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red-riding-wood · 4 months

Note

Hii! 💓 I saw your post about drabbles/one shot requests and I’d like to send in the following angsty/dark prompt for Tommy: ‘I'm here to end what I started.’

Bang Bang

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F!Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Warnings: a bit of spice but no smut, violence, angst

WC: 978

Took some loose inspiration from Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) by Nancy Sinatra.

I'm sorry this is so, so late, Daisy! I'm finally back from many hiatuses and am getting my act together with writing. Hope you enjoy because I quite like how this one turned out. <3

Your hand trembled around the revolver, bitterly cold in the winter air of Birmingham, next to the canals where snaking tendrils of mist wrapped around the foundations of the stone bridge. But it was not the cold that sent a shiver along your skin, that blurred the edges of your vision with unshed tears. It was the man who approached, your heart beating wilder with each step he took, your finger feeling less assured against the trigger.

“I’m here to end what I started,” you told him down the barrel of the revolver, a quiver betraying the biting determination of your tone. Were you saying it to convince him, or yourself?

A sliver of moonlight caught the bright of his eyes as they met yours, latching their icy talons round your soul. Like a ghost, he was silent yet slow with his stride, the only indication that he was indeed corporeal being the press of his chest to the barrel, in acceptance or challenge you could tell not.

“So am I,” a low, husky voice met your ears, and before his gaze could drop to your parted lips, you caught the eerie warmth of your own longing mirrored in the ice of his eyes.

As he pressed closer to you, your hand lowering the gun but still holding it loosely to his stomach, that warmth came to you in silk ribbons, in soft brushes against your skin that reminded you of long nights in the Garrison, of stolen dances in lavish clubs, of Arrow House’s hearth as Tommy wrapped a blanket round your shivering shoulders. You could still taste the whiskey he’d handed you on his lips, as if it were yesterday, as his nose tickled yours and the fire of his breath consumed you. His hands, worried not about the gun you held to his stomach, but aching to finally acquaint themselves with every part of you, ran up your thighs and squeezed your waist, pulled you closer to him and drew a soft yelp from your tongue.

He breathed heavy around the muzzle buried in his waistcoat, not letting it stop him from feeling your body against his, from demonstrating just how much he needed you with his teeth nipping at your bottom lip and calloused fingers – so rough in contrast to the softness of his mouth – dragging against the line of your jaw.

Tommy’s grip tightened as you pulled back, possessive and needy, yet he thumbed gently at your flushed cheek as he stared back at you. One of your hands had come up to his chest, nails sinking into the light fabric of his shirt and palm resting over the strong beating of his heart. You were scarcely aware now of the gun you held, your world becoming him and only him as a fracture formed in the ice of his eyes and a few messy strands of dark hair fell over his forehead, his cap forsaken and his entire soul and being bared to you in this moment that made your heart clench so cruelly against your ribs, for you ached for nothing more than to devour him, to let the scent of cologne and cigarettes carry you to a kinder memory, a better place.

A tear streaked across your lips as you tugged at his shirt; you were certain he could taste the bitterness and despair on you as you kissed him again, sadder and softer this time, as if to tell him,

I’m sorry.

And you flinched as the sound of the gunshot ripped through the still air, the sound of your fevered breaths muffled by the ringing in your ears, the ice-blue of his eyes shattering now into hundreds of pieces. Your souls, severed, cold washing over your body once more and your breath hitching in your chest. No longer did his warmth creep into your aching bones; no longer did his fingers send shivers along your flesh. Numbness seeped into every pore, and time seemed to cruelly slow, the thuds of your heart coming fewer against your ribs. Your lips, wet with tears and blood.

Tommy’s thumb swept across your dampened cheek one last time, as if to cast away your sadness, to reassure you that it was okay, and the only warmth you felt now was the stickiness of the fabric between you, pooling at your sternum. Your lips parted in a cry, but no sound came out, and your lungs burned. The revolver clattered to the stone ground.

The icy gaze of death never left you as your legs grew weak beneath you, blood freckling his beautiful face as you sputtered around the whelming surge in your throat, and on his lips formed the words,

“In the bleak midwinter…”

Clawing now at the blood that stained your dress a darker red, you turned, wild and blurry-eyed, to make out the shadow of a wide hat below the light of the streetlamp that undulated in your vision, the lumbering stride and broad shoulders that were all too familiar, the cane that clicked like the tick of a clock against the stone.

Solomons, the last threads of your thought provided. Wisps of smoke dispersed into the fog from the barrel of the man’s pistol, but you barely had the chance to regard your former business partner as gravity pulled you to the earth, as if the Devil were dragging you to Hell.

You never should have trusted him. You never should have trusted either of them.

But Tommy made your fall gentle, cradling you in his arms. A tortured breath fanned your cheeks as his forehead was brought to yours, and it swallowed the light of the streetlamps; it swallowed everything, darkness spilling from the corners of your vision until nothing existed in the world but him, as he personally delivered your soul to the gates of the underworld.

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed to any of my taglists and notified of new works!

Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @evita-shelby @minaethrym @shelbydelrey @zablife

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #cillian murphy #angst #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #fanfiction #writing #my writing #fanfic #oneshot #peaky blinders imagine #requests #x reader #drabbles #bang bang

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wh0refornikolailantsov · 9 months

Text

Sober Up - Jesper Fahey

Consider this a sequel to "Bottom Of The Barrel, And The Bottle" but can be read without.

Content warnings: Canon Compliant Discussions of Alcohol/Gambling. Fear Of Rejection. Unresolved Ending. Not Beta/Proof Read.

Jesper Taglist: @stray-kaz

The knock at your door isn't surprising, it's early afternoon and you're half expecting to see a disgruntled demolition expert on your doorstep when you open the door, or a charming if not insistent Heartrender looking for honey tea and biscuits as a distraction from the waiting. But opening the door to be face to face with Jesper's eyes softened by sleep and regret, that you hadn't been expecting.

"Fahey, how's that head?" you ask. He rubs the back of his neck with a hand and you don't think you've seen him this sheepish since Kaz caught him at a table hours after he was sent back to the slat.

"Less than optimal," he says. "Can we," he gestures to the inside and you don't budge from the doorway, waiting for him to ask the whole question, "talk?"

"Come on in," you say, putting the reluctance on thick. Jesper swings in and he looks light on his feet, like he is preparing to run. You wonder how often you've seen him look like that, and you conclude more often than he looks grounded.

"I... I need to apologise," he says.

"What for?" You ask. For turning up to your doorstep drunk? For being too drunk to think anything he said through? For saying all those things to you? For only saying them because he was drunk? Or for noticing you because he was drunk? Maybe that's the worst one. Yeah, that was the worst one.

"You're going to make me say it?" Jesper asks, he has taken to leaning on the counter. When he is casual like this, when he is acting not exactly as himself but the mask isn't the all the way up, he looks like so much more than just the sharpshooter with the colourful embroidered waistcoat. He looks like more than a Dreg, more than a crow. He looks like the boy who fell down the rabbit hole and ended up at the bottom of The Barrel. He has sobered up, and his head is pounding and he still is scared to look at you.

"I am not making you do anything Jesper," you hesitate over his name, like you thought about calling him something else, something more delicate, but the hesitation reads as annoyance from where Jesper is stood. "You came to me remember."

"Again," he says, his hand flickers over his pistol on his left, a nervous movement, something he does for comfort, that familiar feeling of pearl and metal bringing him a sense of calm and similarity he is searching for. "I shouldn't have showed up last night, not here, not like that."

"That's what you want to apologise for?" you ask, "coming to me?"

"I didn't have a right," he says, "and I am sorry."

"Jesper, you don't have to be sorry about that," you tell him, "rather you here than staying at the tables."

"But you are mad at me?" he asks, and you cannot help but laugh, it's a bitter and exhausted laugh but it's a laugh, and it's involuntary.

"I am not," you drag in a deep breath, remind yourself that this isn't a fight, that he is trying to apologise even if he is too... Jesper, to know what he is apologising for, "I'm not mad. I am just... I don't know how to separate you from the things you sometimes do and say Jesper."

"You're upset with me about something I said?" he asks. You bite your tongue.

"Do you remember what you said?" you ask slowly.

"Painfully vividly," he admits. You just stare at him for that. "I don't..."

"You don't get me to make people feel wanted just because you've had more than you can handle," you tell him. "Friends don't do that to one another."

"Friends," he echoes back, the word repeating over and over in his mind.

"We are friends, aren't we?" you ask, an insecurity you weren't comfortable with starting to set in.

"We are friends," he says, he takes off his hat now and sets it down on the side and you see a flicker of something else, and you wonder if that's how he saw you last night when you pulled back from him, if he saw the same thing in you then as you see in him now: vulnerability. "But I didn't just notice you because I was drunk."

"You always notice me when you're drunk Jes," you say.

"I notice you when I am sober too," he says, "I notice you all the time."

"You talk a good game Jesper Fahey, but I think you and I are talking about different things," you tell him, "can I get you something?"

"Your forgiveness?" he asks.

"I've already forgiven you, you idiot," you mumble. He catches your hand as you pass him, and the sudden contact, the urgency, makes your heart nearly jump from your chest.

"You do know how I feel about you," he says slowly, "don't you?"

You know that he thinks of you, when he is drunk, when he has won something, when his luck is thriving and he is giddy with that adrenalin. You know he searches for you, that he finds you when he has something to share, because you come to mind as the person he wants to tell. You know he sees you, more than you thought you could be seen in this dismal place. You know he trusts you, enough to come to you when vulnerable, when he needs safe harbour, he trusts you enough to be here now, to apologise. You know he cares about you enough to apologise, and you know very well that is a rare thing. You've seen many ships sink in his harbour for all the holes they took from damage never attempted to mend, with flimsy promises and silences in place of apologies. But to ask yourself if you know how he feels about you? You come up short.

"I only know what you tell me Jesper," you say earnestly, "and besides drunken nonsense I cannot say you've told me a lot."

"I don't tell you because I don't think I know what I would become if I was living in a world, loving you and not being loved in return," Jesper says, and over the sound of the water boiling at the noise in the road, you don't hear him, but you know he said something.

"Jes?" you ask, asking for him to repeat himself. He thinks about it and then says nothing. "Can I get you something?"

"No," he says, reaching for his hat, "I should be going."

"Will I be seeing you soon?" you ask.

"Later tonight?"

"Sober?"

"I promise," he assures you.

"I expect you to keep that promise Fahey, you turn up sober and I will make you dinner."

"It's a date," he smiles and steps out of your door. You hum a response and don't look up, not even as the lock clicks itself into place.

Jesper leans against the wall beside your door, muttering curses to himself over and over. "Next time," he tells himself, dusting his jacket down, "next time."

#shadow and bone #grishaverse #six of crows #jesper fahey my man you are so ridiculously sexy i wish i could be you #jesper x reader #jesper fahey fanfiction #jesper fahey x reader #jesper fahey #six of crows jesper #Spotify

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d-andilion · 1 year

Text

sing me a tragedy

(geraskier, E, canon compliant, blood origin spoilers, getting together, angst with a happy ending, vague and handwavy smut, it barely counts tbh, 2.6k)

read on ao3

Hidden in the underground, far from the beaten path, Geralt watches his bard whip a crowd of humanity’s most despised into a beer-fueled frenzy. Not to earn their supper or their lodgings this time; the elf who owns this worn but well-loved waystation refused to accept coin for either after what the Sandpiper did for her grandson, seeing the boy on a ship to her arms. Right now, Jaskier plays because their fellow patrons chanted his name until he obliged.

Geralt has to admit that Jaskier has more than proven himself as a travel companion these past few weeks. Since leaving the safety of Kaer Morhen, Ciri in Yennefer’s care for the season, finding places to keep their heads low has been a challenge. A challenge, at least, among humans. The Sandpiper, however, has won great favor with elves, dwarves, halflings, and just about every other intelligent species on the Continent. In their carefully concealed taverns and speakeasies, Jaskier is received like royalty.

