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tubbytarchia · 3 months

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Traffic/Life series roster as dinosaurs

A lot of these don't make for very good hybrids unless you wanna get into freaky territory or full on centaur but... Hope it's a fun scroll nonetheless!

Grian - Novialoidea

A small birdie... The name also means "New wings" which I find fun. New lives and death games to be part of, new wings to accompany him... (Honorable mention to "Shuvuuia" the "desert bird" who unfortunately is not a pterosaur (doesn't fly)) (Yes we're including pterosaurs! Just using "dinosaur" as a conveient blanket term)

Tango - Aratasaurus / Pyroraptor

Fire raptor! Either works just fine and Tango as a skittery little raptor is perfect for a creature like him

Scar - Apatosaurus

"Deceptive Lizard" harkening back to Scar's scamming tendencies. Though I've always liked the idea of him being some larger gentler animal in any hybrid scenario and a long-neck fits the bill well. He can poke his nose into people's conversations easily to start marketing something useless to them and swishes his tail to ward off anyone who's about to stop him

Impulse - Nasutoceratops

Ren - Regaliceratops

Horns. COOL horns. I don't know what else you want from me ceratopses are just way too awesome. Nasutoceratops is a wicked cool dinosaur for having its horns point so forward much like a bull and I for one can jive with some Impulse bull symbolism. Bulls are often viewed as strong, sturdy and loyal, traits also assigned to Impulse a LOT of the time. But though he IS intensely loyal in many cases (+ Ceratopses are also known for how they defend their own!), and he's not very outward about the following traits, he can get quite petty and bitchy and hold grudges. Still, you don't think of that when you look at him and he seems to agree! Eg him feeling like he should be accepted into Cleo's alliance in 3rd life without actually proving himself when Cleo was rightfully hesitant, at which Impulse more or less rolled his eyes. And him proclaiming "betrayal!" when killed by Bdubs when their alliance was as firm as a rat's tail

(And I feel the need to point this out too just in case: "bulls are also known for their temper" yeah but they're not like that! Bulls like many animals become defensive when exposed to aggravating behavior or movement! Which you could work into Impulse's grudge holding and intense loyalty...? I don't know enough about him sorry but do with that what you will)

Regaliceratops! Regal!! Crown shaped frill!!! Need I say more?

Gem - Therizinosaurus

Theris are so bad bitch coated to me and I would love to have one as my wife I mean um I couldn't decide on a less generic specimen so Gem can just be a Theri! A herbivore - often associated with the belief that herbivores are gentle passive creatures, but far from it, especially with Gem! She bares her claws like it's no one's business

Martyn - Stygmoloch

A Pachy with a tough head and a tendency to bonk people - I think it fits Martyn's tendency to perpetuate drama haha. The Stygmoloch's name though more or less translates to "demon of the styx river", the river of the underworld representing loathing of death. To me this makes sense with all the watcher lore (that I have a hard time understanding but whatever!!) especially with how Martyn became in LL. The watchers themselves don't loathe death (??) of course. They're death games. But someone within the game trying to stay alive and win? Probably loathes the idea of themselves dying. I have no clue what Im saying

Pearl - Carnotaurus

Ok maybe a hot take not to make her into a pteradon or even a raptor with wing-like features but those just didn't fit that well in my opinion. Rather I wanted her to have some kind of horn motif in place of her wings as visual symbolism for her character. I'd like to imagine her having fine horns, to then have them damaged (one broken off) and simultaneously the other more grown out. Think of how domesticated goats for example have their horns trimmed. I think human hybrids with horns would do the same to keep them from becoming a bother but Pearl would neglect to after her heartbreak in DL. I was heavily considering the Diabloceratops for this, especially because of the name (Devil horned face - good ostracizing material) but Pearl strikes me a lot more as a carnivore and there are only two horned carnivores out there so... Carnotaurus it is haha. And even now I'm making her horns unrealistically big but.... We can suspend some belief

BigB - Oryctodromeus

"Digging Runner"! I've already talked plenty of why BigB is very rabbit behavior to me and my reasons for assigning this burrowing dinosaur to him are similar. Tldr he is fidgety and cautious yet clever and constantly buries himself underground

Lizzie - Anurognathidae

I don't even fucking know man it made me think of Lizzie and then I wasn't able to assign anything else to her. Lizzie often claims to be confused and if any dinosaur looks to be in a perpetual state of confusion then its this one. I know a lot of people like to portray Lizzie as a butterfly also so there you go, wings!!! And it's quite cat-like too for those who like to draw her as a cat

Mumbo - Leinkupal

I really struggled with Mumbo... So many different dinos fit him imo but I figured it should be at least something moderately large (so "Technosaurus" was out of the question lol). Then I rediscovered this dinosaur whose name translates to "vanishing family" and then I thought about LL and SL and how Mumbo went out quickly after the initial death/s and left a very felt absence in someone's alliance and then I became really emotional and forgot what I was doing

Joel - Nodocephalosaurus

Bdubs - Psittacosaurus

"Knob Headed Lizard"

Joel as an Ankylosaur has been stuck in my head from day one of assigning dinosaurs to the Lifers and I'm frustrated that I can't truly explain why. You'd view an Ankylosaur as a slow and docile creature, even compared to other herbivores, but...

1. Maybe not so much nowadays, I don't know what non-dino nerds think, but I feel like ankylosaurs were largely believed to be HUGE back in the day, much like velociraptors, when in reality they're not that big. The Nodocephalosaurus is especially small even among other ankylosaurs. But, well, we all know what Joel loves to say about himself

2. Joel is or likes to make himself look well in control, just as ankylosaurs have little to worry about as far as predators go. Especially in earlier series where he was content basing mostly by himself. It's always when things get dire and he enters his red life that he becomes very impulsive and erratic like an ankylosaur flipped on its back

3. I know there's a distinction between Traffic Joel and Empires Joel and whatever other Joel but... Even in death games his more charitable traits shine through here and there. He really becomes a dangerous rascal for a large majority of the time and he's very good at it, he's not putting on a mask or anything, but I like to remember that underneath that tough spiky armor is gentleness and caring. His care towards Lizzie and Pearl and Etho etc etc

4. The image of Joel as a hell of a spiky creature is just really fun to me. Yet heavy and blunt ones! And someone once proposed the idea of him having a club tail but having chiselled it to be sharp to mirror him being a menace. (Added benefit also that it's lighter that way haha) To me he's always been an obvious heavy hitter rather than stealthy or particularly creative etc. Him as a carnivore just doesn't work as well for me

The name bares no fitting meaning but when I look at Bdubs I think of Psittaco. All other species close to it in looks are already ceratopsians and we have like... 3 of those already lol. Im sorry Bdubs you look so stupid

Cleo - Lythronax

There's so few predators in this roster lol oops, but Cleo deserves to be an apex one! The name translates to "Gore King" because you know, zombies... and you know, Cleo is very king so true. If any of the Lifers should be able to boast rows of razor sharp teeth to gore others it should be ZombieCleo

Scott - Theiophytalia

I've been really struggling with Scott but how about the dinosaur whose name translates to "Belonging to the garden of Gods". There's only one known specimen of this species and it's an Iguanadon looking dinosaur which I think a lot of people would regard as the most basic, possibly boring type of dinosaur (if it weren't for the Allosaurus which already takes the title of "basic straight white guy") but that further fits Scott imo. It's always been a strong point of appeal to me how MUCH there is to his character that so often goes under the radar or unexplored, and how he's very often portrayed as just some handsome looking guy as opposed to a hybrid etc. He's not at all extravagant yet has mastered his craft of bending fate in his favor, he so often has things perfectly under his control just as he wants them, etc... reflective of the name "Theiophytalia" even if you wouldn't think such a dinosaur to sport one of the most prolific names a dinosaur can have. Also garden something something flower husbans. Basically whatever Bree's take on Scott is lol. I don't wanna blab for 5 paragraphs about that blue mf here but. I hope this makes sense

Jimmy - Yinlong

I struggled with this mf the most because he's another very hashtag deep character. I felt really bad to remove his bird motifs completely because the canary is so essential to him, but a raptor nor a pteradon fit my image of him at all. I spent so much time looking into various species but it just aint it, but Yinlong was possibly quilled and we can still cover him in feathers, even if he has nothing close to wings haha... BUT ANYWAY. Yinlong is a small kind of pathetic looking dinosaur, and Jimmy definitely isn't small but he'd sure be made to feel that way. Yinlong translates to "Hidden Dragon" however, a rather thought-provoking name for such a dinosaur. Given his character, it sure does feel like there's a soul of a dragon laying dormant somewhere in him, buried by all the self deprecation and curse labels. Honorable mention to Tianyulong, a very similar dinosaur who was named after a museum, but "Tianyu" also translates to peace and content. Something that Jimmy can't yet but deserves to be

Etho - undefined raptor

Already made a loong post about raptor Etho haha which I assume yall have seen since the support towards that post is the only reason I'm even making this post

Skizz - Olorotitan

"Titanic Swan" close enough to an angel right. I feel the whole angel thing is a bit overdone when Skizz can become a malicious little creature every now and then, but swans much like angels do get viewed as beautiful and taken as symbolism of love. Much like Skizz is largely viewed as an angel and often as someone who can do no wrong. But mostly I wanted Skizz to be a hadrosaur/duck-billed dinosaur, because those are dinosaurs known for their speculated vocalizations. And what is Skizz good at? Talking and voicing his love and appreciation? Yeah? Yeah... I'm so sorry Skizz btw this hybrid idea does not work out

Again, a lot of these don't work so well as hybrids... Some like the long-neck ones I cant imagine to have more than a spiky spine back and a tail, but! These picks aren't based on hybrid potential but rather what I think genuinely fits. I did really work on this all day looking through a bunch of dinosaurs and research haha, but I do love dinosaurs a lot... If you disagree with any hey thats cool! Feel free to give me your opinions if you've any and I hope this was fun to scroll through regardless

#oh boy here we go with the tags #grian #tangotek #impulsesv #rendog #I feel bad tagging these Im not gonna tag them all alright forgive me #zombiecleo #joel smallishbeans #geminitay #ldshadowlady #ok thats more than enough forgive me traffic gods #trafficblr #but also blabber?#rendog is my fave... and Joel but I have ankylosaur bias #ankylosaurus best animal sorry to every other animal #oh and Gem of course haha....... Theris are so cool man #second best animal #tubby art

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whitecreekvalley-if · 6 months

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[ Demo TBA ] • Character descriptions • Pinterest •

Genres: Slice of life, drama, mystery, romance

WCV is rated 18+ for explicit language, violence, alcohol and drug use, and explicit sexual content.

Life's taken a nosedive—no apartment, no job, no friends. Desperation pushes you to cling to a chance from a kindly stranger offering a ticket to a town hidden beyond mountains and plains, a place people don't seek but always seem to need.

Welcome to Whitecreek Valley, where the Brass Pine Ranch needs your unique skills to mend a crumbling homestead, and a crumbling family. As you tackle the decay of the ranch and the town alongside the rancher's son, deeper troubles emerge—livestock falling ill sparks fears of a town on the brink of extinction. Can you navigate this community, help them rejuvenate, or will it become another link in the list of ghost towns of America's Wikipedia page?

FEATURES

Customization: Appearance, personality, gender & sexuality, what job they had before, their hobbies, etc. Choose how they feel about being a farmhand, how they're adjusting to the rural life, and - with your choices - how the town as a whole sees them. Are they part of the community or an perpetual outsider?

Skills: Depending on your previous job, you'll have a unique set of skills to help the community. Choose to learn new skills, like woodworking, bronc riding, or sheep shearing, to mention a few.

