#nine is incapable of doing anything wrong in my eyes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sanjoongie · 3 months

Text

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕖𝕟: ℍ𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕊𝕖𝕩

🥀Pairing: Kang Yeosang x Reader (f)

🥀Genre: Smut

🥀Rating: 18+, Minors Do not Interact

🥀Au: ninja au, anime au, Naruto au, historical au

🥀Trope: enemies to lovers

🥀Summary: when you claim that Yeosang was a man of no emotions and Yeosang demanded you prove yourself right, a passionate and hot sex session follows

🥀Kinks: hate sex, rough sex, degradation kink, fingering (f), mean dom! yeosang, mean sub! reader, breast/nipple play, strength kink, creampie

🥀Word Count: 1,693

🥀author's note: thanks to @mejuii for helping my gears begin to turn. Apologies for any terms you don't understand, I pulled directly the anime and this was completely self indulgent

🥀Day Nine: Long Distance Sex/ Praise 🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Eleven: Somnophilia

Your ancestors would, in fact, be rolling in their graves if they knew whose fingers were deep inside of you. Your hips rolled into the hand that was giving you pleasure, but he wasn’t going to just let you take from him without giving back.

“What’s this?” Yeosang purred into the shell of your ear. “I thought you said there was no way that you could possibly get pleasure from anything I ever did to you?”

“Fuck off, Yeosang,” You snarled weakly, hips still bucking into his movements.

“Kinda pitiful, really?” Yeosang continued to torture you with his words. “A Senju letting an Uchiha fuck her with his fingers. We should be fighting instead of fucking.”

A jolt went through your nerves. It tightened your nipples immediately and made your lower half flood even more than it already was.

“Who’s fucking?” You argued, “You’re incapable of anything other than throwing barbed insults and using those damn eyes of yours.”

Yeosang hummed mockingly in agreement. “Right, how could a passionless man possibly fuck?”

You had been sent by the Hogage herself to infiltrate the Akatsuki. What you hadn't been aware of was that Yeosang, who had gone rogue when his elder sister had died by his own hands, had joined up with the merry band of shit disturbers. You had been sent here to figure out exactly what their grand plan was. You most definitely were not sent here to fuck the enemy, let alone an enemy that was generations in the making.

All you had to do was keep your mouth shut, but you were so sick and tired of Yeosang's damn emotionless face. You had watched him fight, watched others die, and he never showed a single drop of emotion. You, however, had cried when the first Jinchuriki had died for the Akatsuki’s grand plans. Yeosang had accused you of having a weakness.

“Shouldn’t you have ripped your heart out a long time ago, great granddaughter of Hashirama?” Yeosang had mocked you then.

“Oh, go find someone else to spar with Yeosang, I'm tired of you,” You had attempted to dismiss him.

What you hadn't known was that your explosions of emotions were what Yeosang looked forward to the most. He was so devoid of feeling anything for such a long time that you were refreshing, despite all his provoking.

Yeosang quirked an eyebrow at you, making direct eye contact, the most you had ever seen that beautiful face move. “Tire of me? I haven’t heard that one before. Normally, everyone is begging me to show them something.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “Like that would ever happen. I don’t think you would know emotion if it hit you on the head.” That’s when you pushed it. “In fact, I doubt anyone could get a rise out of you, including your cock.”

Yeosang cocked his head at you, face still blank. “Don’t think I know how to use the sword on my body?”

“Tch.” You sneered. “I highly doubt you could please someone, let alone be passionate.”

A shiver went from the top of your head down to the tips of your toes as Yeosang smirked. You should have been terrified. Instead, you were turned on. “Do you want to test that out, brat?”

You took a step forward that brought you nose to nose with the enemy of your ancestors. “I’d relish proving you wrong.”

And then the rough sex that followed was like nothing you had ever experienced. You both ripped your robes in order to grope at each other’s chest. Yeosang pushed your breasts together while massaging them while you flicked your thumbs over his nipples, looking for him to break.

You wrestled and fought for the upper hand, to be the more dominant one, but Yeosang was simply a smidgeon stronger than you. He pinned you against his chest, an arm against your collarbones, and he began to play with your body even more. It wasn’t until those skilled fingers found your wet folds that you heard a low chuckle in your ear.

“Are you having fun, little one? You’re so wet I would think you were eager to be beneath me.”

You were so shocked by the sound of his laugh but didn’t fight him when he released your upper body and instead pulled one of your legs up so he could have easier access to your aching puss.

“That’s simply the adrenaline talking,” You argued. You had to bite hard into your lips to keep the moan that was attempting to escape your lips in. “Like I could ever get pleasure from something you did to me.”

Except now, that was exactly what was happening. And you were starting to think that Yeosang was enjoying himself.

“Does it make you wet at the thought that I’ll impale you in the middle of this forest where anyone could stumble upon us? Hmmm, little brat? Want someone to watch while your mortal enemy fucks you into an orgasm?” Yeosang teased and tempted you.

A whine was building in the back of your throat and the plea for him to fuck you was on the tip of your tongue. But your pride was burning your throat.

“You have to say it,” Yeosang whispered into the skin along your neck. “I could bring you to the peak of your pleasure and stop. Again and again. In fact, I could torture you with my Tsukuyomi in that very way, and only a moment would pass.”

“Make no mistake,” You panted, your body still rolling into his hand as his fingers squealched and fucked your pussy. “I hate you.”

“And yet.” Yeosang was hanging off your words. He just needed you to give him the go-ahead, and he would show you exactly how you affect his emotions and his passion.

“Fuck me, Yeosang,” You asked lowly, “Make me feel something for you that isn’t hatred.”

Yeosang moaned. “Gladly.”

With both of his hands cupping just under your knees, Yeosang held you aloft and lowered you down on his straining cock. You whimpered as he fought his way inside of you, thrusting into your wet cunt, making room in your soft walls for his cock. Each inch pushed inside was torture because it felt so good but you wanted the whole of him inside of you; you needed to be fucked until you screamed from your orgasm.

Each whimper that you let out as Yeosang fucked you was a gift to the Uchiha. For someone who had suppressed quite a lot in his life, sex was the one time he could let loose. The way you trembled for him, begged for him, whined for him was reawakening parts of him that he thought had long died. But what he wanted the most was for you to say his name with passion. He wanted to hear your name drip like honey from your lips instead of like poison.

“Does it feel that good, being fucked by your mortal enemy, brat?” Yeosang poked at you. “Does my cock give you that much pleasure that you have no more words to throw at me like a kunai?”

Your head lolled back, pleasure making you a willing ragdoll for Yeosang to fuck. You had never felt this way with any man. It was like with each stroke of Yeosang inside of you, he was looking for you to be pleased rather than himself. It was as if he wasn’t taking from you but giving.

“How is it so good?” You rasped hoarsely, your moans already making your throat dry. “I’ve never felt such pleasure before?!”

“There’s a reason they beg me to never leave,” Yeosang admitted tonelessly, “After one taste of me, you’ll be ruined for everyone else. On that, I can swear.”

You believed him because no cock had ever felt as good as the one sheathed between your legs did now. “Wanna cum,” You whimpered, mind solely on your growing orgasm.

“Already? You’re a greedy brat,” Yeosang mocked you. “You’re an easy lay.”

“I’m--hnnnn-not--ah, ah, ah--just--fuck, shit, Yeosang! Yeosang, just like that,” You whined, the build up of your orgasm ushered by the way that Yeosang fucked up into your pussy like a well oiled machine.

“Say my name like that again,” Yeosang demanded.

“Yeosang! Yeosang! Yeosang!”

He came inside of you with a quiet grunt, buried deep inside of you. He unloaded into you, an amount that filled you to the brim and then spilled out. You felt as his cum dripped out of you and onto the ground of the forest.

With the final thrust, so deep inside of you that you felt his tip nudging your womb, you came. You screamed his name, stars lighting up behind your eyelids as you were gifted with such an intense orgasm that you were happy that Yeosang was holding you aloft.

Yeosang let go of one leg, then another, a hand on your waist to make sure you didn’t collapse. “Let me fuck you like that again, brat. I promise you I can show you a lot more.”

Wooyoung’s hyena laughter shattered the illusion that Yeosang had created just as he released you. “He’s right, you know. Men and women beg for him to show them something other than his cool, pretty face.”

Yeosang had indeed used his Tsukuyomi, the power of his eyes to trap you in a moment in your own mind, and had fucked you there the minute you had met his eyes. The illusion, the mind power, was so powerful that it felt exactly like reality.

Your face burned with embarrassment. Your undergarments were simply flooded from the pleasure your mind had thought you had received. Your clothes were not ripped either. Wooyoung’s laughter died, and he peered at you and then Yeosang with curiosity.

“You two should just fuck already, the sexual tension is palpable,” Wooyoung observed, albeit a second too late.

You screamed in anger, triggering a tree to grow, capturing Wooyoung by the collar and leaving him hanging, not quite understanding what exactly he had said. And Yeosang, the immovable statue of the Akatsuki, laughed at his best friend and partner, unable to contain any glee at the moment.

🥀Day Nine: Long Distance Sex/ Praise 🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Eleven: Somnophilia

#joongfryefff24 #kvanity #kwritersworldnet #pirateeznet #cultofdionysusnet #ateez smut #kang yeosang smut #atz smut #yeosang smut #kang yeosang x reader #topaz's work #ღatz

145 notes · View notes

venusskissed · 5 months

Text

𝐏𝐚𝐜 - 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥

🪽 this pac is self explanatory! I will be telling you why you are beautiful, what makes you you. there is a lot of wonderful things about you and you deserve to know about them. while everyone is beautiful from the outside I will tell you what shines about your soul.

#01 #02 #03

— ౨ৎ : close your eyes and take a deep breath, then choose the pile your eyes landed on. it’s also fine to choose multiple or the one you felt drawn to from the get go either because of intuition or something else. do what best suits you. 💖

🧾ㅤㅤ PLEASE KEEP IN MIND that this is a very general reading as multiple people will read this pile. take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. 🫶🏻

pile 01

⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀⠀💭 the lovers, four of pentacles, ace of wands, kingfisher, deer, tiger

hiii my beautiful pile one!! 🫶🏻 there is so much love inside your heart it’s remarkable. truly, you are wonderful. do you know the saying ‘wolf in sheep clothing’?

you are a sheep in sheep clothing. it’s like the more people find out about you the more sweeter, kinder and precious you become.

you are beautiful because of your heart. the way you love people, your principles, your values, the way you treat other people. you truly are selfless and golden hearted even if you have been through a lot and it’s something that’s hard to change about you if not impossible.

you have an incredibly gentle, loving and kind aura to you. I am also sensing that many people who chose this pile might like to stand up for people, the kind of ones that have a hard time standing up for themselves and speaking up. you like to do it instead of them just so they are safe, protected or they aren’t looked down upon. you truly view everyone as your equal and cannot stand mistreatment. I don’t think any of you expect anything back for it either, you do it because you can and because you want to help people.

I don’t think it’s in a people pleasing way either. If someone makes a mistake you will willingly call them out. explaining to them what they did wrong and why without belittling them or making them feel like they are less because of it or incapable of improving or overcoming their problem. in your eyes no one is entirely bad, and no one is entirely good. everyone is just a human. so you are a very fair person. if ___ blank was wrong you will defend them, but won’t deny that they also made a mistake. all while seeing that it doesn’t mean they deserved to be wronged. so you see all sides of a situation rather than viewing the world in black and white colours.

you might also be very giving. as in donating, helping friends out in though times, helping people when they are confused (perhaps even with directions at times?), giving your old clothes away, not minding if someone eats your food (snacks) etc. you seem to be very selfless and giving.

now I see a lot of you guys might not think so and feel as if this pile doesn’t describe you well and I just want to say that it’s true even if you have a rough/dry sense of humour, curse a lot, watch vulgar things etc.. regardless of how you view yourself I can see that your heart is overflowing with love and people think very highly of you exactly because of the way you behave around them, even if it’s subconscious actions.

a butterfly can’t see it’s wings, you know?

keythings: kind, gentle, soft, sweet, ‘I am just a teenage dirt bag baby’, angelic, soft voice, many of you could have a really beautiful laugh 🫶🏻, mermaids, electric guitar, love shot, watergun, 1D - WMUB

🦢 that is all my beautiful pile one! thank you for your precious time, I hope you enjoyed this PAC! 🫶🏻 please keep in mind that this is a reading on current energies, these can change anytime! I am sorry for any spelling mistakes as english isn’t my first language and I haven’t proof read yet! 💖

︶֪︶︶֪︶︶︶֪︶︶֪︶︶ིྀ︶︶֪︶︶︶֪︶︶֪︶︶֪︶

pile 02

⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀⠀💭 nine of pentacles, the empress, the tower, panda, guinea pig, hyena

hiiii my beautiful pile two!!! 🫶🏻 how are you? I want to say please take your time to rest, a lot of you in this pile might force yourselves to go through hardships when you are already going through enough to destroy a soul. maybe for the sake of pride.

of course, that doesn’t mean you aren’t beautiful; because you are. you are wonderful. you have a very classy, elegant, sure of yourself and lovely vibe to you. your attitude could be what draws people in, what makes people want to be like you. your logic, your confidence and the way you hold yourself up.

do you guys know jennie kim or song jia? you have that kind of vibe to you. at least, they are who you remind me of. someone beautiful in and out. you might not be everyone’s idea of fair and square or what people view as ‘good’ but you have your own set of principles, rules that you keep to and live by. you might also be someone misunderstood.

a lot of people could look down on you because of your lifestyle, way of handling situations or they think you are nothing more than a pretty face. but that is not true, you are smart, capable, understanding, kind and wonderful. a lot of these also seem to be cover up, lies about their ‘reason’ of disliking you with the real motive behind it being jealousy.

I am going to be really honest here pile two, you have so many wonderful things going on for you that people don’t even know what to be jealous of first, turning their frustration into anger.

you are beautiful, content with yourself, talented, successful (either emotionally or financially) and the cherry on top being you have a wonderful personality too. people expect you to be a mean girl/boy/person but you are simply not. you get along well with people and barely have any judgement in your bones if any.

your beauty lays within the way you carry yourself even in the saddest moments in life. it’s easy to be beautiful if you are happy but you? you are ethereal even when the world crumbles. both in and out.

you care for people the way you wish to be cared for. you listen to them, hear them without judgment and comfort them wherever you can, however you are able to. you are there to be a good force in people’s life because you know what it’s like to have no support. instead of becoming mean and closed off because of your experiences you are kind, gentle and emotionally intelligent.

a real diamond in the rough.

keythings: ‘a lot of people wish to be like you’, dolly, bratz, those aesthetic pictures of angels crying, designer, crying in a white dress (party dress, not wedding one), cold, red/pink painted nails, parties?, lighter with stickers/gems on it

you might often have headaches/migraines so I would like to kindly remind you to look after yourself sweetheart. 🩷

🦢 that is all my beautiful pile two! thank you for your precious time, I hope you enjoyed this PAC! 🫶🏻 please keep in mind that this is a reading on current energies, these can change anytime! I am sorry for any spelling mistakes as english isn’t my first language and I haven’t proof read yet! 💖

︶֪︶︶֪︶︶︶֪︶︶֪︶︶ིྀ︶︶֪︶︶︶֪︶︶֪︶︶֪︶

pile 03

⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀⠀💭 ten of wands, five of pentacles, king of wands, lady bird, guinea pig, snake

hey my beautiful pile three 🫶🏻 alright, many people, if not all who chose this pile like to express themselves a lot. say their opinion even if they know no one in the room agrees, stand up for themselves and others with anger if they have been wronged, let out all the emotions you feel, all at once.

this is a very emotional pile, even if you might not think so. in a melancholic, angry, stubborn, sentimental way.

while you struggle to understand what’s beautiful about that a lot of people seem to adore you for your ability to express yourself freely, to let all of your thoughts out. your personality is really strong and yet you never loose yourself. a lot of people seem to adore you for that, they look at you as an angel. no, not fallen one, they just adore your raw power. you have this feeling of fearlessness to you. ‘so what?’ attitude.

not a lot of people are able to be this way, what you have is truly unique.

do you have a darker aesthetic such as emo, cyberpunk, gothic or anything of the sort? of course not everyone in this pile will have that, but I can see a lot of people adoring your aesthetic if you do. (if you are gyaruu a lot of people could adore that as well.)

you have this ethereal kind of beauty to you. it feels realistic yet dreamy even though there are rough parts of your personality or perhaps life. you don’t hide yourself, you fully show who you are freely without being apologetic to anybody. if people don’t like it that’s their problem, it’s what life gave so it’s what they get.

