#She's not happy about it. But she understands why people have to do it.
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hi ! can you please write an angsty fic with a happy ending with gn!reader x tara or cairo your choice where t or c breaks up with r and r becomes a fuckgirl and t or c gets jealous. there could be some sort of conversation along the lines of r saying “how i chose to get over you is none of your business” and t or c responding “don’t” totally okay if you don’t want to or are not comfortable !! <3
(Don't) Let Go
Cairo Sweet x Female Reader (Request)
Masterlist
A/N: I usually keep this for the end, but two things, Anon added a correction, from GN! to Female Reader, so just pointing that out to clear potential confusion. Second, this depicts some unhealthy coping mechanisms, so I just want to say, do not follow R's example. Also, Anon, hope this is what you wanted 😁😁
Word count: 1.8k
She watched you from afar, her eyes narrowed, hand gripping the glass of wine so hard she was surprised it didn’t shatter and a frown that told her company not to interact with her unless necessary. You were drunk, dancing with a girl you were flirting with, your hands were on her hips, and her back was pressed against you as the two of you laughed. Tonight’s distraction. It didn’t escape her attention that this girl was a blonde, tall, green eyes, with plenty of make-up, though she could see she was still fairly pretty. Last night you went to the apartment of some red-head the night before that, some other girl with a tattoo who dyed her long wavy hair some ridiculous shade of orange to look like some anime character. The point was, each night you chose a girl that was the exact opposite of her and while Cairo wasn’t jealous, she hated seeing you like this.
Did she have the right to complain though? She broke up with you, she ruined yet another relationship. She ruined everything she touched.
It’s been a few years since she ruined her friendship with Winnie, since she thought she found her love in Miller and was disappointed and in a way betrayed. And she could never trust again, but you somehow broke through her shell, offering company she didn’t even realize she was craving.
It wasn’t like she was following you, or keeping tabs on where you were, or who you were sleeping with, it just so happened that the group she just finished a big college assignment with wanted to celebrate so they made her go with them. And the other two she knew about? Rumors, mainly, though she did catch sight of you with the girl, who lived a block away from Cairo, last night.
What were you doing? You weren’t ruining your life, entirely at the very least, you still managed to keep up with the classes, but you were drunk for most of the day, and if you weren’t drunk, you were hungover. Why did you break up again?
Oh, yeah, because she wasn’t ready to fully commit to the relationship, afraid of getting burnt again, and chose the worst possible option. She just ended it all, over a text, no conversation, no explanation, she just sent the message and blocked you everywhere. She couldn’t ask for forgiveness, though she greatly regretted what she did. She couldn’t watch you take that girl to your apartment, or go to her apartment, though.
So, she said goodbye to the group she came to the bar with and made her way toward you through the crowd of drunk partying people wasting away their free time. “Y/N,” she called out to you over the loud music and she watched as you staggered back, your eyes gaining some clarity as you recognized her.
“Cairo,” you slurred, your hand falling from the blonde’s hips.
“Come with me,” she didn’t wait for you to respond, she didn’t wait for the surprised, and a bit to drunk to understand what was going on, blonde to catch up with what was going on either. She just grabbed your hand and pulled you along. And you let her drag you to the counter and pay for your and hers bill and dragged you outside to look for a cab.
“What are you doing? I was having fun in there,” you leaned against the lamppost, barely standing and not even looking as the bright lights probably made your head hurt.
“By ruining your liver?” Cairo snarked, much more annoyed than she hoped she would be. This wasn’t her business, even if she stopped you tonight what was she supposed to do? Babysit you until you got your shit together? She didn’t have time for that.
A voice in the back of her head told her she was probably the one who pushed you toward this behavior. Her consciousness, perhaps?
“None of your damn business,” you glared at her and she hated seeing that look in your eyes directed at her.
“Right, get in,” she dragged you along as the cab pulled up and she gave the driver her address.
It took her a while, but she managed to get you to her apartment and to the sofa in her living room. She took your shoes off and pretty much pushed you to lie down before she went to get a blanket. When she came back you were already asleep, and she wondered how you managed to actually fuck any of those girls when you were this drunk?
She wasn’t jealous. She just wondered.
She made her decision, she broke up with you.
She still found herself thinking about you every now and then, because truly, you didn’t deserve it. You treated her right, better than anyone before you, that was for sure, you didn’t quite share her interests, but you were more than willing to listen, to grow by experiencing them with her. She could count on you if she wanted a thought-provoking debate, or a passionate night. She could talk for hours with you, or be perfectly comfortable in complete silence.
And she ended it.
And she thought it didn’t matter to her, but as she watched you sleeping there all the times you spent together came back and she… she wanted to fix things, to get a second chance, to make it work this time. And if anyone asked, no, a tear didn’t fall from her eye as you mumbled her name.
~X~
You woke up with a pounding headache, expecting to see a blonde next to you on the bed. Instead you were hit with the smell of spring field, the scent Cairo used when washing her clothes and everything else. You blinked at that and groaned, burying your face in the pillow. The books surrounded you, on the shelf, on the coffee table, everywhere and you only knew one person that had this kind of apartment…
“Damn it,” you cursed, tempted to just walk out and pretend this didn’t happen.
“Damn it, indeed,” and so much for that plan, you turned to the side, toward her bedroom doors and saw her, just as beautiful, enchanting even, as she was the last time you saw her. Before she went and broke up with you over a text and blocked you on everything. And then promptly refused to even acknowledge you existed despite your attempts to at least talk to her to make sure you didn’t hurt her somehow.
“Cairo,” you sighed, sitting up slowly to avoid making the headache even worse.
“Y/N,” she nodded, walking over to the kitchen and bringing you a glass of water and aspirin.
You just watched her, frankly curious and suspicious at the same time. What was her deal? Breaking up with you like that and now acting like this. So, once you downed the aspirin and water, you turned your attention, or as much of it as your headache allowed to Cairo. “What are you doing?”
She sat down in the armchair to your left and you were reminded of all the times you’d spend here, working on some assignment, together, or separately, not really caring as long as you were together. “Babysitting you, sine you clearly can’t help but get drunk and fuck any girl that doesn’t look like me,” she sounded like she had the guts to actually accuse you of doing that, and sure, it was true, and you would be the first to admit it wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism but…
“How I choose to get over you is none of your business,” you bit out, feeling the anger and frustration from the month that passed since she broke up with you reaching a boiling point.
“Don’t,” she suddenly said.
And you stopped, flabbergasted by her response. “Don’t what?”
“Get over me,” she dared to say, and you laughed, looking away from her in utter disbelief.
‘Don’t get over her’ that was what she said? After all this time that was what she was telling you? That she sort of regretted breaking up with you.
“Are you for real right now? You sent me a text, blocked me and then acted like I didn’t exist!” you raised your voice, angry at her.
“I know,” she nodded, not even looking for an excuse.
You snorted. “You know? No, that’s amazing, you are unbelievable, you know? You really expect me to run into your arms? After everything?” you demanded.
Cairo shook her head, but you saw her biting her lower lip. “Y/N, I made a mistake, I apologize. I shouldn’t have hurt you like that,” the cracks in her unbreakable mask appeared, and she closed her eyes, missing the surprise on your face. “I was afraid of getting hurt again.”
So, she hurt you instead, before you could hurt her. She told you, on one long night, what happened to her, with Miller and her best friend, and as much as she hurt you, you somewhat understood her fear. “Do you have any idea how many times I got slapped or just kicked out because I called a girl your name? No matter how different they looked? You’re all I can fucking see,” you still loved her, because as much as she hurt you the time you spent together was some of the best time of your life, you thought she was the one. “How can I trust you not to do this again?”
Cairo looked at you, surprised, tears filling her eyes though she tried to hold them back. “I can’t blame you if you choose not to trust me again, I probably wouldn’t be able to trust you if our positions were switched,” she confessed.
You reluctantly opened your arm and gestured for her to come closer, and though surprised she did. She sat down next to you and hugged you, her hands wrapping around you tightly as you hugged her back. It still felt right. This. Being in each other’s arms.
“I need a bit of time, I need to take it slow if you want to give this, us, another chance,” you said, knowing that you couldn’t keep destroying yourself over this, and that maybe, much like her actions poisoned your life, they could be the antidote you needed.
Cairo nodded. “As much time as you need, I’ll be right here waiting,” she promised, the conviction in her voice made you believe that maybe, just maybe, reconsidering this relationship wouldn’t be the worst outcome you could imagine.
#cairo sweet x female reader#cairo sweet x reader#cairo sweet#miller's girl#jenna ortega x reader#x reader#x female reader
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I would LOVE to see a TFA!Megatron x human reader of some kind. I love him so much, such an intimidating and scary but fun version of him 🤭 I want it to be in the First Contact AU still, but why not sorta spice things up and make it have soulmates in it? Wouldn't it be cool to have a giant alien warlord from space destroying cities to find their soulmate? 😳🫣 lol if this idea sucks de bout it, but I'm excited to see your works that's transformers g/t related!
- ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ
THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST CHAMELANON! PLEASE ENJOY!!! God I love TFA Megs so much. He's so hot AUGH!
Be Careful What You Wish For
Pairing: TFA Megatron x Human Reader (Soulmate Au)
Word Count: 2961
Summary: Soulmates exist, and you have one. Proof exists in the form of soulmarks: a red thread-like tattoo imprinted on a person's arm. Only when one meets their soulmate and touches them will the soulmark disappear. Unfortunately, you have yet meet yours. After many lonely days wishing you would be reunited with your Other Half, a chaotic encounter with the leader of the Decepticons has you realizing one thing. And it is that soulmates persevere across time...and space.
Soulmates are real.
Since you were a young child, this is what you have been told. Soulmates are real, and every person has one. The special red thread that connects two people twines between the left hand’s fingers, up the arm, snaking under the clavicle and ending directly over the heart. Bright like the blood running through your veins, it is your life force, your compass leading you to your Other Half, with your hand outstretched to touch theirs…and only then will the red thread disappear.
You’ve spent hours staring at that red line, tracing the pattern it makes on your flesh. It’s been a constant presence throughout your life…and it has never gone away. No matter who you’ve met, who you have fallen in love with, who you have fallen out of love with, it is all the same. The thread remains, and you continue to carry a lonely heart within you.
“Give it time,” your loved ones tell you. “You’ll find them. It won’t happen in a heartbeat. You need to be patient.”
Yes, you know. Patience, after all, is a virtue. Plenty go about their lives and never even see their thread go away. An existence without your soulmate can be a perfectly happy one. But you want to know who your Other Half is. You want to be one of the lucky few who can be counted as soulfully complete.
Sitting in a coffee shop with a hot chocolate cupped between your hands, you find yourself once again observing your thread. The morning is cold; you can feel the wind trying to bite you through the shop’s large glass window. People bundled in their coats, scarves, and gloves hurry by, heads down and minds focused on whatever tasks they have at hand. Looking out, you observe them with a blank stare, not really observing them at all.
“Anything I can get you right now?” The older woman who owns the shop comes up to you, offering a plate of freshly baked cookies. “Chocolate chip? They’re right out of the oven!”
You offer her a thin smile and shake your head no. She understands; she’s seen you forlornly watching couples pass by. Sighing, she sets down the plate. “You know,” she says. “I didn’t meet my soulmate until I was in my early 40’s.”
You raise an eyebrow. She sees your surprise and chuckles. “I know, right? A little late to be meeting my Other Half. But hey, it happened. And now look at me! I’m living a good life, running a successful business, and I got to see my thread go away. Those are all things I never thought I’d get to experience. All I had to do was wait a little!”
You cringe. Yes, waiting. It seems all you’ve been doing is waiting, waiting, waiting, all for a soulmate who might never come. You and your damn waiting.
She notices your mood go sour and sighs again. “Listen, all I’m trying to say is that you shouldn’t lose hope. You’ll meet your soulmate. I know you’ve probably heard this before, but…you need to give the world time to sort things into order. That’s all you really can do when you're dealing with the threads of fate.”
You mumble a quiet “Thank you” and try to look appreciative, when you feel anything such. She says no more, but leaves you a cookie before heading off to tend to the other customers. You watch her go, then lift up your left hand. Your thread is vibrantly bright, showing no signs of fading any time soon.
Yeah, you think sadly while you bite into the cookie. No hope lost whatsoever.
You are walking out of the shop when it happens. The door’s little chimes clink together as you swing it open and bid the owner farewell. And then, a pain unlike any other hits you with the force of a freight train. It tackles you and makes you stagger, knees buckling and bringing you to the ground in a matter of seconds. Your heart starts slamming against your ribcage so hard you think a bone might crack. Pushing your hand against your chest, you pant and watch your vision swim as you attempt to get to your feet, yet fail and fall down once more.
