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alhaitham-shrine · 1 year

Note

if you are comfortable with cyno or childe then may i ask for cyno/childe bc i think it's funny (also bonus points if they're roommates/gym buddies/partner project partners/whatever scenario forces them together)

chicyno

[i see, you are also a creature of taste!! I couldn’t decide whether to make this gay or keep it platonic so I leave it up to you to decide ^^]

roommate applications at the Akademiya are…. stupid, in Cyno’s opinion.

The Akademiya sprawls on a slope overlooking the Visshudha Fields, but if Cyno stands on the furthermost balcony and pushes up on the banister until he’s on the tips of his toes he can see-- distantly, like a mirage wavering in the heat-- the sand dunes that denote the existence of his home. Even now, three years into his studies, Cyno finds it hard to ignore the heavy knot of homesickness that settles uneasily in his stomach, harder still when he knows he’s about to be forced to spend the next year with yet another poor unfortunate foreigner. It’s by some cruel twist of fate that Cyno always ends up with roommates who speak entirely different languages to him, and not even Alhaitham’s monotone tutoring had helped him in any way.

No matter, Cyno thinks, turning away from the balcony and returning in the direction of the dormitories. I have weathered far worse. I can survive once more.

---

Cyno cannot, in fact, survive once more.

He pushes open the door to his suite, bag dropped haphazardly at his feet, only for his eyes to land on the last person he had expected to be lounging so comfortably in the living room. Childe Tartaglia, of all people, a rather infamous exchange student known for the chaos that follows him with every step. He exudes an air of impropriety, from his sharp smile that digs into his cheeks, to the way his eyes-- dull, like sea glass or stillwater-- glint inhumanly in the low light of the living room.

Childe, though an exchange student from the frozen forests of Snezhnaya, was well-versed in the language of Sumeru, though he oddly spoke it with the accent of someone who might be from Liyue. He definitely didn’t look like he was from Liyue… Mondstadt maybe, but the easy sunburn along his nose spoke of far less resistance to the sun.

“Cyno!” Childe chirps, smiling like a cat. “What a fun twist to the story, wouldn’t you say?”

Cyno just stares unblinking for several seconds too long, very aware of the role he plays as the canary, before promptly bending down to pick up his bag and breezing through the living room to lock himself in the privacy of his room.

---

When the moon's shadow shattered, hordes of beasts emerged from the deepest depths of the abyss and devoured living creatures by the thousands. Of those she created, none could escape their destined annihilation. The goodness, peace, and wisdom she had bestowed — all perished before this pure malice without exception. Under that sneering waning moon, the black tide of decay surged--

A mop of unkempt red hair pops up in Cyno’s peripheral vision, the tightening of his hand at the spine of the novel the only telltale sign of his sudden discomfort. “Ooh, are you doing some light reading or is this coursework?”

Cyno slowly closes “The Folio of Foliage”, closing his eyes briefly against the tide of unkind words that rise to the tip of his tongue. The words themselves almost sound like Dehya-- perhaps he’s spending too much time around her. “I didn’t know you were coming home so early. You’re usually out late.”

Childe just hums, one hand grasping the back of the couch as he leaps over it to settle clumsily at Cyno’s side. The shorter boy feels the muscles along his shoulders tense, and he forces himself to remain still as Childe adjusts to a comfortable position. “I got stood up, so I decided to cut my losses and come back. Goddess help me, the women of Sumeru are just as, if not more fickle than those in Liyue.”

Cyno traces a finger along the cover of his book. “You’re not from Liyue, are you?”

“No, Snezhnaya born and raised, but I--” Childe pauses, and Cyno looks up through his bangs to find Childe frowning briefly at his hands. They’re long hands, those of an archer maybe, with red knuckles and finely shaped nails. Cyno blinks and looks away just as Childe turns back to him. “I studied there, before coming here.”

“That’s a long time to be studying abroad. Do you not miss your home?”

“Do you?”

Cyno thinks of the endless expanse of sand, and the warm embrace of a never ending sun. “My home is not so far away as yours is. And I’m sure you miss the cold. We don’t have that here.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Childe laughs, throwing one arm along the back of the couch, too close to where Cyno’s head rests. “After so much time in Liyue, though, I’d like to think I’ve acclimated to the sunny weather. I definitely don’t think I’d fare very well in the desert.”

Cyno smiles, ducking his head further. “I imagine you’d turn as red as a zaytun peach. If you thought Sumeran women were hard to please before, the desert would not be your wingman.”

There’s a brief moment of silence that hits Cyno like a sumpter beast straight to the chest, and he recalls Alhaitham once telling him that what he considers jokes, sometimes become unfunny in the time it takes to travel from mind to mouth. He turns toward Childe with every intention of apologizing, only to find Childe already looking at him with a stunned sort of smile on his face. It still cuts across his cheeks like a suture, but the deep crescent dimples it leaves look softer than usual.

“And here I thought you were as rigid as stone, mahamatra.”

Cyno winces, feeling his ears burn. “My personality is not always a reflection of my prefect title, Childe.”

“Ajax.”

“What?”

Childe just grins, and his hand brushes Cyno’s shoulder as he pushes himself back to his feet. “I’m gonna make pierogies out of boredom. If you decide to run to your room again, mahamatra, I’ll leave some for you.”

And with that he walks around the couch and toward their shared kitchen, and Cyno…

Cyno enjoys pierogies very much, actually. He enjoys more the way Childe, once seated beside him once more, throws that same arm across the back of the couch, fingers occasionally dancing along Cyno’s shoulder.

#genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #cyno #my writing #i'm sorry this took so long i've been very sick #anyway if you like this and want more of...... whatever this is??#i'm definitely down to write more about the hijinks they might get up to #the quote from folio of foliage has no hidden meaning i just wanted cyno to be reading something #I thought about having him play genius invokation but decided that that's definitely not something he'd just do casually in the living room #even if childe wasnt home #(he fears childe's opinion of him)

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musingsoftheheart · 3 years

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No song that I could sing but I could try for your heart

Edited by @evoedbd Jo thought to herself how did they get here?

