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daydreamsandcrashingwaves · 5 months

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Keeping It Close To The Chest Pt 1

Edited 12/25/23 ~~ Here's Part Two ~~

Part Three Part Four

I devoured the Damian Wayne and Danny Fenton are Twins tags and had to make something of my own to add. This is my first fanfic I've decided to post. I'm much more familiar with the DP side of things but I gave it my best shot. Hope this brings joy anyway. If I decide to post this on A03 I will have it beta'd since I made this in like four parts and then wove them together so the flow may not always be there whoopps.. but for now I just wanted to share this with all you!

TW/CW: Medical experimentation and trauma, parental abuse/neglect, wound description, blood-ectoplasm and human, death (it's danny, he's the culprit lol will apply to Jason too if I add to this), body horror (to be safe), PTSD and flashbacks, childhood trauma and abuse, dehumanization

If I missed a tag/warning please let me know! I've never been an extensive tagger so i tried real hard to get everything, but I am human and could've missed something. Much love, stay safe.

~Ren

He had to keep moving. He could still hear their screams of rage ringing in his ears. Faster, he had to be faster. His blind panic had created an opportunity, a sliver of hope Danyal was determined to twist to his advantage. He was limping forward on uncertain legs. His vision swayed with the movement, and he fought to keep upright. His chest was on fire, Danny pressed his hands tightly to the wound there in a desperate attempt to keep his organs from spilling out like confetti. He kept his arms tucked close and rounded his shoulders to try and keep his torso still while he moved quickly through the empty streets of his once home. His chest was by far injured the worst, but he had paid no mind to the others. If he dared to stop, he would fully die.

Even in his human form, Danny just knows he's leaving a glowing blood trail behind him, the ectoplasm burning into the ground behind him. Whatever side of his transformation his body was currently showing it didn't matter, he was simultaneously both, always. The trail was evidence he transformed due to necessity, he became so durable after dying that it took a lot to hurt him. Danny risked a glance down and paled further. The green he spilled as Phantom mixed with red. A fucked up corrosive bread trail right to him. He was sure he truly was in deep shit. He just had to get to his go bag. Over time with his parent's inventions getting more dangerous the more Danny had to think about putting into motion The Great Escape.

Anything important he had always kept hidden, but Danny had taken everything out of his room once he had died the second time, and Danny was grateful for the convenience to be able to phase things into walls, floors, ceilings. It made his things pretty secure; no human could find it and any ghost that came through was too focused on their obsession or fighting him to go on a treasure hunt for his hidden things.

Danny's willful ignorance of his body as he stumbles farther from FentonWorks doesn’t stop the slight burn of his ectoplasm against the edges of his wounds and the tatters of his hazmat suit pulling on the scabbing blood or the smell. Ancients the smell. It’s rancid, he hasn’t been able to cycle it properly without his normal supply of fresh ectoplasm from the Zone. Only provided in small bursts when his parents wanted to see how his body healed with and without ectoplasm. He can feel the whispers of his terror, anger, grief that’s flowing through his blood.

He had been overconfident way back when he had threatened Vlad with exposing his secret. He had thought they'd love him despite having kept his halfa status from them, he hadn't been prepared for the distrust, the hatred, the way they moved farther and farther from thought out experiments to revenge. Danny knows Maddie and Jack still see him as the quiet, shaken child so desperate to be good, craving acceptance by the eccentric family that took him in when they look at him. If Danny had to guess they had been so blinded in their rage to even realized it was their machine, their failure that made him this way. Now they really did want him dead.

He’s whole somehow, despite their best effort, he just needs time. Ancients, He’s not exactly the monster they pictured, but He's not human... He’s whole.

The thought tastes bitter and Danny strangles it before it can expand. He must be focused. Taking a measured breath Danny turns down a familiar alley, he goes intangible with a slight twinge in his core, slipping into the bathroom of Nasty Burger. He’s done this so many times the familiar path brings comfort, reassurance. Like maybe things will start to turn for the better. Making his way over to the stall Danny debated whether it was worth climbing the toilet or floating up there. No, it was better to grit his teeth and bare it. There were only three containers of ectoplasm in his bag, he needed to preserve what strength he had. He would soon have no way to access the Zone for a refill.

Danny took one hand and placed it on the wall before careful stepping up. Lifting his leg had sent waves of pain across his nerves but with a grunt he leveraged himself up. His vision went black at the edges, he was dizzy, and bile clawed at the back of his throat. Danny took a few breaths, while he might not need to breathe, he’s been human longer than not, and well.. he’s only half ghost so the habit carried over to when he's Phantom. Danny was immensely grateful for his time in the League, the training was brutal, he still has nightmares about dying the first time but.. he did learn how to survive in situations that if he was truly a Fenton, would've killed him many times over. As Danny was Danyal Al Ghul Fenton, he always had back up plans. His Mother had been heavy handed with those lessons.

It was painful to think about Talia. She had been Grandfather’s favored child and the weight of his expectations of his grandsons was enforced by her. Lessons or punishment, very rarely praise was given to Danny by his Mother's hand. Each milestone was meticulously observed and reported back, doubly so for their failures. Tiny bodies with too big of weapons, green and blue eyes, a face mirroring his own but twisted in determination, competition. His older brother, his twin. They were inseparable, until they weren't.

Danny's core throbs in his chest, he wanted to shy away from the thought, yet the inconsolable part of him screams at the injustice of being the only one to escape their Grandfather. If only Danny could've proven himself, perhaps his brother would've had a chance to leave in his stead, but Danny knows just how much he was lacking in comparison to his brother, and it was their skill, or lack thereof in Danny's case, that sealed their fates. Danny was able to avoid Ra's overseeing eyes when they moved off the failure of a Spare and homed in on his true Heir. The grandson who took to their lessons like a duck in water. Deathly beautiful, Danny used to think as he watched his brother dance and fly through his training. Talia couldn't defy Ra's orders but if she just.. misplaced.. the Spare that was abandoned, well, no one has come for him yet.

Danny knows she loved him, somewhere hidden, deep inside his Grandfather's perfect pet assassin. She loved him enough to send him away when it became clear Ra’s saw no need in the Spare that was no longer needed, she had loved him when she had beaten him and left mortal wounds-their only chance to fool Grandfather, she loved him when she had given him his packed bag and left him outside that orphanage in Chicago with lazarus water raging in his veins, and she loved him when she told him to forget.

Forget about the League her and his brother, his family.

With brief tight squeeze to his small shoulder her she told him if he was in danger to find Bruce Wayne and then Talia Al Ghul was gone and Danyal-just Danyal now- was left truly on his own for the first time ever.

Danny was definitely in danger now; his situation was grave and despite everything the pun brought a small smile to his face. He couldn’t go back home to the Fenton's. He tries to forget how he froze in his surprise when he realized his parents didn’t take his reveal as Phantom as well as they had let on. They had smiled and stalled until they had found a way to contain him. By then it was too late, he had gotten too complacent in his run on a normal life.

Only after Ancients knows how long he had been resisting, pleading, screaming-I’m still Danny, it hurts mom please, I’m still me, Dad I’m alive- did Maddie find his core. Too tired to move it away from her gaze any longer and when her fingers brushed it the wave of mind-numbing terror exploded out of him. Something must've been on her gloves because his core burned. It ripped a wail from his throat while he writhed on the table. Ice responded like it never was taken from him by the anti-ghost restraints.

Danny could still distantly feel the ghostly ice that had trapped them in place and shattered his restraints under the pressure the frozen water bursting into existence. Even trapped in his ghost ice they were steadily working on getting out and would be on the hunt for him again soon. He wouldn't allow them to catch him again.

The mere idea they’d be on their way already spurred Danny back into action. Slipping his hand into the wall he grabbed the strap and pulled his bag out, careful to keep it weightless, and slid off the toilet and back down to the floor. He hasn't seen his dagger in months, it hurt too much to practice without Dami, his other half. Here it is though, innocently tied to his bag and his gaze traced it lovingly, before searching inside the biggest pocket for his first aid kit. He didn't have time for stiches, so he reaches for the butterfly bandages and starts to pull the skin together before securing it. It's really the first proper look he gets, it's... unsettling at the very least, horrifying, to see a wound reserved for autopsies on his chest.

The Y incision is inflamed and still bleeding so he carefully follows its path until he's done. Grabbing gauze, he starts to reinforce pad, wrapping a roll of bandages around to hold everything in place. Danny bites his lip and thinks for a moment, he will need stitches, he's been wounded enough in this half-life to know that. The likelihood for his work to stay in place while he flies is less than he'd like. Making a decision and with a mental shrug he takes an ectoshot from the smaller pocket and stabbed it into his thigh before pressing the depressor. Pure energy zapped through his system hard, angerly surges to settle in his chest. Feeling a bit better but more.. wired Danny takes a second to calm. Steeling himself he tries to nudge his core, it responds in a weak pulse.

Danny's body protests, he can feel his muscles shred and reform, his bones twist like taffy, his organs melt together before settling to form his ectobody. It's all over in a flash of bright light, yet the pain felt endless. Overwhelming in its intensity but gone just as quickly as it came leaving Danny sweaty and panting. Transforming injured was tricky, he had to carefully picture where the bandages were, so he didn't lose all his hard work.

Confusion settled as a fog, clinging to his thoughts, making them murky. His hands were covered in blood, his body hurt, and he couldn't quite remember why, there was a siren coming closer. Everything in him screamed to run, to escape, but his hunters were too close now, freed from his ice to kill him fully. On instinct Danny's nails grew to claws, ripping into space to create a portal. He was weak, always had been, but he was good at running, hiding away in the shadows. Ghost was once a name of his, a proud title, not just what he is now.

Just as the doors burst open in a teal and orange blur Danny dove into the swirling green and hoped Clockwork was watching so at least someone knew things had exploded here in Amity. He hasn't needed to be on his own like this since after Jazz first saw him and demanded that her parents bring Danny home with them. He misses her now as the path out of Nasty Burger closes behind him. Danny's falling, dropping towards the ground too fast for eyes to track but his impact had definitely shaken the room. With a pained whine and a flash Danny was back to being human again, his landing had pulled at whatever scab was able to form in the twentyish minutes it took him to drag himself away from the basement. Danny was going to be sick, the sticky cool liquid that had his clothes clinging to him, was going to be very alarming when he finally could give himself a proper once over. He could feel the new bruises as he tried to roll off the pallets he had crushed.

"Oh! Someone decided to drop by! " A man called out with glee as he sauntered in his direction. "Shall we see who our special guest is?" Danny could feel the rotten soul as he got closer. Too close. Forgoing moving Danny tensed in anticipation. He was hurt, yes, but he would go down fighting. He could do that much to make his brother proud, even if he never realized Danny lived to 15 not 5. Before he could uncurl to swing at the man there was the soft sound of fabric rustling and a blade being drawn. Curling tighter Danny hoped he had enough juice to go intangible.

"You will not reach your goal Joker; Do you not get sick of trying?" The voice was smooth, deeper than he remembered but it's been 10 years, it's understandable that puberty changed his brother's voice. Danny would recognize it anywhere. Danny jinxed himself, somehow. How he ended up in the same room as the brother he hadn't seen in a decade, Danny wasn't sure. He was terrified though. Where Damian was the League and their Grandfather wasn't far behind. Damian had carefully hidden away his care as a child but would shower Danny in it in the darkness of their room. After years apart and Grandfather's continued influence Danny was uncertain how much of Damian truly remained.

There was a burst of noise, of movement and a struggle then silence covered the room. Danny's hands were shaking. "Nightwing, first aid is required inside, bring the kit." His brother paused, "No, a civilian, a metahuman if his unusually colored blood is to be taken into account."

Danny could feel his brother's scrutiny, his gaze held weight as it scanned over his collapsed form, he tried to curl more but a hand brushing his shoulder had Danny screaming and scrambling away.

Damian's hands twitched at his side, an aborted motion to draw his sword. He seemed to pause then they flew up empty, placating- it didn't bring Danny any comfort.

An assassin's greatest tool was always their hands. Green eyes tracked him, narrowing at the way Danny was shrinking into the shadows. Dread swam down his spine to settle hard in his gut. Of all the ways to meet his brother again, it had to be when he was dying, for a third time. Danny reached blindly for whatever was next to him to pull himself up, his knees wobbled precariously but he would be standing for this. He had to be. Black spots were now in his vision, but he forced a smirk onto his face. Danny was sure he was a sight to see, torn clothes, skin riddled with bruises, green and red blood splattered all over like a kindergartener's messy painting of Christmas, limp dirty hair.

Danny knows Damian is assessing him, taking in what he can see in front of him to efficiently deal with it as they were trained to do. potential strengths and weaknesses. Behind both the domino mask and his calm exterior Damian is taking in a snapshot. Danny wonders what he sees, if his brother recognizes the boy he’s grown into, Danny’s core thrums wildly and he tries not to fidget. The slight frown that pulls at Damian’s mouth means he caught the aborted motion.

"Damn, green, yellow and red... You look like a traffic light!" He gets one giggle in before he chokes on it. Danny can't breathe. His brother had gone deathly still when Danny spoke. He could see the war of emotions fighting through his brother, suspicion was quickly doused with rage. "How dare she." The Arabic was an unexpected comfort, but Danny felt confusion at the words. He's severely out of practice, he thought he understood but doubt settled in. He wasn't sure.

Damian had always stood firm next to him in the League, calm, driven and decisive, the perfect heir for their Grandfather. He was always warm to Danny though, would allow traces of his true feelings to be visible when Damian would inevitably catch Danny sneaking out of his bed to stargaze. Danny would get scolded, every time. Grandfather would punish him harshly for such indulgences, he knew it. Attachments were weaknesses and Grandfather would not grow weakness in the League, in his heirs. Danny may be weak and the Spare but he was smart. He knows what the looks of distaste meant from his Grandfather. He knew how his failures would catch up to him and how Grandfather disapproved of his influence on Damian. Yet Danny kept going back, hiding in the shadows to gaze at the stars and wait for his brother to come find him.

Danny had braced for Damian to be mad when he realizes Danny didn’t truly die that day and has stayed away from his brother, but Danny couldn’t have expected this.

Pure hatred lights up in Damian’s eyes when he finally realizes what is in front of him. It's Danny’s undoing. Everything else that has happened seemed like a cakewalk compared to being rejected by the person who had always understood him most. Ghosts are the manifestation of their emotions. Frostbite had explained once how injuries can manifest in a ghost's form on their own. Emotional pain could make them unravel down to their cores, until even that disappeared.

For Danny, there was uncertainty, halfas were so rare that there wasn’t much off hand knowledge, but Danny has always known from the second he died. There was no separation between his human and ghost halves. He just was. What fancy wrapping he showed off hardly mattered. Things bleed so easily between them, Danny Fenton and Phantom.

"I'll kill her painfully for this, but you abomination it will be swift." Damian has balanced on his toes, ready for a quick burst of speed. His sword now clenched so tightly in his hands it almost shakes.

An abomination the words looped through Danny's mind. The wounded sob that came forth when he opened his mouth to reply was unexpected. Danny took halting steps back from his twin. The hitching breath brought his attention back to his chest. This wasn't how Danny had pictured this moment, all those years of stolen daydreams. His core felt wrong in his chest. He felt cold, cold and brittle but his chest was on fire-and wet. The surgical cut seeping like its minutes fresh, this was by far Danny’s worst idea, to believe to ever hope, his brother would ever keep a monster by his side Danny was a fool to hope even for a moment-hands hands reaching for him to bring him back, grabbing his arm-

“No! I don't know! No please” Danny gasps as he flails weakly “I’m sorry I’m sorry!”

Damian hesitates again, before his resolve firms, "Danyal-" His name cracks over his brother's tongue. Danny isn't aware enough to unpack the way his brother's face twists in heartbreak the longer he watches Danny bleed. A warm body comes up behind him, blocking him in, he’s crying now, a weakness that he never could smother. "No!" Danny avoids his gaze scrambling to grip onto whatever fabric is in his hands. Danny wants the moment to last but he knows what’s coming. Damian won’t protect him now. His older brother had been steadfast by his side in their childhood, but now… now maybe it was better he’s bleeding out.

Danny vaguely registered the man behind him cutting off his shirt, kit at the ready besides him. Pressure on his wound forces a long high whine from his throat. He wants to shove it away, his hand swatting at it but he missed, and it thuds uselessly on the ground. He doesn't have the energy to try again.

The shock of a hot hand against his face brings everything into abrupt focus. Danny flinches but can’t move, the body unyielding behind him. He sees the room is covered in his frost and ice. Batman and Red Robin are farther back, their feet trapped in the ghostly ice, they had things in hand to try and hack away at the ice trapping them in place.