Multiple people help you up, each one asking if you are alright. You hold out a shaking hand as if to assure them, but no sound comes out of your mouth when you try to speak.
Someone says, “Call an ambulance!” You want to tell them you are fine; unfortunately, you can’t seem to form any coherent words. All that rises up from your throat is a thin, wispy whimper.
The chaos continues when out of nowhere, an explosion erupts further down the street. People scream and scramble back. The people holding you let go, and you nearly topple right over again. Shouts of panic and confusion fill the air, confirming that no one has a clue as to what is going on.
Two dark shapes scream through the sky. You look up just in time to see a fighter jet fly past with a bomber plane following behind. For a moment, you think this is some sort of military aerial show-why such a thing would be happening in the middle of winter, you don’t know-but it’s the only conclusive argument you can decide on what you are seeing.
But then the two planes start descending. They roar over the crowded street, then begin morphing and shaping themselves into creatures completely different from the disguises they previously sported. You recognize them: they are Cybertronians. Robots from outer space who have become borderline celebrities in Detroit since arriving here months earlier. These two, however, aren’t members of the heroic Autobots who help protect the city. They are Decepticons. The villains, the destroyers. The bad ones.
The smaller of the two stretches his arms over his head. He laughs maniacally as he watches people run. “Look at them, Lugnut! They’re scurrying away like little ants!”
The other Deception growls and pays no mind to his partner. “Silence, Blitzwing. Lord Megatron has a mission for us to complete. We must distract the humans while he finds the one he is looking for.”
Blitzwing’s face swivels and changes into an icy blue expression. He surveys the humans around him with an air of disgust. “I don’t understand why Lord Megatron cares to capture one of these creatures. They are far too weak to be kept as pets.”
“It is not my place to question him, nor is it yours. We are here to do as we are told and give our lord the time he needs to complete his mission.” Lugnut grabs a car and throws it into the air. It crashes down with a heavy slam, windows shattering, metal crumpling, alarm screeching out the vehicle’s pain. You watch in horror, unable to fathom that you have a front row seat to this show of destruction Detroit is about to face.
Yeah, no, you think. I’m not sticking around. These Decepticons obviously have no regard for human lives. If you remain here, there is a high chance you will end up dead. You need to run, now.
“You're not going anywhere, little one.”
The voice is deep, and it pulses through your mind like a gong. You clutch your head and bite back a shout of pain. A strange feeling builds up in your chest. It makes your heart beat faster, and your thread begins to burn with an uncomfortable warmth you have never felt before.
A third vehicle appears from the sky: a strange helicopter with two blades and a massive cannon mounted beneath its cockpit. Your hair whips back when it lands. The Cybertronian’s body condenses and rises, metal folding over metal, creating a gigantic figure with narrowed red eyes that immediately land on you the moment they open. Your jaw drops; this is easily the biggest mech you have ever seen. And you recognize him. Megatron, the feared leader of the Decepticon forces, and the worst bot you could run into right now.
Lugnut drops to his knees and bows. “I serve you, Lord Megatron!”
Megatron does not acknowledge him. He remains focused on you. You are finding it hard to breathe.
Blitzwing walks over to the taller mech. “My lord, the Autobots will be arriving soon. What should we do?”
“Continue destroying what you can.” Megatron’s voice is a deep rumble of thunder. You feel the wind get knocked out of you when you hear it. His voice. His voice. Why are you so focused on his voice?
Your thread is beginning to burn. You slap your hand over your left arm and squeeze, hissing through your teeth. Megatron notices; he looks intrigued.
“Have you found what you are looking for, master?” Lugnut asks.
“Indeed I have,” Megatron replies. “And I don’t intend to let it escape me. Resume your orders. Keep the Autobots back for as long as you can. Once I have what we came here for, I will sound the retreat.”
Blitzwing and Lugnut do not question him any further. You, on the other hand, are questioning everything. Why is this robot having such an effect on you? Why can you hear his voice in your head? And why, why is your soulmark on fire?!
He’s here for me. There’s no solid confirmation that has been given to you about this, but you know deep down it is true.
He’s looking right at me.
Shit. Fuck.
Your legs want to move. But your brain forbids it and forces you to remain put, even as other people go running by you, their screams mingling as one high-pitched wail while Blitzwing and Lugnut destroy anything they can get their hands on.
Megatron remains still. He tilts his head with the air of a curious predator who is searching out the weak spots of his prey. You cannot drop eye contact with him. Something about his piercing gaze has you rooted to the spot in which you stand.
Only when he begins lumbering towards you do you snap out of it and run with the rest.
Everything is a blur for you. You nearly get shoved to the ground multiple times by the panicked masses who are fleeing. It feels like Detroit is crashing down. Police drones are flying in to fight back against the Decepticons, but you don’t think for a second they’ll do any damage against them. After all, they hardly ever do.
“Don’t run from me, little one.”
There is pain. So much pain. It is too much for you to handle. It causes you to collapse, clutching your head and writhing in agony.
“You are so much more fascinating than the rest of your pathetic kind.”
The ground trembles. Each step signals the robot drawing closer and closer.
“Why can I feel what you feel? Why does my spark tremble with your fear? I don’t understand it. I need to understand it. So stop running, and come here.”
You need to keep going. Grunting, you struggle to your feet and stumble forward in a haphazard fashion. You don’t even bother looking back to see if the robot is close. You just need to run. You need to hide.
Your miracle appears in the form of a parking garage. Squirming under the partially closed grated gate, you find that it is abandoned; no one is in here with you, and the cars are all empty, abandoned by their owners. You retreat into a corner dark and covered with shadows. It should provide you with the necessary cover you need in order to hide.
You remain in there for what feels like hours. It goes awfully quiet outside. Any remaining civilians are long gone. Somewhere close, you think you hear the sound of mechs duking it out. Your breathing echoes off of the parking garage’s walls, giving you a further sensation of complete unease. Perhaps hiding in here wasn’t the best choice. Maybe you should have continued running with other people to a safer spot. Allowing others to be in your presence would endanger them…but now you are alone, completely defenseless to those who wish you harm. The robot who is currently stalking you can kill you without even thinking about it. By hoping to protect the city, you may have ensured your own doom.
You hear stomping outside. Too loud to be human, too heavy to be an Autobot. Your heart tugs eagerly on its strings in an attempt to break free. It’s a mutual sensation of utter fear and strange wanting.
“Where are you?”
You see the massive head of the mech appear right underneath the gate. A shriek nearly escapes you, and you have to slap your hands over your mouth to quell it. A single roving red eye searches the garage, unblinking.
“I am not known for my patience, human. If you do not show yourself, I cannot guarantee things will end up well for you.”
The eye settles on you. It narrows and a low growl emits from the robot’s intake. “There you are.”
You have no chance to react before Megatron’s hand smashes through the gate. You scream when his fingers curl around you. Tightly pressed against his palm, you struggle and kick your feet while Megatron slowly draws you out into the open.
“Let me go!” you shriek. “Stop! Please!”
Megatron growls again and gives you a warning squeeze. “Fighting me will get you nowhere. Cease this at once, or suffer the consequences.”
Well, that’s threatening. You immediately go limp and snap your mouth shut. Megatron snorts, satisfied. He brings you closer to his face, studying you. You shrink back, flush with panic and terror.
“What is your name, human?” he rumbles.
You stutter out a barely coherent reply. “Y-Y-Y/N.”
“Y/N.” He repeats it to himself. “Y/N…a fitting name. Tell me, have we ever met before?”
“I…I d-don’t believe so?” you say.
“Hm.” He regards you, turning his hand left and right so he can examine you from all angles. “How very interesting.”
“W-What’s interesting?”
“Your mark.” He pushes his thumb under your left forearm. “It’s gone.”
You follow his gaze. Indeed, where your thread should have been-the thread that has been with you for your entire life, a presence in which you believed would never leave you-there is only bare skin. There isn’t a speck of red to be seen. The burning that accompanied it before is gone too, and now there is a sort of settlement weighing on your chest. It is an instinctive rush of fulfillment, like this was meant to happen.
You feel faint. Nothing makes sense anymore when you look back at the robot. “You…You're my soulmate?” you squeak.
“Soulmate.” Megatron stretches the word out into a slow drawl. “So that’s what your species calls it. Yes, you can say that. My kind has a similar phenomenon that affects us.” He opens his mouth and breathes in deeply. “You smell of fear. I can see in your eyes that you know me. So this city is aware of who I am, hm?”
You don’t dare answer. You're way too terrified of how close his massive teeth are to you. You don’t want to think about what might happen if you find yourself between them.
“There is no need to be afraid of me. Our sparks are linked. I would be killing a piece of myself if I were to eliminate you.” He sighs. “As disappointed as I am to discover that my sparkmate is a human, I can learn to work with it. I wish to know more about you, Y/N. I will know why fate tied us.”
“I need to know more.”
“What makes you so different?”
“Foolish little thing, you cannot get away from me.”
“I will get to the bottom of this.”
His thoughts are loud and overwhelming. You shake your head and feel tears gather in your eyes. “Please…It’s too much. Your thoughts-”
“Ah. Is that primitive brain of your overloading? I can hear it. Don’t think your thoughts aren’t in my head as well.” He rises to his full height. “I am sure we will both learn to get used to it. If not, I will have Shockwave create something that will bar my thoughts from entering your mind.”
“Wait! Wait!” You look down. The ground is far away from you. Everything sways queasily when Megatron begins to walk. “No! Put me down!”
“If you vomit on me, I will not hesitate to drop you,” the Decepticon says gratingly.
“Y-You can’t take me with you!” you yell at him. “I can’t be your soulmate! There has to be a mistake!”
“The spark doesn’t lie. Your mark is gone, and I can feel the completion you bring me. There is no question that you are my Other Half. What I want to know is why.” He shakes his head angrily. “It is a burden to have such a weak creature by my side. But I will learn to understand. Perhaps you can show me the few strengths humans possess. Do you think you can convince me to spare your race, little one?”
He’s taking you. He’s not letting you go. You feel faint with horror at the realization that you aren’t getting out of this. Whether you believe it or not, this alien robot is your soulmate.
You’ve gotten exactly what you wanted. But this isn’t how you thought meeting your Other Half would go.
You hear one last thought from Megatron echo ominously in your mind. It sends shivers down your spine. “You are mine now.”
After that, you pass out.
#gator writes#transformers#tfa megatron x reader#megatron x reader#tfa megatron#megatron#transformers x reader#transformers x human reader#reader insert#transformers animated#tfa#maccadam#transformers g/t#giant tiny
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trivial question, but: do you think ty lee can see auras? i'm torn between a. yes but they're not actually "auras", she just calls it that to be more cryptic to azula. i like her having a parallel skill to toph, but i don't like theosophy being grouped with legitimate east asian cultural influences in canon lore. or b. no, she came up with that lie when azula drilled her on how she was able to know info she shouldn't, and just leaned into it. or c. she's just being a quirky teenager
lmfao I don’t think this is a “trivial question” at all! I think ty lee’s invocation of auras and the context in which she deploys it is actually very crucial to understanding her character. everyone (azula, mai, zuko) responds to her aura talk in the same immediately dismissive way. it’s a ridiculous notion on its face, even in a universe wherein spirituality is respected (it’s less respected in the fire nation of course, but they nonetheless tie a great deal of value to their overvalorization of firebending, which is fundamentally a spiritual practice). ty lee is uniquely trivialized for her discussion of auras, in a similar way to how I, for example, dismiss any conversation about astrology as simply being a load of bullshit. and similar to astrology, there’s a gendered element to that dismissal; it’s viewed as a silly and frivolous interest for girls.
ty lee is a girl who deliberately plays up her femininity to an almost parodic degree. she (ostensibly) loves the color pink, and makeup, and boys, and she squeals at pretty shells, and emphasizes the importance of having clear skin, and she talks like she’s always just sucked in helium. now, there’s nothing wrong with being a stereotypically feminine girl, but that’s not actually what ty lee is. ty lee is a carefully crafted lie. she is a performer, and a gifted acrobat at that. when she plays this role, it is with the intention of being dismissed so as to be underestimated. she deliberately plays up these feminine qualities, performs her gender in such a way that she courts misogynistic reception to her presentation. mai claims that only stupid girls would be flattered upon being given beach trash, that only stupid girls crave male attention, that only stupid girls care about auras. azula claims that ty lee’s technique for attracting guys is “shallow and stupid” (despite it working perfectly on her for however many years they’ve been….friends). ty lee does these things specifically because she wants to be seen as a stupid girl.
she is a better manipulator than azula, and in many ways, far more powerful. think of the scene where azula pushes her out of jealousy because ty lee is better at cartwheeling as a microcosm for their entire relationship. ty lee knows exactly how dangerous she is, and so she knows that to not be seen as a threat to azula’s uncontested authority, she must present herself as someone stupid and naive for her own safety. and it works perfectly, because she is a teenage girl, and no one close to her is wise enough to see past her facade. when the conversation veers into territory that is threatening to her, she can steer it back onto safer ground by bringing up auras, or something equally frivolous. she knows full well that it makes her sound dumb, and that’s why she says it; she knows exactly how she is received at all times. meanwhile everyone around her believes that she’s hopelessly naive for being such an unrepentant happy-go-lucky frivolous weirdo. and so does a not insignificant number of people in the audience, too. because she’s genuinely just that subtle, and brilliant, and terrifying.
