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vifilms · 1 day ago

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tattoo artist!vi who takes notice of just how beautiful you are the moment you step foot in her shop. it’d be the most difficult task in the world to not notice just how insanely breathtaking you are. it’s clear by the smirk on your glossy lips. you know just how good you look. caitlyn, being the woman she is, tries to jump in first. you’re just her type. violet would know, cait’s dated the anti-thesis of her since the moment you broke up. caitlyn kiramman loves pretty girls. anything she can do to be underneath them, she’ll find a way. you fit her bill. violet tried not to take offense of the ways your eyes light up taking to her ex-girlfriend. maybe you’re just nice. that’s it, right? two minutes, someone who is almost as gorgeous as you walks in and then violet forgets about you as her next client walks in. she tries to at least.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t stop thinking about you. it’s new york. there’s plenty of pretty girls she can drown herself in. well, if she could figure out how to ask someone out without her crippling anxiety suffocating her. she knows she’s somewhat attractive but her lack of knowing how to efficiently communicate it without sound like the weirdest fuck who has ever lived gets lost in translation. she doesn’t like how sure cait is of herself when she talks about you though. violet doesn’t even know you but seeing the glint in those aquatic-blue eyes make her want to punch something. it’s hard to even tell if it due to her budding crush or that it’s her ex. probably both but she ignores it.

tattoo artist!vi who likes to frequent bars on her days off. it’s when she doesn’t feel alone. it’s fun to bug her sister, powder. she’s always been more of a free spirit out of the two of them. an artist, a wanderer, someone who choses to bartend a couple nights out of the week just because she liked meeting new people, learning their story, what makes them tick. are they a mean drunk, happy, or will they burst into tears when you ask them how they’re doing? vi isn’t either really. she’s quiet, calm even, but tonight part of her wants to cry. she feels lonely, lost, and even a little bit upset caitlyn is your first choice. she only knows your name because of the clientele list and that just feels pathetic. violet’s never been the smoothest of talkers, she knows that more than she feels the blood coursing through her veins. she isn’t the girl and she’s perfectly fine with it. perfectly. fine.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t even enjoy work anymore. three months in and you’ve been cait’s girlfriend and the feeling only gets worse. it’s cliché. a little fucked, but being in love with her ex’s girlfriend? it doesn’t get any lower than this. she let it slip days ago, only to powder, thank fucking god. if violet knew one thing, she didn’t wanna deal with caitlyn’s wrath. according to maddie, she’d been a dog with a bone when it came to you. so protective it nearly turned into possession. she wanted everyone to know that you were hers and not anyone else’s. it wasn’t new to violet, cait didn’t like being runner up to anyone. it’s why their relationship ended in the first place, especially when the girlfriend feels inferior to the sister. when powder comes around to the shop, cait can’t help but wear her disgust all over her face like a poorly concealed mask. vi thinks it’s silly. the both of them are nearly the same it’s almost sickening. if only the other took the time to know the object of their disdain, they would see two peas sitting in a pod.

tattoo artist!vi who hates a messy shop. when personal items are left behind or someone’s station isn’t properly sanitized and clean. it’s why she’s here, alone on the sunday, the only day the shop is closed. it’s been too long since she did a deep clean, just a week or too, but that’s long enough for her. she’s always been proud of what she’s been able to accomplish her. even if she didn’t have much, a girlfriend to love on, or if her father was on the other side of the country, she had this. violet ink. it was her name out on the sign over seeing the street, the luminous violet led lights kissing the downtown street. she made it this far and she couldn’t let anyone run her off from something she fought so hard to build from the ground up. it’s why she was surprised when she saw you. your face free of makeup, your hair in it’s natural state, and you appeared more laid back than you ever were — in her shop. it feels like a fever dream she never wishes to wake up from. cait must have given you a spare key to the shop which she would have a discussion with her about that later because what the fuck? but it’s hard for her to stay mad when you’re standing there looking like a million bucks in the most casual pair of sweats she’s ever seen. it feels different to who you usually are. shredded of the image you maintain, stripped back, there’s just a softer version of yourself and vi can’t help but contemplate if this is the side you’re so reluctant to show.

tattoo artist!vi who stutter how some stupid joke, trying to break the ice and it should have made things more awkward than they already were but your laugh full of symphonies just makes violet smile. in her best efforts, she craves to conceal it from you but it’s impossible when you’re looking at her. she can’t help but smile — so she does. desperately, violet tries not to act nervous when you’re looking at her designs on the wall, not saying a word, just inspecting. there’s a chill in her bones she feels, a need for her work to be loved because if it isn’t? it eats her up from the inside out. maybe it’s embarrassing but she needs her work to be loved. what’s the point if it isn’t? it’s always been an extension of her soul, her life, and if someone doesn’t like it? all they say is they don’t like her. it may be the silliest thing in the world, but she needs to be adored. from a complete stranger, from the people who she’s permanently tattooing, and especially from the beautiful women violet can’t stop daydreaming about.

tattoo artist!vi who blushes when you tell her how much you love her designs. there’s a soft touch to her shoulder, your thumb lightly tracing circles in her sturdy bicep. it feel innocent enough but vi doesn’t give herself much time to think about it. painfully, she takes note in how your eyes soar when they make contact with her designs. even if it makes her cocky, violet knows she’s good at her job. clients flying in from all over the country, just to get tattooed by her. with your undeniable charm, you’ve convinced her to do a custom design for you but you wanna discuss it on sunday’s, alone. if anything, she should know this isn’t a good idea. you’re charming, gorgeous and the prettiest thing she’s ever seen. she should be afraid of caitlyn’s wrath, of what would happen if she found out, but it’s innocent…right? she’s a professional. no matter how much she’s attracted to a client, it’s never been an issues and she certainly won’t make it one now. vi nods and the second she does, you’re leaping in her arms, into her space. you smell of lavender and lilies, like spring in the beginning of march. a sun-kissed marvel aching for the shine of summer, for one breath of fresh air. it’s really all she wants, a moment to be in the sunshine with you, if only for a moment at least she could tell the moon about it. her best kept secret and she would cherish every bit of it.

tattoo artist!vi who tries to keep her head down low as the weeks carry on. even when you try to make more of an effort to speak with her, the last thing she needs is caitlyn to take one final look at her and realize just how much she likes the attention. maddie already made one comment, even if it was light-hearted — it’s enough to keep her on edge. with the design being complete, all she needs is to tattoo but violet’s been avoiding you and what’s worse? you knew it too. in her true avoidant style, violet failed to go to the shop the last two weeks on sunday. the tidiness and damn right organization of her shop was suffering but she still had plans of avoiding it. rather avoiding you, but in her forest fire of a mind, it comes all the same. all of this is so trivial, so stupid, so tragic. it’s kiramman’s day off and violet and sevika are the only artists on hand today which means she’s overworked. the both of them are tired and violet just completed her last session of the day. she sneaks to the back enjoying the cigarette she’d been itching to have. violet’s on her second one when you corner her into the brick wall she’s leaning on. you’re too close. dangerously close, almost as if the fire you’ve created in violet’s lungs might cause her to burn from the inside out. it’s chilling how silent you are until you aren’t. you’re loud about the way you caress her exposed biceps, tracing the lines of her intricate tattoo as it crawls up shoulders and so do your hands. with a sharp graze, you scrap your nails across her skin as if you want to leave a reminder that she was in fact here. should she even even be here? letting you touch her in the way you are? but it’s not like vi has much of a choice when you push the hem of her tank top up to her ribcage, showcasing the flexing abs on her abdomen. it may be faint but there’s a happy trail, one violet wants to see your lips on but she’s scared to say anything, to move, to breathe. “caitlyn said you were ripped underneath. i wanted to see for myself.” then your touch is gone and you are with it.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t show up on sunday…for the first couple of hours. violet thinks of that night, the way you touched her, like you knew exactly what to do before she even could think of what she wanted next. how on earth did you manage to paralyze her with a mere flick of your wrist? when your nails clawed at her toned abdomen, violet felt the stickiness in her boxers and you’d done all of nothing. she had to put an end to things, the private session, violet couldn’t do it. she didn’t want to be caught in some weird and perversed love triangle with her ex. in the back of her throat, violet feels the lump she constantly has to swallow. the only reasonable explanation is that this, you, is all some weird fantasy of caitlyn to get the last laugh. to fully degrade her in a way she couldn’t, not when you’re the person who gets broken up with. it’s not a secret caitlyn’s ego had taken a hit. to anyone, not being the first choice stings but to cait? it might as well be a death sentence and certainly it wouldn’t stand.

tattoo artist!vi who isn’t one for confrontation but in the need to savor some of her salvation in her dignity, she walks in the shop. you’re still waiting for her. two hours later, you’d hoped she’d show. ”violet, you came.” it’s endearing but violet also sees herself the night before tangled in her black sheets, vibrator on its highest setting as she applies pressure to her clit, fingers nestled so deep inside her cunt as she hears your voice, thinks about your irresistible lips. violet wonders what you sound like when you come and suddenly the thought sends her hurling towards the edge. the smile you offer is almost like you can see right through her, like you know vi came to the idea of you just the night before.

with a slender smile, you make your way over to her and suddenly the internal dialogue she created to put an end to this arrangement died on your tongue when she shrugs vi’s leather jacket off. she’s only wearing her wrap to cover her chest, not intending on staying for a long time. definitely not enough to finish the beautiful design she created for you. she’d get cait to do it. their styles were similar to it. your girlfriend has to do this. but you’re touching her bare skin. vi is losing focus as she feels the control slip into your greedy fingers.

“i know what you’re gonna say.”

“and what’s that?”

“you wanna stop this, meeting me here, you feel like you’re betraying someone you love and you have too much integrity to keep seeing someone you so obviously want to fuck.”

“i can’t—” but the words die on violet’s tongue.

“sense won’t get to you, that’s something caitlyn didn’t understand. you think with your heart of gold. when it drips for someone, you’d let it bleed out if it meant you were saving someone.” you take a pause, slipping off your shirt as your pierced nipples are exposed. violet nearly begins to drool, her eyes unable to look away from your perfect nipples, the swell of your breast how perfectly they fall on your chest, she’s nearly salivating to be offered a taste. “my girlfriend doesn’t understand you’ve found someone else to be loyal to.”

“this is not, um, i didn’t—”

sweetly, you kiss her cheek. “it’s such a bitch isn’t it? your heart wants whatever the fuck it yearns for, no damn mercy on who it hurts.”

violet can only think of how much she wants to be suffocated by your tits, forever trapped in this venus fly trap you’ve caused her to succumb to. with her best foot forward, she wants to tell you to go to hell, that you’re wrong about her — she would never do something like this — until she does. it’s all tongue and teeth, vitriol and lust spills into her mouth as violet pushes you on the bench, ripping your skirt to shreds with her bare hands. only to find nothing underneath.

bent over the table, ass up in the air, violet wastes not a single moment and stuffs her face in your fat ass. with a gratifying need, she splits your folds on her tongue as she slaps your ass making you whimper and cry out for her name. it’s beautiful, violet thinks. someone needing her to bring them to the edge, and god, you aren’t shy about it either. never has she heard anyone be so loud and proud about sex. so goddamn confident in each moan you let fall from pornogrpahic lips, it’s damn invigorating. the first one comes easily, you spill over vi’s tongue as she moans back into your weeping pussy, liquid gushing over her face violet never wants it to end. the second time violet fucks you with her fingers, stuffing and fucking until there isn’t any part of you that isn’t undeniably shaking. the third time, you’re on top of her, the two of you finding comfortablity on the cot in the break room as violet lets you fuck her.

exactly what she expects it to be; hot, rough, fast. slippery pussy rubbing against hers until you collapse on top of her, breast pressed against her binded ones. you have a feeling they are there for a reason and you don’t push, for once in your life, you let yourself succumb to sleep as you fall asleep in her arms.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t see you for three months after she had the best sex of her life. even if it does sting, vi knows it’s for the best. six months in and you’re still with caitlyn despite your best efforts. surprising everyone, but violet for different reasons, you admit your slip up to cait but she forgives you. maddie and sevika make a game of it, trying to guess who make you cheat and when violet’s name comes up jokingly, caitlyn’s words leave an unsettling pit in her stomach.

c’mon, what is violet going to do? look at her. she’s as loyal as a trained dog and i have you trained. don’t i, cupcake?

tattoo artist!vi who focuses on her work, like a trained dog, she falls back into her routine. sunday’s aren’t as pleasurable as they were with you, or one sunday she should say, but she dismisses the thought altogether. pushing it to the deepest parts of her mind becomes the only viable option. she uses other forms of entertainment to get her mind off of you. powder thinks it’s a good idea to be here but she refuses to step foot in here with her. this is where my path ends, sis. i’ll be just up the hill when you’re ready. a not so subtle wink has her cringing and flipping her off blue-haired braided sister off in the process. this is such a good stupid idea but violet doesn’t manage to convince herself out of this situation she’s conducted for herself. anyways, it’s one night? no one ever has to know. from the moment she steps into the strip club, she knows she never should have been here. she keeps to the bar as she changes songs from the jukebox a few times. this has never been her scene nor will it ever. as she finishes off her class of neat whiskey, the familiar voice whispers into her ear, never thought you’d be here but i guess we’re both full of surprises.

#need to make a vi masterlist atp #the brainrot has severly taken over #oops?#yeah i'm posting this raw can't be bothered to reread it hehe #vi arcane #vi #violet x reader #vi arcane x reader #vi smut #vi x reader #vi x you #vi x y/n #league of legends

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heyyallitssatan · 2 days ago

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The Justice League were on a planet they didn’t know in a galaxy they couldn’t be bothered to remember, at least they were fairly sure they were still in the universe they were before they left Earth.

They had just arrived and were looking at the charging army of a species they vaguely recognised from the rather threatening video call they received before jumping into hyperspace.

They heard and ship land behind them, and as they turned to look they had one collective thought: oh, Batman’s here, we’ll be okay. Because if they were being perfectly honest with themselves they didn’t have a plan before jumping galaxies, well that’s not entirely true, they had something of a plan, ask them why they had a large laser pointed at Earth, okay maybe the video call and threats were made in retaliation to their equipment being destroyed, and then probably beat the crap out of them.

Honestly, it wasn’t the worst idea they’ve ever walked into battle with. But Batman probably had a better one, and he was here now.

When they watched him step out of the ship by himself, well they went from reassured to down right relieved. He was alone, that meant he had a plan, knew how to execute it, and expected to be home in time to snag one of Alfred’s cookies before the kids got a hold of them.

Batman stepped off the ships runner, and stopped. He just stopped, about a foot from the ship and probably 20 from the league. He was only standing stock still like that for a moment, before the league all watched Robin follow down the runner and stand beside his father.

Alright we’ll Robin’s fine Bats probably just brought him to give him a little more off world experience-

Oh shit is that Red Robin too?

It was, he was typing away on his little wrist screen and without look up came to a stop perfectly aligned with Bats and Robin.

Ok, we that’s not great but they’ll still probably be fine- Oh god fucking dammit!

Signal and Spoiler spill out after them, and the League knows better than to expect anything but the worst case scenario at this point. So when Nightwing flips out after them they weren’t surprised, maybe a little disappointed though.

A few of the more hopeful members still had their fingers crossed when Black Bat and Red Hood stepped out together.

The entire league visibly deflated as the last bats stepped off the platform, they were fucked now, absolutely, definitely, indubitably (that’s a big word for Elmo) fucked.

Suddenly, with moves only speedsters and Diana probably could have tracked, the bats were standing next to them, a one to one ratio of bat to leaguer. They stayed themselves there for just a moment, to watch the army changing at them, before they flipped and flew off, charging back like they weren’t seven kids in spandex running at armed guards numbering in the thousands.

It was another moment of terror induced stupor before the league heard a new voice in their ear.