How did she get so incredibly lucky to to have Darla's arms trying to guide her hands to move across the piano keys.

Jo was an enthusiastic learner for someone that didn't know a thing about the instrument. A sigh escaped her lips as she pursed them hard in concentration trying to move her hands to basic scales Darla was trying to teach her.

It certainly did not help that Darla's arms were currently encircling her generating some sort soft cocoon of warmth that she unwittingly craved. Not to mention the soft flowery perfume that wafted from Darla was always prevalent in the air reminding Jo of sweet smelling lilacs.

“I'm sorry I'm so bad at this. You must be tired of showing me the same thing over and over again.” Jo looked disheartened at her lack of progress.

“Not at all! Look the only reason why Kashi was able to pick up the Lute so quickly is because it basically an old school version of the Ukulele he is used to playing on!” Darla exclaimed.

Jo seemed to still be down about it. It would be so easy to miss that look of unhappiness if Darla wasn't paying such close attention to the other girl. Hoping to perhaps alleviate the misery she began to explain.

“Besides the Harp is nothing like the Piano! I think really all it is the placements of the chords that is getting you confused.”

“I'm not even sure how the scales work? I know you said it was like waves with the fingers but it seems harder than that...perhaps if I watch you do it it will make sense...”

“Alright so starting from here the thumb goes down like so until you get to your pinky then you must manuver your thumb to the key next to the pinky finger and do it same thing over again.” As Darla demonstrated it slowly she spoke again.

"Once you get the hang of it you should be able to do it forwards and backwards like so..." Darla effortlessly played the scales.

Jo smiled as Darla continued the exhibition of her skillful playing of the piano.

The way Darla's dexterous fingers effortlessly glided across the keys was enough to captivate the Princess. She found herself wondering how each delicate stroke might feel playing across her skin.

Biting her lower lip just a bit Jo continued her idle observation of Darla's hands which seemed so gentle in contrast to her rather sharp tongue. Nothing made Jo more delighted than an individual with a razor sharp wit.

Jo shook her head trying to clear her mind from such thoughts.

Certainty didn't help that Darla was also considered from an aesthetic point of view, a pretty girl. While normally she seemed antagonistic or aloof, Jo got to see a softer more caring side of Darla.

Focusing on the motions of the hands Jo noted how quickly Darla was moving; as if she was driven into some sort of trance. It was a no brainer to Jo just how proficient Darla was with this contraption. It bought out a passionate side of Darla that Jo had never seen before. A side she wished to see more of.

“I think perhaps it's time for a break from learning...perhaps maybe you could what an actual master can do?” Jo inquired.

“I am...n...”

“YES! Darla got accepted into Julliard and The Royal Academy of Music! It had been all over the news! Genius prodigy!” shouted Kuri from her spot on the couch of the living room. Both of them had forgotten that the others had decided to host a Sunday Brunch as a victory celebration in the defeat of Gothel.

Darla couldn't help the blush on her cheeks whether if was because of her close proximity to Jo or the fact that Kuri just blurted a part of her past so loudly in front of everyone. Luckily, Nora coughed to get Kuri's attention.

“How about we help the boys with breakfast making hmm?” Nora shot the other girl a quick look while sauntering off towards the kitchen. Kuri apologized before following after Nora.

“...what does she mean by that? Are they good schools?” Jo asked politely genuinely curious of Darla's past. As open as Darla has been with her since they've met she's been rather quiet about her time before arriving at Whitehorn University.

“Umm two of the top schools....in the world?” Jo's eyes practically lit up with utter delight. She was baffled by Darla's quiet admission of her proficiency with this instrument. Usually Darla was so full of confidence and exceptionally smart but now she seemed withdrawn a little bit.

“Okay now you really need to show me what you can play. Pretty please?” Jo begged hoping to bolster Darla's spirit.

“...well..” Darla looked sheepishly down towards Jo's face.

“...what would you like me to play?” As Darla took a seat on the piano bench next to Jo.

“hmmm....” Jo looked away from the piano towards the group in quiet contemplation but in doing so she missed an affectionate look from the girl beside her.

“How about your favourite song. Something you know by heart...that you can play with you eyes closed!” dared Jo.

“Are you suggesting I actually play with my eyes closed?” Darla inquired cheekily.

“...well only if you can.” Jo shrugged rather happily.

“Alright but you'll have to scoot over a bit so I can be in the middle of the piano...it does sound better on a Grand Piano but we can't fit one in this living room...”

Darla rolled up her dress shirt sleeves. Her usual blazer jacket was resting over the back of the nearby couch. Her silver bracelet clinked softly when she moved to remove her very expensive designer watch, which she laid across the ledge for the piano sheets.

Darla started off playing notes that were slow and methodical but it did invoke a jazzy type vibe that Jo recognized from the music Darla played whenever they had to research together. However so slowly the music started to creep up to a crescendo of utter happiness.

Jo intently studied Darla's hands as they flew across the piano like she was flying. Watching the speed of which Darla moved them so dexterously kind of made her blush for some unknown reason.

Well she'd be lying to herself if she didn't know the reason but such a marvel Darla is in the current moment playing without a care in the world. Her lips curved into a soft smile and her eyes vulnerable as she swayed her head from side to side in tune with the song.

“She looks absolutely content in this moment.” Jo thought to herself.

Jo shook her head trying to stop her lurid thoughts and blush from completely consuming her.

In doing so she looked over at the kitchen in which was a sight to see she nearly wanted to laugh out loud as both siblings were staring at Darla playing with their mouths completely opened in shock.

Nora and Lucas were bobbing their heads in tune with the song as they watched Omar perfectly flipped the pancake over. They clapped and congratulated him.