“Danyal” The pain in his twin's voice has him turning in that direction; his brother was there. For how well they could read each other in childhood Danny had no clue what his brother was thinking now. His twice dead brother, back to only die again at his feet. “Are you destabilizing? Why were you sent here? What does Mother want?”

“What?” Danny can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him, even if it hurts, it seems his ice kept his organs in place while he tumbled through his hastily made portal. He must've lost consciousness at some point though; his ice seems to have melted to leaving him fully exposed. “That bitch- She has nothing to do with this- wait. You think-” Danny laughs even harder until he can’t breathe and he’s hacking and spitting up more ectoplasm. He’s pulled more fully against the warm body behind him, his head lulls-oh it’s Nightwing, the blatant concern radiating from the man stings Danny’s eyes and a few tears scatter down his face.

“I’m not a clone Dami, I didn’t even know you weren’t with the League anymore." Danny's speech slurs more the harder he tries to piece sentences together, "I'm sorry I don't know how I ended up here.” Danny is growing quieter the longer he talks- can feel his life draining onto the floor and there’s panic in the air now, Batman had sprung up next to Damian's side. Seemed to say something to Damian before he retreated slightly. Batman was hovering ready to interfere but unsure in what actions needed to take place.

Damian is staring at him intently, looking to match his scars to the one's he remembers. He taps his fingers insistently on Danny's cheek and Danny doesn't fight looking back at him. The fingers linger against the scar hidden behind his hair next to his ear, traces the edges. Damian was the one to give it to him, a training error. He had looked at Danny similarly to how he was now. Fear, regret, panic. Words are being said, they blend together, warp, so Danny just hums in response. Everything is more distant now. Danny's own fear floating out of reach. He knows death intimately, he's not afraid to greet her a third time.

The words became frantic as he struggles to stay awake, and someone was talking again. “-ood to see you though- no tss okay no pain.. mma be cold soon-" Oh. That's Danny. The face he has ached to see for years fills his vision. The shade of green he could never replace. Danny was picked up and hustled out a door into the by Nightwing while a harsh discussion flew over his head. They were in some sort of vehicle now, the door shutting causes silence to blanket the group. His head is in Damian's lap, and it takes a second, but Danny realizes Damian is carting his fingers through his greasy hair. His other hand was holding Danny's, playing with his fingers like he did as children. Danny's vision fills with tears and spills down his face.

"Danyal? Can you hear me?" Damian calls his attention softly, his sweet, sweet brother tries to keep the concern out of his voice, off his face. Once he sees Danny focus on him a trembling smile makes its home on Damian's face. His domino mask is gone, Danny drinks in the unobscured view of his brother. "We'll be back to the Cave shortly, Alfred will attend to you, then you're going to tell me exactly how this happened so I can make sure it never does again." Danny can tell Damian is scared, the minute tremble in his petting only confirmed it. Danny let a smile tug at his lips too, "It's gonna be okay Dami" Danny slurred, he hears Damian insisting they were almost home.

Home with Damian. That was a fool's dream, just out of reach. Danny never indulged in the idea; he wouldn't put Dami in danger by reappearing. But- Danny was with him now, a twitch of his fingers against Damian's proves it. Danny went limp as the Batmobile skidded into the Cave, Damian was a silent statue watching Alfred take his brother away from him. Batman saddled up next to him- Damian should shower and change, whatever it was that changed his brother was making his skin itch- but he couldn't move. His baby brother was in there, dying, again.

"Damian, chum... what was all that?" Damian ignores his eyes itching as tears built, he clears his throat to report- reporting was vital with their nighttime activities, Father needed information to help Danny. He couldn't take his eyes of the little glowing red 'In Use' sign above the surgery door though.

