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cringecompanionapologist · 2 months ago

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Turlough and the Earthlink Dilemma: Chapter 1

This chapter is called Ace. Since it was 1986, it obviously has nothing to do with that Ace. Now I want a story where Turlough and Ace meet each other. It'd probably be more fun than this is.

The story begins with the PoV of a tour guide of some old ruins. Trion's got a lot of old ruins, many of a people called the Laima who visited Trion in ancient times. They were twice as tall as Trions and apparently ate them.

For reasons to be explained later, Turlough is very interested in all these ruins and has been spending time visiting archeological sites all over the planet. He's seen as a famous hero by the public, or kind of expect him to get involved in politics, but he's doing this instead.

So the tour guide spots Turlough and eventually recognizes him.

Okay, Turlough has such extremely ginger hair that I have no idea why someone would see sandy brown. Perhaps it’s a Trion thing.

So, Turlough after his adventures with the Doctor is around 20. When we see the timeline of his exile, things will start to become very confusing.

Also, apparently Turlough likes to dress very casually. Were there really no T-shirts in the TARDIS? And why do the casual clothes of Trion look so similar to those on Earth?

Meanwhile, the tour continues.

A 16 year-old showing interest in a museum trip, where there’s a chance that other people his age might see it, is proof that this takes place on another planet. This also seems to make it clear that Trion teenage boys look like Earth teenage boys, meaning that the two species most likely are meant to age at the same rate. Again, the timeline here’s gonna get confusing.

The tour passes by Giants' Drop, a very deep, artificially made hole in the ground. Based on what else I've read about this book, I'ma call it Chekov's Hole. Because that's very fun to say.

After exploring Chekov's Hole, the group goes outside.

Okay, Trion’s two suns make colors that don’t exist in Earth lighting. Maybe that’s why Turlough’s hair could look sandy-brown. The lighting tones down his hair color a little.

Turlough's Science Adventure is interrupted by Juras Maateh, an Imperial Clanswoman that Turlough was apparently quite close to back in the day. Now he's actively trying to avoid her, which she's really not into. You see, Juras wasn't exiled. She played nice with dictator Rehctaht and ended up working for her. Turlough was exiled for speaking out against Rehctaht, so he's kinda pissed at Juras for being a collaborator.

Though, getting themselves exiled didn't go so well for anyone else.

Turlough is apparently one of the last Imperial Clansmen outside of those who sucked up to the dictator to not be exiled. We don't hear much about any other Imperial Clanspeople who survived by sucking up to Rehctaht, so Turlough and Juras might be the lasts of their kind.

Turlough is so determined to ignore Juras that she has to confirm that he even recognizes her.

The more of this diologue I read, the more I wonder why at least some of the prologue wasn’t written as a flashback so we could actually see this stuff, getting us emotionally invested in Juras early on.

Another interesting little detail that’ll pop up all over the book is how names are used. Turlough is given the full name Vislor Turlough in the book. Juras Maateh is generally referred to as Juras, but Vislor Turlough is referred to as Turlough even by people close to him. Turlough’s on first name basis with Juras, but she’s not on first name basis with him.

The BF story Kiss of Death is in someways a remake of this story, establishing Turlough’s backstory on Trion, including a romantic relationship with a young woman. Deela is Juras 2.0. But, the writing of Kiss of Death actually does show the intimacy of their relationship by having Deela call Turlough “Viz”, a nickname from his first name. So I’m guessing that aspect of the character dynamic was thought through a lot more in Kiss of Death.

Turlough continues to brush Juras off. She continues to express her dislike of this decision. He says he's been busy.

Wait. Was Turlough exiled for two years or has be been back on Trion, ignoring Juras for two years? It’s stated in the prologue that Rehctaht was in power for seven years and she most likely dealt with the Imperial Clans early on in her reign, so Turlough was exiled for at least seven years, which means that the two are probably years he spent on Trion whilst avoiding Juras. This means that Turlough, age 20, in a species with the same aging rate as Earth, was around 11 years old when exiled. At the oldest. Now, since every member of the Imperial Clans, regardless of age, was probably exiled, this wouldn’t be too strange, especially since he’d blend in easily at Brendon School as an 11 year-old. But, it doesn’t make sense with what we’re told about Turlough’s exile in this story. He apparently openly spoke out against Rehctaht and was exiled for it. Juras, the same age as Turlough, held her tongue and became a scientific adviser for Rehctaht at around the same time. The implication is that Turlough and Juras were young adults at the time, already having careers and being active in politics. If an 11 year-old Trion resembles an 11 year-old human, this would be extremely unlikely.

If 20 year-old Turlough was exiled for two years, making him 18 at the time, this might be a bit more plausible, but that would mean Turlough stayed on Trion for five of the seven years of Rehctaht’s reign, which isn’t what seems to have been implied elsewhere.

Now, this problem could’ve been fixed if human age numbers weren’t used or it was stated that Trions age at a different rate from humans. Considering that a planet with two suns would probably have a different orbit than a planet with one sun, the years being a different length would also make sense, but this is never stated in this book So, all in all, this is a major case of Writers Can’t Do Math. At least this one can’t.

The argument continues.

This is a very “As You Know” kind of line, but that’s honestly a bit of a nitpick. But, it tells us some of what would be expected for an Imperial Clansman. This novel usually refers to “Imperial Clansmen and women” instead of the more neutral “Clanspeople” or something like that. So, when gendered language is used, it’s difficult to tell if they’re talking about “men and women” or if they’re talking about “people, who in this case happen to be a man and a woman”. So is it considered the duty of an Imperial Clansman to find time to share his thoughts with his fellow Clanspeople, or it specifically his duty to share thoughts with women? Or a specific woman? It is the duty of an Imperial Clansman to form a sort of intellectual partnership with an Imperial Clanswoman? Are we learning something about Trion gender roles and relationships here? I don’t know. It’d be interesting if we explicitly were. It would provide some good context and framing for this relationship that we’re only just now learning about. Perhaps Turlough and Juras had a sort of intellectual engagement before everything went to shit, at least partly because it was considered the duty of people of their age and social status to do so. There’s a romantic subtext to their past relationship at this point and the idea that at least one of them invested in the relationship more out of duty than love would provide some interesting tension.

Turlough is finally able to escape and go to another museum on his list.

More numbers, eight years ago would have to be before Turlough’s exile if he went to this museum eight years ago. So he was 12 then? Fuck this timeline.

Now, since it’s Doctor Who, you might be asking “What about time travel? Maybe we’re all out of sync because of time travel.” And well…maybe? Trions themselves do not have time travel. Despite all their scientific advancements, time travel is the one thing they just can’t get. This is very important to the plot. But, as for the time travel of Turlough’s time with the Doctor, it’s never made clear if we’re supposed to factor that in. Nobody acts like Turlough appears younger than he should be based on how much time has passed. If Juras had aged more than Turlough appeared to, you’d think she’d say something. So, if time travel through everything off here, nobody seems to suspect it.

The chapter ends with Turlough on the way to Njordu Nerthus, on of Trion's three moons, since there's some other interesting stuff up there. We finally get some of his PoV and learn that he absolutely did intend to meet up with Juras again, but not until he'd finished his research.

So far, the book's been high on exposition and low on characterization, but that might just be because there's a lot to catch up on. The timeline makes no sense, but the TV timeline didn't make sense either. Malkon was apparently an infant when his family was exiled. We meet him as at least a young teenager while it's not made clear if he just grew up really fast or if Turlough skipped ahead with time travel. So I can't exactly say this timeline bullshit is anything new.

So, we'll just have to see where they're going with this.

#turlough and the earthlink dilemma #i get really angry about numbers for a bit #a lot of my complaints are a bit nitpicky tbh

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shipmistress9 · 2 months ago

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It Was Never Supposed To Be

Fandom: The Empyrean - Fourth Wing

Rating: T

Pairing: Imogen/Dain.

Summary:

Dain and Imogen are more than just squadmates. Their first months, challenges, the gauntlet, and threshing made a spark develop between them, one neither of them can resist. But when Dain's signet develops in a moment of intimacy and he sees a memory he shouldn't have seen, Imogen is left with only one choice. Kill the man who is slowly becoming more than just a friend to her, or everything is lost. Or… is there an alternative?

AN: Okay, this is not my usual pairing. But this is not a shipping fic either, not really. It's more a headcanon/theory I had a long while ago, that I voiced out loud on the discord last night, and then ended up writing down in one insane sitting. 😆 Enjoy. 😊

(AO3)

. o O o .

Imogen knew that it was stupid. A mistake, probably. But hey, life in the Riders Quadrant was insane, anyway. Unpredictable. Who knew who would still be alive to see the next sunrise, after all.

And if Garrick insisted on being a coward, then she’d have to find other ways to entertain herself until he came to his senses.

And maybe doing so by doing Aetos junior wasn’t the best of ideas, either. But fuck it. He might be a naive rule-following nepo-baby, but at least he was easy on the eye. More than that, if she was honest with herself. Dain Aetos was smoking hot—at least as long as he kept his mouth shut. And thankfully, she knew some ways to keep his mouth… otherwise occupied.

With a sly smile on her face, Imogen leaned against the doorframe after knocking on Dain’s door. These private rooms really were great. Threshing and them becoming riders with their own rooms had already been two months ago, but after the crowded sleeping halls from the first few months (and the ever-watchful eyes of her cursed foster parents), this level of privacy still felt strange to her.

Dain opened the door with a look of confusion on his face, but that quickly shifted into a smirk when he spotted her. “Hey, stranger,” he greeted her with his usual teasing smirk. “What brought you to this door?”

As if they both didn’t know the reason why she was here. But still, she played along. It was a game, and even though Imogen tended to roll her eyes about it, she also kinda enjoyed it.

“Oh, it’s nothing serious,” she said, blinking innocently. “My room is just so cold, you know?” With one hand on his chest, she nudged him back into his room, and Dain didn’t even pretend to resist. “So I was wondering. Maybe you might have a spare blanket for me?”

She leaned in, her lips ghosting over his. Not kissing him, she never made the first move like that. But she enjoyed dangling what he wanted right in front of him until he willingly threw all his stupid rules over board.

“Hmm, I don’t think so,” he murmured, his strong hands landing on her waist and pulling her flush against him. “Despite your convictions, I don’t get special treatment around here.”

Imogen scoffed, and it wasn’t even for show. Did he really not see how all Professors treated him differently? Bless his innocence. “Too bad,” she sighed, making to retreat from his hold. “Guess then I have to find someone else who can help me stay warm tonight.”

That was it.

Dain let out a small growl, then pulled her back against him, his lips pressing against hers as he turned them around until her back was pressed against the wall. Grinning at her victory, Imogen gave in to the kiss, let her hands roam over his shoulders before sliding down and beneath the fabric of his tunic. He was so easy, barely any challenge. But that was okay, he made up for it with his enthusiasm and, hands down, with some great techniques.

. o O o .

It was easily two hours later when Dain slumped down next to her on his bed, both of them breathless from yet another more than satisfying tryst. Imogen grinned lazily, her body nearly too worn out to even turn and cuddle against his side. She wasn’t usually one for cuddles after sex for fun, but… Well, this thing between her and Dain was slowly developing into something more than just a string of unconnected one-night-stands. Not something serious, not love or anything cheese like that. Besides, he had some future scribe girl waiting for him, anyway. But for now, it was comfortable. Maybe not quite friends with benefits, but on a good way getting there.