Ezra was leaning against the fridge with his eyes closed and arms crossed but his tapping foot gave away his enjoyment of the current atmosphere.

Smiling softly at the scene Jo redirected her gaze towards the object of her affections and sure enough Darla's eyes were closed and yet definitely still utterly focused at playing the song at hand.

Jo couldn't deny her attraction to Darla any longer. She's never felt this infatuated with someone before man or woman. She was in trouble.

-----------------------

To be continued.

#Ever After Academy #Darla Pratt #Eaa Jo #Jo x Darla #Lovestruck #fanfiction #Evo told me to write this #and so I did #woo #here you are

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valiant-portabella-pirkko · 3 years

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Since the odds of it ever actually becoming a thing in-game are pretty much nonexistent and I thought it’d be a blast to brainstorm, I decided to casually build what a hypothetical Scarlet-channeling Elite Specialization for the Revenant Profession might look like.

Dialogue starts about two thirds down, so feel free to scroll for that if game mechanics aren’t your thing-- I admit that was definitely the fun part.

> Elite Specialization; Legendary Instigator Stance

Profession; Revenant Specialization Title: Instigator Associated Legend: Scarlet Briar / Ceara Specialty Weapon: Rifle Theme: CC + condition damage, mid to close range AoEs Description: An Instigator channels the raw, mysterious power of the Mists into technological applications, harnessing potent magic from the beyond to overcharge their advanced weaponry. Through the use of Mist portals they can even drag forth Scarlet’s deadly machinery to do their bidding, called directly from Fractals of the not-so-distant past. Combined with the brutal madness of their invoked spirit, an Instigator’s fierce and adaptive nature makes them a dangerous foe up close and at range.

Weapon skills; Rifle

1: Aether Bolt Fire a scorching energy shot from your rifle, burning your target. Aether Pulse Blast your target with a burst of energy, inflicting burn. Does more damage to closer targets. Aether Lance Shoot a lance of raw energy, damaging enemies in a line and burning them. 2: Point Blank Step through the Mists to your target, blasting them with your rifle at close range for high damage. Does increased damage against burned foes. 3: Clubbing Blow Spin and swing your rifle, striking nearby foes in a wide arc to knock them back. - Becomes Blaze of Glory if it hits an enemy. Blaze of Glory Continue spinning, spraying flames from your rifle to create a ring of fire around you that damages and burns foes that cross it. 4. Ley Geyser Draw out intense magical energy through a rift, inflicting damage on enemies in the vicinity and granting vigor to allies in range. Does increased damage for each condition on a target. 5: Explosive Exit Fire a blast from your rifle at the ground, evading backwards while damaging and knocking down nearby foes.

Utility Skills; Legendary Instigator Stance 1: Toxic Siphon (heal) Place a toxic turret that inflicts poison on nearby enemies, adding a stack of regeneration to allies within range for each foe affected. Explodes into a cloud of poison when destroyed. 2: Deadly Windup Place an explosive watchwork that rushes the nearest foe, exploding upon defeat to damage and burn nearby enemies. 3: Aether Shield Briefly gain damage resistance and stability from an energy shield. When the shield disperses, gain retaliation according to the damage it absorbed. 4: Maddened Machinations Harness the unstable genius of Scarlet Briar to decrease skill cooldown times and gain vigor, but taunt targets with each hit. Return to Sanity Release the Maddened Machinations skill early. 5: Scarlet’s Final Stand (elite) Teleport backwards and temporarily summon a large holographic projection in your place, swapping weapon skills to control it from a distance. Damage to the hologram will drain energy instead of health, dispersing it once all energy is depleted.

Traits, Minor; 1: Rifle Proficiency You can wield rifles. 2: Deadly Persistence Energy no longer drains while out of combat, but can only be charged by damaging enemies with weapon skills. Weapon skills have decreased energy usage. 3: Violent Escalation Periodically gain might according to your energy level. At maximum energy, gain swiftness. 4: Lingering Agony Conditions you inflict last longer. Periodically gain energy according to how many foes are currently being damaged by conditions you inflicted.

Traits, Major; 1: Blink Device Dodge is replaced with a short-range blink teleport that unleashes a small burst of energy upon arrival, knocking back nearby foes. 2: You Should Run Ending Maddened Machinations early uses up all remaining energy to fear nearby foes. The duration increases according to the amount of energy used. 3: Dangerous Combination Afflicting a poisoned foe with burn causes a small explosion, damaging and burning nearby enemies.

Dialogue; - Invoking Scarlet: Oooh, this is going to be fun!

Scarlet: Ready to play with me, dear?

Scarlet: (maniacal laughter)

- Ending Maddened Machinations Early Scarlet: Ahaha, was I too much for you?

Scarlet: Aww. I was just getting started!

- Using Scarlet’s Final Stand Scarlet: Let’s show them what we can do.

- Idle Scarlet: How dull. I do hope you didn’t call me all this way just to stand around! [Player Name]: Of course not, we’ll be back in action soon. Be patient. Scarlet: I certainly hope so~! I do the darndest things when I get bored, you know.

Scarlet: Say, whatever happened to my beautiful abominations, hm? [Player Name]: They’ve long since been deconstructed and melted down. Scarlet: (gasp) Scrapping such modern marvels! Now that’s just a crime.

- Idle (if Sylvari) Scarlet: Ugh, you Dreamers and your Wyld Hunts. It’s so… Stifling. [Player Name]: What even was your dream? Scarlet: Hm… It’s almost funny, after all these years I can’t even remember.

- Idle (if paired with Ventari invocation) Scarlet: You can’t possibly expect me to work with… Him. [Player Name]: I think you could have learned a lot from Ventari. Scarlet: Sorry, but I’ve never been much for ethics and philosophy, dear. [Player Name]: I’ve noticed.

- Idle (with Scarlet’s Gift in inventory) Scarlet: It looks like you forgot something, darling! I spent a lot of gold on that mailing campaign, you really should open it.

