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rocorambles · 3 years

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Surprise Interview

Pairing: Kenma x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Yandere, Pseudo-Cest, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Verbal Humiliation, Manipulation

Summary: Kenma sees if you have what it takes to be Bouncing Ball’s newest employee.

A/N: This is for @sugawara-sweetheart ‘s Decadence Collab. So excited to be a part of this collab and to be able to indulge in such a delicious prompt and theme. Be sure to check out everyone else’s works! As always, thanks for beta-ing @sawamooora ~

There’s a familiar peace and a new nervousness about coming back home for the holidays. Mostly because home isn’t quite the same home it used to be. You can feel warmth blooming in your chest at the thought of seeing your mom, telling her about everything and everyone (as if your daily phone calls aren’t enough), and just lounging around while she fills you up with her cooking. But you can also feel a certain shyness as you approach the house, a building that still feels brand new and strange to you.

Your mother had gotten remarried during your earlier college years after your father’s passing and you were elated for her. If anyone deserves all the happiness in the world, it’s her. You had met Mr. Kozume quite a few times and you have no qualms with the man. He treats your mother like a queen and even though you playfully gag as they sweet talk and kiss in front of you, you wholeheartedly approve of their relationship.

However, what you aren’t quite as prepared for is having a new step-sibling.

You don’t know much about Kenma Kozume. Well, not much more than the rest of the world does.

Professional gamer. Successful stock trader. Popular YouTuber. Founder of his own corporation.

You know exactly who your new brother is, but other than seeing him a few times in person at family gatherings and exchanging polite greetings, there’s no real connection. Which is why your heart races as you nervously ring his doorbell, anxiety already making your leg twitch as you wait for the door to open.

Your mother and step-father are on a couple’s vacation and won’t be returning for a few days.

(“We just want some romantic time together before we have a full house again for the holidays. Plus this is a great chance to get to know your older brother better!” You hadn’t even been able to get a word of protest in before she had laughed and hung up on you, leaving you speechless and on your own as you hesitantly texted Kenma, letting him know what day to expect you.)

Kenma is quiet as ever as he nods in greeting, silently leading you to your guest room before quietly telling you to make yourself at home and leaving to do his own thing. You let out a huge sigh of relief as the door closes behind him.

There’s nothing wrong with Kenma. He’s smart and successful. Maybe a bit on the quiet side, but that only adds to his down to earth charm. You know your mother and step-father adore him and you can’t blame them. Yet, you can’t help but feel scrutinized, seen so clearly in a way that terrifies you when his feline eyes gaze at you. It takes everything in you not to immediately scurry away whenever you’re in viewing distance of him, desperate to hide all the flaws you imagine he’s noticing and calculating. Your step-father had mentioned how Kenma used to be the strategist of his high school volleyball team, and has always been able to evaluate and accurately break down situations and people. And you believe it.

You’re just grateful the house is large enough to avoid each other and that Kenma tends to reside mostly in his home office and bedroom.

But even the founder of a company needs a break from time to time. Kenma shuffles towards the gaming room, only to blink in surprise when he sees you already inside of it, happily smiling as Animal Crossing visuals and sounds fill the space.

He had known you owned a Nintendo Switch, a piece of information your mom had shared to break the ice a bit. And it’s really no surprise that this is your go-to game. But knowing and seeing are two different things and he can’t help but let his own lips twitch upwards at how calm and relaxed you are tending to your garden, decorating your home, choosing your outfit.

Kenma’s never been good with people, has never been the one to initiate a friendship. He knows he should have made more of an effort to be friendly and welcoming to you as your new older brother. There’s a slight pang of regret in his chest when he sees how at ease you are while you’re unaware of his presence. His eyes are as sharp as ever and he locks in on the way your body slightly stiffens, fingers nervously fidgeting when you finally notice his figure in the doorway, words already stuttering an apology for using his game room without explicitly asking.

You look like a scared mouse about to flee from the claws of a cat. And it pisses him off.

He hasn’t made the best efforts to bridge the gap between you, but for you to fear him? That seems a tad unnecessary, and more than a tad insulting. It’s more than enough to make the sadistic streak in him want to give you something to be scared about.

But he’s never been impulsive and he just quietly sits beside you on the floor, reassuring you it’s fine to play, smirking when you sneak little side glances his way as you continue collecting fruits.

“Kozume, do you want to play-”

“Just call me Kenma.”

Entranced eyes watch as you grow flustered at his words, mouth silently testing the weight of his given name in your mouth. For once, Kenma could care less about playing video games when a shaky timid “Kenma” slips past your soft lips.

“Kenma, do you want to play something together?”

You have no idea how badly he really does want to play together, but it’s a game you’re not ready for. So he calls upon any restraint he has to pluck your device from your hands and change the game to Mario Kart.

It’s amusing how easily you soften besides him, brow furrowing in concentration, eyes intently and eagerly following the screen, any anxiousness quickly forgotten as you get into the game. He greedily watches as you pout when you make a mistake, as your eyes light up every time you pass someone.

If he had known how easy it would be to make you warm up to him, he’d have done this sooner and he genuinely laughs when you whine and fake glare at him as he wins yet another round.

He asks about school. You ask about work. He tells you about his childhood. You share your own stories.

It’s a comfortable rhythmic back and forth and he’s afraid of ruining it, but a certain question nags at his mind, a question he knows may ruin the entire flow of the conversation.

“You’ll be graduating soon. Have you decided what you want to do after college?”

“Kenma not you too!!!”

His shoulders relax at how well you react to the question, smiling at the way you flop onto your back and groan about how mom and dad are already on your case about future plans.

“I’ve been applying to places, but who knows. Maybe I’ll just work for you at Bouncing Ball.”

There’s a playful lilt in your voice when you say it, a giggle and teasing smile accompanying the words. But there’s nothing funny about it to Kenma and your smile falters a bit when you see how tightly Kenma’s gripping his controller, the way his eyes pin you down.

“Kenma? It’s just a joke. I would never take advantage of-”

You try to get up from your reclined position, only to whimper in confusion when Kenma’s hand on your shoulder forces you back down. And suddenly you’re pinned down by more than just his stare as he moves to straddle you, knees on either side of your body, hands next to your head, his whole body caging yours.

It’s a lighthearted joke in the family that if all else fails, you could always work at Bouncing Ball. A joke your step-father and mother always dish out when the arguments get too tense as the three of you talk about your future. But it’s become less in jest for Kenma, especially after Kuroo sent him a scandalous picture of his newest secretary kneeling between his long legs, lips wrapped around his cock.

It wasn’t the first picture, nor was it the last incriminating photo the older businessman had sent him. Kenma merely rolled his eyes before deleting the image from his phone, wondering when Kuroo would grow bored and find a new toy to play with. But he freezes when he sees the following text message from his long-time friend.

“You’re the CEO of a company, Kenma. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone convenient around? A pretty warm body? I bet that cute new step sister of yours would look really good under your desk. Doesn’t she graduate from college soon? If you don’t make a move, maybe I’ll snatch her up right from under your nose. I’m due for a change of secretary soon.”

There’s absolutely no reason for the hot anger that lances through him at Kuroo’s taunting words and he grimaces at playing right into his ex-captain’s hands, already hearing Kuroo’s braying laughter in his head if the older man saw just how much his words affected him.

But initial irritation aside, he lets himself really think, really imagine what a life with you at his beck and call would be like. And he likes what he sees. He doesn’t delete Kuroo’s photos as quickly as he used to, replacing the female faces with yours in his imagination as his hands slip under the hem of his boxers.

He knows it’s a longshot, knows there’s a high chance you’ll continue your lives as is, never destined to exchange more than a few polite greetings at family outings. But now...now hearing you voice the idea out loud yourself, hearing the way his first name sounds from your lips…

Maybe it’s not the silly pipe dream he had believed it to be.

“I’m in need of an assistant if you really do want to work at Bouncing Ball, but you’d need to prove why it would be worth hiring you.”

He almost laughs at how you perk up despite the precarious position you’re in, almost ready to launch into an elevator pitch of your qualifications flat on your back underneath him. You’re quite the multitasker already and he groans at the thought of having you cockwarm him while he tests out a new video game, making you answer all his calls stuffed full of him and desperately trying to hide the lustful tremble in your voice.

But he’s not here to listen to your carefully crafted speech. (Guess you really were practicing for job interviews like you said you were. What a good girl.) And he firmly presses his lips against yours to silence you, taking his time to immerse himself in the way your mouths mold against each other.

Your taste, your smell, your warmth. It’s all intoxicating and he slips his tongue inside your parted lips, subtly rutting his groin against your body. He can feel your body jostle as you lift your arms and he waits for the weight of your arms to lovingly wrap around his neck, only to be shocked when you weakly press against his shoulders until he finally relents and pulls back just enough to look down at you in irritated confusion.

“We- we shouldn’t be doing this.”

It’s not the words that have him clenching his fists, not even the way your palms still timidly press against him in a laughably weak show of defense.

It’s the fear in your eyes, the way you look at him like he’s some monster. It's the way he can almost palpably feel and hear your desire to be anywhere other than here, with anyone other than him, wishing to put as much space between the two of you as possible.

It’s your rejection.

It hurts to know that he isn’t enough just as he is, that he needs to resort to less...savory and straightforward ways to entrap you. But he’s not Hinata or Kuroo. He doesn’t have an electrifying personality or roguishly handsome features and charm to woo you. He only has his cunning and sharp tongue.

And he fully intends on maximizing his gifts.

“Of course, you don’t have to. You can just keep on applying and getting rejected by every company you speak to, if they even bother meeting with you after seeing your pathetic resume. Average college. Average grades. Average major. Tell me, how many interviews have you actually been reached out to for?”

He’s going out on a bit of a limb, but his suspicions are right and he cruelly smirks at the way tears bubble in your eyes at his words, no comeback or denial rolling off the tip of your tongue. He had a feeling you were struggling from the bits and pieces he’s picked up as your parents quietly talk and fret over you actually being able to find a job after graduation.

“Our parents are too nice to say anything about it, but you know they’re disappointed in you, right? Have you noticed how they always avoid talking about how school is going or asking you about how job hunting is going? How they only ask me how work is going? It’s because they know you’re just a loser whose life is going to amount to nothing.”

“That’s not true! They love me-”

“I’m not saying they don’t love you, but doesn’t that make it even worse? Making your loving and caring parents worry and stress over you when they should be preparing for retirement, an easy life? Instead of letting them finally enjoy a carefree life, you’ll be their freeloader daughter who uses up all their remaining funds. Is that what you want?”

You really are too easy and his lips curl in satisfaction at the way you frantically shake your head side to side, fat wet drops streaming down your face, adorable sniffles filling the air.

“If you become my assistant, I’ll compensate you well. You can live here with me, have your own room, a roof over your head, all the food and clothing you need and want. Think about how relieved and happy our parents will be seeing you provided for, seeing us getting along. Isn’t that what you want? For them to be happy?”

He knows how close you are to your mom, how important this idea of a perfect family is to you. He knows how insecurity and doubt about your own capabilities torment you. And he knows you’re hooked on his claws when your hands that are still pressed against his shoulders drop limply besides you, not even a hint of resistance left in you when he leans down once more to rest his forehead on yours, one hand cupping the side of your face.

“This is all you’re good for anyway. Working underneath me.”

If you notice his pun, you don’t acknowledge it, too busy wincing and squirming as he harshly nips and bites a trail from your lips to your neck as he pushes up the hem of your shirt until your chest is on full display for him. There’s something experimental, cold, meticulous about the way he gropes and fondles your breasts.Your face heats in humiliation at how he treats you like one of the many game consoles he’s reviewed for his audience.

But you don’t do anything about it, telling yourself that this is just his version of an interview as he pinches and prods at you, meanly twisting your nipples and chuckling at your yelp of pain. You obediently let him spread your legs apart, only letting out an agonized cry as he tests your flexibility, staring at him with a trembling lower lip as he sharply tells you to shut up while scrutinizing your panty-covered sex.

“You really are made for this, aren’t you?”

You whimper as he nudges the small wet spot on the thin fabric, clenching your eyes shut in denial at how hot and wound up your body feels from his touch, unable to hide your gasp as he pulls the layer aside and rubs your aroused clit.

There’s something so different about the way his fingers slowly sink into your wet pussy, almost lazily curling against your soft walls, his thumb never stopping its careful massage on the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. So different from your own fingers desperately thrusting in and out of you. So different from the drunk partners you’ve hooked up with at college and their sloppy, rapid, frantic movements.

You can feel something large, something intimidating slowly rising from deep inside of you, a volcano about to erupt compared to the bright and fast to fade shooting stars you’re used to. You’re scared. Scared of the intoxicating feeling, of how easy it is to grow accustomed to Kenma’s presence, of how his cat-like eyes are all you can see and think of.

How can something feel so wrong and so right at the same time?

That’s the last coherent thought you have before your world goes blank, pleasure rocking through you as you soak the carpet and your step-brother’s hand with your juices. You’re moaning as Kenma continues to rock his fingers in and out of you, fingertips insistently massaging your clit and g-spot as you ride out your orgasm, body trembling and convulsing.

But even when the tremors slow, when pleasure becomes something sharper, more overwhelming, he doesn’t stop. You wail, begging him to stop, to let you rest, slumping in relief when he finally drags his hands away from you, carelessly wiping the mess you’ve made of his hand on your skin, covering you in your own essence.

Your heavy eyelids threaten to flutter shut as you let exhaustion wash over you, already dreading having to get up and wash yourself. But you’re shocked back to reality as something hard begins to nudge at your still fluttering entrance.

“Kenma! No! Too much-”

You break off into a sob as surprisingly strong hands dig into your hips, holding you still as he pushes and pushes until he’s fully settled inside of you, balls resting against your ass.

You’re still so tight, your quivering walls clamping around the intrusion, and he groans at the thought of being able to sink into this hole every day, multiple times, whenever he wants. His cock is already aching from holding off for so long, from watching your body and face contorted in pleasure. Kenma can feel his end quickly approaching as you scream and wail underneath him, eyes rolling back in your head, drool trickling from the corner of your mouth. You look absolutely obscene and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of this side of you.

But despite the way his balls are tightening, despite the stutter in his hips, he’s determined to watch you fall apart once more, to see you shatter to pieces yet again. He grits his teeth, fingers reaching down to furiously rub at your already oversensitized clit, reveling in how your back arches, thighs shaking in overstimulation, and then you snap.

He wonders what his parents would think of their dear dumb daughter now, looking nothing like their silly angel, looking like a wanton used whore, incoherent garbled noises slipping past your lips as you twitch uncontrollably, your pussy milking him dry as he cums inside of you.

There’s only silence mixed with your pitiful whimpers as he slides out of you, grimacing at the sticky mess you’ve made of yourself and him. But that’s what your other hole is for and he orders you to suck him clean, admiring what a quick learner you are, eager to please as you noisily slurp and lick him clean, moaning at the taste of your combined fluids...

Maybe too eager and he shoves you off of him when you become too enthusiastic, his cock beginning to twitch in interest once more.

You look so lost, still sprawled out on the ground, staring up at him with wide imploring eyes as he pulls up his pants. So vulnerable and in need of guidance.

Good thing you have such a great boss to manage you.

“Not bad. Consider these next few days your internship and if all goes well, I’ll be more than happy to hire you as Bouncing Ball’s newest employee this summer. Now clean up this room and show me that my future assistant can do more than just be a slut.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kenma #yandere kenma x reader #haikyuu smut #kenma x reader #kenma smut #haikyuu x reader #sweetheart decadence #tw: yandere #tw: dubcon #tw: noncon

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yourtamaki · 3 years

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history doesn’t repeat, it rhymes

sakusa x gn!reader

word count: 4.1k

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, elements of depersonalization, non-explicit mentions of sex

dedicated to: @onyxoverride (thank you for beta reading) & @saintdabi

you can’t remember the last time you saw your reflection.

it wasn’t deliberate, the way you turned your back to the full length mirror in your closet every morning when you got dressed, how you usually dodged your reflection coming out of the shower like you did just now. at least, not at first. not until you realized how much better you felt now that you didn’t have to come face to face with a stranger everyday. that was the only word to describe whatever lived in the mirror. a stranger. any recognizable part of you had rotted away long ago. all that remained now was an empty husk with dead eyes and a selfish heart. the same selfish heart that set you on this path in the first place.

was it worth it? you wanted to ask your past self. was his love worth what you did to yourself?

the very first night you met sakusa set the tone for the rest of your relationship. you’re still not entirely sure why you accepted your roommate, hinata’s, invitation to his team’s party to celebrate their record win streak. it probably had something to do with the puppy dog eyes he threw you. regardless, you went, wearing an outfit you were losing confidence in by the second and leaning against a wall as far from the drunk crowd as you could get. you never liked parties like this. too many people, too loud. but for your best friend, you were willing to grit your teeth and bare it.

a part of you, larger than you would ever admit, wishes you never looked to your left that day. wishes that you never spotted the curly haired man looking so sullen despite half his face being covered with a mask, that you didn’t notice the way his eyes flickered from his empty red cup to where you knew the kitchen to be, how he wearily eyed the crowd of people that separated him from it.

“i was about to grab a drink. i can bring something back for you if you’d like?” the first thing you ever said to the love of your life was a lie. you were planning on staying tucked in your corner all night, safe from the dancing drunks who had no concept of personal space until hinata was ready to leave. and yet the words were almost ripped out of you the moment your eyes landed on him, a fierce need to help the man flaring up from nowhere. you could only assume he had separated himself from the party for the same reason you had and it pulled on your heartstrings. no one ever noticed when you needed help so why not extend that courtesy to him instead? he blinked at you as though he had to process your offer before he nodded.

“yes, please i’d appreciate it.” his voice was different than you expected it to be. slow and calm despite the way his fist clenched and unclenched. “just water. a closed bottle if you can find it.”

his brows furrowed for a moment when you held out your hand before letting out a quiet ah and handing you his empty cup. it was endearing how he placed it in your hand, balancing it carefully on your palm.

“be right back.” you shot him a smile and started to make your way across the floor, getting pushed and jostled the entire way there. you made quick work of tossing the garbage into the overflowing trash bag and dug out two water bottles from behind a rack of beer cans in the fridge. the trip back was no easier and you breathed a sigh of relief when you were once again in your small private bubble with the man. the discomfort you endured, the skin crawling sensation of all those bodies too close to you was worth the way his eyes lit up when he saw you’d returned.

he accepted the cool bottle with a murmured thanks, pulling his mask down and tucking it under his chin. handsome was your first thought and his name was your second. the two distinct moles on his brow should’ve given it away that you were talking to sakusa kiyoomi. you’d seen enough of hinata’s games, heard enough stories to put a name to the face. he held your stare as you placed him in your mind, taking a sip from the bottle as he did. an urge to say something, anything to keep those eyes on you bubbled up hot and fast and you said the first thing that came to mind.

“my roommate’s your teammate.”

“is he? which one?”

“hinata. shoyo.” you added as though there was another hinata on the msby roster.

“ah. my condolences.” the corner of his lips quirked up when you snorted. “i’ve seen how he leaves a locker room. i don’t want to imagine what his room looks like.”

“it’s not pretty, that’s for sure.” you said, leaning your shoulder against the wall and taking a moment to regard him. “can i ask why you’re here? shoyo told me you don’t like crowds so a party must be hard on you.”

“would you believe me if i said contractual obligations?”

“nope cause i helped shoyo go through his contract and i don’t remember ragers being a part of the deal.” a small burst of pride bloomed in your chest when he laughed, a quick huff from his nose and amused eyes as though he didn’t expect it.

“you got me.” you waited for him to explain and deflated a bit when he remained silent. that is, until you followed where his eyes had wandered. it was easy to spot hinata from across the party. he sat high above the rest of the crowd on bokuto’s shoulders, leaning back occasionally to test bokuto’s reaction time and giggling every time he was caught at the last moment. meian was trying in vain to pull the ginger down while atsumu seemed to be on facetime with someone recording the whole thing, his loud laughter ringing out clearly over the music.

“you’re here for them?” you said just as the realization dawned on you. sakusa twitched, so small you wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been watching him so closely.

“spending time with your teammates promotes better gameplay on the court.”

“i’m sure it does. but wanting to hang out with your friends isn’t a crime.”

“we are hanging out. i’m here, aren’t i? if they wanted to talk to me, they know where to find me.” the bitterness in his tone wasn’t enough to mask the acceptance behind his words, of being resigned to his fate as the forgotten one.

“well, i found you.” he looked over at you, something unreadable swimming behind his eyes before they softened.

“yeah. you did. you know, you’ve talked a lot about shoyo but i don’t know anything about you. i don’t even know your name.” he said. heat raced to your cheeks, flustered that he seemed to be paying as much attention to you that you were to him.

