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squigglywindy · 2 years ago

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I posted 5,454 times in 2022

That's 5,454 more posts than 2021!

1,354 posts created (25%)

4,100 posts reblogged (75%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@bllaaaaarrgh

@silvercaptain24

@here4dragons

@triforce-of-mischief

@whatcouldpossiblyg0wr0ng

I tagged 2,958 of my posts in 2022

Only 46% of my posts had no tags

#squiggles answers - 733 posts

#squiggles rambles - 191 posts

#anon my beloved - 141 posts

#dragon my beloved - 128 posts

#silver my beloved - 104 posts

#beautiful art - 104 posts

#blargh my beloved - 95 posts

#blargh my beloafed - 77 posts

#linked universe - 75 posts

#howl my beloved - 72 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#i misspelled so many words don’t mind me if it’s not a cardiac drug i haven’t thought about it for three days at least. my grammar is gone

My Top Posts in 2022:

Love how youre 20 and like “I feel old” like mood but also I turned 19 and rather than feeling old myself I fr just went “wow how is everyone here so SMALL why is everyone a baby” 💀

Adfdskfhdsljklh y'know what, it's kind of a combination

132 notes - Posted September 26, 2022

Y'know what. I just had a thought and I'm going to share it because it's What I Do.

I recently saw a really, really good writer putting down their work because it wasn't 'up to their usual standards', and 'not as good as it could have been' and 'just plain garbage' (It was none of you my lovely moots, I have no idea who this person was, I just saw them online).

And I read their little story and like...it was good. It was really, really good. Maybe they've been writing longer than me, maybe they're just That Talented, but it made me think that like...it was better than probably anything I'll ever produce, and...they didn't like it.

Made me think things like 'why do I bother sharing my weird little stories when even something this good isn't Good Enough?'

So then, because I'm me, I had a Lot Of Thoughts. What if there's a Baby Writer reading my stuff, and they see me throwing down on it because I have the self-confidence of a bullied slug, and decide that hey. Maybe my stuff's not Good Enough, so I'll keep it to myself.

Because the thing is, I've been writing for fifteen years. Am I great at it? Maybe not. As good as I'll ever get? No, everyone's always improving all the time! But I've been doing it for a while. Will everything I write be a masterpiece? Absolutely not! But do I string together words with a little more proficiency than somebody writing their first story ever? Probably. And I don't want any of them looking at what I say about my writing and deciding that they shouldn't try.

So, this is my official statement that I'm going to stop being self-deprecating about the things I create, and my request for anyone who sees me break this promise to jump on me and make me delete it. Yes, I'm still going to look at it and feel like it could be better. I'm still going to read my stuff and hate it sometimes. I'm human, and sometimes humans have trouble seeing value in their own work, even if it's so easy to see it in other people's. But I'm trying to get better. Because just the act of creating something makes it priceless. We, as writers and artists and people in general, put a little piece of our hearts into everything we do, and that's worth something. It's worth creating. It's worth sharing. And it's worth forcing yourself to see the value in it.

Please, please, never look at what somebody thinks about themselves, or anyone else, and wonder if it applies to you.

Never hesitate to create something, and share it, and be proud of it, just because maybe you think it will never be as good as what somebody else made.

It's not a race. It's not a competition. We're here to have fun.

Ily'all/plat. Keep creating. Keep sharing. Keep being you; you're awesome enough exactly as you are <3

152 notes - Posted October 1, 2022

292 notes - Posted November 15, 2022

The Loaf

This one's for you, @bllaaaaarrgh

Title: The Loaf

Warnings: Implied major character death. The loaf wins. Unironic use of the word "Yonkers".

Summary: Wild fist fights a massive loaf of bread. Read all about it here: https://at.tumblr.com/bllaaaaarrgh/imagine-this-wild-fist-fighting-a-massive-loaf-of/lsi6mmc4dpb6

General Notes: I tried something different with this one; it switches back and forth between past and present. Past will be in italics.

More Notes: This is sheer insanity. I had a lot of fun with it, and am fully prepared to face the consequences of my actions.

It was a curse, he was sure of it. Whether it was the bread or himself that was cursed, he may never know for sure. But he did know, with absolute certainty, that normal bread didn't behave in such a manner.

But he didn’t have time to question the origins of the loaf. Barely had time to arm himself with a spoon. By the time he saw the loaf, it was too late.

It had all started hours earlier, when Time had called for a break and the Links had settled down in a clearing to rest their legs, refill their waterskins, or take a quick nap. It had taken minimal convincing for everyone to agree to let Wild wander; go off on his own to run off some energy and scavenge for interesting mushrooms. And that, if he had been able to look back on the occasion, may have been his first mistake.

The loaf towered over him, easily five feet tall. It was just bread, really, but he could swear it had a face. The perfectly baked crust flaked in such a way as to give it the impression of angry eyebrows, glaring down at Wild as if he had, somehow, personally wronged the bread. As if he weren’t solely responsible for giving it life.

He found the mushroom beside a tree, nestled between a mess of roots as mushrooms so often are. It was bigger than any mushroom he’d ever seen, and glowing a bright intense orange. It seemed alive, in a way that far surpassed all other fungi. The glow pulsated in the evening light, and a grin broke across Wild’s face as ran forward, clutching the stalk of the mushroom between his hands. It was hard to pull up, the mycelium reaching far into the ground. The mushroom was strong, but Wild was stronger. Eventually, the roots snapped and Wild stumbled backwards with the loss of resistance, landing hard on the ground but grinning from ear to ear at the massive mushroom in his hands. It was going to make a fantastic snack, he thought. And that, anyone would agree, was his second mistake.

Wild was a gentleman, so he let the bread throw the first punch. If what the bread did could, in fact, be called a punch. It moved in ways that shouldn’t have been possible for such a massive wall of freshly cooked yeasty goodness, traveling on invisible feet to hurl itself at Wild, whacking his head with the usually-satisfying crackle of crisp bread crust being torn. It didn’t sound as nice, up close; not when the bread was pounding into his skull.

He swung the spoon, then; whacking it into the side of the bread in a desperate attempt to bring down his biggest mistake. To undo the monster he had created. But the bread was a step ahead, as it always seemed to be. It made sense, he realized as it happened, that a bread that could come to life would also be able to absorb a wooden spoon.

The spoon disappeared into the side of the bread, consumed just like every other chance he had at defending himself. It was just him and his fists, now. Just Wild’s bare hands against the bread.

He didn’t take the mushroom back to the makeshift camp to show the others; if he did, they’d only tell him not to eat it. They’d say it’s ‘too big’ and ‘too orange’ and ‘doesn’t even grow around here where’d you find it put it back’. There were times he was absolutely sure that they didn’t want him to have any fun at all.

And so he set up right where he was. Started a fire, heated up his portable cooking pot, and set to work on preparing his latest creation.

The mushroom was powdery; almost flour-like, when he crushed it with a rock and sprinkled it into the pot. With a texture like that, only one course of action made sense: he was going to make bread. Or a pancake, really, given the supplies he had to work with. But it would be huge and delicious and when he brought it back to camp, everyone would ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ over how good it was. Just as long as they never found out what it was made out of.

He tossed in the other ingredients; some milk of questionable origins, an egg he’d found in a hot spring three or four months prior, and a sprinkle of his live yeast culture. Afterall, there was nothing worse than flat bread.

Once the last few ingredients were added, he stirred it all up with his spoon and sat on a rock to wait; humming quietly to himself as he watched the pot patiently. Alone, in the woods, cooking bread made out of mushrooms. It was truly the recipe for his third mistake.

With nothing left to fight back with, Wild flung his fists with all his might. They impacted against the side of the loaf, bread flakes flying but doing nothing to halt the path of carnage the loaf was creating. The fifth time his fist connected with the crust, he was forcefully reminded of the fate of his favorite spoon.

He was absorbed. Slowly, to give him the illusion of hope. His hand sunk into the bread, encased within the warm interior of his latest baking endeavor. “Yonkers!” He shouted in panic as the bread sucked him in up to her shoulder. He was powerless to fight back against the loaf; he had no weapons, and bread would not hear reason. He was well and truly trapped.

The bread didn’t stop rising when it hit pancake-height, but he didn’t really question it until it crested the rim of the pan. It just kept going up, and Wild could only stare in wonder at the cooking miracle he had discovered. They would be eating this bread for weeks; and he wouldn’t be leaving the area without a stockpile of the magical mushroom that had made it all possible.

See the full post

345 notes - Posted October 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Learned about a new frog yesterday. Some of you know of my love for frogs. Instagram knows this too, and likes to throw random frog pics at me. Anyway...

If Four was a frog, he'd be a Black Rain Frog

Evidence:

This poor creature hasn't felt joy since last year, at least

1,814 notes - Posted October 6, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #Top post checks out #What is that tag when did I do that

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inkandpen22 · 3 years ago

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Permanent Chaos (7/?)

Pairing: MGK x Female!Reader Word Count: 1.2k Warnings: none Part Summary: As Coachella continues, Y/N begins to think about what her and Colson may be. She knows what’s expected of her and the disapproval will follow if she were to act on their chemistry.

Masterlist

At breakfast this morning, Travis announced that he broke his charger last night and needed to run out to buy a new one. The majority of the group left with him, needing to go to the store for various reasons. I didn’t pay much attention but I know one of the reasons was because Kendall ran out of sunscreen. Which led Cara to go too. I guess from there everyone went along.

This brings me to the current moment, with the newfound aloneness, I decided to take a shower. Of course, I can’t take a shower without my music playing. I’ve seen too many horror movies and without music, I get freaked out. With everyone out, I can blast my music without worrying about bothering anyone. I live alone and my closest neighbors are pretty far so don’t usually have to consider others hearing it. Bonus, Sam and Penelope aren’t here to complain about my “dad music.”

After my nice prolonged shower, I start getting ready for the day. Using this opportunity to the fullest, I continue playing my music as I apply my makeup in front of the vanity in the bedroom. Being alone for the first time in days, I can sing and not worry about anyone hearing.

“You never told me you could sing…”

I nearly jump out of my skin upon hearing the sudden voice.

I whip around in my chair to find Colson snickering against the doorframe.

“Holy Jesus, Mary, and the camel!” I hold my hand to my chest. “What?”

“You can really sing,” he compliments, pushing off the frame to enter. "I mean, I knew you could rap a little, but you have a good voice."

“Wow gee, thanks!" I sass. "Oh! And that’s for the mild heart attack you gave me!” Turning back toward the mirror, I continue to apply my makeup. “I thought you left with everyone."

He moves to stand beside me, propping himself against the wall by the mirror. “No, I decided to stay back. Figured I could do some writing with the peace and quiet. You have a beautiful voice Y/N, why don’t you use it?”

I do use it. I use it when I dish him a big ole platter of sass.

“Because it’s not in my job description,” I joke, struggling to suppress my smirk.

Upon completing my makeup routine, I stand up and head out to the kitchen.

Colson follows close behind. “Sing with me!"

"Yeah, okay!” I laugh, not taking him seriously for a second.

He follows me into the kitchen like a lost puppy. As I pour myself a cup of coffee, he leans against the counter, propping himself on his elbows.

“No, seriously! Sing a duet with me on my next album!" He offers.

I look at him as though he has three heads. "You're nuts!" Moving past him, I head back to the room to get ready.

"At least stop by the studio when we go back!" He jogs past me and blocks my path before I can disappear into Sam and I's room to get dressed. "Just one song... think about."

I exhale deeply, concluding he won't leave me alone until I satisfy him at least a little bit. "Fine!" I comply. "I'll think about it."

Pleased, he grins and plants a quick kiss on my forehead. "You won't regret it!"

"Not making any promises. Now can I get some proper clothes on?" I ask rhetorically, gesturing down at my robed body."

"Oh! Yeah, yeah! Of course!" He stammers, moving out of my way.

I giggle, stepping into my room.

I can try but I don't think Steph or Nicole will be sold on the idea of me and Machine Gun Kelly sharing a duet.

___________________________________

Later that day...

After Coldplay's performance, Pete announces needs to charge his phone so I decide to tag along a do the same. He and I search the area for a charging tent and find one reasonably quickly. My phone isn’t terribly low but in case of a call from Steph or Nicole, I rarely let my phone go below sixty percent. We go for a walk around the immediate area while our phones charge.

I grip the straps of my backpack, kicking random pebbles as we go.

“So you and Colson..." Peter insinuates.

“Oh nooo," I drag out nervously.

He chuckles, “What? It’s obvious you two have a thing going.”

I keep my eyes focused on the ground as I kick the random pebbles. “Colson and I are complicated.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, he and I are still up in the air.”

“Colson has the tendency to be self-destructive in a way. He didn’t have the best experience as a kid. Travis and I have a theory that he puts up the tough-guy exterior because that’s his method of coping with his issues. Dom, Travis, and I, we’ve been with him so long that we’ve grown accustomed to his habits. He acts unattached and disconnected but he wears his heart on his sleeve. A total romantic he is. Exceptionally loyal, would go to war for the ones he loves. Though, you wouldn’t guess that when you first meet him huh?”

“Our first meeting wasn’t the most polite interaction. I’m not sure if he’s told you.”

Pete grins. “I was there actually.”

I was surprised, my walking slow. "You were at the party?”

He hums. “The four of us all went. Didn’t have the pleasure of meeting you that night but Colson spoke very fondly of you.”

“We fought...” I say curious as to why he would speak fondly of me after our conversation full of tension.

“Exactly, he said you were courageous, bold, a force to be reckoned with. I’ve seen him infatuated with a number of girls in the years we’ve been friends but nothing in comparison to how he talks about you.”

“But we have nothing in common,” I realize aloud.

Two weeks doesn’t quite allow a proper foundation for a relationship in my opinion.

“How are you so sure about that?”

“Well… I mean… we’re polar opposites!

Pete stops and places a hand on my shoulder. “Give him a chance,” he encourages. “I have a feeling you’ll be pleasantly surprised.” He turns around to head back to the charging station.

“It could get messy! Everyone will be against us!” I warn him of the factor that emerged in my mind.

He halts and turns to face me with a grin. “Yeah, he knows. He’s ready for the challenge if you are!”

Stunned, my lips part to debate another point, but I fall short of an argument.

Pete smirks and spins on his heels.

Which option will have the best outcome? Choose Colson and deal with the repercussions or listen to the many voices that will say it’ll never work? Normally I would take listen to the advice of others without hesitation. Perhaps the weekend was a test? The past two days have given me an opportunity to spend time with Colson. I’ve observed how he is around our friends and myself. Pete and Travis are right, he’s not what I expected at all. On the other hand, his fans will come after me. The media will have a frenzy. My family along with my team will be furious. Is he worth every ounce of the inevitable trouble?

Okay. I’ve made my choice. If it comes back to bite me in the ass so be it.

I accept the challenge.

__________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @canyoubuymetoast @bri-3530 @asil1652 @andstilltryingtofindmyself

@nadia2021 @olafsidehoe @mgkobsessed @fairywriting101

@ferrell-cat @naylanae-0308 @tonystarkswife10 @alexsa56

@brocksbabyyy @stormrider505 @magnificenthumancopangel

@sarcasticfangirlus @lilramencup95beech @missyviolet123 @skeleton-gxrl @glitterybearllamaflap @margaritaville20 @amoresixx

@Thysagclub @hockeybabe87 @iamasimpingh0e

#mgk smut #mgk aesthetic #mgk imagine #mgk fanfic #mgk #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly fanfic #machine gun kelly imagine

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limitlessgojo · 4 years ago

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Blood Bound: Red Strings of Fate (Ch 12)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Descriptions of Blood

Previous Chapter: Kyoto-Tokyo Goodwill Event

Next Chapter: Home Sweet Home

Tags: Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Taglist: @lessie-oxj @rizzo-nero @whoreuc @fkngkumiko @isl3t @gojoussunglasses @onepotatostand-blog @s-t-f-u-b-i-t-c-h @sunaswife @lordguameow @track5enthusiast

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, please mention it in the comments below ty <3

2.8k words for this chapter.

Chapter 12: Goldenrod

You went to check on Noritoshi getting cleaned up in the infirmary. He perked up upon seeing you.

"Ieiri San!" You smiled at the woman who was dressing his wounds.

"Y/n, it's been a while. How are you?" She called out.

"Doing okay here. You let your hair grow out!" You hurried to her side for a quick hug.

She laughed. "The last time we saw each other, I still had short hair?? That must have been years back. You as well, from a little girl that came up to my waist, you're nearly my height now!"

You nodded wistfully at her before turning to Noritoshi, looking over his wounds. "I'm alright, y/n." He said quietly. You gave him a shaky smile, quietly hiding the fact that you were worried when he got knocked around by some of the seniors.

Ieiri smiled at the both of you. "No need to worry, he is fine y/n."

"Ayiieeee, lovebirds get a room!" Satoru popped up from behind you. You flinched hard and on pure instinct, lashed out with your whip. It sprung out, but Satoru easily stopped it with two fingers up. "Women in love are so scary."

"Toru nii, can you not?!" You wanted to skin this man alive. Ieiri just sighed out, cleaning up her tools. "I've done what I can Kamo kun. Try to get more rest for tomorrow." He nodded, "Thank you Ieiri san."

"Wahhh, you got kicked around huh Noritoshi? You look all worn out. Ain't my students amazing?!" Satoru taunted.

CRACK. Satoru teleported a few meters away. The space where he was a few seconds ago was filled with ice and frost.

Your face was hard as stone as you said, "Noritoshi did amazing. He did his best to coordinate with his team members as he fought against 2 of his seniors. Okkotsu kun was just different as a Special Class. But of course you know all about that, Toru."

"Why so defensive Neko Chan? I didn't say your man didn't do well right?" He drawled.

You opened your mouth, eyes furrowed, ready to retort when Noritoshi pulled you to him, gently hushing you as he softly patted your back. "He's riling you up. It's okay, I've learned a lot from today. It's our loss."

You leaned into Noritoshi, "You're too nice to that dumbass."

"Hey! Anyways, I wanted to speak with the both of you. If you're done here let's go." Satoru motioned towards the door with his head.

Both of you turned to him, before looking at each other and nodding.

◇◇◇

Satoru led you both to his room. "So, how long has your soulmate bond been active?" He asked as he closed the door.

Noritoshi was surprised, "How did you know about this?"

You nudged him. "He's my family friend, he eventually found out." You lied for the sake of protecting the details of Satoru's six eyes ability.

Satoru removed his blindfold, revealing his crystalline like eyes. "Yup, don't worry your secret is safe with me. I'm surprised but not too surprised that it's the two of you." He sighed out.

You crossed your arms and sat on his bed. "What do you mean?" Noritoshi remained standing.

"Both of you are just so different. And I've known you both since before. I guess it just never crossed my mind that you'd be together.

A soulmate bond is incredibly rare and fragile as you know. And I guess it only fits since both of you are more complementary to each other rather than have similar personalities like twin flames.

I have the soulmate records of some from the Gojo clan if that would help. But Noritoshi, sorry I have to ask you not to share it with your family." He said.

Ahh. The Great 3 clans still hold their secrets. You turned to Noritoshi, worriedly looking for his reaction.

He had this internal war of obedience to his clan elders vs seeing you so close to Satoru and seeing another side of the Gojo and Tsuchimikado clans like this.

"Toshi, if you can't, it's okay, we don't need to read it." You said carefully. "I know how hard it is to keep secrets from family."

Noritoshi mulled it over. Satoru was actually sizing him up. Seeing his family friend get entangled with a great 3 clan's future head… he would be lying if he wasn't worried for you.

“I’m assuming that there might be some details or secrets of the Gojo clan involved in the diary entries, which is why you’re being wary of me. But you have offered to let me read it, which already shows a bit of trust. As a future clan head, I know the significance of keeping good relationships with the other clans and elders. And so, I promise not to tell anyone else of the details in the diary.” Nori said solemnly.

Satoru perked up at that and smiled, “There shouldn’t be a problem then. Here, you both can have a look. Return it to me tomorrow afternoon. I hope it can help with your situation. It must be scary not knowing anyone else to turn to for help with the bond.”

You felt touched by that, “Thank you Satoru.”

◇◇◇

That night, you slept over once more in Noritoshi’s room, reading the excerpts.

"A soulbond can be rejected?!" You both stared at the notebook in horror.

"That must be so painful… imagine shutting down your fated pair." You murmured, turning to Noritoshi.

He patted you and nodded. "Hey look at this." He pointed to another passage.

“Wow, they can really telepathically communicate with complete sentences, that’s insane.” You said in awe.

Noritoshi cozied up to your side, playfully nudging his head against yours. “You want that for us too someday angel?”

You turned and bumped your nose against his before kissing him. “Of course, I want to experience everything with you Noritoshi.”

Noritoshi’s heart skipped a beat or two at that. His pulse was irregular for once. What on earth was that feeling? He confusedly looked down at his chest and patted it. He checked his vitals with his technique, but everything was in order.

You worried over him, “Are you not feeling okay? You got hit in the chest earlier right? We can call it a night and rest, you need sleep for tomorrow’s individual battles.”