Animal husbandry: The distances around Whitecreek Valley are hefty, so it's necessary to have at least a horse to get around. Choose your favorite out of a cast of individual equines, each with their own personalities. Also, help a calf into this world and realize how fun it is to raise a baby cow! As long as you're in good standing with the rest of the herd, of course.

Rebuilding: Try your best to rebuild the Brass Pine ranch, and the town adjacent. The better job you manage, the more opportunities (and challenges) come your way.

Community outreach: A dying town is still home, and there are stories to be heard, problems to solve. Lend a helping hand to your new community and see how one kindness can pay itself back.

Romance: Not everyone in town is adverse to strangers, and if your heart yearns romance, there is a chance for a spark along the way. Just be careful as to who you're trying to woo in front of whom. Small town gossips, we've all seen it.

Mystery: There's something hanging over the valley, like a rot in the air. Why are people moving out? Why are exports not moving out? And who's behind the animals getting sick? Don you detective hat and lend a hand to the entire four local police officers working the bizarre case.

THE LOCALS (RO'S)

THE RANCHER'S SON

Mason "Mace" Gannon - 27 - he/him

He used to be so much fun. I miss hanging out with him, out by the bonfires. He'd always make everyone feel so included and happy, and oh, that homemade cider he'd bring? Warmed us up on those chilly late fall nights, when we had nothing else to do. Did I tell you about the time he got us all to go skinny dipping? He was such a charmer, I wonder --

Imagine Mace as your human golden retriever – the guy who's a blast to be around, a bit mischievous, and the first to rush to your aid whenever you need it. After being gone for five years to live his rodeo dreams, he's back, now the sole caretaker of the family ranch in his hometown. He goes to great lengths to keep his personal issues personal, and it's the butt of many jokes how he's always there to help others but has the worst time asking for help himself.

He's you boss, and probably one of the best you'll ever get. Just don't pay mind to the spats between him and his dad.

THE BARTENDER

Alice Marks - 25 - she/her

Alice, she's a feisty one! Like her poppa, rest his soul. How I love the drinks she comes up with at the bar, and that horse of hers! She could go into rodeo, but I don't think after what happened with her pa... Oh, but she's a wonder! Always there with a quip, how they drive her suitors mad. Good thing she stopped with the talk about moving away, the town would be so dull without her!

Alice is the town's most known inhabitant, running the show from the only bar in town, which she just happens to own. Her mind is like a machine for fun, and she's the brain behind all the pop-up events and happenings around town. Sure, she can be a bit like a hurricane of enthusiasm, but hey, that's Alice for you. If the town had a social heartbeat, it'd be Alice – the vibrant, smartass soul making everyday life feel like a blessing.

THE DEPUTY

Word of the wise: Never challenge Alice to a drinking game. You will lose, spectacularly, and it'll all be on film.

Judge Gannon - 34 - he/him

Judge is a bit strange, don't you think? He just vanished as soon as he turned eighteen and popped back out of nowhere! That must've been, let's see... Five years ago? He doesn't spend much time with us commoners though, but I think I've seen him at the bar once or twice. I don't actually think he knows how to make nice with people, he always has that glower on. Gets it from his dad, let me tell you --

Bold and straight to the point, Judge isn't out here trying to be intimidating – it just kinda happens. If his brother is a golden retriever, he's definitely the doberman of the family. He's got this brash, no-nonsense vibe that some folks mistake for arrogance, especially when they try laying on the charm and he's not having it. He steers clear of small talk unless it involves his job, and when duty calls, he's more than ready to throw down to protect his town and county.

There's this local urban legend that he cracked a smile once, but it's like spotting a unicorn – not everyone's buying it.

THE LAWYER

Mercedes "Sadie" Diáz - 32 - she/her

The new girl, yes! Oh, a beauty! And so curious. I do love sitting down with her though, oh the stories she brings from the big city, so intriguing! I hear she finds our town intriguing too, the mayor once - don't tell anyone I told you this - the mayor once said he caught her breaking into the city hall archives! I know, scandalous, but good on her, maybe now someone will argue that my neighbors fence post --

Sadie, the big-shot lawyer from the city, doing her solo act in town. When she's not in court, folks are lining up just to get a piece of the urban tales she's got. A trailblazer and truth-seeker, she's got this knack for poking her nose where it probably shouldn't be, and surprise, she knows more local secrets than the town gossip. Sure, she's all passionate and calculated, a bit out of sync with the town's warmth, but hey, that logical mind of hers might just shake things up and get the town back on track.

It's a well known fact that she could get access to places with the right documents, but she herself has said it's more fun to pick locks. Go figure.

LIST OF MAJOR NPCs

LIST OF MINOR NPCs

#interactive fiction #wip #if wip #if: intro #cog #choice of games #interactive novel #choice script #or is it #choicescript #idk idk

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diejager · 6 months

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How would each of the monster 141 react if hunter were like- straight up killed in front of them. Like no wiggle room “oh they might be alive and just unconscious” but just straight up dead. Sorry I am a sucker for angst and I feel like this would be a fantastic read considering how bonded and feral they all are to protect hunter. Thanks in advance! Love the blog! Keep it up 👍

Are you trying to get me killed? Do you want me to have a heartattack?

End of the line Cw: death, suicidal thoughts, angst, mention of suicide, blood, injury, tell me if I missed any.

It had been a mistake, a costly one, but still a mistake. In that moment, everything had lost its point, the mission, the goal, the enemy and the celebration were pointless, forgettable. Time slowed, lagging behind in minutes when the shot rang out, booming in your restless minds until all they could hear was a loud thump, a body slumping down.

It was a rookie mistake made by their eagerness to return home, bodies bruised from the last deployment and still sore, skin painted in black and purple, but you pushed on, being sent from one end of the planet to the other. They were hanging on a thin thread of perseverance and training, practiced to live on perpetual soreness and exhaustion.

But that didn’t ease the pain, the open wound in their hearts. They watched you slump over, blood pooling from the wound in your chest —shot center mass. They dropped everything, Rudy rushing to turn you over, hands shaky and eyes blurry, he choked down a sob and a tear slid down his cheek. You were unresponsive, eyes glazed and dull, the light that they all loved gone in a breath. You upper torso bled, a bullet pierced through your kevlar vest, the bullet’s calibre higher than anything they expected.

Ghost joined Rudy, desperate to see if there were a chance to resuscitate you, to bring you back to them. His hands were frantic, tremors wracking his whole body as he loomed forward, trying to find a pulse, hand pressing against your still warm throat. He felt his fears surging forward, the dark voice at the back of his mind grinding out words, terrors that followed him at every step. It was like the last Christmas, when Tommy and Beth died, when Joseph and his mom were shot, when the people he cared for were killed.

Ghost felt his voice leave him, croaky and dying, it made him unable to utter a single word, and so was Rudy, mind blank. So Alejandro was the one to tell the verdict, but they hadn’t needed him to tell them to know. Soap, König and Horangi heard your heart stop, the powerful muscle in your chest explode from the bullet and grow silent. The pain clawed at their hearts, the overbearing weight on their chest made their retreat harder.

However much Price wanted to cry, to fall to his knees as cradle your body against his chest, he was the TF’s leader, he had to bring the rest of them back home. He ordered Gaz back from his perch for the sniper after he dealt with it, Gaz’s advanced sight catching the glint of the scope. Holding the title of a Task Force’s captain meant a lot, it placed a certain amount of responsibility on his shoulder and he couldn’t let his men down. Price could let a few tears slip, but he had to hold it in until he had a moment to himself in the silence of his office.

Gaz was silent during and afterwards, watching your limp body being carried in König’s arms until you reached the aircraft piloted by Nikolai who shared an equally heartbroken and saddened expression as them. His voice died with you, unable to voice his mind or his sorrows, confining himself to his room in silence. Although he lost himself, he had the others to bring him back like you did when Ghost wandered too deeply into his mind, bringing back up memories.

Soap did what he knew best, throwing himself into the fray, overworking himself with solo mission and spearheading other joint work. He almost worked himself to the bone until Horangi pulled him back, scuffing him and beating your wishes into his mind, telling him that you wouldn’t want them to break away like this, to wither away as if they were never here.

Despite helping Soap, Horangi suffered the same as the werewolf did, silently crying himself to sleep, fingers clawing at his head in desperation to quiet down the loud screeches in his mind, degrading words thrown at himself for failing you. He knew you didn’t want him to hate himself, but how could he quell the bleeding wound in his heart when you weren’t here to ease the pain away? The memory of you did.

Alejandro tried his best, acting and trying to feel better until it ultimately failed, he wasn’t in the right place to see you nor talk about you to others, murmuring your name when he slept and woke up with a start. He wasn’t as lost as Ghost was, didn’t shut the world around him down and closed in on himself, but he was following closely behind if he didn’t have the Task Force.

Rudy was the most human out of them, he felt more strongly but couldn’t cry. His mind was blank, the beat in his chest loud and erratic, yet his mind was silent, a ground of deathly quiet. He couldn’t do anything, work became hard, waking up exhausting, and taking care of himself harrowingly difficult. You’d scold him if you saw how he was behaving, how little care he had for himself —to near hunger and insanity. He hung onto your words, your confession, the three words you gave them as a parting gift, that’s what forced him out of his shell.

While the rest worked through their pain, to reach a stalemate together, none fell as hard as Ghost and König, both having a difficult childhood and a harder time following their enlistment. The lost themselves easily, becoming much more violent and deranged in their kills, ripping men in half and swallowing them whole, leaving all but a puddle of blood behind. The only thing that stopped them from ending their pain, to reaching out towards the knife that hung on the side of their thighs were your words, the handwritten words on your will and a message for everyone.

You wanted them to live, to be happy without you being there and that you’d be waiting for them on the other side until eternity. You were patient after all. At least a part of you hung from their necks, your ashes shared between the eight men and your items spread equally.

“I love you.”

Tag list: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel

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ambling-rambling · 2 years

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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

C/W: honestly not much. Angst. Drunk reader. Softest of fluff

I started out intending to write drunk sex but ya sad bish needed something soft instead so have the first time Bucky Barnes hears I love you and the way it wrecks him.

Don't Leave Me

The two of you didn't actually fight that often, surprising as that was to some people. You supposed you couldn't blame them, what with the ex-Winter Soldier's perpetual frown and surly demeanor.

You knew better, though. He held people at arms length for a million different reasons, each as valid as the next, but the truth was, his core was all marshmallow fluff, soft and squishy.

In the six months that you'd been an official couple, you could count on one hand the number of times you'd so much as bickered. But this? This was different. A genuine fight, where you couldn't agree and neither was willing to compromise.

It was bad enough, his being gone on missions all the time, worrying about whether he'd come home at all, and what state he'd be in when he did. And now he was talking about some sabbatical back to Europe, trying to chase down memories and make some amends clear on the other side of the planet, indefinitely.

And it sure sounded like he didn't want you to come. Sure, his excuse had been that he didn't want to drag you away from your life, make you uproot everything. Part of you knew he didn't feel worthy of that kind of devotion, that he couldn't truly comprehend that he was your everything now.

But if still felt an awful lot like a rejection, and that stung.

Maybe that was why you'd gotten so drunk, just trying to ease the tightness in your chest, drown the ache in your soul with the burn of alcohol. It would have been bad enough on its own, but the fact that it was your first legitimate fight just made it that much worse.

So you'd gotten a little carried away, and Jaeger sure as shit did have a way of creeping up on you. You'd stumbled your way into the ladies' where you now sagged against a sink, though you'd forgotten to turn the water on.

"Honey, are you alright?" a voice startled you, and you spun, or tried to. You barely managed to keep yourself upright by clinging to the edge of the sink.