“Sing loud and proud

The Song of the Seven

Be you halfling or gnome,

Or Dwarven or Elven”

This song is a new one. In fairness, most of Jaskier’s tunes are new to Geralt these days. Jaskier hasn’t abandoned his older repertoire, but he avoids large swathes of it to ward off any unwelcome attention. This one, though, feels different than the other additions to Jaskier’s catalog since their parting. More heroics than heartbreak, and a fiery call to action that sets it apart from his typical drama and sensation.

So much about Jaskier is different than Geralt remembers, his songs being the least of it. A few years is nothing in the grand scheme of their history, even less compared to all the years Geralt has lived, but it feels as though decades have slipped between his fingers. So many things have changed, things that Geralt didn’t realize he’d come to see as fixtures in his world until they disappeared, some of them forever.

There’s the lute, for one thing. Jaskier has been cagey about how exactly a brand new elven lute came to be in his possession after the first one was destroyed against the side of his head, but it plays as beautifully for him as Filavandrel’s ever did. It’s nearly identical in style, too, with dark wood and golden patterns etched into it. Anyone who didn’t spend half a lifetime watching Jaskier’s long fingers dance along the strings would never be able to tell that this lute’s pattern of markings is different from its predecessor’s.

There’s the outfit, too. The waistcoat is similar enough to patterns and styles that Jaskier has worn before, but the hat and jacket make him look like a third-rate imitation of a storybook pirate. It’s nothing at all like the bright-colored matching ensembles he used to wear, though it’s nearly as impractical if not more so. Geralt honestly can’t tell if he hates it because it’s ridiculous or because it doesn’t fit into the gallery of bold greens and soft blues and glaring reds that roll through his mind when he thinks of his bard.

And there’s the bard himself, of course. Not really Geralt’s anymore if he ever was. He’s still loud and dramatic and filled to the brim with useless romantic notions about what the world is or ought to be. But there’s something lurking underneath it all now, something harder and fiercer behind his eyes than anything Geralt has seen in him before. The harshness of a man who’s seen the senseless death and darkness of war. The bitterness of one who’s been left behind and expects to be again.

There’s none of that in him when he performs, though. Or else he hides it far more efficiently. Even to Geralt’s honed eye, Jaskier exudes only joy when he sings.

“No oppressor can hide them

Carry their glories and rise!”

Jaskier finishes with a roaring flourish and the crowd chants his words back to him twice as loud. This Song of the Seven may be more popular than Toss a coin ever was. Geralt has never seen an audience warm so quickly to a new tune, much less poor folk in a war-torn country. These people need hope now more than anything.

The barkeep pushes a pair of ales at Jaskier as he passes by and refuses to take a cent for them despite Jaskier’s best efforts. He finally gives up when she threatens him with a broom, turning to Geralt’s dark corner of the room.

“That’s new,” says Geralt as Jaskier sits down, passing a stein to his side of the table.

Jaskier crooks an eyebrow at him and smirks. “I’m surprised you noticed.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say to that. Before, he might not have thought twice about teasing so light as that, but this, too, has changed. Sometimes there’s banter and sometimes there are digs from that snarl of discontent that still rears up between them, and Geralt can never really be sure which he’s getting.

Jaskier takes pity on him, smiling easily. “It came from a story I heard in Temeria,” he says. “There’s a bard in it, you know. And a witcher.”

He looks for a moment like he means to say more, but then the corner of his mouth twists sharply and he snaps it shut with an audible click. Jaskier smiles again, this time cruel and close-lipped.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says.

Before Geralt can think of anything to say, any comfort or correction to whatever it is he’s done wrong this time, Jaskier stands up and flees to a nearby table of dwarves. He doesn’t look back.

An hour or so later, the revelry dies down and the bar room clears out but for a few stragglers. Jaskier is among them, across the room now from Geralt at an empty table with a drink Geralt knows is almost completely full. Geralt watched the bard carefully while he made round after round of the room, soaking up the occupants’ stories and sharing his own entirely fabricated ones. Half a dozen rounds were shoved into Jaskier’s hands, and he took them gratefully with bright smiles, but he abandoned them just as quickly when their givers were occupied.

When Geralt found Jaskier in Oxenfurt, he couldn’t be parted from a bottle for his life. Now his drinking comes and goes. Some days he dulls his senses with wine from dusk till dawn. Some days are like this: feigning all the trappings of a man in his cups without downing more than a mouthful.

Geralt leaves his own stein half-full with a few coins beside it and turns for Jaskier’s table. Another Geralt might have left his friend to sulk, but that Geralt wouldn’t have used the word ‘friend’ to describe Jaskier, not even in his head. This one is trying to make amends, still, all these many months later.

If Jaskier hears him coming, he doesn’t show it. Geralt sits on the bench beside him, facing out towards the room with his back against the table, and Jaskier doesn’t give him so much as a glance. Their shoulders just barely brush.

“Tell me your story,” says Geralt. “About the bard and the witcher.”

Jaskier fixes him with a confused frown. “It doesn’t—”

“Tell me anyway.”

Geralt watches Jaskier watch him through a long, pregnant pause. Blue eyes, still so bright in the low light, search Geralt’s face and he can’t tell whether they find what they’re looking for or not. Either way, Jaskier huffs a humorless laugh to himself and speaks.

“It was a long time ago, just before the Conjunction.”

Jaskier pauses again like he’s waiting for Geralt to correct him. There were no witchers before the Conjunction; there was no need for them. Geralt doesn’t say so, though. Instead, he waits patiently for Jaskier to continue.

“The witcher was a warrior,” he says. “A protector, wrongfully exiled for defiling a princess.”

Jaskier eyes Geralt again, warier this time. Geralt feels that twist in his gut the way he always does, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“The bard was a runaway, fleeing a life that was chosen for her.” Jaskier grins at that, small and wistful. “Fate brought them together, but they chose to walk side by side.”

It’s not a pretty story, exactly, but it’s the kind of story that has always caught Jaskier’s attention. A ragtag group of heroes, an indomitable foe, magic, monsters, and romance to tie it all together. It might even be true for all Geralt knows. The way Jaskier tells it, his voice soft and his phrases unembellished, so unlike his usual way of weaving tales, makes the whole thing almost believable. They’ve all seen stranger things.

Geralt doesn’t miss the shift in the air around Jaskier when he talks about the Lark and her witcher. His heart beats just the slightest bit faster and his scent deepens imperceptibly to anyone who doesn’t know it better than their own. Geralt isn’t blind to his own reaction either, the heaviness in his chest that grows and grows.

Contrary to popular belief, Geralt isn’t stupid. It’s not that he doesn’t know how much he wants Jaskier. The depths of that desire plunge too deep to go unnoticed, and it has holed up inside him for so long, he doesn’t know who he would be without it. It’s not that he doesn’t know how Jaskier feels either. The bard isn’t subtle and he has never insulted either of their intelligence by pretending to be.

What Geralt doesn’t know has never been the problem. It’s what he does know. And what he knows, has always known, is that acting on his wants would be a singularly terrible idea.

But that was before. Before Geralt’s own Child Surprise foretold the end of the world and all of them with it. Before he landed with his own feet in another sphere of demons and monsters beyond his wildest imaginings. Before all of them wound up tangled in a war with nightmares, more terrifying than any foolish mistake, hidden around every corner.

Before Geralt knew what it felt like to lose Jaskier. And before he knew with crushing certainty that to have done so without ever knowing what it felt like to have Jaskier, really have him, is worse than any fear Geralt has ever felt.

“She killed him, in the end, to end his suffering,” says Jaskier softly.

“Not a very happy story,” Geralt replies.

“Some of the best stories are tragedies. It’s romantic.”

Geralt frowns. “But he dies at the end.”

Jaskier smiles miserably. “I think you and I both know that love doesn’t always have a happy ending.”

That plucks something sharp in Geralt’s chest, something that twists at the bitter shadow in Jaskier’s eyes. Fuck it, Geralt thinks, fuck all of it. He takes Jaskier's chin between his thumb and his forefinger and kisses him before good sense can frighten either of them away again.

There’s a gut-wrenching fraction of a second where Jaskier’s mouth is still against Geralt’s, but within the same heartbeat, he’s kissing back and back and back. Jaskier’s hand curls around Geralt’s wrist, holding himself in place as if Geralt would ever let him go now. His lips part for Geralt’s tongue with a soft groan and he tastes like his last sip of ale. Geralt feels drunk on it, on Jaskier, the plush warmth of his mouth, and the scent of his growing arousal filling Geralt’s nose.

The harsh scrape of chair legs on a wooden floor startles them apart. Geralt’s head snaps up to find the barkeep straightening her stools, eyes focused downward but a knowing grin on her lips.

When he turns back, Jaskier hasn’t pulled away but his uneasy expression says that the thought is playing on his mind. He looks at Geralt like he’s waiting to be pushed away, even as he clutches Geralt’s wrist. Geralt pulls Jaskier back to him, fingers still cradling the bard’s chin, until their noses brush.

“What are you doing?” Jaskier asks and his hot breath rolls over Geralt’s lips carrying the taste of his mouth to Geralt’s tongue, and even that faint echo makes Geralt’s heart stutter.

“Kicking off another tragedy, I expect.”

Jaskier pushes their foreheads together. “You can still stop this one.”

“No,” says Geralt and it feels like surrender. “No, I can’t.”

The small hearth in their room is dark and cold when they stumble inside. Geralt can see well enough to guide them both, but he tears himself away from Jaskier’s hungry kisses to light the fire. When it’s finally ablaze and he turns to find the bard sprawled out on their bed, discarding the last of his clothing, Geralt is glad he took the time.

Even if only in the dim red light, cast over with long and flickering shadows, he wants to see this.

This—miles of bare skin, calloused and scarred in places it wasn’t when last Geralt laid eyes on it, and quivering as he presses his lips to every place he should have been there to protect. Jaskier is so warm to touch, so much warmer than Geralt, his emphatically human heart hammering away in his chest for both of them.

This—achingly familiar hands with long fingers and soft palms, gliding over the shine of sweat on Geralt’s chest and his arms and his back. Jaskier is so gentle with his touches, as though Geralt could break beneath them, as though Jaskier would ever break him even if he could. But then Geralt touches just so and nails bite into his skin and he longs to see their matching bruises side by side.

This—a hungry mouth that kisses wherever it can and urges Geralt to give, to take. Every graze of his fingers, his lips, his tongue, draws the sweetest sounds. Jaskier is so liberal with his voice, utterly without shame as he tells Geralt exactly what he needs and how good he feels, as he begs him to touch me darling, there, again, more, more, please, please, please…

Every sense, every synapse, every nerve is straining to capture this moment because if their world ends tomorrow, Geralt wants his last memory to be the way Jaskier clings to him, sings to him, as he pushes inside.

Each second stretches into a thousand and disappears in an instant all at once. An eternity is lived in the space between each of Jaskier’s gorgeous moans and breathless cries, but too soon, Geralt feels himself hurtling over the edge. He comes with Jaskier’s name on his lips and the hot burn of tears behind his eyes.

They lie there, silent but for their breath, while their sweat dries and the fire burns to embers. Geralt fits himself to Jaskier’s back, a knee between his, an arm circling his waist, and his face tucked into the crook of Jaskier’s neck. The bard reaches back to tangle his fingers in Geralt’s hair and begins to hum an unfamiliar tune.

“That’s new,” Geralt rumbles, muffled by Jaskier’s skin.

Jaskier hums in agreement. “I think it’s about a bard and a witcher.”

Geralt takes a few long, slow breaths before he replies. “Another tragedy?”

Jaskier presses the tips of his fingers against Geralt’s scalp and massages along the back of his head until he finds a spot he discovered years ago while scrubbing drowner brains from Geralt’s hair, the one that elicits a sound very near purring. Geralt no longer expects an answer, but he gets one after his eyes have long fallen shut, whispered into the gathering darkness.