I can also see that you never back down when you are fighting for something or if you are in an argument. you are also not focused on winning, you have a very clear way of arguing? you focus on what the other one is doing, their words and what’s going on inside their head. you are able to see through people like it’s nothing. you are highly intelligent and people adore that a lot about you. not in a jealous kind of way, just pure adoration and love towards you. (especially those of you who have little siblings or best friends younger than you)

your guides said, and I am quoting it exactly, ‘people’s person but not afraid to call bastard’s out’.

in all honesty your beauty is your strong personality, you are a badass. just the way you are, behave and the thoughts you have are enough to make you beautiful. you are so worthy of love because you have so much love. you might not think so, but anger can’t exist without love or respect.

for some of you some people also fear how much they like you, not because there is anything wrong with you but because they are scared they aren’t good enough for you. you have the effect that makes people want to better themselves.

keythings: ‘this is my last resort’, morticia addams, vampires & bats, ‘I don’t give a fuck’, headphones, black, red lipstick, sunny side up?, black sheep/not fitting in, groans, eye rolls, shien, sneeze (?), ‘good job’, ‘bye bitch’, tiktok

🦢 that is all my beautiful pile three! thank you for your precious time, I hope you enjoyed this PAC! 🫶🏻 please keep in mind that this is a reading on current energies, these can change anytime! I am sorry for any spelling mistakes as english isn’t my first language and I haven’t proof read yet! 💖

#tarot #tarotblr #tarot reading #pick a card #pick a picture #pick a pile #pick an image #spirituality #self love #self care #free tarot #free tarot reading #collective #message for the collective #astro community #astroblr #astrology

359 notes · View notes

banannabethchase · 11 months

Note

Prompt: Nick and Claudio are the last two in the hot tub.

Preferring Heat - also on AO3

Nick's already in the hot tub when Claudio comes into the room. He won't be the one to make things weird. He's staying right there.

Sarah is responsible for whatever this is. I am incapable of creating an actual PWP SO HERE HAVE THIS!

Nick is willing to be a professional, is the thing. He’s not going to get up and leave the hot tub right when Claudio climbs in. Claudio probably doesn’t even see that Nick is there.

He resumes his conversation with Jamie about bad hair snafus, and quickly forgets that one of his worst enemies is sharing the warm water with him.

“I think everyone is required to make a horrible mistake with Sun-In at some point in their lives,” Willow says. “In eighth grade I fell asleep outside with it in my hair and woke up orange. Like, Jamie’s gear orange.”

Jamie winces. “Once I thought I bleached my hair right, tried to dye it blue, and it turned to puke green in, like, five washes.”

“I haven’t got experience in that area,” Claudio says, clipped smarmy-ass tone infuriating as ever. “But I suppose I can sympathize. I’ve used the wrong carpet cleaner and just destroyed the texture.”

“I feel like comparing our hair to carpets is offensive,” Jamie says, tucking an errant strand back into her bun.

“He’s just jealous he’s got nothing to compare to,” Nick snipes. He probably should have shut himself up. He’s half considering sinking down under the chlorinated foam until the horror subsides.

Claudio looks dead at him. “Don’t be so snippy, Jackson,” he says. “With that hairline of yours, you’ll be in my boat soon enough.”

Willow, Jamie, Chuck, and Kyle snicker.

Nick really does want to sink into the water. “Oh, shut up, you prick.”

“As fun as this is about to be, I’ve got to go,” Jamie says, lifting herself out of the water with incredible ease. “Britt and I have plans to run a few scenarios in her hotel room.”

Nick fights a smile. “Oh, is that what they call it now?”

Jamie splashes him, just a little, as she stands up.

“I should get going too,” Willow says. She grins. “I should spend a few hours staring at that new belt of mine.”

“Can I come with?” Kyle asks, eyes locked on Willow’s ass as she leaves the water. Nick fights the urge to roll his eyes. “I, uh. I miss my belts.”

Willow raises an eyebrow. “You Aussies sure aren’t subtle.” But she lets Kyle follow her like an eager puppy, hand hovering near Willow’s lower back, like he’s not sure if he can touch or not. Chuck hops out suddenly, too, and the water displaces. Nick gets carried a bit with the current, bumping into a hard wall.

He turns. Not a hard wall.

“Uh, sorry,” he mumbles as he pushes himself away from Claudio. “Don’t take that as permission to drown me or anything.”

“I wouldn’t dare compromise our match on Sunday,” Claudio says. He puts his hands on Nick’s waist and guides him back to his seat, which is – Nick doesn’t know what it is. He knows he’s getting hard in his trunks about it, though. “I happen to be a professional. Unlike some people.”

Nick adjusts in the water, grateful for the bubbles concealing his inconvenient boner. “Unprofessional my ass,” Nick says. “Lucha Brothers deserve those titles. You and the kid were being dicks.”

“Kid?” Claudio scoffs. “Please. He’s got more talent in his left pinky than you and your brother combined.”

Nick glares at him. “I was referring to the fact that he’s, like, twelve years old, but sure, let’s go for insults. How many tag championships have you two held? Oh, that’s right. None.”

“How many world championships have you held?” Claudio fires back.

“Dude, you had to come to the company me and my friends built to even be considered,” Nick laughs.

Claudio’s eyes darken in a way that sends Nick’s boner from potential to certain. “You watch your mouth, boy.”

“Boy?” Nick asks. “Yeah, I guess, since you’re old as hell.”

Nick’s not sure why goading Claudio feels like the best thing to do with his time at nearly nine at night right before a pay per view. He and Matt could be working out. He could be watching TV in his room. Hell, he could lose to Kenny at Mario Kart for the millionth time because Adam’s in the corner swearing at the controls so loudly he can’t stop laughing.

But no. He’s here, antagonizing an Adonis, because he’s stupid and more than incidentally horny.

“You are intolerable,” Claudio says.

“You seem to be tolerating me pretty well, with the way you’re staying in this hot tub.” Nick spreads out, toes bumping Claudio’s leg under the water. “This the hill you’re gonna die on? A hot tub?”

“I need a soak after my workout tonight,” Claudio says. He doesn’t move his leg from where Nick’s touching him.

“Aren’t you supposed to do an ice bath for that?”

Claudio’s gaze shifts, somehow, just the tiniest bit. “I prefer heat.”

Nick swallows involuntarily. “Yeah?”

Claudio keeps eyes on Nick, then he finds himself dragged across the hot tub until he’s flopping gracelessly into Claudio’s lap. Claudio hums, settling Nick with a hand on Nick’s thighs. “Yes,” Claudio says.

“What, uh. What’s your plan here?”

Claudio’s grin turns a little dark. “Are you telling me this wasn’t in your mind when you began goading me?”

“You’re easily goaded,” Nick says with a shrug. He has no idea what to do with his hands. “It’s the fragile ego and all.”

“I assure you,” Claudio says, lifting his hips just so, “nothing about me is fragile.”

Nick can feel a thick hard line against his thigh, and swears he blacks out for a split second. “The way you act in the ring with all the goddamn showboating would say otherwise.”

Claudio grabs Nick buy the jaw and turns his face. “Do you ever stop talking?”

Nick grins. “Not really. Takes something pretty specific to shut me –”

Claudio takes the hint without any further nonsense, dragging Nick down to kiss him. Nick whimpers, and it’s quickly swallowed by Claudio. Nick’s head is spinning as Claudio hauls their hips together and their cocks rub against each other. Nick can’t fight the urge to press his hips, to grind, to rut against Claudio.

“Oh, god,” he manages to moan as Claudio runs his lips down Nick’s neck and down to bite at his pec, sucking bruises into his skin. “This isn’t sanitary.”

“That’s where your mind is now?” Claudio asks. “All that talk earlier and you’re such a prude.”

“I’m not coming in a public hot tub,” Nick says, fighting back a moan as Claudio bites at his nipple. “That’s disgusting.”

“Easily amended,” Claudio says.

And he stands with Nick in his arms, out of the water, like it’s nothing.

“Oh my god,” Nick half whimpers.

Claudio walks them to the wall and shoves Nick against it, their cocks pressed against each other. “Now you’ll just come in your swim shorts, like the desperate attention whore you are.”

Nick whimpers as he wiggles his hips to feel more of Claudio’s cock against his. “Says the guy trying to have sex with me in public.”

“No time to fuck you the way you deserve, Nicholas. We’ll have to settle for hands.”

Nick’s mind goes deliciously blank for a moment as he gets a hand between the two of them and slides his hand into Claudio’s trunks. The two of them work together and, even without getting a hand into his shorts, Nick is close.

Claudio hums, a smug little grin on his face. “Oh, so shocking.”

“Just touch me, you asshole.”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

“I got my own hand then, damn.” Nick reaches down, but Claudio bats it away to slide his hand into Nick’s trunks.

Nick lets out some noises he’s probably never made before this moment and cants his hips up into the grip once, twice, and then he’s coming all over himself and Claudio’s hands. He shoves his head into Claudio’s shoulder, biting down.

“Desperate little whore,” Claudio says, and it’s almost fond. Nick picks up the pace with hands that feel as stable as cooked noodles, but it’s not long before Claudio’s coming, too, painting Nick’s chest.

“Hmm,” Claudio says consideringly, but at least he sounds a little out of breath. He drops one of Nick’s thighs slowly, then the other, not letting go of Nick until his legs are steady underneath him. He trails his fingers through the streaks of come on Nick’s chest, and it takes a second for Nick to realize what he’s doing.

“Don’t mark me, you weirdo! I’m not Yuta!”

Claudio finishes the final curve of the last C. “You could have been,” he muses. He leans in and kisses Nick, almost chaste. “Better take care of yourself before you leave,” he says conversationally. He adjusts his trunks and now there’s not a single sign that he’d been anything but professional in the pool room of this hotel. Other than, of course, the bite mark beginning to fade on his shoulder. “Don’t want anyone seeing the mess you made.”

“Me?!” Nick says. “This was a team effort.”

“Sure, bring your team next time.” Claudio winks. “I’m sure we could find many fun things to do with your friends and mine.”

Nick doesn’t even have time for a retort, and just watches as Claudio snatches a towel off the rack and walks out of the room.

He thinks he does a decent job of wiping himself off with a towel as he makes his way back to the hotel suite he’s sharing with the Elite, tossing it in a laundry basket.

He knocks.

“Oh, hey, there you –” Matt cuts himself off. “Um. What happened to you?”

Nick tries to play it cool, wondering if he’s still pink or if he has come in his hair or something. “Hot tub. It’s hot in that room.”

Matt fights a smile. “Adam! Hey, come here!”

“Will you let me in the room?”

“Adam!” Matt says again.

There’s footsteps.

“Adam, you ever see a hot tub do that?” Matt pushes open the door, and Adam’s confused for a moment until his eyes settle on Nick’s chest.

“You, maybe,” Adam says to Matt. “But never a hot tub.”

Nick follow’s Adam’s gaze until he gets a look at his chest, covered in hickeys. “Um. I – okay, I can’t explain.”

“Come on in, baby brother,” Matt says, smarmy grin on his lips, “come and tell us about your walk of shame.”

“And hot tub of shame,” Kenny says. “Also, Adam, you lost. Again.”

Nick laughs as Adam chucks a pillow at Kenny’s head, and Matt gets caught in the middle of it when Kenny throws a jacket. Nick takes the moment to sneak into the bathroom and get a better look at himself.

There’s only a few, but the purple blossoms remind Nick a little bit of flowers as he trails his fingertips along them. He’ll tell his friends soon. He knows he will. And he knows, after everything, the three of them won’t judge him for it, not with their own track records.

But, right now, it feels like a secret he gets to keep.

#I think I invented a new ship in here but I'm happy about it #Nicrowlas #wtf i like wrestling now???#in which sara writes #sarahcakes613 #ClaudioNick

9 notes · View notes

ryqoshay · 7 months

Text

Putting on Hairs: Post Production - Heavenly Hiraeth

Primary Pairing: YohaRiko Implied Pairings Trios: YuuAyuSetsu, LanzMiaShio Fandom: Love Live Sunshine, Nijigasaki Words: 646 Rating: G AU: Angels, Demons, Monsters Time Frame: Sometime after the main story Prompt: Hiraeth

---------

Author's Note: Primary entry for the 8th

Summary: Yoshiko isn't feeling the best at the festival

---------

“Ayumu-chan! Set…” Riko called, only to realize her coworkers couldn’t hear her over the din of the festival.

“I wonder what Ayumu is gonna make for her girlfriends.” Yoshiko pondered aloud.

“Eh?”

“She just bought a bunch of yarn from that vendor.”

“Ah.” Riko recalled her friend’s love of knitting.

“Anything catching your eye, Riri?”

“Mm… not yet…”

The couple continued to meander through the crowded path, scanning the stalls for souvenirs.

“Oh, Lanzhu-chan is here as well.” Riko said.

Yoshiko flinched at the mention of the angel’s name but elsewise subdued her instinctual reaction. Lanzhu had been surprisingly civil to her, if a bit narcissistic, but that was just angelic nature. And while part of Yoshiko wanted to reciprocate, just being within that Holy aura made her feel…

No… not now… I’m on a date with Riri. We’re having a good time…

“Yocchan?”

“I’m fine.” She lied.

Damn. Yoshiko realized she had chosen the wrong direction to look. The pink-haired celestial was right there, not ten meters away. However, something else drew Yoshiko’s attention; Mia, holding something out to Shioriko. Yoshiko’s brow furrowed with recognition.

Why in the Nine Circles of Hell is that damned jackalope giving a silver crucifix to a vampire?! And why isn’t the angel stopping them? Are they all idiots?

Shioriko touched the pendant and… nothing happened. She smiled and Mia slipped the chain around her neck.

What. The. Hell.

Yoshiko’s mind reeled as she tried to process what she had just witnessed. Then her stomach churned as she realized how close she had gotten to the angel. And…

“Yocchan?”

“Uhm, I’m actually kinda hungry.” Yoshiko decided to say. “And look over there, a choco banana stand. My treat?” She grabbed her girlfriend’s hand.

Riko raised an eyebrow but said nothing while letting herself be led toward the food stalls.

---------

“Yocchan.”

Yoshiko clenched her jaw. She knew that tone was coming. The couple had just arrived back at her apartment for the night.

“Would you please tell me what’s gotten into you tonight?”

Yoshiko sighed. “I’m sorry, Riri.”

She had done her best to keep up a cheerful façade for the rest of their time at the festival, but it seemed Riko knew her too well already and had seen through it. Hindsight being 20-20, she probably should have just asked to leave early.

“It’s… hard to explain.”

Arms gently slid around Yoshiko’s waist from behind and a chin landed on her shoulder. “Would you be willing to try?”

“It’s ███████.”

“Eh?”

“It’s an untranslatable angelic word.” Yoshiko scoffed. “And apparently, having fallen, I’ve lost the ability to pronounce it. A foolish mortal tried to translate it once and ended up creating the entire language of Enochian, which… don’t get me started on that mess… The Welsh came close with their own <hiraeth> but…”

“Can you describe it?”

“Well, to oversimplify, it means longing.”

“Longing?”

“For Heaven. For His presence. That He instilled within us.”

“… Oh…” Riko tightened her embrace.

“One would think that severing my Heavenly tether would allow me to escape that curse, but I guess that is just a fallen angel’s luck.”

“Uhm, if I may ask, why do I not feel it as well?” Riko inquired. “Are we not of the same ilk?”

“You were born in Hell.”

“Yes.”

“You are unaware of the Glo… nature of Heaven, and thus are incapable of experiencing ███████. And may you forever remain so.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for, Riri.”

“But if I cannot empathize, is there anything else I can do to help?”

“Just… be with me.” Yoshiko said, turning in Riko’s arms so she could face her and return the embrace. “Help me remember why I am better off here than there.”

“Alright.”

“Thank you, Riri.”

How long the fallen angel and demon stood together in the entryway, neither knew, nor did they care.

---------

Author's Note Continued: Whenever I read a word as being untranslatable, but Google translate happily spits out a translation, I know I'm going to end up with multiple tabs open researching a deeper meaning. And that's exactly what happened here. Not complaining, mind.

Anyway, I've seen many movies and shows that depict angels, fallen angels, and demons who were once angels, as having a built-in need for Heaven and/or God that they cannot ever truly shake. There is a fantastic rant from Dogma that unfortunately ended up on the cutting room floor, but can still be found around the net, that describes this feeling better than anything else I've seen. And while there was no way I could capture anything close to the power of that rant within the confines of a 4k character limit event entry, I do hope I at least got the sentiment across.

I will probably expand on this scene when I get around to adding it to the PoH:PP collection proper.

And finally, day eight of getting both prior prompts in. Festival was from '21 and Yarn was from '22.

#YohaRiko #YoshiRiko #Sakurauchi Riko #Tsushima Yohane #Love Live Sunshine #fanfic #Promptober 2023 #Tsushima Yoshiko #YohaRiri

2 notes · View notes

obscureoperations · 2 years

Note

Martin and Abraham, but switch the situation they're in

yk what I mean? if not that's okay :)

have a lovely day or night <3

Interesting fam..very interesting.

So, if I've got this right, Martin and Abe have been thrust into different universes. With all the same characteristics and motivations. The only difference is that their environment has been switched? If I'm wrong, honestly...my bad!

Abe living in Braddock

First off, the ending would have never happened. Abe would've escaped long before then. A master of covering things up in fear of jeopardizing the family-- Abe was good at kicking dirt over his tracks.

When he finds Abby in the bathtub, he already knows he'd be the prime suspect in Cuda's eyes. Screw the public, none of them knew the two of them were even involved. If anything, the husband would be the prime suspect. I feel that he'd already know to get out of that house.