"Uhhhh..." Were you? Alright? What did that even mean? You weren't dying, but you felt like you were shattering into a million pieces. Surely that was just the alcohol talking, making everything extra dramatic. "No? " It came out a question, and the woman tutted softly. She was probably a little older than you, beautiful, and you found yourself half lost in the liquid brown of her eyes, hooded in deep gold eyeshadow, and the dreadlocks that framed her face.

"Can I call someone for you, honey?" she asked.

Call someone? Shit what a great idea! "Uhhh, my boyfriend," you said with a nod. "Er, well," you hedged, as the memories came flooding back in. "I think. We hadda fight." The words were slurred, and your new friend's eyes were sympathetic.

"Are you safe with him?"

Even drunk, you immediately understood the implications of what she was asking. "YES." Your response was so emphatic that she laughed a little. "We never fight like this," you said, pouting now, staring down at the toe of your tennis shoe. "Ever," you added, uncertain why you felt the need to add so much emphasis.

"Well, honey, why don't I call him for you? If he's got any brains in his head, he's probably missin' you just as much as you're missin' him."

You nodded, because Bucky definitely had brains, he was so smart, and beautiful and you just wanted to be with him always. Why did he have to make everything so fucking difficult?

Without really making a conscious decision, you unlocked your phone, open to your text conversation with Bucky. You hadn't even realized you had a slew of texts from him. It ran a course from appeasing,

I'm sorry, I just don't know what to tell you...

to irritated ,

Really? You're blowing me off?

to worried,

Okay well I deserve it. We don't have to talk but can you just answer so I know you're okay?

Y/n. Please. I'm really getting worried. I just wanna know you're alright.

You felt a little bad. You hadn't been blowing him off intentionally, you just hadn't been paying attention to your phone.

Your friend, god you really needed to ask her name, hit the dial button. Muffled through the speaker, you could nonetheless hear Bucky answer before the second ring, practically shouting your name.

"Sorry, my name's Meredith, but I've got y/n right here. She's fine, just pretty drunk. You should probably come pick her up."

There wasn't any hesitation in his promise to be there in a few minutes.

Meredith handed your phone back to you, and you tucked it away in your pocket, feeling a little guilty. You tried to stand up straight, annoyed with the way the world tilted and swayed under your feet.

"Easy there, honey. Let's go get you some water before your fella gets here."

You nod, because that seemed like a good idea. You clung to Meredith's arm as the two of you wound through the bar and the bartender handed you a glass of water. You sipped it carefully, uncertain if even that would settle. You had definitely never been this drunk before, and now that it was setting in you felt a little childish and stupid.

You heard your name and half turned. The sight of Bucky there, beautiful as ever in that leather jacket and his gloves, made you want to weep, and you sniffled.

"I was worried about you, doll," Bucky said gently, brushing one leather-clad thumb along your cheek bone.

You wanted to be mad at him, but the genuine concern in those blue eyes and the way he was hanging back, not pushing you, just made you want to fall into him.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, not looking at him. "I wasn't tryna make y'worry." The words came out slurred and you felt petulant and nauseous and why was everything such a mess?

"You good now?" Meredith asked, drawing your gaze. You nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay," you said.

"Thank you," Bucky said softly, extending a hand to Meredith. "Genuinely. I'm glad she found you and not..." he trailed off with a helpless shrug, and it wasn't a leap to know he'd been thinking about all the creeps out there who'd love to take advantage of a drunk and vulnerable woman.

"Nothin' to thank me for. Us girls gotta stick together," Meredith said with a grin. She gave your hand a little squeeze, and then disappeared into the crowd.

Bucky sighed, turning to look at you again, ducking his head to try and catch your eye. "C'mon doll, you still so mad you can't even look at me?" he asked, with a little note of frustration creeping into his tone.

You shook your head. "Not that. I just feel...Dumb." Suddenly you were crying and you couldn't even really articulate why. Bucky looked panicked, jerking the glove off his right hand to cradle your face, applying pressure to encourage you to look up without forcing you.

"What? Why? You're not dumb, y/n..." Bucky looked perplexed, worried still as you sniffled again, scrubbing at your leaking eyes.

"You still w-want me right?" The words came out slurred and choked, and you were suddenly clinging to him, clutching at his biceps. The world was unsteady under you and you just wanted to be in bed, wrapped up with him, safe and wanted.

Bucky looked genuinely shocked. "What...y/n, of course I do. You're all I want. Why would you think otherwise?"

He was so confused you almost laughed. It was so obvious to you.

"But you d-don't want me to come to Europe with you," you pointed out, your voice a drunken whine.

"I don't...y/n, I don't want to go without you," you could see he was struggling to articulate himself, the way words so often came as a fight, caught up in his head. "I just don't feel like I can ask you to walk away from your life..."

"You're not asking! I'm offering!" you interrupted, your voice a little too high, a little too loud, even to your own ears.

Bucky looked... Inexplicably sad. He stepped a little closer, so his body was pressed to yours, bare hand cradling your cheek. "I ain't worth it, doll. And I don't want you to be an ocean away from home and not another friend in sight when you figure that out." .

You felt like you were choking. Oh, or maybe that was just the alcohol in your stomach revolting. Bucky must have read the expression on your face, because he wrapped an arm around your waist, mostly carrying you toward the door. "C'mon, let's get outside," he said.

The cold air hit you like an Arctic front, had goosebumps prickling all over your skin and a shiver running up your spine. But it served to still the boiling mess in your stomach. You knew you were drunk, that he'd probably convince himself it was just the alcohol, but you had to try.

"Please baby," you whined, clutching at him. "I don't wanna be here without you. I just wanna be with you , always. You are worth it to me." Your voice cracked when you begged "don't leave me here."

"I'm not leaving you anywhere, doll. Let's go home," he murmured. You nodded, slumping into Bucky's arms, content to let him carry you to the car.

You didn't even remember getting home, just waking up in bed, a little panicked, launching yourself toward the bathroom, your stomach revolting against the ill treatment of the night before. Bucky was there within moments, sweeping your hair back out of your face, palm smoothing down your back.

You slumped to the floor when your stomach finally settled, cool tile heavenly against your heated skin. "I'm sorry," you mumbled.

"For what?" Bucky asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Getting so trashed that you had to come get me. Being so extra and now...this," your lip curled in distaste as you waved a hand at the porcelain throne.

Bucky 's lips quirked in that ghost of a smile that was his most common expression of pleasure or amusement. "That's nothin' to apologize for, doll," he said dismissively.

"Shower with me?" you asked, and Bucky nodded, starting the water before helping you to your feet. You shucked out of your clothes and ducked into the shower with a low groan of relief, only too eager to wash the night off your skin. Bucky followed you in, and his hands skimmed tenderly across your body, helping you rinse off, his nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

You lingered like that, for too long, really. It would have been easy, so easy, to just stay like that, pretend nothing had happened, but you couldn't.

"Bucky?" you whispered, voice rough and more than a little hesitant.

"Yeah, doll?" he asked, without lifting his head, voice muffled against your skin.

"I...I meant what I said last night. I know I was drunk, but it was still the truth. I don't... I don't wanna be here without you. I don't care where you're going, if it's anywhere even sort of long term, I wanna go. I'll go anywhere Buck, just .. please don't leave me here. Don't go without me."

He drew back, cradling your face, his expression a study in internal wars, looking both miserable and infatuated. "I just don't want you bored over there, by yourself..."

"I wouldn't be by myself," you interrupted. "I'd be with you and that's all I want."

You could practically see that self deprecating smile even before it painted his lips. "That's not all you want, doll," Bucky argued, and you felt yourself huff out an irritated breath. "You have a job that you really love and friends you love going out with, not to mention the cat..."

You sighed. "All those things will be here whenever you've done what you need to. Or I'll meet new people and make new friends. People do it all the time, Buck. Mallory would take Alpine for a while if I asked her."

Whatever argument he was about to pop off with now, you silenced it, pressing a finger to his lips. "Stop telling me what I want or don't want, Buck. I just want you. I love you."

You watched the emotions play across his face like he was a projection onto a movie screen. Incomprehension, and then disbelief, giving way to awe, and then something so, so soft it had his eyes welling up with tears.

He was searching your face, as if trying to sniff out a lie, and then abruptly, his gaze jerked down, swallowing hard. You'd been together a while, slept together, built routines that were comfortable, that he adored, but neither of you had ever broached the "l" word and he hadn't let himself believe you were building something like a life together, something lasting and permanent.

"Really?" he asked weakly.

His surprise broke you. All this time, it had been clear to you, that this was something permanent, that you were building patterns you wanted to live the rest of your life in, a comfortable place to rest and be at home. Meanwhile, he'd been holding himself apart, waiting for his fantasy to end.

"Oh, Bucky," you whispered, felt yourself choking up against your will. "Yeah, I love you , so much, baby. I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner, that I ever made you wonder. I love you, Bucky Barnes, completely and irrevocably."

The arms he wrapped around you were all encompassing, squeezing you tight, with a hint of trembling. "I love you too, doll. So much." His voice was rough with emotion as he clung to you, and you clung right back, arms wrapped tight around his waist, lost in the touch so long that the water started to run cold. You whined as you hurried to wash your hair before it turned to ice and then crawled out.

Wrapped in a towel, you pressed yourself in against Bucky's side. "Does this mean you'll take me to Europe?"

Bucky almost snorted as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. "Let's be real, I wouldn't have lasted a week without you anyways."

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier #winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction

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gyuswhore · 5 months

Text

Remembrance of Ice

"Fear does anything but land with precision."

PAIRING: ice king!xu minghao x fem spy!reader

SYNOPSIS: Xu Minghao rules over a land where the sun never rises and crops never grow, shunned by the world for their nature so ruthless it has them caged within their borders.

That is, until you land straight into the dragon's den to find the story untold.

CONTAINS: angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, kinda lore heavy, reader and minghao are in a perpetual spat, talks of military and political power, manipulation (not by minghao), ft. chan

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

masterlist

[AN]: MIKA DAY MIKA DAY MIKA DAY except im a day late bc I don't know how to time manage ANYWAY mika my love I hope you enjoy this you mentioned villain hao that one time and I stuck to it praying this is good ksjgnvrkjgn @toruro

id love to turn this into a longer, more detailed fic in the future, I really like this concept and theres loads more I could do with it. lmk if you'd like to see it hehe

edit: had to repost a couple times cuz it wasn't showing in the tags. it still isn't but idc anymore if this only reaches mika then so be it sgnkrtjg

The cold was the worst.

Your iced pride had been swallowed down to accept the flimsy cloth the guards that pushed you into this stone dungeon had given you. Not that it was doing much to help you, the thin fabric acting as more of a permeable layer than your gear.

Huddling into yourself, you breathe out warm exhales in the hopes that it’d do something about the face you couldn’t feel anymore. With the sight of your discolouring fingernails, you hope the people in this wretched place would decide what they wanted to do with you before you succumbed to the cold. There’s a bad taste in your mouth at the thought of dying a death like this – that the cold would become your ultimate demise.

The croning of the metal doors of your prison wrench open in what feels like a deafening sound, the screech having you throw the flimsy blanket off your body in haste. You would not be seen taking advantage of their supposed kindness.

The two guards that trudge in are quick to tell you to stand. You nearly laugh at the prospect of doing anything they ask.

“What do you want?” your voice has eroded to a brassy sound.

“Stand up,” the guard repeats, his face covered in the black balaclava that wraps around everything but spares his eyes. Cold, dark, soulless.

Your pride screamed to refute. But you were at a dead end, and perhaps it was time to accept it. Eyeing the weapons strapped to both their waists, moreso the lack thereof of your own, you make the first attempt to pull yourself up. It’s difficult, you find, needing a moment to regain your senses before pushing up completely. You tried not to show it, not wanting to look weak in front of the very people you need to show strength.