#surelyjtemple#asks#ty lee#analysis#tangentially this is why I cannot read mailee fanfiction… I tried to as a kid bc they’ve always been my favorite ship in atla#but it was always like ‘ty lee could sense that mai’s aura was dreary’ or whatever#and it’s like no !!!!! she’s just really fucking good at reading people!!!! come on now.#mailee shippers are actually so boring it’s insane. sorry#anyway I love you ty lee the scariest bitch in atla <33333333#taking people down from the inside physically & psychologically for 18 years running 💗
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the house of snow (21) ✧ coriolanus snow
the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3
pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader
series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his.
chapter summary: changes are coming.
word count: 2,010
series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later
chapter warnings?: implied smut, sickness, pet name (petal), not proofread
“I never imaged that Coriolanus Snow would be the sort of man to wrap himself around his wife’s finger,” Clemensia said, stirring her spoon in the china teacup. The metal clinked against the porcelain. She lifted the spoon from the cup and set it on the plate before taking a long drink.
You had invited her and Livia, among some other young ladies of the ton, for tea. The rest of the ladies had broken off in their own conversations while you remained with your friends. It was nice to see them. Though you loved your Coryo, sometimes it was good to spend time away from him. It reminded you of how much you enjoyed his presence.
“I never imagined him married. I sort of thought he’d live alone forever. He never cared much for chasing after girls at the Academy,” Livia admitted. Her face paled as though she realized who she was speaking to. You almost laughed at the scared, mouse-like expression. “I mean no offense, Your Majesty.”
You waved her off. “You can speak freely to me. I must admit, it is nice to hear that someone didn’t think my Coryo to be the marrying type.”
“Oooh, your Coryo,” Clemensia teased, brushing her elbow against yours.
“Oh, hush,” you laughed. “I thought I was truly blind when he told me he’s wanted my hand since we were fourteen. At least now I can say I was not blind, but rather that he was terrible at communicating his feelings.”
Livia’s brows raised to her hairline. “Fourteen? Really?”
“He’d been asking my father for my hand since we were eighteen,” you added. “My father refused until Coryo made a name for himself.”
“And of course he would take that to mean he must be crowned King,” Clemensia said. “He was never anything but ambitious.”
Livia smiled and reached for your hand. She gave it a squeeze. “That is so romantic. A man who will take a kingdom so he can earn his love’s hand. People write stories about that sort of thing.”
“That sounds like the stories you would read, petal.“
All other conversation in the parlor had ceased. You didn’t have to turn in your seat to know that Coryo was behind you. His firm hands came to rest on his shoulders, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. A smile pulled at your lips.
“Do you think all I read is romance?” you said.
“Not all. But everyone needs something lighter after reading about history and politics all day,” Coryo said. His fingers trailed off the lace of your gown and to the exposed skin by your collarbone. A shiver ran down your spine. Why had you tortured yourself with this tea again? “Besides, you had to get the idea of a love match from somewhere.”
You watched as Clemensia leaned over to Livia. Her voice dropped to a stage-whisper as she said, “Aren’t they much cuter than her and Lord Plinth would ever be?”
Coryo’s fingers curled into your skin. It didn’t hurt, but it reminded you of how you and Coryo lost a friend. Even if Sejanus could leave the Peacekeepers and return to the Capitol, nothing would ever be the same. You couldn’t imagine a world where you all could be friends again. You reached up and took his hand, lifting it to your lips. He relaxed as you kissed his knuckles.
“Much cuter,” Livia agreed.
Clemensia’s eyes glinted with mischief as she turned her gaze to you and Coryo. “A shame he enlisted with the Peacekeepers. I wish he could see the two of you so sickeningly in love.”
“Perhaps that’s why he enlisted. Because he couldn’t live with himself if he wasn’t the one making her so happy,” Livia mused.
Oh, that was such a romantic way to think of it. If only they knew it was because he was so in love with you that he begged you to run away with him. If only they had seen the King so red with anger, how you had thought he would have killed his once-friend with his bare hands. If Livia was writing your story, she would make it seem like Sejanus peacefully stepped out of the picture. She wouldn’t make it seem like the betrayal it was.
You lifted your chin to look at your husband. While his face was painted to look calm, you could see the anger swirling in his pale blue eyes. You kissed his knuckles again and said, “Why he left doesn’t matter. Not when I have such a wonderful husband by my side.”
Coryo’s tight-lipped smile turned genuine. “And with that, I must steal my wife away. We have important matters we must discuss.”
You held onto Coryo’s hand as you rose from your seat. He led you out of the ignore, the both of you ignoring Clemensia’s giggled “important matters, hm?”. Your heart beat hard in your chest as you walked down the hall. He wouldn’t harm you, you were sure of that, but you didn’t like when he let the anger simmer.
Coryo took you to the office and shut the door behind you. Once alone, he tugged you against his chest and pressed his lips against yours. A gasp escaped you, allowing him the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth. Your arms wound their way around his shoulders. You hand tangled itself in his hair. Well, this certainly wasn’t what you expected, but you weren’t going to kick a gift horse in the mouth.
“I would marry you again,” he grunted against your mouth. “I would marry you every day for the rest of my life.”
“What’s stopping you? You are King. The only person you let order you around is me, and I would never deprive myself of you again.”
Coryo pulled away. Before you could inquire why, he was sinking down on his knees. He pushed your skirts up, hooked one leg over his shoulder. His nose brushed against your clothed core, wet mouth pressing kisses. Coryo pulled down your undergarments and began to recite his vows.
“I, Coriolanus Snow, take thee to be my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward…”
Your stomach churned as you ate breakfast. With every bite, it took tremendous effort to keep the food down. Even with a generous amount of water between bites, it doesn’t seem to help. Part of you wanted to believe it was because you would be meeting with the Electors for the first time since your engagement to Coryo. But you knew it wasn’t nerves. You had had a rare clear schedule two days prior when you found yourself knelt over a chamberpot, the remnants of lunch spilling out with no end in sight.
“You don’t need to meet with the Electors if you are not feeling up to it,” Coryo said from the other end of the table. He had finished his own breakfast what felt like hours ago. In reality, it had only been a few minutes. Yet every effort to eat your own meal seemed to take eons. “I can meet them on my own, or we can reschedule. No one will fault you if they wish to live.”
The threat was meant to make you laugh, and you might have if the nausea didn’t overwhelm you. A Peacekeeper from the corner of the room raced over with a vessel for your vomit. You heaved until there was nothing left, barely noticing that Coryo had came around your side and was rubbing your back.
“I take it back. You are not going,” he said. “They should be arriving soon, but I will inform them that we cannot take visitors at the moment.”
You lifted your head. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and you knew you looked as sick as you felt. Still, though, you argued, “I am fine now. I-I just need a moment to freshen up. Whatever sickness that was has passed. I am fine, Coryo.”
“Is that why you pretend I don’t know you have been sick every day this week?”
You had prayed he didn’t notice. A foolish thought, to be sure. But he never made a comment when you would slide out of bed or would excuse yourself from the office.
“You never said anything.”
Coryo sighed. He ran a hand over your hair, careful not to mess up the delicate pinnings. “Nor did you. I thought you might have wanted space. If you do, I will continue to allow you it. But I will not let you go to meetings and make yourself worse. Go back to our chambers, take a bath, and I will have a physician sent up.”
“Coryo—”
He hushed you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Please, petal.”
You frowned, but conceded. When Coryo looked at you with that serious look in his eyes, it was hard to fight back. So you rose from your chair and retreated to your chambers. A lady’s maid was quick to help you out of your dress and undid your hair while another servant drew you a bath. Once in the bath, you tried to push your mind away from your sickness. It was easy to do until a servant came in to let you know the physician arrived.
Rather reluctantly, you left your bath and slipped on a shift before letting the physician inside your chambers. You offered a tight-lipped smile as he gave a quick bow.
“Thank you for your haste,” you said, sitting on the edge of the bed. The physician pulled the bench by your vanity over so he sat in front of you. “I am certain this will pass soon, but Coryo wanted to be certain.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” he said. “I am sure you would much rather return to your duties, so we can make this quick. Could you tell me your symptoms?”
You began to rattle them off, your heart sinking as you began to realize how much you had been sick over the last week. How had Coryo managed to stay silent this long? Did he realize how ill you had been? Judging by the on the physician’s face, you began to worry that you and Coryo had waited too long to do anything.
The door creaked open. Without really thinking of what you were doing, you stood up as Coryo entered the room. He nodded at the physician before coming to your side. You sat together. His hand instinctively took yours.
“Is everything well?” Coryo asked.
“I will need to ask a few questions first, but I am certain all is well, Your Majesty,” the physician said.
“Ask away then,” Coryo said.
The physical looked to you. “Forgive me for my bluntness, but when was your last courses?”
Your grip on Coryo’s hand tightened. When had that been? It felt like nearly a lifetime ago. How long ago had it been since you bled? You used to be so diligent about this. Your mother always stressed the importance of it. She would say it would be important when you were married, because that’s when you knew when you would have children. Children. Oh.
You counted back the days and the weeks, your heart racing as you couldn’t pinpoint the exact time. “Right before the wedding,” you decided. “The day you threw the ball, Coryo.”
Coryo’s head snapped to yours. “That was nearly two months ago.”
The physician smiled. “Ah, well, then that’s likely what’s at issue. I have a few tests we can do to be certain, but I do believe we have found the source of your sickness, Your Majesty.”
Suddenly, you very much wanted to throw up again. Could it really be so soon? You tried to recall married couples that came before you. How long had it been for them? You wanted to say a lot longer. Certainly not a mere two months.
“Congratulations,” the physician said. “Panem will rejoice when your babe arrives.”
You vomited on his shoes.
#the house of snow: a royal coryo au#coriolanus snow imagine#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus snow x you#coriolanus snow x fem!reader#coriolanus snow x female reader#coriolanus snow x y/n#coriolanus snow fanfiction#coriolanus snow fan fiction#coriolanus snow fan fic#coriolanus snow fanfic#coriolanus snow fic#starrywrites#starryevermore
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Part 1 : here
Tommy left. Of course he did.
Who would stay when Evan “Buck” Buckley fucks up again, uh?
He’s back in his room now, in his bathroom, getting ready for a shower and he’s wondering if he can avoid cleaning his lips and his birthmark so he can pretend to still feel Tommy’s touch. Tommy’s lips.
What a teenager.
He slams the door of the shower behind him and lets the water drop on his face, visualise it erasing Tommy’s kiss, his touch, like it never happened.
He doesn’t cry. It’s not his first deception. He knows how to deal with it.
He knows !!
Ok, maybe he doesn’t know. It’s been 2 weeks and his eyes still wander around every rooms he goes into. Around every venues.
Maddie has been on his ass as soon as he dropped his mug at the news of Tommy’s leaving.
And everyday she looks at him suspiciously. She even pulled his best friend Eddie and his son to try to have Buck to come out with it, whatever it was.
Her words. And he almost lost it laughing at the “come out” part. If she knew.
Maybe she should.
It’s been 3 more weeks. Five weeks in total and he called Maddie in his room.
“He kissed me.” He blurts as soon as she’s sitting down.
It’s a sign of how close they are that she doesn’t even need anything else to know what and who they’re talking about immediately.
“Did he force you?” she asks serious.
“What? No, no absolutely not! Why would you even think that?”
“I dont know Evan, maybe because you’ve been hurting for five weeks and now you tell me your bodyguards kissed you before running away and-“
“I liked it Maddie, I liked it so much,” he says, and his eyes fill with tears.
She looks at him for a few seconds before her face finally clear. He knows she gets him. He knows she already knows or guessing what he’s not saying yet.
“Oh Evan,” she says before standing from her seat and comes around to hug him.
They stay like that for a while, before she breaks the silence of the room.
“What happened ?”
“He kissed me. He came into my room, I was freaking out because I said “he” during that show. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about him, and he knocked and he came inside. And he kissed me. And when he asked if it was ok I… I just told him that I was sorry. And then he left. And he really left …”
They stay like that for a long time.
“Why did you say no?”
