdropped. (The version of the doom room is from the book, I may use both appearances from the book and movie.)

Your head met the wall behind you letting you close your eyes. "What an upgrade.. this room is right beneath the Dean's classroom.. she said it was warmer.. not colder." You let a toothy smirk grace you features.

You heard the sound of rubber gloves coming in contact against skin as well as the clicking of heels against the stone floor and stopped smirking. (I think she'd look hot in gloves..)

'Dont tell me its..' you thought leaning you head off of the wall. Your startled eyes were met with crazy curly copper hair.

"Beast went missing, so I have to deal with you brats.." Lesso muttered looking up before a smug smirk lit up her face. "This is wonderful.." Lesso let out a giggle and pulled on her gloves with her canines, smirking.

With a groan your head hit the back of the wall again, closing your eyes.

"What the hell," You laughed. "I thought a wolf was supposed to be ridding me of my sanity?" You shot a glare at Lesso as her body inched closer to yours. She hid her face in your shoulder and undid your restraints, stepping away.

"What the.." You almost fell but she caught you pulled you closer by your waist. "Why are you treating me like this..?" You muttered, eyes almost closing due to the close proximity of the two bodies.

"You didnt sleep last night, did you.." Lesso glared and took your face in her hands, staring off into your eyes. You dozed off into hers, your body felt weak.. (weak ash :) ) allowing the darkness to envelope your vision.

You woke up in a unfamiliar looking room and observed your surroundings. You looked down, beside you and saw the messy red head staring at you with a wicked smile.

You flinched back and was pinned to the bed by both of your arms. She then straddled your legs and looked down at you with a frown of authority.

"You're not going anywhere.. You're sick." She said and snapped making belts appear like snakes in the air and dove down to your wrists, ankles, and waist.

You blushed and tried to sit up but the pressure of Lesso on your lap wouldnt let you. With a groan you relaxed onto the bed and submitted to her attempt to get you still.

She was wearing a black vest with matching black pants and tie, complementing her white shirt.

Her hand felt your forehead, she saw your red cheeks and thought you were burning up. A look of realization was plastered on her face, then contorted to one of pride. She hopped off of the bed and walked to get a cold cloth from the bathroom.

You looked to the side and avoided eye contact when she placed it upon your forehead.

"I know you would much prefer my hands instead, but this will have to substitute.." She smugly said not before scratching under your chin as if you were a cat with her long finger nails, she kissed your forehead.

You let out an unintentional whimper, before folding your lips. Pulling on her trench coat, and gripping her cane, she sauntered out leaving you with a flustered expression in her bed.

#fanfic #lady lesso #lady lesso x reader #leonora lesso #school for good and evil #mommy #x reader #dean of evil #charlize theron

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offbeatcappuccino · 1 year ago

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i'm back boo ~ my demon (episodes of 1-6) ramblings

The past two years have made me feel like an unfinished work of pottery struggling to stay together on a tilted pottery wheel. Through this process, not only has my sense of normalcy, but also my idealism towards romance and love has greatly dissipated. This might be a digression, but as a 23 year old woman ( 14 at heart and cognitive ability), I am frankly exhausted of the convoluted "chase" involved with modern day romance. The mere preponderance of dating apps, texting culture, situationships, and avoidant-anxious pairings make me feel like I am seconds away from having a brain aneurysm explode. It is in this relational climate that the flurry of contract marriage k-dramas that have been presented to us this winter feel like a breath of fresh air. One of these shows is "My Demon" (on Netflix) starring Kim Yoon Jung (Backstreet Rookie, 20th Century Girl) and Song Kang (Nevertheless, Love Alarm, Sweet Home), who play Do Do Hee and Jeong Gu Won respectively.

My Demon is a fantasy romance rooted in Catholicism (with a uniquely Korean flavor). Jeong Gu Won (Song Kang) is a centuries old demon tasked with exploiting man's innate greed, whether it be for wealth, love, or merely to be alive. He uses his powers, which emanate from a cross tattoo on his wrist, to seek desperate humans to make decade long contracts, where in return of him fulfilling their wishes, not only die by Gu Won's hand in ten years, but also are placed in eternal hellfire. There are many parallels between Gu Won and other supernatural beings we have already seen in other kdramas such as Myul Mang from Doom at Your Service. Both characters have a rigid adherence to their divine responsibilities, leading to bountiful disdain for humankind and scant mercy for their victims. However, unlike Myul Mang and other supernatural beings, who detest the burden of immortality and yearn to become "human", Gu Won has no such desire. He relishes the eternal youth, immortality, and wealth that has been granted for him and the power that he wields.