“Not this time.”

my masterlist

#blood origin spoilers #geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #my fic #mine

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gerec · 3 months

Note

Hi Gerec! Do you have any fics rec where Erik fell in love with Charles at first sight? I just love reading Erik being absolute whipped for Charles.

Hi Anon! Here are a few of my favourites where they fall in love (or in lust!) at first sight. Hope you enjoy :D

Scenes from the Wild by nekosmuse

Erik Lehnsherr, world renowned wilderness survivalist, alongside his husband, Charles Xavier, survive the perils of the wild in order to bring you, Two Men, One Knife, an award winning reality survival series, available only on the Discovery Channel. Follow Erik and Charles as they travel to the world's most remote locations with only the most basic of supplies. Pitted against nature, this husband-husband team struggle to survive in some of the world's harshest climates while battling the planet's fiercest predators. Can they survive the Canadian North? Find out next season, on Two Men, One Knife

Note: Chapter 2 covers their first meeting :D

Other Life Challenges by professor (series)

“Why am I here again?” Erik groans.

“I need you to lift things and glower at people over my shoulder when I tell people that it’s not ‘politically correct’ or a ‘war on Christmas’ to have a non-denominational winter holiday festival,” says Theresa Pryde.

Well, at least those are two things he’s good at.

Trying to create the next world war by aesc

The voice's owner is a young man, maybe a handful of years younger than Erik, with the earnest expression worn by a boy who's never grown up. He's very correctly academic in a dark waistcoat and collared shirt, although the collar is very incorrectly unbuttoned to display a hint of throat – enough, Erik decides, to want to lick. [Or, the one inspired by this moment-inducing gifset, where for some reason Erik's decided to work for the CIA as a means to an end and gets sent to England instead of Moira.]

645 Riverside Drive by smilebackwards

Azazel clearly has yet to understand the shattering power of Charles' disappointment, so Erik takes one for the team, grabbing the cup and downing the remnants of the cappuccino like a shot while Azazel watches with morbid fascination.

Humane Society by smilebackwards

Once Erik finally allows himself to decide that Charles is pretty much the best thing since sliced bread, he spends the next week being incredibly bitter that he's Charles' cat and not his boyfriend.

An Unexpected Muse by RedStockings

Erik is an artist who is obsessed with the young man he by chance bumped into six months ago. Charles is the long-suffering brother being dragged to an art exhibition by Raven. There he spots the man he has been dreaming about for six long months and realises that he had been noticed after all.

Walling in or Walling Out by stlkrchck

Erik stifles a sigh. Of course this is Mr. C. F. Xavier. Of course.

For the prompt: Charles and Raven are throwing a holiday party. Erik is the grumpy neighbor who is annoyed by how loud they are being. So he goes to complain, and Charles makes it up to him.

Protect, Serve, Troll by keire_ke

Erik's fire department has a special relationship with the local university. They visit often. Sometimes, there even is a fire.

Immovable Object Meets Irresistible Force by ximeria

Erik is woefully unprepared for Raven's brother, who returns to the States for her 25th birthday party.

soul of my soul by ikeracity

You can imprint on your soulmate anywhere — school, work, on the street, in a restaurant, on the subway.

Charles and Erik imprint on each other just in time for the holidays.

Some Things Are Meant To Be by ikeracity

Erik is a famous singer. Charles is a closeted fan. When Raven drags him to Erik's concert, the last thing Charles expects is for Erik to single him out of the crowd, for Erik to look right at him as he sings. And the last, last thing he expects is for Erik to personally serenade him and pull him on stage and kiss him senseless, because some things are meant to be and Erik knows it.

Crosswalk by velvetcadence

Erik accidentally French dips a perfect stranger in public. Things go as you might expect it to.

Meet Cute by lachatblanche

Erik never expected to meet his soulmate in a public toilet.

Forelsket by melonbutterfly

Erik doesn't usually react to people like that, no matter how attractive they are, and Lord knows how many incredibly attractive people he's met. And anyway, even if he is attracted to someone, it doesn't… overcome him like this, never.

Defy the Stars by SomeCoolName

Charles can’t sleep that warm night in New York when he decides to get some fresh hair on his balcony. It appears he’s not the only one who can’t sleep as he meets one of his neighbors, smoking on his balcony from the building across Charles’. They meet again in the elevator a few days later and the neighbor, Erik, is not only incredibly beautiful but also charming and funny. But Charles is in a relationship with Scott and Erik is hiding something, so it’s best if they just stay neighbors.

Too bad it was love at first sight.

To Life by professor

Erik wants a Jewish wedding.

#cherik #fic rec #gerec's fic rec #love at first sight #gerec rambles

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rypnami · 10 months

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headcanons for Solomon Sallow because through a series of unfortunate events i am now obsessed with him

word count: 329 (i will definitely be adding more later lol)

a/n: let me thirst over grumpy old men in peace okay. bb boy @ask-solomon-sallow

• around Feldcroft, he’s known as the ‘fix it’ guy. if something in your house is broken, he’s the person to call

• he’s a cat person

• he knows how to braid hair. he’s the middle Sallow child, with Sebastian’s father being the eldest, and they had a younger sister who would always insist he braid her hair for her

• despite his frankly bitter personality, he likes his coffee and/or tea with an ungodly amount of sugar

• the pocket watch on his waistcoat was a gift from his brother. although they rough relationship with him their whole lives, he cared for him, and misses him deeply

• contrary to popular belief, Solomon actually does care for Sebastian. Seb just reminds him too much of his brother, and of himself. he feels like his life went a bad direction, and he sees a lot of potential in Seb, and doesn’t want his life to go the same way. the probables is he’s too emotionally constipated to actually *say* that, so it comes out in anger and him being wayyy to harsh

• once Ominis started hanging around Feldcroft, Solomon taught him how to read using his wand

• he would work overtime when he was an Auror, because, well… he didn’t really need the extra money… but his brother just had twins; they deserve some extra help

• when they were small, Sebastian and Anne would want him to read to them every night. after some time, when the Tales of Beedle the Bard were wearing thin, he’d write little stories for them instead. they never knew that, though

• before he ended up becoming an Auror, he wanted to be a writer. making up stories for Sebastian and Anne ended up being the perfect outlet, especially since he had to retire from the Auror office

• he never really had a serious relationship (until he married ME!!!). he had a few short-term girlfriends, both at Hogwarts and as he got older, but nothing really stuck

now… to cap it all off

SOLOMON ASS

#i am so normal (lying)#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #hp fandom #slytherin #solomon sallow #headcanon #hogwarts legacy headcanons #rypnami x solomon #char x solomon

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spontaneousglitterbees · 1 year

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Stop It. Get Some Help.

[AU Masterpost]

“I know you’re there, Momota. Not sure what part of ‘I-can-smell-deception-fifteen-miles-out’ you still aren’t getting.”

Kaito sighs, shoulders slumped as he slinks into Kokichi’s line of sight.

“Do you really have nothing better to do than stalk little ol’ me? Would it help if I set off a skylight every time your favorite damsel’s in distress? Everyone already knows about your hero complex, but I didn’t take you for an exhibitionist too,” Kokichi sneers, leaning on his cane. He twists his left hand around the grip idly.

“Damn it, Ouma, can you just let someone care about you for five minutes?”

“It was ONE TIME!” Kokichi shouts, a little shocked by the way his voice reverberates down the hall. It’s more than their class now. Eyes on him, eyes he doesn’t know; eyes he can verify are really there this time. They stare, and he stares back. Needlepoints of pain prick into his nerves, each momentary glance searing his spine. He shakes his head, rounding the corner, walking away. He would at least try to run, had he not just had a very unpleasant, very public reminder of why he shouldn’t. “I didn’t ask you to care about me.”

Kaito scoffs, picking up pace in pursuit. He never can leave well-enough alone, can he?

“Yeah, I know, you’d rather choke, threats’n scary noises. I’ve met you. And I can speak Kokichi well enough to know the closest translation of ‘maybe I can fall back on my friends occasionally’ seems to be 'I need you to kill me, Kaito, it’ll be great! Swearsies.'”

Ouma pauses, feigning deep thought. Both hands stay glued to the head of his cane; he shifts all his weight onto it, daring to lean forward. If it has to be there, he may as well make it a part of his mannerisms. He’d much rather look a top-hat and waistcoat away from vaudeville than vulnerable. It’s go big or go home, as they say, and it’s not like Class 79 even has that much choice anymore. He tilts his head, even without a curious finger to the corner of his lip.

“So mean, Momota-chan,” he frowns a bit too big for his face, nary a crease toward the eyes. Fake? Yes, but more importantly deliberate. “A real hero wouldn’t be so chipper! You’re supposed to get all Dark and Broody about it,” he shrugs, contempt dripping from every syllable. The mask of carefree indifference has flown from his face, and rather than pick up its scattered shards Kokichi decides to walk a little faster. Maybe if he rambles on enough, Kaito will lose interest and leave him be.

“About how deeply it damaged your soul, forever, to have to get blood on your hands, and how much Pain it puts you in to know you’ve taken a life, and once a quorum of girls and at least a good fourth of the guys are throwing themselves at you, THEN you can think about the monster you had to slay to make it happen. Haven’t you ever read a book? Ever? I seriously think it might not have happened, ever.”

Ouma glances to his side.

Shit.

Kaito isn’t sure precisely when they took a turn in the opposite direction of their next class (and, in fact, towards a wing of the school that’s near-empty at this hour.) He is sure, however, it doesn’t matter in the slightest. “Aren’t you bored of that line yet?”

“Which one?” Kokichi asks, a small lilt at the end of the phrase covering up just how hard he’s breathing.

Not that Momota is doing any better. Dumbass.

“Harping on about exactly how stupid you think I am! Which is rich, by the way, considering I got tailored to advance space travel and they made you an actual clown,” he huffs, crossing his arms. Despite all better instincts telling him not to engage, maybe even to bail completely, Kaito Momota doubles down. He slides down the wall of the elevator’s enclave where Kokichi’s decided to set up shop, landing not five feet from the boy picking at the various stickers wrapped around his cane.

“You bet they did~!” Kokichi smiles as usual, though the mischief and malice are replaced with. With.

… pity?

Something with a bitter aftertaste, the matching laugh clawing its way out from his throat.

“Certified Clown Around Town, thanks much. It’s good to be appreciated, you should try it sometime!” violet eyes widen, coming into focus for the first time this whole conversation exclusively to unnerve Kaito. It may have even worked a week ago, but now?

Now Kaito has seen what those eyes really look like as they stare death in the face. This is less than child’s play, as far as threats go. It would be insulting, really, had he not noticed that Kokichi only looks away to conceal how big his pupils have gotten. “Oh, I do. All the time.”

“Sidekicks are subordinates, they don’t count! Of course they’ll kiss the ground you walk on, they’re obsessed with you,” Kokichi huffs, this strangled nishishishishi into the side of his hand. “They wouldn’t put up with you otherwise!”

“… Co-dependent, maybe, but it’s not like that’s their fault.” Kaito sighs. The concession comes quickly; a peace offering in the form of self-awareness he’s been building lately.

“Yeah, 'cuz it’s yours~!” Kokichi cracks himself up, holding his forehead.

A flat palm turns into a fist, white at the knuckles. Eyes dulled, staring straight ahead, his voice comes to tremble. “But that’s a lie. At most you enable them, I think, which. There’s really nothin’ like the feeling of having your team here’n-now’n-all-together, is there?” He half-mumbles, not particularly concerned with being heard. “They need space. You are supposed to be the space expert, at least, so really we’ve got nobody better to play the part, do we.” Under his breath, he mouths: “I’d be a hypocrite, telling you not to chase that feeling.”