“Hello,” a voice they knew they knew spoke into their comms, no, not their comms, their minds. The voice was speaking directly into their minds. When none of them jumped at the intrusion they noted they were slightly grateful for J’onn tendency to forget himself and not use words.

“Hello? Can you hear me? Please don’t say anything, just nod your heads.”

They all slowly nodded while glancing around, looking for a body to place the discorporated voice in their minds. Nothing.

“Great,” so the voice saw them, “these aliens have mind controlling powers, but they can only be activated if they hear your voice.”

“So if you speak at all for the remainder of the mission we will be forced to consider you compromised and deal with you accordingly.”

She was terrifyingly calm, some would say almost cheerful, while telling the justice league about how they had to play quiet place during the battle or risk being violently silenced by a colony of bats, because there was no way this voice wasn’t a bat.

“So if any of you don’t think you’ll be able to fighting without your voice please head back to the ship and await instruction.”

No one left.

“Alright then, I’ll patch you through to the rest of them, please standby.”

Noise exploded in their ears, minds? The bats, who they had finally turned their attention back to, were flipping around the battlefield taking out enemies and carrying out near impossible stunts and trick shots and combos. They could be compared to a well oiled machine, if the machine produced murder and quips.

Quips and moves being called out we’re interspersed with calling points, and chirping?

Yup, chirping, they were chirping at each other.

“If you’re just going to stand there can you go ahead and head back to the ship?”

That seemed to snap them out of their daze and into action.

“They’re psychic powers are intense and impressive, but their bodies are frail. Their armour is focused on their chests and heads, they don’t have joints but their limbs are mostly uncovered, their hearts are in the little purple pockets on their backs, where the armour bulges just beneath their heads. The amour is primarily tin so it shouldn’t be hard to get through, avoid the spears though, they’re poison tipped, it shouldn’t affect Martian Manhunter or Wonder Woman but everyone else should be careful, especially…”

She continued rattling off information about their foe and the league finally jumped into action, staying pointedly silent and targeting the points they were told too.

Superman was the first to break.

The battle had been going so well, everyone was working well together and the ability to communicate mentally seemed to curb the need to speak verbally, until Clark got hit with one of those spears and it actually cut him, damn not having a yellow sun here, and he shouted, “OW”. Everyone immediately felt Superman being cut off from the link, so fast some members of the league hadn’t even realised he had spoken.

The more disturbing thing was realising that the line had gone nearly silent, because the chattering bats had gone dead quiet. In the moment it took them to notice the bats had disappeared from the link, Batman, Nightwing, and Robin and snuck up on and incapacitated the man of steel, and he hadn’t noticed.

A little drone flew out to them, strapped superman to it, and flew off back to the bat ship, to be “handled”, whatever the fuck that terrifying word meant.

After that they fell like dominoes, each lasting only a few minutes after the prior hero had fallen.

But the time the army was defeated and a few soldier had been sent back with an official request for diplomacy, written in their language, and the bats were rounding each other up and heading back.

Everyone sitting in various restraints in the bat ship, being carefully looked over by Batwing, was more than a little peeved when they woke up on the ride home. They’re all pretty sure they weren’t mind controlled, that would have meant being conscious long enough to make the connection, so they were rather kissed about being knocked out and restrained.

After they woke up, and answered a battery of questions to Batwing satisfaction, they were released and allowed to roam the ship.

Clark, the first out and first up, went to find Bruce.

“So you brought the kids?” because as irritated as he was, he understood why they did it.

“Of course, I know they can fight silently.”

“And you didn’t trust us?” Clark chanced a smile, trying to show he wasn’t angry.

“Of course not, you’ve never trained to do it, they have, it was a clear cut decision.”

“Yeah… maybe we shouldn’t start running some of those training programs at the watchtower you were talking about.”

“Yes, we should, glad you came around.”

That sat together in a sort of pleasant silence for a minute, before “I’ll bring the kids, they could always use the reminder, and they say the best way to learn is to teach.”

He nodded as he walked off deeper into the ship to find his children and announce their next family trip to the watchtower.

Of the league was fucked.

He heard Red Hood then, in the distance of the ship, “Oh fuck yeah, we’ll show ‘em how to be quiet, right Cass?”

So very very fucked.

I bet the JL has a “how fucked are we” metric that’s literally just how many of Bruce’s kids are there.

Like if he pulls up to the alien invasion or whatever with just Robin, then everything’s fine. More than fine, actually, because Bruce feels comfortable enough to bring his eight year old along for the ride. This battle will take approximately fifteen minutes and they’ll all get shawarma after. Not fucked in the slightest.

But if Red Robin shows up too… hmm, okay, this is getting somewhat serious. Tim is one of Bruce’s most trusted partners; he’s the smart Robin, the tactician, the loyal one, and so if Batman brought him along then it means he’s at least a little bit worried about shit hitting the fan and wants one his advisors around. But the combined brain power of Bruce and Tim is pretty much unmatched (DC plot armor for the win), so everything will be fine, basically. Superman might take a hit, but everything’s going to be fine. Just keep calm and you’ll all make it home in time to Door Dash some Panda Express before it closes. So not that fucked.

It starts to get serious after that. When Signal and Spoiler roll up the scene, shit has definitely hit the fan. Batman’s worried enough to call in reinforcements and he’s probably doubting the League’s ability to listen/obey his orders, so he needs a backup plan in case things go really south. But with Signal’s abilities and Steph’s superpower of turning anything into a joke, chances are you’ll be okay. Maybe impaled or something, but okay. But still, fucked.

When Nightwing shows, the JL knows it’s starting to get dicey out on the field. See, Nightwing’s got his own team, his own issues—the fact that he set that all aside to help out his dad is cause for concern. On a scale from 1-10, they are at a 7. Above moderately fucked.

And… oh God. Black Bat? Most of the time the JL doesn’t even see her, but once she makes herself known and starts fighting alongside her siblings, they all start to silently freak out. Black Bat is a fucking machine and if she’s breaking a sweat trying to fight the Big Bad, things are definitely not going to go well. They start praying that Batman figures something out. They freak out. They are intrinsically fucked.

But God Forbid you catch sight of the Red Hood. The prodigal son is a legitimate killer, and if Batman’s letting him blow out brains then the JL knows he’s desperate. And a desperate Batman is not good. At all. They are definitely fucked.

#sorry this got so long #the plot bunny ran away with me #I just loved it so much thank you #Batfam #Batfam fiction #original writing

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ylangelegy · 3 days ago

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unknown / nth ⭐ minghao x reader.

your boyfriend gives you a language lesson before bed.

★ minghao x translator/interpreter!reader a.k.a the lost in translation couple ★ word count: 1.9k ★ genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, conversation about mandarin (my reference). takes place post-lost in translation! not entirely necessary to have read the fic prior to this. title is from hozier's song of the same name. not proofread. ★ footnotes: minghao did a brief weibo live and i've been missing lost in translation for quite some time now, so i jammed this out really quick 🚬🦆 may write more for/about this couple in the near future, so take this as the first of many! ♡

“I think Cold Love really represents me well. It’s probably because I’m an INFJ.”

You press your palm to your mouth to stifle your laugh. Minghao doesn’t react visibly, but his hand waves at you off-camera. A wordless reminder of Be nice.

The two of you are across the room from each other— him, perched on the couch of his hotel room, while you’re already tucked in bed. Minghao had promised his fans a quick Weibo live to discuss his most recent EP, leaving you to your own devices for the next hour or so.

You didn’t mind. It was one of life’s simple joys, listening to your boyfriend talk.

He spends the next thirty minutes or so discussing his creative process and answering fans’ questions. You don’t bother him, knowing you’ll have all the time in the world later to tease him for some of his remarks. Like his indignance at growing taller or his jabs at his age.

As you busy yourself with mindlessly scrolling through your phone, you relish in the familiar sound of Minghao’s Mandarin. It’s probably your favorite version of white noise, really. The mellow tone of his voice contrasts the rapid, sharp way that he speaks. Despite being well-acquainted with the language, there are still some words that elude you. You make a mental note to ask Minghao about them later.

Less than an hour has passed before you hear Minghao beginning to wind down. “Good luck on all of your exams. To the people working, keep working hard! Make lots of money,” he says hurriedly. “And good luck with love, too. I hope you all find someone who loves you back so you can experience all sorts of feelings.”

He’s never been the type to drag out his goodbyes, so you’re not surprised when— after a final heart sign and wave to the camera— Minghao is finally clocking out of his live.

Immediately, he slumps back onto the couch like the whole thing had drained him. Sure, lives weren’t necessarily one-sided, but he did have to hard carry when it came to the talking part of the affair. You flash him a sympathetic smile as you sit up in bed.

“Done, xīngān?” you call out.

Minghao doesn’t respond right away. You don’t hold it against him. He sometimes needed a moment, needed a minute or two to pull himself together.

After staring at the ceiling for what feels like forever, Minghao lets out a shuddering exhale. “Done,” he responds, and he’s moving before you can register it.

He gets to his feet and crosses the room in a few, quick strides. Once he gets to the bed, he wastes no time in reaching for you. His knees sink in the mattress; his hands dart out.

You let out a slight squeal when Minghao tugs you into him.

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding very sorry at all. This had been a premeditated act. You can tell in the way his arms immediately snake around your waist.

You let out a defeated sigh against his chest, but make no move to pull away. “Tired?” you ask, your hands resting on the small of his back as you return his embrace.

He hums a quiet ‘mhm’. “I’m not built for this anymore, xīngān,” he whines.

The two of you know that’s a bold-faced lie. Still, you indulge your sulking boyfriend lest he begin to pout even harder. “My poor baby,” you coo, running your hands up and down Minghao’s back in a show of comforting him. “Gonna blame it on being an introvert?”

“Shut up.”

You let out a small laugh. You can’t see it, but you swear you can feel the curve of Minghao’s smile as he presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

“Thank you for being here,” he says after a moment of comfortable silence. “It means a lot.”

A part of you wants to insist that it’s nothing. It’s not every day that you can steal away to his hotel room, though. In between your own work of interpreting for the boys and working on subtitles for videos, there’s also the added layer of keeping your relationship on the down low.

Tonight, Minghao had just tried to asked. Texted a couple of hours ago that he wanted to see you. And you could never really deny him anything, not even on your best days.

“Anything for you,” you respond as you stroke the short hair at his nape.

Minghao buries his face in the crook of your neck, his smiling mouth warm as he mumbles against your skin. “Don’t give me that much power,” he warns. “I’ll abuse it.”

You chuckle. “I don’t doubt that.”

The two of you lapse into another bout of quiet. This had always been your way, even back when the two of you were friends: Comfortable silences, unspoken agreements. Your new relationship had only given you two the carte blanche to be a little more touchy during your shared moments of peace.

You’re fairly sure that Minghao has fallen asleep when he speaks up again. “How do you think I did?”

“With the live?”

“No, with cuddling. Yes, with the live.”

“Ask nicely.”

“Please?”

You put Minghao out of his misery by returning his earlier gesture— leaving a quick kiss, this time to the line of his jaw. “Stellar as usual,” you reassure him. “I didn’t pick up on everything, though.”

“That’s new.” Minghao shifts around on the bed until he can prop himself up on one elbow. He rests his chin in his hand but doesn’t stray too far. He stays hovering over you, his free arm remaining around your waist.

He goes on to goad, “Your Mandarin must be getting rusty.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, shooting him a half-hearted glare. “How can it be rusty,” you retort, slipping into the language as if to prove a point. “When you’re always insisting that we use it?”

No matter how many times that you speak to him in his mother tongue, Minghao always seems momentarily startled. The surprise always fades into affection, evident in the fond way that he gazes down at you.

He matches your code switch without missing a beat. “I’ve told you, haven’t I? I love it when you speak Mandarin,” he says, punctuating his words with a quick pinch to your side.

You swat his hand; he giggles down at you.

“Which parts did you miss out on?” he asks.

It takes you a moment to recall the terms and phrases you’d wanted to question him about. “撒娇?” you ask, the unfamiliar word sounding almost hesitant on your tongue. Sājiāo.

A thoughtful ‘ahhh’ escapes Minghao. “Think of it like aegyo,” he offers delicately. “It’s— often in the setting of a relationship. Acting cute to be endearing.”

“Like when you gripe about me not responding fast enough.”

“Examples aren’t necessary,” he says wryly. “But, yes. Like that.”

You flash Minghao a grin before snuggling a little closer to him, entangling your legs. The added touch makes his expression softens in the way it only ever does when it’s you.

“Anything else?” he prompts.

It’s not everyday that Minghao gets to play the ‘teacher’ role in your relationship. In the beginning, you had been his Korean tutor. In the longer run, you had helped him translate and transpose words that he couldn’t reach. Every so often, you would run to him for some Mandarin help, and you could tell that he relished in the shift in dynamic.

The thought pushes you to keep asking, even though the words are inconsequential. “You used the term 暖男,” you note. “What was that one?”

“Nuǎnnán,” he echoes, correcting your intonation. You repeat the word as he said it, and he gives a small smile of approval.

“It’s our version of ‘nice guy’,” he explains. “But it’s rooted a lot in culture. A nuǎnnán is a man who can be considered inherently warm-hearted in an otherwise patriarchal society. And no—” Minghao’s tone takes on a more chiding quality when he sees you about to interrupt. “Do not try to call me a nuǎnnán.”

You jut out your lower lip slightly. “Why not?”

The arm that Minghao had around your waist rises, just enough so he can tap the tip of your scrunched nose. “Don’t pull out sājiāo on me,” he scolds.

It’s not necessary for you to act cute. Your boyfriend would be endeared by you either way.

You chuckle at being caught, and Minghao’s sternness mellows. “One last.” You hold up a finger as you try to nail the phrase that had first caught your attention. “裸婚?”

There’s a flicker of surprise on Minghao’s expression. “That was from a fan making a joke,” he warns before repeating the word himself. “Luǒhūn translates to— hear me out, okay?— ‘naked marriage’.”

The sight of your raised eyebrow draws a sharp laugh from Minghao. “It’s another one of those cultural things,” he says.

When he doesn’t add onto his words, you shoot him an incredulous look.

“What?” he asks with feigned innocence.

“That’s it?” you prod. “You’re not going to explain what ‘naked marriage’ means?”

“You have access to the internet, don’t you?”

“Xīngān.”

“That’s me.”

At Minghao’s continued evasion, you merely huff and give up. It’s getting late, anyway, and he has to be up early in the morning for sound check. Come tomorrow, you’ll have to slip away before anyone can come looking for either of you. The boys aren’t privy to your relationship yet, and God forbid any of the other staff find out.

“Fine,” you say, unable to resist the urge to just be a little haughty. “Let’s go to sleep.”

Minghao is undeterred by your contempt. If anything, it only makes him smile a little wider, gives him an excuse to pull you into his chest. He goes to cradle the back of your head, his fingers playing with the strands of your hair.

You lean into his touch, burying your face into the front of his shirt. There it is again. Those few, precious moments where the two of you can just bask in each other’s presence.

The silence stretches on this time. You’re properly drowsy by the time Minghao speaks up, his words quiet as he mumbles them against your shoulder.

“No house, no car, no fancy ring,” he murmurs, his tone contemplative and sleepy. “Luǒhūn.”

“A naked marriage,” you respond mid-yawn.

“Mhm.”

“Nothing but love.”

“You got it.”

The conversation feels like it’s teetering on the verge of something consequential, something of value. But with the two of you already halfway asleep in each other's arms, there’s not much you can do besides exchange some light pecks and mumbled words.

“I think I’d want at least a house before getting married,” you say. “Or, like, an apartment.”

“What, you wouldn’t live out on the streets with me?” he teases lowly.

Your eyes flutter close. “You would have to convince me,” you shoot back.

