#literal translation: whining on a high level | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wwilloww · 4 years

Text

point of no return | PJM

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Smut. Fluff. Friends to lovers. Roommates AU.

WC: 10.2k

Summary: Both Jimin and you are determined to never act on the feelings you hold for one another. Instead, you’d rather shove it down, somewhere deep, dark, and inaccessible. So what do you get when you mix a broken furnace, an old victorian home, a little bit of jealousy in the club, and a need to keep warm together? A mess.

Warnings & Tags: Cursing. Reader is really freakin cold. Jimin sleeps in the nude. Spooning. Grinding. Obscene daydreaming about your best friend. Sex dreams. Mentions of alcohol. Dancing. Jimin is a little jealous. Masterbation. Unexpected visual. Super soft makeout. Fingering. Orgasm denial. Sex. Slight power play. Creampie.

AN: Oof! Finally! A Jimin fic! Thank you to @thatlongspringnight for guiding me through the last 6k of this fic, all written in one day and for being the most brilliant, queen of queens level beta reader. A big thanks to @triviasapphic too, for letting me use their likeness!

This is very loosely based on this ask beautifully submitted by the loveliest @jinpanman for the milestone request party!

©wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

point of no return

“Fuckin’ shithead mutherfuckin cunt basket,” you hiss.

Nothing would turn it on.

You tried pressing the knob. You tried twisting it until your hand rubbed raw. You tried shaking it. You tried begging in your sweetest, most saccharine tone. You even tried giving it compliments.

“Have I ever told you how sexy you look with three coats of white paint? No?”

Fifteen minutes ago the antique radiator — so old it would probably be better in a museum of old technologies than as a functioning heat mechanism — stuttered to a halt and refused to turn back on.

When you had picked the house out with your best friend, Jimin, you’d loved it for it’s Victorian era charm. But now with the December cold creeping in through the thin window and your refusal to own more than one blanket you were shivering madly, teeth clattering cold. And wildly in doubt of your house hunting skills.

With a heavy sigh and slumped shoulders, you drag your comforter off of the mattress, wrap it tightly over your shivering shoulders, and pad barefoot down the hall. Instead of knocking, you just twist the door handle, letting the door swing open before you with a long, drawn-out squeak. You wince at the sound.

A dark figure sits up from the bed, squinting at you in the darkness.

“Is that—”

“It’s me,” you whisper. If it were anyone else, that response would be useless. But after years of friendship Jimin knows every tune and nook in your voice — the way it sounds when you’re upset, or scared, or — in this case — really fucking cold. “The heater broke.”

“What?” His voice is groggy and sleep-heavy.

“The heater broke. Can I stay here tonight?”

He scrunches his nose and wipes a hand across his face.

“Yeah, sure, uh—” He shifts a bit in bed and that’s when you realize he’s not wearing anything at all. You gulp. It’s the coldest month of the year and the fucker is naked in bed, nothing more than a top sheet thrown over his body, the rest of the duvet crumpled at the foot of the bed. Even though you know he’s one to sleep in the nude (“It invigorates your skin and keeps your body temperature regulated,” he had explained to you once) seeing it, in front of you, just the thinnest piece of fabric between you and your best friend’s junk is a whole other story.

As he moves, the sheet slips down, revealing his toned stomach, only visible by the moonlight flooding through the bay windows of his bedroom.

“Give me a minute to put something on?”

“Uh huh,” you mumble, turning around quickly to give him some semblance of privacy, your blanket whooshing out behind you.

You can hear him pad over to his dresser, just three feet behind you. You swallow hard as you imagine him, totally naked, so close to you. Literally within arms reach. If you could only—

“Turn around, I’m done.”

You peek over your shoulder before turning fully, only to see Jimin, now clothed in some pretty short black boxers, climbing back into bed. Blanket trailing, you shuffle after him, climbing into the warm bed from the other side.

You pull your comforter as tightly around you as you can, but you’re still cold. As you turn to face away from your friend, you can’t help but shiver, your shoulders shaking with the chill that’s settled deep in your bones.

“Can you stop shaking?” Jimin’s sleep-adled voice grunts from behind you.

“I’m too cold,” you whine.

“Come ‘ere—”

And before you know it, he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and dragging your body backwards until it meets his. He pulls the blanket up and slides in behind you, wrapping himself around your shivering form.

“Better?” he asks while you’re still in shock from the amount of contact he’s just put the two of you in.

“Mhmm,” you squeak out, even as your body continues to shake.

“You’re a liar,” he chuckles.

“I don’t know why you bothered to ask then,” you snap back, wrapping your arms tight around yourself.

You’re not sure if he sees this or if he’s acting on his own accord. You let out a small gasp as he tugs you even closer, his arm slipping under the blanket to press against the skin of your hip. He maneuvers you backwards, your body as limp as a puppet, while you lay there in shock (and a small bit of exhilaration). He presses the back of your body flush against his front and snakes his top arm up the front of your torso until it rests in the center of your chest, gripping your opposite shoulder.

Trapped.

You’re trapped in his arms, nowhere to move, nowhere to go. Only the sound of your combined breaths, his a little more slow and sleepy than your nervous pant. Trapped only with the idea of him so close, and the strange thing fluttering in your chest that only continues to grow bigger and bigger despite all the work you’ve done to push it away. All you can think about is the way he’s pressed up against you, only your thin flannel pajama pants and his even thinner black boxers keeping the most sensitive parts of your bodies apart.

When he shifts, nustling his nose into the crook of your shoulder, you swear you can feel something long and hard press up against your ass.

And suddenly the warmth that is flooding through you has absolutely nothing to do with the shared body heat. Instead it’s coming from someplace deep down — somewhere yearning and desperate — and also from that strange fluttering thing in your chest.

All there is is white. You know somewhere far above you is an endless sea of stars, blinking down on you. But all you know is the grass beneath you and the swimming white sheets that float above and around you.

Someone’s laughing and you turn your face to see him — Jimin — beaming and reaching out towards you.

Somewhere in your mind you know it’s night time and that everything should be dark — and yet, everything around him is lit up and glows with a sourceless light.

Joy rushes through you and as you reach out towards him, he disappears and a new kind of light — warmth — appears behind you.

“I want—” you start to say, but his hand comes up to your mouth, silencing you.

“If you speak, you’ll break the dream,” he says. “Just enjoy it. Let me be here with you.”

Eyes don’t close in dreams, but you know you drift somewhere soft, the feeling of his body so close to yours and the precious rhythm of his breath tracing your neck.

All there is warmth.

Too much of it, actually.

As your eyes blink open to the dark room, the remnants of some dream, lots of white, Jimin’s smile fall away from your consciousness. You kick your leg out into the freezing air and sigh as the coolness washes the heat from your body. Relief.

The warmth that hasn’t been erased, however, is sitting heavy in your lower belly, pooling and swirling and wanting.

You do your best to ignore it, knowing it’s probably some mix of the dream and the thing that you’ve kept hidden on the edge of your consciousness for too long.

You close your eyes again, wishing for sleep to come back and pull you away from these thoughts. Just as you feel the soft edges of another dream lapping at the edges of your mind, Jimin groans behind you and comes to press up against you again, his hand snaking down over your belly.

Eyes shoot open. There. Behind you. Right between the swell of your ass. You can feel his cock pressing into you, at full hardness. You gasp at the sensation, quickly slapping your hand over your mouth so as not to wake him. Slowly, you try to scootch away from his grip, but he holds you there, his arm only tightening when you try to move away.

It’s not that you don’t want it — you do — your body is singing with electricity at the thought of his hard cock against you, between you, inside you. God, if only. However, it’s the consequences, the unspoken question, the unanswered desires (the answer to which you may just not want to know) that push you away from him.

This is your best friend. The person you’ve always been able to rely on and trust. The man you know you can turn to at any moment and know there will never be a question dangling between the two of you.

Except for now.

As he slowly circles his hips against yours, the most delightful, breathy pants falling from his lips — so soft you can barely hear them — the question looms larger than ever.

Are you in love with your best friend?

However, here, his arm wrapped so tightly around your belly, it’s easy to sink into the desire. To equate the arrival of the question with the arousal rising in your body. To tell yourself this is just pleasure, this is natural.

Jimin’s palm is splayed out across your lower belly, pressing hard against you.

He’s rutting shallowly against you, moving for the sake of his own pleasure. A high note of satisfaction slips from his lips, before a name tumbles shortly after it into your ear.

Not any name.

Your name.

You choke on your own words as you understand it. Confusion rushes over you but it’s quickly replaced by adrenaline as his hand clenches and unclenches around your shirt and he shifts and stretches.

Jimin is waking up. Is he going to say something? Is he going to tell you he didn’t mean it at all? Will he run from you?

His body freezes as he realizes the position he’s in. Wrapped so intimately around you, his hard cock pressed against you.

“Shit,” you hear him whisper. “Shit, shit, shit.”

You squeeze your eyes closed and lay as still as possible as you feel him pull away from you. And then the bed dips just enough and you realize he’s leaning over you, checking to see if you’re asleep or not.

You smooth out your features, hoping he doesn’t catch that you’ve been awake this whole time.

The December morning light is streaming in bold and warm through the window.

Your hand goes searching for Jimin, but all you find is an empty, chilled, pillow. There’s a good chance he’s already headed out for the day to see friends or to run errands and so you assume it’s safe as you tiptoe downstairs to get some water and some much needed coffee. Not that you slept much last night.

As you enter the kitchen, the earthy smell of fresh coffee hits you and you take a deep breath, inhaling the nutty aroma. There’s a full pot of coffee already waiting for you on the counter. You smile. Jimin has always been a considerate housemate, but to leave you coffee in the morning? I’m so lucky to have a friend like him, you sigh as you turn to the cabinet to grab a mug.

“Good morning!” an almost nervous, too-cheery voice sings out from behind you.

“AGh!” you cry, nearly dropping the mug you’re holding. Jimin’s quicker than you are though, and reaches out, just as it drops below your belly button. He’s laughing, his delightful giggle filling the light-painted kitchen but all you can think about is how close he’s standing to you, the mug brushing up against your stomach.

“Got it,” he grins.

“You know you can’t jump out at me like that!” you scold, trying to take the mug back from him. But he turns and goes to fill it up for you.

“I literally said your name twice before you noticed. Someone was too lost in dreamland.”

“Pshh, no, I — you need to be a little louder.”

“Can we talk about last night?” Jimin asks as he hands you a cup of coffee. “I, uh, I think there was an accident, I had a dream you were—”

You panic.

“Last night? Oh gosh yeah! I slept like a rock! Thank you for keeping me warm. I would have frozen to death if it weren’t for you.”

You smile as sweetly as you can at him.

He blinks back.

“I mean — uh, yeah, sure, I mean, you’re welcome but that’s not what I mean —”

“Nothing to talk about!” you chirp, already scurrying towards the stairs that lead back up to your bedroom.

“Hey! I’m trying to talk to you!” he cries as you pad upstairs, making a beeline for your bedroom as the coffee you’re holding sloshes around in the mug.

“Oof, well I’m already tired again, gonna take a nap!”

You sprint up the stairs and as you do you hear him call behind you.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

It hits harder than you want it to.

“Come on, princess. You’re taking forever!”

You’re back down on your bed, swaddled in all the blankets in the house you could find, scrolling through your phone.

“I don’t want to go!”

“Well I do!” The door finally swings open and Jimin stands there, all dolled up for the night out. He’s wearing tight leather pants that hug his toned thighs just right and a half opened black shirt that he’s still buttoning as you look on. Beneath his hands, his chest shows, the muscular planes simple and sheer perfection. A single silver earring dangles from his left ear, the other one filled with a variety of studs.

As you peek out of your blanket fort, you gulp as you take in his flawless appearance. He looks like straight sex, the darkness of his outfit highlighting every muscle and curve.

"You look nice," you manage to squeak, and Jimin blushes, his praise kink showing. "Those pants are..." Hot as fuck? More beautiful than the Mona Lisa? Just asking me to rip them off? Floundering for language, you just let your sentence trail off as he looks on, a pink tinge still dancing across his features.

"You wanna wear them?"

"Pfft, no," you lie.

“Are you planning on getting out of bed?”

“No.”

"Well then, if you're not going to get out of bed and dress yourself I'll do the honors." Jimin stomps over to the tiny door leading to your closet and swings it open. He ruffles through your set of clothes, as disparate from a full flannel collection (one that you are quite proud of) to an evening gown that never got worn. Words you can't quite hear or understand tumble from his mouth in a stream of frustrated mumbles as he seems to be looking for something very specific. "Aha!" he finally cries out. "Here it is."

What he pulls out is not what you expected.

It's a simple piece. A light tan slip dress, one with a bit of a scoop to the bust. One that hugs all of your curves just right and sits low enough the weight keeps the dress exactly where you want it to be and high enough that your upper thighs are deliciously on display - something that simultaneously excites you and scares the hell out of you. You bought it on a whim, hoping it would help you embody your inner club girl (or "inner slut" as your friend Jungkook would correct you - which, if you were being entirely honest, was really what you meant when you spoke about going to the club.)

"That one? Really?"

"What, you wanna wear this?" He turns back to the closet before pulling out a second dress, this one long and emerald green and sparkly with a full slit up the side.

"No." You pout.

"Then what's the problem?"

"Ugh!" you cry, burrowing deeper into your blanket fort. "Itsmyslutdress," you mumble.

"What?"

"Itsmyslutdress!" you mumble, but louder this time.

"Did you just call it a slut dress?"

You pop your head out of the warmth cocoon with a sigh.

"Yes."

"What does that even mean?"

"It is the dress I wear when I want to embody my slutty alter-ego. The dress I wear when I wanna get laid."

Jimin blinks a few times before turning back to you with a grin.

"Well--do you not want to get laid tonight?" he asks slowly.

You gape at him.

Even as best friends, even talking about your hookups, you never really talked about sex iteself. Everytime you brought it up, whether it was at the bar and you were ogling some tall, dark, handsome stranger as if some psychic had promised you he was your entire future, he always seemed to shut down. And yet, around your other friends, he was an open book. "Basically a sex expert," Jungkook had told you once. "A sexpert." He'd added, grinning.

But with you, sex was off the table. You were more open and vulnerable with him than you were anyone in your life - and he with you. But sex was just never on the discussion board for you two.

"Do you wanna get laid tonight?"

"Are you offering?" you shoot back teasingly.

"Of course," he says softly.

Your mouth drops.

Of course? Of course?!

"I mean! No! What? Wait? Can you repeat the question?"

"You said yes," you say slowly.

"What! No! I did not!"

Jimin is basically stomping his foot on the ground.

"You did!"

He looks almost angry and you're not sure whether to laugh at the softness with which he had agreed to fuck you - or to feel hurt by his quick change of mind.

"Did not!"

You break into giggles finally releasing yourself from your cocoon of warmth to sprawl out on the bed in a fit of laughter. Your little tirade is quickly shut down though as the silky fabric of the dress is thrown onto your face and you cough around the material.

"Get dressed. I don't want to be late," he says, his voice flat.

“It’s too cold for the slut dress,” you grumble in a last ditch effort, fabric falling into your mouth as you sleep.

“Then wear a fucking turtleneck and snow pants to the club,” Jimin says. “I don’t care, just please get dressed.”

The door slams and when you pull the dress away from your face, the room is empty again. With a sigh, you roll off the bed and begin to get ready for the night.

By the time you pulled up to the dark, sticker-plastered doors of the club, Jimin had resumed his usually joyful and peppy demeanor, all memories of his little slip up erased from the night.

You knew better than to push him about it. You knew that he shut down when you called him out on these things in the past— like the way his eyes lingered on you for too long when you showed off a new bathing suit, the cute little stutter he donned when he was flustered by you, or the way he would basically run at top speed in any direction away from you when you emerged from the shower, nothing but a towel wrapped around your body.

As you are swallowed into the sea of dancing figures and booming bass, you feel his hand come to rest on your waist. Pushing further into the crowd, his touch is reassuring. Steadying. His way of keeping a hold on you without actually holding onto you.

He sees them before you do, and quickly grabs onto your hand, tugging you forward into the mass of swaying figures. Waving and yelling their names, the two of you tumble towards your friends. Jungkook and Raven stand near the bar, their faces lighting up when they finally spot you in the mess of strangers.

Raven embraces you first, his arms pulling you in for a tight hug.

“I wanna dance!” Jungkook says before you can even step away from Raven. Drinks abandoned, Jungkook has grabbed both yours and Jimin’s hands and drags you out to the dance floor.

The bass courses through you as your friends surround you, bopping and swaying to the barely understandable lyrics.

Jimin has always been a good dancer. A great dancer, actually. His moves range from absolutely side-achingly hilarious to -- dare you say it -- undeniably sensual.

He twirls you onto the dance floor, the two of you falling into your usual routine of swinging and laughing and kicking all around.

And as the upbeat and perhaps misplaced summer hit switches to a more sensual song he matches it naturally, letting his hips sway and glide to the rhythm. He pulls you along with him, twirling you more slowly. When you twist into his grasp, he doesn’t hesitate to take you into his arms, pressing you against him.

As his arms come to wrap around your shoulders, you can’t help but press back into him.

Raven winks at you and you grin back at him, shooing him and his teasing away.

It’s easy to fall into this. Easy to fall into the sway of Jimin’s body and the safety that comes with being pressed so close against him. You fit perfectly into his body, every one of your curve the antithesis to his. Like two puzzle pieces.

You let your hand drop down to his thigh, gripping it for stability as you sway your hips against his. The muscle tenses beneath your touch and you take that as an opportunity to roll your ass against his crotch.

He meets your movements, grinding back up into you, his hand dropping to your waist where he grips you tightly and guides your movements even further back into him.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he whispers in your ear.

His body pressed against yours feels like the most natural thing in the world. The nights the two of you have spent in your kitchen, sliding around in socks and grooving to your favorite music, springing each other around your shared house — all of those hours, all of those years make it so when he moves against you he knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly what you want him to do. You move in tandem, as if you are sharing a brain, a story, a body.

You tilt your head up to him, nuzzling into his neck.

“Why not?”

“I-I can’t mess up.” He says, but he continues to sway at your back.

“You’re not messing up. I like this.”

As you reach behind you, letting your hand trail up beneath his shirt, you can feel him press into your touch. Chasing it, searching it out. But as your hand trails back down, fingernails scraping delicately against the skin, he seems to snap out of it and steps back from you, even as he keeps his hands on your hips.

You turn, trying to pull him back to you, but you see his brow is furrowed.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Just fine!” he says, just a little to cheerfully. “I-I just think I’m done with dancing for tonight.”

Even as he says it he pulls you closer to his chest.

“I’m going to get some drinks, do you want something?”

“You don’t want to dance with me?”

“I— uh— it’s not that.” He shakes his head.