“i didn’t even notice, sorry.” you said before offering your name. he repeated it back, once, twice, rolling it around on his tongue and you watched his mouth, mesmerized by how it curled around a word you’ve heard your whole life until it sounded new again. he spoke your name in a soft, hushed whisper and you wondered if his lips would feel just as soft. half-lidded, his gaze flickered downwards like he was wondering the same thing.

the rest of the night was a blur in your mind. all you could recall was that you chatted with sakusa until the others found you and you drove a passed-out hinata home with a new contact saved to your phone.

the reminiscing left you drained, clutching your phone in your hands, the screen frozen on that same contact as you collapsed into bed and yet you couldn’t stop the rest of the memories from flooding through your mind, the truth you’ve been holding off for too long. you’ve picked at a festering wound that was best left alone. if you didn’t think too hard about it, if you ignored how it grew and ate away at you, it wouldn’t hurt as much. right? but it was too late. you’ve pulled the string and now you’re left to deal with your own unraveling.

you scrolled through your texts for what feels like a lifetime, the entirety of your relationship flashing by and disappearing in an instant until you could scroll no higher. of course you sent the first text. a formal message that didn’t look anything like how you actually text with one too many exclamation points in your desperation to come across friendly.

your fingers moved across the screen and when your mind caught up, your thumb was hovering over the button to delete the entire conversation. you never wanted to see evidence of who you used to be ever again. you didn’t want to be reminded of the person you cut and broke and killed until they fit into sakusa’s neat life. but sentimentality stilled your hand, the phone dropping from your limp fingers and crashing to the floor. you didn’t bother reaching for it.

the accursed memories refuse to let you be, another bobbing up to the surface from the murky depths and pulling you under before you could stop it. one that showed what little agency you had in your own life.

it started the way it always did. you noticed him. noticed how tired he was every time you spoke. how you went from going out on dates to always staying in to maybe being lucky enough to say good night over the phone before he crashed for the day. and sure, you were lonely. so starved for him it ached. but that was overshadowed by your worry for him. you would lay awake wondering if he’d remember to eat that day, if he had the energy to clean his apartment and if he didn’t, how much was that adding to his stress?

so you swung by his place the next morning after he had left for practice, spent the day cleaning, restocked his fridge and were nearly done making dinner when he returned. his exhaustion was truly hammered home when he walked straight past the kitchen on autopilot before doubling back, tilting his head at you in confusion.

“what are you doing here, darling?”

“helping out.” you turned back to the stove and busied yourself with mindless stirring, afraid that you’d been too eager and overstepped. “you seemed pretty tired these days so i wanted to do something for you but you’re back earlier than i expected so i can just go if you want to be alone just let me-”

your rambling was cut off when a force barrelled into you and sakusa hugged you tight from behind, head buried in the crook of your shoulder. all at once, whatever anxiety had been growing fled you and you relaxed into his touch.

“thank you.” it wasn’t the words that made your heart leap to your throat. it was the sincerity, the slight crack at the end that told you he had more he wanted to say but didn’t know how.

you fell into a routine of going over to his apartment, looking after things, kissing him when he returned and staying over at night. at first, it was once a week. then over the weekend, then every other day.

“you should move in.” even though you half expected your relationship to take this next step, it still took you by surprise the casual way sakusa brought it up. you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to move in with him just yet. you built a home with hinata and that apartment meant everything to you, all your happiest memories were made there and oh no sakusa was still waiting for an answer.

“i should?”

“yeah.”

and that was the end of it. you were packed and out of hinata’s apartment (because it was his now. his and atsumu’s. not yours, it’ll never be yours again) by the end of the month. most of your things didn’t come with you but that was fine, right? so what if you still felt like a guest in your home even to this day with none of yourself being reflected in the apartment? you got to wake up to see the love of your life every day and that made everything worth it.

until you started waking up alone.

extra training, he said. the team drafted new players and he had to get used to their play style, he said. and you believed him, trusted that he’d be home with you if he could. so you took the crushing loneliness and swallowed it down like a bitter pill. you smiled wide when he came home late with only the moon to light your bedroom and let him use your body to rid the stress of the day.

the dead of night was the only time you’d have him all to yourself. you could be greedy for his attention when he was buried inside you. it was easy to pretend you clawed up and down his back because you were caught up in the moment and not because you were desperate to keep him close to you. easy to pretend the tears in your eyes were from pleasure and not from how much you missed his voice.

and when he was empty and spent, you would stroke his hair until he fell asleep and then, only then, would you whisper all the things you couldn’t tell him during the day. small, meaningless anecdotes that you knew would earn you a wry smile if he was awake to hear them, the one he used when he didn’t want to let on how close he was to laughing. the stolen moments were a salve on your fractured heart but it was never enough to heal it. in the end, when you were once again alone in your too-wide bed, it only served to remind you just how deep the cracks were.

maybe that’s where you went wrong. you gave away your heart to someone and got nothing in return, nothing to plug up the all-consuming void in your chest. there was nothing left of you. no, that wasn’t quite true. there was nothing good left of you. you gave him your best parts and all you had now was pure resentment that burned hot and fierce in your core, so acidic it ate everything in its path. it burned away the dredges of your soul until all you could do was allow it to climb up and scorch your throat in a silent scream.

another memory. it’s strange what your brain chose to latch onto as you spiralled. on the surface, you remember this to be a happier time. but as it overtook you, you’re reminded almost violently that the edges of this memory are stained with the early decay of your identity.

before the early mornings and late nights, before you got into the habit of staring at your ceiling and wondering how you got to that point, you and sakusa had a tradition. you’d both find something, a story, a movie, that you think the other doesn’t know and share it with them. that day sakusa came to you with the myth of orpheus and eurydice.

he told you the story of a man so in love with his wife he journeys to the underworld after she dies to find her, how hades tells him he can guide her to the land of the living but orpheus must trust that eurydice is following him. if he turns around, eurydice’s fate is sealed. sakusa explained how in every version of the myth, orpheus turned around at the very end out of an uncontrollable, unfiltered love for his wife. whether it was because he was excited to see the end of the tunnel and wanted to share his joy with her or because he feared she got lost, either one stems from the love he has for her. the love that sent him to find her is the same love that doomed her in the end. but the more sakusa spoke about orpheus, the more you wondered about the other protagonist of the story.

“why didn’t eurydice try to let orpheus know she was there? she could’ve held his hand or touched his back or something.” you asked. you were laying your head on sakusa’s chest, letting the low rumble wash over you as he read you the tale. the question had been bugging you as the story came to its conclusion though you couldn’t place your finger as to why.

“she was a spirit. she would pass right through him.”

“yeah but…” you searched for the words to explain your confusion. “she didn’t even try.”

“it wouldn’t have mattered either way.”

you opened your mouth to press the issue further, too stubborn to let it go just yet when you heard sakusa sigh out of his nose. it was enough for any question to die on your tongue and all that came out was a quiet, “i guess so.”

it was a nothing memory. an empty thing to remind you of better times that you’ve had no need to look back on. so why did that moment swirl around your head now, as you crumbled in your lowest moments? scattered pieces start to form together in the recesses of your mind but before you could call them forth to make a full image, the bedroom door swung open and sakusa walked in.

for once, you don’t slip on your well worn porcelain mask. you don’t school your expression and force it to mold into something that couldn’t quite be called happy. instead, you sat up straight in bed, held his gaze and did nothing to hide the maelstrom of hurt that raged inside you. a sick satisfaction shot through your veins when his steps faltered at the force of your stare.

“what’s wrong?” he asked.

what isn’t? you thought but instead said, “nothing. i was just thinking. about us.”

“oh.” his eyes are already sliding away from you, a quiet detachment in his voice that made you grind your teeth in frustration.

“remember that greek story you told me about?”

“mhmm.”

“tell me again why eurydice didn’t reach out.” there it is again. a short, sharp exhale from his nose. he opened his mouth but you spoke before he could. “humour me.”

“she was dead, darling. she couldn’t touch him, he couldn’t hear her so there was no point.”

“no point? there was no point in trying to tell orpheus that she was behind him? he climbed into the underworld for her and she couldn’t try?”

“could you--?” he cut himself off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “it’s late. i’m exhausted and really not in the mood so can we go to bed?”

“doesn’t that sound familiar?” you continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “one person bending heaven and hell for the person they love while the other can’t even meet them halfway. remind you of anything?”

now you had his full attention. his brows scrunched together and you’re not sure if he’s trying to figure out the meaning behind your words or the reason for your hostile tone. you don’t feel like helping him out either and instead watched the gears turn in his head with something akin to glee. it’s his turn to be paranoid, to overthink, to pick apart every moment of your relationship and dissect it piece by rotted piece.

“please don’t be vague. if you’re upset with me, tell me.” it was the most emotion you’ve heard from him in so long, you were taken aback for a moment.

“i’m a bit past ‘upset’, omi.”

“i’m sorry.”

you scoffed. “you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.”

“you’re hurt and it’s my fault. that's enough for me to say sorry.”

“you don’t understand.” he crossed the room in three large strides, sitting on the edge of the bed to leave space between you.

“then help me understand.”

you floundered for the right words to explain the mountain of revelations you’ve uncovered and settled for, “how do i take my coffee, kiyoomi?”

he took your use of his full name in stride. “black. one sugar.”

“no that’s how you take your coffee. that’s the only way you ever make coffee. i had to learn to like it.”

“what, you’re mad i don’t know how you like your coffee?” you know he didn’t mean anything by it, that’s he's always been more blunt that he means to be but it doesn’t stop you from feeling patronized and the hurt loosened your tongue.

“it’s not about the coffee! it’s not about the fact that eurydice was a ghost. it’s the effort, omi. you haven’t put an ounce of effort into this relationship. i’m the one who has to bend. i’m the one that has to change, it’s never you.”

“i never asked you to.” the truth of the statement knocked the air out of your lungs. because that's the worst part, isn’t it? you have no one to blame your misery on but yourself.

“i don’t know how to love you without sacrificing pieces of myself. and i’m empty, kiyoomi, i've given you all of me. and it feels like you’ve given me nothing in return.”

his head was bowed while he listened but from how tight he laced his fingers together, you know he was fighting to stay calm. “you know i love you, right?”

“do you? do you love me or love that i’m convenient? love that i clean your place and make you food and have a hole you can--”

“stop.” you didn’t know it was possible for so much heartbreak to be packed into a single word. it sobered you of your venom and in its place, shame came rushing in.

“i’m sorry. i'm pissed at myself for letting it get this far and i’m taking it out on you. i don’t regret loving you. but it feels like that’s the only thing living inside me. like i’m not even a person anymore.”

“i should’ve noticed. it shouldn’t have taken you snapping for me to realize what was going on.”

“maybe.”

silence, suffocating silence, stretched and morphed time until it felt like you’ve aged a decade in a moment. and then sakusa spoke.

“you’ll help a stranger just because they look like they might need it and ask for nothing in return. you’ll make someone food just so you can be sure they ate that day. you’ll tell me about your day while i fall asleep and i don’t think i could sleep without hearing your voice. you’re kind and too selfless for your own good and the best person i’ve ever met. it kills me that i’ve been the cause of your pain.”

it was strange hearing those traits spun in a good light when you’ve thought of them negatively for so long. strange knowing where you saw faults he saw things worth admiring. “you hear me at night?”

“and you like focusing on minor details. yes, darling. every night.”

“oh.”

“i understand if you need… space, if you want to spend some time apart. but give me a chance. please. give me a chance to prove how important you are to me. i’m sorry that i’ve failed you. i’m sorry i've been taking you for granted. but that ends now. never again.

“and i can help you, too. i can remind you of all the parts you say you’ve lost. i’ll tell you all about the person i fell in love with everyday if you need it. i’d never run out of things to say. please. you found me once, let me return the favour and help you find yourself. if-if you’ll have me.”

his small speech wasn’t the reason tears stung the back of your eyes. as he finished speaking, sakusa reached out across the space between you and offered you his hand. a lifeline that you took, the lump in your throat to keeping everything you wanted to say stuck inside you. thankfully, you needed no words for sakusa to understand you. he brought your joined fingers to his lips and let out a shaky breath against them. the two of you stayed like that for a small eternity, drifted apart yet holding together with a bridge to link you. you’ve been fueled by resentment and anger for so long, you weren’t sure if you were strong enough to let them go. but you did know that you didn’t want to try without him by your side.

#sakusa x reader #sakusa angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu imagine #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi angst #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! angst

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itsallyscorner · 3 years

Text

For Tom x

Pairing: Tom Holland x singer!reader

Summary: You have a surprise for Tom:)

Warnings: none, just pure teeth rotting Fluff:)

A/n: Hello my loves! This is literally a rewrite because I accidentally deleted the original version of this story on Tumblr RIGHT before I was gonna post it😭 Anyway here it is, I hope you all like it! Ally x

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

look at my sunshine🥺

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

Your giggles filled the hallway as you lead Tom into your makeshift studio. Since you were quarantining with him and his mates in their shared home in London, you were miles away from your crew and studio. Which, yes, made it difficult to record an entire album on your own—but it did give you the creative freedom to do whatever you pleased for the album.

The boys had their own creative outlets; for example putting together a puzzle or having a movie marathon. While you found those activities enjoyable, the inner singer in you couldn’t stop thinking of beats or coming up with lyrics in your head. You needed the studio—you needed to bring those beats and lyrics to life before you could forget them. So with the help of the houses’ tech lord himself, Harry made it possible for you to have your own little studio in the spare guest room of the house. There, you spent endless days writing and recording things like harmonies and building melodies. Little did you know that this would lead to the creation of your sixth album. Now a couple months later, your latest album is currently in its final stages and would soon be released to the world.

Tom adoringly watched your figure, which was drowned in one of his oversized jumpers, excitedly skip towards the guest room. As soon as you were both inside, you rushed to close the door and eagerly pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed.

“What have you been up to, lovey?” He teasingly asks you. He knew you were up to something, he just didn’t know if it were bad or good.

Your figure was bent over the desk where your laptop was located. Turning over your shoulder you tell him, “It’s nothing bad, I promise!” You’re met with an amused grin on his blush pink lips.

Gathering your laptop into your arms, you move to sit beside Tom on the bed. He curiously leans forward, trying to get a glance at what’s on your screen.

“Nuh uh, it’s a surprise, Thomas.” You playfully scold him and gently push his face away from your laptop. He responds with a pout against your palm before pressing a kiss onto your skin. You continue to click around on your laptop, looking through your documents for the specific file.

Meanwhile, Tom shuffles further up the bed, getting comfortable. He notices the new distance between you and him and decides that he’s unsatisfied with the additional inches. He choses to snake his arms around your waist and lifts you up, happily placing you on the empty and lonely space on his lap. Laying down on his back, he takes a moment to admire the way you look in his jumper. It was a few sizes bigger than you and stopped right above your knees. The jumper may have looked good on him, but it looked absolutely perfect on you.

“You look so cute in my jumper.” He hums, hands lazily rubbing up and down your thighs. Your nose scrunches up as you lightly slap his chest; your silent way of saying “shut up” whenever Tom would say something that made you blush.

You finally find the file you were looking for and place your laptop on your lap. You nervously glance at your screen, biting down on your lip out of habit.

“Ok, so I did something.” You started. Tom squints his eyes at you, “That sounds like the beginning of a really bad something.”

You huff, “I just told you it wasn’t anything bad! Do you want your surprise or not?”

Tom chuckles and grasps onto your thighs, “Yes—yes, sorry, keep going.”

“So you know how I’ve already finished my album?” You question him. Tom nods, staring up at you while you sit on his thighs.

“Well, I wrote a few more songs that were supposed to be on the album. But I don’t know, I felt a bit greedy and decided to keep them for myself.” You explain. Tom raises a brow at you, “Baby, you don’t have to feel guilty about keeping songs to yourself. If you don’t want to share them, you don’t have to.”

“No, it’s just that, they’re about you.” You pause, staring down at your fingers that fiddled together. “Like I wrote them specifically for you to listen to. I wanted to include them on the album, but it just didn’t feel right to share something that was meant only for you.”

You place your laptop on the bed and turn it so the screen is facing Tom.

“So...as a solution, I made you your own album.” You were too busy avoiding his stare, that you missed the twinkle in Tom’s coffee colored orbs. He carefully sits up, his arms around you getting tighter, as he pulls you closer into his chest. Tom ducks his head down to yours, nudging your nose with his to get you to look at him. When your eyes finally meet, the lopsided grin on his features grows wider.

“You made me my own album?”

“Yeah.” You shyly answer. Tom softly coos at you, cupping your face and pressing a chaste kiss onto both of your cheeks.

“You are the most precious thing in the world, sunshine, I swear.” He squishes your cheeks together and began to cover your face with butterfly like kisses. Sweet laughs erupt from you, the sounds making Tom’s heart swell.

You stuff your face in the space between his neck and shoulder, using it as a place to hide from his lips. Instead, Tom opts to lay his kisses along the side of your face, your neck, and your shoulder.

“Lemme kiss you!” He whines. You chuckle at him, finally moving away from his neck. His attention darts towards your lips more than once, prompting you to lean forward and connect them with his. Tom’s lips were soft against yours, like clouds or cushiony pillows. The kiss was short and sweet; though it didn’t prevent you from feeling the adoration and passion he felt for you in that moment. In fact, he felt it all the time, but right now, his love for you was coursing through his veins.

He finally pulls away, leaving the taste of him linger in your mouth. “Can I have a listen?” He motions his head towards your laptop beside him.

“Go ahead.” Tom’s arms unravel from your waist, the area they once occupied left cold and yearning for his warmth. He uses one of his elbows to hold himself up and the other to control the touchpad. His eyes scan the file.

For Tom x

someone like u

test drive

worst behavior

main thing

He glances at you, “I start with ‘someone like u’, right?” You reply with a quiet “mhm”.

Tom clicks on the link. The opening notes of ‘someone like u’ begin to play followed by your angelic voice. You hear him release a content sigh, making a small smile to form on your lips. His arms make their way around you again, this time holding you closer against him. He rests his head on your chest and sneakily presses a kiss onto your neck. You fondly run a hand through his curly hair and rest your chin on the top of his head, listening to the songs you’ve made for him.

The two of you listen through the album in one go with no stops. You found joy in Tom’s reactions towards every song. Sometimes he would make little comments or sounds of shock whenever he heard you hit a certain note. He nodded along to the beats of ‘test drive’ and ‘worst behavior’, dancing around in his seat and making you join him. This time, you didn’t miss the twinkle in his eyes when he listened closely to the lyrics. ‘Main thing’ got him the most, leaving him with a goofy-lovesick grin plastered onto his face.

When ‘main thing’ came to a close, the room became silent, leaving Tom enough time to process the four songs you wrote about him and the meanings behind them.

You were the first to speak, “So did you like it?” You scan his face looking for any signs of dislike.

Tom’s eyes widen, “Are you kidding me? That was bloody fantastic—that was the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard! I’m obsessed with it, oh my god!” He expressed, arms moving around as he spoke.

His face was radiating with happiness, “You are the most talented and loving woman in the world. And I honestly don’t know what I did to deserve you or your love—but I just love you so fucking much.”

“I love you so fucking much too, you dork.” You laugh, pecking his lips.

“No, but seriously, thank you so much. I know you’re used to writing songs, but the fact that you actually took the time to write songs about me means a lot. They’re just a bunch of songs, but they mean the world to me and I cherish each and every one of them.” He admits, taking one of your hands and placing it onto his heart. Your palm feels the faint rhythm of his heart beating against his chest.

You tilt your head at him, mirroring the smile on his face, “I’ll always write songs about you. You somehow manage to inspire them anyway.”

Tom smirks, “Well I am Tom Holland.” You snort and roll your eyes at his humble brag.

“You’re still a dork, Tommy.” You comment.

Tom shrugs, “I’m a special dork because I’m your dork. Therefore making me superior to the other existing dorks—there’s a difference, darling.”

“And where did you come up with this hypothesis, Mr. Holland?” You question him, playing along with his antics.

“It’s Tom’s Theory.” He answers with feign seriousness. You burst out laughing, “Oh is it?”

Tom leans down to your laptop and restarts his album. “Yes, and now Tom’s Theory, believes that we should listen to the album again until I learn all the lyrics to every single song.” He proclaims.

“Babe, you don’t have to—” Tom stops you, “I’m dead serious.”

It was going to be a long night.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Tags ↴

*@/username = Tumblr won’t let me tag you :( *

Tom Holland + characters Taglist

↪︎ @lovableparker @aprettyfleur @sunwardsss @dummiesshort @thotforcriminalminds @cuddlykoala101 @itstaskeen @whoslili @white-wolf1940 @tomsirishgirlx @roseke @kaylans-imagines @spideyspeaches @slutforsebstan

General Taglist

↪︎ @quxxnxfhxll @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @thegirlwiththediary @agustdowney @bi-lmg @rqmanoff @sesamepancakes @stardustofreading

#tom holland x singer!reader #Tom Holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland imagines #tom holland imagine #Tom Holland fluff #tom holland headcanon #avengers #tom holland drabble #mcu #tom holland blurb #marvel #tom holland one shot #ally’s request #thomas stanley holland #Tom Holland one shots

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lokidoki-imagines · 3 years

Text

Red String of Fate Part 1

So I wrote out a whole piece and then my iPad decided to just delete it 🥲 But yeah, I’m a Zemo simp now apparently 🤷🏼‍♀️

Warnings: None really for this chapter, but I suppose it’s the start of a love triangle so if those bother you, then this ain’t the one for you 😂

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Zemo x Reader, Sam x platonic!reader

Word count: 1514

Having worked with Bucky and Sam before the blip, you knew the two of them together meant trouble. There was never a plan, only arguments and bickering over who had the right to make the plan, which usually ended with you making the plan instead. What wasn’t in your plan, was meeting your friends at a small Berlin airfield after their trip to see Zemo.