“Hands,” the other guard gruffs out.

You hesitate before bringing your shivering wrists forward, cursing yourself for not being able to control your own body. The cuffs they bind to your wrists are somehow even colder, and you have to consciously bite back a cursed wince.

Your resolve begins to truly thin when you struggle to simply take a few steps forward, the muscles in your legs frozen like everything else in the room. You manage to not fall. A commendable feat when your goals went from overtaking a couple of (very armed) guards to simply not falling over like a newborn fawn.

You feel them lightly shove you out the gates, something you should not have struggled to recover from from, but alas, you can only grit your already ground teeth as you try to not tip over entirely. The halls of the dungeons are made of the same gray concrete as your cell, the tight corridor leading you out into an only slightly larger hall with a single door at the seemingly dead end.

The large brass handle with the distinct reptile circling its expanse stares at you. You are forced to consider the idea that these may be your final breaths.

One of the guards squeezes out into the hall and approaches the door, three sharp knocks to the wood before you hear a muffled “come in.”

Your feet remain planted to the floor as you feel another push of the guard that remains behind you, urging you forward as the other one stands at the door, expecting you to walk inside. Perhaps some would classify this as a moment of weakness, especially when all you’ve been taught is to face death with anything but fear. But it seeps into your bones regardless.

You wonder if all those stories you were told of fearless soldiers and sheilds of humans were as lionhearted in their final moments as the storytellers claimed, as brave as the legends that followed.

You considered yourself one of the best in your field, most of your peers agreed. And yet, that moment of hesitancy in the face of potential death caged you in an unimaginable retaliance. What on Earth was wrong with you?

And so you moved forward, one foot in front of the other with resilience fueled by pure outrage at your own feeble mind. You would do as you were taught, you would march into the mouth of the dragon because you were not allowed to fear death. You refused to meet your end as a coward.

The cuffs that encase your wrists burn at the skin as you walk into the room. It’s small, small enough to force you and the two guards to shift closer to keep from the man that stands across the room.

You almost don’t notice him, which alarms you immensely. Regardless of the stark black attire that matches the dark, gloomy atmosphere of the tiny room, the man seems to blend into the shadows, becoming part of the walls. His back faces you as he looks out the window, like he’s invigorated with the snow that drifts to the earth.

It’s nighttime. It’s always night time here.

“The prisoner, sire,” the one in your left gruffs out.

The man at the window turns to face you, the sight of his face causing you to bite back a gasp.

His skin is the same colour as the snowflakes that fall behind him, near glistening white. It seems to make every other feature of his face stand out in earnest; the black of his eyes, the crimson of his lips, the dark of his hair.

He’s gorgeous, you decide, but you also decide that you may be about to die at his hands.

There’s also the matter of how he was addressed by the goons that flank you. Unless sire means something else in this godforsaken land, you should have realized who this is by now.

Xu Minghao’s expression remains unchanged, the mild disinterest evident as he barely glances at you before taking a seat at the makeshift office area in the middle of the room. He leans back against the plush, finally regarding the other people in the room with words.

“You can leave.”

You hear the guards begin to file out the room.

“Ah—take off the restraints before you go. And shut the door.”

You want to describe what his voice sounds like, and while indifferent to another, it’s like a million icicles plunging into your eardrums. It isn’t until the guard blocks your view to unlock you that you realize how strained your eyes were, like it was draining to simply look at him.

When both guards have left the vicinity, doors closed with a deep thud, you set yourself in steel. Just because he was about to kill you didn't mean you were about to make it easy for him.

You wonder why a king was meddling to discard a mere enemy officer, but if you knew anything of their bloodthirst, this was a form of amusement.

“Well?” you say, your voice still bare-there.

“Take a seat.” He means the lone chair that stands on your side of the table.

“No,”

His eyebrows shoot up, “No?”

You stare at him, and it's the first time he’s looked at you for more than three seconds.

“No,” you reiterate. “If you’d like to eliminate me, I’d suggest we cut to the chase. I don’t want your bleak hospitality.”

“Are you offering your head?”

“I’m asking you to quit the niceties. We know what you are.”

He studies you for a moment before continuing quietly, “Who is we?”

Your jaw is set as you calm yourself down, “The people who keep coming into your barren lands, only to never return. My people.”

“Your people that keep invading this barren land, only to find out that actions have consequences?”

“The mere thought of us is a consequence for you vermin,” you spit.

“Your people, you had said?” There’s a strange hint of jest in his voice, and it only infuriates you even more.

“Yes,” you breathe out.

“Your people who have not once attempted to negotiate your release from us vermin, I thought your people were known for your camaraderie. Especially for such an important soldier, do they truly consider you that disposable? ”

The low fester of embers had now ignited into a full flame, the rage becoming near indescribable. Aside from how heinous, you had underestimated how infuriating his kind could be.

“You know nothing of me!” your voice is loud, your own shade of venom that laces your tongue.

And then he says your name.

You falter.

He shouldn’t know that. You don’t have a nametag, nothing to identify you on any record, anywhere. And yet, you know what you’ve heard is your name that fell from his lips, undeniably so.

He continues with the faintest sneer, “Captain of the SUN team, first in line from your peers for a promotion, and of course, right hand of your idiotic General of the Army.”

You can't be sure if you’re shivering from the cold or the rage that courses through every vein in your body. Perhaps it was the latter as you feel your mind shortcircuit at the sight of his smug face.

And, of course, with the way you lunge.

It takes barely a second for your numb fingers to reach his pristine throat, curling with the need to rupture his airways beyond measure. It also takes him barely a second to step out of the way, causing you to thud into the table, fingers faltering as they grasp onto nothing.

The air is knocked out of your chest, and you don’t realize what’s happened. He’s quick, and you’re out of shape. He’s on the other side of the table, hands in his pockets as he stares at your weak attempts at regaining your bearings.

“This is the problem with your people. Why must your first response to any confrontation be to fight to the death?”

Leaping over the table, you attempt to corner him against the wall, only to find him leap over to the other side of the table when you advance, switching your initial spots. It might have even been laughable if you weren’t so heated, like children running around in circles in a lethal game of tag.

He takes advantage of yet another moment of weakness you’ve shown, pushing the separating table directly into you, forcing you back as you stumble to hit the window. The opening is just enough to fit your waist, with no room for your legs to leap back over, locked in at the sides of the table that effectively cages your body between wood and glass.

Your first instinct is to push the wretched thing back, but you realize very quickly that you can’t. It shouldn’t explain how he was able to cage you in a place like this, especially with his scrawny build. Unless he’s locked it in place somehow, you wouldn’t put it past him.

“What the fuck?” you gasp out to mostly yourself.

“You’ve weakened, little soldier. I heard you were better than this.”

“Let me go so I can prove it to you then,” you spit, still fruitlessly struggling against your prison.

“Had your chance,” he states, hands in his pockets, an eyebrow cocked. “Of course, fear does anything but land with precision. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“What makes you think I’m scared of you?”

“Oh, you are such a simpleton,” he narrows his eyes.

“You haven’t been talking about anything of substance for someone who doesn’t claim to be scared. What’s holding you?” you gruff.

He stares for a moment like he’s studying you. For some reason, your struggling falters, his piercing gaze leaving you wondering what he had up his sleeve.

“You know you are weak. Your strength isn’t nearly where it had been when you arrived. I’ve also been told you’ve been starving yourself.”

“I said I don’t want your hospitality!”

“You were supposedly indifferent to everyone in the room, including the guards, but you kept your eyes on me like a hawk. The first mention out your mouth was of death.”

“Was I supposed to expect compassion?” you mock, but the desperation lingers in your voice.

“Can’t be helping knowing nobody is looking for you,” he finishes.

“Because you would’ve sent me on my way home if they were? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Quite right, yes.”

“Like you did with the other soldiers that seemingly disappear in your lands?”

“Nobody asked, so we did not deliver.”

“Lies!” It comes out as a near scream.

You think of all the stretched months that turned into inevitable years trying to retrieve your lost manpower. Of course, your higher-ups asked for hostage negotiations, did everything in their power to bring them home.

Fitting for the man in front of you to deny it, but infuriating nonetheless.

“And you’re wildly defensive,” he sighs. “You’re scared. Of being in enemy territory, of dying, of being alone. One or the other, that’s for you to decide.”

You want to scream again.

“They lied to you, soldier. And I may be a villain in your self-written history books, but you will come to know of the harsh truth, from me or anybody else. You should know what exactly it is that you’re fighting for.”

“What are you yapping about?”

He turns back around, moving to the door before rapping a knock. The guards re-enter the room.

“Take her to base.”

“Chan?”

He stands at the entrance of the tent, speaking to somebody in armor with a solemn expression. He turns around at the sound of his name, catching sight of you walking up.

He breaks out into a smile at the sight of you, eyes going wide as he excuses himself to sprint over. You’re not quite sure if the fatigue is causing you to hallucinate, but with the way his face becomes clearer with every step he takes, you have to convince yourself that you’re not.

As appropriate as it is to slam into him in a hug, considering you thought he was dead mere seconds ago, you can’t see yourself caring.

“They told me it was you that arrived,” he says.

“Oh my god, I thought you were dead. Everybody thought you were dead. How are you here?” you breathe into his ear.

He pulls away slowly, and you note how he doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Chan?”

“There’s a lot to unpack here. Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

A lot to unpack there was, you realize, as the guards leave you with Chan when said to. The questions doubled when you entered the significantly warmer tent to find it swarming with familiar faces, busy working on tables littered with charts and papers, military symbols drifting overhead.

Chan is quick to let you know that none of the ‘fallen’ soldiers were missing at all. In fact, were stationed here at this military base.

Your gaping mouth renders no response as he fishes you both through the hustle and bustle of the industrial canopies, destination unknown. As much as you’d kick yourself for your lack of vigilance, you find yourself trusting him to take you wherever, your mind preoccupied with trying to absorb every detail of your environment.

If this was what sensory overload was, you’re not sure you like it blocking your thinking capabilities this much.

He lets you into another tent, littered with trunks and equipment, lit with a couple hardworking oil lamps. He goes to rummaging in random trunks as you watch.

“What is this place?”

“Inventory. Clothes and a bunch of other stuff,” he says as he throws you a pile of fabric. “Here, change into this, it’s warmer.”

He leaves you alone in the tent to change, which you do quickly to meet him again outside. Moving the flap of the tent away, you find him out in the snow waiting.

It isn’t until you’ve adequately cornered him that you can ask. “Chan, are being held here against your will? Is everybody here—”

“Wait, hold,” he holds a hand up to silence you. “Just—let me explain.”

You’re rendered silent in a corner of this base camp, albeit a little warmer than when you came in with the effective coat you’re now shrouded in. Other than being lost in a mine of confusion, you notice the calculated expression on Chan’s face when you bring it up. Like he didn’t know how you’d react.

“There’s been a lot of lies our entire life. One’s that we didn’t realize till we landed here,” he starts, facing the endless plane of snow to the East.

“What on Earth are you talking about?” you ask, keeping your eyes steady on him.

“These people aren’t cruel, nor are they the animals we’ve been told they are,”

“Chan, what is wrong with you?” you take a step back in mild exasperation.

“Listen, this sounds insane, but it’s only because we’ve been brought up to believe anything the government told us, anything our superiors drilled into our heads. I’d started having doubts while we were still home—”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Nobody wanted to tell you anything. You were more loyal to the General than you were to yourself!”

“I—because…” you falter. He was right.

“They’ve taken advantage of the way this land refuses to retaliate. We’ve been in the wrong this whole time.”

“I don’t know what it is that they’ve been feeding you for so long, but this isn’t the Chan that left home all those months ago.”

“You’re right,” you hear, but it’s not Chan.