“Okay then. Let’s quickly skim the diary.” You both caught a few important details, like how strong trust and honesty can strengthen a soulbond.

After spending time with each other and having significant encounters (“What on earth does that mean?” Nori asked. “Maybe like notable events with each other” you supplied.) helps a couple to move forward from one stage of the bond to another.

Something caught Noritoshi's eye. Reverse cursed techniques and some other advanced techniques that usually can only be done on oneself can be applied to the other soulmate.

That made him wonder… if he could manipulate your blood. But he put that thought aside for next time, unwilling for you to be a subject of experiment.

After that you both went to bed. "I'm gonna have such a hard time sleeping alone after spending so much time in bed with you." You whined out.

He chuckled, "Then just stay over as often as you want to. I like sharing the bed with you. It's not like it's cramped for the both of us." He pressed his lips to your forehead as you kissed him on the neck.

His heart squeezed tightly once more. What was wrong with him?! He was used to having it speed up whenever he was around you and attributed it to regular attraction. But this was different. His chest was tight, almost painful, and it was getting harder to breathe.

"Okay then. No take backs." You smiled, before closing your eyes. Noritoshi watched the moonlight illuminate your features for a bit before falling asleep.

◇◇◇

The next day, the lots were out. They announced that it would be a duel between 2 students on top of thick, tall, vertical standing logs set in a small lake. First one to push the other off the logs and into the water or out of bounds wins. Momo senpai has a huge advantage with no handicap at this.

To your slight horror, Okkotsu Yuuta was matched against Noritoshi. You visibly paled, but he went up and squeezed your hand before he left for the event. “I’ll be okay.” He promised.

“Oh you will be okay. I’ll make sure of it.” You said determinedly, already planning to step in just in case Rika goes wild on Noritoshi. Your thoughts were cut as Nori poked your forehead.

“I can hear your thoughts. Have a little more faith in me.” He gave a small smile. You nodded dumbly.

You watched the matches. None of them were particularly eye-opening. Until it was time for Okkotsu to fight Noritoshi. You clasped your hands together in prayer, eyes and senses wide open.

“Ready, Start!” Satoru called out.

Noritoshi immediately fired arrows, which honed on Okkotsu even though he tried to dodge. Good technique. Okkotsu had some trouble keeping up with the arrows and Noritoshi quickly moved in to punch him hard.

But Okkotsu was quick on his feet, leaping back diagonally onto another log before slashing at Noritoshi with his Katana. It went on a bit like this. With both men trading blows back and forth. They had decent balance on top of the logs.

Until Noritoshi made a major move, “Blood Manipulation: Slicing Exorcism!” He cut down a huge number of logs in Okkotsu’s area.

Okkotsu barely held on, jumping to another log that was borderline about to collapse. The water was now dangerously filled with the sharp edges of cut wood.

Your eyes brightened, ‘Please win Toshi.’

Noritoshi moved in for the kill, “Red Flowing Scale”, the X mark appeared on his eye as he readied to knock Okkotsu off. Until the dark mass that had been hanging around Okkotsu screamed, making everyone wince. “Yuuutaaa! You’ll get hurt if you fall down now!”

Satoru had explained that Orimoto Rika was the Special Grade curse with overwhelming power. Rika made a half-manifestation, easily smacking Noritoshi away. But she hit him too hard on the head, sending him flying way past the little lake set up.

Everyone gasped and yelled in horror. You saw red.

He was going to hit the ground hard. You stood up, slowing down his body in midair as you blasted your way over to him. You caught him in time.

"Angel?" He looked up to see you, and his heart tightened again. Ah... this might be love.

"Shhh, it's alright Toshi. You've done really well. Don’t speak," You worriedly activated your Reverse Cursed Technique as you floated down to the ground, hugging Noritoshi tighter.

“Thank you for catching me.” He patted your arm weakly. Blood was streaming down his temples. Not a good sign. “Ieiri san!” You cried out, but she was already making her way towards the both of you.

“Winner! Okkotsu Yuuta!”

Your blood boiled, but you knew it was still Okkotsu’s win. ‘He didn’t have to be that harsh on Noritoshi.’ “Age doesn’t matter to Jujutsu sorcerers darling.” Noritoshi coughed out as though he could read your mind. “I said not to talk!” You worriedly scolded him.

Ieiri quickly activated her reverse cursed technique alongside yours. Hers was incredibly refined, easily sealing up Noritoshi’s popped blood vessels. “Infirmary.” She said, putting a brace around his neck just in case of any spinal injuries.

“I’m so sorry, Rika went overboard!” Okkotsu yelled out. He looked really worried and sincere. You shifted uncomfortably; the apology isn’t for you so you backed away. Noritoshi waved him off, “It’s okay. Thank you for the fight, Okkotsu kun.”

A few more apologies and words of thanks were exchanged before Noritoshi was sent to rest in the infirmary. Satoru caught you by the collar, “Stay until the end of the event. Shoko will take care of Noritoshi.”

You glumly nodded. To be honest, Okkotsu was really friendly, easily chatting with all of you. And you all were delighted, laughing hard when Rika beat the living shit out of Todo as he tried to harass Okkotsu for his ideal type. The Tokyo kids weren’t too bad.

◇◇◇

“Take care y/n!” Satoru hugged you tight as the Tokyo school students and staff readied to go home. “Thanks again for everything Satoru.” You already returned his diary to him in Noritoshi’s place. He was still resting up in the infirmary.

“Hey…. Have you ever considered transferring to Tokyo Jujutsu Tech?”

‘What?’

“No, why would I? Noritoshi and my family are here.” You were taken aback.

Satoru looked thoughtful, “I could teach you a lot, and honestly I’d love to have you as my student. You’re really strong y/n. Think about it. Later!” and walked off with the rest of them, leaving you at a loss for words.

◇◇◇

It’s been a while since you’ve been dating Noritoshi, and everything seemed a bit brighter. Like the sun seemed to be really strong, the flowers smelled so nice, the air currents seemed to bend a little more easily under the command of your technique.

'Is this the effect of our bond?' You wondered to yourself, but then quickly shook away the thoughts to focus on your task.

A few days have passed since the Goodwill event. You would be lying if you said you weren’t inspired by watching Okkotsu and Rika fight. Rika was just a force to be reckoned with.

Learning how to move well in mid-air was a challenge, but it wasn't impossible thanks to your inherited technique. Since you grew up mainly focusing on items around you and the four elements, you were still having some difficulty with some mobility techniques.

But there was something you’ve been itching to do. Aside from working on your cursed technique: reversal, domain expansion, extension techniques, etc., there was another special technique that ran in the family.

You remembered your father’s words: “Lightning is generated in the presence of both hot and cold air. You can manipulate molecules to generate both. But doing it simultaneously is the challenge. The ice shards in the cold air collide with the warm water particles in mid air, causing static electricity to form."

"That way, you separate positive and negative charges in a space. That is how you generate your electricity. Take particular care, because for this to happen, you need to master both your extension technique: Niflheim and technique reversal: Inferno.”

For personal reasons, you didn’t like using Inferno. Because the last time you successfully used it was when you were 6 years old and it caused a disaster. A memory which you’ve buried so far under everything else that you continuously try to forget about it.

But for the sake of the secret art, you will.

“Merging techniques… does any other jujutsushi do this…” You wondered.

You set up several targets of bamboo shoots and wood. “Niflheim.” You froze a target then took a deep breath before trying your reversed technique.

“Cursed Technique Reversal: Inferno.” You put out two hands and linked your thumb and ring finger in each hand together. One hand facing the other from above and below. Then a red light appeared as you encircled and swapped the positions of your hands.

This hand movement activates Inferno as the target immediately explodes from the rapid heat expanding the cooled target. Steam and smoke billowed out. You let out a slow breath. So you can still do it even after all these years.

“Special Art: Goldenrod.” You manipulated Inferno in one palm and Niflheim in the other. Your left hand had your ring and thumb still linked together. While your right hand uses the 4 pointer hand position designed for Niflheim.

At first it just made small explosions of steam. Your hands got really sore from the back and forth temperature control.

This is where it gets tricky. Goldenrod has to be activated within your hands. So you also guard your hands against the drastic temperatures with your cursed energy, as you do when you control fire.

It hasn't worked out so far. Maybe you simply had to condense the molecules. You condensed them further and started seeing small sparks of lightning.

Your eyes widened in joy. You tried activating it once more with more cursed energy, only for a huge bolt of lightning to shoot out from your hands and destroy a large amount of targets. There was a loud crack of thunder.

You didn’t expect the energy to be this high as you were pushed back from the force. The air was knocked out from your lungs as you hit the ground hard.

“I think I need help. Maybe Satoru nii can...” you wondered to yourself. ‘Is it worth bothering him over something like this…’ With a shock, you realized you were actually considering his words to transfer to Tokyo Jujutsu High. “No way.” You laughed it off with uncertainty.

Blood Bound: Table of Contents

#blood bound #red strings of fate #kamo noritoshi x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk x you #noritoshi fluff #noritoshi x you #noritoshi x reader #noritoshi headcanons #jjk x oc #jjk x y/n #jjk spoilers #satoru gojo

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grittyreadsfic · 4 years ago

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hello my friends, one singular person asked for this weeks ago so i’m here with my most unhinged rec list yet: tk and nolan.

now, this one was hard to reign in, so i really didn’t. this pairing had maybe 230 fics in the tag when i first started reading hockey fic, and it’s now over 900, and i’ve read far too many of them, and that makes it so hard to parse it down. so i just...didn't!

so with that said, please enjoy so you want to get into tknp: a beginners guide to a classic case of idiots to lovers

i told myself that i couldn’t rec an author’s entire body of work but then i remembered this is my blog and i do what i want, so i did some consolidating. here’s a list of the quintessential authors for this pairing, you can start at any of their profiles and pick any of their fics at random, and it’ll be one of the best ones for the pairing, hands down.

therainbowsedge: i’d start with the summer camp fic, or the sex toys one, as both beautifully capture the true idiots to lovers nature of this pairing, but just top tier writing all around

manybumblebees: the wedding fic is so tender and port stanley is a classic, but literally pick any single fic and you’ll have a perfect tknp fic. i’m not kidding

jamesvanriemsdick: their tknp fics in their series are some of the hidden gems of this pairing (the tk heartbeat fic makes me LOSE it) but the delaware fic or the seattle fic…..there’s really something for every mood

catchascatchcan: start with era of gods because i could write literal essays on how it’s some of the best fantasy worldbuilding i’ve ever read, but then just read everything else on their account, including non tknp fics. you won’t regret it

hackysack: ao3 user hackysack has written one of two timeloop fics that i absolutely adore, and i thought about just calling that one out in particular, but all of their work deserves the attention

canary: nothing to prove was the first tknp fic i ever read and i was immediately hooked. all of their fics are a good starting place for the pairing, and just really give you a feeling for the pairing

and now, for the fic recs!

to be, despite it all by smudgedfreckles

summary: or, nolan patrick’s gender thesis, by travis konecny.

why i love it: there’s not a lot ofo nonbinary characters in media, even in fic, but this fic’s treatment of nolan and their path to figuring out their gender just feels so real and made me feel so seen. tk’s characterization is also just top notch, and it’s just a super sweet story about two people who love each other

last ones standing by makeit_takeit

summary: If you’re committed to finding your future spouse, reads the last line of the ad, and are ready to look at yourself and your love life in a whole new way, apply now.

At the bottom of the ad there’s a link, and Travis finds his finger hovering over the screen, lip still caught between his teeth.

“I mean,” he says very reasonably, speaking out loud to his empty apartment like some sort of possibly-crazy person, “just applying doesn’t mean anything. Maybe I just fill it out, and see what happens. It’s not like I’m really gonna get picked to be on TV, come on.”

He snorts out loud, just to show his apartment he hasn’t lost his grip on reality or anything; he fully understands how ludicrous that would be.

Then he clicks the link anyway, because yolo or whatever.

why i love it: what part of a married at first sight fic doesn’t make you want to immediately dive right in? the concept is fun, the execution is absolutely flawless, and it captures their dynamic so well while letting it develop naturally

motivation by connectknee

summary: Kevin knows when to back off, the article said. He knows just when to shut up and leave Patty alone, something Travis has never known how to do.

why i love it: the thing i love about this pairing is that tk is loud and in your face, and nolan’s more reserved, a little quieter, a little harder to read. this fic does a really great job of exploring how tk could feel like maybe he’s just a bit too much and is one of my favorites in terms of miscommunication

a tenderness grows by rusesdeguerre

summary: Nolan wouldn’t say that landing a job as the Philadelphia Flyers’ psychotic and probably clinically insane mascot was a childhood dream of his. Maybe tangentially: playing pond hockey in –30°C weather and pretending to be Sidney Crosby is practically a rite of passage when you grow up in Manitoba. That, and experiencing the distinct displeasure that is thousands of mosquitoes sucking your blood out when your father drags you on a father-son camping trip into the backwoods of the northern Canadian Prairies.

why i love it: this was the first fic i recced on this blog, and i stand by that decision. a fic where nolan is not only not a hockey player, but is in fact the person in the gritty suit? absolutely perfect, and so charming from start to finish

meet me at my window by springsteen

summary: Travis has lived in Philadelphia for a few years now, long enough to know there isn’t a major city in America where superheroes don’t destroy an entire city block trying to save humanity or whatever. He can deal with all the super-shit, but Travis did not sign up for getting woken up from a deep sleep because some fucker’s trying to break in through his window.

(5 times the super-villain known as "The Cat" breaks into Travis's apartment, plus 1 time Travis invites him in.)

why i love it: there’s a lot of things to love here, but the concept is just absolutely one of my all time favorite aus ever. it’s fun and charming and the perfect glimpse into a world where heroes and villains exist, and what it’s like just to be a run of the mill kind of guy existing in it. tk and nolan’s back and forth in this make it so engaging, and it’s such a top tier fic

body’s in trouble by cloudsandpassingevents

summary: “Oh, sorry,” someone says. “Didn’t know anyone else was here.”

Nolan freezes, then turns around very slowly. When he looks up, Nicklas fucking Backstrom is standing behind him in a hoodie and baggy sweats, holding the biggest bag of Swedish Fish Nolan’s ever seen in his life in one hand.

“Uh,” Nolan says around the pop tart between his teeth. “Yeah.”

What the fuck, his brain helpfully supplies.

why i love it: from nolan’s inner voice, to the way the author explores all the dynamics within the team, to the way they write the unexpected but actually, it kind of makes sense friendship between nolan and backstrom, is just absolutely fantastic. there’s a lot of moments that circle back and build on each other in a way that really just makes it super compelling

rhizomatic foundations by lighthousetowers

summary: Twenty days after he moves in with Kevin Hayes, twenty days – three months, five months, depending on how you look at it – after not talking to TK, TK shows up at the front door with a plant the size of a basketball in his hands.

TK grins. "Patty, meet Reginald." He lifts up the plant. "Reggie, meet Patty. He's going to be your new - caretaker."

"What the fuck," says Nolan, not moving a single muscle.

Or: That Nolan can hear the plant talk might as well just happen.

why i love it: this is probably my favorite magical realism fic just about ever. it’s fun and charming and a little weird, but in the best possible way. there’s such a wonderful narrative in it, and lighthousetowers always has such beautiful writing, and it really shines in this one. the dialogue and nolan’s characterization are also part of what set it apart for me as one of the best tknp fics

in the dark of any town by mengetpegged

summary: If the voice has an accent at all, it’s a flat prairie Canadian, with none of G’s French-Canadian softness at the edges. But mostly, the accent is just ‘pissed off,’ which TK believes is a default setting for ghosts.

“Who are you?” TK asks, and he doesn’t like how strained his voice sounds, doesn’t like the tinge of anxiety tinting the rise of his question. He tries to regulate his breaths—in through his nose, hold, out through his mouth—but it feels like he’s not getting enough oxygen, which makes him panic even more.

“Someone with a fucking migraine, dickhead,” the voice says. “So keep the lights off and shut the hell up.”

(or: Nolan Patrick, Hotel X Ghost)

why i love it: i’m usually not super into ghost fics, both the spooky kind and the nonspooky kind, but this one is a rare exception. it’s charming and fun and tender and it’s got some of, in my opinion, the best characterization of tk and nolan in any fic. the way the author writes their dynamic and their dialogue is just unmatched

lets_make_this_moment_a_crime.mp3 by honeydripping

summary: Travis meets Nolan at a Midtown show in 2002 when he punches Nolan in the face. He can’t help it, “Like A Movie” just goes off.

But he does feel guilty about it.

TK and Patty work at a bakery together. They go to punk shows to pass the time.

why i love it: idk if anyone asked for an early 2000s emo/punk/alt au but wow! i sure am glad it exists! really the vibes of this fic, as silly as that sounds, are absolutely unmatched. i love the structure with the music, the development of their relationship, and just everything about how the author wrote the setting (there’s this whole thing with tattoos in it that makes me feel absolutely insane)

you’re ripped at every edge by you’re a masterpiece by conformityissuicide

summary: “Ugh, look, this yoga teacher has it out for me, man. And I can’t go back there without at least having some of the basics down. I’ve got to win this battle.”

“Yoga isn’t really something you win at,” Hartsy starts.

Travis cuts him off, “You can win at anything if you try hard enough.”

+++

OR that time Nolan's a grumpy yoga teacher and Travis realizes he wants to bone him and prove him wrong about Travis' non-existent yoga abilities.

why i love it: listen, if you want tknp, at least one of them has to be an idiot, and this tk absolutely captures the obliviousness i love to see in him in fic. it’s such a great characterization of them both and such a great concept (and even better execution)

you form a terror pack (and i’m aware of that) by dalmatienne

summary: “Can I help you?” TK snarks, both eyebrows hiked up in a way that has earned her many elbow checks to the ribs.

The chick looks down her nose, long thick eyelashes fluttering. Red-bitten lips part to blow a florid pink bubble and TK can smell the chemical sweetness when it pops.

“Yeah,” she says in this monotonous voice that seems almost at odds with her bubble gum and neon skates. She jams her stopper into TK’s thigh again, literally inches away from where it’d really hurt. “Tie ‘em.”

why i love it: to be honest, i generally don’t read rule 63 within hrpf, but this one is just absolutely knocks it out of the park. the concept (i fuckin’ love roller derby), the characterization of nolan, the pacing, the rituals, the tone of the entire fic, it’s just all around a perfect read from start to finish

thrills and grills by bitter_leaf

summary: Travis can’t even begin to wonder what he did in a previous life to incur the wrath of this fucking cook. Travis thinks he’s a nice person, doesn’t conduct himself in any way that could be considered particularly dickish, and unless this guy has some sort of issue with hockey bros or people from the boonies, he’s not sure how he started shit without even knowing.

Patty has a vendetta. Travis just wants to eat his eggs in peace.

why i love it: honestly this is the enemies to lovers fic i’ve been waiting for. i remember seeing the reddit post when it first went viral and thinking it would make such a great fic premise, so stumbling across this one was just so wonderful. super engaging and fun and so hilarious to read!

nothing but room for you by fightingfuries

summary: When his agent tells him he’s going to be traded to the Devils, Nolan isn't sure how he feels about it. Might be easier if he was going somewhere farther away, like California or fucking Florida. Somewhere sun-soaked and foreign. Someplace so different from Philadelphia that he can forget he ever played for the Flyers, forget everything that happened there.

Or Nolan fucks up, gets traded, gets his shit together and falls in love. Not necessarily in that order.

why i love it: i cannot stress to you how much i love trade fics, and this one is one of my absolute favorites. the trade to the devils-so close to philly, still, but there’s more to distance than physical miles-was such an excellent choice and the split timeline adds so much to the narrative, and the emotions are real and messy and complicated in the best way

a couple of runaways (i’m glad you stayed) by overturnedgoal

summary: The person in the video he’s watching is super annoying. Some obnoxious holier than thou granola type who keeps talking about their environmental impact as if they aren’t driving a gas guzzler around, but the basic idea of living in a van, driving around wherever, camping all the time, just going hiking and swimming and seeing the whole country? It sounds pretty dope, honestly.

why i love it: i like to watch tours and conversions of vans/buses into tiny homes as a self soothing method, and this fic has the same impact that watching those do. it’s such a fun concept, and it’s so fuckin’ soft, and the dialouge between tk and nolan is just *chef’s kiss*

all candor and style in the crook of your smile by p3trichor

summary: It’s a photo of Nolan on his knees with someones’ fingers in his mouth, lips slick with spit. Travis flicks by it almost too fast and he’s only got seconds to decide if he wants to screenshot it, if he wants to just give up the ghost right then and there. Except Travis’s phone freezes momentarily and then the group refreshes, sidcros87, Bert59 and 14 others took a screenshot!

It’s gone before Travis even has time to process it and he already wasted his replay of the day on a stupid video of a stupid fish that Hayes caught.

Can you send me that screenshot Travis texts Bertuzzi before he can overthink it, his dick already stirring in his sweats. Tuzzi sends back the cry-laughing emoji and then the screenshot before Travis can be too annoyed at him.