The female lead, Do Do Hee, comes from an equal position of affluence, as the adopted daughter of the Mirae Group, a fictional and powerful industrialist family, helmed by matriarch Joo Cheon Seok, and the CEO of Mirae F&B, a successful food and beverage company that she started after college. As the adopted daughter and Chairwoman Ju's favorite, Do Hee earns the contempt of her other power hungry family members, who not only constantly plot However, this love also puts Do Hee in a precarious position as other members of the family constantly plot to not only undermine her company's success, but also kill her. While Do Hee as a character checks off many k-drama protagonist tropes like having a history of childhood trauma and having a strong sense of morality and loyalty, it is important to note that Do Hee is not kind to the point of being naive and foolishly selfless. She is an assertive and ambitious twenty something year old and can be considered to be an "ethical girl boss of sorts".

It is due to Do Hee's precarious state that Gu Won and her meet for the second time in the first episode (the first time being a hilarious mix-up of a blind date) when she is being chased by a psoriasis-ridden murderer. Seeing his next possible victim, Gu Won arrives at the scene, hoping to make his next deal with desperate Do Hee in return for saving her. However, things take a turn and both end up falling over a railing and into the ocean. As Do Do Hee struggles to pull the unconscious Gu Won and herself up to the surface, something interesting happens- the cross tattoo that was once on Gu Won's wrist is transferred to Do Do Hee's. It is this transfer that ends up being a pivotal turning point in the story and forms the crux of the plot.

What ensues over the next few episodes is the gradual development of a push-pull dynamic between the two characters when they realize that the murder attempt from before would not be the only effort to take Do Hee's life and the fact that without the tattoo, Gu Won's powers only work when he holds Do Do Hee's hand. With Gu Won needing Do Hee to harness his powers and continue to maintain his immortality and Do Hee requiring Gu Won's powers to protect herself, this sets up the perfect premise for what is initially a relationship of convenience between bodyguard and employer and later husband and wife.

My Demon isn't meant to be the show that leaves its viewers with sleepless nights pondering purpose of their existence or the meaning of love. At its core, it's a hilarious, appropriately paced, and well executed romantic comedy with strong willed protagonists overcoming their egos to realize that their need for the other is actually an insatiable want. This is evident in the characterization of Gu-Won, who Song Kang delightfully brings to life. There's something about Song Kang that allow him to play morally grey characters in a palatable and comical manner with ease. Even though he's an arrogant and narcissistic jerk, there is an inherent innocence and vulnerability that you can't help but root for. As Gu Won's relationship with Do Hee deepens, he starts to gradually becomes less demon and more human both literally and figuratively. Not only does Gu Won faced with the limitations of losing his powers, but he is also forced to address the burgeoning emotions and attachment he develops with Do Hee. While he asserts his superiority externally as an all powerful being, internally he is conflicted by the gradual shift in the dynamics between him and Do Hee as he starts to develop empathy, love, anger, and jealousy. One particular scene that exemplifies this is the funeral scene in Episode 3 when Gu Won comforts a grieving Do Hee by changing the color of her funeral outfit from black to white, so that the passed individual's soul can recognize her. It's a simple but beautiful gesture by a being, who before meeting her became so accustomed to taking lives and did little to no reflection of the gravity of death and its impact on the living. It is through several similar encounters that Gu Won is forced to confront his humanity, which he had long repressed in his transformation into a demon.

This isn't to say that the show is mind-numbing entertainment and there are profound moments of introspection. Gu Won and Do Hee's relationship serves as medium for a larger ideological dilemma on right versus wrong. This is again exemplified in Episode 3 when Gu Won and Do Hee visit a pediatric cancer patient at the hospital for Gu Won to make his next deal. Gu Won brokers a deal with the child's desperate mother, promising to cure her daughter in return for her agreeing to go to hell in ten years. Do Hee is rightfully horrified by Gu Won and what she believes is him selfishly exploiting the mother, so that he can continue to prolong his existence. Furthermore, she believes that by proposing the deal, Gu Won did more harm than good because the pediatric patient would have to prematurely lose her mother.