But other than that, I feel he would question all of Cuda's views the second he gives the speech at the door. "And then I will destroy you.." You sure about that fam? He views the temporary roof as a means to and end.

His behavior would be similar to the novelization of Martin, with an added layer of self awareness. He knew what he was doing and he enjoyed it. It was the other people that kept getting in his way. He needed to feed. He needed to go out on Main and and syphon the bums. Hiding his deeds from his cousin was a cakewalk. The old man just needed to stay out of his way.

Brutally violent in his attacks and completely unremorseful. He was doing it because it felt good. He needed blood and it was his right to appease his desires. If anyone said differently, they would have to be removed.

I think he would do well in the beginning when convincing Cuda that he wanted to change. Dressed and ready for church at nine am every Sunday. On his knees in front of the altar as he continues to whisper his own secret prayer.

Martin in the Barnes household:

Thats where things get a bit sticky. Martin was used to being ostracized away from the rest of the family..viewed as some sort of pariah. The new roof came with so much responsibility, and a need to live by example.

An only child forced into the position of the head due to the eldest’s mental illness. All eyes on him.. he needed to get out and quench his thirst--but there was always some sort of hindrance.

“We need to go out and find another one for Harvest. Ma ain’t doin so well.”

“The fuck you shakin’ for boy?! Keep drivin’.. I see a pretty one straight down the road!”

The added responsibility, along with the familial demands leaves Martin drained and at a loss. Incapable of caring for his basic needs without a pack of vultures nipping at his feet. Asking questions, and ensuring his devotion to the cause. At times, Martin just needs some time to himself.

He welcomes the sense of togetherness, but never has time to simply sit alone quietly. The quiet thrum their heartbeat still echoing through his ears as he slumps down against the windowsill. With fresh blood still dribbling down his chin, something always crashes against the wall of the living room.

#martin 1977 #martin 1978 #martin mathias #midnight 1982 #completely unedited

5 notes · View notes

ghostwriter-of-silly-things · 5 months

Text

Single And Incapable Of Mingle

Word Count: 2,307

Warnings: minor archery injury mention, implied Hera, OC is still a bit of a dick and will stay that way for. a while.

bro is straight up not having a good time tbh

Having toured Leo around most if the campus, I was thoroughly irritated. He was constantly asking questions; not particularly unusual for new campers, but I was just not in the mood today. Quite possibly the only thing that could be said to be nice about the experience was a lack of archery training. One of my least favourite things in the world was the string catching my elbow every time without fault. It hurt like a bitch and also scarred like one.

When we had arrived at the sword arena, Leo had asked if he would get a sword. Hades help us if that ever happened, I thought.

Halfway across the green, Leo stopped in his tracks, staring at a tree.

"What?" I asked bluntly, after a few seconds.

"That old lady... What is she doing here?"

...

"Dude, the old lady. The one in black. How many old ladies do you see over there."

Sweet Hermes, he's hallucinating. "The Mist might still be uh, doing it's thing. You're new to this anyway, no one expects you to see through it that easily when you first start out. Anyway, you want to see your cabin or something?"

"Just messing with you, Ben." Well. He's lying.

Leo pulled some gears and levers out of his pocket and started to fiddle with them. "Let's go see Cabin Nine, I'm in the mood for a good curse."

"Mhm. Don't call me Ben. My friends call me -" I faltered. I didn't have friends. Not for a long time, anyway and plus, I wasn't about to go making new ones this early.

"Friends call you what?" Leo said, the question innocent enough but enabling too many emotions for comfort.

"Doesn't matter. Just don't call me that."

As we both made our way to the door of the Hephaestus cabin, Leo whistled.

"They've got a steampunk theme going on, huh?" Well, he wasn't wrong. The cabin looked pretty cool, even I had to admit it, covered in gears and pistons and blowing steam as you entered. The inside was much the same. Walls covered with power tools and perfectly crafted weapons. There seemed to be a second floor that definitely wasn't visible from the outside, as it was empty of beds. Well, except for one.

"A weed whacker? What's the god of fire want with a weed whacker?"

A voice from the shadows said, "You'd be surprised."

Camouflage netting retracted, and lo and behold, Jake Mason, head counsellor for the Hephaestus cabin. An accident had occurred just a few days earlier. I hadn't been around when it happened, but it was pretty bad. He was covered from head to toe in a full body cast, minus his face, which was puffy and bruised.

"I'm Jake Mason," Jake Mason said. "I'd shake your hand, but..."

"Yeah," Leo said. "Don't get up."

Jake smiled, which looked painful. "Welcome to Cabin Nine. Been almost a year since we had any new kids. I'm head counsellor for now."

"For now?"

I cleared my throat, and glanced at the wall. A battle-axe hung decoratively on the wall caught my eye. Vine-like designs were meticulously engraved onto the sharp metal of the blade. "So, uh, where is everybody?"

"Down at the forges," Jake said wistfully. "They're working on... you know, that problem."

"Right. So, you got a spare bed? I'm sure Leo here would get on just fine with the harpies but Chiron would probably kill me if anything happened."

Jake sized up Leo as best he could without being able to move. "Do you believe in curses, Leo? Or ghosts?"

An unreadable expression crossed Leo's face. "Ghosts? Pfft. Nah. I'm cool. A storm spirit chucked me down the Grand Canyon this morning, but you know, all in a day's work, right?"

"That's good," Jake said, nodding. "Because I'll give you the best bed in the cabin - Beckendorf's. Bunk 1-A, please."

A circular section of the floor spiralled open like a camera lens, and a full-scale bed popped up. The bronze frame had a built-in game system at the footboard, a stereo system, a glass-door fridge and a whole bunch of control panels running down the side.

Leo jumped right in and lay back with his arms behind his head. "I can handle this."

"It retracts into a private room below," Jake said.

"Oh heck yeah," Leo said. "See y'all. I'll be down in the Leo Cave. What button do I press?"

"Hang on. Private underground rooms? Are you serious?" I asked indignantly.

"We've got lots of secrets. Our campers have been excavating the tunnel system under Cabin Nine for almost a century," he said. "We still haven't found the dead end. Anyway, Leo, if you don't mind sleeping in a dead man's bed, it's yours."

He sat up, almost violently smacking his way into a concussion. Shame. It would have been funny. "The counsellor who died - this was his bed?"

"Yeah," Jake said. Charles Beckendorf.

"He didn't, like, die in this bed, did he?"

"No," Jake said. "The Titan War, last summer."

"The Titan War," Leo repeated, "which has nothing to do with this very fine bed?"

"The Titans," Jake said, like Leo was an idiot. "The big powerful guys that ruled the world before the gods. They tried to make a comeback last summer. Their leader, Kronos, built a new palace on top of Mount Tam in California. Their armies came to New York and almost destroyed Mount Olympus. A lot of demigods died trying to stop them."

This shocked me a bit. I had been expecting that the natural disasters weren't a coincidence, but this was a whole new level. Kronos. The Titan, Kronos. That was some big stuff, even I had to admit. It didn't exactly make up for what had happened, but I was glad I wasn't around for it. Not that I hadn't been warned, but I sort of expected something that big to be around when I was there, with my luck.

"I'm guessing this wasn't in the news?" Leo asked.

"You didn't hear about Mouth St Helens erupting, or the freak storms across the country, or that building collapsing in St Louis?" Jake asked incredulously.

"Guess I was busy."

"Doesn't matter. You both were lucky to miss it. The thing is Beckendorf was one of the first casualties, and ever since then -"

"The cabin's been cursed," Leo guessed. Who knew a dead guy could have such an effect?

Jake didn't answer, although the full body cast sort of answered for him. Must be hard for the Hephaestus cabin. Working with dangerous stuff all the time didn't exactly help when you were cursed.

"Well I should get some sleep. I hope you like it here, Leo. It used to be... really nice." He sighed half-heartedly, and noticed me eyeing up the axes again. "Do you, uh, want one? I'm sure you'll be happy with any of them." He said jokingly.

"Hm. Thanks, but I have my own battle-axe," I smiled awkwardly at the comment, and tapped the pink heart hairpins on each side of my head, making a slight chink sound. I said with an exasperated air: "Come on then. I should probably take you to the forges or something."

I turned and walked out, not even waiting for Leo to follow. I had only been in Cabin Nine a few times, and it was always an... experience. It had changed a lot over the years, especially with new tech and everything. Which of course meant more stuff to go wrong, but it comes with the job description.

Once Leo realized he had been left behind, he hurriedly ran after me to catch up. It took him a few minutes to catch his breath, because I was a fast walker. I may have sped up a little to make it harder for him, but, well, he didn't have to know.

"How did he die?" Leo asked. "I mean Beckendorf."

I trudged a few paces ahead of him. "I'm not sure. Something about an explosion and Percy Jackson."

"So Beckendorf was pretty popular? I mean - before he blew up."

"I guess. Look, I don't really know much about all this. I haven't been back at camp for a long time, so don't expect me to give you any updates on recent events." I said grumpily.

Leo was silent for a second. One whole glorious second. "So. The curse. How?"

I sighed wearily. "From what I've heard, after the war, everything started to go wrong. Chariots spontaneously combusting, automation system gone haywire, malfunctioning inventions, all Cabin Nine. It's like a curse - so people are calling it the Curse of Cabin Nine. Then, the bit I was here for -- well, the aftermath, Jake and his accident -"

"Which had something to do with the problem he mentioned," Leo guessed.

"They're... working on it," I said without enthusiasm. "And, uh, here we are."

The forge looked like a steam-powered locomotive had smashed into the Greek Parthenon and they had a weird love child. An interesting look to be sure, white marble combined with soot stains, gods and monsters carved into the walls, along with some more... R-rated art renditions. The building lay adjacent to a stream, with several water wheels turning a series of bronze gears which seemed to do all of nothing to the untrained eye. Inside, I knew, were roaring fires, machinery and a ton of anvils, most there for no particular reason, just to look good.

When they stepped through the doorway, a dozen Hephaestus campers who'd been working on various projects all froze. The noise died down to the roar of the forge fire and various annoying clicking sounds that got on my nerves almost instantly. I swallowed dryly, and after realizing everyone was waiting for me to say something, said: "New camper," I gestured weakly at Leo. "Your new brother, Leo- uh... last name?" The last question directed at the star-struck teen standing next to me.

"Valdez."

"Right. Leo Valdez."

His siblings walked up to Leo to introduce themselves, hesitant at first, in case he exploded accidentally when they touched him. There were so many of them, and I had to admit, it made me kind of jealous. So many people who share similar traits to you, to share memories and experiences with, to talk to. I had the Hermes cabin, sure, but they were all different to me. Clarisse was one of the only people that bothered to talk to me, and even then there was a prior connection. Ish. She kind of had to talk to me on pain of violent haunting, or so she said.

Leo looked slightly overwhelmed for a few seconds after he'd talked to everyone, but the moment passed quickly and without recognition. He seemed to scan the room, trying to read it and ending up failing miserably. "Well, all right! I hear this is the party cabin." Oh dear lord.

They all stared at him, faces blank with no amusement to speak of. Tough crowd.

"Well," I broke the silence after what felt like an age. "I'm going to go... do chores or whatever." I looked at Leo. "He gets annoying, but try not to commit manslaughter." A mock gasp of astonishment from the accused. "Someone show him to dinner when it's time?"

"I've got it," Nyssa said. She was relatively calm, for a Hephaestus kid. Camo shorts, a tank top, and a bandana over her dark hair. Her buff arms were covered in grease and soot, she wouldn't have looked out of place in Ares. Well, minus the smiley face plaster on her chin.

"Cool," Leo said, as I was leaving. "I've always wanted a sister who could beat me up."

"Come on, joker boy. I'll show you around."

Leo made my head hurt, and quite frankly, I was glad that after that stupid tour, I hopefully wouldn't have to talk to him much ever again. I could already feel a headache coming on.

❁

Strolling up to the stables, I moved along the rows, looking for a particular pegasus that seemed to like me rather more than anyone else. By that, it just meant she didn't maim me when I came close. It seemed that more than a few campers had garnered broken ribs from her back legs.

Finally, I found her stable at the end of the building, and lent over the door. "Hey Lady." The grey mare turned to look at me expectantly. I produced an apple and a couple of sugar cubes. You have to bribe them if you want them to be nice to you.

"Want to go for a ride?" I said with a smile. "There might be some more sugar in it if you do."

Lady nickered and tossed her head, as if to say get on with it.

My grin grew wider. I'd always loved riding, especially when I could just canter or gallop without anyone to tell you you should really be training and not messing around.

At least this would go better than my attempts at trying to grow the strawberry plants earlier. It seemed like the ground was deliberately resisting me.

I would have made sure to get the most of it before dinner, except the world had other ideas, and I managed to slump back safely against the stable walls before the vision from the one and only queen of the heavens consumed me.

prev chapter • series m.list • next chapter

#pjo #pjo hoo toa #pjo fandom #hoo #hoo fandom #hoo fanfic #demigods #percy jackson fanfiction #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus fanfiction #leo valdez x oc #jason grace x oc #poly fanfic #angst #angst with a happy ending #slow burn #slow as all fuck because i was accidentally projecting my (unknown) demiromamticism and now the plot is basically done

0 notes

socoollike · 1 year

Text

Sometimes i look back at my childhood and realise there was so much in my head.

Sometimes i wonder if i have all these things like bpd, ocd, asd and adhd but im too scared to talk about it to my parents because from a young age my thoughts and my feelings were pushed aside or treated as a joke. My whole life especially in my early teen years i had a lot happening in my head where i was so intensely depressed and couldnt go outside in fear of my peers seeing me and thinking im weird or i look horrible and somedays couldnt even go to school without having a meltdown. But no. I was a joke to my friends and family. My parents still call me a snowflake when i talk about my friends, problems in the world, if im possibly neurodivergent.

Im scared if im not actually autistic. What if this is just me and theres nothing. What if this is just how my brain works and im just incapable of everything. Or what if i just cant read social cues and everybody just doesnt like me just because?

What if i dont have adhd and i just cannot focus and nothing can fit in my brain? What if i just cant sit still and i have to do something or Ill just explode.

What if i dont have ocd and my brain just needs everything in a certain way and if somebody touches something ill snap. What if my brain just makes up these images in my head of my parents or peers doing things to me or me doing things to them. Me killing people, raping people vice versa. What if i have to do things in fives just because?

Im scared nobody will ever take me seriously. Im scared if i talk to someone about this they’ll just tell me i have nothing wrong with me. Im scared just because i can make five seconds of eye contact (and i have to count to five) im not autistic. Just because my room isnt filled with a specific thing im not autistic. Because im terrible at maths and get bad grades im not autistic. Perhaps i do have adhd ? But ive been thinking i have autism since i was ?? God knows. But nobody did anything.

I was just a quirky kid who had a strange obsession with art ! With collecting dolls ! Putting them in lines by colour and fives ! An obsession with cats that i still have ! You know as a kid i would colour code all the dvds in the living room so much my dad had to sell them ? Too bad im collecting dvds myself now and colourcoding them again and again and again. Even when they’re already colour coded i do it again and again and again.

I was just a quirky kid who sat by herself at break time and lunch because every kid saw something about them that they didn’t see. They saw something in me straight away. Ive always been friends with only neurodivergent people my whole life. They were the only people who didnt see that. Or did they ? Did they subconsciously know i was one of them ? Some kids who werent neurodivergent kept me around sometimes but then would leave me, it didnt make sense. Up to my teenage years one of my best friends was neurotypical, we were compete opposites but i felt safe around her until i would talk about my interests in bands, cats and collecting things then shed go off to her other friends or change the subject or completely leave me in year 10. In year 10 i finally got friends that were neurodivergent and i felt home, i could talk about my interests without feeling like a burden, they were interested. Though i still couldnt read social cues if they were tired of me telling them about my cats origin story or how the nine lives theory came to be. They would still listen and be interested and ask me questions.

I need to tell someone these and get a formal diagnosis but im too scared theyll see me as a weirdo or strange. If j do get a diagnosis ill be so extremely happy because then i actually have something ! Id have something to tell people why im like this, this is why im like this this js me !!!!! This is why you bullied me relentlessly for no reason !!!!!

I need this so bad. I need to stop blaming myself.

0 notes

deripmaver · 3 years

Text

laurent is a good person - book 1 meta

one of the most amazing things about captive prince is how the reveals in book 3 recontextualize all of the scenes leading up to them, including about laurent himself. in book one, all we see is damen pov as he’s being abused and humiliated by this supposedly spoiled, vile ice prince. when the regent comes to damen and subtly (and not so subtly) insults laurent, calling him unfit to rule - well, why would he think anything different? laurent has insulted him, had him whipped within an inch of his life, and even attempted to (and later successfully lmfao) have him raped while drugged out of his mind.

after book 3 we can reread most if not all of book 1 as a very traumatized boy who has finally been confronted with the man who killed his brother, leaving him alone with his abusive uncle, and who he clearly has made into a complete monster in his own mind. damen of course sees him as a complete bitch, but there’s textual/subtextual evidence that laurent is well liked, and that his behavior during book 1 was actually pretty out of character for him. i’d like to provide some examples of that now!!!!