“I hope this was sufficient to warm you up for tonight,” Dain murmured, his eyes already drooping with fatigue. “Because I don’t think I’ll be awake for long enough to get you another blanket.”

Chuckling, Imogen made to punch him in the ribs, but there was no bite to it, no strength left. “Guess I’ll have to stay here then,” she murmured instead. “So you can keep me warm.”

Dain hummed and rolled onto his side to wrap his arm around her waist. “Guess I can live with that.” He placed one hand against her cheek to turn her head and place a soft kiss against her cheek—but froze before his lips touched her skin. For a second, his eyes grew vacant, as if he wasn’t seeing his dimly-lit room at all, then he sucked in a breath.

He pulled away from her with a suddenness that threw her off guard, made her turn onto her back and blink up at him in confusion. “Uh, w-what happened?”

But Dain just stared at her, all softness from moments before gone. “They… they’re smuggling weapons,” he whispered.

Imogen went rigid. He couldn’t know that, couldn’t mean what she thought he meant. He couldn’t. “What are you talking about?” she asked, forcing an incredulous laugh into her voice.

Dain blinked again and shook his head, as if he needed to clear his head. “Riorson. And Tavis. And Telery. They’re stealing weapons and bringing them to the gryphon riders. Some strange daggers. We have to do something, tell leadership. They’re aiding the enemy.”

No, no, no, no, no! This couldn’t be happening. A wave of panic threatened to overwhelm Imogen. How could he know? But she had to play it cool. She couldn’t lose it now, or they were all dead.

Laughing, Imogen shook her head. “What are you talking about? Where is that insane idea coming from? Did you have some weird dream? I didn’t even realise you were asleep already.”

Frowning, Dain looked at her, clearly trying to figure this puzzle out. “I… I saw it. Just now, in my head.”

Her laugh was more genuine this time. “So, it really was a dream?” she teased him. “I get that you can’t stand Riorson and I admit he’s a piece of shit more often than not. But that’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

But Dain shook his head. “No, it was no dream. I saw it as clearly as I’m now seeing you, and I… I just know it was more than a dream. It was…” He trailed off, then his eyes widened. “I saw it in your head,” he whispered. “Your memories. It’s got to be my signet. Oh Gods, I have a signet!” An excited grin spread across his face.

But Imogen couldn’t share in that grin. Dain had a signet. And it was fucking memory-reading. They were all so fucked.

“Now, that would be cool,” Imogen said with faux enthusiasm. “But even if that was your signet, wouldn’t you need to train it first? I mean, can you read my memories now?”

She had to know. She had to know how much he knew, how his signet worked. How dangerous he was. And if it was as she feared… Oh, Gods, she’d have to kill him. Leadership would kill him anyway, mind-readers weren’t allowed to live. But she had to kill him before he told anyone about the weapon runs or every single marked one would be dead.

Oh Gods.

She’d never killed anyone before.

Dain cocked his head at her, then frowned. “No, I… I can’t see anything.” His shoulders slumped, and if the situation wouldn’t have been so fucked up, Imogen would have wanted to comfort him. “But still, what I saw…” He trailed off, thinking, and Imogen waited with bated breaths. Maybe she could still turn this around, convince him that what he’d seen wasn’t real. Maybe…

“I was touching you,” he suddenly exclaimed, his hand darting out to cup her cheek. “I was touching you and—” He broke off, his eyes going vacant once again, and cold dread settled deep in Imogen’s stomach.

This was bad. This was so, so bad.

With a gasp, Dain pulled his hand away from her skin, anger clouding his eyes. “You!” he spat. “You’re helping them. You’re all traitors, every single one of you.”

No, no, no, no, no, this couldn’t be happening. Imogen let out a low curse as Dain scrambled away from her. She couldn’t let him leave with this knowledge, couldn’t let him run to daddy and sell them all out.

“Okay, stay calm,” she tried to persuade him. “This is not what you think it is. We’re not working against Navarre here but actually for the people, here and beyond the border. There are other enemies out these, enemies that—”

“I don’t want to hear your lies,” Dain spat, interrupting her. Hatred simmered in his eyes, unrelenting and unforgiving. “You all deserve getting executed for your crimes.”

He moved to get off the bed, probably to run to his daddy right away, but Imogen was faster. She couldn’t let this happen. She didn’t want to kill Dain, especially with his sweat still drying on her skin, but she would do it. For the good of all marked ones—for their entire continent, really—she would do it.

But… fuck!

If only she could make these last few minutes undone.

Tears formed in her eyes as she and Dain fought. Imogen caught him by surprise and tackled him back onto the bed, but Dain recovered quickly. He twisted, one leg around her waist and a moment later, it was she who was pinned to the mattress. Dain tried to climb over her, to leave, to doom them all, but Imogen caught his arm and hurled him back, on top of her, then around.

Back and forth it went. Always each other’s equal on the mat, neither of them easily got the upper hand. But eventually, Imogen had him beneath her, her legs on either side of his waist, holding on tight, and with her hands around his neck.

She didn’t want to kill him. She had to, but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want it, dammit.

If only there was another way.

From one second to the next, energy flooded her entire being. It raced up her spine and into her head, her mind, making her gasp and her eyes flying wide. Was this… was this what everyone was talking about? Was she channelling?

“Yes,” Glane purred in her usual rich timbre. “Now, use it!”

Imogen felt like her head was going to explode. The energy was too much, too hot. It was fraying her from the inside, making her head pound as if it was about to burst. Somewhere in a distant part of her mind, she realised she was screaming.

But none of that mattered. Not when Dain was still fighting her, when her moment of distraction was about to give him the upper hand. She had to end it, now.

With renewed strength she surged forward, her hand around his neck tightening, ready to end it, ready to—reach into him?

Time stopped. Or was it slowed? Imogen didn’t know. All she knew was that, from one moment to the next, her hands were inside Dain. Not for real, not literally, but… They were in his mind. Sifting through his thoughts—no, his memories. She couldn’t see them, couldn’t watch them like he’d done with her, but…

Frowning, she caressed against the latest one, the one of his deadly terror from just heartbeats ago, and in an instant, it vanished. Dumbfounded, Imogen stared at the place (was it a place when it only existed in someone’s mind?) where the memory just had been. Nothing remained, not even a blank space, the other memories reorganising to fill the gap. Still confused, he reached for the next one, their fight. She couldn’t see the memory, only got a brief idea of what it was about, but it was enough. Especially when it, too, vanished without a trace.

Imogen sucked in a harsh breath. In rapid speed, her mental fingers reached for Dain’s other memories, everything that had happened during these last couple of minutes. Up to the moment when he’d touched her face.

The moment ended. With force, her mind got thrown back into her body, enough so that her hands slipped from Dain’s neck, her body going limp on top of him. She felt drained, exhausted, in a way she’d never felt before. If he were to fight her now, he wouldn’t be met with any resistance at all.

But thankfully, he didn’t try to fight her.

“I hope this was sufficient to warm you up for tonight,” Dain murmured, his hands loosely resting on her hips and his eyes already drooping with fatigue. “Because I don’t think I’ll be awake for long enough to get you another blanket.”

Imogen stilled. Could this be real? Had he really… forgotten? Fighting her own fatigue, she struggled to get into a sitting position again, gazing down at Dain in disbelief.

“What’s up, Cardulo?” he hummed in his usual soft bedroom voice. “Still not done after that ride? I’m not sure I can go another round, but if you give me a few minutes to recover, I—”

He broke off when Imogen climbed off him, as quickly as if bitten by a snake.

“Hey, wait. What?” He struggled to follow her as she grabbed her tunic and leathers and quickly got dressed again. “Did I… say something stupid? I’m sorry. I—” He reached for her but Imogen made a quick step away from him.

“Don’t!” she hissed with enough venom to make him freeze. “Don’t you dare touch me. Not ever again, you hear me, Aetos?”

“What?” The confusion and hurt in his eyes cut deeper into her heart than she liked to admit. “I… I don’t understand. What happened?”

Fuck. She had to finish this. Before he became suspicious.

“Nothing happened,” she snapped. “I just finally came to my senses. This was a stupid idea. I never should have come here in the first place.”

“What… are you talking about?”

Oh, his voice sounded so broken. Imogen had to grit her teeth against breaking as well. “All of this.” She gestured at him. “You’re not what I want. And you can admit it, I’m not what you want, either. So I’m leaving. And don’t you dare follow me. If you ever try to touch me again, I swear to Amari I’ll break your arms into a dozen little pieces.”

Dain rocked back, stunned. “But.. but I thought…”

“Well, you thought wrong,” she said sweetly, the fake smile deliberately not reaching her eyes. “Bye, Aetos.”

And then she left.

Somehow, she made it back to her room, though she didn’t remember even one step, and as soon as the door closed behind her, she sank down onto the floor.

“Well,” Glane’s voice slid like velvet into her mind. “That wasn’t what I had in mind, but it worked.”

“He’ll hate me for this,” Imogen murmured, her vision swimming. “He’ll never speak to me again, never look at me again like… like…” Like she meant something to him? That was silly. Idiotic. It had just been sex, for fuck’s sake. No emotions involved.

Glane hummed. “No, he won’t.” Imogenfelt like her dragon was nudging her with her head, a rare gesture of comfort. “But remember that he would have betrayed you and your cause in an instant. It’s better this way.”

Imogen cringed, but she couldn’t deny that Glane was speaking the truth. Then she straightened. “I have to warn the others. If Dain can read memories now, then everything is in danger.” She tried to get back onto her feed, but her legs were too weak to hold her, her knees shaking. Fuck, she had no time for this.

“Go to bed, Vicious One. I’ll inform Sgaeyl, and then you and her human can talk about it tomorrow.”

Imogen shuddered at the thought of Riorson’s navy dragon. If anyone should be called ‘vicious’, it had to be her. But she wouldn’t complain. Getting some sleep sounded like a fantastic idea.

And tomorrow… Tomorrow, she would have to learn how to convincingly hate Dain Aetos.

#Dain/Imogen #imogen cardulo #dain aetos #the empyrean #fanfiction #theory #headcanon #signet reveal

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davnittbraes · 1 year ago

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Young and Pretty

Pairing: Joel Miller x 50ish year old F!Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 675

Warnings etc: a light sprinkling of angst, a dash of yearning, some anxiety just because it’s me, reader is self-conscious and intimacy-averse and has a lot of emotional baggage

Notes: just a little snippet from a current WIP. For context, Joel and Reader are friends who have been growing closer and Reader recently shut him out in an attempt to stem the obvious romantic feelings between them. Takes place between Part 1 and 2, in Jackson.

You lean back against the side of the house, cross your arms over chest as you watch Joel approach.

Why is he here? You had pushed him away, made it clear that whatever was threatening to blossom between you was a bad idea.

Time had taken away your chance for love long ago.

Well. Time and the apocalypse.

He clears his throat, rests a hand on the railing of your porch, but doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you, jaw twitching as if he’s working up the words.

There’s something in his gaze, a shimmer of the same nerves fluttering behind your ribcage.

Stop. Don’t get distracted.

Get him to say whatever it is and go back to your writing.

You nod toward the mess hall. “Thought you’d be at the big dinner.”

“Didn’t feel like being around everyone tonight.”