Whipping your head around, you find the overlord himself walking to where you were.

“Apologies for interrupting, but I think you’re needed back there, Chan,” Minghao informs him as he regards him.

You whip back around to Chan, “Wait, you can’t just—”

“Listen, it’s going to take you a little bit, but I promise you’ll see what I mean,” he reiterates.

“This is absurd—” you start again but are cut off by him again. He lurches forward, grasping both your wrists in his, forcing you to pay attention to him.

“Do you trust me?”

“W-what?”

“Answer the question. Do you trust me?”

You stare at him, stumped for a moment. Did you trust him? Five months ago, before he left, you would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. Yet, now you find yourself hesitating.

“Yes. I trust you,” you decide out loud.

“Then give it time. You’re shaken, you’re exhausted, you’re confused. You’ll make your decision yourself when you see for yourself.”

He watches your shoulders droop ever so slightly, a clear sign of your surrender. “Fine.”

“Good.”

You turn back to find the other man long gone, the vast expanse of snow and darkness engulfing the plane that leads to the congregation of tents. Chan begins to lead you back, mumbling about how he needs to get back inside.

It’s during your trudge that you realize there’s something that still bugs you, supposing you’d get your answer if you asked him.

“What’s the king doing meddling in military bases and war prisoners?” you begrudgingly ask.

“He’s very… hands-on, I guess. He cares about what happens around here, his land, his people.”

“Like a normal ruler?” you mumble in annoyance.

“When was the last time you saw the General leave his office?”

You haven’t.

A month. That’s how long you’ve been at this base camp.

Enlightenment may be an understatement to what this place is giving you, absurdities that they call the truth. Absurdities, as you may have called them a moon ago.

This barren country did not have a military, you were told. These makeshift headquarters were made to keep up with the endless external aggressions from the other side.

“They’re all people given the choice to stay. We needed the manpower. Military precision was never our forte,” Minghao explains.

You hate how he has an answer to every critical question of yours, how you’ve gone past thinking this was some elaborate, well-thought-out story to put your guard down, to put everyone’s guard down.

Sitting at this wooden table with maps and charts littering the surface, he looks you down from the other end. Chan remains silent next to you, knowing that if you asked, he would’ve given you the same response.

“So you’re trying to build an army? To what, retaliate?” Your arms remain crossed over your middle.

“We cannot retaliate,” Chan says.

“The difference in military power is too much, anyway. We can’t fight something that fights us in different ways,” Minghao finishes. He looks stressed, pinching the bridge of his nose. You watch him drag a chair to sit down.

The majority of camp was resting for the day, leaving the base relatively empty save for the three of you.

“Different ways?” you question.

You watch him close his eyes, running a hand over his face. “Chan, you told me she was smart.”

“She’s having a harder time adjusting than I thought she would,” he chuckles humourlessly in response.

“Are you gonna tell me, or do I have to take another month to figure it out on my own?” you snap.

“What have you been told about our borders? Why is this land the way that it is,” Minghao starts.

You don’t have an answer because you’ve never been told. The general was forever adamant that a land and its people were interconnected, that Minghao’s nation was as ruthless as the land itself was.

“What about what you thought?” he tries again.

“Nature’s weird, I don’t know,” you huff.

“You were so loyal to a man that had no rhyme to his reason. How blind did you have to be—”

“Keep to the question,” you monotone.

He exhales before continuing. “This land is the incarnation of balance. It might not look like it, but we play the most important role in making sure your nations remain stable.”

“Regular communities cannot survive in this weather, the livestock perishes, and crops cannot grow. Everything that makes humanity thrive remains absent here.” Minghao places his elbows on the table, hands clasped together. “But it remains like this here so the rest of the world can foster humanity; that’s the purpose of this land.”

“A sacrifice of sorts,” Chan adds quietly.

“My land remains lifeless so others may thrive,” Minghao finishes.

“Why…why this land?” you question after a few beats.

He leans back against his chair, “I don’t know. Perhaps my ancestors were cursed. Perhaps this is just what this land was made to do. All I know is that my mother and father left me the job of ensuring this place is protected, as their mother and father taught them. All for the sake of keeping balance.”

It was wildly ironic that a place that was the definition of extreme was seemingly also harboring the balance to this world, but you found no jest in his words. You had also learned that it was the more unbelievable things here that would turn out to be most true, so you let yourself believe in whatever lore you had just unlocked.

“So you can’t retaliate,” you echo.

“Not if we wish to keep the peace, no.”

Chan chimes in this time, “This is all really just a misunderstanding that’s fallen into the wrong hands. The General’s a bloodthirsty fuck; this is just an excuse for him to retain power and satisfy all his sick fantasies.”

“How do we fix this then?” you dare to ask.

“We can’t,” Minghao says. “Not right now, at least. If we want to make a move, we have to grow as an entity. What your General doesn’t understand is how he’s feeding his own enemy whenever he sends some poor soldier our way.”

“That’s what everyone’s been working on. The SUN team is nearly complete with you here. We need to equip everyone here with skills more than anything,” Chan says.

“And then?”

“And then we let the General know who’s side we’re really on.”

Xu Minghao had a very peculiar way as King.

Other than remaining in the same bunkers as the rest of the population, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone besides the guards address him as sovereign. He sat with everyone during mealtimes, spoke to everyone like a friend, yet remained the one in charge.

Over the months, you remained the last newcomer of the bunch, learning slowly but surely of your new truth. That was, until your sixth month.

It happened during breakfast, walking out into the dark sky to greet the person Minghao had told you was the newest aggravated prisoner. You knew her from headquarters, having seen her multiple times as she trained, but never learned her name. Her brows unfurrow slightly at the sight of you, recognizing you immediately.

You try to stay as others who remain familiar to the newcomer speak to her, adding where your credibility was due. You underestimated how difficult it would be, not because she was being frustrating, but because she was frustrated.

With every surge of exasperation she showed, every snarky remark to words of reason, you saw yourself. A strange, heavy feeling sets itself in your chest, making it difficult to speak, difficult to simply stand there as you watch her ideologies rendered as lies.

So you excuse yourself, moving out of the way into the snow you’d learned to make a confidant instead of an irritation. It wasn’t strange to find somebody contemplating alone in the snow, the constant darkness ready to keep everyone company.

You aren’t sure what it is that you want to contemplate, but simply sitting in the snow helps, allowing you to remain unstimulated. The weird feeling remained, but what also remained was your brain's inability to distinguish one from the other.

You don’t know how long you had been sitting there, but are aware of the lighter sheen of blue that the sky has turned into when you hear trudging behind you. You turn to find Minghao approaching, halting a foot away.

“Did you see the newcomer?” he asks.

“Yeah. They’re handling it, she’ll be fine.”

It falls silent once more. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t warmed up to the man in the past months, perhaps even enough to call yourself friends. Chan had quite the role to play in that.

He invites himself to sit next to you in the snow, letting out a deep exhale that fogs the air. “I wanted to ask if you were okay.”

You’re stumped. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well…” he chortles. “You’ve been sitting here for a good three hours, so I only thought it was natural to assume.”

“It’s not good to assume.”

“And that you can’t be doing too well seeing the newcomer.”

“...Got me,” you whisper, still gazing into the far-off mountains.

“You can talk about it if you want,” he offers.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you sigh.

“Or is there too much to talk about?” he raises a brow.

You’ve turned to look at him at this point, making out his facial features with the low light of the lamps that burn in the distance.

“How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Know what I’m thinking about.”

“You’re easier to read than you think,” he chuckles. “Why? D’you think I’m reading your mind?”

“Seems like it sometimes.”

“Do you miss home?” he asks, albeit a little cautiously.

“I do. I miss what it meant to me. I don’t think I could go back and feel the same way, though,” you answer. If he was trying to get you to open up, he was succeeding.

“Why’s that?”

You snort, “Obvious, isn’t it? Can’t call a place full of lies home. I can’t believe I let them manipulate me to that extent.”

You think of the mental turmoil on the girl's face.

“It wasn’t your fault. You were doing what you taught.”

“Other people found holes in the story, though. They saw the beginnings of what was really happening. I was so blind, they couldn’t even try to talk me out of it.”

“You can’t keep blaming yourself. It was the General’s job to be conniving. What use if his right hand could see through it. With how long it took you to come around, it only shows how dangerous he is.”

You remain silent as you absorb his words. There was truth to them, but you find it hard to dissolve it into your mindset.

“What matters is you're here now, that you chose the truth despite what you’d grown to learn.” He’s staring right at you when he says it, something you find as you look up to do the same.

There’s a lurch in your stomach, one that has your cheeks burning despite the temperature.

“How do you not hate any of these people? How do you not hate me? We’re the reason your people are so detested,” your voice comes out shaky, yet thick with a weird mix of emotions.

“I hate the ones that choose to be like this despite knowing what the truth is.”

“Like the General?”

“Like the General.”

It’s silent as you watch him gaze into your soul, an uncomfortable feeling yet one that stops you from looking away.

You want to kiss him.

The thought alone has you jumping in place, shaking off the way your body seems to have seized up. You move your knees away in blatant ignorance, looking at anything but his face.

“What?” he asks at your sudden change in behavior.

“Nothing!” you say, a little too loud to be considered casual.

“Why’d you move away?”

“I didn’t!” Of course, you realize how stupid you sound. You huff as you continue, “Just—I don’t know!”

“You don’t know what?”

“Goodness, you need to learn to drop things.”

“Not when it involves me,” he says.

“Who says it involves you?”

“Do we need to go over this again?”

You look at him in question, only to realize he could read you just as well as he could at any other instance.

“You’re not gonna like it,” you finally say.

“Try me.”

“Would you hate me if I said I wanted to kiss you?”

He pauses for an agonizing few moments, ones that make you feel like erupting into a ball of fire that could melt all the snow in the land. Your numb fingers fidget with each other, hating yourself as soon as the words come out of your mouth.

Minghao uses his mouth in ways other than words when you feel it against your lips. It takes you a moment to realize what’s happening and another to let your body take control.

He’s kissing you so painfully slow it has you wondering if you’re imagining it, the feeling of his surprisingly warm lips on your frozen ones. You pull away for a moment, a question ringing in your mind.

“I’m not making a mistake, am I?” you breathe into his mouth.

“Absolutely not,” he says, diving back in with a force not present before.

You throw your arms around him in instinct to keep yourself from falling back onto the snow in his newfound enthusiasm. Not that you can find yourself complaining, especially not when his tongue prods against your bottom lip, urging you to open up for him.

You let him pull you closer, let him explore your mouth, let him hold you as you give yourself up to the feelings that now, after so long, have finally boiled over.

You’re both breathless when you pull away, remaining in each other’s arms as you gain your bearings.

“Figured it out, did you?” he asks with the slightest smirk.

Of course, with every passing instance that he’s reminded you of the mental walls you don’t seem to have with him, this was perhaps his end goal. You want to ask when he figured out you liked him before, wondering if he had known before you had in the first place.

He doesn’t let you, though, as his smiling lips meet yours again, chasing the feeling that's come forth after months of waiting.

You’ll find out the run down soon enough. For now, you give into him, believing in your ice-cold heart that Xu Minghao would never lie to you.

Taglist: @weird-bookworm @rubyreduji @vampirexlotita @simqly-yunjin @tomodachiii

#seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #minghao #minghao fluff #minghao angst #minghao imagines #minghao x reader #the8 #em.writes

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itoshiexx · 4 months

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the garden of your heart

you are now reading... LENA'S 1K MILESTONE EVENT FIC!