“Please, come on, it’ll be fun,” you groan, tugging on his arm. But he stands firm and stiff. “Aren’t you having fun?”

“I don’t want to dance tonight. Just go on ahead.”

You look your friend up and down. Jimin was never one to turn down an opportunity to dance.

“Okay,” you say, painting a smile on your features even as your heart aches slightly at his rejection. “I just want you to have fun. Do you want me to come with?”

“No--it’s okay. I’ll be back, alright?”

“Alright?”

You watch as he disappears back into the mass of people. You stand still, wondering What the hell just happened?

However, your thoughts are quickly interrupted as Raven reaches out to you, pulling you to him in a graceful spin.

“Distract yourself, darling,” he says with a chuckle. “He’ll come around, don’t you worry.”

Before you have a chance to process his words, Raven spins you out again in the crowd.

You stumble just a little bit, until hands come to rest on the dip of your hips, lingering there just enough to stabilize you. However, they quickly release you as soon as you are standing tall again.

“Oh, ah, thank you,” you half-yell as you turn around, attempting to raise your voice above the noise.

The man who stands behind you is undeniably gorgeous. Tall, with a dark lock of hair hanging into your forehead and the most beautiful smile.

“No worries, it happens all the time,” he grins at you. “What’s your name.”

You yell back at him, but when he can’t hear you, you step closer to him, pressing against his chest to speak your name into his ear. His hand comes down on your waist as you do, lightly.

“My name’s Hoseok. You can call me Hobi though. Care to dance?”

You grin up at him and nod. You’ve never been one to turn down a dance partner.

He takes your hand, quick to find the rhythm of the music.

Hoseok is a natural. As each song progresses, his dances become more intricate. He’s happy to lead you through them and you can’t help but laugh as he spins you around the floor while others are swaying and grinding. You’ve never had this much fun with a stranger, but as he moves against you, you can’t help but think of the way Jimin felt pressed so close to you earlier in the night. It’s just not quite the same.

It’s easy to get lost in him, in his beaming smile and witty jokes that he bends down to whisper in your ear. He compliments you freely, and you do the same in return.

As the night continues you and Hoseok dance closer and closer until he’s pressed deliciously up against your back. You find yourself lost in the sensation of being embraced by someone, even if it isn’t the person you’d want to be there.

“I hope I’m not being too forward, but do you wanna come home with me?” The man leans down, the husk of his voice brushing deliciously against your ear.

“I can’t.” You say, turning back towards him. “But thank you.”

“No problem,” he says, leaning down to chastely kiss your cheek. “Can I ask you a question before you go?”

You nod.

“Does your refusal have anything to do with the man at the bar who hasn’t taken his eyes off of us since we started dancing?”

“What?”

He nods over your shoulder, back towards the bar. Through the crowd, you can barely see your friends, but as you reach up on your tippy toes you see them all gathered around, laughing and talking. And then at the edge of them is Jimin. He stands tall and proud and with an unusually grim expression on his face. But when he sees you looking at him, he quickly averts his gaze to his drink, which he is continually swirling in his hand.

“You’re going home with him, aren’t you?”

“Well, duh, he’s my roommate, I—”

“You should go for it,” he interrupts you.

“Go for it?”

“Go for it.”

“There’s nothing there,” you state, matter of factly. “We’re just really good friends!” You’re not sure why you tell him this, but there’s something soft in his eyes that spurs you on.

“Good friends don’t eye fuck each other all night.”

“We weren’t—”

“No need to explain it to me.” He holds up his hands. “But it seems like you have some explaining to do to him. Or at least to yourself.”

You sputter. “Psh! What! No! I’m just tired, Hobi, and if I had the energy I would be fucking you right here, right now, on the dance floor. It has nothing to do with Jimin. Nothing at all!” You realize you’ve got your finger poking into his chest and you quickly draw it back. “Sorry.”

“Okay…”

“Well.” You put your hands on your hips, wiping the frustrated look off of your face. “I should go, I guess. It was nice dancing with you, partner. I’ll be the first to admit you got great hips.”

He’s laughing, and you’re not sure if it’s at you or with you, but when you extend you hand for a friendly fistbump, he meets it with all the enthusiasm in the world, pulls you into a hug, and is off on his merry way, off to find a new dancing partner.

Left alone in the middle of the floor, you kind of just stand there, mulling over what the stranger had said to you. Soon though, you feel a hand on your shoulder and you spin around to see a blank faced Jimin.

“I, uh, just wanted to check in on you.”

“I’m all good!” you chirp, perhaps too cheerfully. As you begin to make your way back to the bar, his hand comes to rest on your lower back and you shiver at the touch.

“So you’re not going home with him?” He nods back in the direction of the disappearing stranger.

“Why would I?”

“Well, you wore your slut dress, so I figured he was a contender.” He doesn’t meet your eye.

“I didn’t want to fuck him.” You stop, and turn to him.

He laughs, almost nervously. “Well I guess that’s an important factor.”

“Yeah, just a minor detail,” you shoot back, grinning.

“I guess it’s all for the best. Didn’t like the looks of him much anyways.

You giggle. “What? Are you jealous?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I can’t be jealous.”

“Can’t be? Or aren’t?”

Jimin blinks back at you, an expression of utter surprise on his face. You know his answer in that moment, and yet — there is a kind of doubt that sits in you. That until he says it, it just won’t be real.

And still, he avoids your question.

“I think I’m gonna head home, do you wanna come with or head back with Tae and Raven?”

“I’ll come back with you, there’s nothing left here for me.”

“Great,” he says, a small smile on his lips. “Let’s go.”

“My heat is still out,” you call.

You’re standing at the door to his room in nothing but your pajama shirt. When you’d gotten home Jimin was quick to wish you goodnight and sweet dreams and book it up to his bedroom. You had gone to your own room and changed into sleep clothes, only to climb into bed and realize just how fucking freezing your blankets still were.

But as you stand outside his bedroom, when you press down on the handle, the door is unusually locked. He never locks the door, you think.

“Jimin!”

You push down on the handle, jiggling it obnoxiously as you hope your best friend can hear you from the other side, and isn’t just ignoring you. As you rattle the metal handle, something seems to come loose within the door and all of a sudden the door is swinging open inwards and there’s Jimin, leaning against the backboard of his bed, legs spread, and--

“Oh no—”

Even as your hands flash up to cover your eyes, you know it’s too late.

You’ve already seen it.

It’s imprinted on your brain. The image of Jimin with his head thrown back, hand wrapped around his throbbing cock hastily pulled out of his jeans. He must have been in such a rush he didn’t even bother to pull his pants down. Instead, the leather pants are simply tugged down just enough from him to slip his cock out of them.

“What the fuck!” he yelps.

“Did I—interrupt?” You can’t help but burst into giggles, even as you keep your hands firmly clamped to your face.

“Yes! Yes, you did!” he says, scrambling for the sheet. He pulls it over himself and then does up his pants again.

“If it makes you feel any better you have a nice looking dick!” you squeak out from behind your hands.

He wipes a hand wearily over his face.

“You really wanna have a conversation about my dick right now?”

“See a dick, converse about a dick, am I right?” you laugh nervously.

“No, no, you’re not. It usually goes like ‘see a dick, forget the fact that you ever looked at a dick.’”

“You got a point there.”

The room falls into silence for a moment before Jimin coughs and speaks.

“You can take your hands away now.”

Ever-so-slowly you release your hands from your face, looking over at Jimin who looks — not upset, not embarrassed, not angry — but intrigued. He’s looking at you with a mix of curiosity — and something else. Something you can’t quite put a finger on.

“Welp, I better be going—”

“I thought you said your heat is still out.”

You turn back around slowly.

“...It is. But I can go. I don’t want to make you feel… uncomfortable.”

“You’ve never made me feel uncomfortable. I don’t know if you could.”

“I’ve definitely made you feel uncomfortable before. Like that one time I put peanut butter on your special pickles and tried to fry them—”

“Okay, okay, maybe in like, a superficial way. But not in a deep way.” He pauses. “You’re my best friend for a reason.”

You’re still standing in the doorway, and as he looks you over — gaging your reaction, reading your emotions, trying to understand what’s going on in that far-off mind of yours — he realizes you’ve got your arms wrapped around your torso, protecting yourself from the biting draft that drifts down the hallway.

“Come ‘ere. You’re sleeping here tonight.” He says it without hesitation.

You look at him, and then back down the darkened hallway, and then back at him, the warm glow of his bedside lamp painting his features gold. His cheeks are still slightly flushed, his chest peeks out of his loose button down. And perhaps it’s that image that draws you to him — or, what you tell yourself in that moment, the inviting warmth of the layers of blankets on his bed and the radiator that sits close by.

You climb into bed, quickly tucking yourself into the blankets and rolling onto your side, away from him. However, you can feel his hands reaching out towards you, pulling the blankets closer to you, tucking you in further to their addicting warmth.

“I’m uh, gonna read for a little bit, is that okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, course,” you say, your voice slightly muffled by the pillow you’ve stolen and burry your face into.

He rifles through the nightstand. Behind you, he shifts, getting a bit more comfortable and you can hear the comforting sound of pages turning as he begins to read.

Even as you close your eyes, sleep evades you. As much as you try to banish it from your mind, it seems as if the image of his thick cock is burned into your retina, the vein on the underside of it swollen and pronounced. All you can see in your mind’s eye is Jimin, lost in his own pleasure. His face scrunched, eyes squeezed shut. What would it be like to see what he saw, whatever it was that had him gripping his cock so tight the knuckles began to turn white?

“So do you usually masterbate without porn?”

It slips out before you know what you’re saying.

He coughs behind you, and it sounds like he’s choking.

“What?!”

Well, you think. Now that it’s out there I might as well just go for it. You flip over onto your otherside, face half hidden by the blanket.

“When I walked in on you — you were just… lost in thought. No video or audio or,” you nod at the book he’s holding. “Rip off of Half a Hundred Colors of Dark-White.”

He gapes at you.

“Why are you so obsessed with my masterbatory habits, hm?”

“I-I’m not! I’m just curious, like one would be when they accidentally catch their best friend masterbating. We all, you know, do it. I, myself, have a very lovely connection of multi-colored vibrators — all sizes and shapes and, uh, textures? And vibrations and settings and speeds and—”

“So you wanna talk about it then?” He’s still sitting above, looking down on you. He cocks an eyebrow at your surprised expression. “You didn’t want to talk about last night but you want to talk about how I get myself off?”

It’s your turn to gape.

“Uh, what? Last night, psh no!”

He readjusts his position so he’s facing you now, one leg bent and propped up, the other one folded beneath it. You do your best to keep your gaze focused on his face, and not on the prominent bulge that is now in your direct line of vision.

“So you weren’t grinding on my cock last night — or god forbid tonight at the club — But you wanna know about my masterbatory habits?”

You swallow and despite the chill air of the bedroom, you sit up, letting the blankets fall around your waist.

“I suppose that is what I’m asking.”

Heart pounding in your chest, you lick your lips. You know what you’re asking. You know where you’re pushing things. Everything about this next step terrifies you. And yet, it’s all you’ve been thinking about for the past 24 hours. Hell, the past several years.

You’d be lying if you said that last night’s dream was the tamest of the ones Jimin starred in. He haunted you. His image, his being, were everywhere you turned. Even when you were with other partners or one night stands, all you could do was compare them to Jimin. Were they as softly hilarious as him? Did they know your every thought, your every desire, like he did? Could they anticipate your mood before you even could? Did they fill you with that feeling of belonging and safety like he did? No. None of them ever did. You didn’t just crave Jimin’s attention, you craved his touch.

“You know, most friends talk about this kind of shit.”

“Do they?”

“Yes. They talk about sex. They talk about getting off. They talk about their interests and turn-offs and fantasies and--”

“And you wanna talk about this?” His hand lands on yours. You look up at him as he squeezes your fingers within his warm grasp.

“I-I guess I do. Sometimes it bothers me that we don’t talk about it.”

“Then let’s talk about it,” he says, a little bit more confidence slipping into his voice. He picks your hand up, weaving his fingers in between yours. The way he looks at them reminds you of someone looking at a beautiful vista or an undiscovered creature for the first time. There is wonder -- and also confusion -- in him. “I never wanted to make you uncomfortable. I never wanted to… turn our friendship into something that you didn’t want. Something that made you uncomfortable.”

“And I didn’t want to push.”

“Push me? Into what?”

You glance down at your hands. “I don’t know, something that you were disgusted by.”

“I could never be disgusted by you. It’s the opposite, actually.”

“Then why do you keep pushing me away? When I want to talk about things? When I want to be close to you?”

Jimin is silent for a moment.

“Because I’m never sure if this is just fun to you,” he says softly. “What if something happens and you realize you don’t want it in the way you thought you did?”

“And what if something happens and it’s exactly what I want?” One hand still resting in his grasp, you reach out with the free one to clutch onto his shirt. Not wanting to push too far, you make do with tangling your fingers in the silky fabric, twisting it around yourself until you are lost in it.

You don’t see it coming. His hand reaching up to yours, pressing your hand to his chest. Slowly, he slides your intertwined hands up until he can press your palm to his chest. Beneath the fabric you can hear the gentle thud of his heart beating, quicker than usual. And there, he just holds it. Mulling. Contemplating.

“It feels like I’ve been distracted…” He licks his lips as he considers his next several words. “...for weeks. Probably longer. I’ve been trying to hold everything in because it’s not supposed to be there. But the temptation to just give in… To just lean into the things that I want… It’s always there. It doesn’t go away. But--sometimes I can distract myself from it.”

“What is it that you want?”

His gaze flickers back up from your lips. The look in his eyes is searing. Burning. There’s desire there — one that’s all consuming — but something else too. He refuses to look away from you, instead roving over your whole face as if he’s trying to memorize it. As if when he speaks next he might forget you entirely. And that’s when you realize. It’s not confusion dancing in his eyes. It’s loss. He thinks he’s going to lose you.

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t have it.”

“You can.”

“I can’t.” He squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s trying to hold back. “There— there are lines that once you cross you can never go back to.”

“Jimin, I want you.”

The words hang in the stilled silence of the room like lead, suspended and out of place. But you push on, and as you do, his grip tightens around your hands and he’s pulling you forward until you’re flush against his chest.

“And it’s not because of your monster cock -- although that’s like a really really great benefit that I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting--” Jimin raises an eyebrow. “Anyways, I want you for you. I think I’ve wanted you since I met you, but--” You glance down. “I’ve been too scared to admit it. Too scared or too dumb.”

Jimin raises your chin so that you are eye to eye. He’s so close.

“I’ve wanted you since I laid eyes on you.” He lets his hands drop to your hips, maneuvering you so that you’re fully straddling his waist as he sits up against the headboard. “I wanted you in my life, in whatever way that would be. I wanted you as my best friend and my inspiration and my home -- and to have you like that? I would never want to fuck it up.”

“Then don’t.”

“Simple as that,” he laughs, his hands coming to rest on your hips. He tightens his grip and you instinctively wrap your hands around his neck, tugging him closer to you.

“Simple as that,” you repeat.

The words hang in the air for a moment, filling the space of the bedroom. And then their sound is gone, leaving the air vacant of sound. The weight of what you’ve both just said crashes down upon you.

Simple as that.

“I want to kiss you,” Jimin whispers. “Can I kiss you?”

“Always,” you barely manage to mumble before your lips are crashing together. They begin clumsily, desperate. Teeth knocking together as you both scramble frantically for connection. For the missed years. For the gazes thrown across the hallway, quick and longing.

And then you find your groove. Just like on the dance floor, there is an unspoken communication to the way that you move together. Chasing and pursuing. Biting and pressing. You gasp as Jimin slips his tongue between your lips, swiping against the roof of your mouth.

It feels like forever and no time at all that you’re wrapped up in his arms, his hands climbing the height of your back as he pulls you as close as he possibly can.

As the kiss slips into gentleness, you feel him between your legs. He’s impossibly hard. You don’t know if it’s thought or basic instinct that leads you to press your hips forward, sliding ever so slightly along his length. You know you’ve done the right thing when he groans into your mouth. You do it again, this time swiveling against him. His hands snake down to your hips, fingers digging into the fleshy bits of your sides.

“I don’t think you know what you’re doing,” he groans against your lips.

“I know exactly what I’m doing.”

He kisses you fiercely and you let your hands wander beneath the silk of his shirt, tracing the planes of his skin until you’ve had enough and need more. You attempt to tug the fabric up, but he seems lost in your lips.

“Off, please,” you say when you can’t get it over his shoulders.

He grins at you and shucks it off in one go, tossing it onto the floor.

You lean back just enough to admire him like this, the planes of his chest glowing dimly in the light of the lamp.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur in awe.

He captures your lips again, his movements soft and dutiful. And then with all the gentleness in the world, he turns the both of you, cradling the nape of your neck as he lowers you down onto the pillows.

“I never thought I could have you like this.”

“Me neither. I-I don’t know if I can go back.”

“Don’t worry, darling. I already know I don’t want to go back.”

You smile up at him, a feeling of warmth and love spreading through your chest. As he sits back, looking down on you, you tug your shirt over your head, tossing it to join his discarded top on the floor.

His eyes rove over your naked form, bare of everything except for the grannie panties you slipped on before knocking on his door. At the beginning of the night you wanted nothing but to make sure everything was thoroughly covered. Now you wish you had gone for something a bit more stylish.

Even as you think this, looking at him you know he doesn’t give a flying fuck what you’re wearing.

He leans down again, kissing you. He lets his weight rest just enough on you as he settles between your legs and you arch up at the dull contact.

As he bites down on your lip, you push up into him, searching for more.

“Can I touch you?” he asks.

“Please,” you gasp.

His hand comes down on your thigh, pushing you open just enough. And then, as he comes back to kiss you, he slips his hand down your stomach, fingers teasing at the waistband of your panties.

You can’t help as your hips buck up as he slips a finger down your folds. You’re already soaking, arousal quickly coating his finger.

“Shh, shh,” he whispers against your lips, gaze searching yours. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

As the final word slips out of his mouth, he inserts the first finger into your tight entrance and you yelp in pleasure, the feeling of him filling you more sensation than you could imagine. Ever so slowly, he begins to pump it in and out before adding a second finger.

“I want to get you ready for me,” he murmurs. “If that’s what you want.”

“I want it,” you gasp as he presses against your g spot. “Please, I need it, please, Jimin, fuck me.”

“Patience, baby. I will in due time. But first I need you a little more stretched out.”

When he adds a third finger, the pressure building deliciously in your abdomen, there’s nothing you can do to hold back the way your body jerks or the whine that slips through your lips.

“God, I never even imagined you would sound this desperate, this beautiful.”

As he continues to press against the soft spongy spot inside you, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep control but quickly losing it.

“You thought about this?”

“Of course I thought about it.”