There’s a deeper rasp to his voice than usual, sending a thrill down your spine, and you shift your weight to hide it. “That’s too bad. Lotta the girls were hoping you’d be there, stay for the dance after.”

He hums low, taking a step up toward you, pausing before taking another.

As if he’s watching your reaction, gauging how far he can go before you snap at him again.

Guilt pools in the pit of your stomach, pushing a deep sigh from your chest. “Look, Joel… I’m sorry I was harsh with you. I don’t want to lose your friendship, but I’m…”

He stops at the top of the steps, a few paces from you, too close and too far away at the same time and it hurts the spot right between your ribs.

You tighten your arms across your chest as if you could ease the pain. “What I said is true. I’m not good for you - I’ve got too much baggage. It’s too heavy to expect anyone else to handle it. After all you’ve been through, you -“ the words stop up and you shove them past the lump in your throat - “deserve a little lightness in your life, a little sunshine. There’s plenty of pretty, young women in Jackson who can give that to you.”

He takes another step toward you, slow, dark gaze steady on yours. “I don’t want young and pretty. Have no use for youth - got enough to deal with in Ellie as it is.”

Your breath catches, heartbeat slamming hard against your lungs - no, stop, it doesn’t matter what he says, you know this is for the best.

You throw him a half-smile, pitching your voice to tease. “And that’s what you’re looking for? Someone ‘useful?’ Not very romantic.”

“Never claimed to be. Not much use for that, either.”

Another step and he’s within arms reach, and under the lamplight you can see his features, set in that well-known expression of bullheaded stubbornness that tells you he’s not backing down.

Not this time.

You’re frantically grasping at that teasing tone, trying to keep your voice from trembling. “Careful, Joel Miller. You’ll make some girl swoon, talking like that.”

“Like I said. I don’t want a girl.” He takes one more step and then he’s in your space, broad frame blocking out the light, his voice dropping to a low rasp that floats between the two of you. “I want a woman. And I see a smart, strong, beautiful one, right here in front of me.”

You don’t dare breathe, or blink, or move, not that you could if you wanted to, pinned there by his gaze, the darkest of browns that can see right through you.

Right through your pitiful attempt to save yourself from feeling something.

That gaze that says maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, feeling something.

Swallowing past a tight throat, you raise an eyebrow. “Yeah? Guess I should leave you two alone, then.”

His mouth quirks up at the corner and you’re staring at it, those plush lips so close, if you just tilted your head you could -

He brushes the curve of your jaw with his fingertips. “Nah, darlin’, you’re staying right here.”

#the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #reader insert #no y/n

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zeldaelmo · 1 year ago

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20 Questions For Fic Writers

Tagged by my wonderful friend @bahbahhh.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

484,215

My goal for 2023 was to hit the 500,000 and I'm positive I'll reach it.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Legend of Zelda, all games apart from Zelda I, II, and Minish Cap (because I haven't played them so far)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

How to name a royal child

Stolen Kisses

Strangers in the Night

It's in his Kiss

Flour, water, salt, yeast, love

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Uh... in theory, I do. I love getting comments but I often feel stupid saying ten times 'thank you' in a row, so I end up answering mostly when I have something to say.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

That would be Lonely at the Top. I don't really write angsty endings, but this one is hurt/no comfort as it tackles Link visiting the Light Dragon who doesn't even react to him.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hm...I'm not too fond of the fanfic version of the perfect happy ending, namely, proposal, sappy wedding, and omg, twins!, mainly because I love the nuance life teaches us. What a happy ending for a fic and a character is, is so often much more different than the fairy tale version.

That being said, I'd still go with Strangers in the Night, just because the two worked so damn hard for their happy ending.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Hate is a big word, but I get negative comments and sometimes they are even personal, yes. Most people are lacking reading competence and/or don't understand how stories work. I mostly ignore those. Sometimes I complain on discord if it's very annoying. If someone insults me, I block.

I don't think that has to do so much with me, though. I have 1,346 comment threads on my stories. Of course, there are some idiots among them, that's life.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, occasionally. I think ten of 77 fics are explicit. Look, the thing is, I'm a story teller. So if the smut doesn't add to the story, I don't tell it. Rule of thumb is, that I keep it to a T-rating if possible to make the story accessible to most people. I only go for explicit stuff if I want to deliver some part of the character development/plot with the intimacy (or the lack of lol) that the smut offers.

Does that get me the most Kudos? No. But I'm not here for that or I wouldn't bother writing for 30 years old games. I'm here to tell a good story and have fun. :)

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

No. If you've read so far, I can tell you a secret as a reward: I find crossovers pointless. Ooops.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I am aware of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I am aware of! But I'd love to! Big fan of accessibility!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No. I've seen a few writing collabs end in fandom drama or otherwise go awry, so I decided that I only collab with artists. I might try with something short one day, but nothing novel-length.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Take a guess.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Ah, so I have a half-written novel in my drafts. A story about writer!Zelda and fanartist!Link who are also princess and beloathed bodyguard. I'm very determined to go back to that one after I finished The Promise, but I'm a little scared. The story is complicated and my thoughts are chaotic. I already asked @mistresslrigtar to help me work it out next year, so I hope we'll manage.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and showing what's going on in the character's head who's not the POV character.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I struggle with simplicity sometimes, mainly because of the language barrier. I write something that's horribly complicated and I just know there must be a better way to put it, but I can't figure it out. Grammar is hard, lads.

I also have a weird relationship with descriptions. I love having characters interact with their environment but I loath big chunks of description. I plan to work on this during my traditional holiday self-study break.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

This is a weirdly specific question, but ok.

If you don't happen to write a book that's supposed to teach beginners the other language, then don't. You might end up othering the person who's speaking and that's something you don't want to dabble with lightly.

I already talked about accessibility: You will exclude people from your writing and you don't want that just to sound cool. If you must for plot reasons, make otherwise sure everyone is on board. Slightly different case if you actively hide something from your readers (and other characters), but that's probably not the most common case.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

LoZ

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

I refuse to answer this. 77 fics are too much to choose from. I love most of them.

tagging: @mistresslrigtar, @airplanned, @jenseits-der-sterne, @silentprincess17, @deiliamedlini, @skyyknights

#ask game

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mystrothedefender · 1 year ago

Note

Fanwork creators self rec! When you get this, reply with your five favorite fics/art/podfics/etc. that you've made, then pass on to others. Let’s spread the self-love 🌼

Part 2 of my top 10 creations in no particular order:

This one is just fics. (My main fandom for 12 years was batman so there's a lot of batman)

Different with you. Fandom: our flag means death. Rating E. Stede realises that he does like intimacy, just not if its with women. This one was inspired by this tumblr comic and took me So Long to write.

Close calls. Fandom: Batman (telltale series). Rating: T. John, while in Arkham post game, gets access to a phone. It's just so cute!

A lucky night I guess. Fandom: Batman (gen). Rating E. Joker, wearing a disguise, runs into Bruce, and they feel an instant connection. -I love them being drawn to each other even when they don't know who it is they're really talking to.

Colours of emotion. Fandom: The Adventure Zone. Rating T. Barry eats some berries that turn him into a human mood ring. I just thought it was a cute idea. It had some art done for it which I now use as my discord pfp.

Shaken. Fandom: Batman (gen) Rating G. Edward is triggered by something Harvey says. It's just a super cute lil fic. It still makes me smile.

#fanfiction #batman #taz balance #our flag means death

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ao3feed-mckirk-academy · 2 months ago

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#mckirk #academy era #academy era mckirk #jim kirk #bones #leonard mccoy #star trek #ifttt #ao3 feed #aos mckirk

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gwaeddblaidd · 1 year ago

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Paralyzed by the creatures that are creeping in my mind

And I won't hide 'cause I know they're gonna find me every time

Black out the sun, I've come undone, my thoughts are racing

They're out for blood, can't get enough, can't get enough

---

Sometimes (by which I mean, usually) I prefer songs with more subtle lyrics and themes that have more room for interpretation. However, I can't deny that the occasional blatant outlier doesn't hurt. Add to that the nu metal influence of From Ashes to New and you get a fun addition to the playlist that really brings some variety.

There really isn't much to talk about here lyrically... I thought I was going to add a 'but' to that sentence, but hey, here we are. Today's a lazy day, I guess. In that same spirit: promo...

---

Title: Feed the Wolf

Fandom: Wednesday

Rating: T

Chapters: 7 of 12

Links: AO3, FF.net

Summary: As the dust settles on the Hyde incident, Nevermore is slowly but surely returning to a calmer, safer state. But for those involved, the scars may take a while longer to fully heal. Gelert Davies, a half-werewolf student, has always kept himself out of trouble as best he could, but a chance encounter will test his resolve and force him to face parts of himself long abandoned.

Tags: Enid Sinclair, Wednesday Addams, Original Character(s), Enid Sinclair/Original Male Character(s), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Wolf Instincts, Loss of Control, Injury Recovery, Self-Hatred, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Courting Rituals, Werewolf Courting, Werewolf Culture, Eventual Romance, Family Issues, POV First Person

Thank you for reading, and have a wonderful day! :)

#spotify #spotify playlist #day 7 of posting songs #Gelert Davies sad boy playlist #fanfic promo #wednesday fanfic #from ashes to new #ao3 #when I say the song isn't subtle I mean it #man's straight up opening with an awoo

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questioningespecialy · 1 year ago

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Black Conversation; Everybody else stay ya ass outta it

oh shit this gon'be alot

pre-edit: This is all my own perspective. I don't recommend others follow suit with my mentality. Got my own tastes and my own issues. Do what works for you, booboo.

Context

So~ I should start off with context I guess. I'm AMAB and from the South (USA), moved to the Midwest for college (for opportunity), and the Southwest after ('cause i couldn't find a job basically 🤷🏿‍♂️).

First and foremost ('cause y'all mofos in here), the Midwest wasn't less racist. It was just less blatant. (iow: they had a bit more "class" 🙄) As for the Southwest? I'm noticing racism still, mostly from light(er)-skinned BIPOC's since I moved outta Colorado. Is there less now? I think? 🤔 Barely get out enough to say for sure. And haven't done the "look like you're on a date with a light-skinned/Euro woman" test yet. 😅 I'mma stop there before I end up writin' 4 different essays on the topics I brought up.

Let's Get In

Now, I already got a passport and been havin' the idea of gettin' dafuq outta this mud since middle school iirc. Why haven't I, though? 'Cause by time I had enough income to actually make a move I was caught up havin' too much fun. That and my options felt hella limited. Time for some more context.

I'm Black. Surprising, I know. There are only so many countries outside of the African continent that aren't gonna be full of people who only see me as a racial stereotype (positive or negative). [insert essay on how representation matters] Nevermind the places where there'll be plenty of folk who do not want my foreign (nationalists), dark (colorists), Afro-ass there. I ain't tryin'a deal with dem mofos, so any country that's got a low-ass percentage of African descended gets filtered out by default. Is that extreme? Am I not givin' places (and its many peoples) a chance? Yep. You think I'mma spend hella time lookin' up "is x country racist towards Blacks?" 140-ish times? Fuck dat. How'bout 10-20. And how would I get to 10-20? By filterin' out a mofo. Suddenly, dating apps.

How Africa Be, Though?