Kaito sits up a little bit straighter. It feels uncanny, seeing his friend so. Empty. Like a stage spot-lit before the set has been built, walking in on rehearsal while the actors still have their scripts in-hand. When Kokichi is lost in thought— genuinely lost in thought, without an escape route in mind— his ‘true’ self shines through a bit. It has only ever seemed cold, calculating, unfeeling in the split-second glances he’s caught through the crack in the wall of artifice between them, but the look on Kokichi’s face now, it’s… wistful. Longing. More human than Kaito wanted to admit to himself. The hangar was not a fluke. Kokichi Ouma, for all his insistence otherwise, is as much a scared, lonely kid as any of them.

Now they have to find a way to live with that.

He does not know if the people Kokichi misses are out there, somewhere, in that wide, wild world outside. He does not know if they ever existed. He is certain that Kokichi doesn't want to.

A long silence passes between them.

Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars and typically-reasonably-punctual student, half-considers taking Kokichi by the shoulder, helping him up, and walking them both back to class. Really, he thinks to himself. What was he even doing out here—

Of course, then he takes a look at Kokichi, and that plan is instantly scrapped.

“Kichi. Hey, Kokichi. You okay, dude?”

Of course not, but it feels wrong not to ask.

" 'o’wway," he mumbles, voice hitching, shoulders heaving with the slightest breath. Rather than merely distant, his eyes seem glassy, too used to this by now to show anything but numb.

“Hell no! Kichi, are you— stupid question, damn it, where were you going?” Kaito will never hear the end of it if Kokichi wakes up outside one of his 'safe zone’s. Kokichi, at least, takes a good few seconds too long to register first the question, then that Kaito noticed enough of his habits to ask.

“Dorm,” comes the answer, too meek not to have an immediate backpedal to re-assert himself. Yet here we are.

“Wh— Kichi the dorms aren’t anywhere close to here, did you f—”

“I TOOK A WRONG TURN!” Kokichi screams, the sound bouncing from wall-to-wall of this abandoned corridor. He crosses his arms over his head, face blocked by his elbows. "ALRIGHT? I just, wanted, to get where people aren’t, and I shortcut through here all the time even if it's a longer walk because nobody’s in my way, and then you show up —!"

The tears pricking the corners of his eyes look unnatural on him. They seem real, haphazard and unintentional, a byproduct of Too Much happening at once. Kaito is the only witness. Even that, to Kokichi, is too much.

“Okay. Okay, got it, I’ll take off in a minute, just hang on. I’ll get you to Tsumiki, she’ll know what to—”

“NO!!”

Well. That settles that.

“ 'm not, fucking, I-I-I-don’t need you, Momota,” he heaves as he suddenly insists on climbing back up to standing, slamming the elevator button with the base of his palm. “Will you quit babysitting me if I pinkie swear not to do anything stupid? …Unless it’s really funny?”

Kokichi does not wait for an answer, practically throwing himself into the elevator and pressing the ‘Close Door’ button as hard as he can. Naturally, the door takes its sweet time closing, Kaito trailing behind the boy.

Unsurprising. Still, he’s a little disappointed.

The door shuts before them with a solid k-Klang. Even fully expecting it, Ouma winces a little. To his mild shock, Kaito does too.

“… H-eh. You’re just that dedicated to playing hooky with me, huh Momo-chan?” Kokichi smiles, and it is obviously forced. But it’s no longer Kaito he’s trying to convince, is it?

Oh good, he’s Momo-chan again. Step in the right direction. “Hmm, maybe. I take my job very seriously now, SHSL Babysitter’s got to play the part.”

Wrong thing to say, apparently, a crestfallen Ouma smashing every floor button on the control panel with a swipe of his hand. This should be a while.

“What! You started it, are you going to get on my case about being ‘clever enough to come up with your own jokes’ next, or something?” Kaito shrugs, rolling his eyes as he leans against the wall of the elevator. “Shuichi and Maki-Roll will have notes, so. You’ve got me captive. Revenge is right there.”

“It’s a joke to you?”

Kokichi sounds too small. Disbelief creeps in, tinging the words with the reek of honest confusion, of dread.

The incessant ding! vv-ack, vAHvUmp, whrrrr… ding! of an elevator systematically checking every, single, floor of the building for a new occupant is even worse than the thick silence between them. Blissfully, nobody walks on.

Kaito is the one to break the tension.

“… Yeah? I mean, that you’d need a babysitter, the whole. That shit’s as real as mine, and it’s not fun, it’s a couple steps too far to heckle you for that.”

Kokichi looks as though he could spit in his face and at least try to crush him under the heel of a light-up tennis shoe. “Liar.”

“What?”

“Which word didn’t you understand?”

“The only one y— lie about what! Has anyone been giving you shit for it, seriously? I’ll punch’em!”

"See?" says Ouma, explaining nothing.

Well. Until the clueless look on Momota’s face chips at him enough to admit, “I see what you’re doing here. You, my guy, are caught up in some classic double-think. It’s a breed of lie powerful enough to snare you no matter how smart you are, if you aren’t careful.”

Kaito opens his mouth to object, but. Seeing the floor number tick over with its high-pitched 'ding!', he decides there might be some benefit to playing along after all.

“… You’ve really never…?” Kokichi’s brow furrows, leaning his right shoulder heavily against the wall. He does not let his back touch the metal. “It’s when you’re convinced to believe two things that directly contradict each other at the same time. Usually it’s a side-effect of propaganda, indoctrinating people into the Ideology of Whatever and all that, squash any questions before they’re asked. But you can totally do it with petty stuff too!”

Kaito looks him up and down. “You might be the only guy I know that’s actually bothered to read that book,” he halfheartedly laughs, in desperate want of a distraction.

“Mm, not at all, Momo-chan! Why would I bore myself with a dull, super-grody old book with a bunch of questionable bits from just after the second time the world shit itself within a century, a book that codified a lot about how people talk about political machinations and just the idea of a surveillance state, let alone the nightmarish panopticon we trade ourselves for now because they’re occasionally kind of fun! The screens couldn’t actually see you back when he wrote about it, Kaito. And you know what people did?”

Kaito, holding an arm out for a Kokichi that both A) takes it to re-balance himself and B) is very put out that he has to take it to re-balance himself, speaks matter-of-factly where Ouma cuts the rope on the rant. “Absolutely f–”

“They did ABSOLUTELY FUCKALL, KAITO, path of least resistance, going along with the rules of a game they did not mean to get into, but they also failed to stop, and they had to just sit and take it. None of it mattered. Even, when they thought they got out, n-none of it…” Hic.

The elevator door opens, landing the pair on the rooftop level. Only the sound of the wind rustling plant life around the greenhouse greets them up here, bright blue sky stinging both of their eyes emerging from the soft incandescent light of the elevator.

The real sky, this time. No LCD panels in sight.

“Mm-hmm. No need for an Ultimate Supreme Leader, whatever that means anymore, to look into somethin’ like that.”

Kaito lets the thought conclude, a little guilty now for bringing it up. For running away from what’s uncomfortable to know, again. Like a coward. We’re both cowards.

“Okay.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you expect me to say?” Kaito shakes his head. “And you still haven’t answered me.”

“I’m headed. Right, here.” Ouma smirks, feet planted in the middle of the path.

“About the doublethink, Kichi, figured I should consult the expert.”

The boy considers this a moment, tapping his cane nervously when it should be helping him stand.

“… Come on, Kaito, you’re not totally braindead! It’s obvious.” Kokichi shrugs, or does his best to, closing his eyes and taking in real, fresh air, for the first time in [he doesn’t know how long. Too long.] Cheery as usual. Except… “You just look at yourself for a sec’n play spot-the-difference, Saihara’s probably got you cross-examined down to the bone! So what if you say that your sidekicks need to be more independent, it’s still more convenient to take their notes for granted while you go off on some Quest for all the Nothing it’ll net you. Heck, maybe you do want to care about the guy you voted for in every trial, just to send a message! But if you really think I’ll buy that you doubted for a second that this. Whatever this is, is anything but your self-aggrandizing attempt to convince yourself you’re still needed, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Kokichi laughs. Not his over-the-top Saturday-morning-supervillain Maniacal Laughter, but this subdued puff of air through his nose that nearly makes him choke. The only thing keeping him up (and awake) at this point, swaying as he may, appears to be pure adrenaline and spite. Kaito has to physically hold himself back from trying to catch Kokichi and carry him.

" ,,, Okay. Maybe I. Do, like to feel needed. That’s the truth. That doesn’t mean that’s all, Kichi, things are always more complicated than that."

Kokichi’s eyes narrow, pouring over Kaito’s features for any trace of insincerity. Considering how blurry his vision is getting, it doesn’t really help.

“You know what?” Kokichi interjects. “You’re right!”

“… I’m right?”

“Of course you are! Silly Momo-chan, you’re a literal rocket scientist, after all, and it’s not like a confluence of factors’ll get past someone that sharp! But it’s not like those factors are ' more complicated than that’, not really. Even an idiot would notice I’m struggling just to exist half the time! That I am small, and I am fragile, and I might keel over if the wind blows too hard, that I wasn’t supposed to be here, or be anywhere besides splattered between two metal slabs locked together for eternity, I’m weak, Kaito Momota, and you’re a damn vulture that just can’t let this broken bird be, now can you?”

That smile. That face, the Kokichi he still sees in his nightmares re-emerges, expression cast in shadow by the halo of the sun overhead. Of course he’s been flippant with his health, with himself. Of course it took a few weeks of trial and error for him to finally relent, get a cane, and of course he immediately took a shine to bruising shins with it. It doesn’t matter to him, because Kokichi Ouma considers himself a wraith bound to haunt this school. Because Kokichi Ouma is and should be dead.

“… wasn’t winning enough for you?”

The question is so soft it aches in his chest. A pain to give. A pain to receive.

The thin, curling leaves of a peach tree overhead rustle in the wind.

Kaito turns around.

“Alright. You know where to find me.”

They are both well aware that, wherever that place may be, there was no chance of Ouma getting there any time soon.

Kaito does not look back. He does not leave, either.

“S-So mean, Momo-chan,” Kokichi laughs, its latter half morphing into a sob. “A-At least be mad at me. Yell at me. Something, I’m Liar Supreme! King of the Shitheads! Can’t I at least keep that?”

Kaito sighs. “I didn’t win, Kichi. Not the game. Not even against the obstacle they made you into, let alone you. I-I.” Kaito reaches for better, clearer words, but he settles for close-enough. “I didn’t know, that you felt that way. And maybe you’ll believe me, maybe you won’t, but. I don’t, see you like that. I wanna say you’re one of the strongest guys I’ve ever met, but you are absolutely gonna call me out on that, so let’s go with. Resilient. That fair?”

Tears soaking into the dirt below, Kokichi steps with his cane to slowly get himself back in Kaito’s line of sight. “That’s. Definitely a new one.”

“And exactly the kind of thing you want in a leader. Or. I would. You roll with the punches like nothing I’ve ever seen! You got a concussion, then punched, shot twice, bled out, got poisoned, and the only thing that could put you down had to crush you completely just so you wouldn’t pick right back up! That’s gotta be at least a couple reasonable places to die, and you didn’t, just to stick it to the killing game. Legendary levels of petty. Honestly, Kichi, I probably could walk away and know that you’d be fine, because you’re you. You scrape by like that. I just think you shouldn’t have to. I need to get better at listening when I hear ‘no’, but. You need to know I won’t think any less of you if you say anything else. Okay?”

Kokichi nods. His face is buried in his scarf; saying the word yes out loud is still a bit beyond him, for the moment. So is ‘letting Kaito see his face while he processes possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to him’. Rather than force himself to speak in the watery, weeping tone he loathes when he lacks the careful control to turn it off at will, he lunges forward.

Kokichi hugs Kaito as tightly as he can.

“… Holy shit, Kichi, how long has it been this bad?” Kaito gasps, only now permitted to see that, while he knew Kokichi was having a bad snit, he’s likely going to actually faint once the adrenaline wears off.