“Tell me what you thought about,” you pant, his fingers still working rhythmically in and out of you.

“The list is endless,” he murmurs. “I think about what it would feel like to fuck you. What it would sound like to have you call my name. What it would be like to have you cum again and again around my cock, and then walk out of here, with it dripping down your leg so that anyone who sees will know it too. To have you so fucked out and screaming that everyone in a ten mile radius knows exactly who is fucking you so well, who you belong to.”

“Ah!” you cry as your orgasm begins to build. “Jimin! I’m so close, I--”

And just like that, his fingers are gone from your clenching walls and you are left with a feeling of absolute emptiness drifting through you. He pulls back with a smirk.

“Wha--”

“When you come, I want it to be around my cock.”

Your gaze flickers down to his crotch, where his dick is straining against the tight confines of the leather. “That just can’t be comfortable,” you say, your voice shaking even as you unapologetically eye his obvious arousal. “Please take them off. I’ll make you feel good.”

“You can?”

“I want to,” you explain. “I want to help.” You look up at him again and see that his gaze is dark with desire. “Can I?”

Slowly, he nods, and you reach out towards him, for the buttons to his jeans. As your fingers land on the cold metal of the button, his come down atop yours, popping the button open expertly.

As you slowly slide the zipper down, you swallow.

Everything about this feels right. There’s the sensation of a fire burning in your chest. It’s not just wanting his body. It’s chasing the feeling of electricity sparking through you every time he touches you. Chasing the want of his hands, his gaze, his everything focused on you. Something twinges in your heart. Even as you want these things, you know it’s not fair to ask them of him, to expect them of him.

He stands to slip the rest of his pants off and you realize he’s not even wearing underwear. You gulp as you watch him strip, his beautiful body soon revealed in the dim lighting. His cock stands at full attention, deliciously hard and poking against his belly.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks.

“I want it more than anything.”

The bed dips underneath his weight as he climbs towards where you lay. He lowers himself above you, expertly balancing his weight so that it doesn’t crush you. With one hand, he reaches down to palm his hard cock, the tip red and angry with need. With his knee, he pushes your legs wide open, making room for himself and spreading you out before him. At a devastatingly slow speed, he lines himself up with your aching center.

“So wet for me, princess. You’ve always been beautiful to me, but spread out like this, just waiting for my cock? You’re a dream.”

“Please,” you gasp.

“Please what?”

As he comes to nestle his cock in between your dripping folds, you whimper with need.

All you can feel is his cock, his touch against your skin, the way his presence surrounds you and envelopes you.

“Please,” you whisper. “I need you, Jimin.”

He chuckles.

“You’re so desperate, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to fuck me.”

“My baby wants me to fuck her?” He slides slowly in and your back arches devilishly at the sensation of his fat cock stretching you open for him. He watches your facial expression carefully, not wanting to hurt you or push you too far too fast.

When he sees you relax just a little, he pushes in even further until he’s nestled inside you to the hilt. Once he knows you’re comfortable, he lets himself slip into the pleasure of you wrapped all around him. His eyes flutter closed, and he nestles his nose into the crook of your neck.

Gathering himself, he takes a deep breath, pushing up off of you so that he can better look down at you, your hair splayed on the pillow, cheeks warm with arousal, eyes wide in pleasure.

“God, you’re perfect for my cock. Like you were made to fit me.”

“Mmf, so big,” you groan as he shifts inside you. “Never felt this full before.”

As he begins to move, you gasp, hands coming up to cling at his back. The drag of his cock against the walls of your cunt is divine and you can’t help as your nails dig into his skin, raking down the planes of his back.

His eyes never leave your face, tracing your pleasure every time it flashes across your features.

“When I imagined this,” he pants, “I never even thought it could feel this good.”

He withdraws at a maddeningly slow pace, until just the tip of his cock rests inside your warmth.

“Please Jimin,” you gasp. “I need more.”

He smirks down at you. “More?” He gives a shallow thrust.

“More,” you groan, trying to push your hips down on him, anything to take him further into you. However, his hand quickly comes down on your hips, stopping all movement.

Leaning down to capture your lips in a feverish kiss, you gasp into his mouth as he thrusts into you with a great force. You cry his name as he bites down on your lower lip, the pace he sets brutal and exactly what you need. Each thrust rolls through your entire body, setting your nerves alight. When he gives a particularly hard thrust, your spine arches, hands slipping away from his back and coming to wrap around his wrists.

When he growls, you clench at the sound.

Your eyes flicker open in time to see his mouth gape and he groans when you do it again.

He answers your tightness with another roll of his hips, this time changing the angle just enough that it hits your g spot directly. You spasm around his cock, crying out as he continues to fuck you.

“You’ve ruined me,” Jimin gasps. “Nothing else, no one else is going to be like this. I wanna fuck this cunt until you can’t think of anything else.”

You start to respond, to tell him how much you want that, but his hand comes down on your clit, rubbing just gently enough that you’re yelping in a mixture of pleasure and overstimulation.

“I’m really gonna fuck you now, baby. I want you to touch yourself until you can’t anymore, okay?”

You nod, reaching down to your clit where your fingers brush against one another. You look down to see his cock rutting in and out of you, coated in your juices. As he withdraws his hand, he begins to pick up his speed.

The pace he sets reaches deep into your body, setting every nerve alight. You cling to him, begging him to fuck you harder. His cock seems to reach every single sensitive spot within you as rock your hips back up to his, meeting his every movement. He lets you now, lost in the feeling of your bodies moving together, seeking the same pleasure together.

When his pace begins to stutter, thrusts becoming long and rough, you know he’s close to his end.

“Baby, I’m going to come,” he groans. He begins to sit back up and withdraw, but you wrap a hand around his neck and pull him towards you, the other one coming to press on the dip of his hips.

“Come inside, Jimin.”

“But--”

“I’m safe. I want to feel you come inside me. Wanna come with you.”

He groans at your words and lowers himself to you, letting his hips grind against yours in a tide of sensation. Each movement pulls you closer and closer to your orgasm until three words are tumbling from his lips and you are tipping over the edge.

He kisses you as you both ride out your orgasm, waves of pleasure washing through your body and into his as if you are connected on more than just a physical level. His lips are soft against yours, guiding you through your orgasm. Everything is breathless and wildly full, all at once.

Pulling back as his cock twitches within you, he peppers your neck with kisses, his plush lips pressing softly against the delicate skin beneath your ear.

“I love you, baby,” he murmurs against your skin.

“I love you too,” you hum, eyes fluttering blissfully closed as you tangle a hand in his hair, pressing him closer to you.

That’s how you fall asleep. Tangled up in each other, bodies meshed together until there’s no way to tell which way is up.

You wake up wrapped in warmth. The kind of warmth that radiates from your heart, shining on outwards and into the room around you. And, as your eyes blink open, you notice it also radiates from the absolute furnace that clings to your back.

“Mmm,” the furnace grumbles, rubbing his nose against the soft nape of your neck. You can feel him press his lips against the top of your spine, his breath fanning delicately against your skin. “G’morning.”

“Morning.” You speak softly, as if any noise will break the memory of last night, his whispered affections against your skin as you drifted off to sleep still hanging in the air. Too loud and you will shatter and destroy the memory. The words of his confession still carved into your skin, your mixed pleasures riddled through your body, the song of his joy and laughter emblazoned into the room -- all of that, you think, will disappear if you move too quickly or speak too loudly.

However, that notion is quickly banished when Jimin rolls over and groans dramatically, spreading his limbs out until he starfishes over the entire bed -- including you. With a little grunt, he flips over on his belly, shimmying over to you. Pulling the blankets down around you, you gasp as the cool air hits your skin.

He’s quick to rectify this as he rolls onto you, resting his head on your stomach, blowing a raspberry into your skin. You screech in laughter and as the sensation rushes through you, tickling you.

It takes a minute or two before you calm down, looking lovingly down at the man who holds your heart and running a hand through his hair, brushing it off of his forehead.

“I love you, you know that?” he mumbles into your belly.

“Do you?” you giggle, doubt still riddled in your mind.

His eyes shoot up to yours.

“Of course I do. Is there any question about it?” You look down on him, worry in your gaze. “Oh, baby.” He’s quick to prop himself up on his hands, but still stays sprawled out atop you, his weight heavy and comforting. “I’ve loved you since I first saw you--” You open your mouth to tell him there’s no such thing as love at first sight, but his hand comes up quickly and covers your mouth, effectively shushing you. “--at least I knew I was going to love you the first time I saw you. I knew I was going to fall madly and deeply in love with all of your quirks and strange obsessions and deep passions and maddenly horrible humor. And I knew I loved you a year in, and every day after that.”

You look down on him, tears welling up in your eyes at his sincerity.

“Come ‘ere,” you say, pulling him up towards you. He crawls up your chest, playfully nipping at your bare breasts before settling against you. He kisses you. Lets you sink into the sensation. And then he pulls back and says,

“Aren’t you going to tell me you love me too?”

You don’t know if you’ll ever get enough of that dorky smile.

But you do know the tears threatening to spill over are rising from the deep, unnamable affection that rolls through your chest, finally released from silence. You want to call it love, and that is what you will call it, but there’s also something that goes so much deeper than the word itself. Something you know you will spend your whole life trying to explain to him.

read more: masterlist

Taglist: @taestannie @thatlongspringnight @spicykoreantatertots @usuallynervoussheep @hesperantha @myimaginationsrunningwild@lucedelsole97 @heichooou @jiminskth

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kazimakuwabara · 2 years

Text

In the Name of Cultural Diversity...

Story 2 written for @yyh-revival ‘s Kuwabara appreciation week!

summary: Kuwabara is serving as a translator for Mukuro and a "Prince." It's very boring, and if this so-called prince keeps sneaking in insults directed at him, Kuwabara's going to start a fight. (2k+words)

****

'Carrot, explain to King Mukuro that our people can not part with our sacred river, Ong-shi. It is not negotiable,' an arrogant voice pecked at Kuwabara's mind.

Pecked.

Literally.

Kuwabara had been listening to this so-called "Prince," drone on and on in his head for over an hour, and that was just today. He had been dealing with this guy for three days now of back and forth negotiations, and Kuwabara was getting quite a headache.

The "prince," was a self-claimed demon prince, from a secret territory referred to as Onlin. The Onlin territory had decided upon Mukuro's second consecutive ruling as King of the Demon world, after the latest Makai Tournament, to reveal themselves to try and form a peace treaty. They wished to try an exchange of goods; an exchange of culture. The only problem was, that the demons from Onlin looked like giant birds.

Really.

"Like Big fucking bird from Sesame Street!" Yusuke had actually cackled out of their earshot.

While their looks weren't such a big deal, it was their lack of ability to form a language that others could understand. And so the only way the Onlin people could talks, was through telepathy... but it seemed to come at a risk to those who were not high level psychics.

Many had tried to talk with the Onlin demons, but after only half an hour, those that tried the psychics would pass out from nosebleeds or terrible migraines.

After the fifth failed attempt, Mukuro reached out to Kuwabara. She needed a translator.

"It's a rare opportunity to talk to the Onlin people. They have advanced medicines and herbs that could be beneficial to all of the Makai. I'd like to find out how to convince them to keep their territory open for trade. For the sake of... let's call it, cultural diversity, won't you help?" Mukuro had asked in that solemn and slightly mischievous way of hers. And then she'd tilted her head at him, which Kuwabara hated.

He had described Mukuro once as an injured cat, and she exploited him endlessly about it. Because he was all soft about it. She knew that head tilt tugged at his heartstrings in all the right ways, and he'd have no choice but to aid her.

He'd agreed and was now immensely regretting it.

He should have at least asked to be paid to deal with all this... tediousness.

Mukuro had made Kuwabara put on an outfit in her preferred colors, black, and tope, which he hated. She wanted the Onlin demons to recognize Kuwabara as someone important to her, but Kuwabara wasn't into the glum choice of clothing. No offense to either her or Hiei who preferred them, but Kuwabara preferred brighter tones. Kuwabara thought he looked better in blue. The darker tones just made him glow in the dark.

The Onlin prince had been quick to point out Kuwabara had "sickly white glowing skin, and it was grotesque."

That had been Kuwabara's first introduction to the demon.

Also, Yusuke, Kurama, Hiei, as well almost every demon friend they had made over the years, had made some excuse to be in the room to watch Mukuro try to make nice with the Onlin people. And to watch Kuwabara stumble his way through the ordeal as a translator. They all seemed to be quite amused at Kuwabara's nervous back and forth with the Onlin prince and Mukuro.

'She is unreasonable,' The prince would squawk.

"Uh, Mukuro... he thinks you're unreasonable," Kuwabara would translate apologetically.

Mukuro would flash her teeth, not a smile but in threat, and then say, "Tell him he is a fool and is trying my patience. If he wants to do trade, then I suggest he do that. Offer a trade that's worth something."

"I'm not calling him a fool," Kuwabara would whine.

Mukuro would arch a brow, "Translate it all Kazuma."

And he would. And then there'd be a great big deal of angry puffs, followed by rude snickerings from his friends. This was just making it all worse. This has been a long three days.

Kuwabara thinks his headache would be decreased by tenfold if Yusuke wasn't grinning at him across the room as Kuwabara had to stumble through translating. He knew Yusuke thought it was probably the big words that the prince was making Kuwabara repeat. Words like, "Sesquicentennial," or, "eleemosynary," and even, "Machiavellianism." Kuwabara thinks that the last word is made up, or at least was said just to make Kuwabara stammer through it.

Though he supposes it is real since the "Prince" used it to describe himself. Mukuro and Hiei had both sneered at the descriptor.

'Carrot! Why are you not translating?' a shrill voice queried in Kuwabara's head, and he winced as ears rang.

No, his ears weren't ringing, it was his brain.

Kuwabara looked at what was probably the worst part about this whole translator deal.

The self-claimed Prince of the Onlin Territory, Bishivel. He was about eight feet in height and was iridescently colored in hues of white, cream, and flecks of a bright blue. He looked like a beautiful giant Peacock, and Kuwabara thinks he must have the personality of one too. Bishivel is exceedingly haughty and rude.

Kuwabara was introduced to him three days ago, and the Prince immediately started firing off insults. He also kept calling Kuwabara carrot and inferring that's all he was. A light, healthy snack that Bishivel would rather do away with. It was an odd insult, that was just strange rather than hurtful.

Kuwabara, ever the peace maker in his older years, had not bothered translating the rude name he was being called constantly.

(If you could really call carrot rude at all.)

But if this guy kept going on Kuwabara was going to have to go back to his street brawling days!

He was getting to his limit!

"Kazuma," Mukuro's voice cuts through the ringing in Kuwabara's head, and he turns to face her.

She frowns, leaning forward in her chair, Hiei at her side, his red eyes narrowed in suspicion, "Do you need a break? Speaking with the Onlin people is taxing... we don't want you to get overwhelmed. Many passed out dealing with them in the first few minutes, and you've been at this for a few days."

Behind Mukuro and Hiei, Kuwabara's other friends sit. Yusuke, Kurma, Chuu, Jin, Toya, Suzuki... and so on and so forth. There are quite a lot of people back there actually. They had been explained off as body guards, and people of interest, but now they don't look so amused. They look worried and irritated, and Yusuke is practically leaning out of his seat, anxious to come to Kuwabara's side.

Bishivel puffs up his chest, 'Why does she want to stop? We're not even halfway through our discussion! Tell the king you can keep going carrot!'

Kuwabara clears his throat, "Prince Bishivel is against allowing the use of his territory's river. It is sacred to them, called the Ong-shi-" Kuwabara said the "sh" sound like "ch," and Bishivel is screeching in his head.

Squawking.

'No, no no that is not how it is said at all!'

Kuwabara winces, closing his eyes for a moment.

"I didn't ask you to keep translating, I asked if you were alright," Mukuro says seriously, sitting up straighter in her chair. She is leaning forward too, her good eye narrowing, while her other eye stares into him. Expecting the truth.

'Carrot! Straighten up! If you're going to work for me, then you're going to have some decorum about it!' Bishivel's voice grates louder in Kuwabara's head.

The ringing is piercing, and Kuwabara bends over as he feels something crack inside his head. He lets out a grunt of pain, and his hand flies up to his nose as blood gushes suddenly and rapidly out of it.

He takes a step away from Prince Bishivel, throwing up the walls of his mind to cut the demon's shrill demands out of his head.

Bishivel, clearly not expecting to suddenly be shut out of Kuwabara's mind, reaches out and grabs Kuwabara by the bicep, and squeezes him painfully tight.

That is really the last straw.

Pushed to the edge of his patience, Kuwabara snaps, "Alright big bird I've had enough out of you! I'm supposed to be your translator, not your slave! And if you call me Carrot one more time!" Kuwabara's threat hangs empty, because Hiei is suddenly at his side, steadying Kuwabara as he stumbles.

"Head up. Open your eyes," Hiei orders in a low voice. His grip on Kuwabara is powerful and firm. He flares up his aura, it swirling protectively near Kuwabara, and Bishivel drops Kuwabara's arm.

Kuwabara opens his eyes not even realizing he'd had them shut.

Yusuke and Kurama are coming up behind Hiei, rapidly reaching for Kuwabara, their expressions grim.

Mukuro has risen from her throne, and she has Hiei's sword pressed into Bishivel's breast.

The room is suddenly very tense.

"You popped a blood vessel in your eye... you've been at this too long," Kurama says when he reaches Kuwabara. His eyes are darting over Kuwabara's face, diagnosing Kuwabara's pains before he even fully reached him.

Yusuke is muttering to himself as he takes Kuwabara's arm and throws it over his shoulder, forcing Kuwabara to lean against him. Kuwabara catches a few words from Yusuke, "Stupid, stubborn, noble Kuwabara!"

"What did you say Bishivel called you?" Hiei asks, and his tone is very low, and angry. He still had Kuwabara's forearm and is still supporting Kuwabara so he does not tip forward anymore.

"Did you say he called you carrot... or was it Karot?" Mukuro asks voice as icy as Hiei's.

Kuwabara notices the demons in the room grow stiff and agitated as Mukuro says, "Karot." It sounds just like the word carrot to Kuwabara, but with more emphasis on the "rot" part of the word.

Keeping his nos pinched Kuwabara looks at Yusuke, but he shrugs not really sure what "Karot," means either.

"Karot," Hiei says, voice loud, and sharp, "is demonic slang. A derogatory word for humans. A name that means they are rotten... not even worth eating."

Kuwabara feels Bishivel desperately prying at the wall of Kuwabara's mind, trying futilely to gain access to Kuwabara's mind so that he might explain. Or have Kuwabara explain. Kuwabara keeps his walls up high. That creep is not getting back into his head.

Kuwabara winces a little bit, and shrugs, "Dunno... but he's been an asshole this whole time."

"And you didn't say anything because Mukuro needed your help with these negotiations, correct?" Kurama prods gently.