“Laurent had stopped dead the moment he had seen Damen, his face turning white as though in reaction to a slap, or an insult. Damen’s view, half-truncated by the short chain at this neck, had been enough to see that. But Laurent’s expression had shuttered quickly.” Captive Prince, Chapter One

i couldn’t resist adding this one in hehe. laurent recognizes damen!! he’s come down, knowing his uncle has devised another truly horrendous and triggering “gift” and that he’ll lose support if he calls it our for what it truly is, only to find out that it’s fucking damianos of akielos sent to him as a sex slave. a jab at laurent’s trauma about auguste and also a jab at laurent’s frigid sexuality - which ofc is completely the regent’s fault. fuck that guy so much lmfao

“‘It’s so rare to see you at these entertainments, Your Highness,’ said Vannes.” Captive Prince, Chapter Two.

this is right before the fight between govart and damen in the ring, of course. damen sees laurent as depraved and vile as the sexual sadism on display by the veretian court, and considers him to be a willing purveyor of it. this is wrong, of course, as said by vannes here. laurent has only shown up because he wants to humiliate damen lmfao.

“He did remember being supported by two of the guards, here, in this room, while Radel stared athis back in horror. ‘The Prince really . . . did this.’ ‘Who else?’ Damen said. Radel had stepped forward, and slapped Damen across the face; it was a hard slap, and the man wore three rings on each finger. ‘What did you do to him?’ Radel demanded.” Captive Prince, Chapter Four

this scene, to me, was the most telling lmfao. it’s right after damen is whipped. you could argue that radel is just a servant in the employ of the royal household, so is of course going to be loyal to the prince, but he seems genuinely surprised of the prince’s cruelty towards damen. not only that, but he slaps him and immediately assumes damen must have done something. which - i mean, technically he did lmao. not necessarily enough to deserve having the skin flayed from his back, but you know. if laurent was in the habit of torturing pets and slaves, why would the overseer react this way?

“The men guarding him were the Prince’s Guard, and had no affiliation with the Regent whatsoever. It surprised Damen how loyal they were to their Prince, and how diligent in his service, airing none of the grudges and complaints that he might have expected, considering Laurent’s noxious personality. Laurent’s feud with his uncle they took up wholeheartedly; there were deep schisms and rivalries between the Prince’s Guard and the Regent’s Guard, apparently.” Captive Prince, Chapter Four

laurents relationships with his guards are also some of the biggest indicators that he isn’t just a spoiled brat, but can insire a deep loyalty in his men. even if they do all want to fuck him. ah, sexual harassment. it’s also hilarious that damen immediately assumes they’re loyal to him because they want to fuck him - nice projection there, dude. we know a bit more about laurent and his guards thanks to green but for a season, but this little bit here is interesting.

“Laurent was indeed good at talking. He accepted sympathy gracefully. He put his position rationally. He stopped the flow of talk when it became dangerously critical of his uncle. He said nothing that could be taken as an open slight on the Regency. Yet no one who talked to him could have any doubt that his uncle was behaving at best misguidedly and at worst treasonously.” Captive Prince, Chapter Five

idek what to say here. laurent my beloved <3333

“‘When someone doesn’t like you very much, it isn’t a good idea to let them know that you care about something,’ said Laurent. Damen felt himself turn ashen, as the threat sank in. ‘Would it hurt worse than a lashing for me to cut down someone you care for?’ said Laurent.” Captive Prince, Chapter Seven

this isn’t really relevant to my thesis lmfao i just love this exchange bc it gives SO MUCH information about laurent and his uncle in just three lines of dialogue. what has the regent done, who did he cut down just to hurt laurent? when and how did laurent learn that? p a i n

“Laurent’s fussy horse began acting out again, and he leaned forward in the saddle, murmuring something as he stroked her neck in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture to quiet her.” Captive Prince, Chapter Nine.

HORSEY NO- lmfao this scene just hurts so badly on the reread. especially later on, in book 3 i think, where laurent says something like “i provoked my uncle.” he’s really blaming himself for his uncle KILLING HIS HORSE, his horse that his murdered brother trained, one of the only living connections to auguste... all because his uncle could not let a single miniscule plan laurent had set go through without some kind of repercussion. literally all laurent did was do something to stop an innocent group of people from being abused, nothing to undermine his uncle’s rule, but because the regent is VILE he could not let laurent have even this. he’s so good with her, too. he must have known by this point and also known that there was no way to stop this. P A I N

“‘I know that you have somehow arranged this,’ said Erasmus. He was incapable of hiding what he felt, and just seemed to radiate embarrassed happiness. ‘You kept your promise. You and your master. I told you he was kind,’ Erasmus said. ‘You did,’ said Damen. He was pleased to see Erasmus happy. Whatever Erasmus believed about Laurent, Damen wasn’t going to dissuade him. ‘He’s even nicer in person. Did you know he came and talked to me?’ said Erasmus. ‘—He did?’ said Damen. It was something he couldn’t imagine. ‘He asked about . . . what happened in the gardens. Then he warned me. About last night.’ ‘He warned you,’ said Damen. ‘He said that Nicaise would make me perform before the court and it would be awful, but that if I was brave, something good might come at the end of it.’ Erasmus looked up at Damen curiously. ‘Why do you look surprised?’ ‘I don’t know. I shouldn’t be. He likes to plan things in advance,’ said Damen.” Captive Prince, Chapter 9.

this is the first in-text confirmation we have that laurent has a good heart beneath his layers and layers of trauma-induced lashing out. book one often skeeves people out because of its graphic and, honestly, yes, kind of sexualized depiction of rape, slavery, and depravity, but beneath it all you meet these two protagonists who are going to have all of their most deeply held views about each other challenged. laurent from very early on is shaken to his core when damen refuses to rape nicaise in the ring - it cracks the very foundations of the person he’d built up in his head as this horrible monster who killed his brother in cold blood. and damen keeps defying laurents expectations by being a good person through and through. on the other hand, laurent spends the first part of the book taking out years of anger on damen, but here for the first time we see him do something just because its the kind thing to do. yes, torveld is an ally against his uncle, but laurent has clearly been scheming with him for a while now, and he’s now overlooking his hatred of damen and working with him just because none of the slaves deserve whats happened to them. it’s such a sweet moment.

“One of the other men, eyeing them, approached a moment later. ‘Don’t mind Jean. He’s in a foul mood. He was the one had to stick a sword through the mare’s throat and put her down. The Prince tore strips off him for not doing it fast enough.’” Captive Prince, Chapter Nine.

HORSEY NO- pt 2. this is just another really sweet and sad detail - laurent being so upset that the horse’s death could have been more painless. it must have hurt so much to see her in pain, and to know that the only way for that pain to end was being put down as quickly as possible. i wuv him. im sad

that’s it, though there are still a few more chapters left in the book. this isn’t providing any new information, of course, the path of the three books is to show that laurent isnt the man we meet in book one, that he’s actually sweet, and earnest, and he’s been fighting his own battle practically alone against his abuser since he was fifteen years old. also, the reveal that laurent knew who damianos was from the start makes it clear imo that all of his violence in book 1 was supposed vengence, not... him being evil. he apologizes explicitly in-text, and also, all of the acts of violence he commits cause serious problems for him in terms of his future alliance which he then needs to fix. i just love how layered these books are, how there’s so much information in them that makes rereading almost more fun than reading them for the very first time!

#Captive Prince #captive prince meta #damen x laurent #Laurent of Vere #Damianos of Akielos

405 notes · View notes

spideyspeaches · 3 years

Text

Truth and Reconciliation ↬ p.p

AN: for @scarletspideyy ‘s 3k challenge! And also inspired by Rambling by @lousimusician !!!! Go check theirs out its HILARIOUS 😂

Summary: you're hit by an alien substance that makes you speak the truth no matter WHAT the situation is ;)

Warnings : rambling. lots of it. Also mentions of sex cause that’s basically the plot but it has not smut. it’s only implied! it is also implied that all the characters are 18+ !

Word count: 1.2k

College!Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader

Masterlist || Taglist

The thing is, even if you’re dating a hot smartass like Peter Parker, your ability to make smart decisions are exceptionally low. Add that with being a chaotic junior Avenger and boom you have a reckless teenager at your service.

“Ugh, I wish Peter was here right now.” you mumbled as you kicked the creepy robot monster square in the chest, huffing a little before running off.

“You’re just saying that because he’s your boyfriend.” Nat says in the comms, the static startling you a little.

“And because his ass looks great in the super tight spandex.” you nodded very seriously, missing your hot ass boyfriend’s ass, and of course because you were worried that he was going insane sitting at the tower’s newly delivered futon, munching at M&Ms and sulking about his ankle and how he broke it (by tripping in the shower).

“That’s it. The next suit I make for the kid will make him look like a pillow.” Tony piped up in your conversation.

“Nooo please don’t do that Tony, for my sanity!” you said, smirking at the ‘get some’ and ‘gross teenagers’ that came from Sam and Bucky, before your eyes widened.

‘Oh shit.’ you thought.

A Jabba the Hutt like creature was making its way towards you with a gun…in it’s hand. Wondering how the Jabba look-alike fitted a gun in its barely there hands, you used your telekinetic powers to fly towards the goop monster, thrusting your hands in front of you and slicing it smackdab through its belly, satisfied by the way it blasted in smithereens, but not before the green goopy thing hit your face, sliding down your neck and shoulders.

Looking in wonder at the green goop as it seemed to have saturated in your skin, you wondered,

“The fuck was that thing?”

Ignoring the ‘language’ from Cap, you felt your vision waver.

“Uh Mr. Stark, Nat, Bruce, someone. I think something’s wrong, I can’t see straight, which reminds me that Peter wears contacts but he never told anyone and I only know that cause I’m nosy and his glasses make him look ridiculously dorky and hot at the same time, why am I telling you this?” You said, trying to shut your mouth.

“I’m going to pretend that you don’t sound like you want to bone my kid, but were you hit by something? Any weird alien green goop? Are you hurt?” Tony said, landing near you.

“Oh my you care about me too, you’re like a father figure 2.0 to me too, but you didn’t ask that. Yeah I was hit by this weird green alien goop that seeped into my skin and that creature kind of looked like Jabba the Hutt-”

“-like the star wars character?”

“– yeah now stop interrupting me dad..man.. dadman! As I was saying, I think the thing is kind of like a truth serum. But it’s also making me say what my mind desires the most, like the Mirror of Erised! ” you said, excited in your own world, which is why you didn’t notice the glimmer in the other Avengers’ eyes as they saw you blabber your mouth off until you were out of breath.

***

“So you’re telling me that my girlfriend physically can’t stop telling the truth? Or just stop talking?” Peter said, crossing his forearms and squinting at the team. It did nothing but make him look adorable because of his propped up broken leg.

They at least had the decency to duck their heads to hide their smirks.

“Yeah if I have to hear her talk one more time about the theories of what might happen in season 8 of Brooklyn nine nine and then get distracted by “the veins in Peter’s arms’, I swear I will blast another hole in the wall!” Tony shrieked, hands up in the air in an exasperated gesture.

“But it’s true right? I mean Peter come on! you folding your arms like that are just making your biceps bulge and that poor t-shirt of yours looks like it’s about to tear.” You piped in from behind Tony, which queued Peter to loosen his arms, blush rising up his face.

“You have the right to remain silent.” Tony said firmly, glaring at you to stop talking. You shrugged as if to say ‘can’t help it.’

“I mean she can’t really help it right? You didn’t say anything embarrassing…..right? ” Peter said in a small voice.

“I'm pretty sure the Miranda warning was meant for me to shut up but I’m sorry I’m currently incapable of reassuring you,” you said, eyes slightly wide, "I told them that you read and write fanfiction on tumblr and I secretly follow your blog and your writing is so damn good! I never really told you this because I know you would die if I told you that I read your smut fictions till 2 am cause they’re so well written… SOMEONE GAG ME!”

***

By the time Stephen showed up to help Tony and Bruce, Peter’s face was so red that he looked like he was going to explode.

“….and then I said that fuck off bitch that’s ma bro you’re messing with, and promptly punched him in his little gremlin face and then realised that I had called my elementry to highschool crush ma bro…” you rambled, amusement clear on Steve’s face, who was intently listening to you talk about that time you had punched Flash for messing with Peter.

The tower was a mess due to the revealed secrets, Tony and Banner were trying to find a cure with Stephen , Wanda was recording you and Natasha was just…..casually sharpening her knife.

“Hey Y/N, drink this please?” Tony said, cutting you off from your rant about god knows what. He thrusted a vial with a weird goopy substance in it, instantly making you gag.

“What is that? I’m not taking some shit from a mad scientist who gave his fortune 500 company to his girlfriend because he was too emotionally unstable to handle it himself! I mean good call, cause Pepper is badass and all but-”

“-I’m going to ignore the jab at me but it’s a hopeful cure, so you’re going to drink that goop, and hopefully we all will get some silence.”

Huffing petulantly, you took the small vial of glass from him and chugged the thing with a small grimace.

Everybody was silent for a moment, including you. You could hear everyone holding their breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But that never happened cause you wore the shoe like a pro.

Giving a huff, you laughed out loud. Again you looked Peter in his eyes and said in a serious tone, “Peter, I’m never fucking you again.”

Peter’s face fell at what you said, tears almost appearing in his doe eyes. Wanda and Nat gave you a shooketh look while Bucky and Sam were just laughing their asses off somewhere in the background. Strange looked so done that he portaled back to his Sanctum and poor Bruce just made his merry way to the lab.

“Hey look I lied!! This worked!” you whooped, Tony and Steve shaking their heads as you ran, but not before giving Peter a subtle wink.

Welp. Someone’s gonna get laid tonight.

#peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x avenger!reader #peter x reader #avenger!reader #tony stark #spiderman x stark!reader #spiderman x you #peter parker smut #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #peter parker x reader angst #spideygirl writes

887 notes · View notes

dickwheelie · 3 years

Text

okay so the other day this gorgeous comic by @tijela crossed my dash and I couldn’t stop thinking about a sequel to it where Jon and Martin actually get to go on their date. so. this is that. set sometime nebulously in season 3. also there is ace jontent (jon content) because against my better judgment I absolutely refuse to shut up about jon being ace. anyway I love you (yes, you) enjoyyyyy

___________

It’s only two minutes after nine in the morning when Jon appears in the doorway of Martin’s cubicle, holding two steaming mugs in his hands. Martin pauses in the act of taking off his coat, eyes wide, and for a moment all they do is stare at each other.

“I—brought you tea,” says Jon at last, as though it’s something he does for Martin every morning. He makes a strange kind of abortive movement with his arm, half-offering one of the mugs. What is happening, thinks Martin. And why is it happening before I’ve even switched my laptop on.

He decides to roll with it. “Thanks,” he says, keeping his voice carefully neutral, as he sits down at his desk and takes one of the mugs. Jon’s hand shakes almost imperceptibly as he passes it over. Martin takes a sip. It isn’t very good. He smiles at Jon anyway. “Ta,” he says again.

Jon doesn’t appear as though he heard him. His brow is furrowed, distractedly, and Martin notices that he doesn’t even drink from his own mug before setting it down on the edge of Martin’s desk. A twinge of anxiety lances through him. “Alright, Jon?”

Jon’s eyes snap to his, and his expression softens. “Yes. Um. Well. Not entirely.”

“Oh?”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, and he looks it, tired and frayed at the edges as he always does these days, but there’s a softness in his eyes and regret in his lines of his face. “About what happened yesterday—I am so, so sorry, Martin. I let my guard down and I shouldn’t have . . . compelled you—”

Martin shakes his head. “It’s alright.” He’d just as soon put the whole thing behind him; being rejected is embarrassing enough on its own, never mind the rest of it. “You . . . you didn’t mean to.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Jon says, insistent.

“I—yeah. I know,” Martin sighs. It’s too early for this.

“And . . . I. Um. I would, actually.”

Martin pauses with the mug halfway to his mouth, and blinks up at Jon. “You would . . . what?”

“I . . . I would be happy to go out with you.”

Jon’s posture is ramrod straight, as it so rarely is, as though this is a speech he’s been rehearsing for.

“Oh! Um.” As the words sink in, Martin feels heat rise to his cheeks. He puts the mug down. “Really?”

Jon nods, once. “Yes.” Some of the confidence leaves his voice. “I-If you still want to, that is. Of course I—I understand if you’ve changed your mind.”

“No, I—or I mean, yeah, I’m . . . I’d love to, yeah.” At least it’s good to know that they’re both being articulate.

“Oh.” Jon looks genuinely relieved. “Good, then.”

Martin’s about to say something resembling a thank you, when Jon barrels onward.

“I was thinking we could get dinner.” Then, almost apologetically: “Is that alright?”

Martin would laugh if the whole thing wasn’t making him blush. “O-Okay. Yeah. Sure. Sounds good. When are you . . . ?”

“Tomorrow is Friday, yes?”

“Yeah,” Martin says, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

“Then . . . tomorrow night? A-After work? Or—” Jon winces slightly, slowing down. “I-It doesn’t have to be right after work. Would seven o’clock be alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s . . . that’s good for me.”