On the other hand, Gu Won claims to have helped the mother by saving her child's life and states that everything has to have a price. Later in the episode, both Gu Won and Do Hee independently interact with the patient and her family. When Gu Won talks to the young girl, he is surprised that her wish is to not be discharged from the hospital but to not be a source of suffering for her parents. On the other hand, when Do Hee watches the family celebrating the girl's birthday, she realizes how Gu Won provided transient yet meaningful happiness for the family and reduced their suffering. These scenes poignantly depict how both characters are forced to reckon with each other's definition of justice and the complexity we face as beings with the freedom to choose but not the freedom to escape the consequences of our actions. I believe that it is the show's ability to delve into these larger themes, which allows it to retain both the best elements and escape from the mundanity of ascribing to a trope.

Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️/5

#kdrama review #kdrama recommendations #kdramas #song kang #my demon #netflix #kim yoo jung #do do hee #jeong gu won #korean drama #netflix kdrama #kdramanetwork

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dcptcnx · 2 years ago

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Interrogation

pairing: könig x f!reader (fem bc the term ‘Fräulein’ is used to address as ‘Miss’)

word count: 1,715

warning(s): he hits reader once...but no major warnings. angsty to fluff? idk im bad at this

a/n: PHOTO CREDS TO THE AMAZING @ave661 !! Such good renders !! I hope this turned out well..Trying to work on descriptiveness in writing to capture the aura of the story to paint images for people T^T feedback is appreciated ^

Being a soldier, to some, meant being strong; able to face dangers beyond the demands of the war. Even if part of a task force that delved into jobs that dirtied your hands with so much malice or distaste, you would leave the day feeling empty of who you really were.

And if you were caught, sometimes your crew would forget you existed. Lie to the commanding general and say, "Sir/Ma'am, they are KIA. Mission is compromised." And with that, your ties to the force; identity, service, and even achievements, we're sometimes erased from existence, just like your physicality.

But not your crew. No, the 141 refused to deem you KIA. They had every desire to look at every space in the world to locate your existence. Even if they died trying. You were their spirit, their lifeline. When they found out you were captured, it was like they lost their last bit of rations. Last bit of hope.

Until Price and Ghost knocked sense into everyone.

Which leads us to you. Captured.

Hands cuffed behind your back, uniform tattered in areas, blood stained the collar as your face was practically bloodied and bruised. The soft flicker of the light source above you created an ominous aura in the room, casting dooming shadows by the guards standing watch, waiting for any sudden movements you may try.

"Ahh, fräulein. Schön dich wieder zu sehen*, Lieutenant." A voice spoke out, not as evil as you thought, but had the capability to set someone straight with the right tone. "You just can't stay away from me, huh?" The figure stepped closer to your knelt position, looking down upon you through his sniper hood. Arms crossed tightly across his chest, before loosening to rest against his sides.

"Fick dich*, König. You can't hurt me." The words snapped out of you with such hatred, you yanked on the cuffs to try and break loose, only earning a deep chuckle from the mountainous man. "Couldn't earn a spot on the snipers list, what makes you think you can get me."

The comment angered König. He was still upset for being denied a sniper, but to hear it from you; to be REMINDED, even. It lights the fuse to a bomb within him. His fists clench so tight next to his thighs, before a hard sigh escapes his mouth, hands relaxing.

"I'd watch that mouth of yours, Lieutenant. Oder ich sorge dafür, dass Sie nicht mehr sprechen können*." König stepped forward, right hand gently grasping your jaw before squeezing enough to make you wince in a pained manner. Harshly, he releases his hand, causing your head to be thrown to the side, red marks visible where his fingers clasped.

"My men are well capable and can clear your existence from this very world. KorTac ist nichts ohne mich*." König squatted himself to meet you at eye level, crystal blue eyes staring daggers into your soul, a smirk forming under his hood awaiting your response.

"Und du bist nichts ohne mich*, König. You fucking KNOW that." Your eyes narrow and keep locked onto the man in front of you. Your jaw tense, as you clenched in anger at the very mention of his force.

KorTac was a collective agreement between the two of you. You wanted an army, and König wanted reigns. To be honest, you teetered on the decisions of whether to follow König, or to go your own way. But deep down, you wanted freedom, and so you decided to end your side of the agreement, and joined the Task Force 141.

And König was furious.

"I was the one who pushed you to jump the ranks, König. Deine Existenz ist wegen mir hier*." Smirking, you started with such distrust, watching the man drop his head and clench his fists.