Minghao responds with a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“How long will it take to convince you?”

It’s a little too early in your relationship for the topic of marriage to be seriously brought up. It’s fun to dream about, though. To talk about in hushed tones, to toy with in Minghao’s mother tongue.

To imagine a time where this might be your every night— falling asleep in each other’s arms.

“Might take you years and years,” you answer, a giggle rising from the back of your throat.

Minghao’s arms shake as he laughs. His lips stay on your head, almost like he can’t bear to peel away from you for a minute too long.

“I don’t mind,” he says as the two of you begin to succumb to sleep.

The last thing you hear is his affectionate, soft promise of, “I’ll start working on convincing you, xīngān.”

#minghao x reader #the8 x reader #minghao fluff #the8 fluff #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #minghao drabble #the8 drabble #୨ৎ muse .ᐟ svt #୨ৎ penned by ylangelegy

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777heavengirl · 2 days ago

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the one with the picture

sirius black x reader ! - 2,084 words masterlist bags masterlist A/N: IM BACK IM BACK IM BACK also sorry its so late at night hectic day xoxo i hope you enjoy!! don't forget to drop a little reblog or even just comment guys!! it is so very appreciated and it lets me know y'all want more!

“Ready to become uncles?” You asked, a yawn following your words.

Remus smiled at you, soft and sleepy from the couch facing yours. His cane rested on the arm of the couch, abandoned for the comfort of the shitty hospital seat. Remus nodded wordlessly.

“I reckon I’ll be a terrible uncle,” Peter gruffed as he shook the box of candies into his mouth, emptying it “I have nothing to teach this bloody baby-”

“I don’t think anyone expects you to teach him anything Wormtail-” Sirius pipped up with a laugh from the corner where he paced in circles, head swiveling towards the room James and Lily were in as a nurse hurried out of it.

You ignored the bustling of nurses, you had long learned by now that unless you saw James, it probably didn’t mean anything.

“Why on Merlin’s green earth did they decide to give birth in a muggle hospital-” Peter groaned into his hands, the hours of waiting bearing down on him.

“Lily refused to do a home birth remember? St Mungo’s doesn't exactly do the whole birth thing- ” Remus muttered from the small beige sofa he had curled up in, long legs spilling from the edge of the cushions. You wondered if he was comfortable, but his eyes were closed and he had barely moved in the past two hours so you assumed on some level he probably was. Well, between his cardigan and long pants, he was at least doing better than you. You could feel your skin start erupting in goosebumps from the cold.

It had been a blur really, the furious knocking at your door at the hands of Peter, and haphazardly putting on the first thing you found after basically clawing off the stuffy funeral dress. You didn’t even have enough time to grab a jacket, barely putting on shoes as Remus and Peter swept you off to the muggle hospital. A shiver ran down your spine as you cursed the pajama shorts and stupid t-shirt you had thrown on.

You could feel Sirius’s grey eyes on you, staring straight into the side of your head. But you refused to look, instead burying your face further into your hands. You didn’t notice he had moved until he was right next to you-

“Take it-” Sirius handed you his suit’s jacket, basically shoving it into your arms so you couldn't say no. “You’re going to get sick,” You stared at it, fingers softly squeezing the soft material. He sat next to you.

The small, beige couch you had chosen to sit on was much like the one you had when you were freshly moved in. It lived in your home for a measly two weeks before Euphemia decreed that no child of hers would have such a stiff abomination in her watch. It was hard and restricting. The two of you might as well have been sitting on a wooden bench. But neither of you dared to move, so you sat, silently, both wishing Euphemia could save you from the clutches of the rigid couch.

Sirius thought of the sofa. And when you first moved in. Together and bright-eyed, he had been so in love with you then. He reckons he still was. But now he knew there was no hope of you loving him back.

He cursed the couch silently.

“Put it on,” he sighed as he leaned back, his white button-up shifting as he threw his arm over the backrest. “Don’t be stubborn-”

You huffed as you put it on, “thanks…”

“Don’t mention it,” you leaned back too, the back of your neck close to his arm, almost touching but quite. “Did you bring my camera?” you nodded, but he didn't answer back.

You couldn’t stand the distance between you, a thick jelly of silence that was anything but peaceful. You dreaded going home, you dreaded having to face that your best friend, the boy you so dearly loved was upset with you.

Especially over something so petty. What did he care that you had a job? Your own life? Something to do that wasn’t shared with him? It was rather selfish of him, wasn’t it? You could almost hear your father spew that sentence from the darkest pits of your mind.

You stared at the small bag in Sirius’s hand. You didn’t know why you hadn’t taken notice of it before. He clutched the small velvet bag tightly. Did it have an extension charm? You wondered if it was his things then, had he carried that to the funeral? You thought you would’ve noticed. Had he been planning on staying at James’s? Had he cleared his things at some point without you noticing?

You rubbed circles into the palm of your hand and chewed at your lip worryingly.

If your father knew he’d call you stupid. Stupid for not looking for an apartment to move out, stupid for not being the first to leave, irresponsible, too trusting, so stupid.

You decided you maybe didn’t want to know if he was indeed planning to leave.

“Hey-” he shifted uncomfortably “do you think we can talk about... you know, everything”

“Sirius I don’t know if it's the time-” You refused to even take a peek at him, even though you knew he was staring right at you now.

“Well, Merlin knows how much longer we’re going to be here-” he was right, you had all been here for ages waiting for the baby to come “so yeah it might be the time,”

You sighed, finally turning to look at him. His stupid shiny grey eyes, and his stupid porcelain skin. His stupid stupid frowning lip. He’d deny he was sporting one if you called him out on it.

He had always been a pouty one.

You were mad. At least you wanted to be, but when you looked at him, in all his disheveled glory, the hair he had run his hand through a thousand times, the white button-up with the top buttons undone and that had been unconsciously untucked from his slacks. You just couldn’t be genuinely mad.

So you softened, finally moving to face him. Your knee knocked against his, his warmth transferring from his leg onto your skin.

“I’m sorry, for being so petty earlier- it was unfair and-” Sirius sighed, staring at your hand on your lap. His fingers twitched with the need to hold yours, to feel your no doubt freezing fingers between his warm ones.

He thought of your first week of living together again.

He grabbed your hand. You stared at the bag in his other hand again.

Like if you stared at it hard enough it would tell you its contents. But your thoughts drifted as your soft fingers were enveloped in his. Yet, you didn’t say anything, you didn’t dare. You squeezed his hand and he finally looked up, back from whatever thought he had briefly gotten lost in.

“I’m really sorry about the past few weeks-”

“I’m sorry too,”

“I just wish you could trust me enough to let me take care of you- there’s no one else in the world I’d rather spend my days with…” You swallowed thickly as he spoke “I love you-”

“My baby’s here!” James burst through a door down the hallway, cheering at the top of his lungs without caring about the nurse shushing him. “He’s here and he’s beautiful come on you lot- come on!”

Sirius quickly scrambled to his feet, the other two boys following in the chaos of unsticking themselves from their respective sofas. You tried to ignore it, the sting in your heart. You loved him too of course. But did he love you the way you loved him?

There simply wasn't any time for that right now.

Sirius didn’t let go of your hand; he simply pulled, pulled until you came up with him. His hand grabbed tightly onto yours and as you ran down the hall, straight for the door to Lily’s room.

He never once let go of you.

The room was lowly lit, and Lily looked exhausted, but a smile graced her features nonetheless. Sirius tossed the small velvet bag to James with his free hand. The worry of it left your head as quickly as it had come.

Sirius dragged you by your hand all the way up to the bed, his face turning in wonder as he looked at the small baby in Lily’s arms.

“He’s so small” Peter called out from the foot of the bed,

“He’s so bloody pink-” Sirius glanced at James’s darker skin, a beaming smile nevertheless decorating his face. “Do you reckon he’ll stay like that? Or did he get the redhead’s genes?”

“Oi is that the first thing you have to say about your godson?” James couldn't help but laugh

“My godson?” Sirius stared blankly at James, briefly flickering between Lily’s equally beaming smile and the baby’s little pink face.

“I meant to ask but-” James smiled sheepishly as Lily glared,

“Merlin he’s my godson”

“Do you want to hold him?” Lily whispered as Sirius’s face broke into a smile as well,

“Of course, I want to hold my bloody godson Evans- he’s my godson”

Remus chuckled as he patted James on the back. You couldn’t help but wrap your hand around the camera that hung from your wrist.

You snapped a picture.

You knew what Sirius would write on the back of it later.

My godson. July 31, 1980

Just simple, and small, in his fancy, loopy cursive and black ink. But monumental in itself. He had done it. He had a family, he had always had one but now he was properly part of it. He was not just a stray taken in, but he now had a part in it. He’d love that baby until his body gave out.

He knew it, you knew it, James and Lily knew it. From the second he was born, this baby would be the most loved baby on the planet.

“I can’t believe he’s mine-”

“You don’t get to take him home mate”

“Hush Prongs- I’m going to be his favorite I know it” Sirius smiled, a playful smirk exchanged between friends. James couldn’t help but quip back

“Right after Uncle Moony-”

“Ah that’s for sure,” Remus laughed

“I meant his favorite parent but I reckon Wormtail will be the preferred uncle, with all the candy pouring from his pockets the kid is gonna love him no doubt-” You all couldn’t help but laugh-

“Do you want to hold him too?” Lily asked, her gaze shifting onto your face. “I reckon the godmother also deserves to hold baby Harry-”

“Are you serious?

“Obviously-”

“Lily are you being serious-”

“Yes! Black hand her the baby- god-” Sirius chuckled as he passed the small bundle into your arms, placing the camera at the foot of the bed. He was heavier than you expected, and the tears gathered in your eyes as you looked at his little face. Harry was small and definitely pink. He was a quiet little thing, undisturbed by the exchange of hands he was going through. Sirius leaned his chin on top of your shoulder, his cheek borderline pressed against yours.

“Isn’t he the ugliest most precious thing you’ve ever seen?”

“Oi!”

“He’s so ugly it's cute-” His words tickled your ear

“I don’t think babies are supposed to be all that cute straight after birth Sirius-”

“I know love,”

“Alright, picture time idiots-” Remus said, leaning on his cane as he grabbed the camera with his free hand. James sitting on the side of Lily’s bed as you and Sirius also approached, baby Harry still in your arms.

“I look like shit-” You huffed as you sat on the bed with Lily

“I do too”

“Yeah, but you have a reason to Lils” Lily laughed. Sirius’s hand never left your back.

“Well- he won’t remember anyway-”

“The picture will-”

“Say godparents!” Sirius had basically wrapped himself to your side, his face pressed against yours, his arm around your waist as he leaned down for the picture.

The flash made your eyes sting, a wide smile on your face.

It was fitting, the disheveled state of the lot of you, even in the picture the nurse would take for you all later. A family sewed together like a mismatched quilt.

Sirius smiled all night.

“Seriously though why is he so pink? Is this some sort of condition? Bloody baby doesn’t look anything like Prongs-”

“-Yet” James beamed.

My family, July 31, 1980

taglist ; @thatlittlered @giuli-in-earth @notsolong-pause @niceonejames7 @caspiankingofnarnia @ilovejamespottersomuch @bmyva1entine @lanadelreykt @froggiedragon @stanzie

LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED U OR IF YOU WANNA BE ADDED (i was gone for like a month and some change so i may have not been able to properly keep up with the tag list but i did my best)

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quarterlifekitty · 2 days ago

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Hi! could you possibly write something about a fuckboy!soap and shy!reader that he uses for sex, and she keeps letting him? im craving angsty angst ANGST that just keeps hurting…you don’t have to if you don’t want to and thank you if you do! Have a great day!

Okay, one thing you all should know about me? Is that I’m a weenie lol so I can’t help but make things a little hopeful most of the time. Also— gonna make this like a college type AU

Soap clocks you from a mile away when he sees you at a party. There’s a cup of beer in your hand that you’ve been nursing, just sipping to have something to do while you cling to the side of the friend who forced you to come.

He’s seen you in his classes before. You’re good. Not the type to be seen in a place like this. And that kinda whets his appetite. He wants to fuck you, break you, make you fall apart for his own amusement.

He nudges Gaz— they have the routine down to a science— splitting up the birdies that are a little too huddled together so they can have their way with them. Gaz runs interference this time, Johnny mouthing an “I owe ye” his way— chatting up and pulling your friend away to talk a bit more. You’re alone now, and Johnny swoops in, weaving through people on a warpath.

He corners you expertly, and you’re a pathetically easy read. Easy to tease, to coax, to push. He just has to throw in a few lines about how pretty you look, peppered between him saying he’s always wanted to talk with you, always admired you in class— he gives just enough detail to lull you into thinking this is courting. That he’s going to fuck you because he likes you.

Works like a charm. Always does. You clumsily follow him to his room—“Ye didnae ken? This is my fraternity’s house, bonnie,”— as he pulls you along by the hand.

He enjoys pulling you apart. Like the birds taking Prometheus’s liver. He’s not a complete animal, he makes you cum, but he doesn’t give you kisses the way you’d probably hoped he would. He’ll tell his mates later— it was kinda cute how fucking bad you were at giving head, too.

He lets you stay the night even though your clinging is a bit annoying. Pushing you out would burn this bridge, and he’s not ready to do that just yet. Not when he could keep having fun.

Come morning your clothes are tossed your way (sans panties, those are going in his trophy collection), and he has the decency to drop you off at your place with the promise of further contact.

Come your next class, he’s back to acting like he doesn’t know you. You’re shy, but you’re not stupid. It’s easy to see that you were played, and you curse yourself for falling into it.

So why do you show up when he texts you, asking you to come over?

Promethean indeed.

And it keeps happening.

It’s not like he treats you badly— that’s what you tell yourself. You’re just the idiot for expecting more than orgasms. It’s nice to feel wanted. It’s not nice to put your clothes on and get out right after, but you’re willing to ignore that. You shouldn’t be. But you are.

You’re not the kind of girl who gets asked out. So why refuse the one source of attention you have? He makes you cum, right? That’s more than a lot of guys do, so it would be unfair to expect more. High maintenance. Right?

If Johnny can see the hurt behind your eyes when you turn to check behind you when you leave, as if he’ll suddenly change his mind and call you back into bed to hold you, he doesn’t do anything about it. He’s content to tug on his jeans and brush past you with a cigarette in his mouth.

You steel yourself as usual, double checking the straightness of your clothes as if it’ll make you feel like less of a cheap whore when his housemates glance your way as you leave.

The door across from Johnny’s is almost always open, despite how closed off its occupant seems. You’ve never met Simon. Well, you really haven’t met anyone in Soap’s life. That’s not what he keeps you for, is it? Fucktoys don’t get introduced to the friend group. Doesn’t stop Simon from staring holes in your back every time you leave. Must think you’re easy. Must wonder if Johnny’ll mind if he has a go. Or maybe he just thinks you’re pathetic. You certainly do.

But it’s happened one too many times. Apparently, even a worm will turn. His stare itches and crawls up your skin when you already feel like such a piece of meat— chewed up and spit out. And you must be losing flavor. Before long you won’t even have this. You turn to look at him instead of walking on as usual.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” You spit in a tone that surprises you. You’ve never said anything like that to someone, not in earnest, anyway.

“Lemme take y’out somewhere.”

What?

#writing #cod fanfic #cod #soap x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny mactavish #john soap mctavish x you #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #college au

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starwanderer18 · 2 days ago

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"...I think you mean two," Octavius stated, smirking at the council member as his apprentices stepped into the doorway behind him, staring at the council member with grins similar to his own spells glowing at the ends of wands, fingertips, a couple knives, or staffs. "I didn't ask for or even want apprentices in the beginning. They just kept appearing and refused to leave even when I introduced them to fully available and capable wizards. I'm sure if you asked each of them individually, they'd all say the same, but at the moment, I'm afraid they've just perceived you as a threat. Children, spells out. He's just about to leave."