“Okay.” And Jon smiles, just the tiniest bit. “Okay, yes. Seven on Friday. For dinner. I’ll send you the details.”

“Sure.” Martin allows himself a grin, around the rim of the mug, and flashes Jon what he hopes is an appealing glance. “See you then, Jon.”

“Yes. Alright.” Jon stands there, staring at him for a second more, then turns around on his heel and disappears down the hallway.

It takes half an hour before Martin can actually focus enough to start work. It takes another full hour after that for Martin to notice that Jon forgot to take his mug of tea with him.

***

Jon taps his water glass pensively as he waits for Martin to arrive. The restaurant he’s invited Martin to is an Italian place in central London that Jon has never stepped foot in before today, but it seems romantic enough, with candles at every table and soft music playing in the background and lighting that makes reading the menu a chore, even with his reading glasses on. The table for two he’s reserved is minuscule, which he supposes must be a good thing. For . . . some reason.

He’s nervous. Which is ridiculous, given his life, but there it is. It feels less like a first date than it should; he knows Martin so well, and cares for him, and trusts him, but still, there’s that nagging anxiety. He just really doesn’t want to mess this up more than he already has.

Jon isn’t sure what he’s expecting Martin to look like when he arrives at the restaurant. He knows he’ll look nice, of course; Martin always looks nice, with his ties tucked neatly into his soft-looking sweaters, with his hair, and his smile . . . Jon gives himself a shake and stares daggers at the drink menu. He, himself, has worn one of the nicest outfits he owns, which he imagines is doing little to combat the bags under his eyes and the numerous scars. Still, he’s made an attempt with his hair, and traded in his usual square frames for horn-rimmed spectacles that, he’s been told, look nice on him.

When Martin shows up, though, fashionably late where Jon had been a quarter of an hour early for their reservation, he puts Jon to shame. He’s wearing a pale blue suit, with a lightly-patterned button-up that Jon can’t quite make out in the restaurant’s dim light, his hair nicely coiffed, his earrings catching the light and sparkling with every step. He approaches the small table where Jon can only sit and stare, already mumbling an apology for making Jon wait, and even after everything that’s happened Jon’s still incapable of filtering himself, so he says, “You look lovely.”

Martin beams at him as he pulls out the chair across from Jon and sits down. Inwardly, Jon winces; he should probably have offered to pull it out for him, shouldn’t he. “Thanks, Jon,” Martin says, happily. He gives Jon a once-over, but in an admiring way, which is not an experience Jon has had in a very, very long time. “You don’t look so bad, yourself.”

“Ah,” Jon says, “thank you,” and he dives back into the menu before Martin can notice that he’s blushing.

They make small talk as best they can, avoiding any topics relating to fears, until a waiter comes by. Neither of them want wine, as it turns out, Martin because of the tannins and Jon because he wants to maintain every bit of control he has to not say or do anything stupid that could ruin all of this.

As they wait for their food, Martin looks askance at Jon’s right hand, squinting curiously. Jon glances down, and his stomach sinks; he’d forgotten he was wearing it. It’s his ace ring, the simple black band he wears outside of work, when he can remember where he’s left it last. He’d put it on earlier in a fit of unearned confidence when he’d seen how his hair looked, and now he’s paying the price.

“Is that—?”

“Yes,” Jon sighs, twisting it around on his finger instinctively. “My ace ring.”

“Didn’t know you had one. I’ve never seen you wear it around the office.” Martin’s voice is soft and uninquisitive, offering Jon the option to drop the topic.

Jon doesn’t take it, because again, he lost his filter sometime in the nineties and he’s never gotten it back. “Yes, well, it’s a bit . . . unprofessional, isn’t it.”

Martin shrugs, his earrings swinging with the motion. “I mean, not really. Tim and I have pride stickers on our laptops and stuff. And—now I think of it, you do too, Jon.” Martin huffs a laugh, but the way he looks at Jon, he can tell it isn’t at his expense. “I don’t get why this is any different.”

“I—you—” Jon flounders for a moment before giving up. “You make a compelling argument. But—I don’t know. The ring feels . . . different.” His voice weakens slightly, along with his resolve. “Somehow.”

“More personal,” Martin says, softly.

“Yes.” Jon’s chest grows warm. “Yes, that’s . . . that’s exactly it.”

“I get it. I mean, I’m not ace, but—I get it.” Martin runs his thumb along the rim of his water glass. “Took me a long time to get that trans sticker up on my laptop.”

Jon nods. There’s a beat of silence, and then Martin leans forward in his chair slightly. They’re already in pretty close quarters, and in the candlelight, Jon can almost count Martin’s freckles.

Martin inches his hand toward Jon’s. “Can I . . . ?”

Jon really hopes his blush isn’t visible, but his luck has never been the best. “Um . . . yes. I-If you want to.”

Slowly, like he’s trying not to scare him off, Martin takes Jon’s hand in his, dwarfing it in his broad palm and wide fingers. The contrast, Jon thinks for a strange moment, is beautiful.

Almost immediately, Martin startles. “Jeez, Jon, your hand is so cold,” he says, and he takes both of Jon’s hands between his, rubbing warmth back into them. Jon’s hands, in fact, had been rather cold, though he hadn’t noticed until now, and they’re certainly not cold anymore, along with Jon’s face and chest, which are rapidly warming up by extension.

He manages to get out, “Ah—sorry. I, um, have bad circulation.”

“Don’t apologize,” Martin says, almost absentmindedly, still staring down at their hands. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Jon wants to protest, and probably ruin the mood by bringing up topics that shouldn’t be discussed on a date, but at that moment Martin looks back up at him, meeting his eyes with a smile that makes him look even lovelier. “I like it,” says Martin, out of nowhere. Jon blinks at him. “Your ring.” He holds up Jon’s hand for him, demonstratively. “It looks right on you. It fits. You know?”

“Ah. Thank you,” Jon says. It doesn’t feel like the right thing to say, but he can’t find any other words, at the moment. He feels . . . he’s not sure what he’s feeling. His chest feels a bit full, but not necessarily in a bad way.

Martin is casually glancing around the restaurant, as though he isn’t actively taking Jon apart piece by smitten piece. “This place is posh,” he says. “You come here often?”

“All the time,” Jon says, mustering up some humor. “I’m only in the head archivist business for the salary.”

That makes Martin laugh, at least. “Thanks for asking me out, by the way,” he says.

“Oh,” Jon says, and his hands are still warmly pressed between Martin’s own, and he can see now that Martin’s shirt is dotted with tiny sunflowers, and for a moment he has no idea why Martin is the one thanking him. “Well, you, ah . . . sort of beat me to it.”

Martin laughs. “I mean, sort of.”

“It’s the thought that counts, anyway,” Jon says, borderline nonsensically, grasping at well-worn words and phrases, because it’s all starting to sink in now that he’s on a date with Martin, and it’s going well.

It’s at that moment that their food arrives, and Martin has to let go of his hands, but the warmth remains for a good long while afterwards.

The rest of the date is, as much as Jon has come to both loathe and cherish the word over the past two years, uneventful. Nothing is ruined, not even a tablecloth, and Martin seems genuinely, actually happy in Jon’s company, and Jon feels calmer and safer than he’s felt in a long, long time. They walk back to the Tube station hand in hand, and even in the chill autumn air, Jon feels absolutely warmed down to his bones.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #gwyneth writes #oh this is longgg #it's 2k if ur wondering if u wanna read this now or wait till later #i didn't mean for it to be this longggggg #but here it issssss

379 notes · View notes

loxare · 3 years

Text

More inadvisable late night Untamed fic. I have a lab in the morning......

Based on the personality swap AU @valdrift drew

The thing about Zidian was, it didn't require a particularly strong cultivator to wield it. Not anymore. Generations of Yu cultivators had filled it with all the power it needed to be a devastating force even in the hands of a weak cultivator. What Zidian truly required in a wielder was the finesse and strength of will to only every hit what was aimed at, and a proper temper. The former could be taught, but the latter needed a solid foundation, a soul that was inclined towards thunderous indignation as the only warning for lightning strike fury.

And so, when Yu Ziyuan needed to choose one of her children to inherit her deadliest weapon, she chose Jiang Yanli.

Jiang Cheng had the core to be truly devastating with Zidian, and he would have done well with it, but he was a mischievous boy, far too easy going, and wouldn't know a slight against him if it slapped him in the face. He was quick enough to anger if someone insulted his sister, and indeed Ziyuan had had to mediate several disagreements caused by Jiang Cheng verbally or, on one memorable occasion, physically assaulting Jin Zixuan. Never mind that his sister was more than capable of verbally assaulting Jin Zixuan herself. The rest of the time, anger slid off his back like water off of a lotus leaf. Even at the tender age of nine, Ziyuan could see that her son would never have the temperament necessary to wield Zidian properly. Perhaps in short bursts, if needed, but he would never truly master it. Not like Yanli would.

The eldest child of the Jiang sect held a fury in her that can only have come from her mother. And why not? As the eldest child of a great sect, she should have everything. But the archaic rules her father insisted on enforcing prevented her from inheriting her rightful position as sect heir, instead condemning her to a life of power borrowed from her future husband, in a sect that would never appreciate her talents. It had been the best that Yi Ziyuan had been able to secure for her daughter, and it would never be enough. Jiang Cheng would inherit, and he would flourish as sect leader, Ziyuan was proud to say, but the knowledge that she would never stand in that lofty place would always weigh her daughter down. And her daughter raged under the weight.

And so, a mere two weeks after Fengmian brought that whelp of a street child into their home, Ziyuan started training her daughter in the use of Zidian.

And in the hands of Jiang Yanli, the whip roared.

A week after Jiang Yanli's twelfth birthday, her father brought home a dirty pile of rags. Those dirty rags turned out to be a boy, a quiet, shy boy who spent most of his introduction to the Jiang children hiding behind her father's robes. Even after a warm bath and a hesitantly eaten hot meal, there wasn't much of him. He seemed to be trying to make himself smaller and smaller. If he could have sunk into the floor, Jiang Yanli was sure he would have. Jiang Yanli scoffed, and went to bed that night thinking that he would be run out of the sect in a week.

It didn't take nearly that long. Jiang Cheng barged into her room in the middle of the night, bawling his eyes out. It took Jiang Yanli pinching him on the thigh to shock him out of his tears enough to tell her why he was crying. "I was sad about Princess an' Jasmine an' Love an' I yelled at Wei Ying and now he's go-o-o-one!" And with that, he started crying again.

Jiang Yanli would have left it at that. Wei Ying didn't want to be here. That was clear enough. All her other shidis had been nervous when they'd arrived, but twenty minutes with Jiang Cheng had them forget their nervousness and by the end of the day, they had opened up and were running and laughing with the other disciples. Wei Ying had been in Jiang Cheng's presence for an entire evening and he had still kept himself separate and small. If he didn't want to be a Lotus Pier disciple, Jiang Yanli was very ok with letting him run off.

Except.

Her baby brother was crying.

Jiang Yanli was not a comforting person, in general. Too sharp, too quick to anger, incapable of seeing things from other people's perspectives, or at least, incapable of doing so with the ease her brother had. Sometimes an arm wrapped around her brother's shoulders, the one thing she knew worked more than it failed, was enough to stop his tears, but she could tell that in this case, it wouldn't even come close. Which meant she had to remove the source of his tears. So she stood up, dropped her quilt over her brother's head, and said, "Stay here dummy." Then she grabbed a lantern and headed out.

Wei Ying's tracks were easy enough to follow and ended at a hollow under a downed tree's roots. The light of the lantern reflected off Wei Ying's pale face. "What are you doing under there?"

"Ah. Well." It was the first time she had heard his voice. Soft and gentle, like a fall rain. "Jiang Cheng told me to go away."

Wei Ying was too deep for her to reach him. Which meant she needed to convince him to come out. Ugh. "And you listened to him? If you do that he'll get a swelled head. An even more swelled head. A-Cheng says a lot of stuff, and if you listen to everything he says you'll start believing that water ghouls sleep under the docks and lotus pods taste better with the stems still attached."

"Do they?"

"No. A-Die wouldn't let ghouls anywhere near the docks, and lotus pods taste the same whether the stem is long or not."

"Oh." Wei Ying fidgeted. "He told me to go away. That if he saw me again, he'd set his dogs on me."

"Dogs he doesn't even have anymore, thanks to you." Wei Ying flinched at her words, and Jiang Yanli winced. Well she'd already started digging this grave. "So he couldn't set them on you if he wanted to. And since he was just in my room crying about scaring you off, I don't think he wants to."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He was just sad cause his dogs are gone. He didn't mean what he said. Now get out here so we can walk back and he can tell you all of this himself."

There was a shuffle. "I hurt my ankle when I was running. That's why I crawled in here."

Jiang Yanli sighed. "Well come out here so I can carry you back, and then a-Cheng can tell you all of this."

There was another shuffle, and then Wei Ying's face appeared between the roots of the tree. Dirty again, like they hadn't just given him a bath. She gave him the lantern to hold and loaded him onto her back.

In the end, Wei Ying didn't have to wait until they got all the way to Lotus Pier to hear Jiang Cheng's apology, because he had followed them, when Jiang Yanli had expressly told him to wait for her! And he'd hurt his knee falling into a ditch. He gave Wei Ying a blinding smile when he saw him and tried to climb out of the ditch in his excitement and then almost hurt himself worse. Which meant Jiang Yanli had to carry both boys home, which meant she was angry enough to burst when she finally got there. As such, instead of heading to the rooms, she went to the kitchens for some late night cooking. Setting things on fire always calmed her down.

She set Jiang Cheng carefully on a chair, then turned around to put Wei Ying on the one next to it. And she washed the dirt off of her hands, set a basin of water and a spare medical kit on the table between the boys, and turned to do some cooking.

In between dry frying spices, blanching pork ribs, and chopping lotus roots, she listened to the boys talk. It started with a hiss as Jiang Cheng wrapped Wei Ying's swollen ankle. Then, "Does she hate me?"

"A-Jie? No. Why would she hate you?"

"She seems mad..."

Jiang Cheng snorted. "That's just Jie. She's always mad. Even when she's happy, she's a little bit angry."

"Oh." More silence, then, "Want me to clean your cut? I'm pretty good at it."

"Ok!" Jiang Yanli looked over just in time to watch Jiang Cheng happily push the cloth into Wei Ying's hands and prop his leg up on Wei Ying's chair so he would have easy access.

For another few minutes, the only sounds were the boiling of the soup, the quiet, indrawn breaths of Jiang Cheng, and the splash of water as Wei Ying rinsed his cloth. He reached for the bandages, but Jiang Cheng pushed the salve towards him. "This first, then bandages. It'll help it heal faster."

Wei Ying put a little of the salve on his fingers, staring at it wonderingly. Then he applied it just as gently as he had cleaned the wound.

Once the bandage was wrapped and secured, Jiang Cheng pulled his leg down, bending the knee to test it. "Wow, you're really good at that! Where did you learn?"

"Ah. Sometimes dogs would attack me if they thought I had food. I had to clean out my injuries very thoroughly or they got infected."

Jiang Yanli paused in ladling her soup. A-Die hadn't said anything about that when he'd taken Jiang Cheng's dogs away. She put the bowls on a tray and carried it to the table. "Eat."

"Yay! Thanks a-Jie!" Jiang Cheng grabbed a bowl and started slurping like the ill mannered cretin he was. Jiang Yanli hid a fond smile.

Wei Ying hesitated, not picking up his spoon until Jiang Yanli put the soup bowl in front of him as hard as she could without spilling any. "I said eat. What, is my soup not good enough for you?" And then she cursed herself, because Wei Ying was doing that making himself smaller thing again. Desperate, she stared at Jiang Cheng until he got the hint, hating herself for having to lean on him like this.

Jiang Cheng just grinned and wrapped an arm around Wei Ying's shoulders. "Jiejie's angry soup is the best. You just don't know that cause you haven't tried it yet." He nudged the bowl closer in an unsubtle hint. When Wei Ying still didn't eat, he pulled back, using his grip on Weo Ying's shoulder to turn him so they were facing each other. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I just..." Wei Ying's shoulders curled in even more. "I don't want to get used to it. Every time I thought I would get to stay somewhere, it hurt more when I got kicked out."

Jiang Yanli's grip on her spoon tightened. "What do you mean by that?"

Wei Ying shifted uncomfortably. "Well the lady who ran the book store let me sleep on the floor of the shop for a few days once, and she fed me lots of good food, but then someone broke in and kicked me in the dark, and I screamed, and... turned out there had been a bunch of robberies and she just wanted some extra security. She kicked me out once they'd caught the guy. And the guy at the inn let me stay in exchange for helping clean the place up, but then when the party of nobles had been expecting arrived, he kicked me out too. And others. So I don't know why I'm here, but I don't want to get used to it so it'll hurt less when I have to leave."

"No!" Surprisingly, it wasn't Jiang Cheng who shouted. He was still staring slack jawed at Wei Ying. It was Jiang Yanli who stood, indignation flooding through her. "You aren't getting kicked out!"