- (Destroying Scarlet’s Gift) Scarlet: Aww, you’re no fun.

- At Lion’s Arch Scarlet: My, what a gorgeous makeover! They really should be thanking me. [Player Name]: I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you. (if human) [Player Name]: Don’t get uppity, it’s not like you were the designer. (if asura) [Player Name]: I liked it a whole lot better before you destroyed it. (if charr) [Player Name]: Ha ha, very funny. You’re lucky only I can hear you. (if norn) [Player Name]: That doesn’t even begin to make up for what you did. (if sylvari)

- At Kessex Hills Scarlet: Oh, I do just love the smell of toxic spores in the morning! [Player Name]: You’re a spirit, I know you can’t actually smell them. Scarlet: Still a party pooper, I see.

- At Omphalos Chamber Scarlet: Ah, Mother. She and I never did see eye-to-eye, you know. [Player Name]: You mean she didn’t want you to destroy Tyria? Scarlet: Well… yes. But that was a later development.

- At Rata Sum Dorms (if Asura) Scarlet: Oooh, so many memories! I wonder if they still tell fun stories about me. [Player Name]: Other than about your expulsion and eventual fall into madness, no. Scarlet: Well, a legacy of infamy is better than none at all I suppose.

- At Hearts and Minds (beginning) Scarlet: Here we are at last. Let’s finish this, shall we? [Player Name]: I’m glad that this time we’re on the same side.

#Guild Wars 2 #GW2 #Scarlet Briar #my posts #I'm sure it could be better balanced but oh well #it was still fun to think about!#i'm sure i'd have fun playing a mid-range bruiser class tbh #smack with Gun #also letting the Commander and Scarlet interact directly seems like a beautiful mess #i actually made this like a month ago and just. never shared it anywhere.#there added a readmore that hopefully should work on mobile!#please smack me if it breaks ok

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trans-shuichisaihara · 6 years

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the third chapter of Empathy without Sympathy is up! I’m excited to get into The Good Stuff

read on ao3

---------------

With a grand total of four hours of sleep to fuel him, Kaito made his way to the cafeteria in a daze. Only to realize that, since the morning announcement hadn’t played yet, it was still locked up. As he groaned and gave the door a weak punch in frustration, one of his classmates appeared in his peripheral.

“You’re here pretty early, Momota-kun,” Shirogane greeted, “Did you have trouble sleeping too?” She sighed. “I woke up and just couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“I’m pretty sure Shuichi’s the only one that sleeps until the morning announcement,” he joked in response, turning towards her and leaning against the door as casually as he could.

“Ah, but it’s plain to see he’s your everyday night owl. If it weren’t for the announcement, who knows when we’d see him.”

“Yeah, true.” He scratched the back of his head. “Geez, you know he told me he normally doesn’t eat breakfast? How’s he supposed to get stronger if he’s skipping the most important meal of the day?”

“Oh, well...” She glanced away. “I honestly don’t eat breakfast much either. Well, didn’t, before this. There’s usually just so much else on my mind that before I know it, it’s lunchtime.”

They made some light talk as they waited for the cafeteria to open. The conversation helped pull his mind from drifting into tired, worried thoughts, so he was thankful that he’d left his room early. Being outside and active did wonders for his mental health, unsurprisingly.

Barely a minute after the disgust-invoking announcement played, he saw Harumaki exit the dorms. Shirogane followed his gaze, turning to watch her approach with him. “Good morning, Harukawa-san. Did you sleep well?”

She paused once she stepped onto the deck. “Well enough.” Her eyes flickered to Kaito, but she said nothing further, even when he also greeted her.

“So, I was thinking,” Shirogane said, continuing her abandoned train of thought, “Now that my research lab is open, it would be fun to get everyone together and cosplay. You know, as a, um, bonding-stress relief sort of activity?”

Kaito wasn’t interested in cosplay, but who was he to turn down bonding time with the group when they so desperately needed to stand together. “Sure, that sounds fine. Harumaki?”

“No thanks, I’ll pass.” She pushed past them into the cafeteria, leaving the two of them to sigh.

“Don’t worry, Momota-kun, I’ll make sure she comes.” Her eyes burned with a fiery passion. “This cosplay party won’t be ignored; I won’t allow it.”

To anyone else, her determination might’ve been a bit scary. But not to Kaito. Definitely not. “Alright, but don’t hurt yourself,” he laughed, trying to cover up the worry that was flooding him as he watched his sidekick’s back. “Let me talk to her first though; maybe I can convince her.”

She agreed, waiting outside to greet the others while Kaito entered and approached Harumaki, who was dumping rice into the rice cooker.

“Hey, Harumaki, you doin’ alright?” When she didn’t respond, he sighed. “Shuichi told me what happened while I was in the bathroom.” He paused. “You... You’re not sick or anything, right?” He hoped the answer was no, but asking was the only way to find out.

“I’m fine,” she curtly stated, “Saihara overreacted, and I decided to leave since I was done and I didn’t want to deal with any drama.”

He frowned. “But you didn't answer your door-”

“Did I have to?” She cut him off, very clearly annoyed. “It was nighttime. I wanted to go to bed. That was it.”

He wanted to keep pushing, but Kiibo entering stopped him. “Ah, good morning Momota-kun, Harukawa-san!” He glanced around the room. “Have you seen Iruma-san? I’ve seen everyone but her so far.”

“Nah, not yet. She’s probably in her lab or somethin’,” he responded. When Kiibo turned away, he looked back to Harumaki, mumbling, “Let’s talk later, then.”

She huffed but didn’t disagree.

Surprisingly, Shuichi wasn’t the last to arrive for breakfast for once. He entered with Yumeno, having a rather slow paced conversation as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes. Ouma darted in a minute after them, closely followed by Shirogane and Gonta, who’d been standing in the doorway chatting before he cut in front of them. At which point, a concerned Kiibo left to find Iruma, the only one not there.