“Been worse,” the boy shrugs into Kaito’s side. He’s been at least vaguely aware he was going to crash for a while, now, doing his best to push it out of his mind.

To lie to himself that he isn’t scared.

“Momo-chan?” Kokichi asks, the fight fading from his voice. Kaito taps his shoulder to acknowledge so that Kokichi can keep his eyes shielded from the light. “Can we see some stars? This one’s too, too try-hard, y. Yeah?”

Kaito, for a moment, is flummoxed. Stars? It’s mid-afternoon, what could you possibly—

His lab. The astrophysics lab, on the roof, in the observatory. Bound to be close enough to empty while it’s too bright to see anything.

A safe zone.

“Can I—?”

“Yeah,” Kokichi concedes with a whisper. “Please.”

#danganronpa #dr #new danganronpa v3 #ndrv3 #danganronpa v3 #drv3 #kokichi ouma #ouma kokichi #kokichi oma #oma kokichi #kaito momota #momota kaito #oumota #fic #glitz dr comics #at least in the same world #Talent Acquisition Project Pilot AU #TAPP AU #writing

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catcorsair · 5 months

Text

Ten First Lines Game

Rules: Share the first line of ten of your most recent fanfics and then tag ten people. Don't have ten? Not to worry, just share what you have.

Thanks to @sadeyedlady-writes for the tag!

(I'm going to count each of the 5 published parts of Teeth as a separate story, even though I do have others, because they function that way and take up the majority of my time 😅)

Here goes:

Like Pulling Teeth: Part One

"Really, Christine," I spat as she clasped both hands to her lips, giggling madly behind them, "compose yourself!"

Like Pulling Teeth: Part Two

Of course, such ridiculous sentiments had never passed her lips. Christine did not protest, not once; not once! I reminded myself as I collected my thoughts against her, panting boorishly into the yellow tangle of her hair, not once! as I clutched her sweating, trembling flesh to the damp front of my waistcoat, my spent c*ck slowly draining of its urgency within her—no! she had uttered no complaint at all!—and yet, even now, that bitter fluid, that blood, that propellant of disaster, returned to flood my brain, and in those sobering moments I admit I might have—for only an instant—begun to doubt.

LPT: Part Three

For months I have upheld this charade.

Months of terror. Months of bliss.

Ah—and one day more, by the chiming of the clock.

LPT: Part Four

"You like this," I told her, madly, watching the flickering candlelight throw shadows on the desaturated red haze of her naked chest and thighs. Light danced in the blue ocean of her stare; I could not bear to look for the brilliance of that mystic gaze. Words poured from my lips like vomit, reeking, foul: "you want this, you c*nt. You always have. We both know you've begged me for it. Erik is only giving you what you—f*ck you, you fucking—f*ck—"

LPT: Part Five

(PSYCH it should be posted by the end of the year 😅)

I had been stupid not to anticipate a suitor; for a woman such as Sophia, it was remarkable that she did not have a line following her about. For all that I could gather during those first few miserable weeks following her return to the wardrobe closets of the Opera above, it would appear that she only had me.

And him.

Notre Dame des Lorettes

The cacophony of war echoes far beneath the earth. It is an insistent, tuneless music, its rhythmic monotony resounding in the dark, pronouncing destruction with every vibration upon the surface; to Erik, the lone occupant of the palatial underground beneath the unfinished Opera Garnier, the clamor is deafening, pounding above his head like the wounded heart of Paris herself. He cannot escape the sounds of her suffering, no matter how deeply he buries himself within the dirt.

A Home at the End of the World

"Where is the girl?" The Persian demanded, his shrewd, jadeite eyes flashing as he scrambled to his feet, his waterlogged dress shoes skidding over the tight weave of the Turkish carpet. Dark hair like smooth onyx, plastered to his forehead with wet and sweat, hung about his gaze as he surveyed the dark underground room. His deep voice came rough and rasping as if he had recently swallowed a great deal of water only to violently retch it up moments following. Still he huffed, each breath a painful struggle, "where is he, that stupid boy? Have you harmed the boy?"

Things From the Dirt

In the quiet, evening candlelight they cling together, legs entwined beneath the disordered bed linens. Long past the close of another day, flush with the usual bustling banality of life--her, managing the vast household, the service staff, their child; him, his interests in Nantes, in Saint-Domingue, his accounts, his debts--they are finally free to forget themselves for only moments, to claim their dues of one another as husband and wife. As they had for the first time, a week to this day, seven years ago.

Private Parts

In the underground bedroom she dresses in silence, taking pains to arrange her hair and rouge her cheeks, despite his being the only one who will look upon her. Pausing a moment to collect herself by the door, she turns to throw one last glance at her anxious expression in the mirror atop the bureau, then straightens her skirts and her cuffs with clammy, tremulous fingers.

Red Velvet

Why had she sought refuge here, of all places? On the roof of the Garnier she had already revealed all; Raoul promised that he would take her away to safety. She would be free from him forever. And yet, as soon as they had parted, she found herself rushing down the million stairs of the colossal opera house only to enter once more into his domain.

***

(edited to censor, whoops!)

Thank you again for the tag! Tagging in @emotionalmotionsicknessxx @les-gnossiennes-fantomatiques @shinyfire-0 @jennyfair7 @flora-gray @wheel-of-fish @paperandsong and whoever else wants to join!

#phantom of the opera #the phantom of the opera #poto #le fantome de l'opera #erik/christine #catcorsair writes poto smut

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tellerluna-stories · 2 years

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save the first dance for me.

PAIRING: diluc x reader

GENRE: slight angst with a fluffy ending! strangers to something more, perhaps?

TW/CW: mentions of alcohol and drinking. diluc does work in a tavern, after all...

A/N: this is a gift for my beloved sun @x-zho's unbirthday!!! pls check out her blog, you won't regret it <33 HAPPY UNBIRTHDAY TEN OUTTA TEN I HOPE U ENJOY THIS DRABBLE

also, this fanfic is inspired by this fanart I saw on tiktok and this song that I simply adore!!!!!! I've always associated this song with diluc and i just HAD to write something for him with this song AAAAAA

Raucous laughter and the clink of glasses ring throughout Angel’s Share, a round of cheers as its customers chugged down another round of alcohol to go with their mirth. It was the sound of a typical evening in Mondstadt, except that tonight was a special occasion held in honour of— you couldn’t remember what exactly.

Not that it would matter, since everyone would be too hungover to remember it in the morning.

The aroma of grape juice lingers on your tongue before melting away, the sour-sweet taste contrasting sharply with the bitterness that filled your mouth— attending events like these was already bad enough, but getting stood up by the people you were supposed to go with was even worse. They’d all begged and pleaded for you to come to this event, only to leave you stranded in an uncomfortably loud room with nobody you knew.

You take another sip of grape juice and grit your teeth, ignoring the twinge of pain that courses up your foot— the consequence that came of you wearing your newly bought shoes to impress a shameless bunch who didn’t even bother to show up.

“This joyous occasion calls for singing and dancing!” A bard declares, his face flushed red from the amount of drinks he’d already downed. It would be a miracle if he even managed to stay standing, let alone sing a song, but nobody paid any heed.

The girls in attendance tittered and hid their smiles behind their hands, batting their eyelashes at the boys who they hoped would ask them for a dance. Everyone knew that occasions like these were where romance and courtship bloomed, and to publicly ask someone for a slow dance was practically to get engaged.

All-in-all, a riveting display of youth, you thought dryly. It must be nice to attend a dance with friends, and to talk to them about the person you had romantic feelings for. Not that you would know about things like that.

“Would you like a refill?”

Some of the girls glance your way, their already rosy cheeks flushing an even warmer shade of pink at the sound of the stranger’s voice. Your gaze swiveled to fix upon the man standing behind the counter— oh.

“Would you like a refill?” He repeated firmly, gesturing to your glass. This man wasn’t the one who had served you your drink when you’d arrived, no— his eyes matched the crimson hair that was swept up into a high ponytail, gleaming in the lamplight like a thousand rubies. A simple bartender’s uniform was all he wore: a trim black waistcoat and gloves to match, worn over an open-collared white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Oh, but…” You peered at your glass, still half-full of grape juice. “I still have some left.”

“Well, just let me know if you want a refill. It’ll be on the house for tonight.”

“Another round, barkeep! Keep the wine flowing till dawn!” A fresh-faced bard cheers from the opposite end of the counter, his braided hair dangerously close to getting sloshed by his half-empty cup, and the bartender rolls his eyes but obliges. You could feel the eyes of those girls boring into you, but you couldn’t exactly blame them, either— this man would not have looked out of place among the gods as their cupbearer.

In the background people begin to clap in time with the music of the bards, a delightfully brisk tempo that had the young folk standing up eagerly as they waited for the dance to begin. Those who did not stand instead chose to stamp their feet or bang their cups against the tabletops, cheering wildly as a young lass took the floor, her skirts swishing playfully as she eyed the crowd for her potential dance partner.

“How come you’re not joining?”

The bartender reappears out of nowhere, nearly causing you to jump out of your skin. “Ah- you startled me!”

“My apologies.”

You sighed once more and let your gaze wander back to the scene; the girl had found a partner, a young boy with a mischievous smile that matched the spark in her eyes. Likewise, the rest of the crowd had followed their example and filtered into pairs, the atmosphere brimming with the anticipation of a glorious dance.

“…I don’t know anybody. All the people I was supposed to go with ended up ditching me.”

“Ah.” His face creases, contorting into the ‘I’m sorry to hear that’ expression that people usually gave you when you told them about incidents like these. “I’m—“

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry to hear that. I’ll only feel worse because some stranger is taking pity on me for having no friends.” You smile ruefully and finish the last of your grape juice, pushing the empty glass across the counter. “I’ll just go out for some air, and maybe I’ll feel a bit better afterwards. Thanks for the drink.”

The expression disappeared as quickly as it came, but you paid it no heed— instead, you headed for the door, seeking it to cool your head in the peaceful quiet of moonlight.

——

The streets of Mondstadt were empty, completely devoid of any life whatsoever; the distinct lack of people was evident, even in the center square. But the lack of people meant that it was quiet, and that sense of solitude was what you needed to clear your head.

Taking a deep breath, you savoured the crisp coolness of the night air, taking this opportunity to reflect.

Under normal circumstances, you wouldn't have felt so bothered by situations like these— in fact, you weren’t even familiar with events like these, yet somehow what you had seen tonight made your heart ache for something you never knew you wanted.

It felt silly to envy those people who you barely even knew, yet you wished that you could experience that joy that they shared so freely among each other. What would it feel like to be able to enjoy yourself at a gathering without feeling left out? To have people who made the time and effort to spend time with you? To even have butterflies as someone asked you for a dance?

"Are you alright?"

For the second time this evening, you nearly jumped out of your skin. Behind you stood the handsome bartender from earlier, who had apparently followed you out of the tavern.

"You startled me once again."

"My apologies." He said, though he didn't look very apologetic. Perhaps that was just his resting face.

The proper response would've been to tell him it was alright and to forget about it, but you no longer had the energy for formalities; instead, you sigh and draw a hand over your face. "Don't you have work to do?"

The bartender threw a dismissive glance towards his workplace and snorted. "It's alright. Besides, it's also my job to ensure the welfare of our patrons."

"Quite the workplace ethics you have."

"Thank you."

The conversation dies down into a companionable silence as you both gaze at the moon over Mondstadt, extending its moonbeams as a gesture of kindness towards the citizens that weren't partying the night away.

"So, is there any particular reason for why you wanted to clear your head tonight?" He asks, the moonlight dancing in his ruby eyes like milk in a cup of rosy-red tea.

"Well, there's the usual reason of me not being one for loud social gatherings. That's one."

"What about the fact that your acquaintances left you stranded?"