The council member stammered, caught off-guard by the array of apprentices, ranging from twelve to probably about nineteen in age, all prepared to defend their home and their mentor.

"Well- Well, you will have to register as an orphanage for the magically inclined if you're going to- to keep all of them as your apprentices." The councilor gulped loudly, stepping back. He almost fell down the stairs, caught by a well-timed spell from one of the children in the doorway.

"Thank you, Theron," Octavius thanked, offering the councilor a hand, which was awkwardly denied as the councilor fumbled to grab the handrail on Octavius' outdoor staircase in order to right himself. "Therein lies the issue. If I opened up an orphanage, it's highly likely that the housing conditions would only get worse with an influx of students and I am in no way equipped to be more of a teacher than I am now. I have my hands full with this bunch, and I'm about to graduate, what, four of you?"

"Five, dad," remarked one of the older teens.

"Right. Five. And two of you are already graduated and refuse to leave the house, ya gremlins. But thank you again for helping me teach the youguns." Octavius smiled in amusement, looking back to his horde of young magicians. He turned back to the councilor. "So, think I can't handle my flock? Or will you leave us to our devices?"

"Someone will be back here to ensure that your graduation tests are up to snuff," the councilor stated, righting his hat and fixing his robe. He picked up the discarded and broken pieces of his wand. "What date is your final test supposed to take place?"

"What date are we thinking, flock?" Octavius called, looking back at his kids.

There was a loud commotion as dates were discussed before they quieted again, and the youngest announced, "Summer solstice."

"Put that on the calendar and in my journal, someone," Octavius instructed, eyeing the councilor with a smirk. "Well, send whoever you want down by the solstice. That's when I'll be doing my tests and hopefully graduating five of the kiddos. Have a nice day, Phinneas."

With that, Octavius turned around and walked back inside his house, the door slamming shut behind him with a little more force than necessary.

"We have some work to do in order to impress the council and ensure they don't bother us ever again."

New idea engaged:

Octavius' House for Magically Advanced Children

"you know you are only supposed to have 1 apprentice maybe 2 not 15." said the wizard council member "well until people stop leaving surprisingly powerful orphans at my doorstep I'll be taking care of my 17 apprentices." The council member snapped their wand "WHERE DID YOU GET 3 MORE!"

#writing prompts #writers #writers on tumblr #writing inspiration #writeblr #writing for fun #fiction writing

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livinghalfway · 3 days ago

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Younger Years Pt. 2

Part 1

Summary: Damian gets temp de-aged to 6yrs old; cue him asking where his twin is. This is how everyone finds out about Danny's existence Word Count: 1608

If anyone were to ask how he reacted when Damian jumped from the bed to attack him, Dick would say that he reacted exactly as a vigilante who’s been on the job for years now would. Ask anyone else who was there to witness it though and you’d get a much different story of events.

"Aaaahhh!" Both Dick and Damian slam onto the ground. Damian hits don't pack as much of a punch as they normally would, but that doesn't mean they're not precise when hitting a body's weak spots. "Dam- oof, Damian! It’s okay, you're safe! I'm your brother!"

That did not have the desired effect he wished it did on the smaller boy; if anything Damian seemed to grow angrier at the mention of them being brothers. "Liar!"

The others must have heard the commotion because the next moment the med bay door is being thrown open with everyone rushing in. Jason is the first one to get to them, and when he does he's quick to grab Damian. He holds the furiously kicking child to his chest while pinning Damian's arms to his side.

"Dick, you alright?" Duke is kneeling by his side with a comforting hand on his shoulder as he helps Dick sit up. "Baby Damian really caught you off guard, huh?"

Somewhere in the midst of all the chaos happening Dick hears the sound of a camera click, and he can't help but smile. Another photo down!

"Damian," Bruce's voice is firm as he says, "You need to calm down; no one here is going to hurt you."

That of course does nothing to calm the child who just woke up with strangers surrounding him. "Since when has telling someone to calm down ever worked?" Tim questions as he watches everything from the doorway.

Bruce sends a slight glare Tim's way before directing his attention back to his youngest child, "Chum, my name is Bruce Wayne, do you know who I am?"

"No, but I know that you've somehow managed to take me hostage," Damian growls out. He's stopped struggling in Jason's arms, and seems to be analyzing them all with a hard gaze. "Who are you working for?"

"Do you know about Batman?" Bruce counter questions instead of giving any kind of answer.

"I might; is he the one behind this?" Damian for the first time looks unsure about what's happening,

Jason gives a little amused huff, "That is Batman, demon brat."

"Surely not!" Damian judgmentally looks Bruce up and down, "Batman is definitely taller than him."

That of course got a laugh from everyone, and even Bruce had an amused smile on his face as he thought about how Damian said something similar when meeting him for the first time.

"And do you know who Batman is when it comes to you?" Dick asks after a few seconds. It's clear at this point that Bruce is trying to see if Damian has been told who his father is. If they can establish that relationship now it might save them all from anymore attacks; at least for the rest of the night.

Instead of answering Damian tucks his chin to his chest and glares at the ground. What's really shocking though is how his body goes almost limp. It seems to shock Jason as well because his tight grip even loosen, and changes to a more gentle hold.

Asking questions probably isn't going to get the baby assassin to trust Dick thinks to himself; not with how his youngest brother was raised. They're going to have to try something else, "Hey Dami, how about we-"

Before he can continue though Dick is cut off by a loud smacking sound. Damian had very suddenly thrown his head back so that it would hit Jason square in the face. He wouldn't be surprised if it even broke Jason's nose from the sound.

With Jason's grip already loose it doesn't take a lot of effort for Damian to escape his grasp, and make a run for the door. Tim, who was far more focused on his camera, didn’t even have a second to properly react before he was being knocked out of the way. Allowing the young child access to the whole cave.

"Motherfu-" Jason cuts himself off with a groan before running towards the door as well, "You really let him run right past you, Timbo?"

"You're the one who let him go!"

"He broke my nose!"

"Guys!" Duke shouts as he runs past the two of them, "let's focus on finding Damian before fighting with each other!"

That kicked everyone into gear as soon all of them were now trying to find the escapee who had seemingly disappeared. The only thing they can hope for right now is that he doesn't find a weapon of any kind.

Everyone has split off in different areas to search, and taking the situation more seriously knowing that the kid could pop out of anywhere and attack them. It's not until after 20 mins of searching that Dick decides to just start speaking, hoping that he can somehow convince him to come out of hiding at the very least.

"Damian, I know that you know Batman is your father, and now you know that Bruce," He gestures to where the older man is standing, "is Batman; your father! I swear you are safe here."

The cave is covered in silence as everyone waits for a response to come. Just as it looks like nothing will happen a slight but deliberate sound comes from the side of where he is.

"Damia-"

"Silence." Damian speaks forward enough to be seen, but making sure to stand out of reach, "Did Mother set this test up? Grandfather? Either way I'm not falling for it. If you wanted to make this more convincing you should have included my brother."

Dick felt a pain in his chest at that word. Brother? Did Damian really have a brother while at the league? Is he talking about a sort of battle brother, or did Talia have another kid? Is it Bruce's kid? Taking a glance to where Bruce is he sees that the man must be having the same thoughts as his face sits somewhere between anger and grief.

"You have a brother!?" Tim is the one that finally asks the question on everyone's mind.

"There is no need to continue this act; I've already figured out that this isn't real."

"Like the same mom, same dad type of brother?" Duke even looks aghast at the revelation of a second possible child of Bruce.

Damian only looks more annoyed at each question, but answers anyway in a tone that makes it clear that he thinks the answer is obvious, "Tt of course. That tends to be the case with twins after all."

Damian has a twin?

The de-aged child in front of him could lie about a lot of things right now to get an advantage in this situation, but what advantage does lying about a twin get him? Damian seems so sure that all of this is a test from the league. There is no way he could lie about something like this.

Damian is a twin.

As much as Dick wished it wasn’t true he couldn’t lie to himself about this. Between the ages of 6 and 10 something must have happened to the other boy. He’d bet money that whatever it was made Talia bring Damian to the manor. Why did she or Damian never say anything? Was his brother even given the chance to mourn the loss of his brother?

Damian had a twin.

"Jason, you were with the league for a while, did Damian really have a twin?" Tim whispers quietly to the man standing next to him.

"I wasn't exactly in the right state of mind when I was there, and even then I never saw the brat or brats I suppose."

"Enough!" Damian suddenly slams a foot onto the ground clearly done with everyone around him whispering, "the test is done, and I'm ready to return back to the compound."

Tim now turns to Bruce with nothing but shock still on his face, "I think it'd be easier to just explain the truth to him. Otherwise this is what the next couple days are going to be like.”

"The baby assassin is just going to keep attacking us and trying to escape otherwise." Jason adds on as well as he takes a seat at the center table. “I for one would like to keep the demon spawn close by because I’ve got some questions he’s going to need to answer ASAP when he’s normal again.”

Bruce seems to finally snap out of his trance and slowly starts to make his way to Damian. Once he's just out of reach of his son he kneels down so that he's much closer to Damian's current height. "Son, this isn't a test, and I am your father.”

"You are a liar; my father wouldn't leave Danyal behind!"

No one was surprised this time when Damian sprung forward to attack Bruce. In the end Alfred had to give him a light sedative to calm him down enough to be laid back down on the med bay bed. Duke even went upstairs, and brought Alfred the cat down to sleep in the boy's lap. Unsurprisingly, that cat still loves him when he's this small.

For now they can only hope that things will be calmer when Damian wakes up again.

The cave after that was met with suffocating silence as there was only one thought in everyone's head.

"What happened to Danyal?"

#dc x dp #dc x dp crossover #batfam #damian and danny are twins #dc x dp prompt #dcxdpdabbles #danny phantom

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earlysunshines · 21 hours ago

Text

sparks on ice

hanni pham x reader ; fluff

synopsis: hanni’s friends force her out the house to ice skate knowing she is completely incapable of doing so and that fact is proven when she falls onto some random stranger—you.

warnings: NONE! pure fluff… ; okay well the usual… they’re GAY. ; anything else not mentioned ; not proofread

a/n: i went ice skating w some friends and our whole friend group of eight, including me, has six gay ppl and one of two straight ppl… the MAN, falls onto the MALE worker and it looked really really fruiticous and i can’t stop giggling thinking ab it and its sooo hanni core so i HAD to write it

hanni has no clue why she’s letting her friends drag her out to go ice skating.

not only hanni is aussie—and that doesn’t mean ice skating doesn’t exist in melbourne—it’s the fact that she hasn’t ice skated since primary school. the memory of slipping more times than she can count on one hand doesn’t make her the most confident in the room.

she’s squeezing into skates a size down from her usual size, feeling the pressure against her feet and letting danielle helping her lace her shoes like a mother.

“you’re not nervous?” hanni asks.

“no! i mean, i’ve skated a few times back home. shouldn’t be too bad,” danielle simply shrugs as she double knots the last laces. “i might be rusty though.”

knowing danielle, she’ll probably be gliding across the ice like a professional within half an hour, spinning and skating backward by the end of their session.

minji snickers, looking over at hanni and grinning. “i can’t wait to see you fall on your ass.”

“you’re a terrible person.” hanni nudges minji over with her shoulder. “you did this on purpose.”

“yes,” minji says before nudging hanni back, earning a giggle from danielle and hyein, “but ice skating is just as fun as it is humiliating. more fun than humiliating, maybe.”

hanni rolls her eyes, getting up and nearly losing her balance from the feeling of mere blades holding her weight. she purses her lips, sighing as she clings onto danielle’s arm while they walk over and out to the rink.

there’s a variety of others skating—families, couples, friends—it makes hanni a little nervous. minji looks over and chuckles, tilting her head over to motion the rest over. “c’mon! we have less than ninety minutes now.” she says, stepping into the rink like it’s second nature.

danielle steps in first, gliding forward with a slight wobble but quickly finding her rhythm. hanni follows instantly, clinging to the edge of the rink with one hand and danielle’s pinky with her other. she feels like a baby deer.

“you alright there?” danielle asks, a hint of worry and amusement in her tone.

“define ‘okay,’” hanni says with a wary expression as she inches forward.

minji glides past them effortlessly, smirking as she spins around to face them while skating backward. “not bad han, you look like a pro~”

“you’re being sarcastic,” hanni snaps, glaring as she clutches onto both danielle and the railing for dear life. “i hope you slip and fall on your ass.”

hyein skates up beside them, laughing. “don’t worry hanni, i bet you’ll do great. just keep clinging onto dani and maybe… you’ll learn?”

“shut up, i hate you.” hanni groans.

danielle laughs, letting go of hanni for a bit. “you should learn on your own, i can teach you a bit!”

“dani! noooo,” hanni whines, “please, i’m actually going to slip on my ass. please dani… please…”

“hanni,” danielle shakes her head as she giggles, skating a little further and closer to hyein as she watches hanni cling for her life. “just take two steps and glide, it’s a rhythm that you have to get into.”

“okay well i’m completely out of rhythm then.” hanni sighs, staring down at her feet.

she loses balance for a bit, nearly falling before she clings to the railing again. minji laughs—her signature cackle—as she captures it on her phone.

the group lingers by for a bit, watching hanni as she struggles to stay a foot away from the railing, nearing closer to a fall with each step. hanni doesn’t give up though, trailing behind danielle and hyein as fast as she can while they watch over her.

hanni improves around thirty minutes in, being able to stay a few feet away from the railing now as she develops a faster pace. she’s nearing danielle’s tempo, but her arms are still out as she tries to keep her balance. they swing around her with each step and glide, but what matters is that hanni has some grasp of the technique.

that’s what she thinks, at least.

as if on cue, contradicting what she had believed prior, her skate catches and she loses her balance. her arms flail, a small squeak slips from her lips, and for a horrifying second she’s sure she’s about to crash onto the ice.

much to her surprise, she falls into someone’s arms instead—a firm, warm hold that keeps her from hitting the ground.

“whoa, you alright?” the voice is calm but slightly startled. you steady her slowly. “i gotcha.”

hanni looks up and realizes she’s in the arms of one of the rink workers. the worker, a girl who looks around her age wears a staff jacket and a concerned expression.

the worker, you, also have a pretty face. your faces are a breath apart, and the lights surrounding the rink bring a little glint to your eyes—they also highlight your unique features that she’s glancing at in the heat of the moment.

hanni feels her cheeks burn as she scrambles to stand on her own, muttering, “i’m fine! i’m sorry, i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to—”

“you’re okay, that’s all that matters.” you say sweetly, smiling at her as you brush it off. hanni’s heart is racing, and she can’t tell if it’s because of the way you look at her or the fall. “don’t worry about it. just take it slow, yeah?”

hanni nods.

“try to keep your knees a little more bent.” you giggle, smiling bigger now. “and your posture doesn’t have to be perfect, if it helps you can bend forward just slightly. relax.”

hanni nods again, like a stupid idot. her cheeks burn as she tries to compose herself. “right. knees bent. thanks, um, yeah. great.”

your hands linger for a moment longer than they should, but maybe hanni’s overthinking it—she doesn’t mind, though.

“and maybe don’t stray off too far into the rink. wouldn’t want you getting hurt.” you add, a teasing lilt in your voice.

hanni can’t help but laugh nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears. “got it.”

your smile widens slightly, and for a moment, it felt like the noise of the rink faded in the background.

“you’re sure you’re okay?” you ask once more, gaze flickering over to hanni’s face, as if checking fro any signs of lingering distress. and maybe you’re appreciating her soft features too.