When he returned with her, loud and giddy in a clearly sleep deprived way, Ouma wasted no time abandoning his meal to start shit with his two favorite targets.

“Hey, you’re finally back from your morning quickie! What’s it like, having a threesome with a computer and a robot?”

“I dunno, what’s it like jerkin’ off your morning wood into the toilet bowl?” Iruma was quick to retort. As Kiibo stammered at her language and lack of proper objection to Ouma’s question, he shared an exasperated look with the rest of the group.

Their banter continued with no sign of acknowledging the looks, gradually escalating in vulgarity until a heavy pound caused the entire room to flinch. “Please, don’t fight!” Gonta shouted, his palms flat on the table from having slammed them down, “Gonta doesn’t understand, but friends shouldn’t fight!”

Iruma shrunk, while Ouma merely blinked. Kaito took it upon himself to step in. “Hey, calm down, they’re just messin’ with each other, not fighting.”

“Huh? Not fighting?” His face twisted in confusion and distress. “But...”

“Geez Gonta, you’re as wrong as always.” Ouma turned his barbed words towards him. “I mean, even if we were fighting, it wouldn’t matter since we’re not friends.”

“Y-Yeah, that’s right,” Iruma stuttered out, “I mean, why, why would a gorgeous genius like me need idiots like you all as friends.”

“That’s right!” Ouma spread his arms out, gesturing to the rest of them. “After all, ‘friends’ implies trust, and this fun Killing Game is all about betrayal! There’s no trust to be found here!” He giggled gleefully, and Kaito clenched his fists in frustration at his antics. “Way to go, Iruma-chan, you finally said something worthwhile. Maybe now you won’t have to resort to whoring yourself out to get some respect.”

Predictably, she quivered and let out a breathy moan at his taunt. That, however, was closely followed by Harumaki’s chopsticks clattering to the floor as she jerked out of her seat, murder in her eyes as she looked to Ouma. A small pit of fear surfaced in Kaito’s chest at the sight.

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll make you. Permanently.”

“Ooo, how scary! Momota-chan, you should really keep your guard dog on a leash. We’ll be in a lot of trouble if she becomes the next blackened.” He nonchalantly flicked some dirt out from underneath his fingernails. “Well, maybe I should say ‘when’ instead. I mean, she is a murderer already.”

Kaito rose from his seat and moved to her side. “Harumaki won’t kill anyone. Especially not over you actin’ like a shithead.” In fact, the fact that Ouma would even think that she would was starting to make his blood boil.

“Oh? But what about the motive?” Ouma challenged.

“What about it?”

“Don’t you think that could make her kill?”

He hesitated for only a moment. “Of course not! Besides, it’s clear that there is no motive.” He pointedly ignored the silent “for now” that could be tacked onto the end of his sentence.

Ouma smirked. “But there is. In fact, I already know what it is.”

“You do?” Shuichi chimed in, “What is it?”

“I’m not telling,” he sang, “Even if it is Saihara-chan asking. After all, if I’m the only one that knows, that means I have complete control over the motive. And...” His smirk grew even more condescending. “Complete control over everyone here.”

His declaration to the group was met with a growing fear of the unknown. Some of them shared uncertain looks with each other. Kaito kept his eyes on Ouma, skin crawling as he tried to figure out if it was a lie or not.

Harumaki was the first to recover. “So, is that a threat?” She shifted, as if ready to jump across the table and lunge for him at any time. In response, Ouma’s gaze briefly flickered between her, the rest of the group, and the exits, not so subtly leaning towards the interior door.

“Maybe, maybe not.” He folded his arms behind his head. “Why, are you afraid, Harukawa-chan?” He didn’t wait for her response to try to leave the cafeteria.

Kaito frowned and moved to cut him off, standing between him and the door. “Seriously, what’s your problem?! You’re being particularly nasty and I don’t like it.”

He grinned. “I’m just trying to have fun! This game isn’t fun unless there’s drama and suspense, right? That’s why Monokuma didn’t tell us what the motive was, so the suspense of figuring it out would put us on edge.” He sniffed. “How could I be so cruel and take that mystery away from you all?” As quick as the pretend sadness came, it was gone, his face returning to its normal smile. “Well, I mean, it’s mostly that it’s more interesting watching you all run around with no idea, but still.”

“Bull-fucking-shit!” Iruma shouted, sweating buckets as she gripped Kiibo’s shoulders, keeping him in-between her and Ouma, “What are you gonna do with the motive if not use it to get one of us killed!”

Harumaki glared. “Is that your plan? To become the next blackened?”

“Or manipulate one of us to, perhaps..?” Shirogane quietly added.

Ouma tapped his finger against his cheek for a long moment. “Both of those are very good ideas. Since my objection is to win the game, obviously I’ll need to do whatever it takes. That’s just the kind of game that is.”

A blind fury descended upon his mind and before Kaito could process his words, he was already moving, his fist connecting with the side of Ouma’s face, knocking him back.

He immediately regretted it. But he pushed it down, instead choosing to yell, “That’s enough! I don’t know what your deal is, Ouma, but you need to cut it out!” Shuichi ran to his side to attempt to pacify him, but Kaito shrugged him off. The blood in his chest was ready to blow from the anger flooding him, too strong to ignore. “Either you calm down off of whatever weird, fucked up direction your mind’s goin’ in, or I’ll beat some sense into you!”

Ouma didn’t respond. His shoulders shook, but he hid his expression in his long bangs and downward tilted face.

Kiibo ran to his side along with Gonta to help Shuichi pull him back towards the table. He resisted, but with his deteriorating strength and Gonta’s, well, Gonta-ness, it was a futile effort. And the second he was out of the way, Ouma slinked out, the door only opening enough to let him slip through.