Damian cuts a glance at the man next to him, more Bat than Father at the moment. "Once Danyal is stable, I will give you an explanation Father."

~~~~

I thought of a name, added it to the tags, I'll add a link to the next post if I write one, will tag future posts with 'Keeping It Close To The Chest' as well

much love

~Ren

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superblysubpar · 8 months

Note

Can wee have a sneak peak of wcil? Totally don’t want to rush you if it’s not finished 💕

You're not rushing me, I'm just slow and in my head and I don't know why and I'm very very very frustrated I can't just finish this for you guys. 💛

I appreciate the patience, and so, here's the first 2.9k of the chapter (it's basically final, but technically hasn't officially been sent over to my beta in like the final form of the chapter, so just be prepared things may be slightly different when the whole thing is posted. )

Why do we want to believe in things like fate or destiny - divine intervention? Why do some put their faith in religions with blind following? Why do we look to the stars in moments of despair, when we’re desperate for hope, when we’re lost?

We seek out answers from something we can’t see but we want to believe in. Whether it’s a fortune cookie in your take out, a penny head’s up on the sidewalk, a community of like minded souls coming together for prayer or worship, or a horoscope you read on your morning Instagram scroll - the reasons have to be the same for choosing to believe, for the hope that starts to rise in you for the promise these things try to offer.

We look for solutions to problems. We need reason. We need purpose. We need to feel like we’re not alone. We need confirmation that it’s all gonna work out even though nothing can really guarantee that.

When you look up at the stars that work hard to shine through clouds and a full moon, your chest rises with air trying to fill your lungs and you wonder if they’re up there. Your eyes blink up at that indigo sky, searching. He sits next to you and Leigh waves, whispering their hellos. His hand rests next to yours on the plaid blanket, he clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. It’s all too stiff, too on edge and you hate it. That attempted deep breath is unsuccessful, lungs deflating as it catches in your throat, and your thoughts wander back to the stars again. They wander to him, and them, and seek answers.

What if they are up there, watching, like it’s one of those movies your mom was always putting on and your dad and you boo’d at from your spot playing cards. When he walked in with her with that on her finger, your mom would have gasped, she would have paused the movie, she would have yelled at you and your dad about the plot. She would have thrown popcorn at the TV and declared there’s something going on, he couldn’t, no way - there was no way. She’d have calmed herself down, rationalized there was still time left, gone to the pantry for more chocolate, kissed the top of your head and your dad’s cheek as she passed. By the end of the film, her prediction would have been right, she’d be crying and sighing at the couple who got their happy ending.

So could Steve declare his feelings for you here in a dramatic scene? Tell you it was all a big misunderstanding - that he’s sorry, that it was a rocky road but being together is worth fighting for? Could you leave here, hand in hand, as a top forty song plays and the credits roll?

Of course not.

Because this isn’t a rom com your mom would have loved. Life is not a movie full of soul-mates and cosmic connections. People like your parents are the exception to the rule. The couples who make it work - the ones who don’t let the trials of life take their love away like Allie and Noah, Kate and Sam, or Westley and Buttercup, are fictional characters. They’re stories to escape into when the despairing reality of yours is too much to read or write anymore. It’s exactly why you don’t like most movies or stories like theirs. Because eventually, the movies end, the credits do roll, and you have to face real life once again. Love like that doesn’t exist off the big screen, and you’re just kidding yourself when you fall into their traps.

Knowing this simple fact of reality doesn’t stop the hope though.

That painful, aching hope that clings to your skin like honey when you can feel the heat from his arm even through the sleeve of your sweater - like your bodies burn hotter when close together - too close to the sun. It feeds the hope that your brain tries to squash away but your heart thuds harder for. The what if, what if, what if replacing each beat of it. Hope that makes you want to cry out ‘please let this just be a bad dream’ to the universe. Hope that tries, but can’t escape the gnawing pit in your stomach that’s growing wider, threatening to swallow you whole. Hope that makes you wonder why this can’t be a story - why can’t you just be the grandson, yelling at his grandfather that he can’t be telling it properly. Someone is getting the story wrong. He can’t be marrying her, you’re just sure of it. Screaming at him, at someone, to please, just get it right.

You wonder if someone were watching, would they be feeling the despair you are? Is this the moment? That scene in the movies is always the gut punch - for the audience and the character. It’s meant to hurt, make you hold your breath. Made to be dramatic - yell at the screen, break your heart, make the character in the action get back up and fight. They’re moments made to ignite that hope - but really, it’s the double tap - coming right after the feeling catches flame, that’s made to shatter you completely.

The moment that extinguishes the what if for all it’s worth. When your heart is already breaking for the grandson, only for the grandfather to ask who says life is fair? Where is that written? When the knife is entering your chest, but the mask falls and the killer turns out to be someone you thought you could trust. When you’re untethered in space only for your last moment of consciousness to be seeing a friend cutting the cord. The person who sucker punched you kicking you when you’re down, taking it one step too far, leaving you crumpled on the mat. It’s all enough to make that fight, that urge to be angry instead of scared or hurt, disappear. It’s enough to knock you down so hard, you can’t possibly get back up - the hope is extinguished, and the story seemingly over.

Robin squeals quietly, pulling Leigh’s hand across you to admire the ring, knocking Steve on the shoulder and saying something about the Dingus doing good. Your gaze flits down to the brown sugar and apple donuts in your lap, convinced you’re about to get sick right on top of them. Not because he’s marrying her, but because instead of being angry with him, you feel like you’ve been squashed, you feel hurt, you feel betrayed. Despite your better judgment, despite the past several years, you’ve let a man make you some pathetic, sad, heartbroken, and weak version of yourself.

When Leigh’s hand retreats from Robin’s, lifting and curling a piece of hair behind her ear, diamond sparkling in the moonlight as she smiles over at Steve, your story’s end is written, and you need to accept it if you ever want some semblance of normalcy to return. You can’t lose him and them. But when Steve’s pinky brushes yours and you look over, his eyes resemble the broken beer bottle from the football game all those weeks ago. Shattered emerald and amber, cutting you to shreds with each shard of glass as he murmurs, “Can I tal-“

“I’ll be right back!” You whisper-shout, cutting him off and squeezing Robin’s shoulder as you get up.

She yanks on your wrist, halting your attempt at an exit. Her eyes narrow as she interrogates, “Where are you going?”

Swallowing harshly as her blue eyes peer directly into your soul. She can probably smell the desire to run on you. Remembering your vow that Steve won’t take them away from you, a not quite a lie falls from your lips as you gesture to the concession food trucks, “You don’t have those cinnamon roasted almonds. They were my mom’s favorite and the smell is driving me crazy. Promise that’s all.”

“I swear to god, if you don’t come back, I will literally come stand outside your window on the sidewalk and scream-sing Monster Mash until someone calls the cops and I’ll drag you down with me.”

Her eyes blink, features incredibly serious despite the amusing threat. Your laugh mixes with Leigh’s and you ignore the shared moment, tugging your wrist free. “Would expect nothing less Robin.”

She motions she’s watching you, fingers to her eyes then yours, lips twitching in the corners before she turns back to the screen.

Your feet feel heavy as they drag through the damp grass, and wait in line. It shouldn’t be a surprise after ordering when you hear his voice behind you. It floats through the air, soft, barely audible over the popping kettle corn, “I really didn’t know you’d be here. I wouldn’t have…” he sighs, settling on restating, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Your shoulders fall and your eyes stay focused on the truck. You’ve had time, since that night on the sidewalk, but your hurt still sits fresh under your layer of armor - tender like an open wound you need to keep protected. Your palms slide further under the sleeves of your sweater, clinging to the garment like the shield you’re willing it to be - you don’t want to fight with him anymore, no matter how hurt and angry you are with him.

So the tone you respond with aches to sound indifferent, if not a tad harsh, reminding him you’re mad and pretending there isn’t any spark of hope within you still. It’s over, it has to be over, and all it ever was to him was something to kill time - fun and no strings exactly what you wanted. So your words are really just a reminder to yourself, another layer of the wall you need to keep up around him, “It’s fine Steve. Would have been nice to get a head’s up,” your shoulders shrug, “But, well, that’s probably too generous for the girl you were just fucking while waiting for the one, right?”

The people next to you clear their throats and you can’t find it in yourself to care, to be embarrassed.

Steve moves in front of you, his face filling your vision. He shaved - no more scruff you like. His jeans are dark again, with fresh, new creases, and a light blue sweater pulls across his chest and shoulders. He’s picture perfect, his polished uniform in place.

He shakes his head, eyes bouncing between yours as he asks, “Is that really all it was?”

Your shoulders shrug again, because it’s easier. It’s easier to try to deny, to ignore the flutter the question causes in your stomach. Easier to bite back the words that try to form on your tongue. Because of course that’s not all it was, at least not to you. You wouldn’t feel the way you do right now if that were true. But what’s the point in telling him that though? What happens? Can you forgive each other for the words said, that, no matter how true, can’t be taken back? Things like this only end in heartbreak - because what happens if you tell him how you were starting to feel - does that change anything for him? And even if it did, that means a broken engagement, it means complicated truths coming out, it means attempts at forgiveness. And even after all of that, life won’t give you a guarantee. There is no promise of zero fights, of nothing bad ever happening. There is no happily ever after where the possibility of a break up, of losing everyone you’ve grown to care for deeply, doesn’t exist.

So yes, it’s easier, to not say any of that, because you know. This isn’t how life works. This isn’t a movie. No one is immune to life’s misfortunes. These sorts of open-ended questions and complicated emotions that come from his simple ask are unmeasurable and unreliable. Wondering and giving into those feelings only open you up to be used as a target for someone else’s shooting practice. You’ve known this, but you allowed yourself to forget, hating it was Steve who had to remind you.

Which is why you look away from his eyes as you say, “I believe that is what was established a few weeks ago at that party Steve. You were there, remember? You were dressed as a pirate.”

His head drops, hands running through his perfectly styled hair as he laughs, breath shaky, like the laugh is covering up any feeling in his voice. “So, that’s it? We’re just gonna act like none of it happened? You don’t wanna talk. You run away every time we get a chance to do so, a beer in my face and-“

Your hand rising in the air cuts him off, his mouth clamping shut as you make eye contact with him. “You deserved that and I’m not apologizing for it.”

He takes a step closer to you, his hand reaching towards you, then back into his hair like he second guesses himself. “I’m not asking you to, and I’m not apologizing for what I said either.” Steve swallows, hands on his hips as he looks at the ground then back up at you, “What I said wasn’t a lie.”

He breathes out the next words, both of you staring at each other with the weight of what he says hanging in the air between you.

“You couldn’t tell me.”

Your hands shake from the confrontation, from his request you left unanswered that night. The emotions that still want to bubble over, the time apart did nothing to cool either of you down. That what if, what if, what if that replaced your heartbeat grows louder, but your brain only shuts it down harder. If you hurt now, how will it feel if you keep feeding the flame only for him to extinguish it again?

The beat of your heart and those hopeful words thud in your ears as your head shakes and your voice tries not to, barely audible as the words leave your lips, “I don’t want to do this anymore Steve. We’re just going in circles. You’re getting married. You didn’t tell me. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you were really my friend while you were clearly getting engaged this whole time?”

Blue light flashes from the screen, catching the corner of your eye and illuminating his, their gaze bouncing over your face. Your bodies move closer like they can’t help it, like they know they won’t be this way again. Steve’s tongue darts over his bottom lip before his breath blows out, your name a whisper on it. The way he says your name with that look in his eyes, chests almost touching, it’s easy for your head to tilt with familiarity. Your breath out is his breath in, and it’s even easier to forget the last time you were this close. Sounds other than his harsh swallow and your heartbeat fade away. Time freezes, just a little, and the air pulses with tangible possibility of hope.

A shrill classic horror movie scream shatters the bubble. Your name is called, you blink, and take a step away. Guilt washes over you as you see your friends staring intently at the movie you’d practically forgotten you were there for. Leigh and Robin talk quietly and your eyelids flutter as you will whatever wants to escape down your cheeks away. Him showing up with Leigh and a ring on her finger wasn’t the double tap, this is. That hope was still there despite the fight against it, and it’s ripped from your fingers. The book is closed. The knife drips in the killer’s hand as the victim’s chest stops heaving. The spacesuit floats through a noiseless and lifeless galaxy. The body doesn’t get up from the mats and a silence falls over the crowd.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore Steve. I just want to go hang out with my friends. I need this to be over. Can it please be over?” You stare intently at the ground, one single tear slipping past your lashes. It feels like it rolls down your cheek for an hour before Steve finally answers.

“Okay,” he quietly agrees.

Your head nods once and you brush past him, barely choking out a whispered ‘by the way congratulations’ as you grab your snack. Hand swiping at the stray tear as you make your way back to the blanket slowly.

When you sit back down, Leigh’s typing on her phone. She squeezes Robin’s hand before whispering a goodbye to everyone. She jogs over to Steve, cocking her head at him. He pushes his hands through his hair again, giving her a short smile. He runs his thumb and forefinger down the bridge of his nose, swiping under it with the back of his hand. His other extends towards her as she reaches him, fingers lacing together as they walk out.

Robin’s shoulder nudges yours and your head turns to find her with eyebrows pinching together. She leans in and quietly asks, “Is he okay? Did he say something about leaving to you?”

Your head shakes, and you extend the bag to her with a tight smile. You will just keep lying to her. Steve and you will move on, and maybe, one day in the distant future, you’ll be able to tell her. It’ll all work out.

She mirrors your sad smile, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening as she takes a small handful and turns her attention back to the movie. Or she tries, but you watch as her eyes glance down to her phone every few minutes, until it lights up with his name and she quickly starts typing a response.

It’ll all be fine.

#taylor's asks 💋#we'll call it love

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dangertoozmanykids101 · 10 months

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Brush And Floss To Fight Cavities And Other Villains

I forgot I even wrote this first half of a story - back in January of 2020.

SUMMARY: You'll never believe what happened to poor Tom today. He really got sent through the wringer - quite the rollercoaster of a day. But don't worry, Tom is going to tell you all about it. "It all started with this dream I had...."

But first let me blame @maryxglz for starting my morning off today far too fixated on young Tom and his teeth. Our dearest @maryxglz has been fueling our community with the most beautiful gifs for years. Look at this one! (Link to full post in blue.)

@maryxglz posted the above gif back in Dec 2018 in a perfect set of three all looping with perfect timing to showcase his mouth - those lips, that little tongue that peeks out in another gif, and those gleaming white teeth. And I haven't even mentioned the way those eyelashes brush his skin when they flutter closed like a butterfly sunning itself on my finger.

Only for his eyes to open back up with those pale ocean blue eyes that sparkle with ... GOD they are seductive! @maryxglz you have done it again!! He looks like a little coquette that I want to gobble up piece by piece!

[Clearing my throat, unsuccessfully trying to rid my voice of that hoarse gravely growl that undermines my desperate attempt to appear non-predatory.]

Brush And Floss To Fight Cavities And Other Villains

So after spending half my morning fixated on his teeth in this filthy erotic gif above that @maryxglz made, I remembered a stupid crack fic I started back in Jan 2020 that y'all may or may not get a kick out of. You tell me? It's 2111 words and somewhere I have a second chapter started. On AO3 I tagged it with warnings such as minor violence, dreams vs. reality, nightmares, teeth, tooth fairy, alternate reality, RPF Tom Hiddleston, crack fiction, I must've been on crack to write this. Sorry, no smut. It's not really RPF though - just a guy named Tom who looks exactly like the guy in the above gif by @maryxglz Enjoy.

This is from Tom's POV.

You know what saved me? Pilates. I was able to finally buck my hips hard enough to knock her off balance and free my legs from under me.

So it all started with this dream I had last night. You're going to think I'm crazy, but please hear me out.

In my dream, I woke up lying in bed still dressed, smelling like a saloon, and feeling like I'd been in a bar fight. My tongue was cracked and grooved from dehydration and mouth breathing; it felt like the floor of a desert and probably looked even worse. When I opened my eyes, I saw none other than the tooth fairy hovering above my bed with her face maybe 10 inches from mine. She was intently staring at my mouth until I snapped it shut. I was left with this awkward violated feeling, like she had seen me dancing naked in the kitchen.

"You're awake! Oh wonderful. This will be so much easier now." Her face lit up when she saw my eyes open. Her wings moved so fast that I hadn't noticed them until she did a happy spin with an extra swoop-dee-loop and flutter that scattered gold fairy dust all over me and the bed. Some got into my nose which I accidentally inhaled, sending me into a painful coughing fit. At some point I made the mistake of licking my lips; it tasted disgusting and bitter.

Once my cough settled down, I stared at her in disbelief, trying to figure out what or who she was. I hadn't noticed yet that I was dreaming, a concept still far out of reach, nor was I privy to the fact that she was after my teeth. I just felt groggy, still two sheets to the wind with my head feeling thick and fragile, so my mind wandered trying to remember why I would be hung over and where I had gone that night dressed in a tuxedo. In real life I knew I had stayed home, but my attire and the state of my health told another story.

During my internal debate of truth, facts, and misconceptions, the tooth fairy was flipping through some notebook mumbling to herself. All I could understand were random numbers she rattled off in no obvious sequence before she slammed the book shut.

"Right-ee-o then. You are Thomas William Hiddleston, correct?" She smiled with a very business-like receptionist's smile that was as superficial as her gold leaf lipstick.

"Yes." I had no idea what else to say since she wasn't wrong.

"Good. Now open wide please so I can take inventory."

I hadn't realized how little she was. Her face was so close to mine when she spoke that I could barely focus. Otherwise, she hovered beside the bed, slightly floating up and down and still far enough away to skew with my depth perception. Without my glasses or contacts in she was little more than a white blur that far away, appearing to float like an apparition or some energy being. I thought maybe she was an angel, since she wore white and her skin had a gold shine to it, as though she was her own nightlight.

When her hands grabbed my lips and pulled my mouth open, I was shocked that her hands were no bigger than a raccoon or maybe a tiny monkey. Her face came closer to look directly into my mouth. I just laid there and let her do whatever she wanted. I wasn't scared yet, just super weirded out and hoping the examination would be over soon.

She reached in and moved my tongue from one side to the other as she counted to herself, and mumbled things like:

"Yep."

"I knew it."

"Oh, that's no good."

"Yep. That one too."

"Well, that one can wait."

Leaning back she wrote some more things into her little notebook and shook her head. She scratched her chin furiously before writing more, then shook her head again.

"They are not going to be happy about this," she muttered to herself, but her voice was loud enough for me to hear.

In an attempt to lighten the mood as well as distract myself, I couldn't resist the urge to say anything to fill the silence. It didn't matter what I said, as long as I said something. This was unfortunate since what spilled out of my mouth was moronic.