“Please Maddie… it’s been hard enough for us. Yes mom and dad helped a little but we struggled. YOU struggled so I could have my music lessons, my voice training, my recordings. Everything you did for me…. If I come out now? As what? Bi? People will freak… they’ll hate me. And through me you. They’ll destroy what we built together. What we fought for.”
Maddie looks at him and instead of the understanding he thought he’d see on her face he only see sadness, “Evan … do you truly think that your happiness is not my priority? That I wouldn’t drop everything here if it meant that my baby brother could have all he wants?”
“Maddie… you shouldn’t sacrifice anything for me.”
“And I don’t intend to, but I’d do it in a heartbeat. And I’m sure many of your fans would still love you. Yes maybe we would have shows in smaller venues, but you always said that you liked them more, that it gave you a better bond to your fans. Or maybe you’ll be the first bi-icon of country music here and you’ll explode. We don’t know what the future holds. But we know what you always looked for. We know why your eyes always wander around in a room. What if Tommy is that person that will always be here for you ?”
He can feel the tears sliding slowly down his face.
“How was that kiss, Evan?”
“It was like when I first played on my first guitar…” he says looking at his sister, silently pleading for her to understand what’s the significance of it is. And he sees on her face that she gets it. Like she always does.
“Let’s get your man”
It takes some time. They know where Tommy works easily enough but the tour is now in Canada and Tommy is all the way back to California, to Los Angeles where he works apparently for the Rams.
The fact that they’re away and can’t come back ends up working for them as Maddie put a plan together so Buck can talk to Tommy, and convince him for a second chance.
They’re finally hitting a two weeks break in the tour and they’re back in LA. Buck is looking outside to the game being played.
They’re close to the halftime and he’s getting ready. He knows Maddie is around there, texting Chimney consistently while her husband has the job of keeping Tommy focused on him and close to the playfield so he doesn’t try to run away when he realizes who’s singing.
Of course Chimney was made aware of their plans and it was only his love for romance that probably kept him from blurting it all out to Tommy already.
When the halftime is finally announced and they say that a surprise entertainment has been put together Buck leaves the room and goes outside to get on the stand they put together for him.
He knows where Chimney and Tommy are supposed to be. He knows exactly where to watch. And for the first time he’s scarred of what he’ll see if he let his eyes wander around to find Tommy.
But he still does it.
And here he is. Looking back at him.
Even from where Buck stands he can see how tense Tommy look, and he still drowns in his blue eyes.
He hears the music start and the years of training and experience make him act. He grabs his guitar and start to play.
This time when he says “he” it’s not a mistake.
This time when he says “he” it’s with intention.
This time when he says “he” he shouts it.
And he shouts it again. And again. And again.
His voice never wavers. His eyes barely blink, scared of missing any hints of Tommy’s reaction.
When he switches to a second song, a silly little song just to distract the crowd he sees Tommy moving his head a little. Like he did when he took care of Buck at the venues.
He always pretended to not like Buck’s songs. To not like music at all, but Buck saw him enough time mouthing the words of his songs to know it was just an act.
And when he starts the third song, he can see Tommy singing words for words. He only stumbles a little when Buck says “he” again and he smiles. He smiles at Tommy, and he shouts louder. And louder.
He.
He.
He.
The last notes are still resonating when he shouts a thank you to the crowd that applaud. This time he doesn’t care. The show wasn’t for them.
It was for him.
And he leaves the stand and he walks toward Tommy. He walks across half the field. It’s not what he’s supposed to do. It’s not how the artist is supposed to leave. He had an exit. The same that he used to enter the field.
But Maddie is supposed to have cleared that with them. He doesn’t really care to be honest.
Not now that he’s in front of Tommy and he sees Chimney walks quietly away.
“Hey”
“Hey,” answers Tommy, his face inscrutable.
“I’m so sorry,” says Buck, taking the few more steps that separate them. He can feel the heat from Tommy’s body now. “I’m so sorry,” he repeats.
“Evan”
“I made a mistake. It was ok, Tommy. It was so ok. The okayest”
Tommy huffs, his lips quirking up, “the okayest,uh?”
Buck nods, he’s not sure what he should say now. The plan was to sing for Tommy. To meet him again. To tell him that kiss wasn’t a mistake. That he liked it.
But now in front of Tommy, he feels his lips moving but no sounds leave them.
He doesn’t have to. Not when he feels Tommy fingers rub his jaw, retracing the same pattern they did after their kiss. He rubs his face on that hand like a cat, closing his eyes and then he feels it again. Tommy’s lips.
This time the world goes silent. It goes still. Only Tommy is here, Tommy and Buck.
And when they separate to breathe, the first sound he hears is the little exhale from Tommy and he vows to one day be able to recreate it through music. But now he just pulls Tommy closer to kiss him.
#bucktommy#tommy kinard#evan buckley#evan buck buckely#buck x tommy#tommy x buck#evan buck buckley#tevan#buck and tommy#kinley#kinkley
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Sundown: Chapter 7
WC: 3,1K
Relationship: SwissAlps
Tags: AU; Cowboy!Swiss x Barmaid!Mountain,Transfeminine Mountain, Angst, Crying, Alcohol, Makeup, Backstory, Grief
He can blame his father for that, but not for his choices later on.
That’s all on him, hurting Mounty is all on him.
Notes: I’m not very happy with how this chapter turned out, but the idea was good lmao hope you enjoy :3 Divider by the lovely @ghuleh-recs <3 Also happy Pride Month everyone!!!
Playlist here. / Chapter 1 here or on AO3.
Read chapter 7 under the cut or on AO3.
Swiss slept in the stables with Monty. Curled up and shaking through the cold night on a falling-apart cube of hay.
As fragile as he is, if not less.
He thinks about the irony, looks back at his life and wonders where the fuck he went wrong. He’s well aware, of course, but when he looks far back, ultimately he didn’t put himself on that road on his own. Albeit, he can blame his father for that, but not for his choices later on.
That’s all on him, hurting Mounty is all on him.
It doesn’t matter now, anyway, he already fucked up the best thing that has ever happened to him.
The man gets up, only imagining how pitifully he looks—though there’s no pity he deserves—and turns for Monty’s tack. He’s getting the hell out of there as soon as his chick is ready. Mere minutes later she is and Swiss walks her out of the stable.
“Once again it’s gonna be just the two of us, girlie,” he sighs, rubbing Monty’s nose as she nudges it into his chest. She understands.
Swiss’ jaw is clenched tight and his eyes still sting and he’s about to hop on and walk away from the best few months of his life like it was nothing when he hears footsteps on the soft ground behind him, followed by a familiar voice.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Swiss flinches, not turning to the other.
“Dew, you don’t unders–”
“I do,” Dewdrop interrupts him. “I know everything, Mounty spent the night at our place.”
Swiss looks over his shoulder despite his voice wavering and hot tears threatening to fall already. “You should be chasing me out of here with a pitchfork,” he jokes, but there’s no real humor in it.
“And yet I asked what the fuck do you think you’re doing,” the other man repeats, coming closer. He puts a hand on Monty’s neck to pet her; she leans into it and it’s as if both Dewdrop and the mare want to show the cowboy he should stay.
“What else can I do?” He shrugs, still not looking Dewdrop in the eye. “I messed up.”
“Yeah, you did. Big time,” he points out, “but the Shadow never sounded like a coward.”
Silence falls for a moment. Swiss takes a shaky breath and when he speaks again it’s barely audible, “I ain’t him, Dew. A coward is all I am.”
The other shakes his head. “You can’t leave her. She loves you.”
“And I love her, more than life itself,” Swiss claims and both of them know he’s not exaggerating. He’s never loved anything or anyone as much as he loves Mounty. She’s everything he’s not, she’s the best thing that ever happened to humanity, she erases all of it’s faults. She’s perfect and he’s…far from that. “I’m doing all of you a favor, I can’t–I don’t deserve her.”
“It’s not your decision.” Dewdrop argues. Swiss is surprised by his persistence, even though he knows the man is stubborn and more sharp-witted and wiser than he lets on. “She’ll forgive you, it’s how she is, you just have to be patient. Don’t run away, it’ll hurt her even more.”
“She’s scared of me.”
“Yeah, because you murdered more people than this town even has!” he bites back, nearly laughing, and Swiss hurts. Although he deserves it, he supposes. “I’m scared of you, too.”
Swiss’ breath hitches and he lets it back out with a dry sob, “Then why the hell are you trying to stop me?”
Dewdrop throws his arms up, nearly spooking Monty. “Because none of that matters! You said that the Shadow is not the true you and you’ve been here for long enough for me to believe that. Get rid of him once and for all and everything will be alright. Mounty will forgive you and forget about the fear.”
There’s nothing else Swiss can say. He wants to believe Dewdrop’s right, he needs him to be right if he is to stay, but he knows he’ll fuck it up all over again if he does. That’s just what he does.
Heartbreak and grief follow him wherever he goes, why would Sundown be any different?
“Come on, let’s get you a drink,” Dewdrop sighs, taking Swiss’ arm. His eyes widen, he’s not ready to see Mounty just yet, it’s too– “Relax, she ain't there now.”
He doesn’t say anything, but he lets the other walk him to the saloon, leaving tacked-up Monty behind. She looks rather pleased with the outcome, going back to her hay right away.
Dewdrop lets Swiss and himself in from the back and goes to make him a drink, leaving the cowboy in the storage. His head is throbbing and he really does need a drink, but he doubts whatever Dewdrop is pouring is going to be enough.
Before he realizes what he's doing he grabs an unopened bottle of whiskey off a shelf and shoves it under his shirt.
Just then Dewdrop comes back and hands him a glass that Swiss downs in two gulps. It burns his throat and belly but it's not enough.
Still, he thanks the other, “I'm gonna go now, I'll…I'll try to bring myself to talk to Mounty tomorrow.”
“You better.” With that Dewdrop leaves and Swiss heads back to the stable. Maybe he'll be warmer later, when the night comes, thanks to the alcohol. He takes the tack off Monty and settles himself on that same cube of hay that he slept on.
He sighs at how pathetic he is as he opens the bottle and glues his lips to it, reveling in the bitter taste and the acidic burn going down his throat.
A few hours later he notices he's moved. Or was moved.
Where? He doesn't really know but it's harder under his ass than the hay. He hums an off-key tune under his breath, rolling his head from one side to the other against a piece of wood. Is it a wall?
He zones out with an empty mind and he giggles at the foggy void taking over his brain. He has no idea how long he's been there and even where he is or what he's doing. It's dark but it might just be that his eyes are closed.
“Swiss? What the hell are you doing?” someone asks. The man tries to blink but his eyes are closed so he just squeezes them tighter for a moment before he manages to actually open them. His face feels numb as he tries to smile.
Swiss wonders how that beautiful girl knows his name.
“I’m–nevermind, but I do know your name.” Did he say that out loud? “Do you know my name?”
“Hmpf…” he huffs, trying to open his mouth and actually say what he wants to, ”you're ver’pretty bu–but I can't.”
“Can't what?” the girl asks, standing over him with her hands on her hips.
Mounty doubts Swiss can register the emotions on her face if he can't even recognize her, but she tries to mask them anyway. She's worried, she didn't expect to see Swiss tonight, much less in such a state. She hasn't made peace with all of what happened yet, but she still loves him and cares about him.
“There’s a girl, I–” Swiss hiccups, “I don't think she likes me anymore but–but I'm in love with her, y’know? So I…I can't do anything w’you.”
“That's fine.” Mounty crouches down, smiling, despite everything, at Swiss' ramble. He's drunk out of his mind and doesn’t realize it's her before him, but he is still loyal. “I just wanted to make sure you're okay over here, kind sir.”
“I ain’t a sir,” he giggles. “‘m a mess.”
“Respectfully, you have a point,” the barmaid agrees. She comes closer and reaches out to grab Swiss’ hand, trying to not shudder at the feeling of his skin on hers again, even though it's been barely twenty four hours since everything went down. “Which is why you can't stay here, come on, let's get you up.”
“No, I can't go w’you, my–my girl’s gonna be angry,” Swiss slurs in protest, shaking his head clumsily.
“Yeah?” Mounty can't help but giggle now, too. “I think your girl is gonna be more angry if you freeze to death out here.”
“Hmmm…but–but you can't touch me, ‘cause ‘m hers, o–okay?”
“Okay, I promise to not touch you anywhere weird,” Mounty grabs his other hand and tries to haul him up. It works as well as it can with Swiss in such a state, with him stumbling into her arms once he's up, “but I think I have to help you walk up the stairs, don't I?”
“Uh…p–pos–billy,” he hiccups again, but nods, grinning up at the girl. His breath stinks, but Mounty doesn't really mind. She is a barmaid after all, it's not the first drunk man she's dealing with. It is her man, though, this time.