"That's right! Weren't you listening to a-Die? He said you were going to live here and be our new brother!" Wei Ying still seemed hesitant, so Jiang Cheng added, "That means you have to stay here forever and eat a-Jie's soup and learn cultivation with me, unless you can't in which case you need to learn how to be my second for when I inherit the sect. Those are the rules. The most important being the stay here forever bit."

"You mean it?" Wei Ying looked up at them, still wary, but hoping.

Jiang Yanli pushed the soup closer to him again. "We mean it. I don't cook for people I don't like. Now eat your soup."

And then, for the first time, Wei Ying smiled, and it lit up the room like sunrise breaking over the lake. "Ok!"

And Jiang Yanli felt a blow to the place in her chest where she hid her love for her brother, a blow like something, or someone, making a home there. And she thought, Oh no, and she thought, Oh we are definitely keeping him, and she thought I will protect him forever.

She looked over at her baby brother - one of her baby brothers, she thought with a thrill of... something - and saw the exact same sentiment on his face.

Jiang Yanli finished eating her soup and then she took her brothers' bowls to the sink for washing in the morning. And then, she took her brothers, new and old, to their room for bed.

#Untamed #Loxie's fics #mdzs #Jiang Yanli #Wei Wuxian #Jiang Cheng #Madame Yu is projecting on why Yanli is angry btw

30 notes · View notes

jokertrap-ran · 3 years

Photo

(时空中的绘旅人—For All Time—) Clarence Route Translations (Chapter 16-2 阿萝拉: Aurora)

*For All Time Master-list / Clarence’s Personal Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Maintaining Si Lan’s name as Clarence *Route Tag is #Chapter of Legacy

I carried the napping Aurora back to the Mage Tower.

Seeing how her body was becoming horribly cold, I held her with my own body as she slept.

It was a while later that she turned, looping her arms around my neck.

Aurora: I'm a little cold… Uncle told me that I should sing loudly whenever I'm cold...

Saying so, she started singing in a gossamer-like voice by my ear.

Aurora: Stars are sleeping, snow gently falling. Where has the butterfly gone; for my hand still holds the fragrance of flowers…

She sang in short bursts. Maybe it was because she was still unfamiliar with it, or perhaps it was because she was distracted by something else.

Aurora: That Uncle sings it so well. Sadly, Aurora hasn't completely learnt it…

She hugged me tighter to her because of how cold she felt. Her other hand reached over to press itself against her stomach. I knew her stomach was still hurting.

Clarence said that these were all drawbacks of being a Mage.

But for a child so young? On what grounds, does she have to be bearing this immense burden for the sake of the world?

I didn't know what to do. All I could do was to hold her small body tightly within my arms…

A night passed.

It was very quiet when I awoke.

No, something's wrong. Aurora should be beside me, and she's gone! Did… Did Clarence deal away with her already, since she was on the verge of losing control?

I hurriedly got up and recalled what Sun Zhuoyi had told me yesterday. I felt a gut-dropping sense of unease. I MUST find her!

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

I quickly smoothed out my clothes and went hunting for her up and down the Mage Tower.

The carriage was already ready and waiting outside the Mage Tower. Clarence was giving Aurora the instructions to her assignment in front of it.

I got a little closer to them and listened in on their conversation.

Sounds like Aurora’s mission this time is to clear out the Rebel Mages who worked under the Silver Knight.

The Silver Knight had managed to rope some Rebel Mages into his plans and allowed them to attack the Palace, as well as the residences of Nobles. I’ve also vaguely seen the aftermath of the chaos caused by the Rebel Mages before, in my previous journeys.

To my knowledge of the matter, they’d managed to successfully scare the Aristocrats, but they were all quickly dealt away with by Clarence himself, so nothing particularly serious happened.

But this time, upon overhearing Clarence as he explained Aurora’s task to her, I knew; This wasn’t the slightest bit simple at all.

The Silver Knight has been pulling out all stops and laying out the groundwork every step of the way in his plans to attack the Capital. Not only did he have Ordinary Mages under his control, but also a team of Mages that were already out of control.

The Silver Knight utilized potions to forcefully alter the Mages into a half-butterfly metamorphosis― He coerced the Mages to consume the potion of their own accord, making them willingly fall into a state of nearly losing control, before maintaining this state through the use of another potion.

A Mage in this state had icy wings in place of arms and their entire body covered in ice crystals. Their sanity will be on the brink of madness, yet they still hold a sliver of consciousness.

Of course, when under excruciating pain, the only thing they can process is to kill, destroy, and freeze everything. And Clarence’s method of dealing with this impending “destruction”, was to “engulf” it all.

He’d decided to send out Aurora, one of the “Nine Seats'' to deal with the matter. He told her that she didn’t need to care about who, or what was on the other end, merely to treat them as Ice Butterflies and devour them all.

Aurora: Wow. Aurora can eat till she’s full if there are that many monsters this time. Right?

Clarence: That’s right. You’ll be able to eat to your heart’s content this time. And then after you’re done… Do make sure to get a good night’s sleep. You will not feel cold anymore, and neither will your stomach hurt ever again after you fall asleep this time.

I felt my eyes dampening.

Aurora… She really doesn’t know, does she…?

This was a death sentence in the farce of a mission. However, Clarence was as calm and unwavering as ever as he delivered Aurora the details of her mission. While Aurora, on the other hand, was only worried about whether she could “eat till she was full”.

The fate of all Mages was to be born in the throes of desire, pain, and suffering; and also, to fall into the spiral of madness and depravity.

It was then that Clarence breathed a light sigh.

Clarence: Do you hate me, Aurora?

Clarence actually asked another about their thoughts on him? I’d long since thought that he’d forgo how others saw him, given his personality...

Aurora wore a blank look of utter confusion. She looked up at Clarence, unable to come up with an answer even after thinking for a good long while.

Clarence: I am the Master of the Mage Tower. I should be the one guiding and protecting all of you Mages.

Clarence: However, you are all nought but tools to me. I use you, I sacrifice you… I watch you all die, one-by-one… Yet, I do not bat an eye.

Clarence: It would only make sense if you were to hate me for what I did.

With how he was bemoaning with lament at this point, rather than talking to Aurora about it, it might as well just be him, criticizing himself with his own monologue.

He was blaming himself for being as icy and closed-off as he was.

— Does this mean that somewhere deep down in that heart of his… Clarence has a heart that feels for all the Mages under him?

Aurora: Hate…? You mean, not liking you? Aurora doesn't dislike you, Master Clarence~

Aurora: Aurora doesn't like being hungry. Aurora has always been hungry before meeting you.

Aurora: Aurora cried back home and kicked up a fuss, asking dad for food. Dad took Aurora and dumped Aurora by the river, picking up many hard pieces of bread to eat.

Aurora: Aurora doesn’t like hard bread, but Aurora was just so hungry… So, Aurora ate them all down anyway.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

… I could guess what the “hard bread” she was talking about really was. I’d heard of a distant legend about the olden times, where the poor would feed their offspring stones in place of food during times of famine...

The children who ate stones will die, but at least that would save some food for the rest of the family.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

Aurora: Aurora always got a tummy ache whenever Aurora eats the hard bread, but Master Clarence gave Aurora medicine to drink. It was bitter, but Aurora’s stomach no longer hurt after drinking it.

Clarence: I’m not doing a good deed. Your strong desire for food, “gluttony”, was what drew me in. I merely thought that you had the potential to become a Mage.

Clarence: I took you under my wing, taking you to the Mage Tower. I offered you all the delicacies that Yemsaiel has to offer. Yet, at the same time, I required you to devour Ice Butterflies. Your stomach still hurts all the same.

Aurora tilted her head in thought. She patted the sides of her head, seemingly trying to make sense of what Clarence was trying to say...

After a while, Aurora started sucking on her thumb in thought, apparently none the wiser.

Aurora: Err… I still have stomach aches, but I can’t blame you for that, Master Clarence. You’re a Mage… not someone who treats bad tummies...

Aurora: I heard that you’d get a stomach ache from eating too much, and I can’t stop myself from eating… So, I think it’s pretty normal for me to be getting tummy aches...

Aurora: So be it then! I like to eat! And I’m super happy when I’m eating! You let me eat all I want, Master Clarence! Of course, I like you!!

Clarence: ……

Clarence stays silent for a while before sighing gently.

As pure and innocent as Aurora was, there was nothing Clarence could say to make her understand the truth.

It was probably only because of her naive earnestness as a young girl that allowed her to concentrate as much as she did on her Magic, hence the reason why she was able to attain the rank of one of the “Nine Seats” at such a young age.

Suddenly, Aurora jumped in front of Clarence and patted his face.

Aurora: Stop pulling such a long face, Master Clarence...

Aurora: The Mage Tower is very noisy. There are always people yelling and crying, but everyone also has times where they smile. Only you, Master Clarence. You've never smiled.

Aurora: Aurora smiles when Aurora's full, and the others smile when their wish is fulfilled.

Aurora: Aurora is thinking that Master Clarence's wish hasn't been fulfilled yet. Aurora hopes that it'll be fulfilled soon~

Aurora: Although, even if Aurora might already be asleep by then… Aurora will still be happy! Just like when Aurora has a full stomach!

Hearing Aurora's words, the realization finally dawned on me that she never truly understood anything. She was as clueless as they came.

Clarence paused for a moment before reaching out, caressing her hair and touching her face.

Clarence: How cold… The skin of all Mages is always cold to the touch. I apologise for making you turn out like this.

Clarence: I create all of you, let all of you grow and indulge in all of your desires. And in part, I've also made all of you the very thing feared and hated by the world.

Clarence: But at the same time, I'm also aware that all of you are the true victims, the true sacrifices, of this world.

Clarence: I am incapable of saving you all. But not letting your sacrifices be in vain is the least I can do.

After that, Clarence's lips parted slightly into a faint chuckle.

Clarence, he… he's really laughing…

Aurora was elated, skipping in front of Clarence and jumping up to pull his cheeks upwards.

Aurora: He’s laughing… This is the first time I’ve seen Master Clarence laugh!

Actually squishing Clarence’s face like that… Only Aurora would ever dare to do such a thing…

Clarence wasn’t mad, only maintaining his smile.

Clarence: Aurora. I treat all the Mages here in this Mage Tower as my pawns, with no emotional attachment whatsoever. But that is only because I do not want anyone to influence my emotions, and the decisions I make.

Clarence: — But that doesn’t mean that all the time I’ve spent with all of you is meaningless to me. I do not regret the time I spent with any of you.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥Chapter of Legacy✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

Previous Part: (Chapter 16-1) | Next Part: (Chapter 16-3)

#时空中的绘旅人 #For All Time #Otome #Translations #Netease #司岚 #Si Lan #Clarence #传承之章 #鳥海浩輔 #toriumi kousuke #Toriumi Kohsuke #Chapter of Legacy

37 notes · View notes

feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years

Video

youtube

‘today’s silm vocaloid song: clear sky engine (クリヤスカイ機関) by nyanyannya and hara ft. rin kagamine and zunko tohoku

this one’s about elrond, maglor, and the sudden non-ending of the world. you know that thing where you build an elaborate fandom video in your head for a completely unrelated song, but you don’t have the most basic art skills you’d need to make it a reality? yeah, i square that circle by writing them out. here, have an extremely long songfic/filk/commentary/thing

It was just another day, beneath a black sky

The bustle of camp churned on around me

I wasn’t paying attention to what my hands were doing

Dreaming of a shining star-lit sky

we open on elrond, living in a world about to die. the fëanorians were forced to abandon amon ereb years ago, and now the last of the host ekes out a precarious nomadic existence, raiding deserted villages for food and losing more people they can’t replace with each battle. they’re still doing better than everyone else on the mainland, though. their blades, at least, remain sharp

(the smoke from the fires of angband has risen to cover the whole continent in dark clouds. some of the sun’s warmth still gets through, and on good nights the star of high hope is still faintly visible, but the light-filled skies of old are little more than memory. all the survivors know that the end is near. it’s only a matter of time)

He’d broken a promise he’d made to us

So I was a little more annoyed at him than usual

He chatted with me while I worked to make up for it

And I made all my usual complaints

elrond and elros are at this point... i’d say very early teens? not that they had much of a childhood; the fëanorians are so short-staffed the twins have been doing odd jobs around camp pretty much since it became clear they weren’t going to run away. today elrond is taking stock of the medical supplies, less because he has any interest in the healing arts than because it’s a job that needs doing and everyone else is busy

maglor is hovering within talking distance, doing elrond-doesn’t-care-what. the twins’ relationship with maglor is extremely complicated to say the least, their mercurial hellbeast protector who scares the shit out of everyone else they’ve ever met and who has stood between them and the darkness for as long as they can remember. recently, he promised to stay with the twins while they did something difficult, but he failed to do so for a whole host of reasons, including getting into a two-hour shrieking match with maedhros at the last possible moment. elros shrugged it off, like elros shrugs everything off, but elrond is a simmering cauldron of adolescent rage at the best of times

which is why maglor’s checking on him, giving him an outlet for his anger before it can turn into despair. because what would be the point, in the end? they’re all going to die anyway. one of the reasons maglor’s resisted sending the kids to balar so hard is that no matter where they are, eventually morgoth will sweep down and destroy them all. there’s nowhere safe left, nothing they can do to protect them. none of this is even new, it’s a shadow that’s hung over them all since the twins grew old enough to understand this

so maglor and elrond chat, or rather elrond grumbles incessantly and maglor snarks as upliftingly as he can remember to. it’s a day like any other, nothing about it to distinguish it from the hundreds that came before or however many will come after. that is, until one of the lesser minions comes over, yelling, ‘boss! boss! you have to see this!’

elrond turns around. for the first time ever, he sees true hope on her face

“Have you finally grown tired of us?” I hissed

But in that moment excitement ran round the campsite

And someone cried out with joy

“The hour we thought would never be, the return of the light, has finally come to pass!”

far, far away, the hosts of the valar are landing on the shores of beleriand. disembarking from their luminous ships, clad in radiant armour and carrying blessed weapons, their brilliance pierces the dark fog that has settled over beleriand for so long. shining like the stars come to earth, the hallowed army of valinor begins its long march towards the gates of angband. far above, ships riding jets of light slice open the smog

this news - this unexpected, unbelievable, impossible miracle bestowed unto doomed beleriand, this chance that their enemy might actually fall - is the greatest thing anyone in camp’s heard all century. maybe in more prosperous times the host would have groused about the valar finally seeing fit to get off their asses, but in this world turned to ash any chance at victory is to be celebrated. the minions throw a massive impromptu party, of the kind they haven’t since before sirion. elros is right there with them, singing off-key and laughing as loud as anyone else. even maedhros cracks a tiny relieved smile

maglor watches the festivities from the outside, more genuinely optimistic than he thought he was still capable of. elrond joins him, brow furrowed as he tries to comprehend it all. they talk

“It feels like a dream I’ll never wake up from”

“What are you blabbering about now?”

elrond is voiced by zunko, maglor by rin. the song’s more of a dialogue than a duet, so i’ll be bolding maglor’s lines

The sheet of paper I held in my hands read

“The hosts of the West have come! Our world is saved!”

the letter’s from gil-galad, or at least his administrative apparatus. it’s not even that hostile; apparently the armies of the gods showing up out of nowhere to save them all from certain doom has him in a magnanimous mood. there’s some drivel about surrendering and eärendil and all wrongs being forgiven, but neither maglor nor elrond is paying attention to it

“Hey, do you remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Love and justice and valour and hope”

“I remember the sea of blood you drowned everything in for them”

elrond didn’t really have any formal schooling - nobody had the time - but he has managed to pick up a lot of stuff from the stories the people around them tell. that the fëanorians came to middle-earth for high noble ideals, and that it was trying to fulfil those ideals that led them into darkness, is something maglor told him once, when he was in a darkly honest mood

“Haha, that’s just details, everybody makes that kind of mistake when they’re young”

“Why are you like this?”

a mood maglor’s obviously not in at the moment, if he’s laughing off the kinslayings like this; elrond knows this isn’t how he actually feels about them. normally elrond would just roll his eyes and move on with his life, but things are different today

The camp was full of laughter, as if everyone had lost their minds

elrond’s not used to happiness. not full, unironic happiness, untainted by the shadow of their inevitable death, not from the fëanorians. the sheer jubliation suffusing camp is fundamentally alien to him, a child of a world about to end. he doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that maybe they won’t all get eaten by dragons. he doesn’t know what to do with the hope in everyone’s eyes

so instead, when maglor wanders away from the party, elrond catches him with a song

“What if for one more year, ten more years, a hundred more years, the shadow still reigns?”