"That's two reasons," You reluctantly admit, secretly praying that he wouldn't ask anymore questions. Your third reason was embarassing enough and would sound even more pathetic if you said it aloud.

"I have a feeling that there's a third."

Perhaps you should have held your tongue.

"...Yes, there is."

Your dismay must've shown on your face, for the bartender shrugs and returns to moon-gazing. "There's no need to say what it is. I can probably guess it anyway."

No pressing questions, no subtle guilt trips to get you to open up— just an acknowledgement of your feelings and your decision to keep them to yourself. This man was a perfect stranger to you, yet in the span of one evening you felt more comfortable around him than during all of the years you had spend hanging around your acquaintances.

A faint chorus of cheers can be heard from within as the dance reaches the peak of its excitement, the stamping of feet speeding into a frenzy as the music grows faster and faster. The voices of the bards were drowned out like birds in a summer's storm, leaving only the skeleton of a song to be heard by outsiders.

"...Well, it was nothing much in the first place. Just the feeling of being left out."

He gives a soft hum in reply, nodding to acknowledge your answer; somehow, you have the feeling that he understands the sort of loneliness that you've carried with you wherever you went. This stranger had the air of one who was well-versed in the language of loneliness, and he seemed to be the sort of person who wouldn't judge you for it.

"I don't even know why it bothers me so much when I can't even dance in the first place." You smile awkwardly, turning away from the light of the moon to stare longingly at the glowing windows of the tavern. "I'd probably muddle up that first dance alone, much less survive through the entire evening."

As if on cue, the claps slowed in rhythm, signalling that it was time for the long-awaited couples’ dance. Through the windows you could see the faint silhouettes of the boys who extended a hand to their would-be partners, who all accepted with giddy smiles.

Your feet twitch in your shiny new shoes, aching to know what it was to dance and enjoy dancing.

Your companion must have noticed your staring, for he, too, turned to look inside. "Are you sure you don't want to join them? This dance has a slower tempo and is a bit easier to learn."

"It would just be a hassle. Besides, I don't even have a dance partner."

"You do have one."

"Where? I don't see one."

"Right here."

For a moment your mind completely halts, struggling to properly process the full meaning of what the bartender just said. But he does not wait for you to recover— instead, he bows formally, extending one gloved hand to you in his offer.

“May I have this dance, then?” A faint smile flickers across his features, almost impossible to catch in the darkness— but that smile betrays itself in the sound of his voice, in the way it washes over you with its rich baritone and pulls you under in its irresistible warmth.

“I don’t even know your name.” You laugh slightly, yet your hand slips into his all the same. “I can’t very well dance with a stranger, can I?”

You cannot tell if it is the skill of your dance partner or some heaven-sent instinct, but the moment he steps closer to you, everything falls into place automatically; your posture naturally corrects itself, taking on the tall, upright stature of a dancer that you'd only dreamed of imitating, and one hand finds its place on his shoulder while the other firmly clasps his gloved hand. Even your feet forgot their aches and pain, shifting to balance your weight on the balls of the feet just as you had seen the other dancers do.

"My name is Diluc," he says simply, bringing his other hand to rest on the small of your back. "May I be so bold as to ask for yours?"

This was not the kind of dance that you had expected to have tonight— a pas de deux with cobblestone streets for your dance floor and the moon replacing the light of a chandelier, and a strange but trustworthy bartender as your partner. Yet that does not stop the heartbeat that thrums faster than the tempo of any dance, nor does it hinder you from speaking your truth.

“Yes," you reply, your first genuine smile of the evening working its way up your lips. "Yes, you may.”

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asundertale · 3 months

Text

Tea party with mad people

"A happy unbirthday for me,for you, a happy unbirthday for you,for me,yes,yes,let's celebrate with a tea party."

The girl looked amazed at the man from afar,he was a very strange figure,dressed like a scruffy Victorian gentlemen,with a coat that seemed to be made of green rags of different shades with some prints and a huge top hat,singing loudly in a rectangular table that looked like the fangs had been prepared for a tea party.

She was startled,the man had noticed that she was there and in a jump of astonishment he got up from the chair and stared at her,suddenly he began to walk quickly towards her.

The girl shivered a little at this,but still she didn't back away,instead remaining motionless until the man stood in front of her in silence.

"You.....you weren't invited to tea" Finally the man spoke, in fact the man didn't know what to say and his head was full of questions like:"Why is this child here?","Where did she come from ?","Is she homeless?","What the hell should I do with her?".

They both looked at each other in silence, the man actually looked like a scruffy Victorian gentlemen,but now she could see that he was wearing a dark green waistcoat over a white shirt with a black bow tie and trousers with a black and white checkered pattern with brown shoes and white and yellow striped socks.

His eyes were light blue and his hair was blonde but with the base and some dark brown highlights, making it appear to be dyed, his features were round and his mouth had protruding front teeth that seemed to stick out of his mouth, he was short and He didn't appear to be very thin.

The girl was dressed much more simply, she was wearing a type of loose white pajamas consisting of a very long-sleeved blouse and pants that dragged on the floor, along with dirty white socks on the soles due to her having no shoes.

She had straight, but messy, black hair that reached her shoulders and fell over her face and her eyes were brown, she didn't look more than ten years old and her face had delicate features.

"What...what's your name?" The man broke the silence.

'A-Alice Williams" The girl replied shyly.

The man widened his eyes and made an expression of astonishment, until he said "Hello...Alice...you can call me Mad Hatter".

The hatter walked to the end of the table and pulled out one of the chairs.

"Sit down, drink a cup of tea" Said the hatter, trying on a friendly smile, Alice obeyed.

The table was covered with a tablecloth sewn from rags of different prints and filled with empty jars and teapots.

The hatter placed a cup on a saucer in front of Alice and filled her with tea, the girl took a small sip and drew her mouth away from the bitter taste.

The hatter subtly looked at the girl with a look of curiosity, then he said: "Are you alone here, dear?"

Upon hearing this, Alice began to stare at the hatter with wide eyes, as if she were scared.

"D-don't be afraid" The hatter said with a desperate tone "I would never hurt a child."

The hatter's attempt at explanation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the dry leaves and in the distance a silhouette could be seen, it was a man slowly approaching through the decaying garden under the afternoon sun.

A black figure was standing in front of the entrance to the park "Land of Fairy Tales", a place that was once one of the biggest attractions in Gotham but was currently abandoned in ruins with the darkness of the night making the place somewhat macabre.

The figure pushed the gate, without the padlock, and advanced into that decadent setting, which seemed to embody a childhood forgotten in time.

It had the princesses' castle, the witch's candy house, the seven dwarfs' mine and other attractions inspired by fairy tales, but the figure's destination was just one in specific, Wonderland, an attraction full of statues of the characters. In the book, there was the White Rabbit with his clock, the blue caterpillar with his hookah, the tweedledee and the tweedledun, who were not from Wonderland but from Through the Looking Glass.

But the character that the figure was most looking forward to meeting in that place was the Mad Hatter and perhaps an Alice who couldn't leave Wonderland, knew very well that she would find him in the middle of the park's garden, which simulated the queen's of hearts garden.

When he saw the arrow-shaped sign saying "Mad Hatter" he knew he was on the right path, following the sign he finally saw the damn chaotic tea party among the decadent garden along with an equally decadent hatter.

The Hatter also noticed his presence there, he smiled mischievously when he saw the man dressed in armor that looked like a bat.

"Well, if you're not the great Black Knight, would you like a cup of tea?" Said the Hatter, leaning over the table "I'm sorry, sweetie, but these are adult things, I'll get back whit you soon" The Hatter continued, turning to his current Alice.

However, Alice was not an adult blonde woman with blue eyes but a girl who didn't look more than ten years old with straight black hair cut short with bangs and brown eyes, even so she was dressed like the character.

She opened her eyes wide and looked at Batman with a look of terror, as if he were a monster, she tried to say something but swallowed hard.

"Come on bat, sit down and drink some tea" The Hatter insisted.

"Enough, Jervis" Batman replied with an usual firmness in his voice "Free the girl now, this is the last chance I'll give you".

"Well, I said sit down and drink some tea!" Said the Hatter with a more aggressive tone of voice.

Batman looked at the Hatter with a look of irritation, but he could see his henchmen wearing animal masks slowly approaching behind him, trying to surprise him.

But Batman blocked the first attack from a metal pipe and then all the henchmen attacked him at once, some with pipes and others with knives, but Batman's armor blocked the blows to his body and he blocked the blows to the head with his arms.

But one of the henchmen managed to hit him with a pipe on the back of the head, giving the Hatter himself room to rub a cloth soaked in a strong sleeping pill on his face, leaving Batman nauseated, he tried to get rid of the cloth but some of the henchmen stopped him. they held on, until finally Batman fell asleep on the floor.

"Great,great, now sit him on the chair" Said the Hatter, the henchmen obeyed and dragged Batman to a chair at the end of the table and chained him there.

The Hatter returned to the other side of the table, giving a friendly smile to his dear Alice, he was about to sit down again but the girl grabbed his waist, whimpering.

"P-please, please" She said between sobs and tears "Please don't let him catch me".

The Hatter looked at Alice with a look of pity, and he hugged her back.

"Don't worry, my dear, I won't let that bad man got you" Said the Hatter trying to console her "I got rid of a guy like him once and I can get rid of him again, for you."

"For me?" Alice asked as the Hatter gently wiped away her tears.

"To protect you" replied the Hatter "To ensure that you will stay here with me".

The hatter gently pulled Alice by the arm and placed her sitting on his lap, wrapping her in his arms, the girl rested her head on his shoulder, seeming to be a little calmer.

The hatter felt a warmth in his heart, it gave him enormous comfort to have that girl with him, to feel that she loved him and understood him, an almost father-daughter relationship and of course he wasn't going to let nobody, especially Batman, ruin it.

"What a despicable man" Said the hatter.

Alice was confused by the scene she had just witnessed, it was only a few minutes ago that she was whimpering to the hatter begging him to save her from that man.

"Help me" She whispered "He wants to kill me".

Then the man approached the hatter asking what he was doing and told him to stay away from her.

But then the hatter approached him and quickly placed what looked like a playing card in his ear and now he was standing still.

The man seemed paralyzed as he hadn't moved a finger to stop the hatter from rummaging through his coat pockets to find a pocket knife and a black ski mask.

"Just a minute Alice" Said the hatter, starting to walk and the man followed him.

Alice waited sitting in her chair waiting for the hatter to return and hoping the man wouldn't return with him, the whole situation was very strange for her.

After about fifteen minutes the hatter returned and did not have the man following him, much to Alice's relief.

"Sorry for the delay" Said the hatter with a friendly smile.

"What happened to that man?" Alice asked.

"I got rid of him" replied the hatter.

"What do you mean? Where is he?" Alice asked again.

"Does it matter? He wanted to hurt you and the important thing is that he will no longer be a nuisance, my dear" Said the hatter in a calm voice "Oh, with all this confusion I didn't realize it was evening, Alice, could you help me set this table?"

"Okay," Alice said and then helped the hatter put the teapot, chircaras and tablecloth in a basket and ate what was left of some cookies.

The hatter looked at Alice from time to time, it was as if she had simply fallen down this rabbit hole and by chance their paths crossed.

To never be separated again.

#mad hatter #batman #batman villains #jervis tetch #dc comics #alice in wonderland #alice williams #alice tetch

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kookiesandcreams · 2 years

Text

THE UNFORGETTABLE LOVE

Summary: Life takes unexpected turn and you meet your childhood crush. His confession has you in tears. Well, is there a turning back now?

Pairing: Jungkook × Reader × Jimin

Warning: mention of love making, angst, fluff, injuries and hospitals, heart breaks.

A/n: Istg this story made me immensely sad even though I was never lucky enough to experience true love :( I hope yall would try to connect to this one.

It's unedited as usual.

Check out my other work here.

"Here you go," Jimin said handing you a mug of freshly brewed coffee.