Kuwabara shrugs, and then he hears something hit the ground.

He tries to turn, but Yusuke won't let him, and then Mukuro walks back into his field of view, wiping Hiei's bloodied blade clean.

"Well, the talks are over. I warned him to treat our translator with the utmost care. The Onlin people can go back to their territory and lock their doors. I won't be dealing with them if they dare treat one of my people this shoddily." Mukuro looks back at Kuwabara sternly, "Kazuma."

"But what about..." Kuwabara is in a bit of shock. Did they really just kill the "prince" of the Onlin people-a hidden secret tribe of demons-because he was rude to Kuwabara?

"I care for very few," Mukuro says simply and returns Hiei's blade, "Not a prince, not a king, not even a god can assume they rank above any of those that I care for. Now..."

And Mukuro scoops Kuwabara up bridal style, Kuwabara flushed, flattered, and horrified all in one.

"Now," she resumes speaking, carefully carrying Kuwabara out of her makeshift throne room, "Let's get you taken care of. I know everyone will be feeling better when we get you patched up."

Kuwabara hears the others agree, and is too stunned to respond.

Stunned, and feeling rather flattered over everyone's concern...

...Even if he does feel a little guilty about the now very dead Prince of Onlin on the floor.

#queue yu hakusho #yyh #kuwabara #kazi fanfic #friendship #tension #mukuro protec and attack

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meichenxi · 3 years

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Hey, could I ask you how you do shadowing? Like the different ways you do it? You mentioned in your tag that shadowing is good and I'd love to hear how you do it! I do not attempt shadowing much so I don't really know what helps, etc. ToT (my studyblr is rigelmejo)

Hellooo! Thank you for the interesting question!

Tbh I think I do it fairly basically - I don’t use any particularly fancy software, but software like Language Learning with Netflix has certainly made it easier. There’s a whole video on how to get the most of it here: [on mobile, link didn't work - How to study Chinese with Netflix! by Chinese Zero To Hero] (I’d recommend checking out all of their videos actually, they’ve done a bunch of livestreams recently and they place a lot of emphasis on shadowing + the course they are trying to sell you is…actually phenomenally good)

(Also, I have to preface this by saying that I have been very lucky in terms of pronunciation: I learnt about 80% of my current vocabulary by ear without characters or pinyin. I have been in China for eight months in total, and while I didn’t speak Chinese for all of that, I was constantly soaking in info on natural sentence intonation. I still often don’t know officially what the tone of a vocabulary item is, especially if it changes tone like 教, 为 or 相, but I don’t get yelled at so I have definitely internalised a lot of those changes. I definitely would have more trouble with this if I hadn’t had that experience - my other areas are waaaay weaker because of this though- my reading SUCKS lmao and I can literally handwrite about ten characters)

Anyway. How I shadow:

1) Quite simply by playing the line, and repeating it with all the emotion it has!! I usually use Netflix or Viki for this. I try to do it as fast as possible, and if I can’t do the whole thing, I ‘chunk’ it: if I were doing the sentence 我们还不知道他会不会来, I would start from the end with 他会不会来, then 不知道他会不会来, and then the whole sentence. Notice that this isn’t breaking it down into words or even grammatical phrases, but intonational phrases: it would be perfectly sensible to just do 会不会来 without the 他 but realistically, since this is a question, it’s likely that a strong stress will be placed on the first 会, and you wouldn’t be able to replicate that without also included the more weakly stressed syllable before.

2) I locate (intentionally or subconsciously) the main locus of stress within the sentence, and I focus on that accordingly. Tones may become less extreme if they are not stressed, and may become more exaggerated if stressed. This is always a good exercise. I accompany this with physical actions - I throw my hands down, I sigh, I groan!

3) I put away the text, and don’t look at the tones or even my computer screen - more on this below.

4) Finally, when I think I’ve got it reasonably accurate, I’ll record them speaking the line into my phone with an appropriate pause for copying and play it back to myself at various points throughout the day.

5) I then go and find other words with the same tone contour to slot in, and copy it again. After that, I find words that are slightly different tonally and pop them in too.

6) I finally do fun things like hold a conversation with myself. This can be really simple phrases imbued with some kind of emotion - 这个女子到底是谁呀？为什么不认识我？应该是新手吧。You can do this either really informally, or very formally, or both - trying to speak in the latter way is very fun! So then it’d be idk something more like: 那位姑娘是何人，来自何处？This is fun because you can really slow down your speech and sound as elegant as you like!! (this will sound stilted if you do it for modern speech, but it’s a very fun exercise)

Choosing your media!!

1) Don’t use donghuas. Seriously. The voice actors usually speak at a ridiculous pace and not with the same range of ‘normal’ intonation

2) Your Chinese is definitely good enough to recognise when anyone is quoting poetry or speaking in a paricularly sexy literary way so, uh…don’t do that. That rules dramas like Nirvana in Fire OUT.

3) Modern dramas and reality TV shows CAN be great, but they can also be quite intimidatingly quick and almost too mushy at times. I’d recommend informal speech in guzhuang dramas more, because they have professional voice actors and extensive sound editing, meaning that although it might be fast and the vocabulary harder, it’s actually much more accessible and easier to copy. You don’t want to be stuck with the awfulness of 50% failed foreigner and 50% 12 year old boy who can’t enunciate properly!!

4) CHOOSE YOUR WEAPON WISELY. I try to find characters that speak in a dramatic, whiny or childish way. This is so important! There’s literally no use copying Lan Wangji unless you want to be able to have that particular cadence and tone of voice you get reciting poetry. Childish/whiny/dramatic characters on the other hand stress some words very strongly, and rush others together - this is great for hearing what actual real speech sounds like. Whininess wins. In The Untamed, characters like Wei Wuxian (not yllz!wwx but just…regular wwx), 一问三不知 Nie Huaisang, Jin Ling, and Jingyi are all great. Also Jiggy, who is just very extra constantly and speaks much slower as well, which really helps. In SHL characters like Gu Xiang are good.

5) CHOOSE YOUR VOICE WISELY! If you are really aiming to copy them 100% (which you should try at least sometimes), you want somebody with your pitch range to sound normal. I have a sort of party trick in Chinese that because I’ve spent so much time listening to women in guzhuang dramas I can change my voice and sound like a) a scheming concubine with honeyed words, or b) the voice of the Beijing metro. My teacher found it hysterically funny. But it’s not my natural voice, and if I speak like that for too long it hurts. The women usually are too high for me, and the big burly manly men too low - so I’d recommend finding a man with a higher voice, or an older woman (like some of the female characters in Nirvana in Fire). Again, sorry that this is mostly the Untamed (I’m just most familiar with it) but the voice actors for Wei Wuxian and some of the juniors (+jiggy) has a higher voice. Likewise Chengling in Word of Honour.

On intonation in general:

- The thing is that whilst shadowing is useful it requires prior ability in a whole bunch of other skills that you can train - it relies on your ability to accurately mimic pitch, emotion and other contrasts. Training this in ANY language, including your native one, will help your ability to do this in Chinese - so I’d recommend spending a fair amount of time practicing shadowing (or speaking just after somebody whilst listening to a string of text, like monolingual simultaneous interpreting) in your native language too. Any training copying accents or mimicking other people is going to similarly help, regardless of the language.

So, with that in mind, further tips:

1) Hum / try to copy the intonation without any words. What this does is force you to pay attention to what the intonation actually is, versus what you may think it should be.

2) Don’t look at the text! Do! Not! Look! At! The! Text! If you look at the characters or pinyin you’re telling yourself ‘ok this is a third tone here’ etc, but you want to override the part of your brain that has gotten into bad habits and is supremely self-confident in how you’re pronouncing the third tone, and actually just go straight back to mimicking.

3) Don’t be afraid to do it with vocabulary that is way beyond your level. Actually, I find this can sometimes be helpful, because you don’t have a prior idea about how a particular tone pair should be useful - and you don’t know which tone you should be producing.

4) Learn vocabulary by ear - listen to a vocab podcast or even make one yourself (I often do this; I record my daily Anki and listen back to it through headphones copying throughout the day - if you’re not confident in your pronunciation you can get Google Translate to do it). Similarly, pick unknown vocabulary out of a longer segment and remember it, trying to internalise the tones instead of figuring out which tone it is.

5) Find emotional sentences, and copy them with emotion. This is SO CRUCIAL!!! We remember things when we relate to them, and when we imbue them with emotion - and it also helps in hearing exactly how an angry second tone sounds, for instance.

6) When you’re copying, look up, and imagine you are having an actual conversation. Carry yourself with conviction and poise!! Really try to whine like wwx or slime like jgy. After a couple of turns copying them, try to turn off the audio and keep delivering it in the same manner.

7) Swap individual words out. Once you have a line properly figured out, swap a word or two that has a different tone pair, and focus on delivering it with the same pattern of stress.

8) Finally, practice doing this in your native language too!! It’s a skill that we don’t use often, and it can be trained. Some people are terrible at it at first go even in their native language, but you can work on it!

About intonation in general:

1) I think a lot of pronunciation problems with people sounding unnatural or stiff ultimately come down to a fundamental misunderstanding of what intonation looks like across different languages. In English we mark it by pitch: and we are so used to the rhetoric that Chinese has ‘tone’ and not ‘intonation’ that we try and focus on blindly copying every single word textbook perfect without listening to how it actually sounds.

2) Chinese does have intonation!!! Except that, unlike English, when you stress a word, the pitch doesn’t change, but the tone contour is exaggerated - basically the only time you will ever hear a full third tone is in isolated or very exaggerated speech. If you have a Chinese friend, get them to record a sentence like the English ‘I didn’t ask her to steal his rucksack’, and put stress on the different elements of it - I didn’t ask, I didn’t ask, I didn’t ask, and so on. Notice and copy how the tones change. When shadowing, you should always be paying attention to where the stress is in the sentence: when you speak by yourself, practicing saying a sentence neutrally, and then with stress on one component, the next, and so on. If it feels unnatural, it’s because you might not have practicised like this before - it’ll get better!

Hope that’s somewhat helpful / interesting!

- 梅晨曦

#chinese #chinese langblr #langblr #chinese studyblr #studyblr #learn chinese #study chinese #chinese vocab #lingblr #askies

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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years

Text

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 17 second part

(Masterpost) (Previous Post) (Pinboard)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!!

Breaking Good

Wen Qing comes to visit Wen Ning in their backyard meth lab, and tells him that he fucked up a recipe, merely by taking a whiff of the concoction. She uses the approved "wave fumes toward self" way of smelling that you learn in high school science if you live in a country that believes in teaching science, which OP does not.

Wen Ning wants to know if they are going to have a feud, and she tells him there already is one. She tells explains to him that they're good Wens, not evil Wens, and that Jiang Cheng is fucked, and they should send the Jiangs away in the morning before Wen Chao comes around.

Wen Ning whines at her about all of this, shifting into little-brother persona and acting like he didn't just take down 40 of Wen Chao's soldiers in a single night. He does this same persona shifting in his later unlife, with Wei Wuxian. When there is trouble, he's extremely effective, and can even tail WWX and Lan Wangji without getting caught, but then he is hopeless when dealing with turnips or children.

Here, it seems like a version of Wei Wuxian's own little-brother persona, in which he pretends to be helpless so that his sister can take care of him.

#studyblr

Wei Wuxian comes into Wen Qing's head shop to ask her for medical books. He loves his brother so much he's volunteering for a research project. We've seen him be clever before; we've seen circumstantial evidence that he's a good student, but now we're going to see him actually buckling down and doing intellectual work.

Wen Qing thinks its hopeless and wants Wei Wuxian to get some rest. But he gives her puppydog eyes, so she sets him up in her library.

Wei Wuxian reads a huge pile of medical books and learns interesting things about the human body.

(more after the cut)

Hopefully he does not splotch ink all over them while he holds this wet brush directly over the page. Why does he even have a brush in his hand? Is he taking notes in the margin?

Wen Qing eventually tells him to take a break and go see Jiang Yanli.

Segmentation fault (core dumped)

Jiang Yanli is tending to Jiang Cheng, gently telling him to suck it up by citing their father, which is probably not the greatest idea.

Yanli's wearing dark blue with white and looks awesome. It's not Gusu Lan blue, but the blue and white is an interesting choice for the excruciating heart to heart they're about to have.

Wei Wuxian shows up looking terrible, or the Xiao Zhan version of terrible, i.e. handsome and a little scruffy. But also worn out, unhappy, and fragile.

Jiang Yanli wants him to rest, but he wants to find a way to repair Jiang Cheng's core, and his mind races, trying to think of where he can get books and who can help him. His thoughts instantly go to Cloud Recesses and Lan Wangji. His face lights up at the thought that Lan Wangji will help him, and he hops up, ready to dash off and find him.

The first time I watched this I was like, dude yes you’re in love, but you can’t just dash off to find Lan Wangji, not when there’s a war on. This time I was like, actually wow things would turn out a whole lot better if you got Lan Wangji to help you, instead of coming up with your own plan.

Mother Mother Can You Tell Me

Jiang Yanli tells him to slow his roll. He's pushing himself too hard and she's afraid he will collapse. Then Wei Wuxian comes out and says what's driving him: maybe all these disasters are his fault.

It's telling, I think, that he cites Madame Yu, not Jiang Cheng, in this moment, even though Jiang Cheng has blamed him much more thoroughly and consistently. He's talking about one mother figure, to another mother figure, and looking for absolution.

He super does not get what he's looking for.

Jiang Yanli slowly lets go of him and goes the fuck off. She asks, rhetorically, what he's to blame for, and then lists off all of the shit that's happened. She finishes up by saying, look at our situation; blaming won't help anything.

It's unclear, because language/translation, if her answer is "it doesn't matter who's to blame" I.E. "yes, it's your fault, but I'm letting it go" or if she is saying "how does blaming yourself help anything?" I.E. "it's not your fault, stop being a drama llama."

Her body language, though, seems pretty blameful - she lets go of him, yells at him, sits down and turns away from him. And his reaction is not one of shared grief, or of someone who is trying to get over himself; he's totally crushed, and he literally never unburdens himself to her again. Even when he asks her, much later, about love, he immediately backs out of the conversation.

There is no violence in this moment and her reaction is understandable, but this is kind of similar to that one time when his brother choked him in a beautiful field of grass, in order to make himself feel better.

Then she kind of relents and takes his hand, telling him that she needs him and reminding him that he promised that they will go back to Lotus Pier. I don't remember him promising this, but okay.

He puts his head on her lap and he cries, she cries, comatose Jiang Cheng cries; FUCK this episode.

Jiang Cheng manages to cry only one tear and does it on the side of his face that his siblings can't see because he's not going to give them the satisfaction of sharing this moment with him, I guess.

When Wei Wuxian puts his head on Jiang Yanli's lap, it's part of a ritual for them, that they both are comforted by; he does it again much later, after they return to Lotus Pier. But this ritual does not actually do anything to relieve his burdens. As a male adult, and the only Jiang Clan disciple with any abilities, it falls to him to save the clan, whatever it takes, and he is heavily aware of it.

Wen Qing comes along and sees the sweet part of this complicated Shijie-Shidi dynamic, and decides to help with Wei Wuxian's research project. When the trio had just lost their parents, gotten sick, been pursued by enemies, & had one of Yanli's little brothers horribly wounded, Wen Qing was like, eh, I'll do the doctor stuff but that's it. But lap-crying is another level.

Wen Qing: Nooo don't put your head on her knees I failed my saving throw

Group Project

Wen Qing goes and cleans up the mess in the library, putting everything in order and settling in to read systematically. Wen Qing probably has the prettiest bullet journal. (OP looks proudly at the 100 loose slips of paper and piles of random stuff on her own desk)

Wei Wuxian has shaved and rested and comes in with a tray of food for Wen Qing, and then goes to his table in the back to start working. He claims he made "porridge" for her and that she has to eat to gain strength, and she gives him an intrigued expression. This moment is just blatant het baiting.

In fact the food he brings her is clearly not porridge, which might just be a translation error, but also he totally can't cook, so it's not clear if he's joking and Yanli or Wen Ning made the food, or if this is just inedible.

The Things We Do For Love

Yanli is working in the meth lab and coughing a lot. Yanli's chronic illness is a sign of what's to come for Wei Wuxian, because strong cultivators don't get sick. Yet Yanli, as a physically vulnerable person, who has either a weak golden core, or none, is still intrinsically valuable. Her presence in this scene is a reminder that Jiang Cheng's life is not, actually, over; he just feels like it is.

While Yanli cooks the meth, Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing have a study montage that is the equivalent of a training montage, except without "Eye of the Tiger" on the soundtrack.

Jiang Cheng remains unconscious. Apparently if you stick nails in the top of someone's head, you make them sleep, and in the back of their head, you turn them into part of your zombie army. Fortunately Wen Qing's aim is good. Jiang Cheng is looking devastatingly handsome as usual the TV version of unwell, and has grown a perfect Dorito-chip of stubble on his chin to go with his new 'stache.

Eventually Wei Wuxian changes back into his non-vampire robe and he finds the answer in an old scroll book. The Ikea instruction picture shows arrows going from the guy on the left to the guy on the right. Clearly it's not a great procedure for the guy on the left.

Wei Wuxian's face shows us exactly how not great.

Like walking in the rain and the snow and there’s no place to go and you’re feeling like a part of you is dying

He goes outside and gazes up at the trees and the sky as he contemplates the sacrifice that circumstance is forcing on him. He's not even making a choice at this point; his choice was made the moment he found the procedure. But it's going to be a tremendous loss for him. He values sword cultivation at least as much as Jiang Cheng does; he even fell in love with a boy over crossed swords. So he sits and just kind of comes to terms with this new understanding of his future. (Big gifs here)

Wen Qing finds him sitting, stunned, on the porch. She doesn't know what's up so she just sits quietly with him until he's ready to tell her.

She doesn't love the plan.

Thunder, Th-th-thunder

Wen Ning is bringing food up when he sees them arguing, and he is startled by situationally appropriate thunder and lightning. Having recently watched The Lost Tomb Reboot I've come to expect thunder and lighting to appear on cue in any possible situation, so the fact that this mini-storm clears right up again doesn't bother me.

What About You?

Wen Ning dashes inside to see what Mom and Dad are fighting about. They're having a polite shouting match because Wen Qing refuses to yank out Wei Wuxian's core.

Wen Qing: I hate the idea of harming you Wei Wuxian: I don’t even understand that sentence

Wei Wuxian doesn’t, of course, feel that he is important in any way, and ignores her concerned and appalled expressions in favor of telling her to just do it anyway. Amazingly, this does not convince her.