Or, Nolan is being weird about Travis's break-up and TK is maybe not straight.

why i love it: i genuinely don’t think i have words for the amount i love this fic. it took me forever to actually read, but it’s absolutely one of my favorite fics, and it’s an absolutely riot to read. carter’s meddling and the presence of tyler bertuzzi both make it extra fun, in my humble opinion

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maliciouslycreative · 4 years ago

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How I played damage control to an anti in a small anime fandom and may have led to her ultimate downfall

I know I had a really nice write up of this at one point but oh well. I’ll spill more of the tea in this one because honestly the tea was so hot.

There are a few things that I have to give context to first. Gaia online was like THE mega forum of the 2000s, you made a little avatar and through posting and doing other activities on the forum you made money to buy clothes for your avatar. There were forums for everything but the fannish portions were really what drew in most of the people. The anime I was into was Beyblade. It was a shonen anime about fighting with tops that were possessed by the spirits of magical creatures. The story was honestly pretty average but the characters were fantastic and the fandom is to this day still one of my favourites. The series had a primarily male cast and didn’t even have a female lead until the second season. This led to the fanfic for the English fandom being about 70% canon/OC, 10 % canon m/f, and 20% slash. The most popular character in the English fandom was by far Kai Hiwatari, the loner badboy of the team.

Also before we get started I would like to add that one of my best friends was neck deep in this and the two of us were more or less fandom married. This is the same friend that I fake dated, had feelings for, and she nearly got me into kpop in 2011 so like if you haven’t read that story please read it too because it will give you a good idea of how stupid I am and how much of a fanfic I have truly lived.

To set the stage I was 16, soon to be 17 when I joined the fandom and it was 2004. In September of that year I wrote a humour longfic that became an absolute smash hit and I found myself somehow fandom famous. It was around this time that I joined Gaia online. I made my little avatar and immediately went looking for the beyblade thread so that I could make new friends. I found the main thread, made my little introduction and at the end of it mentioned that I was a slash writer but I supported all ships. This is where I met C. She had declared herself the authority on Beyblade in these parts and I had just committed the crime of mentioning slash which was very obviously not canon and we did not discuss in this thread because we only discussed canon things. I was like well that’s a bit severe but like sure whatever I just want to hang out and have fun.

Oh boy did I have no idea what I was in for.

C was a year older than me and unfortunately that made her older than the majority of the fans at the time. Her favourite character was Kai, and she was not shy about talking about this fact. She stanned Kai above all other characters, and often at their expense. She was also a fanfic writer of a popular canon/OC series. Actually, she was so full of herself that she didn’t even call herself a fanfic writer, no her stories were in fact novels and were apparently very good. I never read them. But more on that later.

Eventually the slash fans got tired of her being rude to us in the general thread so we made a Beyblade slash thread. There was a core of like 8 or so of us and we honestly had sooo much fun. When C would be too unbearable in the main thread the people from there used to come over to our thread and we’d chat with them about non slash stuff because we were honestly all multishippers and just wanted to have fun. We’d get comments like “wow, I’ve had more pleasant canon het ship discussions in the slash thread than the regular thread”. We never worried about C coming over and getting upset about comments like this because she refused to be associated with anything related with slash lmao.

I tried my best to keep the peace between C, myself, and the rest of the fandom because ultimately I hate being in fandom drama. I just want everyone to have a good time. I’m a people pleaser. Unfortunately my newfound fame put me in the awkward position of being the most fandom popular person in our small community aside from C. Virtually every fan that read fanfics that came into our thread knew one of us or the other by reputation and C HATED this. Especially because people would come in to the thread, recognise me and go “oh my goodness I love your fanfics!” and I’d be super sweet with them and it’d lead into “I can’t believe how nice you are, I love you” which would lead to us crying at each other. This was not the kind of fan interaction that C got, no her fans were more kind that were there to praise her and worship her like a deity that had blessed them with some gift. Rarely did they tell her how kind she was.

Back in the mid 2000s there were really commonly those commercials (usually by Christian organisations) asking people to sponsor say children in Africa or to help build schools or provide drinking water. You all probably know the ones; know the language that they used in those commercials. My fandom wife, who I suppose I shall call wifey because yes we were THAT couple back then, once said that C described her fics like those people described donating money to save the lives of Children in Africa. So we used to joke that her fics were so good they’d save lives in Africa. Looking back at it all, she almost had a very fundamentalist Christian approach to bringing people into her fanfics. She of course tried to get all the slash people into reading it. None of us read canon/oc fic mostly due to our poor treatment at the hands of their fans and creators. Getting fed up I one day told her that if she would read any one of my fanfics that I would read the entirety of her novels. Yes, I was willing to commit to read a couple 100k of canon/oc fanfic that I’d never touch normally if she would even read one of my 1k 1 shots. Heck, I had a fic even that shipped 2 minor characters so she didn’t even have to sully herself reading about one of the main characters. It was honestly a good deal in her favour. I kept this up until the day we all left the fandom. Sometimes I do wonder if her fics were even ¼ as good as she claimed, but I will never know because she refused to read my fics.

She wasn’t all bad and a tyrant all the time. As long as people kept the conversations on track and didn’t come in to the thread saying things like “KAI IS SO HOT ND T3H BEST N I AM GUN 2 MARRY HIM” she stayed mostly civil. It was always hilarious watching InuYahsa or Naruto fans try to come in and bad mouth Beyblade because they’d unleash the dragon and C was great at chasing off undesirables in the thread.

The real apex of goings on though on Gaia was the guild drama. So guilds were like exclusive themed mini forums within Gaia. Anyone could buy one and run it however they want, as long as it still adhered to Gaia’s ToS. C of course was the owner of the only Beyblade guild. The fandom wasn’t really big enough to support 2 guilds so we just kind of let it go. Technically she allowed people to post slash fanfics but like everything had to be explicitly tagged and there was absolutely no slash RP. Wifey and I controlled a handful of minor characters together in the forum RP and definitely used to try to push the boundaries a little bit. Some ambiguous flirting here, a stray comment there. It was such a fragile balance though because C was heavy on the ban button. The active portion of the guild was just people that were in the cult of C and worshipped her writing.

Understandably the other slash fans and myself were getting disheartened by this. So we pooled our funds together and decided that we’d open a second guild that though it was run by slash fans we would welcome anyone into our ranks. We just wanted to have a fun place for everyone to hang out, and to hopefully run a few events out of. In hindsight, we should have seen what would happen. When we opened the guild, with me as the guild leader, it was like somebody blew up the whole dam protecting the delicate ecosystem we had cultivated. Every single person in the Gaia fandom that was not a zealous follower of C applied to be in our guild and left her guild. We of course figured that we’d attract some of the gen population but we did not expect to accidentally poach all of it. All of the moderators were getting messages from people thanking us for giving them a place where they could say whatever they wanted without fear of getting their faces ripped off or banned.

C lost her shit. She was so mad that we went behind her back to ruin her guild. We literally had to show her posts in the very public slash thread that we had been planning this in public and that it was not to ruin her life. We just wanted a place where we could freely post slash. The two of us had some spicy comments back and forth and then she dropped an absolute bombshell on me. Since Gaia’s mail system is terrible I unfortunately no longer have exactly what she said but it was something along the lines of “Ok, you win. I’m going to close my guild.”. Us slash fans had never been doing this to win anything. We had never been competing. We just wanted a safe space to be ourselves.

C never joined our guild. The fandom slowly faded out within the next year anyway. We weren’t getting new content so naturally people just drifted into other fandoms. C kept up with the main Beyblade thread for a lot longer than most of us but eventually that eventually faded into obscurity too.

I learned a lot about fandom bullies from those days. But honestly the thing that stuck with me the most out of everything was that if you provide a positive safe space for people they will flock to it. It may seem like there are so many hostile people out there, but there really aren't. They're the minority but they just make sure that their voice is the loudest. The best way is to ignore them and just do your own thing. The bullies just want attention and if you don’t give it to them and prove to them that their opinion doesn’t matter to you then they’ll move in and find something else to yell at.

#malicious musings #stacey's adventures in fandom drama #lol #honestly it was such a fucking wild time #if i think of any other specific instances of drama i'll add them #god i wish i had screenshots of some of what went on #but sadly going through archived gaia posts is easier said than done

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cagestark · 4 years ago

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The Rest it Kills

About this: ballerina!peter and mobster!tony. Starker. Physical and emotional between established quentin beck/peter parker.

THIS IS UNFINISHED. Anyone is welcome to continue it.

“FRIDAY, baby? Do you have the shot?”

It’s a celebration, which does nothing to explain why the room gets quiet as soon as Tony enters it. Around the table are four of his best and brightest, the handful of underlings that were instrumental in helping Tony execute his vision of how to repay Adrian Toomes for encroaching upon his weapons market. For a job well done, he’d invited them up to the penthouse to have at his expensive collection of spirits.

He’d left them alone for only a half hour to make a few calls, but now upon his return they were shifty eyed and babbling about something inconsequential, a sure sign that they had hastily changed the subject.

“Alright,” Tony says, pouring himself a glass of scotch. “Out with it. I’m a paranoid bastard at best. At worst?—well. Ask Toomes.”

“It’s nothing bad, Tony,” Rogers says. If the fact that Rogers hadn’t told a lie his entire life didn’t put Tony at ease, then his clear eyes and voice did. Rogers was his number two, and they got on thick as thieves. He’s about as likely to lie to Tony as the sun is not to rise.

“Then I’m not angry,” Tony says, taking the empty seat. “But now I’m curious. Which is worse?”

“Angry,” Wilson says in that deadpan way that Tony just adores.

“Come on, don’t leave me in suspense,” Tony says, finishing his scotch with a single gulp. He pours himself another.

It’s Romanov who—doesn’t break, per say. Tony isn’t convinced that there’s anything that could break Natasha, though if they were on opposite sides, he might have a few places he’d be willing to start. She must weigh the pros and cons and decide that letting Tony in on their little secret is the best move. Whether it’s best for her, for them, or for someone else, Tony can’t say.

She shifts and pulls out a piece of paper folded in half and tosses it across the table. Barnes and Rogers groan.

“Nat, you rat,” Barnes says.

“Wow,” she says, eyes glittering. “That rhymed, Bucky. It was beautiful.”

“What the fuck is this?” Tony wonders out loud as he unfolds the paper. It turns out to be nothing extraordinary. It’s a program for the New York City Ballet. The ballet is something new by Ratmansky, with principal dancers MAXIMOFF/PARKER. “Ballet? Taking up a new hobby, Barnes?”

“I thought I’d look great in the tights,” is all Barnes says. A deflection if Tony’s ever heard one.

“Their boy toy is the lead,” Romanov admits (to fresh groaning from around the table).

Tony’s eyebrows raise. “Boy toy? All three of you?”

“We are in the process of wooing him, so to speak,” Wilson admits, taking a swig from the bottle in front of him. “Barnes and Rogers might be willing to tag team him, but I want him all for myself.”

Rogers’s eyes flash, cold steel in the overhead lights. “Watch the way you’re talking about Peter. He’s not a piece of meat to be shared.”

“This is a goddamn episode of the Bachelor,” Tony laughs. “Which one is Peter: Maximoff or Parker?”

“Parker,” all four chime together.

“I feel like a father whose kids are going out on their first date. Are you buying him flowers? Are you opening the car door for him? Are you being safe?” Tony jests. He leans back in his chair feeling the warm thrum of the scotch in his stomach, glancing from one besotted man to the next.

“All that and more,” Barnes says. Then, with more than a little bitterness: “It’s the way he deserves to be treated.”

Tony lifts his brows. Natasha slides him the deck of cards so that he can shuffle. He’ll lose, especially once he’s as drunk as he hopes to be, but there’s no amount of money he could lose to them that wouldn’t amount to pocket change in his book. Consider it their bonus. As he deals, he asks, “Trouble in paradise?”

“You could say that,” Wilson mutters. “He’s not exactly on the market.”

“Never took you for a homewrecker, Rogers. Barnes maybe—“

“Hardly a home to wreck,” Barnes admits. “Not a happy one, at least. Pete’s boyfriend is a perverted, abusive low life.”

Tony goes stiff. The buzzing in his gut transfers to his brain, raw as the sizzle of electricity. In his mind, he sees himself as a young boy sitting cross-legged by the vanity in his mother’s room watching her apply creams and powders to disguise Howard’s abuse. All the heinous crimes Tony commits, that one is not among them. He doesn’t prey on the weak. It’s the only promise to his mother that he’s never broken.

“So, take care of him,” Tony says lowly. “Do you or do you not have certain skills and the balls to use them? You could kill this boyfriend and have it look like a hundred different accidents. What’s the problem here? Do you need daddy’s permission or something? Well, here, I’m giving it.”

Rogers scowls darkly at his hand. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Wouldn’t I? Regale me, then! Because it sounds to me like I’m sitting around the table with a bunch of pussies.”

“Peter asked us not to,” Barnes says.

Tony blinks. “Is—is that it? Good God. Definitely a bunch of pussies. Kill the bastard anyway. If you can’t stomach it; if you don’t want your boy toy mad at you, give me a name and I’ll do it. It can be done before we’re four rounds into poker, for fuck’s sake.”

“It’s not like we don’t have the stomach for it,” Wilson says. He’s the newest of their crew, but Tony appreciates his fearlessness, the open, unabashed expression he gives Tony when calling him out on perceived bullshit. “It’s about respect, man. We respect Peter’s wishes, and he trusts us because of it.”

The form of respect Tony is most acquainted with is fear. This softness he sees in his men right now translates to nothing short of weakness. Tony has never lived in a fairytale: the world is hard, and it makes hard people.

The rest, it kills.

“It’s complicated,” Rogers says to soothe Tony’s hackles. “If you knew the kid, you’d understand I think.”

“Now you’ve gone and done it,” Barnes mutters. There’s movement underneath the table: one person kicking another, everyone jolting to get their legs out of the way. Barnes looks like he’s sucked on a lemon, or taken a shot of Nat’s imported whiskey. “Now he’s gonna go see Pete for himself and none of us will have a chance.”

As it is, Tony doesn’t have to lift a finger to meet Peter because Peter comes to him.

Tony knows the benefit of giving his men a nice long leash.

He doesn’t have to. With them living in the Tower, it’s within his rights to keep surveillance on all of them; except he knows that distrust breeds distrust. Wilson, Romanov, Rogers, and Barnes have earned his trust. For that reason alone, he removed the wiretaps and cameras in their rooms upon their arrivals.

But it’s still his home, and he watches it. Closely. Tony has just poured his third glass of scotch when FRIDAY alerts him that there’s an unauthorized presence in the Tower.

“Unescorted?” Tony asks. His blood thrums—this is the most exciting thing to happen all day.

“Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes are the ones who granted him entrance using Mr. Roger’s passcode, and they appear to be returning to Mr. Rogers apartment, judging by the floor number selected in the private elevator.”

Tony rolls his eyes, relaxing back in his chair. “A fuck, baby?”

Tony has asked them not to entertain guests at the Tower without his authorization, but Tony was young once. He knew the thrill of breaking rules, how good forbidden, casual sex could feel. He wouldn’t put it past Rogers and Barnes to have grown bored, considering they’ve been dicking each other down since they were teens. Just thinking about twenty years of monogamy has his cock shriveling. If they’re just bringing home someone to bend between them and spitroast, Tony’s not going to bother abandoning his scotch.

“Judging by the young man’s level of inebriation, I would hope not.”

Groaning, Tony sets his scotch aside. He gives it a mournful glance while he steps into a pair of jeans and straps up. “I’m coming back for you, baby,” he whispers. “Wait for me. Take no other lover. Fuck, I hate wasting my humor on an empty room.”

“I’m here, boss,” FRI offers.

Tony rolls his eyes.

When he knocks on Steve’s (Steve and Bucky’s apartment, considering how much time Bucky spends there) at fifteen minutes ‘til midnight on a Thursday, he would usually expect a bleary-eyed blonde to crack the door open, a dark apartment the backdrop behind him. Instead, the door opens and light floods out into the hallway. Steve is dressed in his pajamas, that is to say that he’s wearing only a pair of pajama pants that cling to his hipbones for dear fucking life.

“FRI said there’s someone in my building and they’re drunker than I am. Don’t you know that’s a crime?” Tony asks, leaning against the doorframe. The cock of his hip emphasizes where his gun rests, but Steve’s eyes don’t even flicker to it.

Nonplussed, Steve just steps aside to give Tony room to enter.

Slumped on the sofa, bundled underneath a large blanket is a young man. Handsome, his face is a testament to masculinity: cut jaw, straight nose, flat brows and thin lips. The only hint of estrogen is the clear, smooth skin that looks like he’s never grown facial hair in his life. Right away, Tony places his bets that he knows who this kid is.

Peter Parker is resplendent, large brown eyes that blink sluggishly, dragging all over Tony’s figure like his eyes can’t decide where to rest. Sitting up, the blanket falls away and reveals his naked chest which Tony eyes with appreciation. He has the optimal figure for a ballerino, obvious strength that is lean and not bulky.

One of the thin lips is split, bruise blooming like the most tender flower beside his mouth. The wound opens when the kid’s mouth falls open.

“Ohmygod,” he slurs, elbows shaking from lack of strength. He collapses back onto the comfortable couch. “Tony Stark is here.”

Were he not so sobered by the kid’s appearance, the bruises and blood and the red-rimmed eyes and raw mouth, he might be charmed. Bucky appears dressed no more than Steve and Tony, a glass of water in his hand. He helps Peter sit up and coaxes him to drink from the glass. Every other sip, Peter gets distracted, gaping from naked chest to naked chest. At one point, he falls asleep propped up on Bucky’s shoulder.

“He’s not drunk,” Tony says, standing back with Steve while they watch Bucky try to coax the kid into consciousness. “Drugged?”

Steve hums. A muscle in his jaw jumps from how he’s grinding it. “It’s not the first time. Beck and Peter have different tastes in the bedroom. Peter has mentioned before that sometimes after their date nights, he wakes up sore.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. And you haven’t killed this guy, yet?”

Steve looks downright tortured. He does it well; Tony’s always thought of him as a bit of a melodramatic. “Peter would never see us again if we did. We have to decide between being around to support and protect him or not being around at all.”

“If Beck was dead,” Tony says coldly. “There’d be nothing to protect him from.”

“James,” Peter groans, losing and finding purpose again during the middle of the word. “Tony Stark is here!”

“In the flesh, kid,” Tony says, stepping forward. Peter’s eyes trace down Tony’s chest, tracing the matting of scars over his sternum before dipping over his abs (nowhere near as pronounced as Barnes or Rogers’s, but Tony does alright). The kid licks his lips. He can’t help but preen a little, winking at Bucky who is rolling his eyes. “

The curiosity has been planted like a seed deep inside Tony’s mind. It sprouts, soaking up thoughts until it’s the only thing he can think about, Peter Parker, principal dancer, owner of three of his best-men’s hearts.

It leads Tony here, to the best seats money can’t even buy at the Lincoln Center in Manhattan, dressed in his best tuxedo, dark eyes focused on the curtain that glows gold. His heart pounds when it withdraws on a dark, empty stage, though he hardly knows why.

By the end, he has a better idea.

There’s no hiding a single sharp line or sensual curve in the outfits they wear onstage, the pale tights and leotards. There is nothing soft about him save for his curls, but still he leaps and lands silent on his canvas-clad feet. The dance is obviously based around Maximoff’s character with Peter there as her supporting love interest, but even when the red-head bewitches the audience with her fouettés, Tony can’t take his eyes off of Peter’s figure, bowed at the edge of the stage and watching her with the sweetest supplication. When it is time for his own variation, he leaps and bows with a boneless grace that does more than take Tony’s breath away. It makes him hard. It makes him think about those long, strong legs wrapped around his waist while he gives the boy his cock. It makes him think about peeling those tights off and wrapping them around the dainty, pale wrists. It’s a good thing no one can see his erection behind the wall of his box seat when they all stand to give their ovation.

Peter bows and flushes, hand in hand with Maximoff before standing behind her sweetly while the entire place howls for her.

Tony thinks that maybe he’s starting to understand.

No one bothers him where he leans against the wall beside Peter’s dressing room door. Whether it is his reputation or his thunderous expression, he knows not, but he’s grateful for the lack of distractions while he eavesdrops on the conversation taking place inside the dressing room between Peter and a man Peter calls Quent.

—work harder in the gym. Have you been tracking your calories on the app we downloaded together?

Yes, Quent, Peter mumbles, barely audible through the walls.

All of them?

I said yes.

Don’t get defensive, babe. I had three different audience members come to talk to me about your figure tonight. It pisses me off too! If you’re ready to leave the industry—

You know I’m not.

Quentin sighs, the long-suffering sigh of an argument that has been often visited. I know. This is your dream. Poor baby. It must be so tough, loving a job that hurts you so much. But I’m so proud of you for pushing through, Peter, you know that, right? I just wish you were a little more grateful to me for trying to keep you on the right track. You treat me like the bad guy.