"NEIN, FRÄULEIN!" His voice boomed through the room, metal doors reverberating the sound causing the guards to slightly wince. König took his right hand, and made contact with your cheeks, sending you to the floor, hissing through your teeth at the stinging. After a few seconds, he takes both hands and grabs the collar of your vest, yanking you up to meet his covered face.

"You'd look so pretty wearing the KorTac insignia, Schatzi. Not that filthy 141…Verdammte Mischlinge*." Dropping you, he reached to the insignia on your vest and ripped it off, tossing it aside into the dark abyss of the room.

Many moments pass of stagnant silence, your eyes watching carefully as the man paces across the room, muttering German to himself. You couldn't help but feel a twang of guilt, wondering what went wrong and how you could try to fix it.

"What happened to you, König?" You softly spoke out, eyes still fixated on his every move. The man freezes at hearing your sweet words, only to let out a scoff before pacing once more.

"Da ist nichts falsch*. Nein." König slightly faltered on the final words of his response, slowing his pacing before coming to a full stop facing towards one of the doors. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"Yes it does. I know you, König. You still have your doubts." Your voice spoke up, not too loud to echo around the room, but loud enough to be heard by the tall man in front of you. "Es tut mir leid, dass ich nicht geblieben bin*…really." You yanked your hands, forgetting they were cuffed for a second, allowing the metal to clink together. "Schieße…"

"Here." König made a motion which the guards understood to exit the room, leaving the two alone. "Talk."

A soft gulp, and you began to speak. Talked about why you chose the 141 in the end, why you hid it behind his back. As you spoke, he walked behind you, carefully removing the tight cuffs from your hands, letting you rub the markings left by them.

"I was offered a higher rank than I was at the time. And I couldn't pass it up. Es tut mir leid*." You stood still, not trying to make any rash movements but you noticed König grabbing a metal chair and sitting in it, elbows perched on his knees.

"I would've given you a better rank, Schatzi. Why?" His blue eyes captured your looming gaze, searching for a reason, only to sign heavily, hands grasping his helmet. You knew him to be very secretive about his physical identity, and you worried about how he was feeling in this moment, watching as his fingers gripped harder against the straps. "You could've been my precious Stellvertreter*."

"König I-" you froze. You had nothing to really say. You wanted to be with him, wanted to help grow his newfound group. But you knew that nothing you'd say, would better him.

You began to hear a soft click coming from his direction, catching the chin strap of his helmet hanging onto one side. Your eyes were widened, but carefully observed his every move as his hands reached under the hood and lift. Slowly, König removed his helmet, revealing his face to you.

This man was beautiful. Perfectly pale skin, a dusting of light caramel freckles danced across his cheeks. His nose looked to be slightly larger than average, but still was in just the perfect spot to compliment the placement of his crystalline blue eyes. His hair was disheveled due to his helmet being worn at all times, but the dim lights within the room made it glow a beautiful bronze blonde, as it carefully stuck to his forehead. It looked as if he hadn't cut his hair any time recently, as it started to touch his ears, slightly curl on them.

You could tell he was feeling very nervous, and anxious; a complete 180° from how he acted earlier on. The way his leg would slightly bounce up and down, like a metronome keeping tempo to his heart. His fingers tapped atop his knees, a soft gentle hum faintly being heard. Your eyes never looked away from him. Admiring the vulnerability he decided to show you after all those years.

Your final destination was his face In whole. The plethora of scars he wore, probably with a story behind each one. You wondered how he endured each one, hand twitching wanting to ghost your fingers across each one, to show you still care for the man, even if on different squads.

König saw you fight the urge to get up and approach him, through the corner of his eye. After internally going back and forth, he let out a soft sigh before standing up and walking closer to you. He sat across from you on the ground, legs crossed, eyes focused on your face.

"I know your motive. Go ahead." He voice softly spoke, dipping his hands down to grab your digits and lead them towards his face.

His face had a minute amount of Stubble on his chin, so barely visible as the color was almost a bleach blonde. He wore a scar that slashed across his chin; could be from the battlefield, or even a mishap on shaving. The thought of the latter situation made you give the tiniest of smiles, to which König's eyes locked onto your lips. He studied every crinkle you made when you smiled, the small dimple that would occasionally show up.

"Du bist immer noch sehr hübsch, weißt du.*" He whispered as your fingers danced across his face, studying every scar. His eyes never once left your lips, awaiting for them to move once again.