After having found the space outside of hanger 9, you pulled your phone out and called Bucky. “Okay, I’m here. So what’s my surprise?” Hoping it was going to be something nice, like some of those famous plums he always insists are better than anywhere else in the world, you let your imagination run as you heard him chuckle on the other end of the phone. “Don’t freak out doll, but look to your left.”

Pulling your phone away from your ear as the line went dead you could feel the goosebumps creep along your skin. Swaggering as if he owned the place, and you’d be surprised if he didn’t, was the one and only Baron Zemo; flagging him either side was Sam and Bucky. Shaking off the shock you shoved your phone back into your jacket pocket and stormed over to the three approaching men, noticing an elderly man stepping off a private jet spurred you into walking even quicker.

“What the hell are you two thinking?” Stopping a few feet away from them you ignored the man in the middle. “You said there was a surprise,” you let your eyes flicker over to Zemo’s brown ones before forcing them back to Bucky “Usually when someone says they’ve gotten you a surprise it’s something pleasant.”

“It’s his fault.” Sam spoke quickly, shoving a finger in Bucky’s direction.

“Hey, don’t pin this on me. He broke himself out, I only-”

“Oh so you’re completely innocent in this? Pretty sure you-”

Your eyes drifted from your bickering friends to the silent man between them. He was unusually quiet, any smart ass quip he had planned had turned to lead on his tongue the minute you came into the picture. He had wrinkles, only slight, at the corner of his eyes that weren’t there the last time you’d seen him. Days worth of stubble marked his cheeks, but even with all the years and heartache that he’d endured since you’d last seen each other, he was still exactly the same as you remembered. You could only wonder what he was thinking, seeing you here with his enemies after all this time.

“Are we interrupting something?” Sam spoke carefully, pulling your attention away from the criminal in front of you. Bucky and Sam were watching you both with cautious looks, as words begin to fail you. You’d never told your friends about your past further than you’d moved to the states as an adult. They knew you lived in Sokovia for a number of years on and off, but they didn’t know all of it. You didn’t know them during the Civil War, you became fast friends with them during their exile days on the run from the law after meeting Sam and Steve during one of their recon missions. Of course you knew why they were on the run, it’s why you never told them everything. If they knew-

You couldn’t get any words out as your mouth flapped open and closed like a fish out of water. You were blindsided seeing Zemo again and you couldn’t think straight, it had been so long and so many feelings began to rush to the surface you didn’t know where to start or what to say. Letting your eyes drift back to Zemo you pleaded with him silently to keep quiet, to keep your past a secret for the sake of your friendship, the sake of your reputation.

He still hadn’t taken his eyes off of you. “No. I’m afraid I don’t have the honour of knowing your friend,” his lips curved into a smirk as you let out a breath, “though I would certainly like to be introduced.”

“Let’s get on the plane, then we can play nicey - nicey.”

Zemo brushed past you as Sam followed him onto the jet. Your mind was racing, memories of your past rushing back as they escaped the box you’d kept sealed for the last god knows how many years. “Hey,” Bucky placed his hand on your arm, pulling you out of your thoughts and back to the present. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Just a shock, thought I was getting flowers.” The close contact of Buckys body to yours would usually send you into a tailspin, racing heart and nervous smiles. Now, it was empty; void. Your thoughts occupied by the passenger on the jet.

“I’ll bear that in mind for next time.” He promised as you turned towards the jet, “Let’s get going. The quicker we’re out of Berlin the better.”

Walking down the gangway you took the seat opposite Zemo, Bucky opting for the one to your right across the aisle. Letting your head fall back as the engine roared to life you laughed a little, rolling your head to look at the super soldier. “I thought I was getting some of those famous plums.”

You could feel his chocolate eyes watching and assessing the situation, just as easily as you could feel your nerves tingling on the back of your neck. Bucky let off a casual laugh, his head lolled to the side too. “Next time Doll, I promise I’ll get you some of those plums.”

“Perhaps I could get some too.” Flipping your head back you could tell he was teasing, testing the boundaries that were being set and seeing how far he could push it. “I do love plum jam, especially the homemade kind.”

You set your jaw as his eyes began to dance with mischief. He held the power now and he knew it, you had no choice but to bite your tongue as he toyed with you as innocently as he could. “Well I bet you’ve never had jam as good as Y/N’s, she makes the best jam I’ve ever tasted.” Your heart swelled at Sams sweet compliment as a smile formed as a thanks on your lips.

“Oh I bet it’s delicious.” Zemo drawled, his lilting accent just as you remember it.

“So where are we going now that we’ve broken a convicted felon out of prison?” His eyes dropped from you to look out the window as he took a glass of champagne from the assistant. The old man offered one to yourself, but you declined politely.

“Madripoor,” The Sokovian opposite you drawled in his accent, his fingers pausing in the pages of a book. “Now I don’t recognise this name...Nakajima?”

Leaping out of his seat before you knew it Bucky had one hand fisted in Zemos shirt, the other grabbing a little notebook you recognised as Steve’s. “You touch that again, and I’ll kill you.”

Sinking back in your seat you watched the three men bicker over Marvin Gaye. Taking a cup of tea from the assistant as you relaxed back into your seat, you couldn’t help but wonder why you were heading to Madripoor of all places. You’d only been once, a lifetime ago now, but it made an impression.

“So who are we playing dress up as?” You asked the man opposite you, sipping your tea. You knew his games, and you knew he’d take any opportunity to be the one in the know.

Sam sat forward, “I’m sorry, dress up?”

Zemo heaved a sigh, his hands folding over his lap with a head tilt. “We all have a part to play if we are to get the information we need from Selby. Sam, you will play the part of Conrad Mack aka The Smiling Tiger.” You snorted at Sams expression, his deadpan face betraying his thoughts.

“Seriously? He even has a bad nickname man.”

“James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone.” Your smile dropped, you knew that was going to be hard for Bucky. That much was evident from the scowl on his face. “And you, Y/n.”

His smile oozed mischief. “You will be my beautiful wife, accompanying her husband on business.”

Sam and Bucky began to protest as his smirk grew. “Fine.” Their shouts of protest falling short as you and Zemo started each other down.

“You can’t be serious Y/N.” Sam began, his hands flying to the brown eyed man opposite you.

Bucky shook his head, letting loose a humourless laugh. “If you think I’m letting you anywhere near her, then-”

You felt a swell in your chest at Buckys protectiveness, “It’s either be his wife or his whore,” Zemo’s smirk dropped, his eyes glazing over as you smiled weakly at your friends. “Plus he’s rich, I’m getting some jewellery out of this.”

Closing your eyes to get some rest before you landed, you could feel a set of eyes on you; whether they were chocolate brown or ice blue was a completely different matter.

#Zemo imagine #bucky Barnes imagine #tfatws #tfatws imagine #baron zemo #helmut zemo imagine #marvel imagines #imagines blog #hemut zemo #power broker #sokovia #daniel bruhl #sam wilson imagine #White wolf #falcon #james Buchanan Barnes imagine #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes

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perhaps-in-anotherdream · 3 years

Text

[CN] S2 Victor- Right Now Is The Time (Eng Translation)

⌚ Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a company project that is yet to be released in the global server! ⌚

NOTE: This post features S2 Victor and MC, and takes place some time in between post-Chapter 4 and pre-Chapter 10. And it’s the 4th company project. However, it doesn’t contain any spoilers regarding the S2 storyline. I’ve listed the notable storyline mentions at the end of the post, so no worries about storyline spoilers! (◍•ᴗ•◍)

ー

[ SECTION 1 ]

The day before the show is officially about to be filmed, I’m setting up the apparatuses in the lobby of LFG.

The company’s new variety event “Right Now is The Time” is a workplace observation related reality show, filming the internship of five talented students working at LFG.

According to the script settings, they have to pass a number of tests with the aim of obtaining a formal offer.

In this process, we hope to be able to display young peoples’ ardent love towards life and strive towards improving themselves simultaneously.

The format of this show has been introduced via overseas. I have spent a long time in obtaining the copyright, and also spent quite a long time in convincing Victor to set the filming location at LFG.

Now that the progress is continuing without a flinch, and the filming is officially about to be started, I also can’t refrain from heaving a sigh of relief.

MC: Master, remember to take away all the wires from here when you leave later. Otherwise, the property owner will definitely say something when he sees them on his way to the office at 6 AM.

As I walk around in the construction site, I lower my head to reply to the messages in the group from time to time. Suddenly, as I turn my head, I almost bump into the person standing behind me head-on.

MC: Victor.... what are you doing here?

Victor pulls away from me slightly, sweeping his gaze at the several cameras hanging high up on the wall.

Victor: This is LFG. What do you mean what I’m doing here?

MC: ....No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, why are you still at the office now. It’s already one o’clock.

Victor: Just got finished. What have you got up here?

MC: It’s nothing. The master will be done in a moment. It certainly won’t affect your company’s regular work tomorrow.

Victor seems to be about to say something when an abrupt call pops up on my phone. I embarrassedly duck my head at him, and tap on the call button.

Anna: MC, are you still at LFG? We have just gone through the script, and kept feeling that we won’t be able to shoot so much in one day. We have to pick out some contents to delete.

Anna: How about you do a round trip to the office, and we go over it one last time?

MC: Okay. I’m also done here anyway. I’ll go back right now. Are you guys hungry? I could buy some late-night snacks and bring them up.

Anna: No need for late-night snacks. We will try to get it done within the shortest possible time.

MC: Alright. I’ll be at the office within half an hour.

I hang up the phone, and turn my head to look at Victor. Even before I can say anything, he opens his mouth immediately.

Victor: I’ll drive you to the office.

MC: It’s okay. I can go back on my own. It’s too late already. You’d better go back and rest.

Victor: You also know it yourself that it’s too late.

He stares at me for a couple of moments, and seems to sigh. Then he takes out the car key from his pocket, motioning me to walk towards the elevator.

Victor: I happen to be going to the airport. I’ll drop you off on the way.

Victor: I’ll be away on a business trip these two days. If you need anything, look for Goldman directly. He will help you in arranging it.

MC: OK. But....

Did he set off for going to the airport in the middle of the night, and is going to attend a meeting on the next day straight away? Although I’ve always known that his work intensity is like this....

Victor: But what?

I fish out a picture from my phone and send it to him, smiling at him jestingly.

MC: I’ve sent you a phone wallpaper.

There are only six words written on the black background with white characters: “Working-class people, working-class souls.”

[ Note: It’s actually sort of a running joke in Chinese “打工人, 打工魂” (dǎ gōng rén, dǎ gōng hún) about the distress of the working class people :(. It has a rhymed version of it in English, but I’m not going to mention it here cause I’m not sure if I should be typing the word haha~ ]

MC: Although I know you are a capitalist, but you are able to understand the spirit.

MC: CEO Victor~ mutual encouragement!

◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──

[ SECTION 2 ]

Before Victor returns from the business trip, I specifically give him a call, wanting to arrange for one of the outstanding performing interns in the show to pick him up at the airport.

I really can’t bear to miss on a good filming material like this.

Victor is speechless on the phone for about 10 seconds before he finally sighs.

Victor: The audiences with little common sense would know that, it’s not within the turns of an intern to pick-up at the airport.

MC: Yes, yes, yes, it’s certainly not within the turns of an intern to pick-up the CEO at the airport. But CEO....

MC: You have great compassion towards considering the ratings of my shows. And you also know how important your appearance for this show is....

MC: You promised me, that you could make an appearance in the trailer for at least 3-5 seconds.

Victor: But according to my understanding of you, when you have a great amount of source materials, it’s impossible to have only 3-5 seconds.

MC: This is no surprise.

MC: You already knew this, and you still promised me. It’s clear that this 3-5 seconds is not the important point. The important point is making the appearance in the appropriate way.

MC: I think going with this pick-up method is very appropriate!

MC: Just be yourself. Whether you want to speak or not, what to say or how to say it, it’s all up to your pleasure, CEO Victor. Is this OK?

An almost inaudible sigh can be heard from Victor over the phone.

Victor: OK. I’ll arrive at 4 PM on the day after tomorrow. If you want to film the pick-up, make the arrangements in advance.

MC: The arrangements will certainly be made adequately for you! I’ll ask Goldman for the flight number.

Victor: Your tone sounds like you’re going to make arrangements with great fanfare.

MC: It’s just.... such as, since it’s a cameo, what kind of clothing and make-up....

Victor: No need.

MC: ....

MC: Yep, yep, yep. No need. CEO Victor will win the show as soon as he steps in front of the lens of the camera. We focus on the authenticity.

Victor: I still have matters to attend to. Let’s leave it here.

MC: You go ahead. I’ll get in touch with you the moment there is some progress!

Since I’ve received the special authority to shoot, I naturally arrange everything up frantically.

On the day of picking up at the airport, I sit in front of the monitor from beginning to the end, and stare at it from the first second Victor gets into the car to the final second. The result is beyond expectation—

Unexpectedly, he and the intern in charge of picking up hasn’t spoken a word.

The big brother in charge of filming laughs out loud as he looks at it: Playing this segment of 3-5 seconds would do it. Perhaps the audiences are going to feel like they are stuck in the frame.

MC: [ Talking to herself ] ....Victor wouldn’t be so stingy to really just give me a few seconds of materials, would he?

I wait until the filming clearance carrying great doubts, and is just intending to look for the intern in charge of picking up and ask a few questions, but that person disappears in the blink of an eye.

After a while, he comes over and finds me, additionally carrying a paper medicine bag in his hand.

Intern: Sister MC, CEO Victor spoke a few words with me after getting off the car. I felt his voice sounded a little hoarse. Would you like to send this to him?

MC: A little hoarse?

Intern: Mm, it felt like a cold. Luckily, we have also been on a project with CEO Victor in the past 2 days. Director Zhang said he even received an email from CEO Victor at 3 o’clock last night. The temperature difference in these two days was so huge and CEO Victor hasn’t rested well. So he might have caught a cold.

A wave of worry floats to my heart as I carry the medicine bag in my hand.

This person.... still doesn’t understand when he starts to feel unwell, nor does he know to make a sound about it.

◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──

[ SECTION 3 ]

I knock on the door to Victor’s office, and there is no response for a long time.

This kind of situation is very rare. I feel a little worried, and twist the doorknob to push open a little crack.

Victor leans back in his chair, dozing off. I haven’t pushed the door too loudly, but it still wakes him up.

He straightens up his back, and reaches out his hand to pinch the space between his eyebrows as he looks at me.

I feel somewhat very bad, and simply walk straight over.

MC: ....Did I wake you up? The intern said your voice sounded a little hoarse. So he bought some medicines for you, and asked me to bring them to you.

MC: Are you OK?

I can’t help stepping forward, and reaching out my hand to place it on his forehead. He has just woken up, his reaction clearly hasn’t come over, and he doesn’t even frown almost subconsciously like ordinary times.

MC: Fortunately, it’s not a fever.

Victor adjusts his suit, picks up the cup, and takes only one sip before putting it down again.

Victor: It’s no big deal.

....His voice indeed is very hoarse, and one can tell it’s a cold just by hearing it.

I rummage through the bag of medicines, and inside are throat-smoothening lozenges, indigowoad roots, fever patches– everything needed is available. It can be clearly seen that the person who bought the medicines was considerate and very attentive.

— Someone might be able to take over the job from Goldman in the future.

I eye up his cup once again. Thinking that the water inside surely have gotten cold a long time ago, I smoothly tear open a bag of indigowoad roots right away, and give it to Victor to brew up.

He actually doesn’t refuse, lifts up the cup with his both hands, letting the warm steam rising from the cup to blow on his face.

It’s rare for me to see him with the appearance of being unable to lift up his spirits like this, and I truly can’t help but frown.

MC: Why is it that the first thing you do after getting off the plane is coming back to the office, and not give yourself even a day of sick leave?

Before Victor can say anything, his phone sitting on the table starts vibrating.

I look at the lock screen illuminated by the light. Surprisingly, it really is that picture of “Working-class people, working-class soul” I have given him earlier.

Victor ignores the phone, and lowers his head to drink two sips of the indigowoad roots.

Victor: There are two more meetings in the evening, and the time was fixed already a long time ago.

The implication is that, it’s not happening.

My very soul is shaken: When the capitalists work with all their might like this, what qualifications do I have to not make great efforts.

MC: ....If this segment of yours is included in the show, LFG’s stock price will have to rise by at least three limit ranges.

Victor casts his everyday speechless expression at me. Judging from this reaction, it must have gotten a little bit slower due to the dizzy state he has been in just a moment ago.

I set my heart down, and shove my both hands inside the pockets of my coat.

MC: If you’re all right, I’ll go on and continue to keep an eye on the progress. There are throat-smoothening lozenges in that medicine bag. Remember to take them if your throat feels uncomfortable.

Victor nods, and as soon as I turn my head, he picks up the phone.

MC: Remember—

I suddenly recall when I have walked to the door, and smile at him as I lean against the crack of the door.

MC: To drink plenty of hot water!

◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──

[ SECTION 4 ]

Today’s filming goes on till 10 o’clock, and wraps up without a hitch.

I heard Goldman say that Victor’s meeting has also adjourned about at this same time. I buy some food for him and bring them over. As expected, he really hasn’t eaten again.

He is probably tired, and doesn’t hold it against my meddling in other people’s business, nor does he mock my poor order.

Just as I have set the four dishes on the coffee table, he then picks up the chopsticks on his own.

MC: Chicken, fish, less salt, less oil, and high protein.

MC: How’s this? This sick meal is still not bad, right? [1]

Without making any assessment, Victor picks up the rice, and tastes two bites in order to show his affirmation.

Victor: How’s the filming of the show coming along?

MC: Surprisingly good.

When the topic of the interns who participated in the filming of the show is raised, I don’t know how am I supposed to praise them.

MC: Kids nowadays can be extremely quick-witted. They learn things both fast and well, and are also very savvy about interpersonal relationships....

MC: Each one of them are standard template for the business elite.

MC: There is this one intern who came to LFG on the first day, and the department manager called him to write a summary on the conference....

MC: He said straightforwardly that he didn’t know how to do it, and requested for someone to teach him.

MC: And at that time, we were even talking about it encircling behind the monitor.

MC: If it were up to the conventional thinking, the audience surely would have thought that he’d be stifling, be scarlet red in the face and enter the conference room trembling in fear.

MC: In the end, not only did he not have any of those, but was even very frank with his approach. This kind of self-confidence is too rare.

Victor suddenly laughs while eating.

Victor: Do you think they are all just like you?

MC: ....What’s wrong with me!

Victor: Always preferring to buff your way out.

MC: Am not!

Even if I really have, it was also a long time ago. Things are very different now.

MC: Anyway, not....

Victor is still smiling. His smile makes me feel that these few clearly light and bland dishes must be very tasty indeed.

Victor: Considering your opinion, they all possibly will get the offer smoothly?

MC: Of course.

MC: Trust me. They are all excellent. You were able to attract such a group of youngsters towards LFG, and have made the profit!

MC: And also after the show is broadcast, it will be a good thing for LFG’s publicity aspect too.

MC: Didn’t you say earlier that LFG’s Strategic Development Department wants to set up an image of high professionalism in the public’s eyes?

Victor: Since you are this set on heart about LFG’s future, you should be brought along to future meetings of the Strategic Development Department.

Victor: And give you the title of external consultant.

MC: I’ll come if I’m given the wages.

Hearing him speak in a voice a little more hoarse than in the afternoon, I think and know as well that he has spoken a lot during the meetings again. I get up to pour him a cup of hot water.

Victor doesn’t say anything, and carefully eats the food. Not a moment later, my phone rings out abruptly.

Kiki: Boss— I’ve something to ask you. How many minutes in total is the pilot episode going to run?

MC: Half an hour or so, I think. Take a look at the source material in use.

MC: ....Are you still at the office? It’s already half past ten. Didn’t I say you can take an early break today to rest.

Kiki: Alright, I’ll go back immediately. Boss, you should call it an early night too.

Victor puts down the bowl and chopsticks, and leisurely wipes his lips while shooting me an alarming glance.

Victor: It’s so late already. You’re not off work either.

Victor: And you still call someone else a workaholic?

[ Note: The phrase used here is “人家” (rén jia) which can be translated to other people/someone else. But it’s also used to referring “oneself” as “people/someone.” So basically here, Victor is saying how MC calls him a workaholic LOL. Similar to how the “a certain someone” phrase is often used in their conversation. ]

◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──

[ SECTION 5 ]

I stare at Victor, and sigh in a manner as though I want to say something but am hesitating.

MC: But I came here to bring you dinner in the spirit of dedication based on “It is everyone’s duty to take care of the Boss.”

MC: Did you just classify this as autonomous overtime activity?