"Well Doc, am I going to live or not? Just give it to me straight, Doc." I used some weird American accent that I couldn't identify, let alone tell you why I used it. I just felt stupid after I spoke out loud. The only other sound in the room was the low whir of her wings beating as fast as a hummingbird. Besides that, the silence was deafening, an assassin to any performer's ego. She completely ignored me as though I hadn't said a word. I'll admit that this wasn't a shock, since my comedic delivery needed a lot of work.

Without even acknowledging me, she put away her notebook somewhere and took a surgical mask out of her pocket. A little metal arm swung down from atop her head that had a huge magnifying glass attached to the end. The lens covered half of her face and from my view her eye was enlarged just as big as the lens.

"Okey dokey Tommy my dear. There is nothing to be afraid of. This will just take a few minutes and it won't hurt a bit. You'll only feel a tiny little bee sting."

"Bee sting?!" I jumped up and scrambled back across the bed. "WHAT isn't going to hurt? Because a bee sting DOES hurt! How do you know I'm not allergic to bee stings?"

“Tommy boy. Stay still." She advanced on my position until I fell off the bed.

I did a backflip, or more accurately a clumsy back roll and belly flop off the bed landing flat onto my face. Keeping my body low to the ground, I tried to crawl away from the bed toward the door. I didn't want to spook her since she seemed unpredictable.

Her advance was steady until I started to crawl, then she whipped around to block my path to the door and flew at me like a bat out of Hel. Knocking me back, the little demon planted herself on my chest trapping my knees still bent underneath me. This left me in an awkward and uncomfortable position with my arms pinned to my sides under her thighs. She may have been tiny, but no amount of wiggling and pushing would budge her. The laws of physics did not apply to this creature. Though she was tiny, she was fierce and weighed a ton.

The comedy of the scene was surreal; I, a very fit six foot two inch man, just got taken down and completely incapacitated by some little pixie devil the size of a large raccoon with wings.

She studied my eyes; she didn't look into them but AT them, first one and then the other, studying them as though she was reading a story we couldn't see, or listening to music we couldn't hear. I watched her facial expressions intensely, trying to interpret something, anything that she might give away.

"Can you hear me Tommy?"

I nodded. I thought I could hear her. My eyes were as big as saucers, so maybe I just saw her talk while my brain made assumptions about what she said. I rapidly blinked a few times to verify that my eyes were indeed open, but I couldn't figure out how to verify that my ears were turned on.

"OK. Good. I'm going to take three teeth, and then you can go back to sleep."

THREE? .... THREE TEETH!!

I shook my head violently, partially to make sure I was hearing things correctly, partially to rattle some things lose in case I was going crazy, and partially because I was really hoping this was a dream. I continued to shake my head plus as much of my upper body that I could, because there was no way in Hel I would let her near my mouth. I held my lips pursed so tight she would have needed a crowbar to get inside. She tried to grab the sides of my head to steady me, but I just thrashed harder.

"You need to settle down Mr. Hiddleston. Just open your mouth and you'll never even miss them. I promise! But I'm not leaving here tonight without them."

Anger and contempt formed in her eyes. Her hand pulled back and she swung. She slapped me so hard that I heard a bell ring.

In that stunned moment my mouth fell open and those tiny little monkey hands of hers dove into my mouth. She grabbed ahold of one of my molars and started yanking at it. I've never before felt anything so bizarre or disturbing.

If that little angel hadn't fallen from heaven already, she surely would soon. The anger in her eyes glowed like the flames of Hel as she glared at me; she looked scary. Those tiny little hands pushed down on my windpipe at just the right spot. With the creepiest smile flashing large bright white perfectly straight teeth, she watched me struggle and gasp for air. I slammed my knees into her back several times, but she didn't budge.

"Well my dear sweet Tommy-Boy, looks like we'll have to anesthetize you in order to retrieve what we are due. Now just close your eyes. That's it. Go to sleep."

The lack of oxygen to my brain started to take its toll. I stared up and the world slowly was swallowed by a black cloud encircling her so she became this golden flame still visible inside my rapidly diminishing vision; she was the only light within a vast darkness. The irises of her eyes spiraled with green and gold as everything grew darker and darker until all I could see were those eyes and hear her saying "Tommy-Boy" over and over again.

It was terrifying! I thought I was going to die.

With my last ounce of strength before I completely succumbed to an unconscious void, with one last abdominal crunch to literally save my life, my knees hit her back with enough force to push her off me.

I sat up, coughing and drawing as much air into my lungs as I could, but no sooner had I caught my breath that she knocked it right out of me again. I heard this shrill scream behind me seconds before I felt the impact. She flew full throttle into my back and sent me rolling across the floor.

With my adrenaline pumping overtime by this point, I felt like Kong as I stood up and reached for her as she flew around me just outside of my grasp. Swooping in and out, stabbing me repeatedly with something sharp, she hissed in response to my roars.

Then I got her!

My giant gorilla hand wrapped around her ankle and threw her to the ground. Dust plumed up from the carpet like a cloud, leaving a small crater on my bedroom floor.

Finally I had knocked the wind out of her giving me the upper hand for a mere moment, but that was plenty of time. I roared into her face with the fury of a wild animal before grabbing her feet. Lifting her up into the air like a rag doll, I slammed her body back down to the ground again and again and again.

Eventually she just disappeared out of my hands in a sparkling puff of smoke, leaving me standing alone and bewildered. I sat back down on the edge of the bed staring at the state of my room wondering how I would ever explain the damage to the floor, especially considering that every surface of my room was covered with a sparkling gold glitter.

Looking at my hands and legs, I was covered with the same glowing gold dust. I couldn't rub it off no matter how hard I tried. Finally I just gave up and flung myself back onto the bed absolutely exhausted.

'What the fuck just happened to me?` was all I could think as I drifted back to sleep.

"Tom! Tom!"

I felt something kicking at my leg still dangling off the bed, and I heard myself grunting with each kick to the shin. That sensation was real, very real. My shin would surely develop a huge bruise quickly.

"Ouch!" I finally moaned almost intelligibly.

"Thomas William Hiddleston! Wake up you asshole!"

I'm just tagging a handful of people off the top of my head who might have a good laugh or remember the first time I posted this. @nildespirandum @ladyoftheteaandblood @caffiend-queen @redfoxwritesstuff @myoxisbroken @imanuglywombat @jtargaryen18 @so-easy-to-love-me @acidcasualties @americasass81 @muddyorbs @lokisgoodgirl @frostbitten-written @talklokitome @latent-thoughts @mooncat163 @fictive-sl0th @mastreworld @gigglingtiggerv2 @deceitfuldevout @lokischambermaid @mochie85 @alexakeyloveloki @devikafernando @holymultiplefandomsbatman

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liushen-stan · 1 year

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Misunderstandings

A Liushen fanfic

Summary: Liu Qingge was a loyal man. Shen Qingqiu had lost his loyalty when he'd tried to murder him, but after getting to know the Shen Qingqiu post qi-deviation, Liu Qingge began to doubt his many assumptions about the man were true.

And so, he begins to investigate.

Chapter 1: Murder Attempt

Liu Qingge has been described as many things. Strong, prideful, bad with words, hard working...

If one asked, Liu Qingge would say that, after his strength, his loyalty is his biggest trait.

And he would be right, because Liu Qingge's loyalty is the category of myths. One one gains it, he would have his sword and strength at their side forever, no matter how the man personally thinks of you.

It was true, once, for Shen Qingqiu. Liu Qingge despised his fellow disciple, but they were martial siblings, belonged to the same sect. Liu Qingge would never hesitate to fight for anyone in his sect, even Shen Qingqiu.

Until the man tried to kill him in the most cowardly way possible.

Liu Qingge's loyalty is strong. But so is his enmity. That act made Shen Qingqiu lose the former, and gain the latter. So when rumors began to spread about the despicable disciple turned peak lord, Liu Qingge did nothing. He even spread a few of his own, believing nothing but the worst of someone who would betray a fellow martial sibling.

And its not like Qingqiu was a helpless victim. Oh no, the man gave as good as he got, and so the enmity between the Bai Zhan and Qing Jing peak lords became something widely known.

Something nothing and no one could change.

Only, that was wrong.

Shen Qingqiu had a qi deviation and, suddenly, Liu Qingge's hated enemy seemed to disappear, only to be replaced with a pale imitation. This Shen Qingqiu still acted cold and aloof, but the bite and venom in most of his actions and words had disappeared. This Shen Qingqiu smiled more, laughed more, expressed himself more.

This Shen Qingqiu saved his life.

Liu Qingge couldn't understand. A qi deviation shouldn't change a person so fundamentally. But after this Shen Qingqiu passed every test the other peak lords did with flying colors, tests against demonic possesion or magic influence, there seemed to be no other explanation.

Shen Qingqiu had lost part of his memories.

Whatever in his past that made the man so spiteful was gone, and so this man... this man was the real Shen Qingqiu. And the more Liu Qingge got to know him, the more disconnection he found between the Shen Qingqiu he'd known and this one.

Liu Qingge was loyal. He was also a man able to admit his mistakes and seek to right them. It had never felt right to him to be so spiteful to his shixion, but a traitor deserved nothing less in his books. Still, something seemed to be wrong, and so Liu Qingge began to investiagte the rumors that surrounded the man. Just in case, he told himself. He'd never bothered to see if they were right, after all, so maybe...

He would just have to see.

He started with the one that, for him, was the most urgent: the murder attempt. It was the one that broke his trust, the one that started everything. And luckily, the was another witness there.

"Oh, Liu-shidi! How can I help-"

"Did Shen Qingqiu try to kill me?"

Shan Qinghua startled.

"Wha-"

"That mission, when we were disciples. Did Shen Qingqiu attempt to stab me while my back was turned?"

"Ah..." Shan Qinghua's eyes lightneed with understanding before the man took a nervous step back. "I don't think Shen-shixion wpukd like me to-"

"Tell me," Liu Qingge demanded in a forceful tone. "I need to know."

Shan Qinghua's eyes widened at the desperation in his tone.

"Wha- why are you asking this now?"

'After all these years?' Was the unspoken addition.

"Shen Qingqiu... the actual Shen Qingqiu would never do that," Liu Qingge said, helplessly and frustrated beyond reason. "He wouldn't... I need to know. Tell me."

He beares with Shang Qinghua's stare as patiently as he could until the other peak lord sighed.

"Okay, okay, I..." He fell briefly silent. "There’s no easy way to say this so I'll just be blunt. You remember the ghosts you were fighting?" Liu Qingge nodded, his heart starting to pick up speed as he intuitively knew what Shang Qinghua was going to say just from those words. "Well, one of them was going to attack you while you were distracted by another. Shen-shixion attacked it before it could do anything, but when you turned around the ghost was already gone."

It wasn't cold in An Ding, but Liu Qingge felt he was in the middle of a snowstorm. Everything seemed distant, even his own voice when a weak 'I see' escaped his lips.

He didn't know how he managed to get to his own peak, but given the state on his body he suspected he ran. That made sense, physical activity was one of the few things that managed to calm him down... though this time, he would need more. Way more.

'A misunderstanding. It was a misunderstanding.' Those thoughts looped in his head as he stood up in his home, staring blankly at a wall.

Why did Shen Qingqiu never say anything? Why did he never defended himself?

'Why should he defend himself from a martial sibling?' A small voice in his mind asked. 'Why should he, when they should have his back?'

Had Liu Qingge really believed his fellow peak lord tried to kill him without trying to think up an explanation? To look further and question why? Was he really that ready to believe the worst of someone just because he didn't like him?

He never thought he could be like that. Wasn't his loyalty one of the things he was proud of about himself?

Where was his loyalty in this situation?

Liu Qingge agonized about this for a few minutes before his usual pragmatism managed to free him.

'This is in the past. I will carry the guilt, but now it's time to make amends.'

He had been wrong. And not only him, the other peak lords believed the worst about Shen Qingqiu, too. That had to change.

What better amends could be than to disprove the rumors he himself helped create? And if this also helped quiet the silent voice that doubted every rumor about the man was false, well... Liu Qingge would carry that, too.

His second objective: the brothel.

#svsss #scum villain's self saving system #liushen #fanfic

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tiptapricot · 2 years

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Another Moon Knight ramble, but I was thinking about what MK could do for a season two if they wanted to hold on to the limited series thing, and I think the best answer is to cheat the system by making another series that follows stuff post show from Jake’s perspective, and SPECIFICALLY, have it be a comedy.

Like just… the entire plot is Marc and Steven doing a ton of normal shit to adjust to their new lives with each other and free of Khonshu (like researching more into DID, getting a new job, going to the movies, reconnecting with their faith, fighting over what dinners to have, having long talks with Layla, etc.), while Jake is struggling to juggle everything in the background. He’s attempting to clean up the last of Harrow’s cult, but Marc and Steven keep accidentally messing up his plans and putting themselves in these unknowingly super dangerous situations, and Jake keeps having to get them out of them, all while still trying to stay hidden.

And of course Khonshu is an ass the whole time, and the story culminates in some big fight and a reveal/introduction of Jake to the other system members, all while things are interspersed with action comedy hijinks and everyone being confused.

I think the best way to model what I’m thinking (because it is so very specific and I feel the desperate need to convey the right vibe) is to do a mock up intro, so…

[Cold open on a huge fight, Jake trying to take on a bunch of guys at once and getting pretty beat up in the process. Voiceover begins]

“Hey there. Now, that guy getting his ass handed to him? That’s me. I’ll turn it around in a sec, I always do, but in the meantime I bet you’re wondering how I got here in the first place. It’s a long story, but everything started—” [record scratch, freeze frame, screen rewinds back to a scene in the flat] “With these two.”

[Scene shows Marc sitting on the floor of the flat, trying to assemble a table or shelf or something. He steadily gets more visibly frustrated at his task as Jake’s voiceover continues]

“That’s Marc. Stubborn, emotionally stunted, and wayy too obsessed with hair gel and rough blankets.”

[Marc yells at whatever task he’s attempting, and suddenly Steven fronts, trying to calm things down]

“And that’s Steven. Awkward, a real talker,” [Steven is babbling something about the instructions] “and way too into kale.”

[The scene in the flat continues as Jake continues to talk, mostly inaudible except for a couple key words or exchanges as Steven and Marc continue to switch and try to problem solve the furniture]

“And then, there’s me, Jake. I don’t exist to these guys, not really, but I’ve been keeping them out of trouble for as long as I can remember. The only problem is… they’re really damn good at getting into it.” [hard cut to black, Marvel logo sequence starts to roll]

#give me the reigns Kevin Feige #moon knight #moon knight 2022 #jake lockley #the fruit is talking again #mikes mk meta

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iviarellereads · 1 year

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Gideon the Ninth, Chapter 2

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For detail on The Locked Tomb coverage and the index, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Ninth House skull icon) In which we meet the Lady of the Ninth House.

With just five minutes until the shuttle landing, a final voice sounds from the doorway, calling Gideon "Griddle", and observing that her genius strategy was just to walk out the door. So ends the eighty-seventh escape attempt.(1) Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus wears black and sneers, which by Gideon's estimation make up 100% of her personality.(2) She's just seventeen but she does both with ancient self-assurance. Harrow has brought with her Crux and Aiglamene, as well as a few nuns in alabaster grey face paint with black over it in skull patterns.

Harrow thinks it's embarrassing. She doesn't care that Gideon's trying to run away, only that she's doing it badly. Gideon says she's faked Harrow's signature on the application form, releasing her from servitude, and if Harrow tries to deny the signature's authenticity, Gideon will tell "everything" she knows.(3)

At this, Harrow dismisses the "geriatric fan club", who leave the pit entirely except for Crux and Aiglamene. She says her parents should have smothered Gideon as an infant, to which Gideon replies she'd like to see them try now.(4) Harrow asks why Gideon would do all this, and Gideon says because she completely fucking hates Harrow, because Harrow is "a hideous witch from hell. No offence." Harrow replies pityingly that she barely even remembers "Griddle" most of the time.

A stare down, at which Harrow relents. She's at an impasse, but the muster call was real. Can she bribe Gideon to attend? Gideon scoffs at this, as there's no use for money on the Ninth anyway.

Harrow removes from her pocket an entirely authentic parchment, with official House letterhead, purchasing Gideon's commission in the Cohort to second lieutenant with full officer training. Her freedom could be paid in five years of service on good conditions, instead of the thirty of her original plan.(5)

Gideon asks what the price is. Harrow simply wants Gideon at the muster meeting. Gideon finally asks what Harrow will announce there. Harrow, unsmiling, asks if Gideon wouldn't like to know.

A long moment of silence, then Gideon rejects the commission. She's not going back into Drearburh one more time, not for Harrow, not even for this.

Harrow loses her composure, calls Gideon a "disgusting little cuckoo", and starts taking off all her bone jewellery. Gideon recognizes what she's doing and feels both pity and disgust as Harrow removes dozens of pieces of real bones of former Ninth residents, until she seems like what she is: a desperate young woman. Harrow offers to alter the terms. If Gideon will give her a fair fight, and wins, she can leave with the commission. If Harrow wins, Gideon must attend muster, and leave afterward, still with the commission. Harrow even signs it right in front of Gideon, though Gideon remarks that it's her mother's signature. Harrow says she couldn't very well sign her own name, or she'd give the whole game away.(6)

Gideon snatches the commission and shoves it inside her bandeau before evaluating the field, as the shuttle begins its descent. Harrow is a skeleton-maker with no bones left to build from, and obviously desperate, her eyes red from lack of sleep. She's only seen Harrow in this mood once before, and never thought to see it again. It would be an embarrassing act of cruelty and assholery to accept the duel.

That doesn't stop her.

Unfortunately, Harrow has planned ahead. That lack of sleep? She was seeding the landing pit with bones, of course, just in case Gideon would make it come to this. Digging into the hard packed floor and tightening it back up again to hide them.

Gideon doesn't stand a chance, though she fights as if she does. Eventually Harrow's skeletons pin Gideon to the ground, as the shuttle touches down, and Crux calls the fight. Harrow asks Aiglamene to tell the pilot to wait, he'll be paid for his time, and this meeting will take no more than an hour.

=====

(1) Well, I suppose there's our answer from last chapter, eh? (2) How easy it is for an eighteen year old to see things so simply. (3) What does Gideon know? (4) What happened to Harrow's parents? (5) Sounds almost too good to be true, doesn't it? (6) We can probably assume Pelleamena didn't sign it herself for reasons of whatever the answer is to note 4.

#the locked tomb #tlt #gideon the ninth #gtn #gideon the ninth spoilers #gtn spoilers #gideon nav #harrowhark nonagesimus #marshal crux #crux #captain aiglamene #aiglamene

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whomuses · 1 year

Note

Prompt: Rowena Is taken by social services and placed in foster care far away from Richmond. She writes but as she grows up the letters become more and more scarce, but far after Jamie’s retirement there’s a letter posted to the house he lives at. It’s a retelling from a 30 yo Rowena of how she has been, but the last stanza hits hard: “I still think you’re not like your dad, I still name my black cats Alpine, even though the real alpine stayed with you. I still wish you’d slow down on country roads, maybe you do now. I remember telling you that people truly die when they’re forgotten. I loved you, Dad, I still do, and I’m carrying the scraps of you I still have very gently. And if you die before I do, I’ll keep you alive.” -@not-your-chosen Ro for Jamie

He'd had no intention of stepping into any role as a dad, he really hadn't. When Rowena had tumbled into his life, though, just a random meeting on a street corner, it had very quickly become such an insane part of his life. The new Jamie, the one who wanted to be kinder, had never really considered he was getting taken advantage of; it was so obviously untrue. And he'd done everything he could to try to be kind. But with the paps hanging around, it was clear soon enough that loads of shitty rumours were flying around. Try as he might, a lot of people ended up branding him a creep…