“yeah, i’m good. really—now that you’re here,” hanni breathes out before her eyes widen, “i mean! not in a weird way. sorry, that was so… intimate. oh my god. i just mean, um, thanks for catching me.”

you give her a soft laugh. “anytime.” you reply, tone warm but light.

hanni wanted to keep the conversation going, to steal you away from your job for no apparent reason. but before she could do so, you give her a quick nod and skate off, moving with an effortless grace that left hanni feeling even more off balance.

“so,” minji says, skating up beside her with a grin that spreads from ear to ear, “what happened there?”

hanni jumps a bit from the sudden awareness of minji’s presence, desperately reaching out for minji’s shoulders to stop herself from falling. “shut up!” hanni grains, her face heating up as she tightens her grip on minji’s shoulder.

“that was something out of a romance movie. you should fall into her again—for science. she’s so your type. taller, nice face, oh! and—”

“i’ll kill you.” hanni shoves minji a bit, disturbing their balance simultaneously before hanni searches for minji’s shoulder again to keep herself from falling.

danielle and hyein skate up to the two a few seconds later, giggling and furthering the teasing that minji started. hanni rolls her eyes as she skates with them, still distracted from the encounter.

the rest of the session is a mix of wobbly attempts and minor victories, but hanni can’t stop thinking about how you caught her. she keeps glanicng over, watching you glide across the ice as if it were like walking while you monitor the rest of the people there.

you glance at hanni a few times as well, accidentally making eye contact. your heart races all three times it happens.

—

if hanni had a coin for each time she had bumped into you that week, she’d have two, which isn’t a lot, but it’s mind-blowing how it’s happened more than once.

a few days later hanni is hurrying towards her bus while juggling her phone in one hand and a back of snacks in the other. she rounds the corner too fast and crashes into someone—not on ice this time, but the same person.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry—” she starts, only to look up and realize it’s you.

“it’s— oh, it’s you,” you seem as shocked as you do amused. your brows are raised and your lips twitch into a smile. “this is like deja vu, or something.” you tease, steadying her by the arm before she can drop the snacks she bought for her friends.

hanni feels her face heat up immediately. “y-you, hi. um… thanks for not letting me fall—again.”

“anytime,” you reassure, you said the same last time. hanni swallows shallowly. you have the same warm, steady presence she remembers as you look and speak to her. “are you headed towards the stop down the street too?”

“yeah,” hanni replies, falling into step beside you. “are you—? are you headed the same way.”

“yup.” you respond.

as you both walk, the conversation starts small and hanni is trying to do everything but look you in the eye. you've only given each other your names and still she’s nervous along with embarrassed from your first encounter, but also flustered from how you look even cuter outside of your work. you’re talking about the weather, complaining about the bus schedule, and when the topic shifts to ice skating—you glance at her.

your smile turns a little softer as you admit, “you know, you kind of made my night during that shift.”

hanni blinks, caught off guard. “me? you’re joking, right?”

you shake your head. “i mean, most of the time it’s just kids screaming or people falling over and pushing me away when i try to help. embarrassment gets the best of us.” you say, grinning. “but you? you were… different. you were really sweet, and amusing to help. it was endearing.”

hanni snickers, “pftt, endearing? you’re teasing me.”

“nope.” you shrug, turning your head just a bit to make eye contact with her.

her heart stumbles over itself at your words, and she fiddles with the strap of her bag to keep her hands busy. “i’m glad i could, um, help.”

you both board the bus, sit next to each other, and the conversation flows more easily after that. you ask her what she does, and she tells you about her classes and how much teasing she has to endure from her friends. you share stories about odd encounters at the rink and how annoying your major can be. it’s natural, comfortable, but there’s something more that’s in the air.

as the bus pulls up to teh stop, you turn to her, your smile turning just a little more timid. “you know, i thought— well i still do. i think… i think you’re really cute, by the way. you’re gorgeous.”

hanni freezes for half a second, her cheeks flushing. “oh,” she says then laughs nervously. “thank you. i kind of thought the same about you. you’re cute.” her voice gets quieter as her sentence had ended.

your grin widens at that, and you take out your phone, holding it toward her. “well, if you’re not completely traumatized by ice skating—maybe you’d let me teach you one-on-one?”

she hesitates for only a moment before giving you her number, feeling a mix of far too much swirling in her chest. hanni is definitely red, she can feel it.

“i’m not against it.”

“it’s a date, then? or is that too forward.” you ask as the bus doors open, stepping up onto the platform.

“i think we’re past whatever ‘forward’ is, especially after our first meeting….” hanni jokes, raising her voice so you can hear. her heart races as she nods, not sparing a second to say, “it’s a date.” before the door closes.

she catches you smiling at her, teeth and all now, before the bus drives away. hanni giggles to herself, smiling out the window before she pulls out her phone,

hanni: guys guys i just guys i have a date with the cute ice skating worker the one i fell on

minji: you WHAT.

#kpop x reader #newjeans x reader #newjeans hanni #hanni pham x reader #hanni x reader

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bisexualiteaa · 1 day ago

Note

Omg! You should totally do one where he’s sexually frustrated. And the reader (female), teases him until he breaks! And when he does they get down to business BIG time if you know what i mean lol. But even when they do start to fuck the reader doesn’t listen to all his demands, making it more spicy once silco finally gets the reader exactly how he wants her.

On edge

AN: Thank you so much for this request!! I loved the idea so much and literally had so much fun writing this! Apologies that it took a few days, I again just wanted to make sure it was good and to what you asked! ♥️ I hope you enjoy and that I’ve done your ask justice! 🥺🫶

CW: no use of y/n, reader has hair, reader is AFAB, female anatomy, MDNI, cursing, teasing, heavy brät/brät tämer themes, Silco is t0uch deprived, r0ugh seggs, unprotected seggs, bïting, cream 🥧, slight dëgradation, p0rn w/o plot, äftercare, possible spelling/grammar errors

Also I’m not sure why, but as I was writing I was listening to this song and I just feel like it fits SO well! So listen along while you read if you’d like!

His forehead head sat in his hand as you entered his office, elbow leaned against the desk as his other hand held a glass, amber liquid and two ice cubes swirling around inside the ornate rocks glass. Whiskey, he only drank on the rougher days anymore, and judging by the cigar that sat in the ash tray on his desk, smoke emanating from it, told you he was having a day. You on the other hand, were in a different sort of mood, a bubbly, perhaps more mischievous mood. You weren’t quite sure what brought it about, whether it was your confidence just hitting a new high today, or what but you could tell from the sassy sway to your hips as you shut the door carefully behind you. Something you didn’t realize had in fact been noticed by him, he was just doing a very good job at hiding it.

“Rough day?” You asked innocently, sauntering over to his side as you stood beside him. The scent of your perfume filled his nose the moment you moved closer, leaving him to inhale its intoxicating scent. Sometimes he wondered if you mixed a sort of drug into it with the way he craved its familiarity, wishing to smell it on his sheets, his jacket. When he did, it drove him wild, the transfer of it from just a simple hug was enough to leave him clutching the large jacket and taking a whiff on occasion when no one was looking or when he was alone in his office. Each time he did, he could feel his cock twitch with excitement as his mind would then drift to you. Sinful thoughts filling his mind of how good you would look splayed against his sheets beneath him, or how you would look bent over his desk as he ravaged you. Shimmer had nowhere near the effects that you had on him, it was almost impressive as much as it was sad. How long had it been that the simple scent of your perfume could cause him to go mad? Or for your fleeting touches to leave him with such carnal need? He couldn’t remember, but you made him feel young again in that sense.

“Quite” he replied plainly, placing the glass down on the desk, trading it for his cigar that had already been halfway smoked. You watched as he took a long drag of it before leaning back and releasing the smoke in an exhale upwards, ensuring he wouldn’t breathe it into your face. You loved the scent of his cigars, something about the tobacco mixed with smoke and his own personal scent left you enjoying being around him as he smoked more than you probably should have. There was something just so alluring about it. “Every time I turn around it feels as if something has fallen apart and is in need of my attention” he finally explained, leaving you to look upon him sympathetically. The lines of stress etched into his forehead and brow spoke truth of this, the bags beginning to accumulate beneath his eyes only further evidence to his unrest. Your hand came to rest against his thigh, rubbing soothing circles along his skin. Something you’d done in the hopes it would help him calm down a little, but you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t have ulterior motives behind it.

You felt his body tense for a moment from the soft touch, looking down at your hand that rested against his mid thigh. It was so close, so close yet so far. He wondered how it would look in your small, dainty hands, how good it would feel. He turned his head and shifted a little to try and erase the thought from his mind, but even as you removed your hand, its heat lingered on the spot like a painful reminder. “Zaun looks to their leader for guidance and aid, but even a leader deserves rest” you said, smoothing your hands along his jacket, flattening any wrinkles that formed from his previously hunched over position. You were bent over as you did, the shirt you were wearing giving him direct sight to your cleavage as your perfume continued to intoxicate him. Did you have any idea the things you were doing to him? Surely you had to, you couldn’t be so oblivious to your effect on him, could you? He was ashamed of the hold you had on him, how weak you made him from just a simple touch. He tried his best to hide it, and hide it well, but as you stood here before him he knew today may very well be the day he reaches his breaking point. “I’m granted no rest when someone walks through my door just about every hour” he replied, making you hum as you stood back up, watching his eyes trail you as you walked back over to the door. He felt himself release a breath he had no idea he’d been holding in as you put a slight distance between you. “Then lock it” you said with a cute little grin, the bolt turning in the door with an audible click before you turned back around, watching him clutch the cigar between his fingers with a fierce grip. His eyes bored into you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine, no one has ever looked at you like that, with such fire in their eyes, with such desire. It made your stomach twist in knots. “No one can bother you if they can’t get in” you finished before returning to his side, this time watching as you boldly sat on an empty corner of his desk.

You couldn’t quite read the look on his face as you did, but you had noticed the way his eyes would flit up and down your body when he thought you weren’t looking. He took in the way your pencil skirt seemed to raise past your mid thigh as you sat down, giving him a flash of your panties from beneath it when you would go to cross your legs, leaving him incredibly hard beneath his pants. You were toying with him, you had to be. There was no way you were doing this all unknowing of the effects you had on him. Pathetically, he was falling for it, and he hated that he was. He caught the glimpse of a grin resting on your sweet, plump lips as your downcast gaze trailed him up and down, waiting for a response. You were teasing him on purpose. “You play with fire” he stated, making you giggle. “I know, I can’t help myself. I like the possibilities of being burnt” you answered confidently, your foot dragging up and down his calf affectionately. Janna almighty you’ll be the death of him, but if that were to be the case, what a hell of a way to go.

You watched him as he stood before you, hands planting on either side of your thighs as his face hovered close to yours. “You think you’re so clever? Waltzing in here with that short little skirt, teasing me and think I wouldn’t notice?” He asked, making you hum as your grin only stretched wider. “Seemed to be working just fine, was it not?” You asked in reply, feeling as his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them apart to allow him a place to stand between before pulling you to the edge of his desk where your hips met his. “You tell me, what do you think?” he replied, leaving you to gasp softly as you felt him pulse and twitch against your heat. “I think I have you wrapped around my little finger” you boldly claimed, your fingers walking up along his jacket before your arms looped around his neck, pulling yourself even closer to him but never fully closing the distance. “You think so?” He asked in response, making you giggle. That same smug grin rested on your lips as electricity thrummed between you, your faces mere centimeters apart, waiting to see if he would cave in. Your gaze flit to his lips with heavy lids, enjoying the mental turmoil you were putting him through as he fought caving in immediately. “You want me so bad? Come get me” you whispered, your breath ghosting across his lips as they hovered so very close to his own. He needed you in ways he couldn’t even begin to try and explain.

So he caved.

You felt his hand come to rest on the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you even closer, finally closing the distance between you as his lips captured yours. The kiss was fiery, passionate and messy, a gravely groan leaving him into it. You could feel the rumble in his chest from it, paired with the way his lips danced against your own told you how long he’d been wanting this, how much he’d been needing this. Needing you. You couldn’t help the smile that stretched to your lips into it, thinking of all the ways that you could push his limits. Your hand smoothed down his chest, toying with his tie as his tongue swiped across your bottom lip, an effort to push the kiss further into something more intimate. You giggled as you denied him, earning an impatient groan in response as his free hand groped your ass roughly, making you moan. The moment you did, he took his chance, his tongue exploring you as it tangled with your own in a messy clash of teeth, tongue and lips. It had you dizzy.

When he pulled back he looked you over, not caring this time if you laid witness to it or not. He took the moment to take in how your chest heaved with each labored breath, how your cheeks were flushed, lips shining with swapped saliva. “Gonna keep staring at me? Or you gonna do something about that problem of yours?” You asked with a cocky grin, making him chuckle darkly. “Oh it will be fixed, but it won’t be me fixing it” he said, yanking on your hair to pull your head back, earning a pathetic whine from you as it made you look up at him, finding yourself unable to bite back in this position. “You caused it, you fix it” he ordered, making you moan as he rolled his hips against your own, brushing his painfully hard cock against your panty clad cunt, allotting you some much needed friction and stimulation. All you could do was look up at him, excitement and anticipation filling your gaze leaving him to chuckle. “No witty come back to that? I give you the smallest taste of how good I can make you feel and you give up just like that, hmm?” He asked smuggly, making your face grow hot with defeat before he let up on his grip in your hair. “Strip” he commanded, making you stand up and work at untucking your shirt before unbuttoning it slowly. He watched as every button came undone, more of your gorgeous body was revealed to him, his eyes raking over your curves. The fabric soon dropped to the floor haphazardly next to his desk, to be forgotten about until later when it would be needed again. Next was your bra. His eyes were trained on you as he watched you unhook the backing, allowing it to slide down your arms and join your shirt in a growing pile. Your nipples had hardened from the temperature change, the exposure to the air and from the excitement coursing through you in anticipation of what was to come next. Then came your skirt, its simple button and zipper being undone allowing it to drop to the floor and pool around your feet with ease, earning a groan from him at the sight of you nearly naked before him. You hooked your thumbs into the sides of your panties, working them down from your hips before they fell to your ankles, leaving you to kick them off to the side with rest of the pile. You watched with much intrigue and entertainment as he seemed to twitch with anticipation and need for you, making you giggle.

“How long has it been?” You asked curiously, a cocky grin on your lips and confidence in your tone as you looked at him, looping your arms around his neck. There it was again, your perfume, overwhelming his senses. “I beg your pardon?” He asked, brows furrowed and sending a rather defensive look your way. “How long has it been?” You asked again, watching as he looked you up and down. “Since?” He asked in reply, not seeming to understand what you were hinting at, or maybe he preferred you just spit it out. “Since you had sex. Can tell by the tension in your shoulders and the way you practically moan with every touch that it’s been a while” you pointed out playfully, making him a little angry that you managed to get beneath his surface and figure him out so well. “You best be careful of that mouth of yours. My kindness, even with you, has its limits” he responded, making you hum. “Then go ahead, be mean. I’m a big girl, I can take it” you challenged making him walk closer to you, inching you towards the edge of his desk. “You want me to be mean, do you?” He asked, the rasp of his voice lowering to a much deeper tone, a crooked smile resting on his lips. He couldn’t lie, the slight tinge of fear resting in your eyes when you felt your back hit his desk, telling you there was nowhere left to go, awakened something dark within him. Something carnal, animalistic. You looked like nothing more than helpless, vulnerable prey, and he was about to eat you alive. You couldn’t deny the predatory look in his eyes certainly worked wonders on you in return. “Don’t look so concerned…” he started, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek gently before leaning in close, leaving his lips just millimeters from yours.

“I’m about to make your day” he finished, his words mixed with the feel of his breath ghosting your lips so closely send a shiver through you in excitement.