I hold out my hand towards him.

MC: How about you pay for the overtime?

Victor shoots me a glance, and simply purses his lips with a faint smile.

Victor: I don’t know if I can afford to pay the charges of the gold medal producer.

I laugh along with him, and raise my eyebrows imitating the way he usually does.

MC: If you can’t afford to pay, I can give you a discount.

As we are talking, Kiki sends me a rough cut of the video that’s going to be used in the pilot. I place my phone on the coffee table, and turn it in an angle that both Victor and I can see.

MC: Just in time. Let’s have a little look at the clip of the show with dinner.

This segment happens to be the scene when the interns were being interviewed.

At first glance, they all appear to be business elites clad in suits and with boundless prospects. But the tension in between waiting during the intervals is entirely visible to the unaided eye.

....Also there was a young girl, as a result of being too keyed-up, she even decided to memorize a piece of English text to loosen up for a while.

I watch with keen interest, and Victor looks at my gaze with keen interest.

Their expression and state of affairs– immediately makes me evoke all of that scene in one go, that time back then, when I stood in front of Victor.

Victor: What’s on your mind that you’re so engrossed in watching?

MC: Don’t you have a sense of resonance? Weren’t you like this when you were young?

Just as expected, Victor gives an expression of “Of course not.”

....Is the world so enormously uneven?

Victor bores through two more segments anyway, and the video happens to be onto the time when the interns were receiving their written notice of the internship prepared by the program team.

MC: Yesterday Anna discussed with me that this pilot segment is intended for setting up the keynotes for the show, and in what pattern the character are written here is very important.

MC: What we are thinking about at the moment is— Beginning from here on out, may we all have a luminous and sparkling future ahead of us with boundless prospects.

MC: What do you think?

Victor has been titling his head to the side throughout as he listens to my words, showing no expression of evaluation.

Victor: About what exactly to do on your shows, don’t you usually ask for less of my specific opinions?

I tap pause on the video, and the frame rests on the glass window outside the LFG building, reflecting off the blue sky and white clouds.

MC: This time it’s different. This group of youngsters are from LFG.

MC: You’ve worked so hard in creating LFG to have a platform so bright and beautiful....

MC: Isn’t it just in the hope that even more people will find broader future here.

Victor’s gaze remains calm and collected, and a smile has been gracing the corners of his lips all along.

It’s already very late at night. Seeing that Victor has also had his fill, I tidy up the coffee table at once, get up and gesture at him.

MC: Let’s go CEO. Time to get off work.

MC: I’ll drive you home.

Victor is clearly taken aback for a moment.

Victor: You’ll drive me?

I nod boldly and self-righteously.

MC: Goldman got off work already at an earlier time, and also greeted me just before leaving. You’ve taken the cold medicine tonight. I’m driving, okay.

Victor: ....

◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──

[ SECTION 6 ]

My car is parked directly opposite the elevator. As soon as Victor steps out of the elevator, he walks straight over to the backseat, pulls open the car door, and hops in without saying a word.

I fasten my seatbelt in the driver’s seat, and can’t help from glancing over at the back seat.

MC: CEO Victor, generally speaking.... at times like this, you should be taking the passenger seat.

Victor looks down at his phone without even lifting his head for a bit.

Victor: I’m not used to with sitting in the passenger seat. [2]

MC: ....Fine.

After all, he is the CEO. It makes sense that he has never sat in the passenger seat before.

I suddenly recall the app-based taxi guidance, and repeat them without missing a word.

MC: Our trip is about to begin. Please fasten your seatbelt. Is the temperature inside the car fairly appropriate?

This time, Victor lifts up his head to look at me, his eyes laced with very obvious confusion.

Evidently, the CEO has almost never taken a taxi either.

Overjoyed, I drive the car out of the parking lot, then immediately lower half the car window, letting the unrestrained sweet night breeze of spring to blow in.

Victor hasn’t said anything all the way, typing down messages on his phone from time to time.

Halfway through the journey, Victor puts the phone back in his pocket, leans back in the seat and looks outside window, laughing in a lazy manner as though soliloquizing.

Victor: You are the person I know, who very rarely let me set down my work to rest.

I think back carefully— in fact, that was not the case. It’s just not in his memory. *[ clutches chest ]*

But now, it really isn’t my habit to speak up too much to persuade him into something. He has his own principles and reasons for everything he does....

MC: You won’t listen even if I said so anyway.

MC: Also.... work is a very important thing to you. I can understand that.

Half the side of Victor’s face is reflected on the dark tinted car window, and his eyes are casted towards me in alarm, within which are reflected the gorgeous neon lights of the city.

Victor: Does work have to be a very important thing?

The lights of the street lamps fall on the asphalt road. This road, carpeted with light, seems so far away that it doesn’t have an end.

MC: Mm.... work is a very important thing.

MC: Work is akin to flights of steps. By stepping up and standing in an even higher place, you can then do the things you want to do more.

MC: Perhaps back then, the CEO of LFG has also been just like these group of youngsters. Clad in a suit, standing at the starting point, and then he walked on his way to this day.

In the rearview mirror, Victor locks eyes with me meaningfully. This is an expression I’m familiar with, an expression that represents his tacit understanding.

Victor: Earlier, did you want to have me attend the show’s press conference?

I pick up on the keynote, and hurriedly get my spirits up.

MC: You agreed!

Hearing my absolutely certain tone, Victor smiles faintly.

Victor: I haven’t said anything yet.

MC: I still have some of that sharp workplace acumen, and don’t need to be told everything by the CEO to get it right. I can understand the spirit on my own.

Victor doesn’t say anything anymore, and he lowers the car window too. Seeing the night breeze messing up the fringes in front of his forehead, I’ve originally wanted to speak up, and remind him that he’s unwell and should refrain from blowing the wind....

On a second thought I feel, the breeze is very comfortable and is worth blowing.

Especially after constantly running around for several days, and after finally ending a busy and tiring day.

It’s worth blowing a little breeze, and having a look at this resplendent city.

◇──◆──◇──◆──◇──◆──

[ SECTION 7]

The press conference has been arranged at a hotel under the banner of LFG. Victor has been invited to attend, and he sits in the VIP area off the stage.

I’ve arranged the sequence of process in advance. The only thing he needs to consider is that going up on the stage– next, saying a few words to make an official speech, and that will suffice.

But today’s situation is comparatively lively, and the reporters are clearly very interested in LFG itself as well.

As soon as Victor comes up on the stage, there is constant applause, and the “click-click-click” sound of taking photos nearly overpowers the clamors of the tide of people.

The host has tried several times to ask Victor, who has already finished his speech and is getting off the stage, but couldn’t find the appropriate opportunity to do so. Thereupon, I cast an inquiring glance.

I’ve just got up, wanting to stop the reporters, but Victor lifts up his hand— which means is that, it’s fine.

Victor invites the reporters to ask questions one by one— in a manner that, he is in a very good mood today, and nobody will be refused.

Reporter: CEO Victor, is there any serious consideration behind LFG choosing to collaborate with this kind workplace related variety show?

Victor: There aren’t any serious considerations. We simply feel that, every one of the employees working at LFG are excellent, and they are worthy of being seen by everyone.

Reporter: Excuse me, CEO Victor, do you have anything to say to these young people who have become a member of LFG?

After glancing at me faintly, Victor once again looks towards the press box, and opens his mouth unhurriedly, uttering the words that I have said in front of him before.

Victor: I hope that they will set sail on their journey from LFG, and have a luminous and sparkling future with boundless prospects.

When the applause rings out, I suddenly realize that– I, too, have apparently set sail on my journey clumsily under Victor’s wings, and then slowly walked on my way to this day.

Regardless of the time, the LFG he has created, the doors of this tremendous business empire is wide open to all dreams, waiting for young people, waiting for everyone.

The letters “LFG” have long since not only been the bearer of Victor’s expectations and prospects alone.

After walking through the entire sequence of events, the press conference is officially concluded.

As soon as the hotel brings up the wine and food for the buffet, I immediately offer my eager attention to Victor, busying myself with choosing the champagne to bring over to him.

MC: Is CEO Victor fairly satisfied with this press conference?

Victor takes the wine glass in my hand, and gently raises his hand to gesture at me.

Victor: This is your show, as long as the producer is satisfied with it– that will do.

From my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of the interns in the show being huddled together, taking selfies against the signature board at the doorway, and am instantly struck by an idea.

MC: Victor, why don’t you wish me a future with boundless prospects too, and give me a blessing for good luck.

With one hand in his pocket, Victor turns his head to look at me.

Victor: You’re already very luminous and sparkling. Do you still need to ask for this kind of blessing for good luck?

MC: The more the better.

A smear of smile hangs across the side of Victor’s lips, and he even mulls it over for a while.

Victor: In that case, I wish that you.... can always sparkle luminously, at all times.

I’m able to intuitively grasp a little bit of the implied meaning within his words. Accordingly, I draw closer to Victor.

MC: Just like you?

Victor slightly lowers his eyes to regard me, his gaze- carrying within them a smile lands on my face.

Victor: If you want to, you can.

◇──◆──◇

[ EXTRA TIDBITS: ]

[1] - MC is referring to the time Victor was in hospital in CH 4.

[2] - Victor mentions this event during the car tampering incident of CH 10, when MC told him that he’d get penalty for running the red light, and he replies with- that it’s fine cause he has a driver LOL.

──

#Fluffy goodness for the heart (*´ω｀*)#pardon my thousand screenshots >.<#mlqc cn #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc spoilers #mr love victor #mldd victor #mlqc #mr love queen's choice #li zeyan #李泽言 #恋与制作人 #love and producer #mlqc s2 #mlqc season 2 #mlqc translations #The anon who asked for it- I hope you see this~ ♡

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bunnyofnegativeeuphoria · 3 years

Text

Prompt Fill: “Cold”

I’m what they like to call not a clown but the entire circus. I’ve managed to delete one of the asks by accident, but rest assured I did see an anonymous prompter wish for “cold” or something to that effect...

Dear reader, it’s 3,3K words, so here we fucking go, lads.

Islanders

Cleaned up and now also on Ao3

“A room and a bath,” Geralt says without even glancing at the barman, attention fully on the precious cargo in his arms.

“Hang on, Witcher, you can’t just–”

“You’ll get your coin,” he grits through his teeth, “but whether your head is still attached to your neck when you do is for you to decide. Room and a bath. Now.”

A key lands on the countertop.

“Upstairs and second door on the right.”

The man shouts to someone behind himself. “Ilde! Hot water for the Witcher, sharpish!”

“Geralt?”

His senses turn from the foul stench of old ale and unwashed bodies and funnel inwards towards the shape of Jaskier. His bard moans softly and leans an icy forehead against Geralt’s neck.

“Hmm?” Geralt murmurs against Jaskier’s hair.

“C-cold.”

He reeks of misery, sharp and undeserved. A great shiver runs through Jaskier, and Geralt tightens his hold around him.

“Cold water will do,” he grunts at the barman.

“But–”

“As fast as you can,” Geralt says, grabbing the key and making for the stairwell.

***

Casting igni in the direction of the hearth, Geralt lays Jaskier out on top of a humble straw mattress and begins to undress him. There’s no cloak, and the fool’s doublet is wet through. It refuses to budge, but Geralt has one ear turned towards Jaskier’s heartbeat and doesn’t hesitate to rip apart the fabric to get to skin. It’s paler than it should be and cold to the touch – cold where on any other day it is warmth itself. His bard gravitates towards sources of heat like a stable cat to an opportune sunbeam, and to exist in his orbit is a blessing greater than any coin Geralt has ever earned.

The ruined doublet hits the floor with a squelch. Geralt moves to grab Jaskier’s breeches, but a shaking hand stops him.

“I-I r-rather lik-ked that ‘n,” Jaskier says, looking if anything even more unhappy than before.

His pulse spikes, and worry roils in Geralt’s gut.

“Doublets are replaceable,” he says. He spares a quick squeeze to Jaskier’s fingers before pulling the breeches and boots off in one desperate, inelegant action.

Jaskier is not a small man, but now, sad and shivering on the cusp of blue-tinged infirmity, he hunches and curls, reducing himself. Geralt misses his all-encompassing business.

“In here,” comes a voice from the hallway, followed by what looks like the barman and his entire family. Two boys roll a tub in and settle it in front of the fireplace, and the others empty several buckets worth of water into it.

“More, go on,” Ilde says, and the troop leaves as quick as they come, casting wary glances at Geralt’s swords as they go.

“W-we’ll h’ve t-to p-pay more,” Jaskier says.

Geralt frowns and throws a threadbare blanket on top of him, inadequate and dusty though it is.

“If they get the rest of the water within the minute, they can have double.”

“Not double. They’ll ch-cheat you. Always d-do.” Jaskier clasps at the blanket. His hands, normally so clever and expressive, jerk with exhaustion and looming danger. “Not-t worth it.”

“Let me account for what value I keep,” Geralt says. “Not hush. You have to conserve energy.”

Geralt sits down and takes a hold of Jaskier’s hands.

“W-what?”

“Shh.”

He wraps his giant paws around Jaskier’s hands, feeling wiry strength and a lifeline beneath the cold. Pressing his lips to the gap between his own thumbs, he blows warm air into the space between them. When he looks up after the third blow, he finds Jaskier looking at him. He smells less scared now. There’s a thought dancing on the tip of the bard’s tongue, but Geralt gives him a quelling look.

“Right,” Ilde says from the doorway, and buckets follow with the kind of efficiency born of a strong desire to done and elsewhere. In less than a minute they are alone once more, door closing with a firm press.

A steady stream of controlled fire erupts from Geralt’s hand, and he guides it across the surface of the tub until steam rises like from Roach’s back when she’s been safely put to bed in a warm stall after a day of cold and damp. The water ripples as he tests the temperature.

“G-Geralt?” Jaskier is sitting up, blanket having dropped to the ground. “C-can I?”

“Hmm,” Geralt says. Jaskier’s heartbeat has yet to settle, but his lips have lost their frosty stiffness. Though dry and cracked, they look pinker and plumper than before. “It’s all for you.”

Gathering Jaskier in his arms once more, he hurries to the tub. He lowers Jaskier as well he can, but when they break the water’s surface–

“Ow,” Jaskier hisses. “Ow, G-Geralt.”

“I’m sorry, but you have to–”

“Hurts,” Jaskier presses, turning his face into Geralt’s neck with the same blind faith as he had when Geralt had come across him only an hour earlier, sodden and lost on the mucky road to the northern realms. His face, however, is not defiant or proud. This is a quiet pain, and Geralt aches in a place he had long thought broken beyond the repair of all charity.

“I know. Shhh. Hold on to me,” he says. “All in one go.”

Hands tighten weakly around his arm, and then he sinks Jaskier into the tub.

He doesn’t yell.

He doesn’t yell, but he does whimper – small and vulnerable and a thousand leagues beneath the surface of what he is entitled.

Geralt pulls his arms away.

“D-don’t g–”

“I’m not.”

Stripping down with stern efficiency, Geralt gets in the tub himself, taking care to not jostle Jaskier. Water spills over the side as he guides Jaskier against his chest, making sure to move his medallion so the sharp angles of the wolf’s head don’t do him harm. It is cramped, and he settles in to cover as much of Jaskier’s surface area with his own body. They sit with their knees bent and peaking out of the water like make-believe islands – an archipelago of muscle and bone.

“How are you feeling?”

Jaskier breaths deeply and leans his face against Geralt’s shoulder.

“Like I’m b-being poked by a h-hundred n-needles.”

Geralt draws an arm around Jaskier’s chest, using his other hand to cover one of Jaskier’s knees.

“Rest.”

“I-I’m so...I shouldn’t h-hav–”

He shakes his head. Jaskier must feel it for he falls silent again.

“Rest.”

***

Jaskier falls asleep in the tub with Geralt wrapped around him like a giant octopus from out of a Skelligan skald. The rhythm of his heart gradually calms to his regular song – almost bird-like by Geralt’s reckoning. Twice he warms the bathwater, content to let his meditation be guided by the measure of Jaskier’s recovery. He wills his own warmth to seep from his skin and through Jaskier’s, and if something else should flow with it, then he reckons he is far too old to be duplicitous now.

“You needn’t stay on my account.”

Geralt looks down into the wild blue yonder.

“Do you want me to go?” he asks.

The thought sits awkwardly in him, pinching with the discomfort of new shoes.

“I want you to do what you want to do.”

“Jaskier–”

“Stay,” Jaskier says on the wave of a quiet exhale. Geralt watches the word’s traces whisk across the water and sends a small flicker of flame after it. Steam rises once more, and Jaskier sighs, and it sounds acceptably content.

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better. On the whole, practically divine.”

There’s a snobbish artfulness to Jaskier’s tone now, and Geralt allows himself the press of a smile against Jaskier’s hairline.

“Better or worse than a weekend with the Countess de Stael?”

“Darling, must you? I’ve quite reached my limit with humiliation for today.” There’s a tightness to his lips as Jaskier speaks, and Geralt frowns.

“Will you tell me why you were on the road, no cloak or lute to be seen?”

Jaskier looks down, and his scent turns abruptly with embarrassment, smelling faintly like something is burning.

“I suppose I’ll have to tell you.” He looks up with a tinge of defiance in his eyes, but it’s no hardship for Geralt to keep looking at him. “But you’ll have to earn it first.”

“Oh?”

“Wash my hair?”

There is life in his cornflower blues again, and that is reward enough for any challenge. Without a word, Geralt gets up and out of the tub. Water drips all over the creaky floorboards as he makes for the saddlebags brought up by one of the boys. His nose guides him to a bottle of oil scented with mild lavender, and he picks up a cup on his way back to Jaskier.

With pink-tinged cheeks, Jaskier watches him climb back in behind him.

“I didn’t mean–”

Geralt huffs.

“Yes you did. Hush.”

Cup in hand, Geralt guides Jaskier’s head into a tilt and scoops water over his hair, using his other hand to block the water from running into the bard’s eyes.

“You know, telling me to hush really isn’t as charming as your dour self might imagine.”

“Try sitting quietly in the knowledge of being,” Geralt says, feeling his lip twitch with the sort of maddening lack of control that eases into existence whenever Jaskier is around.

“Unbearable. Take that back.”

“Close your eyes.”

Jaskier closes his eyes immediately, and Geralt finds he has to swallow past all his want at the blatant display of trust. He spills some oil into his palms and wonders if Jaskier would let him do this if he knew the true shape of Geralt’s heart. Whole kingdoms believe it to be nonexistent or at the very least shrivelled and decaying. Jaskier thinks different. If he is to be believed, Geralt’s heart is like a honeyed bun – warm and dripping with a sweetness that Geralt knows was exterminated the second he saw Kaer Morhen rise in front of his too-young eyes. Little does Jaskier know that if you were to open Geralt’s chest and break it open past ribs and sinew and hold his heart, you would find it alternatingly smooth like silk chemises and rough with fingertip callouses, beating a rhythm to whatever tune it pleases.

“Are you alright, darling?”

Jaskier has tilted his head back even further to look at him nearly upside down.

“Sorry,” Geralt mutters, hurrying to start to run his hands through Jaskier’s hair. It is brown and short and soft to the touch. With every turn of his hands, he washes away the smell of Jaskier’s hurt and replaces it with lavender and his own touch.

“Did I say divine before? I must have lost my wits. This is my religion.”

Geralt feels a chuckle rumble up his throat and into the still bedroom air. Eyes closed again, Jaskier seems to settle in on his own terms, and Geralt is more than happy to let him.

“Did you know there was an inventor from the southern continent – further south even than Nilfgaard – who discovered the measurement for density by sitting in a bathtub?”

Jaskier prattles on about mathematics and science and a man running naked down cobbled streets, and Geralt lets the sound of his voice cleanse him of all worries. He finishes washing Jaskier’s hair, and rinses it with the cup. Afterwards, he gathers more oil and settles his hands across Jaskier’s shoulders. There’s a hitch in Jaskier’s throat as Geralt begins to gentle the oil into soft, pale skin.

“G-Geralt?”

Geralt frowns.

“Are you cold again?”

“No.” Jaskier’s voice sounds small.

“May I continue?”

Jaskier’s chest expands with a visible breath.

“Please,” he says, shoulders gaining a healthy dusting of pinkish glow. He starts talking again when Geralt continues to oil his skin, Jaskier moving on to a fevered and slightly panic-tinged monologue about the Cintran sonnet form.

Jaskier’s body is strong beneath him. His skin bears only a few scars from youthful mishaps and a characteristic refusal to be left behind. There is one running length of his back that he earned as a boy slipping down a rocky hill. Another – much smaller – has nicked his ear from when he did not move fast enough away from a drowner’s grasp. Geralt remembers tending to the wound in a furious silence, and he also remembers the apologetic look of abject misery that trailed him for a full week thereafter. It is the longest he has ever heard Jaskier be quiet, and he is grateful the bard has never again felt cause to curb his words in his presence.

I love him, Geralt thinks.

It’s not the first time he’s thought it, and he knows it will not be the last. He will carry the knowledge with him for however many centuries he may have left, and he will die with its truth glowing in every part of his body – an idea so well lived and nurtured that when his rotting corpse becomes earth once more around him will grow a ring made of dandelions and buttercups.