And as he'd had to answer statements and do damage control - flat out refusing to stop helping her - well, it was only a matter of time before social services got involved, right? He'd come back from training to see her carted off, like a prisoner, and nothing he did would help. He had tried everything to become her legal guardian, a last ditch, desperate attempt, but no matter of money or lawyers would manage to break that boundary. 'Not in her best interest', they'd said. He'd never forgotten the impact she had on his life, had written back, painstakingly, because he was never good with a pen… always wondered why she weren't allowed to like, email, but it was always nice to see that letter on his doorstep when he got back…

Life was busy, though. He was at the height of his career; football was everything he did, and all the other things fell to the wayside. He remembered saying once that he'd top himself before he got to thirty and started dragging the team down, but he was thirty-four when he retired, and it was entirely his own choice. He'd been captain over the last two teams he'd been on, and then returned to Richmond, knowing he wanted to do his last season here. But even at just thirty-four, he could feel that his hips were seriously getting fucked up from all the work he'd put in, and no physio could do anything to prevent it. Now he worked with Roy, coaching Richmond, and it had to be said, he fucking loved his job. Richmond was going from greatness to greatness, one of the strongest teams in the world, a regular pick for England…

He got home to the standard loud meowing, reaching down and patting the tabby that curled around his ankles. Scooping up the letter, his eyes widened - it had been so fucking long since he got one of these. He almost ripped the paper in his eagerness to open it, stumbling over the cat, scooping her up with one hand so she purred and wrapped her paws around his neck. This wasn't the original Alpine, of course not; but Jamie had never been great at names, so she was called Tree. The original kitten he'd raised by hand had been one of his best friends through shitty and wonderful times of his life, and had passed away two years ago. That had fucking destroyed him, admittedly, thinking of Ro and all the work they'd put in…

"Jesus." he murmured, tears shining in his eyes, unable to wipe them away because his hands were full of letter and also the cat who was now licking his ear. Sitting heavily in his kitchen chair, he deposited Tree onto the table, conceding the fight that they were always having to keep her off said table. Now he was able to wipe his teary eyes, but ended up with cat fur in them, which made the whole situation worse. "I'm only fuckin' fourty, jesus, I'm not dyin'." he muttered, but the beam on his face was apparent. His eyes kept drifting back to 'dad'. How the fuck he could be dad when he was only ten years older than her. He thought of Ted, how they still called regularly, despite the fact that the man had long since returned to America. He was coaching football - sorry - 'soccer', over there. Still taking care of his Richmond family, though. He was so proud of what they achieved with Roy and Jamie.

The media still hounded him, although less so, since he retired. Why he hadn't married, found a family, why he didn't have a slew of models twenty years his senior on his arm at all time, but he hadn't found much joy in that. Sure, there were a few people he enjoyed intimacy with, but he'd learnt a long time ago he just - didn't do romantic attraction. And he was okay with that. So he found his notepad and pen again, and began to painstakingly write a letter back… by the time he got to the end, he was teary-eyed again. ……. by the way, I ain't fucking dying, im only forty. he added, then signed his name. Hesitated. Added an extra scrawl. ps. where u livin now? maybe we could meet up. i missed u.

#long post #prose #not your chosen #this isn't an rp response really it's just. it's prose #shrugs loudly #future jamie

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Note

Hey 👋

I swear I'm addicted to your writing😁 Thank you for the amazing post❤

Can I request a usually calm reader coming home to Hanni and Wil with n bruise on their cheek and/or blue knuckles from n fight. And when they question reader they find out reader defended their relationship.

Them reacting to reader with cigarette burn scars from childhood or self harm scars.

Sorry if it's specific I had a dream about the first one and I'm insecure about my scars😅 Also if it makes you uncomfy ignore me🤣

Have a wonderful day/night/afternoon💕

Hey anon, sorry it took me a hot minute to get to this. Hope you enjoy!

Gender neutral y/n comes home covered in bruises. Their lovers Hannibal and Will need to know why.

trigger warnings: blood, threats of violence, mention of firearms, stalking

You spit a mouthful of blood into the snow before you even thought about turning the doorknob. Any random passerby would look at you and think you were attempting to rob the place. You couldn't say you disagreed, though: your hood was pulled over your head and you held a tire iron in your singular non-bleeding hand.

You knew it wasn't wise to let the old-money Baltimore socialites catch you in such a compromising position, but you had to double-check your mental map of the house one more time. Hannibal would undoubtedly be cooking; hopefully so in his element that he wouldn't notice you slipping by. Will was the one you had to worry about. When it came to you, he'd become as alert as a German shepherd with protective instincts to match. Where he was in the house was anyone's guess, so you needed to be on guard.

You removed your heavy boots and opted to leave them outside. You then tossed the tire iron behind a nearby planter and slowly, quietly turned the knob. The door creaked as it opened, making you cringe. The sight of neither of your partners immediately running up on you was a bit of a relief; you hadn't been discovered quite yet.

You just needed to make it upstairs so you could barricade yourself in the master bathroom and use that oh-so-rare sliver of privacy to cover up your bruises. Then you could climb down the trellis, grab your shoes and make a proper entrance with hello kisses and whatnot.

"[F/N]?" Hannibal called out before you could even breach the threshold.

With no thought on your mind other than "fuck", you turned your head away from the direction you heard him. "Yeah, I'm home."

"I'd rush to give you a kiss, but I'm a little tied up at the moment." He said, undoubtedly grinning to himself as he trussed a chicken with sturdy cooking wire. "So you'll have to come to me."

"Oh, yeah." You called back. "Let me just get cleaned up first."

"If you insist." He said with a dramatic dip in his voice. "But hurry right back. Dinner is almost ready."

Hurdle one was cleared. Now all you had to do was clear the second, much higher hurdle.

You ascended the stairs, but forgot to skip that one consistently creaky step that always alerted the dogs. A small army of dogs came pouring into the upstairs hallway, blocked only by the baby gate Hannibal had installed as a compromise. Enthusiastic barks filled the foyer as you desperately tried to calm them down from the top step.

"Winston! Max! Harley!" You rattled off as many names as you could remember. "Hush, please!"

"[F/N]?" Will said, turning the corner.

You momentarily considered throwing yourself down the stairs. It would be easier to explain the bruises and you could still soak up that sweet, sweet throuple affection without having to tell a story that even you didn't entirely believe. Common sense, however, kept your feet firmly on the ground.

Will appeared in your line of sight. You pulled the brim of your hat down and stuffed your hands into your pockets. "I, uh- forgot how to open the gate again."

The dogs parted in Will's path and he looked at you with suspicion as he effortlessly opened the gate. "Is everything okay?"

You turned your head to the side. "I'm fine. It's just really cold outside."

"I'm sure those wet clothes aren't helping." Will cocked his head. "We can start by throwing that hoodie in the dryer-"

Before you could pull away, he pushed your hood and your hat off in one fluid motion. He knew what was going on.

"I'm no doctor, but I don’t think busted noses and black eyes are side effects of low body temperature." He said, folding his arms.

You put your hand up, unintentionally revealing the bruises on your knuckles. "You learn something new every day."

You tried to scoot past him, but he grabbed your hand and pulled you back.

"[F/N]--" Will said, a blistering fury beginning to percolate in his chest. "Who did this to you?"

"I ran into a bus stop." You lied, not even trying to make it sound believable.

"That bus wouldn't have happened to be headed to Dacula, would it?"

Your silence spoke louder than any excuse you could think of.

Will sighed. "Right. I think I know what happened."

"Will, I-" you protested.

"Save it for dinner." He scolded. "I'm sure Hannibal would love to hear this."

You'd been found out it was much worse than anticipated. You felt like you were on trial, which, given the circumstances, you could have actually been on trial in a real court of law on the charge of aggravated assault. However, that didn’t make you feel any better.

Hannibal demanded an explanation and couldn't wait until dinner. He was willing to let one of his culinary masterpieces burn in the oven, knowing of course that a much rarer delicacy was in the cards once you gave him a name.

He brushed his finger over an open cut under your eye. A light click of his tongue reached your ears as he examined your face.

"Give us a name, love." Hannibal probed, holding your jaw between his fingers and following the trail of bruises down your neck. "Who did this to you?"

"It's not a big deal, really." You assured him, squirming against his grip. "I started it."

"Now that, I find hard to believe." Hannibal contested. "You're not a preemptive strikes kind of person."

"Nor would you go all the way to Dacula to throw a few punches." Will added, approaching you with an ice pack.

"Okay, so maybe I finished it." You corrected.

Hannibal smiled proudly to himself. "That's more like it."

"What exactly did you finish?" Will asked, gently placing the ice against your bruised knuckles.

You sighed. You mentioned Dacula once and they already knew the answer. They were just waiting to hear you say it.

"My ex-boyfriend, Sidney." You leaned back on your one good wrist. "He was a being a completely irredeemable shit, as usual-"

"Details, darling." Hannibal said in too singsongy of a voice than was really appropriate while wrapping your hand in gauze.

"Acting entitled, talking like I belonged to him-"

"You have no idea how little that narrows it down." Will shook his head.

You were compelled to agree, but couldn't bring yourself to admit that and the fact that you ever dated Sidney in the first place. "Right."

"That isn't out of character for him." Hannibal said.

"And certainly not enough to make you willingly drive back out to cousinfuck nowhere to beat him up." Will finished.

"I didn't go out there with the intent to beat him up!" You contested. "He said that if I could meet him for coffee he'd never speak to me again. I know it's a lot of gas money, but I really was gonna hold him to the whole 'never speaking to me again' bit."

"So what happened?" Will asked, growing impatient.

You looked at the ground, embarrassment stopping the words at the tip of your tongue.

"Somehow, he caught a whiff of our... arrangement." You tightened your hands into frustrated fists. "And he made some really shitty comments about... you."

Hannibal and Will exchanged looks. They let the silence linger, urging you to fill it.

"He went into obscene detail about how mmf threesomes are his favorite category of porn," you tried not to gag as you recalled the disgusting details. "And then said if I 'let him watch', he wouldn't tell the local baptist church that I was a whore-"

"The man is a pig." Hannibal said, matter-of-factually.

"I got up to leave." You continued. "Obviously. Then he said he knew where you lived. Announced it to the whole diner. Started to go through his list of semiautomatic weapons. So to make sure he knew I meant business-"

"You threw the first punch." Hannibal finished the thought for you.

You nodded. "Naturally."

Will smiled to the floor and pushed his glasses up his nose. "I would have loved to see that."

"As much as it pains me to say," Hannibal began, resignedly agreeing. "It's only fair that you stand up for us the way we stand up for you. From time to time."

Will brought your bruised knuckles to his lips. "Though we desperately need to teach you how to dodge. Because the next time you come home covered in scratches, someone will pay."

You took both of their hands. "I should get beat up more often."

#hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #hannibal nbc #will graham x reader #will graham #will graham x you #hannibal x you x will #hannigram x you #poly hannigram #hannigram #hannigram x reader #anon request #anon ask

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rocorambles · 3 years

Text

Beginning of Forever

Pairing: Iwaizumi x Reader x Oikawa

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Greek Mythology AU, Poseidon!Iwaizumi, Zeus!Oikawa, Kidnapping, Non-Con/Rape, Non-Con Drugging, Attempted Suicide

Summary: You learn the consequences of rejecting a god.

It only makes sense that when the two gods meet, they meet on Earth, the middle ground between the sky and the sea. A neutral space where they can throw off the responsibilities and weight of being Zeus and Poseidon. A free for all zone where they can pretend to be as human as they possibly can, donning the names Oikawa and Iwaizumi as they challenge each other, seeing who can seduce more mortals, indulging in carnal pleasure.

The competition is always stiff between the two of them, equally overwhelming crowds naturally flocking towards the two men. They never can decide on a clear winner in the writhing, moaning mess of naked bodies sprawled across their hotel room. Counting is the last thing on their minds as they toy with mortals, bringing them to delirious levels of pleasure unlike anything they’ve felt before. The details don’t seem important as they stick their cocks in the countless warm holes aching for them. And as they finally sit back and relax, watching as a few insatiable lustful humans go at it with each other while the others slump in exhausted post-coital bliss around them, Iwaizumi and Oikawa smirk at each other.

Another successful conquest. Just more proof of where humans are on the totem pole compared to gods like them. Mere playthings for them to have fun with.

So imagine their shock and annoyance when they meet you on their latest venture to the mortal world and you don’t spare either of them even a second glance, eyes brushing past their figures blankly before you turn to a bartender and order a drink, back turned to them as you walk away.

Maybe you just don’t appreciate the already swarming crowd forming around them. Maybe you think that they wouldn’t spare you a glance when they already have so many people vying for their attention.

They take pity on you, going out of their way to make the first move, approaching you, gracing you with their full attention.

So imagine the fury in chocolate brown eyes, the hardened edge in green eyes, when you brusquely wave them away from you as if they’re nothing but annoying bugs flitting around you.

The. Fucking. Audacity.

Neither god has ever been completely graceful about being denied, rejected, or told no, even if it came from another deity. So to come from a worthless mortal, a speck of dust in their lengthy existence? Unacceptable.

The gods always get their way.

You learn that the hard way when your surroundings suddenly change, the background noises of music, voices, and glasses fading to nothing, the dark ambiance replaced by pristine white and blues, shimmering seashells and pearls, and the crowd around you gone, leaving only two familiar faces left staring back at you.

Your first guess is drugs and you curse yourself, fear building inside of you as you try and think back on when someone could have possibly slipped something in one of your drinks. Anxiety has you scrambling away from the two men who just impassively continue observing you, green eyes curious, brown eyes amused. And even as you turn around and race away from them as fast as your shaky legs can take you, you can feel those burning eyes on you, waiting, watching.

You almost sob in relief when you see a doorway ahead of you, praying that despite the hallucinatory imagery swirling around you that this is real, that you’ve found your escape. And you prepare your lungs, ready to scream for help the second you step outside. But as you open your mouth the same time the door flings open wide, water crashes around you, overflowing all your open orifices, soaking you, drowning you, until you feel nothing except the accelerating drum of your frenzied heart.

All you can think as your vision goes dark is that this feels all too vivid, all too real.

Dazzling white blinds you as your eyelids flutter open and you wonder if this is heaven, if you’ve passed on. If only you knew how wrong and right you are. Not that the knowledge will do you much good, as Oikawa is eager to show you. Iwaizumi snorts at how Zeus radiates with dark glee, handsome face twisting in something cruel as he revels in your almost tangible fear that permeates in the air when he reveals exactly who they are and the consequences of your disrespect. He’ll never fully understand his fellow god’s obsession with these silly mental and emotional games, but he can be patient and let Oikawa have his fun before they both indulge in you.

After all, meat is always so succulent after being tenderized and marinated.

Oikawa’s always loved the surge of power he feels at being the reason a sweet little thing’s heart races, pupils blown wide in fear, sparkling watery gems forming in eye ducts. And all this just from revealing his name. Zeus. It’s not the joyous worship he’s used to from the old world, but there’s a certain reverence in the way his title incites recognition in you, the way he sees an unbeliever like you finally forced to faith.

He’s not as much of a fan of the way you still shy from him, hands futilely trying to keep him at arms length from you as he insistently approaches you. But he understands. You’re scared. You don’t know how to worship and love him yet. You’re still a new believer.

So it’s up to him to guide you.

You’re not the first terrified and reluctant follower he’s met and Iwaizumi watches in appreciation as Oikawa uses a blend of force and sway to have you bend to his ways. It’s always fascinating to see how pleasure and fear intertwine and mingle in humans and Iwaizumi can feel his arousal grow as you can’t stop the litany of moans forced from your mouth, can’t stop the sticky river beginning to trickle from between your legs despite the way you cry and beg to be released.

Humans really are such simple creatures so vulnerable to their base desires. Even cornered and hopeless, you writhe and wantonly groan as Oikawa’s mouth and hands thoroughly touch every part of you, back arching and eyes rolling back when his cock easily slips inside your drenched cunt. You don’t want to feel good. You shouldn’t feel good. Yet you can feel a familiar coil tightening inside of you with every slide of his shaft against your walls and when he forces you to gaze into those hungry eyes and orders you to cum, you obey.

You’re so malleable, so well-behaved, by the time Iwaizumi finally has his way with you. It’s hard to believe you’re the same arrogant woman who dared to turn them away when you easily let him spread your legs, not even bothering to hide how lost in pleasure and desire you are, clenching around his cock and begging for more, more, more. And Iwaizumi almost feels a pang of regret, wishing you had a bit more fight and resistance left in you, not as into the mindless sex doll appeal Oikawa enjoys.

But he’s not disappointed when the haze of sex fades and the fire returns to your eyes, fueled even more by disgust at yourself and them for the night of decadence. And he laughs when you lash out at them, vicious scathing words dripping like venom from your lips, claws sharpened and ready to strike. It’s his turn to break you apart and he relishes in the way your nails painfully attempt to pierce his skin, the way your eyes glow in their rage.

He’s not Oikawa and you learn that the hard way. He knows what this is. He’s not arrogant enough to believe you truly want this, that you’ll ever want this. But he doesn’t care. If anything it only excites him more, the way you ferociously fight him. And he grunts in pleasure as he pins you from behind, forcing your head into the ground as he thrusts into your raised and exposed ass, marking and claiming you inside and out, treating you like nothing more than a prized animal.

It’s disarming and overwhelming how different and similar the two are, your mental barriers unable to keep up and adapt to their various approaches. You try to resist, try to look for ways to escape your luxurious prison deep under the ocean surface. But you find your resolve crumbling, find yourself craving Oikawa’s filthy demeaning words, find yourself waiting expectantly for Iwaizumi’s more physical proof of ownership. And when you look in the mirror one day and see yourself covered in bite marks and blooming spreads of purple, black, blue, and red, you sob, unable to recognize the woman staring back at you.

Your resistance has been laughable as of late and Iwaizumi sighs as Oikawa gloats, taking bets on how many more days it’ll take before you completely break and accept your place, before you grovel on your knees and beg to please them and praise them. How much longer until you become a true believer?

But it’s Iwaizumi’s turn to excitedly smile when he senses you attempting to leave his domain once again, in desperate pursuit of a watery end. And he chuckles at the irritated tsk from the god beside him as he leisurely takes his time to forcefully rescue you from the liquid flooding your lungs.

“You have some work to do on your seduction skills, brother, if she'd rather die than be with us for a second longer.”

Darkness has never felt so welcoming and you bask in the feeling of your consciousness fading to black, finding peace even as your lungs ache and burn from lack of oxygen. But you thrash as much as you can while submerged when a pair of strong hands grab you, wailing in denial as air rushes through your heaving body.

“Oh, darling. You didn’t think you could escape us that easily did you?”