But what about countries within the African continent? Well, that's where it gets funny. See, I've seen how a handful of the Africans that went to my PWI viewed Afro-Americans. There's a default filter of what kinda person can "make it" to an American university in the first place, so I just assume they're representative of most well-off (or lucky) Africans. In short, 1 mofo thought they were better (like a Black sellout tbh), 1 just (benefit of the doubt here) fell victim to America's lies/propaganda, and 2 were both. 🤷🏿‍♂️

Why even bring this up if I've got the tiniest of sample sizes? Well, I later watched group discussions from The Grapevine (defunct as of 2022) where a buncha Afros brought up some things I took note of. One was of a brotha mentioning that, while he was accepted by the Africans in his area (New York iirc), he had to show them that he wasn't a stereotype first. So "one of the good ones" basically (aka: Some Euro shit). I'm sure somebody's gettin' ready to explain dat shit away. Go ahead. I'll probably read it. But here's the thing, I'mma talk how I wanna talk. And I'mma dress how I wanna dress. And I don't really feel myself in places where I don't fell "allowed" to wear a wave cap, locs, or a muscle-t. So why would I want the company (or intimacy) of somebody who thinks I should "talk properly"? Das a flag for me. Yeah, I've got plenty of people in my family who talk propa. And yeah, I'll do it when I feel like I need to. But a friend? A neighbor? The whole damn town? Fuck dat. I'd rather be me in a medium crime rate area than live in a low crime rate area where I can't actually relax.

And how much does this filter of mine limit my options in life? Hellas. Speaking from experience on the opposite end, I doubt I'll regret it and I'm pretty sure I'll be a happier healthier person for it, which is a whole'nother essay. 🤷🏿‍♂️

...Caribbeans 😐

There's another piece I should bring up before getting back to Africa: the Caribbean. First thing's first (yes, i've got an NPR bias), consider listening to or reading these:

Tell Me More's Behind Closed Doors: 'Colorism' in the Caribbean (July 16, 2007) 11min

Code Switch's Amara La Negra: Too Black To Be Latina? Too Latina To Be Black? (March 28, 2018) 35min

Code Switch's Black Like Who? by Gene Demby (April 15, 2020) 34min

Code Switch's Puerto Rico, Island Of Racial Harmony? by Adrian Florido (April 24, 2020) 32min

So the late Ayesha (a panelist on The Grapevine) brought up, during group discussions about colorism/racism in the Caribbean, quite a bit that the above links get into. Simply put, my Afro-ass gonna be treated a certain way for bein' dark and light-skinned mofos are likely to think they're better than me because they're White passing (outside the States). I don't feel like dealin' with dat bs. Sure, there are gonna be areas where it's less common, but I've got no reason not to expect those areas to be pockets compared to the size of the country itself. Which brings me back to the same issue I've had in the USA: "Where can I live?"

So, like,... where?

And that brings us to the next piece of the puzzle: I'm part of multiple marginalized groups. I'm an agnostic non-traditional "dark"-skinned brotha who's also a non-binary transfem with gynesexual-leaning omnisexuality. And I'm neurodivergent. And quite socialist. 😐 So~ my 10-20's gonna get filtered down to 5-10 real~ quick after a "Is x country homophobic/transphobic?" search. And I already know I'm gonna have to ease up on some of the "bear no ism against me" criteria if I don't wanna end up where there's ≤1% African-descended. 🤷🏿‍♀️

youtube

(hella anti-gays in the comments; 2 out of 3 of the hosts aren't allies)

So Nothin' Then?

You know a country that caught my eye a few years back? A place I ain't even heard of 'til they were on the news for ditchin' da Queen's ass in late 2021? Barbados,... which is >90% Afro 👀. And you know what I found? They had only just taken significant pro-LGBTQ+ steps. naw fuq dat

youtube

Well, Shit. 🤷🏿‍♂️

So where does that leave me? Well, I've felt hopeless about this from time to time. Depressed, pissed, etc. I mean, either I'm gonna start diggin' and find a place that's ideal or I'm gonna give up a part of myself that I know I won't want to... again. Which raises a question: Why bother? Why not stay? Why not just ride it out and try to resist/fight the bs where I reasonably can? Well, that's where we get into the usual territory. Genocide. How bad does it have to get for me (just me) to say "fuck this" and bail? We might be clearly heading in that direction with these damn Conservatives and Republicans my fucking god, but I'm not sure it's certain yet. Real talk, though, if Jewish (trans) people say "we're there" then we're there.

To finish up,

yeah, people who can leave probably should leave for their best interest. Though, it'll make things harder for those who remain. People who can't or have things tieing them here (e.g.: family) should resist/fight to keep it from getting worse (and try to live in racially safe areas). That includes votin', y'all. For every ballot election. (gonna be clear here that i'm of the "research every issue/candidate" mentality; i rarely ever take trusted individuals' word for it)

As for what I think I should do? Stay resistin' and votin' like I been doin', but also... get on dat research so I can have an immediate backup plan and be out this mud real quick. 👍🏿

Here Ya Gifts

ILGA's 5 LGBTIQ world maps: https://ilga.org/ilga-world-maps

Equaldex's collaborative knowledge base (and 14 maps) for the LGBT movement: https://www.equaldex.com/

SafeHome's 2023 LGBTQ+ State Safety Rankings (USA): https://www.safehome.org/data/lgbtq-state-safety-rankings/

(read the tags)

edit: Just realized days later that "every ballot" kinda sounds like "each political party's ballot". I meant every local and national election.

Do we stay or do we go

i have a serious question to my brother and sisters, all those stolen of africa and those that immigrated from their of their own volition and the generations that came after.

ive been doing a lot of listening to the goings on in the world, and ive been learning of our past and our history and philosophy and i have a question that we of the diaspora(not counting the islands in many regards and you'll see why) have not seemed to really be able to qive a definitive response to in the over 200 years since i've first seen this question be raised, and yes the context is different today from when it was first asked, and you may have guess what the question really is.

Do we stay and fight this oncoming wave of fascism and antiblackness that is sweeping through Europe and its settler states that it spawned? or do we turn towards Africa and the carribean nations?

I dont feel i need to say this, its very clearly not a "well if you dont like america, go back to africa" situation. but what im saying is, the western experiment, is falling apart at the seams, im sure we all see it at this point, most the other black folks i speak to are feeling pretty jumpy about it rn, my mother and my great aunt who hate each other and agree on nothing, are getting real strong get out vibes and pushing everyone to have passports. it feels like no matter where we look the white world is trying to position itself as being oppositional to and a defense against POC, the far right is gaining major traction enough in germany they are considering banning a political party(which they should) and that not to speak on much the rest of europe, which is trying to convince us not to be worried about the dudes waving nazi flags and making claims about russians being asian and thus being less human, american police violence just keeps going up to the point we aren't even safe in our own four walls, and much like the past they kill you and then take everything you owned so your family doesn't even get anything. france is proving how much distain it has for the people of africa living in its borders and the cops there are mad that they can't do even more extrajudicial violence against brown people. you got in nearly every EU nation at this point 1 or more parties who's whole thing is "we hate poc and immigrants and lgbt people" and they seem to be gaining support more than losing it.

so i guess im saying, is it worth staying in these places that just hate us? even when there is another place we can potentially go to that doesn't require us to do colonizer shit?

like don't get me wrong i get the idea, we been in x place 200, 300, 400 years why should i leave, my great grandpa had people like that in his life, they didnt make it long. but like you or i most likely aren't anywhere near where our families started in america or britian or france etc,(tho for us in settler states that shit gets even more complicated tbh) chances are your family much like mine has been pushed and pulled across the place to the point that we are damn near nomadic, we are the most if not the second most poverty stricken group in these places, we are more likely to be charged more for half par services goods and the state just refuses to support use to the extent where vast swaths of us are in food desert, areas with low access to internet services and more issues. i dont feel like we really leaving much behind except of course the friends and extended families we have made(which tbh is huge).

This shit sounds super doom and gloom and im aware of that, this isnt really for me to present a sunshine are roses situation, in fact i am really putting that on who ever sees this. if you can read what i laid out here and feel you have something constructive to say one way or the other, i wanna hear it. like i really want to hear both sides, this topic been around a long time, i feel its really about to become super relevent again and i'd like for as many of us to have discussed and thought about this as physically possible(talk to your families and friends about this too, they dont have to come reply)

so black folks, reblog, message in the replys, talk in the tags whatever, just think about this stuff critically and talk about it. poke holes as best you can, bring up whatever figure you can think of that ever even had a thought about this topic. learn about this topic as best as you can, its older than garvey by a lot. theres bad sides to it and not so bad sides to it.

non black folks, please just leave this alone, its truly not the type of topic you should involve yourself with.

anyway i go more i wanna say about it. and im not myself sold that i should move to say ghana(more likely to move with my gfs in Australia rn) and ill likely add more in reply to other people. be safe Everyone of the world.

#Reblog #Afro discussion only #non-Afros be quiet #long post #Black people shit #Black people #Black diaspora #lgbtq+#BIPOC #bipoc trans #homophobia #transphobia #racism #YouTube #“we are more likely to be charged more for half par services”#say it again! 🙌🏿#y'all know what we should do to really move the country forward?#to Conservative Republicans especially?#expedite to Helghan #when the Jews leave i leave #stop voting for fucking Republicans #fuck Republicans #fuck Conservatives #fuck transphobes #fuck homophobes #remember when i used to post full transcripts for political candidate forums/debates on reddit?#good #left out the documentary i saw in college about how things went for an Afro-American family that moved to Ghana #the kids wanted to move back at first but eventually grew to like it there and be accepted to whatever degree #but the parents were still treated like well-off Euros and called the word for “White people” when they went to the market

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mostlymaudlin · 2 years ago

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pay more attention

rated t, 500 words, andreil / series: flashes of intimacy

“If you want it, just put it in the cart,” Andrew says. “Stop dawdling.”

Andrew and Neil only came shopping to “pick up a few things,” but they’ve been at Target for almost an hour. It’s dead in here at 8 PM on a weeknight, but it’s still entirely too over-stimulating. He’s beyond ready to go home, drink a beer, swap lazy handjobs in the shower with Neil, and fall asleep.

Neil, however, feels no such hurry. He has been staring at a large, mundane canvas print of an abstract fox for almost a full minute — Andrew had made it to the end of the aisle before he realized he’d left Neil behind.

Neil blinks at him. “I don’t know where I’d put it.”

Andrew takes a few steps back, considering the print again.

“There’s space in our room in Columbia,” Andrew says. “On the wall with the window.”

Neil doesn’t respond for a moment, so Andrew glances at him. He’s doing his kicked puppy song and dance, staring at Andrew like he’s just done something either incredibly cruel or incredibly kind.

Andrew, who has done neither, gestures at Neil’s face. “What’s wrong with you now?”

“It’s just,” Neil starts, then pauses to swallow thickly. “I didn’t know it was our room.”

Andrew can’t help it — he rolls his eyes. Then, he takes Neil’s chin in his hand.

“Neil,” Andrew says. “That house is your legal address. You sleep in that room every time we are there. You have that shitty ass dresser that took three hours to assemble. What the fuck did you think was going on?“

Neil shrugs, still looking wounded. “That I was staying in your room, I guess.”

Andrew scoffs, dropping Neil’s face. “There’s hardly a difference anymore, is there?”

Neil’s expression crumples further, and fucking hell, they were just supposed to be in and out. Toilet paper and coffee filters and a new bath mat. There’s no need for a meltdown in the Home Decor aisle.