“Then ten thousand years, a hundred thousand years, a million years later, we’ll see it fall! For certain”

“What if I lay out all one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight of the fears I carry?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine songs I can give to you”

maglor’s been teaching elrond how to do this, how to snatch someone into a world of music and throw your voice at them until one of you can’t take it any more. maglor wins this one, as usual; even if his song is incapable of anything but violence he’s got centuries of experience on elrond, enough to turn the sharp edges of his voice into blades in elrond’s hands. and that is what he’s doing, clumsy and harsh as he is; he’s trying to give elrond a reason to hope

elrond is the one who breaks the spell, dropping the melody, letting the music dissolve into the air. maglor flashes him a grin and walks off, humming merrily. elrond just stands there, still unable to understand

I’ve heard it before, it’s all anyone can talk about, even if I try to avoid it it stabs into my ears

cut past a decade or so, to well into the war of wrath. elrond and elros are in their mid-teens now. they’re still with the fëanorians, but these days the fëanorian warband is effectively an auxiliary unit to the amanyar army, skirting around the edges of that much larger force. for the first time in a long while, elrond and elros have regular-ish contact with people outside the fëanorian sphere of influence, mostly peripheral edain and the sindar who run messages between the camps. it’s different, talking to new people

(the sky is still covered with smog, but it’s gloomy grey, not oppressive black. the sun is faintly visible through it, most of the time. the rain is much less poisonous than it used to be, and on good nights you can almost see the moon. the closer they get to angband, the darker the clouds grow)

“It is as the gods have decreed, soon the darkness will be swept away and the Enemy will be cast down

And after the war in the purified world, we will all live happily together

Building new homes in a land unmarred by evil”

the people outside the host are much more optimistic about the future, for one. the fëanorian minions are happy morgoth is getting trounced but they don’t really talk about what comes after that, like they can’t imagine a world without war. the sindar, and especially the edain, on the other hand, have all these plans about the cities they’ll build, the arts they’ll perfect, the children they’ll raise in a world without danger. elros is super into this; he barely spends time with the fëanorians any more, he’s so busy going between different edain camps, making friends, planning for the future. elrond, though...

Even my twin knows what future to reach out for...

elrond doesn’t know what to do with any of this. the very concept that someday the war will end and the sky will clear and he’ll have a bright future is still something he doesn’t fully understand. even more, he’s defined himself for so long as not-a-fëanorian, now he’s regularly interacting with people who doubtlessly aren’t he’s having trouble figuring out what else he is. he’s stuck between people who are lowkey hoping they’ll die gloriously in battle and people who have been dreaming about what they’d do in a world without darkness all their lives, and he doesn’t know what he even wants, not really, not yet

so he keeps on living, just like he always has. he’s been promoted to sick tent dogsbody and is learning how to heal with song from the last minion who can kind of still do it. he acts as a proxy between the fëanorians and the more timid outsiders they keep running into. when he goes (or elros drags him) exploring in other camps, he keeps track of every new detail he comes across, in case it’s somehow useful later

and he keeps talking to maglor, with anger and spite and sarcasm and whatever other emotion he’s covering his uncertainties with today. maglor always listens, usually offers to help, and sometimes elrond even lets him. the fëanorian camp settles into a rhythm of buildup-fight-recovery-buildup-fight-recovery, so regular it lulls elrond into complacency. he takes the future he still doesn’t quite believe in one day at a time, until suddenly the ground crumbles beneath his feet

You say it’s to ‘fulfill our ideals’ but what you mean by that is ‘to sate our bloodlust’, I know

With their blades and teeth sharpened for battle, the kinslayers broke away from the light and disappeared into the shadows

there’s a whole mountain of reasons why, as they draw near to angband, the dregs of the fëanorian host abruptly peel off from the valinorean army and vanish into the night. they know they're more effective as a stealthy shock ambush unit, they’re somewhat concerned the amanyar will turn on them the second morgoth is no longer a problem, they're making one last desperate rush for the silmarils, all that and more. it’s not the first time they’ve suddenly packed up and left before their enemies can react, probably not even the first time they’ve done it to the hosts of valinor. there’s just one little difference

Leaving us behind? Leaving you behind

they’re not taking the twins. said twins only find out about this, like, the day before they decamp. maedhros’ justification is something about them not being able to support noncombatants on the march, but the twins believe that about as much as they believe that the fëanorians are doing this for any kind of hope. elros, of course, was half-planning on leaving anyway, going off to chase his own ambitions with his new edain posse. he copes with it pretty well, relatively

but elrond’s mind goes blank. once he thought the day they let them go would be the best day of his life, but now it’s come it feels so wrong, and this horrible coldness is seeping into him. in a flash of what feels like foresight, he suddenly knows the people who raised him will never come back. how dare - why - he can’t -

with a sharp desperate burst of sound that’s a surprise to even himself, elrond lashes out a song to catch maglor

“For ten more minutes, one more week, half a year, please, let me stay with you!”

“In a year’s time, ten years’ time, a hundred years’ time, we’ll see the starlit sky together”

“What if one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight times I begged you not to go?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine of your other wishes I’ll hear”

and elrond just stops. he lets the song trail off, staring at maglor. he’s in an incredibly weird mood, with something that could almost be compassion in his eyes

there’s only one way he can find out what’s happening, elrond realises

“In that case - !”

maglor was never really demonstratively affectionate with the twins. it would never have come off as real on his part, and they wouldn’t have believed it in any case. still, he supported them. he let them trail behind them, all but cling to the backs of his legs, in those first horrible weeks when they were terrified of absolutely everything. he taught them to ride and he taught them to read, how to reinforce a blade with nothing but song and close a wound with needle and thread. on the darkest nights, when all the world was filled by the howling beasts of morgoth and the wailing of the unhallowed dead, he held them tight and flared his own fires high, a warm smoky bonfire between them and the void. he answered their questions, and told them stories

and sometimes, he tried to be kind

“Sing me a lullaby like the flat of a blade”

“Which one would you like?”

“I want to see a flower that will still bloom”

“I know just the one”

“I don’t care what kind of monster you are! Just please stay with me, for even one more tomorrow...”

“...I’m sorry”

“What do you mean?”

“You were given your name because your parents wanted you to see the stars someday”

it was easy for maglor to justify keeping the twins when they didn’t have a future. the shadow of death blotted out the sky, so why not hold them close for whatever little time they had left? no matter where they were, the void would soon claim them all

except it didn’t. in the end they were not forsaken. the sacred light came out of the west to burn away the darkness and finish the war he once thought they could never win. the hosts of the valar have gotten farther in decades than the noldor did in centuries, and soon enough they’ll cast the enemy down and release the world from his terrible maw. and then the future the free peoples dreamed of will stretch out before them, full of possibilities beyond measure

and that’s why maglor has to let them go. the magnificent people that elrond and elros are already becoming will only wither among hopeless kinslayers who have nothing left but the sword. to flourish into their full glorious selves, they need to be with people who dream, who can travel towards the future alongside the twins with light hearts and songs on their lips. maglor refuses to let his own darkness drown the last people in the world he does not hate. elrond deserves so, so much better than maglor is capable of giving him. he deserves to see the stars

hearing all that, there’s only one thing elrond can say

“You can’t even keep one miserable promise! Don’t pretend like you’re my father, kinslayer!”

and that’s the last elrond sees of maglor. the fëanorians vanish in the middle of the night, leaving elrond and elros (and about half a dozen minions who are taking their last possible chance to get out) behind. elros takes up with his edain buddies and starts making contacts and forging alliances. elrond winds up in gil-galad’s orbit, surrounded by people who are very understanding about how awful his childhood was, which just pisses him off more. he doesn’t throw tantrums or refuse to work, those aren’t luxuries he was raised with, but he spends a fair bit of time spurning every bit of sympathy and aid he’s offered and trying not to cry himself to sleep

with time, though, he finds a place. it starts with círdan, the first person who believes elrond about what his time with the fëanorians was like. then he befriends erestor, and then gil-galad starts actually respecting the way elrond feels, and then he gets officially taken on as an apprentice healer. he starts learning about his own ancestors and their peoples, and reaching out for stories he never knew could be his. as the final battle of the iron hells begins, elrond is doing... better

and soon, the hope that no one in beleriand once dreamed would be fulfilled becomes a reality

And then, as if it had never held power, the darkness was cast down...

they win the war. the armies of angband are crushed. the peaks of thangorodrim are torn down. the prisoners of the deepest pits of the iron hells are freed. the forces of evil are scattered to the four winds. morgoth, the fallen vala himself, is defeated and captured and bound with great chains, unable to ever hurt anyone again. the precious remnants of the light of the trees, the remaining two silmarils, are recovered. the dark clouds evaporate, and for the first time elrond can remember, the sky is perfectly clear. the war of the jewels is finally over

elrond has grown so much since the day he first heard that the hosts of the west had come. he still can’t quite believe it

They held a great celebration beneath a star-speckled sky I’d never seen before

“The world is saved and we are freed! Evil has been vanquished forevermore”

The triumphant voices of the generals poured out over the victory feast while the stars shone true above the happy ending

the soldiers of valinor and the people of beleriand (what’s left of them) throw a truly massive party. it’s still tinged with their grief over everything they’ve lost, but the atmosphere is primarily one of ecstatic relief. they’re alive, and they’ve come out the other side. dwarvish tailors dance with high maiar, humans who don’t remember the moon get drunk with elves who remember cuiviénen. even after the official festivities die down and people start hashing out what they want to do next, the general mood remains buoyant and cheerful. at long last, they live in a world without danger

none of it feels real to elrond. gil-galad’s talking about building a kingdom on the other side of the blue mountains, elros and his grand edain alliance are trying to bully the maiar into letting them set up on tol eressëa, and elrond feels so disconnected from it all, like he’s watching someone else’s life. he’s happy the enemy has been overcome, of course he is, but he’s not feeling the overwhelming joy everyone else is. he can’t let his guard down yet, something is still wrong -

Except he hasn’t come back, they haven’t come back, where did they go, what have they done?

The word raced around as fast as the wind, giving me an answer I never wanted to hear -

where is maglor? the fëanorians broke off to fight the war their own way, but the war is over now, where are they? they were so happy to hear that the amanyar had arrived, he can’t imagine them not thrilled to see the enemy they hated more than anything else fall. in the warm afterglow of victory, it feels like even their sins might be forgiven, and they could finally go home. they have nothing else left; why wouldn’t they take that outstretched hand?

but nobody’s so much as glimpsed their flag since some time before the final battle. elrond quietly assumes, perhaps even hopes, that they all died fighting, and yet he can’t shake the cold dread crawling up his spine

elrond has mixed feelings about the silmarils, and doesn’t particularly care to be near them. by the time the news of their theft reaches him, maedhros and maglor have already fled into the night

Still driven on by their oath, they turned their blades on their kin one last time

“And stole away the hallowed light”

Yes, that light which sank all of our lands beneath a deep dark layer of corpses and ash

all elrond sees is the aftermath, the blood sinking into the ground. it’s far from the first time he’s seen people killed, but somehow now it’s all hitting him, all at once. he sees the bodies and it knocks the breath out of him. all he can see is the dead, from finwë on down, the rotting carcasses of every last person who was slaughtered for these gems, a whole continent bleached with death. they call the silmarils the most beautiful things in the world, jewels shining with the very light of creation, but elrond can’t see it for the blood they’re dripping with

that’s the immediate thing that has his hands shaking and his breath running cold. by morning it’s had a chance to sink in a little, and -

He lied he lied he lied he lied

maglor regretted the kinslayings! elrond knows he did! it was never even something he actually said, it was obvious from the way he talked about them. every single one was a complete disaster, nothing the fëanorians ever got out of them was worth what they lost in the process, and afterwards things always got worse in ways they never expected. and maglor hated the person the kinslayings had turned him into, elrond spent enough time around him to pick up on that much! surely he’d do anything to not have to commit another one?

apparently not! apparently all that regret, all that loss, the arguments and the nightmares and the coldly determined efforts to stop them following his path, it all meant nothing! he still gave in to despair or maedhros or whatever, killed yet more people, stole from the army whose return he said was like a dream come to life, spat in the face of his last chance to go home, and vanished! gil-galad’s people were right! he really is nothing more than a monster!

the shock of it all makes something snap in elrond, whatever fragile optimism he absorbed from the people around him draining away until he feels completely hollow. hundreds of years of suffering and death, and for what?

Smeared with the blood of untold hundreds, untold thousands, untold millions of people

Did they buy us peace for even half a year, even a week, even ten minutes?

Noooooooo!

Even the very land we lived on crumbled and drowned

What was the point?! What was the point?! What was the point?!

I feel like I’m going insaaaaaaane

morgoth may have fallen, but beleriand is dead! nothing remains, not the lush green lands of the stories, or even the dessicated forests of his childhood, just desolate earth and the devouring sea. almost everywhere he’s ever known, almost everyone who lived and fought and dreamed there, are lost forever. nothing was saved, everything was destroyed, what good is a clear blue sky when there’s nothing beneath it?! how can they call this a happy ending?!

elrond can’t see any light here, all the great battles and heroic deeds seem absolutely pointless in the face of everyone and everything immolated in the endless grasping for these gems. the hosts of valinor leave the continent they shattered, the remnants of gil-galad’s people escape the raging forces of nature, and the survivors bicker and fight over resources just like the fëanorian minions elrond grew up around. the world is never going to get better, he realises. the dream of a paradise will never come true

and then one night, running a message down the craggy still-turbulent coastline, he hears a snatch of a distant, familiar voice

I can hear a voice whittled away to a weapon singing what could almost be a lullaby -

elrond leaps off the ridge and onto the rocky beach, scrambling over the uneven ground. he’s heard the rumours about where maedhros and/or maglor went - all of them, there’s dozens of them, he didn’t pay any particular heed to the ones where maglor wandered the coast, but if they were right, if he’s here -

his own voice has grown strong over the years, solid and forceful and mature. elrond screams his song into the emptiness, hoping against hope it will be heard

“What if for one more year, ten more years, a hundred more years, the shadow still reigns?”

“Then ten thousand years, a hundred thousand years, a million years later, we’ll see it fall! Isn’t that so?!”

“What if I lay out all one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight of the griefs I carry?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine days for you to live!”

“That must be it...”

the impression of a hand touching his cheek, the ghost of a smile. for a moment someone else’s voice slips into the ebb and flow of his song, a shadow reaches out to wipe the tears off his face. live, it whispers. you who i held dearest last, live

elrond’s breath catches in his throat, and the song, and the shadow, vanish. it’s just him on a forsaken beach, the only sounds the waves crashing and the gulls calling. the sky is completely overcast, the clouds dull and grey. he watches them drift along for a while, as his pulse slows down and his airways clear up. live, the word echoes in his mind

he waits until his breathing is back to normal and the churning emotions inside him have settled into a form he can handle. then he wipes his face and clambers back onto the ridge

(life. it’s not much, but it’s enough. it has to be. his home is destroyed, but he is alive; his family is broken, but he is alive. he is alive, and they want him to live, as much as he can while he still has a chance. the world he lives in will never be perfect, but he knows how to work with that)

(and besides - elros, círdan, gil-galad, erestor, the other healers, the small knot of elves of all stripes who seem determined to follow his banner. he hasn’t lost everything, not yet, and he won’t let the world take away what he has left. he’ll never abandon those he loves)

the clouds are lightening. soon the stars will be out. elrond takes a deep breath, and starts running towards his future and the person he’s going to be -

thousands of years later, a memory resurfaces

“Two million, two hundred and forty-one thousand, five hundred and thirty-nine days... Ah, yes. I know I forgot to say it earlier, but you did a very good job”

a smattering of notes are lifted by the ocean breeze. they travel inland, across the worn-down mountains, around the weathered hills, above the tangled forests, up the untamed rivers, and finally into the hidden valley

in the gardens of imladris, lord elrond hears a voice he hasn’t for millennia. a watering can slips out of his hands, and suddenly he can’t breathe

It was just another day, beneath a dark sky

The ocean and the wind roared on all around me

I wasn’t paying attention to how my tears were falling

Trying to remember a clear star-lit sky

that youthful dream of a world free from evil never came true. the shadow came back, and it kept coming back, taking his people, his friends, his family, his wife. everything they built after the defeat of morgoth has been reduced to dust by the weight of time, and every year more of it slips through his fingers. elrond doesn’t know how much more of it he can endure. he doesn’t know how much more he can lose

he chases that scrap of music all the way to the seashore

I ran down the path between the rocks and the spray following that voice I never knew why I loved

But in the end I could only stand weeping

elrond searches up and down the coast, scouring the shoreline for clues, asking the locals, listening. sometimes he hears whispers of song, long wailing lamentations that make his heart ache all the more now that he understands how that despair feels. occasionally it’s loud or consistent enough he can track it, trying to pinpoint the singer’s location in the intense storms of bitterness and grief

but he never finds anything

“You fool, he’s already gone. Like he was never there at all...”

all that’s left is a voice on the wind

15 notes · View notes

fuzziemutt · 3 years

Text

Do You Understand?

Chapter 1/9 - Link to MasterList in reblog

Summary: Connor knows he isn’t the most.. knowledgeable... about emotions but that didn’t mean he didn’t understand them ever. If they weren’t going to take him seriously then he wasn’t even going to try interacting with them anymore. What could possibly go wrong?

Tw: I’m placing all possible tws here that could apply to the story. Possible ableism (this is not explicit but what Connor goes through can be similar to it), dissociation, very emotionally harmful coping mechanisms. Self worth problems. Trauma responses that go unnoticed. Please let me know if I need to add any more.