↳ isagi yoichi + nepenthe (n.) - something that can make you forget grief or suffering

synopsis: when the weight of loss threatens to crush your bones, isagi yoichi becomes the solace you need.

notes: hi guys. i wasn't planning on posting this so soon, but then again, i wasn't planning on my dog dying and experiencing grief first hand either, so this flowed out of me as a form of comfort. thank you for requesting @popponn, love you dear <3

event masterlist

grief came in a wavelength of darkness; one that covered every seam and corner of your skin until it swallowed you whole. grief carved its way deep into your heart, leaving behind a hole that burned every time your chest expanded to try to breathe. grief had an iron grip on the base of your throat, choking down the words of disbelief and the acute sorrow of your cries that insisted on keep coming out, despite the irritation on the skin of your eyes.

grief, you thought, was kind of like facing death one on one, shivering upon its wicked smile, watching helplessly as it takes away something you cherish and treasure with all your heart.

“baby, have you eaten yet?”

you can barely register the words coming out of yoichi’s mouth, too engrossed in staring at the white ceiling and reliving the last 24 hours on an endless, torturous loop. you try to blink away the images of your loved one dead, but they keep coming and opening the dam that releases your infinite tears. you’ve lost count on how many of them you have already shed.

(it seems like it could fill the pacific ocean).

“baby?” he tries again, gently poking your body. with great strength, you manage to look at him.

grief took away the sparkle of life in your orbs, almost as if you were the one who passed — because, in reality, a part of you did die with them. grief made you feel incomplete, sensing an emptiness that was never there before, but that would perpetually be from then on.

yoichi smiles, and it feels like a beam of light on your little dark bubble.

“there you are. my pretty baby.” he runs his fingers through your hair, trying to soothe the fresh wounds of your soul, even for just a moment. “what would you like to eat? i’ll cook for you.”

you feel the tears once again prickle your lash line, but you fight the quiver of your lips and the cement block lodged in your throat. “i’m… ’m not hungry.”

grief made you lose your appetite. it made you lose a lot of things.

(ironic, considering it all began from loss itself).

your boyfriend frowns, “you know you need to eat, honey. at least a little bit.”

guilt starts gathering in your guts. you don’t want to worry your boyfriend — your sweet, kind boyfriend who is always by your side — because what if you lose him too? what would you do with another hole in your life, in your heart? how could you bear the weight of another loss without letting grief take over you completely?

“hey, hey… don’t cry, pretty. i’m sorry,” yoichi is quick to say, turning until he’s face to face with you. he sits on the edge of the couch and brings your face to his warm chest, drawing circular motions on your back to try and calm you down.

you didn’t even realize when you started crying again, but you let it flow. although everything in the world seems fragile and scary, you know you can always count on isagi to be your safe space.

because your lover’s heart is like a garden — a place where the birds chirp and the flowers continuously bloom, even when they are faced with drought. a spot where the breeze gently blows your hair and kisses your wounds, no matter how deep they are. a space where you can rest and recharge, allowing yourself to be vulnerable.

(you don’t have to be strong all the time).

yoichi’s heart is the one slot of the whole universe where you know you can find peace from your worst nightmares.

“what do you want me to do, pretty? how can i help you feel better?” he asks, voice slightly shaken with concern. it makes your heart swell, and maybe, just maybe, you think you can be alright.

“just hold me,” you murmur.

because it’s love that fills the holes and makes you forget grief. even if it’s just for a little while.

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teencopandthesourwolf · 1 year

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Darling one <3 my prompt word is "tummy ache" which is alarmingly fitting right now.

hope this helps, boo!

It's early, too early for daylight.

Derek opens his other eye and assesses the situation: puffs of air on the back of his neck, too abrupt for normal breathing.

Beside him, Stiles doesn't so much shift as jerks a little, as if he's trying not to move any more than that small amount.

"Hey, you doing okay?" Derek whispers.

Beacon Hills sheriff might have an inkling that Derek has been climbing though Stiles's perpetually open window for the past two years or so—in the daytime. But Derek is positive he doesn't know about the sleeping-with-his-only-son part that has been happening for the last few months. Because Derek is still alive.

So. Whispering it is.

Silence.

Then a pitiful, drawn out groan.

"Stiles?"

More groans. Then a croaked, "I'm dying."

Derek is on Stiles in a millisecond. "What is it? What's wrong? Stiles? What's—" and his hands are flying over every inch of the kid.

"Shit, Der, I'm not really dying," Stiles whispers back, batting Derek away.

Derek wouldn't need to be looking at Stiles to know the face he's pulling.

"Ugh, feels like it though. My tummy hurts so fucking bad right now. I can't get comfy, I can't get back to sleep and I hate everything and everyone and I would honestly be perfectly okay with passing over to the other side, now. Like. RIP me. Swear to God, Der, the afterlife never sounded so good."

Derek rolls his eyes. His very human boyfriend is so very fucking dramatic.

Boyfriend.

Thinking about him and Stiles like that still makes Derek's stomach flip like he's fourteen again. Even when he's smooshed up right next to him in bed. He wonders if that will ever change and immediately doesn't think it will.

Derek peers down through the gloom at a pained looking Stiles, then instinctively flicks his eyes to the numbers glowing a dim blue on Stiles's alarm clock.

4:32

Stiles is about to say something but Derek quickly silences him with a hand placed across his mouth, essentially gagging him.

Just when Stiles looks as if might sink his teeth into Derek's fingers, there's an ominous creak on the landing, and they both simultaneously stop breathing.

Thud. Trickle. Drip, drip, drip. Flush. Running water. Creak.

The town's sheriff is nothing if not habitual.

After another moment, Derek removes his hand but puts a finger to Stiles's lips to tell him to stay quiet. Then he strokes Stiles's cheekbone as he shifts a bit in the bed, until he can place his other hand gently on Stiles abdomen.

Derek now focuses all of his thoughts and senses on Stiles, until there's only Stiles, everything Stiles is. Until he's aware of Stiles's pain. Until he is Stiles's pain. Derek's face twists a little with what is a really nasty, sharp feeling but looks up to thankfully see Stiles's features smoothing out as the hurt drains from his body.

"Dude," Stiles whispers, before his eyes widen and he's slapping his own hand over his mouth—his dad could still be awake.

Derek un-grits his teeth and cracks his neck, removing his touch from Stiles and flexing his hand a few times as the pain in his arm starts to fizzle away.

Better? Derek asks silently with raised brows.

Stiles grins so big it makes Derek's heart thump harder in his chest.

Dude! Best. Boyfriend. Ever! Stiles mouths back, in such an exaggerated manner Derek's pretty sure even a person who speaks no English could tell what he said.

Given the current hushed situation, Derek supposes he'll let the dreaded 'dude' slide.

(Realising for the first time that he's completely head-over-heels in love with this adorable idiot has absolutely nothing at all to do with it).

#for poe's poorly tummy!#<333 #sterek #sterek ficlet #sterek fic #sick!stiles #stiles stilinski #werewolf derek hale #derek hale #fic #hurt/comfort #tcats writes #teencopandthesourwolf #munsonboy #prompts

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hgejfmw-hgejhsf · 10 days

Text

Whump Wednesday

So as most of you know, words have...not been coming easily for me lately. In fact, words have not been coming at all lately. There's some stuff I've been dealing with offline that has contributed to my muse's disappearance, and truth be told, I've been a bit afraid of writing, thinking that perhaps my muse has up and gone forever and I just simply will never write again.

But then @thinkof-england shared with me her idea of taking on Whump Wednesday via a virtual spinning wheel, and she encouraged me to give it a shot with her, as perhaps just an exercise in getting back to writing again. So tonight, for the first time, we allowed the wheel to guide us...and the prompt we received was TW: amputation. What the hell was I meant to do with that, as my FIRST WHUMP PROMPT out of the gate?!

I said, "I'm going to try to just do a drabble. Just 100 words, that's all, no big thing. Surely the muse can make that happen." And then once the idea came, she managed a staggering 500 words. I have NO idea if these words are good or not, but they are mine, and they're 500 words more than I had when I woke up this morning. So behind the cut you'll find a small pentadrabble zombie FirstPrince AU featuring TW: blood, pain, mention of zombies, and implied amputation without anesthesia or proper medical care.

Please be kind. If this doesn't sound like your thing, please keep scrolling right on by. It won't hurt me in the slightest. What will hurt me are unkind words.

A strangled cry rips itself free of Henry’s lungs as Cash carries him inside the farmhouse and places him gently on the couch. Despite the proof of his immense pain dripping from his golden hair and written in every tense, taut line of his face, he buries the sleeve of his shirt into his mouth to stifle the sound. Ever their protector.

Alex produces a knife and cuts away the blood-soaked denim concealing his twisted and torn skin. Jagged holes from the rotting teeth of the undead fucker that attacked his husband continue to pour blood, already beginning to soak the floral fabric on the couch where he and Henry had once made love, long after everyone else had fallen asleep upstairs. Alex can still hear the soft laughter ringing out in the dead of night from Henry’s parted pink lips when he teasingly asked if they needed to seek out one of those ancient plastic covers. He blanches at the thought now.

But it’s the draining of blood from beneath Henry’s already pale skin that comes back into sharp focus as the hulking shadow that can only be Cash reappears over his shoulder. Alex, having no idea he’d left at all, turns to find a handsaw, a belt, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol bundled in Cash’s arms. His lips are a thin line as he kneels by the couch and rolls up his sleeves, until Alex stills his motions with a hand over his.

“I’ll do it,” Alex says softly, his voice a weak croak of a sound. He coughs, as if something as simple as the pollen count could be responsible for the paralysis of his vocal cords. He turns to Henry, then, whose blue eyes are bright with fear and pain and knowing, always just a step ahead of Alex despite his perpetual attempts at running as far ahead as he can into the future, to prepare a way for them. Henry’s never had to run. He’s always simply gazed up at the night sky in silence, as if the great hunter in the heavens is whispering and he’s the only one who can hear. Or perhaps it isn’t Orion at all, but a guardian angel.

Why then, Alex wonders, if Henry’s gift is knowledge, and if there’s some all-knowing being keeping watch over him from just beyond the stars, could something like this be happening to him?

“I trust you,” Henry says, his teeth clenched tight as he places a blood-soaked hand over Alex’s to still a trembling he hadn’t yet noticed. Henry’s golden wedding band glimmers in the dusk of another dying day, surprisingly free of the scarlet liquid still flowing freely from his wounded leg.

Alex’s lungs refuse to inflate when he draws air into them, and the minute contents of his stomach churn with the task he’s about to face, but he secures the belt tightly just above the wound, rests one hand on Henry’s knee for stability and support, and begins.

#whump wednesday #whump #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #rwrb fanfiction #my fics #my writing

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genericpuff · 4 months

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Honestly it’s getting tiring seeing the sobbing chronically of the cast ; Hera , Demeter, Persephone and probably more . Like it’s giving big baby cry cry energy instead of idk something proactive. Not sure if It’s just me getting that from the latest chapters???

I have two schools of thought on this.

On the one hand, I can fully understand wanting to show the vulnerability of these characters, to not send a message that emotions are bad and that people should just "toughen up". This is trying to be a "feminist" piece of work after all, and much of feminism preaches vulnerability and empathy and allowing oneself to get back in touch with their own emotions, rather than shutting themselves away from them which is often perpetuated by the societal expectations and norms of toxic masculinity.

Persephone crying as she confronts Apollo - the man who she now understands assaulted her - is understandable and real. A reasonable reaction to an emotional situation that many people can empathize with.

Hera crying as she reveals the true extent of the damage Kronos caused her is understandable and real. He's quite literally been stalking her in the recesses of her mind and it's reaching a breaking point.

But on the other hand, there's a difference between wanting to show a character showing their emotions and then learning to overcome the challenges they've presented with - whether they do it independently or learn to trust in others to help them - thus growing in the process and coming out stronger on the other side vs. using a character purely for torture porn. As much as we preach concepts like "normalize crying" in a very simplified way for the sake of being easily understood, such simplifications often result in a lack of nuance.