She all but hangs him over her shoulder and walks into the saloon. The stairs are a challenge, but neither of them falls down, so Mounty considers it a success when she drops Swiss onto a bed in one of the guest rooms. She’s not ready to put him back in hers, not before they have a proper talk about everything. She knows she is going to forgive him, especially after what Dewdrop told her earlier, but they have to talk first.
Still, there’s a little voice in the back of Mounty’s head telling her to milk more out of Swiss. “Tell me about your girl, won't ya?”
“Oh, oh, she's…she's s’pretty, y’know? No offense t’you, but she’s the prettiest girl ever,” the man rambles, gesturing wildly. His eyes are wide and glassy—not only because of alcohol—and his grin is as wide and bright as ever. “She's an angel! She’s kind and–and lovely…and a–also she has nice…very nice boobies.”
“Huh.” Mounty puts a hand over her mouth so as not to snort. Of course he had to mention her tits. “She sounds amazing.”
“She is…” Swiss sighs dreamily, freezing with a goofy smile as he—most likely—gets lost in memories from not so long ago.
“Anyway, it’s way past bedtime for you, kind sir,” she snaps him out of it when she notices his eyes start to close on their own. “I think your girl would agree.”
“Mhmmm,” he hums in acknowledgement. “She’s always tellin’ me to go to bed when I don't wanna.”
“Sounds like she’s smart, too.” Mounty pushes him on the shoulder and he falls back like a ragdoll, flat on the bed.
“Mmm, the smartest,” Swiss mumbles, wiggling on the bed in something that looks like a rather poor attempt at getting comfortable. The barmaid shakes her head and throws a blanket over him.
And resists the urge to bend down and kiss him.
Swiss blinks and suddenly it’s morning.
His head is pounding and someone knocks on the door again and it doesn’t help it—even though it’s rather quiet. He realizes that the knocking is what woke him up. He tries to roll over and maybe get up to get the door but a wave of dizziness washes over him so he resolves to calling out, “Come in.”
His heart skips a beat when he sees Mounty in the door. Only now he realizes that he’s in one of the saloon rooms, but how he ended up there is a mystery. Though he supposes it might have something to with that bottle of whiskey he snatched yesterday.
Fuck.
“Good morning,” Mounty says, leaning against the doorframe. Swiss’ stomach turns and it’s not his hangover’ fault. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ve had way too much,” he mumbles. “Who brought me in here?”
“I did.” The barmaid shrugs and the corner of her mouth twitches upwards at Swiss’ grimace. “Found you half-conscious on my doorstep last night. Don’t remember much, do you?”
“Not really,” the cowboy admits. He sits up to lean against the wall and watches as Mounty walks inside and shuts the door behind her. She has a little basket hanging off of her arm and Swiss notices there’s faint steam coming from it.
“I can imagine. Here,” she hands him the basket, “from Rain.”
The man groans as the smell finally reaches him; freshly fried sausage with a slice of buttered bread and a glass of water.
“Thank you. Not only for this, for…everything.” Swiss takes a sip of water first, and even though he is not a fan of such a simple drink, his dehydration makes it taste heavenly. “Can we talk?”
Mounty doesn’t reply, but she nods before sitting on the edge of an empty bed across the bed. The man takes a bite out of his breakfast and it is delicious—as anything made by Rain—but there’s a certain bitterness to it at the distance that the other has put between them. He couldn’t expect anything less, but it aches nonetheless.
“Let’s start with apologies. I shouldn’t have hid who I was. We wouldn’t have gotten where we did if I had been honest, but I should’ve been, you didn’t deserve getting lied to. All I wanted was to get out of that life once and for all. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You have no idea how much I regret everything.”
Mounty remains silent, but her eyes are on Swiss. Her presence alone is more than he could’ve wished for after everything. He swallows a few more bites of the food she brought and washes it down with more water before he dares to continue.
“Can I…will you let me explain everything?” he asks once the breakfast is gone. Swiss pulls his knees up and curls up as much as he can under a scratchy blanket; he tries not to think about how Mounty must’ve pulled it over him yesterday. “Can I tell you my story? I don’t want it to be an excuse, nothing can excuse what I did, but I just…I need you to know. Will you let me tell you?”
The barmaid still doesn’t speak, but her gaze is soft and somewhat curious, as if she’s trying to be angry with him—mad, even—but can’t bring herself to hate him and is looking for a reason to forgive him, whether it’s there or not.
Swiss doesn’t deserve her in the slightest.
The problem, though, is that his lie—or rather avoiding the truth—is, after all, the least serious of his crimes. He's a murderer and even if Mounty can forgive his dishonesty, he can't imagine she'd be willing to look past all of his sins.
“I have…had a sister. Our dad was famous for getting into all kinds of trouble and one day he got himself killed and my sister—Sunny—kidnapped,” he pauses to take a deep, shuddering breath. He hasn’t uttered her name since the day he buried her. He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, threatening to fall, before he continues. “I had nothing, there was nothing I could’ve done to get her back, but I went there and begged, offered my life in exchange for hers. They…those men decided that they’ll let her go when I pay off our father’s debt by doing all their dirty work for a while. That’s how the Shadow came to be.”
“How did…what happened to her?” Swiss flinches at Mounty’s voice. She sounds like Sunshine did, a bit; something he has noticed that first night down by the bar and tried so hard to ignore all these months.
“I did all they wanted, all their bidding, everything. I became a monster, a soulless–” he says, barely above a whisper. “I should’ve known it seemed too easy, that they weren’t men of their word.”
He drops his head against his knees, still not fully able to say…it out loud. Saying something, letting it sound, makes things real and Swiss is far away from accepting the reality in which she’s not with him.
It’s barely audible when he does say it, “They killed her the moment they didn’t need me anymore.”
“Swiss, baby, I’m–” Mounty gasps. “I’m so, so sorry. Nobody should have to go through anything like that.”
“I killed all of them that night,” the man chuckles pitifully, sniffling wetly as he rubs his eyes against the blanket. “That’s why nobody heard of me after that, because there was no Shadow anymore, he died with his masters. I should’ve done that earlier, I should’ve fought and saved her, I–I failed her, Momo.”
The barmaid is speechless. She…Swiss shouldn’t have lied to her, but she understands—though not really, she’s never gone through something as awful as the man before her, but she can understand how all he wanted was…out.
“I don’t–I don’t want you to forgive me and take me back with open arms,” the cowboy cries quietly, “it's just that…what I need is for you to–to understand. Please, sweetheart, just tell me you understand why I did what I did.”
“I do, darling,” Mounty states, loud and clear, and Swiss sobs with relief, choking on air. “But I will–I am taking you back with open arms. You're mine and I'm yours, Swiss.”
She gets up and walks over to the other bed—with her arms open, indeed. She’s not much bigger than the cowboy, but in that moment he’s tiny, as fragile as a man can be. Mounty wraps her arms around him and pulls him close, lets him sob into her chest.
“Seeing her body…seeing her, my baby sister, and having to bury her, I–I don’t… Believe me, sweetheart, I have paid for all I’ve done t–tenfold.”
“C’mere, lay down,” Mounty whispers as she strokes Swiss’ arm with all the gentleness in the world, not knowing any words that could fill the gaping hole in his heart. He keeps quiet, but obeys, resting his head on the barmaid’s shoulder. She brings them both down and tightens her arms around him, trying to comfort that broken, broken man as much as she can. She doesn’t feel like it’s enough and Swiss doesn’t have words to tell her that it’s more than enough and way more than he deserves.
What he can tell her, though, is words that he’s never going to be too overwhelmed, exhausted or hungover to say.
“I love you, girl.”
Swiss is afraid that he’s not going to hear it back ever again, but Mounty smiles and mutters, “I love you, too, cowboy.”
Somehow, hope fills him. Hope that they’re going to be okay.
He’s surprised to find himself believing it.
#hypnone writes#the band ghost#nameless ghouls#swiss ghoul#mountain ghoul#swissalps#swissalps' sundown
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REGRET & LOVE (series) 🎹 1/-
previous part next part other parts
: Leonor is a portuguese girl adopted by a portuguese couple living in Monaco. her childhood was difficult, with the orphanage leaving deep scars, but some people in Monaco brought light into her life. unfortunately, not everything lasts forever. people change, and even those closest to us can drift away… even Charles.
ps: in this story, Kika is 25, just like Leonor.
* i have a taglist, just ask and I'll add you!
2015
"Life changes paths very easily, sometimes even faster than expected. Each day presents new challenges, new obstacles, new people, and new choices. Even what we believe to be forever eventually slips away, and there's no avoiding it. It's like a ray of sunshine; when it hits your eyes, you feel good, but when night falls, all that remains is to appreciate the silence and solitude."
I conclude my high school philosophy presentation with these words. The applause reverberates loudly on the school stage, as strong as I try to hold back my tears.
My journey has changed so much over the years.
"Thank you for that, Leonor. You'll definitely be in the running for the prize!" My teacher tells me as I head backstage, feeling tears welling up in her eyes.
To avoid any conflict, I rush to the women's restroom. I close the door tightly behind me as I sit on the toilet seat, never having spoken about this with anyone other than my adoptive parents. Not that I've spoken about it directly, but just touching on this subject brings back the same pain I felt last year.
But my thoughts are quickly interrupted when I hear a knock on the door. Doesn't the person realize it's occupied? Anyway, I stand up, wipe my face with the sleeve of my sweater, and open the door.
I'm greeted by a girl from my class whom I've never spoken to before. She has medium brown hair, olive skin, and huge brown eyes that match her hair.
To be honest, I've never spoken to her. We've always been part of different friend groups; maybe our maximum contact was the day her pencil fell on the floor and I picked it up, that's it.
Her friends are... complicated. It seems like they always want to be seen by everyone. From a distance, you can tell she doesn't fit into that group; she's more fun, cooler.
"Hey," I say to her in a low tone, if I'm not mistaken her name is Francisca.
"Hi!" She greets me cheerfully as I exit the stall and head towards the sink, with her by my side. "I saw you running out of the presentation, which was really good by the way!"
I'm happy with her comment; it was honest, sincere.
"And well, you seemed upset, so I came to check on you! How are you?" She asks with her big chocolate eyes looking at me with curiosity, but concern.
"I'm fine, just a little nervous after the presentation." I try to disguise it with a laugh, but it seems to only make it worse.
"I know you're not okay. Come with me, let's go to the cafeteria, and if you want, you can vent." Without hesitation, the brunette pulls me through the school hallways towards the mentioned place.
We sit in the empty cafeteria at a table in the corner and stare at each other for a while to see who speaks first.
She rests her chin on her hands and starts. "I guess I better say something, right?" She looks at me, and we laugh together. "You know that group of friends of mine, right? Well, in the last few days, they've been, well—" She pauses to take a deep breath, and I already know what happened. "Recently, they've been sidelining me; it seems like nothing I do pleases them. I just wish I knew why all of this..."
"Look, it's hard, I've felt that way too..." I start, trying to comfort her. "Last year, my best friend did something terrible to me. It feels like everything started going wrong from that day on, and I've never felt so alone. Despite the sadness, I try to move on. I know crying doesn't solve anything, but it's just a way for me to express myself, and I understand you." I look at her with a reassuring look; this situation isn't easy.
"Well, then, we're both screwed," she says, and I let out the first genuine laugh of the day. She's not wrong. "When you feel like talking about him, you tell me, okay? Let's forget what hurt us together. Next year, we'll go to college and become real adults; it's time for us to forget."
But, oh, Charles, you're unforgettable.
#charles leclerc#carlos sainz fanfic#carlos sainz x reader#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc x reader#lando norris#carlos sainz#cl16 x reader#f1 x reader#cl16#carlos sainz masterlist#charles leclerc masterlist#carlos sainz 55#monaco gp 2024#max verstappen#oscar piastri#leo leclerc#arthur leclerc#f1 x you#f1 imagine#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#fernando alonso#ferrari#fluff#fashion#original character#f1 2024#mclaren f1#ferrari f1
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I think what people need to remember as well is that yes while we all love and live for the content, we don’t know these people and we don’t know what they go through in their daily lives. Am I surprised that someone who just went through months of being violently cyberstalked didn’t give an insight into her personal life yesterday? Not in the slightest.
Like safety is something they have to consider in a way we don’t. Both of their security was beefed up because of that stalker person. Tom is not only very visible right now, but also accessible – his schedule and whereabouts are public knowledge. No wonder the security at the stage door is so tight.