A handsome face crowned by wavy brown locks sweetly smiles at you and dismay numbs your body, making your limbs heavy, your mind blank. And you just dumbly stare back as Iwaizumi moves behind you, lifting a golden goblet to your lip, submissively sipping whatever he offers you, thinking it’s just water to help clear your mouth of the salty ocean still clinging to your senses. But what you aren’t expecting is the unnatural warmth that floods you, has you gasping and contorting, only Iwaizumi’s reassuring hold and Oikawa’s voice grounding you throughout the chaos.

“Ambrosia…”

You can hardly believe your own word as you voice it outloud. A nectar meant only for the gods. A substance created for longevity and immortality.

Oikawa coos as hot tears run down your face when realization sinks in, when the promise of a lifetime and more, of forever, settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t cry. We knew this would be a difficult change for you, so we added something else to the ambrosia to help ease you into things. Can you feel it?”

And you do feel it, whimpering and moaning as the aphrodisiac they had mixed with the fragrant beverage streams through you, nipples hardening, pussy aching and dripping, staining the ground underneath you that you find yourself helplessly grinding against for delicious friction and relief.

You shake your head side to side as both gods surround you, but as the hard toned planes of their chests press against you, any resistance disappears and you greedily rub your tingling buds against Oikawa’s bare skin, hands clinging onto broad shoulders, back arching as you shake your ass against Iwaizumi’s hardening cock.

Oikawa’s cruel laughter fills the air, but you don’t have it in you to feel a shred of humiliation, not when everything feels so good, so addicting, and you plead for more even as he mocks you, his fingers meanly twisting and pinching your nipples, sneering at how well you’re responding, how you were made to be used for all of eternity. And how can you even argue against him as you’re forced over the edge again and again, cumming with seemingly every simple touch, body jolting in pleasure with even just a brush of his fingertips?

Is this what it means to be fucked silly? To succumb to lust? You don’t know how much longer you can survive, how much longer you’ll be yourself when they’re through with you, if they’re ever through with you. And you sob in fear? Overstimulation? Overwhelming desire? You don’t know.

You don’t know anything except for the way two cocks stretch you more than you’ve ever thought possible. You don’t know anything except for the joy of having your two holes stimulated, stuffing you full of sticky warm spurts. You don’t know anything except the intoxicating smell of musk, sweat, and sex as your face is shoved between strong thighs, your nose and mouth forced to clean the mess you’ve made of their shafts and balls, only for your lewd messy appearance to cause their dicks to rise in interest and start the entire process all over again.

When your head finally begins to clear, rational thoughts and shame flooding through you, it’s too late. And despite the desperate words of denial you manage to use the last of your will to utter, even you can hear the tremble in your voice, even you can’t deny the way your hips continue to bounce up and down of their own will on the two cocks still buried balls deep inside of you.

You sob as Oikawa tenderly kisses you, nuzzling his forehead against yours in a grotesque version of a lover’s touch, croaking out “no, no, no” as the goblet is held to your mouth once more, Iwaizumi’s hand warningly wrapping around your throat when you take a second too long to part your lips.

“Drink up, darling. It’s the beginning of forever.”

#yandere haikyuu #haikyuu smut #iwaizumi x reader #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi smut #oikawa smut #tw: yandere #tw: noncon

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solomonish · 3 years

Text

selfless (to a fault?) [demon brothers]

CW: allusions to past toxic relationships. minor description of injury in beel’s. belphie’s is a bit sad (happy ending! just melancholic vibes) and alludes to chapter 16.

no problem nonnie! i hope this is to your liking <3

nowdateables: here!

---

Lucifer

Honestly, he'd be a tough one to get to allow you to do anything for him. You know, the whole avatar of pride thing….and he also just generally has a habit of holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. He thinks - no, he knows he can handle everything on his own

If he's letting you in enough to help him - not only trusting you enough to think the tasks he delegates to you will be done to his liking, but allowing you to help and opening up the possibility that he might be risking his image of perfection - he can only expect you'll let him do the same for you. It's like your own special love language, right?

He does NOT like how jumpy you are about the subject. At first, he's miffed. Do you not think he can do the task to your liking? Has he given off the false impression that he cannot take any more work than he already has? Was your offer to help not based on affection, but pity??? It really ruffles his feathers.

He's the type to confront you head-on. At first, his voice is harsh because he's talked himself into thinking you've offended him, but when you start backing away and trying to dodge the conversation, apologies falling from your mouth about how the last thing you wanted to do was upset him, he softens. He doesn’t understand yet, but something is upsetting you and he intends to get to the bottom of it.

Not one who would pester you about opening up to him, but the sooner you do, the more of a show of good faith it is. He’ll trust your word entirely regardless, but it does a lot to soothe the upset of his own creation if you come back to explain sooner rather than later. After all, being vulnerable is perhaps Lucifer’s greatest show of love - it does not go unnoticed when you do the same.

Doing his best to talk through a solution is act of kindness #1 - and it helps you adjust a little since you worked with him rather than completely handed him the reins. He starts off his own plan to help you out by bringing in things he was already going to do for himself - offering you coffee when he gets his own, for example. He uses the fact that you’d feel bad for refusing against you for a little bit, but he means well!

You might notice him going softer on you for just a little bit - don’t say anything about it. He’s worried that he gave off the impression of using things against you because of how much of a disciplinarian he is. Besides, the two of you normally don’t get into arguments (he doesn’t have the time to let things simmer - if he’s that upset about something, he’ll try to address it immediately), so he doesn’t really know how else to change his behavior. He just hopes that allowing you the opportunity to open up to him again, should you need it, will alleviate the feeling that he’d ever use your kindness against you.

Mammon

The first time you stiffened up after he tried to help you, he thought you were crazy. Lucifer had just given you a punishment for one of his schemes that you took the fall for (and he still isn’t sure why Lucifer let you take the fall when it was obviously Not You), and you insisted that you could do it by yourself! He wasn’t too keen on cleaning every window in the House of Lamentation himself, so he left soon after placing the offer, but his time was spent mindlessly wondering about you.

The next time was shortly after, when you came into his room and crashed on his bed. He offered you a hand massage, although he did it in a very muttered voice with dark cheeks - and you said no again! Forget being offended that the romantic hand-holding idea he totally didn’t get from a magazine he was reading waiting for you (that would’ve somehow ended in disaster anyway) wouldn’t play out - he was getting worried.

He doesn’t bring anything up immediately, but he worries about you and watches you intently. Sometimes you’ll catch him staring at you, and he flips out when you ask him what’s up. The only clue Mammon gathers is that you don’t seem to be angry with him, so what’s up? He’s used to his backwards advances working against him, but he’s making a genuine effort here!

He finally gets pent up in his frustration and asks you head-on. Mammon isn’t known for his tact - “Oi, why won’t you just let me take over once in a while? Cut yerself a break, MC!” - but there’s a certain...desperate tinge to his voice that makes you realize he really does care (and is driving himself crazy trying to figure things out on his own). When you DO finally tell him, he sort of deflates and his voice goes to that softer, more genuine tone.

“H-hey, I would never do that kind of thing to ya…” He starts shuffling in place, kicking at rocks (if there are any) and you realize he kinda looks like a kid. “You do so much for everyone, and it makes me feel real good inside. I just wanna make you feel that, too. Besides, we don’t need TWO cranky workaholics in the house. Lucifer is plenty.”

He knows one moment of honesty isn’t going to fix your entire way of thinking, but he goes right back to his blatant offers after that. Maybe if he desensitizes you to it, you’ll feel less weird about accepting his help! It doesn’t work, so he shifts to little things. Catch him running across classrooms as soon as you’re dismissed so he can grab your textbooks to carry for you off the desk before you can.

Once he realizes you’re more receptive to him helping you, he’s ready to breathe a sigh of relief and be annoying about it again. Generosity doesn’t come easy to him, okay? Besides, he’s The Great Mammon! You should’ve known he’d be better than any other guy you’ve been with!

Leviathan

Of COURSE you wouldn’t want someone like him to help you out. He’d probably mess it up, anyway…

Seriously, Leviathan is very sensitive to rejection, so the moment you politely decline any offers to help he backs up about a thousand miles and sulks when you’re not around. It’s hard for him to get out of his own head, and he’s so ready for you to just tell him what everybody else is thinking and how much he sucks…

It dawns on him, though, that you never gave up on him when he pushed you away. It’s totally not poggers sucky of him to just give up on you like that. You’re his henry! You’re his s/o! He’s totally ready to fight any boss for you!! …..after he levels up a little more.

Levi spends a TON of time looking up ways to talk to you, one-on-one. He isn’t good with emotions like this but he is capable of them and having deep, serious talks. It shouldn’t MATTER that his research material is a bunch of feel-good romance anime scenes that he based his most recent Top 10 OTPs of the season post on!

Surprisingly enough, he brings it up relatively smoothly one night when you’re chilling in his room and he’s playing some relaxing simulator. You’re complaining about the things you have to do in the morning, and when there’s a lull in your conversation Leviathan turns and tentatively asks, “Hey...why don’t you try letting me help you out?” He can feel your refusal before it comes so he hurriedly adds “Please! I just- you stress yourself out so much and what good am I if I can’t even help you at all?”

Is it his impassioned plea for you to let him in? Is it his willingness to obviously step out of his comfort zone? Have your walls just conveniently crumbled at this moment? Whatever it is, you don’t have it in you to reject him when he’s so open about wanting to help you (and the pain it’s caused him not to). Either way, you sigh and give him a few, small tasks that you think you both could manage him having and he swears to do them well!!

Truly opening up to him about the reason why you were so hesitant on letting him help takes a while, and he doesn’t exactly pick up on it himself. Once you do tell him, though, in your journey to help yourself let him in, he holds you a little tighter and mumbles that he’ll never do that to you. Levi knows better than anyone that words can only mean so much, but he’s grateful for the chance to prove it to you. He won’t let his Henry down!

Satan

Satan is perceptive, and he knows how to talk about emotions. He might even have suspicious about the root cause before you even think about letting him know what’s up. He’s already started doing a few things for you - carrying each other’s books, for example. Small acts of kindness to get the both of you through the day.

However, one thing Satan isn’t good with…..is dealing with emotions head-on.

He spends so much time keeping his own under lock and key! After doing his best to keep the most calm, analytical front he can, Satan tends to uh….forget about the emotional part of emotions.

So. When he asks why you won’t let him reciprocate in the relationship, attempting to display that he just wants the two of you to be on equal ground and he is worried about you, he sort of comes off...as cold. And like he’s accusing you of feeling a certain way. He definitely presents it as “I’ve noticed you feel x and i think y would be helpful for us to fix it” rather than “how are you feeling? What is causing you trouble? How can i offer assistance in a way that translates well to you?” And if that doesn’t bring back some memories…

He feels awful, and at the end of it all you’re crying (or presenting your stress and bad memories however you normally do) and he still doesn’t know how to fix things. Counterintuitively, he looks through his books for an answer, and it takes him a few days to realize that’s what got him into this mess.

So he goes to you directly and, albeit a little clumsily, apologizes and asks what he can do to help you through this. You say that’s just the problem - you don’t want his help - and he sits next to you and just asks why? The two of you wind up talking for hours, sitting next to each other and just...really talking. You aren’t the only one feeling vulnerable - Satan is talking about his emotions full-on rather than through a scientific lens and it makes him just as nervous as you are.

Satan doesn’t get into arguments with you. He runs from the possibility because he’s worried about what his wrath could do to you. But he promises you that he could never hold anything against you, especially something like asking him for help. It’s an honor that you let him this close, and he can only return the favor in kind. He hopes you have enough faith to believe in him until he has the opportunity to prove it beyond a doubt.

Asmodeus

Asmo does things for people without asking. He gives unsolicited makeup and relationship advice, he offers to touch-up any products you may have on, he lends you clothes just because he felt like he should…

The thing is, Asmo will start before you even have a chance to ask him to stop. He’ll start before you’re even wondering if you like him. And at first, you’re ok with it. Well, you’re not, but you can decide he’s just testing the waters or that this is some weird demon way to earn your friendship or tell you he considers you a friendly presence, like cats. But it still rubs you the wrong way.

However, Asmo always notices that you...aren’t receiving it the way he wants you to. He invites you out and leaves you an outfit on your bed, and you come out wearing something entirely different. He leaves you a bouquet of flowers, and suddenly the dining room has a new bouquet in the center of it. (and you always avoid his gaze during those dinners, which is totally weird.) It’s almost like you’ve recognized the face he makes when he’s about to touch up your makeup, because you pull out a pocket mirror and check yourself over before he even has a chance to!

Are you leading him on? He doesn’t think so, but you are quite literally the only person he can’t literally charm the pants off of, and he isn’t quite sure how to navigate the signals you’re giving him. You seem fine with the relationship - it felt pretty genuine to him, and you looked thrilled when he made the romantic moves on you - so what was going on?

He finally caves and asks when he’s going through your wardrobe, sifting through it with you on the bed to make room for a shopping spree the two of you had been planning, and sees all the outfits he’d bought you hanging, still in their outfit bags. Some of the bags even had DUST on them!

He turns around and puts on a gentle voice. Though Asmo doesn’t know what’s happening, he can feel the air in the room shift and he knows he’s encroaching on some sensitive territory. “Hey, do you not like when I give you gifts? I haven’t been able to understand what’s been bothering you, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable…”

He does NOT like the way you turn your face away from him, but he sits a respectable distance away and keeps his hands in his lap. Asmo is as good at genuine advice as he is at gossip, so it isn’t hard for him to get you comfortable enough to open up to him. You don’t have to tell him everything at once - he’ll listen to whatever you’re willing to tell him, letting you lean against him when you’re ready.

Asmo is known for being petty, but you bring out sides of him nobody knew were there. He’ll swear up and down that he’d never turn your good heart against you - after all, it’s one of the many things he loves about you - but he does understand where you’d get that impression. If you’ll let him prove it to you, he will - and he’ll start by only pestering you to let him buy one outfit for you on that shopping spree!

Beelzebub

Listen. Beel is a generous soul (for a demon) ((to those he really loves)). He just doesn’t ever really find himself in possession of anything worth sharing. Really, the only thing he is ever in the possession of is food. When he isn’t at his sports practice, working out or studying, he’s eating, and he’ll gladly share his food with you.

Oh? You don’t want it? He gives you a confused look - he’d ask if you were feeling well if he hadn’t eaten lunch with you just an hour before - but shrugs, his growling stomach winning over his concern. It’s not like you’re skipping meals, anyway. It isn’t until you get hurt helping him work out and refuse to let him pick you up to carry you to medical attention that he gets VERY concerned.

He feels awful enough as is. It was his fault you were even there - he just wanted to add more weight to his workout. (And, he won’t admit it, the idea of using a bench you were sitting on to lift over his head may have been a bit overkill. But he saw that little spark that said ‘that isn’t possible but man i wish it was’ when you saw it happen in that show and mmmmmmaybe he wanted to impress you. How was he supposed to know Mammon had broken it and left it there?) He could practically feel the pain in your ankle from the sound it made, and you were clutching desperately to your shin, wanting to press on the wound but knowing it was a bad idea. MC, there’s no way you can walk on that, why aren’t you letting him help?

The guilty puppy face he’s giving you is making the whole situation worse. It’s taking everything you can not to snap on, from the overwhelming pain in your ankle to the negative thoughts racing in your head to the knowledge that you’ll have to give in eventually. Finally, you face him head on and decide to just rip the band-aid off. “I don’t have the best experience with letting people do things for me. If you’re expecting to use this against me, I’m going to be out of commission for a while, so remember that.”

He is. So confused. Are you really mad at him? What are you talking about? It’s not that he’s stupid - because really, he isn’t - this just kinda came at him from left field and he does not know what to do about.

“What? I’m worried about you, MC, and there’s no way you can walk on your ankle. Come on, please let me take you to get help. I won’t mention it ever again if that’s what will make you happy.”

So maybe it takes a while to get to the nearest infirmary, and maybe he’s going extra slow so as not to jostle our injury, and maybe in the meantime he’s being so contemplative and quiet that you have a heart-to-heart. Beel’s too genuine not to trust him when he swears he’d NEVER use your kindness against you, but he understands it’ll take a while to show you.

Belphegor

So. Um. This is awkward.

Belphie is a smartass, and he’s the youngest and used to getting his way. He’s definitely the type to dig his heels in and fight dirty in an argument, just because he’s used to winning. He’s also sadistic and has plotted with you to use his brothers’ weaknesses against them for fun. So he gets it. He totally gets why you would think he’d do it. Honestly, that’s basically what he did to free himself from the attic, only with more violence involved. He gets it.

Since Belphegor hasn’t exactly been the nicest to you in the past, he isn’t about to make you pity him with words like “yeah, of course you wouldn’t trust me after what I did to you…” First of all, on the off chance that it’s completely unrelated, he doesn’t want to put that idea in your head and give you a resentment you never had, but also he’s getting a hang of this redemption thing. Yes, on an average day he’s still a bratty, selfish little shit, but he does show you how sorry he is for using you and hurting you. It shows in the way he checks up on you in situations he knows you’re uncomfortable in, in the way he cares for you in that gentle way that’s so subtle you wonder if he’s even actively doing anything. (He is - offering you the best spot in a blanket nest, suggesting your favorite meals when the brother on dinner duty needs ideas, little things - and you both know it.) But how does he repent for something he doesn’t even know if he’s doing?

The way you stop cold when you peek in the kitchen and see him (and Beel) cooking the dinner you just complained about wanting hurts. The two of you have a stare-off for a moment, and Beel gets the message to slide out of the room. Belphegor clears his throat.

“What do you want?” You ask with narrowed eyes. Ouch, way to be a Lucifer. He instead says, “Nothing. I just wanted to do something nice for you.” “And you don’t want anything in return?” “Have I given off the impression that I would?”

You sigh and step into the kitchen to wash your hands, asking if he needs help since Beel left. He grabs your wrist. “You’re welcome to keep me company, but I want to do this for you.”

He doesn’t like you looking at him distrustfully, but is relieved you sit at the counter instead of leaving. He wants to ask you what’s up, but something is stopping him - he ignores that what’s stopping him is fear that you’ll have another thing to add onto the list of the unforgivable sins he’s committed. If you feel like telling him, he’ll listen - but until then, he’ll go back to quietly trying to prove his worth to you, hoping one day you’ll see that it’s genuine and let him give you all the good things you deserve.

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slasherboyos · 3 years

Text

Different World | Chapter Eleven

Word count: 2700+

Date posted: August 20, 2021

Warning: Cursing

“Different World” masterlist: Link

Fanfic Playlist: Link

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Note: Some more Star and Laddie time! Also, sorry, but we’re heading into some of the angst and the real, heavy conflict of this story.