They have bathed together many times, but though Jaskier washes him after practically every monster fight, Geralt has until now not had the opportunity to return the favour. In the beginning he had no desire to. After that he had no cause to. Now, as he watches Jaskier’s nervous energy dispel at every gentle touch of Geralt’s hand, he thinks that perhaps he’s never needed more cause than that he wishes to.

Geralt may not have as much experience as Jaskier when it comes to bathing another person, but he finds it comes easy when he thinks of how Jaskier bathes him. He thinks of Jaskier’s hands on him, soothing touches on bruised skin – careful even when minor wounds have long healed. He thinks of clever fingers massaging his neck and back. He thinks of timid motions turning methodical with confidence for every evening spent plucking endrega entrails out of white hair. At Jaskier’s waist, Geralt’s hands still. He thinks of – he thinks of how he himself has only ever given impersonal washes to his brothers, cleaning the necessary wounds and skirting quickly past the groin to everyone’s better happiness. He thinks of two nights ago – on the cusp of their yearly parting – how Jaskier had cleaned his thighs, his hips, the vee of his abdomen…

He thinks of Jaskier with a washcloth, strong with tender caress between Geralt’s fingers – between Geralt’s toes.

He thinks of the care and acceptance that saturates every action.

He thinks Jaskier certainly deserves it. He deserves to have the same love – for love he now realises it is – reflected back at himself with as much willingness and devotion. And for that reason alone he shall have it.

Jaskier’s left knee has a thick scar on it from when he tried to ride Roach without permission and she dumped him in a field.

“Darling? Your face looks very Geralt-y.”

He looks to see Jaskier’s face inches from his own.

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Brooding? Plotting? Dreaming? I haven’t the foggiest. What are you thinking about?”

“I think our knees look like islands.”

Silence falls save for the occasional sound of a drop of water hitting the now tepid bath and the comforting crackle of the fireplace. Geralt feels Jaskier’s toe twitch next to his own before he shifts, leaning back against Geralt’s chest, and raises his leg straight up into the air.

“I suppose that makes our leg hairs the islanders,” Jaskier says in such perfect sincerity.

Geralt swallows.

“Where is your lute?”

He feels rather than hears Jaskier’s sigh as he puts his leg back into the water.

“Hopefully still back at the Squealing Pig.”

For a second, Geralt is stunned.

“Wh–”

“I left it–”

“On purpose?”

Geralt doesn’t think his eyebrows could rise any higher if he willed them to.

“Of course not! Well, perhaps. Not really, though. It’s hard to explain.”

“Explain.”

“You left.”

As if in agreement, they both pause to let that short truth hang in the air like a brightly coloured flag.

“I left because it’s winter. We always part for winter.”

“I know.”

“You even hugged me goodbye and waved me off.”

“I know.”

“You–”

“I know.” Jaskier digs his forehead into Geralt’s clavicle so hard it hurts, but Geralt finds he has no intention to ever ask him to move. “I know I did, and then I woke the next day, and you were gone, and I felt like something was missing, and then I forgot my lute and my bag and my cloak, and I set off after you.”

There’s a warmth brewing beneath Geralt’s skin, and it ignites at every touchpoint shared between them.

“And then it snowed,” he says.

“And then it snowed,” Jaskier says, “and it was too late to go back, but I didn’t have my cloak, and I didn’t have my lute so I could play my way to a room. So I kept walking, but it was so cold, and I got lost, and then…”

I love him, Geralt thinks.

“And then you fell asleep in the woods,” Geralt says.

Jaskier rests his hand over Geralt’s heart.

“And then you found me,” he says.

“And you scared me half to death,” Geralt says.

“And here we are.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt sounds and does not know what to say. Words leap out of Jaskier like pufflballs in a summer breeze, scattering dandelion seeded meaningfulness all across the northern continent. He doesn’t know what to say, and so he gentles his hand down Jaskier’s side, curls his legs up more, and brings Jaskier even closer to him. Jaskier gasps into his neck as Geralt settles him in his lap, and then – slowly, tentatively, achingly – arms come around Geralt’s shoulders. Geralt turns his head and nudges Jaskier’s nose with his own, their foreheads resting together in a pleasure so perfect that where he to die in the morning he would do so with the knoweldge that he knew the touch of happiness.

Hands caress through his hair and cup the side of his face, a thumb stroking back and forth over his cheek, and he can feel it’s well pruned from the water. Jaskier gasps again, almost as if on a sob, but no tears come.

“Geralt, I–” he croaks, faltering as he draws the knuckles of his right hand up and down Geralt’s neck. “Geralt, I think you’re the most magnificent…”

He tightens his arms around Jaskier and feels his every breath dance across his lips.

“I think you’re the most magnificent person I’ve ever met. You’re–” Jaskier laughs and shakes his head so their foreheads rub together. “Geralt, I don’t even have the words, I–”

“I do,” Geralt says.

Jaskier blinks.

“Y–you do?”

I love him, Geralt thinks.

“I love you,” Geralt says, not for a second looking away from Jaskier’s face so that he may see the hope, the surprise, and the happiness write themselves across him like an open book. And here they come, and there they go, and here love is to stay.

Jaskier makes a noise – relief and desperation all in one – and then cracked lips are on his own, and Geralt kisses back. He kisses soft, he kisses gentle, and he kisses joy.

“You really did know what to say,” Jaskier laughs.

“Mmm,” Geralt says, kissing him again.

Jaskier cups his face between both hands.

“Dear heart, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you,” he says and draws breath as if to continue on forever and ever.

Geralt kisses him one more time, feeling Jaskier’s lips curve up into a helpless smile.

“Not the most complicated rhyme scheme you’ve ever come up with, my lark,” he murmurs.

“Darling,” Jaskier laughs, “I’ll write you so many songs.”

Liked it? Prompt me!

#bunnywrites #bunnyhaswritten #bunnywrote #bunnyask #bunnyfic #geraskier #the tub #the witcher #prompt fill #Geralt #jaskier #no roach #but you know she carried these losers on her back on the way to the village #and after this they go back for jaskier's lute #and then they go to kaer morhen or oxenfurt for the season #you know how it is #sorry if there are spelling mistakes #it's 4am and i'm tired

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lindsayrises · 2 years

Photo

Hey. It’s been a while. If we were having a conversation, I’d tell you...

The first picture isn’t new. It’s from Christmas, 2015. It’s one of my favorite pictures I’ve ever taken. I’ve been thinking a lot about New York lately. I’m 99% sure I’m not going there in March - for different reasons.

The second picture is my desk space in my basement. I have started and deleted several posts that included this picture. It feels like I’m sharing a private part of my life (home?). The rest of my basement might be a total disaster, but this spot? It’s become really special to me.

Christmas Day marked the 20th anniversary of my mom’s death. This is the first time I haven’t acknowledged her death anniversary on social media.

Christmas was good. We celebrate on Christmas Eve. We always do chili and chicken noodle soup (my mom’s recipes). This was a tradition even before she died.

The end of the quarter was...not great. In the last two weeks before break (we went up until Wed, Dec 22), I was back to working long days during the work week and then a few hours on Saturdays and Sundays. The amount of testing we do IN FIRST GRADE makes my blood boil.

On the first day of break, I woke up at a normal-ish time (maybe 6:00 or 6:30?). On the second and third days of break? I slept in until 10:00 a.m. I rarely sleep in. I guess I needed the rest.

There are lots of work things I want to have in place when we go back on Wed, Jan 5. I went in for a few hours on Monday. My dad was here and he helped. My therapist’s idea was to go in those last two days of break (next Mon & Tues). At first I was like, “Um, no, I don’t want to work right before going back. I’d rather work, then have break.” But she pointed out (and I 100% agree) that going in a few days this week would lead to me continuing to go in to get more done. So, I’ll go Monday and Tuesday. I’ll prioritize what absolutely has to get done, get as much done as I can, and call it good.

I’ve been having lots of hyperfocusing periods lately. It drives me crazy. I never (ok, hardly ever) hyperfocus on IMPORTANT shit. I feel embarrassed by how much time I’ve spent (wasted?) on unimportant things in the last month. I think that’s one reason why I procrastinate. I HATE the hyperfocus thing. Even when it’s on something important/worthwhile, I hate the feeling of not being able to stop until I do/fix just “one more thing.” When I procrastinate, I’m forced to do the most important things and just get it/them done.

My new washing machine was delivered mid-December. It’s SOOOOO nice to be able to do laundry without having to be downstairs to (literally) sit on the machine when it get’s too loud.

My hands are soooo dry. Last year was the first time they ever got really bad. This year is just as bad (if not worse). I THOUGHT I had found a great lotion. It’s called Gloves in a Bottle. It costs more than I’d usually spend on lotion. I noticed a significant improvement after using it just once. Since then, I’ve been unimpressed.

I think my neighbors (that I share a driveway with) are moving. I’m not sad about that.

Ramsey’s doing good. I nearly returned him to the cat shelter in the first weeks and months after getting him. I’m so glad I kept him...even though he can be a little shit.

I don’t really have any New Year’s resolutions this year. In the past few years I’ve picked a word of the year. I’m not sure if I’ll even do that this year.

tick,tick...Boom!/Lin-Manuel Miranda/Andrew Garfield...LOVE LOVE LOVE!

How are YOU? What’s new with YOU?

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anime-and-manga-rants · 3 years

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The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly: Dr. Stone Episode 1

Well, it looks like I’m starting a series of sorts! I thought it would be fun to analyze the first episodes of a bunch of different anime, so here we are. I’ll be calling it “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly” solely because it’s catchy, and I’ll be dividing my analyses into three categories (the Good, Bad, and Ugly). Essentially, everything I believe adds to the episode (thereby making it an intriguing and functional introduction) will fall under the “Good” category, everything that takes away from the episode will fall in “Bad,” and anything I find particularly egregious will find its way into the “Ugly” category.

So, to start this series off, I’ll be analyzing Dr. Stone’s first episode.

...

THE GOOD:

Let’s start with the opening line:

Honestly, I don’t have much to say about it. It’s nothing exceptional, and it’s not an opening line we’ll probably remember after another few episodes. It’s no Tale of Two Cities with its “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” Still, it’s gripping enough to get people interested.

However, we shouldn’t ignore that the second line is:

Disregarding the narrator, everything is silent during the opening line. (Everyone is currently stone, after all.) It’s also got a dark, somewhat dreary color scheme. However, immediately after this image, we’re thrown into action. Taiju slams the door open and shouts, “Listen up, Senku!” It’s pretty jarring.

When this is placed just after the first line, it forces us to contrast the two. In other words, we notice the dichotomy of what currently is with what we know will be, and that keeps us interested. Not bad at all.

Next come the character introductions. Overall, just from the way the scene was set up, we learn a lot about our characters through subtleties, which is great. Plenty of showing and nearly no telling.

The first time we see Taiju, it’s with him bursting through the door of a classroom and yelling. We immediately know he’s loud, commits to the decisions he makes, and tends to lose sight of anything else when focused on something (made obvious when he announces his plans to confess to a classroom clearly full of students while only calling out for Senku). And, although he and Senku are clearly close, he can’t exactly predict what Senku will respond with, considering he doesn’t question when Senku supports him at first. Instead, when Senku turns around and says he won’t be cheering at all for Taiju, he exclaims, “Make up your mind!” Taiju is clearly quick to believe whatever he hears— he’s very trusting that whatever someone says is what they mean. We also learn he’s righteous when he pours out the “love potion” Senku makes for him.

The first time we see Senku, it’s with him hunched over an entirely too complex machine, surrounded by other classmates using simple test tubes and beakers. If we learn one thing from this first image, it’s that Senku knows a lot more about science than anyone else in the room. (This is confirmed by his later explanation of what was in the flask he handed to Taiju, and how he made the gasoline inside, but we really didn’t need it.) From his conversation with Taiju, we learn he doesn’t care much about romance, isn’t afraid to call people — even friends — out, and would rather rely on science — logic — alone.

As a side note, just because I couldn’t not mention it, I wanted to point out Senku counting for around 3700 years! Incredibly impressive. Shows how resourceful and determined he can be, but in an almost obsessive way. Very showing (see what I did there?) of his character.

There are plenty more minor things I enjoyed about this episode, but I don’t want this analysis to get too long.

...

THE BAD:

Honestly, there isn’t much to put in this category. My main complaint is some minor telling, with examples such as:

Taiju saying: “I’m going to confess the feelings I’ve had for Yuzuriha for the past five years!” Senku would probably know how long he’s had the crush, or at least have a vague idea. Even if Senku didn’t know, Taiju would have no reason to say this except for the audience’s benefit.

Same thing for Senku saying: “I’ll be cheering you on from right here in this science lab.” It’s very clearly a science lab. Any normal person would simply say “from right here” anyway. This, however, is barely worth mentioning. It’s such a minor issue that it takes nothing away from the audience— in other words, it’s unnecessary and a bit awkward, but it at least doesn’t take away the audience’s ability to discover something crucial about the plot or characters on their own.

There’s also the unfortunate anime trope where characters talk to themselves to reveal their way of thinking or present questions/answers the audience might not have come up with on their own, despite it being unrealistic. (But the writers want the audience to ask themselves these questions, or they want the audience to know a detail that they thought of, so they force the characters to prompt them somehow.) Here’s the biggest example:

(The manga and the anime line up almost word-for-word here, so I’m using the manga to conserve space. I think this is far less irritating than having to paste in three screenshots of the anime so I can show all the subtitles!)

Why would Taiju ever explain this, especially to himself? Anyone could come to that conclusion, so I can’t fault Taiju for thinking it, even if he usually doesn’t seem to put much thought into things. Still, disguising it as praise for a tree doesn’t eliminate the fact that it’s unrealistic and forced. (It almost makes it more forced, actually. Who praises a tree?) The writers clearly wanted us to know that the tree helped her, because the author thought up that little detail and wanted to include it to show how smart they are. (I know this because I, unfortunately, am guilty of this as well. It truly does hurt to delete those kinds of lines, I tell you.) In the end, it’s unrealistic telling through dialogue — which is already strange, because not many people think out loud like this — that the author forced to give us information that we honestly didn’t really need to begin with. Cool if we thought of it ourselves, but nothing lost if we didn’t.

Presented in a different way, say, for example, Senku casually mentioning it in passing around the time they revive Yuzuriha, it would be completely different. (Maybe, as they’re looking at her, he says something along the lines of, “Good thing this tree kept her intact.” Something simple and throwaway, almost.) Still superfluous information to an extent, but it does add something for viewers who might have missed it. It’s the fact that it’s so clearly forced into Taiju’s dialogue that makes it so offensive.

But, because this is so common in anime, I'll let it slide. Still a bit disappointing, though.

...

THE UGLY:

Honestly, I didn’t find anything overtly offensive about this episode. (Unlike The Promised Neverland, which I analyzed in a previous post— that one would’ve had quite a few mentions in the “Ugly” category. So don’t worry! This category won’t always be empty. If you were worried, that is. Probably not.)

Good for Dr. Stone!

...

Overall, Dr. Stone’s first episode has a lot more good than bad. It’s got an intriguing concept, the main protagonist is unique and clearly has his own voice, and the story it sets up is promising. Therefore, I’ll be giving it an A-.

#dr stone #dr stone manga #ishigami senku #senku ishigami #taiju oki #oki taiju #dr stone anime #manga analysis #anime analysis

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mimiplaysgames · 3 years

Text

Terraqua Week Day 5 (Mischief)

Summary: Aqua doesn’t have a crush on Terra. She doesn’t. Okay, she does. Or, Terra accidentally walks in on her in the shower. || Word Count: 3,476

Read on AO3

A/N: @terraquaweek I should mention a tiny little warning that there is a reference to nudity in this fic! It’s not described, so it’s totally T-rated but in case that is something you wanted to know. :) This is the shortest fic in the bunch, something cute and fun. The shower scene was a deleted scene in my Terraquanort fic, but I found that it just didn’t fit with the mood at all haha

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

nah.

Accidents don’t often happen to Aqua.

Ha.

Aqua swings her Keyblade upward. The force juggles golden rings assigned for training, usually tied to a pole for a bounce back. The Master mentioned some interesting techniques the other day in class: style changes, or the ability to enhance your power after a string of emotional attacks deep in the heat of battle, when you’re forced to rely on your heart to pull you out of a tough situation. Terra is sure to be developing new tricks, too.

There’s two months left until the Mark of Mastery. Letting the rings loose is a handicap Aqua places on herself: they’re heavy, resisting her magic to bounce in the air. This way, they should mimic what it’d feel like to fight a powerful enemy. She practices her pirouettes, and her waves of magic attempt to buoy them in the air in a violent tornado, but her spell flounders, a small push by a child in a playground. She adds a waltz step, a flip to give it a good kick, but it’s not enough. The rings crash back onto the grass.

Aqua grunts and goes for the kill—but she twists her ankle at the crevice of a rock, landing on her knee.

“Stars,” she curses, wincing. Her knee is scraped, a hole ripped through her stocking, and her ankle aches. Stars. She casts Heal on her knee to soothe the sting and the gentlest summon of Ice to counter the swelling in her ankle. She tries to stand on it but can’t, so she casts more rounds of Heal and Ice spells until her leg can at least bear her weight.

Aqua limps to the castle through the back entrance, where the communal showers are. Showerheads, each with its own white curtain, are built on one side and sinks on the other in a wide open space. It’s part of a long hallway that connects to one of the gyms and a storage room down a corner. The floor is lilac concrete tile and drains, where it gives way to marble when you enter the castle proper.

There was a time when the castle housed enough students to justify the size of this room, but Aqua is grateful she has direct access instead of having to drag this stupid ankle up a tower to her bedroom.

She shrugs off her sweaty, dirt-ridden clothes and shoes, and throws them in one corner, picking a shower that already houses soap, careful to put all her weight on one foot. The curtain draws around her in a u-shape and she turns the hot water knob, the pipes whistling as the water gushes through.

It gently scalds her at first but Aqua sighs when she gets used to it, rolling her shoulders and lifting her elbow over her head to stretch. The heat is good for the muscles. She presses her fingers near her neck, where it’s tight, and massages, then bends down to cast more Heal and Ice spells onto her ankle. Grime and sand flow down her skin, losing saturation as it curls down the drain under her feet. The soap stings when it runs over her scrape.

She can’t keep making mistakes.

Maybe the waltz step was too much and over-complicated things.

Aqua turns the knob off after rinsing her body and listens to the water drip onto the floor. The repetitive sound is hypnotic. She’ll journal her progress when she gets to her room and make comparisons with entries from the last few weeks.

Hopefully, she’s improving at an acceptable speed despite the injury.

Aqua tests her ankle. She can’t flex it. Stars.

What is she missing when it comes to her technique? Does she need better endurance with her pirouettes? Does she have the time to do it right before the Mark of Mastery?

When she realizes that she needs a towel to dry off—and there’s no towel in sight—she realizes that she’s been standing there wasting the time away. The shower is the greatest and the worst place to think.

Aqua figures she could grab a towel from the storage room nearby without anyone noticing.

She opens the curtain.

Terra is standing right there, eyes as round as oranges with a heavy bag of fertilizer in his arms. He drops it. Aqua shuts the curtain with a screech.

“I’m sorry!” she hears him yell. Through the bottom of the curtain, she sees him scalping for excess that spilled over. Whatever hits the floor is mixing into the water, making mud. He’s barefoot.

“Terra, what the stars—?” she hisses, covering herself despite the curtain (a single piece of thin fabric).

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were in here!”

“How is that possible?”

“Why are you standing here doing nothing?”

“Just—Terra—” She groans loudly.

There is a pause as he walks backwards. “I-I didn’t see anything.”

“Get out of here.”

His footsteps slap across the floor, a subtle splash and the smack against the tile. Aqua peeks through the curtain when it’s quiet. She’s alone with a sequence of mud heading into the castle. Aqua grabs her clothes, slipping the bare minimum on despite its filth, and treks down the hall, purposefully taking opposite directions from his trail.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Their designated table in the library is always littered with books, damaged ones exchanged for the unread when the assignment deems it. There’s an extra stack for Ven since he’s a couple of years behind.

Aqua (carefully) enters the library (ignoring the throbbing—it will heal quickly, she tells herself). She’s cleanly dressed and re-bathed, and takes a seat at the desk while Terra and Ven babble about the nonsense of a textbook they both hate.

Terra gives her a quick, panicked glance before turning away from her and staring hard at the book in front of him.

Ven notices. “Aqua, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, just a sprain,” she says, suddenly clenched in the throat. What happened in the shower was nothing. No big deal. Sometimes best friends see things. So why is she, too, bordering on panic? Heat builds in her cheeks, so much that it hurts. Aqua tilts her head at an angle so her hair covers her face.

“What’s with you two?” Ven asks and Aqua flinches.

“Nothing, Ven,” Terra says too sternly. He bites his lip and stands too quickly. “A Heal spell isn’t enough for a sprain, what were you thinking?” he asks her without looking at her. He clears his throat loud enough to make Ven recoil, trying his best to hide how shaky his voice has become. “Excuse me,” Terra says before shuffling his feet like he’s holding his pee and disappearing.