The sigh of relief that passed through the group once he was gone made Kaito’s stomach churn. Oh. Fuck. He’d fucked up. He stared down at his now throbbing hand, slowly stretching it. Guilt slowly replaced the waning anger and frustration that had built up. “Dammit,” he hissed, clenching his fist again.

Breakfast was finished with an awkward tension hovering over them. Iruma muttered under her breath while Gonta squirmed in his seat, giving the rest of the group worried looks. Shuichi looked like he wanted to say something to either him or Harumaki - or both - but refrained.

Finally, the silence was broken. “Um, Gonta wants to say something, if that’s okay...”

Kaito held back a tired sigh. Damn, he needed a nap. “Yeah, sure, go ahead big guy.”

“Yeah big dick, you tell ‘em,” Iruma barked as she dumped her barely-eaten meal and scurried out the door. Kiibo gasped and ran after her, shouting about how she needed to eat properly.

“A-Ah, wait!” Gonta shouted after them, before slumping. “Gonta wanted everyone to hear, but everyone’s fighting...”

“It’s okay, you can still tell us,” Shuichi comforted, “We can tell the others later for you, if you want.”

“That’s right,” Harumaki agreed, before immediately leaving. Kaito sputtered at his sidekick’s uncooperativeness; he’d have to address that later!

“Uh, well... Gonta, Gonta is going to fight Monokuma and Exisals!” He declared.

“Huh?” Shirogane’s expression quickly changed to worry. “Gonta-kun, no! You’ll get hurt, or worse!”

“She’s right,” Kaito agreed, “I know how you feel, but throwing yourself into danger isn’t gonna help us.”

Gonta’s face twisted as he looked down. “But...”

Yumeno sighed loudly. “Geez, all this drama is exhausting. This sort of environment is bad for my new positive lifestyle.” She pushed herself out of her chair, pointing at him. “Gonta! You will carry me to the dojo, where I will reveal your true purpose to you! A purpose full of positivity, or something...” She trailed off, clearly having used up all of her energy in one go.

Thankfully, he was as easily distracted as always. At least they could trust that Yumeno wouldn’t manipulate him like Ouma would, Kaito mused as he watched him pick her up and follow her demands.

As the door slowly swung shut behind Gonta, Shuichi coughed awkwardly. “Um, I suppose I should be going too. She asked me to come to the dojo as well.”

“Incorporating some daytime training into your regime, huh Shuichi?” He shot his sidekick a thumbs up. “Keep up the good work!”

“Ah, I will.” Shuichi smiled fondly, waving a farewell to him and Shirogane as he quickly followed after Gonta and Yumeno.

Once he was out of sight, Kaito stood from his seat, stretching. “Well, I think I’m gonna head back to my room for a bit. See you at lunch?”

“Of course.” She nodded, then paused for a moment. “Oh, if you wouldn’t mind, would you help me with something afterwards?”

#oumota #drv3 #drv3 spoilers #kaito momota #kokichi ouma #my post #fanfic #linked au #btw it's probably best to read this on ao3 #better spacing and all that #idk if i'll continue to cross-post it entirely here bc it's honestly a bit of a pain bc the formatting gets all off #(like italics bold etc)#i have to manually fix those when i copy-paste to tumblr #idk if you read this on tumblr over ao3 lmk what you think

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tonystarktogo · 7 years

Text

pain is part of the package, darling

I should be working *cough* WIPs *cough* on so many things but my muse has abandoned me and I couldn’t concentrate so instead this happened. This is one of those Someone-on-the-team-gets-a-wake-up-call-in-regards-to-Tony. It happens in a bit of a different context though...as it turns out my mind really works in weird ways. Let’s just say that not everything is as it seems in this 'verse. Or I’m way more obvious than I realise, which is entirely possible. Enjoy :)

Summary: IronFalcon. It’s pure coincidence, the first time Sam notices the bruises. And, just like that, he can’t stop noticing them. Read on AO3.

Part I

They haven’t been in a fight in over three weeks, which is the only reason why Sam even notices.

The team has come together in the kitchen on one of those rare Sunday mornings where everyone is accounted for and nobody is in hiding to avoid retribution for their latest prank, which is in itself unusual. So is Tony joining them, not wearing his perfectly fitted bespoke suit but a lose T-shirt and sweatpants.

Which is not adorable at all, because Tony is a grown man and Sam really needs to get a handle on this ridiculous crush he’s been harbouring for his team mate for an awkwardly long time. Even when Tony is glaring blearily at everyone but Clint—who hands him a cup of freshly brewed coffee, which explains the lack of hostility—Sam wishes the genius would be leaning against him instead of the damn counter. He never liked the stupid thing anyways—and yes, definitely ridiculous.

Sam averts his gaze and pretends he wasn’t just irrationally jealous of a kitchen counter. Nope, that sure didn’t happen. His attention is drawn back to source of his obsession a moment later, when Tony sets his now empty cup down with a gentle clack and yawns so wide his jaw cracks, arms raised above his head.

“Long night with that secret girlfriend we all pretend you didn’t disappear with yesterday?” Clint wiggles his eyebrows but there’s genuine curiosity in his voice.

Tony’s newest relationship is a constant source of jokes and teasing from the other Avengers’, mainly because he’s managed to keep it a complete secret. Not even Pepper or Rhodey know, and that’s, well. Unusual doesn’t even begin to cover it.

For once though, Sam is too distracted to be bothered by yet another inconvenient reminder of the not unimportant fact that Tony is taken and he should really get over it. Because there, on the inside of Tony’s upper arm, where his T-shirt has ridden up, is a bruise. It’s a striking, bright blue colour, with sprinkles of purple and fading green surrounding it, and it makes absolutely no sense.

Sure, bruises aren’t anything rare in their line of work, but the last few weeks have been quiet, almost uncomfortably so. And as much as Steve likes to nag Tony about his lack of self-care, usually it’s more the sleep and nutrition that’s the problem.