“Knock it off,” Andrew says. “Don’t make this into some big, new thing. Nothing has changed. Pay more attention.”

Neil nods, but he’s still got that face. The irritation leaves Andrew’s body on an exhale. Neil is being stupid, but only because his perspective is rooted in his fucked-up life experiences. Andrew knows that Neil never takes what isn’t freely given, and he knows how much it means for Neil to claim things as his own. None of this should be surprising.

Andrew checks over his shoulder to make sure the aisle is still empty. He puts a palm on the back of Neil’s neck and draws him close. Neil tucks his face against Andrew’s hair, and Andrew measures the rise and fall of Neil’s chest until it settles into an even pattern.

“Enough of that,” Andrew murmurs, stepping away. Neil’s expression has morphed into quiet contentment, which is less concerning but way more annoying. “Grab your stupid fox so we can go home.”

this series is now on ao3!

#silly silly neil #hes so baby rn #aftg #my writing #my aftg writing #flash #andreil #andreil fic #aftg fic #flashes of intimacy

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years ago

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Don't Let Go

Summay: Zemo keeps the holster on.

WC: 2098

Rated: E

Tags: smut, on the rough side, dom!zemo, some dub/con type vibes at certain points (but it is all consensual of course), tall!plus size!reader, body image issues about size, no stated use of protection, uh yeah

A/N: um. Look. Your guess is as good as mine as to where this came from and after me not being able to write for months. I started this in June, got stuck, stopped, forgot i started writing it, randomly was going thru my wips for #nostalgia today, and then this happened. Sad to report no further progress on Heist tho. I’m hoping very soon. Bone app the teeth?

🖤

You remember when you had the conversation. Only a few nights ago on a Friday, barely more than a week since first going on the run with him, you and the Baron drank a few glasses of his expensive scotch at the new safe house, and you had found yourself opening up about fantasies, or lack of.

"Come now, Schatz - there must be something you have been intrigued to."

A simple shrug is what you give. "Maybe a few times…. But it's not something I put much thought into or anything like that." You take a sip, the alcohol rough in its burn.

"Why is that?" he questions without missing a beat.

Meeting his gaze across the couch you see he's been watching you the entire conversation, as though there is nothing that even comes remotely close to being more important than whatever silly ideas you have to share. “I mean I’ve spent my whole life as this bigger, intimidating person. Hell, I’m taller than you, by what an inch and a half? And most people that much, if not more,” you lightly scoff and sip again from your tumbler of scotch. “It wasn't something feasible being bigger I guess-” you gesture to your torso “-so I dropped the ideas before it could really set in as something I wanted. I told you - I'm always on my own and having to do my own thing. Had to get a grip on my life and be an independent woman and all that," you chuckle.

Zemo had been more than thorough in acquainting you with the basics of intimacy the last week; yet he let you take the lead as much as possible. Almost entirely, truly. You weren't at the point of anything wild or experimental, nor were you brave enough to try going rogue. So it was easy, it was standard - not that you had any complaints. But Helmut was adamant that it was you who controlled how he kissed you, how he touched you, how he broke your body and soul piece by piece in the long hours of the night.

You look across the room into the flickering light of the fireplace. Quieter, you add "just once I’d like to feel like the small one in a situation, to have to look up to someone literally and figuratively, to not feel like I’m too big and to just be able to let someone else make the choice for me." Looking back at him and speaking a little more blase, you finish "but I don't know. That's about as far as I got."

“I like looking up at you, Schatz, it’s like looking at an angel,” Helmut whispers. Since you had unofficially gotten together after escaping Riga he was constantly praising and complimenting you. You always expected to feel like he was just flattering you, but he made it such a point to talk about your intelligence, kindness, generosity, humor, and how beautiful he found you in equal parts.

You don't bother fighting back your grin. “I’m sure you do, Baron.” Downing the rest of your drink you tell him you are tired and head off to bed with a kiss.

Helmut had business to attend into the late evening. You made yourself busy reading some old book from the safe house’s upstairs library. The sun set as you read. Oranges and pinks and purples cast the room in a peaceful glow as you engulfed yourself in tales of times gone by. Maybe three hours later you hear him call out for you, breaking you from your page; “Schatz, could you come down here?”

Excitement bubbles within you at his arrival. “Be down in a sec!” You closed the book and placed it on the desk. Wandering around in the darkness you think you hear him in the kitchen. You call out “Helmut are you-” as you reach for the light switch when a shadowy figure backs you into a wall, knocking the breath you had from your lungs. For a second you panic, heart beating wildly out of your chest, until you see a glint of that familiar chocolate in the shadow’s eyes. The white-knuckled grip you have on the fabric of his top relaxes.

Pressed up against the kitchen wall by the man, you can just make out that he's clad in his gear. A thick burgundy turtleneck covers the expanse of his broad chest, the leather straps of a holster secured around his shoulders. Sturdy combat boots brush the sides of your ankles from where he has trapped your legs between his. The shoes give him an extra inch compared to your barefoot state, in addition to the commanding way he carries himself at present. Even as his gaze is eye level with your own like this he looks as if he towers above you.

Searching his eyes as best as you can in the limited light, you attempt “Hel what-”

A calloused palm cups the skin of your cheek, his thumb pressing softly against your mouth and silencing you. He says nothing; you wait, swallowing in anticipation. The digit glides slowly along the seam of your lips before pushing slightly between. You don't mind the intrusion, instead finding the taste of his skin intoxicating as you run the tip of your tongue over him. Pupils flit from your own to where his thumb rests. Zemo sighs. Feeling the fire within your core ignite you decide to take initiative, giving a gentle nip before sucking delicately on the pad of his thumb.

There is no mistaking the way his eyes blacken. The softness in his tone doesn’t match the formidability of his presence as he whispers “My Leibling…”

Zemo’s body presses yours further into the wall with such force it tears a gasp from you; his lips and tongue ravage yours with such a ferocity unlike anything you’ve known. Hands clutch at your jaw like vices. The thought crosses your mind that perhaps his fingertips might leave bruises. Nevertheless, you can’t be damned to stop him, especially not when you feel the beginnings of his hardening cock pushing into your hip, or the wetness seeping between your legs.

Finally, when the burn in your lungs becomes too great he breaks away and instead attaches his mouth to your throat. You have no doubt he can feel the pounding of your heart where he sucks and bites at your flesh. The Baron slides a hand under the edge of your top. His fingers are hot where they dig into your soft side. A feeble attempt to maneuver your hands to remove your shirt results in a tsk from him, his own larger ones moving to rip the fabric of your nightshirt right down the middle and exposing your peaked breasts to the cool air and his hungry stare. “Fuck - Helmut, what’s- ugh-” a particularly hard pinch to your nipple breaks your concentration, “what’s gotten in to you?” The question comes out as a moan.

Instead of an answer he tugs at the waistband of your shorts. With your reassuring nod he pushes them over your wide hips and thick thighs. Not a minute later he’s pulled a leg to wrap around his hip and opens you up to the grind of his still-clothed cock. “Don’t think, Leibling, just feel,” he commands.

The material of his pants rubs a delicious friction; your juices soaking through the fabric. You can feel the inferno growing. Breathy moans fill the near-silent kitchen. “Mein Gott, Draga I can feel how wet you are. Does this excite you? To know that you are enough to drive the great Baron Zemo to such primal need? To such depravity as to not even give you the luxury of a bed, but instead to have you right here and at my mercy?” He punctuates his statement with a harsh roll of his hips.

You whine in need. The pressure between your hips grows, you need him more than you can bear to think. Quickly you move to undo the fastening of his trousers between you. He does not stop you, only slows his movements to make it easier for you to work. When his bared cock finally rubs along your soaked core you manage to whimper a pathetic please. Helmut’s grip on your leg around his hip remains firm. He uses his free arm to place each of your hands on the straps of his holster along his pectorals. You pull on the leather as if to test its strength. There is barely enough room for your wrists between you where your chests are crushed together.

Suddenly Zemo drops as he leans to wrap his free hand underneath the leg that still supports your weight; his brute strength lifts you completely before you realize what he’s doing. “Wait no- Helmut I’m too-”

“No.” Zemo snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one fluid motion.

“Oh my god.” You sound pathetic as you keen at the fullness within you.

Both of his hands support you under the soft curve of your upper thighs. You tighten your legs around the small of his back on instinct. Panic surges through you despite the wonderful feel of him inside you. You aren’t small, you weigh too much, you’ll hurt him.

He jerks his shoulders minutely to bring your attention to where your fingers are wrapped around his holster straps. “Do not let go, Draga. Do you understand?”

“But-”

“Do you understand, Leibling?” he asks again, this time more demanding than you’ve ever heard.

“Yes.”

The first slam of his cock is fierce. It is precise. It is beyond any sort of pleasure you’ve ever felt, to have this man fucking you within an inch of your life as he all but cradles your body within the palm of his hand like it was your destiny to be there. Through all your sobs and cries of ecstasy he does not let up on the onslaught. Each thrust hits deep within you. His hips angle to brush your bundle of nerves with every movement. The peaks of your breasts tease and graze his sweater; probably an unfair advantage for him to be clothed and yet you at his complete mercy. You can’t fault how the sensation only heightens your euphoria. This time you know for sure his fingertips will paint your thighs with their memory for days to come; will create a masterpiece along the expanse of your skin that no Van Gogh or Picasso or Da Vinci could ever hope to produce.

Your release comes all too quickly at his attentions. Helmut doesn’t let up, nor does he seem to even break a sweat at his herculean task. At one point you swear you feel the leather straps start to give under the chokehold of your fists as he orders you to come again along his shaft, his words leaving no room for you to think otherwise.

Helmut reaches his own peak as your channel tightens around him, the growl of your name against your temple like a bolt of electricity. Hips slowing to a gentle roll, he does not pull himself from you, instead adjusting his hold under you to keep you pinned between his body and the wall. Your forehead comes to rest on his shoulder. The Baron drops sweet kisses to your temple, to your cheek, as you both come down from your high.

“Mmmm…Maybe you should put me down now? My legs are sore,” you mumble into his sweater, flexing your thigh and calf muscles where they still circle his waist.

“And if I do not want to? What then, my Leibling?” At your answering groan he hums in contentment before slowly removing himself from you, moving from the wall, and carrying you to the loveseat in the next room. Oversized boots thump with each step. The loose pants hanging from his knees slow his walk to a shuffle. He sits, situating you in his lap. Zemo looks down to see your fingers still wrapped around the holster. With a smile he says “you may let go now, Schatz. You did so well for me, such a good girl.”

It takes your digits a moment to cooperate as you untangle them from their place. “I’m not sure I can move my hands…?”

Helmut chuckles at your admission, taking your hands in each of his. He brings them to hip lips and places delicate kisses on them. Carefully he begins to massage your fingers and palms; “well, we must see to that, shouldn't we?”

(I'll be honest idk who is on my tag list for zemo since I haven't written for him in like 9 months sorrry)

Tag list: @ay0nha @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander @ntlmundy @dragon-baron @anteroom-of-death @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lieutenantn @multiversemarielle @trashbin2 @whatawildone @laura-naruto-fan1998 @greeneyedblondie44 @godidontevenknowwhat @lorna-d-m @hardlyinteresting @marchingicenotes7 @earlgreysandcloudydays

#zemo x plus size reader #zemo x reader #zemo x plus size female reader #baron zemo x you #zemo x you #helmut zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo #zemo #zemo smut #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #daniel bruhl x reader smut #daniel bruhl x you #daniel brühl x reader #tfatws zemo #scuttle-buttle #daniel bruhl fanfiction #zemo fanfic

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xjoonchildx · 4 years ago

Text

greedy | myg x reader | chapter five: do we look like recruiters to you?

summary: being a loner has never bothered yoongi until now. until you.