Peter doesn’t respond.

Is there anything you need before I go? How’s your back feeling? Your lifts looked a little strained towards the end.

Feels okay. I’ve got everything I need back at my apartment. I’ll go home and put my feet up.

You deserve it. Just don’t forget to use that app okay? There’s a rustle, a struggle, maybe Peter trying to pull away. But Tony’s always had an overactive imagination. Hey. Don’t be like that. I love you.

You too.

Peter. Say it right.

Tony slips away from the door before Quentin can come out. From his place around the corner, Tony still has decent vantage to put eyes on this man for himself. Average height, average weight. Fit enough—for a civilian. Tony’s hands positively ache for a gun. Though he’s carrying, he’s no fool. Now isn’t the time, nor the place.

Once he’s sure the man is gone and not returning, Tony makes his way back to the door. It’s time to meet this young talent from Queens (yeah, Tony read the brochure) for himself. But when Tony goes to lift his hand to knock, the door swings open.

Peter blinks in surprise. He’s dressed in gray leggings that look soft as cashmere, a NYDC hoodie on, sneakers on his feet. Spilling from the sneakers’ tops are black fuzzy socks, meant to keep his toes warm from the cold New York weather.

He’s limping.

And gaping. It never gets old, seeing the way his reputation precedes him. He loves the way the crowds part for him on the street, loves the way waiters and waitresses stammer and struggle to serve him, the way eyes grow wide like Tony is a god in the flesh.

Tony extends a hand. “I’m Tony Stark. It’s a pleasure to meet you; you’re a very talented dancer.”

“Hi,” Peter breathes, taking Tony’s hand. Tony grips gently, feeling like he’s liable to break bones, the kid’s so fucking delicate. And cold. But Tony knows the saying: cold hands, warm heart. He wonders what that makes him. Peter works to regain himself, saying, “Trust me, I know who you are. It’s so nice to meet you. Thank you—they didn’t tell me that anyone important was going to be in the audience.”

“They who?” Tony asks. “Your managers, or my men?”

Peter swallows, face draining of blood. As much as Tony likes these games, they aren’t as enjoyable when the worm on his hook is as pretty and polite as Peter is. He puts on his most charming (softest) smile and makes sure to ask, gesturing to the messy dressing room behind him, may I come in?

Nodding, Peter opens the door wider. They both ignore how he was clearly on his way out, a backpack in his hands. He sits it down carefully by the vanity where he applied his stage makeup and seats himself on the chair, nudging his shoes off. When he stretches the arches of his feet, he winces. Tony gives him a moment to settle, stepping around the tiny room and taking in the smells and sights. On one wall is a picture of Peter and Quentin, arms around each other, beaming.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, voice quiet. Tony glances over at him. “Are your—men in trouble?”

“No,” Tony admits. “If they were, I certainly wouldn’t be here watching ballet; I’d be...busy.”

Peter sags in relief. The way his shoulders hunch throw his collar bones into sharp prominence where they peek out from the neck of his sweatshirt. “Oh thank God. They’re so nice, Mr. Stark, and I promise they don’t tell me anything about their—your work. James still insists that he works for some guy named Potts in New Jersey. Who’s Tony Stank, he asked me when I brought you up.”

Tony lets his lips twitch. “James’s middle name is Buchanan. Some call him Bucky. Tell him I said: now we’re even.”

Peter grins and it’s radiant. Tony feels an unsteadiness in his gut, like missing a step on the stairs or hearing a gunshot go off when he’s not been the one to pull the trigger. There’s just the gentlest stirring of jealousy when Peter mouths the name, Bucky, testing the way it tastes and wrinkling his nose in laughter.

“I can’t wait to see the look on his face,” Peter says. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

Now might be the time to offer to let the kid use his given name but—Tony’s kind of into it. A few more instances of Mr. Stark rolling off that polished tongue might have Tony hardening in his tux. “Take a picture for me,” Tony suggests, sitting down on the cozy loveseat that is opposite of Peter’s vanity.

“You said—you enjoyed the show?” Peter asks, demure. The sleeves of his sweatshirt pass his wrists and most of his palms, turning his hands into adorable little sweater-paws. When he reaches up to bite at a nail, the sleeve slips down past his tiny wrist. Tony could surely wrap an entire hand around that wrist and have more to spare.

“It was incredible,” Tony admits. “I don’t usually have the attention span to sit through longer shows, but I was hooked from curtain rise to curtain fall, kid.”

Peter flushes, not so much in embarrassment as he does from the pleasure of being complimented. The flush of the drunk, though it seems Peter’s poison of choice is praise. Tony can’t help but want to spread him out on the sheets in his bedroom and say the sweetest, filthiest things to see if he can get the kid hard with just his voice. “I’m so glad. There hasn’t been as much press; new shows are always a little slow to take off. Wanda really is something special, though. She spent a season overseas and came back with so much more grace and growth—”

“Did she do well tonight?” Tony asks, unbuttoning the top button on his jacket to reveal the trim waist and vest beneath. He realizes what he’s doing just as the words are coming out of his mouth. Tony is flirting with Peter, and his flirtation is a force of nature. “I barely noticed her. Couldn’t take my eyes off of you, kid. How the hell you manage to dance that way, I can’t fathom.”

Now the flush hints at being flustered. He soaks in the way Peter’s face darkens, the way he hides behind one of his hands as the praise makes his posture go soft and waxy. His voice is remarkably even when he says, “Lots and lots of practice.”

“Your hard work pays off. I was captivated. I could tell that my men were the same.”

That topic sobers Peter, who sits up straighter. His pretty face twists, the question mark clear, the confusion too genuine for Tony to take it disrespectfully. On the contrary, Tony finds his forthrightness attractive when he asks, “Why did you come tonight, Mr. Stark?”

“I came to see what it was about you that has my men so enthralled,” Tony admits. With the kind of power he has comes the freedom to be honest, even painfully, brutally honest, because repercussions are either minimal or nonexistent.

“Did you figure it out?” Peter asks. Tony can’t help but feel like the kid is asking him for the both of them: what is it so special about me? Yes, this boy is fragile. That can’t be overlooked. But inside of him there’s still a spark of spirit ready to alight at any moment, grateful for any tinder that it’s given. He’s not Maria Stark. Not yet.

“Yes,” Tony says, standing. He rebuttons his jacket. “And I’d like very much to get to know you better, if you’re agreeable.”

“Me?” Peter’s head cocks, squinting up at Tony like he’s trying to see through him, to see what is really being said. “Why?”

Tony is used to letting his baser instincts guide him. He fucks who he wants, goes where he wants, says what he wants, and he owes no one alive an explanation for it. Many people have stopped asking Tony questions like why? Certainly none of Toomes’s men asked Tony why when he was torturing them forty-eight hours ago.

“Because I want to,” Tony says. He reaches down and picks up Peter’s backpack, putting it over his shoulder, the canvas bag downright gauche against his Givenchy tuxedo. “So what do you say, kid? You look dead on your feet, but would you like to be dead on your feet somewhere more private?”

Peter takes a long moment to think about it before tucking his toes into his shoes.

He belongs there amongst the backdrop of Tony’s penthouse. Peter glances around with all the coltish wonder of a newborn, running his fingers across the genuine leather of the sofa, leaning forward to look at the smart-glass table that Tony likes to prop his feet up on at night. Upon entering, Tony removes his tuxedo jacket and takes Peter’s hastily-removed sweatshirt. He appreciates the four inches of skin that appear when his shirt rides up, sticking to his outerwear.

He doesn’t appreciate the yellowing bruises dotting the kid’s biceps. Fingertips, he knows. His mother wore them round her neck like pearls.

“Is it okay if I take my shoes off?” Peter asks. He limped from the theater to the car, from the car to the elevator, and from the elevator to the couch where he collapsed with a sigh of relief. When Tony encourages him to, Peter nudges off his comfortable shoes and brings one foot up into his lap where he firmly presses his knuckles into the sole.

Peter asks for a drink. Tony gives him access to his wine, and the kid chooses for himself: a red, Chateau Margaux that smells of rose petals and hints at citrus and turns Peter’s cheeks pink. He doesn’t ask for a second glass, and Tony doesn’t offer it; the last thing he wants is the kid to think that Tony invited him here to take advantage of him.

“Tell me,” Tony asks, watching with rapt attention the faces Peter makes, like he’s dancing on the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain. “Tell me how you met my men. They aren’t exactly patrons of the arts.”

Peter’s face smoothes and he smiles. “It was Natalie, actually. She comes to shows every so often; I think her and one of the instructors know each other. Sometimes, she sponsors promising dancers.”

Romanov. Her and this instructor must truly know each other for her to be using a cover name around them. He files all this away in the darkest parts of his mind, should she ever become a problem someday. Tony has places reserved in his brain for all of his closest allies; already, he is making one for Peter too. Trust is earned but ever ephemeral.

“So Nat introduced you?”

“Yes. She sponsored me for a while, so we got to know each other pretty well. Once I mixed up my days and showed up at her condo when I wasn’t supposed to, and I met the others. Sometimes they would come to shows or send me gifts backstage.” Peter frowns. “I asked them to stop though because—Quent would just throw them all away.”

“Quentin Beck.”

“How’d you know?”

Tony just smiles and changes the subject. “You must know that the three of my men are half in love with you.”

Peter groans, pressing both his palms flat to his heated cheeks. “I had a feeling they were...interested. I hope they don’t feel that I’ve led them on, Mr. Stark. Nothing untoward happens at all when we’re together; sometimes I, I meet Steve and James for dinner, or other times Sam comes over to my apartment and we just talk, I promise. They’re so kind and it’s—it’s nice to have people to talk to.”

Peter stops talking abruptly, mouth open. He lets it fall closed with a click. When Tony prods him gently, he admits, “The attention is nice, too. It feels good, feeling wanted. Does that make me bad?”

Tony wonders what kind of miserable asshole would have Peter in his bed at night and not show the kid attention. It takes a special fuck-up to come home to a lover like Peter and not make him feel wanted. “Wanting attention? Not at all, kid. It’s the least of what you deserve.”

“You sound like them,” Peter says, smiling. “James and Steve and Sam. They’re always doing and saying nice things and telling me that I deserve them.”

“Good,” says Tony, one side of his mouth curling upwards. “I feel like a proud father; I’ve taught them well. Should you have those elevated?”

“Sorry?”

“Your feet. Elevation will keep down the swelling.” Tony places one of the expensive throw pillows on his lap and pats it invitingly. Peter stretches out without anymore prompting, toes flexing as his joints pop before curling in. The kid makes for an indecent picture, all long lines, absolutely nothing hidden by the leggings he wears.

“I asked them if I could meet you, you know,” Peter admits. He’s red from far more than the wine, now, judging by the way he has one hand pressed over his eyes to shield him from Tony’s gaze. As if it’s possible to. Peter peaks through his fingers. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Mr. Stark, but I’ve had a crush on you for ages.”

A crush. God. Tony doesn’t know what’s more hilarious, the sweet naivete of this boy or how it makes his cold heart flutter. Tony’s eyebrows raise. “Is that so? I’m not exactly crush material for the mentally stable.”

Peter hums. “When I was a kid, I had a lot of bullies. I started dancing when I was four years old, and not a lot of other boys understood. Sometimes, I used to daydream about you coming to protect me from them. To put them all in their place and then whisk me off to that house you gave a tour of on TV once, the one in Malibu.”

“Good taste,” Tony says. “You know, I used to do the same thing when I was young. I dreamed about someone coming to protect me and my mother, to take us both away somewhere where no one could ever hurt us.”

Sitting up on his elbows, Peter fixes Tony with a serious, solemn stare. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Is that what happened?”

“No. I became that someone. What happened to you?”

“I guess I gave up on the idea,” says Peter.

“Look. Maybe you don’t have your crush on me anymore, but I’m not the kind of man who can look away from innocent human suffering. My men told me about your boyfriend.” Peter sags back onto the couch and puts his face in his hands. He shakes his head from side to side, though no words come out. “This is my offer, kid. Let me take care of the problem. Let me be that knight in shining armor you wanted when you were younger.

#starker #cagewrites #unfinished fic #tw: abuse #ballerina!peter #mobster!tony

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sociallyawkward--fics · 4 years ago

Text

Last Christmas

Here it is, lol. The fic I wrote last night with Wham!’s “Last Christmas” on repeat for literally Three Hours Straight lol. It is entirely unedited except for me having a friend read it over briefly and them go “you’re missing a period here” and nothing else lol. Please be kind though, I have not written for months and any Christmas fics I’m posting are more just warm-ups to get me back to the level of writing I was before I accidentally took a break, cuz no way I’m jumping back into my Big Projects without getting myself back up to par lol

ALSO, I know Jaskier seems like,,, really aggressive towards Yen in this fic. She's not meant to be a villain! Jaskier just is jealous and sad so he takes it out on her a little bit, which is definitely not the right thing to do but I think it's a very human thing to do. After this I imagine them going for coffee or smth and just lovingly trash-talking Geralt and realizing "wow we can actually be decent friends" lol

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Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types; Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game); The Witcher (TV); Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski

Relationship: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Characters: Jaskier | Dandelion; Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg; Triss Merigold; Zoltan Chivay; Iorveth (The Witcher); Eskel (The Witcher); Vernon Roche

Additional Tags: eskel triss iorveth and roche are barely-there btw; Jealous Jaskier | Dandelion; Mistletoe; Getting Together; Misunderstandings; Miscommunication; Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg; Alcohol; Drinking; Smoking; (very briefly) - Freeform; Communication; Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings; Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia; Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia; Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings; Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion; Mutual Pining; Kissing; Hugs; Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers; Alternate Universe - No Powers; Holidays; Christmas; Christmas Party

Word Count: 3614 words

[ao3 link]

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It took an embarrassing amount of time for Jaskier to work up the courage to leave his car. Instead he sat there, heat off and car growing increasingly frosty, forehead against the steering wheel as he bemoaned his own very existence. He did not want to go to this party, which was very out of character for him.

But Jaskier couldn’t take another repeat of last year’s holiday party. And he knew the second he saw Geralt, he would be back there again.

They had both been decently tipsy, which was their first mistake, but Jaskier knew that neither of them were drunk. That’s why he had been so shocked when Geralt made the first move, pressing him up against the wall to the men’s room and ravishing his mouth. They’d gone home together to Jaskier’s flat and had a wonderful night together, but Geralt had been gone come morning.

They never spoke of that night. And by the next week, Geralt had been back in his on-again, off-again relationship with Yennefer.

Jaskier thought he’d gotten over it. As much as he didn’t regret it, it was clear that Geralt did, and he wasn’t going to push his feelings onto the man when they were so clearly unwanted. It was a miracle their friendship survived it, with how testy they had been with each other for weeks afterward.

Jaskier took a deep breath and tightened his scarf around his neck, finally leaving his car to make his way into the hotel ballroom that Foltest had booked for the night. At least their work holiday parties weren’t held in the offices, Jaskier wouldn’t have been able to force himself back to work after last year if they were.

Jaskier’s traitorous eyes immediately sought out Geralt the moment he walked in. He wasn’t hard to find, with his striking silver hair and refusal to wear anything but black. He stuck out like a sore thumb, in the sea of red and green and gold. But god, did he look good. Unfortunately, he was already occupied with the only other person in the room who refused to wear color: Yennefer.

Jaskier forced his eyes away, directing them instead towards the makeshift bar. Zoltan was already there, and, judging by the red on his cheeks, already several drinks in. Jaskier couldn’t exactly judge. He was going to need quite a few drinks to get through this night as well.

“Good old Dandelion!” Zoltan crowed as he approached, words only slightly slurred.

“Zoltan,” Jaskier greeted with an easy smile, nodding at the bartender. “When are you ever going to give up on that silly nickname?”

Zoltan snorted. “You’re the one who calls himself a flower, Julian.”

Jaskier shrugged. “Fair enough.”

Soon enough, Jaskier had a drink in his hand and an earful of Zoltan’s voice, accent only growing thicker and harder to understand the drunker he got. He was barely following what Zoltan was talking about, anymore. Something about his ex father-in-law’s business tanking? He seemed rather pleased by it, in any case. Jaskier probably would be to, if he wasn’t still so anxious.

“What’s got a stick up yer ass?” Zoltan asked after a while, winding down from his latest story.

“Just… not in a partying mood, I suppose.”

Zoltan laughed uproariously. “You? Not in a party mood? Never thought I’d see the day!”

Jaskier gave a half-hearted smile, knowing Zoltan was too far gone to notice that fact, and let his eyes wander the crowd. After a few drinks, he was beginning to feel pleasantly tipsy. The idea of lasting out the party was actually beginning to feel manageable, though he still felt like giving Yennefer and Geralt a wide berth. They always exploded at these things, and Jaskier didn’t want to be caught in the middle of that.

Again.

That was one fight their friendship almost hadn’t survived, and it was the worst six months of Jaskier’s life. And that was including the past twelve months after the last holiday party.

“Come on, Dandelion,” Zoltan said, and Jaskier’s attention was drawn back to the bar. “Sit down for a game of cards with me! Or perhaps a round of dice?”

Jaskier laughed, his first true laugh of the night. “I know better than to gamble with you, old friend. It’s about time I mingled, don’t you think? Give the masses what they desire.”

Zoltan laughed again and gave him a sloppy wink. “Go get ‘em, tomcat. I’ll find some other poor fool to swindle.”

Jaskier grinned. “I don’t doubt it.”

Jaskier slipped away from the bar and into the crowd. He greeted people with hugs and kisses on the cheek, making them laugh and shove him away with teasing grins. He twirled between groups of people in a carefully perfected dance, muscle memory even with the alcohol in his system.

Unfortunately, that muscle memory rather quickly led him to Geralt’s current circle of companions. Yennefer and Triss were there, clearly making an intense effort to not be at each other’s throats. Eskel was there, which wasn’t surprising: as much as a sweetheart as he was, Eskel’s social skills definitely needed some development, and he tended to use Jaskier and Geralt as a social crutch (despite the fact that his brother was even worse with people than he was). Iorveth and Vernon Roche were on opposite sides of the little circle the group had formed, and Jaskier dreaded that disaster waiting to happen.

Really, how did Geralt attract such dramatic people to him so easily?

Despite how suddenly off-kilter Jaskier felt being so close to Geralt, last year flashing through his mind, he knew he couldn’t show it. Geralt would notice, and then it would be awkward for them both, and Jaskier would never forgive himself for ruining Geralt’s Christmas two years in a row.

So he flitted around the group, being his charming self. His smile felt forced as he gave Iorveth and Roche (very awkward) one-armed hugs. His stomach churned as he kissed Triss on the cheek. His balance felt off as he waltzed into Eskel’s arms for one of his patented bear hugs (though that was likely the alcohol, now that he thought about it).

“How is it that you’re already drunk, Jaskier?” Geralt said as Jaskier pulled out of Eskel’s arms.

Jaskier shot him a cheeky grin. “Not drunk, my dear--friend. My dear friend. Merely tipsy.”

“With a stutter like that forming?” Yennefer teased, holding out her hand.

Jaskier indulged her dramatics and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles, chest burning white hot all the while. His smile was probably slightly too-sharp when he stood back up again, but he couldn’t be bothered to fix it.

“The heavier side of tipsy, perhaps,” Jaskier replied, smoothly sliding in beside Geralt to drape himself over Geralt’s shoulders.

A chorus of titters and chuckles went through the circle and Jaskier furrowed his brow. He rubbed his face and ran a hand through his hair, searching for imperfections but finding none. He then looked toward Geralt for an explanation, but the poor man looked just as confused as Jaskier was.

“Aren’t you wondering why none of us were standing all that close to Geralt?” Triss asked, that coy smile Jaskier was all-too-familiar with making its way onto her lips.

And now that she mentioned that, it was odd. Yennefer was usually glued to Geralt’s other side, and Triss was almost always trying to butt her way in. Her jealousy tended to be a great deal more obvious than Jaskier’s, deliberately trying to provoke the two of them. Jaskier simply got drunk and wrote songs about unrequited love, he knew better than to try and put himself between them.

Roche rolled his eyes as Jaskier and Geralt still just stared at the group rather dumbly. He pointed upwards and their eyes followed his finger.

Geralt, very unfortunately, was halfway into a doorway. Taped to the top of the frame of said doorway was a little sprig of green. Jaskier felt his heart stop. He had to swallow to keep the bile from rising up in his throat. He pulled away from where he was leaning on Geralt. The group was still laughing and teasing good-naturedly, but Jaskier felt like his world was crashing down around him. He looked toward Eskel for help, being the kindest of the group.

Only Eskel just shrugged with a grin. “It is tradition.”

“Oh come on, now,” Yennefer said, her voice twisting around Jaskier’s throat like a noose. “We’re all adults here. Just get it over with.”

Jaskier slowly met Geralt’s eyes. He was impossible to read, even moreso than normal, and Jaskier felt that familiar pit open up in his stomach. He needed to get this over with and then smoothly make his escape. Perhaps claim he’d had more to drink than he thought and needed to call a cab.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked quietly, barely more than a whisper.