An entirely other subject to use as a comparison point to explain this nuance - it's like the difference between having a character who's become so jaded and disconnected from the concept of empathy that even murder becomes just a menial task to them vs. murderhobos. Murderhobos are not interesting or complex or empathetic or relatable, they're just written (and in the case of where the term comes from - Dungeons & Dragons - played) for the sole purpose of having an edgy uncaring character who thinks they're free from consequences while they fuck up the lives of everyone around them in a completely irredeemable way (and is often protected from such consequences due to plot armor, unless it's in D&D, in which case you'll likely be politely asked to either change your character for the sake of the campaign or leave.)

There's nothing to gain or learn from murderhobos. They only exist for the satisfaction of an ego complex - "I don't care what you want or how it affects the people around me, I want to kill people without consequences because that's as creative as my imagination can get in my own personal fantasy."

There's nothing to gain or grow from anymore when we get another scene of Hera bleeding mascara as she cries over her situation with Kronos while still refusing to actually tell anyone what's going on with Kronos, despite the fact that we had an entire fucking therapy speak episode where she realized she needed help. So it feels like it's purely there just to play on the trope of "sad woman is saaaad, won't anyone help herrrr?" which is really starting to learn into learned helplessness.

This is especially apparent with Persephone, who, upon causing a massive problem for everyone, has taken it upon herself to shut herself away while her loved ones deal with the problem. If she needs the time to cry and process what's going on, that's fine. But while that's happening, we know mortals are dying and that she's turning the situation into a learned helplessness pity party of "I'm a monsterrr and no one likes meeee :((((" while having zero self-awareness that yeah, she did cause this problem, and her locking herself away in her literal mansion isn't exactly going to help the situation.

I've already used Tamberlane as an example of approaching the subject of learned helplessness and how it's fundamentally different from simply being vulnerable and having emotions, but I'm gonna share it again here because it's really relevant and Persephone needs someone to give her this same wake-up call.

Considering Demeter was the one to approach her at the end of the last episode, I'm hoping she'll be the one to broach the topic with her, but judging by how Rachel's treated it so far with every character reassuring her with empty platitudes that accomplish nothing but comforting Persephone over something she caused like "Noooo you're not a monster, you're the best queen ever and you're trying her best!!" (and the fact that Rachel has spent so much time turning Demeter into public enemy #1 that her readers still can't fucking give her any shred of empathy even after finding out she lost a child, fucking yikes) I'm not holding my breath that this week's episode is gonna actually have that same level of emotional maturity or growth. This is the second time in the entire comic we've seen Persephone suffer the consequences of her actions out of many that have been harmful, some accidental, others very intentional (which Rachel has even supported her doing in a very unironic sense, it's safe to say Rachel really truly does believe that Persephone is entitled to abuse people). And judging by how things went the first time, it's hard to have the benefit of the doubt and assume Persephone is gonna actually take accountability and learn and grow from this. She didn't the last time and her character has only devolved since.

Sure, feeling like you've fucked up to such a monumental degree that you'll never be able to show your face in public again is something that's real and relatable and worth crying over... but crying is an emotional response, not the actual solution. It is a PART of expressing and processing emotions, but ultimately those emotions are not actions, just REactions. Crying is okay, crying is a normal response to grief and sadness, but if you don't actually take steps forward and continue to wallow in the sadness, blame everyone else around you for it, and simultaneously rely on everyone else to carry the burden of your own actions for you, then that's when it exits the realm of healthy emotional processing and broaches the unhealthy realm of learned helplessness and emotional manipulation.

If anything, her entire monologue in the last FP episode was more about Rachel being upset over criticism of her comic and her self-insert that, like Persephone's deal with Erebus and the "plague" that followed, she earned over not addressing the issues in her work sooner and instead choosing to double down - both through Persephone's abusive behavior within the narrative and Rachel's passive aggressive meta-commentary on that abuse being okay because "she's earned the right to lash out".

The only people in this entire comic who have "earned the right to lash out" are the women that Rachel has villainized along the way in the pursuit of giving her self-insert everything without effort or sacrifice. And even then those people would still have to rightfully answer for their wrongs and grow from them - because there is no right to abuse, there is no right to harming others, especially not if the "others" you're harming are people who were victims in their own right that you turned into imaginary enemies so you could have someone to punch down at in the absence of a spine to stand up for yourself against the real perpetrators. And in doing so, Persephone herself has become a perpetrator, who sheds crocodile tears that no one is buying because the writing is on the fucking wall.

#lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #lo critical #ask me anything #ama #anon ask me anything #anon ama

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kit-williams · 3 months

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Hello🫶🏻 Hope you are doing well✨ From the very moment it turned out that you could try to write something for the Emperor, I couldn’t sleep😅 I kept trying to remember all those sinful thoughts🤭 But here is an excerpt from some fanfic. I roughly remember where this is from, but I can’t find the entry😞 Can you write something with this sentiment? Gentle Yandere, the Emperor does not need to stoop to physical violence with those warp things that he is capable of if necessary. "They say that only with death does debt end, but your debt is eternal. He loved a thousand lives and still loves a thousand lives. You felt the weight of each of them, and no matter how many times you ran away, He was there to find and love you as before. Chained. You have become chained to Him, an ornate chain that, no matter how hard you pull, cannot be broken. No matter the circumstances, it remains intact. They say that only with death does duty end, but your duty is eternal. And when He spoke His last words and transcended, when you were forced to go with Him, you realized that your duty had truly just begun. And even after death He would still love you."

Ever since you sent me this I have been trying to find it because I HAVE read that one and I can't for the life of me find it!

@thevoidscreams do you know since you're my resident Emperor Expert?

edit: It is from @wxnheart's Apex Predator part 2

But this is the reason why the Emperor is a challenge... he could be the ultimate yandere. There is no getting away from him... if you're a perpetual you've probably met him a few times throughout the ages or if you're a new perpetual he'll find you. Of course he will he can almost sense it one unnatural being to another. Oh yes he might be a gentle yandere but the Emperor is utterly possessive who gets what he wants when he wants it.

How he lures you in is all up to your tastes as he can appear however he wants to to you... or however you want him to be. There is no escape once the gilded trap snaps shut around you leaving you like a screaming animal till the hunter comes upon you and it's all up to him if he lets you go or if he brings you home... even if you manage to escape there is still that gilded collar on you until he comes back around to collect you back.

The Emperor is a far more intense version of how I would see a Yandere version of Magnus or really any of his sons.

His death? You think you're free until a Custodes once again comes around to collect you and you're subjected to the raw power of that psychic entity that he is. You wake up after dying something that was a risk when he was alive and you feel just as hung over as when that was... and once again you have to escape his grasp and you hope that it will be easier to escape the grasp of a corpse.

#IM SORRY I COULD NOT DO THIS #I'M TRYING TO BE GOOD FOR FLUFFUARY #warhammer 40k #yandere Emperor of mankind #the emperor of mankind #yandere #reply #answer

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galvanizedfriend · 9 months

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Fic: The Unexpected Grace of Falling Apart

Summary: AH/AU. It's Tyler's wedding weekend and Caroline is back in Mystic Falls for the first time after the most traumatic and depressing year of her life. And it's about to get even worse as she's made to share breathing space with Klaus, The Worst Guy Ever. Except they might have to join forces to save the wedding, and to the discovery that things might not be what the seem. As Caroline teeters on the edge of a breakdown she'd been trying very hard to conceal, an unexpected savior appears to help her through the haze.

---

About a year ago, Caroline met the worst guy ever.

No, really. The Worst.

Men are, as a general rule, pigs. If women were to make in-depth pro-versus-cons evaluations of every guy they met before deciding on whether to hook up with them or not - well. Let's just say the perpetuation of the human species would be in serious jeopardy.

There's only a handful of guys out there of a certain age, still single, who are really worth any woman's time, and Caroline hasn't had the pleasure of meeting many representatives of that rare, dying breed. Those are the real-life unicorns.

It doesn't help that Caroline seems to be a walking magnet for the dudebro kind. She doesn't know what it is about her that gets them to crawl out of sewers and holes in hell to greet her with their Hey there, gorgeous or Have I died and gone to heaven?s whenever she walks into a bar. It's probably the blonde hair. Men tend to get friskier around blonde women for some ancient misogynistic reason.

There have been moments in her life where her faith in the male half of humanity was so deeply shaken that she even - God forbid her - considered going a few shades darker. She's a natural blonde, though, and it takes her hours (and a small fortune) every few months at her colorist's chair to achieve that perfect sweet spot between kissed by sunshine and blessed by the angels for her to commit that crime against herself. Caroline's hair is the one part of her life that has remained absolutely flawless even when everything else around her has fallen apart, including her mental health and self-esteem. She refuses to dye it just because men can't bother to put some honest effort into updating their lame pick-up lines and yet, somehow, still expect her to have sex with them.

And the sad truth is, catch her on a bad night, and she just might. Horny melancholy is where a woman’s dignity goes to die.

It's exhausting to be a twenty-something woman in the XXI century. There's the pressure of making it in this godforsaken world as an adult, there's the pressure from society's understanding that a woman of her age should be looking for serious commitment with marriage in sight, and then there's also the pressure that stems from the very human needs of her hormonal body. It's a jungle out there.

Things would be so much easier if she didn't need men at all, not even for the specific parts of their anatomy that appeal to her. She really hopes next life brings her back as anything other than straight.

In the meantime, in this lifetime... The Worst Guy.

Caroline has met her fair share of jerks and idiots of all shapes and colors, so it takes something really special to shock her. As a seasoned woman in the woes of the dating market, she can 100% state that this guy is no ordinary asshole. This is a king among douchebags. And that's not just her personal opinion; she has shared the evidence with all her friends, and the friends of her friends, and all the women at her work, and even some random people at powder rooms at bars and parties. Basically, every woman in New York's grapevine who was willing to listen.

The collective response to her tale is always a disgusted gag sound, followed by Please, tell me you punched that son of a bitch or Did you gouge his eyes out with a hot poker?

If you discount abusive, aggressive and violent men, who are criminals and not in the same category as everyday lame-ass men, he really is The Worst.

Caroline doesn't like to say she's not over it yet because it implies bestowing a level of importance to His Royal Dickshness that is not merited. The guy was a friend of a friend - her best friend, yes, but still only a notch above a complete stranger. She’d known him for less than a week and, technically, they did no more than make out for a little bit, so it's not like they had any kind of relationship going on. He's not important, just some guy who did something astoundingly douchebaggy, even by someone whose standards are sadly low.

The whole incident was bound to go down as a funny anecdote to be shared among friends, a Oh, you think you've had the worst hook-up ever? Hold my beer kind of story. Provided, of course, that she never had to see him ever and could just wipe him out of her life and memory for good. Given that they live in different time zones, it shouldn't be too much of a hassle.

That is precisely why Caroline is livid when she emerges from the arrivals area at Richmond airport to find Douchebag, in the flesh - sunglasses indoors and all, like the proper jerk that he is - holding up a sign that reads Clarisse.

Read the full story here

For four years, this was known as Random Fic, and so if you have been following me here, you might have heard me whine about it at some point. I've just decided on the title ten minutes ago. lol I can't believe this is finally done!

Thank you @definedareasofuncertainty for hearing me talk about this for almost as long as you've known me and never telling me to shut up.

As always, your kudos, comments and reblogs mean the world and have been feeding my fic-writing soul for four years so that I could get a grip and round this up. ❤️ Ty and if you read it, hope you enjoy it!