OP’s 177cm-tall son keeps telling her this

Then Wei Wuxian plays the "you know Jiang Cheng" card, which...I guess she does? Maybe he was chatting her up more than we saw in Cloud Recesses? He hasn't given her the comb or anything yet. Wei Wuxian explains that Jiang Cheng cares about gain and loss, and cultivation is his life. If he can only be ordinary the rest of his life will be ruined.

Wen Qing asks the question that nobody ever asks him: What about you?

Wei Wuxian has literally nothing to say to that, possibly because the question is so new to him.

Wen Ning doesn't know what's going on but comes squarely in on team Wei, of course, and begs his sister to Do The Thing. How fucking horrified is Wen Ning going to be when he learns what The Thing is? What he is personally going to help do to his beloved friend? Yikes.

Wen Qing caves, warning them that the chance of success is only 50 percent. Wei Wuxian is happy to take those odds.

Lan Wangji, projecting his voice from Episode 46: fifty percent, are you fucking kidding me?

Soundtrack: 1. Mother Mother by Tracy Bonham 2. The Things We Do For Love by 10cc 3. Thunder by Imagine Dragons

#fytheuntamed #the untamed #the untamed gifs #wen qing #wen ning #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs #episode 17 #OMG this episode #god I miss lan wangji #warning: psychic pain

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wovenstarlight · 4 years

Text

YWBK update: chapter 25 + liner notes

yesterday will be kinder has updated! you can read chapter 25 here, or start from the beginning here

okay, on to notes and commentary! first time i’m doing these, let’s hope this works out. commentary under the cut to save people’s dashes

Hamin laughs. “Given how bad you are at not being suspicious, that’s understandable.” “Oh, come on, I’m not that bad.” Hamin screws up his whole face in a squint. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little bad.”

this part was really funny to me when i wrote it because i was like “hmm reasons for DHM to understand why HHJ wouldn’t work in the guild” and then i was like Wait. Their Whole First Meeting, Dude. DHM was lowkey convinced for the longest time that HHJ was like, on the run from the KR version of the mafia, and got plastic surgery to look like his little brothers, and is possibly in some sort of witness protection program??? or something??? how else does he not have cops on his ass this man is so suspicious all the time

“I don’t think… They said the dungeons were, like, different worlds? Did they find people there?”

mafia theory second place. dungeon theory first place

“Like, humans? Um. No, no humans.” “So then you can’t be from there. Okay.”

dungeon theory shot down. mafia theory back in the running

“Hey,” he says cautiously. “I’m— I’m gonna go get us some water, okay? Why don’t you… take a minute.” “Okay.” “The bathroom is over there, if you need it.” “Okay. Thank you.”

after four years working alongside a guy you start to notice when he’s feeling a little out of it and needs a bit of a break... but as JHW mentions later you also learn to be a little subtle about giving him one

jung heewon What’s with your typing? It reads like Jihye’s [HYJ]’s fine. Very energetic Too energetic? He’s going to burn out. How do I make him calm down

Epic Burnout Man makes a reappearance! when translating sclass one of the things that makes me want to shake HYJ most is his habit of constantly adding things to his to-do list while he already has 1 billion things on his plate. and all the time he’s whining about “UGH there’s SO MUCH WORK to do” No One Asked You To Do It

Anyway. the point is. HYJ isn’t about to be beat by HHJ at Developing Issues 😔

jung heewon I haven’t spoken to him directly about this because if he’s anything like you he’ll take it as an insult You wtf whts tht supposed 2 mean quit typing jung heewon Better not say shit, mr “No, I can’t take days off and cater to my interests or go out with friends or on a date, I’m too busy taking care of the kids and making sure their needs are met, no I don’t care that there are thousands of people out there balancing personal enjoyment and romance and work AND kids at the same time, are you suggesting I be a BAD GUARDIAN to MY KIDS?”

see above re: not being too direct with pointing out when HHJ’s having Issues because he doesn’t react well

You wht but our eyes r fine jung heewon Even if having glasses doesn’t run in the family, you should still get him checked, just in case

top 10 funny time travel moments: referring to you and your past self as “us” (our = my eyes are fine), but other people think you mean “our family” (our eyes are fine = no family history of long/shortsightedness)

Also. Sooyoung-ie says hi [Attachment: 20XX1213_144516.jpg]

ok no lie this was one of the parts that pissed me off the most, even though it’s Literally One Line, because. i love chat exchanges. i really do. when done right they’re a lot of fun to read. But Do You Know How Long It Took Me To Figure Out A Calendar For The Events In This Fic. now everything’s TIMED i have to count HOW MANY DAYS IT’S BEEN since XY event so i can CORRECTLY NUMBER the FILE ATTACHMENTS!!! this sucks!!! it took me fucking forever to pin down a timeline just so i could write this chapter plus the few before and after it!!!!

anyway i gave up when i reached year. i just put 20XX. fuck it. we are running on fairy tail time now. (actually i think that’s XXnumber number? XX76? or was it X796. something like that. Who cares i stopped watching fairy tail forever ago)

Fuck it! Hamin will understand!! “If you Awaken you should come work with me,” Han Hyunjae says all in a rush.

“HAMIN WILL UNDERSTAND” => he literally was cool with me giving zero context for half a dozen absolute balls to the wall nonsense bullshit things i’ve done before. he’ll be fine with this too. dog_in_burning_house_this_is_fine.png

“You already know about the guilds, those are going to be for dungeon Hunters, but I was thinking of forming something like an independent group of contractors. Awakened people with skills that aren’t useful for combat, but that might… that will be generally useful. It’d be you and me, and maybe one other guy I met recently. Probably more in the future.”

given that HHJ has no idea currently that peace exists (i’m so sorry baby i’ll find a way to shoehorn you in soon i miss you so much) he’s got no intentions to start a kiseungsu business yet! he mostly wants to live quietly while just acting as a manager for other Awakening-related services, like YMW’s forge and DHM’s tracking service, along with the information exchange/lowkey spy ring that he’s planning on setting up with JHW and the bar. since HYH is fine associating with him in this timeline, HHJ’s thinking he can get a foot in the door that way, then eventually spread out into dealings with most major guild leaders

RIP to this plan. you were well-made but you will not last long.

“Please, I can’t tell you how I know that, I really can’t, it’d put me and my brothers in danger if it got out. But—” “No need.” Hamin looks slightly alarmed, and Han Hyunjae feels himself settle at the obvious concern in his eyes.

MAFIA THEORY RAPIDLY RISING TO PROMINENCE??? THIS IS NOT HOW DO HAMIN WANTED HIS GUESS CONFIRMED

“I spoke to the Task Force Head and she said that there’s been discussion about hosting a meeting for the nearby high-rankers, where they’ll announce the guild proposal and see who else is interested in trying it out.”

“they’ll announce” i’m sorry king 💔 you deserved a nap

(OH ALSO FUN FACT choi eunyoung is a canon character, not an OC of mine! she appears in uhhh i think late 140s? 150s? something like that)

“I think there’s… probably only one other S-rank who’s Awakened right now?”

Hehehehehehehehehehehehehhehe

Hamin beams. “No, they’re doing great! Spookie’s taken really well to the new housing situation, but I think Spots might miss the store…”

shoutout to @daemonic-dawn for letting me borrow a pet name, love u king. i had a much longer ramble about pet names here but i finished typing and realized it was all entirely off topic so i removed it for convenience

Hyunjae makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. “Don’t— I mean.” He huffs, visibly taking a deep breath, and Yoojin frowns reflexively. [...] “Is everything alright?” Yoojin kind of wants to be annoyed at his tone on principle, but he forces his shoulders to relax, matching Hyunjae’s posture. Though he can’t stop himself from being a little short when he answers.

things the brothers have learned in four years living together: getting confrontational often leads to arguments that just fizzle out anyway, so it’s way fucking easier to consciously tone down their combativeness in advance when talking to each other about things they have problems with, instead of screaming their heads off and then having to calm yoohyun down afterwards to boot

“I guess. Whatever.” Yoojin slumps. “Can I…” “Hm?” Hyunjae blinks at Yoojin as he gestures to the spot on the bed beside him, then jolts. “Oh! Yeah, sure, c’mere.” He opens his arms, and Yoojin goes over and flumps on the bed, head in Hyunjae’s lap. Almost immediately, Hyunjae starts stroking fingers through his hair, and Yoojin relaxes into the touch, listening as Hyunjae continues speaking.

cuddles 🥺🥺🥺 sorry i don’t have any other commentary here just. cuddles. extremely and overwhelmingly comforting for a man who spent the better part of 8 years(?) with no major positive relationships, and a kid who spent 12 years of early life basically abandoned by his parents. you had best bet they gave up on not hugging each other 1 year into this whole mess

Yoojin hums in acknowledgement. It’s not like he’d ever let himself get hurt; he has too many responsibilities to his family and friends. If he wants to be good enough to keep up, he can’t afford to fuck up like that. But… hyung will worry if he keeps working so hard. He can slow down a little for him.

Problems disorder man when will you stop. the way he sees “getting hurt” as an inconvenience and an obstacle to his duties rather than a danger to himself. the way he doesn’t really care if he himself gets hurt, but if it’ll worry his family, then it’s a no-no. it’s just. wow. i know i wrote this but i hate him

“Not really. I talk to Myeongwoo about it sometimes.” “Ah, right, Myeongwoo.”

haha gays

“Don’t be weird about him,” Yoojin warns[...]. “I won’t, promise.”

if the “i won’t” line had a dialogue tag it’d be “Han Hyunjae lied”

“Is Eunwoo still in his relationship?” “Mhm, happy as ever. Apparently they’re trying long-distance, now that Eunwoo’s gone off to university abroad.”

three guesses for who eunwoo’s dating and you won’t need the first two

Hyunjae raises his hands like he’s going to deny the accusations levelled against him, so Yoojin seizes him by the collar and shakes him until he cries for mercy

oh my o/rv ass struggled so bad with not writing “shakes him like a man betrayed” here. it killed me not to. but in the end i prevailed (against, uh, myself. don’t think about it too hard.)

“Jeez, okay, he’s an F-rank!” “Eh?! Then why—” “He’s also got an SS-rank potential skill,” Hyunjae admits[...].

play-by-play of this scene because god if i draw any scene in this fic it would be this one just for the sheer hysterical nature of HYJ’s reaction:

YOOJIN: I HATE YOU WHAT THE FUCK WHY. TELL ME HIS RANK

HYUNJAE: HE’S AN F

YOOJIN: WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK?

HYUNJAE: he’s also got an SS-rank skill,

YOOJIN:

#star.txt #work: yesterday will be kinder #writing commentary #my writing #making impulse decisions today. very tired. godonight i hope you enjoy but also you'll have to enjoy without me

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

Good Omens - I Was Given Four Rules to Follow ... I Broke Every One: Chapter 1/3 (Rated PG13)

Summary: When Warlock Dowling is summoned to the old South Downs cottage of Aziraphale and Crowley to help clean out their attic, presumably after their deaths, he is given four rules to follow.

... He breaks every single one.

Notes: For @silver-colour

Written for the @tricketyboo2020 prompt "Creepypasta format story (like a found footage or witness statement kind of thing)" by silver-colour. It is a mild reworking of an older fanfic of mine, but that goes tongue in cheek with the ending of this story sort of. XD I would put this between Spooky Level 2 and 3, with 3 being "major and minor character death, disturbing images or concepts, major dark themes, major violence, etc." But there's only minor mentions of blood/body horror. But the whole undead thing is a trigger for some people and I lean into that imagery a bit. I wanted this to be a sort of leveled up Goosebumps tale. Tl;dr proceed with caution <3

Chapter 1

I am going to die.

I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die.

I have to keep repeating it because I have to come to grips with it.

I am going to die.

Not in sixty years.

More like sixty minutes.

Oh, Amanda. I am sorry.

If you ever hear this … I never meant for this to happen.

My name is Warlock Dowling and I am 34 years-old. Devoted son and husband, I’ve spent over a decade working towards achieving my dream of following in my father’s footsteps and entering politics one day.

It’s a dream I don’t think I’ll be seeing through to the end.

I am telling you this because after reading what I’ve just read … and hearing what I’ve just heard … I am not certain I’m going to make it through the night.

I broke the rules.

There were four. Only four. And I broke them.

I didn’t break them by accident. I absolutely did it on purpose. I’m not suicidal or anything, but you only live once - am I right?

For the record, I don’t regret a single thing.

…

That’s not entirely true.

I’ll regret dying before morning if that’s the way things play out.

Today happens to be October 31st - Halloween night. I’d been tasked with clearing out the attic above a cottage in The South Downs which once belonged to a pair of old family friends. Technically, they were ex-employees of my parents from back when I was young, but I thought of them as surrogates. They practically raised me, educated me, taught me everything I know about coping in this cruel, pathetic world.

I held them in the highest regard.

They were the only people in my life who treated me as if I could become more than what I had been born into, that fate had something else in store for me. Because of them, I met the best friends a boy could ever have.

I will forever be grateful for that.

Cleaning out this attic was the least I could do to repay them, but to be honest, I don’t know who summoned me here. I assumed it was the executor of their estate, but now I’m not so sure. Looking over the letter in my hands, there is no legible signature. And the gold embossed emblem at the top that I took for granted as belonging to some upscale legal firm is, on closer inspection, gibberish - a mess of fleur-de-lis underscored by Latin words that roughly translate to “the cows shall rise”.

Ludicrous, right?

How did I miss that?

But more ludicrous - and confusing - are the rules.

I had been given rules about cleaning this attic.

The first rule on the list was to touch only what I could see. Under no circumstances was I to open any of the boxes or chests.

So, naturally, I opened every single one.

The second rule was not to put anything on. Fine by me. The only clothes up here are old lady outfits and a pair of white satin shoes.

But …

There was an awesome vintage leather jacket hanging on a dressmaker’s dummy in the corner and … well … it had my name written all over it! I had to try it on, see if it fit.

And it does.

Rule number three - keep to my torch. Don’t light any candles.

Nuh-uh! It’s Halloween! And torches are lame. So on the candles went. Jeez, there are a lot of them. Enough to burn down the whole place if I’m not careful. It actually seems like they’ve multiplied since I’ve been up here.

I won’t lie - it’s unsettling.

But according to the list, rule number four is the most important:

Don’t read any books I find. And definitely not out loud.

The first thing I saw when I entered the attic was a stack of leather-bound books. I scoffed at the sight of them, piled up to my chin, right inside the entryway. Isn’t that a bit like putting a huge bowl of candy front and center on your dining room table in the middle of dinner with a huge sign saying, “Do not eat?” If the most important rule about going into the attic is, “Don’t read anything!” why not put all the books on a high shelf?

Or the moon?

I’m not a book lover. I read hundreds of pages a day for work. I definitely don’t do it for fun. So this shouldn’t have been a hard one for me to follow.

But they looked like diaries.

And diaries hold secrets.

That made them a different matter all together.

I couldn’t resist.

But once I opened the top one, I knew I’d made a mistake.

These weren’t just any diaries.

They were the diaries of my two friends - Aziraphale and Crowley.

There had always been something odd about those two. I didn’t believe for a second that they were a proper nanny or gardener, not even when I was a young, impressionable child. But they were funny - a distraction from the dull as dishwater life of an attache’s son.

Yes, I was a spoiled little rich kid with everything I could ever ask for handed to me and, on top of that, diplomatic immunity.

Woe was me.

I realize how much of a douche whining about that makes me sound.

My life was still dull.

I was still lonely.

I never knew for sure what happened to them after they left us. I made assumptions - erroneous assumptions. I thought they lived happily ever after at least.

Now I know … that wasn’t the case.

I’m recording this in the hopes that someone will find it, so that you might know the true story of what happened to them …

… and why you might not be hearing from me again.

***

The Diary of Aziraphale Fell - Reluctant Widower

January 14th-

“Please, sir,” the decrepit woman hissed, but not unkindly. She came about her speech impediment by a mixture of symptoms - her thick accent coupled with her indeterminable old age caused her to talk that way. “Please, reconsider this decision.”

I glared at her regardless. I knew my eyes were bloodshot; my hair a mass of tangled, wayward strands; my lips quivered from constant, unrelenting crying.

“You said you had it!” I screamed, bypassing her arguments. “You said you would sell it to me! Wh---why else would I come here!?”

“You need to understand,” the woman implored, opening her hands in a pleading gesture. She fixed me with one clear blue eye, the other eye clouded – a useless, milky white lump of tissue bulging inside its socket, “what you ask for … it is unnatural.”

“But your granddaughter said it was a done deal!” I persisted, shooting a steely glare at the simpering young woman who ducked behind her grandmother to hide from my volatile stare. I wasn’t about to leave without the item I came for. At this point, I was willing to tear the place apart and everything inside - including the two of them - to get it.

They must have sensed that.

Even as the woman continued to defy me, she looked slightly more afraid than she had a minute ago.

“My granddaughter is foolish!” The woman directed the comment over her shoulder to the girl cowering there. “But she means well. We need the money. She was thinking with her head and not her heart.”

“I can pay you twice what you’re asking!” I reached into my back pocket for my wallet. “Three times! I’ll give you whatever you want!”

The girl, intrigued by my proposal, peeked over her grandmother’s shoulder, but the woman turned and barked sharply at her in a language I could not understand.

That was when I began to think I might be in danger.

I’d spent my entire life studying languages, so hearing one I didn’t comprehend, not even an inch, sent a shiver down my spine.

“Mr. Fell …” The old woman reached out, I presumed to comfort me, and took my shaking hand in hers “… your husband is dead. And I am more sorry than I can ever express at your loss. You carry your love for him like a beacon. I see it in your eyes. It shines from every part of you. With him gone, it is up to you to carry it. It will never fade as long as you remember him.”

Those were, without a doubt, the kindest words anyone had said to me since my husband passed. I crumbled, new tears falling hot down my cheeks. But regardless of her sympathy, sincere though it might be, I refused to relent.

I refused!

“I don’t want to remember him!” I whimpered, my anger renewed at the sound of my voice fracturing. “I want him here with me! I need you to help me bring him back!”

The woman sighed in pity but shook her head.

“The effects of life are varied, Mr. Fell. Our fate … it changes every day, with every choice that we make. But the effects of death should remain permanent.”

I flinched at that word as if she’d struck me across the face.

Permanent.

Crowley dead … my husband gone … and nothing for me to look forward to in life but emptiness. We’d had every moment of our lives planned together.

One arsehole drunk driver later and now I was alone.

I literally had no one.

I had lost contact with my mum early in life, never knew my father, didn’t have children of my own. My boss and mentor was an abusive prick who tormented me throughout the span of my career until I found a way out from under his thumb.

Until Crowley helped me discover a life where I didn’t need the man’s guidance or control.

But now I was going to lose him!? The only one who had stuck by me, who defended me, loved me through thick and thin!?

No! That was beyond cruel! And I wasn’t going to roll over and accept it!

I let the sorrow within me curdle, turn sour as I yanked my hand out of the old woman’s grasp.