Do I want to get more cute pics and see Z at more shows? Sure. But I fully understand why she’s lying low.
mhm
and the last i’ll say is anyone whose actually annoyed/angry at the supposed ‘lack’ of content maybe needs to think about finding some other celeb/thing to follow that gives them the level of entertainment they desire or not equating their personal satisfaction with getting content from them. and don’t bring your grievances into my inbox as i’m doing just fine with what’s been happening so far this year
this isn’t a new phenomenon with tz. it’s been pretty much like this for the past 2/3ish years now. be happy with what you get which (compared some other people i’m a fan of) is a considerable amount
#and that’s all#i’m going back to reading my book in the park#maybe some of you should try that#it’s nice#ask
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It is what it is - Tendou x Reader x Ushijima (platonic)
Another one of my "this is my boyfriend and this is my boyfriend's best friend" fics. This has been going round and round in my head the whole weekend, I hope I could put all the feeling into this that I felt about it. Tell me what you think.
Tagging: @lees-chaotic-brain and @satorisoup because in a way, it's Tendou
“Aren’t you worried people are going to call you out for this?” Satori asks, teasing lilt in his voice. “Flying all the way to Paris for a haircut?”
“I don’t care,” Wakatoshi exclaims, bathing in your joyful giggling and Satori’s amused snort.
“Whatever you say. I’ll see you after work, okay?” The redhead brushes a hand over his buzzcut before leaning over to kiss you - Wakatoshi averts his eyes on instinct.
“See you later. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
You hold Satori’s hand all the way to the door, watch him step into the elevator before you turn back.
“Alright, now that we’re on our own. What do you want me to do with your hair? Some color? A buzzcut?”
“The usual,” he asks, closing his eyes when you pat his shoulder.
There’s so much understanding in your words, your action, the simplest touch.
Oh, how he’s missed you.
-
“Wakatoshi, stand straight,” his mother orders. His father’s hands are warm on his shoulders as he stiffens, posture perfect now.
“This is my good friend,” she explains just seconds later and Wakatoshi can see it, in the harsh lines and the absence of a smile.
“And this is her daughter. It would make us very happy if you two would marry one day.”
“Love-” His father says in that tone he uses when he asks his mother to change her mind on something. She rarely listens.
“Of course, nothing will be settled until you are older,” she speaks over him yet again. “But I am sure you two will be fast friends.”
The adults leave them alone after that, with nothing but a plate of healthy snacks and glasses of water.
You are nice to look at, he thinks. Unlike your mother, you’re curves and softness, eyes glittering as you shyly ask what he likes to do in his free time.
“My father plays Volleyball with me sometimes,” he explains, “Or I read.”
“Could you show me?” You ask, pulling your lower lip between your teeth as you wait for his answer.
“The books or Volleyball?” He asks, not really understanding. He’s not good at reading between the lines, as his mother calls it. He hopes you won’t mind.
But your face lights up at his question, a sight he wants to see again.
“Both?” You ask and when he nods and turns to show you to his room first, your hand shoots out to curl into his, warm and small and soft.
He can’t remember the last time he held someone’s hand, but he squeezes yours like his father used to do with his and your smile tells him what he did was the right thing.
-
“Is this okay?” You ask, soft voice floating around him as you drag a comb through his hair.
“It always is,” he answers, stilling as you move to assess your work.
“It looks good,” you decide finally, smiling as you grab a mirror, making a show of presenting it. “You look good, Toshi.”
“You look better,” he insists, but it sounds foreign in his mouth.
He’s not one to compliment someone’s appearance and he can see the surprise in your eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately, “It’s something I heard Satori say.”
“I thought it sounded familiar,” you agree easily before patting his cheek. “I sometimes lend sentences from him as well.”
“Pray tell.”
You smile, handing him the mirror again. “First you have to tell me how it looks.”
“Perfect,” he says, because it is. He looks the way he’s used to, the same haircut he’s had for years. You embrace routine as much as he does. Maybe that’s why the two of you clicked so well.
“Now,” you smile, “I’ll make us some tea. I’m sure I still have some sweets hidden where Satori won’t look if you want them.”
“I’d rather have something healthy,” he admits and your smile doesn’t flicker, it grows.
“Like the old days,” you agree easily.
It warms his heart that you remember the beginnings of your friendship as well as he does.
-
“Are you leaving?” Satori asks, looking up from his Shonen Jump.
“Yes,” Wakatoshi agrees, tying his shoelaces. “I will be back before lights out.”
“I’m not worried about that,” Satori laughs, “I’m curious. Where are you going?”
“I’m meeting with a friend.”
“Do I know him?”
“No, you don’t know her.”
The surprise is loud on his face, dark eyes widening.
“A girlfriend?” Satori gasps, hands pressed against his lips in excitement.
“A friend that’s a girl,” Wakatoshi corrects. For a second he stills, doorknob in his hand. “Do you want to join us?”
Satori blinks. Once, twice, three times.
“Are you sure?”
“No. But I think she might like you.”
“In that case… give me five minutes.”
“I’ll inform her that we’ll come in later.”
“We won’t be late if we run,” Satori sings, diving into his closet to pull out something to wear that doesn’t wear the Shiratorizawa emblem.
.
Wakatoshi is usually blind to social cues, no matter how much he studies them. He still can’t read between the lines, but he can’t say he’s given it much thought lately.
He’s good at Volleyball and he’s excelling in his studies. What else is there in life?
You’ve never complained about him missing something either, clearly content with the state of your friendship. And if there’s someone’s opinion he cares about, it’s not his mother's, it’s yours.
But he can see it now, written in bold letters on your face, your eyes, the shiver of your hesitant smile.
You look at Satori like the girls from his class look at him before he begins to speak.
Your hand twitches as if to hold his but you hesitate.
He turns to look, surprised to see his only other friend just as changed.
Satori is supposed to be the confident one. Loud and unapologetically himself.
This Satori, however, is blushing, staring at the tips of his sneakers only for his eyes to flicker upwards and back to you for only a second before looking back down.
Is this, Wakatoshi thinks, a little dumbfounded that it’s happening in front of him of all people, is this falling in love?
-
It’s cold, even for Spring in Europe. You curl further into the warmth of your jacket, hands stuffed into the pockets to keep warm.
The day had been bathed in a grey light that’s now dimming fast, street lamps and the warm glow of shop windows battling against the coming night.
Wakatoshi’s hand reaches out without a thought, folding around yours like he used to when you were little.
You look up with surprise and he’s not sure if he should regret this or not.
“You’re worried,” you tell him, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. “I can see it now. I was wondering what was wrong, but you wouldn’t say and I didn’t want to push.”
He opens his mouth to insist that he’s fine, a lie he’s been telling himself for weeks now, almost mastering to make himself believe it.
“Don’t lie, Toshi,” you ask and it’s the nickname that unravels him, a memory from long forgotten times resurfacing.
“I love you,” he admits, words spilling out of him like Volleyballs out of an upturned cart. They’re unstoppable, now that they’ve been set free.
But your smile doesn’t fade and your hand only squeezes his.
“I know, Toshi.”
His eyes flicker to the dark asphalt and back up.
“But Satori-”
“You don’t love me like Satori loves me, do you, Toshi?”
Your voice is warm and comfortable, like a blanket he wants to curl into.
“I don’t know,” he admits, because this is you. He’s always been honest with you.
“But I do,” you tell him softly, reaching up to cup his cheek with your other hand. “You’ve never looked at me in that way. We both know it, Satori and I, we both know you. What is worrying you?”
The question hits him like one does a tuning fork, everything in him vibrating to the point he fears he’ll fall apart.
“I miss you,” he says, his voice carrying something he cannot begin to describe.
Hurt, loneliness, despair, insecurity. Will I ever be enough?
“Oh Toshi,” you rub your thumb under his eye, catching a tear that must have slipped out. “We miss you too. But we love you, okay? And even though it feels like that sometimes, you’ll never be alone.”
He considers it, smoothes it over the open wound inside of him like one does with a balm.
Another voice pops up, cuts through the noise inside his head like a warm knife through butter.
“There you are. I was looking for you.”
They both turn and Wakatoshi isn’t sure what he anticipates to see in his best friend’s face.
Anger, maybe, or betrayal.
Not this kind of soft worry he isn’t used to.
You say something in French he doesn’t quite catch and Satori steps closer, wraps one impossible long arm around his shoulders, and curls into him.
“Can’t fool us, big boy,” he says with a voice so warm it feels like hot chocolate tastes, “Knew something was up when you asked to travel all the way here for a haircut.”
It might look strange to someone looking in, the three of them hugging in the cold night on the middle of the sidewalk.
But it’s not strange to Wakatoshi.
He should have known. These are his friends. His family.
His home away from home.
-
“Is this really okay?” Satori asks, kneeling on the floor next to Wakatoshi’s bed. “You’ve got to be honest with me here, okay?”
“I am.”
“I am going to marry her if you let me, you know this!”
“I’d be happy if you did,” Wakatoshi insists. “If she wants you, that is.”
Satori snorts but it sounds more like a sob. “You think she likes me?”
“She said so, didn’t she?”
“Yeah,” the word is more a dreamy sigh than anything else. Satori puts his head back and stares up at the ceiling.
“I didn’t know people like her existed,” he says, voice far away. Wakatoshi turns to look at him.
“Girls?” He asks, a little confused.
“Kind people,” Satori explains, “with a good heart. Who don’t judge about someone’s looks.”
“Did that happen to you?” Wakatoshi asks, thinking about himself and his mother and you.
There’s something in Satori’s eyes, something vulnerable and open that he hasn’t seen before.
Wakatoshi pats the bed next to him before he can pull himself away again. Satori is nice. He wants to know him.
“Tell me about it?” He asks.
.
“You’re not good with social cues, are you?” Satori asks one day after lunch, walking back to Class.
“No.”
“The girl that was talking to you, she wanted me to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because she likes you. She wanted to be alone with you.”
Wakatoshi stops, freezing in place.
“What?” Satori asks, walking back to him. “What are you thinking about?”
“Do you want to be alone?”
Satori understands immediately. “Sometimes, yeah. But I’d tell you that, you know? Right now we barely manage to hold hands without our faces combusting. And I like having you there. She does too, I know.”
“How?”
“She said so,” Satori pulls out his phone, drags his thumb across the screen for a minute before he holds it up for Wakatoshi to see.
It’s an entire conversation he’s not been part of, your blocks of texts interspersed with the emojis Satori likes to use.
But he can read it, black letters on a white background.
“Wakatoshi is the most important person in my life.” It warms his heart like hot chocolate on a cold night.
“And since you’re my best friend too,” Satori singsongs, “You’re not getting rid of either of us.”
“Good,” Wakatoshi nods and repeats it once more for good measure. “Good.”
-
“Poland is not that far away,” you point out over morning coffee. Your hair’s a mess and you sit in Satori’s lap, leaning back into him every few minutes to remind him to feed you one more bite of the croissants Wakatoshi bought on his morning run.
“It’s not France.”
“Yeah, but the French team sucks,” Satori exclaims, “You’d lose all happiness playing for them just to be close. The Polish team sounds good if you ask me. And it’s really not that far. You could come over once or twice a month depending on your schedule.”
“I’ll think about it,” he agrees, buying himself some time with a sip from his coffee.
His wound is still open, though it has stopped bleeding.
“Do you think I’ll find someone,” he asks, yet again unable to keep the words inside before he has thought them through.
Satori and you both turn your heads to the side as you think, a habit that started with one person but he’s no longer sure with whom.
“Maybe you will,” you say, “maybe you won’t. You can be happy either way.”
“Don’t lose sight of what’s important to you,” Satori adds, “because it can be easier than you think. To give up on a boundary just because you think you have to.”
He considers that for a second.
“If I’ll never find someone-” Your hand finds his before he’s able to finish the sentence, squeezing as hard as you can.
“You’ll never be alone,” you insist. Satori’s larger hand wraps around yours until again, you are three.
- - -
The French Countryside is not a bad place to retire.
“Look what I found,” Satori raises a basket full of fruit, each looking better than the last, “everything from our own garden.”
“I thought you wanted to work less,” Wakatoshi comments, picking a plump apricot from the basket and biting into it. It’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.
“Ah, this isn’t work,” Satori insists, but he puts the basket down, pressing a hand to his back for a second. “I just need to slow down a little.”
“You should,” Wakatoshi agrees, but makes no move to pick up the basket himself. His back is even worse than Satori’s.
“Boys, boys,” your voice comes from inside, “Leave the hard work to someone younger. I’ve made coffee and tea, what do you want?”
They turn and walk inside, Satori singing yet another made-up song about the market in the village.
When he reaches you, he kisses your temple first and then your lips, squeezing your hips under the apron.
Wakatoshi has gotten used to the sight after decades. He’s more interested in his coffee and maybe the morning paper.
“Has anyone seen my glasses?” He asks, squinting down at the paper.
Satori laughs. “On your head,” he tells him, but stays where he is, glued to your side.
It’s like this everyday and if someone would dare to ask, Wakatoshi wouldn’t mind living like this for another decade or two.
After all, one hasn’t lived before turning one hundred.