Jaskier gave him a small smile and leaned forward. He pressed a feather-light kiss to the scruff of Geralt’s cheek before pulling away, his heart not able to take much more than that.

Jaskier couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he walked away.

Jaskier’s kiss was a barely-there peck to the cheek. Before Geralt could even hope to respond, he was gone.

The group’s teasing had quieted down, and Geralt dared to look up. Iorveth and Roche seemed confused, not close enough to the rest of the group to be caught up on the drama. Eskel seemed torn between beating himself up and beating Geralt up. Triss seemed guilty.

And Yennefer was just smug.

Geralt found himself grinding his teeth. Of course she was behind this (though it was clear that Triss had some hand in it, as well). Their most recent breakup, for once, had been amicable. The past few years had been hell for them, trying to make their relationship work even though they both knew it was never going anywhere. Jaskier was Yennefer’s last straw.

Geralt was more horrified that Yennefer had so easily picked up on his feelings for Jaskier than hurt by the breakup. If she had picked up on them, then surely Jaskier had?

Is that what that hauntingly sad smile Jaskier gave him before he kissed him was for? Did Jaskier pity him? Was he trying to let Geralt down easy?

“Go after him,” she said simply.

“Yen, this isn’t one of your games--”

“No,” she replied, voice suddenly terse. “So stop treating it like one and act like an adult, Geralt. I think we’ve all had quite enough of you two being like this, and it only got worse after last year’s party.”

“Which you still won’t talk about,” Triss chimed in, raising an eyebrow.

“So go talk to him.”

Geralt resisted the urge to growl. “Fine.”

Jaskier wasn’t hard to find, when you knew him as well as Geralt did. He liked to be high up when he was upset, saying it made him feel like he was getting some perspective on his problems. Geralt liked to joke that it was because he was more at home with his head in the clouds.

Jaskier was on a balcony overlooking the city, a pack of cigarettes sitting on the railing. A lit one rested between his fingers, the smoke curling into the air and entwining with the condensation trailing from his lips thanks to the cold air.

“I thought you quit,” Geralt said quietly.

Jaskier turned his head, not far enough to face Geralt but far enough to let Geralt see the wry half smile on his lips.

“You know how the holidays are,” Jaskier replied, taking a long drag from his cigarette and turning back to the cityscape.

Geralt moved forward to lean against the railing next to him, letting out a heavy sigh and watching the white vapor twist into the air. He didn’t know how to have this conversation. Between the two of them, Jaskier was by far the more emotionally intelligent one. With him shutting down like this, Geralt didn’t know what to say.

“Are you… okay?”

Jaskier snorted. “Yeah, Geralt. I’m great.”

Geralt considered the words for a few moments, turning around the tone of voice in his head. “Sarcasm,” he decided.

It was much easier to decipher when he himself was using it, rather than try to pick out when others were.

Jaskier sighed, hanging his head. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Geralt shook his head. “What’s going on?”

Jaskier took another drag of his cigarette. “Nothing, Geralt. Don’t worry about it.”

Geralt let out a frustrated growl, not sure how else to express himself in the moment. He snatched the pack of cigarettes off the railing (breathing out a sigh of relief when only one was missing -- the one between Jaskier’s fingers) and ripped the lit one out of Jaskier’s hand, tossing both items over the edge of the balcony.

“What the fuck, Geralt?!”

Geralt stared at him. “You told me last time you quit to not let you start up again.”

Jaskier groaned and put his head into his hands. “Shit. I did, didn’t I?”

Geralt hummed an affirmative.

“Aside from saving my lungs, was there something you needed, Geralt?”

Geralt leaned back against the railing, clasping his hands together. “To know what’s had you acting so weird all night.”

He felt Jaskier’s eyes on him, could see him staring out of his peripheral, but Geralt kept his eyes on the lights of the city. With all the light pollution, it was probably as close to stars as they would get without driving out to the mountains.

“You really want to know?” Jaskier asked eventually, his voice low.

“Yes.”

“Tonight I was pressured into kissing the man that broke my heart, about a year ago now.”

Geralt flinched back, finally looking over toward Jaskier. Jaskier was still staring at him, his blue eyes almost seeming to glow in the dark of the balcony.

“Who--Who broke--”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, face remaining impassive.

Geralt hesitated. “I broke your heart?”

Jaskier sighed and turned away, looking toward the horizon. “Last holiday party, we went home together. We made love for hours. I told you I cared for you deeply. And when I woke up, you were gone.”

Geralt wanted to say something, wanted to defend himself, but his voice felt like it was glued in his throat, unable to escape.

“Barely any time had passed before you were back in Yennefer’s pocket, not a thought given to us. And we never talked about it.”

Geralt swallowed. “I didn’t realize--”

Jaskier threw his hands up in the air, a frustrated laugh escaping his lips. Geralt’s frown deepened when he saw Jaskier’s eyes glistening.

“Didn’t realize what, Geralt? I thought I was being pretty obvious about the fact that I’m in love with you!”

“Yennefer and I broke up,” Geralt said, deciding to tackle the topic he knew how to talk about first.

Jaskier snorted, leaning his back against the railing and crossing his arms. “What else is new?”

Geralt shook his head. “For good, this time.”

Jaskier only stared at him. Geralt huffed out a breath as he searched for his words, running a hand through his hair.

“You know how… Sometimes, you can have a great friendship with each other, but when you try to date you end up being really toxic and horrible to each other? That’s me and Yen.”

“Could’ve told you that three years ago. Oh wait, I did.”

Geralt sighed. “I know. I’m sorry I didn’t listen, Jask. I just… I wanted it to work so bad, we both did. Even though we knew it never would.”

Jaskier looked down at his feet. “I know. I’m sorry for snapping like that.”

“It’s okay.”

Jaskier looked back up at him. “So what was the final nail in the coffin? What sealed the deal for you two?”

Geralt looked away, choosing a specific building to look at and staring at it intensely. His fingers itched to fiddle with something, but he forced them to stay still, clenching the freezing metal of the railing.

“I love Yen. But she and I both realized that I would never love her as much as I loved you.”

The silence stretched on for far too long and Geralt could feel his skin prickling with anxiety. His throat felt like it had swollen shut, making it difficult to breathe and impossible to get any words out. He wanted to look at Jaskier, see his reaction, but his body was locked in place.

“And if you love me so much, Geralt,” Jaskier said, his voice even more icy than the balcony railing leeching the warmth from his fingers, “why did you leave me?”

Geralt gave into the urge to fidget, reaching up for the pendant on his chest. His fingers were clumsy and numb from the cold, making him fumble, but the action was still soothing.

“I didn’t realize you meant it. Jaskier, you flirt with everyone. You’ve probably slept with half the company, and while I don’t judge you for that, I couldn’t help but feel like I was just the next notch in your bedpost.”

Jaskier dropped his face into his hands. “God, Geralt, I only slept with most of those people to try and get over you. You had Yennefer, and I was just me. I knew you would never choose me over her.”

“I am now.”

Jaskier stayed silent for a moment. “And if I decide that it’s too late?”

There was an uncomfortable burning feeling behind Geralt’s eyes and he did his best to push it back down.

“Then I would respect your decision, and hope we could still be friends come tomorrow. I don’t want to lose you, Jask.”

Jaskier didn’t reply.

“I’m sorry I made you wait so long. I’m sorry I was so blind to your feelings.”

“And say we did do this,” Jaskier said, his voice still guarded. “What about Yennefer?”

Geralt shook his head. “There’s nothing left for me and Yen. We’re done hurting each other for a relationship that will never feel good.” Geralt couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips as he tacked on, “Plus, with the looks Triss has been shooting her, I don’t think Yennefer will be too lonely.”

Jaskier shot him an incredulous look. “Triss and Yennefer hate each other!”

Geralt chuckled. “Yeah, when I was involved. Yen can, quite frankly, be a jealous bitch, and Triss certainly wasn’t letting up on the flirting.”

Jaskier searched his face. “And Triss?”

“There was never going to be any me and Triss, and she knew that. Honestly, I think her flirting these days has been more to toy with Yen than to actually try and woo me.”

Jaskier turned his gaze toward the night sky, a muddy brown-black-orange that ruined any hope of seeing the stars “Huh.”

“They both know there’s only one person I’m looking to woo me, anyway.”

Geralt watched Jaskier break out in a goofy, giddy smile, clearly involuntarily based on the way he quickly bit his lip to try and suppress it. Slowly, carefully, Geralt reached out for one of Jaskier’s hands, tugging gently until his arms came unravelled.

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier.”

Jaskier shook his head. “I’m sorry, too. I should’ve said something.”

“Can I hug you?”

Jaskier’s goofy smile was back and Geralt felt his heart clench. He hoped to see that smile so much more.

“Only if I can kiss you,” Jaskier replied, bouncing on his toes a little.

Geralt grinned. “I find that an acceptable trade.”

Jaskier laughed then, pulling him into a tight hug. They stayed like that for a long while, sharing heat and just soaking in each other’s presence. Slowly starting to accept that this was real, that this was happening. Geralt clenched his hands tightly into Jaskier’s sweater.

And then, some long minutes later, they pulled back from the hug just enough to press their lips together. It was soft and chaste, but by no means short. Geralt decided that kissing Jaskier felt like coming home.

They slipped away after that, deciding not to head back to the party. Their friends would assume things, sure, but they didn’t care. They had lost time to make up for, they could make up for not saying goodbye later.

Geralt drove them home, back to Jaskier’s flat just like last year. Jaskier fiddled with the radio as the streets blurred around them, trying to find an appropriately-themed holiday station. He burst into cackles the second he found one.

“Tell me this is not Wham!,” Geralt begged.

Jaskier was laughing too hard to reply.

“I hate it,” Geralt said, despite being on the verge of laughter himself. “I hate it so much. Stop laughing, it’s not funny.”

“It’s so funny!” Jaskier wheezed, clutching his stomach as he doubled over in his seat.

Jaskier had only just barely calmed down by the time they got to his flat. They curled up on his ratty old couch with some hot chocolate and put on a Christmas movie, but it became more background noise than anything.

Instead they talked. They talked about their past together and how it hurt them, and their future and how they would prevent that from hurting too. They talked until Geralt’s throat was sore and Jaskier was nodding off on his shoulder. Geralt couldn’t find the energy to carry him to bed, so he simply readjusted their position on the couch to be something more comfortable and settled in to sleep himself.

“L’ve ‘ou” Jaskier breathed out against his neck.

Geralt smiled, closing his eyes. “Love you too, Jaskier.

#witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #the witcher fanfic #witcher fanfic #My writing #triss merigold #Yennefer of Vengerberg #zoltan chivay #iorveth #vernon roche #eskel

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tifacatsblog · 3 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Nara Shikamaru/Temari Characters: Nara Shikamaru, Temari (Naruto), Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Emotional Whump, Whumptober 2021, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Suna and Konoha at war, you know the rest, Major character death - Freeform, but in a soft way, offscreen major character death Summary:

Two kilometers or so east of the camp lay a border. Just outside of the line of trees that define the changing of climate. A long line of barbed wire on sand, more of a formality than a defense; any genin could easily jump over them. But Suna’s real defense lay on the desert, waiting for fresh meat who can’t differentiate dunes from seal traps.

This border was a warning, a finish and a start line simultaneously.

Glancing above the barbed wire, Temari found what she came here for.

What kind of soldier hates war?

Temari is a shinobi, in her job description there’s lying, kidnapping, maiming, torturing, spying, fighting, and even killing.

Well, perhaps mainly killing.

Point still stands; she is a shinobi and her job is not the kind of job you can be at peace about. Every training is a war against death, as you will be dead if you’re not good at what you do. Every killing is a war against morality, should you hesitate even for a second you risk yourself losing the courage to do it. Every mission she takes, every movement she makes, every breath she takes as a shinobi is a form of war, one way or another.

Her objective in said wars was, mostly, to survive.

(To survive a childhood without friends, to survive an assassin sent to kill her in the night of her tenth birthday, to survive an enemy nin’s kunai aimed at her throat, to survive the threat of being killed accidentally by her little bro-)

This war is no different.

Suna, after that disastrous chunin exam’s failed invasion had begun to make amends with Konoha. It was a process that Temari herself pioneered and supervised, young as she was, to make sure that none of that shit with the Fourth Kazekage and Orochimaru ever happened again, a notion that her brothers (and surprisingly a good chunk of Suna’s forces) agreed to. Suna went on rescue and aid missions assigned by the Fifth Hokage, built a better trade with Konoha, and signed a new peace and alliance treaty with said village.

All of which was done by either Temari’s or her sibling’s hand.

And all of which was for naught.

It started with the debate on who should be the next Kazekage. As Suna’s governance is less of Konoha’s meritocracy and more straight up a hereditary monarchy, the candidates were three teenagers with anger issues and too many killing counts to be comfortably discussed over meal, even for shinobi. Temari was the oldest, with a sharp strategic mind and more diplomacy experience on her hand. Kankurou has more solo mission experience on his hand, and let's face it, the one who actually has a better reputation (compared with The Cruelest Kunoichi and The Shuukaku Monster). Gaara of course, is the powerhouse and the true ‘weapon’ of Sunagakure, and If Temari was allowed to voice her assessment, a stubborn idiot who’s trying to change ways and is now perhaps, more human than Temari ever was. He’s trying to be kind, to be hopeful, to be soft in a way they never know how.

After all the shit Suna went through because Rasa decided to put being shinobi above being human, being Kazekage over being a father, Temari thinks it should be clear who should be the next Kazekage.

Apparently it wasn’t clear for some people.

Civil war broke out, a thing that every hidden village dread, as shown from Konoha’s Madara Uchiha to the situation in Kiri right now. Many things could be the spark that lead to a civil war; a disagreement, a void of power, and especially a disagreement on who should fill the void of power. There were two factions, the one who supported Gaara as Kazekage, and the one who wanted their head on the stake.

Well, perhaps that’s oversimplifying, they deemed The Kazekage clan as it is now has failed to protect Suna and they are demanding power to the people so that Suna may see a brighter future.

…and their head on the stake.

…and another military family on the Kazekage seat.

…said family is known to be power hungry in elite circles.

(Hungry for power in a way that could very well end their world, as is common for shinobi, such greed for power that made them, who came from a family that choose to seal a demon in a child with unstable seal for power, genuinely concerned)

So, war for her and her family’s survival, no big deal right? Right, no big deal. They’ve won, Gaara is on his seat on the Kazekage tower. Temari and Kankurou are his advisor slash right hand slash ambassador slash anything he needed them to be.

Except that when there’s rotten flesh there’s a pack of vultures, ready to feast.

Power over trust, land over alliance, money over peace.

Konoha has a new Daimyo, and this one is ambitious.

Thus the fourth shinobi war broke out.

This time, Suna is the prize.

(Turns out, Gaara needed them to be war generals.

When one shark bite, the blood will draw the other in.

Iwagakure joined the war a few months ago.

The other will be close behind.)

“How are things on the northern border?” Temari asked, finishing her morning ration and standing from the commander table. The tent they were in was worse to wear, but Temari was glad she could sleep in the command tent alone, and not having to share her space with five other jounin.

“Earth’s forces are admirable, but our defense still holds strong,” Her second in command, a kunoichi in her early thirties named Chisaki, said, “Kankurou-sama’s report arrived yesterday, after you went to bed. It states that we should not worry about any breaches on his side of the border,” she finished.

“And?”

“…And I quote ‘Worry about your own damn job Temari, you’re not my mom.’”

That earned a smirk from her, “Son of a bitch,” she glanced at the other shinobi, “And for the record I was calling my father a bitch, not my mom.”

Chisaki, in a show of true professionalism, doesn’t even bat an eye on Temari’s blatant disrespect of the late Kazekage.

(Or maybe, she was too used to Temari’s rant of how The Fourth was a loser who could totally do better and he was a jerk, and he was such a controlling, egoistical piece of sh-)

Temari goes out of the tent, the sun has yet to rise, everything is still and dark.

Chisaki doesn’t follow.

Temari is so glad her second in command doesn’t ask questions and trusts her so completely.

In an hour she has to make morning rounds, she has to make sure their defense is at their best, the soldiers (Are we soldiers? We weren’t supposed to be soldiers. Were we?) fed and ready, their weapons polished and deadly.

In an hour she has to be a general of war again, but for now-

This border was a warning, a finish and a start line simultaneously.

Glancing above the barbed wire, Temari found what she came here for.

Dark eyes watching her sharply from the top of a branch. Green flak jacket, black shirt and trouser, staple of Konoha's basic gear. Long hair tied in a ponytail.

She used to make fun of that ponytail.

(She used to card her hand through it, when he's agreeable and not shy enough to try to evade. She used to say that she uses his hair as training exercises for braiding, lest a mission requires a kunoichi to be able to braid a really troublesome and lazy chunin's hair. She used to marvel at how soft it was, and how such an act filled her with a warm, bubbly feeling.)

She used to nag him to wear proper attire,

("You don't even look like a chunin, and what's this mesh shirt going to protect? Not you, that's the answer."

"Says the woman who wears kimonos to battle."

"Excuse you-")

She used to-

They used to.

(There was a they once upon a time.

Temari used to think that given time they could be something more. Maybe he would finally find the courage to ask her for dinner instead of working so ineffectively she was forced to pull an all nighter with him to meet deadlines, maybe she will finally snap and grab his hand to lead him instead of his shirt and then keep holding it even if it would be inconvenient, maybe on one of their diplomatic meeting they will finally meet each other's eyes instead of stealing glances-

Maybe given enough time, she could lov-)

They used to banter, snipping remarks over snarky ones, having fun with harmless verbal battles.

Now they mostly stand in silence, five hundreds meters apart, barely able to discern the other in such dim light.

Neither of them is going to talk, neither of them is going to even move or make some kind of microexpression. One knows the other too well. Being any other than stone might as well be a traitorous act for their own homeland; it would mean divulging information to the enemy.

Neither of them is going to stop coming here either.

This is a breach in their defense, both Konoha and Suna can make use of this and strike the other.

(Neither of them is going to say anything either.)

These days Temari usually fills their dialogue in her head. Like an actress reading from a script, practicing in front of the mirror. Desperately trying to imagine the other actor's voice so that her own act might seem real.

I will kill you, Temari, brash as ever, would say.

Wow, not even a hello? He would answer, snarky.

I know your weakness, She would insist, I have fought you in the chunin exam once, I have fought you in sparring sessions countless times. I know your strength, your strategy, I know how you think, I know you and your weakness.

It would be Illogical for anyone else but me to kill you.

Counterpoint, he would say, as you have fought me, I have fought you. Everything you have said might be true but so does the other way around; I know you too.

Do you? She would ask, her lips would be set in a line and her eyebrow would be lifted, If you truly know me then you know why I am willing and capable of killing you.

He would be quiet for a minute, and then; I can assure you I can kill you too.

Perhaps, She would cast her gaze away, pretending to mulling it over, and then she would shift her gaze, sharp as a cheetah zoning on a gazelle in the savanna, and she would ask, But would you?

And, as said question would trigger the same reaction he has when confronted with his emotions ever, he would stay silent. And she would fill in for him; No, you wouldn't.

How would you know, I haven't exactly tried. He would half-heartedly rebuke.

And, because this is a totally hypothetical situation in which she is allowed to do anything, she would walk towards said barbed wire, closing in on the no man's land, and she would say, There, you didn't kill me.

A single person, not even crossing the border line is not a threat. He would say, I am not obligated to kill you.

Do not invalidate my strength just to cover your own weakness! She would snarl, she would grab the wires out of emotions and her hands would bleed. You know damn well I can level this forest in a second if I wanted to. I could kill you and all of your friends and your parents and your teacher and everyone else behind this blasted wire if needed. I could, I would, I will.

There's a reason I'm named The Cruelest Kunoichi. You haven't met her yet.

He would stay silent throughout her rant, and even after that. She would continue, out of spite.

Konoha's propaganda, she would spat, has always been reliant on a bond to the people inside of the village. Will of fire, empathy, solidarity, whatever you want to say.

I'll tell you why you wouldn't kill me. She would whisper with a concealed rage.

Because I am your weakness.

And then she would turn around and leave him to stand there alone, stewing on her words.

Except of course that didn't happen.

In reality it was forty five minutes of silence with both of them just standing there, watching each other. Forty five minutes of not talking and filling the silence with an imaginary fight in her head. Forty five minutes of the sun slowly rising up and warming everything around them except themselves.

(How could anything warm the heart of a killer? Especially if you're the one supposed to kill the one you lo-)

Forty five minutes before Shikamaru's face suddenly crumpled in grief and he all but ran away from his spot, to the darkness and safety of the forest.

Forty five and one minute later realization and dread filled Temari's chest.

(One knows the other too well. Being any other than stone might as well be a traitorous act for their own homeland; it would mean divulging information to the enemy-)

Konoha will attack soon.