"König…" your voice wavered a bit, almost choked. You missed him, truly. Missed his softer side. Deep down you knew the tension of being on different units was breaking, but didn't realize how hard he took it. "You know I can't betray my men…" your right hand caresses his jawline, thumb rubbing circles against his cheek.

"Unfortunately…" he sighed out, leaning into your touch. He knew that after taking you, the possibility of an allyship would be very small, but he held hope. "Vielleicht arbeiten wir eines Tages zusammen*."

You didn't know what came of you. Your body reacted before it crossed your mind, as you pulled his face down and placed a soft kiss against his cheek, below his eye.

"Bitte haben Sie Hoffnung*, König."

translations!!

"Ahh, fräulein. Schön dich wieder zu sehen, Lieutenant." ->Ah, miss. Nice to see you again, Lieutenant.

"Fick dich” -> Fuck You

“Oder ich sorge dafür, dass Sie nicht mehr sprechen können” -> Or I'll make you unable to speak

“KorTac ist nichts ohne mich” -> KorTac is nothing without me

"Und du bist nichts ohne mich, König.” -> And you are nothing without me, king

“Deine Existenz ist wegen mir hier.“ -> Your existence is here because of me.

“Verdammte Mischlinge” -> Damn half-breeds (i put fucking mongrels but you know...)

"Da ist nichts falsch. Nein." -> There's nothing wrong. no

"Es tut mir leid, dass ich nicht geblieben bin.” -> I'm sorry I didn't stay

“Stellvertreter” -> Deputy (I was aiming for second in command but translations are wack tbh)

"Du bist immer noch sehr hübsch, weißt du.” -> You're still very pretty, you know.

"Vielleicht arbeiten wir eines Tages zusammen." -> Maybe one day we'll work together.

"Bitte haben Sie Hoffnung, König." -> Please have hope, king.

#sin writes 📝#könig #könig mw2 #könig x reader

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kingbryancroidragon · 6 months ago

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Darkness Rising Part 1 Commentary

I felt like I'd be using the account to comment on things, so why not? Now, I will be sharing my own little head canons, so if that's not your thing just a heads up.

Right off the bat we are introduced to our first Cybertronian and it is Cliffjumper. Now, I once considered writing up my own story to send to Hasbro, something that is doomed from the start because why would they ever accept it, but with all the spotlight Bumblebee has been getting, I'd switch things around and have Cliffjumper as a member of the main cast. Red is my favourite colour after all. As for Dwayne Johnson, I personally find him an average at best actor and I haven't seen a ton of his stuff, but I have seen a fair number of portrayals of Hercules and he isn't one of my favourites, but I don't hate him either. For the record, my favourite actors are Nigel Green ("Jason and the Argonauts") and Lawrence Bayne ("Mythic Warriors"). As for Cliffjumper, I don't know, you just can't beat Casey Kasem, but on the subject of Shaggy Rogers, another Kasem role, I find Matthew Lillard to be a superior Shaggy, something that is no doubt going to get me a lot of hate, and in general I consider him a superior actor to Johnson, so maybe I think he would have been a better Cliffjumper, but at the same time I think it would have been a disservice to have such a great actor be brought in only to die in the pilot episode.

Then we get introduced to our second Cybertronian and of course, it is Arcee. I say "of course" because I love the characters who were introduced in the 1986 film. She, Hot Rod/Rodimus, Springer and Ultra Magnus would so have been included in the story I would have submitted to Hasbro. As for her altmode, it has typically been either a car or a motorcycle, but with the Transmetal 2 Maximal version of her having been a spider, I kind of feel like there was another direction to go, especially since at that point her screen appearances had two points for a car and this series brought it to three for a motorcycle and it could have been a good mirror for Airachnid, but I don't know, that's just me.

The energon on earth is a nice return to "Beast Wars", my introduction to Transformers. I really like that. I also really like seeing the Vehicons return in some form since I loved "Beast Machines."

Peter Cullen returning as Optimus is a real treat. I know we had gotten him back in the live-action films, but seeing him return to Optimus on television is just fantastic. He was actually at FanExpo last year alongside Frank Welker and I wanted to get both of their autographs, but I was not regularly working yet, I was only a call-in for a rare bookstore, and I did not know you could bring something in to get autographed, so instead of paying one hundred dollars to get an autographed picture of Megatron from Frank I could have brought in the Ultimate Guide to Transformers and gotten them both to autograph it. Maybe one day I'll have Peter's too.