My Kofi if you'd like to tip me
#my writing#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu x you#haikyuu!!#hq x reader#Tendou x reader#Tendou Satori#Tendou fluff#Ushijima x reader#Ushijima Wakatoshi#Ushijima fluff#Tendou x reader x Ushijima
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I'm not a DT/MS truther, but god does this dancing video look cringey and uncomfortable for DT... And im wondering why was this bbc interview even organized? Why would anyone want to talk to GT, she does nothing apart of making content w/ her husband (so I understand why he came along, but why was SHE invited in the 1st place...)
Because since she got DT’s agent, she’s been shoved to go on red carpets with him (he never wanted her to be with him), doing podcasts with him (which we can see are painful and he’s uncomfortable), and doing hosting with him (pray for him). Because they’re trying to establish her but nobody cares about her so he’s forced to do everything with her. As long as he’s attached, they will accept her too. It’s painful and exhausting especially since they’re pretending she’s the main and he’s the add on when anybody with half a brain knows that nobody would look at her twice if not him because she doesn’t do anything, hence she’s milking him for all he’s worth. Eh, nepotism, huh? I feel bad for actually talented people who don’t have such opportunities. I feel bad for him…
Edit: the irony is that this relationship lasted 13 years because he could run away to his jobs and red carpets and podcasts and interviews… now he doesn’t even have that. And the effect of having no escape and her milking him even during moments that were always happy for him… Well it’s showing on his face.
I said this will last until S3 begins… now I’m not so sure if he will manage that long. He’s going to be milked to the extreme as long as she has the Festival excuse but what’s going to happen after that…
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I don’t like how the Sokeefe confession went down, because it felt so abrupt compared to the build up of the series.
I think this because the whole series it’s Keefe who’s loved Sophie since the beginning, Keefe who hinted his feelings and flirted with her, and Keefe who couldn’t confess. And it was Sophie who couldn’t figure out her feelings and was oblivious to his. So it felt strange that though Keefe technically confessed first in the letter he left, it was Sophie who initiated the actual confession.
I understand that all the build up for Sophie confessing was in Stellarlune, but it just didn’t fit with the rest of the series, and honestly, felt unfair to Keefe (from a readers stand point, I’m sure he’s very happy in cannon). He should have been the one to confess.
I’ve heard people complaining that Chapter 42 was written like a fan fiction, and I disagree with this statement for two reasons, one that I think this is supposed to be insulting the actual writing of the scene, and I would never insult Shannon Messangers writing, and two because I don’t like to spread that fanfic writing is bad because fan fiction can have some amazing writing.
However I can see the similarities to Chapter 42 and fanfiction. As an avid reader of fanfiction, a reader can tell when the fanfic author is just writing a confession as a way to get the characters to kiss, the confession may be abrupt without a lot of build up, but also may just be very easy and quick. And that’s sort of how I felt reading the Sokeefe confession. It felt too easy for all the build up and angst and unrequited but eventually requited love that is Sokeefe.
Keefe should have been the one to confess, and Sophie should of had a harder time accepting feelings instead of pining for Keefe the entirety (?) or Stellarlune, and it should have been more difficult. Also Ro shouldn’t have been peer pressuring Sophie….
….And that’s the real controversial take here. Because, I do genuinely believe Sophie likes Keefe in cannon. I’m not a big Sokeefe shipper but I saw where this was going throughout the series. However in cannon, to the reader, it looks like Ro had to convince Sophie that she liked Keefe, and even if I think she does, it still feels like peer pressure when reading it. And I think Keefe would also be disappointed if he heard that it was Ro who convinced Sophie that she like him, because it should have been Sophie battling with her own feelings, not Ro telling her how she feels (regardless of if she was correct).
If I were to rewrite the Sokeefe part of Stellarlune, I would’ve have Sophie understanding that part of the letter, but pushing down her feelings and choosing to be oblivious in order to avoid facing her feelings when she already has so much going on. Have her think about Keefe while he’s gone, and be jealous of Biana (or suspicious whatever you’d call it) in that one scene but have her obviously be falsely justifying it in order to push down those romantic feelings.
Then when she does find Keefe, make her avoid mentioning the letter at all costs. Have it hang over their heads at every moment their alone together, have it be awkward. Then, on accident have her mention the letter. Let there be a pause.
Let Keefe be a bit bitter about Sophie refusing to acknowledge anything. Have him be all like “oh so you did see the letter.”
Have Sophie still refuse to talk about it. “yeah, I guess I was so distracted with trying to find you I didn’t really think about it (lying). was there anything important in there?”
Have Keefe’s eyes turn dark “no, I guess not. (lying)” and have him rudely stalk of.
Then later have them doing something for the black swan with their friends, looking over scrolls, idk research or something.
Have Sophie be frustrated after the scrolls don’t tell them anything important. “why can’t the author of these just tell us what this means?” She should grumble
And Keefe should say “well maybe you should read between the lines to figure out what they mean.”
Sophie throws down the scroll in her hands “well maybe people should just say what they mean instead of writing it down in a way that can mean anything!!” Keefe sets down his scroll, walking off outside. No one else knows what’s going on but Sophie sighs and follows him out.
“Keefe! Wait!” She shouts. Keefe would whirl around, tears in his eyes.
“Don’t you think I’ve waited long enough?”
Sophie stares at him, surprised that he’s crying.
“I’ve waited this whole time to because I didn’t want to pressure you. But you can’t even acknowledge it.”
“Because I don’t know what “it” is! You left, and you leave me this note, and I’m just supposed to understand what it means?”
“You know what it means! Why else would I write it?”
“You wrote it because you were leaving-“
“I WROTE IT BECAUSE I LOVE YOU”
“YOU WROTE IT BECAUSE YOU THOUGHT YOU’D NEVER SEE ME AGAIN!”
Suddenly there are tears in Sophie’s eyes too. “You’re accusing me of avoiding all this but you were just as willing to! You didn’t want to confront me with your feelings so you wrote down your confession, but now you’re back and all you can do is shout it at me.”
Keefe takes a step closer, his eyes wide.
“How am I supposed to know you mean it if you don’t say it?” Sophie looks down, tugging at an eyelash.
Keefe takes another step closer, taking her hand in his. His voice is croaky and wet but each word is clear.
“Sophie Foster…I love you.”
And that’s when it all hits Sophie, because that’s everything she needed to hear and all the things she’s been stuffing down comes up and hits her all at once, and she physically stumbles into Keefe.
“Foster?” Keefe asks, catching her. Sophie looks up and makes eye contact with him.
“I think I’ve just fallen for you.” (The joke is that she actually fell over. In case it wasn’t clear.)
#kotlc#sokeefe#is- is this anti sokeefe?#I don’t think so but if anyone wants me to tag this differently or add tags just tell me and I will#also maybe I’m completely wrong about this idk#i just feel like Stellarlune made me stop shipping sokeefe#and that’s my fault but I’m also just picky#keefe sencen#sophie foster
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Hey, do you remember this post? Do you have any other thoughts on this AU?
I do!
So I kind of like the thought that there were Bergens who weren't fond of Trollstice, and after Trolls were gone, they were more successful in convincing people to listen.
Actually, let me rewind a bit.
During the height of Trollstice I imagine that for kids toys and entertainment, there was a type of character that was the most successful: Trolls.
Think about this, how many dessert themed toys are there? Squishmallows has whole lines of food based plushies and in every Claire's I go to there's some variation of 'Kitty in a dessert' every 2 feet. Moreso, how many stuffed animals of common livestock are there?
Bergen kids love troll toys. From there, the next market was picked out. Cartoons. Enter 'Glitter Rainbow Adventures'. An 80's My Little Pony/Carebears/Strawberry Shortcake-esque animated movie that featured a band of deliciously named Trolls who made up a team called the Glitter Rainbow Adventure Team. They sing and go on adventures and kids loved the show.
Here's the thing. The ending was a bit too true to life for most kids, ending with the team getting eaten by the monster they were fighting. Glitter Rainbow Adventures 2 retconned this, and it was an odd phenomena that the kids of the town didn't want to eat their trolls because they resembled one character or another.
Fast forward a bit, and these kids are adults who have a bit more understanding of the world. They think about things a bit more critically, and they question why things are the way they are. Why aren't they happy? What are the emotions they do feel when good things happen if not happiness? What makes a troll not a person if they can talk and cry and be scared? Why do only trolls make Bergens happy?
They go off into various fields and very quickly begin to make discoveries that would topple the hierarchy Chef works hard to uphold. She sabotages what she can, bribes people with trolls outside of trollstice, but it's not enough.
The great escape happens.
Chef is ejected, and Gristle Sr not long after. Without trolls, people are desperate for a way to be happy, and now all of the so called 'nutcases' of the town are being listened to because they're eager for something to work. And it does. They find ways to be happy, and it's all thanks to Trolls. More specifically, it's thanks to one cartoon.
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Some stans actually believe that once Jon learns of his true parentage he will be happy. Jon literally just wants to be acknowledged as a Stark, he wants nothing with that shitty prince or his fire loving family. He might get some closure knowing about Lyanna but Ned Stark will always be his daddy.
I was thinking about this, and really, it doesn't change much of Jon's understanding of Ned. He knows his father isn't telling him the truth, or at least by not saying a word to him about his mother, he is keeping information from him on purpose. He knows Ned was hiding something about his birth, because Jon spent his entire life wondering what couldve happened between his mother and his father to cause him to shut down about it, even to him, even to Catelyn.
Jon already is aware that Ned is hiding something. He just does not know the degree of the secret.
But also, I am sick of people dismissing Neds role in his life. Ned is not Jon's uncle. Sure by blood he is, but Jon was raised thinking that he is his father. He was treated just like a father treats his son, he was loved and given the same education that Robb got, he was raised in the family home getting to grow up with his brothers and sisters.
Jon didn't suddenly lose all those days or evenings he wouldve gotten to spend with his father alone. Didn't suddenly lose all of the times they acted just like a loving father and son with no hangups. He didn't suddenly lose the fact that to Ned Stark, Jon is not his nephew, he is his son.
Jon does not suddenly lose that Ned never even gave him a reason to feel like he wasn't a good enough son. He interacted with his father his whole life in a way that made him feel loved to the point that even now that hes dead, Jon routinely feels frustration that multiple older men in his life have tried to place themselves into the position of a father figure to Jon.
He was given a personalized version of the Mormonts ancestral sword, that was once belonging to Jeors son. Jon's honoured but he is not lost on the implication that Jeor looks at Jon like a pseudo son and it bothers Jon even then. Men can give Jon a thousand swords but it will never change that his father alone is Ned Stark. And keep in mind, this occurs during the period of time early at Castle Black where Jon is resentful and thinks Ned let him come here because this life was all he deserved. And he STILL refused to let someone sway him into seeing a man as a father figure other then Ned Stark.
Jon through all the insecurities and anger, loves Ned Stark as much as a son possibly could. More then once Jon thinks in situations that could lead to his death, about Ned. He always circles back to what would his father think or do. Jon dictates his independent, adult life based around learning to be the honourable man his father wanted him to be and does so without resentment.
My negative opinions of Rhaegar aside, Jon has no attachment to the thought of him as any kind of man. He grew up his whole life knowing the story that Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna Stark. He grew up likely hearing the rumours that she was raped. He knew that kidnapping led to her dying tragically at the age of 16 in a way that clearly traumatized his father.
Jon has never been missing a father figure. He has always been missing his mother. Not missing a mother figure, only his mother. The only person he cares to learn about is her because shes the one person in Jon's blood he has never truly known. Then he learns hes heard about his mother his whole life, and realizes the bloodshed caused both for his conception and that she died without having a chance to be with her son at all.
Learning the truth is about realizing WHY Ned did the things he did. Why telling him about his mother was both too painful and too risky. Jon can be angry he was lied too, but does not change that Jon is smart and will understand that Ned did it all to protect Jon.
Jon will realize Ned did not need to raise him as his own son, in his home and family and give him love, to keep him safe. Jon knows Ned did all of that because he loves him the way Ned loved Robb or Bran. Jon will ultimately realize he never actually lost the father he grew up with, because Ned always considered Jon to be his son.
Learning the truth for Jon is about Lyanna, it's about learning that his mother died with her last words begging Ned to protect him because she loved him. It's about Jon realizing he is an echo of the dark shadows of Lyannas final months of life and that he needs to stand up and fight because she couldn't. That he needs to protect the ones he loves the way he wishes he could go back in time and protect her.
It's about realizing hes always had a father, because to Ned, Jon was always his son through and through. And it's about Jon realizing that he needs to live and fight because without him, Lyannas memory will fade away forever and he will not allow that to happen to her again.
Whatever people want to say about how Jon will feel about learning his blood is partly Targaryean, they will always downplay Jon also coming to terms with himself as a Stark.