With a loud gasp, you fell backward and landed on the wooden foundation, feeling most of the impact on your back and head. You had no time to react to those injuries as the pain in your chest grew worse. The ice cream that you had fussed so much over had fallen into the sand, but you could not care less.

Dwayne leaned down and put a hand on your cheek before pushing hair away from your forehead. David had also lowered himself to a crouch to examine you. Marko and Paul pulled themselves back onto the boardwalk to see what was going on, though they could have used the nearby stairs. You gasped to take in whatever air you could, but the pain was immense. Not only was there this tightness in your chest, but it felt as if you had been crushed by a car from the amount of pressure you felt in that area.

“Just breath,” David told you as he caressed your cheek with a careful hand. “Don’t fight it.” You heard his words but could not pay attention enough to quite understand what he was saying. Besides, his voice was only a passive element, muffled and obscured by the ringing in your ears, to what you were primarily hearing.

While you could hear your blood pumping through your ears, it was as if you could hear the racing hearts of the boardwalk attendees around you. Some of what you were hearing was clear as day and others were muffled in the distance. However, it still sounded like utter cacophony to you and it made you dizzy. With all of that plus the many lights, it was hard to think. Your vision went fuzzy and unfocused. What’s happening to me? The boys hovered over you, almost shielding you from the outside world. You tried to speak, cry out for their help in a desperate attempt for them to take the pain away, but nothing coherent came out aside for a couple of labored groans and uneven breaths.

Energy drained out of you as your body tried to contain the chaos. Your face felt strange, particularly in your cheekbones and your brow bone, but it was not enough to distract you from the pain. The struggle was akin to how having a stomach ache can make one feel powerless for a couple of days but much more exaggerated.

Something was emptying your energy. It did not help that you were hungry. In fact, your desire for a meal was becoming stronger. You wanted to eat. You needed to eat. Your mouth felt dry and in need of hydration.

It was getting harder and harder to stay conscious and focus on one thing at a time.

“Okay, something’s going on,” Paul commented, his usual grin dropping.

“You think?” Marko retorted.

“I got her, I got her,” you heard Dwayne say before picking you up, making sure to support your head. He carried you as if you were going to shatter like glass if his grip tightened anymore.

“Dwayne!” You heaved, hopelessly begging for the pain to stop as you writhed in his arms. He nodded at the others, namely David to get permission to leave with you, once again partaking in this seemingly silent conversation before walking off with you. As you went in and out of consciousness, Dwayne quickly carried you down to the beach and an empty plot of land before lifting off of the ground. You were coherent enough to realize that he was flying you back to the cave.

When you awoke, you found yourself in the cave and on the same old couch. You groaned as you sat up, getting Star’s attention. She hesitated, but came over and helped you up. The first thing you had noticed was the lack of aching in your chest, but it felt almost hollow. You were glad that you no longer felt like you were dying.

“(Y/N), here,” she said, handing you a slice of pizza from the box that was sitting on David’s wheelchair. You took the paper plate with a soft,

“Thank you.” You leaned your head back, dropping into the cushiony backrest. Star backed up quickly, allowing you to eat. You scarfed down greasy food. Given how Star and Laddie were awake, you could assume it was nighttime. You inhaled deeply, allowing yourself a moment to relax. “How long was I out?”

“About a day,” Star answered. Given your little episode, you were not surprised by the amount of time that you were out of commission. The cave was silent; the boys had gone off somewhere. You were a little perturbed by how not one of them stayed with you to make sure you were okay, but not enough for it to impact you all that much. You were not completely alone with Star and Laddie to keep you company.

“At least I got some more sleep in.” You motioned to the pizza box, your hand moving faster than your mouth, wanting another slice. Star carefully handed one to you before backing up once again. “God, last night was awful. I was with the crew, having fun and fighting over ice cream one minute and having a goddamn heart attack the next.” Star stayed silent as she listened. “Maybe it was heartburn? I’ve never had heartburn that severe before.” You paused and took another bite. “I know way too little about my own body.” You continued to ramble, “speaking of the boardwalk, I don’t know why they were there in the first place. They weren’t hunting, which is weird. I also have no idea why they brought me along.” Your eyes lit up as you remembered something. “Dwayne said something about keeping an eye on me. I’m glad they were there though, considering that whole fiasco. I don’t know what I would have done if I was alone.” You looked down at your food. “This is good pizza.”

You finally turned to Star and came face to face with brown eyes laced with fear and concern. Her expression had been like that ever since the night when Michael came to the cave.

Since Michael drank the wine.

However, unlike Michael, you were not that dense; you noticed how she tiptoed around you as if she was on thin ice.

“Are you okay,” you slowly asked, genuinely concerned. “You’ve been on edge for a while now.” You gestured towards her with a loose hand and she stepped back. Laddie, who was behind her, watched intently as his shoulders sharply rose as if he was flinching. It broke your heart to see her, your friend, and him, a child that you adored and doted on, moving away from you as if you wanted to cause them harm.

“Did I do something wrong,” you murmured, voice low, piercing through the otherwise silent bubble of the cave. “If I did, I’d like to know. I can’t apologize if I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“No, no!” Star glided over and sat next to you, her skirt flowing after her. She saw how upset you had become at the thought of wronging her and Laddie, which pained her. You have been nothing but well-meaning and understanding towards her, regardless of the strange circumstances that changed your life. “(Y/N), you did everything right.” She stammered for a moment before sighing out, “I should be the one who’s sorry.” You chuckled, confused. You blinked a few times.

“You? Why should you be sorry?” You were very caught off by her apology. There was nothing she had done to you that warranted one. At least, nothing you could think of.

“(Y/N), I...” Star avoided looking at you, trying hard to think of something to say. She wanted to say more, but there was something that was stopping her.

“Hey,” you softly spoke. You gently held the hand in her lap. “I’m clearly not upset by anything you’ve done. It's not like we need to have this conversation immediately. Come to me when you’re ready.” You offered her a reassuring smile, but she still seemed so tense. “You know I’m here for you, right? We’re in this shitty situation together.” You laughed and gave her a playful nudge with your shoulder. She struggled to smile at you. Star’s expression was akin to a puppy’s when they know that they did something wrong.

“Yes, I know.” Once again, you were giving her space to breathe and decide what her next moves were going to be. You had a habit of doing so, it seemed, but she knew that you were going to reach your limit with how long you waited.

To your surprise, Laddie approached you and sat on your right side.

“Hey, bud!” You put an arm around him and brought him close. You hooked his head under your arm and ground your knuckles gently on the crown of his head, messing up his hair. He laughed and tried to push you away, telling you to stop. Eventually, you halted, but held him close, telling him that he should be grateful that you have granted him mercy. Of course, you were joking.

“Paul’s rubbing off on you,” Star teased. You waited for her to elaborate. “You called him “bud.”” You have called him buddy in the past, but never bud. You huffed a chuckle at her observation but did not give it the light of day.

“Here, I got something for you.” You pulled out a piece of chocolate from your bag and handed it to Laddie before reminding him to not just toss the wrapper wherever. He ate through it as the three of you sat in comfortable silence. Hopefully, this was enough for him to warm up to you again.

“(Y/N),” Laddie called. You looked towards him with a hum to answer. “Will you always be this nice?” You furrowed your eyebrows and smiled. Now, that was a strange question.

“I hope so,” you answered.

“Me too. I really like you. You’re a really good friend.” Your tense shoulder dropped at his comment. You smiled warmly.

“You’re also an awesome friend, kid.” You brought him into a hug. “You as well, Star.” With your left arm, you brought her into the embrace. “We’re in this together,” you repeated. She returned it, but there was so much emotion in her hug. She took a deep breath in and slowly released it. Whatever was wrong evidently involved you and it was eating her up.

You stood up to stretch, placing your paper plate in your seat for the time being. With a whine, you raised your arms and stood on your toes. With a sigh, you opened your eyes and relaxed your muscles, shaking your arms to release any remaining rigidity in your limbs. You really did sleep well if this was how good you felt after waking up. After countless nights of poor sleep, you were appreciative, even if it was not under the best circumstances.

In the striking moonlight which came from the ceiling of the cave, you noticed a glint in the sand; it was coming from the gem on a bottle. With curious intent, you approached it and realized it was the same wine bottle that you and Michael drank from.

“What is this doing here,” you mumbled and you crouched down to get a better look. It was as if it was thrown, landing on its side and rolling towards the cave wall only to be stopped by the sand. The white moonlight cast an ominous scene before you. You picked the bottle up by the body and examined it, once again entranced by its beauty.

You unintentionally licked your lips as an urge to drink from it began to grow. It was similar to when someone starts craving a certain snack only when it catches their attention. You mindlessly shrugged, not thinking much of it, before placing it on a wooden shelf that stood in the middle of the hotel. The bottom of the bottle landed on the wooden shelf and created a small clacking noise. You were not stupid enough to drink from their initiation bottle; if David found out you drank such a special wine so casually, which he somehow would, he would not be very happy. Also, you did not want to feel those after-effects again. While that headache did not last very long, it was brutal.

Where were the boys? Now, that was a question that came to mind as you stared at the bottle. While they were so adamant to keep you in their sight, they were currently nowhere to be seen. It was as if nothing had happened and they went on their usual hunt, deciding to leave you, Star, and Laddie behind.

Unless they did not go on their usual hunt. You had no evidence to believe otherwise, but there was nothing suggesting that they were on their regular routine. However, you had this nagging feeling that something was different about this night in particular.

Maybe you were just being paranoid. It was not uncommon to catch yourself falling down such rabbit holes.

“(Y/N)?” Star stood in front of you, watching you gingerly. You blinked a few times before returning to reality. You sighed, knowing that the next few hours were going to be as boring as nights in the cave usually were. While playing a game with Laddie or talking to Star helped pass the time, they usually did not fill enough of that emptiness to last the whole night and you did not have the energy to do either.

You took note of how dehydrated you were. While the pizza helped with the hunger, it was not enough and you were oh so thirsty.

You picked up another magazine that was strewn about. It did not take long to find one after you finished your current one. Spotting your half-empty water bottle, you finished it up, hoping to quench this thirst of yours. While you would have preferred just a tad more water, this would do for now. At least you did not accidentally wash down your pizza dinner with vodka.

You laid on your couch, head resting on the armrest and your ankles comfortably crossed. You sighed, shifting to get cozier as you opened to a random page. Without a nearby clock or watch, there was no distant ticking to remind you of the passing time.

Soon, endlessly flipping through the pages became tedious and you chose to allow your mind to entertain you instead.

Daydreams, random trains of thought, the works.

You twiddled your thumbs as they laid on your stomach. You were still lying down on the couch and had placed the magazine neatly on the ground beside you. You were not concerned with sand getting in between the pages. A small shake would clean it up quickly.

Your train of thought once again derailed to the boys. Morning would be approaching soon and they still have not returned. You made a mental note to thank Dwayne for bringing you back to the hotel. Though, you were going to spit them out for leaving you alone, even if your insults were lighthearted.

You were shocked that you reminisced about the boys before you did about your family back home.

It was almost guilt-inducing just how accustomed to Santa Carla and 1987 you had become. It was not as if you did not want to go back to your time, but that violent urge to find a solution did not come to you anymore when you thought about Claire or the others. As you tried to find a memory to awaken that want, you felt no change. You bit your lip, lost in thought.

Did you even care if you made it home anymore? Every logical part of your brain was screaming at you that you should care—your whole life is back at home—but did you?

In avoiding the topic all together since you arrived, you seemed to have numbed it's importance to you. Well, that backfired.

The softness of the leather couch left your back. The back of your head was no longer supported by the armrest and your legs dangled. You opened your eyes and looked down, only to find out that you were no longer lying on the couch, but floating above it.

You were flying.

➳ ➳ ➳

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#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys david #paul the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #david the lost boys #marko the lost boys #the lost boys fanfiction #the lost boys x you #the lost boys imagines #slasher x reader #slasherboyos writes

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hobiiwan · 3 years

Text

mirror • cpt. rex

pairing: captain rex x gn!reader

warnings: post-order 66 angst, hurt-comfort but i thrive in the hurt

w/c: 1.6k

notes: i'm back with lots and lots of feelings bc i've been ghosted and it's 5 am so i should probably sleep but i hope you enjoy :D

lovely gif credit to @pieklalat!

Framed by distant moons and even further stars, the night sky never seemed more vast. If you closed your eyes, it didn’t take much to picture a Republic Star Destroyer slicing through the atmosphere of the moon whose gravity became inescapable, with you in it.

Glancing over your shoulder at where Rex had made camp for the evening, you could tell he was thinking it too. Though his eyes were closed, it was clear as watching a holofilm; reliving the searing heat of plasma bolts, shot from the blasters of his brothers, the ones he had served beside for years—the same ones he had buried just hours prior.

It felt as though there was a vice wrapped in a deadlock around your heart, constricting your chest until it threatened to collapse in on itself. You exhale sharply, willing yourself to push past the hollow ache of the now-dulled Force connection, the flashing faces of the clones and Jedi who had perished under the Order—the fear they had felt in their final moments. It was now your fear that you would never escape it.

The price of surviving the command settles atop your shoulders, making a home. A bitter, weighted reminder that you are here, alive, when you shouldn’t be—when you aren’t supposed to be.

You collapse onto the ground next to Rex, which pulls him back to the present. His eyelids flutter as he blinks slowly, once at you, then back up to the stretching expanse of the inky black overhead. He lets out a sigh, leaning up on his shoulders to cast a weary glance at his surroundings. “How long was I out?” He questions.

You reply with a thoughtful hum, “Not long. You need the rest, anyway.” It’s true. The day’s events have undoubtedly taken its toll on the both of you. But how does one go about resting after being hunted to the death?

“I’ll take first watch. Get some sleep, cyare.” He says, now sitting upright and then you know there’s no point in fighting it. You both need rest, but with the way Rex’s frame is pulled tense as a bow, his hand twitching ever-so-slightly towards his blaster, you know there’s no way he’d rest easy.

So, you offer him a victory, albeit a minute one. You pull his unarmed hand into yours and close your eyes, feeling the way he lets out a shaky breath, releasing some tension along with it. A victory—you’re still here with him.

Neither of you can be certain how long you stay that way. The low croon emitting from the transceiver is the only sign that time actually passes. Neither of you complain about the noise, either. It didn’t need to be said that the silence—this silence, was much too loud.

You do try to sleep, Rex gives you credit for that. Though, after turning for the fifth time (he counts) you give up and sit up beside him. He’s got his knees pressed to his chest, one hand curled tight around his blaster. In his other, his thumb rubs circles against the back of your hand. The answer to whether it soothes you or himself doesn’t matter.

Wordlessly, your head lowers to his shoulder, propped gently against the curve of muscle.

“Did I ever tell you I wanted to be a singer?” You murmur, glancing at the transceiver. You don’t recognise the singer on broadcast, though you do take note of the melody, slow and mellow.

Rex watches as you even try to hum along, as offbeat as you are.

“No,” he huffs something short of a chuckle, “you didn’t.”

He knows what you’re trying to do, sees it clear as day. Yet, as he watches your feet tap to the tempo of the ballad, he can’t stop himself from humouring your attempt to comfort him.

You nod eagerly, eyes widening as if to express your candor. “I was about to be one, too! Then the Jedi came and…”

Rex waits as you trail off, then clocks the far-off look in your eyes. He picks up where you left off. “Would you sing for me now?”

You return in a split second, your lips pulling into a bashful smile as you avoid his eyes. “I’m definitely rusty by now, I don’t want you losing your hearing because of me.”

The Captain nudges you teasingly, grinning when you break into soft laughter. “It would be an honour, though,” he quips.

He wonders how much of you has been hidden behind the mantle of a Jedi’s title. Who would you have been had you not been brought into the Order, raised from young to be one thing, and one thing only? Who would he be?

Once again, Rex is dragged out of his thoughts. This time, you’re tugging him to his feet. It takes an effort and a half, which you currently lack in your fatigued state.

As he looks up at you questioningly, you motion to the transceiver, dropping his hand to raise the volume. It’s enough to provide a comfortable backdrop instead of a desperate attempt to quell silence.

“Dance with me,” you propose softly, “please?”

“I don’t know how to, mesh’la.”

As if pointedly ignoring his feeble protest, your hand remains outstretched, beckoning his participation.

Maker, he’s only ever seen couples dancing on holofilms and is even more certain he has two left feet. But gazing up at your expectant self is like looking at a promise of escaping the sorrow he now knows as reality.

Really, it’s all up to him.

Rex swears he feels three times lighter from the way you beam in delight when he fits his palm into your smaller ones and helps you lift him to full height.

He stands awkwardly, clueless as to where his hands should go, how he should move. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

Below him, you soften at the uncertainty tainting his features. Taking mercy on the poor man, you lift a hand to cup his cheek, garnering his attention.

“Put your hands on my waist,” you murmur, eyes twinkling when Rex’s hands fly up to root himself to you. Your own arms loop behind his neck and he takes it as a sign to pull you into his chest, no stranger to the position.

“and now we sway.”

Such a simple command, yet Rex feels like a fish out of water. His limbs are stiff, like the serenity of the movement is a stranger. To an extent, it is.

When you take over, moving him to the beat instead, he gratefully surrenders, allowing himself a moment of tranquility.

The only sounds that reach him become the silky notes of the singer and your soft, steady breaths. If he tries hard enough, he can pretend to be in a distant galaxy, where he is not a clone and you are not a Jedi, where the war is nothing more than a brash concept and his brothers are alive and well.

Rex doesn’t realise he’s crying until your thumb smooths away a tear rolling down his face. His eyes stay closed as he wills himself to keep pretending, but he can’t.

He is still a clone but you are no longer a Jedi. His brothers are gone.

You hold him when he finally breaks, cradling his head close when his shoulders tremble with the force of his sobs. His tears soak into the collar of your singed robes, but you truly can’t find the will to care—not when the man you love is falling apart, barely held together by the threads of your embrace.

“It wasn’t them,” he chokes, shaking his head, a wretched attempt to convince himself, “—it couldn’t be.”

At that, you’re positive your heart shatters. Stars, he doesn’t deserve this. You wish with all your might to take the pain away, to rewind every clock in the galaxy and then the next, but all you can do is watch.

“It wasn’t,” you nod, lowering your forehead to press against his, “not the real them. You know they loved you.” And by the Maker, you know.

Rex’s hands clutch tightly at your robes, as if letting go of that would mean letting go of you. The last tether to what is now his past, his only constant.

What if you hadn’t made it off the ship? What if Ahsoka hadn’t gotten the chip out of him in time? What if he had hurt you?

He briefly registers your voice calling his name, cutting through the despondent scenarios that could have, by any deciding factor, become his present.