(I could, I would, I will. )

“What kind of soldier hates war Shikamaru?” She would ask, four to five minutes from blacking out from blood loss, or perhaps something more permanent; severed femoral artery and ruptured spleen would do that. Fair, he has always said that she needs to cover her left side.

“The good kind.” He would answer, crying.

What a crybaby.

#whumptober2021 #no.1 #barbed wire #naruto #fanfiction #offscreen major character death #war

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kkulmoon · 5 years ago

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SUNSET HEARTBEAT | KTH

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (f)

genre: fantasy au, hybrid au, sci-fi (?), fluff, angst

word count: 5.1k

rating: pg

a/n: ngl i feel like the beginning portion is a bit rusty, by rusty I mean it may feel a bit slow but pls give it a chance 🥺, I struggled to write that 😭. I am also tagging two very lovely people who were excited about this, hopefully you like it uwu @blossomkoo @inkedxclouds. This fic is part of Bangtan Scenery’s collab ‘April Showers Bring May Flowers’, make sure to check out everyone else’s entries!

warnings: implied sex, other than that none, except for heartbreak and slight purple patches here and there cause I was in the mood hehe

beta read by: lovely angie @scvkjin and amazing emi @bangtiddies 💕

synopsis: The time had come for the seventh sun to rise. For the seventh and last color in line to have its cycle. As one indigo supernova signified the coming of a purple nebula, you and Taehyung spent the remaining of your last day together creating something of your own. If it comes into fruition can only be known years in the future. A decade after you found someone unlike anyone. Truly one of a kind. Someone with a destiny they couldn’t outrun. It has been 10 years since the birth of a purple sun.

☁︎ masterlist ☁︎

It was in your final year of university, twelve years ago, that you met Taehyung. That same year you decided it was time to give up on the idea of becoming an astronomer. Quite frankly, you were just too dumb. However, it did not mean that you couldn't enjoy it all while living a life where pretending that you truly understood everything was your best bet, your only bet. They all say that interest and dedication trumps natural talent, right? For that same reason you decided to still attend as many astronomy lectures as possible even though you were studying to become an English teacher. You were always quiet and attentive so either the professors didn't notice you or let you be. Either way, what mattered was that you got to be there.

The first time the two of you interacted was a random weekday in April, near finals’ season. You were sitting at the back of the room as usual. The professor had handed out some papers to be passed back. A gold tinted hand with slender fingers, on which well groomed and shiny fingernails were present, reached out to you. You could all but wave away at the paper, trying your best to dismiss it. A pouty and confused expression was what you got as he continued to jab the paper onto your palm. You kept trying to mouth 'it's okay' but he was persistent. Not much of a purple characteristic but surely a sun one, now that you think about it. Finally you settled for a verbal response.

“I don't actually take this class, so really, i'm fine.”

He retreated his hand for a second, “Huh, don't we all wish that was true,” he said as he placed the paper on the small desk in front of you instead. “You've got this! We're almost done, hold in there.” You got a thumbs up before he turned back to focus on the class.

And every week from there on, whenever he got a short moment in class while the professor was writing on the board Taehyung would pester you with motivational notes filled with sayings. One particular somber April morning where you looked more tired than usual he even went as far as offering to help you with the class and your homework. You did your best to decline and yet that same night you got an email in your inbox that told you he obviously hadn't understood.

| Kim Taehyung Chapter 15: Helpful Resources, (hang on there, you got this!) |

While you didn't take the class and had no official obligations to learn anything, you were still interested in astronomy so you decided to have a look. The links did clear up some questions you had during the lecture. However, you didn't want him to be wasting time helping a lost cause. As much as you loved reading about astronomy and learning about it, you were slow and having him help you was more than unnecessary. The definition of futile work. You decided to send him a screenshot of the official classes you were attending from the university's student portal. You made sure to censor your grades. He truly didn't need to think that you were any dumber, all he needed was proof that you weren't taking the class.

But once again, Taehyung's sun qualities shone through. Where it would have been expected for the person to drop the subject and for the two of you to go back to your habitual behaviour, he thought otherwise. He responded, but this time instead of answers he had questions, none of which you felt like answering so you left him on read. Well, the email version of read. You opened the email, read it, thought about answering it but ultimately left the email thread to die on the read pile.

A week went by. No Taehyung and you felt relieved. At least that's how you think you felt, the sleep deprivation might have been playing tricks on you. As yet another day came, where the indigo sun let its rays shine, Taehyung thought it better for him to act as the sun. You hadn't seen him in class, but it just turned out he changed his usual spot. He tried to catch you before you left the room but your daydreaming self was quick on her feet. He had a quick talk with the professor before he hurried to you.

“Hey!” The sound of sandals echoed against the cement floor. “Hey! You there!"

You kept on walking, as far as you knew your name wasn’t you there'. Someone grumbled behind you only to exclaim after a short while.

“Y/N! Y/N! Hold up, I need to talk to you.” So in that case you were 'you there' and someone was Taehyung.

You stopped walking and turned around. You couldn’t help but cock your head at him. You had only seen Taehyung from the torso up while in class. His attire surprised you for some reason. Maybe because he was a STEM student and you had expected him to look more uptight. He looked like one of the people from the pot dorm down your hallway. Everything he wore was oversized except for the big knitted headband he had on now that he was outside. He looked devoid of colour with his muted clothes, but his cross body bag stood out with its patterned rainbow material.

"Yeah, what is it?" The quicker you could get it over with the better. However, Taehyung didn’t seem to agree with you on that aspect. He took his sweet time to fix the misplaced headband as you were left to witness the action. As much as you would have liked to categorise the scene as boring, it would have been a lie. His grey hair strands somehow managed to sparkle in the sun. They didn’t shine the normal way hair shines when light reflects on it. His hair literally sparkled as if it had recognised something familiar within the sun rays. But at the time you just thought you were being delusional or being tricked by the elements of his beauty.

"You didn't answer my email," he asked with curious eyes and an innocent tone. Right, that happened.

"Oh, that... uhm... I just haven't gotten the time to go through my email, things have been a bit hectic," you shot him a sympathetic smile.

Taehyung seemed like a pretty understanding person but he sure wasn’t dumb. You saw the way his tongue shifted to lick his lips as his teeth found their way onto his bottom lip. He trailed his hands on the strap of his bags as a pensive lip bite made adorned his features. Taehyung could have either been nervous or so irked by the bullshit you just spat at him that his body was reacting. Either way you felt bad for your white lie, but maybe not bad enough.

"It has been two weeks though," Taehyung stretches his back to stand straighter, "Also I take a chem class with Hoseok and you're always chatting in the gmail chat so..."

What do you say to that? You lied and the worst part of it all was that you were caught right in the same moment. Your mouth opened and closed continuously as a hot flush made itself present on your ears and neck. You made note of the fact that Taehyung seems sweet but he actually packed a punch and was definitely ready to confront you on your bullshit. Classic STEM student approach, just face things head on. Thinking back at it, that was yet another instance in which his sun characteristics took the wheel. The sun's rays don't budge for anything or anyone and they certainly don't cave in to make others feel comfortable.

"Uhmm... right. But I am here now, so ask away!" Maybe your fake enthusiasm could make up for your little lie. Taehyung gave you a wondering look as he calculated the pros and cons of continuing this conversation, You hoped the cons would win.

“Uhmm, alright, fair enough,” He shrugged and the pros must have won because he kept talking. “Why do you go to astronomy lessons if you don’t take the class?”

Why did he want to get into your personal business? You could have very well told him that it was none of his business, turned around and left. But that seemed a tad bit too rude for you and for some weird reason you didn't want him to think of you as any more rude that you had been.

Would you paint yourself as an overly ambitious student that just had a general love of learning or would you tell him the truth? If you were to lie again you were sure he wouldn't manage to uncover this lie.

"I just like astronomy and find the class interesting, on top of that I've got time so like why not?" You felt good about your response, so good you were happy that you had made the choice not to lie to him, again.

"Oh okay, then how come you didn't apply for the program?" Wow, this dude was really trying to uncover all of your flaws during the first real conversation you've had. He should have become a detective instead, his focused and analysing eyes made it very hard for you to lie and not feel any residual guilt. He would, without a doubt, catch you if you were to slip up again.

"Uhm... I just felt like education was the right place for me you know." You shook your head with squinted eyes in hopes that he would just get you. Which he obviously didn’t if you had to go off of the way his jaw jutted out to the side.

"Well, to put it simply, I am not the brightest of students and while actually taking the class would have been a nightmare, just being there and listening and learning at my own slow pace just makes me feel better about my shortcomings."

Taehyung's lips parted slightly. Okay, maybe you didn't have to give such a confession but he had been pushing and you wanted it to just end.

"Ohh, I see." Not the response you expected but how else do you respond to someone who said that they were too dumb to follow their dream. "But still my offer stands, if you need help trying to understand anything, feel free to tap my shoulder in class."

"But you changed seats to sit in the front."

"Nah not really, I was just bitter that you hadn't answered and didn't want to hurt you. From now on you'll see me at my usual spot in front of you."

The squeamish movement that accompanied the words ‘hurt you’ gave rise to a wondering look on your face. Hurt you? Why would he hurt you? Taehyung looked pretty harmless so you decided to not take his weird comment at face value. He most likely meant hurting you in a verbal sense.

The rest of the semester progressed in that same weird manner that characterised your relationship with Taehyung. A constant push and pull that kept being encouraged by your closest friends– Hoseok being the top player in the game. Inevitably, the more time you spent with him the more you warmed up to him. A month down the road the two of you decided to put a label on it. Or it was more so you who needed a verbal confirmation that you had somehow managed to catch someone's interest.

It took you awhile to reset the way you thought. Your wandering mind wasn’t only filled with personal affairs anymore, another individual had found their place in your day to day thoughts. All of a sudden being affectionate wasn't something you had to actively be, it was simply default mode whenever Taehyung crossed your field of vision.

For that reason alone, finals season was filled with movie nights, whispered love confessions, enough takeaways from different cuisines that you felt you were now ready to become a food critic. But the most precious instances of that time was the afternoons where Taehyung did his best to teach you astronomy and you being too lazy to listen despite your interest. You can't help but ask yourself if you would have been more attentive had you known what astronomy actually meant to him.

You had now been with Taehyung for one entire year. One year filled with diametrically opposite feelings. The good, the bad and the ugly. But ultimately all of it was left at the door the moment the two of you decided to reconcile despite the drawbacks. You were happy. The kind of happy that you don't recognise until it's gone. That can only be acknowledged in the midst of incoming fury. You had never in your life wished for the ability to predict the future. To see what happens after sunrise before it is manifested.

One particular day eleven years ago, you wished that astronomy was fake, that the sun wasn't real and that it never needed to rise or set, to be born or die. You wished the sun didn't exist, knowing very well that that would mean the most important person in your life wouldn't exist. But you could have dealt with that.

Longing for something you know you could have hurts far more than craving for the unknown. In the latter situation there's at least hope, that if you search hard and long enough you could find that thing you so deeply want. In the former, you know where that thing is, it's in fact right under your nose, or more accurately right over your head, where you can feel it at least a little bit every single day. Except this time you can't have it, no matter how hard you wish for it or how long you choose to wait. The whole scenario was like a twisted marshmallow test. Made to incite cravings with no intention of ever quenching them.

This all started a year following the start of your relationship with Taehyung. At that time you took notice to how hot he would get at the most unexpected of times. A behaviour that was usually reserved for when he was irritated or angry. It wasn’t only him that was hot but he radiated the kind of heat reserved for an extremely sunny summer’s day.

You overlooked those instances and decided not to pay them too much mind. It could just be you having the extreme hots from him. However on a particular night, you just couldn’t bring yourself to stay in bed with Taehyung. The sheets were drenched and the windows had fogged up. You had to leave and find refuge in your living room sleeping right by a fan.

The coming morning you woke up to breakfast on the table and right beside it there was a thick pocket sized book. The Book Of Suns. That was the white title that was engraved onto the black cover. Taehyung was nowhere to be found but his belongings were still in your room so you assumed he had gone for his morning walk.

You had to make a choice between the two. Would you read the book first or you would eat breakfast first? You knew that whatever you were about to find out would most likely curb your appetite. Your hand glided against the rough cover of the book.

Wouldn't it be better to read it now, just in case something made you extremely sad? That way you could cry before he got back home. Whatever it was that you were about to find out was very important to him, important enough that he wanted you to form your own opinion of it in peace. He wanted in no way for his presence to taint your reaction towards the truth that he had been hiding. Or as he thought protecting you from.

You sat down by the table, knees to your chest as you brought the book onto your hands. 'The Book Of Suns' was, as you realised after reading it, just that, a book about suns, in particular Taehyung’s sun lineage. It was a story about your world’s suns, the rainbow sun family. A fact unknown to you before that very moment. You were surprised by your behaviour, you weren’t exactly known for having calm reactions. It must have been Taehyung’s scent on the sweater you wore. It tickled your nose and calmed your senses. The book served as a track record for the next person in line to become the sun. It had seven chapters. Beside each chapter title in the contents page there were small vertical lines. The first six suns had five lines while the last had four. Taehyung must be purple sun. You read silently or more so you attempted to read silently, the deep breaths you were taking in effort to digest everything couldn't be contained.

After a continuous hour of reading you got to what was perhaps the most interesting chapter. Where do the dead suns go? And most importantly what do the suns that have yet to be born stay? You were cautious about continuing your reading. What if you found out that Taehyung was in fact just the ghost of someone that didn't actually exist? Or worse what if Taehyung would cease to exist?

Fear curbed your initiative to let your eyes continue their dance on the page. But fear also did its job in fixating your attention on the slightly faded black letters present on the off-white pages. Fear of the unknown is always worse than that of the known.

Deep in the forest, there was the garden of suns. Every time a sun died and resurrected as a human, their statue appeared in the garden, where their sun soul was kept, only to vanish on the day of their sun birth. In the middle of the pages there was a picture, at the back of it you could read Taehyung’s harsh handwriting ‘The garden of suns -15/07/39’. He had been there four days ago.

The statues of the first five suns were covered with vibrant collared moss equivalent of their sun pigment. The sixth and seventh sun’s statues were only slightly visible in the photograph. They seemed to be in an intermediary phase. Not quite gone, yet not quite there. It was hard to figure out whether they were emerging or vanishing. That’s until you remembered the previous week’s news report. A supernova was on its way and scientists believed it would most likely occur near the end of next year.

The indigo sun is near its death, and a purple sun is nearing its ascent.

Taehyung’s statue was the one vanishing. His sun soul was ready to find its owner and ascend to its rightful place amongst the other stars. Just as you were about to continue reading, ready to delve into how this whole sun birth situation went about, the sound of metal clashing against metal resounded in the dead silence. Clinging keys and heavy steps entered the apartment.

No 'hello' or 'glad to see you're finally awake'. But could you blame him? It would have been weird to act as if it was like any other of your usual mornings. You wished you had mustered up the strength to get off the chair and go greet him at the entrance. In your mind you did that but in reality you stayed rooted right where you were, back squeezed into the corner between the table and chair.

Taehyung walked in to lean against the door frame that lead into the kitchen. He looked exhausted. Dark under eye bags decorated weary eyes. You thought you could hear a tentative squeak come out of his mouth. Maybe you should've said something, because he looked like he was hurting and trying to find the appropriate words to start a conversation he knew would only end with heartache and tears. You thought that talking about the small steps he made outside was a good way to segue into talking about the biggest step he would take in his life. One that he could unfortunately not walk back on.

"How was your walk?" You managed to ask before Taehyung walked past the kitchen and into the bedroom. He stopped midway, standing in the living room, where sun rays illuminated his surroundings. You couldn't help but think that it was very fitting for him to become a sun. The rays may have been bright and hot but he was the only one able to make you feel as hot as the sun and make your smile shine brighter than the biggest star. He was already a sun. Your sun. Why did he need to leave and become everyone's sun as well?

"Pretty good, helped me wake up," he said and sat down on the bean bag present beside him. You put the book down on the dining table just to look back at him from your seat. You were just there, in the moment, sitting down and doing your best to have an internal conversation. Both of you knew that words would hurt too much. And they surely couldn't bear the complete weight of what your current predicament meant neither could they have illustrated the joint pain that was shared between two beating hearts.

Your conversation might have been dead but the emotion was very much alive. You stood up from your seat, Taehyung's knitted sweater fell back down to caress your thighs. The walk to the beanbag felt like an eternity, not because it was but because you made it so. You had felt his sour and vigilant mood and you knew that being playful at that moment was your best bet. You tiptoed back and forth all the way to the beanbag as the sweater shifted here and there to reveal skin that was highlighted blue by the sun.

He was upset but he couldn't manage to keep his mouth set. His lips would stretch and unstretch as small playful wiggles played at the tip of his mouth. Finally you had found your way to the bean bag. You stood tall as your body cast a shadow over his. You placed a foot on the bean bag as the material sunk under your weight and you found your place on his lap.

Right there, that's the kind of pat in the back that Taehyung gave you as his arms enveloped your slouching form. You snuggled your head deep into the crook of his neck and inhaled all the way in. If he was really gonna be leaving you, you needed to make sure you could imprint the scent and feel of his flesh right onto yours.

You sat there, quiet, with synchronised breaths yet fighting thoughts. How in the heck were you supposed to manage this? Him just being gone? Sure, you had a year left before it was officially time, but a year is far from a lifetime, what he had promised you.

"You are sure you don't want to talk about it?" Long hand strokes continue to comfort your back. You move your buried head side to side, groaning in response. Alright is all he said. Things were far from alright.

While on that morning you decided not to talk further on the topic, the coming months were filled with explorative trips to the Garden of Suns, where you would spend hours listening to Taehyung tell you about the stories of him and his sun brothers. He talked about being particularly close to the blue sun.

"It's just because he literally has no filter," he said gazing longingly at the statue covered with flashy blue moss.

"Is that like, dangerous?"

"Well yeah for you, but I am a sun remember." He turned around on the grass to face your way.

"And that's probably why I orbit around you." The huge grin that found its ways to your face was uncontrollable and contagious as Taehyung couldn’t help but snicker at your corny joke.

Just like that, your months together flew by until it was finally d-day. You hoped that waking up wouldn't be a necessity but Taehyung refused to let you sleep through it. He refused to let you think that it was all a dream. Getting yourself off the bed and into the shower felt like an endless task. One that he was patient enough to help you with. In hindsight you feel bad about having put him through that on such a significant day. He was, most likely, having a harder time dealing with his destiny than you were. That day was one to remember, the most vivid of them all, the most cherished of them all yet the most sad of them all.

All of that happened in the past and you were currently in an unsure present. The indigo sun had faced its fate, to be extinguished in an equally coloured supernova that would give rise to the last one in line, a purple sun. One day they would all be back to the complete cycle. A day where you wouldn't be present.

It has been ten years since Taehyung became a sun. You could talk to him, well, not really but you could see him and most importantly feel him. It had been a decade since you asked him to leave you something to remember him by, a part of him, a living one. On the night of Taehyung’s sun birth he decided to take you up on the offer. Cuddled up, in each other’s arms that’s how the day progressed. While usually persistent yet gentle, that night Taehyung felt it was appropriate and maybe in fact vital for him let his sun like ferocity be expressed. How else could you have understood the intensity of his feelings, a muddy mix of grief and love. The remains of that one last heated night were left for you to admire and cherish.

You thought you would manage to stay up the entire night to witness the purple sun birth but Taehyung’s warmth, forehead kisses and soft singing lulled you to sleep before you could realise it.

Nothing was felt. No heat, no cold. Nothing was seen. No light, no spark. Taehyung was gone into the void in the same effortless way he entered your life. You’ve now been waiting over a decade to know if the fruits of that night would come into fruition. Conception can only happen when eclipses take place. Eclipses happen every 126 months. It has been 10 years. Half a year is left.

That half year could not have passed at a slower pace. It was a Thursday, yet another tiring day at school. You loved kids but you were drained of energy. You couldn't wait for time to pass by so that you could leave. It was Thursday, which meant you could watch the sunset to its complete end without being bothered. It was also Thursday, the day after you got your first ultrasound. Taehyung may have not been there but that didn't mean you couldn't share the remaining of your waking hours with him, whenever you thought it was possible. You looked out of the window from your classroom to see purple hues in the sky as the sun said goodbye to leave place to another night.

The clouds thought otherwise, for some reason they always felt the need to be there to cloud his presence. What right did they have to cover up his tint? If it weren’t for them you would have been able to bask in his purple light, let it colour you bare as your feelings went from blank to purple butterflies that made you lose sight as tears formed in your eyes.

So you did what any sensible person still in love would have done. As soon as the clock struck 4 pm you ran to catch the train that would take you from skyscraper views to wide flower fields. It took the train two hours. You did your best to enjoy the way he set along the ride. Once you arrived you were left with two entire hours to enjoy the last of him and say goodbye to Taehyung and hello to the darkness.