However Jon will feel about the Targaryean side, none of that will take away that Jon will realize how incredibly important his Stark side is and always was. Their speculations about how Jon will feel about a man hes barley thought about his whole life, should never overpower that the truth leads Jon to the thing that matters.
That Jon Snow has always been loved, and he's always been a Stark. Because he was the son his mother died begging to protect, and he was the son that Ned Stark chose.
#game of thrones#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf#jon snow#ned stark#eddard stark#lyanna stark#anti targ stans#anti targaryen#anti targ restoration#anti rhaegar targaryen#anti rhaegar stans#anti rhaegar x lyanna#anti rhaelya#me having to add all these tags because rhaegar stans get so mad#when someone says jon probably wouldnt suddenly hate the man who loved and raised him his whole life
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I hate the way social media influences young kids these days. I understand each generation has its own thing that older generations don’t understand/like, but it’s not social media itself that is the problem for me. Like, I get it, the world revolves so much around the internet now and it’s inevitable the generations to come will be effected by it more and more, and in many ways I think it’s good. I learn so much stuff from social media every single day. It’s not even the fact that kids are “changing” - that may not be the case at all - it’s the fact that they put so much of themselves on social media and broadcast it to the world, where so many people, people who may not be safe or kind, dwell and lurk.
Why are 12 year old girls pouting and twerking in front of a camera? Like I said, it’s not that these things are new - children grow up and do stupid things, act older then they are e.g - the concept in and of itself is not new, but social media still kinda is and it’s so sad to see how much more influenced they are to grow up. I have a younger sister who is 13, almost 14, she’s got anti aging creams ?? And hates the way she looks without concealer ?? These are not things she needs to worry about, these are not things even I need to worry about yet, because I’m only 21.
It’s just very sad tbh. Not to be all Boomer-like but I kinda wish I could just stick a bicycle in front of them and tell them to go out and play and just be kids and stop worrying so much about wrinkles, or push-up bra’s. I just wanna drill it into there heads to have a childhood!
I know kids will grow up eventually, especially as they enter their teens, but it just seems to be hitting them younger and younger.
Yeah like at this point we don't even know the full consequences of growing up on social media, but there is definitely a lot to worry about. I'm actually quite happy that I was 15 before I got my first smartphone, and that a big part of my childhood was spent playing with Littlest Pet Shops or The Sims, and not on worrying about presenting myself online while being bombarded with advertisements trying to sell a fake idea of perfection no one will ever reach
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Do you think so? Part 1.
Pairing: Azriel x Gwyneth Berdara.
Word count: 1212 words.
Notes: Sooo... here is jealous Azriel and a one shot that accidentally became a two chapter story! I'm very nervous about posting this since it's the first story I write in years, but I'm also very excited. Constructive criticism is very welcomed! Don't know if I should post this in ao3, but I'll think about it. Also, Azriel is very, very bad at feelings in this first part.
~~~
"Is it normal for the sun to be so... bright?” Cassian complained for the fifth time in an hour. Azriel only stared at him. His shadows writhed in agitation too, but there was little he could do.
The Summer Court offered oceans of the purest water and clear, hot days. Oddly enough, the Shadowsinger sometimes appreciated this kind of weather, though Illyrian leathers were unbearable in the heat. He missed his leathers.
Despite the initially pleasant atmosphere, the air around them crackled with raw power and fear. War was imminent, and so was betrayal, hence the week-long Courts Meeting. The Spymaster just couldn’t understand why war meetings were disguised as luxurious balls and quick alliances as amicable friendships.
“Courtier's shit,” Rhys had answered with a scoff. They needed to keep the common people calm while orchestrating swift relocations to the south, far from the borders between Spring and the Human Lands. The urgency of such activities was probably the only reason Tarquin tolerated Cassian's presence.
Azriel had plenty of work to do as well, trying to keep his High Lord informed of every glance and conversation. He sighed. It would be easier if that devilish, mischievous little nymph wasn’t so damn... distracting. And offensively good at her job.
With the growing popularity of the Valkyries Division and her remarkable contribution against the Illyrian Revolution, Gwyn had become a respected and well-known name across Prythian. According to Amren, she was also quick-witted, well-versed in history and politics, and "strikingly beautiful". Before understanding her line of thought, Azriel had agreed and added how good of a spy the priestess was.
As a result, Gwyn had been assigned to secure Tarquin's alliance and friendship. Considering how closely they danced at the moment, Azriel thought he might have to remind her of the "friendship" part. Or perhaps punch Tarquin and get himself banned from Summer.
It would be worth it, though.
The dark-skinned High Lord held the Valkyrie against his chest, one hand around her slim waist as they spun. The silk of Gwyn's gown resembled a cobalt ocean, the halter neckline exposing the toned muscles of her freckled arms. If she were closer, he would see her huge, mesmerizing eyes lined with gold and her pink, plump lips. She looked like a siren from the tales Azriel’s mother used to tell him—a beauty like no other, ready to enchant unsuspecting sailors and drag them to the depths of the sea.
Tarquin looked quite happy in his "sailor" position. Azriel would be happy too. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her, couldn't ignore the pang in his chest. Gwyn had become too important to him in the last few years, their time together reserved not only for training and sparring, but for the deepest conversations he’d ever had, for silly jokes and friendly flirting.
Well, he had believed the flirting was not that friendly anymore, but as Nesta and Emerie giggled and whispered about the dancing couple, the Shadowsinger concluded he must have been wrong. As that terrible, awful dance ended and Gwyn separated from the High Lord with a courtesy, Azriel found himself relaxing, his shoulders dropping for a mere moment before he realized how many heads turned towards her.
“Twenty and seven, Singer.”
“What?”
“Twenty and seven males turned their heads to look at Our Light, Singer. Would you be interested in knowing the number of females too?”
Azriel sighed. “No, thank you.”
“Twenty and three females turned their heads to look at Our Light, Singer.”
“Okay, no more counting.”
“This equals fifty heads turned. Dismissing, of course, the heads that didn’t need to be turned because they were already looking in Our Light’s direction, Singer. This includes your head, Singer.”
Azriel gritted his teeth. “Please go check on the Vanserras.”
“Of course, Singer.”
As his shadows went silent and the Spymaster sighed, Gwyn reached the group with a smile. The golden sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows hit her eyes, making them seem like a gateway to the shallow seas of Adriata. Emerie and Nesta grabbed each of her arms and proceeded to gossip and giggle:
"Who could imagine Tarquin uses dancing as a form of foreplay?" Lady death grinned, mischievously.
Even the tips of Gwyn's ears went red, her eyes going wide "It- it was not! We just danced. Like... friends. Very good friends."
Emerie snickered wildly "I am your friend for longer and never received this type of treatment. You are hurting my feelings."
"Oh, shush. I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, but I know, Gwynnie. He looked at you the same way I do when you look too pretty."
Gwyn's mouth went slightly agape. "Wouldn't that make the look even more... friendly?"
Cassian, who had been observing the conversation, pointedly looked at his mate and nodded. "Wouldn't it, Nesta?"
Caught in the act, Nesta cleared her throat before uttering a simple, "No". Gwyn considered her friend for a moment before shaking her head.
Azriel expected her to say the relationship with Tarquin - and, well, Nesta - was nothing but friendly. That their were all going insane and seeing things that weren't there. He expected her to shrug it off. Instead, Gwyn's eyes glinted with interest.
"I'm not going to dive into your last comment, but... You think so? That he looks at me... like that?"
The two Valkyries looked at Gwyn like she had just convinced Helion to give them a pegasus. Azriel's shadows were whispering about murder and something else the Spymaster couldn't quite catch given the zooming in his ears. His fists and jaw were clenched so tightly he feared it may break. She... she truly liked Tarquin?
"SO YOU LIKE HIM!"
As if it was possible, Gwyn went even more red. "Perhaps, but-"
Azriel couldn't help himself from murmuring "That's not what you should be worried about."
Gwyn's eyes found his "Oh. I- Sorry?"
He shouldn't be saying this. It was only meant to hurt her like he was hurting. But, again, he simply couldn't help himself. "I said you shouldn't be worried about silly romantic... whatever. You have a job to do, and seducing Tarquin is not a part of it."
Their small group went deadly silent, Nesta shooting death glares at him. "I... I was not trying to... seduce him. I'm doing my job perfectly well."
Between the hurt he saw in her eyes before, there was anger emerging. One he matched quite well. "Well, then keep your- your heart and feelings out of it. And your body at least a few inches separated from his."
This time, her mouth was fully agape. Gwyn stuttered from a moment, trying to find an answer, when Tarquin suddenly surged behind her.
"Gwyn? Is this a good moment? There's something I want to show you."
She turned around to face the High Lord and, before Azriel could growl at him or stop her, one of his shadows - the only one that actually listened to the Shadowsinger sometimes - nervously darted across his face, whispering about something about Beron.
Azriel turned around, scanning the room in search of the Autumn High Lord, only to find him having a mildly heated conversation with Helion. But when he returned to excuse himself from the group, Gwyn and Tarquin were gone.
#gwynriel#pro gwynriel#azriel x gwyn#gwynriel vibes#jealous Azriel#gwyneth berdara#pro gwyneth berdara#gwyn berdara#gwyn acosf#MY FIRST STORY SORRY IF IT'S BAD!#okay bye
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Hi, I've been reading your fanfics lately and I've become obsessed with your writing! I'm not good at English so I keep to myself.
I wanted to share my feelings, because I think you should know what a great job you do! Not only did you make me have a different perspective on Kafka, you also made me see character development more clearly! (I also write a lot, and it's one of my difficulties.)
It's incredible how his stories gave me an addictive feeling, something I haven't seen in any other Kafka fanfic! Please keep it up!
In fact, I have ideas in my head about how Kafka would react to R's death? Or what exactly would make her cry? I wonder, and I think your point of view would be quite accurate.
first of all, don’t worry about your english!! it’s great, and it’s not my first language either so i understand the struggle. thank you for your kind words i cant believe my writing has inspired/helped you in any way, im especially happy it changed your mind about Kafka hehe. trust meee i understand how tough characterization is, i focus way too much on the details and it can get pretty frustrating. i take it seriously too, so when something doesn’t go my way or i can’t portray a scene the way i see it in my mind, i lose it a little bit.
ouhhh, kafka and death is a pretty intimate affair in my opinion. she deals with it all the time but we don’t know if she’s experienced it— she sees suffering as something euphoric, fascinating. we know she doesn’t care for her victims because of it, that and the fact that she’s following what she truly believes is destiny. if it was their destiny to die by her hand, why would she mourn? i think it would take a lot to make her cry, she’s very resilient and can withstand a lot + she doesn’t feel fear and there are lots of complex emotions born from it (anxiety, dread, panic) so in my opinion she’s not very attuned to these as well. i’ll expand on the “not feeling fear” thing because its absolutely insane; its a primal instinct that makes us do or not do so many things. it’s connected to so many other emotions— we feel sad because we fear losing people, we feel helpless because we fear not being good enough, etc. kafka wouldn’t be able to understand all of that in a visceral way. we know she worries to an extent (for the trailblazer, for blade) and that also stems from fear but so far, it’s been somewhat superficial. she checks up on them like once and that’s that. here again, following and believing in a scripted future makes it so that she doesnt have much to worry about. it makes me believe that she would often realize things after they’ve happened, like “oh, i don’t like this…”
losing someone she genuinely cares about might paralyze her, at least at first. death doesn’t obsess her because fear is self-preservation and she cant feel that. she is logical though, and knows not to put herself/others in certain dangerous situations. she doesn’t fear her s/o dying, she just knows she doesn’t want it to happen. what she can feel though is sadness, and that only happens during/after the fact. grief is soo complex, that’s why i think it would paralyze her afterwards— she’d feel this immense loss that she hasn’t prepared for, and kafka is rarely caught by surprise. she wouldn’t know what to do and her logic won’t save her; so many things don’t matter when you’re dealing with emotions that feel all-consuming, she knows death is inevitable, so what? she knows this was always a possibility, so what? that doesn’t tell her how to deal with it. she’d go through the motions as usual because life didn’t stop for her but she’d have this constant tightness in her chest like fingers curled around her heart. the tears would find her on a tuesday morning as she’s cleaning her gun or putting on her boots. to me, her feelings have a little lag; she doesn’t feel apprehension much so they would have to hit her afterwards. in my most recent fic im writing about her being a player for laughs but i still make her fall for the reader at the same time they fall for her, she just realizes it way later. this is long as hell im so sorry but to sum up i do think she would cry a lot because she almost never does and her body would need the relief.
im yapping im sorry😭 your question was super interesting and it really got me thinking but let me stop lmfao. i hope i kinda answered it along the way😭
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