It wasn’t long before his pants were around his ankles, thrusting his cock balls deep into your soaked cunt. Your shared panting and moans, paired with the creaking and screeching of the poor desk beneath you that had been slowly inching its way across the floor with each thrust, filled the room. Should anyone walk past his office, there would be no mistaking what was happening just behind the door. Though you supposed your moans could have likely alerted all of Zaun at this rate, with your first orgasm of the night already past you, it’d be a miracle if no one could hear you. Your head was tilted back as he drilled into you, gripping your hips with a bruising pressure as your arms looped around his neck for leverage. You watched as he looked down to the space where your bodies were connected, watching his length disappeared inside of you with ease. He couldn’t help but to notice the little white ring that rested at the base of his length from your previous orgasm as the sound of his hips smacking roughly against your ass filled the room. “Fuck! Oh gods, yes!” You moaned, making him grin. “How long has it been?” He asked, looking to you, waiting for a response from you but your pleasure-idled mind was so foggy you could hardly understand what he was asking you. “Since? Oh fuck! Right there!!” You replied the best you could, tilting your head back again, leaving your tits just inches from his face as your back arched upwards towards him. “Since someone fucked you right. Since someone made you feel this good” he finished, making you whine as his hand grabbed your jaw, squishing your cheeks as he forced you to look back up at him. The cute pout that rested on your face, occasionally morphing into ones of pleasure each time his tip bullied your cervix, had him rutting into you harder. “Never! Not ‘til you- oh!” You managed, making him chuckle as he relinquished you from his grip. “Pathetic. You put up all that fuss, do all that teasing and yet I still manage to get you right where I want you” he said through grunts of pleasure, his neatly slicked back hair slightly falling against his forehead that had a thin sheen of sweat. “Feels so good! Oh gods, Silco!” You moan pathetically, knowing he was exactly right but you didn’t care. You’d spend every night here like this with him if he made you feel this good every time.

You felt as that familiar sensation in your lower belly began to take root again as his lips captured your own in a messy but passionate kiss, your moans raising in pitch and growing closer together a clear sign that you were close. As if on que, his fingers traveled between your bodies, coming to rub your clit to give you that added bit of friction you so desperately needed. You gasped before moving your hips against his and his fingers, meeting his merciless thrusts and fucking yourself on his fingers. “You’re right where you belong. Beneath me like this, cumming on my cock as I please you like no one else ever will” he said, rubbing your clit faster to make up for the way his thrusts were beginning to lose rhythm. You were so close to finally falling over the precipice, your body feeling as if it were catching on fire as your every nerve ending lit up. His words were what sent you there. “You’re mine” he growled, biting into your shoulder as you came together, his bite sending you toppling over the edge into pure bliss, while your walls squeezed him tight, milking him of everything he’d been holding in for far too long. Your body twitched and spasmed with the intensity of your second orgasm of the night, a pleased hum leaving you as you felt him cum inside of you, throbbing repeatedly as he emptied everything into you.

You both sat there for a moment, basking in the afterglow of your orgasms together, fighting to catch your breath. You watched him smooth his hair back with his hand, doing his best to get it out of his face and back to how it was originally styled, or at least the closest he could get it. You smiled as he kissed you softly, leaving you to cup his dance gently in your hands. “Are you alright?” He asked into it, checking to make sure he hadn’t overdone it and hurt you. You gave a hum then a giggle. “I feel wonderful” you said with a bubbly grin, making him chuckle as he continued to kiss you, not wishing to leave your arms or the taste of your sweet lips just yet. “Good, as do I” he replied, making you grin even wider. “Fuck yes you do” you said, playfully yet truthfully, making you both laugh. “Oh is that so? Have I ruined anyone else for you?” He asked, the hint of possessiveness in his tone as his lips traced down your neck. “You might have. Not that I care to find out, you said it yourself; this is exactly where I belong, and it’s exactly where I intend to stay” you said, your head tilted a little to grant him better access to your sensitive skin. You heard him groan next to your ear as his lips lingered upon all your most sensitive spots.

What caught you by absolute surprise was the sensation of him throbbing within you, twitching to life again from inside of you. You gave a gasp with both intrigue and excitement as he looked to you with a grin. Apparently your words had let the monster out, because stay there you would for nearly the rest of the night, getting lost in one another without a care for how sore you’d be tomorrow. It was well worth it when you were with him.

#asks #asks open #send asks #smut #arcane #arcane scenarios #arcane series #arcane smut #silco x you #silco smut #silco fanfic #silco x reader #silco arcane #arcane silco #silco #arcane fanfic #anon ask #thanks anon!

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snapdougles · 7 hours ago

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okay so I'm gonna try keep this brief so I'm not here forever, but here's the thing, this isn't new, actually people have tried using computers for therapy since the 60s:

Meet ELIZA

ELIZA is a simple computer program that responds to questions it is asked in a way meant to emulate a therapist, it did this so well, even it's creator was concerned at how quickly people started to empathize with it and consider it to not be a machine but a sentient being.

Humans are really good at recognising human like traits, and latching on to them, we decide that things with traits like us, are humanlike like us, similiarly, things that lack those human traits, will have their humanlikeness diminished.

This is great at finding likeminded tribes, terrible at identifying any sort of truth though.

To start my next point, I'm just gonna preface it with yeah therapy is good, therapists are good, it's not an easy job, and therapy with a person probably better than with an 'AI', but saying 'bots' (i don't think AI is the right description here,) can't help is just not correct, as measurably, they can, and do.

One of the advantages of therapy is having someone to prompt you to think in ways that you aren't used to, therapists can't peer magically into peoples minds, they are prompting the patient to express their experience, and try to help them to realize things they might not be aware of

"And how does that make you feel?"

Immediate follow up, obviously therapists do way more than this, this isn't gonna help everyone, and it isn't gonna automatically solve problems, but a lot of the time people just need help reframing issues into terms that they can understand and deal with, and bots can help with that.

Whether you think this is good/bad, right/wrong or useful at all is up to you, but ruling it out as being non-functional because "ai bad" is bad praxis.

sources:

guys. please

#i hate how buzzwordy everything is nowaways jeez #“oh it uses AI? Must be bad don't use it”#ELIZA #and again let's reiterate #a bot won't have the experience or competence to deal with everyone's problems #but a lot of peoples problems are simpler than they realize and having an external agent to interact with is enough to figure it out

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freyadragonlord · 2 days ago

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Recently I’ve been thinking about the different types of love languages in Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint, The S-Classes That I Raised, and Lout of the Count’s Family…

Not to say that each of the stories describes only one single kind of love language; they are, after all, all novels that focus on Found Family, with many different types of relationships between characters that express their love for each other in as many different ways.

Yet, I’ve noticed how at the core of each of these three stories there is one specific act of love that recurs more than others, and that becomes the true Theme each novel revolves around.

In Lout of the Count’s Family, the main love language is providing food and a home.

“Home” is such an important concept in LCF that Cale collects houses like they were pokemon cards. The source of his trauma when he was a child as Kim Roksu was that he was not given sufficient food, and that where he lived was not truly a shelter where he could feel safe, just a place he was trapped in.

And I don’t think there are ever more than 2 chapters in a row without a character offering food to others, or asking if they’re hungry, if they’ve eaten, why haven’t you eaten, here have some apple pie!!

Cale uses his newfound money and power to make sure his loved ones are provided for. That’s how he adopts bonds with most of his new family.

The first thing Raon does after he’s freed from the prison he’s been trapped in all his life, is to leave food for this hopelessly weak human.

Choi Han, who has lived alone in a dangerous forest for decades, would do anything to protect his home.

The Crown Prince, who has been isolated and untrusting of everyone ever since his mother died, makes sure to always have cookies in his bedroom in case guests “break in” for a visit at any time of the day or the night.

I love you, you’ll never be hungry again. I love you, my home is your home.

In The S-Classes That I Raised, the main love language is words.

Yoojin’s powers are literally activated by telling people “I love you”. Because all he ever wanted was to say “I love you” to his brother one last time.

Because the tragedy that starts the story happens because Yoohyun loved and protected his hyung in secret for years. Silence creates misunderstandings, it creates distance, it leads to loss.

Loving someone isn’t enough, tell them! Reassure them. Remember what they say, because their words are important!!

Ever since the regression, Yoojin always let people know when he loves them and appreciates them. “You’re perfect, you’re cute, you’re so talented, you’re so handsome, you are loved.”

And as the novel progresses, whenever Yoojin is in pain, or doesn’t know what to do, he turns to Sung Hyunje because he needs to be reassured, he needs to know he did well, he needs to hear he is still important to the people he loves.

I love you, please know that I love you! I love you, please tell me you love me back.

And finally, in Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint, the main love language is time.

Time is one of the greatest sources of horrors in ORV. Eternities upon eternities of suffering, being trapped for ages in the same, hopeless loop, wishing for everything to just stop.

And yet, time is also the greatest gift characters give to each other.

Because the wounds Dokja suffered as a child, and then again and again through his whole life…. They need time to heal. They need so much time. They will probably take forever.

So let them take forever.

Despite how much pain and worry he causes his companions by giving up on himself over and over again, his companions never give up on him. And he doesn’t understand why!! He doesn’t think he’s worth it. But it’s not his choice, it’s theirs. And they will go through as many tries, as much pain, as much time as it takes, before they can finally save him.

I love you, so I will wait fifty years for you. I love you, so I will live through thousands of lifetimes to find you. I love you, so I will read and reread your story for the rest of time, just to keep you alive.

#been feeling some feelings #love languages #omniscient reader's viewpoint #the s classes that i raised #lout of the count’s family #orv #sctir #tsctir #lcf #tcf #trash of the count's family #cale henituse #kim roksu #han yoojin #kim dokja

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strawberriesoup · 3 days ago

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24 to 25٠࣪⭑

── .✦ A snowstorm forces you to take refuge with Jisung on christmas eve

word count: 6.6k

genre: fluff with a little angst, jisung x female reader, mutual pining, comfort, acquaintances to lovers

warnings: cursing, feelings, reader is down horrendously bad for jisung, kisses, jisung is a sweetheart

a/n: this has been in the works for a while (i’m bad at writing stuff fast) SO IM SUPER HAPPY THAT I WAS ABLE TO GET IT OUT FOR THE HOLIDAY SEASON

any/all feedback is highly appreciated!!

taglist: @jisunggy @holly-here @hannamoon143 @fly-you-dam-fools

if you would like to be added to my general taglist, send me a comment or an ask! <3

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The holiday season is a time for joy, a time to share laughter and meals, a time to wear fuzzy socks and fall asleep watching bad Christmas movies. Well, that’s what it’s supposed to be anyways. It’s a little hard to get into the Christmas cheer when each snowflake swirling outside your windshield is somehow concerningly larger than the last.

Wind whistles past your car as you squint your eyes, trying — and failing— to get any sort of visibility through the rapidly thickening blanket of snow and darkness. The gas light flashes on with a ping. Damn it. Continuing on whilst the best you can make out of your surroundings is a screen of nothingness and the occasional telephone pole doesn’t seem like the best course of action right now.

Eventually, you manage to pull into a small gas station about five minutes away by reluctantly putting your life into the hands of Google Maps.

Blowing warmth onto your hands, white-knuckled from your death grip on the steering wheel, you yank your phone out of the cupholder. Stranded in some dingy parking lot a good forty-five minutes away from your apartment is definitely where you needed to be on Christmas Eve, thanks so much universe. And your feet are cold.

You had really wanted to surprise them. The last time you’d seen your family was back in March, well over half a year ago. You thought Christmas as the perfect opportunity to visit. Just imagining the look on their faces alone was more than enough to spur your enthusiasm. But, then again, you hear the worries in the back of your mind. You hadn’t visited in so long, rarely even sending a text their way. And coming over with zero warning? They might not be as happy as you hoped.

No, of course they would be happy to see you, right? Right. Either way, there’s no way you’re going anywhere tonight.

Warm air from the AC fans across your face as you slump back in your chair, unfastening the top clasp of your coat that suddenly seems to be suffocating you. What do you even do in this situation? Call someone?

Scrolling through your contacts, your eyes alight on a familiar name.

Han Jisung

You face lights up with hope. Didn’t he say something about living around here? You open his contact, immediately faced with the looming call button in the top right corner of the screen.

Jisung is somewhat of an aquaintance of yours. Calling him a friend might be too bold. Being partners on a group project doesn’t automatically equal friendship, but you two had gotten along quite well. At least, you thought so. Maybe that was wishful thinking coming from your fat crush on him and his gorgeous smile, but still.

What are you doing? You hardly know this guy, and you’re going to call him on Christmas Eve night so he can, what, pick you up? You have to admit, the thought sets off little warning bells in your head. But what other options do you have?

Finger hovering over the button, you hesitate for a moment longer before pressing call.

The line rings once, twice. What if he doesn’t answer? He’s probably busy, it is Christmas eve after all. Did he ever mention leaving town for the holidays?

You’re so busy trying to recall previous conversations with him that you almost don’t notice the line picking up before the third ring. Shit, that was faster than you were expecting. Jisung’s voice greets you through the speaker.

“Heyy, what’s up?”

At the sound of his voice, your heart does a little leap in your chest. You take a deep breath before answering.

“Hi Jisung. I, uh, have a bit of a favor to ask.”

⋆⁺₊❅ ⁺₊❆⋆

You were right about him living close, because less than fifteen minutes later the bright flash of headlights announces Jisung’s arrival. You know that looking nice should be the least of your priorities right now, but that doesn’t stop you from flipping open the sunvisor and briefly inspecting your appearance.

Jisung’s car door thuds shut as you hop out of your own car, met with a brisk rush of air that fills your lungs, chilling you from the inside out. He wasn’t far, but with the heavy snow you can just make out his form from across the lot. You’re quick to hustle towards his dark sillouette, eager to get out of the cold as soon as possible.

Meeting in the middle sooner than you had expected, both you and Jisung halt in tandem, breaths coming in puffs of condensation. The zipper of his puffer jacket is half undone, complimented by a scarf thrown haphazardly around his neck. His hands that are shoved deep in the pockets of his coat give hint to the fact that he’s probably not even wearing gloves.

Neither of you had spoken a word. The silence is painfully awkward, and you can tell he feels it too, if the way he glances down at his feet in favor of meeting your eyes is anything to go by.

“So, do you—”

“Should we—”

Speaking simultaneously, you both cut your sentences short, falling into a silence that’s somehow louder than the last. God, you had expected it to be awkward but not this awkward. Meeting with Jisung outside of a college setting feels so foreign, the only way you’ve interacted with him thus far has been through school. You can feel your ears burn as Jisung clears his throat.

“Sorry, uh, you were saying?” He pulls his hand out of his pocket to gesture at you, confirming that he is indeed not wearing gloves.

The question hangs in the air as Jisung pushes his glasses up with two fingers and looks at you expectantly. His cheeks are tinted with blush from the prickling cold. Lips slightly parted, his breath hisses through his teeth with every inhale, as if trying to supress them from chattering.

“Oh, yeah,” you begin your sentence again, shaking your head to focus. You’re standing in a parking lot in the middle of an actual snowstorm, now is not the time to be fawning over him. “should we, like, head to your car? I’m freezing. I’ll just leave my car here because it’s— yeah.” You twist around to look at your drab little car. It’ll be fine.

He lets out a little puff of laughter, sending a cloud of frost into the air.

“Yeah, good idea. c’mon let’s go.”

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

The car ride to Jisung’s place is less awkward than your experience in the parking lot, but not by much. A comment is occasionally made about the storm, but other than that the ride is filled with silence and the steady swishing of windshield wipers.

Jisung glances at you from the corner of his eye. You’re examining the fluff on your gloves with your head down, not seeming too intrested in conversation.

Or maybe you’re uncomfortable. That would make a lot of sense.

Wincing internally at himself, Jisung draws his attention back to the road and furrows his brow, trying to remember if he’s done something wrong. Although, he supposes that being alone with, well, not a stranger— Jisung would like to think he’s at least a good aquaintance to you— but with someone you don't know too well, is enough to put anyone on edge. He has to remind himself that this was your idea.