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 6.7K

notes: thank you all so much for rolling with the changes to my posting schedule. it’s been a while since i posted an update and i really wanted to give you guys a chapter. plus it makes more sense, in my mind to break it out like this. in this chapter, you’ll notice that ko starts calling OC “jagiya.” thank you to the korean reader who brought to my attention that my previous nickname for her didn’t fit as well as this one!

anyway, you guys make me endlessly happy with your feedback on this story. i’d love to hear what you think of this chapter. beta read by @hobi-gif because i would wither away without her analysis. also beta’d by the awesome @btsarmy9593 who has been so awesome to give me her feedback. thank you to @augustbutwinter for the words of encouragement. and of course, the boos @ladyartemesia and @untaemedqueen pitched in to help me in this journey as well.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

*************************

Min Yoongi wakes up with a problem. Well a few problems, actually.

The first is that he has to pee.

The second is the head-to-toe pain that starts to register the moment his sluggish brain kicks into gear. He starts from the bottom -- gingerly wiggling his toes, carefully stretching his legs -- and slowly works his way up, taking mental inventory of what hurts and what doesn’t.

A lot of shit is landing on the hurts list right now.

The third problem -- and perhaps the most pressing -- is the problem pressing into his side right now.

Your hair is still damp.

Yoongi noses into it and lies in the quiet for a while, breathing you in while you sleep. You smell like his shampoo and his soap. You’re wearing his t-shirt and basketball shorts. You are covered in him; fitted to him. Solid and warm and real.

Which brings him to his next problem.

This is the kind of feeling that’s way too easy to become addicted to. The kind of feeling that makes you do stupid shit. Take away the mangled body and the looming safety concerns and this is easily the best morning of his life.

That’s why when you stir and burrow a bit deeper into his side, Yoongi ignores the pain radiating from his sore ribs. He ignores the way his arm has fallen asleep under you, ignores the intermittent buzzing of his phone from the nightstand warning of missed texts.

He ignores the tiny voice in his head that says don’t get attached to this feeling.

Yoongi ignores everything but you and this because right now, it’s the only thing he wants to think about.

And then he’s drifting off again.

***************************

This time, Yoongi wakes up alone.

The deep steadying breath he takes while he’s trying to work up the nerve to get out of bed hurts like hell.

Everything hurts like hell, actually -- the back of his head where he can feel scrapes left behind by the brick wall, his jaw from where he took that driller to the face. His knee from where he jammed it into that fucking goon’s stomach.

But his shoulder is what’s really fucking everything up right now.

He can’t remember telling you where to find the sling or how you got it on. Can’t remember you positioning his pillows around his injured arm or slipping into bed beside him. He’d been so fucked up by the pain and the adrenaline withdrawal that he’s pretty sure he blacked out at some point.

So Yoongi lies there for a minute, trying to piece together what he can remember of last night.

The memories come back to him blurred and disjointed, out of order.

He remembers feeling like he might vomit when you shoved his shoulder back into place. Awkwardly accepting your help taking off his jeans so he could shower. Nearly falling to his knees under the hot water. Pulling himself together long enough to stash his gun in a drawer when you’d stepped away.

And it’s that last memory that makes his chest go tight.

Last night, hiding his gun seemed like the right thing to do. A way to keep you separate from the ugliness he normalized a long time ago. But this morning the half-assed lie of omission makes him feel guilty as hell. A pathetic attempt to delay the inevitable. Chewing gum jammed into the crack of a dam.

He has to tell you about that gun.

So he gets to work on dragging his ass out of bed. It takes him way too damned long to sit upright, way too damned long to slide himself off the edge of the mattress. Longer than that to slowly limp his way into the bathroom where he pees for what feels like a solid ten minutes.

He’s still rubbing the sleep from his eyes when he spots the bright red toothbrush sitting in the cup on his sink.

It’s just some cheap throwaway he brought home after his last visit to the dentist -- a long-forgotten backup that’s been stashed in the cabinet under the bathroom counter for months. But now it’s sitting out in the open, in that cup. Right next to his own blue one.

Yoongi stares at it and scrubs a hand over his face.

And that tiny voice in his head gets a bit louder.

************************

He finds you seated at his piano, bare-faced and hair tousled. Fingers tracing light patterns across the keys of his custom instrument, gaze taking in all of the tiny details he paid a small fortune for.

He could have stayed there for a while, just appreciating the view had you not caught him staring.

Your dark eyes flick up to find his and Yoongi’s pulse quickens at the warmth in them. At the soft, shy smile that comes over you just before you clear your throat and lower your eyes back to the keys.

“Beautiful,” you sigh.

No kidding, Yoongi thinks.

He crosses the room slowly. Tries his hardest not to limp but the throb in his knee makes that nearly impossible. Sadness flashes across your face as you watch him sink heavily onto the bench beside you.

“I can help you, you know,” you admonish softly.

Yoongi shrugs, motioning to the sling. “You already have.”

He stills when you reach one hand out to brush your fingertips across the redness on his jaw. You stroke your thumb across his aching cheek and Yoongi leans into the touch, savoring the feeling of your skin against his.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, “I’m so sorry you’re hurt, and -- ” you pause to shake your head sadly, “-- and I’m so sorry it’s because I put you in this position.”

Yoongi sucks in a deep breath.

He can’t bring himself to tell you that he can’t think straight when he imagines what could have happened if that fucking goon had gotten you alone. Can’t bring himself to admit out loud that he could have pulled his gun and ended that piece of shit without losing a second of sleep.

Would have, had you not been there.

“Better me than you, Doc,” he says thickly. “You made the right call.”

You press a gentle kiss to his throbbing jaw.

“You still mad at me?”

You whisper the words into the shell of Yoongi’s ear and a slow heat builds in his gut.

“Yeah,” he lies, dropping a kiss on the delicate skin below your jaw. He ghosts the tip of his nose against the curve of your neck and you shudder under his touch. He’s forced to check himself, leaning back for a few inches of badly-needed space.

On the bright side, at least his dick isn’t broken, too.

He clears his throat. “If that guy had brought backup -- ”

“ -- If that guy had brought backup, he’d have been out of the car long before you left his buddy in a pile on the floor,” you interrupt gently.

Yoongi chuckles. “Just admit you’re terrible at following directions.”

“You happen to have your MRI results around here anywhere? I’d be interested to see what they say about that shoulder.”

You raise one brow when Yoongi narrows his eyes at you in response. “No? Well, then I guess I’m not the only one who’s bad at following directions.”

“Guess not,” Yoongi admits with a smile.

Your turn your attention back to his piano, touch reverent as you slide one hand across the rich black lacquer.

“When you first walked in, I was going to say something really dumb like do you play?” you admit with a laugh. “But no one owns something this magnificent unless they have a passion for it.”

“Yeah, I play,” Yoongi murmurs. “When I have two functioning arms.”

He’d intended to earn a laugh with that tease, but the joke falls flat. Sadness creeps back into your features.

“Yoongi,” you say quietly, gaze dropping into your lap. “I honestly don’t know what would have happened to me last night without you. And all I can think about this morning is why? Why did you do this for me?”

Fuck, that’s a loaded question.

If Yoongi had the balls, he’d tell you straight up that he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you at Songdo . That you feel like his chance at something more. But Yoongi doesn’t say any of that.

Instead, he coughs up a weak white lie.

“We’re both out here flying solo Doc. We have to look out for each other. Besides -- ” he tips your chin up with a gentle press of his fingers and finds your dark eyes glassy with unshed tears. “ -- I have a thing for that smart mouth of yours.”

He earns a tiny smile from you then, just the slightest curve of your lips. And he’s this close to kissing the soft, sad expression right off your face when that voice in his mind fucks everything up again.

Tell her about the gun.

The thought is like a bucket of cold water over his head, jarring him from the intimacy of this moment. Yoongi swallows thickly before opening his mouth to tell you the truth. But before he can speak, you do.

“I have something of yours,” you say, reaching into the pocket of your borrowed basketball shorts. Yoongi watches you produce a worn handmade bracelet and holds his palm open to accept it. “It fell out of your jacket last night,” you explain.

He rubs his thumb over the smooth metal corners of the cross that dangles from aged leather. It brings back the memory of his baptism -- of the day Mrs. Bak proudly gifted it to him while he was still damp from the ceremony. It also brings back the memory of last night -- when he’d clutched it between his fingers and sent a silent plea for protection skyward.

It’s been a long time since he’s prayed. It’s been a long time since he had anything to pray for.

“Are you religious?” you ask softly.

Yoongi shakes his head. “Honestly? I don’t know.” A self-conscious heat creeps up his neck. “Just makes me feel better, I guess. Is that dumb?”

“No,” you reassure quietly, bringing one warm hand up to cup his cheek. Yoongi covers your hand with his, laces his fingers in between yours. “Not dumb at all.”

Tell her about the gun.

“Doc,” Yoongi whispers thickly, “We need to talk about something.”

Your hand falls away from his face and your spine goes stiff with tension and Yoongi almost loses his nerve.

Almost.

“Okay, so I was, uh -- carrying a gun last night,” he starts, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck, “I carry a gun all the time, actually. I hid it because I didn’t want to freak you out.”

You say nothing, expression unreadable. And Yoongi keeps talking.

“But I don’t want to keep things from you,” he says quietly. “I want you to know exactly who I am. No half-truths.”

Your eyes drop back down to the piano. You pluck at one of the keys and a somber note rings out, lingers in the air between you before you speak.

“You have a gunshot wound in your back, Yoongi,” you murmur. “It’s not exactly a leap of logic. Besides, I already saw your gun. It was in your drawer last night when I got you a change of clothes.”

Yoongi nods slowly, processing the fact that you’d discovered the gleaming silver piece and hadn’t written him off right away. You’d still slept in the crook of his arm last night. You’re still here right now.

“And yeah, maybe it does freak me out a bit,” you admit. “But after what I saw last night, maybe I can understand a bit, too.”

Yoongi lets go of the breath he’s been holding and takes your hand in his. Maybe is as good as he could have hoped for at this point. Maybe is not a dead end.

“I have something to tell you, too,” you admit after a moment. “I’m due at the hospital in a few hours.”

“Doc,” Yoongi groans, hand tightening reflexively around yours. “You can’t go back there.”

“I don’t have a choice,” you insist, pulling away. “This isn’t just some job I fell into, Yoongi. This is years of my life.”

Yoongi is quiet for a few seconds, willing his rising agitation to subside. He’s careful to check his tone before he speaks.

“You’re not safe there.”

“I have to go back. I don’t have a choice,” you repeat. “I can’t afford to get blacklisted and Lee is still my boss. And if he’s already got wind of what happened last night, he’s going to be gunning for me even harder than he already has been. I have to tread carefully.”

Yoongi shoves a hand through his hair.

“You have to meet me in the middle here, Doc,” he exhales. “There’s got to be something halfway between you walking right back into that hellhole and you losing your job. Take a couple of sick days. Give me some time to figure out who your boss is working with and what I can do about it. Can you do that?”