During that time you reached into Taehyung's patterned cross body bag. You truly hated it but it was his so you kept it. You pulled out the ultrasound picture and raised it to the little part of sun that was still left. You didn't actually think that he would, through some weird magical way, actually be able to see it. It was more so something to calm your conscience. But most importantly, it presented you with the opportunity to capture an unusual family picture. It was you, the ultrasound, your baby bump and the purple sunset all in one picture. One that had found its rightful place on your bedside table.

Years unmasked themselves to reveal the growth of your child. One that grew to inherit the intensity of her father. Every now and then you made sure to let her know about him. As young as she was she couldn't truly understand it all, but as a child your love story was something that was within imaginable grounds. So you took advantage of that and taught her all you could about him. Maybe if you started early she could manage to develop past your less refined genes with regards to learning.

You took your time to tell her all that she wished to know and all that you wished to share. Sugarcoating to the maximum, cause that’s what Taehyung would do, but still making sure to keep a coherent timeline. One specific day you are unable to answer her question.

"Wh–why did dad break the promish?"

You had to fight long and hard with your tear ducts. Never had you cried in front her and you didn't intend to do it anytime soon.

In fact in one way or the other, Taehyung hadn't lied about keeping his promise. He had omitted some important specifics but he hadn't completely been untruthful. He said a lifetime and he would give you a lifetime. It just happened to be one where he wasn't always there, present by your side.

However he would always get up to see you rise, and always say goodbye as he sets down to give place for lonely nights. And on all of those goodbyes unlike the one where he left you for the first and last time, you could swear that in bed with your child pressed to your chest, you could feel and hear his sunset heartbeat as clear and strong as the rays of a certain purple sun, your only one. Sun rays filled with his most cherished truth:

‘I will turn purple when i miss you and to say i love you’.

Posted: May 28, 2020

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theholycovenantrpg · 4 years ago

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CONGRATULATIONS, JENNA! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF BASTIEN AVALOS.

Admin Rosey: Jenna, I cannot emphasize enough how in love I am with the way that you captured Bastien. He was one of the characters that is driven singularly by passion and impulse, and he is the one character that takes a person’s heart and never lets go of it until he tires, then goes for another. From your ideas for development, to the para sample - this application holds you captive just as Bastien does. The Holy Land isn’t ready for Bastien to enter center stage, but boy, I definitely am. Thank you for this wonderful application - and please, be handle our hearts gently...before smashing them to pieces. Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Jenna Age | 21 Personal Pronouns | she/they Activity Level | My activity really varies throughout the week! I work on weekdays ( gross, I know ), and am also completing an honours degree this year so will mostly be around on evenings and on the weekends!! My aim is usually to get on for replies every couple of days, but I generally make myself available for plotting every day! Timezone | gmt+10 Triggers | REMOVED. How did you find the group? | in the tags! but I recognised your names from diverona and just knew I had to apply!! Current/Past RP Accounts | https://marymacd.tumblr.com/ // https://leonagw.tumblr.com/

IN CHARACTER

Character | Bastien Avalos

What drew you to this character? | Wow, okay, where do I begin? Bastien is a very different character to the ones I usually play, and I think I was initially drawn to his recklessness. Bastien doesn’t just flirt with danger - he courts it, and I find this very fascinating as I’ve always tended to play very strategic, cautious, and calculated characters in the past, which Bastien just isn’t. I think there’s lots of potential to develop him as a character - both in the way of coming to terms with his past and exploring the events that have brought him to where he is, and in terms of his future - now that he’s had his autonomy ripped from him and burdened with a responsibility he never wanted, and one that he’s quite ill-equipped for, there’s definitely a lot of room to develop him in very interesting ways.

I’m also drawn to the idea of portraying a mortal walking among immortals - and yet, having very little regard for his own mortality. He’s spent his whole life running headfirst into danger - picking fights he knows he won’t win just for the sheer thrill of it - just to get a few battle scars and a great story at the end of it. It’s fascinating to me that, out of all the characters in this group, he’s perhaps the most vulnerable due to his status as mortal, and yet he acts as though he’s unbreakable, living life with a sort of heedlessness that is so uniquely human. He’s aware of his limited lifespan in comparison to those around him, but he’s determined to do as much as he possibly can with the time he has, to ensure that he leaves a great story behind when he goes.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? |

001. SINS OF THE FATHER - Listen, the potential to explore Bastien’s relationships with his family was far too rich and complex for me to pass up putting it first. Let’s start with the obvious, shall we? Bastien killed his father - obviously, it was in defence of his mother, and I don’t necessarily think that he regrets what he did ( only that it put him into a position of power and left him responsibility he is neither equipped nor wanting to handle ), but it definitely has left an impact on him. Though not specifically mentioned in his bio - I think it’s very unlikely that Bastien has told anyone what really happened that night ( the family probably lied it away, that the former Lord Avalos was murdered by someone seeking some kind of retribution before fleeing in the night, never to be seen again ), and I think it would be very interesting to see how this guilt plays on him, and how he struggles with having to feign anger at the mystery of his father’s demise while knowing full well what really happened. Yes, Bastien may be a dumbass, but he’s not as stupid as everyone thinks, and he knows that the truth of what happened to his father coming out would be bad not only for him, but for his whole family, and he’s going to do whatever it can to keep the secret from surfacing, even if that means lying to the ones closest to him ( of course….. I, personally, would love for people to find out what happened to his father eventually, the drama of it all is too much to pass on ).

I would also love to explore how the death of his father has shaped his relationships with the rest of his family - his mother in particular. Though his sisters may have their suspicions, I also feel that they’re likely as in the dark as anyone else regarding the circumstances of their father’s death ( and, honestly, he wasn’t a particularly nice man, so none of them have any intention of digging any deeper into it ). However, Bastien’s mother knows exactly what happened, and, more importantly, why. I’d honestly love to explore the idea of her being angry with Bastien for what he did - for jeopardising the family name and putting himself in harm’s way yet again, despite it being to save her life. In my head, she cares more about Bastien’s wellbeing than her own, and thinks that what he did was a mistake that he didn’t think through ( which, to be fair, he did not ). Also, now that Bastien is Lord Avalos - how does this change their relationship? It’s a responsibility he never wanted, but one that his mother insisted he must take on after the death of his father. I think there’s the potential for a lot of resentment to build between them, which is particularly interesting ( and sad ) because I think they have always had a fairly strong relationship throughout Bastien’s youth and early adulthood.

002. ADAM & EVE - Let’s! Talk! About! Evangeline! In all seriousness, I think that the relationship between Basien and Evangeline has so, so much potential and is definitely one of the main reasons I was drawn to the character in the first place. I mean, best friends who are practically closer than family is one of my favourite tropes. I really think of Evangeline as being one of the only things that really keeps Bastien grounded - he’s reckless and foolish at the best of times, and she has the potential to be a counter to this rashness. At the same time, Bastien’s immaturity ( for lack of a better word ) can help lift Evangeline and invite some youthfulness into both of their lives. I don’t want to infer too much about their past or their current relationship, as this is obviously something I want to discuss with Evangeline’s mun, but I do want to discuss the secrets that Bastien is keeping from Evangeline. For one, their connection states that he knows the truth about what happened to Evangeline’s parents, something she herself doesn’t know, and something he’s been keeping from her ( for what he believes to be her own good - but, really, shouldn’t Evangeline get to be the judge of that? ).

But, what happens when she finds out what really happened, and that her best friend has been lying to her for so long? Again, I don’t want to assume anything as this is entirely up to Evangeline’s mun, but I do think there is the potential for some drama™ here. Bastien didn’t do what he did for bad reasons, he’s not a sinister character, and he genuinely thought he was doing the right thing - but I can definitely see a world where it doesn’t come across this way. Along the same lines, I think that if Bastien was going to tell anyone about what happened to his father, it would be Evangeline. I don’t imagine that he’s told her yet, but I can definitely see this as a possibility. I think he would be worried about how she would react, and I can really see it going either way ( again, this is all subject to the interpretation of Evangeline’s mun ), but her reaction ( especially in light of what happened to Lady Treme ) is again, something which could be very interesting to explore.

003. A SEAT AT THE TABLE - Does Bastien deserve a seat at the Round Table? Absolutely not. Will he work hard to ensure he is respected and taken seriously? Also no. Bastien and responsibility are two things that nobody would have ever previously thought to associate. Growing up, Bastien seemed to exist on the periphery of his father’s world, a reckless kid always looking for trouble and never bothering to learn from his mistakes - he was an unwelcome stain on an otherwise pristine Avalos legacy. Nobody in any position of power thought to take the former Lord Avalos’ heir seriously, and perhaps many of them prayed the father world outlive the son ( it wouldn’t have been too unreasonable an assumption to make, given the number of times Bastien would return home late at night, bloody and bruised after picking a fight with someone he shoudn’t have ). Perhaps many of them were rightfully surprised to see Bastien take his seat at the Round Table following the untimely demise of his father - perhaps they’d been expecting him to simply walk away from the responsibility, to throw in the towel and leave the Round Table without an Avalos for the first time in history.

He’d wanted to - power and responsibility weren’t well-suited to Bastien’s personality. Sure, he had a knack for military strategy, and he wasn’t a bad fighter on his own, but he never saw himself as a general, as a leader, and he certainly doesn’t see himself this way now. He’d been willing to walk away from it all, but urgent prompting from his mother forced Bastien to rethink this position and take up a seat of power that he never imagined himself holding. He’s angry, of course, that his life has been whittled down to this - that he didn’t see this coming when he’d taken his father’s life, but he’ll do it for the sake of his family. I’d love to explore Bastien’s newfound responsibilities, and how he reacts to this. There’s the potential for a great amount of resentment to form - he never wanted this life for himself, he always imagined himself surmounting to bigger and better things, and, yes, he’s angry that he has to spend his days playing politics when he could be out exploring the world and living a life worthwhile.

I do see a possibility of it all becoming too much for Bastien - of him wanting to give up and escape and start anew. I’m not really sure how this would play out, in all honesty, but I think the resentment that Bastien has towards his life and his position could be very interesting to explore. I also would love to develop Bastien’s connections with the other members of the Round Table. I don’t imagine anyone will take him very seriously, and his naivety leaves him open to manipulation and sabotage. How do the others perceive him? How will they use him? This is the aspect of Bastien that is the most vulnerable - because he has no idea what he’s doing, and I’d love to see this come back to bite him, I’d love to see someone use this to their advantage, and against Bastien’s.

004. REFLECTION OF THE PAST - Although he isn’t aware of it, Bastien’s current life isn’t his first. He’s the reincarnation of Adam - how does this affect the way that he lives? I don’t imagine that Bastien is very aware of this fact, sure, he has strange dreams from time to time, and can’t help but feel as though he’s experienced certain moments in his life beforehand, feelings so familiar that he can practically grasp them - but he never stops for long enough to think much of them. As the memories of his past life begin to come back to him more clearly, I’d really like to explore how this impacts the way that Bastien lives. Is he doomed to simply repeat the same mistakes that he made in the past, or is there room for him to forge his own destiny? I think that Bastien likes to think of himself as a free spirit - all his life, he was actively rebelling from the part that his father wished for him to play, seeking out danger and relishing in the thrill of adrenaline pumping through his veins, rather than playing politics or making power grabs or leading the military with a steady hand - I think it would come as quite a shock to him to realise that he hasn’t really been becoming his own man at all - that he was simply following in the footsteps of a past life. I think it could actually be, potentially, quite upsetting for Bastien, and trigger some serious changes and introspection on his part. Of all my plot ideas, this is probably the least fleshed out, but I really want to explore how this impacts him, as I think there’s potentially a lot of room for some serious character development on the back of him realising that he’s just a copy of someone who came before.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation | I think, more so than anything else, Bastien is driven by passion. He’s certainly not the type of person to sit around and think things through before he does them - he doesn’t consider consequences or the why of his actions until later on. He chases whatever he imagines will be the most exciting use of his time, what he thinks will make the best story later on, what will make him feel the most alive. He’s not motivated to think very far beyond what is happening right in front of him, to consider how his actions might have repercussions for himself or for others later down the track. He’s motivated to follow whatever will serve him best in any given moment - whether it be pleasure, a thrill, or material gains. He flirts with danger not to test his own mortality ( okay, a little to test his own mortality ) but because he finds there to be no better feeling than that of pure adrenaline coursing through his veins. His loyalties and beliefs come second to that search for adventure, that search for the next high, the next story, the next great escapade.

Character Traits |

+ CHARISMATIC - exercising a compelling charm which inspires devotion in others. + PASSIONATE - having, showing, or caused by strong feelings or beliefs. + OPPORTUNISTIC - exploiting immediate opportunities, especially regardless of planning or principle. - RECKLESS - heedless of danger or the consequences of one’s actions; rash or impetuous. - MERCURIAL - subject to sudden or unpredictable changes of mood or mind. - IRRESPONSIBLE - not showing a proper sense of responsibility.

In-Character Para sample |

It’s raining.

This kind of weather would usually annoy Bastien ( there’s far fewer possibilities of what to do with oneself when the weather is poorly ), but, today, he’s glad for it - while the rain mixes with tears on his mother and sisters’ faces, it manages to conceal the fact that, were it not for the unfortunate weather, Bastien’s own cheeks would be perfectly dry. His eyes are not spilling a single drop, his breath does not hitch, and his limbs only tremble from the cold - his knuckles turning white as he holds an imposing charcoal umbrella over his head.

For one normally so consumed with emotion ( one to whom anger and joy come in equal, loud measures and often within the same beat ), Bastian looks almost akin to the statues he currently finds himself surrounded by - stony faced and lifeless. Normally his face can tell a story all on its own - one of joy, or triumph, adventure, or defeat - and perhaps, to the uninformed observer, his current sterility could be chalked up to grief or to shock, but, in truth, he has quashed any emotion he might feel so as to avoid the catastrophic mistake of letting something slip that he’d prefer the public weren’t privy to. His mother had warned him - you’re grieving. You’re grieving. You’re grieving.

He wasn’t grieving.

Perhaps it should be a concern, he thinks, as he gazes at his father’s headstone ( some ironic inscription about a loving husband and father stares back at him, mockingly ), that he doesn’t feel anything akin to sorrow - the emotion he’d expect most people to feel when attending their parent’s funeral. Perhaps he should be sad - after all, this is the final day of his life as he knows it, is it not? The final day where he is able to wake up and enjoy a clean slate, to have possibilities stretched out ahead of him, tantalisingly close and yet just a stone’s throw out of reach. This ceremony marks the end of his father’s reign as Lord Avalos, and tomorrow morning, the title and responsibilities that come with it will fall to him. It’s a rather unenviable situation, he’d say.

He glances sideways at his mother - she’s sobbing quietly as one of his sisters recites some old poem. He’s suddenly angry, the desire to shake her and scream washes over him - he wasn’t a good man, mother, he had no love for us, mother, he would have killed you, mother - but then he remembers how she had screamed as Bastien plunged the dagger he’d been gifted for his twenty-fifth birthday into the heart of the man who had raised him, remembers the silence that followed as they had cleaned his blood from their clothes, and the urge goes as quickly as it had came, replaced again by stony faced resolve.

It’s been raining for the past two days, and Bastien can feel himself slowly sinking into the mud underfoot.

He’s not cut out for leadership, he thinks. Sure, he has a knack for military strategy, and a keen interest in it ( this is perhaps the only thing he and his father had had in common ), but general? A seat at the Round Table? It all seemed like too much of a stretch for the man who just a few weeks ago was picking fights with men twice his size in the city square for a bit of fun, the man who had three fake teeth because the real ones had been knocked out by quicker, stronger opponents, the man who had skirted responsibility for most of his life. If he’d had time to think, he might have tried a different method to stop his father from laying a hand upon his mother ( it had been a blur, though, adrenaline taking over and the urge to protect stronger than any rationality ) - but this was the problem, wasn’t it?

Bastien didn’t think. He never did. He’d always been a doer - acting with his heart and leaving his head to deal with the consequences later on ( if he ever did deal with them - too often it seemed he simply walked away from the messes he made, leaving a trail of skeletons behind him wherever he went, hoping desperately to outrun them lest they grab hold and pull him back down to face the music ). Now, suddenly, he’s expected to take up a position of power, of responsibility - to represent not only his family ( which he’d never done a particularly good job of ), but all of mortalkind. He’d tried to run from this, too, but sometimes fate is too powerful to escape. His mother had insisted he grin and bear his new responsibilities - he’d hurt the Avalos name enough by this point, hadn’t he?

It seems almost like a cruel twist of fate - that someone who had become so used to avoiding responsibility would be suddenly weighed down by one so great. Suddenly dashed were all of Bastien’s hopes to live life as a free man - to go where he wanted, to do as he pleased. This had never been the life he’d envisioned from himself - from the moment he could dream of something beyond himself, he’d dreamt of a life beyond all of this - beyond the rigid structure his father had long tried to force him into, beyond the rules everyone around here seemed so keen to follow blindly. He’d quickly earned the reputation of reckless, foolhardy, untoward, tempestuous, and he’d secretly reveled in it. Now, he can practically feel the eyes of his father’s former associates boring into the back of his skull - waiting for him to make a mistake, to claw their own way into power.

It’s ironic, really - they’re waiting to make him a villain, yet everything he’d done until now would suggest him to already be one.

He’s become quite accustomed to feigning grief over the past few days - it wasn’t too much of a stretch, really, he’s always been a terribly gifted liar. Not always for nefarious purposes, mind you. More often than not, his lies were altruistic in nature. He’d spin elaborate tales of grandeur and chivalry out of petty fights for his sisters and classmates. He’d convince his mother that the ghastly gash above his eye would heal up just fine ( it didn’t ) and that it didn’t even hurt ( it did ). He could brush off concern or anger or disappointment with a flash of his teeth and a little white lie, he could bounce from person to person, emotion to emotion, leaving everyone he met with a slightly different impression depending on what they wanted to see. And he could keep secrets buried deep in his chest, rotting him from the inside, when he felt they might do more harm when spoken aloud.

He could lie about this, then, too. He could lie that he was ready ( and willing ) to take on this new responsibility - just as he had feigned shock at the sight of his father’s dead body. Just as he had feigned anger that no culprit had yet been found. Just as he could feign mourning around his sisters, or remorse around his mother. Just as he could feign grief - just as he is right now, the fat droplets of rain serving as decent enough replacements for genuine tears. He’d handle this - of course he would handle this, just as he had handled everything else in his life up until now - with a laugh and a grin and a great story at the end of it.

“Bastien,” It’s his mother speaking, she tugs gently at his arm. The ceremony is over. He hadn’t even noticed that people had started to file out of the cemetery. “It’s time to go.”

Extras | Pinterest / Mock blog

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my application ( again )! I love the look of this group, and I love Bastien, and I hope I get the opportunity to write with you all soon!!

#accepted #accepted: bastien

2 notes · View notes

sunflwrvolume6 · 4 years ago

Text

someone lost, something gained [36]

This is a huge step, a leap forward that she won’t ever be able to take back. And if this all ends disastrously, she will not only lose the only man who’s held her interest in three years but the man who has made her happy through such a horrible time. She meant what she told Antonio. She didn’t think she would ever smile again after Granddad passed, and that thought alone terrifies her.

[ao3 ☆ wattpad part one | part two]

[previous ☆ masterlist]

[get tagged here]

note: not going to lie, this is 4k of pure tooth-rotting fluff. i almost split it into 2 chapters/posts, but here it is in all its glory.

Veda frowns at her reflection, smoothing down the front of her dress. It’s too much, she knows it is, but Hattie had been adamant about this particular outfit. She’d said that if Niall didn’t want to take Veda to bed immediately after seeing her in this dress, then he’s either stupid or just not that into her. Veda crosses her fingers and hopes her cousin is right.

But she still walks out of the bathroom and into Hattie’s room with doubts swirling in her mind. “Are you sure I’m not, like, showing too much?”

“Veeeeee,” groans Hattie as she tosses her book aside. “Look. Yes, your back is exposed, and yes, maybe it’s a deeper neckline than you’re used to. But you don’t look like a two-dollar prostitute, so it’s a win.”

“Well, thank god for small mercies.” Sighing, Veda makes her way back to the mirror, calling over her shoulder, “What should I-?”

“Oh, step aside. Your favourite cousin is here to save the day. Sit,” Hattie orders with a vague gesture toward the tub.

Veda rolls her eyes but obeys while Hattie rummages through the bag Veda brought downstairs with her. Hattie comes up with an eyeliner pencil and bottle of foundation. She warns Veda to stay completely still -”Or I will stab you in the eye and not feel bad at all” - then gets to work. Veda follows every command, tilts her head up and down and side to side. She even manages to somehow control the twitching of her eyelids as her cousin applies mascara.

Finally, Hattie steps away and beams. “Hey, you actually look somewhat presentable.”

“Hey, you’re actually kinda being an ass.”

Hattie yelps when Veda goes to stand. “What do you think we’re doing? We aren’t done!”

“I’m supposed to be meeting him soon,” Veda protests, and Hattie shoves at her shoulders until Veda sits again. “If I’m late, I’m blaming you.”

“Worth it.”