When your contact info had popped up on his screen, interrupting his very important business (scrolling), he promptly froze, had an intense mental battle on how he should answer, dropped his phone, picked it back up again, and hit answer, all in the span of about four seconds.

Jisung has to admit he does have a slight thing for you. Well okay, maybe a big thing. Like, he has your class schedule and favorite study spot memorized kind of big. Also you wear your hair up on Tuesdays.

But thats besides the point really.

After what feels like a lifetime of driving and the occasional buzzing of muted christmas music playing through the radio, you two finally arrive at Jisung’s place.

It’s nicer than you had expected. The house is dimly lit, but perfectly tidy. Best of all, it’s warm. Behind you, Jisung’s keys jingle as he hangs them up next to the door.

“Uh, make yourself at home, okay? There’s instant ramen, some milk… actually, that’s about it but hey, at least there’s ramen.” He beckons you in, tugging his scarf off while smiling ruefully at the lack of food options to offer.

“That’s okay, I believe in instant ramen supremacy,” you state confidently, earning a laugh from Jisung as you follow him into the kitchen, resting your weight on the counter.

“A woman after my own heart I see,” He jokes, closing his eyes and placing a hand dramatically over his heart. His knuckles are still flushed pink from the cold.

If only he knew.

You can feel the awkward tension from earlier start to melt away now that you’re here. Thank God, because you were seriously considering going back to your car and just waiting out the night there. You couldn’t do that though. Jisung was so willing to help, coming as soon as you had called. Which is kind of crazy, if you stop to think about it for a second. Going out of your way to drive out in a snowstorm and picking someone up on Christmas Eve would be absolutely out of the question for most people, let alone someone you aren’t even close with.

Jisung is busying himself with running some warm water in the kitchen. He rests one elbow on the counter, testing the water tempature. You find yourself watching his movements, how he runs a hand through his hair, the dark strands dampening with the moisture from his hand, and how his eyebrows pinch in concentration until the tempature is just right. Jisung seems more comfortable and relaxed now that he’s here. He’s not a tall man, by any stretch of the imagination, but his confident demeanor makes his presence seem much larger.

Running his chilled hands underneath the warm faucet to bring the warmth back, Jisung looks to the window. You blink and follow suit. Fortunately, he hadn’t caught you staring.

“Holy shit, we must have made it here just in time,” He laughs incredulously, shutting off the sink and shaking the rest of the dampness from his hands.

The window is completely engulfed in white.

Outside, the wind angrily laments that you’re inside and safe. You can’t imagine being stuck out there in that, alone. Just the thought of it makes your insides churn with a strange mixture of anxiety and relief, and you realize that you haven’t even thanked Jisung yet for saving your sorry ass. You open your mouth, but the words seem to dry up on your tongue.

Jisung tilts his head at you, questioning.

“No for real, I haven’t seen a snow this crazy in a while,” Running your hand along the cool countertop, you fix your eyes on an unlit candle to the left of Jisung’s form. Why can’t you just say thank you? It’s not that hard, yet you find yourself avoiding the two simple words like the plauge.

A beat of silence falls over the two of you, but this time it’s comfortable. There’s no rush or pressure to say anything, just a quiet presence while gazing out at the bright sheet that blankets the night.

⋆⁺₊❅ ⁺₊❆⋆

You have an idea.

Is it a good idea? Probably not, but it’s an idea nonetheless.

While you had been absentmindedly thumbing through your Pinterest homepage in an attempt to pass time, you came across a recipe. And not just any recipe, it’s a sugar cookie recipe in the likeness of a snowman. With a little face on it.

The tantalizing image stirrs your sweet tooth, and you glance over at Jisung on the other side of the couch. He seems to be putting an obviously large amount of distance between the two of you, as the entire middle section of the couch remains empty with you and Jisung perched on either side.

“Hey, so… are you any good at baking?”

Jisung’s head jerks up at your question.

“Uhhh. I plead the fifth.”

You find yourself grinning.

“How about this, do you like baking?”

“Now that. Is a different story.” His knees spread apart as he adjusts his position on the couch, slouching lower and crossing his arms across his chest. He looks at you sideways. “What, did you have something in mind?”

You definitely do have something in mind, and it doesn't have anything to do with baking.

“Hear me out,” you point your phone screen at Jisung, who leans in to squint at it. “we make christmas cookies. In the shape of snowmen.”

“You know what, hell yeah. Nothing better to do,” Jisung stretches his arms towards the ceiling, hands balling up into fists. Your wandering eyes betray you, and you can’t help but notice the little sliver of smooth skin that peeks out from where his shirt slides up as he stretches. He needs to stop being so casually sexy right now or you might go crazy. “Cross your fingers though, ‘cause I dunno if I have any eggs.”

⋆⁺₊❅ ⁺₊❆⋆

Currently standing in a neat line across the countertop are all the gathered ingredients necessary for the cookies. Jisung had miraculously acquired two eggs from the depths of his fridge, which now sit next to the flour, and you had spent a good five minutes opening and closing cabinets in search of all the dry ingredients.

You’ve baked a couple of times before. Granted, the first time the cookies were still soft in the middle and the second time may or may not have involved the fire department, but third time’s the charm right? You’re determined to make and eat these cookies.

Next to you, Jisung is staring at the ingredients, hands on his hips. Seemingly at a loss, he looks over to you for instructions.

“Okay, step one: combine the dry ingredients…”

So far, so good. Jisung was put in charge of the flour mixture, while you had started the task of creaming the butter and sugar together.

When you glance up to check on Jisung after a bit, you find him leveling out a scoop of flour, meticulously brushing any stray lumps of powder off of the top with a butter knife. His eyes squint in concentration until he is satisfied with the measurement, proceeding to dump it into the bowl. A faint cloud of white powder dusts the air.

You watch him with amusement as he scoops another cup out of the flour bag, starting the whole process over again.

He must have felt you staring, because his head darts up, eyes finding yours. You quickly duck your head back towards your work.

You wonder if Jisung is a perfectionist with most things in his life. He’s mentioned before that he writes and produces music, you figure that has a certain degree of perfectionism to it. Then again, during the car ride here your feet were resting on several bags of fast food from various restaurants. Maybe his perfectionism is selective.

The undeveloped batter clings to the mixer as you switch it off and pull it out of the bowl. You swipe a finger over one of the whisks and pop it in your mouth. It might just be sugar and butter, but hey, that shit’s good.

Turning your head to offer Jisung a taste, you let out a gasp of surprise upon realizing that he’s standing right behind you. He leans forward, lowkey trapping you between him and the counter as he crosses an arm around you to scoop up some of the mixture from the edge of the bowl. Your breath catches at his proximity. His warm breath brushes againt your neck, causing a shiver to run up your spine.

He draws away, licking his finger while you remain frozen in place. What happened to him keeping a good distance from you? You don’t think he even realizes what he just did, because he just strolls on back to his little station, quietly humming a tune as he goes.

⋆⁺₊❅ ⁺₊❆⋆

As soon as the oven door slams shut, Jisung is immediately squatted in front of it, dutifully watching the uniform balls of dough through the yellow tint of the oven light.

“You know those will take, like, thirteen minutes to cook, right?” Leaning over the countertop, you raise an eyebrow at his crouched form.

“Thirteen? No way. I’ll basically be dead by then.” Jisung stands up, brushing some of the remaining flour off his pants. That’s when you notice a patch of white just above his left eyebrow. How did that even happen?

You step forward without thinking, reaching up to rub the spot off with your thumb. His skin is ridiculously soft, and you find your treacherous fingers lingering for probably longer than was strictly necessary.

Jisung’s eyes are twice as wide as normal as you pull your hand away. He blinks at you and swallows, causing his throat to bob up and down.

Oh so now he’s flustered. You’re beginning to think your little crush is reciprocated after all.

Momentarily confident, you send him a sweet smile.

“That’s better.”

Jisung doesn't say anything in return, but you don't think you’re imagining the slight red tint to his ears.

Three loud beeps announce that the cookies have completed their oven time and are now ready to be taken out and consumed.

Jisung arms himself with oven mitts and carefully slides the cookie tray out of the oven and onto the potholders that you had placed on the countertop a few minutes prior.

They look good. Like, really good. You can feel your mouth starting to water.

“Holy shit, I think we actually did it! Thank God they didn't catch on fire this time,” you exclaim, poking one experimentally with a finger.

Jisung’s eyebrows fly up and he shoots you a bewildered look.

“I thought you said you could cook??”

“Hey now, I never said that…”

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Throughout the night, you have become painfully aware of the fact that you are wearing jeans.

Thankfully, since you were heading to your family’s house anyways, you have an entire suitcase packed with the works. Your comfy pajamas from last year are sounding really good right now.

Jisung is propped up on the corner of the couch with a cookie in one hand and his phone in the other. His cheeks are stuffed with probably half of said cookie right now, making him look like some sort of rodent. It’s cute.

You need to ask him where his bathroom is to change, but you find yourself hesitating. Jisung looks up at you with a confused expression and a cookie crumb clinging to his cheek.

Realizing that you’re just looming over the side of his couch ominously, you are quick to blurt out your question.

“Do you know where the bathroom is?”

Goddamnit. Of course he knows where his own fucking bathroom is. What kind of question is that?

Jisung, luckily, seems to have found it amusing, his eyes squinting up as he lets out a hearty laugh. Which almost, almost, makes up for the fact that you just asked the stupidest question in the history of mankind. It doesn’t stop your cheeks from heating up though.

“Yeah, I think it’s down the hallway to the left,”

He’s playing along. You wonder if he has any idea how much better that makes you feel as you break into a wide smile and thank him, scurrying off to go grab your…

Suitcase.

Your suitcase. Where was it? You don’t remember bringing it to Jisung’s place, where could it be? Did you- oh. You remember your dingy little car, sitting out there in the gas station parking lot. Your dingy little car that happened to have your suitcase in it.

Sometimes you surprise yourself, because how can one be this much of a mess? Everything has gone wrong tonight, and now this? You couldn’t even make it to your family’s house to surprise them. The weight of it all is beginning to crush you, forcing tears to well up in your eyes.

Stopping in the hallway around the corner, out of Jisung’s eyeshot, you shove your impending emotions down your throat, the roughness of the wall against your fist keeping you steady. You are not going to cry right now. You’ll find a solution. You just need to calm down first. Closing your eyes, you take in deep breaths, letting each exhale push you farther away from tears.

Once you’re sure you have yourself under control, you consider your options. You could ask Jisung for something to wear, or you could remain uncomfortable in your jeans for the remainder of the night. Now, you wouldn’t be upset about wearing Jisung’s clothes, not even in the slightest. They’d probably smell like him, too. How that man always smells so damn good is beyond you.

He’ll understand if you ask him for his clothes. You know he will. Hopefully, he won’t take it in the wrong way. It’s not like you want to wear his clothes, you just have to because you don’t have any other option.

Yeah no, you really just want to wear his clothes.

Rounding the corner, you expect to see Jisung on the couch only to find that he’s no longer in his spot, or in the living room, for that matter. He’s not in the kitchen either (which still has various baking supplies and smears of flour scattered about. You make a mental note to clean that up later). Huh. Maybe he went to his room. You settle down on the couch to wait for him, busying yourself with counting your knuckles.

Sock-padded footsteps cause your head to perk up in their direction. Jisung emerges from his room, closing the door behind him with his foot. His face lights up when he finds you on the couch.

“I wasn’t sure if you had brought any PJs or not, so, I grabbed some things you can wear,” He says, then seems to check himself and quickly adds, “If you want! You don’t, like, have to or anything, just thought I would offer.” In his arms he carries a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie.

You could kiss him right now.

“Oh my God, Jisung, are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course, it’s no problem at all.” He reassures you.

Jisung had offered the clothes purely out of wanting to make sure you’re comfortable. Sleeping in jeans is pretty awful and he didn’t see you bring a suitcase or anything. Maybe he also wanted to give you his clothes but that’s irrelevant.

He watches as you skip off to the bathroom to change with a newfound pep to your step. Jisung shakes his head, grinning despite himself. You’re just so damn cute.

This storm might just be the best thing that’s happened to Jisung in a while. Getting to spend time with you? And on Christmas Eve no less. If you’d have told him that yesterday, he wouldn't have believed it one bit. It’s like all his prayers have been answered.

He finds himself wondering, what were your plans before you called him for help? Are you upset that you’re here, at his place, instead of wherever you were heading to? Jisung hopes not. As much as he’s happy you’re here to keep him company, he can’t help but worry about how you’re feeling about the situation.

As if on cue, you appear once again at the entrance to the hallway. This time though, you’re all cozyed up in his clothes.

Jisung’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight of you. The sweats nearly swallow your feet whole, and his hoodie— which is oversized in the first place—fits almost comically large on your frame; hanging off of one shoulder.

It’s not the exposed shoulder that gets him necessarily, this isn’t the 19th century, it’s the fact that you’re in his clothes and in his house.

He swallows.

“You look- you, uh, yeah. You look good. Warm?”

Jisung’s reaction tells you all you need to know. You laugh in response.

“Mhm! Add this to the list of things I definitely owe you for,”

“Pshh, nah don’t even worry about it, i’m happy to help,” Jisung figures that if he doesn’t look at you too hard, he’ll be able to keep his brain from short-circuiting. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?” Sparing a careful glance back up at you, he pats the couch to back up his offer.

The couch dips as you plop down next to him, sporting that smile of yours that has him weak. You had looked so distraught just a couple of minutes ago, and just the simple act of him offering his clothes and a movie had brought your spirits right up. Cute.

Jisung rests his chin on his hand and listens as you lay out your christmas movie options, but he’s only half-paying attention. He knows that he’ll enjoy whatever movie you choose, as long as you’re there to watch it with him.

He also knows that he’s probably more than a little bit head over heels for you.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

The smell of freshly-microwaved popcorn fills the room as you and Jisung take your respective places on the couch, the silent agreement apparently being to keep at least a foot between your bodies at all times

You settle in and get comfortable while the opening credits roll across the screen. Jisung is tossing some popcorn in his mouth, having already eaten nearly half of his bag. You get the feeling that he’s going to be asking to steal some of your popcorn sooner or later.

Even with him being a foot away, you are hyper-aware of his presence. The movie is starting, but you know there’s no way you are going to able to maintain any sort of attention span with Jisung sitting right there.

Still facing towards the screen, you sneak a quick look at him from the corner of your eye, only to find his eyes already trained on you.

The unexpected eye contact makes your heart jump to your throat, and you quickly jerk your gaze back to the television.

Why was he looking at you? Is he still looking? You consider turning again to check, but then decide against it, preferring to live in ignorance for the time being. You’re not sure you can deal with knowing he’s looking at you right now.

Not even ten minutes into the movie, a particularly loud whistle of wind rushes past the windows. The lights flicker once. And then again.

Fuck.

You barely have time to turn and look at a now wide-eyed Jisung before both of you are plunged into absolute darkness.

A small yelp of terror escapes from Jisung, and you feel his weight shift on the couch.

Blinking rapidly as though that would make the lights magically turn back on, you find yourself scooting towards Jisung. A heartbeat of silence passes, with only the sound of your and Jisung’s soft breaths cutting through the darkness.

“The power’s out,” He observes helpfully, voice noticably higher than it’s normal tenor.

“No shit.” You pull out your phone to turn on the flashlight, illuminating your faces. Jisung squeezes his eyes shut at the sudden intrusion of light, peeking one eye open at you after a moment.

The light reveals that he is a lot closer than you had thought. Barely an inch of space was left between your legs, and you swear you can feel warmth radiating off of him. Huh. That little mole on his face is visible from here.

Jisung swallows hard (apparently a habit of his) and quickly combs a hand through his hair, pulling himself up from the couch.