Now we are introduced to Starscream voiced by the great Steve Blum. If you haven't seen the English dub for "A Cat in Paris", I highly recommend it. Blum is just fantastic in it. As for Starscream's design, I remember watching this and have no idea what I was expecting. Until the Michael Bay films, Starscream had always been recognizably Starscream. He might not have always had the same altmode (Yes, he was always a jet, but never the same kind, especially strange in my mind since I've looked it up and the F-15 Eagle is still in service, meaning unlike some characters, his altmode isn't exactly dated), then the 2007 film came and he has this head which is just not Starscream and it is the same here. I don't have the same problem with characters like Megatron because he hasn't always had a consistent design. Thankfully, Starscream's character is in tact with some variation.

Four minutes in and we have our first named casualty. Oh, God, I love it. I remember watching the 1986 film during lunch in high school with some friends and me being the only one who could actually identify them because I was such a big fan I watched the G1 episodes, I was on Unicron.com quite often. There were questions of how I knew all their names and an exclamation of "The medic?!" when I went "No! Ratchet!!" To me it hit more because I knew the names of these characters, but to someone who didn't they were just nameless casualties.

I kind of feel the same way in regards to Soundwave's design here as I do with Starscream's. It takes someone referring to him by name to know its him. I know he hasn't had many screen appearances, but his design is still recognizably him while this isn't, but on the other hand it looks so alien that I actually kind of like it.

The establishment of there being only five Autobots on earth now really makes you wonder how many others were lost. Its a nice touch.

And we are introduced to one of our human protagonists: Jack Darby. For obvious reasons, I head canon him as having gone dressed as Spider-Man one Halloween when he was younger, but for another head canon, just because, I have it that he eats shrimp with the tails. It drives both his mom and Miko crazy, Raf is indifferent and Fowler also eats the tails, thinking it adds a nice crunch.

I wonder if Arcee is the only who named their hologram driver.

While I do ship Jack and Miko, I had this head canon since before I started shipping them. June was asking if Jack was going to the dance because she'd heard someone was hosting a foreign exchange student, a girl, and thought Jack would go, meet her and hit it off. Miko was actually briefly at the dance, only to realize she felt like she didn't belong there without any friends and left soon after.

In regards to the "This is Jasper" line when Jack is told to be careful, I have the head canon that Jasper's most notorious crime was when its bank was being held up by a man wielding a taxidermy stork in the 1950's. For people who have lived there all their lives like Jack, June and Raf it is just a funny little story, but for someone like Miko she just has "WTF" flying through her head in big red letters. Sure, it sounds weird, but when your most notorious crime is some lunatic wielding a stuffed bird trying to rob a bank, what do you think is the worst that could happen?

Jack is so a motorcycle afficionado.

Ah, yes, Sierra (No Last Name) and... What was her name again?

And now we get into the action. A nice motorcycle chase, Bumblee gets into the action (my dad loved Bumbleebee) we are introduced to Raf (I have a soft spot for the glasses-wearing characters as I require them myself), it is a really good climax.

I would say robots that turn into cars is more accurate.

I actually don't have a problem with Bumblebee's more Bay film-inspired design. That is probably because due to a lack of screen appearances, unlike some characters, he didn't really have a set look. With this and "Animated" making it two for two, I'd say he has two looks.

Bumblebee accidentally stepping on Raf's toy car never fails to make me laugh.

Love how the Vehicons just call it them moment Bulkheard shows up.

And Optimus creates the Autobot Witness Protection Program.

Jack doesn't know what is going on. For all he knows, he and Raf are getting kidnapped by robots disguised as vehicles.

And now we are properly introduced to Miko, admiring the same motorcycle Jack was the day before. Fellow motorcycle aficionado?

And then Miko volunteered for the Autobot Witness Protection Program.

I love how indignant Ratchet sounds at the concept of someone having made the Autobots.

Having Megatron return is just the perfect way to end the pilot, especially since it heralds the return of Frank Welker as the character to television.

And that is the episode, great start. Thank you for reading this if you did.

#transformers prime #transformers #cliffjumper #arcee #optimus prime #starscream #soundwave #jack darby #raf esquivel #miko nakadai #bumblebee #bulkhead #ratchet #megatron

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