So, because Sam is a huge dumbass who can’t keep his mouth shut and is way too invested into anything involving Tony Stark, he blurts out, “Where did you get that bruise?”—with the subtlety of Steve Rogers at his most stubborn, if the telling gaze Natasha shoots him is anything to go by.

Tony blinks at him, brown eyes a lot sharper than they were seconds ago, shrugs. “Don’t remember.” He grins lewdly, causing Clint to crack up and make the sort of suggestive joke that makes the tip of Steve’s ears turn bright red, and the conversation moves on.

It doesn’t escape Sam’s notice though that Tony doesn’t lift his arms over his head again, and he wonders.

“Ow.” Tony lets out a low, pained grown.

The glance Bruce shoots him is in equal parts fond and concerned. “You sure you’re alright, Tony?”

“Yeah, you took that building down pretty hard,” Clint grins wickedly at the memory—and perhaps at the way Steve’s eyes narrow at Tony’s pitiful form.

Steve is a nightmare when it comes to getting your injuries checked out properly, which is the most hypocritical bullshit Sam’s ever heard. He’s once watched Steve tear Clint a new one for not telling anybody about his cracked rips whilst simultaneously waving away the doctor trying to remove a knife big enough to feature in every cheap horror flick that had been stuck in his leg. Granted, it had only been a flesh wound and the super soldier body could take it, but the audacity had struck Sam speechless all the same.

“I told you the suit could handle the impact,” Tony whines. Then, without turning his head, “Cap, put those judgy eyes away before I throw something. Seriously, I’m fine.”

Tony finds Sam’s eyes and the two share a long-suffering glance of wordless understanding in regards to over-bearing team mates.

“Tony-” Steve never did know when to quit.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, a slow, easy smile on his lips that is contradicted by the annoyed twitch in his left eye. “Just a little sore, nothing to do with the crash. Promise.”

They’re in the gym, almost two weeks later. It’s Natasha’s turn to teach the rest of the team a particular move. At least that was what this meeting was supposed to be about.

But then Clint accused her of showing off and the two of them got into a play-fight that turned into a scarily-real-but-still-just-having-fun-kicking-my-friend’s-ass-fight very quickly—as all fights between them are known to—Steve and Tony got into another discussion about proper self-care—the kind Steve will inevitably storm away from in a couple of minutes, because those two are completely unable to ever just talk—and Bruce has taken advantage of everyone’s distraction to sneak back into the safety of his lab, cruelly abandoning Sam in the process—which he’ll get the other man back for. In a non-Hulk-invoking way.

His careful revenge planning is interrupted by Tony yelling something unintelligible, pulling one leg of his favourite sweatpants up and gesturing wildly at Steve, clearly trying to make a point that won’t make any sense to an uninvolved bystander.

What really catches Sam’s eye though isn’t Steve’s eye-roll, it’s the longish bruise on the back of Tony’s left calf. It’s a couple of days old, the outer edge already fading into green-yellowish tones, but that means it must have been a pretty hard hit—or maybe a shove, because it looks more like the back of Tony’s leg made a very painful contact with a hard edge.

It’s most likely nothing. Tony is a not-quite-ordinary human on a team of superheroes after all, and really, when you think about it, it seems kinda weird how worked up Sam gets over a couple of harmless bruises.

And yet.

There’s this moment where Sam swears Tony catches him staring, where the slight smile freezes on his lips and he lets his pants fall down again, an odd expression on his face that Sam could’ve sworn was shame. And it’s no proof, not even close to it, but it’s something, and even though he doesn’t really want to, even though the thought seems absolutely ludicrous, Sam suspects.

On Thursday afternoon, Tony stumbles into the living room, looking like death warmed over, all waxy, pale skin and sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. Sam heroically stamps down the urge to throw himself across the room and bury Tony in a pile of blankets.

“You don’t look so good,” Natasha comments in that dry voice she uses to describe a mutated T-rex clone the size of a three store building as ‘big enough to do some damage’.

“Too much...spinning...” Tony moans pitifully. “Make it stop!”

“You forgot to eat lunch again, didn’t you.” Bruce is less than impressed by the pout he gets in response to his question-slash-statement. His deeply unamused glare doesn’t fool anyone though, especially when he proceeds to hand Tony a juice box and some crackers with a resigned sigh.

Sam decides to leave them to it, having no desire to get dragged into another one of Bruce’s rants. He pats Tony’s head in passing and smiles at the weak glare the pale genius shoots him in return.

They’re in one of SHIELD’s emergency decontamination showers because fighting a giant gooey worm determined to flatten Manhattan into the ground is how Sam spends his Friday nights these days. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to anyone when said worm, upon his defeat, detonated, spraying everything in its vicinity with a rainbow coloured slime. But they were caught unaware all the same. It is sticky, smelly, disgusting and will possibly turn Sam into a moustache-twirling villain any second now. Which is why they’ve been carefully escorted into this hastily erected SHIELD bunker in the first place.

Them being Sam and Tony—of course they had been the only ones close enough to get hit by the blast. Sam still can’t remember at which point in the fight Tony was forced or chose to leave his suit, but clearly it did happen. Otherwise he might not have been here now, on Sam’s side of the glass wall, yelling at the top of his voice at some poor SHIELD agent, who stutters something about protocols and safety measures whenever Tony needs to take a breath.

It’s kind of ridiculous.

Apparently the agent thinks so too because he finally storms off—to his credit, Sam would’ve quit several minutes ago—leaving a huffing Tony behind. Who continues to murmur complaints under his breath, but it’s less true resistance now and more complying while being as difficult as possible, just because he can. As proven by the fact that he’s reaching for his utterly ruined shirt and begins to unbutton it.

Shit. It hasn’t occurred to Sam until now, too busy being distracted by the fight, the goo, the Tony, but faced with his slowly undressing team mate, it suddenly becomes frighteningly clear that he’s going to share a decontamination shower with his crush.