“Your granddaughter said there are other methods of getting what I want!” I snarled. “Dangerous methods. Methods that might require payment in sacrifice … even blood. And not necessarily my blood. Innocent blood, if you catch my meaning.”

Both women gasped.

Despite the conversation at hand, I smiled.

Good, I thought. We were finally all on the same page.

Up until a few days ago, I never considered violence to be the answer to anything. But I had since come to a crossroads where an exception had made itself clear.

I was prepared to annihilate my humanity to get my husband back.

The old woman snapped her head over her shoulder, scolding her granddaughter in a harsh, guttural voice. The girl, who had started to brave coming out of hiding, shrank down once again.

“Be reasonable,” the woman begged, “please, and think about what you are saying. What you are willing to do.”

“No,” I said, my calm more potent than my anger … or so my husband used to say. “The time for me being reasonable is over. I will get what I want, no matter what the cost. The question is whether or not you will be the one to give it to me.”

The woman looked down at her gnarled hands and sighed a long, exhausted sigh. “Alright, Mr. Fell. I will sell the potion to you at the promised price.”

I stared at her for a moment in shock. I was relieved, of course. I hadn’t thought I would get this far. It frightened me how much I had begun looking forward to throttling her with my bare hands, imagined her neck snapping within my grasp, effortlessly like a twig.

That couldn’t be me though. I wasn’t that kind of person. It was this place - this shop and all of its trinkets, their age and professed magical abilities amplifying my grief, turning every rational thought I had into rage.

I had to get out of here and fast before I did something I might regret.

I opened my wallet with the onset of happier tears and thumbed through the bills, pulling out extra for the joy of getting what I wanted. I handed the money over, but the woman refused to touch it. She waved it away, her granddaughter popping up long enough to grab the money and then scurry off again. The woman reached into the folds of her skirts and retrieved a leather pouch that hung from a thin belt around her waist. From it she fished out a tiny blue bottle with a cork stopper sealing the mouth. She gave it a long, troubled look, then handed it to me.

For the first time, her hand trembled.

“Pour the contents of this bottle into your husband’s mouth, Mr. Fell,” she instructed, “and your husband will return.”

I held the bottle up to the dim candlelight of the musty Soho shop. The blue glass glimmered, a thick liquid inside swaying back and forth, shimmering like sun-tossed sparkles across a dark, foreboding sea.

“There are some rules that go along with that potion,” the woman said, her voice weeding into my head, summoning me back from my momentary trance, “and a few warnings you must heed as well.”

I sighed. I had hoped it would be a simple matter of giving my husband the liquid and living happily ever after, but I knew in my heart that nothing was ever that simple.

“Okay,” I said, slipping the bottle carefully into my pocket and patting over it twice to ensure its safety. “Tell me. What are the rules?”

“First of all, you will give that to your husband, but what will come back …” she paused, swallowed hard “… will not entirely be your husband.”

I nodded. I had expected her to say something along those lines, like a scene straight from an old time-y horror movie.

The woman locked both eyes, one clear and one clouded, on my face as I waited for her to finish her speech, eager to go back home and get on with my life. She realized, with regret, that I had every intention of going through with this, and took on the heavy burden of allowing this to continue.

“Be there to look into his eyes when he wakes,” she said.

I hadn’t dreamed of leaving his side, but since the woman made such a point of it, I asked, “Why?”

“He is being reborn, in a sense. And like other simple-minded creatures, he will imprint on the first person he sees.” She took my hands and squeezed them. “That person needs to be you!”

My gulp was audible, the weight of her words and of my plan suddenly settling within me. They pressed in on me, like that moment when the police came to my door. Their words – “Mr. Fell? I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but … it’s about your husband …” had turned me inside out, left my heart out in the cold.

I felt that cold now.

“Once the potion absorbs into his tissues, it will restart his heart,” she continued. “Then the potion will replicate. It will begin to take the place of his blood. It will make him calm, easier for you to control.”

I nodded again. I wanted to say something, assure the woman that I understood, but she didn’t pause long enough for me to speak. It wouldn’t have mattered. I saw the trepidation in her one, clear eye. I had no clue what to say to make this better.

“It will be a slow process, and you must learn to be a patient man!” She raised her voice, letting go of one hand to waggle an emphatic finger in front of my face. “You will be teaching him, raising him as you would a child. Remember, even if only a small portion of his soul returns, that soul belongs to your husband, and you must love him or this will not work!”

The woman stepped back, out of breath from her outburst, and her granddaughter (whom I had forgotten about) returned, pushing forward an ornate but dusty antique chair to catch her in. I held the woman’s arms gently and helped her into it, feeling strangely protective. The woman sat and waved us both off, not wanting us to make a fuss when she still had more to say.

“But most importantly,” she labored on, barely missing a beat in her speech, “do not let him taste blood.” I knelt down so that she didn’t feel the need to yell for her words to reach me. “He cannot eat meat, but most of all, don’t let him bite you or lick your wounds. Or anyone else’s – human or animal.”

“Will … will I become a zombie? If he does bite me?”

I’m not quite sure why the word ‘zombie’ leapt to my mind. In every interaction I had had with the woman’s granddaughter before tonight, she had been so careful not to use that term. She used other, more romantic euphemisms such as ‘bring back to the land of the living’, ‘re-associate with life’, and the most used - ‘rebirth’. But that’s what he would be, right? When we moved past the flowery vernacular and got right down to it? This potion I had pocketed would turn my husband into the walking dead, - a simple-minded creature that was once deposed from this Earth.

And that meant ‘zombie’.

As if I had nothing more pressing at hand, I suddenly recalled the Walking Dead marathon Crowley had convinced me to watch (against my better judgement). Crowley thought the show was hilarious, but I could barely make it to the middle of the first season. I had started watching with my hands over my eyes, then with my arm locked around Crowley’s, anxiously smacking his shoulder, and finally with most of my body lying over his lap and my face buried in his shirt.

It wasn’t just the gore in the show that skewered me, made me nauseous, unable to breathe. It was the fear and the pain those characters felt, being chased by a relentless enemy that needed no rest, constantly running into people they couldn’t trust, people who were so out for themselves they no longer believed in the sanctity of life, with nowhere to hide, nowhere safe at all, even behind thick, concrete and metal walls.

Watching your loved ones get turned into soulless monsters - still there, but everything about them that you had once loved out of reach.

And this ‘illness’ or whatever these people had - it spared no one. Even children had become zombies. And in the game that was survival for the remaining uninfected, children had become pawns.

Everything about it seemed so horrendous.

And while I suffered through my existential crisis, Crowley laughed at my antics.

I fought not to smile at the sound of his teasing voice.

“Uh … a little squeamish there, are you, angel?”

Angel.

From the first day we met, that’s what he called me.

Oh, what I wouldn’t give to hear him call me that again!

The old woman chuckled, bringing me reluctantly back from my daydream. “No. Not in this case. That’s not the nature of this spell. No, blood will give him back his memories.”

I looked at the woman, bug-eyed, and shook my head. “I … I don’t …”

“It will ignite his brain. He will begin to feel. In many ways, he will become more the man you married than in any other.”

“Wha---?“ I stuttered, baffled as to how that could be a bad thing. If drinking blood could make Crowley more Crowley, I’d set up an IV drip the minute I got home! I would serve him cups of blood with every meal! I’d make donating blood a requirement for entrance into my bookshop! (That one would definitely kill two birds with one stone. In fact, I might consider doing that anyhow.) “And why wouldn’t I want that again?” I asked, trying not to sound like turning my husband into a blood-sipping fiend was the greatest idea in known history.

The old woman smiled, but it wasn’t fond. It was shrewd, as if she could read every one of my thoughts.

And she didn’t approve.

“Once he has his memories back, he will start to crave it. Soon, drinking blood won’t be enough for him. It won’t work as well. It won’t keep the memories as fresh. He will have to go further, do more. He will become a killer.”

My face must have gone as green as I felt because the woman laughed again, this time with a touch of wickedness. A killer? My Crowley? My sweet, kind, compassionate Crowley?

Okay, maybe I was going too far with the endearments. He’d been a bit of a bastard, after all. Which was why I could picture Crowley becoming a full-fledged bad boy. With that leather jacket he wore like a second skin and his gleaming classic car, he’d been well on his way.

But a killer? No.

Then again, I was willing to become one myself a second ago, so maybe I wasn’t in the best position to judge.

“You are playing with the laws of nature, Mr. Fell,” she said, patting me on the cheek. “You are responsible not only for your own life, but for the lives of those around you.” The woman leaned in close, those eyes – one alive, one dead - more menacing than when I had walked into the shop; her face no longer that of a frail old woman but of a powerful witch.

This time, it was my turn to feel afraid.

“So don’t fuck it up.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #tricketyboo2020 #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #Crowley

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yikesharringrove · 4 years

Note

billy loves it when he's fucking too steve that he starts using his italian accent on the bed (i like to imagine that his mom from Steve is descended from italian)

II really headcanon that too, I’ve included it a little bit in drabbles and stuff. I’ve thought A LOT about Steve’s mom, but I didn’t but in ALL of my headcanons about her in this bc that feels like So Much.

This was gonna be Soft Shit and then Bily got horny and I have no control over these boys ever.

Translation for Italian will be at the end, I’m sorry if it’s wrong I got it from a list of Italian Phrases bc that is Not a language I speak, so my apologies to any Italian-speakers out there who are tearing out their hair.

Read on ao3!

When it happened, Billy didn’t know what the fuck was going on. He had been plowing Steve, taking him hard and fast when Steve’s babbling, the incoherent words Billy loved to hear spilling outta Steve, changed.

The words slipped into something Billy literally couldn’t understand, accent heavy, words buttery soft.

They were laying in their own mess when Billy asked.

“What happened to you there, Pretty Boy?” Steve was laying on Billy, his head resting sweetly on his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“When we were fuckin’. You started like, going off. I had no idea what in the fuck you were saying.” Steve’s eyes were wide.

“Oh, fuck. I think I slipped into Italian? I honestly don’t remember, Bil, but like, sometimes that happens, the words just kinda scramble in my brain.”

“Sorry, you speak Italian?”

“Yeah, my mom’s from Venice. I didn’t speak English until I went to kindergarten.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. She met my dad in, Rome, I think? He was studying abroad or something. When I was born, she would only hire nannies that spoke Italian so that it would be my first language. Even now she gets kinda mad if I speak to her in English, she’ll get all pissy and start ranting about how I have rejected my heritage. It’s a lot.” He slipped into a thick accent, imitating his mother with his own natural lilt. “Stefano, WHY must you spit on me, on your blood.”

“Sorry, Stefano?”

“Yeah, my dad wanted an Anglican name, my mom wanted an Italian name, so I am officially Stefano Alessandro Luzaztto-Harrington, but when my dad is being an asshole I’m Steven Alexander Harrington.”

“Why didn’t I know this about you?”

“I don’t know, it’s just not something that’s like, the first thing I talk about. Plus she’s never here, so it’s not like you would hear it a lot.”

“She go to Italy a lot? That why she and your dad are always gone?”

“They spend about half the year there, they have a place in Venice.”

“How do your parents have a fucking home in Venice, Italy, and you’ve never even left the state of Indiana?”

“That’s because they don’t like, actually like me or whatever.” Billy knew this story, knew about how coldly Steve’s mother would address him, how she has admitted to never loving him. He just held Steve tighter, kissed the top of his head.

“We could go.” He popped his head up.

“What?”

“You and me. We can save up, stay in a youth hostel or something, go to Italy. See your lands or whatever.” Steve’s eyes were wide, a little bit misty.

“You would, you would do that for me?”

“Pretty Boy, I would do anything for you. Literally fucking anything.” Steve snuggled back down.

“Voglio passare il resto della mia.” Billy practically purred.

“Say more, keep talking.”

“Siamo fatti l’uno all’atra.” Billy flipped them over, kissing Steve’s neck, his chest. “Mi sono innamorata di te.”

“God, Pretty Boy. You have no idea what that’s doing to me.” Steve did have an idea what it was doing to Billy, could feel it against his hip.

“Ti penso sempre.” Billy moaned, dipping his head to lick and suck down Steve’s stomach. “Sono dipendente dei tuoi baci.”

“Tell me more, Sweet Thing.” Steve gasped as Billy took him in his mouth, sucking him deep. His hands threaded into Billy’s hair, feeling the silky curls wrap around his fingers, pushing slightly.

“Voglio la tua testa fra le gambe. Mi fai eccitare.” He moaned out, Billy moving his legs up to get at his hole, prodding it with his tongue, tasting cum and lube and Steve. “Sei sempre nel mio cuore.” He was babbling away anything that came into his brain, the languages skewing together. “Billy, Voglio che mi scopi.” He whined, high in his throat. “Fammelo sentire dentro.”

“So beautiful, so perfect for me.” He ran his hand up Steve’s thighs, opening them and folding them up to his chest, coming back up to Steve’s level, kissing deeply into his mouth, loving the soft noises Steve made when he pressed in.

Steve was drooling, his words coming quickly and steadily, English mixing with Italian as he flushed, whimpering, brows furrowed, Billy taking his cock in his free hand, watching Steve writhe.

“I’m close, Bill, non fermarti.”

Watching Steve cum, feeling Steve cum always pushed Billy over the edge, always had him spilling out.

They lay together, soaked in cum and sweat, Steve’s head back on Billy’s chest.

“Ti amo. Non ho mai amato nessuno come io amo te.” He was sleepy, letting himself drift off on Billy, feeling his blunt nails scratch lightly on his scalp.

Italian phrases, listed in the order used:

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”“We’re made for each other.”“I have fallen in love with you.”“I’m always thinking about you.”“I am addicted to your kisses.”“I want your head between my legs.”“You turn me on.”“You’re always in my heart.”“I want you to fuck me.”“Let me feel you inside.”“Don’t stop.”“I love you. I have never loved anyone like I love you.”

#yikes writes #harringrove #steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble

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peremadeleine · 5 years

Text

The novel I'm currently reading is set in Renaissance Florence, and it's gotten me thinking about the Hannibal film. I know I've done (more than) my fair share of whining about the NBC show. Hannibal (2001), though, is its own kind of awful.

Hannibal is by far my favorite of the original three novels. (It’s also the one with the lowest aggregate ratings...go figure.) However, with hindsight, it's easy to see that the film adaptation was not destined to become the stuff of legend like its predecessor The Silence of the Lambs. It was missing three of the key (Oscar-winning) ingredients: director Jonathan Demme, the wonderfully faithful pen of screenwriter Ted Tally, and the earnest determination of Jodie Foster as our heroine.

But! It still had plenty of things going for it. It had master actors--Gary Oldman and of course Anthony Hopkins revising his most (in)famous role--and solid actors, too, like Julianne Moore, who’s serviceable in the lead if not as passionate and iconic as Foster. It had an accomplished director, one at least capable of greatness, in Ridley Scott, and it had living legend Hans Zimmer as its composer. It should have been entertaining, at least, and well-made.

Yet with all these high-quality ingredients, it not only falls far short of Silence--not only fails to adequately tell the novel's story... It fails on a more fundamental level by not even being a good film.

And here's where Florence comes back into it: part of the reason why it fails is, I think the frankly awful cinematography.

Setting Hannibal's half of the story in Florence was a stroke of brilliance on the part of author Thomas Harris. Florence, the cradle of the Renaissance, capital of Tuscany, birthplace of Dante (from whose Divine Comedy this series took such inspiration) and of Machiavelli, home of more art, music, architecture, and history--and of course wine--than you can shake a stick at--full, too, of mystery, corruption, and violence. Is this not the perfect place to meet anew Hannibal Lecter, Renaissance man, amateur artist, lover of opera and architecture--and of course of wine? Is it not also the equally perfect place to meet Hannibal Lecter, monster, a mysterious man of violent, even deadly, whims?

tl;dr Hannibal is, in a way, a kind of human embodiment of Florence. It’s why he’s such a fascinating character: he’s cultured and three-dimensional and interesting not because he’s a serial killer, but in spite of it. The serial killer part is almost an aside.

And the contrast here, between Hannibal in Florence and Clarice Starling in the U.S., is entirely intentional: our heroine Clarice, the ambitious young woman who ended the previous novel as a savior and rising star, is now trapped in a "little lowceiling life" and a failing career. Hannibal, meanwhile, occupies a literal palace with high ceilings ("the height of the room disappears into darkness"). Florence is not the ultimate paradise of the story, the setting of Hannibal and Clarice's happily ever after, but it is still a far cry from the dark basement office currently occupied by Clarice, or indeed from the dark basement cell in the now-abandoned Baltimore hospital which she visits early in the novel.

A lot of things in the Hannibal novel did not make it from the page to the screen. Some would've been harder to translate visually than others. However, this striking contrast between a "little lowcieling" existence and a high-ceiling'd, palatial one should have been even more effective on film. It is, after all, more a visual contrast than anything. Clarice's story is set in dark, soulless offices and a barely-lived-in apartment; Hannibal's, in one of the most vibrant and storied cities in Europe.

But...

...the filmmakers somehow get it backwards! As depicted in Hannibal, Florence is desaturated, seen through a strange bluish, low-contrast filter that makes it a strangely monochromatic--quite an odd way to present a famously warm-toned city in the heart of Tuscany.

(I liked Blade Runner, too, Ridley Scott, but chill.)

Shot this way, Washington D.C., even the Hoover building (which is anything but an architectural masterpiece), looks more appealing, or at least brighter and less foreboding, than the Florentine cityscapes. While this D.C. may not be as aesthetically pleasing as a centuries-old Italian city, with its trees and actual colors, nor is it as cold, hard, or unfeeling.

In other words, a good deal of the movie is just kind of ugly.

These cinematographic choices are more puzzling still since, over the course of the story, Clarice is (in theory!) coming to the conclusion that nothing is left for her in the Bureau, nor, ultimately, in the United States at all. Her life has become a kind of prison, and by making the choice to accompany Hannibal--and to take him as her lover--she frees herself. More importantly, she begins to live for herself in a way she hasn’t done before.

Yet in the film, Hannibal’s life, his world, appear just as dark and unwelcoming as Clarice’s.

Just for the hell of it, here’s a comparison of two unedited-by-me shots of Florence, one from Hannibal (top) and the other a photo from a similar angle.

I tried to choose a photo of the same image with as-similar-as-possible lighting and that wasn’t oversaturated (there are many photos of the Florentine skyline with a great deal more color)...and it’s still twice as bright & colorful as what’s shown in Hannibal.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t much matter to the story that Hannibal’s Florence is a grim, monochromatic place, because the film alters the novel’s ending so as to make it unrecognizable. If Clarice Starling does not escape her psychological and emotional chains and chase freedom with him, our titular character represents...what, exactly? And what is the purpose of the larger story? Where is the Paradiso at the end of this Divine Comedy? Neither main character grows or changes (Hannibal’s all-important backstory is, in fact, erased entirely); neither seems to learn anything, nor to get anything they desire (save, perhaps, the deaths of Verger and Krendler). So presenting Florence as dark and dull doesn’t make much of a difference. The story simply isn’t there.