“Rex, my love,” you plead, “please look at me.”

When he raises his eyes, he finds that yours are a mirror of his own. The anguish that parallels his agony. He feels you, your presence. He’s never understood much about the Force, but he thinks this is pretty damn close.

“I’m here,” you whisper. The promise of those two words anchor you both. “‘M not going anywhere.”

You mean it. If you believed it before, there was no chance in any star in the galaxy that anyone would be able to tear you away from him now.

For the current moment, you weren’t sure if there was a place to go, even if you wanted. Less than twenty four hours ago, you had been anticipating the end of the Clone Wars. Now, it feels like you’ve been thrown onto the losing side.

“What do we do now?” Rex asks, but you both know there isn’t an answer. There’s no precedent to go off of.

Two of the finest leaders in the GAR and the Jedi Order are lost, with no one left to follow them.

There’s nothing to do but move on.

“We keep living,” you say with a heavy sigh, burying your face into the crook of Rex’s neck, “we live for them. We’ll find a way.”

You always do.

#yoinks sorry i’ve been gone for so long lads #pls take this fic as an offering #rex x reader #captain rex x reader #star wars #the clone wars #the clone wars x reader #the clone wars imagine #captain rex imagine #captain rex oneshot #501st x reader

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mcyt-imagines · 3 years

Note

hi hi ! first off, just a tip if you'd like more requests/asks in general you should prob turn on anon since this is like the only time i've sent a non-anon ask. but anyways, i'm assuming requests are open and i'd like to ask if you would write either just ranboo fluff in general or something like the tommy confession headcanons but w ranboo :D what you've posted so far is great <3

Thank you so much for letting me know! I thought I had anon turned on already, but it’s 100% turned on now! Regarding your request I got a little carried away and wrote both some general fluff and some confession headcanons for Ranboo so this post is a little long... Hope you enjoy! :D

(It’s important to note that these headcanons are a combination of ones pertaining to his Minecraft character in the dsmp and him outside of the dsmp roleplay!)

General Ranboo Fluff

- Dreamsmp Ranboo -

The first time Ranboo cries in front of you is when you confess to him and he is so happy and relieved that you reciprocate his feelings. He even smiles through the pain of his tears as you panic to cover the skin beneath his eyes, so your hands catch his tears to stop the pain.

Ranboo likes to ask if you need any resources from time to time and once you finally give in and answer, he spends the rest of his day trying to collect as much of it as he can. This has led to a few incidents in which you came back to your shared indent in the snowy mountain to find a chest stacked full with polished stone and countless ores. You’ve scolded him but the way he responds with big puppy dog eyes wishing to “just be helpful.” Sets the butterflies caged in your chest free every damn time.

Ranboo in addition to asking you for want you want he is also very observant in noticing what you need. Any tools close to breaking? Brilliant, he’s already got three more of the same tools ready for you to grab when you need it. He also names them using the anvil to some silly super cheesy pet names.

One of his favourite things to do with you is stargaze. You both travel to the top of your snowy mountain and clear out a space free of snow to lie down and simply hold each other. Ranboo has started asking Techno (on the nights you are away) to point out the stars and tell him their corresponding stories. He happily relays all of this information to you in exaggerated detail, looking at you in awe as your expressions change with the twinkling lights above.

Ranboo almost always carries a little umbrella around with him in case it begins to rain. Most of his friends notice and all start to buy him some. He now has a full collection that line his wall just next to the door. It’s those small things that allows him to remember who his real friends are.

Ranboo LOVES having his hair played with. He will fall asleep within minutes of you beginning to tousle his hair as he rests his head in your lap. He may make soft enderman noises, but you don’t dare tell him. Content on keeping that little secret to yourself.

Ranboo has to be kinda careful around snow considering that if it melts it will hurt him. Meaning he has to sit out on any snowball fights that occur. And they occur more frequently than you would think. It usually starts with Phil throwing a rogue snowball at Techno when Phil notices him slumping his shoulders. Which means it doesn’t take long until it’s a full-blown war. You usually find yourself smack bang in the middle of it and have to dive down to avoid getting pummelled in the crossfire. Ranboo will call you over to hide behind Techno’s house. As the onslaught continues between the two. you giggle and commentate over the fierce battle together.

- Outside of Dreamsmp Ranboo -

Ranboo enjoys watching you whenever you are focused on something. He’s incredibly observant and finds himself mimicking the small little nuances he sees you exhibit. He gets incredibly flustered whenever you notice that he’s picked up on them, but he doesn’t bother to deny it.

Ranboo finds himself staring at you a lot. He doesn’t mean to but he can’t help it. You catch him frequently, “Watching me real closely, hm?” He tries to stutter out an answer to defend himself, but you just smile and tell him it’s okay.

Ranboo finds a lot of comfort in doing ‘domestic’ activities with you. However, one of his personal favourites is when the two of you go out to get groceries together. His mum will give him a small list and he’ll try his best to dawdle around the store whilst swinging your intertwined hands to make the visit as long as possible. It makes him think of a future in which the two of you get to do this every single week and that alone warms his heart.

Ranboo always has to be near you, he doesn’t have to be physically touching you but he prefers to just be stupidly close to you. It always makes you laugh when he sits just close enough to you that you don’t touch, so now he has to do it forever.

Your laugh is one of his favourite sounds. To the point that if you giggle or laugh at something, he will just keep doing it over and over again for as long as you keep laughing at it. Which eventually leads to the both of you red-faced and gasping for air.

Ranboo is a terrible cook. But he tries so hard to follow recipes and they always flop. He also for some reason, cannot attempt cooking without making an utter mess of himself. Whether it’s spilling flour all over himself, getting egg yolk splatter somehow in his hair or just spilling copious amounts of milk on the floor so that he slips. This boy is a walking, talking kitchen DISASTER. So now he can only cook with you supervising him. Which turns out, wasn’t as much of a punishment as it should have been. As your tutelage seems to have slightly improved his cooking skills. However, now you also get flour spilt all over you as well.

Ranboo Confession Headcanons

- Realising he likes you -

Ranboo denies he has feelings for you at first. Believing that you’re just a good friend whose company he really enjoys. But the more he focuses on your friendship the quicker he realises he would prefer if you were more to him than that.

This thought alone sends him into a little bit of a spiral for a few days. Grappling with the thought of rejection and the guilt he would feel if he ever hurt you.

He spends most of the time grappling with his feelings he continues to try and act as normal as possible around you. You finding out would be his worst nightmare.

Ranboo realises he has absolutely no history in the dating department and desperately needs some guidance. He may ask Phil on a whim who would try his best to give the poor panicked boy some words of wisdom. Ranboo takes the advice to heart immediately, promising Phil he will update him on how his feelings for you turn out.

Ranboo finds himself writing about you in one of his many journals. He finds putting words on the page seems to help clear his mind. He tries to script his confession a few times. Desperately floundering to find the right words, but he always seems to fall short. He usually ends up scribbling all over those pages until you can barely tell someone had even written on them. Hoping to somehow erase the thoughts in the process.

He even tries drawing you a few times when he finds himself with enough spare time. He doesn’t think they’re any good though. Sure, the sketches look like you, but they don’t make him feel the way you do. When he looks at the page his chest doesn’t tighten because of your beauty, but instead because of the way you’ve made him feel. Which he comes to the sad conclusion is something he simply cannot capture in his words or his drawings. He has to show it through his actions. Not exactly his strong suit. But he’s determined to do right by you. So, he devises a plan.

- Confessing to you -

This boy plans the whole day down to a t, he has multiple back-up plans just in case his first one falls short.

Ranboo invites you over for lunch. Arriving at his place you notice how clean it is. He spent the last few days cleaning it top to bottom.

You spend a few minutes in the house chatting. You notice Ranboo is on edge almost immediately. Shoulders a pinch too tight, his smiles a little too wide and none of them reach his eyes.

You ask what you’re going to be having for lunch and he reveals a wicker basket from his kitchen. “A picnic!” Your heart warms, “I would’ve brought something if you’d told me beforehand.” He smiles at that, “Exactly. I even cooked without you, you should be proud.”

He shuffles on his feet a little, wishing to be praised, “We’ll see how the food tastes first, maybe then I’ll tell you how proud I am.” You tease, moving to elbow him lightly. You notice the way his face flushes as you move into his space. His mother appears from upstairs, “Are you two leaving? I could drive you, y’know!” “No thanks mom!!” He is quick to grab your hand and practically drag you out of the house and away from his all knowing mom.

The bus ride is on the longer side and you find yourself feeling brave enough to scoot a little closer to Ranboo. “Hey, is it okay if I?” You gesture between your head and his shoulder, the cute, shocked expression he sends you causes you to grin. “Uh s-sure!”

You softly press your head against his shoulder, “Thanks, pretty comfy shoulder you got here should’ve asked you to share it sooner.” You tease, nuzzling his shoulder lightly just for a reaction. And you get one alright, his skin goes such a lovely shade of red all the way up to the tips of his ears. You giggle softly, trying your best to hold it in and failing miserably.

You even manage to fall asleep despite your own heartbeat quickening at Ranboo’s closeness. You are tapped awake by him, “Hmm?” You rub one of your eyes knowingly appearing adorable and the way he looks at you makes it all worth it. “It’s our stop soon, we gotta get up.”

You nod and lazily stand and he follows suit. Only for the bus to brake abruptly, promptly shoving you into his chest. He wraps his arms around you quickly to steady you whilst you desperately cling to the wicker basket, “You okay?” You both mumble to each other before laughing it off and nodding. “Oh crap.” Ranboo grabs your free hand and you both scramble to get to the front of the bus to hop off. Sparks fly up your arm at the extended contact, even as you jump off the bus.

Ranboo happily leads you to a spot he had picked out earlier in the month. A soft patch of grass below a large willow tree that now sways softly in the warm breeze. You set up your carefully packaged feast with haste now that your stomachs are grumbling.

Ranboo forcefully tries to make himself relax knowing you’ve probably noticed his tense state by now. But you choose not to push him on it, taking an educated guess on why he’s so stressed.

You are quick to compliment his cooking skills when he divvies out a freshly baked quiche. Even though you know his mom for sure did most of the work. It’s the thought that counts. You hope that may snap him out of the stupor he seems to be in. However, no such luck.

“Hey Ranboo, do you want to talk about something?” Ranboo goes into full panic mode. He did not have a plan for you asking something like this. He thought you weren’t confrontational!! You watch as his expression changes rapidly. You look away, “You don’t have to tell me, it’s okay. I just thought you might want to-“

He takes one of your hands in his. Why is he doing this??? This isn’t part of the plan at all! “I…” His throat goes dry. All those hours obsessing over what he was going to say to you are sent out the window when he finally meets your eyes.

“I think I like you.” He hasn’t realised he’s even said it until its waaaaaay too late. Your eyes widen, you didn’t think he’d actually admit it to you. You squeeze his hand as you watch his eyes seem to lose focus, “I like you too.” He is silent for several long moments until he starts blinking rapidly, “Huh!?” The look of utter surprise on his face causes you to burst out laughing.

“Wait, wait, wait you’re serious?” He grabs your arm as a grin slowly starts to creep onto his face. “Sure am.” And as you meet his gaze you realise that his grin actually reached his eyes, for the first time in a long while.

“So, you gonna kiss me now or what?” You tease as his face shines a dark red. “W-well I, uh-“ His stuttering only allows for you to sneak closer and press a firm kiss to his cheek. Somehow, he grows even redder and you sigh pleasantly. “My heart definitely made the right choice with you Ranboo.”

Meanwhile Ranboo is too busy freaking out over the fact that you weren’t even meant to find out he liked you until you were stargazing together later tonight. His plans are utterly ruined! But as you squeeze his hand again to bring his thoughts back into the present, he wonders that perhaps spontaneity isn’t such a bad thing sometimes.

~My ask box is always open if you’ve got any requests or just want to vent about the dreamsmp lore!~

#mcyt #ranboo #x reader #ranboo x reader #fluff headcanons #mcyt x reader #confession headcanons #mcyt imagines #mcyt headcanons

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septembriseur · 3 years

Text

I want to come back to this article, which I reblogged a post from (after seeing it reblogged by loads of people on my dash). I recommend reading the article if you haven’t done so. Its central argument revolves around the idea that “modern liberal democracy presents itself as non-ideological beyond ideology,” and that ideology itself is always presented in literature/media as unacceptably violent— villainous. (I would argue that, in fact, any sort of cultural “accretion,” in the sense that culture is perceived as "on top of” and obscuring universalized western ideology, is tolerated only insofar as it is not really taken specifically or seriously. That’s why even characters who are presented as deeply religious (think of Matt Murdock or Rogue One’s Baze and Chirrut) are portrayed as religious in a way that is broad, universal, flexible, and vague.

One issue that the article doesn’t really delve into is that supposedly “ideologue” villains are actually profoundly anideological, except insofar as their ideology is, like, anti- modern liberal democracy’s lack of ideology. A really interesting example of this is in Iron Man: Tony Stark gets held hostage by a group of extremists whose extreme belief is... well... even the MCU wiki seems unable to provide any detail on this beyond “destroying world peace.” The film employs a weird move where it obviously relies on the Afghan setting of the villainous Ten Rings to suggest associations with radical Islamism, yet also provides evidence that the Ten Rings are not Islamists. On the one hand, it provides a sort of generic Western specter of radical Islamists— brown men speaking foreign languages and living in Afghan caves— and on the other hand it coyly removes all potential religious, political, or cultural motivation for their actions. These guys aren’t impoverished tribesmen who’ve been subject to tumultuous centuries of imperial warfare, and they’re not religious extremists living out masculine power fantasies. They’re just a group of dudes who kind of look vaguely Middle Eastern and kind of sound vaguely Middle Eastern (since Arabic and Persian are the languages we hear the most).

Of course, there’s a real-world explanation for this: Marvel wants to be able to tap into that specter of radical Islamism without offending Muslim consumers. But the textual effect is to create a picture of the world in which terrorism in Afghanistan is evacuated of all meaning. Don’t get me wrong: terrorism in Afghanistan is unbelievably destructive and to a large extent nihilistic, in that it benefits no one and spreads only despair and suffering. But at the same time, it arises out of a historical, political, economic, and religious-cultural context, and if you refuse to understand this context, then you will fail to understand why people make the choice to become terrorists (or how to stop them).

That’s the real problem here: the creation of a world in which the only rational choice is modern liberal democracy, and all other choices are nonsensical.

Marvel is a great site at which to explore this, simply because there’s so much of it. (You could also easily look at Star Wars, as MacQuarrie does in that article— why does the First Order want power? New extended universe writers have fleshed this out more in their web of liminally canonical texts, but on screen the answer seems to be, in the words of the also-manifestly-guilty-of-this-and-guilty-in-other-ways Joss Whedon’s Dr. Horrible: “the world is a mess, and I just need to rule it.”)

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier is a wildly characteristic example of this. It has the thankless task of trying to engage with the effects of the canonically almost effect-free (cf Spider-man: Far From Home) blip, and pieces together a weirdly nonsensical storyline in which the blip enable border-free mass migration, which was revoked when the other half of the world’s population reappeared. The plot revolves around a group of super soldier refugees/displaced persons who want to stop borders from being reimposed on the world. Sam Wilson refers to the refugees as “people who have been welcomed into countries that previously kept them out with barb wire,” and indeed it's hard to imagine any version of this narrative in which the “migration” we’re talking about is the migration of Global South nationals to the Global North. There’s a really plausible specter here: the Global North does source its manual and domestic labor from the Global South while, whenever possible, keeping Global South nationals out with barbed wire. It does make sense that the Global North would import laborers and then attempt to deport them when their presence was no longer convenient. That is, in fact, literally what has happened/is happening in the UK to foreign healthcare workers during the pandemic.

However, as in Iron Man, Marvel wants to mobilize a specter while also evacuating it of all meaning. None of the displaced people we see in TFATWS bear any resemblance to real-world displaced persons. In spite of their United Colors of Benetton racial diversity, they display no marks of culture, religion, nationality, or indeed poverty. They even have British and American accents. They are completely neutral in every way.

This matters for several reasons. First of all, it allows the viewer to differentiate between the migrants on-screen— Western-looking, English-speaking, non-religious— with migrants off-screen: [perceived to be] too religious, non-English-speaking, culturally and racially “other.” Secondly (again as with Iron Man), it removes all context from the act of migration. Why did these people become migrants? Uh... because of the blip, I guess? Beyond some vague references to suffering, it’s never addressed. This allows the viewer to completely detach the question of migrants/displacement from any of its structural context. Why do people migrate in the real world? Because their countries have been completely devastated by warfare, often proxy warfare carried out by imperial states. Because climate change has completely devastated the regions where they live, with or without triggering devastating warfare. Because they belong to ethnic, political, and/or religious groups that are being systematically destroyed by state governments. Because colonialism and neoliberal capitalism have completely devastated the economies of the regions where they live. This is why the stakes of migration are high.

If, as the show suggests, people just migrate for various personal reasons that really aren’t that important, then the stakes are not high, and we don’t have to feel bad about the behavior of our governments. This is a huge problem at a time when Denmark is shipping Syrian asylum-seekers back to Syria because it’s apparently fine now, Joe Biden is failing to make good on campaign promises about increasing refugee quotas, the UK is housing asylum seekers in situations that violate human rights law, migrant drownings in the Mediterranean Sea have become a regular feature, and the United States has systematically resisted fulfilling its promises to Iraqis and Afghans who risked their lives working for US forces in exchange for visas.

But, like, above and beyond the specific political issue of migration: what is the Flag Smasher ideology? “One world, one people.” I accept that there might be some viewers (mostly those with no knowledge or experience of immigration) who oppose this on principle, but it seems pretty obviously... good. So the bad part is... that they’re fighting for it? (According to people in my notes, this is Bad.) It’s possible to read this as another example of what the MacQuarrie article discusses: personal violence good, ideological violence bad. However, once again we have an example of an ideology that is not ideological, an ideology that is a specter cleaned out of any possible substance. The nonsensical choice here (the one beside which modern liberal democratic norms are obvious) is the choice to commit violence when there is no urgency that justifies this— none of the urgency that, in fact, exists in the real world, and explains why people regularly sacrifice their lives in desperate attempts to escape their homes.

This is a really good example of how capitalism— a force with no real agency or subject, no evil committee planning its deeds— ends up enacting a project that systematically enforces its ideology. Attempts to render narratives apolitical are themselves profoundly political, even when justified in terms of appeal to the consumer. This is one of the most dangerous aspects of media, IMHO.

#just me sayin stuff honestly #tv: tfatws

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