You’re quiet for a moment as you consider his proposal.

“Yeah,” you concede softly. “I can do that.”

You lift a hand to brush a lock of hair out of his face and press your mouth to his.

Every cell in Yoongi’s body stands at attention. He cards his fingers into the soft mass of your hair and kisses you slowly -- carefully -- all too aware of the way he’d manhandled you last night.

Not even the pain in his jaw could take away from how good it feels to touch you like this. Not even the ache in his ribs could stop him from leaning into you. He slips his tongue past your lips and you whimper, fingers curling into his sore knee.

He could not give a shit.

Yoongi leaves your mouth to trail kisses down your jaw, and you tip your head back, offering him the soft expanse of your neck. He accepts it gladly, mouth hot and open on your skin, savoring your scent and taste -- enjoying the way he can feel your pulse fluttering wildly under his lips.

He’s enjoying it all so much that he gets careless. The elbow of his injured arm connects with the sharp edge of the piano and he recoils instantly.

“Dammit,” he groans. “Fuck.”

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth.

The pain is so potent it seems to radiate all the way from his arm to his temples. Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut as he waits for the ringing in his ears to subside.

“Yoongi, your shoulder, it's -- it’s really bad,” you admonish quietly. “If you keep going like this, the damage is going to be permanent.”

“Trust me, I know,” he sighs. “I’m going to get this looked at, I just haven’t.”

“I want you to see a friend of mine at Asan today,” you urge. “He’s a good doctor. He can get you some pain relief. Get you back to working condition.”

Yoongi nods weakly, pain still ebbing from his arm.

“But it’s not a substitute for an MRI and it’s not a substitute for surgery,” you warn. “This is just a temporary fix. You have to be careful. Whatever you’re planning, just please be careful.”

Yoongi skates the pad of his thumb over your lips before kissing you just one more time.

“Don’t worry about me, Doc,” he murmurs. “I’m going to have some help.”

**************************

It’s amazing what a pair of high-powered steroid shots and a bottle of industrial-strength painkillers can do for a guy.

Yoongi pulls into the parking lot at Maekju feeling almost human again.

If the text messages that have been blowing up his phone all afternoon are any indication, everyone is here tonight. Everyone with the exception of Namjoon, of course. He doesn’t drink anymore and even when he did, he always preferred to drink alone.

Jungkook is the first person Yoongi spots, leaned up against a pool table, beer in hand. He’s watching Jimin and Taehyung face off at billiards while Seokjin and Hoseok sit side-by-side at the bar, deep in conversation.

The maknae’s eyes go a bit wide when he takes in Yoongi’s unusual gait and immobilized arm.

“Holy shit, hyung,” he breathes as Yoongi approaches. “What the hell happened to you?”

Seokjin whips around in his barstool at the sound of Jungkook’s greeting, but Hoseok doesn’t take the bait. He stiffens in his seat but refuses to turn around. Stubborn bastard.

“Yoga accident,” Yoongi mutters, stepping up to the bar next to Seokjin. The older man smirks as he takes a long pull of his beer.

“How’d you drive with that thing on?” Seokjin asks, motioning to Yoongi’s sling.

“Carefully,” Yoongi says dryly. “Listen, can you give me a minute with Jung here?”

Seokjin’s critical gaze bounces back and forth between Yoongi and Hoseok, who is still resolutely pretending not to notice the conversation taking place just inches from his face. He stares into a television mounted high above the bar and sips his whiskey with feigned indifference.

“You two need couple’s counseling, I swear,” Seokjin groans, rolling his eyes. He stands to his feet to relinquish his barstool and claps a hand over Yoongi’s good shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Hoseok, the fucking infant, grabs a newspaper abandoned on the bartop and proceeds to pretend to read it. Yoongi slides into the stool next to him anyway.

“Miss me?”

Hoseok doesn’t answer.

“You’re not gonna say hello? Not gonna ask me why it looks like I spent all night falling off a cliff?”

“Nope.”

Yoongi waves off the bartender who starts walking in his direction. The last thing he needs is a drink. He’s got so many painkillers in his system right now that one sip of booze would probably have him under the bar in seconds.

“Come on Hoseok,” Yoongi sighs. “Don’t be a dick. I’ve literally never seen you read a newspaper.”

“I like to stay informed,” Hoseok shrugs.

“Well, I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Oh, so you talk to me now?” Hoseok snickers. “That’s new.”

Hoseok’s probably earned the right to his petulance, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying. Yoongi starts to reconsider that drink.

“Jung,” he groans. “I’m trying to apologize here.”

“So apologize then.”

“Fine,” Yoongi mutters. “I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole lately. I’ve been twisted up over some shit that has nothing to do with you or family business.”

Hoseok grabs his whiskey off the bar and finally -- finally -- pivots to face him.

“A giant asshole,” he corrects dryly.

“Yes. A giant asshole,” Yoongi repeats. “We good now?”

Hoseok sips his whiskey slowly, eyes narrowed at Yoongi over the lip of his glass.

“Buy me a drink.”

“Fine,” Yoongi hisses, flagging the bartender.

Hoseok leans back in his barstool, looking a bit smug.

“Now this shit you’ve been twisted up about,” he starts, brow cocked. “Would this have anything to do with your secret doctor friend?”

“Maybe,” Yoongi admits, scratching at the back of his neck. His injured shoulder is tired from carrying the extra weight of the sling. He rolls it gingerly as Hoseok looks on.

“Would this have anything to do with why you look like you got jumped on your way in here tonight?”

Yoongi’s cheeks warm at his partner’s blunt observation. “Maybe.”

Hoseok drains his whiskey just as the bartender arrives with a fresh one. He takes a long drink before setting his glass back down on the bar. His lips purse thoughtfully as he levels Yoongi with a long, assessing look.

“Okay,” he says calmly. “So who do we have to go fuck up?”

**************************

Dr. Lee Geon just looks like a fucking weasel.

Yoongi glares at the man as he strolls into the coffee shop a few blocks from Songdo with just minutes to spare to his shift.

Lee bears little resemblance to his photos on the hospital website.

He’s thin -- just this side of gaunt -- hollow cheeks prominent below dark under eyes beneath a sparse dusting of greasy hair. Were he not dressed in a rumpled lab coat and equally creased scrubs, Yoongi might have missed him entirely.

Across the room, Hoseok peers at Yoongi over the top of yet another borrowed newspaper -- is this the guy? -- and Yoongi answers with a furtive nod.

He goes over the plan they’d worked out in the car in his head. They’d find the guy -- make sure he was the guy -- and then follow him out of the shop. Catch him just before he got into his car. Shake him up a bit before shaking him down for information.

There’s one thing Yoongi still hasn’t worked out, though.

Just how much he’s going to allow himself to hurt this asshole before sending him on his way. Lee slowly shuffles his way to the front of the line as Yoongi imagines jamming his fist into the man’s stupid fucking face. Imagines doing it over and over again until the piece of shit is unrecognizable.

Yoongi watches Lee order his drink as he kneads at the tender muscles of his shoulder.

Ditching the sling was probably a bad idea -- definitely against doctor’s orders -- but it was a risk he was more than willing to take. He’d downed a couple of painkillers and shoved his shoulder into a brace and decided he could deal with the dull throb just for the night.

No way in hell he was going to confront this scumbag looking like some kid who just fell off his skateboard.

It doesn’t take long for the barista to put together Lee’s drink. He grabs his coffee and Yoongi tenses in anticipation of his next move. But instead of heading for the exit, Lee heads for the bathroom instead.

Yoongi locks eyes with Hoseok across the room and Hoseok raises one brow.

Change of plans?

Yoongi nods.

*****************************

Lee’s coffee sits abandoned atop the sink ledge.

Yoongi and Hoseok slip silently into the bathroom and get right to work. Hoseok blocks the door as Yoongi quietly creeps past the stalls, ducking his head to peer beneath each one. Lee’s scuffed sneakers are the only pair of shoes he spots.

His ears pick up on a faint sound coming from inside the locked stall.

It’s a kind of soft, intermittent rasping. Yoongi concentrates on the noise, isolates it until he comes to the realization that it’s sniffling he’s hearing. He turns to Hoseok and taps his finger against the side of his nose and Hoseok nods his agreement.

Yoongi shakes his head in disgust. Is there a single substance this idiot isn’t addicted to?

It takes a moment for the sniffling to subside. It’s followed by a few seconds of quiet rustling in which Yoongi can picture Lee carefully pocketing whatever’s left of his coke. The noises from behind the brushed steel barrier finally stop and the next thing Yoongi hears is the distinct clink of the latch coming apart.

Lee swings the door wide -- gets one look at what’s waiting for him on the other side -- and nearly jumps out of his skin.

He startles so hard that he almost falls backward into the toilet. But he catches himself, regaining his balance and staring back at Yoongi with wide, worried eyes.

Yoongi stands there and says nothing.

“Excuse me,” Lee mumbles, eyeing him wearily as he tries to slide past. He takes two steps forward then stops in his tracks when he spots Hoseok. Lee swallows thickly, eyes darting back and forth between both men.

“Is there a problem gentlemen?” he croaks.

Yoongi takes a step towards Lee. He shrinks back when Yoongi reaches for his badge, yanking the retractable cord as he pulls it close to examine it. Yoongi runs his thumb over the raised lettering on the laminated card, letting the taut silence linger for dramatic effect.

Then he lets go of the badge without warning, fighting a smile when Lee flinches as it snaps back into place.

“Yes, we have a problem,” Yoongi confirms pleasantly. “And yes, it’s you.”

The little color left in Lee’s face immediately drains out.

“Look, I don’t know who you guys are, but you don’t w-want to mess with me,” he stammers, voice cracking comically halfway through his flimsy threat. “I know people.”

“Oh shit,” Yoongi’s eyes go wide with feigned concern, “You hear that, Jung? This guy knows people.”

“Sounds scary,” Hoseok chuckles.

Lee starts to breathe harder, chest rising and falling faster. Pupils blown with fear and coke.

“Now, here’s the difference between you and us, Dr. Lee,” Yoongi explains calmly. “You know people. But we -- ” he motions to himself and then to Hoseok, “ -- are people . Do you understand what I’m trying to say here?”

Yoongi punctuates his point by brushing the edge of his open leather jacket aside, allowing his pistol to peek out from underneath. Lee’s eyes lock on it as he nods slowly, pulling deep, noisy breaths through his nose.

“Great. Now we don’t have to play the game where you pretend not to know about the bullshit you’ve been pulling over at the hospital, right?”

Lee shakes his head slowly.

“So that means we also don’t have to play the game where you pretend you didn’t send some fucking street goon to rough up a little old lady, either. Right?”

The man’s mouth drops open like his first instinct is to deny that accusation. But he steals another look at Hoseok and shuts it instead.

“And then -- ” Yoongi jabs Lee in the chest with one finger and the man jumps back, “-- you tried to send that same goon after your own resident. But here’s the thing, Doctor Lee. She knows people, too.”

Lee’s body goes rigid. Yoongi watches him process the information with his drug-addled brain, a flare of recognition finally sparking in his dull eyes.

“I saw you at the hospital,” Lee whispers. “You know her.”

“Don’t worry about who I know,” Yoongi shrugs. “Worry about what you’re going to say in your resignation letter.”