When it’s quiet, Ven leans forward to get into Aqua’s personal space. “Okay, I know something’s up. What’s going on?” He squints. “Why is your face all red?”

“N-no reason.” Aqua opens a book. If she digs her entire face into it, it will look like she’s hiding on purpose. She lowers her chin (casually) to pretend she’s reading.

“You’re a liar.”

Aqua slams the book back down. “I do not lie, Ven.”

“Sure, you’re the definition of perfect. But you’re lying to me now.”

Aqua doesn’t know what to do. Her record is spotless. She’s a good student and a good person. She’s only ever told small, harmless white lies, about being tired when she doesn’t feel like it, or saying she isn’t hungry when she is so they don’t catch her sneaking in a brownie. But not this.

“I’m not,” she says in the most unconvincing way.

“Fine, I’ll bug Terra about it—”

“There was,” Aqua says, her voice uneven (damn the stars), “an accident.”

Ven raises a skeptical brow. “And? How bad could that be?”

Aqua huffs and crosses her arms. It’s just Ven. Her other best friend, no judgment here. “Terra surprised me.”

Ven rolls his eyes.

“In the communal shower.”

He points and laughs at her, dropping his head in a fit and slamming a fist onto the surface of the table. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard,” he says in between gasps. “Oh, he must be suffering right now.”

Terra returns, more relaxed, carrying a wooden bowl and bandages. Still, he avoids looking Aqua in the eye.

“So…” Ven says with an obnoxious knowing to his voice and Aqua regrets everything. “Did you enjoy the view?”

Terra stares at her first, his brown skin pale. He glares at Ven with the ferocity of homicide.

Ven bursts into another shake of laughter. “Stars, don’t tell me. You’re blushing so hard.”

At that, Aqua looks away. The thought is embarrassing and a… relief? At the same time?

Terra doesn’t honor Ven with a reply. He trembles, forming a claw with his hand. When he waves it, the bookshelves shake. Several books zoom out and flap, hovering over Ven and hitting him on the head like crows on the attack.

“Wait, stop, how are you doing this?” Ven shields his head with his arms, but Terra is bent on murder. Ven summons his Keyblade and cuts straight through the spine of a book. “Okay, okay, I get it!” The books glide close, ready to torpedo if necessary. Terra refuses to say anything. Ven steps away from the table, on guard. Then he smirks. He sticks his tongue out and bolts out the door. “Maybe that means you guys will finally kiss!” he yells down the hall.

Kiss.

A word as loud as a volcano erupting.

Terra lets go of his magic and all the books drop to the floor, yet the crash is still quieter than Kiss, quieter than how hard her heart is drumming in her chest.

Without a word, Terra picks up the bowl with both of his hands and mumbles a short-lived Fire spell. It’s obvious that she’s to remove her sock and give her ankle to him. That’s the point, a turmeric and olive oil mix, gently heated to reduce inflammation. He doesn’t need to ask.

Aqua lifts her leg to remove her stocking.

Terra flinches and dramatically averts his eyes.

“It’s just a sock, Terra.”

Terra motions to look at her as a response, but stops himself. “You shouldn’t be walking on it,” he bites.

“Call me stubborn.”

“You’re stubborn.”

She fights the impulse to slap him on the back of the head. “Here.” She offers her naked leg to him.

Terra still won’t look at her, but digs two of his fingers into the mix and holds her calf with his other hand. He almost draws back from her skin. Stars, he is blushing. She is too, she can feel it, a boil in both of her cheeks, a flame building in her stomach. His fingers are warm and strong, a caress on her skin. She likes this. She has all the capability to do this herself but she doesn’t want to.

Shit.

Aqua crosses one arm over and brings her hand to her chest—her way of looking dignified as Terra rubs the solution over her ankle. She has been appreciating how broad his shoulders have gotten, how sharp his jawline is, how tall he’s grown. All things that most people would notice, surely. He’s beautiful, he’s always been.

He opens his mouth to say something.

Aqua panics. “If you dare make a comment—”

“You’ll kick me?” Terra lifts her leg higher out of spite and nearly pulls her off the chair. He takes the bandage and starts to wrap.

Aqua stammers. How are they going to get through this?

“It was an accident, Terra.”

He freezes as though he can’t decide if he should finish the job or drop her leg. After a pause, he pitches his voice into a high octave to mimic her (badly). “Oh please, Terra, they’re just breasts. Nothing major.”

“You said—” she squeaks and covers her mouth. She shouldn’t be so naive. The heat in her cheeks bake.

That’s fine. Best friends know lots of intimate things, especially with how long Terra and Aqua have been together. Some of her guts, though, are about to choke her esophagus. She hopes that doesn’t mean she wanted him to see anything. That she’d want him to enjoy it.

Shit.

Terra trembles in nervous laughter, soft and quiet, staring holes into her ankle as he knots the bandage. He’s blinking too much. “You’ll need to compress cold rice on it every now and then,” he says, suddenly serious. “And rest,” he stresses like it’s a curse word.

“Terra?”

He hesitates. “Yeah?”

Footsteps approach them from behind, too graceful to be Ven’s. Terra scrambles to pick up the books, choosing the sliced one first to slip into the bookshelf so the Master doesn’t notice. Aqua straightens herself out and slips on her shoe.

“Would someone mind explaining to me the mess in the communal showers?” the Master asks as he enters, before eyeing the mess in the library. He braces his hips with his fists. “What on earth are two concoting here?”

Her cheeks burn harder.

“Not much, sir,” Terra says, gathering a tall stack of books under his chin. “Pranking Ven. The usual.”

The tone of his voice is too suspicious and the Master knows them too well.

“Aqua,” the Master says, “you sustained an injury.”

All she can come up with is, “Not in the prank, sir.”

“So the mud—?”

“In the shower,” Terra says quickly, without thinking. Overcompensating for the awkwardness. He bites his lip. “I mean, she slipped when she was showering.”

“He only knows because I told him,” Aqua says and she wants to slap herself. Of course that’s how Terra would find out in any normal story. Spelling it out makes it seem like he witnessed it himself. Terra glares her a new one.

Eraqus reads her with skepticism. He folds his hands behind his back and clears his throat. “Terra, you remember the discussion we’ve had some years ago regarding certain curiosities—”

“Yes, Master.” Terra inhales sharply and coughs.

The Master smiles. He looks pleased with himself. “You may continue to clear this up. And if you would please, keep the mischief at a minimum. It would be a great distraction from your work.”

Terra grits his teeth and Aqua lowers her eyes. “Yes, Master,” they both say slowly, like they’re about to step on hot coal.

When the Master leaves, Terra drops books onto the table. He’s finally looking at her, his eyes such a striking depth. It suddenly melts her away. Why so sudden though? He’s always had dark eyes.

Oh. She’s taken him for granted. Now she sees.

“What was that?” he whispers.

Aqua scoffs. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

He shakes his head. “I never want to have that kind of conversation with the Master ever again.”

“At least let me help you,” Aqua says, nodding over to the last gathering of books on the floor.

“I’m not letting you stand on that foot.” He bends over to do the work himself.

“Then I’ll help you clean out the mud.”

Terra puts away the last handful of books, and chuckles to himself. “How do you want to get there? Crutches?”

“No, thank you.”

“Well, I either carry you in my arms or I fling you over my shoulder.”

Aqua needs to find a spell to hide the blushing. It aches. “What an obnoxious suggestion.”

“Then I’ll leave you here in the library.”

“No.”

Terra snorts. “Okay.” He hooks an arm under her knees and lifts the rest of her body like she’s a hollow ragdoll. So close to him, Aqua can feel the grooves of his muscle, his chest durable and broad. She wonders if he enjoys holding her this close, too.

“I am really sorry,” he says as he takes her back towards the showers, passing by the open entrance to that gym, padded for wrestling. It’s not one they use often, since most of their training happens towards the front entrance. “I was on my way to take care of the squash. It was a dumb accident.”

“It’s okay,” Aqua says. She’s resting her head on his shoulder, staring at the way his neck moves when he speaks. Here, they don’t have to look at each other. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Yeah.” He sounds almost disappointed, if not relieved. “Glad we sorted that out, right?”

“Definitely.” She wraps her arms around his neck tighter.

“What were you doing?”

“Pushing myself too hard.” Aqua scoffs.

“Typical Aqua.”

At the way he says that—mock-cocky, snivelish, playful—she blushes. He hasn’t changed since they were little, but it’s a side to him that only she and Ven sees.

There’s a lot to him that he only shows her.

They reach the storage room where the mop and towels would be stored, but he doesn’t enter. “We really need to install a door here,” he says. They reach the communal showers, and he bypasses them too. Terra finally settles her down on the terrace outside.

“Stay here, I’ll be back.”

“No, wait, I’m helping you—”

“Not with that foot, you’re nuts.”

“You can’t stop me from crawling back inside.”

“Then I’ll drag you back out.” He smirks, almost like he’s his old self but not quite. His old self isn’t this adamant. It makes her think that there’s something he isn’t saying, that maybe she’s misreading him, stuck between doing his duty to help her and needing time away from her. That he’s hiding it all behind a joke, and she has to let him go.

“Okay.” She crosses her arms.

“Rest isn’t terrible for you,” he says as he walks away.

Aqua stares at dry dirt. Down this path are the flower and vegetable gardens, contained by a fence. Beyond is the trail that leads right to the spot where she started this ridiculous ordeal. If only she didn’t trip. She’s been training for years. She’s too skilled to be having accidents, too far in her studies to think this hard about her feelings for Terra.

Too far in her studies and too mature to keep denying that she wants him to look at her. She does.

She gets tapped on the head.

“Wait here,” Terra says, heading towards the gardens, barely giving her a glance.

Aqua anchors her elbows onto her thighs and drops her chin into her hands. A sudden thought invades her mind: he’ll come back from whatever chore he has to finish here, take her to her room, and now that everything is said and done, they’ll pretend like none of this has happened.

And that is that. A weird day finished, a blip in history.

Terra comes back into view faster than she anticipated, holding a bouquet of orange and blue flowers in his hand.

Aqua uses the wall to pull herself up, keeping most of her weight on the good foot. “What’s this?”

Terra opens his mouth to speak, and leaves it there. He licks his lips and offers the flowers. “Um…” He scoffs. “I’m bad at this.”

They smell nice. Roses and bluestars. They must be his way to apologize. “They’re beautiful.”

“Um…” He clears his throat, rubbing something raw at the back of his neck. “Would you like to, uh…” He glances at the ground beneath him, summoning the courage to look at her and speak clearly, overusing his hands to demonstrate. “There’s actually a really pretty cave nearby, full of crystals and minerals. It’s spectacular, and I’ve always wanted to take you to see it.” He blushes, swallowing. “Um, when you feel better, would you like to come see it with me? Spend the night, I mean?” He blushes harder, scoffing. “It’s a nice hike and it’s a great camping spot.”

Aqua squeezes the stems of the flowers and her heart hammers too hard to find her voice. “That sounds…” She exhales. “Nice.” She almost asks for permission—from who, she doesn’t know. Terra is asking her. She’s asking herself. “Yes, I’d love to.” She hopes to the stars she’s blushing less than him.

Terra has no answer except for a nervous giggle, his eyes gleaming. He leans forward and kisses her on the cheek, whipping himself back with a hand to his face like he’s committed the worst sin in the world.

It’s warm where he left his lips. Aqua touches it with her fingers.

Embarrassed laughter sputters out of Terra’s mouth with many unnecessary apologies.

Aqua smiles, and it comforts him. “Can you take me back inside?” she asks, that smile twisting her cheeks. It hurts so good.

“Sure,” he breathes. “Anywhere you want.”

They exchange rogue giggles and excited glances as he carries her. They talk as if nothing indeed has happened, where they avoid any mention of mischief to be had in the near future, at least for now. Maybe the stars threw her off balance this morning on purpose. Best friends. They’ve always been.

#terraqua #aqua #terra #ventus #kingdom hearts fanfiction #lmao omg #this cute little one is finally out #i hope you like it!#my fic

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izukuwus · 4 years

Text

Never

Masterlist

(request for @seashellsimp )

Summary: You’ve been keeping a secret from Izuku. (Izuku x tokophobic!reader)

Notes/Warnings: discussions of tokophobia, afab reader

Word count: 1100+

He flinches at the "no!" that escapes your lips, louder and more terrified than you wanted to give. It takes him too long to realize you're afraid, afraid of something that he doesn't know.

The moment the word leaves your throat, you're flinching, too, tears shimmering in your eyes, and though you want to give him an explanation, want to give him something to deter him from the truth, it's far too late. You're already far gone, breathing irregular at the thought that prompted your panicked outburst in the first place.

"'No', what?" Izuku asks, any trace of the frenzied lust you'd both been caught up in just moments prior having ebbed away the moment you'd slipped up.

You're silent, bottom lip caught between your teeth and eyes shut tight as you try to regulate the breaths you take, try desperately to rein in the panic that's overtaken you.

His hand finds your cheek, scar catching your skin in a way that would comfort you if you didn't already know you were gone. "Love, I can't know what I did wrong unless you tell me. Talk to me?"

"Talk to you," you babble back. It's an honest question, a healthy one. Izuku is kind and loving and he is trying to take the smart action, the one that will prolong your relationship, but it feels like a setup, because he's asking you to let go of your dealbreaker. A tear slips from your eye, followed only by more.

He's going to leave you. You can't tell him. You don't want him to leave.

Strong arms pull you into his lap, rocking you in a hug that should be comforting, but it pushes you even further until you've lost yourself in tears. Still he speaks to you, murmuring kind words into your hair.

"I don't want to push you if it's something you feel you can't talk about," he whispers when you've calmed down, "but I want you to tell me if there's a line I crossed. I'm sorry for upsetting you."

"You didn't," you choke out. The words that follow, you can't stop, though you're desperately trying to, to delay the inevitable. "I forgot to take my pill this morning."

"Your... pill...?"

You nod. Though you're no longer choking sobs into the space of his bedroom, he still holds you, one hand rubbing absently along your exposed arm, grounding you just enough that you can keep talking.

"Birth control. I-I... I can't get pregnant."

He's confused. You can feel it in the way he stills, the subtle tilt of his head that causes an errant curl of hair to brush against your forehead. You wonder if you can handle losing his wonderful hair, his wonderful eyes. "...I'm sorry, I'm a little lost. Aren't the pills supposed to...?"

"Yes, that's not what I... Izuku, I can't." You shift in his arms, moving so you can look him in the eye, show him the fear in your face. "I can't do it. I don't want a baby in me. Not now. Never. I can't get pregnant."

"Never," he repeats as though he's testing the word on his tongue, as if 'never' is some foreign concept to him, and you suppose that makes sense, for the up-and-coming number one hero. 'Never' is something that happens to other people. Never him.

"Never," you quietly agree, willing yourself not to tremble. But your will is weak; you pull away from him, prepare to clean your things from his apartment, delete his contact information from your phone, and binge eat ice cream for the rest of your life to get over him. "Even the thought just makes me... I can't do it. I don't want to think about it. I'm sorry, I should have told you from the beginning, I just—"

"Hey, stop, where are you going?" He tightens his grip on you, stops you from getting up. "Come on, let's talk."

"It's okay," you mumble, slipping into numbness in self-defense, "if you want to leave me over this."

"[name], no. I'm not leaving you."

"I've seen the way you are around kids. You're always so sweet, and so happy around them, and I know you've probably always wanted some of your own, but it's... I absolutely can't compromise on this. Even the thought of having kids makes me feel like I'm gonna vomit and honestly I'm barely keeping it together right now as it is and—"

He shushes you gently. "[name], love, I never said I wanted kids."

"But—"

"Shhh, it's okay. I'm not going to leave you. This isn't a dealbreaker for me."

All over again, you're crying into his chest. He's patient—ever patient, ever the angel—in waiting until you calm down enough to speak.

"You're okay, baby," he whispers into the crown of your head.

You sniffle, finally find it within yourself to hug him back. "Thank you. I'm sorry. It's... I just..."

"It's okay." He could repeat it a thousand times and it still might not be enough. "You don't need to say anything. Just know that I didn't ask you out because I wanted to have kids with you. My happy ending is the one with you, happy, and if that means no kids, then that doesn't change how I feel about you. In the first place, I asked you out because I was in love with you. Not the idea of you having my kids."

"Have I ever told you how glad I am you exist?" you mumble into his chest.

"Once or twice." His voice—his body, too—is warm. "It never fails to make me fall more in love with you, though."

You hum, snuggle into him just as close as you can. "Can we stay like this for a little bit?"

"As long as you want, love. Can I get you to promise me something?"

"Mm?"

"If you ever miss your pill or anything like that, or even if you're just worried about everything... let me know next time, okay? I don't want to scare you like that again."

"...okay."

"You promise?"

"Yeah. I promise."

"Good." He lays back, pulling you down with him. "Thank you."

For a moment, you lay there in gentle silence.

"...so you're not, like, disappointed that I—"

"No, love."

"Are you—"

He chuckles. "Yes, I'm sure."

Finally content, you relax into him. "I love you."

"I love you too."

You eventually fall asleep there, stirred only by Izuku pressing light, sweet kisses to the top of your head every now and then.

You sigh softly when another peck of affection lands atop your head. You're really safe here. He's never gonna make you have kids.

Never.

You're safe.

Tags: @tooloudarts @sapid-rose @xxangelpridexx @birds-have-teeth @icythotsenpai @warmchoccymilk @wesparklebitch @izoodles @fujimoribaby @my-bnha-things @denise-the-death-goddess @themerpenguin @sincerebubbles @fudobaby

#my fics #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #deku x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mmm might rewrite this later #this is more or less a vent fic

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gloster · 3 years

Text

FAVORITE FANFICS OF 2020

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

I know I speak for all when I say....I cannot wait to toss 2020 out the door the way Uncle Phil constantly did with Jazz. One of the things that got me through this rough year, besides family & friends & BTS, were fanfics.

It’s that time of year again where I make a list of all the fanfics that I absolutely adored. Some are by veteran favs of mine, others are new to me who just knocked it out of the park. If you’re interested in past lists, here is 2019′s list and 2018′s. If y’all are interested in doing your own fanfic favs of the year, please do so and tag me. Always on the hunt for new favs.

So without furhter ado, my fav fanfics of 2020:

1). Another Word for Forever series by stardropdream (sheith)

Summary: Shiro knows better than to expect love in an arranged marriage. This is all for the sake of universal peace, after all, and solidifying a Terran-Galran alliance. At the very least, Shiro can hope to make a friend out of this. Becoming friends would be much easier, though, if he and his husband could actually communicate.

With a language barrier and a mountain of cultural differences between them, getting to know Keith proves to be a challenge. Luckily, Shiro's always worked well with challenges.

2020 shockingly became the year of sheith. I ended up rewatching the show w/my bestie @littlenightdragon. Diving more deeply into it w/my other bestie @kila09. She and I spent the better half of this year devouring so many fanfics of them in various AUs. I came across new fanfic authors, and stardropdream is among them.

If I could describe this series & stardropdream, I’ll take a cue from Lady Gaga: “ talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before, unafraid to reference or not reference, put it in a blender, shit on it, vomit on it, eat it, give birth to it”

This series was just PERFECTION. I’ve gotten into arranged-marriage AUs and this has been one of the best I’ve read. It was just perfection. The language barrier definitely added an extra charm to it, in which Shiro finds his own ways to get to know his husband better: both creative and funny ways. So many cute moments, so many funny moments with Hunk being the translating middle man between them, and the smut. THE SMUT. THE SMUT. THE SMUT. Just *chef’s kiss* Incredible. It was just so so sweet, and such a comfort read. I reread this series 5 times already and hope Robin (the writer) does more stories in this AU.

Please read this series. You’re not gonna regret it. It will MELT your heart.

Honorable Mentions:

If I Called You Mine

Sail Across the Sky Just to Get to You

Finding Shelter (The Alien Baby Remix)

Say You Do(n’t)

2). The Golden Hour by @goldentruth813 (sheith)

Summary: After a space mission failure, Shiro loses his arm and his career. Two years later he's settled into a quiet and simple new life on his farm, but when a beautiful alien crashes in his field, he discovers the answers to his questions—and possibly the keys to his future—will come from the stars.

I’m sure no one, least of all Janel the writer herself, is surprised to see this author featured on this list. For now the 3rd year in a row. WOOOW 👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿 She is the reason I got into shieth, and she just continues to put out amazing conent with them. This story by far has been the best she’s done this year-possibly one of the best ever.

We have Shiro trying to have a simple life at the farm with his dog and animals. A curious BOM Keith who shakes things up with his boldness/innocence-and questions bound to test blood pressure, especially Shiro’s. Loads of cute moments, loads of funny moments, and also loads of oreos.

If summary and my thoughts don’t sell you, only one thing will: reading it for yourself.