"Thanks, Jimin.'' you smiled at him as he ruffled your morning hair.

"So, is there something bothering you?", he asked, sipping on his warm coffee.

"No. Nothing important," you tried to brush it off.

He turned to look at you and ran his hand through his hair. His deep pools searched for answers in your worried ones.

"Baby," he began, "anything and everything related to you is important. I won't force you to share your burdens, but just know that I'm here for you." he smiled.

You gave him a tight-lipped smile and swallowed the bitter liquid in one go. Jimin picked up both the mugs and left the living room to wash the dishes. The memories of the past loomed over your head as he left you in solitude. That one phone call seemed to pause your life and change your track as a comma does to your sentence.

"Hello, is this Kim Y/N?"

"Yes, I am,"

"Could you please come to Bae Jang hospital? We have a patient under the name Jeon Jungkook here. He met with an accident and we need someone to sign the papers for the further procedures."

Jeon Jungkook; your childhood crush and best friend. Lost were the days when you both used to giggle and hide behind the huge tree trunk on your school campus to avoid the teachers. You were torn apart to hear the news but couldn't bring yourself to go and meet him. It was already difficult for you to let go of him. But were you going to leave him on his own? He was–

"Hello ma'am, are you there?"

"Ye–yes," you gulped hard.

"So are you coming?"

Would you go?

"Baby, I'm done with the dishes. Do you want to watch some movie?"

"No, I'm leaving. I've some urgent work," you said grabbing your waistcoat and purse. You knew for sure you couldn't forgive yourself if Jungkook would have to suffer because of you. You had delayed your visit already. No more would you make him wait.

Walking on the cold tiles of the hospital, memories of the past clogged your mind. You hurried to his respective room.

There he was, with scars on his face, hand plastered in POP. He had become thin and pale. You went over to him and held his big hand in yours. They were rough and hard, completely in contrast to what they were back then. You felt yourself sobbing. The beeping of the monitor, oxygen tube under his nose, bandages all over his body; this was never the way you imagined him to be.

How? How could a man like Jungkook possibly get involved in drink and driving? You remember him politely refusing the whiskey you offered him when you turned 17. You had sneaked it from your father's stock and mixed it with orange juice. Your lips twitch at the memory.

"No. I'd never let this alcohol corrupt my virgin body." Your body cracked hard at his overreaction. Your fingerings twitching to boop his cute nose.

What happened to that old Jungkook, your muscle pig who easily tackled you to the ground and looked into your eyes like your held stars in them.

You were just his friend after all. You scoff.

"What happened to you Jungkookie?", tears threatened to escape your eyes. Your lips quivered as your hands braced his in a tight hold.

You expected an answer to a question which you knew he couldn't provide you with.

The most important person of your life had long back become a chapter of your memory you barely go through.

Or at least you thought so.

You passed your final exams with flying colours. This is a perfect time, you thought when you approached him with a small box in your hand.

You smoothed the ends of your pleated skirt and applied some baby pink lip tint. You knew he liked that colour on girls. You sprayed some fresh fruit collagen on your wrist and crook of your neck while keeping his sensitive olfactory sense in your mind.

He was hanging out with his friends when you saw him. You heard them congratulating him on something.

Must be for his scores, you believed.

He noticed your presence and gave you his bashful smile, showcasing his bunny teeth. For some reasons unknown, you blushed.

Well, not exactly 'some reasons unknown'.

He approached you and you looked down at your feet; you were shy.

"Hi Kookie," you waved at him.

"Hi Y/N-ie" he waved back.

"You look pretty today," he chuckled and booped your nose.

You smiled wide, "Thank you." You bit your lip.

You tucked the stray strands of your hair behind your ear and looked up at him.

It would be difficult for someone as normal as you not to fall in love with Jungkook. He was known as the golden boy of the school. Being the best athlete in your city, he still managed to score well. His art was worth a million dollars, you thought. The way he sang, his honey-like voice was enough for anyone to drown in the sea of tranquillity. His doe eyes easily allured and trapped hearts like fish in fishnet.

"There is something I have to tell you," you said trying to avoid eye contact.

"Yes! Me too. Trust me today is the best day!". He was practically jumping on his toes due to excitement. Your heart swelled in your heart.

Your heart started pounding in your chest at a speed unbeatable. Does he feel the same about you? You thought it was one-sided.

Silly you! You smacked your head in your mind

You giggled and said, "You go first".

Never knew the further sentence could devastate you...

"Choi Jin-ha accepted my proposal. And that's, not the only news, she has been having feelings for me for a while!", he exclaimed.

His happiness had no bounds. His eyes twinkled and his lips curled into a smile, automatically. Oh! That was the reason they were congratulating him for.

The box in your hands dropped to the ground and made a loud thud. But, not louder than the thud you felt your insides make. Your heart seemed to skip a beat. You looked down and signed out abated breath.

There he was, your crush, picking up the box and looking at it for possible damage.

Your eyes were filled to the brim. You felt a sudden pang of sadness stab your heart. Was this it?

Was it going to end now?

"Aren't you happy?"

How couldn't you be happy, when your Jungkookie is happy.

"Of course, I'm happy you idiot!", you smothered a smile.

"I knew it. You know. you are the first girl to know. Don't you feel privileged, huh?" He cocked an eyebrow at you playfully. You wanted nothing more than to go home and bury your face in the pillow to cry your heart out. But you remind yourself about his precious moments. Being happy for him is the least you could do as a good friend. So you have to bear with it and be happy for him.

You stroked the scar on his cheek and looked into his onyx pools, "My Jungkookie is happy, I'm happy."

He smiled, completely forgetting that you had something to say. That was the last time you saw him, except for the nights you looked at his photos and cried yourself to sleep.

The next day you had packed your bags and left for Seoul. Singing: something that calmed you down. Your love, of course after Jungkook. You decided to prioritize your career, forgetting about Jungkook.

Easier said than done. Your first song, Sorry, my love' was dedicated to him. For your abrupt departure must have had a bitter feeling in his heart. Following songs were too, somehow related to him. Your best one, 'Hey, my love; the one in which you described him, was super hit

You remember very well, that Jimin walked in your life like an angel. Provided you shelter and care in difficult times. He was the sweetest person you could have ever met. From holding your hand while crossing the roads to holding you in his arms after making love with you, he shined like a bright star in your eyes.

You knew, forgetting Jungkook was never an option, for you always dressed up to his liking. Wearing warm colors, applying light make up and wearing accessories just like the way he liked.

Somewhere deep down in your heart you knew you were waiting for him. You always wanted to be ready for him. But, at the same time, you had caught feelings for Jimin. For the past couple, of years he had been by your side through your thick and thin.

"Why Jungkookie, why could you never see me as more than a friend? You said I looked pretty, you felt comfortable with me, even your parents loved me! Still, you never saw me the way I saw you!" Your voice cracked.

Fat tears streamed down your cheeks. You felt a grip on your finger. You looked down to see Jungkook moving. His face twisting in pain, you guessed. You immediately rang the bell and the doctor and nurse surrounded him.

They checked his vitals and removed the oxygen tube from below his nose.

"His waist had a deep cut, we stitched it but you have to be extra careful for a few days. Complete bed rest has been advised. He'll be discharged by next week. And yes," the doctor said turning a few pages you assumed were his reports, "no alcohol at all!"

"Thank you, doctor," you said and glared at Jungkook.

The doctor stopped suddenly and turned to look at you. Clearing his throat he began, "You are Kim Y/N, right? The singer?"

"Yes." you smiled.

"It's our privilege to have you here," he said and closed the door behind him and the nurses bowed and followed him.

"You are back? I knew you'd come." You could feel the excitement in his voice.

"Why? Why did you do this to yourself?"

His eyes watered but there was a smile on his face. His calloused fingers caressed your hand in his hold.

"I knew you'd come. I liked you too back then. But I never thought I was enough for you. I felt like you deserved everything." he beamed.

You shivered. His words hit you like a fire truck. How misunderstandings and gaps in communication changed the course of your lives.

But now, it was late.

"I still like you," he said without batting his eyes.

"What about Jin-ha?" Her name left a bitter taste on your tongue.

"She left me. Apparently, it was a dare for her. She crushed my hopes and feelings and walked over to my dreams. I felt like I was nothing without you: my support system." The clench of his jaw was enough for you to tell how much he despised her.

He clutched your hand tighter and sobbed.

"How did you get my number?", you had to keep your silly heart at bay now. You can't ruin everything you have.

"Your sister, she gave it to me."

You hummed and nodded your head, seemingly understanding everything.

"Y/N, will you accept me? I'm sorry. I was a fool back then. Please, don't leave me now." He was looking at you with anticipation.

"Jungkook", you began and sighed, "it's too late now. Jimin and I are engaged and he has been nothing but kind and loving towards me. If I return to you and leave him, won't that make me a bad person who uses others? I do not despise you, I loved you and maybe I still do, but I must make a wise decision. But trust me, the time I spent with you was the best. I'll treasure it forever." You were sure years left your eyes like a flowing river. The weight of your heart was heavy in your chest.

By the time you completed talking, both of you were drowned in the sorrow of separation. One thin string: relationship with Jimin, was what restricted you now. How you wished you had told od him everything earlier.

Maybe, you both were never meant to be together...

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artsy-hobbitses · 2 years

Note

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

It's happening!

Because of my apparent inability to escape DADS I… think Thunderhoof sort of became one for Sunstreaker after he was thrown out of school and as a result, became estranged from his own parents. Or at least Thunderhoof was someone Sunstreaker aspired to be—-he had presence, he had power, he had money, he had his fiefdom and everyone who knew what was good for them respected him even if he was from a class that didn’t command much of that.

I like to imagine he took scrappy little Sunny under his wing after Sunny threw the cops off his tail in the back alleys and he figured yo kid, he could use someone with your kinda spirit and he pays better too, what do you say to a life outside of slaving away at these docks till you die eh? There’s a better way, he can show you, but you’re gonna have to trust him, and he’ll need some loyalty.

It’s a bit rocky initially because Sunny’s in it only for the money, he’s an angry, wary streetcat of a kid, but when Thunderhoof extends his protection to Sideswipe, that’s when he has Sunny’s full attention.

He likely helped Sunny hone those fighting abilities and brought Sunny with him to the pits when he was an active fighter so Sunny could study up close and take up his mantle one day. Sunny initially dresses like him without realising—-the chain around the neck, the waistcoat, so even when he leaves Thunderhoof, Thunderhoof is still somehow shadowing him always—-but breaks out of it when he goes on his self-exile.

Thunderhoof definitely tried to court Sideswipe over the years but Sideswipe is wise to keep out of his business and it’s too bad really—-as a pair they woulda been perfect for his crew but he’s already got the sun devil and he’s perfectly fine with the idea of keeping Sideswipe safe to keep Sunstreaker by his side. Small price to pay for loyalty and a handsome bargaining chip.

There is a a little element of Sentinel Prime/OP to it. He’s livid when Sunny breaks away from him, but he actually gets over it in time even if he’s still bitter when he eventually does see Sunny again near the end of the war when they return to the US. And he begrudgingly works alongside Sunny for the greater good—-after all, he can’t do business when everyone’s dead, can he?

#inbox #save for later

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unboundtravels · 3 months

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Hey gang, back from the dead for a bit to share some recent headcanons I've been thinking up regarding the three new Doctors I've been working on. I'm waiting for commission art to get back before I officially add them, but for the newbies— Bumble, Purple, and Sleepy are the new Doctors who are arriving on their way. My ninth, tenth, and eleventh Doctors. I do have a twelfth Doctor, but he'll probably stay private for a pretty long time until I feel confident enough to bring him over. For now, my last three have been on my mind a lot.

Under the cut is a TON of headcanons regarding their characterization, as well as the commission details I have AT THE MOMENT. Final designs are on their way.