But if the sanitized script--a screenplay which stripped from Harris’ story every important element*--was the cancerous growth that sucked any and all narrative significance from the reels of Ridley Scott’s Hannibal, maybe the cinematography was an ugly, early symptom.

That, and those baggy-ass suits they stuck on poor Sir Tony. No wonder he spent most of the movie chewing gum and looking bored.

*John Brigham’s death, Jack Crawford and his defense of Clarice, Mischa and her death, Ardelia Mapp, Clarice’s psychotropic therapy and her subsequent choice to be with a man she sees as her equal and her partner in all senses of the word...

#hannibal 2001 #hannibal meta #hannibal film #hannibal movie #hannibal wank #long post below the cut #and lots of rambling and analysis of this ugly trainwreck of a film #thanks to Bunnies for looking over this before I posted it!

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makeste · 5 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 221: What’s Up, Doc

Previously on BnHA: We caught up with everyone’s favorite squad of homicidal misfits some six-odd weeks before the start of the current arc. Tomura and the gang were straight up broke, squatting in a condemned building somewhere out in the mountains and raiding racist secret societies to steal their shit. As it turns out, having no money and no sense of direction or purpose starts to weigh on one’s soul after a while, and Spinner in particular seemed to be having a bit of a hard time, since he only joined the League because of Stain. Just when it looked like we might be in for a bit of internal strife, our friend Gigantomachia literally tore the door down, announced he was there to meet AFO’s successor, and then demanded for him to prove that he was worthy. Which is how the League found themselves getting their asses kicked by this sobbing giant rock man as he lamented over how weak they were. The chapter ended with Giganto’s discarded radio trying to get Tomura’s attention. Apparently the voice on the other end belongs to none other than AFO’s personal physician, a mysterious man known only as “the doctor” who is behind the creation of the Noumus.

Today on BnHA: The doc explains that Gigantomachia is All for One’s former bodyguard and one of the people AFO trusted the most. AFO hid him away a few years back, anticipating his own eventual defeat. Unfortunately, Giganto’s unfailing loyalty to AFO has made him unwilling to accept anyone who doesn’t live up to his former master. For the time being, the doc calms him down by playing a recording of AFO’s voice. He then proceeds to teleport the entire League to his hideout using the black sludge warping quirk. Over at the hideout, we see that the doc is in fact the spitting image of Deku’s old doctor from chapter 1, pretty much confirming a long-held fan theory. Also, this dude’s got no fewer than 12 motherfucking High-End Noumus floating around in tanks. The doc introduces himself as Ujiko Daruma (which even he admits is a fake name), and he tells Tomura that he summoned him and his gang because he wants Tomura to prove he’s worth. Anyway so during this chapter I proceeded to lose my shit like 1700 times, and tbh even rereading it now it still gets me hyped up. Oh my freaking god.

(As always, all comments not marked with an ETA are my mostly-unspoiled reactions from my first readthrough of this chapter. I’m caught up with the manga now at chapter 226, so any ETAs will reflect that.)

oh my god

safe to say that “hyped as fuck” is a pretty accurate description of what I’m feeling right now

lol what the

Horikoshi, PSA, that’s not how radios work. were you perhaps thinking of cell phones? or walkie-talkies??

then again I suppose this might be some fancy schmancy radio FROM THE FUTURE or whatever

oh shit Tomura ain’t even joking though

giganto smash

I can’t believe Shigaraki Tomura is fucking dead. so much for your successor AFO

nah just kidding, he’s fine, at least presuming that he’s able to somehow land safely after all... this

guess we know what happened to poor Naomasa and that mountainside now

anyway, so guys. shit like this? is why Deku fucking needs to power the fuck up though. friendly reminder that the current #1 hero almost lost to fucking Hide and Seek Noumu. meanwhile this guy is out here leveling countrysides with a single Goron Pound. even Gran Torino wasn’t able to touch him. literally if our boy doesn’t get his Avatar State on soon the heroes are going to be in very bad shape here

anyway, so Giganto is still sobbing, and shouting to All for One (he can’t hear you, bro) that he wants to accept Tomura but he just can’t

okay but consider reading chapters 159 and 160 and then coming back and letting me know if you’ve had a change of heart. I’m just saying. he fucked up Overhaul something fierce and he deserves some credit. even if it was all just so he could steal Overhaul’s evil plan all for himself. because he has yet to come up with any kind of decent evil plan of his own. because between you and me, I don’t think he’s quite cut out for -- you know what, shit. maybe you’re onto something after all

so now Tomura is having a hilarious conversation with this sobbing rock man and a radio while still in mid-air

-- RECORD SCRATCH. FREEZE FRAME

SAY WHAT NOW. BACK THE FUCK UP, PRAYTELL??

are you saying this guy is the original Talking Noumu?? did AFO give him multiple quirks? is he like Wolverine or something and he’s got like a healing factor that can take a licking and keep on ticking? so they got all excited and loaded him up? ARE YOU EVEN REALLY MADE OF ROCK, FRIEND, OR IS THAT JUST ANOTHER ONE OF YOUR LIES

(ETA: I think this translation is wrong, actually; Viz’s translation says that Giganto is strong enough to be AFO’s bodyguard even without multiple quirks. in other words, he’s as strong as a Noumu without actually being one. which is arguably just as much of a shocking statement though.)

anyway so What’s Up Doc is continuing to explain Giganto’s life story so let’s un-freeze that frame

more evidence that AFO was taking steps to ensure himself a line of succession even before meeting Tomura. AFO have you ever seen Guardians of the Galaxy 2? spoiler alert, you know how Peter’s dad went and had a bunch of kids with people of all different species in order to try and create offspring that carried the same power as him, so he could use them to destroy the galaxy and shit? well my question for you is Did You Do That Exact Same Thing, Minus The Galaxy-Destroying Part. huh. huh

anyway now Dabi’s weighing in

and What’s Up Doc is all

“yep! we fucked up!!”

lol he says Giganto’s loyalty is too strong for his own good. went a bit overboard did we AFO

and nice lowkey Tomura burn as well. he says that Giganto is despairing at the “huge gap” between AFO and Tomura

so now Dabi is all “okay so we just have to do our best to kick his ass until he likes us?”

and he’s firing some flames, looking like he’s not exactly opposed to the thought

but WUD is saying that’s impossible, oh damn

what the

the hell was that click?? did he just hang up??

doesn’t seem that way, so... hmm. does he maybe have Giganto conditioned to respond to certain sounds or something? Pavlov-style?

(ETA: this really reminds me of the Avengers doing that “hey big guy, sun’s getting real low” lullaby thing with the Hulk lol.)

did he just shrink back down to size

um, what

should we... give him a moment

ohhhhhhhhhh

well that explains it then. no wonder they had him with the radio strapped around his neck

I wonder what would happen if they found out Mina was also capable of calming him down. Giganto whisperer. if SIXQUIRKS Deku ultimately fails, she may just be our last hope

and Tomura, shush. we’ve been waiting for him to join your party since chapter 50-something. this is literally years in the making. it took you time to warm up to your other misfits too, so you shut up and you deal with it

last observation before I click to the next page: is Giganto not wearing any pants. because. it looks to me like he’s not wearing any pants. just saying. um. ...

(ETA: you guys this makes me so uncomfortable though.)

OH SHIT WUD is calling Tomura out!!

AS THE PHILOSOPHER JAGGER ONCE SAID, “YOU CAN’T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT”

fucking look at that halo of realization surrounding Tomura at this concept, though

wow he’s taking it better than I thought though

I’m not sure what Tomura’s relationship with WUD is, but up until this point I can’t recall him ever actually listening to another character and not throwing a tantrum even when they tell him something he doesn’t want to hear. like, he listened to Kurogiri more or less, but bitched about it endlessly when he didn’t like it. and even with AFO he would whine until he got his way

and yet here WUD is straight up telling him “AFO done spoiled you, kid�� and he’s just like “ouch. that’s pretty harsh” but at the same time just... accepting it. Tomura you’ve done quite a bit of growing up, haven’t you?

and I think part of it is also that he’s probably been coming to these realizations on his own as well, but not really wanting to accept them yet. but he’s not stupid; what with their recent troubles it was probably starting to sink in just how good he’d had it earlier

anyway, so now WUD is saying “a moment please” and I guess he’s going off to do something

DFAKLSDJFLAKSD

HOLY SHIT IT’S THE BLACK OOZE WARP AGAIN

ARE WE FINALLY GOING TO MEET THE MYSTERIOUS UJIKO PLEASE SAY YES OH MY GOD OH SHIT

holy shit

so even they don’t know what’s going on. well I’m glad that someone is finally having the same freaking-the-fuck-out reaction that I did back in chapter 191 but no one else seemed to share my shock or concern even though WHAT THE FUCK YOU GUYS

so quick reminder that this quirk works by teleporting the user a short-range distance (supposedly; I think the limit was 5km) either toward the quirk-user, or toward someone with whom the user is well-acquainted with. so presumably that means that whoever’s using the quirk is closer to them than they think, and also this person is with the doc right now

(ETA: though on further reflection I think that AFO’s may have just had limited range because he’d just acquired it. it must be one of those quirks that you can power up with time and practice. 5km is way too limited of a range given how this quirk has been used the last few times we’ve seen it.)

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

HOLY SHIT IT REALLY IS HIM!?!?!

holy fucking shit holy shit oh my god holy shit

this is Deku’s quirk doctor. that’s him, 100%. Tsubasa’s grandpa, who 100% confirmed turned his grandson into a Noumu. and who is now confirmed to be AFO’s personal doctor. and just happened to be hanging out in Musutafu conducting quirk tests on our protagonist when he was a young child

you guys I’m calling it -- Dad for One just went up to 50% likelihood. we are up to a 1 in 2 chance of this shit being confirmed as fucking canon. we have officially reached the point where these are confirmed to no longer be coincidences, or reaching for something that isn’t actually there. this is now either deliberate misdirection on Horikoshi’s part... or. it’s fucking true

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

(ETA: that was a four-page quadruple fucking whammy you guys. shock after fucking shock. this chapter is amazing.)

oh my god!?!?!

okay so first of all, is that Hyped Up Noumu there on the far right?? it’s the same head, for sure. doesn’t quite look exactly the same as the final version, though. so maybe just a brother or cousin, or maybe he was incomplete

and we’ve got our first female Noumu as well! League of Villains doesn’t discriminate! nope

two of these Noumus appear to be missing the lower halves of their legs. friendly reminder that these were once normal people -- quite possibly children -- and we don’t know how much they can actually still feel. this is fucking horrifying and I’m not even joking, it’s fairly sickening to think about

I’m trying to see if I can identify any other familiar quirks, but so far it’s a no. I will point out that that one Noumu second from the left appears to have multiple Xenomorph heads. enjoy your nightmares kids

and last, these are all black Noumus, a.k.a. the special super-powerful kind. and there are at least a dozen here that we can see

so once again, just throwing it out there -- we might just be in need of a superpowered OFA kid with SIXQUIRKS once shit hits the fan and the fucking APOCALYPSE breaks loose or whatever the fuck this is all building up to, holy fucking shit

I’m seriously fucking stunned, though. leave it to Horikoshi to have me dropping my jaw to the floor on one page and then making my eyes fucking bug out of their sockets with the next

and so the heroes, as it turns out, did not even come close to unpacking all of AFO’s secrets. didn’t that one cop say way back in like chapter 96 that it was almost like he’d wanted the police to find that warehouse, and that it almost seemed too easy? so now this is evidence that everything -- basically all of Kamino -- was actually all according to AFO’s plan, and he intentionally let that hideout fall into the heroes’ hands. and even more terrifyingly, he most likely intentionally let himself get captured and it’s all part of a long con that he is currently enjoying the shit out of

tl;dr we’re screwed

anyways I think that’s all the freaking out and speculation and weak-attempts-at-analysis I can squeeze out from this two page spread for now. so let’s finish up the rest of the chapter then

so we’re getting confirmation now that Tomura has never been here before

oh my god the shock is finally wearing down and being replaced by HYPPPPPPPPE you guys...!!

so Doctor Eggman here is cackling and confirming that these are indeed not your everyday Noumu

“these children” oh my god

I suddenly feel the urge to go and hug all my U.A. babies. god bless them and please keep them safe! and I feel a particularly urgent need to hug my boy Katsuki especially, because yet again I got to wondering just what would have happened to him if he hadn’t been rescued, if All Might and the Pizza Delivery Team hadn’t come right when they did. and if he’d still refused to join Tomura. and just... shit

and one last friendly reminder that Tsubasa was Katsuki’s friend. the two of them were colossal assholes to Deku together (or well, Katsuki was an asshole and Tsubasa just followed him around smiling, mostly) when they were only four years old. there is a decent chance he’s actually met this man in the context of him being Tsubasa’s grandfather (not that he’d recognize the face given how little attention he pays to these things). and of course, Deku has met him face to face as well -- this is the man that completely altered the course of his life from age 4 through 14

sorry I keep getting so sidetracked guys, but this chapter just portends. y’know? this is some ominous foreshadowing fucking destiny shit. like, this seriously just became one of the most important plot chapters in the entire series. and just, we are finally, finally on to big things once again, and ffffffffffff but I’m so excited I can’t even fucking sit still

sdlfkjsadlkflSLDFHHSDKHFLKHLKJLKJ

THE HANDS. THE FUCKING -- HOLY SHIT

and also! he’s going to duplicate the fucking PERMANENT QUIRK-BE-GONE AHHHHHHH

this just got so much worse. everything. so much fucking worse

honestly starting to feel like six quirks may not actually be enough

anyway, so Compress is squinting and saying that he can’t clearly make out Eggman’s face “what with that backlight”

and. uh

hahaha well fuck. okay then

and Twice is all “jesus christ okay then dude, you’re the one who fucking brought us here to begin with”

and yeah, speaking of. care to explain that?? ever???

all right, so Eggman’s saying that he teleported them there because he doesn’t want to reveal his location

DLSAFHOIHW

so he’s Ujiko??? well shit, there goes the possibility of Ujiko being a lady villain. sorry Toga. still all you, Best Girl

after this I’ll have to go check out Caleb Cook’s twitter to see what he has to say about the name, given that Ujiko claims to have made it up on the spot just now

(ETA: here:

so basically his way of saying he’s AFO’s disciple, I guess.)

anyway, so now he’s saying that the reason he called Tomura here was out of respect for some arrangement that he had with AFO

I’m gonna assume that AFO was procuring quirks for him to aid in his research

oh my god you guys

it just occurred to me that this arc? might be Tomura’s version of getting his own power-ups similar to what Deku’s gotten recently. gotta keep that playing field level after all

lol oh damn

so this is like a Price is Right showcase. all this can be yours, if...

so what are you gonna do now, Tomura. ball’s in your court

and that’s the end of the chapter. oh my god

how many chapters into this arc are we actually?? and already we’ve got the Detnerat shit; Shouto and Katsuki finally getting their licenses (KACCHAN WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO CONFIRM YOUR HERO NAME???); and now these last two incredible League of Villain plot chapters. it’s been like five chapters, and this arc is already like a top three. absolutely incredible

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nadziejastar · 6 years

Note

You know why the Seekers having high levels of agency makes no sense? Because Xehanort wanted Sora as one! It's a plot point that doesn't work unless you assume that some level of mind control is involved.

LOL, exactly. How are you going to make Sora of all people a Seeker of Darkness if they are not just Xehanort’s puppets? What was the point of even going after someone like him? He would never help the bad guys willingly. So Xehanort obviously has to be able to fully control them on a whim. This is also a subject I had been meaning to write about.

KH3D ended with Xehanort NOT getting Sora, leaving him one Seeker short. Ooh, that’s exciting, now what’s he gonna do? I thought that his search for the final Seeker would have been a big part of KH3′s plot. But it really wasn’t. I thought that was so anticlimactic.By the time KH3 rolled around, Xehanort had so many Seekers lined up that he even had reserve members.

It’s funny. I remember a lot of people complaining about how all the villains got an undeserved redemption in KH3. After spending the whole game helping Xehanort, they randomly give a heartfelt speech at the very end. So, only once Sora defeats them do they grow a conscience? Everyone was asking why they didn’t have any remorse before.

There’s a big pillar of darkness that leaves their body after they’re beaten. It’s almost like that would have been Xehanort’s heart and darkness leaving them; thus, they’d no longer be controlled once it’s gone. They’d have their own minds and hearts back again. So, in that context, their little speeches would have actually made sense. I’m sure that was originally the idea, at least for characters like characters like Saix and Luxord. But when you have the characters acting in full control of themselves the entire time beforehand, these scenes seem ridiculous and lose all of their meaning.

Master Xehanort: All of this was decided. My twelve selves would welcome me here on this day, when I would return a complete person. It is the future which lies beyond my sight.

The story made it clear that not just anyone can become a Seeker of Darkness. He literally calls them his 12 selves. It apparently takes a very specific type of person to make a suitable vessel for Xehanort’s heart. That’s why most of them are Xehanort’s own alter egos; extensions of himself. His old self, his young self, his Heartless, his Nobody. Terranort and young Riku are also Xehanort, just while he’s possessing other people’s bodies.Vanitas is a being born of pure darkness. Only the strongest vessels can handle a heart like Xehanort’s. That’s why he targeted Terra in the first place.

Sora: Make more Xehanorts? You tricked your friends to… But you–aren’t you scared of just turning into someone else?

Xigbar: Me? I’m already half Xehanort.

Sora: That’s nuts…

KH3D also stressed the consequences of getting Xehanort’d. A totally willing person immersed in darkness is a candidate (if they are strong enough). But you’d have to be willing to sacrifice part of yourself; your identity, your mind, your agency. Few are crazy enough to do that. Braig just happens to be that nuts. But the rest?

Xigbar: Xemnas and Xehanort formed the Organization for a specific reason–round up a bunch of empty husks, hook them up to Kingdom Hearts, then fill them all with the exact same heart and mind. Translation–they were gonna turn all the members into Xehanort.

Xemnas: However–through weakness of body…weakness of will…or weakness of trust–most of the original members we had chosen for the Organization were inadequate. Thus, naturally, they never had a chance to attain their goal. Yet, even this was to be expected. We have learned of the heart’s folly, and we have achieved our other goals.

Xemnas never considered most of them truly worthy vessels. He needed to use the power of a fully completed artificial Kingdom Hearts, just to be able to use them as vessels… and even still they weren’t worthy. Xemnas says as much, and that they had to resort to “other goals”. Sounds like he gave up on all of the old Organization, other than Xigbar and Saix.