Forty minutes later, Veda is slipping her feet into a pair of nude peep-toe heels, courtesy of her cousin who heard about the date finally happening and went shopping. She sighs and checks her reflection again. Dark red lips, perfect winged liner, curled lashes, and a touch of peach on her cheeks make her look entirely different than her every-day face. The mass of curls pinned on top of her head is definitely a change from her usual bun, and Veda will never waste the time again.

But even she has to admit Hattie’s magic has made her look incredible.

“Be home by Cinderella, or the carriage turns back into a pumpkin.” Hattie drops to sit on the couch and cocks her head. “Better yet, don’t come home at all.”

“Wow, you really think I’d put out on the first date?”

“For Niall? Yes.”

Veda pauses before collapsing into giggles. “Okay, yeah. You’re right. Don’t burn down the house.”

“I’ve been cooking since I was six. I think the house will be standing when you come home in the morning.”

Veda slides her phone into her purse and steps out onto the stoop, pulling the door shut behind her. Someone whistles sharply across the street, and she checks that Nonna isn’t watching before she raises her middle finger at Antonio. He laughs, shaking his head, and tells her to have fun. He really doesn’t need to add the lascivious wink - she hears the innuendo in his voice - but he does anyway.

“I’ll tell Nonna you’re pestering me, Ant.”

“She gets one look at’chu, she’s gonna wonder where you’re goin’ all dolled up. You really want questions right now?”

“I’ll tell her tomorrow,” she giggles as she makes her way down the block to the subway.

The sun edges closer to the horizon, but the heat of the day is nowhere near dissipating. Veda’s heels click against the pavement, joining the cacophony of fellow pedestrians moving to and fro. The restaurant is just ahead.

Her heart beats faster in her chest the closer she gets.

Hattie made sure Veda was out of the house in time, but Veda didn’t make sure she was actually ready for this.

Niall is quite possibly the most wonderful she could ever love like this, and losing him would be just as devastating as losing Granddad.

Love. Far too early for that, Mitchell.

Light streams through the enormous windows, catches on Niall’s dark hair like a halo around his head. He’s staring down at the phone in his hand; his thumb taps at the screen, he pauses, then his thumb taps again. The process repeats five times before Veda’s phone vibrates against her side. She steps out of the foot-traffic, digging through her purse until she comes up with the device.

From: Niall > I’m excited to see you

It is such a simple message, but it brings a smile to Veda’s face until her cheeks hurt. She locks her phone and looks at him. He’s gorgeous. His face falls when he sees she’s read the message but isn’t responding. She swallows down the sudden surge of nerves and eases her way through the evening crowd.

“How many times did you write that message only to delete it again?”

His head snaps up, and his smile falters as his gaze skims over her body. “Fuck, Veda, you look - wow. You’re gorgeous.”

“Oh. Um, thank you. Hattie did all the work. I just played the role of live-action Barbie.” Her face heats up at the way his eyes are still on her. She steps forward to kiss his cheek. “You look amazing, too.”

And he really, really does. The gunmetal grey of his V-neck brings out the blue in his eyes, and his dark jeans only accentuate the muscles they hide. Veda’s mouth grows dry as she stares, fragments of a dream worming its way to the forefront of her mind. She wants to feel beneath her fingertips the stubble along his jaw, the soft strands of his hair between her fingers.

She wants to make him look as turned inside-out as he makes her feel.

Ever a gentleman, he holds the door open and waves her through. She laughs softly.

“This is just so you can stare at my ass, isn’t it?”

“I’m only a man, Ve-Veda,” he chuckles as his hand settles on her lower back, a steady point of warmth that rapidly overtakes her entire body.

Veda will remember nothing of the decor, none of the faces they pass as they follow the host to their table, or the aromas of meals that mingle in the air. All she can focus on is how his hand hasn’t moved. The way his fingers brush against the hem of her dress above the curve of her ass. The rush of her heart as it desperately tries to push oxygen through her veins instead of the desire to lead him to the bathroom.

As much as she loathes the loss of contact, Veda is thankful when they sit. His touch was far too distracting, and it is nearly impossible to be on your best behaviour when all you want to do is feel more of that touch in places unsuitable for public audience. He grins at her from across the table; his eyes hold a knowing gleam, and she wonders if he’s thinking the same thing.

She barely spares a second to check the menu, ultimately deciding on a salad. He frowns slightly, opens his mouth, but she shakes her head. The confusion on his face disappears when she explains she only eats like a pig at home. Being out in the real world means she has to use the manners Granddad worked so hard to teach her. Niall laughs and tells her she’s doing a great job.

“So, I have to admit something. I’ve been wanting to ask you out for, well, too long.”

Veda cocks her head. “Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to make you feel like I was pushing myself onto you.”

She can’t help it - she starts giggling. “Sorry, sorry. It’s not funny. I mean, it kinda is? It’s why I don’t text you every day asking you to come over.”

“You should have. DB and I would’ve loved to spend more time with you.”

Ellie’s words echo in her mind, and Veda drops her gaze to stare at the glass of water. She doesn’t want to voice the doubts, but she knows she needs to. She has to know.

“Can I ask why? You wanted to ask me out, I mean. Aren’t you worried that this is just me, like, latching onto the first person who shows me a teeny tiny iota of stability during a life-altering event?”

“Well, I wasn’t before!” He taps his finger against his glass and laughs quietly. When he looks at her again, there’s an earnestness on his face that astounds her. “No, I’m not. Veda, I figured out a long time ago that sometimes, you make a choice and it turns out to be the worst fucking decision of your life. But it’s a lesson learnt, and you move on and try to remember that lesson.”

“But what if it turns out this is just my brain craving affection and comfort after I lost my best friend?”

He smiles softly, reaches for her hand, and she lets him link their fingers together. “Then I can’t be too upset, can I, that I’m the one who got to offer it to you.”

“Nope, nope, nope,” Veda mutters as she blinks rapidly, but the burning remains in her eyes. “I can’t do this. You are too damn perfect. What the Hell.”

The stricken expression on his face is replaced with amused exasperation, and he lifts her hand to press a kiss to the back of it. She bites her lower lip to stop her giggles, even as the server arrives with their meals, and Niall sticks his tongue out at Veda.

The date seems almost…effortless. As if it’s merely one of their hang-outs in a restaurant instead of her house. Even the knowledge that this is changing their relationship isn’t enough to make Veda panic for long. He keeps her laughing with stories of his childhood, and she tells him more about her life with Granddad, even the tale of her throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of the street while he taught Hattie how to ride a bike.

She never wants it to end.

“Where to next?” she asks as he leads her toward the door.

“Well, I figured you weren’t the type of girl who would be content with sitting in the dark for two hours while watching a film that may or may not be awful.”

“You guessed right.” Veda frowns when he hails a taxi, his hand tight around hers. “You’re not gonna tell me, are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re lucky I trust you.”

“I’ll do my best not to fuck that up then.”

Veda stares at him for a moment then shakes away the feeling that he is far better than she deserves. Everything he’s told her has been pleasant, wonderful. Even the strained relationship with his brother pales in comparison to her own familial ties. She doesn’t tell him that, though. It isn’t a competition, and she would hate to ruin the atmosphere of the evening. She would take the win in a landslide, anyway.

Niall helps her from the backseat, his hand solid and strong and not releasing her even after she’s on her feet. His lips brush against her cheek, and Veda ducks her head to hide her smile as they step away from the cab so it can drive off. She squeezes his hand then turns toward their destination. She pauses, blinks at the dark blue building and bright yellow letters.

“IKEA?”

Niall shrugs and shifts his weight. The lot lights wash his eyes an icy blue, but there’s so much warmth there. “Has a date ever done this with you?”

“No, I can say with absolute certainty that this is incredibly unique.” She bites her bottom lip at how uncomfortable he looks, as if he’s afraid he has messed this up. She sighs, touching his cheek with her free hand. “You were right. A movie would have been cliche, and I am so not dressed for anything requiring more than walking. Niall, this is perfect.”

His gaze drops to her lips, but he doesn’t kiss her like she desperately hopes he will. Wants him to. Instead, he smiles and loops his arm with hers. She waits to pout until he’s not looking at her. Why won’t he just kiss her already? He has had ample opportunity, and she’s practically begging for it by this point. After all, it was only a month ago that she kissed him. It’s his turn now.

He suggests a game as they walk through the aisles, pointedly following the arrows on the floor unlike the other people. The rules are simple, he says: Find the most ridiculous items on the shelves to decorate a home with, and whoever has the weirdest collection wins.

“What’s the prize?” she asks even as she adds a tray printed with ugly Santas to her list.

“If I win, I… hm. I get another date with you.”

“And if I win?”

“Another date with me.”

Veda giggles, presses her face into the side of his arm. “So either way, we both win?”

“Exactly.”

She tugs on his arm after a moment, and he follows obediently to the mini-home setup. His face scrunches up once inside, his eyes darting around the small space. Veda understands his distaste for the tiny home - the idea of leaving less of an imprint on the environment is nice, but she needs more room to move.

This, though, seems more like -

“Are you claustrophobic?”

“I am,” he admits with a self-deprecating chuckle. Nervous. Anxious.

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be. How could you have known?”

She immediately steps out of the display, pulling him with her, and Niall draws in a deep breath once they’re back in the aisle. He squeezes her hand gently. Forgiveness. With an apologetic smile, she gestures for him to lead the way.

The kids’ section instantly catches her attention. Not the bedding or furniture, but the toys. She never really had playthings as a child, since Olivia wasn’t much of a mother, so Veda, without shame, checks out the stock of every store she steps foot into. Granddad started her plush animal collection, and Veda adds to it every chance she gets.

Niall doesn’t judge her for her excitement over the stuffed dogs and teddy bears and penguins. In fact, he even moves away to look in other bins, holding up various creatures for her scrutiny. She falls a little more for him because of it. For once, she feels like she doesn’t have to hide a part of her.

That she can show everything she is, and he won’t think less of her.

“Veda! Oh, my god, come here.”

Veda turns away from the pandas and makes her way through the cramped aisle to his side. Her eyes widen, and she gasps at what he’s found. “Holy hell, they’re amazing! They’re bigger than DB!”

“It’s ridiculous.” He pauses, resting his hand on her back, and she meets his eye. “Want one?”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t need it.”

He frowns as his fingers catch her chin, hold her head still so she can’t look away. “Ve-Veda, I didn’t ask if you needed it. I asked if you wanted it. Yes or no, no thinking allowed.”

And what else can she say except “Yes”?

His smile lights up his entire face, and he lets her go to dig through the bin. She raises a brow when he comes back victorious with a plushie in his hands. He lifts a shoulder jerkily, explains that the ones on the bottom haven’t been touched by gross hands nearly as often as the ones on top.

Veda accepts the reasoning - it’s logical, after all - and reaches for the shark. He takes her purse so she can clutch the stuffed animal to her chest. She knows her grin is too wide, too childlike, but the heat beneath her ribs overwhelms any potential embarrassment.

No guy has ever offered to buy her a stuffed animal, let alone a three-foot shark.

Once he’s paid for the blåhaj, as the tag proclaims, and a new leash for David Barkie, Veda follows Niall back out to the car park. He wraps his arm around her shoulder, kissing her temple, and they walk in silence toward the nearest subway stop. A heady thrumming kicks up in her veins, singing praises of how wonderful the night has been.

How amazing Niall is, even before he’s given her one of the best dates she’ll ever remember.

Her mind suddenly stutters to a halt as they stand together on the subway, scarcely an inch between them though there’s no need. They’re the only ones on within a two-seat radius. She groans as her head drops back. He stares at her with a question in his eyes. Veda sighs and wonders how to explain what she’s thinking. What comes out is:

“This date wasn’t terrible.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” he asks, the words slow and purposeful. Like he doesn’t want to offend her or be offended himself.

“Yes and no.” She exhales sharply and decides to go all-in. “Okay, so you remember how we met because of my friend Ellie’s wedding? Well, I was the maid of honour, and I gave a speech about Chris and Ellie’s first date.”

“I’m guessing it was terrible?”

“The worst. She called me after, and I swear, I almost fell asleep as she told me because it was just… so boring. There was no chemistry! But she went out with him again, and now they’re all gross and in love and married. So I said I wanted a date like that. Something terrible that lead to an amazing love like that.”

Niall nods slowly, and Veda leans into him when the car sways, coming to a stop. “Well, I suppose this could be our second date, because me coming over after your granddad passed was a terrible time for you.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Veda laughs, the sound watery but bright. “I think I’ll take the perfect first date considering how long it took to finally get to it.”

Niall steps out onto the platform first, reaching back for her hand. His brows are drawn together, a slight downturn to his lips, and Veda wonders what he could be thinking about. What could have made him so serious so quickly? When he strokes his chin, she realises he’s putting her on.

“The perfect first date?”

She rolls her eyes but plays along. “Yep. Almost guaranteed you’ll get a kiss at the end of the night.”

“Anything I can do to make it happen?” he asks, pulling her closer when a group of men walk past. Not even nine-thirty and they’re already drunk. One of them whistles under his breath, his gaze heavy on Veda’s exposed skin, and Niall hurries her along.

“Keep being you, I suppose.”

Nonna stands in her doorway, watches as Niall and Veda approach, but she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even wave. Veda appreciates that, though she would like a bit more privacy as she comes to a stop at the top of her stoop.

Setting the shark down at her feet, Veda stares up at Niall through the glow of the porch light, at the soft curve to his lips and the way his eyes shine. She steps further into his space and thanks the inventor of heels as she kisses Niall’s smile away. His hands settle gently on her hips, warm even through the fabric of her dress, and she wraps her arms around his neck to bring him closer. His heartbeat is rapid against her, or maybe it’s hers that is fluttering so quickly beneath her ribs.

Nearly every single neighbour is peering through their windows when Veda finally pulls back, and she huffs out a quiet laugh. “And here I thought living in a small town would be the only way to get this kinda nosiness.”

“They worry about you,” he whispers, shrugging, and Veda kisses him again. God, she is falling too hard for him, and she doesn’t want to stop.

“Thank you for tonight. I really enjoyed it.”

Niall is the one who kisses her this time. One hand cups her cheek, and she chases the taste of wine and chocolate on his tongue. Heat flares up in her belly as his fingers press firmly into her skin. She wants more than this slice of perfection.

She wants him, any way she can have him.

The invitation is on the tip of her tongue, the plea for him to stay the night, for the night to never end. But then he’s pulling away, putting a sliver of distance between them, and her body goes cold without him. He whispers a goodnight, his lips brushing hers once more, then makes his way down the stairs.

Veda watches him walk away and wishes she’d asked him to stay. Her mind catalogues all the things she’s going to tell Granddad about tonight, about how amazing and unique and unexpected it was, before -

Right.

She can’t tell him anything. Tears burn in her eyes at the reminder. Granddad would have loved Niall, and Niall would have loved Granddad. Granddad will never meet Niall. So Veda does the next best thing: She grabs the stuffed shark off the stoop, carries it inside, and sets off to find Hattie.

#someone lost something gained #nurse!niall #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan #nhff #1dff #one direction fanfiction #slowburn #mourning/grief #slsg #unnknown writes dumb stuff

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jewish-gay-elves · 4 years ago

Text

Truthfully

AO3 Link

Stephan finally gets the courage to tell Alistair how he feels, but not after some avoidance tactics.

Words: 1169, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of the Stephan Cousland: There's Never Much of a Choice for You

Fandoms: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Alistair (Dragon Age), Male Cousland, Cousland, Stephan Cousland, Sten (Dragon Age), Zevran Arainai Relationships: Alistair/Cousland, Alistair/Stephan Cousland, Alistair/Male Cousland Additional Tags: the prompt for this was 'greatest fear'

“So Warden, if I were to ask you how you felt about me, how would you answer?” Alistair asked him on the road towards Denerim. Stephan felt his heart stop as he almost tripped over his own feet in surprise. The two wardens were currently walking behind Leliana and Zevran, the two rogues wrapped up in their own conversation about various misadventures they had been on in the past. Stephan schooled his expression as he had to do many times at Castle Cousland, and tried to come up with an answer that didn’t come across badly.

“I am thankful for you, for teaching me about the Wardens and staying with me all of these months against the Darkspawn. I admire you, for being so strong in the face of all the hardships that occured in Redcliffe, and all of the atrocities that we’ve seen because of the Blight. I respect you, for not letting all of the frankly terrible things that have happened turn you into a bitter and terrible person, and like anyone else in our party, I care about you. I want good things to happen to you and for you to be safe,” Stephan said, fighting to keep a neutral and light tone of voice. This was the most Stephan had ever admitted out loud about his feelings for Alistair, and to be fair, it was all true. Stephan, however, knew that it wasn’t the full truth.

“Wow, th-thank you Warden, I wasn’t expecting that. I thought you might say something like ‘Your annoying tendency to ramble and bother me every ten minutes about something inane makes me want to throw you at the Darkspawn some days’ y’know something like that,” Alistair said. Stephan looked over at him incredulously to see Alistair rubbing the back of his neck nervously, his face blotchy for some reason as he tried to joke about it. Stephan had to clamp down on the wave of feelings he got at the sight of Alistair being so cute and try to still be neutral. He looked away from the other man and busied himself with adjusting his shoulder strap, holding his longsword to his back. An idea sparked, Stephan looked back up at Alistair, struck by an idea.

“Will you spar with me tonight, after we’ve made camp?” He asked, looking hopefully at his fellow Warden. Alistair was startled by the question but he nodded his assent to the request. Out of all the ways Stephan had learned from his brother and mother on how to channel his thoughts and feelings, sparring was one of the better and more effective methods. Alistair looked as though he wanted to say something, but at the last minute changed his mind. Had Stephan been a more charming and less awkward person, he would have asked what was on his mind. In his current state however, he just settled for resuming their previous pace, walking behind the two rogues. Alistair stood and just watched his fellow Warden walk for a few moments, then jogging to catch up again.

Later, after setting up camp, the two warriors stood facing each other, both tense though for varying reasons. Alistair wasn’t the usual person Stephan asked to spar with, and that was enough to put him on edge. Stephan knew what his true confession was going to be, and knew that one way or another, he was going to tell Alistair tonight. No more dancing around. He had to truly tell Alistair his feelings.

They circled each other warily, both nervous to make the first move, until Zevran, clearly impatient with all of the tension, cleared his throat loudly to say

“Well? Are you both going to just stand there, staring at each other all night?” he said, not trying to hide his interest in the outcome.

Stephan, in his last moment of hesitance, looks to Sten, who is quietly watching as well, and all it takes is a nod from the qunari to rush at Alistair. Bringing his sword down over Alistair’s head, it was easily deflected by the round shield that Alistair was wielding. He had used both hands to stabilize the shield under Stephan’s longsword and in the moment that he used to shift his weight to swing his sword around at his opponent; Stephan had danced far enough away to stay out of reach.

Both fell into a rhythm then, Stephan beginning to use the reach of his longsword to keep Alistair away, while Alistair tried to use his shield to deflect the blows. They went on like this for several minutes, with none of the rogues watching quite able to tell who would come out as the winner. Sten watched, starting to question his leader’s attachment to the other warrior in their party. In the Qun, upsetting the balance of their kith would be punishable by the Viddasala. As his ashkaari however, Sten could only wait and learn the reasoning behind the Warden’s actions.

While Sten thought on this, the spar began to reach its peak. Stephan, too used to quickly being able to overpower his enemies had finally started to lose his stamina against the solid defense that Alistair presented. Within moments, Alistair managed to catch Stephan off guard and pushed so hard against him with his shield that Stephan fell back on his rear. Swinging his sword around, Alistair kept the shortsword leveled with his opponents throat to ensure the end of the match. Stephan just sat there, breathing heavily and staring at the business end of Alistair’s weapon.

“Do you yield?” He asked, a smile teasing his lips, pleased at himself for proving his own strength. Stephan still sat, his breathing laboured, but his gaze had quickly shifted from the sword to Alistair’s face when Alistair spoke. After a tense moment, Stephan took a deep breath, then said what he had meant to say, hours ago in the woods.

“I love you, Alistair,”

“I- You what?” Alistair asked, very confused at the other Warden’s words and what they could possibly mean.

“I didn’t say it earlier, when you asked how I feel about you, or when Leliana and Zevran almost spilled the beans, or when I first figured out my feelings. But, I want you to know now. I love you, Alistair,” Stephan said, breathless, staring up at the man who held his sword inches away from Stephan’s throat.

Alistair stood there in shock, both of their breathing returning to normal while Alistair went through every interaction that he and the Warden had ever had. Suddenly, when everything seemed to line up, Alistair’s eyes snapped back into focus, and he threw the sword aside. His shield quickly followed as Alistair threw himself to the ground beside Stephan and gripped him in the tightest hug Stephan had ever experienced.

“Thank you, I- I need time to think about this, but, thank you for telling me,” Alistair whispered. Stephan could only nod and hold onto his fellow Warden as tight as he could.

#writing #dragon age #dragon age origins #stephan #stephan cousland #m!cousland #alistair theirin #alistair x cousland

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