Honorable mentions:

Two Hearts in Bloom

Mountain Men

Home is in Your Heart

3). Spun like Gold by Neyasochi (sheith)

Summary: Though Shiro is currently operating his fledgling bakery business out of a decrepit food truck he got for cheap in a repossession sale, he dreams of something more: a cozy bakery and cafe on a tree-lined street somewhere, filled with the smell of fresh coffee and sugar glaze instead of diesel. A little money could go a long way to helping him get off the ground-- and luckily, Keith has money to burn.

Or: Keith takes care of Shiro’s financial woes, in exchange for a little sugar.

OMG, OMG, OMG was this story so sweet. Neyasochi already sold me with the baking/baker Shiro trope, but went a step further throwing in sugar-daddy Keith who knows his way around his manic family and cars, but when it comes to asking a cute guy out? What better way to make an impression than becoming his best paying customer?

Honorable mentions:

oh, devour me

Healing Touch

on your hand of gold

4). The Destiny You Sold by @tryslora (drarry)

Summary: In which Draco knits, Harry makes wands, and things get very tangled up between them.

If there’s one thing I love about fanfics is how they introduce you to tropes you never would consider before. Draco and knitting was a combo I didn’t realize how much I needed until now. And I love the fact knitting played a big part of the accidental bonding. Also loved the fact everyone in their friend group shipped them like crazy. Highly, highly recommend

5) What’s My Age Again? by @lazywonderlvnd (drarry)

Summary: Harry Potter has had enough of pleasing the public, and his reckless tendencies are finally getting out of hand.

The Quidditch World Cup is only a week away; as Captain of the English National Team, Hermione has assured him that his immaturity won’t be tolerated by the Ministry.

And then Malfoy shows up.

(Inspired by the blink-182 song of the same name.)

It’s no secret that I’m such a fangirl of @lazywonderlvnd. Any drarry story I read, I always love. Last year, I ADORED The Changing Lights, which was one of my favorites last year, and her updating/finishing the story was a massive highlight for me. I thank ya for that.

This story was honestly refreshing. I’ve grown so used to Harry being responsible, always doing what’s right, that seeing a story where Harry pretty much has his middle finger in the air to “good reputation”, “being responsible,” because as he brought up: “I’m 25. I’ve been fighting all my life. I’ve earned my life to have fun.”

Okay, granted, it wasn’t quite like that but it was along those lines. And I agree. After all he went through, Harry deserves to have fun. He deserves to be reckless and make stupid decisions.

Also, it was such a blast reading a story where Harry is the brat & Draco has to keep him in line. LOVED.

Honorable mentions:

Inside Your Mind

Aletheia

6). Chocolate and Pastry by agentmoppet, anemonen (drarry)

Summary: When Pansy bets Draco that there is no chance he and Harry could carry out a genuine romantic relationship, he and Harry form a plan. But as their fake relationship progresses, Draco sees a side of Harry he never expected. Harry is struggling with something, pushing it far down inside him where he doesn't have to acknowledge its existence. Draco starts to worry, and then he starts to care, and then... horribly... he starts to fall in love.

Do not let the title fool you like it did me. Title alone, I was thinking it was going to be a fun, fluffy story involving baking, maybe chocolate crafting. However....it was not that at all. It was more. A lot deeper. A lot more angsty. It explored mental health, PTSD and the dangers of loved ones ignoring the signs, and contained an important message:

You can’t love someone out of their illness/disease/ addiction. Which is true and this story showed that.

7). i’m still here by owedbetter (zutara)

Summary: "You see me."

And somehow, that makes all the difference.

If there’s one of the few good things 2020 has brought, it was Netflix bringing back ATLA to their library. Which in turn ignited my love for zutara & had me drag @kila09 into that ship.

This story was just incredible. The way it was written, it really felt like it could have been canon. Deleted scenes that a certain creator didn’t want us to see. The way Zuko and Katara came together, starting from their peaceful friendship after the Southern Raiders episode up, becoming closer along the way.

I dare y’all to read this and not think OMG...is this secret canon bonus material? I definitely plan to read more by owedbetter.

8). all the what ifs i never said by rosegardenlake (sheith)

Summary: Keith is nine when he first notices Shiro. Shiro is gentle and quiet, always keeping to himself. Keith is rough and loud, running wherever his feet will take him, screaming on the top of his lungs into the wind. But despite that, they're a constant throughout each other's lives...if only that could be enough. As they grow, Keith just wants them both to be happy, but instead, he's falling apart.

Rosegardenlake is another sheith writer who I adored last year & adore this year as well. This was a story that I read during the beginning of quarantine-life and when I tell you the number of times Keith’s emotions of loneliness got to me, it’s a big number.

Keith’s struggle with life after high school, after peaking in school, and his mental health reminded me too much of where I was at 2018, which wasn’t a good year for me at all, especially mentally. So that was triggering but it was also helpful since I saw how far I came. And it was beautiful seeing how far Keith came.

Also the relationship between Shiro and Keith was just beautiful. It’s very funny how Keith was Shiro’s protector growing up and Shiro became Keith’s later on in life. There’s a chance your heart may be heavy, but will also be so swelled up with feelings these two bring it.

Honorable mentions:

Where the Light Doesn’t Reach

9). When Night Comes by Oh_Hey_Tae (BTS; poly ot7)

Summary: Jungkook’s tipsy, but he’s not buzzed enough to miss that he doesn’t recognize any of the four dozen people here. And seeing as his friends aren’t ones to ditch and there’s no way they’d play a prank this mean on him, Jungkook reaches the conclusion that he just walked into a stranger’s very expensive home, uninvited, and started eating their food and petting their well-dressed dog.

(Or: Jungkook shows up to the wrong Halloween party and meets the most powerful family in Seoul.)

I can easily say Oh_Hey_Tae easily one of my favorite BTS fanfic favs. Always come through with the stories, and this one was just amazing. We have Jungkook stumbling into a Halloween story, and soon enters into a intense, insane relationship with all six guys, who are already in a relationship with each other. Oh, and supernatural creatures at that.

You do see certain relationships are stronger, deeper. For example, a lot of moments between Jin and Jungkook. Vmin has their own story and moments. But it was just so amazing.

Fair warning. Halfway through, things get darker and Oh_My_Tae really loves playing readers diirty with the angst, but it’s so good.

10). peace-weaver by magisterpavus (sheith)

Summary: You will be the peace-weaver, his mother told him, smiling though her dark eyes welled with unshed grief. The one who brings two bitter enemies together and ends the bloodshed and death between us, once and for all.

But men will always crave war. The Galra, most of all.

Yet another arranged-marriage AU that I loved. This particular one is well-loved in the sheith fandom. I can definitely say it’s considered one of the classic fanfics that’s been read or shared at one point or another.

The story itself reminded me a lot of Macbeth, involving murder and dark forces at bay. The dynamics between Shiro and Keith reminded me of Drogo and Daenerys from GOT, one of my fav couples there, which only made it all the more better for me.

I do credit the author for the creative approach they took with quintessence and Shiro’s role/persona as the Champion

Honorable mentions:

The Boy in the Window

Sheith Demon/Priest AU

A Matter of Scale

Directive

Honorable mentions that I seriously wanted to add to the list but this post is already lengthy. All amazing, all greats reads by various writers y’all should check out:

Hold Me Tight, or Don’t by snowfallen (yoonmin with a Mr. & Mrs. Smith AU featuring assassins and hitmen, secret identities, fake marriage, and a lot of smut)

The Prince and Pirate by Maniacani, @nerdherderette (drarry with a splash of royalty and pirates. Perfect if you’re needing to fill in any Pirates of the Caribbean or Black Sails cravings)

First Kisses are the Best Ones by SashaDistan (sheith in a 50 First Dates Fusion heartfelt/heart-gutting story)

freely, as men strive for right by @bixgirl1 (drarry w/Harry explaining the many ways why Draco’s the love of his life. we love to see it)

The Sacrificed by SasuNarufan13 (sasunaru w/ dark fairytale elements similar to Little Red Riding Hood & Beauty and the beast + feat. mpreg)

Chasing Treacle Tart (and Draco Malfoy) by xErised (drarry feat. lunch lady Draco + scheming Harry + loads of fun w/sweets & more)

Red Desert by @beatitudinembty (taekook in a unique sci-fi AU; hard to explain but so worth a read

one way ticket to another life by starboykeith (sheith Hades x Persephone background)

Even So by lewilder (zutara; arranged marriage+ language barrier +soft strangers to lovers)

Well, lovely people, there you have it. My top 10 favorite fanfics of the year. I do notice a certain ship shows up a lot on this list, but I wasn’t kidding when I said they took over this year. Still, I tried to mix the list up with other fav ships/fandoms of mine. To the writers who created these incredible stories. I applaud you. I thank you for creating and sharing these wonderful stories. Anyone interested in doing the tag, please do.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, GUYS

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scottymcgeesterwrites · 3 years

Text

Ambiguous

There has been something I need to write about and shout into the void. It has been tearing me apart, and I don’t know how people will react elsewhere, so I figured this was the safest place. This will be the soft reveal before even speaking about it to my friends. Or maybe I will never speak about it ever again. Maybe I will feel fine after writing it this way. For my entire life, people have mistaken me for being Indian, to the point where actual Indians walk up to me and start speaking in their dialect. My mile-long blank stare makes them realize that I am not Indian, and one of two things happen - they either apologize and explain they mistook me for Indian, or they exclaim, “You’re NOT Indian?”

I’m Cuban and Colombian. I grew up in New Jersey. I am an American citizen but it gets confusing when you take into account that my mother flew to Santiago, Chile to have me there because of a clinic that specialized in geriatric pregnancy at the time, so my “birthplace” reads Chile on my passport. That’s always a mouthful to have to explain and it further confuses people, so I end up saying, “I was born in New Jersey”. My skin tone is best described as ambiguous. I could be many things. I’ve gotten Middle Eastern, Indian, and specifically “Egyptian”. I have no idea why “Egyptian” but. Whatever. I have always lived in some liminal space where people ask the dreaded question, “What are you?” Now here’s the most frustrating thing of all - not everyone who has asked me that was white. Growing up, I thought that I could relate to someone who wasn’t white to understand how I feel. Black people have asked me that. Indian people have asked me that. Middle Eastern people have asked me that. Cubans and Colombians have asked me that. Throughout my youth, I was paranoid that maybe I was adopted or something, given how people didn’t seem to connect me with my parents. I was told that my Cuban side hails from Spain, but my Colombian side is shrouded in mystery. My dad never liked to talk about my family. I never knew anyone past my grandparents. Well, I did meet my great-grandmother once when I was seven, but she had practically turned back into a baby at that point, banging on the table demanding food and needing to be spoon-fed. My own people don’t recognize me, and they often say things like, “You don’t LOOK Latino!” or “What? You’re LATINO?” and the best one yet “You don’t SOUND Spanish!” The worst offenders, however, would laugh and say, “¡Pareces Hindu!” which means “You look Hindu!” Hindu is the religion, dumbass. Anyone, and I mean anyone, can be racist and slip some “micro-aggression”. I am not fluent in Spanish, but I can write and understand every word in Spanish. I often inadvertently offend Spanish-speaking people when I reply to them in English when they thought they were being sneaky by talking in Spanish around me. The reason I don’t speak Spanish as fast as my peers is because of two reasons: 1. My parents at the time when I grew up believed in the misconception and pseudoscientific belief that children will be “confused” if two or more languages are spoken in the house. 2. Central New Jersey, where I grew up, hadn’t yet seen many Hispanic people, so locals at the time often leered at people who spoke Spanish in public. When my mother took me to our local Gymboree, I spotted a butterfly and shouted in Spanish, “¡Mariposa! ¡Mariposa!”. The other mothers kept staring at me, and then distanced themselves from us. The weirdest thing ever was experiencing white people who studied the Spanish language better than me and making fun of me for actually being Spanish but being unable to speak it fluently. I had a crush on this girl whom I’ll call “Anjy” in freshman year of college. It took me until now to realize that I think she had a Latino fetish. Anjy only exclusively went out with Latino men, but never seemed to openly admit it. The only thing she did admit was that, “I can only be with a man who speaks Spanish. It’s so important to me.” So obviously I wasn’t a contender, despite being Latino. Anjy doesn’t have an ounce of Spanish in her. None. But she studied it since high school and fell in love with it and became Spanish’s #1 fan. I was so jealous of how fluent she was. She could roll her r’s and speak it beautifully. Since we became friends, I said to her, “Oh, I can finally practice my Spanish with someone!” We tried, but she laughed at me and said, “I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. You sound like a gringo.” It’s a very topsy-turvy world where some white girl uses a derogatory term on me, a derogatory term from my culture that describes an outsider, used to describe me. She went to Costa Rica after we graduated, lived there for a few years, and came back home with a husband. (That’s when I fully realized just how much she fetishized us.) A few years ago, my now-fiancée gifted me a DNA test for my birthday. That came out of left field for me, and opened up a range of emotions that I wasn’t ready for. She said she remembered how I wondered aloud why I looked the way I looked and about my ancestry. I sat on the DNA test for a while.

I stared at it.

I held the kit in my hands.

I opened it and closed it. What if I really was Indian? What if I found out something that made me feel so much worse? But how bad could it be? I was also wary about the company keeping my DNA for nefarious reasons. However, luckily enough, my fiancée had bought the kit from AncestryDNA - the one DNA company that has responded to people saying they would delete their DNA at their request. I bit the bullet and sent my sample. When the test came back, I opened it up and everything made sense. It made so much sense that I laughed out loud. It’s so funny how nobody has guessed the only other possibility for my skin tone that is what I actually am. I am pretty much half native to the Americas. I’m not sure what that’s called. Native American seems to be associated exclusively to North America. So Native South American? Native to the Americas? Native American (et al)? The Colombian side can be traced through turmoil in South America, up through Mesoamerica, and into North America. So many spots lit up all over the Americas. And like the Cuban side said, I was indeed from Spain as well. I was split right down the middle. 50/50. The native side and the European side were practically screaming at each other in my genes. I felt as though a great weight had been lifted from me that I didn’t even know was there. I knew for a fact that I was my parents’ son. I had an explanation for why I look the way I look, and it made sense and it was obvious. It didn’t end there though. I didn’t feel Native American. I had no cultural connection to anything “native”. I tried thinking in terms of my personality though. I always had a strong belief in saving the land and respecting the dead. I did vandalize a construction site back in my high school days to preserve farmland. My family did like to decorate the house with Aztec and Mayan statues. Aside from that though, I had about as much personal connection to native culture as Olive Garden does to Italy. The thing about my parents being from Cuba and Colombia is that those were two very violent and turbulent places in the past century. After I tell people where my families hail from, they always asked me with wide-eyes, “Oh have you been there???” Well, I dunno man. If you have any inkling of what’s going on the world you would know the awkward relationship that the United States has had with Cuba, and what it means to be a fucking exile. And the fact that Colombia has seen gang wars for the entirety of my life. So no. I haven’t. When I was a little boy I asked my parents if we would ever visit Colombia or Cuba, but they told me we shouldn’t go back. Colombia was violent, and Cuba’s government watched everyone. My mother was afraid of what would happen if she tried going back. Maybe they wouldn’t let her, or us. Maybe they’d let us through but I wouldn’t even be allowed to return if they knew I was the son of an exile. Worse yet, they might detain my mother. You never know when your family had beef with the government and was told to leave. And what really drives a knife in my heart is hearing people ask that really annoying question. “Have you visited???” As if they were hot and exotic touristy locales. No. Because my parents were forced to flee, because they needed a better life. “Wouldn’t your mom love it if you got married in Cuba? She would get to visit her home!” You don’t get the trauma she has. You don’t understand how much of a toll it would take on her to return home and see all the things she once knew and love gone or tarnished. She received word recently that the farmhouse she grew up in now became a restaurant. The house that my grandfather built by hand. Strangers now sit and eat there. Maybe tourists. The hotel that my great-grandfather used to own now doesn’t belong to us anymore - the government said it was theirs. There is nothing for her to go back to but loss. I felt distraught when I saw a former college classmate who has become an Instagram influencer immediately visit Cuba once travel restrictions were eased. She posted all about it and acted as if she were an expert about it. She used to be a lawyer in Washington D.C. until she decided to “take hold of her life” and “follow her dream” and go to Bali and now lives everyday in tropical paradise. It seemed like some people were pointing out the hypocrisy in her posts about life given the lifestyle she leads, since she felt the need to say something about it. She made a video where she tried to relate to her followers. She said how “it’s still hard” for her, that she “has to work every day”, and meanwhile literally the next fucking day she posts a picture of her having lunch by a waterfall, or napping in her hammock by the beach. But when she visited Cuba, and took pictures and wrote a long post about the country, I just lost it. She met up with some other white Instagram influencer friend, and they took selfies at a café and lectured about the region and--- That’s supposed to be my country, my culture. I’m supposed to feel that way about my people, not you. I went to a wedding recently in July. This black man slapped me on the back after I cracked a joke and said, “Hey, where you from?”

“New Jersey.” He laughed. “No, but really though. Where are you from?” “New Jersey.” “I mean originally. Your background. What are you?” It was the first time I had been asked that question since I got back my DNA test results, and for some reason it hit me so much differently.

I really wanted to say, “I don’t know.” It’s ironic how knowing what I am made me feel more confused, more alone and more isolated than ever before. I am bad at speaking Spanish, and when I try to practice with other Spanish-speaking people they laugh at me and say, “You sound like a gringo” and say they can’t bear to practice with me. I don’t look Latino. I might look Indian or I might look Middle Eastern. With me, everyone assumes things about me, no matter what they are. Some people have the luxury of automatic and unspoken assumptions about their background. Then there’s me. Not quite tan, not quite white. I don’t raise enough suspicion at the airport to warrant a search but at the same time I have to jump over one extra hurdle when they ask me one extra question: “Where are you from?” or “How long are you staying here?” or “What are you here for?” It’s very subtle and deceptively innocent. Nobody else who is pasty white gets asked any questions. They just stamp their passport and wave them away. I’m just ambiguous enough to warrant that extra step - just in case, you know? I envy people so much who can have a clear culture and place to point and say, “I’ve been there. I’ve been where I come from.” I envy people who can recognize all the idiosyncrasies of their family’s region. I don’t belong to any country or culture or identity. There are only a few scant pieces of culture that my parents passed on to me. “Oh, on Christmas we do this” or “We say this once and a while. That was a common expression there.” I envy people with huge families who have not been estranged by government and bloodshed or lost to time. I envy people who can trace their families back to their grandfathers and great-grandfathers and great-great-grandmothers. As a kid I wish I was able to say something like, “My great-granddaddy fought Nazis in the war!” I will never know anyone beyond that one old great-grandmother who no longer recognized anyone’s face. Everyone else is a name on a tombstone, or a whisper in vague oral history. I envy people who can firmly say, “I am *insert nationality here*” Because I always mumble at that phrase. I am. . .a. . . I am from. . . . uh I am. . . I am.

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thran-duils · 3 years

Text

Dubious Representation (P.4, Final)

Title: Dubious Representation (Part Four, Final) Summary: Fem!Reader x soft Dark!Hank Palmer. Reader’s husband is facing jail time and although Hank Palmer entered the counsel for pro bono, he is still going to get a form of payment. Recently single, he’s been lonely and he’s looking for some comfort. Even if it means obtaining it from less than savory means. Words: 3,110 Warnings (for entire fic): Eventual smut, sexual coercion, infidelity, mention of past domestic violence, verbal abuse

Part Three || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Hank came downstairs, buttoning up his dress shirt. You looked over your shoulder from where you were making breakfast, something you had gotten accustomed to when you stayed over. It was relaxing. He was right about one thing; you did love to cook. And it was nice you had someone who actually seemed to appreciate it rather than taking it for granted. Not to mention, his kitchen was top notch, and his fridge was always stocked cause he gave you the money to do so.

He caused you to pause for a second as he grabbed your shoulders to hold you while he kissed your temple.

“Morning, doll,” he spoke against your skin before he pulled away. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm.” You always did on his expensive mattress. Especially after he wore you out.

You finished up and made up two plates. Turning around you found him at the island, clicking away on his phone. You placed his plate in front of him, him thanking you, and slid onto the stool next to him.

He swore under his breath and tossed his phone down before he started eating.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“Lisa is being a bitch as usual.” He held a lot of contempt for his ex-wife.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing for you to be sorry about.” He took another bite and eyed you. “I’ve got Lauren this weekend again.”

You made sure you were away when she was there. He never made you feel like you had to be but the few weekends he had with her since you had started seeing him, you made yourself scarce.

“Good. You haven’t seen her in a while,” you told him, and you meant it. It had been a couple weeks. “I need to clean my apartment too, so this is good.”

“You don’t gotta go home.”

You shot him a look at that and saw he was staring at you with purpose. You swallowed your bite and forced a shrug. “It’s okay. It’s good you guys have time alone together.”

“We don’t have to always be alone together,” Hank said, taking another bite. He shrugged in turn now, fixing you with another intense look. “I’ve thought about you moving in.”

That was unexpected. And all you could muster was, “Oh.”

“‘Oh’ what?” He sounded like he was going to get on a combative route.

You rested your hand on the counter, meeting his eyes. “That… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? Explain it to me.”