Weakness of trust is something that is supposed to exclude them from being worthy. So why all of a sudden are Marluxia and Larxene back again? They didn’t seem to be controlled exactly. But they didn’t seem to be willing participants either. There’s no way they trust Xehanort, though. He said he brought them to be Seekers due to their connection to the past and the Keyblade War. If they were so important to his plans, why did he send Larxene and Marluxia to get executed in Castle Oblivion for their treachery? It’s possible KH4 will answer this, but for now it makes little sense.

And if Xehanort can force unwilling people to be his vessels that easily, why didn’t Young Xehanort take any of the others with him when he took Isa? I just bought the BBS novel that came out a few days ago. I thought it was interesting how this little character blurb described Dilan. It says unlike Aeleus, he is adept at manipulating the hearts of others. Honestly Dilan sounded like a pretty bad person, even before Xehanort came along. That’s exactly the message I got from doing his weapon analysis, too. If anyone from the old Organization actually seemed like they would join the new Organization willingly, it would have been him and Braig. I am sure there was more to Dilan than what we got. He basically did nothing in KH3.

Aeleus: Dilan and Even are conscious again, but still unstable. They’re resting inside. -KH3D

Ienzo: He was recompleted like the rest of us, but he didn’t regain consciousness. After Lea left, he must have woken and taken his leave. -KH3

Then there’s this whole thing which I thought was weird. Aeleus specifically said that they both regained consciousness, but they were just unstable. And Ienzo is right there to hear this. He had to know. Yet in KH3, Ienzo says that he never regained consciousness.

I think there had to be a reason those two characters in particular were kept away from Lea in DDD. They were going to be important for something. The fact that Vexen and Demyx are “reserve” members just reeks of retconning. Like they were not supposed to be there originally and they didn’t know how to quite fit them into the story. So yeah, they’re just reserves. They even whine about getting “benched” which was really silly to me.

Besides Xehanort and Braig, I think Dilan and Even were the apprentices that were the most heavily involved in Lea’s dark past and the human experiments. That’s why he wasn’t allowed to interact with them yet. They knew the truth about Isa. Even probably was not willingly involved, and would feel remorseful to Lea. And he probably would have confessed the truth about Isa. It was necessary to the plot for him to be kept away from Lea. That’s my theory.

Xehanort: Roxas… Now, there was a worthy candidate. But, unfortunately, he became too aware of himself, and returned to Sora. Organization XIII’s goal is to divide Xehanort’s heart among thirteen vessels. Thanks to you and Sora, we learned not all our candidates were fit for the task.

As for completely unwilling people being made into Seekers, they would need to be totally steeped in darkness, like Terra, where Xehanort can basically just hijack their body. But Terra put up way too much of a fight, and he couldn’t risk that again; Xehanort learned from that mistake. That’s why Roxas was a good candidate at first. He started off so spacey, and without much awareness. Of course, he didn’t stay that way for long.

I shall conduct the following experiments:

Extract the darkness from a person’s heart.

Cultivate darkness in a pure heart.

Both suppress and amplify the darkness within.

The experiments caused the test subject’s heart to collapse, including those of the most stalwart. How fragile our hearts are! My treatment produced no signs of recovery. -Ansem’s Report

Weakness of will is another issue. It is very tricky to make the person vulnerable to possession, but not have their heart totally collapse. If their heart collapses, they are too broken to use.If your’e too far gone, you’re no good; there is a point of no return. That’s basically how Xehanort viewed Ventus at the beginning of BBS. I think that’s why Xemnas was so desperate to find Ventus in 358/2 Days. His body was asleep, and his heart was elsewhere. He’s totally vacant, but his heart was not collapsed or broken thanks to Sora. Roxas became too aware, but Ven was a perfect vessel.

Xemnas: Our experiments creating Heartless were attempts to control the mind, and convince it to renounce its sense of self.

What it ultimately comes down to is: Xehanort needs a person who is devoid of a sense of self. Not broken; just lacking the mental capacity to reject his heart. The fact that Xehanort was resorting to mind control experiments shows how desperate he was to find someone like this, and how difficult it is to use someone as a vessel for his heart. And this is why I think Isa being “Subject X” is the only thing that actually makes sense to me. I mean, just look at how Nomura chose to draw him in the official artworks. He’s the only Organization member that just stares blankly ahead, while everyone else makes eye contact with the “camera”. That blank look is so similar to people who’ve lost their heart, like Kairi and Ventus.

It’s worth mentioning that the localization team chose the name “Recusant’s Sigil” for the “X” mark. When you recuse yourself, you remove yourself from a situation to avoid a conflict.A recusant is a person who refuses to submit to an authority or to comply with a regulation. That’s the exact opposite of what Xehanort would want in a person. It sounds like the “X” is something akin to a punishment for having too much of a sense of self. It’s a brand of ownership meant to break the person’s will. So I think if anything, Isa must have put up one heck of a fight before he recused himself. He definitely didn’t seem to have the “weakness of will” problem. Which is probably why he was so special. He had such a strong will that he lost his sense of self, but he didn’t completely break like everyone else did. He was a great vessel in that regard. “Subject X” possess all the qualities of an ideal vessel.

I mentioned this on the previous post about Axel, but deities like Shiva are often depicted with a dot directly between the eyebrows. This is significant because this is where the pineal gland is located, which is said to activate the Third Eye chakra on the forehead. It is also called the mind’s eye because it is the direct link between the mind and the physical world. It is also regarded as the highest feminine energy center in the body and the portal to the The Higher Self. This is generally regarded as a union with the divine source. Similar to the notion of the soul, basically. The true spiritual self. It is truly interesting to me that Saix’s scar is located directly between his eyebrows.

The symbol of death is situated directly on the source of his mind and soul. There’s no way that was just a coincidence. Also, it always seemed significant to me that Xemnas was covering Saix’s mouth in that picture. Nobody else in any of the official artwork has part of their face covered like that. It immediately stood out to me, since Saix was right up front and center in the illustration with Xemnas. Artists don’t just cover up a large part of a character’s face like that for no reason. I think it’s very symbolic that Xemans is covering Saix’s Throat chakra. Its emphasis is on communication and projecting authenticity into the world. When it is in balance we can express what we think and what we feel.

A question about Terranort. Ansem and Xemnas came from the splitting of Terranort. Does that mean that when they were defeated in KH1 and KH2, Terra was revived alongside Master Xehanort?

Nomura: By all rights, Terra should have been revived as himself at that point in time. However, his heart was still in the clutches of Xehanort, and it was unable to go back, and the shell of his body was the only thing that revived. Then, Xehanort brought the heart of Terranort from the past and put it in that shell of a body he once controlled.

If Isa’s heart had also been swallowed by Xehanort’s (which is what’s supposed to happen to those who get Xehanort’d) then it made perfect sense that they took him and only him. His heart wasn’t in his body. It was “captured”, as Nomura said. His body was just an empty shell, like Terra’s. A perfect empty vessel just waiting to be filled.

I thought I’d never see the word “replica” again. Any rational man would realize the Riku Replica was not likely unique, but I’m the only one in the Organization who knew of his exceptional copying functionality, and that he ultimately formed a sense of self. -Axel’s Report

Xemnas: The goal was to duplicate the Keyblade wielder’s memories, and through them, his powers–thus making them our own. Vexen oversaw the project at Castle Oblivion. However, our efforts were severely derailed by his unexpected demise. And this particular Replica–the one we called Xion–came to form an identity of her own.

Xemnas: We wanted the Key. Xion’s exposure to Roxas effected a transfer of its power, just as we had hoped. Had things stopped there, Xion would have been an unequivocal success. But then, through Roxas, Sora himself began to shape “it” into “her,” giving Xion a sense of identity. I was ready to scrap the whole project…

Lastly, I didn’t like the Deus ex Replica aspect of the story. How Xehanort could just use replicas to fill out his ranks. That was far too convenient, considering the Replica Program was an unfinished failure at the time of Vexen’s demise. Now he suddenly made that much progress so fast? Nah, I don’t buy it. The story made a big deal of this idea that the Replica Project was a failure, because even replicas will gain a sense of self over time.

#anti-kh3 #anti kh3 #kh3 spoilers #kh meta #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts meta #kh saix #kh isa #kh xehanort #kh org

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fantasticworldoffanfics · 6 years

Text

DEREK/STILES

——— (part 8) ——–

Fandom: TeenWolf

Even a longer list of fanfics :)….

top favourites, more top favourites, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

Whatever He Wants, Part Two

Author: GentlyWithAChainsaw, orphan_account

Summary: Stiles just adores being Derek's new omega.

Hey There Little Red...

Author: 1lostone

Summary: Stiles knew that agreeing to meet Lydia in the middle of the damn woods, in the middle of the damn night wasn't one of his best ideas. Really. He did.

Betting Body Part Series

Author: Therefore_dubious (orphan_account)

Part 1: A Bet's a Bet

Summary: Stiles loses a bet against Derek, which means he has to do everything Derek wants for 24 hours.

Part 2: A Bet’s a Bet’s a Bet

Summary: This time around Derek loses the bet.

A Ship Without a Mate

Author: sarcasmandirony

Summary: Stiles persuades Scott into checking out the old ship anchored by the docks, of which Derek is captain.

Settle Down

Author: wearing_tearing, whatthehale

Summary: Stiles is a struggling author barely making ends meet.Derek is a successful architect whose biological clock is ticking. Enter a surrogacy agency, two packs, and a particularly sticky and toe curling heat week and you get a match made in heaven.

Hello, Heartbreaker

Author: astoryaboutwar

Summary: It’s a popular joke among Alphas: fuck an Omega, get heartbreak on your hands. Omegas are fragile little emotional things, needy and whiny. Stiles refuses to become that, or to believe that he’s anything like that.Stiles and Derek have been fuckbuddies for a while when Derek loses his memories of the past three years - and them - in an accident.

Just Act Normal

Author: zosofi

Summary: If someone had told Stiles back in high school that he would be an Oscar winning actor by the time he turned 25, he would’ve probably told Scott to punch them. The thing is, though…they would’ve been right.Which makes returning to Beacon Hills, center of all that is supernatural and better left avoided, all the more awkward.

From the Wreckage

Author: SuperfluousEmi, Winchesterek

Summary: The only thing Stiles wanted was a little freedom. He wanted to be able to walk where he wanted in the forest, wanted to be able to do what he wanted when he wanted and most of all he wanted to be an adult, especially because he was one. The last thing he wanted was to feel trapped by the Argent's rules about curfew. He understood that there were werewolves and getting too close to the were-border was dangerous, but hell if he was going to let that stop him from having a little fun.Needless to say, fun was overrated and all Stiles wanted was to go home to his friends and father now.

Ain’t Nothing So Good As The Cake And Eating It

Author: sofonisba_found

Summary: Derek thinks he's doing alright in life, with his family at his side and a job he loves. Despite his family's concerns he remains adamant that he doesn't need a mate, afraid to take the risk of letting anyone close enough to try to hurt his family again. That is until he realizes that his true mate has been right under his nose for years, and that now through his inaction he may lose him.

Patterns of Intention

Author: drunktuesdays

Summary: Derek looked like the stuff of his deepest fantasies. His shirt was rumpled where Stiles had his hands in it, and he was breathing hard as well, chest heaving. His eyes—his eyes were glazed over and he looked stunned, like he’d been—like Stiles had—“No,” Stiles said, blood draining from his face. The word was croaky and felt like it had to be wrenched out of his chest. “God, no.”

Its Gotta Be A Teenage Love Story

Author: Niallerandhazzagirl89

Summary: Derek Hale is new to school, on his first day Stiles shows him around on his first day of school, they develop a fast friendship but as time goes on stiles finds him falling for his new best friend. Will the feelings be mutual?

Golden Boy

Author: trilliath

Summary: Apparently it still amuses his uncle to buy sex slaves for him, no matter how steadfastly he refuses to use them. Derek ducks into his tent with a resigned sigh, prepared to dress and reassign whatever new beauty Peter has bought him. They do make for loyal servants, so he can't really complain about Peter's 'gifts'. But it is annoying to deal with, to have to spend his evening sorting out a slave instead of being able to go right to bed. It's just something he has to learn to accept as a byproduct of serving alongside his uncle.But when he lays eyes on the boy laying amid his furs, he finds his breath catching in his throat. His skin is golden with the candle-light glimmering against the sheen of oil that has been slathered on his bared body. His lips are parted, and they work over inaudible words or sounds. His skin is flushed, nipples peaked and pierced with simple but unexpected golden rings. He's spectacularly beautiful in the candlelight. The many glowing candles that have been added to his usual lighting cast glittering edges and shadows, imbuing an almost unearthly golden color to his skin.It's enough that Derek hesitates.

Owned

Author: KattsEyeDemon, seekeronthepath

Summary: Derek raised his eyebrows as the man stumbled into the tent. Definitely not broken. “Kneel,” he ordered.

Lap Magnet

Author: Prairie_Grass

Summary: Wherein an ill-advised floral arrangement leads to a whole new definition of obliviousness, accidental mate-bonds, and far more sex and tropes than one fic really needs.orFive times Derek and Stiles didn’t notice how close they were (literally) and then a whole bunch of times when they did...

TOSKA

Author: DarkInsanity (Stereklenidus)

Summary: “Toska - noun /ˈtō-skə/ - Russian word roughly translated as sadness, melancholia, lugubriousness.At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody or something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness.This is what Stiles feels when he wakes up with Amnesia in a resistant camp. There are no zombies like we read in books or watch in movies. But A brute who calls himself the True Alpha and his followers have taken over Beacon Hills Dome usurping the mighty Demon Wolf.

Heathens

Author: haleinskibro

Summary: He began to drift off, eyes drooping down farther and staying closed for longer each time. He was almost asleep when he started to hear a noise, a voice saying something to faint for him to decipher. But, slowly, the voice got louder, more defined, words coming through clearer to his ears.“Wake up. It is time. Wake up.”He turned, his body trying to move up and forward toward the voice while his eyes stayed closed..“Wake up. You are safe, it is time. Wake up.”He turned again. The wolf beside him began to whine, butting its head into his hip. His eyes were moving quickly under his lids. He was straining to get up, to see something and move. He can’t.He’s on the verge of giving up despite the urgent yelling of the voice and the wet nose pressing into his hip when he hears a different voice, stronger and more powerful than the one before.“Szczęsny. Wake up.” And he did.

The Music (Howls) of the Night

Author: tumtatumtum

Summary: The Phantom of the Opera AU where Omega!Stiles plays Christine to Alpha!Derek's Phantom. Except in this version, people hit high notes for completely different reasons.

Into Something New

Author: marguerite_26

Summary: Something is happening to Stiles. He’s losing time. Something is messing with his head, with his body. Maybe if he felt better he’d think to be worried.

Worth Your Weight in Gold

Author: mourninghope (orphan_account)

Summary: Sheriff Stilinski gives his omega son Stiles to wolf Derek Hale in exchange for a sizeable dowry just after the teen's first heat.

Dangerous Liasons

Author: eeyore9990

Summary: “Stiles is in heat! Did you hear me?” Scott practically screamed, but it was too late. Somewhere in the panicked rush of Scott’s warning, Stiles had gotten to the door, yanking it open and then just standing there, letting the doorway frame him to maximum effect.

Stupid Derek Series

Author: the_diggler

Part 1: Stupid Derek

Summary: Stiles should’ve known better. Stupid werewolves with their stupid werewolf hearing. He should’ve known better than to moan Derek’s name, no matter how quietly. But stupid Derek, with his stupid face, and beard, and abs… And okay, Stiles should’ve known better than to leave his bedroom window open while getting off. Because yeah, stupid Derek with his stupid lurking ways...

Part 2: Stupid Scott

Summary: “Did he what now?” Stiles stops in his tracks. “Is that even a thing werewolves do?” “Well… sometimes?” Scott fidgets, unable to meet his eyes.“Sometimes,” Stiles echoes.“When there are… feelings… involved?” “Feelings,” Stiles echoes again, his gut sinking. “Why doesn’t anyone tell me these things?” he tries not to shriek.“It’s kind of private,” Scott shrugs. “And besides, I’m telling you now!” he adds as an afterthought. Stiles rolls his eyes and huffs, stalking off to class. Stupid Scott.

The Demands of Duty

Author: Reiya_Wakayama

Summary: With the threat of war hanging over them, Stiles and his people are caught in the middle and must chose a side before they get smashed between both and with the threat of winter and a bad harvest weighing them down, he must chose quickly.

Under a Pitch Black Sky

Author: vampireisthenewblack

Summary: Stiles is standing naked in the middle of the woods on a new moon because the pack needs to forge a union between werewolf and human.

Here Be Dragons

Author: Coragyps

Summary: Once a generation, the beast in the forest demands the sacrifice of a virgin … but not to eat.Stiles just woke up chained to a rock.

The Kings's Pet Series

Author: TheGirlWithNoIQ

Part 1: The King’s Pet

Summary: It was all over the news; Derek Hale will be the new king, and will soon pick a Pet. When Stiles Stilinski hears the announcement he can only believe that the young Hale will leave him alone, and that soon the horrible encounter years earlier won't keep him up at night anymore.Oh, how wrong he took...

Part 2: The Pet’s King

Summary: Derek's POV of the happenings of 'The King's Pet'.

Blood Moon Run

Author: soowrites

Summary: Stiles wasn't really sure why everyone insisted that he participate in the Blood Moon Run.Or the one where Stiles doesn't want to run but has to, and it ends up being a very good thing.

Fire Beneath My Skin

Author: happyevraftr

Summary: Omegaverse of sorts. Stiles is a rare find- one of the few Omega males left in the world. It’s never been a problem before, but now there’s werewolves around and he’s about to go into Heat. Chaos ensues when Derek shows up at his window unexpected.

Fighting and Fucking On The Full Moon

Author: myriadofnothing

Summary: Derek finds something interesting on the annual hunt for fresh mates.

Summer Contest

Author: kits_lightning

Summary: The moment Derek stepped into the fighting ring and faced Stiles he remembered why he was doing all of this.The omega gawked at him and barely paid attention to the other competitors Talia was mentioning and Derek smiled at the thought of having all of his attention. Stiles blushed from the tips of his ears to his neck and began to run his fingers through his hair while looking away.Derek began to wonder how far down that blush traveled when he shook his head and tried to focus on the imminent battle. He caught the last of what his mother was saying. “—have a good fight and good luck.” More clapping and the horn that signaled the beginning of the fight sounded.

Silver Bullet

Author: nothing_left_sacred

Summary: Stiles hadn’t meant for it to become a thing. He’d just been interested in helping out his fellow man. He certainly hadn't meant for anyone to find out about it.Or the one where Stiles makes amateur porn, and of course, a certain alpha finds out about it.

more fics: part 9

#teenwolf #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfics #fanfic rec #sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski

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