He advances on the man again, closing the space between them. Lee tries to back away, but he runs out of room. He tilts against the stall door.

“Resignation letter?” he echoes weakly.

“The one you’re turning in tonight,” Yoongi explains coolly. “Before you get the fuck out of Songdo and then get the fuck out of Seoul.”

Lee sputters for a moment, grasping for his next words.

“Well, where am I supposed to go?” he bleats.

“Do we look like recruiters to you, man?” Hoseok cuts in sharply. “We don’t give a shit where you go -- you just have to go. You sure this guy is a doctor, Min? He seems way too dumb to be a doctor.”

“Nah. This guy’s a junkie pretending to be a doctor,” Yoongi accuses, dropping any pretense of good humor. “Pretending to be a tough guy, too. But all of that ends tonight.”

Yoongi grabs Lee by the chin, jerking his head into place and forcing the trembling man to look him in the eye.

“In ten minutes, you’re going to walk your ass into that hospital. You’re going to tell them you are leaving. You are going to take that piece of shit pharmacist and anyone else who’s involved with you. And then you are never going to step foot in this city again.”

He pauses to enjoy the way Lee’s pupils dilate even wider with fear.

“You’re not too high to understand what I’m saying to you right now, right?”

Lee shakes his head weakly, jaw still pinned in Yoongi’s vice grip.

“Great. Now just one more thing before you go on your merry way,” Yoongi says, voice low with menace. “Give us the name of your street guys.”

Lee panics. “I can’t,” he whines from between compressed cheeks. “They’ll kill me.”

Yoongi grips his face tighter, crushing the man’s jaw and using it to push his body flush against the stall. His fingers and knuckles turn white with the force of his grasp and Lee groans weakly at the pain.

“I will kill you,” Yoongi seethes. “Me. Right fucking now with my bare fucking hands if you don’t give me that name.”

Lee is sweating so profusely that Yoongi wonders briefly if he’s having a heart attack. He’s probably got enough coke in his system for that to be an actual concern. But the pathetic little shit manages to pull himself together long enough to follow directions.

“Kkangpae,” he wheezes.

Yoongi’s iron grip stays in place, even as he turns to Hoseok, even as both men exchange a look. That is something he did not see coming. Perhaps his recent personal issues are family business, after all.

He finally releases Lee’s jaw and the man rears back, breathing hard.

“You have exactly one day to get the fuck out of this city,” Yoongi instructs quietly. “And that is not an offer I’m prepared to make twice.”

Lee licks his dry lips, nodding his head slowly like he’s just come out of a trance. “Okay.”

“Great chat,” Yoongi smiles, patting Lee’s cheek.

Hoseok leaves his post at the door to cross the cramped bathroom and reach for the coffee Lee abandoned minutes ago. Both men watch in silence as he turns it up over the sink, pours it out, and then tosses it in the trash.

He heads back to the door and holds it open.

“Damn Hoseok,” Yoongi murmurs as he brushes past. “That was cold.”

*********************************

YOU

There’s buzzing. Of that, you’re sure.

But in those first few moments that you’re rousing, you can’t be sure if you’re hearing it or dreaming it. You’re disoriented. It’s the second time in as many days you’ve woken up in an unfamiliar bed.

Shafts of sunlight pour through the blinds and you squint at them, trying to get a sense of the time of day. If the amber tinge is any indication, it’s late into the afternoon.

The buzzing sounds again.

You roll to your side to grab your cell phone off the nightstand and blink at a long list of waiting texts.

ko: wake up sleeping beauty [ 11:36 AM ]

ko: i have news [ 11:45 AM ]

ko: big news [ 12:22 PM ]

ko: and gaeran tost-u [ 1:02 PM ]

ko: ready for you to wake up now [ 1:43 PM ]

ko: don’t mind me just gonna bang a few pots and pans [ 2:11 PM ]

Any curiosity over Ko’s big news is overshadowed by the way your heart drops when none of those messages is from Yoongi.

Before you’d left his apartment, he’d asked you to stay. He’d cleared his throat and looked down at his hands and explained that he’d feel better if you weren’t alone until this entire mess was settled. But the way he looked at you in those last few minutes together made you feel like his proposition was about much more than just your protection.

It made you want to say yes.

Never mind that it’s insane to feel so at home in his personal space -- or that coming to that realization might have sent you into a mild panic. In the end, you’d had to say no because you couldn’t bring yourself to leave Ko on her own while this madness played out.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes and fire off two quick texts.

you: i hope you’re okay. please be careful [ 2:33 PM ]

you: up now. be down in five [ 2:34 PM ]

**************************

Ko makes good on her promise of gaeran tost-u.

You’re greeted by the pleasant smell of the sugared egg dish as you walk down the stairs. Ko sits at her kitchen table, eyes shining with excitement, and pushes a plate at you when you slide into the chair across from hers.

“Eat,” she orders sweetly. Your stomach rumbles on cue and you waste no time digging in.

“This is really good,” you declare around a mouthful of bread and eggs. “I might have to live with you forever.”

Ko smiles wide and the expression makes you feel warm from the inside out. The bruising on her face is barely visible now, easily hidden with a little makeup. Her eyes crinkle with happiness as she watches you eat without saying a word.

“Alright,” you sigh, loathe to stop eating even for as long as it takes to speak. “Spill it. You look fit to burst.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” she complains cheerfully. “Dr. Lee is gone. Walked into Songdo last night and walked out forever.”

You gasp halfway through your next bite, sputtering as you try to catch your breath around a mouthful of toasted bread. Ko stands to grab you a glass of water which you gratefully accept.

“Well, don’t die on me now,” she teases, “Because there’s more. Nang left, too. And Tuan and Beom from pathology. All four of them quit without even so much as a notice, Jagi. Isn’t that wild?”

You sip your water slowly and Ko’s eyes flash as she watches you.

“Yoo called me early this morning and said the entire hospital is talking about it. There’s a bunch of crazy theories going around. And here I am, drinking my tea. Thinking about how you took a few sick days and showed up here. Thinking about how healthy and rested you look right now. Isn’t that interesting?”

You nod, jamming the sandwich back in your mouth for an obnoxiously large bite.

“And I can’t help but wonder if there’s some connection between this very convenient development and my very sweet, secretive friend.”

Ko’s mouth twists into a teasing smile as you chew your food absurdly slow.

“That sandwich isn’t going to last forever, Jagi,” she says dryly. She lifts her teacup to her mouth and takes a dainty sip. “And trust me, I have nothing but time.”

She leans back, cup in hand.

“Okay, so I might know something about it,” you admit after a while. “But there’s still a lot I don’t know. And I’m not sure how much of this you want to hear.”

Ko tuts under her breath.

“I want to hear it all. I’ve got quite a few years on you and trust me, very little shocks me anymore. So now you spill it.”

You take another sip of water and clear your throat.

“Okay,” you exhale. “So there’s this guy -- ”

“ -- Oh, I love it when stories start like this,” Ko interrupts. She props her chin up with her hands like you’re telling a bedtime story and you shake your head with a wry smile.

“He’s been kind of… helping me, I guess.”

“Helping you,” Ko echoes. “As in helping you out of your clothes?”

“No,” you deny hotly, cheeks warming. “He’s a friend.”

Ko doesn’t bother to call you out on the weak lie. But her face says what her mouth doesn’t when one skeptical brow raises high.

“Go on.”

“I told him about what was going on at the hospital and he said he could help me,” you explain slowly. “So I’m pretty sure he figured out a way to run off Lee and Nang.”

Ko taps her finger against the side of her teacup.

“So let me see if I have this right,” she muses. “You tell this friend -- who you’ve never once mentioned, by the way -- that you’ve been having this very dangerous trouble at work. And then your friend somehow manages to convince two grown men who’ve worked at Songdo for years to give up their high-paying jobs and up-front access to IV drugs overnight.”

You shift uncomfortably in your chair.

“And just like that -- ” Ko snaps her fingers for emphasis, “ -- they’re gone without so much as a fuss.”

You nod weakly.

“Jagi,” Ko’s voice drops low. “I take it your friend’s not a mailman, is he?”

“No,” you mumble. “Definitely not.”

Ko hums under her breath. She carefully lifts her teacup to drink, eyes trained on you over the rim. Her quiet scrutiny makes you anxious.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asks after a long pause.

“If I said no would that stop you?”

“Not a chance,” Ko laughs. “Would this friend happen to be the mysterious, handsome man who asked for you in the ER a few weeks back?”

Mind like a steel trap, this woman. You should have known Ko would make that connection and fast. There’s no point in denying it, so you don’t.

“Yes,” you whisper thickly. “He is.”

It’s hard to get a read on Ko’s reaction. Over the years, you’ve come to rely on her sweetness and wisdom and warmth. But now, as you stare into her dark eyes and try to interpret her careful expression, you realize there’s something else you need from her.

Her approval.

“Ko, I think I -- ” you pause to choose your words carefully, “ -- I think I might be in really deep with this guy.”

Ko snorts.

“Oh, I think you might be right about that, Jagiya . And if he’s helping you with something like this? Chances are, you’re not alone.”

“Yeah,” you exhale, wringing your hands together beneath the table. “Thing is -- I need you to tell me I’m not making a mistake here.”

The corners of Ko’s mouth lift into a soft expression of surprise.

“Oh, Jagi,” she chides sweetly. “You know I can’t tell you that. I don’t know anything about this man.” She reaches across the table to cover your hand with her own. “But you do. You’re the only one who knows how you feel about him. And you’re the only one who knows if he’s a good man underneath it all.”

Ko squeezes your hand and you turn your head before she can see the tears that threaten in your eyes. The amber sunlight outside her kitchen window is shifting orange now, flares of light reflecting off the glass.

You stare at them and think about Yoongi.

Until now, it’s like you’ve been splitting him into two different men -- the bruised, bloody con artist from the exam room and the quiet, teasing flirt from the coffee shop. Until now, it’s been the only way to reconcile your complicated feelings.

But it's well past time you accepted the truth.

The same Yoongi whose cheeks had pinked when he’d asked you to stay is the same Yoongi you watched beat the shit out of a hired thug. The Yoongi who carries a cross is the Yoongi who carries a gun. They’re two halves of one whole.

And you can’t pine for one and reject the other.

Your cell phone buzzes from the pocket of your pajama pants. You reach for it, relief coursing through you when you spot Yoongi’s name on the screen.

yoongi: one more thing to do before we can talk [ 3:01 PM ]

yoongi: it’s cold outside, be sure to bundle up [ 3:01 PM ]

Yoongi’s random mention of the weather confuses you. You stare at the texts and Ko stares at you, concerned by the baffled expression on your face.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” you insist, shaking your head. “Just, um -- ”

Bundle up. A tingle runs up the length of your spine as realization slowly creeps over you.

“Excuse me for a moment,” you murmur, slipping out of your seat.

Ko watches you dash up the stairs, slack-jawed.

You make a beeline for your borrowed room, throwing open the closet doors to find the coat you’d left hanging there on arrival. The coat you’d worn to and from Yoongi’s. You hurriedly dig into the pockets, fingers immediately making contact with something hard and jagged.

You pull it out.

The shiny silver key in your palm looks like it’s never been used, sharp edges gleaming in the waning sunlight streaming into this room.

You don’t have to guess what it’s for.

You just close your fingers around it and hold it tight.

*****************

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