#Klaroline #Klaroline fanfiction #Klaroline fic #kc fanfiction #kc fic #kc fandom #klaus x caroline #yokan writes #yokan has the awful habit of posting fic in the middle of the night #klaroline shippers club #this is a long one folks so make sure you're comfy hydrated and have a snack

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deathbecomesthem · 5 months

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Eddie Munson x disabled!reader | 1.1K

*This is a reupload from my old blog. I thought it would be a good time to move it since @raccoonboywrites was looking for disability represented in Eddie Munson smut fics. It's a lil shorty blurb.

I got a very special request for disabled reader smut that I was happy to fulfill. The reader has an undefined disability that causes fatigue, aches, limited mobility, and nerve damage.

Thank you for the request @marshmallowmunson, I hope you like it.

Contains smut: 69

MDNI - this is strictly 18+

Eddie is sharp angles and wiry muscles. He is perpetual motion. He’s a wonder to you, he moves in ways that make your head spin. You like to watch the muscle in his forearms flex when he picks up his guitar. You like to see him bend and bounce around his room with ease. The idea that you hold him back is something you’ve let go of long ago, because nothing can hold Eddie back - you know that now.

“...out of his nose, it was hilarious. I’m sure that shit burned like crazy.” Eddie’s sitting on the edge of the bed where you’re snuggled in listening to his story about Gareth being told the punchline of Eddie’s favorite dirty joke while he’s chugging a beer. His sweetheart is in his lap, and he’s moving his fingers to find chords to a silent song.

“Mmm, sorry I missed that one. You’ll have to try to make that happen again the next time I’m out with you guys.” You try to keep the sadness out of your voice, but you can hear it. So can Eddie. You were supposed to be out with them tonight, but the fatigue hit you like a mac truck after work. You can handle the aches, you can handle the fatigue, but the combination is impossible to ignore.

“Yeah. We missed you, Baby. It’s not the same without you.” As if a light switch is flipped, Eddie’s focused on your prone form in his bed. His eyes wander down your body, shining as he takes in the sight of you. “I always miss you, even when you’re right here,” he points down at you, “it’s like this ache inside. I need you so much.”

“Mmm,” you pull the blanket back, an invitation for him to climb in beside you, “I can’t have that. You don’t need to miss me, Ed, not when you have me.” He’s right. You feel it too. When he’s not like this, wrapped up in this blanket where you’re both surrounded by your shared breath and scent - you feel like something is missing.

Eddie hooks his head into the crook of your neck, a perfect fit. His nose brushes against your hairline. “I love you, Baby.” His lips kiss your skin, a soft brush of skin on skin. Careful and without urgency, he doesn’t want to give the impression of sexual desire. Especially not on a day that’s harder than normal. He just wants to hold and be with you.

But you have a need.

You start to scratch his scalp, a signaling to your intentions. You feel Eddie shiver under your touch, his hot breath against your neck hitches in the back of his throat. He’s easy to work up, he stands on the mountain of his desire for you every waking moment, peering over its edge - and even in his dreams he visits the landscape of your body. The scratch of your fingernails against his sensitive skin is a hand on his back, it’s a gust of wind that threatens to push him right over the edge.

“You’re so pretty, Ed.” Eddie whimpers at your words, but he’s still standing firm. He’s still being careful, even when you can feel the evidence of his arousal pushing against your thigh. So, you shove him and let him soar through the air. “And you have the prettiest cock I’ve ever seen. Do you know that?”

“Oh, fuck.” Eddie huffs a laugh into your neck. He shifts his hips to press his ache firmly into your center while nipping at your skin, “You trying to seduce me? You don’t need to, Baby, consider me seduced until my dying day.” Eddie’s wide palms are searching your body, carefully avoiding the areas he knows are too sensitive. Nerve damaged skin, and scars not quite healed. “How do you want me, Baby? I’m yours.”

Eddie’s steady fingers have found a nipple, playing with it gently between his fingers. His tongue is licking - tasting - the skin along your collarbone while he waits for you to answer him. You try to steady your breath, to push away the fog in your brain and articulate for him what he needs to know.

You stutter your words, “Mouth, I want you in my mouth while you eat me out.” The shyness you once felt about saying these things is a thing of the past. Eddie needs to hear them, he needs to know what you want. He needs to know how to have you without causing you pain.

He works quickly. He positions you with pillows in the places he knows need extra support, stopping between movements to kiss you. He takes off your shirt, he licks at your chest. He runs a finger between your breasts. Everything he does is with intention and focus. With care and love. You watch him shed his clothes until he’s naked in front of you. A vision of pale skin, black ink, and pink cheeks.

Giggles accompany adjustments, bodies laid side by side until you are face to face with your prize. His finger brushes your slit, in your mind’s eye you see him bring his finger to his mouth to taste you, humming in satisfaction. His cock is dripping with his desire, and your mouth takes it in. Salty and divine, firm but the softest skin to wrap your lips around.

A finger is inside of you, and your spit slicked finger works its way down to that magical place beneath his balls. Your mouth is aching already, but you let that discomfort fuel you. You let it push you to your goal. His finger and tongue are working fast, you’re swollen. You can hear yourself whining around him. It would be obscene to an observer, the way you both cry and whine against each other's sex, desperate pleas begging for release.

Eddie’s mouth releases you, his fingers in thumb working in tandem against the rocking of your hips. He has something to say, and you can only listen while you feel him throb inside your hollowed cheeks.

“You’re so pretty. Look at you. I can feel you, Baby. You gonna cum? I’m gonna cum, your mouth feels so good.” A stream of words, insufficient but all he can manage while you work him. You press against his magic spot, and he sees stars. His fingers work harder, firmly pushing against your own special place deep inside of you that he’s discovered through countless hours of exploration.

Lightning strikes the bed, and it’s with cries and moans that waves of ecstatic release wash over you. You drink him down, tongue lapping at his slit to catch his release while he finds the only words he can think of to tell you how it feels, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x disabled!reader

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writingbyshiloh · 11 months

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Part 5. Aram

Series Masterlist

AN: The 1 (maybe 2) people who read my MVDG and Red fics are EATING this week. This is definitely a new record. Last time R and Red almost get caught!!!! Sry Aram, ILY but I needed part 5 to be done. I have more Red fic ideas BUT I have to finish this first. If u were tagged twice that is my mistake

CW: Food, swearing, FBI! Reader. Editing this was surprisingly fast so be scared (of grammar mistakes)

Slowly but surely, Raymond Reddington has been leaving things at your apartment. The first was a now empty suitcase. He asked you to take it because he needed to move out of one safe house and wouldn’t be able to get into the next one for the whole day. Nursing your massive crush on him, you agreed, but not before going through the suitcase in front of him to make sure it was just clothes and nothing illegal.

As your relationship evolved, so have the items he leaves at yours. He’s left a few white T-shirts in case he stays over, munis the one you took for yourself. There is a full suit perpetually hanging in the back of your closet, tucked away in its own bag. He even left a French press in your kitchen so he can enjoy his coffee at yours. You’re also gifted with an endless supply of drop phones with one or two numbers pre-programmed into them.

----

You’ve been to this restaurant before, but that was when you went as an ordinary customer. It was loud, a mix of chatter from customers, the kitchen, and the random playlist of background music.

Tonight was much quieter, the only customers being the two of you. You could hear the music more clearly even though it was at a lower volume. That’s the perks you get when dating someone who everyone seems to owe.

You could hear him even if you were sitting across, but he immediately took the seat next to you. His watch reflects the light as he trails your fingers up and down your arm.

You try not to squirm under his gaze but it's hard. He’s been gone for a month and you’re just dying to get him into your bed. You didn't even glance at the menus, wanting to have your whole attention on Reddington.

“We can go somewhere. Anywhere you want.” He suggests pulling you back to the conversation.

“Oh, is my apartment not good enough for you?” you tease, trying to deflect.

“Not that I don’t love your view of the parking lot, sweetheart, but how about a change? We could get as far as Finland for breakfast.”

You’re saved by a shrill ringing from your bag. It also makes your heart drop into your stomach. Not wanting to be interrupted you only brought your work phone.

“Shit, shit. I’m so sorry I have to take this.” your words are frantic and you pull the phone out to see who is on the caller ID.

Reddington nodded, understanding but you could also see the disappointment on his face.

You push your seat out while standing, needing to pace while on the phone.

“I know you’re on a date, and you were really looking forward to it, but we need you. The calls are too much for one person and uhh….” Aram’s voice trails off as the line goes mute.

You know that you’re going to ditch your date to go to work, but you can still feel bad about it. You spin on your feet to face Reddington and tell him the bad news but catch sight of Dembe striding across the restaurant with his phone in hand.

Aram rejoined your phone call. “And Rickey’s dead.”

Rickey is someone low in Reddington's criminal operation, who is also working with someone on the blacklist, selling secrets to them. Reddington was feeding Ricky false information in hopes it would draw out the blacklister.

“He's dead?!” you repeat, before putting your phone on mute to fill Reddington in.

“Your man Ricky’s dead!” You tell him, still in disbelief.

Both Dembe and Reddington look at you like you grew a second head.

“He's not dead, he has been arrested,” Dembe informs you.

Now it was your turn to stare at them.

“Hello? Are you still there? Helloooo.” Aram's voice got your attention. You unmute him.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m on my way.” You reply before handing up the call. The restaurant was close to the Post Office, it would be faster to walk than to try and get your coat and have Reddington drive you.

“I’m so sorry, I need to go, Aram thinks he's dead, but needs help figuring out where, or why or something.” You ramble on trying to get your brain to catch up.

“Can I at least offer a ride?” Reddington asks. He knows he won’t be able to talk you back into continuing the date.

You wave him off.

“It's faster if I walk. I’m so sorry” you apologize for the third time.

“Sweetheart, it's raining, please.” He implores.

“I gotta go.”

With your phone in your hand, you blindly felt around under the table for your bag.

“It's raining.”

“It’s just water,” you argued back.

“At least take the jacket, please.”

You reached out to take the cream suit jacket from him and shrugged it over your shoulders. At least your hair will stay dry.

---

“That's a nice jacket. Looks like something Reddington would wear.” The first words out of Aram's mouth had you on edge.

Your laugh sounded fake, even to your own ears as you move to hide the jacket in your shared office.

“Yeah, guess I spend too much time here” you joke, settling into the chair Aram put out for you at his desk.

“Okay. I know you got pulled away from your date, and I’m sorry. But did you get the pasta with the mushroom cream sauce?”

“Aram -”

“Oh, or maybe the gnocchi?”

You make an exaggerated frown. “We didn’t even order.”

Aram's face drops. It’s sweet how invested he is. When Reddington told you the restaurants he wanted to take you to, Aram helped you decide which one to go to you think.

---

The Ricky hunt was not going well. No one had a clear lead, and with you taking hospital and morgues, Aram calling police stations, even Reddington (sans suit jacket) and Dembe came into call any criminal contacts who may know.

Aram was blessed with the winning phone call. Ricky was indeed arrested and then bailed out by the blacklister, giving the team a lead. More importantly, it gave you the freedom to salvage what was left of your date.

Dembe already left to start the car but to also give you and Red some space.

“You look lovely tonight. Any special occasion?” He asked while following you to one of the hallways in the post office.

You press your lips together in an effort not to smile.

“I actually had a hot date.”

“Think it's salvageable?”

You pretended to think it over while the elevator doors closed.

“I don’t know. He told me my apartment’s not as nice for breakfast compared to anywhere in Europe?” you tease him.

“He sounds wise. Are you going to forgive him?” Reddington purses his lips as if he was actually going to weigh in on the drama.

You bump your shoulder against him.

“Depends on how he treats me tonight.”

#s1 red you will always be [redacted]#raymond reddington fan fic #raymond reddington x you #raymond reddington x reader #the blacklist x reader #the blacklist fanfic

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