This started as a vent fic that extended outward into comfort, it gets worse before it gets better.

Notes: This is my first multi chaptered fic, I’ve never done this before. I did write the whole story in entirety prior and scheduled the other chapters to slowly release. The original vent was honestly quite different than what ended up being written, and I don’t know how it turned into this huge thing.

Also: There are no ships in this, this is all platonic. The only relationship status is that Hank is Connor’s dad even if they don’t quite acknowledge it.

Also also: This is Connor Pov. We mainly focusing on his thought processes throughout and they aren’t particularly healthy. (Connor also has ADHD)

---

Connor knew he had trouble expressing and understanding his emotions. It wasn't a secret. He'd often find people looking at him with confusion, and sometimes wariness, with his lack of response to many things. He was a prototype. Sure he had one of the most advanced social relations software to date, but Cyberlife cut corners with the amount of articulation his face could produce, his current model wasn't meant to live long and to be disposable after all.

It doesn't help that he also just didn't know how to express what he was feeling in the limited ways he could. He "lived" most of his trial runs and current time in severe denial out of fear of deactivation so he'd rather ignore them than process them. It wasn't healthy but it was safe. Familiar.

That didn't mean he couldn't feel. He felt lots of things like guilt, hatred, fear, the occasional spark of joy. Too many things sometimes, in fact, that led him to having a nasty habit of adamantly ignoring it all, manually storing it away for later to keep his composer and stay in fully functioning order. Sure this led to people often ignoring his own desires and doing things that severely hurt him with no mention from him. But he was fine. He chose this after all.

However, even with all the quarantining and ignoring, he couldn't help the anger that bubbled under his skin and in his throat right now.

"Hank, I understand that you're angry but-"

"You think you understand? You don't understand a shit, Connor! How could you?! I get you're your own person and everything now, but I never see you express anything beyond mild displeasure!" Hank yelled back. Connor was glad they were at Hank's house at least to provide some sense of privacy but saying he felt unhappiness at being yelled at was an understatement.

Connor went to open his mouth in defense but Hank cut him off, "Of course you don't understand! How could you ever understand any emotions! You keep acting like a-" he suddenly went quiet, but Connor knew.

"Like a what, Lieutenant?" He asked, making sure to keep his LED a yellow slow turn, but he couldn't help how sharp his voice came out, how his eyes hardened to a fine point.

They stared at each other for several tense seconds before Hank seemed to deflate a bit and looked ashamed.

"Like a machine," he spat out, still tense and upset but his fury gone.

Connor simply nodded, quarantining what he could to not lash out and stood up silently.

"I will be taking Sumo out for a walk to allow for us to take a breather before we both do something we regret. I will return," he said, shoulders tense and voice strict. His movements felt stiff as he tried to hold himself back from continuing this fight, grabbing the leash and patting his side to call over the old dog.

"You can't just run away-" Hank tried, stepping closer as if to grab Connor's arm to stop him. But Connor's ice cold glare, almost threatening posture and clenched fists seemed to stop him. They kept forgetting that Connor wasn't just meant for integration but also intimidation, he once was a deviant (killer) hunter after all, and he can be intimidating when he so pleased. Hank seemed to suddenly remember the rumors of Gavin getting his ass handed to him by Connor in under a minute flat by how he backed away uncertain.

Connor left and came back a bit over half an hour later. Hank would apologize and Connor would accept it, even if that anger still simmered deep inside, and they'd go back to joking and discussing work matters like nothing happened. Friends sometimes fight after all. It was fine.

Despite how much Connor hated those accusations of him being incapable of understanding, they. Kept. Happening.

Not just with Hank but others as well. The people who he thought were his friends, the Jericrew, even Nines the RK900, kept pulling the same shit. Connor knew they all experienced deviancy differently than him, Nines also had the gift of a face with full articulation that he couldn't help but envy, but it irked him every time.

"Let's switch topics for Connor..."

"Oh I should have talked about this with someone else..."

"It was rude of me to assume you understand-"

"Oh.. Sorry I know you don't understand-"

"You know he doesn't understand-"

"He won't understand-"

"He can't understand-"

Each time he heard that word, understand, Connor felt that broiling anger rise just a bit more. Each time they never even asked how he felt before the assumption, he felt his trust disintegrate bit by bit. He was a master of masking his emotions to get the emotional responses he wanted, but even he had a limit when anytime he saw his friends he felt nothing but hateful bitterness below his false pleasantries. He even stopped willfully hanging out with all of them, even Hank, as it grew harder to fight down the urge to scream and yell and make them understand.

It all came to a head during a meeting with the Jericho leaders, Nines tagged along as well as he said how much he missed seeing him outside of work. They were discussing how to handle the androids that still had severely negative responses to humans after all this time since the revolution. He was in the middle of talking about a solution of creating areas in New Jericho that would absolutely not allow humans and could run independently when North rounded on him.

"I'm sorry," in a very much not sorry tone, "but how am I supposed to take your option any bit seriously when you don't understand any of these androids' struggles mister 'my best friend is a human'."

"North-" Markus warned. The others even tensed up staring at Connor.

"No seriously. He could never understand their struggles," North plowed forward with no hesitation.

Connor felt something snap inside of him. He felt his LED burn bright red, his back straighten, fists clenched, and his features shift into that bitter anger that he tried his best to keep under wraps. He could see how everyone grew more than just tense but wary even; he even saw a flash of fear in North's eyes.

They insisted he was nothing more than a machine who didn't understand. That he'll forever be Cyberlife's pet (killer) deviant hunter. So he'll show them the hunter that was conditioned, threatened, who thrived on his own anger and fear through every grueling training session. The side that he kept pushed down as much as he could.

He couldn't help the bitter laugh that came out of him, "understand... You know what? I'm starting to think I fucking hate that word."

He knew he was scaring them with how North backed away quickly and the others started coming forward as if to protect her from him. His anger worsened at that but a small part of him felt a bit of twisted satisfaction at how they're finally treating him seriously. He could even imagine Amanda whispering praises for being the threat they wanted from the back of his CPU.

"Has it never occurred to you that I might have problems with humans as well?" His hands expressed where his face couldn't, trying to contain the energy thrumming in his body, "has it never occurred to you what I might have gone through hm?

“Oh wait. You never asked. You only accused. Have you ever thought about how my serial number has a 54 at the end of it? Did it ever occur to you that I have to exist with the memory of 53 deactivations constantly and the fear that I might be the 54th for merely breathing wrong? Who do you think did that? Who do you think reminded me day in and out that I was nothing but an expendable machine made to kill, to never ask questions because it meant deactivation or my internals torn out while I was awake. Humans. Humans did that but no, just because I trusted Hank not to do the same, I don't understand?"

He knew he was slowly growing erratic and unstable with how aggressively his hands moved and the way everyone backed away from him. The way he loomed over them with his presence didn't help their nerves he was sure. Or how he slowly stalked towards them as if a predator was cornering its prey. But he couldn't help it, the thrumming pulse in his core needed to come out and by hell was it coming out now.

"Not only that, but I apparently don't understand emotions too! I may be a deviant but emotions? They're off the table!" He couldn't help the second bitter laugh, a tinge hysterical, "no no. None of you took the time to ask me how I was handling these emotions and instead just assumed I didn't feel them! Because I'm ‘just a machine’. This guilt, fear, and self hatred I feel every waking moment? Lies because I'm just a machine. Even this anger I'm expressing right now? These are lies too aren't they? The nightmares I get of my countless deactivations and the numerous deaths that stain my hands? All just my programs malfunctioning because I'm just. A. Machine."

"We didn't... Connor we didn't know-" Nines started, his sadness and fear clear as day on his face like how they wanted Connor's to be. The others were solemnly nodding along too as if this would appease him.

"Because you never. Asked. Because none of you ever truly fucking cared!" Connor roared in response, slamming a fist down on the metal table next to him. All their eyes snapped and starred at the large dent he knew he left behind but he didn't care. He let himself breathe heavily, taking a second to find himself and his self restraint again.

And just like that, he locked up those pesky emotions like everyone expected him to. He knew the people before him didn't actually desire him to show any negative emotions just like them, they proved it just now with how they're looking at him. He took one final deep breath, fixed his tie and let his face slip back into its emotionless mask except the cold, closed off glare didn't leave. He even felt that that was going to be a permanent feature now after today and couldn't help the internal chuckle at the irony how he finally was showing the emotions they desperately wanted him to show.

No one said anything as he moved towards the door. There was still tension in the air, fear, anger and confusion swirled in various manners of their eyes. Nines seemed split on treating him like a threat and reaching out to him, maybe even to pity him. Markus also looked like he wanted to say something, but he just looked away in the end. North had fearful eyes but a look that seemed to say 'I was right we couldn't trust him'. Josh held Simon behind him, and he looked almost sad if his distrust didn't say otherwise. Simon refused to take his eyes off the clear fist shaped dent in the table, still as a statue. Connor vaguely wondered if they'd replace that table because of him just like how they so easily replaced him with Nines when given the chance.

No one made a move to stop him from leaving. He couldn't tell if it was out of fear of him showing those (killer) hunter colors again by snapping an arm or if they're realizing just how badly they fucked up. He couldn't tell which choice he wanted more either. He hoped it was the latter.

"You're all hypocrites. To me, you're all no better than them," was the last thing he hissed out before slamming the door closed behind him. He heard the way the frame and wall around the door shook and cracked from the force but again, he didn't care. He wasn't going to play nice anymore if this was how they felt like treating him. He was programmed to be amiable, calm but he was also programmed to be obedient and he knew how that went. A bit of anxiety existed of how much damage he did and how easily he almost lost control back there, but he just ignored it again as he rushed down the hall to leave.

No one followed him.

#i write #dbh #detroit: become human #connor rk800 #hank anderson #connor rk900 #markus rk200 #north wr400 #josh pj500 #simon pl600 #connor whump #connor angst #long post

32 notes · View notes

earliebirb · 4 years

Text

the big small things

steve/tony, hurt/comfort, established relationship, 1510 words

“Ugh, just kill me,” Steve mutters, lying on the couch and burying his face in Tony’s stomach.

Steve would feel bad interrupting Tony’s work—Tony has been on and off the phone for hours and whatever is on that tablet in his hands must be Very Important—but he is in the middle of battling a ruthless bout of migraine. He wants nothing more than to lie down and close his eyes, preferably with his husband within arm’s reach.

“And yet you come to the one person you know is definitely incapable of ending your life.” Steve feels Tony’s fingers threading through his hair and already he feels some of the pain melting away.

“It’s not that hard,” Steve grumbles into Tony’s shirt. “You’re a genius, I’m sure you could figure something out.”

Tony snorts. “I hope you know I’m being a hundred percent serious when I say I would literally rather die.”

At that, Steve gives a reproachful hum. “You’re not allowed to die before me.”

“You’re not allowed to die before me,” Tony counters. His hand wanders down to Steve’s right ear, worrying gently at his earlobe. “What’s wrong, honey bunches?”

“I have the worst headache,” Steve says miserably, inhaling lungfuls of Tony’s comforting scent through his nose.

“You want me to go get you some meds?”

“Had some. Still hurts.”

“My poor baby. Let’s get you to bed, huh? I think you could use some sleep.” Steve hears the distinct click of the tablet being locked. Tony leans forward, setting the gadget down on the coffee table.

“But I don’t want to move.”

“I know you don’t, but you’ll be a lot more comfortable in bed, okay?” Tony says, his thumb caressing the back of Steve’s neck.

“With you?” Steve asks hopefully.

Steve knows that Tony is very busy with work. Steve also knows that he is being selfish. Still, he can’t help the stubborn flicker of hope that maybe—

“Yes, Sir. With me,” Tony says, easy as anything, as if Steve’s headache took obvious precedence over all of his work plans for the day—the weapon upgrades he has to do, the meetings he has to attend, and all the investors he has to charm.

Again, Steve would feel guilty if he weren’t too busy relishing the rush of relief running through him at Tony’s promise.

When Steve sits up, the movement sends a sharp pain shooting through his head. The previous pounding behind his skull returns just seconds later, continuing persistently like a silent tattoo. Squeezing his eyes shut, he cradles his head with a low groan.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Tony leans in to press a kiss to his temple before standing up, offering a hand to Steve. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

Steve accepts his hand, letting Tony lead him up to the master bedroom and into their bed. Tony fluffs his pillow for him before sitting him down on the bed.

“You get comfy. I’ll be back in a minute, need to get something in the kitchen,” Tony whispers, taking both of Steve’s cheeks in his hands and giving him a quick peck on the lips.

Steve is not proud of it, but he does frown petulantly at the thought of being left alone. Tony gives him a small smile in return, one that is less bright but much more genuine than the one reserved for the press and flashing cameras.

It never fails to warm Steve to his core.

Squishing his cheeks together, Tony leans down once again to plant another feather-light kiss on the tip of Steve’s nose before walking away and disappearing out the door. In the meantime, Steve tries to do as told, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to ease the pain.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but he opens his eyes when he hears Tony’s footsteps approaching him. Tony is carrying a mug of something steaming. Very gingerly, he hands it to Steve. Upon holding the warm mug in his hands, Steve recognizes the liquid for what it is: green tea.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

Tony detests tea. In fact, he makes his distaste of the beverage abundantly clear to all and sundry, often proclaiming loudly of coffee’s superiority over it. Tony also knows, however, that Steve loves to have a cup of it every morning. Ever since Steve moved into his floor, he has kept a seemingly never-ending stock of the stuff in the penthouse kitchen.

Blowing on the hot drink before taking a cautious sip, Steve lets the tea’s warmth provide brief but very much needed relief from the pain.

“Jarvis, draw the curtains shut and turn down the lights, will you?” Tony says, slipping into bed beside Steve.

The lights dim to a gentle yellow and there is a quiet whirring as the curtains are closed, preventing any sunlight from streaming in.

Tony sits beside him quietly, fingers drumming an uneven beat on Steve’s thigh as Steve finishes the mug of tea in gentle sips. Once he is done, he sets the empty mug on the nightstand and slips under the covers. He inches closer to Tony, letting Tony’s thighs pillow his head.

“Better, sweetheart?”

Steve nods, blinking up at Tony. Brown doe eyes blink back at him. “Thank you.”

“You are very welcome. Now go to sleep,” Tony says, voice hushed, fingers tracing unidentifiable shapes into Steve’s sideburn.

“Tell me a story?”

“A story?” Tony hums in thought. “Okay. So, when I was little, there was this huge tree in the backyard of one of my family’s vacation homes, right?”

Steve hums, urging him to continue. He lets Tony’s low and soothing voice wash over him, his eyelids growing heavy.

“I think it was in Tuscany? I’ll take you there sometime, darling. You’ll love it. So, one day, I climbed up to the top of this tree because I got curious and wanted to see the view of the neighborhood from up there. And— Come on, you know me. A curious Tony is a dangerous Tony and all that. I think I must’ve been about eight or nine years old.”

All the while, Tony runs his fingers through Steve’s hair repeatedly in slow and gentle strokes.

Steve closes his eyes and takes the time to send a silent thanks to the universe for granting him the privilege of being loved by such a wonderful human being. Not for the first time, Steve finds himself wondering just what he has done to deserve Tony as his life partner.

He used to feel sorry for whoever his future spouse would be—a thought that plagued his mind whenever he had to watch his mother worry herself sick and stay up late at night to help him fight his raging fevers. He remembers feeling uncertain as to whether he would ever settle down with someone, uncomfortable with the thought of having to subject his partner to the task of taking care of his sickly self for the rest of their lives.

He didn’t even know if he would be able to find someone willing to do so.

And yet here is Tony, letting himself be pulled away from work in the middle of the day to take care of Steve. Tony, who has held him through countless nightmares and sleepless nights without a word of complaint. Tony, who acts like taking care of Steve is something he genuinely enjoys and takes pride in, instead of treating it as the extra work that it is. One of the things Steve has learned throughout his relationship with Tony is to convince himself to not be afraid of ever becoming a burden, at least not to Tony—something Tony continues to remind him of every single day.

Steve is no futurist; he has no guesses or conjectures as to what the future may hold for him. Whatever happens in the future, though, he knows this much:

He may not have gotten a lot of things right in his lifetime, but at least he did one thing right—marrying Tony Stark is the one decision he knows he will never regret.

Tony is his one constant, the one sure thing he believes in with the kind of fierce conviction that settles deep within his heart and thrums through his bones.

With his eyes still shut, Steve reaches up to take the hand that has been combing through his hair. He presses a grateful kiss to the inside of Tony’s palm before holding the hand in his.

Tony squeezes his hand and continues to talk, voice not once faltering.

Steve loves him so much his heart aches with it.

“...Suddenly, I heard Jarvis calling me from down below. He was all ‘Come down here before you get hurt!’ and I was afraid of getting into trouble, so I just stayed there, perched up on the tree. But then…”

Steve doesn’t get to hear the end of the story, but he does get to drift off into a very pleasant dream of smiles, laughter, and warm hugs smelling of coffee, lavender, and metal.

#stevetony #stevetony fic #stony #stony fic #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve x tony #mine #earl wrote something

243 notes · View notes