“What are you waiting for?” Tony smirks invitingly over his shoulder and okay, Sam’s seen the guy use this expression against reporters daily, this should not have any affect on him at all. He can totally handle this. “An invitation?” Tony wiggles his butt jokingly.

Sam absolutely can’t handle this.

It’s lucky then, in the most terrible way, that he doesn’t have to. Because when Tony slips out of his pants—a move proven a lot more difficult by the goo that makes the fabric stick to your skin almost painfully—his inconvenient attraction is about the last thing on Sam’s mind.

Well, maybe not last. But definitely far below ‘What the fuck?!’ and ‘Someone is gonna die for this’ and ‘Get your shit together, Wilson, you are not helping!’

The last one, at least, is undeniably true. Sam is unashamedly staring and with it being just the two of them, there really is no way Tony is going to miss it. He can’t help it though. Tony looks-

There are some scratches on his cheek and hands, and a thin, already clotted wound on his left shin. All of them undoubtedly the results of their most recent fight.

Then there are the bruises.

They spread out along Tony’s legs, starting at about mid-calf. They are single, longish bruises in light tones, the kinds you might gain from running into a door accidentally or stumbling on the stairs. Some are dotted on his kneecaps in dark blues and violets, whereas the ones on the insides of his knees are lighter, though the skin is still a little red. All in all, though colourful, those bruises are still fairly harmless. They stand out because of the sheer amount of them, not because one in particular looks terrible.

The same can’t be said for Tony’s thighs. They are a mess. The inside of Tony’s thighs looks like one giant bruise, except for the truly impressive range of colours. The skin is rubbed raw all over. Deep purple blotches, tiny sprinkles of an even darker colour, surrounded by fading stains of lighter blues and greens. There’s no system in them, no exact pattern, but the way the various discolourations bleed into each other is almost pretty, in an abstract, horrifying way.

This isn’t the kind of injury you get from a single incident, that much Sam knows immediately. The bruises are too layered for that. At least some of them are also too old to have been caused by their recent fighting. Never mind that Sam struggles to think of anything that could have caused Tony this kind of injury, especially inside the suit.

And Tony’s thighs, though clearly the worst, aren’t the end of it either. There are faint discolourations close to his hipbones and some more more visible ones on the insides of his upper arms. Those two have an unusual form, oval, almost round. The kind that Sam struggles to associate with any kind of accident. Hell, even on the bridge of his foot there are bruises, and dark ones at that.

In short, Tony looks like he’s been thrown down a couple of stairs, and that doesn’t even begin to explain the state of his thighs.

Sam has also been staring at Tony for what feels like an eternity in abject horror, when Tony pointedly clears his throat. The teasing smile as slid off his face and it’s impossible not to notice that he’s angling his body away from Sam as much as possible—though his options are very limited.

“Like what you see?” Tony tries to joke, but his voice catches a little and his fingers curl slightly at his side, like he wants to hide away.

Sam hates it. He hates that unsure expression on Tony’s face, hates that he put it there. Hates that he has no clue how to ask the very obvious question without Tony clamming up and shutting him out. Most of all, Sam hates how incredibly out of his depth he feels.

This isn’t like him at all. He’s good at this stuff, usually. Good at getting stubborn assholes to open up about their messed up emotional state—case in point: Steve—he doesn’t bullshit and dance around a subject. He’s also never been in a situation like this.

Sam knows better than most that being a superhero doesn’t make you invincible, doesn’t even make you a functioning human. And he damn well knows that if he saw anyone else with these kinds of bruises, he’d call the police—and fuck, maybe it’d turn out to be nothing, but he sure as fuck wouldn’t take the chance. But with Tony? Who is he even supposed to call?

He’s known the guy for almost a year, has had a pathetic crush on him for going on four months and even he struggles with the idea that someone might be- hurting Tony. That Tony might let them.

Sam feels sick.

He gets through the shower in somewhat of a daze. He’s peripherally aware of the occasional, lingering gaze from Tony but he can’t- he doesn’t know. By the time it’s finally determined that they won’t be turned into the undoing of mankind and the two of them are back at the Tower, all Sam wants to do is get out of the sanitised clothes SHIELD gave them, crawl into his bed and sleep. If only to stop thinking for a while.

He can’t though.

He asks JARVIS to show him the security footage of the SHIELD bunkers instead. He needs to see it one more time, needs to convince himself that this is real.

“I’m sorry, Mister Wilson,” JARVIS replies without inflection, “it appears there has been a glitch. The last five hours seem to have accidentally been erased.”

For some reason, Sam isn’t surprised.

The next morning comes far too quickly. It appears Sam’s the only one to think so however. By the time he arrives in the kitchen, everyone else is already up and about. Bruce is standing at the stove, Clint appears to be losing a fight against the coffee machine. Tony is talking to Natasha, clearly already on his third coffee with how bubbly he is.

Everything is normal.

Then Sam meets Tony’s eyes for the briefest of moments before Tony averts his gaze—and Tony never averts his gaze. Sam swallows and tries not to stare at his now fully clothed team mate, tries not to trace the lines where he knows the bruises are hidden.

The funny thing is that even now that Sam is paying attention, there’s nothing in Tony’s behaviour that gives him away. His jokes are as sharp and crass as ever, he doesn’t flinch even though the way Natasha pats his leg must have hurt. He’s just Tony, filling the entire room with his mere presence.

He doesn’t have any proof, but there’s no way to unsee the past twenty-four hours, and, even though he feels like half the pieces are still missing, Sam knows.

Yup, that’s it. That’s as far as I got. Turns out I’m terrible at describing injuries. Anyways, what do you think? Would you like to see a continuation? Any ideas in regards to the bruises? Other thoughts? Please share them with me, I’m curious to hear what you think!

I hope you all are having a great day! Remember, likes and reblogs are for free ;)

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