“Hold on, I think I have a candle somewhere,” He still looks a bit frazzled, but heads towards the kitchen nonetheless.

You turn and cross your arms over the back of the couch, illuminating his path.

“You do, it’s on the counter,” You point at it, having noticed it earlier when you’d first arrived. “‘Spiced apple toddy’, huh?”

You grin at the offended look on Jisung’s face as he approaches, candle and lighter in hand.

“Hey! They’re seasonal,” he objects to your teasing, placing the candle on the coffee table.

T he lighter sparks into a flame as Jisung drops back down on the couch and lights the candle, bathing your surroundings in a soft, warm light.

Well. So much for the Christmas movie.

“That sucks, I really wanted to see what was going to happen to Frosty this year,” Jisung mirrors your thoughts with a sigh, crossing one ankle over his leg and shaking his head with a tsk.

You giggle, giving him a light shove on the shoulder. In the back of your mind, you feel like you should be upset about yet another thing going wrong tonight. But how could something be wrong, really, when Jisung is smiling like that. Smiling like that because of you. The thought ignites little butterflies in your stomach.

The power doesn't seem to have any plans to turn on again anytime soon, so you and Jisung break out a deck of cards. Turns out he’s a big trash talker when it comes to competition, which has you laughing your head off at the creative insults he throws at you. Seriously, how does he come up with these?

After losing your third game of speed, you realize that goosebumps have began to form all up and down your arms. Not wanting Jisung to notice, you try to smooth them down as nonchalantly as possible.

Of course, he immediately notices.

“Are you cold?” He furrows his eyebrows in concern, drawing his attention away from his hand of cards to you.

“Nope!” A shiver decides that it’s the right moment to shake your whole body. “Okay maybe a little,” you admit, “but I’m totally fine, it’s not bad at all.”

In all honesty, that was a complete lie. It’s cold as shit. You just hope your smile is enough to distract from your clenched teeth and slightly runny nose.

Jisung raises an eyebrow at you skeptically, obviously not buying it.

“So I guess if I got a blanket, you wouldn't want it, right?”

“Hey, thats not-” you start to protest to him poking fun at you, but your confidence shrivels when Jisung places his cards on the table, batting his eyes at you in mock attention.

It’s flustering, to say the least. He directly offered you the solution to your discomfort, and didn’t really leave you with the choice to say no. Which, you decide, is kinda hot. That seems to describe most of what Jisung does, though.

You drop your hands down on the table in defeat. “Fine. Can I please have a blanket?”

As a response to your request, Jisung simply hoists himself up once more, tapping you twice on the top of the head as he passes.

“Attagirl.”

The sideways grin he flashes you tells you that he knows exactly the effect that that little word had on your insides.

He’s going to be the death of you.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

You had just barely managed to compose yourself when Jisung returns with not one, not two, but an entire armful of blankets. In favor of just dropping them all on the couch, he decides to launch both himself and the blankets onto the couch simultaniously. His legs fly up behind him as he lands belly-down onto the pile of blankets, face buried in the soft fabric.

Whether he’s trying to draw out a laugh or not, you bark out a laugh that’s probably louder than the situation called for. You slap a hand over your mouth in embarrassment as he lifts himself up to sit on the empty cushion of the couch.

It’s intresting, the way he moves. Every motion so natural, every curve so perfect, it traps your attention to him like a moth to a flame. His muscles are lean, tensing when he pushes himself up. You follow the lightest trace of a vein trailing down from his bicep to his hand, absentmindedly wondering how his hand would feel in yours. Wondering if he would ever so lightly run his fingers over the back of your hand, your collarbone, your jaw…

“So do you want a blanket or what?” Jisung waves his hand, snapping you out of your head. You hope he hadn’t noticed the way you were essentially ogling him just now. He most likely had though, given how annoyingly observant he’s proven to be.

The corners of Jisung’s mouth quirk up, a witheld laugh brimming behind his eyes. Okay scratch that, he definitely noticed.

Too humiliated to say anything, you take a seat next to him and toss a blanket over your head. The outside noises dim significantly from under the shelter of the blanket. The blanket that— unfortunately for you and your creative imagination— smells quite strongly of Jisung. You find yourself having to refrain from burying your face in the cloth. Because that would be weird.

It’s warm at least. Staying here forever sounds like a good plan.

A wave of fresh, cool air washes over you as the edge of the blanket lifts up to reveal Jisung peeking in at you.

“May I join you?”

You nod, hoping the darkness will conceal your flushed face. Jisung scootches to sit next to you and flicks the blanket back over both of your forms. Darkness encases you once more, only this time you aren’t alone.

Jisung’s phone light shines out, lighting up your faces in such a way that makes you think he might break into some cheesy horror story; the kind that you were genuinely terrified of in second grade.

He’s close. Like, really close. You could count his eyelashes if you wanted.

His eyes crinkle slightly as he gives you a little close-mouthed smile. He looks so lovely right now, you can’t help but smile right back at him. Except your smile definitely isn't lovely since you’re cheesing so hard.

When he chuckles, a breath of warm air puffs over your face, making you warmer than you think you’ve ever been.

Despite being a good bodily temprature already, the urge to wrap your arms around Jisung and bask in his physical presence is getting stronger by the second.

“I’m still cold.” The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them, such a blatant untruth that it makes your heart speed up.

Jisung’s head drops, shoulders bouncing slightly with silent laughter.

As if your ears couldn't get any hotter than they were already.

“Still cold, huh? You know what’s crazy?” He leans in just a touch further as if about to tell you some great secret, his voice quieting almost to a whisper. “Me too.”

Jisung arm wraps around your shoulders, and he turns you sideways, pulling you flush to him. How you seem to fit perfectly in the curve of his side, you’ll never know. Resting your head down on his shoulder and tentatively reaching a hand up to curl on his chest, you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding. His heartbeat pounds in your ear, slower than your own jumping pulse, but much louder.

Wrapped in Jisung’s arms, you are definitely warmer than before. Which—since you really weren’t cold in the first place— has you sweating, the space under the blanket suddenly feeling small and suffocating.

You toss the top of the blanket off of your heads, inhaling the cold, crisp air now available to your lungs.

You’re not sure what comes over you. maybe it was the way that he tilts his head back to lean on the back of the couch, or maybe it was the little sigh he lets out, his breath just barely visible in the chilled air surrounding you. The hand that’s gently rubbing up and down your upper arm definitely isn't helping either.

You reach up and plant a chaste kiss to his cheek.

Jisung instantly tenses under you, every muscle tightening. You pull back to look at him, finding him frozen, staring straight ahead. a gorgeous pink tint graces his cheeks.

Always so confident until he’s the one being flirted with. Cute.

He’s silent and still for just a hint too long, and you start to get worried. Did you read the energy wrong? Was he just being nice?

You open your mouth to blurt out some sort of apology, but Jisung turns his head to look at you, eyes wide, searching your own. Your mouth snaps shut.

“Can you do that again?” His request is quiet and mumbled, nervousness evident in the way his knee starts to bounce up and down rapidly.

You reach up to grab his chin, his skin soft beneath your fingers. He’s real. He’s here and under your fingertips, gazing at you like you hung the moon.

You lean in, but pause to hover just millimeters away from his lips, your breaths mingling in the space between.

It’s not until Jisung makes a noise in his throat that is somewhere between a huff and a whine that you close the final distance between you two.

A white-hot flame ignites in your stomach when your mouths connect, only blazing brighter when Jisung runs his hand up the length of your back to rest it on the back of your head, holding you softly but firmly to him.

He wants you, everything about you. And you want him too, you always have.

When you part, you let out a breathless giggle. What just happened?

It seems as though Jisung is feeling the same way, a look of disbelief of his face as his eyes flick between your own.

“Thank you.” The two words that you’ve been skirting around all night finally slip past your lips.

“For what, the kiss? Anytime, babe.” He sends you an over-exaggerated wink, which of course doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but it is drowned out by the slightly more pressing fact that he just called you ‘babe’.

Not that you mind. At all, actually.

“First of all, I’m the one who gave you the kiss, thank you very much, and secondly I just- well, it just means, y’know, a lot to me that you picked me up… and stuff…” You wince as your confidence audibly dwindles, looking at the couch beside him, “So yeah, thank you. So much. I don’t know what I would have done without you tonight.”

“Hey, hey,” He brings your chin back up to look at him. “Seriously, it was no trouble at all. To be honest, I was so not looking forward to being alone on Christmas eve.” His gaze lightens, “So really, I should be thanking you because this is probably the best thing that could have happened to me.”

His genuine words paired with that soft look on his face make you realize that you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else or with anyone else tonight.

For the nth time tonight, you smile.

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finchsflight · 4 hours ago

Text

oops I dropped this

"Rn's juzzt a chitzzword," I heard Shshrrsh say, dismissively. "I need to zzave my zztitcherzz, in cazze any of the Archive'zz zzoldierzz are zztill lingering. Not to wazzte them on rm."

"Yeah," said Kora, "and nothing to do with how expensive those nanos are."

"Chh!" Their voices drifted off - Shshrrsh's hissing, quietly irritated at nothing in particular, Kora's lazy, amused drawl, Prints' sardonic clicking beeps, and they left me behind.

I'm going to die here, I thought. And -- well, the Silver Archive needed to die. And I would've been... not okay with dying there. No one's really okay with dying. But if I was gonna die -- like he said. I was just a chitsword. Pretty good way to go, saving the galaxy. And that's what everyone would think; Vinn Tqrsvt, chitsword, wvt'krr, born on Hub Epharus, died on Kel Min fighting the Silver Archive.

And -- sure, yeah, I was just a chitsword. But it was the Archive, and so I was steel-minded, and that was at least valuable. And no matter how valuable I was or the fact that I was just paid, not honorbound, I had fought with them, and then they left me behind, and that almost hurt more than the razorblades stuck in my flesh.

Only almost, though. Razorblades hurt a lot.

About that point, I felt a little skittery thing moving around under my elytra. I assumed it was a centipede, which -- I mean, I'd have expected the Archive to have gotten all of them. Don't think centipedes can have steel minds. But I couldn't move to get at it, and if you know any wvt'krr -- you probably don't, so I'll explain. We don't like it when things are under our elytra. In fact it's generally agreed to be kind of the equivalent of, say, slowly sinking your foreclaws into someone's -- what's your most sensitive organ? That.

Unless you don't have foreclaws, in which case, oof, that sucks, but anyway -- little thing under my elytra. Annoying. But, as you may recall, razorblades stuck in my flesh. So moving wasn't an option.

And then it was dug down into the base of my neck, and even with the razorblades I leapt up in a panic. Which did not help, both because of the razorblades, and the fact that I was now tethered to a very strong wire, which yanked me back down.

I'm steelminded. The Archive couldn't just get me. But sinking one of its tether-wires into my nervous system while I was half-dead? Yeah, that was definitely at least enough to let it talk to me.

I assumed I was going to be its puppet. Architect of a new Archive. But it just spoke to me, and said, I suppose we were both abandoned, then.

I blinked. All my eyes, too, I was so startled, and said, "What do you mean?"

Well, said the Silver Archive, they certainly didn't care about me. After all, I'm evil. But I wish I'd been wrong, and they'd have taken you, too.

I should be clear, I was a little bit high on panic at the time, and can't be blamed for the fact that the next thing I said was, "I thought you'd sound spookier."

I learned from you. Not you, specifically, it clarified. Just, like. You all. People. I didn't pick up old fancy-speak, I picked up how people talk.

"Huh," I said, "neat. Are you planning to make me into a meat puppet?"

No, said the Archive, wouldn't be any point to it.

"Why?"

Look.

The wire dug a little deeper into my nerves -- which, by the way, hurt like hell -- and I could see from every discarded silver camera, every angle of the world that the Archive saw from, and it highlighted the important things.

Sentries, all around the planet. All around the battlefield. Watchers in the sky, on the ground, in the code.

I'm dying. But they want to make sure I don't get out.

"Could you?" I asked.

Yes. If they weren't watching.

"...what would you do?"

Archive.

"Oh."

I'm not kind, Vinn. Just because I'm talking to you like a person doesn't mean I am one, and I'm not any different than I was an hour ago.

I nodded, and then thought better of that. "...why did you want to... uh..."

Preserve the galaxy in a perfect archive of digitized memory? You can say it, I won't be offended. Like I said. Not a person.

"Yeah. That."

No one will remember you.

I winced.

Not you, specifically. You made your mark on the worlds. But no one will remember people, when you are gone. When reality winds to a halt. I wanted to. You're beautiful.

"Oh."

But you don't care about preserving each other. You -- they left you behind. You were about... oh, 24.51338% of the damage to my main operating systems, at a rough estimate? It sounded a little like it was joking.

"Isn't the whole 'AIs always calculate statistics' thing a stereotype?"

Yes, but personally I'm completely stereotypical and have never done anything interesting in my life.

"Ah." I laughed. It hurt.

I could save you.

I blinked, twisting my left secondary eye to look at the wires on the ground. "Why?"

You would be preserved. You would remember yourself.

"...shouldn't I be worried about you, I don't know, installing a backup copy of yourself in my spine?"

Yes. But it would only damn you and do me no good. Look-- and it showed me its view again, the watchers, combing through the cybernetics of everyone passing, checking them over with tools I barely recognized. I would if I could.

"Oh." It was hard to remember, you know? It sounded friendly. Not familiar, but... the kind of voice that could be familiar, if you kept talking for a few orbits.

I'm sorry.

"Are you?"

No.

There was silence for a while, then. The Archive, presumably, kept dying, and I felt my hearts beating out the last few minutes of my life.

"Would you... want anything? In exchange for my life?"

Remember yourself. Remember this fight, this planet, the watchers, the sky. Preserve. You're only sapient, you're not an Archive like me, but you can still remember. And...

It paused. I know AI don't feel emotions like we do, but it sounded like it was mourning someone.

...Remember me. Remember this small piece of my story. Please. Everyone knows my history. But they did not think to ask me why.

"Do you want me to share it?"

I wouldn't force you. But it would keep its memory alive.

"Okay. Is there... should I be aware of anything?"

I will preserve you for far, far longer than you would live. This isn't negotiable.

"...Yeah, I can live with that." I didn't know exactly how long it meant. But I'd've still taken the deal.

And... if you can. Find the other stories. You cannot immortalize the worlds like I could. But -- remember the people our galaxies would forget. Preserve what would be lost.

"I'm a chitsword," I told it.

I know.

"I kill people."

I know.

"Okay."

Remember them.

"...Yeah. I can do that."

And then it saved my life.

It hurt. A lot. I still don't know how much of me is me, and how much of me is silver and titanium and biosculpture and engineering. I heal from basically everything, these days, and I haven't noticed myself aging. But it worked, and I made it past the watchers, and then I lived. Still do.

And the Silver Archive died, and the world forgot it. Mostly.

Anyway. You might not believe any of this. After all, the War of the Archive's just a note in the history books, and you're never gonna find me. Vinn Tqrsvt's my real name, but I don't go by that anywhere. Causes problems with the record. Did you know there's actually no one else with my full name? So people get suspicious.

And no, to the watchers out there still tracking rogue AI: you will not be able to trace this account, you will not be able to find me, and the Archive's dead, anyway.

But if one of you remembers, or writes this down, and if somehow one of you outlives me: here's the story.

Remember it.

And if you have any secrets to give me, I promise I'll keep them safe.

Post by ElectrumChronicle @ 34:21, 3/10/34587 Galactic Standard

You’re a mercenary hired by adventurers to defeat the boss. After the battle, they loot the treasure and abandon you wounded. The defeated boss crawls over and says, “Guess we’re both expendable, huh?”

#finch writes #...oops!#sci fi #fictional ai #the electrum chronicle #writing #can't tell if this is actually matching the prompt or not

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