You blinked. How did you explain how wrong you felt about falling into another man’s bed so soon? The same day Rich had left, you were back with Hank. Not that you had not slept with him before then but… and how guilty you felt about your feelings for him? His relationship had already been done and had been for a while. You were moving on without a consensual party who had no idea what was happening outside their jail cell. No matter how free you felt since you were not afraid of what kind of mood Rich was going to be in when you got home, there was still history.

“It seems too quick.”

“It’s been six months.” Hank grabbed the jug of iced tea you had placed on the counter and began pouring you and him glasses.

“A lot of people would say too quick.”

“Rich is refusing to see you when you have gone to visit. I don’t think it’s quick enough we make this more serious.”

He sounded bitter about the Rich comment. When you had told him you were going to visit Rich in prison the first time, Hank had been frigid. And then the next two times, he was still bristled. And he had had a “told you so” attitude about it when you came back mopey because he was right about that: Rich refused to see you. He would walk in and see it was you at the table and turn around and walk back through the door.

“Don’t you think?” Hank continued as he finished pouring the iced tea. “You are already sleeping here half the week. It’s a waste of money for you to keep the apartment.”

You chewed on your bottom lip. The apartment was yours now. Something you had not had to yourself for years. But you felt more comfortable here.

“I guess when you put it that way,” you said.

He saw your resolve crumbling and he capitalized, leaning on his arm to come closer to you. “Then what’s the issue?”

“My apartment—"

“You know. I brought it up to come to the point to just tell you: Don’t worry about it. I’ve already contacted your building manager about paying off the rest of the lease. You had only four more months left so that wasn’t a huge expense. You need to sign the paperwork though.”

“Hank!”

“What?”

“You didn’t even ask me. And they just spoke to you about my lease when you’re not even on it?”

Hank waved you off, “You’re getting distracted. Did you wanna keep living there with no AC in the summer and then shitty heating in the winter? And that carpet was atrocious in the halls. Do you not like my house?”

“I like it. A lot.”

“Then again, let me ask, what’s the issue?” You had nothing to say, and he grasped your hand. “Doll, all you need to do is go pack up the things you want to bring here — I’ll get you boxes — and then the rest of it we can send to the thrift shop. AND—" he rose his voice as soon as he saw you were going to protest, and you closed your mouth. “The other stuff — you know things of his — we can ship to his next of kin.”

“His parents.”

“Good. They can inherit it. Just like they’ll inherit him when he’s out.”

You let that sink in for a couple moments before you realized a way out of being here while Lauren was here. “Well, then I should go to my apartment this weekend to do that…”

Hank looked impressed for a split second before he agreed, “I suppose so. But I want you available on Saturday morning. You don’t have to stay here but we are going to the botanical gardens and then getting lunch. I want you there. Is that fair?”

It was a type of compromise, a rarity.

“Yes.”

He had still gotten his way. As usual.

<><><>

Lauren was a sweet girl, eleven years old. She was headstrong just like Hank, and you had to smile watching them go back and forth about their opinions. She was going to be a force to be reckoned with.

When she got you alone for a moment, she was watching you closely.

“What’s up?” you asked, trying to hide your unease.

“I told my dad that daddies don’t get lonely when he asked me who I wanted to live with when they were getting divorced.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. They move on quick.” Your stomach clenched, worried where this conversation was going. “But my mom was dating someone before he was. Like almost immediately. It’s just weird. But I’m glad he has someone now.”

You relaxed and nodded before you told her, “Me too. He makes me happy.”

<><><>

A week and a half later, there was a voicemail on your cell phone. You did not recognize the number.

You pressed on it and your blood chilled hearing Rich’s voice.

“Y/N, what the fuck is this about all these boxes of my shit showing up at my parent’s house? You know they don’t have the space in their two bedroom. And what the fuck are you sending it away for in the first place? If you’re even thinking about kicking me out, you’ve got another thing coming, you little bitch. Do you understand me? Moving on like a fucking hussy now that I’m in here and you’ve got space in the bed? I know you’re helpless when it comes to providing for yourself but if you think I’m gonna let it slide that you are spreading your legs for some other fucking guy cause you can’t hack it on your own, you are sorely mistaken! I—”

The voicemail cut off. He must have run out of time.

Your lip was warbling as you stared down at your phone.

“What is it?”

Hank’s voice startled you. He was rubbing his hair with a towel, another one wrapped around his waist, straight from the shower.

“Nothing,” you said wiping at your eyes.

Hank’s arm dropped from his head, and he stalked over. He reached his hand out, gesturing for you to hand over your phone. He did not buy it when you said nothing. You slowly relented and he took it from you. Pressing play, he replayed the button and you flinched, the words hurting just as much if not more than the first time you heard them.

Snorting, Hank deleted the message. “Fuck him. And his condescension. You’re doing what’s best for you, and you are hacking it on your own. I say it’s about time you got a new number, Hmm? To avoid that bullshit.” Your lips parted in surprise, and he held your phone back out to you. You took it as he said, “I’ll add you to my plan, baby. We can go tomorrow. I don’t have meetings in the afternoon.”

With that, he turned and walked back towards the bathroom. He had not waited for you to respond.

<><><>

As soon as you were two weeks late, Hank brought home a test. He had stopped using condoms months ago when things had progressed. That same night, he had taken you out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate. He had taken you there before and you had adored it. That time though it was like a fog was clouding the room. You were happy, you had wanted to be a mother, and he was happy. But you were still married.

Hank had obviously been thinking about that too because a couple days later, he brought it up bluntly as he was watering his flowers.

“You should get a divorce.”

Pushing your sunglasses up, you stared at him in shock. You were reclining on a lawn chair, reading a magazine.

When you did not respond, he looked over his shoulder. You knew this conversation was coming but the knowledge of that did nothing to soften the blow.

“That seems heartless.”

“What? Fully leaving? Or are you telling me you’re planning to go back to him?” He was using that challenging tone.

“No!” you blurted. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

He turned the hose off and dropped it turning to face you.

“Y/N, he’s been in jail for over a year. You’ve already sent his shit away, he’s gotten mad about it, you don’t know if his family cares cause you aren’t at the apartment, you’re living with me. And you’re not at your old job. So, they can’t find you there. And you got a new number so no one can contact you. I think the writing has been on the wall where this is going. So what’s with dragging your feet?”

“It’s… hard.”

“A lot of things are hard, but we deal with them. Look, you’ll feel better once it’s over and done with and so will I. I don’t like knowing you’re still legally tied to that bastard. Can you understand that? Not just as the man you’re with but from an attorney’s viewpoint. It’s not good news. I’d sleep easier at night knowing he’s not gonna try to pull some shit.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest if you initiate and oversee this?”

Hank gave a brief chuckle, “No. I’m allowed to represent blood family even. I’m supposed to be unbiased of course but it’s legal to do it. I’m allowed to represent anyone.” He came closer, looking down at you on the chair. “And honestly, if I have it under my belt I represented him — that is if the bastard decides to take it to court, which I’m doubtful he will — and ‘saw the errors of my choice’ and now I’m trying to help you out, that’ll help in court.” He saw the look on your face and shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t mean to be insensitive but that’s how juries are swayed. Sob stories. And I could hit that shit out of the park.”

Swallowing, you contemplated. You had been thinking about divorce for a while. Even more so now that you knew you were carrying Hank’s baby.

You had taken too long to respond again, and Hank added, “Free of charge for you of course.”

You gave a small smile and said, “Hank… yeah, fine. I know.”

“‘Fine’? ‘You know’? Doll, you know I like you to elaborate your firm feelings.”

“I’ve been thinking about it. And I need to take a plunge. I wanna be invested in us. Fully.”

Hank nodded, “That’s better.” He nodded once more. “I’ll get them drafted up tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Sunday.”

“And?”

“Don’t you wanna enjoy the weekend?”

Hank simpered, “What’s a weekend?”

<><><>

Hank strolled past the security gate and swooped his briefcase up. The visiting room in the prison was bare and beat up. He was seated at the table, waiting, reading emails. As soon as the prisoners were trickling into the room, he kept an eye on the door.

The moment Rich walked in, he hesitated seeing Hank. Unlike with Y/N, he ventured into the room and pulled the chair back, sitting across the table from Hank.

“Surprised you haven’t found yourself in max yet. I was expecting to talk to you through glass. Whatever works though,” Hank clipped, sitting up straight.

“What are you doing here?” Rich asked, his tone tight. He ignored Hank’s jab.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Hank said, opening his briefcase and pulling out the pile of papers. He tossed them onto the table and leaned back, waiting for Rich to respond.

Rich stared at them for a few moments and shrugged, “What are these? Early release? I thought I made it clear I didn’t want you representing me anymore.”

“Ah, no,” Hank laughed. He was unable to hold it back. “Divorce papers actually. And I’m not representing you. I’m representing Y/N.”

Rich’s face darkened and he snapped, “What?”

“She’s divorcing you now that she’s not afraid you’re gonna bash her in with a monkey wrench. You’re right here, my man. And she’s free out there.” He leaned in closer and said, “Seriously, you fucking up the way you did worked out best for everyone. She’s positively glowing.” He tapped the papers and said, “So, it’s all in here. Just need you to read it over, get your signature, and it’ll be solid.”

Rich was staring harshly at Hank and Hank could pinpoint the moment the realization washed over him. He looked murderous. “You.”

“Yeah, me.”

“You son of a bitch. Just swooping in when you saw weakness,” Rich growled, slamming his hand on the table. The guards took notice and he immediately reeled it in, much to Hank’s amusement who had not even flinched. Through gritted teeth, Rich vowed, “You’re not going to get away with this. She’s my wife—"

“Yeah, a wife you have refused to see for over a year because what? You’re mad you had to come to her rescue because you were rolling too hard to pay proper attention as she almost got assaulted? Great. Husband of the year award right for you. I’ll make sure it’s delivered.”

“I’m not going to roll over on this!”

Hank waved him off, quipping. “Take it to court then. We know how well that worked out for you last time.” He smiled cruelly, “Do you understand how even more easy it would be for me this time to get them to turn against you than the DA did last time? I could easily paint myself as the white knight and yeah, sure, you would get a day out of the prison to come to court, which might seem worth it to you, but it is worth the cost for good representation? I don’t think so. You will get the floor mopped with you and the end result would be the same.”

Rich looked furious and Hank threw his hands out. “Think about it this way. Once you’re out, you can find another woman who was just as naïve and young as Y/N and do what you will. It’s wiping the slate clean for you, fresh start. Plus, Y/N’s already pregnant, so she’s pretty settled in already with me. Don’t wanna go messing that up cause trust me, motherfucker, I will make that hell for you. I’ve got the resources to do so. And man, do I have a vendetta against your ass. So, do you really want to try me?” If Rich could look more furious. His fists were clenched on the table, shaking, but he was keeping himself from lunging across the table. Hank was even impressed; the bastard really did not want to go to max.

Clearing his throat, Hank leaned over and grabbed his briefcase, standing up. “Anyways, you can wipe your ass with that if you want, but it’s still going to go forward. And I have more copies. Just let me know what you wanna do.” He pulled a business card out of his pocket and carelessly tossed it onto the table. “In case you forgot my number, champ.”

<><><>

Hank came up behind you and kissed at the nape of your neck. “You didn’t need to do this.”

“You weren’t home when you normally do it,” you told him, running the water from the hose over the hydrangeas that he cherished so much.

“I’m only thirty minutes late,” Hank chuckled.

“But you are particular.”

“That I am,” he breathed, kissing you again on your shoulder. He nuzzled in and nipped at your ear, drawing a smile out of you. “I got the papers back today.”

That caused you to stall, your hand dropping every so slightly, the water not arching as high. It had been a couple weeks since Hank had gone to the prison and all he had told you was that he had left the papers with Rich. You had not heard anything since. Hearing that he had actually sent them back signed…

He noticed your demeanor and his hands came around you, coming to your stomach. He held you protectively there and breathed reassuringly, “Looks like our family is going to be okay.”

~~~

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld @holl2712 @agustdowney @biiskuitx

#hank palmer x reader #rdj character #my shit #dark!hank palmer #hank palmer

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twenty-one-froggy-pilots · 3 years

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Yeah I'm honestly a bit surprised by how passionate and vocal people are about hating twenty one pilots? It's kinda upsetting that when I try to interact with content about them I'm always a bit worried in the back of my mind because I'm a pretty sensitive person and it's hard not to let stuff get to me.

I don’t know why it’s always felt like twenty one pilots has gotten a ton of hate for no reason? I’ve been into them since 2013-2014 so pure unadulterated vessel era, I’m a very old fan of them and their music, like one of the oldest picture in my phone is this

(This picture isn’t important I just love it, plus something fun to look at with a not so fun subject material)

(Long history as a fan rant incoming lol)

I’ve been an emo kid for a really long time, back when all of the emo bands were big, when seeing another kid wearing a panic! shirt always meant you talked to them in the mall, I still remember when I would wear the one twenty one pilots shirt I could afford outside, that anyone who knew who they were would come up and start a conversation with me

And it’s like through the years the hate has changed to be... somehow worse

Back in the early days tøp used to get called not a true emo band because they didn’t have anyone playing the guitar so everyone hated them because they weren’t emo Enough

Plus there was the whole ‘emo trinity’ ‘emo quartet’ infighting nonsense but that’s so long past idk if anyone even remembers it lol

Then blurryface rolls around and fans are being made fun of for dressing funky and going through that one fandom phase where everyone was calling the boys smol beans it was great and cute, we were all really close, we called each other frens, told each other to stay street it was great! So what people made fun of us or whatever we were absolutely vibing

Twenty one pilots felt like the coolest secret gang of fans, we were absolutely huge, more so than most people would think, and man it was awesome!! If you saw a tøp fan you knew that you were cool with that person and that person would be cool with you!! It was amazing!! Sometimes I do miss this vibe!!

But then Stressed Out ended up on the radio...

I feel like it really all changed here, all of the sudden the old fandom things were cringy, the boys were sell outs, and every family member you knew was suddenly the biggest fan despite only knowing stressed out

I remember being upset around this time because of strangers invading my space, this was my group, filled with people who understood what the lyrics meant and knew and understood how much they meant to all of us, and suddenly it was filled with people who didn’t belong

I didn’t blame the pilot boys, obviously they can’t control what’s on the radio, I’m fact, there’s plenty of pilot songs that mention never being played on the radio because of one reason or another, so my problem was never with the boys, it was with the influx of new people, and by new people I don’t mean new fans, I mean news outlets and tv show host, and with that influx came the people who didn’t get it, you know? That were rude and outright nasty and refused to understand anything about the genre and effort put into the story and why it mattered to us

(Tw for suicide mention, and uncomfortable themes involving people making fun of themes involving it, tw for mentions of school shootings)

All of the sudden we were the fans of Tyler Joseph the man who ‘Glorifies Suicide’ and actively is supposedly encouraging that behavior

We were the cringy fans everyone knew in high school and hated who were described as being ‘JuSt So QuIrkY 🤪’, instead of the mentally ill kids we all were, by people who hated us

We were the fans of those ‘white boys who look like school shooters’ (this one honestly rocked me to my core, it still hurts to even see??? Like idk why but it almost makes me want to cry)

At the same time a lot of the old fans were turning their back on the pilots, they didn’t want to be involved anymore, they hated ALL of the new fans whether they were respectful or not

It was a REALLY hard time to be a new fan, very few people were open to having them involved in anything, I think this is when a lot of hatred happened in the fandom not only fan-fan fighting/hatred but also fan-band sentiments weren’t great either

The more songs that ended up on the radio the more the hatred grew, in fact this got so bad Tyler did this

youtube

Here’s a transcript in case it’s hard to hear

Like... this was the state of our fan group.... it was suddenly cool to hate all the songs that ended up on the radio so much it affected every part of our music journey

There was a lot of infighting, it was an awful time to be a fan, new or old

Then came silence era, in which every tøp blog I followed except like 2, became kpop blogs and I’m not sure any of them ever came back lol, I actually really disliked kpop because of this for a bit in like a jokey kind of way in my own head lol (ahh how the turn tables have turned... kpop and tøp are the only things I listen to now haha, actually because of all my tøp mutuals becoming kpop blogs I vowed to myself to not change this blog to another group so I have two music blogs now, which makes me laugh but also shows how important music is to me so it makes me happy anyways you know?)

It was kind of a sad way to have the fandom disappear, everything was strangled, the boys were gone, and no one kept up with the fandom, it felt really lonely

When Trench era clues started back people started coming back, the mood was different, we had something to do and it was fun to work on something with others, we had the Clancy letters, and all the clues, and the tower of silence and the vultures!! It was great! It started to feel like we had rebuilt something from the rubble of what we had been

The fandom started calling Tyler stinky and he called us b*stards it was great, sometimes people were a bit meaner than I think they thought they were being, but it worked you know?

When the album released we had more people come back and things slowly started fitting back ok again, more songs ended up on the radio and a lot of older fans said the same things they’re saying now, but it wasn’t that bad, it was mostly very positive

And then we got to the over the summer drama, which........... is a sensitive subject, but I legitimately do not understand how it was Tyler’s fault that people assumed he was talking about something when he wasn’t talking about it at all... especially when people have been begging him for years to talk more about mental health, he wanted to introduce whatever he was going to do with a joke, I personally never though he was talking about the big issue at the time of the incident, but it blew up like wildfire and the next thing you know he’s canceled because Other People Assumed Something

So now it’s ‘Morally Justifiable’ to hate Tyler because he’s r*cist or something, despite it never being his intention and because people assumed something

It’s literally not even with good reason that people are doing this, but because it blew up when it did and about what it did, no one knows what really happened and people just wanted a morally justified reason to hate them because you can’t just dislike something anymore without it being justifiable I guess? I feel like with all of the years I’ve spent on the internet everything has only become more hateful...

All this to say.... yes, it hurts when people hate the things that you do, I get really sensitive about it as well, especially with how long and how many arguments I’ve seen, and I am extremely sensitive to discourse and hatred, it’s why I don’t engage with much of it online, in fact I was about to delete the post complaining about everyone hating on them before I saw it was really resonating with you guys

I guess my best advice to you anon, would to try to understand where it’s coming from, that’s what’s helped me, I know a lot of people dislike the pilots because of the fact that they became ‘mainstream’ during blurryface era, and people are really upset by that, so understanding that, even when it hurts, I can acknowledge that they feel that way and that it’s ok that I feel differently

It’s easy to take that point and test it against your own morals, ‘do I think twenty one pilots became mainstream, or only makes songs to get on the radio?’ If your answer is no, then you can both say ‘I don’t agree with them but they’re allowed to have their own opinion’ and kind of give yourself a wall and barrier against what they say

I know this isn’t perfect advice, but it’s helped me a lot

I know there are two big arguments against this album, that it’s mainstream and made to have radio singles (the underlying argument here I guess being Tyler and Josh are money hungry and no longer care about the music)

And that it’s no longer lyrically meaningful, but I think this has to do a lot with how involved people are in the Dema lore, if you’re not a fan of lore I would imagine this album being propaganda and supposed to be fake and bright to prove a point would really bug you if you didn’t really get it

To best thing to do is digest an argument (only if you can handle it emotionally of course 🖤) and know it’s ok that think differently than other people, and that the chances of someone being mad at you are very slim

A lot of things I’ve enjoyed have been stolen by the fear of getting hated on for something - while in actuality, the very few times I’ve gotten real hate over something barely affected me

I admit the fear of getting hate bothers me a lot more than actually getting it, but I just want to encourage you to stay strong in the face of it, it will pass, as it all does, but if nothing else in this post resonates with you, PLEASE HOLD ONTO YOUR JOY FOR AS LONG AS YOU CAN! And don’t let ANYONE take it from YOU!!

If twenty one pilots makes you happy, just remember that the only person who can take that true joy away from you is yourself, remove the people who make you feel sad out of your life, I apologize if this is a physical person in your life as this makes it a lot harder, and sometimes impossible depending on the situation, but on the internet unfollow anyone, block anyone, don’t engage and leave them alone, it’s not with your energy or effort, and they’ll never change their minds but they can change yours you know?

Being sensitive in a time when everything is hateful is hard, especially when everyone tells you you’re a bad person if you aren’t engaged, but you really don’t have to be, you get to choose your own destiny you know? Don’t let other people choose it for you

#I’m am so sorry this post is so long and I still don’t know how to put readmores on mobile anymore #ajsjjams #I get told I ramble on about to much and that my stories are never concise and take forever to get to the point which might be true.........#I’m sorry #I kinda just rambled on forever but I feel like I finally aired out all my laundry I’ve kept to myself forever haha #it did have a point though! just trying to say like it’s always been a bit difficult but for the things that we love it can be #I’ve had a much better experience this era with the people I follow which has helped a lot #but to get to new content I’m digging in the tags which is where I’m #seeing all the hate so there’s kind of no avoiding it but I understood that going in you know?#anyways I think I’ve rambled on long enough! I hope this helped you out in same way?!?!#I’m not sure any of this is really helpful lol wjsks but one can hope haha #nic writes #tw suicide #tw suicide mention #tw school shooting #tw school shooting mention #tw racism mention

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