Bumble

Rascal incarnate. Comes directly after Pink, and I think some of those colors bled into her mind. Living life in the most cunty way possible. Disrespectful, punkish in nature, and absolutely bonkers. Out of these three, she's medium-sized. I like to imagine she's retreading One in some ways, maybe wearing a waistcoat & tie with a dress shirt, but then there are some jeans and chains here and there— fingerless gloves and boots. She's like a college professor and a punk-rock biker girl all in one. Wears those round sunglasses with bright red lenses when it's sunny out. I also think she's a pansexual nightmare. She wants to do crime and kiss pretty people, as well as spend most of her life driving with the top down. I think she realizes she might be approaching the end of her regeneration cycle, and is kind of going through it.

The Darkest Incarnation? Maybe. I think she's definitely up there. She's a little bit unhinged. Pink as an incarnation was very much pragmatic in his approach to violence. If he had to kill someone in order to defend himself or to protect his friends, he would. He's a Doctor fit for a harsh universe, but wasn't absent of that kindness that made The Doctor has as their core personality component. Bumble, following that mindset, and adding in that twinge of extra charisma— is someone who (when faced with the trolley problem) could absolutely justify trading one person for a hundred. She's more of a game player, I think. She plays mental chess with her enemies, lulling them into a false sense of security before pulling the rug out from under them. That doesn't mean she won't give them the option of surrender— she just doesn't offer it as much as any other incarnation would. She's a "no second chances" kind of Doctor, but doesn't actively preach toward someone about considering mercy if she knows they won't take it. "Two truths one lie I'll start— I have killed, I'll kill again, and It burns when I pee." energy.

Tired of being nice: Bumble is probably the most chaotic incarnation in my about. I think even Looney would struggle to keep up with the amount of energy she has and how generally unpredictable she is. She seems to lack a certain noteable amount of sympathy that other incarnations would have. The energy levels of Looney mixed with the general cold/bitterness of Goth. While Goth on his own was mourning his people, and had a heart of gold underneath all that rage— Bumble seems to be generally disinterested in being polite, nice and seems to lack a certain social awareness that other Doctors have on at least a basic level. I think she has a very party-girl lifestyle. She still helps out where she can, but she really does it from an "Oh, you're interrupting my good time" mindset. She would rather go to a club and get involved in someone's night then patrol the universe as a do-gooder. She really is a very morally grey incarnation.

Purple

The Comeback King: If Bumble following Pink was a challenging adjustment for the universe (and others) then Purple following Bumble is perceived at least as a bit of fresh air. I have no idea what kind of arc Bumble would go through throughout her life that would help her remember the fundementals of being The Doctor and doing what's right because you want too as opposed to doing good things because you have too. However, I think Purple does a sort of comeback tour. He definitely cares more about people then Bumble does, and definitely has an overall greater compassion for things and life in general.

Disorganized Twink: That being said, I think he's high strung. I think his TARDIS is littered with maps and charts and things. Mostly like books and stuff that help him figure out where he'd like to go. I definitely think that he gets involved in situations where The TARDIS doesn't land exactly where he wants it too (probably BECAUSE of his piloting, which is probably more jank and disorganized) and he gets involved in a situation, solves that situation, and then quickly gets on the move to try and see if he can get to where he was going— rinse and repeat. He has a TON of White Rabbit from Wonderland energy in the sense that he's checking his wrist watch a lot because he's late for something on another planet even though he has a time machine. He's also the tallest out of these three and has the most snatched waist.

Worse then your aunt but better then yer mum: Just like any Doctor— Purple is a lot to deal with. He's highly energetic and asks a lot of personal questions (just because he wants to help, though.) He lacks certain social graces, blurting out things before he speaks. He's easily distracted, can't keep his head on straight, and definitely is wound too tightly. That being said, he really just wants to be a good person, have a good time, and genuinely is just a good guy to be around. He's based on Matt Smith's Doctor, so there's a lot of those elements reflected here in Purple. He's serious and deadly when the moment calls for it, but chooses to maintain a sort of disorganized lifestyle because he feels like it works well for what he has going on. Life moves fast, and so does this Doctor. He has stay-at-home mom energy, sometimes. "Oh no they love orange juice but they been bad" tiktok energy, if you know what I mean.

Sleepy.

You're a devious man, Columbo: I'm NOT even gonna hide it. Sleepy is 100% based on Columbo. He is the SMALLEST Doctor on my roster, based heavily on the smaller columbo twitter account. While I haven't decided exactly WHAT his height is, part of me is thinking about making him a four foot short king. That being said, he does share a few elements with Columbo, but isn't like. A direct copy / paste. I think he's very laid back. He's got a sharp tongue and a quick wit, but most of what makes The Sleepy Doctor unique is his approach to his day-to-day adventures. He really is not the running about doing crazy things Doctor. He's very much a handles things very quickly and casually. He CAN be challenged, but I feel like he's the most difficult Doctor to combat— because he's so focused at absolutely all times that he probably has everything mapped out in his head. He's hyper observant and hyper vigilant, but he DOESN'T present that way.

Just a sleepy little guy: Which BRINGS ME to this point. The Sleepy Doctor is EXACTLY that. Sleepy. He's just this really sort of. Low energy incarnation. I think he realizes that his next incarnation is the last body. That means that no matter how Sleepy acts, or what he does— at the end of the day, it's up to the LAST GUY to figure out exactly what they need to do in order to either get the rest The Doctor deserves, or continue persevering. So The Sleepy Doctor is sort of committed to a low energy low activity lifestyle. This doesn't mean he actively ignores the danger in the universe and doesn't help out— he's very capable of that and often still does adventure. It's more of just the fact that the universe is in a state (thanks mostly to the combined efforts of the post time war Doctor's including Goth, Looney, Pink, and Bumble IG, and Purple as well) that he can sort of just RELAX. So he DOES. He's like a big ole sleepy cat— He's also just GENERALLY really friendly. He's laid back, and is probably the most domestic-fueled Doctor. He wants a life, wants to retire. He'll live in that era before the next guy has to start setting up things for finality. "I'm rechargin', so the next guy has a big ole battery."

GOJO ON MAIN? That being said, I don't think you wanna fuck with Sleepy. I think he's potientially the most dangerous Doctor. Super experienced, has a massive collection of artifacts he can use to trap his enemies or disable them entirely— and has a very, very powerful memory. Sleepy's Memory is EXTREMELY percise, to the point of basically being an incarnation-exclusive trait. He remembers exactly everything he needs to about an enemy, but plays it off like he doesn't. Nobody takes him seriously, but I cite Gojo Satoru as an example of Sleepy's characterization in ONLY the most basic sense in which: Visually, his eyes are closed almost ALL the time. However, when they're open, that means you've fucked with him to such a degree that you're being banished to the shadow realm, basically.

#IX {The Bumble Doctor}#X {The Purple Doctor}#XI {The Sleepy Doctor}#555. {character studies}#???. {out of character | ooc}

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madcharlie77 · 1 year

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Break the Cycle: A CoD Zombies Story Part 1

This was originally posted on my Wattpad around a month ago but I decided to put it here since more people see my work here. I am in no way good at writing but I tried my best. To summarize what this is without too many spoilers for what this is, it's a What if scenario where Primis Richtofen stops the cycle by ending Ultimis Richtofens grand scheme. Anyway, please enjoy.

Soviet Codmadrome, Russia.

November 1963

After a tiring life or death battle at the Der Riese facility and an accidental stop at an abandoned theater used by group 935 to try control the undead, the Ultimis crew had finally made it to the Russian Codmadrome, Aka. Ascension. It was a calm but frigid night and the bitter touch of the crisp night air could be felt by everyone within the Codmadrome. At this time the undead seemed to have halted their vicious attack upon the crew, it being unknown if they had simply not found the crews location yet or if Samantha was feeling merciful that evening and was allowing the crew to rest. Anyhow, they collectively agreed that it would be best if they took it in turns to be on night watch.

It was the early hours of the morning when Tank Dempsey came off his watch, having to spend it with the last person he wished to see, the insane Dr Richtofen. He couldn't remember how the two met, knowing that they must've met previously as the German was the one who awoke him from his cryogenic slumber. He didn't know why, but upon meeting the doctor after being awoken he felt a great sense of loathing and hatred towards him, as if alarm bells were ringing in his head telling the Marine that this man was dangerous and not to be trusted, however what choice did he have but to follow him? He couldn't remember much of his own past so he followed the maniac in hopes to find the truth behind this madness.

It was on this crisp morning where Dempsey crept down to where the soft red hue of the Juggernog machine glowed, almost inviting him to come and sit next to it. He closed his weary eyes as the angelic voice of the woman, who he had named 'Jugger-girl', began to sing the familiar jingle, his gruff and tired voice singing along with it.

"When you need some help to get by, something to make you feel strong. Reach for Juggernog tonight, sugar seduction delight. When you need to feel big and strong, reach for Juggernog nog ton-"

The American halted his tired singing as a strong blue night glowed from the floor below. He questioned what it was at first before his interest took hold and lead him down stairs, only to be met with a strange sight. The blue light was a gateway into what he could only perceive as another dimension, however the strange part was the man standing infront of him. He was a well kept man, dressed in a shirt and a waistcoat. His slick black hair was brushed to the side and his facial features were angular and sharp, all these qualities tied neatly together with a mustache and pale blue eyes. Dempsey eyed the man up and down, trying to figure out who this man is. He seemed so familiar yet the marine couldn't put his finger on it.

"Ze baffled look doesn't suit jou mein dear marine." The man spoke in a thick German accent.

"Dear? You know me?" He asked in a puzzled tone.

"Vell, not in zhis timeline." He responded.

"Timeline?" He was even more confused now. "Is this another one of the little girls tricks?"

"Nein. Mein name is Edvard Richtofen, however I am not from jour timeline. Jou see, I am here seeking jour help." The German, who claimed to be Richtofen, spoke.

"Richtofen? Yeah right, the guys a freak, why would you wanna impersonate him?" The American asked with a chuckle.

The man just chuckled with him.

"Oh, I am Dr Edvard Richtofen, however I am from ein different time, 1918 to be exact."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"Vell I don't have time to." He paused for a moment, trying to think of a way to say what he wanted to say next.

"Jou see... All of zhis, ze undead, Samantha, mein otherself, it's all one big time loop.. a cycle per say." He finally said.

"Whoa whoa whoa, slow down there buddy, a cycle? Have you gone mad?"

"A guy appears out of ein portal to another dimension und jou've been fighting ze undead for ein vhile now yet being told zhat all zhis is ein time loop is ze only thing mad about all zhis?"

"I suppose you have a point.."

"I need jour help Dempsheh, jou see ze doctor is planning something, something evil. I must to stop him from succeeding however I cannot interfere vith zhis timeline directly unless I vant to make zhis loop even vorse. However, jou can-" the man was cut off by the portal beginning to fade.

"Scheisse... Out of time." He looked at the Marine. "I vill visit again und explain zhis madness very soon, but in ze meantime, bevare ze doctor, he is evil incarnate."

The man turned and walked through the portal before the American could get in another word, leaving him there even more perplexed than ever.

"W-wait erm, 'Richtofen?' come on come back, I have more questions!" The American called out, but was met with the groggy voice of an older German.

"It vould be nice to get some sleep vithout ein DUMMKOPF screaming mein name und vaking me up Dempsheh!"

"Alright alright, don't get your panties in a fucking twist..." Tank called back. "Fucking kraut..." He mumbled to himself as he returned to the Juggernog machine. He decided to call it a night and go to sleep, however the strange encounter he had kept gnawing at his mind, keeping the possibility sleep just out of reach. Was what he was told true? What was Richtofen planning? He had so many questions in his mind left unanswered. However, if he knew anything, he knew it was wise to beware the doctor...

#cod zombies #call of duty zombies #edward richtofen #primis richtofen #tank dempsey #ultimis richtofen #primis #ultimis #ultimis dempsey

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